#it just felt like whenever there was violence against women

[waitineedaname]

i finished the first season of heaven official's blessing! I like it so far!! im not wild about how some of the women are treated, and i understand now why i was warned abt some questionable depictions of chinese ethnic minorities, but otherwise I'm having a fun time. I like the main four characters a lot

[asxgard]

Semper Fi | [2/8]

Dr. Jack Abbot x f!doctor!reader

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Summary: Feelings come to a head after a particularly bad patient interaction.

[ Series Masterlist ]

Note: I’m so thankful you guys enjoyed the last one so much! I was so nervous to write for Abbot, he doesn’t flow as easily as Robby does for me lol Thank you for the likes, comments and reblogs omg!!

Word Count: 2.4k

Warnings: age gap, foul language, hospital setting, medical inaccuracies, violence against women/healthcare workers, being bad at feelings, mild pining

not beta read

Between leaving a tea or coffee on your desk at the start of your shift just so he could watch the way you lit up, and him leaving a protein bar on yours to make sure you always ate, something started tangling in your ribs. Completely unnoticeable unless he cracked a rare smile, tugging the strings deep in your chest until you felt the heat. The pull. The ache. You left little sticky notes on his desk, sometimes with a coffee and a smiley face, or one with ‘usual place after shift? I have a sandwich with your name on it’.

You shared silences during sunrise, quiet and soft and content in the company of each other. There was no facade to be found on the roof. Just him. Just you. Unbothered by the stillness, the close contact of skin. No mask to be worn, just an easy smile from you and a gentle gaze from him. It was not completely vulnerable, but it felt just as good.

It felt clean, comfy and completely within control, if it weren’t for the messy feelings in your chest whenever he met your eyes.

It only took a few months for the storm between you two to brew, tense and heavy, finally reaching a breaking point after so many lingering stares and quiet mornings on the roof.

So this argument seemed to come completely out of nowhere.

How had the argument started? Patient care. The tensions were high after a mass pileup and apparently, Abbot thought you were taking too long between patients.

Too slow. Too soft. echoed in your head, not good enough.

You cursed New York for the way the words filled you with dread, ignited by the sight of Abbot’s disappointment.

Even before he had said anything to you, both of you far too caught up in the rush of stabilizing and assessing, the thoughts began to make you angry. Patient care was why you had become a goddamn doctor in the first place, who was he to yell at you about it?

“The time you’re taking, you could’ve already assessed the guy coming off the ambulance already!” While he was not shouting, his voice carried across the busy ED.

You leveled your gaze at him, tone remaining as it had, though your features had flattened into a plain expression, “Will that be all, Dr. Abbot? I don’t think everyone heard you.”

His nostrils flared, his hard gaze never wavering from yours. A thousand words could have been said between you in those few seconds, but you knew none of them mattered. Not when he was snapping at you in front of everyone, not when he had clearly crossed a line.

He moved to help intubate the incoming patient. You turned your attention back to the woman you were assessing for internal bleeding, ordering a CT scan of her head and abdomen. You were able to comfort her while making notes in her chart, irritating sitting heavy in your chest.

After each patient had been settled and cared for, you went to find Abbot. Why was he being so hard on you all of a sudden? It surely wasn’t over patient care, not really. He was a no-nonsense kind of man, something you had come to admire. If he had been annoyed in your turnaround time with patients, he would have said something. He would not have waited for it to boil over in front of everyone. That was unlike him.

You found him in the south hallway, just outside of Trauma 1, tablet in hand. His face was stoic as always, a brutal type of beauty you tried to convince yourself not to see. Sculpted by his experience in the ED, leaving behind sharp edges and an even sharper tongue.

“Would you like me to guess why you’re so frustrated with me? We can make it a fun little game! Guess Why Abbot’s A Total Asshole Today. Or would you rather just chastise me some more in front of the entire ED?” You asked him, folding your arms across your chest. Part of you wanted his approval, and the other part wanted to shove it back in his face.

His dark eyes flicked up, assessing you silently. The quiet brooding type had always easily lured you in—no, no, no. You were mad at him. You were mad at him. You disliked the way his eyes softened, just barely, making your stomach flip again. It burned when you shoved the feelings down your throat to maintain your neutral gaze.

“You don’t get it yet.”

“Please enlighten me, then. I never took you for someone to hold back.”

His sharp eyes were on yours, “Time costs lives, especially in scenarios where we have multiple critical cases coming through the door.”

You scoffed, “It makes sense why the satisfaction scores here are in the fucking toilet. Patients are more than words on a screen or cases to be closed. They’re human beings.”

“Do you think they give a shit? Whether I see them as a human being or a case? Do you think it matters to them when you’re saving their life?”

It felt like deflection.

Your lips finally curved into a frown, frustration bubbling in your stomach, “So you think a few words of comfort are completely useless? Even when it takes just a few seconds of consideration?”

He matched your frown, but something in him finally relented, much to your surprise. You could see him digest your words, and you knew it was the contradiction of everything he had learned in the military and everything he knew as a doctor. Quick efficiency vs mindful consideration.

Your frustration began to evaporate. “Look—”

“If that works for you, don’t let me stop you. Just be more mindful of the time you take.”

And he walked away.

—

Hours ticked by, and your mild irritation sat at a boiling point. It was easy to see Dr. Abbot cared about the patients coming in, but it was always at a distance. It was calculated consideration, not cold callousness that you had thought in the heat of your anger. The patients were not just numbers, or injuries to mend, but perhaps that was easier for him. To assess, treat, move on. Perhaps that was how he compartmentalized.

Your own compartmentalization really was the key that kept you smiling, kept you as the ray of sunshine everyone knew you to be.

You were warm, in just about every aspect of your life, but especially with your patients. Spending time to check in on them, offer them an extra pillow or blanket, to stop and grab them a sandwich if they weren’t on any restrictions. That came as easy as breathing. You knew nothing else.

So when your aggressive patient was being abrasive and combative, you steeled your smile and did what you could. You offered calm words and a cheery bedside manner. You wore a mask of it, of a fake smile, but it protected the real one that laid underneath.

The patient was mad at the world, which had turned him to the bottle, and left him passed out on the sidewalk. He was yelling and you listened, just nodding along, while your eyes scanned over his chart. Ending up in the hospital after drinking too much was not new to this man, which was good information to know.

By the time you turned back to your patient, he was out of his bed and swinging. Despite his staggered gait, one landed directly on your cheek and pain bloomed. You hit the floor with a smack, hands taking most of your weight so your head didn’t hit the tile and all the air was out of your lungs.

You were thankful for the resident passing by, calling security and helping you up. You smiled at Dr. Shen, dusting off your hands before gently touching your cheekbone and wincing.

“For a 0.3, he’s got a mean swing,” you smirked, trying not to be hard on yourself for allowing it to happen.

Dr. Shen just raised an eyebrow at you, “You alright?”

You brushed him off, “Yeah, you mind checking on South-20? I’m going to go get an ice pack.”

He nodded, glancing over your face again before going to do as you asked. You started back to the staff lounge, just to take a minute, get your bearings. You were genuinely surprised any of his hits landed, or landed with much force, due to how drunk he was. Patients had tried before, but you had been more prepared for those.

After snagging an ice pack, you sat down in the lounge. You snacked on a protein bar, and decided once you were done, you would get back to work.

Dr. Abbot rushed into the room like there had been a fire, making you look up at him in confusion. He was in front of you in an instant, crouching down slightly to be eye level with you. He moved the ice pack aside to assess the damage with that calculated look you knew well — but something unknown to you rested in his eyes. You tried not to wince when his fingers found your cheek and his hands stalled, looking into your eyes.

The air around you felt palpable. Like all those lingering touches and softening gazes finally spinning together like a tornado tearing through a town.

He was so close, you could finally see the green in his hazel eyes. They had always looked brown to you when you stood across the hallway. A contentment settled in your mind seeing him up close like this.

“You should see the other guy.” You forced a smile.

His eyebrows moved downward, just a fraction, but easy to tell up close.

“I’m ordering a head CT.” He said softly, thumb tracing lightly across your cheek.

“Whatever for? I’m fine.” You quirked a brow at him. “Nothing a little ice can’t fix.”

“Don’t do that right now. There’s no ‘look on the bright side’ for you to find. You were assaulted.” His voice was tense, eyes flickering over your face in something that edged dangerously close to concern.

One minute an asshole, the next someone who cared? This man was going to give you whiplash.

“Yes, and lesson learned. Don’t turn away even slightly away from drunk, aggressive men. Should’ve already known that one.” You chuckled.

Dr. Abbot stared at you for a long moment, “Can you at least get a CT for my sake, then?”

“Careful, Dr. Abbot. Your asshole edge is slipping.”

A ghost of a smile crossed his face, “Don’t let it go to your head.”

It ignited something hot in your chest, making you grin. You dared to dance just a bit closer to the edge.

“Too late.”

—

Your CT results were normal, and with no other symptoms, Dr. Abbot calmed. He was still mildly irritated, taking over the case of the drunk man and not letting you anywhere near it. His rough edges returned after he left the patient’s room and you could see him stewing in his thoughts much clearer than you ever had before.

The end of your shifts came with a bit of a routine, and this one was no different, watching as Dr. Abbot slipped away to the stairwell that led to the roof. You finished your last chart and followed him.

He was behind the railing this time, leaning on it like it was supporting more than just his weight. While it was still hard to read him, you could see he was deep in thought, looking down at the concrete of the rooftop. You moved closer to him, slowly approaching the railing while looking at the sun on the horizon, burning red and orange.

“Whatever’s going on here, it has to stop.” He refused to look at you. “It won’t work.”

Your breath got caught in your throat, heat washing over your features before you quickly schooled them. You were not one to run from your feelings, but the fragility of what was lingering made it feel like you should have. He was technically your boss. He was older by more than a decade, closer to two if you were being honest with yourself. There was an impossibility there and you were shocked he was even calling attention to it. You had been content with whatever was trying to settle between you, but the thrill of giving it a name was sending the tangled feelings to weave around your heart and squeeze.

You hummed trying to regain your composure, stepping to put your hands along the safety railing, but you did not look over at him, “You say that so definitively. Anything’s possible.”

He looked at you, eyebrows furrowed, “I’m not good at this. You’re gonna get hurt.”

You quirked a brow at him, “There’s fun in discovery.”

“I’m too old for you.”

“Isn’t that my choice to make here?” You asked, voice soft. Each word out of his mouth felt like flimsy excuses, and you might have found it amusing if you didn’t want to prove each one wrong.

“You’re going to regret me.”

But you liked him like you enjoyed summer rain or rolling thunder, how you found peace in darkness or in the rush of wind. Quiet, controlled, powerful, breathtaking.

“Life is too short for regrets, Dr. Abbot.”

Something in him must have given way, because his lips were on yours in the next breath, startling you. It was like finally giving into the tide pulling you in, and the relief of it shocked through your entire system. You were quick to respond to him, all of your feelings exploding like an array of fireworks in your chest at the feel of him. Rough and warm and undeniably addictive.

“Fuckin’ call me Jack.” He breathed against your lips, noses touching.

You found yourself smiling at him, “Only if you stop being an absolute ass.”

He considered it, “I think I can make an exception. For you.”

You kissed him again, the sunrise burning against your back, hands going to his cheeks. He was quick to wrap you in his arms, pulling you flush against him, careful of the bruise on your cheek. He hummed against your mouth, his tongue slipping easily inside, tasting like bitter coffee and something sweet.

“Let me make sure you get home safe, yeah?”

“Jeez, buy me dinner first, will you?”

“What about breakfast? There’s a diner a few blocks away.”

You agreed quickly before he had a moment to doubt it.

[ Next ]

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Jack is so It Will Come Back by Hozier coded omg I love that man

[reidsmanuscript]

Sweet echoes of the past

Summary: When the gentle hand of the past becomes the present, it tightens around the ADA's throat, forcing the hidden faces of darkness into the light. Pairing: Spencer reid x lawyer!reader Genre: HURT/comfort wc: 19k! (i know it's long but its a retribution for the wait time) TW: cm canon violence, FEMALE RAGE, kidnapping, discuss of child trafficking and abuse, discuss of domestic violence, vertigo, discuss of drugs and reader's past (talked in part III) gets disclosure! A/N: i support women's rights and women's wrongs. it's supposed to be jesus reid through the whole chapter but i didn't find a pic that would match. not proofread yet. part I - part II - part III - part IV - masterlist

　　　　 　　    .˳˳.⋅∘ ˚ ˚∘⋅.˳˳.⋅∘ ˚ ˚∘.˳˳. 　　　　

As the elevator doors slid open, you stepped into the hallway of your apartment complex, exhaustion settling deep in your bones from the lack of sleep over the past few nights.

It had been months since you helped Morgan in Chicago. The determination you had shown—sometimes unnecessarily—and the disclosure of your past to gain Morgan’s trust had made you the BAU’s preferred unofficial legal advisor. Whenever they needed legal assistance—whether it was a warrant, a last-minute consult, or navigating bureaucratic red tape—you were the first person they called. It was never official, never written down anywhere, but the weight of it still lingered, pressing against your already demanding workload.

You weren’t complaining, though—you loved to help. And you would never admit that maybe, just maybe, Reid’s presence was a factor in your willingness to do so.

Ever since that conversation on the jet—the one that had been abruptly cut short when Hotch interrupted—you hadn’t tried to continue it. You had left the seat in front of him, and going back felt… strange. Too obvious? Too desperate? What if he didn’t want to talk? So you didn’t.

Which was incredibly frustrating, because you would have listened to him for hours. Every thought, every opinion, every ridiculous fact he might throw your way.

Still, in that time, you had learned a few things about him. He was brilliant—almost impossibly so. You had overheard him ramble, though never to you, about the most fascinating things: statistical probabilities, obscure historical events, literary references that seemed to live at the tip of his tongue. His mind was like an endless black hole of knowledge, and the more you listened, the more you wanted to be the one he shared it all with. The more you wanted to crawl inside his head and understand everything about him—the books he read, the things he liked, his favorite foods, his favorite things in general. Everything. Anything.

But the more time you spent with him—with the BAU in the middle—the heavier the guilt sat in your stomach. Someone like him, someone that brilliant, wouldn’t turn to drugs because he thought it would be fun or relaxing. Something must have happened. Something bad. And instead of reaching out, instead of trying to talk to him like a normal person, you had freaked out. You had gotten mad. You had acted on impulse—flushing his drugs, shoving a card with a number into his hands without even checking if he understood what it meant.

You had been a monster.

And you didn’t know if there was any way to fix it. 

Anyway… you tried not to go down that road too often. Your impulsiveness wasn’t entirely your fault—though if Dr. Fitzgerald were here, she'd make sure you took responsibility for your actions.

Still, Reid didn’t seem to hate you or anything. If anything, he was almost… friendly. Maybe he was just being polite. Maybe he was wary of you—of what you could do, of what you could become.

You definitely needed a bath. A long one.

One that would take your mind off him, off your spiraling self-doubt.

Though, if you were being honest with yourself, you’d probably just end up thinking about the major case that had landed on your desk months ago.

At first, it seemed like a straightforward prostitution case—three men arrested for running a ring. But things took a darker turn when financial records revealed suspicious transactions, and lists of names and ages were hidden under the guise of real estate properties.

On paper, they appeared to be children and teenagers. But no bodies were found. None of the rescued individuals were underage, and every single one of them insisted they hadn’t been forced into anything.

You had call transcripts connecting D.C. to Virginia, Maryland, and even Baltimore, but they weren’t enough to prove people were being trafficked and sold. You didn’t even have a confirmed transportation route. With the evidence you had, the harshest sentence you could secure was 20 years—at best.

That wasn’t good enough.

You and Austin had been working non-stop, digging for anything that could reopen the case. The police had committed a dumb mistake, totally unintentional, and blamed it on a rookie officer. 

You weren’t so sure.

The trial date was still a month and a half away, and if you didn’t find enough evidence to charge them under RICO, you’d be forced to fight for every minor charge you could throw at them.

It was a high-profile case. You knew that. Your boss knew that. Your very proud—but slightly concerned—parents knew that. Soon, the press would probably know that too.

Did the pressure affect you? Maybe. It added weight to your shoulders, sure, but nothing compared to the pressure you put on yourself.

As you reached your door and unlocked it, the usual sense of ease and relaxation never came. Your body knew it wasn’t safe yet.

At first, you told yourself it was nothing. Coincidence. Paranoia. Your mind playing tricks on you after digging too deep into something dangerous.

But then, the little things started adding up.

The unsettling feeling of being watched, the man you were almost certain had followed you during your morning run. Papers on your desk shifted just enough to make you second-guess yourself. A black car parked across the street, there one day, gone the next—then back again.

You were methodical. Filed the complaints, knowing full well they'd be ignored. But you did it anyway. It was something to fall back on—a formality, a way to say you tried.

But nothing prepared you for this.

The moment you stepped inside, something felt wrong.

The silence, thicker than usual. The stillness in the air as if it were holding its breath.

Something incredible happens to the brain after it experiences trauma. The amygdala heightens the sensibility to danger helping recognize and avoid potentially harmful situations in the future. It can also enhance emotional resilience—some people develop a stronger sense of intuition, quicker reaction times, and a greater ability to read social cues.

Your bag hit the rack. Your coat slipped off your shoulders, but you didn’t move—didn’t breathe—until you saw it.

A piece of candy. Then another. And another.

Everywhere.

Scattered across the floor, the counters, the table—spilling from the cabinets, tumbling from the couch, everywhere.

Your skin prickled. Your stomach twisted. You didn't want to follow the trail, but your feet moved anyway, step by step, against every instinct screaming at you to turn around.

Candy. Candy. Candy.

Crinkling wrappers, glinting under the dim light.

Candy. Candy. Candy.

Your breath came shallow. The air felt thick. Too sweet. Sickly.

Candy. Candy. Candy.

You followed it into the kitchen. More candy.

Piled high, spilling over the edges of the counter, the table, the chairs. The sheer amount of it—obscene, suffocating, grotesque. Like a tide that had rushed in and drowned the room in sugar-coated horror.

Your fingers twitched. Your jaw clenched.

A candy wrapper crinkled. Your body jerked—but you hadn’t moved. Had you?

You looked down. Your hand. Your fingers, clenched so tightly around something that the foil had crushed against your palm.

Your heart lurched. You didn’t pick anything up.

You swallowed, throat dry. Then you saw it. Amidst the mess, perched at the very top of an overflowing heap.

A folded note.

The candy was pressing in, the sweet artificial scent clogging your throat.

Candy. Candy. Candy.

You reached out.

A breath shuddered out of you. Your vision blurred. The room felt smaller, pressing in, squeezing, pulling you back—back to the days when candy was more than just candy. When it meant something else. Something worse.

Your knees locked. Your pulse pounded in your ears.

Candy. Candy. Candy.

You weren’t breathing. You couldn’t breathe.

The paper crinkled between your fingers as you unfolded it.

Miss me, sugarcube?

—Dr. C.

　　　　 　　    .˳˳.⋅∘ ˚ ˚∘⋅.˳˳.⋅∘ ˚ ˚∘.˳˳. 　　　　

The night was settling over the city as the bullpen slowly emptied. The BAU had just wrapped up a case in Louisiana, and exhaustion lingered in the air, each agent buried in their own work.

Spencer wasn’t paying much attention until Morgan’s phone rang.

���What's up, Woody?”

That caught his ear. They usually called you. Not the other way around.

A flicker of jealousy sparked—irrational, unwanted, but there. Morgan had the privilege of calling you by your nickname, not just your name, like it was second nature. Like it meant something.

