#Can you walk when you have your legs kicked out to the side limply

[caterpillarinacave]

Who needs a gym when you can carry a full, completely dead weight, toddler around an ice rink because they will not put their skates on a the ice

[magneto-was-fucking-right]

The Ghost Next Door - Chapter 1

Prompt: After suffering an almost lethal injury in combat, Simon "Ghost" Riley expected a dull, and uneventful leave back at his shitty apartment. His new next-door neighbor ruins his plans. Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader (named Riley Thomas for plot purposes)

Chapter 2 Chapter 3

Disclaimer: slow burn; neighbor!Simon; will eventually contain very graphic descriptions of smut;

Chapter summary: Ghost returns home to find he has a new noisy neighbor: a socially awkward veterinarian with questionable cooking skills. Word Count: 1.5k

When Simon Riley limply walked in on his flat after four months of deployment, he could barely breathe. The stale air from the lack of proper ventilation had trapped in the humidity of the past rainy days, the walls poorly insulated, and therefore, moldy. As per usual, the place looked terribly dull, the scarce decorative elements inadequately arranged, but certainly well-fitting to the dingy apartment complex in Manchester.

Dropping his duffel bag by the door dismissively, instead of opening the curtains and letting in the evening light, he first headed to the fridge, analyzing its usual contents: two beers, a carton of milk (most likely spoiled by now), a jar of marmite and an old noodles container from the Chinese restaurant he liked, stinking up the place.

“Forgot ya little fucker” he made sure to remember to throw it out later, before grabbing a beer and plopping himself on the couch, careful enough to not hurt his wounded leg any further. But as soon as he grabbed the remote from under his thigh, ready to turn on the news and resituate himself with the current ongoings of the British populace, he finally paid attention to the commotion next door.

“Bloody fucking hell” He groaned “What’s all this racket?”

He heard thumping, scratching, something breaking, quick footsteps and what seemed to be a gentle voice cooing “oh no, please, not again”. Just as he was processing the fact that he didn’t remember having any horizontal neighbors since he first signed the lease (one of the main reasons why he even signed in the first place), an aggressive knock on his door made him instantly rise to his feet, grabbing a black facemask from his bag and moving silently to peek through the peephole.

“Mr. Riley!” The old woman on the other side called out, still knocking, and Simon sighed deeply in annoyance. “I know you’re in there, I saw you come in earlier.”

“Fucking cunt” He muttered under his breath, weighting whether ignoring her would make her leave at once (it wouldn’t, and they both knew it).

He took a deep breath before unlocking the door, regretting it immediately.

“There ya are” She started, shoving a couple papers on his chest, and forcing a pen between his calloused fingers “I need you to sign this immediately.”

“What are you on about?” He tried his best to keep it polite and cordial, but the woman’s presence and constant complaints always filled him with inevitable rage.

“Your neighbor” She pointed to the door next to his, where a great deal of noise still stemmed from the walls “She cannot and will not stay here. She is insufferable.”

Well that makes two, innit? He thought to himself, biting down his tongue.

Faced with his menacing silence, she carried on with her melodramatic monologue:

“It’s a petition to kick her out, I’m getting everyone to sign, even the new tenants, then I’ll arrange a meeting with the landlady for a formal hearing.”

“What the fuck did she do?” Simon inquired, clearly irritated, reading the five signatures on the first page. He was pretty sure three of them were in the same handwriting.

She looked at him indignantly, extending her arms at the door once again, indicating the ongoing clatter.

“She has a bloody jungle in there! Cats, dogs, birds, and God forbid, rats if you can believe it!”

“Mrs. Parsons, I think we all had rats in our apartments at some point this year.”

“Not as pets! It’s disgusting, and everyone’s been complaining about the noise!”

He glared at her indifferently, eager to return to the comfort of his privacy and wallow in his frustration, giving his leg some much needed rest. She stepped back, seemingly realizing that Mr. Riley was in one of his moods, not keen on indulging in useless chatter or gossip.

“Right, well, not interested.” He tried to return the signatures, to which she vehemently refused, pushing them back to his chest.

“At least consider it Mr. Riley. She lives right next to you and the walls are thin. Your signature’s the most important one.”

“Will do.” He shut the door on her face, mindlessly throwing the papers and the facemask on the coffee table as he limped back to the couch and turned on the tv. He hissed after realizing he had ripped his stitches as he sat down aggressively, a splotch of blood soaking the fresh bandage he had been arranged on base.

“Fuckin’ hell” he sighed tiredly, deciding he would deal with it first thing in the morning.

***

As the pandemonium progressively decreased throughout the night, Simon had fallen deep asleep on the sofa, tv still on and feet kicked up on the table. But when there was a new knock on the door, this time softer, he felt like he could have only been sleeping for five minutes, exhaustion and grumpiness still ingrained in his bones.

“What now?” He groaned to himself, massaging his sore neck, and finally remembering to kick off his boots. He was so used to sleeping fully clothed, often even geared up and ready to go, that he always took some time to remember how to act like a civilian again once he was back home.

Just as he readjusted himself to go back to sleep, his lids semi closed and arms crossed over his chest, one more knock arose anger in his belly at his newly interrupted rest. Frustrated, he sighed before getting up, easing up the pressure on his wound as the sharp pain reminded him of the ruptured sutures from the previous evening.

Facemask on once again, Simon opened the door aggressively, expecting Mrs. Parsons to come collect her newfound project in ruining other people’s lives, and therefore halfway of saying “What the fuck do you-”

“I-I’m so sorry! I know it’s early and I was probably a huge bother all night, but I wanted to apologize before leaving for work and-”

“Slow down.” He commanded, stopping the young woman’s panicked rant. He had barely rubbed sleep from his eyes and his mind wasn’t yet ready to take in another dreadful monologue. He observed her intently, as he often did to potential threats (usually concealed by the shadows), but as the circumstances proved different, she observed him right back. He always felt strange and vulnerable without the skull mask, regardless of the black facemask covering half of his visage anyway.

She couldn’t possibly be over 25 years old, her bright and cheerful complexion not carrying the weight of the tired lines that came at 30. She was considerably shorter than him, but still quite tall for a woman, her frame concealed under oversized scrubs that seemed ridiculously out of place; her hair messily tied in a long braid. She held up a tray with what seemed to be freshly baked cookies, but about half of them were burnt.

As she smiled nervously, he noticed one of her canines was slightly chipped, and the small white scar across her right eyebrow almost distracted him from the dimples. If she had noticed him stare at the small imperfections, she didn’t seem bothered at all, continuing her anxious speech as if she had practiced in front of the mirror beforehand.

“Right, I’m sorry, I really hoped we could meet in better circumstances.”

“What time is it?” Simon groaned, looking at his wrist to check his watch. “Fuckin’ hell, it’s 6 in the bloody morning.”

“I know, I’m sorry, I was gonna bake you a cake and offer you tea, but I was called in unexpectedly yesterday an-”

“That’s lovely and all, but why are you knocking on my door at six in the morning with half-burnt cookies?” He interrupted moodily and almost regretted it once he saw her smile falter and her cheeks redden in shame.

“Oh…” She lowered the tray, her eyebrows scrunched as she analyzed the overcooked treats and tried hard to recover. “Well, I just wanted to apologize for all the noise from last night before I left for work. I feel terrible about it and-”

“Apology accepted.” He stepped back, ready to shut the door.

“Wait!” She held it with her foot, nervously trembling under his cold gaze. She took a deep breath, and he sighed, his head slightly tilted to the right, as if deciding what to think of the socially awkward woman meddling in his business. “I just…”

“Go on.” He encouraged, trying to speed up the end of the uncomfortable encounter.

“I’m new here.” she blurted out “I moved in about a month and a half ago and people don’t seem to like me very much already” she sighed, and he noticed the dark bags under her tired eyes.

“So I’ve heard.”

“I work at the Vet clinic a few streets nearby-”

“I didn’t sign it.” He interrupted once again, and she would certainly be frustrated if she wasn’t so happy about what he said.

“The petition?”

“Yeah.”

“Really?” Her face gleamed with relief “Because I-”

“I’m due to consider it.” He added, her expression quickly dropping to disappointment.

“Why?” Her soft, defeated tone could almost pull on his heartstrings. If he had one.

“I don’t know if you’ll bother me yet.” Now he was just messing with her.

“I won’t!” She argued, defensively.

“Alright. I’ll think about it over that cake.” He closed the door, leaving her open mouthed in shock, the tray of cookies still in hand.

He heard her softly press her forehead to the door after a thoughtful moment, and then yell out:

“Are you allergic to anything?”

“People.”

A/N: I'm back! I wrote this months ago but only just decided to start posting these series :) I LOVE writing porn but when it comes with a cute backstory attached it's just *chef's kiss*. I plan on keeping the chapters simple and comforting - writing has been really helping me cope with seasonal depression, and the boredom of routine in general. New chapter coming soon... Enjoy!

[polyhexian]

eventually au - Stupid idea that takes place somewhere in the finale timeskip:

Hunter and Jasper walking on the path home through the woods from the Bonesborough market with groceries having an utterly stupid argument over something that is easy to get heated about but also pretty inconsequential. I'm gonna say it's a specific fighting technique Hunter likes to use.

Hunter's like "oh my god, Dad, it's for the intimidation factor" and Jasper is like "every time you do that you're leaving yourself open to an attack from the side" and Hunter is like "I keep an eye on it, no one's ever managed it" and Jasper's like "I HAVE" and Hunter's like "you're kind of an insane fighter, Dad, you don't count!" and Jasper is like "you can't just use a stupid move and assume no one will ever take advantage of it" and Hunter is like "it's not stupid, it looks cool!"

And that's when they realize they're surrounded by a group of coven scouts in extremely tattered uniforms. Belos loyalists. Great.

The leader is saying something about vengeance and the will of the titan and blah blah blah but Hunter and Jasper are just exchanging tired, incredulous glances like "are they fucking serious? oh my god they are. ugh."

The ensuing fight is, of course, short, brutal, and absolutely not in the loyalists' favor, but also the entire time Jasper and Hunter are STILL arguing with each other because they were having a VERY SERIOUS CONVERSATION, DAMMIT.

Hunter uses the technique Jasper hates no fewer than 3 times and Jasper is like "WOULD YOU STOP THAT?" as he slams a scout into a tree and Hunter is like "NO ONE'S GETTING THROUGH, I TOLD YOU!" as he swipes another scout's legs from under them and Jasper is like "IT'S NEEDLESSLY FLASHY!" while he buries a scout up to their neck and Hunter stops with his fist balled in the front of a scout's shirt like "I'M SORRY, YOU'RE CALLING ME FLASHY, MR. KNIFE HALO?!?"

Jasper knocks out the second-to-last scout and whirls around like "The knife halo is functional and leaves no openings! You're just being overdramatic!"

"I'm sorry, are you saying you're not overdramatic?!"

"Of course not! I'm just dramatic!"

"Dad, you are more overdramatic than any fighting technique I would ever possibly use."

The scout Hunter is holding up by their collar weakly raises a finger. "For what it's worth, I served under both of you, and I can confirm that the two of you are equally and stupidly overdramatic."

"Ugh, shut up, Janethan," Hunter says, walloping them over the head with Flapjack's staff and letting them fall limply to the ground. He sighs as he surveys the unconscious bodies lying around, and then he pulls out his scroll to make a call. "Hey Steve. I'm in the woods west of Bonesborough and I've got, like, a dozen loyalists for you to arrest--Dad, what are you doing?"

Jasper is rifling through the scouts' pockets. "These assholes trampled our groceries," he says, confiscating wallets and dumping snails into his hand. "It's only fair that they pay for replacements. I'm teleporting back to the market and I will be right back. If any of these jerks wake up in the meantime, don't use that stupid move on them."

"Fine, but I'm not gonna stop using it when it works for me just fine, Dad."

Jasper teleports away with a huff.

(The next time Hunter spars with Willow, he uses that move and her vines swarm him from the side in seconds while she grins smugly. He is going to put salt in his father's eggs.)

JCJRHSBFNFKDIFNF GOD WILLOW AND JASPER TEAMING UP AGAINST HIM IS SOOOOOO FUULNNYYYYYY oh my god what do you do when your dad and your wife are BOTH giving you shit. Then you know they're going to tell Luz and vee and he's going to have SISTERS on his ass TOO. They're going to be posting memes in the group chat about Hunter getting kicked in the ribs trying to be cool on the daily

[vodika-vibes]

Hey Sam🧡

Can I ask you for another short with Fox and the prompt that reader is sick and in need of hugs and lots of kisses?

Kfbfndnndndndndnd🧡

Sick Days

Pairing: Commander Fox x Reader

Word Count: 680

Songs: None

Warnings: None

A/N: Not so many kisses in this one until the end. But still fluffy! I hope this is sort of what you were wanting!

It’s hot. And cold. And then hot again.

You roll over in bed and kick your blanket off the bed. Wait a moment. And then groan as you lean off the side of the bed to grab your blanket again. 

And then, only moments later, you kick the blanket back to the foot of the bed.

You should get up and take medicine. It’s what Fox would tell you to do if he was home and not at work. But everything aches. Your joints, your muscles. Hell, you’re pretty sure your eyelashes hurt.

Medicine would help with that. You know that. But your medicine is in the kitchen. And you are very solidly not in the kitchen.

“Okay,” You say to your Tooka, Ferdinand. “Okay. I’m going to get up. And I’m going to take medicine. And I’m going to drink some water.”

Ferdinand meows at you, and licks his paw.

“Very helpful, Ferdie.” You say to him.

He looks at you judgmentally, and jumps off the bed, trotting out of the bedroom, and then meowing pathetically from the kitchen.

Well. You figure. The boss has spoken.

You take a deep breath, cough, and swing your legs off the bed. You push yourself to your feet. And the world tilts dangerously around you.

“Ah.” You say, as you flop back on the bed. That was a new symptom. Self-care was now well beyond your ability. So you do the next best thing, you grab your com and press the redial button.

The com rings once, twice, and then it connects, “Cyare? Is everything alright?”

The sound of Fox’s voice was enough to make you want to cry. “Not really.” You admit.

“What’s wrong?”

“I think I have a fever. And I can’t walk to get the medicine.” You pause as Ferdinand wails from the kitchen, “And Ferdie is yelling at me.”

Fox grumbles something unkind about your Tooka, though you know he doesn’t mean it. “I’ll be home in 15, cyare. Can you get comfortable in bed?”

“Yeah.” You shift on the bed until your head is on his pillow, “Sorry.”

“Not your fault you’re sick, sweetheart.” And then the com cuts off, and you consider smothering yourself to make the pounding in your head a little less painful.

You ultimately decide against it, Fox would get sad and that’s illegal.

True to his word, you hear the apartment door slid open 15 minutes later, and then the familiar sound of Fox pulling his armor off and stacking it neatly by the door. 

You hear him scolding Ferdie, though you also hear the sound of the treat bag opening, and you grin. Fox is such a soft touch with Ferdie. And then you hear the medicine cabinet opening, and shutting again.

“Cyare?”

You smile at him weakly, carefully sitting up as he steps into the room and sits on the edge of the bed. “Welcome home,” You rasp out, you gratefully take the water and medicine and take both without argument.

And then you hum when he presses his hand against your forehead.

“You’re burning up, cyare.” He murmurs, standing just long enough to get you laying down again, and covering you with a sheet he got from…somewhere?

“I feel awful,” You admit.

He leans in and kisses your forehead, “I bet you do. The medicine will help.”

You lightly grip his arm, and pout at him, “Will you stay?”

“Of course I will,” He gently nudges you over, and slides into bed next to you, leaning in and pressing a series of kisses across your face, before lightly kissing your lips.

“You’re gonna get sick,”

“Then I won’t have to go to work, and I get to have you doting on me.” He kisses you again and again. Until all the tension has drained from your body and you’re pressed limply against him. “Get some rest, love.”

You hum happily, “Love you, Fox.”

“Love you too, cyare. I’ll be here when you wake up.” He promises, as he presses a long, lingering, kiss against the top of your head.

[sprnklersplashes]

listen to your heart (can you hear it sing) ao3

or, canon divergence where kaz is the first to wake up from the detura meloxia

It’s not real.

He kicks against the water, the current making his legs slow. His gloved hands wrap around his brother’s wrists; either to push him away or to hold him tighter. Jordie lifts him again. His bloated face is starkly pale against the black sky. The sores on his face crack and bleed as he snarls, saliva dripping from his broken teeth.

It’s not real.

The canal fills his lungs again, the thick, murky water storming through his airways. Smog and rot sting his tongue, and something darker lingers in the aftertaste. The icy ripples attack his body and a shudder wrecks through him. When dares to open his eyes, he sees nothing more than a shapeless mass of grey and black shapes, a world where reason and rhythm are long forgotten.

This. Isn’t. Real.

He doesn’t know if he says it out loud. With the canal dripping from his lips and Jordie snarling at him, he couldn’t hear himself if he did. But he hears it in his head and knows it’s true. He knows this canal. He knows what it is to drown in it, he remembers the taste, the feel of the water against his skin. He knows that if he dives deep enough, he will find the mud and stones that make up its bed. He knows because he’s been in this canal, he knows this cold, and it’s far worse than this.

Two things he knows; this isn’t real and he has to get out.

Jordie dunks him again. His ears ring with the impact, and Jordie’s voice grows louder, demanding to be heard.

Focus he tells himself. This isn’t the first time he’s heard Jordie’s voice since then, and he doubts it will be the last. His brother can have his vengeance and for once, Kaz will give it willingly. But not now.

Disguised by the water, he grabs Jordie’s wrists. He tightens his hold until he can’t any more and then pulls as hard as possible. If Jordie reacts, he can’t see it. All there is is the strain against the water, the faint ache in his chest, and the thought that Jordie’s skin isn’t right. He was cold, hard, and clammy that night. He feels hot now. When they were boys, Jordie was always warm, chasing away Kaz’s winter chills. Now he just burns.

Something ignites in him, and with a strength Kaz wasn’t sure he had, he rips his brother’s hands from him. There’s a distinct snap as he drops from his grip, and then he’s falling. Water logs in his clothes and slows his descent, but he doesn’t stop. The shadow of Jordie becomes smaller, and Kaz sees his hand extending upwards, like he’s still a little boy walking through the Exchange, his mittened hand reaching up so that the crowd doesn’t sweep him away-

He gasps. The air isn’t fresh, but it’s air, not canal water. There’s a tiled floor beneath his back. Overhead, the wooden beams of the roof come into view. Thoughts come to him one by one, piecing together everything. Zoya. The Lantsovs. Neyshen’yar. Shu Han. The Disciple. Orange vapour. Poison. Inej-

Inej.

His chest rattles as he rolls onto his side. Pain shoots through his bad leg, sharp as the dagger in his coat. With his hands pressed wide against the floor, he pushes himself to his knees. He won’t try getting to his feet, not in this condition. From here, he can move, he can see and he can hear. That’s enough.

He lifts his head. Darkness blankets the room, the orange glow from the window saving them from complete obscurity. Jesper is the first one he sees, flat on his back on the other side of the room. Kaz has woken just in time to see heavy coughing wreck through his body. A low wheezing shakes the air, and it takes Kaz a second to realise it’s Jesper’s breathing. His usually warm skin is tinged with grey, and the hands that expertly wield his precious guns fall limply against the floor.

His heart seizes them, a physical, sharp ache in his chest. He presses his hands to the ground and tries to look away. Jordie flashes through his mind again, not drowing him this time. Not doing anything. His eyes are dull and his limbs slack and his face too much like Jesper’s is now. Just as pale. Just as helpless.

No. He shakes his head hard, even with the nausea that rolls through him. Jesper is not Jordie, and he is not Kaz Rietveld any more. He is Kaz Brekker, leader of the Crows, and if there’s one thing he is not, it’s helpless. And as glass shatters to his right, he curses himself for ever thinking he was.

With gritted teeth and shallow breaths, he pulls himself across the tiles until he reaches the door. A small hole has been blown in it, and some buried part of Kaz smiles. If they make it out alive, he’s giving a kid a raise.

“Wylan,” he breathes. “How-how did you?”

“Me.” The answer isn’t from Wylan. Kaz turns to find Tolya next to him, half propped against the wall. “I slowed my heart down enough to call for help.” Kaz nods, but it’s clear how much that took from him. Tolya’s face is ashen, and the weak smile on his face does little to distinguish him from Jesper.

“Kaz? Kaz, what happened?” Wylan asks.

“We’ve been poisoned,” comes his reply. “An orange vapour. And we’re dying.” Through the small hole, Kaz sees some kind of spark in Wylan’s dark eyes, and the kid turns his gaze to the garden.

“Throwing up? Or hallucinations?”

“Hallucinations,” he groans. It takes far too much strength to hold himself up. His body sags against the wall, darkness pressing against his vision. Beneath his heavy breathing, he hears the lapping of the canal again, taunting him. He feels Jordie’s hands on his chest, ready to drown him again. His brother won’t let him go so easily this time.

“Wylan?” Heat scorches his lungs and crawls up his throat. With his strength slipping away and the threat of the water beneath him, he almost, almost, begs, “Wylan?”

“Kaz! Kaz, take that. Eat it.” He reaches up and after his vision focuses, he finds a small, blue, very much alive, butterfly in his hand.

A hazy What the fuck crosses his mind but he doesn’t have the time or energy to say it.

“That-that might sound strange, but the poison doesn’t kill them so they might be the antidote,” Wylan explains. He lifts his head and sees Tolya with an identical butterfly in his hand. His skin is paler now, his eyes heavy-lidded and his head lolling.

“Tolya!” He calls. He reaches for his cane, only to realise he left it on the other side of the room, and so settles for a sharp kick with his good leg. It isn’t ideal, not with the poison draining his body, but Tolya’s head snaps up. His throat dry, Kaz toasts with the butterfly and they cram them into their mouths.

Disgust roars in his body, too loud to let anything else through. The creature wriggles inside him, its wings drag against the roof of his mouth and the legs creep across his tongue. He gags, his body desperate to reject the thing, but he presses his hand against his mouth. It’s been through worse.

It takes more than one try, and a fight with his instincts, but he gets it down. Minutes pass without result, but just before doubt can creep in, the heat in his lungs begins to cool. He sits up straighter as his strength slowly returns to him. His eyes fall closed, savouring the moment, but the water doesn’t come for him. The ground is solid beneath him, and Jordie has disappeared again. His heart is strong, his body is warm.

He’s alive.

“Wylan!” he calls. The boy’s face appears at the door, eyes wide with anticipation. “We need two more.”

“Okay!” It takes less than a minute for two more butterflies to be handed through, and Kaz hands the second to Tolya. The colour is back in his cheeks, the warrior’s glint in his dark eyes.

“Give it to Jesper,” is all Kaz says and Tolya doesn’t hesitate. He’s running behind him, and then Kaz hears the faint thud as he falls to his knees beside Jesper.

Bracing his bad leg, Kaz pushes himself to his feet. He straightens his shoulders, forcing himself not to turn around. Tolya can handle Jesper. Jesper will be fine. He believes it so strongly that he only says it once.

Inej lies a mere few feet from him, her back to the wall. Just a few minutes ago, he watched as her usually unshakeable frame fell to the floor. Somehow that was what struck fear into him, not his airways beginning to close. It should be logical. She is the Wraith, famed for her particular relationship with gravity. If she falls, she simply turns in the air and lands on her feet. If something can take her, he should be worried. Everyone should.

But… but… is that all?

He saw the fear flickering in her dark eyes before they closed. Their eyes had locked for just a second, if even, but it had set Kaz’s whole body ablaze. He had wanted to run to her. He should have run to her. In his mind, he sees himself catch her, bracing her head and gently lowering her to the floor. But in reality, he stayed where he was. Paralysed either by the poison or by himself. She fell and he didn’t catch her.

He swallows thickly and forces the self-pity down. He will deal with that later. Right now, Inej is in front of him, and she is still breathing. He kneels beside her and watches her chest rise.

“You will not die here,” he hears himself say roughly. “You won’t.”

It’s that promise to her that moves his hand to her chin. His fingers slide into place on her jaw and, with a slow, heavy breath, he pulls her mouth open. The leather is protecting him; he’s fine.

She doesn’t move at his touch. Doesn’t pull away or wriggle in his grasp. It’s not right. A girl like Inej shouldn’t be still. He’s spent more time than he should watching her weave in and around Ketterdam in ways that should be impossible. She’s a master of gravity, elements move in tandem with her. For her to be this still… the Earth should stop and wait for her.

Her mouth hangs open now. The butterfly squirms in Kaz’s free hand, as if aware of its fate. Kaz can’t muster up empathy for the little creature. In fact, he barely notices it. All there is is Inej’s open mouth, his hand on her face, and the fact that he now has to give it to her.

His hand starts to shake. The room darkens.

Breathe, he tells himself. The water isn’t here. The corpses have long since decayed. It’s all miles and miles away, in Ketterdam. His gloves are tight and reliable around his hands, his second skin. He can do it. He can keep them at bay and he can save her.

And, even if he can’t… he will. For her. He will brace the canal for her.

