#blood money pt 3

[autism-calzone]

weird toppins

[ronanlynchbf]

do u all maybe perhaps possibly have game recommendations 🤨🧐

[creepyscritches]

I'm going to be interviewing for a position move I've been dying to get into since I started my career and I'm 🥺 my superiors almost tailored the position to me before ever talking to me abt if I was interested and I've had two different employees (one mine and one on our sister team) independently reach out to ask if I was going for the position--one of them even told her supervisor that she and the other hiring manager should pick me for the role 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺 I love my job.....

[bunnis-monsters]

Legend of the Drider(Pt2)

Male!Drider x Fem!Reader

Kofi Request

Pt 1

summary: the aftermath of mating with the drider of myth

wk: 800+ words

Life with your drider lover was surprisingly… fulfilling,

After successfully being able to carry his clutch of eggs, he was happier than ever with you. Since mating with you, he had been treating you like a princess.

No… a queen.

Although he had already mated with you, the creature was a traditional man, going about the courting process one normally would in his culture.

The first thing he did was find an abandoned cabin. You needed somewhere safe and comfortable to live, especially as the fall started to change into the unforgiving winter. Being high up in the mountains meant it was rough, and he wanted his mate to be warm and happy while carrying his clutch.

The cabin wasn’t anything special, and you’d have to do some renovations before it would be livable. Thankfully your mate had collected many trinkets, coins, and random wallets containing large sums of money. It was a courting present to you, and it all went to repairing the cabin.

Once it was livable, he was determined to keep you under him and warm at all times. He was almost like a cat, trying to lay in your lap and rub his scent on you.

“Heavy…” you whimpered, causing him to slowly skitter back a bit. He lowered himself, sitting on the ground so his torso was level with you on the couch.

“Better?”

You nodded, kissing his cheek.

Sex was a common occurrence, and he had the strange urge to tie you up and stuff you full of more eggs. He knew you were already carrying his clutch, but the scent of your pregnancy hormones made him go wild.

Feeling his fangs press against your neck, you let out a soft mewl. He loved giving you a low dose of his aphrodisiac venom to make you squirm while he pushed his cock into you.

His hands stayed on your belly, rubbing gently while he kissed the bite marks he had left on your neck, lapping up the little pinpricks of blood.

“Such a sweet thing… how I adore you.”

He was soft and sweet with you, always making sure your pregnancy cravings were taken care of and you felt loved. His heart swelled with pride to see you so content and well taken care of, proving that he was a good mate and providing you with everything you needed.

It was easy to take your college classes online, and even though your lover got a bit sulky when you said you eventually wanted to follow your dreams and become a photographer, he did everything in his power to make it happen.

While your babies grew in your belly, your lover began producing tons of spider silk. He confessed that he learned to knit from one of the females, and started making little sweaters for all of your babies.

Some baby driders came out fully independent, which made you sad to think about. You had severe pregnancy hormones and you wanted to mother some baby spiders damn it!

He reassured you that his species required motherly care, and that because he had mated a human, the babies would be more human-like.

The cabin became less like a place to live in and more of a home. Your lover hunted at night, and slept through most of the day. He was such a clingy thing, curling with you and whining if you got up to pee at night. He hated being away from you for even a second… especially as his paternal instincts started kicking in.

Recently he had been aggressive towards any other creature that dared to come near the cabin, and started building a nest out of his silk webs so you’d have somewhere comfortable to give birth.

As your due date drew nearer, he grew more possessive and territorial, making sure to scent and mark you. It wasn’t often that you had any time for yourself, he was inconsolable when you experienced even the slightest pain.

“I don’t want you to be in pain, love. I’m so sorry, I know it’ll hurt to give birth… I wish I could make it all go away.”

He was with you for the whole process, his hand in yours as you gave birth to 3 healthy drider babies. They were small, with the cutest little spider legs and chubby cheeks. Each fussed and cried as they entered the world, already seeking comfort from you, their mother.

From that moment on, everything seemed to click into place. Your little ones nursed as you teared up a bit. You had brought these little ones into the world, and your lover couldn’t be more happy with it.

“Do you think I’ll be a good mother?”

Your question was met with a chuckle. Your love leaned down to nuzzle against you, his eyes half lidded with contentment.

“I don’t think so, I know you will.”

——————

NSFW TAGLIST: @sunset-214 @strawberrypoundtown @avalordream @icommitwarcrimes @bazpire @im-eating-rn @anglingforlevels @kinshenewa @pasteldaze @unforgettablewhvre @yoongiigolden @peachesdabunny @murder-hobo @leiselotte @misswonderfrojustice @dij-ology @i8kaeya @lollboogurl @h3110-dar1in9 @keikokashi @aliceattheart @mssmil3y @spicyspicyliving @namjoons-t1ddies @izarosf1833 @healanette @lem-hhn @spufflepuff @honey-crypt @karljra @zyettemoon1800 @exodiam @vexillum-moeru @imperfectlyperfectprincess1 @binnieonabike @enchantedsylveon @mysticranger575 @readeryn68 @danielle143 @kittenlover614 @filthybunny420 @annavittoria-mm @makimamybelovedwife @blubearxy @omglovelylaila @toocollectionchaos-universe-blog @fruk-you-usuk-fans @wil10wthetree @hammerhead96-blog @slightlyusedfloormat

[retiredteabag]

soft Toji dog-sitting for a generous!reader

pt. 1 - pt. 2 - pt. 3 - pt. 4 - next

synopsis: Toji was quite accustomed to objectifying himself for a check. And to be frank, far worse actions as well. Now he’s not sure what to do with himself after meeting the kind and generous owner of the dog he pet-sits for.

read along as Toji grows more comfortable around you despite his past.

〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰

It could be argued that where one places one's identity is what keeps then grounded in themselves. And when one's identity is threatened, then, and only then, can you see what a person is at their barest, most vulnerable form.

Toji doesn't like feeling vulnerable. In fact, there might not be anything he detests more.

After the incident with his hands, Toji would go on to swear his interest in you was transactional. I mean, how could he NOT want to know more about his employer? He found himself thinking of you even when he wasn’t at the house, what were you doing? What kept your time so rapt? What did you think of him?

Toji would lay on his back, the couch in his apartment had been a popular spot since Tuesday. He hadn't seen you or your dog since the night you let him go. Pet him with a feather-light touch and sent him away.

You had taken off less work when you had become ill...

Despite his lack of work and true to your word, you had paid Toji double for that night. He would never complain about more money but he couldn't get the thought of you out of his mind.

He found himself waking from dreams of a soft voice and a gentle hand, he tried to recall every moment of the previous night in excruciating detail. Everything about it,

Your face when you reprimanded the veterinary staff, your voice when you told him everything would be okay, the way you had gently stroked at his hand when you wiped the blood from his palms. The way you had whispered...

"I'm sorry, was it too much?"

Toji drags his hands across his face.

"Yeah."

He stared at the hands you had put so much care into, so grimy, guilty of such sin.

He kept your towel, by the way, It lay on his bedside table.

With every passing day Toji craved to return to your presence once again. He wanted to peel back your layers and see what you looked like at your core. You had been so shy with him, yet, so ready to stand for what you wanted.

This difference was stark. When the pair of you had met, you had been barely awake, and badly ill. Clad in baggy pajamas. He had thought of you as ill-prepared, silly and frumpy. When you reconnected the other day, your blouse had clung to you, he recalls watching your back tense as you spoke with the hospital staff.

He wanted to see more.

Toji felt a strange need to wait before responding to your eventual text, but he couldn't find a good reason to.

"Mr. Fushiguro, are you healing well? The dog and I have been staying home and taking it easy, I hope the same is true of you. I wanted to reiterate how sorry I am that you had to go through all this, and thank you for protecting my boy. When you get the chance, please allow for me to pay for the cleaning bill on your car, additionally, I would love to treat you in some way, please let me know your favorite place to eat."

Toji began typing only to delete his words and try to rephrase.

"It wasn't a serious injury to begin with. Don't apologize again. Are you taking me out?"

He hit the backspace... "to eat?"

Toji knew thats not what you had meant. But he couldn't help but wish to see you again. Speak to you. Watch you. Learn you. He watched as an ellipsis appeared at the bottom of the screen and vanished. He reread his message, had he been too forward?

Eventually you responded.

"It was serious, you were hurt, and I AM sorry that it happened to you while you were taking care of my dog. I cannot express how grateful I am. You are a hero."

Toji choked out a laugh at the word you used. He pushed himself up onto his elbow, smooshing a couch cushion in the process. He did not respond, awaiting your answer to the question he cared about.

You replied to his text, "Is that what you would prefer?"

and then, "I wouldn't want to take up your time."

"I never do things I don't want to do." His response was quick, he didn't have to think.

Again, you typed for some time before, "Oh, well if that's what you'd like."

A date was set.

Toji had insisted that you pick a place to eat.

The few days before your meeting you felt sort of panicked. Anxiety was a norm for you. You had always had quite the... sense of urgency, one would say. Your desk was pristine, your calendar forever in order, your work was always completed early, and well.

That was why your first meeting with Mr. Fushiguro had shook you so badly. You hated for people to see you as anything short of perfect, you hated to be venerable.

This anxiety was always the double-edged sword it sounded like, success clung to you in the way you needed it to. However, it had become an integral part of your identity, and now, you could not go without. The dread, the disappointment, the hurt that surrounded you when you did not succeed was like nothing your peers could understand.

You needed to prepare for this lunch. It consumed your thoughts as you turned in your final report for the day and went to sit with the dog. Questions had arisen within your mind when Mr. Fushiguro had sent his text.

"Are you taking me out to eat?"

"I never do things I don't want to do" he had said.

Thoughts of "why does he want to meet in person" prevailed. He was good at his job. Your dog had never been so easy-going. He could be left alone for longer, he had more energy to play, he drank more, and he had started fearing the delivery man less.

He deserved every cent you gave him, but maybe he was looking for a little more. That could be worked out, you supposed. Actually, you realized, maybe he's looking for a referral? That would make sense, maybe he wants to get in contact with more people like you, lonely... workaholics with dogs that deserve better.

Your eyes met your pooches', and his innocent, loving gaze lit a fire of cuteness aggression within your soul. Grabbing his fluffy neck you shook him a little while smooching the top of his head.

You would be more than happy to make a list of people in the market for a dog sitter that are willing to pay a competitive rate so long as you write him a nice recommendation. The man had saved your boy, it was truly the least you could do.

Before meeting, you prepared a list with names and numbers. You figured he would be pleased with your efforts, your impressive skill in finding him more clients.

A few days later you awkwardly played with your hands as you sat at the table of a nice brunch restaurant. You had sent the address as soon as he asked you to pick. You wanted to give him plenty of time to look online at the menu, prepare when to leave his place, and decide what he would like. (If only you knew how different this man was from you...)

Even with all your planning, you showed up early, you thought of what you would say when he arrived, how you would stand and shake his hand, thank him again, and try to put him at ease.

Unfortunately, nothing goes to plan when it comes to you and Mr. Fushiguro, and none of that happened.

In your time working with officials, presenting before boards of directors, and handling the communication between groups, you had learned how to read body language well, and even without yelling and obvious disruption, you could scan a room and tell when something was amiss.

The table you had selected was against the window, you faced away from the entryway, even so, just by looking at the guests around you, you could tell that something was transpiring at the front door of the restaurant. You turn,

"I'm sorry sir, our seating is for reservation only." The host was saying. Was saying in a antagonizing tone, was saying to a large man in slacks, a t-shirt, and zip up. Was saying to Mr. Fushiguro.

You stood quickly, the last thing you wanted was to upset the man, you began to speed walk in their direction.

"Yeah, I'believe I've got one of those." He looked up at the host, as if just seeing him for the first time.

The host nodded slowly, and breathed a sigh, the look he gave Mr. Fushiguro was nothing short of offensive, a slow up-and-down of his appearance before raising a brow, "This space has an implied dress code sir-" the host began

"Mr. Fushiguro!" You called before reaching the counter, "I'm so glad you could make it, it's an honor to see you again!" You rush out, quickly turning to the host before you could even make eye contact with your guest, "Excuse me, I believe we're done here."

"I- yes of course, ma'am." He did not offer to take you to your seats but you were glad to keep your eyes on the table as the burly man trailed behind you.

"I'm so sorry, I should have waited for you outside, that was my fault- they shouldn't have-"

"It's fine." He pulls his chair out and sits.

"If you'd rather eat somewhere else I would be happy to-" you begin.

"Nah. I don't care, lets order big."

You smile at his choice of words. Straight to the point.

It was odd, to not feel the need to maintain a constant stream of conversation. You knew what you would order, of course, but you played pretend as he looked.

"You always eat from places like this?"

Your eyes shot up, he was looking at you over the menu, "Huh? Oh, no... I usually just pack whatever, you know?" You smile and shrug at him.

"Hmm" His lips puckered out in a cute way, his eyes go to look to the side, "You prob'ly should... stuffs gotta be nice... no prices on here though." Shaking the menu, he looks to you.

You shift back to the tall piece of plastic in your grasp, "Ah.. no, just, just get whatever, it's on me, of course" You suck a breath through your teeth, "I must thank you, you know."

You try for laid back, easing the conversation into your gratitude.

"Yeah. I know. Y'don't gotta keep sayin' it. It was seriously nothin'. Just doin' my job." He waves a hand back-and-forth, emphasizing just how "nothin'" his efforts were.

"Mr. Fushiguro... please don't-" You wanted to smack your forehead against the table, but that wasn't appropriate, so you settled with avoiding his gaze.

"Toji, please." He held up a palm, stopping you.

"What? Oh... well, yes, please don't call it nothing, you saved my dogs life, and put yourself in danger too."

He rolls his eyes, and you want to gasp at his... nonchalance.

"Yeah, whatever." He might have gone on to say more, but a waitress had arrived and he pointed at you to order first.

You didn't want him to have to request anything from you, so when the wait staff had left you began your proposal.

"So, Mr. Fushiguro, I was thinking-"

"Toji." He seemed to look though you at that moment.

You look down, why must he be this way? "Toji... I was thinking," You meet his gaze again, a smile, "You're great at your job, I've never known my boy to be so relaxed, I figured you might be interested in the contact information of some of my co-workers. I would be more than happy to refer you if you were-"

As you continued speaking his eyebrows narrowed more an more until eventually, "Huh? I ain't lookin' to work for anyone else."

What? Well that made no sense... "Ah... you're not? I suppose I assumed you were. Was there something else you wanted to discuss?"

"No?" He made a face as if thinking of what you could possibly mean.

"No? If there is something I could do to accommodate you in any way, I would love to do it." Why would he ask to meet you in person if not to request something?

"What'dya mean? I'm plenty accommodated now." He leans back in his seat, a wide breadth between his arms. "You think I wanted ya here to ask for somethin?" He squints at you.

"No, no! I just figured....." You staggered, "well, why else?" You smile at him, he looks incredulous.

"If I was gonna ask you for somethin' I woulda asked." He tilts his head upwards in an intimidating way.

The food that afternoon had been good. Toji didn't get to learn much about you at all though. Your words racked his mind.

"Why else?" He would scoff that night at the thought. Why else? Well... why else? He didn't know either. He just wanted to see you again.

Toji never asked for anything, it was others that asked stuff of him, so your wide eyes, and indulgent smile stuck to his mind like scotch tape he couldn't remove.

Toji didn't realize- but he was hurting, because deep down, his identity was being threatened. For years he had been viewed as a sex symbol, a womanizer, a pleaser. Could it really be that you didn't want that from him?

Could it be true that you thought he wanted to meet...to ask for your co-workers contact info? Don't make him laugh. You couldn't have been more wrong. It hadn't even crossed his mind.

Why hadn't it?

He wanted to know you but dammit he hadn't learned anything. You were breaking him down and he didn't know what to feel.

He was laying on his couch, eyes pulled to the rickety ceiling fan. Your frantic attempt to preserve his feelings this morning brought a chuckle from him.

Damn you. What were you doing to him?

〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰

pt. 5?

—

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taglist is sadly now full! If you ever want to be taken off of the tag list please just let me know :] (if your name is here but you didn’t get tagged. I think it’s either bc your blog is new/blank/empty or you need to check your privacy settings)

[greenglowinspooks]

(DCxDP) The obligations of a rogue versus those of a parent

—

Tw: vivisection mention (not in detail), bad Fenton parents

Will be crossposted to AO3 eventually

(Pt. 2 here) (Pt. 3 here)

(Masterlist/subscription post)

—

It was a dark, cold, miserable night, and Scarecrow, Jonathan Crane, wanted nothing more than to be home, covered in blankets with the heater set to max as he worked on his most recent strain of fear toxin.

Instead he was at the docks, standing in as backup for the Penguin as he made a deal with some sleaze-bag smugglers. Something about some sort of body armor for his hired help. Crane hadn’t really paid much attention to the Penguin’s words, only caring enough to show up because of the reward.

But honestly, he couldn’t care less about the money at this point.

He was cold, and miserable, and his leg hurt something fierce (he’d had chronic pains ever since being mauled by Killer Croc some time ago), and he was so, so close to a breakthrough with his new toxin, and he really couldn’t stand the Penguin anyways. The only thing keeping him there was his reputation as a rogue.

Just as Crane was deciding that the whole ordeal wasn’t worth it, he heard the sound of a chase a few blocks down. With a deep, heavy sigh, he moved from the wall he had been leaning against, looming in the alleyway as he waited for the potential threat to reveal itself.