But that flicker died the second Morgan’s posture shifted.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. What's going on? You have to bre—”

Whoever was on the other end cut him off. Morgan sat up straighter, his brow furrowing.

Spencer felt his pulse tick up.

Morgan nodded sharply, already reaching for his jacket. “I'll be there in ten. Is she okay?”

The words hit like a hammer to the chest. You.

Something was wrong.

Reid was on his feet before he even realized it, trailing Morgan as he grabbed Prentiss’s arm on the way out.

“What happened?” he demanded, voice tighter than he intended.

Morgan didn’t answer right away. He was moving too fast.

That only made the knot in Reid’s stomach tighten.

　　　　 　　    .˳˳.⋅∘ ˚ ˚∘⋅.˳˳.⋅∘ ˚ ˚∘.˳˳. 　　　　

Morgan's knocking on your door was frantic, sharp raps against the wood that barely left room for a pause. Behind him, Prentiss and Reid stood tense, their eyes flicking toward the door, waiting.

Inside, Austin peered through the peephole before unlocking it, swinging the door open without hesitation.

“I got her to take a shower,” he said, stepping aside to let them in. His voice was steady, but the tightness in his jaw betrayed him.

The apartment felt wrong.

Reid stepped inside, his gaze immediately scanning the space. The lights were on, but there was an eerie stillness, a weight hanging in the air. The scent of something sharp—maybe soap, maybe something harsher—lingered.

Morgan exhaled, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “What the hell happened?”

Austin’s lips pressed into a thin line. He looked toward the hallway, where the faint sound of running water could be heard. “Someone broke in during the day”. 

Without another word, he turned and walked toward the kitchen. In the middle of the aisle sat a large garbage bag, its top loosely tied. Austin pulled it open, revealing an unsettling sight—piles of candy, an overwhelming amount. He reached inside, pulled out a small card, and handed it to Morgan.

“This was scattered all over the place,” Austin said, nodding toward the bag. “And this was left with it.”

Morgan’s eyes scanned the card, his expression darkening. He turned it over, glancing at Austin, waiting for an explanation.

Austin’s voice was steady but clipped. “Dr. C,” he said, the name alone carrying weight. “It stands for Dr. Calloway.”

Morgan frowned. “Who is that?”

“He was my foster father.”

Spencer turned at the sound of your voice. You stood in the doorway, wrapped in a long, fluffy white robe, your damp hair clinging to your shoulders. The only skin visible was the curve of your neck, the length of your forearms, and a glimpse of your legs beneath the hem. You clutched the robe tightly against your chest, as if trying to shield yourself—not just from the cold, but from the lingering presence of what had invaded your space.

“He used to give those… a lot of them, before and after he—” Your voice stuttered, catching on the words, unable to finish. 

Spencer’s gaze flickered to the kitchen, then back to you, the weight of your words settling heavily. Then, he noticed it—the raw redness of your skin. Even from across the room, he could see the angry patches where you had scrubbed too hard, as if trying to wash away something that wouldn’t come off.

You cleared your throat as best as you could. “What did the cameras show?” Your voice was low, raspy, as if it hurt to speak.

Spencer barely registered the words. All he could focus on was your eyes—wide, searching, and for the first time, so… small. The sharp edges of your presence were still there, but instead of the formidable woman he knew, you looked like a child—a scared one, cornered with no way out.

Austin sighed, his expression unreadable as he chose his words carefully. “The staff said the cameras haven’t been working for about a week.”

Something in you snapped.

“What do you mean they aren’t working?” Your voice rose, trembling with anger. “This place brags about its security system!” You whirled toward the door, fists clenched. “I’m gonna sue them for negligence and breach of contract! They’re going to—”

Austin moved fast, already anticipating your reaction. He caught you before you could storm out, arms locking around your waist as he turned you away from the door.

“You are not going out.” His grip was firm but steady as he spun you to face him, hands settling on your shoulders. His voice softened, but his words struck hard. “You’re losing focus. You’re losing perspective. You’re losing energy.”

It was a mantra he told you every time you were being too impulsive, too reckless, lashing out without thinking. His voice grounded you when you were ready to burn everything down.

You refused to look up—to meet the gazes of Reid, Morgan, or Prentiss. You could already picture their expressions. Judgment at your impulsiveness. Pity at your situation.

You didn’t know which was worse.

“Woody I understand this is a lot for you right now” Aside from Austin, Morgan was the only aware—partially—of what it meant that note. “We can help catch whoever did this okay? We'll take this to the rest of the team.”

You nodded, not being sure if that's what you really wanted. “I-” You couldn't help but stutter while swallowing the knot on your throat you forced yourself to. “He's supposed to be in prison now”

Prentiss began scanning the apartment, checking the corners with a trained eye. She ran a gloved hand over the door frame, inspecting the lock closely before crouching near the handle. “No visible signs of forced entry,” she murmured, more to herself than anyone else.

Morgan asked carefully, “Is there any chance he got out?”

The thought of someone like him—a monster—walking free through the streets made you sick. “I’m not sure. His sentence was 20 years, but the charges didn’t exclude parole opportunities.”

“Did they break anything else?” Reid asked, his gaze shifting to the shattered glass on the floor.

You shifted your weight uncomfortably from one leg to the other, at the full display of your anger, shaking your head. “No, I—um… that was me.” He didn’t miss the note of shame in your voice as you spoke. 

“Have you noticed someone following you or watching you, maybe?” Prentiss asked carefully from the entry door. 

You nodded, exhaling shakily. “Yeah, um… on my morning runs and outside the courtroom sometimes. There’s a folder in my desk.”

Without waiting, you walked in toward your office. As they entered, they took in the mess from the case you were working—registers in the floor, files and records pinned in a corkboard, a stark contrast to the rest of your apartment. The mess in here felt intentional, like the chaos inside your head had spilled into the space.

You dropped to your knees in front of the desk, pulling open the bottom drawer. Then, instead of rifling through it, you gripped both sides and yanked it out entirely, setting it aside.

Their eyes followed your movements as you reached down, pressing your fingers against the smooth wood floor until you found what you were looking for. A red folder, hidden beneath the drawer, its worn edges marked with a single sticker that read Austin.

You stood slowly, gripping it tightly before handing it over. “I have copies of every complaint I’ve made over the last couple of months… it’s all in here in case—”

The thought of you leaving proof in case something happened to you made Spencer’s chest tighten. His fingers hesitated for a fraction of a second before he opened the folder.

Inside, neatly stacked yet slightly worn from being handled, were copies of official complaints, incident reports, and personal notes. Dates, locations, descriptions of suspicious figures—some written hastily, others with meticulous detail. 

Before he could say anything, Morgan spoke up. “Do you know if they took anything from here?”

You shook your head. “It looks normal, and if they did take something, I have copies of everything in my office.” You paused for a moment, thinking. “Did you find anything at the hospital?” you asked, turning to Austin.

He shook his head. “They insisted on a warrant, but a nurse said she could help me if I came back tonight.”

A sigh of exhaustion left your lips as Morgan glanced between the two of you. “Then why don’t you just get a warrant?” he asked, his tone laced with confusion.

The question made you tense up.

You and Austin exchanged a wary look before you answered carefully. “We’re conducting an investigation that has to stay off the record.”

“What do you mean ‘has to stay’?” Reid asked, his brows knitting together.

“It’s a case I’m prosecuting, but we think it’s bigger than what’s on paper, and we can’t prove it yet,” you explained, crossing your arms as you stood. “Weeks ago, some evidence was ‘mislabeled’—sat in storage for weeks before anyone realized. The police chalked it up to a clerical mistake, and now they’re insisting on closing it.”

Morgan exhaled sharply, glancing at Austin. “And you think someone did it on purpose?”

Austin nodded. “There’s too many coincidences. Too many people trying to shut this down.”

Morgan nodded in understanding. “Tomorrow, we’ll tell the rest of the team about this. It’d be best if you didn’t go out much—stay indoors as much as possible.”

You shook your head immediately, running a hand over your forehead. “I can’t. I have to go to work tomorrow. I have a trial.” Your voice was firm, unwavering. You weren’t about to let someone else control your life. Not again.

Reid, who had been silent up until now, felt his mind start running the numbers. He calculated the probabilities of something happening to you if you insisted on going to work—factoring in everything they knew. Your stalker’s escalation pattern, his growing confidence, geographical profiling probabilities based on your work location. The percentage of workplace homicides committed by known aggressors versus strangers. The statistical likelihood of an abduction attempt in broad daylight versus early morning or late evening.

The numbers weren’t in your favor.

The higher the risk, the tighter the knot in his stomach became. Rationally, he knew he couldn’t control your choices, but emotionally, the thought of you walking straight into danger made his pulse quicken.

He swallowed and called your name softly. “It’s too dangerous for you.”

“If he’s watching and I don’t go to work, he’ll think he’s in control.” You met Reid’s gaze, and for a moment, the numbers ceased to matter. The statistics, the probabilities—none of it held weight against the quiet determination in your voice. You weren’t demanding, just asking. Asking to hold onto some semblance of control over your own reality.

Austin, who had promised long ago to stand by your side, spoke up. “The courtroom and the D.A.’s office are always packed with officers. Plus, if we escort her, he’ll see us and maybe back off.”

Or get even angrier, Reid thought. The probability of escalation was high—too high—but when he looked at you, at the way you squared your tense shoulders despite the fear you were barely keeping at bay, he knew you already understood the risk. You were scared, that much was obvious. But you refused to let that fear dictate your actions. And maybe that terrified him more than any statistic ever could.

Prentiss re-entered the room, her gloved hands brushing against the doorframe. “The lock wasn’t forced, but the scratches on the latch suggest someone picked it.” She gestured toward the window. “And there are faint scuff marks on the sill, like someone checked it as a secondary entry point.”

You nodded. "So it's not safe for me to stay here, is it?" Even if it was, you weren’t sure you’d ever feel safe here again.

Morgan, Reid, and Prentiss exchanged hesitant glances. Eventually, Morgan let out a deep breath, looking at you with concern. "We can set up surveillance outside, keep a close watch. But you need to think about what you want, too. If you don’t feel safe here, we’ll figure something out."

You hesitated for a moment, feeling the weight of the uncertainty pressing down on you. Spencer could see it in your eyes, and it ached him to realize that you didn’t feel safe in your own home. 

Austin noticed the hesitation too and, without another word, made the decision for you. “Fix a bag with what you need. If you forget something, we can come back together, you are staying at my place.” he said, his voice steady and firm.

You nodded slowly, the practicality of the suggestion grounding you, but the knot in your stomach tightened. The idea of leaving felt like a step further into something you couldn’t control, but at least it was a step toward safety—toward some semblance of normalcy.

As you turned toward your bedroom, you felt a flicker of gratitude for Austin’s unwavering presence. Spencer’s gaze followed you, his concern etched deep into his features, but he remained silent, understanding that you needed space to process it all.

As they were walking out of your office, something caught Reid’s attention—a small yellow post-it note buried among the clutter. The handwriting was nearly indecipherable, but the quote stood out:

"To go wrong in one's own way is better than to go right in someone else's."

He recognized it instantly—Dostoevsky.

Almost reaching your bedroom, you suddenly froze. A realization hit you like a punch to the gut. Someone had been sending you baskets of candy and chocolate for months—always without a card. You had dismissed it every time, taking them to the park to share with the kids. The kids.

“Austin!” you called out, horror tightening your throat.

He was by your side in an instant. “What? What is it?”

“The c-candy… we have to—”

“I’m getting rid of all of it, don’t worry,” he said, grabbing your trembling hands.

“No! You don’t understand.” You shook your head frantically. “You have to test them. See if they were spiked or something.”

Understanding dawned in his eyes, and he nodded, his grip on your hands tightening.

“I’ll call your dad, tell him to get them tested first thing in the morning,” he reassured you.

"Tested how? Why?" Spencer asked, his sharp gaze flicking between you and Austin, picking up on every detail—the stiffness in your posture, the way your fingers twitched like they wanted to curl into fists. The horror in your eyes.

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. You should have had an answer, a perfectly structured explanation. But your mind wasn’t cooperating. The words tangled, stuck somewhere between logic and memory. If you said it out loud, it would be real. And if it was real, then—

Austin moved, getting you into your bedroom before you could even try to force something out.

"Sit down," he said, his voice softer now but edged with quiet urgency. "Take a breath, and when you feel ready, pack a bag."

He stepped out, finally giving you a moment of silence. Outside, he joined Morgan and Prentiss, their conversation hushed but focused as they mapped out their next move.

Ten minutes later, they had a plan—Austin would relay all necessary information about you to Garcia and JJ. But Spencer wasn’t listening. Not really. His mind was elsewhere, caught on you and how you were holding up. He didn’t want to intrude, not while Morgan and Prentiss were deep in discussion, but his gaze kept drifting to your door.

Slowly, he approached, noticing it was slightly ajar. The dim light from inside spilled into the hallway, offering him a glimpse of your space—neat, controlled, yet somehow fragile. He hesitated, then knocked softly, calling your name.

No answer.

A flicker of unease tightened his chest. He knew you needed space, but silence had never felt so heavy. Pushing past his hesitation, he stepped inside.

You were curled up on the window seat, dressed in loose black sweatpants and a gray T-shirt. The window was half-open, a faint cold breeze stirring the fabric of the curtains, cooling your senses down. Your back was turned to him, your hand moving absently over the soft fur of a gray cat curled against your thigh.

Reid hesitated, watching you for a moment. There was something fragile about the way you sat there, staring out at the night. The weight of the evening still clung to you, but the cat’s quiet presence seemed to ground you—if only just.

He took a careful step forward. “Hey,” he said gently.

He startled you, making you jump clumsily in the seat. The sudden movement spooked the stray cat perched on the windowsill, its fur bristling as it let out a sharp hiss. In its panic, it lashed out, claws swiping against the back of your hand before bolting.

You flinched, instinctively pulling your hand close to your chest as the cat leapt from the ledge and disappeared into the night. A bright line of red was already forming where its claws had caught you.

“I’m sorry, I—” he started, but you quickly cut him off.

“It’s okay. I didn’t hear you coming.” Your voice was quiet but gentle, like you didn’t want him to feel bad for it.

He opened his mouth, then closed it again, unsure of what to say—unsure of how to reach you through whatever you were going through. Finally, he settled on the only thing that came to mind. “What’s its name?”

That earned him a small, tired smile, and for a brief moment, he thought he might have done something right. “Um—he sorta came with the place,” you admitted, glancing back at the empty windowsill. “I just call him Stray.”

Spencer’s brows furrowed slightly, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “You named a stray cat ‘Stray’?” His voice held a hint of humor, soft but genuine.

You couldn’t help but feel a warmth spread in your chest at the sound of it. “Yeah…” you replied with a lighter tone. “He owns up to his name.” You raised your right hand a little, showing him the long scratch on the back of it, as if to prove it.

He pressed his lips together, rocking back and forth on his feet nervously. “Sorry again,” he muttered, his voice soft.

You shook your head, a small smile tugging at your lips. “It’s fine, he just got scared.” You glanced back toward the window where the cat was tentatively returning. You placed your hand a few inches away from him, watching as the stray slowly approached. It only took a second before he leaned against your hand, purring softly and licking the scratch he had done, as if he felt guilty and was apologizing.

“He’s been coming around since I first moved in years ago,” you said, your voice gentle as you scratched the back of the cat’s ears, causing it to purr louder. “It took me an entire year, some food, and a lot of scratches and patience to get him this comfortable.”

You smiled a little at the softness of the moment, but the warmth faded just as quickly as it came. The reality of it all crashed back down on you—this place you called home had been invaded, your sense of security stolen. Again.

“I have to move out right?” the thought of leaving Stray alone and without food pained you. 

Spencer saw the shift in your expression at his nod, the way your shoulders sagged and your eyes darkened with exhaustion. He hated that look on your face, hated the weight of it. Desperate to pull you away from the spiraling thoughts, he let his gaze sweep across the room, searching for something—anything—to get you out of it. 

“Did you go to Harvard?” Reid asked, his eyes landing on a framed picture sitting on the bookshelf.

In the photo, a younger version of you stood between your parents, your diploma in hand. Your mother held a crimson banner with the university’s name in gold, while your father wore a red sweater emblazoned with a bold yellow ‘H.’

“Yeah. Law school. Though I look awful in those pictures,” you admitted.

You were 18 in them, and in your opinion, it wasn’t your best moment. The smudge eyeliner and dark clothes—an attempt to make yourself look unapproachable—clashed awkwardly with the family-intended picture. Besides, college wasn’t exactly a time you looked back on fondly.

Thankfully, you had outgrown the phase of needing to prove yourself. Sort of.

Reid, however, thought you looked pretty. Despite the heavy makeup that aged you, he could still see the youth in your features—the sharp intelligence in your eyes, the quiet determination. He wanted to ask more. At what age had you graduated high school? How had your teenage years in college been? Were they anything like his—lonely, spent buried in books?

You stood from the window seat, moving to zip up the bag you had packed for the next few days at Austin’s. Your gaze flickered to the closet, pausing briefly on the dress hanging behind the door.

Prentiss knocked lightly before stepping in with a small smile. “Ready to go?” Her eyes landed on the dress. “Oh, that’s fancy.”

It was. The dark purple silk draped elegantly, the halter top flattering yet professional, the long skirt flowing with just the right amount of sophistication. You and your mom had picked it out together for an important dinner—she had insisted you needed something that made you feel beautiful.

You exhaled, brushing a hand over the fabric. “Yeah… It was for a work dinner. But I guess I finally found the perfect excuse not to go.”

You grabbed the bag and walked out of the room, Spencer and Prentiss leading the way. With one last glance over your shoulder, you reached for the light switch, casting the space into darkness before quietly closing the door behind you.

　　　　 　　    .˳˳.⋅∘ ˚ ˚∘⋅.˳˳.⋅∘ ˚ ˚∘.˳˳. 　　　　

Walking into the bullpen of the BAU felt like stepping into a pressure chamber—every glance, every hushed conversation carrying the weight of unspoken questions. You weren’t just another visitor; you were the case. The reason for the extra tension in the air. 

Morgan led the way, having picked you and Austin up for security reasons—Austin’s bike wasn’t exactly the safest option. The briefing room felt suffocating, the air thick with unspoken concern. You tried to ignore the warmth creeping up your back, the telltale sign of exhaustion clawing at you. Sleep had been scarce last night, and the extra-bitter coffee in your hand was doing little to keep you grounded.

Everyone was already there when the three of you arrived. Their eyes flicked toward you, subtle yet piercing, like they could see right through you. You hated this feeling—vulnerability wrapping itself around you like a second skin. Have you ever walked into a room and felt like a lamb walking straight to the slaughter? You swallowed the knot in your throat and forced out the proper good mornings, your voice steadier than you expected.

Some habits never leave you. Like the art of avoiding physical touch—something you’d perfected in your teenage years. Always keeping your hands full, whether with books, files, or a cup of coffee. A strategic shield, paired with an apologetic smile when someone offered their hand, as if to say, Oh, I’d shake, but my hands are full. Sorry. Every movement calculated, arbitrarily staged, yet second nature by now.

And yes you could perfectly just say no to a simple handshake but playing against the rules wouldn't have gotten you anywhere. 

You stayed at the back of the room, leaning against the wall, trying to avoid the pitying looks from the team. JJ began explaining how, over the last few months, you had been stalked—someone had followed your routine, watching your every move.

Images appeared on the screen, displaying your apartment filled with candy. Your stomach twisted at the sight, and you quickly averted your eyes, staring out toward the bullpen instead. JJ continued, explaining how the situation was even more concerning given that your personal address wasn’t listed in any public records—precautions you had taken after past incidents.

