#and that's not even getting into all the little details in the town...narrowing it down to four was a Trial

[deerboybreeder]

LONG fucking fantasy below the cut whoops. Tw for rape, drugging and stalking ♥️

I move to a small town in the middle of nowhere to completely restart my life. The community is small and tight knit, but thankfully extremely accepting, so me being trans is a non issue! Or at least, people have the decency to not say anything about it to my face. I feel welcomed in this town, though I spend a lot of my time improving the patch of land I moved onto and less talking to residents, even though I've met nearly everyone.

I start getting letters in the mail, complimenting me in sweet, flowery language. It makes me feel special, but there's no return address, so I can't write back. But over time, the letters get more possessive. Once, the letter describes my body fairly graphically, in all the most complimenting ways, but it's clear they saw me working shirtless in my garden, tits free to the wind. My land is huge and fenced in, someone would have to have jumped my fence and gotten very close without my noticing to see me doing that.

I start spending a little less time at home and more time in town, hoping to make some connections to keep my mind off my "secret admirer", who started recently describing how beautiful and motherly of a man I would make swollen with his baby. I don't tell anyone about it, embarrassed by the content, and the fact that despite the obvious escalation, it makes me wet to think about all this attention. I'm not beloved by the town, but I make a few good friends.

One day, a year to the day I moved into town, a package shows up at my door. Its from my secret admirer, a very small bottle of wine with a letter attached. Praising all my accomplishments this year, in detail, in order. Singing my praises and wishing for even more in the upcoming year. Against my better judgement, I accept, and take the wine inside.

I generally am a lightweight when it comes to alcohol- I learned that recently, out with friends at the local bar. One had bought me a drink and I needed help home afterwards, and the friend that bought me the round felt so badly about my state he walked me home himself. But I had nothing else to do that day, so I poured myself a glass anyway.

I don't drink often, so I didn't recognize right away that something was wrong. Didn't notice that I was fading in and out of consciousness on the couch until one moment I was watching a documentary on wilderness survival, and the next it was about space travel. My body was heavy, I could barely move, so the couch would have to do that night.

I almost chalked it up to overindulgence when my front door opened.

It was a small town- I had no reason to lock my door. Even my secret admirer hadn't made mention of wanting to break in, just lamented that they couldn't work up the courage to approach me first. But apparently, this was how they chose to do it.

I yelled, a slurred and disoriented thing. Time was runny, and I didn't even have time to process running before they were on me. A mask, sunglasses and a ball cap obscured my attackers face, hair seeming meticulously tucked into the cap to further obscure their identity.

I tried to struggle, but I'm small and they're much bigger- not to mention the wine that I realize must've been drugged. They shush me, clearly altering their voice so I wouldn't know who they are- small town, after all.

They pull up my shirt, tangling me in it and covering my face so I can't see them. Everything is running together, and at some point they've taken my pants off too, Im lying naked before them. Everything narrows down to sensations that run together. A mouth sucking on my nipple, my attackers hands running reverently down my body. They're murmuring words I can't understand because my head is swimming from the spiked drink. Their fingers find my wet and waiting slit, and they thumb over my tdick, and despite myself I make a strangled noise.

Then, I am aware of their cock at my entrance, and I get another burst of fighting, but it's useless. They shush me, kissing the side of my face through the fabric of the shirt around my face, and promise to be gentle as they push themself into my dripping cunt. They moan openly into my ear, muffled by the shirt, and start playing with my tits while they rape me.

Everything is blurry, I keep slipping in and out of consciousness, only to wake up and find that they're still fucking me. They whisper praises, saying they wish they'd done this a year ago when I first moved in, how much of a tease I was working in my garden shirtless or changing in front of the window. How we were going to be so happy together, how excited they were to realize I had a womb they could fill. How they'd start with one, but they knew I would look heavenly round and heavy with their baby for the rest of my life.

I don't know how much time passed, them using my pliant body like a cocksleeve. They were mostly true about being gentle, aside from the bruising on my hips where they held me down. They came against my waiting cervix at least once, but it all ran together for me. After cumming inside me, they gently rubbed my stomach over my womb, scratching the trail of dark hair that sprouted over the year taking testosterone.

I wanted to cry, but they stayed inside me growing soft for a while, gently fondling me or kissing my body. Eventually, I blacked out entirely.

The next morning I couldn't pretend it was a dream- I was left tangled up in my clothes, though a blanket from my room was draped over me and my TV turned off. My cunt was sore and I had the world's worst hangover. I stumbled to the shower and tried not to throw up.

I didn't want to be alone, so after my chickens were fed I went down to the friends house who helped me home that night. He had been so kind, and we'd started getting close. He had even dismissed a mutual friend making a joke about taking advantage of me the night he helped me home- he'd just helped me to my bed and left. I could trust him.

He knew something was off the moment he saw me, and ushered me inside. He got me water from his fridge, and sat down with me to let me talk.

I told him everything. First about the rape that night, then elaborating to the stalker in tears. He looked horrified, and let me sob in his arms. He was so kind to me, so good to me. I told him I didn't want to be alone. He offered to move in with me for a little while, to make sure nothing else happened. I agreed immediately, and he started packing up his things right that second.

His time spent moved in was nice. I got up early for my chickens and garden, but somehow he was always up earlier, making me coffee and breakfast. Some days he even watered my plants for me, just to be kind. He was sweet, always there to support me. He slept on the couch with no complaints, and even held me close when a noise outside had me convinced the stalker was going to break down the now locked door and rape me again.

The admirers notes slowed. They first were promises of coming back again, to see my "beautiful fertile body" up close again. Then threats when my friend moved in. Then nothing. I thought the nightmare was over.

I had chalked up the throwing up to a traumatic response and the drugs working their way out of my system. When it continued I didn't think much of it. Attributed the weight gain to my friend fussing over me and making sure I ate well. But the slightly round look of my stomach unsettled me, so I bit the bullet and took a pregnancy test.

Positive.

I was in hysterics when I saw the lines, and my friend ran into the room asking if I was hurt. I just shook my head and showed him the test, and he took me into his arms. We both know by this point it was too late to abort in the state this town was in, and travel costs put it out of the question if I could go out of state to have it done.

My friend assured me that it would be alright. That he'd help me through this. That he'd even help me raise the baby if I didn't want to be a single father.

Maybe it was the pregnancy hormones, maybe it was the kindness he'd shown me this past month or two. Maybe it was the way he looked up at me, having knelt down in front of me to make his promise of support. But I kissed him. I had fallen in love with this man, who'd taken care of me in my time of greatest need. And with the way he kissed me back, he'd fallen for me too.

It was like a switch was flipped, like he had been holding back this entire time. I invited him into my bed, and every night his hands were on me. I loved the way he felt, so happy to have someone else touch me after what happened. Every touch was adoring and reverent, he made me feel like a prince. Id beg him to cum deep inside me and breed me, and he'd get a look in his eyes when he pounded my cunt. It helped me pretend it was his baby growing inside me, especially when he'd put his hand on my growing stomach protectively.

Our relationship moved quickly. We were dating for only three months when he proposed to me, but it felt like three years. Gladly I accepted, and it took only two months to set up the wedding. He handled everything, insistent I just relax because he didn't want to stress out the baby. I was heavily pregnant at our wedding, and I heard a few murmurs about it being a shotgun wedding. I let them gossip- I hadn't told anyone about my attack, and I didn't care if they thought we were just getting married because I got knocked up. My husband and I knew the truth.

Those final few months were hard, but my wonderful husband took such good care of me. Doted on me hand and foot, took care of the chickens entirely, and with winter setting in soon I didn't need to tend the garden at all. This loving wonderful man cared for me through every stage of this unwanted pregnancy and turned it into the start of a beautiful life. It was like a scene out of a romance novel.

My labor was hard, but he was there through it all. Fussing over me and ensuring I got the best care. It hurts beyond words, the baby huge and heavy, but I managed. A sweet baby girl.

He was overjoyed. The next two months spent in a sleepy newborn haze, of course. But he was always there, at my side. He cooked dinner, kept the house tidy, watched the baby as I tended the chickens, our main income aside from a few residuals from some old novel he wrote years ago. He didn't even ask for sex, knowing I was healing, even if I wanted to regardless of doctors orders. But we waited.

The anniversary of the attack came and went, and he held me through my sobs. Reminded me that even if the experience was horrible, we had our beautiful daughter, and our beautiful relationship, because of it. And he was right. I was able to leave it behind.

As time wore on, he continued to be an amazing husband. Attentive in daily life, wonderful to our child, and absolutely fantastic in bed.

Nights spent after the baby was sleeping entwined in each other. His cock buried to the hilt in my needy cunt, his mouth on my heavy milky tits. Some nights, id let him take Polaroid photos of me impaled on his cock, or sucking him off, or stroking my tdick as his cum leaked out of me. I never saw where he kept them, but the idea that my body was so important to him he kept photos around made me feel good and loved. I never needed to ask with him, he somehow always knew what I needed, and I was often marked with hickies along my body from him. He said he was claiming every part of me.

A few months into summer, I felt off again. This time I didn't wait, and took a pregnancy test right away. Positive again. We weren't trying explicitly, but we weren't preventing it either, especially not with how I begged him to breed me every night. I told him, and he was overjoyed. I felt like I was in a fairy tale.

We decided to turn his old stuff into a playroom, since the nursery itself was small. I set to work on it in the mornings, while he was making breakfast. It was a lot to take down and move, so it took a while. While emptying his desk to have him move it to storage, I found a little cardboard box. Curious, I opened it up.

At first I thought it was the dirty photos he had taken of me. The idea of him alone in his study, fucking his hand to these photos when working late on a new story made me shiver. But then, under those photos were more. Candid shots of me out with friends, even before the baby. I hadn't gotten out much after the baby came, not like I went much of anywhere after the attack. These photos were old.

Then, the ones from my home. In through the windows while I was changing. My shirtless working in my garden. Me reaching for a gift wrapped bottle of wine.

With shaking hands, I set the box down. My husband, unbeknownst to me, had come up behind me. He wrapped his arms tightly around me, in a way hours ago I would find protective but now felt like a vice grip.

"What's the matter, love?" He asked, as he placed a hand over my womb, once again full of his child. "I told you we were meant to be. That you would look beautiful heavy with my baby for the rest of your life. I know you think so too. Why else would you beg me to breed that fertile, beautiful body of yours again? Just as I said before. If it weren't for that night, we wouldn't have our daughter, or our marriage. I just wish I'd done it sooner."

[chaos-in-deepspace]

L&DS: "Watch This!" | Crack

So I dunno about you, but I'm one of those idiots who seldom drink water and sometimes forgets to eat for like two days. So when I stand up too fast it's like a moment of "Oh look the lights went out." So anyway that's the entire idea for this. Everyone experiences this, right? This is a normal human thing to experience when you stand up? Just standing up and almost (or actually) peacing out? Anyway, I never said my writing ideas were good but I they're there.

Disclaimer: This is an original fan work for “Love and Deepspace”. Do not repost on other platforms or plagiarize. All characters shown in this fic is 18+. Warnings: Fainting, Crack Fic, Reader can't take care of themselves, Zayne is stressed as your doctor, Rafayel might have a heart attack, Xavier just assumes you died, Rafayel does as well but he's dramatic on a good day

Blog Information | Masterlist

Xavier

"Xavier, I promise you I am totally fine. I just got a little dizzy because of the heat." You tried assuring the blonde man as he looked around his apartment. He had already gotten a cold compress and thrown a glass of water in your hands for you to sip on. This was all because you guys had gone on a small jog together to prepare for the latest event in town and you had gotten a bit woozy. He had insisted on carrying you back to the apartments and here you where.

"Your face went as white as a sheet." He pointed out and you scoffed. Impossible. You don't even think it's possible to turn that color with how hot you had felt. If he said you looked like a cherry tomato or something from how red your face had gotten from the exertion it would've been more believable.

"Xavier, would an unwell person be able to do this?" You asked as you went to stand. As you jolted into a standing position you then remembered a key detail. The water he had given you was the first thing you had to drink today...and you don't think you had breakfast either.

The thought flashed through your mind as you felt the blood pounding in your ears and your vision darkening. Your only thought was 'Oh sugar, we're going down, down.' before you collapsed in on yourself.

Next thing you knew you were lying on the ground, a soft lap underneath you as Xavier fanned you off. You groaned as you came to, staring at Xavier's face. The man looked like he had just witnessed your death as he stared at you with wide eyes.

"Oh good morning." You managed to murmur out. Xavier's eyes narrowed as he glared down at you.

"You said you were fine then immediately fainted. I was about to call an ambulance." He scolded you, his tone harsh as he shifted your head on his lap. You noticed his free hand was holding a cell phone.

"Oh don't do that please. I'm okay."

"That's what you said last time."

"How about this...you get me something yummy to eat and I drink some water and if I'm still fainting after that then we can consider maybe going to see a doctor."

"Do you swear?"

"No..."

"We're going to the hospital." You then felt your world shift again as you were tossed unceremoniously over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. You beat his back, begging him to let you down. Alas, once Xavier had his mind made, there was nothing you could do to stop him.

Zayne

"Have you already eaten today?" It was a simple enough question as you sat at the end of your check up with your favorite doctor. Your legs swinging over the edge as you put in some thought to that question. Zayne sat there, waiting patiently as he looked up and quirked an eyebrow in question.

"That is a brilliant question that I don't have an answer to." You might've eaten something today...or perhaps that was yesterday? The days sometimes blurred together in the most confusing ways.

"Have you drank any water?" Oh that was an easy question. No. The answer was no.

"You know the first ingredient in an energy drink is water."

"No..." Zayne said, pinching his eyebrows together in frustration. How you managed to still be alive is a miracle. Not even science could explain how you didn't just kneel over on any given day with how little care you put into your health.

"Zayne, I can promise you, I am totally healthy. Watch this." You stated before jumping up off the examination table. Immediately you felt the world shifting under you like the floor decided to become sentient and move like a damn treadmill.

Next thing you knew, you were waking up in the arms of the best cardiac surgeon at Akso hospital. You grumbled a bit as the light was bright. You looked up to see Zayne's not amused expression, in fact you might even call it a frustrated look.

"How long was I out?"

"30 seconds too long."

"Am I in trouble?"

"You're going to the cafeteria with me right now to get food and water. If you faint again I'm admitting you for the night and hooking you up to an IV."

"So you're saying fainting gets me a dinner date with the Doctor Zayne, and a possible sleepover?"

"Why are you like this?"

Rafayel

You made the realization that you could only entertain yourself by playing on your phone for so long. Rafayel had promised that as soon as he finished some light detail work on his latest painting, you could go out to town and grab some dinner.

That was well over six hours ago as you laid on his couch. You had already finished a book you had downloaded on your phone, scrolled through all your social media, checked out new memes, and caught up on videos of people you followed. As you looked over you saw Rafayel was still sitting on his stool, painting away.

You groaned, rolling yourself off the couch you had been glued to for those entire six hours. You plopped onto the floor, noting that he really did need to clean this studio up a bit. Normally Rafayel would at least be talking to you, but he had been so quiet and boring today.

"Raf...I'm dying of boredom here." You finally called out to him. The man in question looked over at you then looked outside. The sun had set a long time ago and he paused in what he was doing.

"I promise, I'm almost done." He said with a sigh and you groaned again. Then you remembered a little party trick you had up your sleeve. You'd admit you were actually hungry on account of being too busy to eat and then being promised food earlier, you opted not to have snacks. Not to mention water was gross for drinking so it all accumulated into the perfect way to get his attention.

"Rafayel, I'm fading away. I'm starving. I might die. I'm so weak." You called out from the floor and Rafayel finally turned in his stool to eye you up and down.

"I'm sure you are." His tone was sarcastic as he looked at you. He seemed to be entertained by your antics, "I can always order you some food. I also have snacks in the kitchen." He pointed out.

"That won't work, Raf. I'm too far gone. I mean...just watch this." You said, jumping up from your position on the ground. As soon as you were in a standing position, your body fought against you. Your ears were ringing uncomfortably and your vision went in and out. You could barely hear Rafayel calling your name in concern, followed by a him cursing as things clattered.

You collapsed, fainting just like you knew your dumbass would. You knew your body and knew the perfect conditions for going lights out, after all.

When you came to, you saw Rafayel almost in tears as he tried getting you to wake up. You murmured something that not even you could decipher as Rafayel's shoulders sagged in relief.

"I thought you actually died." He looked shaken up as you raised a hand to touch his cheek.

"Can we get food now like you promised?"

Rafayel was silent for a moment as he calmed his heart down and looked at you, "Did you faint just so I'd stop painting and take you to dinner?"

"Well did it work?"

"...Yes, but never do that again."

[wholoveseggs]

Hey, happy new year! Love your Elijah fics. Maybe you could do one where he turns off his humanity and the reader gets him to turn it back on again. :)

Cold Truth

{Masterlist}

You and Klaus are on a mission to turn Elijah's humanity switch back on. The only problem is that you are the reason he turned it off in the first place.

~♡♡ Thanks for the request @originals23 - this one hurt! ♡♡~

4.3k words - Warnings: no smut, but so much angst, dramatic as fuck, violence, kidnapping, Klaus being Klaus, slightly spicy right at the end.

The air was thick with tension as you struggled in your restraints, glancing at Klaus as he drove down an empty street. He was humming to himself, looking very relaxed despite the fact that he was holding you hostage.

"I still don't understand what this has to do with me," you muttered, tugging on the cuffs that were binding your hands together. "We broke up, it's not a big deal," you added.

"Well, it seems to be a big deal to him," Klaus said, shooting you a knowing smirk. "And it's been affecting my life, so now it's a big deal to me."

You sighed and stared out the window, watching the scenery blur as you moved through the town. You didn't want to tell Klaus the details of your break up with Elijah, it was all too painful. But here you were, getting kidnapped by him, on your way to see Elijah, probably about to get murdered by the man you still loved. Great. 

"It won't work you know," you said, staring blankly out the windshield, feeling that little bit of hope in your chest die out. 

"I get that he doesn't have emotions anymore," you continued, "so he definitely doesn't care about you. Whatever little plan you have going, won't work." You sounded desperate to even your own ears, and you hated it, but at least Elijah's lack of feelings gave you an excuse not to be a complete mess when you were in his presence again. He wouldn't care, he was devoid of compassion and guilt. The thought filled your heart with an emptiness that spread to the rest of your body. You let the feeling encompass you, numbing yourself against the pain, because once this ordeal was over, you would be forced to finally accept that Elijah was really, truly, lost forever.

Klaus laughed and turned, shooting you a smirk. "I've done my fair share of terrible things," he began.

"But," he sighed and stopped laughing, "even I can see what a complete shit show this is. You broke up with him a week ago, and he flipped the switch immediately. This whole thing has been dramatic, even for my tastes."

"Oh please," you sneered, turning to glare at him. "You live for drama," you said, rolling your eyes.

Klaus snickered, shaking his head as if it were the most ridiculous thing he'd ever heard. "Yes, well, as fun as this has been, there's only so much of it I can take."

You huffed and sighed, slumping in your seat as the light turned green. You turned away from him and tried not to let your anxiety show.

"Look," Klaus began, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. "I'm going to be straight with you, love. Your break up with Elijah has been, inconvenient, to put it simply. He no longer cares about my well-being or the things I do. All he wants to do is feed, kill, drink and maim. I thought I would enjoy this side of him, but it turns out, the guy's a bloody asshole. And since you might have the ability to bring him out of this mess, it's in my best interest to try and help you."

You turned your head slowly, glaring at him with narrowed eyes. "You sure do have a way of showing it. Kidnapping is pretty terrible Klaus. Do you have any idea how scared I am right now? Not only have you kidnapped me, you are forcing me to confront my ex-boyfriend after I dumped him."

"I've done plenty to upset Elijah, but he's never flipped the switch over it. What exactly did you do to him?" Klaus demanded. He leaned closer to you, and his grip on the steering wheel tightened as he parked the car. "I'd suggest you start talking, sweetheart," he drawled, giving you a pointed look.

