#he still just rings some alarms bells in my head is all

[killerpancakeburger]

KNIGHT IN SHINING KHAKI

Gif by @bastardcompany

SUMMARY: You've angered the wrong officer. You think you're a goner when Johnny sweeps in to save the day.

PAIRING: Soap x f!Reader ("her" is used to refer to reader once, that's it) (+ Reader's hair is long enough to grab)

TAGS: Civilian!Reader, Depressed!Reader, Insecure!Reader, Angry!Soap, Protective!Soap, GuardDog!Soap, canon violence, hurt/comfort, swearing, blood mention. Ghost makes an appearance as a matchmaker lol. The love is requited they're just insecure idiots. Making Shit Up for the Plot/military inaccuracies.

WORD COUNT: 2.7k

A/N: My original prompt for this was: civilian!reader sees Soap in action and gets Horny. No Scared Just Horny.

Then I found out that Soap canonically beat up an officer. I am also obsessed with this video.

Part 1. Part 3.

This is it, you thought to yourself. 

This is how I die.

The day had unfolded like any other. Your shift was over and you were locking up your office, as usual. Your attention was focused on your hands’ motion, your guard dropped, your back exposed.

This explained why, when the stranger grabbed your hair and bashed your head against the door mercilessly, you didn’t see it coming in the slightest. The fact that you had zero combat experience while the person manhandling you was a decorated military officer obviously made matters worse, but at the moment of the assault, you didn’t know that.

The thud of the collision was eclipsed almost immediately by the pain exploding in your face. Half-stunned, all you could comprehend at the moment, every single signal sent by your brain was compacted in one word: suffering. Sharp, all-encompassing. You yelped, your hands vainly pushing against the cold, hard surface to get away.

“I've finally found you, you little snitch. Didn’t think you'd get away with it, now did you?”

Despite the blood thumping in your ears, and how groggy the hit on your head made you, his words reached you perfectly. They were seeping with fury and disdain. His voice didn’t ring a bell, so you tried to turn your head to glimpse him, if only at the corner of your eye, and he granted you some leeway to do so.

Perplexity filled you as you finally caught sight of your aggressor: you've never seen that man before.

“I don't even know who you are,” you winced.

Talking back in your situation would be judged stupid and reckless by a majority of people. Laying low assured more chances to avoid harm.

However most people hadn't been mugged at knifepoint like you had been, and most people valued their lives way more than you did.

Once the confusion and incredulity subsided, the pain still vivid but manageable, you were left with frustration and anger towards your interminable bad luck and the man behind you. His aversion was harder to take seriously when it seemed to have no foundation.

The grip on your hair tightened, making you grit your teeth.

“I'll refresh your memory, then.”

One part of you managed to be pleased to know that this mystery would be solved; the rest was ringing alarm bells when hearing the underlying threats in his tone.

“Weeks ago, you filed a report for embezzlement.”

You frowned, having no recollection of his claims, before a memory emerged. You saw them in flashes: the sudden, abnormally high spendings, the certificates full of anomalies, the incoherent dates; all this lead you to complete a reporting form, just as your job required you to. It was just a formality. You hadn't even even paid attention to the name attached to the expenses, therefore the officer was still anonymous.

Your aggressor scoffs menacingly, easily reading on your face that you remembered.

“They're gonna strip me of my rank and throw me in jail because of you. I'll make you pay even if it’s the last thing I do.”

That last sentence was finished in an almost shout, making you flinch, wishing you could pass through the door.

You quietly resigned yourself to your fate. No one was coming for you. You were no stranger to the inner workings of the military - no one would dare cross an officer that high-ranked for your sake. 

I've lived a good li- well, no. A pretty shitty life, actually. But at least I can say I did the right thing.

Just as you closed your eyes and braced yourself, hoping this wouldn’t drag on, a Scottish-accentuated roar resonated in the empty hall.

“Get yer hands off her-”

You had never heard Soap sound so enraged, nor his pitch so gravelly. Relief flooded through you at the sound of his voice, blended with gratitude. Tears stinged the corners of your eyes.

All of a sudden the unyielding grip on your hair was gone, the sound of something violently hitting the wall punctuating your newfound freedom. 

“-ye fucking bastard!”

You immediately turned around to see what was happening, leaning against the door behind you. Your legs were too shaky to be reliable. The harmed side of your face was throbbing in pain as you took in the scene with wide eyes.

Johnny had pinned the officer against the wall with one forearm across his chest. He dealt him a punch to the face powerful enough that the resulting thud made you grimace, despite not feeling any sympathy for his target.

He managed to administer a second blow before his adversary snapped out of his stupor, and the advantage he gained from taking him by surprise ran its course.

As your assailant defended himself with the strength of someone backed into a corner, you couldn't help but fear for Soap's safety for a moment. Despite knowing that one's rank didn’t reflect their fighting prowess, a rush of anxiety passed through you at the idea that he could lose that confrontation.

Nonetheless, he quickly put your mind at ease as his skills proved to be largely superior. The gap between the two was deep enough that it was obvious even to a neophyte like you.

Paralyzed, you couldn’t do anything but stare at the display of violence with a mix of morbid fascination and sadistic satisfaction. Honestly, if you could borrow Soap's body, you would without a doubt inflict the same treatment on that man. Maybe worse. Fair payback for the threats, the smashing of your face, the probable trauma you'd get from this. Maybe not that fair. But maybe for once you'd stop trying to act like a paragon of virtue.

You should have been scared, you realized. You had never been involved in a fight before. You had never witnessed firsthand the brutality Johnny was capable of, despite being aware of it, between his status as a soldier and the reports you read. The dog tags jingling from his neck and the khaki of his uniform were like so many visual reminders that he was a killing machine. His ferocious wrath, his yelling and his punches should have made you cower in fright.

However the only feeling inhabiting you was safety, as paradoxical as it sounded. Soap was safe, you were convinced of it, consciously or not.

This whole ordeal felt like it lasted an eternity and a minute at the same time. You blinked and out of nowhere, Johnny was straddling the officer on the floor. Blows kept pouring in but they were one-sided - the sergeant had gained the upper hand. The rhythm of his strikes seemed attuned to the beatings of your heart. Each resonated inside of your ears with your skull as their echo chamber. The noise was loud enough to cover your own thoughts.

As you focused on your breathing, you managed to slow down your heartbeats, and the blood-fueled pump between your ribs no longer felt like it could burst out of your chest at any moment. You failed however to contain the tremor in your hands.

You chose to focus on Soap's hands instead. They were soaked red from blood spilled, but not his. Specks of crimson sprinkled his hair, his face, his neck, his t-shirt.

There was a certain sort of lethal beauty to this brutal display that you couldn't help but contemplate in reverent silence: the way his bicep swole when he threw his arm back before hitting his target. The tightening of the muscles beneath the tanned skin of his arms. His icy stare. The harsh line of his jaw. His stern, inflexible expression, one he usually wore in meetings or after Price gave the order to leave.

The expression of someone who would stop at nothing, provided a bleak little voice in the back of your mind. The idea didn’t bother you nearly as much as it should have.

“Not gonna make him stop?”

The familiar grunt of Ghost's voice almost made you jump out of your skin. You pivoted and the behemoth of a lieutenant was there, in casual clothes, right by your side. You had no idea when he arrived or how long he's been standing there, quiet like a shadow.

Something dark flashed in his brown eyes as his gaze lingered on the hurt side of your face.

“Why would I show mercy to someone who would have granted me none?” you scoffed bitterly.

“Someone's bloodthirsty.”

“You're one to talk.”

“Didn’t say it was a bad thing.”

You turned your attention back to Soap and Ghost did the same.

“I doubt he would listen to me.”

“He would,” stated the masked man, with the assertiveness of someone announcing a conviction. 

“But if ya don't believe me…”

A beat, then.

“Oï, Johnny!”

The shout was nonchalant, like it was something he did often, calling off his sergeant from some prey like the Scotsman was his personal attack dog.

The effect was immediate.

Soap abruptly froze, blinking a couple times as if awakening from a trance. Then he perked up, and turned around, eyes searching. The first sound that left his lips was a call of your name. His gaze latched onto you and didn’t let go as he stood up and rushed towards you. The naked vulnerability, the raw openness in his voice and on his face were so earnest that they felt like a Cupid's arrow shot straight between your lungs. It left you devoid of speech and motion, so as Johnny reached for you, all you could do was try to convey your reassurances through your eyes; that you were mostly fine, and so grateful, but worried for him, that he made everything better-

His arms closing around you made the outside disappear, and suddenly the whole world came down to Johnny, and only him. His embrace was enjoyable for a second before the pressure of his body against your face woke up your contusions. You let out a muffled cry of pain and he released you immediately, swearing and apologizing. However his hands didn’t leave you, grasping your shoulders.

“C'mere hen, lemme have a look at ye.”

“Oh, I'm fine, you should worry about-”

Your voice pathetically died in your throat as he cupped your face, leaning over, way too close for your heart to not start stammering uncontrollably.

The combined attention of his fingertips on your skin and the turquoise of his eyes roaming your visage turned your cheeks into a blazing inferno.

Unable to maintain eye contact, your gaze wandered over his own injuries, a split lip and a couple of bruises.

Suddenly he grabbed your chin between his thumb and index, tilting your face one way and the other. Your skin flared up at the contact, pleasant yet nervous tingles scattering all over your body.

“Ye sure he didn’t hit ye on that side? Yer a wee bit red.”

You bit back a whine of complaint at that comment. He couldn’t be that oblivious.

“Yer makin’ it worse, Johnny.” sneaked Ghost, the amusement manifest in his voice - at least to you.

Soap looked up to him, frowning in incomprehension, indignant. 

“The hell ya on aboot L.T.? How am ah makin’ it worse?”

You panicked.

“Shut up Riley!” you hissed, in a desperate attempt to put a stop to his shenanigans, forgetting that you were supposed to be severely intimidated by the masked man.

That drew a gruff chuckle out of him. Your sudden outburst caused Johnny to release you.

“Not that I'm not glad to see you, but why are you two even here, anyway?”

You were kind of proud of your ability to change the subject.

“Was comin’ tae get ye fer a game,” smiled Soap, and it reminded you of a pet proudly presenting its owners with its findings.

“This one wasn’t coming back, and neither of you were answering your phones, so we figured somethin’ went wrong. And we were right. This poor fucker is wanted. Called in reinforcements to deal with him.”

Footsteps’ noises caught your attention. A group of soldiers in uniform seized your aggressor and brought him to his feet, before unceremoniously shoving him in the direction opposite of you.

“Gotta tell Gaz the game ain't happening tonight.”

By the time you took in what Ghost had said, and turned away from the procession, he had already disappeared.

“This isn’t over,” menaced the officer, passing by your spot as he was hauled away. “When I get out-”

“Shut the fuck up,” snarled Soap instantly, protectively positionning himself in front of you.

“Found yourself a faithful guard dog, uh?” the other man taunted.

One one hand, that last remark wasn’t so far from the truth - he had been acting a lot like that: barking threats, baring his teeths, standing between you and the menace, reducing a man to a bloody pulp for hitting you…

But on the other hand, letting that piece of shit talk to Johnny this way was simply out of the question.

Before thinking, you found yourself walking in front of the sergeant and retorting.

“What, jealous he's ten times the man you'll never be?”

Fortunately for you, he was dragged away before he could snap anything back. That didn’t prevent you from regretting your snarky comment immediately. It had been a purely impulsive urge, the kind that could make you feel heavy remorse for days, if not years. As if this seasoned combat expert needed your aid to defend himself. The idea was ludicrous.

You didn’t get a moment to mope around however, as Johnny proceeded to grab you by the hips and press you flush against him with a jubilant smirk. You couldn’t do much except prop yourself with both hands on his pectorals to avoid stumbling.

“My hero.” he praised like a smitten damsel in distress.

“Look who's talking.”

You lowered your gaze despite yourself, mumbling your reply, a half smile on your lips, embarrassed but amused.

“Going after bastards is mah job, not yours. You gutsy little thing.”

You refrained a sarcastic laughter at the nickname - gutsy and little were two things you have never been called, as far as you can remember. But you weren't about to argue with the man who just saved your sorry ass.

His fingers pressed into your flesh, sending tickles at the bottom of your spine.You were about to ask him to let you go, the position too incriminating for this public setting, when you noticed how dilated his pupils were. He had to be high on adrenaline from the fight.

You may have let yourself get lost in the blue pools of his eyes, until his expression turned grave.

“Ye sure yer good? Yer too calm about this. No need tae put oan a brave face fer me, aye?”

The genuine, serious concern in his eyes made the inside of your stomach twist.

“I'm good. You arrived just in time,” you assured.

How peculiar it felt to be the one to comfort Johnny, rather than the opposite; that the lionhearted, superhuman sergeant Mactavish might even need such a thing; that he might require it from you, of all people.

“He didn’t get to do much.”

His pretty features contorted into a scowl at the reminder of your attacker.

“That sonuvabitch… raising a hand on ye in broad fuckin’ daylight… if he ever touches ye again, I swear I’ll…”

As he kept fulminating against your assailant, you couldn’t stop an endeared smile from spreading on your lips. Listening to one of Soap's rants brightened your mood; it was familiar. The sincerity in his words and his tone was welcome. He wasn’t able to fake those emotions even if he wanted to; they spilled out of him like a waterfall. His honest worry and righteous ire towards someone who hurt you was… flattering, in a sense. It made you feel cared for, like you mattered.

Then red started dripping.

“Johnny… your nose is bleeding.”

He wiped it negligently with the back of his hand, only succeeding in smearing it over his face. You couldn’t hold back a snort.

“Bend over. It will stop faster.”

“Buy me dinner first.”

He punctuated his quip with a suggestive wriggle of his eyebrows. You rolled your eyes.

“Let's just go to medical already.” you grumbled, starting to walk decisively, albeit stiffly, in the right direction.

“Aye, aye,” acquiesced your savior, jogging a bit to catch up to you.

[starboye]

starring: nicholas alexander chavez x male reader

request: Nick is the captain of the football team and the reader is the only male member of the cheerleading team, with a phat ass and slutty waist. A slutty femboy if you will. They have this ongoing sexual tension between them which leaves Nick always sexually frustrated and on edge. But whenever things start to get heated the reader just teasingly walks away. But one night when the reader is getting ready for bed, Nick breaks into his room climbing through the window and they have nasty sex all night long

warnings: smut, really rough sex, degradation, homophobia, f slur used but just in sex, fingering, jerking off, teasing

the other girls absolutely fawned over nick, him being the captain of the football team and all made all the women want to fuck him but he only had eyes for you and your righteously phat ass, he wanted you so bad that it hurt, and adding that you were the only guy on the cheerleader team he got to see your ass bouncing everyday during practice.

you on the other hand had no interest in him but you did love teasing him, getting him on the edge just to pull off such as today when after practice nick pulled you under the bleachers with his still sweaty gear on and your marvelous cheer uniform sill luckily on.

"what do you want nick" you ask agitated already knowing what he wants "i see you had a great cheer today, mind showing it to me at my place tonight" nick comes off player like, throwing you off slightly "well i would love to but what's in it for me" you ask filling nicks mind with nasty perverted thoughts "i dunno maybe a little kissing and some other things" nick licks his lips and glances down to yours.

"mm i dont even know how you kiss" you fake pout "well we could change that right now" nick smirks "sure then" you agree which shocks nick but none the less he leans into kiss you but just as your lips are about to touch the school bell rings and breaks you both apart "aw rats and i was just looking forward to it" you fake a sad voice and walk off.

leaving nick with a boner and a head full of thoughts that lead him to the bathroom to jerk off, the whole time thinking of how much he wanted to make you his, fill you with his cock and cum which now sadly is being flushed down the toilet after he came, but this time he has a thought in mind, a devious thought.

now watching you from a far as you get ready for bed, your parents weren't home right now so lucky him, slyly opening your window before slipping in to see you just walking out of the bathroom, taking that chance to pounce on you.

"what the fuck" you yell trying to push the mysterious person off you then realizing it's nick "what the hell are you doing in my house nick" you ask ready to hit him "finally taking what's mine" he smirks before grabbing you and kissing you deeply making you drop your guard surprisingly.

"you don't get to tease me anymore now" he says bending you over your bed and smacking you jiggly ass before spitting on your hole and opening you up with his fingers, pumping them in and out at an alarming rate for quite some time "you wanna hurry this up, my parents are gonna be home in like two and a half hours" you scoff making nick a little mad.

slapping you ass to shut you up before he pulls out his cock and thrusts in into you, a loud whine shooting from your mouth that nick stops by slapping his hand over your mouth and continuing to fuck that delicious hole that he's only ever dreamed of but feels so much better in real life "for a slut like you i expected a looser hole" he teases.

"yeah and i expected better sex but here we are" you slickly say making nick stop going nice and starts absolutely slamming into you, pushing you forward with every thrust but he pulls you right back on his cock to keep destroying your inside, pushing your face down into the pillow to shut up your whiny moans from getting you both caught by the neighbors.

"yeah who's the bitch now" nick boasted watching you turn dumb under him with every pound into your tight hole "dumb little whore just wanted some cock huh to shut up his faggot mouth right" nick says listening to you babble some nonsense "you want me to fill you up hm" he asks slapping your ass to finally hear you scream a 'yes'.

he pounds into you a couple more times before emptying his load in you but oh no don't think thats the end, it's just the beginning for the night this man had with you, had you creaming all over his cock and dumping loads into you like a common whore until you passed out, cleaning you up so your parents wouldn't get suspicious, the next day he saw you he was happy as ever could be.

taglist:@mailmango @spermeboy @ghostking4m @gayaristocrat @addictedtomalepits @staarb0y @crispysoup318 @its-ares @gargoylesworld09 @znerac

[tthegoldentouch]

Pairing: Aventurine x reader

Tw: none, he's just skittish but that's understandable. Might have grammatical mistakes but English isn't my first language so whatever. The « » words are supposed to be the avgin dialect okok that's all

"Will you teach me how to speak the Avgin dialect?"

Aventurine nearly splutters out the sip of wine he was about to drink, and you observe as his whole body subtly jerks — trying to figure out if he misheard you or not.

Blink.

Blink.

Blink.

And yet, the only expression he sees on your face is a little smile, a hint of curiosity and optimism in those lovely eyes of yours. For some reason, he can't find it in him to appreciate that look this time.

"And why is that?" The tone of his voice is reserved, calculated, and for a millisecond, you are reminded of your job: meetings, negotiations and transaction. The air suddenly feels thicker, and although he maintains his usual smile, there's a subtle shift that suggests it may not be as genuine as it was moments ago.

"Because I….want to understand you?" You naively respond, unaware of the warnings you're triggering in his head, unaware of the amount of bells ringing in his ears. The red alarms flashing in front of his eyes are bright, and they blind him to everything else, drowning out your silhouette until he can't make out your face as a familiar one.

All he's seeing is red, red of a warning bell, red of sunset and endings, red of blood and—

"I'm not sure why you even thought that would be a good idea" a small chuckle leaves his mouth, and he shifts a little on the couch in an attempt to regain his belongings.

"After all, I don't even speak it anymore— a dead language is not something you'd benefit from learning."

"But I am a linguist" You counter, huffing a bit. "I wouldn't think a language is “less beneficial” just because it's dead. Besides, Sigonian isn't a dead language, and neither is the Avgin dialect. You are here, and you speak it."

Blink.

"What?" Aventurine grows defensive, and he shifts in his seat again; only a little. It's not okay to let others know of your discomfort, you cannot show your weaknesses. Luckily, you don't notice, and he continues carefully.

"I don't speak it— what are you saying? How could I possibly use that language?"

He picks his sentences with caution, leaving half of it up in the air for you to interpret. He can't bring himself to finish it— he can't use it when everyone else who spoke of it is presumably dead. That would only result in another restless night of futile attempts at subduing the void in his heart. Just because he knows it, doesn't mean he likes to think of it.

Aventurine does not like to remember the fact that he's the only one left of the Avgins, even though the cosmos is merciless in its reminders.

"You do speak it!!" You insist, and look into his eyes, and his eyes almost make you forget the rest of your sentence. "—You say things under your breath. When things go south, or when your catcakes do something super adorable and you can't hold a grin on your face. I've seen you multiple times, talking to yourself in an unfamiliar language. It is your mother tongue, is it not?"

Ah.

The words that escape your lips are curling into itself, flickering through the corners of his mind. I've seen you multiple times. Multiple times. Multiple times. Talking to yourself. To yourself. To yourself.

His mother tongue.

Oh, how he wishes he could talk to someone else, how he longs to talk to another Avgin in his mother tongue— in their mother tongue.

"Do I do that?" He inquires, and you affirm, still wearing a smile. Both of you have been smiling at each other, but only one of you is clawing through the walls of their mind trying their best not to leave the room right this moment. You're not an adversary, he reminds himself. You're not an enemy.

"I can't teach you that." He stares in an unusually cold tone, sending shivers down your spine. A tone Aventurine reserves for when a business deal has gone wry, for when he needs to put on his best performance and come back at the top. Unfortunately, this means there's no room for you to argue, no negotiations, no nothing.

You realize a bit too late that you've made him uncomfortable.

"I'm sorry" Apologies keep flowing from your mouth, but Aventurine can barely hear them. All he knows is the warning bells in his ears are growing fainter, and you are once more becoming recognizable, the blur in your face diminishing by the second.

"It's okay," he laughs softly, ruffling your hair to dispel the gloom on your face.

"I don't remember much anyway- I can't teach you anything meaningful, you know? I think Tanti or any of the likes would do much better for your next research material than my native language. We have a reputation across the cosmos anyway, that language can't be intriguing to people."

"Huh?" You tilt your head in confusion, "I'm not going to write a paper on it though???"

"Then what did you want to learn it for?"

"Did you not hear me? I said I wanted to get to know you better."

The feeling of discomfort is back with that, and Aventurine finds himself trying to figure out how to come up with a valid excuse to end the conversation. If he isn't careful, you'll catch on. And if you catch on, you'll keep insisting on trying to understand him, to mend your mistakes and to avoid something similar in future. Then, he'd simply have to cut you off before you go too far. And he'd rather not cut you off and keep you by his side. Yes please, thanks.

You speak once more, but this time you avert your gaze from his eyes and focus on the soft carpet beneath your feet. "If you're not comfortable teaching me, I won't insist. I apologize if I overstepped. I want you to know that my intentions were not malicious. I simply wanted to learn your language so that we could converse in it, and I'm open to sharing my own language with you if you're interested."

Ah. You've now started to speak with more formal and eloquent words than usual, a habit Aventurine has picked up on thanks to observing you for so many years. You always do that when nervous, along with averting eye contact- and you're now anxious.

"it's okay," he reassures you again. "I know what you mean. So no need to worry, hm?"

His words seem to have given you a confidence boost, because your next words catch him off guard again.

"Also, I found your language to be quite beautiful."

"....Beautiful?"

"Yes," you gesture with your hands as you continue, "it's very melodious, you know? I'm familiar with the Sigonian language, as it was one of the languages I studied during my major. However, the Avgin dialect sounds... different. Of course, you're a very quiet mumbler—obviously— and I couldn't understand much- but I've realized that the Avgin is not only is not only significantly different from standard Sigonian, but it also has a much sweeter sound. As a linguist, it's disheartening to think that this sweetness has gone unnoticed by the world."

The initial panic has completely dissipated for Aventurine, replaced by a sadness even he can't place what for. He has half a mind to laugh, and tell you that his people were sweet too, but no one cared for that either. He wants to say of course it sounded sweeter, the standard Sigonian had always been dry and lacking the warmth, any Avgin would agree with you. And yet, he dares not let the dam loose.

Instead of voicing his thoughts, he decides to observe you, as the ringing in his ears has now completely silenced. The you in front of his eyes is meek, likely because you've assumed you overstepped and made him upset. He hates seeing that expression on you: truly, especially when you shouldn't have to feel that guilt. He knows you well enough to know you're not lying, and for a split second— he entertains the idea of sharing the sweetness of his language with you, to have someone else who can understand his tongue.

