#all of his problems were made up in his head. from the paranoia and such. my problems are REAL!!!!!!!!!!

[lesbianlenas]

i neeeed to start day drinking. unironically.

[whimsyvixen]

𝕊𝕚𝕝𝕖𝕟𝕔𝕖 𝕌𝕟𝕕𝕖𝕣𝕟𝕖𝕒𝕥𝕙 ~ 𝟙/?

Stalker Fic (original work)

Rating: 18+ Pairing: Female Reader x Male Yandere Synopsis/Excerpt:   It felt like someone was looking at you. A predator looking at a fawn. Waiting for the right moment to sink its powerful jaws into its frail neck, and tear it apart. WARNINGS/TAGS: Dark fic, rape/noncon elements, extremely dubious consent, stalking, yandere, unhealthy relationships, obsessive behavior, masturbation, captivity, non-consensual bondage, dacryphilia, forced breeding, forced orgasm, vaginal sex, fuck or die, tags will grow as this story progresses. ⚠️READ THE TAGS: Please be aware this work contains content that the reader may feel uncomfortable with or otherwise triggered by. DO NOT READ if bothered by tags . NO minors. ⚠️

A/N: Wooo! so I finally decided to make story for this post I made awhile back (a thousand thank you's to everyone who liked and commented <3 ). Please read up on the tags, so you know what to expect in the coming chapters. Happy reading!

-Dividers by @adornedwithlight-

It was raining outside, the distant thunder and pitter patter of raindrops hitting the window creating a lullaby that was lulling you to sleep. Combined with the soft rumbling of the bus, you could feel your body’s desperate need for rest after a grueling shift at work. 

Familiar streets and roads were tracked by your eyes, the expected relief of almost getting home brightening up your mood despite the gloomy weather. You estimated that you'll reach your destination in less than half an hour, rummaging through your purse to take out your phone to set up a timer in case sleep overtakes you and you miss your stop. 

Pressing the lever of your seat to recline, you got comfortable and laid your cardigan over your chest, finally giving in to the urge of closing your eyes. Seconds ticked by and all you could think about was how you couldn't wait to be in the comfort of the soft bedding on your mattress. Your muscles were practically begging for relief and you had enough pillows and blankets waiting for you back home to alleviate this problem. 

It couldn't have been more than a few minutes that passed– your mind completely disassociating from reality while you snoozed– when your peace was shattered. A shiver of unease ran through you, waking up your consciousness abruptly and causing you to jolt awake. 

The same feeling that’s been haunting you for weeks now was back.

The hairs on the back of your neck stood and your heart rate picked up.

It hadn’t always been like this. You could still remember a time when you climbed inside the vehicle without your gut twisting anxiously. At first, you chalked it up to it being caused by some low level of anxiety you were experiencing or lack of restful sleep. Something that could be easily remedied by swallowing a pill stashed inside a drawer back home.

However, as of late, a feeling of wariness and fear seemed to consume you, your fight or flight response triggered whenever you climbed up the stairs of the bus, each step weighing heavy on your legs as you went to take your seat.

It felt like someone was looking at you. 

A predator looking at a fawn.

Waiting for the right moment to sink its powerful jaws into its frail neck, and tear it apart.

The paranoia getting to you, you turned your head to the right, swallowing down your nervousness as you tried to find the source of your panic. 

There was a man seated in the opposite seats across from you. His stretched out and bulky frame took up much of the space, the black cap on his head and the mask he wore obscuring his features and giving him a mysterious vibe. The turtleneck shirt clung to him, emphasizing the broad muscles of his upper body even in his relaxed state. His back was to the window, his left leg bent in a careless fashion along both seats, facing you directly as he was browsing through his phone. 

At least, you thought that's what he was doing. You didn't want to believe that the man was taking unwanted pictures or videos of you while you slept. 

You didn't realize you were staring for too long, the stranger’s attention shifting away from his phone when he could feel your gaze, freezing you in place as your eyes connected with those dark depths. For some reason, you couldn’t look away, too afraid to blink as a chill took over you from being under the perusal of those piercing eyes. There was something wrong, you just couldn’t explain it. He tilted his head to the side, regarding your stunned state for a moment before his eyes crinkled with amusement. He waved good naturedly at you, a normal gesture of greeting that you would've returned if not for the twisting of your gut that warned you against doing such a thing. 

When you didn’t return his gesture, the stranger’s eyebrows furrowed in dejection, bringing his hand down to lay against his lap almost disappointedly. 

A good few seconds passed with both unwilling to look away from each other. 

Your eyes, firm and guarded while his were inquisitive and curious.

As if finally sensing your unease, the stranger backed off by turning to sit properly in his seat and shifting his focus back to his phone. 

Letting out a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding, you grabbed your purse and whipped out your phone, your shaky hands nearly dropping it when you first grabbed it. Turning the screen on, you realized you had taken a ten minute nap with seconds to spare from your alarm ringing. You were mere minutes away from arriving at your stop.

Taking a quick glance at the stranger once more, you tried to rid your paranoid thoughts that he was the reason for your being on edge these past few weeks. It couldn’t be, you tried reasoning to yourself. If anything, you were in the wrong for staring at him funny when you’ve never seen him before. Maybe this was his first ride on the bus and you made his experience weird because you kept looking at him as if accusing him of something heinous. Maybe he was just trying to be friendly and not spook you when you caught each other’s eye by accident. Maybe your groggy mind was making things up about a complete stranger. 

Could the stress of work and your responsibilities piling up for the past few months be messing with your awareness? There was nothing special about you. You weren’t an important person. There was nothing, no gifted ability or priviledge, that separated you from the throngs of people you saw every day while heading to work. Why would someone want you with your bleak existence and no future aspirations?

Your anxiousness and worry slowly left you when you drew those conclusions about yourself, replaced with self pity as you realized you really had nothing going for your life. The somber expression staring back at you through your phone’s black screen only dimming your mood further. 

It was a while before the bus slowed to a stop, the driver’s familiar voice announcing your destination and making you stand to walk to the front. Not paying attention to your footing, you tripped over your own feet and felt gravity pull you under. A small yip tumbled out of your lips, feeling pain on your left elbow from the hard impact on the floor. Your purse went flying in a comical fashion, your disoriented mind not sure in which direction it landed or if anything fell out of it. 

Embarrassment quickly flooded you, feeling the eyes of other passengers stare at you and hearing a few snickers amongst them. Wincing from the blossoming pain in your arm, you had barely braced your hands on the floor ready to stand up, when you felt warm hands encircle your waist.

“Here,” a deep voice whispered against your ear. “Let me help you, sweetheart.”

You were lifted from the floor easily, your weight meaning nothing to the man as he held you gently until you got your bearings straight. You looked up at him, having to crane your neck upwards due to his tall height and seeing it was the masked stranger.

“I, uhm.. Thank you,” you stuttered over your words, a flush of heat blooming in your face at his proximity. You wanted to kick yourself for how high pitched your voice sounded, unable to maintain eye contact with him when he gazed so intently back at you. If you dared to say, it felt like he was trying to memorize every small detail about your face– birthmarks, the slope of your nose, shape of your lips, the emotion in your eyes. Realizing that you still held on to his arms wrapped around your waist, you nervously laughed before going to break yourself away from the intimate embrace. 

“I’m okay now, you can let go,” you assured him, the fake smile plastered on your face concealing your tense disposition from his closeness. 

You chose to ignore the way his fingers dug momentarily into your waist, gripping you a little too tight to be normal before he loosened his grasp, allowing you to generate a more respectable distance between you and him. Seeing your startled reaction to his handling of you, the stranger immediately apologized for his actions.

“You’ll have to forgive me for my forwardness.” He told you, imploring you with his eyes that he meant no harm. He bent down to pick up something on the floor, his other hand holding up the strap of your purse for you to take it. “I only wanted to make sure you wouldn’t trip over yourself again.”

“Oh! I-It’s ok really, I-,” your words were interrupted by the harsh voice of the driver telling you to hurry to the front if you planned to get out. You quickly snatched your purse back, ignoring the little jolt of electricity that zipped through you when you grazed his fingers. “Um, I have to go but thank you, again! Bye!” 

You turned to walk briskly down the steps of the bus, thanking the bus driver for his patience and stepping out into the familiar streets of your neighborhood. Luckily for you, the rain had slowed to a soft drizzle, an umbrella not needed for the small trek you took to arrive at the apartment where you’ve been renting for the past year. 

Locking the door behind you, you sighed audibly before throwing your purse at the chair nearest you. You walked over to your room, kicking off your shoes to land haphazardly along the floor because you were too tired to bother putting them away. Removing your damp clothing, you grabbed a towel and some night clothes to head to the shower.

Relaxing under the spray of lukewarm water, you found your mind straying to the stranger in the bus. 

Who was he? 

You weren’t lying that you had never seen him before. A man of his formidable size would have been easy to spot, sticking out from the rest of the passengers like a sore thumb. He was dressed peculiarly too, his attire giving off the impression that he values secrecy and privacy. And his voice! Goodness, you could feel yourself nearly melt remembering the richness of it. The way he held you like a dainty object didn’t escape your notice either, your cheeks aflame at how good his hands felt around your waist. The feminine thrill that his presence ignited was hard to subdue, unbidden thoughts of his hands squeezing and trailing over your naked body filling your mind.

Would his hands be soft and gentle? Or would they be strong and rough? 

As if your hands had a mind of their own, they moved up your body to cup your breasts making you gasp at the contact. You looked down at your chest, seeing the peaks of your nipples hardening under your soft touch. You tried envisioning his hands squeezing the doughy flesh, your head tilting to one side as you wondered if he'd be satisfied with your size. Small moans escaped you as you continued to fondle yourself, closing your eyes and imagining him whispering sweet nothings into your ear while he teased your breasts. You were sure he’d trail a line of kisses down your neck, pressing his naked front against you so you could feel his excitement poking at the small of your back. A sudden hard pinch to your nipple brought you out of your fantasy, the thought of his cock causing your fingers to twist the sensitive tip excitedly. 

You shook your head under the shower, trying to calm your racing thoughts before they got more explicit. 

To think such things about a man you hardly knew wasn’t good. What if you see him again tomorrow? Could you bear to look at him knowing where your thoughts were straying at this moment? 

You winced, memories of the loaded eye contact you threw his way making you want to smack yourself. Maybe you should apologize next time you see him. To prove to him that you weren’t a crazy lady that regularly gave the stink eye to neighboring passengers. Explain that your stress was getting to you. Perhaps be the first to wave at him next time to show there was no animosity between you. Maybe something could develop once you introduced each other, a giddy little voice tickled your ears.

Once you were done showering and drying your hair, you went back to the living room for your purse. You had placed your phone inside so the rain couldn’t wet it. You needed to wake up at a good time tomorrow to get ready for work so setting up an alarm was crucial. When you grabbed your purse, you noticed it felt lighter and looked down to see it was unzipped and wide open. 

Oh No. There’s no way…

You dug your hand inside, hoping to feel the familiar mass of your phone only to come out empty handed. Then you remembered your fall from earlier.

“Damn it, it must have fallen off when I fell,” you cursed under your breath, gnawing on your fingernail in worry for a minute before sighing tiredly. You needed to sleep and staying up late thinking about your lost phone was not going to help. You’d have to wait until tomorrow morning to ask the driver if anything was found.

Turning off all the lights in your place, you finally headed to bed, a yawn leaving your mouth as you placed a knee in your mattress. Under the covers of your blanket, you tried clearing up your mind so you could sleep quickly. A sudden image of the masked stranger flashed through your head, your growing curiosity of him affecting you even in your most tired state.

Right before you slept, a nagging at the back of your mind told you to be wary of him.

~

A man lay on his bed alone, hair plastered to his forehead as he breathed harshly. His shirt was raised to his waist, exposing his naked pelvis and muscled thighs as he pumped his rigid dick at a furious tempo. 

His choked groans and huffs were muffled by his mask, the man tilting his head back on his pillows to bask in the pleasurable sensations of his hand firmly stroking his length. Perspiration ran down every inch of him, the sweat dampening his bed and making him grunt at how his sheets clung to his heated skin. He slid his hand down his shaft– tightening his grip when he got to the base– hissing when it caused his cock to twitch before sliding it up once more to tease his cockhead and repeat the process. The squelch of the lubricant coating his dick was a decadent symphony next to his pleasured grunts, the aggressive handling of his pleasure nearly causing him to erupt as he continued to fuck his fist. 

He was nearly there, half lidded eyes eyeing the drop of precum threatening to slide down his shaft and mix with the lubricant. 

No, he didn’t want to cum so soon. Not without the image of the pretty bird he’d been stalking for the past month etched in his brain. God, she was so beautiful. Never had he seen a more perfect woman than you. His hands tightened remembering how soft and demure you were when he picked you up. The slight tremble in your body and your skittish behavior making him want to devour you where you stood. 

Biting his lip, he slowed his pace and closed his eyes in concentration, conjuring up an image that would help to reach his climax.

In his mind, it was no longer his hand wrapped around his dick. 

Instead, smaller hands were slowly stroking him in an almost reverent manner, seeming to worship every protruding vein and jerk of his member. A small gasp escaped you when cum drizzled out of his tip, smearing your fingers with the warm liquid to combine with the lube drenching his dick. He could feel the stickiness of it running down his thighs and balls, causing him to shudder at the sensation. 

He could see you biting your lip anxiously, staring at him with those expressive eyes of yours waiting for his instruction. Unable to resist, he'd grab your hair and yank you his throbbing cock, your flushed face gasping at the heat emitting from his rod of meat pressed against your cheek. He hoped you were a smart girl, knowing what he desired from you as he slapped his dick on your lips. 

He'd stare you down, arching an eyebrow as he waited for you to open that sweet mouth of yours. He knew he wasn't a small man–his girth was enough to intimidate even his most experienced past partners– but he was sure he could teach you how to swallow him down like a good girl.

You'd hesitate for too long, testing his patience. He’d need to be firm with you then. He'd pinch your nose between his fingers, blocking your airways and driving you to open your mouth to take a breath. It was all he needed to shove half of his cock inside your heated orifice. A guttural groan would echo in his room, the warmth of the hot cavern of your mouth and wiggling tongue on the underside of his dick making him see white for a second.

He could picture your muffled whimpering, your hands bracing against his thighs to pull away. He'd lift his upper body to get a better grip on your head, not allowing you to escape and forcing more of his dick down your throat. He'd praise you for being so good and lovely for him. Telling you to relax your throat, to make it easier for you. Before long, you'd obey his commands and start bobbing your head slowly to adjust to the fullness in your mouth. 

He'd allow you to work at your own pace, content with seeing your tear ridden face for a few minutes more before taking over when you were going too slow for his liking. Your eyes would widen with alarm when he thrusted his hips up, a gargled whine vibrating through his manhood from the fierce jab in your throat. He’d repeat the same action again, a pleased groan rumbling out of him at the feel of your mouth struggling to accommodate him. From there on, he'd use you like a fleshlight, gripping your hair tightly to pull your face down to every one of his savage thrusts. Spittle and cum would rain down your jaw, messing your appearance as you gagged and moaned around the dick hammering your throat. 

It was the fantasy of seeing you look up at him, eyes pinched with distress and tears streaming down your heated and sweaty face, that made him finally snap.

His hips jerked up in his hand, his body vibrating violently just as his cock shot out endless ropes of cum in the air. He grunted with each twitch of his pelvis, feeling the warm liquid pooling in the crevices of his contracting abs and staining his shirt. His chest heaved with exertion, the stranger breathing heavily as a result of cumming from his heightened lust. His mask hid his delirious smile, the stranger chuckling to himself at the euphoria he felt and the mess he created.

Only you could make him cum so strongly to drive him to lose himself.

Minutes passed until he was able to get his breathing under control, begrudgingly getting out of his bed to clean himself up. 

Something about you had him hooked. What started off as a fleeting crush morphed into a distorted and unhealthy obsession, the stranger falling deeper in love with you every passing day, as well as the urge to take you growing exponentially worse. .

He longed to know what it felt like to have you in his arms, the thought keeping him up often at night.

Luckily for him, his wish finally came true tonight, remembering the softness of your body in his hands. You were a small little thing compared to him, barely reaching his chest. It wouldn't take much to overpower you, the statement giving rise to depraved thoughts of your squirming body underneath him, naked and helpless under his ardent touch. It took everything in him not to pull you closer, wanting to feel your delicious shape against his frame as the fantasy played in his head. He hated his mask at that moment, realizing he could've caught a whiff of your scent too if he wasn't keen on hiding his identity. 

The stranger's eyes furrowed in displeasure at this, angry at himself for missing an opportunity to know you more intimately. Turning off the sink, he didn't bother to dry his hands when he ripped his mask off and flung it in the trash. 

In a foul mood, he exited his bathroom and marched towards his study. It was already past midnight but there was something important he had to do before he slept.

Entering the room, he didn't bother to close the door and sat down, sliding the chair closer to his desk to get to work. He was inputting his PC’s password when he glanced at the rectangular object next to him.

It was your phone. 

He inspected it, taking note of your phone cover and thinking it suited someone like you. He pressed the on button, seeing your phone screen light up and ask for the passcode to access it. He typed in a few guesses and not to his surprise, none worked. 

No worries. This would only be a momentary issue. Nothing that he couldn't crack open once he plugged your device to his computer. Sure enough, within a few moments, all your browsing history and personal information was revealed to him. His eyes traveled greedily over all your files, desperate to know who you were and what you liked.

His impatience to claim you was nearing a tipping point. He already had a small taste of you and it was not enough. HIs hands clenched into fists. He wanted more. Desired to thoroughly possess you and infect you with his love. 

One way or another, you were going to be his.

He would make sure of it.

[atlabeth]

in over my head

masterlist

pairing: spencer reid x fem gideon!reader

summary: between all the arguments, you and spencer begin to understand each other a little bit more.

a/n: wauw.... out of nowhere i wrote 4k words and finished this chapter in one night... god bless spencer reid. i hope you all enjoy. r's cold heart is finally starting to defrost. title from the fray song

wc: 5k

warning(s): arguing, case discussions (stalking, murder, etc), talk of parental neglect, hurt w/o comfort then hurt/comfort. r lowkey freaking out this whole fic. the usual good time

You lean against the wall, trying to keep your breathing as quiet as possible. 

You don’t really want Spencer to know you were eavesdropping on him the whole time. You don’t really want him to see the look on your face because he defended you to your dad. 

He— he should expect it, shouldn’t he? He’s sitting out in the living room on the phone, and you’re you. It’s only natural you’d listen in on him. 

Spencer defended you to your dad— mouthed off to him in very un-Spencer-like fashion. 

Why? 

From what you’d gathered, he practically worshipped the guy. Even if he didn’t, your dad was still his superior. It didn’t really seem like any kind of good idea to talk back to him. 

But he did. 

For you. 

You thought Spencer merely tolerated you because he had to. You wouldn’t blame him, the way you treated him. So why would he do something like that for you?

You’re jarred out of your thoughts when you hear Spencer say your name. You blink back into yourself to see him standing in front of you, and you feel your face burn. 

So much for not being obvious. 

“I’m assuming you heard everything?” he asks.

You nod. You have the decency to not insult his intelligence, at least. 

“That means we can go over everything,” Spencer says, already starting to walk away. “Come on.”

You frown. You expected him to be mad at you for eavesdropping, or use what he did for you as leverage for something, or— or do anything but act normal. 

You shake yourself out of your thoughts once again as you follow him back to the living room. Spencer sits back down on the couch and you tentatively sit across from him. 

“I don’t want what I said to scare you,” he says. “Hernandez may be our lead right now, but I doubt it’ll stay that way. Elle and Morgan are going to check him out, and I’ll get another call once they do.”

You blink. Of course he’d expect you to be focused on that part—your stalker, the threat against your life, the whole reason you’re in here. Not Spencer sticking up for you. 

“Right,” you say. “Do you think it’s him?”

“Honestly? No.” Spencer sighs and shakes his head. “You heard what I said. He doesn’t fit the profile—he’s a man who made the worst choices of his life when he lost everything. If he’s been released, he might have actually changed. We’re only on him because he’s all we’ve got.”

“…Good,” you say. “Strangling wouldn’t be my top way to go.”

“You need to stop talking like that,” he says. 

“I need to stop doing a lot of things,” you respond. “Any idea how much longer we’ll be in here?”

Spencer shakes his head. “We’re here until this case is solved or our cover is blown.”

You huff. “Like if this guy finds us again?”

He nods. “But that shouldn’t happen. Elle, Gideon, Hotch, and Strauss are the only ones who know about this place, and they’re obviously sworn to silence.”

“Strauss?”

“Erin Strauss,” he says. “The BAU’s section chief.” 

“Ah.” You realize you’re still holding your mug, now empty, and you lean forward to set it on the table. “What happens if we’re made?” 

“You’ve got to stop thinking about the worst case scenarios,” Spencer says. “Pessimism doesn’t just make anxiety, depression, and paranoia worse—it can raise your blood pressure, increase your chance of cardiovascular problems, and mess with your immune system. It’s literally bad for your health.” 

“Well, what else am I supposed to do?” you ask. “I’ve got a stalker and we didn’t realize until he’d been watching me for a month. Your team has only got one lead and you don’t even think it’s the right one. That sounds pretty negative to me.” 

“We’re still at the beginning of this case,” Spencer says. “It usually takes a few bodies for us to figure out what’s really going on and find the unsub in our regular cases.” 

You stare at him, and he seems to realize what he’s actually said. 

“Of course, there won’t be any bodies in this case!” he rushes. “You— you’re going to be perfectly fine!” 

“You’re really not great at reassurance,” you say wryly as you pick up your cup and stand up, “are you?” 

“Homicides only occur in two percent of stalking cases!” Spencer continues, his voice rising as you go into the kitchen. “A- and you might not even be the primary target! If anything, he might be going after your dad!” 

By now you’ve finished filling your mug again. You stop at the edge of the hallway when he finishes, leveling a tired look at him. 

“Thanks, Spence. That really helps.” 

