#His name is even P.D.
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Always felt bad for Peedee in SU
He got one episode were he got to be a metaphor and that's it, Ronaldo gets a couple eps but poor Peedee, just working and suffering in capitalism with no other eps :/
#Su#Do you know what I mean?#I would have liked more PeeDee#His name is even P.D.#Pink diamond#He was a metaphor? Allegory? Visual story sterling? For pink diamond early on#I would have liked him to become more of himself
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don't pretend.
spencer can see through all of your lies, including the bruises you’re hiding behind makeup.
pairing :: spencer x fem bau!reader
warnings :: mentions of prisons, physical violence, bruises, reader gets injured, patching up, fluff
word count :: 1.6k
author’s note :: oh, looks like i’ve spawned another hurt/comfort fic yet again…
accompanying song :: who hurt you by role model
you’re an ambitious profiler.
you’re such an ambitious profiler that you interview offenders with the most extensive list of records whenever you have time. you want to understand more than just the simple question of why they did it. you want to explore the how’s and what if’s.
and you’re soft-hearted, so much so that you jeopardize your own safety.
things should’ve gone smoothly with your fifth and last inmate of the week, had you been a little more aware of your surroundings.
but you placed too much faith on your ability to make peace with the man who unyieldingly worshiped violence.
that was your only mistake, but it was a costly one.
you had kindly asked the guard to release the handcuffs, even though he insisted that they stay on.
it’s alright, you told him with the wave of your hand.
but you should’ve noticed the look of challenge on the inmate’s face. it was like he was taunting you, almost as if to say, do you really feel safe being in the same room as me?
it was your soft-heartedness that almost got you severely injured.
he managed to land punches to your left cheek and scratched his nails into the flesh of your leg as he fell, right as he was tackled to the ground.
he laughed when he saw you holding your hand against your throbbing cheek.
you arrive at the office as early as you can, a layer of makeup thicker than usual coating the bruise swelling your left cheek.
you pretend to bury your head in the case file that you retrieved from your desk when the rest of the team started to flood into the room.
when spencer arrives, he gives you a nod and gleefully chirps good morning as he takes his seat beside you.
spencer knows your routine like the back of his palm – he knows you’re busy with interviews at the federal prison on saturdays and sundays, and he knows you always need a caffeine boost the next morning. you gladly accept the cup of coffee that he sets in front of your hands with a small smile.
as hotch is debriefing the case with garcia, however, you can’t help but feel his eyes drilling into the side of your face, as if he can see through your cover.
your makeup can’t be that obvious, right?
your thoughts are interrupted when hotch closes the cover of his case file, stands, and announces wheels up in 20.
you lift yourself with the support of the table and wait for everyone else to exit before you follow, doing your best to disguise the limp in your walk.
---
“alright. jj and prentiss, go to the morgue. morgan and reid, go to the crime scene. dave, you and l/n can set up with the local p.d. i’ll go talk to the victims’ families.”
as hotch assigns roles to the team, everyone nods when their names are called out. but spencer raises his hand slightly and clears his throat.
“actually, hotch, do you mind if i switch with rossi and set up with l/n and the locals instead?”
hotch hesitates for a second, but nods slowly.
“sure. dave, you okay with that?”
the italian agent cocks up a questioning eyebrow but gives a warm smile. “i don’t see why not.”
you’ve never heard spencer contest hotch’s orders before, so you’re stumped as to why he’s suggesting an alternative role this time. but you soon brush off the thought, and decide to occupy your time re-reading the case files before the jet lands.
you sink into your seat with a heavy sigh, forcing your eyes shut as pain travels down your legs. you’re thankful that hotch assigned you to set up at the local p.d., since it doesn’t require much locomotion and spares you the struggle of getting up constantly. you watch as spencer spreads the corners of the map and sticks push pins into the corkboard.
“how did your interviews go yesterday?” spencer breaks the silence first and moves to grab a red marker. with his practiced hand, he quickly circles the areas of the crime scenes on the map.
you gulp.
“they went pretty well, you know, nothing out of the ordinary.”
spencer caps the tip, and a click sounds as the plastic edges meet. he nods, wets his lips with his tongue, and turns to look at you. you meet his gaze for a brief second before you look away, pretending to busy yourself with the m.e. reports that jj sent over.
“green neutralizes red.”
his sudden remark startles you. you drop the papers in your hands and look up. “i’m sorry?”
“green contains the wavelengths that are missing in red light, so when they mix, the colors neutralize each other. that’s why concealers with a green base are better at covering up more reddish bruising,” spencer elaborates, and starts to match up the photos of the crime scenes to the locations marked on the map.
you blink. oh.
there’s no way he’s talking about you, right?
“um, yeah, green’s a common color corrector,” you mutter as you nervously tap your fingers against the wooden table. “but there weren’t any bruises or marks of assault on the victims.”
spencer scoffs as you finish your sentence.
“it’s not about the victims. you. i’m talking about you.”
you swallow slowly.
“i-i don’t know what you’re talking about,” you try, a fake smile plastered over your face as you shake your head left and right.
spencer studies you with a scrutinizing stare, eyes boring into yours like he’s counting the number of times you blink.
“could you grab that for me?” he asks at last, pointing to the book that’s two tables away, the one titled florida’s topography and bathymetry. without thinking, you nod and stand.
fuck.
what a clever way to set you up. now you have to somehow mask the limp in your steps and pretend like the pain coursing through your legs is nonexistent.
you do your best to walk normally, but it’s hard to tell if you’re doing a good job from his unreadable stare. you hold the book out with a bemused smile, hoping it’s enough to cover your pained expression.
he doesn’t look convinced.
“that,” spencer points to your leg with an accusatory gaze, “why are you walking like that?”
he swiftly takes the book from you, and your hand instinctively grips the side of the table for support.
“like what?”
you’re going to make him pry the confession out of you.
“like you’re hurting,” spencer utters quietly. his last word catches your breath completely.
“is that why you asked rossi to switch with you? so you could interrogate me?”
“who hurt you?” spencer ignores your question, setting the book aside and leaning over the table to get a closer look at your face.
instinctively, you retreat and look down, but he walks around the table and kneels in front of you. your brain buzzes with the words he’s just declared. it’s not what did you do, or what happened to you. instead, it’s who hurt you.
“i… it’s nothing.” you shift in your chair, but he stops the seat from turning completely by laying a hand on the headrest.
“tell me. please.”
you can’t fake it anymore, especially when he’s already hammered the nail into the hole perfectly.
you rub your sweaty palms on your lap. “one of them tried to hurt me during the interview. i-it was my fault, i asked the guards to take off the cuffs. i thought they’d be more willing to cooperate that way.”
spencer’s expression mellows as you speak, but he doesn’t return a comment. somehow, this makes you even more nervous.
a second after, he lifts his hand and slides a finger along the slightly swollen area of your cheek. he hesitates when you start to wince in pain.
tapping his knee with his index finger, he instructs, “let me take a look at your leg.”
you comply.
when you lift your leg, spencer’s hand slips between the wedge of your platform's heel, and gracefully sets your foot on his knee.
you observe him gently push the thin fabric of your trousers upwards. you hold your breath when he leans in to inspect closely, and you almost shudder when the vapor of his warm breath tickles the gash on your flared shin.
spencer steps back to retrieve a first-aid kit lying nearby and rolls up the sleeves of his shirt. without saying a single word, he pulls a cotton pad and a gauze roll from the bag.
as he wraps your leg with the gauze, he looks up to meet your lowered gaze.
“tell me his name.”
you bite your lip.
“it’s fine. you should focus on the geo-profile instead.” you exhale as spencer unfolds the rolls on the hem of your trousers to cover your leg again.
“you do know that it won’t take me long to go through every incident report,” he retorts back with a challenging glint in his eye. your cheeks heat up with a hot flush of red.
goddamnit, spencer reid.
you hastily brush yourself away from him.
“what are you going to do?”
he pauses, every second of silence only feeding your suspicions. you watch the corner of his lips tug into a smirk.
“you know, nothing out of the ordinary.”
you huff.
“don’t use my words against me.”
he shrugs with an indifferent expression, but chuckles before standing back up.
“his name. or do we want to do this the hard way?”
#spencer reid#spencer reid x reader#criminal minds#spencer reid fluff#spencer reid imagine#spencer reid fanfic#criminal minds fanfiction#criminal minds x reader#dr spencer reid
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30,000ft. above sea level
summary - you and your boss does something not that common for you guys to do 30,000 feet above sea level
pairing - aaron hotchner x reader
warnings: SMUT +18, oral sex (m!receiving), semi-public sex, dirty talk, mentions of p in v sex, humping, mentions of cases, typical criminal minds talk
notes: DAY 1 of KINKTOBER, divider by i08cymm
main masterlist | criminal minds masterlist
The team gathered together on the jet. Hotch was passing out the files while Spencer turned on the small laptop in front of him to contact Penelope.
The case wasn't that rough on their stomach. There were two missing girls— both of them were best friends. Both was abducted 3 days, after their dance practice. As soon as team received the file, they quickly scanned and then shared their thoughts with the group.
It was only a short discussion since their technical analyst already has the name of the unsub and the suspected area where the girls were held. All of the team decided to do their own business. Reid read a book that he brought, Prentiss and Morgan were chatting about women, while Rossi and J.J chatted about J.J's son—Henry.
The team sees you and Hotch as the parents of the team. Hotch was strict, straightforward and silent like a father; you were sweet, kind, and cares for the team like a mother. What the team doesn't know is that you and Aaron are dating for a couple months now. There were times where you enter his office and have a little make-out session in there. The team doesn't suspect anything since you know, you both are parental figures— and thank God for that. They probably think that the both of you were discussing case files or help Hotch about his paperwork during those times.
And now, you felt that mood in you again.
The two of you haven't done it on the jet yet so it might sound like new to you and him. You gently stood up to your seat and excused yourself, leaving the team and went to the other side of the jet where Hotch was. You closed the curtains that was dividing the plane.
"Mama and Papa bear are talking about paperworks again. Can't they have a life?" Morgan commented, seeing you going to Hotch and slid the curtains.
"Well, work is always on their minds." Prentiss replied.
As you entered the area where Hotch was, he was sitting down, his back facing you, paper works were all over the table. It wasn't just any paperwork nor file, it's paperwork regarding the team's behavior. You find it funny when he does that since you know how silly the team member gets.
"Hey, what's up?" you walked towards him, getting his attention as he looked at you and smiled.
"Just the behavior paperwork." Hotch answered before his eyes went back to the file and answered.
"The team can get reckless sometimes." You laughed at his statement. You sat on the chair in front of him, crossing your legs. You observed him deeply. He wasn't that stressed nor tensed but you can see how his long sleeved white shirt was getting tighter and his muscles are getting visible which is making you feel something.
That feeling increased when you looked at his face. He was focused, his eyes fall in every word he writes. Jesus— he looked so fucking hot.
"Are you doing my behavioral report?" you asked as he grabbed a new file and opened it. You saw your 2 by 2 I.D card that was clipped on the pages of the file.
"Yes. I've done the others."
"Tell me about them— their report."
He scoffed at your request. Hotch grabbed the previous files and read each report to you. "Garcia hacked 3 private servers. Morgan kicked another door during our cases even though the door was unlocked. Reid academically insulted the local P.D during our previous case. And Rossi insulted another police.." Every word he said, it wasn't coherent to you but that didn't matter.
All your attention was to him. His eyes. His face. His arms. His fingers. And his... you know where. You felt that feeling rise up again. You felt like you need his touch— which you really do. You feel like the seat was stained with how wet you were right now.
"Are you okay? Are you listening to me?" Aaron asked.
The vulgar thoughts suddenly disappeared in your mind. "Y-Yes, I'm okay. And I'm listening to you."
"You're sweating. Your breath is rigid. Something is up." he didn't buy your answer. You stood up from your seat, you pushed the table away to the aisle and sat on Aaron's lap. He was surprised but he saw it coming. Your wet lips finally met his. He returned the kiss deeply, allowing the both of you to taste each other.
It's been awhile since the both of you had sex. Cases were always here and there. You even never had the time to sleep due to how busy the team was with these harsh cases.
"Are you sure about this?" he asked. "We've never done it on a plane.. or miles above sea level.."
"Please, Aaron— I just really badly need you." you begged as you began to rock your heated core with his thighs, riding him.
The both of you were still fully clothed but Aaron can definitely feel how wet you were. You humped on his thigh, finding a friction on his pants; and when you did, you gripped his shoulders for support and moaned softly, your head resting on his neck.
"What if we get caught?" Aaron asked, holding your hips for support.
"They won't. Fuck— you feel so good." you moaned.
His fingers found your clothed breast. It was hard and can be seen through your thin grey shirt and he was drooling about it. Aaron began to toy with your hardened nipple, making you moan out loud. He immediately covered your mouth, muffling out your moans.
As your pace went faster, your orgasm did too. You felt a coil in your stomach and clenched on his pants.
"Come for me, honey. That's it— you're doing such a great job." he praised in your ear.
After a few more rocks, you finally came in your underwear. It didn't stain his pants but it was crumpled.
"Since you're gonna do my report... then I'll show you what a bad behavior is."
You jumped out from his thigh and kneeled. Your fingers started to unzip his pants and pulled it down. Hotch was definitely hard. Then, you removed his black boxers, allowing his hardened cock to sprung out. There was a small leak of precum on his tip. Your fingers started to toy with his tip, brushing it in a teasingly way. Aaron closed his eyes at the pleasure, his back arched slightly. Your palms begin to pump on his whole length slowly.
Aaron was desperate.
Desperate for your touch.
Desperate for your mouth.
Desperate for you to take him whole.
"(Y/n).." he moaned softly.
A smiled carved your lips as you heard him moan your name. It was your favorite music. Your favorite note. Your favorite melody. Your palms pumped his dick faster and faster. He whined and whimpered. His head moved back with his eyes completely shut. In a surprise, your mouth fully took his cock, the tip hitting at the back of your throat. You gagged at first but you got comfortable after a few seconds; you started to bob your head, your tongue licking on his dick inside. Aaron's cock hit your cheeks, the soft and warm feeling made him even more harder.
"God—so warm.. Just like that, yes.." Aaron took a fistful of your hair and guided your speed. He was big, thick, and veiny. You looked at him with innocent eyes but a lustful mouth. You gripped his thighs for support as you continued bobbing your head.Your pace quickened and you felt his cock twitch inside your mouth.
He's close.
"Are you going to swallow it all, honey?" You nodded in response as he thrusted his hips, fucking your mouth over and over again.
"Swallow it all, honey. You're doing such a great job."
After a few more thrust and bobbing, he finally came. White, warm, and creamy liquid spurted out on his dick inside your mouth. You licked his dick from top to bottom clean, making sure you get to taste and swallow every single cum he has.
You stood up and Aaron put his boxers back on and buckled his pants. The both of you were out of breath.
"I'll list that. Not on the file but on my journal." Aaron commented.
"You know, Aaron, we still have 30 minutes 'till landing. Maybe you can pay me back, huh?" you said, grabbing his tie seductively and whispered on his ear.
Little did the both of you know, all the team members were now awake.
And they heard every single noise that came out from the both of you.
#x reader#criminal minds#criminal minds reader insert#criminal minds smut#criminal minds x reader#aaron hotchner#aaron hotchner x reader#aaron hotchner smut#thomas gibson#kinktober
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back again with another hank request 😅
the reader gets into a bar fight with some random girl that’s talking shit about hank and their relationship, so the reader feels like she needs to defend him. the bartender instead of calling the cops, just calls hank. hank comes in and is kind of laughing to himself a little bit as he just effortlessly throws the reader over his shoulder and is like “alright slugger time to go home” or something like that.
Army - Hank Voight
Summary: No one talks shit about your man. Simple.
Warnings: None?? Except bad writing? 🤣
Word count: 1109
Fandom: Chicago P.D
Pairing: Hank Voight x Reader
Molly’s was buzzing with energy, as it usually was at this time. People like you, who had either a successful day at work and wanted to celebrate, or a stressful day and wanted to drink it away, filled the bar. This, however, was your usual habitat at this time—not because you were stressed or celebrating, but because it gave you something to do while waiting for your boyfriend, Hank Voight. He usually worked late, and you’d come here to kill time until he could swing by and pick you up.
You were nursing your drink at the bar, half-listening to the background noise when you overheard a voice mention your boyfriend’s name, followed by a sentence that made your blood boil.
"Must be nice dating a guy who can make all your problems disappear…"
You froze, the words echoing in your ears as the rest of the noise in the bar became nothing but a backtrack. The woman sitting a few seats down didn’t even bother to keep her voice low, her friends laughed along with her. Your eyes narrowed in her direction, glaring daggers into the back of her head which was covered in fake blonde hair and cheap extensions. Your hands clenched tighter around your drink as you thought about ripping them out her head.
Behind the bar, Gabby, who had been putting freshly cleaned glasses away, caught the conversation and saw the storm brewing in your eyes. She sighed, already knowing where this was headed. She placed the last glass on the shelf before stepping away from the bar. Gabby slipped her phone out of her pocket and quickly dialled her brother.
"Oh yeah," another one chimed in, laughing quietly, "I bet she pays him back for those favors. You know, in her own whore way. I mean that’s the only reason he’s with her."
They both giggled, sending a smug glance your way. And that was it. They had just dropped a match over a pool of gasoline. Your grip on your glass tightened as you slowly turned in your seat.
You tilted your head, giving her a slow, dangerous smile. "I’m sorry, I was too busy daydreaming about ripping out your crappy extensions. What did you just say?"
The first woman leaned back, tossing her hair over her shoulder with an exaggerated roll of her eyes. "You heard me. Come on, it’s Voight. Everyone knows the guy bends the rules. I’m just saying, must be nice to have all your messes cleaned up for you. I’m sure you find ways to thank him for that."
Your vision blurred red. "You don’t know a damn thing about him or me."
"Oh please," she scoffed, "Everyone knows he gets his hands dirty, and you just smile and reap the benefits. Well… we also know you do a little more than just smile."
Your pulse pounded in your ears as you slammed your drink down and stood up.
"Say that again. I dare you."
The woman blinked at your challenge, clearly not expecting you to bite back so directly. Her lips curled into a smug grin as she leaned forward, her eyes locked on yours.
"I said," she began slowly, "everyone knows you’re just Voight’s little sidepiece, riding his coattails. And when things get messy—" she paused, glancing at her friends, who were snickering like schoolgirls, before her eyes found yours again, "—he cleans it all up. But we all know you do more than just sit pretty. Bet he’s got you on your knees thanking him every time."
Your heart pounded in your chest, the blood rushing to your ears as the last bit of your restraint snapped. You could practically see yourself launching at her, your hands in her fake blonde hair, dragging her off her stool.
Behind the bar, Gabby had moved out of sight, her phone pressed to her ear as she muttered something, "Hey, it’s me," Gabby said quietly. "Let Voight know his girl’s about to take someone’s head off."
You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. Your fists clenched so hard your knuckles turned white. The woman raised an eyebrow, as if daring you to do something. "Oh, what? You gonna hit me?" she mocked, getting more giggles from her friends who maybe had one braincell between them.
You didn’t even think twice as your fist flew forward, landing squarely on her jaw. The shock in her eyes was priceless, but it was quickly replaced by a furious scowl as she stumbled back into her seat.
"Whoa, Y/N!" Gabby shouted, starting to rush around the bar, but you were already past the point of no return.
The woman recovered quickly, lunging at you with a wild swing. You ducked, avoiding the slap by inches, and shoved her back, sending her crashing into the table behind her. Her friends were still laughing, egging her on, which only fueled your anger more. You were ready to go at it again, fists clenched and teeth gritted.
And then you felt a strong arm wrap around your waist, lifting you effortlessly off your feet. Before you could even register what was happening, you were hoisted up and over someone's shoulder effortlessly.
"Alright, slugger, that’s enough for tonight." A deep, familiar voice told you.
You blinked down and found yourself looking at the back of Hank Voight’s leather jacket as he carried you toward the door, his grip firm but gentle.
"Put me down, Hank!" you growled. He just chuckled as you squirmed slightly in his grip, "Hank, come on, let me at her just for a second," you pleaded, your eyes narrowing back toward the bar.
Once you were outside, he put you down on your feet. Hank shook his head, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. "You already gave her a taste,"
“But,” you said, gesturing back to the bar, intending to plead your case as to why he should let you back in there to smack the taste out that bitch’s mouth.
Hank grabbed your hand, placing a soft kiss to the back of it before leading you towards his car, “No buts,”
You sighed, knowing full well he wasn’t going to let you go back, so you just snuggled into him as you walked. Your right arm moving to hug his, your chin resting on his smooth leather covered shoulder.
“I’ve still got some paperwork to do, can I trust you not to start a fight with Rusek?”
You smirked, leaning in closer to kiss the skin just below his ear, “I don’t know, maybe you’ll have to handcuff me,”
“Don’t tempt me, beautiful,”
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Traffic stop
Pairing: Rookie!Leon Kennedy x BustyF!Reader
Summary: Your sports bra malfunctions during a traffic stop with a shy rookie cop.
Warnings: au obvs, happens in raccoon city, wrote with a busty reader in mind but anyone can read it, shy!leon, accidental exposure, suggestive themes, speeding (DRIVE SAFE PEOPLE!!)
Author's Notes: kudos to my husband for giving me the idea/title. if anyone would like to write a smut version of this, i also wouldn't mind, just let me know! i do have another plan for re2 leon in works cause he is my baby. hope you enjoy your reading!
my leon's masterlist | part 2
It is still hot, you think as you exit the gym after an exhausting leg day. You decide to wear your sports bra while driving home since your car's air conditioner has not worked since you bought it. You always think you will have money to fix it or even buy a new car, but you must work with what you have now.
You sigh, throwing your bag and your shirt on the backseat. The pain in your legs will only worsen, so you decide to drive fast to get home, shower, and relax. And oh, yes, hope the wind provides some sort of comfort on your face. Placing your sunglasses in your eyes, you start going, mentally praying you wouldn't see any cop.
But of course, this isn't your lucky day.
Not even ten minutes on the road, the sound of the siren from a car of Raccoon City P.D. is behind you. You groan an audible no, asking mentally what you did to deserve this.
"Perfect. Great," Your murmur.
You pull into a nearby parking lot, take the paperwork from the glove compartment and throw it in the passenger seat, the air already getting stagnant inside the car, making you sweat.
Your eyes roam to the rearview mirror, wondering where the heck that cop was, when you notice the zipper of your sports bra is half open. You attempt to zip it, but it immediately unzips it again, leaving half of your cleavage exposed. You think it doesn't look bad, so you leave it alone. It is not like you were driving topless anyway.