“There was a note left behind,” she said, pressing a button to reveal a close-up of the paper on the screen. The message was short but chilling.

“‘Dr. C.’” JJ read aloud. “It stands for Doctor Calloway.”

Garcia chimed in, her voice devoid of its usual warmth. “Doctor Dean Calloway is a convicted felon. Over twenty years ago, he and his wife, Michelle Calloway, ran a foster home. He was sentenced to 30 years in prison for child neglect and public assistance fraud in Wallens Ridge State Prison.” 

The picture of him on the TV makes your legs go weak. His cold, piercing eyes—the same ones that had once looked at you with a twisted, possessive kind of love—make you feel like you want to rip your skin off, just to escape the memory of them.

Hotch frowned at the pictures. “And what’s the significance of the candy?”

You cleared your throat, knowing this was an important detail you had to clarify. “Calloway was—is—a child molester.”

The silence that settled over the room was suffocating, pressing down on your chest like a weight.

“He used to call me like that and drug me on the nights he—” Your voice wavered, threatening to crack, but you forced yourself to continue. “I never knew how or with what. All I know is that he made me eat thousands of those, maybe to hide the taste of whatever he was using.”

You swallowed hard, the weight of their eyes pressing against you, seeing through the cracks you tried so hard to keep together.

“His license was revoked after his conviction,” you added, your tone carefully measured, though your hands clenched at your sides, wanting to stop the trembling. “And I never had enough proof to go after him.”

A heavy silence followed, the air thick with unspoken thoughts. The team exchanged glances—understanding, anger, maybe even guilt for not realizing sooner. You weren’t sure which was worse.

Hotch was the first to break the silence. His voice was steady but edged with something close to anger. “If he’s been sending you these messages, then he’s either out or has someone on the outside working for him.”

Reid shifted on his seat, his hands clasped tightly in front of him. “Calloway was sentenced to thirty years. Even with good behavior, he shouldn’t be out yet.”

Garcia’s fingers flew over her keyboard, her usual warmth replaced by urgency. “Apparently, Wallens Ridge had a fault in their security system three days ago, making it really easy for a whole lot of very bad people to escape.”

“Three days ago?” Morgan’s voice was incredulous. “The stalking’s been going on for almost two months. Why didn’t we hear about this sooner?”

“They say they’re not sure who specifically got out,” Garcia responded, her fingers pausing over the keys. “The place is huge, so they’re still updating the fugitives list.”

“I never told anyone about the candy,” you said, your voice thick with the weight of the revelation. “He’s the only one who could’ve known about that.” Your mind raced, trying to piece together any possible logical explanation.

“Unless he has someone on the outside, someone who’s been following you,” Rossi suggested, and his words made your skin feel clammy. 

“Or there are two different stalkers,” Austin added, his gaze focused on you. “It wouldn’t be the first time a case backfired, especially if people have been watching you for other reasons.”

“So, we’re talking about two UnSubs?” Prentiss asked, her brow furrowing in thought.

You nodded slowly, the weight of the situation sinking in deeper. “It’s a high-stakes case. A lot of powerful people are expecting it to be closed and moved to trial as soon as possible. If something goes wrong…” You trailed off, feeling the invisible pressure of it all.

Hotch looked at you, his gaze intense and almost protective. “What kind of case is it?.”

You placed the file down on the table, your fingers brushing over it as you tried to keep your voice steady, but the weight of everything pressing down on you made it hard. You could feel the room’s tension shift, everyone leaning in, focused on your every word.

“The police investigated what on paper are prostitution houses,” you continued, your tone serious, “leading to the arrest of four men—two of them were real estate agents as a cover-up.” You paused for a moment, glancing at the file again, then at the faces of your team, your voice steadying as you pressed on. “All the victims we managed to rescue are adults who claim they weren’t being exploited. But when I went to check the financial records of these real estate agents, I found a ton of transactions tied to a series of properties they owned. The weird part? It was incredibly difficult to get access to the catalogue of properties, and none of them have a real, tangible address.” 

"At first, I didn’t think much of it, but then I realized—each property is actually a person they’re selling. It’s a human catalogue disguised as real estate listings." You knew you probably sounded crazy, but recognizing patterns and hidden meanings had always been how you survived.

"If a property is listed for rent, it’s prostitution. If it’s for sale only, it’s trafficking. A single-story house means the victim is a minor, while two or more floors likely indicate an adult. A garage means it’s a girl, no garage means it’s a boy. I think a porch signifies plastic surgery. And the descriptions of the walls and floors? They match the victim’s physical characteristics."

You laid out the pictures from the folder across the table, arranging them with a methodical precision. "These are the rescued victims. All of them are adults, former prostitutes, found in houses packed with bedrooms."

Then, you placed photos of houses and their corresponding descriptions beneath each victim’s picture. "Look at this one. Dark skin, dark eyes. And this house? Walnut floors, two stories, only available for rent, and it has a garage." You tapped the listing with growing certainty. "They aren’t selling homes. They’re selling people."

The team exchanged looks, some curious, others frowning with concern. Morgan was the first to speak. "How certain are you about this?"

"About 80%. Finding consistent leads has been really difficult," you explained, trying to keep your voice steady.

Hotch leaned forward, his expression sharp. "What does the DA say about all of this?"

You took a deep breath, steadying yourself. “She… doesn’t know. She’s planning her retirement and wants me to run for her position so I can ‘follow her legacy.’ She thinks this case could secure my election—and she’ll be telling everyone that at the Annual Winter Gala for the District Attorney’s office tonight,” you explained carefully. “If I find proof that the case has crossed state lines, it would automatically fall under the Department of Justice’s jurisdiction, leaving our office completely out of it.”

“Let us help,” Emily stated firmly.

Hotch nodded in agreement. “Garcia can look into this further to see if she uncovers anything else. Meanwhile, the rest of us will split up. JJ, Rossi, and Prentiss will focus on finding Calloway, profiling where he could be hiding, and the other half will stay with you, just in case.”

You hesitated but didn't decline knowing it was the best shot you had. 

“And it would be better if you stayed home,” Hotch said tentatively.

“Absolutely not,” you snapped, barely holding back the venom in your voice. “I have cases to handle and a trial in two hours—I can’t just sit around doing nothing.”

He nodded as if he already knew your answer, but still insisted that you not go to the Gala. You didn’t complain; you barely wanted to go anyway.

The thought of staying home, of locking yourself inside like some helpless prey, made your stomach churn. You weren’t a child anymore, weren’t that drugged, defenseless girl he could control. If Calloway showed up, you wouldn’t freeze. You wouldn’t run.

No, you’d put him down like the rabid animal he was.

　　　　 　　    .˳˳.⋅∘ ˚ ˚∘⋅.˳˳.⋅∘ ˚ ˚∘.˳˳. 　　　　

Going through sexual abuse leaves a deep, lingering sense of desperation. Last night, you scrubbed your skin with everything you had, trying to erase the phantom touch of ghost hands. It never worked, though. The sensation stayed, haunting you no matter how hard you tried to wash it away.

Being a survivor also carries a heavy burden of guilt. You knew, logically, it wasn’t your fault—what happened to you wasn’t something you could control. But the aftermath, the side effects of being drugged nearly every night, still clung to you, refusing to let you forget.

The familiar hallways of the DA’s office offered a fleeting sense of normalcy, a place where you could breathe a little deeper without your chest aching so badly. It wasn’t perfect, but it was something.

Fresh from the courtroom, you felt like you finally had some semblance of control over your life—at least for a little while, without the suffocating presence of a stalker lurking in the shadows. Morgan and Reid had been accompanying you all day, which was both mildly embarrassing and infuriating. The idea of people thinking you needed babysitters made your skin crawl.

On the other hand, Spencer couldn’t have been more eager to stay by your side. He hated the circumstances, hated the way you refused to meet his or Morgan’s gaze, but more than anything, he hated the way your hands trembled—no matter how hard you squeezed them together or tried to hide it. He wanted to reach out, to take your hands in his, to offer you something—anything—to anchor you.

He couldn’t even begin to imagine what it was like to have your past dissected and laid bare on a table for everyone to see. If just hearing you say Calloway had drugged you had made his stomach twist with sickness, he couldn’t fathom what it had done to you. So if you couldn’t look at him, he understood. He just wished he could hold you instead.

Watching you in court had been mesmerizing. Then again, everything about you captivated him.

Almost at your office, a sharp voice cut through the hallway. “Counselor!”

Spencer immediately tensed, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw Morgan’s hand instinctively move to his holster.

You turned at the sound, already bracing yourself and recognizing the voice from Defense Attorney Bennet. Just the sight of him made your stomach tighten, and the way your jaw tensed and your nose twitched slightly—a near-wince before you masked it—didn’t go unnoticed by Reid.

Bennet strolled toward you with his usual smugness, and you barely resisted the urge to take a step back.

“No deal.” Your voice was flat, dismissive. His client had been arrested for attempted murder—of his own wife, in front of their children. The woman had come to you, fear in her eyes, begging you to make sure he wouldn’t get out and try to hurt her again.

Bennet didn’t seem fazed. “I'm not looking for one. My client isn't guilty.,” he said smoothly, as if that was enough to make you care. 

You exhaled sharply through your nose, the corners of your lips threatening to curl in distaste. “Your client belongs in a pine box... but I will settle for an 8-by-10 cell where he can rot until he dies.”

"Don't get ahead of yourself, Ms. Woodvale. He was under a lot of stress due to his demanding workload, which caused him anxiety and insomnia," he says smoothly, as if that excuse isn’t absolutely ridiculous.

You catch a glimpse of Morgan and Reid stepping into your office. Exhaling sharply, already fed up, you fix him with a cold stare. "I have anxiety and insomnia. I don’t go around shooting people."

You turned on your heel and got inside your office, you shut the door with more force than necessary. “I’m sorry for th—” A yawn caught you off guard, cutting off your words as you let your forehead rest against the cool surface of the door. 

"Do you want some coffee?" Spencer offered, his voice so gentle that, for a moment, your shoulders eased ever so slightly.

"Uh—yeah, thank you," you said, watching as he moved toward the small table where the machine sat. Then, quickly, before he could pour, you added, "No sugar, please."

The thought of sweetness on your tongue made your stomach twist. On a normal day, you couldn't stand it. But today? Today, when the fact that Calloway was still out there felt like a breath against the back of your neck? You weren’t willing to find out how you’d react.

Across the room, Spencer nodded, his fingers brushing over the sugar packets before he left them untouched. He finally understood. The incident in Chicago, the way you had recoiled, the way you'd run. He clung to every fragment of insight he could gather from you, anything that wasn’t in a file.

Caleb, Molly’s temporary replacement, entered your office without knocking, looking harried—like he’d just remembered something important, or more likely, forgotten something crucial—Caleb nearly tripped over himself as he spotted you.

"Miss Woodvale," he started, already sounding defensive, "I was just about to—"

You didn’t have the patience. With a sigh, you reached into your bag and pulled out a folded sheet of paper, pressing it into his hands.

"I need two things, and I need them before midnight," you said, your tone clipped. "First, look up any prior convictions for Daniel Rogers—everything, even sealed records if you can access them. Second, type up a subpoena for the evidence request I noted down."

Caleb blinked at the paper, then back at you. "A subpoena? Like… now?"

You leveled him with a stare. "Yes, Caleb. Now. Before I have to argue in court for evidence I should already have."

"Right! Right. On it." He gripped the paper like it might disappear from his hands.

"Caleb," you added before he could rush off. He turned back, looking hopeful.

"Sign it under my name before filing. Properly."

"Of course! Totally on it."

You watched him scurry away and exhaled sharply. You should’ve just done it yourself.

Spencer handed you the cup of coffee, and the brief touch of his fingers against yours sent a small tingle through your skin—just enough to take the edge off, to let you breathe a little easier.

"Where's your usual girl?" Morgan asked, nodding toward the door.

"Molly's on maternity leave. She’s got three weeks left." You sighed. Three weeks with someone incompetent felt like thirty years.

Morgan’s phone buzzed, and he stepped out to take the call, leaving you alone with Reid. Ignoring the nerves creeping up your spine at the thought, you turned and made your way to the back of your office. As you pushed the door open, the room beyond was revealed—a chaotic mess, not unlike the study in your apartment.

He followed you inside, and for the first time, the sight of the mess actually embarrassed you. You shifted uncomfortably. “Sorry for the mess.”

“Don’t worry,” he said with a soft smile, his eyes scanning the board. His brows furrowed. “Why is the map unmarked?”

“I—uh—” You took a sip of your coffee, stalling. Admitting this felt ridiculous. “I’m not very good with directions. Or maps in general… I was going to ask Austin for help, but I always forget.” You hated how left and right sometimes blended together in your head, how frustrating and embarrassing it was.

“Let me do it,” he offered.

Your first instinct was to refuse, but he stepped closer before you could protest. “I do the geographical profiles for the BAU. I’m good at reading maps.”

Something about the way he looked at you—puppy eyes, long hair framing his face—made it hard to say no. Or maybe it was just him. And you couldn’t say no to him.

"Those are the directions," you gesture toward the board just as your phone rings. Seeing Austin’s name on the screen, you pick up.

"Good news, Woody. The candy wasn’t spiked, and I doubt the rest of the baskets were either."

A weight you didn’t realize you were holding in your chest suddenly lifts. The thought of someone twisting something as simple as sharing candy—something that once brought you comfort—into a potential nightmare had been unbearable.

You exhale, murmuring a thank you as Austin reassures you they’ll catch him. When you hang up and relay the news to Spencer, he gives you a small smile, his focus still on the map. Then, as he places a thumbtack, something clicks in his mind. 

"How did you get the lab to run the test that fast?" he asks, glancing over at you. The average turnaround time for something like that would usually be at least a couple of days, even for a small lab.

You shrug. "My dad’s a chemist. He runs a lab, so... it wasn’t hard to get him to push a few tests through."

The irony isn’t lost on you—how your birth parents had also run a lab, except theirs was a meth lab. And now, you’d been raised by someone who ran a legitimate one. Fate had a cruel sense of humor.

Another piece of you gets stored forever, engraved in Spencer’s mind, and the way you’re being so… casual with him makes his chest warm.

“I’m sorry you can’t go to that party tonight.”

“Oh, it’s fine, really. I wasn’t exactly thrilled to get pampered around by my boss, making promises on my behalf.” You lean against the wall.

“Yeah, social environments aren’t my thing either,” he says, placing the last thumbtack on the map. “So, you don’t want to be the DA?”

You take a second to think. “I know it’s a big position, and it would be great for my career. My boss is always saying the tabloids would go crazy—she can already see the headlines with my name on it. And I know it opens a lot of doors, but…” You trail off. “It comes with things I don’t want to do, like playing politics. I’m not interested in that. I’d barely even step foot in a courtroom, and I want to help people. Bring closure. Maybe even some peace, if I can.”

Spencer watches you as you speak with such passion. For a moment, your eyes don’t look as haunted. Your words seem to carry a weight he’s never seen before, and the strand of hair falling over your face is so tempting for him to tuck behind your ear. It’s as if a magnetic force is pulling him closer. 

He smiles at you, opening his mouth to respond, but his phone rings. “I got something for you about our secret mission,” says Garcia on the other line when he picks up and puts her on speaker.

“So, I tracked the license plate from the arrested man. Stumbled upon something—two of them always went periodically to a location where there are no cameras around. It’s pretty far, almost at the border with Maryland,” Garcia continues.

“Is there anything over there?” you ask, feeling a slight sense of urgency.

“It’s a pretty abandoned area, but from a street view program, apparently, there’s a warehouse over the Cicero street,” she replies. “I sent you the location.”

Spencer thanks her, but before he hangs up, Garcia adds, “Rossi picked up Morgan from there. A street camera caught someone who looks like Calloway near the Capitol.”

Your breath catches in your chest for a moment as the weight of her words sink in. You exhale slowly, Spencer hangs up and you speak urgently. “We have to go check that warehouse.”

You see hesitation in his eyes “Please?

He nods, but the hesitation doesn’t leave his eyes. He doesn’t want to go alone without the team, but something shifts when he notices the tremor in your hand. It was slightly worse than before, but he didn't say anything. Instead, he decided not to mention it, knowing that pushing you away now wouldn't help.

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Arriving at the warehouse, you felt anticipation creeping through your bones, an almost electric tension settling in your chest. You were close—so close that whatever detail had been slipping through your fingers had to be right in front of you.

The aged wooden floor groaned beneath your boots, the sound swallowed by the vast emptiness of the space. Dust floated in the slanted beams of light filtering through broken windows, and the air smelled of damp wood and rusted metal.

If Spencer cursed, he would have done it the moment you didn’t wait for him to clear the area first. Instead, he sprinted to your side, his breath sharp as he yanked his gun from his holster, his fingers tightening around the grip.

The place had two floors, surrounded by nothing but dry, brittle trees. Looking back, you wished you could say you had been cautious, but the events of the day had started to numb your judgment. There was no hesitation when the door didn’t budge—you shoved your shoulder against it without a second thought.

Spencer inhaled sharply behind you, his voice cutting through the stagnant air.

He called your name as a warning, his tone edged with unease. And if you had time for waiting you would've picked on the hint of fear in his voice. 

The door gave in, and you stepped inside immediately. The interior was somehow worse than the outside—humidity clung to the rotting wood, the scent of decay thick in the air. The space was lined with tiny bedrooms, each one filled with small beds. The sight made your stomach turn. You didn’t need to imagine what had happened here; the walls practically whispered it.

“You go check upstairs, I’ll check here,” you said, already moving.

“We should wait for backup.” Spencer's voice was firm, his grip on his gun tightening.

"This place is abandoned," you countered, dismissing his concern before he could argue further. He sent Garcia a quick message as you moved through the rooms quickly—most were the same, two beds, a small closet, nothing significant.

Until the last room.

It was different. A desk sat by a small, cracked window, standing out among the neglect. You crossed the room immediately, opening every drawer, rifling through them with practiced efficiency. But there wasn’t much. Loose papers. A few pens. Dust coating the insides.

Then, just as you were about to move on—something.

Tucked in the very back of the bottom drawer. A flash drive.

Your fingers barely brushed against it when— crack.

A footstep. A snap of dry wood behind you.

Your pulse slammed into overdrive. Every muscle tensed, locking you in place for a fraction of a second—just long enough to see a blue shadow move between the trees, fast, deliberate. They had something in their hand. They took something from the desk.

And then your body moved before your mind could catch up. You bolted.

The cold air burned your throat as you tore through the doorway, barely registering Spencer shouting your name behind you. The forest was a blur—branches whipping past, the earth uneven beneath your feet, every instinct screaming at you to keep going, keep your eyes locked on the figure ahead. 

Then it hit.

A wave of vertigo crashed into you like a freight train when you were jumping off a rock.

The world lurched.

Trees stretched and twisted, the ground tilting violently beneath you. Your stomach turned, and suddenly there was no up, no down—just a sickening pull as your balance shattered.

Your foot slipped.

You didn’t fall so much as collapse, legs giving out as the world spun in a dizzying, nauseating spiral. Your shoulder slammed into the dirt first, then your head, the impact ringing through your skull like a gunshot making you groan in frustration and dizziness. 

Distantly, you could still hear Spencer yelling. His voice was closer now, urgent, frantic.

You tried to push yourself up, but the world wouldn’t stop moving. The trees swayed, the ground rolled beneath you, and the sickening weight of disorientation kept you pinned where you fell.

