#i cried whenever i listen to 'slipping through my fingers'

[gilverrwrites]

Imagine desperate Jason crawling through your window late at night. You've been crushing on each other for a while now, but he is blind by his insecurities to see your obvious heart eyes. His self control has finally snapped- maybe you've been putting your hand on his thigh or leaning against him, dropping hints that only push him over the edge. He very quietly, very carefully slips into your bed. "Just once..." he thinks, slipping your panties off your sleeping form "one time and I'll be okay..."

Jason Todd/Reader I can't lie, there's little more I enjoy than writing Jason being being a little bit depraved and/or pathetic. Sorry to my fellow ugly sleepers with thunderous snores, we're babes too. Warnings: Dub-con, somno

Just this once he'd told himself the very first time he’d jimmied your rusty old window lock open with his switchblade. Your texts had stopped abruptly, all he wanted to do was poke his head in and check that you were safe and sound, tucked up in bed.

Just this once he'd said again, the next time as your creaky hardwood floors cried out beneath the weight of his steel-toed boots. You were bedridden with flu. He was being a good friend, checking your temperature and refilling your water.

Just this once he'd promised the time he settled onto the edge of your bed, taking respite from a rough night by watching you; so serene, so peaceful. He listened to the sound of your shallow breathing until his eyes grew heavy.

Just this once he’ll allow himself to really relax, just this once he’ll kick off his shoes, take off his hood and lie beside you. He just needs to be close to you, to feel your warmth beside him, to feel your breath on his skin.

Just this once he’d sworn every time, but now he knows exactly what angle to tap your lock at, which floorboards make the least noise, how slowly to lower his weight onto your bed to prevent it dipping under his weight too quickly and making you stir.

But just this once he needs more from you than he would normally take.

You've been so hard to be around lately, his self-control is in pieces. You stomp on it every time you run your fingers through his hair. It sets his skin ablaze when you hold his hand. He can feel his heartbeat in his throat when you whisper in his ear. You’ve picked up this maddening habit of resting your fingers on his thigh whenever you sit beside him, and it makes his cock ache for your touch. How can you not see what you’re doing to him? How badly he wants you? It’s torture. Pretty soon he’ll have ground his teeth down to dust from gritting them to keep from kissing you every time you bat your lashes and twirl your hair.

Just this once he’ll pull the covers all the way back. He’ll take his gloves off so he can feel your bare skin against his cracked fingers. He’ll savour the sweet sounds of your sleepy musings, how you murmur and moan for him when he brushes his thumbs across your nipples, how your back arches as he traces the curve of your stomach and dips his fingers below the elastic of your underwear; he’ll commit it all to memory.

He barely even has to do anything, you spread your legs so eagerly once he gets your panties off. Your slit is so hot and wet, his fingers glide between your lips. He should slow down, should make sure he’s not disturbing you, but your body responds so well to him, your pussy swallowing up his digits with no resistance. You’re just begging for him.  

He shakes as he works his belt open. Soft whimpers of his own escape his lips, delicate sounds he’d loathe for you to hear as he palms his length, rubbing it with your slick before lining it up with your needy entrance.  

Just this once, to get you out of his system.

[kheyys-worms]

A bunch of Trein doodles <3 we respect a man of history in this household ✨✨

[pygmi-cygni]

lust - Steven Grant

Lust - excessive desire for sexual pleasure

part of my Seven Sins series

similar to my Nathan Bateman hc, I think Steven takes a little warming up for physical affection to be a-ok with him

but once the dam is broken....

cw: quickies, messy sex, praise, 18+, afab reader

You cried out, elbow digging uncomfortably into the shelving you were currently crammed up against. Steven swallowed the sound greedily, sucking and moaning at your lips while he fumbled to pull down your waistband. Books slid onto the floor as your feet scrambled for purchase through his voracious attack.

Steven had no patience for this. Grunting dissent, he absolved to haul your hips over his and jam his fingers up as far as they would go. He clapped a hand over your mouth as you shrieked and bucked, howling from the sudden stimulation.

"Shhh, shh, it's alright," he soothed around a moan, "it'll be nice real soon, love, promise."

His pace slowed considerably once he felt the familiar warmth of your walls thrumming around his thick knuckles. You huffed and whined around his hand, trying to hump yourself harder. The rubbing on his callouses on your clit had stars blinking in your vision.

Steven watched, awestruck, as you matched his pace, rosy cheeks and pouty lips nuzzling against his. He pushed harder, cock throbbing at the feeling of your petal-soft warmth flexing on his digits.

This was...a common routine. He'd ambush you whenever possible, rucking up your shirt and rutting rabidly into you, collapsing into a sweaty heap once you'd both finished. Only to do it again an hour or two later. Most days you stumbled around sore to hell and pleading for a break.

Oddly, he was the only one of the three boys who preferred rabbit-like fuckings throughout the day. The stamina was impressive, but you were tired of spilling coffee from how urgently he'd grab at your waist.

From the moment you could feel his hands tickle your sides under your shirt, you knew it would be a long day.

After a month of constant quickies, you'd set a firm limit; no more than two a week. Which was generous, considering Steven's idea of a quickie wasn't very quick. He'd been needy all week, practically crawling in your lap for kisses and hugs.

He'd done a solid effort of waiting. For three days.

He was on you the moment you walked through the door, hands roaming and eyes silently begging for relief. You couldn't say no; by that point your pants were around your ankles. He'd sucked your clit into his mouth without a second thought.

Currently, he was staving off a boner he'd had for the last hour listening to you rant about your coworker. Steven gritted his teeth and crooked his fingers, urging you forward to pleasure. You heaved and sobbed, trying to overcome the sudden wave of warmth seeping from your cunt.

His hands were so perfect you wanted to cry. They stroked just right, hitting the right places not too hard or too fast, even in the rushed state. You moaned out praise, grinding onto his thumb. Steven nipped giddily at your ear, basking in the attention.

"Please," he rasped, pinching your clit. You sobbed into his shoulder, back thumping against the bookcase. He did it again, firmer. A final stab of golden heat into your core and you were gone. Cool wetness gushed onto his hand, pooling around his palm and dripping onto his shoes.

Steven hunched to catch your quaking legs, clumsily cramming his fingers into his mouth. He sucked and whined, humping into your hip. His cock was so hard it hurt; rubbing enthusiastically against his jeans. You could sense his urgency even in your blissed out state, and helped pull his length free. He gave an appreciative sigh as you slipped onto him, shuddering from relief.

"Thank you," he cried, and you petted his hair.

"Such g-good manners," you said sweetly, hissing as he bumped up the pace. Warmth enveloped your breasts when he latched onto your chest. His grip would leave bruises with how hard his was ramming you up and down on his cock, each thrust sending a licking heat up your legs.

You knew you weren't going to crest the peak again; this was all for him. As he furiously chased his high, length stroking hard and fast against your messy folds, you pressed as many sloppy kisses as you could to his face and neck. There was a ticklish spot beneath his ear, one that brought him to his knees.

You exploited this power greedily, sucking and nipping like your life depended on it. Steven howled and sank to the floor, turning your onto your stomach and slamming his hips forward. Your lungs tightened, making your choke. The cold floor stung your aching nipples and sent shivers across your bare stomach. He mumbled apologies, plastering himself on top of you to continue.

He was too excited. His thrusts too sharp, too hard. He was shoving the both of you up against the wall, a long, continuous moan tearing from his throat. oh oh oh ohohohokayokay oh-

Steven stuttered and whined, arching his back to feel your folds suck him deep, the gummy tension twisting perfectly around his sensitive length.

"'S great, love, really, oh it's so-"

You cut him off with a soothing hush, redirecting his focus to finishing. Steven thrust once, twice before he was through, tremors rocking his core as he pumped sticky seed all over you. He'd slipped out in his vigor, making a mess of the floor. His plush bottom lip was bleeding from the how forcefully he was trying to restrict the sounds.

He calmed with a few stuttered moans, still sucking your essence off his fingers. It pleased you to see him like this - finally taking what he wanted. You could work on boundaries later; his confidence was shining.

While you struggled to pull your slacks back up, he murmured an apology and reached out to help. You sat back and breathed, wiping the sweat from your cheeks.

"No- pull them up, Steven-" you scolded, realizing your pants were further towards your ankles than where they'd started. He giggled, playfully evading your defensive maneuvers. You tried to tug him away by the curls, but he got his wish, licking happily at your petals.

"Just cleaning up," he mumbled into your cunt, kissing your pearl delicately. You flinched, whimpering. He clicked his tongue, rubbing circles into your thighs. "I'll be gentle, don't worry."

The soft, warm strength of his tongue brought a smaller orgasm to light. It wasn't shattering - just a nice, lulling finale to the frantic coupling of earlier. You let the tide sweep you under, melting fully into his embrace. Steven smacked his lips, finally coming up for air.

He looked to you for assurance and you smiled, kissing his cheek. His brown eyes sparkled at you from the floor. Still coming down from the intense session, you stroked his cheek, hands shaking. Tomorrow you'd be wonderfully sore, but he could make up for it later.

tags! comment to join xox

@krakenkitty @ominoose @bulletgoth @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @justsomeonecalledemma @iolaussharpe-24 @rosegnome @twwcs @heeheehoohoofictimr @steven-grants-world @ael-xander

[hotluncheddie]

high masking autistic steve snippet - a follow on from this and this

wc: 2.5k | rated: T | cw: none | tags: autistic steve harrington (and eddie but again this is about steve), hurt/comfort, established relationship, stimming

ao3

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Steve is spending the evening doing one of his new things. Where he takes time to just be. It’s recovering, or Stevie time, or whatever Eddie and Robin have decided it should be called. 

He’s alone basically, and it’s nice, because he’s letting it be nice. Letting it be restful. 

It’s for when he’s had a meltdown. Or can feel one coming on, because now he’s starting to recognise what overstimulation feels like on his skin. How it prickles at the back of his neck if his breaks cut short, makes his vision vignette if something too unexpected happens. 

Learned that after something like that he’ll need to rest. Needs time. 

And it’s not lazy. It’s not. (Sometimes it still feels like it is.) (Weak…that word always plays in the deep, scathing tone of his father’s voice…and selfish.)  

He’s on the couch, it’s dark, he actually feels really comfortable, and he’s watching The Breakfast Club. Watching it again. It’s his favourite, it feels like his. But he doesn’t like watching it with other people because they might notice how much he likes it and he doesn’t want that. Can’t be seen like that.. Embarrassing. 

So he watches it alone, when he gets home from work. He pauses whenever he wants, rewinds, pauses. Takes a deep breath, rewinds, pauses, stares into space. 

He also pauses to eat the snack he brought in. Actually tasting the food bc it’s the only thing he has to focus on. No lights, no sounds. He forgot how much he likes oranges when they’re ripe. Harder to taste if he has to listen at the same time. So, on a day like today, he lets himself do stuff one step at a time. 

It’ll probably take him double the normal run time to get all the way to the end. But who cares? It’s his time. 

The weird girl’s parents driving off; that feels like him. The jock’s Dad letting him off easy; that doesn’t feel like him. ‘No schools gonna give a scholarship to a discipline case.’ Maybe that does feel like him. Before through. A long time ago now. 

He claps sometimes. Keening high in his throat, a little happy hum that he only lets himself do when he’s alone like this. He does it after he whistles the same tune they do. And during the scene of them running around the corridors. It’s exiting. Makes his lips stretch wide and his feet flap around. He claps. Once. Twice. It feels good. 

He laughs at the characters. How they merge together with bits of his friends. He feels that swell of happy sad emotion looking at the jock when he first comes in, acting above the others, only seeing Molly Ringwald. He lives through a couple flashbacks of himself. Resigns to actually watch them, sit in them, begins to process who he was. Who he’s becoming now. Something like forgiveness tasting sweet on his tongue. He cries a little; that swelling and shifting as buried emotion finally passes. It overcomes him sometimes when he lets his mind relax.. He rewinds, and he laughs. 

“Stevie?”

Steve starts, fingers tangle in the blanket in his lap. Brain slow to process the change, the information. Eddie slipping through the door and coming over to him. Eddie dipping to look at Steve’s face, trying to catch Steve’s eye. Eddie smelling like cigarettes and crisp autumn air, it’s nice, but, it’s a lot. Panic sits bubbling somewhere in him. He wasn’t expecting this. 

“…Eddie?”

“Hey sweetheart. I know you had a shitty day, but Wayne’s at home with a headache and he needs to sleep it off. Wouldn’t’ve been able to stay quiet enough for him.”

Steve breaths in and out a little quickly. Eyes wide. 

Maybe it’s okay. Eddie knows he had a bad day. Maybe it’s okay.

“I’ll sit in the kitchen, work on my campaign, just forget I’m here.” Eddie speaks quietly, almost a whisper. 

He stares at his hand in his lap. “..You won’t, listen?” Steve feels small. Knows he’s not, his frame broad and strong. But, he needs small. Wants his world small tonight, slow. Wants to stay hidden. Him and the couch and the film and nothing else. 

Eddie just shakes his walkman and smiles (in that pointy way that makes Steve’s toes curl). 

“Kay” Steve whispers, still wary, off kilter. But accepts the kiss Eddie drops on his head, tangling their fingers together for a breath. Steve leans forward for a kiss on the lips. It’s deep, and lovely. Steve can smell Eddie’s cologne. Feels where the chill bit at Eddie’s nose. He shivers.