You walk back to your room, and once again, you only close the door halfway to humor his concerns. 

If you’d lingered a little longer, you would have been able to see his frown. 

“Spence?” he murmurs in confusion.

-

The rest of the day goes by smoother than you thought it would, largely because Spencer keeps his distance and you don’t fight it. 

You busy yourself with more cleaning—you never finished it after your last outburst—and when you finish that, you read. You find Pride and Prejudice in the box of books the BAU provided, and it’s a good distraction. You’d much rather worry about the problems of the Bennets rather than your own. 

You end up cooking first, and you offer Spencer some of your pasta when you finish. He initially looks shocked at the olive branch, but you figure you owe him something for all he’s put up with. 

You don’t tell him that, of course. You just tell him he has five seconds to make a decision before you finish the rest, and he snaps out of it pretty quickly. 

(“I promise I’m capable of cooking,” he says as he spoons a helping into his bowl. “I— I just don’t have much time for it. We’re always out on cases so we go to a lot of restaurants, and I get take-out at home because I get home at ungodly hours.” 

“Just shut up and eat your food,” you say. “I don’t need to hear your opening statement.” 

“Actually, I wouldn’t call this an opening statement. It’s more of—” 

“Oh my god.” You pick up your bowl and walk off. “Goodbye.”

“I think it’s more of a witness testimony!” he calls out.)

A similar thing happens with dinner, where you pull out the old reliable of chicken and rice. Dressed up a bit with some of the vegetables that are somehow already on the verge of going bad, but still the same thing you’ve eaten a million times throughout your life. You don’t really feel like cooking, but you also don’t feel like having to hear Spencer set the smoke alarm again, so you settle for this. 

(“You know,” Spencer says as he cuts into a chicken thigh, “I should really be trying everything first. Just in case there’s poison or something.” 

You stifle your incredulous laugh. “How would there be poison in anything? You all bought and brought this stuff in.” 

He shrugs. “I don’t know. But you can never be too careful.” 

“You’re ridiculous,” you say. “I— I think that is the most ridiculous thing you’ve said since I’ve met you.”

“I hope you’re not challenging me,” Spencer says. “Because I can beat it very easily.”) 

Between that, he calls out on occasion to make sure you’re still alive. You think it’s stupid, but it seems to ease his mind, so you play along.

He gets a call from your dad late at night, which he then goes on to relay to you—Agents Greenaway and Morgan paid a visit to Adam Hernandez, and they weren’t able to find anything suspicious. Penelope Garcia is going to comb through everything she can find on what he’s done since his release before they officially abandon the lead, but Hernandez is on parole and hasn’t violated it once—he seems to be clean. 

You don’t know whether you’re thankful for that or not. On one hand, you want this to be over. Getting lucky on the first suspect would be great. On the other hand, having a face to all of this scares you more than not knowing. You still have the chance to deny that all of this is real, really real—when they find their guy, you can’t do that anymore. There’s actually someone out there that wants to hurt you. 

The thought crossed your mind more often than not. 

Other than that, he doesn’t really bother you. Another thing where you don’t really know if you’re thankful or not. 

It’s close to midnight, and though you haven’t been able to sleep, you’re ready to accept this as another, thankfully non eventful day. 

But then there’s a huge flash of lightning, visible even through your closed blinds, followed closely by a deafening crack of thunder, and your whole body freezes up. Your hands stop on the page you were on, and a chill runs all the way through you despite the layers of covers you’re under. 

Rain has been pittering against the house for half the night, and you can deal with rain. You can’t deal with thunderstorms. 

You let out a deep breath, trying to calm yourself down. The absolute last thing you need to do is work yourself into a panic attack and get Spencer involved. You don’t think you could take the embarrassment. 

You attempt to go back to your book. You’d just arrived at Mr. Collins’ unsuccessful marriage proposal, but you can hardly focus. It doesn’t help when lightning illuminates your room once again, a clap of thunder sounding even quicker after, and your lamp flickers for a moment. This is actually the last thing you need—for the power to go out. 

A knock on your door suddenly sounds, and you nearly jump out of your skin. You’re already on edge and the storm’s just barely started. You hear Spencer call your name and ask if you’re awake, and you clear your throat before you respond. 

“What do you want?” You try to keep your voice as level as possible, but it wavers ever so slightly. 

“Can I come in?” 

You don’t want him to see you like this. “Is there something wrong?” 

“It’s the storm,” he says, and he doesn’t wait for you to respond. “I’m coming in.”

You have all of two seconds to make sure you don’t look as pathetic as you feel before Spencer walks in.

He looks like he just got out of bed. He’s wearing a Caltech crewneck and sweatpants, and his glasses are about to fall off his face. His disheveled appearance is in stark contrast to his usual image, with dress pants and button-ups and sweater vests galore. One of his hands clenches around the doorframe, and he uses the other to haphazardly push his glasses up as he sets his eyes on you.

“You need to come back into the living room,” Spencer says. 

“And good evening to you too.” You try not to look at him. You’ve learned that’s the best policy when it comes to him and those stupid glasses. “Why?”

“Because there’s a storm going on, and the power’s already flickered,” he says. “I don’t want to lose track of you if it does go out.”

“If the power goes out, we’re in the open out there,” you say. “If you’re so worried about it, you should stay in here.”

You expect a fight, but he just sighs and sits down in the chair across from your bed. “Fine.”

You frown. “That was easy.”

“I don’t feel like fighting with you over every little thing,” he says simply. “You might enjoy it, but I don’t. So I’m trying to take the path of least resistance.”

“That’s no fun,” you say.

“Well, you’re not very fun to be around,” Spencer says. He glances at you for a split second before his gaze goes back to the wall. “So.”

“Well, neither are you!” You don’t mean for your retort to come out so defensively, and you cringe as he looks back at you. It’s impossible to be around profilers without them knowing your every intent. You’d hate to know all the thoughts he’s had about you. “I might turn everything into a fight, but you turn everything into a drag.” 

“You’re doing it again,” he says. You expect him to go on, but he leaves it that. You find your brows furrowing deeper. 

“And?” 

“Maybe if you recognize your patterns, you’ll stop,” he says. “Sometimes people don’t realize they're doing something until it’s pointed out to them.” 

You huff. “How many times do I have to tell you not to psychoanalyze me?” 

“I don’t choose to do it,” Spencer says. You don’t miss the slight bite behind his words, and it almost makes you smile. As much as he doesn’t want to give you a fight, he can’t really help himself. You tend to bring out the worst in people. “It just happens in my brain automatically.” 

“Try to hold back,” you say. “It—”

Your words die in your throat with another crash of thunder, almost simultaneous with the lightning. It shakes the whole house, and you can’t help the full body flinch that wracks you, almost freezing completely. The power flickers again, and then it goes out altogether. You don’t even hold back your groan of annoyance. 

“Of course,” you grit out. “Of fucking course.” 

“Are you okay?” You look at him despite yourself, and even in the dark you can see the concern in his eyes. It makes your hands clench into fists beneath the sheets.

“Fine,” you mutter. “It doesn’t matter.”

Spencer frowns. “Of course it does.”

You scoff. “No, it doesn’t.”

“Why would it not matter?” he asks incredulously. “You— you’re clearly distressed, and holding it back isn’t helping anyone.” 

“Maybe I just like silence.” 

“Well, you clearly don’t like storms.” 

“How’d you figure that one, genius?” you mutter. You wrap your arms around yourself and pull your knees up to your chest, trying to lessen the sudden chill you feel. 

“...Normally, I would give you a real answer,” Spencer says. “But based on the lecture you just gave me—” 

“You figured right,” you snap. It only takes a second—and those stupid, soft eyes of his to dart away again—for you to feel… bad. 

He sighs and shakes his head as he stands up. “I’m going to get a candle. Stay put.” 

You tense as he walks out. Your whole body does, actually. You don’t know what it is about him or those stupid eyes that always manage to skirt out sympathy from you. 

You should feel gratified. At the start of this, you wanted to push Spencer to his limits—he’s too nice for his own good, and you wanted him to not only give you a more concrete reason to hate him, but get a reason to hate you back. Then you wouldn’t have to deal with this one-sided rivalry with the apparent saint of the BAU. 

But you don’t. You feel bad, and you hate it. You hate it more than any reasonable person should, but then again—you’ve never been reasonable. 

Spencer comes back in sooner rather than later, two lit candles in his hands. You can see the on-sale sticker plastered on the side of both, and you suppress a laugh. It’s something so small but so typical. 

“One’s vanilla, and one is,” he squints as he shifts it in his hand to read, “beach escape. What does a beach escape even smell like?” He shakes his head, then looks at you. “Which one do you—” 

“I’m sorry,” you interrupt. You blurt it out before you can even stop yourself. 

This time, it’s Spencer’s turn to frown. His face is illuminated from beneath by the candlelight and it gives him an almost haunting beauty, highlighted with yellow and white along his jawline and cheekbones. The flames are mirrored in the lenses of his glasses. “For what?” 

“For snapping.” You almost snap at him again out of instinct, and you let out a long, loose sigh in an effort to try and chill out for once. “Sorry. Again.” 

“Oh.” He stands there for a moment holding the two candles, and it could be a laughable sight were you not near consumed with guilt. “Uh— it’s okay.” 

“No, it’s not.” 

“Fine,” he says, “it’s not. Which candle do you want?” 

“Which one do you want?” 

“This isn’t where you have to start the ‘being nice to me’ thing,” Spencer says. “They’re kind of starting to burn my hands.” 

“Beach escape,” you say. He nods and sets it on your bedside table, then sits back down in his chair after placing the vanilla one in the window sill. 

“You… seem a little pent up,” Spencer says after letting the silence dwell for a beat. His shoulders have relaxed some, not hunched up almost to his ears. Small victories, at least.

“I don’t talk about my emotions much,” you respond in equal fashion. “It’s not really my thing.” 

He shrugs. “Why not start now?” 

You laugh. “Why would I ever start now?” 

“You said it yourself,” he says. “I have a psychology degree. I’m a good listener.”

“You interrupt me all the time to say stuff.”

“You interrupt me all the time too, so I guess we’re even.” Spencer shifts in his chair. “Besides, I can listen when it’s important. And this is.”

You stare at him. He stares back. 

He has beautiful eyes even in the dark, and you hate that you can’t deny it. Deep brown like the oaks surrounding this place, that shine like pools of honey in the firelight, that always seem to soften just so when he looks at you.

You break first. You have to look away. You always have to look away. 

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” you manage. “I was a latchkey kid. Storms happened a lot when I was home alone and they scared me. I guess they still do. Happy?” 

“Believe it or not, your pain doesn’t make me happy,” Spencer says. 

“I didn’t think it did,” you say, trying your best to snap. 

He nods. “So we’re in agreement?” 

“I—” you pause, a slight frown creasing your brows. “I guess.” 

Spencer nods again, and he leans forward a bit. “Wasn’t that a lot better than fighting with me, getting upset, and isolating yourself?” 

You scowl. “Don’t you dare therapize me.” 

“It’s hard not to,” Spencer says. “Especially when you seem determined to make our conversations one-sided.” 

You scoff. “I do not.” 

“You act like talking to me is a physical pain.” He crosses his arms. “You locked yourself in the bathroom last night to avoid talking to me.” 

“I locked myself in the bathroom so I wouldn’t lose my mind in front of you,” you say. “Just because I know everything about you doesn’t mean I want you to know everything about me.” 

Spencer scoffs. “You don’t know everything about me.”

“My dad talks about you more than you think,” you say. “About your whole team—but especially you.”

“Where am I from?” he asks. 

“Vegas,” you say. “He mentions it every time you beat him at cards.”

“That— that doesn’t really matter,” he says. “I know you’re from Fairfax.” 

“The worst place in the world,” you say emphatically. You can’t believe you’ve been stuck in NoVa your whole life. “Doesn’t count, though. You’re an FBI agent—you’re supposed to know things like this.” 

“So it counts when you know it, but it doesn’t count when I do?” Spencer asks. 

You nod. “I’ve heard about Penelope Garcia. I’m more surprised you don’t know everything about me by now.” 

“Me too,” he says. “Garcia can find anything. Gideon really did a good j—” 

He stops in the middle of his sentence, his eyes widening slightly as he clamps his mouth shut. 

“What?” You lean forward, looking him in the eye. “He did a good job doing what?” 

“I don’t want to start another argument,” he says. 

“Oh, poor you.” You don’t think you could sound more sarcastic if you tried. “You don’t want to hear me talk about my absent father that didn’t have time for me because he was too busy with you.” You glance away. “You don’t know what it feels like.” 

“There’s something you don’t know about me then,” Spencer says. “Because I do.” 

“Unless your dad’s ignored you all his life in favor of his job and the stray genius he found there, you really don’t.” 

“My dad left when I was a kid because he couldn’t deal with my mom’s schizophrenia,” Spencer retorts. His words get you to look right back at him—they’re not overly sharp or exceedingly soft, just matter-of-fact. “I haven’t seen him since. So you’re right—I don’t know exactly what it’s like, but I know a hell of a lot more than you think.” 

Regret hits you immediately, sour and spiny as it settles in your chest. You’ve been an asshole to him this whole time, and all along he’s held this inside of him? All along, you’ve been accusing him of stealing your life from you when he’s lost more than you have. 

For a moment, you can only stare at him, at a loss for words. He meets your eyes in equal measure. You might know a lot about Spencer Reid, but you’re quickly realizing you don’t know Spencer Reid. 

“Guess we’re a lot more similar than you thought,” he says in your silence. 

“I’m so sorry, Spencer,” you murmur, finally managing to muster up words. “That’s awful. You didn’t deserve that.” 

“No one does,” he shrugs. This time, he’s the one to look away. “But it is what it is.” 

“How can you just say that?” you ask. You lean forward, a frown creasing your brows. “How are you not just— just angry all the time? That your dad doesn’t give a fuck about you or your mom?” 

“For a while, I was.” He chuckles, but there’s no heart in it. “I was angry at everyone. My dad, my mom, the adults around me— I hated myself most of all. It’s part of the reason I was so good in school. I didn’t want to think about it, I didn’t want to deal with it, so I studied as hard as I could, read as much as humanly possible.” He smiles thinly at nothing in particular. “Turns out I’m very good at avoiding things when I want to.” 

You shake your head with a scoff. “You’re a better person than I am. I would have hunted him down by now and given him a piece of my mind.” 

“It’s not worth it.” Spencer looks back at you. “He decided he didn’t want to be a part of my life. I’m not going to reward him by letting him ruin it when he’s not even here.” 

Is that what you’re doing? Letting your dad ruin your life by letting him occupy every part of it even when he’s not there? He’s influenced every part of your life, every part of you, and he hasn’t been here for half of it. Sometimes you’re surprised he didn’t miss your birth.

Another flash of lightning, another crack of thunder. You tense every muscle in your body to stop yourself from flinching as hard in front of Spencer. You think he notices anyway.  

“I’ve been angry at my dad since I was a kid,” you say once you’ve recovered. “He missed my dance recitals and my gymnastics meets and my soccer games, but he signed the checks for all of the payments. He told me to take honors and AP classes and missed the ceremonies for the awards. He was never there for anything that mattered, but—” you laugh again, and you blink back the tears— “but he waited until I was eighteen to get a divorce so I wouldn’t have to deal with a custody battle.” 

You bite down hard on your lip to force them back even harder as you look at Spencer. “Isn’t that fucked up? Neither of them have been there for us, but they’ve still shaped every part of us with their absence. We can’t escape it even when they’re not here, because them not being here is what caused it.” 

“I refuse to give him that much power,” Spencer says. “My dad left. He chose to leave. He doesn’t want anything to do with me, so I don’t want anything to do with him. I mean, I’m an FBI agent. I work with some of the best profilers in the world. I could find him if I wanted to, but I’m not going to waste my time chasing some pipe dream of a father that doesn’t exist.” 

“Your situation is different, though.” Both his eyes and tone soften, and something inside you stirs. “The only break I know Gideon’s taken was that six month medical leave that was practically forced on him. I think it would take an actual, life-threatening injury to get him to take another one. It’s a lot different having someone around and just… being neglected.”

“I’ve just always felt like such an asshole for it,” you mutter. “You all save lives every day. You’ve taken down a thousand sick criminals.” You shake your head with another mirthless laugh. “My dad saves women like me every day, gives them the chance to see their fathers again, and I’m mad at him because— because he won’t meet me for brunch? Because he missed my school band concerts?” 

“It’s not that simple,” Spencer says. “It’s never that simple. You don’t need to feel bad for hating him, but you also don’t need to feel bad for loving him, too.” 

You scoff. “There you go again with the psychology degree.” 

“It’s the truth,” he says. “Just because you feel rightfully angry doesn’t mean you don’t still love him. It’s part of the reason why you’re so conflicted about him.” He gave you a wry smile. “It makes everything a lot more complicated, doesn’t it?”

You shift in your bed. “Far cry from everything you told me before all this started.” 

“We see completely different sides of Gideon,” Spencer says. “I’m just… ashamed that it took me so long to believe you about all of it.” 

You huff a laugh. “I’m the one that should be ashamed. I thought you had this— this perfect life, with my dad loving you on top of it. That’s why I hated you so much.” 

He perks up. “Hated? As in, past tense? As in, you don’t hate me anymore?” 

You try to bite back your smile. You barely succeed. “Call it a truce.” 

Spencer grins and nudges his glasses back into place once again. “This might be my favorite truce since 1914.” 

“Christmas Truce,” you nod. “Good one.” 

“You know it?”

“Of course I do,” you say. “I’m a teacher.” 

Spencer blinks. “You— you are?” 

“Why is that such a surprise?” you ask. 

“You’re so…”

“Mean to you?” You chuckle. “Trust me, I’m not like this with my kids. My job is one of the parts of my life that I’m actually happy with.” 

“...Huh.” Spencer smiles at you, and you find yourself smiling back, subconsciously. “You should tell me about it sometime.”

“Sure,” you nod. “Maybe you can tell me about everything you do sometime.” 

“You’re sure you won’t get bored?” he asks. “You might not realize, but I have a tendency to rant.” 

You laugh. “Part of our truce.” 

This time, he nods. “Cool. That— that’s cool.” 

You roll your eyes as you look away, but your smile betrays you once again. Your gaze snaps over to the lamp as it flickers back on, and you realize you haven’t heard any thunder in a while. 

“Looks like the storm’s passed.” Spencer separates two of the window blinds with his fingers and peers through. You’ve never really focused on his hands like you do now—with the way you feel your face burn, it’s probably a good thing. You look away as soon as possible. “Just rain, now.” 

“Good,” you say, and you let out a yawn. “All our talking tired me out.” 

“Good,” he echoes as he picks his candle up from the window pane. “You should get eight hours of sleep a night, and I know for a fact you don’t.” 

You roll your eyes. “Whatever, professor.” 

“You’re the teacher here,” he says. “I should be saying that to you.” 

“And yet you’re so much more annoying than I could ever be,” you muse. 

“Does our truce include this?” 

“Naturally.”

Spencer chuckles and shakes his head. He starts walking to the doorway, but you speak up before he can leave. 

“Night, Spencer.” You pause as you bite the inside of your lip, then continue before you can stop yourself. “I really enjoyed talking with you.” 

He hesitates for a moment, his hand lingering on the doorframe. Then he bids you goodnight in the same fashion, actually saying your name. “I did too.”

It makes your heart skip a beat. 

Spencer closes the door behind him, and you find yourself staring at the wood long after he’s gone. You jolt when you finally come back into yourself, and you shake your head to get out of the haze. 

You glance at the clock on your bedside table, and blink when you realize it’s almost 1:30. You really do need to get to bed. 

The smoke makes you cough as you blow your candle out, and you wave a hand around to dispel it before you turn the lamp off. You lay down and pull the sheets up around you. You end up having to switch positions at least five times before you start to get comfortable. 

But the strangest thing is plaguing you despite your restlessness. You were freezing before the storm started, even when the electricity was working, but now there’s a strange warmth attempting to permeate within you. It almost helps you relax. 

The room feels a lot smaller without him in it. 

You exhale, long, slow, and deep as you close your eyes. The scent of vanilla lingers in the air.

You hope you don’t dream tonight. 

[therandompagesblog]

SKZ Mate: Chapter 18

Trigger Warnings: Violence, trauma, underage sex, coercion, childhood trauma, manipulation, grooming, implied non-consent, death, grief, magic, obsession, paranoia, abandonment, betrayal, forced breeding, torture, brainwashing, sacrilege, sacrifice, judgement, uncomfortable themes

The room was silent. No one uttered a word at the revelation. They were stunned into silence. Some of them even frowned, if not glared at the thought that Hyunjin was their omega's alpha. It made no sense. If Hyunjin was her alpha at some point it meant Hyunjin must have abused her too. He must have tormented her, assaulted her, abused her. There was no way he could justify it now, it was impossible. There were still so many questions. Why did Hyunjin not save her? Why did Hyunjin abandon her? Why did Hyunjin not confess to Chan at the beginning? Did he know that Y/N was Chan's mate? All of these questions were flying around the room silently. Some of them were accusations against Hyunjin. Most of which he did not want to answer nor did he feel he had to. Hyunjin had already explained his story once before to them so why should he reveal it again? They all knew why Chan had stolen Hyunjin, he was Chan's childhood best friend's half-brother that was given to Hongjoong because he was a bastard. Before he died he had begged Chan to find him and to save him. The older half-brother regretted every day what his mother did to Hyunjin. The younger alpha never deserved to be treated the way he was. It was never Hyunjin's fault his parents committed adultery.