The sirens screamed in the distance, but all you could hear was the pounding of your own heartbeat, loud and erratic in your ears. The earth tilted beneath you as you tried to push yourself up, twigs and dirt digging into your scraped palms. 

Right now, Spencer could only see himself in you—that reckless, desperate version of himself from two years ago. The one who told JJ they didn’t have time to wait. The one who ended up at the mercy of Tobias Hankel. Right now, those magnets—the ones that should have drawn you together—were mirroring instead. And magnets that mirror don’t attract. They repel.

The nausea surged again, your stomach twisting violently as you heard Spencer’s footsteps closing in.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?!”

His voice, along with some police sirens, cut through the ringing in your ears, sharp and edged with frustration, but you could barely focus on it. The ground felt unsteady beneath you, as if the earth itself was shifting. You blinked hard, trying to ground yourself, but the pressure in your skull only worsened.

Spencer didn’t notice—didn’t see the way your fingers dug into the dirt just to keep yourself upright. All he saw was a reckless choice, the same mistake he had made, playing out all over again. And it terrified him.

"I almost had him!" you shot back, breathless, the words slurring slightly as the world swayed again when you stood up again.

"You ran off alone!" His voice cracked, raw with frustration. “You have no idea of the hundred things that can happen when you go alone in the field! You are not even an agent or a police officer!”

The words hit like a whip, laced with something deeper than anger—fear. But your head was spinning too much to fire back. The ringing in your ears pulsed in and out like waves crashing over you, swallowing his words before you could fully process them.

You thought you saw another figure moving toward you—just a flicker of motion in your blurred vision, a shadow against the trees. The ringing in your ears drowned out everything else, making Spencer’s voice feel distant, like he was speaking through water.

“Woody!”

Morgan’s voice cut through the static, sharp and urgent. You barely registered the moment he reached you—his presence was solid, grounding—but the nausea clawed at your stomach, threatening to pull you under again.

“Someone—a blue jacket was—” you tried, but the words barely scraped past your throat, your breathing uneven, shallow. You forced yourself to stay upright, to push through the dizziness, but Morgan’s hands were already on you, steadying, his gaze scanning your face with concern.

“They… they took something from the house. I don’t kn—” Your voice broke off as another wave of vertigo surged through you.

Morgan’s grip tightened, firm but not harsh. “You don’t look good, Woody. Sit down before you fall down.” He guided you down against a tree with your knees to your chest. 

“I’m fine, it’s just—this vertigo shit, I—” The lie barely made it past your lips before the ground tilted violently beneath you. You staggered, your vision swam, and this time—there was nothing you could do to stop it. You swallowed hard, but it did nothing to stop the nausea clawing up your throat. “I—I just need a second.”

As if he snapped off his frustration. Spencer crouched down in front of you, eyes scanning your face, his own panic shifting into something else. “Just take a deep breathe,” he said, and now it wasn’t frustration in his voice—it was realization. 

You blinked at him, but the edges of your vision were still blurry. You hated this. Hated feeling weak in front of him, hated that your body had betrayed you at the worst possible moment.

“I’m fine,” you muttered, even as another wave of vertigo made you squeeze your eyes shut.

Spencer wasn’t buying it. And suddenly, he felt so much shame over how he hadn't even helped you out because he’d been so caught up in his own fear, his own anger, that he hadn’t even seen you struggling.

And that scared him just as much as watching you run into danger alone.

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Once again in the BAU bullpen, you had finally recovered from the vertigo, knowing it was brought on by stress and anxiety.

While you had been struggling, the rest of the team had sprinted through the woods, searching for the person you saw. JJ was the one who found a crumpled, half-burned document about 50 meters away from the house. As for the figure in the blue jacket—there was still no trace.

The files contained lists of properties, and they were marked with prices. For the looks of it, you sensed they could indicate age or maybe height but you didn't get much opportunity to look into it. As for the flash drive, Garcia had taken it to analyze. 

They had told you that the one man they caught on a street camera thinking it was Calloway was just a false alarm, meaning he was still free, you hated feeling like a prey again.

Austin was crouched in front of your chair, watching you carefully.

"I'm fine. And we both know it’s just because my body doesn’t handle stress well," you muttered, taking a sip of the gatorade he handed you. You were no stranger to vertigo and dizziness—episodes that had come and gone over the years—but this one felt different. More intense, more unsettling. A doctor had once told you, years ago, that it could be a lingering side effect from drug abuse.

"Just eat," he said, opening a paper bag and setting it beside you.

You sighed, grabbing the sandwich but leaving the small cardboard box inside. Breaking the sandwich in half, you offered him a piece, but he shook his head. Rolling your eyes, you spun your desk chair to face JJ instead.

"Want half my sandwich? I’m not going to finish it."

She frowned slightly but quickly answered, "Oh, thank you." Taking a bite, her eyes widened. "Oh my god, this is really good," she said, covering her mouth as she chewed.

Smiling, you took a bite yourself. "My mom’s a chef. She likes to send me food sometimes, and since she knows I like sharing, she always sends extra."

JJ hummed in approval before handing a piece to Prentiss, who had the same reaction. 

Just then, Hotch entered the room with Garcia and Spencer behind him. Garcia grabbed the remote and turned on the TV showing the FBI logo.

“My lovely ducks this flash drive was cripting nightmare. But! as your dear tech colorful genius I got it.” She pressed a button, and a series of documents filled the screen—spreadsheets, names, locations, and timestamps. She took a deep breath before speaking.

"Okay, so this flash drive? A goldmine of incriminating evidence," she said, her tone more serious than usual. "We’re talking organized trafficking orders—detailed lists of victims, complete with coded identifiers, transaction dates, and destinations. But that’s not all."

She clicked to another file, and a map appeared. "These are transport routes—highways, backroads, even rest stops marked as exchange points. Whoever put this together is meticulous. And then, there are these."

Another document popped up. It was a list of addresses.

"Safe houses," Garcia continued. "Not just in DC—there’s here in Virginia, Maryland, Baltimore and a few in Pennsylvania. Meaning, this isn’t some local operation. It’s an entire network."

The room fell silent as everyone processed the weight of what she had just revealed.

The breath you had been holding escaped in a slow exhale as you sank back into the chair. You and Austin exchanged a glance, both of you silently acknowledging the weight of what was in front of you—the information you had been chasing for weeks was finally right there.

In retrospect, it seemed almost absurd—how just three men were possibly going to be convicted for minor felonies, while they and so many others were responsible for running and ruining God knows how many lives.

Hotch’s voice was firm. “We’ll give this to the Head of the Domestic Trafficking Task Force, Andi Swan, to continue with the investigation. They will be communicating with the Department of Justice.”

You nodded slightly, processing the weight of the situation you had been unknowingly tangled in. Austin’s voice cut through your thoughts. “You have to go to the gala for an alibi.”

He was right, and you knew it. Not attending such an important event, coupled with the fact that the office was losing an important case while FBI agents had been seen talking to you, could easily make you a target—marked as a 'snitch.' The irony stung, especially when all you’d been trying to do was uncover the truth.

You turned to face the team. “What about Calloway and the other threats?”

Garcia’s expression softened as she responded. “Wallens Ridge has cleared 75% of the area. They haven’t ruled him out as a fugitive yet.” Her voice took on a pitying tone, one you didn’t want to acknowledge but knew was meant to protect you.

“We’ll protect you,” Morgan added, his voice steady. “The gala will be crowded with security. We’ll drive you there and back, and by tomorrow, we’ll continue to look for him. You’ll be safe.”

You nodded, knowing the smart decision was to attend the gala and put on a convincing smile. Austin had told you it was 6 p.m., giving you two hours to get home and be ready by 8.

Hotch assigned Rossi, JJ, and Garcia to keep tracking Calloway, while Morgan and Prentiss would drive you to the event.

Once the team had their tasks, you stood, picking up the brown paper bag before heading toward Spencer’s desk. You placed it on top, glancing toward Garcia’s office, where you’d just seen him disappear. It was a terrible excuse for an apology—‘Sorry for being impulsive and reckless. Here’s a sweet treat.’ But words had never been your strong suit, especially when it came to your feelings.

Time had a cruel way of shifting things. Over two years ago, you had stood in front of another desk, clutching an identical paper bag—only back then, it hadn’t been an apology. It had been his drugs. And you had thrown them away.

Austin was waiting for you. You caught a glimpse of Prentiss flipping through files and swallowed your nerves. You never knew if your difficulty making friends came from feeling like a freak or simply not knowing how to connect.

You hesitated before calling her name. “Uh—could you help me? Maybe? I know you probably have more important things to do, so—”

Prentiss looked up, offering a friendly smile. “No, it’s okay. What do you need help with?”

You shifted awkwardly. “Getting ready? I—I don’t really know how. I mean, I can dress myself, obviously, but—”You exhaled, frustrated at your own fumbling. “I barely know how to do any of that ‘pampering’ stuff.”

Prentiss smirked, grabbing her coat. “Oh, you came to the right person. I’m a diplomat’s daughter—I was practically trained in this.”

You blinked at her, surprised by how quickly she jumped in to help.

She gestured toward the elevator. “Come on. Let’s make you look like you belong at this gala.”

Trying not to seem too eager, you followed her. Before stepping in, she quickly told Morgan she’d be driving you and Austin.

A few minutes later Spencer finally emerged from Garcia’s office, barely escaping yet another lecture about overthinking things. His eyes landed on his desk—and the familiar brown paper bag sitting atop it.

Inside was a small cardboard box. And in it—a piece of chocolate cake. 

A flicker of guilt settled in his chest as he stared at the cake. Had he really made you feel like you needed to apologize?

Maybe he felt it even more acutely after taking a bite—sweet, rich, and undeniably good. The kind of thing that made him wonder if he even deserved it. 

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You glance at the reflection in the mirror, taking in the clean, elegant look. The dress falls delicately, the long strips cascading down your back—so stunning, so unlike what you’d usually wear.

“You look good. Don’t overthink it,” Austin’s voice comes from behind you.

“Thanks,” you reply, offering him a faint smile, but it comes out more like a thin line.

Emily had done a great job polishing you up. She even revived the black nail polish you thought was long gone since your college days, using some remover drops. Your hair was styled in an updo, the final touch to a look that felt like someone else entirely.

“Here you go” she says, handing you the long black coat, giving your makeup a final check. It felt strangely nice to feel this... pretty. You knew without her help, you wouldn’t have pulled it off. To be honest, you liked pretty things. You liked makeup, but you just didn’t know how to do it right. And you wanted to have girlfriends, though you weren’t sure what you’d talk about with them. But that didn’t matter, and Emily seemed nice enough to not mind.

“The car’s downstairs. Morgan and Reid will be taking you” she adds. Right. Reid. You nod as you slip the coat on, trying to ignore the unease creeping up on you.

The thought of Reid seeing you like this, this version of yourself that was so different from the usual, made you squirm.

Would he think you looked good? Pretty, even? Why did you care about his opinion? Maybe because you cared about what he thought in general. Maybe because having his attention, even for just five seconds, felt like something sacred. Why would someone with such an incredible mind waste more than five seconds on someone like you?

You didn’t know which thought haunted you the most: the sense of insecurity that came with the fact someone had broken into your place, erasing the feeling of home and comfort you’d hoped for while getting ready, or the look in Spencer’s eyes—the one that made you feel like you’d been stupid.

The elevator doors opened, revealing the lobby, and in front of the glass entrance doors of your apartment complex stood the familiar black SUV. Your stomach churned with nerves.

Spencer’s breath hitched when he saw you, the way the dress fit you so perfectly, so timelessly elegant. If someone had told him you were a duchess or from some aristocratic family, he would have believed them. The way you carried yourself—controlled yet poised, with your head held high and your back straight—was enhanced by the silk of the dress, giving you an almost regal presence.

He got out of the car to help you in, and the rush of warmth that flooded your face instantly banished the winter’s cold. You smiled awkwardly at him, unsure of what to say.

The low whistle from Morgan saved you.

“Lookin’ good, mama,” he said, flashing that charming smile of his.

You smiled back at him, relieved, before turning to say goodbye to Prentiss. Spencer gently helped you into the car, making sure the dress didn’t get caught or ruined in the process. You felt the tingle of his hand lingering where it had touched yours, and you couldn’t shake the electric pulse it left behind. 

Slipping into the back seat, you settled in with Austin in the front, relaying the venue’s address to Morgan. Spencer sat beside you, trying to keep his composure. He had to be extra careful not to stumble as the scent of your perfume hit him, wrapping around him like an intoxicating mist. It was all he could do to focus on anything else, the smell of it swirling in his senses and pulling him into a dizzy state he could easily get lost in. 

Throughout the ride, you stared out the window, mentally preparing yourself for the event ahead. You knew you had to play the part—professional, charming, decisive, almost regal if you wanted to make an impression. The problem was, you didn’t want to win that way. You didn’t want to play the political game that came with it.

Looking at Morgan was a reminder that Calloway was out there, and you could let him throw you off. But then your gaze shifted to Reid, and the tightness in your chest made you stutter for a second. His presence had that effect on you, unsettling yet magnetic in the most infuriating yet addicting way.

Your phone rang, pulling you out of your thoughts. You rummaged through your purse and saw it was your office number, making you frown as you picked it up.

“Hello?” you answered doubtfully, everyone was supposed to be at the venue or on their way there by now.

“Miss Woodvale!” Caleb’s voice came through, making you fight the impulse to roll your eyes. “I’m sorry to bother you, but I’m afraid there’s been a problem.”

You sighed, bracing yourself. Caleb was pretty useless as an assistant, and you could already feel the frustration bubbling up. “What’s happened now?”

“It’s the subpoena for the evidence in the Rogers case, the one about the gun,” he said, his voice tinged with panic. “The judge declined it, and I... I’m not sure what to do about it. The paperwork was filed wrong, and—”

You cut him off before he could ramble further. “Is it the one I gave you a draft on how to do it exactly?”

Yes! I typed but—I don't know something must have gone wrong and I’m at the office right now and I-” You sigh knowing you had made a mistake in asking him to handle such an important thing like a physical evidence paperwork. 

Knowing it was pretty urgent and could jeopardize the case, you decided to take care of it in the moment “I’ll handle it.” You ended the call, already plotting the quickest way to fix this.

You glanced at the others in the car, a sudden sense of urgency creeping over you. The event felt like it had slipped from your mind for a moment, but the reality of your job brought you back into focus.

“Is everything okay?” asked Spencer, with a concerned look on his face.

You nod slowly “Yeah just…” you said, turning to Austin and Morgan. “Can we please make a stop in the office for a second? There was a problem and I’ve got to go fix it.”

Morgan glanced at you, eyebrows raised. “You sure? We’re almost there”

“It’s on the way, just some paperwork issue that I don't want to escalate” you said, your tone firm. “I’ll be quick. I promise”

Morgan nods and turns towards your office. A couple minutes later you are in front of the office, stepping out of the car. Spencer, followed quietly behind you. His voice was low, but there was concern in it. “I’ll come with you”

You just nodded, knowing that convincing him you’ll be fine was a waste of time. As you walked toward the courthouse, your mind raced through possible solutions to fix Caleb’s mistake, not wanting to think of the effect Spencer’s presence by your side had on you, and how the silence between you two was almost suffocating over the unsaid feelings.

Spencer cleared his throat. “You look beautiful,” he said, offering a sincere smile. He wanted to say more—wanted to apologize—but the words tangled inside him, unsure of how to make it right.

The compliment caught you off guard, leaving you momentarily defenseless. You felt the warmth of a genuine smile tug at your lips, and Spencer’s chest tightened at the sight of it.

“Thank you,” you said softly, meaning it.

Spencer exhaled, deciding to take the chance. “About what happened in the warehouse, I—”

A sharp gasp from Caleb cut him off.

“Counselor! I’m so sorry—I completely forgot the gala was tonight!” Caleb’s voice was frantic as he adjusted his glasses, guilt written all over his face. “I wanted to apologize. I know you trusted me with this, and I—”

“Just give me the files and let’s fix this,” you interrupted, already feeling the weight of the situation pressing down on you.

Before anything else could be said, Spencer’s phone rang with Garcia’s name in it.

He picked up immediately, but something was off. The call crackled, her voice cutting in and out, fragmented in a way that sent a prickle of unease down his spine.

“Garcia? You’re breaking up—what’s going on?”

As you, Caleb, and Spencer stepped into your office, the static grew worse. He pressed the phone tighter to his ear, but Penelope’s words were barely making it through.

“Ca—way… Welle—ridge…” The interference distorted Garcia’s words, making it impossible to understand what she was saying.

“What? Garcia, I can’t hear you,” Spencer said, pressing his hand over the other ear to block out the noise.

Your assistant glanced up. “There’s better reception downstairs at night.”

Spencer gave a quick nod and stepped out of your office, heading toward the lower level. By the time he got there, the call had already dropped. With a sigh, he immediately tried calling Garcia back as he got further and further from you. 

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Upstairs, Caleb handed you more files, his usual carefree expression in place. As you took them, your eyes flicked to the dirt under his nails, and you fought the instinctive wince of disgust.

“I gave you notes on how to do this. Did you check them?”

You really didn’t want to lecture a man who was two years older than you and a bit taller, but at this point, it felt unavoidable.

What felt even more ridiculous, though, was how he managed to mess up every task you gave him.

Caleb scratched the back of his head, looking sheepish. “I mean… sort of? I figured it was just a formality thing, so I—”

“This isn’t even from the Rogers case, Caleb,” you interrupted, exasperation seeping into your voice as you handed the file back to him. You didn’t even try to mask your frustration.

“Oh! Right—sorry!” He fumbled through his stack of papers before hastily picking up another document and handing it over.

You sighed, taking it from him, already dreading what mistake you’d find next.

He disappeared down the hall, leaving you staring at the stack of files, irritation simmering under your skin. With a sigh, you scanned it carefully, your frustration shifting into confusion. There was nothing wrong with it. No technical error, no missing information—just a perfectly valid request.

Frowning, with your back towards the door, the file still in hand, rereading it just to be sure.

“Caleb, I don’t think thi—”

You never got to finish the sentence.

A sharp, jarring thud struck the back of your head, and the world lurched sideways. A burst of pain shot through your skull, white-hot and disorienting. The file slipped from your fingers, papers scattering across the floor as your vision blurred.

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Morgan’s phone buzzes sharply against the desk, the name Garcia flashing across the screen. He barely has time to press accept before her voice spills through the line, fast, frantic.

“Morgan, this is weird—really, really weird—I don’t understand how th—”

He straightens, instincts flaring. “What’s going on? You caught Calloway?” With a flick of his thumb, he puts the call on speaker so Austin can hear too.

There’s a sharp inhale on the other end, then Garcia’s voice—urgent, almost breathless.

“Morgan I called Reid first but his phone it’s not working, Wallens Ridge just called. Calloway never left the facility.”

The blood in their veins turned to ice at the thought of it. If it wasn’t Calloway—the only one who knew about such a macabre detail—then who? Who else could possibly know?

They both bolted out of the car. Who even had your address? It had to be someone trusted. Someone close. Someone you had let too close.

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A blinding explosion of pain cracked through your skull, turning the world sideways. The room twisted, floor tilting beneath you as your knees buckled. The taste of copper flooded your mouth.

Hands—rough, too strong—grabbed at you, yanking you forward before you could catch yourself. Your body slammed into something solid. A wall? A desk? It didn’t matter. The impact rattled through your bones, sending shockwaves down your spine.

Panic surged through the haze. You tried to move—tried to fight—but the dizziness slowed your limbs, making everything feel sluggish. You wanted to scream for help, for someone, anyone, for Spencer, to come help you, but the spinning world had stolen your words.