(What a terrifying thing to realise)

He forces the butterfly into her mouth and snaps her jaw shut. Her spit saliva lingers on his glove, mixed with the faint whisper of her breath. It was three seconds, maybe less, but he felt it through the leather. The inside of her mouth, hot breath against his hand. He felt it, and he can’t stop feeling it, and the canal gurgles behind him. It wants him back. The corpses want him back. Jordie wants him back-

But she needs him. The thought comes to him strongly, loudly. She needs him, and he owes her. She dragged him back from the depths in Bhe Zu. If there’s one thing Kaz Brekker does, it’s pay his debts.

Water still ripples beneath him, but he stays dry. Against everything he knows, he presses his hand further into her skin. The fine bones of her jaw hold him together and he holds onto it like the lifeline he had needed back then. He stays with her. For minutes or hours, he watches and waits, all the while Inej is still beneath him.

He watches and he waits, but she won’t open her eyes. She hasn’t even swallowed the damn butterfly.

“Don’t do this, Wraith,” he whispers. “Don’t disappear now. Not like this.” He bends his head closer and presses his hand against her skin. Something sour rises in his throat; it’s all too familiar to him, especially in light of what happened in Bhej Zu. The water, the corpses, the taunt flesh beneath his hand, all horrid in its familiarity.

But there’s something else. Something different in the way his stomach opens up, in the way his arms weaken and he almost falls again. The world  falls off its axis, and it’s because of her. It’s because Inej is here, dying beneath his hand, and he can’t stop it. Inej Ghafa is dying and it’s ripping him apart. Her pulse is slow, unsteady beneath his gloved fingers, and the world turns cold.

He waits to be angry. He should be angry. Anger is an old friend, his most constant companion. Any moment now, it should tear through him like a hurricane, fuel thoughts of violence and vengeance, of burning his place down and bringing Neyar to her knees. Who cares if she is a Saint? What is a Saint anyway?

He waits, and he waits, but the anger does not come. In its place is hollowness, an echoing, empty cavern. If rage were to spark in there, it would dampen and flicker away, suffocated by the overwhelming, all-encompassing hopelessness.

Because that’s the thing. Kaz Brekker plans. Kaz Brekker schemes. One might even say that he has hopes. Being like this-no hopes, no schemes, nothing but someone too good for him dying beneath his hand, that’s not Kaz Brekker. That’s Kaz Rietveld, with all his naive weaknesses and belief in fairness.

This is how he knows there is no fairness. If there was, it would be him choking on the floor, and Inej would be on her ship, far away from this mess he dragged her into.

“Inej,” he says. It’s the closest to a prayer he’s ever come. “Please, come back to us.” He lowers his head. Just a few more inches, and he could touch his forehead to hers. A few, short, impossible inches. “Come back to me.”

The words linger in the air. It’s suitably disgusting; a selfish plea from a selfish boy, but he said it. Don’t die, not because you deserve to live, but because I want you to live.

Because he wants… her.

“Kaz?” He looks up, unaware his eyes had fallen closed. Inej, Inej, is staring up at him, her eyes clouded and confused but otherwise awake. With his hand still at her neck, her pulse beats against his fingers. Strong. Solid. Alive. “Kaz?”

“I’m here.”

He pulls his hand away from her face. One hand on her back and the other around hers, he helps her to her feet. It takes a moment, but he realises her hand is on his shoulder, using him as a crutch. For a moment, there’s nothing else, just him and her, and the fact that she’s alive, and she said his name, and that she’s alive. It’s just them, and it almost feels like nothing else will take it.

But it does. Because it always does. The water trickles in, and it pulls him away from her.

He drops her hand, almost stumbling over himself as he steps back from her. There’s a distinct cold patch on his shoulder where her hand had been. Even his hands, safe and tucked inside their gloves, feel particularly empty now without her.

(He had held her. Just for a few minutes. He had held her, and it almost didn’t kill him)

Inej looks up at him. Her dark eyes are wide, her brows furrowed together. Her skin glows again. He’d taken that glow for granted. He wraps his hands around his cane in the hopes it stops them shaking.

“Is everyone alive?” comes Wylan’s voice through the door.

“We’re alive,” she replies. Her voice is unsteady and hoarse.

Jesper start talking, rambling really, and something is passed to him. He realises when he takes it it’s his cane. It could’ve been either of them, he doesn’t know. All he can see is Inej.

She shakes her head once, twice, as if to shake herself of her toxin trip. Dark hair falls in front of her face, escaped from her braid, and she pushes it off her face. He presses his teeth into his tongue.

Had her hair brushed against his fingers when he held her? If it did, he hadn’t noticed. Of course he wouldn’t. But if he had the chance again… if she weren’t dying and he just-

He taps his cane on the floor, perhaps with more force than necessary. The sound ricochets like a bullet, and it leaves a harsh silence in its wake.

Good. Now he can actually think.

“Let’s get to work,” he says roughly. “Tolya, you said you heard another heartbeat?”

“Southeast corner,” Tolya confirms. “It’s weak, but it’s there.”

Kaz nods, and turns his attention to the dark doorway. He feels it then, the strike of a match, somewhere deep insideof him. Behind him, he feels Inej’s eyes, burning with questions he can’t answer for her. Whatever she wants of him, he can’t give her. What he can give her is this; her freedom, her life, and the heads of anyone who ever threatened those things on a pike.

Whether it’s a Barrel boss or a Saint, that promise remains the same.

[risingsouls]

Recruited: Chaper 44

[*jazz hands* TADA. Months later, here’s an update on the Recruited fic! I’ve been struggling to write pretty much everything of late, but I’m so happy to finally get this finished! I love these two chatting and exploring their ✨trauma✨ as well as just...bonding. SO. Not a lot of action again, but I hope you enjoy!

As always, you can find the rest of this and other shit I’ve written @momowritesshit !]

Nabooru

After walking the perimeter of her camp one last time for the night, Nabooru plopped down in the cool grass and set the curved pair of blades she acquired next to either hip. She kicked off her shoes and peeled her socks off, tossing them with the minimal supplies she brought with her. She rolled her shoulders and stretched her legs out in front of her, sighing in relief over the pause she finally allowed herself. Her muscles ached in ways she had long grown unaccustomed to, but she welcomed it. A week's worth of survival training without using her ki once a month would keep her from becoming too dependent on ki for everything and allowed her to revisit the roots of her experience before she and the Gerudo were introduced to utilizing their life energy in such a way. Not to mention it also gave her an interesting way to change up her training routine from shadow boxing the air and occasionally finding a willing sparring partner in Lila when she had time to roughing it in the wilderness.

Leaning forward, she turned the meat from the large, pink, flightless bird she hunted down earlier that evening on the prarie over on the spit. Her stomach growled as the scent of cooking meat assaulted her nostrils, reminding her that she had only eaten the leftovers from her fish the night before and snacked on some berries that day during her trek. She probably got lucky the latter weren't poisonous. With only one more day to go before she could fly to the comfort of her home, she hardly wanted to get sick or worse on the home stretch.

She pressed the heels of her palms into the grass behind her and let her weight fall into them. She tilted her head back to stretch her neck and, when she did, scarlet light stark against darkened sky flickered on the periphery of her vision. It headed straight in her direction, slowing and gradually dropping until the source landed on the other side of her campfire atop the small cliff.

"What are you doing?" Vegeta growled, folding his arms over his chest. "I've barely sensed your ki in days, and it made tracking you down a chore."

"Aw, were you worried about me?" She grinned in the face of his sneer, despite the sinking of her heart upon noticing how the flicker of firelight made the shadows beneath his eyes more pronounced. How he already looked a bit thinner than she remembered.

"I decided to add some ki-less survival training to my regimen. Change things up a bit," she answered with a shrug. "Go back to my roots a little bit. Explore some, too."

"Sounds pointless," he sniffed.

His dark eyes drifted to the cooking meat and lingered for a moment. "You can have some if you want," Nabooru offered. "Might be a little raw still, but I don't remember that ever bothering you, Nappa, or Raditz."

Another huff and he shifted to the left side of the campfire. He lowered himself into the grass, one knee bent toward the sky. His tail rested limply behind him. Though curious to his motivation for seeking her out at all, let alone making a more extraordinary effort then would usually be required with her ki constantly suppressed, she let the silence billow between them to join the cloud of smoke drifting upward from the orange flames. Fire had a special way of making her nostalgic. Perhaps because the crackle of torches that lit the winding halls of the fortress was ever pervasive. Or it reminded her of the festivals and rituals in which bonfires often served as a bright centerpiece, elongating and distorting the shadows of dancing and laughing Gerudos celebrating. Or, more grimly, the funeral pyres that served as a Gerudo's final resting place.

"The Gerudo had a sort of unspoken custom to always share food with others at a meal," said Nabooru, gently prodding at the logs with a stick. "I never really understood the significance, or if there really was one, but it was just something we all did when we ate together. Even when we struggled with supplies and could only eat the bare minimum."

She didn't expect a response, nor did she understand why she related this minute and unimportant detail of Gerudo culture with Vegeta. A long-forgotten memory and understanding of her heritage recalled out of the blue and begging to be voiced and resurrected. Glancing to Vegeta, with the way his eyes remained pinned to the fire in front of him, she guessed his own thoughts deafened him to her voice and any other ambience, as typically seemed to happen when she checked in on him. While she tried to maintain a positive outlook when it came to the Saiyan prince regrasping and rediscovering himself, knowing how often he strayed light-years from the present and more often than not showed an uncharacteristic despondency caused her resolve to waver.

It wasn't long before Vegeta found his voice: "Saiyans also had a tradition of sharing food," he mused, fingers unprotected by the usual leather drumming distractedly on his knee. She recognized the long sleeved black shirt and blue jeans he donned as clothing she bought for Bardock and placed in the spare capsule house for him. They proved a little baggy on the smaller Saiyan, and she made a mental note to try and sneak him clothes better suited to his size.

"It wasn't common for Saiyans to share food; proper meals were more commonplace for diplomatic affairs hosted by the royalty. More because it was expected from foreign emissaries than anything else," he continued. "Otherwise, when a Saiyan shared their food, it signaled or represented a request for a bond of trust between the parties."

Nabooru crossed her legs and leaned toward him, curiosity piqued. "Really? So, what happened if someone refused the offering? Was it considered an insult?"

"It wasn't thatdeep," he scoffed, "but I suppose it could have been depending on their personality or intent. I personally wouldn't care. More for me."

"Have you ever shared your food in that way?"

"What do you think?" When Nabooru met his withering glance with adamant insistence on a proper answer, he clicked his tongue and rolled his eyes. "Never so formally. Nappa, Raditz, and I shared food once in a great while, but only out of necessity."

Silence fell between them, and Nabooru used the moment to turn the meat over on the spit. She returned to her seat, her hands finding the hilt of the blades she picked up on a nostalgic whim. An ancient habit that refused to die despite how she rarely used such weapons these days. The deeply ingrained teaching to be always ready, always prepared.

"I see you found swords like those that you fawned over when you first joined our team."

"Hm? These?" For a moment, she didn't recall the moment he referred to, her fingers idly tracing the bland but sturdy hilt of the blade next to her left hip. The firelight danced in the cool metal, and she remembered passing through the throng of soldiers and shoppers on one of the resort planets and pausing in front of a window bearing blades similar in design and shape to those she now owned. Of the ones she wielded most of her life on her home planet, and the ones she modeled her ki blades–the technique the Saiyan prince himself introduced her to–after. Her mind then shifted to the following memory of sitting by a lake and Vegeta's advice to stave off the impending madness working for Frieza incurred. Focus on her goal, he told her. The irony that she couldn't remind him of that when he admitted to not having one himself anymore.

"I guess I did. These aren't near as nice as those. Or the ones I used back home." The blades with the golden serpent hilts and rubies inlaid in their eyes. Easily mistaken for the real thing with the attention to detail from their fangs to their meticulously carved scales. Pieces of gorgeous craftsmanship gifted to her after her initiation into the tribe reduced to space dust with the rest of her belongings and race. "While I'm sure my bare hands will do just fine for the creatures of this planet, I like having some kind of blade with me."

Another noncommittal grunt from Vegeta caused the Gerudo to chuckle. "You were right though back then: the ki blades were a whole lot more useful to me and effective than the physical ones would have been. I imagine they would break more often than not." Her lips curled upward in an uncharacteristic, malicious grin. "I doubt they would have sliced through Shikoo from the crotch up like my ki blades did, so it was a technique worth mastering."

"Nappa mentioned that once. Said it was the first time you really terrified him. I told him he should have recorded it on his scouter so I could have seen that. At least the repulsive bastard got what he deserved. I only regret it wasn't me to take him down."

"You did get Zarbon and Dodoria. I'm pretty jealous of that after all the cruel beatings they put me through," she said with a soft laugh. She reclined back on her hands and arched her back, stretching her spine with a content sigh. That mission never settled well with her, from the moment the orders that she, Nappa, and Raditz would be taking it on without their captain to the switch from a rendezvous to a double-cross. At the time, much of her discomfort stemmed from a worry about Vegeta's welfare, knowing Frieza requesting his presence alone never bode well for the prince. She worried that Frieza caught wind of their intent to stage a coup and would kill Vegeta. Little did she know–could she have known–her people and planet should have been the real worry.

Her fingers dug into the grass. "It's crazy to think about that mission knowing what I do now. That it was the last time the Gerudo drew breaths or fought or laughed. I was more worried about what was going to happen to you and if Frieza found out we were actively working to kill him. I never even imagined…" Her eyes traced her own constellations in the stars above. "I know there's nothing I could have done or no way I could have known. It probably wouldn't have changed much. But there's a part of me that wants to see it as completely obvious. That I should have foreseen it. I knew Ganondorf would never settle for serving another for too long. And I knew exactly how cruel Frieza could be. The whole arrangement was doomed from the start."

Another silence pervaded, only broken by Vegeta shifting in his seat, the snap of a stick, and a muttered curse. When she returned her gaze to the front, she watched Vegeta yank the remainder of her crude spit from the meat. "It was beginning to burn," he grunted. He ripped the hunk in half and tossed one to her. She caught it, ignoring how it burned her fingers slightly. "I recall you being picky about charred meat."

Nabooru tilted her head, his behavior curious to her. Her rumbling stomach interrupted her search for an explanation or a way to either tease him about sharing after all or goading him about trusting her. Instead, she tore off a bit of the poultry and devoured it, another following a second after she swallowed.

"I felt the same."

Vegeta speaking again tore her one-track mind of filling her belly back to the Saiyan prince. The meat remained untouched in his hands. She swallowed, but before she could ask for an explanation, he went on.

"As I grew older, it all felt so obvious. I should have seen it coming, even though I was only a child when my father handed me over to Frieza. I know it's an asinine thing to believe that I could have known or done anything about it, but it dredged up plenty of resentment. Toward myself. My father. Every other Saiyan on the planet or off at the time."

He ripped a piece of meat from his chunk, glared at it, and threw it into the fire. He watched it smolder for several, drawn out seconds before continuing his tirade in such a way that made Nabooru wonder if he remembered her presence at all.

"Tch…father. Did he really believe handing me, his first born son, over to Frieza would really appease him forever? That it would go well for me and I would return to the planet, groomed to perfection to be a conquerer that could rival Frieza? Did he know how precarious our relationship with that bastard was at the time? That Frieza would kill us all not long after that?" He chuckled darkly. Bitterly. "Either way, whether he faced Frieza for his own gain or because he knew of his plots, it doesn't matter, I suppose. Agreeing to give me to that bastard only delayed the inevitable, and I'm not sure it even did that."

When he finally trailed off, scowling at the flames in front of him, Nabooru was left with more questions than he posed himself. Most of which she felt were insensitive to request answers to so, after weeding through them, she settled on what she hoped was the least offensive: "Your father faced Frieza?"

Obsidian snapped to her, his brows furrowed and lip curled in a snarl. But the aggravation melted away as quickly as it came, the neutral mask he wore more often than not these days returning. "I suppose you were dead when Frieza confirmed that on Namek," he chuffed. "I knew before that. Or suspected it. He called me to a meeting with him after a longer mission once. I walked in to find him dangling the king's crest, a necklace my father and his father and his mother and every other Saiyan ruler of our clan before them wore, over his finger as casually as he held his damn wine glass. He congratulated me on a job well done, that he was impressed with my progress, and he wanted to bestow a gift to me for my loyalty." His jaw tightened, his fingers digging into his knee. "He claimed Zarbon recognized it being hawked at some stall in a market on some planet or other. I didn't buy it for a second. My father never would have willingly parted with it, and Zarbon roaming some filthy market is laughable. At the time I couldn't confirm it, but that was when I began to suspect my father died at Frieza's hands and not with the planet as I had once thought."

Nabooru frowned; she would have made the same determination in his place. "So he was playing more of his sick mind games with you. Toying with you and your emotions."

"As he was inclined to do, yes. If the abuse wasn't physical, it was very typically mind games. Anything to amuse himself when he grew bored, I suppose. I was his favorite subject to torment."

With the admission of physical abuse, Nabooru recalled the scars littering the prince's skin. How many did he bear from Freiza? She had a feeling those paled in comparison to the mental scars the tyrant gored into his psyche, however. She wouldn't be surprised if this was the first time he ever spoke of any of it, too. No matter how she, Nappa, or Raditz pressed him about his meetings with Frieza, more times than not he kept the details to himself and reprimanded them for bothering him about it. If it was something they needed to know, he claimed, he would have told them.

"What happened to it? The crest, I mean?" she asked, peeling off another bite of meat. "I've never seen you wear something like that."

Vegeta snorted. "Frieza destroyed it, of course. Right in front of me." He finally tore a bite off of his portion of meat, though his scrunched nose suggested he regretted it immediately. She imagined it wasn't because it tasted bad. "The gift excuse was just that. He started to hand it to me but dropped it at the last second and crushed it underfoot. He then proceeded to lecture me about loyalty, and that I should remember this moment as a reminder that my loyalty is to him, no one else and especially not my dead race or pride in my heritage. It's the same reason Nappa and I weren't allowed to continue wearing armor that depicted the Saiyan crest after their demise."

Though none of his story surprised her, it threatened to ignite the particular rage she harbored for Frieza and the Cold Empire. She quelled it for the moment by tearing off another bite of meat. This time with her teeth as she imagined the poultry was Frieza's throat. Chew. Swallow. She forced her mind to return to the numerous curiosities his tale dredged up instead. Anything to keep him talking, distract his mind from his current woes.

"Earlier you mentioned being the first born son," she started, "did you have siblings?"

Vegeta kept quiet once more, face unreadable, and Nabooru was certain he wouldn't answer it. She finished off her meal before he did. "I would hardly use such a word for him, but I had a younger brother. Half brother, I should say. Tarble was the product of my father's unscrupulous romps with the harem he apparently thought he needed." He scoffed, chomped down on the greater portion of his meat, and consumed it, wiping his mouth after with his sleeve. "A weakling and a disgrace, shipped off as a baby despite his status as a bastard prince. Nappa said his power level was only part of the reason for that."

"Do you think he survived, then? Like Goku?"

"No."

The short, terse answer urged the Gerudo to drop the topic. She prodded at the base of the campfire with the tip of her sword. They appeared to share a similar distaste for harems and the idea that rulers of any planet could be predisposed to an entitlement to one. Gerudo kings and leaders of the past were known to have them, though it wasn't necessarily a default. Ganondorf, for instance, never entertained the thought seriously except to cruelly tease her from time to time, and Yazu certainly didn't bother with one. Their annoyance with the idea of harems potentially stemmed from different roots, hers being the idea of someone's entitlement to people to serve their sexual needs on a whim and Vegeta's, perhaps, more tied to the specific instance of his father's, how if affected his mother and her reputation, and how he perceived sex in general, but they both seemed to at least agree the practice was abhorrent. She knew a conversation about that would likely collide with a sturdier wall than a potential debate over the survival of his long lost sibling.

"Did you have any siblings?"

Nabooru replaced the sword at her side. "No, I was an only child. My mother always insisted she only wanted one child, but, considering how often she discreetly chastised me for my refusal to 'do my part' and help continue our race, something tells me there was more to it than that," she replied. "Though, with how our society was run, I might as well have had hundreds of sisters."

"Did she press you because your race was comprised of all women?"

She barely ignored the pang of guilt and resentment his quick understanding stabbed into her chest. Her mother wasn't the only one that pushed her or any other childless Gerudo toward bearing children. For a tribe of all women with the additional crisis of losing so many to war, famine, or the elements, having a kid was seen as almost an essential duty for every Gerudo. And when one refused for any reason, from their sexual interests not aligning with what it took to create a child to her own feelings of inadequacy in parenting a child let alone having the time for taking months off from her training and duties as second in command to bear a healthy daughter, they bore a certain stigma around them until they caved to the social pressure. It hurt to hear her fellow Gerudo question her dedication to the tribe over that one sticking point when she devoted everything in her solely to the tribe, but she knew, deep down, they all had a point.

"Partially," she settled on at last. "The push toward having kids was probably worsened after the war, considering how our numbers dwindled."

Vegeta eyed her for several moments but did not press her further. A small mercy; it wasn't particularly a conversation she wanted to have in that moment. Or ever, even if confronting that might help her in the long run. Her people were dead, along with their stigmas and shortcomings.

With both of them having balked at the turn the conversation took, Nabooru steered it toward safer waters. "Is the house treating you okay? Does it need to be restocked?"

"It's fine," he grunted with a roll of his eyes. "I don't understand why you purchased one bigger than the house you live in now, or why you didn't take it and give me yours, but whatever."

"I've done too much remodeling on mine already to just switch houses." She laughed softly. "Besides, I planned for that one to be more like a vacation house of sorts, probably on a beach. Or a place where Bardock and anyone else needing a place to stay can go without worry."

"How charitable," he drawled, earning him a cheeky grin in reply. He ignored it, his mind obviously shifting elsewhere. Then:

"Bulma wants me to live at Capsule Corporation."

"What? Why?" Her inquiry contained equal parts incredulity and bemusement. "Don't tell me she actually fell in love with you or something."

"It wouldn't surprise me, considering hers and seemingly every other Earthling's foolish notions of romance, but no. I don't believe that's the case. Even if it was, it would be entirely unrequited." The prince massaged his temples, an action he practiced regularly in the presence of Nappa and Raditz. "Along with more of the same shit she spews about me taking responsibility for our son, she offered me a deal: that I could live at Capsule Corp. and make use of all the amenities it offers in exchange for agreeing to play the part of her husband at least in name to stave off unwanted attention over having a child out of wedlock and for the boy's benefit of growing up with his father present."

Nabooru grimaced. Simple as it sounded, a deal like that would likely be anything but. Capsule Corporation's prodigy and heiress had just as much of a romantic inclination as most other Earth and many Hylian women from her home planet, and this deal of hers proved it. She wanted the quintessential princess and family lifestyle with a loving husband to dote on her and a family, a bill Vegeta was the furthest person she could think of for fulfilling. It would all start off the way she imagined the Saiyan hoped: Bulma would go about her business and leave him to his. However, over time, Bulma’s friends and colleagues would begin asking questions about her husband’s absence, why he never went out with her or joined her for whatever errand or event she attended, why he avoided Trunks's school functions. She would tire of skirting their questions, coming up with new excuses for why he was such a homebody and wouldn’t sacrifice a tiny ounce of his comfort for her, love, and their family. Or, at the very least, for him to play father to Trunks. Bulma proved herself crafty, capable of getting what she wanted, and with Vegeta in his current state, she didn’t think he had the wherewithal to combat her any more than he could find it in him to simply pick his training back up.

Her chest clenched. Did Vegeta really want that ease in exchange for, what she imagined, was a life he didn’t actually want? One of suppression and basically imprisonment? The prince certainly wasn’t himself, so had his priorities really shifted that much that he would be content to settle down with a woman he barely referred to by name and treated with less respect than animal scat on the bottom of his boot? Did Bulma really want to bond herself–even for show– to someone who doesn’t truly love her and who may never love her, instead of someone who would treat her with adoration and respect?

She didn’t see this working out for either of them, a sentiment she struggled to keep buried in her voice box. Speaking her mind was second nature for her, even with someone as volatile as Vegeta, but this time, her protests might have the opposite effect. Make her sound more jealous than concerned. She couldn’t deny that the idea of Vegeta “marrying” Bulma made her feel all manner of emotions, from concern for him to a sadness in her assumption that Bulma would bar her from maintaining any semblance of their acquaintanceship if this deal was honored.

“Is that what you want to do?” she asked.

“Hrm…I…I don’t know.” He picked a piece from what remained of his meat and popped it in his mouth, chewing it slowly, thoughtfully, and with a hint of disgust and regret. His tail curled around his back and waist to rest across his lap. “She also mentioned I should get rid of my tail because it’s ‘dangerous,’ and would lead to too many questions. That she could use the dragonballs to help me remove it permanently. How insulting…”

“I guess I can’t blame her when their only experience with the Oozaru is negative.” Which was likely true for most people who had the misfortune of pushing Vegeta, Nappa, Raditz or any other Saiyan into using it for planetary conquest. “That’s literally part of your body, though. Part of you. How could she even suggest that, let alone attempt to force it on you in an underhanded, backdoor way?”

He didn’t reply. Nabooru took advantage of the opportunity to probe his mindset from a different angle. “Would you do it?”

She watched the end of his tail tighten on the top of his thigh, fur slightly on end. “No. Her cronies already robbed me of it once. She can forget about that.”

“Good, “ she replied with a soft giggle, disguising her relief. “Like I said before, you look naked without it, and not in the good way.”

