#but he fights through it and he lays himself bare and lets himself be tortured

[secondstar-acorn]

hey besties we aren’t talking about Luke’s pain and trauma enough

[lymtw]

Know You're Enough

Toji can't ignore the sounds of your moans and whimpers through the wall. He's sitting on the couch, in the living room, unable to do anything about it, because you're still mad at him, and he's frustrated as hell, because he's so painfully hard, that he can see his dick twitching against the front of his sweats. He refuses to take care of it himself when he knows you're only a room away. To his convenience, you're already in the mood—clearly—but to his inconvenience, you're punishing him. You're scattering his name into your moans to throw salt in the wound, to really make it unbearable, and truthfully, it's getting to him.

Toji reached his limit when he heard you let out a sharp gasp, followed by the sound of those cries you let out when you cum hard. He strides over to your shared bedroom, opening the door to reveal your naked lower body, and your tank top scrunched up over your chest. His breath hitches, the throbbing in his pants intensifying as he rakes his eyes over your frame and absorbs the entire sight of you.

"You're really gonna get yourself off to the thought of me, when i'm right outside?" His incredulous tone doesn't do a good job of hiding the desperation that led him to barge into the room where you're splayed out so indecently.

"Mhm..." you hum, blissfully. You release a heavy, satisfied sigh. "That's exactly what I just did, 'cause you're on a time out," you say, tugging your shirt back down and pulling up your underwear, before sitting up to search for your shorts. "Don't worry. I finished. I'm done torturing you."

He can't let it be over. This normally wouldn't be enough to satisfy you. From what he heard, it seems like you only came once.

"Baby, no," he almost whines. He's outwardly desperate for you, having gone way too long without being allowed to touch you intimately. "Let me. Please," he says, climbing onto the bed. His hands make contact with the skin of your bare legs and glide over the length of your shins, continuing their way up to part your thighs to make room for him to wedge himself between them.

"I did what you asked of me. Said I was sorry and repeated after you to call myself dumb." It was such a silly moment that made the storm in your mind subside for a minute or two.

Toji resists the urge to smile when he sees you suppressing the curl of your own lips. His hands go to your waist, not stopping there. The warmth of his palms travels up your edges, meeting the sides of your breasts and briefly palming the tops of them, in order to get to your shoulders. He grips your shoulders, using them as leverage to guide you back down to the bed. Focus is embedded into his features as he takes the thin material of your shirt between his rough fingertips and peels it off your skin until he reveals the gorgeous view of one of his favorite parts of your body.

Like a domestic cat, he lays his body on you, and plants his face between your breasts. It doesn't take long for him to begin appreciating your chest, pressing multiple slow kisses to your skin. He's basking in the softness you withheld from him.

"What else do you want from me, doll?"

You let out a small, quiet sigh, through your nose. You feel a little irritated with yourself for not even putting up a fight against his affection. You always say you're not going to let him touch you for a certain amount of time, as punishment for the dumb things he does, and yet somehow it always ends up this way—him nuzzling into your chest.

"I want you to stop being a jealous maniac," you say, the words coming out softer than you intended them to, as you welcome defeat and run your fingers through his soft, dark locks.

"Mm-mm, anything but that," he responds, muffled by your warm skin. His hands caress your body, rubbing your waist and massaging your hips in a manner that would induce relaxation under different circumstances. You can't let yourself fall into that comfort until you've talked things out.

"Toji, you flashed your gun at someone who mistook me for somebody else." You attempt to keep yourself composed in order to communicate the issue efficiently. There's no need to raise your voice when you have him right there, lying comfortably on your chest.

"Mhm, I did that," Toji confirms, before planting a soft kiss on the inner side of your right breast. "The dickwad must have been real blind if he had to get so close." He feels your chest rise with a deep inhale, then hears you let out the breath. With that, he knows you're still upset and he has to further elaborate on his actions. "He had his filthy paws on you and everything. I did what I thought was best to get him to fuck off."

You hum in mere acknowledgment. "Uh-huh, that's definitely the way to go about it. God forbid you verbalize your discomfort before threatening to use a bullet."

You feel a warm puff of air on your chest, similar to the sigh you let out, but less audible, and then a kiss directly between your breasts.

"I was right next to you, ma. He was looking at you in a way that he shouldn't have been. He looked at you the same way that I look at you. You don't need that from anyone else. And that stupid ass thing he said about supposedly feeling like he's seen you somewhere? He clearly said it to get a good look at you from up close."

"You really are insane, aren't you?" You ask, rhetorically, stilling the hand that's on the back of his head.

"Doll, I hate the idea of pulling the gun out in front of you. I don't ever wanna have to use it and scare you in the process, but he was actively trying to steal you from me. If he were just ogling you from afar, I might've acted differently, but he touched you. He fucking touched you. Who does shit like that?"

Toji can feel his blood boiling again, so he refocuses on your chest. He doesn't want to think about what happened anymore, when he's in his happy place, where he knows he belongs.

"Alright, Toji. Take a deep breath." You softened your voice to simmer down his emotions. You resumed the movement of your fingers carding through his hair, aiding him in calming down more.

He does as you say and releases a heavy breath. It's riddled with his discontented feelings. "You're supposed to be mine," he mumbles, before finally latching his lips around your nipple.

Toji needs reassurance, too. Him being an attractive, enormous, hulking man, has nothing to do with how secure he feels around you, his lover. It's easy to think that because he manages to turn heads wherever he goes, that he'll be fine when you get those same reactions, but the way you have him now, is proof that insecurity can reach even him. He needs to know that he's not going to lose you so easily, especially to someone as ridiculous as the man who managed to unsettle him.

You look down at him as he takes all the comfort he needs from your chest. "I'm all yours, Toji. You're the only one who will ever get a pass for that kind of psychotic behavior."

He hums, releasing your breast, before resting the side of his face down on your chest. "You make it sound like i'm toxic towards you."

Your chest jumps as you laugh, a gesture that makes Toji lift his gaze to look at you. Your expression managed to make him lighten up a little more.

"You're crazy, but I love you, regardless."

He groans, the sound cushioned by your soft skin. You're the one thing that holds up his sanity, yet somehow you're also the one who tests it by saying things like that to him.

"Let me have you," he says, his kisses beginning to trail up, towards your neck. "Please, let me have you, mama."

"Are you gonna keep threatening people when you get jealous?" You ask, your lips curling as be continues to kiss your delicate skin.

"Mhm," he confirms. "Like I said and you said," he speaks, into your neck, "you're mine. If people don't know it, i'll make sure they get it on the first go. There's no need to make mistakes."

You laugh. "Your possessiveness is intense."

"You're not a joke, to me," he says, looking at you. His expression is as serious as what he just said.

You grab the rolled up fabric of your shirt, with the intention of covering yourself. The ambience has gone more serious and it feels wrong to be so exposed in the moment.

"Don't cover yourself, yet. I want you, baby. Please." His knuckles graze your cheek, affectionately. Despite your chest being out on full display, his attention is centered on your face. He's reading your expression. You were laughing a few seconds ago and now you're as still as him.

"Be nice to me. I don't want you to be rough, this time." It's back to back gentleness with the way your voice reaches him and your smile manages to soothe the remaining sting he's feeling. It's like you're showing him the way you want him to handle you. "I'm yours, Toji. No amount of speed or aggression from your body against mine, will have an impact on the fact. Okay?"

He keeps his eyes on you for a couple more seconds, like he's letting your words sink in and fully envelop him. He repositions his hand, so that he's cupping your cheek, and a couple slow strokes of his thumb against your skin gave him the courage to lean down and kiss you. The second his lips meet yours, he wants more. Infinitely more. He's chasing kiss after kiss from you, utterly drunk on the feeling of your hands pulling him closer by his shirt. He'll consume you, at this point.

"Hm?" You hum, still awaiting his response.

"Got it, baby," he says, before connecting his lips to yours once more. He peppers the rest of your face with kisses, luring giggles from you at the barrage of affection.

This isn't the first time Toji has been revoked of his 'you privileges', and gotten them back, instantly. This has occurred many times in the years that you've been together. Going into a relationship with him, you never thought he'd be the jealous type, much less the type who would threaten someone's life over getting overly cozy with you. The first time he pulled something similar to this, it was a little frightening. You knew he kept a gun on him sometimes, but you figured it was strictly for life or death situations.

You were wrong.

Some weirdo was getting too comfortable with you, hand wrapped around your wrist and all. You clearly remember Toji being visibly bothered, because someone thought they could just swoop in and steal your focus from him. He watched for a minute or two as the man took in your beauty and complimented you on every aspect of your appearance. He really did his best to get you to follow him to his table, and though Toji thought the whole thing was a pathetic attempt, he couldn't help the feelings that began to bubble up as the man squeezed your arm. Toji did a dog whistle to grab the man's attention, and when he looked, he lifted his shirt, just enough to show the grip of his gun. Your stomach twisted and you felt like your heart was going to lurch out of your chest. The stranger just stood there for a second, looking at Toji, condescendingly, as if to insinuate that he knew he was bluffing, and when Toji reached for and grabbed ahold of the gun's handle, that same cocky man paled. He didn't even have to pull out the whole gun—the man had walked away by the time he had the grip in his hand— but you remained worried that he would notify someone about what happened, so you and Toji left.

To this day, Toji still scares people that way when he notices them invading your space in a manner that doesn't sit right with him. You're not scared anymore, when he does it, but the frustration of having to ditch wherever you are, in fear of being ratted out by whoever Toji threatened? It's still there, and you feel it every time. You know he does it out of love for you, but sometimes you wish he would take a second to talk to you, before he even thinks of hurting someone.

Toji has kissed your entire torso, by now. Your chest wasn't exempt from his attention, despite the amount of time he already spent on it. If anything, he refined the love he gave it with purposeful movement and significance towards every spot his lips brushed.

He nears your lower abdomen, wet kisses placed beneath your navel, going lower and lower until you can feel his breath being filtered through the front of your underwear. His hands go beneath the elastic band, cupping your hips without restriction as he kisses your clothed pelvis.

Your breathing picks up the slightest bit when his lips meet your slit through the thin layer. His tongue comes out and he does an experimental swipe of it against the fabric. You feel the space immediately heat up, from your arousal and from the warm wetness of his tongue, itself.

"Stay still for me, mama," he murmurs, kissing your inner thighs after spotting the quiver in them. "You nervous?" He asks, with a small curl of his lips.

"Of course, I am." You look into his eyes as you confirm it. You love him so dearly, that even after the years you've spent together, you still feel lightning coursing through you when he has you this way. This electric feeling doesn't prevent you from letting yourself enjoy what he gives you, nor does it hinder you from touching him and making him feel good. You don't become more hesitant towards him, because by now, you're well aware that your love for him coexists with butterflies. They reside in you, and are able to be lured out by him at any instant, despite your knowledge of the fact that he would gladly be someone's cause of death if they don't keep themselves in check around you.

"Love you," he says, kneading your hips as he leans in to press a few more warm kisses to your thinly veiled cunt. His eyes dart up to your face when you don't respond—he's a little lost on why you didn't say it back— until he sees how despite the way you just admitted to your nerves, he has you entirely at ease. You have a hand flat on the sheets, occasionally moving against the material beneath it, while your other hand rests on your stomach. Your chest is steady and your attention is on the ceiling, your expression serene—ethereally so.

His hands run down your hips, warm palms squeeze and feel up your thighs, gaining your eyes on him again. "You're not gonna say it back?" He asks, his voice deep enough to make the ache between your legs just that much more intense.

"You already know I do," you say, contrasting his demeanor with a giggle. He looks like a needy puppy with that glint that presents itself in his eyes.

"Mhm, doesn't mean I don't wanna hear it, again, or do you not love me, right now?"

You're caught by surprise with that one, a small, almost inaudible gasp, leaving you at the words. "I love you all the time, Toji. I love you now and I loved you earlier when I was pissed. It's not going away."

He's a little more impatient for you, now. His movement doesn't speed up, but his heartbeat is in his ears, and there's a tremble in his hands as he reaches for the elastic of your underwear. He pulls the garment down, wanting to smell and taste you more clearly. His cock jumps at the sight revealed. You're still so wet. He lets out a shuddered breath, now that your lower half is completely bared for him. His mouth comes closer and closer and his tongue comes out, making contact with your throbbing cunt for the first time.

"Toji." The sound is soft—unexaggerated—as his tongue laps at your warmth, tasting the sweet wetness that coats it. He could stay like this for hours, worshipping your entire body, while you touch him and gift him the prettiest sounds ever. He can't get enough of you, which is why when it looks like you're going to close your legs, he pins them down, entirely. His hands splay over your thighs and he keeps them there, because he isn't going to fight to give you the pleasure you deserve. He'll love on you until your body is begging him to stop, because he knows that your mouth can be misleading, at times.

He's taking it slow, just like you wanted him to. The most stimulation comes from him lightly sucking on your clit for brief moments at a time, just to hear your moans get the slightest bit louder. Every time he releases your sensitive pearl, he goes back to running his tongue through your drooling slit, the tip of the muscle nudging your clit, causing it to throb with need. Each graze of the wet warmth, makes you wonder if you should ask him to go faster, though you were the one who asked for this gentleness. You don't want to seem indecisive or come off as doubtful that he can make you cum this way. You know he can, but god, you want so much more. You feel like you're the one who's going insane with every flick of his tongue.

"That good, mama? Or do you want it slower?" He gives you a teasing smirk. Toji knows how you are. You say you want him to be soft and gentle with you, but when the time comes, you want more than what's given to you. You delve into greediness as seconds turn to minutes. You both have nowhere to be. Time is yours, and Toji intends to take advantage of that. He's going to fulfill your needs the way you want him to, but that doesn't mean he loses awareness of your little ticks. He feels the small twitches of your legs beneath his hands every time you feel his nose bump into your clit just before it gets hit by his tongue. He sees the way your hips sink into the mattress and your body quivers when they rise, again.

"G-Good. Don't go any slower," you respond, holding your voice as steady as possible.

"Mm... Faster?" He asks, his tone so calm yet sultry, that you can't tell if he's patronizing you. He doesn't miss the way light flashes, briefly, through your features. In an instant, you regain your composure. A simple hum is offered in response—a wordless brush off of his suggestion. The sound makes Toji smirk. How stubborn of you.

"I won't hold it against you," he says, pressing a kiss to the crease that joins your pelvis and your thigh, leaving an echoing feeling of need in your core. "Just say the word, ma." He presses more kisses to your skin, as if he's trying to persuade you to let him devour you.

"Mm-mm, this is good."

It's not what he's trying to get out of you, but he can keep going until you're hanging on by a measly thread.

He continues on with that same pace—licking, suckling, prodding—so gently, luring the cutest little mewls from you. It took a little longer, but eventually, your body started trembling with impending release.

"I'm gonna- Toji," you cry, tightening your fists around the sheets as he slowly circles his tongue over your clit, focusing on it entirely. Your moans grow needier and needier as you near the edge through such delicateness. The anticipation is killing him. He wants you to be louder. You wouldn't hate him for bringing you more pleasure, would you? It's a risk he's willing to take.

Without another doubt, he's messily making out with your cunt, causing more of your sweet nectar to drool out at a more rapid pace. Your breath hitches, a sharper rendition of his name cried out. Your hand reaches downward and grabs a fistful of his hair, tugging on it as he continues to ravage you. Your moans sound absolutely filthy. He doesn't detach his mouth from you for a single second. His hands finally release their pin on your thighs, allowing you to fully suffocate him when they shut around his head. His arms hook around your thighs, a harsh grip on them to keep you from scooting away from his relentless mouth when you cum. It's another strong, orgasm, that has you arching your back off the mattress and squirming as he continues devouring you through the intense sensation. Your hips roll in an attempt to get more of his mouth on you. Only when you start whimpering and attempting to twist out of his hold, does he ease up. He goes back to the original pace, soft kitten licks through your slit to lap up every drop of your sweetness, earning small twitches from your body, due to the sensitivity you feel.

You release the hold you have on his hair and relax your legs, unbending them and letting them fall comfortably on the bed. He finishes you off with a few kisses, thin strings of his saliva and your cum sticking to his lips, before snapping every time he loses contact with your cunt. His warm palms caress your thighs—a comforting gesture, as your sounds come to a halt and all that is heard is your breathing.

"You're so impatient," you playfully chide, a breathy laugh following.

"You wanted more," he responds, one more kiss placed on you before he licks his lips clean. "I'm really good at reading you."

"Yeah? You think so?" You ask, a teasing grin on your face.

"I know so," he responds. "Wouldn't it just be the worst if we've been together this long, and I didn't know almost everything about you, by now?" He repositions himself, now sitting on his knees to start ridding himself of his own clothes.

You manage a hum and a nod as you watch Toji pull off his shirt.

"Good thing that's not the case, and I do know basically everything about you. Down to the way your body reacts to me— the signals you create that let me know you're gonna cum all over my tongue, when your pretty mouth can't form words."

"So vulgar," you say, through flustered giggles.

"You can take it, mama," he teases, a smirk growing on his lips as you watch him pull off his sweats. His eyes stay on yours, as he kicks them off, letting them slide off the bed and onto the floor, before crawling back between your legs. You can feel his clothed hard-on pressing against your core as he takes your lips in his again. He's addicted to the feeling of your warm body against his.

His hands come down to cup your waist, his fingers molding into the soft flesh with every squeeze they offer. He pauses the make out, small breaths leaving him.

"Baby," he says, his voice almost a whisper, his lustfully darkened eyes narrowed on your starry ones. "I'm gonna kill the next person who hits on you in front of me." He goes back in for a few more quick kisses. "I'm not joking. I can't keep sparing them."

"Shh... All yours, Toji," you murmur, softly, pulling him back in to continue the flow of kisses. Your hand goes to the nape of his neck, the other settles on his shoulder. You hear him groaning quietly into the kisses as he continues grinding his hips into yours.

"Fuck, doll," he groans, pausing his lips on yours once again. "I need you."

You laugh, a warm sound that just adds on to his desire to have you. "So, take me, baby. I'm ready for you."

He gives you one more peck, the slyest smirk playing on his lips as he watches you lean forward for another one, only to be met with nothing.

"Ass," you grumble, playfully shoving his chest.

He chuckles, a deep rumble of a sound as he sits back to remove his boxers. He's not even ashamed of the mess of precum that accumulated in them. If anything, he's surprised he was able to hold in his load this entire time. Pleasantly surprised, because every drop will go to you, as always.

One minute you're sitting up to fully remove your shirt, pulling it up over your head, the next, in what seems like a flash, you're pushed back onto the bed, hands pinned above your head.

You giggle, looking up at him with a lingering smile. "Gentle."

"Mhm," he hums, leaning down to kiss your neck. "So gentle." Two misleading words that don't prepare you for the sensation of his teeth sinking into the crook of your neck.

Your bubbly laughter homes into his ears when his tongue runs over the indentations, luring a huff of a laugh from him.

You feel his cock run through your slick folds, his hips moving back and forth, slowly. Quiet breaths fill the silence that takes over the intimate moment. Toji runs his length through your slit one more time, before finally pushing his tip in. You gasp, feeling his cock begin to drive into you.

"F-Fuck, baby, let me touch you."

"In a minute." He sounds so calm and collected, but you can feel the grip he has on your wrists tighten and the bluntness of his nails pressing into your skin.

"No. Please."

"In a minute," he repeats.

"Pretty please?"

"You're so conflicting, mama. Love that you're begging, but at the same time, you're not listening." His hips draw back and thrust right back into you, his cock filling you up entirely, again.

"Oh fuck. Okay. Please, Toji," you whine.

Toji hums dismissively and picks up a rhythm that manages to get you to stop thinking about your pinned wrists. He lures soft, little moans out of you, listening closely as he plants warm, wet kisses on the side of your face, from your temple to your jaw.

"Just let me be good to you, baby. Alright?"

You hum, nodding your head.

"Yes?"

"Please, yes."

His thrusts become even more precise as he focuses on bringing pleasure to both of you, deep groans and grunts blending together with your higher pitched moans. A few minutes pass and you feel the pressure on your arms ease up, your hands free to roam without restriction. The first thing you do is cup his jaw and bring him in for breathy kisses. You keep your hands on his face and he lets you turn his head in every which way to cover him with kisses. Your affection is intoxicating, and he can't get enough of it. He lets out a breathy laugh when you practically have a make out session with the scar on his lips, your melodic sounds of pleasure released against the strike as he continues to fuck into you. The last kiss you leave on the cicatrix is a big one. One that makes the obnoxious kissy sound and everything. He swipes his tongue over his scar, as if he's trying to catch remnants of the sugar you coated it with.

"Love you," you say, eyes darting over his handsome features and the lovestruck expression they create. You feel the way his hips stutter against you, his abs tensing with restraint before he recomposes himself. You glide your hands up and down his arms and repeat yourself for him. "Love you so much, Toji. I'm yours."

"Fuck— I fucking love you. You're all mine. My baby." He mutters more inaudible curses under his breath, his grip on your waist getting harsher and his thrusts growing quicker, with every sweet confirmation you offer. You whimper, nails digging into his biceps as you withstand the feeling of his cock relentlessly brushing that spot within you that makes you melt beneath him.

"Oh fuck, i'm close." He groans, feeling the way your walls spasm around him at the words. "Yeahhh, you want it, huh, baby? Want my cum?"

A shaky breath leaves you, your face observed up close and personal by Toji, through lust-brimmed, enamored, obsessed eyes. You squirm under all of him— his zoned in attention on you, his touch, his hot, tacky skin, his cock buried inside you—dragging in and out of your soft walls, in a manner that has your toes curling to the brink of actual pain. His fingers find your clit and rub it in rapid circular motions, causing your body to jolt at the sudden intensity of the enhanced pleasure.

You look up at him with your sparkling eyes. "Please... P-Please, Toji? I want it. Want you," you utter, as he brings you closer to your own orgasm.

"Fuck, okay. Okay, baby, gonna give it all to you." His hips pick up their pace a little more and he buries his face into your neck. You can hear the string of grunts and shuddered breaths that pair with his unraveling, right beneath your ear. Deep moans and pants flow past his lips, and his nails begin to leave crescent shapes on your sides. You feel his hot breath on your neck, the open mouthed puffs of air accompanied by the lewd sounds of him filling you with his warm, creamy cum. As he continues rutting into you, riding out every second of his orgasm and then some to get every last drop of his cum into you, he bites your delicate skin, the placement only a few centimeters above where he bit you the first time. He stays there for a few seconds, breathing heavily through his mouth and nose, before he loosens his bite, the gesture transitioning to sloppy kisses over the wet, saliva-coated indentations.

"Cum, doll," Toji mutters, feeling the way your cunt flutters around him when his fingers relocate your throbbing bundle of nerves. Your head sinks back into the pillow, allowing him to drag his kisses up the column of your neck, to feel the vibration of your sounds beneath his lips. Your nails go to his shoulders, dragging across the toned area of muscles, surely leaving behind some scratches. You cry out in utter bliss, your force of an orgasm echoing through your entire being. "There you go, mama," Toji purrs, in response to your body releasing the tension that came with the intensity of your pleasure. You tremble, your small, rapid whimpers and breaths evolving into full blown, unholy moans. "So, so pretty," he drawls out, engraving yet another one of your euphoric expressions into his memory. His fingers leave your clit, and his hips slow down to the point of merely grinding into you, to lure those final little whines out, before stilling entirely.