He decides it's not an entirely uncomfortable thought.

It has been a few weeks since he agreed to teach you the Avgin dialect, and he still finds it surprising that he made that decision. Everything related to the Avgins and their culture is dear to him, including his people, his family, and of course, kakavasha; he protects them with all of his being. However, for some reason, he has chosen to share this delicate and intimate part of himself with you. After all, he is the last known surviving Avgin—this is more than personal; it's his mother tongue, for goodness' sake!

You've proven yourself to be a very very dedicated student, absorbing every piece of information he imparts like a sponge. Aventurine is unsure of how to teach you, as he himself is losing touch with his language thanks to not speaking it for years. Because of you, he now thinks more in Avgin and realizes how much he thought he had forgotten but still remembered, and how much he thought he remembered but had forgotten.

But it's nice, to be greeted in his language whenever you two come across each other. You're still cheerful and sparkling as before, but now you can greet him in his language. «Hello, how's your day going!!!» You ask him each time, with that accent and broken words that makes you sound childish more than anything. But Aventurine could care less about that; he's quick to greet you back each time, adding a new word so you learn something from each interaction.

You've told him that he's much much more expressive whenever speaking Avgin, but he tries not to think about it.

"Manro means bread," Aventurine informs you, observing quietly as you eagerly jot it down in your notepad. "I quite like the feel of pen and paper," you told him once, and he still can't comprehend why that's preferable to typing on a screen instead.

"Mañro?" you repeat, and he has to conceal an affectionate smile at your accent. It's unfamiliar and odd, but not disliked. Never disliked.

"Manro." He corrects, and you get it down this time.

"So….«manro» means bread and you said…«pani» meant water? So let's say I wanna talk about my lunch….«I water with bread eat?» Is that how you say it?"

Aventurine purses his lips, trying to appear serious. "No, it's ��I ate bread with water.» But what's with that meal choice? That can't be good for you."

You only huff in response, "hey— I'm still learning okay!! How do you say wine?"

"Mol"

"Mol— how about wanting to drink or taste?"

Aventurine raises an eyebrow, "Zumavel"

"Okok. So…. «I want to taste wine really bad. Might die.»"

Aventurine snickers at that, turning his gaze away to avoid receiving another punch from you. Despite the fact that you've opted for this inefficient learning method—since he can't provide proper grammar lessons—the sentences you're coming up with are hilarious.

"Not quite. It's «I want to drink wine so bad that I might die»" he corrects you again, and you let out an embarrassed laugh to write the correct structure down. You've promised him you'll figure out the grammatical structure and everything to him after all. And he can't say he's not hoping you actually will.

"How do you say eye?"

"Just like how you say in standard Sigonian"

"Ohhh….I've noticed that body part names are usually unchanged in the Avgin dialect. How about warmth?"

"We call it tato" he smiles at you, and your cheeks tint the faintest hue of pink as you look away.

"«Your eyes—»" you purse your lips, thinking hard to form the structure "«-Are warm right now. Very warm.»"

Aventurine's eyes widen, and for a moment he's speechless; unable to comprehend how and why. But you're blushing, and playing with the hem of your shirt, which means at the very least you aren't lying.

«I'm afraid you've become my heart» He says under his breath, the words escaping his mouth before he can even stop them. It tastes sweet in his tongue, memories of a time long gone resurfacing. He didn't even remember that saying, up until now. And now, he has a little more understanding of how sweet his mother tongue really is.

"What does that mean?" You ask him, and he merely smiles at that.

"Nothing. I just said thank you."

A/N : gah I'm sorry for that word vomit I can't stop thinking about it....like one been thinking for months about his language and what it might mean for him now that he's (presumably) the only avgin left. My mother tongue has PLENTY of dialects, and there are certain ones that are totally different from the standard (I don't understand some of those) so I kind of projected....and other than that I hope it wasn't too bad omg

[luvwestwood]

❝ DOUBLE PENETRATED ❞ - Choso Kamo, Suguru Geto

— YOUR OLD HIGH-SCHOOL CLASSMATES DO YOUR NIPPLE PIERCINGS.

₊˚༊*·˚ warnings. nsfw(18+), piercer! choso/suguru, threesome, throat-fucking, resolved sexual tension, choso has a tongue piercing, suguru lip piercing, oral sex, orgasm denial, spitting, face slapping, dp (v/anal), creampies, cum eating, taking polaroids while fucking, filth, MENTIONS OF PIERCING PROCEDURES!

₊˚༊*·˚ notes. I fear that I may have gone crazy with the fucking. choso turned out to be the one with the tongue piercing, but dw.. sug has a lip piercing. cause I wanted to focus on suguru more, after some of you loved my previous piece about him! this is a repost, I experienced a few formatting issues. ty for 900! <3 s/o to my dear rya for coming up with this amazing title 😭

4,562 words (15m read)

Finally, it had come after all; the day you were to get your nipples pierced. Standing in front of the studio, you take a deep breath— half of you wanting to back out, but the other just screaming 'fuck it.'

As soon as you enter, a chime goes off above your head, the man behind the counter hauling his eyelids up to see who it was.

He seems familiar, you thought. Long, raven colored hair; and those piercings... "..Suguru?"

His head cocks forward; like some meerkat, "Is that.. who I think it is?" Suguru hops off the stool, stepping away from the counter. Bringing you in for a big warm hug, he pulls away; taking a good look at you as he does. A silver glint catching your eye; it seems that he had gotten a lip piercing done, a metal ring hugging the flesh.

"Damn, you look good. I haven't seen you since what, high school grad'?" he warmly smiles, his forearm still resting on your back. Both you and Suguru had left high school on a good note; he had tend to hang out with the more, known people in school— although he was someone you could tolerate.

Flustered, you divert your gaze; Suguru walking back around before you could speak. "..Yeah, I never knew that you worked here," moving closer towards the countertop, you rested against your two hands, leaning slightly.

"Mhm, you probably remember Choso? He works here too. I mean, he owns this place." Suguru's eyes busy scanning the bookings, you blink frantically, trying to remember who 'Choso' was. Choso Kamo, perhaps? He adds on, "..You coming in for an appointment? For what?"

"..Choso? That's not really ringing a bell. And uh, I'm here to get my.. nips done..." your voice trails off slightly, embarrassed that your old high school classmate sees you after years; but here, in the middle of getting your tits pierced.

He smiles slightly, alarm bells ringing at those two exact words coming out of your mouth. "Ah.. Choso's gonna be heartbroken for sure if he finds out that you've completely forgotten him." He marks your name off the list of bookings, standing up straight. "Being that you were so quiet back in high school, I never expected you to get your tits done."

Warmth rushing through your body, you nervously let out a laugh, "..People change, I guess.." You purse your lips, mentally slapping yourself at how awkward the conversation has turned.

"Well said, how 'bout you come along with me. Choso's gonna be helping you out today." He steps out of the counter once again, gesturing you to follow behind him.

You both walk through some curtains leading to the back of the studio, Suguru bringing you into a room with dark interior; a leather piercing bed taking up space in the middle of the room.

Another man was sitting on a wheeled stool beside a counter, his back turned to you. Seems like he's busy sterilising some equipment..

"Cho," Suguru calls out, the man glances behind his shoulder, fully spinning the stool around in surprise. "Look who I've got with me!"

Choso's eyes widen, mouth gaped after having not see you for a few years. He looks, so different. Too different. His hair a bit longer, but he decided to keep it down. It was no longer tied up in two pigtails like back in high school; both him and Suguru have turned into.. Good looking men; real men..

"..Choso?" you quietly call out , a type of tension lingering throughout the air— a room with two guys and one girl about to get her tits pierced by her old high school classmates, ones that she last expected to see.

Suguru slouches onto the sofa in the corner, hands holding a polaroid camera. "Our old classmate here has come today to get her tits done," He sticks one eye into the viewfinder, snapping a quick photo of his surroundings. "Also- If you don't mind, we tend to take polaroids of our customers after the finished piercing. Your face won't be caught in it, don't worry."

"Uh yeah, that's fine." You flashed a smile, before placing your coat and bag on the armrest beside Suguru, behind you could hear Choso finally speaking.

"..If you wanna just take a seat right here, and make yourself comfortable." He pats on the leather bed beside him, Choso stealing a quick stare down your body, noticing what has changed about you over these past few years. Pretty face like always, a fatter ass.. and..

"..Kay," hestitant, you scoot yourself onto the bed, leaning your head against the soft cushion. You breathe deeply, nervous about the fact that they were literally about to see your tits. But hey, it's their job, right? ..Why is Suguru still here though?

Choso takes note of your anxious demeanor, adjusting the lamp above you. He goes and slips on a pair of black latex gloves, before spinning back around; stumbling with his choice of words. You dart your eyes to the Choso making an array of strange noises, until he finally knows what to say.

"I'm gonna need you to uh, take that off." He points a finger at your shirt, his hand withdrawing immediately. You quickly understood what he meant, sitting yourself up on the bed.

"Right, yeah.." Your hands like frost from feeling timid, they graze against your skin as you took off your shirt; you had chosen not to wear a bra today, as it felt like it made sense. Your nipples instantly go erect from the cold touch of your fingers.

...And a nice pair of tits. That's the last thing Choso was meant to say. He swallows some spit, offering to take your shirt to keep it safely to the side, Suguru looking at you with the corner of his eye, grinning.

You lay back on the bed, the cold leather causing you to shiver all over again. Choso wheels the stool closer to you, his hand holding an antibacterial wipe. "..Alright, I think we'll go with a straight barbell. It's one of the safest options." Nodding in response, he goes on with the procedure.

He gives the surface of your tits a quick wipe, making them jiggle slightly— Choso tries his best to not let his mind trail off somewhere else. He's pierced multiple before but, something about you just had him whipped.. Especially after not seeing you for ages.

He looks at you for a moment before leaning in, trying not to smile at you all nervous underneath him; feeling your body tense under his touch as he firmly grabs your tits to leave markings with the pen.

"..Just relax yourself for me," he says, lowly, your feet stopping their kicking down the end of the bed. You study his face closely as he focuses on leaving perfect marks over your nipples to indicate where the piercing will go, his hot breath slightly fanning over your skin. You could hear Suguru in the background humming to the music on the radio, tapping away on his phone, and the same polaroid resting on his lap.

Choso pulls away allowing you to take a look at where he had drawn the markings. It took him a lot of strength to keep himself from latching his mouth onto your breasts then and there. "Approved?" He clicks the cap of the marker back on, tossing it to the side.

"..Approved," You give him a small, affirming smile as he gets the other tools ready. A clamp in his one hand, and a needle in the other, he holds them out.

"It's gonna hurt like a bitch for a few seconds, but it will be over before you know it." Reassuring you, you could only nod once more; licking your dried lips as you had ran out of words to say.

You try not to shut your eyes as you feel the cold clamp clutch onto your nipple, thinking that it would be bad etiquette if you did. Instead, you turn your head to the side, seeing Suguru still relaxed on the couch. He grins, but before you know it; the stinging of the needle hits you, a mewl coming out of your mouth.

"Good girl, just breathe," he coos, "I'm almost done with the other one." You bite down on your lip, certain that you had left a bruise behind. What felt like more than minutes, the stinging comes to a halt; numbing taking its place. You could feel Choso lay his gloved hands on your bare stomach, letting you know he had finished. "All done, you took that like a champ."

Turning your head back to it's original position, your eyes travel down to your chest, seeing the metal barbels inserted into both nipples. You smile, Suguru coming close to the bed with the polaroid.

"Oh, they look good." Suguru puts out, "I'm jealous of whoever gets to see these." His lips curl into a smirk as his eye goes near the viewfinder. You disregard his comment, busy looking at your freshly pierced tits.

"You happy with them?" Choso asks, wiping away at some equipment.

"I love them, thanks, Choso." You say, itching to poke at them but both men attempt to grab your wrist, causing you to look up; your eyes alternating between the two.

"Don't be touching them all the time," Suguru says sternly, meanwhile Choso on the other hand says something completely different.

"If.. you know, someone wants to, latch onto them- don't allow it," Choso continues, his blood curdling at the thought of someone else taking his own work for their pleasure. "..It needs to fully heal."

Cautiously, you nod, retracting your hand to lay it down on your side. Suguru switches up the topic, excited with the camera in his hand. "Ready to take a few pics? I'd say smile, but you aren't in them anyway."

"Of course," you sit up on the bed, perking your tits out as Suguru focused the lens on them. Choso bunches your hair up in his fist, bringing the strands behind your back so that the camera could get a clearer view of your chest. His grip delicate, but your stomach churns at how his long, slender fingers scratch off your nape.

You blink at the bright flash going off, the film peeking out of the slit at the top. Suguru takes it, flopping it around in the air for the picture to come through. He sets it down on the table nearby, with an intention to take more.

"Could you move yourself a little bit to the left?" Suguru's eye still stuck in the viewfinder, he orders you around with a gesture; his only sight of you being through the lens.

"..Like this?" you respond, after scooting slightly to the side; your hair still in Choso's grip, which accidentally feels like a harsh tug as soon as you move away— immediately, he lets go.

Choso mutters quietly under his breath, "Ah..- sorry."

Suguru brings the camera away from his face, his free hand suddenly grabbing onto the side of your waist; positioning you like a delicate doll. Your breath hitches, taken aback by his sudden movements.

He puts the viewfinder up to his eye again, snapping another valuable photo of you. The film comes out of the slit again, Suguru carrying out the same routine he had done with the previous picture.

Exhausted, you lay back down on the bed; though Suguru sees this as a perfect opportunity for another pic. "Hmm... Just- stay like that, yeah?" He says, the bright flash filling your vision with white.

You giggle, feeling as if you were a model taking boudoir, fully naked. You arch your back against the leather playfully, your chest protruding and extremely close to the lens, Suguru smiling and continuing to take more photos.

Choso remains silent as he slips the gloves off, a painful strain forming against his pants as he watched you pose so lewdly in front of him, you weren't the same girl as the one he knew back in high school.

Multiple photos scatter the table; Suguru having to go and fetch more film from the drawers.

Both of you had moved to the sofa in the corner, multiple pictures of you kneeling, biting your finger with your tits perked out to the camera; all pieces of film had covered parts of the floor. You were having a bit too much fun.

Choso, his tongue pokes the inside of his cheek. Refusing to be provoked, he stands up from the stool; making his way over to the sofa to take a seat beside you.

Suguru praises you, picking up a few of the photos that had finished processing. He remains anchored between your legs, towering over your body that was kneeled on the sofa. "They came out great, don't you think?" He holds one closely for you to see, your head tilting to take a peek.

"That one looks good," you point, Suguru approvingly nodding in response; although Choso makes a sudden comment, one that caught you by surprise.

Toying with the ends of your hair, Choso twirls them around his finger. The slight touch from his fingertips sending chills down your spine. "..So, who's gonna be lucky enough to see them?" he says, calmly; his voice not showing one bit of repentance. He was certain with his choice of words.

Confused, you turn to him, suppressing a titter. "..No one, I just really wanted this for myself.." you say, Choso nodding slowly; feeling slight relief at your answer.

“Probably can’t wait to show them off, huh?” Choso’s words sharp, digging into you like daggers; “..Just walking around, tits poking through your shirt, so everyone could see..”

All of a sudden, he yanks your hair back, and you let out a wail; your eyes meeting with Suguru’s above you. Seeing him grinning at you all helpless from the top, his hand reaches down to rest on your face; thumb caressing your cheekbone.

Looking at Choso— your eye moving to the side, his expression blank; but clearly, he was enjoying every bit of this.

“..I’d say we put her in her place,” Suguru says, his voice growing low; observing how easily you succumb to their touch. You could feel Choso’s grip let loose in your hair, and instead, his lips find their way to your neck; a hum crawling from his throat.

You whimper, Choso leaving a trail of wet kisses down the soft skin of your neck, softly gasping as he managed to move you around, laying you down against the edge of the sofa.

“W-wait, Choso..” you whispered, his lips moving from your chest down to your stomach, being careful to not meddle with your freshly done nipples, his hands roaming all over the gummy flesh on your waist.

You watch as he goes down on you, until a sudden grab at your chin lures you away, “Up here baby,” he purrs, your eyes misty— Suguru’s lips lock onto yours, tongues intertwining with each other as he groans into the kiss. You manage to swipe at his metal lip ring in the midst of it; the kiss so filthy and disgusting, nothing but neediness controlling it.

Choso on the other end pulling at your pants, allowing you to shimmy them off; leaving you in your underwear. Cock harder than ever, he licks against the material, the metal orb on his tongue poking through— he had a tongue piercing? He just couldn't wait to have you. A wet stain remains on the cotton, as he nibbles at the fabric before tearing it apart fully.

You let out a breathy moan into the kiss with Suguru, the ball on Choso’s tongue prodding at your clit, he alternates between licking and sucking. Occasionally, he plants kisses on the inside of your thighs; excessively groaning as he takes in all of you.

His large hands wrap around the plump of your legs, bringing you closer to his face; his grunts tickling you each time he slurped, eating you out as if you were his last meal.

Everything going on felt sinful; two men playing with you at the same time, but oh—did you want more.

Suguru pulls away, the camera placed on the ground; a long string of saliva connecting you two. Hands trembling as he reaches down for the buckle on his belt, undoing it swiftly— not fully pulling his pants down but instead grabbing for his cock; letting it hang freely from his boxers.

Your eyes frantically blinking at the size, so girthy, and long; you grab onto and tug at Choso’s strands as you felt him fuck into you with the tip of his tongue, your mouth gaping— Suguru seeing this as an advantage to stuff your mouth full of his cock.

A guttural sound crawling out of his throat, the warmth that your mouth enclosed over his cock doing his head in. His hips move back and forth, head falling back as he dug his fingers into your scalp, bobbing your head up and down his length. “Fuck.. just like that,” he groans, looking down at you taking him whole. “Good girl, how about we train this throat of yours..”

Suguru pushes into your throat as deep as he can go, your eyes brimming with tears; the tip of your nose tickled by his pubes— “Just breathe baby, breathe..” He says so easily with a devilish grin, enjoying the pure panic on your face.

He stills in your throat for a few seconds before completely pulling your mouth off his cock— spit running down your chin, his entire length glistening with it.

You let out a cry, your head crashing back into the sofa as you feel Choso stick two digits into you, his tongue relentlessly gliding over your clit as he does so, enjoying every single one of your desperate mewls.

Suguru rewards you with a slap on your cheek, a stinging mark stays behind. Lightly tapping on the side of your face, he compels you to open your mouth; dropping an orb of spit into the hole. “Swallow it,” and you obey, sticking out your tongue to prove it. “So obedient..”

You could feel yourself getting wetter and wetter by the second, before Choso hauls his head up from between your legs. Suguru’s hands clawed in your scalp; allowing him to move you around like a ragdoll— his strength making you stand up from the sofa.

Your head tilts to one side, Suguru leaning closely to your ear; “Go and give Cho' a ride, he’ll be upset if you leave him out.”

Trying to peer your eyes down to take a look at what Choso was up to, you see him struggling to undo the buttons on his pants, so eager to spend yet another minute with you.

As soon as he gets them off, he takes his thick cock in his grasp; giving it a small jerk, spitting into his hand before rubbing the slobber all over.

“..Go on, make him feel good,” Suguru whispers, pushing you closer towards Choso— you land in his lap, mind-fucked; you immediately grab his face, leaning in for yet another sloppy kiss, Choso melting into your touch.

His hands trying to position his tip at your entrance, he pulls away from the kiss for a moment; “Come on.. Sit on it,” his eyes look up into yours, almost as if he were begging.

You glance behind you, sinking down onto his cock without thinking twice. You clutch onto the fabric of his shirt, wrinkling it all together. Choso places a few kisses on your jaw, his eyes squeezing shut at the feeling of your tight walls closing in on him.

“Doing so good for me,” he whispers against your skin, “Start to move when you can, just be mindful of your piercings.”

You nod, furrowing your brows and lips parting, foreheads leaning against each other as you start to bounce up and down, his entire length filling you up and stretching your hole out, you endlessly chant his name like a prayer.

Choso’s cold hands running through your hair, trying moving loose strands away from your face. A snap goes off behind you, a familiar white flash blinding your sights— Suguru taking a photo of this pornographic moment, he takes the film and tosses it onto the ground before bringing his attention back to you.

A hand snakes onto your shoulder from behind, possibly Suguru. A pair of hands belonging to Choso resting on your hips as you moved up and down his cock, his head falling heavy into the sofa’s cushion in pure gratification.

The hand on your shoulder rushes to your mouth, covering it as you felt another cock enter your ass; a string of muffled moans trapped against the palm of Suguru’s hand.

Two cocks fucking into you at the same time, your eyes roll to the back of your head; feeling both tips in your guts, Suguru’s cock pounding into you harder than Choso’s.

You were just full of dick, and you loved it, Choso fighting the urge to hold onto your tits bouncing in his face; knowing it would be a bad idea to. He didn’t want to risk it, possibly infecting anything.

Your ass rippling against Suguru’s pelvis, you let out a long, laboured moan, your toes curling at the sensation. Suguru’s hand reaches under your chin, his voice almost mokcing you. The tips of his fingers tap against your jaw again, “You love being stuffed with our cocks, don’t you?”

You could only nod, your eyes closing as you indulged in the pleasure; mind completely blank— fear arousing in you from how feral Suguru has become; but it turns you on even more.

“Use your words, tell me you love it. Tell me.” Suguru firmly grips onto your face, moving it in all sorts of directions.

You hiccup, tears stained with hot tears. “I-I love your cocks so much, I.. I need more,” managing to choke out, he somewhat seems satisfied enough with your answer.

He peels away from you, and so does his cock, your asshole completely stretched out; your holes aching. You try to stamp your legs, squirming from all the different things coming at you .

Choso slides out of you too, his heavy cock slapping onto his abdomen. He didn't allow himself to cum. Nor did he let you. “You hear that Suguru? The slut said she wants more.” Fucked like a whore, you felt empty and lost without any cock inside of you.

Choso pushes you aside on the sofa, getting up and making his way towards the end— Suguru swapping positions with him; this time he aligned his tip with your hole, taking over as he fucked you from behind.

Suguru’s hand presses down on your back, forcing you into a more defined arch, his hips thrusting into you mercilessly, practically fucking you into the sofa. You cry into the cushions, pleading him to slow down; your hand reaching back. Suguru snapping a quick photo of his cock moving in and out of you— getting a perfect shot of you bent over in front of him.

The crisp sound of the film leaving the slit rings through your ears, before you could hear the photo falling onto the ground.

Choso guides your head back up, bringing you to eye level with his cock, forcing your mouth back down his length. He was on the verge of losing his mind too— did he want to keep you to himself forever, so he could fuck you every hour, day, week.

You were being stuffed both ends; gagging noises emitting from your throat as Choso fucked into your front like a flesh-light, Suguru on the other end drilling into you like a mad man. His leg props up onto the sofa for leverage, allowing himself to rut into you deeper than before.

You whimper all over Choso’s cock, buckets of spit spilling down his shaft, then to the ground as he used your mouth as he desired, your holes at both end not being shown any remorse.

A cacophony of moans and skin slapping echoes throughout the room, along with the faint melody coming from the radio.

“I-I’m gonna cum in this pussy,” Suguru whines, his nails digging into the skin on your hips, clutching onto the flesh trying to fucking you back onto his cock as he chased his orgasm.

A creamy ring forms at his shaft, his hands reaching down to your clit to lazily rub circles, urging you to cum as well. “Let it out baby, m-make a mess all over me.”

You grip onto the sofa’s arm rests, letting out a long groan over Choso’s cock again, your body spasming as your orgasms washed over you. Your legs shake and jitter, both feet kicking in overstimulation.

Choso pulls you by the hair off his cock, red tip slapping against your lips as he jerked himself off to his high, forcing his length back into your mouth— ropes of warm cum coated every inch of your throat.

He slides himself out for a second, the remaining spurts of his load decorating your face. “Pretty..” He breathes out, chest heaving. Choso leans in, nastily kissing you on the lips, getting a taste of his own cum off your tongue as he does.