With droplets of sweat on your forehead, you see the cop coming out in your driver-side mirror. Finally, you think as he takes his sweet time to get to you. He looks young. He seems to take a breath before walking to your car, pulling his pants up and his other hand on his gun, and even someone who doesn't understand anything about cops would know this guy is a rookie.
He approaches slowly and carefully, analyzing your old car, and when he finally stops by your window, the first thing you catch is a pair of innocent blue eyes. Staring right at you.
"Good afternoon, ma'am." You read the name tag Leon Kennedy as his eyes go from your face to your sports bra half open. Officer Leon probably has a great view since your car is on the lower side. He gulps, you don't know if nervousness or something else, then stares directly above your head.
"Afternoon."
"Do you know how fast you were going?" Oh, this one is definitely a rookie, with his voice still showing some nervousness.
"Yeap, I know."
You really don't want to prolong this more than it should, and the way Leon Kennedy seems to stare everywhere except you proves he wants the same.
"Look. I was just trying to get home. Just issue the ticket, and I will be on my way. I will behave, I promise."
That clearly sounded more seductive than you meant to be. You don't judge yourself as a woman who could get out of a ticket by flirting; honestly, you didn't care at this moment. Your whole body is getting sweaty and sticky, with a few drops of sweat coming down from your neck, and your legs are literally pulsating with pain. It is worth trying.
And just for the right timing, you feel a single drop of sweat coming down from your neck to your cleavage. Leon Kennedy's blue eyes follow the trail until the drop disappears inside your bra top, and he gulps, licking his lips.
Well, you may be one of those women who can get away from a ticket by flirting.
"License and breas— I mean, car registration, please."
Leon thanks mentally you don't seem to hear his mispronunciation. You grunt, impatience, turning to grab your documents for Leon. When you turn back at him to hand them, your zipper finally gives up, opening it up completely. It is a nice feeling at first, the same feeling you have from having your boobs released after a long day.
For a moment, you both don't move, too mortified. Officer Leon Kennedy is now staring, really staring, at your boobs. He doesn't even attempt to look away, his face entirely red as a tomato. Your immediate reaction is to try to close the zipper, but it seems it had enough. Leon finally turns around, mumbling an apology.
"I am sorry, I am so sorry, Officer!" You groan as you give up on zipping, going for the shirt under your bag in the back seat.
"It-it is fine!" Leon rushes to say, his voice going high a few tones. If this wasn't embarrassing as it was, you would have laughed at the poor rookie's reaction. But now, great, you were probably going to be arrested for public indecency. You finally find a towel, a medium one, that might work. You cover yourself as best as you can.
After Leon gives you a few moments of privacy, he turns back to face you, and you know, by the expression on his face, you are doomed. You were probably getting arrested for trying to seduce a cop-out of a ticket.
"You can go, ma'am."
"What? Like that?" You wonder before stopping yourself.
"Well, y-yeah. I can see you have much bigger problems to deal with it. Have a good day."
Leon gives you one good final look, a strange glow in his eyes. It seems he wants to say something else, but the moment passes. Leon gives you a slight smirk, his face still red, and walks back to his car.
You watch Leon drive away, your gazes somewhat crossing before he disappears into traffic. You sigh, the external heat forgotten, hoping this isn't your last encounter with Leon Kennedy.
#leon kennedy#leon kennedy x reader#leon kennedy x female reader#leon kennedy x you#leon s kennedy x reader#leon s kennedy x you#leon s kennedy x female reader#leon kennedy fanfic#leon kennedy imagines#leon kennedy fanfics#leon kennedy imagine#I REALLY WANTED TO MAKE THIS A SMUT but i can't#my brain is like pdffftt#the other re2 leon i have is smut
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Sins of the Father
Relationship: Luke Alvez x Reader
Fandom: Criminal Minds
Request: No
Warnings: Angst, Violence, Fluff
Word Count: 4,992
Main Masterlist: Here
Criminal Minds Masterlist: Here
Summary: When the victim of a crime shows up to a hospital, she only has one name on her lips as she dazes in and out; Luke.
John F. Kennedy said, “Children are the world’s most valuable resource and its best hope for the future.”
Racing inside of a hospital in the blistering cold, there were medics and emergency room staff working desperately on a woman in a stretcher. A small boy who was crying out for his mom from the back of the ambulance. An oxygen mask covered her mouth but she kept trying to speak.
“Get the OR prepped now!” A nurse yelled, running alongside the gurney.
“Luke. Luke!” The woman pulled her mask off and fought with her nurse that was trying to put it back on. People moved out of their way as they ran down the hallways. As they were doing that, a small boy was being led by an EMT to the waiting area to wait with him. A woman in a suit, and a man in a polo showed up to the nurses station and showed their credentials before being pointed over at the waiting room.
“Buddy, I know that you’re scared, but I’m gonna wait right here till the police can show up and help you. Do you want a water?” The EMT tried to get the boy to open up, but he just curled in on himself.
“Excuse me,” the woman gained the attention of the older man, “we’re agents Prentiss and Alvez. May we speak with you for a moment?”
The man went to nod, but his eyes drifted back to the small child next to him. Luke stepped forward and crouched down in front of the small boy. The boy hesitantly looked towards the older man, and looked at him with recognition that the agent did not understand.
“Hey there. I’m Luke. Do you mind if I wait here with you?” He asked softly, waiting for the boy to acknowledge him. But the boy said nothing. The medic was ushered away by Emily, but Luke still sat on the floor in front of the boy to not crowd him in.
“You’re the one who treated the woman that was just admitted?” Emily asked, already going into business mode.
“Yeah. She was in rough shape when we found her and her son. I’ve seen so many things in my years, but if I never saw one of these guys victims again it would be too soon.” He shook his head as he dropped his eyes.
“Can you tell us where you found her? We know there was a 9-1-1 call that led you to an abandoned factory. Was there anything unusual about it?” She pressed. Her feyes flickered over to where her friend was still sitting near the boy.
“Um, she was bound with tape and rope. Her kid was holed up in a closet down the hall.” The man responded.
“This is very important, did you remove anything from her hands? Stamps, coins, even bugs that have been preserved?” Prentiss got her phone ready to make a call with whatever the EMT said.
“Cards. We gave the police a queen of hearts, jack of diamonds, and a uh… oh what was it,” he was thinking hard about what the other card was. “Oh, a king of clubs as well.”
“Thank you. You’ve been a big help.” She let the medic go and turned to where Luke was still trying to get through to the woman’s son.
“Ready and willing for you, my fair lady.” The cheery voice of one Miss Penelope Garcia chimed through the phone.
“Hey girl. Listen, the collector left a set of cards this time. I’m gonna have the Virginia P.D. send them over. But he only left three this time. He didn’t complete the set.” The older agent continued to stare in confusion at the duo in front of her while the clacking of keys filled the other line.
“Why wouldn’t he have completed the set? That’s like his whole thing.” Penelope was also staring confused now.
“I don’t know, but we do know that the three previous victims all had something that they hid and never claimed. Look into our Jane Doe and see if anyone matching her description has gone missing that has a child.” Emily instructed, noticing the smile passing over Luke’s face as the child looked at him again. He still had not said a word but he was responding.
“Oh she has a child? That is awful. Why do bad guys do bad things? Okay, I will see if anyone has gone missing in a tri-state region matching her description that has a child. Farewell fair g-woman!” And the line clicked off. Prentiss smiled but kept her distance from the to men in front of her and just watched them.
“Can you tell me your name bud? If I know your name, I could find out how to better help your mom.” Luke gently pried, finally moving to the chair next to the boy.
“Liam. My mom has a picture of you.” The boy admitted, turning his body fully to the man to his left.
“Okay Liam, what do you mean your mom has a picture of me? Like from the T.V. or computer?” He pried again, confusion forming deep in his face.
“No. In her necklace and in the frame in her drawer. She thinks that I don’t know, but I do.” Liam looked down at his feet as he kicked lightly.
“You’re very smart Liam. Do you know where she got those pictures?” Now, Luke was going away from the main objective.
“She’s had them forever,” he shrugged, “she doesn’t like talking about it with me. Mom just cries late at night. I think that’s why the man gave me this.”
“Gave you what, Liam?” He did not know how that little brain was able to comprehend and process everything that was happening; Luke’s brain was having a difficult time by himself.
“This.” Liam pulled down his shirt and showed something stapled to the inside. Luke helped him flip the edge over to reveal a card. Whipping a glove out of his pocket, Luke was grabbing the card, careful not to cause harm to the child. The name “Luke” stared back at him, which just added more confusion to his mind. The agent looked back to Emily who was calling to get an evidence kit to collect the card. Once the card was collected and sent off to the BAU, Luke continued to sit with Liam as he did not want to leave the boys side.
At the headquarters, Reid stared at the three cards that he currently had and thanked the agent that delivered him the fourth. There was a reason the unsub did not pair all for cards together like he should have. He was known as The Collector; he should have put them all together out of compulsion.
He placed all four cards on a board and just stared at them. This unsub paired the stamps together with years consecutively apart. Coins were in the same pattern, just with earlier years. And the bugs were the oldest but the dates on the back of the frames were earlier, but all together.
“Garcia got a name on our Jane Doe- what are you doing?” JJ asked, walking in to the round table room where Reid was staring at the pictures of items that were found at the scenes of the crime. He did not give her an answer but instead turned to his friend instead.
“I know why he’s choosing what he’s choosing to display. Who’s the latest?” Spencer jumped from thought to thought with surprising speed. Jennifer told him her name, and placed her photo where it needed to go on the board.
“Great. We need to get the team together.” He left to go track down his fellow teammates while JJ just stood there, trying to see what he saw in the pictures. In just a moment, JJ and Spencer stood with Rossi, Lewis, Simmons and Garcia while Alvez and Prentiss were on a conference call.
“I didn’t see it until the card came in, but please indulge me for a moment.” Spencer began, gaining the attention of those around him.
“So, when we’re young, what’s something that we can easily get to collect? Especially young boys?”
“Bugs.” Lewis offered.
“Exactly,” his hands were running wild as he spoke, “then when we’re old enough to make or get money, you usually collect by date. When you’re old enough to write, you might send letters and if you have the collecting tendency, you collect stamps. Finally, when you’re old enough to start playing cards, you might collect cards based off their patterns and designs.” After his explanation, Spencer was looking around and just hoping he had not lost them.
“So he’s telling the story of his life through the collectibles he leaves.” Rossi pointed out, feeling like there was more to be discovered.
“Exactly, but this is where it get’s interesting.” Reid pulled down the cards and laid them on the desk.
“On the front, all four of these cards look similar, however,” the cards were flipped, “on the back, only the two hearts match. The two kings don’t match each other or the hearts. They have completely different appearances.”
The team stood around as they thought about the explanation. It was not until a nurse came by that Luke’s attention was drawn away. He let Emily know that he was going to her, and left the team.
“She’s resting right now. There was some extensive damage but she should make a full recovery. You can go see her now.” The nurse led the way down the hall to where the woman lay in her hospital bed. Alvez thanked the nurse, and she went on her way. He looked in through the glass at the beaten woman inside and felt his throat close. Her voice still ran through his head everyday, even after all this time.
Luke walked inside the room, and let out a shaky breath at he watched her just lying there. She was staring off into nothingness and barely registered that there was another person in the room. With a clearing of his through, the agent brought her attention to him.
“Luke.” She whimpered, tears welling up at the mere sight of him.
“Hey reina.” He whispered, coming over to the side of the bed. She said nothing for a minute, before she finally burst out crying. The pain in her face flared up, yet she could not help but cry.
“I’m sorry, Luke. I’m so sorry.” Her words caused the man to hold her hand delicately as she continued to cry.
“You have nothing to be sorry about, sweetie. You did nothing to deserve this treatment.” Alvez tried to reassure her but she just kept shaking her head and crying.
“It is all my fault. I did this. This is my fault, Luke. I set him off.” Her breathing was starting to pick up and Luke knew he needed to act fast. He had enough of his friends from the army that developed panic attacks after what they saw to know when one was starting.
“You gotta calm down, reina. Breathe, you gotta breathe. Follow me. In and out. There you go. Try it again. Good job. Let’s try it again.” Luke led her through several exercises to help stave off the attack, and was glad to see her heart beat finally calming back down. Once she was able to catch her breath, the woman looked around, and was about to be sent into another tizzy.
“My son. Where’s my son? Where’s Liam?” Even though she tried to get up, the agent did not let her.
“Hey, hey, hey. It’s okay. Lay back down. Liam is with my coworker, Emily. They’re just outside in the waiting room.” He reassured her once more. She nodded as she settled back into her bed with Luke at her side.
“So, where are you working now,” came her ask. Her voice was small and weak than he had ever known.
“The Behavioral Analysis Unit at Quantico.” He answered, sitting down in the chair beside her bed.
“BAU, huh? Would have never thought you would go from the FTF to a desk job.” She teased, causing them both to chuckle.
“Hey, don’t wanna hear nothing. Little miss work from home author.” Alvez sent right back, making them chuckle again. But once they died down, the man turned solemn. “I’ve gotta ask some tough questions that I’d much rather not have Liam present for, if that’s okay?”
She nodded and let her self get comfortable in her bed first. Luke readjusted in his seat as well before he began.
“Do you know the man who did this to you?” He asked, watching the woman closely for any sign of discomfort.
“Yeah. My ex-boyfriend, Santiago.” Her eyes shifted away as she answered.
“Wait, Santi did this? I thought he was still in New York.” Luke could not catch a break on the confusion.
“He followed me here. When I broke up with you, Luke, I didn’t want to. But he said he would kill you and my parents if I didn’t. I couldn’t take that chance. He knows where all of you live.” She pleaded, looking back with tears in her eyes.
“It’s fine. You were only doing what you thought was right. Even though, I would have had someone investigate his threats for you. But sweetheart, that was five years ago. What have you been doing all this time? And why would he do this now?” Luke pressed, holding her hand in his own.
“I was taking care of my son. But I was tired of being controlled. I found out that your number hadn’t changed. I guess he found out cause one minute I’m packing Liam’s bag, and the next I’m tied down to a table in an abandoned building.” Her words tumbled out of her mouth uncontrollably.
“When we found Liam in the waiting room, he had a card stapled to his shirt. Now, that’s just his signature, right. Leaving something on his victims that is a collectible. But the cards weren’t collectible. They were all different except for the queen and jack. Two different kings that did not match. Does that have anything to do with Liam?” Luke noticed how she chewed her lip between her teeth and picked at her nails unconsciously. That was always her tell that she was hiding something. Now just what that something was the question. He called her name, and she looked him in the eyes. The woman was wishing that she had not done that.
“Who is Liam’s father?”
A knock at the window caused the pair to pull away and look to the source of the noise. Emily had arrived with Liam, who ran to his mother. Luke helped the young boy up, and followed the agent out of the room to discuss.
“This woman had the most rage shown to her, but not the son. Whoever this guy is, he is getting closer to his end game. But I can’t help feeling like we’re missing something.” Prentiss lamented, noticing how distant Luke was after her little speech.
“What is it?” She pried.
“I know who this guy is. We need protection detail stationed at her door until we catch him. He’ll come back and finish off the job.”
The two agents raced back to Quantico while on the phone with the team to fill them in. Inside the SUV, the air was so thick with tension you could cut it with a knife. Prentiss was not sure what was going on with Luke since they left the hospital, but he was silently staring out of the window. The man was lost in his thoughts as he thought about everything that had happened in the last decade.
When they made their way up the elevator to the sixth floor, Luke was silent through all of that. His next words would not come until he had barged his way into Garcia’s lair. The technical analyst let out a shriek as she was startled by the loud noise.
“Oh hello to you too. What can I do for you mister with the very scary look on his face that tells me something bad is about to happen?” Her voice trailed off as Alvez came to rest his hand on the bak of her chair and look over her shoulder to gaze at the screen.
“Garcia, pull up anything and everything you can on a Santiago Domingo from the Bronx. We went to the same high school. Send it over to the main screen.” Luke left as soon and as fast as he had entered which left the woman to scramble to get his information. Making his way into the round table room, Emily met him in there with determination.
“I got your text. What’s going on that you don’t want to fill the team in about yet? Is this about the latest victim in the hospital?” She wasted no time, and got right down to business.
“Yes,” he admitted with a deep sigh. “I wanted to tell you first before bringing the team up to speed.”
“Floor is yours.” She prompted.
Down in the bull pen, the rest of the agents watched through the blinds as the unit chief spoke with her agent. They were all trying to figure out who this guy was, but was not able to. However, no one missed the DMV photo that was pulled up on the big screen.
“What do you think they’re talking about in there?” Lewis pondered, sipping her coffee. She had lost track as to what number cup she was on for the day.
“Whatever it is, it doesn’t look good.” JJ replied, popping a chip in her mouth as she was finally able to take a break to eat. A noise prompted the rest of the team to turn their heads to the resident genius who was still focusing on the cards that were collected from the scene.
“Your IQ is whining so much I want to give it some cheese. What do you have, Reid?” Rossi teased, prompting a few chuckles.
“The cards. The other mismatched king, the king of spades, that’s the one that had Luke’s name on it but why?” Spencer held a confused look on his face as he tried to piece the puzzle together.
“Maybe the unsub knows Luke and wanted to taunt him. Wouldn’t be the first time that’s happened.” Simmons pointed out, but Reid only shook his head.
“It’s got to be more than that. The queen and jack are from the same suit, and the same deck. But only the kings are different in suit and deck, and they don’t match any other card that was recovered.” He continued his explanation.
“What’s your point?” Rossi asked.
“I’m not sure.” Reid concluded.
“Guys,” Emily stepped out and called their attention, “you’re gonna want to get in here.”
The team shuffled into the room, and all stood around the table while Luke was right in front of the screen. His face was solemn and defeated; a look that did not suit Luke Alvez very well.
“The man we’re looking for was my best friend in high school, Santiago Domingo. We called him Santi. He was a bit of an odd guy, but harmless for the most part. Came from a broken home and was a typical kleptomaniac. Anything he could get his hands on, he took.” Luke took a break and casted his eyes to the table. Having to dig up old memories was hard for him.
“Halfway through senior year there was a girl who transferred to our school. She had all the same classes as me so I got assigned one morning to help her around. I really liked this girl, I mean she was the total package. Smart, pretty, great sense of humor, wanted to help people, already had a job and another more permanent one set up after high school. Well, as time went on and she would hang around me and Santi, I ended up falling for her. I didn’t realize that Santi was in the same boat I was in.’
‘Prom came around and as much as I wanted to ask this girl out, Santi was asking me for advice on how to do it himself. So I helped him. He was the happiest I had ever seen him when she said yes. They made a really lovely couple. After high school, they stayed together. And I saw less and less of her, and anytime I did see her, she was always within arm length of Santi. Then the bruises came.”
Pictures flashed on the screen, and the whole team had to hold their breath. The woman’s face was covered with scrapes and marks. Her arms, chest, legs, hands, and feet were all in the same horrid condition. Garcia averted her eyes as they continued, but everyone else kept watching the slides.
“She reached out to me about twelve years ago, wanting to get out of the relationship but felt like she couldn’t. I got her to go to the police, testify against him in court, and got Santi put away for ten years. Two years later, we started dating once she felt like she could and we were happy. I planned on proposing to her, but before I could, she broke up with me. Left all of her stuff in our apartment, and was gone in the middle of the night. According to prison records, Santi only served four of his ten. Got out on good behavior. According to her, she had to break things off with me, otherwise he would have killed her parents, then me.” Luke concluded. The room was so silent, you could hear everyone’s breathing. No one said anything for a while. They just stood there and stayed silent.
“So how can we help find Santiago?” Emily asked, which pulled everyone else from their stupors.
“Garcia, where was he staying in town? If he’s doing all these murders, he’s got to be staying somewhere isolated that he can plan and execute everything.” Matt directed.
“Right, um. So Domingo’s last known address was…” her face dropped once the search result came back, “an apartment downtown. He’s been living on the same floor as Luke for the past six years.”
“No matter how stupid this guy may be, he’s not stupid enough to keep her, with a child on the same floor as Luke. He’s got to have another spot that he was holding them.” JJ countered, but it all slipped away for Alvez. Six years Santiago had known where he was and knew the routine.
“Look for anything registered in her name. That’s going to be where they’ve been living since leaving Luke.” As soon as Spencer said the magic words, Garcia had her fingers racing across her keys. Another ding.
“Okay so I’ve got an address, also downtown, but about five miles from the apartment. It’s a house registered in her name. They’ve been there for five years.” Penelope looked up at Luke, but he was just staring that table into the ground. If looks could kill, that table would be taking a world of abuse.
“So we go to his house. He was interrupted with her. He’ll wanna regroup before going with his next strike.” Luke made the move to leave the room to get ready but was stopped by a hand on his shoulder.
“Look, Luke. You are far too close to this case. Let us handle it. We need him alive, and with your relationship to the victim, you’ll be a liability.” Rossi gently spoke, as if hushing a cornered animal. The agent turned around and leveled his unit chief with a look. A look that said, “you signing off on this right now?”
“Go stay at the hospital with her until we catch Santiago. You’ll be better suited for that than this.” Emily did not miss the look of indignation that came across Alvez’ face. Even less so when it was paired with the stomping of boots as he stormed away.
Luke obeyed the order though. He drove silently to the hospital, wishing that he was out in the field taking down this guy. Once he was parked and the vehicle was shut off, he hit the steering wheel a couple times to let out his anger at the situation. Scrubbing his hands over his face, Alvez left the vehicle and made his way into the hospital. His team was out there taking down his childhood best friend without him. If anyone should be able to make that arrest, it should be Luke.
He kept thinking about this all the way to her room. And then his mind drifted to her son, Liam. The kid was just five years old and had almost lost his mom thanks to that man. Arriving at her room, Alvez noticed that the blinds were drawn and immediately had a bad feeling in his gut. Placing a hand on his firearm, he went into the room as quietly as possible.
“Thought I wouldn’t notice yo slipping right back into Mr. Perfect’s arms, huh?” It was Santiago. He had found her. Luke should not have been too shocked; Santiago needed to complete the collection.
“Please, don’t hurt us more than you have. Okay? Liam loves you. Don’t do this in front of him.” She was trying to shield her son, but with her condition and being in a hospital bed, that was very difficult.
“Don’t lie to me. I know he isn’t mine.” Santiago growled, waving around a knife.
“Santiago, put it down.” The man in question turned around, but his face relaxed to be almost jovial upon seeing the agent in the room.
“Well, look who we have here. Luke Alvez. Big bad FBI agent who doesn’t give a rat’s ass about where he comes from.” Domingo moved closer to the mother and son in the bed while moving his knife closer and closer. This prompted Luke to draw his gun, and kept it trained on the man in front of him.
“Santi, I don’t want to hurt you but I will. Let them go and drop the knife.” He pleaded, shifting his eyes to her in reassurance.
“Has she even told you,” came the question. When no response was given from anyone, Santiago burst out laughing in his spot. “Oh, she hasn’t. This is too perfect. You’re so clueless man.”