You shut your eyes to focus on calming your heaving chest for a few seconds, and when you open them again, you have the prettiest pair of green eyes staring down at you. You give Toji a lazy smile and a laugh, a sight that makes him feel warm and fuzzy inside. His heart races as he absorbs the visuals of your post-orgasm haze. Your luminous eyes devour him, that little satisfied smirk on your face is everything— god, he loves that you laugh even more at the way he can't stop staring at you.

Just like that, Toji is reminded of what got this sight revoked from him in the first place. He still doesn't feel like he's in the wrong for wanting to murder anyone who has far from just friendly intentions with you, but as you caress his face and hold his gaze with that tender look in your eyes, his desire to kill those who openly lust after you, becomes entirely justified in his mind. He's lost all reason to hold back. There's no longer any part of him that would feel remorse or guilt, even if you can't look him in the eyes for days after the matter. He'll grovel as much as he has to, to get you to give him your eyes, again. You'll just have to agree to disagree on this, because yes, you come home to him, you sleep in the same bed as him, you kiss and hold him, the body concealed by your clothes is a secret between you and him, you get tangled up in sheets with him and the lot of it— but he can't risk losing you to someone who's possibly better than him and searching for all the exact things you have to offer. You're for him, as he is for you.

Toji doesn't care how clingy he appears when you finish getting cleaned up and ready for bed. You carelessly toss yourself onto the mattress and pull the blanket over your body while you wait for Toji, who took the steps and walked around the bed to make it to his side. He finds your body beneath the covers and immediately rolls on top of you, adhering himself to you, again. His head rests on your chest, his arms wrapped tight around your body.

You're already prepared to give him the intimate aftercare that comes with days like this. You don't mind that he's heavy and that he's crushing you or that he's taking up all your space, again, after having been so close to you a little while ago. You'll do this as many times as you need to for him to understand that he's wanted and loved by you.

You press a kiss to the top of his head, and murmur a quiet 'love you'. Your fingers run through his damp hair, your nails gently scratching the back of his head, while your other hand rubs his back. You feel the extra warm skin of his shoulders, where you paid no mind to the pressure your nails applied on it, earlier.

"Does that hurt?" You ask, lightly tracing a couple of the mildly inflamed lines. He hums in denial, but you let up, anyway, and continue to just rub his back.

He groans quietly at your soothing touch, nuzzling further into you. "I'm yours, too, ma. All yours," he mumbles. "I don't want anyone else and I don't wanna see you with anyone else."

You smile softly at his admission. "You're more than enough for me, Toji. There's no one I want more than you— no, there's no one I want other than you," you correct. "You know how much I love you?"

"Mm... How much?" He asks, waiting for you to give him a number or even just an elongated 'so much', but instead, you surprise him with:

"I wouldn't be able to tell you."

He chuckles. "Really?"

"Yeah, really. If you want something accurate, I'll never shut up."

"Good thing I like when you talk my ear off. You wanna give me an inaccurate idea of how much?"

You hum like you're in thought, a giggle following when he pinches your waist, encouraging you to tell him. "I love you a lot, Toji. So much more than I will ever be able to say or show. We would have to conjoin our minds for you to understand exactly how much I love you, but even then, once our minds separate, your estimate will be entirely off again."

He lifts his head off your chest, and waits for his eyes to adjust to the darkness of the room. The moonlight seeping through the spaces between the curtains is the only source of light that allows him to get a mediocre view of you. "That's inaccurate?" He asks, looking at you with clear disbelief when his eyes finally adjust. You nod, smiling through the warmth that spread on your cheeks. "Now, I wanna know how much you love me, with complete accuracy. I have all the time in the world to listen to you, baby. Just keep talking to me." He presses a kiss to your cheek before lying back down on your chest and wrapping his arms around you, again.

You hugged him as tight as you could for a few seconds. The sound of you straining yourself made him laugh, because not only did he not let out a single groan, but you tired yourself out even more. You rested your arms on his back and just shut your eyes. It was the warmth and weight of his body on you, the feeling of his arms keeping you firmly against him, the security, that managed to lull you to sleep. Toji dozing off was simpler than that, because all he needs to be able to sleep soundly, is for you to be around.

[rafesproperty]

Rafe Cameron x Reader GF <3

Rafe with a girlfriend that loves to read. He doesn’t get it. Really. But he’d do anything to make his girl happy. ❤️‍🩹

Just Rafe being disgustingly sweet and spoiling reader…

I wanna make a part 2 where he finds out about annotating cuz that scenario is just hillarious to me 😭 lmk if you want it!

» masterlist

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

“Hey, baby,” Rafe mumbled as he walked into the kitchen, it was early in the morning and his voice was still rough, his hair messy and his eyes barely open as he reached for your coffee and took a sip. You were staying at Tannyhill for a while because his dad was on some family trip with Sarah and Rose.

You chuckled and reached for your coffee, snatching it from his hand. “Morning.”

He started to make coffee for himself as well, you’d normally admire his back in the white shirt he was wearing, but you were almost finished with your book so you kept reading, eyes glued to the page. Rafe noticed and looked over his shoulder at you. “Wheezie’s still sleeping?” His eyes trailed down to the table, one singular book laying there but a bunch of mini colorful papers and pens laying around it. He raised an eyebrow when he noticed there was no notebook tho. Weird.

“Mhm,” you gave a quick nod, clearly more focused on the text in your book than on him. “Made you some waffles.” You added and kept reading the page quickly. Suddenly you let out a gasp.

“What?” Rafe quickly turned around, his flight fight or fight mode on immediately. Then he let out a frustrated groan when he realised why you gasped and he leaned against the table, flexing his arms (not happy that you didn’t even look), and sneaking a glance at the page.

“Oh, my fucking God. I need to know the rest.” You let out a tortured moan and looked up at him, suddenly realising you were not alone and that your very much judgy boyfriend was staring at you. You felt your cheeks flush. “Sorry, um… it just… was intense is all.” You closed the book shut, avoiding eye contact with him.

Rafe grinned. “You’re so weird.” He mumbled and ran a hand through your hair. “So, so weird it actually makes you cute as fuck.” He whispered as he leaned down to you, you closed your eyes and purred softly at his touch. He smirked, satisfied that he finally got your attention.

You chuckled at his comment, looking up at him. You knew Rafe didn’t get it. He was very much reality-oriented and you were sure you wouldn’t be able to force him to read a book if his life depended on it. Yours maybe… but you’d probably die anyway. Plus there was no way he’d ever find the time in his schedule to read something. He was either taking care of business or spent all his free time with you and you only, and intended to keep it that way.

He went back to making coffee and you pulled out your phone, looking up the next book in the series you were currently reading. The thing is it was still a fresh release and everyone loved this series so it was sold out everywhere, hard to get and if a store had it they put an insane price on it, knowing some people would buy it anyway.

“30 fucking dollars for a paperback? Fucking assholes.” You slammed your phone down and Rafe turned around, giving you a look of genuine confusion.

“What’s wrong?” He had no idea what a paperback means, or how much books even cost. Thirty dollars sounded normal to him… cheap even.

“What’s wrong? Baby 30 bucks would be insane even for a hardcover.”

“A what?”

“Doesn’t matter. It’s fucking ridiculous. They put a big price on it because they know people want it and some people will buy it but I-“

“I’ll get it for you.” Rafe stopped your rant and sat down next to you with his coffee and the waffles you made earlier.

“What? No, Rafey, no. It’s so fucking expensive.”

He genuinely grinned at your statement. “Baby, it’s 30 bucks.” He rested his hand on your knee, drawing little circles with his thumb, trying to ease your mood. He was still sleepy, normally you’d admire how pretty he looked with his hair all messy and eyes puffy.

“No. That’s not the point. It’s too much for a book. Baby a paperback is usually around 10 dollars.”

“So?”

You groaned. Oh how you wanted to rant to someone about how stupid it was, but of course Rafe didn’t understand. Where was Wheezie when you needed her?

Rafe grabbed your phone and checked the location of the bookstore. You both ate your waffles and chatted about some other things for a while. He eventually got up. “Get dressed, we’ll go get it.”

“Rafey it’s really okay-“

“Shut upppp,” it was his turn to groan in annoyance now and you chuckled at his expression. “Wanna make you happy baby, I don’t give a fuck if it costs a thousand. Get dressed.”

There was no arguing with Rafe once he made up his mind. You were on his bike within a few minutes, holding on to him as he parked in front of the bookstore. He grabbed your waist as he led you inside, holding you close to him — it was a thing he did whenever you went to public together.

You immediately knew where to look for the book you wanted, but your eyes lingered on some new releases on your way over to the fantasy isle anyway, remembering you wanted some of them.

Rafe followed closely behind, texting Barry back on his phone about something.

There were two girls standing next to the fantasy isle and you heard them rant about how overpriced this specific book is and how unfair it is. You really couldn’t agree more. You reached for it and sighed. “Oh God,” you mumbled to yourself when you saw the price. Not thirty, but thirty fucking two.

“Right?!” One of the girls looked at you, obviously also pissed off. “I mean, how greedy can they get.” She ranted.

“Yeah I threw a tantrum when I saw how much it is this morning.” You laughed and she laughed as well, the other girl adding in her own complaining and you were chatting about it for a while, talking about the events of the first book in the series. Rafe was behind you for a while but he got annoyed with Barrys shit over the phone so he found a chair to sit on and let you talk to the girls.

“Right, um, I’ll get going.” You eventually said to the girls when you noticed Rafe was now just scrolling on his phone. You didn’t really wanna keep him waiting.

“Wait you’re actually buying it?!”

“Um,” you let out a nervous laugh, “yeah, well, no… my um, boyfriend’s getting it for me.” You admitted, you didn’t want to brag but you also didn’t want to say you’re getting it and take the credit for something he’s paying for.

“Oh wow, lucky.” One of the girls smiled, sneaking a glance at him. You could tell just from the look in her eyes that she found Rafe scary. Most people did.

“I’m jealous,” the other whispered, whether about your boyfriend or the book was not clear. You smiled and said your goodbye, and went over to Rafe who was now on his feet, leaning against the wall.

He furrowed his eyebrows when he saw you only came back with that one book. “Did you fucking read the whole thing already?”

“What do you mean?” You grinned, ignoring his grumpiness.

“I thought you were picking shit. What were you doing?”

“Oh no, I was chatting with some girls. Sorry. They also had a lot to say about the pricing.” You smiled at him apologetically.

“Well yeah, but go pick more books.” He said annoyed. He didn’t really mind waiting for you but he didn’t understand why you only grabbed one.

“No, baby, this one’s already overpriced as fuck I don’t wanna-“

“For Gods sake Y/N, we’re already here. Get more. Wanna spoil you baby.” He brushed his finger against your cheek and put a strand of your hair behind your ear. You smiled at him and tried to hide your blush.

“Okay, alright. Can you—“

“Mhm,” he knew what you were asking immediately and grabbed the one you already had so you can go look at some more.

You were walking around the isles, checking out a bunch of books. You’d lie if you said you didn’t want almost every single one. As you were reading the back of some modern romance Rafe appeared behind you, he came closer to you and put one hand next to your head, leaning against you. You could feel his breath at the back of your neck and a shiver ran down your spine.

“Isn’t that just about sex?”

“Yeah,” you laughed, not noticing that the girls you were chatting to earlier were standing next to you and Rafe.

He seemed genuinely confused. “Why’d you read about it when we can do it?”

“Rafe,” you laughed again and turned around to face him, giving him a look, blushing when you noticed there were other people too.

“What? I’m serious. Bet I can make you feel better than some words on paper.” He brushed his hand against your back and you felt your whole body tense up… that is until you heard the girls next to you giggle.

“Shut the fuck up,” you mumbled, embarassment evident in your face. But Rafe just smirked, always eager to make you flustered.

“Besides,” you added, putting the book back, “you’d be surprised what a few words on paper can do to you.”

He gave you a susprised look, “Seriously?”

“Yeah where do you think I learned all my tricks?” You said jokingly and he grinned as well.

“Dunno, you were pretty innocent before I corrupted your pretty mind.” He mumbled next to your ear and nibbled at the skin of your exposed neck, softly kissing a mark. His mark.

Rafe smirked when he noticed the way your body reacted by leaning closer to him, and reached over you to grab the book you placed back. “So we’re buying it?”

“No.”

“Why not?” He raised an eyebrow. You were obviously intrigued by it, he thought.

“It doesn’t sound that interesting,” obvious lie, “’m gonna look for something else.”

“Get something else and this as well?”

“No, Rafey, books can get-“ but he just rolled his eyes and held it next to the first book you picked. Already made up his mind.

You knew he’d just get it no matter what you said. “Wait, it’s a sequel, can you—“ You looked up, not only was this store overpriced as fuck but they obviously also had zero respect for small people.

“Hm, here,” he leaned even closer, brushing his lips against your ear, trapping you a little, your back pressed against the bookshelf. “Which one?” He teased you with a smirk, his fingers brushing your hair aside to make the marks he left there the other day visible, his breath brushing over them.

Then he got the book you pointed at, leaving you shivering just a bit more. “Needing me so bad for everything…” he murmured happily.

Rafe figured quickly that you’d act all humble the whole time. You always picked up a book, read the back, smiled at it… and put it back. Every. Damn. Time. And after an hour of him waiting you had the audacity to come to him with only two books. He didn’t say anything, just got up, grabbed them from your hands and made his way to the cashier.

“Hey, princess, hold this for me.” He handed you the four books as he wanted to reach into his pocket for his wallet on the way. You took the books without questioning him, and he quickly grabbed most of the books he noticed you were checking earlier. He also grabbed the better ones, the ones that were more expensive… hardbacks? That’s what you called it, right? So quickly you didn’t even really get the chance to protest.

“Rafe-“

“Shut it,” he growled and this was the first time today he didn’t say that in a joking manner.

So you did.

“Everything alright, sir?” The cashier asked. Rafe gave her a quick nod and noticed they had some snacks — mostly chocolates — there. So he grabbed a few and added that to the pile of books.

He waited for the cashier to finish her job when you suddenly realised something.

“Rafe, wait.” You mumbled and ran off. He didn’t really understand but you came back with one more book a second later. He didn’t mind at all. Tho it didn’t really seem like your style, compared to all the other books… this one was colorful and seemed like some rom-com high school bullshit, but he didn’t question you.

“Your total’s $273, sir…”

You felt your body freeze. “Rafe you don’t-“

But he already pulled out his card without blinking an eye. “Told you to shut it.” He whispered and grabbed the bags with your books and threw his free arm around you, leading you out of the store.

He let out a sigh when you both exited the store and you were afraid for a second that it was because it really was too expensive.

“You’re impossible, you know that?”

Fuck.

“The worst sugar baby ever.” He added and gave you a relaxed smile.

Oh… that’s what he meant. You felt relief as you smiled at him as well, laughing at his nickname for you.

“Thank you, baby.” You mumbled and wrapped your arms around his waist as you both made your way to his bike.

“Mhm, anything for you. Anytime.” He kissed the top of your head and you felt butterflies in your stomach.

Wheezie was already up when you both returned to Tannyhill. She was excited to see all the books you got so you sat down on a couch with her and showed her everything, telling her about each one. Rafe didn’t really care… plus all the fantasy terms started to give him a headache so he minded his own business, dealing with something on his phone again, occasionally resting his hand on your thigh.

“Oh yeah, this one’s for you. I knew you wanted it.”

That caught his attention. He looked up from his phone and saw Wheezies eyes sparkle as she flipped through the book you picked for her. He felt his heart warm up. You really were thinking of his little sister too… He’s so going you wife you up one day. Probably soon.

He sneaked his arm around your waist and squeezed you gently, thanking you.

[prodbyton]

lee haechan x fem reader

cw. smut +18 mdni. roomates, fwb!enemies ?, birthday sex, unprotected sex (be smart)

“does this count as my birthday gift?” haechan grins as you sink down onto him, the both of you letting out content sighs at the feeling. your eyes struggle to stay open over his cock stretching you out so deliciously. he holds your hips tight as you clamp around him. he has to stop himself from pushing you all the way down, you’re torturing him with how slow you adjust to his size, but even through his lack of patience he doesn’t want to hurt you.

“thought maybe you’d be less irritating this week if you got laid” you try to keep your composure but its hard, you can never keep up your little mean act once haechan was inside of you. its like all the power you have outside melts away the moment you’re in his bed, and its completely evaporated once you get a feel of him.

“could say the same thing about you and your little attitude problem, princess” he chuckles, his demeanor turning more dominant the moment he can have you to himself. you say you hate him but you keep coming to him whenever you need a good fuck. and he was always going to be there to give it to you even if you didn’t deserve it. you got on his nerves, and he got on yours even more. petty fights in the apartment you two shared started to be filled with more and more tension until the both of you snapped. so now whenever either of you were being more annoying than usual, it always ended with you riding him with no help until you cry, him fucking you absolutely stupid or you overstimulating him and slapping him around for being a dick.

“how unfortunate that you made it through another year”

“it would be unfortunate for you… since you cant seem to get enough of my cock” he has that stupid little smirk on his face as your body starts to go limp, you can barely hold yourself up and you were trying to keep up with the pace you created, the boy under you taking all you gave him. since it’s his birthday it would only make sense for you to do the work and make him feel good, but it’s easy to get lost in pleasure when you’re on top of him. you rut your hips up while you press haechan closer into your chest, letting his lips leave wet hot kisses on the sticky skin of your chest and neck. he talks in your ear and it encourages you to move faster, his moans getting louder while you try to push him to the edge.

when your pace falters slightly, haechan helps you move faster and the way you clit grazes along the skin of his abdomen has the feeling of your orgasm building up faster than you’d like. you clench around haechan uncontrollably and he bites down on your sweaty shoulder, feeling his own orgasm getting closer. he could tell you were close, your breathing was slower like you were holding it in. he always had to remind you to breathe during times like this, but sometimes he liked watching you gasp for air as you cum.

“gonna cum before the birthday boy? how selfish…” you shake your head at his teasing and you try to slow down but haechans grip on you doesn’t loosen. he takes one of his hands to bring it down to your clit and you shudder, so close you could feel it all over your body.

“hae- fuck- haechan, gonna cum” the words barely come out of you coherently, whines and mumbles leaving your mouth as the pressure on your clit deepens.

“me too baby, cum for me” his words tickle your neck and you finally feel the rush of your orgasm, you stop moving as haechan holds you on him, rocking you slowly as you spasm around him, triggering his own orgasm. you both have your heads thrown back in pleasure, you’re milking his cock for every drop of cum and you don’t stop until your body stops shaking and he’s gently lifting you off of him from the overstimulation.

you both watch as a mix of his and your cum leak out of you, it drips down his thighs and you make a note to put these sheets in the wash before you go to bed. you turn over to lay on your back, legs burning from being bent for who knows how long. after a few minutes of recollecting, you can feel haechan shift next to you. he turns you slightly so he can spoon you, fingers grazing the exposed skin of your stomach and thighs as he presses his still hard cock against your bare ass.

“i think since im 24 today, we should fuck 24 times” you can hear the smile in his voice behind you, the way he talks like he came up with the best idea ever. all you can do is roll your eyes before reaching behind you to align his cock with your cunt.

“i really need to find a new roommate”

a/n: a little late but happy birthday haechan <33

[littlest-w01f]

Bloody

Sylus x Reader

SYLUS MASTERLIST

LADS MASTERLIST

Summary: Even after being told against it time after time, you took a hit meant for Sylus

Cw: Blood, injury, angst, little suggestive at the end

The fight was a blur to you, all you remembered was that you and Sylus had been attacking your own Wanderers, as you finished off the Wanderer in front of you, you rushed for Sylus when you saw another about to take a strike at Sylus while his back was facing the creature.

With a cry of desperation, you lunged towards Sylus, throwing yourself between him and the looming threat of the Wanderer's weapon. Your body took the brunt of the impact, the alien's weapon slicing into your chest with brutal efficiency, the cut cauterised on impact. The pain was excruciating, but you barely registered it.

As you lay there, the gash burning your chest, your clothes slowly burning in, your vision blurring, you felt Sylus' strong arms wrap around you, cradling your injured form. His face was etched with concern, his eyes searching yours desperately.

"Stupid, aboslutely dumb little kitten!" Sylus growled, right eye pulsing red, his body nearly shaking in anger as he rushed home with you in his arms, being careful not to hurt you further, "Why? Why the fuck would you do that!?"

"You... You were gonna get hurt..." You gasped out as he set you on his bed, surrounded by pillows. "You always protect me... So I thought..."

"You don't take my hits!" Sylus growled, his hands hurting to remove your clothes so they didn't stick to your burnt skin, his words were harsh, yet they were laced with a desperate fear. "I step in front of you because I heal faster than you can blink. I will always step in to protect you, but you don't have to do that! Have you gone mad!?"

Sylus' intense gaze bore into yours, his chest still heaving with agitation. The dim light filtering through the curtains cast long shadows across his chiselled features, accentuating the sharp lines of his jaw and the furrowed brow above piercing crimson eyes. His broad shoulders seemed to tense even further beneath the leather jacket he hadn't removed yet. "If the blade was a little to the left YOU WOULD'VE BEEN DEAD!"

As he stepped back, giving you space, and himself too, his clenched fists hung at his sides, the knuckles white with restrained fury. The air around him crackled with barely contained rage, making the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end, but you didn't flinch at how pissed he was, knowing he would never harm you.

Sylus paced back and forth across the room like a caged beast, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. The anger radiating off him was palpable, making the air feel charged with tension. Every so often, his gaze would flicker over to you lying on the bed, his expression softening just slightly before hardening once more.

"I won't let anyone hurt you," He muttered, his voice low and rough. "But that doesn't mean you get to throw yourself in front of danger like some kind of martyr, sweetie!"

As Sylus tried to calm his breathing as if trying to lessen the power pulsing in him, his mind raced with thoughts of how close he came to losing you. The memory of seeing that Wanderer's blade pierce your chest made his stomach churn with nausea even if he had destroyed it, he hoped he could've tortured it more. He couldn't bear the idea of living without you, of watching your life slip away before his very eyes.

He stopped pacing abruptly, turning to face you with a look of determination etched onto his features. With swift movements, he shed his jacket and kicked off his boots, revealing his toned physique clad only in a black fitted top and pants.

"Sylus…" You whispered weakly, trying to sit up but wincing at the pain in your chest. He quickly moved to support you, helping you recline against the pillows.

"Just relax, sweetie," He murmured, his fingers gently tracing along the wound, applying pressure to stem the bleeding. His eyes blazing with intensity. "Look at you, all pale and shaky. You could've died, and for what? To prove some stupid point about how much you love me? I know you love me, you were crazy for what you did."

Sylus ran a hand through his dishevelled hair, his chest heaving with agitation. He knelt beside you, brushing away a stray lock of hair that clung to your forehead, his touch gentle despite his rough exterior.

