#i could get hit by a bus and i wouldn’t care

[smolgaycat]

best day ever! demon feed audio is back after a year with a SPIDEYPOOL FANFICTION READING!!!!!

[areyouwell]

Autophobia

Noun: An extreme and irrational fear of being alone. Children or adults with this condition often suffer from severe panic attacks at the thought of being completely alone.

Ch.5.5

Ch.5, Ch.4, Ch.3, Ch.2, Ch.1 <--

Paring: Logan Howlett x F!Mutant!Reader

Warnings: Descriptions of a depressive spiral, atypical methods of self-harm, severe mental breakdown

Word Count: 6.8k

A/N: just a little follow-up chapter cuz if i put this all in one it would have been almost 20k words. let's not talk about how my mini-chapters are over 6k words i'm fluent in yappanese let me monologue

Taglist: @badbishsblog @reidsworld @idioticstar @toogaytofunctiondangit @ghostyv @wolviesgirl @over-bi-the-wayside @justice4billiam @holyhumorliteraturelight @cxptainbuck

The last twenty-four hours had been a complete blur. Numbly going through the motions of packing a rucksack, letting your body take you to where you needed to go whilst your mind was stuck in a loop. Eighty years. Eighty years. That’s how long you were kept from the world. That’s how long you’d been fed lies and bullshit. Eighty fucking years. And everything about your life, about who you are, what you’d been through, was in that venomous folder you couldn’t bring yourself to open. Nobody looked at you the same way. Ororo could barely stand to be in your presence, having to leave every time you entered the room. Charles kept looking at you with fucking sympathy and you wanted to knock his bald head clean off his shoulders. Scott kept apologising every time he passed you in the hallway, saying he didn’t know and would have done things differently if he had. Kurt and Hank barely knew what the fuck was going on and you hadn’t seen Jean since before the raid. 

And then there was Logan. Who kept almost tiptoeing around you, asking if you were alright every five fucking seconds, asking if you needed anything or if you wanted him to do something. Honestly, you wanted him to shut the fuck up. You wanted them all to shut the fuck up. You hadn’t processed anything. Hadn’t been allowed to process anything. After you woke up, you’d explained to those in the med-bay what Dr.Kremlin –or whatever his stupid fucking name was– had told you. Charles filled in the gaps, and you were given all of thirty seconds before you were taken upstairs to pack a bag and to meet Logan in the garage. You felt nothing as you swung your rucksack in the backseat of the beaten pickup truck, clambering into the passenger’s side and falling into dead silence. You didn’t even get to say goodbye. Not to Jubilee, not to little Artie. Not even to Kitty. 

At least your trip away made more sense now. Charles wanted you out of the mansion so he could monitor those neurotransmitters from the supposed environmental research facility without you catching wind of anything. Not that you’d know anyway, but maybe he thought it was safer if you didn’t know. What you didn’t know couldn’t hurt you, right?

How ironic did that feel?

You’d been driving for around four hours in complete silence, your head resting against the slightly smudged window, eyes trained on the outside world as it blurred past, a kaleidoscope of greens, browns and greys. Feet perched on your seat, your arms tucked atop your knees as you subconsciously made yourself as small as possible. You didn’t know how long left you had of the drive, and honestly, you didn’t care. He could keep driving forever and it wouldn’t matter to you. 

“Y’alright?” Logan broke the long silence a little tentatively, his voice hushed as if not to disturb you. You found it vaguely amusing. He could shout at the top of his lungs and it wouldn’t disturb you. Not at the moment. You didn’t care. Didn’t even care to respond. It was a stupid fucking question anyway. You’d felt like this only once before. At least, only one time you could remember, if that was even real. And it was the days that followed after Jade’s death. A bus could have hit you and you wouldn’t have been able to find it in yourself to care. 

Logan sighed through his nose. Stealing a glance at your huddled form, staring unblinking out the window, he went to rest his hand on your shoulder but thought better of it as you tensed. Seeing you like this, so utterly devoid of emotion, was almost jarring. He was used to seeing your smile and hearing your laugh. Fuck, even when you lost control and tried to kill him was better than this. At least he could smell the fear on you. But he couldn’t smell anything right now. Just the oil of the engine and dust of the seats. You’d faded. Not just your personality or your mental state, but everything about you had faded. Suppressed. This was nothing like when you lost control. He had an idea of how to bring you back then. But this?

He was way out of his depth. 

“Talk to me,” he urged quietly, and he thought his pleas had fallen on deaf ears until you finally raised your head, turning to look at him blankly.

“About what?” Though your voice was completely flat, he was still glad to hear it. If he could get a response out of you, then perhaps he could bring you back after all. If he could just get you to talk to him…

“Anythin’. How you’re feelin’. What you’re thinkin’. We have a long ways to go yet.”

Your shrug wasn’t exactly what he was looking for. “So? You’ve never had a problem with silence before.” It was all he was going to get out of you before you returned to leaning against the window, your vacant eyes falling to watch the grey skies beyond. Suffocating quiet consumed the truck once again, only the hum of the wheels against the tarmac acted as a symphony for your thoughts. “Ya know what’s fucked?”

Logan almost jumped as you talked again, not expecting you to continue the conversation. Though he couldn’t say he wasn’t glad. “I don’t even know what’s real. If it was all a simulation… I don’t even know if this is real. If you’re real. Or just another sick twisted plot produced to make me believe I’m living a life that I’m not.” It was a thought that had plagued your mind since the raid. If everything in your past had been a lie, how did you know any of this wasn’t just more bullshit spun to widen the web?

Stretching out his hand, this time he didn’t hesitate to pry your own from your folded arms, clasping your knuckles in his palm. “‘M real, sweetheart. This is real. We’re real.” He held his breath, waiting for you to pull away from his touch, but you didn’t. Instead, you raised your head from the window again, offering him a small smile that didn’t even come close to reaching your eyes. He squeezed your hand and found a kernel of hope kindle in his heart as you weakly squeezed back. You’d be okay. He’d make certain of it. It didn’t matter how long it took, or what he’d have to do. He wouldn’t stop until you were okay. “Get some rest, we’ll be on the road for a while.” He pulled your hand up to his face, pressing a light kiss against the front of your wrist where the scars from your past fed into the present, before interlacing his fingers with yours. 

“Logan?” your voice was barely audible, timid in a way that had him fighting the urge to pull over, gather you in his arms and hold you until all of this blew over and you could be safe again.

“Mmm?” was all he could say instead, always ready to listen.

“You–” you paused, finding the words heavy in your throat and stuck on your tongue. You hated feeling like this. Feeling the need to be reassured. Hated coming across as insecure or needy, but just this once, you needed to know. “You’re not gonna leave, right?”

Wordlessly, Logan flattened your hand over the centre of his chest, and you felt his heartbeat beneath your fingers. “Not whilst this is still beating.” 

It was the first emotion you’d felt since waking up, and you couldn’t stop a silent tear slide down your cheek. His devotion to you incarnate, beating beneath your palm. You knew the weight of his words, and felt their meaning in your soul. He wasn’t going to leave you. Not now. Not ever. And it was one of your fears put to rest, knowing that he wasn’t one for lying. 

“Okay.” You responded quietly, your free arm shifting to hug your knees whilst he returned your other, not letting go of your hand. And you found you didn’t want him to. You were afraid earlier that any kind of touch would send you into a spiral, but now he held your hand in yours, you never wanted him to let go. 

“Sleep, firefly. I’ll wake you when we get there.” He hushed, and you nodded, curling up against the humming door, letting the soft vibrations of the truck lull you to sleep. 

True to his word, a slight shake to your shoulder had you jolting awake, eyes flying open, heart racing as you tried your best to gauge your surroundings as quickly as you could. 

“‘S okay,” Logan soothed, and your breathing calmed slightly, whatever dreams had been haunting your unconscious mind faded into nothing with each swipe of his thumb against your shoulder. “We’re here.”

Your eyes scanned the woods beyond the windscreen as he opened his door, the hinges squeaking with age. It was dark out, meaning you’d been on the road for at least eight hours and four of those you’d been asleep for. There was the distinct smell of cigarette smoke clinging to the upholstery of the seats, and you looked down at the source, a burnt-out cigar lay discarded in the central unit, brown paper blackened at the roach. 

The door to your right opened and Logan offered you his hand. It wasn’t that you needed help, and you really fucking hoped he knew that, but you took it simply as an excuse to touch him as you stepped out of the truck, the smell of pine needles hitting you almost instantly as your feet touched soft earth. Wherever he’d taken you, this was certainly off-grid. It was so peaceful here. To the point where you’d surpassed tranquillity and landed right back into unease. It was too peaceful here. 

“Where are we?” You asked as Logan retrieved both rucksacks from the back seat, mindful not to slam the door shut before locking up the truck. Swinging both backs across each of his shoulders, he took your hand again, leading you around the hood of the truck and you finally saw your new halls of residence. 

A sizeable pinewood log cabin. Dark on the inside, but it looked homely enough. A small pair of antlers adorned the front door, piles of firewood stacked neatly beneath little shelters around to the left. You could imagine this as a forest getaway for some rich family who owned several yachts and a sports car. But when Logan produced a thick iron key from his pocket, you blinked. “Is this yours?” 

It was the most emotion he’d heard from you since he’d started driving eight hours ago, your words delicately laced with surprise. He smiled back over his shoulder. “Belonged to an old friend, left it to me when he passed.” He wasn’t ready to launch into that whole story, not yet. You had enough to deal with without him banging on about his own past. Sliding the key into the lock, he turned it anti-clockwise until the iron gave way, giving the door a gentle shove as it swung open. It definitely needed doing up, but he was happy to do that himself. “Home sweet home,” he murmured, vaguely hoping all the electrics still worked as he flicked the light switch.

The cabin was illuminated in a soft orange glow, the faux candles on the walls giving the same ambience as torch flame. The interior was cosier than you could possibly have imagined. A comfy-looking, though slightly faded brown sofa faced a broad hearth with yet another stack of kindling piled next to it, a red and green tartan print blanket draped over the back of the sofa. Logan shrugged off his jacket, hanging it on one of the multiple cast iron coat pegs lining the wall by the door, setting the rucksacks down next to the dark wood dining table. There were no arches or doorways that you could see, an open floor plan joining the small, rural kitchen area to the lounge.

A set of stairs led up to another floor behind the hearth, various antlers and horns of different woodland animals hung on almost every available wall, as well as a TV, which you weren’t expecting. Every cupboard looked identical, even the fridge, learning which one it was due to Logan immediately grabbing out two bottles of larger for you both. 

You smiled as you inhaled, and recognised the distinctive amalgamation of smells. It was him. Pure, unfiltered Logan. 

Crossing to one of the windows, you ran your fingers over the corrugated radiator, noticing the various blankets and pillows set up on the windowsill looking out into the dark green woodland beyond, brown woollen tassels hanging a little too close to the heater, to the point where you tucked them in. Staring out into the forest, you held your arm tightly until Logan’s arm wrapped around your shoulder, tucking you into his side and handing you the second bottle of golden liquid. 

“What’ya think?” He asked, pressing a kiss to the top of your head, and you moved your hand from your arm to hold his wrist against your shoulder. 

“It’s very you.” You offered as much mischief as you could muster, which wasn’t much considering your circumstances, and unfortunately resulted in a confused raise of his brow. 

“That’s a good thing, right?”

You huffed an exhausted chuckle, pressing your head into the space between his shoulder and chest. “Yeah. It’s a good thing.” You breathed, before raising the bottle to your lips and taking a long sip of the icy cold beverage. He held you in silence, offering to be whatever you needed him to be, and for right now, you just needed him close to you. You didn’t know what had happened in the past, and you didn’t know what was going to happen. You couldn’t hide forever, and there would come a day where you would have to face the contents of that folder. But it was enough for now just knowing you weren’t alone, and when that time came, you wouldn’t be alone. 

“There’s a bathroom down the hall or you can use the ensuite upstairs if you wanna freshen up. I can get started on makin’ dinner, should have some preservatives lyin’ around somewhere.” He looked towards the cupboards and you wished you had the energy or emotional bank to tease him properly about his cooking. But you didn’t need to, he looked back at your face of slight mock disbelief, a small, almost bashful smile pulling at the corner of his lips. “I’ve picked up a few things over the last couple months.” 

He didn’t resist as you weakly shoved at him, his smile widening as you showed small signs of your old self before your eyes took on that faraway look again and you retreated back into your protective shell. He knew it was a defence mechanism, he’d seen it in the kids now and then. When things got overwhelming or something went wrong, they’d shut themselves away behind emotional walls, appearing almost hollow before he’d sit them down and pry their emotions out one thread at a time. It nearly always resulted in them sobbing their eyes out, but it was a tried and true method.

One he was planning on using on you when he felt the time was right. You couldn’t shut yourself away forever. He wouldn’t let you, for one. There was no future where your past wins over and you remain this way. Even if it resulted in you drowning the cabin in shadow as you lost control, he didn’t care. In this state, any emotion is a good emotion. 

Setting down your bottle, you clung to his wrist for as long as you could before the increasing distance forced you to let go to retrieve your rucksack. You’d packed essentials, being under a strict time limit. A few spare pairs of clothes, toothbrush and toothpaste, cleanser, moisturiser, a Swiss army knife and as much underwear as you could stuff in the little space that remained at the top. You swing the bag over your shoulder, heading to the stairs before Logan caught your forearm.

“Shout if you need anything. I’ll be right here, ‘kay?” He looked so sincere, so serious it almost broke you. The first time he’d said those words to you, you’d laughed them off, teasing him for being overprotective. You couldn’t find the energy to do the same now, thinking back to how things had changed so much in the last day or so. Well, since you returned, really. You simply nodded in response, attempting to offer him a smile that could ease his worries but clearly failing miserably as his brows pinched in concern.

You had nothing left to give him, your emotional reservoir completely drained. So you simply turned away to head up the stairs, guilt gnawing at your chest. You didn’t want him to worry about you. Fuck, you hated it when he worried about you. Even about mundane things, you’d wave off his concerns. But you knew this was an issue that couldn’t be solved by telling him to ‘take his concerns elsewhere’ because where else would he go? You’d pried him away from his home, from his friends and teammates because he had some twisted obligation towards you. It was selfish of you to ask if he was going to leave. You’d all but trapped him into staying by asking that very question. He was too good of a man to say no, he was going to dump you off and dip. 

You hated it. Hated how much he was giving up for you. You didn’t deserve any of this, and he certainly deserved so much more. A wall erupted in your mind, locking your guilt away with everything else you were supposed to be feeling at the moment, your heart once again emptying of the hurt it had felt, leaving you with blissful numbness.

Cresting the top of the stairs, you were faced with one of the homeliest scenes in the house. A large four-poster bed piled high with various pillows, cushions and blankets stood against the back wall, yet another window seat snuggled against the window straight ahead of you, overlooking the opposite side of the forest. Two hunting rifles, one barrel crossed over the other, hung triumphantly above the headboard, yet another set of antlers positioned between the two guns, larger than the other sets you’d seen yet. You couldn’t imagine the choice of decor was Logan’s idea, at least you vaguely hoped it wasn’t, but it made you wonder who this place originally belonged to. 

Your shoulder went limp as you carelessly dropped your bag to the floor at the foot of the bed, turning to your left to see the door to the bathroom slightly ajar. Crossing over the thick rug on the floor, you pulled the door open, eyes widening in slight surprise. It was a lot bigger than you’d expected for an ensuite. A large bathtub took up most of the space, the shower standing right next to it. You were glad they weren’t one and the same, for some reason you had a vendetta against bathtubs that doubled up as a shower. Maybe the reason lay in that fucking folder, who knows?

Stripping yourself of your sweaty clothes, you cracked the window open, allowing fresh air to circulate around the room before fiddling with the taps and switches of the electric shower. You wondered how often Logan visited, considering how well kept the place was, and how well everything still worked. Steam rolled from the shower into the rest of the bathroom as you stepped beneath the stream, your skin tingling with the heat. It was a pleasant sensation, to feel something other than all-consuming guilt, sinking despondency or nothing at all. You cranked up the dial on the temperature, hissing slightly as the water increased from warm to scalding, staining your skin red raw. 

The feeling was addictive, turning ever so often to get that kick of pain on whichever side of your body wasn’t beneath the volcanic stream, inhaling as the pain drowned every other sensation in your chest and head. There was no room for anything else other than the burning against your flesh. You only wished you could turn the dial further, but it seemed you’d reached the maximum. 

It could have been anywhere between a few minutes and twenty years before Logan came up to check on you, you’d lost complete track of time. There was a soft knock at the door, a vague call of your name you barely heard and partially ignored in favour of getting lost in the heat. At what point you dropped to the floor, knees hugged against your chest, you couldn’t recall, eyes too focused on the pattern of the droplets against the tiled floor to look up as he entered.

“Christ it’s like a sauna in here, can’t fuckin’ see anyth–” He stopped instantly as he saw you huddled on the floor in the same position you’d spent a good portion of the journey in. But that wasn’t what scared him. It was the angry red of your skin that had alarm bells ringing loudly in his head. He rolled up the sleeve of his flannel shirt, preparing to plunge his hand through the cascading fall to switch the power off. But the moment his skin came in contact with the water, he hissed loudly. “Fuck! ‘S fuckin’ scalding sweetheart.” You didn’t move. Didn’t even look as if you’d noticed him. Panic surged in his veins, gritting his teeth tightly as he endured the searing burn of the lava stream to twist the handle for power, taking a breath as the waterfall eased from a deluge to mere droplets. 

Only then did you look up, as if snapped from a daze. He crouched before you as you blinked at him, remembering where you were and what you were doing. However, what you should say in this moment never came to you, only able to stare straight ahead at him, his pinched brows and wide-eyed concern only fuelling the self-loathing in your gut. You hated the way he touched you so gently as if you deserved to be touched like that. You despised the way he draped a large, fluffy towel around your shoulders as if you’d done anything to warrant such comforts. 

And you couldn’t stand the way he hooked his arms beneath your knees and carried you from the bathroom, all without a single word. And you loathed how your body reacted, leaning into his touches like you had any right to comfort. You’d all but dragged him away from the life he’d built for himself. Dragged him away from people like Marie and Bobby. Fuck, you couldn’t even think about them right now. You’d stolen one of Marie’s best friends from her, how could you ever go back there now?

Would you ever go back there now? You hadn’t even thought about it. Most likely not. Why would they let you? You’d killed a team member, been sent away for two years, lost control of your mutation, tried to kill not only another team member but the man you love, and have been lying to everyone you’d ever met because the life you thought you’d lived never fucking existed and it turns out you were over eighty fucking years old. Scott was right. 

He should have killed you years ago.

“Lemme grab some aloe gel…” you’d been so lost in your head you hadn’t even noticed Logan removing the towel from your shoulders to inspect the raging raw burns on your back and arms. You barked a harsh, joyless laugh.

“Why? What does it matter?” you asked savagely, and Logan turned from where he stood near the bathroom doorway, slowly looking at you in suspicious bewilderment. “I mean, I can just heal, so who cares? I’ll just disappear into shadow and come back good as new, so don’t bother.” You shrugged, feeling burning hatred bubble in your gut. “That is, if I come back out at all, of course. Because that threat still hangs over my head every fucking day.” The shadows writhed with your growing fury, only furthering your tirade of self-deprecation. “And hey, would ya look at that, my mutation only fucking works when I’m insanely pissed off. And I lose control completely when I’m terrified, my only fucking instinct being to survive. How fucked up is that?” You continued, laughing bitterly as you stood from the bed. “Probably some result of whatever the hell is recorded in that file. Eighty years, by the way. Eighty fucking years. Here I was, the fucking asshole who thought she was thirty-two. Imagine that?” Your fingers found your scalp, scratching desperately at the roots of your hair as if to claw your way into your own mind and pry out your memories. “And you just seem to be fucking fine with everything!”

Logan didn’t so much as flinch as you directed your inferno of rage toward him. Sure, his heart shattered with your every word, but not because they hurt him.

“I’ve lied to you. For the past couple of months, I’ve straight-up been lying to your face. About everything! I’ve dragged you away from your friends, from your family, all because I manipulated you into thinking you owed me fucking anything. All those bullshit sob stories are lies. None of them even happened. And ya know what? I can’t even say if that’s true or not because I don’t fucking know.” You gestured to your surroundings wildly, laughing manically as the shadows whipped out from the walls like vines. You always knew the day would come when you completely lost your mind. 

“I killed the woman I loved because I couldn’t control myself. I tried my fucking damnest to kill you too, because it seems I just fucking bleed toxicity. And I don’t even know how twisted that makes you for still being here. For still caring. It’s fucking pathetic. I tried to fucking kill you, and all I can see is your ridiculous, unwavering sense of devotion. Do you know how fucked up that makes you? How little must your self-worth be that you’re still here? That is if this isn’t just another simulation created to test my mental durability because who fucking knows at this point? I sure as shit don’t. And ya know what’s worse? No matter what happens, I still have to read that fucking folder. Because we sure as hell can’t hide out here forever, and the only way I can even begin to understand anything is the one thing I can’t bring myself to do.

“So instead, instead I’ll just make everyone suffer along with me. Strength in numbers, right? I’ll just force you to isolate yourself away instead of getting the fuck on with it and reading that fucking file. Nah, I’d rather torture the people I care about, because that’s just what happens. That’s what always fucking happens. And I can’t seem to stop,” your hands returned to your hair as you slowed down, squeezing the sides of your head as if to silence your mind. “It never seems to stop. It’s all just so fucking loud. I just want it to stop… I just want everything to stop…” You sank to the floor, drawing your knees up to your chest, your back pressed against the end of the bed. “I’m so tired, Logan. I’m so fucking tired.” Your voice faded to a whisper as you screwed your eyes shut, your mind still a roaring tornado of anguish and heartbreak. You didn’t want to hurt him. Fuck, that was the last thing you wanted to do, but you did it in a desperate bid to keep him safe. Maybe, if you sank enough knives into his chest, he’d walk away. The shadows receded into their natural places as you withdrew back behind the walls inside your head. 

Logan thought he’d seen vulnerability before, both in you and in others. But the way you looked now, naked, trembling on the floor, your head tucked behind your knees, hands clawing at your own hair… 

Nothing could have prepared him for that. 

He said nothing, silently crossing the floor to kneel next to you. Softly, he removed your nails from your hair, setting your arms limp by your side as he cupped either side of your jaw, raising your head to look at him. Tears flowed freely from your eyes as you desperately searched his face. What for, he didn’t know, but he let you look. He let you hunt in the corners of his brows, digging around the slope of his nose, finally returning to his eyes. What you found, or rather didn’t find, pulled a sob from your chest, and he tucked your face beneath his chin. Wrapping his arms around your naked body, he just held you as stuttered sob after stuttered sob wracked your body.

Grief was a funny old thing. Always lurking around the corner, rearing its bittersweet head when you least expected it. You cried. You cried for Jade. You cried for Rowan. You cried for the other members of NLMO. You cried for Kitty, and her guilt for hating you. You cried for Ororo, having been burdened with the knowledge not even you wanted to know about yourself. 

You cried for Logan. Holy shit did you cry for Logan. You didn’t want this for him. Only the previous morning was he talking about being a normal couple and doing ‘normal couple things’, and now he was stuck in a relationship with a woman who didn’t even know who she was. Who didn’t know what parts of her were real and what parts were fabricated? Your voice scratched your throat raw, every breath like rusty nails in your lungs as you sobbed harder than you ever remember in your life, both real and fake. 

And he held you through all of it, gently whispering sweet nothings against your damp, tangled hair, soothing soft caresses against your bare skin with his calloused hands, fingertips grazing every scar he could reach, from the healed burn on your calf to the serrated needle in your neck. His hatred for the Kreva’s only grew with each newly discovered scar on your body, even as your full-bodied cries quietened to mere hiccups of despair. 

Tentatively he drew your head away from his damp neck, using his thumb to wipe away the salty lines carved down one side of your face, and using his little finger for the other. “C’mon firefly, let’s get you changed. Gotta do somethin’ ‘bout these burns too…” 

You shook your head with teary incredulity. “I don’t understand… why are you still doing this? Why do you still care? After everything I've just said. After everything I’ve done… why?”

“Because I love you.”

Your mind fell completely silent as you stared up at him in utter, petrified shock. “What…?” you managed to whisper, to his slight knowing smile.

“I love you.”

You shook your head again, though this time you looked horrified. “You’re insane.”

Logan nodded as if he already knew this. Of course, he was insane. But not simply because he loved you. He was insane because if anything happened to you, nothing and nowhere would be safe from him. He would walk through hell itself to get you back, and make as many deals with as many devils as he needed to. What was insane was the lengths he would go through to protect you. 

“Who am I, Logan? You read the folder, you’ve seen everything… how can you love what’s in there? Who am I?” You almost pleaded with him, and he caught the sides of your neck in his palms. 

“‘M gonna need you to listen real close, okay? That folder doesn’t define you. You are who you are in spite of what’s in that folder. I didn’t read all of it… I– I don’t know if I can. But from the reports I did see, you’re still you. You were almost killed because you stepped between your brother and four bullets to the chest, and I’ll be fuckin’ damned if I said you wouldn’t do that with who you are now. What you endured is fuckin’ harrowing, I’ll be honest. There were very few happy moments from what I saw, and fuck, if you don’t you deserve to be happy, none of the rest of us do.

“I don’t know if I’d read that entire folder if you gave the rest of my life, which I’m thinkin’ is a real long time. But if that’s how long it takes for you to read it, I’ll gladly spend the rest of my days with you. I don’t give a shit where we are. At the school, in this cabin, hell, we could be squatting under a bridge for all I care. I’m tired of being too damn scared of saying I love you. Because I fuckin’ do. And you’re crazy if you think any of this changes a goddamn thing about how I feel.”

It was your turn to be rendered completely speechless. Somehow, in one fell swoop, he’d put the fears that hovered around your head concerning him to rest. The terror that he was going to leave you, the fear that you weren’t good enough, that you didn’t deserve him melted away as you peered into his hazel eyes shining with such conviction you wanted to sob into his arms all over again. 

“You love me?” you asked a little diffidently, and Logan rolled his eyes with a small smile lifting the corner of his mouth. 

“It wasn’t obvious? I love you. And before you ask; yes. This is real.” you blew out a breath as he answered your question before you’d even had a chance. How did he know you so well? His hands moved from either side of your neck to your waist, helping you back onto your feet. You continued staring at him in awestruck adoration, still unable to quite believe what he’d said. He loved you. You don’t know why it came as such a shock, he’d shown you almost every day since you danced in the kitchen. Probably before that, in the way, he’d helped redesign your room. In the care he’d taken to learn about your mutation and adapt your new living situation accordingly before he even met you. Before he even believed you existed.

You followed almost blindly as he led you back into the bathroom, opening the cabinet behind the mirror and retrieving what he went to get before you exploded in front of him. Turning you around, he swiped your hair to one side, and you winced slightly at the cooling balm touching your shoulders, his hands gently kneading at the stiff muscles. The aloe took almost instant effect, soothing the angry burns left behind by your shower.

He worked in comfortable silence, snapping the lid back of the bottle and placing it back on the shelf when he was done. His fingertips grazed up and down your slickened arm, before placing both hands back on your shoulders and guiding you back out the bathroom to sit atop the bed. 