“No cooking.” Steve mumbles while their lips are still close. Small smile pulling at his face, eyes sharp, waiting for Eddie to get it. 

Eddie groans quietly in embarrassment but his eyes are soft and molten and Steve’s toes curl up again. “Course not baby, not again. Once you’re hungry just come through, yeah? Make us something nice.”

And the light of the kitchen doesn’t reach the couch. And Eddie listens to his walkman loud. And Steve’s safe. It’s Eddie. He’s not listening. Steve’s safe. 

His favourite scene; Bender and Claire in the stock cupboard. The way he looks so shocked, the way she bites her lip. ‘Why’d you do that?’ ‘Because I knew you wouldn’t.’ Steve whispers as they do. Claps. It’s such a good scene. He’s exited. He claps again. Rewinds to just watch her face. Rewinds to just watch his. Rewinds and watches the whole scene again. Wraps his arms around his middle and squeezes. Pauses on the kiss. He rubs his fingers agains his mouth. Giddy excitement bubbles in his belly. He hums high and happy again. He loves this movie. 

The weird girl gets a makeover, the jock really likes it. He feels like the weird girl sometimes, maybe Eddie can be his jock. Maybe he should get a makeover. Maybe keep growing out his hair. Maybe Eddie would like that. 

The credits roll. Bender’s fist in the air. Steve drifts on the couch, eyes closed. He breaths deep, his stomach growls. 

He pads through to Eddie. Squinting. Too bright. “D’you mind?” He motions to the lights, his eyes too adjusted to the dark and he doesn’t even wanna try and adjust them back. 

‘‘Cause. What we making?” 

Steve hums, goes into the pantry to see what’s easy. Eddie slips in behind him, hand on his waist. “Pasta?” Steve asks but Eddie doesn’t reply, just turns him gently. Nudging him to step back into the corner. 

Eddie looks at him, dips forward to place a slow kiss on his neck. “Why’d you do tha..’ Steve’s words dry up in his throat. 

“Because I knew you wouldn’t” and Eddie’s eyes are sparking with glee.

Eddie heard him.

He listened.

Steve’s feels himself flush hot, embarrassed and ashamed. “Ah, I, uh.” He can’t explain it, why he had to watch it so many times, why it makes him so exited. He crosses his arms over his chest. Turns back to the shelves of food and picks a can at random. Shoving out of the room. 

“Steve?”

Eddie said he wouldn’t. He listened in on him. He said he wouldn’t. He’s making fun of him. Steve knew he should’ve told Eddie to go home. 

“Stevie? What’s wrong?” But Steve doesn’t want to talk to him. He’s so angry, So ashamed, of himself. What if Eddie heard him clap too, heard him make that high noise, like a fucking baby, like some freak. 

He puts the can on the counter with way too much force, corn, not what he fucking wanted. His hands are shaking. He stares at them, wills his tears to stay behind his lash line. He got too comfortable, he can’t do that. Why is it so hard to pretend now, when it used to be so easy. 

“Steve, tell me what I did, please.” 

“‘M fine” Steve’s insides feel too big, pushing against his skin, itchy all over. He squeezes himself around his middle again, digging his fingers in hard. 

“Don’t do that, you know I hate when you bullshit like that.” Half lovely, half scathing.

The word stinks, a stab to the gut. But Steve gets it, he does, they talked about it. He bites his lip, hard. 

Its old habits or whatever. Because Steve, he loved fine. Liked sinking his teeth into it; toxic waste green coating his mouth and lungs. Thick and delicious. Because fine gets you out of it. Fine gives you translucency. Controlled balance. Everything appearing a none issue, the perfect in-between. Steve was perfect at coming off as something to not worry about, someone to be ignored. It used to work in all situations; can’t get told off if you’re fine, cant do anything wrong, teachers didn’t look twice, his parents wouldn't shout. By staying half alive, never letting anyone too close, never filling your lungs up all the way. That was the fine Steve adored. 

“You were literally just watching a movie. I dunno what the big deal is.” and there’s frustration, confusion, in Eddie, Steve thinks. He feels himself tense up, glance over.

Eddie must see something on his face. See that scared little animal prowling around within him. Because Eddie softens, his voice gentle. “Steve.. it’s nothing I hadn’t heard before.’ And Steve’s teeth clamp together with a click. He’s done that, his clap and his high hum, in front of Eddie before? Steve tries to swallow, he can’t, a lump too big and sticky in his throat.

He can’t look him in the face, angry tears still threatening to spill “You said you wouldn’t listen.” He’s mumbling. He sounds even more like a kid. Stupid. Grow up.

“I heard a little but I was just flipping the tape over, I wasn’t trying to snoop on you Stevie… You just, you sounded happy.” 

Steve huffs. Glances at Eddie. That soft underbelly of his whining, because with Eddie, Steve yearns. Yearns for close. Yearns to be seen, and understood.

“You didn’t mean to?” 

“No, it was just when I was turning the tape.” 

Steve forces a deep breath. 

“You think I’m weird. You hate me.” He whispers it like it’s true. A big part of him believes it, his tears welling up. Feels rejected. Knows that feeling too well. Hates it. 

“Always like you Steve. Always.”

Steve grunts, a tear slips out, rolls down his cheek.

“‘M embarrassed” comes out like an ugly sob. Steve scrubs his palms on his cheeks, feeling how red hot they are. Glaring at the countertop. “I’m embarrassed!” But it’s just Eddie. It was just Eddie.

Eddie comes over, slowly draping himself over Steve’s back. “Nothin' to be embarrassed about, love.” And Eddie leaves soft kisses on Steve’s neck, squeezes his waist. “You looked cute on the couch like that. Like it when you’re happy.” Steve tries taking another deep breath but it shudders. 

Embarrassed, angry, sad. Embarrassed, confused, angry. Frustrated, embarrassed. Tired. 

Emotions wash over him. He’s learning to try and just feel them, name them, pick them apart. Some bubble back up to the surface, some only needed to be seen once. 

Steve turns to bury his face in Eddie’s neck. He sighs, rubs his face into Eddie’s warm skin. shaking his head, likes how his lips feel moving against edie’s soft parts. 

Tired, hungry, embarrassed, hungry. 

“’M tired. I dunno what to eat.” He whispers, and then because he said it it’s like there’s space in his brain. “Want pasta.” 

“Pasta it is then. And then we can sleep, yeah?” Eddie rocks them gently side to side, kisses the side of his head and slips away. Goes to get the box from the pantry, puts the corn back. Steve gets a pot out of the cupboard. 

Staring into the water, the tips of his fingers prickle. Steve fizzes with energy and emotion. All pent up and annoying him. Needs it out. He clicks the flame on.  

He starts pacing around the kitchen island. In big striding, stomping steps. “Ugh! You think I’m weird. Some weird guy who acts weird and does weird shit.” Steve grumbles. Annoyed. He smacks his palm quick and hard against the counter top. Keeps stomping. 

Eddie comes back and starts following. Stomping and prancing like some court jester. “I like that you’re weird! You know, I have one episode of the Twilight Zone taped. It’s my third one. I watched the other two so much the tapes broke.’ Steve lets a little shout slip from him “Ha!” bubbly and forceful. Dislodging something within him. Like when a tooth finally falls out. 

Feels good. 

“I only like one brand of spaghetti hoops. Wayne once bought me a multipack for Christmas. Best fucking gift I ever got.” and Steve’s laughing now. Giggling and manic and still stomping around the island.

“I like how it feels to brush my teeth. I’ve never had a filling. I fucking love brushing my teeth, Eddie.” and that makes Eddie laugh now too. Two freaks stomping around the kitchen. A king and his jester, lit up by moonlight. 

Steve turns the corner and stops short, still giggling. Eddies bent at one knee, presenting the box of pasta to him. “My liege.” 

Steve claps, hums, high and keening. The waters boiling. 

-

“How’d you feel now?’ Eddie asks around a mouthful of cheesy pasta. 

Steve curls up tighter into the corner of couch, wraps both hands around the warm bowl. Glances at Eddie across from him. “Still kinda embarrassed.”

Eddie looks so soft, so kind, across from him. “I’m embarrassed too, to be honest. You love that movie, I thought you’d like me doing that. Kinda like when we, when we kissed upside-down, like I was Spider-man” Eddies sentence get quieter towards the end, mumbly, spoked into his bowl, cheeks dusted pink.

Steve strains to hear him. Smiles once he puts the words together. 

He shovels pasta in his mouth. Eyes closed. “You are so annoying Eddie Munson. Why’d you even come here tonight, you coulda gone anywhere.” Steve sinks further into the couch, it’s really good pasta.

“Missed you.” Eddie says it like it’s simple, easy, and warmth drips over Steve’s skin. 

Eddie clears his throat, Steve feels him fidget. “Wanna maybe.. You think we could live together one day? Want you to be able to do whatever you want with me around Steve. Breakfast Club on all the time at our place, kay?” And Steve’s throat constricts, that’s a big change, living with someone, moving out. But maybe with Eddie it could be okay, if they did it together, slow. 

“Yeah, kay. One day.” Softly, bit by bit. Little bits. Steve can get there. Let Eddie in, let Eddie see. “But no to Breakfast Club on all the time.” Because some times, some days, some things, are just for him. Steve needs it that way. And that’s okay. 

He stretches out further on the couch, feeling syrupy and nice, easy smile playing at his lips. “I like it when you kiss my neck though, you can do that again.” And that makes Eddie grin all pointy, put their bowls to the side and crawl over him. 

Steve’s toes curl and he hums, high and happy. 

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tagging those who asked mwah! @2jug2head @lil-gremlin-things

but also people who i think might be interested (sorry if ur not lmk and i won't again) @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @pearynice @steventhusiast @sugarcookiesteve @spectrum-spectre @irethsune

[kybercrystals94]

As Luck Would Have It

Read here on Ao3!

Whumptober 2024 - Day 17 - Prompt: "We had a good run."

Rated: G | Words: 784

“Hey! Who threw my lucky blacks in the trash bin!” 

Echo sighs. He thought he had buried those things deep enough Wrecker wouldn’t notice. “Why are you digging through the bin?” 

Wrecker holds the undersuit close to his chest like they are his most precious possession. “You threw them away? Why?” 

“It’s a scientific wonder those things haven’t simply disintegrated,” Tech says, not looking up from his latest project taking up the barrack’s table. “Let them go, Wrecker.”

 “No, they’re fine!” Wrecker shakes out the garment before lovingly wadding them up in a ball. 

“Are you kriffing serious?” Echo asks, appalled. He begins counting on his fingers, using his scomp to point at each digit for emphasis. “They’re threadbare. They’re covered in holes. They smell like something crawled into them, died, and decomposed.” That last point counted for three. 

Tech chuckles. “That is an apt description.” 

“If I washed them, it would wash the luck off,” Wrecker says as if it is the most obvious thing in the world. 

“You haven’t washed them?” Echo cries. “Wrecker! That has to be a healthcode violation!” 

 Wrecker shoves the wad of cloth in his crate, and kicks the box under his bed. “What does it matter to you?” he asks. “They aren’t hurting anyone.” 

“The smell brings literal tears to my eyes!” Echo argues.

Wrecker smiles. “Not my fault you’re so sensitive.” 

Echo rolls his eyes. Obviously, this is an argument he is not going to win. 

**

Crosshair puts a hand over his nose. “Ugh, what is that vile smell?” 

 “Aw, shut up, Cross, they’re not that bad,” Wrecker says, pulling his offensive blacks from his pack. 

“They smell worse than they’ve ever smelled! What did you do to them?” 

Wrecker scowls. “Echo tried throwing them away, so I had to hide them. They never got a chance to air out.” 

“Kriff, you had one job, Echo,” Crosshair gripes. 

“He literally dug them out of the trash,” Echo grumbles, putting his helmet on and making sure the filter is on. 

“I don’t go around throwing away your guys’ stuff,” Wrecker grumbles. 

“Tell you what,” Crosshair says. “If I ever become insane enough to have something that disgusting, you have permission to burn it.”

Wrecker mutters something rude in Huttese, and begins to try untangling the limbs of the undersuit from their wadded mass. As he works at a particularly difficult knot, there is a loud ripping sound. Wrecker gasps. “Oh, no!” 

“You can’t honestly be surprised,” Crosshair deadpans. “Those threads were held together by filth alone.” 

“No, no, you don’t understand. I need these!” Wrecker cries, and Echo is stunned to realize that the giant is actually crying. 

If the startled look on Crosshair’s face is anything to go by, the sniper is just as surprised. 

Wrecker drops down into one of the crash seats, cradling the torn blacks in his hands. “I was wearing these the day that detonation went wrong,” he says, voice thick. He reaches up and touches the scars on the side of his head. “Could’ve killed me, but it didn’t. Ever–” his voice breaks, and he starts again. “Ever since, whenever I feel nervous about a mission, I’d wear these blacks, and nothing bad would happen, or if it did, it would turn out okay, ya know?” 

The tearful confession leaves Echo feeling lousy for trying to throw the blacks away to begin with.

“Listen, Wrecker,” Crosshair says. “Those blacks can’t do kark.” 

Echo scowls at the sniper. He isn’t helping. At all. 

But the man isn’t finished. “But if they could,” he continues, “you wouldn’t have to wear the whole thing for them to work. Here, give them to me.” 