Your fingers clawed for anything—something—to defend yourself. Your vision swam, but you felt it: the sharp edge of something on the desk. A pen? A letter opener?

Your hand closed around it.

But Caleb was faster.

A crushing grip seized your wrist, twisting, forcing your fingers open. The object clattered to the floor. He shoved you back—hard. Your shoulder slammed into the wall, pain blooming through muscle and bone. The air left your lungs in a choked gasp.

You had to move. Had to run. Had to— A sharp sting. Cold flooded your veins.

Your body locked, every nerve screaming in protest as the drug hit.

No. No. No.

You thrashed, arms flailing weakly, but your strength was already draining, slipping away like water through your fingers. Your vision blurred at the edges, dark spots creeping in.

Caleb yanked you by the arm, dragging you across the floor. The wood scraped against your skin, tearing at you as you kicked weakly. Your fingers clawed at the ground, desperate for an anchor. You dug your nails into the floor, hanging on, fighting to the last.

A white-hot burst of pain exploded through your hand as your index’s fingernail caught on a splintered groove in the floorboards—and ripped clean off.

A strangled cry wrenched from your throat. The agony barely registered before the blackness swallowed you whole.

　　　　 　　    .˳˳.⋅∘ ˚ ˚∘⋅.˳˳.⋅∘ ˚ ˚∘.˳˳. 　　　　

They were too late.

Your office was a disaster—papers scattered, the desk chair overturned, a letter opener lying abandoned on the floor. The air felt wrong, thick with something unsaid, something violent. But it wasn’t until Spencer’s gaze dropped that his stomach lurched.

A fingernail. Lodged between the wooden floorboards.

His breath hitched, nausea creeping up his throat, but there was no time to process it. Austin was already moving, frantic, his eyes darting toward the hallway. He knew there were cameras out there—but not in here. Whoever had taken you had known exactly how to stay hidden.

Morgan and Austin had sprinted up the stairs the second Garcia’s call came through, barely stopping when they saw Spencer frozen near the entrance. The silence in the office was suffocating. There was no one else here. Everyone was at the gala.

Spencer was supposed to be watching you. Supposed to make sure nothing happened. And yet—he had failed. The weight of it pressed down on him, suffocating, as Morgan barked into his phone, demanding that Garcia access the security cameras, cursing when the signal started to fail.

That’s when he heard the soft creak of a door.

He turned just in time to see Caleb stepping out of the bathroom, his face and hands damp, water still clinging to his skin.

Something wasn’t right.

“Where is she?” Austin’s voice cut through the air like a blade, sharp and unrelenting.

Caleb blinked, frowning. “Where’s who?”

The nonchalance sent a cold chill through Spencer’s body.

Morgan wasn’t wasting time. He tore through your office, yanking open drawers, rifling through papers, looking for any sign of where you’d gone, but there was nothing. Austin was shouting your name now, advancing on Caleb, his voice rising with barely contained rage.

Then—Morgan cursed. Low. Cold. Spencer turned just as Morgan reached into Caleb’s desk and pulled something out. A signal jammer.

That was why his phone hadn’t worked.

That was why Morgan’s call had cut out.

You were gone.

And they had walked straight into it.

Austin was the first to react. In a blur of movement, he grabbed Caleb by the collar of his blue jacket and slammed him against the wall with enough force to make the drywall tremble.

Someone close. Someone who knew the building well enough to avoid the cameras. Someone who knew you—your schedule, your address.

Austin’s grip tightened. His voice was razor-sharp. “What have you done to her?”

Caleb’s breath hitched. His face paled. “I—I swear, I didn’t w-want t—”

Austin didn’t let him finish. He slammed him back again, harder. “Where is she?” His voice was low, lethal, vibrating with fury.

Morgan was calling Garcia again, his voice tense in the background, but Austin barely registered it. His entire world had narrowed to the man in front of him—the only lead to where you were.

“They—they threatened me,” Caleb stammered, hands raised in surrender. “My family—I’m sorry, I—”

Austin didn’t care. He shoved him harder against the wall. “Where. Is. She?”

Caleb’s breath came in ragged gasps, terror widening his eyes. His voice cracked as he stammered, “I—I don’t know—they just gave me the needle, and they took her through the back door.”

Morgan was already moving, heading toward the back of the building in search of any trace of you.

Austin didn’t budge. His grip on Caleb’s jacket tightened, his knuckles white. “What did you give her?” His voice was sharp, edged with something raw and dangerous. When Caleb hesitated, Austin snapped. “I’ll kill you with my own hands—what did you give her?!”

You had been drugged.

Fifteen years. Fifteen years of sobriety—stolen in an instant.

The thought sent fire through Austin’s veins. His chest heaved with barely contained rage, but before he could lose himself in it, Spencer’s voice cut through the chaos.

Spencer’s gaze locked onto Caleb’s blue jacket, his mind racing. Then, he caught it—the dirt under Caleb’s nails. His stomach twisted.

The warehouse.

Caleb had been there. He was the one you saw. The one you spoke to in your office—where he could have easily eavesdropped.

You had been watched. You had a target on your back for far longer than any of them had realized.

　　　　 　　    .˳˳.⋅∘ ˚ ˚∘⋅.˳˳.⋅∘ ˚ ˚∘.˳˳. 　　　　

The air smelled of damp wood and rusted metal, creeping through your nostrils as your vision swam in and out of focus. Slowly, you began to regain awareness of your body and surroundings. A harsh light flickered overhead, blurring your senses, and a sharp pain on the side of your head made you wince.

Your hands were bound tightly behind your back, the rope digging into your skin, and the searing pain made it almost impossible to ignore. A sound, sharp and unsettling, reached your ears—the click of someone’s tongue. It was enough to snap you from your fading consciousness. You fought to stay awake, but your body felt like it was on fire, an unnatural heat that made your skin crawl. Despite the whistle of the wind coming from somewhere in the room, that warmth felt suffocating, as if it were dragging you deeper into memories—or perhaps the lack of them. Blurry flashes, distorted sounds, and a gnawing sense of wrongness churned in your mind, making you want to destroy anything within reach.

Then came the steps, heavy and deliberate, each footfall resonating through the creaking wood beneath.

“This one used to be one of my favorites, you know?” A low, cold voice slithered through the air.

Something about it... felt familiar. Your mind, clouded by pain and fear, tried to place the voice, but it wouldn’t come. It wasn’t Calloway, you knew that tone—there was no forgetting in the one that had whispered awful things to you in the dark, its pitch a disgusting echo in your ear.

Your mouth was dry, coated with a thick, cottony feeling that made it hard to speak. "Who... are you?" Your voice came out barely a whisper, weak and fragile—closer to breathless than you would’ve liked.

He hummed as he approached, the light casting long shadows over his grey and black hair, his dark clothes blending into the ominous surroundings. His presence was suffocating, strong and undeniable. He squatted down in front of you, the light revealing his sharp features and a long, crooked nose that seemed to sharpen his sinister presence.

"It doesn’t matter who I am, sugar," he said, his voice smooth yet laced with malice. "What matters is how close you've been sticking your nose in my business."

Another wave of sharp pain surged through your skull, confusing your thoughts as you tried to place the familiar face before you. But it was like trying to grab smoke—elusive, slippery.

He stood, his footsteps heavy as he moved behind you, his presence darkening the space.

"A friend of mine gave me some tips about what to do with you," he continued, his tone cold and casual, as if discussing something mundane.

You felt a jolt as his hands grasped your arm, and instinctively, you tried to squirm away, but his grip tightened like iron.

"Although," he mused, his voice taking on a sickening quality, "he preferred you docile. I’d rather have you... more awake." His words made you feel sick, each one like poison dripping into your ears.

The needle slid deeper, it's cold metal scraping against your skin, and you could feel the fluid entering your bloodstream—too quickly, too forcefully. Panic surged within you, clawing at your chest, suffocating you. You fought against it, trying to tear your arm away, but his grip was unyielding.

The world began to spin. The adrenaline hit you fast, a hot wave of electricity zipping through your veins, making your heart race and your breath catch in your throat. Your mind was a fog, thoughts slipping in and out like water running through your fingers.

"You feel that?" He whispered close to your ear, his voice smooth, almost coaxing, like a predator with its prey. "The rush. It's all just a little push, and you'll be awake for everything. For all the things that are coming."

The blurry edges of your vision started to sharpen, your breath coming in short, rapid gasps, your chest heaving with every painful inhale. Each breath felt like a battle, the world spinning around you as the adrenaline pulsed through your veins, burning you from the inside out.

Behind you, you heard him laugh—a harsh, cruel sound that sent ice through your veins. But it wasn't the laugh that made you shudder; it was the anger underneath it.

"If only Dean could see how big his sweet girl has grown," he spat, his voice thick with venom, dripping with something darker than just anger. "He was a good associate, knew exactly how and when to prescribe pills for our little business."

The words were like poison, each one meant to wound, to remind you of the twisted connections. You could feel your pulse racing from the adrenaline, your body on edge as the drug coursed through you, making your heart hammer and your vision swim.

"He's rotting in prison now," he continued, his tone laced with twisted satisfaction. His hand grabbed a fistful of your hair, jerking your head back so roughly that a sharp gasp of pain ripped from you.

But it didn’t stop you. The adrenaline only fueled the fire in your veins, making the anger burn hotter. You gritted your teeth, trying to focus, your throat raw and dry. "Same place you'll go when they catch you," you spat, voice hoarse but unwavering, as the rage swelled inside you.

He chuckled darkly, the sound grating against your ears, before the cold, hard press of metal settled against your temple. The weapon’s chill did nothing to cool the heat that roared inside of you, only making your body tremble with a surge of fury.

“Don’t be so sure of it, sweetheart,” he taunted, leaning in closer, his breath hot and rancid against your skin. “You and that friend of yours have been causing me a lot of trouble.”

Your chest heaved, but this time, the adrenaline wasn’t clouding your thoughts—it was sharpening them, feeding the fury that burned in your veins. Austin. His words only made the fire inside you grow.

“You’re the little bitch who runs that human catalogue? The whorehouse we searched?” you hissed, every word dripping with venom.

He chuckled darkly, the sound making your blood boil. “Whorehouse? Is that how you call orphanages now?” His twisted smile spread across his face when he saw the flicker of confusion in your eyes.

A sharp sting ripped through the right side of your cheek as he slapped you hard, the pain jolting through your skull. Orphanages? You tried to focus, trying to make sense of his words, but the anger only surged more violently within you.

He laughed harder, the sound reverberating through the cold air. “I thought they called them foster homes now. You’re one to know, aren’t you, sweetheart?” His voice dripped with mockery, savoring the way his words landed, knowing exactly how to twist the knife.

He circled around you like a predator, his steps slow and deliberate, inspecting the room. “Like I said, this one was one of my favorites.” His words were casual, but they carried a weight that made your stomach turn.

Through the sharp blur of your vision, you turned your head, your eyes darting to the right. The trees outside were bare, dry branches silhouetted against the bright moon. Recognition hit you like a blow to the chest, and your heart sank. You were in the warehouse you and Spencer had searched earlier.

The memory hit you like a freight train—rows of tiny beds, abandoned, empty, each one a reminder of the lives stolen and shattered. The thought of those children, trapped in that hell, sickened you, making every inch of your skin crawl with the need to escape.

A low, guttural groan escaped your lips, fury burning in your chest, making it hard to breathe. You fought against the ropes binding your wrists, the adrenaline sharpening your senses, making everything feel raw. "I’m going to kill you," you snarled through clenched teeth, barely able to contain the rage. The thought of being in that place again, again, after everything you'd been through... it made your entire body tremble with fury.

“Where’s Calloway’s little girl? His sugarcube? The one he refused to sell after seeing her so tiny and beautiful in that hospital bed?” He taunted, pulling a piece of candy from his pocket. “He told me you loved these. Didn’t you like my special delivery? He used to give you these and you’d just love them.”

His words hit like a sledgehammer. The memories flooded back—sharp and violent, dragging you into the past. You could almost feel the sticky sweetness coating your tongue again, the bitterness mixing with the sugar, and the suffocating control of it all.

Calloway used to feed you those damn candies—piles of them—whether you wanted them or not. He would shove them in your mouth, watching you as you had no choice but to swallow, his sick pleasure in the power he had over you written all over his face. He reveled in your discomfort, in your helplessness, in your inability to escape.

Once, you’d tried to hide some of the candy, just a few pieces, to give to the other kids in the foster home. Maybe it would make them smile, maybe it would give them a little relief from their own nightmare. But Calloway had caught you. He’d punished you for it—made you pay the price for defying him.

You never tried to hide the candy again.

The sickening memory made your stomach churn, bile rising in your throat. The pain of the past felt so close now—too close, threatening to overwhelm you. The heat of adrenaline still surged through you, but it didn’t dull the disgust, the rage.

“I have proof of your sick business,” you spat, your voice rough and dripping with fury. “Every escape route, the safehouse, the money transactions—everything. And you’ll go to the most disgusting 2x2 cell I can find in this world and rot there, going crazy in isolation.”

He hummed, his gaze cold and calculating as he slowly pointed the gun at your forehead, steady between your brows. You stared him down, defiant, refusing to let him see even a hint of fear.

“You think that’s going to save you?” His voice was a low murmur, twisted with mockery. 

His grip tightened on the gun, and for a brief moment, the world narrowed down to the cold, unforgiving barrel pointing against your forehead. You could feel his anger radiating off him, a palpable heat, but it only fueled your own defiance. His words were venomous, designed to rattle you, but you stood strong.

“You’re going to die here, sweetheart. You’ve been a thorn in my side for too long. All your little threats, all your big talk? It doesn’t matter anymore. I’ll put so many bullets in your head, God wouldn’t even recognize you.” He sneered, the words dripping with malice.

You rested your head against the cold steel, the metal biting into your skin, but you didn’t flinch. In that moment, the sensation was almost soothing, like the clarity that comes when everything else fades away, leaving you focused. Focused on one thing.

“I don’t believe in God,” you said, your voice low and steady, despite the terror churning in your chest. "Go ahead and shoot. See if that stops me from haunting you from the grave."

His finger moved over the trigger, just a whisper away from pulling it. The sound of quick footsteps approaching was the only thing that stopped him.

　　　　 　　    .˳˳.⋅∘ ˚ ˚∘⋅.˳˳.⋅∘ ˚ ˚∘.˳˳. 　　　　

The BAU stepped out of the SUV with precision, their movements sharp and efficient. Spencer felt his chest tighten beneath the bulletproof vest, adrenaline buzzing through his veins.

After your kidnapping, they had brought Caleb in for questioning. He had confessed to aiding people who had threatened him and his family, revealing that he had given them your personal address. He had been sent to retrieve documents from the same warehouse where you'd been taken, but he panicked and dropped them before JJ could reach him.

The threats had been traced to a man named Graham Sullivan, a former doctor who no longer practiced. He traveled frequently, never staying in one place for long. Garcia had tracked his rented car through its online GPS, leading them straight to the warehouse.

Spencer could only hope they weren’t too late. Again.

Hotch directed the team to surround the house, already briefing them on the structure. He and Morgan led the breach, kicking the door down and clearing every room with practiced efficiency.

"FBI! Put the gun down!" Morgan’s voice rang out from the last room.

Reid rushed in behind Hotch, his heart pounding. His eyes landed on you—sitting in a chair, wrists raw and red from the restraints tied behind your back. Across from you, Sullivan stood with a gun aimed directly at you.

Sullivan’s grip on the gun was steady, his finger hovering over the trigger. His eyes flicked between the agents and you, calculating his next move.

Reid could feel the pulse in his throat, pounding, deafening. He tightened his grip on his own gun, but his hands were steady—years of fieldwork had trained them to be.

“Graham,” Hotch’s voice was calm but firm, cutting through the tension like a blade. “There’s no way out of this. Put the gun down.”

Graham’s presence triggered something in your memory—distant, almost dreamlike, but unmistakable. The image of Uncle Gram flashed before you, an echo of Calloway’s manipulation. You could almost hear his voice, coaxing you to greet him every time he visited, making you act like everything was normal. But it never was. After his visits, the house always felt emptier, the silence heavier, as if another group of children had been “adopted,” leaving behind only their absence.

Graham moved to fire, but Hotch was faster. He saw the threat in his eyes before Graham could make a move, and with practiced precision, he shot him in the leg. Graham crumpled to the floor, dropping the gun as he went down, clutching his leg above the knee. Spencer immediately rushed to undo your restraints, but you didn’t follow him. Your eyes were fixed on something else. You weren’t looking at Graham, or even at Spencer. 

All you saw was the gun in the corner. All you felt was the burn of your newly freed hands. All you wanted was revenge.

Before anyone could stop you, you lunged for the gun, fingers closing around the grip. Adrenaline surged through your veins, your breath ragged as you turned the weapon on Graham.

He was on his knees, bleeding, vulnerable.

Morgan called your name, but you didn’t hear him. Your eyes were locked onto Graham’s.

Your right hand trembled slightly, the raw, nailless finger resting over the trigger. It pulsed—as if calling you to pull it.

The sirens in your head were deafening, drowning out Morgan and Hotch as they tried to reach you.

“Where’s your God now?” you spat, voice sharp and shaking with rage. “Because He sure as hell wasn’t in that house.”

Your entire body trembled, but not with fear. Not with hesitation. With something darker, something primal, something that had lived inside you for years, clawing at the walls of your ribs, screaming to be let out. And now—now that monster had a name, a face, and he was kneeling right in front of you.

Your chest heaved as you tightened your grip on the gun, the cool weight of it grounding you, fueling you. Your hands ached, not from exhaustion, but from the sheer force with which you clenched the weapon. Your index finger twitched against the trigger, the tendons in your wrist pulled so taut they might snap, the palace were you nails used to be pulsated as if it was calling you. Do it.

“This man trafficked children across the country.” Your voice was steady, but there was no mistaking the fury that laced every word. It crackled in the air around you like the moments before a thunderstorm, suffocating and electric. “He made them think they were safe. He made them trust him. He took their hands, promised them safety, and then he sold them. He ruined their lives—just like Calloway did.”

Morgan’s expression hardened.

You knew if you kept talking, you could get to him. You could make him see. Maybe, just maybe, he would let you do this. You could say it was an accident, that it was life or death. And you could walk free.

You didn’t move. You didn’t take your eyes off Graham, who had the audacity to grin.

The sight of his teeth—white, clean, untouched by suffering, untouched by the pain he had inflicted on others—sent something violent and raw ripping through you.

"Finally," he mused, his voice tainted with amusement, mockery, knowing. "Calloway’s little sugarcube. The angry one. The wild one. The one who snapped that boy’s arm like a twig when she was what—six? seven?"

Something inside you cracked.

The air turned thick. The blood in your veins ran hot, too fast, too much. You felt it in your fingertips, in the throb of your pulse, in the back of your skull where pressure built like an overfilled dam, desperate to break.

Your ears rang with the phantom sound of his voice—not Sullivan’s, but Calloway’s—the slurred taunts, the threats, the sickly sweet way he’d whispered your name while he—

Morgan took a careful step forward, his hands raised in a placating gesture. "Put the gun down," he urged, his voice calm but firm. "This isn’t you."

But it was you.

The gun in your hand felt like the only real thing in the room. The weight of it, the cold metal against your palm—it was control, justice, revenge.

Graham’s smirk deepened, unfazed. "Go on," he taunted, his voice raspy. "Show them who you really are."

Your heart pounded. Your finger hovered over the trigger, aching to pull it.

"You don’t have to do this," Morgan tried again. "You pull that trigger, you don’t get to come back from it."

