#first person to say anything gets stabbed

[heavenlyraindrops]

The Devil Made Me Do It | Arcane | Silco x Reader | Chapter Twenty Six

available on AO3 and Quotev | visit the first tag for other chapters | warnings: profanity, mentions of drugs, brief mention of alcohol, cigars and smoking

summary:

In the midst of an unfortunate run-in with the enforcers, you meet the young revolutionary Silco, and by extension, his friends Vander and Felicia. Growing close friends, you get through life in the undercity together, determined to make Zaun a better place. Until tragedy strikes, and betrayal and carelessness stabs hard enough to turn you bitter. Years later as time solidifies the scars, Silco proves to be a thorn in your side. You, in his. Hatred festers. And your world cracks further open.

Chapter Twenty Six:

Over the next week or so, Donna walked around you on eggshells, as did most of the Haven. Half expecting you to go manic, or have another meltdown. You, however, popped an unholy amount of pills and carried on with life. 

“So,” you said, spaying your palms out across the low table. “Tell me about the Slickjaws.���

Donna tossed a file on the table, right next to a bowl of grapes. The air was thick with Allison’s absence. Where she would have been sitting on the sofa, or kneeling on the carpet, there was nothing. Just you and Donna left. 

“Their leader is Finn,” she began. She opened the file, pulling out a piece of paper and handing it to you. “He got into crime as a teenager. They specialise in assassinations.”

“What does he look like?” You asked casually, popping a grape into your mouth. Donna paused, then shrugged, reaching for a grape of her own.

“Flashy, I guess. A bit like you, honestly. Except for you, that’s not really you.” She looked up at you, eyes glittering in the rose candlelight. You smiled.

Donna placed down something else. You picked it up. “What’s this?”

“He’s having a party,” she said, voice level as she traced the gold lettering on the paper with her index finger. You snorted derisively. “You should go.”

“Where’d you get this?”

“I have my ways.”

You picked up the invite. It certainly was eye-catching. “It’s strange if I show up uninvited. He hasn’t sent us the invite personally, has he now? If we don’t have an invite, we just look like creeps.” You frowned, turning the invitation over. “I don’t want to go in like that straight away.”

Donna smirked and placed another grape in her mouth. “But we know someone who probably does.”

You frowned, furrowing your brow.

“Who?”

Donna raised her eyebrows, mouthing a single word. Your eyes widened.

“Oh.”

-

“Jinx!”

The girl looked up from the bar counter that she was leaning on, straw still in her mouth. You smiled as you entered the Last Drop, holding out a hand to her. The young girl grinned, hopping off the barstool to tackle you in a hug. 

“Whoa, what’s gotten into you?”

She pulled back. “You brought me to Silco. I just wanted to say thanks.”

You laughed, ruffling her hair. For a moment you stilled, but then you smiled. “Of course.”

“Want a drink?”

“You know I do.”

You slid onto a barstool, curtly nodding at the bartender. Jinx leapt onto hers, and it shook as she landed, slowly spinning around. “Hey, Chuck. Get [name] a drink, will ya?”

“My name isn’t-“

“Chuck,” you said darkly. “She asked you to get me a drink.”

Chuck looked at you nervously. “You’re, uh… [name], right? You run the Haven?”

You winked, a subtle smirk on your lips as you produced a sleek black card from your jacket and tossed it to him across the counter. “Come find me any time, and I’ll get you sorted for anything.”

He clumsily set to fixing you a drink. ���Gin and Tonic,” you ordered, and he nodded quickly. You turned to Jinx. “So. How’s it been?”

There was a small contraption on the table. Jinx picked it up. It was dusted with colours. “It’s been good,” she said casually, snatching up a screwdriver you recognised as the one she’d gotten when you’d kidnapped her from Hilda’s shop.

“Say… when I took you to meet Silco, what happened, exactly?”

She slotted the screwdriver into the dent in the actual screw, twisting, tightening. “Oh, nothing. I just woke up and he was there. He told me I’d passed out. Weird, cause I didn’t remember anything.”

“Yeah,” you agreed. Chuck placed your drink in front of you, but you didn’t spare him a glance. “We were halfway there when you sort of just… fainted. But it’s fine, cause I handed you over to Sevika.” You grinned, resting your cheek on your palm, elbow on the table. Your eyes flicked down to Jinx’s hands. “What’s that?”

“A bomb,” she replied nonchalantly. You raised an eyebrow. 

“A bomb?” She offered it to you. You reached out nervously for the object.

“Jinx.”

You both looked up.

Silco was standing by the door. He stepped into the light, eyes fixed on you. You smiled and leaned forward to sling your arm around Jinx’s shoulder.

“Hey.” You gave him a tinkly little wave, and watched him stiffen.

“[name],” he said curtly. “To what do we owe the pleasure?” He held his hand out to Jinx, who looked at you, before getting off the barstool to go up to him. She placed the bomb in his outstretched hand. He turned it over.

“What’s this?”

“A bomb.” Her voice was eager.

“Does it work?”

She took it back and held it close to her chest. “I haven’t tested it yet.” 

“You go do that,” he said smoothly, ruffling her hair. She gave you a wonky smile as she skipped out of the room. You smiled back, leaning on your elbow.

Silco scowled, stepping towards you. He placed his hand on the bar top. Chuck had conveniently disappeared into the back. You turned your face away, raising your drink to your lips and casually looking everywhere but at Silco.

“What do you want?” He snapped, his tone sharp enough to cut like a knife. You set the drink down with a deliberate clink, sighing.

“You said we needed to discuss whatever I did with Finn,” you reminded him coldly. “And I want a favour.”

“I believe you owe me two,” he replied curtly. You stiffened, then grinned, chewing your lip as you traced the rim of your glass.

“One.” Your voice was low. “Don’t push it.”

He tilted his head, crossing his arms. His usually pushed back hair had fallen out of place again. “One, then. Fine. Well, what did you want?”

You smirked and slowly drew something out of your pocket. You held it out to him, tapping it against his chest. Gold letters glittered in the bar’s dim lights. His expression darkened immediately, displeasure radiating from him like heat.

“Where did you get this?”

“I have my ways,” you said smoothly, stealing Donna’s words with a wry smirk. His brow furrowed, crease between his eyebrows deepening as he frowned, looking in between the invite, then at you, eyes flickering with suspicion. After a few moments he flicked his head at the door.

“Let’s talk.”

You swiped your drink off of the counter and slipped off of your barstool to follow him past the door, up the stairs and into his office. The door shut as you turned on the spot, looking at the now-familiar space. He went to his desk, tossing the invitation on the wooden surface and looking at you. 

“So what exactly are you doing with this invitation?”

“I’m going to go.” It wasn’t a request, just a simple statement. He sat down in his chair, turning around so he wasn’t facing you. You could make out the shadowed silhouette of his side profile as he lit a cigar. 

He flicked his head at you. “Then go.”

You slowly stepped around his desk, then pushed yourself up so you were sitting on top of it. The sharp edge of your heel dug into the wood as you spun his chair around, forcing him to face you. 

You held out your hand, and he scowled, jaw tightening, before stiffly placing the hand cigar in it. “One small problem,” you began, before taking a slow drag, sighing it out. “I don’t have an invite.”

He leaned over and past you to tap the piece of paper, then looked back at you to raise an eyebrow. You shook your head, pointedly stabbing the cigar at him. “No. It won’t work. He never sent me one personally.” You sucked the smoke in through your teeth, then leaned in, exhaling. Smoke billowed in his face, and he narrowed his eyes, looking away. “But I bet you have one. And I also bet you don’t plan on going.”

His hand shot out, snatching the cigar from you, his movements sharp and irritable. He turned away to take a drag. You leaned forward, craning your neck to try and get him to look at you. 

“Send me on your behalf.” Your voice softened into something smooth, gentle, almost coaxing. 

His eyes flicked to yours, narrowing with suspicion. “And then what? You kill him?”

Your temper snapped. “I won’t kill him,” you hissed, and grabbed his jaw, wrenching his face back to look at yours. Your fingers pressed hard against his skin and he gritted his teeth, eyes widening in shock for a moment before relaxing again. 

“But I need a fucking valid reason to go.” Your voice dropped into a low, dangerous whisper.

“Why should I do anything for you?” He sneered, lips twitching into a ghost of a sardonic smirk. You cocked your head to the side, drumming your fingers on the top of his chair, arm pressed upwards against the side as you leaned in. You stared at him for a moment, then leaned back, letting go of the chair.

“Then Finn dies, and you lose that little piece of power you have over Zaun that he gives you,” you grinned, picking up your glass that you’d set on his disk. You swirled the liquid inside around, ice clinking softly then raised it at him in a sarcastic toast, nodding smugly before taking a sip. His eyes never left yours, gaze burning feverishly.

“Fine,” he spat, the word filled with venom. “Take my invite, go on my behalf. But you’re going to fill me in on everything you plan on doing.”

“I want to cash in one of my five favours from Sevika as well,” you added casually. He groaned, running his hand through his already disheveled hair. After a moment he scoffed, shaking his head.

“Be my guest. But take it up with her, not me.”

You stayed silent for a few moments, the rim of your glass pressed against your lips. You straightened up, taking a breath. 

“How was Jinx?” You asked, your tone deceptively casual.

He looked up at you from behind his hand, due to his fingers being pressed against his temple, elbow balanced on his armrest. “She was fine.” His voice was hard. 

You planted your feet on the edge of his seat and used your legs to swing him around to face you fully. He let out a small, frustrated growl as you leaned in, your gaze sharp and unrelenting. 

“Any effects of the sleep drug?” You inquired, eyes gleaming. A muscle in his face twitched, and he shook his head. You nodded slowly. 

“She has no idea what I did.” Your voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, reaching for his cigar. “Why’s that?”

He ignored your second question, letting you prise the cigar from his fingers, watching you inhale from it. “Let’s keep it that way.” He paused, gaze flickering with something unreadable. “She seems to like you.”

You threw your head back and laughed, the sound sharp and grating. “Who doesn’t?”

He gestured lazily to himself. You grinned again, mirthlessly this time and hopping off of his desk, tipping the glass towards him in a final mock salute. “Pleasure doing business with you.”

“I wish I could say the same,” he muttered, before giving you a smirk and tipping his head to the door. 

You scowled as you walked out the doorway.

[rottengurlz]

lover, don't touch me // leave, i am a danger to you // but ooh, i hunger for you

[stillfruit]

it's so difficult to articulate the feelings i get when i see my friends engaging in healthy and good behaviors like asking for emotional support and taking the time they need to arrive because i just can't and i know i'm wrong for it but it still feels incredibly isolating

[joeloverture]

deadfall | enemy!j.m. x f!reader

masterlist | notifs blog | on palestine

pairing: dad’s enemy!joel miller x f!reader summary: joel miller, rival raiders with your father, is the last person you expect to save you from the group that captured you. he’s also the last person you expect to sleep with. [post outbreak] warnings: (mdni) canon typical violence (stalkers, mentions of death), porn with plot, game or tv joel, reader born before the outbreak, reader has a present/loving father figure (HAH), alternate universe — joel never went to boston, implied age gap but how big is up to you, self indulgent humor, quicksand, explicit smut, reader is a biiiit of a peeping tom, close proximity, only one bed, (brief) accidental somnophilia so dubcon, dry humping, degradation, humiliation, mirror sex, unprotected piv (he’s snipped dw), doggy style, manhandling (he fucks you in a headlock), mild breath play & choking, brief hair pulling (reader has hair!), scratching/biting, brief orgasm denial, hatefuck [no use of y/n] word count: 9.5k author's note: pwplot! a joeloverture first. also my first foray into somno! and post!ob joel! lots of firsts here. special thanks to @joelsdagger for taking a glimpse at this for me (and for being the PIONEER that forged joel fucking in a headlock) and @lovesickonmybed for being the best sounding board ever. i hope y'all like this one, i sure do.

There are no infected in the swamp — not this far out. They prefer the slant of buildings or the maw of split pavement. Blood-bloated leeches and black-trunked cypresses aren’t their domain.

You can’t say you blame them. One day in, and you’re already sick of this shit.

A few gnats have flown up your nostrils as you wade through the ankle-deep sludge. Mist curls at the edges of your vision. Your feet keep slipping on the slime covered stones that are half-submerged in the deep. Sweat crystallizes on your nape as your toe catches on a downed branch.

Before you faceplant in the sludge below, a burly hand snags your collar and hauls you up. “You always this much of a klutz?” It’s the first few words he’s said to you in hours.

A scowl buckles your lips. You shove Joel Miller’s arm off your back, splashing up scummy water as you step over the branch this time. You say nothing — don’t even dignify him with a passing glance.

“You’re a real peach, ain’t ya?” Joel says. When he takes his next step, water splashes at the backs of your calves. “Save your ass and this is the thanks I get.”

Joel Miller doesn’t want thanks. Up until he accidentally burnt his thumb with boiling hot coffee yesterday, you’d been convinced he didn’t feel anything at all. As long as his pulse is woven between bullets and stab wounds, he doesn’t give a damn what happens to those around him. His heart, much like the rest of the people at the end of the world, is calcified. Only beating out of necessity.

You’re silent as you footslog forward. The slurp of mud stretches between your shoe and the ground. Your pack jostles against your back. The ache in your bones has proven to be a better company than Joel – at least that is tolerable.

A deadfall lays flat ahead, a tree with cambered branches that droop with moss. Joel cups a hand over his eyes to block out the sun and squints past.

You go to walk past him, around the deadfall.

“Nuh uh,” Joel tugs you back by the scruff. You grunt. “‘S deeper out there. I’d sure like to see you get swallowed up by a gator, but that doesn’t work for me, kid.”

It sure works for you. If you see one of their bumpy snouts protruding out of the water, you’re using him as bait.

You don’t say that, though. Just hitch your foot up over one of the branches in the tree and start to haul yourself up. It’s a nagging ordeal – full of hissing through your teeth and feeling wood tear small cuts into your skin. Your hand tangles in an unoccupied spiderweb before you toss yourself through the other side of the bramble. Water sluices around you as you right yourself, rubbing a bead of blood from one of your knuckles.

Joel’s quick to follow, even quicker to take front again. You’ve learned he likes being ahead of you — unless you’re climbing a ledge or a fallen oak.

The hours wear on. You refuse to be the first to call it for the day. Even when you get stinging salt water into your open cuts, you grin and bear it. When the sun lounges on the chaise of the tree-sketch horizon, he drops his pack on an island of mulch that’s nestled in a grove of dead vegetation. 

You slump down next to him, rifling through your pack for a bite of jerky. Joel’s knees pop. He grunts as he slips down into the dirt and unrolls his sleeping bag. He rolls over, facing away from you. Hand wrapped around his gun like it’s a lover. 

When you do the same, it’s with a barbed insult on your tongue that’s better left unspoken.

At the end of the world, everything is ruleless. But you grew up with exactly one rule: don’t talk about Joel Miller.

You hadn’t been expecting him to kill you.

The Cockroaches, the lesser raider group in Northeast Texas, had captured you. Apparently your dad had some unpaid debts, and in taking you as leverage, they’d intended to get close to him. All they got were bullets in their heads.

You’d sighed in relief when the hatch to your basement confinement had finally opened. A spillage of sun sliced down through the opening, and you were expecting the familiar warmth of your father, an apology, and reassurance that he wouldn’t let them take you again.

Instead, you got Joel. With his hulking gun, broad figure that blocked out the sun, and the scowl that would be the last thing you’d ever see.

You had fumbled against the post you were tied to, feet scrabbling against the floor. You’d winced away when he raised his knife. “Don’t–”

…And cut into your restraints.

You’d rubbed the chafing from your wrists and stared at him, nebulous and delirious. “Get the fuck away from me,” you’d croaked.

“They touch you?” he’d asked. You’d shaken your head. “Hurt ya?” Another shake.

“Good. Now get up and get ready to haul ass.” He turned around, but not before throwing his knife to the ground next to you. The clatter it made against the concrete made your ears ring.

You grabbed the knife.

“Why are you helping me?” you ask him. They’re the only words you’ve spoken since you’d seen him in the cellar. 

“I ain’t,” he says. His voice is gruff. Sandpapery. 

“Looks like helping,” you say, nodding at the pack he’d given you. He’d come out prepared. To get you.

“Your daddy ain’t the only one with debts,” he says.

You stop, booted feet sinking into the mud. Shit. “So that’s what this is. You take me away just to hand me off to some other shitty group?”

“Yeah,” he says with a shrug. He turns around, already mid-stride.

You yank his knife out of your pocket and dive at him.

“Hey, hey, fuck – you little brat,” he spats. He goes off balance before he twists around. You corral him against a tree, leg hitching around his waist as you knee at his thighs, aiming for his crotch. His spittle sprays your cheek as he grunts. His fist wraps around your hand, and the knife splats into the mud. His booted heel slips and he goes sliding back as he shoves you away, hard. You cough as you slam into a tree trunk. The knot that swells out of the bark digs into your head. You drag a branch up off the ground, pushing yourself off the tree as you heft it.

Before you grab it, he slaps you. Hard. Your head goes spinning as you stumble back into the muck. He jams his boot down against your chest, mud smearing across your tank top. “I gotta tie you up, or you gonna fuckin’ listen to me?”

You reach up to grab his ankle, and he just stomps harder against your chest. You wheeze, flopping back in the sludge. “B-bastard,” you hiss.

“Yeah, yeah, shut the hell up. ‘S your dad’s shitty group I’m talkin’ about.”

You give him an incredulous look.

“Your old man ain’t the only one with a coupla debts under his belt.”

“You’re shitting me,” you say. Voice squished in your throat from his tread against your chest.

He shakes his head and finally lets his boot up. You suck in a breath, another cough rattling your ribcage. “Quit being all uppity and pickin’ fights ya can’t win if you wanna learn, dumbass.”

“Why didn’t he just come get me himself?” you grit out as you lean back against a log. You use it to lift yourself, legs feeling gelatinous from being shoved about.

“You didn’t see? Cockroach shot ‘im in the leg.” Your lips tremble, but you straighten them. “He’s fine.”

You scowl. “And you didn’t tell me this sooner?” You march forward. Your arms cross solidly over your chest.

“Figured you wouldn’t take it well.” He looks you up and down. “And I was right.”

You curse under your breath. Dip to grab your knife. Toss it in your hand while you think. You don’t flinch when it slightly nicks your thumb — it’s hardly a poke with all of the scraping you’ve been doing through undergrowth — but Joel smirks. 

He sees you as juvenile. The product of a world that you haven’t earned the right to be in, always cowering behind your dad’s back. 

You’ll prove him wrong.

“How far are we from the nearest city?” you ask. You want to go home. Your arms ache not just from swinging at your side or lifting you up toppled trees, but to wrap around your father. Your bones protest at the thought of being in your skin. Your tank top sticks to your flesh with mud and the parasites that squirm in it.

“I’m not a goddamn fortune teller,” Joel says. “Your guess is as good as mine.”

“Then we better get moving.” You readjust your pack and jostle him as you march on.

Three days later, and there’s no end in sight to the swamp. Whatever towns you’ve encountered are home to only a derelict gas station and ransacked mom-and-pop stores. They’re no place for pit stops.

You (reluctantly) stay close to Joel, who you’re lucky to hear so much as a murmur out of. Most of the time, he’s redirecting you, tugging you out of the way of half-decade old hunter’s traps or reminding you not to go too far.

“The world isn’t gonna end if I step out of your imaginary line, Joel,” you say. You test your foot on the side of the bank you’re walking on. Nothing happens.

“Ki–” Joel says, brows crunched up.

“See? Fine.” You press more of your weight into the ground. He reaches for you, but your body tilts.

Your foot is sinking.

“You’re a fuckin’ pain in my ass,” Joel says. He pinches his nose bridge. “Shoulda left ya down there.”

You glare at him, bending yourself at the waist so you can try to wiggle yourself with your upper body strength. Your free knee is propped up on the squishy ground. You grunt, palms slipping against the oily, grass-filled mud. “I got it,” you rasp out as he crouches in front of you.

“Uh huh,” he says, frowning pointedly.

“I got it.” You slap his hand away and thresh your leg in the sand. It barely even wiggles. “Fuck.” You strain your leg, huffing and puffing. Dirt fixes itself under your nails.

Joel wraps his arms under your shoulders and you flail in protest. “I said I can handle it!” Instead of listening to you, he tugs at you like pulling a toy from a dog. You keep windmilling your arms.

“Quit thrashin’!” Joel yells. “Any harder and you’re gonna drag me in with you.”

Your face is too close to his. Too close for the uncomfortable heat. His humid breath fans against your sweat-slippery cheek as he groans. Your foot loosens. You prop your calf up on his thigh as he wrests you out of the quicksand. You’re chest-to-chest with him as you tip over the muck, dropping flat against him. “Mmph.”

Joel shoves you off of him, and you fall on your ass in the mud. By all odds, your boot has remained strapped to your foot. He’s already up and moving when he says, “Jesus Christ, you are just like your fuckin’ dad.”

The mud still caked into your shirt has started to flake by the time you reach a city called Monroe. Just off of I-20, you and Joel trek further into what you imagine must’ve been a medium-sized city during its heyday.

You’re bone-weary. Your back keeps popping with every step with how you keep having to sleep on the ground. You’d be thankful for even a mattress of moss — but luckily, you won’t have to settle. Sunset is nearing, which means you can see the blue water (imagine that, blue water) tainted pink and orange below. Houses and the city clocktower reflect into the gentle pull and ebb of the tide.

Joel nods at a half-bent blue roadway sign. “YMCA up ahead,” he says. He wipes the sweat off his brow and clutches his gun closer to his side. “Stay close.”

You keep your hand around the grip of your knife, following him into the city.

It’s quiet as you navigate through a labyrinth of abandoned, rust-gutted cars. At one point, you manage to slip ahead of him, and he allows it for long enough (fifteen seconds) that you opt to take a shortcut through a parking garage. You climb over the edge and dip inside, feet scraping over roots that have grown between concrete slabs. The shade is a brief respite from the scorching sun, but the humidity still wrings the sweat from your pores.

Joel slips ahead of you again, taking long, dragging strides that look as exhausted as you feel. Four days of hiking through swamp and gunk and slapping mosquitoes against your skin has made you grateful to just be walking on solid ground again. Joel steps past a busted, sticker-covered van.

A streak flickers against the dark canopy of the garage. “Infected!” you shout, but Joel falls back on his ass.