“Santi, please.” She begged, but cowered when the knife came closer to her and her son.
“No! Don’t you think he has the right to know? I mean, you wouldn’t be so heartless as to keep that from him would you?” He was teasing her, and still waving a knife around her son.
“Go on, tell him. You’ll feel better.” Santiago kept repeating the prompt over and over again, but she refused. Instead, she held her son close and waited for the nightmare to be over.
“Tell him!” He shouted, yanking Liam from his mom’s grasp. Both people cried out and tried to get to the other, but Santiago had other plans. With a knife held menacingly over the boys stomach, he prompted the woman again. This time much gentler. “Tell Luke.”
She looked at her son, who had tears coming down his face. He looked just as confused as the agent that she laid her eyes on next. Her vision was obscured by the tears that were pouring down her face as she tried to figure a way to get her son back.
“Luke, when I left to go to Santi, I was pregnant. I told him for years that Liam was his, but when he started growing proper hair, I couldn’t lie anymore. Liam is your son, Luke. I’m so sorry I hid that from you.” Her wails were overshadowed by Santiago’s whoops in delight.
“Doesn’t that feel so much better. How about you Luke? Feel any better knowing the truth?” Santiago teased again. The agent kept his gun and eyes hardened on the man but was quietly processing the information.
“Now where were we?” He raised his knife up as if to swing, and Luke did not think about it another second. Landing a bullet in the man’s shoulder, the agent swooped in and kicked the knife away from him as he grabbed the boy and hoisted him up. Santiago was writhing in agony on the ground, blood steadily pouring out, but Luke did not care. He set the young boy on the bed, and called it in.
In just a few minutes, his entire team was there. Luke kept himself busy for the time being with giving a statement, getting Santiago out of the room and filling his unit chief in. Thirty minutes later, he finally caught a long enough break to go back into the room where mother and son rested. Even though they were lying down, neither was too terribly tired. When she heard the door click, she waved the man over to sit on the chair beside them. Keeping a hand on the boy, she reached her other hand out to hold Luke’s.
“Was that true? What you said earlier.” He asked, begging for confirmation.
“Every word. He’s yours, Luke. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier, but he wouldn’t let me reach out to you once we knew for certain.” Liam sat up and faced the adults talking.
“Hey buddy. I’m your dad.” Luke choked out as tears came to his eyes. Without another word, Liam launched himself into his awaiting arms as Alvez cried. Bringing her into the fold, they all sat there crying and finally being together as a family.
“Each day of our lives we make deposits in the memory banks of our children.” Charles R. Swindoll
#rebelliousstories#writing#criminal minds#criminal minds imagine#luke alvez x you#luke alvez x reader#luke alvez imagine#emily prentiss#spencer reid#jennifer jareau#matt simmons#david rossi#tara lewis#penelope garcia
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Sirens in the beat of your heart [The Vandal x afab!Reader] [18+]
Summary: it's a run of the mill job. Get in, grab the diamonds, get out. It goes off without a hitch, you're on your way out.
Goes off without a hitch, that is, until you come across a vandal, right in the middle of your exit plan.
A/N: gang I'm back at it again with another Spike Fearn character fic 🧍♀️ and THIS ONE DON'T EVEN HAVE A NAME AHAHAHA HE'S JUST CREDITED AS THE VANDAL??? But y'know what, mystery makes it hotter right 👀 i know nothing ab Batman or DC btw I'm just here to write smut for the character 🧍♀️also I don't super write the dialect but I imagine he has a New Yorker accent! Since Gotham is inspired by NY and all from what I've read lol
Fic warnings: stealing, vandalism, public sex, sex with a stranger, vaginal fingering, name calling (slut, whore, etc), no protection (wrap it UP guys), the mask stays ON during sex, choking, threatening behaviour, reader is briefly scared by him but man is she horny ab it, american Spike 🧍♀️
It was too easy.
The diamonds are heavy in your wool coat's pocket, a comforting weight by your side, an indicator of a job well done.
A reminder that it was too fucking easy grabbing them tonight.
You're half expecting the caped crusader himself to pop out of the shadows and deck you for these ever so precious jewels.
Fucking vigilantes, man.
You're casual as you exit the Gala, completely fucking normal. You smile politely at strangers, engage in casual conversation when it's initiated. You're a goddamned pro at this, alright? You've yet to be caught, yet to be rumbled.
Which, in Gotham, feels like an achievement in itself.
You wait until you're fifteen minutes away, long gone from the venue, all things considered, before getting in contact with your boss to let him know the deed was done.
Piece of cake, right?
The smell of paint, of fumes, the sound of compressed air hissing...
You curse softly.
You're dressed to the nines, ladies dressed to the nines definitely don't walk down alleys like this.
Thieves like you, however, totally do.
"Someone's coming!"
"Fucking go, then!"
There's the sound of rapid footsteps, mercifully heading in the opposite direction to you. Would be real fucking awkward if they came your way after all.
"I'll call you back," you mutter to your boss, hanging up the call after he warns you to be careful. You wave him off, because you've been doing this gig since you were eleven, you know how to take care of yourself.
One lone man has stayed behind, his back to you as he adds the finishing touches to a rather artful insult towards Gotham P.D.
The little pig with a bat mask is a nice touch, in your opinion.
"That's illegal, you know." you sing song as you sidle past him, cocky, arrogant.
He drops the can in an instant, hand snapping out to grab your wrist. You tense, eyes flickering up the glove clad hand, up the black material of his jacket and...
He keeps a bandana on his face, the lower half completely covered by it. Stormy blue eyes glare at you, his forehead hidden by a beanie, by the hood pulled over it.
"What's it to you, anyway?" he asks, gruff, accent thick. Gotham native, definitely. The thick New Yorker accent isn't hard to miss.
"Concerned citizen and all," you say, trying your best to look unaffected by his tight grip, by the steely eyes.
You've always been a sucker for pretty eyes, and does this dude have em.
Ugh. You need to get laid.
"Right, sure thing, sweetheart," he taunts, smirk audible in his voice. "S'that why you're running around down here with all us lowlife criminals? Tryna keep us in check?"
"Jesus, man, never heard of a sarcastic remark?"
"Bet you've got em in spades, huh?" he asks wryly, eyes narrowing at you.
"Bucketfuls of em. Something, something, childhood trauma, coping mechanism. I'm sure you know how it is."
"Why the fuck would I-?"
"Normal, well adjusted dudes don't spraypaint pigs wearing bat cowls. Nice work, by the way. Very artful."
His grip tightens on your wrist at that, and he tugs you closer, his narrowed eyes scrutinising you from head to toe.
"Pretty girls like you don't belong in places like this, sweetheart." he informs you, gruffly, in such a way that it causes heat to pool deep in your belly.
Jesus christ, you seriously need to get dicked down.
"Maybe I do?" you shoot back, tugging your wrist free of his grip. "You don't know shit, dude-"
He shoves your back against the wall, keeping you pinned there by your throat. Your eyes widen, startled, a glimpse of terror shining in them.
That causes his grip to tighten around your throat, your breath stuttering at the action, your panties fucking flooding with arousal.
You need laid. You need to go to the fucking bar after this and get screwed so fucking good your brain turns to mush.
His eyes widen a touch at the look on your face. At how quickly your fear has melted into arousal. His fingers flex around your throat, and to your humiliation, a whine escapes you.
"Are you-" he blinks, eyes giving you a slow once over. "Are you getting fucking turned on by this? What the fuck-?"
"Look man-" you seethe, poking a finger into his chest. "I haven't had a good lay in months. And I happen to be a lady who enjoys a good choking. So sue me for just- for my body's reactions, alright?"
His blue eyes are damn near black with how large his pupils have gotten, only a thin ring of blue left behind as the pupils drown out the ocean of his eyes.
"You dirty little slut," he whispers, free hand reaching out, slowly unbuttoning your coat. Agonisingly slowly. It's a glacial pace really. But goddamn does the action get you wetter than a fucking waterfall, the anticipation of it all makes you crave more. "Look at you, already squirming like a bitch in heat. I haven't even fucking touched you, yet."
"Been a while." you inform him, clipped, your hands coming up to grip his shoulders.
You don't know him. This is wrong. You haven't even seen his fucking face.
But, you reason, is it any different to screwing some rando at the bar? You don't learn their names, you only use them for their bodies and go on your merry way.
"Months, you said, wasn't it?" He hums, parting your coat open, exposing the silky number you'd draped on your body tonight. He whistles, low, warm fingers reaching out and running up and down the smooth material. "Well, you're all prettied up, aren'tcha? Been anywhere nice, hm?"
"Just- some party- who cares-?"
"Making polite conversation, is all," he teases, fingers grazing over your pebbling nipples. Your breath hitches, hips bucking instinctively, and he briefly grips your throat tighter in warning. "Now, now, baby," he grins, you're unable to see his smile of course, but the crinkle of his eyes gives him away. His fingers don't stop stroking over your nipples, circling them, ever so gently pulling on them. Anything he can to make you squirm. "Let me take my time with you, you desperate little slut. Who lets guys they don't know touch up on em like this in a fucking alley where anyone can see them?"
Well, you don't have an argument for that.
He can clearly tell, judging by the smug look that comes to his eyes. His hand leaves your breast, gliding down the silk of your dress and to your stomach, where he starts to pull it up, leaving creases in the silky material as he slides his hand further down. Further. Further...
You moan at the feeling of his gloved fingers dipping beneath your panties, immediately finding your wet heat and leisurely stroking back and forth over your folds.
Jesus fucking christ, it feels too good.
You slowly rock your hips against his hand, and he groans, pressing closer to you, his muffled breaths panting right by your ear. It seriously turns you on more than you care to admit.
"Such a good little whore, aren't you?" he groans by your ear, resulting in another moan from you, as he slowly, deliberately, circles your clit. "Look at you, putty in my hands. A stranger's hands, at that."
"Please," you breathe, desperate for him, to be filled up with-
You don't beg anymore than that, two of his long fingers sliding through your folds and up inside of your cunt. Your moan of sheer pleasure echoes through the alleyway, which is soon filled by the slick sounds of his fingers pumping in and out of you, scissoring every other thrust to stretch you wider.
You should feel shame. But you can't bring yourself to, not when it's so intoxicatingly hot having a stranger touch you out in the open like this.
Jesus, it just makes you gush even more around his fingers, the slick sounds of his fingers inside of you is downright pornographic in nature.
"God, you're so fucking tight," he groans, leaning his forehead against your shoulder, his eyes staring down between you, where his fingers disappear in and out of your body. Your release is so fucking close, your hips desperately rutting into his hand as that ever familiar sensation begins cramping at your insides. "Got a fucking vice grip on my fingers, sweetheart, can only imagine how my dick is gonna feel in there-"
With a cry, you cum hard around his fingers, your fingers clutching tight to his broad shoulders, your legs wobbly. You lean your head back against the wall, uncaring of the fresh paint sticking to your coat, your hair. You're too blissed out to care.
He groans, nudging his nose against your pulse, his breathing fast.
"Turn around," he breathes, hands franctically undoing his belt, unzipping his jeans. "And bend over, hands against the wall like the good little slut we both know you are, sweetheart."
With a pathetically horny whimper that you'll scream over later, you do so. You place your palms flat against the brick, still sticky with paint, and you bend at the waist.
He wastes no time in pushing your dress up over your ass, in shoving your panties down your legs. In one, deep thrust, he pushes himself inside of you, your twin moans of pleasure filling the alleyway.
His grip on your hips is bruising, his dick thrusting in and out of your pussy in such a way that you know you'll be feeling it for at least a week.
Passing sirens, however, near knock you out of your lustful haze.
"Hey," you hiss, straightening up, unable not to whimper at the change in angle. "We should- cops are-"
"Who fucking cares?" he pants into your ear, one hand creeping up to wrap around your throat again, your back almost against his chest as he continues the brutal slam of his hips against yours. "You want me to stop?" he asks, breath warm against your skin despite the face covering.
"Don't you fucking dare," you say immediately, instinctively, rocking your hips against his. "I'll call the cops on your vandalising ass if you stop."
He laughs. Distantly, you think about how it's a pretty sound, how you wouldn't mind hearing more of it... but then he changes the angle ever so slightly, and your eyes roll back into your skull near enough.
"Just like that," you pant, fingers coming up to clutch at the hand around your throat. He groans, obliging you as he keeps up the pace, his grip on your throat tightening and loosening every so often.
"You take me so fucking well, sweetheart," he coos, as you feel the clench deep inside of you again, signalling that another orgasm is on the horizon. "Take it like a good fucking slut, fuck- fuck what I'd give to never fucking have to leave this pussy, to just fuck it forever-"
"Oh god, yes-"
"Fuck- FUCK-"
"Cum inside me, please, please-" you beg, as his hips start to stutter against yours, as he whines low in his throat at your suggestion. "Please- need to feel you like- like-"
"Ah- ah fuck-" he groans as his release comes over him, as he fills you up with his cum, as his hips stagger to a halt, his fingers digging into your flesh so hard you just know you'll have marks for days to come.
You both stand there, only a moment, as the sirens get closer. He practically shoves you off of him, stuffing himself back into his jeans, which he quickly buckles back closed. You straighten, legs wobbly and certain fluids leaking down your inner thighs.
It's incredibly hot, if you're honest.
You pull your dress back down, button your jacket closed. He packs up all of his equipment, and you both take a moment to look at each other.
You back away first, heels clacking uncertainly against the pavement. He gives you a nod, and rises, slinging his bag of supplies over his shoulder.
Neither of you say anything as you both start to leave, as you shove your hands in your pockets and turn on your heel to speed walk your way out of the alley. His footsteps grow quieter and quieter as he walks the opposite direction.
Your pockets.
Your... empty pockets.
Your eyes widen, fingers scrambling for the jewels, you turn around, eyes scanning the ground for something shiny, sparkly-
You don't spy it on the ground.
No, you see something sliding into his own pocket, as he turns to look at you before he leaves.
His eyes crinkle as he smiles, and he wiggles a hand at you in a mocking wave. He disappears round the corner in an instant.
"You son of a BITCH-"
#the batman#spike fearn#the vandal#the vandal batman#batman the vandal#the vandal x reader#the vandal spike fearn#spike fearn the vandal#spike fearn x reader#the batman 2022
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C3 Swap AU
Orym of the Air Ashari
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This post can contain spoilers!
If you wonder what the swap AU is, I recommend checking it out right here!
Once again, major thanks to @theplatinumcritter for helping me out!
Title: Orym of the Air Ashari, Saviour Blade of the Tempest
Age: 36-37
Class: Fighter (Eldritch knight, lycanthrope)
EXU - Campaign 3 E69
Orym was born and raised in Zephrah by his mother Alma and their neighbor, Derrig and Nel. He never knew his biological father, only his last name being Tarrintel. He grew close with Derrig and Nel’s son Will, and eventually both fell and love. They married in their mid 20s around 833 P.D., and both worked as Tempest Blades knowing the risk for their relationship.
In 837 P.D., an assassin tried to take out the Voice of the Tempest, but ultimately failed to do so, only killing a handful of Blades instead. Unfortunately, both Will and Derrig perished during that attack, breaking Orym.
He left Zephrah a few weeks after the attack, needing to grieve.
During his solo travels, Orym has been ambushed by a werewolf, that eventually bite him during the fight. While he did survive the encounter, he had been afflicted with lycanthropy which made his travels even more hellish. He stayed away from civilization and opted to wear his sash around his neck as a scarf, hiding the bite mark left by the werewolf.
By the time Fearne found him in 842 P.D., he was relatively stable in his grief, but still hid his lycanthropy to her. She eventually found out about his curse one day after a full moon, but decided to stay with him on his journey. Dorian met their settlement a few days after the reveal of Orym’s curse, and the other members of the Crown Keepers soon joined in.
When the group found the Circlet of Barbed Vision, Orym was the one that propose to get rid of it and seek out the Fire Ashari to help, alongside of taking care of the residual they’ve found. Unfortunately, the Fire Ashari settled at the Flamereach outpost were already dealing with an issue, which prompted the Crown Keeper to volunteer to help. The circlet was later kept by the group, believing the Fire Ashari wouldn’t be able to help. After their fight with My’ratta Niselor, he would start to learn magic, integrating it to his fighting style.
In 843 P.D., Orym would be tasked to come back to Zephrah, the Voice of the Tempest having heard of a similar assassination taking place in Marquet. She said to Orym to seek out Oshad Breshio, a survivor of the attack. She would also let him know to travel with members of his group, opting for Fearne and Dorian to join him.
On a mission to Bassuras to get back Armand Treshi, Orym would discover that person responsible for the attack of Zephrah, was also the leader of the Seat of Disdain and a famed warrior of the Apex War, Otohan Thull. To have this wound reopened let Orym be cautious and warned Bells Hells of Thull’s assassins. It wouldn’t save him, as he fell in battle to Otohan. They recognized him, not only as the warrior of Zephrah, but as Tarrintel’s son. After the fight, a coin flip was done by FCG to decide who between Orym and Imogen would be revivified.
With Bells Hells, Orym learned to open up about his situation and let himself use his lycanthropy to help in dire situations. Although Chetney and Fearne wished he could bite them, he refused to do so, afraid of the consequences. He was proven right to be worried when Annaline of the Gorgynej mentioned that if Orym were to loose himself again to the beast’s control, then Bells Hells should not hesitate to put him down. He has kept himself in check ever since, not wanting to injure anyone else.
When the group had been separated by the Malleus Key’s activation, Orym woke up with Ashton and Laudna in Issylra. They would meet up with Deni$e Bembachula, Bor’Dor Dog’Son and Prism Grimpoppy. They help the civilians of Heartdell to assault the Dawnfather’s temple, which Bor’Dor had been happy to do. It was later revealed that Bor’Dor was a member of the Ruby Vanguard, and tried to kill his party. He failed to do so, dying to Laudna instead.
Orym would later made a deal with Morrigan, The Fatestitcher, to be strong enough to protect his friends in exchange of his eternal servitude to the hag when they come back from their mission on the Red Moon. With this bargain, his pupil changed from black to light green, and the standard vines and flowers on Seedling would change into dark ivy. He can still use Hex on his enemies with the bargain, but he also gain Vicious Vines. This abilities allows him to cast once per day Entangle by using the ivy growth on his arms and, on a fail save by his foe, use Shocking Grasp on the vines without losing a spell slots, using them as a relay system. Ever since FCG’s sacrifice, it is unknown if his bargain is still up.
While not clarified as partners, his current love interest is Dorian, who is also reciprocating his feelings.
Masquerade ball
Like his canon counterpart, Orym opt for a sherwami style coat with roomy pants buckling at the ankles. Instead of his sash, he wears a light reddish scarf to hide the scar on his neck. His mask is one of a wolf, made with the help of Chetney using cherry wood from Zephrah. On the day of the ball, Orym added some druidcrafted cherry blossom to the mask, completing his outfit.
He wears his shield as a decoration and has hidden a dagger to his leg thanks to his roomy pants. He was also able to bond to his sword, manifesting it during the fight against Emoth Kade.
Return to Zephrah - Saviour Blade of the Tempest
Back home with his friends, Orym prepared himself for the treks ahead with a new armours made of leather. He also wears the sash back around his waits into a belt, with a blue decorative rope with tassels combined to the sash. He also wears more teal, to have a bit of home back with him. His hair had been cut a little by Deni$e before leaving, and he styled it into a braids that ties into a little ponytail. Forget-me-nots and laurel leaves are druicrafted behind his ears, complementing the design.
He received the title of Saviour Blade of the Tempest by Keyleth, after coming back from their mission on the Grey Valley where they rescued the lost Tempest Blades tasked to find the blue perennem flowers to heal her.
Vasselheim - Preparing for battle
In Vasselheim, he upgraded himself with the Zephyr armour Dorian bought for him.
Since the deal with Morrigan the Fatestitcher, some things changed to his physiology. His pupils are a light green instead of black, and dark ivy vines are growing from his body and around Seedling. Ivy flowers are also decorating him, although scarcely. His hair has grown a bit and covers again part of his vision, but he kept the braids in place.
Lycanthropy
Orym can transform into a werewolf at will, or under a full moon. He has longer hair due to the curse, accelerating its growth faster than a standard humanoid.
During the fight with MirDor, a Doppelgänger resembling Dorian, Orym would fail to resist a Dominate Person spell cast by the Fey creature. Under the control of the Fey, Orym transformed into a werewolf and attacked his friends, biting Dorian in the process. After the fight, Orym told the Crown Keepers he’d understand if they weren’t willing to stick around with him and his condition, but they refused to leave him, just like Fearne did.
When he and Bells Hells fought against Ira, Chetney, their newly acquired party member, knew the telltale of his curse and told him to release it.
On the Silver Sun, a Ruidus flare had influence on his lycanthropy, making him lash out at Fearne and Chetney. It was later revealed by the Weave Mind they could have power over lycanthropes with the flares.
With recent development, his werewolf appearance wears a light layer of clothing, the sash, and has ivy covering his upper body. Orym rarely transforms into a werewolf willingly, since the process is painful for him.
Estranged family - Tarrintel
Tarrintel is Orym’s biological father and a potion maker. He is also an Exaltant, and worked for the Cerberus Assembly and the Ruby Vanguards to create the Potions of Possibilities.
Contrary to his canon variant, Tarrintel stayed with Alma longer after the birth of their son, but ultimately left Zephrah out of fear for his child to become like him. Even if Alma told him he shouldn’t have to worry about their son being born under a flare from Ruidus, he needed proofs. He left Alma, promising he’d get back to her and their child, but never stepped a foot in Zephrah in the last thirty years since he left.
He had been part of a study made by the Omen Archive in Yios around 831 P.D., before he had been found by Otohan Thull and Ludinus. The elf promised him he’d find all the answers he’d needed if he trusted him, and Tarrintel fell for it.
In 837 P.D., Otohan Thull would attack the Voice of the Tempest, trying to taunt the Champion of the Matron of Raven, but failed, only killing a few Tempest Blade. He was immediately worried for his family to be caught by the crossfire, but realized it is too late to help them now, as he is too deep into Ludinus’ plans to turn back.
With his Exaltant abilities, he investigated possible Vessels for Predathos by visiting the dreams of Ruidusborns and Exaltants, and would ask them to join their cause. This is how he first contacted Imogen and Ashton, seeing the potential inside them.
By the time he found out Orym was travelling with them, he demanded Imogen to go away and forget about the excavation site. Bells Hells wanted to put an end to Ludinus’ plan, and Imogen tried to converse with him, asking Tarrintel to switch side. He, however, hadn’t been swayed, and stood by Ludinus’ side and proceed with their original plan of trapping the Champion of the Matron of Raven.