The words hit you like a slap, but they didn’t land. The sound of the gun, of Graham’s taunting grin, drowned everything else out.

Your chest was tight, your breath ragged and shallow. Every fiber of your being was screaming, do it. End him. Make him pay. But something else, something deep inside, tugged at you—just a whisper of hesitation, but it was enough.

And then Spencer appeared at your side.

His voice, when it came, was soft. It wasn’t the sharp edge of a command or the hard lines of Morgan’s warning. It was patient, the way he always spoke to you when he thought you needed to be reminded of your worth. Of your humanity.

He called your name, his voice threaded with something like understanding, like he was walking on glass but knew that you needed him to be there. “I know what you’re feeling. I know you want him to pay. But this won’t fix anything. You know that, don’t you?”

You didn’t answer. Your eyes were locked on Graham, on his smile. The gun in your hand felt so right. But there was something in Reid’s voice, something gentle, that made you waver.

You could feel his presence now, right next to you. Close enough that you could smell the faint scent of his cologne, the warmth of his body that seemed to pull you in. He wasn’t backing off, wasn’t giving you space to breathe—he was there. Centered.

Reid repeated your name, his voice lower, more insistent. “You’re not him. You’re not the monster he’s trying to make you. Please.”

But you were a monster. Weren't you?

You finally tore your eyes away from Graham, the weight of your anger still pressing down on your chest. And then you saw him—Reid. His eyes weren’t filled with fear, or judgment, or pity. No, they were soft, gentle, as if he was trying to reach something deep inside of you.

He wasn’t looking at you like you were some broken thing to be fixed, or a threat to be afraid of. He wasn’t recoiling in disgust. He was looking at you like you were human. Like you mattered. Like you weren’t the monster you thought you were.

"Please," he whispered, his hand—slow, tentative—moved toward your trembling wrist. "You don’t need to do this. You are not alone."

Your breath hitched. A sob built up in your chest, hot and sharp. The rage was still there—so there—but somewhere in the flood, you felt something crack. A dam breaking. The years of holding everything back, all the hurt, the memories, the weight of a life you had never asked for, crashing down on you. You closed your eyes, and in that moment, Reid’s voice was the only thing you heard.

“I’ve got you,” he said, almost like a prayer, his fingers brushing yours, a lifeline in the chaos.

Your chest burned with the need to scream, to yell at him to stay away, to let you do what needed to be done. But instead, your hand—still holding the gun—slipped. Your fingers, raw and trembling, lost their grip, and the weapon fell to the floor with a soft, final clink.

The silence that followed was thick, suffocating. You stared down at the gun, a wave of dizziness crashing through you.

The urge to kill, to make him feel the same terror, the same helplessness, was gone. But in its place… there was nothing. Just emptiness.

Reid’s hand was on your arm now, guiding you, steadying you, like a shore amidst the storm. You let him pull you back, away from Graham, away from the moment you almost gave in to. You let him lead you out of the fury, out of the darkness that had almost consumed you.

Hotch kicked the gun away, and Morgan quickly cuffed Sullivan, but none of it registered. All you could hear was the thudding of your own heart in your ears, drowning out the world around you. You couldn't shake the feeling of weakness gnawing at you—how you couldn't pull the trigger, how pathetic it felt to even consider it. The shame washed over you in waves, thick and suffocating.

And then, hands were on you—Spencer’s hands. Soft, steady, and protective. They guided you, as if he could sense the storm raging inside of you, and he didn’t let go. His touch grounded you, calming the chaos, but it didn’t stop the guilt. You wanted to pull away, to hide from the vulnerability that threatened to swallow you whole, but Spencer didn’t let you. His presence was a quiet reassurance, his grip gentle yet firm, and for once, you let yourself be guided. You needed it. You needed him.

The freezing raindrops began to fall as Spencer walked you out of the building toward the waiting paramedics. Each drop felt like a sharp reminder of everything that had just happened. As the cold settled into your bones, everything hit you all at once. Your body trembled, weak and exhausted, while self-loathing thoughts swirled in your mind. You couldn't stop thinking about what you'd done—or what you had almost done.

Spencer noticed the way your body quivered, how your shoulders were bare in the downpour. Without a second thought, he draped his FBI windbreaker over you.

"I'm sorry," you whispered, your voice broken, eyes filled with regret.

Before he could reassure you—that none of this was your fault, that you hadn’t done anything wrong, that everything would be okay—one of the paramedics rushed toward you with a stretcher. In an instant, they pulled you from his arms, guiding you toward the ambulance.

Spencer cursed under his breath, the image of you in that moment burned into his mind. He knew it would stay with him for the rest of his life.

　　　　 　　    .˳˳.⋅∘ ˚ ˚∘⋅.˳˳.⋅∘ ˚ ˚∘.˳˳. 　　　　

The sun bathed the park in a golden glow, its warmth fighting against the crisp breeze, making the trees shimmer with life on what the weatherman called ‘the warmest day of our winter’. Everything looked prettier at sunset. It was a beautiful day—one best spent among the laughter of children and the quiet focus of elderly chess players, their skill not only clearing your mind but offering it a rare moment of peace.

It had been two weeks since the night you almost lost control. After that, you decided to take three weeks off work—time you had spent searching for a new place, moving in, visiting your parents, and coming to the park.

"Check in five," Ethan said with a confident smile.

He was good—really good. He assessed the board with careful precision, you considered every move, from the forced plays to the controlling one's for the next move. 

"I see it in four," a voice said behind you.

The sound sent a shiver down your spine.

“Yeah, but he plays with the rooks,” you said, studying the board after spotting the move Spencer had pointed out.

Ethan frowned as you moved your bishop, setting up a check he hadn’t seen yet—not until he moved his pawn.

“Check in two,” you announced.

He sighed and pushed his king piece forward. “I officially surrender because I do not remember moving my bishop there.” His confused expression made you smile. Then, he glanced behind you. “And I’m glad you finally showed up. Can’t wait to see which one of you is better.”

Spencer tensed slightly but forced a polite smile at Ethan, who had no idea what had happened between you two. And Spencer hadn’t come here looking for you—but considering the probabilities of both of you being at the same place at the same time, he wasn’t exactly surprised either.

Still, he didn’t know how to talk to you. He still felt guilty about how he had treated you in the warehouse, and you were ashamed of how you had reacted.

As Ethan walked away, Spencer took the seat across from you. Something shifted in your stomach when you noticed his hair—it was shorter now, messier, no longer brushing his shoulders. Your blood rushed at the sight.

“Hi,” he said, offering a small, tight-lipped smile.

It was infuriating and embarrassing how impulsive you became around him. “You cut your hair.”

“Uh—yeah. My boss said I looked like I joined a boyband.” He ran a hand through it, chuckling nervously. 

“I think it looks good.” Where had all the apologies you prepared for this moment gone?

He smiled softly, wishing the hair was long enough to cover his pink ears, and you looked down at the chessboard, unable to meet his eyes.

“Do you want to start over?” he asked gently.

When you looked up again, it wasn’t the board he was focused on—it was you. There was something in the way his eyes shine, the way he swallowed nervously. That’s when you realized he wasn’t just talking about the game.

So much remained unspoken. Too much. Fear and shame sat heavy between you. You had convinced yourself that no one could love someone with the monster you carried inside you. But Spencer had seen it. And somehow, he was still here, offering a way forward.

He extended his hand. “I’m Spencer.”

His skin looked soft, and you hesitated for only a second before reaching out. For the first time in weeks, physical touch didn’t make you flinch.

You smiled. “I’m Woody.” Your voice was soft but steady.

“I’ve been told you’re good at chess.” He smiled at you the way the sun warmed the park—quiet but certain.

“Well, wanna see for yourself?” You began arranging the pieces.

He did the same, his fingers moving with practiced ease. Maybe the odds suggested otherwise, and maybe you didn’t believe in destiny—but if Spencer ever confessed how he had felt inexplicably drawn to the park that day, you might just believe him.

Dostoevsky once wrote, “To love someone means to see them as God intended them to be.” And Spencer, ever the atheist and man of science, found himself willing to believe in God every time he looked into your eyes.

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FINALLY MY BABYS ARE TOGETHER. the request for them are OPEN. And the series is going to take a jump in time, next time i post about them, they are going to be already together

Feedback feeds motivation! Likes, reblogs and comments are all appreciated <3

tag list: @arialikestea @hellsingalucard18 @pleasantwitchgarden @torturedpoetspsychward @cultish-corner @nymph0puppp @l-a-u-r-aaa @cherrygublersworld @theoceanandthestars @i-need-to-be-put-down @esposadomd <3

[youaintnothinbuta]

“I’m right here.” — feyd rautha x reader

Summary: you get injured while combat training and Feyd kills your instructor for causing it

Pairing: feyd rautha x fem!reader

Word count: 884

Warnings: Feyd fluff. Graphic violence, killing, blood, stab wounds depicted, probably typos

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

You stood in the training grounds, sweat dripping down your forehead as you faced your instructor. Ever since marrying Feyd, you had been keen on improving your combat skills. You were a good fighter already, but Rabban had laughed at you once, calling you a fair fighter. That stuck with you. You didn’t want your fights to be fair. You wanted to be ruthless and brutal like the Harkonnen were known for. Feyd insisted that you did not need improve and that he would never let you be caught in a situation where you’d ever need to employ your already strong combat skills. Feyd as a husband though, was incredibly doting and indulgent, and whatever his wife wanted, he made sure his wife got.

Your fighting instructor was one of the (particularly stern) Harkonnen wards. Feyd liked to attend your training sessions whenever he could. He watched from the sidelines, two of his subordinates either side of him, his arms crossed over his chest as he observed your every move. He monitored your progress, but more importantly, was there also in case anything happened to you.

“Again,” the instructor barked, lifting his dagger to strike.

You ducked and rolled, narrowly avoiding the blow. Your heart raced as you lunged at him, your own blade flashing in the sunlight. The Harkonnens were known for their ruthless fighting style, and you couldn't afford to be caught off guard.

You parried his attack, the clang of metal ringing out in the arena. The dance of combat ensued, each strike and parry leaving Feyd impressed. As you sparred, you felt a sharp pain in your side. A piercing shriek rang from your lips, you cried as you reeled over in pain, the sound echoing off the walls of the arena as you stumbled to the ground. Feyd was by your side in an instant, getting you onto your back, cradling your head in his lap. You screamed and cried, your vision swimming with tears as you fought to stay conscious.

“Just breathe,” he murmured in between your screeching, “just breathe.”

The sound of your cry, especially one of pain, was the worst sound he could ever be subjected too. Like how a mother reacts to her baby’s cry, it was horrid, not because of your voice, but because he felt this unyielding compulsion to put an end to its cause in an instant.

He had one hand at the top of your head, holding it steady against his thighs. The other hand, he had firmly gripped on your chin, holding your head so you wouldn’t catch a glimpse of your wound, your vision pointed directly up at his face. Feyd knew that your injury was not that deep, nor in a fatal position. He knew he wouldn’t have made so much of a peep if he received the same one. If you were his student he would have punished you for reacting to your wound. That was irrelevant, though. He didn’t need you to be as good of a fighter as him. He just needed you to be okay.

Tears streamed down your face as you struggled to catch your breath. The pain was intense, like a searing hot knife cutting through your flesh. You could feel the warmth of your own blood seeping through your training clothes.

As the sound of hurried footsteps of medics and doctors approached, Feyd's demeanor shifted, his gaze hardening into steel.

"You are okay," he whispered, his voice barely audible, “I’m right here.”

He rose to his feet, his movements fluid and purposeful as he approached your instructor with a rumbling snarl.

"Women are not fighters," he spat as Feyd approached him.

“You commit treason,” Feyd growled, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. "You are weak."

With a swift motion, Feyd drew his blade, the metal glinting ominously in the light. Before anyone could react, Feyd struck, his blade slicing through the air with deadly precision. Blood sprayed across the arena as the instructor's throat was slit open, a gurgled scream escaping his lips before he crumpled to the ground, lifeless.

Feyd stood over the instructor's lifeless body, his blade still in hand. His eyes met yours, and for a moment, you saw a flicker of fear in them. But then it was gone, replaced by a fierce determination.

“You will heal quickly, you are strong. I will protect you,” he said, his voice fierce.

And you knew he meant it. Feyd Rautha, the Harkonnen heir, had just killed one of his own to protect you. You had been cut free of your clothing, your wound was tended to, cleaned and stitched up and injected with pain killers in a matter of minutes, exactly the way the Harkonnen medics were trained to do. Feyd watched over as they did so. You could feel his hand on yours, his thumb tracing lazy circles on your skin.

“I'm here,” he murmured. “I'm not going anywhere.”

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled. He shook his head, arguing your apology.

Feyd was right, you did heal quickly. With his care and the help of healing baths, despite them being slightly disgusting. Feyd also made the decision that when you had healed, he would be your mentor, as he no longer trusted any of his wards to be.

[domesticgoddess22]

wish upon a cowboy

chapter 4: guilty as sin? - Joel's POV

pairing: raider!joel miller x fem!reader

Summary: A rugged raider takes you under his wing after hunters leave you for dead. The two of you form a team and you quickly grow attached to him–mumbling, grumbling, protective Joel Miller. When you divulge your wishes to experience life before the outbreak, Joel decides to make them come true. All of them.

warnings: age gap (early 20s/mid 40s), praise kink, breeding kink, daddy kink, unplanned pregnancy, unprotected piv, canon-typical violence, light choking, dom!Joel, angst word count: 4.6k words (chapter 4) rating: 18+ explicit MDNI masterlist here

Joel knows he doesn’t have a soul left inside his body, that he should be feeling distraught over the damn deer just like you are, but he doesn’t really give it much thought. His mind is occupied with how your tits looked this morning and he knows he’s going to hell for it. 

He’s been stiff since the second he saw you, and it took every ounce of self-control in his body not to take you right then and there. But he didn’t, maybe because there’s still humanity left in him after all,  but damn did he want to fuck you. Badly.

These thoughts whirl around in his mind as he paces around in the middle of the woods. He’s been alone for so long, the last time he even had a good fuck–before he had you–was probably half a year ago. Once he had a taste of you… fuck–he needs to have more. 

Doubt and uncertainty cloud above him whenever he thinks about his self-restraint capabilities. He’s a man, you’re an attractive young woman–so much so that his instincts are becoming fucking hard to ignore. He’d already slipped up once, pumped an entire six month’s worth of his seed into you. He isn’t a good man and he knows that, he’s done a lot of things that aren’t right, but he could sure as hell blame the alcohol for that last bit. 

Tommy would surely be disgusted with what he’d done, sleeping with someone half his age. His brother was never able to look at him the same after the hunts. Joel can’t imagine Tommy would even be able to look at him at all for this. Not that he’ll probably ever see his brother again…

Tommy always had remnants of the man he was before and it showed. Joel didn’t have anything left, and even so, back before things went to shit, he wasn’t excatly a stand-up guy. He was young when he had Sarah, had to raise her all on his own so he did what he needed to. Stole–not cars but other things–and he lied a lot. Cheated his way through life just to make sure his kid had food on the table and a roof over her head. 

Eventually, his contractor business became more stable so he didn’t have to resort to being an asshole, but he did do other things he knew weren't considered by the general public as polite behavior. He had women to keep him company whenever Sarah was at school or sound asleep. He’d sneak out and get laid by some chick in cowgirl boots and a miniskirt that he picked up at the bar--and then he wouldn’t call them back. The next night, rinse and repeat. He’d done it so many times that he'd lost count of his score. 

That was another time, but the truth is, Joel still isn’t a great guy. If anything, he’s even worse now.

Yet, he still knew up from down and right from wrong, even if he didn’t choose right, he did feel like he took advantage of you, a vulnerable little thing. Needy. You’d probably do anything for any guy that took care of you like he does given the circumstances. Compared to Joel, most of your life you’ve been pretty sheltered and he could tell. Never had to kill anything when you lived in the QZ, only lasted two days outside of it by yourself, and ever since then you’ve had him to do everything for you.

You��re in the tent, sleeping like a little lamb and he’s a big bad wolf on the verge of losing his fucking mind, his dark eyes boring into the zipper of the tent. He remembers the soft cushion of your breasts against his arms, the way you felt up against his chest while he showed you how to hold the gun, how your moans sounded when he was driving his cock into your wet folds.

Joel wants you. Now.

A sinful smile curls at his lips when he thinks about how his spend dripped out of you that night, his mind wanders further into the lustful abyss, fantasizing about your belly growing swollen with his baby. 

He’s practically in a lustful trance right now, wanting to fuck you, fill you, make you his. 

Joel finds himself deep in the woods now, close enough to hear you call if you need him, but far enough away for him to have privacy. The bark of a chestnut oak tree is digging scaly patterns into his left palm. His belt is loose, the buckle is swinging around his thigh, jeans sagging around his crotch as he bucks his cock in his hand, furiously stroking it with the slick from his spit. 

It’s like he’s a damn twenty-something again, imagining you in that sexy pink bra of yours– and with a thong to match. He’d unhook your bra with ease, just as he’s done a million times, and then he’d watch in awe as your perfect tits were on display for him, groaning as he sucks on your perky peaks. Fuck your breasts were so full lately, maybe it was his carnivorous mind playing tricks on him, but he felt like they were just begging for his attention.

He’d press you up against the tree, spread your legs, and hook one of them around his waist. 

Then he’d slide your panties to the side to make room for himself, not bothering to take them off. Your pink pussy would be dripping, all wet and ready for him and he’d slip out a curse or two at the delicious view of your cunt.

The big head of his cock would line up at your entrance and then he’d press in, one inch at a time, slow and steady in his movements like he was holding his rifle and waiting for the perfect moment to pull the trigger. The feel of your walls constricting around his head would knock the breathe out of his lungs, again, and he’d bottom out with a loud groan. His rhythm would start off paced, giving you some time to adjust to his size, and then he’d pound into your little pussy, balls kissing your folds and his tongue tangled with yours.

Joel liked the way you tasted, fresh like summer rain with a hint of honey. You tasted so sweet. 

Needy girl, fuckin’ soaked on my cock. You like that? You like that, baby? Yeaaah, you like that. Lemme hear your little moans–tell daddy how much you like it.

Your moans were the sweetest sound, a song he was hearing for the first time at just the right pitch–the perfect cadence for him to come. Joel, Joel, Joel! Harder, please, please, more, ahhhhnn, Daddy!A mess of his spend decorates the dirt at his feet and the guilt seeps in as he looks at what he’s just done–and what he thought about did get it done. Yeah, he’s disgusting and he knows it but the pietist in him died at seventeen when he told his ma he wasn’t going to church anymore and just about kicked him out of the house. 

This isn’t the first time he’s jerked off to the thought of you in the last month–and it sure as hell won’t be the last. It’s the only thing keeping him from actually laying his hands on you. He’s replayed this same scene and–many others–in his head that he’s starting to run out of ideas.

He’s chased his own release at the thought of himself buried deep inside of you, over and over again. But it was never enough–he was hungry. And it was becoming impossible for him to feel satiated by his hand alone.

Back at camp, the venison is still cooking over the spit, the meaty smell permeating the air, surely making both of your mouths water. Joel’s eyes land on you, rummaging through your bag, frantically digging through each pocket like something was missing.

“Hey. You’re awake.” His low, grumbling tone sounds grumpier than he means for it to be. He’s still getting used to having someone around. At having a woman around to soften his nature instead of one of his old raider buddies he’d boss around or tell them to go to hell whenever they wouldn’t shut their yappers. “How are ya feelin’, darlin’?”