The sight so lewd, both your saliva and remnants of his load trickling down your mouth. You try and swallow the rest, Choso smiling, so proud.

Suguru ends up bottoming into you, his hips rocking deeply in rhythm with each time his balls tighten; your brains fucked to the point that you could only think about cock.

He spills his own load into your womb, completely filling you up with his thick cum that was bound to leak out of you as soon as he pulls out; in fact, you were stuffed with cum on both ends.

Suguru strikes a spank on your ass, tenderly massaging the flesh afterwards, spreading your cheeks as he slowly slides out; cock heavily hanging as his eyes watched his cum drip out of your stretched hole.

He reaches for the camera, taking one last snapshot of your fucked up holes as a sentimental memory, grabbing the film and tossing the camera to the side.

Suguru bends down towards your pussy, licking up a bit of his cum out of you before mixing it with some saliva, spitting the ball back into your pussy, rubbing it everywhere with the help of his fingers.

Choso walks around, slouching back into the sofa; Suguru gently seating you down beside him, being mindful of your trembling legs.

All three of you remain seated, focused on trying to calm you down; the studio was littered with film everywhere, the room stinking of pure, filthy sex— bodies warm, sticky, and covered with sweat. Everyone trying to recollect themselves; faces blushed with red.

You could feel Choso’s hands run through your hair, remembering how hard they were both tugging on your scalp earlier. Suguru also rubbing your thigh up and down, soothing your nerves. Your body ached, completely fucked out of your skin.

“..I think we should have you in for a weekly dick appointment instead.”

⊹ ࣪ ˖ ⤳ © luvwestwood ‘24. all works are owned by me, and originally come from my own head. please do not re-post on a third party platform without my permission!

⊹ ࣪ ˖ ⤳ as always, thank you for the love on each and every one of my posts. 🎀🩷

[luvwestwood masterlist]

[harrietswriting]

Hii! Could you do a dally x reader where he comes to pick her up for a date but she’s no where near ready, so he just comes up to her room to sit and watch her and looks through all her stuff and makeup? Thank you <3

an: Such a cute request thank you!! this took way too long and I don't even like it that much I'm sorry 😭 1.1k words. Please leave more requests

W: little swearing I think, flufff

Dallas Winston x fem!reader

He watches you get ready

You had woken up late.

You have a breakfast date with Dallas at 8:30 and you woke up at 8:06. You practically had a heart attack when you saw the time. Stupid alarm didn't go off! What the hell! Was it trying to sabotage your relationship? You had brushed your teeth, finished your skin care, and started to take your curlers out when your door bell rang. Oh God. You rushed to answer it. You were so embarrassed. You were panicky, flushed, in a robe, and had half of your curlers still in your hair. So, it was not a surprise to see the look of concern on your boyfriend's face when you opened the door.

"I'm so sorry! My stupid alarm didn't go off and I only woke up like 25 minutes ago," you say quickly, trying to explain your state. You felt awful.

"Woah, hey. It's fine." Dallas steps inside. "Go finished getting ready."

"It's going to take me a while." You say sadly.

"That's fine. Just means I get to spend more time with you." He says simply.

You can't help but smile. "Okay."

"Or you could just go like this. Its a great look." He teases, glancing at your hair.

You roll your eyes, but a smile is plastered on your face. "Be quiet. C'mon." You grab his hand and drag him to your bedroom. Once inside, you let go of his hand and side down at your vanity. You resume taking out your curlers.

Dallas sits down on the edge of your bed and watches you as you carefully brush you your curls then spray some hair spray on them. Then, you get out your makeup.

Dallas finds himself getting bored just watching you, so he gets up and walks over to your bookshelf. He studies the titles for a bit, recognizing books he's seen you read. You glance over at him as he opens your jewelry box and looks through it.

"What're you doing?" You ask as you watch him.

He turns his head towards you. "I don't know. Lookin'." He shrugs and turns his attention back to your jewelry. He a small smile appears on his face as he finds pieces he gave you.

"Okay." You look into your mirror again and resume blending your concealer.

Dallas fingers through your necklaces and bracelets for a few moments before getting bored again. He closes the jewelry box and walks over to you. He is about to talk to you when he spots your journal, so he picks it up and opens it.

It takes you a moment to notice what he did. "Uh- hey! That's my journal, Dallas." You reach for it, but he holds it out of your reach.

"So?" He scans a page and annoyingly smirks.

"So that's private stuff." You get out of your chair and try to grab it again, and this time, surprisingly, he lets you. What did he read?

"What?" You ask because his stupid smirk doesn't leave his face.

"Nothing." His smirk remains and his hands slide into his pockets. "You write sappy shit in your journal."

You blush a little and put your journal back. "Yeah, cause it's supposed to be private." You respond, sitting at your vanity again. "Now stop distracting me or this'll become a lunch date."

He sighs and mopes back over to your bed. He sits down again and looks at your reflection in the mirror. He thinks you are absolutely beautiful. God, he'd do anything for you, and that scares him sometimes.

"Hurry up. I'm hungry." He tells you.

"I'm sorry, Dal. I'm trying."

"Mhm." He messes with his ring for a bit before getting up and walking back over to you. He leans down and grabs your jaw. He kisses your cheek then lets go. You can't help but smile.

"You look damn good, babe." He runs a hand through your hair as you turn your head towards him.

"Thank you." Your heart picks up a little. "I'm almost done with my makeup, then I'll just need to change."

"Good. Chop chop, come on." He urges you.

You laugh a little and do the last of your makeup. Dallas watches with such admiration. You're gorgeous. When you finally finish and look at him, he can't stop himself from smiling.

"I'm done." You say

"Finally. Go get dressed."

You put your hands out. "Help me up, baby."

He huffs in protest, but he grabs your hands and pulls you up and against his chest. Dallas stares down at you. He finds your smile is so infectious. He grins back. You stand on your tippy toes and peck his lips.

"I thought I was supposed to hurry up, love." You squeeze his hands.

"You are." He lets go of your hands. "Go change, doll."

You let out a small giggle and start to walk toward the closet. You look over your shoulder at him. "I got a new dress a few weeks ago that I haven't gotten to where yet. It's real pretty."

He smirks at this, his ego spikes when he learns he'll be the first to see you in this dress. "I can't wait to see it, y/n."

You open the closet door and step in. You get out the dress. A cute baby blue cocktail dress with a white accent and a white bow around the waist. You come out and proudly hold it up.

"Put it on, doll."

"Okay." You go into the closet again and close the door, you take off your robe and slip into the dress. You were careful not to mess up your hair or makeup. A cute pair of white heels you hadn't wore in awhile catch your eye, so you slip them on. You open the door of the closet. Dallas has your journal in his hands again. He looks up and smirks.

"Sorry, doll. Couldn't help it." He puts the journal back then let's his eyes scan over you.

You sigh and decide to forgot it, for now. You smile again. "How do I look?"

He walks closer to you and his hands find your waist. "You look incredible."

Your face heats up and you look down, your smile remains.

"Ready to go?" He puts a hand on your chin and gently lifts your head to have you look up at him.

You nod. "I'm sorry again that i wasnt ready and-"

"Sh, baby, I don't care."

You shyly smile, glad he doesn't care, and loving being called "baby". He takes your hand and off you finally go to your breakfast date.

An: I'm so excited for Christmas I'm tweaking out. I love gift giving so much. Please leave requests! Happy holidays!!

[noellawrites]

Belly of the Beast - Sonny Carisi x reader

summary: Reader has been hooking up with Sonny and gets kidnapped by William Lewis, who is determined to get them pregnant against their will. Reader does eventually become pregnant and is unsure of the paternity of the baby.

AFAB reader but no specific pronouns used.

warnings: rape, abduction, torture, pregnancy, discussion of abortion, canon-typical violence

The night before you were taken was completely normal. No alarm bells ringing in your brain, no voice telling you not to go into work the following day. You were spending the night with your co-worker, Sonny Carisi, and having amazing sex as usual. It was the kind of intimate intercourse that was normal with him, making you feel so special and loved.

As detectives in the same Manhattan SVU squad, you had to keep your companionship a secret. You both loved your jobs and you knew it could cause trouble if anyone found out. Besides, Sonny was brand new to the squad, and you knew Liv would transfer one of you in a heartbeat if she found out.

It happened so fast. One moment you were grabbing a cup from the cabinet in your apartment, the next moment a gun was being held to your head.

“N-no, please—“ you gasp, mind racing. You were wearing your holster, but your gun was still locked in your safe. You weren’t thinking this morning. Your mind was scattered from last night’s events, and it was about to massively screw you over.

“Gotta say I’m offended, sweet cheeks. No warm welcome for an old friend?” William Lewis says with a sinister smile, “I just knew I had to come back for you, such a sweet young thing. Couldn’t stop thinking about what I wanted to do to you, to Olivia Benson’s protégée. Hit you both where it hurts.”

His sentence is punctuated with a swift slam of the gun to the side of your head, knocking you out cold on your kitchen floor.

—

The first thing you notice after regaining consciousness are the handcuffs attaching your hands to the pipes on the wall and binding your feet together.

The room you were in was bare except for the pipes, the cuffs and you. It looked to be a utility closet with no windows, only a lone lightbulb above you with a string attached.

Duct tape covered your mouth, leaving you unable to scream. You thrashed around, tugging on your cuffs, hoping someone might hear.

Your eyes darted around the room. Were you still in Manhattan? Were you even in New York anymore? You had no idea what time it was or even what day. Your squad had to be looking for you by now, after you didn’t show up at work.

You didn’t have to guess for long, because the door swung open to reveal William Lewis, smiling down at you.

“God, you’re even cuter than I remember. Knew I needed you right away,” he sighs, stepping inside and closing the door behind you.

“You scream, I shoot,” he says, hand moving to his side as he pulls out a gun and fixes it on you.

He leans over, tearing the duct tape off your mouth along with some of your skin.

“Gotta say, I’m pretty hurt. Detective Amaro leaves, new guy comes in and you start hooking up with him?” Lewis sighs, shaking his head.

“What do you want from me?” you huff, tugging on your handcuffs again.

“This time, I’m taking what’s mine,” he smirks, “I’ve got a bed set up for us. Thought of you with all the other holes I fucked, and I knew I had to get my hands on you myself.”

“What, you mean all the women and children you raped, beat and killed?” you snap, writhing around as he un-cuffs you from the pipes and then re-cuffs you.

“Don’t worry, I’ll give you the royal treatment. I’ve got something special for you, little one. You might’ve started out as Benson’s protégée, but you’ll end up carrying mine,” he laughs.

Your blood runs cold at his words, knowing he must be planning on raping you. You wracked your brain for all the delaying tactics that Olivia’s taught you, and everything she’s told you about Lewis’ temper.

Lewis leans over and pulls you up, grabbing his gun with the other hand and fixing it on you.

“You’re insane, you know that? I’m not letting you do this,” you grunt.

Lewis yanks the door open and pushes you out, hand holding onto your cuffed ones. You look around what appears to be an abandoned warehouse for a few seconds before you are pushed down onto a dirty mattress.

“Olivia wasn’t enough of a thrill, so you just had to come for me, is that it? What about Amanda, is she next?” you challenge.

“Olivia is boring and Amanda’s all used up,” he laughs, “you, however, are perfect for this.”

“What are you gonna do to me?” you hiss as Lewis turns you over, pinning your hands under your back.

“This sweet little womb is going to carry the next rapist, the next little life-ruiner,” Lewis says, fingers tracing over your lower stomach, “first, he’ll rip out of you, ruining your body forever. And then he’ll follow in his daddy’s footsteps when he grows up.”

“What makes you so sure you’ll get me pregnant? And that it’ll be a boy?” you huff.

Each word that came out of William Lewis’ mouth made you even more terrified, your mind racing to rescue yourself from this situation.

“I’m more than just a pretty face, Detective (y/l/n). Right now is your most fertile time, according to the chart you keep in your desk. And we both know you’re too sappy and weak to get an abortion,” he laughs, shaking his head at you. So weak, so pathetic. An SVU Detective who couldn’t even save themself from becoming a victim.

“That’s— you have no idea what you’re talking about,” you gasp, thrashing around.

“Now you’re gonna make this hard on me? Fine,” he sighs, grabbing a bottle of alcohol from beside the mattress and unscrewing the cap, “drink up, baby.”

—

Over the next few days, you were out of your mind. If you weren’t passed out or asleep, you were drunk or high at Lewis’ force, shoving edibles down your throat and washing them down with bottles of cheap vodka.

Your throat burned, stung red with pain, and your body was dirty and disgusting. As if the drugs weren’t enough, Lewis was getting off on burning and scarring you, too. Lighters, cigarettes and metal objects were on rotation across your skin.

The worst was the rape, for which you preferred to be unconscious for. At least if you weren’t mentally there, you weren’t being traumatized again.

After the first few times, you knew you would never get a good night of sleep, never have a calm moment, never become intimate without feeling what you felt when William Lewis forced himself inside you, fucking at a brutal pace, spitting and screaming and grunting horrible things as he used and abused your body for his own pleasure.

He came inside of you as much as he physically could, getting off on mocking you for becoming his rape victim and eventually the carrier of his monstrous offspring.

After a few days, he figured SVU would be catching onto him, ever loyal to their own. He couldn’t risk moving you so he cuffed you back to the pipes, kissed your lips and disappeared. William Lewis had his fun with you, but he needed to keep moving if he was to avoid arrest.

You hadn’t been fed the entire time, barely given any water and mostly having had drugs and alcohol forced down your throat. You didn’t hear anything as SVU busted in, Olivia and Sonny leading ahead as they sprinted towards your weak figure.

“(Y/n)? Oh fuck— oh ma’ god—“ Sonny’s voice breaks, looking up at Olivia with tears in his eyes.

Liv pulls out her radio, immediately ordering a bus for an officer down.

“Baby, c’mon, it’s Sonny. ‘M right here—,” he coos, taking off his jacket and laying it over you to give you some privacy. You were fully naked and chained up, blood and burn marks everywhere. It didn’t take a genius to understand what had happened.

“Mmmph—“ you mumble as he unlocks the cuffs with the standard key used by NYPD.

“Ah know ‘ya can hear me, jus’ hold on. We’re gettin’ a bus, okay?” he sniffles, hand on your arm. Sonny wished more than anything that he could take your pain and make it his.

Sonny scrambled to grab a water bottle before Liv stuck her hand out, keeping him back.

“I know you want to help, Carisi, but the inside of their mouth could have DNA evidence,” Liv says with a pinched expression.

“I’m gonna fuckin’ kill whoeva’ did this,” Sonny growls, looking around as his blood boils. You had only been gone for three days, but it had felt like an eternity. Sonny had never been so afraid in his entire life.

—

If you ever had any question of what you and Sonny were to each other, it was answered in the days following your attack. Sonny spent a week and a half straight with you in your apartment, doing anything you needed. He bathed you, cooked for you, gave you space if you needed and held you when you woke up shaking or crying from a nightmare.

You returned to work a month later, even though Liv wanted you to take a longer break. She kept a close eye on you, having gone through multiple horrific William Lewis experiences herself, although none included rape itself.

A week into your return, Olivia pulled you into her office and gave you the grim update that there were basically no updates. Very much unlike him, Lewis had disappeared or gone into hiding. And Liv had one request for you: she wanted you to take a pregnancy test.

You laughed, taken aback at the absurd notion. Sure, you hadn’t had your period yet, but it wasn’t uncommon for survivors of extreme trauma. But Liv wanted to be sure, as Lewis’ mission with you was to force you to carry his offspring.

“I-I think the worst part is—“ you gulp, “he was right. I don’t have the balls to get an abortion. I’ve always wanted a baby, and I just— god, Liv, if I’m pregnant by my rapist, I have no idea what I’ll do.”

“And what about you and Carisi?” she asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Me… and Carisi?”

“(Y/n), I’m not blind,” she smiles softly.

“We haven’t— you know, since the assault. I just can’t. But that would be even worse, I mean, I know Sonny would stick around. Both of us together, raising Lewis’ baby? A-and with the threat of him coming back and wanting custody? It’s just too much. I would put that poor baby up for adoption,” you sigh.

“Take the test and we’ll figure things out from there, Detective (y/l/n). I’ll be here for you every step of the way,” Olivia promises.

You both stand up and she gives you a hug, noticing how your body trembles. She had a hunch you’d been like that since the assault, and she couldn’t blame you. She’d be lying if she said Lewis didn’t haunt her dreams sometimes, too.

You took the test in your apartment, alone. Sonny’s shift ended two hours after yours, which gave you enough time to grab some tests from the bodega and take them with your fingers crossed praying to not be pregnant.

You still had flashbacks to those moments, the ugly ones where you were drunk or high and still awake with Lewis on top of you. You saw his repulsive smile every time you closed your eyes, hearing him babble about knocking you up and wrecking your life even more.

Your job was everything to you and you loved helping people, but you had never fully understood how it felt to be a sex crimes victim until it happened to you. Until your power was stripped away, every piece of your humanity torn to shreds. You never knew what it felt to want to burn your body, to destroy the evidence, to put an end to the agony plaguing you day in and day out.

You never wanted to die as much as when you flipped over those tests, seeing the plus signs and knowing you were giving William Lewis exactly what he wanted.

After a few days of moping, Sonny sat you up in bed and reminded you of the small, but still possible, chance that it could be his baby. You hadn’t used a condom with Sonny on the night before your abduction, though you usually did.

“Baby, jus’ get it checked. If it’s ours—“

“And what if it’s not, Sonny? You really want to raise a baby conceived with my rapist?” you cry, burying your head in your hands.

“Wouldn’t want t’give Lewis the satisfaction of lettin’ him raise it himself, doll. ‘N it’s still gonna be ‘ya baby, have ‘ya DNA either way,” Sonny reminds you, stroking your arm softly and gently.

“I-I’ll go in for a fetal DNA test,” you agree, allowing Sonny to call and make an appointment for your next day off.

In those moments between, you lived in a sweet purgatory outside of your body. The only times you felt grounded were when Sonny’s hands were on you, holding you, kissing your forehead, lacing your fingers together.

You couldn’t believe a tiny organism was growing inside of you, relying on you for nutrients and nourishment and love. Something so innocent that might be born from something so awful. You couldn’t even close your eyes when you thought about it, you just saw Lewis’ scarred face and his eerie, victorious smile.

“You’re sure you don’t want me t’come with ‘ya?” Sonny frowns, turning to face you as he buttons up his dress shirt.

“I’ll be okay, I promise,” you say, though you’re not so sure.

“If not, call me or Liv, alright? One of us can come, we don’t want ‘ya t’be alone,” Sonny says, stepping towards you and placing a hand on your shoulder gently.

“I will, Sonny. Don’t worry,” you smile, leaning into his warm embrace.

You were told the results could take up to two weeks to arrive, so you went back home and looked around your apartment. It was a one bedroom, barely big enough for you and a baby. If the baby was Sonny’s, would you move in together? Would you have to switch departments? Would you get engaged?

And if it was Lewis’? You loathed the thought, but it was the more likely possibility. You wish you could give it up for adoption, but the truth was that it would be your baby too. Could you really give your baby away just because it was conceived through rape?

—

Two weeks later, like clockwork, your phone rang. The caller ID was your doctor’s office, so you glanced at Sonny. He was none the wiser, sitting on the couch and reading through case files.

“H-hello?” you answer, ducking into the bedroom. Your hand shook as you held your cell phone up to your ear.

“Hello, is this (y/n) (y/l/n)?”

“Yes, that’s me,” you say nervously.

“I have the results of your fetal DNA test. The sample from Dominick Carisi Junior is a 99.7 percent paternal match.”

“Wh— a-are you sure?” you whisper. Your shaky hand comes up to your mouth as you blink slowly, hardly believing your ears.

“Yes, with a match that close, it is virtually impossible to have another paternal match,” the voice on the other line explains.

“Okay, thank you. So much. I-I really appreciate it,” you smile.

You exchange pleasantries and hang up, tiptoeing out of your bedroom as you glance at Sonny again. Your last look at him before telling him he would become a father.

“Sonny? I have some really good news.”

[solbaby7]

someone requested [ Manhattan + salt rim + neat ] and I accidentally deleted it but i remembered!!

warnings: leashes (yup like for dogs 🤭) minors dni, thank you thank you thank you thank you for this request 🥵

—

Azriel knew it was going to be an issue—you spending so much time with Nesta Archeron.

He’d found it cute at first. His sweet girl making friends with someone as prickly as death incarnate, until he’d started noticing the changes. How kind words shift into a biting wit; adopting a darker kind of humor that leaves his brows raised and tongue clicking against the roof of his mouth. “Come bunny, it’s time to get out of bed.”

Perhaps it’s in that learned behavior where you find the gall to part your lips and mutter, “No, I’m not going.”

It’s surprising—your defiance. Enough for him to pause in the middle of his morning routine, thigh holsters half buckled with an array of sharpened daggers and switchblades laid out before him. “Say that again?”

“To training,” You elaborate, mindlessly toying with the fraying edges of your nail varnish. Soft sheets swallow you whole, thick pillows and duvets emitting Azriel’s comforting scent all around you. “I’m not going today.”

For only a second he falters before his movements start up again, deft fingers easily buckling strips of leather and filling the slots with weapons. “Are you not feeling well?”

“I’m feeling like I don’t want to sweat under the burning sun all fucking day.” Your eyes are too busy rolling at the thought to notice the tick of Azriel’s jaw, the strained way he tightens his belt. “Nes and I are going shopping after brunch instead.”

“Oh?” There’s a pause, a tense silence that forces you to lean up on your elbows, neck craning to peer over at the Illyrian. Though, Azriel’s not getting ready anymore and he’s lounging too comfortably for someone who’d been adamant on following the guidelines of his rigorous schedule. The clock tick, tick, ticks away and for some reason he’s not reaching for his top or the crossbody holsters he slides on after. His hair is still dripping wet from his shower, not even bothering to work his styling pomade through. “Says who?”

He just sits there—watching, waiting. Staring at you like one of the prisoners he chains up in his dungeons; prodding at the barriers of their restraint until the spymaster tore it to shreds. You hate how well it works, chipping away at the fortified walls you’d built in your new friendships. How easily Azriel’s able to walk up to those borders and send them crumbling down with nothing more than a look.

It should be embarrassing, the affect he has on you. The way one arched brow has your spine instinctively straightening, throat rolling with a swallow as you struggle to muster up the same confidence that burned through you just moments ago. “I wasn’t aware I needed permission.”

Azriel hums low in his chest, shoulders relaxing and head nodding once, twice, three times before that stoic expression melts into understanding. “I see, that’s probably my fault. Got a touch lenient—allowed room for a little too much…hope.”

“Hope?”

Alarm bells begin ringing the further he settles in the chair, thick thighs spreading wide and veiny forearms eat up the space along the armrest. “Hope,” he agrees. “Give a good pet a little too much freedom—too much hope and all the necessary structure begins to waver.” You’re caught like a fly in a trap, limbs sticking to the carefully spun webs Az’s woven until your struggle only leaves the metaphorical ropes twisting and knotting tighter. “Don’t worry, I’m a good trainer. Won’t let you slack for a second—even if you do bat those pretty lashes up at me.”

Your mouth goes dry when his wrist flicks, two fingers beckoning you closer in silent command. A part of you hesitates; resists the rigorous discipline and rules put in place to keep you safe. Protected. But Nesta said that you were perfectly capable of protecting yourself without some overgrown bat looming over your shoulder. Right?

You obey anyway, praying that Azriel doesn’t hold the contemplation against you.

The Mother doesn’t seem to hear your plea, too occupied with more deserving persons to spare a second glance at the predicament you’d weaseled your way into. Each step closer feels like knowing wrong and choosing the sin anyway, solidifying your fate and dealing your destiny with the devil for all time. “Sit.”

A huffy breath of irritation before you ease down to your knees, leaning your weight back against your calves. “I’m not some fucking dog.”