"Damn it, y/n," Sylus muttered, frustration clear in his voice, "I can't lose you. I can't stop seeing you... On the ground... I..."

"Don't worry," You whispered, the words barely audible even to your own ears, "I'm fine."

Sylus growled lowly at your weak reassurance, his red eyes flashing dangerously. "Fine?" He scoffed, his large hands hovering over your exposed torso, hesitating to cause you any more pain.

His breath hitched at the sight of your tattered flesh, Sylus scoffed, unclasping and slipping off his leather belt, "Now this is going to hurt for you, kitten." You automatically opened your mouth for him to put the leather between your teeth to bite onto, having gone through him using his Evol to heal you before. He held you down, hands holding down your shoulders, he focused on your gashing wound, red and black tendrils formed around your injury, energy humming, stitching your skin back up as you struggled in pain.

Your breath hitched as Sylus' Evol surged through you, the sensation of your flesh knitting together was excruciating. BItting onto his leather belt in pain, tears lining your eyes. For Sylus, he was used to healing, the pain was almost unrecognizable to him, but for you, it was torture.

Sylus kept his grip firm on your shoulders, anchoring you to the spot as he focused his energy on repairing your torn flesh. The sound of your pained whimpers and whines were like nails on a chalkboard, tearing at his heartstrings. He wanted nothing more than to take away your suffering, to make everything better.

As soon as the last tendril of energy dissipated, Sylus released his hold on your shoulders, allowing you to slump back against the pillows with a gasp of relief. His chest rose and fell rapidly, matching the frantic beat of his heart, yours slow, gaining speed back after you were healed, a faint line now replacing the gash.

"There," Sylus said, panting lightly. "It should heal nicely." Sylus' touch was tender, his fingers tracing along the newly healed skin, ensuring every stitch was done correctly, leaving no opening. His eyes never left your face, watching every flinch, every grimace that crossed your features.

Leaning in closer, Sylus pressed a tender kiss to your forehead, then to your eyes, making the tears fall, his lips brushing against your skin with a feather-light touch. "Never again," He spoke softly, his crimson eyes burning with an intensity that spoke volumes of his unwavering dedication to protecting you. "Never do that."

He was furious. Furious that you'd willingly taken a blow meant for him, furious that you'd endangered yourself for him, furious that he hadn't been quick enough to stop you, or protect you. Sylus's voice was low, almost a growl, "You're mine to protect, not the other way around, alright, my pretty kitten?"

A vulnerability, a hint of his underlying emotions that he tried so hard to keep hidden. He looked at you with an intensity that made your heart flutter. "You can't just throw yourself in harm's way like that, y/n," he said, his tone softer now, though no less firm.

You looked away from his burning eyes, still a little weak, "I just..."

"You just what?" Sylus demanded, his voice rising once more as he towered over you again, looming over you. "Couldn't bear the thought of me getting hurt? Thought you could play the hero?"

His words stung, but you refused to let him see how much they affected you. Instead, you met his gaze head-on, your own eyes blazing with determination. "I did what I had to do," You said firmly, your voice unwavering despite the pain still coursing through your body. "I won't apologize for not wanting to see you hurt."

For a moment, Sylus seemed taken aback by your defiance, his brows furrowing as he studied you intently. Then, with a sigh, he ran a hand through his hair, his shoulders sagging slightly. "You stubborn kitten," Sylus' nostrils flared, his chest heaving with each ragged breath. "You have no idea what you put me through," He muttered, his voice thick with emotion. "Seeing you lying there… It felt like my world was ending."

For a moment, his usual tough exterior crumbled, replaced by raw vulnerability. He took a step back, raking a hand through his hair, his crimson eyes filled with unshed tears.

"Oh, Sylus..." You whispered, voice a little shaky, reaching out to place a hand on his forearm, feeling the corded muscles beneath your touch, the other stroking his cheeks. "I'm ok... I'm ok because you healed me... I'm so much better already..."

Sylus sighed heavily, his gaze dropping to where your hand rested on his arm. For a moment, he remained silent, as if grappling with his own emotions. Then, with a resigned sigh, he pressed his face further into your now healed chest. "I can't lose you, y/n..."

As he nestled his face into your chest, you felt his warm breath ghost across your skin, each exhale a reminder of his closeness. He buried his face deeper, inhaling deeply, the scent of you filling his senses, pressing his ear against you to hear the beating of your heart.

"I don't know what I would do…" He murmured, his voice muffled against your breasts. After a moment, he pulled back, looking up at you with those intense crimson eyes. "But I swear, if you ever try to pull another stunt like that… I'll tie you to my damn bed forever."

"Mmm... Kinky..." You joke half-heartedly, stroking his silver hair.

A small, wry smile tugged at the corner of Sylus's lips at your teasing remark, though his eyes still held a serious glint. "Don't think that's funny, sweetie," He warned, his voice a low rumble. "I mean every word."

"You're such a handful, kitten," He grumbled, shaking his head slightly, yet his actions belied his words as he settled further into your embrace. "Always causing trouble, always testing my patience." Despite his stern warning, there was a playful spark in his eye that belied his earlier anger.

"I love you, Sylus..." You breathed softly, nails scratching his head gently.

Sylus groaned in pleasure above you from your antics, "I love you too, sweetie."

He leaned into your touch, letting himself be pampered by your gentle strokes, something about your touch soothing his agitated spirit, his hands reaching your hips, calming himself with the feeling of you as you did the same with him, hands tracing his back, grounding yourself.

[oceantornadoo]

missed you. (simon riley x f!reader)

part 7 of the two lieutenants series (can be read as standalone)

—

“lieutenant.”

“lieutenant.”

simon’s eyes bore into you, scanning you up and down for injuries, then settling on your face. you did the same, clocking the way he was favoring one hip instead of standing all the way straight in proper formation. hi, you mouthed, eyes shining. he still had the mask on but you could see his lips move underneath, some endearment you couldn’t make out.

“well captain, you’ve got a good lieutenant on your hands. sad to see her go after two months of hard work. there’s always an open lieutenant spot on our team, or a chance for captain if she works hard enough.” you took the words of your temporary captain as a dismissal, crossing over the heli pad to stand at simon’s side. if anyone were to look close, really peer in, they’d see your shoulders touching, fabric against fabric. you were extremely experienced at standing close without looking like it, an optical illusion of body language, both stances facing forward. price and the temp captain exchanged more pleasantries but you could feel yourself getting impatient, lightning coursing through your veins at simon’s proximity.

simon riley considered himself a patient man, but in your presence, he considered himself to have the emotional range of a toddler. pure emotion, fighting back a retort when price mentioned a two hour full debrief. he barely held himself back when you turned to head inside, walking slow so you could bump into him, your lovely ass brushing his cock. simon’s hand went to your waist on instinct, fingers brushing the familiar valleys of your body. he had to restrain himself from punching johnny when he slapped a hand on his shoulder, spewing bullshit about ghost being an old man and can’t see where he’s going.

the debrief is torture. the tip of your boot brushes simon’s and you blissfully stay like that until it’s your time to get up and present. which, of course, takes an hour because of gaz and his irritatingly thorough questions couple with price and his detailed monologues. even soap’s joined, asking about the resources of your temporary team and sniper skills. the itch under your skin has become fire, this torturous proximity to simon heating you up from the inside out. finally, you finish in a blur, almost missing price’s low “dismissed.” you say something about missing your base bed and practically run out of the room. you leave so fast you don’t notice price holding simon back, “just one quick thing, lieutenant.”

without ghostly footsteps behind you, you navigate to the room you’ve been away from the last two months. it’s not dusty or musty and you almost blame fairies before smelling simon’s cologne in the air. it makes you giddy thinking of him freshening up your room, watering your windowsill plants and fluffing up your bed. the dirty laundry you accidentally left is all clean, tucked into your drawers with military precision. the gall of this man to touch your underwear. you decide to freshen up and change into sweats as you wait for him.

it’s been thirty minutes and you’re going a bit insane. ten was fine, twenty was okay, but thirty is pushing it. what does price have to talk about that is so important?! your skin is fresh and your clothes are comfy, but the anxiety has worsened, turning your palms clammy. what if he’s changed his mind? decided he couldn’t wait? just a friendly “hi” as to not let you down? the swirl of emotions is too much for you to take, forcing you to lay down just to ground yourself. it hits you all at once: the jet lag, long flight, the loneliness of the past two months. it’s heavy and too much for you to bare, losing yourself to a conflicted sleep…

when you wake up, he’s there. sitting on the edge of your bed, one hand wrapped around your bare ankle like a chain. he’s contemplating something, staring at some spot above your head. sleep is still in your eyes, sight bleary and unfocused. you know it’s him by touch alone, no need for other senses. “simon?” you whisper into the dark. “hi, baby. good sleep?” you launch yourself into his lap, the force of you like a tackle. he acquiesces to your attack, taking you with him as you try to hold him as much as you can.

he thinks you’re crying. simon settled you in his lap, your arms around his thick neck and your legs wrapped around his waist, feet tucked between the back and the bed. he can breathe, that two month weight finally lifting from his chest. “missed you so much.” you barely eek it out, his neck muffling your voice. “missed you more than words can say, love.” you think you’re crying, face getting wetter and wetter as you burrow into his neck. he thinks he’s crying too, tucking his face into your hair and taking a sniff. he’s properly messing it up but he doesn’t care - he’s been chasing the scent of your shampoo for weeks. you both stay there for a while, taking in each other’s presence. it feels like home, like a warm bath and an even warmer bed. like hiding from the whole world under a thick blanket with only the person you love by your side. “you took so long to see me, simon. i thought - thought you changed your mind about me.”

simon couldn’t believe how blind you were sometimes. did you not see the blush he’d been hiding under the mask during the whole debrief? how soap kept shooting him questioning looks, noting the tension between his l.t.’s soldiers. “was clearin’ up some shit with price. ‘s all good now.” you hummed in thought. “so we’re all good?” he drew back a little, enough to kiss your forehead. your weight was still on top of him, grounding him to reality. “actually, i have somethin’ t’ ask you.” he sat up a little, settling you in his lap so you could look at him eye to eye. the sudden seriousness in his tone made you worry, thighs squeezing against simon’s. “is it about the bulge in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?” he usually laughed at your godawful jokes but today, he just looked somewhere past your ear, focusing on the photo of you two on your desk. it had been taken a bit after you’d made it official, your arms around his waist and your smile bright enough to blind a man. “si?” you poked his stomach to get him to look back at you. “didn’t like being away from you, baby.” you frowned at his tone. “was talking to price about how to make it not happen again. t” help me follow you wherever you land.” this insanely sweet man, who was still putting your wants above his own. he knew you wanted to be captain one day, knew you’d never betray price, and knew he’d follow you to the ends of the earth.

“so i got you this.” you gasped, hands flying to your mouth in shock. the bulge was not in fact his boner but a ring box containing your dream ring hidden in your pinterest boards from years ago. you couldn’t even question how he found that exact one, how he tracked down an archived post from an archived board. “simon?” he tilted your chin up so your eyes met his. “marry me. let me be your husband. i’d follow you anywhere, love.” you were nodding through the tears, already reaching for the ring. “yes. yes, simon.” he slipped it on to your fingers, calloused hands holding your own. it looked unimaginably perfect on you, catching the light exactly how you wanted. you both were crying again, small tears of joy trailing down your faces. “let me make you happy, yeah?” you nodded into his shoulder. “yeah, baby. let’s make each other happy.”

[pseudowho]

Infiltration, Chapter Seven: The Captive Goddess

Nanami Kento and the reader must pretend to be married to infiltrate a deadly Curse-user cult and take it down from the inside.

*SMUT/NSFW/18+*

A slow-burn fic with fluff/comfort, angst, smut and heroics from our favourite salaryman.

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Nanami Kento had long-since erected walls to the outside world. Very few were allowed a glimpse to his inner sanctum, and assessments of him as cold, aloof, ghoulish, humourless or melancholy provided his armour. He was externally unflappable, methodical, analytical; but under the water, his feet paddled frantically, and he felt his heart a million miles away, perched at the edge of a precipice.

Kento swam in Cursed energy; Father Tatsu was having trouble packing it back in-- the Cursed energy that had never belonged to him-- now he had shown his hand. The air was as thick as treacle. Grimly assessing that he had no choice but to fight if he wanted to give you a chance to escape, Kento rolled up his sleeves, the seal releasing on his Cursed energy as Overtime unlocked. Father Tatsu bared his teeth.

"Will it be me then, instead of that woman you call your wife?" Kento's stomach twisted as Father Tatsu picked at his nails, flippant and disinterested, "I say that...but she'll be gone by now, of course. No blood left for the leeches."

Kento read his adversary, his face impassive as he hummed in thought, seemingly considering you tactically, instead of with the gut-churning dread he really felt. I shouldn't have let her go, Kento tortured himself, bitter, she went back, and that's my fault, and she's gone already--

Kento went through mental acrobatics-- home and dead? Home and injured? Captured and home? Captured and taken to the Shrine? Captured and taken somewhere else? Captured but fought to the death? Captured and--

"She is useful," Kento mused, detached, "but not necessary for this part of the mission. It may be a blessing for her to die now instead of--"

Father Tatsu laughed, "Dead, my boy? No, no. The Goddess prefers to consume them while their heart still beats."

Kento felt a swoop of success at his easy fishing. Captured and taken to the Shrine. Taking a few steps back as Father Tatsu's power swelled, Kento's eyes glanced through the windows overlooking the village, in the direction of your house together. Kento sighed.

"Our mission was reconnaissance and escape," Kento lied smoothly, "so while it's a shame my colleague has likely been neutralised, there's no value in both of us being taken out. If you don't mind, I'll be leaving. I don't imagine it's long before my...institution arrives, to finish the job."

Father Tatsu snarled, his attempt to reel Kento to the Shrine failing. His Cursed-energy grew at an uncontrollable rate, and Father Tatsu appeared drunk, gulping back nausea, staggering. Both considered each others' moves; breaths balanced on a tightrope.

Father Tatsu darted for Kento, so much faster and stronger than his age would normally allow, and Kento jacked sideways into a roll. Righting himself, fingertips to tatami in a balanced squat, Kento swept one leg out under the staggering Father Tatsu, who landed with a resounding slam on his back. Dropping back to his haunches as Father Tatsu lay, stunned, Kento lifted the same leg, slamming the back of his booted foot down onto Father Tatsu's face.

With a nauseating crunch-pop, Father Tatsu's nose broke, lips split, choking on blood and teeth. Lifting his leg once more to land a killing blow, Kento's ankle was grasped in two obscenely strong hands; despite his leg being swathed in Cursed energy, he felt a crack ricochet up his leg, the pain like a gunshot.

Father Tatsu looked so briefly shocked, before his face twisted into a snarl, sloppy and bleeding, yanking Kento's leg, trying to pull Kento in by his broken ankle. He doesn't know how to control the power, Kento realised, hot pain flaring up his leg, because he's never had so much of it.

"Scum," Tatsu snarled, as Kento resisted his pull with gritted teeth and stubborn determination. Tatsu vomitted, hot blood, tooth fragments and bile soaking into Kento's jeans and the tatami below them. Kento watched in muted horror as the man's body seemed to swell and churn, Tatsu briefly contorted with torturous pain before sinking his fingers into Kento's leg, bellowing like a bear.

Father Tatsu was bloated with power, and it refluxed out of him in a gruesome, violent belch, when he stood, swinging Kento in an arc to the other side of the room. Beams splintered under the sinews of Kento's body, on the wall overlooking the village, and it buckled, part of the ceiling shunting down, showering Kento in plaster, clotting with blood on his forehead.

Kento stood, solid and tall, his breath hitching with the agony of standing on a fractured ankle. Kento focused his Cursed energy there, desperate for support, cursing himself for never mastering the art of Reverse Cursed Technique.

Kento was sloppy with distraction, each second away from you lowering your chances of survival. Father Tatsu crouched, arms and fingers twisting into himself like gnarled roots, an unstable implosion. He jutted forwards, staggering, animalistic, his face contorted with rage and failed restraint.

Kento turned on a pinhead, gripping a jutting ceiling beam, before kicking the crumpled wall with a roar of pain, striking a point of critical weakness. The wall collapsed outwards, and Kento and Father Tatsu were met with the cold slap of the drifting snowstorm, before Kento leapt, the remnants of the room's ceiling folding like a blanket over Father Tatsu.

Kento's belly swooped as he dropped three stories, landing in fresh snowdrift with a soft thud, before jackknifing away into the storm, making for the village gates, for escape. Kento heard a cry of rage from the devastated room behind, carried by the wind, making his gut churn with shame.

"Coward! Coward!"

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I'm underwater.

"...feed this one...goddess..."

"...too much...all the others already..."

Warm. It's too heavy. Hurts.

"...arguing!...orders..."

"...tender first...likes them begging..."

I'll just sleep let me sleep go to sleep--

WAKE UP!

Who is that? Love him. Want him.

You're running out of time. Darling. WAKE UP!

Your injury gripped you, and you sank, unbidden, into the deep once more.

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"If you don't ask him out for a coffee, I will. Maybe for me, or maybe for you." Your best friend cringed, squealing with laughter as you slapped at her.

"If you've only come in here to bother me," you chided, urging your friend to the staffroom door, "then go away, you must have something better to do, you pest--"

A gentle knock, and the door swung open, forcing your friend to spin back to you, grasping your shoulders with wicked joy, as Nanami Kento walked in behind her, his eyes questioning. You glared daggers at your friend, giving her an almost imperceptible shake of the head. Naturally, she ignored you.

"I'm so sorry, I can't come to lunch with you today after all!" She bemoaned, "I've got so much to do. You'll just have to eat alone." Your mouth dropped open at her shameless audacity. She excused herself quickly, past Kento, the door closing on you both.

There was a heartbeat of silence, and you adjusted yourself quickly, giving Kento a breathless smile in apology for your friend.

As you moved towards the door yourself, crippled by Kento's presence, you heard his silky voice behind you.

"I normally eat alone. The good company in this place is limited."

Your hand retracted briefly from the door handle as you turned to Kento, blushing. His heart skipped, his decision quick and life-altering as other, rejected paths trailed away, unchosen, alternate fates unravelling.

He folded his newspaper with a light clearing of the throat; "That being said...I know a good bakery. If you'd like to join me for lunch."

Your smile was as soft as dappled sunlight, and Kento felt something deep within him pass irretrievably to you.

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You woke with an agonal gasp, floundering in chains as a bucket of ice-cold water was flung over you. Your head spun and pounded, belly shaking with nauseous, racking shivers. Your wrists creaked against your chains, engraved in symbols; your stomach dropped as you realised your Cursed Technique had been completely neutralised by your bonds.

As soon as you raised your head to look around you, a backhanded slap across your cheek made your teeth crack together and your head rattle; a hit you knew, vaguely, to be from a man, instead of a woman. Your tiptoes pressed to the floor as you hung, coughing.

Nought but footsteps in front of you, something dark and slick across the stones, red-black light writhing and flickering in the gloom. Your foot caught on something as you tried to stand. A second slap had you feeling your captor was enjoying this.

"It's nothing personal, my dear." The voice tickled recognition in the back of your mind, but you hitched against the chains, your head and face battered. You tried to grab your thoughts, like catching smoke. Your captor had rightly ensured you had no chance to fight back-- no monologues, no grandiose speeches.

"Well...a little personal. Breaking into my library. Making a fool of me. The Fathers really did hope it wasn't you two, you know? Such talent."

A punch, deep to your gut. A scurry up your leg, a sharp squeaking bite that sank through your trousers and popped through the skin of your thigh. You were crying out now as you kicked the Librarian's rat off your leg, you were sure, but your head was ringing, vision spinning, cold seeping through to your bones.

You almost begged for mercy, but bit it back, wordless and gasping. Your feet slipped on the part-frozen slick beneath you. Your foot caught again, your floundering throwing something forwards; ragged fabric, dark with slurry, crunched bone, gristle and flesh peeking through it. You retched as the putrid-sweet smell of fleshy rot hit you. Leftovers, you thought.

The squirming nature of the light in this vast round chamber had you throwing your head back, staring upwards with bloodstained vision. An extraordinary mass of black arms and legs writhed above you, the inchoate flesh constantly changing as hundreds of blackened screaming faces, kicking legs, clawing hands moved within it, reaching out. As if in recognition of your acknowledgement, a pulse of Cursed-energy like a weapon of war shook your bones. You'd have dropped to your knees, if not bound.

"When your pain is pure," the Librarian continued, adoring, revenant, "she will devour. She shall be released. Our captive goddess, she of the fertile land, finally imbued with the righteous power needed to debride this festering country."

The Librarian approached you, his leathery hands cupping your face lovingly, shushing you as pink-stained tears ran down your cheeks. He spoke softly, as if gifting you such a boon.

"You will be part of something bigger now, sweet girl. You were misguided...but she is forgiving." The Librarian brushed tears from your tender, swollen cheeks and you grimaced in pain. He looked up, as snowflakes slipped occasionally down past the writhing mass, and reached into his pocket. With a flick, a pocket knife opened casually in his hand.

"Is your husband coming?" The Librarian asked, slow and thoughtful, "Perhaps not. I cannot feel him." Your heart crunched with pain, tears now rushing down your face in a strangled sob, hoping against hope that Kento was escaping, instead of dead.

"It is no matter." The Librarian supported the small of your back as he punched the knife into your gut. All the air shunted out of your lungs, your mouth hanging open in a voiceless gape, agony burning through every nerve of your body as the Librarian swiped the knife sideways through your belly. A slow, fatal wound. He pulled his hand away, drenched in your blood as you began to slip underwater again.

"She will taste your pain. She will come. Do not fear, sweet girl."

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You slipped out of the bathroom, skin still glistening with steam as you wiggled a towel around you, hunting for the tinny ringring-ringring of your phone.

Into your bedroom, throwing discarded clothes aside, and reaching into your pocket, you found your phone. You answered without looking at the caller ID.

"Hello?" A brief silence on the other end.

"I'm...sorry. You must be busy." That familiar voice, that made your belly twist and throb with want, velvet and slurred. You sat on your bed, gripping your towel around you.

"Kento?" You squeezed your phone until your knuckles were white. You heard a sigh and a shuffle, and blurted out in a panic, "No, wait! Don't hang up!"

A pause again.

"I just wanted-- I needed someone to--"

"Kento I--...I'm always here. For you to talk. About anything."

A thousand unspoken truths passed between you in silence. You closed your eyes, bringing your knees up to your chest with your arm wrapped around them. You felt Kento wrapped around you, warm as you waited.

"It's...it's just been a long week," he continued weakly, "Too much. Just way too much. I didn't get to see Haibara-- it was the anniversary, and I--"

You bit your lip, tears stinging in your nose for Kento. Reassurances flurried out of you. Kento felt himself warm through with your voice, slumped in his armchair, whiskey on his knee, shirt and tie open and messy over his broad chest.

You spoke over the phone, for the first time ever. The intimacy of his breaths, his slow chuckles, the crushed velvet of his tipsy voice...with your eyes closed, he was right beside you. He may as well have been in your bed. Your skin pricked with goosebumps as you heard him shift in his chair, releasing a gravelly groan with his aches and pains.