His gun flies out of his hand and skids across the concrete. He grunts, shuffling backward, but the stalker’s already on him, its mouth sewn partially shut by fungi. It croaks and slashes at him, blind left eye battering and twitching. Joel throws a hooked punch, but the stalker takes the opportunity to grapple him, snarling in his face.

He’s going to get bit.

You launch forward, knife in-hand. You fling yourself into a tumble with the stalker, legs strewn over Joel’s. Adrenaline plummets through your body. You stomp on its shin and it shrieks. The knife almost slips from your grip as you start to stab blindly. You thrust the blade up through its eye socket.

The thing cackles and caws, its vocal chords clacking with mold and rot. Rusted blood trickles from its nose and down your wrist as you twist the blade further until you meet bone and then whatever is left of a brain is beyond it. You cringe as you drag the knife out and wipe it across your pants. It slumps back in a mound and then falls over.

Your chest heaves as you look between Joel and the stalker. His hands are scraped up as he grabs his gun.

You extend him a hand. He seems to think about it for a second before latching onto you and letting you help him up. He grunts in acknowledgment. “C’mon,” he says. “Let’s get cleaned up.”

This YMCA in particular isn’t like the others you’ve stopped at with your dad. Instead of glass windows and tin roofs, it’s brick and mortar. You and Joel climb in through the window, and you almost sob in relief when you see at least a dozen oversized yoga mats. That’s a suitable homemade mattress, you think. 

There’s a basketball court whose court has been warped and fossilized by the leaks in the roof. A peek of sunset dives in through a hole, lighting up the western side of the room. You expect the pool room to still smell of chlorine. It’s a little weird when it doesn’t even though the pool’s been drained for years, you imagine. From there, you two reach the showers.

Before you let yourself get excited, Joel fiddles with the knobs. Water sprays out of it. “Still hot,” he says, absorbed in the droplets that are spraying his hand. He turns it off.

“Fuck it,” you say, tearing your tank top over your head.

“Woah, woah, woah,” Joel says, turning to face the wall.

“You aren’t the one who’s covered in mud!”

“Yeah, you’re right, I ain’t the one who went jumpin’ into quicksand. I also ain’t the one who deserved an ass whooping.”

You glare at his shoulder blades as you unzip your jeans, fumbling out of them. They’re nearly crunchy with the amount of mud you’ve been traipsing through. “They did charity drives at these things, right?” You never really went to any YMCAs before the world went to shit. “Maybe they’ve got clean clothes.”

“Maybe,” Joel says. “Maybe you shoulda thought about that before you turned this place into a strip club.” You roll your eyes and hook your bra on the shower curtain, followed by your panties.

“I didn’t know you were a prude, Miller,” you say.

He bristles at the accusation. “Maybe I should get an eyeful. Being ‘round you is like wishin’ the Lord would strike me down.”

You laugh. Joel made you laugh. First (and only) time, probably. 

“Yeah, right, you’d get struck down for something a whole lot worse before he started getting mad at you for peeping.”

You fiddle with the shower curtain and step in. There’s old body wash in an automatic dispenser on the wall. It doesn’t work, but it’s easy to wrangle open and squeeze the pouch into your hand. The grout is odd under your bare feet, but quickly becomes familiar as you twist the lever. Water spits down at you, and a satisfied sound leaves you. “Fuuuck,” you sigh. “This is nice.”

Joel clears his throat. “I’m gonna go look for clothes. And deodorant.”

“You should shower too,” you say instead.

You can almost hear the face he makes.

“God, don’t be so much of a Holy Joe, Joel. It’s practical. This water isn’t going to last that damn long, and I am not taking a cold shower when the hot stuff is all right here.”

“You’re a real pain in the ass,” he says like he hasn’t already told you.

Eventually, you hear his belt unbuckle.

He strips down a lot quicker than you. Habit, maybe, you think. His jeans slump against the floor, and then he’s in the shower. You hear the other faucet come on as the water warms against your skin. You sigh, lathering yourself with the Dollar General body wash. It forms iridescent bubbles along your body, and it smells faintly like artificial strawberries. You wonder if it ever used to smell stronger than this.

There’s a slit in Joel’s shower that exists between the curtain and the wall. You should look away, but you shouldn’t have plunged your foot into quicksand, either. There’s many things you shouldn’t do that you take it upon yourself to do anyway.

So you watch the dirty water cascade down his sharp, scarred shoulder. You eye how the gnarl of his bone adjusts as he lathers himself with soapsuds. He stretches to get his hair and his bicep tenses with the movement. He’s built, and built well. From years of survival, trekking through swamps not so different from these, and aiming guns in places he wanted to and places he didn’t. The way the sun flits through the rectangular windows makes him look golden.

You imagine how it’d feel to walk up behind him, to massage the knots out of his sore muscles. You don’t even notice it, but your hands are traveling your own body now, fingertips going to pluck at your pebbled nipples. He’d been rough when tussling with you in the swamp. Would he be rough with you in bed, too? In your mind, you run soft, open-mouthed kisses down his back, reaching your hand between his legs to wrap around his—

A clanging noise stops your hand in its tracks. You drop it limp at your side. A wave of revulsion crawls like insects up your back.

“Shit!” Joel says, fumbling around in his shower stall.

The plastic body wash dispenser goes sliding out under the curtain, foamy with soapsuds.

You can’t help it. You snort. And eventually, your snort becomes full-fledged laughter, breaking the seam of your lips as you lean against the wall of the shower.

“Shut up,” he says, but you hear the tinge of a chuckle embedded between his vowels. You hear his half-huff of laughter before you force yourself to stop giggling.

You two stay under the shower streams until the water runs cold and bitter and all of the mud that had banded around your limbs is congealed in the drain. 

You leave the showers first, roaming around until you find a discarded cardboard box that’s brimming with clothes in your size. There’s jeans that should do well in the elements and another tank top suited for the crushing heat. 

When you’re dressed, you call out to Joel that you’ll be in the yoga room. You spend the down time arranging the yoga mats into two separate mattresses. Joel’s feet will hang off a bit, but you imagine it’ll be better than sleeping on the floor.

Footsteps scrape from the doorway, and your head snaps up.

Joel Miller cleans up nice, it seems. He’s kept his boots, but apart from that, looks like a completely different person; his jeans now hug his hips tighter, his raggedy tee from earlier has been replaced with a form-fitting ribbed tank top. Any traces of mud, sweat, or gunk have been washed off his skin and down the drain. His hair hangs in wet stripes, sticking to his crinkled forehead.

You haven’t realized you’ve zone out until he’s waving a calloused hand in front of your face. “Hey, peach, anyone home?”

You clear your throat and replace it with a scowl. “Don’t call me that.” It’s deflection, and you know it. You think he knows it, too.

He gives you a funny look. “Uh huh,” he says. He taps his fingers along his hip bone. “Well, what the fuck are ya doin’?”

You furrow your brows at him. “Setting up camp…?”

“This is a shit camp to set up,” he says. “Stalkers in the parking garage, city I ain’t ever been in before? No, we need a vantage point.”

“And I assume you have one in mind?” you ask.

“Yeah, I do. ‘S a hotel, ‘lil further into town. Got three floors, we probably can block the stairwell from the inside to keep any raiders out.”

You nod and heft your backpack over your shoulder. It’s bulging from the extra clothes you’d stuffed into the bottom, and your arms are sore from the wrangling you’d given it after the collar of one of your new shirts jammed the zipper. 

Joel turns to stand guard at the door while you collect your stuff. You can’t seem to focus much on that, though, not with his ass practically at your eye level. The tighter denim definitely does him favors. You swallow the newfound lump in your throat and stuff your water flash into the side of your pack.

It has to be the lack of human connection. It’s been two weeks since you’ve seen anyone other than your captors, and the majority of this week since you’ve seen anyone other than Joel. Joel, who with every word, breath, movement, flinch, gets a rise out of you. Joel, who stirs the pot with you at every chance he gets. Joel, who almost certainly looks at you and sees a reflection of your father whom he hates.

He’d said so, early on.

This isn’t only one-sided. It’s a living, breathing disaster.

“‘S a hotel’ my ass, Joel, this place looks like a loaf of moldy bread.”

Joel insists on staying on the third floor. Says that the second floor is ‘too low’ and that being on the third floor poses a good choke point for any raiders or infected who might stumble upon your camp. He wants to ‘bottleneck’ any intruders, whatever the fuck that means.

The issue with the third floor? There’s mold. Everywhere. In the days after the outbreak, a leak must’ve happened somewhere in the pipes that bled through the ceiling and all over the top floor. None of the rooms you’ve checked have been left unscathed so far. It’s embedded into the rugs, the walls, the ceiling, all of it. At least it’s a good deterrent for the people that pass through. The infected, however? You have a feeling they’d be just at home.

“Would you shut the fuck up?” he says through his teeth. He pinches his nose bridge – he does that a lot, or maybe you just stress him out a lot – and glares at you.

“No, Joel. I’m fucking exhausted,” you hiss. “I’ve been roughing it with you all week, all you do is give me shit. The only thing this voyage of ours has taught me is that my dad has perfectly ample reason to hate your guts.” You’re closer to him now, knocking him back with your fist to your chest.

“Quit bein’ cute,” he scowls. “I’m the only reason your ass isn’t eyeball-deep in quicksand.”

“Yeah, and you’d be stalker food without me. So I guess we’re even, aren’t we, Joel?” You shove past him. “I’m just a way for you to pay off your stupid ‘debts’ anyway,” you mutter under your breath. He wasn’t protecting you, pulling you out of that damn pit. He was saving his own skin.

The hotel room door at the end of the hallway is slightly ajar. You lift your knife just in case, and step inside. 

It’s lacking the mold that the rest of the rooms have. People have definitely stayed in here before, what with the rumpled blankets left on the bed and a flashlight situated upright on the dresser. The thick layer of dust on the flashlight tells you that they never came back.

The room itself is satisfactory enough. Beige, almost green walls, close in at all sides. A cloudy mirror is hung by the window. Moonlight stipples the room. There’s a busted, corded phone on the nightstand that’s propped up on a Bible, a shattered nightlight, and a small table. You toss your pack onto the quilted bedspread and collapse onto the mattress. For an old, creaking thing with a busted spring or two, it’s still the most comfortable thing you think you’ve ever felt in your life. You sigh in relief and nuzzle into the pillow.

Joel clears his throat from the doorway.

“Find your own room, dipshit,” you say, nudging your pack off your bed with your knee. It thunks against the floor.

“I don’t think so.” He crosses his arms.

“I’m not sharing with you. You snore.”

“I don’t snore.”

“You do.”

You don’t have to look up to know he’s doing that thing where he pinches his nose bridge again. “You’re a fuckin’ piece ‘a work, kid, you know that?” You hear his pack drop against the ground. He drags a chair across the room and you cringe at how it squeals against the floor until he jams it under the doorknob. Then, the mattress dips.

You look at him sideways. “Get off my bed.”

“‘Your’ bed? You just discovered it two seconds ago.”

“Finders keepers.”

“Well I’m takin’ it from you. Losers weepers.”

You grit your teeth so hard you hear the bone scraping bone in your ears. 

“That’s now how this works–”

“We’re even now. You don’t wanna owe me one, and I sure as hell don’t wanna owe you one. So roll your ass over, act like an adult, and go to bed.”

You grouse under your breath, but with Joel, you have to pick and choose your battles. So you roll back over and wiggle yourself under the quilt, tucking your face into the musty pillow underneath you.

You sit in silence for a couple of minutes, staring at how the moon spills milky light along the alabaster ceiling. Then, you roll over again, stretching out the knicks in your back. Despite being the comfiest you’ve been in days, you’re feeling restless. You know Joel wouldn’t hurt you in any substantial way – you’re a bargaining chip to him. Nothing less, and certainly not anything more.

In spite of that, you find yourself drifting off with your face to him.

When Joel first wakes up, he thinks a clicker’s gnawing at his leg

Blinking the crust from his eyes, he realizes nothing’s gnawing on him at all. 

Rather, it’s you.

In your sleep, you’ve thrown your leg over his thigh. Your crotch is angled up against the bulk of his leg, a furnace that sears him through his jeans. Your head has dipped, forehead overheated and angled against the crux of his neck. If it were just that, he’d roll you over (maybe hard enough for you to crash on the floor) and hog the blankets for himself.

But you’re thrusting your fucking hips into him, letting out sleepy little whimpers while you fuck yourself on his leg. That explains why you’ve been acting dumber than a box of rocks. He oughta tan your hide for this. Bitching at him all week and really, you just need to get dicked down. Ironic, ain’t it.

He should still shove you off the bed. Call you a whore and leave you to rub your pussy raw in the bathroom instead of on his leg.

You give a particularly hard thrust, a keening little sound catching in the netting of your teeth. He swears you’re soaking through the denim.

He bites his tongue. The moonlight accentuates your closed eyes, your lashes fan out across your cheeks, there’s a cute little pinch in your lips as you unwittingly try to muffle the sounds coming out of you.

He can’t help himself. He raises his knuckles to your cheek and taps, taps, taps at the bone until your eyes startle open.

When you first wake up, you think you’re dying.

There’s a shortness of breath in your lungs. You feel like you’re being burned alive, your skin hot to the touch. You’re mummified in the crusty, flaky hotel sheets. Each intake of breath is musty and clings to your nostrils. You’re throbbing. Between the legs and elsewhere. Confusion puckers your brows. There’s slick between your legs — and Joel’s leg between your legs.

You tear away from him, making a disgruntled noise as the sheets tangle around your legs. His hand is raised to your face. There’s a moment where all you register is the judgmental squint in his dark eyes.

“What the fuck– you pervert,” you hiss, slapping him across the chest. A queasiness squiggles in your stomach as you inch your way back.

“Oh, no, peach. That was all you,” he drawls. He wraps his thick hand around your hipbone and pulls you back. You kick him in the shin, but there’s no real force behind it.

“Y-you’re lying,” you snarl. But a brief look at his lap tells you he’s not. He’s barely touting a semi, yet you’ve got the entire Mississippi River in your YMCA-issued panties.

Joel shakes his head at you. “‘S why you been actin’ up, you little shit? Just needed to get fucked?” He grips your hip so hard that it stings and hauls you against him. You tell yourself that the moan you let out is more of a hiss.

“I don’t– you’re making shit up, old man,” you say, squirming in his grip. You can’t help the way your hips sway at the tease of friction his knee gives you. You feel lightheaded, a freshly kindled bonfire.

“Am I?” Another squeeze to your hip. “Don’t look like it.” He notches his knee tighter against your swollen cunt, and your head dips forward as you bite into your lower lip. “Look’s like I’ve got a ‘lil slut more worked up than a hornets’ nest that spent all night rubbing her needy fuckin’ pussy on my leg.”

You squeeze your eyes shut and whine.

“Jus’ say the word, peach. I’ll do ya real good. Make that ache go away.” He rubs his thumb in a circle along your skin. The calloused pad of his thumb slips underneath the hem of your tank top, a lit match dragging along your skin.

“I don’t think you have it in you, Miller,” you say. But your voice gives you away. It’s breathy, coarsened by your sleep-stained, lust-stained rasp.

“Yeah? Well I didn’t think you had it in you to be humpin’ this ‘old man’s’ leg, but ya learn something new everyday.” He doesn’t grind his knee into your cunt — more so wedges it up. Pain blurs a watercolor line with pleasure as your back arches. His hand drifts from your midriff to your thigh, arm hooking around it so he can heft you up against his thigh proper. You grunt as you end up chest to chest with him. Your hips rock into his, guided by the North Star of his hands clutching at your hips. “Can feel ya,” he says. “Drippin’ all over me.”

You grind your teeth, digging your fingers into his shoulders. He groans as your nails claw at the skin there. “Shut the fuck up so I can pretend you’re someone else.”

He chuckles. “You can play pretend all you want, but I’m the one you’re soaking, ain’t I?”

You make an aggravated sound. Your left hand drags down his arm, leaving angry red tracks in their wake. Before he can gripe about it, you slap your right hand over his mouth. His eyes flare. Eye for an eye, his teeth sink into the flesh of your palm. You hiss at the sting. It only makes you pump your hips against him faster. The friction of your shorts and panties against the bulk of his leg and the wrinkle of his denim jeans makes your clit twitch against him.

Your flesh stretches as you tug it from his teeth. Your hand plants itself in his hair instead, dragging his head to the side. His eyes flutter, lidded and dark. “Don’t act like you don’t damn near cream yourself when I talk to you like this. You like being told what a nasty. Fuckin’. Slut. You are. Don’t look at me like that. You are. Been cruisin’ for a bruisin’ this whole time — just didn’t know you were after a pussy beating instead of a real one.”

Your eyes roll back. Your hips roll more languidly, only jerking when Joel gives a particularly brutal tug at your waist. You let out a pathetic moan into his neck. You nip at the skin there, tongue laving over the scars and blemishes he’s collected over the years. He reaches down and grabs a handful of your ass, groaning. “Too pretty to be actin’ a fool, baby.”

You dig your teeth into his neck, hard enough to leave cavernous bite marks in your wake. Your tongue digs through the craters your teeth left behind, saliva pulling from your lips to his skin. He smacks your ass hard enough for your hips to jerk, and you almost glare at him as you separate from your throat. Instead, your eyes squeeze shut.

“Don’t wanna look at me, do ya peach? Mmmm, well thas’ okay.” He fists his hand in the roots of your hair and tugs your head to the side. You hear Joel groping at the nightstand in the dark, and then the flashlight ticks on.

Your eyes blink open to yourself reflected in desilvered glass. Mirror rot surrounds your luminescent face, but most of all, you can see your hips and how they rock shallowly into Joel’s leg. “Watch yourself fuckin’ yourself stupid on my leg,” he croons in your ear. When you go still, his thumbs press hard into your skin. You stare at him. “You already fucked yourself stupid or somethin’? ‘S a simple instruction, sweet cheeks.”

“That’s dumb, Joel–” you sneer, going to look away.

He jerks your head back to where he had it and rocks his leg into your clit. You watch your face contort around a ragged moan. Pleasure thrashes through your system. “C’mon, you’re a dirty girl. Watch how pathetic you look while you get yourself off. Pretend I’m your pillow if you have to, but it ain’t gonna change how I’m the one gettin’ you off like this.”

Your thighs clamp around his. He smirks at you in the mirror. Your knee grazes his bulge, and a breathy moan loosens from his lips. “Two way street, Miller,” you say. But you’re weak — and so, so wet.

You give your hips a languid roll, watching yourself in the mirror. You’re a mess, mouth parted, eyes lidded, skin slick with sweat. Your hips shudder and start against him as you start to properly buck yourself against the meat of his thigh. With the shelves of your teeth, you try to smother the depraved noises coming out of you. Joel rolls his eyes.

“Gonna wake the fuckin’ dead with all that whining of yours.” Mid-moan, Joel shoves two fingers into your mouth and pries your jaw open. His fingers are bulky and ridged with callouses against your tongue. His thumb presses a dent into your jaw. “‘S okay, baby. I like ‘em loud.”

“I like you shutting the fuck up,” you say around a mouthful of his knuckles. You can’t help it. You bite at his fingers, not hard enough to hurt, but definitely hard enough to sting. He hisses and presses down on your tongue. You make a sputtering noise.

“You were sayin’?” he asks, tensing his thigh. You whimper against his fingertips. He tightens his grip on your hair, and in the mirror, you see yourself bared raw for him to see in all ways but the physical. You rut into his leg with increasing need.

“Mmmph, Joel–” you say around his fingers. 

“Oh, now you’re moaning my name? What was it I said? Cruisin’ for a bruisin’, peach.”

Wetness leaks down the insides of your thighs. Your swollen clit hitches on a wrinkle in his jeans. You’re shaking, thighs trembling where they’re wrapped around him. Your fingers grapple for purchase and find some anchored in his hair, tugging wildly. You eye yourself in that damn mirror, the way your chest is slotted against his, how your hips pitch into his over and over again in your pursuit of release.

“Ask for it, baby.” Joel grinds his leg up into your cunt. “You wanna come on me, you gotta ask for it.”

You shake your head wildly. You aren’t a beggar — especially not for Joel Miller. You’d rather throw yourself back into quicksand. Jump in front of a clicker. Step on an alligator.

Joel pouts mockingly at you. “Stubborn for a slut who’s willin’ to spread it open all hours ‘a the day.” You rub your knee into his bulge, tenting his jeans, in hopes that it’ll be a suitable distraction. He groans, knee jerking. His thigh rams against you, and your back arches. You see your brows pucker in your reflection, your hips undulating against him.

“F-fuck,” you whine out, bouncing against him.

“You wanna come, don’t you, peach?” You nod frantically. “Wanna soak me, huh?” At that, you grit your teeth and snarl at him. You do you do you do. But you don’t want to admit it.

You squirm on his leg, desperately rocking into him. You dig your feet into the creaking mattress, fisting your hands into the fabric of his shirt. Tremors wrack your body as you work yourself on him. Your cunt flutters, and you almost taste your orgasm.

Joel tosses you off of him.

“You son of a–” you shriek, thrashing and out of breath. Your clit throbs and your hole twitches at the stolen promise of release. You bounce on the mattress, sprawled on your back and twitching.

“I told ya,” he says. “Gotta ask for it.”

“I’m not asking you for shit, asshole–”

“Yeah, yeah, you’ll change your tune when I stuff your right full.” He grabs you by the back of your shirt and coaxes you into spinning around. He yanks you onto all fours, forehead meeting the mattress.

You back your hips up as he reaches around your shorts for the button. The zipper squeals as it comes down and he shuffles them down your legs. He nudges your knees apart. You can feel his bulge, insistent and pressed against the back of your thigh. He grips the inside of your thigh, fingers sliding through the slick that’s there.

“Shit, baby,” he groans. “No wonder you were humpin’ me. Just needing someone to take away that ache, don’t you? Jus’ a horny girl wanting to go cock dumb.” His fingers graze over your clit, barely even a brush, and you let out a mangled sound into the comforter. “See? So desperate and sensitive. You’re cute when you’re not a pain in the ass.”

“That makes one of us,” you say.

Joel snorts. “She’s got jokes.” He rubs a circle into your clit, and then another, and all you can do is rock your hips into his hand. Impatient, you brace yourself on your elbow so you can reach behind him and fumble with his belt buckle. Joel laughs under his breath, working at the zipper while you undo the buckle. It chimes as his belt falls loose and his pants slump on his hips. You work the button open. 