“Shut up,” he growled, finally ripping a final bite from his meat. He shoved the rest at her and stood. “You and your damn lewd comments…”

She ate the last piece of meat with a mischievous grin, wiping her hands of the juices from her dinner off in the grass beside her. “At least they put a bit of a fire under your ass.” She winked, forcing him to roll his eyes. “You’re welcome to finish off the last day of survival training with me, if you'd like."

“Tch, please. I wouldn’t bother with something so stupid even if I felt like training.”

Red energy surrounded the prince, and he took off before she could properly respond with little more than a snicker. She watched his trail disappear into the night sky, back in the direction he came from and, to his credit and her perhaps temporary relief, in the opposite direction of West City.

[buckys-black-dress]

all the signs i don't read

a/n: guys!!! I'M OFFICIALLY DONE WITH MY FIRST YEAR OF UNI! i'm sooo happy to finally be done, i can focus on writing more for you guys this summer :) here's a lil somethin' i whipped up after my last final today. enjoy! xoxo, ali <3

wc: 2.5k words

[bucky barnes x fem!reader]

read part two here!

-

You never thought anything of it.

You never thought anything of it when every time someone would come into the room, Bucky would act like he couldn't stand being touched by you.

It was little things, at first.

You would be in the kitchen in the morning, making coffee for him and you. He would be holding you from behind, whispering sweet nothings in your ear. And then Steve, or someone else, would walk into the room.

And he would shake off your touch, like you were poison.

It never hurt less.

But it's not like you could ever make a scene out of it, or anything. Because nobody even knew you and Bucky had been dating for the past two months.

You had no one to turn to in this situation. No one knew you two were together, and you kind of messed this up for yourself when you agreed to all of this at the beginning of your relationship. Bucky had told you he wasn't really ready for PDA, and you had told him, in a haste, that it was fine.

But after two months of extremely close calls, your patience was wearing thin, and you know it sounds bad. But you've been extremely careful with him, always asking asking him if everything was okay before going further with anything involving physical touch. You always made sure you weren't crossing any boundaries, but it was starting to get frustrating.

You couldn't understand why Bucky could get all touchy-feely with Steve and Natasha when he felt like it, but was practically gagging at your touch.

You were currently cuddled up on his bed, watching a movie. You were on cloud nine, basking in the warmth of your boyfriend's touch. This was one of the rare instances where he would let you get this close. It was nice, and you made sure to always take advantage of it if the situation presented.

You could feel Bucky's gaze fixed upon you as the colors of the TV screen reflected onto your skin. Your eyes dip down to his, and a warm smile graces your face as your eyes meet.

You couldn't ever put into words how happy Bucky made you. You had liked him for so long before he even asked you out, and you were over the moon the day he had brought up wanting to take you out.

It was another night of dinner with just the two of you. Everyone else was on a mission, and since you two were the only ones left, you had decided to make the decision to make food for the both of you.

"James?" Your voice resounded through the empty kitchen and dining room.

"Yeah, honey?" He answered, painting your face red in a blush.

"Do you... just- nevermind." You shake your head, looking back down at your plate.

"Hey, look at me." He says, putting his hand over yours. "I was actually tryin' to figure out how to ask you this..."

Your brows are pulled together, wondering what he was talking about.

"Whatever it is, you can tell me, James." You reassure him. You were grateful that he was such a good friend to you, and that he trusted you enough to open up to you.

"I was wonderin'... would you like to... go out on a date with me sometime?" He asks, holding your gaze.

You're sure you look like a fish out of water right now, your mouth opening and closing in shock. He wanted to ask you out?

"I just... I like spending time with you, I like how you call me James, I like how you don't judge me and how long it's taken me to get comfortable here. I like how kind you are, and how you've always asked the others to be patient with me, so... would you like to go out on a date with me?" He held such hope in his eyes.

"I... I would love to, James." You reply after a moment of silence.

"I'm so happy you said yes." He smiles warmly. "But just... don't mention it to anyone? I don't want Steve or Sam on my case. You know how they can be sometimes." He smiles, and you nod at his request.

"Of course, James. I don't ever want to make you feel uncomfortable, we can go at your pace." Your tone was soft and understanding.

"Thanks, doll. You don't understand how much it means to me." Bucky returns your soft smile, and scoots his seat closer to yours.

His gaze was fixed on you, and while you were playing over the time in your head, Bucky leans in and pecks your lips gently.

"Hm, what're ya thinkin' of, honey?" He questions, sensing your mind was elsewhere.

"I was just thinking of that night when... when you first asked me on a date. How sweet you were." You smile coyly, leaning back in for another kiss.

Your stomach fluttered at Bucky's hum of approval at your actions. He deepened the kiss, motioning for you to fully sit on his lap. Bucky gently placed each of your legs on the sides of his thighs, his hands grasping your hips.

As he stared from your eyes to your lips, back up to your eyes, you felt lightheaded. This was the most intimate the two of you have gotten so far, and you feel the butterflies fluttering in your stomach.

Soon enough, your lips are back on his, moulding onto his like you two were made for each other. Although you two loved watching movies together in each others' rooms, (to avoid prying eyes, of course) you have never been so close to him before like this.

You felt yourself getting high on his affection, and once you had it, you didn't think you could ever go without it.

As Bucky's grip on you tightens, your hands move up to his shoulders, also moving to grasp them. Your hips move with a mind of their own, grinding against his lap.

You didn't think anything of it, but Bucky freezes at the action. His hands stop their gentle strokes along your sides. His lips pause their actions, and you feel him pulling away.

Both physically and emotionally.

"James, is everything alright?" You ask wearily, truly perplexed. Everything was going so well...

"I just... I can't do this, Y/N. I- I'm so sorry... I can't do this with you." He leans back, and limply moves his hands to flop onto the bed at his sides.

"O-Oh," Your voice breaks as you process his words. He didn't want you. This has all been a joke to him. Even in private, your touch made him uncomfortable.

"I... I have to go." You slide off Bucky's lap, gathering your belongings from the end of his bed and rushing out the door.

Without even a glance behind you, the door slams, and Bucky is sat dumbfounded on his bed. Why did I do that? He thinks to himself. Why did I say that to her?

As tears filled your eyes, you just pray that no one will see you. Unfortunately, your room was on another floor, and you think the stairwell would be the best option to avoid people at this point in time.

But of course, as fate has it, Steve is taking the stairs up. You can tell he's probably just returned from his nightly run, as he's sweating through his shirt.

You quickly wipe your eyes, hoping they look too puffy. Your nose was probably red, too, but just sniffle to clear it.

At the sound of your nose, Steve's head shoots up. Your eyes meet, and you plaster on possibly the fakest smile you've ever produced.

"Steve! How was your run?" You ask enthusiastically, trying to make it seem like you were just fine.

"Yeah, it was good. Took a bit of a longer route today. What are you doing here? You never take the stairs." He asks with a raised brow.

"I uh... I was watching a movie, and I had some snacks that were sitting a little heavy on my stomach. I thought a flight of stairs or two could do me some good." You shrug, trying to look as unsuspecting as possible.

"Are you sure you're alright? Your eyes seem a little red." Steve counters. He could feel that something was off.

"Y-Yup, I was watching a sad movie, you know how I get." You give a fake laugh, turning back around. "I have to head back, but good talk, Steve. Enjoy the rest of your night!" You practically yell while walking away from him.

The door of the stairs close behind you in a haste, and you take a moment to take a deep breath. You hated lying, but it's not like you could've said anything to Steve. He had no clue about anything having to do with you and Bucky.

While you locked yourself away to your room for the rest of the night, Bucky was still trying to process the events. How in the matter of a minute, he managed to shift your entire relationship. He was kicking himself, trying to figure out how to fix this. He couldn't seek out advice from Steve like he normally would in situation like this, or ask Natasha. Usually, she was the one to help him when it came to women these days.

But now, he was on his own.

And he was fucked.

So, he had two options.

One, go to Steve. Confess everything; dating you for the past two months, admit he was an idiot and didn't want anyone to know. Realize it would've been fine if everyone knew because everyone loved you. Try to win you back.

Or two, try to get you back on his own. And let's be honest, that option was not looking too good. Clearly, Bucky was clueless in this topic.

So now, he was left to stew.

That night, you drifted into a dreamless sleep with a heavy heart and a tear-soaked pillow.

-

The next few days were... rough, to say the least.

You could barely drag yourself out of bed. You would leave your warm blankets and pillows around eleven each day, which was unheard of for you. Natasha and Wanda would stop you on your way to the kitchen, and try to pry the problem out of you.

Sweetie, this isn't healthy for you.

Honey, just tell us what's wrong. We're here for you.

Y/N, we're worried about you. We love you, but you look horrible.

That last on made you crack a smile, but shook your head and headed in to make yourself a coffee.

For the first time in two months, you were only making coffee for you.

And fuck, was it killing you.

You so badly wanted someone to wrap you up in a hug, rub your back, and tell you it was okay. To tell you your touch was comforting, that they wanted to be close to you.

But of course, fairytales weren't real. You were alone again, and it seemed that it would stay that way for a long time.

No matter what you did, all you could hear in your head was James' words. I'm sorry, I can't do this with you. With you. With you. With you.

And you couldn't help but wonder. What was it about you that was so repulsive to him? You were understanding from the beginning. You just thought he wasn't ready for PDA, that he just wanted his privacy, you understood.

But what you didn't get was how James could have asked you out on a date, how he could've kissed you, for fuck's sake, and yet be so ashamed to be seen with you.

So you allowed yourself to only wallow for five days. You only gave yourself these next five days to feel sorry for yourself, whatever you needed to be pathetic for a few days, but that's it. After that, no more.

You were tired of feeling like you weren't good enough for anyone, like you were a burden. You were an amazing person, and if some people couldn't see that, it wasn't your problem.

You were done.

-

During your five days, you hadn't seen Bucky once. And of course, as your luck would have it, day two brought you your ex-boyfriend.

All in his glory, in the kitchen.

With not one, but two mugs of coffee.

His eyes meet yours, and you see a light in his. But you made sure you were quick to put that out.

"Do you need something, Bucky?" You all but sneer, and his soft smile drops.

"I just... I was about to bring you some coffee. Just how you like it, iced and black." He tries the smile again.

"No thank you, I'd rather make it myself." You turn your stare to the coffee machine, grabbing a capsule and sticking it in the machine before sliding it shut.

Bucky just stands there, dumbfounded. Again.

This seems to be a trend with you.

"Y/N, come on. Let's just sit down and talk about this. Let's go to your room, or maybe mine-" He begins, but you couldn't be bothered with him anymore.

"You know what, Bucky? No. If you want to talk, we can do it out here, for anyone to see. What are you afraid of? Me? Scared that someone will see you with me? God forbid, someone sees that you like me, right? God fucking forbid someone actually is proud-" your voice cracks in an ugly way, and even though you don't want to seem weak in front of him, you continue, "proud to be with me. I gave myself time. Time to understand why on Earth you seemed so... so disgusted to be with me. So ashamed.

And I got over. I am not going to let you make me feel like I'm anything less of a great person, and anyone would be lucky to have me. So screw you, and your secret relationships. I'm done."

By the end of your speech, tears had definitely made it down your cheeks, and your coffee was long forgotten as you turned to move out of the kitchen.

Bucky's eyes had widened at your words, realizing the weight of his mistake. He had made you feel so small, so repulsive and you thought all those things about yourself were true.

But they couldn't have been further from it.

Bucky loved you. He had only had you for two months, but in that short time, he was so hellbent on keeping you a secret. On showing the others that he wasn't weak, that he was still a big, tough guy. That he didn't need a girl to comfort him, or to help him through the nightmares.

But you were the best thing he ever had, and now you were slipping away.

But if Bucky is anything, he's a determined man. And he's determined on getting you back.

-

a/n: aw shit, what's gonna happen?? don't worry, i would never leave y'all hanging like this. part 2 will be coming shortly :) in the meantime, enjoy whatever this is. love, ali <3

read part two here!

[slasherholic]

Contains: gender neutral reader, torture, forced scarification, bondage, spanking, fear play, body horror, threats of violence, mentions of drugging.

Asa Emory x Favorite!Victim Reader | One More Chance | Chapter 2

part one here

He stops in front of the elevator. Green-grey mold climbs the peeling beige wallpaper on either side of it like creeping fingers. The tarnished doors sit locked away behind a rusting barred gate. You had tried to use this exact same elevator when you almost got away from—

When you disobeyed him, interjects the part of your brain that just spared you your limbs. You had tried to use this elevator when you disobeyed him.

But he had locked it up tight from the top floors, too.

Upon realizing that, you nearly went slinking back to your room. You remember thinking that if you went back, if you crawled back inside your trunk and shut the lid, if you curled up very tight and very small, if you were good for him, when he found you, he might forgive you. There would still be a punishment for jimmying the lock; but if you showed him that you were sorry, ready to obey, ready to let him keep you without a fuss, the punishment might be bearable.

Then you had discovered a vent with a screw loose. Loose enough for you to peel back the grate.

The moment your slow descent to the lobby through the vents began, you knew forgiveness was out of the question. If he caught you before you made it out of this hotel, you would be tortured for it.

There is not a single doubt in your groggy, muddled, drugged-up mind that you are still about to be tortured for it.

He lowers your body to the grimy floor and unhooks his keychain from his belt. The keys jangle as he flips the ring once around his finger and catches it again. 

A shrill cry leaves your throat when his boot comes down on your temple.

He presses the rubber firmly into your cheek, smushing your face against the cold floor, covering your eyes. He’s not going to let you see this part. 

You hear him flipping back and forth between the keys, in no particular hurry to find the correct one.

One,

two,

three locks click open.

The pressure on your temple lifts mercifully away. You watch his boots as he slides the grated rusty door barring the elevator open. When he picks you up again, he slings you over his shoulder, his hand coming down to hold your naked thigh.

There are fifteen amber buttons on the chrome panel inside the elevator. You know your room is on the eighth floor.

Dread knots your stomach when you see the counter above the doors pass floor number eight.

He’s not taking you back to your room. 

The elevator stops on floor fourteen. He steps out, and into a part of the hotel you have never seen before. He starts down the decayed hall.

You pass one of his dolls. You don’t shut your eyes in time before you see her.

The first thing you see is the woman’s guts.

Shimmering in a slippery wet blue-purple pile on her abdomen like a tangle of worms, leaking blood down her ribs from stress-worn ruptures in the meat. The stench of her insides hits you like a kick to the face. You realize you must be smelling the chemicals of her stress and fear, cortisol, adrenaline, the pungent amalgamation of everything her panicking brain released when he did this to her.

It must have been recent; nobody could survive this for long.

She whimpers weakly at the sound of his approach. Where her eyes are meant to be, there are only bloody, glistening hollows. 

Reaching out, he grazes her IV line with his fingers, letting his hand brush her face tenderly as he walks past.

The woman’s whimpers rise into a steep pained cry that twists her features and dribbles quickly back to whimpering when she seems to realize that he has continued on walking, and isn’t going to linger to touch her more.

He takes you to the end of the hall. You hear the jingling of his key ring, the squeal of a turning handle.

The room inside is utterly unlike the rest of the hotel. Clean, tidy, well-furnished, well-lit. The cream colored wallpaper is spotless and adorned with charts boasting detailed portraits of various species of beetle and moth. All the furniture looks new.

He carries you to a long leather ottoman and starts to push it with his leg away from its resting place next to a bookshelf. In the middle of the room, he deposits you belly-down across it. Your arms fall limply to both sides. He steps out of view.

A radio crackles and sputters to life. Some melody plays faintly over it.

This is some sort of study.

You stare blankly at a locked glass case on the opposite end of the room as he moves somewhere behind you where you can’t see him. Sat upon the shelves are rows upon rows of insects preserved in jars of orange fluid.

Except some of them are very clearly not insects.

You shut your eyes, not caring to see what’s in those jars. Behind you, he opens a cabinet door, and starts to push a trolley cart with a squeaky wheel. You open your eyes when he gets too close.

There are two trays atop the cart. One white, one silver. You watch him lift a thin tool out of the silver tray, turning it over in the light, and your heart falls into your stomach.

It’s a scalpel. He’s holding a scalpel.

You launch right back into your desperate pleading frenzy.

Wait, wait, no no no, I’ll be good, I’ll be good—

The words come out as pitiful, slurred garbling. The drug has paralyzed your tongue.

His gloved hand shoots out. He seizes the underside of your jaw, cruelly. The pleading catches in your throat.

“No more of that.”

The order is stern, yet his voice remains unnervingly steady. It is the first you’ve ever heard him raise it above a whisper.

Fresh tears prick the corners of your eyes. You obey him without thought and fall silent.

From a desk in the corner, he pulls up a three-legged stool, and sits down next to you, knees level with your face. The simple proximity to him has your heart beating out of your chest. He wipes your back down with something cold and then his fingers alight to trace your shoulders gingerly. He rap-tap-taps the scalpel he’s about to use on you against the leg of the stool. 

Steadying you with a hand pressed flat on your back, he starts to work.

The bite of the scalpel is unforgiving. Your tears come fast. Before long you’re shrieking, sobbing, struggling to breathe. He doesn’t tell you to stop, doesn’t tell you to be quiet. His incisions are swift and skillful. You can feel the little flicks of his wrist as the blade sinks in and out of your back.

You see him wiping thin bloody slivers into the white tray on the rolling table, pieces of you. The sensation of the warm blood streaming down your back and shoulders turns you clammy and cold. He wipes the runny red up with a cloth from the trolley before it gets on his ottoman.

When it is over, your mind is soup.

You gape like a fish as you suck in shuddery breaths and stare blankly at his gloved hands as he sets the dripping scalpel down in its tray again, passing it through the light once more, watching it shimmer with your blood.

Your body flinches reflexively as he stands suddenly from the stool. Straddling you over the ottoman, he rearranges your legs to make room for him. His shins graze the back of your thighs as he sits. Pressing his palm flat against the small of your back, he traces your skin gingerly, examining his work. You whimper and cry. He pats your cheek.

Getting up, he goes to his desk. When he comes back you hear the click of a camera, the whirr of a picture printing. With two fingers, he slides a polaroid photo onto the ottoman, and tells you to look.

You tremble and cry. You don’t want to.

“Do I need to repeat myself?”

You obey him and look.

You start choking on your own sobs.

Butterfly wings. He’s given you butterfly wings. Wings with intricate, skillful patterns. Their graceful swooping tails reach all the way to your lower back. Bright red pools in the raw pink divots where he removed layers upon layers of your skin.

His hand closes firmly around your wrist. He cleans your fingers with a wipe. Rotating your hand behind you, he makes you feel the slippery cuts.

You whine at the sting, trembling in his strong grip. The wounds are just as deep as they look.

“It’s going to scar,” he states, matter-of-factly.

He leaves the polaroid sitting on the table next to your face as he begins to dress the wound. The cleaning hurts almost as much as the cutting, and though he’s being gentle now you think it would be more bearable if he was being cruel. His light brushes leave you trembling like a leaf.

On goes the adhesive bandaging. You watch him through shimmery tears as he gets up, goes to stand at the glass case, undoes the lock, and squats to reach the bottom shelf. He removes an empty jar and a bottle of preserving fluid.

Going back to the trolley, setting the jar down, he screws off the lid. The preserving fluid sloshes as he pours it inside. Reaching into the white tray, he carefully sets the thin pieces of what he sliced off of you into the preserving jar, one by one. You watch them flutter down and settle at the bottom. He screws the lid back on and writes something in cursive in black marker on the label. Going back to the case, he carefully moves aside a beetle specimen, and places his new collection piece on the top shelf.

He checks his watch. Peeling off his gloves, which are wet with your blood, he deposits them in a small trash can in the corner and removes a new pair from his back pocket.

He doesn’t put them on. When he walks past the ottoman he trails the gloves lightly across the nape of your neck. Your body winces and shudders. You don’t hear him shut the door as he leaves the room.

His confidence in his drug is accurate; by the time he comes back, the only movement you’re able to accomplish is a useless twitching of your fingers and toes.

You aren’t facing the right way so you can’t see the chains he’s holding in his hand but you can hear them and the sound makes a pang of dread explode inside of you. They clank and rattle as he drops them beside the ottoman. He greets you with another soft caress of your nape. His gloves are wet again, with someone else’s blood.

He peels off the dirtied second pair and doesn't bother putting on another.

He crosses your arms behind your bandaged back as you sob into the leather. Snap. The pair of thick shackles close around your wrists. The cuffs are tight and uncompromising. He measures the circumference of your neck with a measuring tape, wrapping it taut around your throat, holding it to the base of your skull with two fingers.

You make fragile broken whines as he fits a stiff steel collar around your neck. You hear the click of a padlock. His warm knuckles come down to stroke your cheek. 

His hands go under your body and he lifts you, sinking down on the ottoman in your place, splaying you across his lap. He grips the chain shackling your wrists behind your back, securing your arms tightly. In his shadow, you see him pull back his hand.

Whack.

A shattered sound rips out of you at the impact. You think for an instant that he has taken his knife out of his pocket and stabbed your backside.

With the next smack, you realize that it's his palm, and that he’s spanking you.

One more and you know he’s about to ruin your ass.

Ten seconds on and your sharp yelps are rising into screams. Thirty seconds and your cries are animal. Your cheeks are burning, blood rushing to the spanked area. His palm comes down again and again. 

You feel him switch hands. His fingers curl around the front of your throat, gripping you above your collar, hot from the friction of his slaps and your own swelling skin. He rests his palm on your bruised bottom, groping the stinging flesh.

“Count,” he orders. “Out loud.”

Whack.

You obey his order through tears, blurting out the numbers between strangled sobs.

Whack. Wham. Whack.

The slaps are brutal. He’s putting all his strength behind it. Your lips are trembling as you count your punishment. You realize you can feel his clothed erection pressing against your side and that makes you sob harder. 

At five, he stops. His hands leave your body, and you hear him fidgeting with his mask. The unlaced black fabric concaves in on itself as it falls to the floor, resting next to his boot.

You can’t look him in the face. You wouldn’t even if you could. You don’t want to see him. 

Gripping your jaw, lifting your chin, he presses his nose and mouth to your ear.

“Shh… Shh shh shh...” He shushes your whimpering quiet.

Brushing your cheek with his knuckles, he informs you that five is the number of days he’s going to feed you with nothing but the tube he’s about to shove down your throat.

[prettynxsty]

Stirring the Hooch 🍷

Domme!Reader x Sub!Jin

Warnings: Morning sex, jin has a pussy, consumption of booze and drunkenness, graphic mentions of vomiting, appearance of ot7, dirty talk, jin is a little bossy, y/n has a big ass dick, use of noona/hyung in a non sexual way, a little bit of cum play, creampie, partially clothed sex.

A/N: Vacation sex with just a liiiiittle bit of plot lmfao. There’s no facefucking because i was worried that it was getting too long. Anyway, enjoy.

You all but crashed out of bed this morning, landing on your hands and knees with a muted thump. You would’ve patted yourself on the back for even managing to strip and change your clothes for bed last night, but you felt like you were still drunk.

You should have regretted everything that happened, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do so. You plant your palms on the floor, rocking yourself forward and will yourself to start crawling. You knock your yoga mat away from your bags, watching the little purple tube bounce until it goes still.

You slap your hand over it, messily swatting it open. You crawl over it with a sigh and position yourself over the mat. It should have been a bad memory.

_

The table was 3 rounds of shots in before the waitress kindly reminded you that bottomless mimosas were only 5 dollars. Eyebrows rose around in a wave, sharing a devilish look of agreement. It was vacation, wasn’t it?

Something crazy began to leak out of your ears when you decided to cash in.

Namjoon was the first to throw himself to his feet, climb on the booth and begin dancing. Jimin whoops to the beat in encouragement, clumsily scrambling up on his chair to join his hyung.

Yoongi gets this strange look in his eye, dumping himself over Hoseok’s shoulder. They howled in laughter until Yoongi was crying. Actually crying.

What pleasantly surprised you the most is when Yoongi kneeled on the booth, facing away from the other side of the table, and began to shake his ass in a way that you wouldn’t have expected from him.

Jungkook’s faith was tested today, usually as the one who finishes everyone else's food, he decided to polish off the rest of everyone’s glasses.

Your sight of the world is stilted, moving in colored frames. You hear the noise of a bit of crashing and chair shifting, turning to see Jin. His sandals slap noisily against the floor as he barrels onto the dance floor, into the middle of the crowd.

Taehyung is bouncing up and down in his seat, shouting adlibs to the sound, pumping his hand in the air. You allow your head to fall forward, shoulders bouncing with a slow bout of laughter that makes your whole body bounce.

_

You slide your hands backward until they reach your knees, flipping your palms. You take a slow breath in, resting your forehead against the floor. You feel a dancing in your spine, your body so desperately wants to sway to sound that is not heard. The spirits must dance amongst themselves, you must return to yourself, to the terran world.

_

The same translucent lasso wraps around your arms and squeezes them to your sides. A burning call. You’re apt to rise when you’re full of this feeling, the pull is something indescribable. It crawls from the soles of your feet, causing them to tap. It races through you, your shoulders are swaying like a pendulum.

Deny yourself, you will not. You flew, tripping over the flat of the ground and blitz into the crowd to dance.

_

You breathe out slowly, flipping your palms and walking them forward. Your torso follows until your hips carefully nestle on the mat. Like sizzling wisps of smoke, the tightness knotted in you began to dissipate. You stretch your shoulders backward, gentle snaps and pops bursting in the air due to the tension knotted into your limbs like loops pulled too tight.