"You can-- you can come over...if you like. I'm not-- not doing anything," you offered, cringing with regret and anticipation as soon as the words left your mouth. You heard Kento's breathing hitch at the other end of the phone, before he breathed out a long, shivering breath.

"I...not tonight," he spoke, hesitant. Your stomach dropped, blushing, tears threatening to spill out as your face twisted in despair, mortified.

"I've been drinking...and you deserve better. So much better. But...tomorrow?" Your heart leapt, wondering how you would possibly wait that long. You bit your lip, burning with desire and delight as you nodded quickly.

"I-- yes. Yes. Please." Kento huffed out a laugh that had the hairs on your neck stand on end. You shivered in your cold, damp towel.

"Are you alright?"

"I'm fine, just-- just still in a towel, I was having a bath." Kento's breath hitched again, and you were sure you could hear his embarrassment.

"God, I'm so sorry," he pressed against your hurried reassurance, "I'll go, just...go to bed. Warm up, I'll...I'll see you tomorrow." You blushed, kicking your legs, wiggling your toes, overwhelmed with joy.

"Okay. Yep. Bed, I'll-- I'll get dressed," you squeaked, unable to help yourself, teasing him with your feigned innocence. He hummed, low and unreadable.

"Sweet dreams," he said, voice warm as honeyed tea. A brief hesitation, as you both held on...the call ending with a beep.

Kento dropped his phone onto the table beside him, cupping his hands over his mouth. His thighs bounced on the chair in thrill, and he fumbled, swearing as whiskey spilled all over his lap.

The next day, he scooped you into his arms off bloodstained concrete, shielding your gaze as your friend's broken body was shifted into black bags.

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Kento had long-since left the village, since heading to the gates in swathes of snow, his broken leg giving and buckling under him as his Cursed-energy buffeted. He had escaped, cold and tactically driven; better just one dead sorcerer, than two dead sorcerers, after all.

Father Tatsu was certain, howling insults into the snow like a wolf on the mountain. His bounding strides cratered the floor beneath him as he lurched through the Temple, throwing aside the questioning approach of the kimono'd woman. She slammed into the wall in a wet crunch, hit with the force of a high-speed traffic collision. Father Tatsu lurched out into the snow, retching and vomiting again.

Father Tatsu stood strong against the piling drive of snow, a maelstrom against a maelstrom. The village was barely visible in the sea of white, as he staggered towards the black-veined, dead hill of the shrine.

Watching the man zigzag up the hill from a snowy roof, a man surrounded by allies raised his hand to pull his balaclava low, his eyes tempered like chocolate, determined.

"Time to move."

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Your heart crumpled under the weight of grief, for a promised life with Kento, never fulfilled as you hung, dying in the red-black gloom. You regretted nothing of the past; only the future you had let slip through your fingers.

The writhing goddess thrummed above you, and viscous pulses of overwhelming power thickened the air. You tried to drink it in, a desperate grasp at life.

A familiar voice called your name in the gloom. You had slipped underwater now, sunk under ice, tangled in reeds.

Kento had nightmares about how he found you, broken, bleeding, hanging and cold, until the day he died.

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One chapter to go! 🤭🤭

Chapter Eight: Unchained, LINK HERE!

@angelofthorr @nn-hh192 @vxmethyst @moonmalice @daisynik7 @heyitsmirae @black-swan-blog27 @vocosys @mischiefmanaged71 @silkspunweb 🐈‍⬛🧎‍♀️ @deegausserr

[lunarw0rks]

price would be on his phone, laying in bed with you. his hand plays with your thigh before some subconscious part of his brain recognizes he needs something more. his hand travels up before going under your waistband to play with your hair (it’s not embarrassing. i also twirl that shit. what else is it there for? fighting diseases? 🤨) and at some point he’ll put down his phone, run his other hand through his (head) hair with a sigh before looking at you to find you staring at him like 👁️👄👁️ and then he realizes he’s been teasing you for like ten minutes LMFAO

a/n: okay good, bc i'll be laying there practically braiding it for fun LMAO this scenario is making my brain go brrr. it's not a want. it's a need atp ;))

warning(s): nsfw, fingering, fem!reader

alternatively; he's reading one of his stupid novels, all invested and hmming to himself while he does it !!! your back is facing him, lying between his legs as you attempt to occupy yourself.

enjoying silent quality time like any other evening, watching whatever movie/show that's playing. whilst price is skimming the pages, the hand that's been caressing your thigh subconsciously moves upward, until it's reached your undergarments.

he's done this before, so it's not exactly surprising. until it was.

he just kept going. for a solid ten minutes, he was twirling the hairs that had grown in down there. fingertips barely kissing along the smooth skin of your core while he does so. to him, it's just a satisfying sensation, the way the strands are soft and thin against his callouses. and it's you, his lover, being touched in places only he's allowed to see.

a win for him; a silent battle of temptation for you.

then he sighs, setting aside the novel. finally, an escape from this voiceless torture. you've turned to look at him, eyes conflicted and full of need.

it's only then that the clueless bastard realizes what he's been doing to you. he's gathered a mess between your thighs, coating those hairs in a thin layer of slick for how many passes his thick fingers made. and poor you, unsure of whether to buck your hips or stay as still as a statue.

however, now you're nothing but a needy mess that needs tending to. at least, that's all your lust-filled brain can muster right now.

suddenly, he can feel it too. the hand resting there, now with the pads saturated in your arousal. "was I teasing you, sweetheart? got you all hot and bothered, and you didn't say a damn thing about it." he leaned forward and spoke close to your ear, now actively letting his fingers glide along your soaked entrance.

they slip inside with ease, but just two of them still have to be crammed to fit.

price curls them inside you, pumping them just enough to make the squelches audible in the room, "suppose you deserve this then, eh? messy little thing, you are..."

[maivolpe]

as long as you’re with me (you’ll be just fine)

summary: you neglect an injury to be able to see your boyfriend. he, however, sees right through your charade.

a/n: my first "full" one-shot! this is a reminder to take care of yourselves or else. i hope you enjoy ♡

･｡ﾟ: ∘◦☾◦∘｡ﾟ.

pairing: bucky barnes x reader cw: descriptions of blood, stitches, wounds, needles, bucky dog-earing a book wc: 1.5k

the lights were dimmed when you arrived home, battered and bruised. you almost sank to your knees upon entrance, the exhaustion from the day coursing through your body. you dropped your backpack just inside the door with a resounding thud. you'd deal with it later.

your suit still stuck to your skin unpleasantly, the slick feeling of blood still coating your leg. it had taken a few minutes to even realize you had been stabbed, but that was a small mercy. it was a sharp pain like you'd never felt before, and the heat of it all tortured you through the rest of the fight. you had lost the feeling, for a few fleeting seconds, thanks to adrenaline, but now it was back. and worse than before, as your stupid suit rubbed against the wound.

shower, was the plan. shower everything off, bandage it up, and pretend like nothing happened. then you would get to spend the time with bucky that you missed on the mission.

"baby?"

his voice echoed softly across the room, and you squinted before realizing that bucky was tucked under a pile of blankets on the couch. only his eyes, his nose, and his battered copy of the hobbit showed. you laughed breathily, slowly making your way across the room to him. "hey, lover."

he dog-eared his page, causing you to wince internally, and struggled out of the blankets he had trapped himself in. his eyes flitted over your face, taking in your features. the small crease in your forehead, the bags under your eyes. the little tilt to your head, because... you were favoring one leg over the other. busted.

"where are you hurt?" he asked, though he already knew.

you groaned, defeated, and displayed your left leg in front of him. though your suit was still on, there was a sickening stain of blood collecting where you'd quickly wrapped it up and tied it off before leaving the compound.

"it's really not a big deal, doesn't hurt that badly. don't worry about me!"

bucky cocked an eyebrow at you, and reached for your leg. he gently bent your shin backwards, eliciting a hiss of pain from your lips.

"sure, princess. not that bad. sit down."

he headed off to the bathroom to fetch the kit, and you let yourself slowly sink onto the couch.

"if it was bad they wouldn't have let you leave," he called from the other room. "knife wound?"

"yeah," you answered. "i kind of... hid it? but i think they knew you were gonna patch me up regardless."

bucky walked back into the room, his bare feet grazing the carpet. "i'm nothing to you but a nurse."

you laughed and leaned forwards, trapping his lips in a soft kiss. it tasted like heaven after a long day of granola bars and the metallic tang of your own blood. but then again, it always tasted like heaven.

"hottest nurse i ever met."

he chuckled, tying his hair up to keep it out of his eyes and squatting down to see your thigh in the dim lighting. "don't tell sharon that."

he slowly untied the cloth you'd had tied just above your knee, muttering "crude" before letting it fall to the floor. while it wasn't completely soaked through with blood, you still looked away from it, instead watching bucky's jaw set as he pulled out a pair of scissors.

"'m just gonna cut your suit here," he assured. "you've got like fifty of 'em anyways."

you nodded your assent, laying back on the cushions as you heard the tear of fabric. he hissed upon seeing the wound, a three- or four-inch gash just above your knee. it was probably three-quarters of an inch deep, he figured. dried crimson covered every available inch of skin. if it had happened to himself, he wouldn't have cared. he had plenty of scars, and the serum would help to heal it fast enough that it didn't matter.

but to his girl?

he was filled with a rage he hadn't felt since the forties, when steve would show up bloodied and bruised, acting as unaffected as you were right now. he'd been against you going on missions in the first place - while he knew you were capable, he couldn't protect you in the field. he wanted, needed to protect you. but he knew the best way to do that would be to help now, to clean you up, and so he did.

"how're you feeling, pretty girl?" he asked, moving to the faucet in the kitchen. he ran the water over a clean cloth, never taking his eyes off of the couch where you lay.

you pressed the heels of your hands to your eyes, sighing. "'m a little dizzy. stitches?"

"mm-hmm."

"ugh."

you closed your eyes - just for a minute - and it felt like the couch would swallow you up, or you would sink right through the cushions. it was quiet, only the ticking of the clock and the hum of the tacky lamp that bucky loved to read by filling the air. they soon faded, and you didn't question why. there was silence for a moment, and the burning in your leg subsided until it was just a dull ache.

your eyes flickered open in surprise at a cool pressure on your lips, parting them just a bit when you realized bucky was holding a glass to your mouth. it felt cool and wonderful trickling down your throat, and before you knew it, the cup was empty and he was pulling it away. he made up for it with the loving look he gave you, though it was tinged with a bit of sadness. it could've just been the shadows, the way the light fell on him, but you knew better.

"hang in there for me, doll," he murmured, sitting back down and pressing the wet cloth to your skin. the sting of the fabric against the gash was more than enough to bring you back down to earth. you groaned, and bucky nodded in sympathy.

"almost done."

he was finished in no time, though it felt like forever, and soon wielded the needle and nylon that you so dreaded.

“here, baby, i got you.” he tucked the end of one of his blankets into your mouth, letting you bite down on it. "ready?"

you nodded, giving him a weak thumbs up. ready as you'd ever be, you supposed.

he went in as quickly as he could, tongue peeking out of the corner of his mouth as he slammed out stitch after stitch. you gritted your teeth, your breath hitching. it stung so badly. but it was done as fast as it had begun, and the needle clattered to the ground.

bucky pulled himself onto the couch next to you, his hands moving a million miles a minute. he gently took the fabric from your teeth, laying the blanket softly over your legs, hiding the stitches from view. you held your trembling hands out to him, and they were swallowed up in an instant, deft fingers tracing your veins.

“good job, darling, that was amazing,” he murmured, pressing a tentative kiss to your mouth. your lip quivered and he pulled away quickly, cautious eyes searching for any kind of pain he might’ve caused.

“hey, what’s wrong?”

tears gathered at your waterline, and you sniffled before choking out, “you treat me so well.”

he smiled, but knitted his eyebrows together in confusion. “you’ve been stabbed. do you think i wouldn't help you?”

“no i know you'll always help, but… i don't think i deserve it. i didn’t do amazing. it hurt.”

he laughed. “pretty girl, when i had to sew myself up for the first time, i was cussin’ and screamin’ everywhere. you didn’t even make a single sound.”

"well then i shouldn't have gotten stabbed," you grumbled.

he pulled you into his arms. “you got through the fight, first of all, and that's a win in my book. and on top of that, you toughed it out just to come see me, dove. which you shouldn’t have, that was stupid and reckless, but the point here is that you're strong. even stronger than me, i think."

you only hummed, moving your head to rest on his shoulder. it felt as though all of your energy had evaporated from your body, and would float away through an open window somewhere. the rumble of bucky's voice deliberately softened, proving your exhaustion did not go unnoticed.

“want me to sleep on the couch with you tonight?”

you hummed, leaning forward to kiss his neck as your way of saying yes. he chuckled again, the sweet melody of his laughter bringing a ghost of a smile to your tired face. you couldn't see his, but you knew he was grinning.

“c’n you read to me?”

bucky reached for his book, flipping to the dog-eared page. "i thought you'd never ask, dove."

"you know, one 'f these days 'm gonna get tired of hearing about dwarves."

"you won't," he said confidently. "you love me too much."

you snorted, but settled in, tucking your uninjured leg close to your body. bucky tightened his grip around you, reaching up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. he cleared his throat dramatically, coaxing another smile from your features.

“bilbo rushed along the passage, very angry, and altogether bewildered and bewuthered…”

･｡ﾟ: ∘◦☾◦∘｡ﾟ.

ko-fi ♡

[animeniac-writings]

Naps With - Obey Me Boys

I want to nap with someone! Cuddle someone and sleep! The perfect shared activity!

Otome: Obey Me

Polyship Devildom trip, go to hell and date them all, here's some of the naps you will experience in the lower realm.

Lucifer:

The hardest to get to nap with you. While all the others will either willingly, or are able to be talked into joining you even for a little while, this workaholic has chronic self-destruction.

Lucifer will have to be so tired and sleep deprived that he can't put up much of a fight when you tell him he's joining you for a 'short' nap, and he says he can only stay for a few minutes. Try to convince him to change into his pajamas for it, he will be much more comfortable and stay asleep longer if you can.

He tries to stay awake even after you get him into bed, staying barely in the veil between awakeness to keep mumbling bits of nonsense to you before finally drifting off, he will wake up if you move too much but will lightly cuddle back to your touch too.

Mammon:

Napping with Mammon is not always for the faint of heart, for one reason or another (which he always forgets anyway) he has some random time on his alarm set and he always startles awake, gives himself, and maybe you a heart attack, falls off the bed, then turns it off. He probably goes to crawl back into bed to go back to napping with you then too, without much fanfare this time. And a sleep talker.

Mammon's bed has expensive satiny gold sheets and you found some huge overly soft blanket that might be some strange pelt, perfect for napping.

Moves around a Lot in his sleep, either starfished or wrapped around you, but manhandle him into being the little spoon for you and he calms down to sleep soundly, pressing against you and sighing happily.

Leviathan:

He got so embarrassed when you asked him to nap with you and went through 20 stages of stress and grief, do you want to nap in his tub? in his bed? do you actually want to nap with him or just in his tub/bed??

Once you finally get Levi to just come lay down with you already, he starts out stiff as a board, no matter how many times you have done this. Move him how you want, pull his head to your chest, tangle your legs, his face is on fire but he wont object.

After he falls asleep though, all of his apprehensions are gone and he cuddles you tightly just like his ruri-chan pillows, and gradually his sleep talking about ruri-chan turns into mumbles of your name instead.

Satan:

Tortured writer aesthetic with too many books on his bed, you tend to take naps in yours. At times you can tell he's getting irritated, you grab his hand and say "nap time", which at first pissed him off, like a grouchy child, but he realized how much better he felt afterwards.

Satan is a mostly still sleeper, twitching a bit but otherwise staying as he was, he doesn't initiate much cuddling but lets you do as you please, smiling when you get everything "just right" and breathing deeply with his nose tucked against you before shutting his eyes with a smile.

Satan will often bring along one of his books when going to nap with you and set it off to the side- within reach, before the nap so if he wakes up before you he can read without disturbing your nap.

Asmodeus:

He insists you sleep in his bed with him! It's so comfortable and soft, perfect for a little extra beauty sleep. His room and sheets smell like rose or jasmine and help soothe you too. His bed is extra plush and offers you a set of very comfortable pajamas he had just in case.

Asmo is so soft to the touch, with his flawlessly smooth cheek nuzzling yours before getting comfortable to sleep, or silky hair that's softer than his sheets tickling you, because of course you're close enough, you're napping together, cuddling closely and he feels delicate in your arms. You breathe in the subtle scent of Asmo, beneath all his products, and tension leaves your body. As always you share a unhurried, short "sweet dreams" kiss and he asks you to dream about him, as he will you.

Beelzebub:

Big, strong, warm Beel. His bed is also cozy with an array of food-shaped pillows (which may have a bit of drool), Beel is happy to nap with you! Belphie often uses him as a pillow or decides they should nap together.

Beel is very affectionate, your gentle giant, and likes holding you close to sleep, he is very warm, warmer than you think a human could be, and there's a quiet rumble in his chest you swear is something of a purr.

Beware, there is no way to get out of his grip if you have to go to the bathroom, and he will wake up if he smells food, taking you with him without a thought.

Belphagor:

You can argue he's one of the best nap buddies, his bed and attic nest are made for napping, he's the sin obsessed with sleep, whenever you sleep with him, whether in one of his comfortable spots, a bed, or some place random, his 'favor' on you assures that you never wake up with cramps or aches from weird positions.

Belphie is very soft and pliable, he sleeps harder than the dead and you can hold and cuddle him however you wish without really disturbing him. On top of that he makes sure you always have good dreams, or no dreams if that's what you prefer at the time.

Barbatos:

Sadly with how busy he is, your naps together are few and far between. Usually just on his seldom days off can he truly join you (despite Diavolo telling him he should), but if you insist on trying, he will often join you in bed, cradling you close until you fall asleep soundly before having to go back to his duties.

Though Barbatos longs to stay by your side, staring at you with such a soft expression just a moment longer. He makes sure you're comfortable as possible before leaving, that your neck wont ache when you awake, that you're covered as you prefer, and always times it just right to bring you a snack and a drink when you wake up.

Simeon:

Sleeping with an angel. There's something that's just, comforting. Rejuvenating, about being very close to Simeon, he explains it being something about being a heavenly being, and you tell him there's something special about him too.

Simeon isn't usually one for naps, but he can never deny you either. Somehow cuddling with him feels light and airy, his soft finger tips trailing along your arms and his presence feels like gentle sunlight warmth, it's impossible to have bad dreams with him so close.

Solomon:

No stranger to naps, sometimes when immortality weighs down he tries to "sleep his life away". His time with you though, is so fleeting, his does not want to squander it.

When you ask to take a nap with him, he obliges, offering you his bed with a magical change into comfier clothes and a flourish. Solomon lets you maneuver yourself and him into the best position you deem fit, happy to do as you please. But instead of sleeping he fondly (could be creepily, if not for the soft look in his eyes) watches you instead, not wanting to waste a moment of this.

[marionluth]

What if Peter learned about Harley's existence through a phone call Tony answered in front of him? Excerpt from my Irondad longfic that serves as an adorable stand-alone of Harley-Tony goodness!

Wordcount: 887

* Peter and Tony were discussing something, when Tony's phone rang and he asked Peter if he minded answering. Peter said it was fine. He didn't regret it. *

“After a whole week of dodging my calls, sending me texts with barely-readable Gen Z slang and abbreviations, I'm borderline worried—nevertheless, happy to finally hear your voice, terrorist,” Tony sent into the phone, causing Peter to look up at him with surprised and confused eyes.

“You know what? I’m just gonna say this, and you make what you want out of it… Black bears simply aren’t eating enough people.”

Closing his eyes and letting out a breath through his nose, Tony prayed for strength and sanity, while Peter couldn’t help but snicker at the words his super hearing easily caught. He watched his mentor waiting for his answer, curiosity peaked.

“What did you do, Harley?”

“I mean… I know Rosehill is a town and all, but, dude! Climate change! Shouldn’t they, like, come down from the mountains and look for food and stuff in towns? Desperately rummaging through trash, finding nothing but our civilization's gloriously gross junk food - that even a hungry black bear wouldn’t touch - and then randomly eating a passerby?”

Peter snorted, trying to keep his amused vocalizations at the random tirade quiet, causing Tony to shake his head in terrified resignation at the inevitability of these two eventually meeting each other.

“And when I say randomly, I may or may not mean my English teacher,” Harley continued.

“What have I told you about applying yourself, Harley?” Tony asked, his resigned tone gaining an edge.

“Something that directly contradicts what you've told me about wasting my potential on frivolous things that won't matter in my future.”

“You see, Harley... The English language we're all jabbering away in, especially in those fancy colleges you're drooling over, doesn't fall into the category of frivolous things that won't matter for your future,” Tony stated.

“It's freaking Shakespeare, mech’!” Harley's voice was a whine now. “The man was crazy! A donkey-headed guy getting it on with fairy queens… I mean, come on!”

Biting his lower lip in an effort to keep himself from laughing, Tony took a deep breath, avoiding eye contact entirely with Peter, who was chuckling and shamelessly listening in to the conversation.

"Harley, we've had this chat before. You can't just bail on everything you don't like. You can’t expect you'll just breeze through school without breaking a sweat. You think MIT or Columbia will roll out the red carpet for you if you flunk everything except math, chem, and science?"

“I already got the lecture from Ava, man. Give me a break, here.”

“I'll give you a break when you give me one, terrorist. But until then, park yourself and hit the books. It's not rocket science; we're talking about fairy tales and donkey-faced characters here. If you can crack quadratic equations without even bothering with homework, I'm pretty sure you can handle Shakespeare.”

“That's torture!”

“No, Hamlet is torture. And you know what else will be torture? Whatever your mom and I come up with if you don’t start putting in some serious effort! You got a week to start straightening things out, Harl, or Ava and I will straighten you out instead. Capiche?”

“But wouldn’t it be a lot more cost-effective if you called school -all Tony Stark and shit - and demanded that I be excused from Shakespeare altogether? Oh, I know! We can make it a religious thing… Like studying Shakespeare goes against my religious dogma! That’s dope! They won’t be able to fight that if it comes from you…”

"Alright, kid, first things first: lay off the Red Bull. Second, if you put half as much effort into hitting the books as you do trying to wriggle out of this, we wouldn't even be having this chat. There's no shortcut around it. Buckle down and get to work."

“So that’s a no to my against-my-religion master plan?”

“That’s a no!”

“I hate you more than Shakespeare hated sanity,” came the resigned answer from the other line.

“Study, donkey-head,” Tony emphasized with a roll of his eyes before hanging up.

“I knew you had a kid hidden somewhere,” Peter said with a smirk.

Letting out a snort, Tony shook his head. "Harley isn't my kid, Pete. We bumped into each other a few years ago, and we've stayed in touch since then."

“That sounded like more than just staying in touch,” Peter commented, eyeing the man. “That’s how you roast me, too."

