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captain-joongz · 15 days ago

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Penny for your ghosts, chapter 2

Pairing: OT7!BTS x f!reader

Genre: hybrid au, supernatural au, ghost hunting au (based on Lockwood&Co lore), found family, fluff and humour, some angst, eventual smut

Chapter summary: Moving in is thankfully a smooth affair, and getting to know the pack also brings surprising happiness. Now all that's left to gain is a client.

Chapter word count: 9.9k

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Warnings: a little discussion about death and ghosts, some mentions of near death experiences, some exposition, Yoongi and Namjoon are little shits that love to tease

A/N: originally I planned on ending the chapter a little further, but this is also a good place to cut it and I felt that you guys deserve a little something, so instead of this gathering metaphorical dust in my drawer, I'll be putting out the chapter like this! Hope you enjoy and happy holidays! <3 ps: the new run jin episode is fucking hilarious, i love our boys so much

When two days later Jimin and Hoseok rolled up to the hotel room I was staying in, it was more than just a little embarrassing. I’ve tried telling them that I didn’t really have anything I needed help with, but like the gentlemen they were they insisted.

So, with my single duffel bag worth of belongings in Hoseok's hand and a bag with my old rapier and gear in Jimin's, we set out through the late noon city back to their house.

Namjoon has graciously offered me to live in an empty room up in the attic, where I’d have my own little kitchenette and bathroom (to which of course Seokjin added that I’m still more than welcome to eat with them, to Yoongi’s vehement agreement. Taehyung then later added that I’m welcome to shower with them too, and got immediately kicked by at least four hyungs). I was ecstatic to have a chance to leave the dingy hotel, so I ignored them all and profusely thanked the embarrassed wolf hybrid.

I thought I’d gotten used to the weird looks people often give PI operatives, but here in the big city it was even worse. Even though hybrids weren’t anything new, we’d still get a lot of looks – some fascinated, some curious, some disgusted. And when we travelled while in gear, with big bags full of iron and shiny rapiers hanging at our waists, fear and apprehension would set in as well.

Hybrids were something strange to humans, and ghosts were an imminent danger to their lives they couldn’t even see – therefore we became the mix of everything they feared and couldn’t understand.

So standing in the tram, three hybrids carrying a bag with a rapier sticking out of it, we were quite the spectacle, and I could feel my ears pulling back with the discomfort I felt. Jimin and Hoseok looked unbothered, but I could see the tenseness in their postures.

There was some general chatter, but with the curse of heightened hybrid hearing I could hear every word clearly, as if I was a part of the conversation. And my companions were in the same boat, as I could see Jimin's brows twitch in annoyance whenever someone said something stupid.

“I sure didn’t miss all the complaining about the curfew,” mused the arctic fox the second we got off on our stop and started in the direction of the house. Me and Hoseok both hummed in agreement.

The curfew was something that was put in place already over two decades ago as a desperate hail Mary attempt to stop people from getting hurt out in the streets. It was much easier to contain hauntings when they happened somewhere inside, but out there, especially around parks and cemeteries, the apparitions still sometimes managed to slip by the protective barriers and spill out onto roads.

Back then there were many deaths in the late winter afternoons, with people rushing home from work already after sundown and getting caught up with unruly ghosts. All it took was a single touch and they never made it home.

So the government put up a flexible curfew – it moved according to the seasons – in summer it was later, usually around 8 PM, while during autumn it slowly shifted until it settled somewhere around 3-4 PM during the winter. After that regular folk weren’t allowed to walk outside alone – only operatives were.

It saved many lives, but unfortunately it couldn’t save people from the hauntings in their own homes. Winters in general were hard – ghosts were stronger, agencies were so busy they couldn’t have enough operatives and people died often. We were just beginning autumn, but the dread could already be tasted in the crisp air, even when it was sunny outside.

Just like last time, when I arrived at the house I was immediately warmly received by Seokjin and Namjoon, the two hybrids waiting for us in the brown sitting room and idly talking with the rest of the team. Or pack, maybe more accurately.

There was of course Yoongi, who still smirked at me whenever our eyes met as I willed my blush away, and Taehyung, who was technically the first person I’d ever met from Bangtan Inc. (a fact which earned me a very solemn and sincere “I’m sorry” from Seokjin). The last person in that room I haven’t met yet was a young wolf with huge sparkling eyes that would look so innocent and angelic had I not seen him send mischievous grins towards the black bear earlier.

His name was Jungkook, and he was the youngest. Well, at least before I tagged along.

With pleasantries now out of the way my things were quickly shuffled over to Seokjin’s and Namjoon’s hands, and they started a little tour of the house. Apart from the kitchen and the two sitting rooms, there was also a library and a lounge with games all at once down here on the ground floor – it was the room I heard the chatter from during my first visit. There was also a little bathroom and a storage room tucked into the space behind the staircase, but that was all.

Their rooms were all on the first floor, together with an office space that was mostly Namjoon’s. They didn’t bring me up there, but there wasn’t really why – because I soon learnt that the way to the attic wasn’t through there.

The two hybrids led me towards the same door as last time, the one leading towards the basement stairs. This time I looked around the little space and realised there was another door leading out and the stairs actually curled to lead up too.

“I’m sorry, there will be a lot of steps,” Namjoon muttered sheepishly, gesturing for me to go first. I did.

“It’s okay, I don’t mind,” I replied, smiling at him good-naturedly to ease his worries, “I’m from the mountains, remember?” The men chuckled and we climbed silently after that.

The room was cozy – really, I would even call it a loft – it spanned the entirety of the attic, just a big open square of space. There was a worn carpet there, an old persian with layers of dust caked into it, with a similarly old looking couch and a little table. In a corner stood an old rickety iron double bed that looked like it’s seen better days, but it would do.

The kitchen was an open space, a little table just enough for two people to eat there was situated right at the edge between the living space and the kitchenette. Bathroom was most probably the little room right next to it, tucked into another corner.

“Will this be enough?” Namjoon asked and he did sound actually worried, to my astonishment, “My uncle used to live here when I was little. And the boys sometimes came here when they wanted to be alone, but I’ll tell them not to do that anymore.”

I gaped at the men, taking the space in.

“Enough? This is more than enough, Namjoon-ssi!” I exclaimed excitedly, “I would even argue that it might be too much. Are you sure you don’t want me to pay rent?” The wolf chuckled fondly and shook his head, carefully setting my bag down on the sofa.

“Of course not, Y/N,” he rumbled back, “The space is here and it just collects dust, or someone comes here to- to sulk. They sometimes come here to sulk.” From the corner of my eye I saw the hybrid blush again as Seokjin jabbed his side with his elbow, but I paid them no mind, completely enthralled by a beautiful set of a wardrobe and drawers made from massive dark wood and carved beautifully with flowering vines that was standing next to the door.

“What Namjoon’s trying to say is,” Seokjin took over with a twitchy smile, “that we’ll be glad to know someone’s properly loving the space and taking care of it.” I returned the smile and walked deeper into the room.

“I tried to deep clean it yesterday so you could sleep here, but it might not be perfect,” the bear hybrid continued, rounded ears cutely flicking around and following my movements, “but I’m sure that tomorrow we can finish it all together. Hoseok promised to help as well.” Namjoon visibly perked up at the mention of that name and turned to me from where he was zoning out.

“Oh, speaking of which,” he exclaimed and motioned for me to follow them back down, “He’s waiting for us down in the office.”

By the office he meant the space down in the basement, where Hoseok occupied one of the desks, currently sitting down with one of the chunky phones pressed to his ear and diligently jotting something into a notebook.

We politely waited for him to be done, through with all the pleasantries, and then he happily jumped up from the table, pure unfiltered joy pouring out of him as he waved the little notebook about.

“A client?” Seokjin asked, eyes wide with hope, and smiled bright when Hoseok nodded. The men all huddled around the desk, muttering to each other things I couldn’t hear properly while I awkwardly stood around and shuffled from foot to foot. Thankfully it took maybe only a minute before Namjoon realised I came in with them and he whirled around with a guilty expression, tugging the notebook out of the fox’s hands and pulling me closer to the desk.

“Actually hyung, we came here to deliver your newbie,” he said and said man grinned at me blindingly, until I almost forgot anything except for the fact that I was so damn happy to be here.

“I’ll be something of a direct superior of yours, sort of,” Hoseok explained gently, dragging me over to sit me down at his desk.

“We don’t really have any kind of hierarchy, but Hobi’s the most organised by far, so this all is his domain,” Seokjin explained, gesturing with wide arms over the basement. When I turned back to the fox I felt the awe that must have been reflected in my eyes, and the hybrid blushed, turning his head slightly to the side while Namjoon snickered somewhere behind us.

“Everybody helps, but I mostly oversee everything, just to make sure,” he explained further as he leaned his hip on the desk to be more comfortable.

“He’ll be the one telling you what needs to be done and where you could be useful. Or me. Or Jin-hyung,” Namjoon added and smiled at my expression as I tried to commit everything to memory.

“Just whatever happens, don’t listen to anything the maknaes say,” Hoseok warned and I nodded eagerly until they all giggled at me.

“Well,” Namjoon started and looked to Seokjin who immediately nodded, both of them backing away towards the stairs, “We’ll leave you to it.” I couldn’t help but notice that the little notebook containing info about their new client stayed safely tucked away in Namjoon’s hand, far away from me, and my ears and eyes.

“Right,” Hoseok’s voice tore me out of my reverie, and I turned back to him only to see him looking around the basement in contemplation, lip caught between his teeth as he pondered. Then he jumped up and started walking towards the filing cabinets.

“Come, I’ll show you the system I use for categorisation. And please, call me Hobi.”

The first two weeks I spent with my new company in the new house were quite uneventful. The client that had called was swiftly dealt with only two days later, and only Namjoon and Jimin went, leading me to believe it must have been some weak shade.

Type 1 ghosts, the weakest ones, were usually the kind that started off the season of death, as it was so colloquially called, and mostly didn’t demand much manpower. They weren’t as dangerous, well, as far as ghosts could go – it was very unusual for them to show any kind of killing intent, but even a peaceful ghost’s touch could be deadly.

That was something that was drilled into us endlessly in school – both kids with talent and without – to never get close to a ghost, never let it touch you, and run away as fast as possible and get an adult.

It was the general rule everyone except for operatives abided by – unless they wanted a slow painful death of rot and decomposition to spread through their body from the place of contact, until it pumped their veins with poison and claimed their heart. It was a gruesome death, and it was terrible to witness. Sometimes you could be saved with a couple of shots of adrenaline or a swifty amputation, but vital places – head, chest, stomach – were lethal.

And it was the number one killer of both adults and children in the world.

But the sting of secrecy of that first case was dulled by the fact that no one except for Namjoon, Jimin and Hoseok cared much for it, and it was dealt with within two hours.

I spent those days with curious glances burnt into my back as I mostly silently followed Hobi around and listened to his instructions wherever we came upon something new. I helped him and Taehyung clean down in the basement, I sat next to him as he showed me how to properly fill out forms we’d need, or how to file new cases (of which none came). I even felt guilty enough for not having anything to help with to earn my keep that I insisted on helping with gathering the fallen leaves in the garden, and with flaming cheeks made Yoongi let me help him cook every evening (even though I was a disaster in the kitchen and often got reprimanding looks from the tiger hybrid).

Most of the time though we went endlessly again and again through the little storage in the basement and made sure we were fully stocked up and ready to head out for a case if needed.

It meant hours upon hours of sitting in a steadily colder and colder windowless room, wading through kilos of salt and iron fillings, checking the magnesium flares to see they were properly stored, preparing salt and iron bombs, oiling and caring for iron chains that were used for protective circles, sharpening rapiers and similar.

And as much Jimin, Taehyung and Jungkook whined about Hobi forcing them to do it every two days even though we saw no business, I completely understood the red fox.

Face to face to a ghost, there weren’t many things that could save you or protect you, except for your rapier and a belt filled with these helpers. One too many operatives had died because they hadn’t checked they packed everything or that it was functional.

Magnesium flares when unused sometimes became a hazard and could burn a whole house down, salt and iron bombs sometimes crystallised shut when improperly stored. Chains when left alone rusted and stuck together. When the crucial moment came, even a second delay in a flare going off could mean sure death.

So I happily spent my time in the basement, checking the boys’ belts and bags to make absolutely sure that when they left, they would also return. And sometimes it would turn into training as well, Hobi dragging us into the neighbouring room and spending long hours laughing in the ring, watching the men fight with big smiles on their faces.

It was exactly two weeks into my quite uneventful stay when Namjoon poked his head into the green room where I was sulking by the fire. That day Hobi had no tasks for me, and I took to getting in Yoongi’s way in the kitchen, attempting to help until Jin was laughing at the exasperated tiger and I ended up being exiled into the sitting room. Jimin had briefly stopped by to snicker at me and then he was gone in a flurry of giggles, leaving me to my gloom.

I had wanted to follow him, to go with him and play with the other maknaes as Yoongi and Jin all called us, but I was being too shy to approach them outside of work responsibilities, and judging by their hesitant smiles, they were having the same problem.

So Namjoon walked in on me sullenly poking into the fire with a stick, watching the embers fly through the air and listening to the crackle of the wood, all on my lonesome.

“Hey,” he said with that gentle timbre, and I immediately perked up, “your gear just got here.” If Namjoon found funny the way I promptly jumped to my feet and ran through the house towards the basement... well I didn’t really stick around long enough to find out whether he laughed, but he sure came down behind me with a big grin on his face.

We ordered my own gear a few days back, Jin dragging me down here and measuring me with excruciating detail to make sure it fit as best as possible, and it might have been the crankiest I’ve gotten around the eldest of the pack as we continuously bickered about which size should be ordered, especially the shoes. But Jin took my attitude with grace (got sassy and told me I’m just like Jungkook, which at that moment didn’t feel much like a compliment), so all was well in the end.

“Do you want me to call Jin-hyung?” Namjoon asked, mischief written into his soft round face, and I immediately shook my head.

“I don’t think I’d survive if he’s proven right live,” I said and shuddered at the thought of his smug smirk whenever we had to admit we were in the wrong. I’d seen it around a few times during the two weeks, even once from Yoongi, which Jimin later told me was quite the feat. Apparently the stubborn tiger would rather lose his own hand than admit anything. “Let’s not tell him if it fits as well as he thought.”

Namjoon behind me snickered and pretended as if he was locking his mouth and throwing away the key, before he pulled a big cardboard box onto Hobi’s table.

“You catch up fast,” he teased with a big smile, “first rule of surviving here – Jin-hyung is scarier than anything that might be lurking outside during the night.” I scoffed at that, but didn’t dispute it, instead choosing to get to opening the box.

The uniform of an operative is quite simple really – we mostly wore combat shoes with silver tip and iron interladed soles, cargo pants made from thick cotton that didn’t tear easily and special long-sleeved t-shirts that fit like second skin and it was virtually impossible to destroy them unless you got stabbed. Then of course, seasonal additions like sweaters or jackets or gloves. But these were the basics.

The pack didn’t hesitate to spend money on me, and I had to admit that that night it brought some tears to me eyes, knowing they were counting on me to stay with them that long. It was a heart-warming moment for me, as it felt like I was truly expected to take my place in their ranks and not only serve them coffee forever (which some other agencies loved to do with younger recruits – which, I wasn’t even that young, not for an operative anyway).

So now I was pulling out three sets of each, enough to be able to comfortably swap between them during laundry, and to not have the fear that if some unfortunate accident befell my uniform, I didn’t have to fear not having anything else. I promised the man that the next batch I’d already buy from the money I earned, but he just smiled and said nothing, warm eyes fondly watching me and Jin drag Hobi into our squabble.

Now, putting them on, I felt like an investigator more than I ever had in my old torn jeans and washed out hand-me-down hoodie I’d worn up in the north.

The memories that flooded my brain brought a bit of melancholy to my heart and I thought back to my parents, or my PI friends – all the people I haven’t spoken to since I ran down here. Some that I’d never get the chance to speak to ever again.

“They fit perfectly,” I called from the small bathroom, door cracked open just enough for my voice to carry unobstructed, and I hoped Namjoon didn’t hear the tinge of sadness colouring it now, “of course they fucking do.” The last part was muttered softly under my breath, but judging from the chuckle in the other room, the wolf heard me nonetheless.

Bundling the clothes back into the box and leaving it by the desk for tomorrow’s me to deal with, we both slowly started back into the living spaces, and my palms slowly grew clammy.

“Hey Namjoon?” I said somewhat unsteadily, and watched his ears perk up before he turned to me. Perhaps sensing my nerves, the wolf gently smiled, his scent mellowing and covering me with a blanket of safe warm feelings.

“Could I maybe use the landline for personal calls?”

The hybrid looked at me confused for a moment, like he was computing that this was the only thing I truly wanted, before his expression melted into compassion.

“Y/N, of course you can,” he told me gently, “you can use anything in the house. Including the library, if you’re ever bored.” I blushed at the knowing look in his eyes, and wondered which of his hyungs told on me. Probably Yoongi, that snitch. And I thought we’d have feline hybrids solidarity. I chuckled at his words and nodded, now more embarrassed than shy.

Having his blessing, I circled back to the basement and took a seat at one of the tables where I never saw anyone else sit, leaving Namjoon to return on his own.

The old plastic phone felt familiar in my hand, as I grew up in a place where technology stayed in the 90s. Well, most of other things did as well, to be perfectly honest. The number I was calling was burned into my memory, I’d probably be able to recite it even on my death bed (though for operatives that didn’t have to mean that long).

The line crackled for a moment before a tired “hello?” rang though my ears.

“Mom,” I realised too late that my voice came out wet, the heavy knot of emotions stuck in my throat at hearing her voice again after such a long while, and there was a similarly emotional intake of breath on the other side.

“Oh, darling,” the happy voice said, suddenly all tiredness gone from it, a youthfulness sounding through that made me think back to my childhood, “how’s the city treating you?”

“Good, I found a good pa- I mean I found a good agency, I’m with them now. Working. Working with them,” I stumbled through the sentence, blushy and teary-eyed, and I swore I could hear laughter upstairs.

“Are they taking good care of you, my baby?” she asked, her voice so warm and receptive I wanted to crawl through the phone and wrap myself into it. I nodded, and then rushed to assure her when I realised she couldn’t see me.

“How’s everyone? Dad? Jiwoo? What about Daiyu? How is she?” The barrage of questions spilled out of me in one breath and on the other side I heard my mom giggle quietly.

“Dad’s dad, still the same,” she started, love and amusement dripping from her voice, “you know how he gets when autumn comes. I’ve barely even seen him, he spends all his time in the garden.” I chuckled at that, the image of my father in his old jeans that were more mending patches than the original pants, lovingly tending to his bushes and plants, preparing them for the tough season ahead, was burned into my memory from having it seen every autumn. He was a silent man, but every time he stepped out, you could see the love and gentleness shine through when he looked at “nature’s gifts”, as he put it.

“Jiwoo is also as he’s always been,” mum continued, voice sounding lighter and more joyful with every word spoken, “as stubborn as a mule, like any teenage boy. Running around the mountains with his friends, I barely even see him.”

A phone in the hall upstairs started ringing, and I could hear the beeps interrupting through the call I was currently in, so I quickly clicked the other line to keep the call running. Running footsteps thundered right above me, the excitement palpable through them, and then I could hear Hoseok’s muffled voice as he answered it.

“And Daiyu…” there my mother hesitated for a moment, unaware of my split attention, and I forced myself back into listening to her, “Well, I think she’s doing quite well, all things considered. You should give her a call too, darling, I’m sure she’d love to hear from you.”

I hummed, but even as I tried to come up with a response, I could feel my ear twitching with the strain of listening on the call currently happening a hall above me, but to no avail. Everything Hoseok said blended into an undecipherable buzz, all the words melting into each other.

“Y/N? Darling?”

“Yes, mum, yes, I’m here,” I squeezed out quickly, turning away from the door as if would stop me from eavesdropping, “I’ll give her a call, just… I gotta run now.” There was a bit of silence on the other side, underlined with how suddenly the house fell silent too, and then my mother hummed. But it was the kind of hum that told me she had much more to say, yet chose not to, and I sighed.

“It’s not like that..” I said quickly, trying to put stop to anything she might be thinking now, but she only hummed again, in the way mothers did when they thought they knew better than you did, and I already knew that battle was lost. With a fond sigh, I decided to just let it go.

“Look mum, I have to go, I think we just got a call from a client,” I told her, and thankfully she got the hint, and with an amused sigh she let it go as well.

“Alright then, my dear,” she said lightly, just a twinge of longing creeping into her voice, and it pierced my heart painfully enough to almost rob me of my breath.

“I’m gonna call again soon, mum,” I reassured her quickly, jumping in before she got another word out, “My- my- Employer… my employer said I could use the phones as I needed! I’ll call again soon..” I got a little stuttered up over how to call Namjoon, but if she thought it was weird, at least she didn’t see the way I lit up with a mighty blush over the slip-up I almost had; for there was another word dangerously close to slipping out, one that was very not appropriate for me to use.

And I hoped that the sound didn’t spread as easily upstairs, and I wouldn’t hear a fresh batch of teasing, now with the wolf hybrid instead of Yoongi.

“Well, I’ll hear from you soon,” her quiet voice carried over, “I love you, my darling.” I smiled to myself, probably looking like a right love-sick fool.

“I love you too, mummy,” I whispered back, “Be well.” She lingered for a moment longer, I heard her quiet breaths on the other side of the line, and then there was a quiet click of her setting the phone down, and then only continuous beeps.

I took some time to take a few deep breaths, stabilising myself a little before my first shaky steps back towards the stairs.

The hall was empty when I made it back up, but I heard excitable chatter coming from the direction of the sitting rooms, so if I had to guess, whoever was here was probably all huddled up in the green room by the fire, stealing my spot.

I ran up a little, taking quick bouncy steps, both rejuvenated by the call and excited for potentially getting to do some ghost busting.

And I sure wasn’t the only one, because when I ran into the room, it turned out that everyone was already there – the whole pack, sitting around and peeking into Hoseok’s hands, where the black notebook was clutched.

He was just in the middle of saying something when I zoomed in, but got stuttered up upon seeing me full energy like that. Yoongi was standing by his shoulder, and upon my fiery exit looked up only to smirk my way, eyes cheekily taking me in. I cursed my ears and tail for flicking up eagerly, but it felt less embarrassing when his did the same, and it wasn’t enough to make the grin slide off of my face, so I just ignored Jimin’s teasing (evil) snickers and moved into the room.

Just for a split second I worried I might have not been fully welcomed in on the discussion – Hoseok seemed to have already started talking, everybody was present except for me – but then Namjoon smiled and waved me over, vacating his spot on the couch so that I could settle myself right between Taehyung and Jungkook while he stood over us, leaning on the head rest.

“I was just about to go get you,” he said in the warm tone of his, and I relaxed into the soft pillows immediately. I looked towards the red fox, who was sitting in the armchair in front of me, eyes lit up like he just got the best news ever. He looked towards me too and smiled so brightly it was almost blinding.

“We got a client. And this one’s gonna be a doozy.”

Seokjin was nervously fluffing up the pillows for the hundredth time in the last ten minutes, and I could see that I wasn’t the only one whose nerves were getting grated by that, but since the bear was so sincere and hopeful about it, none of us dared to say anything. Most of the time Kim Seokjin was a man that would put fear of God into you within seconds, but when it came to customers, he’d almost turn cute.

Not that I’d dare say that out loud to him.

“Cute,” teased Hoseok, and I immediately flushed. Seokjin turned to him with a disapproving tsk, but there was a red hue on his cheeks, and for a moment I was caught marvelling at such a rare sight. Obviously, the consensus about Seokjin’s pre-visit habits was pretty clear around here.

Like when I had my job interview, the only ones present were the three hybrids that seemed to be the most involved with running the company – Seokjin, Namjoon and Hoseok, with the addition of me to take notes. Though, all the others were around too, and I knew they were anxiously waiting to listen in as soon as the customer arrived.

Thankfully, the torture of watching Seokjin pace the room one more time to fluff the pillows one more time was cut short with a sound of the bell thundering through the suddenly unnaturally silent house.

I watched as the red fox jumped to his feet, ears flicking with attention towards the door as his tail nervously swung about in a manner that would soon become dangerous to stand too close to. Namjoon seemed to have petrified, standing woodenly with an awkward smile, and I would almost giggle at the sight if not for the aura of nerves engulfing everything.

Seokjin was already toying with the silver tea kettle as Hoseok tripped over himself and then over the armchair in a mad race to the front door. I had an abrupt flashback to our first meeting – to how eager he was to a point he stressed me out, and I promptly stood up into his way to try and curb his energy.

He was probably just too focused on getting to the door, that would explain why he didn’t fully notice me at first, not until I was already too close and in an attempt to stop he instead slipped on the squeaky clean wooden floors and barrelled right into me.