Hyunjin was someone who didn't take it lightly when he wasn't trusted. It was an insult to him, but right now he didn't have much of a choice. Either way, he had to confess the truth and accept whether Chan would exile him or not, but Hyunjin was smarter. There was a way he could make Chan accept him and that was by threatening Chan with his omega. Chan would never let anyone take his mate away but Hyunjin couldn't abandon her now since she was back with him. No, she was Hyunjin's in more ways than one and Chan was about to find that out very quickly. Hyunjin could see it. The minute he revealed that it was him and not Wooyoung, Chan had pulled the omega into his arms. He feared the other alpha. If he let her sit there, Hyunjin would grab her and she would never be seen again. It made Hyunjin laugh to see the head alpha so worried. For someone who had such a high status in the werewolf community, he was actually quite vulnerable. Chan had an obvious weakness. Y/N. Without her Chan was nothing. He had the elders of the werewolf council but it was never enough. Chan was a stray who was kicked out of his pack for helping his uncle kill his older brother to be a more powerful alpha. Except that wasn't entirely true. Chan's uncle had coerced Chan as a young boy from the age of ten. He groomed Chan. Gave him everything he ever wanted. Mentored him. Helped him. Everything. It was also the reason why Chan could not stand to be seen as weak. He hated being dominated and he definitely hated being manipulated when he was out-casted by his pack. Still, Chan's older brother had died and Chan was blamed for it because Chan's uncle had to disappear right at the scene. There was no way of proving Chan was innocent so he left as a lone wolf and saved those who were exiled. He saved victims who were accused like Jisung, Minho, Hyunjin and Seungmin. The others chose Chan for his politics. Jeongin chose Chan because he trusted Minho and grew up with him. Felix and Changbin came from similar werewolf packs who left because they heard who Chan was.

Despite all that he has achieved, the need for a soul mate was the root of the problem that fueled Chan's early corruption. His uncle promised him a soul mate if he became an alpha. A soul mate so pure and virtuous. A soul mate who would breed for Chan and provide him with pups. A soul mate who would provide him with an apex. That was the sickest thing Chan learned as a boy of ten. He learned about breeding at such a young age. Even when it came to sex Chan learned it at the ripe age of fourteen with a female omega in his pack who was around the same age. He had to learn, that's what his uncle taught him. He needed to know how to please his omega. This was the reason Chan had such a bad obsession with finding his soul mate. He raided several packs trying to find her but all he did was cause more damage, and he became a threat to werewolf packs. He became a monster. It was only his best friend who could get the alpha to snap out of it. It was only him who could break it gently to his alpha that he was obsessing over something his abuser told him as a child. Minho was another wolf who knew some of the story and promised Chan's best friend he would protect the alpha from his uncle. Minho was the only wolf who had seen Chan break down at the sudden realisation there was no omega. Except his uncle never told a lie, because he found her and Chan would always protect her no matter what. Chan would fight to the death if he had to. He lost so much in life that all he wanted was one ounce of happiness and now that he got it, he wanted to consume it, with or without Hyunjin there.

So now Chan was left with a very easy choice. Banish him. Chan had already made up his mind and Hyunjin could read that, but Hyunjin wasn't going to walk away. Oh, he couldn't. Y/N was soul-bound to him. Her soul was linked to his. His soul was hers. Her soul was his. Hyunjin had used dark magic behind Hongjoong's back to keep her safe because he loved her. In spite of Hyunjin's actions towards her at the beginning, he loved his favourite little omega. His omega was the smartest omega he had ever met when she was his omega. His omega was the one who had found a way to block Hyunjin from her mind. She could even prevent him from feeling her. The reason was because of her perseverance and mental strength, but that wasn't how he fell in love with her. It was the fact she had annoyed him into liking her. Hyunjin was a strict alpha with her. Hyunjin was in charge of the omegas, Jongho, Yeosang and Y/N. To teach them, look after them, care for them. Hyunjin was even colder than he was now, his words were sharper, if not harsher. His defiant female omega had broken his ice-cold heart with her shameless attitude. Every time he made her stay with him as a punishment she would do something obnoxious. Steal his paintbrushes. Swap his books out. The worst she had ever done was swap one of his photographs with a naked one of her. Hyunjin was filled with rage that day and her shameless behaviour. He had never met a woman like her but there she was. It didn't help that Hyunjin was a massive prude back then. Still, Hyunjin learned to love her, which was why he wasn't going to let anything happen to her. He knew she wasn't Hongjoong or Ateez's soul mate so to protect her he bound her soul to his. Hongjoong learned Hyunjin was keeping a secret from him. He knew Hyunjin adored his omega more than anything so Hongjoong had him tortured. Hyunjin was beaten several times with wolfsbane and injected with mistletoe (a slow but deadly poison). Hyunjin was then dragged into a graveyard and was cursed with a dark aura that would be passed down through his bloodline if he did have children that was. The dark aura is the essence of evil that binds the werewolf to both life and death. The nature of their soul is used to feed lycans. Lycans were cursed werewolves who ate people, but there were very few left as most were killed. Hyunjin's soul was supposed to be damned and changed into a lycan but it never happened, much to Hongjoong's confusion. The main reason this never happened was due to the fact half of his soul was Y/N's. Y/N's half prevented the evil from being absorbed, however, the dark aura that was cursed upon him was also engrained into Y/N. She too had a dark aura inside of her, but she didn't know that.

Now that she was bound to him, Hyunjin couldn't leave her. Not ever. The only reason he abandoned her was because he was a selfish, angry coward. He wanted to use her to anger Hongjoong. He wanted her to breed Hongjoong's pups so they would be infected with the dark aura. That anger had eventually faded and then Hyunjin buried his head in the sand all those years as he waited for the pain of her death. He waited and waited and it never came. Which was why he reacted the way he did when he saw her. He was afraid of her reaction. He was afraid she would tell him she hated him and that she never loved him. He was afraid that she regretted binding their souls, but it never came. Y/N never knew who he was. To an extent he was relieved but deep down he was distraught. His little defiant omega was gone and was replaced with something Seonghwa had ruined. So now the story takes another dark turn. Something sinister is about to arise and now Hyunjin cannot leave Y/N. Chan cannot banish him, but that still leaves Chan and his pack of stray kids with a burning question. How the fuck did Hongjoong know Y/N was his mate? And what the fuck is coming for Stray kids.

Taglist for the iconic readers:

@galaxy4489 @mbioooo0000 @jisungs-iced-americano @maybeimmia @hwangrfrnd@wolfo2027 @kayleefriedchicken @leamueller920 @borahae-reads @jennibahng @cookiesandcreammy @leezanetheofficial @jutdwae-flower @danceonmyheyday @jc003 @hpnsfwaddict @linocz @itzreetal987 @skzdreamer13 @reallychaoticwoo @liv1sworld @upsidedownchaire @jutdwae-flower @danceonmyheyday @jc003 @hpnsfwaddict @skzdreamer13 @reallychaoticwoo @ihttinniee @kingdomofpentagon @pixie0627

[revelboo]

the recent development with 'everything is alright' has me wondering about king starscream and how... lonely he seems. granted rattrap is there but hes... not much company in stars mind, i think. like dont get me wrong i knew he'd be lonely and a little on the right side of miserable, but that in tandem with the bit about 'dont you know you're home/his future/the one good thing in his life' bit from the last chapter has me!! chokign up a bit cuz damn he really wasnt kidding!!! he got what he wanted but at the cost of still being miserable bc its fuckin LONELY at the top when youre paranoid as all hell with VERY REAL justifications to back said paranoia up!!! god!!!

Yeah, King Star isn’t all that happy. I do like playing with different versions of the same character and just tweaking the circumstances. In Everything is Alright he’s alienated himself from his Trine due to his paranoia, in True Romance he still trusts his Trine and has that relationship, so he’s a lot less paranoid and lonely, in Overdone his Trine just drifted apart. He could have made more of an effort to connect and reach out, but he was so focused on his goals, he didn’t really notice that gap widening until they’re almost strangers to each other

Overdone Pt 2

IDW RID Starscream x Reader

• “You’re weren’t on earth, were you?” He asks when Rattrap gawks at the human in his grip. Striding past, he heads for his private habsuite. Hears Rattrap weakly call out about the reports and he ignores him. They can wait. But you? A human from nowhere plummeting to your death. Closing the door behind himself, he studies you as you cling to his servos. Timid for a spy. “Well?” He growls, depositing you on his desk. “Where did you come from?” Who sent you to spy on him? Wants to know so he can and deliver your broken body to them.

• Falling on your hip, you stare at the big monster and his wings flare out. Trying to say something, anything, when you’re too terrified to make a sound. You’d been driving and then crippling pain had slammed through you, feeling like being torn in two. And then finding yourself somewhere wholly different falling to your death. It’s a nightmare and you can’t wake up. Lip curling, he slams his huge palms down far too close to you and you scream and cringe into a ball. “Speak! Who are you working for?” He roars.

• Pretending at terror? No, venting softly as that acrid shift in your scent registers, he leans back. Not an act. “I don’t know! I don’t know anything!” You cry, little voice broken and terrified and his wings droop slightly. Maybe you’re telling the truth, but you came from somewhere. Humans don’t spontaneously teleport across space and time. Except you apparently had. Servos tapping on the desk, he glares at you and the problem you pose. If you are a spy? An autobot ally sent to undermine him? Why risk your death? If he hadn’t grabbed you, you would have died. Maybe whoever had dropped you meant to see what he’d do and you’re of no importance to them beyond as an expendable pawn?

• “Stop cowering and sniveling,” he growls and you risk a glance at that scowling face, see his optics narrow at you. “If you show your fear, others will use that against you.” Heart hammering against your ribs, you watch him pace around the huge room. And when he’s not looking at you, you can breathe. Try to get your bearings. You have no idea where you are or how you got here, but it had hurt worse than anything you’ve ever felt. Tracking him as he lifts a hand, murmuring, you realize he’s talking to himself at the same time it sinks past the fear that he’d caught you when you’d been falling. He’d saved you.

• Why had he saved you? Because you’re not a monster not matter how much you pretend you are, that annoying, little ghost whispers and he curls his lip. “You know nothing.” Refuses to look, to let his processor trick him with impossible things. Would think maybe you’re a hallucination, too. Except he’d felt your little heart beating against his servos, the warmth of your body in his hands. He’s not mad enough to imagine details like that, yet. Though for you to appear when he was considering not pulling up? Are you a punishment? Drifting back to the desk, his head tips with predatory interest as he rests a servo against your throat and you lay a soft hand on him. You feel real. “Tell me why I shouldn’t rid myself of you. Make me believe you’re no spy.”

Previous

[skay-ali]

Tears of an angel

The idea of ​​a Wayne reader, who was well received from the beginning at the mansion and by its members, has constantly crossed my mind. A good family relationship that took an obsessive turn, not only with his family but also with other people.

A weapon, your head felt pressed with great force, so much so that, if you didn't make an effort to keep your head up, the force would surely send you to the floor.

There were many people, an endless number of blurry faces that surrounded you, they were horrible, it made you nauseous to see them, although some were also reindeers, it was difficult for you to recognize them, not only the criminals were vile, sometimes even people who seemed normal hid big things, you learned throughout your life.

Of all the possible hostages, you were the first to be threatened, you regretted leaving your home, you should have stayed locked in the safest place you created.

Yes... you should never have gone out, all your thoughts repeated it to you, you were wrong to leave your safe space, now you were surrounded by people and criminals, when it was over the cameras and the reporters' unconscious questions would come, thousands of news stories about you, the majority that would leave you feeling bad, and the feelings of guilt that would torment you for a long time.

You inhaled air, it became difficult to breathe, if you didn't control yourself you would panic, you would create a big scene, you couldn't do that, it would ruin your image more, you were already doing it while crying silently, your appearance was horrible, your hair disheveled, makeup ruined , a red nose dripping with snot.

You were a Wayne by blood, that was proven by your DNA, along with the similar characteristics that you inherited from your paternal grandmother.

You remember having been in this house all your life, the memories related to your mother were few, mostly blurry, difficult to distinguish from your short childhood and adolescence in the care of your father, as if your mother had never existed.

Your life was almost good, although there was a gap between you and your family, you did not receive excessive neglect, hatred or jealousy from each member of your family.

You were like a rarely recurring character in everyone's life.

The bad things in your life were not reflected in your relationship with your family, that was the least of your problems, something insignificant in your opinion, with what was happening outside.

It's funny to think about it, your father, you knew very well that he thought, that you lived one of the best lives, you really did, you had a family that never mistreated you, a good home and money, many privileges hand in hand with the latest , but that great privilege brought you something bad and terrifying, something that began to rule your life.

Being part of a large family made you a target, first of criminals, who took full advantage of using you as a means to achieve their ends, from criminal minds who kidnapped you as a hostage for their evil plans, as criminals who only wanted a great reward on your head, although in the end you were saved by the city's great vigilantes or the police, nothing took away the long moments of anguish, in which you were trapped in a dirty place, full of unknown people with bad intentions, vulnerable , having a gun pointed at some part of your body.

They were very difficult moments, fear ruled you along with paranoia, you did not normalize it as part of your life even if they were constant episodes in your life, you developed a trauma, one of your defense mechanisms was to disconnect from your surroundings, letting your body lived everything and your mind turned off, everything was black or white, a great void, until they saved you.

As a helpless person, who was in constant danger and only waiting to be saved by his brave knight, even though he wasn't that bad, you felt completely useless.

Things became worse, when you started to be afraid to leave your home, you became a complete renegade, in your big stone tower, a burrowing mouse or was it a rabbit... an asocial being...

How would you not be if your second problem was that, the social ones, people who, since school, persecuted you, wanted to be your friends or so they said, like a stupid and naive girl you believed them the first time, until you saw how they abandoned you When they already got what they really wanted from your father, suddenly their friendship no longer worked and they left you, often disowning you, as if you were a bad person because of your status and money, you were not seen as a girl who hardly understood their around and that he feared society itself, each person.

You couldn't even trust kids your age anymore, they all wanted to destroy you, finish you off.

The third problem in your life, the reporters and paparazzi, who harassed you every time they could, it didn't matter that you were just a minor, they found a way to get what they wanted and make you look bad, take advantage of every part of you. , without caring about the consequences of their actions, the repercussions that occurred in your life due to their news.

The horrible photos, where you hated seeing yourself, just an imperfect and horrible being, that was you... Your last problem, you... you hated yourself, maybe you were a bad girl, someone selfish and super annoying along with all the other insults professed by people who already got something from you or never did and were no longer chasing you, useless... very useless, that you were not able to protect yourself and avoid getting into trouble, you bothered everyone, the police, the heroes, your family... all for not taking care of yourself for wanting to live a little, for being too selfish.

Not even pretty, those words loaded with a very strong poison, that many girls said to you or whispered to each other in their groups of friends, or the boys who blatantly mentioned it after you rejected them, or all the people who looked at your images in the gossip programs or magazines, when the worst photos they took of you were uploaded to gain more audience, because it turned out that you were their great gem, it was a great gossip, you became out of nowhere, the public's favorite, to get the best gossip.

That was your life, although you couldn't change it... there was a small opportunity to improve it a little. Cross saving yourself off your list, give yourself something better.

First, giving all your supposed fans a good image, being perfect in their eyes, someone with great beauty and without imperfection, a star, someone to adore.

Something that at first was only to avoid more bad photos of you and news, became an addiction, how could it not be, if when you were careless for a moment they took the opportunity to humiliate you and make you look like a horrible being again, you didn't want to be that horrible being. , not again, so beauty treatments, excessive care of your body, clothes that highlighted you better, a great activity with your followers, if they wanted that from you you would give it to them, that was the easiest.

That didn't stop you from feeling bad on the days when you were with your great confidant, Alfred.

When you saw yourself in some reflection, at times you didn't recognize yourself, who were you? What did you become? Maybe the man who always had time for you got disappointed.

But seeing your reflection, that arrogant smile, the other person who was reflected told you that it was the right thing to do, they could no longer destroy you if they thought they had everything of you, without them realizing it you would end up on a great altar, you would be far superior to everyone, Maybe then they would never kidnap you with many followers who would give their lives for you, would they defend you because you didn't want that? When your other self shook her head to the side and feigned empathy for you, her words that you should stop worrying about people who would never do the same for you.

“After all, maybe that man you appreciated a lot did something for you every time they buried your name in the mud... nope, he never did, maybe he was just pretending that he cared about you, he loved your father and your father much more your half-brothers, you were the last task on their list, you just don't want to accept it, like the stupid girl you were."

Her big arrogant smile was the last thing you saw of her.

You should never have gone out, a big party with a lot of people, the idea of ​​showing off with all of them, showing a little superiority, having the media pleased and therefore the people, making her, your reflection, pleased, that she was happy and will no longer torment you.

Speaking of her, she was watching you, you saw her in a glass, her icy gaze, oh... she's so disappointed, you heard her words clearly.

“Oh, what a coward you are, you're seriously crying, what a crybaby baby you are, making yourself look ridiculous in front of all these self-centered people, a couple of photos like that and you'll please all the people who want to see you in a bad way.”

“pathetic, very pathetic, maybe that's why you are never someone your family appreciates, remember their faces the few times you spend with your family, they pretend to be fine, but in reality they only put up with you... just because they can't get rid of you”

His cruel taunts were very painful, like thorns, he knew very well how to attack you.

You closed your eyes, squeezing them as tight as you could and covered your ears, you didn't want to hear her anymore. In a few minutes you were white, far from everything. Batman and Superman along with their companions appeared to control such a commotion, although it would be easy to control the criminals there were many hostages in danger.

An extremely complex job, it was even more so when Bruce and his children saw who one of the hostages was, you.

Determined to save you, they entered one of the last rooms, only to find everyone alarmed, some alarmed and others watching somewhat shocked.

A large pool of blood and a man on the floor, one of the participants in the crime, and near the man, a woman, difficult to recognize due to the blood on her face, who brutally attacked the dead man on the floor. Her thin heels crushing the man's skin, again and again.

I wish, Bruce, I had never been able to recognize that person, that deranged young woman, who madly attacked a person with a smile. Where his little smiling daughter had gone, who always visited him or tried to spend more time with him or her brothers.

Normally I like to make a prologue and depending on the reactions continue the story. In addition to developing the yandere little by little, I simply felt that this story needs a little more things before starting with the yandere

[twstedreamweaver]

Something Wicked - Yandere Jade Leech x G/N Reader

NRC is a dangerous place and you got on the bad side of some Savanaclaw students.

You end up making a huge mistake, but don't worry, Jade Leech is there to clean it up for you.

TW: A student commits suicide, violence, drugging, reader has a panic attack, slight suggestive content, murder -> minor character deaths, yandere themes, stalking, reader gets into a fist fight, kidnapping

The students of Twisted Wonderland's prestigious Night Raven College are known for many things, but kindness is most certainty not among them.

You knew the first day you stepped foot on campus that this world reveres the strong and preys upon the weak, and in the months since, you have become well acquainted with the unspoken laws of the school. The watchful eye of the faculty and the Housewardens (well, some of them) only extends so far. Out of their reach, in the shadowy hallways and courtyards, NRC devolves into a merciless, brutal game of survival of the fittest.

You're lucky that your friends are looking out for you.

"Ugh, those Savanaclaw students only seem to be gettin' bolder by the day." Ace frowned.

The expression on his face was hard to read, but he seemed... frightened. Genuinely frightened. The air suddenly felt frigid.

In the blink of an eye, Ace returned to his usual, cocky demeanor and his signature shit-eating grin replaced his previously solemn features.

"You're lucky I was here, or your ass would have been toast-".

"You mean we-" Deuce interrupted, annoyed.

"Whatev, dude, it was pretty much all me that made them run for the hills anywayyyy."

Deuce opted to ignored Ace's insult, his eyes clouded with genuine worry, "Y/n, are you alright?"

You glanced behind you, as three figures clad in Savanaclaw uniform rounded a corner. You frowned.

Right before they disappeared, one turned his cloaked head to look at you, features dark, hidden beneath his hood and he curled his lips into a sinister grin.

A chill crawled up your spine. They were too far away to see clearly; you must have imagined it.

You invoked the ire of Savanaclaw once before, during the Spelldrive tournament, but being in Leona's good graces convinced them to overlook you for easier targets.

But not even Leona could deter them this time.

"They've been at it for what? Three days now?" Ace's voice pulled you from your thoughts.

You let out a heavy sigh before giving them a smile, albeit a pained one. You chose to ignore Ace's rhetorical question for the time being.

"Thanks guys. I'm honestly really grateful to always have you guys ready to back me up. I don't know what I'd do without you." You can't remember the last time you admitted something so serious, so sincere and heartfelt.

The constant state of paranoia and hypervigilance you'd been living in were really getting to you.

Both Deuce and Ace seemed to reel back at your words, surprised. You swear you see the hint of pink grace their cheeks, as they turn away, muttering jumbled combination of "Erk, yeah, uh, no problem!" and "Well, yeah you should be thanking us."

No way that's all it takes to make them blush. You smile inwardly.

"Let's get out of here. It's getting dark."

As the trio, talking amongst themselves, returns to the safety of the main corridor, a lone figure quietly follows.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Even Grim's snoring could not distract you from the cacophony of your thoughts that night.

Ace and Deuce were insistent on spending the night at Ramshackle. Ace in particular tried to worm his way into your bed, on the pretense of 'protection'. Deuce vehemently objected of course.

Your bed was already small after all, and Deuce definitely did not seem to enjoy the idea of you lying that close to him while he dejectedly watched from the hard floor. And Grim would have been pissed to not have enough room at the bottom of the bed to curl up.

And Grim did already loudly insist that he - Grim the Great! mind you - is perfectly capable of protecting his human! And he certainly didn't need help from those two.

You turned down Ace's suggestion anyway, teasing him alongside Deuce, leading to a grumbling Ace defeatedly disappearing down the staircase.

In all honesty, you wouldn't mind - given the current situation - but the thought of your bodies touching admittedly made your cheeks grow uncomfortably hot.

The duo opted to sleep on the couches in the foyer instead, as Deuce suggested. It was the best location anyway, as they'd be closer to the main entry if anyone tried to break in.

After giving them blankets and biding Ace and Deuce goodnight, you settled in with Grim, who quickly fell asleep, leaving you to lie awake, alone with your thoughts.

You sighed, staring at the ceiling. Sleep was futile.

Your troubles began well before the incident.