You bit your lip nervously, breaking under his intense gaze. Your shoulders dropped in defeat and you looked at your lap, chewing the inside of your cheek. You told him the truth, finally letting someone in on the secret you had kept from everyone.

"I told him that I didn't love him anymore, okay? I don't know," you trailed off, tears threatening to escape your eyes. "Look, I just, I needed to tell him something and that seemed easier than telling him the truth."

"So what's the truth?" Klaus asked gently. You couldn't bear to look him in the eye, so you stayed still and stayed quiet, trying to ignore the sound of blood rushing in your ears as you fought the urge to cry. After a few seconds, Klaus said your name softly, and when you looked up at him, there was genuine sympathy in his eyes.

You swallowed, trying to get ahold of yourself before you fell apart completely. "I want children, Klaus," you admitted. "And he can't give them to me. But it's okay, we broke up, and I'm fine." You were most definitely not fine, but that was beside the point. You finally confessed the truth, and felt a small bit of relief.

"Oh," he said. "Do you not want to adopt? Wouldn't surrogacy be an option? I can make a phone call and have a baby delivered to your door by tomorrow," he offered. You laughed, appreciating his attempts to make you feel better.

"No, Klaus. I'm sorry. I appreciate you trying, really I do," you said, giving him a sincere smile. "I want to have his child, and that is... well... impossible," you sighed.

There was a moment of silence, and you wondered what he was thinking. Klaus could be a lot of things, but you could tell he truly loved his siblings, no matter how much he claimed otherwise. His devotion was almost as intense as Elijah's and fear bubbled up in your stomach, knowing you were now in the crossfire of his affections for his older brother.

"You aren't still in love with him, are you?" Klaus asked. You felt your insides tremble at the mere mention of Elijah, but it wasn't enough to make your heart skip a beat or your head swirl. All you could feel was sorrow, because you knew how painful it would be to see him again. To be near him, but unable to touch him.

Klaus tilted his head, waiting for your answer. When he didn't get one, he asked again. "Answer the question, love," he said.

"Of course I still love him," you mumbled. "How could I not? I will always love him." You chuckled sadly, shaking your head and shrugging. 

"Good, that will make this easier," Klaus said cheerfully, not sure how to react as he began fiddling with the radio station.

"He's going to kill me Klaus," you said, your voice flat and emotionless. "You're dragging me to him, and he's going to torture me or compel me into doing something bad and then when he's finished, he's going to kill me."

"Yes, possibly," Klaus agreed. "However, you could also bring him back and thus make my life a bit easier."

"We can only hope," you sighed. Klaus started driving towards the docks and you squeezed your eyes shut, trying to control the terror building within you.

"Klaus, where are we going?" you asked warily, looking around.

"Well, my dear brother isn't answering his phone, so I'm tracking it instead," he said, gritting his teeth as he continued driving.

"Can we please just leave him alone?" you begged, but he didn't seem to hear you.

"Please," you added. "I'm begging you, Klaus. Don't torture me like this, I'm not strong enough to lose him twice."

"I really don't care how you feel about this, darling," he said, reaching a hand up and patting your head, before returning it to the steering wheel. "But don't worry, I promise I won't let him kill you."

You would have responded, but Klaus took the last turn and parked in front of one of the ships on the docks. He removed the handcuffs, his eyes darting about your surroundings in paranoia as he grabbed your wrists and dragged you out of the car. You didn't put up a fight and let him pull you along, too frightened and confused to even think about struggling. This wasn't what you had been expecting when Klaus took you, and now you didn't know what to say, so you remained silent and obedient. Klaus released his grip and took a step back, heading up the ramp to the ship.

You took a shaky breath and followed him, shivering a bit as you stepped on board. There was music playing, and while the exterior of the boat looked fairly plain, the inside was quite posh and immaculately decorated. You hesitated, glancing at Klaus, but he nodded his head and you followed him into a room. You could sense that Elijah was close. You slowly breathed in and your nose twitched when you caught the strong scent of bourbon.

"I see you have already begun celebrating, brother," Klaus drawled, glancing around the room.

"That depends on how you define celebration," came a quiet response, and you shuddered at the sound of his voice. It was Elijah, your Elijah, his words ringing with a lack of inflection that wasn't entirely evident in his tone. It had a falsely polite, and strangely charming touch, like the cold indifference and arrogance that comes from experiencing and achieving total freedom.

You watched as he poured himself another glass, sitting back in a chair. He stared straight ahead, not meeting your eyes as he lifted the glass to his lips, swirling the alcohol, tipping it slightly, and watching it roll around, before putting it down again, not even having taken a sip. You sniffed, doing your best to control your emotions and expression as you watched him, but your mask was slipping, and you couldn't hide the raw pain in your voice when you spoke.

"Are you okay?" you asked, sounding raspy and hoarse, even to your own ears. Normally, it would have made him feel guilty to hear you like this. Maybe he would have replied in his usual soft, intimate tone, grabbing your chin and kissing your lips gently, holding you close. But your Elijah was dead, and there was nothing left but the monster the switch had transformed him into. You glanced at his face and looked away immediately, the coldness in his dark eyes sinking into your soul. They were beautiful, and deadly, gazing at you in cold assessment, and his expression did not change as he gave you a humorless smile.

"I have never been better," he replied, not moving from his relaxed position on the chair, though you noticed a slight tightening in his jaw when you opened your mouth to speak again. You quickly snapped it shut and watched as he tapped the glass with his finger, gazing around the room and sighing. You didn't know if his admission was a good or a bad thing, but the way he carried himself, all arrogant grace and calculated casualness, had alarm bells ringing in your head, telling you that you were in great danger.

It was worse than you had expected. The man you loved, the one who had treated you with such gentleness and tenderness, the man whose heart was filled with love, loyalty and affection for you, was not present at all.

"We shouldn't have come here," you blurted out, your throat constricting at the sudden fear gripping you. His eyes flicked up to look at you, his brow furrowed as he stared. You cleared your throat, casting a worried glance at Klaus, who was standing by the bar, sipping his own drink and watching the whole scene play out.

"Why? What is the problem?" Elijah asked, and you couldn't tell if he was acting cavalier or genuinely didn't care. "You said you wanted to break up, and I obliged you. So tell me," he said, his dark eyes meeting yours, "why are you here?"

"Because," you began, but quickly lost your train of thought, shaking your head and trying to shake the overwhelming urge to cry. You sucked in a deep breath, tilting your chin up as you spoke. "Because we still have stuff we need to talk about, and we can't when you are like this."

"Like what?" he asked, sounding bored. Your jaw clenched as he casually poured himself more alcohol, draining the contents of his glass quickly and sighing.

"Well," Klaus interrupted, walking over and leaning forward on his knees, "You could start by being a tad less cocky, and try actually listening."

Elijah smirked at him, arching an eyebrow. "Niklaus, I suggest you shut your mouth before I rip your tongue out."

"That would be amusing," Klaus shot back, rolling his eyes. "I'd like to see you try, or have you forgotten I am stronger than you? You can't hurt me."

"Hmm," Elijah hummed thoughtfully, staring intently at his younger brother. "Let's test that."

Before either of you could react, Elijah reached out and grabbed the back of Klaus' head, yanking him forward and bringing his face inches from his own. He glared at him, snarling as Klaus groaned in pain.

"Don't be ridiculous," Klaus growled, his fingers flexing. Klaus easily pried his hands off of him and forced him to release him. He shoved Elijah back into the chair, a vicious smirk on his face as he crossed his arms.

"Eli," you said, tears welling up in your eyes. You moved to touch his arm, but he snatched it out of your reach and pushed it back, baring his fangs at you, his eyes completely black.

"Do not call me that," he responded coldly, shaking his head.

"You shouldn't have brought her," Elijah said to his brother, and you felt the sadness you had been suppressing all day come rushing back full force. You would not be strong enough to get through this.

"Oh don't blame me, dear brother," Klaus retorted, clasping his hands together and glaring at him in frustration. "It's very much her fault that you turned your humanity off, so I brought her here to fix her mistake."

"A mistake I care not to rectify," Elijah said, lifting his chin up haughtily.

"Oh," Klaus scoffed, fixing him with a nasty glare, "I bet you don't."

"Shut up," you mumbled, blinking furiously. Your legs were shaking, your knees about to give out as you wrapped your arms around yourself. Klaus stepped closer to you and you leaned against him, trembling, clinging to his shirt.

"Get a grip," Klaus hissed, glaring down at you in annoyance. He wrapped a hand around your throat and turned you around to face Elijah. His grip tightened, and you gasped in surprise and pain, your eyes wide as they met Elijah's intense gaze. He couldn't take his eyes off of you, something within him stirred at the sight of your fear, but it was buried beneath the ice of his indifference. Elijah narrowed his eyes as he stood up, smoothing down his tie as he approached.

"Niklaus, you are so painfully transparent," he began, an edge of amusement coloring his tone, "I do not care if you hurt her," he added, and his words cut deeper than any physical blow could.

"Eli," you pleaded, a soft whisper of pure agony coming from your lips, "How could you possibly say that? You swore you would always take care of me, protect me." He lowered his eyes, studying your features carefully. He looked down at you, stroking his chin.

"Hmm, you know, now that you say that, I'm feeling a little thirsty," he said, chuckling and stepping closer.

You shut your eyes, stifling a sob and trying to hide the fact that his words had broken your heart, shattering it into pieces. You couldn't bear his mockery, it was almost worse than not having him at all. It made the excruciating pain much more unbearable. Elijah stared at you, leaning closer and brushing a stray hair off of your cheek.

His lips hovered over yours for a split second, causing your lips to part in surprise and confusion, wanting his mouth to capture yours, knowing that the press of his lips was something you would always miss. Even when he was a monster, you felt yourself reacting to him instinctively, wanting nothing more than to be with him. But the kiss did not come, and he pulled away before you could rise to meet him.

"Do you think she knows how many ways she can die?" Elijah asked his brother, and Klaus sighed heavily, rubbing his temples in frustration. "I mean, with enough patience and creativity, even the simplest forms of death, can be quite extraordinary," he drawled.

Klaus pulled you back from Elijah, his grip on you tightening, you weren't sure who you feared more in that moment. "Elijah, I made a promise that I would not let you kill her," Klaus said, and Elijah rolled his eyes, his jaw clenching and his eyes narrowing.

"That promise can easily be broken," he said, as if talking about the weather.

"Actually, I thought I would take a page out of your book, find a loophole in the promise I made," Klaus said, his voice taunting as he smiled cruelly. You stopped breathing at his words, your body going rigid, Klaus was going to kill you.

"Elijah?" you whispered desperately, praying that he would protect you from Klaus. You were so cold, and you couldn't move, rooted in place with fear. He turned around abruptly, shrugging his shoulders as he walked across the room to make a new drink.

"You can go ahead and drain her if you so wish. It makes no difference to me," he said.

"Sorry love, I have to call his bluff," Klaus said, patting your head and then running a hand through your hair as his fangs grazed your neck. His voice was dark and malicious. "Say your goodbyes," he smirked.

"Klaus, please," you cried, panic coursing through you, but before he could do anything more, Elijah lunged at him, tearing him away from you. Your back hit the floor hard, your head snapping against the wood, causing you to see stars. You cradled your head, tasting blood in your mouth as you rolled on the floor. Elijah tackled Klaus, growling and snarling viciously, his fingers clenched around his brother's neck as he pinned him to the ground.

"Don't you dare lay a finger on her," Elijah warned, but Klaus only smirked, using all his strength to shove Elijah off of him. Elijah's back connected with a pillar, falling to the floor as he clutched his head. He just sat there, head in his hands, his shoulders slumped, taking quick, shuddering breaths, attempting to regain some sort of composure. You crawled your way over to him, too dazed to stand up.

"Eli," you gasped, lifting his face up and forcing him to look at you. He didn't try to pull away, letting you caress his jaw. You slowly stroked his hair, shushing him gently as your fingers trailed over his cheekbones.

"Get away from me," he groaned, grabbing your wrist to keep you from touching him. His mind was reeling from the violent overload of emotions coursing through him. Having you here, so close to him, wanting him, loving him, it overwhelmed him, bringing back every single moment he had spent with you, every beautiful, painful, joyous moment of his entire existence.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," you sobbed, reaching out to touch him. He wasn't pushing you away, he was just sitting there, hunched over, breathing heavily. Your mind was too foggy to think about the consequences of your actions. There was an excruciating ache in your chest, and you needed Elijah to hold you.

You threw your arms around his shoulders and pressed your lips to the back of his neck, nuzzling him and letting tears stream down your face. He stilled, not fighting you, but not holding you.

"I lied to you Elijah, I'm sorry," you whispered, pressing your face into the crook of his neck as you hugged him tighter. "I love you, I never stopped. I'm sorry, please forgive me."

He didn't move, keeping his expression guarded as he put an arm around you, turning his body slightly to pull you in closer. He tilted his chin down and pressed his lips to the side of your head in a gentle kiss. His eyes were closed, your scent invading his nose, your hair tickling his neck. He sighed, your words, your presence, it was like a spark lighting up a flame of emotions in his chest as the switch in his head turned back on.

"I could never stop loving you," he murmured, opening his eyes and sitting up a bit, keeping you close to him.

"Well, looks like my work is done. Do give her a ride home when you are done, Elijah," Klaus drawled, smirking in triumph as he stood watching you, before swiftly making his way out of the room.

Elijah gripped your chin gently and forced you to turn to face him. You were horrified by the sadness in his dark eyes, but the relief you felt at seeing the love there tore you apart, and you burst into tears, gripping his face and pulling him towards you, kissing his lips, his jaw, his forehead, wrapping your arms tightly around his waist.

"Darling," he sighed, looking down at your tear stained face. He gently ran his thumb over your cheekbone, bringing your forehead to his as he just held you.

"Forgive me, I-I-was so scared," you managed to get out, but he hushed you, your breathing synchronizing as he hugged you tightly, running a hand through your hair.

"Why did you lie to me?" he asked, pulling away and stroking your neck, your pulse fluttering beneath his touch.

"I was afraid," you replied, sniffing and wiping your tears. "I didn't want to hurt you, I thought it would be easier to let you go if I pushed you away instead."

"What were you afraid of?" he questioned, guiding your face up, needing to see your beautiful, tear filled eyes.

"I was terrified at the prospect of getting old, growing old, and putting you through that. You'd have to watch as you lived a lifetime with me, and eventually I would be gone and you would be left alone," you gasped out, the words flowing out unbidden, unable to control yourself now that the gates had been opened. "and.. I want children of my own, and a family, I can't have all of that with you. This past week I've been so torn, I thought leaving you was the best thing to do, because I knew my choice would hurt you, and you didn't deserve that, and I didn't know how else to do this."

Elijah smiled sadly, shaking his head and cupping your cheeks. "None of that matters, my darling, and it never will. Don't you understand that? You are worth the heartache, the pain, the loss. You are worth being human for."

He kissed you gently, brushing your hair out of your face, causing more tears to slip down your cheeks as you fisted your hands in his shirt, allowing him to pour all of his love and heartache into the kiss. You were left breathless, staring into his eyes, seeing the sadness there that matched yours.

"As for children, I know a few witches that could help us solve that issue," he said. You blinked rapidly, stunned that his answer was so easy, simple. The corners of his lips quirked up, and you felt your heart thundering in your chest, desperate to have him, keep him forever.

"Do you want that? To have children with me?" you asked, your hands in his, hoping, praying, that he truly understood what he was getting himself into.

"With you, yes, anything you wish for, I will give you," he replied, resting his head on your shoulder, and nuzzling your neck. You drew in a deep breath, so relieved and overcome with a surge of emotions that you grabbed his head and planted another firm, passionate kiss on his lips.

He chuckled, a deep, soothing sound that had you smiling despite all the tears you were shedding. Your fingers were clutching at his shirt, dragging him closer to you as you continued to kiss him, memorizing everything, his taste, the curves of his lips, the way his tongue felt against yours. He put his arm around your waist, and shifted, scooping you up into his lap, and into his arms.

"When was the last time we made love?" he whispered against your lips, pulling away and looking into your eyes, his gaze caressing your features softly.

"Three months," you whispered, stroking his stubbled jaw, running your fingers over his lips, marveling at the feel of his warm, soft skin, thinking that you almost never had the chance to be with him again.

"That's much too long," he murmured, sliding his hands up your thighs and grinning seductively. You chuckled, feeling a heated blush creep up your neck and spread across your cheeks. His fingers traced the edge of your thighs, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

"I love you, Elijah Mikaelson," you said, grinning broadly as your fingers threaded through his hair, savoring the feel of it. He just sat, staring at you with warmth and adoration, unspoken love shining in his deep brown eyes.

"For eternity, I will love you, my y/n," he whispered, pressing his lips gently against yours, and you melted into him, gripping the back of his neck as you felt a piece of your soul slide back into place, wrapped tightly around his heart.

[castiwls]

unexplained cases

Paring; dean x reader

Requested; @walkinthefairygarden

Synopsis; working as an FBI agent means you were more than used to the unusual but even some things drew the line as to strange for you. Little did you know two brothers were also on the case, and this would lead you down a whole new rabbit hole.

Notes; this is the longest thing I've written for tumblr holy. this idea is lowkey so fun tho!! requests are open!

Masterlist

You were used to strange. You’d spent the last few years of your life dealing with any and all cases which were deemed slightly too abnormal for a normal investigation. You’d seen things most of your colleagues could never imagine, hell even you couldn't have imagined some of the things you’d seen. 

Your time working with the FBI had taught you one thing. People were cruel. Sometimes the worst monsters weren't the ones who lived in the pages of an old Brothers Grimm story, sometimes they were your neighbour or sometimes they were your own family.

It wasn’t abnormal for you to be placed on a case which involved situations where people would go out, have fun, get slightly too drunk and disappear off into the night just to be found the next day in an alleyway by an innocent passerby. More often than not if you found yourself receiving the call that the body that had been found was most likely mutilated in a way that would give most people lifelong trauma.

More often than not after looking around for a little and doing some research into past disappearances you would find a pattern in the victims. They were all young blondes or they were all young men between the ages of 19 and 23. That usually led you to the door of the town's new resident killer who got some sick kick out of killing innocent people and mutilating them to ‘leave their mark’.

But in this case. This was different. It had started out normal enough. Victims in alleyways after nights out. They were all mutilated in some way which led you to the belief that yet again, you had a small-town killer trying to make a name for themselves. 

Yet when the bodies began to be autopsided that was when you began to grow confused and…slightly concerned. Nearly all the victims after death had been drained of more the half of their blood and they all had small hole marks on their necks. 

The corner had laughed joking. “Seem’s we have a town vampire.” And you laughed along while staring confused down at the marks. They were nothing you’d seen before. Maybe you simply had a killer with a creative streak but the killings still left an uneasy feeling in your stomach.

✧.*

“Another one?” You let a sigh fall from your lips as you mindlessly chewed on your nail. “That's the fifth one this week.” You frowned slightly sitting back further into your seat. The police chief continued to fill you in on the latest victim as you stared down at your laptop. None of this made any sense. 

You had a killer. You were sure. But who the hell was draining their victims of more the half of their blood? And where the hell was this blood going? “I’ll be there in an hour.” You nodded to yourself before ending the call and pocketing your phone.

Luckily it didn’t take you long to get down to the bar where the victims all seemed to disappear from. The police chief waved you down as you approached, he passed you a file which detailed the latest victim. “I didn’t know you had a partner agent?” He crossed his arms as spoke.

Your eyes paused on the page as you registered his words. “I don’t,” You said looking up from the file. You started at him confused for a moment. “I’m the only one on this case.” The chief stared back at you his eyes narrowing. “Two other agents came around just before you got here. They said they’d been put on the case after the most recent killing.” He waved a hand at you. “They knew who you were…well claiming to.”

“What were their names?” You racked your mind for a minute trying to think of anyone who could have been placed on this case alongside you but your mind came up empty. Plus if anyone was assigned to help you with this you would have been informed.