You wriggle your hand into his briefs and pull him out, giving him a series of quick pumps. Joel grunts. “Just like that, peach. Fuck, yeah, you know what you’re doin’.”

He teases the tips of his fingers at your entrance. Razor sharp want slices up the insides of your warm thighs as you clench and drip more of your wetness along his hand. “I’ll throw you a bone,” Joel says. Then, with no warning, he slips a finger into your warmth and curls it just right. You claw against the sheets, whimpering.

“Nasty thing.” He hooks his finger and you fully mewl. Heat rushes into your cheeks. “Barely gotta do anythin’ to get you writhing and wanting.”

Warm tears brim at your eyes from the heady, deadly mix of arousal and hatred. Your cunt tightens around his finger, and without warning, he pushes another one in, twisting and hooking them brutally inside of you.

Your fingers fist in the sheets, temple pressed into the mattress. You can see the cocksure look on his face in the mirror, the way his forearm flexes with each thrust into you. “Fuck me already,” you spit. You know it’ll hurt if he fucks you without really preparing you. You want it to hurt. You want it to ache like the tread of his boot stamped on your chest. You want it to sting and simmer like the cuts that the wetlands left in a collage across your arms and legs. You want him to split you open and leave you flayed by your own pleasure.

“Alright, alright,” he says as he pulls his fingers out of you. He gives your clit a light slap that makes you squeal. You almost black out when you see him bring his slick-stained fingers to his mouth and suck. “Yeah, taste as sweet as a peach, dontcha sugar? Such a tasty little cunt for such a smart-mouthed brat.”

You could cry with how bad you want hi— no, his cock. 

“Gonna hurt, baby. But you want it to, don’t you? Wanna feel me all up in here.” He roams his free hand across your stomach, then back around to your ass where he tugs you back. There’s the smack of flesh as your hips meet each other, the whimper between your netted teeth as he nestles his cock between your slippery folds. You nod, head slinging forward. “Don’t gotta tell me. I know ya do. Girl like you, always such a smartass. Yeah, you want it rough.” His voice is gruff, lust-addled. “Act stupid all you want, peach. I got you all figured out.”

He slots his head against your hole and you let out a strangled noise into the mattress. Your vision swims as he pushes into you, thumbs dug into your ass cheeks so he can watch how you take him. You mewl, back arching into and away from him at the same time. Your body can’t decide where to go. If it wants to be further, or as close as possible to him. Joal groans as he sinks into you.

“Tight as a fuckin’ hose pipe, peach,” he says. He reaches around to give your flick your clit — a move that makes your entire body spasm. 

“So about as small as your dick, then?” It’s bullshit — you know it, and he knows it. He’s not even fully inside of you, but the difference is startling. He’s stuffing you to the brim, leaving you to scrabble and claw against the sheets.

He slams into you, a blatant disregard of your comfort. You feel his balls smack against your clit, and hear the same thigh you’d been humping slot against your own. A ragged cry rips from your throat. “Joel,” you whimper, hips trying to writhe against the bed. “Joel, fuck—”

“Feels pretty big now, don’t it?” You whine, petulant, but it breaks off into a moan as he pulls back and then punches back into you.

All you can do is take it, take it, take it as he bashes your swollen cunt with his fat cock. You gasp raggedly, each snap of his hip bringing pleasure-pain tears to your eyes. Joel’s nails dig into the meat of your ass and yank you back on him. The sting is renewed, then, as he props his leg up on the bed and pounds into you. You whimper, helpless to his whims.

Between one thrust and the next, the bite in your cunt turns into a thrum of pleasure. A persistent swarm of heat and your own slick leaking down his cock. “Like I said,” Joel grunts as he fucks you. “A nasty fuckin’ slut with a sloppy ‘lil cunt.”

You whine, squeezing around him. Your head spins. “Fuck,” he spits.

“Joel, please, please, ple–”

“Quit beggin’, it ain’t ladylike.” You prop yourself up on your elbow and reach behind him, tugging his wrist away from your ass so you can slip his hand between your thighs. His pistoning into you falters. “What’d I say?” Joel grunts. His knees adjust over the backs of your calves to hold you down.

“Keep touching me,” you whine. “Please, you asked me to ask for it, so I’m fucking asking for it.”

“Told you to ask permission, not cry at me like a kicked puppy,” he says. “I call the shots here. Like it or not.” He goes to yank his hand away from your clit, but you yank at his knuckle.

Joel scowls, and so fast you might get vertigo, his other arm’s bicep locks around your neck and heaves you back against his chest. You sputter, drool pooling in your mouth. Your hands briefly tug at his arm, but fall limp when he says, “Oh, shut the fuck up, I ain’t gonna kill ya. Gotta keep you on your toes, peach.”

You arguably shouldn’t. But you trust him. Enough to keep you alive, at least.

With another thrust into the warm vise of your cunt, your body’s running hotter than an engine and twice as fast. He squeezes tight enough that your air is in short supply, and with it, everything is amplified. Pleasure crinkles through your body like crumpled aluminum foil, serrated and clinging to you. The crook of his elbow is warm, and you can’t help your head lolling back to give him a look that’s purely salacious. He tips his head down at you and smirks.

“Yeah, that’s my hungry little cockwhore,” he says. With his free hand, he tugs your hair. You seize around him, struggling for what to hang onto. You let out a rasping, strangled moan. With your head tipped back, you can see the tilt to his lips as he moans, feel his scruff scraping at your forehead. “Takin’ it like you were made for it. Shit.”

Joel moans as you clamp down around him again.

Tears might be sliding down your cheeks – you don’t know. You’re too trapped in this, in this moment, in the feeling of his cock slamming into your throbbing, aching cunt. “Mmph,” you whine low in your throat as he fucks up into you. He’s damn near bruising your cervix. Each thrust makes your cunt flitter around him. 

“You look good like this,” Joel grunts against your ear, using the leverage of his propped-up leg to bounce you on his cock. “All quiet ‘n sweet ‘n whorish. Goddamn, never thought a slut could feel this fuckin’ tight.”

Your eyes slip shut, vision spotting behind your eyelids. He keeps forcing himself into you. Making room. Making a mark that you’ll never forget he carved into you.

Your body is limp as he gets himself off, his hand moving from your hair. He gropes at your tits, flicking your nipple in a way that draws a sloping moan out of you. He slides it down your side, each callous bumping against your skin until he reaches your clit. You nod wildly, and he chuckles into the shell of your ear. “You think you’ve earned it? All you’ve been doing is whinin’ like a little bitch, baby.” He taps his fingers against your clit, once, twice, mounting the tautness of the tension drawn tight like elastic through your body. You gasp down air as he ever so slightly loosens his grip around your neck. He keeps thrusting into you, jerking tiny moans out of you as he does.

Your legs tremble. Your brain feels like mush. You wring his cock with each strain of your pussy. “I don’t want you,” you gasp out between thrusts. “I want you for what you can — fuck — give me. So I guess… that makes… us even. Doesn’t it?” Joel’s finger stills where it hovers over your clit, and you almost don’t notice the falter in his hips with how subtle it is.

“Yeah,” Joel pants. “Guess it does, peach.”

He presses his thumb down on your clit and the whole world makes sense.

You cry out as your juices soak his cock, dripping down his balls and thighs. “Joel, Joel, Joel, Joel,” you chant in between moans. He’s holding you up now by the underside of one of your arms, his fingers toying with your nipples. Each touch sends laser hot electricity between your legs.

He slams up into you again and you shriek. “Fuck, you’re a mess,” Joel says. “All stuffed full ‘a me… yeah, that’s how you’re s’posed to be. Sprayin’ your pussy juices all over me while I ram my cock into this drippy little hole.”

You whine, clit twitching against his finger. Tears burn at the edges of your eyes like fire on parchment. “I wanna come,” you whisper, voice tinged with need. “Please, Joel. I–”

“Who do you want to make you come?” he asks as he rolls his hips up into you. An undulating pace that makes you want to scream.

The curdling pleasure in your stomach brims, stews, steeps. You’re drowning in it, in the fire lashing through your body. Fire that he lit and stoked and now, only he can put out. “You, Joel!” you cry out. “You! I want you to make me come, please, I need it, I want t-”

“I got you, peach,” he says. He mashes the pad of his thumb against your swollen nub, rubbing circles, circles, circles. You scream this time, head slumping against him. “Throbbin’ for it,” he growls out. “All swollen and whinin’ like you’re in heat. You needed this. Needed me.”

“I needed you,” you nod, exhaling. You think you’d agree to anything he said right now. “Fuck,” you wail. Your hands anchor themselves on his forearm.

“Don’t fight it, baby, don’t fight it,” he coos. Your nails scratch angry red tracks down his burly arms. “Come on me, see if it gives you an attitude adjustment.”

To your chagrin, that does it.

Your orgasm shatters you. You’re fragile as it tears through your body, tying knots around your racing heart and making your legs quiver. You feel yourself gush around Joel’s cock, gasping for air as your lungs empty. Your cunt flutters around him as pleasured tears spill from the corners of your eyes. Everything’s hot and melting, your arousal dripping out of you in droves. Joel rubs at your clit through it, coaxing in your ear, “That’s it, theeeeere it is. Shit, baby, I’m comin’— squeezin’ me so damn good—”

Joel twitches inside of you, and you whine at his absence when he pulls out just in time. With a throaty, reverberating groan, he sprays the small of your back with his cum. You gasp as it splashes against you, your chest heaving against his hand. 

You sit in the silence, high off of the come down, panting in delirium. 

Joel clears his throat. “You alright, peach?”

“You don’t have to pretend to like me now that we’ve had sex, Joel,” you say. “I get it. We fucked. We got it out of our systems. Hooray. Do you want me to pop some confetti poppers?”

“I was being courteous, goddamn,” he grunts as he stands up. You watch as he tugs his jeans back up. “Clearly ain’t nobody ever treated you gentlemanly before.”

“Says the man who got off on choking me out.”

He shoots back, “The feeling was mutual, if I remember five minutes ago correctly. I ain’t that old.” He buckles his belt up. As he redresses, you toss your own shorts off to the side. He’s already been in your whole pussy — you’d rather not sleep in the denim shorts.

When you’re done, you give him a look.

He pinches his nose bridge and sighs through his teeth. “We oughta hit the hay. Long day ahead. And you should be too exhausted by now to be wakin’ me up again.”

You clench your fists at your side. “Fine.”

You reach for his flashlight and turn it off.

Reunion Tower is the first building you see.

Dallas. Home sweet home, for better or worse.

The skyline slowly eases up and out of the treeline as you and Joel meander up the car-cluttered I-20. Remnants from a life that’s long gone, all but skeletons with the organs of another time.

You and Joel have scarcely talked. Mostly, it’s just him pointing out directions. But he does other things. He helps you through wreckage or rubble instead of leaving you to muscle through on your own. He gives you part of his rations. He tosses you a magazine he finds in a store. He keeps watch.

You had meant what you said. You fucked. That was that. He was still the man your father told ghost stories about. The thoughtless killer. The unforgiving bullet to a skull. Hundreds, maybe thousands, of peoples’ deliverance to the afterlife. The man who’d betrayed your father all those years ago, a story of which you only know the vague specifics of.

Maybe you’ll ask him while he’s on bedrest from that bullet wound. (Or maybe you’ll just ask him. He’s not the sort of man to stay down for long.)

Regardless, as you two cross the exit a couple blocks from your dad’s base, you ask him, “Do you think he sent people after me?”

“Maybe,” Joel says. “Probably went up to Oklahoma instead. Louisiana ain’t famous for bein’ easy hikin’ material. Shocker that them Cockroaches brought you all the way out there.”

You nod and kick a rock with the toe of your shoe. “You think your group’s doing good on their own?”

“Who fuckin’ knows,” Joel says. “Left Tommy in charge of the place, I’ll be lucky if it ain’t burned down by now.”

“Well, you’ve got a whole new world ahead of you. Free of debts and all. Maybe my dad will finally get off your ass. Could skip town, if you wanted.”

Joel’s feet drag on the concrete. You watch him out of the corner of your eye as he scratches the back of his neck. “There were never any debts, peach,” he says.

Your brows furrow as you stop in your tracks. “The fuck do y—”

“Got you of my own volition,” he says. “Your dad and I might be on shit terms, but that don’t mean I don’t care about him. I…” He pauses. “I know what it’s like to lose people.”

“Everyone does,” you say.

“Yeah,” Joel nods. He turns to make eye contact with you. “Everyone does. But I don’t exactly wanna go about losin’ you,” he says.

“That’s a bold claim, Miller,” you say.

“You’re good company. Even if you’re a shitass.” He pats you on the shoulder. His hand slides down your arm to your hand, and he gives it a squeeze before letting it drop. “Now c’mon. Let’s get you home.”

[oblique-lane]

Spy tf2 and his identity

Character analysis (or at least my vision on him, if you believe my reasoning)

What do we know about Spy? He's a disguise mastermind. He can pretend to be anyone in order to infiltrate into the scene to do his job - quite literally, stab people on the back. But when he's not in the battle, what is he to his teammates? A suave Frenchman, a gentleman with taste, somewhat a leader.

At least, that's the persona he prefers to show. But is he really..?

What if I tell you that this person never drops his disguise?

For a man who always wears a mask and who's identity being secret is a sacred part of his role in this job, isn't this persona too much to show if it is real? Frenchman, rich, ladykiller... Wouldn't it be too easy to decipher his identity with so much clues provided? Wouldn't it be dangerous?

While Miss Pauling and the Administrator definitely know Spy's real identity, hiding it is a major thing for whatever reason. One could assume it might be because of Scout (obvious guess) but I doubt he's a sole reason. Spy very much enjoys being the Spy all by himself. Do what's the deal?

Let's start from the beginning.

Why did Spy join Mann Co. in the first place?

Let's take this assumption as a fact: people come here out of desperation. They are professionals in their field, yet in their past/casual life there is a pattern of them having difficulties that push them into joining this service. I don't see why Spy would be an exception.

The reason for joining is usually money. Some people question why Spy, a wealthy man from higher society, would join Mann Co. if he has it all already.

Well, probably because he really does not.

Have you ever met an aristocrat? Wealthy people don't get so protective about their expensive suits, they can afford cleaning or a new one. Regardless, rich people don't usually get stingy about material goods, especially if they're mass produced.

At least, not those who were born into wealth.

Spy's defensiveness about his "wealthy stuff", his pomp-ness, disgust and arrogance towards "plebs" gives off a man who knows what it means to live in poverty and who doesn't want to be associated with it ever again.

(Not even talking about his own filthy habits such as not washing his mask and pissing on walls? Jesus Christ)

Dare I even guess that he might be not French at all? His French is so broken. (Although, so is Medic's German, but at least he uses his language much more frequently and in more complex sentences, while Spy only uses French to say some basic expressions, occasionally confusing them with other languages). Definitely not a native.

If anything, he's not giving "rich man" at all, he's giving con man. And that fits my picture perfectly.

So, poor upbringing. How old is Spy? If he's Scout's father (and he was young when he was conceived), I'd say he's no less than 20 years older than him. I'd give him a few more years actually. So, approximately Spy is around 50 at the events of the game (1968-1972). Let's assume he was born somewhere in the 1910s.

Even if he's not French, I still agree that he's probably European. Hmm, what was happening in Europe at the time Spy was a kid?

Oh yeah. The Great Depression.

See my picture: imagine, a child from a lower class family during the Great Depression, his parents were most likely to not take good care about him (both because of the economical situation AND as an echo to Spy's struggles with his own fatherhood). He has to run away from home early and start to make money. Any way possible.

Unavoidably, it leads to crime.

Petty theft, blackmail, scams. Changing identities. Selling low quality products and services. Changing identities again. When older, seducing rich women to stay at their homes overnight, be fed and supported. Running away from the police. Walking into a trap of the mafia, and then joining them as their goon.

In this nightmare of a life he just had to keep pretending to be someone else, someone better and stronger, in order to his ego to not completely shutter. He had to imagine he was an invincible mastermind trickster of some sort, not just a poor boo-hoo victim of poverty who has never knew normal life and care.

And if you pretend for long enough, you become your role eventually... Right?

His true self was long lost forgotten under many layers of new identities. Worse, his true self was never known. And he didn't want it to be known in its ugly and disgusting vulnerability. Narcissism became his lifeline.

It's so much better to be Spy. To be rich and elegant and respected. His ego rebuilt.

[chaoticace2005]

Rules for the Hazbin Hotel, authored by Vaggie:

1. No drugs.

2. No fights.

3. No pranks.

4. No problematic language.

5. No murder (OR TERRITORIAL GENOCIDE WHAT THE FUCK ANGEL)

6. No smuggling in of drugs. Not by sticking them up your ass. Or by hiding them in a pizza box. Or by slingshotting them to the roof. Or getting someone else to. Not at all.

7. No sexual rendezvous with outsiders in the hotel. No SHOWING sexual rendezvous with strangers to people of the hotel either.

8. Make sure the pig/future pets stay in the patron’s room. (This includes eggs!!)

9. No singing Limit singing to once twice per day

10. Stop flirting with the bartender Angel

11. Don’t call Husk “Husker” unless he allows it.

12. No harassing the staff at all. This includes asking who tops.

13. Don’t suggest anything sexual/romantic to Alastor unless you want your head cut off.

14. NO CUTTING OFF PEOPLE’S HEADS

15. NO EATING PEOPLE

16. NO MAKING CHARLIE CRY.

17. Don’t ask me to put my spear “inside you” Angel, what the fuck?

18. Don’t turn the interior of the hotel into a swamp?! Keep it contained in your room if you must!

19. No stabbing staff or residents. No matter how much they look like bugs! (OR IF THEYRE NAME IS ANGEL)

20. Don’t try and stab bugs if they’re within 10 feet of another demon.

21. Don’t call anyone a “bitch” OR TALK ABOUT HOW MY NAME SOUNDS LIKE “VAGINA”

22. Limit Niffty’s access to sharp objects.

23. NO DEALS ALASTOR

24. No drinking. Limit drinking at bar.

25. No mentioning the Stock Market Crash of 1929. For everyone’s benefit.

26. Don’t blow a hole in the wall.

27. Try to keep roast battles OUTSIDE the hotel. (Or stop picking fights?? Please Alastor I swear to God…)

28. No spying on the hotel for outside sources or putting technology that can be used against us.

29. No evil laughing in the middle of the night, what the fuck Alastor?

30. No building weapons/war machines.

31. No eggs! (Fine the eggs can stay.)

32. Someone please keep an eye on Niffty. (And the eggs.)

33. Stop touching people ANGEL.

34. Don’t make other people storm off HUSK.

35. Respect boundaries.

36a. If Angel looks like he’s about to pass out/cry don’t comment. Let him do his thing.

36b. Don’t try to talk to Angel if he’s on the phone with Valentino. Honestly don’t even mention his phone calls with Valentino.

37. Please don’t call Lucifer “Daddy”

38. Don’t turn into a 20 foot tall demon-eating creature unless absolutely necessary.

39. Don’t cause angry loan sharks to show up at the front door.

40. NO EXPLOSIONS!

41. Rule #2, “No fights” can be broken if the person you’re fighting is Valentino. Or Adam.

42. Don’t lie to your girlfriend or hide the fact you were secretly an angel.

43. DONT TALK ABOUT PEOPLE’S TITS (or lack of)

44. KNOCK BEFORE ENTERING A BEDROOM ESPECIALLY IF SOMEONE’S HAVING MAKEUP SEX

45. Don’t give people makeovers while they’re sleeping, ANGEL!

46. Don’t pretend to eat someone’s pet, ALASTOR

47. Don’t die.

48. I never want to hear the words “cum-plete” again.

49. STOP HAVING FIGHTS ACROSS THE BUILDING LUCIFER AND ALASTOR!!

50. If Charlie is passed out on the couch LET HER SLEEP

51. No making bombs in the hotel Cherri!

52. Stop breaking rules and then saying it’s “FOR SIR PENTIOUS!”

53. Angel don’t try to shoot someone if they break spaghetti.

54. Don’t break spaghetti. Or “ruin” Italian food. Whatever the fuck that means. This apparently includes pineapple on pizza.

55. Don’t mention Valentino unless Angel brings him up first.

56. Don’t comment on Angel and Husk’s flirting.

57. Only call Angel “Anthony” if things are serious (or if you’re Husk)

58. Don’t use any of the nicknames Husk and Angel use for each other. This includes but is not limited to: “Whiskers”, “Legs”, “Kitty”, “Webs”, “Tony”, “Love”, and “Baby.”

59. It’s better not to question whatever facts Husk gives about his past.

60. Family dinners at 6 pm unless you can’t make it due to prior obligation. Game nights after on Sundays.

61. No hunting people for sport and NO KNIFE MONOPOLY.

62. Don’t attach knives to a roomba so you can have a “boyfriend” Niffty.

63. Keep Niffty away from Roombas.

64. Alastor, treat people with decency. Really, it’s not that hard.

65. No making giant ducks that breathe fire to chase people around the hotel just because they call you short.

66. Therapy. Everyone.

67. DONT HAVE SEX ON THE BAR WHAT THE FUCK GUYS?!

68. If Valentino enters the property you have permission to stab him.

69. “Hell is forever” is bullshit. You guys aren’t. You can do this.

[raccoon-in-the-danger-room]

Logan and Wade's relationship post movie is slow burn in the most infuriating way cause they have so many hang ups about the relationship

On Logan's side: He fell in love with Wade first. Which mortifies him cause 1) Wade is still in love with Vanessa 2) they're roommates in a one bedroom apartment with Blind Al until he gets his life together in a parallel world where he's technically dead and his SSN is donezo 3) Wade Winston Wilson is probably the most embarrassing person to have a crush on, let alone be in love with. Logan will defend him to heaven and hell and back, but even he knows it's crazy to fall for the Blowjob Queen of Sasqatoon.

He's fully aware of his feelings but tries to squash it down, acts like he hates Wade's guts. Even though every morning he wakes up early to make coffee for the both of them before Wade wakes up. Even though he's memorized what's his favorite gun cleaner and oil are, then stocks them up before Wade even notices his supply is running low. Even though he's the most at peace when Wade and Laura are having Girls' Night in the living room, wearing face masks and watching A24 horror films, while he's kicking back with Blind Al in the kitchen, sipping shitty beer.