Henry, a Savanaclaw student you had shown a sliver of kindness to in Alchemy class, started following you around the school, trying to talk to you, to befriend you, to be near you. He spiraled into a twisted form of infatuation. He'd give you weirdly expensive gifts (which you'd decline), researched your interests extensively, and hunted down all your socials online.

You weren't interested in him, not romantically or even platonically, he was creepy, to say the least, and you hardly wanted him as a friend. You were civil, polite at first, but you became increasingly harsh as the weeks dragged on.

While NRC was cruel, you were lucky to have made allies with the people you did.

Your friends noticed him within a few days. You had amassed many friends in high places while at the school and they ensured that he never got close to you, except, of course, in Alchemy class, the one class you shared with him. Crewel, ever watchful, quickly noticed and separated you, ensuring that you weren't together on projects.

Occasionally, you'd feel a tinge of guilt. While he certainly was annoying, you couldn't help but feel that he didn't deserve what happened.

Seemingly over the span of a week, Henry managed to amass a large group of very powerful people who all greatly despised him.

Idia deactivated his socials and Leona and Ruggie practically banned him from leaving the dorm after classes. Azul tricked him into a terrible deal and Riddle would slap a collar on him for the most minor of infractions.

You guessed he'd give up. He didn't. He actually got more aggressive, more spiteful towards you for not reciprocating his feelings. More hateful and angry at the injustices he was subjected to by the Housewardens. He got worse and worse by the day, until one day, he inevitably snapped.

Love potions are not only highly taboo, but also illegal in Twisted Wonderland. Moreso, it's incredibly easy to determine the culprit, as each potion is unique to its user.

Jack, with his sharp sense of smell, caught a whiff of something in your drink at the cafeteria. You had no idea how Henry managed to slip something into a sealed drink that you purchased from the cafeteria directly, but he did.

You and Jack went to Vil, arguably the alchemy genius of the school, who determined that it was a love potion. And given the situation with Henry and a strand of his hair, it was easy to determine that it was none other than Henry's love potion.

Henry was expelled from Night Raven College shortly after Vil showed Crowley the evidence. The police were alerted, and it seemed that he was set to spend a year in prison.

But Henry never went to jail. He never even got arrested.

A few hours after the police arrived and they couldn't seem to find him, a frantic student stumbled into Crowley's office.

Henry was found hanging from a tree on the edge of school grounds. A noose tightened around his blue neck, eyes bulging. It was a terrible sight and one that Crowley did not want to get out. And Crowley made sure the truth never saw the light of day.

To the general public and his family, Henry likely ran away to escape prosecution. But you, and a select few, knew the truth.

The whole situation reeked of suspicion to you. You couldn't help but wonder if Henry was framed, if he really did kill himself, or if someone else was responsible.

But for everyone concerned, it appeared Henry disappeared from your life as quickly as he had entered it, but the problem was far from over.

Henry had dedicated friends, and they resented you. Despised you.

They started appearing late at night, tailing you as you walked home. You told Deuce and Ace and you all concluded that while their identities were always obscured, it had to be the late Henry's vengeful friend group. They were upperclassmen, Savanaclaw students, and while Ace and Deuce seemed ready to take the fight to them, you urged them not to. The last thing you wanted was for them, your best friends, to get hurt on your behalf.

After all, they were likely just trying to scare you. But the sinister aura you felt told you otherwise. You wish they knew how guilty you felt, how you cried when he died. It wasn't your fault, you knew that, but you couldn't help but feel responsible for Henry's suicide.

You hadn't told anyone besides Ace and Deuce. Fear and guilt stopped you. Fear that history would repeat itself. That another student would stumble upon three more bodies hanging from a tree.

Why is this always happening to me?

You tossed and turned for an hour, until finally you fell into an unsteady sleep, haunted by nightmarish visions.

Unbeknownst to you, they were waiting for you to do just that.

A person, clad in black, crawled out from under your bed.

"Got you."

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You awoke to cold, unrelenting, freezing cold. You felt as if you were in a fog, as if your limbs were tied to weights you couldn't hope to lift. You heard distorted voices and the whispers of wind.

The Savanaclaw students. Henry's friends. They got you.

Adrenaline surged through your body, ripping you out of your deep, mind-numbing slumber.

Your eyes flew open, but you couldn't see anything except the night sky as your eyes adjusted to the low light. You were on your back, you felt grass against your exposed skin and the hard ground beneath your head.

The voices sharpened into focus.

"-wait for this lying bitch to get what they deserve."

You have to get up. You're starting to see figures moving around you. Three, two milling around, one trying to lift something with magic. They had a lantern set on the ground, but it was faint, barely enough to emit enough light to see what the one was trying to lift.

"Well, then fucking help me lift this. Jeez, why am I doing all the damn work-"

It almost looked like, a rock?

"Sorry, got distracted. Rich, you recordin'?"

You have to get up, now.

You feel like there's electricity surging through your body, snapping you out of the sleep-induced haze.

You were drugged. It must have worn off before they planned.

"I can't wait to see their head fucking splatter."

You leaped up. The world was spinning, you were moving so fast, your brain couldn't keep up. You stumbled then lunged, aiming for the lone figure that wasn't lifting up the rock.

Your vision narrowed.

One of them yelled, out of the corner of your eye, you saw one of the students whip around towards you, canceling the spell, as the rock fell right onto the other's foot.

Curses, yells, it didn't matter. The man's screams were dilluted by your concentration on the man in front of you.

His face was distorted, his mouth agape. He was turning towards you.

Perfect.

You clenched your right hand into a fist and planted your feet into the dirt, bracing yourself, as you reeled back and aimed for his exposed jaw.

You exhaled sharply right before your fist collided with his jaw with a crack. His head whipped to the left, spit flying out of his mouth, a choked, strangled noise coming from deep in his throat.

Your left elbow was ready, your right arm coming back to guard, twisting your torso as you threw your elbow into the left side of his head, swinging through.

You couldn't feel anything, everything was moving too fast, but you were sure you might have broken your hand.

After the collision, you jumped back, head whipping around to face your approaching opponent.

A punch was heading right for you, aimed at your head.

You side stepped, centering yourself, grabbed his arm with your left hand and then reeled back for another right punch. As he stumbled forward, your right fist met the side of his face. He lurched to the side, and you stepped behind him to kick at his lower back, you planted your foot on his tailbone and pushed, sending him sprawling forward.

The other man was trying desperately to lift the rock off his foot, but he couldn't pick it up with magic alone and he certainly couldn't lift it with his own strength.

The man fell face first into the dirt. He was weak, helpless, entirely at your mercy.

Your vision was red, your breathing was heavy, your lungs and throat burned as you raised your foot and slammed it down.

They deserve this.

You were enraged, terrified, the world was spiraling but. You were finally in control.

You were on top now; you were the one in power.

Your foot slams down over and over again.

They were going to kill you.

You didn't need magic, not this time.

In this shitty world, you were always the magicless nobody, lost, homeless, at the whims of a headmage who couldn't care less.

He was begging for you to stop, trying to lift himself, but each stomp left even weaker.

And you blame me? You go after me?

His face is caved in, you hear a crack as your foot meets his skull again and again.

Why am I always the problem? Why do I always have to deal with this?

The blood looks black under the moonlit night.

I never asked for any of this.

Tears started streaming down your cheeks, the man with the rock on his foot was yelling, begging you to stop as he watched, completely helpless, as his friend was beaten.

You were going to do this to me! Why the fuck should I stop?

He wasn't breathing anymore, was he?

Reality seemed to shift into focus.

What have I done?

"I never wanted Henry to die!" You screamed, as you stepped back, staring at the lifeless body in front of you, shaking.

You collapsed to the ground, sobs wracking your throat, "I never wanted any of this!"

"What was I supposed to do?"

The other student still lay unconscious on the ground a few feet away.

You couldn't breathe.

He was dead, you were certain.

Everything was spinning again, you were nauseous, your hand stung, your elbow stung, your head was muddled by the lasting effects of a drug.

You were sobbing and you couldn't figure out how to breathe. The air wouldn't enter your lungs.

"Oh my god." you wheezed through choked sobs and tears.

A hand landed, gently, on your shoulder.

"It's going to be alright, Y/n."

You whipped around to see Jade Leech towering over you. His expression unreadable in the dark.

"Jade?" You choked out.

The boy with the rock on his foot stared, mouth hanging open. He was quiet.

The whole world was quiet for a moment.

"In the flesh." You saw the trace of a smile in the dark.

"I'll take care of this, Y/n. Nothing is going to happen to you." You suddenly noticed the sharp edge in his calm tone, the piercing sinister nature of his words.

You couldn't move as he pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and handed it to you. You took it with shaky hands.

He stood up and walked quickly toward the remaining Savanaclaw student.

Like a predator that knew its prey was cornered.

"Please, no, I'm sorry, Jade-" The boy was trembling, his pleas falling on deaf ears. "I'll do any-", the student's sentence was cut short. A gurgling, gasping sound came from the student. Jade's gloved hands were squeezing the boy's neck. The student flailed, arms clawing at Jade, writhing, and Jade only dug his fingers in more.

You watched in horror, at his inhuman strength, at the silent, brutal way in which he drained the life from the student's eyes.

All you could hear was the gasps of the boy in the dead of night, as you stared, helpless to move.

His body collapsed, head lolling to the side, with a final twitch.

Jade refused to let go as the seconds seemed to crawl by, barely half a minute but it felt like an eternity.

Jade dropped the boy, still stuck under the rock, as his body rag dolled and flopped onto the ground.

"No matter how many obstacles I must dispose of, I will always protect you, Y/n," Jade's voice broke the uncomfortable, painful silence.

Your stomach churned and your vision closed in, your arms barely able to hold yourself up. You collapsed onto your side, the drug and the stress and the fear all adding up.

Jade turned his head to look at you, a sinister grin flashing sharp teeth contorting his face.

"I assure you that I will always keep you safe." As you fell into unconsciousness, you heard Jade moving towards you in the dark.

You felt a gloved hand brush hair from your face.

"Allow me to take care of your problems, just like last time."

[hungermakesmonsters]

Devotion & Desire

Chapter Two

Plot summary : When you, a lone omega, move in across the hall from alpha Bucky Barnes, he knows that his life is about to get a lot more complicated, but he has no idea just how much you’re going to turn his life upside down. You’re both devoted to fixing your past mistakes, but will desire for something more get the better of you?

Pairing : Alpha!Bucky Barnes x Omega!Reader

Story Rating : R 

Warnings : [This is a fic for 18+ only, minors DNI] This chapter contains violence. All chapters will contain the usual omegaverse and A/B/O tropes, and explicit smut. Please check the warnings on each chapter if you choose to follow this story. 

Word Count : 5.9k

A/N : 😅😅😅

CHAPTER ONE

MASTER LIST

Chapter Two

It had been going so well.

Too well, really. 

So well, that you really should have known that it was all going to go to shit.

You cursed under your breath as you limped away, sporadically glancing over your shoulder, making sure you weren’t being followed. It was paranoia mostly - you knew Bucky had more sense than to try and follow you out in the open. And it wasn’t as if you didn’t garner enough attention on your own, making your way past groups of people heading home after a night out on the town, looking every bit the poor, helpless and pathetic little omega as you limped alone.

You hated it and you hated yourself for letting it happen.

It had been sloppy, careless. Hindsight was a bitch and had no problem telling you everything you’d done wrong; you should have waited, you should have taken your time.

But that was the problem. You hadn’t wanted to wait. You hadn’t wanted to spend another moment with him like that; touching him, kissing him, and doing every other unmentionable thing. As you walked, you scrubbed your cheek with your sleeve, trying to get his scent off you, but it felt like it was everywhere, like it was seeping into your pores, into your very being, and you’d never be rid of it.

The only thing you knew for certain was that Bucky Barnes was supposed to be dead and you were going to have to find a way to fix your mistake.

Though first you’d need to deal with the world of shit you’d found yourself in. Everything you owned was back at your apartment and Bucky wasn’t an idiot, he wasn’t just going to sit back and forget that you’d tried to kill him. No, he was probably already trying to figure out who you were and why you wanted him dead.

Your weeks of hard work in getting close to him had gone down the drain and all the pathetic, degrading things you’d done had been rendered pointless.

It was playing over and over again in your head, every little thing you’d done and how you could have done better.

You’d played the part of the meek little omega, you’d made him want to protect you. That night in his apartment you’d spread your scent all over his bathroom in the hope of driving him crazy, getting in his head and making it so that you were all he could think about. And, then he’d started seeking you out; offering to walk you too and from work, and agreeing to come to the bar with you.

It had all been perfect.

He should be dead.

What had gone wrong?

You were so caught up in your own frustration that you didn’t hear the call at first, someone shouting your name from down the street. Looking up, you noticed Nikki and Jade, finally on their way home, heading straight towards you.

“What happened?” Nikki asked, looking you up and down, voice filled with concern.

“Didn’t you leave with Bucky?” Jade added a second later.

You took a breath, mind racing as you tried to come up with the perfect lie. Then your gaze dropped and you slipped back into the role of the helpless, delicate omega.

“I think I left my purse at the bar,” you said softly, not looking at either of them.

“You could have called us, we would’ve gone back for it,” Nikki told you.

“Did you tell Bucky? Did he not offer to walk you back to the bar?” Jade asked.

“No, he - we -” you swallowed awkwardly and paused for effect before daring to glance up.

“What’s wrong?” Nikki asked. “Did he -”

“No - no, Bucky didn’t do anything,” you quickly explained. “It was me, I - I tried to kiss him..”

The both fell into a stunned silence while you dropped your gaze again, looking thoroughly embarrassed. And, in a way, you were embarrassed, just not in the way that they thought.

“What did he do? If he was mean -” Nikki sounded ready to fight, and that was the last thing you needed.

“No, he was nice, really. I just - I feel so stupid for thinking he could like me like that...” you sighed, glancing up for a split-second to see if they were buying the lie. They were. “I needed some space so I came out for a walk. I don't want to go back to my apartment in case he sees and wants to talk about it, and then I tripped and hurt my ankle...”

“So, your purse...” Jade prompted softly.

You shook your head, indicating that you hadn’t left it, that you were just using it as an excuse to stay away from your apartment and, by extension, Bucky. For effect, you gave a little sniffle.

“Oh, mouse,” Nikki said with a shake of her head. “I’m sure it’s not that bad. I bet if you just talk to Bucky you’ll be able to sort it out.”

“I can’t. Not tonight,” you told her. “You didn’t see his face... it was so embarrassing.”

“Do you want to crash on our sofa tonight?” Jade offered.

You gave a weak little nod but stayed silent, quickly forming a plan. Their apartment was a couple of floors below yours but it was connected by the same fire escape. You’d be able to sneak back into your apartment in the morning, grab your stuff and get the hell out of there before Bucky could catch up to you.

The three of you walked back slowly, Jade putting her arm around your waist and helping you limp along on your injured ankle. Neither of them said anything, but you’d catch the way they were looking at you from the corner of your eye and it made your stomach turn.

Eventually you ended up in their apartment, set up on the sofa for the night, but you didn’t sleep; how could you when you knew he was upstairs and when you couldn’t trust that Nikki and Jade wouldn’t try to go talk to him on your behalf? Fortunately, the night passed without incident and, in the morning, you caught sight of Bucky leaving from the window. Your eyes followed him to his motorcycle, watching as he finished a phone call before riding off.

You didn’t have to hear his conversation to know that he was looking for you; he’d probably been up half the night trying to track you down, without once stopping to think that you’d be dumb enough to still be in the building.

You made your excuses to Nikki and Jade, and headed back upstairs.

Bucky had shut your apartment door, but the lock was busted. Fortunately, you weren’t planning on sticking around long enough to get your security deposit back. It didn’t look like anything had been taken, but a few drawers had been opened, obviously he’d spent some time in there, looking for clues. But you already knew he wouldn’t have found anything. It wasn’t like you’d kept a journal detailing how you wanted to kill your neighbour.

Luckily, the latch on the door was still intact and held the door shut well enough for you to dare to risk a quick shower, needing to scrub yourself to try and get rid of the last of his scent that you hadn’t been able to wash off the night before. Then you changed into some clean clothes and set about trying to pack a bag so you could get the hell out of there.

It was shocking just how much you’d settled into the apartment in the few months you’d been there, and you almost felt sad knowing you were leaving it. Aside from the act you’d had to put on for everyone around you, you realised that you’d actually liked it there; you’d found a comfort and sense of safety that you’d never had before.

Lost in the strange feeling, you almost didn’t notice the door rattling until someone forced their way inside, breaking the latch and the last thing holding the door shut.

Turning you expected to see him standing there, angry and ready to demand an explanation. 

But it wasn’t Bucky.

There were two of them, and you could only guess what they wanted, but you didn’t bother wasting time asking. Instead you dropped behind the sofa.

You pulled the knife from your boot and threw it, catching one of your attackers in the shoulder, causing him to stagger back and let out a string of curses. There was a moment of confusion, but they quickly realised where you were. Scrambling out of your hiding place, you tried to race for your nightstand and the gun that was hidden in the top drawer, but your injured ankle slowed you down. Before you got there, a large hand grabbed your collar and a fistful of your hair, yanking you backwards so hard that you fell.

A boot connected with your stomach, knocking the wind from you, but it didn’t stop you from grabbing the leg attached to that boot and biting down as hard as you could, earning a pained yelp from your attacker. A second later, you were scrambling towards the door, desperate to get out. Then came another kick and, this time, instead of pulling away, he pressed his boot down on your back, holding you in place.

You heard the click of a gun’s safety and held your breath, waiting for the inevitable.

“Hey, jackass, Rumlow wants her alive,” said the other and your stomach almost turned itself inside out at the sound of a name you hadn’t heard in five years.

“I’m not gonna kill her, just gonna put one in the back of her leg to keep her from running,” came the response.

Immediately, you started to struggle, cursing and swearing as he pressed down harder on your back and laughed. You were trapped and powerless to defend yourself; you were everything you’d never wanted to be again, and the realisation had you thrashing and struggling in vain.

“What’s he want with a scrawny little omega like this anyway?”

Somehow, you managed to crawl a few inches despite the weight on your back, managing to get yourself ever so slightly closer to the nightstand, refusing to give up, refusing to resign yourself to your fate.

“I dunno,” the other goon answered, looking down at you, “she’s a feisty little thing though.”

You twisted and squirmed, trying to reach behind you to pull the boot from your back, still fighting, even though you knew there was no real chance of escape. Each breath you took was an awkward gasp, panic plus the pressure on your chest was making it harder and harder to breathe. And it only got worse when your vision started to blur.

But, before you could pass out, you felt something against your neck, then you were zapped with about a thousand volts. The pain only lasted a couple of seconds before you lost consciousness.

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

In a way, Bucky knew that he should have seen it coming, that you (or any one really) wanting to be close to him should only ever have been seen as a massive red flag. In retrospect, it was easy to see how he’d fallen for it, how he’d let you play him and get close enough to almost take his life. 

And Bucky was angry, he was pissed that he’d let you get close, that he’d allowed himself to want for the first time in years.

He wanted to follow you as you ran, consequences be damned. He wanted to know why, wanted to know how your lies could make him feel a longing ache in the cave of his chest, an ache that hadn’t lessened even after your betrayal. 

For hours he looked through your apartment, trying to find some sign of who you were and why you wanted him dead, but there was nothing. He made call after call, upsetting almost everyone he knew by disturbing them at such a late hour. All he managed to find out was what he’d already suspected; the name you’d given him was fake, and so was every little scrap of your past that you’d shared.

There was no trace of you, like your entire life had been a lie, like you’d never even been a real person.

He began to wonder if you’d been trained somewhere like the Red Room, or been part of the Winter Soldier program, but none of that made sense. While you were clever enough to get close to him, it was obvious from your scuffle that you had no training, that you weren’t a fighter or a trained assassin. 

By the time morning came around, there was only one person left that Bucky hadn’t asked for help.

And, with great reluctance, he went to see Sam.

There was an awkwardness to the way he stood there in Sam’s home, half looking at him, the person he considered to be his only friend, and only in the loosest sense of the word. He didn’t want to explain himself or the maelstrom of emotions that he was trying to fight back. All he wanted was help finding you.

“I need your help tracking someone down,” he said, pulling up a photo he’d taken of the group on his phone last night, zooming in on your face. “I have a name, but I don’t think it’s real. The picture’s all I have to go on.”

Sam looked at the picture then looked at Bucky

“You know, when a woman doesn’t tell you her real name during a hook-up, it’s usually a sign she’s not interested in a relationship,” Sam joked with an easy sort of smile that Bucky had always been jealous of.

“It’s not like that,” Bucky answered, snatching back his phone. “She tried to kill me.”

“You do have that effect on people.”

“And this is why you’re the last person I came to for help,” Bucky responded,  taking a step back, about ready to give up leave.

“I see that cyborg brain of yours still doesn’t know how to process humour.”

“It can process humour just fine, it’s that you’re not funny,” Bucky snapped, his tone more than enough to tell his friend that he was already wearing on his last nerve. This was important to him and he wasn’t in the mood to play games. “If you’re not gonna help -”

“Alright, alright,” Sam held his hands up, signalling his surrender, “send me the photo and I’ll pass it on to Torres and see if he can find anything. In the meantime, why don’t you tell me exactly what happened?”

Bucky did as he was asked, sending the picture of Sam and then watching as Sam sent it on. Then there was a pause, Bucky obviously hesitating before he started to explain what had happened, in a tasteful and censored way. He told Sam how you’d moved in and how he’d tried to help you, how he’d tried to be a good alpha, and how the pair of you had started to get close.

“Any idea why she tried to kill you?” Sam dared to ask, even though he seemed to sense that it was something of a sensitive subject for Bucky. 

“No, she didn’t exactly stick around to explain it after trying to stab me.”

Sam gave him a look that had Bucky bristling, looking about ready to fight if Sam even thought about making another joke.

“Do you think someone paid her?” Sam said, looking at your picture again.

“No... it felt personal. She was really angry...” Bucky said, barely managing to hold back a sigh. “But she didn’t fight like she had any training and she’s an omega, so it’s not like she stood a chance at overpowering me..”