“I love you, too.”

Logan froze. Though it seemingly came out of nowhere, you’d said it like you’d wanted to say it for a long, long time. In the moment, he didn’t think he’d cared all that much that you hadn’t said it back to him, but hearing you say those words now, those words he’d been yearning to hear since he first set eyes on you and you teased him for something or other filled him with a warm sense of belonging. 

You smiled and his heart stopped as your eyes shone along with it. How did he get so damn lucky?

Bending at the waist, he tilted your head up with a finger beneath your chin, his other hand braced against your cheek as he moulded his lips against your own, finding an instant, slow rhythm. And if he hadn’t known you were utterly exhausted, he’d have you there and then, gasping and whimpering on his cock. But he could tell by the way you kissed him back, you were shattered. Not that he was in any rush. From the looks of things, it seemed like the two of you would be hiding away for some time.

Pulling away a fraction, Logan reached for the clothes he’d pulled out for you earlier from his closet before he interrupted your shower. It wasn’t anything spectacular, just a pair of incredibly loose sweatpants and a faded t-shirt of his. He slipped the shirt over your head, biting back a smile as it all but hung off your shoulders, and you shot him a flat look. 

“I have my own clothes, ya know?” You pretended you were reluctant, though showed no signs of hesitation when he opened the waistband of the sweatpants for you to step into, pulling the drawstring tight around your waist. 

“I know.” Was all he responded, and you snorted a small laugh as he stepped back, almost to admire his work. You were positively drowning in fabric, the short sleeves of the t-shirt reaching your elbows, sweats hanging low off your hips. But it was comfy and smelt like him, so honestly it didn’t matter to you. “C’mon, I made soup.” He outstretched his hand toward you for you to take, which you did with a suspicious raise of your brow. 

“You had fresh ingredients for soup?” You asked, following behind him as he led you back down the stairs, the crackling of the lit hearth filling you with a sense of cosy tranquillity you never expected to feel again, not after everything that had happened.

“A’ight so I found a couple cans of soup and heated 'em up, same difference.” As if being parted from you robbed him of breath, Logan brought you back into his arms, feeling his chest loosen when you didn’t resist the way he walked you over to the gas stove.

“I’m going to ignore that,” you instinctively took the wooden spoon from the rack of utensils to the right of the backsplash, stirring the bubbling pot and grimacing slightly as you felt the bottom of the pan. Definitely burnt. Though you couldn’t exactly blame that on him. He’d been a little preoccupied with making sure you didn’t plunge the cabin into suffocating shadow. “A gas stove in a wooden cabin is a bold choice.” You mentioned absently, turning the dial for the gas down and watching as the blue flame lessened beneath the iron pan. Logan set his chin atop your head, arms still circling your waist.

“Not my decision. Previous guy’s choice.” he offered as a means of explanation, and you shrugged in acceptance. Much like you thought with most of the decor in the cabin, whilst there were a few things you’d noticed that you were sure were his, the rest you couldn’t see being his interior design choices. Not that Logan had much interior design, even his room at the mansion was pretty barren. 

Reaching above you, Logan pulled open one of the cupboards, keeping one of his arms still wrapped around your middle, and started rifling through the contents. There was a slight clatter of boxes before he pulled one of them out, setting it down on the counter. You eyed it curiously, a warm smile tugging at your lips as you read the italic cursive on the front of the box. 

Honey and Chamomile tea. You dropped your head back against his chest, heart almost exploding when he left briefly to retrieve two mugs, one of them you knew like the back of his hand. 

When the fuck had he found the time to grab your favourite mug? He stood next to you, gas clicking rhythmically as he went to light a second burner, the huff of ignition breaking you from your stare of wonder and watching as he placed the black kettle atop the flame. It was rudimentary, old school but you kind of liked it. It suited him. 

Logan’s heart and eyes softened as he looked down at the top of your head resting against his bicep, not bothering to fight the urge to press a kiss to your hair. 

“I love you.” You whispered, and the words struck him like a bolt of lightning, still completely unused to both saying and hearing them. He let the warmth in his chest wash over him, let the encompassing adoration flood his veins and fill his heart. He couldn’t be by your side in the past, couldn’t save you from the horrors you’d endured. But he was going to make damn sure he was there for your future, whether you’d stayed in the cabin or managed to return to the mansion, he’d ensure he was by your side for all of it. 

Never again would you face these things alone. 

“I love you, too.”

[cherry-pop-elf]

Late Night Cutie Pie

Newt Scamander X Knight Bus Worker! Reader

((Can be read as platonic))

While working on the bus, a famous little face pops itself into the open doors. A sweetheart that’s been stressed out of his mind, and you do what you do best. Help those in need. Along with show you might have a talent for Nifflers, on top of a talent for flustering Magizoologists

Warnings: very adorable fluff, tooth rotting fluff, fluster newt, newt being painfully adorable, and of course TEDDY SHENANIGANS

“Ooooo we got a celebrity joining us tonight-!” You heard you coworker, a talking head, shout to you. You wondered who that could be, as you finished tidying up the beds. Ready for whatever lost soul is needing a good rest. Pillows fluffed, blankets laid out, and wheels oiled to keep people from flying.

“Oh no no. Im not celebrity-“ A almost timid voice would speak, as you hurried down from the upper floor. Once your shoes hit the ground, your eyes went wide with who they landed on. A man in a blue jacket, fluffy hair, and a suit case in hand. Newt Scamander. In the flesh.

“No way-“ You whispered, before those big blue eyes were on you. He gave a shy little wave, before rummaging in his pocket. Pulling out his ticket, and snapping you back to reality. As instinct, you were quick to sort it out. Not even needing to look at your hands, as you kept them on him. Snip, snap, POP, done!

“Normally we never pry, but uh. What’s a guy like you doing on a bus like ours-?” You asked. You were a Knight Bus Worker. You had to be social, after all. So being direct with people, no matter the face, is an important skill to have. One that was leaving him embarrassed.

“Well, seems you know who I am. Guess you can kinda put two and two together. Not many people trust that I’ll keep my friends under control.” He admits, with a smile that said it hurt him. They were animals. Not their fault after all. You won’t lie, though. It’s touching how he would simply turn those people away. Compared to following their rules, and leaving his friends behind.

“I mean, we’ve had the shadiest people come on here. Better to have Hippogriff shit on the bed than human shit. Least with a bird like that, you know they couldn’t help it.” You would put, rather bluntly, which had him smile. Knowing he wouldn’t be a burden to anyone on the bus, given you were being very direct with him. Compared to sugar coating, or babying him because of his Hufflepuff nature. People tended to do that, and even he was getting annoyed. A welcome change it was.

“I’ll take you to the upper floor, so you can have more room. Not a lot of people go up there, because of motion sickness. So you’ll have plenty of room to stretch your legs-!” You comforted, as you were making his night. A place to actually rest, and work with his care. You were just his angel. He wanted to hug you so badly, and you can tell with his arms tensing. Once a Hufflepuff, always a Hufflepuff.

“Bring it in-“ You reassured, and he nearly lifted you off the ground. Made you wheeze, but you couldn’t deny it. Hufflepuffs gave the best hugs. Not many people liked to treat you more than part of the bus, so it was a very nice change. Felt good to get a hug.

“Truly, I am so grateful. Be nice to sleep in a bed for a while. Not to say I do not enjoy nature, but we all live in certain environments for a reason after all." The older man said, when he finally set you free. Must be so hard, world traveling. Maybe he was home sick, so he was back in England for a while. Maybe animals were in need. Who knows! You just know he needed rest.

"Come on up then." You would escort him to the second floor of the double decker bus, and would lead him to a freshly made bed. You also made sure the frame was secure, wheels smooth, anything that could cause issues in his stay. Just wanting him to get some rest. As you did, you were not aware of Newt having a panic attack behind you. The moment you turned; he quickly hid his suitcase. Smiling big, with eyes darting everywhere.

"Doing alright? Seem a bit shaken, what's up?" You asked, as he keeps his nervous smile. A tug at his collar, before his eyes were now staring at something behind you. That made you raise a brow, before you slowly turned around. Just as you did, something jumped on you. You gave a shout, before you were tumbling into the once Hufflepuff. Both of you crashing to the ground.

"TEDDY-! NO! WEVE BEEN OVER THIS-!" You heard him shout, as you were helped up. Now you had a niffler choking you out, given he was dangling off your lanyard. Now knowing it was a niffler, you weren't upset. Your lanyard had many shiny pins and buttons. It can't be helped.

"Aw, you want a pin?" You cooed, as you soon scooped the little gremlin into your arms. Him still holding the lanyard, as Newt calmed down. Surprised to see Teddy calm as well. Just looking up at you with those big eyes. Sparkling with desire. You knew what to do, given many a child has ridden the bus. For one reason or another.

"Here is a nice shiny pin, all for you." You smiled, as you rummaged in your pocket. Soon you had a pin in hand, designed to look like the knight bus. With glittery windows, that made it sparkle like stars. That had the niffler let go of the lanyard, and make grabby hands for the pin. Into his tiny hands it went, and he hugged it tightly. A little chirp of happiness, before it went into his pouch. Safe and sound. Now he was satisfied, for the time being.

"Amazing..." Newt whispered, before he would take Teddy back. The little guy was quick to pull the new possession out, and showed it to his dad. Newt gave a 'ooo' and his eyes sparkled all the same. Just like a father, to a toddler. Melted your heart, to see a bond. How he kissed Teddy's head, and he gave chirps of joy.

"You have a talent for animals, I can see it clear as day. Teddy is always a handful, but like that you had it under control. No panic, and quick to find a solution. Amazing." He praised you, resulting a heavy blush on your face. What a praise and honor it was. Newt Scamander, praising your skills.

"Toddlers and nifflers are basically the same thing." You brushed off, before the bus was quick to make its sharp stop. You didnt move a inch, of course, but the father and son went flying. You winced, when Newt slammed into the window. He did, however, made sure to keep teddy wrapped around his arms. Pressed into his chest, so that the little thing suffered as little damage as possible. Such a pure soul.

"There is a reason we have complinetry sleeping potions and pain killers. Check the bedside table, back to work I go!" You waved goodbye, with Teddy waving bye as well. Since his dad was busy with new back pain.

Just like how it always was. Taking tickets, escorting newbies, comforting lost children, punching a drunk here and there. A typical night for the bus. As it was getting closer to the end of your shift, you would go and check on the famous celebrity. Up the stairs, and to the second floor.

There he was. His brief case locked to the bed frame, with an enchanted chain, and his coat hung up. His face pressed into the pillow, showing his knocked out face. Drooling, in a much needed rest. All the while little Teddy was snuggled close to his father. His face tucked under the man’s chin, and tiny hands hugging his dress shirt close. Safe, under the man’s arm.

You would sneak over, and make sure the blanket was pulled high enough for him and Teddy. Poor souls needed it. You wouldn’t be surprised if he would spend a few nights here. As if you would complain. The company would be needed, and who knows. Maybe a Pest Control guy would be needed. Sure get wild animagi coming in sometimes.

With Newt tucked in, and adjusting the pillow for Teddy, you would return down the stairs. All to be teased by that talking head for growing overly friendly with the celebrity. All it took was a flick, and he was spinning. That had you laugh, as you stretched.

Never a dull night, on that bus.

[wintrwinchestr]

bite the hand

the killer & the sound - chapter 3

summary: you hadn't expected joel to put such an abrupt end to... whatever it is you two had. or, what you thought you had, anyway. you write and perform a new song on the second night of the tour about it, and the consequences aren't quite what you expected them to be. how could something that seemed so simple at first have become so complicated?

warnings: 18+, smut, no outbreak au, no use of y/n, rockstar!joel, aspiring rockstar!reader, d/s dynamics, pretty major daddy kink, age gap (reader is early-mid 20’s, joel is early-mid 50’s), pet names (sweetheart, darlin', baby, babygirl, songbird(!!), etc), big time angst, daddy/mommy issues, religious shame, degradation (joel calls you a whore), spanking, fingering, oral (f receiving), unprotected piv sex, manhandling, one (1) kiss, spitting, smoking (reader & other characters), drinking (reader & other characters), getting walked in on, characters who need therapy sooooo badly, lots of internal monologue, let me know if i missed any!!

word count: 13.2k

a/n: as always, thank you so much for your patience and sticking around to see what i put our pookies through this time. these chapters just keep getting longer and longer but it's not my fault they have a lot to say!!!!! if you'd like an idea of what reader's lil diss track sounds like, i very much imagined gibson girl by ethel cain when i wrote it. thank you as always to my best babygirl kiers i love u to death. i hope you like this one, nice comments/reblogs appreciated if you enjoyed!!

series masterlist

read this chapter on ao3

divider by @saradika-graphics

Jesus Christ, what the hell is he doing?

Joel has been in the shower for at least thirty minutes now, and he’s spent more than half of that time just letting the scalding water pound against his back as his vision goes blurry from the steam. He finished his “rinse off” within five minutes of stepping inside the bathroom, and now he’s just stalling, wondering how the fuck he’s supposed to go back out there and get in bed with you.

If it weren’t for the decades’ worth of tattoos that he can see when he looks down at his bare body, he wouldn’t be able to recognize himself right now. He’s always been one to hit it and quit it, love ‘em and leave ‘em, or whatever little figure of speech you want to use for just being a fucking playboy. Since when has he ever cleaned a girl up, given her his clothes to wear, let her sleep over after he fucks her? Though, he has to give himself some credit, it’s not like he was planning on letting you stay. He was just trying to preserve some of your dignity, but then, when did he even decide to start caring about shit like that? 

Fuck.

When the tour bus jerks to life as the driver begins the trip to the next city, the loss of balance is enough to finally snap Joel out of the uncharacteristic morality spiral he’s now found himself in. He rubs his hands across his face, pinching the bridge of his nose and cursing under his breath, knowing that he can’t hide in here and avoid you forever. Besides, he’s getting old, and he has to sleep at some point if he wants to be at least a little functional tomorrow. And what is he so fucking scared of, anyway? 

Joel turns off the water, and the knob screeches in protest as the dull roar of the shower fades into silence. He steps out of the stall and hardly makes any effort to dry himself off, solely focused on getting out of there before the fog evaporates from the mirror and he’s forced to confront his own reflection. He shakes out his hair and pulls on a clean pair of briefs, then sends out a silent prayer to whoever the fuck might be listening, begging for help in making it through the night without having to address whatever it is that’s gnawing at his conscience. He didn’t even think he had one of those anymore.

Joel enters the bedroom quietly, hoping that you’d be exhausted enough to have fallen asleep by the time he returned. When you don’t even twitch as he shuts the door behind him and climbs under the covers, he lets out the breath he’d been holding, and lays himself down as close to the edge of the mattress as he can without falling off the damn thing. If he can put as much distance between the two of you as possible tonight, maybe he can make it out the other side unscathed.

Just when he thinks he’s in the clear, having settled himself down with his back to you and situated his silk sheets and pillows to his liking, he feels you roll over in your sleep as you let out some dreamy little whine. Joel likes to keep it cold on the bus, and your shivering form must feel the heat still radiating off of him from his shower, because then you’re wrapping your little arms around his bicep and pulling him close. He wants to shake you loose, to put some extra pillows in between your bodies just for good measure, but he can’t be so cruel. Not when you look like such a goddamn angel, sleeping so peacefully with your hair spread out around you like a halo, long lashes fluttering against your cheeks. He wonders what you’re dreaming about. 

Joel isn’t sure when exactly it happened, but somewhere in between that very first rehearsal and right now, the lines started to blur between a fun little fling he wasn’t going to think twice about letting go of once the tour ended, and something that he wants to sink his claws into and claim as his own. He has to face it now, whether he wants to or not—he can’t get himself to push you away, to growl at you not to touch him and to stay on your own side of the bed, because he doesn’t want to. What he wants is to tattoo his fucking name right underneath that shitty moth on your upper thigh, and therein lies the problem.

He has a history of breaking things, of being too controlling and rough and mean when he plays with his toys, until they fight back and tear themselves apart as they escape his clutches. But you seem like something that can’t be broken, that would glue itself back together just to get played with again the next day, and that sets off some alarms he didn’t know he was capable of hearing. Maybe he does still have a conscience, after all.

At first, Joel had liked how eager and willing and naive you were, how easily he could push and pull you this way and that because you didn’t seem to realize what this was. Or at least, what it was intended to be. Whether you were smart to his intentions or not was never really his concern before, but now… You’re nuzzling your face into his arm, breathing in his scent and letting it soothe you as it coats your senses, and it’s awakening something protective, possessive, in him. Joel has never been good at romance or love or relationships, and he had resigned himself a long time ago to the fact that he’d never be able to settle down. The life he lives can’t sustain something steady or healthy like that anyway, what with the touring and the groupies and the sex and the alcohol. 

But now here you are, this fragile and yet unbreakable thing in his bed who he worries wouldn’t run away no matter how much he growled and bared his teeth. And god dammit, that scares him. Joel had thought he was done being scared, that he had left that feeling behind before you were even born, probably. And yet, here it is creeping up on him again, grabbing him by the throat and suffocating him. You’ve got real talent and beauty, with a promising future and blossoming career ahead of you, and you’d probably give it all up and follow him into the darkness if he promised to call you a good girl once you did.

Joel has never been a very good man, but something about you makes him really have to stare down the barrel of it now. He can’t do this to you, he can’t let you in, and he knows that. He’d poison you, if he hasn’t already. And he can’t give to you what you seem to think this is, what it could be, if he wasn’t so fucking damaged. So he decides it then, as he doesn’t stop his hand from brushing a stray strand of your halo out of your delicate face, that he has to put a stop to this first thing in the morning. And he has to be cold and concise about it, so that you’re perfectly clear on what the two of you are going to be from now on, even if it hurts you. You’re a big girl, and he trusts that you’ll get over it somehow, because letting this continue would hurt you a hell of a lot worse, in the end.

And you seemed to have taken it well, all things considered. He didn’t tell you the whole truth, the real reason why he decided to yank the arrow out of your heart when he was the one who shot it in there in the first place. Because then you’d know that he’s a broken man who also breaks things, and he can only shatter so many of your illusions about him in one morning. He knows this is his fault, and he was at least man enough to take the blame, he can give himself that. He had decided to paint himself as an actually respectable person who knows when he’s taken something too far, who definitely does have a conscience. Maybe you’re the one who lured it out of the dark cave it was hiding in, but he still can’t risk anything, on the off chance that he still is the same mangled man he always was and the one he will continue to be. So he lies to you, just a little bit, because what you don’t know won’t hurt you, and he can’t let you come any closer for fear of causing even more pain than he already has. 

Joel watched as your bare legs carried you out of the living area and off of his bus, the tops of your thighs just barely concealed by his shirt he had lent you the night before. He didn’t react when you slammed the door on your way out, he had expected you to do as much. But he did half-expect you to turn around and spit a fuck you, Joel at him the way he would have deserved. It might have hurt less if you did, that way you would have left a sour taste in his mouth to replace the still-lingering flavor of your pussy mixed with the cum he had spilled inside you last night. 

God, he is so fucked.

—

You had made sure to thank the audio technicians before you disappeared from the venue after your sound check, but otherwise avoided looking at or speaking to anyone on your way out. Especially him. You had held Angel close as you swiftly made your way back to your bus before Death’s Head had a chance to take the stage for their turn, not wanting to hear any more of Joel’s voice than you’ve had to today. Besides, it’s already been looping like a skipping record in your mind since this morning, refusing to let up no matter how hard you try to drown it out. 

Mistake, respect, and professional are the choice words that are chanting themselves over and over again, so many times that they almost don’t sound real anymore, just a random sequence of letters and noises that you can’t make sense of. What happened last night didn’t feel like a mistake to you, especially not when he was so gentle in cleaning you up afterwards, when he brought you a glass of water, when he let you curl up against him in his bed, wearing his clothes. He sure as hell had plenty of time to decide that you were worthy of respect before he had you act like a whore on stage in front of tens of thousands of people for his own sick pleasure. (And apparently yours, but that’s not the point.) And now you’re supposed to believe that he suddenly had a change of heart overnight, that splitting you open on his cock and using your body to get what he wanted made him finally develop a moral compass and decide that he wants to start acting like a professional? Damn, maybe you are more powerful than you thought. 

You just can’t believe you were stupid enough to let yourself feel something for him. He was just playing you like his guitar this entire fucking time, a pretty instrument that he can pluck and strum and draw pretty noises from, then put away without a second thought. He’s a celebrity, a rockstar, for fuck’s sake. Half of his songs are about sex, and if the rumors are true, he recorded the original intro to Kiss it Better while he was hooking up with some groupie in a bathroom. Just like you, he had probably used her to get what he wanted, then dropped her like it was nothing. Of course he never fucking cared about you. 

You should burn the clothes that he sent you scurrying back to your bus wearing this morning. They’re currently shoved into the bottom of your plain-looking laundry bag in the corner of your room, though you’re half tempted to just toss the whole thing into the dumpster behind the venue and set it ablaze. But you know he doesn’t care about material things as much as he does his ego, and it’s going to be much more satisfying to set that on fire than some worn-out pieces of clothing, anyway. Destroying them also wouldn’t do anything about the way you keep catching an inhale of his cologne every once in a while, the masculine smell of it wafting from his t-shirt and carving out an undesired space for itself in your brain. You try to ignore the way your cunt flutters against your will at the scent, at the memories it conjures, and hope that she doesn’t develop a habit of betraying you like this when it comes to him. She almost gets the better of you, tempting you to second guess your plan to perform your scathing new song at the end of your set tonight.

Almost.

You’re feeling good about what you wrote, and you’d be even more upset with yourself if you backed out now, if you gave in to Joel once again, without him even knowing it this time. He seems to think that he knows you better than you know yourself, that he can make decisions for you and that he always knows just what to say to get you to do as he asks. For once, you want him to be fucking wrong about you.

The show starts in just under an hour, and you’re dedicating your last bit of quiet solitude to solidifying the new words and the motions of your fingers in your memory. While you were scribbling in your notepad earlier today, you had tried to ride the fine line between calling him out so blatantly and using descriptions that were too clichéd, and you’re happy with the in-between that you landed on. The song could be about anyone, but it isn’t, and if the shoe fits when he tries it on, oh fucking well. Plenty of men wear the same size, and if he wants to make yet another thing about himself, that’s not your problem.

Ideally, you had wanted to include the song in your sound check so that your band would be prepared for tonight, until you had let your eyes drift to the side of the stage and saw Joel observing in the darkness, just like he had done while you were performing the night before. You suppose it wouldn’t be very professional of him to avoid you like the plague the way you’re trying to do with him, but still. You had averted your eyes as quickly as you had spotted him, and decided that the song was just going to have to be a surprise for everyone, not just Joel. Your band members are smart enough guys, you’re sure they’ll be able to catch on and back you up when it’s time to unveil what you had been working on all day. But if they don’t, you’re prepared for it to just be you and Angel up there, the same way it has been for as long as you’ve been making music. Until recently, at least.

You’ve opted to get yourself dressed and ready in the safety of your bus, attempting to avoid a repeat of last night’s pre-show interactions with Joel by minimizing the amount of time you actually have to spend inside the venue. You doubt he’ll try anything, but considering how unafraid he was to volunteer himself as a witness to your sound check, you’d rather not risk it. So, you do your best to keep your distance as you make your way off the bus and to the side of the stage with Angel in tow, hoping that your viscous aura alone will be enough to keep him away. 

Your band members are already waiting for you in the wings when you get there, and you tuck yourself safely behind the group of them as you wait for the lights to go down. You ghost your fingers along Angel’s strings one last time, just to make sure that your muscle memory is securely locked into place—it is, because you’re fucking good at this. You don’t need Joel’s whispered praises and soothing touches to know that you’re a star, and you don’t want them. You don’t. You fucking killed it last night, and you knew it before he told you so, because your ears were still ringing long after the audience had finished applauding and screaming for you. For your own performance, not for the on-stage degradation you endured because of a dumb teenage crush you couldn’t seem to shake off.

If your timing is right, you should’ve gone on a few minutes ago now. Each passing minute has you gnawing at your bottom lip and picking at your nails with increasing intensity as you and the audience both become more restless. You aren’t sure what the hold up is, but you just want to get out there and safely away from the possibility of Joel before you make one of your goddamn fingers bleed. You’re so consumed in your destructive self-soothing that you don’t hear the sound of jingling chains and creaking leather approaching you where you stand, followed by a clearing throat and the last voice you want to fucking hear right now.

“Tommy told me they’re jus’ tryin’ to fix a light or somethin’. Shouldn’t be too much longer now,” Joel says, and you stiffen as he speaks. He sounds earnest in the way he addresses the group of you, but the feeling of his gaze lingering on your skin tells you his true intentions.

Your bandmates hum in acknowledgement as they maintain their casual demeanors, while you shift your jaw and remain steadfast in your stoicism. Your face is calm and concentrated, but your fidgeting hands tell a different story, and the telltale habit is most of what prompted Joel to come over here against his better judgment. He so badly wants to take your hands in his so that you’ll stop tearing at your skin, to massage the worry right out of your palms and tell you there’s nothing to be nervous about, just like he did last night. Though, you’d probably bite his goddamn fingers clean off if he even so much as reached out a hand in your direction, and he wouldn’t entirely blame you if you did, considering that he’s more than likely the reason for your agitation.

Instead, he settles for asking, in as neutral of a tone as possible, “You okay, darlin’?”

Your gaze remains focused on the stage, on the mic you should be standing behind right now, if it weren’t for some stupid fucking light. After a pointed beat, you answer him with a short, “I’m fine.”

You can see in your peripheral vision that Joel nods and shifts his weight, moving a little further behind your band and closer to you. He lets a matching bit of silence pass, for some reason not using the opportunity to just turn around and walk away, before speaking again. “Quit messin’ with your fingers.”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” you snap, whipping your head to finally face him. You peer up at Joel from under your eyebrows, putting on a stony face and doing your best to look intimidating even as he towers over you. Despite your efforts, your heart still flutters for just a second when your eyes meet, before he drops his own gaze to the floor and takes a step back from you.

“That how this is gonna be?” Joel asks, and you could swear he sounds a little defeated.

“Yeah, it is.”

You turn yourself back to the stage again, and he takes a deep breath, like he’s trying to steady himself and suppress a reaction to your attitude that he might regret.

“Look, can we–” he starts, but a sudden burst of screams and hollers cuts him off as the venue lights finally dim. You push past your bandmates and stomp your way towards the stage, feeling volatile and as determined as you’ve ever fucking been to give a killer performance tonight. You could’ve spit some real fire at him, told him to leave you the fuck alone like you had been so tempted to, but you didn’t want to scare him off. You don’t even need to check to know that he’s still standing exactly where you left him, and that he’ll probably stay there and watch you the whole time because he doesn’t know what the fuck he wants, apparently. Maybe you should bring him onstage for his public humiliation the same way he did to you, see how he likes it. But you have a little more humanity than he does, and if it all works out, he’ll have to watch you tear him down surrounded by his own bandmates and brother, and that’s gratifying enough for you.