"Smooth talk, as always, Pete," Tony smirked. "I do lend a hand with Harley, but it's a bit of a different ball game. He's down in Tennessee, so it's more of a long-distance gig. The universe is not done testing me, though, and you two will get to meet. He spends some of his school breaks and a couple of weeks in summer here.”

“So you just habitually collect kids to part-time parent?” Peter asked with a small smile and a raised eyebrow.

Tony gaped at Peter as the kid’s deadpan statement registered. “I… don't have a retort to that.

[ladyelissarose]

‘More Beautiful You’

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x partner female reader

Callsign; Delta

Summary; After a rough mission that you barely escaped alive from left you with new numerous scars, you’ve grown very insecure about your body. You’ve kept quiet about it, fighting your demons in silence, but how much longer can you hold it in when you have to attend a military ball and all you want to do it cover them all up and hide? Warnings: mentions of terrible scars, insecurities, some angst. Bullying words, Simon being a sweetheart :)

“DELTA!! DELTA-“

“-GHOST!! SHE’S HERE!!”

Ghost heart dropped and shattered into pieces when he saw your limp form all tied up with heavy chains and ropes on a wooden chair. You looked very small, and in terrible shape, nothing compared to what he had seen before. Your head was hanging down as your hair covered most of your face, but Ghost knelt down right away and pushed your hair away as he carefully lifted your face. Soap came close to Ghost to see you too, but he mid stop when he saw your face, and began to rake his eyes all over you, regretfully seeing the permanent damage. Your eyes slowly blinked but still stayed mostly closed as your tried to whimper out,

“I-I... I know nothing- I’ll say.. nothin-“

Ghost sighed sadly as he shook your head a little, trying to jolt you out of it as he cooed,

“-shh shh... it’s over-“

To his familiar British voice your eyes immediately shot open as best as they could, due to how bloodshot and swollen they were as you instantly began to cry,

“S-Simon?”

 “Yes lovie.. I’m so sorry-“

You shook your head violently, not wanting to hear him blame himself for something totally out of his control. 

“No- stop. Just help me out- I-I want to hug you.”

“oh.. ok hold on- Soap help me out!”

It only took minutes until you were finally let loose and now being cradled close to Ghost’s chest, as he carried you bridal style out of the basement, the one you had been kept in for the past 6 weeks. An undercover mission had gone wrong and they had taken you with them, and kept you hostage, beating the living daylights out of you, desperate for information you unwillingly gave. As the days passed the questions kept on repeating, and torture increased with every single question you didn’t answer according to their liking. It was always strong enough to make you pass out on them, but not enough for them to actually kill you. Everyday that ended and began, new bruises and wounds appeared along with the healing scars, you could never tell from day to night for the whole time was an entire living nightmare.

What kept you going was the faith you had in your team, and the heart you had for them. They were your only family, and you had grown extremely close, also you loved them all, much enough to the point where you now where sacrificing your well-being for them. But the biggest and number one reason to fight through it all, was for your love, Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley. The man after your own heart. You had stolen each other’s hearts without realizing it, after months of working closely with one another, after nights of comforting talks or silent midnight snacks after heavy nightmares, after stitching the unreachable gunshots, after you both held each other’s hands after an especially hard day, and lastly... after confessing your love at the same time during a fight about not selflessly throwing your life away for the other. Ever sense that clarifying day, you two devotedly and openly loved and cared for each other.

So, a lot of the nights as you were crying for Simon after a torture session in the dark, haunting basement, Simon was back at base endlessly crying, while searching day and night for any signs of you, refusing to give up. Now he sobbed another night away alongside you, but they were grateful tears as he held you carefully close to him, kissing your hair or any place that wasn’t hurt while laying together on the hospital bed, safe and sound, but haunted and scarred for now.. or perhaps forever. 

After everything you had gone through, the Cartels weren’t able to get anything off of you, but you sure as hell got a lot of information on them. Hence leading the 141 to a successful rescue mission of dozens of women and children who were being hurt by these people too. You were able to remember what they had said, once you woke up from who knows how many surgeries. The first thing you did was write down on Simon’s hand the location place, and on his other hand you briefly explained what they’d find there. Laswell was extremely pleased and grateful with your help, although it cost much of you, that’s why she planned on a large ceremony, to award you for your loyalty to the team and your bravery. Simon kindly urged you to agree because as he said,

 ‘You deserve it, this you deserve. Please.’

So finally you did say ‘yes’, but thought it was going to be a simple ceremony at base, but you came to the conclusion that it wasn’t when you got the formal invitation to a large Gala looking saloon. It was in 3 weeks, close but not that close. You were ok with it only because you’d be wearing your dress blues, that covered 99% of you and your new scars. But, after you agreed to it all Laswell mentioned that there was going to be a large fancy dinner, that required for night gowns to be worn.. something that would probably show than you were willing to let go. Now that devastated you, because you so badly wanted to wear a dress again, claim that feminine part of you... but some new changes made that look ugly and impossible.

Simon had spent the last days and nights locked outside of your restroom as you cried in the shower, refusing for him to see all the deep, dark scars that covered your stomach, back, arms and legs.. even the large one that started at your jaw and came down to your collarbone. Once you came out you’d be dressed in his large black turtlenecks and loose sweatpants. Even for bedtime, you didn’t wear just his t-shirts anymore, or just your tiny shorts.. now it was his whole dress attire that covered every part of you. He had gently and slowly tried to coax you out of your insecurities, promising you that he’d love and accept you anyway, as you did him with his, but as fresh as your scars were, so was your shattered heart. It’d hurt you to see Simon frown a bit when you refused bath time with him or to change in the same room anymore, but you couldn’t help but agree and stand by your choices every time those clothes went completely off.

You at one point were the one who had devoted all your time to help Simon out of his dark thoughts about himself, teaching about self love and acceptance, but now you had forgotten about what all that meant, as you rejected and hid your new self. Simon wasn’t good with words ever, he was the more ‘actions speak louder than words’ kind of person, which you liked because his love language was touch and boy was it the most loving and gentle part of him. So at times when he didn’t know how to express with words how you looked ‘stunning’ in his large hoodie that practically covered all of you, he’d only come close to you and press a soft, balaclava covered kiss on your temple, and send you his best heart eyes that showed he was pleased with how you looked. You did understand what he didn’t say, and honestly it made you feel somewhat better, knowing he still loved you and feeling seen by him. Now came the dreadful day of the ceremony, you knew it was going to be an emotional, and stressful day for you, hence why you insisted Simon that you could go dress shopping on your own, and handle it. You could of gone dress shopping any other day that wasn’t on the ceremony, but it had been a battle with your inner self, which ended in your insecurities winning and you leaving it for the next day. And that next day stretched to being on the ceremony. You made it a point to go the most expensive place for evening gowns, thinking that the staff would be perhaps more professional and helpful to find exactly what you wanted, but you were so wrong. In heart wrecking tears you say in the ground clutching your self together like a ball, sobbing like a baby, feeling absolutely humiliated by the surrounding customers. At first you thought you had found the most perfect gown, forgetting all the flaws on your body as the gown spoke loudly with beauty and fine elegance, until a random mean girl called out in her bitchy voice,

“Awwww we got Frankenstein’s wife here!!” Soon after that comment many followed after, as her pretty friends joined in, thinking that their supposed low voices weren’t going to be heard at all.

“Does she really think it’ll look nice?”

“Oh my Gosh that one on her neck is so huge! No necklace can out do that look!”

“I think it’s a bad drunk tattoo? Cause it looks so freakin ugly!!”

“No she was struck by the ugly lightning, look at her arms and her leg through the slit on the dress!!”

Oh if you thought that a physical punch to the stomach hurt, this felt so much worse, like a punch went deep into you gut and into your heart. Now as you drank in their words and stood in front of the mirror, all you saw were your scars, peeking out everywhere, definitely looking like chopped up meat or like the lady had said, Frankenstein’s wife. If only they knew exactly how you got those, or what every single one of them meant to you, they would probably shut up or have new insults to release. This wasn’t even the dress you actually wanted to wear, but it was the one that covered most of your scars, so you were initially going to stick with it, but not anymore after that. There was only so far you could go to cover everything up, if not you’d look like a nun in the summer. You refused to let anyone in your changing room as you cried rivers away, not feeling up to moving or even trying to get out of the dress, too busy mind swirling your thoughts that were only hateful and sad.

‘They are so ugly... all of them. I’ll never be the same again or perfect. Just look at them. Oh god I hate this so much- I hate myself-‘

“Love? Baby it’s me Simon.”

‘Simon?’

Unbeknownst to you the store clerk picked up a phone call from Simon himself, being told that he would pay for your gown of choice. When she asked for your name or information so she could tell you, she realized that it was you of whom he spoke of. Without hesitation she told him that you had locked yourself up after a little scandal with some customers who they had kicked out due to their insults. She didn’t need to say more when Simon demanded to not let anyone near you and that he’d be on his way immediately. So it was indeed his soft voice that called out to you, and to which you replied too with a tearful cry,

“Si?”

“yes love... please let me in.”

“but-“

“-Delta.. it’s either a walking in, or a breaking in.”

You let out a whine as you lifted yourself off the go round and dragged your feet to the door, right away unlocking it but tucking your arms around yourself, as you still stood in your other dress, exposing everything. He carefully walked in and closed the door behind hm, locking it right away and keeping a distance, for just in case you weren’t ready for more. You noticed this and beckoned him closer with a small gesture with your head, wanting to have him close. Simon raked his eyes slowly around your face, sympathy was read all over his expressive brown orbs as he quietly asked,

“what’s wrong baby girl?”

With a small kick to the bottom of your dress you relied shyly while wiping some tears away,

“was going to wear this one... but not anymore..”

Simon nodded understandingly as he took a look at your dress, he couldn’t help but feel like the dress wasn’t you, it didn’t speak or represent you. But it still looked gorgeous, it really did, so he worded,

“why not? It looks beautiful on you-“

“Not with all the scars Simon.”

He shook his head at your words and slightly raised his voice to show he didn’t like where this was heading,

“what about the scars? They’re you and it’s ok!-“

You slapped your hands to your sides as you insisted with a tone that matched his,

“But they’re all so ugly!-“

“-who said they were ugly? Hmm?”

He lowered his head a bit to get at your level somehow, while you only shrugged, not willing to answer him.

He then extended towards you and ran his hand down your arm to get a hold of your hand, and intertwine his fingers with yours as he looked at you attentively and understandingly. You could feel your lips trembling and the heavy ball in your throat weigh even heavier, making it hard to say what you wanted to say. All that could escape was a broken sob and a new rush of tears as you now hid your face behind your free hand. You kept your head down as you wept sorely, all the thoughts of the worst nightmare of your life came back like a hurricane, drowning everything else that was in mind. You heard shuffling behind the sobs that filled the room, and soon Simon let go of your hand, and before you could fear him leaving you, you felt his warm and loving touch rest on your hips. He gently squeezed there as he cooed softly,

“Please, look at me baby girl.”

You shyly opened your eyes as he caressed you there, and you could only see pure adoration in his eyes as he was now kneeled in front of you and looked up to you. That only made your heart feel so many more things at once. You then found the strength to rest your hands above his, as he began to worship you,

“Listen love, I’m not good with words... but, what I can for sure tell you that I know will help you... is the fact that you’re a diamond in the rough. And when you pass through rhe fire and it’s all over, you’ll be the most beautiful jewel that nature has ever bared. You’ll be so strong and bright, that nothing in this world can ever break you, or consume your light. Ok?”

You were left breathless by the time his last word was said, as you took in and held onto everything he said like it was a promise. If there were words that you’d burn on your heart or carve them into your skin so you’d never forget them, they’d be the words that Simon just said. You wiped your tears away as you shook your head slowly, and whimpered,

“ok... thank you Si.”

He sent you a wink and squeezed you hips one more time, before standing up to his full height, that was of course way taller than you. But it didn’t look or feel intimidating, if not the total opposite. Simon then looked around you and asked,

“So angel face.. what do ‘You’ want to wear? Not what others say eh? You. I want to see what Delta wants to wear.”

You felt a small spark of confidence hit you as Simon made it clear that he wanted to see you in your dress of choice. So while still feeling a little shy though, you took his hand back into yours and cradled it close to your body, as you pointed towards the white flowy dress in the corner. Simon glanced at you and smiled warmly, then he followed your finger, and soon his eyes found what it was you wanted. He gently tugged you towards it as he complimented,

“It’s lovely... definitely looks like something you’d wear. Daring yet Delicate. Like you hmm?”

His rare but sweet words got you to giggle a bit as your nodded, he then took that moment of your mood to put forth,

“let me put the dress on you.”

“what-“

“-please... I’ll be gentle hm? What do you think?”

But this would be the first time you had him see you after everything. What would he think? What would he say? Once he saw them all and how real they looked and felt?

“I love you. Even if I haven’t seen the rest-“

“Exactly. You haven’t seen it all- what if you change your mind-“

“I wont. So let me fall in love with that new part of you too, all of you. I want to see and love all of you. Please baby.”

You don’t know what took over your body And mind , it was probably his sincere pleading and kindness, that had you shimming off your dress and letting it fall to your feet in one breath. You didn’t miss the way a breathy sigh escaped Simon’s lips through his mask, or the way his eyes lit up at what was beheld in front of him. You squeezed your eyes shut, not wanting to see more, it scared you, the reality of what could actually happen in the next seconds as his eyes found one new scar after another. The new scars that overcame the small few ones that were there when he first had seen you. You didn’t realize you were holding a breath until it was released heavily when you felt a soft touch press against your leg. Your eyes opened in shock, and there Simon was still... now planting a sweet, uncovered kiss onto the first scar that rested on your leg, right under your knee. His hands carefully caressed you, his thumbs rubbing cute circles where they could reach, as his lips traveled all over under your waist. His eyes locked on yours for a second, while he let his lips stay in place, showing you love in unspeakable words. He then began to reach higher, getting close to the scar you personally hated the most, and before you could think or say anything he mumbled against it after kissing it,

“Ahhhh this one… this one is my favorite angel face.”

And there, he planted a soft sweet kiss. His calloused fingers drew imaginary shapes and things on your plushy thighs as he went on to kissing up his way up your soft tummy, where your longest and deepest scar laid. What looked so terrifying and sad to you, look so magnificent and beautiful to him, as he worshiped its meaning and dove deeper into its feeling. None of this felt sexy or hot.. it felt so adorable and healing. 

 “No lovie… magnificent piece of art you are… could hang you up to keep you safe and untouched by anyone else but me forever.”

 You shyly but the tip of your pointer finger as he continued happily kissing very part of your body, smiling against your skin when he’d hit a ticklish spot and you’d let out a cute giggle if not a full chuckle. Soon Simon was able to pull the dress above your hips, now focusing on your upper body as he carefully started to put your arms through the dainty, lacy sleeves. One arm at a time he devoted his attention on, he’d kiss his way from your wrist to your shoulder as he pulled it gently through the sleeve. He intertwined his fingers with yours as he pulled you close to him, so he could access your neck and plant sweet kisses there too. His true love and passion for you was beginning to take an emotional toll on your heart, tears began to grow in your eyes and without second thought you threw your arms around his neck and hugged him tightly against you. Simon was a little shocked at the sudden change, but he nonetheless melted into your arms and cradled you close, whispering heartfelt promises,

 “I got you lovie… I got you.”

You let the dam of tears flow out freely when he went on with his sweet words and gentle touching, reminding you how beautiful and unique you were, no matter what had changed or stayed the same. Slowly he let his arms roam down on your back, to reach the zipper so he could pull it up carefully, so he wouldn’t pinch your skin or catch your hair. You held onto him tightly and kept your face hidden in his neck while he worked on dressing you up, swaying you side to side so slowly you barely caught it, but it was enough to feel the sweet move. With a soft peck to your head Simon called out to you,

 “Ok my love, your ready… let’s see it.”

You pulled back a little to see his loving eyes, and gulped down what was left of insecurities as you replied,

 “Ok… let’s see it.”

 Simon’s eyes crinkled as he smiled under his mask, and held your hand to spin you around.  Once fully turned around, you found yourself in front of the large 10ft mirror, adorning the white dress ever so beautifully. Your arms from the wrist up to your shoulders were exposed, and from your neck to the top of your breasts you were exposed as well. But seeing the scars poke out from different directions on your skin didn’t sadden or hurt you anymore, instead you felt.. like a tiger. Boldly wearing your stripes while holding such a pride of being different than any kind, and knowing that no one get through you. Simon must of seen the boost of confidence you held in your silence but in your eyes as he complimented,

 “There’s my brave girl…”

You smiled to yourself as you admired the view of you in white, in front of Simon who was way larger than you and sporting black. You didn’t want to say it or admit it, but you liked how it looked, how it appeared. Warm hands snaked around your waist as deep words were breathed against your ear,

 “Wear this one tonight… I’d want to see you walk in this one.. please?”

 How could you say no to his sincere pleading? 

 “Of course… thank you Simon.”

 Through the mask he kissed your head softly once more, before pulling away and said in a little serious tone while looking in your eyes through the mirror,

 “I paid for it already, so just pick up the change at the counter. Then I had one of the ladies make an appointment for you at their salon place… you just walk in under my name and say what you want. And they will give it to you. Get everything you need.”

 You spun around and held your hands on his chest as your protested with worry,

 “But Simon- oh… are you sure, please don’t feel pity for me and waste all your savings on me-“

 With a finger on your lips he stopped your worried rambling,

“No no no… I didn’t waste, or feel pity. I simply just want to do this for someone I care about. Hm? I want to see you happy and all dolled up… you deserve it more than you know.”

 A smile made its way onto your face as you teased lightly,

 “The Ghost wants to see me all dolled up?”

 He looked away from your eyes for a second before finding your collarbone more interesting to look at as he admitted,

 “yes. After seeing you being drag to hell and back… yes. I don’t like black and red on you… white… I prefer the white.”

 You took his words in seriously, as he was being sincere and vulnerable with you. You nodded and kissed his covered cheek,

 “I do too… I like white… Um, are you going to-“

 “Yes lovie, Johnny is taking me with Gaz to go find a tux they said. So don’t worry your pretty head. Just take care of yourself. And remember what I told you.”

 “I will… be safe.”

“You too.. see you tonight, beautiful.”

 “See you later handsome.”

With one last squeeze to your palm in his, Simon walked out, leaving you missing his touch but not forgetting all his words. Who knew the big bad Ghost… had such a pure and golden heart?

Later that night….

The ceremony for the rewarding of your works was the absolute best and tearful. Price and Laswell stood by your side the entire time, and Simon was the one to pin your new medal, holding his gaze on you the entire time, allowing you to find peace in his eyes as your emotions swirled around inside. Having him there kept you together for the most time, and you were most grateful when it was finally over. For many people wanted your attention and asked one too many questions, some that you replied too and others Price had dodged due to protecting you. But now that passed and officially came the actual challenge... the ball. 

Simon tugged at the collar of his tux, already regretting going with Soap’s choice of tux for him. It wasn’t ugly, no, but it was well fitted and very spiffy for him, who usually found joy and comfort with large hoodies and Henleys, with a pair of either loose sweats or dark cargo pants. What he was glad about, was the fact that they let him in with a medical mask, that covered him from his nose down, at least. Everyone there understood his reasonings and never questioned him about it, and instead did their best to treat him like one of them, and not stare at its difference too much. Johnny stood in front of Simon as he tried to re-straighten his tie for the one millionth time, because Simon kept pulling at it every other second. 

 “No mate, ye got to stop pullin’ at it, makin’ a mess of yourself eh-“

 “-fuckin hell…’

Soap stopped his movements when he heard Ghost mutter such, and he couldn’t help but turn around to see what had caught he usually quiet pal, but his jaw dropped as well, when he finally saw it.

“Damn thas’ a fine lass… wait… thas’ Delta-“

“-fuckin’ sure is. Now excuse me Johnny, thanks for the help yeah?”

Johnny was left speechless at the sight of you, so he only shook his head and half-assed a salute to his Lieutenant. Simon smirked at his reaction and tugged at his suit a bit as he took confident strides towards you, as you walked down the stairs, that led to the main ball room. Simon let a sigh of shock escape his lips when he came closer, and fully saw you. Your hair looked lavishly full and bouncy, beaming in the light in every direction, resting ever so nicely above your shoulders, your skin glowed like it was covered in glitter, appearing so soft and shiny. Your makeup was light, but enough to bring out your very prominent features that Simon found absolutely breathtaking. And your dress, damn that dress. Simon was more than proud to see you in it, as it hugged your gorgeous being adoringly. It flowed all the way down to your feet, and from your waist up it hugged you tightly and finished up with a heart shaped top, that had hanging sleeves resting on your upper arms. The simple but beautiful jewelry you wore couldn’t ever compare to how precious and bright you looked right now, if not ever according to Simon. You glided down the stairs in confidence and in grace, taking each step slowly but steadily. Simon could feel his face grow red and hot, when you locked eyes with him and sent him a sweet, toothy smile. He shyly looked down at his shoes for a second before you squeaked delightfully,

 “Oh Simon! You’re matching me with a white tux?”

 Your feet finally touched the ground after the last step and you came to a stand in front of him, taking in his overly handsome appearance. Simon scratched his neck nervously and asked,

 “Do you want me to change?”

 You reached out to him and held his cheek as you reprimanded him softly,

 “Where’s your confidence Simon? Hm? You look absolutely amazing, thank you for doing this.”

 He finally grew the courage to hold eye-contact with you as he chuckled at his words coming out of your mouth. He then followed your eyes as you quickly looked away towards the magnificent place before your eyes. Elegant curtains in a ruby color draped everywhere, golden statues stood here and there. The carpets beneath you were made with fine hands and had the most antique designs on them. The place was pretty lively and loud for some time, everyone gathering at every table to chat with one another, or some meeting old friends with cheerful greetings or scoldings. The casino tables were filled with the best gamblers of the military who had a beauty warming their lap and stealing their cigars for a whiff of it. Upbeat yet homey music filled the room in every corner, keeping the spirits up and the demons out, lighting up the face of every worn out soldier and soothing down the most worked up ones, matching everyone’s mood. Simon then caught your attention as he stretched his arm toward you and asked politely,

“Come with?”

You sent him a cheeky smile, doing your best to feel confident while taking his warm hand into yours,

“Where to handsome?”

“Let me show you?”

“Lead the way.”

The saloon itself was breathtaking, but where Simon led you too was far more beautiful. In the back they had the most decorated garden, covered with different kinds of flowers, and a sweet little stoned pathway that led to a nice gazebo, covered in lights that looked like fireflies. You then looked back and thought about being in the wrong for leaving the party behind, but Simon tugged you on as he truthfully said,

“A lot of them are here for the food and loads of gossip. I’m here for you. Come on.”

And he was right. Most of the people there you didn’t know, and those that had approached you only came close enough to see you in the flesh and ask about certain uncomfortable things, then they left. All the nice people were at the first ceremony, now it was just the rich that stood around pretending they participated in the military work, when they actually only gave some money at times to make themselves feel good. Anyways, you now stood under the lights inside the gazebo, loving how lit it was. You forgot you had let go of Simon’s hand as yo reached up to touch the flowers that hung around on the pillars, touching and feeling their different textures, yet admiring how uniquely beautiful they all were. Simon’s hands covered yours as you cradled a specific one, and you leaned into his touch as he murmured into your ear lovingly,

“You see how these are all so different?”