On Wade's side: He has no idea Logan likes him. Or, better to say, he has no idea WHY Logan would like him. He might be gods perfect idiot, but if 2+2 = 22, then if someone tells you to shut up and stabs you in every argument to be had, they can't possibly LIKE like you. So even when the initial hostility of being new roommates dies down, he takes the domesticity they find together a side effect of being a Wolverine over the age of 40 with a teenage daughter and no active income in sight. "Beggars can't be ungrateful bastards who couch surf for free" and all that jazz.

Wade is also still hooked up on Vanessa. She'll always be his soul mate, and that will never change. So they try to talk it out. They go on a couple dates. They try to work something, anything out, but in the end they both agree it just isn't right anymore. They still love each other, but that doesn't mean they should be in a relationship. They both deserve better than to be stuck in the past.

So by the time Wade is single for real, Logan is already set on them not getting together. Previous points aside, he's no rebound chick. He just got promoted from Worst Wolverine to Okay-est Wolverine (via the coffee mug Laura got him from etsy) -- so he's absolutely NOT fucking gonna be a sloppy bitch and make a move on his roommate after he got out of a whatever the fuck situationship with his ex-dead, ex-fiance.

When they finally get together, it's so far down the line and so slow-burn, that they genuinely don't know how they got there. All they know is that they share a new one bedroom apartment together, alone (but Blind Al lives on the same floor of the complex) and that they are so far gone in domestic bliss that they're arguing with each other over how to properly assemble a pet condo for Mary Puppins.

[lemonlover1110]

𝐒𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐅𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐇𝐞𝐥𝐥

Sukuna

Pairing: Sukuna x f!Reader

Summary: Sukuna's twins are miniature versions of himself which can only mean one thing: they're two little demons.

Warnings: MDNI, family content, fluff(?), dad!Sukuna, smut, oral sex (m. receiving), titjob, nipple play

Discord +18 - Twitter - Ko-Fi

Sukuna had to change a lot of things in his life when his twins came along. The man that never imagined he’d become a father, was lucky enough to knock up his girlfriend. Or wife, whatever he gets to call you now. One very unlucky lucky night he decided that protection was a stupid idea, but the universe got back at him to teach him a life lesson, and you ended up pregnant with two– Not one, but two babies. 

Sure, Sukuna loves his babies and all that shit which made it easier for him to change into a better person. He’s not a stellar parent or anything, and during the first year of their life he was struggling to figure it out but the job has gotten easier. He’d argue that the job is fun too, seeing the little shits form their own personalities or whatever is interesting. 

Though one could say that it’s only fun for Sukuna since the kids are turning out just like their father. For you, on the other hand, it is stressful. Having two children screaming just like their father isn’t exactly fun, not when you have to correct them. It was hilarious to watch Sukuna teach his nephew cuss words for the little guy to run around, yelling the atrocities (nearly giving his father a heart attack); it’s not fun when you’re in the mother’s shoes. 

“Fuck you-” “We don’t say that around here!” “Daddy says it!”

“Motherfucker!” “Watch your mouth!” “Daddy told me I can say it!”

It’s a never-ending correction in your home, and it doesn’t help that your husband doesn’t help you out. Sukuna kind of does his part by watching his mouth around the pair, but that’s not enough anymore. They’re almost six, it’s too late for them to unlearn certain words… or other behaviors. 

“Stop arguing you two!” You yell from the kitchen, hearing them bicker about something. They’re always arguing because one is mean to the other. Sukuna’s genes are too strong. Luckily for you, you were blessed with a girl and a boy so you don’t have to try again for another baby. You won’t have to repeat this.

“Ugly bastard!” Akane, your baby girl, yells. And you wish it was a moment where you got to think if you heard wrong because your baby girl would never say that, but she would. This one says it nearly daily.

“Akane, if I hear one more word out of you, girl! I swear–” You’re cut off by your husband, startling you as he hugs you from behind. He’s not listening, or well, he is and he doesn’t want you to correct the girl.

“Aren’t you just so proud of her?” He sounds elated, knowing his daughter sounds just like him. If only you could share that sentiment. You push him away and focus on finishing lunch for the little rascals. 

“My girl friends invited me out, and guess what? You’re taking over tonight.” You tell him, and Sukuna’s eyes widen. You’ve never made that threat before– Usually when you go out, you take them along or drop them off at someone else’s place because you doubt Sukuna can handle them. The longest they’ve been alone has been an hour.

“Someone will end up getting stabbed.” Is his answer, hoping that it’s enough to scare you into staying. Sukuna loves his babies, but he knows he can’t handle them. He made a grave mistake by molding them into mini versions of himself. Sukuna can’t control himself, how is he able to control two small Sukunas?

“And it’s probably going to be you if you don’t play your cards right. Good luck.” You answer, making it clear that you’re not staying home no matter what. You don’t acknowledge Sukuna as he begins to tell you the horrific sights that you might come home to. Sure, your kids are rowdy and a lot like their father but they won’t burn the house down… if you hide the matches.

“Akira! Akane! Come here!” You ignore him, calling your kids for their lunch. Sukuna sighs, rolling his eyes. 

They can’t be too bad…

“Hold his legs!” Akane yells to her brother while she pulls Sukuna’s hair. He doesn’t know what happened, he just fell asleep on the couch and woke up to his arms being restrained while one twin wipes something on his face. 

“What the fuck are you two doing?!” Sukuna raises his voice, rightfully so considering the position he’s in right now. He was warned, yet chose not to listen. Sukuna could kick the little shit that’s trying to tie him together but he won’t in fear that he might be too harsh and send the kid to the hospital. Oh, he hates them so much right now but any other time he’s willing to give up his life for them.

“We’re just playing.” Akira answers, and Sukuna could strangle one of the twins right at this moment– Too bad his hands are tied. How is this playing? Are they simulating a kidnapping or what?

“Untie me, now!” He orders, but his words go in one ear and out the other. He’s not mommy, he’s not uptight and lets them do whatever so this must be a joke.

“Quick, grab mommy’s makeup!” Akane yells, and Sukuna clenches his jaw. He’s trying to free himself, but they got him good. He needs to check what the kids are watching from now on because this is worrying for him.

“Akane, let me go before I get angry.” Sukuna threatens, but what can he possibly do when he’s tied up? 

“I got it!” Her twin comes into the living room with your makeup bag. Sukuna is squirming, trying his best to break free from his confinement but he can’t. Did they catch him while he was tying you up or what? No… He remembers locking the door. 

“If you two don’t let me free in this instant, I’ll make you pay!” Sukuna sounds intimidating, clearly angry at this little stunt. Unfortunately for him, they don’t take him seriously. They fear no one.

“You sound funny.” Akane laughs before pulling on his hair, which makes a cry escape his lips. Oh, he’d love this father thing if they were like you. This whole thing is getting annoying, but not only for him; the pair is getting tired of hearing their father cry and scream. “Akira, grab the tape, daddy is getting annoying.”

“What the fuck are you going to do?! I am your father, you two have to listen to me!” Sukuna is trying his best to break free before the twins tape his mouth and end up killing him. And by some miracle, just as they get their hands on the tape, the front door opens.

He prays that it’s you, ready to save him from the twins’ evil plan. It’s not you, but the next best thing. Sukuna doesn’t waste a second before yelling, “Jin! Stop them before they kill me!”

“What’s happening here?” His brother looks around confused. What did he just walk in on? He got a text from you to check in on his brother since Sukuna would be alone with the twins… and this happens. He sees his beloved nephew walk back with a roll of tape, and Jin picks him up from the ground. “What are you two doing to your dad?”

“They’re trying to kill me!” Sukuna yells, which the twins argue,

“We’re just playing!” Which makes a chuckle come from Jin. It isn’t funny– Well, maybe just a bit. It’s hilarious to see Sukuna get a taste of his own medicine.

“Now, you two, let your dad go.” Jin says, and at that moment they huff and puff. But they listen. He’s watching Sukuna’s expressions, and he stops the twins before they completely free him. “Stop. Go to your rooms.”

“What?! Don’t–” Before Sukuna can finish yelling, they’ve run away. They aren’t going to listen to him. Once they’re out of sight, Jin frees Sukuna and holds the man down, not trusting him enough to let him go.

“You’re not going to do anything to them, right?” Jin sounds as if he were Sukuna’s dad, which only pisses the man off more.

“The fuck am I going to do to them? I didn’t kick the little shit when he was tying my legs because I didn’t want to hurt him.” Sukuna makes a great point, but Jin wasn’t there to witness it. Right now he sees an angry man, and he wants to make sure Sukuna calms down before anything. “Why the hell are you here anyway?”

“Your wife called me to check up on you, and I came just in time.” Jin answers, sitting down beside Sukuna once he knows that his brother is calm enough. Sukuna wants to be mad at you for not trusting him enough to watch his own kids, but he also wants to thank you for saving him tonight. 

“Don’t tell her what you saw.” Sukuna quickly says. It’s more of a warning than a request. Sukuna takes a deep breath. He should be asking what the kids were going to do to him– It wasn’t going to be anything too bad, probably just put on some makeup on him or some other stupid trick. They knew he was going to say no if he asked, so they chose to tie him up. The thought isn’t too far fetched considering who their father is. What he’s thinking right now is,

“Why would they listen to you and not me?” Sukuna wonders, and Jin has an idea as to why. “I mean I’m terrifying, but you? You look like you catch jellyfish with a net and work at the Krusty Krab.”

“Ah, they’re into Spongebob now.” Jin can’t help but laugh. He won’t take the insults to heart since this has always been Sukuna. “I feel like they do find you scary, they just don’t think that you’ll do anything to them if they torment you.”

“What the fuck are you saying?” Sukuna isn’t in the mood for this. He can’t just wrap his head around this whole situation.

“You let them get away with a lot when it comes to you. You don’t let them get away with anything when it comes to their mother or other family.” Jin explains, which is valid reasoning but Sukuna rolls his eyes. That isn’t the answer he’s looking for, therefore he won’t accept it.

“Whatever you say. I’m going to check up on them before they flood the house.” Sukuna stands up from his seat, leaving his brother behind. The twins can’t be trusted for too long. 

Lo and behold, they found the matches. 

“You two came into my life as karma, huh?” Sukuna asks, before taking the matches from their grimy hands. “Akane, go annoy your uncle. Akira, you’re getting a bath and that’s final.”

“I thought you said I could bathe only once a week.” Akira points out the agreement they’ve had, but Sukuna has changed his mind. 

“I changed my mind when you and your sister did a kidnapping simulation with me. Plus, your mother says you stink and she doesn’t like you anymore so go to the tub.” Sukuna is not scared of making a little white lie to hurt his son’s feelings. It’s the least he could do.

“Mommy doesn’t what?” Akira’s eyes become watery, his bottom lip quivering at the thought of his mother not loving him anymore. Sukuna would feel a twinge of remorse any other night. 

“He’s lying, bubba.” Akane goes to his brother’s side to comfort him. She might be a little devil, but she has her soft spot. She hugs him tightly and Sukuna has to tear his eyes away from the sickly sweet scene. They won’t get to him. “You do stink but mommy loves you. She told us she loved us before leaving.”

“A lie she told you since she’s not coming back because you stink.” Sukuna isn’t going to stop, even when he hears his son cry. The boy pushes his sister away and runs to the bathroom to wash himself to make his mother come back. Hearing his own son cry is tough, but he’ll pat himself on the back later. 

“You’re next. Now go to your uncle, ask about Yuji or some shit.” Sukuna looks at his daughter, who is more resilient than her brother. She’s only five though, so he can find a way to get through to her with no issue. “Your birthday is coming up soon, huh? Guess I’ll–”

“I’m going!” She yells before Sukuna can finish his sentence, making a smirk come to his face. Smart girl.

He can handle them for the rest of the night, especially with Jin here.

When you come home, your little demons are sound asleep in their bedroom. You tuck them in, and admire the sight that you never see during the day. They almost look like they were sent straight from heaven. It’s a nice sight to come home too.

Your opinion changes when you enter your bedroom and find your husband throwing his clothes into a suitcase. You’ve noticed that over the past years he’s become increasingly dramatic. You let your presence be known as a chuckle escapes your lips, standing in the doorway.

“Is it because they tied you up?” You question, and a frown comes to his lips.

“I told Jin to not tell you. But yes.” He answers, and you step into the room. You shut the door behind you, locking the door just in case things escalate. “They don’t take me seriously, and I told you things wouldn’t go well if you left me alone with them but there you go, going out with your friends.”

“I can’t stay locked up forever taking care of them.” You respond, and he rolls his eyes.

“Leave them with Jin. They take him seriously.” Sukuna says, and you chuckle.

“Unpack your stuff, baby. Stop being so dramatic.” You tell him, heading over to the bathroom to get ready for bed. That’s not enough for him right now though. 

“I’m leaving and never coming back.” Sukuna sounds like a child, which is hilarious. Only those two can get that side out of him. He’ll continue no matter what you say, so you do the next best thing. You lift up your shirt, and his eyes widen for a moment before he tears them away.

“Your boobs aren’t going to work this time.” He claims, and you fix your shirt. He sucks his bottom lip between his teeth before sighing, “But they do help.”

“Come here, baby.” You walk over to him, wrapping your arms around him. Sukuna hugs you back, and he could sob (just for the dramatics).

“They’re so mean.” Sukuna’s head rests on your shoulder, as his hand travels under your shirt to squeeze your boob. “Can you make me feel better?”

“Can you–” You begin but before you can even finish, Sukuna pulls away and throws the suitcase on the ground. He’ll unpack later. You open your mouth to speak again but he grabs the back of your head and pulls you into a rough kiss. 

His tongue wanders around your mouth, his free hand going under your shirt once again. It’s an old trick, but every time you show him your breasts, he forgets anything and everything. You don’t do it when the matter is a serious issue, but you really can’t do much about the fact that your twins are straight from hell.

Sukuna sits down on the bed, lifting up your shirt, prompting you to take it off. Once it’s out of the way, his tongue licks up your body before giving your tits attention. He rolls his tongue around your nipple while his hand plays with the other one, pinching your nipple and squeezing your boob. You really get him, knowing the exact way to get him to calm down. He pulls away, and kisses between your breasts until he gets to the other tit. He switches to your other tit and entertains himself once again.

He’s having so much fun, his mouth preoccupied with you but there’s an uncomfortable sensation between his pants. He unlatches, looking up at you with lustful eyes. Your gaze falls on the tent in his pants, making you bite down your lip.

“Help me out.” He says, and you help him unbuckle out. You pull down his pants, freeing his cock from its confinement. You kneel down in front of him, a smirk on your lips. This is a great way to apologize.

You spit on his cock before your hand wraps around the base. You lower your head, tongue circling around the tip as your hand strokes his dick. You start off so painfully slow, too painful for Sukuna. You lower your head, taking as much of his dick as you can.

You slowly bob your head, hands wrapping around the park of his cock that is outside and stroking it for him. It’s like heaven for him, though he just wants to push your head down and force you to take all of his cock. You can take it like a good girl, right? He won’t take any risks tonight.

“You can take it all.” You lift your head, and Sukuna whines. You were barely even doing anything, why did you feel the need to stop? A spark appears on his eyes, a smirk coming to his face as you cup your tits. He judged too soon.

You put his cock between your chest, squeezing your cleavage together before moving it up and down his dick. Sukuna’s eyes nearly roll to the back of his head at the feeling of your tits squeezing around him. He grabs the back of your head, pulling back and telling you, “Open your fucking mouth.”

And without missing a beat, you obey, sticking your tongue out. He spits in your mouth, and you swallow immediately. This is the reason why you ended up with twins– You just do shit that makes him feel every inch of your body raw, a need. You’re so obedient and generous with him.

Your soft flesh between his cock is too much for him, and such a nice sight as he watches them jiggle. You should do this more often is all that he can think as your hands pick up speed. He’s rolling his hips, lightly moaning as his breath gets heavy. 

“Good job.” You hear, which tells you all that you need to know. He barely praises you unless he’s close.

“Cum for me, baby. Do it all over my tits.” You tell him, and he bites down his lips to not sound pathetic. Oh, he has to control himself tonight because you might end up with another child. He can’t have that. 

His hands grip the bed sheets as he finishes all over you. His cum covers your chest, all the way up to your neck. Your fingers swipes it, bringing it up to your lips simply for his entertainment, but he’s looking for something else in the nightstand.

He could die right now.

“Ran out of condoms, and I’m not risking anything.” He’s in so much pain as the words leave his lips, and you furrow your brows. Since when has this been an issue?

“You can pull out.” You remind him, but that isn’t cutting it for Sukuna.

“I said I’m not risking anything.” He couldn’t make it any clearer. Tonight was certainly… An experience to say the least.

“Can you at least eat me out?” You ask him, standing up from the ground. There’s no way you’re going unrewarded tonight.

“You have a vibrator, work it out.” He shrugs, and you glare at him. He’s pissed off with you again, leaving him with the twins was a horrible mistake on your part.

“You’re such a jerk.” You roll your eyes at him, and hearing him chuckle makes you want to hit him. You manage to restrain yourself, managing to mutter out a simple, “Fuck you.”

“Aw, they get it from you. How cute.” He says, which makes your palm lightly slap his forehead. “Hey! Maybe next time don’t leave me alone–”

“The vibrator is going to do a better job than you anyway.” You cut him off, going to the bathroom to clean yourself up… Getting all dirty and for what? 

“If you really want another pair, I’ll give them to you.” Sukuna stands up, following behind you to annoy you.

“Get a fucking vasectomy.” You respond, and you feel his arms wrap around you, stopping you from going any further. Of course he can’t leave you alone. “Sukuna, I’m going to shower.”

“I’ll help you.” 

[kyloxox]

wade wilson x reader x logan howlett

warnings: threesome, double p, no condom, hairpulling, rough, anal, creampie, facial

"He's not going to come in." You whispered in Logan's ear. Logan wanted to protest but your breath on his sensitive skin caused him to force out a breathy sign.

Logan almost felt ashamed at how much of an effect you had on him but he didn't care. It made him hard when you would so obviously brush your ass against his crotch. It made him hard when he saw you stab Wade in the shoulder in the Honda odsessy. It even made him fucking hard and feel pathetic at the same time when you asked him to push on his suit with the sleeves shredded off. And he complied which led you to this moment of you straddling him on Wade's couch.

"He could and he will never let me live this down." He said in his accent. You stood up from him and pull off your shirt revealing your breasts to him. Now you were fully nude in front of him and before you could even say anything he fell to his knees and pulled you closer to him by your thighs until your cunt was placed on his lips.

"Fuck Lo-" He started to lap feverishly at your cunt and you grabbed onto his hair to stabilize him and yourself. Both you and Logan were so entranced in the act you didn't realize another person had joined the room.

"My, my, my what do we have here?" You screamed and jumped as the voice of Wade filled the room. As you jumped you moved slightly out of Logan's grip, thinking he'd stop but he doesn't. He grabs you again and puts you closer to his mouth. "You guys both know that his bathroom is right there." Wade walks from the back of you to your front, seeing you fully exposed. "Like right there." He points to Logan's bedroom in their shared apartment. "What did our fight in the Honda mean nothing guys?"

"Don't act like you haven't done it in worse places." You respond.

"Get lost or actually do something useful asshole." Logan grumbles.

"Well if the old man insists." Wade moves around so his already hard crotch is aligned with your exposed ass. He then talks his gloved hands and reaches around the touch your tits. You moan out as your sensitive nipples catch on the rough material.

"Y'know wolfie, I think this was her plan all along." Wade announces and Logan pulls back. You whine as he stands before you and now you're is a sandwich between the two muscular and tall men.

"Probably, she's such a fucking slut. First time we fucked she begged me not to wear a condom." You dripped recalling the memory so fondly, but Logan acts like it didn't take that much convincing on his side.

"Dude she begged me to fuck her ass." Your eyes go wide as Wade reveals your secret that you'd be fucking him alongside Logan. Logan grows jealous and grabs your chin, and forces you to look at him.

"Huh funny you made it seem like that part of your body was off limits."

"W-" You're about to say something before Logan stops you.

"Ah, ah, ah, good girls don't speak. Now I'm going to claim what is rightly mine. My dick will make your little asshole forget about this scumbag's dick in the first inch inside." He shoves you from in front of Wade so you are bent over the couch. "Do what you want with her but don't get in the way of me."

"Alright Mr.Picky Pants."

Logan roughly pulls himself out of his suit so he is still in it but his cock is fully exposed. Wade admires it and starts to pull his out, stroking it to Logan and yourself. Logan spits on his cock and then takes his fingers and collects the wetness. He moves his fingers up so he can lubricate your tight hole.

"Now be a good girl, and stay still while you take it." He pulls you up by your hair so your back is against your chest "And don't act like a fucking virgin because I now know you aren't one." He lets go of your hair. He starts to push himself slowly inside you. He grabs you once again so your head is against his chest and he can whisper in your ear. "Fucking feel every inch inside of you." You moan out as he goes deeper, deeper, and deeper.

"Fuck Logan."

Wade hasn't moved any muscle in his body except his arm. It's like he's watching his favorite porn in real life. He moves closer to you.

"Wolfie you think you could ugh, release this." Wade grabs Logan's hand that's on your hair and roughly detaches the two. "Think this mouth needs to be occupied." Wade pulls you down so you are eye to eye with this hard and wet cock. You waste no time putting it in your mouth. "Fuck that's it." He moans behind his mask, grabbing your hair. Both men use you to their pleasure and your cunt is wet with it.

Logan becomes more forgiving and as he's close to his release, he moves his finger down to play with your clit. You moan into Wade's cock.

"I want you to come when I come, y/n." Logan grunts out.

"Hey l'm like three steps behind you guys." Wade complains.

"I don't care." Logan roughly responds. "I'm close so you're either coming with me or not coming at all y/n."

"Come in me, I'm so close Logan please."

"Alright fine I'll join you guys too since you seem so excited about it." Wade sarcastically says.

Your wave builds up and up, until you feel your orgasm crach into your body. After you feel the intensity of your own orgasm, you feel full in both your ass and your ass. In the midst of your orgasm, Logan came inside you and Wade came on you.

You all crashed on the couch, all being obviously tired. You grabbed the blanket next to you and wiped off the come. It was silent except for the heavy pants and Wade's voice.

"Shawarma anyone?"

[pathologicalreid]

lock and key | s.r.

in which an act of violence - and subsequent serious injury - brings the truth to the surface and initiates a change

margotober masterlist

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: angst content warnings: abduction, car accident, knife, stabbing, stabbing with knife, greek mythology, jareau!reader, rewrite of 8x12 "zugzwang" (just because maeve isn't here doesn't mean i'm letting spencer get by trauma-free), the girls who get it, get it, secret relationship, hospitals, not proofread, yes the zugzwang thing gets dropped but that's because it was never the kidnapper it was always the replicator, did i miss something probably but i can't see straight rn word count: 4.86k a/n: i rewrote this entire fic because i decided i didn't like it two hours before it was supposed to go up. and now here we are. almost 5k words later. it's 2:30 a.m. going back to my jareau!reader roots and rewriting an entire episode.