“Better. Just a little hungry now. How long til the meat is done?”

“That ain’t gonna be done cookin’ until dinner, darlin’. Help yourself to whatever you can find in there.” Joel points to the crate he built that’s packed with foraged goods and the spoils of your scavenger hunts in town. He drags his gaze back down to your hands, fingers digging into the muddy fabric. “Som’ wrong?”

“No.” Your lips pucker up whenever you’re cross with him, and he knows you’re up to something but he can’t help but fight back a smile at how pretty you look when you’re about to get sassy.

“Ya holdin’ on to that thing so tight, your nails are about to pierce through the damn denim.”

“Did you take anything out of my bag?” Your eyes snap to his.

Joel laughs through his nose in disbelief, and then he licks the back of his teeth and says, “And why would I take anythin’ out of your bag?”

“I dunno, maybe cuz I was sleepin’ and you thought it’d be funny?”

“No, I did not take anythin’ outta your bag while you were sleepin’. You’re welcome for carryin’ you back.” His voice is dry and even, not bothering to hide his lack of amusement.

“Ughhh… Sorry Joel. I’m just missing something important and I’m still a little out of it after fainting earlier.”

He adds a few sticks to the burning fire, eyes watching the meat cook. “You should drink some’n, stay hydrated. I uh-brought some fresh water from the creek. Just need to let it boil.”

“Thanks.”

“So what was it?” Joel says after you crack open a box of frosted mini wheats, a cloud of sugar and cereal bits explode when tear open the ancient plastic wrap.

“What was what?”

“The thing you dropped.”

“Oh.” You swallow down the dry miniwheat with a big gulp. “It was just stupid stuff–a pad.”

Joel narrows his eyes at you. “You just about ripped my head off over a damn pad?”

“They’re rare ya know?”

“Well let’s go back out and find it then.”

“No, no, no. It’s gonna be all dirty. There might be bugs on it and all that, I can’t use it now.”

Joel rubs his beard in thought, watching the fire dance in your big, beautiful eyes. Normal your face is so expressive, lit up with a sort of eagerness to live. But not lately. Something was different. It was subtle, but he’s taken notice of how your light has dimmed, how your once frequent chatter has been replaced with an eerie quietness. Joel starts to wonder what he’s done to make you upset. Making you accuse him of stupid shit he ain’t even done. He’d start to remedy the situation by acknowledging the events of today and apologize for the stupid shit he did that made you puke your brains out.

“I threw ya to the wolves ‘n I shouldn’ve done it. Just thought–I thought maybe you’d learn quicker that way.” He clicks his tongue, reflecting back on the horrors from earlier. “Next time we’ll start off with trappin’, start nice ‘n slow, then work our way up.”

“It’s all my fault that she suffered like that, isn’t it?” There’s a dazed, far-off look in your eyes as you gaze into the fire.

Joel is quiet in thought, not sure what to say to bring you comfort. He wasn’t built for that. Comforting people, that is. Not with words. All he knew how to do was protect… and kill. So he says the only thing he can think of to put you at ease. “The world is crueler now than it’s ever been ‘n ya can’t let it get to ya.”

There’s so much you haven’t had to experience yet, it makes you somehow innocent, almost untainted by the horrors of the world. He loves that about you, wants to protect your delicateness as much as he can for as long as he can. Shield you from anything that dares to corrupt your sweet soul–which is why he has to keep the dark side of himself a secret from you. The things he’s done, the people he’s killed, the torture he’s inflicted on countless individuals is something he knew you’d find downright disgusting.

Yeah, you knew he was a hunter, but he never filled you in on the gritty details of what that entailed. How he was so much worse than those hunters that left you for dead. Didn’t tell you that his brother abandoned him because he was a monster. If you found out, you might be scared of him, run away from him even. And he can’t have that. You're safe with him at your side and so this little secret of his is just to protect you, that’s all. You don’t need to know about his past or what he’s capable of.

Joel knows what’s best for you.

“It’s gettin’ cold now ‘n we need somewhere warm to stay soon.” Joel begins, cutting through the deer's breast with his knife. “Was thinkin’ we could head back to that cabin you liked so much.”

“Nah,” you say with that same distant look in your gaze and he had absolutely no fucking idea what was going on in your head. 

“Alright then. We could find another farmhouse, somethin’ more secluded than the ones we’ve been passin’. Think we might be able to find som’ nearby, near the creek ‘n the town.”

“Yeah, maybe,” you’re practically in a trance and Joel’s not even sure you’re actually listening, but he keeps talking to fill the silence–something you normally do.

“I’ve got a hoodie you can wear, it’ll be a little big on ya but it should do the trick ‘til we find ya som’n else.” He’s scrambling for words at this point. It isn’t in his nature to be the one driving the conversation, 

“Mmkay.”

Joel rests his elbows on his knees, folding his hands together. “‘S everythin’ alright, sweetheart? You’ve been quiet.” 

Eyes lidded, you look up at him. “Still feeling tired is all.”

“Get som’ore sleep. We can head into town in the mornin’ and get whatever you need. Maybe there’ll be pickled goods in one of the markets. Oughta be good for your stomach.” Joel is attentive to the fact that you have a sensitive stomach. First, it was the tuna, then you had a few instances where your nose would scrunch up in disgust if he tried to get ya to eat, and then the vomiting earlier today, all telltale signs that you were a delicate little thing.

He’s convinced that pickled goods will solve this little stomach issue of yours.

***

His hoodie looks good on you. He likes the way it’s too big for you, but despite that, he can still see the outline of your curves. After an hour of walking on an incline up into the town, you shed your layers to keep the heat at bay and Joel does everything he can to keep his eyes off your plump tits, barely held in place by your bra and spaghetti strap tank top. Were they always that plump?

He licks his lips and shakes the thought away. Getting a hard-on would be troublesome to hide from you, especially since the jeans he’s wearing today are a little tight.

Joel realizes that he isn’t interested in just sex with you, like all of the others he’d laid with. There’s something about you that he’s drawn to. Something that lights a flame in the dark chambers of his heart and gives him a purpose, a reason to live. Your enthusiasm and excitement for the world make him feel alive again, and it’s exactly why he’s so adamant about making sure he finds a way to knock out as much of your bucket list as he can.

These feelings that are developing toward you also explain why he feels an ache beneath his ribs when he sees how unwell you’ve been. Whether it’s the sickness you have or something else, he doesn’t know for sure, just knows it’s been dimming that beautiful light in your eyes and he’d give anything to make them shine again.

Up ahead, there’s a crusty sign that says Welcome to Taylor. You dip into the first convenience store that comes into view. Joel’s hand is on the small of your back as he ushers you in, carefully closing the door once both of you are inside.

Joel’s made it a habit to look for Twizzlers at every stop. “Sorry, darlin’. Looks like they’re all outta stock today.”

“It’s okay. I was actually in the mood for chocolate. See any around?”

“Chocolate huh? Never heard ya say that before. It’s usually all Twizzlers, gummies, and bright-colored candies that do it for ya.”

“Yeah, well I’m just in the mood for chocolate today.” You close the distance between you, hands resting on your hips, neck cranked up to look him in the eye. “That alright with you, cowboy?”  

There’s a cocky smirk on Joel’s face as he looks down at you, a little thing with a big sassy attitude and he’s glad to see that it hasn’t changed. He notices the rosy pink color of your lips and the thin layer of shine on your cupid’s bow that he can’t take his eyes off of. “You can do whatever you want, angel. I ain’t stoppin’ you.”

“Good. Let’s get moving then,” you say nonchalantly, heading for the door. Joel had already grabbed the last two jars of pickles and an old box of saltines that were hidden in the back of an old shelf. “There’s nothing else here that’s worth our time.”

“Ain’t true. There’s these,’ Joel argues, holding up a couple of composition notebooks and ink pens with what’s probably their last drops left to spare.

“What do we need with old notebooks and pens?”

“There’s an old community college down the main road,” Joel begins, awkwardly fumbling to finish the sentence as if completing it would admit something about what he feels toward you. “So you can go to school.” 

You stop in your tracks. “Last time I ‘went to school’ I puked.” 

“We’re gonna take it down a notch or two. I’ll show ya what school was really like back in the day.” 

Maybe it’ll put a smile on your face. Make you forget about all this shit.

Joel smiles when he sees how your face brightens up at the sight of the old college, bricks still red and distinct, nature not claiming it just yet. You both do a sweep through the main building, careful not to make noise and alert anyone or anything nearby, but the coast is clear. 

“First class of the day: Film Studies,” Joel says, unstrapping his gun and kicking his feet up on a dusty wooden desk, hands tucked behind his salt and pepper curls. “First thing you oughta know is George Lucas made the greatest films of all time: Star Wars. Completely transformed the film industry as we knew it. Nobody had dared to even dream of making some’n like this series before. Spaceships, blaster guns, entire fuckin’ planets we ain’t even seen before, right there on the big screen.”

“So it was about aliens?”

“Yeah, som’ like that. ‘S bout a galaxy far away, and all the inhabitants in it. Humanoids, Wookies, Droids, and Jedi Knights. The first movie came out in 1977, Star Wars: A New Hope, and tells the story of Princess Leia, her brother Luke who’s a Jedi, and Han Solo, a badass motherfucker–pilot of the Millennium Falcon. They’re tryin’ to save the galaxy from the big evil Empire.”

“Kinda like how we’re trying to save the world from the big evil Clickers?”

“Yeah… som’ like that… Except this is more fun cuz the good guys always win.” Joel tucks his legs under the desk and straightens his spine. “You takin’ notes?”

“Yes Mr. Miller, I am taking notes on your class about Star Wars.”

“Good, cuz I’m gonna give ya a test on this later to make sure you were listenin’.” 

“I’m listenin’ just fine,” you say, resting your cheek on your fist and biting the butt of the pen.

The rusted metal legs of the chair screech against the tile as Joel stands up, pacing the classroom now as he dives further into his lesson. Joel wasn’t a film junkie back in the day, if anything he was just an average guy that went to the movies now and again, but he had his favorites of course. He tells you everything he knows about cinema, mostly raving about what his favorite movies and shows were, but he shares as much as he can remember about film history, including some of the classic film directors like Alfred Hitchcock and Blake Edwards. 

His knowledge was limited, but he knew that what he had to share was more than enough to paint the picture for you. The light was back in your eyes and it warmed Joel’s soul.

“I like when you tell me about the stuff you liked back then. Wish you’d always tell me more about yourself like this,” you say, nibbling at your pen and looking up at him through thick lashes.

“Mmm,” Joel hums, and that’s about all he manages to say as his gaze is fixated on the window to your left. He looks back over at you. “Think maybe we should start heading back. ‘S already gettin’ dark.”

A gunshot rings in the distance and both of you snap your attention to the window. “There’s people here. What do we do?”

“Lay low. We’ll go out the back and find a quiet place nearby to stay for the night.” Joel’s voice is low but commanding as he straps his rifle back into place and waves you to follow him. “Come’on.”

***

The quietness after the gunshot feels eerie and unsettling. There’s an odd sense of safety in being alone nowadays, so the fact that someone is nearby means danger lurks. Joel scans the street for signs of life, his brain racing, gears turning as he tries to determine which house would be the safest, the one least likely to be broken into with the most convenient exits if the worst case scenario did happen and you both had to make a run for it in the middle of the night.

Not that running was really his style. If anyone came in at night, if anyone hurt you, he’d put a bullet to their head without remorse. He’d shatter their skull until they were utterly unrecognizable by their face alone, and he’d leave the rest of them untouched as a warning to any of their friends that if they fuck with Joel, they die.

“This one,” he points to a yellow house with white shutters. The front door is covered with debris and vegetation, but there are two adequate back exits on the east side of the house by the kitchen and on the south-facing side that leads to the once was garden.

Male voices in the distance keep both of you on your toes. Joel thinks they’re at least a block down the road and tells you he doesn’t think there’s anything to worry about just yet.

“What happens if they find us?” Your voice is riddled with fear.

“They ain’t gonna find us,” Joel says confidently. “No one saw us, no one heard us, ain’t no one lookin’ for us.”

“But what if they do?”  

He sighs, rubbing his beard in thought. “I’ll fuckin’ kill them.”

“What if they kill you first?” Your brows knit inward with desperation.

“That ain’t how I operate, sweetheart.”

“But what if?!” Your chest is heaving now, your eyes are wide, hands trembling as you reach to hold onto Joel’s shoulders. “I-I can’t fight Joel–can barely shoot a gun, you know that. How are we gonna take ‘em? What do I do if somethin’ happens to you?”

Joel squeezes your shoulders, pulling you an inch or two closer to him, eyes serious, brows furrowed as his eyes bore into you. “If anythin’ happens to me, you run. You got that? You run and you don’t look back.”

“No, I can’t leave you behind–I need a gun–I need–I need you. You don’t understand. I can’t make it without you–”

Joel hisses your name, teeth bared in a snarl. “No! If I’m down, you run. Understand?”

You nod your head rapidly in obedience. Joel can feel your little heart pounding away, and he thoughtlessly lets his thumb glide across the smooth surface of your skin, just above your heart before releasing his tight grip on you. 

“Upstairs,” Joel commands, and you follow. The first step creaks under Joel’s boot and he turns to you, a finger to his lips. 

Joel checks all the rooms, dusty, littered with crap, but good enough for the night. There’s one last bedroom to check before the two of you can safely stay there. Joel doesn’t like it when you go off on your own, and when he sees you twist the knob on the last door before he’s even finished his sweep through of the third bedroom, it takes every ounce of strength in him not to yell. 

The knob twists with a little squeak and then the little white door with peeling mint green paint swings open with a creak. You gasp, mouth agape at whatever lies beyond the doorframe, out of Joel’s view. 

“What?! What is it?!” He rushes to your side to see and before you can even answer the question, he answers it for himself.

Inside, the main wall is painted with a faded yet still colorful rainbow with a bouquet of balloons on each end. The ceiling is decorated with paintings of smiling clouds, and at the center hangs a lampshade shaped like a sun with golden strings holding little rainbow and star ornaments. They sway gently from your touch, making a melodic tinkling sound as they stir. 

Below the lamp sits a beautiful wooden crib ornately carved with hummingbirds and little flowers. The entire scene feels like something you’d read about in a book, a world where people lived vibrant, happy lives and painted childlike illustrations on their walls. It was as if someone captured happiness and sunshine and trapped it in this room so that all who walked in would feel a rush of joy, love, and warmth.

“A nursery,” you say in a gentle whisper, fingertips brushing over the little hummingbirds

Voices stir in the distance, growing louder with each passing second. Joel’s calloused palm clasps around your delicate wrist. “Baby, ‘m gonna need you to hide.”

You ignore him, continuing to look fondly at the crib.

“Are you listenin’ to me?” He tugs at your arm.

You turn to him, eyes glistening with tears. “Joel. There’s something I gotta tell you.”

He swallows, voice hushed. “Can it wait?” 

You shake your head and tears cascade down your cheeks like a river that’s just burst through a busted dam. Joel’s chest feels tight and his stomach is doing flips at the sight of you crying and he has not a single clue how to stop it, he just knows that there are men out there who could hurt you and he doesn’t have time for this. Your lips part, a shaky breath of wind escaping from your lungs before you compose yourself and finally say what you’ve been keeping to yourself for some time now. The secret you’ve been keeping frozen and locked away from him is now thawing, melting away the once-hidden layers of secrecy, and Joel was on the edge of his seat to finally find out what has been making you act so strange.