“Hm hmm..”

“And how they are still so beautiful?”

“Yes...”

“Like you.”

You chucked a bit as you felt a bit shy, looking at the scar that covered your hand, while holding the flower,

“But Simon... I’m not beautiful like them..”

A kiss was felt under your ear as he persuasively said,

“Of course not.”

‘Of course not-‘

“You’re more beautiful than them. And none of them look like you... no one ever will..”

You turned around and held your hands on his cheeks as you then asked,

“You believe so?”

A sweet chuckle escaped his lips,

“Of course... there will never, ever... be a more beautiful you- oomph!”

That was enough said, as you suddenly ripped off his mask and planted your lips on his, while embracing him tightly from the neck. Simon smiled through the kiss while he hugged you back, and deepened the kiss, proud to have finally broken through your barriers, and convince you to believe the truth. He could feel the way you melted into him and into the kids, finally let him feel and receive you, love and adore you. Truly he knew, that there could never be a more beautiful you.

[velvetm00light]

Rescue: Spencer's POV

gif: pinterest dividers: @benkeibear, @mariariley, @haerinism

Chapter Three of Save Me in SPENCER'S POV

Y/N'S POV: here

Previous Chapters: one, two

Word Count: 3.5k

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female Reader

Summary: You're abducted by a brutal serial killer who's been stalking you. Spencer and your entire team work tirelessly to find you. But Spencer is fighting with more than just his worry for a friend, he's finding over the guilt he feels for not telling you how he felt beforehand.

Warnings: Torture, kidnapping, dead parents, suggestions of sexual assault, knives and cutting torture, sense deprivation (sight), emotional manipulation, fear, grief. In future parts, will mention PinV, oral, domxsub situations, grief, bondage, physical harm, etc.

A/N: I feel like I don't see a lot of writings from Spencer's POV because technically it's all in the "you" perspective but I thought this would be a cool twist for ya'll to be able to read what's happening in both of their heads during the same time period! This chapter is also written in Y/N's pov so you can read that instead or skip both all together (there is a big detail at the end of Y/N's chapter so you can avoid the rest of the chapter and just read the end if you want:)). The chapters after this will be tamer but as always, warnings will be listed before the chapter!

PANIC BEGINS TO SETTLE in his stomach as your phone rings and rings, and he only keeps getting your voicemail. "Something's wrong," Spencer chokes out, fighting back the tears threatening to spill across his cheeks. "She's not picking up. She didn't text Hotch back for her hourly check in and didn't pick up for him either."

Seeing the look plastered across Spencer's face, Morgan doesn't waste any time comforting with false hopes. They both immediately jump out of the car they've been cooped up in for the past 12 hours. Spencer's legs wobble beneath him, half from sitting in the same position for so long and the other half from the fear he feels coursing through his blood like poison.

He and Morgan race up your apartment stairs, taking them two at a time until they're face-to-face with your intact apartment door. Morgan tries the handle first, but when the door doesn't budge he ignores all other conservative options. The door gives easily under Morgan's heavy kick, and both men rush into the apartment.

The first thing Spencer notices is the blood splattered all over your living room carpet. He lets out a defeated whine and feels himself frozen in place, unable to go any further. It's obvious that whoever has been stalking you has finally grown the balls to abduct you and he begins to worry that when he finally finds the guy who took you, he just might actually kill him. Fuck that, he will fucking kill him.

He barely registers Morgan on the phone with Hotch as he slowly begins to analyze the scene before him. Your blood and spit ruining your carpet, the balcony door curtains thrown carelessly to the side, all your hidden gun compartments open and guns missing from each of them. He quickly wipes the tears that escape down his face before Morgan can notice.

"We're going to stay here and learn everything we possibly can from her apartment while the rest of them get back to the office to find this son of a bitch," Morgan explains to Spencer. "Reid, we're going to find her." Morgan lays a comforting hand on Spencer's shoulder as Spencer stays motionless, staring at the fresh blood from your face on the floor.

"If you don't think you can handle this, it's okay, Reid."

"I can handle this," Spencer breathes. He straightens his spine and goes through your entire apartment painstakingly slow. He tells himself over and over again not to miss a single detail or else he might never forgive himself for missing something that could possibly save your life.

His heart begins to hurt more and more as he notices all the locked windows, the coffee pot still sitting on the kitchen counter, the blood starting to dry on your bedroom floor, and your phone and empty gun holster resting on your nightstand. His chest constricts at the fact that he was the one who told you to rest, that he would protect you. He's unsure if he'll ever begin to forgive himself for it.

At the round table, Spencer can't help but tell his team every single detail he noticed around your apartment. It was almost just as hard to go through your entire life as seeing your blood on your apartment floors. He and Morgan practically trashed every room, going through photo albums, your phone, and anything else they could get their hands on. Your entire team felt icky about diving into your life to such an extent but they knew you would forgive them if it meant they found you alive.

Garcia bursts into the conference room with her laptop in hand. "He hacked into the surveillance system."

"What?" Everyone's voiced echoed in unison.

"He-He hacked into the cameras. I have no idea how long he's had access or how he even managed to do it. He's gotta be mega good because I'm the best of the best and to get past all of my alarms...God, this guy is frustrating."

Spencer's breath caught in his throat. "So, he's been watching her everywhere she goes?"

"Most likely. If he can hack into our cameras I don't doubt he has access to all the cities traffic cameras, businesses security cameras.."

"We have to assume he's watching us now. We give him no indication that we know who he is," Hotch commanded. The team nods and silently resumes their work.

Random names are written on the board, random case files are scattered on the table, assuming they're all being watched.

Spencer stands frozen in front of the whiteboard, staring at your picture underneath with the word "abducted" written in angry, uppercase letters under it. He doesn't realize the entire team has gone off to do whatever Hotch has demanded of them until a gentle hand is placed on his shoulder. "We're gonna find her, Spence."

He snaps his attention to JJ, who stands tall beside him. The tears attempt to betray him again and it's almost impossible to hide them. "I..I don't know what I'd do with myself if I lost her."

"I know. We're all scared, and we all want to find this son of a bitch. But, I know, Spence. I see it."

He looks at her puzzlingly, his brain mush from the lack of sleep and the intense stress and guilt he's been drowning in.

"Spence...we all know. You two think you're so great at hiding it, but we see it. The longing, the love, the care. Just focus on getting her back so you finally have a chance to tell her."

This brought the tears flowing from his eyes and coating his cheeks. JJ wraps him in an embrace and runs a motherly hand up and down his back. "I'm afraid that I'll be too late and she'll never know how I feel," he chokes out, his tears soaking into JJ's blazer.

"You won't be, we're going to bring her home, you're going to bring her home. But, you need to focus. We need your brilliant brain more than ever right now."

He backs away from JJ's embrace, wiping his slick cheeks on his cardigan sleeve, and nods.

Their attentions are forced to the team entering back into the conference room. "Everyone look normal, we've got something to talk about," Hotch declares as your team takes their seats at the round table once more.

Garcia sits with her back away from the camera to ensure nothing on her computer can be seen, and then she begins.

"Our unsub is Blake Rixley, he's (y/n)'s foster brother. A picture of him and all his details have been sent to your phones."

"Foster brother?" Prentiss asks, her brows knitting together.

"When her parents died, she was sent to a foster home with Blake and a few other kids. She ran away when she was 11 from her foster home and from what I can find, stayed with a distant aunt until she was 18."

"Why did they send her to foster care if she had a family member she could have lived with in the first place?"

"Her aunt lived in Canada and under a different last name. Y/n managed to contact her and made her way over the boarder. How, I have absolutely no idea. But that's why I can't find anything from the age of 11-18 on her," Garcia explained.

Spencer's blood runs aflame as he imagines you at 11, a mere child, sneaking across the boarder by yourself, trying to survive on your own.

"Why did she run away?"

"I'm not sure.."

"Maybe it was because of her foster brother," Prentiss suggests. "Maybe he tried to take advantage of her, or maybe flirt with her or something and she rejected him because even though they weren't related by blood it felt wrong."

"He's also 8 years older than her..." Garcia pointed out. "He was 14 when she came into the house."

"He could have easily used his position in the house to manipulate her into doing things. Garcia, is Blake the son of the foster parents?"

Garcia types furiously on her laptop and her eyes go wide. "Yes."

Spencer's heart just about cleaves in two. He can't help but picturing you as a small child, losing your parents and being taken advantage of on top of it. Unable to bare any more information, he abruptly gets out of his chair, swinging the conference door room open, and slamming it shut behind him.

He decides to get some air to ease the bile rising in his throat.

As he makes it outside, he finally lets the pent up heartache free. He stumbles to a bench and throws himself down onto it, his body shuddering with his sobs. His thoughts come fast and heavy, suffocating him in his grief. He begins to wonder if you'll ever forgive him for suggesting you go to sleep, for not being there to protect you, for not doing enough to make sure you weren't taken in the first place, and worse of all, for not telling you how he felt from the start. He can't help but weep harder at the possibility that you might never know how he feels, how the curve of your lips distracts him just about every day of his life. How no matter how many times he sees you and even when you're together for days on end working on a case, he is still awestruck over your beauty and itches to be with you when you're apart. How he could listen to you talk about the most boring subject on earth for hours on end. How he has been completely and utterly in love with you since the day you accidentally fell asleep on his shoulder on the jet coming home from a case, shortly after you joined the Bureau.

Spencer and Prentiss sit in a strained silence on the way back from surveying a few farms and abandoned buildings on the prospect list. After each place that turned up empty, the hole within Spencer's heart felt as if it was growing bigger and bigger, becoming a void threatening to destroy him.

Spencer has never been so frustrated in his life, and he would know. He was frustrated when he didn't even notice when one of the suspects he interviewed had Dissociative Identity Disorder and switched right in front of him. He was frustrated when an unsub kept crossing state lines and it look the team almost a week to catch up to him. He was frustrated a million times over when a new victim was found and they were not fast enough to stop the killer. But this...This really takes the cake.

The tension feels almost like a wire tethered from Spencer to the entire world, taut to almost it's breaking point. That wire of tension loosens a bit when Emily's phone rang and he allows a small bubble of hope to begin to stir.

He attempts to listen to the conversation, his body aching to rip the phone from her hand and demand to know if they've found you. Emily glimpses at Spencer for a moment, then turns her attention back to the road. "We'll be there in 5," she says as a goodbye.

She takes a deep breath, steadying herself before explaining to Spencer what she heard. "Reid, before I tell you anything, you have to promise me something."

His stomach basically fell into his ass at her tone. He wonders if sometimes people assume he's normal, and not someone who can basically detect the mood of someone like some sick sixth sense.

"We're on our way to an old farm that the unsubs father used to live on when his father was a child. I'm not going to guarantee you this is where she is. But if she is there, don't be stupid."

Emily eyes him again, judging the tells on his face. She knows better than anyone that he would love to watch the life exit this guy's body at his doing, preferably with his bare hands. If circumstances were perfect, Spencer would love to do exactly what he's done to her and worse, to the sick bastard.

"I hope he gives me a reason."

Emily doesn't have to ask what he means. She gains her composure and schools her features as they pull down a winding, dirt road. A farm looms up ahead, a sizable, wooden, red barn stands tall behind smaller disheveled shacks and barns - some sunken in on themselves, others with caved in roofs, wood slats missing off the sides. The farm looked worse for wear, and that was being generous.

Emily comes to a stop at the edge of the farm, and they are met with the rest of their team. Everyone is already adjusting their bulletproof vests, checking their guns, and discussing any last minute details to whatever plan they cracked while Spencer and Emily were away.

"Prentiss, Reid, take that cabin on the left. JJ, Morgan, take the small blue barn to the right. Rossi and I are going to stake out the parameter and we'll meet together at the big red barn in the back," Hotch explained. The entire team split up into their groups and wasted no time getting to their respective buildings.

Spencer just about jumps into a sprint towards the cabin, his heart screaming at him to go. Emily hauls after him, not judging or chastising him for his urgency. They stalk the perimeter first, peeking into the dirty windows. "I'll go in through the back, you go in through the front," Emily orders. Spencer quietly makes his way to the front, peeking again into all the windows as he passes, trying to find the son of a bitch.

They open their respective doors in unison, bursting into the small cabin. Spencer enters what appears to be a dining room and kitchen, a semi-rotten wooden table just a few feet away from a stove and countertops that probably haven't been changed out since Christ himself was born. There were empty cans scattered across the countertop and dirty dishes in the sink.

A living room sat just beyond, a half wall the only thing separating the rooms. The hardwood under his boots turn to carpet as he slowly makes his way through the house towards Emily. His attention snaps towards the sound of Emily's voice.

"Put the gun down, Blake."

Spencer picks up his pace, trying his best to stay as quiet as possible. He turns a corner and spots Emily, her gun raised and pointed at the man standing in between them, oblivious to the other agent directly behind him. He holds a shotgun, one powerful enough to probably make a hole deep enough to reach the Earth's damn core.

Emily lifts her hands up in surrender as she spots you, holstering her gun. "I just want to talk, that's all."

"It was a mistake coming here by yourself," he snarls. Spencer couldn't see his face but he was damn sure this sick bastard was probably smiling.

"Put the gun down so we can talk," she tries again.

"I'm not a fucking fool! Of course you don't want to just talk," he growls. Spencer almost pulls his trigger just by the way the man in front of him begins to shake with anger, his shotgun rattling softly in his hands.

"If you cooperate we can help you, we know what she did. She hurt you, Blake,"

Spencer's fingers tighten around the grip of his gun. He isn't sure he can stand to listen to Emily blame you for all of this. He knows she doesn't mean it, but it doesn't make it hurt any less.

"Unlucky for you, I promised a certain someone I would teach her lesson for that specific reason," he says smugly. All too quickly, he cocks the shotgun and takes aim and before Spencer can even hesitate, he squeezes the trigger.

The man slumps to the ground between them. His chest heaving in small, shallow breaths as a pool of blood begins to form underneath him. Spencer leans down to the mans face and whispers, "I would kill you a million times over again for what you took from her, but I guess once one time is just going to have to be enough."

The man's eyes swell in rage until they hold nothing inside them at all. Spencer stands up slowly and meets Emily's gaze. "You did the right thing," she claims, patting his shoulder as she walks by him and out of the cabin.

After one last look at the man who within a few days has taken everything from the women he loves and the woman he loves from him, he follows Prentiss out of the cabin and toward the red barn.

After a short walk, they reach the looming barn doors. "I think we should wait," Emily starts but Spencer cuts her off. "He's already dead. I'm not letting her be here a moment longer, she's suffered enough."

Before Emily can argue, Spencer swings open the barn doors and just about falls to his damn knees at the sight. "She's here!" He calls. He and Emily rush to you, instantly grabbing at the handcuffs around your wrists. As you're released, he falls to the floor along side you, trying to avoid a hard impact with the floor. "(Y/n)?" He whimpers, feeling for a pulse.

"Take it off.." you whimper. His heart cleaves in two. The sight of you battered, sliced open, and isolated inside a metal mask makes him want to crawl into the depths of hell just to kill the fucking bastard again.

"I'm trying.." He fumbles with the straps on the mask, his hands trembling so terribly he can barely grip the straps.

"Take it off!" you cry, ripping at the mask with your fingernails. His hands pick up speed.

"(Y/n), please, I'm trying. Hold on.."

The mask finally releases and he lets out a relieved sigh. You curl up into him and let out shuddering sobs that pain him to the ends of the Earth. All he wishes is to be able to stop the grief and pain you're experiencing. "I'm here, you're safe now," he coos, running a gentle hand through your hair in comforting strokes.

When your cries begin to quiet, he softly grabs the sides of your head and lifts your eyes up to meet his face, slick with tears and battered to hell with stress.

"Spencer.." you choke out, throwing your hands around his neck. "I'm so sorry..."

Rage courses through him, "(Y/n), why? You have absolutely nothing to be sorry about." It kills him to hear you apologizing for this. He wants to do nothing more than you spill out his whole mind to you, but he isn't sure it would even help in this moment.

"He..he told me he would hurt you, all of you, if I fought back."

Tears well up in his eyes and he embraces you again, attempting to hide the fact that he's been crying this entire time. "I'm here."

You lift your gaze to his as you whimper out, "Spencer..."

"Yes, love?" He responses, cupping your wet cheek with a calloused hand.

"The only thing that got me through...what he did, was you."

He truly didn't think anything could have made this worse. He should be ecstatic that he's the reason you survived, that he was able to help you get through it even though he wasn't there to save you originally. But..he just can't find it in himself to be happy about it. You should have never had to go through this in the first place, and worse, you had to go through things he can't even begin to fathom probably thinking everything will always just be a fantasy. "I am so sorry."

"You found me," you smile sadly up at him.

As paramedics rush into the barn, Spencer lays you on the floor so they can reach and treat all of your wounds. He couldn't help feeling hollow and empty pulling away from you. "Don't leave.." you whine, and he greedily grabs your outstretched hand. He continues to hold your hand in comfort the entire walk to the ambulance and as they continue working on you on the way to the hospital.

"I love you," you whisper and he can tell you've already fallen asleep, using the last of your energy doing the one thing he wished he was man enough to do before.

"I love you, too." He whispers back, kissing the back of your hand. He felt the need to say it back right then and there whether you heard him or not. He aches to tell you everything he feels about you and can't wait to finally tell you to your face rather than keep everything in his brain this time.

He stares at you the entire ride to the hospital, monitoring your breathing, his eyes roaming from each cut on your body, the bruises forming on your abdomen, and the exhausted look on your face. He is grateful this part is over, but a whole new difficult journey lays ahead. But, he's not afraid. He's ready to be at your side every second of the day possible, and he's ready to be your savior.

TAG LIST: @qatiee @dottirose @thisaintredwine @jay-2s-world @ruziazyn

[aunteat]

Armand/Allesandra • M • Words: 1,170 • for ArmandShipFest Day 5: "In the very depths of Hell, do demons not love one another?" / Home

It wasn’t like the first time. 

The first time had been uniquely and terribly shameful, not the shame of sex, but the humiliation of being reduced so completely to a child again. He had hated himself for it which, of course, she must’ve known. She had held him so tightly after, stroked his tangled hair, and said, yes, he was a child and would always be to her. Her baby-faced killer, she called him, laughing, as he nestled his face into her neck. 

The shame wasn’t so great now, his manner of living wouldn’t allow for it to be. His life was too terrible and far too absurd. The shame was never absolved really, but it burrowed, it seemed, so deeply within him that it could not be reached. He didn’t feel it when he killed a young mother or a man who begged for his life, and he couldn’t feel it in the face of such paltry taboos. 

Still, he felt something when Allesandra beckoned him to her coffin, some gnawing trepidation or anticipation that he couldn’t name, but it was nothing compared to the relief. The relief that ran through him was warm as blood. Finally, spared from his solitude and its tortures.

The early evenings were like this sometimes. Wracked with nightmares of his old home, his old mother, his old master, and of their deaths. They always left him too anxious to sleep but too weary to rise. He lay in his coffin, fighting in vain to quiet his thoughts. But Allesandra could always hear them. 

“No more flagellation, my child,” she said, beckoning. “Come.”

He needed no more coaxing. He rose and, wiping the blood tears from his face, joined her in her coffin. The fit was tight. He lay partially draped over her, his head on her chest, face settled near the curve of her collarbone, fingers finding the tangles of her hair. She felt so warm against his cheek. They had both fed last night but, when his bloody tears ebbed, he was left with a chill. 

He pressed his cheek hard against her bare chest, where her ancient dress was cut round, and imagined how easy it would be for her to bite him, to wrap her arms around him in a crushing embrace and drink the very life from his neck. He could die that way, he thought. She was strong enough to do it. He could die and live within her.

“No, child. Never.” She tugged his locks in a gentle reprimand but Armand couldn’t stop himself now. He thought of his blood, the very substance of his life, running into her mouth, into her stomach, through her veins, and, for a moment, the most ghastly image came to him. His blood mixing in her veins, surviving there, feeding her and feeding off of her, keeping him alive against his will, like a fetus or a parasite. 

She pulled his hair sharply now. “No more of that. I told you, I won’t hear it. Go. Do what you mean to do.”

He could see even in the darkness of the coffin how her narrow shoulder slipped from its strap so she could lower her bodice enough to expose her breast. He felt her hand over his, guiding it up, to press his palm against the curve of her chest. He felt where the pad of his thumb brushed her nipple.  

There again was the gnawing anticipation though. His body remained still, passive as a true corpse. 

“Would you deny yourself one of the few luxuries that God has allowed you?” She asked. Her mouth was so close to his, it seemed she was breathing into him. He felt his heart rise into his throat. The thirst was burning.

No, he thought, and it wasn’t the need that decided it, it was the want. Wasn’t that his life now? A terrible, insatiable want. 

“Then do as I tell you,” she said.

And he did. He opened his mouth and clasped his lips around her nipple, exploring it, letting his tongue circle round it, find its edges, feel its weight. Then he began to suck it, the way he might suck the blood from the vein, gently, to keep his victim alive. He heard a sigh pulled from Allesandra somewhere above him, felt her clenching his hair again but it was not a punishment anymore. 

 He could feel her pulse skipping against his tongue and felt his own hunger grow agonizing. The burning in his throat turned to a cutting pain. His fang brushed her nipple and the want was so immediate, so intense that he almost felt faint. Again, he thought of those long weeks of starvation, how the pain and want became so terrible that he beat his head against the iron-barred stone and clawed into his face wounds that would not bleed. 

“Never again,” she murmured, breathily. “Our leader. My little master. Take what is your’s.”

He pressed his fangs down with a cautiousness that he never afforded mortals, a slow piercing of her breast, just until he could taste the blood blooming on his tongue. 

But with the blood, he lost all patience and all restraint. His jaw, as if of its own accord, clamped and he felt his little fangs sink deep into her flesh. He thought he might’ve heard her gasp, but couldn’t be sure. There was the sound of blood rushing in his ears as he sucked her with the abandon of a starved child before falling instinctively into those slower, rhythmic sucklings. It pulsed hot into his mouth, bringing life into his stiff cold body so he found himself squeezing her till she had to arch her back to accommodate him.

She was whispering something that he couldn’t hear over the sound of rushing blood. Something like “there, good,” calling him a child again in a voice edged with delicious pain. Her master, she said, and her child. 

When the flow ebbed, he opened his mouth and gasped for the air that he didn’t truly need. Allesandra was swooning, moaning softly but aloud as if still caught in the dying throngs of an orgasm.  The little puncture wounds on her breast had already closed but still he pressed kisses to the spot as if in apology. 

Again, she laughed at him, an airy breathless sound. “My sweet child death, do you think you could hurt me? Do you think you could harm me in any way that I don’t will? Hold me again now, in your mouth again, until the night wakes the others.”