Wrecker hesitates, sniffs, but hands the ruined article over. 

Crosshair pulls out a short blade, finds the cuff off one sleeve, and cuts it off. He holds up the circle of fabric. “Wear this. It’ll work the same.” 

“How do you know?” Wrecker asks, taking the cuff and slipping it over his wrist. 

“Because I said so,” Crosshair says. “If you can decide that a pair of blacks is good luck, I can decide that one cuff is just as lucky. Besides, now you can wear it all the time without worrying about it falling off your body.” 

Wrecker gives Crosshair a wobbly smile. “Thanks, Cross.” 

“Don’t mention it,” Crosshair grunts. He holds out the remainder of the fabric. “Now get rid of these before the noxious fumes kill one of us.”

Wrecker takes them, stroking the mutilated threads. “We had a good run,” he tells them. 

Crosshair rolls his eyes, but there is no heat in the action.   

Echo grins under his helmet. He knew the man was soft. 

END

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[hearts4golbach]

Just Give Me a Reason. (Pt. 2.)

pairing:

Johnnie Guilbert x Pregnant!Fem!Reader.

a/n:

I've gotten many requests for a part 2 to this!

warnings:

none

hormones were kicking your ass today. you sat at the edge of your bed sobbing. you were so unsure of everything revolving around having a baby. although you knew Johnnie would be an amazing father, you feared you'd be a shitty mother. your face was red, and your eyes were puffy. you rubbed your eyes as you were sniffling and trying to calm yourself down.

you heard the front door unlock and open, and moments later, there were 2 knocks on your bedroom door. "Hi, love." Johnnie came in with a smile on his face. his expression dropped, turning into worry whenever he saw you crying. "y/n, what's wrong?"

he sat next to you on the bed. "What if i'm a terrible mother?" You looked down at your growing baby bump, rubbing it gently with one hand. "Our baby needs to have a good mom." You sniffled and looked at Johnnie.

"Listen to me. you're going to be the best fucking mother in the world, okay? i know this baby will never think any different." he rubbed your back. his eyebrows were furrowed with worry and his eyes glistened.

"are you sure?" you wiped your eyes. Johnnie always knew how to calm you down.

he took your hand. "I'm more than sure. are you gonna sit here and cry or are we going to go shopping so our baby has the best room ever?"

a small smile grew on your face. "really? you wanna go shopping with me? i wasn't sure if you'd be down for that."

he rolled his eyes. "oh my god, y/n. im way more than down for that."

you wiped the tears from your eyes. you jumped out of bed and slipped your shoes on. you practically ran out to the car. Well, not so much ran, but I'm sure you can picture that. Johnnie followed not far behind you.

since you told him you were pregnant, Johnnie worked on getting his license and finally got it. he hopped into the drivers seat and started the car. "have you been thinking of baby names, mama?"

"no, I was actually going to talk about it with you. honestly, I have no idea. whether it's a boy or girl, my mind is straight TV static." you admitted as you buckled your seat belt.

"talk about it later? I have no clue, either. I was kind of hoping you would."

you held his hand. "yeah, later. Tara has basically been spamming me with baby names."

To no surprise, your pregnancy was a surprise to Jake and Tara. especially whenever they found out Johnnie was the father. nonetheless, they were excited. Tara wanted to help plan a baby shower, but you wanted to keep the babies gender within family and the 4 of you. 5, including carrington. she complied, even though she was slightly disappointed in your decision.  Jake was especially over the moon for Johnnie, who had expressed he wanted a family before you two even met.

Johnnie squeezed your hand. "maybe we can look through those, I guess." he laughed.

the upcoming month would be your next doctors appointment, in which you'd find out the baby's gender. Johnnie tagged along to all of your appointments, but couldn't contain his excitement over this one.

Johnnie parked as close to Target as he could. he opened the passenger door for you. with one hand on your stomach and the other one interlocked with his, you walked into Target.

"im going to get one of those cringe shirts that says 'father of the year' and wear it everywhere. to parties, too." he laughed.

"Oh my god, you wouldn't do that. especially to parties." You rolled your eyes at his dumb comment.

"Watch me." he squeezed your hand again.

a black crib with speckled blue, red, and yellow paint caught your eye. you nearly cried. It was the cutest thing you had ever seen. you pointed at it. "that's cute as fuck! do you think the baby would like it?" You eyed the price, which wasn't half bad, before facing Johnnie.

his face lit up whenever he saw it. "I think they would love it." he ran his fingers along the fake wood of the crib.

"I'll just order it whenever we get home. I do not feel like helping you carry that shit inside, no offense." You groaned, looking at all of the adorable baby clothing options. "I can't wait until we can shop for their clothes." You rubbed your belly with your hand gently. you were showing before, but it was starting to become prominent.

he agreed before pointing out a dark blue rug. "That's cute. it'd match the crib."

"it is! we should get it."

Johnnie agreed with you before grabbing the small rug and tossing it in the basket. you planned to lay it in front of the crib, purely for the aesthetic.

"I don't think we need all that fancy shit, like a changing table, don't you think?" you asked Johnnie as you wandered the aisles.

he shook his head, "Nah. I never had a changing table. I mean, I don't think."

"Yeah, me either. I didn't know what one was until I took that one class in high school. you know, the one where you carry around fake babies for a week?"

"Yeah. thank God I never took that class." he joked.

you stumbled across a black, mini rocking chair. it was cheap, for what it was, and easy to carry. "Awe." You cooed as you pointed it out. "I mean, unnecessary but cute decor."

"I was thinking the same thing."

"Yeah, let's get a chair they can't use for a while but not a changing table." you said sarcastically as you put it in the cart.

he giggled. "who gives a fuck? it's our baby."

you nodded your head. "True." johnnie kissed your forehead before returning to pushing the cart.

only a few days prior, you and Johnnie had called his mom to break the news. she freaked out in a good way, of course. although she thought he was a little young, she was happy that both of you were. she congratulated you and asked how you were doing, and the two of you talked through Johnnies phone about him for 30 minutes. Johnnie listened, clearly embarrassed as she told you embarrassing stories of him when he was a child. those stories made you all the more excited to have your mini Johnnie running around.

no other items peaked your interest nor Johnnies. you happily made your way to the checkout without a care in the world.

with only two items, check out was quick, and you made it back to the car. "y/n," Johnnie spoke up as he shut the driver door. "You're going to be an amazing mother."

[chimindity]

Safe in your dad's arms

summary | john b's daughter is having a breakdown after getting back home from work. request by @/anon

pairing | John B & daughter!reader

warning | fluff!

A/N | john b icon by @marvelfanfics1 ; i'm so sorry this is quite short☹️

꒰ა ˚₊ ✧・┈・╴﹕꒰ ᐢ｡- ༝ -｡ᐢ ꒱﹕╴・┈・𐑺 ‧₊˚໒꒱

john b knows your environment at work is a little bit toxic; however, you try not to pay attention to it and seriously focus on working. even if sometimes it is hard when those girls come to you and start belittling you, it means nothing at first. but as their belittling happens daily, you can't deal with it anymore. you couldn't wait to go back home and immediately slip into your bed. your dad knew something was up when you went to bed right after coming back home.

but today was the last straw. as soon as you open the front door, your bag slips off your shoulders, hitting the floor. john b quickly goes to check on you and sees you standing in the doorway, mascara smudged all over your cheeks. he feels his heart drop at the thought of something bad happening to you. his hands go to cup your face. “sweetheart, what's going on? hey—i'm here.” he looks at you, whereas you try to cover your teary, puffy eyes. you break down and wrap your arms around his neck, crying your heart out as you snuggle into his neck.

he hushes you by rubbing your back, knowing it used to soothe you whenever you cried. “i can't do it anymore; i want to quit my job,” you stutter through tears, having had enough of everything. he feels bad that he couldn't do anything about it. “shh, dad's got you, bubba.” he leads you into the living room, sitting you down on the couch. he helps you remove your coat as you keep sobbing.

he then unties and removes your shoes, placing them at the front door, and goes back to sit on the couch beside you. “i'm so tired, dad. they are all mean at work,” your sobs cut you off. he purses his lips and brings his thumbs to your face, gently wiping away your tears. “you are not going to work tomorrow. i know how you feel, and there is nothing worse than working in a toxic environment.” he leaves a kiss on your forehead and pulls you into his embrace.

you feel listened to and safe with your dad; he always has the right words you need. you lay your head on his shoulder as you try to catch your breath, fidgeting with his fingers to soothe you. “i'm sorry, dad,” you whisper, feeling bad for being a failure. he furrows his brows when he hears what you said, looks down at you, and says, “i forbid you to apologize for nothing; your coworkers should be the ones apologizing to you.” he brings his hand to your hair and gently runs his fingers through it. you can't help but smile at his serious tone. “thank you, dad,” you mumble, eventually being able to feel some type of peace.

taglist

@mirellef2001 ; @flora-eva ; @jjsfavgirl ; @nemesyaaa ; @mrvlxgrl ; @marvelfanfics1 ; @jjmaybankssurfergf ; @mylettterstoyou ; @sweetstars-posts ; @hallecarey1

[barkrry]

you remember when...? - masterlist // walk through fire for you It wasn’t unusual for YN to turn up at the Styles house out of the blue, it was basically her second home. Whether Harry was there or not, she was let in to hang out with the rest of his family.

This time wasn’t any different, though she did turn up looking a bit upset. Anne didn’t question it too much, allowing her in and calling Harry from his room.

“Are you okay, sweetheart?” Anne asked, gently stroking her cheek after she had removed her shoes and jacket. She didn’t know what had upset the young teen, but she was always happy to listen whenever possible. Even if she was just complaining about her son.

“Y-yeah,” YN breathed out, her eyes falling on Harry on the stairs behind her. “Hi,” she whispered to him, as fresh tears were leaking out of her eyes. And he was quickly rushing down the last of the steps to hug her against his body.

“Hey, what’s wrong? Baby,” he whispered in her ear, rubbing her back as he tried to be as supportive as possible. He may not know what had his girlfriend in tears, but he would do anything to bring back her smile.

“Can we- can we talk in- your room?” She managed to get out, lifting her head from his shoulder. Her face wet as she sucked on her bottom lip, and he was quickly nodding his head without a second thought. His hand slipping into hers and gently taking her upstairs to his room. She had been in here many times before, if they weren’t here, then they were at her own place. But Anne gave them more privacy than her own mother, so it was common they ended up here. Harry was pulling back his duvet, crawling into the bed and opening his arms for her. And she had zero hesitation as she was crawling into his bed and cuddled up to him.

“What’s wrong, flower?” He whispered to her, his fingers gently stroking through her hair as he leaned against his headboard.

“You remember- remember when my parents were away for that night, and- and you lied to your mum about sleeping over- at- at Jake’s?”

“And I was actually at yours,” he added, frowning a little as he looked down at her. “I couldn’t forget that night, you know that.”

Of course he couldn’t forget, it was the first time they had sex. They had lost their virginities to each other, and he would never ever forget that night for that reason. There had been so much love in the room, and it had been more magical than he could have ever predicted.

“Harry, I’m pregnant,” she announced to him, her voice flat. Her fingers curled into the hoodie he wore, but she didn’t dare tilt her head to catch his reaction. She didn’t want to see it.

They were 16, freshly turned. Their GCSE’s were soon, and this was the last thing they ever dreamed about having to worry about. They were definitely not ready to be parents, they were still kids themselves.

“Y-you’re- how sure?” Harry stuttered, though his hand hadn’t stopped caressing through her hair. YN raised her eyes slightly to meet his, though her vision was blurred from the amount of tears being held there. “Oh— fuck— baby,” he breathed out, cradling her head and holding her against his body, his own face screwing up slightly. Hearing her scared sobs against his neck had his heart breaking, and he had no idea on how to fix this.

The couple laid there for a while, as YN let out all of her tears and Harry held his own back. It’s not that he didn’t cry, or he didn’t want to. He just wanted to focus on his flower for now, and deal with his own emotions once things were sorted

An hour later, YN had cried herself to sleep, and Harry was carefully laying her down against his pillow. It wasn’t the first time they had ended up asleep in his bed, and he was sure it wouldn’t be the last. Anne didn’t seem to mind, she knew they would be safe. And as much as he wanted to join her, he knew she would be extremely dehydrated when she woke up.

Making the trek down to the kitchen, his hoodie still damp with the tears of his girlfriend as he was opening the fridge door. Movement behind him followed by footsteps on the staircase suggested to him that Gemma was leaving him and his mum alone. To talk.

“Is YN alright? Fight with her family?” Anne asked, leaning against the sink with her arms folded against her chest, concern clear as day on her expression.

It wasn’t that YN had a poor relationship with her family, but it was known that she would butt heads with her mum more often than not. Usually when it came to that time of the month, where all their cycles were synced and it was just hormones going out of control. Anne was more than aware of these, being a shoulder to cry on for the young girl many times.

“N—no, not her family,” Harry said, sounding dismissive as he was taking out his water bottle. Hanging on the door as he searched for a suitable snack for when his girlfriend woke up.

“H, she was— I’ve never heard her cry like that, is she okay?” And honestly, that alone had Harry’s heart doing flips. He loved that his mother cared for his girlfriend so much, that she had been accepted into the family though they were only young and in love, as YN’s own parents would say.