On Ruidus, he had been warned of possible dangers that would befalls him via Imogen, which he tried to shrug off. After a failed assassination attempt, Tarrintel would eventually switch side and work as a double agent for Bells Hells. This would lead to his downfall, with Ludinus finding out of his betrayal and use the harness on Tarrintel to kill him. As he felt his body slowly turn into dust, Tarrintel would invoke a dream on Imogen and Ashton, asking them to kill Ludinus and tell Orym he is sorry for everything. He was rescued by Bells Hells, but his Exaltant powers were absorbed by the new version of the Quintessence Array, leaving him weak and pale and his connection to Predathos nonexistent.
Relationships
Alma: One of the few midwives of Zephrah and Orym’s mother. She raised him with the help of Derrig and Nel, their neighbor. When asking about his father, she mentioned his last name, that he was a potion maker and he had to leave to seek out answers. Alma is very proud of her son, and only wish for him to come back home safe.
Will: Orym’s late husband. Both were friends since childhood, often getting into troubles with Fearne in their teenage years. He was the one who came up with the nickname Big Moon, Little Moon and later propose to him. They discussed of their future and the possibility of adopting a child at some point, but those plans quickly fell at Will’s death. Even in death, Will looked over Orym and was the one who pushed him into living again, and not stay in his shadow.
The Crown Keepers: The first group of people that accepted Orym for what he is since the reveal of his curse. He is deeply protective of all of them, and was worried of what the Circlet of Barbed Vision would bring. While he felt desolate at Opal wearing the Vestige, he accepted it was only a form of power, but tried to keep a close eye on her condition.
Fearne Calloway: Orym knows Fearne since her arrival to Zephrah with her family, becoming an older brother figure to her. She would leave in 842 P.D. to find him, and has been travelling with him ever since. When she was younger, she would pull Orym and Will into her shenanigans, often time ending with Orym becoming the voice of reasons of their trio.
Dorian Storm: Orym’s love interest and close friend. Both made a deal to each other to not let the other go on a dark path since the battle at the Feywild gate in Tal’Dorei, which Orym tried his best to keep. He had been more affected by Dorian leaving than he thought, sometime being reminded of him in every blue things he sees. When he recognized he began falling for Dorian, Orym had been afraid of pursuing them, not knowing if it was okay for him to love again after Will. He would eventually confesses to Dorian inside Caleb’s towers, which Dorian reciprocated. They would both kiss the next day, promising to discover this blossoming relationship once the fight is over. He let Orym ride on Coriolis to have better range against Ludinus, to which Orym was grateful of and kissed his cheek as thanks.
Chetney: Chetney is what Orym would equivalent to the odd grandfather at Winter Crest who shares some of the wildest story, which you don’t even know if they are true. He does eventually warm up the Chetney, even relaying on him to make sure if he goes out of control, he can handle it. This made Chetney become one of the main target of his attacks when out of control.
Tarrintel: Orym’s estranged father. Both Tarrintel and Orym share a few similarities in appearance, mainly with their green eyes and brown hair. Orym even posed as Tarrintel to gain informations on the Ruby Vanguard druid and Ratanish, with various levels of success. He never bothered looking for his father, believing he was dead. At the discovery Tarrintel had been working for Ludinus and by extend, Otohan Thull, Orym was angry. He was, however, open to learn more about him when he choose to switch side, discovering all of his work for Ludinus had been done *for Orym*, since Tarrintel didn’t know if Orym would develop the same curse as he has. Orym wouldn’t forgive him for abandoning his mother nor working with Otohan and not doing anything to stop her from attacking Zephrah. When he learned Tarrintel was in danger and sucked into the harness by Ludinus, Orym was quick to react to the situation and ready to help save him. He might not be the greatest of father, but he was still a victim of Ludinus’ machination and he wouldn’t let that man take another life. Bells Hells manage to push back the Ruby Vanguard keeping him and Ludinus. Orym, with the help of Dorian’s steed Coriolis and a well-placed Forcecage cast by the bard, rescued Tarrintel.
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And that’s an all for Orym! However, be warned that our next character might not be showcased until I get a new laptop. Sorry FCG…
#orym of the air ashari#my art#artists on tumblr#critical role spoilers#critical role#dorym#bells hells#c3 swap au
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"You Made Me This"
WORD COUNT: 1554
FANDOM: Harry Potter
Mattheo Riddle x reader
SYNOPSIS: You just hope you'll hurt less once you say what you wish.
WARNINGS: explicit language, mention of infidelity, mention of sex, angst, no happy ending
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"Oh shit. OH SHIT how are we going to get out of here?"
"Calm down, you screaming like a fucking banshee isn't going to help."
"oh that's fresh coming from you Riddle," you whirl around with an accusing finger.
"You probably planned this, you wretched gargoyle, damn it. Help please somebody! The door is locked!"
Slow irritating clapping came from behind you, "Wow y/n you're a fucking genius. The door IS locked, it's fucking night time! We're in a prohibited area. All the professors are patrolling the lower corridors."
You just glare at him and gesture for him to fuck off. You sigh and lean against the wall to assess your situation. One, you just wanted a pretty isolated place to listen to your music and cry a little. Two, you did not expect to see Mattheo Riddle in your place in the bell tower, clearly smoking whatever he pleases. Stunned you didn't get to wedge a book into the door so it wouldn't lock. That's how you find yourself at number three. You're trapped in the bell tower, after curfew, now very obviously smelling like pot and yay who's your partner in solitude?
Mattheo Fucking Riddle.
He seemed surprised to see you as well but why should he be? You were the one to show him this place, somewhere you two could just exist in each other's company. A place where not even war could bother you both. Before he fucked up of course.
All in good time.
"Maybe instead of being a nuisance you could instead find us a way out then, Riddle."
He drops from the beam he was smoking on and slowly corners you, looking almost confused.
"That's not my name princess," he leans in to grab your hand but you just shake him off. How fucking DARE he. He has to be the most ignorant wizard in the world.
"I am Not your princess, Riddle."
He just stands across from you, folded arms mirroring yours . That stupid smirk back in its place .
"Now when did we decide that? Last time I checked, whose name did you scream last time I had you. Who made you cum till you shook, and gladly licked it clean."
You just stare back humorless, trying to keep your composure.
"You decided that Riddle, you know, the night where you fucked that Gryffindor girl."
He just throws his head back and groans. Your throat starts to feel choked up, holding back the cries you'd pray he'd never see. But now he's getting a glimpse of it
"Princess- y/n I swear to Salazar Slytherin that I did not fuck her. We kissed yes, touched a little but then nothing more I swear."
"Oh thank you Mattheo," you exclaim sarcastically, " that just makes me feel so much better. Please tell me that I did not walk in on you grinding into her when she was naked. Explain to me how the fuck that is loyal in any way!"
You jump up and pace a little anxiously, knowing that this night will be filled with cold hard truths. You just hope you'll hurt less once you say what you wish. Mattheo reached out to you again but you just brushed out of his way and sat on the winding staircase.
"And the worst part is," you take a deep breath praying your voice stays stable ," that was OUR bed. It was where we studied and had movie nights as friends. The bed you asked me out on, and later took my first kiss on. It was," you breathe shakily and are blind by the tears filling your eyes, "it was where you made love to me, for the first and many times after that. It was beautiful."
You're glad you can't see the reaction Mattheo has from your words but he soon knelt down in front of you cautiously.
"it was so beautiful- you are so beautiful my love. You have my heart and I will never again want for someone else. You're my everything. That was my first time making love as well, because I'm so fucking crazy for you."
You can help but laugh with tears in your eyes, "yeah right Mattheo. Riddles don't make love, you fuck anyone you want and toss them aside when you're done with them. That's what our relationship came down to, right? Getting your prick wet."
He chuckles slyly.
"That sex was pretty good- don't look at me like that! Fuck I'm sorry I was joking. Of course it wasn't just about that. I just keep fucking up, I can own up to that. I'm trying to be better, I want to be better. Only for you, y/n. Please for fucks sake, look at me baby."
So you do. And he nearly trips as the storm clouds ravage across your eyes. You stand and push him against the door, somewhat pleased to hear a nervous gulp.
"What's the matter Matty? Don't you want to know why you keep fucking up?"
You take a deep breath before sticking your finger to his chest.
" It's because you NEVER own up to the shit you do. You never fucking learn because you act like you don't know what you've done!"
You're screaming by the end of it, but his dark eyes now match yours. Must've hit a nerve.
"Oh yeah cause it's ALWAYS me? YOU left me! You promised and you lied. YOU promised. Don't put all the fucking blame on me princess. This isn't about some random bed warmer. I did nothing but devote myself to you, so what did I do that's so fucking horrendous!?"
You throw your arms up in exasperation, God damn, he's fucking cruel. You can't hold back the dam anymore, deciding to let all the poisonous shit that's been building up in you these past months out.
"You BROKE me," you shriek as sobs begin to pour out endlessly. You fall to your knees and look up to meet Mattheo's horrified face. You shake harder and try to take some deep breaths.
"Why did you do this to me? To us. Everything was great, I adored you, how was that not enough. Why did you let me find you with her that night? I-" you hold back a gag as you relive the worst night of your life. The boxers you bought him on his hips, hickeys down his neck. His matching promise ring is discarded. And worst, the smiling girl waving at you stark naked from her position on the bed.
Why? Fuck. Why, why.
"When I was with you, you made my life brighter. You were my sun and I held you close to me every night, remember? After every meeting with your father, when he forced the dark mark on you and you came to ME crying. ME. I was good enough then, but not worth it in the end."
He tries to interrupt but you just keep barreling through.
"I couldn't even face you after that. Call me a coward but every time I look at you, I feel sick. You touched her the way you touched me. Your lips fit on hers as they did mine, fuck Mattheo you were even holding her hand."
You start tugging on your hair, probably painting the picture of a psychotic breakdown. That's what made you hate him even more though, the shame.
"I can't believe I let you make me so weak, so willing for you. I fucking adored you, and you HUMILIATED me. You broke my smile. My spirit, my heart. And I will NEVER be the girl I was before I caught you that night. I can't even imagine trying to put myself back together. You killed the me you were once in love with. That is why you're Riddle to me. Riddles destroy."
You bend and put your hands on your knees trying to slow your heart rate. Mattheo just sits across from you with his head in his hands. He doesn't know how to react, what to say, what to do except to grab the key from his pocket and hand it to you, climbing back to his beam.
"You're right. You always are. It was a beautiful thing and I had to have it, even though I knew I would break you. You're just all I ever wanted. But I am only a monster to you, use that key. I got the conversation I wanted. The princess escapes the monster, right?"
He chuckled sadly, not even looking at you as you rushed to open the door. Thank fuck. Before you step fully out, you pause. You turn to look at the boy you would've done anything for, the boy you were so sure would treat you the same.
"I never wanted to be the Princess in your fairytale. I'm not perfect. But I know my fucking worth," you throw the key at him before grabbing the door on your way out. As you lean in to close the door fully, you catch a last glimpse of his eyes.
"You were right about the monster part. It's just a shame you've made me one too."
The door clicks shut, and you don't feel anything walking away. Numb, even to the cries of your name echoing back to you.
#reader insert#harry potter#wizard#mattheo riddle#mattheoxreader#mattheo x you#angst#sad#fanfic#fantasy#hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry#voldemort#the golden trio#draco malfoy#draco x hermione
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Title: Horror High
Pairing: Destiel
Rating: NC-17 (in future chapters)
Warnings: Sex, Violence
Summary: John Winchester plants his eldest son at Caspar High in Jacksonville because weird things have been happening there: people disappearing. People reappearing only dead and drained of all their bodily fluids. Cocoons. It’s up to Dean to figure out what’s stalking Caspar’s halls and deal with it accordingly; but then he meets the New Kid—newer than him, even, the New-New Kid—Castiel Novak, and all his plans get severely derailed. Now Dean has to juggle the supernatural case—a really hungry jorogumo—and also the fact that he’s very quickly falling in love, something that is absolutely forbidden by his dad.
Meanwhile Castiel, shoved into the third new school in a year because his adoptive father—Chuck Shurley’s—job has them moving around a lot, struggles to fit in at Caspar High, not only because he’s the New Kid but because he’s the weird New Kid. Dean seems like a saving grace, a harbor in a storm, someone who doesn’t judge him—that is until Cas finds out about Dean’s night job. Cas’s life just got a whole lot stranger—but that doesn’t stop him from falling for Dean, regardless.
Notes: This is my first time writing Destiel OR SPN (though I have written SPN AU in other fandoms) so please bear with me while I get my footing.
Also HH was originally supposed to be like a 10-page one-shot and the next thing I knew it was 79-pages-of-11-pt-Arial-and-counting and I was looking for places to divide it for chapters so. Yeah. This storyline kind of just took over my brain and became a THING.
Top Dean and Bottom Cas which I know is the reverse of how 90% of the fandom writes them, but I am tentatively planning a sequel to HH (depending on how well it does or doesn’t go over) that will flip them around so be patient shhhh.
Cas is younger than Dean in this AU by like… six months. Dean’s official birthday is January 24th, and I used Jimmy Novak’s birthday for Cas, which is July 10th. Since they’re both in the same grade that makes Cas younger. Just accept it and move on.
I have never been to Jacksonville or Florida, so everything contained within this fic is completely fictitious; business names, street names, school names, place names, everything except Jacksonville, Florida itself. :D
ALSO, before anyone corrects me on stuff, I am CANADIAN and I know the CANADIAN high school system/curriculum. I really have very little idea of how the US school system/classes work so like. I’m just making it up as I go. :D;; (Literally how many classes do US high school students have in a day?? Up here it’s FOUR.)
Please excuse my interpretation of jorogumos, I took a LOT of liberties.
Chapter Two will be posted next Friday, if you're into that sort of thing. You can also read this HERE on AO3.
HORROR HIGH TUMBLR MASTER POST HERE.
HORROR HIGH Chapter One By Senashenta
Dean Winchester crept up the steps of Caspar High School in Jacksonville, Florida, and ducked under the line of police tape that marked off the area, heading for the little tent that had been erected just to the side of the building, near the bushes. The whole scene was theoretically being guarded by the police—but the officer they had left behind was asleep in his police car out front.
Bang up job, Jacksonville P.D.
That aside, Dean was good at his job, so sneaking into a crime scene was no big deal for him, guarded or not. And this was just your basic body check, there wouldn’t be any fighting or anything to wake the cop up—or that was the theory, anyway. (Even if there was, it wouldn’t be his first time being caught and or arrested, either, but they would probably just chalk it up to him being a nosy kid regardless.)
This was the first time his Dad had trusted him enough to drop him in a town to take care of a case alone. Of course, Sam was in Jacksonville with Dean while their Dad headed to Utah to look into a recent spate of killings there, but Sam was pretty much confined to school and the motel on this outing, as per their father’s orders. Still, Dean was going to be keeping a close eye on him: Sam had been known to rabbit in the past and he didn’t want to have to call his Dad and explain that he had lost his little brother (again.)
Now, Dean stealthily unzipped the tent flap and stepped inside, letting it fall closed behind himself.
What he was confronted with when his eyes adjusted to the darkness wasn’t a body so much as a cocoon, an oblong, rounded object the size of a person and wrapped in layers and layers of what looked almost like off-white cheesecloth or gauze. Dean leaned down and tapped at it with his fingers. It was soft, like silk.
Well that would explain why the police hadn’t taken the body away yet; there was no body, per se.
“Let’s see what’s inside you.”
Dean pulled the buck knife out of the back of his jeans, unsheathed it, and got to work cutting the cocoon open. The wrapping, though soft, was tough and sticky, hard to slice through, but eventually he hacked a seam lengthways along the cocoon, at which point he set his knife aside to pull the damned thing open.
Inside was the actual body; male, probably, and curled in on itself, shrivelled and desiccated and dried to a withered husk. At least it didn’t smell. Dean still made a face, even as he released the cocoon and picked up his knife, tucking it away again before exiting the little tent and heading off down the street, making for the motel he and Sam were staying at.
The Seafoam Motel wasn’t exactly high-class, but then none of the places they stayed at ever were. But it had walls and a roof, good locks on the door, it was cheap, and nobody asked too many questions about the occupants of the rooms, and those were all the important things. The Seafoam Motel ticked all the boxes for a financially strapped Hunter—and for his kids, too. Not that you would know it from Sam’s complaining.
At least it had wifi, the kid would have pitched an absolute fit if it hadn’t.
When he got back to the room the door was predictably locked (good job, Sammy), and Dean banged on it a couple of times, calling out, “Sammy, it’s me, open the door!”
After a moment of silence there was the sound of the chain lock and deadbolt being unlocked, and then the door was yanked open. Sam stepped aside to let Dean in and then closed and locked the door behind him, just like it had been drilled into him so many times in the past. “What’d you find?”
“Cocoon.”
“Come again?”
“Cocoon.” Dean repeated as he crossed the room, pulling his knife out and setting it on the little kitchenette table, then dropping into one of the rickety chairs. “You know, like the movie? The body was inside it. Wrapped up in this tough, sticky… I don’t know what. But it sure looked a hell of a lot like a cocoon to me.”
Sam was already heading for his laptop. “That gives us a place to start, at least.”
“Oh no, no no.” Dean headed him off at the pass, practically diving over and snatching the computer before Sam could get to it. “You’re not doing research all night, we have freaking school in the morning.” And then, “…I can’t believe I just said that.”
“Yeah, because you care about school.” Sam rolled his eyes and made a grab for the laptop, but Dean held it over his head where he couldn’t reach. “Dean.”
“I care about the girls at school.” He informed his brother with a grin, then added, “and it’s nearly two a.m., we’re going to bed. Research tomorrow. Sleep now. Besides, I have to check out the school some more anyway, just a cocoon isn’t going to give us much.”
Sam grumbled, eventually agreed, but still held his hand out for his computer. Dean deposited the laptop safely into his grasp and then started stripping down, falling into bed once he was in just his boxers and a t-shirt. “Get the lights, Sammy.”
Sam flicked the lights off with a long-suffering sigh.
-- --
Castiel Novak wasn’t having a great first day at Caspar High. He was relatively used to being the New Kid, his father’s job had them moving around a lot so he switched schools on a regular basis, but the hazing at Caspar was particularly mean spirited, he was finding, not to mention the building itself was an absolute maze, and he had been late for literally all of his morning classes simply because he hadn’t been able to find them and no one had been willing to help him out.
Now he was seated in the cafeteria, by himself but surrounded by the rest of the bustling student body, unsure what to really do with himself.
This wasn’t his first time being the New Kid. He and his father moved around a lot for his father’s job and Caspar High was the third school he’d transferred to since September. It was now January. His father promised that the moving would slow down, though; he could see how much it wore on Cas, even if the boy never said anything about it. He was going to start travelling for his seminars, instead, now that he felt Cas was old enough to stay home on his own. So Cas could potentially be at Caspar for a while.
He probably should have been worried about making friends. For most kids his age that would have been top priority, but Cas had always been a little different, and he thought he was fine on his own, if it came down to it, especially considering the first impression he was getting of the other students so far. It figured that the High School he was likely to actually graduate from would turn out to be full of nothing but jerks.
He was also possibly a little jaded from all the moving around he’d done in the past.
For the time being he just dug his lunch—a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, an apple and a bottle of water—out of his backpack, unwrapped the sandwich and began to pick little pieces of it off and eat them, rather than taking proper bites as he usually would. He wasn’t really all that hungry, considering there were at least a hundred pairs of eyes on him at the moment.
And then—
“HEY NEW KID!”
When Cas looked up, a basketball was flying at his face and he had no time to duck out of the way—but at the last possible second hands shot out of nowhere, snatching the ball out of the air before it could hit its’ target. Blue eyes blinked, and his head swivelled sideways to take in the stranger that had just saved him from a black eye at the very least.
The guy wasn’t overly tall—probably around Cas’s height, give or take—with short, tousled brown hair. He was sporting a t-shirt and a flannel button-up under a worn black jean jacket. He was also wearing ripped jeans. But Cas was most taken by his eyes, which were a sharp, beautiful forest green. As he watched, the other boy eyed the kid across the cafeteria who had thrown the ball to begin with—then abruptly pitched it back at the offender. The ball slammed into the other kid’s head, sending him flying backward out of his seat and causing laugher to erupt all across the cafeteria.
Then his rescuer just looked down at him for a moment before dropping down to sit next to him, straddling the bench. “They tried that on me my first day here, too. Same thing happened then. You’d think they’d learn.”
“Thank you.” Cas offered with a blink.
“No problem.”
“I’m Castiel.”
“That’s a mouthful. I’m Dean.” And then, “the fact that you’re wearing a tie right now isn’t going to help your popularity. Also,” he reached over to physically pull the tie off Cas’s neck and dropped it on the table in front of them. Cas allowed it, somewhat baffled. “You had it on backwards. Honestly, dude, just wear t-shirts like the rest of us.”
“I can do that.” Cas agreed. He owned t-shirts. He grabbed his tie to stuff it into his backpack. Then he returned to looking at Dean, taking in his features and mannerisms. He was exceedingly good-looking, Cas decided almost absently. At the same time, Dean was looking him over as well, seeming to take stock of him, gaze alert and analytical. Scrutinizing.
Eventually Cas shifted a little and asked, “are you new, too?”
“New-ish.” Dean shrugged, “I transferred in two weeks ago.”
“That’s why you’re nicer than...” Cas trailed off and glanced around the cafeteria.
“Literally everyone else here?” Dean suggested with a laugh.
“I didn’t want to say it, but yes.”
“It gets better. After a few days they forget. They’re dumb like that, the masses.”
“Zombies.”
“Uh,” Dean hesitated, but then allowed, “yeah, sure, kind of.”
“You don’t sound very certain, Dean.”
“Well, Cas, I just think zombies are probably different than in the movies.”
Wait. “Cas?” He called himself ‘Cas’ in his head, but no one ever called him that out loud except his father.
Dean gave him a little amused look, “’Castiel’ is a lot.”
“Oh. Okay.”
“As long as it’s fine with you, that is.”
Cas nodded and offered a smile. “It’s fine with me.”
Dean gave him a little grin back. “Great.”
The rest of lunch hour was spent with Cas actually eating his lunch properly while he talked with Dean and they got to know each other a little. No one else bothered them for the rest of the time they were in the cafeteria, and Cas was hoping he would have at least one of his afternoon classes with Dean, but when they compared their schedules, it sadly wasn’t to be. Cas resigned himself to hazing throughout the day for at least the next week or so—until the rest of the student body moved on.
It was a novelty to talk with someone who overlooked his innate strangeness. Cas was so used to people giving him odd looks that Dean chatting with him as freely as he was now, was… almost baffling. Dean seemed like the kind of guy who could be popular, have tons of friends easily, and instead here he was wasting his time with Cas. It was… weird. Not that Cas was complaining.