He frowned at the text that you’d just sent him. Just one word, a chess term. Spencer wasn’t entirely sure you knew what it meant, more so, he wasn’t sure why you’d text it to him at seven-thirty in the morning.

He’d expected you to beat him to the office this morning, knowing you left his apartment before the sun had the chance to rise so you could get a fresh change of clothes and repack your go bag. Your apartment was closer to Quantico, so it wasn’t presumptuous of him to assume you would make it there first.

Spencer stood corrected when he walked in, finding your desk completely devoid of your active presence. He looked around for you briefly, knowing you sometimes liked to catch up on sleep in JJ’s old liaison office when you were the first to arrive in the morning, but all he found was your sister, a scowl on her face while she spoke with Hotch in his office.

The two of them noticed him lurking, Hotch opening the door and nodding at him in greeting, “Let’s meet in the roundtable room, Garcia’s waiting for us.”

“What’s going on?” Spencer asked, following them around the walkway to the briefing room, only receiving a shake of the head from JJ in response.

Penelope looked disturbed in a way that Spencer hadn’t seen her in years. That much made sense to him, the only reason Hotch would start a briefing before the rest of the team got here was if there was a case that matched the level of urgency. “This morning the FBI system was tripped because Y/N’s location was glitching. It flashed from Los Angeles to Moscow to Cancun until finally settling on an unmarked location somewhere in this general area.”

Spencer frowned, looking at the map that was being displayed on the screen in front of him, “That’s nearly eight hundred miles of ground to cover.”

Sighing, Garcia nodded, “Because of whatever the UnSub did to hack into the locator in her phone, we can’t get an accurate location. I’m working on refining it, but that could take hours.”

A pit settled in Spencer’s chest as he looked over at JJ, a dark, hollow look on her face as she stared at her phone. He couldn’t commiserate with her—nobody knew the two of you were even dating. “JJ,” Hotch spoke up, “You were the last person to see her before you left yesterday, did she say anything about going to meet someone or do anything?”

JJ blinked in confusion, “No, she didn’t tell me about any plans or…” Her voice trailed off, “I think she was seeing someone knew. She’s been acting different, being cagey about plans.”

Blake and Rossi walked into the bullpen, their arrival catching Hotch’s attention as he stepped out of the roundtable room to speak with them. Spencer followed, “Hotch.”

“I know, Reid,” he said, holding his hand up in a waiting gesture. Of course, he did, because in your tirade to hide your relationship from the general public, you had insisted on telling Hotch, wanting to get the HR paperwork out of the way.

Spencer sighed, the pit in his chest growing exponentially as he turned back into the roundtable room, slipping his phone out of his pocket and handing it to Garcia, “I got a text this morning from Y/N,” he explained, his eyes following his teammates as they filtered into the room. “It came in after her phone’s location was hacked.”

Shaking her head, JJ looked over at Spencer, “Why would she text you first thing in the morning?”

He shrugged in response, “I’m not entirely sure,” he half-lied. “I do know what the word used in the message means. Zugzwang. It’s the term used in chess when a player realizes they’ll inevitably be checkmated.”

“When did the two of them break up?” Hotch asked, looking over at JJ for the answer to his question.

They were headed to speak with your ex-boyfriend, there was nothing they had found that would implicate him in your disappearance, but it was the best chance they had at a lead. Spencer bit his tongue to stop himself from revealing the answer.

JJ hummed, “A while ago, a year maybe? She didn’t really talk about it, one day, she just stopped bringing him up.”

Sixteen months, nearly to the date, it was a few days past at that point since the night you’d called Spencer in tears, needing him to pick you up from the same house that the SUV was pulling up to now. The two of you had been together for nearly a year, on and off again, before he finally snapped.

Some of the things he said to you were things that you’d never repeated, even to Spencer. Pulling into the driveway made him feel sick to his stomach as he recalled the way you cried in his apartment that night.

“Reid?” JJ’s voice broke through his reminiscence, she had already gotten out of the car, standing outside and waiting for Spencer to step out before the three of them approached the porch.

He reached into his pocket for his credentials, staying at the back of the pack while Hotch knocked on the door before pulling his badge out. Your ex-boyfriend opened the door, “Hello?” He was confused, rightfully so—it wasn’t every day that a group of FBI agents showed up at your front door. He eyed Hotch and JJ before he met Spencer’s eyes. Garrett’s eyes narrowed, “You.”

Hotch’s head snapped to the side, glaring at Spencer for a moment before facing forward, “Garrett Graves?” The Unit Chief’s voice was commanding, staring at your ex with a preconceived notion that your relationship had fallen apart because of him. He was the leader of the team, and he took any attack against the members of his team personally.

“Yes?” He said, obviously bewildered at the sight of the agents on his porch, “Where’s Y/N?”

Crossing her arms in front of her chest, JJ looked up at Garrett, “That’s what we’d like to ask you.”

Spencer had to give him credit, Garrett looked absolutely stunned at your sister’s revelation, but nothing that Spencer knew about him led him to believe he’d act innocent if he was truly guilty. He had the personality type that would confess to the abduction but lead the BAU on a wild goose chase from an interrogation room.

No, the person who had you didn’t want to be caught, and he didn’t want the team to find you. This interview would be a waste of his time, there was absolutely no information about you that Garrett could provide. Spencer knew every important, esoteric detail about you—your ex-boyfriend wouldn’t have anything useful for him.

Garrett peered back at Spencer, “I’m sure anything you want to know, he can tell you,” he said, bitterness altering his tone.

Hotch looked over his shoulder to Spencer, “Why don’t you sit this one out?”

Ignoring the fact that he had just been told to kick rocks, Spencer retreated to the SUV, shoving his hands in his pockets and leaning against the passenger door while JJ and Hotch were invited inside the house. He hoped you weren’t somewhere outside, the temperatures dropped to below freezing at night this time of year, and he didn’t remember you wearing a jacket when you left his apartment this morning.

Finally alone—away from your sister, at least—Spencer had a moment to process the reality of his situation. You were missing, likely abducted as a result of your job, and he didn’t even have an exact time to go off. His chest felt tight in a way it hadn’t in years, the sheer joy of knowing he had you in his life felt like it was fading away because he didn’t have you. He had no idea where you were, and for a brief moment, he considered the fact that the loss of you might kill him too.

You were the only one who knew how to bring him back down to earth anymore. Snapping him back to reality whenever he started to spiral.

This time, the sound of his phone ringing pulled him out of his Charybdis of fear, “Hello,” he answered the phone, holding the device to his ear as he pretended the last five minutes of thought had never happened.

“Hey, kid,” Derek greeted over the phone, an unavoidable solemn note in his voice. “Garcia managed to track down Y/N’s car, it’s down on a side street, it looks like she was avoiding the highway.”

Spencer looked down at his shoes, “The exit that she needs to take to get to her apartment closes for construction at night.” The explanation flew from his mouth before he could remember that he wasn’t supposed to know that, but his brain was moving at an altered pace right now, unable to think past anything other than finding you.

The other line was silent for a moment, “Right,” Derek said doubtfully. “It looks like someone rear-ended her,” he noted, the sound of cars rushing by cluing Spencer into the traffic.

“That time of night on that road it would’ve needed to be on purpose, there’s no reason to be following someone that closely on an empty street,” Spencer processed the information, pulling up a map in his head of the area where your car was. “So, it was a bump and grab,” Spencer thought aloud, it wasn’t a particularly sophisticated crime, but with all of the other evidence, he hadn’t expected it to be.

Morgan reaffirmed his suspicions, “I’m surprised she wasn’t more on edge that early in the morning. What do you think she was doing all the way out here anyway?”

His stomach churned; you had been leaving his apartment. It was his fault you had been out there at that time. “It was early, her inhibitions were down, she was probably tired,” he rambled off. “Besides, you heard JJ, she thinks she has a boyfriend,” he bit out.

“Uh huh,” Derek responded, “And what do you think about that?”

Leaning his head back, Spencer stared at the sky, “Did you find her phone? Was it in the car?”

There was no way Derek didn’t get why Spencer ignored his question, but he moved on anyway, “Yeah, that’s the other thing. There’s no sign of that text message.”

Another mystery to add to the plethora, Spencer closed his eyes and sighed, “Thanks for letting me know.”

“Kid,” Derek said, stopping Spencer from hanging up, “Why did the text go to you and not JJ? Wouldn’t that make more sense?”

Spencer paused, staring at the backs of his eyelids, “I’m not sure.” His answer, at least, was mostly truthful. It would make sense for the message to have gone to JJ, but JJ wouldn’t have understood the meaning.

That meant the person who sent the message likely knew about you and Spencer’s relationship, and that did very little to comfort him.

Helpless was not a term that Spencer liked to use to describe himself, but as the orange glow of the sunset sept into the BAU, he was beginning to feel that way. You were still missing, and with every passing moment, Spencer knew that the statistics grew increasingly bleak.

Stepping away from his computer monitor, Spencer made his way to the bathroom, he didn’t need to use it, but the silent hum of the fan was better than the constant chattering in the bullpen. Everyone imaginable had been pulled in on this case, everyone wanting to pitch in to find a missing FBI agent, but not for the first time, Spencer wished everyone would just shut up.

Turning on the tap, he cupped his hands under the water and splashed his face, focusing the cold water on his eyes, hoping they could hone his focus. He tore a paper towel from the dispenser and pressed it into his face as the door swung open, the familiar tapping of boots sounded from behind him until they stopped.

“You know, from my count, it’s been about eight months,” Rossi said, meeting Spencer’s eyes in the mirror, his hands in his pockets as he raised his eyebrows, waiting for a response.

Sighing, Spencer turned off the water, “Nine,” he corrected, foregoing his usual habit of providing more precise time frame. He wasn’t surprised that Rossi had it figured out, he always did, but still, he asked, “How did you figure it out?”

Rossi shrugged, watching as Spencer moved to throw away the paper towel, “I am very good at my job.”

Spencer laughed, a mixture between a laugh and a scoff as he looked in the mirror just to find that he still looked like a disaster. “I don’t know what I’m gonna do,” he confessed, the first time he had let his desolation truly show to any member of the team.

“You’re gonna go back out there, and we are gonna do what we do best,” Rossi insisted, “We help the people who need us.”

Nodding, Spencer took a deep breath before heading back out to the bullpen, following Penelope through the glass doors as the technical analyst made her way over to JJ. It shouldn’t bother him that everyone went to JJ first, but it did, even though no one knew any better. “Does the last name Delphino mean anything to you?”

JJ frowned in response, “No, why—should it?”

His lips parted, not worrying about holding himself back, “Paul Delphino is the name of Y/N’s next-door neighbor.”

Garcia made a dinging noise, quickly moving on to continue her explanation, “Paul Delphino did not show up for work this morning. Why is this significant? His family, the Delphinos, owns a lot of commercial property in the DMV and a suspicious 911 call just came in from one of those properties stating that there’s a light on in a building that is slated for demolition tomorrow. The caller said they heard screaming coming from the building.”

Hotch looked around at the team, “Morgan contact SWAT. JJ, Morgan, you’re with me, Blake, Reid, with Rossi. Garcia, send the address to our phones.” Everyone was already moving as he distributed orders, heading to the elevator, and getting one step closer to you.

He’s been watching you for months. From the exact moment he moved into the apartment next to yours, Paul declared himself your soulmate. You recognized his name when you first met, and it came up in one of your late-night Wikipedia binges. Paul Delphino was a member of a disturbingly wealthy family, up until his parents disowned him for suspicious cash transactions.

Your head hurt like hell, drips of blood were encrusted along your hairline, and you were fairly convinced that you were dying. Your vision blurred around the edges when you followed the noise of your captor around the room with your eyes, your body slightly suspended in the air by your arms, standing on your tiptoes to prevent too much strain on your shoulders.

Seeking comfort in your memory, you remembered this morning, kissing your sleepy boyfriend as he tiredly asked you to stay, but you needed to go back to your own apartment. You told him you loved him, which was the truth, but you needed a morning with your things.

If needing a morning with your things led to an untimely demise, then at least the last thing you told Spencer was that you loved him.

Long, unending scratches ran down your arms and legs, they weren’t deep enough to scar, but as they scabbed over, they began to itch. Cuts and scrapes weren’t going to kill you, but the knife in your abdomen likely would.

You tried to keep yourself as still as possible, your personal experience with stab wounds was lackluster, but you knew that the blade could be preventing any further bleeding. You weren’t sure if you should be grateful that Paul couldn’t get it up, seeing as he elected to stab you for a sexual release.

The black of your t-shirt concealed any blood on your torso, so you weren’t sure exactly how much blood you’d lost, but judging by the way the world was losing its color, things weren’t looking good for you.

You breathed out slowly through your nose, watching Paul pace back and forth in front of you, faint lantern light being the only thing illuminating whatever hellscape you were in. “Paul,” you said, your voice nearly a gasp, “I need help.”

At this point, you had no idea what your plan was, seriously considering asking him to let you heal so that he could come back and stab you again in a few weeks. What else did you have to offer him?  He scoffed in response, continuing his pacing until his steps faltered and he stalked over to you, causing you to flinch. “Did you call them?”

You groaned in pain, “Who the fuck could I have called?” You yelped like a wounded animal when he pulled the knife from your stomach.

He pointed the knife at your face, the metallic tang of your own blood filling your nostrils as you fought off a wave of nausea. “Why would you call the FBI on me?”

Tears flooded your eyes at his words. My sister’s here, you thought to yourself. Spencer’s here. “I didn’t,” you choked out, trying to remember how to breathe while you were dying.

Paul’s head snapped to look behind him, the rustling of SWAT and agents scaring him enough that he dropped the knife to the floor before taking off, leaving you alone in the room for someone to find.

Grunting, you tried to free your hands on your own, but you no longer had the physical strength to do anything except for hang. Tipping your head back in an attempt to keep your airway open, you called out, “JJ!”

You never thought the sight of your sister’s blonde ponytail would make tears run down your face, but as soon as she made her way into the room, saltwater left marks on your blood-stained face. “He went that way,” you jutted your head to the side, watching as the people in front of you stayed true to themselves. JJ ran off to chase Paul, and Spencer holstered his weapon to help you down.

“Hey,” he whispered, holding you while a SWAT member used a knife to undo your restraints, and Spencer caught you before your legs had a chance to give out.

You looked around the room, Morgan had gone with JJ to play cat and mouse, but Blake stayed behind with Spencer while they tried to get you sorted out. Everyone else would panic, announcing to the rest of the room that you were seemingly very slowly bleeding out would send the space into a frenzy, so you didn’t.

Spencer draped an FBI jacket over your shoulders, one of the spares that was kept in the SUVs.

“I need help,” you mumbled, your lips barely parting as you tried to save your strength to walk to an ambulance. “Spence,” you gasped, using your own hand to apply pressure to the wound.

He nodded, instinctively pressing a kiss to your forehead, “I know, I know.” His voice was tight, and you hated yourself for doing this to him.

Groaning, you shook your head, “I’m bleeding,” you murmured, watching as realization set into his features, wavering between horror and determination, Spencer nodded at you.

“Reid?” Blake called after the two of you, now noticing the drops of blood that were where you were standing, now being tracked through the building by your shuffling footsteps.

Spencer didn’t answer her, his attention was entirely on you as he kept you upright, bringing you closer and closer to the flashing lights of the ambulance. The cold of the night burned your nose as the fresh air gave you a new sense of determination, matching Spencer’s. “I’m sorry,” you told him, but you weren’t sure he could even hear you as you approached the ambulance.

“You need to get her to a hospital,” Spencer insisted once the EMTs were in earshot, his chest heaving as your feet dragged more and more with every step. “Please,” he begged them, helping you onto a stretcher before hauling himself into the rig, a one-track mind thinking of nothing else other than getting you the help that you need.

Fifty-fifty were the odds that you gave yourself once you found a firm enough grasp on consciousness. There was a fifty percent chance you were going to open your eyes and be met with the harsh fluorescence of a hospital. There was a fifty percent chance that bastard Minos was going to send you straight to the Fields of Punishment.

You changed your bets once the scent of antiseptic burned your nostrils, you flinched at the smell, earning some soft shushing from the person on the other side of your eyelids. Sighing, you open your eyes just a sliver, “Hey, J,” you greeted her, your voice raspy from lack of use and probably a breathing tube.

Hospitals made your stomach churn, hunger and blood loss certainly contributed to the feeling as you tried to reorient yourself with the land of the living. “Hi, Ducky,” she whispered, taking your hand in hers and squeezing it reassuringly, “You’re okay.”

Humming, you closed your eyes again, being awake in stages, “Haven’t heard that one in a while,” you murmured, smiling softly. “I feel like shit,” you groaned, trying to shift in the bed just to be met with a shooting pain in your abdomen. Pieces of the puzzle started coming back to you.

“The doctors said you were really lucky, the knife didn’t hit any organs or blood vessels,” he told you, giving you an update on your condition. Waking up in hospitals always gave you an odd feeling, being surrounded by a group of people who knew more about how you were doing than you did.

Frowning, you let your eyes flutter open, “Yeah, lucky,” you breathed. “That’s exactly how I feel right now.”

JJ smoothed some of your hair away from your forehead, “He’s dead, Ducky.”

You furrowed your eyebrows, “Did you shoot him?”

She shrugged slyly, “I let Morgan take the shot.”

That was a lie you let her get away with. If JJ had been the one to shoot Paul, there likely would’ve been an investigation opened because of your familial tie—Strauss would’ve had her hands all over that one. This way, there was no question about ethics. “Thank you,” you whispered to her, “I’m…” your voice trailed off as you noticed someone else in the corner of the room.

Following your gaze, JJ looked confused, “He hasn’t moved all night.” Spencer was almost comedically folded in a hospital chair, his wrist bent beneath his chin as he slept. “He rode with you to the hospital, and I’m not sure—”

“I’m in love with him,” you cut her off mid-sentence. You watched your sister’s confusion morph into shock as she looked from you to Spencer and back again. “Spencer and I have been dating for the last nine months, and we haven’t told anyone. It wasn’t because we wanted to keep anyone in the dark or because we didn’t want you to know, we just liked having something that was ours.”

Surprise was clear on her face while she searched her mind for clues into what you were telling her. You could tell she was thinking, you recognized her thinking face as well as you would if you were looking in a mirror. “You and Spencer?”

You nodded stiffly, moving your upper lip to adjust your nasal cannula, “Yeah. Me and Spencer.”

“So, when I tried to pin the two of you together last fall… you were already together?” She asked, recalling a night spent as a team at O’Keefe’s.

Giving her a lopsided smile, you held your hands out in mock surrender, “Yeah,” you echoed.

She just continued staring at you up until her phone rang, she apologized to you before picking it up, greeting Will over the phone, and stepping out into the hallway.

You tilted your head to the side, getting a better look at Spencer sleeping in the chair, “Spence,” you called out to him, remembering that you’re in a hospital and raising your voice is frowned upon, even as a patient. “Spencer,” you crooned, trying to wake him up without startling him.

He didn’t so much as budge, you tried again, but when he didn’t stir, you had to turn to violence.

With an aching arm, you grabbed a pen from the table attached to your hospital bed and flung it at him, gasping when the pen hit him in the head. His eyes opened, looking at you groggily as he stretched out his wrist.

“Hey,” he said, instantly over his irritation of being pelted with a BIC pen, “You’re up.” Spencer looked around the room noting no sign of your sister before he took her seat at your bedside, “You look good.”

You laughed slightly, the movement felt good spiritually, but physically it pulled at your stitches. “I look like shit,” you corrected him, you didn’t even need a mirror to know that.

Spencer smiled at you fondly, fingers carefully dancing along your hairline. His touch was tentative like he was afraid a single touch would break you, “You’ve certainly looked better,” he admitted.

The grin that bloomed on your face felt foreign after a day of pain, but it relieved you to stretch those muscles. “I’m sorry,” you whispered, noticing the way his hand faltered in its movements.

“It wasn’t your fault,” he reminded you, not even sure which it he was referring to, he simply wanted to know you weren’t to blame for any of it.

You hummed, adjusting yourself on your pillows, “But I took advantage of you.”

In response, Spencer reached out a hand, placing the back of it on your forehead, checking for a fever as if you weren’t hooked up to a vital monitor.

Swatting his hand away, you looked at him solemnly, “No, I took advantage of your rational minds when I asked you for help outside of the warehouse. I made the decision to ask you because I knew you would help me first and panic second.”

“Honey,” Spencer said, gingerly moving strands of hair off of your forehead, “You are severely underestimating my abilities if you think I wasn’t panicking while I was helping you.”

You pressed your lips together thoughtfully, looking at him, “I wanna go home,” you murmured, looking up at him with wide eyes.

He looked at you sadly, “Tomorrow, probably. I’ll bring you home and unpack the first load of your things in my place. You can sit on the couch and tell me where everything goes.”

“Spencer,” you said, gentle chide in your tone.

Your boyfriend hummed, “You didn’t seriously think I’d let you keep living in that apartment, did you?”

Honestly, you hadn’t had the time for the thought to cross your mind, but Spencer had always thought you lived in a bad part of town. He was right, of course, but this was a lot to digest all at once. “You don’t have to; I can just find a new apartment.”

He leaned over the bed, “It’s too late. I already asked Penelope to come over this weekend and help me go through my closet and dresser.”

“Did you tell her?” You asked him, reaching a hand up and tucking a strand of his hair behind his ear.

Spencer shook his head, “No, but I suppose we’ll have to.”

Chewing on the inside of your lip, you raised your eyebrows, “Well, I told JJ.” You informed him of the fact that you’d abrogated the seal of silence on your relationship.

“Rossi knows,” he told you like it should’ve been news to you.

You shrugged, “He figured it out months ago. I thought you knew that.”

Your boyfriend frowned, “How would I have known that?”

“He profiled us, it’s like reverse profiling,” you explained.

Spencer chuckled softly, “You’re right, my mistake.” His brown eyes shimmered as he took your hand in his, bringing it to his mouth and pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles.

He never took his eyes off of you, watching you like a hawk at every moment—you weren’t even sure he was blinking properly. “What’s still bothering you?”