A few moments later, a boy came careening into the alleyway, sliding to a stop when he noticed the Scarecrow, his eyes growing impossibly wide. Beneath the mask, Jonathan grinned.

The boy swore, loudly, glancing between Scarecrow and the exit of the alleyway. As the echoing sound of footsteps grew closer, he chose to face the way he came, turning his back to Scarecrow.

What an idiotic way to get killed. Either the boy was a complete and utter fool, or there was something out there worse (to him, at least) than the Scarecrow.

Jonathan Crane tilted his head slowly, considering. He could just cut his losses and leave, Penguin be damned, or he could stay and see what had the boy so spooked.

Eventually, unfortunately enough, his curiosity won out. He shifted, bringing a hand to his side where he kept several canisters of fear toxin.

Crane had to bite back a groan when the boy’s pursuers entered the alleyway.

It was those damned idiots in white suits.

They had been tailing him for weeks now. They were easy enough to fight, but they were annoyingly persistent, and always seemed to have a way to find him. (Not to mention, the Riddler had strong opinions on their outfits, and if he had to hear the white-suit-in-Gotham rant one more time he was going to throttle him.)

Led by the men in white was a woman in a teal hazmat suit. Jonathan had seen her around, too, though less frequently than the others. He had honestly assumed that she was just a new C-tier rogue and avoided her like the plague.

Her eyes went wide as saucers when she saw Jonathan standing a few feet from the boy. No one moved a muscle.

“Danny,” the woman spoke softly. The boy, Danny, flinched, glancing between her and Scarecrow, “come on, we can talk about this. Your father and I only want to help you.”

He was running from his mother?

Scarecrow paused after that revelation, choosing to fully take in the boy’s appearance.

He was lean, almost gaunt, and wearing clothes several sizes too big for him, probably stolen. His entire body shook, from fear and cold both, and he clutched his stomach with one hand. At first, Scarecrow assumed that it was due to being out of breath, but as he looked closer he could see blood staining the dark fabric of the boy’s shirt.

He was injured, underweight, and running from his parents.

Something that felt a lot like rage swelled in Jonathan’s heart.

“Danny, you don’t get it! We’re so close now. We can fix you, and then we can go home, and everything can go back to normal,” she said, smiling in a way that was clearly supposed to be reassuring. She took a few steps forward, the men behind her clearly readying their weapons.

The boy backed away from his mother, inadvertently coming closer to Scarecrow.

He glanced up at Crane again, his blue eyes shining in fear, but not of him.

Sickening. Sickening.

In one fluid motion, Jonathan grabbed the boy by the wrist, pulling him behind him, and threw a large canister of fear gas into the group who had been chasing him.

The liquid in the container turned to gas as soon as it broke open, billowing out and filling half of the alleyway with a thick yellow smog.

The boy gasped, pulling his shirt over his face in a pathetic attempt to filter out the toxin. It would have to do, though, Scarecrow thought, rushing forward to force the boy’s aggressors to breathe in the gas.

The fight that the men put up was pitiful. The few individuals who didn’t breathe in the toxin immediately were clearly unused to fighting hand-to-hand, and dropped like flies in Scarecrow’s wake.

Just as the men began to spasm and shout in their terror, as if on cue, the familiar wail of police sirens reached the Scarecrow’s ears.

He heaved a heavy, irritated sigh, fingers twitching for a cigarette. He was trying to quit as of late, but he felt that after today, he might deserve one.

Though now was not the time to be thinking of cigarettes.

Jonathan approached the boy, mindful of any signs he might run off.

The boy didn’t seem to notice his approach in the slightest, just staring at the woman in the jumpsuit as she writhed on the ground.

Right. That would most likely be traumatic for a child to see, wouldn’t it?

Scarecrow moved in front of the boy, blocking his line of sight. The boy looked up at him now, his face completely blank.

“The police are on their way,” Scarecrow spoke, his voice low. The boy didn’t acknowledge him in any way.

“You don’t want to be here when they arrive, do you?”

After several moments pause, the boy shook his head slowly. He looked numb.

Dissociation, most likely.

“You’ll come with me, then.”

It was a statement, not a question, but he waited for the boy’s response regardless. As soon as he nodded in agreement, Jonathan lifted him up, carrying him out of the cold, miserable alleyway.

Scarecrow paused briefly to warn the Penguin of the incoming officers through the comm he had been given, and then he was off, weaving through the streets and alleyways towards his getaway car.

…

The drive back to his safe house was quiet. The boy didn’t look over at him once, instead opting to stare out ahead of him.

…

Luckily, they were able to make it back without detection. Jonathan ushered the boy into his small apartment, sitting him down on the dingy couch that had come with the lease.

“Wait here, alright?” Jonathan said, the boy nodding once in response.

With that, he retreated into the small kitchen, looking for some sort of warm beverage.

It was nearly three in the morning now, so coffee was out of the question. He was completely out of the hot chocolate he had bought for whenever Eddie or Harley came over for a visit, so that was out too.

He supposed the only option was his chamomile tea. Did teenagers like tea? He supposed it didn’t really matter, the kid was on the run from his parents in the house of a Gotham rogue. Surely he had bigger things to worry about.

Jonathan made the drinks quickly, leaving the kitchen with two mugs in hand. He gave one to the boy, who looked up at him in surprise, before settling into his own seat.

It was an incredibly comfortable old leather armchair that he had gotten some years ago and stubbornly held onto ever since. He usually had one of the rogues he was at least somewhat friendly with pick it up when he entered Arkham.

Whenever Eddie and Harley were over, they would call it his old man chair, and he would tell them to leave.

The two of them sat quietly for a while, drinking their tea slowly. It was clear that the boy was leaving whatever headspace he had slipped into, becoming more alert (and uncomfortable) by the second.

“So,” Crane began, pausing before speaking more quietly when he saw the boy flinch, “you knew them.”

It was not a question.

The boy nodded, curling in on himself. He held the mug close to his chest, no doubt soothed by the warmth.

“They’ve been following me around for some time now,” Crane continued, “and you’re going to tell me why.”

The boy looked up at him, a pained expression written all over his face.

“You won’t believe me,” he murmured, curling up even further.

His clothes were soaked. Jonathan should have put down a towel before letting him sit down.

“Sure I will,” he said, ignoring the blood and water seeping into his furniture.

The landlord would not be happy.

“It’s gonna sound crazy.”

“I’ve been to Arkham.”

The boy paused, before mumbling something quietly.

“Again? I couldn’t hear you.”

“I said,” the boy huffed, quickly changing his tone when he remembered who he was talking to, “they…think you’re a ghost.”

“A ghost,” Crane repeated flatly.

“I told you it was gonna sound crazy!” The boy protested, before wrapping his arms around himself.

“Well,” Jonathan hummed, “it’s not the strangest thing I’ve heard in Gotham. Explain it to me.”

The boy paused, glancing up at his face, no doubt looking for some sign of mockery. He found none.

Then, he opened his mouth, and explained everything he could.

Ghosts, the portal to another world, the GiW, his parents. It was all incredibly far-fetched, but also far too consistent to be made up on the spot, and Crane could tell that the boy genuinely believed what he was saying.

“…but, if you don’t believe me, fine. I know it probably sounds stupid and fake,” he mumbled, looking away.

“I’ll believe you for now,” Crane said. The boy whipped his head up, staring at him in shock.

“If I do trust that what you’re saying is true, though, then why do I show up on their equipment as a ghost? I’m not dead, and never have been.”

“Um,” the boy hummed, looking somewhat nervous. Understandable, really.

“Well, have you by any chance been involved in any lab accidents recently..?”

Jonathan Crane froze, his face dropping. The boy noticed his change in demeanor, flinching slightly.

“Penguin,” he hissed out, his voice slightly inhuman. “Cobblepot, that motherfucker.”

“Wait—calm down! The angrier you get, the easier you’ll show up on the radar!”

Crane glared down at the boy, seething with rage. He once again flinched, looking away from him. With an extraordinary amount of effort, Jonathan slumped back down in his chair, breathing deeply in an effort to calm himself.

When he cracked his eyes back open, the boy was openly staring at him, curiosity written all over his face.

As soon as he noticed Crane looking back at him, he glanced away, straightening in his seat.

“Well, you’ve given me a lot to think about. In the morning, we’re going to discuss this in a lot more detail,” he said, standing up with slow movements. The boy stood as well, hands clasped together.

“For now, though, you’re going to let me take a look at that wound of yours, and then you’re going to take a shower and go to bed.”

The rest of the night went rather quickly.

The boy was rather hesitant to show him his wound, instead assuring him that it had been properly sewn up and that he was fine. Crane was having none of it, though, and gave him a once-over just in case.

It was, very clearly, the kind of cut used during an autopsy. Danny didn’t offer any information, so Crane had to assume that he was either back from the dead, or he had been vivisected. Either was possible in Gotham.

At the very least, Danny hadn’t lied about the stitches, and the wound was already beginning to heal.

With that, Danny showered quickly (he leapt out with a shriek the moment the hot water ran out), and went to bed in borrowed clothes without much complaint.

Thus, Jonathan was left with cold water for his shower, and slept on the still-damp couch so that the boy could have a bed to sleep in. Somehow, he found that he didn’t mind as much as he thought he would.

[kc-rising]

I Need Help

Hey folks, serious post. I've mentioned what's going on with me a couple times but never really went into much detail; I've been having severe pain in my left side for over 3 months now. Doctors can't figure out what's causing it, no X-rays, CT scans, ultrasounds, or blood work show anything. I've seen multiple specialists and gotten no answers. I finally got one of them to send me to physical therapy which I started last week.

My co-pay for specialists is very high and my physical therapy counts as specialist visits according to my shit insurance.

I'm going to be out $600 in the next few weeks because of this. I'm already out more than $500 because of the previous doctor visits and imaging done. So that's over $1100. And this is assuming the PT fixes me. I hope it does, I'm so tired of dealing with this. More bills are still coming in as well so who knows how much I actually owe...

I really hate asking for real life money, especially right now with all the Palestinian gfms going around, but I'm struggling, my job pays like shit (in the US? shocking I know /s) and I haven't been able to work a full shift for the 3 months this has been going on. All of this is excluding my normal medical costs for unrelated issues, which are expensive enough as it is.

I'm going to drop some links here.

Help Me Pay My Medical Bills

If you donate leave me your Tumblr url and a request and I'll doodle something for you:

I'll draw Flight Rising dragons, non-FR dragons, animals, dinosaurs, kaiju, pokemon, any kind of creature really, furries, etc.

Here are some examples of my work from this year's Art Fight

These obviously aren't doodles but they're the most recent pieces I've made and are most accurate to my current style. The more you donate the more time I will spend on your request.

Links:

Ko-Fi

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(please ignore my deadname on venmo and paypal)

** If you can't donate I would greatly appreciate reblogs **

[misserabella]

Filthy Rich

Spencer Reid x Fem! reader PT.1

pt2! pt3!

✧ Synopsis;; Spencer Reid was filthy rich, for he was royalty. Handsome, charming and a gentleman, a dream dressed in pure silk for any kind of woman. But not you.

✧ y/n is a mere slave of a nobel family who just turned 22. On the night of the prince’s royal ball she is dragged against her will to this dance just to be used as a coat rack for the purses and coats of the family ladies, who, of course, treat her like absolute sh’t, to the point where they could agreed to hand her over for a generous amount of gold.

“Just name your price, sweetheart.”

“Screw you, my prince.”

Just how lucky you were for had caught the

prince’ s attention!

< enemies to lovers 3

17th century royalty! inspired by bridgerton!

CW;; this series might include 18+ content (details will be given at the start of each new part uploaded) MINORS DNI AND SKIP!!!

WARNINGS PART ONE: mention of blood, abuse, cursing and slave trafficking.

Please, under no circumstances, repost my work on any other sites. I do not consent to anyone taking my work and posting it as their own.

WORD COUNT;; 2k!

Her faced seemed to tell everything: she hated it.

She hated everything. From the music, to the little stupid shoes that clacked against the floor. The floral scent, the wine, the giggles… She hated the ton*. Every single one of them,

Everything. It was a goddamn nightmare.

“y/n! You are letting my coat slip! Do i have to tell you how much it costs?! If you dare let it touch the floor I’ll take the money out of your poor allowance to pay for a new one!” one of the misses glared at you, hitting you in the face with her closed paper fan, its gemstones leaving marks on you cheek.

“We might as well do it anyways, since her filthy hands have touched them already!” her sister laughed, grabbing your face in between her gloved fingers and digging her nails in your skin. “Don’t you think so, y/n? What? Cat got you tongue?” they giggled.

“Children, children!” the woman of the house hushed them with a sweet smile. “You shall never touch her!” she said, taking of the gloves out of her daughters hands to give her a new pair, with a sweet smile telling one of the servants of the castle to burn them. “God knows what she might infect us with!” she laughed, her offsprings following her.

God, you hated her. Her and her stupid daughters. With their stupid dresses and stupid painted faces.

You glared at them, your grip tightening around their belongings, holding your stare and your head up even when the woman stared back at you, her face scrunching in disgust and anger.

“Who do you think you are staring at?!?!” she suddenly yelled, catching the attention of those who enjoyed drinks and company around her, not waiting a mere second to rise her hand and slap you to ‘show you your place’. You took the hits, the metallic flavor of blood filling your mouth due to the continues smacks and hits with the back of her fan. “You filthy ungrateful bitch, you dare stare at us, who give you food and a bed?! I should’ve let you died out in the cold, in the dirt, where you belong to!” you gritted your teeth, your eyes down to the floor as your free hand made its way to your bottom lip, where you felt the skin split, the crimson of fresh blood tinting your frail skin.

“Fucking fussock*.” you cursed her under your breath, loud enough for her to perfectly hear you.

“What did you say?!” her free hand gripped your long and matted locks, making you look into her enraged eyes, her other hand rising up to hit you once again.

Your eyes closed as you expected a new slap, which surprisingly enough never came. The sound of multiple gasps filled your ears and when you opened up your eyes once again, your stomach sank at the sight of…

“Your highness!” everyone suddenly diverted their eyes to the floor, including you, your mistress and her daughters bowed in his presence, the wrist of the first of them all gracefully and softly held by the prince’s, who let her go with a kind smile.

“Is everything alright?” his voice tested the waters, his tone low and soft as the silk he dressed in, his hands jeweled in golden rings joining and intertwining in an elegance you never had witnessed.

“Yes, your highness.” the woman stuttered, showing a nervous smile. “Our slave just seemed to…, misbehave, your highness.” your eyes travelled trough his tall and magnificent demeanor. His fern green suit matched perfectly with the caramel of his skin and his brown and perfectly combed curls.

Your eyes quickly darted always as he had caught you staring once he had turned to you. He fought the lopsided smirk that urged to grow in his lips, stepping closer to where you stood.

He took a glance at the ragged clothes that hid your bruised and malnourished body, probably due to the family’s treatment under your care, your matted hair, cut up hands…

His warm touch spread on your skin as he took your chin in between his thumb and index finger, softly trying to rise your head up, but you denied him, in a harsh turn of head freeing yourself from his touch before giving him a glare.

A new wave of gasps filed the air as you stared right into his eyes, him holding your glare.

You didn’t care if he was a noble or pure royalty. Those ‘pure blood’ were all the goddamn same. With their leather shoes and gold jewelry, fancy words and silk dresses and suits. Their appearance was only a pretty facade that hid the ugliness of their insides.

You hated all of them. Might as well just get your head off as soon as possible.

“You slave! How is it ye dare to stare at the prince, soon king?!” a brunette and tall man talked, you recognized him as the pince’s right hand, but only with a wave of this hand, he stood silent beside the prince.

“Huh…” the smile he had been trying to fight off finally took place on his gracefully sculpted face and full rosy lips. “Interesting.” once again he took a soft grasp to your face, this time not letting you go even if you fought him off. His eyes took everything your face offered him, from your perfect nose to you long eyelashes and your beautiful fierce eyes, which stared at him with pure hatred and anger. “How much?” he suddenly asked, still not drifting his eyes away from you.

The woman stood frozen in place, just like her daughters.

“What does your highness mean with…-”

“How much would you want for her?” he cut her off, the deadly silent that fell on the salon almost giving you chills.

What was he saying?

“Your highness, I can’t…” she was short of breath and words. “I surely doubt thee would want her under your care, she…”

“I don’t care about any of it. Name a price.” everyone was shocked by the situation. Buying and selling slaves was something quite common, that’s how your current ‘family’ have got you, but this…

The prince? Has he gone nuts?

“Your highness, I don’t think…” the prince’s counselor stepped in, shutting up once again as soon as he gave him a glance.

“50 gold coins.” the woman suddenly blurted out, everyone’s jaws dropping at the audacity of the woman and such large figure.

“Mother!” her offsprings whispered-yelled. Not believing her words.

50 gold coins?!

You scoffed, smirking at such nonsense, not noticing the staring of the prince due to your reaction.

She wished you were worth that much. He would never…

“Make it 150.” he closed the deal.

“Your highness!” the counselor exclaimed, completely alarmed.

“I don’t wanna hear it, Gideon.” he hushed the man with his soft hazel eyes.

You watched as the woman who once abused you and starved you for days fainted due to the prince’s words and his daughters kneeling down to help her followed by some of the nearby guests, fanning her pale sleeping face.

You too felt like fainting.