He obeyed, letting his head fall to clasp her nipple in her mouth. Once or twice, he suckled it as if it might’ve given more, though he did not need it. He was warm and calm and tired. He felt his mouth go limp around it and the drool falling from his unclasped lip, down her breast, but could not be bothered by the humiliation. He was too tired and too wholly sated. Perhaps later he would remember it with a pang of loathing or humiliation or perhaps even fondness but, for now, he wanted only to sleep. And, when he at last closed his eyes, thoughts of death did not stir him. 

[hippiegoth97]

Hangman's Joke: An Eddie Munson x Reader Halloween Special (The Crow AU) Part Three

Collage by me :)

Master List

Special Thanks to @keikoraven for beta reading for me <3

Part One / Part Two

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If anyone wants added/removed from tags please let me know <3

Content Warning 18+ Only, Minors DNI: swearing, fem!reader, smoking, alcohol use, death, murder, blood, fighting, weapons, mentions of abuse/torture, crying, kinda angsty

Word Count: 8.5k

divider by @strangergraphics

Part Three

October 30th, 1992

Word spreads quickly through the town about Tommy, a frantic phone call from Carol to the police setting the horrific discovery into motion. She didn’t waste a second to call everybody she could think of to spread the word, sending a shiver of fear through everyone who dared pick up in these late hours of the night. Good, you think bitterly to yourself. They thought Eddie and I were something to fear before? I’ll fucking show them. 

You’ve been laying low for a bit, waiting for the news to draw out your next victim. The crow has directed you to bide your time, in some innate way that doesn’t require words. It’s a sense you get, primitive and instinctual. Not yet, but soon. Very soon. So, you’ve been hiding out a couple of alleys over, leaning against your beloved Karma, lingering closeby to hear the sirens, to see the flashing red and blue zoom past the gaps between buildings. You playfully spin one of the twin blades in your hand, the other gently stroking the corvid who currently rests on your handlebars. The bird appears to enjoy the affection, taking it as a sign of respect for guiding you on this journey. Its silky feathers slip under your fingertips as you pet it, an approving caw leaving its beak every so often. 

Shortly after the cavalry shows up, it’s finally time to go. The crow hops onto your shoulder once again, flapping its wings to propel itself the short distance. You swing a leg over your bike, kicking her engine on with one easy shove of your foot, and roar off to the end of the alleyway. You turn in the opposite direction of the scene, heading to the far side of town. Where Steve Harrington is currently calling up his old basketball buddies with the knowledge of Tommy’s death, and plans to host an impromptu memorial consisting of beers and shallow words.

“Thanks for coming, guys. I know Tommy would be happy to see you all here.” Steve says, cracking open his beer in the deserted cul-de-sac he and his buddies have met up at for the evening. There’s six of them here tonight, including himself. There would have been more, if it wasn’t so late. He takes a long gulp of his drink, his ears barely even acknowledging the words of condolences the other men offer to him. All he can think about was the call he got from Carol earlier this evening. He swears he could hear her tears on the other end, how afraid she was. She wasn’t really making any sense, her words were spilling over one another in a distraught babble. What he could make out was something about an intruder, a woman in dark clothes and makeup, and the threats this stranger made. It wasn’t much later that the police confirmed the worst. Tommy is dead, and Steve’s hand trembles as he contemplates who may have done this. The only person who fits Carol’s nearly incoherent description, is someone who has no business walking around. Not when Steve and his friends put her in the ground exactly one year ago. 

“You okay, man? You’re looking a little pale.” One of his former teammates, Patrick, speaks up.

“Yeah. I’m good. It’s nothing.” Steve waves him off, finishing his drink. He crushes the can once it’s empty, tossing it into the street carelessly. He reaches for another right away, needing to soothe his nerves. If the whacked-out theory he has is true, he’s probably somewhere on the hit list. He only hopes that he’s wrong.

“So, who do you think did it?” Barry, another former athlete (who most certainly peaked in high school), questions. An uncertain look is shared among the group, a couple shrugs sprouting from their shoulders.

“Dude!” Steve scolds, slapping Barry’s chest with the back of his hand. “Shit, have some respect!” 

“Sorry, I’m just saying what everybody’s thinking.” Barry retorts sheepishly.

“Alright. Why don’t you tell us who you think did it, then?” Steve gives the other man a shove, sending him backwards a few steps, their shoes scraping against the wet asphalt.

“Relax, Harrington. He didn’t mean anything by it.” Patrick steps in, attempting to diffuse the situation. 

“No, I want him to answer me!” Steve keeps going, spilling his beer as he pushes Barry again. Barry’s hands come up in surrender, regretting saying anything at all.

“Dude, chill out! We’re just here to have a few drinks and remember our friend.” Patrick continues, placing a hand on either man’s shoulder. His eyes glance between them, in an effort to avoid a fight. Steve glares at Barry for a solid minute, debating whether he should sock the little shit in the jaw or not. His eyes flick to Patrick, finding sympathy from his friend. He elects not to take his unresolved anger out on Barry, not particularly in the mood for a fight anyway.

“Fine.” Steve scoffs, backing away to lean against his car. He takes another swig, becoming much drunker than he’d like. Or perhaps not drunk enough. His fear-addled mind can’t quite decide if keeping his wits would be wiser, or if he’s better off three sheets to the wind. Whatever, it’s not like a fuckin’ ghost of murder’s past is gonna visit me tonight, he thinks smugly to himself. 

“Sorry, man. I shouldn’t have brought it up.” Barry apologizes.

“It’s fine. Morbid curiosity, right?” Steve waves him off with a smile, his words slightly slurred now. “Don’t sweat it.” He claps his hand on Barry’s shoulder in a friendly manner. “Now, we may as well hear this little theory of yours. Have at it.” He adds, his demeanor changing on a dime.

“Nah, man. Really. Let’s just drop it.” Barry says uneasily, shaking his head.

“I insist.” Steve squeezes him hard, leaning in closer with a deadly stare. “Out with it.” He snarls. None of the other men get in the way this time. There’s a reason Steve is considered one of the leaders of the pack. And god help anyone who gets on his bad side.

“Well, I mean…” Barry starts, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck. He sighs, continuing despite his instincts telling him otherwise. “It’s gotta be Carol, right? She’s the one who saw him last.” 

“No way, man. She wouldn’t do that. Besides, she’s the one who called me. She was a total mess.” Steve dispels this idea immediately, refusing to think the girl could be capable of anything like this.

“I dunno, dude. It’s almost always the girlfriend in these scenarios.” Barry says with certainty.

“Read a lot about crimes of passion, do you?” Steve retorts, rolling his eyes.

“Well, no!” Barry blurts. “Since you seem so sure, who do you think did it?” He turns the question back onto Steve, crossing his arms.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you what I think.” Steve laughs, shaking his head. He polishes off his drink, already heading for a third.

“Why not?” Patrick asks curiously, just as the roar of a motorcycle slowly approaches the group of men. They all turn their tipsy heads to follow the sound, temporarily blinded by the bright headlight as its mysterious rider comes to a stop. The stranger kills the ignition, the light mercifully fading away in the dark. The shape of a young woman is revealed, though the sudden exposure has left their vision spotty and unfocused.

“Cuz Stevie here doesn’t think you believe in ghosts.” You answer the question on Steve’s behalf, climbing off the back of Karma and strutting over to the men. The crow leaves your shoulder, flying upwards to rest in a tree beside the curb of the cul-de-sac. You’re a bit outnumbered, but it won’t really be a problem. Not this time. Six against one sounds plenty fair to you at the moment.

“Who the hell are you?” Barry asks dumbly, rubbing his eyes and blinking a couple of times. 

“I’ve been hearing that a lot today. Guess I didn’t make as much of an impact on this town as I thought.” You chuckle, bringing yourself further into the dim yellow glow of the street lights. “Allow me to refresh your memory.” You say darkly, a grin spreading across your lips. You command the memories of the torment these young men inflicted upon you to come forth, and flood their own minds. All of them fall to their knees, gripping their skulls, except for Steve. Given the terrified expression on his face, and how he’s turned white as a sheet, he definitely remembers you. He’s frozen in place, still gripping the unopened beer he just grabbed from the pack in his hand. 

You allow him to stand in horror as his friends are shown every last thing they ever did or said to you and Eddie, but from your perspective. Every shove against the lockers, every lewd comment, every punch, kick, and slap. They feel it all. And that’s just the four years of hell they subjected you to in high school. It only gets worse, more painful, when the adult memories come crashing down on them. The dead animals, the threatening calls, the graffiti. They’re consumed by fear and hopelessness, tears springing from their eyes as they cry out for it all to stop. You laugh at their pleas, glancing at each one of them with not an ounce of pity in your chest. They all scream and claw at the ground, begging for the torment to end. But it shall not come, not until you’ve accomplished what you came here for. The men are squirming on the damp pavement now, getting a healthy dose of the nightmares you endured for months because of them. 

“Doesn’t feel so good to be on the receiving end now, does it?” You ask bitterly, expecting no answer besides the pathetic noises these unfortunate excuses for human beings are making. You leave them to their mental mangling, turning your attention to Steve, the true prize you’re after. “I’m guessing you don’t need the crash course, huh, Harrington?”

“You…you can’t be…” Steve says in exasperation, hoping it’s just the booze getting to him. 

“And yet, here I am! In the flesh and everything!” You reply dramatically, arms held out wide as you do a full circle to let him get a good look at you. “Turns out being wrongfully accused, tortured, and murdered has its perks! Who knew?” You let out a bellowing laugh, dropping your arms once you’re facing him again. 

“This can’t-can’t be happening. You’re一” Steve whimpers, truly hoping that this is all some fucked up dream. 

“Dead? Yeah, I know. We covered that already. You never were a sharp one, were you, Stevie? Certainly not in Mrs. Click’s class.” You speak casually, enjoying every second spent freaking Harrington out more than the last. He’s damn near on the brink of pissing himself, and wouldn’t that be a sight to see? You pull out a cig from the pack in your pocket, sticking it between your dark red lips. You flick your lighter, inhaling deeply as the end begins to burn. “So, did you want to bother putting up a fight? Or should I just kill you now?” You ask as you exhale the smoke, kind of hoping for the former. It’ll make the inevitable end result all the more satisfying.

“You’re crazy! This isn’t happening! It’s all gotta be a dream! I drank too much, and I passed out on someone’s couch! I’ll wake up tomorrow with a killer hangover, and none of this will be real!” Steve babbles anxiously, shaking his head as he attempts to convince himself that all you are is an alcohol-induced nightmare.

“Flattering as it is to be the girl of your dreams, Steve, I’m afraid this isn’t something you’re gonna wake up from.” You reply impishly, pulling one of the knives from your pocket, preparing for round two. 

“You can’t be serious.” Steve scoffs. “I’m not gonna fight you! You’re not real!” He insists, stalking over to you. He looms over you with a familiar fury in his eyes. “You’re dead! You can’t hurt me!” He shouts in your face, expecting you to flinch or fade away like a dreamland boogeyman.

“You sure about that?” You ask, unfazed by his apish exertions. You run your finger along the edge of your silver blade as you speak, an eerie glow of mischief filling your pupils. “How about we test that theory?” You suddenly swipe the knife through the air, just barely nicking Steve’s ear.

“Ah, shit.” He hisses, taking a step back as he feels the blood drip warmly down to his chin. He reaches up to touch the cut, looking at his red-wetted fingers with wide eyes. The cold wind of the night stings the wound, and he realizes that this whole situation is very real. “Fuck.” He murmurs, meeting your keen stare. His mouth sits open in shock, waiting for his fight or flight to kick in. Either option is better than standing here like an idiot, while a woman he’s known to be deceased brandishes a deadly weapon at him.

“Am I real enough for you yet?” You ask with a cackle, lunging forward to strike him again. He jumps back, your blade just barely missing his chest. You swing your arm the opposite way to try again, and he dodges you once more. A third attempt brings the same result. “You’re pretty quick, Harrington.” You chuckle, more than happy for the challenge. “Tommy barely even put up a fight. Let’s see if you can do better.” You taunt him, reaching in your pocket to pull out the matching blade to the one in your grasp. You back away a couple steps, tossing the spare knife onto the ground. “Pick it up.” You order him, taking on a fighting stance. It’s a bit cruel, playing with him like this when you already know you’ll win. Like a black widow luring the unsuspecting fly into her web. But you’re sure Harrington’s own ego will get the best of him, the masculine need for competition that runs deep within his veins. Veins you intend to split wide open when you conquer him in this farcical battle.

“This is insane.” Steve comments, bending down to pick up the weapon you’ve provided. He imitates your position, arms held out while crouching slightly. “Let’s do this, you crazy bitch.” He sneers, already convinced he’ll come out on top. You are just a lowly woman, after all, no match for a man of his athletic prowess. Or so he thinks. “Ladies first.” He gestures at you to make the first move.

“What a gentleman.” You say sarcastically, rolling your eyes. You lunge forward, slashing the sleeve of Steve’s windbreaker with ease. The layers of fabric split apart, all the way down through his taut flesh. Ruby red spills forth in a steady stream, darkening his clothes. “Your turn, pretty boy.” You smirk, awaiting his move.

“Fuckin’ bitch! It’s gonna feel just as good killing you the second time!” Steve yells through gritted teeth, lumbering into your space and stabbing you directly between your breasts. 

“Fuck!” You cry out. The blade hurts like a bitch going in, and thick, black blood oozes out of you, but you stay standing. 

Steve’s eyes go wider than before, gazing in horror as you don’t fall lifeless to the ground. “What the fuck?” He nearly whispers, watching as you grab hold of the handle sticking from your flesh, and slowly pull it back out. 

“Shit.” You wince as the knife feels just as bad coming out, looking down at the thick gash left behind. To your surprise (and Steve’s), the hole slowly closes up, the only evidence of a stab being the blood-soaked rip in your shirt. You look up at Steve, letting out an ungodly laugh of amusement at the discovery that you appear to be immortal. Well, at least for tonight. “Tough luck, Stevie! Looks like I’m not the one dying tonight!” You continue to crack up in an unnerving, borderline maniacal manner, grabbing Steve by the collar of his sweat-soaked shirt and driving him backwards in your iron grasp. You walk him all the way into the side of his car, his helpless form letting out a pathetic grunt as he meets the cold metal exterior. You hold him firmly against the vehicle, deciding that the time for fun and games has long since passed.

“No. No, this can’t be happening. Please, no. No, no, no.” Steve blubbers, unable to do much else. Any amount of fight he could put up won’t do any good. His body has given up, his mind following close behind. He frantically looks upon his friends, all of which are still useless piles of moans and screams writhing on the ground. They’ll be no help to him now.

“Say hi to Tommy for me.” You say in a sickly-sweet tone, still tittering with delight. Steve watches wordlessly as you lean in to press a big kiss to his cheek, your dark lipstick left behind on his pale skin. You pull back, and slice the man’s throat wide open with a flourish of your blade. 

“Fuck.” Steve gasps as blood begins to gush from his gaping neck, his hands attempting miserably to cover the spray. The liquid lands warmly on the both of you, soaking through every layer in a shower of viscera. You watch with amusement as the life drains from his eyes, though your laughter has ceased now. He gargles and chokes, the sounds becoming the most beautiful music to your ears. A single tear spills from his left eye, a souvenir you decide to take for yourself. You swipe it off with your finger as it rolls down toward his cheek, and bring it to your lips. Your gaze locks onto his weaker one as you lick your finger clean. The salty taste of misery overtakes you, damn near euphoric as you savor his suffering. A sound that would be a whimper escapes him in a rough garble, his brows downturning in despair. He stops struggling shortly after, limbs barely twitching anymore as the blood loss slows down. You wait patiently for him to go still, dropping him to the ground in a lifeless heap just before his bowels release. 

“Two down. Two to go.” You comment to yourself, taking the still-lit cigarette from your lips and flicking the ash that’s grown an inch long during your sparring. The other men fall silent, left unconscious as you mercifully release them from their torment. Perhaps they’ll wake up a little less cruel in the morning, though you highly doubt it. The crow swoops down from the tree where it sat to bear witness to your second act of revenge, returning to your outstretched hand. You pick up your weapons, give them a decent enough wipe down, and put them back where they belong inside your coat. You’re just about to turn around and hop back onto Karma to lay low for the night, when you hear a vehicle coming down the end of the road. You turn to see two headlights, and the outline of Hopper’s truck. “Oh, shit.” You mutter, flicking your smoke away and dashing ahead towards your bike.

“Police! Stop right there!” Hopper bellows, slowly climbing out of his vehicle with his gun drawn. He can’t believe what he’s seeing right now. He was just on his way home when there was a call about an altercation in this neighborhood. The other officers are still busy processing the Hagan scene, so it was up to him to check it out. And now here he is, on the anniversary of your death, staring down what can only be the ghost of you. With blood all over your face and hands, standing a mere few feet away from what looks like the Harrington boy laying on the ground with his throat slashed open. His weapon points at you, but he has no intention of pulling the trigger. In fact, he’s so dumbfounded by this scene, that he can’t move at all. “Y/N?” He asks hopefully, his voice breaking just a little. He hopes his mind isn’t playing tricks on him. He needs you to be back, for you to know he did everything he could to help you.

Taking your chance while Hopper’s trapped in a stupor, you run to your motorcycle, rushing to start her up as your heart pounds in your chest. You didn’t want to see him, not like this. Not after what you’ve done, what you still have to do. You kick Karma back on, and speed out of there as fast as you possibly can, ignoring Jim as he calls after you over the roar of the engine. Your hands tremble around the handlebars, your stomach twisting with guilt at the awful mess you’ve left your friend to clean up. Tears stream from your eyes as you run, run, run, back to the place where you hope he doesn’t come looking for you. Oh, what he must think of you after catching you in the aftermath. How disappointed, how disgusted he must be. You’re not the sweet girl he caught getting hot and heavy with Eddie in the cemetery all those years ago. Not anymore. That girl was snatched away from this world, long before her time. Now, you’re this. This unkillable, inhuman monster, whose only goal is revenge. And what a tremendous shame that is.

You come to a screeching halt outside your abandoned apartment building, nearly toppling over as you kill the engine. You manage to keep yourself upright, stepping off of Karma’s back with trembling legs. You hurry to pull the motorcycle behind the dead bushes out front, to hide it away from Hopper in case he comes looking for you. You’re stealthy enough on foot, able to hide around doorways and silently sneak through the halls if it comes down to it. You can’t let him find you, he’ll undoubtedly try to stop you from fulfilling your duty to Eddie, and to yourself. And you can’t allow that to happen. 

You head inside to stay out of sight, surely there’ll be a town-wide manhunt assembled and sent after you soon. You’re assured by your feathered friend that the time will come for your final act, you just have to wait a little bit longer. It should be safe here, nobody is meant to be around, and certainly no one will dare come sneaking in after news of your vengeful crimes spreads in the light of day. It’s a strange feeling, using the rumor mill that quite literally got you killed to your advantage. You suppose it’s the ultimate form of payback, giving the gossipers and finger-pointers something of substance to scream about for once. Because it’s no longer about superficial fear anymore, unfounded claims and lack of evidence. No, there’s plenty of cold, hard proof now. Hawkins wanted to label you and Eddie as the resident boogeymen, and you plan on making them all severely regret that decision. 

You step inside your apartment, thankful to not be bombarded by an onslaught of memories this time. The crow jumps from your shoulder to the kitchen counter, to keep watch as you rest your weary body. Satisfying as murder is, it takes a hell of a toll. You feel like you could sleep for centuries, and still need a few hours extra afterwards. There’s much left to be done, and you’re going to need all the energy you can get. You walk lazily down the hallway, taking notice of some damp footprints on the carpet. It appears you have an intruder. You cautiously approach the bedroom door that’s slightly ajar, peeking through the crack. You see a small form laying on your bed, the hood of their jacket pulled over their head. 

You slowly pull out one of the knives from your pocket, hoping you don’t need to use it beyond scaring off whoever this kid is. You push the door open as quietly as you can, and avoid crunching on the broken glass under your feet. You slip into the room, and get a better look at the child. They’re nearly soaked from head to toe from the rain, shivering in their red jacket and jeans as their arms cross over their chest in an attempt to stay warm. Light whimpers escape the kid’s mouth, freezing in this dank room that has no heat. You take a step closer, wanting to get a look at their face. You trip over something on the floor, tumbling over yourself and onto the carpet with a low grunt.

“Shit.” You wince, looking back to see what caused you to fall. You find a skateboard, the paint chipped and wheels worn down a good few layers of rubber. You’d recognize it anywhere, and you realize who’s been sleeping in your musty old bed. “Max?” You whisper, not wanting to wake her.

You hear Max stir and sit up, though she can’t see you as you’re pressed against the end of the bed. “Y/N?” She asks hopefully, rubbing her eyes. She looks around for you, noticing her skateboard tottering back and forth on the floor. Someone is here, and she needs so badly for it to be you. You don’t reply at first, thinking maybe she’ll write off the commotion as a stray cat, or the wind, or something. Then you can slip out once she leaves or goes back to sleep. “Y/N, please. I need to know that you’re here.” She says sadly, the words stabbing into your chest, more painful than the blow you received from Steve earlier tonight. “Please don’t hide from me. It’s been so awful without you here. You have no idea.” She continues tearfully, drawing a few drops from your own eyes as well.

“You shouldn’t be here.” You finally answer, startling yourself with your own voice. You stand up from your hiding place, keeping your back turned to Max. You can’t let her see you like this, all covered in blood. Steve and Tommy’s blood. “You need to go home, Max.” You say, masking your own sadness as best you can.

“I knew it! I knew you were alive!” Max says excitedly, hopping off the bed and hurrying over to you. You feel her arms wrap around you from behind, and it only makes everything hurt that much more. 

“Max, please. Just go.” You repeat yourself, stifling a sob. You want more than anything to turn around and hug her back, to tell her how sorry you are for not being around when she needs you. “Your mom’s probably looking for you.” You pull away from her as gently as you can, luckily it seems none of the blood smeared from you and onto her own innocent hands.

“Why won’t you look at me? You’ve been gone a whole year, Y/N. I just want to see you, please.” Max pleads, getting more upset than she’d like. She feels like a silly little baby, begging to see you when she never thought she would again, seconds away from falling to her knees and screaming for what she wants. But what else can she do? You’re who she’s been waiting for all night, and you’re denying her this one simple thing. “Y/N please! I have to see you so I know I’m not crazy, and that this isn’t a dream!” Her tone grows more desperate, the sound tying your stomach in knots. 

It’s not fair, you shouldn’t have to choose between preserving her rosy image of you, or showing her the ugly truth. Why couldn’t you have been brought back to say one last goodbye? Why couldn’t you have just not died at all? Why must it be this way? Have you not suffered enough cruelty? Must you suffer more in damaging what little Max has left to remember of you? You’re stuck in place, bloodied fists balled at your sides, unable to make this impossible decision. Tell her to go away, or show her the monster you’ve become. Either way, you break her heart. You curse that damned crow for bringing this whole ordeal upon you, for forcing you into what can only be described as a trap. Fuck you, you stupid bird. I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t ask you for a damn thing. You should’ve just left me alone, in the fucking ground. You’re sure the crow can hear your spiteful thoughts, and pays them no mind. You can’t possibly be the first person to be a bit upset with this little arrangement.