“No, you aren’t,” His hand smells of body wash when a thumb runs over the curve of your cheek, blunt nail tracing against the shape of your mouth. It’s almost sweet, toeing the line of possibly romantic when you hear it—the squeaky strain of fresh leather. The cool bite of the latch registers too late, a metallic click locking it in place. “But lately you’ve been acting like one. My rabid mutt.”

Manicured nails grip at the newest accessory but it doesn’t budge no matter how much you tug at it. Your cheeks flame, a mix of fury and pure embarrassment from the rush of arousal that soils your panties when each breath grows just a bit labored. “You fucking collared me?”

“Watch your mouth or I’ll buy a muzzle to match.” He catches on to the way your thighs clench together, lips snapping shut as your brain fights to decide whether you want to scream back a “fuck you” or “fuck me”.

You land somewhere in the middle, words stern but tone leaking with curiosity. “You wouldn’t dare.”

A hellish grin splits across the handsome lines of his face, like a wolf straining in the seams of sheep’s clothing. “Try me.” He’s lost the concept to time when such fun prey has found itself stuck in his crosshairs. Such a sweet lamb should know better than to wander away from its shepherd—heaven forbid something should happen to you. “Test me, I dare you. I’ll walk you through town like some purebred if you keep acting like you weren’t taught to act with decorum.”

He means it too. You know he does. Even after all these years, you still had yet to hear words Azriel’s didn’t back up with action. Instantly, your eyes lower, head bowing in order to conceal the pinpricked pupils that dialate with desire. It burns in your belly, a cacophony of fantasies lashing against your eyelids at warp speed.

You in your shiny collar, name engraved on the customized nameplate with Azriel’s information on the back right under “If Found, Return To”

It’s purely involuntary, the desperate whimper that cuts through the bedchambers and Azriel pats at your head like some pampered pup in need of comfort. Offering love and fond coos when you easily correct the behaviors he doesn’t enjoy.

Obedient. Disciplined. Loyal. His.

“There’s a good girl. Keep that up and I’ll give you a treat.”

[sinnabarmoth]

Tribute for the Dragon (18/18)

(A/N: Just a quick thanks for all the love you guys have shown this fic! Means a lot! Love ya!)

Pairing: Dragon|Sylus x Fem|Reader

Summary: A happily ever after with your dragon.

Content Warnings: Adult language. Child birth.

Length: 2k

Chapters: (1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8) (9) (10) (11) (12) (13) (14) (15) (16) (17)

Read on AO3

The flight back to your kingdom was long and Sylus did not stop until you across the border. At that point you had told him to land near a stream. He didn’t question why, just dropped down as soon as he spotted some water.

“Are you alright?” he asked for the tenth time. “Do you need a rest? Something to drink? Eat?”

“No. I am fine.” you looked at him now, still covered head to toe in copious amounts of blood. It soaked into his hair and his skin. Every inch of him was died the same crimson as his eyes. “But you need to clean that off.”

Sylus looked down at himself and nodded. You gestured to the stream and he started washing the blood away. You tore off a piece of your skirt hem and dunked it into the water and wiped at his face.

You remembered being sat in the room underground when you heard the bells and alarms ringing. You had know immediately it was Sylus. The unending screams of pain and fear only confirmed it. Then that fucking general had come in to try and take you away, to try and threaten Sylus into letting him live, but his efforts were in vain. They had all died. Sylus ripped every last one of them to shreds just to get back to you.

You had been surprised for a moment when instead of the Sylus you knew a full dragon had busted in through the door. But you knew it was your dragon the second you saw him. He was large, black and red scaled armor with silver horns and spines down his back. His eyes were the same kind of molten red you had seen from Tengya on the beach, as if instead of eyes two pools of magma churned in his pupils. And all that you could think of was how happy you were to see him.

He was back to his normal form now, albeit completely naked, but that hardly mattered. Soon you would be home and all of this would be nothing but a horrible nightmare. You couldn’t wait that long to get this blood off though. So you helped him clean, wiping whatever blood you could off of him. Scooping water into your hands and scrubbing it out of his hair until it was silver again.

He reclined against you, staring up at your face. “I am so sorry.” he said. “I should never have left. They never should have been able to take you. This was all my fault.”

“No. It was not your fault, Sylus.”

“I left you. I left you all alone. I should have taken you to the village at the very least. I was insane to leave you by yourself.”

“Sylus--”

“What if they had hurt you worse than they did? What if they had done something to our child? I would never forgive myself. If…if the worse had happened…” tears cut rivers down his cheeks, “I don’t even want to think about it.”

“Then don’t.” you hugged him. “I am safe. Our baby is safe. What is done is done. We cannot change it. But you ensured that no one would ever come to harm us again and that is good enough for me.”

“I love you. I do.” he turned to face you fully, “I love you more than anything and I swear this will never happen again. I will defend you, body and soul with everything that I am.”

“Sylus…”

“You, the family we are growing, is my entire life. I love you both so much and I do not know what forces in the world allowed me to have you but I will thank them every day.” he pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“I love you too. I will love you forever and no matter what happens, I will always be here by your side. No force from the heavens, hells or this material world will take me from you. I promise.” You brought him close, kissing him tenderly. “I love you, Sylus. I will always love you.”

You sat there by the stream, half covered in blood and crying as you held one another. You were safe. You were together. That was all that mattered.

~~~

Sylus was anxious. He didn’t get anxious a lot but he was anxious as he stood pacing back and forth outside the room you were giving birth in. The women helping you had insisted it wasn’t a place for the men to enter and Sylus wanted to be respectful but with every pained cry that came from you on the other side of the door his agitation grew.

“You’re going to drive a rut into the floor.” your father warned him. “She’s in good hands. She and the baby will be fine.”

“I should be in there.” Sylus snapped. “Why can I not be?”

“Well, for one, your tail hasn’t stopped swishing like an angry cat’s. You’d probably hit someone or knock something over.” he explained, “But it is just how things are done. The women handle the birth, we cut the umbilical cord after they’re out.”

Every instinct in Sylus was telling him to get in the room. He needed to protect you. Protect you from what, he had no idea. But he felt so helpless and useless out here!

There was another loud cry from inside and Sylus snapped to the door. That was it! He wasn’t staying out here!

He opened the door to find you knelt on the floor. You looked up and smiled in relief, holding a hand out for him. “Sylus,”

He knelt next to you, “Right here. I’m right here.”

“He shouldn’t be--” one of the women tried to say.

“No! Don’t leave!” you squeezed his hand, “Please don’t leave!”

“I won’t. I’m not going anywhere.” Sylus shot a glare at the others, daring them to try and remove him. The others shrugged and went back to what they were doing.

“It hurts.” you muttered through clenched teeth. “It really fucking hurts!”

“I know. I know it does, little bird.” he wiped the sweat from your brow. “But it’ll be worth it. We’ll have our little one soon, you just have to endure it for a little longer.”

“Can’t believe I let you do this to me!” you snapped. “I hope you never have another rut!” He figured you were talking out of pain and didn’t mean what you were saying.

One of the women got behind you. “Alright, you’re ready. Time to start pushing. Deep breath, your body knows what to do. Gravity is gonna help us get this baby out quick.”

After several long tense minutes of you holding onto him for dear life, screaming and whimpering in pain as you pushed, the baby was out. A different kind of scream filled the air as your child took its first breath.

“You have a daughter.” the woman holding the baby said. “A perfectly healthy baby girl.”

Sylus cut the umbilical cord with his claw and let them wipe the baby off a bit before settling her in your arms. “She’s beautiful.” you were crying. The moment the baby’s head rested on your chest her cries stilled into little whimpers.

“Most gorgeous things I’ve ever seen.” Sylus couldn’t believe what he was looking at. This tiny thing was yours? They looked so normal, so human. “Hello, my heart,” he said. He receded the claws on his hands so he could hold her. “If you aren’t the most perfect thing in this world I do not want to know what could be better.”

“She is so little…” you cooed. “And she looks so human.”

“I told you she would. But make no mistake, this is a strong and fearsome dragon. That reminds me,” Sylus pulled a small jar out of his pocket. Inside was a small portion of the salve he had gotten from Tengya. He spread a small patch on the baby’s chest.

Once you had enough time alone, just Sylus, you, and the baby you began to let in the others.

“There’s my grandchild.” your father walked in. He came over and kissed your forehead. “You did so well, sweet pea.”

“Thanks papa.” you smiled. “Isn’t she the most precious thing?”

“That she is. So, did you two have a name picked out?” he asked.

“Selene.” you said. Your baby opened her eyes for the first time and you got a shock of brilliant red eyes, just like her father. You smiled, kissing her downy head. “Our little moon flower.”

~~~

As the years passed your family grew. You had two beautiful little girls and a third on the way. You were sitting at the mouth of the cave watching as Sylus was teaching Selene how to fly. Her wings had grown in fully and ever since there was not a moment she was on the ground. Your younger was sitting with you stewing in jealousy that she couldn’t go flying with them.

“Mama!” Ruby whined, “I want to go flying too! When will my wings grow in?”

“It will happen soon enough.” you assured her, “Besides, growing wings isn’t great. It’s really itchy and your back gets all scabby. Kinda like your horns did when they started growing, remember that? Don’t be in such a hurry.”

She crossed her arms and continued to pout until Sylus and Selene touched back down. “Did you see me mama!” Selene came running up to you. “I was flying all by myself!”

“I know! You did so well, sweetie!” you hugged her. “You’re getting to be real good.”

“She’s a natural.” Sylus came up and ruffled her hair. “Soon enough you’ll be flying circles around me.”

“Daddy!” your younger one yelled at him, “I want to fly too!”

“Ruby,” you warned, “Don’t yell. Ask nicely next time you want to go flying.”

Her frown deepened. “Mama’s a meanie!”

“I’m not being mean--”

“Meanie!”

“Hey,” Sylus snapped at her. “That’s not very nice to say. Your mama is just trying to teach you to be polite and now you’ve gone and hurt her feelings.”

“But--”

“No buts. Apologize to your mama and maybe I’ll take you out for a flight.” Sylus turned her around and pushed her towards you.

“I’m sorry mama.” she said, staring down at the ground. “Can I go flying now?”

“I forgive you, sweetie. But dinner should be finished cooking soon so maybe after you eat.”

“Oh, I think we have time for a quick flight around the mountain.” Sylus picked her up and put her on his shoulders.

“Sylus--”

Before you could object he jumped off the side of the mountain and flew up high, your daughter roaring with joyous laughter the entire time. You looked over at Selene who watched them with burning jealousy. You sighed. “Go on. Make sure your father and sister don’t stay out too long. Dinner will be ready in ten minutes.”

“Will do mama!” Selene beamed and flew to join the others, albeit it a little slower and more awkwardly. She was getting there though.

You pulled yourself out of your chair and wandered back to the kitchen to check on the food. It was hard to believe it some days. Waking up with Sylus next to you, the girls running in to see you the moment they woke up.

It was hard to get alone time with those two tornadoes running around but there were days you sent them down to the village to stay with your father or their Auntie Tara. They were so full of life and joy. You couldn’t wait to have another even if you knew three of these little monsters was going to be exhausting.

Much like Sylus had said when you were pregnant with Selene, the girls were born looking exactly like humans but as they got older more dragon like features started to grow. Selene had horns and wings and her father’s bright red eyes, but so far no claws. Ruby though almost immediately started sprouting a tail which Selene didn’t have and was starting to grow in her horns. She wouldn’t have to worry about wings for about two more years, if she grew them at all.

You traced a hand over your stomach. You wondered what this one would be like. Maybe it’d be a boy this time.

A few minutes later Sylus and the girls came running back in, their faces windstung and bright. The girls immediately went to setting the table and Sylus walked over to you, hugging you from behind. “Smells good.” he said.

“Thanks. I decided to try this new recipe Tara gave me.” you gave the pot another stir.

“Wasn’t talking about the food.” he whispered before pulling your face towards his for a kiss.

“Ew! Daddy! Stop that!” Selene said. “You’re being gross!”

“I’m showing your mother how much I love her. What’s gross about that?” he shot back. “You two go clean up before you start eating.”

The girls ran out of the room leaving you alone. “Very subtle.” you elbowed him lightly. “I’m already pregnant, you can’t put another kid in me yet.”

“I know. But it is never a waste to practice.” his hands ran over the bump in your belly. “Just six more of these to go.”

“One more!” you elbowed him harder this time. “I have told you a hundred times I’m not popping out nine kids.”

“I can’t help it.” he spun you around, “You know how dragons like to hoard treasure.”

“Our kids are treasure now?”

He smiled softly, holding you close. “Of course. The most precious in the world, right next to you.”

[reidmarieprentiss]

Hometown Glory

Summary: Moving back to your hometown was never your plan, and neither was running into the class clown Chip Taylor. But everything happens for a reason, right?

Pairing: Chip Taylor x nurse fem!reader

Category: fluff, hurt/comfort, angst

Warnings/Includes: brief domestic violence (not reader), fights, blood/cuts/gore, alcohol consumption, drunk side character, happy ending, poor sweet baby Chip going through it

Word count: 10.8k

a/n: i love chip so bad, he doesn't deserve anything bad that happened to him :( i'm really trying to get back into my writing headspace thank you all for being so patient with me <3333

main masterlist

You were finally a registered nurse, having recently finished your residency and finally securing your spot as a full-time hospital employee. After a long, grueling shift, you decide to swing by a convenience store to fill up your gas tank and treat yourself to something sweet before heading home.

The fluorescent lights of the store are oddly comforting as you hum a tune under your breath, scanning the aisles for the perfect snack. Your moment of quiet is interrupted by the chime of the bell above the entrance door.

“Sir?” the cashier’s voice calls out, tinged with concern. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” comes the reply, though it’s far from convincing. The man’s voice is low and strained. “Yeah, I’m fine. Do you, uh, have any band-aids?”

“Uh—um, yes, but... you should really see a doctor—”

“No,” the man interjects firmly, his tone impatient. “I just need band-aids. Where are they?”

The cashier hesitates before pointing him toward an aisle, still looking unsure. Your curiosity gets the better of you, and you abandon your search for a snack, rounding the corner to catch a glimpse of the man in need of first aid.

Your breath catches in your throat. “Chip?” you blurt out, incredulous. You can’t believe your eyes.

The man turns to face you, and you gasp. His face is a mess—covered in blood, cuts, and bruises. His disheveled appearance sends alarm bells ringing in your head.

“Jesus, Chip!” you exclaim, your voice filled with both shock and concern. “What the hell happened to you?”

His brows knit together, his expression shifting from confusion to discomfort. “Who—uh, how do you know me?” he asks, his voice cautious.

“Huh?” You tilt your head, studying his battered face with worry. “Chip, it’s me—Y/N. Y/N Y/L? We went to high school together.”

Chip blinked a few times, his bloodshot eyes squinting as he tried to focus on your face. His body language, even through the fog of pain, softened just a little as he registered your name.

"Y/N? Holy shit," he repeated, his voice raspy, either from exhaustion or something worse. He took a shaky breath, his chest rising and falling unevenly.

You stepped closer, your nurse instincts kicking into overdrive as you scanned his injuries. Blood trickled from a cut above his eyebrow, smearing down the side of his face. His knuckles were raw, and a nasty gash across his forearm oozed blood onto his torn sleeve. You could see bruising already forming along his cheekbone, and his lip was split.

"Chip, you look like you got hit by a truck. What happened?" you demanded, your voice full of concern.

"It's nothing," he muttered, brushing off your worry with a weak wave of his hand. He turned his attention to the shelf of first aid supplies, scanning for the bandaids as though they could fix everything. "I just need some bandaids, that's all."

"Bandaids? Are you serious?" You crossed your arms, a mixture of exasperation and worry bubbling in your chest. "Chip, you look like you need a hospital. Not bandaids."

He winced, his eyes darting back to you. "I don't need a hospital, okay? I just... got into a little fight. It's not a big deal."

"A little fight? Chip, you look like you lost a battle with a bear," you shot back, stepping even closer now, invading his personal space in that way only someone truly worried could get away with.

Chip’s attempt at a smirk faltered as he winced again, his injuries clearly causing him more pain than he wanted to let on. "Well, the other guy looks worse," he mumbled, his attempt at bravado falling flat under your sharp gaze.

"Great, you're still sarcastic," you said, rolling your eyes. "Come on, let me look at you."

"What? No. I'm fine." He started to back away, but you reached out and grabbed his uninjured arm, your grip firm but not harsh.

"Chip, I’m a nurse. If you don’t let me help you, you’ll probably pass out right here in this aisle. So unless you want the cashier to call an ambulance—which, trust me, she’s seconds away from doing—just sit down and let me take care of this."

He hesitated, glancing around the nearly empty store, clearly torn. His pride wrestled with the reality of his situation, the bruises and cuts screaming louder than his ego. Finally, he let out a resigned sigh.

"Fine. But can we go somewhere else? I don’t want to make a scene," he mumbled, his voice low and almost pleading.

"Too late for that," you said, raising an eyebrow at the cashier who was still nervously watching the two of you.

"Please?" Chip grumbled, his tone softening just enough to sound genuine.

You sighed, relenting. "Sure, Chip. Come on." You quickly paid for your items, tossing them into a plastic bag, and led the way out to the parking lot.

Chip followed you out of the store reluctantly, his steps slow and uneven. You kept a close eye on him, glancing over your shoulder as you reached your car. His face was pale, and you could see the effort it took him to stay upright.

You glanced at him as he shuffled behind you, clearly in no condition to walk far. "Did you drive?" you asked, though you suspected you already knew the answer.

As you unlocked the doors, you motioned towards the passenger seat. "Get in," you instructed, your tone leaving no room for argument.

He hesitated for a split second, his pride clearly still putting up a fight, but the exhaustion and pain finally won out. He slumped into the passenger seat, letting out a low groan as he tried to find a position that didn’t make him wince.

You slid into the driver’s seat and started the car, casting him a sideways glance. "You really should’ve gone straight to the hospital," you said, your voice softer now that the two of you were away from prying eyes.

Chip gave a half-hearted shrug, wincing at the movement. "Yeah, well, hospitals ask a lot of questions. I wasn’t really in the mood for that."

You frowned, the wheels in your mind turning. "What kind of questions are you trying to avoid, Chip? Did you get into some kind of trouble?"

His jaw tightened, and he avoided your gaze, staring out the window instead. "It’s complicated," he muttered.

"Complicated?" You scoffed, pulling out of the parking lot. "Chip, you’re sitting in my car, bleeding and bruised, looking like you went twelve rounds with a heavyweight champion. I think you owe me an explanation."

He sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I didn’t ask for your help, Y/N."

"Too bad," you shot back, your voice sharper than you intended. "Because you’re getting it whether you like it or not. Now, are you going to tell me what happened, or do I have to guess?"

Chip glanced at you, his expression softening just a fraction. He seemed to weigh his options before finally speaking. "I was in the wrong place at the wrong time, okay? Got into a fight with some guys who didn’t take kindly to me being there."

"Where’s 'there'?" you pressed, your grip tightening on the steering wheel.

He hesitated again, his lips pressing into a thin line. "It doesn’t matter. What matters is that I'm fine. Or at least I will be."

You let out a frustrated sigh but decided not to push further. "Fine. We’ll deal with the details later. Right now, I’m taking you to my place so I can clean you up properly."

Chip’s head snapped towards you, his eyebrows furrowing. "Your place? No, no way. That’s not happening."

"And why not?" you challenged, arching a brow at him.

"Because it’s... weird," he muttered, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

"Weird?" You couldn’t help but laugh, the sound tinged with disbelief. "Chip, you’re sitting here covered in blood, and you think going to my place to clean up is the weird part? You’re unbelievable."

He muttered something under his breath, but he didn’t argue further. Instead, he slouched deeper into the seat, clearly too tired to keep up the fight.

The rest of the drive was quiet, the only sound coming from the low hum of the engine and the occasional hiss of pain from Chip as you hit a bump in the road.

When you finally pulled up to your apartment, you parked and turned to him. "Come on, let’s get you inside."

Chip grumbled something inaudible but followed you out of the car, his movements slow and deliberate. As you led him up the stairs, you couldn’t help but shake your head.

"How do you always manage to get yourself into situations like this?" you muttered.

"Talent," he replied with a weak grin.

"Yeah, well, your 'talent' is going to land you in serious trouble one day," you retorted, unlocking your door and stepping inside.

Chip leaned against the doorframe, his eyes scanning your apartment. "Nice place," he said, his voice laced with sarcasm.

"Save the commentary for when you’re not dripping blood on my floor," you shot back, motioning for him to sit on the couch.

He chuckled softly, wincing as he eased himself down. "You’ve gotten feisty, Y/N."

"And you’ve gotten dumber," you replied, grabbing your first aid kit.

As you knelt in front of him, unpacking the supplies, Chip watched you quietly. For a moment, he seemed to forget his pain, his gaze softening as he took you in.

"Thanks," he said quietly, his voice breaking the silence.

You glanced up at him, surprised by the sincerity in his tone. "Don’t thank me yet. You’re going to hate me when I start cleaning those wounds."

He smirked, the faintest glimmer of his old charm shining through. "I already do."

"Good," you replied, unable to hide the small smile tugging at your lips. "That makes this easier."

You grabbed a clean towel and some antiseptic from the first aid kit, shooting Chip a pointed look as you settled on the coffee table in front of him. "Alright, this is going to sting like hell. No whining allowed."

Chip raised an eyebrow, his lopsided grin making a reappearance despite his injuries. "When did you get so bossy? You used to be so sweet."

"And you used to be less of a shit talker," you shot back, soaking the towel with antiseptic. "Guess we both changed."

His smirk faltered as you pressed the towel against the gash on his arm. He hissed through his teeth, his fingers gripping the edge of the couch. "Damn, Y/N. Trying to kill me?"

"Not my fault you’re a baby," you teased, your voice light but your hands steady. "Maybe if you’d gone to the hospital like a normal person, someone else could’ve done this for you."

He chuckled, though it was strained. "Yeah, but they wouldn’t have looked this good doing it."

You paused for a moment, your eyes flicking up to meet his. His grin was still there, faint but mischievous, and you felt your cheeks heat despite yourself. "Flattery isn’t going to make this hurt any less," you muttered, turning your attention back to his arm.

"I’m just saying," he continued, his tone playful now, "if I’d known my high school classmate turned into some kind of Florence Nightingale, I’d have gotten into trouble a lot sooner."

You snorted, dabbing at the cut with perhaps a little more pressure than necessary. "Florence Nightingale would have let you bleed out for being this annoying."

Chip winced, but he didn’t stop talking. "Annoying? Come on, Y/N. I’m charming. You used to have a thing for charm."

You rolled your eyes, fighting the small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "I had a thing for Pete’s charm, Chip. And you’re about one bad pickup line away from me calling an ambulance to take you out of my apartment."

He laughed, the sound genuine despite his discomfort. "Okay, okay. I’ll behave. But seriously, thanks for this. I mean it."

"Don’t thank me yet," you said, leaning in to inspect the cut on his eyebrow. Your knee brushed against his, and you felt his gaze shift, watching you more intently now. "I still have to clean this mess on your face. That’s going to be even worse."

"Yeah?" His voice was quieter now, tinged with something you couldn’t quite place. "I trust you."

You stilled for a moment, your breath catching at the sincerity in his tone. Meeting his eyes, you found something there that wasn’t entirely playful—something softer, more vulnerable. The moment lingered, the air between you suddenly heavier.

Shaking off the feeling, you forced a smirk and reached for another antiseptic wipe. "That’s your first mistake," you said lightly, hoping to break the tension.

Chip grinned again, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. "If this is what a mistake feels like, I think I’ll take my chances."

“Was that a pick up line?” You narrowed your eyes at Chip before you focused on cleaning his eyebrow, trying not to think about how close you were to him. His breath was warm on your cheek, and you couldn’t ignore the way your heart picked up its pace. This was Chip, for God’s sake. The same Chip who’d spent half of high school cracking jokes in the back of class and charming his way both in and out of trouble.

"Doesn’t hurt as much as I thought it would," he said after a moment, breaking the silence.

"See? Told you I’m good at this," you replied, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye.