“She must’ve put on quite the act if she managed to get that close to you.” Again Bucky bristled, discomfort on his face betraying him. But if Sam noticed, thankfully, he decided not to say anything about it. “Why does it feel like there’s more than your wounded pride at stake here?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Bucky shrugged. “I just want to know why she tried to kill me and if she’s gonna try again.”

Sam was about to say something when his phone buzzed with a message. 

“Torres says it might take him a couple of hours.”

“Can you let me know what he finds?” Bucky asked.

“Sure. Where are you going?”

“Home. In case she goes back to her apartment.”

“You really think she’ll go back?”

“I don’t think she planned for failure,” Bucky offered, “I think she saw the opportunity and took it, now she’s out there with nothing but the clothes on her back.”

“Need me to come with?”

Bucky shook his head. “No, if she shows up I can deal with her.”

The pair shared an awkward goodbye and Bucky headed back to the apartment building, hoping that he hadn’t missed you, but not entirely sure what he’d do if you did turn up. He told himself that he just wanted answers, but it was more than that; he wanted to understand, he wanted to know why you’d gone to such great lengths.

A van peeled past him as he reached the building and he quickly noticed Nikki on the sidewalk, blood pouring from her nose, her eyes fixed on the van until she noticed Bucky.

“What happened?” Bucky asked, quickly moving to her, trying to make sure she was alright.

“They took her,” she answered, frantic. “Someone took mouse.”

“What?” He glanced down the street at the van.

“They had guns, Bucky. I think they’re gonna - oh my god...” she let out an awkward sob, her hand lifting to cover her mouth as she struggled not to fall apart. 

“It’s okay. It’s gonna be okay,” Bucky told her, placing a hand on her shoulder and trying to comfort her. 

“She was bleeding, Bucky. They’re gonna hurt her,” she continued. “I tried to stop them, but I -”

For a split second, he was torn - torn between staying and looking after Nikki and going after you - but his indecision didn’t last long. Whatever was going on, he wasn’t going to let anyone hurt you. He needed answers, he needed to know what was going on.

“Go inside,” he told her, starting back towards his motorcycle, “I’m going to get her back.”

Bucky didn’t wait for a response before starting the engine and taking off after the van.

He easily managed to catch up with the van in the city traffic, pulling up alongside it. He couldn’t see you, but he could hear something, someone, in the back of the van, struggling and kicking against the door. Whatever was going on, Bucky knew he wasn’t going to get any answers if he couldn’t get to you. Hearing your screams and shouts was the last straw; no matter who you really were or what you’d done, you didn’t deserve this.

Slamming his vibranium arm into the passenger door, he tore it off the van, quickly pulling one of your kidnappers out and tossing him into the street, causing the car behind to swerve wildly. In the commotion, the driver fumbled for his gun, giving Bucky ample time to climb into the van and slam his fist into the guy’s jaw. His head rebounded off the window, and the van turned sharply, slamming into a streetlight.

The collision was enough to knock the driver out.

Bucky climbed out of the van, practically tearing the back door off as he pulled it open, find you bloody and sprawled unconscious on the floor. He quickly dialled Sam.

“Hey, Sam, do you still have that safehouse downtown?”

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

You woke up in a small, mostly unfurnished bedroom with no memory of how you’d gotten there; you could remember waking up in the back of the van, kicking and screaming, trying to get out but, then, nothing. But that blank spot in your memory was really the least of your concerns.

When you moved, everything ached. Someone had cleaned you up and bandaged your wounds but, given the circumstances, that just made you feel worse.

All you wanted to do was curl up and surrender yourself to whatever was about to happen. You were so tired of running, so tired of fighting.

You wanted to give up.

You just wanted to sleep.

But a familiar scent reached you, a scent that confused everything even more; Bucky.

Your head ached as you tried to process what was going on and how you’d come to be with Bucky and not Rumlow, and how you’d come to trade one kind of fear for another.

Slowly, you managed to get to your feet, despite the way that the room seemed to spin and the floor felt uneven beneath your feet. Looking around, you tried to find something that gave you some idea of what was going on, but there was nothing. The only things in the room were the bed, a small bedside table with empty drawers, and an empty wardrobe. The view from the window told you that you were in an apartment building, but you couldn’t tell where.

Once you’d finished looking around the room, you headed for the door, expecting to find it locked but, instead, it opened out into the rest of the apartment. 

And there he was.

Bucky was sitting on the sofa, but he got to his feet the second the door opened. You gripped the doorframe as your stomach knotted and cramped, fear coiling in your insides at the realisation you were trapped and there was no way you’d be able to escape him.

An uncomfortable silence hung in the air between you, neither of you moving, neither of you taking your eyes off the other. Your mind was racing, trying to figure out what was happening and why you were there instead of rotting in a cell or worse.

“What’s going on?” You finally forced yourself to ask, trying not to lean too heavily against the doorframe, not wanting to show him just how weak and vulnerable you were.

“Funny, I was gonna ask you the same thing,” he answered, anger and upset thick in his voice.

Finally, you let your gaze shift to the door and started weighing up whether you could reach it before he stopped you. And Bucky noticed, in fact, he took a step towards you, almost goading you to try your luck.

“Why am I here?” You asked, exhausting and discomfort intensifying with every second that passed.

“Because I want answers before I decide what to do with you,” Bucky answered. “The guys that tried to grab you were ex-Hydra, a hit squad - is that who you’re working for?”

“I’m not working for anyone.”

“So it’s personal then?”

“I’m not playing twenty questions with you,” you answered with a sharpness that he didn’t expect, a tone he’d never heard from you before. “Just get it over with.”

“Get what over with?” His confusion was almost believable, but you knew better than to think he didn’t know what you were talking about.

“Just kill me.”

“I don’t make a habit of killing unarmed omegas for no reason.”

“Right. Sure you don’t.” you scoffed sarcastically.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“It means drop the crap. I know you’re the Winter Soldier.”

Suddenly it felt like all the air had been sucked from the room and there was no missing the flicker of discomfort that crossed his face before a look of resignation appeared. You leaned against the doorframe all the more, watching as he struggled to respond, feeling worse by the second.

“So - what? - you came after me to settle a score?” He finally found his voice.

“You killed my brother,” you spat. “You ruined my life.”

Again, there was silence, but all you could think about was the suffocating heat in the room and how it felt like you could barely breathe, and how every breath you did manage to take filled your lungs with his scent.

Bucky had said something and was staring at you expectantly but your only response was to shake your head and start moving, limping towards the door knowing you couldn’t escape but wanting to try your luck regardless. You made it about halfway before you had to stop, the pain in your abdomen only getting worse until you were almost doubled over. Before you could think, before you could say anything, Bucky was at your side, catching you just as your legs crumpled beneath you.

Your vision blurred and you almost lost yourself in his scent and the way his arm pulled you against him in his attempts to steady you. And, for a moment, you wanted nothing more than to melt into his side and surrender yourself to whatever might happen, but you refused to give up that easily.

“No,” you muttered weakly, trying to push him away, “get off me.”

He didn’t let go, knowing that if he did you’d only end up on the floor.

“You need to lay down,” you heard him mutter, a tenderness in his voice that didn’t belong, a kindness you didn’t want or need.

As much as you tried to struggle, you found yourself led back into the bedroom and placed on the bed. The moment your head hit the pillow, everything went black.

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

The revelation that he had killed your brother had left Bucky reeling. It wasn’t the first time that he’d been forced to confront his past as the Winter Soldier but it was turning out to be one of the most painful. He’d hurt you, taken something from you, and he’d never be able to make that right. The thought alone was enough to make him spiral.

As easy as it would have been to hide behind the idea that it hadn’t really been him, that the Winter Soldier wasn’t him, Bucky couldn’t separate himself from the pain he’d obviously caused you. And the worst part? He had no way of knowing who your brother was, no way of narrowing it down or understanding why; had your brother been his target, or had he just been collateral damage.

For a couple of hours he sat, thinking over all the terrible things he’d done, remembering all the things that haunted him, all the things he wouldn’t allow himself to forget in the hopes that something would spark a memory and he’d have the answers that he needed. But, the sorry truth of the matter was that he had far too much blood on his hands, too many deaths on his conscience.  

Whatever had happened, it seemed that his actions as the Winter Soldier had set you on a path that had put you in the crosshairs of dangerous people and, now that he had some idea of why, Bucky knew that he needed to try and make amends. He needed to try and help you. 

But, convincing you to let him was going to be the hardest part.

There was so much he didn’t know, but the majority of the anger and hostility he’d felt towards you had disappeared the moment he started to understand why you wanted him dead. Your words still rang in his ears; you ruined my life. It made him feel sick, but it was a sickness he’d felt before, a sickness he’d managed to work through.

When the bedroom door opened again a few hours later, he was shocked to see that, instead of looking better and rested, you somehow looked worse. You were barely keeping your balance as you stopped and looked at him, pure hatred in your eyes.

“What do you want with me?” You finally asked. “Am I your prisoner?”

“I don’t want anything. And, no, you’re not a prisoner,” Bucky answered, slowly getting to his feet and watching you closely, in case you collapsed again.

“So I can leave?”

“You can, but it’d hardly be the smartest option when you’ve got an ex-Hydra hit-squad looking for you,” he answered.

For a moment you gave him an indecipherable look, as if you were caught between shock and confusion that he’d put everything together so quickly. He didn’t bother to tell you it was because he’d had at least half a dozen people researching you and your assailants, trying to find out whatever they could.

“That’s how he found me...” you sighed under your breath but, before Bucky could ask, you were moving towards the door.

“Seriously?” He asked, clinging desperately to the last of his patience. “Just look at you, you can barely walk. How far do you think you’re gonna get?”

“Whose fault is that?” You snapped back.

“Seriously? You're gonna try and blame me? You jumped off the fire escape after trying to kill me,” he stated, moving to block you as you tried to reach the door.

“I thought you said I wasn’t a prisoner.”

No. You weren’t a prisoner but Bucky couldn’t let you go, not in your current state. You could barely stand and, besides, you had nowhere to go and nothing but your phone.

“You’re not, but if you think I’m gonna let you get yourself killed...”

“I can’t stay here with you,” you told him, trying to step around him.

“You’re not exactly a joy to be around either but you should at least wait until you’re well enough to -”

“My heat is about to start,” you finally admitted, hoping it would be enough to make him move. It wasn't.

“Seriously?” A moment later he was shaking his head. “All the more reason you should stay. You’re not gonna be able to look after yourself.”

“You’re fucking kidding, right?” You asked and the look he gave you was enough to tell you that he wasn’t. He was dead serious. “I can’t stay here with you.” 

“Don’t flatter yourself. I can control myself around an omega in heat,” he answered, annoyed by the implication.

But, if he was honest, he understood at least some part of your worry; the events of the night before were still burned into his memory and, even though that longing ache in his chest had dulled somewhat, it was still there.

“Said every alpha ever,” you muttered, turning away from him, obviously looking for another way out.

“Look, I get it -” he tried, following after you.

“No, you really don’t.”

“I killed someone close to you and I’m sorry -”

“Sorry?” You turned back towards him, tone dripping with disbelief. “I bet you don’t even remember him. I bet you don’t even remember why. You don’t get to tell me sorry.”

“You’re right,” Bucky conceded, “I don’t remember a lot of my time as the Winter Soldier, but I want to make this right.”

You lunged suddenly, almost losing your foot as your hands met his chest and pushed. He barely moved and you almost crumpled to the floor as you shoved him.

“There is no making this right,” you told him angrily, hitting a balled fist against his chest. “You can’t fix this. You can’t bring him back from the dead.”

“Maybe not, but I can keep you alive,” he answered stubbornly, gripping your arm for a moment so you didn’t fall. “I have some friends looking for the guys that tried to grab you, once they’re in custody I’ll take you back to your apartment and we’ll never have to see each other again, okay?”

But, obviously, it wasn’t okay.

“I. Can’t. Stay. Here.” You repeated, slowly, as if he was an idiot. (And maybe he was an idiot for trying to help you.) 

“If I was going to hurt you, don’t you think I would’ve done it by now?” He answered back, tone becoming clipped as he became more frustrated by the conversation. “Just... let me help you and, when all of this is all over and you can stand without looking like you’re gonna pass out, you can have your revenge.”

The offer was made more out of desperation than anything else; he just wanted you to be safe while he dealt with the people trying to hurt you. Everything else could come after.

You made your way into the kitchen and he watched you glancing out the window, as if you were weighing up the pros and cons of jumping from the fifth floor. There was panic on your face as you turned back and looked towards the front door again, but Bucky was starting to realise that he wasn’t the only thing making you feel that way.

“What’s the big deal? It’s not like this is your first heat.” He said because it couldn’t be - you must have been dealing with them for easily over a decade now.

Finally, you turned your attention back to him, no longer trying to hide your discomfort

“I haven’t had a heat in over five years,” you confessed with all of your previous anger. “I don’t do this. I don’t want to do this, especially not near you.”

Bucky chose to ignore the obvious insult. “Five years? How is that even possible?”

“Suppressants,” you snapped. “That I stopped taking so I could get close to you.”

“Oh, well I’m sorry my attempted murder was such an inconvenience to you,” he retorted sarcastically. He fell silent for a moment, watching as your trembling hand reached for the counter for support. “I thought you weren’t supposed to take them over long periods of time? Doesn’t that cause serious problems?”

“Wow, are you really going to stand there and try to alpha-splain it to me?”

“No, that’s not -” he stopped himself, seeing you tense in discomfort. “Can you just go sit down before you fall down?”

“I told you, I can’t -”

“Yeah, yeah, I heard you the first twenty times,” he said, moving towards you and wrapping an arm around your waist, forcibly leading you from the kitchen and into the bedroom again, depositing you on the bed.

You didn’t fight him, despite obviously wanting nothing more than to push him away from you. He wondered if being close to him had the same effect that being close to you had on him, if his scent was filling your lungs with every breath.

“I can see if I can find something, some suppressants or -”

“It’s too late. You have to take them before it starts...” you told him.

“Then what do you need?” He asked.

You looked shocked by the concern in his voice and the way he was looking at you - which, given you’d tried to kill him less than twenty-four hours ago, seemed fair. But Bucky ignored it. Whether it was alpha instincts or guilt over whatever he’d done to your brother, he just wanted to help you, look after you. It didn’t matter that you hated him. It didn’t even matter that he was almost certain you’d try to kill him again once you got the chance.

He needed to do this. He needed to try and fix whatever he’d broken, however he could.

“I need you to leave me alone,” you told him.

Bucky tongued the inside of his cheek, biting back a dozen comments that would probably only make the situation worse before relenting. He lingered for a few seconds before shrugging and letting out a sigh, before finally turning and leaving the room, closing the door behind him and giving you what you needed.

End Note : I know I'm probably raising more questions than I'm answering with this chapter but don't worry, everything will be answered eventually. And, yes, by Rumlow I do mean Brock (I'm saying he's still alive because I needed a bad guy 😅) Anyway, thanks for all the likes/comments/reblogs on the first chapter!

If you'd like to be tagged in future chapters, let me know!

Tag List : @greatenthusiasttidalwave

[luvissues]

mm thinking about simon riley and the conflict of wanting to keep reminders of you with him but also wanting to make sure nobody knows about you!!

Simon is a man who- admittedly- can’t help the small trickle of pride that fills him whenever he looks down at the band around his finger.

He loves the damn thing. Not as much as he loves seeing the matching one on your own hand, but that’s different.

He loves it, really. He does. But he just can’t bring himself to wear it when he’s out on the field.

He won’t deny that part of the problem is paranoia. That paranoia has long since crept through the cracks of his skull, lingered in his brain. He knows nobody will see it, but there’s never a guarantee.

He’s seen what soldiers will do to break someone down. Hell, he’s seen what his own team has done- how easily someone he loves could be dragged into his work. That’s the very last thing he wants.

Out of his team, it’s blatantly clear that Simon has the most anonymity. But he’s not stupid. He knows how far technology can go, how deep people will dig. He knows exactly how someone could chip and chip away at the barriers he’s put up, only to send his whole operation crumbling down.

He’s torn. At night, when he peels his gloves off for just that moment. Just long enough to feel the metal that sits there, warmed by the heat of his skin. That’s the moment when he wants more than anything to keep it on.

But he won’t allow himself to be so careless. How many times has he seen the same brassy silver and gold on a hostage’s finger? How many lovers were dragged into the dirty work of the muppets they married, all because of a simple ring?

It’s the same thing with dog tags. I’d doubt Simon would have them in the first place- it’s too much information, too easily accessible- but if he did, he’d never let you wear them. Why don’t they just put a flashing target sign over your head if he’s going to be so obvious?

He’s made too many enemies for himself. Too many men who would be eager to see his name around your neck, to use you as leverage. He would never forgive himself.

And photos? Oh, how he wishes. He wants to be like Johnny, who pulls on the ragged corners tucked into his pocket whenever he gets homesick. Like Gaz, who only has to tug off his hat to be reminded of who he’s going back to when everything’s said and done. But he’s not stupid, he’s not careless. Those are the two things he’ll never allow himself to be.

The poor man has wiped every photo of himself off of every document that he could. Why would you be any different? Don’t you know how easy it would be for someone to track you down, if only they got a glimpse of your face?

How many times has he watched Laswell pull the same information? How often does Price look over her shoulder, thinking about how he could use it to their benefit?

No ring, no tags. No photos. The Sergeants call him delusional- they’ve seen how fiercely he will fight for his own team, and they know he would do the same for you, only in tenfold.

His Captain might understand. They both have years of experience, have both born witness to the horrors people are willing to commit; the horrors that they themselves have watched unfold at their own hands.

And God forbid Simon ever gets a tattoo that gives you away. I imagine he has some already, and while he might get one in reminder of you, it would be something only he would understand. It almost makes him angry at the men who do have such tattoos, the senselessness of it all. He damn near gives Johnny a concussion from now hard he smacks him across the back of the head when the Sergeant brings it up as a drunk suggestion.

It’s not to say Simon isn’t proud of you. There’s nothing in the world he adores more, is there? He’d chose the title of your husband over the title of Lieutenant any day… as long as it’s off the field.

Think of it as him protecting you. That’s what it boils down to, at the end of it all. His need to keep you safe, to keep you far away from his work, even if he is a little paranoid. Everything he does, it’s done for you. <3

“Yer’ Sergeant is a dumb bastard, Price.”

“You didn’t have to hit him so hard, ya’ muppet, the man can hardly walk straight.”

“Just tryna’ set him right. If he gets that tattoo, I’m gonna cut it off of ‘im myself.”

“Fine, but I’m sure as hell not writing the report on it.”

“The missus will thank me for it. You know she will.”

[atrwriting]

trust me (part 2) — billy the kid (2022) x barowner!reader

okay part two hehe

as always, warnings: smut!, fem!sub!reader, dom!billy, p in v sex, oral m receiving, overstimulation (I should be stopped), choking, dirty talk, breeding kink (hehe)

anyway… trust me, part two:

billy had kept his promise.

he always kept his station right at your bar, in the middle.

you figured it would stop a few days after the two of you were married — but billy held his post.

with billy there and making his silent presence known as your defensive line, most trouble-making men would eye billy, order their drink, grunt, and then pay. to hell with a fake wedding ring, even your real one — when billy the kid sat at your bar, glaring at walking problems from the brim of his hat, no one dared cause a scene.

the townspeople may have stopped their shenanigans… but that didn’t mean that all of your problems disappeared.

in fact, new ones seemed to pop up.

as his new wife, you wouldn’t say they followed billy — but they sure as hell didn’t follow you.

groups of men wearing worn clothes with their guns on display would venture in and immediately start glaring at billy. you found that odd — because what man walks into a bar, and doesn’t immediately order at the bar?

“don’t pay them any mind, sweetheart,” billy would say to you, trying to quell your worries.

you narrowed your eyes at him, wiping down a glass. “if you didn’t want to marry a guard dog, maybe the queen’s daughter is still single.”

his lips would purse in a way that suggested he was fighting a laugh. “i’ll protect you, darlin’. you doubt that?”

“and i’ll protect you,” you bit. “you think i wouldn’t? like i said, you could probably charm —“

“as if any of them could scare me like you do,” he spoke lowly, the want to smile now winning. admiration could be seen in his piercing blue eyes, which also tugged on the corners of his lips.

“as if any of them would know that that’s you trying to be sweet,” you scoffed, half-jokingly. “and — as if anyone would be flattered like i am.”

billy sat back in his chair as he turned his head towards the side. he averted his eyes as he tried to hide his large grin that threatened to take over his face. when a rosy hue had founds it way onto his cheeks — you knew you had done it. you actually made billy the kid blush.

one day you would tease him for it — but not today. with the paranoia that always lingered in the back of your bar — you chose to award yourself and billy with this small moment of intimacy: knowing you were the only person that could break through his tough exterior.

but that tough exterior immediately rose once those men approached the bar.

there were about four or five of them, outnumbering both you and billy. billy always had a gun on his belt, and you had one underneath the counter and strapped to your leg, and a knife on your ankle — but even with those, you were out numbered and out gunned.

when they approached, you put on your brightest smile. “hello, gentlemen — anything i can interest you in?”

“gentlemen?” one, in the back, chortled.

the one in front smirked, swishing the joke in his mouth a little bit. he seemed to contemplate his response for a moment, and you fought the urge to narrow your eyes at them. you could feel the heat of billy’s gaze on the side of the man’s face. finally, the man spoke, “what my… associate means to say, miss... is that we’ve never been called ‘gentlemen’ by such a fine lady.”

you smiled politely. dismissing his words, you asked, “and what can i get for you?”

the man shoved his thumbs into the extra space in his belt, puffing out his chest. his cheeks were rosy — probably from the sun. you weren't sure what he did for work, and you figured it was best not to find out. a man who spent most of their days outside either worked the land or stole from someone else’s. you didn’t want to judge, and didn’t — but they didn’t look as harmless as billy or his gang.

“i was actually wonderin’, beautiful, how you managed to tie ‘ol billy the kid down,” he grunted. “in my day, the kid’s not loyal to nothin’.”