_

You’re screaming to every second beat, the world below is more than a reach away. Your legs are swinging through the gap between Namjoon and Jungkook’s shoulders. It feels as if the whole building is bouncing with you, your sanity went back to the home to rest.

_

You tilt your hips forward, leaning your weight onto the balls of your feet before rising into downward dog. Your lower back clicks, a rattling groan of relief shivers its way out of your mouth. You were finally beginning to feel your clothes against your body.

Your cock hangs limply out of one of the leg holes of your tiny shorts, scrunched up to your inner thighs. Your breasts sway gently, peering their way through the large holes of your oversized tank top. There was no reason that you wore that thing to bed, you usually woke up with a breast hanging out somehow.

_

It was a wonder you weren’t kicked out. You had no idea who paid for dinner, the amount would feel exorbitant. Nonetheless, a vacation should be indulgent.

Despite everyone being so ridiculously inebriated, you managed to concur that taking a taxi would be more trouble than it was worth since nobody was sober enough.

The villa was only a few blocks away anyway.

You hardly made it two block away from the place before everything seemed to fall into itself. Jimin dumped himself on the curb to take off his shoes even though he was only wearing sandals. Jungkook tripped his way over to the trash can on the corner as quickly as he could for someone who was plastered.

He grips handfuls of his shirt to hold it out of the way, even when drunk he was still meticulous. He retches weakly.

Risotto wasn’t nearly was beautiful or decadent when it came back out. Twenty-plus dollars directly into the bin on the city street. He gags so forcefully that he misses for a split second, a bit of cream colored mush dripping over the side before wetly splashing over the rest of the discarded garbage inside.

“Oh gawd- let’s go get him something.” Hoseok misses at patting your shoulder, but grabs your hand to drag you across the empty street to the convenience store on the other side.

You tried to straighten up when the cooler air washes over you, but your eyes were still very bleary. You stop by the baked goods and grab him a delicious yeasty smelling twisted donut and a ginger ale.

Hoseok stumbles up to the counter beside you, plopping a few bags of chips on it. “The salt will settle his tummy,” he explains quickly.

You give him a goofy smile, shaking your head and hand the cashier a little over exact change in cash. You gently push their hand away when they offer back the remaining coins, scooping up your items and head on your way.

You return across the street to Jimin struggling to stay awake from where he sat on the curb, Yoongi and Taehyung quietly hugging, Jin staring into the void of stars, and Namjoon showering kisses over Jungkook’s forehead.

“My poor Googoo,” he wails dramatically. Jungkook puckers his lips, prompting a raspy shriek from the older as he stumbles away. Jungkook chuckles, spreading his arms wide in request of an embrace.

You cringe, holding out the donut and drink with an awkward smile. It wasn’t as if he reeked of vomit, you just preferred for him to settle his stomach first.

“Googieeee~!” Hoseok shrieks, nearly tripping over the curb before hugging the younger man.

“Thank you Noona.” Jungkook pouts from over Hoseok’s shoulder, clumsily taking the items from your hand.

_

You turn your torso to the side, shifting your left foot forward into a lunge. You raise your arm with a slow breath inward, shifting your weight accordingly.

Jin was beautiful even when he snored all night, he was propped against the pillows like Snow White in her glass case. He’d opened his eyes quite a bit ago, silently watching you stretch yourself out.

“You look really tempting when you do that, babe.” He rasps.

Your impenetrable focus is shattered, causing you to cover your face with an incredulous laugh. “Before breakfast?”

“Hell yeah before breakfast, I don’t just wanna look, I wanna touch. Come here.”

“You’re still drunk too, huh?”

“There are a lot of times that I’m insatiable, but I want it right now.”

His assertiveness always sends a funny little churn through your belly.

You slowly shift the weight of your body onto your feet and stand. Not as heavy or dizzy as before, but a different tingling began to set inside of you. Your glance down, reaching to unfurl your shorts.

“Uh-uh, leave them like that.” He gives you a smile that’s absolutely devilish, shoving the sheets away from his lap. “Come to mama.”

It dawns on you as you approach the bed that he must’ve snatched up your shirt to sleep. It rode up his belly just a little, leading way to his light blue slip.

You plant your hands on the mattress, crawling in between his thighs. He leans forward, placing his hands on your hips and gently rubbing your sides. You cup his face, gently combing through his messy black tufts with your fingers.

His eyes scrunch up with a giddy chuckle, his neck was still flushed. Not quite as much as dark juice that leaks from berries gnashed between teeth. But rather the breath of age that colored ripened flesh of fruit from taught and pale shells surrounding infant seeds.

You imagined him as your first cabernet.

You were home alone. There was never any alcohol in the cabinets, not within your reach. However there was one bottle that sat on the highest shelf that’d begun to haunt your mind.

You thought about him day and night, wondering if you should be so daring as to wrap your fingers around the cork and pluck it out.

The bottle was dark, not so much as black, but an impenetrable brown of iodine or creamless coffee.

You stood in the pantry, door closed behind you as if there would be a soul to see. You rise with the aid of a little black stool, carefully grabbing the ruby red scarf wrapped around the bottle’s neck.

The pop of the remaining forth of the cork causes your breathing to break away. Dare it be said this noise was foreign, not yet attributed to merriment and celebration for you.

You raise the bottle to your lips and pour it in. The mouth feel is heavier than water, nothing unsettling.

Your tongue begins to glitter in a way you cannot determine if it’s unpleasant or lovely. Effervescence. Armoracia assaults your tongue, strangling with a fruitiness.

Your brows furrow, trampled all is with acridity. Your throat seems to close, denying entry to such drink, warming the back of your nostrils. With a thick noise, you manage to swallow it. A strange trail of fire roasts a trail over the back of your esophagus before heating the pool of your stomach.

Your adolescent tongue was unable to accord with this experience. Turned away, you squeeze the cork back in the bottle and return it to where it rest before and exit the pantry.

He, before you, a taste of wine that prompted you to have another sip. You couldn’t help but polish him off over and over again. His well never ran dry.

You kiss him with a soft hum. You imagine the taste of mature grapes. His lips push against yours hungrily, flexing and relaxing like the yielding of fruit under your teeth.

From the spring, you made him feel refreshed and clear. God himself ran your droplets from the glacier and straight into his cup.

He drank from many places, many streams. You were of the first, the only to cleanse and wash his palate.

Your depth, your minerals, mellowed his harshness, his sting. No longer rousing spirits, he bestows joy amongst all.

Your hand slips from his hair, landing gently on his shoulder. Your fingertips roll into the thick of his shoulder, squeezing it as he slips his tongue through your lips.

He reaches up the leg of your shorts, wrapping his hand around your warm shaft. He’s priming you to fuck him, to use him like some breeding buck.

He jerks his hand slowly but firmly. You groan into his mouth, nearly squirming at the sensation of your foreskin rolling and stretching over the tip of your cock.

Your hand drops from his shoulder, fingers dipping their way under his panties. His croon tingles the seam of your mouth as you slip your fingers in between his outer lips and spread them apart.

It was as if he shocked you, you pull from his lips with a wet smack to catch your breath. He always made you feel so crazy. Jin smiles, slowly thumbing at your tip.

The tip of your tongue heavily slips from your gums to sweep away the deeper notes on your bottom lip.

He hesitates not to drink of your spring, leaning in and draws your tongue between his mouth with a greedy swallow. Flushing and blooming, your belly burns just as your first taste did.

His lengthy fingers slip under your night shirt, curling around the heft of your breast. He releases your mouth with a full sigh of satisfaction.

You lift your fingers to your mouth, sweeping away his pussy juice with your tongue. You hum from the pit of your gut, you could taste the fruit of the land already. The musky aroma of papaya and melon, added tang of pineapple, the earthy, milkiness of coconut.

“I wanna do it raw,” he breathes as his knuckles gently close around and twist your nipple. You glance up at him, slipping your slick fingers out of your mouth and dig them back under the hem of his undergarments.

You never did it with condoms anyway, but he never failed to grasp his chance to set your blood asunder. You drag the tips of your fingers over his inner lips, stretching and spreading them. You drag your middle finger along the seam of his petals, swirling it around his hole and gently digging it against his clit.

He hisses, rolling his hips in hopes you’d give him more.

“Did you hear me?”

He releases his grip on your breast, cupping your chin and guiding you to meet his eyes.

“I want you to fuck me raw, that means I want you to cum inside of me.” His following moan is a beautiful titter as he drags the thick of his tongue over your lips, kissing you noisily. He releases the grip of your cock, wiggling forward to lay back against the bed.

He was only ever so demanding when he was itching for you to make a mess of him. As he moves to make simple work of his panties, you take note to do the same and rid yourself of your own bottoms.

You wiggle off of the bed, wiggling your shorts down to your ankles.

“You’re so bossy today. You’re gonna need to slobber on it first, Jinnie.”

His heart seizes, bursting into a shower of pretty pink butterflies. His cunt flutters immediately at the sonority that coats your voice in viscous amber.

He quickly walks his hands forward, shifting toward the end of the bed and rolling onto his tummy. He needlessly pretties himself for you, combing his hair away from his forehead. His eyes are positively twinkling as he rests his chin on the mattress.

“It’d be quite the inconvenience if one of the others were to come in and see me cramming my dick into your mouth,” you click your tongue. You place your hand on his head, lovingly stroking his cheek with your thumb. “Maybe I should use this mouth more often, it’s much quieter.”

He furrows his brows, inhaling quickly to fix you with a response.

Your resolve crumbles with your face scrunching up in amusement. “Okay! Okay! Don’t say anything, open your mouth.”

He makes a face, cutting his eyes at you as you grab ahold of your shaft and position it at his mouth.

_

“Fuck, fuck.. Turn around, let me see your pussy.” You step backward to free yourself from his mouth, trying to catch your breath.

He licks his swollen, slobbery lips with a smile and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. Jin turns slowly, propping himself up on his knees. You took an unsteady breath inward to ask about his well being, but when he presented himself, you understood immediately.

His cunt was fully in bloom between his thighs, fatter, puffier. Healthily flushed and glistening, you clap your hand over his ass.

He whines, couldn’t you see the syrupy drips and trails clinging to his inner thighs?

You push his ass up with your palm, admiring how his pussy stretched and trembled. You decidedly slip your thumb just barely in between his lips and swirl your finger through his arousal.

You grip the base of your cock with your other hand and press it up against his hole. The upper half of his body relaxes instantly, slumping against the bed with a croon that sends chills spidering over your heated flesh.

You rock forward gently, pushing your way inside of him. Jin takes to you without hesitation, pulsing and squeezing around you.

“This fucking-” you clap your hand over his ass with more force “-cunt is always so good to me,” you growl.

He mewls when you bottom out, rolling your hips forward to push deeper into him.

You rear back, easily building your pace inside of him. You move your grip to taking tight handfuls of the shirt that rolled up his back, yanking him back against you with each thrust inward.

Each moan of his began long and drawn out like the soft calls of the loon under nightfall. You prop your foot up on the bed frame, planting yourself more firmly to set a stronger pace.

The noise of your skin clapping together began to bounce off of the walls, rocking to bed to which he gripped so dearly.

You allow yourself to fall astray of control, pounding into him with deep, sharp strikes. His moans quickly evolve into frantic wails, his voice catches in his throat each time you drag him away from squirming into the escape.

You cease only for a moment to allow him to catch his breath, to which his forehead drops against the sheets with a muted rustle.

A second was efficient enough, you shift your foot and plant it more firmly before you continue your assault on his poor pussy.

He whines something at you, muffled.

“What was that?” You purr, continuing to jerk your hips shamelessly. Your moans rise and flow from your lips like a steady spring.

He manages to lift his head, thrashing it with a keen when you plunge in just a bit harder than before. It was so hard to speak when you kept knocking the breath out of his lungs. “You’re too deep inside,” he whines, unable to control the moans squeezing through his noisy panting.

“It’s too deep?” You coo, feeling your lips curl in a slight smile when you watch his messy head of black hair bob up and down.

“Roll over so I can play with your pussy,” you slow your relentless thrusts and gently move back until your cock flops wetly out of his hole.

He slumps almost completely when you pull out of him, weakly propping his palms up and laying down. Use of his legs was reasonably impossible as of now, which you quickly noted. “Move back a little,” he scoots himself backward almost pitifully.

If you weren’t almost painfully hard, you’d be more willing to let him take a break. You climb onto the bed and straddle his right thigh, propping the left over your shoulder.

You nudge yourself in between his lips, guiding your shaft until it catches against his sloppy hole. He whimpers, dropping his head back when you push your way in. His pussy accommodates you with an indecent squish.

You wrap your arm around the leg thrown over your shoulder, rocking into him. You peer down at him, his eyes were still glassy from your abuse of his throat. Your breath hitches in your throat as you jerk your hips forward, the clap of your balls against the back of his ass echoes louder.

“I wish you knew what you do to me,” you sigh hotly through teeth clenched. Your molars grind together as you return to pistoning inside of him, mashing your pelvis into his.

He was foolish enough to tilt his hips forward, the entire bed rocks pitifully as a testament to its modern craftsmanship.

Jin was flushed down to his chest, puckered lips flapping with each noisy gasp. He felt so light, he couldn’t tell if he were near fainting.

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god,” he yelps. He is barely able to lift his hands and shove his shirt around to play with his nipples.

You gently stretch his mound toward him, stroking your thumb around the spongy flesh near his clit. His shriek catches on the back of his tongue, you feel yourself begin to burn and melt.

Ruby red drips of wax cooling against a marble counter.

You nearly pull out of him on instinct, gripping the base of your dick with an ugly whimper. Your body seizes, rigid as you begin to cum.

You can hardly hear his breath in your ears over the sound of your heartbeat, your own moans are high and shaking.

You pull away from him with a rattling breath, unleashing a few final weak spurts against his folds.

You struggle to regulate your own rhythm, clumsily slipping your fingers in his sloppy cunt to spread your cum around. He whines, swatting at your hand.

“Heh,” your chest bounces weakly, “we were probably so loud.”

“I’m too tired to nag you, but I could’ve died.”

“Oh hush, we need to get ready soon.”

He gives you a crazy look before dropping his head back down and motioning you toward the door. “It’s not like you broke my legs or anything.”

_

“When do we get our turn?” Jimin calls from the dining room with a telling smile.

You stop cold in the entryway of the hall, turning to see the table full of your friends. They erupt in whooping laughter that causes you to continue hurrying on your way to run the bath. None of them should have even been alive at that hour, not with how they were last night.

“Nah, come back! I didn’t know Seokjin-Hyung could hit those kinds of notes!” Namjoon calls after you, cackling.

[lune-hime]

Exposed (Sidon x f!Reader)

The ornate silver neck piece made contact with the tiled floor with a satisfying clank. With each clasp undone, Sidon felt his body buzzing at the newfound lightness. The metallic chime of his final piece of garment, his left bracelet, was a beautiful sound that echoed off the vast pillared walls of his chambers. Although it already had been a day since his arrival, his muscles still ached with a dull tightness brought onto him from the journey to Hyrule Castle. A subtle form of tiredness akin to jetlag was quickly draining his energy and he could not wait to submerge himself in the ample pool that laid before him.

Sidon padded to the edge of the water, streaks of ivory moonlight passing over his crimson scales. He kneeled down, wincing as he heard a few of his bones crack, and dipped an experimental hand into the basin. The warmth of the liquid sent a shiver up Sidon’s body and he immediately slid into the water in one fluid movement. The castle maids had prepared his pool with warm water, per your request, to the exact temperature you knew he liked it. Although this was just one of the many guest rooms in the immense castle, he felt your homey presence in every corner of the chamber. It made his heart flutter in adoration.

Sinking lower, he let the water engulf his shoulders. The tension diffused out and a supple moan escaped his parted lips. Lightly treading water, his thoughts circulated through his mind much like the gentle current of the pool. The officials and champions he had rekindled with today, what was he going to eat tomorrow morning, how radiant you had looked in your formal w-

“Prince Sidon, I forgot to ask you on more question before you retired to the room!” Zelda’s melodic voice carried from the hallway. Her small but sturdy frame emerged from behind the towering door, the hem of her gown swaying about her ankles as she danced her way into the entryway. Soon after she appeared, your head peeked its way around the frame.

Perhaps it was the abruptness of the entry, the intimate solitude of the chambers, his discarded garments, or all factors combined, but Sidon suddenly felt hot. Uncomfortably hot; and not from the water.

“A-ah, yes Princess, what did you want to, ah, ask me?” He coughed, awkwardly sinking lower into the pool. He cursed the palace for having such crystal clear water.

Your brow knit into a firm line at his flustered state. Never before had you seen him act like this seemingly for no reason. When his eyes began flicking anxiously from the pile of metal to you, a wave of understanding flooded your consciousness. Sidon felt exposed. And he was embarrassed about it.

It was natural for Hylian habits to rub off on him since the two of you had started courting. When you were in the Domain, the only time you spent away from the Prince was when you were working on Vah Ruta or the one to two hours of his council meetings. With all that contact how could a few things not start to be ingrained in Sidon’s daily routine? It was clear now by the steady reddening of his cheeks that one of those habits pertained to wearing garments. Or more specifically, when one is caught not wearing them.

“Oh, is this a bad time?” She blinked, unclear of what had him acting so strangely. Sidon looked like he was about to expire in the cloud of uncomfortableness that was circling above the pool. As adorable as he looked, shuffling bashfully and avidly studying the carvings on the nearest pillar, you needed to save him. Biting back your laughter you tapped Zelda lightly on the shoulder. Her head whipped around, confusion still inscribed on her face.

“Zelda, it appears that Sidon was not expecting company this late at night.” You stated, giving her a knowing look you prayed she would pick up on. You cocked your head subtly towards the armor and Zelda gasped softly, the tips of her pointed ears running rosy. She then looked to the Prince with panic written all over her features and he returned the expression tenfold. The two of them turned from mimicking rose petals to beats instead, only making the aroma of the room more thick with tension.

“Oh my goodness! My deepest apologies, Sidon. I didn’t realize you were having, ahem, some alone time.” She cleared her throat and dropped her gaze to the floor so fast you wondered if she got whiplash.

“Well, Y/N can just tell me your answer tomorrow morning. Until then.” She stuttered, abruptly turning on her heels and disappearing behind the door. Once the brisk click signaled her departure, every muscle, tendon, and scale in Sidon’s body went lax. He sighed, tipping his head back against the edge of the pool with a gentle clunk. You took a moment to drown in his appearance. He was like a slightly wilted lotus flower with coral petals basking in the rippling droplets of indigo moonlight.

It now physically hurt to restrain your hysterics and you suddenly burst into a fit of giggles, drowning the luminated room in a symphony of laughs not unlike a songbird’s. Sidon poked one eye open and shook his head in mortified distress, still lazily leaning against the tiled rim.  

“Stop laughing, Y/N. I bet she thinks I was doing something lewd or weird. In her castle of all places.” He grumbled, raising his hands out of the water to run them over his face.

Once you had reigned in your cacophony you padded over to the pool and sat down next to his deflated form, feet dangling into the water.

“Nah. It’s okay, Si. She’s my oldest and best friend. If she does I’ll tell her the truth.” You nudged him playfully. He lolled his head to the side in your direction.

“That might be even more embarrassing…” Sidon trailed off, his face contorted into a slight grimace. You returned it with a fond smile.

“Stop looking at me like that.” He huffed, a feigned pout forming on his features. The rosiness on his cheeks bloomed once more as he lightly splashed your feet where they embraced the water’s surface.

“You know, you used to never be embarrassed about being seen without your accessories.” You stated innocently, eyeing him to observe his reaction.“They don’t really leave anything to the imagination, anyway.”

“Hylian customs are rubbing off on me, I guess.” He replied in a small voice, snaking an arm around your calf to press himself into your side. He started idly playing with your toes, offering a squeak from you. You lightly kicked out, hoping to shake him off. Instead he only scooted closer yet he resigned from his tickling.

“What did the Princess want to ask me?” Sidon inquired. He seemed to be mostly recovered from the ordeal.

“She wanted to know what you wanted for breakfast tomorrow. You left before she could put in an order for the chef.”

“Damn, that’s an important question.” He muttered, setting his chin on your knee and looking up at you with anticipation, his eyes large and blinking.  

“I was planning on telling her smoked salmon.” You informed the prince, giving his caudal fin a loving stroke. Sidon’s eyes lit up, his saffron orbs turning a brilliant gold that put the calming hue of the starlight to shame. He could feel himself start to salivate at the mention of the Hylian delicacy.

“Don’t drool on my leg.” You teased, chuckling as he gulped audibly. You were unable to convey your thoughts on the dish as the deep chiming of the castle’s clocktower replaced whatever voice you would have spoken. The twelve bells signaled it had just turned midnight.

“It’s late, we should both get some rest. We need to wake up early for the festivities tomorrow.” You let out a bittersweet sigh, not wanting to break away from the closeness you shared but knowing you would be the walking dead in the morning if you stayed up any longer. As you rose to your feet, Sidon’s head limply fell into the water, his gaze never leaving your form. Just as you were about to deliver a sweet goodnight, he gingerly grabbed your ankle.

“Please stay, my pearl.” He suggested, a gentle plea that caused your heart to skip a beat.

“Can’t get enough of me, hm?” You sang.

“A very true statement, darling.” Sidon cooed, the warmth radiating from his gaze brushing the tips of your ears and leaving a blushed residue in its wake.

“Alright.” You responded through a yawn.

“We can go back to your chambers, if you’d like.” Sidon suggested, releasing his hold on your ankle and making a move to leave the basin. You shook your head and held a hand out to stop him. He halted his movements immediately and blinked up at you.

“You’re soaked. You’ll get my bed wet. I will go get some blankets and return.” You chuckled as you strode towards the doors. He hummed in agreement, a breathy laugh puffing from his chest. Grasping the knob, you turned to face Sidon once more.

“Better keep an eye on this door, my prince. Wouldn’t want someone to see you so exposed now would we?” You warned, tone velvety and blithe. The last thing you heard before you skittered out of the room was a loud groan and the sound of an unlit candle being halfheartedly thrown at the door.

[drakenology]

Don’t Ignore Horny Daichi - Daichi Sawamura

author’s note: hehehe... so I’m officially a Daichi fucker yall.. his fine ass. im on my ✨period✨ so im extra thirsty rn. enjoy!

summary: daichi’s horny but you’re preoccupied with something sooo..

warnings: smut, cunnilingus, pure love making, established relationship.

Today was a lazy Sunday. Daichi was out at practice and you were in his apartment chilling like a villain, lounging around in his hoodie and some shorts while playing his playstation.

You had no clue what you were doing, pressing all the wrong buttons and definitely ruining his stats, but who cares? You were bored and your boyfriend wasn’t home so what’s a girl to do?

You sigh and put the controller down and grab your phone to text him.

“Daichiiii 🥺” you text, throwing your phone somewhere while you continue the game. 20 minutes go by and he texts you back.

“I know, babe. We’re wrapping up now, I’ll be home in thirty.” He said, so readily aware that you were going to say something about missing him. You sigh and pout, grabbing the controller to continue to play the game.

Even though the game you were playing was really hard, it was kind of fun. It was some first person shooter Daichi and the boys would play, him shouting call outs over the voices of everyone else in the middle of the night and waking you up in the process. What was it called, call of duty or something? Either way, you were starting to get the hang of the game and you were dominating the lobby right now.

A bit of time passed and you heard the door of Daichi’s room open, your tall boyfriend throwing his gym bag next to his closet as he sighed.

“I’m home, babe.” He grinned, kissing you on the cheek. You smile at him and turn your attention back to the game and welcomed him home.

“Call of Duty? Since when did you game?” Daichi asked, looking at the T.V in confusion.

“I was bored but now I kinda like it. I see why you play this so mu- Oh come on!” You shout after being killed. Daichi giggled and kissed your forehead, saying something about getting in the shower before getting in bed with you. You nod, half hearing what he said as you continued the game.

Daichi got undressed and grabbed a towel, walking into the bathroom of his room and closing the door. You hardly notice him get naked in front of you as you completely demolish everyone in the lobby, laughing maniacally as you get last kill.

A few minutes go by and Daichi comes out of the bathroom, his hair wet and sticking to his forehead. His muscular body was glistening wet, practically dripping onto the floor as his towel hung lazily on his hips. You stare at him as you wait on a loading screen, causing him to let out a low chuckle.

“Enjoying the peep show?” He teased, taking his towel off to dry himself. You pick your jaw up and turn back to the game and start playing again, ignoring Daichi getting changed directly in your peripheral vision.

“Fuck sake!” You cuss, getting destroyed by an absolute douchebag of a player. Daichi sits on the bed next to you, laying his head on your thighs as he caressed them.

“Been thinking about you all day, baby.” He hums, taking in your scent as he played with the hem of your shorts. You bit your lip, unable to take your eyes off the screen as you lay back a little in bed.

Your attention was so focused on the game you didn’t even hear him say he was horny, something about him getting hard at practice and having to go to the bathroom and adjust his shorts to hide his raging hard-on.

“You suck at this, you know?” Daichi teased, hoping that would at least get you to look at him but no dice. You kept playing, unaware of your boyfriends blatant requests for sex.