"Good? More like amazing," he said, his grin widening as he leaned back against the couch. His eyes studied you carefully, flickering with something more contemplative than before. "Can’t believe you came back here after college."

"Why’s that?" you asked, keeping your focus on cleaning the stubborn cut near his cheekbone. You avoided meeting his gaze, sensing the weight behind his words.

"I don’t know," Chip said with a small shrug, though his voice held a quiet sincerity. "You always seemed like you were going to do bigger and better things. You had that spark, you know? Like you were meant for something more."

"Yeah, well," you murmured, letting out a soft sigh as you dabbed at the wound. "I wasn’t going to come back. But… things change."

His brow furrowed slightly at your tone, the playful energy between you dimming. "What changed?" he asked, his voice softer now, curiosity tinged with genuine concern.

You held your breath, your hands momentarily stilling as you thought about how to answer. The memories came rushing back, sharp and vivid, but you pushed them down, trying to keep your voice steady. "Mom passed," you said finally, the words quiet but firm. "Dad needed help."

The room fell silent for a beat, the hum of your apartment’s air conditioning the only sound. Chip’s expression shifted, the teasing glint in his eyes replaced with something far more serious. "Y/N, I… I didn’t know. I’m sorry."

You shrugged, forcing yourself to keep busy as you finished cleaning the last of his wounds. "It’s okay. It was a while ago now. You know how it is—life happens, and you just… deal with it."

Chip nodded slowly, his gaze unwavering as he watched you work. "Yeah. But still, I’m sorry you had to go through that."

You swallowed the lump forming in your throat, offering him a small, tight smile. "Thanks, Chip." You stood up, tossing the used antiseptic wipes into the trash. "Alright, you’re all patched up. Try not to pick any more fights for at least a week, okay?"

He chuckled, though the sound was quieter than before. "I’ll do my best. But no promises."

You rolled your eyes, grateful for the return of his humor. "Seriously, Chip. You should try and take care of yourself. I won’t always be here to clean up your mess."

He grinned, the warmth in his expression taking some of the weight off the conversation. "Good to know you’ve still got that fire in you. Some things don’t change, huh?"

You smirked, shaking your head. "Maybe. But some things do."

His gaze lingered on you for a moment, and you felt the air shift again, a quiet intensity settling between you.

"Yeah," Chip said softly, his voice carrying a weight that made your chest tighten. "Some things do."

—

You sent Chip on his way that night after you finished cleaning him up. Something about him lingered in your mind, pulling at threads of memory and curiosity. He wasn’t the same Chip you remembered from high school—not entirely, anyway. Back then, he was the class clown, always cracking jokes and pulling pranks, his antics loud enough to mask whatever deeper, darker truths he thought no one could see. You noticed, of course. You always did.

You’d thought he was cute back then, with his messy hair and crooked smile, but now? Now, he was handsome in a way that made you pause—a rugged, lived-in kind of attractiveness that spoke to years of experiences, good and bad.

In high school, you never gave much thought to what might’ve been. You’d always had a boyfriend back then—Pete Welsh. Pete, with his soft-spoken kindness and steadfast loyalty, had been the sweetest guy you’d ever known. But Pete never wanted to leave Amarillo. He was content with the small-town life, dreaming of raising a family on the same quiet streets where he grew up.

You, on the other hand, had dreams of moving far, far away. The big city called to you with its bright lights and endless possibilities. But then… Mom got sick.

Everything shifted. Plans for the future faded, replaced with long nights by her bedside and endless days balancing work and care. Amarillo, for all its limitations, became your entire world.

And now, here was Chip, standing on your front steps with that same crooked smile but a different air about him. It made you wonder what had changed for him in all these years—and what was still the same.

“What are you doing here, Chip?” you asked, exasperation clear in your tone as you stood in the doorway. Your arms crossed instinctively, but your gaze softened as it traveled over him.

He looked down, avoiding your eyes as his hands fidgeted, wringing together awkwardly. “I—uh, got kinda… cut,” he admitted with a sheepish laugh. The sound was weak, forced, and trailed off quickly as he winced, one hand clutching his side.

Your eyes immediately darted to the hand pressed against his ribs. “Cut?” you echoed, your exasperation melting into concern. “Chip, what did you—”

“Can you help me out?” he interrupted, his voice a mixture of embarrassment and hope. His lips pulled into a half-smile, trying to diffuse the tension, but the faint pallor of his face betrayed him.

You sighed, already stepping back to let him in, your mind racing with questions. “Fine. Get in here before you bleed all over the porch.”

He shuffled past you, careful not to brush too close, and you couldn’t help but notice the way his steps were slightly uneven, his posture hunched just enough to protect his injured side.

“Let me see,” you said, your voice firmer now as you pointed to the kitchen. “Sit down, and don’t try to charm your way out of explaining this.”

Chip shot you a lopsided grin despite the situation, but he obeyed, lowering himself carefully onto the nearest chair. “I’d never dream of it.”

But of course, he would dream of it. Chip expertly dodged every single question you threw at him, deflecting with vague answers and cheeky grins that only served to wear down your patience further.

“Chip,” you sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose in frustration. “You can’t keep showing up here, okay? What if you’re in real danger and I’m not home?”

“You’re home right now,” he countered with a sheepish grin, his tone light and teasing, as if his very presence wasn’t bending every boundary you’d ever set.

“You got lucky,” you shot back, your voice sharper now, though the flicker of concern in your eyes softened the words.

His grin faltered for a moment, his gaze darting to the floor before returning to you. “Yeah, I guess I did.” His voice was quieter now, almost thoughtful, like he wasn’t just talking about tonight.

You shook your head, trying not to let his sudden shift tug too hard at your heartstrings. “Seriously, Chip. You can’t keep doing this. What’s going on? Why do you keep coming to me?”

For a moment, you thought he might actually answer, his mouth opening as if to speak. But then he just shook his head and leaned back in the chair, the grin creeping back onto his face like armor. “Guess I just like the company.”

You stared at him, equal parts exasperated and worried. “Chip—”

“Don’t worry about me, sweetheart,” he interrupted, giving you a wink that did nothing to ease your concerns. “I’m tougher than I look.”

You sighed again, the weight of his stubbornness settling heavily on your chest. “One of these days, your luck’s going to run out, Chip,” you muttered, turning to grab the first aid supplies.

“Maybe,” he replied, his voice quieter this time. “But not tonight.”

—

It kept up like this. Chip kept showing up, like clockwork, and you—against all odds—were always magically home.

It was uncanny, almost unsettling, as if he had some sixth sense for your presence. No matter the time, no matter the day, he’d appear at your door, sometimes with a scrape, sometimes a bruise, and sometimes just that lopsided grin that made you want to roll your eyes and smile at the same time.

And despite your best efforts to keep your walls up, you always let him in.

Even when you answered the door with your arms crossed and an exasperated sigh. Even when you scolded him for not going to the hospital or told him he was too reckless for his own good. Even when you warned him, time and time again, that this wasn’t sustainable—that he couldn’t keep running to you like this.

But you still opened the door, every single time.

Maybe it was the way he looked at you, a mixture of hope and mischief that felt impossible to ignore. Or maybe it was the quiet moments in between—the ones where he let his guard down, even if just for a fleeting second, and you could see the boy he used to be, buried beneath the man life had clearly roughed up.

Whatever it was, you let him in, even when you told yourself you wouldn’t. And Chip? He kept coming back, as if he knew. As if he could sense that, no matter what you said, you’d never actually turn him away.

You sat across from Chip at the kitchen table, the two of you nursing mugs of coffee long after the sun had gone down. The evening had settled into an easy rhythm, the kind where conversation flowed naturally, unhurried by the clock.

“Man, high school feels like it was a hundred years ago,” you said with a laugh, swirling the last bit of coffee in your mug.

“Pete Welsh and you were practically glued at the hip back then,” Chip chimed in, leaning back in his chair with a teasing grin. “I thought for sure you two were going to get married and have that perfect little white-picket-fence life.”

You raised an eyebrow, mirroring his smirk. “Pete Welsh, huh? I haven’t heard that name in a while.”

Chip chuckled, tilting his head. “Mhm. Mr. Perfect Hair and Letterman Jacket? What happened to him, anyway?”

You shrugged, a wry smile crossing your face. “Last I heard, he’s still in Amarillo. Married some sweet girl he met at church, has a couple of kids now. He’s doing great.”

Chip nodded, a playful glint in his eye. “Sounds about right. Bet he’s still mowing his lawn in crisp khakis and a polo shirt, huh?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Oh, absolutely. That’s Pete to a T.”

Chip’s grin softened slightly, his gaze lingering on you. “You ever think about how different your life would’ve been if you’d stayed with him? Settled down here, had that picket fence and all?”

You paused, swirling your coffee as the thought settled in. “Honestly? No. Pete’s a great guy, but he always wanted to stay, and I… I needed to see what else was out there. Staying in Amarillo would’ve been the easy choice, but it wouldn’t have been the right one for me.”

Chip hummed, nodding slowly. “Makes sense. You were always the type to chase something bigger.”

You smiled at that, tilting your head. “And what about you? You’ve done plenty of chasing yourself, haven’t you?”

He laughed, but it was softer now, almost wistful. “Yeah, I guess. Though I think I was always chasing the wrong things. Or, you know… the wrong people.”

There was a weight to his words, and the way his eyes met yours made your breath hitch. “What do you mean?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Chip hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck. “I mean… I spent all of high school with this dumb crush on you, watching you and Pete from the sidelines...”

You blinked, caught completely off guard. “Chip…”

He shrugged, his smile crooked and a little shy. “It’s not a big deal. You were way out of my league back then. Still are.”

Your chest tightened. “You never said anything.”

“Would it have mattered?” he asked, his voice teasing but his eyes vulnerable.

You opened your mouth to respond, but nothing came out. A mix of emotions swirled in your chest—nostalgia, surprise, and something undeniably warm.

“I don’t know,” you admitted softly, meeting his gaze.

Chip smirked, leaning forward on his elbows. “Guess we’ll never know, huh?”

You laughed lightly, the moment settling between you with a weight that neither of you was ready to unpack.

—

“Goddammit, Chip!” Liza screamed, her voice shaking with fury as she grabbed the nearest heavy object—a ceramic vase—and hurled it at him. It shattered against the wall, narrowly missing his head. “We need money for fucking rent!”

Chip flinched, shrinking into himself as he backed up against the kitchen counter. His hands raised instinctively in defense, his voice stumbling over itself. “I—I know, Liza, I’m sorry. Jo—John said he’d have more work for me soon. I’m trying, okay?”

“Trying?” Liza’s laugh was sharp and bitter, slicing through the tension like a knife. She took a step closer, her eyes blazing with anger. “Well, you’re not trying hard enough! Maybe if you weren’t such a fucking moron, you could get a real job! You ever think about that, genius?”

Chip looked away, his shoulders slumping further under the weight of her words. “I’m doing the best I can,” he mumbled, his voice barely audible, the frustration and shame threatening to choke him.

“Well, your ‘best’ isn’t good enough,” she snapped, her hands gesturing wildly. “Do you think the landlord’s gonna take your excuses as payment? Do you think I’m gonna keep putting up with this shit? Get your act together, Chip, or we’re both screwed!”

Chip swallowed hard, his chest tightening as he struggled to find something to say that wouldn’t make things worse. But deep down, he knew—whatever he said wouldn’t matter. Liza’s anger had reached a boiling point, and he was the easiest target.

“I’ll figure it out,” he said quietly, though the words felt hollow even to him.

“You better,” Liza hissed, glaring at him one last time before storming out of the room, leaving behind the broken vase and a silence that felt heavier than anything she could have thrown.

Chip stood there for a moment, staring at the shards on the floor, his jaw tight as he tried to push down the familiar ache in his chest. Then, with a heavy sigh, he grabbed a broom and started sweeping, the weight of Liza’s words settling deep into his bones.

—

The two of you were sitting on the worn-out couch in your living room, the kind of night that didn’t need anything special to feel perfect. Chip had just told a ridiculous story about one of his old "get-rich-quick schemes," and you were laughing so hard your sides hurt.

“Oh my god, Chip,” you said between giggles, wiping a tear from the corner of your eye. “How do you even come up with this stuff? Did you seriously think selling glow-in-the-dark socks was going to make you a millionaire?”

“Hey,” he said, trying to look indignant but failing miserably as a grin tugged at his lips. “The market research was solid. I just didn’t account for, you know… shipping costs.”

You burst out laughing again, shaking your head in disbelief. “You’re unbelievable!” you teased, and in a playful burst of energy, you gave him a light punch on the shoulder.

The moment shifted instantly. Chip flinched, his body jerking back like he’d been hit much harder. His grin disappeared, replaced by a fleeting look of alarm that he tried to mask as quickly as it came.

Your laughter died in your throat, your hand frozen mid-air as your brain tried to process what just happened. “Chip?” you said softly, concern creeping into your voice.

He forced a laugh, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Sorry, reflex,” he said quickly, rubbing his shoulder even though your punch had been more of a tap. “Guess I’m just jumpy today.”

You didn’t buy it. Your brows furrowed as you tilted your head, studying him carefully. “Chip… did I hurt you?”

“No, no,” he said, waving you off, his voice too quick, too dismissive. “It’s nothing, really. Just caught me off guard, that’s all.”

“Don’t lie to me,” you said, your tone firm but gentle. “You flinched like I was about to deck you. What’s going on?”

Chip sighed, his shoulders sagging as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He didn’t meet your gaze, instead staring down at his hands as he fidgeted nervously. “It’s… it’s nothing you need to worry about,” he said quietly.

Your chest tightened at the vulnerability in his voice. Slowly, you reached out, placing a hand on his knee, offering a touch of comfort. “Hey,” you said softly, your voice steady and calm. “It’s me. You can talk to me, you know?”

“I said it’s nothing, okay!” Chip snapped, his voice sharp as he shoved your hand off his knee.

The movement startled you, and you flinched, your eyes widening. For a moment, the room felt too small, the air thick with tension. You weren’t used to this—being yelled at by the sweet, goofy man who had spent the last hour making you laugh.

You pulled back slightly, your hand hovering uncertainly in your lap. “Chip…” you began softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

His face fell almost instantly, the anger and frustration draining away as quickly as it had come. He ran a hand through his hair, his shoulders slumping under the weight of regret. “Shit,” he muttered, his voice cracking. “I didn’t mean that. I’m sorry.”

You swallowed hard, trying to steady your breathing. “I wasn’t trying to push you,” you said gently, though your voice trembled slightly. “I just—”

“I know,” he interrupted, his voice thick with guilt. He looked at you then, his eyes filled with remorse. “I didn’t mean to yell. I just… I don’t know how to talk about this stuff, okay? I’m sorry.”

You studied him for a moment, the tension in your chest softening as you saw the pain etched across his face. Slowly, you nodded, your voice tender as you said, “It’s okay, Chip. But you don’t have to do this alone. You don’t have to carry it all by yourself.”

He sighed heavily, his hands rubbing over his face. “It’s not that easy,” he muttered, more to himself than to you.

“I know it’s not,” you replied, leaning forward slightly, your tone quiet but steady. “But I’m here. And I’m not going anywhere.”

For a moment, he just stared at you, the weight of your words settling over him. Then, finally, he nodded, his lips pressing into a thin line. “Thanks,” he said softly, his voice barely audible.

You gave him a small, tentative smile, silently hoping he’d let you in someday. Until then, you’d wait, no matter how long it took.

“How about we take a walk? Clear our heads?” you suggest softly, breaking the heavy silence that had settled between you.

Chip looks at you for a moment, his expression unreadable, then nods. Without another word, the two of you step outside, the cool night air brushing against your skin. You walk side by side down the quiet street, your footsteps the only sound breaking the stillness.

For a while, neither of you says anything. The silence isn’t uncomfortable, but it’s heavy, like both of you are waiting for the other to speak. Finally, Chip breaks it.

“I must look like a real winner, huh?” he says, his tone self-effacing, his words laced with a bitter humor that makes your heart ache.

You glance at him, his profile barely visible in the dim glow of a streetlamp. “What do you mean?”

He huffs out a laugh, the sound quiet and almost bitter. Gently, he nudges his shoulder into yours, a small, tentative gesture. “First, I need you to clean me up. Over and over. And now I can’t even make it through one chat without ruining it.”

“Chip…” you say softly, shaking your head. “You didn’t ruin anything.”

He scoffs, shoving his hands into his pockets as he kicks at a loose pebble on the sidewalk. “Didn’t I? I yelled at you. You didn’t deserve that.”

“No, I didn’t,” you admit, your honesty making him glance at you sharply. “But I’m still here, aren’t I?”

Chip stops walking for a moment, looking down at you as if searching for something in your expression. “Yeah,” he says after a pause, his voice quieter. “You are.”

You offer him a small, tentative smile, your hands brushing together as you both start walking again. “We all have bad days, Chip. It doesn’t mean you’re a lost cause.”

He shakes his head, the corner of his mouth twitching upward in a half-smile. “You always know what to say, don’t you?”

“Not always,” you admit, nudging him lightly. “But I figure as long as you keep showing up, I’ll keep trying.”

Chip looks at you then, something soft and unreadable in his eyes. For the first time that night, the tension in his shoulders seems to ease just a little. “Thanks,” he murmurs, his voice so low you almost don’t catch it.

You don’t respond right away, letting the moment hang in the cool night air. Instead, you glance up at the stars, hoping he feels even half as much comfort in your presence as you do in his.

—

Chip doesn’t come around for a few weeks after that night, and though you tried not to worry, the silence gnawed at you. When he finally shows up, it’s worse than you ever imagined.

The knock at your door is soft, almost hesitant. When you open it, the sight of him makes your stomach drop. He’s standing there with a deep gash running along his cheek, blood crusted at the edges, and his eyes red and puffy like he hasn’t slept in days.

“Chip!” you gasp, your heart pounding. “What happened? Get in here, now.”

He tries to offer a weak smile, but it falters under the weight of whatever he’s carrying. “It’s not that bad,” he mutters, wincing as he speaks.

“Not that bad?” you echo, incredulous. “You’ve got blood on your face, Chip. Sit down before you fall over.”

Without waiting for him to argue, you guide him to the bathroom, your hands firm but gentle as you steer him. He sinks down onto the edge of the tub, his shoulders slumping, looking like he’d rather be anywhere but here.

You position yourself between his legs, tilting his chin up with careful fingers so you can get a better look at the wound. “Hold still,” you murmur, your tone softer now.

He exhales shakily, his breath warm against your wrist. “Sorry,” he says quietly, his voice thick with guilt.

“Don’t apologize,” you say, grabbing a clean washcloth and wetting it under the faucet. “Just tell me what happened.”

Chip hesitates, his eyes darting away from yours. “It’s nothing,” he mumbles, his hands gripping the edge of the tub tightly.

“It’s not nothing,” you counter, your voice steady but firm as you press the damp cloth gently against his cheek. He flinches but doesn’t pull away. “You don’t just show up with a gash like this for no reason.”

He lets out a heavy sigh, his jaw clenching under your gentle touch. “Liza and I got into it again,” he admits, his voice barely above a whisper. “She… she had a bottle. Things got out of hand.”

Your hands freeze mid-motion as the name registers. “Liza?” you repeat, stepping back slightly, the washcloth dangling in your hand. “Who’s Liza?”

Chip’s eyes widen briefly, like he hadn’t meant to let the name slip. He swallows hard, his gaze dropping to the tiled floor. “She’s, uh… my girlfriend,” he mutters, the words heavy with shame.

“Your girlfriend?” you echo, the word catching in your throat. “Chip, are you telling me your girlfriend did this to you?”

He doesn’t answer right away, his hands gripping the edge of the tub so tightly his knuckles turn white. Finally, he nods, barely meeting your gaze. “Yeah,” he says softly. “She’s got a temper, and sometimes… I just—I make her mad, you know?”

You stare at him, disbelief and anger swirling in your chest. “Chip, no,” you say firmly, your voice trembling despite your best efforts to stay calm. “This isn’t about you making her mad. This is about her. This isn’t okay.”

He shakes his head, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. “It’s not like that all the time,” he says defensively. “She’s… she’s just going through a lot. I’m trying to help her.”

“Help her?” you say, stepping closer again, your voice rising slightly. “Chip, look at yourself. She’s hurting you. How is that okay?”

“I can handle it,” he insists, though his voice wavers. “It’s not a big deal.”

You crouch down in front of him, your hand resting gently on his knee. “It is a big deal,” you say softly but firmly. “You don’t deserve this, Chip. No one does.”

He looks at you then, his eyes glassy and full of conflict, as if he’s trying to decide whether to believe you. For a moment, the room is silent except for the hum of the overhead light, the weight of his pain filling the small bathroom.

“This isn’t okay, Chip,” you say, your voice firm but trembling with emotion. You grip the edge of the counter behind you, your knuckles white, steadying yourself as you speak.

“I can handle it,” he insists, his tone hollow and unconvincing. He doesn’t look at you when he says it, his gaze fixed on the floor like he’s trying to will the words into being true.

But you won’t let him sink back into that silence, not this time. “Handling it isn’t enough,” you counter, your voice soft but unyielding. “You deserve better than this, Chip.”

He lets out a heavy breath, shaking his head. “It’s not that simple. I’ve tried… leaving, fixing things, I’ve tried everything. And every time, it just gets worse.”

Your heart aches at the rawness in his voice, the hopelessness that seeps through every word. Slowly, you kneel in front of him, forcing him to meet your eyes. “Chip, listen to me,” you say gently, placing your hands on his knees. “You don’t have to fix this alone. You don’t have to keep going back. There are people who care about you—I care about you. Let me help.”

His lips press into a thin line, his jaw clenching as his emotions swirl just beneath the surface. “What if it doesn’t work?” he whispers, his voice cracking. “What if I can’t get away?”

“You can,” you say firmly, leaning closer. “And you will. But you have to let someone in, Chip. You have to let someone help you.”

He swallows hard, blinking rapidly like he’s trying to hold himself together. “Why do you care so much?” he asks, his voice small and hesitant, like he’s afraid of the answer.

You squeeze his knees gently, your eyes locked on his. “Because you deserve better,” you say simply. “And I’m not going to let you believe you don’t.”

For a long moment, he just stares at you, the weight of your words settling over him. Then, slowly, he nods, the tiniest flicker of hope breaking through the despair in his eyes. “Okay,” he whispers, the word so faint you almost don’t hear it.

But you do, and it’s enough. It’s a start.

—

“Where have you been?” Liza slurred drunkenly, her voice thick and venomous as Chip quietly closed the trailer door behind him. She was sitting on the couch, a half-empty bottle of something strong dangling from her hand, her eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“Uh, nowhere?” Chip replied timidly, his voice barely above a whisper as he tried to avoid her gaze.

Liza snorted, her lips curling into a sneer. “What’s her name?” she shot back, leaning forward unsteadily. “Little Miss Nowhere?”

Chip froze, his throat tightening as he searched for something—anything—that might diffuse the situation. “It’s not like that, Liza,” he said carefully, his voice trembling just enough to betray his nerves.

“Oh, it’s not like that?” she mocked, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “You think I’m stupid, Chip? You come sneaking in here like some guilty teenager, and I’m supposed to believe you were just out… what? Taking a walk?”

“I wasn’t sneaking,” he mumbled, stepping further into the room, though he kept his distance from her. “I just—needed some air. That’s all.”

“Air, huh?” Liza spat, taking a swig from the bottle and setting it down hard on the coffee table. “Funny how you always seem to need air somewhere else. Who is she, Chip? Huh? Some charity case who feels bad for you?”

“Stop, Liza,” he said softly, his voice pleading. “You’re drunk.”

“Oh, don’t you dare tell me what I am,” she snapped, standing up abruptly and swaying slightly. “You’re the one sneaking around, lying to me, and I’m the problem?”

Chip’s hands balled into fists at his sides, his chest tight with frustration and fear. “I’m not lying to you,” he said quietly, though the exhaustion in his voice was unmistakable.

“Sure you’re not,” she hissed, stepping closer, her eyes locked onto his. “But let me tell you something, Chip—you think you can just waltz in and out of here, running to whoever she is? You’re mine. Don’t forget that.”