“Hey, eyes on me, sweetheart.” the prince caught your attention once again, when your eyes met a smile growing on his lips. “All you need to do from now on keep your eyes on me.”

“Get off of me!” you screamed at the servants that tried and strip you out of your clothes, pushing their hands away. “I said stop!”

“Miss, they’re orders from your highness.” one of them spoke, her blue eyes soft on you. “He wanted us to help you bathe and and get rid of your dirty clothes.” she explained.

“I don’t care about what he said.” you scoffed. “If he wanted me undressed so fast why isn’t he the one taking my clothes off?” they all gasped at your words and no respect to the prince.

You didn’t care though, they were all the same anyways. Always reaks* that just wanted to have women swoon at their feet. Maybe that’s why he had bought you, just to use you when his cock got cold.

Suddenly, the door on your back opened, the heads of the servants quickly lowering as your eyes met the prince’s.

“Oh, fantastic…” you muttered. Just what you needed at the moment.

“You heard her, ladies. You are all dismissed.” he smiled at every and each one of them, bowing and moving aside with a swing of his arm on the door to let them out, all of them bowing and giggling.

And weren’t you just right?

“Great. And what do I have the honor of your highness’ presence for?” you sarcastically inquired him once he had closed the door behind his back, noticing…, ‘Gideon’ outside. “Got too excited due your new acquisition to just wait?” you mocked him.

“I heard you were putting up a fight.” he smiled, ignoring your words whilst looking at you up and down. “Is there something not to your liking, perhaps?”

“‘Not to my liking’?” you scoffed. “I can’t believe you.” you shook your head, grasping at your locks as you stared at him in disbelief. “How about this whole goddamn situation? I mean, look at this!” you pointed out everything that surrounded you, the whole bathroom with a gigantic bathtub of quartz, marble floors and pillars… “A few hours ago I was being used as a coat hanger in your ball and now I’m in a bathroom with the prince, who, surprisingly enough, bought me for 150 golden coins god knows why?!” you exclaimed.

He stared at you with a funny look in his eyes. His back against the door as his eyebrows raised at you.

“What.” you spit out, a glare in your eyes.

“Nothing, is just that…” he stepped closer to you, his arms crossed over his chest. “You don’t seem to…, respect me.” he frowned, his voice low. “Not like all of them.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, your highness, for not being another dog licking your leather boots.” you bowed, more of his steps growing closer to you until his thumb took your chin, rising your head up so you could meet his eyes, his face stood serious for a couple of seconds, before a downside smirk grew on his factions. “Why haven’t you cut my head off yet?” you inquired him, not really understanding his behavior. By the way you treated him, any other prince would have already gotten you to the guillotine.

“Why shall I?” he answered with another question, his thumb caressing the wound on your bottom lip, the still fresh blood that stood on it staining his thumb as you hissed in pain, getting away.

You stared at him in confusion.

Yeah. He was absolutely nuts.

“The water will go cold if you don’t get in soon.” he said, drifting off the matter while whipping off your blood from his thumb with his handkerchief. “Are you sure you don’t want to get off those ragged clothes?”

“This is the only dress I’ve had, sir.” you said, his eyes meeting yours.

“What’s your favorite color?” you frowned at his sudden question, which made absolutely no sense. He made no sense. “Crimson, like the purest blood? The forest’s green? The ocean’s blue, perhaps?”

“I’ve never seen the forest nor the ocean, sir. I’ve never left the capital. Though I find the sky’s blue on spring pretty wonderful, not sure it does justice to the ocean’s.”

“It doesn’t.” he said, sitting in the edge of the bathtub, his fingers taunting the warm water. “The ocean is cold, and fierce…, untamable. But it can also be warm, and calm, and soft.” he tried to explain, and from your point of view it didn’t make sense.

It didn’t make sense but you found it…

“It must be beautiful.” you said, him flashing you a soft smile before nodding.

“It is.” he got up clapping his hands together before looking back at you. “Well then, you should really hurry up, the water is perfect.”

“I already told thee, this dress is the only-“

“You won’t need it anymore.” he cut you off.

“And why is that?” you inquired, his steps growing closer to you.

“Because from now on…” he said, catching one of your locks in between his fingers. “You belong in this castle.”

To be continued…

*fussock; a lazy fat woman…, a frowzy old woman.

*the ton; the ton actually refers to English high society during the Regency era, and encompasses every aristocrat from the royals to the gentry.

*rake; ‘rake’ is used to describe an immoral, hedonistic young man circulating in high society.

[aurorawritestoescape]

LOVERS ON THE RUN || 2,5k

Pt 3 of Kiss Kiss Bang Bang series

Tw: 18+ mdni, smut, angst, rough Joel/soft Joel cos I want it all, m!oral, injury(not reader), blood, cum eating, ball sucking, pussy grinding

Summary: it gets risky… and hot

A/n: hugs and kisses to @milla-frenchy for beta-ing and @iamasaddie for the gif <3<3

Series masterlist || Masterlist

*****

The sirens and gunshots are still ringing loudly in your ears as Tommy is driving Joel and you to a safe place. Yet you can only hope it’ll be safe.

You are sitting in the back of the car with Joel, still clutching the gun in your trembling hand, the other gripping Joel’s jean clad thigh as if grounding yourself to him. The bags with money are at your feet but you forgot all about them. Your widened eyes are fixed on the road. You don’t seem to be followed now but Joel taught you to expect the worst.

“Fuck! That was close!" you exclaim with a tint of hysteria in your loud voice, attempting to shout over the roaring engine of the car and your heart pounding in your ears. You're so high on adrenaline, fear and thrill that you feel invincible, almost immortal.

Tommy's nervous chuckle shows that he's on it too - the only drug that gets you off the best - escaping death with an armful of cash.

Just mere minutes ago you were standing on the brink of the precipice, one wrong move and you’d fall meeting your death. But destiny spared you once again.

“You two are fuckin’ lucky… I had that feeling.. couldn’t relax for shit. Came back and …fucking cops.”

“Thank you, Tommy.” You reach to him and pat his shoulder as he gives you a warm smile in the rear view mirror.

You glance at Joel and say with adoration and almost piety in your voice.

“And thanks to Joel’s number one rule.”

You and Tommy chant it together parodying his drawl, “Always have an escape plan!”

Joel smiles with a corner of his mouth. Your nerves alight, one glance at the man and you wish you two were alone so you could pierce yourself with his cock and ride him until your legs give out. Or suck him off, choking on his length and getting a new fix of adrenaline when you almost suffocate on his member.

But it’s not the place nor the time and Joel isn’t even looking at you.

His head turned to the window, his thoughtful gaze is sliding over the trees and streetlights you’re passing.

Finally the cloud of the high dissipates and you look at him. Really look at him. His forehead is glistening with sweat. He’s chewing on his lower lip and clenching and unclenching his right fist. He’s nervous.

Well he must be, you think, after what happened. Wishing to comfort him you scoot closer, bracing your hand on his chest and lean in to give him a kiss…

“Fuck!, “ Joel winces startling you by a sudden jerk of his whole body and in the next moment you feel the claws of something terrifying grip your heart.

“Where?” You ask with a shaky voice as your eyes are frantically searching all over his body.

He nods down and to the side and you notice his dark shirt stretched over his broad shoulder is glistening. His right arm, the furthest from you, is pressed tightly to his torso.

Your fingers dart to his shoulder but you stop and look at him, eyes screaming ‘What the fuck do I do, Joel?’ You’re frozen, trembling hands raised. You’d never raise them for the police like that but you’re doing it now, staring into the face of your biggest fear - losing him.

“ ‘s gonna be ok baby, don’t worry,” He says through clenched teeth.

The stupor you’ve been in disappears and your head whips to Tommy.

“Joel’s been shot! Floor it!”

*****

The next few minutes flew like a whirlwind of actions and feelings and at the same time dragged on like hours. When you finally arrived at some old abandoned garage you’d already done everything you could in the moving car.

Joel popped a couple of Oxys and now he’s sitting on a stool, shirt ripped off his shoulder exposing a bullet wound. You’re stitching him up, having sent Tommy outside to watch out.

Joel’s every muscle is taught, teeth clenched and he growls with every push of the needle through his skin. The sounds he's making don't let you concentrate. You feel sad for him but can't forget that he growls like that only buried deep in your tight wet heat.

“Can you stop?” you mumble under your breath.

“What?”

“Your growling?”

“Why?” He asks and growls again when you make another stitch.

You shrug and feel him staring at your face, reading you.

It doesn’t take him long, never does, and you hear a soft chuckle coming from the pits of his chest. You glance at him, meeting his narrowed eyes and a shit eating smirk.

“Dirty girl, soakin’ your panties while your man is sufferin’, huh?”

“I’m the one who’s suffering here,” You reply earning another chuckle from him. “And I’m not soaking anything”.

“Should I check, baby?” He smirks tilting his head to the side.

“Jesus, Joel,” you whisper trying to hide that he’s right.

“Don’t call for him yet. I ain’t dead”.

You freeze with a bloody needle hovering over his skin. You can’t see it anymore, your vision gets blurry with tears. You try to hide your face from Joel leaning closer to the wound. But he notices.

“Hey,” he cups your face with the hand he can use, pulling you closer to his face and wipes your tears away with a calloused thumb.

“I’ll be ok, baby.”

“You don’t know it”.

“I do. It’s just a graze”

“No, it’s not. The fucking bullet went through you! You were bleeding so much and.. and …”, you cut yourself off suffocated by the fear.

“Hey,” Joel says and grabs your shoulder, “You stopped it. You did good, ya hear me?”

“Yeah,” you mumble, glistening eyes downcast.

“Look at me,” he asks gently, his gaze is warm and comforting, “Thank you, baby”.

You jerk your head in a nod and a tear falls down on his hand.

“I’m almost done.”

You continue your work in silence.

When it’s done and his arm is secured in a makeshift sling, you take some water from the car to clean yourself off the dark crimson blood. Joel’s blood. Then you start carefully wiping away the red off his big hands and can't help but imagine the world where these hands can’t hold you anymore, can’t wipe away your tears, can’t make you come, can’t be kissed by your loving lips. The wave of panic covers you whole again and you burst into tears.

Immediately embracing you with his healthy arm, no matter the pain he must be in, Joel holds you close kissing wherever he can reach, your hair, eyes, nose, cheeks. No one would believe that this big brutal man could be so gentle and soft.

“I’m s-sorry”, you hiccup after a few minutes of crying on Joel’s healthy shoulder. Your body is still trembling against his and you hate yourself for letting your fear get the best of you.

“Shh.. it’s ok, sweetheart. I’m here. We’re safe,” Joel whispers, pressing you closer to his naked chest peeking from his ripped shirt.

“We aren’t safe, Joel. Not after today.”

“Always have an escape plan, right, baby?”

“You think it’s time? Did we save up enough?”

“Yeah, baby. Enough for us and for Tommy. Can’t wait to see you in that micro bikini you promised me,” he groans in your ear and you quietly giggle. You press your cheek to his broad chest and furrow your brows in thought. You love this life, always have, but you can’t deny that your luck has run out. Going on will be like driving your car towards the edge of the cliff at full speed. With a pang in your heart you realize that it’s time to take another road while you still have each other.

You straighten up, check Joel’s shoulder and arm again and then look deep into his eyes. He notices myriads of thoughts swirling in your mind, wraps his heavy hand around the back of your neck and lightly squeezes.

“If you need somethin’ to calm down…?”

“I can’t smoke now… need clear mind.”

“I ain’t talking about weed, baby”.

“What then?”

“Oh, think, sweetheart. What always helps, huh?” He moves his hand to your face and his thumb brushes your lower lip.

You look confused, head tilted to the side, until he pushes his thick finger into your mouth. Your eyes sparkle with excitement while you’re sucking on his thumb.

“Good girl. C’mon now. Get on your knees.”

He pulls the finger out and you lower yourself kneeling between his legs.

“Sure I won’t hurt you?”

“I’ll be fine. Take what you need, sweetheart,” he replies, spreading his thighs wider for you.

Your heart sings and pussy tingles as you slowly open his jeans, tug them down to the middle of his hips and pull out his soft heavy package.

You press your cheek to his warm crotch and feel his cock twitch. You don’t do anything for a few moments, just breathe in his musk and purr into his soft lightly trimmed hair. Joel’s petting your head and you sink into a trance, as he holds you close.

When you’re ready for more, you start leaving open mouth kisses to his inner thighs, balls, shaft, tip. With every touch of your lips, you feel him grow bigger, stiffer, harder and you can’t help but whine feeling yourself gush. So you start grinding your clothed pussy against your booted heel, desperate for any pressure.

You look up at Joel with your doe eyes, full of devotion and love and he groans, scooting closer to the edge of the seat.

“Go ahead, baby. Suck on it. It’ll calm ya right up.”

You know it will. So you take his already hard cock in your hand and latch on the fat tip. Your eyes flutter shut as soon as precome hits your tongue. You hum as you lick it off him and then take his length deeper into your hot mouth. In a few moments you’re already drooling around him, soaking his cock with your saliva while your warm palms gently caress his heavy balls.

“Fuck… yeah, baby,” Joel groans making your pussy ache with need.

When his cock is nice and wet you pull your mouth away replacing it with your hand and bend lower to suck on the velvet skin of his sack. You trace its seam with the tip of your tongue and take a ball in your mouth. You roll it with your tongue and then suck. Joel’s huge fist clutches your hair, not too hard but enough to signal you to keep going. You suck one into your mouth, slurp and lick around it and then part from it with a pop.

“Hnggg…That’s my girl,” Joel praises you through growls when you start working on the other ball. Your hands aren’t resting, one clasped around his long cock, sliding up and down from the girthy base to the throbbing head, as the other caresses the other ball.

You’re burning up with arousal and not being able to contain yourself, you grind, grind, grind your aching pussy against your heel.

Joel lightly tugs at your hair to get your hazy half lidded eyes to look at him and chuckles when you do,

“Shit, look at ya. Already gone just from suckin’ on my sack.”

You let go of his ball with a pop and his cock twitches in your hand. A clear drop beads on the slit and you lick it off, not tearing your eyes from the man.

“Yeah, now onto the main course, sweetheart,” he groans with a smirk.

You smile back, licking your lips as your hand returns to his sack.

“Don’t hold back, Joel. Please.”

You don’t think it’s possible but his gaze turns even darker, completely obsidian with lust, his cock is throbbing as you’re holding it at the base.

“Ya got it, baby”.

His hand, soft and gentle just a second ago, grabs your hair tight and pulls you closer. You gasp as your lips smash into his warm head but you don’t hesitate to open them and take more and more of his cock, until your nose touches his dark pubic hair. Your throat is trying to accommodate his length, eyes are welling up with tears, fingers gripping his thighs. He fills you so well that all the fears are quickly pushed out of your head by him. You nearly suffocate on his thick cock, squirming between his thighs but he’s holding you tight.

“Keep it in, baby, ya doing so good…”

Your throat contracts around him and he pulls you off with a curse. You cough, swallowing air, drooling all over yourself while he’s holding you by your hair like a dog on a leash.

“Gonna make me come too fast… lemme enjoy this mouth of yours.”

Your mind has already shut down, all your actions, senses, emotions are focused on pleasuring him.

Your mouth is on his cock again, tongue pushing on the underside as you slide up his length and swirl it around his fat head. You’re drunk on Joel, his taste, sounds, scent, his essence is inside you, around you, everywhere. He’s your whole world and they almost took him from you. Angry tears roll out of your eyes while you hollow your cheeks and bob your head up and down, in control of his pleasure but completely under his power. You feel his cock stiffen and then it starts pulsating in your mouth. You take him deeper and drink his cum as Joel is spurting it generously right into your throat. With another roll of your hips against your boot you come, moaning around his length in your mouth, seeing stars behind your eyelids. When he discards of the last drop of his seed, he coos over you,

“Oh, baby, did your little pussy come already?”

Not waiting for the answer, Joel roughly tugs on your hair again, dull pain making you whine, lifts your head off his softening cock and finally sees your face, stained with fresh tears.

“Fuck, baby, c’mere,” he pulls you up on your feet wincing at the pain in his shoulder. You immediately push your face into the crease of his neck, trying not to hurt him, breathing him in. He turns to you and his lips find yours. You kiss each other, desperately and feverishly, like it’s the last time before your old life ends and you meet a new beginning together.

Joel holds you tight one second and in the next his arm falls and his whole weight slumps on you. With his name on your trembling lips, you see his eyes roll back and then close.

*****

Thank you for reading! 🌸

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Series Masterlist

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[doctorbitchcrxft]

All Hell Breaks Loose | Supernatural Series Rewrite | Dean Winchester x Reader

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader (Eventual ? )

Warnings: canon violence, canon gore, dean's lowk suicidal, dealing with trauma from a sexual assault please please please take care of yourselves!!!

Word Count: 4442

A/N: I combined episodes pt. 1 and 2! Enjoy!!!

As a result of things going on in my personal life, the start of my season 3 release has been delayed for a month from now. I just want to give myself some extra time to make sure the season is perfect for y'all! i hope you understand. see ya real soon. <3

Mobile Supernatural Series Rewrite Masterlist

Supernatural Series Rewrite Masterlist

Supernatural Series Rewrite Playlist

After the Djinn captured you, your relationship with Dean was beginning to heal. You still couldn’t bring yourself to have sex with him despite knowing he would never treat you the way the guard had. Slowly, you became more comfortable with him initiating touch, in contrast to the way you’d previously been tensing under it for the past several weeks. 