Daichi sighed and sat up, staring down at you on the bed as you shift your eyes a little to look at him as he got up, unsure why he moved away from his position.

Daichi crawled on top of you and started kissing your neck, you letting out a small gasp as he expertly found your favorite spot and nibbled a little. You shuffle in bed, eyes still trying to look at the game and play as he kissed and sucked on your neck.

You’re slowly getting turned on as Daichi grabbed you and kissed you with such feral hunger, pausing the game as you throw the controller onto the floor and run your fingers through his hair.

“Oh don’t stop playing now, Y/N.” Daichi said, sarcasm coating his tongue, pulling his hoodie off of you. You say nothing, blinking at him dumbly after the sloppy neck kisses he gave you.

Daichi went down and grabbed your breast, taking the other in his mouth as he licked and sucked on your exposed nipple, drawing soft moans from your throat.

“Go on, baby. Finish your game. Don’t mind me.” He said smirking, continuing his work on your breasts. The pit of your stomach was fluttering, the spot between your legs gettign wetter with each lick on your nipples.

Your focus on the game became hazy, running around aimlessly as players kill you easily. Your breathy moans fill the room as Daichi trailed kisses down to the waistband of your shorts, pulling them and your panties off expertly as he gathered your slick on the tips of fingers.

You arch your back, struggling to even get a single kill as Daichi slurped on your pussy, growling into you as your legs quiver and close in on the sides of his head. He chuckled, shoving two fingers inside as he fingered you and devored you at the same time drawing long drawn out moans from your lips.

You’re AFK at this point, players getting a free kill off your stilled character as Daichi devoured your aching pussy.

“Daichiiiii-hah! I-I can’t take a-anymore.~” you whine, at this point not even playing the game. You want to touch him, ruffle your fingers into his hair or something but he insists that you keep playing.

Your eyes could hardly stay open, your whole body convulsing as Daichi makes his assault on your clit with his mouth, his fingers hooking to poke at that spot you love. He laughed as he listened to you whine and get killed in game, you’re so fucked out that you can hardly focus on what’s in front of you.

The pit of your stomach formed a knot raring to snap in seconds, your face pulling into a lewd look as you pant and moan loudly into Daichi’s room. Finally you’re pushed over the edge, a raspy moan leaving your mouth as Daichi licked you for all you had. Before pulling away, he licked up your thigh, looking you in the eye as he smirked at your cute exhausted face.

You squirm, watching limply as Daichi sat up to pull down his sweatpants and boxers.

“You ready, baby? I can’t wait to be inside you.” He huffed, revealing his hard dick as it slapped against his stomach. You nod, spreading your legs open wider for him like a good girl should.

Daichi grabs the controller off the floor; since you dropped it while you were screaming his name, and handed it to you, telling you to keep playing.

“Don’t drop the controller no matter what, understand baby?” He coos, inching himself inside you slowly as you gasp as the stretch of his entrance.

You’re still sensitive from being eaten out, wet and ready for him as he slips deeper inside you. And here you are, desperately attempting to play Call or Duty while your boyfriend rearranged your guts in an agonizingly slow pace. You let out little whimpers with each rut of Daichi’s hips, clenching onto the controller as you just stare at the screen. Your eyes roll back, panting as he started to pick up some speed.

“D-D-Daiichii, f-fuck!” You squeal, earning a low chuckle from Daichi as he pinned your legs down on the bed, your feet above your head now. He obviously didn’t care if you paid any attention to the game now as he fucked you so hard it was impossible to focus on anything else but Daichi’s dick kissing your cervix as he rubbed circles on your puffy clit.

“I’m cumming soon, baby. Wait for me, okay?” Daichi cooed, leaning in to give you a wet kiss. You struggle to kiss him back, huffing into his mouth as he fucked you brain-dead.

He’s urging you to cum now, mumbling something to you about how close you are, he can feel you clenching down on him; let go baby he hummed.

That’s the last thing you hear before you’re screaming, your back arching off the bed as Daichi fucked you through your orgasm. Daichi came hot inside you, painting your insides white as he groaned against your neck.

He climbed to the other side of the bed and laid beside you, breathing unevenly from the work he just put in. You’re a fucked out mess, laying limp in your boyfriend’s bed as you turn your head to look at the t.v.

You had been kicked out of the lobby for inactivity, getting a few hate messages from angry teammates but whatever. It was Daichi’s account anyways. You sigh, leaning into his chest as you listen to his heartbeat and cuddle with him.

Cuddling with Daichi after sex was the best part, other than the mind blowing orgasms he’d give you he was always sure to make you feel loved and adored afterwards.

Daichi chuckled weakly and landed a playful pat on your ass, as a “good game” praise.

“That’ll teach you to ignore me.” He said breathily, causing you to bury your face into his chest in embarrassment.

[fandom-imagines-stories]

Pay Attention

Dr. Spencer Reid x Reader

Words: 4472

Part 2 of 2

Part One

Summary: With a new body, the team is sure that the reader’s attacker is the unsub they’re looking for. He, however, is looking for them too. 

Notes: Like the last part, this one is a dark one guys. This part will deal with more violence and the attacks. Feel free to skip. I really loved writing both of these. Let me know what you think!

Warnings: Trauma, gore, assault, mentions of rape and sexual assault. 

Find Reid and more crime drama imagines: HERE

-

He checked every corner of your apartment, leaving no throw pillow unturned. After that call, he wasn’t taking any chances. It wasn’t until he was sure it was clear that he let you through the door. You had your arms wrapped around yourself, hugging your sweater closer to your body. 

“Spence, come on. I feel ridiculous enough with the security detail standing out here.” You glanced at the agent beside you. “No offense, Agent Bradford.” 

“None taken.” He nodded with a kind smile. You stepped into your apartment and Spence immediately started making you some tea. 

“I can do that.” 

“I know.” He looked at you and his hazel eyes were distraught. “I just… I need to help. Please, just let me help.” He turned back to the stove to put the kettle on. His shoulders slouched forward and his whole frame seemed to cave in on itself. You took off your sweater and laid in on the back of the living room chair. Everything felt so hot and stuffy and suffocating. 

You pressed your cheek against Spencer’s back, wrapping your arms around his middle. Your chest and arms still ached and the bandages rubbed against his sweater vest. Spencer paused, resting his hands on top of yours. You could hear how fast his nervous heart was beating and held him a little tighter. 

“I’m okay, Spence.” You whispered, but even you thought it sounded unconvincing. You were scared and you were angry and you were guilt-ridden for causing him this much pain, but you definitely were not ‘okay’. He could feel it too. 

Spencer turned around, still keeping your arms around him. He tucked your head under his chin and enveloped you in his embrace, holding you as close as he could without hurting you. You held each other like that until you pushed away slightly. 

“Spencer?” Tears pricked the corners of your eyes and Spencer put a hand on your cheek, his eyes searching yours in panic. 

“What is it?” 

“Can you…” You felt so stupid, but you needed to feel something else. “Can you kiss me?” His brows knitted together in confusion. You looked down at your feet. “All I can think about is him and his hands and his lips and I-” You choked back more tears. 

“Hey, it’s okay.” He put his other hand up so he was cradling your face. He hesitated at first, worried that it would trigger memories of the attack. But when you gave him a small nod, he closed the space between you. 

Spencer’s lips were soft. He seemed overly cautious at first, but it only took a moment for him to confirm that you weren’t uncomfortable. His fingers slowly slipped back to tangle themselves in your hair. It wasn’t rough or needy. It was more to remind you that he was there. He was with you. 

You weren’t sure which one of you fell asleep first, but your couch was hardly big enough for both of you. You were pressed against his chest and he had his arms locked around you to keep you from rolling off. You listened to his heartbeat and he listened to your breathing, both lulling each of you to sleep. 

Until his phone rang. 

It woke you up first and Spencer still seemed fast asleep so you answered it. 

“Hello?” You whispered, slowly trying to slide off of your boyfriend so he wouldn’t wake up.

“Y/N?” It was Morgan.

“Yeah, Spence is asleep. Is everything okay?” 

“Not exactly. We found another body.” He sighed. “Looks like our guy.”

“He killed someone else?” You cried, putting your hand over your mouth to quiet the sound. “That’s not possible. He said he would stop as long as I went to Hotch. He said he would stop-”

“Woah woah woah, sweetheart, just calm down, okay?” Morgan instructed, softening his tone. “I need you to keep calm and put Reid on the phone, can you do that for me?” 

“I’m not a child Morgan.” You snapped bitterly. You didn’t mean to take out your frustration on him, but your blood was boiling. Your anger kept you from being afraid. 

“I know that.” He wasn’t defensive or irritated. Instead he seemed sympathetic. “Y/N, this isn’t your fault. This guy was never going to stop.” Morgan watched crime scene investigators swarm around him, his eyes landing on the new body. He had a gut feeling that had been gnawing at him since he got here and he hoped that he was wrong. 

“Who is it?” Spencer rubbed the sleep from his eyes and sat up. 

“Here, he’s awake now.” You handed him the phone and had to sit down. It was like he was there, his weight crushing your chest and making it impossible to breathe. 

“Reid, we’ve got another body.” 

“That’s not much of a cool down.” Reid pinched the bridge of his nose. This could be turning into a spree which meant that he would strike again soon. He turned so that he wasn’t facing you and tried to lower his voice so you wouldn’t hear. “Did the other crime scenes seem to fit Y/N’s attack?” 

“That’s the thing, Reid.” Morgan stared at the pale blue fabric hanging limply from Maddison Gusman’s body. “When we talked to the family of the last victim, they said only one thing was missing from her body. Her red jacket.” 

“The one Y/N saw in the van.” Spence winced. While making connections would help catch the man that did this, it wouldn’t make it easier for you. 

“There’s something else. About this body.”

“Is she missing something too?”

“No. It’s what she’s wearing.” Morgan watched them zip the body bag and grimaced. “Her shirt isn’t the right size. It’s too big.” 

“What does that have to do with-” He stopped, feeling his stomach drop. “You don’t think that…”

“Hotch said they never recovered Y/N’s shirt. Other victims had items of clothing that were missing. From the missing person’s report, the shirt on the body is not the shirt that Maddison Gusman was wearing according to her boss’ description.” 

Spencer was silent, trying to control himself so he didn’t scare you. 

“You okay, kid?”

“A murdered woman was found wearing my girlfriend’s shirt less than 24 hours after she was attacked by a serial killer. No, Morgan, I’m not okay.” He hissed. He flinched, hearing a sob escape your mouth despite your efforts to cover it. So much for control. “Do you need me to come in?” 

“No, you stay there. Prentiss and I will come to you to go over the details.” Hotch didn’t want either one of you stepping one foot out of that apartment. “And Reid?”

“Yeah?”

“If either of you need anything, I’m a phone call away.” Morgan wished that he could just take all of this away, but he couldn't. The best thing he could do was catch the bastard. The agents hung up and Morgan returned to the crime scene. 

“He made her wear my shirt?” You tried to stand up from the chair, but your legs were shaking. Spencer gently sat you back down and crouched in front of you. 

“Y/N, I’m so sorry. You weren’t supposed to hear that.” He put his hands on your legs, his fingers rubbing soothing circles. He looked at the floor. “Morgan and Prentiss will be here soon. They want to go over some of the details with me. They might want to talk to you too.” His hazel eyes searched yours with the same sadness you saw in them at the hospital. 

“Okay,” You said softly, twirling one of his mousy brown curls around your finger. You stared at it, your mind unable to escape your own guilt. “I really thought that if I did what he said, he would stop.” Spencer caught your hand in his, tangling your fingers together. 

“This man wants to feel powerful. He’s been neglected all his life and this is how he’s getting attention. He needs it.” 

“So he was never going to stop.” You nodded grimly. You should have seen that. You taught this kind of behavioural analysis, for god’s sake. “I gave him what he wanted for nothing.” You should have known better. 

“No,” Spencer said sternly. He pressed his forehead against yours, holding the back of your head in his hand. “It probably kept you alive. And to me that’s everything.” 

You stayed there for a while, breathing each other in and holding completely still. Suddenly, a gunshot ripped through the silence, followed by another. Spencer was up in a second, pistol in hand and slowly walking toward the door. 

“Spence,” You squeaked, getting up from the chair. 

“Stay there.” He instructed, listening carefully for any other sounds coming from outside the door. 

He slowly opened the front door, but his path was obstructed by Agent Bradford’s body. There was what appeared to be a stab wound in his side and two gunshot wounds in his chest. His gun was gone. Reid looked down the hall, finding the fire escape window open. 

“Spencer.” He heard you call out. Darting back into the room, he kept his gun at his hip. 

“It looks like he got out through the fire escape. Bradford is dead. We need to get out of here.” 

“I couldn’t agree more, Dr. Reid.” That familiar raspy voice sent a chill of panic up his spine. He spun around and found himself aiming his gun at you. The unsub was holding you in front of him with one arm latched around your stomach with crushing force and the other holding a gun to your temple. 

“Let her go.” Reid ordered, adjusting his weapon. The unsub just laughed. 

“I wouldn’t do that, Dr. Reid. We both know you aren’t  a very good shot and lovely Dr. Y/L/N here wouldn’t stand a chance if you missed. So why don’t you be a nice agent and put it down.” 

Spencer was frozen. He looked at your terrified face and back at the unsub’s smiling one. 

“Spence,” You cried, wincing as the unsub tightened his hold. Spencer held up his hands in surrender. 

“Okay, okay, just don’t hurt her.” He moved slowly, setting his gun on the floor and sliding it over. The unsub kicked it far out of reach.

“Alright, I just need everybody to calm down.” He leaned his face into your neck, inhaling the smell of your hair. He watched Spencer’s fists clench and grinned. “And do exactly as I say.”

-

Prentiss had been oddly quiet since the hospital. The elevator in your apartment building was getting repaired, so they had to climb the four flights in uncomfortable silence. Morgan gave her an inquiring look. 

“You feeling okay, Prentiss?” He asked. She seemed too lost in thought to hear him. “Prentiss?” 

“Hmm?” She saw his concerned look and sighed. “Yeah, I’m fine. I’ve just been thinking about Y/N. What this guy did to her…”

“It’s rough stuff,” Morgan nodded solemnly. He remembered the sound of your voice over the phone. How scared and angry you were. “That’s why we’ve got to catch this guy before he gets to anybody else. And if anyone can figure out how to do that, it’s those two.” Prentiss smiled slightly.

“They are kind of a brainy power-couple, aren’t they?” They both laughed, finally reaching your floor. Her expression turned serious again. “You know, we always made plans to get a cup of coffee or lunch, but something always came up. You guys have all known her a lot longer than I have. She’s practically part of the team, and I hardly know anything about her other than she’s one of the youngest instructors at Quantico and a super genius when it comes to behavior.”

“And that she somehow got boy genius wrapped around her finger.” Morgan added, trying to lighten the mood a little. “But you should get to know her. She’s one of a kind.”

“I guess her and Reid were kind of made for each other.” 

Her nice sentiment was forgotten as soon as they emerged from the stairway. Both agents grabbed their weapons and trained them at the unmoving mass on the floor. They scanned every single detail of the hallway as they approached. 

“Is that…” Prentiss started grimly. 

“Agent Bradford.” Morgan confirmed. Your apartment door was cracked open, but it didn’t look like it had been broken into. The window at the end of the hall was fully open, leading to the fire escape. Morgan motioned towards it and Prentiss nodded. She slowly crept through the door while he looked outside, making sure it was clear before climbing out onto the fire escape. The platform had access to one other window. The glass was broken from the outside, shattered pieces littering the carpet of your bedroom. 

Prentiss opened the door, holstering her weapon once she checked the room. She looked at Morgan with a sickened expression. 

“You better come see this.” 

Morgan carefully climbed in, making sure not to disturb any evidence. He followed Prentiss out to the living room and felt his heart sink. Sprawled across the wall were words written in blood. 

“Pay Attention.” Derek read angrily. He wanted to put his fist through every bloody letter. “We took, what, ten minutes to get over here?” 

“He knows how to work fast, that’s for sure.” Prentiss scanned the room. She had to treat this like any other crime scene. She walked around while Morgan called Hotch to get some back up. 

The kitchen table had a chair pulled out and the beginnings of a pot of tea were left stranded on the counter. Scuff marks from the chair likely meant that it had been pushed away from the table quickly. The body in the hall had both gunshot wounds and a stab wound to the side. 

“So if I’m the unsub, I must have approached Bradford without him pulling his gun, so I look like I belong.” She made the motions as she spoke, trying to get into the killer’s head. “I know I can’t take him down without a fight, so I stab him in the side and grab his gun, shooting him twice in the chest.” 

“Reid and Y/N hear the shots, one of them stands up and scuffs the floor.” Morgan added, putting himself into the scene. “If I’m Reid, I’ve got the weapon. I’m going to go check out the sound and keep Y/N away from the door.” He walked across the room and stepped into the hallway. “I see Bradford’s body and the window open so I’m going to go back in and get Y/N the hell out of here.” 

“But Y/N had to have heard the glass break in the bedroom.” Prentiss pointed out. “But if I’m already at the front door, I’ve taken out the security, why don’t I just come that way? Why go out onto the fire escape and break in through the bedroom window?” Both agents were quiet for a moment, trying to get a clear view of the situation. Morgan spoke first. 

“Because you want to get to Y/N without confronting Reid. That way you can use her to control him.” 

“So I’ve got my gun on her and I make you slide yours over here.” Prentiss pointed to the abandoned pistol next to her foot. 

“And make me write that.” Morgan added, looking at the message on the wall. He looked around the room for any kind of clue Reid could have left. “Reid knew we were coming. He’d try and tell us something.” 

There, on the table beside the couch, was another spot of red. Morgan pointed to it and Prentiss grabbed a glove out of her pocket to pick it up. The paper had a red thumbprint next to a few scribbles of writing.

“They look like Y/N’s notes.” She held them up so Morgan could see them. 

“Look at that. She wrote these for her guest seminar at Georgetown three days ago.” He ran a hand down his face. “When Reid told us about the phone call he got from the unsub Reid said that he told him ‘He learned from the best.’” 

“You think he was talking about Dr. Y/L/N’s class?”

“Reid put this here for a reason. He wanted to make sure we saw it.” He took out his phone and dialed Garcia. “If we can find out who was in that class, we find Reid and Y/N.” 

-

You were both in cages. Yours sat adjacent to the one Spencer was in but your cage had a moldy, piece of cloth that could have been a blanket at one point in the corner. You made the connection and scrambled to the farthest corner away from it. 

“Oh god,” You put a hand over your mouth to cover the sound of your heavy breathing. Your mind started to go into a panic. You were going to die. This man was going to torture and kill you and then dump your body for other agents to find and study and dissect. A quiet groan broke you out of your thoughts. Spencer. He was going to kill Spencer. He turned over, eyes slowly opening. You reached your arm through the bars, desperate to touch him, to feel him just one more time. 

“Can you see anything?” He asked quietly, slowly crawling towards you. Other than the lights hanging over the cages, the room itself was pitch black. Judging from the echo, you knew you had to be in some kind of warehouse or workshop. 

“No, I can’t see anything. I can’t see anything.” Your breathing was picking up as the panic fully set in. Spencer finally reached you, grabbing your hand and putting it against his cheek. 

“You can see me.” His thumb gently rubbed the back of your hand. “Just look at me. Look at me, Y/N.” He was just able to get his hands through the bars and put them on your shoulders. “We’re going to be okay. The team will find us.”

“How, Spence?” You cried, the dark shade of hopelessness washing over you. “They don’t know anything about this monster and- and we don’t know where we are-”

“He was in your class.” 

“They don’t know that. How are they going to figure out who he is let alone where to find us?” 

“I showed it to them. It wasn’t much, but I know that Morgan and Prentiss will understand.” Through his hopeful tone you could still hear it. The fear. He was terrified. 

Spencer wasn’t tough like Morgan or cool and collected like Prentiss. He couldn’t turn off his emotions the way that Hotch could. The only thing keeping him from breaking down was you. Your hand fell from his cheek to his neck. He was wearing some kind of collar, a chain connecting him to something outside the cage. 

“Spence, we have to get that off of you.” As soon as you said it, he was yanked backyards, a choked cry escaping his mouth. The chain pulled him against the bars, his arms still reaching out for you as it crushed his windpipe. “Stop it!” You shrieked into the dark. “Leave him alone! Please! Stop it! Spencer!” 

The chain slackened and he fell to the floor, gasping painfully for air. 

“You’d be surprised at the amount of things you can make with elevator parts.” The unsub had appeared behind you, leaning his forehead against the bars of your cage with a smile spreading across his lips. “Fun, huh?” 

He dangled a key from his fingers, swinging it back and forth in front of you before he started to unlock your cell.  

“Leave… her… alone.” Spencer coughed, slowly making his way back towards you. 

“You know, whenever I brought one of those other girls here, they just screamed and screamed the whole time.” The man shook his head, entering your cage one step at a time, drawing out your panic. “But you aren’t going to do that, are you? You’re going to do exactly what I tell you to.” He pressed a button on the remote in his hand and Spencer was jerked back again. 

“Yes!” You blurted. “I’ll do whatever you want, just leave him alone.” You had your back pressed against the metal bars, putting as much distance between the two of you as you could. He beckoned you to step forward. 

“Show me my work.” 

“W-what?” 

“I’ve heard you teach, Dr. Y/L/N so don’t pretend to be stupid with me.” He snapped, his calm exterior cracking. He stepped towards you more aggressively but was able to regain control of himself. “Take off all those pesky bandages.” 

“P-please let us go.” You pleaded. He just held up the remote again, his finger hovering over the button. “Okay, okay.” You made sure your back was to Spencer before lifting your sweater over your head and slowly peeling the bandages off of your wounds. The letters were still an irritated red color against your skin and your usual bra felt more revealing than ever. He ran a hand down your arm, bringing your shirt up his nose to breathe in your scent. 

“D-don’t touch her.” Spencer cried, using the bars to pull himself up. The unsub just clicked his tongue, not even bothering to look at him. 

“You should have popped the question while you had the chance, Dr. Reid.” He smirked as your eyes widened. “Oh, didn’t I mention that?” He pulled a small rectangular box from his pocket. “I found this in lover-boy’s jacket pocket. Looks like he won’t be needing it after all.” He tossed it over his shoulder and grabbed you by the back of your neck, forcing your lips to his. His hands traced over the marks he’d left on you greedily. 

He was distracted and you took the opportunity to snatch the remote out of his pocket and threw it through the bars, listening to it smash into pieces under Spencer’s foot. The unsub shoved you backwards, the breath knocked out of you as you hit the ground. 

“You little bitch.” He spat, his hands moving down to his belt. “Pay attention, Dr. Reid. I’ll show you how your girl is meant to be treated.” 

“Put your hands up and don’t move!” Prentiss’ voice ordered, a team of agents bursting into the room. The unsub clenched his jaw and lifted up his arm, knife clenched in his hand. Prentiss pulled the trigger without hesitation. 

You didn’t even give them time to reach you. You reached into the dying man’s pocket and grabbed his keys. You pushed through the other agents and unlocked the door to Spencer’s cage and had the collar off of him as quickly as you could. He could see your body shaking as you moved and you were desperately trying not to break down. He wrapped his jacket around you and pulled you into his arms. 

“I’m okay.” He choked out. It was still hard to speak without his throat feeling like it was burning and now he had relieved tears welling in his eyes. “We’re okay. It’s over.” 

-

Sitting in the hospital felt strange. You had been cleared already, but Spencer was still in as they looked at the damage to his throat. You sat leaning forward with your elbows on your knees. In your hands was the small box you had yet to open. You had grabbed it before you and Spence were taken out to the ambulances, but you hadn’t brought yourself to look inside. 

“You, um… I guess you know what it is.” Spencer’s raspy voice startled you. You looked up and saw the dark bruises starting to form on his neck. “They said I’ll be okay, I just have to take it easy on the talking.” 

“That won’t be easy.” You laughed lightly. He sat beside you and stared at the box.

“Have you opened it yet?” Even in his strained whisper, you could hear the disappointment. This isn’t what he wanted and now he was afraid his chance was gone for good. You shook your head. 

“I thought we should do that together.” You took his hand and put it on the lid. He gave you a small smile and slowly flipped it open. Inside was a leaf. To someone else, it wouldn’t have made any sense, but seeing it brought tears to your eyes. “Is that…?”

“It’s the leaf that got caught in your hair the day we met. You walked into the BAU to assist us on a case and I grabbed it for you. I was just this weird, tall guy who pulled your hair so you gave me this strange look so I explained that there was a leaf in your hair. And then you smiled and I had never felt like I had right then before. There wasn’t a trash can or anything so I put the leaf in my pocket. I guess I’ve just held onto it ever since.” 

“Spencer, this is-” You were trying to find the words, but you couldn’t. 

“I was going to ask you last night when we were supposed to watch the movie.” He sighed. “It feels like a long time ago now, but I still feel the same way.” He shifted so that he was kneeling in front of you. “I always thought that if, by chance, I ever found someone I wanted to spend the rest of my life with, it would be because they make me feel normal. But you don’t make me feel normal.” He blinked back his own tears so he could say everything he needed to. “You make me feel like the best version of myself. And maybe it’s inappropriate after everything that has happened in these two days, but all of the pain we just went through just made me realize even more that I don’t want to spend one moment of my life without you. Dr. Y/N Y/L/N-”

“Yes.” You blurted, kneeling on the floor with him and taking his face in your hands. Spencer laughed. 