“insulting my husband will not get you drinks on the house, sir,” you stated.

“oh — you think we can’t pay?” he scoffed, his eyes widening. “do my ears deceive me, boys?”

“what’s a lady supposed to believe when you throw a cheap shot in front of her?” you asked before his associates could respond. “you’d be smart to mind the character you give off to the woman who controls the whisky pour, sir.”

his eyes narrowed, but his smirk didn’t waver. “i guess i should mind because my boys and i decided we would make this a regular spot of ours. whisky. five glasses.”

you pulled five glasses and grabbed the bottle from under the counter. lining them up, you began to pour. your gaze never left the man’s as you poured a single shot in each.

like billy said once — they had to respect you, before they respected him.

you pushed the glasses towards the man, and he laid a few bills down on the counter. each man took their glass and began to walk away. before the man you were staring down walked away, he turned to billy, and spoke, “we’ll be seein’ you around, old friend.”

billy didn’t respond. he just glared at him until he sat down.

their departure didn’t not quell any anxiety. having billy there was a blessing when there was one man making a fuss — but five? five who had a problem with billy?

you immediately dipped down under the counter so they couldn’t see you speak to billy.

loud enough, so only he could hear, you asked, “you know him?”

“know 'em enough.”

your teeth sank into your lip. “you want me to fetch jesse? should i get one of the boys in the back?”

“no, darlin’,” he spoke. “i told you — don’t worry about a thing.”

“i don’t appreciate being kept in the dark, billy,” you spoke. “i’m not asking to know everything — but at least let jesse know if you think it’s the right thing to do. you sitting there and not doing anything doesn’t make me believe it’s not a problem — it makes me think you’re only here to make me safe, when it sounds like this is going to get bigger than me.”

“i told you it would be fine,” his answer was quick and flat, dismissive.

“alright,” you sighed. “i trust you.”

you stood up then, averting your attention to a rag and glass in your hands that hopefully gave off the impression that you weren’t trying to secretly talk to billy. you stepped away from billy to stock bottles, attempting to clear your head. you didn’t necessarily blame billy — but you didn’t know how to feel. you didn’t have a problem with who he was or what he did — but you did have a problem with him not being able to handle similar situations as a team. a unit. sure — men would never be as scared of you initially as they are with billy, but you weren’t useless or defenseless.

you knew billy didn’t think of you like that, no. you were more so worried that he didn’t want to share the burden with you.

he should never feel shame. never. not ever.

you walked back over to him then, wiping down the counter. you didn’t raise your eyes, but lowly, you spoke, “i hope you know this, but in case you don’t — i’m proud to be your wife, billy.”

he was mid sip when you said that, which stalled a response from him, so you took another chance. maybe you should have, maybe you shouldn’t have…

but you did anyway.

“and i feel lucky to be with a man who would protect me,” you stated. “that i feel protected by.”

billy didn’t answer — but you weren’t as strong as you were by prying. billy could read you like a book and you hoped that the message was loud and clear: support. he had your support. you didn’t look up at him, didn’t mention it again, and didn’t try to get his attention…

he’d let you know if you needed to know something.

you had to trust him with that.

it would be a little while before the men at the table left. it was approaching close — and you were scared that they would never leave. you tried to keep your gaze off of them, and thankfully you never met their eyes if they had been looking over when you were. unfortunately, it appeared that they had been looking over — because billy was growing tenser by the moment.

“i could kick them out,” you whispered, keeping your head down.

“you’d do that to polite, paying customers, darlin’?” he asked sarcastically, shaking his drink around.

you fought back a smile. “i’m going to let them know about last call. hopefully they take the hint.”

you grabbed a bottle of liquor and ventured over to the men at the table. you kept your gaze trained absentmindedly ahead of you, but not on any of them in particular. when you approached, you had found most of their eyes already on you.

“just coming over to let you gentlemen know that we will be closing soon,” you stated. “can i top anyone off before that?”

“you can top me, sweetheart,” one of them chortled.

“mason, enough,” the man from before barked. “why, yes… that would be very kind of you. we’ll be on our way afterwards.”

you brushed off mason’s comment and began filling their glasses. they each immediately slammed it back, pulled out a few bills, and handed them to you. for whatever reason — they complied. politeness in their demeanors, they stood up and even pushed their chairs in before they left.

the main one, from before — you hadn’t caught his name, threw over his shoulder as he left, “be seein’ you soon, kid.”

from the way billy glared at the door… you knew he took that personal.

a little while later, you were both changing for bed. billy was moving with a sort of frustration in each of his movements. he was quiet, and quietly fuming. there was a deep set in his brow — alerting you that so many thoughts were behind those pretty eyes of his.

“do you want me to trim your hair?” you softly asked. “looks handsome — but looks long enough to get into your eyes soon.”

he didn’t look at you as his teeth sank into his lip. “yes, um… that’d be nice.”

you grabbed shears before gesturing him to sit down.

“i think those men were so rude because they were jealous of your hair,” you mused. “don’t think they’ve seen their own in the mirror for years.”

a corner of his lips raised slightly, but lowered almost immediately. you began to trim around his head, keeping most the length full but not long enough to touch his neck. even if it was impractical for what he needed — you loved the little curls by his hairline.

“they were jealous that i have such a beautiful wife,” he spoke.

“you are something else, mr. bonney…” you trailed off, brushing the stray hairs off of billy and turning to put the shears away.

that was when you felt the slightest touch on your palm, and then you felt fingers weave through yours. you turned to find billy’s blue eyes holding yours. you admired that about billy — even in stressful situations, he was not shy.

you smiled at him, and brought his hand up to your lips. you kissed the back of it, hoping he knew how much love you had for him. after, you climbed into his lap — sitting face to face with him.

“they’re a rival gang,” he spoke, then swallowed thickly. “while we found mostly honest work — they didn’t. we’ve caught them stealing from our employer a few times. nothing we can’t handle, but they’re starting to take it personal.”

you were stunned he even told you. he didn’t keep secrets — but since you two had only been wed for a short time, this was the first real threat that had come at you both. you watched as his jaw tightened a few times, and you were unsure of what it meant.

“is this…” you began. “is this the first time they’ve approached any of you in public?”

he nodded. “i’ll make sure they stay away.”

you raised an eyebrow. “...because of me.”

he didn’t answer. “if this is business, you take care of it like regular ‘ol’ business. you let me get in the way — might not end as well as you think it might.”

his eyes were accusatory. “you think i can’t do both? that i can’t protect you?”

“didn’t say that,” you said softly. “i’m just saying… your gang is made up of a few men, and i’m just one person. i’m worried that if you worry too much about me —“

he caught you by both sides of the chin with that. his touch wasn’t hard or forceful, but sudden enough it caught your attention.

“don’t you dare ever even think that you are less important than them,” he grunted. “you’re what i’ve got in this world. you, darlin’. don’t you forget that.”

“i know,” you sighed. “you’re everything i’ve got in this world. i didn’t need a man, you saw… but i wanted you.”

his lips parted at that, and his eyes began to search yours. you had never seen anything like it; billy appearing so pure and vulnerable, almost innocent. like he was laying himself bare before you and he didn’t even realize he was.

“i’m not saying you can’t protect me,” you whispered. “i’m just asking… please, let me do what i can do to protect you, too.”

he didn’t respond. his hand found the back of your neck, and you both leaned your foreheads together. the bridge of your noses touched — which felt odd, but you found your heart swelling at the feeling. billy’s thumb was rubbing against the back of your neck, finding its way to tangle within the hairs.

“i never wanted you brought into something like this,” he admitted. “it’s my —“

“william bonney, don’t ever say something so untrue to me,” you whisper-hissed. “it’s not your fault — and you didn’t bring me into anything. there’s no fault there. however, i will fault you if you keep me at arm’s length on this. please… trust me.”

the hand on the back of your neck founds it way to your cheek where he began to stroke the skin with his thumb once more. you leaned into his touch, grateful for its warmth and comfort. you open your eyes slightly to find billy already gazing at the beauty in his lap. his baby blue eyes were a stunner to anyone and everyone, and somehow they always got the best of you.

“i’m just too selfish of a man to not give my pretty girl everything she wants,” he spoke in a raspy voice. “nothin’ could compare to how sweet those lips look when she smiles for me.”

the grin spread wide before you could help it, and you cast your eyes down to avoid the blush behind so obvious. billy bent his head down, trying to catch your gaze once more before you became too shy.

“oh, no, sweetheart — can’t take from me what i earned,” he coaxed. his thumb found the plumpest part of your bottom lip, and slightly pulled it down into a pout. “prettiest lips i’ve ever seen in the west.”

your lips encircled around the tip of his thumb and lightly sucked in the tip. your hair fell down around your shoulders and curled around your forward as the temperature in the room began to increase. you watched as billy’s eyes flicked back and forth between your beautiful eyes, and how your lips sucked him in.

“goin’ show me what those pretty lips can do f’me?” he asked, lips parted.

you nodded then, sliding off his lap and on the floor. the pair of you tugged on his bottoms and let them pool around his ankles. upright on your knees, billy gathered all of your hair on the crown of your and looked down at you proudly.

“such a good girl f’me,” he rasped, barely above a whisper. “let me see those pretty lips work.”

with a blush on your cheeks, you leaned forward towards his hips. your hand wrapped around the base of his thick cock as your soft lips tucked the tip of his cock into your mouth. billy could’ve screamed at how good it felt in there — warm, wet, and wild. filled his veins with whisky and sunshine and tobacco all at the same time and he didn’t know what to do with himself. bobbing your head slowly, taking more and more of him in, you watched the stress leave his body. billy’s eyes drifted closed as his lips remained parted. the tension in his shoulders had disappeared, leaving only a man with his head thrown back against the back of the chair.

“that’s it,” he spoke. “that’s my girl.”

words like that… oh, words like that… they could turn even a saint like you into a slut. mixed with the sultriness in his voice — the whining, the wanting, the needing — you didn’t know if you wanted him to cum or not. if he came, he’d feel better, sure — but to deny yourself this picture? the scene of your man, your lethal man, succumbing to even the smallest of touches? praising you? guiding you? there was nothing better, nor purer in the world to you than to be before him, on your knees, as his wife. the sight alone was enough to make you take him deeper.

“that’s right, baby — little bit more. show me what you can do,” he grunted. “makin’ me so proud. ah, fuck…”

his reactions were like treats — and who were you to deny yourself of something your husband was so willingly giving? he was melting in your hands before you, and there was nothing more you wanted than to make him feel good. spit ran down your puffy lips, your cheeks, and along your jaw. the feeling of the trail sent all of your senses on fire until the only thing you saw, touched, smelled, felt was billy. one of his heavy hands came to rest on the back of your head, guiding your bobbing motions.

“got me weak, darlin’.” his breathing was heavy, almost spent. “want you on the bed. need to fuck my good girl sweet and proper.”

you reluctantly retreated from him and stood up, huffing. he immediately caught wind of your disheartened expression as his brow furrowed.

“what’s the matter?”

you let your nightgown fall to the floor as you stood in front of billy, bare for only him to see. billy was shameless as his eyes raked up and down all of your delicious, beautiful curves that were only illuminated by candlelight. you weren't backing down, however, no — you stepped forward, leaving very little space between you. you could feel the tips of your perky nipples grazing against his cool skin and shock went up and down your body. with big, unrelenting eyes — you glared up at him.

“finally get my husband to relax and i get stopped when i’m being nice.” you were smiling, being coy — but there was an edge of truth to your voice.

he smiled knowingly, not missing a beat at your discontent. “i’ll show you nice, darlin’.”

he pushed you back against the bed and immediately crawled between your thighs. it was so hard to stay mad at billy when the warmth from his own body would spread up and down yours, bonding the both of you. he pushed your thighs back against your torso, hooking the backs of your knees in his elbows.

“think i’d waste a drop when those men were starin’ at my wife, today? my girl?” his long, thick fingers began playing with your folds. your breath hitched at the feeling, an immediate gush of slick collecting on the tips of his fingers. he swirled around your clit, pulling you into him and his attention. “almost fuckin' killed them, every last one. i’ll get you so round and full — no man will dare flirt with my girl ever again.”

your breaths were light and needy as his words drifted through the air, your eyes fluttering closed. talk of kids surprised you, but not the sentiment. being so free and wild to talk of such things drew a certain excitement out of you that you didn't know existed. your senses were on fire, and now they were focused on having his cock pump you full of him. his lips were by your ear, nibbling on the lobe — and it sent you fucking mad. “yes, billy, please — want your baby so bad.”

“that's right, sweetheart,” he groaned. “need my cock inside you now —“

billy immediately retreated his hands to grab his cock and stuff it inside of you. the preparation was only slight — making there be more friction than ease. you gasped at the slight pain, but immediately fell into billy’s kisses as his lips drew shapes on your cheek and jaw.

“take me just like that, darlin’,” he grunted. “always so good to me. so proud —“

every inch was something billy held over your held. its teasing and taunting were persistent at your entrance, prying at your mind and your bottom lip. he pulled in and out, shoving another inch in with every thrust. you were at his mercy, tucked below him. he had every ounce of your trust and you had every ounce of his — and you couldn't think of anything better than the most dangerous man in the west turning you into a fucking mess.

“you’re so deep, billy,” you whined. “never — felt so good —“

“mind already going soft on me, huh, sweetheart?” he spoke, rocking his hips back and forth. you could feel your pussy stretching around him, wave after wave of arousal coating his cock and sucking him in deeper. it craved him. it throbbed for him. it pulled him in until there was nothing left of him to give. with his balls sitting heavy at the bottom of your entrance, you let out a cry. billy could only laugh darkly in your ear before saying, “pussy wants me so bad — just beggin’ me to breed it. can't be mean now, can i?"

you threw your head back against the bed, neck stretching with it. your teeth dug into your bottom lip as your eyes screwed shut. your entire lower body was on fire with each of billy’s thrusts. the depth and strength of his hips caused his cock to bury itself inside you, threatening to never leave. it was pure, it was passionate — but it wasn’t enough. there was an itch and it needed to be scratched. you should've maybe asked, maybe you should've been embarrassed to want something so dirty, so naughty, so unladylike — but you didn't care. you couldn't care — so you tried something.

you grabbed the wrist he wasn’t using for balance, and brought it up to the upper half of your body. his thrusts didn’t stop, but he watched you warily — waiting for a sign to stop.

but one never came. you let his fingers ghost around the circumference of your throat, letting them rest there. when they didn’t immediately squeeze, you tightened them around your own throat. billy could feel the build of a moan in your vocal chords, and it sent of a shock of arousal right to his cock. his eyes went wide with shock, then dark with lust.

“dirty — fuckin’ —“

he immediately got the hint.

he squeezed the sides of your throat just enough, and held you down. your whines were pathetic — incoherent, pitiful, and downright crazy. the head of his cock was hitting some of the most sensitive parts buried deep inside you that only he could find — and the room was spinning. pictures on the wall, furniture, lamps — things before you all going hazy and doubling in quantity as the pleasure drove you up a fucking wall. he claimed every bit of your body, having you bent in the most vulnerable position you had ever been in and you gave in. you gave in to every push, pull, thrust — anything he offered. he was yours, and you were his, and there was nothing stopping the bond between you two. you let out a dirty, needful whine at the feeling of his claim around your throat and melted underneath his control.

“that’s how it’s goin’ be, huh, girl?” he spat against your cheek. “thought my wife was the sweetest — but she didn’t tell me she likes it dirty. can you cum like this, sweetheart? fucked like a whore, hand around your throat, from a wanted man?”

you could only nod pathetically. you were clinging to him for dear life, pushing off your orgasm for as long as possible. “just like that, billy. please — don’t stop. i’m so, so close…”

“can see those stars behind your eyes already,” he quipped, nipping at your neck. “my poor girl wants to cum so bad…”

you were nodding though your tears, trying your best to choke out words, sentences, pleas, anything — but nothing could encapsulate how billy had control over every inch of your body. every nerve ending stood at attention for the man before you, ready to give him anything he wanted.

“please, billy,” you sobbed through gritted teeth. “i want a baby. i want your baby!”

“gonna breed this pussy, fuck — !” his free hand immediately came down in between where your hips connected and began drawing the roughest circles on your clit. the friction should’ve hurt, but with your mind being so consumed in passion and lust — it filled every want and need. your body rose for him, keened for him, fucking sang for him — and it set him off. the animalistic side of man showed itself through the dark pupils of billy's eyes as lust began to cloud his mind. “that’s it, doll — everything i give you. jus’ like a good girl — take it all.”

your hands immediately left his body and slammed down onto the bed, grasping at the sheets. your hips then spasmed as your chest then fought against billy as it tried to raise off the bed — but billy held you down. as you sobbed, cried, whined — billy held you and supported you through it all as he swallowed every emotion you gave him. you were almost screaming — from the pleasure, from the intensity, from the overstimulation, but billy didn’t stop. he kept working your pathetic, puffy clit with his rough hand around your throat, speaking dirty and sweet nothings into your ear before he filled your pussy to the fucking brim.

his moans in your ear were strained as the veins in his balls tightened. his hips shot forward once, twice — before he slammed into you once more and held his hips there. rope after rope after rope of hot, sticky, white cum painted and melted into your gummy walls. all of billy’s muscles were pulled tight and taut as he fucked his cum inside of your sopping wet pussy.

“i’m so mean to this pussy, but she just can’t stop cummin’, can she?” he spat, grip still on your throat. “love when your walls throb around me… holding me in…”

billy only then pulled his hand away from your raw clit. you were shivering from the stimulation, already falling victim to the haze of an orgasm and exhaustion. with his hand still around your throat, he pressed a fat, wet kiss to the side of your face.

“can’t wait to make you a mama," he whispered. "but i like the process."

---

lmk what u think :) love u guys xo

-L

[eumivrse]

HOUSE OF CARDS : nanami kento

summary when nanami catches up to you in kuantan, he vowed to make it up to you for lost time.

warning(s) IMPLIED SHIBUYA INCIDENT SPOILERS!!! i tweaked it from canon obvi, nanami & reader are married, dirty talk, fingering, fem receiving oral, squirting, creampie, breeding, kitchen sex, lots of profanity, some fluff and angst !!

word count 4,435

note manifestation of ‘me and nanami are actually in malaysia rn’. also title inspo from house of cards by bts bc the song is angsty yet it sounds raunchy?!! that’s the intention !!!

“You’re going to hurt your neck sleeping like that.” A familiar voice awoke you from your slight doze, blinking twice to see your husband crouched in front of you.

Tears welled up in your eyes, lips trembling as you clasp your arms around him. Sniffling against his chest, you crumple your hand on his blue button up, a way to convince yourself that this is real.

That he really made it out alive.

“I hate you.” You sob, jabbing at him with light punches. Fellow passengers exiting from their respective flights are staring at you two, but you couldn’t care less when a huge lump in your throat has been removed.

He pats the back of your head, your chin resting on his shoulder. “I’m sorry, honey. Have you been waiting long?”

This trip has been something you mutually have been anticipating since last year. Your husband had always wanted to visit Malaysia and naturally, you decided that the first time you two will ever go out of the country as a married couple will be here at Kuantan.

Getting your schedules aligned for a 2-week long getaway— well, it wasn’t easy. Working as sorcerers under the jujutsu society doesn’t grant you much vacation time. After all, there’s not enough people to compensate for your absence if the both of you go under the radar for two weeks straight. And it definitely didn’t help that Kento is highly valued as a first grade sorcerer.

Your flight was scheduled for 8:30PM until he got a call saying he was needed at Shibuya urgently even though it has been settled months prior that he will be out of the country by this time. To say that you were livid that they even asked for him doesn’t even begin to describe what you were feeling.

But of course, in his old Kento fashion way, he reassures you, “Go on the flight without me, love. I’ll catch up with you. I promise.” You knew his words were empty— you had an intuition especially since it was an urgent request and people’s lives were already on the line.

It was selfish for you to want him to ignore the calls that night but you knew there was a chance— even if it’s a mere 5% — that he would never be able to catch up with you.

His sweet voice convinced you enough to go on the flight anyways, but the 10 hour flight to Kuantan was the probably worst 10 hours you’ve had to live through in your life. Being on a plane with an empty seat next to you where your husband is supposed to be sitting had you thinking all kinds of crazy thoughts, your heart sunken. You damn near already prepared a eulogy in your head from the thoughts intruding your peace of mind.

It wasn’t until you were waiting at the airport that slumber had overtaken your paranoia and you fell asleep in one of the waiting areas near the boarding terminals, although uneasy.

“Is everything at Shibuya okay now?” You choke, face flushed with heat, eyes streaming with tears that had no sign of stopping any time soon.

“There are problems, but everyone’s fine. I don’t want you to worry about that right now, though.”

He presses a loving kiss on your forehead before parting from the hug and standing up from his knees.

He holds out his hand for you to grab onto. “Let’s go,” he looked so fatigued, but he couldn’t even think about his body crashing down on him when he’s just relieved that he’s able to see you again.

You take his hand, using the back of your free one to wipe your tears away. “Okay.”

It was easy to find out why Kento was dreaming of this place. It was simple, yet the natural scenery was what made it so beautiful. Palm trees swaying along with the wind’s grace, the water in its crystal glory, reflecting onto the sky’s clementine hue, indicating the sun’s time to rise. You took your time to walk through the beach before settling in your rental, waves crashing across the shore far enough that it grazed your ankles.

Kento stood right where the seas met the land, letting his shoes get soaked despite it being completely out of his usual self. He’s very particular about keeping things neat, after all.

You lock your arm around his, gazing up to see him completely immersed with nature, eyes closed and head stretched back towards the sky. The bags under his eyes were apparent under the sun, the corner of his lip slightly upturning into a small smile. It’s not common to see him at such serenity considering he was just at the verge of death hours prior.

“Is everything okay?” You ask, leaning your head against his shoulder.

“This is everything I’ve ever wanted.” He cherishes, always having an appreciation for the simplest of things. If he could just run away and live here with you, away from the trauma he constantly experiences. He knows that’s not productive and that neither of you would actually approve of it, but he couldn’t care less about technicalities right now.