When you and your band have all taken your places, you introduce yourself to tonight’s crowd with a newfound vigor, and begin your set with a chord so resonant it vibrates your bones. The sound surrounds you, grabbing you by the shoulders and shaking loose the wallflower version of you who performed these same songs just last night. It feels like a metamorphosis, like the moths that adorn the strap slung around your body and the one etched into your skin finally belong to you instead of him.

—

You sail through your set, never stumbling over a chord or missing a lyric, even in your anticipation to reach the end. While you thank the crowd and wait for their roaring cheers to die down, you finally chance a look at the side of the stage. Just as you had predicted before you went on, Joel’s silver-tipped boots are still planted in the same place they were thirty minutes ago. Perfect.

“Y’all have been amazing tonight, this was so much fun,” you pant into the mic. “I, uh… I actually have one more song before I go, if that’s alright. Just wrote it this morning.”

Another wave of whistles and applause engulfs you as you turn to check on your bandmates, who all wear confused expressions as expected. You step back from the mic to tell each of the guys the key and tempo of what you wrote, and ask if they can maintain something steady and follow along while you carry the melody. When they’ve all gotten the plan, they look at each other and wordlessly communicate a final decision, seeming to be up to the challenge. 

You resume your place at the front of the stage, taking one last look at your victim before beginning to strum the song’s now-familiar echoing intro. The tone is a little Western, and you wrote it that way on purpose, just as an extra hidden jab toward the obnoxious midnight cowboy persona Joel had first lured you in with. Your haunting voice comes in a few measures later, singing lyrics that are unlike anything you’ve written before. They’re darker, more graphic, and they tell the story of a girl and a cold-blooded man covered in leather and tattoos, who got her alone one night and ripped her clothes off and whispered things he didn’t mean while he fucked her. And after everything was said and done, the girl had lied to herself, replaying everything that had happened between her and the cold-blooded man that night, convincing herself that because it felt good, because he was good to her, that it had meant something. She had bared her body and soul to him, only to find out that he had also been lying to her that night, playing with her like a doll who didn’t know any better, who was just happy to get looked at and touched and praised by someone she had once held on such a high pedestal. You let the lights embrace you and warm your skin as you bare yourself once again, trusting this time that it won’t end in shame or hurt or tears. 

When the buildup of your lyrics and chords finally culminate in the song’s cathartic crash, the first thing you feel is relief, like a crushing weight has been lifted off your heart. The crowd’s enthusiastic response to your creation surrounds you, filling your ears and infiltrating your soul, and you can’t help but laugh at the overwhelming feeling. You gesture behind you for your band to meet you at the front of the stage, and you all bow together to another round of raucous cheering before making your way offstage. This time, you do remember to leave Angel behind, satisfied in what the two of you accomplished tonight.

You’re still reveling in the rush of your performance by the time you’re shrouded in the backstage darkness once again, so caught up in the feeling that you nearly forget what your moment of spontaneity was for in the first place. Or rather, who it was for. You didn’t have enough wherewithal to check if Joel would still be lying in wait once you exited the stage, mostly assuming that his ego would get the best of him and he’d just huff his way out to the buses for a smoke once he realized what you were doing.

You assumed wrong.

Before your eyes even have a chance to adjust to the change in lighting, a calloused hand is gripped tight onto your upper arm, dragging you deeper backstage as you exclaim in protest and try to snatch your arm out of the iron hold that traps it.

“What the—Joel?! Get the fuck off me! What are you–”

“Will you fuckin’ quiet down?” Joel hisses next to your ear. “Quit makin’ a goddamn scene, already made enough of one as it is.”

Despite your struggle against him, his size and strength overpower you, and before you know it you’re being shoved into a dressing room, the door getting slammed shut and locked behind you in a second.

“What the fuck, Joel?” you shout up at him as he backs you into the door, finally letting go of your arm to loom over you and brace one of his hands next to your head.

“I can ask you the same goddamn thing. What the fuck was that out there, hm?” He spits back at you.

You massage the aching finger-shaped marks on your skin where he had gripped you, eyeing him with an annoyed expression. “It was just a song, what is your fucking problem?”

He scoffs, rolling his neck as his brows twitch in disbelief. “Just a song, right. Everybody knew that shit was about me.”

Your heart hammers in your chest, both from the anxiety of being confronted like this and the aggravation caused by his egomaniacal tendencies. “You are so fucking self-centered, it’s insane. It could’ve been about anyone—”

“But it wasn’t, huh?” Joel interrupts. “Who else do they know that has a filthy title inked into his hand, as you put it. Gimme a break, sweetheart. As if that same title didn’t have you soakin’ your fuckin’ panties for me last night.”

You hate that you can feel your cunt flutter in response to his words. “Whatever, will you just let me go? This isn’t very professional of you, locking me in your goddamn dressing room just so you can throw a fit,” you retort.

Realization flashes across his face as he steps back from you, breathing a heavy sigh. “Professional…” he speaks quietly, testing out the word, searching for the meaning behind why you had used it so pointedly. “Jesus Christ, is that what this is about? You are such a goddamn child, you know that?”

Now it’s your turn to laugh, crossing your arms now that he’s given you the room to do so. “Didn’t seem to think of me that way last night. I’m a big girl, I can do what I want, why do you care so much if I wrote a stupid song about you?”

Joel shuts his eyes, scrunching up his face like he’s fighting against what he wants to say next. “Because, fuck—This ain’t what I wanted, okay? Said I wanted to keep it professional between us, not that I wanted you to make a goddamn fool outta me in front’a God and everybody.”

“Well, what do you want?” You push, stepping into his space as your blood begins to boil over. “Because I thought you fucking cared about me, and then you just told me to get lost this morning, like none of it meant anything to you—”

“Of course it fuckin’ meant somethin’ to me, Jesus Christ.” Joel says, so breathlessly it’s like the words escape his mouth before he can catch them. “Did this for your own goddamn good—”

“Oh, for my own good?”

“Yes, for your own good. Because I know what you want this to be, and I can’t give that to you, I can’t.”

“Why not?”

Joel doesn’t answer, but he shifts his jaw like he considers it, and lets your angered breathing fill the silence.

“Huh?” You provoke, hitting your palms against his broad chest once. Your push hardly does anything to knock him off his balance, but you swear it makes his eyes darken. “Why not?” You demand a second time.

You can tell he wants to bite back, but he suppresses the instinct, instead backing away from you as he shakes his head in disbelief. “Y’ know what, I ain’t gonna do this with you right now. We can talk about this later.”

Joel makes for the exit, but you dart in front of the door handle, feet planted firmly on the ground as you block his only way out. You grit your teeth as you stare up at him, daring him to either do something about it or finish what he started.

He takes another steadying breath. “Really ain’t helpin’ your case much right about now. I suggest you move, sweetheart.” His voice registers a somewhat eerie calm, the kind that a storm usually follows.

“You don’t get to back out of this.”

“Ain’t backin’ out. Said we’re gonna talk about it later. Move.”

You stare at each other in strained silence for a few moments, neither of you in the mood to give in to the other. You doubt that you’re about to bear witness to the first time Joel has ever submitted to someone else, so you slide away from the door, making a vow to yourself to find him after the show and force him to make good on his word.

“‘S what I thought,” he huffs, unlocking the door and slinking out into the hallway. He holds his head a little too high for someone too scared to tell you how he feels, like it’ll eat him alive if he admits to anyone that he really does have a heart.

You step out of the room and watch him walk, waiting until he gets a few paces away from you to grumble under your breath, “Self-centered and a fucking coward.”

Either Joel wasn’t as far out of earshot as you had thought, or the angry thudding of your pulse inside your head had made it difficult to tell just how loud you had said your little dig. He stops in his tracks, giving you a second to sweat before turning around to face you. “What was that?” he asks, but you already know he had heard you loud and clear. He begins to stalk towards you, and that predatory sway of his shoulders has you suddenly feeling meek.

“N-nothing,” you lie, backing into the dressing room as he continues his prowl.

“Nah, go ahead. You wanna do this right now, we’ll do it right now. What’d you say, baby? C’mon.” Joel’s movement forces you backward until the base of your spine hits the edge of the vanity table in the room. You wince at the impact and the sound of the door slamming shut again, and then he’s bracing both of his hands on either side of your hips, caging you in. Joel’s hot breath ghosts against your face as his eyes seem to glow a fiery shade you’ve never seen before. “Say it again.”

You swallow hard, nervous eyes flitting around his face, unsure of the safest place to land, or if there even is one. “Called you a coward…” you admit softly, voice trembling.

“Yeah? I’m a fuckin’ coward? What else, hm? Why don’t you use your big girl words and say to my face what you really wanted to say about me out there instead o’ that bullshit lil’ poem you wrote.” He’s just being mean now, lashing out because you hit him where it hurts. But god fucking dammit, there’s something about the way he’s standing over you, how he’s using his size to intimidate you and how the smell of his cologne mingles with the fading aroma of his last cigarette, that begins to cloud your judgment. You can’t help the way a dampness begins to bloom between your thighs as a result of his demeaning words and close proximity.

You figure you don’t have much of a reason to hold anything back anymore, already having pissed him off by threatening his ego twice in one night. “I hate you,” you rasp, which is pretty much what the lyrics of your song boil down to. You do hate him, for saying all the right things and touching you all the right ways to make you think he wanted the two of you to be something, only to throw your naivety in your face, tell you that you’re acting like a child when he’s the one who tried to give up and walk out when something became more complicated than he could handle.

“Yeah, I bet you do. Think you can do better than that, though, huh? Sure had plenty to say earlier, don’t get all shy on me now, sweetheart.” He spits the pet name at you like it’s an insult, coated in the venom dripping from his sharp canines.

“Fuck you,” you snap, eyes welling up and threatening to spill over despite yourself.

Joel spins you around as soon as the words leave your lips, pinning your wrists behind your back with just one of his hands, using the other one to grip your jaw and make you face your own reflection in the vanity mirror. You shut your eyes tightly, not wanting to confront what he’s reduced you to, and he allows you to keep them that way for now.

“You want me to? That why you’re all fired up, ‘cause you need Daddy to fuck this bratty ass attitude outta you?” Joel rumbles next to your ear.

You struggle to shake your head in his hold, mumbling, “No, I don’t.”

“No? So if I reach my hand under this lil’ dress, I ain’t gonna feel that pretty pussy drippin’ for me?”

You aren’t sure why you bother lying to him again, humming an mm-mm that sounds more like a whimper.

“Hmm, let’s see about that, then,” Joel muses, releasing your face from his hold to bend you forward and flip up the skirt of your dress. “Would you look at that… panties are ‘bout fuckin’ soaked through, ain’t they?” You whine as he begins to rub your folds over your underwear, pulling back the crotch of them and letting it go so that you can feel the damp snap of the fabric against your sensitive skin. “Thought you were such a good girl… you like it a lil’ mean, hm? ‘S that why you pulled that stunt tonight, to get Daddy all worked up so he’d treat you the way you really been wantin’?”

You feel a stinging smack on your ass before you’ve even finished muttering a complete No. Joel’s rough hand does nothing to soothe the burn as he rubs it around your smarted flesh, squeezing at the plush of your ass with a possessive grip. “Had just about enough of you lyin’ to me tonight. Why don’t you tell me the goddamn truth and I’ll give you what you want, hm? Gonna ask one more time. You want Daddy to beat up this lil’ brat pussy?” He asks, moving his hand back to the wet fabric of your panties, circling your clit over the material with the pad of his finger.

You can’t help but moan at his crude language, releasing another pulse of wetness in response. “Mmh, yes, please—” you mewl.

“Open your fuckin’ eyes,” Joel barks, and it startles you into obedience. “Yes, who?” he challenges, making eye contact with your reflection in the mirror.

He continues his ministrations over your covered clit, and you force your brain to work through the distraction, to give him what he wants and not earn yourself another spank.

“Y-yes, Daddy, I want it,” you admit, your voice drenched in a pathetic need. 

Joel swiftly yanks your panties to the side, practically tearing them clean off your body with one hand in an effort to expose your swollen core to him, not daring to release your aching wrists from the other one’s hold. He circles your dripping entrance with the rough tips of two of his fingers, not pushing all the way inside just yet.

“Think you owe me a goddamn apology first, hm?” he taunts, using his fingers to smear your ashamed slick around your entrance.

“Sorry, ‘m sorry–” you whine, pushing back into him impatiently.

Smack. “For what, baby? What’re you sorry for?” Joel presses, his harsh spank telling you to stay fuckin’ still. 

“For… for writing that song… for calling you a c-coward… ‘m sorry, Daddy, I’m sorry–” you cry. He shoves both of his thick fingers inside you as your reward, carving out space for them inside your little hole as he starts up a bruising pace, the obscene wet sounds of his movements filling the room and mingling with your broken little wails. It shouldn’t feel as good as it does, getting ordered around and talked down to and used like this by someone you said you hated only a few minutes ago, but you don’t really care to unpack that right now. Or ever. Maybe you were naive and immature in thinking that this thing you’ve gotten yourself into could ever pan out like what you’ve seen in the movies, but you think you could learn to be content with what he is willing to offer you—praise doled out as easily as he deprives you of it, a firm hand and fingers that can strum along your clit as expertly as he does the strings of his guitar, and a cock that makes you feel like someone else entirely, that can send you somewhere far away and bring you back down to earth at the same time. You let him use his fingers to pound all that angst and fire and attitude out of you as your eyelids flutter shut again, losing yourself in the feeling of him.

“How many times I gotta tell you, huh? Keep ‘em open, look, baby,” Joel commands, letting go of your wrists to deliver a light smack to the side of your face. You fall forward at the sudden release of his hold, catching yourself on the vanity table and digging your nails into the hard surface to ground yourself. His punishing hand forces your gaze straight ahead with a claw-like grip on your jaw, and your eyelids still feel so heavy, everything moving slowly as you look at yourself in the mirror. Your parted lips, smeared mascara, and unfocused gaze paint a debauched version of yourself that you don’t recognize, blurred by the sleepy submissive state he seems to be able to plunge you into so easily. “Take a good goddamn look in the mirror, at what I’m doin’ to you, and you tell me if you really want this.”

Every sharp thrust of his hand against your cunt knocks loose more and more of your ability to think, let alone speak. But you know by now that if Joel demands a response from you, he’ll get one, coherent or not. He seems to like it when your words come out a ruined mess of whines and slurred syllables, anyway, getting off on how hard and fast he can knock down those walls you attempt to put up and turn you into something so servile and saccharine.

“Want it, please, Daddy,” you beg, struggling to hold yourself up as his fingers get you closer and closer to your release.

“You sure about that? ‘Cause this is what you’re gonna get, sweetheart,” Joel grunts, the exaggerated word punctuated by the stretch of a third finger joining the other two inside your already fucked-out cunt.

“D-don’t care, just want you—ah—” you’re cut off by the sudden stroking of Joel’s curled fingers against a particularly tender and unfamiliar spot inside you. You begin to unravel at the overwhelming feeling, letting out little wanton pleases and Daddys as you continue to soak his tattooed hand.

“Fuck, gonna be the goddamn death o’ me, lil’ songbird, you know that? Tried to stop this shit before it could get started, tried to keep you away from me, but I just can’t seem to fuckin’ help myself, can I? We’d be nothin’ but bad for each other, but—shit—been thinkin’ ‘bout this tight cunt all goddamn day, couldn’t get the taste o’ you outta my mouth. Reckon I never will… In fact—” Joel pulls his fingers out of you in an instant, and you cry out from the sudden loss as you watch him suck them clean in the mirror. You feel dizzy, letting him manhandle you as he spins you around to face him and hoists you on top of the vanity table with little effort. He groans as he crouches, pulling your drenched panties down your legs and tossing them somewhere behind him. With your raw-looking cunt now fully exposed to him, he spreads your legs wide and curses under his breath, “Should’a done this shit last night, fuck—” before diving in between your thighs and licking a long stripe from your entrance to your swollen clit. He latches onto the sensitive nub, closing his eyes and sucking hard as his large hands force your legs to stay open. You let your upper back rest against the mirror as he works you over, and the cool glass sends a shiver down your spine as your hips tilt upward, allowing him better access.

He drinks from you as if you taste like his favorite top-shelf whiskey, growling into your flesh as he’s surely leaving fingertip-shaped bruises on the softness of your thighs. He alternates between swirling his tongue around your clit and fucking it in and out of your hole, beckoning you to spill yourself into his mouth. He savors every wave of slick that pours from you, each of your little cries and whimpers making his cock strain harder against the confines of his jeans. 

You can’t help but let one of your hands drift to his hair, and he doesn’t stop you from grabbing onto his messy curls as you buck pathetically against his tongue. 

“Such a sweet lil’ cunt, got me fuckin’ addicted to it, I swear…” Joel half-whispers, rubbing his thumb in circles around your clit to make up for the absence of his tongue as he speaks, your hips still desperately chasing after his movements. He spits onto your folds once, watching it drip between the curves of them for a moment before lapping up your combined juices and picking up where he left off. Your eyes are shut tight, brows peaked with need as you beg him to keep going, please, Daddy, gonna come.

Joel pulls away again just enough to tease, “Always come for me so easily, don’t you? Sing for me, songbird, c’mon.” A few more rough strums of his thumb and pulses of his tongue have you crying out, shaking where you sit on the table as you gush into his waiting mouth. Joel works you through it as you practically ride his face, your hips twitching with each overstimulating flick of his tongue over your sensitive clit.

He doesn’t wait very long for you to come back into yourself, the impatient bastard that he is, before he’s commanding you to open and using his strong fingers to yank your jaw downward. Your eyes blink open just in time to watch him spit a mouthful of your own release onto your waiting tongue, and then he’s pressing his lips to yours in a sloppy kiss, tongues twisting around each other as he forces you to taste yourself. So immersed in the distraction of finally feeling his lips against your own, you don’t notice when he loosens his grip on your face to grab one of your hands instead, placing it on his still-clothed bulge and growling into your mouth as you massage the hard shape of him.

“Feel what you do to me, babygirl?” Joel breaks the kiss to ask, voice low and eyes dark. “Even if I kept you away from me, wouldn’t fuckin’ matter. Still have to take care o’ myself one way or another, would just be pretendin’ it was your perfect cunt squeezin’ me instead o’ my hand, anyway. Might as well stick to the real thing, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you agree, lashes fluttering at his filthy words.

“Yeah? You want it? Want Daddy to split you open again?”

Your skin is burning hot, every one of your nerve endings on fire with need, and you don’t care how pitiful you sound when you answer with, “Please, Daddy.”

“Good girl,” Joel praises. He makes quick work of ridding himself of his belt, tossing it aside to join your discarded panties on the floor with a metallic thud before freeing his leaking cock from his jeans. He prods the thick head at your entrance, still so wet and stretched out from the earlier efforts of his fingers and tongue that he slides inside with hardly any resistance. “Greedy thing…” he hisses, holding onto your hips as he watches his thick length begin to slide in and out of you. A flash of silver catches his attention from the edge of his vision, and he focuses there instead, on the cross shaped charm dangling from your neck and resting between your breasts. He picks it up between his large thumb and forefinger, rubbing the pads of them along the smooth metal. “Probably shouldn’t be wearin’ such a thing anymore, hm? Now that I know how much of a whore you really are.”

“Not… ‘m not a whore,” you counter, but it’s so futile, meaning nothing at all when you really take a look at where you are now, how it all began, and how your voice cracks in your poor attempt to prove him wrong.

“Y’ are, though, songbird. ‘S okay that you are. Only for me though, huh? Jus’ Daddy’s whore? All mine?” Joel drops the cross in favor of cradling your cheek, hurrying his pace as he taunts you. There’s no use in denying it, not when his degrading words prompt your cunt to squeeze around him and provide more slick aid for his quickening thrusts, an involuntary whine escaping your throat. You’re seeing such a different side to him now than the one he showed you the night before, and you begin to wonder which one is the real Joel, or if either of them are, or if both of them are, somehow. Or if he even knows. You’re willing to take whichever one he decides to let you have, you think.

“Y-your whore, Daddy… wanna be yours, please,” you babble, his cock hitting you deep and hard as you let him fuck you so dumb you allow yourself to just give in and agree to whatever he says you are, whatever he wants you to be, just the way he likes.

“Fuck,” Joel curses through gritted teeth, removing his hand from your face and to grip onto the plush of your hip again. Your pliant state and filthy admission combined with that sinful symbol around your neck spur him on, and he uses his hold on your skin to fuck into you with abandon. “Really would just let me ruin you, huh? Tried to be a decent man for once in my goddamn life, but you just had to be a fuckin’ brat about it and start some shit, didn’t you? If you don’t want me decent, tha’s fine by me, baby. But lemme make somethin’ real goddamn clear to you,” he rambles, each slam of his hips into yours getting you closer to release for the second time. He delivers another sharp slap to your cheek with a You listenin’? and you nod to the best of your ability, finding it impossible to focus your eyes on him as that knot in your stomach begins to tighten.

“You want this, you wanna be mine, you can be mine, babygirl. Lord knows I’d find my way right back inside this sinful lil’ cunt, anyway. But this ain’t gonna be a fuckin’ relationship, you understand? Take it or leave it, songbird.” He slows his thrusts as he spells out his ultimatum, but they still make you ache, all the same. His fiery gaze bores a hole straight through your skull as he awaits your response.

“Take it, w-wanna take it, Daddy.” The desperation in your voice and painted across your expression have him returning to his punitive pace, grunting and swearing into the warm skin of your neck as your hands scramble across his back, pulling yourself into him and burying your face into his shoulder. His thick leather jacket helps to muffle your cries as he loses all control, using your body to chase after his own high.

“Course you’re gonna take it, filthy thing. Made to fuckin’ take it, Christ,” Joel rambles, your vocalizations increasing in pitch as you squeeze around him, whole body tensing as your sore pussy prepares to drench him one more time. “So goddamn desperate… Just take whatever I give you, however I wanna give it to you, always have you comin’ on my cock just the same, huh? Go on, babygirl, come for Daddy again, tha’s right…”

With his permission, and a few more just-right strokes of his tip against that sweet spot deep inside your walls, you’re spasming in his hold, whining that filthy title you had just used against him less than an hour ago. He spills his release into you at the same time, and despite the way he’s treated you and the words he’s spat at you tonight, it makes you feel whole again.

You breathe heavily against each other for a few minutes, neither of you wanting to let go as you both struggle to process what the hell just happened, what it will mean for the remainder of the tour. 

A sudden knock at the door quickly yanks you out of your thoughts, offering a taste of what the future may hold much earlier than you were expecting.

“Joel? You in there?” a voice asks from outside the dressing room.

“Huh…? Yeah, just gimme a–”

The door opens before Joel can finish answering, and you can see clear as day over his shoulder that it’s Jesse.

He claps his hand over his eyes when he notices you, but you can still see how his cheeks burn red under his fingers as he shifts where he stands, undoubtedly trying to come up with the least mortifying way to get himself out of this situation.

“Jesus, kid–” Joel grumbles, finally pulling out of you and shoving his still-slick cock back into his briefs. He zips himself up as you tug the skirt of your dress back down to cover yourself, still feeling much more exposed than you’d like as you eye your forgotten panties laying just a few feet from where Jesse stands.

“Sorry! Sorry, Joel. It’s just, uh—”

Joel turns to face him as he finishes adjusting himself, and you’re thankful that he doesn’t walk away from you completely, using his broad form to provide you with what little modesty he can afford under the circumstances. “What, Jess?” he barks, exasperated.

“Um… The guys asked me to come find you, we’re on in like a minute—” 

“Well, tell ‘em to hold their fuckin’ horses. I’m comin,” Joel orders.

“A-alright, I will, man. I’ll, uh… I’ll see you out there.” 

Jesse leaves the room as hurriedly as he had entered, nervously fumbling with the handle as he shuts the door on his way out. “That kid ever learn how to fuckin’ knock?” Joel mutters to himself, picking his belt up off the floor and looping it back around his waist. He retrieves your ruined panties when he’s done and casually tosses them over to you, a stark contrast from the attentive aftercare he had provided last night. You slide off the vanity table and tug them back on over your legs, shivering at the feeling of the cool, damp fabric against where you’re so sensitive and sore, still leaking Joel’s spend. You fidget with the hem of your dress and try to ignore the way your heart sinks into your stomach, wondering what Jesse must think of you now. You haven’t really spoken to him at all since this whole thing started, and you doubt you ever will after what happened tonight. Of course, he’d had a front row seat to your obscene little performance during Kiss it Better, but it was all just an act, as far as he knew. But he has more than enough confirmation now to know that it very much wasn’t, and the humiliation of it all makes your anxious imagination begin to run wild. Your bottom lip quivers at the thought of Jesse running straight back to the guys with a shit-eating look on his face, eager to tell them all about how he just saw their opening act with her legs spread for Joel in his dressing room. Images flash through your mind of the band you’ve looked up to for so long now shooting you dirty looks backstage and whispering about you amongst themselves, sharing their doubts about if you really deserve to be touring with them at all. Maybe they’d call you easy, say that you’re just another dumb slut who gave it up for the first rockstar who asked, that your career will be doomed unless you grow up and learn to respect yourself a little more. And maybe they’d be right.

You can’t stop a few hot tears from rolling down your cheek at your catastrophizing, but you wipe them away quickly. This is what you asked for, isn’t it? Joel had given you an opportunity to leave this where he had ended it, and you were the one who had begged to be his, even after he showed you what it would look like, and told you explicitly what it would never be. You pull your shoulders back and make an effort to stand up a little straighter as he addresses you again, not wanting to look like some pathetic, defeated thing.

“You good? Need anythin’?” Joel asks, and it would be kind of sweet if he weren’t halfway out the door already. 

You sniffle a little, but try to feign nonchalance as you shake your head and reply, “No, ‘m fine.”

You must not do a very good job of it, because he’s craning his neck to look down the hallway as soon as you finish your sentence, like he knows exactly what’s on your mind. “Don’t worry ‘bout him,” Joel says to you, giving an annoyed shake of his head. “If he knows what’s good for him he’ll go to his grave swearin’ he didn’t see anything. Kid knows better,” he reassures, and it does help to slow the unspooling of your thoughts some. 

“Okay,” is all you offer, along with a small smile.

Joel nods curtly, “Okay.” And after another beat and a rake of his eyes along your form, “I’ll see ya, songbird.”

He’s gone before you can reply, and you let the sound of the door closing ring out in your ears until you’re left in total silence, save for the sound of your own unsteady breathing. More than anything else, you just want to head back to your bus and scrub yourself clean of him, to put on unstained clothes and remove your ruined makeup so that you have a better chance of recognizing yourself in the mirror if you’re unfortunate enough to catch a glimpse of your reflection. Maybe if you hurry the pace of your walk of shame, you can outrun the feeling altogether, you think, swinging the dressing room door open and letting it slam behind you as you make a swift exit, heading straight for the one place that even slightly resembles a home to you right now. You keep your head low as you wander the unfamiliar backstage halls, and hold the skirt of your dress down against the breeze that threatens to expose you yet again when you push open the venue’s back door. More tears begin to fall as your boots carry you up the steps of your bus and lead you to your private little room in the back, and you don’t wipe them away this time, although you can’t put your finger on why they stream down your skin so impatiently, one stinging droplet after another.