Shaking his head, he dismissed your question immediately. You felt safe with him, when your sister returned to the doorway, she faltered at the sight in front of her. Spencer was resting his head on your hospital bed, softly chatting to you about sea otters while your eyes fluttered shut.

Before you fell asleep, she raised her eyebrows and held up a thumbs up, asking if you were okay.

A brief nod in response was all you needed, smiling at her softly while she went back to her phone call.

[acid-ixx]

How do think readers relationship with each of the batfam would be had they not been neglected?

what if...? ft. domestic headcanons w/ your family

series masterlist &. request masterlist — long post ahead !

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.

a/n: 6400+ words, no beta i'm genuinely insane. help i literally thought abt this yesterday !! i may or may not post a drabble about this one specific dream the reader had about where they had a normal relationship with the batfam but at the same time i want to implement it in the next chapter instead so have food for thoughts instead! slight spoilers below. also please do comment and reblog if u like this ! ^^ supporting my writing just makes me further motivated to write even more !

if you were never neglected by your own family, then i could say that the process of them turning yandere would be a tad bit better or worse. i'm saying, because of your past and because of an incident during your elementary years (that could've been avoided if your family actually never ignored you; so let's assume that that incident actually never happened but it opened a gateway for an even more protective family) the batfam could easily be either a dream or nightmare.

let's say it was bruce and dick who had picked you up from the police station. the moment he sees his own firstborn child, all his thoughts would circulate from just how broken and hopeless you absolutely looked, how the injuries litter throughout your entire body, the way your empty eyes stare at anything.

the child, his child, looked exactly like him all those years ago. he knows just how painful it is to bare losing all your loved ones.

he wouldn't hesitate to approach your form, immediately picking you up and letting your head lean on his shoulders as dick follows in tow, cooing about his significantly younger sibling.

that would be the first time dick would call you his baby bird, with the way you'd stare at him with mixed emotions in your eyes.

if him and dick were to hear about what happened to you inside your old apartment from the police (drugged and abused by the same men who took your mother away from you), then be guaranteed that batman and nightwing would be more brutal during their patrol afterwards (dick would even take more weeks off from bludhaven just to care for his younger sibling), even going as far as formulating a plan for your captors, having oracle stalk each and every person involved in your life.

if anyone thinks the vigilante would abide by his no-kill rule then they're wrong, because he'd turn a blind eye for once if dick were to brutally stab someone at any moment. why? because batman will not settle until his own child's attackers are thrown into putrid prison cells with no guarantee that they'll see the light of the day. the criminals should be grateful that red hood isn't even in the picture yet.

your father would be more perceptive of your emotions if he had never neglected you. he will always be the one giving you rides, he'll shield you away from the mass media trying to take photographs of you— and you're getting carried throughout the manor if your little body were to even express fatigue.

bruce wayne wouldn't admit it, but he absolutely cherishes you and your youth. he had adopted dick and grayson when they were above the age of ten, when they were already growing some sort of consciousness about the world they live in. but you? you're so small and you have so much to learn, your innocence is something bruce would protect. you'll be absolutely coddled by your father, your grandfather figure, alfred, and your oldest brother, dick. even future members of the family knows just how important you are maintaining their sanity.

that means you have the manor in the palm of your hands. you had a nightmare tonight? don't worry, your dad would always be one step ahead of you and would immediately be in your room. hell, if you were comfortable enough, you'd be sleeping in the same bedroom as your dad for the first few years you'll live inside the manor. he'll read you bedtime stories if you want and even have alfred prepare you warm milk or chocolate before you go to sleep. his entire schedule would also be centered around you, making sure that he would always arrive on time from business meetings to have dinner with you, and coming home early from patrols. if he leaves the manor before you're set off to sleep, then he'll be giving you a good night's kiss whilst alfred would be the one substituting for your nightly bedtime stories.

you may call him overbearing once you start to notice the signs the more you grow older, but your father will always track your sleep schedule - he even makes you wear a watch that records your heart rate - from the moment you drift into dreamland to the times you get nightmares— he makes sure the food you eat before dinner is light, booking appointments with nutritionists to make sure you're healthy. he even does specialized training with you, for self defence and to also maintain a healthy lifestyle.

and dick grayson? his visits to gotham would be more frequent. even if his relationship with bruce is strained, he'll always be in the manor faster than you could say 'i miss you' to your older brother on the phone. he loves coddling his baby bird, especially since you were adopted right after jason's death; dick doesn't want a repeat of the past, always making sure you get proper cuddles and affirmations.

spending time with dick means you get all the power to draw on his arms or face or make arts and crafts with him. he enjoys it when his baby bird is at their comfiest state so even if you were seated on the floor, there would always be cozy blankets that count as your chairs and snacks right beside you. you could ask him to get something for you and he's right at it.

he would be the older brother who normalizes physical affection in the household. dick would constantly kiss your cheeks, your foreheads, and any injuries you would obtain (a habit that even bruce adopted once your dad realized how it's an effective way to soften your cries and ease your heart). he's not afraid of picking you up even! always tossing you to the air under alfred or bruce's supervision whenever you feel down. dick would always hold your hand, too, as an assurance that your beloved older brother is always there for you.

you'd probably ignore all the red flags he carries around because of how early he shows off his signs of obsessiveness. so don't question it if him and bruce wouldn't allow you to go to sleepovers with your other friends or if sometimes, just sometimes dick feels the need to just have you in his arms for hours without end after particularly brutal patrols. you're the only person holding him up and if he doesn't breath in that reminder then he might just lose himself.

your brother would literally prioritize you over anything else. he can and will pick you up from school, he makes sure nobody in your class is there to bully you, he'll spoil you with sweet treats whenever bruce is too busy with business meetings. he wants to be seen as your favorite ever since he's discovered himself to be your idol, so he'll always show off his acrobatic skills for your eyes only.

whenever dick would say "i love you!" it always translates to, "if you want me to, then i will give you the world." which means he'll drop anything he's doing right now the moment you invite him over to design your diaries or sketchbooks.

your talents very early on would be heavily acknowledged by your family. that means any single drawing or craft you'd do, whether poorly done or not, would be stored in very protective places or shows off in every crevice of the manor. any father's day gift from you would be framed in bruce's personal office, a personal reminder to him that you are the light at the end of the brooding tunnel he puts himself in. so even if he can't always be there for you, he will always have you in his mind and in his heart.

your existence in the manor would prove to be a healthier way for bruce to cope, for him to get his mind off of the loss of his second child. whenever he looks at you, he'll always be filled with a determination to protect gotham from any further danger, to save the city - if not himself, then for your sake, for his baby to feel safe whenever they would walk on the streets, for his baby to feel protected whenever you two would eat in fancy restaurants or go shopping for your diary's supplies.

criminals would immediately get the message that messing with you means getting on the bad side of both batman and nightwing. you may be the child of bruce wayne, (name) wayne, but if they even think of kidnapping you for ransom then they should pray; pray because if batman's baby even gets a single nick, a single droplet of blood on their body then they're gone. there's no such thing as holding back if it comes to you.

now, your older sister figure, barbara gordon, despite her constantly being busy because of her role as the oracle, would find ways to at least entertain you whenever you would visit her in the batcave. if you feel like your father's overprotective nature and your older brother's coddling is too much, then she will be offer you solace by her side. she may not always be physically there but you two are as close as you are to the other members of your family because you're a creative one. it's not often barbara gets to spend time with someone like you who enjoys having her as a muse for your art pieces. she allows you to also style her hair, and if you like to design clothing, then she'd be your model for as much as you want.

barbara is also your go-to for when dick and bruce are both unavailable. she lets you watch her hack through multiple security systems, explaining concepts that you don't understand. and, because she's the most emotionally stable out of all of them, you'd prefer gossiping to her about your school's drama compared to dick, as she actually gives you helpful advice!

well, little do you know that she had already hacked your school's camera footage and wired multiple recorders on your bag but you don't have to know that! after all, barbara wants to keep the only sane person in the household safe and happy. she's not openly obsessive towards you, but whatever secrets you have that don't compromise your safety are secrets she promises she will bring to the grave. that means if you ever have a crush on a someone then she will hide it from the others.

... that is until you actually end up trying to get into a relationship too early for even her eyes then she won't hesitate sending out the signals to bruce and the others. she can't afford exposing her younger sibling to heartbreaks and emotional attachment towards strangers! so do forgive her if there are times where you feel like there's someone constantly watching your back, because she is that someone; with all the intentions in the world that you wouldn't have to go through what she did with the joker or any other villains who could whisk you away from their arms.

it's obvious that, of course the oracle will use all the power in her hands to guarantee all eyes are on you, so that there would never be an opening for any danger towards you. even if you do know that she's the one in-control of the strings, there's not much you could do but accept it.

then there's tim drake. your brother who had stalked batman and nightwing just to prove a point. his parents are alive and he's fine being on his own, but fuck it if he prefers being in the wayne manor! once you're introduced to tim, he's immediately researching about the first biological child of bruce wayne. and thank god bruce requires the two of you to become familiar with each other because you're just so interesting to him, you and your curious eyes, your small habits— the way you shift in your position as your father's hands are clasped on your shoulder protectively.

tim can already feel himself blast off in excitement just solving the mysteries about you! yet he doesn't know it in himself that the longer you spend time with him, the more the urge to just stitch himself into your very life grows stronger.

if you were never neglected by your own family then you would instead be analyzed constantly. tim is just another set of eyes constantly watching you, but unlike the others, he picks off every single detail about you to a T.

you, your interests, your hobbies, your favorites, your friends, you name it; he will have an entire collection of case files on everything, picking apart your very mind to the seams. it's like he's eating up the information about you, spending sleepless nights researching about a movie you two would watch soon, because the look of amazement in your eyes feeds the growing love he has for his sibling.

at first he'd never understand why bruce and dick seems so smitten towards you other than the case regarding your mother. but he slowly starts to understand why— because just like him, you're perceptive of his well-being. if dick isn't around then you're always the one hanging around his room, visiting him with snacks in your arms or an invitation to watch a cartoon show.

he likes doing your assignments for you, especially your projects even if he neglects his own duties for his own school. and despite how emotionally constipated or unaware he seems, he's obsessed with your personal life. that means you don't even have to rant to him about school drama or your friends or crush because he can and will know it. what he doesn't like, though, is when your attention is towards anything but him. he may not be the most physically comfortable to cuddle but he will offer you his jackets which he would end up not washing right after you use them, instead he wears them, feeling closer to you than ever.

it even lulls him to sleep for the times you're unable to sleep over at his room.

tim may not know how to comfort you like dick whenever you wake up from nightmares but he does know ways to avoid them; he knows a lot of strategic methods to get you drowsy after a moment's panic.

bonus points if you cuddle him afterwards! he loves the warmth that you emanate, loves it when your body leans against him and makes him feel so important. tim loves it when you snuggle him unknowingly, tightening your already bruising grip on him, he loves reciprocating it too, feeling a special bond with his sibling that not even his parents could offer.

though he doesn't openly tell you that he loves you, he does so in his own ways! you don't want to see an entire photography room dedicated to his younger sibling— most pictures contributed by tim. you don't want to see the terabytes of files that are all about you and your interests, millions of video imagery of just you sketching or writing diary entries, sometimes eating or rambling senselessly. you don't know it but tim loves playing the videos of you in the background, especially the ones where you're humming a tune or singing a lullaby; those are his favorites.

it's not his fault that you're just so interesting to him, that your presence is so comforting, that you're the only person closest to him that has the ability to make him melt into you, unknowingly succumbing to your spoiled wishes.

jason todd comes into the picture later, and he is a very enraged man. he's mad at his replacement, at bruce, at you, at the entire universe.

at first he just doesn't understand anything. he doesn't understand why bruce finds it so easy to not only replace his status as robin but to also bring in another child, who's valued and loved more despite not taking the mantle of robin. he's mad at just how quick he was replaced, how it seems like bruce never avenged him, and yet if he threatens your safety then the old man suddenly turns violent towards him?!

jason wouldn't bring you into the fray, because you're unaware of the entire situation, but fuck, he doesn't understand why you are just so cherished when he'd watch the news and sees your picture plastered all over the reporters' walls, talking about the child who bruce never allowed to separate from his side. they talk about how you're the sheltered one, the hearthrob of all media with just how clingy the billionaire is towards his supposed younger sibling.

he's not jealous, he gets why bruce is protective and smothers himself all over you; but he hates feeling replaced, feeling discarded and forgotten by the very man who'll avenge your death if that ever happened.

hence why he has to see it for himself, has to see you for himself. it's a coincidence, a miracle actually that he just seems to easily find you by the kitchen of the manor— a manor whose aura is now different from last time, it seems like it now reeks of life, of personality. clearly you were the main cause of all of this.

you could simply be reading a book and sipping your nightly tea, but jason would soon realize just how... vulnerable you are at the moment. you find him hiding in the shadows and all you offer is a wide stare with no sense of self defense whatsoever. it's the same vulnerability that he sees off the cruelest streets of gotham. you're exactly like the innocent kids who get brutally murdered without justice, just like the children who have never once gained penance for the torture they had to experience just living off of personality.

jason isn't a dumbass, living near the crime alley means hearing the gossips of every citizen. your name, or preferably your last name is famed even in the underground. your mother is infamous for catching the attention of most crime lords by running off with their cash, successful staying hidden to care for her child, just right until she met her untimely demise. you lost her early just like how he lost his mother early as she had fallen victim to drug overdose.

he'll discover why gotham's vigilante seems to be so protective over you. the way you carry yourself, the warmth you give off as you offer him your leftover dinner despite not

you told him that your dad taught you to never talk to strangers— but clearly he's not because "how else would you be able to trespass the millions of security alarms in the manor? you must've lived here before." you'll state as if it's the most obvious thing in the world, sipping your drink before you offer him a seat next to yours, unafraid of the dangers that lie ahead of you—

"you must've really been pampered by the old man, huh?" is all his reply, the voice changer of his makes him sound naturally intimidating, like he's ready to attack but no, that's not his intentions with you. he'll take a seat beside you, try to make out what book you're reading and that's when he knows that you truly have no idea that it's your dead brother who's talking to you. you have no idea of his resurrection whatsoever as you start to mumble off about the novel— he finds it quite amusing that, finally, he's not the only guy who enjoys literature in the family, even going as far as to recommend his own fair share of favorite novels to you.

once he leaves out of the window after a seemingly long session of talking, definitely aware that yes, bruce does have a microchip inserted under your skin, and the watch you're wearing has a voice recorder that sends recordings straight to the batcave's system; jason takes note to visit you more often, finding the normalcy you offer very welcoming.

he likes it, likes your mellow behavior. he'll even admit that you're the only proof that bruce can, in fact, raise a child right, even if that means tracking their entire life. but that's the old man's love language, and jason knows it in himself that he's already planning for a way to take you to ride his motorcycle at night without bruce's knowledge; just so his angel knows the feeling of gotham's breeze flowing through their hair since bruce seems to love dictating your every move.

once he does form a solid plan to take you away, even just temporarily, you don't have to worry about the criminals who litter the streets because jason made sure that nobody's gonna mess with him and his angel's bonding time together.

the youngest, damian wayne, and the second biological child of bruce is a special case. his upbringing as an assassin makes him susceptible to his fits of tantrums. the first time he steps foot into the manor is the same time he will threaten anyone around him; and that includes you, the bastard child. quite frankly, your first greeting with him would be the same as the one in the original storyline, you'll greet him with a tray of sweets in your hand and a small smile and he'll reply with a sword on your neck. but the difference would be the undeniable fact that dick and bruce immediately stopped him from even nicking your delicate skin.

dick's swearing was shut down by alfred's scolding and you, again! pulling on your oldest brother's sleeve with an assurance that you're okay.

that's the very first time he sees his father truly reprimand him with nothing but rage in his eyes. despite damian's annoying antics towards his father the entire day, it seems like you were the snapping point.

his father, bruce wayne, made it very clear that he can mess with anyone and everyone in the family but you. that you have nothing to

his only reply would be a sneer as he demands they take him to his room immediately, unable to shut you down when you offer to help bring his luggage despite bruce's firm unwillingness and dick's hesitant request that his baby bird should instead spend time in his room instead.

but it was always your word above everybody else's and damian hates that, hates that everyone just seems to succumb to your request as long as it doesn't compromise your safety. the bitterness that keeps resurfacing in his heart whenever he sees you wearing tim or dick's jacket, or if he caught sight of bruce giving you affection was a feeling he tried to convince himself wasn't jealousy.

not jealousy towards you, no, but towards them. your behavior towards him was nothing but kind, a kindness that was taught to him as weakness. he thinks you're weak and undeserving of being spoiled and yet he hates it whenever he sees his blood sibling (whom he called a bastard child so many times) become too close with anyone but him.

he hates it, he hates you and his conflicting feelings. he hates it when he pushes you away, hates it when he sees you pout after another failed attempt at trying to have your youngest sibling talk to you.

and as the days or even weeks pass by, with all your effort to try to bond with him, with the days where he can feel dick's energy drain because you insisted on spending time with damian instead of dick again, with tim's intolerable treatment towards the him because you chose to bother damian instead of that loser— are the days he feels himself actually becoming closer to you because he relishes in your insufferable behavior towards them, because you just seem so sweet to him.

damian feels that it's right that you make him the exception.

so it's inevitable that damian will eventually discover both your talents towards art and the love for nature. it's a mistake, really, when one day as he stalks through the hallways he'd find you in your own atelier, painting a portrait of a robin with a color scheme that matches his vigilante suit. the beams of sunlight seems to hit you just right because you looked so at peace with your surroundings, humming a tune, unaware of your youngest brother who has found himself at your most natural state.

he'll budge in without moment's hesitation afterwards, steering clear behind you as he analyzes your art. it would only be after a few minutes would he announce his presence in the room, expecting you to scream at him to buzz off but all you did was jump in your seat, looking back to eye the intruder only to find out it was damian all along, offering him a smile and a seat beside you.

after he does so, you'll both end up spending the entire day bombarding each other with art tips and animal facts. he'll give you comments about the bird's proportions and you give him guidelines on how to properly mix your colors without it looking muddled. it's like you two are meant to be siblings because damian swears he ended up clinging to your side after your painting session, refusing to even seat beside anyone during dinner time if it isn't you because he's not done rambling about the rainbow eucalyptus you had told him you'd seen in a nature documentary once— so it's rightfully his place to be beside you and not drake's or grayson's or even his father.

eventually you two would be as close as peas in a pod because you're seemingly the only one who knows how to calm him down, the only one with the right to raise your voice at him and to ask him of favors because you're his blood sibling. and because you both share the same blood, that means you both should share clothes that complement each other, share snacks and treats, share matching bracelets and necklaces and any jewelry, you're the only one allowed to hang around his room and him in yours.

the others find it annoying that you let him be, but what choice do they have? unless they would like to hear an earful from damian then they should stay silent because you both aren't done painting each other's nails yet!

stephanie brown is shortly introduced to you after her incessant insistence on meeting you right after stepping foot into the manor. she knows of your internet fame for being the beloved bruce wayne's 'favorite' child and she's not afraid to admit that you are indeed adorable in person! unlike your first meeting with damian, steph would immediately coddle you at first glance, insisting you call her by 'steph' and that

due to the short period of time as her robin and her being constantly reprimanded for her antics, you'd take it in yourself to become closer with her, and she accepts your offer without any complaints. she's also one of your muses for your art and it's a good thing she has a sense of style unlike your brothers who are either too flashy (you had to stifle a laughter looking at the discowing costume) or too dull. damian's fashion sense is good but he's often out during the time period you spend with steph, and even if she often doesn't stay still, you at least hsve someone to talk your ears off whilst you try to sketch the poses she chose.

her obsession towards you stems from your willingness to "match her freak" or whatever internet lingo she finds that day, but she's a fun company to be around! she's always there for you when you need to rant about anything regarding your feelings, especially since you're at the age where you're a teenager and your emotions towards your family would be all over the place and she'd relate the most towards that.

so other than barbara, you'll find yourself speaking up about any concerns you have to steph, and she turns your 'favoritism' towards her her entire personality.

but if you think of even spilling your secrets about a highschool crush to steph or news that someone had asked you out for prom them then spoiler alert! don't. like her mentor, steph will drop signs and clues and your brothers would promptly deal with that. awe, don't worry about feeling alone though or if you weren't permitted to go to your highschool prom because steph and babs will be the ones to convince bruce to throw you your own very elegant gala where you would dance with only your siblings!

see, isn't she so strategic that way? psht, you don't need a boy or a girl acting as your temporary reprieve when your entire family is there for you! steph is here for you and you did technically promise to go out with her today to go shopping so...

it's not that she isn't on your side, no! but you're very much the entire family's baby and she doesn't want you losing your attention on her, definitely not! her goofy personality towards you really does cover her intense urge to be by your side really well. unlike damian, it's not obvious that she's trying so hard to monopolize your time for herself but you're just so fun to be around and she's at her best behavior when it comes to you.

so what's wrong if she ditches her other friends to bond with her beloved sibling? it's not like they'd understand what it's like having someone who actually looks at her for her rather than just the surface level.

don't question why most of the gifts she had given you (which ranges from attires like jackets and shles, to matching bracelets, even little fidget toys) all don a shade of purple and blue! and don't also question why her gallery is filled with cute selfies of you and why your phone's lock screen wallpaper is now suddenly matching with hers.

after all, steph likes making it known that you are her favorite!

cassandra cain, when she first saw you, is, of course, silent. but she makes her presence known quickly after she has enough proof that you've no fight in your body. she may not be the most expressive in words but she is through actions.

you were actually the one who had first approached her after bruce initially introduced you two to each other, offering her a handshake and a greeting in sign language. albeit it being crusty, and her insisting that it's alright if you do the talking, it seems like you were more than willing to learn sign language just for the sake of your new sister and she likes it.

she really, really likes it, appreciates how there were no signs of malice in your movements and just how comfortable you seemed with someone who could potentially end your life with just a snap of her fingers. and yet you treat her like she's not a weapon of murder but rather another sibling who is welcomed into your own world.

you ask her if she wants to hang out with you and steph in your own personal sleepover inside your room and she accepts it because of just how comforting your presence is. it's been so long since she had last felt like she was treated as a human and you were proof that she's glad she never took the path to human carnage like her father intended her to because then she wouldn't meet someone who would soon be so precious to her.

cass may not talk a lot but she is a listener.