“You didn’t let me even ask.” 

“Right, sorry.” You brushed away the endless flow of tears that now fell down your cheeks. “Ask away, Dr. Reid.” 

“Will you marry me?” The smile on his face made your whole body light up. 

“Yes.” You crashed your lips into his, not caring if anyone was around to see. 

The team was down the hall, beaming at each other. Even though they couldn’t hear your words, it wasn’t hard to tell what just happened. Prentiss leaned over to Morgan. 

“I told you.” She grinned. “They’re made for each other.”

-

General Tag: @rae-gar-targaryen; @takemepedropascal; @childhood-imagination;  @mylovegoesto; @yellowbadgergirl; @itmejado; @suckmyapplejacks​

From last part (I think I got everyone, but don’t be offended if I missed you, I’m just bad at tag lists): @ takeyourleap-of-faith; @ squiggledrop; @ avidreider; @ lotties-journey-abroad; @ justfloatingthroughtime; @ bisexualwomanofcolour; @obsssedwithjustaboutanything; @jupiterdove; @ uhuhuh; @ walkingjunkdna; @ skullwithemotions; @ shigwhore; @ harry-hollands; @ cielo1984; @ slytherin-blogger; @eevee0722; @ spenceoffense; @ radtwinkie; @ absolutemarveltrash

[elentiyawhitethorn]

Exile

Rowaelin Month, Day 29

A Work Based on a Song @rowaelinscourt

CW: language, minor NSFW

AN: Based on the Taylor Swift song

Rowaelin Month Masterlist//Main Masterlist//5747 words

Second, third, and hundredth chances

Balancing on breaking branches

I think I've seen this film before

And I didn't like the ending

There she was. Arm-in-arm with that man and standing tall and smiling.

She didn’t have any right to smile like that.

Not when it wasn’t because of him. Not when he wasn’t the one holding her, wasn’t the one telling her cheesy jokes and pressing heated kisses to her neck.

And that man had no right to lay his hands on her. She didn’t belong to him.

Rowan clenched his fingers so tightly he heard something snap. He glanced down to see the plastic lid of his coffee cup with a crack in it. He loosened his grip, then looked back up.

He shouldn’t be watching her. She had given up on him. She was the reason he was struggling, and she was the cause of his pain. Aelin didn’t deserve any attention from him.

But he just couldn’t tear his gaze away.

—

“Stop it,” Aelin complained halfheartedly, a laugh creeping into her voice. “You can’t pay for everything.”

Sam winked. “Who says?”

Aelin rolled her eyes and shoved him lightly, a smile twitching at her lips all the while. “I hate you.”

“And I love you.”

A grin broke over Aelin’s face. Sam had said that for the first time last night, after a lovely dinner. There had been roses and candles and a gourmet (at least to Aelin’s uncultured taste buds) meal. Sam had really gone all out.

And he had been more than understanding about the fact that she wasn’t ready to reciprocate those three words. He’d insisted that she didn’t actually, knowing everything there was to know about the relationship she’d just gotten out of and having complete and utter respect and supportiveness for her.

But she would say it back soon. She was free, and she was with Sam, and for the first time in a long time, she was happy. Aelin may not love him yet, and she never was sure of when that extreme adoration crossed the line, but it had to be soon. It had to be because Sam was good to her. And if she could love people who weren’t good to her, Aelin must certainly be able to love the ones who were.

That’s how it worked, right?

Aelin smiled even as her thoughts raced back in time, to a different point in her life, when things had been much different. These things did not need to be analyzed. Aelin had done enough overthinking to last a lifetime, and she had promised herself to stop. To just stop thinking about him at all.

Aelin leaned in and pressed a chaste kiss to Sam’s cheek. “C’mon, our coffee’s getting cold.”

Sam grinned and waggled his eyebrows. “I bet I could find a way to warm things up.”

Aelin choked on a laugh. “Don’t you dare. That was the least sexy thing I have ever heard come out of your mouth.”

Sam pulled her closer. “I have plenty more up my sleeve. Did it hurt when you fell from heaven?”

Aelin whacked him on the arm playfully. “You are the worst boyfriend ever,” she teased. “Let’s go, maybe I will let you warm things up.” She grinned, knowing that encouraging him only increased the number of ridiculous jokes and pick-up lines being sent her way and not caring one bit.

With one last smirk, Sam tugged Aelin toward the door of the coffee shop, arm loosely around her waist. She leaned into him as they walked to the door, only slowing down as she reached over to adjust her purse strap over her shoulder… and something caught Aelin’s eye when she looked back.

Someone.

Aelin came to a complete standstill, eyes widening in shock.

It shouldn’t be such a surprise. After all, this was a small town. But Aelin having to see him again, having to see him staring at her unashamedly, maintaining eye contact…

It was unnerving.

His eyes bore holes into Aelin, and she shivered. He hadn’t always looked at her like that. It had been happy, once. Once there had been love in gaze. Not possession. Not loathing. Not fury. Just pure, unadulterated love.

So much had changed. No, Aelin corrected herself. Nothing had changed other than her ability to notice what was really going on. This was how it had always been. Aelin had just been too blind to see it.

Distantly, Aelin realized Sam was asking her what was wrong. He was following her gaze. He was putting the pieces together.

And now he was asking her if that was him, but they both knew. They both knew it was.

Aelin spun around suddenly, a complete 180 degree turn, eradicating Rowan from her line of sight.

“Let’s go,” Aelin said. “Let’s just go.”

—

“See you tomorrow,” Aelin said, kissing Sam on the lips.

He deepened the kiss slightly before pulling away and saying, “See you, babe. Love you.”

Aelin smiled.

Sam smiled back, but the expression dimmed before he could leave, hesitating on the doorstep. “Are you sure…”

Aelin took a deep breath. “Sam, I love that you care about me, but there is nothing to be done. Rowan lives nearby; I’ll have to get used to seeing him every once in a while.”

Sam shook his head. “That’s not fair. He doesn’t get to do what he did to you and then walk around untouched, flaunting it.”

Aelin flashed a watery smile. “That’s the thing, Sam. He can do whatever he likes, and it won’t matter. It doesn’t matter because I am with you and I am happy and anything he does is entirely inconsequential.”

Sam held Aelin’s gaze, then his eyes softened. He kissed her again and pulled back. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he repeated in a whisper.

Aelin smiled, watching him leave.

She leaned against the doorway of her apartment, watching Sam walk away with a gentle expression on her face. He glanced back only once to toss a saucy grin her way as he took the turn and headed down the stairs, out of sight. But she didn’t go back inside quite yet, instead gazing in the direction he’d last been visible at, thinking. Thinking happy things.

And then thinking some not so happy things.

It wasn’t fair that Rowan could consume her thoughts so wholly. Yes, consume was the right word. He consumed her mind now, and before he had consumed every inch of her body, every aspect of her life. And it was a word with so many different connotations that for a long time, Aelin hadn’t thought that was so bad.

She knew better now.

Aelin normally would have willed a smile back to her face to reassure those around her, but she was alone now. No more pretending. Aelin frowned fully as she turned to renter the apartment.

And nearly ran smack into Rowan, who was standing on the opposite side of the doorway. Only a couple feet away, staring at her, breathing her air, and she hadn’t noticed.

Aelin regarded him silently, trying to decide if Rowan was real or not. This wouldn’t have been the first time she’d imagined him beside her.

“What exactly did I do to you, Aelin?” He was real then.

“You have no right.” Aelin’s voice was raspy and beyond furious.

“You can’t stop thinking about me, can you?”

Aelin shook her head, her entire body shaking. “You have no right,” she repeated.

Rowan crossed his arms. The door was wide open, and Aelin stood on the side with the hinges. Which meant she had the disadvantage, unable to get in without Rowan stopping her.

“What do you want from me?”

Rowan shook his head, eyes simmering with something deceptively similar to hurt. “I want to understand.”

“What is there to understand?” Aelin hissed.

“Why did you leave me?” Rowan’s voice was hard.

Aelin breathed hard through her nostrils, not bothering to put a leash on her temper. “Because you didn’t treat me right, Rowan. You ignored me. You used me.”

“I loved you!” Rowan shouted.

Aelin shook her head. “That wasn’t love. That was something else.”

“What was it, Aelin?”

She bit her lip, and Rowan’s eyes snapped down to her mouth. He stepped forward. “What was it?” he demanded, voice far too gravelly for this conversation.

“I don’t know!” she snapped. “Something bad. Something wrong.”

With that she kicked out her foot and caught Rowan on the inside of his leg. Thought likely uninjured, he was surprised enough by Aelin’s spite that he stepped back an inch. Just enough space for Aelin to shove past him and slam the door.

Angry tears streaming down her face in hateful torrents, Aelin flipped the lock, then slid the chain into place.

Then she released a muffled cry of anguish and leaned back against the door, swaying. She started crying in earnest, trying to keep her sobs relatively quiet in case Rowan was still at the door. He probably was.

Aelin slid down the door limply, falling into a pile on the floor. She reached around and placed a palm flat on the wooden surface. He was out there.

She knew he was.

Confirmation came in the form of a shadow, flitting across the crack under the door, and finally blocking the space considerably, accompanied by the a soft thump.

Rowan was sitting next to her. Without the door, he’d be touching her. Holding her.

Aelin pressed her face against the door, getting as close to him as she could while still being able to deny it. She’d slammed the door on him. No one could take that away from her.

But no one could take this away from her either, this moment.

—

Aelin was crying. He’d known she would be, but it still hurt to hear.

Rowan traced his fingers across the door delicately, imagining her own touch on the other side. They were almost holding hands.

Time passed. They kept sitting there, and Rowan knew Aelin well enough to know she’d be screaming at herself inside her head, trying to make herself get up, to no avail.

Rowan felt a twisted sense of satisfaction to know that she couldn’t leave him just yet.

It was two in the morning when Rowan finally heard Aelin stand. Faintly he heard her, still sniffling, shuffle off to somewhere else in their apartment.

For it was their apartment. Rowan’s just as much as Aelin’s. More even. He just wasn’t allowed inside anymore.

Rowan stood and walked away.

—

Aelin giggled. “You did not.”

Chaol flashed a smile. “I swear on all that is holy I did.”

Aelin shook her head, eyes dancing with mirth. “How does one even manage to do that without being—”

“May I cut in?”

Aelin turned, smile frozen in place, to find her boyfriend reaching over to place an arm around her side, fingers digging in a bit too much for her liking. “Of course. We were just talking about you, actually.”

Rowan smiled, but there was something in the expression that didn’t appeal to her. “Oh?”

Chaol joined in. “I told her about the day I met you, how I got so upset with you that I put your phone number in all the bathrooms and you got a bunch of calls asking for a hookup.”

Chaol laughed, clearly under the impression this was long since water under the bridge. Rowan’s returning smile was a bit tighter, and Aelin wondered if he still held a grudge. Or if he was upset about something else.

“As much as I would love to reminisce,” Rowan said, voice dripping with manners and camaraderie, “My girlfriend and I need to go. I’ll see you on Monday, Westfall.”

Chaol smiled and waved. Aelin just took another sip of her champagne.

Rowan plucked the champagne flute from her hand and set it somewhere off to the side, then pulled Aelin toward the exit, his hand still firmly around her waist.

Aelin didn’t say anything as they left the work party. Nor as Rowan opened the passenger door of his car and helped her inside, like he thought she’d bolt at the first opportunity.

The ride home was silent. As was the walk up the stairs leading to their apartment. Rowan unlocked the door with his keys and held it open, letting Aelin go first. Once again, she got the feeling it wasn’t a gesture of kindness.

Aelin dropped her purse on the counter then spun around, anger finally spilling over the top. “What the hell was that?”

Rowan crossed his arms. “I could ask you the same thing.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

Rowan didn’t waver. “You were flirting with my coworker.”

Aelin gaped at him. “I was doing no such thing!”

Rowan just snorted.

“You asked me to make an effort with your friends,” Aelin said icily. “That’s all I was doing.”

Rowan scoffed. “Don’t take me for a fool, Aelin.”

“Excuse me? I was not flirting with anybody, Rowan. We were talking about you for fuck’s sake.”

“Chaol always has ulterior motives. I don’t trust him.”

“And what about me? Do you trust me?” Aelin barely managed to keep her voice from cracking.

Rowan’s face instantly softened. “Of course I trust you, baby.”

Aelin didn’t reply.

Rowan stepped forward and brought his hands to her face, gently cupping her cheeks. “Look at me.”

Aelin hesitated, then brought her gaze to meet his own.

“I’m sorry, love. I shouldn’t have been so suspicious. Forgive me.”

Aelin’s lower lip wavered. She still said nothing.

“I love you,” Rowan continued, softly tracing a line over her cheek. “Forgive me.”

“I love you too,” Aelin rasped. And it was true. She loved him more than anything in the world.

Rowan leaned in and pressed his lips against her forehead. “I’m sorry.”

Aelin squeezed her eyes shut. She was tense as Rowan started to move his mouth down her neck, loving and demanding at the same time.

Rowan’s hand found its way to her shoulder, sliding the thin strap of her dress off. Aelin stayed still, breathing through her nose while Rowan started following the top of her dress down with his mouth, kissing her bare chest, Aelin’s breasts covered only barely.

“Rowan,” Aelin gasped as he finally freed a breast from the fabric and closed his mouth around it. She wasn’t sure if she was spurring him on or protesting.

Rowan pushed her back a step. Then another. Aelin felt the wall at her back. She let her head fall back against it.

“I’m sorry,” Rowan repeated in a dark murmur, breath caressing her ear. His hand fell to her thigh and pushed up the dress, then he reached for his own buckle.

Aelin could only try to convince herself she wanted this as Rowan pulled her underwear to the side and—

Aelin jolted up in bed with a gasp.

Sweat soaked the sheets and dripped down Aelin’s face as she panted into the darkness. Aelin bent over and buried her face in the sheets, face already wet with tears.

—

Routine had long since become mechanical for Rowan. Get out of bed. Take a shower. Eat breakfast. Brush teeth. Dress and get out the door.

It helped keep his thoughts from straying.

It wasn’t just getting ready that Rowan approached with machine-like indifference. The rest of the day passed in a blur, and soon enough Rowan was in a bar, sipping his first whiskey of the night.

It sure as hell wouldn’t be the last.

He slipped his phone out of his pocket and placed it on the bar in front of him. Turning it on revealed Aelin’s smiling face, framed by her vibrant golden hair. A white sundress highlighted her curves subtly. The sun was high behind her, and the cloudless sky was the blue of her eyes. The whole picture was so Aelin.

Rowan entered his passcode and took in the home screen, another picture of Aelin, this one with him as well. Aelin’s cousin Aedion had taken the picture. They were sprawled across the grass, Aelin haphazardly lounging on top of Rowan, her mouth open in a laugh that he could almost hear, even now. And that beautiful hair, strewn across his chest.

She looked the happiest Rowan had ever seen her. There was no way someone could look that happy and just be pretending. It was utterly impossible.

Rowan searched for indications that he was treating her wrong, that his grip on her arm was too tight or his eyes were angry or mean.

They weren’t. He was gazing at her with adoration, just as he’d always done. He had loved her, and he still did, and Rowan had never hesitated to tell Aelin. So why had she left?

Rowan entered his photo app and started scrolling through them, though dozens upon dozens of photos of her smiling in the sun and laughing in the rain and eating on the couch.

He was a masochist to do this to himself, but he couldn’t stop.

He kept searching for any signs that something was wrong, that he wasn’t loving her right.

He couldn’t find any.

—

The echoing noises of the thumps on the bag were the only sounds in the room. Aelin struck with deadly capability, slamming her fist into the punching bag again and again.

She’d gotten into self-defense not long after the breakup with Rowan. Punching things, more specifically. And Aelin had gotten good, too.

She used to work out in the gym, but the closest gym was annoying to get to, all the way across town. So Aelin had invested some money into some basic equipment and set everything up in the only empty room in the apartment.

Well, it was only empty after Aelin had dumped all of Rowan’s things out on the curb. This was his former office. There was a picture of him on the wall where there used to be one of her. It was filled with holes from the various weapons Aelin had thrown at it, among them knives, darts, and a single fork.

Maybe Aelin needed to talk to a therapist.

Aelin twisted her body and pivoted her foot, landing a deadly roundhouse kick on the bag. Why the fuck hadn’t anyone told her about this miracle cure sooner?

Aelin was so busy taking out every ounce of fury within her body—which totaled up to a frighteningly large quantity—that she almost didn’t notice her phone ringing. She finally noticed the screen lit up out of the corner of her eye, and Aelin pulled out her earbuds and strode over to her phone.

It was from Sam. Aelin reached for her phone, then paused, breathing deeply. From the exercise, she told herself. Solely from the exercise.

The ringing stopped. Aelin was too late. She reached once more, intent on calling Sam back, but stopped again.

She’d been thinking a lot over the past few days. Trying. Trying so hard to love him. And every time she was with him and she opened her mouth to get it over with, she couldn’t. Because Aelin couldn’t do that to Sam. He deserved better.

And because she was thinking about somebody else.

Aelin spun around and executed a perfect boxing maneuver on the bag. Jab, dodge, duck, right hook to the body, left hook to the body, left hook to the head, slide back with a defensive jab. She repeated it, then moved onto a different maneuver.

Then Aelin stripped off her gloves and bolted for the door, off to do something she would most certainly regret.

—

Panting, Aelin knocked on the door before she could loose her resolve. Then she waited, hands on her hips and shoulders back.

Not even a minute passed before the lock clicked and the door was pulled inward.

Aelin took in Rowan’s tired eyes and haggard expression and knew she was the reason for that. And probably for the smell of alcohol on his breath.

He didn’t ask how she knew where he lived—Aelin had a depressing amount of free time; or why she looked like she’d run all the way here—she had; or why she was here—that one she didn’t know. He just opened the door wider.

“Come here.”

Aelin did. She wondered if her fate had been sealed from the moment she first laid eyes on him. Rowan Whitethorn was like a sinkhole, drawing you in farther and father no matter what you did, only tightening his grip when you struggled.

That gruesome description wasn’t enough to make Aelin turn back quite yet.

She stepped inside and pressed her lips against Rowan’s, hands twining in his hair instantly. His own hands came to her hips, pushing her tank top up slightly and tracing familiar patterns on her bare skin.

Aelin shoved Rowan backward in his apartment one step, then one more. She spun around so Rowan was against the wall. Aelin could feel his lips curve upward against hers, but she didn’t care what amusement he was deriving from her dominance. He wanted to take everything from her? Well, she would take right back.

Aelin parted Rowan’s lips with her tongue and the small groan that left the back of his throat had Aelin pulling his hair none-too-gently, melting into his giant frame even farther.

Nothing mattered anymore. It all evaporated into some space that Aelin couldn’t and didn’t want to access. Her brain was blissfully empty as she hooked a leg around his ankle, and as she nipped at his lip.

Rowan growled and started moving his hands upwards toward her breasts, thumbs brushing the undersides just enough that Aelin could feel it and lean into the sensation, ignoring his gleeful smirk against her mouth. Rowan finally broke the kiss and trailed his mouth along Aelin’s jawline, until his lips reached her ear.

“I love you,” Rowan whispered, voice dark and hoarse.

Aelin exhaled, her grip on him loosening. “I hate you.”

Rowan pulled back and frowned. “No, you don’t.”

Aelin chuckled humorlessly. “You’re right.” She stepped closer to the door. “But I hate that I love you.”

“Bullshit.”

“I shouldn’t have come here.”

Rowan shook his head. “Bullshit,” he repeated.

“Goodbye, Rowan.”

Aelin started for the still-open door, only a couple feet away.

Rowan’s hand immediately took hold of her wrist. “You can’t leave again. Not like this.”

“How, then?” Aelin asked, shaking her wrist free of his grasp. “Was last time any better?”

“Don’t leave me at all.”

The desperation in Rowan’s voice would have provoked some sort of sympathy in Aelin any other time, but she only felt cold as she stared him down.

“Goodbye, Rowan,” she repeated. Then Aelin spun around and slipped out the door before he could stop her.

—

“Stop it.”

“I will not.”

“Yes you will.”

“No I won’t.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“What’re you gonna do if I don’t?”

“I’ll beat you up, that’s what.”

Aelin and Sam only managed maintain eye contact for a minute more before dissolving into laughter.

“I’m being serious,” Aelin said between laughs.

Sam shook his head. “I don’t even understand what the issue is,” he replied, features filled with delight.

“The issue,” Aelin enunciated, “is that you can’t just be stupid like that. It’s not a good look on you.”

Sam scoffed in pretend hurt. “Excuse me, it’s not stupid to tickle my girlfriend.”

“It is,” Aelin insisted. “You’re an asshole for it.” She pouted.

Sam made an over-dramatic frown. “I’m so sorry I hurt your feelings, babe.” He spread his arms wide and leaned over from the car seat.

Aelin could only involuntarily cackle as Sam moved his evil fingers over her again, his false hug turning into an ambush. “Stop it,” she cried between giggles. “This is mean. And foul. A foulable offense.”

“Is foulable even a word?”

“It is now,” Aelin hissed, elbowing him.

Sam grinned. “It’s not my fault. What else is a guy to do when he finds out his girlfriend’s ticklish?”

“You’re supposed to not bully them!”

Sam laughed into Aelin’s shoulder. “I love you so much.”

Aelin hugged him, for the sole purpose of making sure he couldn’t see her face at the words. Before she had been so happy to hear Sam say it, and now the only thought she could conjure upon hearing it was Rowan’s face.

Everything she’d ever had, everything she’d ever worked for, Rowan soured. It was a talent of his.

Aelin hadn’t told Sam about the kiss. Almost a week had passed already, and she hadn’t told him. Acknowledging it validated it, and Aelin didn’t want that. She just wanted to forget. Though it was hard to forget the one thing haunting her through all hours of the day and night.

“Let’s go inside,” Aelin said abruptly, pulling away. “I’m already forgetting what I wanted to get.”

Sam smiled, oblivious to Aelin’s internal struggles. “Sure.”

—

How dare she come to him, kiss him, make him think she was ready to invite him home? How dare she use him the way she claimed he used her?

The nerve of Aelin’s visit left Rowan seething. All he wanted was Aelin. And he’d be damned if he didn’t get her.

The bell dinged to signal a customer’s arrival and Rowan’s eyes snapped up. He relaxed once more as he saw it was only an elderly man, then tensed up all over again as he spotted a familiar car parked outside the shop.

Aelin came here every Tuesday without fail to buy a new book. It was one of the few luxuries she allowed herself, and it was the only part of her routine she hadn’t changed after dumping him, and he’d been waiting in the mystery aisle for over an hour now.

And his waiting had paid off. Except, rather than leaving the car, Aelin and that man were talking and laughing and touching. He was tickling her, like a fucking loser.

Another five minutes passed and Rowan was debating going out there and knocking on the car window when the doors finally opened.

They walked hand-in-hand into the bookstore, and Aelin pressed a kiss against the man’s cheek as they neared a shelf.

His smile made Rowan smile. This poor, innocent man had no idea what had happened last week. He had no idea how unfaithful Aelin truly was.

Aelin murmured something to the man—Rowan refused to even think his name—and headed off to the romance section. Rowan followed her, creeping around shelves and not giving a fuck how bad it looked.

Aelin was reaching for some book or other when she noticed Rowan coming up behind her. Her face flushed, much to his delight, and her eyes widened.

“Go away,” was the first thing to come out of her mouth.

Rowan shook his head. “Not a chance, princess.”

Aelin’s face tightened visibly. “I’m not interested in doing this again, Rowan. We’re over.”

“Really? You haven’t seemed too sure about that lately.”

Aelin huffed. “Last week was a mistake. I know that now. I knew it when I did it. But that’s it. We’re done now. Get over yourself, Rowan.”

“I love you.”

“And I used to believe that,” Aelin snapped.

Rowan ground his jaw in frustration. “What do I have to do to prove that I care about you?”

“That’s just the thing,” Aelin hissed, voice quiet but angry. “There is nothing to prove. You could started acting like the perfect boyfriend, the man I thought I loved, and it still wouldn’t matter. We’re not good together, Rowan. We’re broken. We. Are. Fucking. Broken.”

Rowan took a step forward, every molecule in his body freezing as Aelin flinched. “Are you scared of me, Aelin?”

She shook her head, but she’d always been a bad liar. Rowan could see right thought it.

“I have never laid a hand on you in my life,” Rowan stated, voice devoid of human emotion. “Never.”

Fire swirled behind Aelin’s eyes. “I know that. But you didn’t have to.”

Rowan shook his head vehemently. “What the hell does that mean?”

Aelin’s chest was heaving. “Think about it, Rowan. Think about us. Remember how you were with me.”

He did. Because he was a fair person who cared enough to listen to Aelin, he did.

—

“Maybe you should stop hanging out with Dorian,” Rowan commented.

It was a joke. It had just been a joke.

“What?” Aelin asked. She looked confused.

“I mean, whenever you two are together you’re smiling more than you smile with me. It’s a little difficult to watch.”

Rowan shrugged as his lips twitched. She was supposed to laugh now, amused at the joke.

Aelin didn’t laugh.

—

“You should really learn how to cook something,” Rowan said, watching in amusement as Aelin reached for the Chinese takeout menu, and not for the first time this week.