You sit down heavily on the edge of your bed, although you have a strange urge to kneel at the foot of it instead. Your fingers find their way to your crucifix as you contemplate the idea, and it hits you all at once how very lost you feel. You miss… something. Your mother? Perhaps not, but maybe the idea of having a caregiver, someone to turn to when you feel the way you do now, to help you sort through the tangled knot of emotions unraveling itself in your heart and attempt to make some kind of sense of it. She wasn’t the perfect mother, by any means, but she tried, and it was her first time being a woman too, after all. You are following in her footsteps, as many daughters aspire to do with their mothers, but you don’t think she would be very proud of the particular path of hers you’ve begun to find yourself stumbling down—the one that leads you to a man who won’t change himself, who can’t, but who you’ve somehow convinced yourself that you deserve, because you’ve never known a man who’s told you otherwise. 

And now here you sit, alone, in the dark cave of your too-big bus on the second night of a career-changing national tour, crying girlish tears and missing something you can’t place but that you know you can’t go back to, wishing someone could just wipe your mind clean and tell you that you’re good and that you’re not a disappointment to your mother and God even though you don’t really care what they think of you anymore, anyway. You need someone to tell you who you are, and Joel seems to know the answer—a good girl, a whore, his songbird. You shift at the memories of when those names for you have spilled from his mouth, and you’re reminded of the wet fabric still pressed against your core. It feels good when he tells you who you are, after all, when he slots himself inside of you and makes you feel like something he owns, when he makes you feel perfect and floaty and beautiful and like he knows you better than you’ve ever known yourself.

And how could something that feels so good ever be bad for you?

—

The whiskey burns as it slides down the back of Joel’s throat, but it still isn’t strong enough. All it does is remind him of the igniting spark that led to the blaze now engulfing him—when you’d both had a few glasses of the stuff swimming around in your blood streams in the green room of last night’s venue, when he’d lured you onto his lap and teased the wet spot on your panties and asked if you’d let him touch you. He knew you were going to say yes, but it was still the respectable thing to do, and he had liked hearing you beg for it all pretty and polite. He fears that’s the last he may have seen of that version of you, that what he did this morning had stomped out the little delicate, glimmering light that had drawn him to you in the first place. And if it wasn’t snuffed out then, it’s surely nothing but a wisp of smoke now.

Joel had recognized when everything had started to become too real too fast, in the dark of his bus last night when even in your sleep, you had seemed to consider him as something warm and comforting and safe, instead of the beast that he knows himself to be, with too sharp of claws and too loud of a roar. He had tried to do the right thing for once in his goddamn life by finally thinking about someone other than himself, so why didn’t you take the opportunity to get out of this while you had the chance? What is it that you see in him that he knows for a fact isn’t there, has never been there? You had retaliated because you had wanted this to work, because he had hurt you when he shoved you away, but he can’t possibly fathom why you’ve chosen to fight so hard for this. And he’d only gone and proved himself right when he responded to your reprisal the only way he knows how, especially when you’d used that word against him that he’s always been avoidant to admit about himself—coward.

And you were right, weren’t you? Joel is a fucking coward. He does everything in his power to pretend otherwise, to show his fans and the world a version of himself who’s never for a second thought of himself as anything less than God incarnate. And maybe except for Tommy, no one has ever been the wiser to his ruse, until you. And it scares him, to be seen so clearly. Because then he might actually have to try to understand where all these defense mechanisms came from in the first place, and he can’t have that. 

Coward.

Joel tosses back the last of the amber liquid in his glass, releasing his white-knuckled grip on it and slamming it back down onto the green room’s bar cart. He knows that his band and about twenty thousand people are waiting for him to buck up and emerge from yet another hiding place, and he realizes that this is becoming a pattern with you—you awaken some long-dormant feeling from deep inside of him, it makes him feel threatened, and he retreats until it goes away and he remembers how to paint his mask back on. And the one time you didn’t allow him to run away, he lashed out like a caged animal and undoubtedly gave you a pretty solid idea of what he meant by “for your own good”. And yet, you were so desperate to be allowed any part of him at all that even in his most volatile and beastly state, with his talons out and his teeth bared, you didn’t run away. You didn’t even try. You didn’t want to. You took everything he had given you like it was a privilege to do so, and he doesn’t think he’ll ever understand why. 

Joel shakes himself out, hitting a solid hand against his cheek once in order to bring himself back from the depths of another unwanted episode of introspection and self-loathing, and lets the burn of the whiskey dissipate as he makes his way to where the rest of Death’s Head is waiting for him. He can feel their eyes on him without even needing to look, and snaps out a defensive I don’t wanna hear it before any of the guys get a chance to say anything. 

Tommy shrugs, stepping up to Joel with his arms crossed. “Wasn’t gonna say nothin’.” 

Joel finally turns to face the group, giving each member a scrutinizing once-over in an attempt to read their body language, to suss out if they’re just pissed because he left them waiting, or if Jesse ran his mouth while he was gone. When Joel’s examining eyes land on the dark-haired guitarist, Jesse’s quick to shake his head, mouthing the words they don’t know. Satisfied, Joel nods once in understanding, adjusting his jacket and cracking his neck before turning toward the stage again.

“Y’all ready, or what?” he mutters rhetorically, not bothering to wait for an answer before he marches his way into the spotlights and allows them to enshroud him, burning up what remains of that cowardly version of him, if only for the remainder of the night. Joel picks up his guitar, swinging the strap around his chest before fiddling with his mic stand as the deafening sound of the crowd reminds him of who the fuck he is, or at least, who they think he is. Who he pretends to be. And he gets to believe it for the next two hours. If he plays the part well enough, maybe he can lose himself in it entirely. But then, hasn’t he been trying to do that for the past couple of decades? It hasn’t seemed to work yet, but it doesn’t hurt to keep trying. 

Or maybe it does.

—

You feel a little better now, more at ease, now that you’ve had some time to focus on taking care of yourself. It’s easy to forget the wonders that a hot shower can do for a girl, especially when you have to fight against your own brain just to get up and take the ten or so steps towards the bathroom, when you’d much rather stay curled up in the same position on your bed until your skin adheres to the sheets. Now having scrubbed away the tears and the sweat and the tacky dampness between your thighs, you emerge from a cloud of rose-scented humidity as someone you think you understand a little better now, who deserves to be taken care of instead of reprimanded for only doing her best with what she’s been given.

With clean hair and skin and a comfortable change of sleep-ready attire, you decide to finally make some efforts to unpack your suitcase and make your little room feel more like a home. You hang your dresses up on the rack, set your shoes into a somewhat orderly line on the carpet below them, and place your jewelry neatly onto the antique tray you had carefully packed away to bring along with you. You had found it in a little thrift store downtown, when you had first left home and decided you needed something that was only yours, something pretty and special that you could look at everyday and know that it was the very first step in building the life that you had always wanted for yourself. The brass needs a little polishing, but it’s still one of the most beautiful objects you’ve ever seen, and the way the ceiling lights glint off the metal brightens up your space just enough that it feels a little more familiar to you now. 

Your earrings and other necklaces fill the blank space in the center of the neatly carved filigree, and you make the decision to add your crucifix to the pile of silver studs and chains. It’s strange how such a simple charm can make things feel so complicated. You haven’t taken it off in so long that you fear the guilt that might come with removing it, but you figure it will still be there for you if you ever feel like clipping it around your neck again. And if that feeling never comes, then you’ll deal with that then, too.

For now, you breathe a little deeper without the weight of the thing resting against your chest, and smile to yourself when you hear a small group of excitable-sounding male voices approaching your bus. Your bandmates file through the door a second later, though you’re suddenly shy to greet them as you emerge from your bedroom, worried that they might be pissed at you for what you sprung on them earlier in the night. You lean against the doorframe as they each collapse onto the living area couches, cracking open beers from the minifridge and passing them around to each other.

“Hey, you,” greets your floppy-haired drummer, Max, patting the cushion next to him. If any of the guys were to be easy going about what you put them through tonight, it would be him. You’re happy to see that he doesn’t seem to hold any animosity towards you. “You want me to crack one open for you?” he offers.

“Um… sure,” you agree, approaching the group and relaxing into the open seat next to him as he hands you a bottle. You take a few swigs while the guys begin to talk amongst themselves, waiting for an opportune lull in their conversation for you to chime in.

It comes about halfway through your beer. “So, listen,” you start, setting the sweating bottle on the table in front of you as you feel their gazes shift in your direction. “I’m sorry for pulling that on you guys tonight. This whole thing is just as big for y’all as it is for me and… I guess I forgot about that, for a second,” you say, although the end of your sentence kind of sounds like a question. “I really appreciate how you backed me up out there, that’s all.”

It’s rare that the four of you get sincere with each other like this, and your apology lingers in the air for a moment before someone else speaks up. 

“It’s alright, kid.” The comforting voice comes from Scott, your quiet and kind-eyed bassist. “We’re all professionals here, yeah? We’d be some sad fuckin’ musicians if we couldn’t improvise every once in a while.” You laugh at that, and his lopsided smile warms you when you meet his soft expression.

“I mean, I kinda fucked up a little bit,” says Joey, your rhythm guitarist, ever-reliable for lightening the mood. “You sounded badass though, so whatever. Nothin’ you need to apologize for.” When you turn your head to look at him, he looks slightly uncomfortable with the way Max has him pressed up against the wall, but his gaze is sincere. “You wanna talk about it, though? Some pretty heavy shit you wrote.”

You do consider it, but shake your head, having reflected on it quite enough for one night. “Not right now,” you reply, and he gives you a sympathetic smile in return. “One of you have a smoke, though? Think I’m just gonna get some air and call it a night.” 

“Now, how are you gonna ‘get some air’ with all that smoke in your lungs?” Scott jests, and you give him a look before standing up and holding your palm out flat to him, making a hand it over gesture with your fingers. 

“Don’t give me shit, dude, I know you have one. That’s why I asked.”

Despite his protest, he digs the pack out of his pocket and slides one out, playfully holding it hostage against his chest. “Still shouldn’t smoke ‘em, though. Gonna ruin your voice one of these days.”

You roll your eyes at him, but laugh, anyway. “Fine, tonight’s my last one, I promise. Just gimme.”

Scott extends his hand out to you, and you snatch the cigarette out of his hold. “Light, too?” he asks, and you nod, leaning down to him with it in your mouth already.

You make a quick exit when the tobacco begins to burn, trying to fill the bus with as little smoke as possible, but not before making your appreciation known to the guys one last time. When you step out into the chilly night air, you wish you’d brought a sweater to wrap around you, but figure the flame between your lips will warm you up soon enough. 

The Death’s Head bus is parked just up ahead, and you can make out Jesse’s silhouette in the moonlight, his back leaned against the idling vehicle as he puffs his own cloud into the sky. The sound of your bus’s door shutting behind you draws his attention your way, and you give each other a friendly nod as you each burn through your cigarettes.

“Can I join you?” he asks, having to shout in order for his voice to reach you over the rumbling engines.

The fears you were ruminating on a few hours ago all come rushing back to you in an instant, but his inquiry seems casual enough for you to let your guard back down a little. It would be rude of you to decline, and it might be nice to get to know him a bit more if he’s offering, you suppose.

“Yeah, okay,” you reply, nodding for good measure in case your voice didn’t come out loud enough. His long legs close the short distance between you in just a few seconds, and you shove your unoccupied hand into your pocket in an effort to come across more relaxed than you feel. You’ve never been great at small talk, or meeting new people, especially ones who’ve walked in on you after having just been fucked by the lead singer of his band. 

You’re grateful that Jesse decides to break the silence first. “So, uh… you two, huh?”

“Mhm,” is all you offer, kicking a rock around the asphalt with the toe of your shoe.

“Yeah… Well, I don’t want you to feel weird around me, or anything. We can just forget it ever happened.”

You can’t help but release a puff of smoke through an awkward giggle. “Sounds good to me.”

“And I didn’t tell the other two, just so you know.”

His admission makes you pause, trapping the rock underneath your shoe as you peer up at him. “You didn’t? So… they don’t know?”

Jesse shakes his head. “Don’t think so. Well, Tommy might, just ‘cause he knows Joel better than anybody, but Eugene’s probably clueless. They’re all good guys, they won’t give you shit for it even if they do find out… I might, though, just for fun.” He nudges your shoulder with his as he jokes, and it makes you laugh a little more earnestly this time. “Just… be careful, that’s all. And I want you to know you have a friend in me, if you ever feel like you need one.”

His kindness is nearly enough to bring you to tears. You feel so relieved that everything the worst parts of your brain had conjured up had all been a lie, that Jesse isn’t who you feared he’d be, and that he’s offering you his friendship, even after he’d seen you in such an embarrassing and compromising state tonight. 

“Jess!” Joel yells from the doorway of his bus, and the harsh gravel voice startles both of you out of the moment you’d been sharing. “Finish up, kid. Takin’ off in a few.”

Jesse nods, raising the end of his cigarette in acknowledgement before stomping it out on the pavement. “It was nice talking to you. Remember what I said, okay?” 

“Okay,” you nod, and he’s handsome and boyish when he smiles back at you before following his orders and jogging back to his own bus, sliding through the door past Joel’s broad form.

Joel’s expression is hard, but otherwise unreadable as he juts his chin at you, wordlessly suggesting the same direction he’d just barked at Jesse. He shuts the door behind him as he steps inside, and you think on Jesse’s words as you finish puffing your smoke down to a nub. Be careful, he’d cautioned, and it’s like he had been waiting outside for you to make sure he had a chance to tell you that. Remember what I said, like it was important to him that you took his words to heart. You finally toss the end of your own cigarette onto the ground, letting it sizzle out before heading back inside and carefully passing the now-occupied bunks as you make your way to your own little sanctuary. 

You’re still buzzing from the tobacco as you close yourself into your room and crawl into bed, and you can’t decide if the emptiness of it makes you feel comforted or afraid. You don’t necessarily wish you had Joel’s heavy, lumbering form tucked in beside you, but you hadn’t anticipated how having a bed to yourself would leave you with only the company of your own thoughts. You try not to dwell too much on Jesse’s warning, instead trying to snuff it out like the smoldering end of your cigarette so that it doesn’t prevent you from getting some much needed rest.

Even for being a bed inside of a tour bus, you have to admit that it’s one of the most comfortable, luxurious things you’ve ever slept on, especially compared to the lumpy double bed from back in your apartment. You don’t fight it when sleep begins to pull heavily on your eyelids, the incoming wave of it washing away any lingering anxieties as you allow yourself to relax into the plush mattress.

You hardly rouse even as the bus heaves forward on its trip out of the parking lot, leaving everything that happened tonight exactly where you left it, the ghost of it now left to wander the halls of the venue instead of haunting you as you travel to the next one. And there’s something comforting in that, you think, in the idea that nothing on this tour is permanent, that your life begins anew every 24 hours in a city you’ve never been to that doesn’t know your name yet. 

And maybe that’s how you’ll figure this whole thing out, by taking it one day at a time, fluttering as close to the flame as possible without touching it, because you kind of like feeling the heat on your wings. As long as you’re careful when you dance around the fire, then there’s really nothing to be afraid of.

But only time will tell.

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[yurinaa-world]

Hello! Could I request a headcannon for Luocha, Blade and Yanqing with a reader who is afraid to lose them?

Characters: Luocha, Blade, and Yanqing x Gender-Neutral Reader

Synopsis: with reader who is afraid to lose them

Warnings: angsty? comfort

𝐿𝑜𝓊𝒸𝒽𝒶

He couldn’t bear to see you so afraid—the way you held onto him so tightly while you laid together, the tears in your eyes—he couldn’t bear it. Oh, how lonely that look in your eyes is.

“Stay close to me,” you whisper in his ear, sitting with your arms wrapped around him, hiding in his neck while giving small kisses to his neck with his own hands around your waist. "I don't want to let go of you,” you whisper, gripping the back of Luocha's night clothes.

He understands how you feel; he himself has seen people die and disappear before him and is unable to save them, but he won’t let you suffer that way; he’ll escape death for you and find you.

He stayed up at night just to see you sleep peacefully without any fear, since it wasn’t the first time you woke with adrenaline coursing through your veins as you took desperate breaths of air while clutching your heart.

𝐵𝓁𝒶𝒹𝑒

He doesn’t know what to say to you—the last thing he wants is to see tears run down your cheeks over him. Why him? Why waste so much care on him?

He’ll hug you tightly, pressing you both squished against each other with his bandaged hands slipping under the back of your shirt, making shivers go down your spine, kinda like his way of saying that he’s there and won’t ever leave you, even in death.

Basically, you're never letting go of him; you're stuck with him until the end, and the end ain’t coming anytime soon.

𝒴𝒶𝓃𝓆𝒾𝓃𝑔

You always get bossy with him whenever he has the day off from training with Jing Yuan, and you even hide his sword so he wouldn’t do extra training. He doesn’t understand at all that he’s a knight and going to be an amazing general when he grows up, so why worry so much?

When he came back from that fight with those war criminals, he was silent with little scratches on his face, and of course, like your usually bossy self, you told him you wouldn’t let him ever do something as crazy as that again.

‘I care about more than you could ever imagine!’ Those words coming from your mouth were the thing that hit him so hard—harder than a bus at full speed could. He didn’t mean to hurt you; that's not something a knight would ever do! Let him make up to you, and he’ll even stop training while he’s injured, he promises!

if you liked this, consider tipping me on ko-fi! it'd mean a lot!

[sunnie-angel]

Part 8: The New Normal

part 7 | series masterlist | ao3 link

jason todd x fem!reader

summary: both you and jason struggle with defining your new normal in the wake of your changed friendship

tags: angst, mentions of offscreen violence

rated explicit (mdni) | wc: 2.2k

a/n: with this chapter we officially cross 20k words (whoops). i dropped quite a few hints about future developments in this chapter, i wonder if you'll find them all.

Jason’s never felt so bitter about successfully achieving something. The taste of it curdles in his mouth, sour and heavy. He’d known that amputating his heart would hurt but this? This was worse. It was bloodless and toothless and the worst thing he’s ever done to himself. To you. You’re friends now. Friends! No lasting repercussions to having what he wanted. Shockingly, no lasting repercussions for fucking up his secret identity either. He’s gotten what he wanted, hadn’t he? 

He’d known, in that half-abstract kind of way that Talia had taught him, that if he had been earnest enough and insistent enough on the idea of friendship he’d be able to end the conversation there. No questions about why he had kissed you a second time. No scathing comments about how desperate he had been to know what you tasted like. He wouldn’t have to explain himself, or all of his messy inconvenient feelings, to you. Friends. Easy as that. 

Or at least that’s what he tells himself, walking in to face you. He’d know your footsteps anywhere and the just sound of them sets his senses on edge. All of his focus narrows down to you, hyperawareness kicking in. Jason doesn’t take any notes in class, can barely hear the sound of the professor speaking over you fidgeting next to him. To think his biggest worry a few months back had been if he would pass his courses. He can’t shake this fog, but he’s terrified of letting on just how gone he already is. Leaves a respectful three inches of space between the two of you through lunch that he obsessively maintains through Will telling some story about actually getting hit by a car over the weekend that Jason could care less about. He doesn’t breathe fully until the two of you are walking out of your last joined class of the day, cold air burning with every breath. He can do this.

“Can I– may I walk you home?” he asks uncertainly.

“Oh so you finally ask permission, huh?” you tease, and it’s the first thing he’s heard properly all day. Maybe it comes out sharper edged than he’s used to you directing at him, but it’s so close to resembling the easy camaraderie of the early days that he will take it.

“I was actually listening to your lecture on privacy,” Jason somehow finds the strength to sass back. 

“You can take the bus with me and walk me to my building door but that’s it. I already talked to the super about changing the door code.” Jason knows. He watched the super change it yesterday. 

“Just to the building. Scouts honour,” he says, drawing an x over his heart. 

When it comes to normal, Jason Todd sucks at pretending to be it. Or maybe you’ve just learned to read him too well. A space – not just literal but physical – exists between you now. He doesn’t sit right anymore, shoulders tensing up when you sit down next to him an only relaxing when you make no move to lean into him. He walks a full foot away now, no more arms accidentally brushing. He still keeps you fed – let it never be said that a friend of Jason’s goes hungry – but your fingers never brush as he hands containers over. Messages dwindle, text threads drying up. You can bear all of that, you can. It’s almost like the distant but friendly relationship you have with Will or half of your fellow interns. No, it’s the part where almost a week later, Jason still won’t look you in the eye. 

It would be so easy to dismiss everything else as growing pains, the both of you testing and reassessing where the new lines have been drawn. This isn’t that. Jason has drawn a line and it’s one that feels like a cut every time you brush up against it. These days there’s a tension in your jaw that you didn’t carry  before. Magically it appears whenever Jason chooses a particularly interesting patch of paint on the wall behind you to stare at instead of meeting your gaze. You think you hide the way your hands clench in your lap pretty well. You laugh and joke, exclaiming over Lina’s one liners, asking Rei about his next swim meet, and gasping in all the right places over Will’s sprained wrist. Keeping up the appearance of normalcy is tiring in a way that it hadn’t been before.  So your smiles are a little more forced than they were before, so what? The two of you are still friends and no one else is any wiser. 

There’s a Rogue attack, close enough to campus that it goes into lock down for the first time this semester. One second you’re following Jason’s broad back cutting a swathe through the frightened crowd of students to the muster location and then suddenly he’s gone. It doesn’t matter how quickly you crank your head to the side, he’s just vanished. Again. You spend the whole two hours huddled up in the auditorium glued to your phone as you watch the Red Hood fight Black Mask over a shitty news helicopter live stream. You’ve lived in Gotham your whole life, have practically become numb to the sirens and the drills for the worst that the city has to offer, but not today. Today your heart is in your mouth as you watch Jason take a blow to the head and go reeling across your phone screen. Breathing shakily, you realize that if he were to die – now – you’d never get to tell him just how fully he’s made a home for himself in your life, in your chest.

Obligingly, Jason doesn’t die today. Instead he pops up in the auditorium just as the all clear to evacuate has been sounded, ruefully explaining the mark on his cheek to your friends as the result of a panicking freshman’s fist. He’s a good liar you notice, through the hazy adrenaline rush of he’s alive, he’s alive pounding through your skull. 

Later that night lying in bed, you stretch your hand up, observing the way the light from passing cars cuts across your palm. You should probably do something about the shutters that don’t close right onto the fire escape but there’s always a thousand other things clamouring for attention. Besides, on nights like this when your thoughts turn in on themselves and sleep is a distant memory, the glow of the world outside provides a kind of comfort to you. No matter how bad things seem, life rumbles ever onwards. So what if every time you struggle with the keys to the front door it’s because you get lost in the memory of the one bright moment when it seemed like you could finally keep Jason? He’s not here now. The sheets have been washed – twice – but sometimes in that hazy place between sleeping and waking you swear you can still smell him. You think about the last time Jason had smiled at you, real and true and so sweetly uncomplicated. Your hand balls up into a fist and you cradle it to your chest. Maybe you suck at pretending everything is normal too.  

You must, because two weeks later, Danika corners you at one of your Wednesday study sessions. The student union is busy, tables full of students finally starting to realize exams are fast approaching with all the unwavering care of a freight train. 

“Hey can I talk to you for a sec?” she asks, just as you’re getting up.

“D’you mind if we talk and walk? I’m dying for caffeine and my stamp card says the next cup is free at The Grind,” you reply distractedly, digging your wallet out of your bag. 

“Oh you know I’m always down for a little snack,” she says, but there’s a note to her intonation that you can’t parse. 

The line for the coffee shop is long, but moving fast. You don’t notice anything off until you look up from struggling to extricate your membership card from your wallet, soft card stock folding under you nails. Danika is tugging at her hair as she stands next to you, twirling the strands tight around her finger until the circulation cuts off, the way she only does when she’s nervous and building up to something. 

She takes a deep breath and asks, “Are you and Jason, like, okay?” ripping the bandaid off.  

“I– why would you ask me that?” you deflect, scrambling to figure out where, exactly, your performance had faltered. The line surges forward, carrying the two of you along with it.

“Just, the last week or so something’s been off between you two. You know how you’re so obviously his favourite and he forgets the meaning of ‘personal space’ but only around you and he’s always–”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” you struggle to cut her off. “It can’t be that bad, he’s good friends with all of us.”

“I’m pretty sure that whenever you start speaking the rest of us turn invisible or something,” Danika says wryly. “But the last week or so the vibes have just been off. He’s even less talkative than usual and I have been this–” she pinches her fingers together, pink nails catching the light “–close to recommending you a better concealer. So did you guys fight or something? Because you can tell me, you know.” She looks at you with wide, earnest eyes. “Because it doesn’t matter what it’s about, I’m on your side. If you wanna drop him as a friend, we’ll all do it no questions asked.”

“No, we uh, we didn’t fight but hold that thought okay?” you reassure her, before hurrying through your order as quickly as you can. Danika’s already standing by the pickup counter, finger still twisting in her hair.

“Or like, if you need a body buried the two of us could definitely take him,” she offers.

“We didn’t fight, okay? I’m serious. And while I’m happy that you’d hide a body for me, it’s really, honestly, not necessary. Me and Jason are fine,” you reassure her. The high neck of your sweater feels too tight.

“Alright so we don’t go all Gone Girl on him but whatever happened hurt you and I don’t like it when my best friend is hurting. Whatever it is I’m not gonna tell anyone, not if you don’t want me to,” she says, suddenly turning earnest again. 

“Jesus, it was nothing okay? It’s just, do you remember that night we all went out after Thanksgiving?” you offer up.

“The night where we were all taking bets on if Jason would make a move before or after the club?” she chimes in. 

“You were what?!” you hiss, heart stuttering and palms suddenly damp. 

“I’m kidding! Kidding!” she says with a laugh. “Sorry, you were just getting so wound up, I wanted to bring the mood up a bit. We didn’t actually bet on it. We did talk about though, before you both got there.”

You bite your lips, weigh up how much truth you want to tell. The barista calls out your order and you’re thankful for the extra moment to gather yourself.

“I was drunk and I tried to kiss him, okay?” She gasps. “And then he shut that shit down. He made it really, really clear that we were only ever gonna be friends,” you finish, gulping down your tea to cover for your embarrassment and immediately burning your tongue. It’s not the whole truth, but it’s close enough without having to debride the festering wound you still haven’t made peace with. 

“Wait you’re sure that’s what he said? Absolutely no chance of anything?” Danika seems stunned. “I could swear there’s no way whatever you two have going on is platonic.” 

“Kinda hard to misinterpret the whole ‘that was a bad idea let’s just stay friends speech’. I wasn’t drunk enough to forget that.” You study your drink with false interest. 

“Oh. Oh I’m sorry,” she says, the kind of soft that she almost never is. “He’s an idiot if he doesn’t realising exactly what he’s missing out on.” Danika reaches out and rubs your shoulder. “We’ll find you someone else that’s way, way hotter and makes better life choices. Until then, he’s on thin fucking ice.”

“This is all my shit, yeah? Leave him be, we’ll figure it out and this’ll all blow over,” you warn her. There’s a certainty to your words that you definitely don’t feel. But Jason shouldn’t be punished for the crime of not returning your affection and so you’ll just have to learn how to fake normalcy better. “Plenty of more fish in the sea or whatever. I’ll get over him.”