“Osburne and Butler.” You looked back down to the file in your hand nodding slowly. You’d never heard of agents with those names before. “Are they still here?” You looked around for a moment before looking back to the chief who nodded before pointing to a black car parked a little down the road. 

Thanking him you began to make your way over to the car. Clearing your throat you came to a stop just before the car. The two men quickly turned, clearly shocked by your appearance. Tilting your head you narrowed your eyes. You’d never seen these men in your life. “Osburne and Butler I take it.” 

They both exchanged a quick look before the taller of the two nodded. “Uh. Yes. Is-is everything okay?” His tone was masked as concern but you could sense his slight nervousness from the way he shifted. “Yes everything is fine,” You crossed your arms over your chest. “I’m just wondering why you two think it's funny to pose as FBI agents and walk right onto a crime scene.” You hardened your gaze, watching in slight amusement as the one who had just spoken swallowed looking at his friend for help.

The other man scoffed rolling his eyes at you. “Listen here sweetheart, I don’t know who you think you are but we're not faking anything.” He gestured between him and his friend. “We got put on this case today, you can call our supervisor if you're so bothered.”

You frowned turning your attention to him. “You can’t have been put on this case.” You reached into your pocket pulling out your ID. “Because it’s my case. And in all my time working with the FBI I have never heard of any agents called Osbourne and Butler,” You placed your ID back in your pocket. “And last time I checked they were both pretty old.” 

You watched as the smaller man’s eyes widened at your words. You knew Black Sabbath? 

They both stared at you for a moment before the taller one smiled grabbing onto his partner's arm. “Excuse us for a minute.” You nodded, a quiet huff falling from your lips.

This was the last thing you needed right now. You watched unimpressed as the two seemed to go back and forth for a minute before the taller one turned back to you. He sent you another smile as he came to stand before you. “We’ll talk to our supervisor and find out what happened.” You nodded, looking back at the other man who was currently leaning back against the car. “Alright,” You nodded. 

You bid the two goodbye before walking back towards the bar where you could see the forensic officers beginning to move the body. You frowned to yourself as you looked back down at the file. 

Something about the two ‘agents’ seemed off to you. There was no way you wouldn’t have been informed. You watched as the body was taken away no doubt to the morgue which would be your next stop, though your mind was still stuck on the two men you’d just met.

You were 90% sure they were not agents, but before you acted on your suspicions you had to be sure. There was a low chance they maybe were who they claimed to be and somehow another division had caught wind of the cases and had decided to butt their head in but still never in your career had you seen that happen.

Pulling your phone from your pocket you quickly checked the time. You had more than enough time left to go check the morgue before doing some digging.

✧.*

Your fist banged against the door again for what felt like the hundredth time. It hadn’t taken you long to figure out that there had never been any agents with the names Osbourne and Butler. It also hadn’t taken you long to find a case from a few years ago that involved another strange span of killings which had ended with the killer supposedly dead. 

Just as you raised your fist again the door suddenly swung open. The man’s eyes widened slightly as he stared at you. He opened his mouth but you quickly cut him off raising a finger. “Dean Winchester. Right?” You smiled sweetly at the man who simply gapped at you for a moment.

He stared at you for a moment before shaking his head. “No. Like we said yesterday, we got put on this case just like you did alright? Now I’d appreciate it if you didn’t show up unannounced.” He sent you a small smirk. “If you really have an issue take it up with your supervisor.” 

You pursed your lips nodding. “Really?” You held up a file watching his face drop slightly. “Because this says, different Dean.” 

You pushed the file you’d been holding into his hands, crossing your arms over your chest. “According to this, you died a few years back. Yet. You look pretty alive to me.” 

Dean looked down at the file before looking back up at you. “This.” He waved the file. “Was a misunderstanding.” He glanced down the hallway seemingly relieved seeing that you were alone. “How did you find us.” He asked crossing his arms over his chest.

You could tell by his body language that he didn’t trust you. The way he glared at you was enough to tell you that he was less than friendly. Though you couldn’t deny the slight pull you felt towards him. 

You’d noticed him back at the bar but had kept a professional facade knowing that you had bigger problems. Though now being closer to him you finally were able to get a good look at the man and it only confirmed your thoughts from before. He was very attractive.

“That doesn’t matter. I’m more concerned about why you and your brother are pretending to work for the FBI.” You tilted your head as you questioned him. Dean rolled his eyes moving to lean against the doorway. “Well. Like you sweetheart, we were also doing our job.” He said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world. You narrowed your eyes thinking for a moment. “Your job?” 

He nodded a small smirk growing on his lips. “What job could you possibly have which would require breaking the law.” Just as he opened his mouth to respond the trill of a phone ringing. Reaching into your pocket you pulled out your phone a small sigh leaving your lips as you noticed the caller's ID. “Again.” You mumbled exasperated before sliding your finger across the screen. 

Taking a step back from the doorway you watched as Dean’s gaze softened slightly. He stepped to the side before gesturing for you to come into the room. Furrowing your brows you stood for a moment, listening as the police chief began talking about yet another kill. 

Deciding he seemed relatively harmless you took his offer. When you’d first come you’d been under the opinion that Dean Winchester may have been your killer, and his hostile attitude upon seeing you had only furthered that belief. Yet getting another phone call while he was standing before you made you begin to rethink your original suspicions. 

Taking a seat on one of the beds you sighed. “Two victims,” Dean closed the door before moving to stand a few feet from you. “Alright. I’ll be there in an hour.” You ended the call before groaning. Two victims completely threw your pattern off. 

You looked around the room for a moment as you spoke before a thought hit you. Dean hadn’t been alone yesterday and you’d read on his file that he had a brother. “Where’s your brother?” You looked back over to the man who was watching you from his spot.

“He’s getting food.” Dean shrugged. “So two more victims huh.” He pushed. You nodded. “Yea. Why do you care anyway? What are you some kind of true crime fanatic.” He laughed quietly shaking his head.

“Oh no. It’s a bit more complicated.” He came to sit beside you, passing the file back. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t mention the whole me not being dead to your boss.” You pursed your lips. “Why would I do that?” 

Dean Winchester being alive was very strange to you, but it wasn’t your issue. “Because we can help each other.” 

Dean gestured between you both. You stared at him confused for a moment. You needed to solve this case, and soon. Too many people were dying and you still had little to no leads on who it could possibly be that was committing these crimes. You thought it over for a moment. You were breaking so many rules even being here. You should have reported this to your supervisor straight away but you’d been curious. 

“Me and my brother, we deal with stuff like this all the time. We can help but I need you to promise not to try and shoot me if I tell you what we actually do for a living, alright?” 

✧.*

Working with the Winchesters was… interesting. 

You really hadn’t thought your life could get any stranger, yet here you were staring down at the bodies of three men. Turns out Sam and Dean Winchester had actually not been FBI agents and instead they spent their time traversing around the country killing ‘monsters.’

You initially laughed in Dean’s face calling him crazy before attempting to leave but he’d been quick to stop you. He’d then sat you down and pretty much showed you every piece of evidence they had to suggest that these killings were far from normal.

“A vampire?” You stared at him astounded as he simply nodded. “Yes. And most likely a werewolf. The killings line up.”

You’d not want to believe him but part of you after looking at the evidence knew he had a point. And so that had sent you down a spiral over the last week where you’d learnt of things that you’d only ever known about in your nightmares.

After that, the three of you quickly began comparing notes on the case. In doing this you’d quickly come to find at least three possible culprits. Each of the men had been seen in the club the night of the killings and they were always seen leaving with someone.

You’d surprisingly found yourself beginning to enjoy the company of the two. You normally worked alone during your cases and had always found that you’d worked better alone but during the last few days, you’d found that you actually enjoyed working with others.

Over the last two days, you’d always found yourself steadily growing closer and closer to the older of the two men. Dean Winchester was someone who you’d originally planned to keep at an arm's distance, but that plan quickly fell away.

You’d found yourself spending most of your time interviewing witnesses with him while Sam had stayed back going over your notes.

“Thank you, we’ll be in touch.” You smiled at the older woman as she said her own goodbyes before closing the door. Dean let out a breath as you walked down the porch steps towards his car. 

“You still think it could be her son?” You stopped beside the car to face him. Dean crossed his arms nodding slowly. “Yeah. Vamps don’t have to be born. The guy could have been bitten she’d be none the wiser.” 

You nodded pulling your lip between your teeth. “Okay. We got our guy.” A wave of relief ran through you as you stood there. For the first time in the case, it seemed like you finally had a strong lead who you were all sure was the killer.

Everything lined up. Now all you had to do was catch the guy. Dean reached into his pocket pulling his keys out. “We should go get Sam before heading to the bar. If he follows his pattern our guy should be there.” 

✧.*

“So. Case closed I guess.” You mumbled looking down at the body. Sam nodded from his spot opposite you. “Yeah.” You reached into your pocket pulling out your phone. You looked between the two.

“I’m gonna need to call this in, you two should probably disappear before the cops get here.” You smiled at the two. Sam nodded before looking over to his brother who was still looking down at the body. “How are you gonna explain this?” He asked pushing a hand into his pocket. 

“Suicide.” You gestured to the body. “Guy went mad, killed people and then couldn’t live with himself.” You shrugged. “It's more common than you’d think.” 

“Thank you. I don’t think I would have been able to do this without your help.” You rubbed a hand behind your neck before turning to Dean. “I’ll make sure your file disappears, just try and not get framed for another murder.” You teased slightly making the two men chuckle.

“I’ll try.” Dean grinned, his gaze settling on you. Over the last few days, you’d noticed the way he looked at you had changed. At first, he’d been hesitant, he’d always looked at you with a sceptical eye as if he was ready for you to flip on them at any moment but over time he’d realised that maybe you actually did want their help.

Maybe you really weren't going to lead him into a trap. And with that realisation, the way he looked at you had softened. He’d let himself become more comfortable in your presence. The way he looked at you now was different again. There was no lie that you felt something towards him. 

You’d resigned yourself to the fact that he was just another one of your passing crushes. You’d finish the case and he’d move on. Yet looking at him now you could swear he looked slightly disappointed.

“I’m gonna go wait in the car. I’ll see you there.” Sam nodded at his brother before sending you another smile and walking away. You both watched him go for a moment before you turned to Dean.

Dean didn’t say anything as he turned back to face you. He swallowed before raising a hand. “I guess I better let you call this in before someone sees us.” He rubbed a hand against the back of his neck before he turned and began walking away.

You stood for a moment before beginning to follow him “Dean. Wait.” At your voice, he paused turning to face you. You stopped a few feet from him before taking a breath. You slowly stepped closer until your chests were practically touching. 

You heard his breath hitch as he stared down at you, his lips parting slightly. Pushing yourself up you connected your lips with his. His hand wrapped around your waist as your own went to his head. 

His thumb rubbed circles against your waist as he slowly pulled back. A slight blush covered your cheeks as you panted softly. “Hey. Why don’t you come with us?” Dean whispered moving a hand to brush against your cheek.

“What?” You gasped, furrowing your brows as you looked at him. His eyes had lit up slightly at the idea and he smiled resting his forehead against yours. “Think about it alright. We’ll stick around for two more days and if you decide you wanna come with…you know where we’ll be.” He pressed his lips against yours again for a moment before pulling back. 

You frowned slightly watching him disappear around the corner before your attention turned back to the body. Pulling out your phone you found the chief's number before pressing call. As it rang you found yourself nervously chewing on your nail.

You felt stuck between a rock and a hard place. Stay here and continue working for the FBI and leave behind a man who you were very much falling in love with or take his offer and discover a whole new world.

[alornights]

⟢ airheads

➜ in which ! stan is head over heels in love with the bimbo girl.

🌷 ﹫stan marsh.

✩ 🦩 warnings﹗suggestive.

🍧 ⟡ notes — me core somehow.

bro i got so carried away with this its so long, i love this sm.

masterlist [ check mlist for details ! ] — previous | next

"Who's that?" Stan murmured nodding his head over to a girl who walked through the cafeteria doors dressed in all pink, looking like a lost deer.

Kenny giggled leaning his chin on his head, "The new love of my life, she's new to town. Dumb and pretty I heard."

"You shouldn't degrade people like that..." Kyle murmured taking a sip of his drink, watching her walk around.

"Totally would bang," Cartman yelled with a grin.

"Like she would ever go for you."

"AY- I HEARD THAT-"

Stan tuned them watching you look around, scratching your hair with some pretty long nails. He sighed standing up, walking over to you, "Do you need help?"

You turned around with a big smile but Stan couldn't help but look down at your chest. "Oh, I just don't know where to sit. Why don't you sit with me!"

"What."

he doesn't understand it. he just can't wrap his head around why he liked you so much.

it wasn't even because of your looks, something about you just scratched his brain the right way.

the way you talk, the way you moved, the way you do anything is just so addictive to him. even you just writing something makes his head spin because it's you.

anytime you talk to him he just blacks out, to be honest, just being around you makes him so dizzy.

the way you pout when you get a question wrong in class has him gripping the table trying not to react to how adorable it was.

"I don't understand." He groaned laying on the concrete ground. "I can't fucking get her out of my mind. It's like she injected me."

"Whipped." Kenny teased passing the ball to Kyle.

"Shut up."

"Probably because you dated Wendy for so long that you're so used to serious mature people," Kyle concluded with a smirk shooting his basketball. "She's dumb, she's energetic, she's cool, she's hot. You like those stuff but you put them aside for Wendy."

"...God I hate it when your smart and right."

"It's part of my charm."

by this point it's mental. there's not a single second where you're not in his brain, even little things get him thinkin' bout you.

would help you in classes he's good at and no matter how much you don't understand it he'll help you get through it.

he thinks you two are a match made in heaven. the emo kid dating the popular bimbo girl? WHERE COULD IT GO WRONG-

loses his mind when he sees you biting the end of your pencil with narrowed eyes trying to understand the material.

gets very flustered when you actually flirt back with him when he accidentally called you gods best creation.

"God's best creation?" You teased leaning over the desk where you two sat and Stan tried his hardest not to look at your rather revealed chest. "Why that means we may be a match made in heaven."

"What."

You giggled taking your hand in his. "You're so cute, Stan."

"What."

he got a bit better but not really.

kenny got hella mad when you started being stan's new passenger princess. instead of all his shit in the glove compartment, he finds a bunch of makeup, candy (not that he doesn't mind), hair ties, and some other shit.

would drive you anywhere you wanted. just ask him and he wills, it doesn't matter what he's doing he'll drop everything for you.

loves listening to you ramble about those reality tv shows or all the twitter drama going on, while very confused, he still loves it.

somehow gets you into rock. he doesn't know how.

bro if you two got to the point of kissing, he's obsessed with your lipstick smudging his lips, it's his fav thing ever.

extra points if you kiss him on his neck and shoulder, HE WILL NOT WIPE THAT SHIT OFF.

if tegrady farms is still around and making money will probably use that money to go shopping with you.

"Are you sure?" You questioned clinging onto his arm as you walked around the mall though the smile on your face said you loved this.

Stan smiled, "Of course baby. I wanna treat you right today."

"Baby?"

maybe he did get bold.

but seeing the way you lit up when he called you that. so he keeps going with it, and he loves how jealous everyone gets.

his dad may complain about all his money disappearing but stan couldn't care less with the way he gets to see you trying on clothes for him like a runway model.

especially those revealing outfits... lord have mercy on him.

couldnt help but stare at your ass when some of skirts and dresses started hiking up.

and tbh if you beg enough, he will get his nails done with you. he fucking enjoyed it, and went back again with you.

bonus, the first time you went with him, you let him pick out the nails and it was your favorite set ever.

and then you started getting very bold.

The two of you sat on the floor of Stan's living room studying for a science test. Stan got lucky that his parents were out of town for the weekend and his sister was off in college.

Unluckily, you two were getting no progress done.

"I don't understand Stan this is too haaard," You whined out loudly throwing your hands over his neck. "I'm boreeed. Why don't we..." You trailed off letting one of your hand land on his thigh, "Why don't we take a break? Have some fun."

"Huh...?" Stan murmured, eyes widened as his body got hotter and hotter with every second, his mind running to all sorts of thoughts.

"So?" You questioned with a pure smile letting your hand trail up.

"Oh."

[crystaldesiree]

permission to take the mic? what about outlaw blade..

you have a reputation. the main topic of conversations that bubbled over from one man to another. the constant rejection that falls from your lips, staying untouched by many despite the rare beauty you possessed. in truth, you could have had anyone you wanted; a single word from your lips could have entranced someone. but you never really bothered to pursue it, preferring to remain a mystery rather than a conquest.

years in this town have helped you avoid people who didn't have the best intentions. sadly, those people were everywhere. even now, as you sit in the dimly lit saloon, sipping on neat whiskey with absent fingers picking at your earrings, maintaining a distance from the world around you. the late evening sets you in a dim mood, not interested in anyone or anything other than giving a dirty look.

as you sit at your table, you notice a few cowboys glancing your way, whispering to each other. it wasn't unusual; you were used to the attention, though you seldom paid it much mind. your drink was your only companion, the amber liquid swirling as you twirled the glass.

the saloon's creaky batwing doors suddenly swung open, and the noise of the room seemed to momentarily freeze in place. a man walks in, and the air around him shifts with an almost imperceptible crackle of tension. he was tall. his dark hair falling down to his hips, and his eyes, a deep crimson that seems to pierce through the dimness of the evening. 

you feel a flicker of recognition—a fleeting memory that dances at the edge of your mind but remains just out of reach. had you seen him before, perhaps in a dream, or maybe a crowd?

the table with the men falls silent, suddenly all of them shuffling to get out of the saloon as soon as possible. their boots thudding rapidly against the floor as they make their retreat. the sudden emptiness left a peculiar quiet in their wake, broken only by the distant murmur of the town outside. curiosity piqued. you catch the stranger's gaze and give him a slow, inviting smile. calling him over to your table with a quick wave of your hand. 

when he reaches your table, he pauses, his eyes narrowing slightly as he examines every detail of your appearance, from the way your hair fell around your face to the way your fingers absently traced the edge of your glass.

— you can sit down y'know.. — you mumble, tapping the seat beside you. the man grunts, dismissing your invitation as he takes the seat across from you instead. —you're quite disappointing in person — he says, crossing his arms as he settles himself into the chair. you raise an eyebrow, a little taken aback by his statement.

— i've heard about you before. — he continues. — i've seen you before. — you retort, tone crawling into defensive territory. it's his turn to quirk an eyebrow, before sending a quick look around the place. it's cleared out pretty much, only you, and him. and a bartender who seemed scared out of his wits while he pretends to clean cups.  — on a flyer, i suppose? —  in that instant, it clicked into place why he had seemed familiar. the wanted posters. a bounty above his head that could have paid off a decade worth of work. his name, blade, has been plastered across the town like a violent plague. the sketches on those posters had done little to capture the full breadth of his presence; here, in the flesh, he was breathtaking. they hadn't been able to catch the aura he possessed, the one that pulled you in and left you impatient for more.

you prop your head on your hand, lips curling into a smirk.

— so you're the talk of the town i see. — he laughs. it's low, rough. sending a tingle through you that leaves you nervous and shaky. his hand comes down on the table, fingers drumming a steady rhythm that cracks through the silence that fills the room.  — seems like you've heard about me. — blade answered, eyes settling on yours.  — enough to be intrigued, — you lean in slightly. — but, what about you? what have you heard about me? — 

— that you’re not easy to impress, — he breathes, his gaze breaking away for a quick second — but here you are, talking to me. —

— maybe you’re different, — you tease, a playful glint in your eye.

— or maybe you’re just bored, — blade countered.