A moment of weightlessness was all I registered before suddenly gravity pulled hard, and before I knew it, I was sprawled over the brown room’s floor with Hoseok’s extremely red face planted right into my chest.

Everything stilled for a few extremely tense seconds before the fox was jumping off of me with a loud embarrassed scream, the sound enough to summon everyone, and I meant everyone, to run into the hall to witness me lying on my back on the floor like a beached whale while Hoseok buried his entire upper body into the armchair like an ostrich its head into the sand.

One look at the two other present hybrids told me all I had to know. Namjoon stood there with face as red as a lobster and looking absolutely horrified, while Seokjin had his hand over his mouth, though his eyes were crinkled with silent laughter.

I rather didn’t even look towards the others, instead I quickly climbed back onto my feet as a second bell rung through the house. No one said anything. Yoongi was laughing. Loudly.

“Okay,” I took charge of the situation, “Hoseok, calm down and get some shoes. Namjoon you too. Calm down, I mean.” Then I turned to the four other very entertained hybrids and narrowed my eyes. “Everybody else scram. I’m gonna open the door and when I walk into here with the client, you’ll be relaxed and professional, alright?”

Without waiting for a reply, I turned with my face still burning and stalked toward the main entrance. Though, I heard the patter of feet running quietly away and Seokjin muttering “we have to work on this part” under his breath, so it was safe to assume they took me bossing them around better than I hoped they would.

With a deep breath I steadied myself, slipping into the more customer friendly demeanour and opened the door with an amicable smile.

And older lady stood there. She very obviously came from money, everything about her screamed wealth – from her elegant black dress with lace collar, to the golden brooch with a blood red ruby that was pinned the lace, to her grey hair slicked back into a tight hairdo at the back of her head. She had quite a strict face, not necessarily unfriendly, but definitely not open, and she leaned on a black walking stick quite heavily.

There was a middle-aged man supporting her from the other side, probably her son by the age. He looked considerably more approachable, so I forced myself to relax and invited them in with a broad gesture.

“Welcome to Bangtan Inc., paranormal investigations,” I said with a cheery voice, “I apologise for the wait.” I didn’t offer them any explanation because, well frankly I didn’t have one, and I found that people rarely asked for more details for fear of looking rude.

“Good afternoon,” the man replied pleasantly, but the older woman stayed silent. She didn’t look very happy with us, but by her presumed son’s nonchalant attitude, I supposed she might have just been one of those ladies.

“Terribly good weather this afternoon,” the man continued, looking out to the sky which was a light steely grey, but the temperature was pleasant and stray rays of sunshine did make it through. I smiled at him and nodded.

“Quite, though it is supposed to get colder. After all, we are nearing the end of September.”

I offered to help with coats, but the lady let the man help her, and he seemed more than happy to help himself with his own, so I just waited for them to hand them to me so that I could hang them up. The lady seemed to be pleased with that at least, and I was glad I maybe turned around the fact that they had to wait outside for such a while.

The heels of their shoes clicked on the floor as I led them down the hallway with another broad gesture to follow me. I saw them both look around with wide eyes, taking in the old grandeur of the house. With a bit of a sinking heart I recognised open surprise in their eyes, and they were no doubt shocked that hybrids lived so well.

Momentarily I worried for what we’d have to hear from them today, but I didn’t have much time to ponder that, as we rounded the corner into the brown room and got hit with the sight of the three hybrids waiting.

Compared to the disaster I left behind me, now they looked perfectly put together and professional. Namjoon’s shoulders weren’t as stiff as before as he gave the newcomers a very enchanting smile, immediately charming the pants right off of the lady who seemed to have melted into a blushing schoolgirl upon being met with the wolf. Discreetly I thought to myself that I perfectly understood her.

Seokjin stood next to him, as handsome as ever, while Hoseok, now also considerably calmer, stepped forward with his hand outstretched, a blinding smile splitting his face almost in half.

“Welcome! My name’s Jung Hoseok, we spoke on the phone,” his voice was smooth and cheery, and as my eyes slid downwards, with relief I saw that he indeed did put on shoes.

The usual pleasantries took place, and I left them to it, only getting a little startled when Namjoon gestured towards me as I fussed in the corner about the chair I dragged over before to take notes without interrupting and said: “and that’s our assistant, Ms. Y/N.” With a slightly awkward smile I shook their hands as well, and the atmosphere relaxed a little.

Just as I was looking over the notepad just one more time to make sure everything was ready for me to write down, another call of my name startled me into paying attention to the interaction.

“Y/N will bring it right over!” Seokjin just said, and upon my confused glance, he gestured to the empty table. The tea kettle was gone, I belatedly realised, and I jumped to my feet and scurried off into the kitchen.

Jimin, Taehyung and Jungkook were all sitting around the dining table munching on something, probably sandwiches as Yoongi made those quite often when we whined about being hungry, while the man himself stood by one of the kitchen windows smoking.

I ran in, scaring the shit out of the three eating hybrids and earning a chuckle from the tiger, while I panicked and looked around while whisper-screaming “tea!” the whole time.

“Calm down, darling, it’s here,” Yoongi walked over to the kitchen counter, the teapot sitting there and mocking me as I sulked over to the black-haired man.

“Why’s it even back here?” I asked him, now considerably less frantic as I watched him put the kettle on, his quick skilful fingers arranging new teabags and fresh biscuits on to the tray. He scoffed, but it was a fond sound. He often sounded that way when talking about Seokjin, though you’d never get him to admit it.

“You know how hyung gets,” the tiger teased, a light smirk playing on his face, “in the time it took you to walk from the door to the sitting room he managed to panic that the tea would already be tasting bad and thought it would look better if you brought over fresh one.” There were some giggles from the dining room table, but I found I didn’t want to turn away from Yoongi working in the kitchen. So, I kept my eyes glued to the man, slowly taking in how his tail started swishing around in much more playful manner than it usually did.

And I knew I was in trouble, because he’d never miss a chance to tease me, especially not in front of the maknaes. Especially not in front of Jimin, that little devil.

Yoongi poured the hot water into the decorative teapot, arranging it onto the tray for me to carry, and as he turned, he reached over to pet my hair, taking the moment to curl his fingers right behind my ear slightly, as if he was going to scratch there but changed his mind.

I flushed, terribly so might I add, and the bastard smirked. I felt my ear twitch needily, the little traitor, and I mentally scolded it.

Grabbing the tray, I ignored everyone in the room and stomped my way back to the brown room, pointedly not looking any of the three other hybrids in the face, which I knew was noticed by the way Seokjin was trying to conceal his laughter by turning away.

The clients thankfully seemed blissfully unaware, distracted by the refreshments, and I took the moment to decompress into my seat and stubbornly keep my eyes on my notes, even though I saw the way Hoseok curiously glanced my way and grinned upon seeing how red I was.

Quickly the atmosphere sobered though, as the two incomers finally settled down into their chairs, ready to share their ghost story.

“So, Mrs. Carter, you’ve mentioned a spectre in your garden, yes?” Seokjin started, trying not to sound too eager, as that usually scared normal folk away. We had to get every little detail out of them though, and that wasn’t easy. Not just because they didn’t see much, but because they generally didn’t like to talk about apparitions.

As if not mentioning them would erase the danger they posed out of existence.

“Well, yes,” the lady, Mrs. Carter, drawled out with a thick posh accent, “It is in the back of the garden, yes, been there for decades too.” The man nodded, and that was quite a shock to us.

“For decades?” Namjoon asked, absolutely flabbergasted, “have you never thought to get rid of it before?” The old woman simply nodded, clutching the walking stick in her hands, habitually drumming her fingers on the polished wood.

“I didn’t particularly care for it,” she answered again in that slightly detached way of talking that wealthy people sometimes adopted, “It’s been just me and my husband for a long time, and we knew not to go into that part of the garden, and all the staff leaves before sundown as is law.” She shrugged, and the man sighed, pinching the root of his nose.

“I’ve been telling mother for years to do something about it,” he told us, exasperated while the woman seemed cheekily unperturbed, much in the way that spoke of just how old the argument truly was, “It’s just plain dangerous and irresponsible.”

“It wasn’t doing anything to anyone,” she replied stubbornly, “but now my nieces have started visiting. Even with all the precautions, I cannot let it stay. Children never listen, especially to those things that you stress the most that they need to listen to. I need the garden to be safe for them.” She seemed to melt a little at the mention of the little girls, something warmer creeping into her gaze as she glanced at her son.

We all sat there and listened to them go back and forth quietly, taking in the details – and each of us seemed to have different questions. I was mainly amazed how she spoke of a very dangerous ghost as if it was just a tenant paying rent to use her garden, and not the accident waiting to happen it truly was.

Hoseok had other concerns, and that’s why he was the one asking the questions.

“Wasn’t doing anything to anyone?” he enquired, leaning forward to them in interest, “Would you be able to describe it a little? Or even if there are any feelings connected to the haunting? Does it have any habits?” The barrage of questions that spilled out of him clearly surprised and overwhelmed the duo, and they looked to each other for help.

“Feelings?” was all that Mrs. Carter said in the end though, looking to the fox confusedly.

“Well, like for an example, when you are in the area, do you feel a certain way?” Seokjin jumped in, sensing his packmate was likely getting a little too excited again, “Do you feel uncomfortable and unsafe? Do you feel sad?”

“Hauntings can sometimes influence our feelings,” Namjoon carried on, explaining gently to the two humans, “It can help the operatives guess the type of the spectre, or its strength and motives. If every time you walk through the part of the garden you suddenly feel unsafe, it could speak of dangerous intentions. If there only is a sudden wave of sadness, it could mean a weaker shade.”

The two visitors sat in silence for a moment, pondering over their experiences with the haunting, while we sat there and waited with bated breaths.

Getting details out of human adults was always the hardest part of these initial interviews. Children at least usually were a little more sensitive to the unknown, sometimes even seeing the apparitions clearly, but adults were mostly blind. They could only rely on the emotions that gripped them while encountering a ghost, and those were normally drowned out by fear and panic.

Not that anyone could blame them – even operatives had that instinct to turn and run, we’d be insane if we didn’t.

But given that they seemed to have been aware of this haunting for decades, there was hope a little more information would come out of them.

In the worst case scenario we could swallow our pride and ask whether she currently hired any hybrids on her staff to ask them, though hybrids not involved in the PI business hated to be associated with it. Our supernatural senses hung above our heads like curses, and some just wanted to be as far away from that as possible, yet unable to escape it fully.

“Well, I suppose it doesn’t feel too friendly, but I’ve never felt in any danger,” the old lady drawled out, voice a little thin as she was lost in her own thoughts and memories. Her son seemed similarly drowned in his own musings, sitting silently beside her with a pale face and a strange look.

“Have you ever seen it?” came Seokjin’s next question and the lady snorted in good humour.

“Of course I haven’t seen it, how could I?” her answer was amused, but it still ruffled some feathers, as I saw Hoseok’s smile twitch on his face in slight annoyance. Seokjin stared at her, incredulous, though she was very oblivious to that with her face buried in her teacup. Namjoon once more chose this moment to step in and smooth the situation over before Jin’s patience ran out and he reverted to his usual steam-roller self.

“Well, yes, we aren’t expecting you to see it clearly, but humans sometimes report seeing a little,” the wolf inserted himself into the tense atmosphere, “it doesn’t have to be a full apparition, but maybe a shape, fog or even spots of darkness, anything like that can be helpful to us.”

The woman hummed, once again reverting into her memories to search for anything to tell us, but by the pinched expression on her face we could all already tell that if she ever saw it, she’s already forgotten or supressed it from her mind.

My ears fluttered as they caught the quiet sigh of disappointment let out by Hobi right before he started preparing to ask more questions that would most likely lead nowhere, as was usually the case with older humans. My eyes were still glued to Mr. Carter sitting woodenly next to his mother though, and just as Hobi opened his mouth, without thinking I jumped in.

“Mr. Carter, have you ever seen it? As a child?” The man startled at hearing his name, and the entire room’s attention was suddenly on me. I flushed for a moment sensing the other hybrid’s eyes, but I took the chance to speak even though I probably wasn’t supposed to.

Redirecting my gaze back to the wide eyes of the surprised human, I could see some cracks of guilt in his expression.

“Of course I haven’t, young miss!” he rushed out, face reddening and twisting slightly as if I gravelly insulted him, “Children have no business chasing after ghosts, and I knew that!” I chanced a glance at my employers, all of whom seemed very interested in the current conversation, no doubt sensing the opportunity as well.

Namjoon gestured for me to continue, and I breathed out in relief before turning to our guests again.

“Well, of course, I am not doubting your common sense, but as Mrs. Carter said a few moments ago, children often find these things curious. Ghosts and the supernatural, the more you discourage them, the more they want to see,” I argued softly, trying to talk him away from the edge he psyched himself onto.

In that moment even though he must have been at least fifty years old, there was something very boyish in his face – that second he turned back into a little kid, afraid of the consequences of his parents anger after breaking one of their rules, and I knew I struck gold. Children rarely listened, which was unfortunately why they died of ghost touch so much. It has always been a very sad statistic, one that Mr. Carter no doubt almost added onto himself.

He took one guilty look towards his mother who has been watching him with a curious glint in her eyes, not unkind but definitely exasperated at knowing her son was tempting fate like that without her knowledge, but she still gestured for him to tell the truth.

With the aura of a scolded schoolboy he turned back to the room and sighed.

“It was when I was sixteen,” he started sheepishly, face red now from embarrassment more than the anger of getting caught red-handed, “the ghost just appeared the winter prior, but I was away at my boarding school. When I returned, I was informed of its presence and the back part of the garden was closed off for safety. I was curious, though.” I nodded at him, to encourage him and soothe the sting of childish foolishness.

“Trust me Mr. Carter, that’s very normal,” Namjoon stated kindly and gave the man a smile, one that had even me relaxing in my chair, tail curling along the chair legs in search of a cozy cuddle, which I stubbornly ignored, just as I did anything else pertaining to the strange reactions these men managed to bring out in me. Especially the kind wolf and the cheeky tiger.

“Yes, indeed, children are always drawn to things and places like that,” Seokjin joined in and poured the man another cup of tea, “Even we got up to similar foolish shenanigans. Some of us never grew out of it.” The last part was pointed towards those who listened in, and I could almost hear the complaining grumble from Jungkook and Taehyung sitting in the kitchen as they argued over who invited more trouble.

Schooling my features, I looked back to the somewhat appeased human and watched him grow more comfortable in the armchair.

“I did the stupidest thing I could think of,” the man admitted, “I sneaked out during the night. It was early autumn, just like it is now, and I crept through the gardens towards the back-end corner, where it was seen. At first there was nothing out of ordinary. It was pretty cold outside, but it was September, so I thought nothing of it.”

I hummed non-commitally, jotting down what he was saying into my notepad which was slowly filling up. Hobi cleared his throat, but otherwise listened to the story with unrestrained focus.

“Well, that didn’t last for long though,” if the statement wasn’t ominous enough, the look of sheer terror that crossed Mr. Carter’s face was definitely sufficient, “I mean, to this day I am not completely sure what I saw. At first there was nothing, but then I suddenly started feeling unprecedented fear, absolute panic and terror, seemingly without a reason. I stood in the middle of the garden, alone as far as I knew, paralysed with horror. I didn’t know what to do. Then it started to appear. I noticed that there was a spot of darkness that felt unnatural, but slowly it turned into a vague shape. I couldn’t see many details, but it was a man. I watched it slink closer for a few seconds before the panic managed to override my body and I stumbled away. I’ve never tempted fate like that again.”

There was a moment of silence as the information shared sunk in, only broken by the quiet scratch of my pen as I wrote the details down before I forgot. When I looked up, I could almost see the wheels turning in Namjoon’s head and the calculations Hobi and Jin were making in their minds.

“So that’s why you insisted so much about us getting rid of the visitor,” the old woman mused finally, breaking the spell with her sad voice, “I’m sorry we never listened to you.”

“You said you saw it slightly, would you maybe be able to tell me what kind of clothes the man was wearing? Any guess about the period?” Namjoon’s questions shot through the tender moment, and it was obvious the wolf was miles away, probably thinking about the trip to the archives he’d have to make after this visit.

The guests didn’t seem to be too ruffled by his slightly awkward interruption and the man dipped back into that terrifying memory.

“I’m sorry, I don’t think I can give you anything more specific,” he stated apologetically, wringing his hands out in his lap, “but they were definitely what I would describe as old-timey clothes. Like a Victorian gentleman maybe.”

Awesome, so it was a vindictive Victorian man-ghost, those were always so much fun. I added the information onto the paper and hummed, the three other hybrids taking over the conversation once more and asking for some details, details we were always hoping for but rarely managed to get out of people.

Suddenly, the rest of the visit was over in a flash. Hoseok and Seokjin discussed money, and the lady seemed more than happy to pay us whatever to make sure her garden was safe for her family, especially after her son’s tearful admission that he himself came a little too close to death when disobeying her word.

As they were filing out of our house, slowly shrugging on coats while the four of us stood there and watched with polite awkward smiles, the man turned to me and leaned over discreetly.

“I’ve always felt so much shame for what I did,” he confessed, “I never really went against my parents. At the time it felt like a long overdue rebellion, but it almost ended with my death. I was so stupid, and when faced with danger, I just froze helplessly. At least it thought me to stray away from dangerous situations.” I gave him a gentle smile, hand automatically rising to pat at his shoulder to comfort him.

“Mr. Carter, trust me, kids just are that way, you weren’t any worse or different from heaps of other teenagers chasing a little adrenaline,” I assured him, thinking back to my own stunts that I pulled in the seemingly endless acres of haunted woods around our little village, “You got lucky though, you left the encounter alive. But don’t beat yourself up over freezing up, that’s a common side-effect of a sighting. Operatives are susceptible to it as well and it takes years of training to not get affected by it.”

The man looked to me in surprise and I was honestly shocked he wasn’t aware of such a thing. Didn’t humans learn about visitors as well?

“Were you not aware of that?” I asked with a melodious giggle, easing the human a little before he sheepishly shook his head.

“No, I always assumed I was just a special breed of coward,” he admitted quietly, the statement getting lost under his mother’s fussing as Namjoon offered to help her down the steep damp stone stairs, the woman accepting his arm with a blush and shy smile, which was an expression especially alien to her face.

“No, it’s called a ghost-lock and it’s common, besides there’s nothing cowardly about being afraid when coming face to face with death,” I whispered conspiratorially, bumping our shoulders together like we were naughty school-mates sharing a secret, “only a fool wouldn’t be scared.”

A youthful expression crossed his face as he grinned at me, and suddenly he looked nothing like a worried fifty-year-old father of a couple of girls and everything like a cheeky boy whose burdened heart finally got the rest it needed.

His fingers flew up to his head, tipping an imaginary hat in my direction as he thanked me for my kind words and for our services, before he turned and jogged down the stairs to catch up with his mother, who was already half-way to the gate, still hanging onto Namjoon’s strong frame.

“- you know, I was against my husband in that regard, and I’m glad I disagreed with him,” she was just chattering to him, and the wolf wore an awkward smile on his face, a quiet discomfort oozing off of him as Jin and Hobi walked woodenly next to her.

“I always told him, I have nothing against those hybrids, and they’re here in the neighbourhood,” the woman continued on totally unaware to the rising unease of her companions, “why drag ourselves through the city, when we can just walk down a couple streets! But he’s a stubborn man, that Jacob of mine. Well, I’ll be proven right, just like I always am, when he meets you and finds out that you’re such stand-up gentlemen!”

There were some half-hearted mutters of thanks, the three men exchanging wide-eyed stares before Mr. Carter finally caught up and took over, grabbing his mother’s hand and gently pulling her away from the tall hybrid, to the wolf’s relief. I saw a flicker of displeasure at being separated from her new-found young love, but she quickly found her own footing and suddenly very speedily made her way towards the gate and out on the street.

I watched them go amusedly, seeing the three flustered hybrids standing there and looking off after the spirited old lady. Well, at least she was one of those old people.

thank you so much for reading, and i hoped you liked the chapter! don't be shy and let me know what you thought <3

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#bts fic #bts smut #bts fluff #bts angst #bts x reader #ot7 x reader #bts ot7 #bts poly au #bts hybrid au #pfyg series

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cookiescribble · 1 year ago

Text

Show Me How To Be Whole Again

A/N: hi everyone! This is the fic I've been working on for eight months 😮‍💨. I hope it came out as well as I hoped it would 😅 - mod angel

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Summary: When Spencer is abducted, you rush to the team to make sure you're there when they find him. After you get home, Spencer's behavior starts to get more and more concerning, and you're desperate for answers. (based on 2x15 and the aftermath of that episode)