“Fine, but I’m gonna trust you to tell me if you don’t,” she says, linking your arm through hers. The two of you head back to the group, weaving your way through outstretched legs and scattered bags littering the space between tables. There’s a kind of comfort in having your charade seen through by someone that cares enough to ask. It won’t do in the long run, but this stutter step with Jason won’t last forever. 

“Hey you’re still living in the Alley right?” Danika asks offhandedly, sliding back into the booth.

“Haven’t moved since first year, Dani.”

“Just be careful, then, okay? I saw on the news that there’s been more muggings in that area.” 

You almost choke on your tea. “Yeah okay, I’ll avoid any muggers,” you croak. Jason’s eyes burn a hole into the side of your head.

part 9

[genshin-side-piece]

Hazy Shade of Winter (Part 2)

Warnings: Yandere Content, Implied Kidnapping, Implied Captivity, Implied Stalking, Implied drug use, Mentions of alcohol, ]Non-Consensual Touching, my bad writing, anything else I missed, 18+, Minors DNI

A/N: Slightly (?) OOC Wriothesley. I think. I'm honestly not sure. But fair warning just to be safe. Follow up to Hazy Shade of Winter (Part 1)

There was no way to tell time in this place. Being miles under the surface meant no windows, which meant no real way to track the light. Wriothesley also didn’t seem that keen on clocks, or maybe, he wasn’t keen on them where you were concerned. It was a clever strategy, hiding something as essential as time from you.  Without it, you couldn’t gauge how long it had been since Wriothesley had left you. Nor could you know when he would be back. It might be minutes or it could be hours. You could only guess. What you were certain of was that the time you had been allowed was enough to at least feel marginally better. The hangover you’d suffered from thanks to the alcohol and the unnamed stuff had begun to ease. Though you still felt like you’d been struck by a water bus. Eventually, you found yourself capable of leaving the bed long enough to clean yourself up. It was a relief to finally rid yourself of the gritty taste in your mouth. It made you feel somewhat human again, even if it did nothing to change your circumstances. When you were satisfied, you retreated back to the bed, pulling the sheets and light comforter over you. There you stayed, hiding in the darkness. It lured you into the false belief that you were temporarily safe from the storm that was to come. Given your first encounter, you silently hoped that when he returned, Wriothesley would just leave you be. That he would pick on the fact that you cared as much for his rules as you did him and in turn, he would just go. It wasn’t like there was a rush to explain them anyway. You were a captive with no means of escape. From your point of view, he had all the time in the world to explain his expectations for you. His insistence on doing so first thing, when you weren’t even coherent, betrayed the cool facade that he had maintained since. He was excited. He was eager. No amount of sarcasm or dry humor would ever be able to hide that. 

Those emotions further betrayed him upon his eventual return.  Wriothesley tried to seem amicable, at least that’s what you thought. His true tone was muffled thanks to the blankets. You really didn’t care anyway. You only hoped he would get the message and leave. He didn’t. Instead, he ripped the blankets away from you, tearing away the illusion of safety you felt you had. “Still sleepy are we?” The wry tone in his voice did nothing to help. Nor did the tray of food he had brought with him. The sight of questionable sausage and what you thought was porridge made your stomach lurch. You tried to look at anything other than him or the tray; the walls, the ceiling, the door he had left open. Wait. Your eyes went back to it. The door, Wriothesley had left it open when he had come in. Either he was confident you wouldn’t try anything or he was testing you. It really didn’t matter. The proverbial door was open and you were prepared to take it.

You only gave the disgusting excuse for food one more glance before you threw it back in his face. Literally. Your hands came up in one swift motion, smacking the tray out from under him. You barely had time to register the way the light reflected off the porcelain bowl as it flew at Wriothesley before you made a break for it. Again with both hands, you gave him a hard shove, throwing him off just enough to squeak by and make a break for the open door. Around you, silverware clanged as it hit the floor. Glass and porcelain shattered leaving little cuts on your exposed skin, and a very distinctive grunt followed you as you desperately tried to get away. Wriothesley’s hand in your hair ended any hope of that coming true. You hadn’t even made it a handful of steps when the force of which he pulled you back ripped a scream out of you. One moment you were vertical. The next you were facing the ceiling, back pressed firmly into the lumpy mattress as Wriothesley snatched a hold of one of your wrists.  “Oh” He let out a dry laugh, that same dangerous glint returning to his eyes. “You want to fight do you? Well-” With his free hand he reached down, detaching the cuffs from his belt. “Let’s fight.” One look at them told you his intentions. With a garbled scream, you kicked at him again. This time though he was ready. Wriothesley maneuvered his hips between your flailing legs. The best you could do was smack him square in the ass with your calf. An action he seemed to enjoy, based on the smirk he gave you after you landed your first strike. “Give it to me.” Meaning your other hand. His tone was flat, expectant, and generally uninterested. To your horror, your escape attempt had done little to rile him up. Instead, he patiently held out one hand, while the other kept a grip on the wrist he had since locked in his handcuffs. “You’re already going to be punished for refusing your food. It’s only going to get worse for you if I have to reach under you and get that hand myself. Do yourself a favor and give it to me.” You still refused, vehemently shaking your head no. It was a foolish move on your part. You were all too aware of that. The smart decision would be to cooperate with him. To obey him this one time in the hope that he offered you some form of clemency. That wasn’t the decision you made though. Instead, you chose to refuse. You chose to fight. Two things you had been denied thanks to how he’d had you abducted. Two things you were all too prepared to give him in spades. All things considered, It was no less than he deserved. Wriothesley could only sigh at your refusal. He almost managed looking mournful for a moment, but it was short lived. The cocky smirk returned before he could finish his next statement. “You really want me to be the bad guy, don’t you?” Your response was to try to tuck your arm even further behind you, cementing your choice to disobey him rather than concede. “Foolish.” He clicked his tongue. “I suppose you’re really no different than the rest. Seems you’ll just have to learn this lesson the hard way.” There was only a brief shrug of his shoulders before Wriothesley finally followed through on one of his threats. All it took was one pull. 

You screamed again, the metal of the cuff around your one wrist digging into your flesh to an extreme degree as he drug your entire body off the bed. The pain that shot through your body was horrific. It felt like he was trying to rip your arm off from the force alone. Nevermind thin cuts and bruises left by the steel he had locked around your wrist. It was a foregone conclusion that he was going to get what he wanted. The force from the pull had wrenched what control you had away from you. Your body flailed in a tangle of limbs as you tried to catch yourself from falling face first onto the metal floor. He caught you, barely, but he made sure that you didn’t land into the pool of gray gunk that was congealing on the floor. Instead, you were wrenched up by your waist long enough for your other wrist to be captured in the steel of his cuffs. From there you were unceremoniously dumped onto a clean part of the floor and left to wait.

There was no quip that followed your escape attempt. No snide comment or even the faintest hint of judgment. Just a cold glare as he removed the longer chain from his outfit. The rattling bounced off the metal walls, causing you to flinch at the noise. While your headache had temporarily subsided, the piercing noise of metal echoing off of metal seemed to bring it roaring back. You whimpered, but only enough so he wouldn’t hear you over the jostling of his outfit. Thankfully he was kind enough to be quick about it, but only because removing the offending chain was easy work for him. The fact that he was punishing you to the point that you felt your ears would bleed was an inconsequential detail. You half expected him to say you deserved it. “I’ll only say this once.” He rotated the chain until he had an end in each hand. “Do as I ask. Don’t make me use force again.” Implying you wouldn’t like what would happen. Considering your present circumstances, you were fairly sure you wouldn’t. He’d already had you kidnapped and personally manhandled you without much provocation. To push him much further, at least at present, might result in a situation that was altogether unpleasant. “Hands” He gestured for you to lift your cuffed hands, which after a slight hesitation, you did. It wasn’t a leap to figure out his next move. One end of the chain found its way around the connecting link of the cuffs, while the other stayed firmly in his hand. “Up.” He moved his hand and you half expected another gesture, but instead he held it out to you, offering it as a means of assistance should you need it. An entirely gentlemanly gesture, from a brute of a man. You ignored it, awkwardly pushing yourself onto your wobbly legs. The effort to right yourself was a struggle. The failed escape attempt and subsequent fight after had drained what little energy you had woken up with away. Your legs felt no better than jelly. Standing on them or worse trying to walk on them would require a specific level of effort that you weren’t sure you possessed. The decision to not eat was a poor one. Even if the food was revolting, you probably should have seized the chance to get something in your aching stomach. At least then you could still the shaking that was quickly working its way across your entire body.

Wriothesley didn’t give you time to fret over it nor did he wait for you to fully steady yourself. The brief show of gentlemanly behavior was forgotten almost as quickly as it was offered. He yanked the chain hard, dragging you through the doorway and into the empty room beyond with little trouble or care. You stumbled, falling to your hands and knees against the rough metal floor, the sharp edges of the cold metal cutting into your exposed flesh even more. The sting from the metal biting your skin made you wince, not that Wriothesley noticed. He kept walking, pulling the chain tighter the further away he got. The silent demand from him was that you keep up; whether it was by walking or crawling. He didn’t seem to mind which. He only wanted you to follow until he ordered you to stop. Then he would move on to whatever humiliation he had planned next. Your cheeks burned at the very thought of it. How dare he. You had half a mind to repay his rough behavior with some of your own, but you weren’t nearly as strong as him. Given his size, you doubted you would be able to shift him. At most, you pulling on the chain or refusing to go any further would be a mild jerk against his hand. An inconvenience for him at worst. Hardly worth the energy or the struggle considering your current predicament. 

“Rule number one.” His voice drew you from your thoughts, pulling your attention back to him. He strode to the center of the room, bending down to loop the chain through a d-ring that was bolted to the floor. “You are the master of your own treatment here.” You stared up at him through the fringe of your lashes as he stood to his full height. “Call it irony” He shrugged. “But I don’t like the idea of punishing you. It took quite a bit of work on my part to bring you here. I even paid extra for the deluxe delivery.” Were you supposed to be impressed by that? It was laughable to consider that he expected you to fall all over yourself and thank him for taking such care with your abduction. Yet one look at him told you, that was exactly what he wanted, or rather he expected your compliance as a result of his supposed care of you. A trade. A bargain. An insult. In your mind, if he had the nerve to kidnap you, then the very least he could do was see to your safety during said act. Anything afterwards, like now, was a different transaction. Something you weren’t entirely interested in participating in unless it involved your unconditional release.  “So bearing that in mind, I suggest you consider your actions or rather your reactions in the future. I don’t want to get rough with you, but as you’ve seen, I’m not above doing it.”

“My actions?” He didn’t bother to hide his surprise when you finally broke your silence. “I’m sorry, I can’t recall ever having someone kidnapped for any reason, let alone to satisfy my own vanity.” He was quick. Despite his surprise, Wriothesley was able to volley a response back to you or rather he tried too. “That’s not-” You scoffed looking away for a moment. Any excuse or justification would go as far as his own lips. You didn’t want to hear them. You didn’t care about them. Clearly, based on your own feelings, they didn’t matter. Nothing could justify what he had done to you, nor would it justify anything that would happen in the future.  You could spend a thousand years with him and still call him a stranger. Above you, he let out a long breath. Your refusal to hear him had given him pause. You could tell those cold eyes were still firmly fixed on your face. He was intently watching every single thing you did. You knew he was.  When you finally decided to turn back, your eyes met his. They had never left you. He merely traded the view of your face for the back of your head and vice versa. Beneath the surface, you could see a myriad of emotions swirling within his eyes. He wasn’t as confident as he appeared. Wriothesley had worries, he had concerns. There was even what you felt was a twinge of doubt if you looked long enough. 

In turn, his eyes read and judged every emotion, every expression that you didn’t bother to hide. They saw your anger, your confusion, and even your own fear. You hadn’t fully acknowledged it yet, but you were every bit afraid as you were angry. In the span of a night, your life had become the property of someone else. He could do anything he wanted with it. You were powerless in stopping him from doing anything he wanted. Your current predicament was proof of that. “Look, I-” He let out another sigh. “I don’t want our first true interaction to happen this way. Please don’t be like this.” Please don’t fight. That’s what he meant. Just submit to his wishes and desires. Don’t make him beg, don’t make him force you. A not so impassioned plea from a man who was a stranger to you. He was trying his best to placate the fury that was radiating off your body, but the wound he had inflicted with his actions was far too fresh for it to work. “I’m happy to make nice with you. I’ll chalk the escape attempt up to the fact that you’re still adjusting. Perhaps I was being a tad unrealistic with how long it would take you to work through everything. Though-” There was a long pause after that. “in truth I would like an apology. You nearly burned half my face off with hot porridge.” He gestured to the side of his face as some sort of reference. You silently stared back, wishing you had. There was a chance you would have gotten away or at the very least put some much needed space between you and him. “Come on. I’m giving you an easy out here. Just apologize and we can move forward. It will make things easier for us both if you do. Believe me when I say that I would rather spend the limited time I do have with you doing anything else but fighting with or punishing you.” Swallowing, you silently noted that he was in for a rude awakening. “I would rather be at home, in my own bed. But we can’t always get what we want, can we?” A chill washed over the room. You weren’t sure if it was him or you, but you felt it all the same. “Instead I find myself at the mercy of a lunatic!” Your voice shook as the fear began to overtake your anger. The lack of food was fueling your desperation, which in turn was driving both your fear and your anger. You could feel yourself slowly losing control. It was a vicious cycle, which was reaching its conclusion at a rapid place. “I have no intention of playing this sick game of yours.” His entire body sagged in what you could only guess was disappointment.

“God-” He rubbed his scared eye with his free hand. “I truly didn’t think you would be this stubborn.” His hand fell back to his side as he stared at you with fondness. “It’s cute though. I like someone with a little bite to them. Makes things interesting. Still, I was hoping you would get the message right off the bat. But, if you insist we spend this time this way, then so be it. I will be all too happy to give you what you are so eager to earn.” He wrapped a length of chain around his hand, tightening what was left between you and him, pulling your arms towards the d-ring. You had to inch forward on your knees, just to ease some of the tension in your shoulders. “I will, out of the kindness of my heart, forgive earlier.  Before I left for my meeting I did tell you that you could be upset with me and in that spirit, I suppose you were only doing as you were told. I can’t fault you for it.” He wrapped another length around his hand, pulling the chain even tighter and you ever closer. “Just now though.” He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth as he silently recalled what had just transpired. “I’m afraid I can’t forgive that. Refusals, altercations, and escape attempts are strictly forbidden from here on out. As I mentioned, you are the master of your own treatment. Behave and we can co-exist peacefully. I might even consider special privileges if I’m convinced you’re sincere in your behavior.” Refuse him or fight him or even try to escape him and you would end up where you were now or possibly somewhere far worse. 

In retrospect, you knew your current predicament was fairly mild compared to the ways he could make you suffer. Humiliation, starvation, degradation, and pain were only the first steps. There were bones that hadn’t been shattered, flesh that hadn't been marked, limbs that hadn’t been removed. You and he had a long way to go before you reached the point of no return, and that’s if you ever got there. In the back of your mind, you knew you wouldn’t last that long. He would break you long before you ever got to that point. “Am I being clear?” “What-” Tears stung at your eyes for the first time, closing your throat and forcing you to momentarily choke on your own words. You didn’t want to admit defeat so easily, but what other choice did you have? This was his world. Even if you managed to get free, no one within the fortress or outside of it would help you. He could easily send the guardes or even himself after you. The general population of Fontaine wouldn’t question why a fugitive from the fortress was being hunted. The assumption would be you were just another escaped convict. A threat that the Duke himself felt he needed to personally handle. 

It was only then that you realized your disappearance probably hadn’t even been noted. It had been the weekend when you had gone out. Work had been tiresome and the promise of a day off meant you had the chance to blow off some much needed steam. With that in mind, there would be no one to miss you if you didn’t show up the next day. Same for the day after. By the time you did have to return to work, Wriothesley would have had plenty of time to cover your tracks. He could make your disappearance seem quite ordinary. Maybe you had run away to Sumeru, you had been talking about it or perhaps that serial killer got you. Wouldn’t that give your co-workers something to talk about? Maybe no one would even notice. People came and went from your place of work everyday. It wasn’t that unusual for someone to be there one day and gone the next. The reality of that hit you harder than the sedative had. No one could help you. No one would save you. Not a single soul, outside of those involved, knew you were here. No one, outside of the man standing above you, cared.

You choked back a sob as that information sunk in. It was loud enough and perhaps distraught enough that Wriothesley drew his brows together in genuine concern. From your vantage point you could see he wanted to check on you, to ask if you were alright, but he held his tongue. He just stood there, staring at you as hot tears spilled freely down your cheeks. “What do you want?” A pregnant pause followed that. As if the answer was stupidly obvious to everyone, except you. 

“I would think that is rather plain.” You looked up at him again through tear stained lashes, sniffling as he moved closer. “I want you.” Your throat bobbed, thickly swallowing the rising panic that was filling your body. You racked your brain, trying to think of any reason as to how or why this happened. How had an excuse me, an introduction, and have a nice day translated into you being in chains at his feet? The encounter between you had only lasted seconds. In your own mind, there was no feasible way a chance meeting could have this result, unless the meeting itself wasn’t by chance. 

Your eyes flew back to his face as your mind began to put all the puzzle pieces together. Chocolates, flowers, perfumes, and even lingerie had been sent to you in droves over the course of the year. Your mind whirled, suddenly recalling all the other strange or odd occurrences that had happened, especially in the last few weeks or so. The feeling of eyes watching you everywhere you would go. Strangers scribbling notes when they thought you weren’t looking. Your clothes, namely your underwear turning up missing every time you took your things to the laundress. The door to your apartment being unlocked despite you remembering that you had locked it. God. Your eyes got wider as the full picture came together. A year. Oh god, he had been watching you for a year.  “Look who finally figured it out.” 

On instinct, you tried to pull away, but his foot slamming down on the chain brought that plan to a decided halt. Your body jerked with the chain, a frustrated whine escaping your throat as you continued to struggle against the cuffs. Escape in this case was utterly futile. You knew that. The chain that was connected to your wrists was firmly in his hand. Even if you managed to get away from him, the room you were in only had one visible door; the chamber from which you had just come. The exit you could not see, the one that would take you to the rest of the fortress was almost assuredly locked. Then there was the fortress itself. A maze of locked doors and heavy bars. If the building itself didn’t stop you, then the guardes most certainly would. All Wriothesley needed to do was raise the alarm and he could have your right back where you were now in a matter of minutes. “You know-” Your eyes met his again, noting the hints of malice that were beginning to swirl in the icy blue depths. “I never believed that you didn’t fully know.” He leaned down, resting an arm on his thigh as the slack portion of the chain rattled in the background. “I told myself that no one was that unobservant of their surroundings.” A soft chuckle slipped past his lips. “I’ll be damned if you didn’t prove me wrong. Seems like all those nights where my anxiety kept me awake were in vain. You had no clue, did you?” He furrowed his brow, gently chuckling again. “Did you ever think to ask? Did you just assume someone was sending you gifts and that would be that?” You wanted to slap the smirk off his face, maybe leave another scar while you were at it. “Of course I asked.” Since you couldn’t slap him, you tried to add some venom to your voice, hoping it would compensate for your lack of movement. “I spoke to the couriers and the stores. No one knew. They all said the same thing. All the orders had come with the necessary payment by mail via an unmarked envelope.” There had been no indication of where the letters had originated from. The only thing worth noting about them was the simple stationary on which they had come. The paper lacked the ornate embellishment that was associated with the upper class, yet the paper itself was of a high enough quality that you could discern the sender had money. That theory had been further proven based on the gifts he had sent. Everything you had received was from the finest shops in the Court and of the highest quality. They had all cost well above what the average admirer could spend. That had told you that your devotee was at least well to do. Wriothesley, as the Duke of Meropide, was certainly that. “I thought that when my admirer was ready, they might be normal and present themselves properly.” Not have you abducted and brought to the bottom of the sea. “Because that would have gone oh so well.” He tilted his head slightly. “I’m sure that I’m exactly what you were expecting, hm?” He wasn’t. 

You let out a heavy sigh, trying to ignore the obvious. Wriothesley had been the last person you had been expecting. Worse though, was the thought of the Administrator of the Fortress coming to your door for no explicable reason. Even with flowers in hand, the idea was a terrifying one. The Duke of Meropide wasn’t exactly a celebrated figure in the eyes of the citizens of Fontaine. While his rise to prominence certainly made him an enigma, the few that knew what he looked like, tended to avoid him at all costs. To see the Duke or any officers of the law on your street was often a sign that trouble was soon to follow. If you had known that Wriothesley was your admirer or if he had shown himself to be interested in you in a normal way, it was entirely likely that you would have run. Even knowing that you had committed no crimes in the eyes of the law, the risk of having him so close was one you didn’t want to take. The goal of every citizen was to avoid the fortress and all of those associated with it. You weren’t excluded from that. “See the dilemma?” Your first reaction was to fix your eyes to the floor, while you felt the first twinges of embarrassment creep their way up your neck. “Kid- kidnapping isn’t exactly a viable solution.” You raised your eyes to him again, trying to make that sound as harsh as possible. “Neither is this, for the record.” He just laughed. “If we’re adding things to the record, then throwing hot porridge in the administrator's face isn’t exactly the smartest of moves. Neither is disobeying my orders or trying to escape.” You squirmed, stupidly pulling on the chain as your own frustration spiked. “I’ve done nothing wrong!” He laughed again. This time, his laughter echoed off the walls, hurting your ears. 

“You hadn’t done anything wrong.” Until you threw the food in his face, and kicked him, and disobeyed him, and tried to escape. “I don’t think I need to list the crimes for you. I’m sure you’re aware.” Crimes? Your mind whirled at the very mention of the word. It was inconceivable to think that you had done anything wrong.

Fresh tears stung at your eyes as the frustration his words caused you, washed over you. No. It couldn’t be. You were innocent. He had abducted you. He had tricked you. You weren’t his prisoner. “But as the administrator of the fortress, it is at my discretion on how you are punished.” Wriothesley stood to his full height, reaching for something in his pocket. “Unfortunately for you, I don’t have time to deal with that.” He produced a medium sized lock, which was promptly attached to the chain and the d-ring, forcing you to hold your position at his feet. “I have more meetings. I suppose for now-” He mockingly thought about it for a moment. “Your punishment can be that you get to think about how you’re going to make it up to me or maybe, you reconsider your attitude. If not, then perhaps I’ll have to get slightly more strict with you.” From your vantage point, you watched his eyes drift away from you, focusing on something behind you. There was only one thing that could be; the room you’d woken up in, the bed. “Seems cruel to consider.” Your eyes went wide at the thoughts that were running through your head. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t. “I’d hate to do it.” Wait. “But maybe I was too nice at the beginning.” No. “Maybe I’ll just leave that with you though.” His focus came back to you. “Based on your expression, you get my meaning. Persist on your current path though-” His tone developed a steely, authoritative hardness to it that you didn’t like. “And perhaps I’ll go against my better judgment and make you earn things like a bed and hot food, at least until I can be assured that you don’t need too. That’s if I can be assured at all.” You blindly shook your head as you realized this man intended to keep you indebted to him for the rest of your life. “No? Well-” There was an odd chuckle that followed that. “Tell you what.” A long pause stretched out between you. He waited, oh so patiently for you to finally look up at him before he opted to continue. “I might be inclined to go easy on you. If you decide you’re ready to behave.” If. It had the same inflection as before, though this one possessed more doubt than its predecessor had “Let’s test the waters. I’ll give you something easy, something simple. I bet you couldn’t take more than that, could you? By now, I’m sure you’re feeling a little drained.” There was a brief moment where you thought to challenge him on that. Drained wasn’t the right word for it. Exhausted maybe? Famished and dehydrated; absolutely. In your mind though, you believed you could take all he threw at you and more, but your cramping stomach and oncoming dizziness told you otherwise. Your body had been taken to its physical limit. It couldn’t handle anything more; not without getting food into you first. “Let’s try… you giving me a smile again. That seems like a simple thing. I’ll even sweeten the deal. Give me a smile and I’ll bring you a little something to eat. I bet you’re pretty starved by now. Some fresh bread or maybe even some fruit, surely that’s enough to get me a smile?” It shouldn’t have been. In any normal circumstance, it wouldn’t have been. Had you been back in the court, you wouldn’t have given him the time of day. But here, in his world, you didn’t have that luxury. Here he could determine every detail of your life, including when you ate next. Considering you had already gone a day, you briefly wondered how cruel he could be. Wriothesley ran both hot and cold. His reactions shifted between the two with frightening regularity. It made him difficult to read in a situation like this, which was why you had to consider your answer carefully. 

There was no winning here, you knew that. Wriothesley had stacked the deck against you long before your kidnapping and arrival. Now he’d dealt you the losing hand he’d prepared for you.  If you refused, would he cave due to his own feelings for you and bring you a meal anyway or would he demand an even higher toll for your next meal? Would he let you starve if you refused to pay that price? How many meals would he allow you to miss before the inevitable happened. How many could you stand to miss before you yourself gave in? Upon further review, a smile was easy. It was simple. It wouldn’t tax your fatigued state any further. You could just give it to him to make him go, but again that carried risk. Once meant always. Always meant forever. There would never be a time where you would be able to refuse him without running the risk of being punished. One frown could send you right back to where you were. “Well?” You didn’t want to. 

“I-“ You drew in a slow steadying breath, trying to calm the emotions that were running through you. At this stage, you wanted to scream, you wanted to cry, you wanted to lunge at him and you wanted to do it, all at once. You couldn’t though. Even if you felt like you were drowning, you couldn’t give in just yet. For now, you had to remain in control. “I hate you.”  Above you, he released an incredulous scoff.

“Believe me, I’m aware.” His nonchalance about this whole thing only served to irritate you further. He was acting as if everything that had happened between you was a normal thing. As if he kidnapped and manhandled and humiliated people everyday.

“So why should I smile at you if I hate you?” You swallowed as your eyes found his again. He towered over you, giving the answer very little thought.

“Because I asked you too.” You hated how his tone sounded almost thoughtful. “Let me be perfectly clear, unless the world is about to end or you are deathly ill, I will be your sole companion here. That means you will rely on me for everything.” And the fruits of that reliance were determined based on how well behaved you were. In his words, you were the master in your own treatment, which meant you decided your own fate. “We can keep on this path, if you like. I can play the mean warden just as easily as I can the affable fellow. It makes no difference to me how we get there, just so long as you understand we will get there in the end. One day those defenses of yours will crumble and that anger you currently feel will give way to something else.” Was he implying you would fall in love with him? “It happens to everyone down here. Some get angry, some are perfectly fine with it.” “I will never be fine with it or this.”  He smirked again, a gentle spark of mirth dancing in his eyes. “We’ll see. I tend to have a pretty good handle on people, especially when it comes to how they’re going to react to certain things. You’re no exception.” His head tilted slightly. “But keep telling yourself whatever you need to keep that fire in you burning.  I’m beginning to find your anger endearing. You’re cute with your face all scrunched up like that.” He chuckled, his smirk growing larger when the sound only served to make you angrier. “Maybe I’ll lock down the pankration ring one day, just so we can spar. It might be fun to turn you loose for a little while, if for no other reason other than to get my hands on you.  But I suppose that depends on one thing?” You let out a heavy breath, grinding your teeth in mild frustration. “What?” “Will you smile or not?”