“Gods, Rowan, if you’re so sick of eating takeout then make something yourself.”

Aelin stormed off. And Rowan had clearly been the right one in that conversation, because after Aelin didn’t like his suggestion and decided to make a fuss about it and be a bitch, Rowan let her leave and didn’t bring it up again. Because he cared about her.

—

And finally, the day everything went up in flames:

Aelin tipped her head back and laughed. Rowan watched this little spectacle from afar. Until she got so loud that his boss’ boss looked over and that’s when Rowan had had it.

“Aelin, come with me,” Rowan said as he grabbed her hand. Gently. He had grabbed her hand gently.

Aelin frowned, but didn’t protest. She would have protested if she wasn’t okay with this. Rowan knew her.

They made it outside the building and both of them stopped. They weren’t waiting to go all the way back to the apartment this time.

“Maybe I need to stop bringing you to these things,” Rowan said, running his hand through his hair.

Aelin frowned. “Why? Am I embarrassing you?”

“No, Aelin, of course you aren’t. But you are bothering my coworkers, and I don’t want them to look down on me because of my girlfriend.”

She snorted. “That’s the literal definition of embarrassment,” she slurred.

“No, there’s a difference between being embarrassed by someone and logically not wanting to have someone with you for strategic purposes.”

Aelin laughed incredulously, and Rowan wondered if she still didn’t understand. But the next thing that came out of her mouth made him the one who couldn’t comprehend what was happening.

“We’re done.”

“What?”

Aelin smiled, but it wasn’t a happy thing, it was twisted and sad and so many other emotions, some of which Rowan couldn’t even name. “I’m breaking up with you.”

A moment of shaky silence passed as Rowan held eye contact with Aelin. Finally, he said, “We’re going home now.”

Aelin scoffed. “Don’t you hear me?”

“You’re drunk, Aelin.”

A tear slid down Aelin’s cheek and Rowan stepped forward to console her, for that’s what he’d always done when she was upset.

But Aelin stepped backward. “Go home. Get your things. Get out.”

Rowan sighed. “Aelin, seriously—”

“No!” she yelled, and Rowan glanced back at the party he’d just emerged from, worried someone might have heard her. “You don’t get to ignore me! Get the fuck out of my apartment. Now!”

“No,” Rowan snapped.

Aelin seethed. “Well, I guess I’ll just have to get your things out on my own.”

She snatched the keys from his hand and took off toward the car, but Rowan’s head was swimming enough that he could only stand there, frozen, for a solid thirty seconds as she climbed in the driver’s seat.

Then he started moving. “Aelin, stop this. Calm down. You’re overreacting and I need you to get out of the car.”

Aelin held the wheel tightly as she hastily locked the car. She didn’t bother buckling in before the car jerked backward. Rowan raced to the other side of it and blocked it from leaving the parking space.

Aelin must have had more to drink than Rowan originally noticed, for instead of stopping like the sensible woman he’d thought her to be, she slammed on the gas and went over the grass, swerving and turning back onto the pavement farther down. Aelin narrowly avoided a lamppost as she got onto the road and started speeding down the street.

Rowan could only watch, mouth agape and heart stopping altogether.

—

“I can’t think of a single thing I did to provoke something like that from you, Aelin.” Rowan’s hands were clenched into fists. “You just started acting out for no reason at all. I wasn’t the one behaving poorly.”

“There were signs,” Aelin breathed, voice riding the edge between stability and insanity. “There were so many warning signs.”

Rowan opened his mouth to protest, but before any sound could come out, Aelin’s so-called boyfriend walked up to her. She was at the corner of a shelf, and the men were on either side of it, meaning Sam hadn’t yet noticed him. Rowan wanted to step forward and beat some sense into the man, show him who Aelin really belonged to, but Aelin spoke before he could step forward.

“Hey, babe. I found my book. Ready to leave?”

The man grinned. It was a snarky little look, and Rowan knew he’d look better with a fist in his face.

“I am.”

Aelin stepped closer to him and farther from Rowan, then paused. Her tactic had originally seemed to be getting Sam away from Rowan as quickly as possible, but now she stance took on a different posture.

Rowan had never wished he could see inside her head more than he was now.

Aelin didn’t even look his way. “I love you, Sam.”

Rowan froze. He didn’t need to know anything about their relationship to know that was the first time Aelin had told Sam that. Not just from the delight on his face, but from the way Aelin spoke. Rowan could feel it in his bones.

She was spiting him. This could easily be discussed anywhere else, at any other time, but Aelin chose to say it now, with Rowan hovering in the background. It was a message to him, to stay away. It was hateful. It was cruel.

Something splintered in Rowan’s chest.

Sam was saying something, presumably a reciprocation of those three words, but Rowan didn’t hear it. His ears were buzzing.

Aelin took ahold of Sam’s arm and started for the checkout desk.

She didn’t look back.

———

Tag List:

@aelin-bitch-queen

@evolving-dreamer

@feysand-loml

@flora-shadowshine

@gracie-rosee

@infernoqueen19

@julemmaes

@lemonade-coolattas

@live-the-fangirl-life

@midsizewitch

@morganofthewildfire

@nehemikkele

@realbookloverproblems

@rhysandswingspan

@rowaelinismyotp

@rowanaelinn

@sexy-dumpster-fire

@sleeping-and-books

@story-scribbler

@swankii-art-teacher

@thenerdandfandoms

@yesdreamblog

[wyn-n-tonic]

My Turn

Pairing: Santiago Garcia x f!reader Word Count: 1.2k Warnings: Daddy kink (but not explicit). Sick Santi. Fluffy, dialogue heavy bullshit. Author's Note: Santi's always taking care of reader, I wanted to write about reader taking care of Santi.

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You run the back of your hand across the soft stubble of Santi’s cheek, an act he leans into as he catches your palm in his and holds it there.

“My love,” you whisper to him, “you’re burning up, do you feel well?”

He’s been acting strange all day but was stranger still at dinner, didn’t even have the energy to raise his eyebrow at you let alone keep up with your usual dance. You pushed his buttons, gave him shit, and all he did was smile at you.

“Hmm,” he brings your knuckles to his lips now, “bit of a headache,” another kiss to your wrist, “throat hurts,” he drags his lips down your forearm, “nothing I can’t handle, baby girl.”

“No,” you stand and tug him up to you, “come with me.”

He shivers when he stands, a cold trembling reaching down to his fingertips and right into you now.

You lead him to the bathroom and begin to fill the tub, a sprinkling of menthol and eucalyptus bath salts along with lavender bubbles.

“Strip,” you command, turning around and making your way to the medicine cabinet.

“That's my line, princesa.”

You shoot him a look while you fiddle with the cap on the ibuprofen, “I'm not telling you twice.”

He begins complying, his shirt falling with a small plop against the cold tile. When you turn back to him, a glass of water and the fever reducer in your hands, he’s struggling to bend and kick his pants off.

“Baby, stop,” your footsteps are quick as you press the pills into his hands, “take this, I got that.”

He carefully grabs the glass from you as you kneel, pulling the waistband of his sweats down with you.

A groan escapes his lips as you guide one leg, then another, out of the confines of the soft fabric.

Looking up, you catch a shade of embarrassment cross his face, “what’s going on in that head of yours?” 

“I must really feel like shit,” he presses the empty cup back into your hands, “usually a sight like that would have me standing at full attention, I’m sorry.”

“Hey,” you shake your head, “don’t apologize, get in the tub.”

You turn the tap off as he steps in gingerly, lowering himself to settle in the warmth as steam fills the room. 

“Where are you going?” His voice is quiet but it reaches for you where his arms cannot.

“Setting a timer so I can give you more ibuprofen in six hours.”

“That’s in the middle of the night, we’ll be asleep.”

“Yes,” you turn back to him as you begin to remove your own clothes, “that’s the point of the timer, to wake me up so I can check your temperature.” 

Instinctually, he leans back, opening his legs to create a space for you but you shake your head.

“No, baby,” you’ve grabbed his shampoo and body wash from the shower now, “scoot forward.” 

Doing as he’s told, you settle in behind him and pull him back against your chest.

His approval, his comfort, hums deep in his being; vibrating your body under his in the enveloping heat.

“Does this feel good?” You press your lips softly to his hairline, sweat beading along his brows.

He whines, “you're using all my lines and moves against me right now.” 

“Not against you, baby,” you drag your fingernails across his scalp, “for you.” 

You lose track of time as the water cools, the steady rise and fall of his chest pressed against you. You wash his back and chest, gently scrubbing the body wash across his skin. 

But what makes him melt is when you pull him closer to your chest, encouraging him to slip down further beneath the suds and gently begin to wet his hair.

Santi moans at your touch as you rub the shampoo through his hair, flexing your fingers down into the sides of his neck. 

“How do I always forget how amazing you are at this?” His voice rasps in a way that’s not usual, raw at the edges of his words.

“Shh, my love,” you kiss his cheek, unable to tell if the heat is from the fever or the bath, “you always forget because usually you’re the one doing this for me.”

He laughs as you begin to cup the water, bringing it up to rinse through the soap that’s curled around those of his own, flattening the locks back down against his scalp.

“Mayb—“ another sinful sound escapes his lips, “maybe we can take turns, you can treat daddy sometimes.” 

As you rinse the last of the shampoo free from his hair, you feel a rattling building in his breath.

“Okay, baby,” you agree with a kiss to his shoulder, “scoot up and let me get out.”

He leans forward and opens the drain as you stand up and wrap yourself in a towel.

“Come on,” you reach for him, “give me your hand.” 

You wrap him in a towel and take him to sit on the bed, his big hands coming out to chase your warmth as you walk away, busying yourself with grabbing his pajamas.

You kneel in front of him again, coaxing each foot into the legs of a clean pair of sweats.

Gun calloused fingertips brush the sensitive skin of your cheek and you look up to meet his eyes, warm and dopey under the soft lamplight of your bedroom, “what's up?” 

A shake of his head, “I'm just overwhelmed with how much you love me.”

“Shh,” you press your lips to inside of his knee, “stand up for me, let’s get these pants up and then I want you to lay down.”

“Think I like it when you’re bossy,” he smiles, standing up and dropping the towel, “like what you see, baby?” 

“Mm,” you hum at him, standing to pull the waistband of his joggers upward, “I do, but you’re sick so I need you to rest.”

He paws at the edge of your towel, “may I kiss you?” 

“Lay down,” you command with a quick press of your lips to his, “let me get dressed.”

When you come back from the closet, his shirt hanging limply against you, the heel of his hands are pressed to his eyes with a whine.

“How are you feeling now, my love?”

“I'm so fucking hot, baby girl.”  

“I know,” you call to him as you walk back to the medicine cabinet, “just lay there, baby.”

“Keep using my lines, prin—“ he coughs then, “I dare you.”

The mattress dips under your weight as you straddle him, his hands instinctively moving to rest on your hips, “as much as I would love this, baby girl, I don’t think I can tonight.”

“Shut up, Santiago,” it’s half a laugh as you unscrew the lid off the jar in your hands.

“I can feel your pussy throbbing, princess.”

You lay your hand a little too hard on his chest, digging the menthol rub into his collarbone, “think that’s your headache.” 

He breathes deeply, a soft sigh escaping his lips, “how are you so nice to me?”

You don’t answer him, you don’t answer any of the incoherent babble that begins to slip from his tongue; the English, the Spanish, the soft praises he has for you and your hands.

Eventually, his snores fill your ears and you climb away from him with a kiss to his fevered forehead.

As you turn the bedside lamp off, you whisper, “sometimes, it’s just my turn to take care of you.” 

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[hercleverboy]

taunted

spencer reid x reader 

summary ↠ hours after his release from prison, spencer’s girlfriend is kidnapped. can he pull it together long enough to save her?

category ↠ angst/fluff

warnings/includes ↠ swearing, reference to sexual assault, blood, kidnapping

word count ↠ 5.7k

“People go, but how they left always stays.” — Rupi Kaur

Spencer felt overwhelmed to say the least. 

In the last 24 hours, he’d undergone more stress than any human should ever have to endure. Between his release from prison and racing against the clock to save his mother, he was grateful to finally able to take a moment to stop and breathe. 

In between the chaos, he hadn’t been able to see one of the people he’d missed the most during his imprisonment; his beloved fiancee, Y/N. 

He knew that the team had contacted her to inform her of his release, but there’d been no time for heartfelt reunions when he was released, the safety of his mother being the only thing on his mind. As much as he’d missed his girl, it would have to wait. 

As he stood walked through the lobby of his apartment complex, he couldn’t help the small smile on his lips at the anticipation of seeing her. She’d been to visit frequently while he was incarcerated, giving him just that little push to fight, to fight like hell, to come home to her. And now he was there. 

As he walked up the flights of stairs, he remembered all the times he’d wished he could reach out to grab her hand when she was sat across from him, with the glass separating them and preventing him from touching her. He remembered the sleepless nights in his cell, on a bed that was cold and hard with a single uncomfortable pillow. He recalled how badly he yearned for her on those nights, craved the warmth of her arms, their bed.  He was so eager to finally hold her in his arms, remind her how much he loved her, thank her for sticking with him, for being his lifeline during the hardest months of his life. 

Any excitement that he held was diminished as soon as he climbed the final few steps to their floor, his eyes landing on their apartment door. 

Their open apartment door. 

Spencer’s eyes blew wide, part of him trying to calm himself down, she just forgot to close it behind her, and the other part knowing Y/N was too cautious to make such a silly mistake. 

He wasn’t armed, after all he wasn’t planning on having to deal with shit like this for at least a few weeks following his release. 

He cautiously made his way into the apartment and was immediately greeted with the obvious signs of a struggle in his living room. The coffee table’s contents had been scattered across the floor, the little table they normally placed cups of tea or snacks on had toppled over. The pretty white vase that Y/N’s mother had bought the couple a few years back was shattered on the floor, the yellow daffodils that had been inside the vase laying there limply. By the fireplace was a small pool of blood, and it didn’t take a genius to figure out who it belonged to. 

Seeing the blood sent Spencer into a panic, his breathing increasing as he anxiously called out for her, opening up the doors to their bedroom and the bathroom, finding all the rooms empty. 

He ran a hand through his hair and down his face as he tried to steady his breathing, so that he could think. 

“She’s not here, She’s not here, She’s not-” Three whispered words were all that left his lips, a broken mantra filled with worry and despair. 

*

“Okay, let’s start from the beginning, how did the unsub even gain entry to the apartment?” Rossi asked, grimacing at the state of the room around them. 

After coming to the realisation that his fiancee was missing and had indeed been taken, Spencer had called Emily, who’d assembled the team together to help the distraught genius. Emily sent Garcia, Luke and Matt to the BAU headquarters to work from there, while the rest of the team met up with Spencer at his apartment. 

Once they’d arrived, they found Spencer outside, anxiously pacing the hallway outside the door as he mumbled to himself, desperately trying to fight off the raging headache he had. JJ was quick to attempt to console him, but to no avail. His brain was essentially mush. As if the stress of everything he’d been through wasn’t enough- the love of his life was missing, potentially dead, and he couldn’t even string together a coherent sentence. How was he supposed to help? 

Emily had nodded to the rest of the team, silently telling them to head inside the apartment to check things out while she came to stand in front of Spencer. 

“Reid? Reid. I know this is a lot but I need you to listen to me. You can’t be here. You’re not in the right headspace for this. You’re better off back at the BAU with Garcia, Luke and Matt.” Emily tried. She didn’t want to upset him further but it was the best thing for him. There was no chance of him thinking clearly at the scene, so sending him back to HQ was the best option. 

Spencer knew that. However it didn’t stop him from looking at Emily with anger flaring in his eyes. “You’re not seriously kicking me off the case? My fiancee is missing-” His voice raised but Emily cut him off. 

“I’m not kicking you off the case. Y/N is a part of this family and we won’t rest until she’s home, but you’re not gonna be able to think here, Spencer. I’m just trying to do what’s best for you.” She promised and he nodded, forcing him self not to grunt in pain as his splitting headache worsened. 

*

As he stepped off of the elevator, his legs carried him quickly through the glass doors into the bullpen. He b-lined for the conference room, where Garcia, Luke Matt were sat at the roundtable. Garcia was typing away furiously at her laptop, Matt looking over her shoulder whilst Luke reviewed pictures from the crime scene. When Spencer entered the room Garcia looked up, her fingers faltering. 

“Reid..” Garcia started, but quickly realised she didn’t know what to say. 

Spencer said nothing, stalking toward her and leaning his hands on the table. “Emily told me you’re looking at security footage from outside our apartment complex? Did you see anything?” 

Garcia exchanged a look of sadness with Matt before clearing her throat. “Uh, the cameras outside the lobby caught the kidnappers vehicle as it left, a blue Sedan, but it’s too dark for us to make out the plates.” 

“Did the camera’s catch her being taken?” His voice was quiet but sturdy. The coldness of his tone almost made Garcia shiver. 

“Yes.” She squeaked out. 

“Show me.” He demanded, walking to her other side so he could lean over her shoulder to watch. 

Matt shifted, standing up straight. “I’m not so sure that’s a good idea, Reid.”

“Did I ask?” He spat, not bothering to spare Matt a glance as he looked at Garcia’s laptop screen. “ I said show me.” 

“O-Okay.” She murmured, clicking a few buttons before the video started up. 

The four of them watched intently as a man in a dark hoodie carried an unconscious Y/N out the front doors of the complex. Spencer noted the splotch of red on her forehead, likely from where the bastard had hit her to knock her out.  The man forcefully shoved her in the back of the car that waited by the front of the building, before moving to get into the drivers seat and taking off. 

Spencer was gripping the edge of the roundtable with such force that his knuckles were white, and it seemed a miracle that the wood hadn’t splintered under his force. 

Luke spoke first. “Did we get a good enough look at his face?” 

Garcia shook her head. “Not really. His back was to the camera’s a lot.” 

Matt sighed. “It means he knew where they were, and how to avoid them. This kidnapping was planned, likely weeks in advance.” 

Spencer slammed his hands down on the table, and Garcia let out a yelp at the sudden movement. “So we have nothing then?” He yelled, starting to pace the end of the conference room, his hands gripping handful’s of his hair. 

“I’ll call Emily and see if they found anything at the scene.” Matt mumbled, quickly leaving the room. 

Spencer rubbed as his eyes frustratedly, before turning toward Luke and Garcia. “You guys need to get out.” 

“What?”

“Get out, you need to get out. I’m sorry but I need to think, I need to focus and I can’t do that with you here.” He ushered the two out of the conference room, slamming the door shut behind them as he looked around frantically. He grabbed the photos that were on the table that Luke was previously looking at. He stared at them, willing his brain to work, hoping he’d figure out what he was missing. He quickly grew frustrated with his lack of progress, picking up one of the books from the table and throwing it at the wall in his angry haste. 

Garcia gasped, a loud bang sounding from the conference room where Reid was working tirelessly to find Y/N. She shared a look with Luke, who shrugged. The pair quickly moved toward the room, gently opening the door, to find Spencer pacing the room anxiously, running his hands through his hair as he tried to control his breathing. 

Spencer didn’t know what to do. He’d exhausted the few leads they had, he was mentally and physically exhausted and he wasn’t sure when the last time he ate was. All he knew, all he could think about, was that his girl was out there somewhere, waiting for him to save her. And he wasn’t even close to finding her.

“Reid, I know a lot is going on but you’ve got to try and clear your head-“ Luke started but Spencer interrupted him, his tone cold and unforgiving.

“My fiancée is missing, and I can’t get it together long enough to figure out where she is!” He yelled, and Garcia flinched at his words. He saw the looks on their faces and frowned. “What?”

“You threw a book at the wall..” Garcia mumbled, still cautious of her words.

“If Y/N dies because I was too slow I’ll be throwing a lot more than books.” He seethed, before brushing past the stunned pair.

*

The cold water felt refreshing on his boiling skin as he splashed it against his face in an attempt to calm himself down a little. He gripped the sink tightly in his hands and forced himself to look in the mirror. He wasn’t shocked by what he saw staring back at him. A shell of the man he was before prison. Cold and harsh and unkind, a man who would kill another and still sleep easy. His breaths were heavy and he felt the familiar feeling crawling up his throat, the feeling that he wanted to cry, to sob and plead for everything to just end. Hadn’t he been through enough? 

He choked the feeling down. Crying and pleading weren’t going to bring Y/N back home to him. 

He could feel the panic bubbling within him, and so he forced himself to think of happier times, times where the weight of the world wasn’t on his aching shoulders. He screwed his eyes shut, willing himself to go somewhere better, somewhere happier, even if just for a minute. 

“Spence?”

It was her voice. Oh thank god. 

He blinked his eyes open, his gaze landing on her sat next to him. He immediately knew which memory he was recalling. It was one of the happiest days of his life. 

He’d taken her out that night for dinner and then up a mountain of sorts so they could get to a high enough point where they’d have a perfect view of the stars. He’d explained the constellations to her as she sat next to him, cross-legged with her head resting on his shoulder and his arms around her. 

He looked at her as she stared up at the night sky in awe. He took in every detail of her face, letting it really sink in that she was his, a woman so kind and compassionate and beautiful was all his. She raised her hand to point up toward the sky, an amused smile on her lips. 

“What about that one, what’s it called?”

He was more than happy to tell her.

As they sat in a blissful silence, Spencer noted how this was the happiest he’d felt in a long time. With her, he was sure there could never be a bad day again. 

He broke the silence by clearing his throat, unwrapping his arm from her as she turned to face him, her brow furrowed. 

“Spence? You okay?”

“Yeah- I- Um, I didn’t just bring you out here to watch the stars.” He started, his palms quickly becoming sweaty and his voice dying in his rapidly drying throat. He kept trying to speak, to say the words he’d practiced a thousand times over in his head, but he simply couldn’t form the words. 

She reached out to grab his hand, taking in gently in hers as an act of reassurance. “It’s okay, It’s only me. Take your time.” 

He squeezed her hand in thanks before taking a deep breath and moving up from his seated position, manoeuvering so he was now down on one knee in front of her. He kept the grip on her hand, his other hand reaching into his pocket for the small red box that he’d carried with him for months prior to this moment. 

Y/N gasped when he opened up the box, showcasing the beautiful silver ring sat inside. Her eyes grew wide and filled with tears. 

“Y/N.” He started. “Over the two years, two-hundred-and-seventeen days, six hours and fifteen minutes we’ve been together, there’s not been one moment where I’ve not loved you. Even through petty arguments and silly fights, I have never and will never stop loving you. I don’t think I could if I tried. You’re always there for me when I need you. When a case has been rough, you’re at home waiting to hold me and make everything better. You’ve never failed me, and if you accept this ring, I promise I’ll never fail you. You’re my whole life, Y/N. There is nothing I wouldn’t do if it ensured your safety, if it meant coming home to you. You’re everything I’m ever going to want, you’re everything I need. So Y/N Y/L/N, would you do me the extraordinary honour of marrying me?” 

Words failed her in that moment so all she could do was nod her head as tears cascaded down her cheeks. She launched herself forward, wrapping her arms around him as she cried happily into his neck, and he chuckled to himself, arms wrapping around her securely. 

She pulled back a moment later, swiping her fingers under her eyes to wipe her tears away as she flashed him a breath-taking smile. “Yes.” She answered quietly, watching as he carefully slipped the ring on her finger. she gazed down at it in awe. “It’s beautiful, Spence.” She grinned back up at him, her hands coming to cup his cheeks. 

“You’re beautiful.” He murmured, before moving forward to connect his lips to hers.  

He wished he could cling onto the warmth that bubbled in his chest forever. 

A voice came from behind him, causing his eyes to snap open. He looked behind him, to where Luke stood by the door. 

“Reid, You gotta come. Garcia found something.” 

*

“What have you got Garcia?” Luke called as soon as he entered the conference room, Reid rushing in behind him. 

“I managed to get the footage from the cameras that are outside the shop opposite the apartment complex.” She started, and Reid came to stand next to her, watching the footage play on her laptop. “If I zoom in close enough I should be able to get an ID on our unsub. We can see his face, but it’s still a tad blurry. Not to worry, I’ll work some magic and get it as clear as I can. Hopefully then we can run it through facial recognition and pray it turns up something.” She sounded hopeful, and Reid was grateful for her optimism. 

It wasn’t much, but it was a lead. And honestly that was all he could ask for at that moment. 

*

Garcia skilfully managed to unblur the video they had of the unsub, but facial recognition didn’t turn up any matches or any new leads. The team were at a loss. It had been seventy-two hours since Y/N went missing, and with every hour, the possibility of her coming home alive decreased. Spencer knew the statistics, he knew the chances. it was the curse of an eidetic memory, he supposed.

With every hour, Reid lost more and more of himself, any hope he had being chipped away with the annoying tick of the clock as seconds passed by. He had barely slept, even when being ‘ordered’ to by Emily. The only time he’d slept was when he got so drained and exhausted that he actually passed out for a few hours. He refused to eat, drinking as much caffeine as he could in order to force himself to stay awake. How could he sleep at a time like this? Whenever someone on the team tried to encourage him to eat, if only a few bites of a cereal bar, he’d snap at them. 

Eventually, JJ had had enough. She watched Spencer snap at Luke, who was just trying to encourage him to put something other than coffee in his system. She stood up from her seat, grabbing his wrist and pulling him with her. He attempted to protest but she gave him a look that made him decide that it was best he keep his mouth shut. She pulled them into an empty office, closing the door behind them for privacy.