Word Count: 7.1k

CW: Mentions of abduction, violence, drug addiction, withdrawal, arguing. some angst in the middle but i am incapable of writing something without a happy ending.

~~~~~

The call came early in the morning. They said they called you as soon as they could.

If you were thinking rationally, or if you could stand being alone for 5 minutes after hearing the news, maybe you would’ve stayed home. But you couldn’t stay put knowing Spencer was in trouble.

You quickly threw a few days’ worth of clothes in a carry-on bag and took the first flight out of the nearest airport. You were trying so hard to keep yourself together and not break down crying on a crowded airplane, but the thoughts just kept rushing in your head. You were so worried about him.

When you landed, you called the team and told them you were going to the police station and you were going to stay there until they found him. You wouldn’t let anyone argue with you. You wouldn’t be able to calm down until they found him anyway, so being anywhere else didn’t make sense.

You didn’t really think of what you’d do when you got there. You’d just been on autopilot since you got the call. You were hoping someone would meet you there.

When you frantically burst through the doors of the police station, JJ was standing there waiting for you. You dropped your bag and hugged her tight.

“It was my fault,” she choked out, sobbing. “We were together and… we split up… I shouldn’t have split up…”

You shook your head vigorously. “No, no, you’re not the one who abducted him. It’s not your fault.” You were also sobbing now. You tried taking deep breaths to calm yourself, but all you could think about was what could possibly be happening to Spencer right now.

You calmed down enough to ask, “Where is everybody else?”

She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath herself. “We set up at the unsub’s house. He took Spence to a secondary location, and Garcia set up there to get to his computers.” She looked down. “I really should be getting back there.”

You nodded while she talked. “I’m coming with you,” you announced.

She looked at you, concerned. “We can’t risk you-“

You cut her off. “I am coming with you. I’m staying with you until we find him,” you stated forcefully.

She didn’t argue further. She could see the desperation in your eyes, you’re sure. Even someone who didn’t analyze behavior for a living could see that. “Alright. Let’s go.”

…

You arrived at the house. You couldn’t tell how long the car ride took; every second felt like an hour.

When everybody saw you, they took turns giving you a hug. You could tell they were concerned that you were here, but they could see how devastated you were. You think they understood.

You hung around while they all did their jobs and tried to find Spencer. You sat next to Penelope and watched as she tried to do whatever she could to help find him.

Time passed. The team was coming in and out of the room as they needed to. Derek was probably in here the most, giving his moral support to Penelope.

Suddenly, the monitors in front of you lit up.

“What‘s happening?” Derek asked.

“I… don’t know,” Penelope answered.

Your heart dropped as an image popped up on the screen.

It was Spencer. He was sitting in a chair, his hands tied together. He was wearing the clothes you watched him pack on the morning you last saw him.

He looked so scared.

“Guys! Get in here!” you heard Derek yell.

You couldn’t look away from the screen.

The rest of the team rushed in, faces dropping as they saw what was happening.

Someone was talking in the background of the stream. You couldn’t hear them. Your heart was thumping so hard you could hear it in your ears. Spencer was replying to whatever they were saying. Through your loud heartbeat, you could hear his trembling voice. Your eyes started to water.

After a few moments, you heard someone near you say something and suddenly you were being pulled away from the screen and into another room.

When you realized what was happening, you looked up to see Hotch holding your shoulders, pushing you away from the horrific scene unfolding on the monitors.

You started sobbing. “I have to see him,” you tried to say, but your voice was cracking.

“No. You saw that he’s alive. That’s all you need to see.” he said firmly. He was protecting you from seeing something that would truly break you.

You couldn’t argue. What you saw shook you to your very core; you couldn’t go back in there. You squeezed your eyes shut and nodded. “You’re going to find him and bring him back safe.” It wasn’t a question. You knew they’d find him. They had to.

You took a step back, telling Hotch he could go back to the team in the other room, and that you were okay out here.

You sat at a table, laying your head down and covering it with your arms. You had started crying, and you couldn’t stop. How could they do this to him? He’s never done anything to hurt anybody. All he does is help people. How could someone look at him and feel anything other than warmth, comfort, and love?

You heard footsteps come into the room. The girls came in and sat around you. You picked your head up to look at them, your eyes already swollen from crying so much.

“What happened?” you asked frantically. Your heart was racing again.

“He’s okay,” Emily said quickly. “He’s alive. The unsub… made him choose a victim to keep alive, but there’s going to be more victims… and then the camera cut off.” She took a deep breath. “It looked like making that decision let him live.”

You buried your face in your hands. This was so cruel. you knew he dealt with bad people every day, but… this was so heartbreaking. How could someone feel so little remorse for other human beings that they force an innocent person to decide someone’s fate?

You took deep breaths to try not to cry again. “I can tell he’s in so much pain right now… He’s going to blame himself for all those people’s deaths. The guilt is going to eat him up inside. He’ll feel horrible even if he does make it out of this.”

Everyone took turns patting your back to reassure you. “He is going to make it out of this. He’ll be home soon.”

You nodded, forcing yourself to believe it. You had to believe it. If you didn’t believe it… you would break down more than you ever have before.

…

You stayed in that room for what felt like an eternity. The team took turns keeping you company when they weren’t busy. They gave you vague updates to let you know that Spencer was still alive. They didn’t tell you details of what they saw. You didn’t ask. Seeing the somber looks on their faces told you all you needed to know.

Eventually, everyone came rushing out of the room, putting on their coats and practically running out the door. Penelope came to sit with you, her eyes wide and full of hope. “They found where he is. They’re going to him now.” She hugged you tightly. “He’s going to be okay.”

Tears leaked out of your eyes again. This time they were happy tears. The immense rush of relief you felt was enough to render you speechless for a while, until you finally choked out, “They’re going to call us when he’s safe?” She nodded eagerly and you let out a huge sigh of relief.

The wait felt like forever. You were still nervous. What if they don’t get to him in time? What if they’re just barely too late?

Finally, finally Penelope’s phone rang. She answered quickly, nodding at what she was hearing. Eventually she hung up and looked at you, smiling. “He’s with them now. The unsub is dead. They’re rushing an ambulance but his injuries seem minor considering… what’s been happening.”

You closed your eyes and took another big sigh of relief. “I’m going to meet the ambulance there,” you declared.

Penelope looked at you quizzically. “I don’t know if-“

“You said the unsub is dead,” you cut her off. “There’s no more danger. I’m going to him.” You saw keys to one of the FBI vehicles that was left over since they had multiple people to a van. You picked them up and tossed them to Penelope. “You know their coordinates. You drive.”

She caught the keys and nodded at you, unable to argue with your logic. You both rushed out to the van and sped over to the location.

You saw the ambulance as you arrived there. You barely waited for Penelope to put the car in park before you were running out the door to where the ambulance had parked.

You saw Spencer sitting at the edge of the back of the ambulance with a first aid blanket wrapped around his shoulders. He was beaten up, but he was still conscious and alert. You were relieved his injuries weren’t worse.

“Spencer!” you shouted as you ran towards him. He looked your way, his eyes widening as he saw you.

You threw your arms around his shoulders when you reached him. His shock quickly turned to something softer as he relaxed into your arms, wrapping his arms around your waist.

You nestled your face into his neck for a few moments, unable to stop your sobs of joy. “Oh, sweetie…” you cooed into his ear.

He moved so his forehead was touching yours. Tears were streaking down his face. “I’m sorry…” he started.

You shook your head vigorously. “No apologies. You’re okay now.” You kissed him on the forehead gently and threaded your fingers in his hair “Everything’s going to be okay.”

He nodded and tightened his grip on you, kissing you firmly. He kissed you for a long time before finally pulling away, resting his forehead on yours. “I love you,” he whispered.

You smiled warmly, whispering back to him. “I love you, too.”

You stayed like that for a few moments before everyone started pushing Spencer to get in the ambulance so he could go to the hospital. You rode with him, of course. You held his hand the whole way there.

He wasn’t in the hospital for too long. They were able to treat his wounds relatively easily. The team waited in the waiting room while you followed him into the examination room.

When you came back to the waiting room, hand in hand, everyone rushed to greet you before you all headed to the jet.

You sat in the corner of the couch to the side of the other seats, motioning for Spencer to lay his head in your lap. He followed eagerly, curling up on his side and nestling his head in your lap.

You ran your fingers through his curls as he began to fall asleep. He must’ve been exhausted. You couldn’t imagine him sleeping during any of that.

You stayed like that the whole ride home, him asleep and you petting his hair softly.

You gently woke him up when you landed. “C’mon, baby. We’re going home.”

He sat up and rubbed his eyes. You kissed his cheek before standing up, taking his hand as you went to the parking lot. He obviously wasn’t in any condition to drive, so he handed you the keys to his car and let you drive home. You insisted on stopping and getting some food on the way back. He said he didn’t feel hungry, but once he started eating, it seemed like he’d never stop. He must’ve been starving.

When you walked into your apartment, he grabbed you and hugged you tightly to his chest. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, relaxing into him.

“I missed you so much.” He was crying again, sniffling softly. “I thought about you every waking moment. I knew I had to make it through because you were waiting for me.” He leaned down to kiss your forehead, closing his eyes and savoring the moment.

“I missed you too,” you said quietly, looking into his eyes with a soft expression. “I knew you were going to make it back.” You hugged him tight again. “I didn’t see everything. The team… made sure I didn’t see anything that was going to hurt me.”

He nodded, leaning down to stroke your cheek gently with his thumb. “I’m glad you didn’t have to see me like that.” He touched his forehead to yours. “What matters now is that I’m here with you.” He kissed you slowly, pushing your hair out of your face.

You kissed for a long time, slowly making your way to your bedroom. You smiled up at him after a while. “As much as I would love to continue this…” You gestured to the bed. “You need to sleep.”

As if to prove your point, he let out a quiet yawn. You smiled as he sat down at the edge of the bed. You grabbed his pajamas from the drawer and helped him get changed and settled into bed.

He lay his head on your chest and you stroked his hair gently, just like you did the whole way home. “Go to sleep, baby,” you whispered as his eyes closed. After a moment you heard his breathing slow as he fell asleep.

“Goodnight,” you whispered, kissing the top of his head before relaxing to fall asleep yourself.

…

After that night, things got… bad.

Spencer wasn’t acting like himself anymore. He was… distant. Cold. He had never acted this way towards you before. Or anyone, for that matter.

You had never had a problem with intimacy before, but suddenly he refused to touch you. Any time you would reach for his hand, or try to put your arm around him, he’d just shrug you off of him and move away from you. It always ended in you mumbling an apology and putting some space between you.

He never explained why he didn’t want you to touch him. In fact, he didn’t talk a whole lot anymore. You often sat in silence, completely apart from each other. You always used to be able to count on him to fill these silences, but now he just stayed quiet.

When he did talk, he was a lot more cold to you than he used to be. You had never fought before, but now it felt like any time he talked it was to argue with you about something. It felt like he was always angry lately.

He didn’t even like to sleep in the same bed as you anymore. Most nights, if not every night, he slept on the couch. You started begging him, telling him that you would never cross over your side of the bed, but he shrugged you off saying he just needed to be alone.

All of this was really taking a toll on you. You tried not to show it, because you knew he was going through a hard time, so you only let your feelings out in places you could be alone. Which meant you spent a lot of time crying in the bathroom.

This went on for months. You thought that, surely, he had to tell you what was going on eventually. He had never hidden anything from you before, so you didn’t really know what to do, or how to handle this. You didn’t want to push him into talking about things he didn’t want to talk about, but something was very clearly wrong.

After a particularly bad argument one night, you couldn’t take it anymore. You had to go to someone about this. For Spencer’s sake.

The next morning, you set an extra early alarm, quietly getting dressed and tiptoeing past Spencer, who was asleep on the couch, and silently leaving your apartment.

As you got in your car and started driving, you started arguing with yourself in your head. Part of your brain was trying to say that this wasn’t going to help, and that this was just like being a little kid and tattling to a teacher. But the emotional part of your brain was saying that just telling anyone would be able to help Spencer. And that little shred of hope was all it took to convince you to do this.

You shoved open the doors to the BAU, hoping that Spencer’s stories about his boss barely leaving his office were true. When you looked around, you saw an office with a light on, making you breathe a sigh of relief.

You bound up the stairs, knocking on the office door, a little more forcefully than you had intended. Hopefully it would help get your emotions across.

“Come in,” a familiar voice ordered.

You took a deep breath before opening the door, seeing Hotch sitting at his desk with a bunch of paperwork in front of him. You wondered just how much paperwork this job required, and if he was always here hours before everyone else.

He looked surprised to see you. He would probably be surprised to see anyone at this early hour, but considering you don’t even work for him, he probably wouldn’t have even considered the possibility of you coming here. “Is there something I can help you with?” He asked.

You opened your mouth to say something, but nothing came out. You didn’t really think this far; you just figured that surely someone who works so closely with Spencer had to know something, especially since he was a profiler.

You thought about everything that had happened in the last few months, trying to find the right words to properly articulate your concerns. But all the thoughts about Spencer pushing you away and refusing your affection, mixed with remembering what your relationship was like before that fateful night of his abduction, overwhelmed your mind so much that you just couldn’t stop your emotions flowing out. Tears welled in your eyes before starting to streak down your face. Here you were, in Hotch’s office, completely unannounced and uninvited, and you were just standing there crying.

After a few moments of crying, and of Hotch looking very concerned at this scene playing out before him, you decided it didn’t matter that you couldn’t form the perfect words. You just needed to say something.

Through choked sobs, you finally managed to blurt out, “What’s wrong with Spencer?”

Hotch looked at you, his expression as unreadable as always. “What do you mean?”

You took a deep breath, too emotional to think about how you shouldn’t be saying all of this to your boyfriend’s boss. The words just started coming out in a rush. “Something’s wrong. We had never had a single argument before, and now the only time he ever talks to me is to pick a fight. He’s never present, he barely speaks, which I’m sure I don’t have to tell you is very strange behavior for Spencer. He never smiles anymore, he won’t let me touch him anymore, he won’t sleep in our bed anymore, he only sleeps on the couch…”

You covered your eyes with your hands, trying to stop the tears from coming out. Finally, after some shaky breaths, you finished by saying, “I just wanted to know if there’s anything you could tell me about this. If you know why he’s acting this way. If there’s something he’s not telling me.”

Hotch hesitated before gesturing to a chair in front of his desk. “Do you want to take a seat?”

You looked at the chair, and you noticed you were shaking. You nodded, and sat down in the chair, trying to calm down. But you couldn’t help being extremely restless, your leg bouncing rapidly while you sat.

Hotch leaned forward, moving some paperwork out of the way and placing his hands on his desk. His expression was slightly softened. “Working in this field, you go through a lot of traumatic things. Reid’s abduction was one of the worst things an agent can go through.” His voice was low and steady, which was a welcome contrast to how frantic your own words had come out. “Anyone would struggle after that.”

You sighed. “I know, but-”

He raised his hand to cut you off. “That being said, we’ve all been able to tell that Reid has been a little off.” He saw you raise your eyebrow and added, “Okay, a lot off.” He paused for a moment before continuing. “We have some… theories, but we can’t know for sure what’s happening with him unless he tells us. And since he’s already struggling, we didn’t want to make it worse, especially since he’s technically just a subordinate or coworker. But if he’s not telling you either…” He looked at you sympathetically. “I’ll try to talk to him.”

You nodded, taking a deep breath. “... Thank you. Thank you so much. I’m so sorry I came here out of the blue.” You stood up, taking a step forward as if you were going to hug him, but for once your rational thoughts took over and you stayed where you were.

He stood up after you. “You’re welcome. It couldn’t have been easy to come here and talk about this.” He reached out to shake your hand, and when you shook his hand back he put his other hand over yours and spoke softly to you. “I’m going to try to get through to him. I promise.”

His gentle hands and soft-spoken words were enough to reassure you, at least for now. You nodded, thanking him again before leaving his office. You were able to leave with a lot more composure than you came here with.

It was getting late by the time you left Hotch’s office, and there were a lot more people here now. As you came down the stairs, you looked up to see Spencer staring at you. He wasn’t angry, thankfully, but he looked… kind of dumbfounded. Which made sense. You had no reason to be here at all, let alone a reason to be talking to his boss.

As you walked towards him to get to the door to leave, he turned to you. “Hey…” he started, his voice soft.

You didn’t know what to say, his soft voice sounding nothing like what you’ve been hearing these past few months. So you just kind of waved to him awkwardly, pointing to your watch to indicate that you had to get to work, and you left the BAU.

When you got back in your car, you took a few minutes to process everything that had happened. You closed your eyes and took a few deep breaths, trying to convince yourself that everything was okay. You believed Hotch when he said he’d help. It felt like Spencer was in capable hands.

…

Later that day, you had been in the bathroom when Spencer came home, and you didn’t hear the door open and close. When you came out, you saw him standing awkwardly in the front of your apartment. It made you jump a little bit. “Hi… I didn’t know you were home,” you muttered awkwardly.

He stood there looking at you, his eyes moving a little as if he was thinking of what to say. After a few moments, instead of saying anything, he walked over to you and hugged you, wrapping his arms tightly around your waist.

You just froze for a moment, not sure how to react. But he kept his tight hold on you, as if you were the only thing keeping him up right now, and you finally started to hug him back just as tightly. You both just stood like that for a few minutes, holding each other.

Finally, he spoke up. His voice was soft, barely a whisper, and he sounded so fragile. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He was starting to cry now, making soft sobbing sounds into your shoulder.

Hearing him cry broke something in you, and shortly you were also in tears. “Oh, Spence…” You squeezed him a little tighter, rubbing soothing circles on his back. “It’s okay…”

He sniffled and shook his head, pulling back a little so he could look you in the eyes. “My behavior has been abhorrent lately. I’ve been struggling, and I’ve been bottling everything up. I didn’t realize just how much this was hurting you.” He took a deep breath, trying to keep up with his thoughts. “I guess I figured, if I didn’t tell you about my problems, then they couldn’t affect you. But I was wrong. It just made it worse.”

You looked at him sadly, one of your hands moving to gently stroke his hair. “You can always come to me with anything. I’ll always try to help you. You know that.”

Some more tears started falling down his cheeks, and you started to wipe them away with your thumb. “I guess I felt like… I didn’t deserve the help.” He took a few shaky breaths as he tried to calm down. “Like I didn’t deserve you being so nice to me.”

“Spencer…” you started, trying to make your voice sound as soothing as possible. “What’s wrong? What’s so bad that you can’t tell me?”

He closed his eyes and shook his head slowly. “I… I don’t know if I can talk about it yet. But I promise I’ll tell you soon.” He looked at you determinedly. “Until then, I promise I’m going to try to be better to you.” As if to prove his point, he grabbed your face and captured your lips in a soft kiss, making your heart flutter.

After years of dating, you didn’t think you’d feel that flustered, shy feeling of butterflies in your stomach again. But, after these past few months of having no physical contact, this kiss almost felt like it was your first kiss all over again.

You couldn’t help but hold the back of his head to try to bring his face even closer to yours. You were craving his touch, and you needed his affection. On the off chance that this was a one-time thing, and that he would start to distance himself again after this, you figured you had to make it last.

He showed no signs of letting up, though, moving you both so you were laying on the couch, with him hovering over you. His lips never left yours the whole time, and his hands were moving around your face as if he was trying to remember what it felt like.

He broke the kiss to look at you, before closing his eyes. His hands trailed from your face down to your neck, moving slightly under your shirt to your shoulders. He wasn’t just touching you, he was feeling you. As if feeling your skin would jog his memory of you. His breathing was soft and even as his hands moved down to your hips, his fingers gentle and slow on your waist as he started to lift your shirt up.

Your breath hitched when you felt cold air suddenly hit your stomach. “Spence…” you spoke quietly, a soft blush on your face.

He looked at you, his voice quick and reassuring. “I don’t want to do anything like… that. It would be a little too much for me right now.” He quickly flashed you that awkward little smile he had sometimes. “I just want to see you, to feel you.” His voice went a little quieter when he added, “I missed you.”

You looked at him sadly, reaching up to touch his face. “I missed you, too.” You leaned in to kiss him again. “I missed you so much.”

The soft, slow kissing resumed, and Spencer very carefully pulled your shirt over your head, his hands gently gliding over the newly exposed skin. You let out a dreamy sigh. You hadn’t realized just how touch starved you had been over these past few months. This is exactly what you had been needing.

You just stayed on the couch like that for a while, his lips and hands on you, the gentlest of touches. After a little while longer, you started to unbutton his shirt, because you wanted to do the same to him.

He completely froze, sucking in a breath. You immediately pulled your hands away. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…” You trailed off, worried that you just ruined any progress that had been made tonight.

He shook his head, sitting up and pulling you up with him. “It’s okay, I just… I don’t want you to see me with my shirt off.” He looked at you with pleading eyes, as if he was begging you not to ask about it.

You hesitated, but instead of asking about it you tried to be a little more lighthearted. “I’ve seen you without a shirt plenty of times, Spencer.”

He gave you a slight smile before the worried look came back to his face. “I just…” he started, “I can’t right now. Please understand.”

You nodded, taking his hand and giving it a slight squeeze. “I understand.” You stroked his hand gently with your thumb. “I’m not going to do anything that makes you uncomfortable. You can trust me.”

He squeezed your hand back, giving you another little smile. “I know you won’t. I do trust you.” He let out a little yawn and started to rub his eyes.

You looked at the clock, not realizing how late it had gotten. “Come on, let’s go to bed.” You leaned over to kiss his forehead. “You should get some sleep.”

You worried he would still insist on sleeping on the couch, but he just nodded, his hand still tightly holding yours as you both stood up and walked to your bedroom. He grabbed his pajamas and headed to the bathroom to change.

You sat on the bed and watched him for a few moments before he closed the door. You started to get dressed yourself, wondering what this problem was about. He had been a little shy around you when you two first started getting intimate, but you thought he had gotten over that. Had these past few months apart made the shyness come back?

Your thoughts were interrupted by Spencer coming back into the room. You stood up so he could get in bed. He looked so tired; you could see just how bad the dark circles under his eyes were.

He crawled under the covers, curling up and closing his eyes. You got in the other side of the bed, gently rubbing his back to soothe him. You didn’t want to push any boundaries, so you pulled away after just a moment.

He turned around, looking at you with those big eyes of his, and grabbed your hand, lacing your fingers together. He closed his eyes again, taking a deep breath, as if soothed by your touch. You smiled softly. He looked more peaceful than you had seen him in a long time. It made it easier to close your eyes and relax.

It was silent for a while, and you thought he had fallen asleep. But then, you heard him speak very softly. “I love you.”

You opened your eyes to see him looking back at you. You squeezed his hand gently. “I love you too.” You leaned in and kissed his forehead, making him smile. “Get some sleep. I can tell you need it,” you whispered.

He nodded and closed his eyes again, moving a little closer to you before wrapping his arms around you and nestling his head in your neck. You hesitated for a moment in shock before cradling him in your arms. You kissed the top of his head. “Goodnight, baby,” you whispered to him. Soon, you could hear his breathing soften, and you just listened to the quiet sounds of him sleeping for a few more moments before falling asleep yourself.

…

Things didn’t magically get better after that, but they did improve.

Spencer went back to sleeping in your bed, though he seemed to have a hard time sleeping nowadays. He was always tossing and turning, and you usually woke up in the middle of the night to either try to soothe him to sleep or to keep him company when he couldn’t sleep.

There was a lot more talking, and a lot less fighting. You could have more comfortable conversations, and he would politely tell you when he didn’t feel like talking. It was a lot better than him yelling at you to leave him alone.

There was still some arguing, but usually only when you were trying to get him to eat. He was always saying he wasn’t hungry, and you had to try to push to get him to eat, saying he needed some kind of nutrition. Sometimes he would snap at you, saying he would eat if he was hungry and that he didn’t push you when you didn’t want to eat. He’d always apologize, though, and try his best to explain that he was either feeling nauseous or he just didn’t have much of an appetite anymore. It seemed to get a little better after a few days.

He didn’t mind a little more physical contact. He wasn’t always up for it, but he didn’t seem to mind it as much. It was always trial and error, almost like trying to pet a skittish cat. You’d start by putting a gentle hand on his, and he’d tense up for a second, and he’d either pull away and explain he didn’t want to be touched, or he’d take your hand and hold it gently. A big improvement. It was just little touches: holding hands, an arm around his shoulder, a hug… it never went past that.

He didn’t talk about what it was that was bothering him at first, but you trusted that he would tell you when he was ready. After about a week, he was finally ready to talk about it.

…

You both were sitting on the couch, in one of your quiet moments. You were reading a book, like you usually did when Spencer felt like being quiet. The silences were starting to get more comfortable, making it easier to just do quiet activities next to each other.

After a few minutes, Spencer cleared his throat, making you look over at him. You bookmarked the page you were on and turned to him. “What is it?”