It’s a good change outside the chaos and turmoil you constantly experience at work and living in the city. The gentle breeze glides past Kento’s hair, and you stay still for a short while, taking advantage of this moment as it’s rare to do so back at home.

The vacation rental you chose was perfect— walking distance from the beach and all the local businesses. The owners even left a welcoming note for the both of you and complimentary slippers to walk around the house in. It’s nothing grand, but you preferred this over a resort to keep things relaxing.

Kento plopped himself down on the couch and you decided you wanted to explore around to find something to eat. The anxiety was eating you from the inside earlier and you swore you would have puked if you ate.

You quickly changed from your previous outfit which reeked of airport air to a sundress you thought would be perfect for the tropical weather. He was dozing off on the couch with his neck craned, arms crossed, face towards the ceiling with his eyes closed, so you sneaked out of the house with quiet footsteps.

You came back just in time to see Kento in the same spot, except shirtless with a towel draped over his head. His damp hair gave you the impression that he had just taken a shower and you realize how long you took outside just to end up back here with a bag of Laksa and rice that you purchased from a nearby canteen.

Although it was safe to say that you got lost.

He was sitting with his elbows propped on his lap, fingers laced together like something was clouding his mind. “Are you hungry?” You ask as you walk across the living room and to the kitchen.

“Not necessarily,” he briefly replies. Exploring the cabinets for some plates, Kento got up from his position and helped you prepare the food by untying the plastic bags and pouring it on bowls. You set the food on the island, taking a step back and almost tripping on his foot, unaware that he was right behind you with utensils in hand.

You giggle and he chuckles while he places the silverware on the counter, one of his hands catching your shoulder. “Careful, love. Forks are no joke if they hit your eye.” You roll your eyes, finding it ironic that he’s so careful with forks knowing he’s seen you fight against things far more dangerous. Turning around, you only notice now that his bare chest is smeared with faint marks that resembled burn scars. It’s not uncommon for him to be wounded, but you always tend to get emotional when you see him hurt.

Concerned, you express your thoughts. “These look serious, are you okay?” You look up to meet his eyes, pursing your lips with the intent to suppress your tears. Trying to stay calm and collected was your way to not make Kento feel bad again, but how could that work when he already knew how you felt from the moment you asked?

He uses the tip of his thumb to catch the tear on your right eye before it even had the chance to trickle down. “I’m more than fine. Ms. Ieri got treated right away, it’s just that some of it is still healing.” His dulcet tone almost immediately made you feel a sense of tranquility as if his voice can make you forget all the problems in this cruel world.

“I’m glad,” you croak.

He leans down, eyes peering down your lips as he whispers gently, “You don’t have to worry about it anymore, okay?” And with that, he kissed you with a hint of longing and zeal, lips sealing onto yours with eagerness to go further. Your body had shifted due to his weight, your lower back hitting the ledge of the island, mouth opening into a small gasp. Kento grabbed that as an opportunity to shove his tongue inside as he curled his hands onto the edge of the counter to sandwich you in between.

Your hands roamed around his back, pulling him in closer that your chests are pressed against each other, tilting your head in intervals all while saliva started to seep out of your mouth from how messy and needy Kento seemed to be. You were tired— he’s tired, but the adrenaline rush of being under pressure for an extensive amount of time allotted you the energy to want something like this.

Kento is hungry, but not in the way you initially assumed.

You nibble on his bottom lip before he pulls away, his face rosy. “The bedroom— we should go there.” It was difficult to be coherent when you’re growing impatient and in heat, hiding the wet spot forming under your pretty little sundress.

He refuses by grabbing onto the back of your thighs and picking you up, placing you on the quartz counter. Your arms are laced around his neck, tucking your lips with enticement at how he was able to pick you up so swiftly when you don’t necessarily consider yourself light. He shakes his head, “I wanna have my food now though.”

Rolling your eyes, you giggle in embarrassment, “You’re a damn tease, Kento.” After all, nothing else could satisfy his cravings and relieve his pent up stress besides you.

He did the honors of lifting your dress up, seeing the huge spot of your arousal apparent on your panties. You hold onto the hem of the garment as he pinches on the garter of your underwear, pulling them down all the way, then letting it fall past your ankle and on the wooden floor. Your cunt glistened with slick already running down the middle of your slit, Kento collecting it with his index and middle finger before spreading it all over your folds. Legs trembling with anticipation, you twitch when he taunts your pussy by inflicting force on your sensitive clit with the tips of his fingers.

You hum, “Are you done playing with me yet?” He slips his fingers under and down where your hole is, pushing them in and letting you adjust around it before kneeling on the floor, so he could be eye-level with your cunt.

He blinks towards you, eyes glued onto yours as he spreads your legs apart with his free hand. “Not playing with you, baby. Just making sure you’ll feel comfortable.” Kento reveres as he pulls his fingers out from your hole to replace it with his tongue. Your upper body leans back as reflex, palms placed on the surface of the counter to keep leverage.

You cry out moans of his name mixed with a few curses as he switches between giving your clit small kisses and licking you all over your dripping pussy. “Fuck, Ken’. You’re making me go crazy…” It also didn’t help that he would look you in the eye periodically as he slides his tongue all along your slit. Just seeing him in between your legs with slick smeared on his cheeks was more than enough to make you cum.

Likewise, Kento’s shorts were starting to feel rigid, his cock rock hard under the tight confines of his clothes. Hell, he feels like he might cum now before he even gets the chance to do anything with it. He takes a pause, teasing your throbbing hole by flicking his index finger against it. He coos, “So beautiful…” Gazing up to meet you eye to eye again as he suctioned his lip against your clit, sucking on it like there’s no tomorrow. He wondered for a moment why he was even dreaming of Kuantan when he already gets the best view in between your legs whenever he wishes to.

One of the spaghetti straps of your dress fell loose on your shoulder, your tit almost peeking through the sorry excuse of a paper thin fabric. You take a chunk of his hair to pull onto as Kento pushes the base of your ass, giving him more allowance to make sure no drop of arousal is left wasted by catching it with his tongue. Heat rushed up to your cheeks as you threw your head back, snapping your eyes shut for a quick second before whimpering his name.

It probably isn’t smart to be so loud when the town is just getting started with their day at 9 in the morning, waking them up with noises you’d only hear at the dead of night. You could only pray that these walls are thick enough to mask the lewd noises from your neighbors.

A puddle of drool and slick pooled right below you as Kento proceeded to shove your thighs apart, not letting them get near each other to keep you wide open. He spits on your cunt, watching his drool drip down your ass while he aligns his fingers back against your hole, slipping them in as he continues to lick your clit.

You suck your breath in, “Kento, please, please, please—! Keep going—“ He had to chuckle in amusement that you’re already so worked up when he’s barely even begun, shoving his fingers in and out of your slippery pussy, far enough that you feel the desperate need to release.

He exhales, keeping his digits in steady speed, “Need you to cum all over my tongue, baby.” That request was a little selfish from his end, rushing you to your orgasm as he plunged his fingers in deep enough that clear liquid projectiled out your hole. You screamed his name while he used his mouth to slurp it all off, giving your clit small little pecks in between to ease you from your release.

His knees were sore as he stood up, coarse hands massaging your inner thighs as you wiped his chin with your thumb. “Are you okay?” He asks, sweeping his hands up to your waist then your shoulders.

“Mhm,” you hum, still trying to catch your breath.

He examines your state, looking you up and down with a smirk on his face. “Was this the dress I picked?” He pinches the loose strap on your shoulder and you nod.

“Yeah, and the one you paid for.” You wink.

He slowly lowers the strap on both sides, letting the dress fall enough for your titties to spill out, nipples all cute and perky. “It looks perfect on you, honey. But do you wanna know something?” He leans in closer to your face, his breath puffing against the tip of your nose.

“Hm?” Your curiosity is piqued, although you were becoming impatient with the growing need of him inside you. You knew he was holding it off as a way to taunt you.

“I think you’d look better with it off.” He whispers cheekily.

You look up with a scrunched face, half out of flattery and the other because of his crassness. “You’re so filthy,” you giggle, but you weren’t going to deny the throb of your pussy when he said those words.

He chuckles with a low gruff before locking his lips with yours, tugging you closer by gripping onto the side of your ass. You hop off the counter for a moment, parting from Kento with bated breath as you frantically shed the rest of your clothes off, leaving you bare. Not being able to get a good view prior, you finally see the tent poking through his shorts.

With a faint voice, you egg him on, “Need your cock inside me, Ken.” Cupping his clothed bulge, you graze your hand in a slow up and down motion, your husband cursing under his breath. You close in the space in between you, lips just right against his neck. “I want your cum shoved deep inside me, wouldn’t you like that too?” With a kiss on the crook of his neck, he could see that smug grin plastered on your face from the corner of his eye. You knew the weight of your words and how much that affects him. If he hadn’t had the self control he could’ve came right here and now.

He seethes, trying his best to save himself from the embarrassment. “Such a dirty girl you are.” When he grabs the back of your thighs, you use that as a gesture to leap back up on the counter, lacing your arms around his neck to keep him near.

You pout, “I learned from the best.”

Kento pulls his shorts down along with his boxers, his fat cock springing out, tip all pink and angry with translucent pre smeared on the surface. Your pupils dilate at the sight even though you’ve seen this in more scenarios than you can begin to imagine. His size has always been intimidating, biting your lip out of anticipation and slight nervousness.

With your legs already wide open, he presses the curve of his cock against your folds, sliding it up and down to warm himself up, his tip poking on your clit. Kento praises, “You’re so pretty,” cupping your cheek as he uses his free hand to align his cock right on your hole, pushing himself inside of you as slowly as possible.

You were squeezing onto him and he watched how your eyes knocked at the back of your head, mouth agape. Your cunt was sucking him in so well, it didn’t take long for him to thrust to the hilt, grunting from how tight you were. “Holding up okay?” He asks, hands wandering from your waist to your boobs, putting pressure on them with his palms to massage you, coaxing you to his size.

Your breath was shaky as you responded with a laugh tinged with an anxious tone, “Yeah… let’s stay like this for a minute.” You felt so full, you swear you could feel the veins on his cock pulsing against your walls.

“Okay, love. Take your time.” He presses a delicate kiss on your forehead. As soon as he flicks his thumbs on your nipples, you tightened around him again followed with a squeal slipping past your lips.

Your arms are still hung around his neck, using that to pull his face closer to yours. You could see every detail of his face from his prominent cheekbones to a few tiny red scratches he probably obtained from his mission earlier. You faintly hum, “I love you so much, Kento.” He smiles at that, his cheeks flaring a light pink tint. “I love you even more, sweetheart.”

A prompt, yet languid kiss closes off any other distance you may have had and you break away not long after just to give him the green light. “I’m ready now.”

Kento pulls his dick out halfway, then takes his sweet time to thrust it back in, testing the waters to make sure he isn’t hurting you. Your thighs tremble as he pulls away even further the second time, to the point where only the tip is inside. Sighing at how hollow you felt, you nearly choked on your gasp when he suddenly stuffed you full of cock.

Your jaw hinged open, Kento holding onto the back of your knees to bend your legs and spread them outwards to resist your urge to clamp them close. He moves his hips in slow, yet deep strokes, his balls pressing up on your ass with each thrust. He keeps your head from falling backwards by grabbing the back of your neck with one of his hands, fingers pressing on the sides. Your cunt was fluttering around him, staring at his face perspiring with sweat from his conscious efforts.

He looks up, meeting your eyes. His damp hair was sticking to his forehead, his bare chest rosy from this heated moment. Your eyes are glazed over, half lidded as if you’re already drunk on his cock. From the moment he sheathed into you, you already knew walking properly wasn’t going to be an option for at least the next day. He praises, “You’re taking me in so well, love. So well…” He places his hand on your tummy, pressing over the soft pudge of your stomach.

You squirm, your lips were moving, but not a word actually came out, just feeble whimpers and moans as drool dribbled from the corner of your lips. The sun was shining a little too brightly across the kitchen window, somehow it felt dirtier to be doing this in broad daylight, let alone in the kitchen. “Wanna…” you start, pausing for a moment when the head of his cock plunged further in your cunt than just a second before. “Fuck, hah— Kiss me—“

It’s not like you gave him a choice anyways when you drew him back in for a sloppy kiss. You were eager, sticking your tongue out for his to swirl around with. He groans into your mouth when he picks up the pace, slamming his cock fast and deep enough that his pelvis would press against your tummy. He grips on the plump of your ass to keep you in place and you wince the rougher he would fuck into you. You teased him by digging your teeth onto his bottom lip, in which he murmured a slurry curse in response.

You were being split in half, the slight curve of his cock making you feel like it’s nudging through your abdominal walls. Kento seemed like the composed one as he kept consistent with the speed of his hips, fast enough to keep you on your toes, but also slow enough so that you aren’t in pain. Although the thoughts running through his mind don't pale in comparison to you.

Kento is fucking obsessed with everything about you. He almost came earlier just eating you out and he hadn’t even been touched at that point yet. The saliva running down your chin, your lashes fluttering as you moan into his mouth — oh god he truly thinks you’re the most precious thing on earth. He felt nothing but guilt making you go through hell by letting you go on the plane with ambiguity if he’ll be safe or not, so this was really the least he could do to make up for it.

You part from him, a thick strand of saliva snapping the connection between the two of you. He curved his cock up enough that it prodded your g-spot and it was obvious he did when you gasped, the sharp stream of air reaching your throat nearly making you cough. “Right there, fuck yes, just like that baby—“ you moan, Kento pounding his cock into you over and over, making sure he hits that spot again until you let loose.

His balls are throbbing with the sole desire to empty inside of you, his cum just sitting on his tip, waiting to fill you full. He grunts, “Want me to cum inside? Hm?” You nod feverishly, curling your upper lip into your lower.

Kento has a bruising grip on your ass that you knew for sure would leave that spot sore after this. He snaps his hips, just waiting for you to release already, adding his thumb on your clit for extra stimulation. Blood rushed through your cheeks as you mewled a soft ‘Kento’ before reaching your high.

He clicks his tongue on the roof of his mouth, “Oh yeah, baby. You feel so fucking good.” Feeling the sudden warmth around him, Kento’s hips stuttered, the compression of your cunt milking him dry. He lazily drew circles on your clit to help you come down from your orgasm and with your arms still locked around him, you pulled him back, his forehead clashing onto yours. “I love you.” You grin meekly.

“I love you more,” he repeats, keeping himself buried inside you, draining all his cum in your pussy ensuring that not a drop is left wasted. You let go of your embrace and he holds your waist as he pulls out, his cock pearled with a mix of your slick and his cum.

White, thick cum leaked out of your hole and Kento plugged his thumb back in your walls to shove it back in. You shiver when he took it out and placed it over your lips, willingly lolling your tongue out to take kitten licks on his finger.

You almost fell to your knees when you stepped off the counter, your husband catching you by the arms. “I don’t think we can go out later.” You laugh the ache off, referring to the fact that you wouldn’t be able to walk.

He holds your hand and kisses the top of your head when you are able to stand up straight. “That’s fine. Let’s just catch up on sleep today.”

“So do you still want that food over there?” You tilt your head towards the Laksa you purchased earlier. Kento takes a glance towards the other side of the counter where it sat and laughs, “Well now that we’ve kicked up our appetites, that’s looking really good right now.” You look at the surface you were just getting fucked on and realize how gross and sticky you feel right now.

“After I take a shower.” You smile with a flustered expression.

“Want me to start you a bath?” He offers, bending down and using his free hand to pick up clothes that were scattered on the floor.

You squeeze his hand, limping in wobbly steps as you lead him to the bathroom. “Only if you’re going with me!”

[shadamyheadcanons]

Headcanon #312

Cross-posted on AO3.

Shadow wasn’t one for using pet names early in life, but he couldn’t help it with Amy once he saw how happy they made her. He normally stuck to simple, timeless ones he’d heard scientists use for their spouses on the ARK, but while Amy was helping him with some urgent paperwork for G.U.N. one evening, he found one that meant far more to her.

Shadow let out a frustrated huff and ran a hand through his quills, squinting at the dense fine print on the page.

“See anything yet?” Amy piped up, rounding the corner with two mugs in hand to join him on the couch.

Shadow smiled tiredly and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “Nothing yet, love. Just basic red tape.”

She scooted closer and ran her eyes along the page. “Not the most exciting, but it seems innocent enough so far.”

Shadow’s nose wrinkled. “I know. There hasn’t been anything, and there shouldn’t be...I know there shouldn’t be.” He shook his head. “Commander Tower and I kind of get along now, but I still feel like G.U.N.’s trying to...trap me somehow with these. Like I’ll never truly be rid of them. They’re just reports, but...”

Shadow angled the page toward Amy, showing her a job report from the last time Team Dark collaborated with G.U.N. The words stared back up at them the same as they always did, but Shadow couldn’t help but comb through every single letter every time. He watched Amy’s eyes flit over the page, scrutinizing it just as diligently as he had. “It means a lot to me that you always look these over with me. Not everyone would humor my paranoia like this—”

“Nope,” Amy cut in immediately. “I wouldn’t trust that commander as far as I could throw him.”

“To be fair, that’d be pretty far with your strength.”

She smiled, then took the page from him. Warmth fell upon his hand as she took it in hers. “I love you, and I will always, always do this for you.”

Shadow half-smiled back and pressed their foreheads together. “I love you too, sweetheart.”

They stayed that way for a moment before Amy turned her attention back to the page. After a moment, she snickered. “Well, there is one very serious problem here,” she said, keeping her tone as goofy as possible so as not to alarm him.

“And what’s that?”

Amy giggled and pointed to where Team Dark’s names were listed. “Tower still doesn’t know how to spell Rouge’s name. He put ‘Rogue’ again.”

Shadow snorted. “It’s been years, and he still can’t figure that one out?”

Amy held back her laughs and adopted her best, silliest Commander Tower impression. “What do you mean, ‘am I sure?’ Print it, agent. Of course I know how to spell their names! Do you think I’m some kind of idiot—?!”

She devolved into laughter, and Shadow followed suit. He nuzzled into the crook of her neck. “You’re my favorite, you know that?”

“Eep!”

Shadow froze. He pulled away to get a better look at Amy. She was looking at him out of the corner of her wide eyes, and her cheeks were tinged with pink. He chuckled. “You really liked that one, didn’t you?”

Amy’s mouth hung open, but all she managed was a pinched, “I—!”

Shadow frowned. “Are you alright?”

After a moment, Amy managed a wan smile and found her voice again. “Y-yeah! I—I did like it. It was nice.” She looked down when he gently squeezed her hand.

“What’s wrong?”

Amy bit her lip. “Well, I...it’s nothing bad, just...” Her gaze shifted back to the pile of papers. “We’ve still got a lot of forms to get through, so...”

Shadow took the sheet from her hand and set it aside. “You’re more important.” Amy still hesitated, glancing at the paperwork once more, but he didn’t look away. “Tell me.”

After a moment, Amy’s expression softened, and she looked down at their hands. “I’ve...never heard that before.”

Shadow’s muscles tensed, but he kept his grip on her hand gentle. “What do you mean?”

Amy’s gaze remained downcast. “It’s...it’s not like it’s a competition. It shouldn’t matter, but...” Shadow squeezed her hand again, and she sighed and shut her eyes. “I’ve just never been anyone’s first choice. I know Sonic, Knuckles, and Tails love me, but I can tell they’d all choose each other over me. They always have.”

Shadow’s chest felt tight. Amy’s breathing started to pick up, but she kept going. “Blaze has Silver, Big has Froggy, and—” Amy’s voice got stuck in her throat, and her hands trembled in Shadow’s gentle grasp. “And even Cream, she—”

Shadow’s heart broke. “Amy...”

“B-by the time I met Cream, sh-she had...she already had Cheese and her mom, so...”

Before Amy could break down, Shadow leaned in close and held her face in his hands. “She loves you, Amy. We all love you. And you are my favorite. I mean it.”

Amy’s lips twitched, and she stared for a moment longer, tears gathering at the corners of her eyes. “Really? Are you sure?”

Shadow snorted. “It’s not even a contest, love.”

A brilliant smile spread across Amy’s face, and she pulled him into a kiss.

Before he could properly lean into it, though, Amy pulled back with a sad sigh. “I guess we better get back to those forms, then.”

Shadow grumbled under his breath. Amy was looking at the pile of papers, rubbing at the corners of her eyes to catch the tears she’d almost shed. His jaw clenched.

That’s not enough.

He took a deep breath. “I want to take you out somewhere instead.”

Amy did a double-take. “What? Why?”

“Because it has a nice view and I think you’d like it.”

She just blinked a few times, then cocked her head toward the coffee table. “Right now?”

“Yes. Do you want to go?”

“But we still have—”

“Is that what I asked?” Shadow took out a Chaos Emerald and spun it on his finger, smiling roguishly.

The green of the Emerald was reflected in the sparkling excitement of Amy’s eyes. She glanced once more at the papers, chewed on her lip...and smirked. “You know what? Yeah! I do!”

Shadow stood and helped Amy to her feet with a firm nod. “You’ll need a light jacket.”

He smiled at the happy little noise she made, then jogged to his room to grab his own jacket, checking the pockets to make sure he had everything he needed. He reunited with Amy in his living room, and they disappeared with a flash.

In an instant, the two of them stood on top of a grassy, elevated plateau off the coast near Station Square. A light breeze drifting off the ocean ruffled through Shadow’s fur, and the sunset cast the city and seaside in a soft orange glow. Shadow had found the spot while compiling a list of places that couldn’t just be walked to; he’d wanted to be the first to bring her here.

Amy looked around, then gasped and pointed. “Is that Emerald Coast over there?”

Shadow nodded and swallowed harshly.

She squealed happily. “I’ve never seen it from this angle. It’s beautiful!” Amy linked her arm with Shadow’s and leaned against his shoulder, then peeked up at him. “I love this, but are you sure we have time? I’d understand if—”

Shadow sighed and shook his head. “The fact that you’re asking is proof that I haven’t made my intentions clear. Didn’t I tell you that you’re more important than a pile of paperwork?”