“She’s—“ Harry shut the fridge door, biting down on his lip as he glanced at his mother. He wasn’t sure if he should say anything, he knew his mother would never be outwardly mad at him or YN. Not to their faces. “We had sex.”

The way Harry had delivered the line, it was perfectly deadpan. And it had left Anne a little stunned, as she was definitely not expecting that response from her youngest at all. Of course, she knew they had been experimenting a little, and that’s why she gave them the space they needed. If they didn’t do it in the comfort of one of their houses, they’d be doing it somewhere they could end up arrested. And she had spoken to Harry about using condoms, and even supplied him with some the same day.

“Okay, and— does she regret it, or, feel like she didn’t… perform?” Anne asked him, trying to understand why her sons girlfriend would be crying because of sex.

“No— well— okay, she probably does regret it, but not for—“ he huffed, his fingers curling in his brown curls, tilting his head back and squeezing his eyes shut. “She’s pregnant, mum.”

And you could hear a penny drop. Harry’s head tilted slightly to see his mothers stunned reaction, as she tried her best to collect her thoughts.

“Did you—“

“We used a condom, I guess— maybe— it broke? Or?” He shrugged, leaning against the kitchen cupboards as he sighed. “Mum… I don’t know how to help her,” he breathed out defeatedly, shaking his head as he set the water bottle on the side. 

And then Harry crumbled, letting down the wall he was using to hold YN up. His mum quick to catch him, allowing him to sob into her arms this time.

When YN woke up, alone in her boyfriends bed, she was changing out of her hoodie and slipping on one of his. Loving the fact that his scent engulfed her the second she did, before she was making her way downstairs to find her lover.

In the kitchen, sat next to his mother at the breakfast table. Cup of tea in hand, mid sentence when the sound of the fridge opening caught their attention.

“Oh— fuck— I was supposed to bring up some water for you,” Harry confessed, looking guilty as he watched her pull out a fresh, cold water bottle and open it. Downing half of it instantly before she was shuffling her way over to him and his mum. “Feel better?” He mumbled, his arm wrapping around her shoulders as she pulled her seat close to his and snuggled up into his side.

Her head shook slightly, laying her head against his shoulder as she played with her water bottle. Sucking on her bottom lip, enjoying the feeling of his lips pressing against her hair.

“YN… Harry told me what’s going on,” Anne confessed, which had YN’s eyes snapping to meet hers in a panic. “No— don’t worry, okay? He had a bit of a cry, only telling me cause he didn’t know how to help you. And I’m not mad,” she explained, an encouraging smile on her face as she looked at the teen girl.

“You’re not?” She whispered, biting at her bottom lip as her fingers found their way into Harry’s hoodie pocket.

“Not at all. H explained what he thinks might have happened that night, and it’s probable the condom was faulty,” she said, nodding as her hands readjusted their grip on her mug. “The only thing that needs to be worked out is… what do you want to do?”

And YN kind of felt like a deer in headlights as both Anne and Harry were looking at her. And she definitely didn’t have an answer. Yet.

[astroyongie]

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Half Of My Heart ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

Read with this song: https://open.spotify.com/intl-pt/track/3KJFFP1U9SdJrYLk1f1jRa?si=24544cad174b44de

Warnings: Angst

Droplets of snow fell like ash from the night sky. December nights were always dark in Japan, the dim light from the street lamps proving just enough not to get lost. Tonight, it felt particularly cold and the coat around your shoulders wasn’t providing any warmth. You felt your fingers bruised from the cold breeze, but you couldn’t bulge from your spot, feet glued on the ground. A strange feeling of dryness recoiled inside your mouth as you felt your eyes becoming irritated from both the cold and the tears that threatened to leave. 

“You what?” you asked again, glaring at Niki who had not yet looked at you. 

The tip of his nose was reddish, his cheeks puffed from the scarf he wore around his neck. Snow collected itself on his blonde hair, but he didn’t brush it away. 

You and Niki have been dating for quite a while now. You had supported him all this time, even when his desires were to go to Korea and become an idol. As a good girlfriend, you had moved out to that foreigner country, supported him through thick and thin, cried with him whenever training was too hard, attended to his sore muscles after a hard day of practice.

So why? Why now?

You had pushed your dreams aside, giving up university to be able to support him since you knew that the idol industry was too fierce. Yes, you might have complained once or twice that you were often bored in Korea and that dating Niki was becoming hard as Enhypen was becoming more and more recognized. but you were also proud of him, and you wanted to walk down that path with him. That world was too dark, you couldn't let go of him when he needed you the most.

So why? Why now?

“We need to break up” He repeated this time, his voice louder. Niki’s eyes finally met yours, and you felt your heart shattering. What was he talking about? this didn't make sense. You had just come back to Japan with him to spend Christmas with your family, so why was he talking about breaking it off with you?

The same guy that had spent the entire day with you, making you feel special, buying you that cinema ticket from the movie you had been talking about for months.

“I don’t understand,” You said, feeling your voice shivering. “Is it something I have done?”

“No you haven’t done anything bad, y/n”

“Then why?” you asked the first tear rolling down your cheek “Why are you taking this decision if everything is okay?-- no, listen we can fix it and talk it out Niki. Whatever it is, let’s find a way, we can’t just–”

“I cannot stay being egoist.”

You looked at him, confusion overwhelming your senses. You shook your head, sniffing away the sadness as you walked toward him. He was growing distant, you wouldn’t allow him to slip from your fingers. Grabbing into his arms, his eyes were void as if he was trying to avoid you at all cost.

“What are you talking about?”

“Just let it go, y/n” Niki said, his voice growing annoyed as he pushed you away from the grasp you held. 

You fell silent. Looking at him, his skin was becoming redder and you couldn't tell if it was because he was angry or cold. You felt your lower lip trembling, the feeling of powerlessness crawling up your spine. 

“I don’t care that you are being egoistic if you keep me by your side,” the anger boiling in your stomach just couldn't stop. The thought of losing Niki was making you nauseous “I love you, I have sacrificed everything for you and now you are breaking up? in Christmas Eve? Fuck Niki, what the hell of a timing!” you yelled, painfully aware of how empty the streets looked and how the dim light did not allow you to see all the emotions running free on Niki’s face. 

“You don't understand.. you never have.”

“Is it the company?” You asked, too engrossed in your emotions to process his words “I am going to kick them in the face-”

“Stop y/n!” Niki said, his voice pleading this time. “We can't continue. You have said it yourself, you have sacrificed everything for me, how much do you have to sacrifice to realize that I am not giving you anything in return?”

“Niki–”

“Stop for a second and listen to me. The more you are with me, the more time you are wasting. Start doing something for yourself. Forget about me.”

Silence. 

You felt the realization hit you like a whip. Niki breaking up with you because he felt that you were giving him too much and not taking anything in return? It was absurd. It pissed you off. It made you angry. Everything you have done for him. For nothing.

“Fuck you Niki! Fuck you!

“Good” he said, a sad smile plastered on his face and you felt the tears running down out of rage, You couldn’t hate him even if you tried. He was repaying you, sacrificing what he loved in order for you to reach your dream. It was too cruel. “Half of my heart will always be with you. But I can't keep doing this. I am sorry”

You fell silent again, looking at him in disbelief. You wanted to kick him, to slap him, to tell him to give it a thought, but you knew Niki better than yourself. He wouldn't change his mind, not when his eyes shone this bright when he was looking at you. He was serious.

“I hate you, Niki. I really do right now”

You felt his arms surrounding your body. The warmth that you have been craving, overhauling your body as you felt shivers. A loud sob left your mouth, as you buried your face into his chest, clinging into his scent, into his body, into him.

“I will keep half of your heart” you said through sobs “I will wait, until you are ready to accept that half back.”

“thank you, y/n”

[pineappleciders]

(This is pretty embarrassing to ask but I’m a sad guy with sad feelings so) main omori characters(plus mari if you don’t count her)where they run in on reader trying to very quietly cry so nobody notices? You don’t have to add this but maybe reader cries harder when the character walks in - 🐗/evil twin

A/N: sorry it took so long evil twin i am a procrastinator . also sorey if sunny and basils parts suck i project my inability to comfort onto them. also projected my mommy issues during maris part ...

RW OMOGANG walking in on reader crying and trying to hide it

includes: SUNNY, AUBREY, KEL, HERO, BASIL, and MARI

SUNNY

when he first peeks in and sees the tears on your face, he definitely panicked

he's a little awkward so he might think about just quietly leaving, but he cares about you and can't just leave you like that

once you look up and notice him, his heart drops when you break out in a sob

he walks over to you and slowly sits down, hesitating to put his hand on your back. he's still kinda stiff and awkward though

he doesn't ask you to talk about it, he just sits there and waits for you to do your own thing. it doesn't matter if you just need a pat on the back or if you need to rant about something, he'll stay there for as long as you need

sunny has a hard time showing care, so the best he can do is listening and nodding his head. he is trying his best, and seeing as his love language is quality time, if you'd like you two go out for ice cream afterwards!!!

AUBREY

her immediate reaction is concern, and she thinks about slowly closing the door so you won't see her, but she'd feel far too guilty

she takes a few cautious steps in, gently calling your name and she kinda freaks out if you start to cry harder and hide your face

she's at your side, slowly sitting down on your bed and hovering her hand over yours before deciding against it and patting you on the back.

"hey, Y/N... what's wrong?"

her heart twinges with guilt when she sees you crying, despite not doing anything wrong. she tends to assume things are her fault!

she'll listen to you talk until you tire. aubrey really doesn't mind. she knows it all too well; the frustration of not being able to just rant and talk about yourself for once. she listens silently and slowly rubs your back as you speak through sobs

she's kinda scared to, but she ends up pulling you into a hug, burying her face in your neck.

"you don't have to hide it, y'know.. i'm here."

KEL

he waltzes into your room and stops in his tracks once he sees you crying.

"..Y/N?"

kel never likes seeing people cry. he's always been one to try and stay positive, but whenever someone else is upset or angry it always dampens his mood. he's such an empath

he'll step over to you, eyeing you carefully and playing with his fingers.

when you notice him and flinch a little, he flinches right back and waits for you to say something. but when all he's met with are sobs, he sits down next to you and immediately hugs you tightly.

it might've been more to comfort himself than you, as physical touch is sometimes a grounding method. i think seeing people emotional can get kel kind of..,,. disassociated??

he pulls away and looks at you in the eyes, asking what's wrong. he listens to you talk quietly, afraid that if he interrupts you might shut down and stop talking completely

he might try to crack more jokes the rest of the day, and definitely takes you out to gino's to get your favorite pizza and chat. he doesn't like seeinf anyone sad, especially not you!!!

HERO

hero lightly knocked on your door before letting himself in. usually, he was quite good at knocking, but every now and then he'd let the dad side of him slip and just lets himself into your room

it was mainly out of concern as to if you were okay, again another dad trait

you're in your bed, sniffling and breathing heavily, it goes almost unnoticed from outside the door.

"Y/N? what happened?" hero anxiously rushes to your bedside, and his heart shatters when you let out a loud sob when you see him

his first instinct is to engulf you in a hug, but he doesn't want to make you uncomfortable, so he settles for standing there awkwardly and not knowing what to do with his hands

he ends up sitting down on your bed, putting his feet up and scooting closer to you, putting an arm around your shoulder. "hey, hey, it's alright. i'm here."

if you want to talk to him about your feelings, he gladly listens, nodding and validating whatever you say with little 'yeah' and 'yup's

he makes u your favorite home-cooked meal afterwards to cheer you up, and lets you know you can always come to him for help. he also ruffles ur hair

BASIL

basil has a hard time with feelings. he feels so much of them, but they're so hard to get out and deal with.

he cracks the door open and pops his head in. "Y/N? you okay?"

he sees you curled up in your sheets in bed, and immediately grows concerned, opening the door wider.

"..Y/N?" he stands awkwardly at the door, fidgeting and trying to see your expression.

you look up and see him, and you quickly bury your face into your covers and cry harder. he grows panicked, and speed walks to your side, hesitating to sit down on the bed.

"oh, Y/N.. what.. what's wrong?" he inches closer, slowly taking your hand in his shaky one, rubbing it with his thumb.

basil is a great listener, and he hears you out intently on everything you have to say. he tries to speak comforting words, but they come out as somewhat robotic. he's trying. he truly means the words though!

basil gives you a quick, warm hug and pulls back, smiling softly. "do you want to see the others? they're outside." his friends always cheer him up, so he assumes it's the same for you

MARI

mari wants nothing more than to put a smile on everyones face. so when see walks in on you crying quietly, her sisterly instincts kick in

she rushes to your side and immediately sits on the bed, placing her hand over yours and speaking soothing words.

"hey, it's alright, Y/N. i'm right here." she rubs your hand with her thumb. "let's talk about it, yeah?"

she keeps her hand in yours when you speak, and shooshes you and coos if you start to sob or have a hard time speaking.

she reassures you, and gives you a little pep talk

"you're the strongest kid i know, Y/N. look at you, standing straight and tall after everything. be happy about how far you've come!"

she's incredibly understanding and does anything you want to do afterwards. bake cookies, have a picnic, hang out with your friends. she's very attentive, so she'll pay extra attention to make sure you're doing alright!

[oniikabuto]

general hcs ☆ south park

-- sfw --

characters: the main 4

a/n: it's literally midnight. i need to be up at 5am tomorrow. i'm writing about south park on tumblr.

synopsis: just headcanons of sp kids! their little quirks and habits and stuff

oh also aged up

...