When the bell rang to signify the end of lunch hour, Cas was mildly disappointed that their conversation had to end. He shifted in his seat a bit before asking tentatively, “you could sit with me again tomorrow, If you wanted?”
“I’ve already got a spot where I spend lunch hour, usually. Not in here.” Dean replied casually, making Cas wilt a little, then; “but you can join me if you want. Meet me by the gym tomorrow at the start of lunch, okay?”
Cas brightened again, nodding. “Okay.”
“Cool.” Dean stood up and brushed the nonexistent dust off himself with a grin, “then I’ll see you tomorrow, Cas.”
Cas smiled back. “Mm, see you tomorrow.”
He didn’t know where Dean was going, but he was off to calculus class—assuming he could find it.
-- --
“Hey, New Kid.”
Cas was really getting tired of being called that, but at least this time there had been no malice behind it. More curiosity, if anything. He was seated in calculus, having found it with (relative) ease, trying to keep his head down and out of trouble when the voice spoke up from in front of him. He reluctantly lifted his head.
The girl in the seat in front of him was twisted around in her chair to face him, a wide smile on her face. Her hair was the reddest red that Cas thought it could possibly be. She gave him a little wave. “I’m Charlie. What’s your name?”
Cas hesitated before offering, “Castiel. But just Cas is fine.”
“Wow, yeah, ‘Castiel’ is…”
“A lot.” Cas echoed Dean’s words from earlier in the day. He was starting to relax now that Charlie was turning out to be friendly. He sat up a little straighter. “It’s nice to meet you, Charlie.”
“Nice to meet you, too!” Charlie glanced around, “I know most of the population of his school are jerks, but calculus is a pretty safe class, so you can relax a little. Oh!” She gestured to the side at another girl, “this is Jody,” and then to the boy sitting in the seat beside Cas, “and this is Garth. They’re cool too.”
Jody had short brown hair and dark eyes, and almost a maternal smile; Garth was tall and lanky, kind of goofy looking but gave him a greeting grin that Cas couldn’t help smiling back to. He was definitely feeling more comfortable now, in this class, at least.
“I saw what happened at lunch,” Charlie said, pulling his attention back to her, “Dean Winchester saved you, which, like… what was he even doing in the cafeteria? He always vanishes at lunch time. No one knows where he goes. It’s a mystery.” She wiggled her fingers a little, “he must like you, ‘cause he usually just keeps to himself, or he has since he transferred in, anyway.”
“Mn, he said he was new, too.”
“Yeah, by a couple weeks. No one dares pick on him, though, he’d kick everyone’s asses.”
Cas coughed out a little laugh. “I got that impression.” Then, after a slight hesitation, “he said I could sit with him at lunch tomorrow. So.”
“Ooh, exciting! You’ll have to tell us where he eats lunch, then!” Charlie grinned at him, then rolled her eyes slightly, “aaaaaaall the girls have a crush on him. He’s handsome and mysterious and blah blah blah.”
“You think he’s over-rated.” Jody informed flatly, though her expression was amused.
“Over-rated?” Cas questioned.
“Charlie is gay.” Garth explained. “Like, so gay.”
“So gay.” Charlie agreed.
“Oh.” Cas shrugged. It didn’t bother him. “I’m not entirely straight myself.”
Charlie just grinned. “So you don’t think Dean Winchester is over-rated.”
He cleared his throat and glanced down a little. “He’s not unattractive.”
“Yeaaaah that’s what I thought.”
“I like girls, too, though, I just… I like who I like. I don’t care about their gender.”
“That’s valid.” Charlie gave him a reassuring smile, then just changed the topic entirely; “where’d you move from?”
Cas blinked. “Wichita, Kansas. My Father and I move around a lot for his job… or we did. Now that I’m older I guess he trusts me to stay home alone so he’s going to start travelling instead. So I’m stuck here.”
“It’s not so bad here once you settle in,” Jody reassured him.
“Yeah,” Charlie nodded, “and you’ve got us now, so it’s not like you have no friends.”
“You just have weird friends.” Garth laughed.
Cas couldn’t help the little grin that crept across his own face. He was actually perfectly okay with having weird friends.
-- --
In history class, after calculus, somebody tripped him on his way to his seat and Cas fell flat on his face. The rest of the students laughed. Cas just got back up and continued on, pretending nothing had happened. That was the best way to deal with bullies, he had learned, over his long and sordid history of transferring from school to school. Ignore them until they give up and go away.
Or, alternatively, have Dean Winchester throw a basketball at their face. That apparently worked, too.
In any case, after the incident in history, the rest of the day passed easily enough, until Cas found himself standing outside the school after final bell, just taking deep breaths of the fresh air and looking up at the sky—soaking in the fact that he was free, at least for the rest of the day.
“You going left or right?”
Cas blinked at the familiar voice and turned his attention to Dean, who had come up beside him while he was distracted with the general out-of-doors. He glanced toward the route he had to take to get home. “Right. Why?”
“Me too. I’ll walk with you.”
“Oh. Okay.” And then, “thanks.”
“Don’t gotta thank me. I’m walking that way anyway.” Dean nudged him to get him moving, and Cas headed off with the other boy by his side.
“No, I mean,” Cas waved one hand in an absent sort of gesture, “I mean for earlier. In the cafeteria. You really didn’t have to do that. And one of the girls I was talking to later said you don’t even usually go in the cafeteria, so I just… thanks. For going out of your way. I appreciate it.”
“You were gossiping about me?”
“I—” Cas began, then clapped his mouth shut again and shook his head in a quick negative. When he spoke up once more it was to mutter, “of course not.”
But Dean was already grinning, looking overly amused. “It’s fine, Cas, I’m used to being gossip fodder. What was she saying about me?”
“That all the girls here think you’re handsome.” Cas told him easily, but conveniently left out the part where he agreed with them. There was no sense in telling a guy he’d just met that he was already developing a crush on him, especially when he might be moving again any day. He really wasn’t sure he trusted his father’s promises that they were going to stay put this time. “And that no one knows where you disappear to at lunch time, apparently it’s a big mystery.”
Dean laughed. “Well you’ll know, starting tomorrow.” He pointed out, “you’re still gonna join me, right?”
Cas actually gave him a surprised look. “I didn’t think you actually—”
“—meant it?” Dean finished for him. His smile softened for just a second before returning to his previous jovial expression. “Mmm… I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t mean it. And besides, you’re different from all those other assholes, I can tell.”
“I like to think I am, anyway.” Then, “you are, too.”
Dean grinned again. “I think we’re going to be friends, Cas, I really do.”
Cas offered up a smile of his own, “I’d like that, Dean.”
They walked together for a few blocks, until they got to James Street, at which point Cas paused and gestured down it. This was his turn off, he had to walk down James to get to King Street where he lived, and it was… well, the term “sketchy” came to mind. James Street was all run-down houses, broken fences, guard dogs and probably drug dealers. Dean looked down the street, giving it a thorough eyeballing, before declaring—
“Nope!” He gave Cas a little push toward the street, but then followed him, falling into step beside him as they headed down James. “No way are you walking down here by yourself, dude, that’s just asking to get axe-murdered. Or worse.”
“Worse than axe-murdered?”
“Oh, trust me there are so many worse things than being axe-murdered.”
Cas would have to take his word for it. He couldn’t personally think of any, but that didn’t mean they didn’t exist. For now he was just going over and over in his head how this guy he had just met was walking him all the way home through a dodgy part of town, even though he didn’t have to. His tiny, newborn crush on Dean Winchester was probably growing teeth already, and it hadn’t even been a day.
“When’s your birthday?”
“Huh?” Cas blinked back to reality at the question and actually had to fumble for a response before managing, “July.”
“January.” Dean was paying very close attention to their surroundings while also trying to maintain a conversation and that was obvious. “So I’m older.”
“Only by six months.” Cas pointed out.
“Still counts. Means you have to do what I say.” Dean grinned at him fleetingly, “those’re the rules!”
“I don’t like those rules.” The younger teen gave a token protest. “I think you made those rules up.”
“Possibly, but they’re important.”
“Why?”
“Could save your life one day.”
Cas laughed softly at that, but Dean didn’t, instead falling silent until they were past James Street and out of the sketchy area that Cas had very much walked through unescorted on his way to school that morning. Dean relaxed visibly as soon as they were back to “normal” neighborhoods, his steps easier and his shoulder slouching a little, where they had been tense and taut only a moment before.
Honestly, Cas wasn’t entirely sure what was up with Dean, but clearly something was going on inside his head. He would love to have picked Dean’s brain about it, but he really didn’t think Dean would be up for sharing. Maybe he had an incident in his past, something to do with a neighborhood like James that had him acting like he was now. Cas thought possibly once they got to know each other a little bit more, he might ask, but for now…
“I live on King.” He gestured down the street in question when they neared it, “I really can walk from here, I… um. But thanks. Again.”
Dean’s steps slowed to a stop and he glanced around, as if checking the surrounding neighborhood before deeming it safe. “Okay, Cas. I’ll see you tomorrow, right? Be careful walking that way on your way to school in the morning.”
“I will.” Cas gave him a little smile, “thanks, Dean. See you tomorrow.” Then he turned and headed across the street to King, where his father was likely waiting to hear a rundown of his day.
-- --
Lunch time the next day found Cas nervously waiting outside the gym, half expecting Dean not to show—that it had all been an elaborate prank.
Cas’s morning had gone alright, though, everyone seemed to be steering clear now that it had circulated that Dean Winchester was looking out for him. He wasn’t sure what, exactly, Dean had done to garner his reputation, but whatever it was it had been effective.
“Hey.” A hand clapped into his shoulder and when Cas glanced up, Dean was standing there, “c’mon.”
Cas just stared at him. “You actually came.”
“Well, yeah,” Dean gave him an odd look, then gestured for him to follow and headed into the gym. It was empty right now, except for them, and Cas trailed after Dean as they walked around the side of the bleachers—and Dean ducked into the back of them, then dropped down and settled with his back against the wall. He waved a hand for Cas to join him.
Cas clambered in behind the bleachers as well, taking a seat beside Dean and setting his backpack beside him. “This is where you spend lunch?”
“Yeah. It’s private. Quiet, usually.” Dean shrugged, “I don’t mind you being here, though.”
Cas blinked at that, not quite sure what to say. “I—thanks?”
Dean tossed him a grin. “You don’t have to thank me for everything, Cas.”
But it was the polite thing to do. Cas opened his mouth—then closed it again. After a moment he just shrugged almost awkwardly and dug in his backpack for his lunch, unwrapping his sandwich and beginning to eat. He was so severely unused to having friends that this was difficult for him—socializing. He didn’t really know how to do it.
“Hey, what’s your family like?” Cas glanced over when Dean spoke up. The other boy had his head leaned back against the wall, his hands laced over his stomach and his eyes were staring off somewhere into the middle-distance.
“My family?” Cas swallowed a bite of sandwich and resisted the urge to shrug again. “It’s just me and my Father. He adopted me when I was five, but I don’t remember anything before then. It’s always just been the two of us.”
Dean smiled a little and looked at him. “I’ve got me, and my Dad, and my annoying little brother. But we get by okay.”
So neither of them had Moms. That was interesting. Cas took another bite of his sandwich and asked, “how come you transferred here? Does your Dad move around a lot for work or something?”
“You could say that.” Dean agreed, “what about you?”
“Same.” The younger teen nodded, in-between bites of food, “my Father is a motivational speaker, and he does series of seminars all over the place. The last couple months we were in Kansas, and Oregon before that. Now we’re here.” Another bite of sandwich and he continued, a little muffled, “he says we’re going to stay here, though, now that I’m old enough to stay home on my own. He says he’ll start travelling for his work instead.” A shrug, “I don’t know if I believe him or not.”
“Your Dad lie to you often?”
Cas sighed. “No, it’s just… I think it’s a stretch. That he’s suddenly decided all this.”
“Mm.” Dean seemed sympathetic, though Cas wasn’t entirely sure why. “Sucks that it’s this school that you’d be stuck at, after everything.”
“That’s what I was thinking yesterday.” Cas admitted, balling up the wrap from his lunch and dropping it back in his bag. Then he hesitated before offering, “but then I met you, and… things got better.”
Dean grinned again. “Yeah. I think we’re gonna be good friends, Cas.”
Cas found himself smiling back—and then Dean lifted his arm to run his hand through his hair and Cas’s eyes caught on a tear in the cuff of his jacket. He tilted his head curiously. “What happened to your jacket?”
“Huh?” Dean lowered his arm to peer at the rip. He shrugged. “I don’t even know, honestly, half my stuff has holes in it and I never know where they came from.”
Cas was already digging through his backpack again, and this time came up with a spool of black thread and a needle, much to Dean’s obvious surprise. He waved one hand toward the older boy, “take it off and I’ll fix it for you.”
Of all the ways this lunch hour could have gone, this was not one Dean would have predicted. He looked at Cas almost blankly for a moment, then let his eyes flick down to the other teen’s backpack. It was covered in vibrant patches—a cartoon PB&J sandwich, a pizza box, an LGBTQ flag, angel wings, etc.—all obviously hand-sewn on. And oh. So sewing was a thing with Cas. Okay.
Dean pushed away from the wall just enough to shrug out of his jacket and handed it over, watching curiously as Cas measured out a length of thread, then snapped it off with his teeth, threading the needle and knotting the thread a second later. He was obviously practiced at this particular skill. So was Dean, but for different reasons.
A few minutes of concentration later and Cas was finished with repairing the rip in his jacket, knotting off the thread and snapping it with his teeth again, then tucking the needle and thread away before sheepishly handing the jacket back to Dean.
“It’s not perfect, but it’s much better, right?” He asked almost shyly.
Dean gave him a genuine, grateful smile. “Thanks, Cas. It’s great.”
Cas watched him pull his jacket back on, smiling himself now. “I like to sew. It gives me something to do with my hands when I’m feeling… I don’t know. Antsy, I suppose. Like some people play with pencils or fidget toys, I have a needle and thread…”
Dean was inspecting the newly-sewn spot on his cuff, and looked up with a grin, “I play with knives.” He informed Cas, only half-joking.
Cas, not knowing any better, laughed anyway. “Hey, Dean?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks for… being nice to me. Thanks for this. For… being my friend.”
Dean almost told him he didn’t need to thank him again. Instead he just smiled, almost fond, and said, “you’re welcome, Cas.”
-- --
“What do you mean you’re not going to tell us where Dean Winchester spends lunch hour?”
This was from Charlie, who had one hand clasped to her chest and a positively shocked and scandalized look on her face. The entire thing was an act and Cas knew it, even having only known Charlie for two days. “Charlie.”
“What do you mean you’re not going to tell me where Dean Winchester spends lunch hour?”
“Aaaaaand there it is.” Jody drawled. Garth chuckled.
Cas just smiled apologetically. “It’s kind of a secret. I don’t think he wants people to know.”
Charlie pouted, “you just want him all to yourself, that’s what I think.”
Cas coughed and glanced down at the same time as Garth commented, “as if you care. You couldn’t be less interested in Dean Winchester if you tried, Charlie.”
“Not true!” Charlie insisted, “he is, indeed, a mystery that I am interested in solving! Just… not in, like, a romantic sense. Because ew.” Then she paused before adding, “I mean, objectively I can see where you would find him attractive, Cas, but just… no thanks.”
A soft laugh from Cas, faintly embarrassed. “Sorry, Charlie. I’m still not going to tell you.”
The girl heaved a suffering sigh. “You disappoint me, Castiel Novak.”
Again. “Sorry, Charlie.”
“You are not.”
He wasn’t even a little.
-- --
It became habit that Cas met Dean outside the gym every day at lunch and they spent lunch hour behind the bleachers, talking and laughing and becoming better friends, Cas’s minor crush on Dean growing into a huge monster of one very quickly.
Dean never had anything to eat at lunch and it hadn’t gone unnoticed by Cas, though he had thus far neglected to say anything. But the longer he knew Dean and the more time he spent with the other boy the more it bothered him. He wasn’t bringing anything from home, obviously, and never bought anything from the cafeteria, he just sat through lunch hour watching everyone else eat and going hungry himself, scribbling in a battered notebook that he carried in his inside jacket pocket.
And that didn’t sit right with Cas because some days it was obvious Dean was hungry from the way he watched Cas eat out of the corner of his eye. But why he never had food was probably a sensitive subject and Cas didn’t feel he had the right to ask.
He could, however, do something about it.
So the next time Dean plunked himself down on the ground behind the gym bleachers at lunch time, Cas sat down next to him, then swung his backpack around and fished out not one but two sandwiches, each individually wrapped in cling-film. He blinked at Dean and held one out. “Here.”
Dean just stared at him. “Dude, what are you doing?”
“Feeding you.” Cas stated matter-of-factly, and when Dean didn’t immediately take the offered sandwich, he just set it in the older boy’s lap and returned to his bag, digging out two apples and setting one next to Dean’s sandwich. This was followed by a pair of bottles of water. Then he shrugged. “Someone has to do it.”
“But—I—you—this is—”
Cas could sense where this was going. He headed it off at the pass. “It’s not charity, if that’s what you’re worried about. It’s as easy to make two sandwiches as it is to make one.” He was already unwrapping his own sandwich, and paused to glance sideways at Dean before taking a bite; “we’re friends and friends help each other out, right?”
“We are, yeah…” Dean continued looking at him rather oddly while he started to eat, like he was having trouble with the idea of someone doing something so nice for him and not wanting anything in return. Eventually, though, he glanced away, as if suddenly shy, and carefully picked up his own sandwich, unwrapping it and taking a huge bite right off the bat. He was obviously starving. Once that was chewed and swallowed, he cleared his throat and offered, “uh… thanks, Cas.”
Cas shrugged again but gave him a smile. “As long as you don’t mind peanut butter and jelly, I don’t mind sharing with you.”
“…I am not eating the apple. Apples belong in pies.”
The next day Cas started bringing him a fruit cup instead. “It’s close to pie.”
“It’s not even.”
Despite his protests, Dean ate it anyway.
-- --
On top of eating lunch together, it had also quickly become habit for Dean to walk Cas home—mostly because he was very suspicious of James Street and that neighborhood in general, and he didn’t want his only friend to be snatched up by some monster, or even a common-place serial killer. A life of being a Hunter’s son had made him more than a little paranoid when it came to things like that.
Usually Cas made it outside first, and just waited around by one of the retaining walls until Dean emerged from the school a few minutes later, at which point they set out. Cas kept telling Dean he really didn’t need to walk him home, and Dean kept doing it anyway.
Because aside from his paranoia, he really did like Cas, and enjoy spending time with him, possibly too much, really—but walking Cas home also got him away from the crappy motel and his annoying little brother for just a little while longer, which was always a bonus. He was a Hunter, and he had a job to do, his dad drilled that into him all the damn time, but he was also not-quite eighteen and needed distraction every now-and-then.
“You’re quiet.” Dean was always quiet when they were walking down James Street. Cas always tried anyway. “What are you thinking about?”
“I’m thinking it’s going to rain.”
Cas glanced up. It was severely overcast, with storm clouds overhead and the humidity was through the roof. Dean was probably right. “Yeah, probably.” He agreed. “Hey, do you want to walk all the way to my house today? I could introduce you to my Father, if he’s in. We could hang out.”
Dean flashed him a little smile. “I can’t. I’ve gotta get home to Sammy.”
‘Sammy’ was Dean’s younger brother, thirteen from what Dean had told him, and attending Bedwin Junior High. Bedwin was Caspar’s affiliated Junior High, so if they were around long enough, Sammy—Sam—would go to Caspar as well. Dean seemed to feel that they wouldn’t be around that long, though, which was… disappointing. Upsetting, even.
Cas was used to moving around, himself, and in the beginning he had been young and hadn’t known better, he had made friends wherever he went, and then inevitably had to leave them behind. When he got a little older, he started purposefully avoiding making friends, so he wouldn’t have to deal with the pain of losing them.
Now, at Caspar, he had dropped his guard again, and even if his father kept his word and they didn’t move again, and he was able to stay friends with Charlie, Jody and Garth, Dean… he and his brother were in the same boat as Cas had been in previously. So, Cas had gotten to be friends with Dean without even meaning to, gotten close to him, developed a huge crush on him—though he never let it show—and Dean could be leaving any day. It was only a matter of time, really.
Cas had thought that he had hardened himself to the reality of losing friends, considering how he’d grown up, but the thought of Dean taking off just… put a lump in the pit of his stomach. He really had it bad for the older boy, had since Day One, probably, Charlie was right about that much.
But Dean was funny and smart and so attractive, so of course—
Something heavy slammed into Cas’s back right at that moment, the blow cushioned only by the fact that he was wearing his backpack, and Cas yelped out a startled noise even as he tumbled to the ground, landing roughly on the hard pavement.
Whatever had crashed into him was still on top of him—a person, he thought—and scrabbling at him, one hand holding him down by the chest while the other grabbed at his hair and shoved his head to the side. Then they lunged forward and bit into his neck—Cas gave a sharp cry—and abruptly Dean’s voice shouted something unintelligible and he yanked the person off, flinging them away.
When Cas looked up, the person who had attacked him was standing a few feet away, wiping at his mouth and spitting. Dean was between him and Cas and had a huge buck knife in one hand (where had that come from?), holding it at the ready. When the stranger stopped gagging and lunged toward Dean, Dean braced himself and full-body tackled the man, knife flashing—first silver and then red—as he stabbed it into the man over and over again.
After that onslaught, though, and despite being stabbed several times, the stranger wrenched himself away and took off, fleeing into the oncoming storm.
Dean stood where he was for a moment, heaving, before wiping the knife on his jeans and tucking it into the back of his waistband, where Cas assumed it had come from to begin with. Then he hurried back over to Cas and crouched down, hands hovering uselessly. “Shit, Cas, are you okay?”
Cas brought one hand up to the side of his neck where he had been bitten, wiping there before dropping it again to look almost blankly at the blood on his palm. That was about when it started to rain. Dean reached to help him up, and together they got Cas back to his feet. He actually didn’t feel too bad, all things considered.
Dean was already checking out his neck, ignoring the fact that rain was pouring down on them now. “It doesn’t look too bad. It didn’t get you too deep. Could’ve ripped your throat out, you’re lucky.”
“It—what—he bit me—and—you stabbed him and he didn’t even—"
“Cas,” Dean looked him in the eye, deadly serious, and told him firmly, “that was a vampire.”
#supernatural#supernatural fanfiction#destiel#destiel fanfiction#spn#shut up sena#sena writes#horror high by senashenta
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How could he forfeit to make something grand for his beloved sister's birthday? Absolutely not. Today, he is going full roundhouse with his birthday surprise.
Said surprise being a giant chocolate cake, covered in fruits of different kinds―but it is not just any simple cake: it dubs also as a giant chocolate fountain, spilling down the slopes and covering some of the fruit along it, impregnating the air with the scent of sweet cocoa.