He hesitated, as if he wasn’t sure how to start this conversation. He closed his eyes for a moment to put his thoughts together, before opening them again to look at you. He spoke very softly.

“When I was…” he started, swallowing and taking a deep breath to compose himself before continuing, “... When I was abducted for those few days back in February, a lot happened. The man who took me had dissociative identity disorder, and dealing with all his personalities was difficult. But there was one of his personalities that was… nicer than the others. More helpful than harmful.” He closed his eyes again, and you knew this was really hard for him to talk about. You placed a gentle hand over his, and he let out a breath, grabbing your hand and giving it a squeeze. He continued on, his voice still soft and sad.

“Unfortunately, one of the ways that he helped me was to… give me something to help numb the pain the others were causing.” He closed his eyes again, and he slowly rolled up his sleeves for you to see his arms.

You stared in shock. His arms were covered in needle marks. You covered your mouth. “Oh, Spencer…” You looked back up at his face, but his eyes were squeezed shut, as if he didn’t want to face this. You squeezed his hand to let him know you were here to support him.

“He would come to me saying Dilaudid helped with the pain, and after a few times, it started to feel… good.” He took another deep breath, his eyes still closed. “After he died, I took the bottles he still had. And when things started getting hard to handle… all the flashbacks and memories of what happened to me, I just needed to numb myself. And it worked, for a while. But eventually, I just… couldn’t stop.”

“Spencer…” you started, your voice gentle. “You could’ve come to me, I could’ve tried to help you-”

“I didn’t want that,” he cut you off. “I tried to convince myself that what I was doing wasn’t wrong. That it was just medicine that was helping me. But, obviously, I knew that wasn’t the truth. And I knew that if I told anyone about it, they would say I needed help. But I didn’t want help. I just wanted to live in this unrealistic world where everything I was doing was fine.” He finally opened his eyes to look at you. “That’s why I was lashing out. I didn’t want anyone to help me, and I also felt like I didn’t deserve anyone being nice to me.”

He looked at you very seriously. “I thought, if I didn’t tell you any of this, it couldn’t hurt you. I know how sensitive you are to other people’s emotions and problems, so I figured if I didn’t tell you, you couldn’t worry about me. Obviously, I was wrong, and that was a naive way of thinking.” He reached out and gently touched your face. “When I saw you at the BAU, I knew it was because you were worried about me, and I saw that you looked like you had been crying. And it just snapped me out of this false reality I had created for myself. And that’s when I came home and apologized, because I knew I couldn’t do it anymore. I couldn’t keep hurting you.”

You listened to him silently while he talked, letting him get out everything he needed to say before responding. “Why didn’t you tell me that day? Or the few days after that? Why did you wait until now?”

He nodded as if he was waiting for this question. “I read that withdrawal symptoms peak within 12-48 hours, and that it usually takes 5-7 days for the symptoms to resolve. So I wanted to wait out those 7 days just to make sure.”

You gave him a sad look. “But if I knew you were having withdrawal symptoms, I could have helped you. I really wish you would have told me.”

He sighed. “I wanted to do it on my own. To prove to myself that I could do it. That I wasn’t just going to quit halfway through and relapse.”

You nodded sympathetically. “Well, I’m really glad you told me now. We can get through this together.” You gave his hand a little pat. “You know this isn’t the end of it, right? It’s not just over when withdrawal symptoms stop. You still need to work out these issues that made you start this in the first place.”

He nodded. “I know. I want to try to get help now. I… I think I’m ready. I want to look into going to therapy, and maybe some support groups if I need them.” He squeezed your hand again. “I know I can make it through this, because I know you’ll be by my side.”

You smiled softly at him. “I’ll always be by your side.” Your hand trailed up his arms, looking back at the needle marks. “Do they… hurt?” you asked softly.

He shrugged. “Only when they first appear. They don’t hurt right now.”

You nodded, and you gently touched the marks on his arm. You looked at him, and you slowly brought his arm up so you could give every little mark a gentle kiss, to let him know that everything was going to get better soon.

He looked at you with big, loving eyes, and he started tearing up a bit. He pulled you in for a tight hug, sniffling as he buried his face in your neck. “I love you so much,” he said with a shaky voice.

You held him tight, rubbing his back to comfort him. “I love you too, Spence. Everything is going to be okay.” Your voice was calm and soothing. “I’m here now.”

…

Things started to get much better after that. Spencer was way more comfortable telling you when things were feeling more difficult than usual. Typically, it would be when he came home from a particularly emotional case. You were always there to hold him and to soothe him. There was no more aversion to your touch or need for extended silences. He felt comfortable in your arms, and he knew he could talk to you when something was bothering him.

He started seeing a therapist, and you always went there with him. Usually, you just sat outside the office for his sessions so he could have the one-on-one help he needed. Sometimes, if he was having a particularly rough week, he would bring you in with him for extra support. And you were always there when he needed you.

It took a bit of time, but you learned how to help with whatever he needed you for. If he needed a distraction, you could always come up with some activity to get his mind off of things. You played a lot of board games, and started learning to bake so you could just pull out a new recipe to try and he could focus on getting everything just right. When he just needed someone to listen to him, or a shoulder to cry on, you didn’t mind being that person for him. And sometimes he just wanted to be held, saying that the physical touch grounded him. You were always happy to hold him.

Over time, things got easier and easier to deal with. Eventually, things seemed to be fully back to normal. You both knew that this was always going to be a struggle that could come back, but you knew how to handle it now, and you were certain that you could get through any struggle that ever tried to get in your way.

#criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x male!reader #spencer reid x gn!reader #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction #fanfiction #mod angel

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animasolaoriginal · 1 month ago

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I n f a t u a t e d ♦️TWENTY

CHAPTER ONE◾TWO◾THREE◾FOUR◾FIVE SIX◾SEVEN◾EIGHT◾NINE◾TEN ELEVEN◾TWELVE◾THIRTEEN◾FOURTEEN◾FIFTEEN SIXTEEN◾SEVENTEEN◾EIGHTEEN◾NINETEEN TWENTY

The trip through the mall continues. More obstacles and surprises await. And a decision that will change her life forever.

ruthless nightclub owner ❌ innocent young woman with a crush

WARNING: NSFW! Explicit sexual content. Age gap. Size difference. Dubcon elements. Dom/sub dynamic. Praise kink. Free use/power play. Jealousy. Sex toys under clothing. Forced public masturbation. Orgasm denial/control. Cockwarming. Vaginal sex. Fingering. Spanking. Oral cockwarming. Oral sex. Collaring. (For even more tags, check it on AO3!) // WORDS: 11k

A/N: As this is the finale of Season Two, we have another Big Angst Episode ahead of us. Or you have, I already know what happens. Enjoy! (But be aware: there is so much going on here... mind the tags!)

NINETEEN 🟥 TWENTY

They spend the rest of the afternoon strolling through the mall, and by the end of it, she is sore, her insides are buzzing, aflame with the need for release after hours of walking around with those damn toys vibrating inside her. He's either forgotten he turned them on or doesn't care too much about her discomfort, and she's not willing to ask him to make it stop. This is her punishment, she has to pull through to make him proud. To make him praise her.

She's desperate for it, that itch that needs to be scratched worse than the constant stimulation, and it grows every time she sees him smiling at whichever woman is serving them next. That horribly annoying (and annoyingly pretty) waitress at the cafe, the shop clerk that ran after him to sell him a new tie, that girl who handed out fliers for a local festival, the older woman giving out samples of cheese or whatever, no matter who, he's always been so goddamn nice and friendly and flirty, and she hates it.

He's charming, yes, and handsome, and sure, she is the girl whose hand he is holding, but whenever another woman steps forth, he starts to ignore her, would even let go of her hand if she wouldn't squeeze it so tightly. Sometimes he'd look at her then, his eyes dark, and she doesn't know if it's anger or annoyance or something else, but she always ducks her head, lowers her eyes, and just hopes they'll move on soon.

Eventually they do, and he pulls her in front of the cinema that's located at the far end of the shopping center. He steps behind her and wraps his arms around her shoulders, nudging her to look up at the large sign showcasing the available movies to watch. Instead of focusing on the choices ahead of her, she savors the touch, his warmth, his strength, leans against him happily, hands placed on his strong arms.

“What are you in the mood for, baby?” he whispers, his voice that low thrumming right in her ear, vibrating all the way down to mingle with the other vibrating things inside her. Her cunt clenches hungrily around the toy. “Some generic romcom with a boring guy and a too-hot-for-him girl? A murder mystery where it's usually the butler with the frying pan? Some historic tale that's probably good to fall asleep to? Or a nice, gory slasher movie full of blood and fake boobs?”

She giggles softly at the way he lists the films, and he turns his head slightly to press his lips to her jaw. “I don't know...” she says quietly, licking her lips when her cheeks burn up. “I don't mind either way...”

“Hmm,” he hums, leaning his chin on her shoulder. “How about this thriller about the jealous girl who kills off anyone who looks at her lover the wrong way?”

She freezes, clearing her throat. “Um, which one is that?” she asks, trying to hide her surprise, feigning ignorance.

So he knows about her jealousy, is that it? Was it that obvious? Probably. He's been the first man she's developed some sort of feelings for, and with how he has claimed her, it felt only natural to do the same, to claim him. Is that how it works? She isn't sure. (Also, did he refer to himself as her lover just now or is she reading too much into it?)

Instead of replying, he kisses her cheek again, then grabs her chin and turns her head, meeting her lips while looking deep into her eyes. “Sounds intriguing, though, don't you think?” he whispers between slow and soft pecks.

“I... I don't like violence,” she croaks out, gripping his arm tighter as she leans into his kiss needily. “Can we watch the love story instead?”

He huffs a laugh, his warm breath tickling her lips. “You wouldn't call that a love story too?”

“Killing people for love? Not my kind of romance...”

“No?” he breathes, nuzzling his nose against hers. “Well, it is unusual, but I'd certainly appreciate the gesture.”

She frowns at that, but he only winks and leans back, letting her go. His hand is around hers when he starts walking towards the booth selling the tickets. “Romcom it is, then,” he tells her and buys them each a ticket and some popcorn.

She's shifting in her seat, squirming all the way through the commercials until he finally acknowledges her discomfort. “What's wrong?”

“Sitting is... uh... a little... well, weird,” she stammers out quietly, biting her lip. Walking she has somehow gotten used to, but the soft seat makes her sink deeper into the cushion, causing the stiff harness to dig into her flesh and the toys to push deeper, and with the constant buzzing they move against each other through her walls, and her muscles can't keep up with the clenching.

She sees him frowning in the semi-darkness of the room. When he pulls his phone out and the light of the display hits his face, she notices the smirk. “Oh,” he says with a low chuckle. “Forgot about your two best friends,” he adds, but she knows he didn't. “You could have said something, darling,” he tells her with a stern gaze that she can't take serious with the way his lips curl.

“I'm sorry. It was okay when we were walking...” she whispers back, waiting for him to turn the toys off. Of course he doesn't immediately indulge her, and instead turns them up a notch, then another, and some more, and she grips the armrests of the chair and bites her tongue as a loud moan wants to spill from her lips.

Luckily the room isn't too crowded, there are a few other couples, a small group of women, a larger group of girls, but none of them in their close vicinity. He chose the last row for them, the corner seats, pretty much in the far back, overlooking the rest of the auditorium. And the volume of the commercials does drown out her little squeaks as she presses herself deeper into the seat, thighs clamped together tightly as she fights the sensations.

“Do you want me to turn them off?” he whispers, phone in hand, leaning over to her side. “Are you sure you deserve that?”

She stares at him, sunken into the seat, hands white-knuckling the chair. “Please...” she gasps out, her insides convulsing painfully. The strength of the vibrations goes through her entire body, makes her teeth chatter if she wouldn't grit them. The way the toys hit her oversensitive flesh makes her see stars. If she'd be allowed to come, it wouldn't even be that bad, but she's fighting the burning tension so hard that her muscles start cramping.

“Please what? Use your words, baby.” He's teasing her, and she hates him for it.

“Please... turn them off... or down... but not... like this... please... it hurts...” she stammers through tight lips. “You... you told me... to tell you... when it... when it hurts...”

He hums softly, his thumb sliding over the screen of his phone. “That I did,” he whispers, and she feels the buzzing grow weaker until it finally stops. She still feels the echo of it, the aftershocks, but slowly her body relaxes again.

“Thank you,” she breathes, closing her eyes for a moment.

Of course it's wrong to assume he'd let this go so easily. So when she feels his hand between her sticky thighs, she isn't surprised, but it still startles her. Eyes flying open, she stares at him in the dark, stiffens when he slips his fingers over the harness, then fumbles with the belt holding it together.

She's too weak to move much, to protest, so she lets him unfasten the leather strap that spans over her mound, and in the next moment his fingers don't pull on the dildo, but push in next to it. She cries out quietly, quickly raising a hand to cover her mouth. He watches her intensely, fingers probing, stretching her already tense muscles, pushing the toy this way and that, nudging all the sensitive spots that make her thighs twitch.

Her free hand closes around his wrist and tries to pull him away, but he narrows his eyes at her, and she whines into her palm, hand falling back to the seat. He continues his poking until he finally grips the base of the toy and pulls, only a little, nudge after nudge, before he pushes it back into her clenching cunt, out and in, in and out, a slow rhythm that makes her thrash her head against the backrest, her muffled noises luckily drowned out by the movie beginning with a happy dance song.

She feels like crying though, overwhelmed by the sensations, too sensitive to really enjoy the motions, but he doesn't care, keeps pumping the dildo in and out, and the heat builds up inside her, more and more, stomach tensing, her body contorting in the seat, hips bucking, legs kicking helplessly. He leans over her a little more, his free hand gripping hers and pulling it away from her mouth, and she stares at him in shock, biting her tongue hard to keep the noises down, but he seems to have mercy, finally, and presses his big hand over her quivering lips, holding her jaw, pressing her deeper into the cushions as he doubles his efforts.

Her eyes roll back, stars and black spots dance all around her, head is filled with cotton that's sizzling at the edges, the heat almost unbearable as it gathers in her lower stomach, at the end of her channel, heating up with every deep plunge of the toy, and she's so close, drowning in pleasure but it's not enough, only a few more nudges, a few more...

Suddenly he's pulling back, taking his hand off her face, leaning away, and the dildo slips from her clenching core and leaves her empty and hanging mid-air as shock settles in the place where pleasure has been, and she falls, collapses into the seat, and can't help the loud “No!” that comes out as a whine that echoes through the large room.

And she freezes as she realizes just how loud she's been, staring at the screen and the seats in front of her with wide eyes, holding her breath, further pushing away the sensations deflating inside her. Luckily the protagonists are fighting on screen, bickering back and forth, and her outburst could have easily been a reaction to that because no other cinema goer notices anything or cares enough to turn around.

She huffs a deep sigh and closes her eyes, hiding her burning face behind her hands as she lets the tears flow. It's only a moment of forced reprieve, in which her mind goes into overdrive (she can still feel the heat burning away inside of her, she's been so close, she may not deserve it, may not be allowed, but she would have loved to see it through to the end, no matter how public the place is, she would have done it, would have let him push her over, after hours of being denied, of being edged with no release, and she's been so freaking close...), but the turmoil stops the second she feels his hands on her waist as he manhandles her onto his lap. Not the usual way, but facing the screen, her legs falling open over his strong thighs as he pulls her back against his chest and wraps his arms around her waist.

His cheek scrapes against hers. “Did you really think I was gonna make you come?” he whispers into her ear, making goosebumps pebble her skin. “No, baby, not yet...”

She whines quietly, gripping his arms. Her chest is heaving, heart still thundering within, the burning cotton doused with shockingly cold water, leaving it charred at the edges but still filling up her head. She stares blankly at the screen, barely follows the story, just lets her eyes rest on the moving pictures, lets the sounds sink into her body. She feels numb now, frozen in place, denied to go anywhere else.

His hands move then, one holding her hip, pushing her slightly down his legs, the other fumbling with something behind her. She barely registers anything anymore. How he lifts the back of her skirt, how he grips her waist again and pulls her back, how he moves her legs to rest between his, but when his voice thrums in her ear, she perks up.

“Come sit on my cock,” he breathes into her, heating up the cotton in her head.

She grips his knees when she leans forward on shaking legs, raising her rear and her hips, nudging against him until she feels the warm tip of his cock against her wet skin. Grinding slightly, she hopes for him to just slip in, surely it must be easy with how she's been stretched and prepared over the last hours, but it's not easy without looking at what she does.

“Please help me...” she whispers as she looks at him over her shoulder.

There's a smile on his lips, but it looks dark and menacing, causing a shiver to run down her spine. He still indulges her when he grabs the base of his length and guides it to her entrance, then grabs her hip with the other hand and pushes her down, hard, swift, and she gasps, slapping her hand back over her mouth, as she feels him sinking deep and deeper until he bottoms out, pushing through tense muscles, scraping over sensitive flesh, prodding her deepest spots.

And then he just rests there, or she is, on top of him, impaled and stuck. He pulls her back against his chest, and the tight squeeze nudges the plug in her ass, making her whimper into her palm. She's braced on his legs, her own pushed together as he strains his thighs against hers, caging her in, holding her in place. His arms come back around her waist, further limiting her movements.

She wants to buck her hips, grind on him, find any kind of relief from the tension building up all over again, but he clicks his tongue quietly, and she stiffens, just sits there, on his cock, staring at the screen through bleary eyes, with her cheeks burning and the tears rolling uncontrollably.

Eventually they dry on her warm skin, and she becomes numb again. She still feels his warmth, his strength, his steady breaths on her neck, his hands occasionally rubbing along her side or over her breasts and down her stomach, and she leans into him, into the closeness, her hands relaxing on her lap. The cotton is gone, or expanded so much she can't make out the difference. Her head feels empty, no thoughts, just him...

A freeing void. A space only for her.

And she relaxes enough to focus back on the movie, watches it with growing interest, reacts to hectic scenes by twitching and tensing up, coos when the couple-to-be is touching or, God forbid, kissing, even laughs softly when the comic relief character does something funny.

She forgets about the all-consuming need to climax, or any need for that matter. She doesn't forget about him, big and strong behind her, holding her on his lap, his cock deep inside her, warm and cozy like it should be, using her hole to keep him happy and content. That's her purpose after all.

He moves sometimes, shifting in his seat, rolling his hips upwards, teasing her, and she lets him, leaning into it, into him, smiling softly when his fingers brush against her chin to turn her head. He looks softer now, relaxed, proud of her? She hopes so, but it doesn't matter either way. She has no needs, no wants, this is all about him.

He presses his lips to her cheek and makes her mewl, then turns her back to focus on the rest of the film. She grows tired after a while, the plot sizzling out on the screen, becoming predictable and silly, or she's just too exhausted to follow along properly. Her eyelids grow heavy, her head lolls back against his shoulder, and she breathes deeply until the noises around her become a comforting drone that lets her slip into a dark soothing nothingness.

She wakes up to a soft hum, then a nibble to her earlobe, and when she stirs with a tired groan, she is already being lifted, the pressure within easing for a moment before she is draped over the seat in front of her, her hair falling over her head when she dips down into the soft cushions, a surprised yelp escaping her before she braces on her arms and lifts her head a bit more.

The auditorium is dark and empty, the movie over, the other people gone, and he stands behind her, hands on her hips, and without waiting for her to wake up more, pushes his hard cock back into her clenching hole. She wails quietly, arms shaking as she leans on them, trying to hold her heavy head up. He seems to be in a rush as he starts pounding into her right away, with hard thrusts, hips slamming into her legs, making her bounce on the backrest of the chair.

He's quick and hectic, driving himself deep, chasing his own orgasm, but as he does so, he doesn't seem to care that her clit keeps rubbing against the fabric of the seat, back and forth, making her howl and cry. She's still sensitive, and the added stimulation makes her head spin, the tension within coiling up tightly, ready to spring free, and it's when he groans behind her, picking up the pace, ramming and rutting into her, that she squeezes her eyes shut and parts her lips for a drawn-out moan as the pleasure finally, finally, washes over her tense limbs, like a cold soothing breeze after stewing in the sun for too long.

She goes limp as the lights still flicker behind her eyelids, her thighs twitching against his, toes curling in her shoes, hips stuttering, her arms losing grip before she collapses into the seat, no longer caring that she's upside down, no longer caring about anything. He must have felt the tight clenching of her cunt, and there's a pause in his thrusts, but only for so long before he continues, hammering into her fast and hard until he grunts and stills deep inside her, hands digging into her waist, holding her, his body shuddering against her rear as he spills his warmth into her depths.

He pulls out soon after, and she feels his cum dripping out of her clenching hole, a satisfying sensation somehow, like a caress on irritated skin. The moment only lasts so long before she feels something hard rubbing along the inside of her thigh, gathering his spend, and then the dildo pushes back into her, plugging her up, sealing his seed, warm and comforting inside her. Her muscles clench, but she feels too loose to hold the toy, though she doesn't have to worry as he then fastens the harness back around her mound, holding the item in place.

She barely registers any of that with her head hanging upside down, the seat pressing into her stomach. She's just a limp body, draped over furniture, a doll someone forgot to take with them. But he doesn't forget, she's pulled upright then, and his hand finds her throat, holding her as he presses her against his chest.

“Did you just come?” His voice sounds angry, and she doesn't know why. She still feels like floating, relaxed, content, and he should too. He came inside her, didn't he? They shared this beautiful moment... why is he so upset?

Slowly the cotton in her head dissolves, and her eyelids flutter, she inhales deeply, swallows against his hand, her eyes focusing back on his face. He stares at her, hard, stoic, and she blinks, blinks again, licks her dry lips, then furrows her eyebrows as cold dread crashes through her body. “Oh...” she breathes out.

Her punishment. She wasn't supposed to come.

A pained whine escapes her, and she raises her hands to grab his wrist, looking at him pleadingly. “I'm sorry,” she whispers. “I'm sorry!”

He stares at her, then shakes his head. “I'll remember this,” is all he says as he lets her go, fixes his clothes, then hers, even untangles her hair, before he grabs her hand and drags her past the row of seats out of the auditorium.

Her legs are shaking badly, and the soreness of her body returns with every step. The toys shift inside her, tormenting her all over again, even more so with how sensitive she still is, the stickiness between her thighs feels hot and uncomfortable, the welts on the backs of them sting, the skin tight and burning.

But the ache in her heart seems to be the worst. She didn't mean to disappoint him, but how was she supposed to stop that with how he handled her over the seat?

It's not fair.

She's fighting tears as he pulls her after him through the mall. After a long trek in uncomfortable silence, they stop in front of a coffee stand, and before he turns to the woman behind it with his order, he turns to her, raises a hand to wipe at her wet cheeks and gives her a pointed look. Pull yourself together, it says, she's sure, and she nods, biting her lip, swallowing hard.

She is then forced to watch yet another display of his charming personality as he flirts with the barista, who laughs and throws her hair back, enjoying herself a little too much as the tall handsome man talks to her in a soft voice that is usually reserved for her. Grinding her teeth, she clenches her hands into fists (he's just let her stand there, a few feet behind him, completely ignoring her).

Suddenly a voice chimes in her head, one she hasn't heard before, or never paid enough attention to. Run, it tells her, use his distraction and flee, get out of here. He cannot keep treating you like this! You are more than just a hole, a doll to move, you don't deserve this!

She freezes, panic rippling through her. To her own surprise, she looks along the crowded hallways, eyes scanning the various exit routes. It would be easy to slip between the other people, with how small she is, he wouldn't even notice while he's fixated on that woman at the coffee stand.

Just go. Move! the voice urges.

And then, she does, driven by the coldness spreading within her, turns slightly, takes one step, then another, putting a little distance between the busy man and herself, and her heart is pounding hard in her chest, loud in her ears, drowning out everything but the nagging voice. She reaches a group of people in front of a window display, she just has to move between them, out of sight. Cold sweat spreads all over her body, her limbs are tense and shaking, tears burning in her eyes.

She doesn't look back, but she wants to, wants to turn around, go back to him, throw herself into his strong arms. Where is she even supposed to go? All alone in a place she's never been to? She has no money, no ID, nothing. Just those damn toys inside her holes and the bruises on her skin. A sight she doesn't want to share with anyone (but him).

What if she went to the police, told them her story, what happened, they'd treat her like a dumb victim, just another case file, and what if he got arrested for it, or accused and then cleared of all charges because he's rich and can afford lawyers who'll kick him out of anything. It's her word against his, and his wrath will be even worse. He'll find her, she's sure, he told her he won't let her go, she is his.

She is his.

It's her purpose to serve him, to please him, to make him happy, proud, make him praise her. And she needs the praise. She is a good girl! She did everything he's asked of her! She made mistakes, yes, but she'll make it better, she'll redeem herself. She can still make it better. She just has to turn around...

And so she does. Sniffling pathetically, she stumbles back the way she came, back to him, back to the coffee stand, where he's still standing (and flirting), and even though his back is turned to her, she can imagine that beautiful smile on his handsome face, the twinkle in his dark eyes, things she wants to see, for the rest of her life.

She's so focused on him, on her own guilt burning through her, that she suddenly trips over her shoes, those damn shoes that give her two inches she doesn't know how to balance on, and she falls, with a shriek, landing hard on her hands and knees, several sharp pains assaulting her at once, and the tears come without warning. She feels horrible, for trying to run away, for the state of her body, for embarrassing him in public.