He flinched at her words, his head dipping as he avoided her gaze. “I’m tired, Liza,” he said softly. “I don’t want to do this tonight.”

“Yeah?” she barked, her voice rising. “Well, tough shit, because I’m not done.”

But Chip didn’t respond. He turned and walked toward the bedroom, his shoulders hunched as if carrying the weight of the world. Behind him, Liza’s words kept coming, sharp and slurred, but he didn’t look back.

As he closed the door behind him, he leaned against it, his chest heaving with shaky breaths. The fight had drained him, but your voice—steady and kind from earlier—echoed faintly in his mind.

“You don’t deserve this, Chip.”

And for the first time, he wondered if you might be right.

—

It was like clockwork, hearing the knock on your door. You didn’t think twice before opening it, expecting the usual sheepish face and bruises.

“What is it today, Chip—” you began, but the words died in your throat as you froze.

It wasn’t Chip. It was Liza.

Before you could react, she pushed her way inside, her movements unsteady but fueled by a drunken determination. The sharp, acrid scent of alcohol clung to her, and her eyes narrowed as they darted around your space, taking in every detail.

“So you’re the little twinkie my Chip keeps running off to see?” she sneered, her words slurred but cutting.

“What? Um, no,” you stammered, panic rising as you took a step back. “We’re just—uh, we’re friends.”

Liza let out a bitter laugh, the sound harsh and humorless as she staggered toward you, her eyes locking onto yours with an unsettling intensity. “Friends?” she spat. “Don’t give me that. I wasn’t born yesterday. You think I don’t know what’s going on?”

Your chest tightened, your heart pounding as you tried to stay calm. “Why are you in my home?” you demanded, your voice trembling despite your attempt at firmness.

Liza ignored the question, her gaze sweeping the room again before settling back on you. “You think you’re better than me, don’t you?” she hissed, taking another step closer. “Playing the good little Samaritan, patching him up, feeding him your pity. You think you can just take him from me?”

“No one’s trying to take anyone,” you said, your voice steadier now as you held your ground. “Chip’s my friend, that’s all. But if you’re here to cause trouble, you need to leave.”

Liza’s sneer deepened, her body swaying slightly as she crossed her arms. “Trouble?” she mocked. “Oh, honey, you don’t know the half of it.”

Your stomach churned as she stared you down, her presence filling the room with a volatile energy that made it hard to breathe. “Liza, I’m asking you nicely. Get out,” you said, your tone firmer now.

But she just laughed again, the sound colder than before. “Or what?” she challenged, leaning in closer. “You gonna run to Chip? Beg him to save you from big, bad Liza?”

You swallowed hard, your mind racing for how to handle this without escalating things further. “No,” you said firmly, your voice low and measured. “I don’t need anyone to save me. But you need to leave. Now.”

Liza’s expression faltered for just a moment, a flicker of uncertainty passing over her face before she straightened up, wobbling slightly. “Fine,” she snapped, turning toward the door. “But you’d better stay away from him. Because if I find out you’re messing with what’s mine…”

She didn’t finish the threat, but the weight of her words hung heavy in the air as she stumbled out of your home, slamming the door behind her.

You stood there for a moment, your heart racing as you tried to process what had just happened. Finally, you locked the door, leaning against it as you exhaled shakily.

And all you could think was, What the hell has Chip gotten himself into?

The rest of the day was a blur, the encounter with Liza leaving a sour knot in your stomach. That evening, for the first time in weeks, you weren’t home when Chip came knocking. Work had called, and with bills looming, you couldn’t afford to say no.

When Chip arrived at your door, his knock was softer than usual, almost hesitant. He waited, shuffling on the porch, but there was no answer. He tried again, his hand lingering on the doorframe as he glanced around. Still nothing.

Unsure of what else to do, Chip slumped down onto the steps of your porch, his legs stretched out as the weight of everything pressed down on him. The fight with Liza, the exhaustion from trying to keep it all together, the growing guilt over dragging you into his mess—it all swirled in his head, loud and unrelenting.

He hadn’t meant to stay long. Just a few minutes to collect himself before heading back to the chaos. But the cool night air and the relative safety of your porch lulled him into stillness, and before he knew it, his eyes grew heavy.

By the time you got home, the clock was nearing midnight. You were juggling your keys and a bag of groceries when you noticed the figure curled up on your porch. Your heart skipped a beat before recognition settled in.

“Chip?” you called softly, stepping closer.

He stirred at the sound of your voice, groggy and disoriented. “Hey,” he mumbled, sitting up and rubbing his eyes.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, your voice a mix of surprise and concern. “Why didn’t you call?”

“I did,” he said, his voice raspy from sleep. “Your phone went straight to voicemail. Thought I’d wait for you.”

Your chest tightened as you took in the sight of him—his slumped posture, the faint bruise blooming on his jaw, the weariness etched into every line of his face. You crouched down beside him, setting your bag aside. “Chip, you can’t sleep on my porch.”

“I didn’t mean to,” he admitted, his voice low. “I just… I didn’t know where else to go.”

Your frustration melted at the vulnerability in his tone, replaced by a wave of empathy. “Come on,” you said gently, standing and reaching for his hand. “Let’s get you inside.”

Chip hesitated, glancing up at you, his eyes glassy and unsure. But when you offered him a small, reassuring smile, he let out a soft sigh and took your hand.

The next morning, the smell of sizzling bacon and fresh coffee filled the air. You hummed softly to yourself as you worked in the kitchen, glancing over your shoulder every so often to make sure Chip hadn’t snuck off. But there he was, sitting at the small table, bleary-eyed and tousle-haired, looking more like a lost puppy than the rugged man who had crashed on your porch.

When you placed a plate of eggs, bacon, and toast in front of him, he blinked at it, then up at you. “You didn’t have to do this,” he mumbled, his voice thick with emotion he didn’t quite know how to hide.

“Just eat,” you said with a small smile, brushing it off like it was no big deal. But when he picked up a piece of bacon, his hands trembled slightly. You noticed the way his eyes glistened, though he quickly looked down, blinking hard as if the sight of breakfast had somehow betrayed him.

You leaned against the counter, watching him take a hesitant bite, and the words spilled out before you could second-guess them. “Move in with me.”

Chip froze mid-bite, his eyes widening as he choked on the bacon. He coughed, grabbing his coffee to wash it down, and stared at you like you’d just grown a second head. “What?” he croaked, his voice cracking.

“I don’t want you going back to her,” you said simply, your tone steady despite the racing of your heart. “You basically live here already, so why not make it permanent?”

“Y/N…” he stammered, setting his fork down as his brow furrowed. “I—I don’t know what to say.”

“Say yes,” you replied, stepping closer. “I don’t want you in that situation anymore, Chip. You don’t deserve it.”

“I can’t pay much in rent,” he said, his voice quiet, almost ashamed.

You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head. “I own the house, Chip. You’re not paying rent. Just… contribute when you can, okay? Groceries, light bills, whatever. This isn’t about money.”

He stared at you, the conflict in his eyes giving way to something softer, something that looked a lot like hope. “Are you sure?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I wouldn’t have asked if I wasn’t,” you said with a reassuring smile. “You’re not alone, Chip. You don’t have to go back to that trailer.”

For a moment, he was silent, his gaze dropping to the plate of food you’d made for him. Then he nodded slowly, his lips pressing into a thin line as he swallowed hard. “Okay,” he said finally, his voice shaky. “I’ll stay.”

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, relief washing over you. “Good,” you said with a small smile. “Now finish your breakfast before it gets cold.”

Chip nodded again, his shoulders relaxing slightly as he picked up his fork. But this time, there was a faint glimmer of something in his expression—a flicker of trust, of gratitude, of believing.

—

That weekend, you decided Chip deserved a break—a real one. So, you took him out for a round of celebratory drinks at your favorite local spot, a small, cozy bar with dim lighting, a jukebox that played everything from old country to classic rock, and a bartender who knew how to pour a drink just right.

For the first time in a long while, there was no drama, no blood, no tension hanging over your heads. Just you and Chip, relaxed and laughing like nothing else in the world mattered.

“Okay, okay,” You said, your voice loud enough to be heard over the faint buzz of conversation and clinking glasses. “But you’re seriously telling me you thought you could just jump off the roof into a pool without calculating the distance first? That’s, like, Physics 101!”

Chip rolled his eyes, tipping his glass toward you. “Hey, I was fifteen, and I thought I was invincible. Plus, I didn’t think anyone was going to snitch to my parents about it.”

You laughed, the sound warm and unrestrained, and Chip couldn’t help but smile. It was good to see you like this, guard down, shoulders loose, your eyes crinkling at the corners.

“You’re lucky you didn’t break your neck,” You teased, taking a sip of your drink. “You’ve got guts, though. I’ll give you that.”

“Damn right, I do,” He shot back with a grin, raising his glass. “Here’s to bad decisions and living to tell the tale.”

You clinked his bottle against your glass, his smile softening as he looked at you. “I’ll drink to that,” you said, your voice quieter now.

The two of you fell into a comfortable rhythm, the conversation flowing easily as you swapped stories, teased each other, and indulged in just a little casual flirting. You weren’t sure if it was the alcohol or the moment, but something about the way Chip looked at you that night felt… different.

“Thanks for this,” he said suddenly, leaning back in his chair and giving you a small, genuine smile. “I don’t remember the last time I had a night like this. No stress. No bullshit. Just… good company.”

Your cheeks warmed, but you played it cool, swirling the last of your drink in your glass. “Well, you deserve it,” you said, meeting his gaze. “Besides, I like seeing you like this. Relaxed. Happy.”

His smile widened, and for a brief moment, the rest of the bar seemed to fade away. “I think that’s all you,” he said softly, his voice carrying just enough weight to make your heart skip.

You raised an eyebrow, trying to mask the sudden flutter in your chest. “Flattery will get you another round,” you teased, sliding out of your seat.

Chip laughed, shaking his head as he watched you walk toward the bar. And as the night stretched on, filled with more drinks, more laughs, and the kind of easy connection that felt rare and precious, you both couldn’t help but think: Maybe this is how things are supposed to feel.

But, of course, nice things never last. One minute, you were smiling and turning your head to flag down the bartender for another drink while Chip slipped off to the bathroom. The atmosphere was light, carefree. For a fleeting moment, it felt like everything might actually be okay.

And then, chaos.

The first thing you registered was the searing pain. Your head snapped forward as something—or rather, someone—slammed your face into the edge of the bar. The world spun, and your hands flew up to your nose instinctively, warmth already spreading down your face.

Screams erupted around you, voices blending into a cacophony of panic and confusion. Blinking through the haze, you turned your head just enough to catch a glimpse of her—Liza.

Her face was twisted with rage, her body shaking as she pointed a trembling finger at you. “You think you can just take him from me?” she spat, her voice slurred and venomous. “You think you’re better than me, huh? Well, guess what, sweetheart—he’s mine!”

Blood dripped between your fingers, your likely broken nose throbbing with every beat of your heart. You staggered back, trying to create space between you and her as bar patrons scrambled out of the way, some yelling for security, others too stunned to react.

“Liza,” you managed, your voice muffled and shaky as you tried to steady yourself. “What the hell are you doing?”

“You’re pathetic,” she hissed, taking a step toward you, her eyes wild. “You think you can fix him? Save him? He doesn’t need you!”

Before she could lunge again, a pair of arms wrapped around her from behind, pulling her back. Chip. His face was pale, his eyes wide with horror as he restrained her, his voice shaking as he said, “Liza, stop! What the hell is wrong with you?”

She fought against his hold, screaming obscenities as her feet kicked against the floor. “You lied to me, Chip!” she shrieked. “You said you’d always be there! You said we’d work it out!”

“Let’s go,” Chip said firmly, dragging her toward the exit as she thrashed in his grip. “You’re done. Get out.”

As they disappeared through the door, the bartender rushed over to you, his face full of concern. “Are you okay?” he asked, handing you a wad of napkins to stem the bleeding.

“I—I don’t know,” you stammered, pressing the napkins against your nose as your vision blurred with tears of pain and shock.

Moments later, Chip returned, his chest heaving as he burst back into the bar. His eyes scanned the crowd frantically until they landed on you, sitting on a stool, blood dripping between your fingers. His face crumpled with guilt and horror.

“Oh my god, Y/N,” he breathed, rushing to your side and crouching down in front of you. “I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

“This isn’t your fault,” you mumbled through the pain, though your voice trembled, and the blood on your hands told a different story.

“It is,” Chip said, his voice low and filled with self-reproach as he grabbed more napkins from the bartender. “It all is. If I’d just—if I hadn’t—” He stopped himself, shaking his head as he pressed the napkins into your hands. “Here. Hold these tight, okay?”

You didn’t argue, taking the napkins and wincing as you held them against your throbbing nose. The room felt too loud, too crowded, the stares from the other patrons pressing down on you like weights.

Minutes later, the flashing lights of an ambulance cut through the chaos outside. Chip helped you to your feet, his hand steady on your back as paramedics ushered you into the back of the vehicle. The world felt surreal, the adrenaline in your veins masking the full extent of the pain radiating through your face.

“Stay still,” one of the paramedics instructed as they examined you, their hands gentle but efficient. You caught glimpses of Chip through the open door, standing a few feet away, his posture tense as he spoke with the police.

He gestured animatedly, his words spilling out in hurried bursts. You couldn’t hear what he was saying, but you could see the guilt etched into every movement, the way he ran a hand through his hair, his shoulders slumping as he pointed back toward the bar.

When the officer nodded and took notes, Chip glanced back at you, his expression raw and heavy with regret.

Inside the ambulance, the paramedic gave you a small smile, her voice calm. “It looks like your nose is broken, but it’s a clean break. We’ll take you to the hospital to get it checked out.”

You nodded weakly, your eyes flickering back to Chip outside. 

—

When you arrived home that night, the sound of hurried footsteps greeted you even before you stepped through the door. Chip was pacing the living room, his hands raking through his hair in nervous, jittery motions.

The moment the door clicked open, he froze and turned toward you, his face lighting up with a mixture of relief and worry. “Y/N? Y/N, oh my god, you’re okay,” he blurted, rushing toward you like a man on a mission.

You couldn’t help but laugh softly at his intensity, though it turned into a groan as the pain in your nose flared. “I’m fine, Chip,” you assured him, though your voice came out a little nasally thanks to the bandages.

Chip stopped in front of you, his eyes scanning your face with a mixture of guilt and concern. “I’m so sorry I didn’t come to get you,” he said, his voice cracking slightly. “You had the car keys, and I—I didn’t know how to—”

“Chip,” you interrupted, smiling despite the ache in your face. “It’s fine. Really. I’m just glad you’re here now.”

He hesitated, his eyes lingering on your bruises and the fresh bandage across your nose. “I still feel like an idiot,” he muttered, his voice heavy with regret.

“Don’t,” you said firmly, placing a hand on his arm. “None of this is your fault.”

He let out a shaky sigh, his shoulders slumping slightly. “They arrested Liza,” he said after a moment, his voice quieter now. “I told them everything. All of it.”

“Everything?” you echoed, your brows lifting slightly despite the stiffness in your face.

“Yeah,” he nodded, his gaze dropping to the floor. “They’re gonna want you to testify, though. Against her. I—” He paused, looking up at you, his expression pleading. “I know it’s a lot to ask, but—”

“I’ll do it,” you said without hesitation, cutting him off.

Chip’s eyes widened. “You will?”

“Of course,” you said softly. “She hurt you, Chip. And tonight, she hurt me. I’m not going to let her keep doing this—not to you, not to anyone.”

For a moment, he just stared at you, his jaw working like he was struggling to find the right words. Finally, he nodded, his lips pressing into a thin line. “Thank you,” he whispered.

You reached out, squeezing his arm gently. “We’ll get through this,” you said, your voice steady. “Together.”

Chip’s shoulders relaxed slightly at your words, the tension visibly melting away. His eyes lingered on yours for a moment too long, and for whatever reason his brain cooked up, he decided that right then was the perfect time to kiss you.

Before you could even react, his lips met yours—not hard, not rough, but just enough to remind you that, oh yeah, you had a freshly set nose.

“Ow!” you grunted, pulling back sharply, your hand flying up to cradle your face.

Chip’s eyes widened in panic. “Oh my god! I’m sorry! I didn’t think—”

But the ridiculousness of it all hit you before the pain fully registered, and a laugh bubbled out of you. “Chip, seriously?” you managed between giggles, wincing but unable to stop yourself from laughing.

He rubbed the back of his neck, a sheepish grin spreading across his face. “I—I don’t know what I was thinking,” he stammered, his cheeks flushing bright red. “Guess I got caught up in the moment or something. Stupid, right?”

You kept laughing, the sound slightly strangled as you tried to avoid moving your nose too much. “You think?” you teased, giving him a playful shove. “Maybe next time don’t kiss someone who just got their face rearranged, genius.”

Chip chuckled, his embarrassment giving way to a genuine laugh as he looked at you. “Noted,” he said, his grin growing. “Maybe I’ll, uh, ask for permission first next time.”

“Good idea,” you replied with a smirk, your hand still gently holding your nose. “But hey, points for effort, I guess.”

He laughed again, his shoulders shaking as he ran a hand through his hair. “I’ll take what I can get.”

As the laughter faded, the two of you sat there in the quiet, the moment lighter than it had been all night. And despite the throbbing in your nose, you couldn’t help but feel a little warmth spread through your chest. Even if his timing was terrible, it was still Chip—and maybe, just maybe, there was something to that.

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[blackenedsnow]

sonic x reader attempting a suicide? i’m having a terrible time and would just like some love from my comfort character. its okay if this makes you uncomfortable.

caught in the wind

WARNING: Suicidal thoughts, mental health struggles, suicide attempt

PAIRING: Sonic The Hedgehog x Suicidal! Reader

NOTE: I hope this was helpful for you. I sincerely hope everything is okay and I want you all to know that I care for all of you and that I am always here to talk. Take care of yourself. I know how it feels so I didn’t try sugarcoating it and made it as realistic as I could.

SUMMARY: While out on a run, Sonic spots something unsettling—one of his closest friends standing at the edge of a cliff, contemplating a jump.

The wind rushed past Sonic’s ears as he dashed through Green Hill, the familiar blur of trees, loops, and waterfalls passing in his peripheral. It was one of those days where everything felt a little lighter—perfect weather, nothing chasing him, and no Eggman in sight. It was just him, the wind, and the thrill of the open road.

As he zipped along the cliffs that bordered the coastline, something odd caught his eye. At first, he dismissed it—just a figure standing at the edge of the rocks, back turned to the world. But something in the way they were standing—rigid, unmoving, staring down into the water below—made his heart skip a beat.

Wait. He knew that silhouette.

Sonic skidded to a halt, sending a puff of dust into the air. He rubbed his eyes with his gloved hands, making sure he wasn’t seeing things. But no, it really was you, Y/N, his friend. And you weren’t just looking out over the ocean for the view. No, something about your posture, the way your shoulders slumped, the way you didn’t seem to notice him approaching, sent alarm bells ringing in his head.

Sonic frowned, shifting his weight from foot to foot. He knew you’d been going through a rough patch lately, but…was it really that bad..? He prayed and hoped you were just admiring the view.

"Hey!" Sonic called, voice casual but firm. "Whatcha doing up there? Pretty cool view, huh?"

No answer.

His heart rate sped up, unease prickling at the back of his neck. Slowly, he started walking toward you, his steps uncharacteristically slow. Sonic never slowed down—he always kept moving, but something in the air made him tread carefully.

As he got closer, he could hear your soft breaths, shaky and uneven, like you were trying to hold something back.

"Hey, you okay?" Sonic asked, his voice softer now, more serious.

Still nothing.

That’s when you moved.

Without a word, you leaned forward—so fast, too fast—and before Sonic could even process what was happening, you jumped.

His instincts kicked in before his brain could. In a split second, Sonic launched himself off the cliff, wind roaring in his ears, reaching out with everything he had. Time seemed to slow down, and all he could hear was the rush of his own heartbeat, the thunder of the ocean beneath the two of you, and the desperate pounding in his chest.

Faster. He had to go faster.

Just as you were about to touchdown, Sonic’s arms reached out, wrapping around you in mid-air, his grip tight and unwavering. With a grunt of effort, he twisted his body, redirecting your fall, and landed hard on a ledge just below the cliff, skidding to a stop against the rough rock.

You trembled in his arms, silent sobs shaking your body. Sonic held you tightly, trying to steady his own racing heartbeat.

"Gotcha," he breathed, his voice barely audible over the sound of the crashing waves below. "I’ve gotcha…"

For a moment, neither of you spoke. Sonic just held you, feeling the way your chest heaved with each ragged breath, the way you curled in on yourself as if trying to disappear.

"What were you thinking..?" Sonic’s voice cracked, and he winced at how small it sounded. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. He was supposed to be the fast one, the one who always had a plan, always knew what to say. But right now, he felt as lost as you did.

You shook your head, tears streaking down your face. "I-I don’t know…I just…I couldn’t…"

Sonic felt a knot form in his throat, and he tightened his grip, making sure you knew he was there, that he wasn’t letting go.

"Look, I don’t know what’s going on in your head right now," Sonic said, his voice steadying. "But I do know one thing: I’m not letting you go. You’re not doing this alone, okay? I’m here. We’re all here. And we’re gonna figure this out."

You sobbed harder, your fists clutching the fabric of Sonic’s gloves as if he were the only thing tethering you to the world.

"You’re not alone," Sonic repeated, his voice soft but firm. "You’ve got me. You’ve got everyone who cares about you. I know things look bad right now, but trust me, we’ll make it through this. You’ll make it through this."

Slowly, your sobs began to quiet, though the weight of your pain still hung in the air like a storm cloud. But you hadn’t let go of Sonic. And he wasn’t about to let go of you.

Sonic sighed, glancing up at the cliff. He’d have to figure out how to climb back up, but that could wait.

For now, he was just grateful he’d been there in time.

A few days after the incident, the weight of it hasn’t left your chest. If anything, the guilt has only gotten worse. Every time you close your eyes, you feel that awful drop in your stomach again—the moment you jumped, the moment you gave up. And then Sonic’s arms, pulling you back, holding on like his life depended on it, when it was yours that was on the line.

You’re sitting in your room now, staring at the floor. The blankets are piled up on your bed, untouched, and the gifts Sonic’s been bringing lie scattered around—plushies, snacks, even some weird gadgets he thought might cheer you up. But none of it really matters. The shame sits heavy in your gut, a constant reminder that you nearly threw everything away. That you almost made Sonic witness something unforgivable.

You didn’t tell anyone. You couldn’t. And, surprisingly, Sonic hasn’t either. You had made him promise that day, and he didn’t even hesitate. “I won’t tell a soul,” he had said, his tone serious in a way that made you believe him instantly.

But the price for that silence is the weight of knowing what you did. And Sonic’s visits—while comforting—only seem to make you feel worse. He shows up almost every day, pretending like nothing’s wrong, acting like his usual upbeat self. He’ll burst into your room with a grin, tossing some random gift onto your bed like he’s just come back from one of his adventures.

“Hey! Got you something else!” he’d say, as if that could somehow fix the cracks in your soul.

You know he means well. He’s trying. But every time you see that bright smile, it’s like a reminder that you’re letting him down. That he’s doing everything he can to pull you out of this pit, and you’re still stuck at the bottom, too ashamed to climb up.

Today’s no different. The sun is barely past noon when you hear the familiar tap-tap-tap on your window. You don’t look up. You don’t need to. You already know it’s him.

“Mind if I come in?” he asks, his voice gentle but still carrying that hint of his usual energy.

You shake your head, even though you don’t feel ready. Sonic opens the window and slides in with ease, immediately noticing the mess of unopened gifts around your room.

“Man, I’ve really been overdoing it, huh?” He chuckles awkwardly, scratching the back of his head. “I just… thought maybe some of this stuff would make you smile.”