— maybe, — you admitted with a slight shrug.  — or maybe I’m looking for something more exciting. — blade's fingers come to a stop, the silence of the bar erupts once more. he seems to contemplate your response, his mouth opening and then closing before he finally spoke. — excitement comes with a price, — he says, voice dropping to a whisper— are you willing to pay it? —

— depends on the price, — you shoot back, leaning forward. you reach out, fingers brushing against the brim of his cowboy hat before you lift it off his head. with a playful smile, you place it gently on your own head, feeling the weight and texture of the worn leather settle into place.

blade leaned in closer, his breath warm against your skin. — sometimes, it’s more than you’re willing to give. —

you shrug, sending a wink his way. you lift your glass to your lips, savoring another sip of your drink. — try me. —

[honorarysimp]

2: Coffee is the Answer to Everything

series masterlist

This is the single thought that goes through your mind as you exit the hotel early the next morning. Showered, dressed in a fresh set of clothes, and a freshly brewed cup of coffee in hand. You take a deep breath of the crisp morning air, savoring the feeling of waking up rested and ready to start the day.

Looking around, you realize the town isn’t as gothic horror as the late night arrival had made it seem. The buildings in town are fairly nice and well together, the houses could use a bit of external love and maintenance but clearly lived in.

With a purposeful stride, you headed towards the sheriff's station, which was a short walk away down the empty streets.

Perk of a small town.

As you approach, you do noticed the town does seem slightly ominous in the pale light of the early morning, or maybe it’s just the lack of towns people wandering about.

Charming.

You step into the sheriff's station, footsteps echoing off the linoleum floor.

An officer who’d been sat at her desk stands, setting the folder in her hands down on the wooden top and makes her way over.

As she approaches, she seems to radiate authority and a cautious nature. Her gaze is steely and her expression was one of guarded skepticism.

"Can I help you?" she asks in a brisk tone, her eyes roaming over you with an assessing look.

“I’m the Private Investigator hired and sent out here to help with-“

“Right. The city slicker” she cuts you off, dark brown eyes cutting into your soul.

You only hum, not necessarily offended. This isn’t your first time with small town folk, they’re the careful type with strangers, even more so after some of their people have gone missing.

“The sheriff around?” You ask, she doesn’t immediately offer a response as she turns to head back to her desk.

“Did he at least leave anything for me to go over?” You try again, sipping your coffee to hope it helps with the slight cotton mouth you have. It doesn’t.

“He’s out with a few other deputies doing another sweep of the woods, should be back soon” she says as she grabs a few files off her desk, turning to you expectantly.

She definitely is the “all-business no play” type, so you quickly walk over to accept the files from her.

But as you reach for them, she pulls them just out of your grasp, “these don’t leave this building, understand?”

You narrow your eyes, squaring your shoulders “look officer-“ you glance down to her nametag stitched into her uniform, “Carpenter. I’m not a goddamn rookie alright? I’m here for the same reason you are, we don’t have to be friends, we just have to find your people.”

Her eyes narrow, top lip twitching as if she’s going to rebuttal. Instead she cools her expression and shoves the files into your chest, making you stumble a step back and let out a surprised grunt.

“Don’t talk to me like you know me, you wanna help? Go back where you came from.”

And with that, she heads off further into the station. You take in a slow, calming breath, jaw muscle twitching as you clench your teeth and exhale.

With no guidance and no one to talk to, you head for one of the more empty desks and set yourself up.

You shuffle through the stack of files, flipping through them quickly to get a sense of the information contained within. The reports were detailed and thorough, listing each victim's name, age, occupation, and the last known sighting of each individual before they disappeared.

As you go over the files, you can’t help but feel a sense of unease. The town's history was steeped in superstition and folklore, and the disappearances fit the unpredictable pattern of those stories a little too well.

It might be damn near impossible to convince these people of a logical explanation, if and when one is found.

You pause as you notice a name appearing repeatedly in the files: Ghostface.

It was the name of a local urban legend, a specter that supposedly haunted the town and was blamed for the disappearances.

The name sent a chill down your spine. You’d heard of the legend before taking the case, of course, but seeing the name in every single report made it feel a little uncomfortably possible. In theory.

So focused on reading the reports, you fail to notice the front door opening and someone entering. It wasn't until a voice spoke up that your attention is pulled away from studying them.

"You aren't my sister," the voice said, making you turn your head to see a woman standing in the doorway “is Sam here?”

She’s pretty. Unfairly pretty. She has to be young, mid 20’s if anything, her hair a neat tangle of brown curls that framed her sharp facial features. She assess you almost exactly how the officer from earlier had, her arms crossed tightly over her chest as she stared at you with a look of wariness mixed with curiosity.

You smoothly collect yourself, set the files down on the desk and stand, addressing her with a smile “no I definitely am not, I’m Private Investigator (Y/N)-“

“I didn’t ask, what I did ask was if Sam is here” she cuts you off, and that’s when you realize she also has the same dark brown eyes as the officer from earlier. Now that you’re actually taking a second to observe rather than gawk, you see the similarities.

“She’s in the back” you say as you jut your thumb over your shoulder, she offers nothing and walks right past you.

You watch her go, tongue clicking against the top of your mouth “I definitely see the resemblance.”

Once she’s gone, you sit back at the desk and resume going through the files. Memorizing the locations, going through all the records of every person missing and how they could be connected.

A bit of time passes when your stomach growls, you sigh and rub your eyes as you sit back in your chair, taking a peak at the time on your phone. Damn, noon already?

You hear footsteps behind you, making your ears perk as you hone in on it. Lighter footsteps, an unprompted smile tugs at your lips as your gaze goes up to the ceiling.

“So you’re our saving grace then huh? Big city hot shot?”

You hum as she approaches, head tilting to the left as she leans back against the side of the desk, arms crossed yet again. At least this time her expression seems to be a bit more open, curious if anything.

“It’s always a team effort” you say as you stretch your arms over your head, back popping and making you hum in approval.

She looks at you incredulously, “you, a Detective who’s investigating a multiple missing persons case, aren’t a lone wolf?”

You scoff, not bothering to correct her as your arm drapes over the back of the chair and the other resting on top of the desk, angling your body towards her.

“How stereotypical of you.”

“Me? Please, I’m sure you’re already picking me apart with your own assumptions” she says as she pushes herself off the desk, casually making her way around the front of it.

Again you turn and face forward once more, arms crossing, “unfortunately for you, that’s my job” you say easily, but the look she gives you makes something in you stir.

She lays her palms flat on the desk in front of you, looking down at you with those piercing eyes that seem to read through your carefully constructed exterior.

“Why is it unfortunate?” she questions, head tilting slightly.

You purse your lips, eyes trailing down her arms and back up to her face, “what’s your name.”

The corners of her mouth quirk, but she doesn’t answer. Instead she wraps her knuckles to the top of the desk and then pushes away from it once more, pointing a finger at you.

“My sister is right, you should get lost. Haven’t you heard? The Boogeyman is on the loose” she makes a point of dramatically making jazz hands, turning away from you and heads for the front door.

“Another cliché, telling me to go knowing I won’t” you call after her, and again she says nothing.

But she does offer one last glance at you over her shoulder, a half smile displayed across her face before she slips out the door.

You find yourself staring at the now closed door, a sliver of curiosity picks at the back of your brain but you ignore it.

Just as you look back down at the files, the door opens again, only this time when you look up your expression instantly shifts to something serious.

A man, if his badge and stature didn’t tell me enough of who he is, walks in followed by two deputies that hurry past and further into the station.

“You must be the Detective” the man says, reaching up to take the hat off the top of his head, offering a nod to you, “I’m Sheriff Riley.”

You stand, flattening down your shirt and walking over to him, “pleasure” you return the nod and accept a quick but firm handshake from him “and I’m a Private Investigator, sir, not a Detective.”

He makes a face, “it’s the same thing” he says with a tilt of his head side to side, “I’m gonna assume you’ve brushed up on the files I left you, let me show you what we’ve got so far on the guy we believe responsible.”

As he gestures for you to follow him in the direction all his officers had gone to, you can’t help but mutter “it’s not the same thing.”

previous, next

[dontsh0vethesun]

gluttonous craving

part two of three | series masterlist

emily prentiss x reader

18+: referenced abuse and alcohol, brief sexual harassment, murder, restraints, blood, knives and stabbing, violence, smut; dom!emily, dark vibes, handcuffs, blood kink, knife kink, public sex, sex at a crime scene, degradation, gun kink, arousal brought on by violence??, choking, fingering, oral

wc: 3.1k

You’re always prepared, organised, detail-oriented. That’s what makes you so good at your job. If there’s one thing you’ve learned working within the Behavioural Analysis Unit, it’s that traits like these, no matter how good, can be used for evil. Smarts can work to your advantage and yours alone if you so choose. 

Being observant enough to recognise potential victims within the area is useful, especially in your case. Earlier in the day during even more interviews, you’d spotted someone, a nightly visitor of Owen’s bar just a few blocks from the police station. A forty-something-year-old male with an equally vile past as those who came before him.

You slowed your run to what seemed, to an outsider, to be a tired-out walk, lingering for just as long as you’d predicted until stumbling feet scuffed against the loose debris of the ground outside the bar. His eyes caught your own before you continued onwards, he took that as an invitation to follow you. 

It was almost laughable how predictable they all were, even without your astute skill for observation it’d be hard not to follow their routines. You knew what time he got to that bar, you knew how long ago he’d ordered the cheapest draft beer and taken a sip, and you knew how long he’d stewed in the back corner of the establishment before coming outside for a cigarette. It was like clockwork, the metallic flick of his lighter as it burnt the tobacco, the rough stepping of his feet when he caught your eye. 

All it took was an eye for detail. Of course, FBI-issued access to the locals of the area and their backgrounds was a huge help but you can’t help but feel a little smug at your so far faultless execution. You almost smile to yourself at the thought, slowing your pace to lean your back against the thick trunk of a tree, leaning your bag beside you before undoing the zipper to pull gloves onto your hands.

You pondered back on the past couple of days as you waited. 

You knew it wouldn’t be difficult to find another to fit the victimology, the world isn’t starved of abusive parents after all. And in a town as small as this, narrowing down the pool wasn’t much of a feat. He almost fell into your lap, just sitting there waiting for you to pounce; father to a son, a history of drinking, and an all too eager fist to match. 

Once the team had determined his son to be clear of guilt - across the country for a fresh start - you figured he was apt bait. You’d flicked through files printed with his information, reports of domestic abuse, prior arrests for assault, a son who left home at sixteen. He fit the age range of victims so far and it just so happened that the barkeep knew him by name. It wasn’t hard to pull the rest of your plan together. You’re not a beginner anymore. 

You feigned obliviousness at the sound of twigs crunching beneath a worn-out leather boot and acted as though you were worn out and breathy from running, unaware of the freshly finished cigarette butt being flicked to the ground as he approached. 

“Hey, sweetheart,” he slurred, stepping closer to you, so much so that you could smell the sourness of his breath. “What? You playin’ hard to get?” he added with a huff of a laugh, an obvious agitation at the way you looked at him blankly. 

Unluckily for him, he hadn’t noticed the rock balanced in your hand, you wrapped your gloved fingers around it tighter as he approached. You weren’t going to let his hand come into contact with your body so you beat him to it, succeeding in the dull thump of his skull beneath the force before his body crumpled to the ground beneath you.

You stepped over where he lay to toss the bloodied rock into the nearby river, watching as its current carried it away. 

His wrists were soon bound together by the rope you’d stored in your bag, knotted tightly and with precision, a neatness matching those you’d studied with your teammates. All of your knowledge let you know that he’d only be out for a few minutes so you watched him take his shallow breaths just waiting for his eyes to blink open. 

The sight of the glint of moonlight against the shining blade of a knife made your heart beat rapidly in your chest. It was the same type of weapon you’d used multiple times before, having acquired more than enough duplicates without a trace specifically for your current project. You’d planned it all out methodically. A means of destroying evidence, measures put in place to leave no trace of yourself behind, items procured with zero paper trail as though you were an expert in getting away with murder. The BAU has taught you quite a bit. 

You perked up at the sight of his foot twitching, easily hearing the shifting of his breath with the quietness of the secluded wooded area around you. You don’t consider this as fun, moreso something that must be done. It’s that itch you can’t live without scratching and it built itself up within you until you let it take hold, giving in one night after a haphazard plan. You almost consider yourself as something of a vigilante, taking out those that have caused pain. A pain you know well. So, though you wouldn’t label it a hobby, you might have some form of enjoyment in the act. 

You tapped the side of his face to bring him to, clearly annoying him with the harshness of the last slap if the grumble he let out was anything to go by. 

“Oh my God, hurry up,” you mumbled through your teeth, smiling slightly when his eyes locked onto yours. “There we go,”

You didn’t have all night. This was just a means to an end, nothing to take your time over, just a job to complete. You got to work, unable to savour the moment unlike the others, this time you had a kind of time limit; to be back at the hotel and in your bed for a sound night's sleep, showered clean and free of any remnants of the night. 

Almost like a choreographed piece of art, he took each blow you threw his way, copying your previous routines as you feel as though you must. The bone of his cheek cracked beneath the knuckles you punched it with, easily knocking his nose askew with blood already beginning to paint his skin. You ignored his cries of pain with a focus on your goal. 

Just like his predecessors, he thought he could somehow get the upper hand against a trained FBI agent but the hands that tried to reach for you despite their restraints were easily caught by yours and the resounding crunch of breaking fingers soon filled the space. 

The only attention you paid to his constant garbled words was a muttered sentence through gritted teeth. 

“I’m just making sure people like you can’t lay a finger on anyone ever again.”

You’re not too sure why he continued to shout out for help. You were too far away for anyone to hear. 

His plagued hands were battered and bruised, littered with cuts from swipes from your knife at each attempt he made to grab you, bones mangled beyond recognition. The rest of him didn’t differ too greatly. Your knife had left its mark, deep cuts and slashes across his torso, bright red blood spilling from deep wounds to his stomach. To his neck. His arms. Anywhere you could reach. This was the overkill that you, along with the rest of the team, had scrawled on a police station-issued whiteboard on day one. 

You could feel it within you when you were done, that your mind had quenched its craving, and you stepped back to admire your handiwork as much as you could within the darkened space. The trees hid most of the moonlight but you could still see the glistening crimson, the lifeless corpse of an abusive parent. 

You were breathless from the excursion and found it time for you to take your leave, taking your gloves off to free your untarnished hands. 

“Y/N?”

You didn’t see her watching these last few moments, she’d made sure to make her way over to you quietly. 

“Emily,” you spoke. “Emily, I-”

“Save it,” her voice was sharp as you approached each other. Observant as ever, she took note of the bag beside the tree, but she couldn’t keep her eyes off you. All the blood splattered onto your face, the painting of it against your clothes. 

She took the handcuffs attached to her belt and with each step she took forwards, you took one back until your back hit that same tree trunk. With a force that left you dizzy, she clicked them closed around your wrists, eyeing you darkly. 

“Please don’t do this, Em. Please. You don’t understand,” you pleaded with her but she only shook her head.

“See, I knew something was off. For a second - just a second - I thought it might’ve been you,” she began, keeping your body trapped. “How you left, how you said you had this craving. But fuck, I didn’t think it’d be true.”

There was something in her eyes that you couldn’t place. A desirable glint as she took in the blood of another against your skin. She licked her lips at the sight, the perfect way you looked so carnally divine. Your skin blanched with violence. 

She used one of your discarded gloves to pick the knife up from the ground, weighing it musingly in her hand whilst you just watched on in a dazed submissiveness. Ready to take whatever she gave just because it’s her. 

Your breath hitched in your throat when she used the blood-coated blade to nudge your head upward, letting her hot breath fall past her parted lips when she stroked it along the column of your throat, feeling the way you thickly swallowed. Her teeth grazed her bottom lip at the small whimper you couldn’t completely hide. 

“You like that, huh?” she laughed, taking a firm hold of your waist to pull your body closer to hers, pushing the dull edge of the blade against you harshly enough to restrict your breathing. 

She let it drop back to the ground in favour of holding onto you, crashing her lips into yours which surprised you. This definitely wasn’t the response you’d expected. You pulled at her shirt as best you could with your hands held back by the metal wrapped around them, feeling her body flush with yours while she claimed your mouth with her tongue pushing against yours. 

You could hardly breathe. Lungs deprived of the air that she had stolen with fervent kisses, heated and lustful. Dirty and unbecoming. If you were to look just past her body you’d see that lifeless mess you’d left behind and yet she consumed you anyway.

So lost in the moment, you didn’t notice the one hand that left your waist, only becoming aware of its new intentions when cold and hard metal brushed against your temple. 

“How about this, hm?” she breathed, pulling away from you with a bite to your lip that drew blood. She admired the sight. “Does my filthy little slut like this too?”

The barrel of her gun was cold against your warmed cheek, you followed its slow movements with your eyes peering down. Goosebumps littered your flesh when it made its way down, over the thin skin of your throat, your chest, and between your breasts in a way that made your nipples harden at the sensation. 

Emily only smirked at the way you shifted. She could see how you desperately wanted to hide how aroused she’d made you, how needy you become at just one look from her. One touch. 

With each centimetre she inched the gun downwards she took in the sight of red upon your clothing. She’d never thought something like this would stir her up this way, that she’d take one look and just imagine how divine you must’ve looked in action. She’d seen encounters you’d had with unsubs and shown you just how hot she found it the same night but not once had she envisioned herself wanting to fuck you senseless after finding you panting for air and covered in blood. 

But the sight was ethereal to her. 

The outfit you wore left little to the imagination, with barely anything between her and what she wanted. She assumed this was a tactical decision on your part - the less clothing there is, the less there is to get stained. It only made her want you more. 

You could feel the coolness of the steel weapon when she pushed the long side into your clothed cunt, watching it come into contact with you musingly while her other hand wrapped around your neck. She tutted at the pathetic sight of your hips twitching in an attempt to gain any semblance of friction you could. 

“I thought you would,” she rasped. “Just a dirty, needy, little thing.”

Her lips claimed yours again while you subconsciously pushed yourself onto her gun, feeling the reward within your core; the squeezing of your throat was dizzying. She let you catch your breath so she could pinch a pert nipple through your t-shirt, reveling in the small yelp at the roughness. 

You whined at the lack of contact when she holstered her gun again. 

“So fucking desperate,” she growled, pushing her hand past the waistband of your underwear with her fingertips instantly finding the soaking mess between your folds. “It’s pathetic, really.”

You moaned at the feeling of her touch gliding over your aching clit, stomach twisting with the ravenous way she touched you. She could feel how drenched you were when they pushed into you, curling sublimely while she paid attention to your bud with her thumb. 

Each thrust of her digits into you set you alight, knuckles making contact with you from the steady roughness of her pace. You don’t think you’ve ever felt such blissful pleasure, orgasm quickly approaching with your moans only quietened by the thumb she hooked over your teeth. You screw your eyes shut as your pussy clenched around her fingers and your legs began to shake with the feelings washing over you. 

“C’mon, baby. Make a mess, like the filthy girl you are.” Emily could feel her own arousal building, so turned on at just the sight and sound of you, especially when she watched you fall apart onto her hand. Your throat harbouring choked groans and your teeth digging into her thumb. 

She licked her fingers clean of every drop of you she could find, burying her hand within your hair to push you downwards. 

“Get on your knees and be a good girl,” she muttered, smirking slightly at the irony of the situation. You returned her expression, daring a quick look behind her, just for a moment. You struggled with the button of her jeans, grateful for her aid when she moved them downwards just enough to make her drenched cunt available to your wanting tongue. 

You soon dug in, obeying her instruction, flicking your tongue over her clit and humming at the sweet taste of her arousal on your lips. The bluntness of her nails scratched at your scalp with each lick of your tongue through her cunt, lapping away with your lips latching around her swollen clit. 

“Fuck, just like that, sweetheart,” she groaned out above you, pushing your face into her sex with disregard towards your need for air. She just needed to feel you, rutting her hips to chase her high, dripping down your chin much to your delight. 

You loved the taste of her, you adored how you could pull such explicit ramblings from such a woman with your tongue. She felt her orgasm approach with the swiping of your tongue within her and soon came into your mouth with a harsh tug at your hair. 