You reclined in the backseat humming along to the radio as the Impala rolled to a stop in front of a small diner.

“Hey, don’t forget the extra onions this time, huh?” Dean told his brother while he handed him some money. 

“Dude, we’re the ones who’re gonna have to ride in the car with your extra onions,” Sam sighed, getting out of the car.

Dean grinned and leaned to look at Sam. “Hey, see if they’ve got any pie.”

Sam glared at him and shut the door.

“Bring me some pie!” Dean begged. “I love me some pie,” he murmured to himself.

You giggled at your best friend and closed your eyes, leaning against the back of the seat. Your solace was broken soon after by the car’s radio going static. When you sat up, the café was seemingly empty. 

Without needing to look at Dean, you grabbed your gun from under the seat and ran into the building. Upon entering, you discovered a customer in a booth, dead, lying face down in a puddle of his own blood.

“Sam?” Dean called.

You moved around the counter to find the employees also dead behind it, their throats slit. Dean opened the door behind the counter and looked around outside. “Sam?!”

You noticed something on the door. “Dean, sulfur.”

Dean’s eyes widened in panic, and he raced back out to the car. “Sam? Sammy!”

“Dean, he’s not here—” you lamented.

He cut you off by bellowing, “Sam!”

“Dean, passenger’s seat,” you ordered. 

“Wh—”

“You’re in no condition to drive. Do as I say,” you commanded.

He looked like he wanted to argue, but his shaken nerves wouldn’t let him. Expertly, you quickly got out of the parking lot and back out onto the road. 

“Call Bobby,” you instructed Dean, and he did so.

“Bobby,” Dean said. “It’s got Sam. I don’t— We need help killin’ this son of a bitch, man. And I’m gonna kill ‘im myself. Damn it!” He slammed his hand on the dashboard, and you shot him a concerned glance out of the corner of your eye.

You motioned for Dean to give you the phone. “Hey, it’s (Y/N).”

“Hey, kid. What’s goin’ on?” Bobby asked through the phone.

“I have no clue,” you replied honestly. “We literally just stopped at a diner, the radio went static, and everyone in the place wound up dead. No trace of Sam. Sulfur on the door, though.”

“Damn it,” Bobby muttered. “I’ll meet ya halfway. Where are you?” 

“Uh, somewhere in Iowa,” you replied. 

“Alright. Just drive like you’re headin’ to my place. Take US-20 and I-29 and I’ll call you about two hours from now.”

“Got it,” you replied. “Thanks, Bobby.”

“Dean, you’ve gotta keep your head, man,” you urged him.

“I am,” he grunted.

You shot him a questioning, deadpan look. “Really.” 

He said nothing in response.

“Call Ash for me.” You handed him your phone from your back pocket, so you didn’t have to look while you drove.

“Hey, pretty lady,” Ash said once you’d gotten ahold of him.

You laughed. “Hey, Ash. Listen, would love to catch up, but we’re in deep shit right now.”

“How deep? Like, trash compactor deep or Sarlac pit deep?”

“Sarlac,” you responded.

“Damn,” he muttered. “What’s happenin’?”

***

“This is it. All demonic signs and omens over the past month,” Bobby told you and Dean. You’d met each other just off the highway and laid out a map on the hood of the Impala.

“Are you joking? There’s nothing here,” Dean scoffed.

“Exactly.”

“Well, come on, there’s gotta be something. What about the, the, the normal, low-level stuff? You know, exorcisms, that kind of thing,” Dean pressed.

“Dean, I think that would’ve been the first thing he looked for,” you gently reminded him. Bobby nodded.

“Well, how are we supposed to look for Sam? What, do we just close our eyes and point?” Dean gruffly snarked.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket. 

“Ash, what do you got?” you asked, picking up your phone.

“Okay, listen, it’s a big negatory on Sam,” Ash said quietly.

You sighed and ran a hand through your hair.

“I did find something, though,” he whispered.

“Ash? You okay?” you asked.

“I can’t talk over this line, (Y/N).”

“Oh,” you said. “Okay. We’ll come to you, then.”

“What? No!” Dean grabbed the phone from you. “Come on, Ash, I don’t have time for this!” A moment later, Dean pulled your phone away from his ear. Ash had apparently hung up on him. “I guess we’re going to the Roadhouse. Come on.”

***

Bobby drove a little ahead of you and Dean in the Impala. You were still driving due to the fact that you didn’t want Dean’s reckless driving to get the both of you killed before you could help Sam.

When you arrived at the Roadhouse, though, all you found was a pile of charred wood and ash.

“What the hell?” you breathed out. 

You got out of the car and headed toward where the bar had once stood. You stepped over debris looking around for any sign of Ash, Ellen, or Jo. You were pretty sure Jo was still working at that bar Meg had found her at, but you knew that somewhere in the rubble would be the bodies of Ash and Ellen.

“Oh, my god,” Bobby muttered. He stepped up behind you.

“You see Ellen?” Dean asked you and Bobby. 

“No. No Ash, either,” Bobby replied.

You pulled in a sharp breath upon noticing Ash’s watch in a pile of rubble. “Oh, fucking hell,” you breathed out. 

“Oh, Ash, damn it!” Dean grunted.

You couldn’t take standing in the debris anymore. You moved back to the Impala and leaned against it, facing away from where the Roadhouse once stood. 

Bobby walked up behind you a moment later. “This is…” he trailed off.

“What the hell did Ash know? We’ve got no way of knowing where Ellen is. Or if she’s even alive. We’ve got no clue what Ash was gonna tell us. Now, how the hell are we gonna find Sam?” Dean questioned, pacing between you and Bobby. 

“I don’t know, Dean, but we’re gonna, okay?” you said.

Suddenly, Dean clutched his head in pain. 

“Dean?” you asked.

He groaned and doubled over. You rushed to catch him before he collapsed to the ground. Dean suddenly stood back up, still furrowing his brow and clutching his head.

“What was that?” Bobby asked.

“I don’t know. A headache?” Dean guessed.

Bobby scoffed. “You get headaches like that a lot?”

“No. Must be the stress,” he chuckled. “I could have sworn I saw something.”

“What do you mean? Like a vision? Like what Sam gets?” Bobby asked, interest piqued.

“What? No!”

“Dean, what’d you see?” you asked.

Suddenly, he doubled over again. 

“Dean!”

The older Winchester fell against you in pain.

“Dean! Hey!” you said, grabbing the side of his face.

“I saw Sam,” Dean panted, suddenly coming to. “I saw him, (Y/N).”

“It was a vision,” Bobby said.

“Yeah. I don’t know how, but yeah. Whew. That was about as fun as getting kicked in the jewels,” Dean chuckled.

“What else did you see?” you asked.

“Uh,” he thought for a moment, “there was a bell.”

“What kind of bell?” you asked.

“Like a big bell with some kind of engraving on it, I don’t know,” Dean shook his head.

“Wait, engraving?” you questioned. “Was it a tree? Like, an oak tree?”

Dean seemed surprised and confused. “Yeah, exactly.”

“I know where Sam is,” you said. “Cold Oak, South Dakota. It’s the most, like, notoriously demonic town ever. All the inhabitants fled. It’s surrounded by miles of woods.”

“Okay, well, let’s go,” Dean urged, immediately moving to the driver’s side of the Impala.

“Wait, Dean—” you tried.

“No, (Y/N), I’m driving.” Dean left no room for protesting.

You slipped into the driver’s seat wordlessly, shooting a concerned look at Bobby. He returned it, but nodded to reassure you. 

The drive to Cold Oak was completed mostly in silence, clutching the door handle as Dean sped well over the speed limit. 

“Dean,” you tried about two hours into the drive. 

“Hm.”

You reached out for his hand to wordlessly support him. He returned your gesture and squeezed your hand, offering a stiff, tight-lipped smile. You knew he appreciated your support, even though he couldn’t verbally express it.

***

Night had fallen by the time you reached the town of Cold Oak. With guns shouldered, you trudged through miles of woods. Suddenly, you came to the edge of the town. You saw Sam fighting with a man in an army uniform, who he knocked on the ground. 

“Sam!” Dean called as the three of you hurried toward him.

Sam smiled, “Dean!”

Suddenly, you saw the man on the ground behind him get up and grab a knife from the ground next to him. “Sam, look out!” you cried, running toward him.

The man drove the knife through Sam’s back.

“No!” Dean screamed, and your concern for Sam was quickly replaced by anger and hatred toward the man who’d twisted the knife in the younger brother’s back. 

You sprinted after him, running as fast as your legs could possibly carry you. Just before the man reached the tree line, you stopped and raised your shotgun. You barely had time to aim before you needed to take your shot, otherwise he would disappear into the trees and become impossible to find. You fired once, then reloaded, then fired again. Your heart dropped when you realized you missed him.

“Fuck!” you cursed.

“(Y/N)! Get your ass back here!” Bobby called.

You ran back to where Bobby stood over a crying Dean on his knees holding a slumped over Sam. 

“Oh, Jesus, his back’s bleedin’ really bad,” you said. “Dean, hold on, I’ll just go back to the car ‘n—”

“He’s gone, (Y/N),” Bobby said gently. “Sam’s gone.”

“Oh, my god,” you cried. Tears began to stream down your face as you fell to your knees next to the boys. Dean refused to let go of his brother, and you put your head against Sam’s shoulder, crying silently. You hugged Dean with your left arm to try and support him and brushed a hand over Sam’s hair with the other. “Oh, god,” you murmured into the back of Sam’s shoulder. You sniffled and suddenly remembered you needed to be strong for Dean. You rose from the floor and wiped your eyes. “Um, let’s get him into that inn. Gotta be a mattress in there. We can, uh, lay him down till we figure out what to do with him.”

“We’re not doin’ anything with him, (Y/N),” Dean warned firmly. 

“Still, c’mon,” you said, beginning to help Dean get his brother’s body up the stairs of the building. You laid him on a mattress in the corner of a room on the second floor. 

You sat wordlessly on the bed, resting your hand below Sam’s knee, and Dean sat in a chair he’d pulled up to the side of the mattress.

Neither of you said anything for hours until Bobby returned.

“Dean? Brought this back for you and (Y/N),” Bobby said hesitantly, holding up a bucket of fried chicken.

“No, thanks. I'm fine,” Dean replied.

“You should eat something,” you urged, taking the bucket from Bobby. “Thanks, by the—”

Dean cut you off harshly. “I said I’m fine.” He took a swig from the bottle of whiskey in his hand. 

“Dean…” Bobby trailed off. “I hate to bring this up, I really do. But don't you think maybe it's time... we bury Sam?”

“No,” Dean nearly growled.

You tried your best to speak gently. “Dean, I think we should. I get it if you don’t wanna do a hunter’s funeral, but—”

“Hell no, (Y/N). Stop.”

“I want you to come with me,” Bobby said.

“I'm not going anywhere,” Dean replied.

“Dean, please,” you begged.

“Would you cut me some slack?” He stood from his chair.

“I just don't think you should be alone, that's all. I gotta admit, I could use your help,” Bobby explained.

Dean snorted coldly.

“Something big is going down— end-of-the-world big,” Bobby continued.

Dean yelled, turning to Bobby, “Then let it end!”

You shook your head. “You don’t mean that.”

“You don't think so? Huh?” Dean was suddenly in your face.

You held your ground. “Back up, Dean.”

Dean didn’t listen, continuing to chastise you. “You don't think I've given enough? You don't think I've paid enough? I'm done with it. All of it. And if you know what's good for you, you'd turn around, and get the hell out of here.”

Bobby stepped closer to the two of you. “Dean, she’s just trying to—”

Dean suddenly shoved Bobby. “Go!” he roared.

You shoved Dean back before he could do anything else he’d regret. “Hey! When you’re ready to get in control of yourself, you fucking let us know. Let’s go, Bobby.”

You turned on your heel, Dean muttering shocked apologies that grew more distant as you left the inn.

*** You and Bobby sat in silence in his living room, each nursing a beer. 

“It’s a little early for drinking, but hey, it’s five o’clock somewhere,” you’d said when you retrieved a beer from Bobby’s fridge, trying to raise your own spirits.

“Bobby, I know Dean,” you started, staring at the ground. “I’m scared he’s gonna do somethin’ stupid.”

“Don’t worry, kid, I’ll send him straight to hell if he does,” Bobby responded.

You tried to laugh, but even your laugh sounded sad. Silence fell between the two of you for a moment.

“This really isn’t good, Bobby,” you murmured. “Not even just for Dean. Sam’s my best friend. He reminds me of my little brother so much sometimes it’s scary. I don’t know what the fuck I’m gonna do without him. I don’t even wanna talk to Dean right now after the way he treated both of us—”

Bobby tried to cut you off. “(Y/N), he’s grievin’—”

“I don’t care! You don’t treat people like that,” you replied. “I’m pissed at him. But he’s all I got left aside from you. It’s like everyone I ever care about ends up dead. My parents, my brother, now Sam.”

“Kid, I think that’s every hunter,” Bobby coaxed. “How much family do I got? How much does Dean have? This line of work, nobody gets out without losin’ someone.”

You nodded, staring at the ground thoughtfully still. “It just sucks, man. I want Dean to be happy. I want you to be happy. I wanna be happy. I mean, that Djinn gave me a taste of what my life would be like without hunting, and I still wasn’t satisfied. Maybe I’m just not meant to be happy.”

“It’s all in what you make of it. It’s not fun by any means, but I’d take this life over normal any day.”

You nodded. “Me, too.” *** Later, you were shooting beer cans off the top of a fence to blow off some steam. Nothing was seeming to work, though. You noticed some sandbags Bobby had piled against the side of the garage and hurled your gun at it. Chest heaving, you picked up one of the bags and threw it to the ground. You got down on top of it and punched over and over and over again until your knuckles bled and bruised. Your hands shook as you looked down at them, tears streaming down your face. You let yourself scream out in frustration with everything that had been happening these last few weeks. First, the prison guard. Then, the Djinn, and now, you’d lost your best friend. And you were surely about to lose another one. Whichever direction this was going to send Dean, it wasn’t going to end up being good.

You sat in the yard behind Bobby’s house for hours until stars started to appear in the sky. Numbly, you moved back into Bobby’s house. Bobby was nowhere around, and you settled for sleeping on his surprisingly comfortable couch with a crocheted blanket wrapped around your body. You curled into yourself and eventually settled into a dreamless sleep. 

***

A knock on the door pulled your attention away from your journal. Your socked feet padded across the floor to your shoes, and then to the door. You opened it and nearly gasped in surprise at the sight of Sam standing in front of you with Dean.

“Hey, (Y/N),” Dean said.

You turned in an attempt to wordlessly communicate with the older brother, but he looked away almost immediately. 

“Sam,” you breathed out.

“Hey, (Y/N/N).” Sam wrapped you in a hug, stepping into Bobby’s kitchen. You tried to relax into your friend’s embrace, but you couldn’t at the horrible thought of what Dean may have done to himself to get Sam back.

“Sam,” Bobby suddenly sid from behind you. “It's good to... see you up and around.”

“Yeah,” Sam nodded. He looked back down at you when he pulled away from your hug. “Thanks for patching me up.”

“Don’t mention it,” you replied; the words feeling more reflexive to you than having any true weight to them. You tried to resist staring Dean down, but he seemed to be getting the message nonetheless. 

“Well Sam's better. And we're back in it now, so... what do you know?” Dean chuckled.

“Dean,” you spat. “Outside. Now.”

Sam seemed confused, but you marched out the front door with no explanation.

As soon as you made it far enough away from the house that Sam couldn’t see you through the window, you wheeled around to face Dean. “What the fuck did you do?!” you yelled, gripping the edges of his jacket resting against his chest.

“(Y/N)—”

Hot, angry tears streamed down your face. “What did you do, you fucking idiot? You made a deal? Huh?”

“I couldn’t just let him die, (Y/N),” Dean uttered.

“That’s exactly what you were supposed to do! How do you think Sam’s gonna feel when he finds out, huh?! Because I know you didn’t tell him,” you argued. “I cannot believe you!” You turned away from him and ran a hand through your hair. “How long did they give you?”

“(Y/N)—”

“How long, Dean?”

“One year.”

You felt like you’d been punched in the gut. 

“Which is why we gotta find this yellow-eyed son of a bitch. That's why I'm gonna kill him myself. I mean, I got nothing to lose now, right?” the man continued.

You wheeled back around to him, eyes blazing. “Nothing to lose?”

“I'm not even supposed to be here, (Y/N)!” Dean protested. “My dad died for me. At least this way, something good could come out of it, you know? I-I— It's like my life could mean something.”

“What, and it didn’t before?! You seriously think that little of yourself?” you questioned angrily. “Fuck you, Dean!”

“(Y/N), please—”

You cut Dean off. “No! Don’t tell me to understand. Because I can’t. I fucking knew you’d do something like this.”

“Why does it bother you so much?!” Dean roared, stepping closer to you.

“Because I love you, goddammit!” You stumbled back from him when you realized what you’d just admitted. Stunned, you brushed past him to go grab your bag from inside Bobby’s house. 

“(Y/N)!” Dean called after you, but you wouldn’t turn back. You continued to the house, wordlessly grabbed your bag from next to the couch, and headed out to Bobby’s garage.

“(Y/N), where are you—” Bobby started.

You cut him off. “I’ll call you later.”

You grabbed one of the sets of keys off the wall of Bobby’s garage, hoping the car worked, and marched out to it. Thankfully, the sedan started, and you pulled away from the junkyard. 