“I’m not dumb, you know.” Max says, breaking you out of your thoughts. “I know you killed Tommy, that’s why I even came over here. I was with Hop, and he got a call through the radio. And I knew it had to be you, or Eddie. It couldn’t be anybody else.” She explains, sounding more wise beyond her years than she has any right to be. She steps closer to you, unafraid of what you’ve done. “He had it coming, if it makes you feel any better.” She adds with a shrug, the matter-of-fact way she says it nearly makes you burst into laughter.

“It doesn’t. But I don’t really have a choice about that.” You reply with a small smile, shifting your feet as you still debate how to go about this. “I want to see you, too, Max. I just…you shouldn’t have to see me like this. I’ve made quite a mess.” You speak delicately, hoping she doesn’t notice your hands stained with deep, sticky crimson in the moonlight pouring through the window.

“I can get you a towel, if you want to clean up.” Max offers, thinking little of it. She sees the drips of blood landing on the floor, and the only thing she wishes for is that it isn’t yours.

“That would be great.” You answer, nodding your head. She leaves the room, fetching a towel from the bathroom. She shakes out the dust as best she can, and brings it back to you. “Thanks.” You say as the fabric meets your fingers, wiping your hands with the towel first. The rain has diluted the blood a bit, making it easier to wipe away. You go over to the mirror to check your face, making sure Max doesn’t peek. You can see her sitting on the bed again in the shattered reflection, twiddling her fingers in boredom. You wipe the viscera away from your face, smudging your makeup along with it. It forms a grim mask on your skin now, twisted and morphed. Fitting, given what the last few hours have done to you on the inside. You toss the towel away, and finally turn to face your friend.

Max looks up at you, her face blooming into a relieved smile. She comes over to you, giving  you a proper hug this time. You don’t hesitate to return it, squeezing her tight in your arms. “I missed you so much, Y/N.” She says, muffled against your chest.

“I missed you too, Max.” You reply softly, stroking her damp hair. Her body heat warms you, but her shivering has only gotten worse. “You’re freezing, kiddo.” You say with worry, looking down at her as she clings to you.

“Don’t care. You’re more important than being warm.” Max says, sounding like a stubborn child again.

“I’m dead, sweetie. You’re not. I don’t want you to get sick. Let’s see if there’s anything here for you to change into, at least.” You suggest, and she nods to agree. Much as she doesn’t want to let you go, she can barely feel her fingers and toes. You pull away, taking a look in the closet for some dry clothes. There’s not much left over after what you took for yourself. One of Eddie’s old band shirts, some jeans, and a hoodie with a broken zipper is all you can manage, but it should be enough to get Max to stop shivering. “Here, go put these on.” You give the clothing to her, and she goes to the bathroom once more to put them on. Her hands struggle to peel the near-frozen wet clothes she has on, but the feeling slowly returns to her fingers as she gets changed. She puts her wet clothes into her backpack to take home later, and returns to your side. “Better?” You ask.

“Yeah, thanks. I was probably gonna freeze to death in here.” She says.

“You still might. You really should get home.” You go over to the window, peeking outside to see a couple cops cars with sirens flashing speeding down the road. You hold your breath until they pass by, thankful none of them turn into the lot out front. “I’d take you on Karma myself, but the cops are lookin’ for me.” You add with a sigh.

“Have you seen Hopper yet?” Max asks curiously.

“Uh, yeah. He caught me red-handed after I一” You cut yourself off, almost blurting out that you killed Harrington. She’ll probably hear about it later anyway, but it doesn’t have to come from you.

“Did you talk to him?” Max questions, ignoring what she knows you were going to say. That you killed another one of the men who murdered you. Part of her wishes you would’ve come right out and said it. She’s not a baby, she can handle it. But the other part is a little afraid of how she might feel if she hears you talk so casually about taking someone’s life. It could very possibly soil the image she’s held of you in spite of what others in this town may think. Perhaps ignorance is bliss, in this case.

“No…” You trail off, looking down at your feet. The shame you felt when you first met Jim’s disbelieving stare comes back in full force, remembering how shocked his face looked to see you covered in blood. “I-I ran off.” You finish, refusing to look Max’s way again.

“You should go see him. I know he’d want you to.” She replies, as if it’s the simplest thing in the world. Funny how kids do that.

“I can’t. Not after…everything.” You shake your head, tears welling up in your eyes at the idea. 

“You thought you couldn’t face me either, but you have. Hop will understand, Y/N. He loves you so much, just as much as I do. He worked so hard to protect you, and fight for you. The least you can do is let him see you.” Max speaks emphatically, not taking no for an answer. Her arms are crossed, her brows furrowed in determination. So grown up, you think to yourself.

“When did you get so smart?” You ask as you crack a smile through your tears.

“I learned from the best.” Max laughs, throwing herself around you again. You hold her tight, letting the both of you have this happy moment, a welcome break from the doom and gloom that comes with revenge. You’ll do as she says once you send her home, and give Jim a visit. An explanation wouldn’t hurt, right?

Hopper’s lost inside his own head as the Harrington crime scene is getting wrapped up. Steve’s been bagged and wheeled off to the coroner, the other men were checked out and had statements taken. They all said the same thing, a young woman with dark hair and clothes approached them on her motorcycle, and from there it’s all a blur. They mentioned seeing visions of some sort, but none of it really made any sense. Officers took note of it regardless, but it’ll surely be dismissed later on as drunken ramblings. All Jim can focus on, however, is the image of Y/N standing before him, holding up her bloodied hands as he pointed his gun at her. She looked so afraid, and ashamed. He has no damn idea what she’s doing back here, or how it’s even possible. He wishes she would’ve stuck around to shed some light on the subject. But given how quickly she hightailed it out of here, he doubts he’ll see her again. All he’ll get as a sign that she’s still around is a few more bodies, he guesses. 

“We’re all set here, Chief. You ready to head out?” Powell says as the other officers pile into their vehicles to go home for the evening.

“More than ready. We’ll work on typing up reports tomorrow, it’s been a long night.” Jim replies, lighting up his sixth cigarette of the evening. It’s been a helluva last couple hours, two murders in one night and all. Not to mention wrangling with witnesses, neighbors, and looky-loos. It’s a wonder he hasn’t been swarmed with reporters yet. That shitstorm will most likely hit tomorrow morning, just as he heads into the station to sort out this whole mess. Everyone is going to want answers, and he’ll have very few to give. That never leaves the general public feeling very ‘served and protected’, unfortunately. But he can’t exactly go on the six o’clock news and put out a statement about an undead suspect exacting her revenge, now, can he? They’ll have his badge for that, maybe even throw him in the looney bin.

“You can say that again. Have a good night, boss.” Powell says with a sigh, recognizing that haggard look on Hopper’s face. The same one he wore during the satanic panic debacle last year, and the Munson murders. His boss tends to put extra pressure on himself, and each difficult case only seems to add to the weight. In Powell’s opinion, the man needs a goddamn vacation.

“See you in the morning.” Hopper replies, nodding. He tosses his smoke away, climbing into his truck to finally drive home and pass the hell out on his couch. Fuck knows his feet won’t carry him far enough to reach the bed. 

Jim spends the drive once again preoccupied with the litany of thoughts swirling around inside his head, relying on muscle memory to make it back to his place. Rain falls in a lazy pitter patter on the windshield, the wipers swiping back and forth keep him in his trance. The wheel steers in his hands absently, his feet following along to step on the gas or press the brakes. None of it is nearly as significant as the moment that’s been burned into his recent memory. Y/N’s undead face staring back at him, before she quickly disappeared on her beloved Karma. Hopper can’t help it, torturing himself with the image, knowing he failed her, failed them both. 

As a familiar sting threatens to take hold in his throat and eyes, he finds the truck brought to a stop outside his home on the edge of the lake. Clearing his throat, he gets out of the vehicle and goes inside for the night. He doesn’t even notice a certain stolen motorcycle stashed behind a couple of thick trees near the side of the house. He goes up the steps, his only light being that of the full moon, and unlocks the front door. He heads inside, navigating the pitch black interior of the house. He tosses his hat and coat aside, letting out a long sigh he didn’t realize he’d been holding for a good hour at least.

“Long night?” A voice says from the darkness, startling Jim. 

“Who’s there?” He draws his gun, pointing it in the direction of the sofa. His heart pounds in his chest, hoping the voice was all in his head. A lamp beside the couch clicks on, revealing the one person he never thought he’d see again. 

“Don’t shoot, officer!” You say with a laugh, playfully putting your hands up.

“Jesus, Y/N, You can’t scare me like that!” Hopper chuckles, forgetting the impossible circumstances of the situation. For a moment, it’s like you never left. The two of you sharing a silly joke, just like old times. But when he gets a real look at you, with your rain-drenched hair and smudged makeup, it hits him like a mack truck speeding down the freeway. “Is this really happening?” He asks, holstering his weapon though he stays standing. 

“‘Fraid so, Hop. No one wishes more than me that it wasn’t.” You answer regretfully, your smile falling away.

“Why is it happening?” Jim questions.

“I think you know the answer to that, Jim.” You reply, giving him a serious look as you stand. “I’m doing what no one else can. Getting justice for me and Eddie.” You add, coming off more angry than you’d prefer. You aren’t here to accuse him of not doing everything he could for you, you know deep down he wouldn’t be so careless. But the frustration is there, nonetheless.

“I did what I could, Y/N. This wasn’t just another case to me, you damn well know that.” Hopper retorts defensively. 

“Of course I do! I’m not mad at you! I’m furious with this goddamn town! It’s their fault that we’re dead! It’s their fault that I had to crawl out of my own fucking grave, that I have to kill the sons of bitches who murdered us!” You yell, letting out all the things you’ve been feeling throughout the night and had nowhere to put them, besides the force of your blade. Tears spill from your eyes as you release it all, relieved to have Hopper here to listen to every last word. “We were supposed to have a life, Hop! With anniversaries and stupid fights, with kids of our own or even just a couple pets, with late night talks and growing older together! We were supposed to have it all! And they took it all away!” You’re sobbing now, falling to pieces before Jim’s bewildered eyes. Without a second thought, he comes over to you, pulling you into his arms to hug you tightly. Your knees give out beneath you, your arms quickly clinging to him. “It’s not fair.” You say weakly against his tan uniform.

“You’re right, Y/N. It’s not fair. I’m so sorry.” Hopper says as his own sadness takes over, eyes squeezing shut as you hold him tighter. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” He says in a whispering coo, stroking your damp hair with his hand, ignoring the watery red spreading onto his palm. He holds you for as long as you need, more than grateful to once again be able comfort you the way he did when you were alive. “I wish I could've done so much more, for both of you.” Jim says once your wails cease. 

You pull back, looking up at him while shaking your head. “Don't blame yourself, Hop. You did everything you were able to. It’s not your fault our killers are privileged little assholes.” You scoff at that last bit, the idea of those four walking free still sends fury burning through you at the mere mention of it. “Sorry for running off, by the way. And for the mess I left behind.” You say sheepishly, pulling your smokes out to give your nervous hands something to do. Nice as it is to see Jim again, it’s awkward as hell to talk to him about your murderous rampage.

“Hey, can’t say I blame you. I would’ve done the same, if I could.” Hopper shrugs, not exactly heartbroken over two snotty jagoffs getting what they deserved. 

“So, you’re not gonna stop me?” You ask, lighting your cigarette.

“Don’t think I could, even if I wanted to try.” He replies, thinking over his next question. He doesn’t want to pry, it appears you’ve been through your own ordeal tonight. But a real explanation would be nice. “How did you come back?” He asks with a cocked eyebrow.

You let out a small sigh, exhaling a cloud of smoke with it. You gesture at the couch for him to sit, taking a seat alongside him. “I’m not really sure how it works.” You start, looking around for your feathered companion. Last you saw it was on top of the lamp you turned on once Hopper came in. It senses your request for its presence, fluttering over from the armchair.

“What the hell?” Hopper jumps slightly at the bird coming into view. “What’s that thing doing in here?” He asks, watching the corvid land on your waiting hand.

“This crow is how I came back, as far as I can tell. It’s been following me the whole time I’ve been back, and it showed me things.” You explain, earning a caw from the bird’s beak.

“What kind of things?” Jim asks, eyeing the bird wearily. He just hopes it won’t shit on his carpet.

“Memories. From that night.” You say, drawing his gaze back to you. A flash of sadness crosses his pupils. “It showed me other memories too, nicer ones.” You say softly. “It’s got some kind of connection to me somehow. I’m not really sure. But I can feel it. And it’s told me what I need to do, before I can finally be free from all this.”

“This thing can talk?” Hopper questions, looking as if he’s waiting for the bird to open its beak and say ‘howdy’.

“No. It’s just a feeling, like I know it deep down inside my chest.” You attempt to explain, realizing how whacked out it sounds. “I’ve been brought back, because I have to pay back what’s owed to the four of them. Their deaths.” The way you say this so seriously sends a chill up Jim’s spine, reminding him of his failed attempt at interrogating Hargrove. It feels different this time, though, because he’s not afraid of you the way he was of Billy. He’s afraid for you. He doesn’t want you to get hurt again, you’ve already been through more than enough.

“Y/N, I一” He starts, but you cut him off.

“I knew you’d try and talk me out of it.” You shake your head, scoffing. 

“That’s not very fair.” Hopper huffs. “Look, kid. I already lost you once, I don’t want that to happen again.” 

“You don’t get it.” You take another drag of your cig, exhaling the smoke harshly. “I’m only back here until the job is done. And I can handle myself. It’s not like I can die a second time.” The frustration grows again as you struggle to get him to understand.

“How do you know that?” Hopper asks skeptically.

“I’ll show you.” You reply, sighing as you fish out one of the knives from your pocket. You pull it from its sheath, and let your cigarette sit between your lips during this demonstration. You hold your free hand out in the light, showing Hopper your palm. “Watch.” You say simply, looking at him. He nods, though he’s a bit unnerved. You bring the knife towards your hand, making a deep cut across your palm. “Ah.” A small grunt leaves you at the sting, the blade slicing through your skin like butter.

“Y/N一” Jim winces, wondering what the hell you’re trying to prove.

“Just watch, goddamnit!” You snap, finishing the cut and lowering the knife. Hopper does as you say, staring at the almost black fluid that runs down your hand and into the sleeve of your jacket. He’s about to get up and look for some bandages, to end this mad display, when something very out of the ordinary begins to happen. His eyes widen as your wound slowly closes in on itself, the flesh pulling back together to repair the damage, until it looks like you were never cut at all.

“What the fuck?” Jim murmurs, unable to process what he’s just seen. 

“Yeah, that’s what Harrington said after stabbing me in the chest.” You comment, a bit too casually for Jim’s taste. But he supposes coming back from the dead (with the sole purpose of avenging your own murder) does something to a person. 

“Jesus christ, this is insane. I need a drink.” Hopper laughs nervously, feeling a little queasy. He gets up from the couch, leaving the room to head to the kitchen. “Want one?” He calls to you as he opens the refrigerator. The bright white light inside hurts his eyes, and he reaches for two bottles of beer in the door.

“Please.” You call back, stubbing out your cig in the ashtray on the coffee table. Jim returns with the drinks, the caps already popped off. He hands you one, his fingers brushing against your icy hand.

“You’re cold.” He observes aloud, surprised he didn’t notice before.

“Yeah, kinda comes with the territory of being a walking corpse, Hop.” You chuckle, taking a swig of your beer. It tastes more bitter than it should on your tongue, almost making you spit it out. You swallow it anyway, ignoring the cruel fact that there are few earthly pleasures this arrangement allows you to indulge in. At least cigarettes already tasted kind of terrible when you were alive. 

“Right.” He says awkwardly.

“Sorry, I’ll stop being so morbid. How have you been doin’, Jim?” You ask, more than happy to talk about something other than death for once.

“Not great, if I’m honest. I miss you guys all the time.” He says, taking a large swig from his bottle.

“I’ve missed you too. But you’ve gotten closer with Max, at least.” You reply, looking on the brighter side of things.

“You saw her?” He asks, the pieces clicking into place now, why she wanted to skate ‘home’ by herself after he got the call about Tommy.

“Yeah, she was waiting for me at the apartment.” You say with a smile.

“I knew the little shit was up to something!” Hopper laughs.

“Yeah, she’s much more willful than I remember.” You giggle.

“I wonder where she picked that up from.” Jim teases.

“Oh, please! You’re way more stubborn than I ever was!” You shove his shoulder playfully, the laughter growing within the two of you.

You and Hopper continue joking and reminiscing until the sun is starting to come up. It feels unbelievably good to put your mission aside, and have a short respite of happiness with an old friend. You share a few more beers and cigarettes, remembering the good old days as if no time has passed between now and then. The crow sits patiently in your lap as you converse with Jim, allowing you this much-needed time of rest. Hope is just as good of a motivator as fury, after all. Hope that, once this is all over, Hopper and Max will no longer have to bear the weight you and Eddie unintentionally placed on their shoulders. That they’ll only be left with the love and joy that was shared between all of you.

To Be Continued…

[jumpywhumpywriter]

PROMPT: Whumpee (Nico) Drugged for His Own Good part 1

TW: tortured, recovery, escape/rescue, drugged

PROMPT: a whumpee being drugged for their own good, looking up at their friends with fear/anger/betrayal in their eyes.

MY WRITING:

Nico was safe at last, surrounded by friends after months of brutal torture. He'd almost died in that wretched place so many times he'd lost count. But now he was at a familiar building, laying on a bed with his closest friend Marcus watching over him.

Nico had argued that he was fine, but the dozens of viciously-inflicted wounds across his body suggested otherwise. But he didn't want to be a burden. He didn't like to talk about what he went through in those months, but the memories haunted him every second of every day.

He put up a strong facade for his friends, mirroring his once tough-as-nails personality, trying to act normal again, but inside he was broken and afraid. He was afraid to sleep, for the nightmares. Afraid to eat, for the spoiled food he'd had to consume that made him deathly sick. Afraid to bathe, for fear of being drowned.

He was once the strongest member of his team as their leader -- unphasable, the most confident and level-headed of them all... but now... he was a hollow shell of who he once was. He wasn't the great and noble leader he used to be, but he desperately didn't want to let his team down.

He'd already done that once, the moment he'd made the heroic choice to sacrifice his life in place of Marcus's, given himself up to Villain to save his friend's life. That's how it had all happened. All the agony he'd endured... the days of endless suffering... it was supposed to be Marcus. Villain had tortured him for endless hours just to spite him for that sacrifice. Mock him for it. And it had taken months for Nico's friends to track down Villain's hidden hideout and rescue him. He'd been half-dead when they found him, barely clinging to consciousness.

And now here he was, trying to fit back into an old life with new limitations. His left leg had been shredded to bloody ribbons during captivity, so bad that it was hard to even walk a few steps. He'd probably never be able to fight again, lead his friends into battles.

Marcus sat on the edge of the bed he was laying on, gently rubbing his shoulder reassuringly, one of the few places Nico wasn't injured.

Nico had been hit with shrapnel from an explosion when he was at Villain's hideout, when his friends had blown in a metal wall to rescue him. The sharp shrapnel was buried in his abdomen, and his friends insisted he let them do surgery to remove the pieces that were dangerously close to vital organs, but every time he'd refused. He was terrified of the thought of being knocked out, an unreasonable fear because it reminded him of all the times he'd passed out from the agony during torture after screaming his throat raw and bloody, ruining his voice. He hated the thought of being that vulnerable, that exposed again.

But his friends had continued badgering him about it, trying to convince him to let them take the shrapnel out... except for today. For some odd reason none of them had mentioned the shrapnel today, despite constantly talking about it every day prior.

Nico's head pounded with pain, his whole body a vessel of pure agony. He'd been stuck in bed for three days now, barely able to do more than sit up and lay down again.

Marcus stayed with Nico almost every hour, sleeping on the floor just to stay near him and make sure he was still breathing. The guilt must be tearing him apart, knowing that Nico suffered all the pain in his place.

"It should have been me," Marcus said quietly, voice cracking as he rubbed Nico's shoulder.

"No," Nico wheezed, "it was my choice to make. Don't blame yourself for it."

Marcus still looked heartbroken, but he shook his head, reaching to the table at his bedside to pick up a glass of milk. "At least drink something," he offered sadly. Milk and other nutrient-rich drinks had been one of the only ways to sustain Nico, seeing as he couldn't keep any food down.

Marcus helped Nico sit up, and Nico couldn't suppress the sharp cry of pain at even that simple movement, making Marcus wince sympathetically. Nico took the glass with trembling hands and forced himself to drink. He had almost finished, when the room started dimming, and he stared down at the near-empty glass with dawning realization.

"No... you wouldn’t really..." He breathed out the words, tearing his gaze from the glass to stare at Marcus in sheer disbelief, utter betrayal twisting his features at the knowing expression on his friend's solemn face.

"I'm sorry," Marcus whispered, guilt and shame filling his eyes. "But we have to get the shrapnel out before it kills you." He stood up from the bed to stand in front of Nico.

Nico's face was devastated and hurt, before helpless anger took over. With an anguished shout, he summoned what weak strength was left in his ravaged body and lurched to his feet, swinging a punch at Marcus's face. Marcus easily sidestepped the attack, and Nico stumbled, a cry of agony tearing loose from his chest as broken ribs ground together. His legs buckled, the burst of strength gone, and he crumpled. But Marcus caught him before he could hit the floor, holding him up.

"...How could you?" Nico choked out, eyes stinging. The one friend he thought he could trust with his life had betrayed him.

"Because you're not taking care of yourself," Marcus answered softly. "And someone has to keep you alive."

Like a dam that was shattered, all the agony, all the feelings and pain Nico had been suppressing surged to the surface, hitting him all at once. He tried to jerk out of Marcus's grip, but Marcus held him tightly against his chest, limiting his futile struggles.

And then Nico couldn't help it anymore. He broke down, sobbing pathetically, tears rolling down his cheeks. He didn't care anymore if he was falling apart piece by piece in front of his friend, his teammate. Didn't care if Marcus could see his weakness and pain.

Nico's whole body shook and trembled, and another anguished sob escaped him as the world around him grew fuzzy and distant, falling farther away with each passing second.

"It's going to be okay," Marcus murmured soothingly into his ear, the guilt openly edging his voice. "You can let go. Rest."

But Nico was terrified of that lingering darkness creeping over his conscience, if he closed his eyes he might never wake up again. But it was getting harder and harder to fight it. He slumped against Marcus, slowly going limp in his arms even as he cried and sobbed helplessly into his friend's shoulder, the pain overwhelming. It broke Marcus's heart to betray him like this, but it was for his own good.

"No... please don't let me... fall asleep..." Nico begged pathetically, his voice starting to slur and fade.

Marcus's face twisted with regret. "I can't do that, but I can assure you that I'll wake you up when it's over."

"...P-Promise?" Nico croaked, his voice now barely more than a raspy whisper.

"I promise," Marcus answered without a beat of hesitation.

Nico clung to consciousness with everything he had, but the sedatives were too strong, and eventually it slipped out of grasp, tossing his mind into darkness, and he gave up, letting himself go limp. He was distantly aware of his friend gently lowering him to the floor, but nothing more.

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