[coryosmin]

Sickly Confessions - Coriolanus Snow x Fem!Reader

summary: reader has a cold and now it’s coryo’s turn to take care of her. could be a second part to feel better but also can be its own fic. this is self indulgent mostly because i’m sick rn.

warnings: fluff, soft!coryo, ooc coryo because truthfully he wouldn’t be this soft, this really is just self indulgent, 1,200 words of rushed fluff

When Coriolanus saw you enter the Academy building looking like you’d been hit by a bus, he knew you were sick. Your eyes had bags underneath them, you looked exhausted and sniffling. Coriolanus walked up to you, greeting you as he always did. “Hey,” he greeted, taking your arm in his. “Are you okay?” he asked, looking at your form as you guys began to walk together.

You looked up at him, shaking your head no. “I don’t feel good,” you murmured. Your voice was hoarse, causing Coriolanus to frown. You had a sore throat. He stopped in his tracks, causing you to stop as well.

He brought his hand up to your forehead. “You’re burning up,” he said. “You shouldn’t be here today.”

You leaned into his touch, the feeling of his cold hand feeling so good on your forehead. “Got an exam today,” you replied, frowning. Coriolanus understood. He was much the same way, wanting to at least get through the day so he didn’t miss his assignments and such.

“For Professor Satyria,” he murmured, keeping his hand on your forehead for a moment before pulling away. “After her class though, you need to go home and rest.” You simply nodded your head, beginning to walk to your first class. Professor Satyria’s class isn’t until right before lunchtime. So you still had at least half a day until you could go home. You and Coryo continued walking to your first class.

You could hardly focus in class and it concerned Coriolanus quite a bit. You looked like you could fall asleep at any given moment and by the time it was exam time, your cheeks were so flushed that Coriolanus figured you likely had a high temperature. Once the exam ended, you all walked out of the class and you could barely stand straight. Coriolanus was right beside you, a hand on your waist. “Let’s get you home,” he murmured into your ear.

Coriolanus Snow never missed a class. He always goes to school, even when sick. So the fact that he left early was huge. And you realized, even in that sick little foggy brain of yours, that Coriolanus must truly care for you a whole bunch if he was willingly bringing you home in the middle of the school day. “You don’t have to bring me home,” You murmured, leaning into Coriolanus. “You vowed to yourself to never miss a class.”

Coriolanus shook his head. “Maybe so,” He replied, already guiding you out of the building. “But you’re my best friend and you would do the same for me too.”

And you couldn’t ignore that logic. Because you would take care of him in a heartbeat. He’s been your best friend since the two of you were young children. “Okay,” You agreed, unable to find a reason to combat him. You were just so tired and needed to rest. You wanted nothing more than to lay down and fall to sleep.

When you and Coryo arrived at your apartment, you realized neither of your parents were home. Your father was on some work trip and your mother was out visiting her parents for the day. So you had the apartment to yourself other than the Avoxes. “Go get changed,” Coriolanus said, taking his shoes off at the door. “I’ll see about getting you something to drink.”

Coriolanus walked off towards the kitchen while you made your way to your bedroom, getting changed into a pair of pajamas and then getting into bed. You sat underneath the covers with your back against your headboard. A few minutes later, there was a light knock on the door. “Come in,” you raised your voice, causing it to crack.

Coriolanus opened the door with a small tray in his hands. There was a glass of water, some medication, and a sandwich. “I told one of your Avoxes that you were sick. So they prepared this tray for you.” He spoke, putting the tray on your lap. “You should eat. You need the nutrients to get better, dove.”

Dove. That certainly was new. You nodded your head, looking up at Coriolanus. “Will you be staying with me?” You asked.

Coriolanus gave you a small smile, reaching to move a piece of your hair out of your face. “Of course,” he murmured, taking a seat on the bed. “I’ll stay for however long you need me to.”

After you had eaten and taken the medication, you felt ready to fall asleep. Coriolanus took the tray off of your lap, placing it on the floor temporarily. “Get some rest,” he said, his blue eyes looking at you.

You bit your lip as you looked at Coryo with droopy eyes. “Would it be too much to ask you to cuddle me?” You asked shyly, looking at your best friend.

Coriolanus’s heart melted as he looked at you, unable to help the smile on his face when you asked him. He’s usually much more composed but you’re sick and vulnerable anyways. It doesn’t matter if he smiles. “Of course, dove.” Coriolanus moved to lay down next to you, taking you into his arms. You were very warm and he knew that he had the possibility of getting sick too. But that didn’t matter. What mattered was his best friend being comfortable and getting better. And if he could provide comfort to her, then he shall.

Coriolanus wrapped his arms around you, bringing your head to his chest. You breathed in his scent as it provided you with comfort. His body was naturally cool which allowed you to get a reprieve from the heat of your fever. You snuggled into him. And in your sick dazed mind, you spoke, “I love you, Coryo,” not caring about the nervousness or the repercussions of your words when you eventually become clear minded.

Coriolanus’s heart fluttered in his chest as he looked at you, trying to comprehend the words you spoke. “Love me how?” he asked carefully.

“Like in love with you,” you replied.

Coriolanus shook his head. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. You’re sick.”

You pulled away slightly to look up at Coryo, still staying in his arms. “Sick or not, I love you, Coryo.” You said honestly, looking at your best friend.

Coriolanus took a deep breath, unsure of how to respond. Until he does. Because ultimately, he will always love you as well. “I love you too, dove,” He said, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Now get some sleep. We’ll talk about it when you’re better.”

And so you fell asleep a few minutes later, comforted by the feeling of Coriolanus’s arms wrapped around you and the fact that your best friend loves you too.

[brooooswriting]

Hi! Could I please request Leighton x reader where the reader is Whitney’s teammate on the soccer team and they have an away game and they end up getting sick during the game so Whitney calls Leighton and they pick them up and take them home and take care of them and it’s super fluffy.

I meant to

Leighton Murray x reader

“Damn bro, you look like shit” Whitney said as you arrived at the parking lot where the rest of the team was. As soon as the words left her mouth you frantically looked around.

“Shhhh” you grumbled, checking around you one more. “Leighton wanted to come say goodbye and I don’t want her to know. So can you stop talking so damn loud” your bag hit the ground with a loud thud, making Willow turn around.

“Why? Dude, don’t tell me you were out getting drunk and cheated on her” she was half joking and half scared about what might be wrong with you.

“Obviously… not. Who do you think I am?! I had a real bad migraine yesterday and I couldn’t sleep, I still have one. Shit just doesn’t go away” you explained to the two who gave you a sympathetic smile. Willow also dealt with migraines and it was more than once that Whitney had to hold your hair while you threw up due to them. But it wasn’t unusual that they were a telltale sign of something else coming.

“Girl is coming” willow warned you as she saw Leighton come towards you.

“Hey, I just wanted to say goodbye. I’m so sorry that I cant come to watch” the blonde said as she pulled you a bit further away so you could talk in private.

“It’s alright, I get it” you told her, mustering up the best smile you could. You didn’t want her to worry about you since she had a lot to do.

“So, go and win that thing. We will celebrate when you get back okay?” There was a moment of silence where she just looked at you, her eyes studying you which made you panic. You tried to look as happy and healthy as you could which wasn’t really working. “Are you feeling alright? You look kinda ill baby” she added as she stepped closer to you, her hands finding your face.

“It’s okay, I’m just a bit nervous. So, you were talking about celebrating when I come back?” You grinned which made her giggle too. You wrapped your arms around her waist to pull her closer.

“You’ll do great, you always do. I will see you in four days okay?” You pressed a couple of soft kisses to her lips, she wasn’t the biggest fan of pda so you tried to keep it down.

“Y/n, we gotta go” the coach screamed making both you and Leighton roll your eyes. You slightly turned to tell her that you were coming.

This time the blonde pressed a more passionate kiss to your lips before letting you go. “You sure you alright?” She questioned again, feeling like something was wrong.

“Yeah, I’ll text you when we arrive okay? Love you” you pressed a kiss to her temple before walking to the bus.

“Good luck, love you too”

You fell into the seat next to Whitney, your head immediately falling to her shoulder. The girl sighed, she knew that you probably shouldn’t play and should stay home in your bed but she also knew how important these games were to you and if it was just a headache you should be okay. Willow nudged Whitney when they were 3/4th of the way to see if you were still asleep, and you were. Plus, your head started to feel warmer over time and your phone was going off non stop. They assumed it was Leighton who was trying to chat with you during one of her courses.

Once they arrived you were carefully shaken awake, the two girls giving you a soft smile. “We are here, sleepyhead. Are you sure you’re up for this?” Willow asked, if they were only here for one game she wouldn’t have said anything and let you power through. But since there were some Postponements you had to play two games in one day.

“Yes, I’m fine. I just need a bit of water and an aspirin and I’ll be fine. I promise” you gave them a smile before looking at your phone. “Damn, but before I’ll be calling my very angry and concerned girlfriend” they laughed as you scurried of to talk to Leighton.

“Damn, look who’s back” one of your teammates laughed as you came into the locker room after your call with Leighton. You offered a polite laugh as you got your stuff out of your bag and started to change.

The coach and the team were amazed by how you powered through the first 20 minutes of the game but it was obvious how quickly you let up, your movements were uncontrolled and it was clear that you had problem running straight. “Time out” the coach called out quickly when she saw your legs bend in a weird way. Jenna and another teammate quickly caught you as they were closest to you. “Y/n? You alright?” Jenna asked to keep you concise as best as possible.

You mumbled out something incoherent as they half carried you to the side of the field. “Does anyone know if her parents live nearby? I don’t want her to stay out here for the next two games” the coach asked into the group but before anyone could answer you spoke up.

“No! It’s okay, I just need a power bar and a painkiller and I can go back” Whitney shook her head, her phone already in her hand so she could call your girlfriend. She wasn’t sure if Leighton was going to pick you up but if the blonde found out that you were ill and she didn’t tell her she’d be dead.

“The only place you’re going is home y/l/n, you did really good. But now it’s time to get better ok?” Willow said, her hand rubbing your back in a comforting manner.

“Leighton?” Whitney spoke into her phone after going somewhere more quiet. She knew that Leighton would freak out a bit and it would be easier to calm her if she could hear what she was saying.

“Whit? Is everything alright? Did you guys already win?” Her voice was happy until she realized that her roommates mood was off. “Whitney?” She questioned again.

“Everything is okay, Leigh. It’s just that… well y/n seems to be ill, she nearly broke down on the field but-“ she didn’t even have the opportunity to finish as the blonde started talking.

“Im coming to get her. I’ll be there in an hour, one and a half max” and with that the phone call was over. The football player sighed, she knew that the other girl wasn’t thinking rationally. It takes at least 2 and a half hours to get to them, with the bus it was a lot longer. But still, there was no way she’d make it in such short notice.

“Her girlfriend will pick her up, said she’ll be here in an hour and a half, but I think it will be more like 2 and a half” she told the coach as you laid on a bank, a towel was covering your face to shield your face from the brightness of the sun. You must have fallen asleep as the next thing you knew was a hand carefully shaking you awake.

“Y/n, babe, you gotta wake up” you immediately perked up when you heard your girlfriend’s voice, removing the cover from your face and sitting up. The fast motion wasn’t the greatest thing as a wave of nausea and dizziness overcame you. “You alright?” Her hand quickly found your forehead, a sigh leaving her when she felt how warm it was.

“Yeah, it’s okay. You didn’t have to come” you insisted but your protest was weak which showed her that you must really feel shitty. You hated it when other people could see your weak side so you’d fight a lot more if you had the energy.

“We will talk about this later, now come on. The car is waiting” she carefully pulled you up before Jenna grabbed your other arm to help her get you to the car. Whitney carried your bag and said her goodbye before returning to the field.

“Don’t loose idiot” you grinned weakly which made her laugh.

Once you sat in the car and Leighton made sure you had everything you might need, water, pills, a bag to throw up, some food and a blanket she gave the driver a sign. The car started to roll and you were out like a light. The blonde took the middle seat so you could rest against her, your head leaning onto her shoulder. Every now and then she pressed a kiss to your head while her hand rubbed your arm. Sadly, your temperature didn’t seem to go down and every now and then a cough left your mouth.

Leighton felt bad about waking you up but the car stopped and her bed was way more comfortable than the car. “Baby, cmon we are here. Let’s get you to bed huh?” You weakly opened your eyes and gave her a nod before crawling out of the car. You tried to grab your bag but the girl was quicker as she slung it over her shoulder, her hand grabbing yours as she pulled you along. “I know this sucks but I want you to take a shower before you go to bed. You sweated a lot on the field and I think it’d be good for you” she explained as she pulled out some of the clothes you had at hers.

After a quick shower and a lot of whining from your side, Leigh blowdried your hair and then got you back to bed. “Need anything else?” She asked as you pulled the covers over yourself, a bottle of water and everything else you might need on the side table. You shook your head which made her smile at her accomplishment. She never really took care of someone else as she never had a real partner but she seemed to do a good job. So she quickly changed into some more comfortable clothes and crawled into bed with you.

“No” you mumbled and scooted away from her which confused her. She tried again but again you scooted further away which was really hard in the small bed.

“What why?”

“You’ll get ill, too” it was hard to understand what you said as your whole face was pressed into the pillow but since the bed was so small she was close enough.

“You’re being stupid! If I get sick it was worth it, so now let me cuddle you until you feel better. We both know you want to” she grinned at the last part and wiggled her eyebrows which made you smile too.

“You sure?” As she nodded again you scooted back so you could cuddle into her. Her arms wrapped around you as your head rested on her chest. “Thank you for taking care of me” you pressed a light kiss to the hoodie she was clad in before closing your eyes again.

After a couple of hours, Leighton decided to call Kimberly and ask her if she could bring you two something to eat from Sips. Of course she’d rather eat, well anything else, but then she’d have to get up and wake you. So sips it was.

“Kimberly, hey, can you bring y/n and me something from the cafe? Preferably a soup for her, she came down with the flu and is now sleeping in my bed. I don’t wanna leave her” she mumbled into the phone, careful not to wake you. Even though she was sure that the pills knocked you out so bad that even a bomb wouldn’t have woken you.

“Sure, I’ll be there in like half an hour to an hour is that okay?”

“Yes, thank you a lot. I’ll Venmo you the money”

About an hour later there was a soft knock on the door before her roommate entered the room. “Hey, I got her a noodle soup, a tea and a sandwich just in case she was hungry after the game. And I got you a burrito, without meat this time and a coffee” Kimberly explained as she gave Leighton the things she bought. After she thanked her and venmoed the money the brunette left the room again.

“Am I smelling soup?” You whispered with a rough voice as your girlfriend woke you up. Your throat hurt worse than before and your headache was still painfully present but at least your temperature seemed to go down.

“Yeah, Kimberly brought it. Now sit up so you can eat something. Oh, she got you a tea too” she helped you up and propped a pillow behind your back to make it more comfortable. Once you were situated she handed you the container of soup and a spoon before starting to eat herself. She looked over to see you staring at the liquid, the spoon dipping in and out without touching your mouth. “What’s wrong?” She asked as she turned towards you.

You only sent her a shy smile which made her study your face deeper. “Scared that it’s going to hurt?” You gave her a nod and she send you a sad smile. “But you gotta eat something, please? Just try it” you felt bad about worrying her so you gave her a nod and put the spoon to your mouth.

After a bit of a fight, you ate the whole soup and drank your tea while watching your comfort movie. The duvet was pulled up to your chin and your head rested in Leighton lap while she scratched your scalp with one hand, the other one playing on her phone. It got later and later as you drifted in and out of consciousness. At one point you felt your girlfriend leave the bed for about 10 minutes before she returned, this time laying next to you.

“Good night, wake me up if you need anything ok?” She told you as her hand rubbed your back and her lips pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head.

You gave her a nod, even though you knew that you weren’t going to. “I love you” you answered instead, moving your head up so you could send her a tired smile which she returned. “I love you too”

The next time you woke up it was around 7/8 a.m. and both you and Leighton were more than happy that it was a Saturday. Your throat still hurt and the headache was still there, plus your cough hasn’t left completely but your temperature seemed to be around normal again. “Good morning” the girl you used as a pillow said as she stretched as best as she could with you on top of her.

“Good morning” you rasped out as your head rested on her chest again.

“How are you feeling?” The back of her hand carefully pressed against your forehead to feel your temperature as she asked.

“Better, a lot actually. Thanks to you alone love” Leighton had to say, she was really proud of herself. She alone nursed you to become better.

“No problem, I just which you had told me earlier. Like when I asked you that morning” she admitted, she felt bad about bringing it up while you were still ill but she wanted to get it off of her chest. You gave her a sigh before scooting away so you could look at her.

“I’m sorry. I meant to, I really did but I knew you would have made me stay at home, which in retrospect would have been smarter, but I didn’t wanna leave the team alone” you explained as you studied her face, hop on that she’d understand you.

“I get it, but this was really dangerous you idiot. And then you wanted to go back on the field after you almost passed out? You gotta set boundaries for yourself” you knew she was right and you hated it.

“Well, if you’re always going to take care of me like this when I’m ill I’ll look forward to it” you joked as you pulled her into you.

“Glad to see that you feel better. But what are we thinking about sleeping for another hour or two?” You gave her a happy nod and settled back into the bed to get another hour of sleep. Your heart fluttered at the way she held you, not once did you have a partner who cared for you as deeply as Leighton did and you really hoped that she knew how much you cared about her too.

“I love you” you mumbled into her as her breath evened out. You couldn’t wait until you were healthy again so you could kiss her again.

[dogsosoy]

i am thinking about stalking aki. no devils au also (gn)reader is an obsessive freakkk and loser ; things get a little physically violent ^__^

as per usual, you were following the local grocery store clerk home after his shift.

he was a pretty unassuming guy, despite his height, but something about him was different from all the other NPCs you had to encounter in your shitty city.

a few weeks ago, for the first time in your life, someone wasn’t outright disgusted with your presence. on top of that, that person was downright gorgeous too. exactly your type. a lot like the guys you went for in your dating sims: tall, long hair, and an unbothered attitude. aki had an air about him that screamed “i don’t really care,” which made you weak in the knees. you were shaking when you approached his checkout line.

you expected him to be like everyone else. throw you a hardly-concealed glare and make your interaction as swift as possible. you’ve never been that great with social interaction. or social cues. but somehow, in your delusional mind, you believed that you were quite charming the day you met aki.

he had initially caught you off guard. aki recognized the game on your shirt, and commented on it as he was checking out (and trying hard not to judge) your groceries (seriously, when was the last time you ate a meal that wasn’t full of MSG?). immediately getting even more flustered and nervous than you already were, you told him a fun fact about the game—that only you found fun—and flashed him an awkward, stressed out smile. more fearful looking than anything. more animalistic than human.

but he smiled back, so clearly that meant you did a good job, right? you surely impressed him with your knowledge and the submissive air about you! he must’ve thought you were charming in a “kicked dog” sort of way.

aki totally wasn’t thinking ‘will this quivering little freak get out of my line already?’ eyeing your shaky hands and figure. you were most definitely overstaying your welcome in the check-out area to stutter at this poor clerk. at least he’s good at staying composed. most of the time.

overall, he was disgusted by you. you looked like you got hit by a bus two weeks ago and hadn’t showered since. your clothes were dirty and way too big, like a child trying on something from their parent’s closet. you had a minecraft wallet that would’ve been a cute little trait if you weren’t so fucking off-putting. your hair was in your eyes. probably to hide your face, he thought. you don’t seem to like being perceived.

aki had a lot of thoughts about you in that moment—some of them more intrusive than others. he thought about scowling at you, yelling at you to move along, maybe shoving your shitty groceries into your hands so you’d get the idea that he really didn’t like your vibe. or face. or anything about you. then, aki thought about strangling you. you just had a face for it. you looked easy to beat up and aki kind of liked that. it crossed his mind that maybe he could kick the shit out of you after his shift. get some anger out. hell, he could’ve taken five and done it right then.

you know, normal minimum wage job thoughts.

but of course, he didn’t do any of that. didn’t even really entertain the thought (although he really would’ve liked to). at his core, aki isn’t a bad person. he’s not the best, don’t get him wrong, but he wouldn’t harm a random person he doesn’t know. even if that person was giving him a million reasons to, just by existing. even if they look like they would make such a good punching bag. or stress ball. or chew toy?

aki doesn’t necessarily enjoy hurting people. he’ll admit, he does find some sort of sick satisfaction in it, but it’s not something he actively seeks out. or even something that regularly crosses his mind. aki is reliable and intelligent. that’s what anyone you ask would say about him. sure, maybe he’s a hardass most of the time, but he really does seem to have a thing for helping others.

he looked at you, really looked at you, his eyes filled with pity as you were turning to walk out of the store. he imagined what it would be like to have everyone you come across have these sorts of thoughts about you. how could you live your life normally when everything about you invokes violent and anger in the people around you?

it was pathetic. he thought you were pathetic.

maybe he could help you.

your eyes caught his only for a moment as you cautiously glanced back at him, trying to sneak in one more glimpse at this angel before you went home, not to return for weeks. then you saw it. you saw that look. something in his eyes, but it wasn’t anger or annoyance or disgust. your face heated up, and your eyes widened with how flustered you felt. your palms suddenly felt sweaty, and it was too hot. for once, someone looked at you and felt something more for you, and it felt like a fire was lit inside your chest.

this man… (squints to read name tag) aki… he was different.

and aki knew from that split second that you were definitely a total hopeless case and complete freak.

your obsession with him snowballed from there.

you followed behind him after every shift, making sure to stay hidden from the light and as far away as possible. you just wanted to make sure the love of your life got home safe! plus, it wasn’t hard to keep an eye on him. maybe keeping up with him was a little difficult due to the height difference, but good thing you’re amazing at masking your presence! thank you, fear of being perceived.

even from this distance, your heart was in your throat. you could barely make out the way his shoulders moved as he walked, or how he lazily puffed on a cigarette (mevius brand, your brain supplied). it was still enough to get you panting like a freaky little creep. your whole body was on fire. the physical reaction you had to aki was apparent, and it had only gotten worse by the day. during your first interaction, you were a complete mess. now? you’d be lucky to get a single word out if he was any closer than twenty feet, and your legs would surely give out from the anxiety. it would be like meeting god.

aki had decided earlier, during his shift, that he had had enough of this game of cat and mouse.

of course he could feel the eyes on his back during his walk to his apartment. although you think you’re quite slick and sneaky, aki has known since the first day you followed him home. you may be quiet, but your hiding skills are a bit rusty. on top of that, aki trained in the police force. he knows when someone is tailing him. he had to hand it to you though, it took him longer than normal to notice you.

every day you got a bit closer—he had picked up on that by the fifth night. he picked up on you breaking into his apartment by the second week, which irked him. not because he necessarily cared about you stealing his stuff—he didn’t have much of value anyway—he just didn’t want your dirty hands touching everything. he started cleaning more after that.

then slowly he started… leaving things out for you. like someone leaving milk out for a stray cat. a half eaten bar of chocolate on his kitchen counter, an old shirt on his bed. things he thought you’d think he wouldn’t miss. he left some healthier food out too, with a few bites taken out of it, so you’d think he was done eating and take it for yourself.

he wondered if it felt like sharing a meal to you, too.

he had caught a glimpse of you in a shop window as he turned the corner onto his street. you were wearing his shirt. he never saw you without one of his shirts on, not since you started stealing them.

instead of continuing all the way to his apartment, aki stopped short and took a quick right to duck into a nearby alleyway.

your heart sped up. what was he doing? was he meeting with someone else? going to someone else’s place? maybe just taking a leak? despite your worryingly amazing stalking skills, you lacked a lot of… basic intellect. street smarts.

common sense.

you approached the alley cautiously, peering in. no sign of aki. your heart sunk, had you lost him? your foot steps rang out in quiet thuds on the concrete. your thoughts were running a mile a minute.

aki thinks you should be more aware of your surroundings. it becomes another bullet on his mental list of things you need to work on. this list is uncomfortably long.

you pass by an unassuming dumpster, not looking at or even near it. it didn’t cross your mind that the object of your deepest desire could be crouched beside it. why would he be? why would he be staring at you? why would he be getting ready to pounce on you, like a predator on prey?

the moment you had just barely cleared the threshold into his vision, aki pounced.

your back hit the concrete wall before you could even grasp what could be happening. the smell of cigarette smoke flooded your sinuses. someone’s forearm was pressed to your neck—their hand carefully balancing a mevius cigarette between two fingers—affectively holding your weaker body in place and somewhat choking you. your voice cried out in a pathetic yelp, which caused another large hand to be placed rather roughly over your mouth. he didn’t want you to make any unnecessary noise. or, god forbid, any dumb comments.

his figure was even more imposing at this distance—or lack there of. fuck, is he going to kill you? beat the shit out of you? why is that thought kinda hot? your heart was beating so fast you felt like you were going to have a heart attack. aki, ever composed, casually leaned over your trembling body, looking deep into your scared eyes with his intense gaze. he was so calm, but he was also scary. imposing. like a parent looking down at a child who has misbehaved. your knees felt weak.

you have misbehaved.

his face was inches from yours as he spoke softly, condescendingly, “i would say you’re dumber than you look but,” his eyes raked over your figure slowly, rolling the cigarette between his fingers. he removed his forearm from your neck and took a drag and blew the smoke into your face as he continued, “you’re not.”

quick note: having a hand over your mouth, somewhat covering your nose, smoke blown into your face, and having previously been choked by a forearm to the neck does NOT pair amazingly with what was likely an incoming panic attack. or maybe it was a meltdown. aki didn’t think you could tremble this much. widen your eyes this much. make him feel so in control this much. he would’ve rather thrown out his brand new pack of meviuses than admit that you have such a way of making him feel. he continued rolling his cigarette between his fingers, staring at your face, thinking. then he backed off a little. looked down his nose at you.

his gaze was filled with disgust… and an impossible amount of want. want for you. to own you. control you. maybe he just wanted to have some sort of control over anything in his life. unfortunately, you didn’t have a whole lot of time to react to this sudden realization about aki, as you cried out, muffled by his palm. the bastard had put his cigarette out on your neck.

“don’t worry,” he spoke softly, in an ever condescending tone, “you’ll probably still be able to walk when i’m done.”

[steddieas-shegoes]

mask on

for @steddie-week prompt 'free space' AND part 3 of the camboy steve series (yes you should read parts 1 and 2 first, but this could be read on its own)

I did also follow the @steddiemicrofic word count 1111 and prompt 'one', but it is not technically a standalone fic so that part was just to see if I could do it (I could but at what psychological cost)

rated e | 1111 words | check ao3 for tags

🔴⭕🔴⭕🔴⭕🔴⭕🔴⭕🔴⭕🔴

Despite the fact that Eddie made more than enough money to pay for Steve’s needs and wants, Steve insisted on making his own money. Being on tour with Eddie definitely made that more difficult, but he found plenty of opportunity while the guys were on stage.