Angry tears streamed from your eyes as you white-knuckled the steering wheel. You were unbelievably angry with Dean, and the fact that he would be gone in a year was too much for you to bear. 

You drove for hours and ignored calls from both brothers and Bobby. As evening fell, you found a remote crossroad in southern Wyoming. You dug forcefully into the gravel and shoved an Altoid tin filled with everything needed to summon a crossroads demon into the dirt below. You covered it with the displaced gravel and stood back up. 

“Funny seeing you here,” a sultry voice purred from behind you.

You turned to see a beautiful woman in a sleek black dress with glowing red eyes staring you up and down. 

“How do I get Dean out of his deal?” you asked firmly. 

She laughed coldly. “Ooh, cutting straight to the chase.” She sucked in a breath through her teeth and tsked, circling you. “You can’t, hon.”

“And why not?” you hissed.

“That’s way above my paygrade, dollface.”

“Please, c’mon,” you begged. “You could drag me straight to Hell right now if that’s what it takes.”

The demon hummed. “As much as I’d love that, no can do.”

“Why?” Your voice broke as you asked.

“I can’t break a deal to make another,” she replied simply. “Besides, I don’t hold the contract.”

“Well, who does?” you questioned.

“Why would I tell you,” she smirked. “Goodbye, (Y/N).”

“Wait!” Before you could even get the word out, she was gone. 

You knew the brothers would be going after the yellow-eyed demon and the guy who’d killed Sam, so you finally decided to listen to the singular voicemail Sam had left. Maybe the demon was the key to breaking Dean's deal.

“Hey, (Y/N), uh, Dean won’t talk about why you took off,” his voice began. “I’m hopin’ you’re coming back, so, meet us at Fossil Butte Cemetery in Wyoming. We’re thinkin’ that’s where the demon’s gonna be. Anyways, so… see ya later, I guess.” And then the line went dead.

Fury burning in your eyes, you sped to where Sam said your group would be. It was abandoned for miles around, and you had to drive over about a mile and a half of grass to get anywhere close to the cemetery. When you got out of the car, black smoke suddenly began filling the sky coming from the cemetery you were headed toward. With a gun and knife in hand, you ran to the cemetery and stopped dead in your tracks at the sight of the spiraling smoke pouring out of a crypt facing away from you. You noticed Bobby and Ellen hiding behind a tombstone and felt momentarily relief at the fact that Ellen was still alive. However, your relief was short lived when you saw Dean being thrown through the air by an invisible force and down against a tombstone. 

‘The demon,’ you thought, creeping around the right side of the crypt. You saw the demon saying something to Dean while Sam stood pinned against a tree. The demon’s back was to you, and you could hear what he was saying more clearly as you moved toward him.

You couldn’t pay any mind to it, though, and you took the demon’s distraction as an opportunity to jump on its back and wrestle the Colt away from him. The demon yelped in surprise as you grabbed the gun and held on for dear life; throwing yourself over the demon’s shoulder to try and yank it out of his hand. 

You succeeded in getting it away from him much to your surprise, and you pushed yourself up to see the ghost of John Winchester wrestling with a cloud of black smoke shaped like a man. The body the yellow-eyed demon had been possessing had fallen to the ground, dead, and the cloud of smoke pushed John to the ground. 

It rejoined its body and stood, turning its venomous gaze toward you. A smile spread across your face, and you shot the demon square between its eyes. The yellow-eyed demon fell to the ground, dead. 

You rushed over to where you noticed Bobby and Ellen trying to close the gate the demons and ghosts were pouring out of, completely ignoring John and his boys. You helped Ellen shove the door closed with one final push and leaned back against it, panting. You turned around just in time to see John disappear into a haze of white light. 

The brothers stood over the demon’s body, and you turned to Ellen. 

“I’m glad you’re okay,” you told her. “And I’m sorry about the Roadhouse.”

She nodded and smiled half-heartedly at you. “Jo wasn’t there, so, uh, that’s all that matters, I guess.”

You nodded, unsure of what else to say. 

“Kid,” Bobby started, and you turned to him. “What happened with Dean that made you leave?”

“Bobby—”

“Look, ya don’t have to tell me. But at least say ‘goodbye’ next time,” he softly scolded you. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t,” you replied.

He paused for a moment. “Are you gonna leave again?”

You stared at the ground. “I’m not gonna watch Dean die.”

He nodded. “Will you call every once in a while?”

You grinned sadly. “Of course.” You wrapped Bobby in a hug, and Sam and Dean walked up behind you. 

“Good shootin’ back there, sweetheart.”

Your heart almost broke at the nickname, but you steeled yourself and turned to face the brothers. “Thanks,” you told Dean shortly. “I’ll see you around, guys.”

“Whoa, where you goin’?” Sam questioned.

You gave him a hug and cupped his cheek. “I’ll call you when I figure it out.” You lightly patted his cheek and turned away without saying another word to Dean. You could practically feel his eyes staring you down as you walked out of the cemetery and back to your car.

*** The Colt cast a heavy air over your— well, Bobby’s— sedan as it peeked out of your duffel bag. Even though it had no bullets left, its mere presence was putting a target on your back that you were well aware of.

You knew that simply killing the yellow-eyed demon wasn’t going to be enough to break Dean’s contract. You weren’t sure how, but come hell or high water, you would figure it out. 

Series Rewrite Taglist: @polireader @brightlilith @atcamillanorrman @jrizzelle @insomnia-bookworm @procrastination20 @mrs-liebgott @djs8891 @tiggytaylor @staple-your-mouth @jesstherebel @rach5ive @strawberrykiwisdogog @bruhidkjustwannaread @mxltifxnd0m @sunshine-on-marz @big-ol-boat @mgchaser @capncrankle @chervbs @simpingdeadcharacters @nesnejwritings @stillhere197 @tearsforhan @take-it-on-the-run @iloveyou2mia @maxinehufflepuffprincess @ohgeehowdigethere @seninjakitey @berarenado @s0urw00lf @princessleahorgana @quarterhorse19 @isla-finke-blog @silverdoragon @karacaroldanvers @gayandfairycore @examishbookwyrm @star-yawnznn @real-sharena-h @fandomloverrr @metalmonki @onlyangel-444 @yu-winchester @benniwiththefanni @daisychaingirl @immagods @missmieux @yoongi-holland @littledebbieinabigworld

[saintslewis]

𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐐𝐔𝐄

𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐀𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄: 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒 | 𝐋𝐇𝟒𝟒

pairing: sir lewis hamilton x fem!oc; Nadia

summary: party time pt.2? (no <3)

warnings: a bit of angst, crying, reassurance from both sides, a bit shorter than the rest lol.

saint’s team radio 🪩: heyyyy!! so sorry this is long overdue but there’s a reason! i wish i could name this chapter anything but thique but that’s the title of the song and we’re not crying today 🫵🏽 don’t jump me for taking so long lol

pls like, comment and reblog!

fc: @/unclewaffles_ on ig!

renaissance: the series • previous chapter

New York had never been more quiet than in that very moment. Nadia wanted to blame it on the fact that the penthouse was far too high up or that it was 2:36 am.

‘Bambi’ played in the background on the large tv, the light illuminating on the many faces in the living room. The friend group had celebrated Lewis’ Silverstone podium since the second they stepped out of the paddock, opting for tonight to be calm and have a group movie night with snacks and all types of pastries (Nadia baked those btw) laid across the table. Everyone was underneath blankets as they watched the tragic scene of Bambi’s mother dying.

Making the terrible mistake of looking at her ever buzzing phone, Nadia could see that Tia tried to contact her within the past few minutes but she internally rolled her eyes. Rea decided to play with her feelings and cause her heart to drop only to find out that the younger girl was lying straight out of her teeth about her marriage being leaked. Wanting nothing to do with social media for the week, Nadia kept herself busy. Spending time with Lewis and spending his money, one of her favourite things to do.

Her job was at stake and she knew that. With each passing day, Nadia’s sudden fame had taken a toll on her and her mental health and she was not sure if she wanted to continue working full time because it was taking a strain on her. She inwardly groaned at the thought of slightly proving her boss right who was consistent in reminding Nadia that this double life was not going to work in her favour.

Swiping further into her phone, she quickly understood why Tia was blowing up her phone.

Time felt slow and her body went numb as she read the headline over and over again. This wasn’t something that was light and airy and she could easily brush off her shoulder with just a flick of her hand. Every piece of jewellery she wore felt heavy, her clothes felt tighter than ever and her blood went cold.

Clearly not being the only one on their phone during the movie, Charlotte’s hair bounced as she snapped her head to her friend who’s tearful eyes were glued to her phone. At first, the woman couldn’t believe what she was seeing but her heart immediately sank when her eyes connected with Nadia’s.

All the food Nadia consumed earlier was rushing back up with intense speed and she quickly threw the blanket off her, running to the nearest bathroom. The blanket landed on Lewis’ confused face as he took it off to whip his head around. The men of the group were utterly confused as all the girls stood to their feet and quickly followed Nadia to wherever she ran to.

Lewis spotted Nadia’s phone on the floor, lifting the screen to his face. His eyes adjusted to the bold words written and as short as the title of the article was, it felt like reading an encyclopaedia written by the vultures within the media.

‘NADIA HAMILTON BATTLES INFERTILITY, ANON SAYS’

The article went on to explain how close the anonymous source was to Nadia, citing that they had kept this secret with themselves for years and hated the new found fame that Nadia attracted. All types of nasty connotations were made against her, calling her out of her name. This anonymous source also spoke on who she saw before Lewis but never exposed their fake marriage.

“Bro..” Andrew spoke up first, all the boys scrolling through their phones and seemingly looking at the same thing. Lewis knew he had to stop himself from reading on after the author wrote that he should divorce her because she’s ‘unable to give him a family’. He quickly locked Nadia’s phone and ran a hand down his face before he stood up to make a few calls.

With her head on Amara’s chest, Nadia wept as she struggled to keep it all together. She did not want to show her vulnerability to her friends so quickly but seeing the headline broke everything she had worked on to be private. Natalia moved Nadia’s hair back as she continued to rub her back.

Charlotte stood with her phone in her hand, immediately shutting down anything that was objectively negative about Nadia. Every single time she heard her friend sob, her heart broke. After what felt like hours of her friends consoling her and encouraging her to stay strong without bugging her for any information, she sat up and wiped her tears.

“Not to chase you guys away but I really wanna see Lewis right now.” She chuckled as she wiped her tears from her cheeks. The girls laughed at their friend’s ability to smile after something so terrible.

“We’ll let him know to bring up some water.” Amara nodded and stood up, giving Nadia’s hand a squeeze. Once her friends left, Nadia began pacing around the bedroom, the New York skyline still shining ever so bright although it was nearing 3 am.

She heard the door and she watched as Lewis walked in with a water bottle in his hand, his ring catching light from the ceiling lights. His eyes landed on her, cheeks hollowed with her trying to breathe as easily as she could, her hands shaking.

Eyes connected and neither of them had to say a word. He brought her head into his chest as her arms went around his waist. Nadia sighed softly as she leaned into her husband’s warmth. “I’ve sorted everything out, baby. You don’t have to worry about anything else.” He spoke, keeping his hands still as his voice vibrated through his chest.

Nadia sniffled before she spoke. “Thanks,” her voice quivered. “I didn’t want you to find out like this. Wanted to be the first one to tell you, you know.” She chuckled through her tears.

“None of this is your fault, love. Please don’t blame yourself, you have done nothing wrong and we’ll get through this together.” Lewis said. “We could try find out who-”

“It was my mom and Rea.” She deadpanned, lifting her head to look in his eyes. His eyebrows furrowed at the quickness of her revelation. “Nads.” He started.

All she did was look at the bed and he took that as a hint to sit on it and she followed. “I’ve only ever told my mother and Rea about my…infertility. Not even my friends. My mom found out through a fight we were having during high school.”

She took a breather and continued. “I completely changed my career path to become a teacher because if I couldn’t become a mom myself, I could be that teacher for my kids. I love those kids more than anything in the world, Lewis. When you introduced me to Willow and Kaiden, my heart was already attached the second I saw them so if we didn’t work out, I was going to feel like absolute shit.”

“To do this properly. Lewis, I am infertile and I won’t be able to have kids with you in the future because of my shitty anatomy.” Nadia finished with a smile gracing her face, always finding a way to lift the mood.

He didn’t want to smile but it crept it’s way on his face. Lewis reached his hand to hold hers. “Love, you are something else,” he chuckled. “I never want you to worry about me in this circumstance, I still want you for you. For everything. You’re my family and I never regret signing those papers, Nads.” Lewis finished, his gaze softening as she looked at him.

The tension in the air eased but there was still a lingering feeling hanging. This was an extremely vulnerable moment for Nadia and she was feeling all types of emotions. Lewis didn’t want to invade on her feelings and make her uncomfortable as she dealt with all this. She deserved the best, if she asked, he would give her the universe. He’d build a kingdom and worship her as his queen.

Feeling her manicured finger poke as his exposed shoulder, he snapped out of it to see a smile on her face. “I thought I lost you there, bruv.” Nadia smiled, her eyes swirling with so many emotions.

A beat or two passed.

“I love you.” Lewis blurted out.

Lewis Hamilton wasn’t someone who usually got nervous. He was learning to express his emotions to people around him and was confident in himself at most times. Now was one of those time where he felt his stomach become queasy, his hands suddenly feeling sweaty and he swore he felt the world had stopped spinning.

Nadia was taken aback at his sudden confession but never showed it on her face. If anything, she felt as if Cupid shot her with a heart shaped arrow. Her body felt warm and relaxed, the butterflies swarming as if her crush just looked at her and smiled. Her cheeks felt tight as she full on grinned.

“I love you too.” She confessed and Lewis swore his world became brighter as she spoke those magical three words. He couldn’t believe it. “Say it again. Please say it again, my love.” His accent became a tad bit stronger as he spoke, his large hands enveloping her smaller ones.

Nadia laughed. “I love you, Lewis.”

“You have no idea how long I have wanted to tell you that. I love you so much, Nadia Thandeka Hamilton and never forget that, my angel.” He scooped her up into a hug, falling back into the bed in a giggling mess.

-

Nadia’s hands were stuck in her hoodie pockets when she stepped out of the bathroom, her face feeling fresh as ever as she had just taken off a new face mask she had wanted to try out.

Los Angeles was a place she would definitely call home if she chose to settle down in that very moment. The couple had flown over after two days of friendship therapy and a crazy amount of ice cream as a way to distract her from touching her phone.

The woman had no clue of what was going on surrounding her and that damned article but one thing she did know was that her ears were not deceiving her.

She had known that Lewis always woke up before her as a force of habit but he had vowed to not wake her up until she was ready to. She even moved her hood to hear properly.

The faint sounds of Minnie Riperton’s ‘Lovin’ You’ rang throughout the house speakers but the volume was clearly amplified in the living room. With her eyebrows furrowed, her ugg boot clad feet slowly led her through the hallway and right downstairs.

Her breath felt like it had been snatched out of her as she looked at the current state of her living room. Pink balloons were scattered across the roof and the floor, two bouquets of tiger lilies sat pretty on the coffee table along with several, several boxes from all her favourite brands. From small boxes to large bags beautifully arranged with a small note sat within the bouquet.

“Oh my god…” Nadia’s hand was over her mouth as she walked further into her living room, not even noticing that Lewis entered from the kitchen with his hands behind his back. “Hope you like it, love. Wanted to make it perfect for you.” He licked his lips as he watched his wife glide her hand all over the bags.

“Like it? I’m absolutely speechless, Lewis.” She softly spoke. “You’ve just…oh my days. You make me feel like a princess.” Nadia turned to look at him. “You tellin me all I have to do is tell you that I love you?” She joked.

“You existing is enough for me.” He spoke. “Boy.” She laughed. “Tryna make me blush knowing damn well I can’t.”

“Well, yes and no.” He scrunched his nose then chuckled with her. A beat or two passed before she spoke. “Let me say thank you.” She tilted her head as her hand went under his simple black shirt.

“Oh?” Lewis expressed. She didn’t have to say anything except look up at him and give him a smirk then he was ready to go.

“Say less, Mrs Hamilton.”

-

lewishamilton

liked by charlottiee, fencer and 2,394,447 others

lewishamilton the mrs. 🤍

view comments

nadiahamilton i love you

lewishamilton i love you more

user lord, guide this type of love to me

megantheestallion absolute cuties 🥹

fencer la familia!

serenawilliams my favs! 👑🤍

user aren’t they going to speak about everything?

user they don’t owe you anything!

sza 💗💗💗💗

saint’s notes: long overdue. love you guys!

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[astermath]

 “So? Whatever.” pt.3

pairing: dave lizewski x popular!fem!reader

summary: you and dave grow closer and you both share stories and secrets. one faithful night, when he’s got nowhere else to go, he reveals his biggest one.

word count: 1.7K

warnings: mentions of blood and injuries

♡ LANDING PAGE ♡

notes: this is probably the final one in this series, but I’ll definitely be writing some blurbs and whatnot using the popular!reader. any requests or things you want to see between these two, or just dave, are welcome in my asks!! thank you for the sweet comments and reblogs, they mean the world to me, hope you enjoy!! <3

Meeting Dave at your house had now become a weekly occurrence.