He's with her immediately, his hands on her elbows as he pulls her to her feet, cradling her in his arms, genuine concern on his face as he looks down at her. She sniffles, cries without restraint, lets it all out as he presses her to his chest, soothing her with soft hums. “I'm so sorry,” she wails into his shirt, gripping at the fabric, holding onto him.

He rubs her back, his hand warm and comforting, easing the hiccups that shake her small body. “It's okay, shh, calm down, it's okay,” he whispers. His voice does calm her down eventually, and she leans against him, tired and sad, but glad to be back in his arms, having his attention, his comfort.

Leaning her back by her shoulder, he watches her, wipes her tears from her flushed face, tilts his head. He doesn't ask what happened but he can't know that she tried to escape from him. He shouldn't either. He's already angry with her, she can't handle more. “Sorry,” she mumbles again and rubs her burning eyes, hoping he'll brush this off as her being too clumsy to stand on those damn shoes.

He frowns at her, then bends down to pick up his coffee cup. She's leaning into him when he drapes his arm around her shoulders and guides her past the group of people she's attempted to hide between. What a stupid idea. Why would she ever leave this man? She'd be stupid to try, she is stupid for trying. He's giving her so much, changed her whole pathetic life, gave her a purpose. She's still afraid of his anger, of the rest of her punishment, but she'll live. He won't kill her, won't throw her away if she breaks, she is his. And he'll keep her, no matter what. He has to!

It's a reassuring thought in the midst of her doubts and fears while her body screams for her to make it stop. She doesn't care about the soreness anymore, the prospect of more pain, her heart is aflame with a feeling that's burning down anything else, a feeling so strong she'd rather die than leave him, a passion, a need, a growing obsession. For him. And only him.

The sun is setting when they eventually reach his car on the emptying parking lot. She's caught deep in her mind, already making plans of how to make it up to him. He pulls her to the trunk, opens it, and, without warning, crouches down beside her, his hands slipping under her skirt. She gasps, gripping the cold metal of the car and his shoulder, her eyes darting around the lot, but nobody seems to be close enough to see them.

He's fumbling with the harness, opens the belts and then pulls the leather straps down her legs. The toy in her cunt moves first, her muscles unable to hold it, probably more willing to push it out after such a long time. He catches it before it slips out fully, and while she's burning up in a mixture of shame and relief, he turns her around and pokes at her butt plug, moves it in and out for a moment to ease her muscles, then pulls it out, one ball-shaped bump at a time. She sighs deeply when it's gone.

The loss of pressure feels heavenly, but only for a moment, then she feels strangely empty, lost without her new best friends, as he's dubbed them. She watches him discard of the glistening dildos in one of the bags in the trunk, before he closes it with a thud and nudges her towards the passenger side of the car. Her core is clenching around nothing now, her wetness a steady stream down her legs until she presses her thighs together, trapping it. She should feel embarrassed about it, but she can't bring herself to care anymore.

He guides her into the car, buckles her in, doesn't look at her when he closes the door and walks to his side. He's punishing her with silence again, and when the engine roars to life and he drives off the parking lot, she lets out a quiet sigh as she wrings her hands in her lap nervously. But she only has to stew in her dark thoughts for so long before he pulls onto a service road leading into the forest at the edge of town.

She swallows hard when he kills the engine and gets out, then opens her door, unbuckles her and pulls her out as well. Her legs are shaking, the air is cold around them (adding to the ice inside her stomach), and he leads her towards a fallen over tree trunk. Sitting down, he pats his lap, and while she's confused why he would stop here to let her sit on there, she's corrected in her assumptions when he pulls her close and drapes her over his lap with her ass in the air and her hair falling over her head.

Bracing on his thigh, she knows what's coming. She can already feel the sting of his hand on her ass cheeks, but... nothing happens. Instead she feels his hand in her hair, pulling it back and her head up by gripping it hard, then his other hand is in front of her face, holding something, and even in the darkness around them, with only the last glow of the setting sun behind the trees, she can see that it's her panties, the soft pink ones he took from her (before they visited Mistress' sex shop). They're bunched up into a ball, and before she can wonder why he's showing her that, he pushes the fabric against her lips, and she's too surprised to stop it, opens her mouth almost willingly, then croaks a muffled wail when he shoves it past her teeth.

“Bite down on that,” he tells her, his voice harsh and dark.

She sniffles through her nose, tasting the remnants of sweat and his cum on the fabric, her spit seeping into it, her jaw aching already, but she nods into his hand, holding the gag in place, forcing herself to endure. He lets go of her hair, shifts her on his lap, then pushes her skirt up and exposes her bare ass. His hand rubs over the soft skin, teasing lower at the welts still straining on her thighs, and she prepares for the first impact, for the pain crashing through her, but again, nothing happens.

His fingers tease between her legs, nudging them apart, before he slips them between her wet folds, her cunt clenching in anticipation. The first poke comes as a surprise, making her cry out into the panties between her teeth. His finger slips deep, then pulls back, pokes in again, harsh and fast, a sudden stab that confuses her body. He adds another finger, repeats the motion, sudden stabs, deep, plunging into her wet hole, the squelching noises loud in the quiet forest.

She squirms slightly on his lap, her fingers curling into his jeans, her feet kicking uncontrollably. He keeps fingering her, now with three fingers, pressed tightly together as they invade her cunt, stretch her, penetrate deep, then scissor out, pushing against her tight muscles. She moans voicelessly.

He leans over her then, hot breaths on her ear. “One day I'll put my entire hand into your cute little cunt, and I'll play you like a puppet.” His lewd words make her clench around his fingers, and a soft chuckle escapes him. “Oh, you'd like that, hm?” He pushes his fingers deeper, then rips them out, gives her time to scream into the gag, before plunging them back in roughly. She writhes, wailing, confused and aroused, and he has to push his other hand onto her back to keep her still.

The fingers disappear then, leaving her empty once more, but when he presses his wet fingertips to her throbbing clit, she arches her back and wishes he'd finger her some more. The sudden stimulation makes her jump, thighs twitching, legs kicking, her breaths ragged, her muffled noises loud in her ear.

He draws tight circles around the sensitive bundle of nerves, teasing, prodding, pushing, pinching, and the edge is near, she can feel it, that tension coiling up, lights flickering behind her eyelids, but she should have seen it coming: it stops before she can get anywhere, the sudden darkness almost turning red with how frustrated he leaves her.

In her angry haze she hears the sound of his belt buckle, then a strange scratching noise, and without seeing it, she knows, he's pulled his belt from the loops of his jeans. A sudden coldness crashes through her, freezes any other emotion, and the sheer panic is back, of pain she never wants to experience again, of leather hitting her soft skin, digging into her flesh to leave ugly red welts.

She's squirming on his lap then, panic turning into the hysterical need to get away, but he only has to grab her arm and twist it to make her stop moving. She howls into her gag, and he has to use both hands to fold her arms behind her back. She stiffens when she feels the leather she's expected somewhere else being wrapped around her elbows and her forearms, holding her arms in place.

Rolling her shoulders against the restraints, she realizes she can't move, and somehow that eases the panic instead of making it worse. At least to a degree. Without being able to do anything else, it forces her to focus on her breathing. Gagged and bound, she can only kick her legs, but he doesn't seem to care about that when his hand is back on her thighs, fingertips teasing up her skin, fingernails scraping over her bruises, making her gasp and shiver under the sensations.

And then he slaps her, a hard and sudden blow against her left ass cheek, catching her completely off guard. Her scream is muffled, and she almost chokes on all the spit gathering in her mouth before she tries to ground herself by biting down on her panties when he does the same barely a second later on her other cheek. He does that a few more times, and she squirms and cries out with every slap, body convulsing against the pain shooting through her.

Her skin is burning, blood pulsing in the same rhythm as her rapidly beating heart in her chest. His hand smooths over the irritations, making her whimper, and more so when he slips it between her thighs and pushes two fingers into her again. Then another slap echoes through the forest, making her jump and squirm and clench heavily around his fingers. The angle is different, he's using his other hand, and he hits spots he hasn't hit before. With his fingers stuck in her tight cunt, he repeats the motion, hitting her left cheek, then her right, the sides and the soft slope that leads into her thighs.

Not an inch of her ass is left untouched, and all she can do is cry and whimper, wail and whine, struggle and clench, and clench some more. It's a strange stimulation, and the pain bleeds into pleasure, flares up white-hot, then smooths into gentle darkness. Light, dark, slap, clench, slap, clench. He's properly fingering her now, moving his digits in and out, while the blows of his other hand become calmer, still strong and unrelenting, but spaced out more, keeping her on her toes (that hurt from how hard she's curling them in her shoes).

She wouldn't say she relaxes into it, but she finds herself lying still on his lap, legs twitching under every blow, but the rest of her body seems to give in to her fate. Her breaths are ragged through her nose, tears clouding her vision, streaming down her face, the panties in her mouth soaked in her spit. Her fingers twitch in their tight hold on her back, the leather of his belt cutting into her skin.

He gives her three more blows, on the left cheek, then the right, then onto the back of her thigh, right against the tight skin of her welts, and that last one makes her arch her back, a muffled scream stuck in her throat, her legs kicking frantically, the pain blindingly intense. For a moment she thinks she's dying, so close to finally being released into the void, but through the torment of that last blow, he pushes his fingers faster into her clenching cunt, presses his thumb against her clit, and the pleasure burst through her lower body.

She's whining into her gag, if she could have said anything she'd beg him to allow her to come (because that is what this is all about, isn't it?), and he seems to understand her struggles, when he suddenly whispers, right against her ear: “It's okay. You can come. Come for me, baby girl.”

And she does, that tight coil inside her stomach breaking free with a sudden snap, before wave after wave of pleasure crashes through her, lights like fireworks exploding behind her eyelids. Her body spasms on his lap, and she can't stop it, can't control anything anymore.

Her legs fall open, and he keeps fingering her, keeps pressing on her clit, prolongs the sensation burning through her nerves. She's whimpering, moaning, crying, head empty and full at the same time, her hips bucking, and he curls his fingers and bullies another spot, and she seems to come again, clenching around his digits as she goes stiff, then breaks out in more convulsions, and those bring a strange relief as her wetness splatters against his hand and down her trembling legs.

She's positively breathless when she goes slack on his lap, and he eases her down gently, caresses her fluttering walls, pulls his fingers out and rubs over her mound, between her puffy lips, then smooths the soft skin of her inner thigh before resting his hand on her calf.

“Well done,” he says quietly. “That was intense, hm?”

Her head is hanging limply off his leg, hair falling over it, she doesn't care, everything is spinning anyway. Being upside down only adds to it, and she wants more of it, doesn't want it to stop. Delirious in that strange space full of pain and pleasure, she barely registers how he lifts her head, pushes her hair away, his other hand on her jaw, easing it open, pulling the drenched fabric of her underwear out of her mouth. Drool follows the motion, and he wipes it away, turning her head slightly to make her face him.

Blinking her eyes into focus, she's able to see his smile, the twinkle in his eyes, a soft expression that makes her feel warm all over, even warmer than the burning skin on her butt and thighs, the echoing sensation pulsing through her core. It goes straight to her heart, and despite the state of her body, she smiles back, weakly, shyly, but genuinely, and he caresses her cheek with the back of his finger.

“Thank you,” she croaks out barely audible.

“For what?” he asks, tilting his head.

Her mind is reeling, but the words spill from her lips as if he's planted them there himself. “For... for taking the time... to correct... my m-mistakes... to p-punish me... for my... d-disobedience...”

He nods with an approving smile. “And what did you do wrong?”

Her voice is a shaking hum, her lips trembling as more words tumble over them. “I was... ungrateful... I denied you... I... came without permission... I tried to... run away...” The confession leaves her without revision, and as soon as she's done, she's stiffening, her eyes widening while his darken, the smile vanishing from his face.

“You tried to run away?” he repeats, the grip on her jaw tightening, his voice cold and stern.

“I... I didn't mean to,” she whines softly, struggling in her bend-over position, turning her shoulders and straining her neck to better look up at him. “You... you were... flirting with that woman... and I... I felt... I thought you... I... I didn't think,” she sums up her stammering. “B-but I came back!” she cries out, looking at him pleadingly, struggling against the belt around her arms. “Because I need you! I can't be... without you...”

He takes in her frantic words with a strangely calm expression. Then he clenches his jaw and she feels his hands on her waist, pulling her up and into a standing position. She wobbles on her shoes, can't seem to find her balance without being able to use her arms. He grabs her shoulders and stares down at her, towering over her menacingly.

“I appreciate your honesty,” he says quietly. “But you know what I have to do, right?”

She swallows hard, licking her dry lips. “Sp-spank me again?” she croaks out, the pain rushing back into her buttocks as her mind remembers what happened.

He shakes his head. “There are other ways to punish you, but you have to understand that you force my hand here. You did something wrong, and there have to be consequences. And I'll think of something, don't worry.”

She chews on her lip, nodding as her eyes fill with a new batch of tears. “Yes, sir,” she sniffles.

His loud exhale hits her warm cheek, then he pats it with his hand. He guides her back to the car and leans her against it, before he goes back to the fallen tree and picks up something off the ground. Shaking it out, she sees it's her soiled panties, now drenched in spit, caked with cum, and covered in dirt and pine needles. He could have left them there, she thinks, but then realizes he doesn't want to leave a trail, evidence of them being here. Of her fate.

They vanish back into the pocket of his jeans before he opens the passenger door. He considers her then, with her wild hair and reddened skin and with her arms tied behind her back. Sighing, he grabs her waist and carefully sets her down on the seat. The soft leather is cold against her burning skin, and she can't help the wince and sharp inhale when he lets go of her, her own body weight pushing her down on her bruises.

He doesn't buckle her in, though, just closes the door and walks around the car to his side, then slides behind the wheel. He pulls his seat belt down while he looks at her. She holds his gaze, even though her vision is blurry and her stomach feels tense and she just wants to curl into a ball and wallow in her sorrow, but he has other plans.

His hands are under her elbows, pulling her towards him. He makes her lie down on her stomach with her head resting on his thigh. She has to angle her legs, her shoes nudging against the window. Leaning over her, he reaches for them and pulls them off, then throws them onto the backseat, and she's grateful. They were just another thing on the long list of her aches.

He pulls her a little further until her face sits right over his groin, and she swallows and licks her lips in preparation, looking up from under her lashes. He meets her gaze, inhaling deeply.

“This is neither a reward nor a punishment,” he then says while his hands move to open his jeans and push his underwear down. “Just something for you to pass the time and me to feel good, okay?”

She nods. “Yes, sir.”

He grabs his cock, semi-hard, and guides it towards her mouth, and she opens it willingly, tongue out flat. He's warm when he pushes between her lips, his scent filling her nostrils, his taste exploding on her tongue, her body shivering slightly as saliva pools around him. He arranges her head on his thigh, pulls her a little closer until she lies on his lap properly, suckling softly on his tip, unable to move away even if she wanted to (which she doesn't). His hand is on her cheek, brushing her hair away gently.

“Try to swallow,” he tells her, and she does, it's not easy in her position and with something between her lips, her mouth unable to close, but she manages, and he pats her cheek again. “Good. Now relax, we'll be driving for a few hours.”

She hums against him, nestling into his lap, fingers twitching and tingling in their restraint, feet dangling in the air, her lips tight around his cock. It's a comfort, being so close to him, knowing he still trusts her enough to let her do this. He cares about her, she knows it, and her confessing to him that she tried to run away is probably hurting him as much as it hurts her. She should have never done that. Stupid voice of reason. Destroying everything.

She has no idea which punishment awaits her, but whatever it is, she deserves it, and she'll fight through it, to make him proud, to show him that she wants to stay with him, no matter what. She is his, and she'll make sure to remind him.

By the time they finally reach their destination, as the lights of the city rush by in a blur, she is not in a happy place, not in the subspace he wanted her to be. She kept thinking back to how she disappointed him, what she did wrong, seeing the anger and sadness in his eyes, and no matter what plan she tried to think about to make it all better, she never came to any conclusion, still doesn't know how to mend the rift between them. She thinks there's a rift, even though her lips are still closed around his cock, and his hand keeps coming down to caress her hair.

Yet it's nothing like the first time she had to cockwarm him. She may have spaced out for a bit, but always came back by herself, with her mind reminding her of everything that went wrong, showing her the faces of the various women he's flirted with, and she was in a constant up and down of rage and anger and jealousy, and hating herself and hating him and hating those women. But mostly hating herself because she feels like a failure.

She was struggling to keep the drool in her mouth, unable to wipe it away with her arms tied behind her back, and she thought back to soiling his pants and how he belted her after that (and she doesn't even know if that was the reason why it all escalated, he told her he doesn't even need a reason), and her wounds stung and burned as she remembered how she got them, and the new ones are tight and warm, and yet she's grateful he made her lie on her stomach to keep the pressure off, while also fearing he'll snap again and hurt her even more. It's all so confusing, and in all that time her cunt kept clenching, needy for the thing that was stuck in her mouth.

She's absolutely miserable when he stops the car. His hand is under her jaw, gently nudging her to open her lips, but she hums, eyebrows furrowed, not wanting to part from him just yet. She moves her head closer, pushes down on him to take him deeper, and he lets her. He's hardened significantly during their silent car ride, and she feels the need to finish the job.

It's hard to bob her head without her hands to steady herself, so it's sloppy and uncoordinated, and she could be doing this better if he hadn't tied her arms together, but this is part of her redemption, another punishment, not the last one, but it doesn't matter. It has to be done. He notices her struggle and puts his hands on her head, gently guiding her movements. She looks up from under her lashes, and seeing him so calm and patient makes her vision blur again.

She's been so ungrateful. Not a good girl. A horribly disobedient thing that shouldn't be allowed to suck his cock. She still tries her best, wraps her lips around him, presses her tongue against his bulging veins, sucks long and hard, swallows around him even though it hurts, and when he pulls her closer, his grip tightening, she tries to relax to let him into her throat. Tears mix with her drool when she gags around him, body jerking, hating herself even more for not being able to take him properly, but he doesn't seem to mind the mess this time, only moves her head up and down, bucks his hips slightly, and fucks her face until he starts groaning quietly.

She keeps her eyes closed even though she wants to see him relax under her ministrations, but she tells herself she doesn't deserve the sight. Instead she keeps sucking hard, hollowing her cheeks, fighting her gag reflex whenever he hits the back of her throat, holds her breath when he pushes deeper, forces herself to stay still, relax, and let him use her like he should be using her.

Her head is spinning when he finally comes down her throat, a low grunt escaping him as he presses her head down hard, holding her there, his cock throbbing between her lips, and she doesn't fight it, too exhausted, too tied up in her own self-pity. Slowly he pulls her head back, pats her cheek, tells her to breathe, and she does, rasping heavy breaths, before she swallows, spit and cum, and he wipes her tears away when he turns her head, caressing her jaw.

“Good girl,” he whispers hoarsely, and she sniffles, the praise tainted now, because she doesn't deserve it.

She can't remember how they end up in the elevator to his penthouse, but she's there, in his arms, sees her reflection, this tiny girl with messy hair and a flushed face and swollen lips and wet eyes, all light gone from within. Averting them, she looks at him and meets his warm gaze, soothing and comforting, and it only makes her sniffle again. His eyebrows furrow slightly, a sternness crossing his features, as if he wants to tell her to cheer up, to stop fussing, and it's enough to calm her, to stop the nagging thoughts, at least for a moment.

The ding startles her. The doors slide open, and he carries her further. She closes her eyes and leans into him, remembering how she left his apartment with almost the same mindset, miserable, thinking he'd bring her back to her old life, leave her behind, but now she knows she's staying, he'll keep her, and she should be grateful, happy, but she can't bring herself to feel that just yet.

Her eyelids flutter, and she looks around barely noticing anything. Well, until he doesn't carry her to his bedroom or the guest bedroom, but to one of the rooms he told her not to enter. He nudges the door open with his hip and turns the light on with much the same gesture, and her eyes widen.

She remembers his penthouse as dark and masculine, warm wooden floors with white walls and dark furniture, luxurious light fixtures, no clutter, barely any plants. Minimalist. The view she has now is anything but. It's colorful, a room exploding with soft hues of pinks and yellows and blues, white accents. Thick pale pink curtains cover the night view of the city, there are various plush looking rugs scattered over the hardwood floor, adding to the cozy feel.

A desk stands in the corner, looking out of one of two windows, the space filled with boxes and plastic containers that feel strangely familiar. She blinks her tears away, focuses on the rest of the room. One wall is covered in fairy lights that give off a soft glow, then there are two doors on the other side, one leading to a bathroom she can't look into, the other opening up into a large closet that's already filled with various clothes.

And then there's a big bed facing the windows, covered in throw pillows and blankets and soft looking quilts, and atop one of the pillows sits a used looking stuffed animal. Mister Wolfie. She can't help the sob when it forces its way out of her throat.

This is her room, from her old shitty apartment, her room, in his penthouse. Cluttered and cozy and filled with her stuff (well, he replaced the furniture, the desk, the chair, the bed), the stuff she had to leave behind. He even added new ones, a nice sofa and a large bookshelf, thrice as big as her old one, already filled with books, and again she recognizes the few things she had owned. He even brought the old mirror with the thick white frame that's now leaning against the wall next to the bed, showing her startled reflection.

She's crying softly, completely overwhelmed, by the time he sets her down, holding her by the shoulder as he finally takes off the belt from around her arms. Her toes sink into the soft rug, and she rubs her wrists for a moment as she looks around, still not able to process it all. He had her place brought into his, made her her own little corner.

His hand finds her wet face, and when his thumb nudges her chin, she looks up at him, biting her lip, sniffling. “What do you think?” he asks, with a soft smile on his face.

She swallows hard, blinking new tears away. “I... I don't deserve this...”

He tilts his head, frowning slightly. “Baby, listen to me,” he says and cups her face with both hands. “You do, you do deserve this. You've been such a good girl for me, you did everything I asked, and more. I couldn't wish for anyone better, okay? You made mistakes, yes, and I'll have to punish you for them, but you'll take it like you did the last one and then we'll move on, yeah? I want you to feel comfortable here, with me.”

“I do!” she croaks out quickly, furrowing her brows. “But –”

He clicks his tongue and shakes his head, silencing her immediately. “This is your room. You can retreat to it when I'm not here or when I have to work. I still expect you to spend the night with me, in my bed, and I will use you whenever I want, how we established, right?”

She nods into his hands. “Yes, sir.”

“You are mine,” he says and lowers his head until his nose brushes against hers. “All of you is mine. Whenever, wherever I want.” He tilts his head and presses his lips to hers, but he's gone the moment she tries to kiss him back, straightening back up to walk to one of the nightstands.

She watches him with growing curiosity, slowly going back to telling herself that this is her purpose, and it's an honor, a privilege, that he cares so much about her, enough to bring her shitty little apartment into his prestigious penthouse. It's not something she's expected, not in a million years, but she is slowly accepting that it's okay to be happy about it. No matter what'll happen next.

Yet when he returns to her, she stiffens as she stares at the item in his hands. It's a thick leather band held together by a small lock between two metal rings, with another metal ring in the back. A collar. She swallows.

“I didn't intend to give this to you just yet,” he tells her, and she looks up at him, “but I think this'll do nicely as part of your punishment.”

She's breathing heavier when she watches his long fingers fidget with the collar. The lock clicks open when he presses his thumb to it, then he pulls the leather band apart.

“Hold up your hair,” he tells her quietly, and even though her hands are shaking, she follows the order, gathers her hair and twists it into a messy bun she holds at the back of her head.

He walks behind her and snakes his hands through her arms, then she feels the soft leather pressing against her throat. He turns her to face the mirror and meets her gaze. She's so tiny and frail with him bulking behind her, his big hands still moving the collar with enough finesse. The lock clicks shut again, and the thick band sits around her neck, not too tight, but barely loose enough to maybe slip her fingers under it.

“Only I can open this lock,” he says, his finger running along the thick edge of the leather before he grabs her wrists and makes her let go of her hair, his fingers weaving through it before he puts his hands on her shoulders, leaning down a little. “This collar is a sign of my possession, you are my possession, my property, my good little girl, aren't you?”

She swallows, her throat moving against the wide leather band. “Yes, sir,” she says breathlessly.

He moves his hand along her neck, then hooks a finger into the metal ring at the front of the collar. “As your punishment, because you tried to run away from me, I will leash you,” he says, gently tugging at the collar, making her sway a little. “To this room. You can go to the bathroom, you can shower, you can sleep. You'll always have food and water. You will stay in this room until I say otherwise. I may visit you, but maybe I won't. We'll see. Gotta keep you on your little toes, right?”

He turns his head and presses his lips to her cheek, catching a tear that slipped from her eyes. He inhales deeply, watching her closely.

“No need to cry. You'll get through this, we'll get through this. You understand that this is necessary, don't you?”

“Yes, sir,” she whispers, licking her lips. He nods, then lets go of her and shortly leaves the room. She just stands there, on the soft rug, staring into the mirror that used to stand in her old apartment. The collar isn't too bad, but it feels heavy in a way that's important. It needs some getting used to, but she'll manage (once she stops being so overwhelmed by it all).

A sudden rattling sound makes her flinch, and she turns around to see him carrying a long chain made of thin but sturdy looking metal links. There's a ring on one end, and the same small lock that he opens with his thumbprint once more. Standing in front of her, he attaches the chain to her collar, and she feels the weight of it immediately, a gasp escaping her. He notices her reaction, raising an eyebrow.