— ⛧ e. cartman

has all of the really good snacks in his pantry

had a phase where he really wanted to be a garbage truck driver as a kid

listens to ariana grande and lady gaga

sings his heart out in the shower

refuses to admit it if you ever overheard him

weirdly sharp canines it makes him look like an evil little rodent

allergic to picking up after himself. there's literally a trail of shoes all the way up to his bedroom

never takes stuff out of his pockets before his mom washes his clothes but then gets pissed when his earbuds and stuff go through the wash

smells like baby soap

bites his pencils and they look horrendous

one time kenny asked to borrow a pencil and he threw it back almost immediately after feeling the bumpy chewed-up wood

thinks that menstrual products shouldn't be free because "can't they just hold it in??"

kyle will fight him about it

loves chocolate milk to death

— ⛧ k. mccormick

gappy teeth

but it looks cute on him

likes cds even though he doesn't have a cd player

always packs his lunch in the morning and karen's

there's little holes on the insides of his pockets and he has a habit of sticking his fingers through them and wiggling them without realizing

which make the holes bigger

keeps a porn magazine in his school backpack and leafs through it on the bus or in the library as if he's casually reading the news

sex jokes just SLIP out. he doesn't even think before he makes a sex joke.

his backpack is a mess and he uses the little pockets to store trash and edible wrappers and crumbs

has a disposable somewhere that he hits in the middle of class

kyle gives him a disapproving look when he stumbles into class high as balls

street smart but doesn't know how to do long division

favorite food is chicken nuggets with ranch

loves ranch (i fucking love ranch fight me)

will let you paint his nails

probably listens to tiktok music like mitski and radiohead and shit

also the smiths

— ⛧ k. broflovski

4.0 gpa all the way until that one A- in pe. junior year that dropped it to a 3.9

cried about it and sulked for weeks

stan almost left him because he got so sick of it (rockin that 2.9)

"dude it's not that big of a deal"

"MY LIFE IS OVER STAN YOU DONT GET IT"

keeps really organized notes- not just for him, but for the sake of his friends who take shitty notes

he has freckles idc if they said he's a daywalker HE HAS FRECKLES.

has a 10-step hair care routine every night

spends longer in the bathroom doing his hair care thing than his mother

spends 30 minutes every day watching tv with ike no matter what

gets violently competetive over kahoot

listens to the cure and elliot smith

keeps a different notebook for each class

— ⛧ s. marsh

always has at least one earbud in

sometimes when there's a lot on his mind, he gets very easily distracted

will step in the shower with his socks still on by accident

has a little crush on kyle (sorry style brainrot....)

used to read a lot as a kid, not really much anymore

unconciously messes with little papers or napkins in his pcokets and tears them to bits

gets like no sleep ever because he can't ever get off his phone or whatever he's doing long enough to try and get some sleep

still gets nauseous whenever he's near someone he has a crush on

terrible at articulating himself through text

if you want to show him a video or post, you would have to show him irl because he won't see the tag.

smoked weed once and decided it was overrated, but will sometimes get high if kenny asks or something.

loves vanilla flavored things even though it's basic

constantly has random change and wads of cash in his backpack because he's too lazy to stuff his things back into his wallet

[qvrcll]

𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐀𝐌𝐒 ༊·˚ — drabble.

cw: blood, gore + allusions to $uicide.

the second night in the barn was hard; the monster had nearly found home with ellie. the hour was late and tight and she had been tossing herself around the thick sheets since forever — there was no wind to soothe her. no tune. and the space once absorbed in both body and mind right next to her remained cold and dry. the sheets creased under her own weight. the crude, cold tears were encased behind flaxen eyes—the monster listened.

how many days till sunrise? how many days till peace?

her fingers feel irregular — the sheer force of abby’s bite had sent them clean off and the adrenaline had washed in aches of relief. but when she stumbled through the creaking door, the pain had flooded her tantamount. it barrelled any operative nerve. severed any pine of relief and the amputation had swollen with spasm and ache for a running week. she was lucky for her teeth and her blood — yet neither froze cold nor killed her. she watched the wind creep in that night, acrid taste of the monster on her tongue, execrating her survival—you should be dead.

how many words till they come true? how many faces till i see you?

there were recurring nightmares. she had carried them with ease — her hunt in seattle was accompanied by stalking shadows and noiseless silhouettes just beyond reach. they trod on her heels. kept her whole with jarring relief that no, i’m not dead. just going fucking crazy. and when she sat in the pool of her cohering blood and salt, threading through her clothes, she had let the ugly monster claw through and out her throat in an ugly, dry sob.

how many drops for my thirst? how many cloths for my wounds?

some days, ellie likes to sit on just that perfect ledge of wood that won’t splinter her ass. she’ll jitter and fiddle with her fingers — she’ll find fault in the scars littering her body. she’ll admonish the bruises, the blood and the missing parts. she won’t think of burying them for once, these misfortunes, because she, once, carried them with her. they were hers. a mark of her survival. of her failure. of her mercy. of the black loom of paint above her head whenever she cries into her arm. the etch and draw of her pocket knife when she thinks of death—of blood and a threadbare throat. when she quickly slips the object away to pocket the urge to go, go, go. because then, she’ll never stop until she goes.

“maybe you can teach me tomorrow?”

she remembers that perfect memory. the guitar scratches conformably against her fingers in the memory—joel smiles at the wooden object. his face is old, marked with white stray hairs in his beard and his hair is swept up. awkward. and yet, the memory is so, so beautiful. she’s smiling back, in the memory and it gives her hope. faith in the fact that she loved that man like she loved a father. her eyes are sullen with unshed, hot tears, twisting the memory around till she’s cold with grief and the monster threatens to latch to her throat again. her eyes glaze over.

how much more till you have all of me? how many more till i’ve lost all i see?

the day is darkening outside. the ledge creaks as she harks of it with a whimper—this piece of shit did give me a splinter.

how much more till it is the very last? of me? of us? of you?

the night howls.

the sky grows cold.

the monster stares. the monster jitters. the monster does not come.

© 2023 qvrcll ! do not repost any of my works on any platform.

[fallenasleepyetagain]

In My Care - Nightmare/Blue fic

Media: Undertale AUs/UTMV

Genres: Romance, hurt/comfort, betrayal, whump (technically?), human AU

Characters: King Nightmare, Blue, Dream, Cross, Horror, Ink (mentioned)

Pairing: Nightmare/Blue

CW/TW: Betrayal, broken bones, bones in general, violence mention

Word Count: 2616

"H..huh wha...I don't- What…What’s going on?" Blue slurred, his vision blurry as he looked up at Dream's face. He must've been in pain, but he couldn't feel it. Not yet.

The ground was cold, a striking contrast to Dream's warm hands that were placed on his face. Dream was stroking his head and saying something, but the ringing in his ears made it impossible to focus.

Whenever he tried to speak, Dream would put a finger to his mouth. Shushing him.

"Drea-Dream I don't- Please-"

"Shhh." Blue heard him, finally. His eyes lit up slightly, and his brain got less foggy. "God, shit, ok, good, you're with me now. Hey, hey..."

Dream kept his head up as he regained his energy, the guardian's hands running through his curly hair.

"It's going to be ok. You're going to be ok, I got you."

"What happened...?” His head was thrumming and pain began to creep up from his bottom half.

"We were fighting Nightmare plus his gang and some debris fell on you. It got you good, and knocked you out, but you're ok now."

Blue attempted to pull himself forward but he stopped just as quickly as he started. Pain shot through him, and he cried out, holding onto Dream as he was cradled.

"No no! Don't move. Your legs appear to be fine but the debris above you seems to be keeping your waist pinned down."

"Can-Can you help me?" Blue took a deep breath, his eyes slammed shut due to the hammering in his chest and the return of the ringing in his ears.

Dream stopped touching him to stand up. Averting his eyes.

"Dream? Can you...are you...?"

"Don't worry ok? I'll come for you, just be patient. Don't give up hope. This is all part of the plan."

"P-Plan? What plan? Please I…I don't understand."

Dream just shook his head. His eyes glanced up and he sighed, kneeling down and stroking Blue's cheek one more time.

"Nightmare is coming. He will take you with him."

"WHAT?!"

"SHHH!" Dream slammed his hand over Blue's mouth, "I know, I know ok?! I know that this seems terrible, but listen. It's...a necessary evil. Ink and I will come get you, ok? I promise. He won't even have the chance to hurt you."

The warmth of Dream's hands abandoned him as Blue's head was dropped. He lay on the cold ground, mind and heart whirling. Had Dream just...left him? To become Nightmare's captive?

He could barely believe it. He couldn't believe it at all! There had to be some rational explanation, some sort of reasoning behind Dream leaving him!

Something heavy pushed against the debris above him and he cried out before slamming his hands over his mouth.

Nightmare was right above him. Crushing him from above. He prayed to whatever god was up there that Nightmare would just leave him alone and Dream would come back, and everything could be normal and make sense.

"Well well well, what do we have here?" Nightmare's voice spoke from above him, cruelty dripping from every word. "A prize waiting to be claimed."

Shit!

A groan of pain rang out as Nightmare stepped down from the debris. The shifting of weight caused whatever was on top of Blue to be pushed into the ground, into his legs, even further.

Tears were forced from his eyes as he blinked. Pain shot through him like a barrage of bullets. Blue grit his teeth and avoided looking at Nightmare, eyes squeezed shut.

This proved to be worthless however, since Nightmare bent down and gently slipped his hand under Blue's chin. Nightmare was colder than Dream, and his hands were more forceful. Grabbing at his skin to make sure he didn't break free. Though, Blue preferred it to the cold ground.

"Aren't you just adorable?" Nightmare cooed, squeezing his cheeks. He whimpered as Nightmare did so, his body beginning to ache again. "I can't believe Dream just left you here. That was quite stupid of him.”

Nightmare leaned down closer, his lips nearly touching Blue's ear. "How does that make you feel, hm? Being abandoned by your only friend."

Blue hung his head down, and Nightmare clicked his tongue disapprovingly. He stood up and snapped his fingers, almost like he was calling a dog, "CROSS! HORROR! Here, now!"

It only took a few seconds for the biggest men in Nightmare's gang to get there. Horror and Cross looked down at him, concern and pity forming on their faces.

"Oh shit?! What happened to-" Cross tried to say.

"Lift the debris." Nightmare commanded, interrupting Cross's words.

The two got to work immediately. Blue inhaled deeply as the large debris was lifted. It was as if a mountain was lifted off of him, and he staggered to his feet.

Despite his own weight being significantly less than the large piece of cement on him, his legs began to scream. To burn. It shot up through his body, through his bones. Even his artificial ribs felt the stinging pain.

A cry left him as he collapsed to the hard ground once more, trembling.

Nightmare nudged his cheek with his shiny, black shoe. "Hm."

Cross attempted to go over, to help, to do something, anything! But Nightmare held up a hand. Slowly, he bent down and shifted Blue so he was on his back. With oddly precise movements, Nightmare poked and prodded at his legs, making careful notes on Blue's reactions.

"Careful," Nightmare spoke as Blue gripped onto his sleeve. "This suit is worth more than whatever hovel you, Dream, and Ink live in. If you ruin it, I assure you that you will be in debt for the rest of your mortal life."

The city was quiet at that point, with Horror wrangling up the other two members of Nightmare's gang. Blue's ragged breaths echoed along the street, as well as his his grunts of pain whenever Nightmare touched something that was especially tender.

"Cross, come." Cross stepped forward, being only a foot away from Blue.

"Shift to your left." Cross did as he was told. "Good. Don't move."

It took Cross a second to realize that Nightmare was using him as a shield from the sun. He scowled, but didn't move. At least he was being helpful.

"I fear you've got a break in your left ankle, my dear." Nightmare spoke softly, effortlessly lifting Blue up into his arms. Blue didn't struggle, going limp as Nightmare carried him off.

The adrenaline coursing through him had begun to wane, and the pain in his ankle, his legs, only got worse. He wanted out of Nightmare's arms, away from Nightmare entirely, and back to the safety of Dream's warm embrace, but he couldn't bring himself to fight. Not when he was in such agony.

Tears slipped from his eyes as he squeezed them shut, blocking out the sun and getting some dust out of his eyes. Nightmare's hand gently shifted to Blue's face, and with the flick of his finger, a tear was promptly removed from his face.

"Brace yourself." Nightmare spoke. Blue flinched as the squelching sound of Nightmare's tentacles being summoned entered his dining eardrums. He held his breath and tensed his body, preparing for the sudden change in environment.

How Dream, Error, Ink, or anyone else for that matter, hopped from universe to universe without issue was beyond him. It really wasn't fair. Universe jumping always shook his body, and he needed a minute or so to adjust.

The humidity was the first thing he noticed. It was staggering, how dry the city was compared to the outside of Nightmare's castle. He felt his clothes stick to his skin, and he grimaced at the feeling.

Mercy was shown to him though, as Nightmare entered the castle. Despite it being visibly old and weathered, it had decent cooling. Apparently the heating in the winter wasn't too great, according to Cross, but that was irrelevant considering it was the springtime.

Blue braced himself for the freezing dungeon and harsh conditions that he was often put in when he was kidnapped. Nightmare smirked at his astonishment when he was taken in the exact opposite direction of said dungeon.