Next to it there is a pack of sticks ready to be used for dipping fruits and cake into the melted chocolate. And right before it there's a little scribbled note, surrounded by familiar slime doodles in the fashion of her brother's artstyle:
"I hope you like this little experimental idea I commissioned to one of the local bakeries. Happy Birthday, Princess! I love you.
P.d: Once I'm done with my work, would you like to go have fun somewhere in the city? Think about it, and find me in my office once you're done with your cake. I finished all your work for you today, so feel free to take all the time for yourself."
IT'S STILL FEB 19TH 2K24 I PWOMISE / Not Accepting (ofc)
When Tonia wakes up, she immediately keys in on the faintest whisper of cocoa.
It catches her attention just as much as it makes her forgo the usual morning priorities of rolling around in bed, sleeping in, rolling around some more, squishing her toys, reluctantly getting out of bed, even more reluctantly brushing her teeth, or changing out of her nightdress. Instead, she practically bounces out of her blankets, bare feet quickly tapping out of the room and blindly honing in on the sweet smell and sweeter promise of sweet—!!
When she finally blinks, she's in a room with a cake. A giant cake. Made of chocolate, just as she hoped. But it was not just giant and chocolate - it was streaming chocolate, like some endless, magical, miraculous little cocoa volcano. Little smooth rivers of milk chocolate, the river banks occasionally splashing a tiny bit to fleck the strawberries and banana slices decorating the cake.
Truly, a chocolate and cake and sweet lover's dream come true. Tonia discreetly takes a second to pinch the skin of her cheek, feeling it pull too realistically to be anything but real, and she's half a second away from immediately pouncing on the cake in a figurative and potentially even literal way - not like anyone else's name is written on it! Her cake now!!! - before she notices the note on the side.
...She's half inclined to ignore said note frankly. But - there are slimes doodled on it...
Slimes are just as important as this amazing cake, her just-woken-up brain fuzzily determines. So, while one hand grabs one of the dipping sticks to make a little fruit and cake kebab for dipping into the chocolate, the other grabs the note for her to skim and keep in mind and then attend to whatever later.
Or well, she planned to skim it, assuming it wouldn't be anything too important beyond a quick read. Turns out, no, quite important. Just as important as cake and slimes. Maybe a smidge more important than those two things, actually.
Well, it's not like Tonia forgot her birthday was a thing - she had been incessantly badgering and being particularly annoying in the days leading up to it, in some roundabout logic of celebration = permission to be bothersome. So, she's not very fazed to find that the cake was one of her brother's absurdly lavish gifts for the year.
Just... Tonia squints at the note a bit, thinking, before she huffs and puffs her cheeks.
"I don't need to do any of that, you big dummy," she mutters to herself, before turning back to her in-process choco-kebab. She makes sure to skewer the smaller fruits along with a semi-misshapen chunk of cake before carefully dipping the whole thing into the streaming chocolate. Admiring her handiwork for a second, Tonia then turns sharply on her heel and rushes out.
The end result is that there's a slight mess of chocolate trailing down the corridors, and it's dripping over her nightdress, but she could care less when she has something super duper wooper important to do right now!!
Which is to slam the door to her brother's office open, walk in, ignore whatever her brother's reaction is to her sudden appearance, and shove the chocolate skewer into his mouth.
Once it's securely in said mouth, Tonia determinedly sets her hands on her hips - oh, wait, no, gotta rub some of the chocolate off her fingers first; her dress is looking even more of a mess but that's what laundry is for - okay, now she sets her hands on her hips, not quite frowning, but not exactly all smiles either.
"Dummmmmmmy!" She starts, loudly. "You can't just give me a giant cake like that and then expect me to just sit there quietly and make plans all by myself! That's so boring! And lame! Who wants to think that much on their birthday?"
"So, since it's my birthday, I've decided that we're not going to do much thinking at all." She wiggles a finger at him, slight smears of chocolate still on it. "We're just going to eat the cake. Yes, we. I've just decided now that I'm going to share it with you. We're going to finish all of the cake today itself! And you're not going to do aaaaany work, because that's lame, and it's my birthday, and I said so. And even if we have time after finishing the cake, you're still not going to do any work. We're going to have fun in the city, like you suggested. Maybe we can go buy a bakery together, or something."
She finally pokes his nose with the same finger, leaving a small dab of chocolate there. Tonia briefly feels her lips curling into a snort at the sight of Ayaks with chocolate on his face, but focuses hard to keep her you must listen to me I am being very serious big brother so don't laugh expression. "That is going to be the agenda for today, no changes or questions asked! And you can't regret this, because you allowed for this to happen, if you ask me.
"Especially with that dumb note of yours. Why write all that sappy stuff down when you could just say it to my face? Wish me a happy birthday when I'm awake, not when I'm still sleeping!"
Tonia looks on insistently for a few trailing seconds, awaiting the very words that she mentioned, but then remembers the choco-kebab she put into his mouth. Something sheepish twitches its way across her face before she huffs - "W-Well, afterwards! You can say all the stuff in your note to me afterwards. Is the chocolate good enough for me to eat first?"
#ic | (heard and loved);#narvvhal#event | (wake up birthday girl ; it's the end of an era);#era | (revolution's dualism);#(THIS IS TOTALLY NOT. UM. 8 MONTHS LATE OR ANYTHING)#(tfw tonitoni really likes his gift but in her usual brand of ''acts like she doesnt care but really does'' she doesnt actually admit it)#(or rather drags him to enjoy the cake with her bc thats her own way of saying thanks and that she wuvs her big bro too <3)#(just............... also has to act like a major brat at the same time LMAOOOOO)#(also she cant handle saying thanks and i love you too back to her bro in words its too much teenage mortification for her to do that)#(just reading the note lowkey mortified her i think LMAO)#queue | (the rivers of irminsul);
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THE EDGE
“...There is no honest way to explain it because the only people who really know where it is are the ones who’ve gone over.” - Hunter S. Thompson, Hell’s Angels
Summary: A part of the deal to freedom included a stay at Pennhurst. It’ll take everything to keep the hope that one day the locked doors will open, the windows will no longer have bars that block the view, and that one day, the name Eddie Munson will be synonymous with the word ‘innocent’. The hope, he never realised, would also come to be synonymous with your name.
Chapter: 1 / 2 / 3 / 4
Pairing: Eddie Munson x reader
Word count: 6.6k
Warnings: angst, heavy themes of inpatient treatment/hospitalisation, heavy themes of mental health, institutional deprivation of liberties, body injuries, mentions of suicidal ideation, themes of institutional abuse, can be a dark read (continue with that in mind, look after yourselves), canon divergence, Eddie survives the demobat attack, post-S4 timeline, slow burn romance, eventual smut, 18+, eventual fluff
Chapter warnings: angst, hurt (no comfort), bittersweet feelings, it's a difficult one ngl but I'll make it better I swear lmao, reader is described as having scars but no specifics, story tags still apply
AN: Ayy another chapter done. I'll try and find time to keep updating, but bear with me as I switch between this, other oneshots, and my own personal work. To those who follow along, thank you. This is such a passion project, and I'm loving the story so far.
October, 1984
It all still feels like one horrific nightmare. You’ve still got blood in your hair, staining your skin, with no idea who it belonged to. For a while, the pain had vanished, as you clawed your way to a nearby road. Perhaps a leftover survival mechanism passed down the generations. But now, now you couldn’t ignore the agony that your wounds created. The gashes that would forever disfigure you, a reminder that would become apparent every time you looked in the mirror. For now, covered with clean white bandages. You had no idea what it looked like beneath them, and you weren’t ready to look anyway.
Everyone had looked at you with such vitriol that made you want to wither into nothing. The doctors and nurses were doing the absolute bare minimum for your care, giving you minimal pain meds and spending as least time with you as humanly possible. The steel handcuffs that clasped your wrist and secured you to the hospital bed were starting to chafe, but you knew better than to say anything. Not like anybody would care, or even do anything about it. You knew the police officer that sat outside your door from high school, someone that had graduated when you were a sophomore. Harmon, you think his last name was. Either way, he hadn’t said anything to you yet. Not even made an appearance, just sitting himself down and reading the newspaper. You couldn’t see it, but you wondered if your name was in the news yet. Unlikely, considering everything had only happened a couple of hours ago. You prayed for it never to happen, but it was unlikely anyone up there was listening anyway.
Someone came through the door and stopped by the end of your bed, a small notebook in one hand and pen in the other. Horned rimmed glasses framed eyes that bore into you, a squint that conveyed the disgust he had for you. He was dressed in a police uniform, the Hawkins P.D badge on his chest slightly glinting under the fluorescent lights. Callahan, the name badge opposite it said. You’d seen him around town, but had never crossed paths with him until tonight.
He said your name with a tone that told you he’d rather be anywhere else than here. You nodded in affirmation, as he looked down at the notepad, pen tapping against the pages.
“Wild night you’ve had,” he drawled, a slight sneer as he shook his head. “Wanna tell me what happened?”
For a moment, you said nothing. How could you possibly begin to explain it all? It was all such a blur, time doubling in rate with no hope of slowing. Your gaze lowered to the thin blanket that covered you, free hand picking at the off white fibres. “I don’t know.” Your voice was quiet, far away. You didn’t sound like yourself.
A scoff. “You expect me to believe that?”
Another pause. No, you didn’t. You expected absolutely nobody to believe you.
“We’ve found two bodies so far,” he continued. “Are we going to find any more?”
You shook your head. They’d found Cynthia and Scott. Cynthia was your friend since Kindergarten, your neighbour that you grew up with. Your best friend, who never judged you. Scott had started dating her when you were all sixteen, and you actually liked him. Thought he was good for her. Thought they’d end up the childhood sweethearts that actually stuck together through life; would get married, have 2.5 kids and a white picket fence. Get a dog, and live a boring but fulfilling life.
Where had it all gone so wrong?
“Done any drugs tonight?” Callahan asked, though he sounded like he already knew the answer, and way just testing you to see if you were going to lie about it.
“I uh, smoked some weed,” you admitted, rubbing the heel of your hand into your eye. You still felt fuzzy around the edges, but it was wearing off all too quickly. “Drank some beers.”
“Nothing else?” he asked you. “Hallucinogens, PCP, anything like that?”
“No.”
You swore you saw an eye roll, though his glance away was helping to conceal it. “We’re going to be testing your blood, you know. Easier to just admit everything now, rather than it coming up in court later. I’m tryna’ help you here.”
No, you aren’t, you wanted to say. You’ve decided I’m guilty. And you want to lock me up to rot.
You could barely remember the rest of the interview. A lot of “I don’t know,” and “I can’t remember.” You can remember being sent to the place that terrified you as a child, though. Family horror stories of a great Aunt who went in and never came back out. You remember crying every night for the first six months, only for nobody to comfort you. You remember having to clamp down on your emotions, to bury them deep and hope they never resurface.
You can’t remember your parents ever visiting you.
August, 1986
The sweltering heat of Indiana summers were finally starting to break, cooler air filtering through the iron bars of the gaps of the slightly opened windows of the dayrooms and cutting the thick scent of sweat and cleaning products. You and Eddie had engaged in small talk during the countless games of cards, and you’d learned quite a fair bit about him. You learned he liked pickles on his burgers. His favourite album was still up in the air, citing that “you just couldn’t do that, it’d be like admitting you have a favourite child.” His favourite colour was red and black, leading to a couple of hours of heated conversation about black being technically a shade, not a colour. He missed being able to play electric guitar, but there was something about the ward’s battered acoustic that he appreciated.
And in return, you’d shared the tiniest amounts that you hoped sated him. Safe little facts that couldn’t be used against you. And to his credit, he never pried. Instead, he did what he was best at. Talking enough for the both of you, when your social battery wasn’t at its fullest.
“I swear man, Miller’s got something going on at home,” he mumbled under his breath as his eyes bounced between the project in his hand and the Doctor that seemed to be in the middle of an under-the-breath argument with an orderly on the other side of the dayroom door. Time had been allotted for arts and crafts, or rather, whatever shit they could throw in a box that could vaguely be suited for the occasion. Dried up glue and mangled pipe cleaners, a box of googly eyes that Eddie had pocketed for ‘later use’, and egg cartons that were probably older than you. But you’d found some lengths of different coloured string and a pair of the bluntest craft scissors known to mankind, and had decided on weaving them together to make bracelets. Eddie had decided to join in, and after a crash course in the most basic braids you knew, you were both winging it in trying to make something that wouldn’t just fall apart.
You looked up from the strands of black, red and white that you held in your hands to follow his eyeline, shaking your head as you spared a glance at the man opposite you. “She still givin’ you shit?”
You knew full well about the meetings he had with her, from the venting he always did afterwards. Apparently, medium security was a privilege, not a right. As if Eddie was capable of doing any harm with what little means he had in here. Fuck, you saw him shed a tear when you watched Bambi together not last week. It had only been a month, but you were absolutely positive of one thing, given you’d had enough time to make your own conclusions. Eddie wasn’t capable of his charges. Not for a second.
You expected him to frown at your question, but instead, a lopsided smirk played upon his lips. “Same as always, but nah. I’m talkin’ about what I overheard one of the nurses mention about her.”
You couldn’t help but snicker as you continued braiding. “Really, Munson? What’re you, a housewife at a damn Tupperware party?”
“Hey, I’d look fuckin’ fantastic in a pair of heels and a flouncy dress, thank you very much sweetheart,” he playfully chided, pointing at you with faux accusation and making you chuckle. “But seriously. Apparently, someone found a bottle of vodka stashed in the filing cabinets in the records room. And apparently, there’s only a handful of people that have access. She’s one of them.”
Finishing the last knot of the makeshift bracelet, you looked up to give Eddie your full attention. You had to admit, he was pretty. The long hair, full lips and rounded eyes were a given, yes. But it was the way that he looked at you, how much kindness he gave you, that sealed the deal. The way he would duck his head to make eye contact with you when your eyes felt glued to the floor. When you felt like all hope was lost, stuck in your own misery with no way out, a large hand would be felt on your shoulder, a slight touch that didn’t push your comfort levels. His shit jokes that cheered you up, and the fact that he seemed to know just what to say to make you feel better. In another life, you might have asked him on a date at one point. Maybe to get milkshakes, or to see a movie. But those ideas were bitterly shoved back down, when you remembered where you were. That’d never be an option. Not again.
You rolled your eyes as you leaned back in your chair, fiddling with the length of woven bracelet as you raised an eyebrow. “So you think she’s drinking on the job?” you asked, pulling the conversation back to something nonchalant. Before you had a chance to think of him in any way other than a friend.
“I think she’s doing a lot of things on the job, and caring for people ain’t one of them,” he muttered with a slight sneer. His demeanour seemed to change with the final touches of his own craft project, a triumphant look crossing his face as he held it between his fingers. “Here, gimme your arm.”
You shot him a look of confusion as you crossed your arms instead. “Why?”
“So I can yank it out of its socket and use it as an improvised weapon,” he drawled, sarcasm heavy on the words. “Just trust me, alright?”
You did trust him. Or at least, trusted him better than anyone in the whole building. “You’re a sick puppy, y’know that?” you chuckled, holding out your arm on the table.
“So I’ve been told,” he answered, tone ever so slightly taking on an edge of bitterness that you noted. Calloused fingertips brushed the sensitive skin of your inner wrist, and it took everything within you not to shiver at the sensation. The softness averting your eyes to the window past his shoulder, your inner critic beating down whatever sticky feelings got caught in your ribs at a deep inhale. Get it the fuck together for Christ sake, he’s just-
“Aaaand done.” You looked back to see that lopsided grin of his, though his eyes betrayed him with a slight sense of panic at what you guessed to be the impending sense of rejection. “You like it?”
You finally allowed your eyes to dip down to your arm, twisting it to get a better look. Purple, blue and lilac threads had been twisted haphazardly into what could technically be considered a braid, though on every fourth or so knot, it twisted at the seams and knocked all uniformity right out of it. But a part of you hoped it was made with intention. The same intention that middle school girls gave them, when they swore up and down to be best friends forever to the other girls they’d bonded with at summer camp, only to forget their names in the next couple of years. The same that still rattled around your old jewellery box back at home, buried under tacky hoops and cheap pendants that teenage you liked wearing. You still remembered the pale pink half of a heart that you kept there, on a chain that’d seen better days. The other half at Cynthia’s house, hanging on her notice board underneath a picture of you two together, smiling at the lake five summers ago.
Friendship. A word that up until now, had lost all meaning to you. Something that was beginning to spark, though the rockiness and unease of having it for a long time was throwing you off balance. Something that was being offered, and you were so starved for it, you let yourself believe it. Even if it was fake, you’d take it.
You let the smile that graced your lips grow wide, as you nodded your approval. “Bit of a bold colour choice, but I dig it,” you shrugged, your tone taking any malice out of the words.
“Yeah well, I’m not exactly in a position to waltz on down to Hobby Lobby to get the perfect shades or anything,” he snorted, now idle fingers seeking stimulation by opening a new pack of cigarettes. “Cut it off if you don’t want it.”
And there it was. That slight drop to his smile, as his eyeline averted. No doubt already trying to soothe the sting of assumption, to protect his dignity. Laugh the pain away, don’t let anyone see into it. This was about more than a seemingly simple act of kindness, and you knew the feeling well. God, you wanted to soothe it. Make it go away for him. Because it would be a damn sight easier cheering him up than the sheer amount of effort it’d take to try and do the same to yourself.
But it needed to be carefully done. Replied to with the same jest, play the same game right back, otherwise the raw vulnerability would cause him to clam right back up again. “Nah, I’m keeping this sucker. Really makes my eyes pop, don’t ya think?”
You both shared a look of amusement, before your hand darted out before thinking. You noticed the way he flinched, and again, the inner critic was back with the whip to flagellate yourself with at the ready. You willed it away by turning your hand around, an open palm rather than a grasping claw. “My turn?” you offered, hoping the look on your face didn’t give off the desperation you felt.
You noticed the way his expression morphed, brows furrowed and lip darting out to moisten his lips, as he usually did when he was thinking in rapid motion about something. It relieved you to see his arm come into view, elbow to the deep gouges of the wooden table, an offering of his scarred wrist. You noticed the way his muscles tensed if the pads of your fingers brushed one of them, and you were careful not to make too much contact in securing the bracelet, pulling away when you were done to a respectable distance. Letting him bring his limb back to assess the new adornment, wrinkles around his eyes fading slightly and crinkling into a smirk as he picked at the fibres. A hum of acknowledgement, of endearment, rattled around his chest as he looked back up to you. “Same colours as Hellfire.”
Hellfire. You remembered that name, and you rattled your brain for the memory. “That’s the club you had, right? The one you had with your friends?”
“Yeah.” He fiddled with the smooth braids, rubbing the tip of his thumb back and forth across the length. You noticed how his voice had taken an edge to it as he shrugged, seemingly to shake off an intense emotion.
You wondered if the memories of the group was sinking him back into the realisation that he’d most likely never have a meetup with them again. Never have that sense of normalcy, of feeling a part of something. You knew full well that remembering could be a dangerous thing. Something that should be avoided, lest you fall trap to the longing of your freedom, sending yourself mad with the knowledge that things would never indeed be normal again.
You were still thinking of something to say, a distraction, when Eddie’s name was called from the hallway. His neck nearly snapping with the force of him looking over with a shocked expression, as the orderly grimaced at him as he beckoned him over with two fingers. With a glance at the clock, you noted the time, and something uncomfortable settled in your stomach as you waved the orderly in the room for a lighter. You’d seen a couple of people over the years be summoned around this time, to a part of the building you knew you’d probably never see. You didn’t want to give Eddie the heads up, just in case you were wrong, and this was all just mere coincidence. You bolted that heavy mask to your face as you swung your chair on it’s back two legs, a balancing act as you waited for your turn with the sacred lighter.
“Better hope Miller hasn’t picked up on your suspicion about the records room,” you smirked as you waggled your eyebrows, a sarcastic laugh volleyed back your way as he got up to cross the room. You spared him one last glance as his shoulders slumped, head down and eyes glued to the floor as he trailed behind the staff member. For all his bravado that he was slowly getting back, you knew that was the true Eddie. A man caged against his will, and the strength long since stripped away from him. A husk of a person, just like everyone else in here. Just like you.
You just prayed that for his sake, your assumption was correct.
~
In Pennhearst, knowing where you were going wasn’t exactly something that got shared often. An orderly would begrudgingly call out a last name, and with a jerk of the head, you were just expected to follow behind. At first, it had scared Eddie something fierce. Long were the days of coming and going where he pleased; in school, it was common for him to just wander out of the building for a smoke, and classes were optional in his mind. Part of the reason he could never graduate. Why bother going into a room where you’d be belittled? Where a label was instantly placed on you, and where it stuck no matter how hard you tried to shift it. He’d practically had ‘troublemaker’ stamped on his head since his Junior year. So why even bother?
A trick he learned was to look at the signs, commit them to memory. Try and figure out a map in your mind, and follow it. The orderly in front of him had passed left at the laundry room, and past the West wing bathrooms. He’d lost track of where he was since the right hand turn by the low security ward doors, and he was going down the corridor blind. Asking wouldn’t help. He wasn’t expecting an answer anyway.
The sight of a battered sign that seemed to be straining free of the plaster caught his eye, craning his head back to see it. The two words seemed foreign to him. A feeling that he knew them, knew the meaning, but hadn’t seen them put together before. The two words that both made his heart skip a beat and his stomach to churn in anticipation and excitement.
VISITOR ROOMS 1-5
It ached how much he was wanting them to stop at one of the doors. How much he needed them to. He started praying to anything and everything, things he didn’t believe in, right up until the man in front of him stopped at the door with a number three painted on the front. His hand stayed on the handle, and over his shoulder, Eddie could just make out a window that most likely let staff keep an eye on the patients without having to enter. He could just make out the fabric of a deep blue denim jacket in the bottom left corner, before it shifted and moved out of sight.
“You’ve got five minutes,” the orderly growled through gritted teeth, finally making eye contact with a venomous glare. “Any funny shit, and your ass is getting thrown into solitary so fast it’ll make your head spin. Am I clear?”
Eddie’s tongue darted out of his mouth to moisten cracked lips, nodding fervently as his hands clawed at his issued shirt to ground him. It took the raised brow of the man in front of him, a sign that he was quickly losing patience, to make him respond verbally. “Y-yessir. I understand.”
With one last glance into the room, the door opened, and Eddie was ushered inside. His breath getting stuck between his ribs as he took in the sight of two faces he thought he’d never see again.
Dark blue eyes, and a gruff face marred with wrinkles and tanned from the sun. A face with the expression that reminded him of being ten years-old, when he was just a kid with a bruise on his cheek and tears that wouldn’t stop falling. The hand of the social worker on his back doing nothing to comfort him, but the look of ‘I get it kiddo, I understand. You’re safe now’ that was worn by a man that looked so similar to his Dad but didn’t have any resemblance at the same time. And like the kid he once was, a sob bullied its way out of his throat as he rushed into the open arms of the one parental figure that never beat him, bellitled him, or expected anything more of him than trying as hard as he could.