“You'll get used to it, don't worry,” he tells her, then walks to the far wall and into the closet, pulling the clanging chain behind him until it uncoils and tugs on her, making her stumble forwards a few steps. Her hands fly up to grab it and hold it in place. It feels smooth and not as heavy as she has thought. Probably stainless steel or aluminum or something, she has no idea and frankly doesn't care. It won't change anything.

She sees him attaching the other end somewhere in the closet, before another tug runs through the long line. He glides the chain along his palm as he returns to her, smiling softly. His hands find her shoulders, fingers slipping beneath the fabric of her blouse before he pushes it off her shoulders, then opens the small buttons and the bow in the front.

A shiver runs through her when it falls to the ground. He keeps watching her as he moves his hands lower to slowly push the skirt over her hips. She steps out of it mindlessly, holding his gaze, holding her head up even though the chain drags it down a little. “Look at you, so beautiful,” he coos, turning her around once more, hands gliding up and down her sides, fingers teasing at the swell of her breasts.

The chain rests between them, the metal cool on her skin. She feels exposed but strangely confident as well. The way he looks at her makes her stomach tense and her cunt clench around nothing. He inhales deeply, wrapping one arm around her back to press her to his chest, then turns her slightly.

“Look in the mirror,” he tells her, and she does so, over her shoulder, and gasps at the sight. His free hand moves down her back and gently over the bright red skin of her ass cheeks. The bruises bleed into the still reddened welts on her thighs. “You've taken your last punishment so well, you can take this too. I'd prefer it if I wouldn't have to punish you at all, but I'm sure you'll learn your lesson. You already did, didn't you?”

She nods, biting her lip. “And I'm sorry,” she whispers.

“I know you are,” he replies and nuzzles his nose into the soft skin behind her ear. “And you'll be a good girl and make me proud, won't you?”

“Yes, sir,” she breathes, closing her eyes as her breath quickens.

“Good,” he says and leans back abruptly, his hand smacking hard against her rear, making her cry out in pain, tears burning in her eyes. He steps away and picks up her clothes. “Now get some rest, maybe take a shower. You will remain like this, understood? No clothes, even if your closet is full of them. This is part of your punishment.”

She swallows, the collar seemingly tightening. Her lungs burn. “Yes...”

He watches her, then looks around the room once more. “I don't care how you pass the time, read or –” He waves his hand over the boxes on the desk. “Do some arts and crafts or whatever you did with these things.”

She licks her lips, wants to smirk at his words, but she feels too empty, the weight of her new situation pulling her down like the chain does the collar. She carefully sits down on the edge of the bed, breathing through the sting of her skin against the cool material of the quilt, and mindlessly moves the chain links through her hands.

“I have one condition, though,” he continues, oblivious to her struggles. “If I catch you with your fingers in your cunt, I will have to think of yet another punishment. Unless I give you a toy to play with, you will refrain from touching yourself, understood?”

“Yes, sir,” she whispers, almost automatically, not even having the desire to do what he suggests. If there is one desire burning within her, it's to be in his arms, to feel his warmth, his strength, his dominance, (his cock in her cunt), but it sounds as if he's going to leave her for a bit, and that might just be the worst punishment.

She notices how he looks up into one corner of the room, and she frowns at the sight. It's hidden, but it's obvious: a little dome made of dark glass, a camera mounted to the ceiling. And even though she should be appalled by it, it makes her feel a little better. If he's willing to keep an eye on her when he isn't here, then that's better than him forgetting about her completely.

When he takes a step towards the door, she jumps up quickly, the chain rattling quietly. He stops, looking at her, his eyebrows rising up when she falls to her knees in front of him. Her hands itch to reach out to him, but she keeps them on her thighs, clenched into fists, and looks up at him.

This is my purpose, she reminds herself, my place, on my knees in front of him. He may do with her whatever he wants, but she wants this too, if not for herself, she wants it for him, to make him happy and proud. And she's grateful to be given so many chances. She truly is. Her mind is still reeling, trying to process everything that's happening, but when the words finally make it out of her mouth, she just lets them spill.

“Thank you, sir,” she says quietly, blinking away tears as she focuses on his face and his face alone. Nothing else matters. “For doing this, for this... my room, for your... patience with me... for... everything...”

The corner of his lips twitches when he reaches his hand out to touch her face, fingers slipping into her hair, thumb brushing against her bottom lip. She parts her lips, and he watches her for a moment, before pushing his thumb into her mouth, pressing hard onto her tongue. She closes her lips around his digit tentatively, giving it a gentle suck, the motion calming her instantly, her mind going quieter until he is all there is. Only him.

“My good little girl,” he coos, slowly moving his thumb back and forth between her tight lips, pushing deeper. “Welcome home, darling,” he adds, and she closes her eyes, fighting new tears that come for a completely different reason now. A familiar heat settles in her stomach and much lower. That traitorous itch flaring up all over again.

And she knows, she will do absolutely anything to be praised, to be his good girl, to make him happy. Even if it means wearing a collar and a leash, answering to his every whim. This is her purpose after all.

NINETEEN 🟥 TWENTY

End notes: And there we go: our dear Darling is collared and leashed, fully submitting. Or is she? Well... her story isn't over yet. I am working on Season Three, so there will be at least ten more chapters. Soon.

I am taking an uploading break though as I visit my family over the holidays. Stay tuned for 2025 I guess :D

Thank you for reading and joining me on this wild adventure.

This started as a smut story, a dumping ground for my darker, kinkier ideas, but then the characters developed and plot was added and there was angst and confusion and drama and feelings? It's now so much more than just smut (even though every single chapter has at least one smut scene in it, wow what a feat...), and I hope to bring Sir and Darling's story to a proper end eventually.

See you soon!

TAG LIST: @untamedheart81 @qmsvpx @cyan1decandy @bimbos-are-angels @voiceactivated @reader-1290

CHAPTER / / / ONE◾TWO◾THREE◾FOUR◾FIVE

SIX◾SEVEN◾EIGHT◾NINE◾TEN

ELEVEN◾TWELVE◾THIRTEEN◾FOURTEEN FIFTEEN

SIXTEEN◾️SEVENTEEN◾EIGHTEEN◾NINETEEN TWENTY

AO3 / / / MASTERLIST

#ao3 original work #dead dove do not eat #dom/sub #d/s dynamic #praise k!nk #free use kink #older man younger woman #size difference #modern au #joel miller smut #supernatural smut #dean winchester smut #arthur morgan smut #simon ghost riley smut #cod smut #mattheo riddle smut #original fiction

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buddiebeginz · 8 months ago

Text

Saw this ridiculous thread on twitter that really deserves to be taken apart so lets go:

First of all while it's obvious that Buck is attracted to T*mmy (and at this point likes him a lot considering they're now dating) in 7x04 the the main person who's attention he was trying to get was Eddie's. I did an entire breakdown of that ep btw for anyone who is still confused about what was really happening there.

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Buck goes to see Maddie after the basketball incidient and this is how the conversation goes

Maddie: You didn't mean to hurt him did you?

Buck: I don't know. I was pissed you know. Seeing him and T*mmy being such good friends after only two weeks. I felt left out and I guess I was trying to get his attention.

I know that you B/T shippers desperately want to see 7x04 as Buck sent the entire episode being super smitten over T*mmy but that is just not the story that show is telling. The entire conversation that Maddie and Buck are having in this scene prior to T*mmy even being mentioned is about Eddie. Buck and Maddie are talking about Eddie's injury and how Buck thinks Eddie won't want to talk to him after what he did. The focus is on Eddie. Also it doesn't make any logical sense for Buck to be so upset and emotionally invested over some guy he barely knows. He's upset because he thinks Eddie his best friend can so easily replace him in his life.

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You're defending T*mmy because you say he left the date not wanting to pressure Buck...yet he almost outed him in front of Eddie (someone T*mmy knows is important to Buck). By the time they were on their first date T*mmy already knew how new all of this was for Buck and how nervous he was, I mean the man was talking about how he was an ally ffs while he was on a date with a guy. And while Buck's comment about finding some hot chicks was embarrassing and I get T*mmy not liking it he should have had a little more understanding given where Buck is in his journey. Instead he made it worse by making that crass closet comment.

It's also just plain rude to go on a date with someone and then ditch them in the middle without making sure they have a way home and without any real explanation (I'm not talking about more extreme circumstances like your date just being an ahole btw). Sure T*mmy told Buck he didn't think he was ready but that was really all he said. Buck was likely left feeling like he was being punished for having a moment where he acted out of fear. T*mmy could have shared an Uber with Buck and talked to him on the way home and they could have seen if they wanted things to continue. But it was like at the first sign of Buck needing more support he bailed.

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My personal feeling on the first kiss is that T*mmy really should have given something of an indication of his intentions before he kissed Buck.

Speaking as someone who is bi if I was into another woman and they were giving off the kind of vibes Buck was I wouldn't just jump in there and kiss them. I know they try to make everything more sexy for tv and it's the oldest trope in the book to have the hot guy grab the main's face and lay one on them but given all of the signals Buck was sending out T*mmy really should have gotten more confirmation beforehand.

I'm not accusing T*mmy of anything and clearly Buck liked the kiss and it was also clear in that loft scene he was attracted to T*mmy. Still the vibes he was giving off were also really nervous an unsure and he talked about Eddie 90% of the time literally moments before the kiss. Why jump in an kiss someone who seems that nervous and probably is into someone else? I don't know it's just issues I have with that scene.

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When it comes to a lot of the discourse I see around between Buddie shippers and B/T shippers I feel like a major difference is in how we perceive the show. I feel like a lot of B/T shippers mostly just take the show at face value. If something is written a certain way and presented that way to you on the screen you take that as exactly what the story is saying but you're missing the more subtle messages in the writing.

Like the whole scene with Buck, T*mmy, and Eddie in the karaoke bar had a lot going on beyond just what the dialogue was saying and it was likely missed by those who weren't paying attention.

Yeah T*mmy was on call and yeah that could be a reason why he didn't dress up. Although as many have pointed out there's plenty of things he could have worn that would have made it easy for him to quickly change and get to work and still put an ounce of effort into something that was clearly important to Buck.

But the not dressing up wasn't even the biggest issue it was that when Buck seemed hurt by the fact that T*mmy didn't care enough to dress up T*mmy was just like it's not that big of deal get over it (in the demeanor with which he responded). Obviously it was just a silly bachelor party one Chim didn't even show up to and no one else even dressed up for it (besides Eddie) but for me it's another red flag showing that T*mmy doesn't listen to Buck and doesn't have his back like a (potential) partner should.

Also you can defend T*mmy all you want but very deliberate choices were made with this Buddie and T*mmy scene. They chose to have Eddie arrive first and call a lot of attention to what he was wearing. Right before they had T*mmy come in and have that whole convo about his lack of costume to Buck.

Multiple times in the episode they pointed out that Buddie were wearing a couples costume and that Eddie is the one who picked it out. Not only were they matching in the bachelor party outfits but if you look at their outfits in the later scenes while looking for Chim they're coordinated like spouses there too.

They chose to have Eddie be the one to stay with Buck when everyone else left. They chose to have Buddie partying alone when they could have easily had T*mmy there. Especially when you consider this is a much shorter season every scene and every ep means even more than it would in a normal season. If they were trying to build B/T and get the audience to warm to them showing them partying even showing B/T partying with Eddie would have been a great time to do that instead they only focused on Buddie.

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I'm happy for B/T shippers that you got your kissing scene at the end but here's what I saw. In a very overstuffed episode they chose to have a ton of Buddie stuff including having Buck and Eddie show up together multiple times while everyone was out looking for Chimney. Meanwhile B/T got one small scene (which included Eddie) in the beginning and one kiss at the end away from everyone else (that immediately cut to Eddie and Chris). The kiss didn't even feel like it's main purpose was to further develop the B/T relationship, it felt like it happened more to serve Buck's bi storyline so he could come out to everyone.

Also others have pointed this out but just because B/T have physical chemistry doesn't mean they have romantic chemistry. They seem like very different people. Too different in my opinion. In what little scenes of conversation they've actually had I just see two people who won't be compatible long term.

Juxtapose that with Eddie and Buck and just how much alike they are while at the same time being so uniquely themselves. How they're able to call each other out when they need to like when Eddie pointed out how it was maybe not the greatest idea for Buck to come out at his sister's wedding.

You can dislike Buddie and ship B/T all you want but you can't deny how all Buck and Eddie have to do is stand near each other and they exude chemistry and compatibility. People who don't even watch the show assume they're together and there's not even one scene of them kissing. Yet the main reason people ship B/T is because they're two hot guys who've kissed twice. There is no other real point of substance there. Now tell me again which fandom is guilty of fetishization here?

----

You can call us the delusional ones all you want but EVERYTHING is screaming in your face that T*mmy isn't going to last forever. I don't even care if he comes back for season 8. T*mmy and B/T have a giant ticking clock over them and sooner or later their time will be up. There is no way Tim, the writers, ABC, Ryan, Oliver, etc would pass on the phenomenon that Buddie will be once it goes canon. The show already gets a ton of attention just from talking about the possibility of them going canon. Every single article where they even mention Buddie gets attention.

It's hilarious to me that you say the actors and showrunners are what rooting for B/T? In all the the interviews they talk about Buddie now. Tim literally was saying he cares about Buddie too in his response to a fan the other day. He literally said he included Buddie scene specifically for our fandom. Oliver is always posting and liking stuff related to his scenes with Ryan and Buddie. When Ryan gets to do interviews he gushes about Buddie and Oliver. Meanwhile B/T which is supposed to be the canon ship in this important queer storyline they're doing barely gets mentioned. Let me know when that same energy is being given to your ship.

#buddie #911 buddie #911!#long post

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freak-accident419 · 11 months ago

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“Hachi Machi!”

Josh Futturman x GN!Reader

Summary: After coming back to 2017 from ‘69, Josh realizes that his and Tiger and Wolf’s interference made some ripples in his timeline, such as the gun hanging in his parent’s house, the Blapple, Ray disappearing, and ultimately Dr. Kronish working alongside Stu Camilo. He’s relieved to know that you are still his partner in this timeline, but when one thing leads to another, he discovers one small change about you.

Word Count: 2.2k

Content: 18+ smut, MDNI, more plot than porn (not very descriptive), takes place during S01E04 im pretty sure, gender neutral reader, penetration (no genitals specified), slightly ooc josh, reader has a tramp stamp

(A/n: I know that in this same episode Lyle introduces the phrase ‘hachi machi’ to Josh after these events, but fuck it. The pacing’s a bit bad, I’m tired, but I hope you enjoy regardless :) you can interpret what the tramp stamp is of, personally, i would go with the dragonfly, what about you guys?)

Josh was exhausted.

Utterly exhausted.

From going to 1969 and trying to cock block Dr. Kronish, desperately finding ways to spare the man’s life to seeing his colleagues dismember his biotic co-workers and throw them in possum incinerators, it seemed as if he’s never gotten a break. And to top it all off, Tiger kicked him off the team, making him feel useless and loser-like all over again.

There were several ripples that he and his team had caused: Kronish and Stu were now work partners, the Blapple was created because Josh left his phone in the past, Ray no longer worked at Kronish Labs, and his parents now owned a gun that hung on the wall. And so, the first thing he checked ever since he got back was making sure you two were still together—and you were.

You were still on his phone lock screen, except it was with his Blapple (Black Apple) Phone, you still had your sweet back-and-forth texts, and in his gallery, there were several photos—and maybe even new ones—of you together. A sigh of relief escaped his lips as he saw this.

Being upset from how the entire day went led to Josh eating cereal alone in the kitchen. With everything going on, he barely had any time to see you, and you were even busy with your own personal stuff as well. However, a knock on his door made him perk his head up, raising a befuddled eyebrow, and walking towards the front door, opening it to see…

You.

“Y/n?”

***

It’s been less than five days since he’s seen you, but this was the first time he’s seen you ever since he fucked up the present by fucking up the past. Thankfully, you remained the same as if nothing happened, and most importantly, Josh was still your boyfriend.

“You look like a sad, wet cat, dude,” you say as you lay with him on his bed, stroking his soft, brown hair. After he finished his cereal downstairs, you two went up to his room and found yourself cuddling with each other on his bed. “What’s up?”

He frowned as he went completely limp in your arms, enjoying the warmth and comfort that your body offered. He really needed this. “As I said before, it’s—it’s really hard to explain, Y/n.”

“Okay, right, but you haven’t answered my texts. I’m worried about you, Josh,” you confess, continuing to caress him gently.

Oh shit, Josh thought. He hadn’t have gotten used to the features of the Black Apple—or, well, Blapple—yet, and forgot that he even had it on him at times. And with everything with trying to ensure that Tiger and Wolf won’t kill his boss, he has been very, unfortunately preoccupied to remember to text you back.

“I’ve been really, really busy, babe, I’m sorry I never got the chance to text you back,” he replied shamefully, though feeling too calm in your arms to feel really anything else.

“Hey, don’t apologize for that, okay? Now, tell me what’s been going on with you. You can be real with me. Work? Your game? Family issues?”

“Sort of, um… It’s—It’s really hard to explain.” There was a look of bemusement and mere stress on his face, making you feel really bad for him. There was so much that he’s seen in the past few days (such as his colleagues killing or hurting nearly anyone in their way) that you didn’t deserve to be dragged into.

“You know, what, just… We don’t have to talk about it right now if you’re not ready. Alright? Just know that I’ll be here the entire time, and I’ll be here when you’re ready to talk about it. Okay, Josh?”

He was so damn lucky to have someone as amazing as you.

“Okay,” he says, his deep brown eyes looking at you, with his sweet, endearing smile that you always loved seeing. “Thank you. Thank you so much, Y/n, you really don’t know how much I appreciate it, I love you.”

You grin, placing your hand gently behind his neck to cup it. “Of course, baby. I love you too, okay? No boyfriend of mine is going to radiate sad, wet cat vibes while I’m here,” you giggle, finally pressing your soft lips to his.

The kiss was warm and affectionate, as always, and to Josh, it felt like home. It felt like he never even left to go to 1969 with the characters in his video game. It felt like he never witnessed them chopping up his biotic coworkers. He was just back at home, with you, when everything made sense.

You sensed that the kiss progressed however, with his tongue shoving past your lips to meet with yours. His hands are placed to cup your jaw and the kiss deepened.

“Okay, why do you keep insisting that I’m a sad, wet cat? Like, what does that even mean?” Josh chuckles in the kiss, his lips, however, not separating from yours.

You laugh softly and look deeply into his eyes. “You look like a cat that’s been left and drenched in the rain, like completely soaked, and your sad eyes are like… big sad brown eyes that those cats have, or something. I don’t know how else to explain it, you looked like a sad, wet cat before!”

Josh smiles. He missed this so much. He missed you so much.

“Do I still look like a sad, wet cat?” He raised an eyebrow.

You scoff playfully and smirk. “No, more like a… a pathetically horny cat.”

“Why am I still a cat in this?”

“I don’t know, you…”

“’Cause I think I resonate more with—“

“Oh my god, wait, that’s it! You’re a cat in heat!” You exclaim in realization.

He opened his mouth to reply, but paused. “Well, male cats don’t—“

“Yeah, technically, male cats don’t… You know what, doesn’t fucking matter,” you grin, pressing your lips to his once more.

Josh giggled in the kiss as he rolled on top of you, moving his lips and tongue roughly with yours. “I missed you,” he says, pulling his shirt off, then helping you with yours.

“I missed you too,” you reply breathlessly. You hoped that this moment would distract Josh from whatever he was going through, and hoped that he would tell you soon enough what it was. But time travel would be very difficult to explain.

By now, you two were completely naked against each other, holding one another, making out lustfully. Josh broke from your lips, just to press soft kisses on your neck, letting his hand move up and down your waist in the process. You let out small pleasured sighs, letting him kiss from your collarbone, throat, jawline, to your lips once more.

With his other hand, he briefly stroked his cock, until he finally began to ease into your entrance, the two of you eliciting a soft, pleasured moan, as you felt him to gradually stretch you.

“O-oh, f-fuck, you’re so tight,” he nearly whimpered, slowly moving his entire length inside you.

“Have you ever considered it was because I haven’t seen you in days?” You raise an innocent eyebrow.

He huffs amusedly, but you did have a point. “Eh, that’s fair,” he says, finally moving his hips back just to slam into you again, letting out a broken moan.

He began to slide his length in and out of you, thrusting his hips against yours as the two of you let out soft sounds of pleasure. He buried his head in your neck, leaving short kisses as his hands held onto the side of your hips in a tight grip, his cock stretching and caressing your walls.

He continued to thrust into you at a steady pace, quite frankly, an intricate rhythm that cleared his mind of The Biotic Wars entirely, the tightness around his cock giving the sensations he loved and needed. He felt so good to move in and out of you, let alone completely inside of you, feeling so close to you ever since he felt so far, from all the time travel nonsense he went through. Your breath quickened and volume increased, letting out desperate whines, repeating his name and praises under your breath.

Josh, not wanting to cum just yet, pulled out of you, giving you a soft kiss on your lips, as he planned to take you from behind. You smiled at him as your felt his grip on your hips help you lay on your stomach, getting on your knees with your head laying on the pillow, and then—

“Hachi machi!”

He exclaimed, his jaw dropped with wide eyes.

You turn your head back to look at him with a raised eyebrow. “What?”

There were a few ripples in this timeline that took place due to Josh’s interference with the past, such as the Blapple, the rifle in his kitchen, and Kronish’s partnership with Stu Camilo. He didn’t expect a change from you, as you were still thankfully his partner. Except, there really was a change that occurred from his paradoxical meddling.

You had a tattoo on the small of your back.

You had a tramp stamp.

A genuine, authentic, tramp stamp.

It was in black and blue ink, with exaggerated shading and strokes, littered elegantly on your lower back.

“You have a slutty tramp stamp…” he gasped lightly, his entire focus on your tattoo.

You let out a chuckle. “Josh—“

“Since when did you get a slutty tramp stamp?”

“I told you the story multiple times, Josh, I got it in my sophomore year of college when I wasn’t very right in the head. Josh, seriously, are you okay?” You were confused as much as him now. Why was he making it a big deal, as if it was his first time seeing it? He’s seen it multiple times before, he remembers every detail from your story, so why not now? “Because you’re acting like this is your first time seeing it, ever.”

“I—I just…” Josh was still in mesmerized awe, looking at how the ink was littered across your skin. You had a slutty tramp stamp. You had a slutty tramp stamp. Somehow, when he was messing with the past in 1969, the ripple effect caused Josh’s partner to have a tramp stamp tattoo. “I’ll explain later, just… holy shit, you look so good,” he expressed, running his hands over your tattoo and your ass, until he grabbed your hips, aligned them with him, and shoved his dick back inside of you.

“Holy shit,” he repeated, panting and thrusting deeply as your hands gripped on the bedsheets tightly, softly moaning as you feel immense pleasure, especially from this angle. Josh took off one hand from your hips to hold the back of your hand. He missed you so much. And you definitely missed him.

“God, this is so hot,” he breathed, letting his hand run over your tattoo as he continued to thrust deeply. You would laugh from how weird he was being right now, acting like it was the first time he’s seen it, if you weren’t too distracted by the gratifying feelings of your lover’s penetration.

His fingertips traced the ink on the small of your back, still astonished by this new discovery. His thrusts were sloppy, but well calculated as he focused on not only the pleasure the two of your bodies would experience, but also the sexy tattoo above your ass. Josh began to let out louder, desperate whines, moving both his hands onto your hips tight to gain control, pounding quickly and deeply into you.

“F-fuck, Josh,” you sighed softly, moaning with him as the sounds of his thrusting increased.

“O-oh, god… f-fuck…” Josh whimpers, feeling his hips and thighs weaken.

A few thrusts later, the two of you finally came together, Josh collapsing on your back as he panted, leaving frantic kisses on the back of your neck, still deep inside of you. You felt him hold you from behind, the butterfly kisses you received, and his hand rubbing your hip.

“Why did you act like this was the first time you’ve seen my tramp stamp?” You ask him in a gentle voice, yet still very curious, and maybe even a little concerned.

“I, uh… It’s a lot to explain,” he replied out of guilt; he really didn’t want to drag you into this.

“Josh,” you sigh, “You’ve seen it for years. Your face was completely identical to your face the first time you saw it. Seriously, I could be overthinking this, but you’ve been acting weird recently. What’s going on with you?”

“N-nothing! I just… It’s been days since I’ve seen you, and… I really missed you. You’re, like, the hottest person I know, how could I not be inexplicably aroused by you?” In this moment, Josh decided not to tell you anything about the whole thing with The Biotic Wars. He couldn’t. If you would experience the same things he did, he would ensure that it would never happen.

You chuckle lightly at his compliment. “You being honest, baby?” You ask with a raised eyebrow, turning your head to look at him. “It’s just other personal stuff?”

“Y-yeah. It’s nothing important, I promise,” he pecked your lips in reassurance, attempting to ease your worry for him.

“Okay, good,” you say, feeling him kiss down your back, letting out a soft whine as he slowly pulled out to kiss your further down. He held onto your hip, letting his grip lower to your ass as he kissed along your tramp stamp and looked up at you desperately. He could definitely get used to this.

“Fuck, please tell me you’re up for round two.”

You laugh at him, letting your hand reach his head to tangle his hair in your fingers. “Who would I be if I wasn’t?”

#josh futturman x reader #josh futturman x gn!reader #josh futturman smut #josh futturman x you #josh futturman #future man #future man 2017 #josh hutcherson #josh hutcherson x reader #josh hutcherson smut #josh hutcherson x you #Mike schmidt x reader #clapton davis x reader #peeta mellark x reader #derek danforth x reader

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miheartsedthings · 11 months ago

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NEW NSFW Alphabet ~ Headcanon~ Billy Hargrove