Nightmare went up a large set of spiraled stairs with ease, taking caution to not let Blue's head or broken ankle hit the walls. The hallway was like every other: gothic and dark.

It was jarring to see what the medical area in the castle looked like. The big, wooden, medieval-style door opened up into a pristine and modern medical room. It looked like a studio apartment, but with medical supplies instead of furniture.

When they entered the room, Nightmare gently set Blue down on the bed. It was surprisingly comfortable for a hospital bed, and the coolness of it felt nice against his throbbing legs. Blue had been to his fair share of hospitals in his lifetime, and he had to begrudgingly admit that this was the most comfortable.

As he laid down on top of the white sheets, he kept his eyes on Nightmare as he walked a few paces away at the counter. The room was silent as Nightmare opened up the upper cabinets with his hands, his tentacles opening the ones closer to the ground.

"What are you doing?"

The two tentacles protruding from his back hovered by his shoulders, holding what seemed to be gauze and a pill bottle of some kind. Blue couldn't see what was in his hands from his current angle.

"I can't put a cast on your leg immediately, especially without a proper x-Ray scan. However, I do know the general idea of where your break is, so I can stop the swelling."

"...What?"

"Hm?" Nightmare turned around, small pillows in his arms. Blue looked at Nightmare in confusion as he came over, lifting up Blue's leg and placing it on the pillows to keep it elevated.

As Nightmare began to wrap his ankle and foot up tight with the gauze, Blue spoke, a bit baffled. "Why aren't you using magic?"

Nightmare looked just as confused as he finished up wrapping Blue's leg. "You and I both know that messing with bones and magic is dangerous. Healing muscle, fat, or skin is easy."

"I know that! It's just…um.”

"He heals your bones with magic, doesn't he?" Nightmare asked, standing next to Blue with his arms folded behind his back. Theo he was taking about was obvious. "That doesn't surprise me. Healing bones with magic never works properly, we both know it leaves your bones...malleable.

"Dream, on the other hand, has never really understood how...fragile you mortals can be."

Blue grit his teeth, "I'm not fragile, thank you very much."

"Aw." Nightmare purred, clicking his tongue as he ran a finger down his face. "It’s adorable that you think that."

Before Blue could protest further, Nightmare put a finger to his lips.

"Shh. We could do this all day, and as much as I'd like to do that, we need to move on." Nightmare smiled, oddly sweet, as he shifted his hand away from Blue's face and back behind him. Blue nodded, keeping quiet.

"Good. Now, you will be in my care until you can walk without pain. And, since I know you, how your magic works, I suspect you'll be here for a month or so."

"A month?!" Blue sputtered, sitting up while keeping his leg elevated. "Are you out of your mind?! Y-You can't just- Dream will come for me!"

"Why are you treating this like a kidnapping? I do believe that Dream won't be coming for you, considering the circumstances that got you here."

Rubbing salt in the wound is what Nightmare excelled at.

Using his thumb, Nightmare wiped the tear that fell down Blue's cheek. Much to his surprise, Blue didn't pull away or push him away.

It was subtle, but Blue leaned into his touch, just a little.

"You're tense." Nightmare said, taking his hand away and tucking it back behind his back. "You have no need to be. You are in my care. Harming you would be counteractive to my goal."

"Which is?"

Nightmare clicked his tongue, amused. "Cleaning up Dream's mess, of course."

This, as Nightmare intended, got a small snort out of Blue.

Before another word was said, Blue yawned. Nightmare wasn't surprised, considering the amount of adrenaline that had been pumping through his veins during the battle, as well as his body trying to put itself back together.

It was around eight-thirty in the evening, which, for mortals, wasn't an unreasonable time to fall asleep. A bit early, perhaps, but since he'd be healing, the more sleep the better.

"Hold on."

Carefully, Nightmare lifted Blue with his tentacles. He made sure to support Blue's head and back, as well as keeping the broken leg elevated. He pulled down the sheet, and then set Blue back down, allowing him to get comfortable underneath it.

"There."

"Can I have a blanket?"

Straight to the point. Nightmare found that admirable about him.

"Of course."

There were warm blankets in the storage area of the medical wing, and it took only a moment for him to drape one over Blue's body. Blue nuzzled into it, pulling it up as he stayed on his back.

"Comfortable?"

"Mhm."

"Good." Nightmare stroked Blue's hair, fingers combing through his brown curls. He pulled away from Blue, sauntering over to the door. "I'll leave you to rest then, I'll be-"

"Wait."

"Hm?"

"Don't leave." It was a soft, gentle plea. Blue's hand dropped from the bed, reaching for him. "Please."

There was work to be done, there always was. Nightmare hesitated at the door, hand hovering by the knob. But Blue looked so sad, so pathetic...he couldn't just leave him alone.

"Just this once."

"Thank you."

Using a tentacle and portals, he grabbed the book that he was currently reading from his bedside table. He sat down on the armchair next to the bed, crossing one leg over the other as he opened the book.

"...Can I ask you for something silly?"

Nightmare's lips curled into an amused smile, "Of course."

"Can you read it to me?"

"What, my book?"

"Yeah...sorry."

"Don't apologize. I wouldn't mind that at all, as long as you don't mind starting in the middle."

"Nope..." Blue sunk into the bed, his face buried into his scarf as he closed his eyes.

It took Nightmare a second before he began to read aloud. He would have to reread this section later, as he was not paying attention. His mind was stuck on his kidnappee next to him.

If Dream didn't come to get him, Nightmare might just keep him himself. Dream wouldn't know what he was missing until it was gone.

Nightmare liked the idea of that. He'd get sweet revenge against Dream as well as a sweet man in the palm of his hand.

It didn't take long for exhaustion to catch up with him, and he was passed out within minutes. He shut the light off with a tentacle, the only source now being the setting sun shining in through the windows. Blue looked stunning in the light, the way the sun danced against his brown curls and face was something he hasn't noticed before.

No wonder Dream liked to keep him by his side.

A smile, one more sinister than the ones he had given Blue, creeped upon his face. He believed that Blue would look just as, if not better, at his side than Dream’s.

With a final touch of his cheek, Nightmare left the room.

[chaoticlicense]

Sloppy (Miguel x F!OC)

Summary: Amber gives Miguel some much-needed head (basically, I just wanted to write my OC going down on Miguel...don't judge me...I'm only human)

Word Count: 793

Tags: NSFW, Miguel O'Hara, Miguel O'Hara x F!OC, Female OC, AFAB OC, Smut, Blow Job, Blow Jobs, Oral Sex

Miguel is losing control. All of the composure that usually clings to him whenever he enters a room is slowly slipping away. And he hates it. He hates that he can lose control so easily because of her. He quickly learned that it doesn’t take much for him to come undone for her. It doesn’t take much for her to weaken his resolve and break down his walls. 

He fucking hates her for it.

No, he doesn’t.

How could he? How could he hate someone who has lost as much as he has, if not more? How could he hate someone who has given him the chance to feel alive again? And how could he hate someone who brings a near unearthly pleasure to him simply by wrapping her lips around his cock? 

The truth is that he can’t. No matter how much she drives him up the wall and has done since their first meeting, he can’t hate her. He can only love her. Her ferocity, her unwavering loyalty…and the way she swirls her tongue around the head of his cock before sliding her mouth down along his length. Miguel’s chest heaves as she takes in as much of him as possible before pulling back and sucking on him hard. She drags her teeth along the sensitive skin as she does so. Enough to sting but not enough to hurt. Enough to drive him wild with lust as he looks down between his legs at her. 

Amber kneels on the floor in front of him, hands on his thighs to steady herself, ochre-coloured eyes staring up at him and twinkling with mischief. When his gaze meets hers, he lets out a shaky breath. Her face is flush, cheeks red, drool dripping down her chin. The sight of her alone is enough to bring him to the edge. But the sight of her with the added pleasure of her warm, wet mouth sucking him off? It’s enough to push him over that edge and send him falling into oblivion. 

Reaching down, Miguel brings a hand to her face and swipes his thumb over the corner of her mouth. 

“You’re getting sloppy,” he manages to say through breathless pants.

Moaning in response, she lowers her eyes, focusing on working his cock until he’s nothing more than a mess of a man. Her hand wraps around his shaft while her mouth works his head. The sensation of her tongue licking and sucking the sensitive tip of him makes his legs shake. He’s so close that he can taste it. So close that he can’t help but squeeze his eyes shut and let his head fall back as he nears his orgasm. 

“That’s it, baby,” he pants. “That’s it, don’t stop.”

She doesn’t. She listens like the good girl she is and keeps sucking him off until his hand grasps the back of her head, fingers digging into her scalp. Miguel cries out as his hips buck upwards into her mouth, forcing his cock to the back of her throat. She coughs, choking a little around him. Even so, she keeps going. Even as he cums, pleasure spreading through him like wildfire, she keeps working him until there’s nothing left for him to give. 

With drool covering the lower half of her face, Amber pulls off of him and sits back on her heels. She looks over Miguel as he slumps back against the desk, hands gripping the edge of it. He is completely and utterly wrecked. She smiles at the sight, proud of herself for making him come completely undone. 

Wiping the back of her hand over her mouth, she grabs hold of his thighs and comes to her feet. With heavy breaths, Miguel opens his eyes to find her standing in front of him, hands on her hips and a smile on her face. 

“You were saying something about me being sloppy?” she asks.

As his suit reforms around his body, he flicks his wrist and casts a glowing web. She doesn’t bother stepping out of the way and instead lets it wrap around her waist a few times before Miguel gives it a tug to pull her into him.

“I said no such thing.” He chuckles, placing a kiss on her nose.

“Mhm.” She rolls her eyes. “Maybe next time I’ll get so sloppy I forget to let you cum.”

Miguel raises his brows. “You wouldn’t.”

“Oh, but I would.”

“You’re cruel.”

“And you are full of yourself, Mr O’Hara,” she counters with a smile. 

“Maybe, but you love me.”

This makes her laugh and Miguel grins at the sound. It’s a rare thing for her to laugh, but every time she does, it makes his heart flutter.

”You’re right, I guess I do.”

Writing Masterlist

All written content belongs to ©chaoticlicense // you do not have permission to use any of my works // do not repost or modify/edit // all content is written for adults by an adult // any characters unless stated otherwise, belong to their rightful owners.

[thus-spoke-lo]

Having more Doffy thoughts, so I'll inflict them on you.

Thinking about Doffy using you as his own person toy (and you loving it, of course). About his using toys on you as you go about your day, even in public, to the point where you've had to start wearing long skirts and just hope nobody notices that he's had your cunt dripping or had you cumming for him so much for so long that you can feel it running down your thighs. When he wants to stretch you out with his fingers and his cock himself, he'll just use non-penetrative toys, and he loves seeing you squirm and try to hide the fact that you're cumming for him, or close to it, and he loves lapping up whatever mess you make and feeling you flutter around his tongue and fingers when he takes his time plunging them into you, savoring the way your thighs shake as they clamp around his head. Not that your thighs are enough to muffle your cries when he makes you cum, not when he tells you to let him (and potentially anyone else) hear you. He loves licking his lips afterwards and being able to taste your cum on them. You taste so good~ ❤️

Sometimes he'll use his strings, too, while you're in public, if he wants to move you a certain way or move a toy a certain way that it wouldn't otherwise be able to do. You're so cute when you whimper and squirm like that, blushing and biting down on your lip to try and stifle whatever noises you make for him, he just can't resist. And you love feeling his strings on you, regardless of how he's using them, as a way to remind you who you belong to.

Sometimes he'll use dildos on you of varying sizes, each one bigger than the last, but never as big as him, all so he can slide into So Much More Easily whenever he wants to stuff you full of his cock and his cum. Sometimes he'll take a dildo out and cum inside you, just to put it or another one back in, so you can feel his cum dripping out of you as he keeps torturing you for the rest of the day. Sometimes he'll scold you for letting his precious cum slip out of you- usually while he's got you in a mating press and is stuffing you full of his cock again, cumming inside you So Much that you can feel it dripping out around even his length, no matter how much you clamp down around him to try and keep it in. But that's fine- he's got plenty more he can give you~

He could either do this multiple times throughout the day, or just save actually filling you with his cum for when you two are alone at night. For the latter, you know he loves seeing the wet spot on the bed from all the cum you've taken, loves seeing it drip down your body without any clothes in the way, loves hearing you tell him, over and over and over again, how much you love feeling him fuck you with his cock and fill you with his cum, love hearing the sounds of skin-on-skin, love hearing the noises you make as you please him. Just as he loves hearing you, even as he has you howling in pleasure for him so much you know your going to lose your voice the next morning, and you don't care, because its worth it.

-🍓

....

So listen, 🍓, my beloved…

I’m gonna be honest, I have nothing to add to this because I think my brain just melted out of my ears. I’m gonna go take a cold shower and a walk or something before I chew through the drywall in my house with how bad I need him rn. How dare you do this to me [/affectionate].

[kirnet]

Don’t Wake the Ancients - Chapter 9

read on ao3 | previous chapter | next chapter

-

Tiny flecks of snow swooped and fluttered outside of Dorotea’s window, kissing the car for just a moment before getting whipped up and flung back in the air. She’d let Nate have the front seat even when he offered it to her, smiling through the wince as he imagined his beanpole legs crunched to fit in the back. So now Dorotea was the one crunched behind Adam, albeit less than Nate would have, and in between Farah and the door. Farah babbled through the whole drive, explaining every type of supernatural that popped into her head while Nate interjected with more concrete facts, his hands waving excitedly whenever he could pull up a piece of knowledge from some long forgotten lore.