The hug was crushing from both parties, with how Eddie clung to his Uncle Wayne, and how those solid arms around his chest added the pressure he so sorely needed. Gave him a reminder of just how much human contact he’d been starved of for five months, and how much he needed it more than oxygen. If Wayne was bothered by the way he buried his face into the older man’s neck and wracked out stifled cries, he never said anything. The large palm that cradled the back of his head seemed to encourage it, as if he knew this was what his nephew needed.
It seemed like an eternity, time suspended in the air, until firm hands carefully grasped his shoulders and tenderly pushed. Eddie relented, a hand flying up to wipe away as much snot and tears as he could. He recognised the next look that he was given, too. A look of pure worry, as Wayne’s eyes flitted from feature to feature. Eddie wasn’t stupid, he had access to some sorry excuses of polished metal as mirrors in this place. Dark circles practically tattooed onto heavy eye bags from the lack of sleep, features getting gaunt as stubble tried to force itself through the skin. Eyes no longer shining like they used to, now replaced with a soulless stare. Once, when he stomached a flash of eye contact in the mirror, he was reminded of his Mom. The way she looked after a blowout fight with his old man, when she lay in bed and cried for what seemed like hours.
“Eddie… You uh- you look good man,” another voice said quietly from his right, causing his head to snap violently towards the noise.
Dustin’s mop of curls were hard to mistake for anyone else's, the fondness in his facial features still the same as they were before. That certain look about him that occasionally glimmered underneath it all, the one that gave away that he’d grown far too fast for a kid his age. Had seen too much, and had to deal with far too much burden for a grown man to carry, let alone a fifteen year-old. The comment made Eddie gargle a sort of chuckle, hesitantly pulling away from his Uncle to wrap the kid up in an iron grip. He was happy to feel it returned with fervour, rocking his friend as he swayed with each bounce on the ball of his foot.
“I look like shit,” he weakly responded, making Dustin laugh as he squeezed even tighter. How long had he waited for this moment? To see someone from the outside, and to know that they were as happy to see him as he was to see them. That they wanted to hug him, and show him tenderness, even when he felt he didn’t deserve it.
Eddie jolted away as soon as he heard the latch of the door forced open, as if his friend was made of blistering coals. Eyes habitually returning to the faded and torn excuse for carpet, as the harsh words of the orderly that had brought him here made him flinch. “Hey, no contact in here,” the voice barked. “It’s against the rules-”
“Now you listen here,” another voice hissed, though through the venom, it sounded so much louder than it actually was. A southern drawl that Eddie was familiar with, but only when Wayne was riled up to the point of fury. Sparing a glance upwards, he could see Wayne’s finger pointing towards the door with an accusing jab. “It’s the first time I’ve seen my boy in God knows how long. If I wanna give him a damn hug, if his friend wants’ta give him one too, then we’ll do as we damn well please. Y’hear me?”
He could hear the orderly start to splutter, as if it was the first time he’d ever been refuted. Knowing that the staff around here liked to elevate themselves above all, as if they were some kind of capricious deities, it was likely to be true. “I’ll be letting my supervisor know about this,” was his answer, a thinly veiled threat. Wayne’s short burst of laughter was devoid of all humour.
“Go ahead,” Wayne replied. “I got my numbers t’ call too, if I think Eddie’s not gettin’ the help he needs. Wanna see who wins the little pissin’ contest ya got goin’ on here?”
For a second, no reply. Then two. Another look showed both men in some sort of stand off, before the orderly finally sneered his final taunt. Door slamming shut behind him, making Eddie jump out of his skin. Dustin’s gentle guidance got him to sit on one of the uncomfortable plastic armchairs, his fingertips finding the bracelet on his arm to fiddle with. Back and forth, stroking the braid and focusing on his breathing to try and even it out. He heard the two other inhabitants take a seat, Wayne’s clasped hands just in view as his elbows rested on his thighs. His voice now gentler, as if coaxing a frightened animal to come closer. “How’re you holdin’ up, son? They treatin’ ya decent in here?”
Eddie didn’t mean the bitter laugh to escape his lips, as he swiped the back of his hand across his face to try and clear his face. Finding the bracelet again, studying it as if it was the most interesting thing in the world. Normally, he’d make a joke about it all. Call this place a five star hotel, but make a comment about how they could use better pillows. But he couldn’t find the words, no matter how hard he tried. Resigning himself to the truth, as he shrugged. “S’fine.”
“Did uh… Did you get moved to medium security?” Dustin asked, and the puzzled look Eddie gave him in return as he looked up to see the boy must have prompted a further explanation. “Hopper put in a call. Well, several. Explained to the right people about what happened. He uh- he sends his best, by the way. Everyone does.”
Hopper? He thought the old chief of police had snuffed it in that Starcourt fire. More questions than answers given, and Dustin sighed wearily before explaining it all as best he could. As best as anyone could, given they had such a short time period to meet.
Hopper was alive, something about being in Russia for a while. El was back from California, and shit was still going south with the upside-down. Hawkins was still in trouble, but they were on the case. Some sort of higher ups were working on Eddie’s case, but it needed to go through proper channels to keep an illusion of normality. Evidence to be hidden, to be planted, to clear his name. They were waiting on Max to wake up, so she could give her statement and have all charges officially dropped. All of it barely sticking in Eddie’s brain, no doubt the meds he was on still keeping his neurons dulled.
But one thing stuck out. They were working on clearing his name. It was a shot at freedom. Not much, but it was there. In the darkness, came a small glimmer of hope. Like seeing a seam of gold in a coal mine. Something to cling onto for dear life, to keep putting one foot in front of the other for.
It was hope.
“You’re gonna get me out?” Eddie questioned, timbre cracking on every other syllable. Daring to look up to see the two people who probably cared about him more than anyone else on this Earth, and being met with a soft smile in return.
“Yeah, we’re getting you out,” Dustin echoed, voice soft as he rubbed his palms on his jeans. He reached over to retrieve a plastic bag, leaning over and placing it by Eddie’s feet. “But for now, we’re allowed to come and see you every two weeks. And we’re allowed to bring stuff, too. I mean, it’s something, right?”
Eddie felt too full of emotion, an experience he usually wasn’t fond of. A big reason he liked to get stoned, or listen to heavy metal music, or play his guitar. An outlet always helped, and right now he had nothing. Nothing but three pieces of string circling his wrist, and his leg bouncing a fast tempo. Peeking from the bag, he could see a book and a carton of Camels so far. Something he’d previously took for granted, but not any longer. He’d sworn to himself an oath during his two month mark in this place; if he ever got out of here, he’d never take the little things for granted ever again.
He nodded along to the words, unlatching the harsh grip his teeth had on his lower lip before answering. “Yeah, it’s… It’s something. Thank you.”
“Don’t sweat it man,” Dustin replied. “If you need anything, just… Just tell us, alright? We’ll see what we can do.”
It took all the self restraint he had not to openly laugh, instead scrubbing his palm down the length of his face. He needed a lot of things. He needed a good night’s sleep, and a shower with water more than lukewarm and to never again smell carbolic soap. He needed to be able to take a long drive, maybe to the woods, avoiding lover’s lake to not have to remember those frightening and isolating days of hiding. He needed a good ounce of bud and his record player. Lots of things were needed. None were likely to actually be received.
“So, uh… Where’d you get that from?” Wayne asked after seconds of silence that went far too long for his liking. He knew better than anyone what a downward spiral looked like in his boy.
It took Eddie a moment to realise what he was talking about, before clicking all the pieces together when his uncle stared at his arm for too long. He said your name, softly at first. Like a secret that wasn’t meant to be shared. An eyebrow raise prompted him to clear his throat and explain. “She uh… She’s helping me out around here. Someone to talk to.”
Wayne didn’t seem impressed in the slightest, arms folding as he leaned in his chair. “You sure you can trust ‘er?” he asked, head slightly tilting.
Eddie’s head nodded erratically, sending split ends and frizz flying. “She’s like me, Wayne. Innocent.”
“And you believe her?”
“...Yeah.”
He did believe you. He couldn’t explain it, but there was a sort of gut feeling to be had around people that meant others harm. He’d felt it a couple of times in his life. Hairs on the back of his neck standing up, a nausea that couldn’t be replicated by an illness, a sense of unease paired with an urge to run. He first remembered it when his father would come home drunk, the front door slamming open and shut with heavy footfalls. He’d felt it when Jason and his lackeys were chasing after him that night on the boat. Hell, he felt it when that patient with the missing piece of his ear came a little too close for comfort, before you’d come to his rescue.
He could trust you. He had to. The only other option was doing all of this alone.
He watched the wrinkles in Wayne’s face to deepen for only a few seconds, before they relaxed to his natural frown. The Munson men had a habit of speaking without words, knowing each other well enough to be able to see slight gestures and eye contact to mean something that nobody else could pick up on. This particular eyebrow raise meant ‘I believe you’. Eddie’s slight nod was a thank you.
It was all over before it felt like it truly began. The sense of normality, of a conversation between three people who knew each other well, was cut short by an orderly opening the door and barking Eddie’s last name. With the faded grocery bag in hand - after yet another check of the contents, as if a shiv would magically appear after opening it for the fifth time - he was led back to the common room to engage in the mind-numbing routine that never changed.
But at least you were sitting there, waiting for him. Lounged in one of the threadbare sofas, flipping through a magazine that he’d seen you read at least a half dozen times. You looked up, the ghost of a smile playing on your lips as you nodded towards the other side of the couch. No judgement, no questions barraged at him as he crossed the room. Just patience and a slight eyebrow raise. Thank God that won’t change, was his first thought. The smallest bloom, like the first of springtime, got caught in his ribcage. Swallowed back down, bitter as whisky, before it could cling to his heart and not let go.
“Visitors?” you asked as he leaned over the armrest, your eyes not leaving the freshly turned page. He could sense something in your voice; something that caught his attention. It wasn’t anger. It was deeper than that, hitting at a lower emotional register. He noticed an ever so slight furrow of your brow, eyes ever so glossy. Then it hit him. Visitors.
Something that not once, he had ever seen you leave for.
He recognised that feeling. The feeling of always being left out at the playground, never allowed to join the other kids. Of being dumped at a doorstep you didn’t know by your piece of shit father, the memory of the back of his jacket exiting view through a haze of tears. It was being called names, or worse, being flat out ignored. He knew it all too well. And he’d always hated seeing it in others.
But there was no point lying about it, either. “Yeah,” he nodded, plucking the carton of cigarettes from the bag and beginning to unwrap them. “My uncle and a friend. Hadn’t seen ‘em since…” He trailed off, shaking his head as he grasped a few packets from the sleeve. If you noticed his choice of words, you weren’t showing it.
He placed them by your feet where they were half tucked underneath you with a wry smile. “For all the ones I stole when I first got here.”
“You don’t have to do that,” you frowned, finally tossing the magazine to the floor. He noticed the way you seemed touched by the gesture, though. “This place gives ‘em out like fucking candy.”
“Yeah, but you hate the brand they give out,” he chuckled, remembering how often you complained about it first thing in the morning, still half asleep and grumpy from the medications used to sedate you. “Just take ‘em. Save them for special occasions.”
For a moment, he expected more of a fight. But to your credit, you took them with grace. Opening a pack and handing him one, you motioned for the lighter as you nodded your head towards the bag. “What else you get?”
“Uhh… Good question,” he shrugged, finally taking everything out to inspect. The Colour of Magic by Terry Pratchett, and from the looks of it, it was secondhand. A quick inspection of the first page gave him the name of the previous owner.
D. Henderson.
“Love that little shit,” he mumbled under his breath, a fond smirk as he plucked the last item. Well, items. There were various envelopes, already torn open and no doubt already read, bundled together by a rubber band. He recognised the one on top from the character sheets he’d had handed in over countless times. Lucas’ neat handwriting spelling out his name. Already, a lump formed in his throat as he hastily shoved them back. Not here, he reminded himself.
“Good haul,” you said quietly, no doubt well aware of his sudden shift in mood. It was strange, how two people adrift could find equilibrium. He could sense your fluctuations, the small changes in behaviour, that let him know to tread carefully. And now, it was happening in reverse.
All he could do was nod. Allow the static of the silence to wash over you two, and to your credit, you never pushed.
He was thankful for that.
~
Small stacks of paper surrounded his silhouette on the bed, the one he was trying to read gripped tight in his fist whilst the other hand muffled his sobs. Eddie hadn’t had many good words heard about him over his short life. Words were usually spat with venom, and he flicked barbs back. But now, it was there, all in black and white, and in various calligraphy.
“Be strong man, you got this,” wrote Steve.
“We’re fighting for you as hard as we can out here, just hang tight,” Robin scrawled.
“I’ve always known you didn’t do it, son. I need you to know that.” In a font he remembered the most.
His ribcage broke with the force of how much his heart hurt. The grief, the sadness, the shame. It was washing over him like waves, threatening to drag him under for good. He grieved for Chrissy, and he grieved for himself. It just kept pouring, like molasses sticky in his throat, and he couldn’t breathe. It didn’t stop until dawn broke, when he finally managed to put a lid back on everything and shut it away. Close the door and refuse to look, for fear a monster is in the closet.
Hide it away, so it doesn’t hurt. Hide it until it’s safe to come out, if it ever does. Hide it, conceal it, consume it until it’s as dense as a neutron star. And if you did hear him crying from across the hall, you didn’t say anything. God, he was so thankful you didn’t say anything.
#eddie munson imagine#eddie munson x reader#stranger things imagine#eddie munson x you#stranger things x you#eddie munson fanfiction#stranger things fanfiction
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Take My Stress Away
Summary: Jay hasn't spoken to you for a week and you feel you have lost your brother again. After a bad day at work, you find someone waiting by your car.
Warnings: fluffiness, poorly written medical scenes because I have no idea what they are saying in the show 🤣, angry-ish Jay, brief implied SA (not descriptive), proofread but there's always a mistake after posting 🤣
Word count: 3532
Fandom: Chicago P.D
Pairing: Hank Voight x halstead!reader
“I don’t know what to tell you, kid,” Herrmann said, pouring you a drink.
You scoffed, “I thought you were my friend, Hermie” you took a sip of your drink and shook your head, “You could have warned me,”
Jay was completely pissed. He stormed out of the room, without looking at you. You followed him, begging him to listen. He didn’t. You did not want this mistake to ruin your relationship with your brother.
Was it a mistake?
Of course it was, nothing is worth losing your family over.
But it was so good.
It’s not like you did it on purpose. In your defence, he said his name was Henry. Maybe you should have connected the dots, but you had two double vodkas and had just done a 12 hour shift. The only thing your brain was able to process was the hot guy sitting at the end of the bar.
Herrmann sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "I didn't think (y/n)," he said, meeting her gaze with a look that was part apology, part caution. "You seemed to like the guy. Besides, I didn’t think he was the one night stand type… or any type really."
“He wasn’t anything like Jay described,” you muttered, swirling the drink in your glass absentmindedly. Herrmann watched you closely, seeing the confusion and frustration flicker across your face. "Jay made him sound like some cold, heartless guy. But Henry... Hank,” you corrected with a sigh, “He was different. Charming, even. He made me laugh. For the first time in a long time,”
“Hey!” Herrmann exclaimed, his brows shooting up in mock offense. He placed a hand dramatically over his heart, as if you deeply wounded him, and gestured to himself with the other hand, “I make you laugh,”
You couldn't help but chuckle at his theatrics. You shook your head, still smiling, and said, "You know what I mean."
Herrmann leaned forward, resting his hands on the bar. "Give Jay some time. He'll come around. You didn't do anything wrong,”
“I don’t want to lose him over this,” you said, your voice quivering slightly. You bit your lower lip, a nervous habit you’d developed over the years, and looked down at your hands, which were tightly clasped around her glass, “I already lost 28 years,”
“You won’t,” he said, softly, placing a hand on your wrist, “families fight, they make up,”
"Thanks, Hermie,” you said, standing up from your barstool. “I have a shift tomorrow,” you added, grabbing your jacket from the back of the stool. You took the cash from your pocket and placed it on the bar for the drink.
Herrmann took the cash and put it in the register. “See you tomorrow, (Y/N),” he said, giving you a friendly smile.
The words you dreaded the most fall from Maggie’s lips, “Mass cas,” they echoed in your head and before you knew it, you were in a bay, trying to save a teenage girl’s life.
It was chaos. Everyone was stretched thin. And so were the supplies. The air smelt of sweat and blood, so potent you could almost taste it. You were alone with the girl for what felt like hours until Connor came in. He saw your face and reassured you that you had done a good job, and the girl was lucky to have you. You felt as though you weren’t. It was times like this where you question whether you are cut out for this.
But then, the machine sounded that one tone that you always dreaded. The continuous drone and despite your and Connor’s best efforts, she passed away.
Later you find from Sam that she had a bleed in the brain. Was it your fault? It felt like your fault.
Like he could read your mind, Connor came over to you, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder. “Hey,” he said gently, “it’s not your fault.”
He glanced around at the mess the chaos had left the ER in. “In a situation like this, where there are so many patients. Even though we try our best, sometimes things don’t turn out the way we hope.”
The ER was slowly returning to order. The frantic atmosphere had calmed down, like a battlefield after the dust had settled. You moved through the now-quiet space, your mind still replaying the day’s events. You could feel the exhaustion in your limbs, but nothing was as painful as what your heart was going through. Sure you’d seen many people die before, young and old, but it doesn’t get any easier.
You worked alongside everyone, helping to tidy up the mess left behind. The day had clearly taken a toll on everyone, and it showed on their faces. Exhaustion was etched into every expression you saw. When it was finally time to leave, you were relieved.
You put your jacket on, pulling it over your shoulders and zipping it up, then, you grabbed your bag and slipped the strap onto your shoulder. You reached into the front zipper pocket and pulled out your keys, save fishing for them later in the dark car park.
On your way out of the hospital, you gave a tired wave to your colleagues, some of whom were still finishing up their tasks. Will caught your eye and walked over with a smile. "I’m going to talk to Jay," he said, "so I might be a bit late getting home." You nodded and gave him a hug. With a final wave, you stepped out into the cool evening air and just breathed it in for a second. You were ready to head home and felt you could sleep for a week. Maybe a month.
You made your way to your car, each step feeling like it took more effort than the last. Your feet dragged heavily on the pavement, scraping along the pavement as if you were being weighed down by something.
The cool evening air felt refreshing but it offered little comfort to you. As you approached your car, a shadowy figure started to form in the dim parking lot lights. Their posture was relaxed, hands shoved into their pockets, leaning casually against your car. You couldn’t quite make out who it was from a distance, but as you stepped closer the figure became clearer, and realization hit you. The familiar profile and stance matched Henry… Hank.
What is he doing here? Did something happen with Jay? No. Will would have told you. Wouldn’t he?
“Hey” he said as you reached the car, the simple greeting seeming out of place against the backdrop of everything you were feeling inside.
“Hey,” you squeaked out. You were feeling everything in the book, tiredness, sadness, nervousness you name it.
“How come you didn’t tell me you were Jay’s sister?” he asked, his head nodding slightly as he spoke, his brown eyes never leaving yours. If you weren’t so tired, those eyes and that voice would have your body begging for a repeat of last week.
You shrugged as much as your muscles would let you, “Probably the same reason you didn’t tell me you were his boss,” you retorted.
He looked at you for a moment, his eyes searching yours, looking for something you weren’t sure you had to give. You felt like your soul was laid bare and he was looking for a secret you didn’t even know you had.
But then the dam broke. You just couldn't hold it back any longer, and tears welled up in your eyes. Your voice cracked as you spoke, “I’m sorry,” The weight of everything—Hank, the exhaustion, your relationship with Jay, the teenage girl—finally spilled over.
“Hey,” he said, pulling his hands out of his pockets and reaching for you. He pulled you into his arms and surprisingly, you felt relaxed. Safe, He gently stroked your hair, his fingers combing through it soothingly, “Come on, I’ll take you home. You’re not driving while tired,” he said, grabbing your hand and leaving no room for arguments. Not that you had the energy to argue anyway.
You nodded and allowed Hank to lead you to his car. The doors clicked shut as you settled into the passenger seat. The steady hum of the engine filled the silence, and the city lights streaked past the windows, casting a soft glow inside the car. You glanced over at Hank a couple of times before turning to the passenger window, focusing on the passing objects. You bit your lip when you shot a glance at him. Why does he have to be so handsome?
If he wasn’t Jay’s boss, you’d definitely go for it. You wanted him. You scoffed shaking your head. You felt like Eve in the Garden of Eden and he was the apple. You wanted another taste.
The car slowed and came to a gentle stop in front of the building and your sadness reappeared. You were probably the only one here feeling this way. He’d probably gotten over it the second you walked out the district. You probably were just a one night stand to him.
“I’m not a one night kinda guy,” Hank spoke suddenly, breaking the silence. Your head snapped towards him, causing a slight jolt of whiplash.
“I’m not a one night kinda girl,” you replied, managing a small, sad smile. You glanced out the window, dreading what he might say next, “If you weren’t Jay’s boss then, I totally would,” you added, your voice trailing off.
Hank turned to face you fully, one eyebrow raised, “Would what?” he asked, you looked at him, rolling your eyes when you notice the smug smirk playing on his face, “I would too, but it wouldn’t be fair to you,” you scrunched your eyes at him. Fair to you? What did he mean? “I come with a lot of baggage and… I screwed up your relationship with your brother,” he continued, the smirk fading into something more serious. His eyes flicked down to the steering wheel before meeting yours again.
You shifted in your seat to get a better look at him, resting your head against the headrest, “I come with a lot of baggage too,” you sighed, your gaze dropping to the bracelet on your wrist—a gift from Jay when you got the job at Gaffney. You fiddled with it absentmindedly, “As for Jay… neither of us knew,”
His expression softened as he looked at you, “We do know now, and I can’t stop thinking about you,”
Your breath caught in your throat. His quiet words lingering in the small space of the car. His gaze remained locked on yours as the dim interior light cast soft shadows across his face. His hands rested on the steering wheel, fingers tapping lightly in an unconscious rhythm.
“I can’t stop thinking about you either but…”
“I know,” he nodded.
“Thank you, for the ride,” you said softly, leaning over to press a soft kiss to his cheek. Your lips brushed against his skin, lingering just a moment longer than you intended. You pulled back slowly, your eyes catching his, and the space between you seemed to close. You could feel the warmth from his breath, and before you could speak, he leaned in slightly. Your lips met in a brief, gentle kiss.