Every Saturday he’d stop by for a “tutoring session”, backpack filled with new comics and sometimes collectibles, usually bought with the money you gave him for his time. You’d started enjoying your time together so much that you started bailing on party plans or shopping trips, raising some suspicions from your friends as to what you were up to. You simply said you were focusing more on school to finish the year off properly. Which would be a decent excuse if your grades were actually improving, which they weren’t exactly. 

Your Saturdays were usually spent on the carpeted floor of your room, pages spread as excited voices filled the space, talking about your favorite arcs and discussing who the best supervillain really was. 

You had easily become one of Dave’s favorite people to spend time with outside of his vigilante duties, and the feeling was mutual. A crush had started brewing between you two, but neither of you wanted to admit to it. Not just because your worlds outside the safe space of your bedroom were so vastly different, but because you didn’t want to ruin this perfectly good thing you had going on with each other. Even if it meant suppressing the urge to ask him to stay the night, or him pushing away thoughts of kissing you before he’d leave, it was for the best.

Dave had grown so fond of you, you’d shared so much about yourself. You’d opened up about your insecurities, about how competitive cheerleading had affected your mental health, how you hated how your father was away so much for work, how you felt trapped by your reputation... All these things you could never talk about before, they were safe with him.

That’s why Dave felt so ridden with guilt any time you would share things like that with him. Because he was essentially just... Lying to you. You had no idea he was Kickass, at least that’s what he hoped, and the thought of you resenting him for it was eating away at him. If you knew what he was doing when you weren’t there, if you found out about this entire other persona, there was no way you’d still want to spend time with him. At best, you’d turn him in to the police, and he’d never see you again.

But something inside his head, something really stupid and naïve was telling him you’d accept him.

That really stupid part was also in love with you.

Dave’s text messages had been less frequent lately, further adding to your worries about what he’d been up to. He’d cancelled multiple times in the past few weeks, something he’d never done before, and when you asked what he was doing he got so nervous. He’d usually just give some strange excuse or said his dad needed him to be home with all the crime that’s been going on. But that wouldn’t explain the bruises you’d notice on his arms when he took his jacket off, which he’d quickly try to cover by pulling down his sleeves. You’d asked your brother if him or any of his friends had been messing with him, threatening to light his jerseys on fire if he lied about it.

“The fuck would I know about what your boyfriend’s been up to?” He spat, upset that you were bothering him with this at all.

“He’s not my boyfriend, shithead!” You yelled, throwing a pillow at his head.

But damn, did you wish he was.

You sat in your room, flipping through the pages of the collector’s edition Spider-man comic Dave had gifted you months ago. Your fingers traced across the lines of the damaged paper, wondering if he really bought it like this or some asshole at school did this to it. For someone so secretly strong he sure let a lot of people fuck with him.

You thought back at all your years in high school where you deliberately ignored him or even allowed your friends to make fun of him. You wished you could turn back time and give him a chance earlier on, maybe be able to spend more time with him now that he seemed too busy for you now. 

Your thoughts were interrupted by a knock against your window. You didn’t respond at first, thinking you imagined it, but when the sound returned a bit louder you got up. You squinted, finding it a bit hard to see who or what was outside your window when it was so dark outside. You approached and realized it was Dave, looking a bit panicked. You didn’t even think much about it, sliding your window up so you could talk to him. “Dave! Where the fuck have you--” 

“Can I please come in?” He interrupted, his breath ragged, looking like a mess. It was only now you noticed the bruises and the cut across his cheek. You nodded, moving aside so he could come in. He struggled, limping a little, and you turned back around to close the window, hearing him take off his jacket and drop his bag.

“What the hell were you even--” Your own sentence was cut short when you were met with a sight you had not expected. Your eyes widened and your expression changed into one of shock and worry.

There he was, full Kickass attire, no mask. 

And everything clicked.

The random bruises, the comic book obsession, his secret strength, his sudden disappearances...

A heavy silence filled the room, the only sounds present his rough breathing as he put a hand against your bedpost to keep standing. 

“Is... Is this why you’ve been so busy?” Your voice sounded hurt, betrayed even. “You’ve been fighting people?”

Dave struggled to get any words out. He’d hoped he’d never have to do this, but he had nowhere else to go, and you deserved to know the truth. He looked to the side in shame, sighing. “I’ve... Been meaning to tell you. For a while now, I promise, I just... It all escalated so much, I never meant for it to become such a big lie.”

You looked at each other, and Dave’s heart literally ached at the sight of your teary eyes. Or maybe it was the cracked rib that was doing that, who knows honestly.

“Sit down.” You said, pointing at your bed.

“W-What? I don’t--”

“Sit. Down.” Your voice demanded, eyes meeting his with a look he’d never experienced from anyone before, not even when he was getting his life threatened by criminals.

He gently sat down on your bed, groaning slightly at the movement straining his injuries. You silently walked to your bathroom and took out the first aid kit from below the sink. You sat down next to him on the bed as Dave kept his head down in shame. He was certain he’d cry if he saw the expression on your face right now. 

“Take it off. The top part.”

He didn’t say anything, reaching behind him and unzipping the back, peeling the layer of clothing off his body and revealing a wide array of injuries. Normally you’d be excited to see him shirtless, his toned body surprising you, but right now all you felt was hurt. You put some rubbing alcohol on a cotton pad and gently patted the cut on his shoulder. Despite your anger, your grip on his arm was soft. 

He winced slightly at the burning feeling, looking at you and seeing a few tears roll down your cheeks. “Hey, I’m... I’m really sorry.” He spoke softly as you prepared a bandage. He said your name so gently, so sweetly, that you almost wanted to kiss him, if you weren’t so upset. “Everything got so real, and I met other vigilantes, other people like me... It started taking up so much time, I felt bad, and I couldn’t just abandon it, so...”

“So you abandoned me instead?” You finally looked up to face him. You were still holding his arm, and even like this, crying and upset, he thought you looked so beautiful.

“I...” He felt his own eyes start watering. “I would never abandon you...” His hand reached out to rest over your back. “No matter what, I swear, I would never give up what we have...” He gently pulled you in, hugging you so softly, a bit hesitant.

You leaned in closer, head against his bare chest as you started calming down. He didn’t hate you, he didn’t leave, he was there, right there. You closed your eyes, listening to his heartbeat as he reached down to rest his face against the top of your head, the gentle scent of your shampoo calming him as well. You stayed just like that for a few minutes, holding each other. Nothing else in the world mattered, everything you wanted was right there in the room with you.

You gently pulled back, and Dave was certain he’d be met with either a slap or a finger pointing to the window to get out.

Both of those guesses were wrong.

You leaned in, lips meeting his in the softest, gentlest most loving kiss either of you had ever experienced. No lust, no intentions other than to just feel closer to him. Your mouth opened slightly and Dave leaned in more, a hand reaching out to rest on your cheek as yours sneaked into his brown curls. A warmth had spread through your body, mind running blank, until you gently pulled away.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for so long.” You whispered against his lips.

“Yeah...” He whispered back. “Me too...” The both of you leaned back in, passion growing as your breathing became heavier and the kiss became more intense. His arms snaked around your waist and you moved onto his lap, straddling him. He didn’t care if it hurt, all he wanted was to be even closer to you, to never let you go. 

You pulled away and looked into his eyes, before a soft smile appeared on your face. “You know I’d never hate you, Dave...” You reach out to gently touch his cheek, and he melts into your hand, tilting his head slightly to lean into it.

“I really thought you would...” He smiled. That adorable, nerdy, slightly nervous smile that you’d grown to love.

“Of course not...” You grin. “In fact...” You leaned in closer to his ear. “I always thought Kickass was kinda hot...”

Heat rises to his face, and his grip on your waist strengthens just a bit at your lustful tone. 

He gained another ally that night. His most valuable one, for sure.

tag list <3

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[bitin-and-barkin]

Loving Someone

What would the healing process be like after your so-called death?

Warnings: Arthur Morgan x Reader, Gender neutral reader, mostly just filler and going into the mind of Arthur, he's so goddamned anxious, paranoid too, tw: talks of suicide, execution, death, and other bad stuff, no smut, mostly just arthur having a mental break, probably out of character, he's starting to go yandere, tw: yandere-esque behaviour

READ MORE UNDER THE CUT + Pt 3 to another story, Pt 1 here, Pt 2 here

__________________________

Arthur had lost people before.

When Eliza and Isaac had first died, he was only able to ever see their graves. Already buried, a cross put up. One moment they were there, and the next? 

They were gone. 

When he lost his Pa, he was young. Small and feeble. Sitting in the crowd, silently attending his own father's execution.

His Pa hanged him in front of him.

He wasn't sure how to react when it happened. Whenever someone was hanged there was always someone crying at the stands or nobody there who knew them well enough to weep for them.  

But when he looked at his dad, there wasn't much of a father there to mourn. Just bits and pieces of one.

When his Mama died, he wasn't there to see it. Only the aftermath. Her throat leaking red, and her eyes glossed over.  A certain shade of purple on her neck and face. The sun shone off her blood like something holy was done.  

He was much younger at that time, so he didn't really understand what happened. Death, that is. Nobody had ever bothered to explain it to him. It had always been a part of his life. 

In the wolves howling at night, mauling a buck, leaving its insides on its outsides and in the sunlight to rot. 

In the knobby, motionless, dogs on the side of the streets and in the quiet, grey toned graveyard in town.

So he could tell that something was wrong. He just didn't have a name for it.

He could see it though.

That there was some sort of new emptiness inside of her.

He had always carried that emptiness with him. An unspoken thing, it was the burden he bore.

People had come and gone. As time passed, it grew bigger and bigger. 

And so he filled it with money, and heists, and grand plans and demands from others. 

Alcohol and blood, his own and others among other things.

As he got older whenever he thought back to his mother he wondered if she really birthed a baby boy and not just a hole that would never fill. 

Always wanting more and more.

Always hungry, swallowing everything down. Every complaint and request, finishing them. Handing it to them on a silver platter. 

Never spitting anything out, but always coming back when others' plates are full. 

Nobody ever really said anything. It was convenient. Having a yes man, a loyal one, a Johnny on the spot. 

You had realized this behavior a long time ago. He's always choking on his food but saying he could handle more.

But when you walked in, for once he was full. 

For once he was loved.

And although he wasn't made for intimacy, nothing was able to take that away from him.

During the day he could feel your love underneath his fingernails and in the clothes that you sewed up for him and in the bird songs you'd always stop to listen to.

You were always a constant for him. He loved you like a fire loved its hearth. With enough love to make it home.

You gave him life.

And he knew he didn't deserve his.

He knew he wasn’t a good man. 

There was always a hope that some way the bad inside of him would be able to serve the good inside of you.

And that maybe one day he could make himself worthy of being in love with you. 

He always cared for you in the only way he knew how.

With bruised knuckles and busted lips, 

Slow dancing into the night with you and the blood in his mouth.

Acting and your sweet darling and as your perfect killer and as your rotten soldier. 

Doing it all if it all meant you would still smile at him in the mornings and nights.

Doing it all if it meant you would fill that void inside of him and stop it from swallowing him whole.

You had grown used to it.

He was protective, that was it.

He was the protector. Doing the sinned slaughter that would save the people.

And you couldn't say you didn't appreciate being prized by him.

Prized more than anything else in the world.

But this? This was something entirely new.

You didn't know much about loving others, your life hadn't afforded you it, and neither did Arthur.

But you knew this wasn't what love was supposed to be like.

Acting like a wild animal in a way. Backed into a corner by life itself.

1 week in and Arthur had practically snarled at Sean when he tried to drag him away from your bedside to a job.

2 weeks in and he had bashed a couple of Bill's teeth in for making a joke about you.

Commenting about how your love seemed to be one only made so you could lick each other's wounds.

He called it unsightly. The blood on his face afterwards wasn't too pretty either.

The way he was acting proved his point, though. Like everyone was your enemy and the entire world was too, too much.

He was finding his vices in you.

Only you.

Not in the normal way, the way a woman would look for her wife at the end of the day.

It wasn't in the sex or the looks or the meaningless chatter or even the comforting familiarity.

It was the edges of your fingertips, and in the rasp in your voice.

It seemed to be just you in its entirety.

Like a breath of fresh air.

The point is, a month had passed since you came back. You were healing. Arthur wasn't.

And now you had a problem.

You wanted to get back to jobs. Sure, it was a bit early. There was a odd ache in your arms here and there and when you bent over, you swear there would still be a phantom feeling of blood and Guarma Rum dripping down your back.

It was the O'Driscolls favorite after all.

But mostly, you were healed. Dutch had even cleared you for the smaller jobs. You knew, he knew, everybody in camp knew.

Except Arthur. Except him.

Approachable wasn't the way to describe him.

At least for anybody but you.

He had killed hundreds over the years in the name of Dutch's ideals.

But you were always so soft in his arms despite it all.

You trusted him.

But you're not sure if he trusted you.

With this, in specific. With your life.

You weren't sure how he'd react when you approached.

It was nearing 11 PM when you finally came.

Wolves howling at the moon miles away, people singing and swaying at the campfire after a long day.

Arthur was among them.

You told him you wanted to meet him there, that you needed to finish something up.

In reality you just needed a moment to think of a way to do something impossible.

To convince him that you were okay.

He was sitting there waiting for you.

You quietly walked over.

He was drinking at the campfire, his leg bouncing up and down. Trying to play it cool, but you could see through it. He was getting antsy.

Best not to keep him waiting.

Sitting next to him, he softly smiled the moment he saw you.

A quiet smile, one that only you could fish out of him.

Only you.

Placing his hand on and over yours.

Carving his fingers between yours.

He didn't say anything as he did. It was second nature.

"Arthur."

His eyes flicked towards yours, turning away from the campfire.

"Hm?"

You breathed out.

The smog from the campfire still dancing in the air.

"How are you?"

"I feel fine." He hummed. He seemed satisfied with you by his side.

You smiled.

"Good." He slung his arm over your shoulder, pulling you in just a little bit closer.

You guys talked for a little bit. About your days, what you did.

It was nothing exciting, but it meant the world to him.

His head was filled with honey. You words lazily coating his brain, sinking him into the ground as everything else faded into background noise.

Just you and him.

"I just wanted to tell you that I'm going on jobs again."

Now? His thoughts ran silent.

His lips pursed, cutting off his breath. He looked around camp.

It was such a quick difference, like lightning and thunder. A crackle through the air. Nervous electricity still coursing around.

Scanning the area with his eyes for he didn't know what. A reason, maybe.

Everybody was still laughing at little nothings, but it felt like they were jeering at him.

He turned his eyes back to you. He was nervous, that was to be expected. Just tell him you would be fine, and he would be fine too.

Except it wasn't that simple.

"Why?"

You raised your eyebrows at this. He kept talking, never meeting your gaze.

"You don't need to go out, especially not so early after you got back,"

He nervously chuckled.

"I mean, is Dutch really nagging you that much?"

You weren't sure how to tell him you brought it up to Dutch.

Stuttering over his words, he kept talking.

"Do we really need money that much?"

"I heard of this stagecoach up near Flatneck Station, from what I've seen it's always something expensive they're carrying. Could make an easy pretty penny for us, real easy."

"Just yesterday you were tellin' me that your back hurts, and we're still changin' out your bandages every single day."

"You really oughta just stay here. Really."

His head was turned away. He has stopped talking after he kept stumbling over his words. His voice changing into meaningless hums.

Thoughts running through his head like an electrical current. Or maybe more like a bullet in the barrel of a frictionless gun.

You placed your hand on his shoulder, trying to comfort him.

At any other time he would've muttered something sweet but clever or placed his hand back on yours and pulled you forward into his arms.

But now his head shot back like it was an order.

Looking at you, his face was indescribable.

Wild eyed. Ashamed of something.

Afraid even.

You were scared. You were both scared.

Was something more or less scary if you were next to someone who was equally as afraid walking into it?

You couldn't imagine all the bad things that could happen. Having to walk into a town of Raiders and Outlaws.

You weren't fragile.

You were scared, but..

It was like an open wound for you at this point. Painful and gaping, but slowly healing.

You still suffered for it every day, an ache at the back of your head. But you were healing, making good, no great process.

You were talking and walking and had come so far from before.

He had pushed you to stay home while healing, tearing others a new one for trying to even just put you on guard. Looked like he was gonna have a heart attack when you were "straining your back" by just carrying hay.

Looking into his eyes now, there was something new in them. Confusion. Abandonment. Hurt.

He didn't understand why you were doing this.

You were moving past it.

You knew he loved you but,

Why did it still seem like the entire world to him?

You brushed your hands against his stock-still face as he stared far past your gaze.

Was he okay?

"Are you okay?"

He didn't say anything.

There was a certain ringing in his ears as you spoke. More like a flatline than anything.

He was silent. Didn't respond.

But what was he supposed to tell you?

He knew he was overreacting, that he was being dramatic and controlling but he couldn't shake the feeling that...

How was he supposed to tell a knife there was nothing funny about spilling blood?

He didn't see any blood but he could feel himself bleeding.

His grip on his pants tightened. He tried to drag the conversation away, simply saying you guys could talk about it in the morning. That you were both tired. That you could discuss it with a clear head later.

You seemed hesitant at best. You said there was nothing to talk about later. Almost seeming confused.

For 6 months he couldn't bear the idea of you being dead. And so many times he woke up he prayed this day would be the last. So many times he stared at the gun, the knife, the rope. Sitting by your tent waiting for you to show up like old times.

You were going to be fine. You were going to be fine on your own. Weren't you?

Were you?

It was irrational, really. Overdramatic, stupid, a million other labels. Primal, even.