She rode herself through her coursing pleasurable sensation, fucking herself onto your face until she was through with you. It was then that she helped you stand again, tasting herself on your lips when she kissed you. 

“So, you’re not arresting me?” You questioned her once you’d both calmed your pounding heartbeats and she unclasped the cuffs from your wrists. 

“No,” she laughed. “Call me crazy but when you’re girlfriend looks hot while killing shitty men, why would you do such a thing?”

You laughed at that and leaned into her touch when she pulled a wipe from your bag to clean your face. Emily never imagined being in this position, finding your fellow FBI agent to be the latest unsub wasn’t an everyday occurrence, but knowing why you did it and feeling this way about you, her choice seemed clear. She’d always had a slight darkness within her and she supposes this is how it comes to light. 

That’s what shadows do. They hide things in the dark. 

It was a while later that you spoke again, you ruminated on the last couple of hours in a comfortable quiet as you walked hand in hand along the route you’d methodically planned. She’d handed you the spare clothes in the woods for you to change and helped you rid yourself of the blood and dirt. 

She watched in amazed silence at the pre-collected evidence you had in plastic baggies in the side pocket of the backpack. That suspect you’d all found to be a fine candidate had sipped a cup of water during his interrogation - you’d swiped his DNA. You left traces on the sleeve of the victim’s coat. 

Luckily for you, he also donned a hat. Unluckily for him, his hair was now at a soon-to-be crime scene. Emily only adored you more for your almost scary attention to detail. 

She sat on the pile of discarded junk in the isolated parking lot you’d pinpointed on a map, watching each rehearsed movement as you piled the contents of your evening into a metal bin, pulling matches and lighter fluid from your bag to watch it all disintegrate beneath the lick of a flame. It was fascinating to her to watch you in your focused element - an insight into the criminal she’d been profiling for weeks. She’d be showering with you again tonight, she’d decided. 

“So, what’s next?” she asked you when you perched beside her, both of you watching it all burn. 

[pizzaqueen]

The second part to the one where Steve tells some flirty girls Eddie’s married. It was only meant to be two parts but I decided to put an Eddie POV in! When I do part three it will go up on AO3 as one fic

This part is 1.3k and rated T

The sounds of the arcade—pings and clinks and curses—filter through to the backroom, providing the soundtrack to Eddie’s dreams. He’s asleep in his chair, the book he was reading propped open on his face, the drool escaping from his opened mouth dampening the pages.

The dream has just taken a turn for the better (Steve is smiling, wind blowing through his hair, decked out in blindingly shiny armor) when there’s the tickle of hair against his cheek and someone whispers boo. Dream-Steve is cruelly ripped away and Eddie flails awake. He grabs his book, throwing it in the opposite direction of the boo and he tips back in his chair, falling flat on his back.

Once the bleariness of sleep clears from his vision, he sees Jeff and Gareth standing over him, not even trying to hide their laughter. Assholes. Jeff reaches down a hand to help Eddie up; Eddie takes it, considers pulling Jeff down with him, but is still too groggy to do anything but let Jeff pull him to his feet.

“Hey,” Jeff says, still holding Eddie’s hand, turning it this way and that, “where’s the ring?”

Eddie blinks. “I’m wearing, like, three rings.”

“No, no, the wedding ring.”

“We hear congratulations are in order,” Gareth says, lips pursed against a smile, arms crossed over his chest.

“Congrat—“ Eddie had been so caught up in the dream he’d forgotten all about that whole thing at Family Video earlier. He rolls his eyes and retrieves his book, flipping through to find his page again. He grimaces at the damp patch in the corner, wiping it off on his jeans, then sets the book on his desk.

“C’mon, man, don’t leave us hanging.”

“Yeah, we want all the details.”

“Like, why weren’t we your groomsmen?”

“Did you elope?”

“Shut up.” Eddie rubs his eye with the heel of his hand. He’s not awake enough for these two, right now. “It was Steve.”

“Don’t tell me you decided to finally make an honest man of him,” Jeff says.

“Or was it the other way around?” Gareth adds.

“He’s not— We’re not—” An uncharacteristic flush crawls up Eddie’s neck, steals along his jaw. He doesn’t get embarrassed, not with these guys. But, between the dream, and what they just said… He folds his arms. “I meant, he’s the one who said I was married. I just played along.”

“Well, that explains everything.”

“Oh, yeah, makes perfect sense.” Jeff raises his brows. “You gonna spill or what?”

Eddie opens his mouth, then closes it. “No, actually, I’m not.” He points at Jeff and Gareth in turn. “I want to know how you two buttheads heard about it.”

“It’s all over town.” Jeff rights the chair that had been tipped over and slumps into it. He looks up at Gareth. “Right?”

“All over.”

Eddie’s eyes narrow. He’s not entirely sure he believes them, but then again— “Good news travels as fast as ever in Hawkins, huh?” He leans back on his desk, crosses his arms. Looks between Jeff and Gareth.

“It sure does.” Gareth’s lips twitch.

Jeff is suspiciously impassive.

After the silence has stretched out for what Eddie feels is a sufficient amount of time he says, “So, which of our town’s gossipmongers did you here it from?” casually inspecting his nails.

They both speak at once, saying two different names and two different places; Jeff’s head falls back with a groan and Gareth doesn’t look even a little sheepish.

“Okay, we overheard the girls you told talking about it in the diner when we had lunch.”

“It probably will be all over town pretty soon, though.” Jeff shrugs. “Those girls seemed kinda pissed.”

“Why’d you tell them you’re married?”

“Well, Steve just said it because he, I don’t know…” Eddie trails off with a shrug. “Didn’t want the competition, or something.”

Jeff’s eyes narrow. “Competition for you?”

Gareth snorts; Eddie flushes. That’s starting to get annoying. “Competition from me.”

“But you don’t…” Gareth looks from Jeff to Eddie. He spreads his hands. “Ladies.”

“I don’t ladies?”

“You know what I mean.” They’ve never actually spoken about this. Well, no, there was one night when they got drunk enough for Eddie to spill his guts about how pretty Steve is and the crush he’s had on Kirk Hammett for years, but not drunk enough he doesn’t remember. But Eddie’s never actually told them told them. He’s never told anyone in so many words. And they haven’t spoken about that night since so he wondered if they didn’t remember.

“Yeah, well, Steve doesn’t.”

“Oh.” Gareth clears his throat. “Anyway, it sounds like more of a you thing to say,” he mutters.

“Guess he’s rubbing off on Harrington,” Jeff says.

“In his dreams.”

Eddie sighs.

“The wet ones,” Gareth adds.

“Yeah, we got that.” Jeff shakes his head.

“Real mature,” Eddie says, but he can’t deny the relief that floods through him. If they’re joking about this, teasing him, then they’re cool with it. But he figures he’ll keep the fact that his dreams about Steve are way more embarrassingly chaste—and dramatically romantic—than dirty most of the time to himself. His subconscious is a bastard.

“You know,” Jeff says, “I have a theory,” not letting Eddie ask what theory before he adds, “I don’t think it was the ladies Harrington wanted to himself.”

“What? Who else…” A few things fall into place, mostly the way Jeff’s looking at him, like he thinks Eddie already knows the answer. “No. No way.” Eddie waves his hands. “Steve isn’t…” It seems clear they all know that Eddie is by now. But Steve… No. “Look, did you guys come here to play games or are you going to“—he gestures toward the arcade—”play games?”

“Aww, we’ve made him go all shy.”

Eddie flips them the bird.

They both start chanting: “Steve and Eddie, sittin’ in a tree—”

“Out! Get out of my office!” Eddie corrals them toward the door, saying, “Don’t you children have college to attend and apprenticeships to apprentice?”

“It’s Saturday,” Jeff says.

Gareth shrugs. “Lunch break.”

But they both let Eddie steer them into the arcade, Gareth only stopping when his gaze zeroes in on one of the new machines Eddie finally convinced the owner to buy.

“You got Double Dragon and you didn’t tell me?” he says, wiggling out from Eddie’s hand on his shoulder, and making a beeline for the game.

“Yeah, because if I’d told you, you’d never leave.”

Gareth pokes his tongue out—Eddie does it back—and starts pumping quarters into the machine. Eddie’s surprised it’s free. There’s usually a whole horde of kids waiting around it.

“Hey, can we talk a moment?” Jeff says.

“Sure.”

Jeff raises his brows in the direction of the office and they head back there. “Look, I know we were being dicks, but you know that if you and Steve…” He trails off pointedly. “It’s cool. Even if you two don’t, it’s cool, either way, you know?”

“Uh, yeah, thanks, man.”

Jeff gives him a small smile. Then he says, “And I call dibs on being best man at your wedding.”

“Get out.”

“I’ve already started my speech!”

“Get out of my arcade, or I’m banning you for life.”

“No, you won’t,” Jeff says cheerfully, grabbing Gareth on his way out—“But my game!”—and a few kids who were rubbernecking whipping their heads back toward their machines when Eddie narrows his eyes in their general direction.

He sighs and goes back to his office, leaving the door open enough he’ll be able to hear any potential catastrophes, but closed enough that he can think in private.

The thing is, what Jeff said, that it might be Eddie Steve wants to keep to himself, not the ladies, has occurred to Eddie before. Mostly in moments of desperate hopefulness like when Steve looks at him a certain way or flirts back (he always flirts back) but he didn’t think that’s what was going on today. Now, though…

Shit. Was Jeff right? Eddie’s never been sure enough to push before, never been brave enough. But maybe he can push it a little further tonight.

—

Part three

NOW ON AO3!

Tagging some people who expressed interest in a second part (please let me know if you’d prefer not to be tagged again):

@drwatsonsjournal @bidisastersworld @rhaenyyras @skoomy-doompy @lonelywyoming @swimmingbirdrunningrock @duckyreads @w1770w @djosephqueery @stranger-poets-society @randomfandomcontent @thereindeerlady

[velvet-paradox]

Smooth

Pairing: Keegan P. Russ x Female reader Summary: Keegan enjoys shaving you nice and clean and taking you to pound town! Length: Medium Warnings: NSFW 18 + ONLY, explicit content, strong language, established relationship, oral (f receiving), soft dom!Keegan, shaving!kink, fingering, pussy slapping, unprotected p in v, dirty talking, pet names, new daddy!kink, praise, detailed smut. Tagging: @synnersaintaint @catswithabsoluteclownery @mykneeshurt @macravishedbymactavish @rimbut-t @notap1e

ENJOY!!!

It's hot.

Keegan is a stickler for routine, likes the discipline, the patterns, the control. He'd lose it if he didn't join the military when he did, take on more than one task a time before he picked up the next mission, the next project. He couldn't sit still for long unless he was truly into what he was doing.

And speaking of…

The project at literal hand was a delicate one.

No messing about, no distractions even though you couldn't help but move an inch higher. He'd scolded you twice now, giving you those piercing blue eyes and peeked eyebrow.

He clicked his teeth at you like a horse, raising your calf.

"Kitten please hold still, I don't want to slip."

"You think I can help it?"

"Kitten please. You're doing such a good job and we're almost done so don't you start pouting and being a bad girl now." Keegan's voice held no bite even though he was stern about it. "You want your reward don't you?"

He moved his fingers then sending a white hot jolt through up your spine.

Carefully Keegan ducked his head back down between your legs, kneeling on his cracking knees, eyes narrow and lazer focused on the task at hand which was… shaving.

Keegan was a grown ass man, he didn't shy away from knowing what he tasted like. He had you lick your own flavor off his fingers, off his cock more times than you could count. While you'd had other partners, they didn't appreciate an after kiss so when Keegan grabbed you after shooting his load all over your tongue and lips, willing licking inside your mouth as he kissed you hard and fast left you dizzy.

He didn't care about pubic in general, if he was lucky enough to get laid, who cared? He really got into that whole Vajazzling craze, rhinestones and safe glitter. Then he was on to the next and full on into waxing but there was just something so intimae about him being on his knees for you, worshipping your body, treating you with such care, he really enjoyed. Stroke after stroke, your pussy would be revealed. Soft and smooth.

You didn't mind at all, less of a chore for you anyways. Since being with Keegan you barely lifted a finger to do anything around the house, his or yours. No more twisting and squatting, no more Charlie horse cramps. No more stray hairs left behind, he bought a replica of the straight razor he used on his face. It was cleaner, faster and he knew exactly what to do with the blade.

"Fuck look at you, cutest fucking pussy." Keegan groaned, moving your skin as he slowly dragged the blade against it.

"Love it when you shave my pussy, baby. Gets me so fucking horny." You hum in return.

"Yeah? Like me revealing and exposing your pretty little cunt just for me?"

"Mmm yeah."

He tapped the little bucket with it, your short and curlies disappearing, he wiped it off cleanly. A warm washcloth came next, wiping you down. He had all of his things neatly around him, a little cup with tepid water splashed against your mound, catching little remnants.

"Turn around, kitten. We're in the home stretch now baby."

You shivered and got up from his bathroom vanity, bending over, sticking your ass out with a little sway of your hips.

"Hold yourself open for me."

Fuck. You bit your lip.

He finished shaving your pussy, the feeling of his breath on your newly bare skin, front to back as incredible. You'd never get over the feeling no matter how many times he tended to you.

Keegan waited on hand and foot for you. You'd catch yourself lost on it, how a hard man like Keegan P. Russ could be soft for you, sweet on you, brought you flowers, ordered take out when your period came so you wouldn't have to be bothered to hobble and cook and fuss over the stove.

He waited until you turned off the shower before stepping back into the bathroom with a fuzzy towel. He wrapped you up, drying you off little by little until he walked you both into his bedroom.

Completely exposed and naked, you sat down on his bed, dropping the towel to your collar.

"Let me see my handiwork, princess."

Like he'd never seen your cunt before, he stood at attention at your feet as you leaned back, the soft towel slipping down your shoulders, pooling around your hands and waist. Keeping your eyes on his as they raked over your naked body you moved one leg, then the other. "Best fucking pussy. Look at that." Keegan groaned, giving in and palming at his crotch.

"You wanna' taste it now?"

Keegan tore off his ghost mask before getting rid of his shirt, the jangle of his belt sent shivers down your spine. He grabbed his thick rod of a cock in his hand, jerking himself off, teasing himself little by little, stepping closer, eyes on your cunt.

The bed creaks with his weight, fitting himself between your legs, moving down to lay on his stomach, a snipers' position as he loops his arms around your thighs. You fit the balls of your feet on the hard, trained muscles of his shoulders.

Keegan is good. Too fucking good.

His hands are large and ghost over your bare flesh, he rubs his chin along your mound, breathing you in with a groan. He spreads your labia, chuckling lowly when you grind your hips up.

"Now now kitten, no need to be hasty. You'll get your reward."

"Keegan please."

"Begging only makes it worse," Keegan cooed and gave your hip a lingering, searing hot kiss. "Be a good girl for me, okay sweetie? You can do that can't you?"

"Yes. I'll be good."

"Do you promise?" Keegan sang, dropping his voice even lower, using his sexy bedroom tone.

"Yes baby I promise, just… it feels so good when I'm all clean."

"I know kitten, I know."

Keegan licked at you, kissing your clit lightly in between hard flat presses, quick sucks and pulls on your sensitive lips. He brushed the bridge of his nose along the underside of your clit, enjoying himself as he devoured you. The sounds he was making were pornographic and lewd. He sat up just a little, angling his face just right to spit on your pussy only to indulge in slurping it right back into his mouth.

"Fuck baby that's it. I love it when you do that," you moaned and reached for his head, tugging on his hair as you arched your back.

"Makes me so fucking wet."

"Yeah? You like that?" Keegan did it again, moving his face and mouth back and forth, back and forth over your engorging bundle of nerves. You cried out and Keegan smiled against your cunt.

"Yeah!"

Keegan chuckled. "Good girl. My good girl loves to get her little pussy eaten out, huh? Yeah you do. Fuck kitten, tease my face."

Your gasp at his vulgarness made him even more eager to please you, wiggling his thick fingers along the apex of your thighs, digging into the meat of your thighs before prodding around your hole.

You grip his hair even tighter, letting him take his time with you.

Getting you wet, satisfied little laughs that left you breathless as you wiggled and arched. In between kisses he likes to look up at your through his thick lashes, watches you unravel as you try desperately to stay still.

"You're so fucking pretty, atta' girl. Should I get my tongue in there or fingers first?"

"Fingers."

"Just my fingers?" Keegan hummed. "Or you want my mouth too?"

"Both. I want both."

"So fucking smooth." Keegan kissed everywhere but your clit after that, leaving it to throb, making you clench around the two fingers he's slipped inside you, massaging your walls. Twisting and curling them to find that soft, spongy little shell that would make you scream, make you cum.

"That's so good baby, a little faster."

"Faster? Needy little kitten." Keegan chuckled lowly, dragging out his fingers, teasing your clit with a few precise circles and presses. He tapped it a few times making you squeal. Reeling back he gave your pussy a nice little islap. Bare and all those nerve endings shocking your system. Noticing how much you enjpyed that little hit he did again and again, another string of his spit slipped between your folds.

You could feel yourself leaking for him.

"Fuck yeah baby."

"A little love tap never hurt anyone. I want you to cum, I want you to cum all over my fingers and my face. You look so pretty when you're all fucked out."

"So do you." You whined as he started to finger you again. You weren't lying, for a big cold hearted handsome man of his caliber and weight, he made the best sounds. Moaning in your ear how good you were, how warm you felt, how inviting. How beautiful you look, how sweet you taste.

How good you taste together.

"Yeah? You think Daddy's pretty?"

Wait.

What?

You swallowed and licked at the drool coming out of your mouth before you sat up, eyeing his icy blues, taken aback as you'd never called him that before. You were met with a growing smirk.

"Are you going to answer me, kitten? I said; do you think Daddy's pretty?"

God the way he said it, it really made your heart race.

"Yeah," you drawled and cupped his jaw, watching how his eyes shifted and his mouth open. "I think Daddy's real pretty."

"Fuck." That seemed to do the trick because Keegan was suddenly on top of you, kissing you hard, biting into your neck as he slipped a calloused hand between you, fingering you so deep and fast it made your head spin, moaning like a real whore.

The sounds of your wetness, flooding around his thick fingers, drenching his palm as you squealed and thrashed, clawing at the sheets was out of control. Keegan groaned deeply as he watched. You could always feel his eyes on you, in the hall, in briefings, in bed.

"Christ, you are so fucking wet. Do you hear it, kitten? Do you hear yourself? You're gonna' make such a mess, gonna' have to change these sheets."

"I'm gonna' cum."

"Tell me baby, say it. I need to hear you say it."

"I… I…"

"Yes? You what, baby?"

"I'm gonna' cum. Make me cum, please. Oh Daddy, I'm gonna' cum, cum for you."

Somehow he got you even wetter, three fingers curling and getting you off until you came with a shout. Your legs trembling, shaking at Keegan's waist as you gasped and reeled from your high.

"That's my girl, takin' those fingers real deep. So fucking pretty kitten, good job. Daddy's kitten did so good, look at you." Keegan praised and kissed your chin, taking a tiny bite of your smooth flesh before slowly pulling them out of your hole, whining as you felt empty.

"Fuck Keegan."

"Ah ah ah," he slapped your tender pussy twice making you jolt and squirm. "Get it right or you get nothing else. I could make you watch me jack off instead. Maybe I'll jerk off in front of your pretty little face, shoot my load all over it."

"No! I want you to fuck me. Please Daddy, I'm sorry. I won't call you Keegan again. Please."

He hummed and smeared your arousal all over you mound, splitting his first two digits into a V shape, rubbing around, up and down your clit. "You just want to cum again."

"Yes I do but… I want you to fuck me, I want you inside me," you huffed and grabbed at his shoulder, pawing at his trained muscles.

"Don't you wanna' fuck me Daddy? Fuck your kitten's pussy wide open. Make me gape."

"Fuck, you say the nicest shit baby. I supposed if you put it that way," Keegan agreed and gave your hip a little pinch. "Get on your knees and hold on to that headboard."