Without a word, you leaned back in, your hand reaching up to cup the back of his neck. This time, the kiss was not gentle. It was hungry, a desperate bid to consume each other. You felt the tension in your body coil tightly as your mouths moved together, and a soft moan escaped your throat. and it seemed to add fuel to the fire that had just been lit.
You got out the car, "Jay!" you called for him, "Please, let me explain," your voice was shaky. You didn't know where to start.
Jay's face was a thundercloud as he stomped over, his eyes flashing with anger. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" he spat out.
“Jay, please, just hear me out,” you said, stepping closer to him. Your eyes pleaded with him as you reached out to him. Tears forming in your eyes, “I didn’t know, he didn’t either… but” you paused, looking over your shoulder at him, “I…” you wanted to tell him how you felt but you thought it would make little difference.
Jay’s expression hardened, and a bitter laugh escaped him. It certainly wasn’t a laugh of amusement, but one of disbelief, “You what? Huh? You going to say you love him or something?” His words were laced with sarcasm.
“No, but…” you began, your voice catching as you tried to gather your thoughts.
Jay’s eyes narrowed, “What? Come on. You wanted to talk about it. Let’s talk about it then.” His arms crossed over his chest waiting for you to elaborate.
You took a deep breath, finding the courage to continue. “Jay, I’m not saying I’m in love with him, but I could be. I haven’t felt this way about anyone in a long time. Not since...”
He cut you off, “Look how that turned out,” he said, his words heavy with accusation. “You divorced him because you found him in bed with someone else.”
The sting of his words hit you like a punch to the gut. You flinched but tried to maintain your composure despite the raw pain of the memory. But you failed.
“I haven’t felt this safe in a long time,” you croaked out, Jay opened his mouth to speak but you didn’t let him, “53…” you said, confusing everyone, “I had 53 foster homes, some nice, some… not. I also had a brother,”
“Had?” Will asked, his voice was soft and gentle.
“H-he died,” you said, your voice quivering as if each word burnt your tongue. “Protecting me.” You took a deep breath, you didn’t really expect to have to talk about this again. the only person who knew was Herrmann after some guy outside the bar wouldn’t take no for an answer, “Our foster father… wasn’t nice. H-he used to um… mainly when Liam wasn’t around,” you paused, risking a look to your brothers, they knew what you were hinting at, “One day, Liam came home early and… tried to stop him. I-I lost him, and now I lost you too,”
Jay’s face paled, the anger in his eyes faltering at your words. Will stepped forward and wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into a tight, comforting embrace.
You buried your face in his shoulder, your breath hitching with each shuddering sob. Will held you, his hand rubbing soothing circles on your back. After a moment, Will pulled away slightly, gently wiping some stray tears from your now red cheeks.
Before you could fully process the moment, another pair of arms enveloped you. Jay pulled you into his embrace, “You will never lose me,” he said softly, pressing a kiss to your hairline. You broke down again, this time in tears of happiness. Jay’s grip tightened, “All I’ve ever wanted was for you to be safe.”
As he pulled away, Jay glanced over your shoulder at Hank, who had been standing silently, observing the exchange. Jay’s eyes were fierce, the protective version resurfacing. “You hurt her,” Jay said, his voice was low, but steady, “I’ll kill you.”
“Wait… what?” you asked, completely caught off guard.
Jay sighed, his expression softening when he turned his attention back to you. “I don’t want to lose you either,” he started, a hint of vulnerability in his voice that he often hides behind his protectiveness. “You’re my sister. I just want you to be safe and happy, and I don’t ever want to see your heart break again,”
“You can’t protect me from everything, Jay," you replied softly, offering him a small smile, "But I know you'll try," you added, a light tease in your tone.
Jay chuckled lightly, shaking his head. "Yeah, well, it's in the job description,"
“Hey, (y/n), how about you go out tonight? You had a rough night,” Will said, you looked at him your eyebrows scrunching.
“You kicking me out?” you asked, a fake pout on your lips, Will rolled his eyes, “I don’t think so, Will, I just wanna rest,”
"We could watch a movie, at my place?" Hank suggested with a shrug. You smiled, cuddling on a sofa with him? You thought about it for a bit. That sounds so enticing and doesn’t require any effort.
You glanced over at Jay, seeking his approval with a silent plea and the cutest smile you could muster. Jay sighed as he looked between you and Hank. He rolled his eyes, "Okay, go," he said, waving you off.
You squealed in delight, bouncing on the balls of your feet. You quickly leaned over to kiss Jay’s cheek, leaving a faint lipstick mark on his skin
“Hey!” Will exclaimed, feigning offense as he crossed his arms over his chest. His eyebrows shot up in mock offence. You knew from the playful glint in his eyes that he wasn’t really offended but you played along anyway.
“Best twin brother ever,” you corrected with a playful grin, stepping over to Will. You leaned in and kissed his cheek as well, leaving another lipstick mark. Will chuckled, shaking his head. With a quick wave and a bright smile, you hurried back over to Hank’s car. The cool evening air nipped at your skin as you slipped into the passenger seat, the door closing with a soft thud.
As you settled into the passenger seat, Hank started the car, the engine purring softly to life. The glow from the dashboard lights cast a gentle blue hue over his face, highlighting his strong beautiful jawline. You looked out the window, watching the familiar streets of Chicago pass by, illuminated slightly by the dim streetlights.
It didn’t take long for Hank’s place to come into view. He pulled into the driveway, the gravel crunching under the tires. As you stepped out of the car, Hank extended his hand, you reached out and took it, feeling a comforting squeeze as your feet hit the pavement. Hank noticed your bag hanging off your shoulder, "Let me take that," he said, sliding the strap off your shoulder before you could protest. You smiled maybe you thought.
The two of you walked up the short path to his front door. Hank unlocked the door and held it open for you, stepping aside to let you in first out the cold.
Hank gestured towards the sofa, "Make yourself comfortable. I'll grab some drinks," He disappeared into the kitchen. You kicked off your shoes and curled up on the sofa, letting out a sigh as you feel the soft fabric against your skin.
A few moments later, Hank returned with some beers, you eyed the beer, “I don’t entertain much,” he spoke as he set them down on the coffee table and grabbed the remote, scrolling through the options. "Any preferences?" he asked, glancing over at you.
You shrugged, "Something light and funny?" you suggested. He nodded and picked a comedy, the kind that you could easily get lost in.
As the movie started, you found yourself leaning against him. The warmth of his body next to yours and the soothing sounds of laughter from the screen made you feel peaceful. You felt the tension of the day melting away.
Before long, the soft flicker of the TV and the warmth of his body lulled you into a state of peaceful drowsiness. Your eyes grew heavy, and despite your efforts to stay awake, you felt yourself drifting off. The last thing you remembered was the sound of Hank's low chuckle and the gentle rise and fall of his breathing beside you.
As you dozed off, Hank noticed and gently pulled a blanket over you. He watched you sleep for a moment, a soft smile on his face, before carefully picking you up. You stirred slightly, mumbling something incoherent, but didn't wake up. Hank carried you to the guest room, laying you gently on the bed. He turned to leave, but you reached out, grabbing his wrist.
"Stay," you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.
Hank hesitated for a moment before he nodded. He slipped off his shoes, you could hear the faint sound of them hitting the floor before he carefully climbed into the guest bed beside you, the mattress dipping slightly under his weight. The cool sheets rustled softly as he settled in. You instinctively rolled over, your body drawn to his like a magnet. Your head found its place on his chest, the soft fabric of his shirt comforting against your cheek.
You could feel the steady rise and fall of his breathing, each breath a gentle motion that seemed to sync with the beating of his heart. As you nestled closer, the comforting warmth of his body enveloped you once more.
His arm wrapped around you, as if shielding you from the outside world. His fingers brushed lightly against your back. The soft, repetitive sound of his heartbeat lulled you into a peaceful slumber, your breathing slowing to match his.
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Zane Callahan, Son of Phil Callahan;
Trigger warnings; Mental health issues, childhood trauma, Implied PTSD, etc.
His full name is Zane Eugene Callahan.
His dad is Phil Callahan and his parents divorced when he was young.
He was three years old when Steve died and is now twenty.
He is still in high school however because he missed a lot of school due to multiple suspensions he got for being 'violent' towards other students.
What nobody with tell you is that he got those suspensions for protecting his friends and that he doesn't regret it no matter how sorry he acts around authority figures.
He is usually very respectful and obedient but he has no problem doing the opposite when it concerns the safety of his friends and family.
Due to his obsession with army and government stuff, the upside down crew has grown slightly wary of him but Zane doesn't practically care because he has big plans and will not stop till the people responsible for the whole Upside Down nonsense are held accountable for their actions. He is hellbent on cleaning up the government and won't stop—even when and if it kills him.
He has a whole 'army brat' aesthetic going on that is due to how strict and overprotective his dad was of him growing up. He had it drilled in his head as a kid that if he loves somebody then he has to protect them and do what's best for them, and not leave if he can help it (he was raised not to make the same mistakes his dad did with his uncle).
Zane resembles his Uncle Steve quite a bit despite having short black hair and has been called Steve by his dad (on a couple of occasions) and by his granddad the only time he ever met him.
He has very vague memories of Steve that he isn't very sure are real since he only met him a few times before he died.
He loves country and classical music, and tolerates everything else.
Zane also loves puzzles.
He is good at fighting and knows how to use quite a few things as weapons that are not weapons.
He also knows how to use a lot of actual weapons because he is a fast learner.
And don't tell his dad but he also knows how to pick locks and hot wire a car due to seeing someone in the party due both on several occasions after forgetting the keys to their van.
On a completely unrelated note, he has a crush on Lyra Munson but it too shy to ask her out.
Out of his cousins, he is the closest to Stewart because they're both perceived as the 'obedient but forgettable' Harrington kids.
He likes camping, fishing, hunting, woodshop, bird watching, and puzzles.
He is in Rotc at school.
Zane also knows every law in every state by heart and has found a loop hole in several of them for 'research purposes'.
Oh and he has a police radio that he uses to listen in on the Hawkins P.D radio frequency that his dad doesn't know about.
He loves dry humor and uses it (as well as subtle insults) often.
He is not as innocent as people tend to think him to be.
He is very stubborn and protective as well as stern when he needs to be, often coming off as cold and uncaring to those who don't know him well.
Zane is also a total gossip and has black mail on everyone he is very willing to release if he is pushed enough.
He lives with his dad.
He is fast on his feet and a quick learner.
He is also very good at playing dumb and sniffing out fake friends as well as danger. It has saved his and his friends and cousins' asses on more than one occasion.
His favorite colors are green and brown.
He has a police tape backpack.
Also he and Stephanie may or may not share a love of explosives but if you ask or point this out, he will deny it.
Also Zane has just barely managed to escape getting arrested on more than one occasion—the adults in his life are oblivious to this.
Devansh is his best friend.
Devansh is also how he found out about the upside down—because his powers developed when he was around Zane and then Kali had to explain it to both of them before they told the others.
He is good at getting away with things because people assume he’s the good one who ‘behaves rank and file’ when in reality he’s just good at hiding how he actually is—which the other Next Gen kids find really funny and really unfair at the same time.
Zane's protective streak and semi-serious nature really drives his friends and cousins nuts sometimes.
Note:
These headcanons take place in my Stranger Things au 'Cats in the Cradle'. In that au, Tommy and Carol are left to raise Steve's four infant children with the help of the Upside Down Crew, Steve's half brother, Steve's younger cousin, and their collective families. In that au, Jason and Eddie live. Max is less seriously injured. Phil Callahan is Steve's older half brother. And Chrissy, her brother, and Fred Benson were Steve's cousins. Oh and Steve hooked up with one of his pre-nancy girlfriends and after his death she found herself pregnant with quads that Steve never got to meet. Hope that clears up any confusion regarding these ocs and headcanons.
#st#stranger things#stranger things oc#stranger things original character#stranger things next gen#Phil Callahan#Phil Callahan and Steve Harrington are brothers#Dead Steve Harrington#stranger things au#stranger things alternate universe#etc
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Heard that boy talking shit, I'ma murk his ass (Fuck 'em)
Said he got guns, I don't believe his ass (Fucker)
Pew-pew-pew-pew-pew, I ain't talkin' ass (Shh)
Said he gon' kill who? Ha, I need a laugh (Haha)
Ayy, big dog $lick $loth, northside killer
Heartbreak kid, young wet Ben Stiller
How the fuck you chart on Billboard but I'm still fuckin' richer
I went platinum with no billboard, no video, no pictures
Don't give a fuck 'bout these plaques or these critiques and bitches
I'm just grindin' for my fam, get my girl what she wishes (Ayy)
Y'all fuck boys just buyin' toys, I'll pass my litmus
I done went broke, made it back tenfold, ask God, that's my witness (Ayy)
Cutthroat, let 'em know, still a savage motherfucker
Solja raggin’ at rose lookin' like juvy in that hoe
Number one stunner, I almost sent it off with Ruby
Went to Carrollton with my shirt up screamin' out bitch, "Who gon' shoot me?"
I grab the Uzi, I hit the huey
Eatin' a ten piece in a Benz, just another fuckin' Tuesday
Bitch, I'm too great
I mean too grey
Fucking the game with no foreplay
P.D. say they fuckin' with me, reminded them what a hoe would say (Uh-Uh)
Still fuck them hoes
Still coming down off them drugs from three years ago (Sheesh)
Still hoardin' most of my money, catch a feeling, bro (Damn)
Who the fuck you know with a ‘mil up they nose
Yeah, they heard, I found God like I still gon' shoot
Yeah, this motherfuckin' crackers, ain't no dispute
Fuck this whole industry, even the no names too (Fuck 'em)
Let me just tell you that I hate you, there's no need to assume (Grey, grey)
Feel like year 2000 and I'm Aaron Brooks
Take that fent, that brown, and show you how to cook
He brought the whole gang down and I ain't even shook (Pussy)
And I'ma stop right now 'cause I don't need a hook
I'm a 5'9 soldier, New Orleans stunner
Dodgin' NOPD they always out and about in the summer
I don't fuck with no New Orleans hoes, but I did when I was younger
Now I'm flyin' em in from out of state pick 'em up in the camo hummer
Still off that St. Bernard exit down by the lake
Still pullin’ up at Russell’s just to hand out free eighth’s
Still grippin’ a big body and slam the brakes 'cause I'm lit
Still courtside at the Pelican’s game but they won't say my name
Blanco Leopardo, I’m the 7th ward lord
The chopper never jams, but I still use it as a sword
Sneakin' in the cemeteries like I pre-order death
I fucked my ex on a grave, a hand popped out, grabbed her neck
Yeah, my pimping done started a fuckin' zombie outbreak (Yeah)
Told the devil not to wait up because I'ma be out late
Watch out for the sniper shootin' cars when you're drivin' through the East
Ballys on my feet, down here you either swim or you sink
East Bank born and raised but I’ve been all over (East Bank)
Catch me uptown at the fly, I don't think I ever been there sober
Catch me downtown on the stoop, I'm usually there in October
'Cross the town in the Cullinan, I know it look like a Rover (Uh)
Who that? Who that? I ride around with no tint
Get the gat, get the gat, under the seat is a MAC-10
I hear pop pop pop, and I wake up sweatin' bullets
So I moved down da bayou where it ain't so fucking humid
Yeah, I'm going through it
All these motherfuckers want something from me
These bitches see I got money, that's why they gon' try and fuck me (Haha, bitch)
They want a kid in they tummy but I wrap it up like a mummy
These fucking greasy ass hoes, I keep it clean bitch don’t touch me (Ew)
So many blood suckers out here, slay 'em all like I'm Buffy
What you want from me baby? Why you bein' so fussy?
Why don't you go down to Harrah's and see if you get lucky
If you see my granny, ask about me, she'll say she love me
I hope I die with my people, make sure my family ain’t broke
I put on for my city, I'm 504 'til I croak
I wanna die in New Orleans, yeah, this shit ain't a joke (Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey)
Just cremate my body and then lace the blunt before you smoke
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Family time - Bucky x f!reader
Bucky Barnes x f!reader
Summary: Y/N doesn’t have the best relationship with her parents. She tries to make it better and decides to have lunch with and brings Bucky along.
Warnings: Shitty family members. Angst and fluff.
Author’s note: Hello! I hope you are having a nice Friday. I decided to change a bit and write some angst. I hope you like it and have a nice weekend.
P.D: Sorry for any grammar errors. English is not my first language
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You love your family, you liked to spend time with them. They were all nice, most of the time. Well, sometimes. You’ve always had a weird relationship with them. You were their only child, and they’ve always cared for you, and they’ve always protected you. But they took it too far most of the time. In their way to protect you, they always brought you down. Also they came from a really conservative background, so anything you did was good in their eyes.
As much as you loved them, you’ve moved out at the first opportunity you’ve got, getting two jobs to be able to pay rent. Eventually, you’ve ended working for Stark Industries, where you had met Bucky.
At first, you tried to maintain a good relationship with your parents, but at the end you’ve had to cut ties with them. Only seeing them on especial occasions, just like this one. It had been almost a year since you had seen your family, but today it was your grandad’s 90th birthday and you wanted to be there.
Knowing the kind of relationship you had with your parents, Bucky had insisted on coming with you. You’ve insisted that you could do this alone, Bucky knew that, but he wanted to be there to support you.
Now, both of you were in the car on their way to their house. Bucky was driving fully concentrated on the road. On the other hand you were on the passengers seat fidgeting nervously with your fingers. You were so focused on your fingers, that you were surprised by Bucky’s hand on yours.
“Honey, it’s going to be okay, nothing bad is gonna happen” Bucky said, giving my hand a squeeze.
“How do you know that?” I responded, maybe a little too harsh, but I was getting more nervous the closer we were to parents house.
Seeing my distress and giving that we were in a really deserted road, Bucky decided to stop the car on the side of the road.
“Doll” I stared at my hands on my lap. “Look at me please” Bucky said, when I didn’t respond, Bucky grabbed my face softly guiding towards his. “Everything is going to be fine, just focused on your grandpa’s birthday. And If you want to go back to the tower, I can always turn the car around and go back. We can do whatever you decide, and it will be okay”
I thought for a bit, a part of me wanted to just ran away with Bucky and stay there in his arms. But another part of me wanted to see my grandpa and had hope that my family was gonna behave.
“No, I want to go.” I breathed. “Everything is going to be okay, my family is going to behave. I hope so”
Bucky kissed my temple.
“I’ll be there all the time, holding your hand” He looked at me straight in the eyes.
“Thanks Buck, I love you”
“Love you too, Y/N” He said kissing my lips.
——————————————————————————————————
We made it to my parents house. Bucky parked in the front yard and turned to me.
“Ready when you are” Said Bucky
I looked at the house and then at Bucky. I grabbed his hand, giving it a soft squeeze.
“Okay” I breathed. “I’m ready”
I pulled his hands and got out of the car.
Bucky and I walked to the front of my house, we ringed at the door, and waited nervously. Suddenly my mom opened the door, I have called beforehand to let them know I was going. Even that my mom seemed surprise to see me.
“Y/N” She hugged me, I tensed up when I felt her arms engulf me. When we parted she looked at Bucky. “And whose this?” She said looking at him up and down.
“Hello Ms. Y/SN, my name is James I’m Y/N’s boyfriend” Said Bucky giving her a smile.
“O my gosh, really?” My mom answered, not happy about it.
We stayed there in silence for a few minutes, my mom processing the news.
“Well let’s come in” Said my mom gesturing for us to enter.
We entered the house, my family was gathered together around the table. I went to say hi to my grandpa and introduced Bucky. My grandpa loved him, and they talked for a bit. When it came to have lunch I sited next to Bucky with my mom on my left. She had been quite for in time that we had been socializing, just giving me and Bucky weird looks from time to time. But she was being nice, so I had hope that the lunchtime was going to be good.
“So, how did the two of you met?” My dad asked me, signaling Bucky. He had been eyeing Bucky all the time, not fully trusting Bucky.
“Well… I a few years ago I started working at Stark Industries a-“ I started
“What? Bullshit! I’m sure you worked there as a cleaner” One of my cousins answered and most of my family laughed.
“Actually Y/N works on Tony Stark’s tech team, designing some of armors defenses and tech” Bucky interrupted with a fake smile, obviously annoyed with my family’s commentary.
Everyone stayed silent, when my grandpa interrupted.
“Congratulations, sweetie, I’m so proud of you. Continue with the story please” Said my grandpa, giving me the courage to speak again.
“So one day I was working on a new design for Bucky’s metal arm. So we had to spend a lot of time together and one thing let to another, and one day he asked on a date-“ I answered
“And she said yes. And made me the happiest man ever” Bucky interrupted me, giving me a warm smile.
“Awww that’s so sweet” Said my mom with a fake smile. “Honestly, we never thought that Y/N was going to get a partner” Your smile dropped with your moms comment.
Bucky, noticing my stress grabbed my hand, and gave it a gentle squeeze. He was about to say something when I decided to stand up for myself.
“Why did you say that mom?” I asked my mom. My mom was taken back by my sudden outburst of emotions.
“Well… I mean… Because look at you, I’m not saying you’re not special. I mean you are my daughter. I just didn’t see it in you, if you know what I mean” Said my mom.
I got quite for a bit thinking what to do next, I gathered all my courage, took Bucky’s hand and rose up from my seat.
“Come on Bucky, let’s go. I’m sorry Grandpa, Happy Birthday!” Bucky followed after me with a satisfied smile.
“Y/N, you don’t get to leave - “ Said my mom, following us behind.
“Yes I do, and it’s you who doesn’t have the right to treat me the way you have treated me all my life! “ I screamed at my mom “I tried mom, I tried to come here and have the party in peace, but it’s clear that you don’t want us here. So thank you for everything, but we are leaving” I said.
My mom , or once, was speechless. Bucky and I got out of the house, and got in the car. Once inside, I broke into tears. Bucky’s arms surrounded me, reminding me that he was there.
“You did so good, doll.” Said Bucky “ Everything is going to be okay”
“I didn’t want to end the party like this. It’s my fault, I shouldn’t have had reacted that way”
“No doll, you reacted the best way possible. It’s them that don’t deserve you and don’t get to treat you the way they do.” Bucky paused “You deserve the world. You are an amazing person, who has accomplished a lot. And if they cannot see that, well, it’s their loss. They don’t deserve you”
He wiped my tears with his thumb.
“I love you a lot, doll. And I’ll be always be there for you”
“Thank you, Buck. I love you too” I said still sobbing.
“Now let’s get out of here” He said while starting the car “ As we haven’t eaten dessert. How about we stop for an ice cream?”
I smiled at Bucky with adoration in my eyes. Everything was going to be okay with Bucky by my side.
#bucky x reader#angst/fluff#hurt/comfort#bucky x you#bucky x female reader#bucky fic#sebastian stan#bucky barnes#steve rogers#avengers fic#mcu#stark industries#oneshot#fanfic#fandom
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