You want to tell him that it’s not the gifts, that it’s not him, that nothing he does could fix what’s broken inside you. But the words stick in your throat, and all you manage is a weak, “You didn’t have to…”

“Hey, it’s no big deal. I like doing it,” Sonic says quickly, sitting down on the edge of your bed. “I know it’s not easy, what you’re going through. But I’m not going anywhere. We’ll figure this out.”

We’ll figure this out. He always said that. Every time he came over.

You glance at him, biting your lip. The guilt tightens in your chest. You know he’s doing everything he can. He’s Sonic the Hedgehog, after all—the hero, the one who always saves the day. But this time, you’re not sure if you can be saved.

“I don’t deserve it,” you mumble, the words slipping out before you can stop them. “I… I don’t deserve any of this.”

Sonic’s smile falters, and he looks at you with a seriousness that makes your stomach twist.

“Don’t say that,” he says, his voice quieter now. “You’re worth it. No matter how bad things feel, or how much you think you’re not—you are. I don’t just show up because I feel sorry for you. I’m here because you’re important to me.”

The words hit you harder than you expect, and you have to look away, tears welling up in your eyes. You didn’t think it was possible to feel this much shame and relief at the same time.

“I don’t know how to fix this.” you whisper, your voice shaking.

Sonic’s hand rests gently on your shoulder, and for once, he’s not trying to cheer you up or brush things off with a joke. He’s just… there.

“You don’t have to fix it all at once,” he says softly. “We’ll take it one step at a time. And when you fall, I’ll be there to catch you, just like before. You don’t have to do this alone.”

The tears spill over, and you can’t stop them this time. You feel Sonic’s arm wrap around your shoulder, pulling you into a comforting hug. You’ve felt so lost for so long, but right now, in this moment, with him holding you, you feel something you haven’t in a while—a little bit of hope.

It’s small, fragile, but it’s there.

And maybe, just maybe, that’s enough for now.

[luveline]

hey jade! i loved your vampire!sirius fic it was so cute!! i know it’s not halloween anymore but could you write another one of vampire!sirius with that unphased reader please?

hi lovie!! for u

Sirius pushes you down by the throat, his eyes narrowed and his weight heavy on your stomach. You squirm beneath him, trying to push him off. 

"Ow…" You cover his hand. "Not so rough." 

"Sorry," he says, hand moving to your shoulder. His apology is genuine, soft as silk, as are his hands where they wander. "I just missed you." He tucks his arm behind your neck and leans in for a hug. 

You giggle. "Yeah? Me or my circulatory system?" 

"Don't say stuff like that!" He kisses you atop your pulse, the place he so often nibbles. "I missed you." 

You grab handfuls of inky hair and hug him back. You can't say you weren't expecting to be taken to bed the moment you got back, but you absolutely thought it would be for a feeding or some weird bloody fun. This is unexpected, but still nice. "You smell nice," you mumble, closing your eyes. 

He kisses your neck. His lips travel upward, nothing seductive or smooth about it —this is all clumsy, chaste sweetness, and it's knocking you off kilter. "I don't think you should go away again." 

"It was four days." 

"Have we been apart four days? Since we met?" 

No. You and Sirius have become that irritating weirdo couple that met and immediately fell in love, so to speak. You live in the other's lap, and you have no regrets thus far. It's odd how well you get along, but he's an odd creature, and you're worse if he's to be believed. My little freak never sounded so saccharine. 

Even when he pulls up to tower over you and that strange alarm bell in your head begins to ring, your adrenaline spikes, the glint of his sharp fangs and the predatory thinning of his irises activates an innate fight of flight, but in your head? You have no urge to move. It doesn't make any sense. "No," you answer, having almost forgotten. "We haven't." 

His cheek is scratchy in your hand. "And look at the consequences. I've been forced to drink from other people and you've taken up a barrage of exciting new boyfriends–" 

"Well, I haven't," you say, grinning at him. "You're the only boyfriend for me. I tried, but the supernatural find me so very off-putting. I can't imagine why." 

"Oh, you tried?" he asks, dropping his face to dig his nose under your jaw. He kisses you, but you know he's doing that as an afterthought, the nose jabbing his main prerogative. 

"Not really." You cup the back of his head. "Are you hungry?" 

"Would you stop it? I'm trying to express my love for you and you're desperate to play victim." 

"I'm just wondering." 

His fang scratches your skin, a graze. The blood it produces wouldn't so much as wet his fingernail, but he licks the wound to seal it and kisses straight up your cheek to the corner of your eye. "Please," he says, relaxing into your hold, "don't go on holiday again. At least for the next century." 

"So for the rest of my life?"

Sirius scoffs. "If you think I'd let you die an old crone, you're stupid. You're stuck with me forever." He doesn't sound quite as sweet when he says it like that, a solidness to his declaration that should give you goosebumps. "You belong with me." 

It should freak you out. What a strange thing to say. What a weird thing to picture. 

"You really don't want me around for my endless buffet?" you ask. 

"Don't be stupid. If blood were your most valuable trait I would've drained you the night we met. It's a little bonus for now, and in a few years when you're ready you'll drink some of my blood and be my wife for the rest of time." 

You lean back to look at him. "What if I'm ready now?" 

He moves to mouth kisses into your soft jaw. "Darling, why rush? You can only get more perfect." He laughs into his kisses, speaks smushed and warm into your skin, "What if I'm ready now?" he repeats, kiss-kiss-kissing. "You aren't scared of anything, are you, my love?" 

"I'm certainly not scared of you." 

"You might be scared of never eating crisps again though, hmm?" 

You think about it. "Alright. In a few years." 

"That's my girl." 

[ravenna-reid]

Your Demons Know Mine (Part Two)

Jason Todd x fem!reader

Part One - Mentions of violence and some of Jason's trauma

“We got the files you needed, I don’t understand what the problem is –”

You were cut off by a stern voice. You’d never heard Batman so livid, and it was a cold sort of anger that you weren’t used to. It made you and Red fall silent.

“How many times am I going to have to discuss your antics with you Hood?”

Nightwing, who you assumed was the one to contact Batman, stood before you now alongside Red Robin, the pair of them quietly watching this argument unfold. 

You wanted to cast a glance over at Red. The anger was practically radiating off of his suit. “Almost beating a man half to death? Again?”

“You weren’t there! The prick had it coming!” Jason snapped back, his voice full of emotion now that his helmet was off and all he had was that domino mask. 

Batman merely scoffed at Jason in response. “That’s no excuse! You were all given one clear rule-”

“We fight crime, shits gonna get ugly sometimes! Yet you act like you’ve never hit someone that hard before!” Jason took a step closer to Batman as he yelled.

I've never seen you hit Joker that hard, and you hate him.

The words Jason uttered to Bruce so long ago simmered in the back of his mind. Back when he was bloody and bruised at the hands of his own ‘father.’

Batman stood, rigid and full of rage before his demeanour suddenly seemed to change. His body language telling you his attention had turned to you. 

“[Vigilante name].”

You wanted to grimace. 

“How did you gain access to that room so quickly? How did you know the pin?”  

Soon enough, everyone’s eyes settled onto you. 

Oh hell no. The last thing you expected after this shitty night was to be at the centre of the conflict. You did not think Batman and his little soldiers would end up interrogating you. 

You kept your arms crossed against your body, your glare meeting everyones before falling back onto Batman. 

“What?”

“The. Pin. How did you attain it?”

You fought the urge to fiddle with the knuckle duster that still sat on your hand. Fought the urge to shift your feet on the ground. You felt Red turn to look at you too. 

You nonchalantly shrugged. “I don’t just work for you. I have my own cases too, and I’ve been investigating here and there.” 

Nightwing and Red Robin’s line of sight switched from you back to the Dark Knight, but both he and Hood seemed unconvinced. 

Tension settled over the room like a weighted blanket. Still, you held your stance. Held eye contact even though all you were staring back at was a bat-like cowl with white casing over the eyes. 

“You work for them, don’t you?” 

Batman’s words sounded more like a statement rather than a question, and it made your skin crawl. How long did you really think you could hide your identity from the Bat? Nevertheless, the breach of privacy made anger ring like alarm bells in your head. Especially given one of the rules Batman laid upon you when he first met you; never try to discover anyone’s secret identity. Ironic.

“What do you mean? Why would I bring back these files if I were working for the bad guys?” You spat back, clearly becoming defensive. 

Batman responded coolly, “I never said you were working for the ‘bad guys.’

You swallowed hard, and it no doubt went unnoticed by the two stupid detectives standing before you. Your glare snapped over to Red Robin, but he seemed a little sympathetic. Like he was pitying you for what was about to go down. 

“The use of potassium? Your tendency to use chemicals instead of weapons when on patrol? There have been signs for a while.”

Now, you shifted on your feet. Whether it was because you were slowly becoming nervous or weary, you couldn’t tell. The only thought that brought you peace of mind was the fact that it seemed they still didn’t know your identity. Just where you worked. 

You supposed you could live with that. 

Batman continued, assuming he was indeed right.

“If that’s the case, our best bet is to have you work undercover.”

Your brows knitted together. “What do you mean?” You said once again. 

“We’ll try and gain access to the security cameras. Give you advanced contact lens’ so we can see what you see when you go into work.” 

Your guard dropped and instantly you were glowering at him. “Come again?”

This time, Nightwing responded. “It would help with the case [vigilante name].” He reasoned oh so diplomatically. “We could get inside intel and more.” 

“We can’t let this get any worse.” Batman interjected, adding onto what Nightwing said. 

Your mouth was agape as you stared at them both. “So you want me to willingly give away my identity?” You asked, astounded. 

Jason’s gaze hung onto you, taking in the betrayal that made its way into your expression. 

“No one would use it against you.” Nightwing said calmly. 

“No, but you would all go along with your day feeling safe behind your masks and I would be exposed. That’s not fair.”

“This is for the safety of others.” Batman’s voice grew stern again. “It’s not about you.”

You scoffed before stepping back, and it almost sounded like a bitter laugh. 

You couldn’t believe it. But a part of you also wasn’t so surprised either. Of course they didn’t trust you enough to allow you to keep your secret identity, just as they were keeping theirs. Of course they were acting like there would be no other way to crack this case and bring these people down. You would apparently have to reveal who you really were so that they could discover what your company was planning. And now all four bats were watching and waiting for you to remove your mask. You shook your head, heavy with disappointment.  

All you wanted was to be defended, to have someone have your back just once –

“You can’t ask her to do that.”

Your head immediately snapped to look over at Red. He was standing tall, his body language sure as he spoke those seven words to Batman and Nightwing. 

“Hood, stay out of –”

“No. That’s bullshit. We can do this without her removing the mask. We’ve done it a million times before.”

Those standing before them looked befuddled, and Red knew Bruce was probably swimming in rage at the fact that he was shitting all over his plan, but Jason didn’t care. In fact, the thought of it kinda made Jason happy. 

Red Hood turned to face you, dark hair falling above his eyes and demons apparently rid from his mind. He was his old self again. His usual self, but then again not so much. He was being…sweet? 

“You go to work, snoop around. Find out what you can and report back to us.” 

You gave a curt nod in return, grateful to have him sticking up for you. 

You quickly ignored that warmth that was beginning to spread through your chest and turned your gaze back onto the Bat. 

“So?” You asked, eager to see if Batman would agree with Red’s proposition. 

Bruce wasn’t happy, but he let it go. “Fine, get as much information as you can. We’ll discuss your encounter with that guard later.” He said to Red before leaving the cave. 

And you did the same. 

Jason watched as you instantly turned on your heel and headed towards your motorbike. Instinct told him to reach out to you. Ask you to wait a second. But he let you go. 

It was late. Later than you usually stayed out on patrol. But you were high on agitation and adrenaline, and you wanted to get it out of your system. The cold Gotham breeze brushed through your hair and against your skin, carrying the scent of rain. You sat atop one of the tallest buildings in Gotham, tilting your head back to look up at the cloud riddled sky. Maybe you’d be forced to go back to your apartment by the rain. You let out another annoyed sigh, flipping your dagger around in your hand before launching to your feet. 

You’d heard the footsteps from a mile away, and now they were close enough for you to confront them. The odds of it being a criminal or thug was low. You were expecting one of the men from the lab, maybe, but you were also expecting to see Nightiwng come and play devil’s advocate with you. 

Instead, you were met with another one of those bright, red helmets. 

“Someone’s a little tense.” He quipped as he still his movements so you realised he wasn’t a threat. He didn’t come to fight this time. 

You lowered the hand that held your dagger before easily slipping it back into its sheath. 

“You have a shelf full of those helmets?” You asked, nodding towards it. 

You couldn't see it, but he was smiling. “Yeah, I got Batman to make about a dozen of them. Him being rich and all.” 

Red walked across the rooftop, mirroring your movements as you began to slowly circle him. 

“I wouldn’t know how rich he is, I don’t go around trying to discover everyone’s identity.” Bitterness laced your tone, but Jason could understand why. 

“That’s just Bru- Batman.” He cleared his throat. “He’s paranoia and distrust incarnate.”

“Tell me about it.” You muttered, your eyes gazing back out to the skyline and city lights. 

Something turned in your stomach, fluttered in your chest. “Thanks for standing up for me. I really didn’t want to blur the lines between my patrol life and work life.”

Red nodded, “Yeah…it’s fine. I get that.”

Fuck, now what was he supposed to say? He was too hung up on the fact that you had thanked him to think of a way to carry the conversation. 

You both stood in silence, watching the city life below before you eventually side-eyed him. “So…how are you holding up?”

With the way he looked back at you, you just knew he had an eyebrow raised. 

Not knowing how to bring it up, you had your dagger in your hand again as it turned between your gloved fingers. “The crowbar?” Your voice was quiet. 

Oh, that. 

Red faced away from you. “Yeah..” He moved his large arms as if to stretch them before eventually turning to face you again. “It was nothing.” 

A part of you was so horrendously curious as to why the brash and fearless Red Hood buckled when he saw a crowbar, but you weren’t going to urge him. Push him to reveal something he so clearly didn’t want to acknowledge. 

You shrugged. “We all have something we would rather not face.” With the cool breeze picking up you crossed over arms over your body. 

Jason didn’t miss the affliction in your eyes as you stared out at that morbid city.  

“You?” He asked, his body ever so slightly inching closer towards yours. 

You looked back at him before looking down at his thighs. “Yeah, those things.” You said. 

He looked down at the guns strapped to him. 

Something ate away at Jason once he realised. 

So he was using the one thing you couldn’t stand? 

His main weapon was your crowbar…

“That why you would rather give people nerve damage with your chemicals?” 

You rolled your eyes. “Don’t even Red.” 

He gave a light snicker and it immediately made your head spin.

No, this was not how you two were supposed to interact with each other. 

You eagerly ignored that feeling in your chest. “Well, I have work to do tomorrow. Chemical testing, snooping, etc, etc.”

Jason caught the hint it was time to go your separate ways and call it a night. 

“Mm, come back to us with some intel and you might be able to earn some trust Dr.” 

You narrowed your eyes at him but a smirk dusted your face at the mention of his new nickname for you. It started out just being shithead, then he referred to you as a fox. 

‘Sly as a fox.’ 

Sometimes he’d call you alchemist, but now it was Dr. 

You flicked your hand at him as if you were swatting away a fly. “Yeah, yeah, cause that’s what I aim for in life. Earning the Bats trust.”

And in a blink of an eye, you had dropped down off of the rooftop. 

Now it was just Jason, the wind and car horns from down below. 

He drew in a deep breath, letting the coldness fill his chest as he thought about how your ‘friendship’ had taken such a turn.

But as Jason romanticised what could be, you couldn't help but feel you needed to re-drive a rift between this growing friendship. Not because you disliked what was slowly growing between you two, it actually made you a little giddy...but that was the problem.

lmk what ya'll think cause I might make this a series :)

[hellfirecvnt]

Preoccupied

Lee Russell x Fem!Reader pt. 4

Summary: A plan is hatching, sure. You and Lee can't stay focused. What are you two thinking about?

Warnings: ***Sex, drunk sex, drunk driving is bad but don't lose the plot here, riding

Notes: I'm changing the plot and timeline and shit so it's more fun to read and so I don't rip off other writers!

Read part one here. // Part two here. // Part three here. // Part five here.

Monday morning pries through the window like the hands of a thief as it snatches away your blissful sleep before your alarm. You sit up in your bed and extend into a long, pleasant stretch. You pull your blanket around you and a certain lingering scent of cologne takes over your senses. You close your eyes and relive Friday night.

"Do you wanna come back to my place?" You're unsure what possessed you to be so bold. Lee raises his eyebrows, a sly smile spread across his lips. The car ride is full of palpable tension, you nearly chew your lip clean off. The second you two drunken fools step out of the car, his lips are on yours. Desperate hands cling to any part of your body he can grasp.

Lee pins you to the car, and soft moans escape from both of you as you move your heads in sync. You trip and fumble over each other as you make your way to the door, nearly entirely without breaking the kiss. You finally get the lock unhatched and burst through the front entrance of your home. You both stumble inside and finally, your faces separate, only to catch your breath. Lee stares at you, carefully studying the features of your face as if he's not sure if this is real or not.

You lead him to your bedroom and lightly shove him so he sits on the bed. He watches you with a buzzed grin, amazed by you. You plant another long, hungry kiss on his lips before lowering to your knees in front of him.

"Oh... Oh!" He's excited by your initiative, watching as your delicate hands unfasten his belt and work to free his still-swelling erection.

You blink yourself out of the memory when you hear your alarm go off.

"Oh, fuck!" you exclaim aloud, shaken from your blissful reminiscing. After silencing the alarm, you get ready for the day. Lee Russell consumed your every thought all morning. Something about your inability to know how that night ended for him makes you nervous to see him today. All you know is he was gone by Saturday morning when you woke up. You're not sure how to feel.

You park your car and release a stressed sigh. There's no getting around it. If last night was a drunken mistake for Lee, that's just something you have to accept and move on from. Preferably fast. You step in the door and greet the other staff as you pass by. Just as you're about to round the desk and take your seat, the young teacher from the other day approaches you.

"Hey, Y/N," he chimes, more familiar than you recall giving him permission to be.

"Hello, Mr. Hayden," you speak with a tone meant to hint at your disapproval of his overly friendly manner.

"Some of the teachers were talking and they said you got drinks with Gamby and Russell," he laughs. "I'm so sorry, that must've been hell." He's not wrong, you recall Dr. Brown pissing on a cop car.

"I happened to run into them there, yes. I left before they did, though. Thank you for your... Apology?" You knit your brow and attempt to disengage from the conversation.

"Well," Bill steps in front of you again, demanding your attention. "I just wanted to let you know, me and the other teachers do payday drinks every Friday. You're welcome to come. It might be a little better... Conversation wise." Mr. Hayden laughs at his own quip and you stare straight faced.

"That won't be necessary, Hayden. Ms. Y/L/N is in good hands." Lee appears from nowhere, slipping a long, nimble arm around your shoulder as he stands next to you. "Let's all get back to work, shall we? Bell's about to ring." He sassily bobs his head, staring daggers into Bill Hayden. The teacher glances at you and then back to Lee before rolling his eyes and heading to his classroom. The bell rings just a moment after he rounds the corner.

"Lee Russell, to the rescue." You smile up at him as he frees you from his close-knit grasp.

"Good morning, darlin'. You sleep well?" He tilts his head playfully, subtly looking for the answer in your eyes.

"Like a baby," you laugh, nervous from the way he's looking at you. He's fighting tooth and nail inside to keep his behavior professional, only because apparently Super Intendant Haas plans to make a surprise visit after Dr. Brown "mysteriously" put in her resignation letter after meeting with her early this morning by the train tracks.

"Don't look at me with those big doe eyes, sweetheart. You know Haas can't see me with an underling. We'll both get fired."

"An underling? Harsh. You were the one under me," you joke, quietly, taking your seat behind your desk. You lean forward, keeping your eyes locked with his, pushing your breasts together as you pull your blouse down to tease him. Lee's eyes widen for just a moment as he glances down to your chest.

"Keep it in your pants, Y/L/N. I'll make it worth your while." He winks before disappearing into his office. Behind that door, Lee closes the wide sets of blinds, closing off visibility inside his small, glass-walled office. In the dim light, he leans back in his chair, a distressed hand readjusting his pants as his mind drifts off to memories of the weekend.

Your large, shining eyes glare up at him from where you kneel with one gentle hand wrapped around his shaft. Your hand sits perfectly still and yet his breathing is still shuddered, just seeing you touch him like this. His eyes roll back as you begin to work your hand up and down with a firm grip. You smile, proud of the reaction you're getting. You take it a step further and lick a firm stripe up his length from base to tip.

"Jesus Fucking Christ," he groans, reaching a hand down to wrap a fist in your hair. You position your pouting lips at the tip of his cock, leaving gentle kisses before allowing him into your mouth. You bob your head up and down, occasionally taking a new position to take him deeper and deeper into your throat. He's well endowed, and tears prickle at your eyes as you push yourself to your limit trying to please him.

He holds the fist of of your hair firmly, forcing you into a rhythm of his choice. When he pushes you too far, you moan in protest against his skin. The vibration is enough to send him over the edge right then.

"Shhh, shhh," he whispers. "Can't believe this dirty little fuckin' mouth of yours." He throws his head back, basking in the warmth of your mouth for a few seconds longer before roughly pulling you away from him altogether. "Get on the bed, sweetheart."

A hard knock at Lee's office door returns him to reality. He's quick to grant entry to whoever waits outside and in walks Super Intendant Haas.

Back at your desk, you're on the phone with an inquiring parent and Gamby zooms past you.

"Shut the fuck up, Y/L/N, I'm in a meeting!" he says, lightning fast, as he beelines for Lee's office door. The three men have their meeting and you can't help but glance back at the closed blinds every so often, wondering what they're talking about. It's obvious to you that Belinda is done for, her entire reputation lies in the volatile hands of Lee Russell. So what could be going on behind that door?

When the three men finally emerge, all is quiet. Neal and Lee usher Haas to the door and bid him a pleasant farewell. You wait patiently for either of them to speak up as they approach your desk, but they're just grinning from ear to ear.

"Well, Y/N. Looks like our efforts weren't in vain-" Lee starts, but Gamby excitedly cuts him off.

"You're looking at your new principals." He says proudly.

"Principals? Like with an 's'?" You clarify, having never heard of an arrangement like this before.

"We're co-interim, temporarily." Lee leans against your desk. His favorite pastime. "He's gonna send some guys to 'keep an eye on things' until they appoint a new principal that isn't that sorry cunt, Dr. Brown."

"So it seems you two need babysitters, huh?" You laugh, teasing them. Just then, the doors open and Haas re-enters.

"Mr. Russell, Mr. Gamby. I need a moment." He leads the two men to the main office, luckily for you, you can hear into that office. It's muffled, but since the blinds are open, you're able to read their lips to make up for what's too quiet to hear.

Haas sits at the principal's desk and exhales a breath of stress. Gamby and Russell quickly take their seats and listen.

"Dr. Brown's situation is... Upsetting." Haas drones on.

"Oh, no..." You whisper, seemingly catching on before the Vice Principals.

"Belinda Brown has taken a job as the neighboring district's high school principal." The news hit the two idiotic men like a ton of bricks.

At the end of their meeting, Lee and Neal usher Super Intendant Haas to the door. They wave him off with reassuring smiles that drop the second he's out of sight.

"We are so fucked, Gamby!" Lee wails.

"Shut up!" Neal barks. "I just need time to think!" Both men beeline for the office. You follow them inside the large Principal's office and close the door behind you.

"What's the big deal? She's not your boss anymore." You ask, perplexed by all the drama.

"She's going to make our lives at North Jackson a living hell! You saw the way she maneuvered that ball game! We're fucked!"

"Calm the fuck down, Russell. We just need to convince her to move cities." Gamby starts working out a plot. "Maybe we head up in her neighborhood at night, fire off a few rounds to keep the property values low." He uses his hand to mimic shooting into the air.

"Mr. Gamby... No..." You place a friendly hand on his, reeling him back from that preposterous idea.

"It's not like Russell's helping us!"