….

Your man is nasty. He has a thing about spit and cum, the only two fluids he's at all interested in. He spreads your cheeks and the spit that hits your asshole is hot, and he's hot and your hanging your head and growling behind you teeth. He fucks you hard, reaching around your hip he finds and holds on to your pussy, fitting his fingers to spread your lips open, caging in his thrusting cock.

"Feel that kitten? Daddy's thick cock is splitting you in half. You are so amazing, look at you taking my cock like this. Good job baby, good fucking job."

"Oh Daddy, you feel so good." You keened as the headboard continued its' rhythm of banging into the wall behind it. Good thing you were at his place, your neighbors would be knocking your door down or calling the police. Which has happened. Just the once.

"Oh I know kitten, feels so good for me too. Best fucking pussy."

Keegan smacked your ass and then he was hunching over you, his sweaty chest sticking to your back, not even slowing down.

Then his hand was on the back of your neck, pushing your head into the bed.

"Good job kitten, you're gonna' take all of it, ya' hear me? What a good girl you are taking Daddy's cock, what a good little slut for me."

Keegan moaned your name, pressing his mouth to your ear as he kept up the pace.

Words you lost on you the longer he fucked you, a new flood of wetness rushed through your core, milking him, sucking him back in over and over until all you could was shout into the sheets.

"What's that, kitten? Daddy can't hear you." His bicep came up and around your chin, in a chokehold as you panted and cooed and drooled.

"I want you to cum inside me," you sobbed, feeling his muscles shift under your jaw. "I wanna' feel you, feel you fill me up. Please fill me up, Daddy. Fill up your kitten."

Keegan chuckled lowly, almost menacing in your ear, sticky like honey and just as sweet. "You want it? You want Daddy's thick cum? Yeah you do and you're gonna' fuckin' get it."

[fortheloveofwonderland]

Rusty | Chapter 10 | S.R

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Chapter Summary - Luke has a heart to heart with Emily. Spencer takes you on a little trip where you both come to an understanding before he takes a serious step on the road to his recovery.

Pairing - Spencer Reid / Fem! Reader

Category - strangers to friends to lovers | angst | smut minors DNI

Warnings - mentions of sexual assault and use the term “rape”, tears, dissociation, blood, self harm, making out, swearing, detailed therapy, medication. WC - 6.6k

Chapter 10 - Back in the Saddle Again

“Tell me everything you know.” Luke spoke in hushed tones into his cell phone as he hid over the back of the San Antonio Police Department.

Over the swell of people coming and going, phones ringing off their hooks and keyboards clacking, he heard Phil sigh.

“I don’t really know much at all, Alvez.” Phil’s tone was laced with his frustration. “She stole a car in New York after her escape, it was found abandoned down your neck of the woods, just outside of Richmond. But from there…man I don’t know. I can only assume she must have gotten her hands on another vehicle but there weren’t any reported stolen within a fifty mile radius. 

“If she’s smart she would have headed for Mexico. But if she did that’ll make finding her that much harder. We know she had money after her first escape, we found the empty safe at mom’s house. She must have known I was close when I apprehended her and stashed it somewhere, so we have to assume she has it again. There have been no sightings of her for the last few days and you know as well as I do that without sightings, there’s nothing I can do.” 

“I wish I could help.” Luke pushed the fingers of his free hand against his temple. “But with the whole network thing we’re swamped. Not to mention we’re short on the ground. I want to be kept in the loop though. If you hear anything…”

“Of course, of course.” Phil agreed. “Knowing how she operates she’s probably worked her magic on some poor, unexpected sap who’s taken pity on her. Her face is plastered everywhere up and down the country. Someone has to recognise her.” 

“If she’s in some small Mexican town, hell if she’s in some small American town, those kinds of things don’t reach everyone.” Luke continued kneading his temple aggressively. “I hate this, I hate feeling so powerless.” 

“We’ll get her Alvez. It might not be today or tomorrow, hell it might not even be this year. But we will get her.” Phil sounded determined and it was one of the things Luke admired most about his old partner.

Even after all he’d been through with Daniel Cullen, even after his rehabilitation had almost destroyed his spirit entirely, he was one determined son of a bitch. 

“Keep me posted.” Luke replied before hanging up the phone.

He turned away from the corner wall he’d been staring at, ready to rejoin the team but a set of hauntingly intense dark eyes full of irritation were staring back at him.

She had her arms folded over her chest, her greying hair tied back into a ponytail which made her features appear more stern.

“So it’s true, you are working your own cases?” Emily clucked, tilting her head at him.

“Does Garcia ever keep her mouth shut?” Luke scoffed. “It’s just an old case from back in my FTF days, I’m sorry.” 

Emily softened slightly, dropping her arms to her sides with a huffed out breath. She quipped her head to the left.

“Walk with me.” She said before she was already leaving.

Luke quickly followed, falling into step with her. He walked with her until they reached the doors of the precinct. She shoved it open and the two stepped outside into the blistering, humid Texan heat. 

She stopped on the pavement a few feet away from the door and once again folded her arms across her chest. 

“Is this affecting your ability to be an effective member of this team?” She asked him outright.

“No.” He shook his head, jaw set. “Just some unfinished business is all.” 

“She got under your skin?” She narrowed her eyes on him, profiling him. 

“They all do.” Luke’s jaw tensed. “But yeah, I supposed she did more than most. She had everyone falling at her feet, treating her with kid gloves. Everyone seemed to forget the fact she murdered a guy. We got close to her, I’m sure we did, right before I got the call from Hotch to help out the BAU. 

“We got a tip that she’d been seen in this tiny little town of Magnolia Springs, Alabama. A guy reported he’d seen a person matching her description coming and going from his neighbours house. Someone musta tipped her off because when we arrived she was gone and the woman whose house she was supposedly staying in wasn’t talking. 

“I felt her, Emily, she was close, so close. But she slipped out of my reach. And then I joined the BAU and I wasn’t able to be there when Phil finally caught up to her. I wanted to be the one to arrest her, I don’t know why. She got to me and I have no idea why, but the thought of her escaping again is eating me up inside. And now we’re here, in Texas of all places and I…I just…” He trailed off, a lump forming in his throat. 

He coughed to try and dislodge it, rubbed his hand up and down his neck. Emily once again let her arms fall from their folded position and her shoulders slumped a little. 

“We’re right on his doorstep. Practically in his backyard.” She smiled despondently. 

She didn’t need to say his name, saying his name in fact might make matters worse. But she knew Luke understood who she meant. In truth, as soon as she’d gotten the call to come out here she had thought of Spencer. And if she was thinking about him, Luke most definitely was. 

“Yeah,” he croaked. “I wish it wasn’t still this…hard, you know? Two years and I still feel like it was yesterday you were telling us he left.” 

“You never got closure.” Emily shrugged, sucking in a breath. “It’s hard to move on without it. It's like a book with its end pages missing. You just keep flicking through it and hoping they will appear. There was no end for you and him, not a fleshed out one anyway. One day it was and the next it simply wasn’t.” 

“I know the rest of the team didn’t see his medical reports from Milburn but as Unit Chief, I imagine you had to?” He straightened his back. 

They’d never talked about it, there was no reason to. It wouldn’t have undone what Spencer had to endure and so they just didn’t talk about it. Maybe it was to protect Spencer’s autonomy, or maybe it was to protect themselves from it. 

Emily closed her eyes for a few seconds and nodded her head stiffly.

“Yeah, I had to read them. Unfortunately it’s part of the job. Why did you read them?” 

“He wouldn’t talk to me.” Luke shook his head. “He wouldn’t talk to me and I knew I was missing something. I had to know. Although I wish I didn’t.” 

“Palatal petechiae, indicative of forced oral sex.” Emily’s eyes welled with unshed tears as she said it out loud. “It’s a form of rape.”

Luke visibly crumbled as she spoke the word, the one word he’d tried to keep out of his head for all these years. 

But that’s what it was. Spencer had been raped, probably repeatedly. And Luke had turned his back on him. 

He slumped against the wall to keep himself balanced, the weight of Emily’s words crashing into him and forcing all the air from his lungs. 

His head was pounding. He felt his stomach turn violently. 

“I broke up with him. He was struggling through an immense amount of trauma, a trauma I knew he suffered and I still broke up with him. What kind of a person does that?” His voice cracked. 

“He didn’t want your help, Luke. He didn’t want anyone’s help. You know Reid as well as I do, probably better, and you know he was never going to admit what happened to him. He’s too proud. He’s a protector, he’s spent his entire adult life in that role. He speaks for the people who can’t speak for themselves. But when something like that happens to him, he feels he has no one to speak for him.” 

“I would have.” Luke swallowed. “I would have done anything for him.” 

“I’m sure deep down he knows that.” Emily took a step closer and gripped Luke’s shoulder tightly. He needed grounding. “But he is one of the most stubborn people I have ever met and if he thinks he can get through this on his own, that’s what he’ll do. We need to let him figure this out however he sees fit.” 

“I thought he’d come back.” A tear escaped his eye and he was quick to bat it away. “I thought he’d take some time but that he’d come back. I deluded myself into thinking that one day he’d just show up and we could pick up where we left off. I still love him, Em. I still love him with every goddamn beat of my heart.”

Emily’s fingers coiled into his shoulder blade, kneading his tense muscle in her hand. 

“We’re really short on the ground and this case is a matter of urgency.” She spoke but Luke’s eyebrows pinched together in confusion. “But once we’re wrapped up here, whenever that might be, I think you owe yourself a vacation day. Bandera is only forty something miles from here. And I hear it’s lovely this time of year.” 

Luke’s lip quivered in understanding and he melted into her touch.

“You’re sure?” 

“I mean you’ll have to clear it with Rossi as he’s your Unit Chief but I can’t foresee it being an issue. And if I remember rightly, it’s Reid’s birthday soon, Garcia is already working on overnighting a bunch of gifts out here. It would be good if someone could give them to him.” She smiled sadly, letting go of his shoulder and taking a step backwards. 

Luke closed his eyes briefly to stem any more tears, nodding his head in thanks at his old boss and feeling a swell of emotion in that moment. 

Emily was surprised to say the least when Luke suddenly engulfed her in a tight embrace. Her arms hovered at her sides for a few seconds, while she comprehended what was happening. 

In all the years she’d know Luke Alvez, she didn’t think he’d ever hugged her before. 

When he started shaking against her, sobbing into her shoulder, she wrapped him in her arms, and held him. 

She gave him a few minutes, allowed him a brief window in which he could let himself feel the weight of everything he’d been bottling up for two years. 

Emily Prentiss was the FBI Section Chief, but that was the secondary facet of her personality. Above all else, Emily was a friend. And a damn good one at that. 

***

You heard him coming before you saw him, noting his gait was faster than you’d grown accustomed to. He didn’t sound as though he was limping too much this morning, at least he was starting to heal.

You had your back to him and kept it that way, hoping if you didn’t engage him he may well leave you alone. 

But you had no such luck.

“What the hell are you doing?” The irritation in his voice was ripe. 

You swallowed thickly before tugging lightly on Rusty’s rein to turn her about to face him. You commanded the flaxen mare to trot closer to where Spencer stood glaring at you on the other side of the enclosure. 

“I mean, I think it’s pretty clear what I’m doing.” You huffed as you got closer. “I'm riding my horse.” 

“You’ve had two lessons. Do you know how dangerous it is to ride without supervision?” He spat, unlocking the gate and stepping inside the fenced area. “Get down.” 

“No.” You scoffed. “I’m fine. You said it yourself, I’m a natural.” 

“For the love of god, you are going to be the death of me.” He shook his head, rubbing his brow beneath his stetson. 

“I’ll feed you to Rusty when that happens.” You smirked sarcastically. 

“We need to talk.” He exhaled, not at all sounding like that was something he wanted to do.

“I’m good.” You shook your head. 

“It wasn’t a question. We need to talk.” He glanced around the area and only really registered for the first time all four of the horses were grazing in the field. “Why are my horses out here?”

“So I could clean the stable.” You shrugged, patting Rusty’s neck. “I refilled their troughs, got them fresh water. Even cleaned out the cattle barn.” 

Spencer’s brows pinched as he looked up at you. 

“It’s eight am, how long have you been up?” 

“Never went to sleep.” You shrugged again. 

The look you gave him told him it was his fault you hadn’t slept. In truth he hadn’t either. 

He came around from his dissociation still on his bathroom floor as though he hadn’t moved but clearly at some point he must have because he had the razor in his hands. 

He was bleeding from a self-inflicted wound on his stomach, just left of his belly button. Once again he’d patched himself up with the use of butterfly stitches and stuck a large gauze pad over the wound.

After that he couldn’t sleep, just sat up staring at the wall thinking about where his life went so drastically wrong. 

Three times now he’d dissociated in startlingly quick succession. Three times he’d come to with unintentional cuts on his body. He was starting to scare himself if truth be told. Perhaps he needed to consider seeking out his old therapist and getting a higher dosage of his medication.

“Can we…take a ride or something?” He spoke again, voice cracking. 

“Should you be riding?” You frowned at him. 

“My leg is feeling something akin to normal again. It's the least pain I’ve been in anyway. The doctor told me I could ride again when I felt ready. And there’s somewhere I’d like to show you.” 

“Fine,” you huffed out a breath so he knew you weren’t thrilled by the idea. 

“Super, just let me grab Willow’s saddle. Oh, could you maybe help get Frank and Wilbur back to the stable?” He asked with a cocked eyebrow.

“You’re taking Willow?” Your brows furrowed.

“Yeah?” He returned your expression.

“And I’m taking Rusty.” 

“Again, yeah?” 

“Have you forgotten that they hate each other?” You glared at him.

“It’s a long trek to where I want to take you and Willow is the only one strong enough and determined enough to make it there and back. Frank or Wilbur would not be able to handle it.” He shrugged.

“Can Rusty handle it?” You looked down at the mare between your legs who was eyeing Spencer warily. 

“Guess there’s only one way to find out.” He chuckled, but there was a nervousness to his tone.

Soon though he was meandering over towards Wilbur, ready to take him back down to the stable. And without another word you turned Rusty around again and went about helping him.

***

Medina Lake wasn’t just a trek away as Spencer had put it. It was located nearly twenty miles south of Bandera, on the other side of Lakehills. It was a crescent shaped reservoir on the Medina River, eighteen miles wide at its broadest point and contained by the Medina Dam at the lakes south end. 

Spencer told you all about it as you rode together, giving Willow and Rusty enough space so as they wouldn’t cause another incident like the one that had broken Spencer’s arm. 

Apparently at the time of its construction, it was the largest concrete dam in the country, and fourth largest in the world. He told you that the dam was listed on the National Register of Historic Places. 

As you barely spoke in reply, Spencer continued. He went on to tell you that Medina Lake had been stocked with species of fish intended to improve the reservoir for recreational fishing. He listed largemouth bass, white bass, hybrid striped bass, catfish and carp among the species found in the lake.

But he didn’t stop there. 

He continued to fill the dead air between you by telling you about the state of the lake. According to Spencer as part of the 2010 to 2013 Southern United States drought, the lake water levels dropped below five percent capacity. As a result he told you many cracks, oil drums and a Jeep are visible due to the low water level. 

He continued with telling you that thanks to some showers in the summer of 2013 the lake levels had risen to five point two percent. But many businesses had been closed, many residents left and Lakehills had been somewhat of a ghost town ever since. 

He still carried on, despite your obvious lack of interest. Going on to tell you with an almost excited flurry, that due to heavy rainfall in the region, as of May 2015 the levels rose to forty six percent. And again due to more heavy rain, by May 2016 the lake was at one hundred percent capacity. He went to continue but by this point you held up a silencing hand. 

“I can’t, Spencer. Please? Please just stop talking for five minutes?” 

He’d huffed but yet he didn’t speak again for the rest of the journey. 

He took you all the way down to Bandera County Medina Lake Park. He paid the twenty dollar fee for you both to enter. He led you and Rusty down to a quiet alcove away from the flood of tourists. 

He found some hitching posts where you tied up your steeds, keeping enough distance between them so they couldn’t bother one another. 

Spencer couldn’t deny that his thigh was causing him aggravation by this point and his knee ached dully. You could tell by the grimace on his face that he was struggling but didn’t say anything. 

As much as you hated to admit it, the place was stunning. It combined the natural beauty of the Texas Hill Country with a picturesque watery wonderland. People in the distance were on the lake swimming, riding jet-skis and other boats. Some people on land had BBQ’s, picnics and the like. 

Spencer led you down towards the lakes edge, still ensuring to have a clear view of your two mares at the top of the bank. He found a secluded spot, away from other lake goers so the two of you could be alone. 

You took a seat on the ground, stretching your legs out in front of you and groaning a little at the chafing in your thighs from the long ride. The water was clear and the sun above caused it to sparkle. In this heat it looked positively intoxicating. 

Spencer removed his denim shirt, his black t-shirt underneath marked with sweat stains under the pits and around the collar. He lowered his stetson over his eyes to keep the sun out of them. 

Neither of you spoke for some time. Far off you could hear the sounds of other people splashing in the lake, laughing and having fun. Behind you could make out Rusty snuffling around in the grass. 

If you focused in front of you, you could easily believe that you and Spencer were the only two people in the world. Perhaps that was why he brought you here in the first place. 

After long stretches of uncomfortable silence, Spencer huffed from beside you and forced himself to speak. 

“We need to talk about last night.” He saw your back straighten at his words but you didn’t even so much as look at him. “I promise you, it had nothing to do with you. I don’t even have the words to describe what it was like for me getting to be with you like that, getting to make you feel like that. But, uh, after I…completed, my thoughts went into overdrive and I panicked. 

“I don’t know how to explain it other than that I’m not well. Mentally I am extremely sick. I told you last night that I need to test my boundaries, and I guess I pushed them a little farther than I was ready for. I really am sorry, Y/N. The last thing I ever wanted was to hurt you.” 

The sincerity in his voice caused you to turn your head to the side and look at him. His eyes were full of uncertainty, fear and mild terror. You could see he had a heavy weight upon him and that talking about this wasn’t easy for him.

“Am I just some kind of experiment to you, Spencer? I don’t mind helping you get over whatever it is that happened to you, but if all I am to you is a test subject, please let me know before I get in over my head here.” You hated how sorry for yourself you sounded.

“You are so much more to me than that.” He frowned, shocked you would even suggest that. “But I suppose in a way, this is experimental to me. I have no idea how I’m going to react to any given situation of intimacy until I’m right in the middle of it. But please believe me when I say I would not be able to have even considered this kind of relationship with anyone else. Because of you, I’ve managed to actually maintain an erection long enough to orgasm, twice. That hasn’t happened to me in nearly four years.” His cheeks flushed in candour. 

“If it offers you any kind of comfort, last night was the first time I’ve been with a man in almost two years. And it’s the first time I have ever come by someone else's hand other than my own.” Your own cheeks reddened at your confession.

“Oh,” Spencer’s voice shot up several octaves. “Oh.” 

“To be perfectly honest with you Spencer, had the opportunity presented itself, I would have jumped you that first night we met. And I can’t pretend that I don’t want more out of this, but I am not going to push you if you’re not ready. I think if we are going to continue whatever this is, we just have to take things slowly. Like at a snail's pace.” You tucked your hair behind your ears, feeling perspiration gathering on your brow. 

“Agreed,” he nodded. “I do want to move past this. I want to be able to give you every part of myself. It's just going to take some time.” He smiled meekly. 

“I got nothing but time.” You smiled back. 

Spencer chuckled a little, shuffling closer to you in the dirt. You felt your breath hitch as he got nearer. 

“Would kissing you be entirely out of the question right now?” He rolled his lip between his teeth in his scepticism. 

“Not entirely out of the question, no.” You shook your head. 

The easiest thing to do would be to put space between you and Spencer, draw a line in the sand and remain strictly as friends. But you never did make a habit of travelling the path of least resistance. 