“You gotta listen to me, Spence.” She spoke calmly. “I know this is killing you. I know how badly you want to find her and bring her home. Everyone out there is trying so hard to do that for you.” She pointed to the doorway to emphasise her point. She dropped her arm back down to her side as she watched him run his hands over his face exhaustedly. “Talk to me.” 

“I just I can’t think straight-” He whimpered out, rubbing his eyes with his hands. “I need her to come home, I can’t live without her.” He got a little choked up, his hands trembling slightly as he desperately tried to keep his emotions in check. 

JJ gently placed her hand on his shoulder, still cautious of touching him since his release from prison, not wanting to alarm or startle him. 

“There’s not a doubt in my mind that we’ll find her. Y/N is tough, she won’t let him break her.”

Spencer nodded, wiping his eyes on the cuffs of his blazer. He was about to thank JJ for her comfort when a knock sounded through the room. Tara came in, a morbid look on her face. “You guys need to come see this.”

When they reach the conference room again, all of the team is gathered around the table, their gazes all trained on the phone in the middle of the table that was ringing.  

Emily looked to Garcia. “Are you ready to trace the call?” 

Garcia nodded. Spencer was about to ask what was happening when Emily reached over, answering the phone and putting it on loud speaker. “This is Agent Emily Prentiss with the FBI, who am I speaking to?” 

“I want to speak with Dr Reid.” The unsub’s voice boomed through the speaker, and Emily exchanged a look with Spencer as she shook her head, placing a finger over her lips. 

“We want proof of life before we negotiate anything with you.” She stated. 

“She’s listening, perfectly alive. I want to speak to Dr Reid.” 

Emily nodded toward Spencer, signalling for him to speak. 

“I’m here.” He spoke, keeping his voice strong despite how he wanted to cry. It was a skill he’d learned in prison- tears equated to weakness, and weakness got you killed. 

“I’d like you to know, I’m feeling generous today.” The unsub sounded like he was smirking on the other end of the line, almost proud. 

“You are? What does that mean?” Spencer continued the conversation on, keeping the unsub on the line long enough for Garcia to get a location. 

“I’ve spent a fair bit of time with Y/N. She’s fierce. Hard one to break, this one.” He was mocking Spencer, taunting him, and he had to try ridiculously hard to keep his building anger in check. “She begs for you, you know? When my punches make pretty bruises bloom across her skin she pleads for you to save her. But she’s tough, always hitting me back with insults. You know earlier, she actually spat at me, the bitch.” He chuckled, and Spencer breathed in deeply, gripping the edges of the table in a death-grip. 

Rossi shot him a look from across the table that said ‘Keep it together’. 

“No worry, I’m sure I can break her. If you give me some more time with her, maybe I can try some.. alternative methods.” 

That was the line for Spencer, who spat through clenched his teeth and stood to hover over the phone. “You listen to me, you son of a bitch, if you touch her I swear to god-“

“I’d be careful about threatening me, or I might not be so generous.” The unsub tutted. 

“What do you want? Tell me what you want in return for Y/N’s safety.”

“This isn’t a bargain, Doctor. This is a kindness. I’m going to let pretty young Y/N speak with you before I kill her. I’m not so much of a monster that I would stand in the way of young love. You have five minutes to talk. You’re welcome.” 

There was more rustling on the phone, and then silence. 

And then finally-

“Spence?” 

Her voice was croaky, likely from the lack of water and her screaming. It sounded so broken, and Spencer’s heart ached because he could tell she was using all of her strength to try and sound okay for him. 

Spencer sighed out of relief. despite how it sounded, proof that she was alive was enough to lift the slightest bit of weight from his shoulders. “It’s me, sweetheart. Are you okay?”

“I think some of my ribs are broken, my wrist definitely is. I’m trying to be strong Spence but I don’t know if I can-“ She choked and tears filled his eyes as he willed them to keep at bay. 

“Y/N, listen to me. I will find you. Do you understand me? You will not die there. You’re gonna come home to me, I promise you that.” The tears he tried to hide away slowly trembled down his cheeks as he made promises that he wasn’t 100% sure he could keep. 

“Spencer. I’m so sorry-“ She started but he interrupted her. 

“Please don’t apologise, It’s not your fault, baby.” He pleaded, the feeling of dread filling him the longer they spoke. 

Around the table, each team stood watching in shock, tears swimming in their own eyes. 

“Two minutes.” The unsub shouted through the phone. 

“I need to tell you something.” Y/N whimpered. 

Spencer shook his head although she couldn’t see it. “No, I know where you’re going with this, stop it.”

She ignored his plead. “Spencer Reid, I’ve loved you ever since we met, when you spilled your coffee all over me. I remember it like it was yesterday. Your coffee ruined my outfit, and you were an apologising mess, so you gave me your jacket, even though it meant you’d get cold. I’ve loved you ever since that moment, Spencer.” Her voice broke at the end and she cleared her throat, determined to finish what she wanted to say. “You have to promise me you will move on, Spencer. You’ve got to let yourself be happy. You deserve it, so much.”

Spencer whined, his own voice croaky. “Don’t. Don’t you dare say goodbye to me, Y/N.”

The booming voice of the unsub came through the speaker again. “Times up.” 

“Spencer I love yo-” The end of her sentence was cut off by the unsub ending the call, the dial tone ringing out when the line went dead. 

Spencer’s hands were shaking in anger as he closed his eyes, bowing his head, hopelessly trying to keep himself calm. 

Emily was the first to speak. “Did you get it, Garcia?” 

Garcia continued to click away from a few moments before gasping. “Yes! Yes! I got it!” 

The exclamation made Spencer’s head shoot up. 

“Send us the address.” Emily ordered, as the team headed out toward the cars, with no time left to waste. 

*

The team pulled up to the location Garcia had given them, splitting off into two groups to cover the front and back entrances. 

Spencer, JJ, Luke, and Emily were all cautiously walking down one of the warehouse’s winding corridors, before turning the corner, guns in hand. They’d entered a large room, and Spencer’s eyes immediately landed on the limp figure hunched over in a chair in the centre of the room. 

Whilst the other members made sure there were no other possible threats in the room, Spencer rushed forward, the only thing he could think of was getting to her. 

Oh god please be alive, please. 

As he got closer, he took note of the wounds she has sustained. There was blood pooling from a wound on her thigh, and a few other cuts and bruises. 

Why was she so still? 

As soon as he reached her his hands cupped her cheeks, her head lolled towards him, as she struggled to hold it up. He pressed two of his fingers to her neck and had never been so thankful to feel a shallow pulse beneath her skin. 

“Y/N? Y/N, wake up, come on sweetheart.” He pleaded, swiping his thumbs over her cheeks. 

She blinked her eyes open, groaning in pain as she came to. She hissed at the pain in her thigh, her eyes focusing on the man in front of her.  “Spencer?”

“It’s me, I’m here. We’re gonna get you out of here alright, just stay with me.”

“He left a few minutes before you got here-“ She coughed mid-sentence, nodding her head weakly toward the back entrance of the room. “He went that way.”

Luke and Emily moved towards the back entrance in pursuit of the unsub, while JJ stayed back to untie Y/N’s wrists from behind her whilst speaking into her radio requesting medical attention. 

Y/N groaned again as she felt Spencer’s hands on her thigh, desperately trying it slow the bleeding. She blinked, despairingly trying to stay awake. Spencer could see her fighting and scrambled to find something to distract her with. “Hey, hey. you remember when we met? Like you said on the phone? That I completely ruined your blouse with my coffee because I’m an idiot.” He gave her a small forced smile that he hoped would reassure her as she wailed out again in pain.

He looked at JJ, who looked back at him with tears in her own eyes. “I don’t think we can wait much longer for the medics, we’re gonna have to bring her to them.” 

“Are you sure we should move her?” JJ asked. 

Spencer simply nodded. “She might die if we don’t move her now, she’s losing too much blood.” He pulled his belt from his waist, tying it tightly just above Y/N’s leg wound. She let out a shrill cry of pain, sobs escaping her lips. 

“I’m sorry sweetheart, I know it hurts. We’re gonna get you up and outside okay.” He cooed as he hoisted her up bridal style, holding her as gently as he could so as not to agitate her wound. With JJ beside them, he began to walk back towards the entrance. “It’ll be okay. I promise. You’ll be okay.” He pressed a kiss to Y/N’s forehead as a promise. 

Her head dropped against his shoulder and he looked down at her, his tone pleading as he spoke. “I know you’re tired baby but you gotta keep those beautiful eyes open for me, okay?” They were just stepping through the front door when she spoke.

“Spence..” She whispered, her eyes fluttering as she defeatedly attempted to stop the darkness from consuming her.

“Yeah?”

She didn’t answer. 

Everything was a blur after that. 

* 

The hospital waiting room was one of Spencer’s least favourite places, he’d decided. 

The strong smell of disinfectant along with the bright lights and white walls irritated his eyes, making his headaches even worse. He didn’t dare try to sleep though, not until he knew if she was okay. His head was in his hands and his leg bounced anxiously as he sat in the waiting room, his team surrounding him, all aching for any news. 

Finally, after what felt like hours had dragged on, a nurse entered the room calling for Y/N’s family. 

Spencer stood so quickly he nearly toppled over. He moved toward the nurse nodding his head frantically. “I’m her fiancee, is she okay?”

The nurse gave him a smile and nodded. “She’s absolutely fine, sir. The wound on her thigh bled quite heavily, but we were able to stabilise her. She has a few bruised ribs and a broken wrist, but she will make a full recovery. She’s awake if you’d like to see her?” 

He nodded again, sparing a thankful glance at his team before following the nurse down the hallway. 

He’d never felt such a sweet relief as he did when he saw her sat up in her hospital bed, a small smile on her lips as she drank from her water cup. Her smile brightened at the sight of him and she gave him a little wave, setting her cup down on the tiny side table.  

“Thank god you’re okay.” He murmured once he reached her bedside, leaning down to engulf her in a light hug, so as not to cause her any pain. 

She grinned, reaching her good hand up to hold him to her. 

When he pulled back he placed a gentle kiss on her lips, one that just further assured him that she was okay. Once they pulled away, he moved his hands to cup her cheeks. 

“Hi.” He grinned, the tears pricking at his eyes. 

“Hi.” She gave a light chuckle, immediately regretting it when a sharp pain seared through her chest, making her wince. 

He pressed his forehead to hers in a sweet gesture, closing his eyes as he basked in her warmth. He tuned his ears into the rhythm of her soft breathing, focusing on them and trying to keep his in time with hers. 

She gently brushed her hand up and down his forearm in a comforting manner. “It’s okay, Spence. I’m okay.”

“I nearly lost you.” His throat caught on the words, and she noticed the stray tears that quivered down his cheeks. 

She smiled sadly as he opened his eyes, hazel orbs meeting hers. “But you didn’t. I’m here. I’m alive, you’re alive, and it’s all gonna be just fine.”

He nodded before pulling away from her. he reached for the chair that was up against the wall of the room, pulling it so he could sit at her bedside. “I’m so sorry I let this happen to you.” He frowned, placing his hands in his lap. “I should’ve protected you. It’s my job to protect you. How can even think I’ll be a good husband, even a good father someday if I can’t keep you safe?”

She reached over and gripped his hand tightly. “You will be a phenomenal husband Spencer Reid, and an even better father. In less than five months I’ll be your wife, and I’ll be the happiest woman alive.” She ran her thumb over the back of his hand in a soothing manner and he smiled a little at her compliment. “And when we have a baby, they’ll be the luckiest kid on earth to have you as their father.”

“Yes ma’am.” He teased and she smiled, happy she’d been able to quash his worries, for the moment at least. 

His fingers hovered over the engagement ring on her finger, bringing her hand to his lips to place a kiss on it. “Why wait?” He murmured. 

“What?”

“Why should we wait five months? The nurse said they’re gonna discharge you on Thursday morning. So as soon as you’re up to it why don’t we go down to the courthouse and elope?” He queried, a smile on his lips. 

“Spence.. the weddings all planned. Five months isn’t a long time.” She countered, a small smile on her lips. 

“It is, it’s too long. I don’t want to waste another minute of my life not being married to you. I want you to be Mrs Reid and I want us to start living our lives together. We can still have the wedding, we’ll just get married twice.” He shrugged, and Y/N couldn’t believe she was really considering the idea. 

“Spence, I don’t know..” She trailed off, still needing a little convincing to get on board. 

He released her hand and stood from the chair, moving it over slightly before lowering himself down onto one knee, taking her hand again. “Y/N Y/L/N, will you marry me-“

“You know you’ve already asked me this? Like a year ago.” She teased, and he chuckled shaking his head at her. 

“Hush, let me finish. Will you marry me, on Thursday?”

“Yes.” She answered with a grin, as though it was the most obvious answer in the world. 

He beamed, surging forward and wrapping her in his arms.

“You know, Garcia will kill us for getting married without her there.” She smirked as they pulled back, and Spencer nodded in agreement. 

“What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.”

“You think she won’t find out? I’ll leave you to deal with her when she gets angry, Dr. Reid.” She joked, and he laughed with her. 

“I think I can handle it, Mrs Reid.”

She grinned at the premature use of the name. “You can’t call me that until Thursday, you know.”

“Technically I can’t. But as soon as I can, I’ll never stop.” He promised, leaning down to kiss her once more. 

[secretlittl3whore]

Not a Nightmare

Summary: You’re reminiscing over the last year when you hear Bucky having a dream in the other room, but it’s not the kind of dream you were expecting.

Pairing: Reader x Bucky Barnes

Warnings: smut! Unprotected sex (don’t be silly, wrap your Willy). A little angsty first. Swear words. 18+ y’all please!

Enjoy my sweet nymphs. As always, you can request ;)

——

His nightmares kept him up most nights. It had been that way since i had connected with him in South America. He wasn’t the Winter Soldier anymore, he really didn’t even know who he was, except what he could glean from the Captain America exhibit and from what I could share of what Steve had told me. Part of me wondered if I made the right decision to follow him instead of returning to America, but when he recognized me and in the two weeks I was down there, attempted multiple interactions with me, I couldn’t deny him when he asked me to stay. I wish I understood why he asked.

Now here we are in Bucharest. Times are calmer for him, but the nightmares...they’re worse than anything I expected. Sometimes, he will awake screaming at night. Others he’s trying to fight some imaginary enemy and doesn’t wake till he’s forced. On occasion, I have been the victim of a night terror. His vibranium arm crushing my throat or him slamming me into the floor. Bucky always felt like shit afterwards, no matter what I said. At one point he tried to kick me out of his apartment and his life, saying he was too dangerous for me. I sat outside the door for six hours, listening to him cry. When I finally had knocked, he practically ripped the door of the hinges to grab me back in. He dropped to his knees that day, his arms wrapped around me as he buried his tear covered face against my stomach. It broke me to see him in such a vulnerable position. I remember running my hands through his hair for what seemed like forever until his grip around me loosened and his arms fell limply to his sides.

“Why did you stay? After, after all I’ve done?” His voice broke, as more tears slid down his face. My own eyes welled with tears as I kneeled in front of him. Slowly and gently, I took him in my arms, pulling him against me. Bucky tensed for a minute, but then slowly wrapped his arms around me and buried his face in my neck. I went back to running my fingers in his hair, contemplating my response.

“Because I want to be here for you. In every way possible.” A silent sob racked his body and I felt more of his weight on me as he crumpled. Bucky laid his head in my lap and brought his flesh hand to rest on my hip. He kept his vibranium on the floor, away, fear radiating from the way he curled it away from me. “Give me your hand Bucky.” He raised his head off my lap with wide open eyes.

“But...” he started to protest, but i shushed him, placing my finger on his lips.

“I’m here for you in every way.” I emphasized the last two words with a small smile. I wasn’t afraid of him and I certainly wasn’t afraid of his arm. “That means,” I reached for his hand and took the cool metal fingers within mine, “you don’t have To worry about keeping yourself from me.” Reluctantly he allowed me to bring his arm up to my lips. I knew he couldn’t feel it, but I kissed his had, listening to the soft whirs and enjoying the feel of the cool metal against my lips. Bucky continued to cry for a while more, my sleep shorts practically soaked and my legs so numb that I was probably going to have to crawl to bed. But he never let go, never moved his head, and never tried to remove his arm from my grasp.

Since that day, he has been exceedingly touchy with me. It was clear he was touch starved, I would be too, if all i ever knew was a harsh hand. I started to notice it when I had just returned from the market with groceries one day. I swore he had been asleep on his makeshift bed and I was trying to be as quiet as I could, but then felt a presence and a hand on the small of my back. I threw him a small smile over my shoulder before returning to my task. He stayed there for the entire time I put the groceries away, leaning against the fridge door and absentmindedly rubbing the exposed skin of my back. It was the hardest fucking lesson to learn, but I finally had enough willpower to not jump when he placed his cold fingers against my skin. I honestly loved the feeling of his metal pads dragging softly against the small of my back, but gosh dang were they freezing! Even despite the fact that he wore gloves almost all the time.

Nonetheless, i started to notice it more and more after this. Him standing close to me, having his hand on me at any point (or simply just brushing it against me), sitting near me, and my favorite, him laying his head on my lap when I’m sitting in the couch.

Had I fallen in love with the super soldier? I cannot deny it.

—

A whimper from the living room ripped me from my head. I sat up in the bathtub, trying to see if the sound was just in my head. Another whimper told me it wasn’t. I wrapped myself in a robe and padded softly into the living room where Bucky slept.

He wasn’t thrashing around, but his face was contorted in an expression I couldn’t read. Suddenly, a small moan left his lips and I just about swooned. What was this man dreaming about? At that moment, his blanket fell to the side and I averted my eyes respectfully, but definitely didn’t miss the tent that had formed in his sweat pants. I turned to walk away but then he moaned again, this time saying a name...my name.

I felt hot, not just in my face, but also in between my legs. He was dreaming about me? I almost didn’t believe it, but the man said my name yet again. Fine, if he says it again...

“Y/n...” Bucky moaned, a little louder this time. Damn it. Mustering all my confidence, I walked over to the sleeping man. It was a risk, and I knew it, but I’ll be damned if I lied to myself and said I didn’t want this man. Kneeling beside his bed, I gently brushed some of the hair out of his face. The super soldier startled awake and grabbed my hand harshly, breathing raspy. “y/n...what?” Voice sleepy.

“You were dreaming.” I said simply. He sat up quickly and pulled the blanket over himself, averting his eyes from my gaze. “Bucky,” he still refused to look at me. “Do you want me?” Bucky immediately snapped his eyes to mine, a clear and potent blush on his face. I heard him swallow hard before replying in the most quiet of voice,

“Yes.” Inwardly I celebrated as loudly as I could, but I kept cool on the surface. I surged forward and captured his lips. He responded immediately, moving his lips against mine. Without breaking the kiss, I straddled his lap wrapping my arms around his neck. Tentatively, he brought both hands to my hips. I licked his bottom lip and invaded his mouth when he opened. He moaned into my mouth as my tongue danced with his. When I pulled back, our breaths were short. His blue eyes glistened with tears,

“Are you sure you want me?” If it had been any other moment, I probably would’ve just cried and held him in my arms, but there was such a confidence within myself that I decided against such a meek answer. Instead, I pulled at the tie of my robe. Bucky almost instantly grabbed my hands, his eyes wide. “What are you doing?”

“Showing you just how much I want you.” As he relaxed his hands, I pulled the robe off. The cold air within the apartment perked my nipples. Bucky’s eyes traveled my body, but he didn’t move. Slowly, I led his hands to my chest. His metal hand played a dangerous game of temperature play with my breasts and a moan escaped from me. My cunt ached and I knew that I was wet from anticipation.

That moan must’ve given him some sort of confidence because he started to knead the fleshy mounds. He then dipped his head low and took a nipple into his mouth.

“Buck,” I moaned. His tongue laved over the nipple and I felt his teeth pull gently. I was a raspy, moaning mess by the time he switched over to the other nipple. Need friction. Taking his flesh hand from my breast, I guided it down to my aching cunt. Bucky stopped his lavishes on my nipple as he stared at me.

“I’m...” Bucky averted his gaze, “I’m out of practice.” Before he could get into his head and start comparing himself to his 1940s version, I kissed him deeply.

“So am I, we’ll learn together.” Bucky inhaled deeply and dropped his head to my shoulder. A finger touched my sensitive nub and I jerked. He started circling that area with his thumb as his other fingers explored, gathering wetness. A finger entered me and I gasped at the feeling. Another entered. Moving in and out, curling, and gently stretching me. I was a moaning mess at his musings. A white flash smashed my vision as he hit a certain spot within me and I moaned loudly. Bucky started kissing and licking my shoulders and neck, marking the skin as he paid attention to this spot within me. My moans spurned him on as he quickened his pace, still making sure to play with my clit.

“Buck...Bucky.” His name a mantra on my lips as I grasped his hair, my head falling backwards. His metal arm reached around my back, holding me in place. My orgasm was building, toes curling, that warmth within my belly. His fingers pumped and curled, edging me to the end. In a another flash of white It surged through me and I came on his fingers.

He looked surprised and proud of himself as he brought his soaked fingers to his lips. I almost came again as I watched him lick each one clean. His pupils blew out and he pulled my face to his, smashing his lips against mine. Tongue surged past my open lips, bringing the taste of me. Bucky lifted me off his lap and gently turned us around, laying me on his bed, but never breaking the kiss. He worked his pants off.

I pulled back from the kiss, my lungs screaming for air. He leaned upwards and I finally caught the full show. His dick was massive, too swollen and red. The veins popping. And fine curly hair at the base. He was Definitely bigger than I have ever had. I gingerly reached out and wrapped my fingers around him. Shit, he was thick, I could hardly touch my middle finger to my thumb. I looked up at him. His eyes were closed, mouth opened just a bit, and his hands were in his hair.

“Buck?” I brought his attention to me and he released his hands from his hair. “What’s wrong?” He had tears in his eyes again.

“I don’t want to be something you regret y/n.” He cried. I reached upwards and guided him down to my lips. His tears dropping onto my cheeks.

“Never. I’ll never regret you. I love you.” I whispered into his ears. Bucky froze. Oh shit, did I go to far?

“Say it again.” He spoke finally, still frozen in place, his ear next to my lips. I swallowed hard before repeating,

“I love you.” Bucky reached down between us, pumped himself twice, before lining himself up at my entrance. He pushed forward gently. Even with just the tip inside, I could already feel the stretching. He entered more, going slow. Bucky and I moaned loudly as he became fully sheathed inside. I grasped at his shirt, feeling full. There was a dull pain within my cunt and I breathed through it, the pain finally turning to pleasure. Almost as he could sense it, Bucky started to move. The rhythm was slow at first, him enjoying and getting reacquainted to the feeling.

My entire being felt jolted with every roll of his hips. His pubic bone was hitting my clit so perfectly that even at this slow pace, I was sure that he would throw me over the edge again. Bucky leaned closer to me, making sure to keep his weight on his forearms, and buried his head within my neck again. Wrapping my legs around his waist, i fisted my hand within his hair. He groaned and snapped his hips hard against me. The sound that left my mouth was pornographic, and he definitely liked it. Bucky started snapping his hips into me at a bruising pace, drawing moan after moan. I was incoherent, arching my back into him. He suddenly grabbed my hand from his back and thrusted it against the bed, holding it at the wrist. His metal hand hoisted my hips higher, and at the angle he was going, he was smashing into that special spot. I came in an instant, screaming loudly.

He didn’t let up his pace. Pulling out almost entirely before slamming back in. Both hands were now at my hips, gripping hard. There would be bruises in the morning. Groans and moans were rushing past his lips as he powered through, his stamina definitely a byproduct of the super soldier serum. Another orgasm built within me and he leaned over my ear,

“Fuck y/n, I can feel you clenching. Can you give me another doll?” I threw my head back as he bit into my neck.

“Bucky!” I cried as the orgasm came. Bucky slowed his pace, pressing open mouth kisses to my skin. He then began to work a mark into my neck. My body was on fire and really sensitive. I moaned loudly, fisting my hands into his shirt. For a moment I wondered why it was still on, but I figured that although he may be confident to be within me, he may not yet be confident to show me himself fully, and that was okay, we could work towards that. Once he was proud of the mark, he placed a loving peck to it before moving towards my face. Not an inch was left unkissed. He leaned his forehead against mine, blue orbs staring into mine.

“Ready?” He asked. I nodded slowly, kissing him gently. Bucky picked up his speed and this time, it was more brutal than before. Pubic bone smashing against the sensitive bundle of nerves, wet legs and balls slapping against skin making the most perverted of sounds. Bucky’s hands gripped mine. I arched into him again, writhing, unable to control myself at the amount of pleasure within. My moans were incoherent, his name slipping from my lips. Suddenly his hips stuttered and he slammed into me, wrapping his arms tightly around me and crushing me against his chest. His release came with my name on his lips, a string of soft repetition. For a while he held me, his cock warm within me. And then he pulled out, laying beside me. Sweaty bodies, heaving chests, and the smell of sex was an intoxicating combination. I felt drained, but happy.

Curling against him, I wrapped my leg around his hip, just to feel him against my cunt. Bucky reached down and pulled the blanket over us. As I felt sleep take over, Bucky pressed a kiss to my forehead.

“I love you too Y/N.”