a listener to both your words and your body language. it's quicker for her to notice if you ever needed a hug or a catalyst for comfort. she knows your boundaries and when you need space the most. she knows it when you want to open up to her about how stuffy the manor is beginning to feel, how it feels as if they're becoming more sensitive about your social life, how you wish your friends aren't distancing themselves from you because of how intimidating your family is.

and you can say all that to her because cass, alongside duke and sometimes steph, would be the only ones keeping your deepest darkest desires to their grave. although she may not understand your reasonings on why you even felt like your family is coddling you too much (because they're not! they love you very much and she does too) in the first place, she's always the one offering you to hold her hands whenever you're going through a momentary panic attack or a shoulder to lean on whenever dick would scold you for something impulsive you've done.

unlike your neglected counterpart, cass would always be by your shadows, watching every one of your moves and to abide by bruce's order to make sure you wouldn't escape, shall you ever feel rebellious during your teenage years. you may be older than her but she's stronger than you, more experienced and can even combat your dad if she wants to.

yet she always seems to let her guard down when it comes to you because you just seem to have that alluring effect on everybody. can't you understand just how important you are to everybody? you're the most important to her, you're one of the first few people who had treated her like a human so she swears on her life to protect you from harm's way like you did her whenever she's often in a pit of despair.

cass isn't the most expressive, so she makes up for it by instead leaving signs that she really cares for you, or sometimes hiding little trinkets for you to find in your room. it's like her very own message that translates 'cass was here'.

whenever you sit beside her at the dinner table, she always slips in extra food by your plate without you looking or sometimes even filling your glass bottles with extra juice and you'll never know why until you realize that it's her way of telling you to eat more. sometimes, your clothes would go missing until you see your sisters wearing your own collection of jackets and hoodies then swapping them in your drawers for their own— you'd realize that cass got that idea from steph and you can't get mad at her or anybody else as it soon becomes tradition that you'll have an entire closet dedicating to the missing clothes you have that your siblings have replaced to their own attire.

cass really does love you and although she can't always say it out loud, you'll always have a constant reminder instead. as long as you're safe and sound then you don't have to witness the darker sides of her that she hides from you.

then finally, duke thomas. he may have been introduced to you the latest but you could say in terms of every trait, he'd be the brother you'd like to keep close for every situation. your first meeting with him is quite frankly the most normal one of them all, introducing yourself to duke through dinner. although he may be temporarily under bruce's guardianship over anything else, he's incredibly comforting to be around as he's quick to catch on your emotions but unlike the others, he doesn't push you to open up to him, but he won't leave your side at all either.

duke is the only metahuman you're probably allowed to be close with because your dad absolutely refuses you from even trying to talk with the superfamily. and duke heavily prides himself with that information, often secretly showing you his metahuman skills and answering whatever questions you have about them.

like jason, duke wouldn't fully delude himself into thinking you're innocent, that you need to be babied to the point they feel the urge to track even the food you eat— so he's your reliable source for any video games you were forbidden to play or any movies dick would consider too gruesome for you. he's chill, he even sneaks you unhealthy chips once in a while which makes him automatically one of the top in your tier list.

but don't think he's entirely on your side, because whilst duke seems the most normal to you - the only sibling who wouldn't smother you in blankets the moment you accidentally cut yourself with a kitchen knife - he's also batshit crazy for his own sibling and he'll sacrifice a lot for you two. so if you even dare try to suggest an idea that duke knows would risk not only him, but especially you, then that idea automatically is relayed to your dad and you wouldn't really want your father's gentle scolding anymore.

you can try to find a loophole to go out with him though! if you want to eat batburgers outside then you can do so when he's at his patrol, seeing as how he's the only batkid who does daytime patrol and that's way safer than eating at night, no?

so do expect spending more time with him the most outside, other than with dick and damian, but you'll be forced to sit in the sidelines where nobody can lay their hands on you whilst duke would be busy fighting crime and afterwards treating you to ice cream like he didn't just 'accidentally' and brutally body slammed a criminal into the wall for giving you heart eyes.

'most normal member of the family, my ass' would be the first thing that pops into your mind, but hey! at least you didn't have to be always locked up into the stuffy manor, right...?

at least you get to spend time with all of your siblings and a very loving and attentive father..!

little did you know that the only reason they allowed you out is to give you this false sense of independence, slowly but surely planning for the ultimate day where they truly would lock you up away from the world.

but they just can't help it, you know? the media's greedy hands are starting to take more than they could; so many eyes are on you and danger awaits at every corner in gotham— they can't afford having their beloved being pried away from their arms.

so is it truly a blessing or a curse in disguise? you don't know anymore.

[poguelandiarafe]

tough guy | rafe cameron

paring - rafe cameron x gf!reader

warnings - mentions of violence and getting stabbed

summary - rafe is telling you, topper and kelce about his day and brings up the fact he got into yet another fight. you don't like this so decide to put him in his place, knowing you're the only one who can (not set in any particular season).

masterlist

--------

to anyone else, dating rafe cameron would be scary, a struggle even. he's a man known for his reputation and will do anything to uphold it. whenever he enters a room all eyes are on him and it amazes you how he commands such attention without any effort at all. his features are strong and bold, just like his personality, and it's this that drew you in in the first place. the way he kept everyone at a distance, not letting anyone in.

except you.

you love a challenge and were determined to be let into his world. you're headstrong, stubborn, and know exactly what you want in life, stopping at nothing to get it. you're hot too, of course, but it's your determination that rafe thinks made him fall for you. it's like he's dating himself your personalities are so similar.

and you love to push his buttons, calling him out on whatever dumb shit he does.

--------

you're sitting on the sofa at tannyhill, rafe's arm slung over your shoulder to keep you next to him as he rambles on about another reckless thing he's done today. topper and kelce are scattered around the living room, taking turns to finish the joint you don't want anymore, listening to rafe. they're seemingly invested in whatever he's saying whereas you sit there scrolling through instagram, paying barely any attention to him.

"and then he pulled a knife on me," he laughs, "was fucking crazy."

your ears perk up, throwing his arm off your shoulder and sitting up to properly look at him. he looks at you briefly before going to carry on what he was saying but you cut him off.

"are you fucking crazy?" you ask, finger poking into his chest.

the room goes silent. topper and kelce freezing, in shock you spoke to rafe like that without him immediately shouting at you.

his eyes narrow at you and his brows furrow, "no? what's that meant to mean?"

"you were reckless, rafe. you can't start throwing punches every chance you get. jj literally pulled a fucking knife on you and you're here laughing about it." you say, voice raising from anger.

"you don't tell me what to do." rafe says, jaw clenched from being spoken to like that in front of his friends.

you match his intense stare, "i think i have every right to if you're putting yourself in a situation where you could die."

"he tried to sink my boat, i'm not just letting that shit slide! it's not like he'd actu-" he starts before you cut him off.

"don't you dare say he wasn't serious! what if he was, huh?" you snap, getting up and standing in front of him, "what if he actually stabbed you and i got a phone call saying you were in hopsital or that your body had been found? then what?"

it's quiet for a moment, rafe thinking over what you said. he feels guilty now, not really thinking about the consequences if something were to actually have happened, his adrenaline having clouded his rational judgement at the time.

"alright, alright. i get it baby. i'm sorry." he holds his hands up in mock surrender.

"you're not invincible just because you're rafe cameron. i don't want anything to happen to you."

he stands up, pulling you into him but you don't budge, arms crossed over your chest.

"i'm sorry for being reckless," he whispers into your hair, before he smirks, "but don't act like you don't love that i'm rafe cameron."

you roll your eyes, wrapping your arms around him now, "not when you're acting like this, i don't. just... promise to cool it. it hurts me when you come home covered in blood and bruises from yet another fight you've been in."

"okay, i promise i'll try. you're lucky you're hot." he mutters.

"you're lucky i put up with your shit." you counter, a smile on your lips.

while you and rafe were busy arguing, topper and kelce were silently smoking the joint, sharing looks every so often as they listened in.

"how does she get away with speaking to him like that?" topper whispers to kelce in disbelief.

"i have something he can't live without." you quip with a wink, overhearing him.

"okay, gross." kelce says.

"his words." you shrug.

[writersblockedx]

A Rekindled Kind of Love

Pairing - Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader Summary - Spencer and Y/n hadn't talked since the Summer before college and then he sees her name as the only survivor in their latest serial killer case. Warning - violence, drinking Words - 3.6K

A/n - It's be a while! I've had a surge of inspiration lately since becoming a little obsessed with character ai lol and thought to write this one into a little one-shot.

masterlist

Spencer was lying if he ever called any day at the BAU normal. Between serial killers, sadists, and everything else in between, the boy had a blurred definition of normal. So, he expected anything - or so he thought. When he entered the meeting room that morning, he hadn't expected the name of Y/N Y/L/N to pop up.

"We've got three victims and, weirdly, one survivor." Garcia started to explain, clicking through the victim's dead bodies, the woman squirming at just a glance of the photos. "Whoever this sicko is, he's going after journalists. His latest victim, Y/n Y/l/n, was actually able to get away before he had a chance to kill her."

Spencer stopped. His gaze snapped up as Garcia clicked once more and he caught sight of the girl he once knew. Only now was she older, and her expression was stern. The unsub had left her features tainted, early bruises and several cuts littering over her. "She's pretty distraught says doctors, but she's alive and well."

He couldn't stop staring at her, memories of high school, of that last summer, of their blissfully ignorant friendship fueling his feelings. This was not normal. None of what he felt was normal - not for him away. "He stabs them?" Emily observed, all of the team had yet to clock onto the haze Spencer had suddenly found himself in.

Garcia hummed, "Yep, as many times as it takes before they...you know...die."

"He's aggressive, he's got no remorse for these victims," JJ spoke, glancing between her file at the screen in front of her.

"Not only are they all journalists, but they're female journalists too." Rossi added. "There's got to be some reason for that too."

Hotch nodded, "Either way, we should take Y/n into our care. She's the first to get away, I doubt he's happy about that-"

The shaggy-haired boy couldn't seem to take it. The way Y/n had gotten herself mixed in like she was any other victim, like she wasn't once the most important person in Spencer's life. "Excuse me," The boy stood abruptly, not giving any reasoning to the team before he practically ran out, gasping for breath.

The team were left with nothing. Their expressions moulding into ones of confusion, and puzzlement, "What's up with him?" Morgan was the first to question. But it was only met with the same uncertain expressions and a shrug from Hotch.

Morgan took it upon himself to stand, following Spencer out into the adjacent hallway where Spencer was panic pacing. A hand swooped through his hair as his thoughts raced. "Hey, kid, slow down," Morgan soothed. He hadn't realised the arrival of Derek until he spoke. Spencer turned, swallowing the lump which had since grown in his throat. "The hells going on with you?"

He took a breath. He evened his lungs and took a moment before confiding, "I- erm- I know her, Y/n Y/l/n, the survivor." He explained and that was enough for Morgan to understand. "Well, I suppose I knew her, we lost contact when we went to college, but we had been friends."

Morgan gazed back into the meeting room, "Reid, it's okay. She's okay, you know? She survived."

His head shook, "It doesn't matter. You heard Hotch, she's still a target." She wasn't safe and that fact was only nagging at Spencer.

"Alright, alright, how about I talk to Hotch? We'll go to the hospital, you make sure she's okay yourself?" Reid had barely agreed before Morgan walked back into that meeting room.

Of course, he wanted to make sure she was okay. But that also meant seeing her, after all these years. Spencer didn't know what had changed - if anything had. And he didn't know which option was scarier. Either way, he soon found himself at the hospital, waiting at the reception desk as a doctor went to find her.

His feet were tapping, his nerves obvious to Morgan. "Reid, calm down, she's gonna be alright," He said, but no words from Morgan or a doctor was going to help. He needed to see her.

"It's not just that I'm worried about." What if everything had changed? What if nothing had? What if-

He turned and found his eyes on her. She still had that same look. That same smile, the same soft gaze, the same ease about her that Spencer craved. But this was the very moment he feared.

She wandered up to him, quickening her pace as much as she was able to considering her state. "Spencer," She said his name like a sigh of relief. Before he realised it, her arms were wrapped around his neck, melting into his touch as if no time had passed.

"Hi," He breathed into her ear; she was safe. The hug didn't last long enough. How could it? They had 12 years of missed hugs.

"I can't believe you're here, the doctor said a profiler and then said it was Doctor Reid and I-" She trailed on, "I don't know why I was so surprised. Of course, you made it big."

Spencer shrugged, "I wouldn't call this big." The boy became sheepish, almost flushed and Derek Morgan had certainly taken notice. "I'm sorry I stopped calling and I should have-"

"Oh, Spence, save it," She chuckled lightly, "I could have picked up that phone just as well as you had. I just wish we could have met under different circumstances."

He nodded, "Yeah, well about that," Spencer turned to bring Derek into the conversation, "This is Agent Morgan, he's erm gonna help."

Morgan sent his usual cheeky smirk as he did with any pretty lady, "It's good to meet you, sweetheart. Glad to hear you're feeling better too."

Spencer hadn't expected anything less from the man. "Look, I don't know if the doctor explained it to you, but we're under the belief that this unsub may still be targeting you."

"Unsub?" She reiterated.

"The killer that went after you." Morgan answered, "Unknown subject, unsub for short."

"We erm- we have to take you in, make sure you're safe kind of thing," Spencer explained, fidgeting with his fingers as she glanced between them and the girl in front of her.

Her pupils grew worrisome, "You think I'm still in danger?"

Spencer hated that word. Even the thought of Y/n in danger made his spine shiver. "You're the first to get away, we erm- we don't think he'll be very happy about it. He could lash out, many unsubs, new unsubs especially, a victim getting away could be like a double stressor, he could be on a rampage, he could be doing nothing but think about getting to you." He realised he was rambling and his words were only worrying the girl more, "Sorry, I just, I want to make sure you're safe."

But Y/n understood, "It's alright, Spence. I'll go grab my things."

With that, a rush filled the girl as she turned her back on the two agents, wandering back into the hospital room she had come from. Spencer's eyes hadn't left from where her figure was once standing. This was personal for him - even if he hadn't seen the girl for years now. "She's not just someone from high school, is she?" Morgan realised as he observed Spencer.

He turned to him as if he had just left the trail of thoughts in his mind, "Hm?" He turned back to look at Morgan.

His response had only made Morgan smile, "Y/n, she seems more to you than that."

"It was..." The boy thought back to it, to that Summer, he didn't know how else to describe it, what they had, her. "Complicated."

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

12 Years Prior, Las Vegas

Y/n always had something Spener didn't: Popularity. Well, in a way. Spencer was cast away from many of his peers. A social reject. While, Y/n was a social butterfly of sorts. She took to a crowd with ease. The type of girl that could make friends with anyone.

The boy had certainly hit the jackpot when he was assigned to tutor her. Over the course of several sessions, they had bonded over literature, future college plans and, surprisingly, Y/n's distaste to certain 'jocks' - as the social hierarchy liked to describe them as.

She was the only reason Spencer turned up to the end of year house party. Crowds weren't his thing, drinking neither. But she...she was worth it.

"Spencer!" The girl gleamed as he wandered into the house. 

He didn't belong at all. His shoulders were stiff, his glasses at the edge of his nose. But, despite such, Y/n still took him into a longing hug. "H- Hi." He greeted, his eyes flickering all over the place. From the demolished kitchen to the living room where drunken teens were dancing on top of couches and coffee tables.

Her brow raised, "Come on, we'll get you a drink." Her hand slipped into his, bringing the boy back to his attention: her. "You do drink right?" She checked as she guided him towards said demolished kitchen.

"Erm, not a heavy drinker but, sure I can have one."

"You sure?" She spoke ever so softly, "You know you don't have to."

"Just one." He offered her a smile.

She grasped a few bottles: vodka, rum, tequila. "Pick your poison."

Spencer had simply shrugged, a chuckle at the tip of his tongue, "I'll have whatever you're having."

"Rum it is!"

She poured the two the same drink - almost half liquor, half mixer. Spencer coughed when he swallowed, causing the girl to giggle, "Too much?"

But Spencer simply shook his head, "Just perfect," He almost joked as he leaned onto the kitchen counter next to the girl, "I almost didn't come," He admitted.

"I don't blame you," He gazed down at her answer, his expression urging her to add some context. "Ashley James puked up after two drinks, Kacy and Liam broke up, now Liam's making out with Polly. It's just...a mess." Her eyes rolled. "But then again, what was I expecting?"

Spencer smiled at her. She was good at knowing like everything. While he was filled with facts and statistics, Y/n knew everything about everyone. Within one look, she knew your secrets. Maybe that's why she was so good with people. "We can go somewhere else if you want?" He suggested.

His question brought along an idea for the girl. With her free hand, she took Spencer's and led him out into the back garden. Whoever lived here was almost rich. Well, rich enough for a pool and a pretty big outdoor area. "Come on," Y/n urged him as she pulled the boy towards the edge of the pool.

She slipped her shoes off, sitting down and letting her legs dangle into the fresh water. Spencer watched her for a moment before joining her, the two sipping on their drinks. "Better?" She asked him.

He nodded, "Much."

"At least we've got Summer now, no more being forced to see them assholes." She joked.

Spencer's brows narrowed in thought, "You mean the assholes that you were friends with until you met me?"

"Well you got me there, Spence." She shrugged, "Social survival, that's what I call it. It's not as if there won't be similar people in college. I mean, fucking sororities, semi-pro football leagues, frats?"

"I'm sure you'll fit in amazingly at Princeton." His smile seemed to falter at his own words.

She gazed at the boy who seemed captivated by the slowly swaying water below them, "We'll still call you know, text, just cause we're in different places, doesn't mean anything, Spencer." Y/n attempted to comfort him.

"That's what everyone says but, I don't know." He shook his head, ignoring a thought.

But she noticed it; she noticed everything, "But what?"

He huffed and stared over at her, his eyes pooling in admiration. "You're one of the best things to have happened to me in a long time you know," He offered her a smile, "I couldn't even imagine losing you."

The girl bit her lip. Something was on her mind and Spencer had noticed. He too noticed everything about her. But he didn't ask. Partly, because he didn't have the chance to. Her eyes flickered to his lips. Then to his eyes. And before Spencer could realise, she had leant in, her lips at his. Without even realising, she had changed everything for the boy.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Spencer accompanied the woman towards a private, interview room. He would offer support and comfort but at the same time, he had a job to do. A part of that was questioning. She was the only person to know this unsub. As difficult as it would be for her, he would have to ask them questions.

"Hey," Emily spoke as he entered the room, two coffees in hand: one for Spencer and one for Y/n. "Coffee orders are here," She smiled as she placed them at the table between the two. "I'm Emily, Reid says you're an old friend."

Her eyes flickered to the man before she shook Emily's hand, "Something like that yeah."

"Well, we're here if you need anything, alright?" She said, "You're in good hands here, especially with our Doctor Reid."

With that, Emily left to join the rest of the team who were busy compiling a profile. Which left her and Spencer. This was the part he wasn't looking forward to. "I've erm, I've got to ask you some questions, it'll help us understand this unsub, help us find him." He explained. When she nodded, the boy continued, "I'm going to ask you to close your eyes, alright? And then I'm just going to go through the night you were attacked. Is that okay?"

She swallowed the lump which had grown in her throat, "Yeah," She muttered.

Y/n followed the instructions and let her eyelids close before Spencer started the exercise, "Okay, just go back to that night. You were on 9th Street, correct?"

"Yes."

"It was getting late, but it was summer, think about the air, was it still warm? What sort of things could hear, anything?"

She thought back to it. Y/n had just finished her work week, she was walking home from the Subway. "There's a group of girls on the other side of the road, they're giggling. Drunk, I assume."

"That's good, that's really good." Spencer praised, "Then when did you realise something was off?"

Her brows furrowed and she thought about it, the pit in her stomach growing, "Someone- someone was yelling. A man. I thought he was like bible bashing so I wasn't paying much attention to what he was saying."

"Think." Spencer jumped in, "Listen to him, pick any words, any phrases that stick out to you."

And she did so. Her mind ran through the memory, "Something, something about an agenda, the- the snowflake agenda? It's ruining America it's-" She cut herself off as the memory reached the worst part. "That's when he grabbed me." Her voice quickened, her breaths soon becoming uneven. "He had a knife to my neck- he pulled me to an ally. I- Spencer."

Her hand reached out over the table instinctively, "It's okay," He too had become panicked just seeing her's. "I'm here, it's over, you can open your eyes."

When she finally did, she took one breath. A sigh of relief that she was okay. And then, a single tear dropped from her eyeline. Spencer couldn't take it. He stood and she followed suit, "Come here," He spoke before taking her into a tight hug. "You're safe, I promise." 

She pulled away just slightly but never dared to break touch, "The only reason I got away was because I had pepper spray in my bag," She explained. 

Spencer thought on that and then an idea came to mind. "Come with me," The boy took a hold of her hand, guiding the girl through the bullpen towards the meeting room where the rest of the team had been.

The round table was scattered with files and papers. Garcia typed away at her laptop while the rest were debriefing. At the entrance of the pair, they glanced up. 

Before they could ask any questions, Spencer started rambling, never daring to let go of Y/n's hand. "The unsub was protesting on the street, he's some kind of right-wing enthusiast. He was going on about the left-wing 'agenda', about how it's ruining America." He explained. "Not only that, but Y/n used pepper spray on him."

Like that, they had something, "He would have had to go to the hospital?" JJ thought.

"Or at least bought some kind of medical supplies."

"Yeah, saline wipes or there's a nasal spray that helps the pain." Spencer went on to explain.

From there, Hotch turned to Garcia, "Cross check avid right-wing protesters in the D.C. areas, men with low criminal offences, things like hate crime. Then look at anyone whose been admitted for treatment of pepper spray or has bought any medical supplies to treat it."

Like that, the aggressive typing ensued. The team were all waiting, Y/n still at Spencer's side, anxious for the name of her attacker to be revealed. "I've got it, Tony Jones."

When Hotch stood from his chair, the rest of the team started to follow. "Send us the address, Garcia."

"Already done it, Sir."

Each of the team members stood, one by one walking passed Y/n. That was apart from Garcia who was still glued to her laptop, sending the address to the rest of the team. Spencer was about to turn when Y/n reached for the boy's hand once again. Her eyes filled with nothing but worry. "Do you have to go?"

Her question had made his heart ache. His eyes flickered to Garcia who was already glancing at the two, "I- I probably should but, but Garcia will stay with you." He offered.