Minors DNI

SO, I've taken the liberty of changing this up a bit. I've redesignated some of these letters because I think we've all seen the old ones so many times. Also, I think these changes could be more interesting for Billy in particular. Mind you not All of these are different, just some.

Enjoy

A- Aftercare (What is he like right after sex?)

Billy is attentive. He knows how rough he can be so after he's calmed down, he takes care to make sure you're okay. This can look like verbal check ins or bringing you water and towels. He'll make sure you're safe and comfortable.

B- Body Count

Billy gets around. He stopped counting after 30.

C- Cum

Billy likes it inside you. Rather that be your mouth or elsewhere, he likes the idea of the essence of himself being in you. On your chest is a close second.

D- Dirty Talk

Billy is big on dirty talk. He gets really into it and can't help telling you how good you feel and giving orders (stroke that c*ck, baby). He has no problem telling you what he plans to do to you.

E- Easy (Does he play hard to get?)

Billy is usually easy. The only exception is if you're desperate. Then, he'll tease you, making you beg and tell him how badly you want him.

F- Fight

Arguments with Billy don't typically turn into sex, believe it or not. When he's actually angry, Billy doesn't feel safe, and if he doesn't feel safe he's not getting aroused. He's much more likely to say something to embarrass you and then storm off.

G- "Good Girl"

Sex being one of the few times he can be openly affectionate, Billy showers you with praise. He's a big fan of telling you what you're good at, how nice you taste, how good you're doing. Etc.

He likes when you tell him how he's making you feel, and he LOVES to hear you say you're all his.

H- Hickey

YES, he loves giving you hickeys, all over your body but especially in places where people can see them. When you give him a hickey he wears it like a badge of honor. (Side note, this just gave me an idea for a story 😘)

I- Intimacy

Billy really enjoys intimacy and feeling loved by you, he just has trouble verbalizing it. He expresses love physically, he wants to touch and kiss and fondle you to show his affections. He's also slower to anger with you and will show up around you.

You know how cats pretend they don't care about you and then just "happen" to be in the same room as you all the time? Yeah, that's Billy. He just happens to show up to parties you're attending, even parties you're throwing that he wasn't invited to.

He crashed a wedding you attended because he heard you didn't have a plus one.

J- Jealous

Does it even need to be said? Billy will get jealous if your gaze lingers on a poster too long. He's a walking nightmare to any guy who looks your way. He's your scary dog privilege.

When he gets jealous there's a 50/50 chance that he's just as mad at you as the other person. Sometimes he views you as too innocent to notice other people lusting after you. At other times he accuses you of having a wandering eye.

It takes a long time to talk him out of his jealousy, but it always comes back to reminding him that he's good enough and you aren't going anywhere. After a jealous episode he's usually feeling vulnerable. Kisses help.

K- Kick (Something he's always kicking himself for)

Billy regrets the times you've seen him lose control of his anger. He wishes he could've been better when you met so you didn't have to see any of that and he could've avoided hurting you. Now that he's growing he just wishes he could've been a better man for you in the beginning.

L- Location

Billy is fond of car sex. He likes to get you in the backseat and put down a towel to protect the seats. He also likes to get you alone at a party with the music to cover the sounds.

M- Motivation

Billy gets turned on easily. He loves when you try to flirt with him, even if you're bad at it. If you're bad at it then he just teases you about your crumby game and watches you get flustered which he finds extremely cute.

He loves you in skirts and halter tops. He loves seeing you naked in his leather jacket. He'll pretty much f*ck you at the drop of a hat.

N- No

No scat, no golden showers, no sounding.

O- Oral

Billy is a big fan. BIG BIG fan of oral, both giving and receiving. In a way he's more proud of his skills with his tongue than with his stick. In a way it feels like more of an accomplishment to know how to use just your mouth and fingers to get someone off.

P- Position

His favorite position is cowgirl, believe it or not. (More on this later) A close second is having you flat on your stomach. He likes to have you like that with an arm around your neck, mostly because it quickly overwhelms you and he loves seeing you like that.

Q- Quickie

Billy is down for a quickie in theory. In practice he's more likely to just make you late to wherever you're supposed to be.

R- Risk

Billy likes a healthy level of risk. Like I mentioned he likes having sex at parties, but he'll also sneak into a bar or restaurant bathroom with you. Back row at a movie theater is a fun one.

S- Sloppy

Billy gets sloppy sometimes, maybe if he's drunk. He likes fingering you when you're really wet.

T- Time

Billy likes sex pretty much whenever, but his FAVORITE time is the middle of the night. If you find yourself up late with him you're going to get your cheeks clapped. This is also true if he wakes up in the middle of the night. And don't let there be a thunderstorm, Lord help you.

U- Unfair

Billy likes to tease you, fluster you, overwhelm you, make you say please, make you say exactly what you want before he gives it to you. Jerk.

V- Volume

Billy isn't shy about his sounds, he'll let you and the people next door know how he's feeling.

W- Weakness

When you ride him he falls to pieces, (see, told you we'd come back to it.) particularly when you get up on your feet and squat down on him. Combine that with a hand around his throat and he's done for.

X- Xenial (Is he hospitable?)

Billy wants you to feel safe and comfortable when you're with him. At first, he doesn't know how to go about it besides having stereotypical "girl" stuff around.

He also mistakes looking out for you and "keeping you safe" for being bossy. He'll try to tell you who to hang out with, how much to drink, and where to go because he wants to take care of you. Needless to say this causes problems.

At the end of the day, if you need anything all you have to do is ask.

Y- Yearning

Billy has a high sex drive, but it doesn't have to be penetration every time. He likes all kinds of sexual behavior and will thoroughly enjoy it every time.

Z- Zone

Billy wants above all else to just share space with you. It doesn't matter where you are or what you're doing, as long as you're safe and happy it's the perfect place for him.

Thanks for reading 😘

#billy hargrove #billy hargrove x reader #stranger things #billy hargrove smut #fanfic #sea swallow me #billy hargrove 18+#billy hargrove imagine #alphabet #headcanon

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0daylighthours0 · 9 months ago

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My Mother's Unbiased Byler + Milkvan Opinions - Viewing ST for the 1st Time!

(UPDATE)

My Mama has now witnessed Stranger Things in its entirety. Her favourite season was the third, her favourite characters Hopper and Joyce, her favourite pairing would be those guys too, and her most disliked pairing? Can only assume.

I wanted to write out her thoughts on the second to last episode previously, as she'd held many, but before I knew it we'd finished the whole show and I was forced to an income of NEW opinions which ruled out my memory of any old ones. Shucks. But boy did this lady have much to say. The only way I can break it down is by providing a sample of quotes she'd delivered, in order, a day after having finished the series.

All are just things she said about milkvan and byler, as they're this post's main focus. There's simply much to say about these relationships too, being so up in the air over where they ought be expected to turn out. These are all direct quotes too (as I typed as she talked, unkown to her) so you'll have to excuse the natural way in which some lines come off as unfocused, being written after real time conversations. Let's get into it:

Ok I really don't know whether she likes Mike very much. She actively disliked the guy earlier on, and now her feelings appear to be more mixed. A lot of her discussion was solely around this guy's actions.

"It's almost like he's [Mike] forcing himself like- ok Hopper he was kind of very passionate and kissing, you know he sort of instantly- with Mike, from being obsessed and spending so much time with her [El], suddenly he starts cooling off more and more and suddenly- they even separated right? I mean yeah that was out of his control but he, but he didn't really seem like he missed her you know it's like he just got on with it."

This point caught me off guard. I don't know how much I agree with my mother on this. It made me realize that during Mike and El's separation, there weren't many quiet Mike moments in which he expressed worry for her, beyond a couple that blend into him simply having breakup concerns. Any time Mike mentions distress for her whilst she's away, his talk evolves into him simply anxious over the state of their relationship. As a group, everyone in our Cali gang clearly wanted to save Eleven, but Mike really should have gotten more heartfelt moments in solitude (that means without Will you suffer bros) in which it is demonstrated to the audience that he really does miss her, as someone who is in love. Her being away shouldn't simply come off as a writing excuse for him to vent to Will. There wasn't enough of that tenderness milkvan desperately needs, and if anything I watched was an attempt then it really wasn't translated well - never trumping everyone else's familial or close frienship-like fret for El, never showcasing his concern to come from a more personal place. I mean how hard is it to have him in her room, staring longingly at a photo of hers, with a background composed of soft music. Then literally leaving it at that. I mean that is it. No Will rushing in there to insist, "you can tell her that thing when you see her k? It'll all work out trust me ight, you're the heart you're the HEART!" que affectionate gazes, constructs a byler scene for no reason I guess .

"I mean how do we know that he missed Will? He articulated it. Why didn't he articulate this the same way to El?"

True. I mean the fact that I can't remember a moment after they find El in which milkvan ask oneanother how they are, and communicate how much they missed eachother, does indeed say something. They shared a hug and touch when they first reunited, which was gladly interrupted by Will. That pineapple + pizza thing was not long enough, or sensitive enough, to be their moment. There was clear bonding, but it didn't breach a level of romance and chemistry nearly decently. It's good that they got at least that, I mean we need to know that these guys are at LEAST really close friends. And then the camera just felt like panning over to Will about to burst into tears in a corner. Like huh? Bruv you've now made it so that milkvan's pizza bit leaves a bad taste in our mouths. If I were a milkvan I'd be furious.

"You know what, I think it's done purposefully to create that sort of cold, distant, confused, you know they wanted to make people say he's [Mike] bisexual. For people to question. They want to get people to think that."

My Mama believes writers intentionally soured milkvan for viewers to "confuse" audiences, build up anticipation, make them question milkvan's relationship and wonder if our main man will spin to Will. I agree. They want that good ol' triangle comeuppance.

"They really are trying to bring that across- so that people start thinking Mike, you know he doesn't love El, he loves Will. They're really trying to, make people think that. Giving them [milkvan] a really nitty gritty relationship."

Yup.

"When you're gay. Coming out like that it's- it's terrifying. You have to be very careful. And Will could, he could tell. You know when someone is attracted to you. I think, things became sort of- sort of complicated. And Will sensed, he could feel that Mike is attracted to him. And that's why he could open up like that. Because you can always tell. You know, you just know, so that's why Will was able to confess these things to him [she sees painting scene as a confession, whether Mike realized it or not, and so do I]."

Well damn Mama. And there you have it folks. My.. I'm not gonna call her the h word but.. my- notabigfanofgaythingsandwouldbehappytopretendtheydon'texist mother, perceives Mike as a homosexual kid, and just that. Well bloomin heck that's all the confirmation I need.

I didn't expect this as a turnout, I mean so particularly. My Mama actually didn't like byler - I think. Well. Bloomin heck. She actually enjoyed Vickie x Robin, and this shocked me to my core. I don't know whether this is simply due to her being a fan of Vickie's actress (recognizing her from Anne With an 'E'), but I do know that my mother has a bias in gay relationships and sees ones involving females as more "pure" than that of two males. So her language when describing Will has changed since her realization that he loves Mike for sure (which became undeniable in the van scene). She describes him as being 'obsessed' with Mike, and says writers really wanted to get that obsession across. I agree with Will having been one note during season 4, him hopefully having more time to shine in the approaching season, but I thoroughly disagree with him coming off as obsessive. I suppose our camera man displayed the guy's little glances at Mike so often that my Mama felt it was overdone, and unable to be ignored. I also think she's just avoiding use of the word 'love' when describing anything homosexual.

She still doesn't think Mike demonstrates how much he loves El enough to leave no room for debate. According to her, his moments with her seem surface level. Just as a reminder she does not know my thoughts. She watched that entire 'I love you' thing and still isn't secure in any genuineness of the guy. I believe she supposes that we're intended to acknowledge milkvan's romance, but also probe it.

I now wonder whether my Mama was good enough representation for the average audience, because she actually does own a bias - this being that she usually actively dislikes gay things. So I puzzle over whether her brain overanalyzed any of the boys' highlights, wanting to "expose" their homo intentions. At first things were up in the air, but it became clear that Mike did not pass her gaydar, he was simply too intimate with Will to make that pass. And this wasn't the case in other seasons, she never questioned their friendship til now. She also hasn't acknowledged any supposedly queer relationships besides rickie (vobin?) and byler, meaning that other fan favourites such as elmax, steddie, ronance and such else didn't stand out as gay to her. This doesn't signify those other relationships to not have a chance, I'm elmax's personal cheersquad, it's plainly clear that my mother didn't have a tendency to point at every same sex relationship and yell suspicious. Byler was purely undeniable. You can thank Will's love being canoned for this, otherwise noone would have a need to read into Mike.

I don't know whether she supposes byler to have a chance moreso than the milk in the van, even with Mike's ambiguity. It would seem that as of right now her guess is that watchers are intended to second guess both relationships in order to build up interest. However, she doesn't know how unlikely Will's love life is to turn out negatively seeing as those damn writers manipulated crowds into consistently sympathizing for him. Dunno about the rest of you but that sounds like good news to me.

I have no idea how to close this analysis. Is it an analysis? There's much more I want to say, much more she said, but I fear this to be too jam-packed and aimless as is. I'm writing a third part to my most recent milkthevan failing relationship deep dive, and that'll possibly consist of thoughts I wish to input after gathering so much data from my mother.

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artyandink · 5 months ago

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amoralism | ten

SUMMARY: You and Dean Winchester are the top agents from Major Crimes. You’re also assigned as partners on the same case- a crime syndicate is running loose and buying out most of downtown New York. He hates you cause you hate him. You hate him cause you think he got in his position with his daddy’s influence. But this case is personal to one of you more than the other- and you may be getting too personal for comfort.

TW: Agent Dean Winchester (yes, he’s a warning in itself), mention of murder, murder, Knights of Hell but they’re just murderous humans, description of injuries, use of firearms, a mole in the FBI, Azazel, Asmodeus, crime syndicates, (slightly), pressure, it’s a Kevin and Jo episode guys

Song Inspo: Bones by Imagine Dragons

SERIES MASTERLIST

bilingualism

THREE WEEKS AGO:

The dimly lit operations room was filled with the hum of computer monitors and the soft clatter of keyboard strokes. Kevin and Jo, both were hunched over a desk, their eyes glued to the footage playing on the screen in front of them. The grainy video showed the supposed death of Cain, a case that had puzzled them for days.

Kevin paused the video, leaning back in his chair and rubbing his eyes. "Something about this just doesn't add up," he said, his voice tinged with frustration. "We've watched this footage a dozen times, and it still feels off."

Jo nodded, her brow furrowed in concentration. "Yeah, I know what you mean. There’s something... staged about it. But I can’t quite put my finger on it.”

Kevin replayed the segment where Cain was supposedly killed, focusing on the details. "Look at the way he falls. It's too clean. No struggle, no desperation. It's almost like he knew what was coming."

Jo leaned closer, scrutinizing the screen. "You’re right. And check out the angle of the camera. It’s positioned perfectly to capture the whole scene. Almost like it was set up deliberately."

Kevin's fingers flew across the keyboard, enhancing the footage and zooming in on Cain's face. "See that? He’s looking right at the camera. That’s not a look of fear; it’s... calculated."

Jo's eyes widened. "He’s playing to the audience. He wanted us to see this."

Kevin nodded, a sense of excitement building in his chest. "Exactly. But why? What’s his endgame?"

Jo frowned, leaning back in her chair. "Maybe he wanted us to think he was dead. Take the heat off him, so he could operate from the shadows."

Kevin paused the footage at the moment of Cain's supposed death. "That would explain a lot. But it also means we’ve been chasing a ghost. Cain's out there somewhere, and we’ve got no idea what he’s planning."

Jo ran a hand through her hair, her mind racing. "We need to look at this from a different angle. If Cain wanted us to think he was dead, he must have a reason. Something big."

Kevin started pulling up files on Cain, scanning through his known associates and recent activities. "Cain's always been a step ahead. If he's faked his death, he’s probably planning something major. We need to figure out what that is before it’s too late."

Jo nodded, determination hardening her features. "Right. But first, we need to confirm our theory. Let’s see if there’s any evidence that supports the idea that Cain is still alive."

Kevin brought up a series of reports, focusing on unusual activities that could be linked to Cain. "Look at this. A string of unexplained deaths in the last month. All of them have Cain’s signature—decapitation with a single clean cut."

Jo’s eyes widened. "That’s his calling card. He’s definitely still active. We need to alert the higher-ups."

Kevin hesitated, a frown crossing his face. "Wait. If we go straight to them without solid proof, they might not take us seriously. We need more than just a hunch."

Jo nodded, her jaw set. "You’re right. We need to gather enough evidence to make our case airtight. Let’s start with the footage. There’s got to be something we missed."

Kevin replayed the footage, slowing it down frame by frame. "Look here," he said, pointing to a shadow in the background. "There’s someone else in the room. They’re just out of sight, but you can see their reflection in the window."

Jo squinted at the screen, her heart racing. "That’s it. Cain had an accomplice. Someone who helped him stage his death."

Kevin enhanced the image, revealing the faint outline of a figure. "If we can identify this person, we might be able to track them down and get to Cain."

TWO WEEKS AGO:

The sun was just beginning to set as Kevin and Jo arrived at the scene of the latest decapitation. The crime scene was an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of town, eerily quiet and shrouded in shadows. They parked their car a safe distance away and approached on foot, their flashlights cutting through the growing darkness.

Kevin’s heart raced as they reached the entrance. He glanced at Jo, who nodded in silent agreement. They needed to be cautious; if Cain was on a revenge mission, there was no telling what they might find.

They slipped inside the warehouse, the scent of decay and stale air assaulting their senses. The beam of Kevin’s flashlight fell on the chalk outline of a body and a pool of dried blood. He knelt down, inspecting the scene with a critical eye.

“Looks like the usual M.O.,” Kevin murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “Clean cut, no signs of a struggle.”

Jo scanned the area, her flashlight revealing the remnants of a violent encounter. “Yeah, but something feels different. This doesn’t seem random. Cain’s targeting someone specific.”

Kevin stood up, dusting off his hands. “Let’s look around. Maybe we can find something that ties this to Cain.”

They moved methodically through the warehouse, searching for clues. It wasn’t long before Jo’s flashlight caught something glinting in the shadows. She moved closer, crouching down to inspect it.

“Kevin, over here,” she called softly.

Kevin joined her, and together they examined the object. It was a medallion, intricately carved with symbols that Kevin recognized immediately.

“This is a syndicate insignia,” he said, his eyes widening. “Whoever this was, they were part of the syndicate.”

Jo’s eyes narrowed in thought. “So Cain’s not just killing randomly. He’s targeting members of the syndicate. But why?”

Kevin turned the medallion over in his hands, his mind racing. “Revenge. Cain’s on a revenge mission.”

Jo frowned. “Revenge for what?”

Kevin’s face grew grim as he pieced it together. “For the death of his wife, Collette, and his brother Abel.”

Jo’s eyes widened in realization. “Of course. Cain’s been harboring a grudge for centuries. The syndicate must have been involved in their deaths.”

Kevin nodded. “It makes sense. Cain’s always been driven by a sense of justice, twisted as it may be. If the syndicate had a hand in Collette’s and Abel’s deaths, he’d stop at nothing to make them pay.”

Jo stood up, her expression determined. “We need to find out more about this victim. If we can identify them, we might be able to connect the dots and figure out who Cain’s next target will be.”

Kevin agreed, pocketing the medallion. They continued their search, hoping to uncover more clues that would shed light on the identity of the latest victim. As they moved deeper into the warehouse, Kevin’s flashlight caught a glimpse of a piece of paper pinned to the wall.

“Jo, over here,” he called, moving towards the paper.

Jo joined him, and they examined the paper together. It was a list of names, each one crossed out except for the last two. Kevin recognized a few of the names immediately—prominent members of the syndicate who had been killed in recent weeks.

“This is a hit list,” Jo said, her voice barely above a whisper. “These are Cain’s targets.”

Kevin nodded, his heart pounding. “And it looks like he’s almost done. We need to warn the remaining targets before it’s too late.”

Jo took out her phone, quickly dialing the number of their superior. “We need to get this information to Sam and the others. They need to know what we’ve found.”

Kevin scanned the list, noting the names and locations of the remaining targets. He quickly pulled out his phone, dialling Sam.

He answered on the second ring. ‘Hey, Kevin. What’s up?’

Kevin took a deep breath, steadying himself. "Sam, we’ve got a situation. It’s about Cain."

There was a pause on the other end before Sam’s voice came through, cautious and curious. ‘Cain? I thought he was dead.’

"Yeah, that’s what we all thought," Kevin replied, glancing at Jo for support. "But we’ve got evidence that he’s still alive. And it’s worse than we expected—he’s on a revenge mission."

‘Revenge?’ Sam’s tone shifted, growing more serious. ‘For what?’

Kevin explained quickly, summarizing the events of the past few hours. "We’ve been investigating a series of decapitations, and we found out that all the victims were part of the syndicate. Cain’s been targeting them because he believes they were involved in the deaths of his wife, Collette, and his brother, Abel."

There was another pause as Sam processed the information. ‘That explains a lot. But if Cain’s alive and out for revenge, that means we’re dealing with a Knight of Hell who’s hell-bent on destruction.’

"Exactly," Kevin said. "We’ve already secured the remaining targets on his hit list, but we need to find Cain and stop him before he kills anyone else."

Jo stepped closer to Kevin, speaking up. "Sam, we’ve got a lead on his location. An abandoned farmhouse on the outskirts of town. We’re gearing up to head there now."

Sam’s voice was firm, filled with determination. ‘I’m on my way. Don’t do anything until I get there. We need to handle this carefully.’

ONE WEEK AGO:

The evening sky was a wash of fading orange and deepening purple, casting long shadows that seemed to pulse with the tension of the impending confrontation. Sam led the charge, his expression grim and focused.

And hoping his hair wouldn’t fall in his face.

The intel Kevin and Jo had uncovered suggested that this dilapidated farmhouse was Cain’s hideout. After weeks of relentless investigation and countless dead ends, they were finally closing in on the man responsible for a series of brutal murders, each victim a former member of a notorious criminal syndicate. Cain’s revenge was nearly complete, and they knew they were running out of time.

Sam motioned for silence as they approached the front door, his eyes scanning the surroundings for any signs of movement. Kevin and Jo flanked him, their weapons drawn and ready. The tension was palpable, each agent acutely aware of the stakes.

Sam took a deep breath, then kicked the door open, the sound echoing through the empty farmhouse. They moved in swiftly, clearing rooms with practiced efficiency. The air was thick with dust and the lingering scent of decay. As they reached the living room, they found Cain seated calmly in an old armchair, a faint smile playing on his lips.

“Looks like you found me,” Cain said, his voice low and steady. “But you’re too late.”

Sam stepped forward, his gun trained on Cain. “Where are the others?”

Cain shook his head, his smile widening. “They’re gone. All of them. My revenge is complete.”

Kevin felt a chill run down his spine. They had been too late. The realization hit him like a punch to the gut. Jo’s eyes were locked onto Cain, her expression a mix of anger and frustration.

“What do you mean, ‘they’re gone’?” Jo demanded, her voice tight with barely restrained fury.

Cain leaned back in his chair, his eyes cold and calculating. “I’ve taken care of everyone responsible for Collette’s death and my brother Abel’s betrayal. Every single one of them.”

Sam tightened his grip on his weapon. “This ends now, Cain. You’re coming with us.”

Cain’s smile faded, replaced by a look of somber resolve. “You think I’m the biggest threat you’re facing? You’re wrong. There’s someone within your own ranks, someone who’s been working against you all along.”

Kevin and Jo exchanged a confused glance. Sam’s eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening. “What are you talking about?”

“There’s a mole in your organization,” Cain said, his voice carrying a weight of certainty. “Someone who’s been feeding information to the syndicate, undermining your every move.”

Jo’s eyes widened in shock. “A mole? Who?”

Cain shrugged, his expression inscrutable. “I don’t know their identity. But I do know they’re close. Closer than you think.”

Kevin felt a knot of dread tighten in his stomach. A mole within the FBI could explain the many setbacks they had faced during the investigation. But who could it be?

Sam took a step closer to Cain, his voice a low growl. “Why should we believe you?”

Cain met Sam’s gaze, unflinching. “Because I have no reason to lie. My revenge is complete. I have nothing left to lose.”

The silence that followed was heavy with tension. Sam exchanged a look with Kevin and Jo, then holstered his weapon. “We’re taking you in, Cain. You’ll have plenty of time to tell us everything you know.”

Cain didn’t resist as Sam and Jo cuffed him, his expression one of resignation. Kevin’s mind was racing, trying to process the implications of what Cain had revealed. If there truly was a mole within the FBI, they needed to find them before more lives were put at risk.

Back at the FBI headquarters, the atmosphere was charged with a mixture of frustration and determination. Cain was secured in an interrogation room, under constant watch. Sam, Kevin, and Jo convened in a conference room, the gravity of their situation weighing heavily on them.

Sam paced the length of the room, his mind clearly racing. “If Cain’s telling the truth, we have a serious problem. A mole within our ranks could explain why this investigation has been so difficult.”

Kevin nodded, his fingers tapping nervously on the table. “We need to re-examine everyone. Look at their access, their movements, any anomalies in their behavior.”

Jo leaned forward, her eyes sharp with focus. “We’ve already ruled out the usual suspects. We need to think outside the box. Consider people we haven’t scrutinized as closely.”

Sam stopped pacing and turned to face them. “We’ll need to do this quietly. If the mole realizes we’re onto them, they could cause even more damage. Let’s start with access logs and communication records. Anyone who’s had unusual access to sensitive information.”

Kevin pulled out his laptop, quickly accessing the FBI’s internal database. Jo began sifting through recent case files, looking for any discrepancies or unusual patterns.

FOUR DAYS AGO:

Kevin and Jo sat across from each other in the dimly lit interrogation room, the sterile walls echoing with their frustration. The clock on the wall ticked mercilessly, reminding them of how little time they had left to uncover the mole within the FBI.

Kevin sighed, rubbing his eyes. “We’ve gone through the files a hundred times, Jo. There has to be something we’re missing.”