He could not make you understand. He couldn't make anybody else understand what he was feeling whenever he saw you. He couldn't even understand it himself.

What was he supposed to say? That he never could've done anything he did without you? That he'd never forsake you? That he needed you to support him? That you were the only person in his entire life that loved him? That you were his only friend? That he only loved you? That he didn't know how to love you in a way that mattered? That he didn't know how to love you in a way that made sense? That he didn't love himself?

How was he supposed to say he never understood intimacy or lust until he met you? That he had never felt want like how he wanted your skin against his?

Like how he had never felt fear like he did now, now that you were pulling away from him?

What was he supposed to say to you?

It was stupid, only a fool, a real fool would feel like this.

But all his insecurities were swallowing him whole and it felt like you were proving every wrong thing about him right.

You were the dull blade that he twisted inside himself. Keeping a wound from closing but keeping it clogged at the same time.

The only thing stopping his guts from spilling onto the ground.

But his guts were already contained in that cabin where he found your finger, when you first went to that stupid parley, when he cried in Hosea's arms after you left him.

He didn't understand why he was so afraid. It was fear then anger then bared teeth at anybody who approached.

Like a body hitting the ground, like a rat running a maze.

It all had to end eventually. You were gonna leave him eventually.

All alone again, with a dying father and a killing leader and a lucky brother who he hated yet loved.

Alone again.

He knew time had to pass. That his time was long gone, that yours was going down with his soon.

Hand in hand.

So soon.

But why did it have to be so soon?

And why did it have to be you?

He sharply swallowed. He was looking at the floor now. He doesn't remember himself turning his head down.

Dipping down, almost as if to cry.

Your hand was still on his shoulder. You quietly repeated your question.

He silently nodded.

Patting him on the shoulder, you stood and walked away. Telling him to get some sleep.

As you stepped and staggered, he could see a limp in your walk.

He desperately wanted to get up. To tell you something, anything that'd get you to change your mind.

But he was frozen in place. People were still talking and laughing like the world hadn't just collapsed in on him.

Classical music wafted out of Dutch's tent. He turned his gaze to it. It was still lit up, the flaps still open.

He silently stood up and began walking towards it, almost as if in a trance.

You weren't going on any jobs.

You weren't well enough.

He knew that. And he was going to make sure Dutch knew of that too.

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So the results on my last poll were pretty split down the middle, so I'm doing both of them. He'll run away with you soon, dw. Prolly kill Colm while he's at it. Sorry for taking so long, I was buzy🙏 rise and grind brothers

@photo1030

[retiredteabag]

soft Toji dog-sitting for a generous!reader

pt. 1 - pt. 2 - pt. 3 - next

synopsis: Toji takes up dog-sitting for you and learns to appreciate his new job, in more ways than one.

〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰

It did not take long for you to go back to work in person, however, it did take a while for Toji to see you again. Despite the oddity that was your first meeting, he couldn't help but wonder what you were doing while he stayed at your house.

In his time there the man had created a routine with your dog.

First thing in the morning, he let the dog into the backyard while he prepared the pampered beast's breakfast, then, he refilled the water bowls with Britta water from the jug in the fridge. After that, the dog comes back in, eats, and after a little digestion, they go for a 10-minute walk.

Toji found that he enjoyed being outside so frequently. He liked being around another life form that appreciated his presence so much.

After three hours he would take the dog on a longer walk, around two miles, come back, play a little, eat dinner, and then Toji would let the dog out in the yard again before giving the dog a treat on his way out.

The routine they had developed was so consistent that when it inevitably went amiss, Toji was unsure what to do.

It all went down on a Tuesday.

It had been about three months since Toji had started watching the dog, the house seemed to have a new light now that he knew who the owner was. He found himself meticulously cleaning the dishes he used, ensuring that he never left any garbage out, and washing the towels that he occasionally used.

He was only making sure he didn't leave the place a mess, he was happy to have so much money was all.

On this particular Tuesday, the sun seemed determined to hide behind a sheet of clouds. It was dark when Toji let the dog out while he prepared breakfast. He had just finished refilling the Britta, his hand on the fridge door when he heard an unfamiliar snarling noise.

Looking around the backyard, he called the dog back in, but for once, the dog did not come. The growls persisted, sounding unlike the dog he had come to know, and eventually, Toji stepped out and firmly called the dog's name. Returning, the dog circled Toji and seemed uninterested in his food.

By noon his breakfast was gone however, and Toji had the beast leashed up for their walk. Everything had been so normal. After about a mile in the humid air, they began their trek home. Looking back, he and the dog must be more similar than Toji thought. The pooch's senses must be on par with his own because the moment Toji halted at the feeling of another, the dog did as well, his ears perked quickly and twitched in different directions, a low growl in his throat.

Later, Toji would wonder where the beast emerged from, how long it had been following them, and who it belonged to but in the moment Toji had little time to think as he whipped around just as a Tosa lunged for them both.

Toji had seen this type of dog before. Commonly bread with aggressive temperaments, Tosa Inu's were common in the underground dog fight scene. And they could be deadly. Toji made quick to stomp the thing right in the face as it bounded toward his dog. Now that he has the chance to look back at the situation, he hopes your pet will forgive him for how aggressively he had yanked the collar behind him.

"BACK! GET BACK!" Toji's voice broke through the dark and cloudy air, the aggressor began to circle himself and the dog, in an effort to contain the Tosa, Toji released his grasp on the leash, fully expecting his pampered boy to run in fear, what he didn't see coming was the dog to leap from his grasp and make to attack the Tosa.

Then there was the blood.

Toji had to claw the beast from the dog he had let go of just a moment before. He can't even remember when the pain in his hands surfaced. Adrenaline was pumping, he should've had his gun. The pain took a backseat to his focus on lifting the (easily 100 lb) dog into his grasp.

He can't remember how he let the Tosa get away, one moment he was tightly grasping its head between his fingernails and then he heard the whimper at his chest and the mastiff mix pulled to scamper away.

Toji zeroed in on what was important, he carried the dog the mile home. Eventually, he couldn't tell who's blood was who's. There was a muted drip, drip, drip, as he jogged. Eventually, they made it into his beat-up car and he watched painfully as the dog bled into his passenger seat, huffing in pain.

Toji knew the vet and animal hospital you used, months back, you had made a very detailed list of information when Toji visited the first time.

The mans heart pumped as he sped past cars and traffic signs.

"Damn it" Toji stoked the dog's face at the red light. "Don't look so pitiful" he tried for a smile, "You fought well... guess you're tougher than you seem." Toji tried to be stoic but in all honesty, he had to keep from shouting at the cars in front of him when the light turned green. He sped all the way to the hospital, flinching when he lifted the dog in his arms.

As it turns out, you need the owner's consent before operating on a dog. That was when Toji made the move to call you. His hands bled across the screen of his phone. The first time it didn't go through, sent to voicemail, he hung up and tried again. He tapped his foot in frustration.

"Mr. Fushiguro-" He immediately cut you off.

"He got bit. We're at the animal hospital. They need to speak to you." Your frantic "What?" fills his ears and he has to squeeze his eyes shut at the anger he feels that this occurred in his care. Your voice was still gentle when you gave your consent for the dog's surgery. You arrived at the hospital in record time and it was here in this moment that Toji believes he's ever really "seen" you.

You stood before the vet tech in your suit pants and tight sleeveless top, your blazer was tossed over your arm as you discussed options with the man at the desk. Toji's head was in his bloody hands when he heard you raise your voice for the first time.

"No. You listen to me. You will do whatever it takes. I. Don't. Care. If the surgery is ten grand, look at me!" Toji lifted his head, the young man at the counter has turned to speak with an assistant, "Ma'am, we understand, he is undergoing care as we speak, we just wanted to ensure this was a financially plausible option before we carry through with the-"

"Stop wasting my time! I'll pay whatever the cost! Do you hear me? I' 'll pay it!" Your hands smacked the counter, "Do you need the money now? What are we doing just standing around?"

"N-no ma'am, no, it will be billed to your resid-" Toji watches as you scoff and turn away from the pair of technicians.

"Oh good. Then send the bill now and help him!" You were making your way to Toji, his eyes widened as you collapsed into the chair beside him. Your breathing was erratic, and you were making these uneven whimpers.

"Is it... gonna be alright?" Toji questioned in a dull tone.

"Yes." Your answer was immediate. "Yes. Yes, they're sewing him up now. He's-he's gonna be alright." You were shaking and sucking in air in quick huffs.

"I'm sorry. That I let this happen." Toji was looking only at you before your head shot to meet his.

"What? No. Don't be. This wasn't- it's not your fault- thank you, really, I don't think- I would've- I could... get him here the way you did." You held his gaze before his discomfit forced him to pull back.

He just shook his head and you both sat there in silence.

"I'm sorry... about all that. I wish you hadn't seen me behave in that way."

It took Toji a moment to realize you meant about the yelling. He scoffed and shook his head again, he wasn't sure how to confess that he had found it impressive on your part. And oddly...charming.

Eventually, a vet came out in scubs and kneeled to tell you that the dog was stable and sedated but would need to spend the night at the hospital. You made no complaints, saying you did not mind staying the night.

Of course, despite your determination to sleep in the waiting room, you were sent home.

You both hadn't made it out the doors before you spotted Toji swiping his hands along his bloody pants and only then did you notice just how hurt he really was.

"Mr. Fushiguro!" You call for him as he makes his way across the parking lot to his vehicle. "Oh my gosh, your hands! Why-why didn't you say?! Oh my, please come here!"

"It's nothing" His voice sounded odd in his ears as he called to you from a distance in the 8 PM animal hospital parking lot. "It looks worse than it is." He finishes when you don't respond.

You were silent in your insistance on driving him back to your house. You looked so determined when you told him to leave his car and allow you to bandage him up. He was so uncomfortable in your lovely BMW convertible's heated leather seats.

You made no move to speak as you sat him down on the edge of your bathtub. Avoiding his presence, you scampered to find antiseptic and a first aid kit.

Internally you had refused to look the man the eyes when you arrived with what you needed. Not meeting his stare until you warned him before pouring the alcohol over his palms, he hissed in annoyance but regretted it the second your eyes wilted,

"I'm sorry, I know, it's awful." You stroked at his hand with your little fingers, dabbing a cold washcloth over the deep animal bites. He felt the sudden need to pull his hand back at the intimacy of the moment but in your naivete of the situation you made a apologetic noise,

"I'm sorry, was it too much?"

"Yeah." He breathes in. Breaths out.

Toji was mesmerized by how gentle your touch was, how soft you felt. When he touched people in the past, it had always been hard and firm, fast and aggressive. Now he wasn't sure what to do with your display of physical kindness.

You held his hands, wrapped in a thick, cool towel, "Mr. Fushiguro, I cannot thank you enough, and I'm so sorry this happened, I fully understand if you are uninterested in watching the dog in the future, I wish I could have prevented all of this from-"

"Woah." He pulled back, "I don't want to quit. It's not so bad."

He didn't expect your response, you eyes on his hands as you murmured, "Please let me buy you lunch. Of course, I'll pay you double for tonight, this is the absolute least I can do."

Toji's brows raise. Ah. So this was it. For some reason, on your bathtub and in your gentle grasp, he can't seem to mind so much.

Toji's eyes become intentionally lidded as he leans down to your level. He pulls a hand from the towel that you had meticulously wrapped and he reaches for you. Stroking at the back of your hand.

"You ain't gotta do all that. You've got me here now." His lips curve and he leans in just a bit more before your head turns to the wall. Your brows furrow when you see the clock.

"But... it's 10 pm... of course, can eat anything here now if you like. I'm not sure what I have. But please, I insist, let me send you a gift card. I owe you so much!"

Toji swears he feels his eye twitch as you pull away from his grasp and rewrap his hand in the towel, tighter this time.

He's so dazed that he says nothing as you ask if he's in pain. With furrowed brows, he simply shakes his head. You gave him some medicine anyway and ordered him an Uber. He can't focus after your reaction, your rejection, he hardly recognizes his own disappointment at the wholly pure intentions you have this evening. At the lack of invite to stay over. He had been so sure how this night would have ended when you decided to bring him home.

He can't recollect a time he hasn't been pestered to stay the night and now he's being sent away in a prepaid taxi, with a cool washcloth in his hands and a nauseating feeling in his stomach.

〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰

pt. 4

-

Tags @sweetpo1son @scorpiosugar @starmapz @toruswrld @your-mum3000 @meow-satoru @animeblr @utarts @roxyyyyy1xx @lilming36 @scandibabeuh @atanasiaaaa @chouzuko @voronii @transsfish @h3llf4iry @lucrea @straewberrysoda @s4m4nth4wrld @storiesbyparadise @pokiona @neiostrike @breenatalle @uwolivia

taglist is sadly now full! If you ever want to be taken off of the tag list please just let me know :] (if your name is here but you didn’t get tagged. I think it’s either bc your blog is new/blank/empty or you need to check your privacy settings)

[iamyourdailydoseofbi]

( ✧ MY MASTERLIST! ✧ )

[ Will be updated in time, so be sure to check / refresh ] Some will not have links as they are not posted yet.

Want to know where else you can find me? Here.

Tips and tricks for baby writer's. Pt 1 Pt 2 Pt 3 Pt 4 Pt 5 Pt 6 Pt 7 Pt 8 Pt 9 Pt 10

HOUSE OF THE DRAGON.

"The only thing that could tear down the house of the dragon was itself.." [ Mix of HOTD and Modern AU ]

Aegon II Taragaryen - "The Upsurger King"

"Let the ravens fly that the realm may know the pretender is dead, and their true king is coming home to reclaim his father's throne."

The History Book on the Shelf. ( Complete )

Pt 1 Pt 2 Pt 3 Pt 4 Pt 5

Promise not to drop me? Only a fool would drop you. ( Complete )

Pt 1 Pt 2

Wanna wrap my hands around your neck. ( Complete )

Pt 1

Pt 2

Will you pray for me? ( Complete )

Pt 1 Pt 2 Pt 3

Like real people do. ( Complete )

Pt 1 Pt 2 Pt 3

Small council, cherry tarts and dragon dreams.

Pt 1 Pt 2 Pt 3

In the dark of the night.

Run rabbit, run run run.

A glimpse of us.

Oh, who is she?

From my blood, comes your ruin.

The worst guy to share a blunt with.

Money, Money, Money, must be funny in a rich man's world.

Aemond Targaryen - "The One Eyed"

"Do not mourn me, Mother. It was a fair exchange. I may have lost an eye, but I gained a dragon."

The Baratheon Curse. ( Complete )

Pt 1 Pt 2

Small council, cherry tarts and dragon dreams.

Pt 1 Pt 2 Pt 3

A game I couldn't lose.

Don't touch what is mine.

S-I-M-P

Either way what bliss.

I was gone for five fuckin' minutes.

Helaena Targaryen - "The Dragon Dreamer"

"It is our fate, I think, to crave always what is given to another. If one possesses a thing, the other will take it away."

Small council, cherry tarts and dragon dreams.

Pt 1 Pt 2 Pt 3

You have so much to do, and I have nothing ahead of me.

Alicent Hightower - "The Green Queen"

"The city is yours, Princess. But you will not hold it long. The rats play when the cat is gone, but my son Aemond will return with fire and blood.."

I hope the guilt kills you.

Jacaerys Velaryon - "The Lord Strong"

"For my mother, for my family, I will fight till my last breath.."

I don't want to be his Queen, I want to go home.

THE CONQUEROR REBORN. [ A HOTD FANFIC ]

"Twas' a tangled web Roselyn Hightower found herself in. Weaved so intimately with Aegon and Helaena Targaryen."

Chapter / Excerpts.

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8

Book Info.

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10

Edits.

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11

12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21

THE PINK PONY CLUB. [ A HOTD x MODERN AU FANFIC ]

"In every other universe, Roselyn Hightower would find Helaena Targaryen and Aegon Targaryen. And in every other universe, it does not end well for them."

Chapter / Excerpts.

1 2 3 4

Book Info.

1 2 3 4 5

Edits.

1 2 3

DEAD FICS / I WILL NEVER WRITE FOR THESE FANDOM, CHARACTER'S, ETC. AGAIN.

Wednesday [ TV Show ]

Watch my heart burn. ( Complete & Discontinued )

Pt 1 Pt 2

House of the Dragon.

Burn. ( Complete & Discontinued )

Pt 1 Pt 2 Pt 3

By your side. ( Complete & Discontinued )

Pt 1 Pt 2 Pt 3

Six of Crows. [ TV Show ]

When your older. ( Complete & Discontinued )

Pt 1 Pt 2

Haven't I given enough?

Percy Jackson.

I just died in your arms. ( Complete & Discontinued )

Pt 1 Pt 2

Old enough to understand.

Close your eyes.

The Boys.

Doin' Time.

A leap of faith.

The other woman.

The Walking Dead.

5 stages of grief.

The Hobbit.

Never trust a spell.

----

Tell me if you see any errors and I'll fix them asap!

[qwimblenorrisstan]

Surprise Pt. 3 | Soap x Reader

Summary: The boys get called out to a mission after you get injured during a game, and your past finally catches up to you.

Word Count: ~ 4k

Warnings: minor character death, guns, blood, injuries, lil bit of angst, ptsd, panic attacks, episodes, and yeah

A/N: alr I’m kinda making it up as I go, but I feel like I’m slowly getting better at making accented dialogue…hope you enjoy<3 (also thinking of making it gaz x reader x soap, or just johnny?? lmk what u think)

Requests are open!