And so Dorotea learned that no, vampires don’t sparkle, and yes, they needed blood (though it seemed any ethical dilemma had been solved by the Agency), and no, garlic wouldn’t burn them, but they probably wouldn’t eat Dorotea’s cooking anyway. “Because we don’t require solid food like you,” Nate hastily clarified when Dorotea raised a brow. Morgan just rolled her eyes and continued to fog up her window.

“You are taking this remarkably well,” Nate said, turning as best he could to speak to her directly. She could feel Adam’s eyes flit up to the rear view window under his sunglasses, but he made no other indication that he was listening. “Many of the humans who discover the supernatural are much more… delicate.”

Farah punched Dorotea lightly in the shoulder, missing all of her yellowing bruises. “And I thank you for it. Me and some of the other agents had a bet on when your big mental break would be. You’ve earned me a lot of cash.”

“Which agents?” Adam asked, dropping his uncaring facade immediately.

“Morgan’s in on it, too,” Farah cried without hesitation, shoving her finger into the other vampire’s face.

And she quickly retracted it when Morgan snapped her teeth where the finger had been. “Snitch.”

“I just don’t have time for a breakdown,” Dorotea sighed, leaning as far away as she could from the superpowered slapping match occurring mere inches from her battered body. “But I suppose it makes sense. Science is ever changing, so my acceptance of things that are proven to me has to be ever changing, too.”

Nate considered the words. “That’s easier said than done.”

“Oh, I’m aware. But it actually explains a lot more than you might think. Wayhaven is… odd. Not just small town odd. Things that go missing are found. People who go missing are discovered.” She watched the dark tangle of forest zip by. “Miracles and evil things all happen here, and I’m not foolhardy enough to claim that I can comprehend such an ancient place.” She shook her head. “This might even be exciting once I don’t have to worry about everyone I love getting brutally murdered.”

“Which is what we’re about to solve,” Adam said. “We’ll head straight to the hospital. Clearing Lance of any charges will be easier with the actual murderer in custody, assuming that he hasn’t already fled.”

Dorotea’s mouth fell open. “I- really? I’m coming with?”

Adam’s grip tightened on the steering wheel, and she wondered if he had ever snapped any into pieces while driving before. “We are heading to a lab. It was brought to my attention that you might have some use searching through any evidence we might find there.” Nate beamed. “But you are not to leave my side or my sight, understand?”

“Sure. Of course.” Dorotea breathed in, her heart swirling in circles in time with the snow outside. She ran her smarting fingers over the cold metal on her hip. “Let’s get this bastard.”

-

They parked a ways down the road, well out of sight from anyone who might be keeping watch from the hospital windows. Farah slipped out first, hardly leaving any indents in the snow as she crept towards the building. The rest waited for agonized minutes after she snuck inside, Morgan stamping her feet in a vain effort to stay warm.

“That gun won’t do anything,” Adam murmured, snowflakes creating a halo in his hair. Dorotea moved her hand up to loop it in her belt buckle. “Nor will your bear spray. He won’t be nearly as tolerant as I was.”

“What if Farah finds him in there? How do you even arrest someone like that?” Dorotea brushed snow from her shoulder. Sitting here was a torture, her stomach twisting into serpentine knots. She glanced over to Nate. “Sedatives? Enchanted handcuffs?”

“Nothing so interesting, I’m afraid,” Nate answered, his eyes never leaving the sliver of the hospital they could see through the trees. Adam swept his pea coat back and removed something from his belt. It looked suspiciously like Dorotea’s taser, though instead of two prongs it had three, the middle much thinner than the others. An emblem of a crescent moon, so thin it was hardly visible, was etched onto the front.

Adam held the device out. “It’s a stun gun. The electrical capabilities work just like yours, but this-“ he pointed to the needle in the middle- “will inject someone with a small amount of Dead Man’s Blood.”

“Dead Man’s Blood?” 

Morgan hissed and rubbed her hands together. “It’s right in the name. I thought you were the smart one.”

“It’s harmful to vampires. The amount in that is enough only to weaken, not incapacitate. But often that’s enough to gain an advantage,” Nate explained. “It’s strictly regulated because of the harm it can cause us, though. We don’t want it to fall into any unknowing human’s hands.”

Describing Adam’s change of facial expression as a metamorphosis seemed too much, but it was entirely accurate. He blinked, lips puckering, and then they drew apart into a sneer, all before collapsing with his brows to the center of his face, his nose wrinkled. “You should have one,” he managed to wheeze out before he could stop himself. He grabbed Dorotea’s wrist, and with a surprising amount of gentleness, slapped the stun gun into her palm. And then he immediately sneered again and plied her fingers off of it to adjust her grip. “No, hold it like this. This larger button activates it, and the smaller one will inject the DBM.”

“So now you’re trusting me to be able to handle myself?” she asked when Adam was satisfied that she could use it properly, an edge creeping into her voice.

“It has nothing to do with trust or with your capability.” Adam leaned forward, and this close Dorotea could see the tiny flecks of auburn dusted around the outside of his pupil. “This weapon is not your salvation. It is but a tiny increase in your chance of survival should we be separated.”

A fog of breath escaped from Nate’s mouth. “That’s more than enough, Adam.”

“He’s right,” Morgan added flatly.

“He is.” Dorotea carefully added the stun gun to her belt, mentally repeating Adam’s brief instruction. Her hand probably should have trembled at the very possible reality of her own demise being laid out clearly for her, but it didn’t. This man had taken Garret from Kate on nothing but a passing whim. She was not about to let any amount of human fear cloud her focus. “And if capturing him isn’t a possibility?”

Now Nate stared at her. “We’re not killing him. The Agency doesn’t kill.”

She bit back “They just torture.” Leaning against a tree, she said aloud, “I’m not arrogant enough to think that I could take him down. But I’m getting thrust into this situation with only a fraction of your knowledge and experience. I deserve to know how to defend myself.”

Only the gentle sway of the leaves above broke the silence. Nate and Adam refused to look at her, both locked in some sort of nonverbal conversation with the other. “I wouldn’t use it on y’all,” Dorotea added. “As much as I might want to sometimes.”

“There will be no need for that,” Adam finally announced, Nate nodding solemnly beside him. “Not if-“ He paused and snatched his phone from his pocket the moment it vibrated. “Farah?”

“No sign of him,” Farah crackled through the speaker. “That mean cow at the front said he hadn’t been in for a few days. He was definitely here all right, but the smell is faint.”

The vampires collectively relaxed. “Secure the lab. Morgan can try to trail the scent. Good work.” He hung up with little fanfare before turning to Dorotea. “Come on.”

So he was gone, then. Only for the moment. That was worse, somehow. If she could charge in before her nerves could take hold of her then she could function, even if she was only a liability. But the waiting was when the fear crept in, when every snap of a branch had her falling over herself to look over her shoulder. What trap would he lay for her?

Who would he hurt in the meantime?

“Stake to the heart and beheading.”

Dorotea snapped back into herself. Adam and Nate had been swallowed by the trees ahead of them, though she had no doubt that they were hearing this exchange. Morgan flicked her lighter one final time before shoving her hands deep into her pockets. “What?”

“That’s the only way you can kill us.” Her gray eyes took in the color of snow when she looked at Dorotea, glowing an almost moon-pale white. “You’re damn lucky this guy wants you alive. That’s the only advantage you have to exploit.”

“Why tell me at all?” Dorotea hurried after Morgan when she started to walk forward, her long legs closing the gap easily.

“Because the Agency isn’t as tough as it thinks it is. And you do deserve to know.” Morgan shrugged. “Follow Adam’s orders and stay on your toes.”

“I-“

Morgan silenced her with a half-lidded look. “And don’t read into this.”

-

Martha tried to ask a million questions when they entered, but Dorotea just flashed her badge and walked past. Morgan and Nate split off on Adam’s order . “You’re going to let us take a look around,” she heard Morgan whisper to Martha before she disappeared behind the heavy lab door. 

“I don’t want you guys doing that pheromone anymore,” she hissed to Adam. “It ain’t right. Especially when you go behind my back to do it.”

“Told you she would notice,” Farah chirped.

Adam set his jaw. “Did you mind when I used it on Kate?” He swallowed at the seething glare Dorotea gave him. “I’ll discuss it with everyone.”

She had remembered the lab as being disorganized, but now it was in chaos. Papers and post-its and smaller equipment were scattered over every available surface. Whole shelves that would have held supplies were cleared, leaving only a few smashed beakers on the floor. “Jesus,” Dorotea mumbled to herself as a piece of glass cracked under her boot. “When’s the last time someone was in here?”

“He’s probably setting up another place for his experiments,” Farah said, flicking through some of the papers. “Which is, as we say in the business, not fucking good.”

“We need to narrow down his next location,” Adam grumbled.

Dorotea pointed to a blank section of wall. “Some of the hematology equipment is missing.” At least, that’s where Verda would have kept it in a lab this size. She circled around the counters, her scab on her palm itching more with every step, until she came to some computers. She powered them on, and Farah skipped over to watch over her shoulder as it asked for a password. Dorotea’s lips curled down for a moment, but she tapped something in.

“How did you know the password?” Farah asked when the desktop appeared on the screen. 

“This hospital barely sees any use. There’s not much reason to change anything around here.” She clicked through some of the internal files. “Dr. Turner went to Marshall University. Their baseball team’s last win was in ‘81.” She knew this because Dr. Turner loudly lamented that fact every season when he would come to watch games at the bar. If thunderingherd81 hadn’t been the password, she would have just added an exclamation mark. 

Farah blinked. “Humans are dumb.”

“A little. I’d imagine there are thousands of places he could hide out, Agent du Mortain. Even narrowing down the fact that he’d need the space and power to use all this equipment.” Derelict warehouses, abandoned cabins, crumbling coal plants, too many places swallowed by the mountains to count. They couldn’t even narrow it down to places with vehicle access given his range of mobility. A knot formed between her brow. She tabbed through a folder. “Dear God.”

“Detective?” She hadn’t heard Adam approach, but she could feel the ghost of his breath on the back of her neck. “What have you found?”

“His notes.” She opened one of the slides. Dorotea always discovered a new breathtaking artistry whenever she brought her eye to a microscope, every spot of red and purple revealing its own little cosmos. Now all she felt was dread as she moved through image after image, the blood cells on display growing fewer and fewer with each passing one. Twenty-three, twenty-four, twenty-five. The number label in the corner of each one grew by the second. “Cabo. Anchorage. Barcelona.” Adam pressed his lips into a thin line. “Wayhaven.”

Seventy-six.

Janet Greenland had been seventy-six. Seventy-six victims, at least of the ones Murphy had been cataloging in this way. The faint outlines of her blood stained the screen as Dorotea grit her teeth, too lost in the pathetic sparseness of the slide to click to the last image.

Adam did it for her. He reached around her, careful to never touch, and tabbed to the last image. 

Seventy-seven. Wayhaven.

Knowledge could be an odd thing. In mere millions of years humans had evolved from upright apes to farmers, artisans, dancers and priests and mystics. Nothing was safe, not the deepest depths of the ocean or the farthest reaches of space. It had to be some sort of collective insanity to stop and wonder why the world worked, what made life tick, when instinct demanded you focus on your next meal or a warm place to shelter for the night. Dorotea was composed of countless little cells and more countless little atoms, and thanks to all the brilliantly stupid and arrogant people who thought to wonder about such things, she knew it.

Farah was right. Humans were dumb, and Dorotea’s ape brain should have never opened the Pandora’s Box that was literacy. It would have spared her the numbing shock of staring at her own blood, her cells and all their organelles and every other bit that worked tirelessly to ensure that she kept living, on a too-bright computer screen. It would have spared her the roiling disgust that was quickly spreading from her stomach to her throat.

Murphy had defiled every human who had come before her. He’d somehow stolen a piece of the very fabric of her person without her blessing.

Seventy-seven.

“It’s mine.” Dorotea’s voice sounded very far away to her own ears. “We’re all just numbers to him. Like cattle.”

We. It was “we,” now. Dorotea had inherited this twisted legacy.

She would have memorized the names of the others if she could. At least she had Janet’s.

Farah pressed against Dorotea’s side, her undead presence seeming to suck any warmth from the air. “What do we do now?”

Adam reached into his coat and put on his sunglasses, but not fast enough to hide the pitying look in his eye. “We brace.”

-

Dorotea almost burst into tears when she caught sight of the station.

Unit Bravo waited by their black sedan outside, content to watch whatever theatrics occurred from a distance. Nate chuckled somewhere from behind her as she ripped the door almost off its hinges and entered. A wave of warm air caressed her face, no doubt the work of a chilly Tina messing with the AC while Captain Sung was out. She could see her curly mess of hair bobbing in the back as she worked at her desk.

She expected her view of the front desk to be similar. Douglas always had his head down, eyes glued to his phone or something else entirely unrelated to his work. She started when his head whipped up the moment the door opened. “What can I- Detective!”

“Hey Doug- OOF!”