"I am trying, motherfucker!" Lee falls silent again for just a moment. "She's a mom. She isn't gonna want to stay somewhere that doesn't feel safe for her kids."

"Okay, let's shoot at her kids."

"Gamby!" You and Lee both scold him at the same time, shutting him down yet again.

"Let's stage a robbery," you say as a light bulb illuminates above your head. "Get into her house, rough it up a little, and get out. What kind of mother would keep her kids in a neighborhood like that?"

Your two bosses consider your plan, weighing their options. You watch the rays of the sun shift through the multiple windows, time seems to be slowing down in this moment of intense stress.

"That might work," Lee mumbles, already seeming to calm down, relieved by this idea.

"You want us to break into her home? That's against the law." Gamby looks at both of you, disappointed.

"So is shooting at her fucking kids, numbnuts." Lee slings a stray piece of paper at Neal and he swats it away.

"Fuck you, I'm not robbing anybody." The morally confused man stands firm.

"We don't have to take anything, we just have to barely rough the place up and convince her it's not safe to raise a family here. Don't be a baby," you taunt playfully, but as usual, he can't seem to take it that way.

"I'm not being a baby. You're a fuckin' baby. Don't fucking- everybody just shut the fuck up! We'll get in, get out, and never speak of it again, alright?" Gamby essentially relays the exact same plan back to you. You roll your eyes, agreeing just to shut him up.

A few days later, that Friday, North Jackson is to have a game against Belinda's new school, Percival. She's always made it a point to attend every game her school plays, but she will definitely be attending this one.

"Tonight's the night, Y/N," Lee takes his perch, leaned against your desk.

"Tonight is the night, Mr. Russell." You nod sarcastically and charismatically.

"You sure you want to get entangled in all this extremely sexy danger?" He straightens his tie. You laugh at his joke, but mostly you're just happy to see him. Happy to talk to him.

"It was my idea, Lee." You laugh, furrowing your brows.

"And what a good idea it is, darlin'." He disappears to follow behind Gamby, making whatever rounds they've dubbed as their new duty since becoming Principals.

Through no fault of your own, your mind begins to wander. You desperately crave a redo of your night with Lee...

You do as he says, climbing into the bed and waiting patiently for him to undress you. He starts with your shirt, slipping it from your body and tossing it to the side. Next, he makes quick work of your bra, all the while pressing his lips against yours. His soft hands trail softly up and down your body, igniting goosebumps across the planes of your flesh. You moan under his touch and he's amazed to have this effect on you.

He finally removes your skirt and panties before tossing his own shirt to the side. For payday drinks, he's dressed casually. His long sleeve t-shirt that he'd kept rolled up to his elbows had you weak in your knees the first time you saw him in something other than his work clothes.

His jeans barely make it down his legs before you're physically pulling him onto you. He's standing against the bed with you perfectly lined up at the edge. His cock twitches with anticipation as he stares down at you completely splayed open for him to take. His mind is completely blown.

"Tell me what you want, sweetheart," Lee whispers, buzzed with alcohol and lust.

"I want you, Lee. I want you to fuck-" That was all he needed. He slowly slides into you without warning. He's careful, drawing out his stride as he sinks deeper and deeper inside you. Loud, song-like moans pour from your lips as he begins to form a rhythm pumping in and out.

"God, you're so fucking tight," he grunts as he thrusts, tossing his head back as waves of intense pleasure wash over him with each slap of his skin against yours. "Like a fuckin vice grip." You grasp hopelessly at the blankets on your bed, pulling yourself forward so Lee can slam into you harder.

"Oh, god!" You wail, all of your senses magnified by the drinking. The feeling of his fingertips gripping your thigh as he fucks you feels almost as orgasmic as the fucking itself.

"Shh, baby. I know," he whispers with a sly grin, picking up his pace. You release a loud, whining moan before sitting up and pushing him away. He withdraws from you and you pull him onto the bed. Once he's positioned, you climb on top of him, straddling his waist. You rise on your knees and reach a hand down to his throbbing erection to guide it to your needy pussy.

Slowly, you lower yourself onto him, pleasure shooting through you like lightning bolts. You adjust your knees and begin lifting yourself up and down on his shaft. You place two hands on the wall in front of you, above his head, and arch your back to skillfully lift your ass and fuck your aching cunt against him.

Lee hooks his hands where your thighs meet your waist and pulls you so you slam down on him even harder with each thrust. Vulgar sounds of pure pleasure spill from his lips as you ride him to his climax. His mouth hangs slightly open, brandishing his brilliant teeth. His dark brown eyes roll backward for just a moment before he locks his grip on your hips, holding you in place as he fucks up into you at a rapid pace.

"Lee!" You cry, quickly approaching the point of no return. He doesn't let up, and you can't hold back the loud, desperate moans and wails as he fucks you through your high. Just as you're coming down, he slams into you hard. His strides become less than steady and then finally, he thrusts inside you to his hilt and stops. You feel his cock twitch inside you, warmth fills your cunt and spills out down his shaft. You look at him with fear and urgency as his cum drips out of you.

"You don't gotta worry about that with me." He winks, allowing his head to fall back into the pillows, still rock hard inside you.

"Ms. Y/L/N? Are you okay?" Mr. Hayden tears you from your steamy memory and you realize your face is beet-red.

"I'm fine, actually. It's hot up here. Allergies are terrible. I will fucking kill you if you ask me about it again."

"What did you just say?" The man knits his brows.

"I said I didn't really hear you, could you ask me that again?"

"I don't think that's what you said at all..." He walks away slowly.

(There will be one ((or two)) more parts! Coming soon!)

•••

Taglist: @therest-stillunwritten // @its-in-the-woods // @justme12200 // @sixx-writes // @littlenosoul // @itsyellow // @blackwoodtree // @hiddlebatchedloki

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for disapproving of my best friend's relationship? (CW for grooming)

Context: about a year ago I (17, transmasc) joined a local group for queer teenagers to hang out and do stuff together (we meet once a week at the library). The group consists of roughly 10 people and I usually get along with all of them, but my closest friend in the group is W (20, transfem). I would say she's my best friend in general, and I think she'd say the same for me. I'm still in high school and W goes to the community college here.

A few weeks ago, myself, W, and another friend from the group, J (18, cis guy) were over at my place. After a while W said she had some news for us - she'd gotten into a relationship! W used to be (and still is) very socially isolated. She didn't have any friends to speak of before joining the group, not even online, so for her to find a romantic partner was super exciting and I was honestly really proud of her. I obviously wanted to hear more about it, so I asked her to elaborate and this is where things go off the rails.

She said that her new girlfriend (let's call her L) was also trans, and that she was 27. She said they'd met in college and started spending more and more time together. She told us she'd honestly just expected to be friends, but over the winter break L officially asked her out, she was elated, and since then they'd been spending basically all their free time together. immediately alarm bells started ringing in my head - I asked her if I'd heard it right, that L is 27, and W responded yeah, and she knows it's a little strange, but she doesn't mind, so whatever.

I tried to calmly tell her that a 7 year age gap is way too much and that it's not a safe relationship to be in. She immediately got defensive, saying she's an adult and she can do what she wants, etc etc. I said I don't care if she's technically an adult, that's still fucking creepy! I asked J, who had been keeping quiet the whole time, to back me up, but all he did was give me that "I don't know, it's not my place to say anything" bullshit. I was genuinely shocked, I thought he would have supported me but he just… waffled. We had all gotten pretty heated, and at this point W had stood up and started shuffling over to the door. She started in saying I was overreacting over nothing, that they'd been together for not even two weeks, and she didn't need my permission to have this relationship. She said she thought she could trust me, she only told me because she thought I'd be happy for her, on and on, and then she walked out.

It's been a few weeks since then, and she hasn't shown up to the group at the library. I've been too scared to text her because she's clearly pissed off at me. I recognize that I wasn't very good at keeping my composure, and I definitely could have been kinder about it, but I was just scared for my friend. It would be worrying if anyone had gotten into a relationship with that much of an age gap - but she has essentially 0 social skills, and hasn't been in a relationship before, so I'm terrified that she's being taken advantage of because of her inexperience.

What are these acronyms?

[thisapplepielife]

Written for @corrodedcoffinfest & @steddie-spooktober.

My Own Version of You

CCF Prompt: Pride & Spooktober Prompt: Frankenstein Friday | Word Count: 1313 | Rating: M | POV: Eddie | Pairing: Steddie | CW: Mild Gore, Body Parts, Consent/Ethics (it is a take on Frankenstein) | Tags: Monster AU, Mad Scientist Eddie, His Henchmen, Reanimation, Steve Was Dead and Now This?, Crack Taken Seriously, Spooky Season Fun

Eddie leaves another morgue, another monastery, his bag full of perfect body parts growing fuller every stop. He's going to do this. He can do it. He knows it. 

Eddie hands his spoils off to his assistant.

"Carry this, Igor," Eddie says, slinging the heavy bag over his hunchback.

"Gareth," Igor says, and Eddie sighs.

"Igor Gareth," Eddie says. Yes, yes, always with the full name, but Eddie's not really paying attention to him. He never is. Eddie's too blinded by his own brilliance. Only his own thoughts matter. Not whatever Igor thinks. If he can think. 

This is going to be an innovation unlike any other ever known to mankind. And it has come from his own outstanding brain. Some may call him a freak for even trying, but they'd be wrong.

Because he's a genius, mastering this. 

Well, to be honest, he's never done anything like it before. But he's still certain he's more than capable. He knows his brilliant mind has been stifled by the lack of advancement of technology. That's the only reason he's had an inability to bring things to fruition.

Well, he'll just have to force the world to get up to speed with his brain. He's been working on his contraption for years. Eddie's Ladder. The staff of the castle, working to meet his every whim.

Jefferson and The Freak. Igor Gareth. He's gathered a band of henchmen, and they're there to follow his orders, to bend to his every whim.

If they'll only follow his instructions, precisely and perfectly, Eddie can bring someone to life. Someone that feels as he feels.

They've had so many dry runs that haven't met Eddie's standards. Dead animals, brought back feral. A heart kept beating for weeks. And they've produced at least a dozen inarticulate, snarling monsters that Jefferson, Freak and Igor Gareth have had to put down and bury on the grounds. It's quite unfortunate that their failings have snuffed out Eddie's dreams before they've become a reality.

He's certain he can create a full-fledged reanimated human. Not just an electrified corpse.

Eddie pets the hair of the head he's chosen as his, hopefully, final subject. He's handsome, this one. A rich kid that died of dysentery. Or something. Eddie doesn't know, or particularly care. But Eddie was careful this time. He didn't just grab any old corpse from the boneyard as he'd done before. No, he selected the best parts from all over the countryside. Because this time, it'll be perfect. 

Eddie will be perfect.

He threads the large needle, and slides it through the skin, carefully stitching together his creation, his monster, his masterpiece. 

He looks perfect. This one, a man.

"Igor, the cap," Eddie demands, holding out his hand.

"Gareth," is the response, and Eddie rolls his eyes, snatching the metal contraption.

"Igor Gareth, yes," Eddie replies. Jesus Christ. Eddie doesn't understand why this kid always needs to be referred to by his full name.

Eddie attaches the electrodes, the cap, and stands back, ready to pull the lever that will control all the electricity that he's certain will be able to jumpstart his, hopefully final, creation to life.

Freak has installed a lightning rod on the tower, and now Eddie must wait for the storm to roll in, reach a crescendo, and then he'll get to finish his life's work this time.

The storm is finally blowing in, and Igor Gareth is stationed in the tower, waiting near the bell. He's to be the final alarm. The go ahead.

Then, it's finally happening. 

Eddie hears the thunder. The rain. The lightning cracking across the sky. 

And then the bell rings out, the loud clanging from the tower his notification to pull, and Eddie yanks down the lever, sending the current through the wires, creating the arc, the spark, to jumpstart his creation, his invention, his monster.

The body jolts, and shakes, and shimmies against its leather restraints. Bucking wildly as Eddie watches, eyes wide, enthralled. 

Finally his eyes open. Golden flecks over brown, and Eddie wonders if he's all there. If he's been able to finally bring back actual consciousness, or if this one's just another in a long line of reanimated corpses destined to exist in a zombie-like state until they're dealt with.

Eddie snaps his fingers in front of its face, and its eyes dart towards Eddie's hand, then Eddie's face. An improvement from the last one at least, for sure.

"What the fuck?! Ow!" his creation yells, and Eddie claps his hands in delight. He's done it. He's really done it. It's alive! It's a real man. 

Of course, he had no doubt he could do it.

His henchmen gather, and look at the naked, strapped down man, who seems very rudely ungrateful. 

"What shall I name him?" Eddie ponders aloud, stroking his chin.

"I'm Steve," his creation says.

"What does he look like to you, Igor?" Eddie asks.

"Gareth," he answers.

"I'm not naming it after you, Igor Gareth," Eddie answers, and Igor raises his hands to his head, pulling at his curls. He's an odd boy. 

"Hmm, other thoughts? Jefferson? Freak?" Eddie asks.

"Jeff," Jefferson says.

"Goodie," Freak replies.

And Eddie shakes his head. It's like these fools only know one word each.

"Perhaps Wayne. I always adored my uncle," Eddie says.

"I'm Steve. You're not naming me anything else, you asshole," his creation snaps, and Eddie just laughs.

"You're a bossy one," Eddie declares with delight, then concedes, "Fine. Steve."

"Great. Now untie me."

Eddie really doesn't want to do that until he can run more tests. Make sure he hasn't made something homicidal. That has happened a time or two. Maybe three.

Four, tops.

"Well, Steve, let's just put a pin in that," Eddie says, and Steve clearly doesn't like that, as he lunges, rattling the restraints. He's a strong one. This one is not feeble of body, or mind.

Or cock, from the looks of it. 

Eddie could work with this, as long as he can tame this pissy creature he's formed with his own two ultra-talented hands. 

"If I release you, are you gonna run?"

"From the mad scientist that's chained me up? Um, yes," Steve snaps, and Eddie laughs. He picked a good brain this time. Feisty.

"Then, I guess you'll stay tied up," Eddie insists, and if looks could kill, Eddie'd be dead. Luckily they cannot, and Steve can't move.

Too bad for him.

Eddie keeps watch for days, feeding him, taking care of him. Talking to him. Getting to know him. Trying to convince him to stay. To be Eddie's. His companion. His second. His lover.

Finally, after days, Steve agrees.

So, Eddie undoes the buckles, one at a time, the straps falling loose, and once the last one around Steve's ankle comes loose, he does just as he'd promised days ago. He runs. 

And Eddie watches in disbelief.

His henchmen will capture him.

They don't. He was too fast, too athletic, for those nincompoops, and now he's gone. 

Eddie rages. He cannot believe his own masterpiece would be so ungrateful. He was dead. And now he's not, because of Eddie. 

What an asshole he made.

He'll just have to try again. Tomorrow. 

When he leaves the castle, his body part collection bag slung over his shoulder, he sees Steve sitting against the gate.

He's relieved. He doesn't want another, he wants Steve. 

"You're still here."

"Where else was I gonna go? I'm naked."

Eddie laughs, he likes this creation. He likes Steve.

"Where're you going?" Steve asks.

"Nowhere," Eddie says, tossing the bag aside, sitting down next to Steve. He shrugs off his cloak, handing it over. "Here. Now you're not naked. You can leave, if you want."

Steve looks at him. Then says, "I think I might stay."

Eddie smiles. He made a masterpiece, the perfect man. 

The perfect Steve.

If you want to write your own, or see more entries, check out @corrodedcoffinfest to read takes on all the Seven Deadly Sins, or to offer up your own!

For more Spooktober, pop on over to @steddie-spooktober to follow along with the fun!

Notes: The title and inspo come from the Bob Dylan song of the same name, My Own Version of You.

Eddie's Ladder is a play on Jacob's Ladder. If you've seen old horror/sci-fi flicks, you know what this is. It's that arc of electricity we've all seen a billions times on screen. It wouldn't reanimate anyone, but it sure looks like it could.

The Poor Corroded Coffin boys. Eddie didn't know any of their names, lol.

[saetoshis]

can we please have more toxic!ex muzan? i’m sooo thirsty for him (but also i feel self conscious because people like kyōjurō and tanjiro and i’m here like “yo, where the muzan fics at?”)

omfg immediatwly yes IMMEDIATELY YES !1!1!1 i miss writing for the slutty old man SO BAD

cw; fem!reader, possessive muzan, marking [hickeys, bites], some toxicity, dumbification, dacryphilia, creampie, mdni.

muzan has a bad habit of being possessive over everything he touches. he calls all the shots, whether he wants to throw something away or keep it around forever - that power is all within the palm of his hand.

so of course, something as meaningless as a breakup does not stop him.

block as many numbers as you want, there’s just no way to get rid of him. it’s like he lives hovering over you, carefully observing your every step as if he had never left in the first place.

it’s a natural occurrence at this point to come home after a long day, only to find him impatiently seated on your couch twiddling his thumbs with a sneer on his face.

“welcome home,” muzan sighs out casually as if he were still your boyfriend, clearly making himself comfortable on your couch as he shoots a glance over your body. he notices your scowl and feigns a little frown, opening his arms as he walks over to you. “didn’t you miss me? hm?”

“no,” you deadpan, shrugging him off and ignoring his attempt at embracing you as you set down your things on the countertop. you’re obviously annoyed, avoiding his gaze since you know how easily you can be drawn into it. “i don’t even wanna know how you got inside, just leave.”

“oh, so soon?” muzan leers out the words against your ear lowly as he slips your jacket off, his hitched breaths making you shudder slightly. you want to fight it; push him back or kick him out - but something about his looming presence and familiar cologne just makes you feel dazed. muzan sneers, “are you sure about that? you wouldn’t mind if i stayed a bit, right? be a good host, won’t you?”

“just- leave…” your voice is tense, but there’s a sense of desperation and unwillingness to kick him out that muzan easily picks up on. it’s the way his hands slip around your waist that has you keening for him, and it gets harder and harder to fight the alarm bells ringing in your head to get rid of him. “i know what you’re doing… just stop, please.”

“hm? stop? that’s not what your body’s telling me…” muzan rasps out against your ear, turning you around in his arms and slipping his thigh between your legs with just the slightest pressure. his eyes have a sharp lust in them, as if he’s craving you in an unspeakable way. he presses his knee forwards, “see? you’re shuddering, aren’t you? i can tell you’ve been neglected for a while.”

“i’m not… neglected,” you murmur in an unconvincing tone, trying to back up until you realized you’re cornered right against the edge of the counter. his arms brace around you, his breath fanning along your neck and you know you’re already too far gone. “i’m fine…”

“oh? then why do i feel you throbbing down there?” muzan sneers with a rasped hum, pressing his thigh further against your cunt until you’re letting out a little instinctive mewl from the pressure. he chuckles, as if that sound alone proved him right. his lips press against your neck so tantalizingly slow, hands sliding along your waist just to feel you shudder. “just admit it. admit you need me… we both know you do, hm? so just say it, and i’m all yours.”

“not- mm, gonna say it,” you mumble meekly between stifled sighs of pleasure, feeling tingles slither up your spine from the way his knee presses forwards and drags fervently against your panties under your skirt. it’s almost hard to breathe with how much you’re trying to resist the pleasure, hands gripping the countertop strenuously. “promise, i don’t n-need you…”

“shh… stop fighting it and just give in, hm? nobody can please you like i do, so just let me have my way,” muzan sighs out lowly against your ear, pressing open-mouth kisses against your neck and leaving little drags of his tongue. he knows how to push your buttons, and it’s clear in the way a little wet spot begins to form against his dress slacks. “oh, look at you. getting this wet from my thigh, that’s just… so desperate, isn’t it? you look like you want to rub yourself on it, am i wrong?”

you can’t muster up words, especially with how hard you’re trying to hold back the little moaned noises begging to leave your lips. your eyes screw shut as you try to fight back, but the way his hard muscles press up between your hips makes you instinctively grind back against him. you let out a hitched breath as you complain lowly, “why can’t i just get rid of you already…”

“because you need me too much, don’t you? clearly you’re pent up without me fucking you to sleep every night,” muzan sneers out the words and lets them boggle in your brain, the pleasure reinforcing the thoughts in your head as you start to cling onto him and rut your hips as if you’ve been starved for weeks. he’s manipulating you, it’s clear - but the throb between your thighs is just too good to ignore. muzan sucks on your neck softly, nipping at the skin as he mutters, “let me in again, won’t you? just one more time, hm? it’ll feel so good, you know it will.”

“i- can’t,” you pant out, whining and looking down at where you’re dragging your wet panties against his dress slacks like a dog in heat. it’s almost shameless now how hard you’re grinding into him, and muzan can’t help but smirk back in amusement as he grips your waist and suckles hickeys onto your neck that he knows you’ll have qualms about finding later.

“you can… just say yes like i know you want to,” muzan shushes against your neck, one hand grasping your jaw to crane your head up to look at him. his eyes are full of that familiar musky sense of lust, almost as if to distract you while he slips your panties off of your thighs from under your skirt. “stop thinking and let me bring you all the pleasure you desperately want, hm? and i’m not stopping until you’re nothing but a dumb mess…”

you let out a hitched pant when he hooks your leg up into his hold, the tip of his cock nestling snugly against your folds and the familiarity of it all makes your head spin. muzan’s sneered expression is all you can see when you feel his cock pressing up into your walls, and that smirk grows larger at the filthy whine you let out when he does. he knows he’s got you wrapped around his finger - just how he likes you.

“see? mm, you’re so tight. i can tell you missed me,” muzan leers out between rasped breaths, hips rocking forwards as his fingers dig into the plush of your thigh. your teeth catch your bottom lip to stifle the unabashed moans slipping from your mouth. tingles shoot up your spine with every heavy rock of his hips, his cock pressing up into the spot he knows so well. muzan mutters between rasped sighs, “you only belong to me, isn’t that right? nobody can make you feel as good as i can…”

in your euphoric stupor, you mewl out ‘yes, yes’ instinctually and the familiarity of this intense pleasure is already enough to have you keening and reeling towards the edge. muzan lets out a ragged grunt when you tighten up around him, and his hips start rutting a little faster. the lewd sounds fill the kitchen, your hand on the countertop shaking as you try to brace yourself. your voice comes out in a broken whine, “m-muzan… too- too much.”

“it’s because you haven’t let me in for a while, mm? guess i have to retrain you,” muzan exaggerates his words with heavy thrusts, his cock pressing up into you fervently enough for little tears to prick at your eyes. his grip on your thigh gets tight, fingers digging into you as he leaves bites along the curve of your shoulder in between rasped grunts. “you know i have to teach you a lesson for ignoring me for so long, mm?”

“y-yes, muzan,” you hiccup and whine obediently, hips rocking back into him as pleasure wracks your limbs. you’re so tight around him now, and muzan thinks his breath fully left his lungs from the way his cock twinges between your walls. it’s when his fingers find your clit that you’re starting to shudder, bursts of tingles spreading through your body in a way you haven’t experienced in months - it’s almost freeing. “c-cumming… muzan, cumming…”

“that’s it… fall deeper into it for me. you’re mine, you’re all mine. you can have this feeling whenever you want, as long as you take me back,” muzan sneers and grunts softly, fucking you through your orgasm with quick ruts. he knows you’re much easier to influence when you’re dumbed down from pleasure, and he’s more than willing to use that to his advantage. “mm- you look like you want me to cum inside, don’t you?”

you nod through teary eyes as you look up at him, feeling intensely overstimulated from the rough rocks of his hips. muzan smirks back at you with glints of sheer lust in his eyes, his hand pulling your thigh up higher to reach an even deeper spot between your walls.

“i’ll give you what you want if you let me stay…” muzan whispers against your ear in a rasped tone, little grunts escaping from his chest as he feels his cock twitch between your walls. it’s when you nod again so meekly, so willingly, that muzan shudders and clutches onto you tightly as he spills white ribbons inside of you.

muzan mutters against your ear again, arms holding you close to his chest in an almost comforting way. “that’s it… i promise i’ll take good care of you, mm?”

but what you didn’t notice was the little smirk pulling at his lips as he whispered to you.

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