Jo leaned back in her chair, staring at the ceiling as if the answer might be written there. “I know, Kevin. But everyone we’ve investigated so far checks out. There’s no indication of anyone working against us.”

Kevin flipped through a thick stack of personnel files, each one meticulously marked with notes and red flags. “Let’s go over the interviews again. Maybe we missed a detail.”

Jo pulled out a notebook, the pages filled with hastily scribbled observations. “We’ve already ruled out Sam, Benny, Cas, Meg, and Ruby. They’ve all got alibis and their stories check out.”

Kevin nodded, his mind racing. “But what if the mole is someone we haven’t even considered? Someone under the radar?”

Jo tapped her pen against the table, deep in thought. “Like who? We’ve gone through everyone in our immediate circle.”

Kevin stood up, pacing the room. “Maybe it’s someone who’s not directly involved with us but has access to sensitive information. A support staff member, a janitor, someone who blends in.”

Jo’s eyes widened with realization. “You might be onto something. We need to broaden our scope. Look at everyone who’s had access to classified information, even if they’re not directly involved in our operations.”

Kevin nodded, feeling a spark of hope. “Let’s start with the cleaning crew. They’re here late at night when no one else is around. It’s possible someone could have overheard something or found a way to access our files.”

Jo jotted down a list of names. “Alright, let’s split up and start interviewing them. We need to be thorough.”

They moved with renewed determination, ready to uncover the truth.

THREE DAYS AGO:

The break room was quiet, the usual hum of chatter replaced by the soft buzz of the vending machine. Kevin and Jo sat at a small table, reviewing the cleaning crew’s schedules and backgrounds.

Kevin sipped his coffee, his eyes scanning the list. “So far, everyone we’ve talked to seems clean. No suspicious behavior, no access to restricted areas. Cleaning crew was a bust.”

Jo nodded, tapping her fingers on the table. “But we need to keep digging. There has to be a connection we’re not seeing.”

Kevin set down his coffee, leaning forward. “Let’s think about motive. Why would someone want to betray us? Money? Blackmail? Ideological reasons?”

Jo frowned, her brow furrowing. “It could be any of those. Or something we haven’t even considered. We need to think outside the box.”

Kevin’s eyes lit up with an idea. “What if it’s not about the usual reasons? What if it’s personal? Someone with a grudge against one of us?”

Jo looked thoughtful. “It’s possible. But who would have a personal vendetta against us?”

Kevin pulled out a piece of paper, jotting down names and potential motives. “Let’s make a list of anyone who’s had conflicts with our team in the past. Even minor disagreements could be a clue.”

Jo grabbed a pen, joining him in the brainstorming session. “Alright, let’s start with recent cases. Anyone we’ve crossed paths with who might hold a grudge.”

They worked in silence, their minds racing as they compiled the list. It was a long shot, but it was the best lead they had.

TWO DAYS AGO:

The FBI archives were a labyrinth of files and documents, stretching back decades. Kevin and Jo had spent hours sifting through the records, their eyes tired and their bodies aching from the constant strain.

Kevin pulled out another box of files, setting it on the table with a heavy thud. “There has to be something in here. Some connection we’ve overlooked.”

Jo flipped through a stack of papers, her fingers smudged with ink. “We’ve reviewed all the recent cases. Maybe we need to look further back. See if there’s a pattern.”

Kevin nodded, opening the box and pulling out a file. “Let’s start with cases that involved multiple agents. Larger operations where more people were involved.”

They worked in silence, the only sounds the rustling of papers and the occasional murmur of realization. Hours passed as they delved deeper into the archives, their frustration mounting with each dead end.

Jo suddenly looked up, her eyes wide. “Kevin, look at this.”

Kevin leaned over, peering at the file in her hands. It was an old case, one that had involved a large-scale operation against a powerful criminal syndicate. Several agents had been involved, including some who were still with the Bureau.

“This operation was a mess,” Jo said, pointing to the notes in the margin. “Several agents were compromised, and there were allegations of a mole even back then.”

Kevin’s mind raced. “But they never found the mole. What if it’s the same person, still operating within the Bureau?”

Jo nodded, her excitement growing. “It’s possible. We need to cross-reference these agents with the ones currently on our list.”

They worked quickly, their energy renewed by the potential breakthrough. If they could find a connection, they might finally be able to unmask the mole.

ONE DAY AGO:

The surveillance room was filled with monitors, each displaying different angles of the FBI headquarters. Kevin and Jo watched the screens intently, their eyes scanning for any sign of suspicious activity.

Kevin pointed to one of the screens. “There. That’s Agent Harris. He’s been acting strange lately, always staying late and avoiding eye contact.”

Jo nodded, making a note. “And there’s Agent Parker. She’s been spending a lot of time in the restricted areas, even when she’s not on duty.”

They continued to watch, their suspicions growing with each observation. They had compiled a list of agents who had been involved in the old operation and were now focusing their surveillance on them.

Kevin glanced at Jo, his expression serious. “We need to be careful. If the mole realizes we’re onto them, they might make a move.”

Jo nodded, her eyes never leaving the screens. “We’ll keep watching. Sooner or later, they’ll slip up.”

Hours passed, the tension in the room growing with each passing minute. They monitored every movement, every interaction, hoping for a clue that would lead them to the mole.

Suddenly, Jo’s eyes widened. “Kevin, look at this.”

Kevin leaned forward, his heart pounding. One of the agents on their list was meeting with a known associate of the syndicate— Azazel, no less, their conversation hushed and secretive.

“No way.” She whispered, grabbing her phone and rushing to make a call while Kevin stared wide eyed at the screen.

“That’s it,” Kevin whispered. “We’ve got our mole.”

NOW:

You felt numb. You felt… you didn’t know how to feel. In fact, your feet were barely carrying you towards the interrogation room, where you met Sam. He gave you a small nod, reassuring in hopes to calm the rising of bile, venom and blind fury that rose in your gut, threatening to boil over, but you shoved it down for the sake of it.

“He’s in there.” Sam nodded through the door, but stopped you before you could go in full guns blazing, pulling you in for a brief hug, his chin on your head. “Keep your cool, ok?”

“I will.” You assured quietly, and made your way in, your blood turning to ice.

There he was, at the interrogation table, cuffed to the desk. Smirk playing at his pouty lips, sandy hair slightly tousled from not having come quietly, red flannel and knowing look on his face. Green eyes following your every move, every slope of your body as you walked, tongue now tracing his upper teeth.

Dean Winchester. Dean was the mole in the FBI.

“Took you long enough, sweetheart.” He chuckled in a gravelly voice, which you ignored, taking the case file from Kevin with a small nod that said ‘well done’ to him and Jo. They’d been working the case while you were out playing a part in some badly written romance movie.

You cleared your throat, looking him in the eye. “So. It’s you. Why didn’t I see what you were doing?”

“I don’t think you were ever that perceptive, eh?” He grinned at you, clasping his hands together. “Ain’t no game that’s worth it if you ain’t the winner, am I right? But I played you good.”

“You sure did.” You replied, being cold about it the best you could. Your arms folded, jaw set and staring him dead in the eye. “But why did you do it?”

He laughed, throwing his head back before he looked back to you with a smirk. He cracked his Cheshire grin and gave you his best cocky-ass smile, one that made him look like the Devil. But there was only one thing worse than the Devil and that was the Devil in lion's clothing. “Because it’s fun.”

“You had sex with me because it was fun?” You frowned, folding your arms. “You wanted to get me this big win, is that what you wanted? Is this your idea of a big win?”

Dean smirked, leaning forward. “It’s my big win, darlin’. I said I’d get you a win, never said who’s.” Then he chuckled. “My patience’s worn thin. Adiós, sweet thing.”

His cuffs dropped from his hands, a Bobby pin clattering to the floor as the officers yelled out in surprise. Before they could react, they were knocked out with a clean few punches, and Dean had tackled you to the floor, the impact of your head hitting stone making your vision go blurry and the corners of it black.

You felt his lips on yours, further kissing what felt like the life out of you before he pulled back, hearing his footsteps disappear into the hallway along with hells and grunts that followed.

Your vision turning black.

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sundrop-writes · 1 year ago

Text

Shared Trauma

Sub!Gar Logan x Dom!Fem!Reader

Summary:

Gar had a very hard day. You know you can’t take away the pain, so you try your best to distract him from it instead.

Sub!Gar Logan x Dom!Fem!Reader. Friends to Lovers. Smut and Angst. Set during Season 1, Episode 7.

Word Count: 3,600

DC Titans Masterlist | AO3 Link

THIS IS A RE-POST. This is a fic from my old blog (a blog that was shadowbanned, forcing me to move). This fic is not stolen, it is completely mine, and I am just re-posting it to help people find my new blog, and to make my masterlist complete when I post new fics for this fandom.

Detailed warnings and author's notes below the cut.

Warnings: some emotional angst, mentions of trauma/PTSD - Gar kills someone for the first time and is very upset about it (as in the canon), friends to lovers, takes place during Season 1 Episode 7 (“Asylum”), descriptions of canon level violence, this is a smut fic, the reader character is implied to be fat, the reader character uses she/her pronouns and has a vagina, this isn’t a hard sub/dom relationship but there is sub/dom undertones, Gar is more submissive and the reader is more dominant, the reader calls Gar ‘good boy’ and he really likes it, tiddy sucking, p in v sex, unprotected sex, the reader rides Gar, creampie, quick/desperate sex. I believe that’s everything. Most of the focus here is on the emotional side of things and not the smut so if you wanna see more PWP, definitely let me know.

A/N: fic is titled after a Pierce The Veil song because I have been obsessed with the new album, and I think it really fits here. Having a trauma with someone, but it just draws you closer together and makes you seek comfort in them. I did consider making up a mission that wasn’t in the canon for this, but I am always drawn to how sad, wet, and pathetic he is after killing the scientist, especially if we’re doing sub!Gar - he seems especially subby and in need of comfort.

...

When you woke up alone, you weren’t entirely surprised.

Of course you missed Gar’s presence beside you in bed. But you hadn’t exactly expected him to be sleeping peacefully after the day the two of you had.

You and Gar were always the type of best friends to share a bed. Both of you sought the kind of comfort that could only come from cuddling close to the warm body of a safe person. Most often, you could only fall asleep beside each other.

It had been that way since he had first been taken in by Doctor Caulder and he had come to you for comfort after he had woken up sorely missing his parents. On that first night, you had fallen asleep cradling him, and pretty much every night since then, the two of you shared a bed without question.

The two of you were just intensely affectionate people, and you saw nothing wrong with expressing your friendship through those simple touches. It was just friendly, after all.

The two of you always hugged each other tight and held hands while walking in public. There were many times when Gar put his arm around you or kissed you on the forehead, or times when you kissed him on the cheek. You weren’t shy about expressing your very platonic love for your best friend (at least, that’s what you had to tell yourself).

The two of you weren’t romantically involved - you were just very close best friends.

No matter what others thought when they looked at you, having those stereotypes in their minds about a guy and girl not being able to be ‘just friends’. Even if you wanted to play into that stereotype so badly with him - even if you wanted all of those people to be right. You would never risk ruining your friendship with him just because of some annoying crush. You were very good at keeping all of your stupid feelings trapped inside of your chest.

Especially on days like this. When life got hardest, he needed you to be there more as a friend than anything else. And you needed him too.

It was one of the reasons that he had gotten into bed with you that night, despite the fact that he scoffed at the very mention of trying to sleep. He wanted to be there for you. So you really weren’t surprised when you woke up and the bed was cold, void of his presence. Because of course, he couldn’t sleep.

It had been a long, hectic, shitty day.

After everything that had happened, you weren’t even really ‘sleeping’ yourself.

You were drifting on the edge of consciousness, so exhausted from the day that your body was trying to forcibly knock you out. Between Kory and Dick screwing loudly on one side and Rachel and her birth mother chattering brightly and even crying on the other side, you had been having a very hard time falling asleep. That, and the horrors of the day still flashing through your mind. It made for a deadly cocktail that kept you awake. If not for the pure exhaustion of day’s events weighing you down - then you probably wouldn’t have closed your eyes at all.

When you came back into a hard consciousness this time, though, you missed the feeling of Gar’s arm around your waist. You instantly missed the feeling of his pleasant warmth at your back - cradling you, making you feel safe.

Before you even had your fully eyes open, you were out of bed yourself. It was almost an instinct, being so entirely drawn to him. You wandered out to the larger living space of the very expensive condo ‘safehouse’ with your socked feet on the cold floor. You clutched at your own arms under the loose sleeves of your oversized sleep shirt as goosebumps formed on your skin.

You wondered in the back of your mind what the weather was like outside and if Dick had turned on the heat before going to bed. Then you had to wonder if adjusting the thermostat was even a concern in anyone’s mind after such a long day. It was probably only on your mind now that you were missing your human heater.

You found Gar sitting on the couch.

He had his oversized green headphones on, his phone screen providing the only real light in the room - aside from the everpresent glow of the city that leaked in from the tall glass panels that could be called walls in the ultra modern house. He was holding the screen inches away from his face as he slumped back against the unused couch.

He was likely making an imprint of himself that would be the only ‘lived in’ essence of the overwhelming cold, expensive atmosphere of the place. From the sideways tilt of the screen and the way his thumbs were moving, you easily guessed that he was playing some kind of game. Something to distract his mind from the day’s events still playing there on repeat like a bad movie.

He was wearing a pair of sweatpants that Dick had given him, dug out of a drawer of clothing that was apparently always kept in the place in case a need for it should come up. Just something else the ‘safehouse’ stocked, like food, medical supplies, and monetary currency from all different countries (because Bruce was rich and paranoid enough to be prepared for ‘any scenario’).

Gar had paired the pants with one of your tee shirts.

Something that was slightly big on him even with his natural muscle mass filling it out, bright tie-dye and worn-in cotton. It was purely you. Having the fabric draped over his body did make him feel at least somewhat at ease because it was soaked in your natural smell. It made him feel close to you even when he had gotten out of bed.

He hadn’t wanted to bother you with his tossing and turning or the bright glowing light of his phone screen when he knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep properly.

He felt your presence in the room, but he didn’t look up until you crept further toward him, steering into his hazy peripheral view. He shrugged off the headphones as he looked up, locking eyes with you over the top of his phone. Your heart ached as you saw that expression so well illuminated by the sharp white light from the screen. He had the face of a kicked puppy, big wide eyes staring you down. Especially because he was making a clear effort not to let his mouth curl into a deep whimpering frown.

You knew that the events of the day had been particularly hard on him.

Of course, there was the obvious. The mental exhaustion and fear of being kidnapped and held hostage. The pulsating adrenaline of wondering if he was going to come out alive, on top of the worry he felt for you, Rachel, Dick, and Kory. The intense physical torture he had suffered at the hands of ‘scientists’ controlled by a doomsday cult.

But on top of all of it, he had experienced something far worse. Something that you knew was far more taxing on his mind.

He had killed someone for the first time.

You feared that he was too gentle for killing. Even with the amazing power he wielded.

Gar - someone who protested eating meat because he hated the idea of an animal being harmed for the sake of his nutrition. Gar - someone who always scooped up spiders and household pests to bring them outside because in his opinion, even the smallest of creatures deserve peace.

You knew that he was someone who never planned on using his powers to truly harm anyone.

But the moment the choice had been presented to him - to use his powers to harm someone, or to let you be harmed - it hadn’t really been a choice in his mind at all.

You had been backed into a corner. You thought you had been clever, breaking out of the room they had locked you in with nothing more than an earring as a lockpick. But without a weapon and without a plan, Gar saw them threatening you and became blind with rage.

Before he truly knew what was happening, he tasted flesh.

A very large part of him didn’t regret it. He would choose your life over the life of someone unknown - someone who was going to hurt you - any day of the week. He knew that, if given the same choice, he would do it all over again.

But there was another part inside of him that kept gnawing with guilt. Another part that said he was wrong, that said there should have been some other way. Something inside of him that said he was now just the villain in someone else’s story - that he wasn’t any better than the people who tried to hurt you in the first place.

In a lot of ways, that voice said, he was worse than them.

That voice made it difficult for him to sleep.

“Can’t sleep?” You hummed out, approaching the couch to come and sit beside him.

Gar did little more than shrug in response to the question. He didn’t want to admit the weakness aloud. He didn’t want to tell you that he was warring with guilt over something that the others - especially you - didn’t seem to struggle with.

You both already knew the answer. It had been a hard day for him. Of course sleep was far beyond his grasp.

In a silent, but comfortable exchange, Gar locked his phone and set it aside, entirely uncaring of saving his progress in the game while you sat down beside him. You slid onto the couch with your butt half nestled on top of his hip and your legs strung across his lap. He reached one arm in front of you, draping it over the thickness of your thighs. In a very natural move, he lazily wrapped his knuckles around your bare skin.

Neither of you bothered to acknowledge your lack of pants - the fact that you were only wearing underwear with your oversized sleep shirt. You were so used to each other at this point that casual states of undress didn’t really need to be acknowledged.

He drew mindless patterns into your skin with his thumb and slung his other arm over the back of the couch, bringing you into his lovely natural warmth. You laid your head onto his chest, easily cuddling into his side as you indulged in the familiarity. With his phone turned off, the darkness ruminating through the room was a silent cloak that enveloped the two of you. It made it much easier to fall into that routine of comfort that the two of you always embraced.

You would explicitly deny that his touch on your bare skin felt like a deadly trail of needles erupting with fire - in the best way possible. Now was not the time for your lust to be breaking through. He was your best friend, and he was clearly in need of comfort.

“I missed my human heater.” You mumbled out quietly, nuzzling into his side affectionately.

He let out a hazy breath - some attempt at a laugh in response to your affectionate nickname for him. It was something he knew well about your friendship. You had a constantly chilly body, and he would always be there to warm you up with his blazen hot skin. Just another perk from his mutation - even when he got stuck out in the snow, he never ran cold.

Now that you had acknowledged that wordless question (the reason you had gotten out of bed, why you couldn’t sleep), it was Gar’s turn to do the same.

It hung in the air over his head and turned into a stony silence in the quiet, dark room that made each of his breaths seem particularly heavy beside your ear. It was a tension that built upon itself for a few moments. You weren’t going to ask, even though you had a feeling you virtually already knew the answer. You wondered if he was going to come out and admit it before you simply dragged him back to bed and forced him to stay there out of your own selfish need.

But then he finally broke the silence by saying the words.

“Whenever I close my eyes… I just keep seeing his face.”

His words were tentative, a quiet whimper released into the room after being trapped in his chest for too long. Like electricity, shocking and impossible to avoid, you felt his pain surging through you. It caused your throat to clench painfully. You shifted slightly, turning so that you could get a better look at his face. Even in the dimness, the sad glassiness of his eyes practically glowed.

“Gar,”

You called out his name, your own voice giving away a depth of weakness that you held for him. Before you could help it, you were reaching up and cradling the side of his face with a cupped palm. Even though your hands were cool, the feeling was intensely comforting to him - just because it was you. He couldn’t help but lean into it, leaning on your hand as though it was the only thing in the world holding him up in that moment. When he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to force some of that terrible guilt away, he accidentally forced the tears out and let them leak freely onto your hand.

“Oh, baby.” You cooed out.

You were entirely unsure why the nickname popped out. The sound of it on your own lips even surprised you. It was something you had never called him before. But he didn’t stop you, didn’t seem to find it unpleasant, so you continued.

“You did what you had to do.” You told him with certainty. “You saved my life.”

That was something infinitely valuable to him. But he wondered if somehow, he had diminished his own value in the process.

More thick tears slipped down his face and you thumbed them away upon instinct. He swallowed thickly before he spoke again, though this time his words were heavily entrenched in those tears.

“What if that man had a family?” Gar sniffled quietly. “What if-?”

“Of course he had a family, Gar.” You quickly cut him off, knowing that his words were quickly spiraling into a deep, putrid guilt.

That guilt was definitely something you felt the need to save him from.

Upon hearing your words, he looked at you with sharp hurt in his eyes. Clearly, he had been expecting you to argue against his point, rather than confirm it. But you had a completely different line of thinking in mind.

“Everyone does.” You continued on. “Everyone has people who miss them. But you can’t waste your sympathy on some fictional family you’ve made up for the guy in your head. Having a family and being missed doesn’t give people the right to attack others and get away with it. The possibility of being missed doesn’t mean that people can go through life without seeing the consequences of their actions.”

Gar let out a quiet huff. It was a sound of defeat - a signal saying that your words had punctured his surface, but hadn’t quite set in yet.

When he didn’t say anything in reply, you continued.

“You’re my family.” You told him firmly.

You used the hold on his cheek to fully turn his head toward yours, and you gently angled into him so that your foreheads were pressed together. Gar closed his eyes and basked in the soothing feeling as you continued talking.

“And I’m yours. And I really, truly don’t care about who lives or dies outside of us. I don’t care what happens as long as we’re safe. And we’re together.”

You wanted to add on a verbal exception for the others - for Rachel, and Dick, and Kory, and likely Rachel’s mom just for her sake. An exception for the people who had quickly also become your family in the short time since you had met them. But you had a feeling that Gar knew about this exception in your mind without you having to voice it.

Gar swallowed hard again, and this time you felt it bob harshly through him while pressed so closely together. You felt him let out a harsh breath before he spoke again.

“I guess… I guess I’m just worried about what you think of me now.” He spoke the words so quietly, as if his fear even crept into voicing this. “I don’t want my favorite person in the world to be afraid of me. Or… to think I’m a bad person.”

“I’m not afraid of you.” You quickly argued the point, a slight laughter on your lips at the mere thought of it - at the mention of being afraid of someone like him.

Yes, he could turn into a giant green tiger, and yes, seeing him use that power to its full extent for the first time had been… jarring. But you would never be afraid of someone who cried during Pixar movies and said it was ‘inhumane’ to kill the animals in Minecraft for food.

“I could never be afraid of you, Gar.” You easily added on. “You’re not a bad person. You’re such a good person. You’re so good. You’re such a good boy.”

Those words struck a cord deep within his soul, and a whimper escaped his lips before he could stop it.

“Say that again.” He told you, so pitifully that it almost sounded like begging. “Please?”

“You’re such a good boy.” You repeated yourself, running your thumb along the soft skin of his cheek once again. “You’re a good boy, Gar.”

In a moment, the air shifted.

The magnetism between the two of you came to a fierce head, and the desperation, the vulnerability that the day’s events had brought forward morphed itself from pain and sadness into something the two of you knew well in the presence of each other - pure wanting. But this time, both of you were exhausted and completely lacking the energy to have any self control to hold it back.

“Y/N-”

He barely got out a whimper of your name before you pressed forward that extra inch, stealing his breath as you pressed your lips to his. It was a perfect moment - a beautiful culmination of everything you had ever wanted since meeting him. You definitely weren’t going to waste it.

He moaned into the kiss and you echoed it back, gulping in breaths through your nose so you wouldn’t have to pull away from the soft cushion of his lips, not even for a moment. When he reached for a greedy grip on the back of your head, filthy and wanting, gently nibbling on your bottom lip - your instincts took over. You blindly swung a leg out, climbing over his waist, and he let out a sharp hiss at the feeling of your weight being planted in his lap. You were beautiful and whole as you sat down on top of him, a perfect reminder that this wasn’t just a dream as his cock quickly swelled to life under the heat of your core where it brushed against his borrowed pants.

“Please-” He whimpered into your mouth, barely able to get the word out before you sucked his bottom lip into your mouth, making him moan out shakily in the most beautiful way.

You planted your hands on his shoulders, easily taking control of the situation - not that he cared. He felt like he belonged under your controlling grip, under the pleasant weight of your body as his hard cock throbbed underneath your perfect weight. In a blur of heady kisses, swapping breath with the only man you had ever wanted like this, you got your underwear off and got his pants around his ankles. He shoved your shirt up over your breasts to possessively latch onto one of them with his mouth as you reached down and lined up his pulsing cock with your wet, wanting cunt.

“Oh-”

He let out another beautifully pathetic whimper as you sunk down onto him in one smooth movement. Your tight, wet heat quickly surrounded him and made his head spin. You felt so full that it almost choked you, but the hot pangs of electricity that shot up through your pussy easily spurred you on. You wasted no time before you began a brutal pace, bouncing on his lap as if he was nothing more than a toy for your own pleasure. The slap of skin on skin was irritably loud in the otherwise silent room, accompanied only by Gar’s harsh, animalistic pants and your choked-off moans as you struggled to comprehend the fullness of his nearly overwhelming cock.

You both needed it. You needed the intense sting of pleasure to push out the worries of the day.

With Gar’s hands gripping at your waist as if you might slip away at any moment and his face buried in your breasts, you almost didn’t hear the quiet murmur of his request when he managed to get the words out beyond that blinding pleasure.

“Say it again,” He choked out past his harsh breaths. “Please!”

It took your cock-drunk brain a moment to comprehend it, but when the gears fully churned, you instantly knew what he meant.

“You’re a good boy,”

You moaned out, reaching a hand up to pet through his hair. You took a fierce grip on those green locks, never once faltering in the harsh, unforgiving rhythm of your hips as you continued to piston yourself up and down on his cock.

“You’re a good boy, Gar.”

“Oh - fuck!” Gar grunted into your chest.

At the sound of your voice saying this, declaring that he was a good boy - he abruptly came inside you.

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