He went to the first couple of shows when he first joined Eddie on tour, watching from the sidelines, but decided he needed to use his time wisely. Now, he sat on the tour bus, using Eddie’s bunk as his recording and photo studio.

He paused live streams for a while because of it, always a little worried someone would interrupt. Plus, Eddie wouldn’t be able to be on them and that just wouldn’t do.

But they were finally stopped in a hotel for one single night, a rarity on the road as Steve had come to learn, and he had an idea.

Eddie insisted he do a live stream, and Steve insisted Eddie be a part of it.

“You can wear a mask and make sure your tattoos are covered. I promise we can be careful,” Steve begged. “I just want your hands on me. I think people will like it.”

So here they were, Eddie in a sort of silly masquerade mask, his leather jacket, and leather fingerless gloves that Steve didn’t even know he owned, camera angled so very little of Eddie would be shown while he did whatever he wanted to Steve.

“Can you behave yourself with others watching us or are you gonna get weird?” Steve asked as he stripped to just his underwear.

“Don’t know what you mean about weird. I can be normal.” Eddie lied.

“Right. Well, try to stay quiet as much as possible so no one recognizes your voice,” Steve continued as he got in position. For once, he didn’t have to worry about turning on the stream or turning it off; Eddie would handle that.

“You’re enjoying being in charge a little too much for someone who won’t be in less than a minute,” Eddie smirked as he ran one finger down Steve’s thigh. “Or did you think I was letting you run the show?”

Steve couldn’t hold back a whimper at Eddie’s tone and soft touch. He thought he knew what was coming, but with Eddie’s possessiveness, he couldn’t really be sure.

“It is myshow.” Steve couldn’t help being just a little bratty. Eddie had been gone all day doing interviews, hence the hotel room, and he missed him.

“We’ll see.”

As soon as the stream started, Steve gave a brief explanation of what was happening, but most of his viewers wanted to get to the good stuff. They’d been waiting a while for another live stream.

Eddie didn’t hesitate to get started once Steve nodded to him. He held his hand up in a small wave, but stayed turned towards Steve as he brought one gloved hand down in a hard smack against his barely spread thighs.

Steve didn’t hold back the moan at the sting of the leather glove against his bare skin.

Eddie didn’t need to say anything for Steve to know exactly what he would say.

One slap wouldn’t be enough, just like one kiss was never enough.

“More,” Steve begged as he parted his thighs more, letting everyone see his already hard cock. “Please.”

Eddie smiled devilishly as he ran both hands up and down his legs, leaving Steve on edge and nearly shaking with want. How did he always do this so quickly?

The leather hitting the same spot as before was almost too much already. Steve glanced down to see red spreading, probably trying to form in the shape of Eddie’s hand. With another couple hits, it just might.

The messages were piling in so quickly, Steve could barely read them, but Eddie had it under control. He slapped his other thigh before stepping away and letting out a laugh at something he saw on the screen.

Eddie wiggled his fingers in front of the camera, then wrapped his hand around Steve’s cock, rougher than he usually was. The leather was surprisingly soft, but his grip wasn’t, and Steve did all he could not to curl into a ball as Eddie’s hand tightened and released.

“They sure do know what you like,” Eddie groaned in his ear as he leaned over him, his hand moving from Steve’s length to pinch his nipple. “But I know better, don’t I?”

Steve nodded, already too overwhelmed to speak.

Eddie taps him once, a silent check-in so he knows if he needs to slow down or stop. Steve taps him back three times for green, for good, for don’t stop.

He slaps his cheek, not nearly as hard as his thigh, just a test, a warning for more. It’s not the first time they’ve done this, but it’s different in front of an audience, even if the audience is through a screen.

The next slap is harder, makes Steve whine as his head turns to the side.

The camera isn’t focused on his face ever, but he knows the viewers can hear the sound of the slap and Steve’s answering noises.

Again, and the other side, and again.

“Spit.” Eddie orders, just when Steve’s pretty sure he’s going to come from just Eddie’s hand on his face.

Steve spits into Eddie’s gloved hand, curious about what his goal is.

Curious if this was a request from someone.

The feel of the leather– now wet with his own spit– against his leaking cock, was new.

“C’mon, angel, gimme one so we can give them a proper show,” Eddie said, voice low and demanding.

And as much as Steve wanted this to last a bit longer, he couldn’t resist giving Eddie what he wanted. He always wanted to please him, even when his job was to please his subscribers right now.

Steve let out a muffled scream as he came, a gloved hand covering his mouth as the other worked him through it, his cum making the glide easier.

“Ruined ‘em,” Steve whined against Eddie’s hand.

“Hm?” Eddie asked as he pulled away.

“Gloves are ruined.”

“Nah, bought them just for this,” Eddie pecked the top of Steve’s head before standing up and looking at the messages pouring in. “Everyone wants another one.”

“Then I guess we better give them one.”

Eddie made him lick his own cum off the glove before he grabbed the lube and slowly worked him open, one finger at a time, until he was stretched enough to take the plug he’d chosen.

As Steve came again, Eddie shut off the stream.

“Mine,” he growled against Steve’s neck.

“Yours.”

[fortheloveofwonderland]

Rusty | Chapter 20 | S.R

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

A/N - this chapter gets dark. Spencer is suffering from a full on break and grows suicidal. Please proceed with caution. This one ends on a cliffhanger, sorry not sorry.

Summary - While you set out on a mission to help Spencer, despite the personal risk, Spencer spirals further into darkness.

Pairing - Spencer Reid / Fem! Reader

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

Warnings - extreme dissociation, swearing, drinking, mentions of past rape, brief mention of oral (m receiving), vomit, blood, self harm, suicide attempt.

WC - 6.4k

Nearly two hundred and fifty some miles and four sweaty buses later you found yourself in a nondescript alleyway sandwiched between a bodega and a dry cleaners on the outskirts of Las Cruces, New Mexico. 

Despite the heat you pulled the hood of the sweatshirt you’d purchased higher over your head, obscuring your face as much as possible. The wanted posters were everywhere, you couldn’t be too careful. 

You’d bought supplies and treated your arm wound as best you could and it had at least stopped bleeding. It was one less thing to worry about. 

It was some eighteen hours since you’d watched Spencer, or whoever he was at the time, leave the barn in the middle of the desert that you’d been hiding in to continue his hunt for you. 

You could have kept running, you no doubt should have kept running. But you knew leaving Spencer this way would result in his complete and utter spiral into the blackest depths of destruction. You couldn’t just leave him to his own demise. 

Despite it all, you loved him. It wasn’t his fault these things were happening to him, it wasn’t a testament of who he was as a person. It was a manifestation of a lifetime of trauma and you needed to get him some help. 

And there was only one person for that job. 

It wasn’t until you were almost an hour outside of Tombstone that you even realised you had Spencer’s phone. There were only a handful of numbers saved to the device and one in which you knew could be the answer to his problems.

However, if you were to help Spencer you would ultimately need to sacrifice yourself. 

You’d weighed up the pros and cons religiously on one of your bus journeys. You’d known for some time you would do just about anything for Spencer, the fact you’d stuck around after he hit you was proof enough of that. 

But did you love him enough to put him before yourself? Because in order to help him, you were effectively ending your own life. 

In the end the decision had been a relatively easy one. Spencer would no doubt end up dead at his own hands if you left him like this and no matter how far you ran you would never outrun that kind of guilt. 

And so here you were now, ready to surrender yourself in return for Spencer’s well being. 

At first when you’d called that number in his phone it hadn’t rang, simply beeped each time you’d hit the call button. After a few attempts you realised the number had been blocked. 

Once you’d gone through his settings and unblocked the number it rang five times before a frantic voice answered.

“Spencer? Oh my god Spence!” 

“Uh, not exactly…listen I need your help and I don’t know who else to ask. I'm a…friend of Spencer’s and I think he’s come off of his meds. He’s in a bad way. I need your help.” 

You hadn’t had to go into detail, hearing Spencer was in trouble was enough for them to come running. 

You’d chosen Las Cruces as a meeting place as it was far enough away from Tombstone that should they not help you and you managed to get away, you wouldn’t compromise the little safe haven. 

Their flight arrived an hour ago, they’d text you on Spencer’s phone and you’d given them the meeting spot. They should be here any minute. 

You held the revolver in your hand, hoping to not have to use it but knowing you’d need some leverage. As soon as they saw your face, the one plastered on wanted posters across the country, they’d be ready to drag you in. 

But Spencer was the priority here, you needed them to hear you out before slapping you in cuffs. 

You heard a car roll past and soon come to a stop. Then the sound of a car door opening and closing. You held your breath when the sound of footsteps entered your ears and levelled the gun towards the entrance of the alleyway. 

He appeared like an apparition, shrouded in an almost ethereal glow from the sunlight streaming in behind him. 

His footsteps were heavy on the ground as he started towards you, back stiffening when he saw the gun in your hand. 

Your face was obscured by the hoodie, pulled closely round your head. You needed to make a few things clear before he knew who you were. 

His hand went to his holster, palming the butt of his own firearm but not drawing it. He dared to step closer, out of the light and his image came into view. 

Luke Alvez stepped towards you, his brow furrowed deeply and his lips puckered. He stopped a few feet in front of you, eyes trained on the revolver in your hand. 

“You called me,” he spoke, one hand still on his holster, the other in the air in surrender. “Do we need the gun?” 

“For now, yes.” You replied stiffly. “I need you to make a deal with me before I can put it away.” 

“What kind of deal? I’m here for Spencer.” 

“I need you to promise me you will help him first and arrest me later.” 

Luke’s frown deepened as he tried to focus on your face beneath the hoodie to no avail. He gave you a cursory once over before his eyes landed back on the gun. 

“Why would I arrest you? I don’t even know who you are.” Luke shrugged. 

“Yes, Agent Alvez, you do.” You took a step closer, using your free hand to finally tug down the hood of your sweater and waited for Luke’s reaction.

It happened almost instantly. His eyes widened, almost bulging out of his head. His mouth fell open and the colour seemed to drain from his face. He drew his gun now, pointing it back at you in one swift move. You noticed his hand was shaking a little. 

“Y/N Y/L/N,” he croaked, absolutely dumbfounded. His mind travelled back to Spencer’s Bandera ranch as he stared at you in disbelief. 

“Is this the woman? I only saw her from the back. She coulda changed her hair? Is this her? She escaped from a max security facility a few weeks ago. Phil called me.” 

“No. I’ve never seen this woman before.” 

“You wouldn’t lie to me would you, Spencer? Because this woman is dangerous, and if you’re lying to me, that’s harbouring a fugitive. I don’t need to tell you that comes with a prison sentence.” 

“I’m telling you Luke, I don’t know this woman. I’m sorry, I can’t help you.”

“Right, I’m just being paranoid I guess.”

Your lip twitched up at the corner in a wry smile and you stared him dead in the eye, not allowing him to see your fear. You swallowed down your nerves over all the ways this could go wrong and when you spoke, your voice held nothing but conviction. 

“Hello Agent Alvez,” you clicked your tongue. “It’s so good to finally meet you.” 

***

Spencer Reid had finally lost his mind, of this he was certain. The last thing he remembered before finding himself in his library surrounded by hundreds of trashed books, was standing in the stable opening Luke’s gift. 

He was bleeding, there was no surprise there. His shotgun was on the floor and there were three bullet holes in the wall. 

His books had been torn from shelves, pages ripped from their spines and shredded to confetti. He found Copper in the bedroom and he cowered away from Spencer when he entered the room. 

But you and his cell phone were nowhere to be found. 

Judging by the time he’d been out for over half a day, his longest dissociation by far. Images came to him in flashes but he wasn’t sure if any of it was actually real. 

A sprawling desert. Shotgun blasts. An abandoned barn in the middle of nowhere. Blood.

But the most disturbing part was the extremely distinctive voices of the ghosts in his head conversing with him as though it was perfectly normal. 

“It was God’s will boy, don’t you ever forget it.” 

“We were just protecting you, Spencie. She’s no good for us.” 

“You were too weak to protect her, just like you were too weak to look after your mother.” 

“You couldn’t save Maeve from me, what makes you think you can save her from yourself?” 

“She would have made a much better sacrifice than you. Cyrus would have loved her.” 

“Shut up! Just fucking shut up!” He yelled, hands flying to his head and eyes closing against the onslaught. 

“She was cute, I’ll give you that. But she’ll never be me. Does it make you sick that after everything I put you through you’d still fuck me given half a chance? I saw it in your eyes when you had me up against the wall, it turned you on.”

“No, no! That’s not true. You make me sick, I’d never-”

“He would have let me too, if he thought it would save his previous Maeve. He let me kiss him, I always wondered what else he’d let me do.” 

“That’s not true. I would not have crossed that line. I loved Maeve, I was just trying to protect her!” He rocked back and forth on the edge of the bed, clutching his head tightly. 

“But you couldn’t protect her, the same way you couldn’t protect Y/N. Because you’re a goddamn weakling, Spencer! It’s why I left, I couldn’t stand what a pansy of a son I had.” 

“Fuck you, dad. I’m not weak, not weak. You were the weak one. You left because you couldn’t handle moms illness.” 

“You were pathetic and weak just like Tobias. It’s why Charles and I had to teach you a lesson. Both weak and both sinners.” 

“No! You’re wrong! I’m not weak and I’m not a sinner! I’m nothing like Tobias!” He screamed to try to drown them out. 

“Cyrus was so wrong about you.” 

“No, please. Just leave me alone, please!” He whined, opening his eyes to a barrage of tears cascading down his cheeks. 

“You did this to yourself, son. You’re just like your mother, thinking you know better than the doctors, coming off the medication that is meant to help you.” 

“What have I done? Fuck, Spencer you’re supposed to be a genius!” He threw himself to his feet, ignoring the ache from the open wound in his thigh he’d yet to address. 

He stormed back downstairs to the upturned library and the bottles of whiskey he kept in a hidden cabinet in one of the shelves. He grabbed one and unscrewed the lid. 

“Once an addict, always an addict. Just like Tobias.”

“I’m nothing like him.” He whimpered, raising the bottle to his lips and taking a long sip. 

“Just replacing one vice for another. Do you feel it, Spencer? Do you feel your cells dying as you decide to give up? You’re only proving my research.” 

“I don’t want to die. And even if I did, your research was flawed. You used your parents as test subjects, your sample was biased.” He took another swig. 

Where is Y/N? What happened and where did she go? 

“She left your sorry ass just like everyone else.” 

“Fuck you dad!” Spencer screamed into the void. “And fuck you Cat, Diane. Fuck you Merva. Fuck you Raphael, Tobias, Charles…whoever you are. Fuck you all! I need to find Y/N.”

“She’s never coming back, you scared the life out of the poor thing, Spencie.” 

“I didn’t do anything! That was all you. What did you do to her?”

“We drove the devil away.”

“She wasn’t the devil!” Spencer spat, taking another, longer sip of the whiskey in the hopes that if he was drunk he wouldn’t hear their constant assault upon him. “Why is this happening? Why is this happening to me?” 

“You’ve never been strong enough. You weren’t strong enough to fight me off were you?” 

The new voice entering the fray caused Spencer to still, his heart skipping at least several beats. This voice was a thick Spanish drawl, husky from too many smokes. That particular voice haunted Spencer’s dreams and most of his waking moments too. 

It was the voice of the ringleader, the aggressor and instigator in Spencer’s prison rapes. 

Spencer’s whole body trembled, almost dropping the bottle on the floor as more tears scored harshly down his cheeks. 

“P-please,” he whimpered. “Please not you too.” 

“Don’t pretend you didn’t enjoy what we did to you. We all saw how much you enjoyed it, cariño.” 

The use of Luke’s old nickname in the voice of his rapist caused Spencer’s legs to buckle. He collapsed on the shredded paper on the floor, the whiskey bottle rolling from his hand and spilling its contents across the ripped pages. 

“D-don’t call me that.” He cried, on his hands and knees in the destruction of books. “Please don’t c-call me that.” 

“What’s the matter cariño? You always liked it when he called you it.” 

“Because I loved him. Because when he said it, it was caring and kind and not evil.” 

“What would you prefer, cariño?” The voice was overwhelming, casting all the others away. “Mi corazón? Mi Vida? Querido?” 

Spencer sobbed, his whole body quaking. At some point or another Luke had called him all of those things and hearing them from the mouth of the man who destroyed that relationship was causing Spencer to spiral further than before. 

“Te amo, Spencer.”

“No, no please stop it. It’s not fair!” Spencer wailed. “I loved him so much but I couldn’t be with him because of you! Because of what you and your goons did to me!” 

He was crawling around on the floor with no destination. The voices all started talking at once, muttering and mumbling to each other, to him, and he couldn’t keep up.

The voices weren’t just in him, they were him. And he was them. Spencer was no longer a singular entity. He carried pieces of his ghosts, his abusers, his tormentors. He was one with them now. 

There was no coming back from this. He may as well just lean into it. 

***

When Luke Alvez’s phone bleated for his attention that morning he’d assumed it was the BAU trying to drag him away from the first blissful day off he’d had in weeks. 

He’d been in the midst of receiving one of the most earth shattering blowjobs of his entire life, swaddled in the plush goose down duvet on Grant’s unnecessarily comfortable mattress. 

His boyfriend - yes that’s what he was - lived in a little apartment a few blocks from Luke’s own although they spent all their free time together. It may have only been six months but Luke was already considering asking Grant to move in with him. 

As long as he brings this stupidly comfy bed. 

He’d been moments away from his orgasm when the ringing device rudely cut through his haze of pleasure. 

It wouldn’t be the first time the BAU had demanded his attention while he’d been in the middle of sexual euphoria with Grant. 

His head had been so foggy with his impending release when Grant came off of him with a little pop he had to blink a few times at the phantom name on his phone screen. 

For a moment he was so bewildered by the sight of the ghost's name displayed in front of him that his whole body froze in abject horror. 

Grant watched him curiously from the other side of the bed while his boyfriend paled a sickly colour. He knew it wasn’t the BAU. 

“Spencer?” Luke breathed as he put the device to his ear. “Oh my god Spence!” 

“Uh, not exactly…listen I need your help and I don’t know who else to ask. I'm a…friend of Spencer’s and I think he’s come off of his meds. He’s in a bad way. I need your help.” 

The stranger using Spencer’s phone had gone on to ask him to come to Las Cruces, New Mexico, practically begging for his help. When he hung up he didn't know what to think. He’d ended the call by saying he didn’t think he could get involved. 

Grant had moved to DC for him, Grant had moved to DC because even after one night together he’d decided Luke was worth that to him. But Spencer had easily been able to toss him aside after two years together.

He’d made a decision after Grant came to the east coast that he was finally done with Spencer. He was giving himself over entirely to his new fledgling relationship and he was going to stop pining over Spencer once and for all. 

But then some mystery woman called him and he found himself thrown into turmoil. 

Grant had been incredibly understanding and if it wasn’t for his insistence, Luke might not have gone. 

But Grant had pointed out that it would only play on his mind and he would never forgive himself if something happened to Spencer. And although Grant wasn’t thrilled about him springing into action to help his ex, he knew it was something Luke needed to do.

So he’d called Spencer’s phone and spoke to the mystery woman once more saying he’d be on a flight as soon as he could. And then he’d called Emily. 

Emily was equally as understanding as Grant, letting him take a few days to go and check on Spencer. 

And so now here he was, in New Mexico, face to face with a woman he’d been obsessed with catching. 

“You need to put the gun down right now. Come quietly and maybe I’ll see if I can cut you a deal for handing yourself in.” 

You had your guns pointing at each other, neither of you relinquishing. 

“I’ll be the one making deals, Agent Alvez. I need your help. Spencer has come off his meds and his brain is fracturing. I’m fairly certain he’s dissociating into multiple personalities. You are the only one who can help. Please?” You begged and you saw Luke falter a little. 

“Why should I believe you?” He corrected himself. “This could just be some kind of trap.” 

“What on earth would I have to gain by drawing you out like this? You didn’t know how to find me, you had no idea where I was. Why would I put myself in danger like that?” You scoffed.

You saw the cogs turning in his eyes, making sense of your words. 

“Why would you put yourself in danger for Spencer?” He cocked an eyebrow at you. 

“Because I love him.” You shrugged. “Getting him help is more important to me than my freedom. So if you come with me and you help him, I will go quietly. I will let you bring me in and I will spend the rest of my life behind bars. As long as Spencer is okay.” 

Luke narrowed his eyes on you, scrutinising you in disbelief. It was understandable, you expected his scepticism. 

“I swear this isn’t a trick.” You continued. “But I need you to help him before I cooperate with you. Let me take you to him, please? I don’t know what else to do.”

He was profiling you, you could only assume. He saw nothing but genuine care for Spencer in your eyes. You were here, prepared to give up your freedom so Luke would help Spencer. 

But Luke was bred to be a cynic. If his time in the Rangers and as a fugitive hunter had taught him anything it was to trust no one. 

If you did have an angle however, he couldn’t foresee what it would be. If you wanted him dead you would have shot him the moment he entered the alley, before he’d had a chance to draw his weapon. 

But if Spencer really did need his aid, and Luke agreed to assist, what was to say you wouldn’t kill him after? Or at the very least make a run for it. 

If he wanted to, he could shoot you in the arm, disable you long enough to cuff you and call Phil to help him extract you. 

But the begging look in your eyes told him that Spencer really was in trouble. And he’d never be able to forgive himself if he turned his back on him. 

“You’d do this for him? You’d really hand yourself over and go back to prison just so I’ll help him?” His hand holding the gun faltered. 

“I would.” You nodded. “Luke, you know all about the magic that is Spencer Reid. I have no doubt you would have done anything for him too, am I right?” 

“Yes.” He replied without hesitation. 

“Then you know what I’m saying is true. He means more to me than my freedom.” As if to prove this point you cautiously lowered your gun. 

You hoped the second you did so Luke wouldn’t be on you with cuffs. But the look on his face told you he believed you and you were sure he was going to help. 

You tucked the firearm back in your waistband and held your hands up to show you posed no threat. You nodded at his own gun, silently telling him to do the same. 

Luke’s jaw clenched, you saw the way it pulsed. His fingers flexed around the weapon before he slowly lowered it, carefully tucking it back in his holster. 

For a moment the two of you stared at one another, a quiet understanding passing between you. You were both willing to put aside this forced vendetta between you for the sake of Spencer. For a brief window, the two of you were on the same side. 

“Okay,” Luke huffed out after a few minutes of silence. “Where is he?” 

“Tombstone.” You rolled your lip between your teeth. 

“Arizona?” He baulked. 

“You really think I was going to bring law enforcement to our doorstep before I knew I could trust you?” Your lip twitched at the corner. 

“Ay dios mio.” He muttered under his breath. “I guess we better get going, that’s a long drive.” 

“About four hours.” You nodded. 

“Mierda.” He spat with a roll of his eyes. You could only assume given the conviction for which he said it that it was a curse word. 

“I don’t speak Spanish but, sure.” You shrugged. “Shall we?” 

Luke nodded his head, motioning for you to pass him first, probably so he could keep an eye on you in case you tried to run. 

He led you to a black Escalade parked a little ways up the street which he unlocked from the button on the rental keys. You slid into the passenger's seat and Luke in the driver's side. 

He started the engine and nodded his head towards the GPS display in the middle of the dash. You leant forward in your seat and tapped in the zip code of the ranch in Tombstone. 

“This better not be some kind of trap.” Luke grumbled as he put the car in drive. 

“Agent Alvez with all due respect, please just fucking drive.” 

Luke huffed out a breath, hands clenching around the wheel but he did as you said, flicking the blinkers and checking his mirrors before pulling out onto the sleepy street. 

You fell into silence and he switched on the radio to combat the awkward quiet. You stared out the window, only partially wondering what the fuck you were doing. 

***

The thick and heavy scents of vomit and blood assaulted his nostrils before he’d even opened his eyes. He didn’t remember falling asleep, or being sick for that matter. 

He peeled his face off of the floor, a rogue book page stuck to his cheek which he removed and tossed aside. 

He blinked as he sat up, rubbing his eyes and taking in the annihilated library around him. His memory came in broken flashes but he couldn’t decipher what was real and what was imagined. 

What he did know was there was a puddle of dried vomit near where he’d been laying, mostly bile as he hadn’t eaten much of anything since…well he had no idea how long it had been. 

He wore only his boxers and t-shirt, his jeans were crumpled nearby in a pile of books of torn paper. Pulling his legs out in front of him he noticed several cuts of varying sizes littered all over his left thigh, covered in crusty blood. 

The way his head throbbed told him he’d drank a lot, again, no surprise there. 

And then he remembered with startling coherence that you were gone. He’d let his demons out to play and they’d driven you away. 

A shotgun. A dry desert. Glass shards. Heavy breaths and violent heartbeats. 

“I will find you princess, mark my words. I will find you.”

Silence hung heavy around him and for that he was grateful. The rush of voices were quiet for now, for the moment at least he was alone. 

He’d kept a lid on those monsters that lived inside of him for so long but he knew now that they’d escaped they would be back sooner rather than later. He’d dealt with so much evil in his life but those six hellions were the ones with whom he’d suffered the most. 

William. Tobias. Diane. Cat. Benjamin. And the man who had incited his prison rapes, who’s name he couldn’t even say inside his head. 

He’d become them, and they him. They were so deeply sewn into the fabric of who he was as a person that they were now coming to life. He’d given them life. He fed them, nurtured them and he couldn’t just let them go. He’d brought this on himself. 

It was an inevitable outcome of years of trauma combined with suddenly withdrawing from his meds and heavy alcohol consumption. He’d given them the tools to break free and he couldn’t be surprised that they’d done just that. 

For now all he could do was relish in the quiet before they all came back at him full throttle. 

Eat. Shower. Try and clean up this fucking mess. And then…

Then what? The obvious answer was to try and find you, figure out where you’d gone and if you were ever coming back. But how did he go about that? He couldn’t find his phone and you could have gone anywhere. 

One thing at a time, Reid. Clean up the vomit. Clean up yourself. Food. Cleanse. Before they return. 

He pushed himself to his feet, ignoring the way his new cuts howled as he moved. He forced himself towards the kitchen for cleaning supplies. 

He barely made it to the sink before he felt an itching in the back of his head. No, not his head…his brain. 

And then the voice made itself known, although he struggled to ascertain exactly what voice was assaulting him this time. He supposed it didn’t really matter. 

“You can’t run from us, Reid. We’re a part of you now. We all took pieces from you that you’ll never get back. This is your life now. You’re stuck with us. Until the bitter end.” 

***

Luke drove at a frightening pace, his foot hugging the accelerator. His hands held the wheel in a white knuckle grip, monopolising the far left lane and overtaking almost every car on the road. 

Aside from the radio station filtering into the car, the two of you were silent. You could see the internal battle waging within Luke, the good versus evil debate. 

You were evil, you knew that’s how he saw you. But you were trying to do good by Spencer and because of this, Luke didn’t know how to feel towards you. 

You felt bad for dragging him into this. From the little you knew of him he seemed like he was a nice guy, a guy who would clearly do anything for the love of his life, who was also the love of your life. 