Previous | Masterlist | Next

The longer they stayed in your home, still keeping eyes out for any of the terrorists in the area, the more they noticed some of your odd quirks.

Simon was the first to notice many of them, due to his years of experience in the military, and all of the skills he’d acquired during that time. He observed every little thing, whether it be on purpose or unconsciously.

Like how you always locked your door after entering or leaving, both locks as well. Not just one. Or the way your windows remained shut and locked, dark curtains pulled over most of them to block out any light or keep someone from looking in.

There was a knife under your pillow, and a small gun in the drawer of your nightstand. Simon would know, he’d searched the entire house when they’d first arrived, not sure if he could trust you or not. You had a gun safe in your room’s closet, and the screws on your room’s hinges were slightly unscrewed, as were every door in the house, so it would creak every so slightly when opened. So you could locate everyone in the house.

It reminded him of his habits a bit too much.

But you also had a kernel of authority to you, despite sometimes mumbling instead of speaking clearly, or the tiniest of nervous ticks he could notice, like how your lips would twitch left when unsure or insecure. Despite your stone-faced look now, you still had a few of the same tells that the little girl he’d known all those years ago did.

He only wondered what had happened to that little girl.

But he knew she’d grown up. And what he saw in you now wasn’t what he recalled from the girl he’d threatened in the past, the girl he’d intimidated and scared into staying away. Because now, you didn’t seem afraid of him at all. Not afraid of his comrades, either.

You were different in more than a few ways, now. He knew foster care had been rough on you, with god knows how many families taking you in only for money or being abusive. He barely knew the general timeline of how long you’d been in it. He’d heard tiny bits of it you’d offhandedly mentioned, and you seemed to have found a more permanent home at 12, staying until moving out here, looking for what most teenagers are, a meaning and some freedom.

But he hadn’t known just how rough it had been.

You’d gotten home from work looking beat one night, wearing some jeans, a uniform shirt, a belt, and per usual a holster for your gun. You always insisted on carrying it, and he didn’t blame you. Bad things happened to girls who lived alone here.

You didn’t even take any time to eat or change before walking into your room and collapsing into bed, asleep in a second. Work always seemed to tire you out, for whatever reason, but maybe they had you doing all kinds of shit he didn’t know waitresses did. Who was he to assume?

“She should eat dinner, at least.” Price said, watching from the couch as Johnny pouted slightly. He’d cooked a meal, especially for you, albeit Gaz had done most of the work and helped him out, basically making the entire dish, poor Soap had been waiting all day to try it.

“I can go get her?”

Kyle suggested, and Simon’s deep rumbling voice spoke up next, glancing over to your closed door, a neat “Do not enter.” sign on the front.

“She don’t like when people go in ‘er room.”

“Well, she’s breakin’ poor Soap’s heart.”

“She’s yer sister, why don’t you go get the lass.”

“She’d beat his ass, that’s why.”

Simon gave an exasperated sigh, getting up from where he’d been sitting next to Price, watching a soccer game. He approached your door, slowly opening it as it creaked. The lights were off, the room completely dark as the windows were also covered by the thick curtains you kept.

You’d made it clear that no one was allowed in your room before, but it looked normal to him. The walls were a shade of your favorite color, or what he assumed was, fairy lights with clips on them holding pictures of you and friends, and even a picture from years ago of the family, hanging from wall to wall. There was a desk at the front, papers thrown about and some neatly arranged. The clothes basket smelled vaguely of an irony tang he didn’t bother to investigate at the time.

A mirror hung on the other end of the door.

Walking quietly up to you, he watched you for a moment. Your body was deathly still, breathing quietly but a bit shaky. He could see your eyes moving beneath your eyelids, the movements erratic and frantic.

Despite himself, Simon found himself intrigued by the papers on your desk. Why had you bothered to keep them out of your room? What were you hiding? His military career kept him on his toes at all times and kept him suspicious of everyone.

After all, it was the people you trusted that could hurt you the most.

Walking silently over to your desk, he began going through papers. Gaz and Soap, now both watching through the doorway, made little hushed whispers of “Wha’ are you doing??” and “Jus’ wake ‘er up-“ that he ignored. The papers were all basic, nothing interesting.

Essays, research papers, lots of notes. But just when he thought he wouldn’t find anything, he slid open one drawer as it creaked slightly as well, finding files in it. Paper, Manila folders that were thick with information that he found himself curious about. However, just when he reached for the first one, he heard Johnny.

“Behind ye, Lt-“

The cold metal of a gun against the side of his head became more than apparent as someone kicked the backs of his knees in. A gun to his head, on his knees, with Gaz and Soap now in the room, hands up, carefully trying to approach him.

“Easy, lass. We ain’t gonna hurt ya..”

Johnny tried, and that was when Simon realized it wasn’t some enemy terrorist who had gotten in who was holding him at gunpoint, no, it was you. He hadn’t even heard you approach. Hadn’t heard you get out of bed or move at all.

But he did hear the hammer of the gun click back.

The first thought he had was that he was being betrayed. Double-crossed. Either that or you were having some sort of episode. Price approached the door, watching you like a wounded animal. Unlike Simon, he could see the way your eyes weren’t there, that you were somewhere else, in an entirely different world, doing what you thought was right.

Price slowly approached, bolder than both of the Sergeants, but with a practiced precision. He’d done this before. They could tell.

“Can you tell me who you’re pointin’ a gun at?”

He asked, voice unwavering and not full of pity, but instead understanding. He watched your eyes slowly trail from the gun to Simon, now completely still, and held a hand for Gaz and Soap to stay where they were. He could tell when the realization slowly began dawning on you, that you weren’t in danger, and that this was Simon.

A tiny click, the safety being switched on, before you took the gun from Simon’s head and set it on the floor, kicking it away from you to Price. Usually, you wouldn’t sleep with a gun on your person for this reason. By the time you would open the nightstand to grab it, you’d usually have already snapped out of it.

Sighing deeply, you slumped on the floor beside Simon as he slowly relaxed, and you curled up into a ball. You didn’t say anything, and neither did they. Price took the gun, standing and walking out of the room, giving a nod to Gaz and jerking his head to Soap as the Captain and Johnny left the room.

Kyle remained nearby, just in case, but didn’t say anything.

“Didn’ know you had it in ya to hold a gun to my head,” Simon said, trying for a bit of humor to make you laugh, or even hear a snort in reply, or even a snarky comment about how stupid he was. When you didn’t do anything, he silently sighed.

“How often do you have ‘em?”

“Every night.”

He made a small grunt at that. He could understand nightmares a bit too well, considering the demons of his own he had. He put an arm slowly around you, and when you didn’t stiffen, he considered it okay as he slowly stood, picking you up. However, as soon as he picked you up, you mumbled something under your breath and squirmed free, standing on your own.

“Let’s get ya some fresh air.”

He said, leading you out of the room. He took one last glance at the open file drawer and decided that you had your secrets, and he had his, and it could stay like that until either of you was ready to change it.

~

Nothing had changed since that night, other than one thing.

No one tried to wake you up again.

However, you remained as sassy and slightly stoic as usual, still caring for them, and now savoring every one of Johnny’s dinners to make up for the one you’d missed that night.

When they showed up covered in blood, sweat, and tears, you would take it in stride, patching them up and grumbling about buying more medical supplies, washing their clothes, and buying razors for them because, “A beard does not suit any of you but Price.” You’d even bought food they liked, albeit making them cough up some money for it, because of the job you had at some little restaurant they’d never heard of before as a waitress. You only really worked the job on some weekends, when you weren’t on a big absence for traveling during volleyball season, or at camps.

Your manager-landlord was surprisingly lenient about it, Simon thought. But considering all the weapons you had, he wouldn’t be surprised if a little threat went a long way.

He’d always wondered what you did at those volleyball games, anyway. That was until Price spoke up about it at breakfast one morning when you hadn’t left early for practice, and Laswell had eventually just informed them to lie low until further orders came.

“You oughtta come out wit’ us, get out the house a lil’.”

Johnny had suggested, and Gaz had given a little affirming nod. Simon remained silent, quietly watching as you shook your head.

“Can’t, got games today.”

You replied without even glancing up at them, eyes on your plate of scrambled eggs and bacon. That was the usual. You always had games, training, work, or school. With a schedule as busy as that, none of them knew how you managed it, but it left little to no time for you to simply relax or hang out with them.

Johnny grumbled about something with his mouth full of eggs when Price spoke up.

“Why don’ we go watch, eh? You been havin’ me help wit’ the plans, might as well.” He suggested before taking a big bite of bacon. You paused at that, glancing up at Price, studying him, before swallowing the food in your mouth.

“I’ll think about it.” Was the only answer they’d gotten at the time, but around thirty minutes before the game, you’d texted Simon the address, which was enough of a sign for him to get the boys and head over to your school, walking in the gym and paying for their entry. Six dollars for an adult, players were free.

To be fair, they tried their hardest to dress in civilian clothes and act normal, but it was hard when their instincts screamed to check every corner, keep eyes on the windows and doors, and scan for possible entries and exits.

You and your team were already practicing by then, setting up a hitting line, one setter in the front middle, two lines of hitters taking turns, and two passers in the back row bumping the ball to the setter, who promptly set it, and the hitter smacked it over.

Many of the girls were tall, and while you weren’t too short, standing at around 5’7 now, you weren’t the tallest either. That might’ve been the reason that you were mainly a back-row passer, also taking into consideration the control you held over your hits and body as well. The other team got full court to practice before the game for 2 minutes, which must’ve been the usual around this area.

“They bette’ win this,” Gaz murmured, seated to the left of Price, who watched as another girl on the team whispered something in your ear that had you biting your lip to hold back a smile. You were close with these people, they could all tell that.

“Our lass’ got it, I’m sure.”

Johnny said, watching the other team practice while Simon did the same. Simon’s attention was then diverted back to you, as any hint of laughter or amusement faded from your expression, into the stone wall he’d come to know. With a notebook in hand, you went over something with the rest of the team as they all huddled, the coach nearby and nodding along with it as they pointed something out with a pencil in hand.

A few adjustments must’ve been made before a game of rock-paper-scissors was played between the two coaches to decide who got first serve. The other team did. Already off to a disadvantage, he thought.

You all took up your positions in the court, Simon not recognizing anyone but you, with your hair, braided tightly back by one of your teammates, and the bright red jersey everyone on your team wore. You were number 14. He vaguely remembered Johnny mentioning something about you wearing a jersey in the number 14.

You were in the top right position, tucking any stray pieces of hair that had gotten loose somehow behind your ears, before all of your team was in position. The serve was hit over by the other team, and a brunette in the back row passed it to the setter, who made the ball go in a perfect arch in your direction. You began the approach of the ball, jumping up, arm held back, and ready to spike it. The blockers for the other team jumped, ready to deflect any ball, but right when you were going to spike it, your left non-hitting hand tipped the ball over the net.

Right between the blockers.

“Cleva girl,” Gaz said with a small smirk, and Soap lowly whistled. You didn’t glance up at them, expression remaining still despite the clever move.

It hit the floor, and a whistle sounded. Your team’s point. A rotation was done, and you were serving. They watched you toss the ball up, approach, jump, and smack it down all in less than 15 seconds before you were back in your spot, ready for the ball to be returned.

“Bloody hell..” Simon said, watching the two teams volley. He didn’t know many of the rules of volleyball, only Price knew most of them because of some of your late-night conversations on strategies to use with your team, but he was pretty damn sure you were doing good.

Your team moved in fluidity with each other, and it made Simon wonder what the hell you’d been putting these girls through in those training sessions, and what your coach had been doing. It reminded him a little of his team, his Task Force. The way you all knew each other, how high a set had to be for one specific person, the way one girl would slightly skew her bumps to the left, and the setter would move accordingly, or how to interweave without bumping into one another.

And the way you held everyone together… reminded him of Price the most.

When someone messed up, you didn’t yell or look disappointed, you simply glanced at them, acknowledged them, and gave a small nod. The same when someone pulled something off well. When you won the first set, you didn’t let your team gloat in the victory for too long.

And when you were losing the second set? Your teammates got a bit skittish, sure, but the way you remained almost totally unaffected kept them together. You were the glue of the team, keeping everyone out of their heads and in the game.

The second set was lost, but the third set remained.

“They play the last one to fifteen’.”

Price informed the boys after they’d sat up a little more, on the edge of their seats, bodies taught with stress. Kyle could’ve sworn Johnny was sweating a bit.

It went over fifteen, as you had to win by two points, and it was currently 15-16. One more point and the opposing team would win. But three more points and your team would.

Price’s phone began ringing.

A harsh serve from the opposite team and the bump was skewed by an anxious redhead in the back row. It went too far to the side, and you were running for it, but it looked too far away.

Two steps away.

Price was talking quietly to whoever was calling, his work voice on. Simon was too focused on you to care about the phone.

You weren’t close enough.

One knee went down closer to the ground, and your remaining foot kicked off the ground as your body dove for it.

A grim tone from the Captain as he nodded to whatever question Gaz had asked, while he ended the call.

Only a foot away.

Your hand flattened against the ground just as the ball bounced off of it, your head smacking hard against the floor.

Price muttered something to Soap, who tried nudging Simon, but didn’t get his attention, his eyes on you.

Your team played the ball off of the save, and the opposing team lost the point. The whistle was blown while the game was 16-16, mainly because you weren’t getting up. Out cold.

Simon shot to his feet, already, heading in your direction. There was red spreading on the floor, and he was back in his family home, looking down at his mother’s crumpled body, flashes of his little nephew’s bloodied corpse, and his brother’s shredded body coming into view.

He wasn’t there fast enough, he couldn’t get to you fast enough. He had failed.

Before he could go down even a single step, Price’s hand came down onto his shoulder firmly, holding him back. Grounding him. As he turned to face the Captain, Price spoke.

“It’s Laswell. Urgent, they need us.” He spoke quietly, and Ghost could only look on as they picked up your unconscious form from the floor, a part of your blond hair dyed red with the liquid oozing from it, and carried you away.

“She’ll be alright, Lt. Let’s go,” Soap said, grabbing Simon’s hand and pulling him along like a lost puppy. Gaz and Price were talking about something in front of them as they walked out.

The moment they got to the car, Price pulled their uniforms out of the trunk.

“Jus’ in case,”

He said, tossing them to each respective man, and Price drove while the rest of them changed in the car. The moment Simon slipped his mask on, he willed himself to forget about anything regarding you.

The job came first.

~

Your head was swimming and fuzzy. Your limbs refused to cooperate properly.

You recognized your bed, the dark curtains on the windows, and the smell of your room, covered in the perfume you always wore. Your vision was blurry, too blurry to simply be from sleeping.

Swallowing, you tried to sit up, only to find your throat dryer than a desert and your limbs shaky and weak. You made a small grunt when you tumbled from the bed to the floor, vision blurring more before going slightly back to normal. As normal as it could be right now.

You heard a small female gasp and your bedroom door opened with a creak. One of your closest friends from the volleyball team, Nalani, walked in, immediately going to your side.

Her brown, bronze skin reminded you of Gaz, and her long, dark intricate braids you’d always been amazed by hung in a ponytail behind her. Sure, you two might’ve fooled around a bit a few months back, but that was behind you. Behind both of you. She was a friend, just a friend, even if friends didn’t usually share beds and know how each other tasted.

But you trusted her more than most, that was for sure.

She’d seen your scars, heard what you could tell her without endangering her life, and she hadn’t backed away. She’d embraced it with you. Even on your worst days.

“You just busted your head open, you need to stay in bed.”

She mumbled, putting you back into the bed after lifting you. She’d changed you into your favorite pair of shorts and a loose T-shirt. It was only when she began going on and on about how stubborn you were, that you noticed a blur of movement in the doorway.

You’d seen Simon’s friends leave earlier. Assumed they’d been on a mission again.

You began pushing against Nalani, and she looked confused.

“What? What’s wrong?”

Your throat was too dry and cracked. You rasped to get something out as a gun poked around the corner. A silencer on it.

“Down, get-“

You tried pushing her down, the other hand reaching for the gun in your nightstand, fingers fumbling to find it. You were too late.

A near silent shot, and there was a hole in the back of her head that you couldn’t see but knew was there. She crumpled to the ground as you tried again to grab your pistol from the nightstand drawer, only to realize that Price had never returned it after that night.

Cursing under your breath, you grabbed the knife from under your pillow, a hunting knife, and threw it, watching as it embedded itself into the man peeking around the corner’s neck.

One down.

More came, though. Too many. Your vision blurred as you heard male voices talking, a shot down by your legs, but not quite hitting.

They were trying to disable you.

Your head was throbbing, adrenaline making you forget grief in the moment. Pain exploded through your veins as you felt a bullet whiz past you, nicking your right arm. Three men stormed the room, clearing it, before one of them came into sight, kneeling to be eye level with you.

“Thought we wouldn’t find you, yes? The Wasp’s Nest is not as secure as you thought. We’ll get our retribution.”

He spoke mockingly to you, before shoving a white bag over your head. Other voices filled the room, quiet, but loud enough for your dwindling consciousness to catch.

“…useful?”

“It’ll work……able to….again.”

“…knock her..”

“Roger that..”

You felt the blunt force of the back of a gun being slammed against your head, and your vision went black.

If you’d told the truth, then maybe none of this wouldn’t have happened.

But in the end.

The job came first.

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