He leaned closer, removing his stetson and dropping it down next to him. And then his hand moved to cup your cheek, fingers brushing lightly across your skin. He pressed his lips to yours cautiously at first but within a second or two he got carried away.

His tongue brushed along your bottom lip and you opened your mouth for him to gain entrance. His hand weaved into your hair, fingers burying in your locks. You kissed him back with as much passion as he showed you. 

You brought your own hands to his face, holding him close. With his grip in your hair he tugged you a little, trying to convey that he needed you nearer. 

Keeping your lips attached you shuffled so you were straddling him, knees resting either side of his thighs. The fingers peeking out from his cast brushed along your back, under the hem of your shirt. You moved your own hands to his shoulders to keep yourself balanced. 

It wasn’t long before you lowered yourself into his lap and your hips undulated against his crotch. He moaned into your mouth and gripped your hair tighter as you felt a stirring in his pants. 

He started moving backwards, bringing you with him until you were laying on top of him. But when your full weight was flush against him, he suddenly pulled away from your lips and growled in pain. 

“What’s wrong?” You panted, sitting back a little as his face contorted. 

“Fuck,” he groaned. “I’m sorry…I did something dumb.” 

Frowning, you rolled off of him and knelt next to him while he cautiously rolled up the hem of his t-shirt to reveal the large band aid across the left side of his stomach. 

“You dissociated again?” You whimpered. 

“Yeah.” He nodded, rolling his shirt back down and sitting up. “And please don’t blame yourself. None of this is your fault.” 

“I noticed last night you had a bandage on your thigh. Was that…?”

“Self-inflicted? Yes.” He rubbed one eye. “I’ve never hurt myself like that outside of those dissociative states. My brain is extremely fucked in many, many ways but I am not suicidal or anything like that.”

“Do you ever remember anything from those states?” You found yourself asking. 

“It’s hazy.” He sighed. “And I’m not sure what’s real and what isn’t. I can recall messy pieces sometimes, but it’s not clear. It’s like I’m watching myself, like an out of body experience. I’m completely disconnected from my own mind, my own body. Its fucking terrifying. And I don’t know how to stop it.” 

“You said you’d been to therapy before?” You asked softly.

“Twice.” He nodded. “Once back in DC, and once again when I moved here. Before you say anything, I am aware I need to go back. I guess I at least get to tell her the good news that my dick seems to be working again. Now we’ve just gotta focus on stopping me from having a panic attack, crying or dissociating after I come.” 

You glared at him and the candid nature in which he spoke. His lip quirked at the corner and then surprisingly he started to laugh. You just stared at him dumbfounded.

“You’ve got to laugh, it’s so absurd.” He chuckled, probably the most you’d heard him laugh before. “I’m a fucking basket case, it’s okay to laugh. If I don’t laugh I’ll…”

“Dissociate?” You quipped back. 

“Exactly.” He laughed harder, amused tears pricking the corners of his eyes. “Oh god I’m a mess.” 

His laugh was infectious and you found yourself joining in despite yourself. It really wasn’t at all funny but sometimes you had to laugh in the face of extreme adversity or you would crumble. 

The two of you sat by the lakes edge laughing until you were crying, crying until you couldn’t breathe. It wasn’t until the laughter subsided that you realised Spencer was holding your hand. 

It grew quiet again and he simply stared at you, clutching your hand in his own. You reached forward tentatively with your other hand, waiting for his okay in the form of a nod before you touched him. 

You gently wiped his tears from his cheeks and he hummed at your feather light caress. For a few minutes you stayed like this until you were ripped apart by the sound of content neighing from behind you. 

You sprung apart as though burned and you both looked up towards your horses who had managed to manoeuvre themselves closer together. 

It was hard to say who was more surprised by the sight of Willow amicably nuzzling her face against Rusty’s.  

“Are they…?” 

“Making friends.” Spencer nodded with a smile. 

“Well I’ll be damned.” You smiled too.

“That horse of yours has some kind of magic about her.” Spencer sighed wistfully, leaning closer to you again. “Just like you.” 

And when he kissed you again, you were certain that it was him and not you who was magic. 

***

Doctor Camilla Ortega was a local therapist who specialised in anxiety, depression, trauma and PTSD. Her practice was in Pipe Creek but she had clinic hours out of the Essential Mental Wellness centre right in Bandera town once a week. 

Spencer didn’t know if he was fortunate or not that she happened to be able to fit him in the very next day. 

It had been some year and a half since he last sat in her office and was overcome with anxiety just being here. He ran his fingers over his cast, back and forth, back and forth, trying to remain tethered long enough to be able to speak.

She was probably less than ten years Spencer’s senior, with sharp green eyes and a discerning stare. She had a resting bitch face if Spencer had ever seen one, but she was surprisingly soft spoken and had a contrasting calmness about her. 

“It’s good to see you again, Spencer. Although I can only assume the reason you’ve come to see me again means that you’re not doing so well?” She narrowed her eyes on him.

“Not exactly, no.” He admitted. 

He didn’t want to open up about this but he also didn’t want to have to be visiting her every week. The quicker he got this out, the less time he might have to spend on her couch. 

“I met someone.” He blurted out, eyes trained just above her head so he didn’t have to look at her. “I met someone and she’s incredible but I can’t…I still can’t take that next step.” 

Doctor Ortega was silent for a beat or two, mulling over his words briefly. 

“Have you initiated any form of intimacy thus far?” She jumped right in. 

“I, uh, I still can’t let her touch me and we haven’t had intercourse. But we kissed and, uh, I touched her. And I have gotten…erect. Twice. And uh, I also reached completion twice.” His cheeks and neck flushed red. God how he hated talking about this. 

“Without penile stimulation?” 

His face scrunched up and he nodded reluctantly. 

“And how did you feel after?” She prodded. 

“Well, uh, the first time I ran away and locked myself in the bathroom. The second time I ran away and locked myself in the bathroom, cried and vomited and then dissociated.” He forced the words out rapidly. “Typical stuff.” 

Ortega sucked in a breath and he heard her scrawling some notes down. 

“You hadn’t had a dissociative break in a while last time I saw you, isn’t that correct?” 

“Yes. But I’ve had three as of late.” He spoke but then continued. “It’s not her fault. I just…I can’t allow myself to enjoy being aroused without hearing their voices.” 

He didn’t need to divulge anymore than that, she knew who he meant. 

“Does she know what you suffered in prison? Have you spoken to her about it?” Doctor Ortega asked gently.

“No,” He chewed on the inside of his cheek. “I can’t tell her. She wouldn’t look at me the same.”

“How do you think she would look at you if she knew?” 

Spencer’s eyes flit to the doctor, his brows pinched together tightly. 

“Like I’m broken.” He said as though it was obvious. “Like I’m dirty.” 

Doctor Ortega put her pen down and laced her fingers together, sitting further forward in her chair. 

“Spencer, that is not how other people look at you. That is how you view yourself. Unfortunately it is a common sentiment in rape survivors to feel this way, like they are of no good to anyone, unworthy of affection. I think you would be surprised how she would react if you were just honest with her.” Doctor Ortega’s eyes were piercing into him. 

“I’m not telling her and that is the end of it.” He shook his head. “I just want to know how to move past this. It’s been nearly four years and I don’t feel any closer to getting over what happened to me now than I did then.” 

“Spencer, that’s not true.” She offered him a soft smile. “Eighteen months ago when I last saw you, you couldn’t even go on a date with someone. But now you’ve not only met someone but you have opened yourself up to intimacy again, even if it isn’t going as you planned. I for one am proud of how far you’ve come, I think you should be too.” 

“Proud?” He scoffed, rolling his eyes. “I should be proud that I can’t come without being so overwhelmed with guilt that my brain has to divorce itself just to cope? I should be proud that I managed to bring her to orgasm before I had a complete mental breakdown which ended in me cutting myself? I should be goddamn proud that I can’t have sex with a wonderful, beautiful woman because I am so utterly broken that I can stop hearing the voices, seeing the faces of my rapists? Proud? Are you fucking kidding me!” He was on his feet, he didn’t remember standing up. 

The rage bubble was expanding, filling, moving higher up to his chest. His vision blurred and he wobbled on his feet. 

Here we fucking go, was his last coherent thought before the world around him became shrouded in darkness.

***

He blinked several times, sitting up with a start. His heart was racing and his breathing was heavy. He glanced around the nondescript room through hazy eyes, trying to work out where he was.

He detected movement in the corner of his vision, a body edging closer until they were right in front of him, dropping to a crouch so their eyelines could meet. Doctor Ortega smiled sadly at Spencer as she held his gaze. 

“Are you okay?” She spoke softly and then something was being placed in his hand. 

He looked down to see the plastic cup of water he now held and quickly tossed it back.

“How long was I out?” He croaked despite the hydration.

“Only about ten minutes.” She pushed herself to stand but came and sat next to him on the couch. “Do you remember anything?” 

“No.” He shook his head. 

“You wanted to hurt yourself. You asked me several times to give you something sharp.” Ortega’s voice was a little strained. Spencer shook his head. “And you were yelling that you weren’t whole.” 

“Makes sense.” He grumbled. “I found a note you had me write myself, for my guided self talk.” And then he spoke verbatim. “I was sexually assaulted, but I am not a victim. I was coerced but I am not weak. I am in control of my own body, of my own mind. I will not let them win, I will not let them ruin my life. I didn’t deserve what happened to me. I am a good person. I am a strong person. I will move past this. I won't let them break me. I am still worthy of love and affection. I am still whole. I am still whole.”

“But you don’t believe a word of it.” She stated.

“No.” He agreed. “How the fuck can I still be whole when they took such a large piece of me?” 

He looked at her pleadingly as though she had all the answers. As if there was one thing she could say which would be the key to his recovery. Of course there was no such thing and he knew that. But he needed something, anything. 

“They only took from you what you let them take. What those men did to you was traumatic but you are the one in control of your own reactions to that trauma. You have let them take up this space in your brain for the last four years and every time you let them win, they grow and grow. The only way you are ever going to get over what happened to you is by persevering and I know that’s not the answer you’re looking for, but it's the truth. 

“I know you don’t see it but you have taken huge strides since the last time I saw you. You may keep experiencing this guilt during intimate moments but it will not last forever. I think you need to continue doing what you’re doing, putting yourself in scary situations and seeing how you react to them. Next time your experience will probably be much the same, and no doubt the time after that too. 

“But eventually, and I can promise you this, eventually you will be able to push yourself further without repercussions. You will find one day you are able to give yourself over completely to this woman and what happened to you will be the furthest thing from your mind. The reason you are still struggling so much after all this time is because you couldn’t put yourself back out there. And although this seems terrifying, I can assure it is the first step towards healing. And I’m proud of you whether you like it or not.” 

Spencer was crying by the time she finished speaking and he was nodding his head slowly in understanding. Perhaps she was right, perhaps now he was allowing himself to get close to someone he would eventually be able to move past this. 

It might get a hell of a lot harder before it gets any better, but if he didn’t keep pushing through he would be at square one forever. Like anything in life worth having, it was going to be difficult, but for the first time he believed it might actually be possible. 

“Th-thank you.” He sniffed, wiping his nose on his sleeve. “I think I needed to hear that.” 

“I do believe you can get better, Spencer and I don’t think you need my help to do that. I’ve given you all the tools, you have to be willing to put in the work now.” She pushed herself up and made her way across to her desk. “That being said, I would like to up your dosage of paroxetine just a little. And I want you to make a concerted effort to remember your grounding exercises when you feel a dissociative episode coming on.” 

“I’ll try.” He nodded in agreement. 

A few minutes later he was leaving with a new prescription, sore eyes and a new perspective on his situation. 

He found you in the driver’s seat of your car, thumbing through a book he recognised from his own collection. You closed it when the door opened and smiled softly at him. 

“How did it go?” You asked as he slid into the passenger’s seat. 

Spencer didn’t reply. He was too exhausted to speak. Instead he leaned across the central console and smashed his lips against yours. You gasped in surprise and he edged his tongue into your mouth. 

The kiss only lasted a minute or so but it was more charged than any kiss you’d ever shared before. When he pulled back, you were looking at him in shock.

“Not that I’m complaining, but what was that for?” You chuckled a little. 

“A thank you, I guess.” He shrugged. “It might not seem like it but I am making progress. And I couldn’t have done it without you.” 

Your eyes welled at his sentiment and without thinking about it you reached over and grabbed his hand, giving it a firm squeeze.

And it wasn’t lost on either of you that for the first time, he didn’t flinch at your unexpected touch. 

@kalulakunundrum @voledart @katrina0-0 @bakugouswh0r3 @prettyboyandthefangirl @zooni92802 @marvellover1819 @babyspiderling

[softlymaximoff]

Own My Mind

18+ ONLY! MEN & MINORS DNI (blank blogs will be blocked you do not have my permission to republish my work onto any platform.

A/N: listen to the song, lyrics are in italics

Summary: Wanda is one of the many supernatural beings hiding out in the outskirts of town. Ranking her position as a female priest in the community church, she gets a surprise visit from an enemy who slowly becomes her new favourite religion.

Characters: Dark!Priest!Wanda, Gn!Reader

Warnings: religion talk both good and bad (?), mentions of death, magic play, mind control, mind manipulation, semi-dubcon (if you squint), dumbification, branding, fingering (r receiving), choking.

Word Count: 1.5k

You had never really considered yourself to be a religious person. You father always telling you that the only religion you’ll be practicing is hunting down those supernatural beings. For years you had been praised for your captures and relied solely on his constant affirmations. There wasn’t ever a time where you thought you would become the captured. The hunter became the hunted.

It was the particularly odd shaped cathedral-like shelter, a little off the grid from everyone else that reeled your curiosities in. At first you thought nothing but an abandoned church, you know the usual old stained glass panels, a few of them cracked from the soft kisses of the unforgiving weather. Marble floors that had a pearl shimmer all throughout and last but most certainly not least, a single candle lit up at the altar.

“You shouldn’t be snooping, hunter” the voice was cold, shallow and grey. “No, I'm not even superstitious, but I'm feeling you're something vicious” you replied in a similar tone and chills littered your skin. “What’s a hunter doing in an outcast zone” a brunette came out into the light and the first thing that caught your eye was the small cross dangling from her neck. Something not uncommon to the supernatural. A yearning for sense of normalcy fell upon most of these beings and who were you to judge honestly. Feeling a little cocky you decide to stalk her further into her little hiding spot and mumble out a snarky remark. “Well, I don't know your secrets, I'm no visionary, I don't know your story, but I like what I see”

“Oh you’re quite the talker? Say have you ever been on your knees for the lord above?” Her green eyes glimmered in the fractured light and your breath hitched. “I’m a hunter for things like you. I don’t believe in religion. Things like you shouldn’t exist” you mumbled and stepped back as she finally came out in a strip of pink and red stained light. “Oh but we do. We have been for years. On the contrary, things like you shouldn’t exist. What kind of human finds the desire to hunt another living being. That surely isn’t a being of our father” she eyed you predatorily and you stumbled back.

“Come here Sundays and you’ll see just what you’re missing out on. That truly is Gods creation. Meet me by Lucifer’s statue at the back of the cathedral, Sunday at 9” she finished off and exited the room, her eyes casting you one last red-hued glance.

That was seven months ago.

By now you had been coming every week to entertain this community and things had been tense in the beginning. Three weeks after joining community hall, your father had gone missing and not once had the woman -you now knew as Wanda- mentioned your father. It shouldn’t have raised concerns as the two of you never really spoke about family until she had mentioned a specific detail that made you freeze.

“You what?!” You whisper yelled as she shushed you with a hand over your mouth. “Shut the fuck up and don’t act all surprised” she growled and pulled you out of the busy community hall. “Wanda you can’t just tell me this and expect me to be okay with it!” You ripped yourself away from her hold and pushed against her chest. Her eyes narrowed and turned their deep red as you fought against her. “Calm down. Let me explain” she threatened and your mind loosened it’s grip on reality a little bit.

This was another thing she had slowly begun doing as you hung out more with these communities. Every now than again she would turn your mind just that little more dumb and you couldn’t help but submit under those velvet orbs. “Y/n, Y/n, Y/n, you might be the answer to the sinner in me” she traced a delicate finger along your arm and you shuddered. “Your father was getting awfully close to figuring us out. The supernatural doesn’t have to be feared. Our father above loves us for who we are, not for what we aren’t” she stilled her voice her eyes turned a darker red.

“Wha- Wanda no. That’s not how life works you can’t- you can’t just kill someone because you don’t like them!” you replied incredulously and she brought her hands up to your neck, resting one along your jaw and one behind your head. “Oh but we can. You see, in our world, it’s survival of the fittest my angel. You father just wasn’t fit enough” she shrugged innocently and tangled her fingers in your hair, leaning down to plant a chaste kiss on your neck.

With her magic slowly seeping into your mind, your knees buckled against hers and she kept you up with the hand around your neck. “So easy to tease. Little toy has such a sinners tongue. Tell me what you've been missing darling” she sucked her mark below your jaw and you whined throwing your head back for easier access. “You, always you” You whimpered when you felt her magic toying with your clit. “Do I own your mind Y/n” she pushed further and your mind was quite possibly going blank.

“Own my mind, yes, always please, Wanda” you were helpless as she continued her ministrations and you were so far in a haze that you didn’t realise her hands were burning a brand onto your hip. “Beautiful toy. All mine. My mind, my body, my pussy. All mine” she pulled back and admired the little crown symbol she seared into your skin and it was only when she ran her thumb over it you realised her work.

That was the first time she has ever mentioned you being hers. You had just found out about your father’s miseries and here the killer was making you completely submit to her. With a burst of confidence and slight anger towards the woman, you shook your head and pushed off her. “Wanda we can’t- I’m still new here” You heaved she she shushed you again, her eyes returning to their natural green. “I won’t let anyone hurt you. You’re mine Y/n. Whether you like it or not”

It took months for you to get over the initial shock of it all. How can a religious being, let alone the position of a female priest be such a sinner in the walls of the cathedral. It didn’t make sense to you but the moment you stepping in the marble room on Sundays, your mind slowly began to slip away. You knew it was all Wanda, it was always Wanda. You were captivated by her presence, her soul, her magic. She was your angel in a dark and twisted realm. She was entirely yours and as much as you hate it, you were completely devoted to her.

Sooner rather than later, you looked forward to Sundays and actually stayed longer to learn about all other supernatural entities that used the church-like building to entertain their own higher power. “Quiet down or I'll make you" her voice was low and breathless as you choked back a few tears. She had edged you on for hours during this particular Sunday morning in the church and now she was finally finishing you off in the confessions box. Nimble fingers ever so slightly dancing in the air as her spell went straight to your cunt. No one paid any mind to her magic as this was the usual supernatural practices.

Years and years of shallow hiding and sneaking around brought you to this very moment. Witches, Lycans, Vampires and other supernatural beings all gathered around community hall to say their prayers to their higher power. So yes, magic hands? Nothing unusual, nothing mind shattering. That was until she locked eyes on you your first day partaking this weekly event and completely took over you from then on.

"Wanda please" You whined as she once again ghosted her fingertips just over your clit. "Oh baby, I'm prayin at your altar if you know what I mean" she smirked and kissed your clit quickly, the action causing you to snap your hips up. “I wanna hear you say it" she pouted and continued her teasing assault on your cunt. A rough cry of frustration escaped your lips as she pulled back completely and stood up to face you. "Do I own your mind Y/n" she murmured in the silence of the church.

Your knees buckled as a hand came around your neck and applied just enough pressure to get your mind hazy. “You know I just gotta have it, I'll make your body a habit, you know there's some kind of magic" she spoke quietly at the shell of your ear and sucked a deliberate mark along the bottom of your jaw. "You own my mind, Wanda, always, always forever and always I- Wanda please let me cum" you screwed your eyes shut and she slipped two fingers in at your confession and gave you the okay.

Yeah, maybe Sunday wasn't made to be the day for rest. At least not in this town, Sundays are to dance with the devil and kiss her on the lips.