Y/n looked back at the extravagant woman who was smiling, "Of course, I've got loads of things I can show you in my office!" She gleamed.

Y/n returned the smile before turning back to Spencer, "You'll be careful, right?"

The boy nodded, "Of course," He replied before taking her in his arms once again. But this time, when he pulled away ever so slightly, it was to place a gentle kiss to her forehead.

And like that, a soft smile, a goodbye, was passed between the two before Spencer turned away to join the rest of the team. She stared out the door of the conference room until Spencer slipped away. From there, she turned, a weak smile given to Garcia as she came to join her at the round table.

The other woman had watched the interaction and, while she wasn't a profiler, she wasn't oblivious to the world of loving. "He really cares about you, doesn't he?" She asked. Though, Garcia already knew the answer.

"I care about him just as much," Even after all this time, a piece of her heart still belonged to Spencer Reid - it always would.

"You're not just an old friend, are you?"

Y/n swallowed, glimmers of that high school Summer filling her brain. "It was, complicated." She described. "We erm, only really had a Summer as..." How could she describe it? "More than friends, I guess. And then we were both shipped off to college. And I mean, we lost contact. As a lot of people do." And 12 years later here she was.

Garcia offered her a smile, "You still love him, don't you?"

The girl giggled but gave a nod, "I don't think I ever stopped."

"Well, if my time with Doctor Reid has taught me anything, the way he is with you, I mean it's like no other." Her hand brushed at her shoulder gently, "I don't think your feeling is one-sided."

That would stick in her head for the next hour. While Spencer and the rest of the team were arresting Tony Jones, Garcia was giving the girl a tour of her office. Everything wonderful and weird. And while she tried her best to pay attention, her mind kept being dragged over to Spencer. If he was safe, if he was coming back...if, once again, everything had changed.

She knew one thing: she would make sure they didn't lose contact this time around.

When the boy finally returned, he practically rushed through the BAU to find her. She was at Garcia's side as they exited her office, "Y/n," He called.

The girl's head snapped to him, her pace quickening as she came to reach him, "Did you?"

He nodded, "He's at the station, don't worry." He assured.

"Oh, good, yeah," She spoke before a sigh fell from her lips. "So, I mean, what happens now? Do I just go home?" The idea of such, while stupid to think so, was almost disappointing. Going home meant she wasn't in Spencer's company any longer. And that wasn't something she wasn't to lose just yet.

But Spencer's reaction was a similar one, "I can walk you home, if you want of course."

Her smile grew, "I'd like that."

"I'll just erm," He gestured to his FBI vest, "I'll only be a second."

And so she watched him leave for barely a minute, coming back in his shirt. He took her hand, led her into the lift and pressed for the ground floor. A moment of silence. A moment of thought. One of which was urgring Y/n on.

She glanced over at the boy, "You know I always think everything happens for a reason." Her nerves suddenly flooded her body as she realised what she was about to admit, "And as much as getting jumped was not fun, I'm glad it brought me back to you, Spencer."

Y/n turned to face him, barely any space between them, "I missed you."

"I missed you too, Spence."

With that, Y/n made the leap. She closed that gap, their lips meeting every so soft, ever so longing. Like they had both been waiting for this moment for 12 years. And when they pulled away, her hands cupping his face and his placed at her waist, it was like they were 18 again. "Promise we'll keep in contact now?" He almost joked.

And she chuckled, "Promise."

[wonderjanga]

Stuck

Billy has been Captain Marvel since the middle of April. It’s the beginning of July. And that’s not how long Billy’s been Marvel as a whole, no, he’s been a hero for nearly two years. That’s currently how long Billy’s been in his Marvel form.

This all happened because of a, quite frankly stupid mistake. It wasn’t even a magical mistake, just an ignorant and naive one.

Billy: *walking past an alley and hears the sound of someone hurt*

His first mistake was even stopping because of that voice.

Billy: *hesitantly walks into the alley* “Hello? Is someone hurt-”

Thief: *stabs him and pushes him over before realizing he just stabbed a little kid* “Holy shit! A kid!?” *sounds horrified*

The thief then fled the scene, not even bothering to try and actually steal when he realized what he had just done. When Billy finally broke away from the fuzziness of his mind and came to it, he was laying face up on the ground and feeling a sharp pain blossom from his side. His hand moved and he could feel some blood seep past his fingers. Uh oh.

So, on the verge of death and partially delirious from the worsening blood loss, he said his magic word and was lightninged into Captain Marvel. Even as the Captain, he continued laying on the ground. The reason being that he was replaying what happened in his mind and trying to ignore the leftover blood that had been left on the alley floor. It was definitely seeping into his cape, yet he couldn’t find it in himself to get up. Why he was too busy thinking about how absolutely fucked he was over the all the concerned yelling from the DTC.

Marvel: ‘Oh my Gods. I’m going die.’

Mercury: “BILLY, WHY THE FUCK WOULD YOU EVER GO IN A CREEPY ALLEY???”

Solomon: “He thought someone was in trouble, Mercury. Calm down.” *actually sounds the slightest bit panicked*

Zeus: “Calm down?! Solomon, the boy got STABBED!”

Hercules: “Solomon, what do we do? Is the Batson boy going to die?”

Solomon: “No. Not if he stays in his godly form at least.”

Achilles: “You hear that, Batson? Don’t you dare utter that word until we find a way to fix this!” *if Billy could see him, he would be wagging his finger*

So yeah. Thats why he’s been Marvel for a little over month and a half. See, it turns out that he can’t really do anything. His body was in stasis, completely frozen in time. That meant the wound wouldn’t heal or disappear like he prayed it would. No, it would just be there until he maybe switches back and dies from blood loss, which is something he’d rather not do. You can see his dilemma.

So what did he do to combat the impending feeling of dread that he’ll never get to be Billy again? He threw himself into hero work because to be quite frank, he needed a distraction. And that’s how you could see Captain Marvel in fucking Oregon, then South Dakota, and then Alabama helping whoever. He literally expanded his patrol to cover the entire country aside from cities that were already protected by heroes. After about two of doing this, of course, this caught the attention of others, but the last person he expected was Amanda Waller. She came to him alone after he stopped a car crash in Washington.

Amanda: “Captain Marvel.”

Marvel: *looks over* “Aren’t you Ms. Waller? Is there a problem, ma’am?”

Amanda: “Yes. You’ve been seen going around the entire country. I thought you supers only stuck to your cities.”

Marvel: “I… Well, most of us do. I just have a lot of free time on my hands lately. Do you need me to back off?” *really doesn’t want her to want him to back off because running around the country has actually been a really good distraction*

Amanda: “No. Not for now. Tell me, what do you mean by free time?”

Marvel: “Uh…” *confused as to why she cares* “I guess you could say I switched to heroing full time.”

Amanda: “Interesting.” *stares at him intensely*

Marvel: *starts to get nervous cause her stare reminds him of Batman a little* “Y’know, Miss Waller, Supes tells me your bad news all the time. Something about you hating us?”

Amanda: “He’s right. I don’t respect your kind and the slightest.”

Marvel: “My kind?”

Amanda: “Superheroes. You’re a threat to national security but you can also be useful if you’re on the government’s side.”

Marvel: Is this you proposing that I join up with you guys again?

Amanda: “Unfortunately, yes. Before the 60s, superheroes used to practically work for the government. So, I have a proposal for you.”

She wanted him to do some contractual jobs for the government. Which was no biggie. He remembers doing a few with the other Fawcett heroes and even some with the JSA.

Marvel: ‘Do you think we can trust her, Solomon?’

Solomon: “Just barely. I don’t believe she’ll stab you in the back, not yet anyways. I assume you’ll be working with that so called ‘Suicide Squad’ so she’ll likely want someone to keep them in line. That and aside from the shark man, they probably want another heavy hitter.”

And with that, Marvel shrugged and said “sure, why not?” It was more work for him to busy himself with anyways. Now, he won’t admit it to any of coworkers, but those Suicide Squad guys are actually pretty fun if you ignore that half of them are psychopaths and murderers. Captain Boomerang especially. The man was really funny when he cursed out people. There was also Harley Quinn, or Harley as she asked him to call her, who was also pretty funny too. Also, there was a lot of killing that occurred on these missions. Like, a lot.

Harley: “Geez, Cheese! I didn’t think I’d ever see a super so blood lusted before!”

Marvel: “Ah… my bad. It’s been a long while since I’ve been allowed to do something like this without having to worry about Mr. Batman Sir kicking me out the league for it.”

Captain Boomerang: “Huh…? Mate, are you saying you’ve killed people before?”

Marvel: “Yes?” *honestly surprised they didn’t know* “Back in the olden days when your parents were maybe kids, heroes were allowed to kill. That included me. Though I only stuck to murderers and rapists and all the junk. *wipes a bloody hand on Deadshot’s back*

Deadshot: “Wha- don’t wipe your fucking hand on me!”

Marvel: *stares for like three seconds before wiping his hand on him again*

Deadshot: *takes out his gun as if that’ll do anything* “I just said stop that.”

Though, his contracts for the missions ended after about a month and he said bye to them about a month later.

After his relatively short time with them, he went back to basically patrolling the country again. Which, although it wasn’t mentioned before, made his popularity as a sensational hero increase because this man wasn’t just protecting his city, he was protecting his country.

Now, left to his own devices once again, Billy let his mind wander as he was rescuing people from a burning building in California.

He thought about Fawcett. About his job at Whiz. Gosh, he was probably- no, definitely fired due to the month and a half of absence. (He wasn’t. Mr. Morris and the staff were all worried sick about what happened to him.) There was also Freddy. He’d only see the boy every now and then when he looked down to the crowds in the city. He wondered if he was upset. He’d hoped not. At this moment, Billy really really wished he had told Freddy about him being Captain Marvel. That way he wouldn’t feel so alone.

Oh, but you can’t forget the Justice League. Don’t think any of this behavior has gone unnoticed. They have been thinking about ways to bring this up to Marvel for a while. The team finally hit its breaking point when Batman shared that Marvel had been seen talking with Amanda Waller, and working with the Suicide Squad. How they found out? On one of the missions, the Squad had gotten caught and taken into a secret organization’s base. (They weren’t actually. They were mostly pretending so they could just get inside.) This was an organization Batman had been monitoring for a while. As a result, the man had obviously hacked the system and made sure to get updates on anything new. Imagine his surprise when he sees the pictures of each Squad member, including Marvel, all rocking the organization’s prison uniforms. So yeah, not Billy’s best moment for Bruce to catch him in.

Supes: “I just don’t understand! Why would you work with them?! They’re villains!”

Marvel: “I’m sorry! I just needed something to do. They’re really not that bad once you get to know them.”

Supes: “Not that- NOT THAT BAD?!”

Marvel got yelled at for like 20 minutes and only after making numerous promises about, never working with them again, did they finally let up.

Another month later, and that brings us to the present. It’s still the beginning of July. Billy didn’t know how much longer he could take this. He was growing restless because he might have to be Marvel forever. His villains were growing restless due to the fact that he kept leaving Fawcett and was barely around anymore. And unbeknownst to him, Freddy and Mr. Morris were already restless looking everywhere for him.

Thankfully, the Wizard finally came up with a solution that might actually work. It involved the Rock and a whole bunch of complicated magic. Billy wasn’t willing to explain. Anyways, the first thing Billy did when he finally was allowed to be Billy again, was go find Freddy.

Freddy: *walking down the sidewalk, keeping an ear and an eye out for any news of Billy*

Billy: *looking around for Freddy and spots him from behind* “Freddy…?”

Freddy: *pauses and whips around* “Billy!?”

Billy and Freddy: *stare at each other for a bit*

Billy didn’t even get to register what was going on before Freddy rushed over as fast as he could. The other boy dropped his crutch in favor of crumpling against his friend in a tight hug. They ended up sobbing together on a bench after that.

[slytherinshua]

YOUR WOUNDS WRAPPED WITH MY LOVE

genre. fluff. tiny bit of angst. mafia au. warnings. descriptions of a stab wound. blood. knives and guns. some profanity. kissing. they kinda argue but very mildly. i researched a little on how to treat wounds but pls don't expect it to be too accurate 😭. pairing. fiancé!jeno x reader. wc. 1.5k. request. no. a/n. so ever since the concept trailers this jeno has been the only thing on my mind I swear 😔 and nursing trope is one of my fav tropes ever so I joined the two together and was very delulu 👍

read part 2 here !

“Again?” You asked, less than happy at the sight of the tall man who stood against the doorframe, one hand clutching his side painfully. Lee Jeno always disappeared without warning on another mission only to return, usually injured, for you to patch him up. You had urged him to hire an actual medic for the job, but he refused, saying he didn’t trust anyone but you to get that close to him. That was a few years back when the occasions for it were still rare. You were alarmed at how often he seemed to be going out, and returning with increasingly worse injuries.

Your knowledge and skill with patching up wounds— dagger wounds, bruises and scrapes from physical altercations, hell, even gunshot wounds— was a lot better than years ago. You were confident in your ability to get your fiancé back to health, but you weren’t pleased with how often you had to. No matter how much you pleaded with him to let his body rest, he would more often than not, be out again just hours after you had tended to his bleeding body.

“I’m sorry.” He grumbled out. You would have been shocked by how hoarse his voice had become if this was the first time, but you were all too used to it. Your heart still clenched painfully seeing him in that state.

He could barely walk, blood dripping a little from where his hand pressed tightly to his left side, his face scrunched in pain as laboured irregular breaths left his mouth. 

“Come here. Sit down. Tell me what happened.” You said quietly, already having gotten out the box of medical supplies. You were ready with the bottle of saline already, but it wasn’t anywhere near the top of Jeno’s worries. From the tone of your voice, he could tell you were mad at him. Or maybe it was mostly disappointment? A touch of worry, perhaps.

He made his way towards you, carefully limping towards the bed until he could gently lower himself onto it with his weight supported by the bedframe. He sat still as you gently took off his shirt, eyes assessing the dark red spot that stained the side of his stomach and up his ribcage. You glanced up to his face, and he met your eyes for half a second with a slow breath out.

“Knife. It’s not that deep, I stopped their hand before they could push it in very far.” He whispered, and then shut his eyes tightly when you dabbed a little at the wound with a soft wet cloth soaked in saline.

“Are you staying for long?” You asked, guarding your heart for what his answer would be. You loved Jeno— you loved him more than anything, and you tried to be as selfless as you could regarding him and his job. You never put up a fuss about having to patch him up, and you only ever gently tried to persuade him to be more careful. But it was hard, really hard. You couldn’t help but be hopeful that he might be able to stay for a bit longer with you. You hated how you only seemed to be seeing him to treat his wounds for the past month.

But it only reminded you of how he was by far the most selfless person you knew. 

Countless threats had always been looking for Jeno’s weakness. And you happened to be the most vital one. You were unspeakably precious to him, and unfortunately, his rivals knew that. Of course, he did everything he could to protect you. You trusted him with your life. There was no one else who you would ever trust as much as him. And he had never lost your trust. You had never even had a scratch delivered to you. But the tradeoff of the protection that Jeno made sure you had was his own life being put at risk almost every day.

Every cut, stab, or bruise that littered his fair skin were marks of how determined he was to keep you safe. The least you could do was treat his body in return with your gentle hands, wiping away the blood, wrapping the wounds carefully, and stitching them up when needed.

Jeno answered your question with only a silent nod yes. Although relief filled your body that he wouldn’t be out again immediately, you still focused on the more important task at hand. You could enjoy his company once he wasn’t bleeding.

“Are they still after you?” You rummaged around in the box for the antibiotic ointment, dabbing a bit on your finger before leaning closer to apply it. “This’ll sting.” You muttered as a warning before dabbing the wound as carefully as you could. Jeno tensed up, his fingers bunching up the sheet of the bed as he did his best to stay still.

“Talk to me. It’ll help distract you.” You told him, pausing your application of the antibiotics to rest a hand on his shoulder, providing a small bit of comfort.

“They’re… They’re after you, not me. You know that.” He whispered out as you continued to treat the wound. “They can’t take me by themselves— they’d be fucking stupid to try. I made sure that they won’t bother us for at least a month. I’ll have to talk to Renjun and Donghyuck about our next course of action.” You hummed in understanding, grabbing the roll of gauze next. 

“You need to rest your body, Jeno.” You said quietly. You could tell he was about to protest, so you interrupted quickly, “Doctor’s orders. Don’t pull anymore dumb shit.”

“It’s not dumb shit. It’s to protect you.” He argued back, clenching his jaw.

You sighed, starting to wrap the white cloth around his waist, “I know. But you said yourself that you have a month. At least for a week of that month, you need to rest and recover.” 

Your fiancé seemed unsettled at the thought of a whole week of rest; a week of letting his guard down. It was almost unheard of for him. He knew from experience that as soon as he let himself relax, something unexpected would happen. But maybe you were right. Maybe a week of rest is what he needed.

You secured the wrap tightly, and mumbled out how you were all done. Jeno just stared at you while you cleaned up, soaking up the face he hadn’t gotten a chance to study for the past month. He felt incredibly guilty for how often he had been gone, and even more so for how often he had let you see him like this. He knew you hated it, but you never complained. He didn’t deserve you.

“I love you.” He spoke suddenly, interrupting the cold silence of the room. You shut the metal drawer slowly, back still turned to him as you let a small smile grow on your face. You hadn’t heard those words from him in a while. You turned back to sit down next to him again, your eyes staring into his.

“Won’t you say it back?” He whispered, reaching for your hand; your left hand, the one that adorned that diamond ring he had given you months prior. You let him pull you closer as his right hand enclosed over your left. His fingers felt a bit rough, but they were warm and comfortable. With his left hand on the back of your neck, he gently guided you forward until his lips closed over yours.

You could just barely taste the metallicness of blood from the slight cut to his bottom lip. But you didn’t focus on it, too absorbed in the gentleness of his kiss and how perfectly his lips felt against yours even after years had passed. He pulled away, resting his forehead against yours, his eyes still closed as he caught his breath. 

You pecked his lips again, “I love you too. Always.”

He visibly relaxed at your words and dropped his head to your shoulder. You sighed, threading your fingers through the hair at the bottom of his neck, holding him closely. He shuddered quietly, and you frowned.

“Cold?” Your hand ran up and down his back slowly, feeling goosebumps rise from the chill. You traced one of the many scars that marked him, stopping at the dip of his scapula and muscle. You reached behind your back, feeling around along the mattress for a blanket. You caught hold of it and gently draped it around Jeno. 

You smiled fondly at the way he nestled his head a little closer to the crook of your neck. From his breath, you figured he was already almost asleep. You didn’t want to disturb his sleep, but you knew the position would quickly get uncomfortable, so you shifted his head down to your chest and laid back until you hit the mattress. He didn’t protest at all, but shifted into a comfortable spot in his half-asleep state. With his head on your chest, his arm around your waist, and his legs tangled with yours, you found the new position to be much more promising for getting good sleep.

You pressed a kiss to his forehead and made sure the blanket covered his body before you closed your eyes as well.

↳ nct dream taglist: @kangtaehyunzzz,, @eternalgyu,,

[yandere-romanticaa]

There's something so oddly sweet about the "childhood friends to lovers" pipeline in fiction, but with Aemond Targaryen it takes such a deliciousy dark turn that my mind couldn't help but to linger on it.

Aemond can still recall every single harsh word his family has even thrown his way, how he can still feel the way his eyes would get wet but he had to hold it all in, because he could not afford to let himself to show even an ounce of weakness, not even to himself. Countless hours were wasted with him staring off into the distance somewhere, admiring the noble beasts which were flying high above in the sky, far away from the reach of anything and anyone.

Those were the times he was most envious of not having a dragon of his own. The green little beast known as jealousy would take over, causing him to want to step off the deep end.

Just as he felt the skin of his knuckles threatening to rip due to his tight grip, a warm pair of hands would make their way to him and hold onto him gently, as if he actually mattered somehow in the grand scheme of things.

Most of the time he would just stand there and let you embrace him, his heart doing cartwheels in his chest as his luscious blonde was carried by the wind. Although, if he had a particularly rough day, he would sometimes simply melt into your embrace. Cheek against cheek, Aemond could feel the worry radiating off you in spades.

It was dreadful how absolutely euphoric that made him feel.

You were his only real playmate growing up, causing him to become dreadfully possessive over you. It got so bad that Aemond outright forbade Aegon and Haelena of all people from even looking at you, let alone actually seeking you out. None of the other children in court were safe either as rumors spread fast that they ought to steer clear far away from you, lest they wished to suffer Aemond's thorny wrath.

The little paradise Aemond had cultivated for himself was not meant to last. One the same night he finally claimed his dragon, you had vanished along with your family.

He still remembers how excited he was to share the news with you, how he wished to tell you that once he was skilled enough he wished you to be the first person who would fly with him on his dragon.

No one else had the right to that privilege, absolutely no one.

But, things didn't go to plan. And truly, when do they ever?

Aemond had lost a lot that night and gained just as much. He had claimed a dragon, Vhagar, one of the largest and strongest dragons there were. In just one evening he became a one man army, there was nothing that could hold him back.

He can still feel just how tight the chair was he sat on as the maesters stitched his damaged eye, how hot the cracking fire next to him was, just how loud everyone was being... It was all irrelevant. The moment he could, he was going to seek you out and tell you everything, share each and every detail he could about his dragon...

... Until his mother told him the news.

Your family relocated due to some personal reasons and as Alicent went on and on about that, little Aemond felt his world shatter in a heartbeat.

He would rather take ten thousand cuts and stabs to his eye than ever face the pain he felt once he learned of your departure.

"It's for your own good too..." he can recall his mother saying, her voice sounding a little defeated.

"You shouldn't tie yourself to one person like you already have... I worry about you, Aemond."

That dark and stormy night, Aemond had made two vows to himself, vows he was going to sign with his own blood if he had to. The first was that no matter where in the world you were, no matter how far your family may try to take you, there would be no distance he would not tread, no man, woman or child he wouldn't slay just to hear the sound of your voice, to feel your soft skin, to be with you.

And the other was that he would make due on his promise of giving you a ride on Vhagar. He was in your debt for even trying to claim the mighty beast, it was only fair.

Aemond Targaryen took those two vows and kept them under lock and key, hidden deeply in his dark, which grew darker and darker. At the rate he was going, he would turn into a more terrifying beast than the actual dragon he had. Although, even dragons had their hearts.

You just happened to be Aemond's.

And he was going to come to you one day, soaked in the blood of his enemies, his arms open wide as he makes his way to embrace you once more.