The air was knocked from her lungs after Douglas leapt around the desk, tripped forward, and brought her into a bone crushing hug. “We were so worried!” he rambled into her shoulder. “I mean, they told us you were at the hospital and that you were doing good, but before that we didn’t know for a while. Shit, I thought Kenny had really done something to you. I-“

“Alright, move kid. You’re blocking her airway.” Tina pried Douglas’s vice grip off of Dorotea and pushed him back, only to rush forward and squeeze her arms around Dorotea’s midriff before she could finish sucking in a precious breath. “We thought you were in a coma! No call, no text, no nothing!”

“I’m fine! I’m fine!” Dorotea managed to wheeze out when Tina loosened her arms a fraction. She clapped her on the back and reached out to clap Douglas on the shoulder. His face lit up at the contact. “You okay? No injuries?’

Douglas’s already impossibly wide smile grew at the question. “None, thanks to you.”

“I didn’t do anything.”

“You stopped Kenny and his ilk from getting to our station’s infant. I wouldn’t call that nothing.” Douglas batted Tina’s hand away when she tried to pinch his cheek. They both sobered when Kenny’s name sunk in. “We don’t have him in holding,” Tina added softly, her gaze sweeping across every mottled bit of skin on Dorotea’s face. “Your agency pals said that you didn’t want to press charges, but just say the word and we’ll rain down on their asses.”

Dorotea flicked her. “No. Absolutely not. I just got a little roughed up, that’s all.” She turned to Douglas. “Did you tell your father that you were there?”

“He would have killed me if he found me out after curfew,” he shook his head, a sort of kicked puppy expression on his face. “I’m sorry, I should have been honest.”

“No, this is good. He’d be on a warpath otherwise.” That was one less thing she might potentially have to not worry about. She returned her focus to the couple thousand things that she did. “Where’s Lance?”

“We had to send him home. Judge extended the time we could keep him for a few days, but since you were gone-“ she shook her head. “He hasn’t left town.”

“You animals.” Dorotea couldn’t contain her smile as Verda all but glided to her from the break room, a cup of coffee in hand. He set it on the welcome desk before gently taking her in his arms, barely even making contact with her. “Barely three steps in and you’re already talking about work. Sit, drink something.”

Dorotea gladly took the mug. “Sure, after we get a few things out of the way.” She crooked her finger for them to follow as she shuffled to her office, Douglas hovering at her arm like she might wither and die at any moment.

The office was largely untouched, though it was recently dusted. The missing chunk of Dorotea’s desk was pitifully reattached with some duct tape, and all the haphazard stacks of files and papers had been moved from her desk to the various chairs that had become fixtures of the room. What immediately caught Dorotea’s eye, though, was the whiteboard. 

“You kept investigating?” she asked as she neared it, eyes narrowed. The white space was packed much more densely than when she had left it, her notes about blood and enzymes and mutations covered with mugshots old and new. It seemed someone had gone out to try to reestablish a timeline for Lance, canvassing neighbors on when he might have left his house on foot the night of Janet’s murder. Ample information about Kenny, Peter, and just about everyone else Dorotea had come into contact with overlapped each other. Even Miss Benedict, observant Miss Benedict, had a couple of bullet points attributed to her.

Tina stepped up on her toes and almost managed to ruffle Douglas’s hair. “All this one. I don’t know what clone killed and replaced him, but he’s been working nonstop.”

A rose tint crept up from under the collar of Douglas’s shirt to his cheeks. “It’s nothing,” he stuttered, suddenly very preoccupied with dislodging a piece of chipped linoleum with the toe of his boot.

“I’m impressed.” Dorotea gave him a nod. “Excellent. What’s this?”

“You seemed suspicious of the hospital,” Verda answered instead when Dorotea picked up an unfamiliar file, Douglas too overcome with flush to speak. “We called to inquire about Dr. Murphy and pulled some information from the medical board. Just in case you might need it.”

Ah, so that’s why he was gone. The picture that greeted her when she opened the file was charming, its gray slanted eyes harboring the same mischievous tint of its crooked smile. Waves of dark hair that refused to be contained by any product fell in seemingly preplanned tousles over his forehead. 

Roguish. And clearly not the same Dr. Murphy she had met. Another victim added to the list.

“I… can’t talk about this too much. Not without jeopardizing Agency secrets that I swore to keep.” It was like speaking with cotton in her mouth. The full truth never itched like this. She knew why Rebecca had made her swear to uphold the Agency’s secrecy, and even through all her anger, she understood that decision. Just because she handled it didn’t mean that the rest of her town could. Hell, they couldn’t even handle Lance, and he had been born here. But seeing her team, her friends, watch her with wide enthusiastic eyes twisted her gut. This was their investigation as much as hers. She took a long glug of coffee but the itch remained in her gums. “Lance isn’t our man. In fact, we know who is, but we just can’t make a move yet. Please stay as uninvolved as you can until the Agency gives us the all clear.”

Tina let out one of those pitched uneven giggles that she had whenever she watched a horror movie. “That’s crazy. What, do we have some X-Files shit going on here? Mothman?” 

“I’m not discussing this any further.” Dorotea’s lips parted to sigh. “Please trust me on this.”

Tina sobered instantly.

Maybe she wanted one of them to disagree and snap her back to her senses. International, no, interdimensional agencies had to be a load of shit. And what danger might they be in in their ignorance? More or less than if they crashed about town, painting a target on their back? But Douglas just rolled on the balls of his feet as Verda took Dorotea’s hands in his. “We always do, Tea.”

-

“I don’t have the room for all of y’all,” Dorotea warned as they climbed the steps to her apartment, the late evening breeze ruffling her hair. “Well, I might if you can hang from the ceiling like bats, but I’m worried you’ll rip my attic loose.”

This temporary living situation was not ideal to say the least. The vampires could barely fit on her staircase, let alone inside her cozy apartment. 

But Farah didn’t seem to mind at all. She dashed in the moment Dorotea could get the door open (push in, then up, then turn the key), flitting about like a starved hummingbird to any bauble that caught her attention. And there were plenty of them, enough that Adam’s lip curled more with every one that Farah inspected.

“You’re a hoarder,” Adam grumbled.

Dorotea scowled.

Whatever too-off white the walls had been painted was all but lost under the clutter of frames, photos, and whatever else Dorotea could shove in there. Plenty of images of Tina and Verda, Verda’s husband and kids, Lance, Hayley and Mitch and every other soul she had known almost since birth smiled back at her, welcoming her home as she pushed past Adam into the room proper. Rosa’s eyes followed her the closest, and though she never turned to meet them, Dorotea could feel regret settle in the air.

No other surface was safe. A number of handmade quilts and embroidered pillows were piled on her couch and chair, a few more waiting in a basket beside them. The shelves and coffee table were covered in books, and the spare inches that weren’t were home to mugs, knitted animals, wood carvings and pretty rocks. Dorotea opened her curtain to see the soft snow outside, careful not to maim the dried flowers she hung from the rod.

“I think it’s quite charming,” Nate said, already preoccupied with her bookshelf. 

Dorotea smiled. “Don’t you fucking dare.”

Morgan shoved her cigarette back into her pocket only after Adam gave her a look.

“It’s harder to defend,” Adam said as Farah ended her sweep at the back of the couch. She picked up her guitar and ran her fingers across the strings. Morgan hissed and brought her palms to her hands as a discordant twang ripped through the sound barrier of her apartment. 

Farah’s eyes widened. “Sorry,” she said sheepishly, carefully setting the guitar down to its exact former position.

“I’ve never needed to defend it. It’s a home, not a military base.” Dorotea sat to kick off her shoes. “How’s this gonna work? My bed can fit two, and there’s the couch, maybe someone can curl up in the chair. Someone’s gonna be on the floor.”

“We don’t require sleep,” Nate answered before Morgan could open her mouth and make a comment about the bed fitting two. “We’ll be comfortable standing out here to keep watch.”

Dorotea nodded, the hairs on her neck standing up at the thought of a bunch of near-strangers watching over her while she slept. She shucked off her jacket and padded over to the narrow kitchen to open the fridge. “I know you won’t eat, but there’s food in the-“ She slammed the door shut. “There’s a biohazard in there. Stick to the pantry until I can clean this out.”

She excused herself for a shower. A blissful torrent of scalding water beat at her skin as she sat in her tub. Hot was bad for bruises, but at this point she would have walked into the sun if it meant some warmth. She scrubbed her body and scrubbed again, any desire to try and stand washed away with the water. 

If the vampires didn’t have heightened senses she was sure they would have come to check if she was still breathing. When the water started to run cold and the pipes started to groan, she finally mustered up the courage to step out. She dried herself, grateful for the condensation covering the mirror. 

“What’s the game plan for tomorrow?” she asked when she reemerged dressed in some ratty pajamas. Morgan and Nate had decided to sit, the latter in the chair and the former sprawled out over her couch, her boots dangling off the edge. There was a crash from the kitchen, and Farah stuck her head out of the freezer, a waffle cone lodged firmly in her mouth. Adam, as always, paced. 

“We’ll try to narrow down our target’s location.” Adam stopped moving, his ramrod straight back making him appear even taller than he actually was. “The thralls won’t have any conscious memory of their vassalage, but they might have lingering images in their mind. Morgan’s pheromones will be useful for that.” He turned to the mentioned vampire. “Do you think that will work?”

“I’m supposed to babysit?” Morgan scoffed, her shaggy hair falling into her face.

Dorotea rolled her eyes. “I’ve outgrown my oral fixation. I’m babysitting you, if anything.”

It took a few long seconds, but eventually Morgan’s lips twisted. She flashed her teeth in an easy smile and tucked her arms behind her head. “I won’t be able to get too deep, but it’s worth a shot.” She shrugged vaguely towards Dorotea. “You got a problem with that?”

Yes, she did, but she swallowed her discomfort. “You stop when I say.”

Morgan cocked her head, a wisp of hair catching at the corner of her upturned lips. “Sure, sweetheart.”

“We can discuss this more tomorrow.” Nate stood and planted his hand firmly against the flat of Dorotea’s back. “You should try to get some rest.”

Dorotea didn’t have the energy to argue. She let him herd her to her room. 

She grabbed her belt the moment her door clicked shut. 

In truth, Dorotea hated her firearm. Its heft was more awkward than comforting, always tilting her hips into an uneven lilt. She could use it with what could be charitably called accuracy on the rare occasion she brushed up on her marksmanship, but so could everyone else in Wayhaven. Really, it was the object’s whole purpose that left a foul taste in her mouth. A gun was only meant to threaten, maim, or kill.

The cool metal bit into her skin as she pulled it from the holster. Her palm curled around the top, she pulled the slide back just enough to see the copper edge of a bullet. Right where she had left it.

Adam was right: the gun was not her salvation. It didn’t ease her discomfort to set it on her nightstand just within arms reach. But she did it anyway, same with the stun gun Adam had given her.

The bed sunk delightfully under her weight, much softer than the ones at the Agency bunker. Even as the air turned heavy and pushed her down into the blankets her eyes refused to close. She tossed and turned, ears pricked for any word she could catch from the whispered conversation outside her door. The padding of snow outside dampened all other sound.

The whispers ceased. Someone knocked lightly on her door.

“Yeah?” she mumbled into her pillow.

To her complete surprise, Adam entered. She straightened and blinked, just to make sure that she was actually seeing him. Of all the people who she thought might want to talk to her right now, Nate seemed like the best candidate, not this blond beast who was currently trying to find the best corner of her room to stand menacingly in. He settled by the window, the cut of his cheek reflected in the glass. “Do you have a moment?”

“Sure.”

Despite being the one who asked, Adam didn’t seem happy with her answer. His hands flexed at his sides. “Did Nate send you in here?” Dorotea ventured when he didn’t speak. 

“No. Yes.” He ran a hand down his face, finally turning to her. His gaze flicked to her firearm before settling back on her. “In a sense. I want you to know that I… understand. Both the weight of the responsibility you carry and the sting of failing those in your care.”

Dorotea drew her knees up to her chest. “How long have you been doing this job?”

The air that escaped through Adam’s nose was stale and filled with dust, like an ancient tomb being cracked open for the first time. “Eons.”

“Does it get easier?”

“The job? Or the loss?” He stepped away from the window when Dorotea could only offer a slight tilt of her head. “Perhaps ‘easy’ is not the best way to describe it. Routine, maybe.”

“I don’t want it to ever get like that. To be numb to whatever happens.” Dorotea unfolded and allowed her long legs to hang over the side of the bed. A draft tickled the bottom of her feet.

“This isn’t an apology,” Adam rumbled after a length of silence, his voice a river tumbling over smooth stones. “I won’t apologize for following my orders, just as I don’t want you to ever regret following your creed. We both have our duties.” Then he looked at her, truly looked at her, no hint of scrutiny or dismissal in his gaze. “Protecting your people will be more complicated now that you know about us. But I know you will rise to the challenge. I just ask that you continue to show the same care to every single one of your charges, no matter who they might be.”

Something like a smile stung Dorotea’s cheeks. “Even though I’m just a human?”

Adam sucked on his teeth as she chuckled. “All too human, Detective.” The words lacked any bite.

“Oh course. It would take a hell of a lot more than magic for me to leave anyone in Wayhaven behind.” Dorotea’s smile lingered even through the faint sound of glass tinkling to the floor somewhere in the living room. Whatever Farah has dropped could be cleaned up.

And then her apartment exploded.