Amy tilted her head, but she stayed silent. Shadow took a deep breath and shut his eyes, feeling his pulse spike in anticipation. “Amy Rose, you are the most important person in the world to me. You are my first priority. I love you the most, and I will always, always put you first—before responsibilities, before others, before myself.” He opened his eyes again. “I know what matters to me, and I’m not changing my mind. You’re it.”

Amy’s focus had shifted away from the view entirely. She was staring up at him, eyes watering, but she still didn’t speak.

Shadow’s blood pounded in his ears. His fingers shook as he took an item out of his pocket, and his legs felt stiff as he dropped to one knee. “I want to prove it to you, even if it takes the rest of my life.” He opened up the small box in his hand and presented it to her. “Will you give me that chance? Will you marry me?”

Tears were sliding down Amy’s face before he even finished his sentence. She dropped to her own knees and latched onto him immediately, letting out a high-pitched whine of delight. A relieved, breathless chuckle left Shadow’s lips. “Is that a yes?”

Amy pulled back enough to take his face in her hands and pressed a desperate, passionate kiss to his lips. Shadow’s heart fluttered lightly, and he wrapped an arm around her waist. He kept his motions slow and gentle until she calmed down.

Shadow felt wetness against his cheeks, so he pulled back and snorted. “You’re not supposed to cry. Do you hate the idea that m—”

Amy yanked him close and buried her face in his chest. “Of c-course I want to m-marry you! I-I’m just happy!” she managed through her sobs, shaking in his arms.

Shadow laughed under his breath, his amusement mingling with exhilaration. He held her close and stroked his fingers soothingly through her quills. “Shh...it’s okay. I’m not going anywhere.”

In time, Amy quieted down, though she held onto him more tightly than ever. Shadow pulled back enough to see her reddened eyes. He could feel himself beaming wider than he ever had, and his joy was reflected in her watery expression. He rubbed the tears off her cheeks. “I really do mean it. You’ll always be my favorite.”

Sunshine spread across Amy’s face, banishing all else. She nuzzled into his neck. “And you’re mine.”

Shadow dragged his feet as he walked into G.U.N.’s headquarters just in time to pass in his paperwork, having spent all night finishing it after putting Amy to bed. Rouge took one look at his goofy grin, smirked, and asked if he’d gotten the dark circles under his eyes from taking care of his girlfriend last night. Shadow shook his head, clarifying that he’d been taking care of his wife.

After expressing a brief yet enthusiastic congratulations, Rouge immediately demanded to see a picture of the ring. Shadow chuckled and showed her the picture he’d prepared in advance, knowing Rouge would want to see it right away.

Everyone has their priorities, after all.

((Would you believe me if I told you I’ve never actually written a shadamy proposal scene until now? I’ve implied it here and there, but over 300 headcanons in, this is my first time actually writing the down-on-one-knee bit. I’m a total sap for proposals, too, and I still had 311 ideas in me before I actually put one of these on paper. Creativity is a limitless resource, kids.

That said, the Shadow-finding-romantic-locales bit is from Headcanon #310. I wrote that one before I was sure I’d finish this.))

[tinytinyblogs]

This Is Not Love

When love isn't as sweet as they expected

Hyung line, Maknae line

Stray Kids Masterlist 1.0 & 2.0

Your insights and reactions make these posts come alive. Love reblogs, comments, and all the good vibes welcome ✨

Han

At first, Han was completely oblivious to your yandere tendencies. He was so wrapped up in his own world—his music, his thoughts, his endless energy—that he didn’t notice the little red flags. He just kept going with the flow of the relationship, showering you with love and affection, agreeing to your requests here and there without thinking too much about it. To him, it was just another part of being in love, and he was happy to give you his attention. But one day, something happened that made him pause. He received a text from you, asking why he was at a specific location—a place he hadn’t even told you he was going. At first, he brushed it off, thinking it was a coincidence. But then it happened again. And again. Slowly, it dawned on him: you were tracking his every move. Han’s easygoing demeanor shifted to one of paranoia. He started questioning everything. How did you know where he was? Was this normal? Was this even right? His mind raced with doubts, but he wasn’t sure what to do. He loved you—that much was clear—but this behavior made him feel uneasy, like he was losing control over his own life.

He found himself debating internally, torn between his feelings for you and the growing sense that something wasn’t right. He might dedicated his time to closely observing your every action, aiming to better understand you. Should he just break up with you? The thought made his chest ache—he didn’t want to lose you. But at the same time, he couldn’t ignore the way your actions were affecting him. Or should he try to convince you to get help? Maybe this was something you could work through together. Han’s mind was a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. He wanted to believe that your love for him was genuine, but he also knew that love shouldn’t come at the cost of his freedom or peace of mind. He cared about you deeply, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that this wasn’t healthy—for either of you. In the end, Han knew he had to make a decision. He couldn’t keep ignoring the problem, hoping it would go away on its own. Whether it meant having a difficult conversation with you or walking away entirely, he knew he had to do something. But one thing was certain: he couldn’t keep living like this, caught between love and fear, unsure of where he stood.

Felix

Felix, being the sweet and caring person he is, was initially confused by your possessive behavior. He didn’t fully understand why you acted the way you did—why you seemed so worried, so clingy, so intent on keeping him all to yourself. But instead of thinking about leaving you, Felix decided to take it upon himself to understand you better. He observed your actions, took mental notes, and slowly began to piece together what was driving your behavior. Rather than pushing you away, Felix chose to meet your possessiveness with love and care. He didn’t scold you or make you feel bad for your actions. Instead, he gently confronted you, his voice soft and reassuring. “I know you’re worried,” he said, his eyes filled with understanding. “But you don’t have to be. I’m not going anywhere. I’m here, and I’ll always be here for you.” Felix made it his mission to 'fix' things—not by changing who you were, but by helping you see that there was nothing to fear. He introduced you to the people around him, showing you that they weren’t a threat to your relationship. He wanted you to understand that his love for you wasn’t something that could be taken away by anyone else.

With his signature sweetness, Felix attacked your worries head-on. He showered you with affection, reminding you daily how much he cared. “You’re the only one for me,” he’d say, his smile warm and genuine. “No one else could ever take your place.” Felix’s approach was patient and kind. He didn’t force you to change overnight; instead, he gave you the space to grow while consistently reassuring you of his love and commitment. He knew that your possessiveness came from a place of insecurity, and he was determined to help you feel safe and secure in your relationship. In the end, Felix’s unwavering love and care began to chip away at your fears. His sweet nature and gentle reassurances helped you see that there was no need to hold on so tightly. With Felix by your side, you started to believe that love didn’t have to be about control—it could be about trust, understanding, and mutual support. And through it all, Felix never stopped being the sweet, loving person he always was, proving that sometimes, the best way to heal is through kindness and patience.

Seungmin

From the very beginning, Seungmin could tell something was off. He’s sharp, observant, and not one to miss the subtle signs of possessiveness or control. While others might brush it off or give it time, Seungmin wasn’t having it. He didn’t like the way you seemed to invade his space, question his every move, or try to dictate his interactions with others. To him, it felt less like love and more like a lack of respect for his independence and privacy. “Stop being dramatic,” he’d say bluntly, his tone unimpressed and his expression stern. Seungmin wasn’t one to sugarcoat his feelings, and he made it clear that he wasn’t okay with your behavior. “This isn’t how a relationship should work. You can’t just control everything I do.” He didn’t hesitate to defend himself, setting firm boundaries and calling you out whenever you crossed the line. For Seungmin, a relationship was supposed to be built on trust and mutual respect, not possessiveness or manipulation. If you couldn’t understand that, he wasn’t going to stick around to explain it over and over. Seungmin’s patience had its limits.

If you refused to acknowledge your behavior or show any willingness to change, he wouldn’t think twice about walking away. The way he makes it so obvious that he's planning to leave might only make things worse for you, and it's becoming increasingly difficult to hold the relationship together. “If you don’t want to fix this, then I’m out,” he’d say, his voice calm but final. “I’m not going to waste my time on something that’s just going to make me miserable.” For Seungmin, it wasn’t about being harsh—it was about self-respect. He knew what he wanted in a relationship, and if you couldn’t meet him halfway, he wasn’t going to compromise his own happiness. He’d give you a chance to change, but if you refused, he’d walk away without hesitation, leaving you to figure things out on your own. After he walk away from your life, things might feel strange for him without you around. if you're willing to change and genuinely try to win him back, he might still consider it. However, if you continue with same behavior or resort to stalking him , the two of you only end up as enemies instead.

Jeongin

Jeongin initially laughed it off, thinking it wasn’t a big deal. He let the relationship continue as it was, trying his best to understand your behavior and brush off the little things that felt off. Whenever things got too intense, he’d lighten the mood with distractions—suggesting you grab food together or go on a little date to shift the focus. But as your possessiveness grew, Jeongin couldn’t ignore it anymore. Jeongin doing his best to shift the dynamics of the situation. He wants to take control and ease your possessiveness, using his innocent demeanor to soften the tension. You might fear that he'll drift away or leave you, and he understands that love can feel that way sometimes. So, he often makes it clear that he loves you too-he says it out loud, shows you how much he cares, and reassures you that there's no need to worry. What once seemed harmless now felt overwhelming, and he knew he had to address it. Finally, he sat down beside you, his usual playful demeanor replaced with a rare seriousness. “This isn’t right,” he said, his voice steady but gentle.

“You’re making me feel unsafe, and I can’t keep pretending it’s okay.” Jeongin’s words were honest and heartfelt, a clear attempt to set boundaries while still showing care. He wanted you to understand how your actions were affecting him, hoping it would be a wake-up call for both of you to work toward a healthier relationship. A small argument might arise as he expresses his frustration cause by your possessiveness. However, after taking some time to calm down, he realize you might need support to change. Deep down, he believes you're not a bad person, so he takes the initiative-he holds your hand and ensures you seek the help you truly need. "Do you love me?" he asks, locking eyes with you. "if you do, then you'll do this for mem for us." He plays along, but this time, he's steering the situation with a clear goal in mind-a stronger, healthier relationship, the one he's always dreamed of having with you.

[wynnyfryd]

Trailer park Steve AU part 50

part 1 | part 49 | ao3

cw: angst, canon-typical violence, period-typical homophobia

Steve gets the full story from Jeff later that night.

After Eddie and Wayne come out of the bathroom — after Eddie goes straight to his room and shuts the door without so much as a glance in Steve's direction, after Wayne clears his throat and suggests they all clear out and give the kid a night to cool off — Steve drags himself back to his trailer and paces for a while. Tries not to feel horribly rejected, which is...

It's fucking ridiculous, is what it is.

Stupid to be focusing on his own dumb feelings right now.

Eddie's the one with a pulverized face.

So anyway, Jeff. Steve dials his number, and it feels weird that he even has his number at all — weirder still that, of all the guys in Corroded Coffin, he and Jeff have the most in common. Makes sense, though; Jeff's the only one who likes professional sports even a little.

"Hello?" Jeff's nasal voice comes over the line.

He sounds like his usual self — doesn't sound like he got pummeled, at least. Steve paces a tighter circle, says, "Hey, man, it's Steve."

Jeff makes a clipped noise. "You saw Eddie then?"

Furious heat crawls up the back of Steve’s neck, the image swimming red in his tunneled vision: the welt under Eddie's eye, the blood blooming on his chin. Someone did that to him.

Someone who needs to fucking pay for it.

“Yeah,” he seethes, trying to keep his voice down. “What the hell happened?"

Jeff sighs; launches into the vague version of events that he's allowed to tell — the version with no names and no identifying details, because Eddie made them swear not to tell Steve who was responsible.

"Sorry, man," he says when Steve presses for the third time; sounds like he means it, too. "Eddie seems to think you'd just land yourself in big boy jail if you knew, so…”

Steve clenches his jaw, his fists. Imagines fresh blood against his knuckles, how good it would feel to slam them into someone’s face; has a flashback of Billy Hargrove pinning him to a kitchen floor, laughing maniacally while his world went dull and dim.

…Goddammit. “He’s not wrong.”

So Steve listens, silent and helpless while Jeff tells him as much as he can about the mounting Satanic panic: how the townspeople are still grieving everyone who died last summer, how that grief is turning to paranoia, conspiracies about the destruction of the hospital and the fire at the mall, and now there are all these news articles coming out, whipping churchgoers into a frenzy over the queers and the occult, and the end result of all of it is that Eddie gets his ass beat in the alley behind a shitty dive bar.

All for having the nerve to wear a Black Sabbath shirt in public.

“Eddie said they stole something?” Steve prompts after a short silence.

"His amp,” Jeff says, and Steve sags in relief. At least it wasn’t the Warlock. He can replace an amp no problem. “They stole our fucking tip jar, too. Not there was much in it, man, but still.”

Fuckers, Steve thinks.

"Fuckers," Jeff spits, then sighs, "so much for being Christ-like, or whatever."

Steve chews his lip. Fiddles with his nails, hoping to work out a way to get Jeff to give him names. He only knows one name that comes to mind, but he can’t just go pummeling people on a hunch.

“If you ask me again,” Jeff says, “I’m hanging up.”

Well, damn. He slouches back against the counter, folding his arms over his chest. "The rest of you are alright?"

"Yeah. Yeah, we're good. We were loading the van when it happened.” Another short, derisive sound. “Of course they waited to corner him when he was alone."

"So they planned this," Steve says, and the name in his head is practically flashing on a marquee. Jason Carver and his lackeys at that party back in November. The back of Jason’s head at the midnight mass they snuck into. Is this freak bothering you?

Steve’s voice is a lethal whisper. "Do you think they'll do it again?"

"Steve—"

“Do,” he repeats, “you think” —Hopper’s ghost in his mouth, authoritative and slow— “they'll do it again?"

Jeff lets out a long breath, his words wobbly with nerves. "I don't know, dude. Probably not? One of them looked pretty freaked out by how messed up Eddie's eye was."

Steve tastes blood in his mouth.

Fucking better have.

Another silence falls, rustling and static sounds, and Jeff hesitates. "Listen, uh..."

"Yeah?"

"Nothing, just... Well. Eddie can get a little, um. A little weird, about people seeing him be, like, vulnerable and shit. So. Just a heads up."

Weird like hiding from his boyfriend? the petty part of Steve’s brain supplies. Weird like shutting his door without saying goodbye?

He tamps down hard on the hurt that bubbles up at the reminder, because—

Because Eddie’s seen him at his most pathetic too many times to count. Has seen him blubbering and soft and desperate for comfort; has offered it so eagerly without judgment or thought. And if Steve can’t do the same now, if Eddie thinks there’s shame to be found in it, then that means— that means…

He swallows the glass shard in his throat. “Thanks for the warning, man. For real.”

—

part 51

holy shit i can’t believe i wrote 50 parts of this

tag list in separate reblogs under '#trailer park steve au taglist' if you'd like to filter that content. if you want to be added please comment and let me know (must be over 21; please either verify in the comment or have your age visible on your blog)

[paper-mario-wiki]

I feel like I've ended up in the same spot as so transmasc before me: I have a lovely cis boyfriend who loves my tits which I love for him, but I am getting dysphoric to the point I wanna lift my lips and show a lil teeth when I see his hands coming towards them. Feels bad because they are his favorite and we haven't been fucking as much because as soon as he starts touching me I am out of it™ and get all in my head and freeze up. Any advice?

good god, brother. i am utterly baffled at why you have elected me as the strategist for this problem, and i'm even more confused as to why you have chosen to go into as much detail as you have.

but.

if i were to give you some advice on this

i'd say that you should consider a conversation with your partner about the long-term plan for the relationship. a "relationship" is two lives that are connected, right? and your life is not one where you're gonna have boobs for the rest of it (or at least based on what you've told me i would assume, should you have your way, those bad boys are gettin lopped off at some point), therefore it's pertinent that it be brought up, because it concerns your life, therefore it concerns the relationship, therefore it concerns him, yes?

now, the first and most obvious thing to start with out the gate is the boundary, made clear and concise: the hills are now closed, off limits to tourists. all discussions regarding this come next. make it clear that it's about something quite core to your identity, and something that does in fact cause physical pain (a panic response from the nervous system is pain homie).

this brings some followup questions (and remember, this isn't an interrogation, it's a dialogue to share): how does he feel about this? if he's against, why? for that matter, how much does it bother him? is there something he doesn't understand about your discomfort? is there some concern he has about your financial or bodily well-being with regards to the procedure? is it because it's vital to his attraction to you as a partner? if that's the case, would their removal be a deal-breaker?

now keep in mind, these question can be brought up whether or not you've got immediate plans to engage in the aforementioned lopping-off of your aforementioned Bad Boys, because the actual point of this dialectical exercise is to create a simple, easy to navigate, easy to understand conversation, which will set a foundation for further negotiations-- should you learn something new about each other, or yourselves, or the relationship as a whole.

either way, i do not think that letting it keep happening and keeping it to yourself is a good idea. i can understand feeling guilty about withholding some physical and emotional gratification you could give "easily" to this person you care dearly for, but trust me when i say that it's not the way to let it be. not just because it's unfair to your partner to secretly grow to resent them for a reason you don't want to vocalize, but to yourself as well.

you may not know it, but by keeping it to yourself you're slowly building up a resentment. that frustration actually shows up pretty clearly in your message. and even if what you're frustrated about is only that particular activity, that activity is irrevocably tied to another person. specifically, a person that you consider to be a pretty central pillar in your life. if that resentment grows, it can evolve into anger, hatred, fear, paranoia, and all sorts of nasty things. and even aside from the emotional and psychological damage that can do, it can grow into a physiological issue, where your brain wears out more and more due to the growing emotional distress ripping through your neurons with all sorts of "emergency" chemicals. like i said, the panic response is a physical pain, even if your body doesn't feel like it "hurts".

so. to summarize.

ABSOLUTELY bring it up. if you don't, it could become damaging to your relationship, and also your actual real life physical brain.

when you do bring it up, remember that the goals are to set a boundary, and to reach an understanding through mutual conversation. it's a dialogue, not a lecture.

when you reach an understanding, figure out if the relationship needs to be renegotiated in some way. that usually means new boundaries, or expectations. or maybe nothing! though surely your boyfriend can find more things to love about you.

that's as best as i can muster. you don't have to follow it, but hopefully it'll at least give you some ideas you can use.

[vintagegeekculture]

RIP Tracy Tormé, Creator of the "Holodeck Malfunction Episode" and Sliders

Tracy Tormé’s most enduring legacy in popular culture is that, while a writer on TNG’s tempestuous first and second seasons, he created the entire concept of the Holodeck Malfunction Episode.

Yes, even people who suggest you skip TNG’s first couple seasons say that “The Big Goodbye” is one you don’t want to miss. And there was a very nice tribute to Tracy Torme in an episode of Picard, which had him as the author and creator of Dixon Hill… which he is, and deserves credit for this.

I suppose I should mention I had a personal encounter with Tracy Tormé at a convention. The main thing I remember was that he looked absolutely terrified when someone asked him about what happened with “The Royale,” far and away TNG’s worst episode except the clip show, about the crew getting trapped on a hotel they can’t leave from a badly written book. To his great credit, he took responsibility for the episode not working and did not pass on the problems to the production crew.

The most extraordinary thing about Tracy Torme is that he had a Forrest Gump like ability to appear in the background of scifi culture’s greatest moments.

Not only was he inside the TNG writers’ room in 1987-88, he was around during the production of Terminator with James Cameron. Tormé was the one who, hearing about the production of the film, squealed on it to Harlan Ellison, telling Ellison that it was based on his old Outer Limits episodes, with a visual based on his script for “Demon With a Glass Hand.” In other words, he was the Gavrilo Princip who got that entire conflict started, where two of the most proud personalities in scifi butted heads, James Cameron vs. Ellison. Cameron, to this day, insists that the film company gave Ellison money and a credit because it was easier to pay him off than to go through litigation (which rings true, frankly, for risk averse production companies), and to this day Cameron insists, with his absolutely expected big dick swagger, that Ellison is a “parasite” who received money for nothing, and if it had been up to him, he wouldn’t have given him a dime.

It’s also worth mentioning that Torme also created the TV series Sliders.

Has anyone else noticed that Sliders is an incredibly right wing show? Seriously, watch it again if you haven’t seen it in years. If you haven’t watched this show since the 90s and you were a kid and all that went over your head, it’s kind of amazing how Limbaugh/Newt Gingrich era right-wing Sliders actually was. It made 24 look like Doonesbury. The targets of Sliders were 90s New Right satire: health care systems, infuriating hippies, the nanny state disallowing the public smoking of cigars, California weirdness, the drug culture, the USSR. Torme’s right wing views were less John Millius-style “blood alone moves the wheel of history” stuff, but more like that of a slobby regular joe in the 90s, Dennis Leary’s character in Demolition Man for instance, who mostly just wants to smoke cigars, ogle girls, and eat hamburgers without getting scolded by his wife. He was less “Passion of the Christ” and more “Animal House.”

I am not saying this as a negative, but merely a description. Contrary to popular belief, right wingers driven by bizarre sexual pathology and weird grudges produce amazing art, as Millius and John Swartzwelder show. A lot of Steven Universe fans love to say things like “all good art is about empathy and kindness” and I reject that notion. Good art can also be about reflecting things in the human experience like fear, trauma, cruelty, and paranoia.

For that reason, it doesn’t surprise me that Tracy Torme’s best movie script was a horror film about a traumatic experience, Fire in the Sky. An ominous movie about a vanished ranch hand who was the victim of alien abduction, in the earned finale the film’s tension builds toward, our hero remembers the true cause of his missing time: an abduction by aliens, who’s motives are emotionless and incomprehensible, and who subject him to horrific vivisection that we see in excruciating detail. Travis Walton is treated not with sadism or cruelty, but with icy detachment, by alien superintellects that view him as no different than cattle, and are to him as we are to cattle. The most terrifying detail of the film is that the classic “gray alien” look turns out to be spacesuits, revealing a far more frightening appearance underneath.