[will-you-pick-me]

Oh my god a fanwork??? The very first one of this blog??? Of course it goes to the amazing Lily / @restartheartvn uwu Anyways I maybe possibly finally got caught up on the Kenneth lore and realized he's a shit ton like an ACTUAL ex of mine, so here's me doing a lil' thing in honor of our diety of real-life representation Lily <3

Warnings/Content: My Sugar does have a backbone of some sort, Kenneth being Kenneth, ie. subjects of cheating lying and manipulation, threats of physical violence (from Sugar, not Kenneth), detailed description of post-stressor anxiety/panic attack, VERY BRIEF moment that could mayyybe be seen as s.h. ideation if you squint, very very vague allusion to weight criticism having been received in the past. Talk-down/cool-down zone from the contents is underneath the line of "~~~~", for anyone who may need it <3

"Dove, c'mon, you're exaggerating-"

"Exaggerating? Exaggerating?? Please, oh wise one, enlighten me as to what part of you cheated on me is an exaggeration?"

The man-child you'd almost called your husband all but rolled his eyes at you, huffing like an impatient toddler.

"You always do this now. Why can't I have my sweet little fiancé back? It's really hurtful, the way you've changed."

That startles a disbelieving laugh out of you, and you can't help but look at him like either he's insane, or you're about to be. Both are equally likely to be true, at this point.

"Hurtful? I'm the one being hurtful? You fucked my sister, Kenneth. And God above knows how many more you might have fucked. I'd call you a dick, but you're too fake for that, so dildo it is. At least the town is getting some good use out of you."

His expression is hard to read, as you spit out your pain at him in envenomed words. You're not sure if that was the best or worst insult you've ever given in your life, but at least it was heartfelt. Your whole body felt like it was vibrating with the energy of a live wire, jaw and temple sore from clenched teeth and repressed tears.

As much as you wanted to cry, you'd hate to give this asshat the satisfaction.

Apparently not repressed enough, though. Your stomach twisted sickly as you watched his expression soften, a hand reaching up to try and cup your cheek.

"Aw, c'mon Dove, don't be like that... You know I'd never do that to you, right? C'mere, let me wipe your tears..."

You hissed, drawing back and slapping away his hand. Like hell you were going to let him indulge in his fascination with your tears, and now of all moments. He had barely enough good sense to look vaguely shocked, at least. You took the chance while you had it, narrowing your eyes as dangerously as you knew how and letting all your anger growl out in your voice.

"Don't. Fucking. Touch me. You don't deserve to touch me with those filthy hands. You chose to be beneath me when you went and cheated."

At that, something finally seemed to snap behind his eyes, and his lip curled in a sneer, a humorless laugh escaping his lungs like the last bird flying from a wildfire.

"You think you're above me, you dumb bitch? You're too stupid to understand anything, it seems. You will never find someone else like me-"

"That's the fucking point. I don't want to find someone else like you ever again. You are a sad, miserable, useless, ego-inflated, self-absorbed, narcissistic, fucking ASSHOLE, and I want nothing to ever do with you again. Your family can go burn, their 'friendship' with my family can fucking burn, hell even my family can go burn for all I fucking care since they had part in this arrangement too. But I promise you one fucking thing, Kenneth, if you EVER try to touch me again, I'll fucking rip off the arm you tried it with and shove it down your throat."

You weren't one for violence, usually. You hated being violent. It was terrifying to become that kind of person. But right now, in this moment, you meant what you were saying to your asshat ex, and by the look on his face, you guessed he could tell you meant it, too.

You didn't dare break eye contact with him as you watched him slowly backpedal out of your apartment. Not when you felt so close to crumbling to the floor from your frayed nerves.

It felt like forever, before you heard the door click shut.

It also felt like forever, with a side of clouded and dazey, as you made the way to the door to lock it.

But as soon as you heard that lock click, you couldn't hold back the floodgates anymore - you crumpled, kneeling right there in front of the door, body shaking like an aspen leaf in the wind as you struggled to breathe, your breaths coming short and panicked, and your vision blurred and burned with tears that finally could be released.

You dug your fingers into the carpet, the only thing on hand to tether yourself to reality, and let your tears fall into the shag as it itched at your fingertips and cuticles with rough threads. A fleeting thought crossed your mind that maybe if it scratched at you enough, it would rub away all the skin that ever touched him - but it was gone and forgotten just as quickly in the haze of emotions.

You don't know how long you were down there. After a certain point, it just felt like one big blur of adrenaline and hurt, and you eventually found yourself choking and coughing just as much as you were sobbing.

The raw sensation in your throat, weirdly enough, was what finally started to pull you back from the edge and ground you back to reality, slowly cluing you in to other sensations - the stiffness of your fingers from your death-grip on the carpet, the burn of the carpet texture engraining it's pattern into the skin of your knees, the ache that pressed in a ring all the way around your head from crying so hard and so much.

You let out a slow, if shaky, breath. Then a small sniff, and wipe your eyes after slowly prying your fingers out of the carpet.

... You need a glass of water, before you can even begin to look ok again.

So you're going to go get yourself a damn glass of water. And it will have the sugary flavoring you like added, because nobody's here anymore to tell you it's unhealthy.

You're going to start taking back your freedom, one little treat at a time.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Oof, hi! That was... a lil real of me, lmao. So here's a reminder that, if you're feeling a little shaky or dissociated after all that, please go get a glass of water as cold as you can stand it - that should help ground you, and also, hydrating is good!

Also remember that none of the above is real, it is simply fiction that is informed by a reality I've personally lived, and you don't need to be afraid - you're safe, and loved, and we care for you and your safety a lot <3 Please take all the time you need to recover, snuggle up in bed/on the couch with your favorite blanket and media, and treat yourself kindly :3

Here's some nice flowers to look at while you're here: 🌸 🌼 🌻 ✿ ❀ ✾ 💐 🌷

[calciumdeficientt]

BUCKY HCS

BUCKY OH MY GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHD. IF BUCKY HAS NO FANS IM DEAD I LOVE THAT WHITE BOY. I cried while writing these. Idk what that says about me but it definitely says something.

BUCKY PASTEUR HCS

Starting off on a very strong foot, I’m gonna explain the ‘Bucky incident’ that I mentioned in my Thad hcs post (go read that btw). So basically the nerds were playing Star Wars on the steps outside the library, with those very sturdy, screen accurate lightsabers that all the cosplayers have, and poor Bucky, bless his little heart, got far too invested in the game, lunged forwards with his lightsaber, slipped on a piece of wet moss on the steps and fell. His lightsaber broke his fall and he sort of half-impaled himself on the tip of it. He didn’t break any skin or anything, but the sturdy PVC plastic broke two of his ribs and ruptured his appendix. Poor kid.

Head builder and painter of the G&G mini figures, in his free time you can usually find him underneath Dragon’s Wing in their little lair, with one of those magnifying headset things on, painting away. He has a keen eye for detail, and it really shows. He takes great care in studying his friends character sheets and making sure the paining is reflective of their personalities, even down to the bases. He’s got great technique, from dry-brushing for shading, to colour theory and palette matching, down to hand sculpting pieces when official G&G merchandise doesn’t suffice. Sometimes he goes upstairs to get guidance from Zack but nine times out of ten its his own handiwork.

Very happy go lucky despite being beaten within an inch of his life every day. That insane amount of bullying is enough to make anyone a nihilist, but I think Bucky always finds a way to put a positive spin on everything and. That is just… so commendable. He’s a stronger man than I I’ll tell you that. He’s such a sweet kid, how could you want to pick on him when Earnest is RIGHT THERE.

Speaking of Earnest, he really really hated the whole concept of the Paparazzi mission, especially publicly showing those indecent images of Mandy. He couldn’t even fathom the idea of showing the small ones off as blackmail. He hates the jocks just as much as the next nerd, and the way Mandy treats Beatrice isn’t exactly tasteful, but he’s emotionally mature enough to know that not only was plastering those posters all over town fucking creepy, it was also a CRIME.

Does super well in Hattrick’s math class but absolutely DESPISES his way of teaching it. Hattrick has a very black and white view of maths. It’s either right or wrong, and the only way to solve problems is it do it is his way, any other solution is blatantly wrong. Bucky thinks it’s such a boring and narrow way to look at a subject that’s just bursting with possibilities. In his free time he researches pure mathematics, he thinks its such a wonderful show of the fact that maths isn’t just about practical application, but the beauty of figuring out the logical consequences of basic mathematic principles when applied to abstract objects. He finds it so wonderfully interesting.

He loves his granny so much dude (I may or may not be sobbing over this right now he’s such a fucking cutie patootie.) he goes over to her house on the weekends and has tea. She doesn’t understand half of what her grandson says but she’s happy to know that he’s growing up into a nice polite young man, and is doing well at school. He’s also kind enough to help her around the house with all the chores she has trouble doing during the week. Taking her trash out, cleaning her kitchen surfaces and vacuuming up. He’s her helpful little chipmunk, even if he’s nowhere near as chubby as he used to be when he was a baby.

[givehimthemedicine]

#rainbowshipgate

late March, 1979.

Someone gets off work at Hawkins Lab and stops off at the store on their way home to buy a pack of cigarettes.

"My son drew that," the cashier volunteers, pointing to a crayon drawing taped up by the register.

They smile politely and barely glance at the drawing, but when they do, they double take.

"Your son?" they hold out their hand for the change without looking. "Quite an imagination."

"He's only eight," she beams proudly.

Lighting up a cigarette, they rush the rest of the way home to make an urgent phonecall.

"Does someone wanna tell me how some elementary school kid from town drew a picture of something Top Fucking Secret?"

By April, HNL is surveilling young William Byers, son of the Melvald's cashier. They wiretap, they film, they learn routines, they pose as school officials to monitor his academic and creative output. He may be exactly the sort of talent they scout for across the world, quite literally in their own backyard.

Acquiring a new subject is always tricky, so they can't be hasty. They need evidence that this wasn't merely a coincidence, a fluke. They watch to see if the boy exhibits any other strange behavior.

They're still waiting in September of that year, when the HNL program... hits a snag. Its focus narrows to its lone survivor and most promising subject. Funding can't be secured for any new subjects at this time, however the Byers boy still poses a potential security risk, and continues to be monitored.

He is last observed the morning of November 6, 1983, travelling on Maple Street by bicycle, on the day when finally he does do something else strange. He vanishes.

A kid going missing isn't the strangest thing that happens on November 6 - curiously, there is another major incident at the Lab the same day.

When it becomes apparent that the two events are in fact connected, damage control is necessary. If local law enforcement is allowed to continue to search for the boy, the investigation could lead back to the Lab, attracting an undesirable level of public attention.

A fake body is created with very convincing attention to detail using surveillance obtained the morning of the boy's disappearance.

With the search over, the Lab should now be at its leisure to investigate Will Byers' whereabouts on its own terms. If the boy merely dies, irretrievable, at least the security threat is neutralized; if he can be privately recovered for study, all the better.

Unfortunately not visible in those surveillance photos of a long-sleeved Will Byers on a November morning: the birthmark on his right arm.

------

ok I'm not entirely seriously proposing that this happened, but hear me out anyway about a few things

That fake body.

to know what Will was wearing on the day he went missing, they had to have seen him wearing it. how then, unless they were already watching him? why would the Lab be watching some random child?

Some lab kids are wild-caught, like Kali.

In order to merit being taken for the program, must they not first do something to attract the Lab's interest - display some curious behavior, some sign of potential psychic ability?

Will loves medieval fantasy.

DnD and Lord of the Rings. he's always drawing things like battles and knights and dragons and wizards. his life, his friends, but through a lens of medieval type fantasy. so when Joyce tells the story of little Will drawing a spaceship, it bothers me. a spaceship, even a whimsical one, is such a conspicuous break from Will's usual genre.

Kids draw from a variety of inspirations.

Sometimes they draw from their imagination or their feelings.

Sometimes they draw exactly what they see in reality.

And sometimes they draw what they see somewhere in between. Without really even knowing what it is they're drawing.

What if little Will saw the rainbow spaceship in his mind, but not in his imagination.

So, what am I saying, Will had a vision of a spaceship? The upside down is another planet and the demogorgon is an alien? No.

(Haha,)

But really, no, Stranger Things isn't that genre.

So whose spaceship is it? Is Hawkins Lab building a spaceship? No. The lab's interest is in the human mind, not the space race.

I don't think there is a spaceship. But there could be something within Hawkins Lab (or somewhere similarly top secret) that a kid with a vague vision and a box of crayons might interpret as looking like a spaceship.

Just, I don't know, some kind of big metal Thing.

I'm not saying it would have been NINA or equivalent, but I'm saying there could be a Thing that could look like a spaceship out of context. In perhaps a vision, an accidental remote-view, a now-memory.

why would a Thing at Hawkins Lab have a rainbow on it? idk, it's not like they have a history of that.

Plot twists require hints.

Big reveals are no fun if there wasn't a clue in plain view the whole time. We have few flashbacks and anecdotes about Will's past, and if we're due some revelation in s5 about him either having powers or having more of a history with HNL or Henry than we thought, that is where a clue would be.

Joyce's rainbow ship story is littered with details that bother me.

Do you know what March 22nd is? It's your birthday. Your birthday. When you turned eight, I gave you that huge box of crayons. Do you remember that? It was 120 colors. And all your friends, they got you Star Wars toys, but all you wanted to do was draw with all your new colors. And you drew this big spaceship, but it wasn't from a movie. It was your spaceship. A rainbow ship is what you called it. And you must have used every color in the box. I took that with me to Melvald's and I put it up and I told everyone who came in, "My son drew this." And you were so embarrassed. But I was so proud. I was so, so proud.

Will being 8 may matter because he turned 8 in 1979. idk, of all ages to attach to this story why the one in the landmark year of 1979? his eighth would be his last birthday before the lab massacre (Sept 8, 1979). this scenario might not work with Will any older - perhaps whatever the "spaceship" was was eliminated post-massacre. or there's something to Will being the same age as El. I'll get back to you on this one

drawing with crayons on ST is so often associated with something not simply seen or imagined, but perceived in some strange way:

Will drawing his vision of the Mind Flayer in black/red crayon

Will scribbling the nowmemory tunnels feverishly with whole crayons

these aren't the only times he uses crayon, but contrast some of his noteworthy "normal imagination" drawings - Will the Wise, Zombie Boy - done in pencil instead, as are a lot of his other misc filler drawings. (when Will's fireball/cabbage drawing where crayons are prominently mentioned turns out to be a vision of season 5 I'll get back to you)

Joyce grabs crayons to trace the Mind Flayer off the TV

Nancy writes the decoded CLOSEGATE in crayon

Ten's lessons at the lab consist of remotely viewing Brenner's bad crayon drawings

Henry's drawing of the spider is in pencil, and the Mind Flayer in charcoal, but when he's drawing with crayons I don't know what he's drawing but the lights flicker

when Max draws her vision of the Creel house, she calls attention in the dialogue to Holly letting her borrow her crayons

Will lacking interest in his new Star Wars toys makes sure we know, in case we don't remember all the Will art we've seen, that he isn't especially interested in space.

Joyce even says it with this little eyeroll like "these punk ass kids think MY son is a space nerd? please. I know the Castle Byers password and it's a LOTR reference"

which is what makes this so conspicuous - why in the same breath as establishing Will isn't very interested in space stuff does she say Will drew a spaceship and emphasize that it isn't something he saw in a movie. that it came from his imagination. like.. yeah, isn't everything he draws? why was a spaceship on Will's mind if he isn't interested in space? am I wrong that we've never seen one single other drawing of space stuff among all his artwork?

finally, Joyce not only put this drawing up in public but told all her customers about it. this is the only anecdote of Will's pre-vanishing history I can think of that could suggest any adult outsiders (so potentially the Lab) taking notice of something he did.

in conclusion I'm kidding, unless it turns out I'm right in which case you heard rainbowshipgate here first

[winterspiderpurrs]

" Kid be real with me here..... just give me a name... an address.... even a picture"

" I can't do that!"

Tony sighed " Pete I am going to find out sooner or later. Just tell me the name of the Alpha who got you in this situation.... I just wanna make sure we can vet him bambino.... make sure he is good enough for you"

Peter sniffles a little, looking back down at his lap. Folding the paper with the doctors results on it again. " I cant.... not cause I dont want too...but..." bitting his lip he looks up at Tony and then back down before quietly almost a whisper " I don't know which one... there were two"

Quickly taking his glasses off and tossing them on the desk. Tony leans forward and stares Peter down.

" What was that? Are you fucking with me Pete? Who..You don't know who the father is because two fucking Alphas dont know how to wrap up their knots!?!"

Peter's eyes fill with tears again. And Tony sighs, closing his eyes pressing his fingers lightly on his eyes trying to calm down. Heaving a big sigh " Kid... I thought you were smarter then this. Why weren't you on birt-"

A voice comes on over the intercom. " Dr. Strange is here for you at your request. Should I send him in?"

Peter's jaw dropped and stared at Tony " You called-"

" Damn right I did! You know he is the best to check up on you til we can find your own doc... its a delicate situation Pete... you know who I am. "

They wait a few minutes before a knock sounds at the door before opening. Dr. Stephen Strange walked in, closing the door behind himself. " Now Stark tell me why I was rushed to get over here? I was prepping for a surgery when Pepper called and you know I-" Stephen paused taking in the scene infront of him, exhausted and pissed off looking Tony. Then over at Peter, pale, eyes rimmed red filled with tears looking scared and at any moment would fall over. Narrowing his eyes he turned to Tony " What did you do to my baby?"

Tony splutters " What did I do? WHAT DID I DO? He is the one who went and got knocked up! And it gets better he doesn't know who the fuck the father is because he has been fucking two guys"

" What? Why weren't you watching out for him? What if they were targeting him"

" I don't know if you know this but im running this town! And I can't keep a watch over him 24/7 he isn't a pup anymore Stephen!"

" Of course I know he isn't a pup! But you were suppose to have someone making sure this doesn't happen to our baby! I knew we should have sent him off to medical school."

" Hey! We both agreed that he could do whatever he wants. Just cause he is an Omega and our kid didn't mean he didn't have a choice! He is a great bioengineering and genetics! And some of the ideas he has as helped the business. Mine and yours!"

"And look where that-"

Peter let out another sniffle and a soft " Momma..." Stephen turned and looked at Peter, shoulders dropping and he moves to pull Peter up and out of the chair.

" Let's go get you to bed. You need to rest, I'll have Friday send up some tea for you. Momma will have some equipment sent over and I'll make sure everything is all right." He gentle runs his fingers through Peter's hair before kissing his forehead.

Turning to lightly lead him toward the door. " and while we are at it you are going to tell me all about these..... Alphas hm? Cause I know you are or atleast were on birth control. I implanted the device myself just last year in your arm" Stephen turn his head back to glare at Tony and mouth to him that he needed to 'Figure this out quick'

After they left the room Tony curses more before reaching out to Natasha. " Widow. I need information and I needed it yesterday. Its about our baby spider"

" send me details. I'll get Winter involved if needed"

" Whatever it takes"

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

*^*^*ONE HOUR LATER*^*^*

"Do you have a picture and address? I will see if I have any body that covers that area"

" Here" Natasha slides her phone over to Winter aka James Barnes just call me Bucky. He lift the phone freezes and stares at it. Natasha tilts her head as she watches this shift.

" And what.... information are we looking for?"

" Stark wants to know who has been around, possibly going back for a few months. We are looking for two Alphas. Kid has been tight lipped. Thats all the information we got to work with."

" ... Was he hurt? Did two Alphas attack him? Why is he important to Stark"

Natasha notices Bucky tightening his grip on the phone before he handed it back to her.

Looking back up into his eyes she narrows hers. " Aren't you with Ste....." her eyes widen before slamming he hand down on the table. " Please tell me you and Steve are not fucking Tony Starks kid?"

" He is 22 and .... we didn't know"

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

-*-*-EDIT-*-*-

Link for Part 2 now included!!