But he would get his reward in the form of getting to take you in, he would be the one to arrest you once Spencer was safe from himself. It was a sacrifice you were willing to make to keep him from harm's way. 

After miles of highway landscape zooming before your eyes, you sucked in a breath and turned to Luke in your chair. 

“So, uh, how are things with your cowboy?” 

Your words caused him to stiffen more so than he already was. His fingers somehow gripped tighter against the wheel. 

“Grant. His name is Grant.” He replied, his voice monotone. 

“Right,” you smiled to yourself. “My question still stands.” 

“Why do you care?” He glanced at you out of the corner of his eye. 

“We’re gonna be stuck in this car for at least another three hours, maybe less given the speed you’re gunning it. But I thought I’d try and make conversation.” You shrugged. 

Luke chewed on the inside of his cheek, weighing up his options. He knew you were right, as much as he didn’t want to engage you. It would be an incredibly long journey trapped in silence. 

“It’s, uh, it’s good. He’s great, he makes me feel like I might finally be able to get over Spencer.” He confessed, unsure why he was telling you this. 

“And, ya know, he’s super easy on the eyes.” You chuckled, only just refraining from saying what a good kisser he was. That would have no doubt caused Luke to swerve off of the road if he found out that tidbit of your past. 

“He really is.” Luke relaxed a little, a small smile playing on his lips. 

“I only know the bare bones about your break up with Spencer, but for what it’s worth I know he still thinks about you. I know he loves me, but I also know a part of him will always love you.” You sighed. 

Luke tensed again, his jaw set and his back stiffened against the chair once more. He squared his shoulders like he was gearing up for a fight. 

“I don’t think I needed to know that.” He huffed. “I’m crazy about Grant but if Spencer told me tomorrow he wanted me back I would drop everything for him. Kinda like I did when you called and said he was in trouble.” 

“Don’t beat yourself up over it.” You spoke softly. “He’s a force unto himself. He’s magnetic, irresistible. Hell, I’m willingly letting you arrest me when this is all over just to ensure his safety. It’s kinda infuriating how he makes it so easy to fall in love with him.” 

“It kinda is.” Luke agreed with a wry smile, giving you a sidelong glance again. “Y/N?”

“Yes?” 

“Twelve times.” He swallowed. “You shot him twelve fucking times.”

“I did.” You nodded, rolling your lip between your teeth. “And I’ll tell you something, Agent Alvez, I’d do it again too. I’ll admit twelve shots was excessive but if I hadn’t killed him, he would have killed me. He put me and my mom through hell and he deserved what he got. 

“Tell me something, Agent. If you could get your hands on the men who abused Spencer in prison, would you hold back? Despite the oath you took, would you be able to steal yourself if confronted by them? Because I don’t think you could. They hurt someone you love and I think, like me, you’re fiercely protective of the people you love. So tell me, would twelve bullets even be enough?” 

He felt your eyes on him, heavy and imposing. He swallowed thickly, his Adam’s apple bobbing beneath his flesh. He didn’t owe you the truth but he gave it to you anyway. 

“There wouldn’t be enough bullets in the world if I ever came face to face with them.” He confessed, his jaw tight as he did so. 

“I know you hate me, I know I’m some kind of thorn in your side. But I think that animosity stems from the fact that you understand why I did what I did, and it pains you to think that way because you’re an officer of the law. You vowed to protect and serve, to uphold the laws of this country and ensure justice. But justice isn’t always rewarding. 

“I could have called the cops on Sayers, I could have testified and had him put in prison. But as long as he was breathing it would never be over. The same way that while Spencer’s rapists are still alive it will never be over for you. I get that you have a job to do and as promised, if you help Spencer I will go quietly into the good night. But you know you agree with what I did, and that’s why you’ve let my escape consume you.” 

You were right and it was proven by the tight pulse of his jaw and the squeezing of his hands against the leather wheel. He didn’t speak to confirm it, he didn’t need to. 

The truth was, and Alvez knew it well, that we all harbour a darkness inside of us. He’d kept his well hidden for the most part, but it had come clawing to the surface after Spencer’s incarceration and his face off with Mr Scratch. 

When he found out of the true horrors of Spencer’s time in prison, it was impossible to swallow it down again. Ever since it had ebbed just below the surface, ready to be unleashed at any moment. 

The very same way yours had when you’d confronted your step father. 

As much as he wanted to blame you for what you’d done, he couldn’t because that would make him a hypocrite. You’d taken your revenge on the man who’d hurt you in the same vein Luke wished to seek justice on the men who had raped Spencer. 

Of course, he didn’t admit as much out loud. Instead the two of you fell back into that terse silence as you continued on your way to find Spencer. 

He only hoped the younger man hadn’t succumbed to his demons in a way that would make it impossible to cloy him back from his own treacherous darkness. 

***

The gentle caress of the too hot water tingled his fraught limbs and provoked his open wounds. His sensitive flesh groaned beneath the heat that threatened to encompass him. 

The weightlessness of his body sunk deeper in the watery folds, allowing it to rise above his ears in an attempt to cast himself into silence.

It didn’t work. You couldn’t quiet the voices that lived in your head. 

“This is a coward's way out. I always knew you were weak.” 

“What’s the matter, Spencie? Can’t handle a few little ghosts?” 

“And to think we thought you’d be our ultimate sacrifice.” 

He descended deeper, the water covering his eyes, barely reaching his nose. He took a few breaths, readying himself for the end.

“Ohh you think Maeve will be waiting for you on the other side? Pur-lease. You’re a sap, I don’t know what I ever saw in you.” 

“We broke you good, didn’t we? Shame really, even under duress you gave great head.” 

“Shut up, just shut up.” He whined, his own voice distant in his water logged ears. 

He slid lower with one final breath, letting the scalding water submerge him, maybe even cleanse him. Little bubbles formed on the surface as he instinctively tried to breathe. 

Don’t fight it, Reid. Just let it happen. Death has got to be better than this. 

He opened his eyes beneath the water, blurry visions of his ceiling would be the last sight to meet his eyes. 

His uncontrollable breathing forced water into his lungs, burning his chest, like a flame ripping right from within him. It was shredding, tearing him apart as his brain instinctively fought for a breath he wouldn’t allow. 

“Sinner, I told you so. Suicide is the ultimate sin. You will endure his wrath, boy.” 

It was a similar breathlessness he’d grown all too accustomed to in his life. When his dad left and he became responsible for his mothers care. When Tobias literally killed him only to bring him back to life.

When Diane Turner took her life and Maeve’s in one single bullet while Spencer could do nothing but stare in abject horror. When he came face to face with Cat again after his release. When Merva held his blade to his throat, readying Spencer to be his three hundredth victim. 

When that man and his cronies crept into his cell and forced him to his knees time after time. 

The oxygen was fleeing his brain rapidly, everything was becoming hazy around the edges as though looking at the world in soft focus. 

Thoughts and voices coalescing, drifting, fading. Soon it would be dark, soon the sounds would disappear entirely and he would finally be alone. 

You won’t win, I won’t let you. I would sooner die than walk among you for another second. 

An eerie yet peaceful smile pulled at his lips. Any minute now and it would all be over. 

“You think killing yourself makes you a martyr? You think this means you win? Jeez for a so-called genius you really are dumb, huh Spencie?”

“Are your cells giving up? Can you feel it?” 

“Walk towards the light, join us in our sacrifice.”

“And you said I was the weak one? What the fuck would your mother think of this?” 

“The one who sins is the one who will die. The child will not share the guilt of the parent, nor will the parent share the guilt of the child. The righteousness of the righteous will be credited to them, the wickedness of the wicked will be charged against them.” 

Ezekiel 18:19 verse 20. I told you I could recite the bible. 

“Such a shame to waste such a skilled and pretty mouth.” 

Shut up. Shut up. God-fucking-damnit you can all just shut the fuck…

His consciousness was waning, his brain cells dying. It wouldn’t be long before he suffered irreversible anoxic brain damage. Death was upon him, his fiery talons reaching from the depths to come and take him away. 

Yes, please. P-please. This has to e-end. I’m ready for t-the end. 

Seconds before Spencer Reid surrendered to the ethereal glow of death, something flickered in his blurry field of vision. 

Moments before everything turned dark he swore he saw a figure appear above the haze of water. But before he could register it, the lack of oxygen closed in around him and he let himself fade away into the abyss. 

@kalulakunundrum @katrina0-0 @bakugouswh0r3 @prettyboyandthefangirl @zooni92802 @babyspiderling @pleasantwitchgarden@ @djsjjsjsjsjsnsnsns @bringitonhomejohnb

[chronicsyd]

Opinions I have that might upset Arcane fans (well, mainly Jinx fans but oh well 🤷‍♀️)

1) I’m not sexually/romantically attracted to Jinx (I’ve said before that I’m 23 years old and thinking about Jinx in that way is weird to me, mostly cuz her age is very ambiguous and even the oldest she Could be (maybe 19) is still too young to me) (harassing people that don’t think she’s attractive makes you an asshole)

2) Jinx is not an “uwu pooki innocent bean 🥺” she’s still responsible for the decisions that she makes

3) Jinx d riders are probably some of the most annoying people in the fandom (vilifying other characters because Jinx is your fav makes you an asshole)

4) If it weren’t for Caitlyn, Vi would have never gotten out of Stillwater and reunited with Jinx

5) People claiming Vi to be “bland” truly missed what her character represents (on that note, there’s more to her character than just being hot)

6) Caitlyn did not maliciously interrupt Vi and Jinx’s reunion in episode 6, she was merely following Vi (what she’s been doing the entire time) and Vi withheld the info that Jinx was her sister

7) Silco was not a good father figure or person

8) Vi was wrong for hitting Powder yes, but she was overwhelmed watching basically her entire family die right in front of her eyes and Powder practically told her she was responsible. Vi’s only like 15 in act 1, she’s still Very much a child so saying shit like “she should have acted more mature” is stupid

9) Vi, Silco and Piltover had their part to play in the creation of Jinx. Jinx couldn’t move on from Vi hitting her and “abandoning” her (it was out of Vi’s control but that’s how it was to Jinx), Silco manipulated Jinx into thinking Vi never cared for her, and Piltover running a corrupt government didn’t help

10) calling Vi “selfish” for not shooting Caitlyn is stupid and idiotic. No, she wasn’t going to “get Powder back” if she did so, if you paid attention the show makes that pretty clear. It wouldn’t accomplish anything other than hurting Vi further (because despite the terms the two left each other on Vi still Cares about Caitlyn)

11) I find Jayce to be a rather boring protagonist

12) Silco groomed Jinx. People think grooming is Only sexual when in fact it goes a hell of a lot deeper than that.

13) you need better media literacy if you don’t understand Vi’s trauma or why she and Caitlyn fit so well together

14) it’s dumb to be mad at Vi that she doesn’t want to call Powder Jinx (the last thing she called her, feeding into Powder’s insecurities) and not wanting to accept Jinx being a mass murderer who clearly enjoys doing it (watch Vi and Jinx vs the Firelights fight again if you must)

15) Vander isn’t a superstar of a father either. He put way too much responsibility in the hands of a 15 year old girl and makes her think that every bad outcome is her fault

16) Vi didn’t replace Jinx with Caitlyn. Hell, the first chance she gets she ditches her and tries to find Jinx solo, and still wants to go back to her in episode 7. Also acting like Vi isn’t allowed to have anyone Other than Powder is stupid and selfish.

17) Vi has a habit of making really poor impulse decisions and it’s going to get her into trouble if she doesn’t get a rain check on them

I might make some points later, and you can agree or disagree these are just my opinions after all… alright bu-bye!

[outofmydepthatapublicbeach]

comfort from the rain- Julien Baker x fem!reader

summary: Julien takes care of your after a bad day.

jj chats: this was originally gonna be a blurb but then it turned into an entire fic!! i really liked writing it though and i hope you guys like it too!! love y'all &lt;;33

word count: 1100ish

warnings: RPF, undressing (not in a sexual way), kisses, hugs, no use of y/n, pet names used (honey, princess, baby).

feedback is encouraged and i'd love to get some just please be kind!!!

It was one of those days.

The sky had gotten increasingly dark as you walked from the bus stop to your apartment. Funny how after a long day those 2 blocks felt like 4 miles. Trudging through the sidewalk, hands in your pockets trying to keep warm. It was freezing this year, especially at night. The wind wouldn’t stop whipping into you, causing you to freeze even more. When you left in the morning it wasn’t even that cold, so you thought a sweater would suffice for the day. Forgotten was the memories of how cold it gets when the sun goes down. The trees had no leaves due to the coming of winter, the small patches of grass were dirt brown, and your shoes were covered in muddy slush. It seemed like wherever you looked you just saw negativity. 

Your eyes felt heavy from your lack of sleep over the past few days. A co-worker was transferred and so all their leftovers went to you. You made the fatal mistake of trying to be helpful and ended up stuck in a trap, unable to refuse at risk your job, you accepted the later hours and more work. Regret filled your mind. You just wanted to get home.

Finally, your building came into view, only a little while longer until you were within the safe walls of your shared home. An abandoned apartment that you and your long-time girlfriend Julien had transformed into a home. You saw the green painted door and approached it fast, excited to finally be home, sweet, home. You tried the door handle, expecting it to open with ease since Julien was inside. Except it didn’t. It was locked. You sighed before taking your bag off and rifling through for your keys. You moved around a pack of gum, a half empty notebook, wallet, but you found no keys. 

“Come on!” you whisper yelled to yourself, frustrated. And as if the little cloud controllers in the sky could hear you. Suddenly you felt droplets of rain plummet to the ground and hit your body. You had forgotten about the chances of rain today. Great. The rain was cold, soaking into your sweater as you now desperately tried searching for your key. But to no avail. The rain came down hard, it almost immediately drenched your clothes and hair.

Even on a good day it didn’t take much for you to cry, and with your horrible day the chances were up 100%. And with that rain, came your tears. You leaned against the door, starting to gently sob. It was a minute or two before you remembered that Julien was home, and you could have called her at any time and she would have come sprinting to the door to let you in. You quickly clicked on her contact, the call screen filling your phone. 

“Hey baby! Are you almost home?” Julien asked, her voice like a rainbow after a storm.

“Yeah-” your voice cracked halfway through your attempt to communicate.

“Honey, are you okay? You sound like you’ve been crying,” Julien murmurs to the phone, of course she would already know how you're feeling.

“I forgot my keys this morning and I’m locked out and it's raining.” You say, tears still falling from your eyes, mascara running down your face. 

“Oh baby, I’m almost at the door,” as soon as the sound of her voice travels from your phone to your ears the door is already open. You see Julien, bundled up in one of your sweatshirts and a pair of sweatpants, her hair soaked. 

Julien immediately surged forward, hugging you tightly despite the downpour of rain and the fact your sweater is soggy. She steps back, following her form back into your home. You feel another wave hit you and you wrap your arms around your love, holding her for dear life. 

About a minute passes by, Julien just holding you, rubbing your back through your clothes. She says “It’s okay baby, you’re home now.” You start to pull away from her, but your hand falls right into hers to which she squeezes it lightly: reassurance. “Let's get you all warm. Then we can go lay down and cuddle?” Her smile is warm, full of love.

Julien leads you into the laundry room. You sit on a bench as she bends down to unlace your boots, then she gently places them to the side. “Can I take off your sweater? I don’t want you to catch a cold.” She asks, hands placed on your sides.  You hum a sound of approval and she continues, gently sliding it over your head and returning to you, clad in a pair of jeans and a bra. She moves to go hang up your sweater, an attempt to dry it out. You reach down to unbutton your jeans, the material tough, sliding them down your legs you feel a shiver. Julien turns back around and graciously takes your jeans from you, hanging them up alongside your sweater. You slip your socks off and leave them next to your boots. 

“Wait right here,” Julien says, kissing you on the forehead before quickly running out the room. She’s back within 20 seconds, a fluffy towel, pair of sweatpants, and a hoodie in her arms. She hands the towel to you, and throws the clothes into the dryer, turning the heat to max. 

“I’m sorry Jules,” you sigh, using the towel more to warm up than to dry off. The guilt of causing an inconvenience to Julien starts the flourish in your mind.

“Why are you sorry princess?” Julien asks, head tilting to the side. “You were doing something before I got home, I didn’t mean to throw a wrench in your plans.”

“You didn’t throw any wrench in any plans baby, I was waiting for you when you called. I’m sorry I left the door locked. I must have forgotten to unlock it after I got out of the shower.” She smiled, then opened the dryer, pulling out your clothes and handing them over to you. They were warm enough to melt your sadness, warm enough to remind you of the positive side. 

“Thank you for this, it means a lot.” You confess to your girlfriend.

“Of course, I’m always here for you and I will do anything you need, anything you want.” 

Quickly you threw on the clothes and then walked over to Julien, leaning in to meet in a chaste kiss. Pulling away you both smiled at each other. “I love you Jules,” You fall into another hug, “So much.”  Your face, buried in her neck.

You could feel her smile in the crook of your neck, and then she sighed, then whispered “Love you, forever princess.”

[slytherinshua]

HIT RESET

genre. fluff. comfort. warnings. jihoon had a bad day. he cuts his finger with a knife as well. food. kissing. not proofread. pairing. jihoon x reader. wc. 896. request. requested by 🌱 anon: for tws fluff with any of the 06's (an idea is: (dont have to write this specifically) maybe coming home after a long day? could be them or reader). a/n. went with jihoon for this :( he's so soft and sweet and lovely and omg i just wanna kiss his forehead and put him in my pocket.

“Ow! Darnit…” Jihoon held his hand up, examining the fresh cut on his finger with a wince. Why was everything going wrong today? He was late to work, brain foggy and frazzled the entire day. Usually he was good at picking up choreo quickly, but everything felt off that day. He was falling behind and getting tired so fast. He was mentally and physically exhausted by now, and hadn’t eaten anything since lunch at the company. Throwing together fried rice should’ve been an easy task. He’s not even sure how he managed to cut his finger while chopping veggies.

He rinsed out the wound, debating whether he should just give up on food altogether. You wouldn’t be happy about that, though. That was the other thing. You hadn’t been responding to his messages all day and he had no idea where you were. It was already getting late, but you still weren’t home. He had never realized how lonely the dorm felt when you weren’t there.

Just as he was searching through the cabinets for a box of bandaids, like magic, he heard the door open. He didn’t have high expectations. Given the luck today, he was almost 90% expecting it to be Dohoon walking through the door. But, when he peeked his head out of the bathroom door, he saw your face.

It was frankly incredible how quickly you made everything seem okay. The frustrating day was forgotten in an instant, and the cut on his finger was the last of his concerns. The only thing Jihoon cared about was falling into your arms as soon as possible.

You shared the sentiment, both of you pulling tight into a hug as soon as you dropped your bag. Jihoon’s scent relaxed your senses immediately as you buried your head into his hoodie. Placing a kiss to his neck as you pulled apart from the embrace, you smiled up at him.

“Missed you.” You mumbled, brushing aside some of his hair, thumb stroking over his cheek. He merely nodded and pulled you back into his arms with a long sigh.

“I’m so tired.” He whined into the crook of your neck, his arms holding you so tight that it was impossible to let go.

“Did you eat yet? I got takeout but it might be a bit cold… I’m sorry I took so long to get home, there was some delay—” Your explanation was cut off before you could finish, by Jihoon’s lips.

His kiss was desperate, hours of frustration bubbling down had finally cooled and then burst into overwhelming affection instead. He couldn’t contain it, he just loved you. How you always knew exactly what he needed, always apologized even when things weren’t in your control, and how you were always looking out for him. You always made everything better in a way no one else could. Jihoon knew he would’ve cried if you had talked on for any longer, so he took quicker action to stop you from making him fall any deeper in love than he already was. He was down bad, but maybe being down even worse wasn’t such a terrible thing.

You giggled when Jihoon pulled away, cupping his cheeks and pinching them softly. You warmed up the food that had gotten cold on the bus ride as Jihoon watched you from the corner of the kitchen like a little boy watching a magic show. You cleaned up the vegetables he had left out, washed the cutting board and knife, and got out bowls for both of you all at the speed of light.

“Did you cut your finger on the knife?” You asked, noticing the bandaid on his finger as you set down the bowls of food. He nodded, and you shook your head fondly, “I told you that you shouldn’t try to cook while your head isn’t clear…” 

“Why didn’t you text me today?” Jihoon pouted, feeling a lot better now that he was eating and you were right next to him. The entire day there had been this empty dull ache from your absence, and he hadn’t been able to get the feeling out of his head.

“I forgot to charge my phone last night. It was dead the whole day.” You cleared up, an apologetic smile on your face. “I promise it won’t happen again.”

“Good. I missed you terribly and Youngjae wouldn’t stop making fun of me for it. He said I was ridiculously in love with you... which is definitely true.”

“I hope I made up for it. I love you too… just in case you weren’t sure.” You looked up at the ceiling, suddenly feeling a little shy at your confession. It had been a while since you started dating Jihoon, of course. But he had always been so open with his feelings, while it took some courage for you to share how you felt. Acts of service was always your preferred love language, and Jihoon knew this well. He always felt loved by you, but every so often, it felt really nice to hear you say it.

“You made up for it completely.” He assured you, biting back a smile at just how cute you were. Despite the rocky starts to the day, Jihoon’s mind was in complete bliss by the time he went to bed. He was more in love than ever before.

↳ tws taglist (bolded could not be tagged): @eternalgyu,, @seunghancore,, @sobun1est,, @talkingsaxy,, @talking-saxy,,

@50-husbands,, @hursheys

[fartenthusiastwriter]

The Saga of Billy Boy Part 12 - Date Night

As Will and Clay’s new roommate, Frank has weaseled his way into Friday night’s date. Get ready for the foul stench of romance 😈 where you can find all parts of TSOBB

- - - - -

Clay and I waited on the bench at the bus stop, as Frank leaned on the post looking out for the bus. I appreciated that this stop was in a busy area, so I had a chance to get a little fresh air and a break from having my face in Frank’s ass. Only a little, seeing that I was still face level with Bomber and he doesn’t care how many people are around.

PREEERRRRRT

A few people walking by either chuckled or plugged their nose as we were hit with another blast from Bomber. While I enjoyed these gifts, I hoped the bus would be here soon for Clay’s sake.

My wish came true as the bus approached. Clay and I stood up and Frank gestured for us to enter. “After you, Billy Boy,” he added with a wink.

When I climbed on the bus, I noticed Frank whisper something to Clay. Preoccupied, I found a spot on the bus and sat in the middle. The seat was a tight fit, so Frank and Clay each had to lay a leg over me. Fortunately, there was only people behind us, so no one could see how intimately we were sitting.

PRTRRRT

I felt a short but loud fart erupt from Clay. “Damn, Billy Boy!” Frank yelled loudly, plugging his nose, “can’t you hold it in until we’re off the bus?”

“It sure does stink, Willy.” Clay added, projecting for the whole bus to hear. My face grew red as I quickly put together their rouse. I placed my hands over my growing crotch.

BWRWWRBRWRWRWRWR

An even louder, brassy fart trumpeted for a whopping ten seconds. A feat that could only be achieved by Bomber. Clay could only cover his nose, leaning over to stifle laughter and coughing.

“I told you not to eat that burrito!” Frank chastised, ruffling my hair.

The charade continued until we arrived at the movies, receiving ugly looks and even some words from passengers as they left. I took a deep breath of movie theater popcorn as I led the group off the bus.

As we entered the theater, we realized we were the only ones there. As soon as we picked out our seats, Frank looked at me and Clay, “Billy Boy, hand that popcorn to Clay.”

I rolled my eyes, knowing where this was going. I turned to hand the popcorn to Clay; when I turned back, Frank was bent over with Bomber fully exposed. Frank grabbed my head and pulled it in.

BRRRRRRRT

“Bomber just wanted to give you a kiss before the movie. He’ll let you watch the show, but he’ll be sending you messages,” Frank jiggled his cheeks against my face. I gave a last big sniff before removing myself and sitting back down.

We all sat down, and Frank immediately christened his seat with a fart. In the five minutes before the trailers, Frank managed to fart over twenty times. The whole theater reeked of Bomber’s love.

As the trailers started, I realized I had to pee. I handed the popcorn to Clay and walked quickly to the lobby. When I returned, I found Frank in my spot next to Clay. Frank saw me and said “You didn’t think I’d do all that farting in my own chair?”

I started to cross to sit in the open seat next to Clay, but Frank grabbed my arm. “Bomber was warming that seat up for his sweetheart. You wouldn’t want to hurt his feelings.”

I gave in and sat down into Frank’s old spot. I immediately noticed a damp feeling in the cushion from all the farts Bomber unleashed. The smell radiated here more than ever and my boner raged on.

I noticed Frank and Clay whispering and giggling when I went to get some popcorn. As I started to pull away with a handful, Frank grabbed my wrist. He pulled my hand down to his ass and Bomber sprinkled my popcorn with a fart. I ate the popcorn, as the mix of aroma made for an odd experience. Frank farted on every handful of popcorn I got throughout the movie.

As the movie neared its end, I looked over to find Frank and Clay making out. Frank had each of his hands stroking their cocks. Frank slipped an eye open and saw me watching. “You know what you have to do if you want to get off too, Billy Boy.”

Understanding his order, I put my face between his legs while I slipped my cock out of my pants.

BRRRBBRBRBRBT

I sniffed vigorously as I felt Frank’s balls slap against my forehead. Frank continued to jack himself and Clay off, while I took care of myself.

BBRFPTPPRPRPORBRBRT

Another fart blasts my face forcing me to climax. I finish stroking and start to get up, but Frank forces my head back down.

BRRRRT BBRRRRRT BRBRBRBRBRBRBRBRT

Frank and Clay both begin to moan loudly as they cum. Frank covers your hair with his jizz. He begins rubbing it in, dissolving it as if it were hair gel. Frank proceeded to force me to lick up any other cum from myself and Clay.

The bus ride home was empty, so I sat alone as Frank and Clay stood in front of me. Every few seconds, one of them would pull my face in and rip a fart. Mostly Frank.

At home, we headed straight to the bedroom. The farts on the bus had my cock ready for round two. I laid down face up. Frank sat Bomber down onto my face; Clay sat on my stomach with his ass facing my cock. Each ass showered me in farts as I got off for a second time.

Exhausted, Frank and Clay joined me on each side to cuddle as we drifted to sleep.

That I dreamed I was back in the theater with Frank, Clay, Brad, Tony and all kinds of people I’d known in my life. As the screen lit up, I saw myself naked on my knees.

The audience burst out laughing, several people nearby pointing me out. “Tell me what you want Billy Boy” I recognized as Frank coming from off screen.

“I want to sniff your farts, Master Bomber.” I answered in the movie. I covered my face as the audiences laughter soared.

I peaked through my fingers as I saw Bomber come into frame. Makeup had been put on Bomber to make it appear like a woman’s face. The audience erupted as I begin making out with the lips.

BRBRBRBRBBRT

Movie me sniffs and kisses, getting deeper into the crack and covering myself in makeup. I look away from the screen to realize the men around me had stood up and several more were on their way, not a pair of pants in sight.

Recognizing each face, I saw the men of my life surround me. The last thing I remember is the dozens of asses blasting endless farts.

- - - - -

See the beginning of Will’s life collapse on the next part here.