“I’m pregnant.”

~~~ au: Today is my birthday so I wanted to treat everyone and upload a few chapters here today! Enjoy <3

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[blueberrymori]

☆warnings: MALE!FTM!reader, he/him pronouns, typical violence, talking about criminal cases, mention of blood, kidnapping, pressure against time.

☆summary: you and Spencer are dating and you haven't told the unit, everyone already knew that there but pretended not to in order to give you the time you needed to tell them.

☆A/N: I don't use Y/N or variants in my fanfics, I always refer to the reader with nicknames or with you/reader.

It was a stressful case for the whole team, the unsub was taking women and men in their fifties, these women and men always had similar characteristics, and they were always locked up for a maximum of seventy-two hours before they turned up dead. When the unsub was finally arrested, he was a Caucasian man in his twenties who took these people to put them in the place of the parents he himself had killed, and when they didn't live up to his expectations, he killed them and discarded them to find another match.

When the jet was returning to Washington you and Spencer were sleeping cuddled up in the jet, the team had noticed this for a while, whenever a case ended you two would be cuddled up in one of the seats of the jet, sometimes sleeping, sometimes Spencer would be reading while playing with his hair as he read, they would see you arriving and leaving in the same car, you would show up in changed sweatshirts. Everyone had already noticed this, but made a silent agreement not to ask and to wait for the moment when the two of you would feel comfortable sharing your relationship with them.

When the jet landed Aaron nudged Spencer's shoulder lightly to wake him up, taking into account that you were wearing headphones, when Spencer opened his eyes a little bewildered a phantom smile appeared on Aaron's face - we're here, the rest of the guys have already gotten off - Aaron said looking at the two of you, when he received Spencer's nod and saw him move to wake you up he started walking out of the jet.

Morgan, who was waiting outside while talking to JJ, saw Aaron leave first and a few minutes later you and Spencer walked out hand in hand, but it looked like Spencer was pulling you and guiding you, he laughed slightly and whispered to JJ.

 - Do you want to bet twenty that they'll tell you about their relationship in less than two weeks? -he asked, waiting for JJ's answer.

- Are you really going to do that? - the blonde asked, looking at Morgan only to receive a nod. -  - Okay, fine, but it’s on you if they get hurt -  JJ said joking a little, squeezing Morgan's hand and turned to see the two of you walk past them to the car.

That night it was Spencer who drove home, he left no room for discussion while he drove, he left the heater on, the car radio was off and there was only the sound of the car engine, Spencer kept his eyes on the road the whole time, when you arrived at the shared apartment Spencer held your hand and kissed it before locking the front door and walking to the shared bedroom, he lay down and pulled you onto the bed.

-Spencer darling, we need to change these clothes -  his tired voice made him hum and kiss his forehead.

- We can do this later, I'm tired and I'm sure you're dandelion-headed too, why don't we just sleep? and worry about it tomorrow -  Spencer said making circles on his back, he kept his eyes closed the whole time he was talking, Spencer felt you move, and the blanket was placed on both of you.

-I've been told you're a genius -  Spencer laughed at your comment and kissed your forehead, pulling you close to him again.

-Yes my prince, I love you, have a good night - Spencer whispered to you.

-Good night my love - a smile appeared on Spencer's face when you returned the affectionate comment.

[flowerandblood]

The Lost Haven (3/16)

[ modern mafia • Aemond x niece • female ]

[ warnings: kissing, incest obviously, smut, the angst, description of cruel physical violence, bad, bad things ]

[ description: The vacation from eight years ago still haunts his memories and doesn't let him forget what happened between him and his niece, the daughter of his sister and Harwin Strong. Their paths separate and he immerses himself in his father's mafia world until the day she calls him for the first time since those events. Sexual tension, dark, dangerous, withdrawn, thirsty Aemond. ]

Author’s note: As promised, this is another, this time official modern version of The Fall from the Heavens. In this version, Daemon is not related to the family, but is simply Rhaenyra's husband and the leader of the second gang, Alys and Larys are also not related to each other, but Larys is Harwin's brother. I will partly refer to the original series, hiding some easter eggs, and some will be a completely new, fresh plot. As in every universe, only Aemond calls her Rhaenys and this is not her real name (she is unnamed character and the others also do not know that he calls her that). There will be a lot more brutality and angst in this version, so watch out. You can read this as a standalone story.

Song used in this chapter: Don't You (Forget About Me) by Simple Minds.

Series & Characters Moodboard Aemond & Rhaenys Moodboard

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

For the next few days, he felt that he was functioning like a well-oiled mechanism without thoughts or feelings, without experiencing or reliving anything within himself. His mind was filled with complete emptiness: he preferred this state of affairs, because whenever a part of him hidden deep in his darkness started to come to the fore, he felt the need to write back to her.

Thank you.

She wrote it to him the next day.

He often went back to that message and looked at it for long minutes, maybe even hours, asking himself the questions his fingers wanted to tap out on the keyboard of his phone.

Who did this to you?

What were you doing there?

How do you feel?

He felt uncomfortable with the thought of how much it had affected him. Their reunion years later was shocking to him, and by virtue of him being the only person who had really experienced this reconciliation, there was something intimate and mysterious about it.

He rubbed his fingers against each other, feeling a shudder at the memory of how soft her skin was beneath his hand.

He swallowed hard, closing his eyes and tilted his head back, trying to control himself.

"Rough night?" Alys asked, sitting next to him at the bar, like him waiting for the club owner, clearly also having some business to attend to.

They fucked several times, from his perspective to simply get off: there was no finesse in these acts, but some kind of mutual understanding − they both just wanted to relax and didn't expect anything more from each other.

They spoke several times afterwards and he found that he actually liked her: she was a direct and confident woman, teasing and calculating, just like him.

Looking at her he felt he was looking in a mirror and it was an interesting experience.

He knew from his co-workers that Alys also liked women and he often saw her hitting on young girls in clubs.

She at least didn't slip rape pills into their drinks, he thought regretfully, taking a sip of his whisky as he tried to focus, the loud music around him made him feel like his head was about to explode.

"In a way." He muttered reluctantly, looking around, feeling an unpleasant squeeze in his stomach at the memory of her numb body lying in that toilet.

Vulnerable, forsaken, helpless.

"I heard about your heroic act. Apparently, you carried a little girl out of the Heavenly Beach before anyone had time to get into her panties." She sneered, taking a loud sip of beer from her bottle. He pressed his lips together, hearing the loud hiss of bubbles as she set it back down on the countertop. "Since when are you so caring?"

"It was my niece." He replied coolly, wanting to cut off the subject, drinking his whisky to the end in a deep gulp.

Alys furrowed her brow and laughed, stroking her chin, intrigued.

"So you're a good uncle, huh?"

"Fuck off."

"Why are you upset? Do you like her a little too much?"

She hissed as he grabbed her hard by the arm and jerked her, making her almost fall off her seat. He stopped, breathing heavily through his nose when he felt her pocket knife between his thighs.

"You'd better watch out, my friend, if you ever want to fuck anyone again."

He let go of her and she stepped back, massaging the sore place on her arm, looking at him angrily.

"You're fucked up."

He stood up, furious, heading for the back of the club even though he should have waited for someone to come out to him, figuring he couldn't stand to be in this place for a moment longer.

He felt like he was suffocating and wanted to leave already.

Her sleeping face as a child lying next to him on a pillow and her sleeping face then, in his car, leaning against the window, merged into one in his mind.

He realised with horror that only thinking about her made him feel anything.

"How much longer do I have to wait? You think I don't fucking have anything better to do?" He growled to one of the bodyguards, who grunted loudly, shifting from foot to foot, terrified.

They'd all heard about his scar and artificial eye, and they all knew what he'd done to some men who hadn't paid on time.

"I'll ask the boss if he's done yet." The man muttered.

He rolled his eyes as he heard the distinct, almost animal-like moans of two men from behind the door. After a moment, a young boy, all red and welted, walked out of the room, throwing him a look from which he felt discomfort, staggering with difficulty.

Tyland Lannister sighed heavily, standing in the door frame, looking at him disapprovingly, all sweaty.

If it wasn't for the fact that he and his brother dressed a little differently, he wouldn't have been able to tell them apart.

The fascination towards boys was apparently also inherited by both of them, he thought with a sneer.

"I said I'd come soon." He said.

"I don't have time for your soon."

"Jason gave you half the money last time, as agreed. I have to earn the other half, I need more time."

"Your time is up. I told him that you have two weeks, not a day more."

"Come on, we'll get along, after all…" He didn't finish as his fist slammed into his face − Tyland staggered backwards, falling to the floor of the room, and he closed the door behind him, leaving his stunned, big bodyguards behind.

He knew they wouldn't do anything to him.

It was his grandfather who ruled this town.

"Tyland." He said calmly, walking towards him with a lazy step – Lannister began to move backwards on his elbows, holding his swollen cheek with his hand, a trickle of blood dripping from his nose.

He crouched in front of him, pulling out his pocket knife, sliding the blade out.

"− n-no − please −"

"− which one do you choose − left or right? −"

"− please − please, I promise I'll have the full amount for tomorrow, I promise −" He mumbled, choking on his own tears, looking like a big, bearded, helpless, pathetic child.

He tsked, shaking his head, a smile of amusement on his face that didn't reach his eye.

"− we agreed for today − do you think I'll want to come here tomorrow and look at your face? −" He sneered, his voice on the verge of a dangerous hiss indicating that he was losing patience. Tyland nodded, his hands raised in a pleading, submissive gesture.

He looked like a dog who was laying on his back to prevent the other one from biting him.

"− I understand − I'm sorry − I'll think of something right away, okay? −"

"− now −"

"− y-yes − yes, I'll call one place − alright? −" He muttered.

He lifted his pocket knife up, grinning broadly, showing that he was able to wait another moment.

Lannister quickly took his phone out of his trousers and, with trembling hands, dialled a number. After a moment, someone on the other end spoke up.

"I need a quick loan. Twenty thousand. I know, I know I already owe you, but it's very, very important, do you understand?" He mumbled in a breaking voice.

He thought with disgust that he looked pathetic.

What did he expect?

"− please − please, help me −" He muttered, but his caller hung up.

He sighed heavily, spinning his pocket knife between his fingers.

"− time's up −"

When he returned to his flat the first thing he dreamed of was taking a shower. He watched impassively as the red-tinted water ran down his body, washing him of his sins like Saint John in the Jordan. He closed his eyes, trying to tell himself that God was forgiving him.

He had no choice.

He distanced himself from what his hands were doing, as if it wasn't his body, as if he was being directed by someone else. As a result, he felt no remorse, because he felt that he wasn't the one doing all those terrifying things.

It wasn't him who had done it, it was his dark shadow, the same one his niece had feared at night.

The thought of her made him feel an unpleasant sting in his chest. He pressed his lips together in an attempt to restrain himself, leaning his palms against the cold tiles, but his mind showed him her peaceful face again anyway, sleeping in his car.

She was so close he could smell her.

The smell of vanilla.

The next day his mother called him saying they needed to talk.

"Your father wants to throw a big party to celebrate his sixtieth birthday." She said, her voice trembling for some reason, as if something about this fact bothered her.

"Let him do what he wants." He hummed, pouring Vhagar's dog food into her bowl.

"He wants to invite Rhaenyra and her husband. Their children." She said, and he froze and cursed, seeing that he had poured too much, and some of the brown balls had spilled onto the floor.

"− fuck − has he completely lost his mind? −" He asked, running his hand over his face, feeling his heart begin to pound like crazy.

The possibility of meeting her while she was conscious made him feel his mind go into a state of panic.

He wasn't ready.

He couldn't.

He wanted so desperately to see her again.

"− he had already called her and she had said yes − Aemond, things are getting worse with him −"

"− I can just hear −" He growled, walking around the flat, feeling his emotions buzzing inside him.

"− I mean it − he's seriously ill −" She muttered, and he stopped in place, once again feeling the emptiness in his head.

"− what? −"

"− only me and your grandfather know about it − he asked not to tell you − he thinks it might be his last birthday −"

To his despair, his father demanded that everyone come to his birthday party, apparently wanting to put together in some pathetic way what had long been shattered.

Neither his grandfather nor his mother succeeded in dissuading him from this idea − his father rented a large banquet hall in a country manor house, an hour's drive from their town, and decreed that the whole event would be held there.

The manor also had rooms where they were to stay overnight, but he had no intention of remaining there any longer than necessary.

For the next few days, he would wake up in the night drenched in cold sweat, dreaming again and again of cutting her face with a pocket knife despite her screams and cries, her terrified eyes and lips parted in terror, leaving him no peace.

He was afraid of himself and what he was capable of.

He was afraid he would do something to her.

He was the last to arrive, the few missed calls from his mother indicated that everyone was waiting for him. He sat in his car for a long time, looking at the sun setting in the distance, thinking about that evening, that day, hearing the sound of the sea.

He tried not to think or feel when he got inside, all tense, his heart beating so hard in his chest that he felt like he was dying.

He was immediately struck by the loud 80s music − Don't You (Forget About Me), Simple Minds's song playing in the background, made him feel like a child again.

Won't you come see about me? I'll be alone, dancing, you know it, baby

Tell me your troubles and doubts Giving everything inside and out and Love's strange, so real in the dark Think of the tender things that we were working on

Slow change may pull us apart When the light gets into your heart, baby

Don't you, forget about me Don't, don't, don't, don't Don't you, forget about me

He felt a sense of discomfort hearing this lyrics, looking around at the crowd of people, his father's acquaintances, friends and business partners − he knew most of them, now laughing with drinks in their hands, doing disgusting and terrifying things on a daily basis, just like him.

His breath froze in his chest when he suddenly spotted her silhouette sitting at one of the tables.

She was looking at him, dressed in a simple, elegant, knee-length matte dress with long sleeves and a white collar, her long, dark hair loose.

He thought she looked like a miss from a good home, educated, full of culture and familiarity with the world that he lacked, feeling a sting in his chest at the thought.

Don't you try and pretend It's my feeling we'll win in the end I won't harm you or touch your defenses Vanity and security, ah

Her hands clenched into fists at the sight of him, something pleading in her gaze, as much as in her parted, sweet lips, looking so luscious, so soft.

She made a movement as if to rise from her chair, but he turned suddenly, panicking, walking towards the table where his brother was sitting.

"− where the fuck have you been? −" Aegon asked him, he, however, heard him only partially, his gaze returning to her: he swallowed hard when he saw that her seat was empty, but he did not see her either among the dancing couples or anywhere else.

Fuck.

"− are you listening to me? −" He asked, and he nodded.

As you walk on by Will you call my name? As you walk on by Will you call my name? When you walk away

"− there was terrible traffic −" He lied.

He lied constantly.

Lying to himself and others was so easy.

It helped.

It helped him live with what he did.

Who he was.

Aegon and Helaena were talking amongst themselves, he, however, was unable to focus − all he could think about was the fact that he couldn't calm down and needed a cigarette.

He pretended not to hope at all that she had gone out into the garden, that he would meet her there, that he would be able to look at her lips again.

At her eyes.

Her terrified face, the blade of his knife sinking into her skin above her brow.

God, make it stop.

"− where are you going? − you just got here −" His brother called out after him seeing that he was about to leave again.

"− I'm going for a smoke − I'll be right back −"

He stepped outside, feeling the pleasant evening breeze again, and looked around feeling his heart in his throat. He stopped when he spotted her sitting silhouette in the darkness at the end of the pier that overlooked a small pond.

He stared at her for a moment, feeling the urge to run away again, but some part of him that terrified him told him to approach her.

So he did.

Step by step he moved closer to her, as if to something inevitable, his death, his doom.

She turned, hearing him − her eyes widened in shock, her lips parted again, but this time in disbelief. She stood up from her place and he stopped a few steps away from her, pulling a packet of cigarettes and a lighter from his pocket.

"− what were you doing there? −" He asked, but it seemed to him that it was not his mouth, not his throat that left those sounds, cold and dry.

She blinked, as if she didn't understand what he meant, playing with her fingers in a nervous gesture.

"− what do you mean? −"

He slipped the cigarette into his mouth and leaned over, lighting the lighter, the warm flame making its dark tip begin to smoke. He took a drag, feeling that his hands were shaking, that although on the outside his posture was stony, on the inside everything in him was quivering.

"− what were you doing in that club −" He explained. "− looking for a new experiences? −"

She furrowed her eyebrows at his words but did not answer him, which frustrated him.

"− I don't like to ask twice −" He said more sharply than he intended. He saw that she swallowed hard, looking at him with fear and something else he couldn't define.

Her gaze was both terrified and warm at the same time, making him feel a familiar tickle in his lower abdomen that he hadn't felt in years.

God, no, he thought.

"− I wanted to find out how my father died −"

There was a long, uncomfortable silence between them, which was broken by his mischievous laughter. He tapped his finger on his cigarette making the ash fall to the ground and took another drag, its tip turning red.

"− and what did you find out? −" He sighed, letting the smoke out through his nose, looking down at her.

"− that your grandfather killed him −" She whispered in a trembling voice.

His hand froze in mid-motion before he laughed out loud.

"− who told you that? − Larys Strong? − was he the one who dragged you there? −" He sneered as if he was speaking to a small child, seeing with every word by her face full of pain and disbelief that he was right.

He walked closer to her, towering over her, feeling some sudden, strange surge of confidence, his heart pounding like mad with anticipation.

It seemed to him that he was dreaming all this, that he was about to wake up in his bed in his flat.

"− it was Larys who reported him − after the death of his father and brother, all the fortune fell to him − my grandfather just passively looked on −" He said, taking a drag on the remains of his cigarette, looking with interest at her pale face.

He thought her eyes seemed even bigger than they were then, surrounded by a fan of her dark lashes, her eyebrows arched in disbelief, her puffy lips shiny with glitter, probably from some kind of lip gloss, parted in a heavy, drawn-out breath, as if every word he said caused her pain.

"− did you know about this? −"

"− everyone knew −" He replied. "− he passed sentence on himself when he started talking with the police − his days were numbered anyway −"

She surprised him when she moved suddenly in front of him and passed him, bursting into a loud sob, walking back towards the building. For some reason he felt a cold shiver run along his spine, his mind seeming to scream.

Not yet.

Not yet.

He grabbed her aggressively by the arm making her voice stuck in her throat, her body slamming into his as he pulled her violently towards him. They struggled for a moment, his hands tightening around her waist, not allowing her to pull away.

He wasn't done yet.

Not yet.

She squirmed and whimpered, tears running down her red face as he grasped her cheeks between his fingers, able to look at her closely at last, pressing her body against his with his other arm.

Their breaths were heavy and broken when her body finally stopped resisting him, his face bent over hers so that the tips of their noses were almost touching.

"− don't you miss your favourite uncle anymore? − hm? −" He gasped, for some reason wanting to watch her suffer, wanting to punish her for seeing other men, for perhaps fucking other men, for perhaps daring to love them while he thought only of her, her, her.

She swallowed hard, her fingers clenched helplessly on the material of his leather jacket, her warm, soft cheeks all wet with tears under his fingers, her eyes big and shining, staring at him, only at him.

"− I don't recognise you −" She mumbled in a breaking voice. She closed her eyes, tears one by one running down her face again. "− God, I don't recognise you −"

He looked at her feeling his whole body tense up, his heart stopped in his throat − his lips tightened into a thin line as his grip on her cheeks grew stronger, making her cry out quietly in pain. He wanted to say something but was unable to − he just stared at her, feeling himself begin to tremble all over, a burning, embarrassing wetness gathered under his eyelids.

He knew he would be a disappointment to her and that was why he never wanted to see her again.

He didn't want to hear those words.

I don't recognise you.

"− good − because I don't fucking recognise myself either −" He hissed in a hoarse, trembling voice.

He pressed his forehead against hers, wanting to hide, wanting to be close to her, wanting her to forgive him, to tell him that everything would be all right, that she would come to him at night just as she had then.

He waited for her words, but all he heard was her loud breathing, her trembling fingers from his jacket rose slowly to his neck and jaw, her thumbs stroked his cheeks.

Something akin to a soft moan and sigh left his throat as her plump, moist lips ran slowly over his, merely teasing him. His cock responded immediately with an aggressive pulsing at the thought that her lip gloss tasted of strawberries, his eyes closed in delight as his tongue licked her upper lip, letting her know to keep going.

A wonderful, tickling heat rippled across his chest and lower abdomen as she mewled softly, opening her mouth a little wider, finally joining him in a shamelessly sticky, wet, loud kiss full of their slick, warm tongues.

The grip of his fingers softened, still holding her securely while his lips sank again and again into the wonderfully fleshy, silky structure of her skin, her scent, her hot breath, the softness of her body were wonderfully familiar, wonderfully safe.

He embraced her as she threw her arms around his neck, her body pressed against his − she moaned in embarrassment into his throat, letting his tongue invade deep between her teeth as she felt his swollen, throbbing erection on her stomach.

"− it's your fault − it's your fault −" He panted between greedy, aggressive, deep kisses that took his breath away, his wide hands clamped down on her back on the material of her dress, wandering up and down, closing finally on her plump buttocks making her fingers tighten on his short hair.

"− mghm −" She babbled between one lick of their tongues and the next, their lips joined and separated with loud, sticky clicks of their saliva, his hips rolled back and forth, rubbing his erection hidden in his trousers against her body, holding her in place.

This heavenly, shocking pleasure was violently interrupted for him when they heard someone's voice in the distance.

"− are you sure you saw her here? −" He heard Daemon's voice and moved away from her, looking at her in horror, her eyes big, her mouth open wide as if she couldn't believe what they had just done.

Oh my fucking God.

"− yes, I'm sure −" Jace said.

"− I'm here − I'm coming −" She called out to them, running towards them, leaving him alone amongst the evening chill, uncomfortably enveloping his body hot with delight and desire.

Only after a moment did the adrenaline begin to leave his veins, and the thrill was replaced by rage and shame. He groaned loudly, kneeling down and closed his face in his hands, bursting into loud, uncontrollable sobs for the first time in years.

He still loved her.

[cherienymphe]

Basic Training X (Peter Parker x Reader)

Warnings: NON-CON, DUB-CON, MURDER, violence, kidnapping, captivity, public sex, degradation, forced pregnancy, forced marriage, stockholm syndrome, ptsd, housewife kink, cop!Peter

➥ banner by @vase-of-lilies​ | divider by @whimsicalrogers​

➥ series masterlist

summary: A pit stop during a road trip ends tragically when a small town cop sets his sights on you. You’re the newest addition in a long standing fucked up family tradition.

~

“Alright. Time’s up, pretty girl.”

You pouted a bit as Peter’s words reached you, signaling to you that you’d been outside long enough and that you’d have to help get breakfast ready soon. You longingly stared at the pond as you stood up, hating how little free time you were allowed. Unlike you, the other women didn’t need someone standing over their shoulder whenever they stepped a foot outside. Clearly Steve or Peter thought there was still a chance you might try and make a run for it.

That opportunity had long passed.

You straightened, brushing some dirt off of your dress before making your way to Peter. The dark-haired man took your hand with a smile, leaning in and brushing his lips over your cheek as he walked you back to the house. Peter did that a lot more as of late. Taking your hand, kissing your face, just touching you in any small harmless way. You didn’t know how to feel about it at first, seeing it more as the price you had to pay to keep Peter so close.

…but just like his presence became a comfort, so did the feel of his hand in yours.

Steve was standing at the back door as you both neared the house, and you held Peter’s hand tighter. You relaxed only slightly when Peter squeezed your hand, and you did your best to avoid Steve’s gaze. Sometimes you wished that you were capable of what Steve clearly thought you were. At least then all of his scrutiny wouldn’t be in vain.

Truthfully, you didn’t know what he expected from you. You were weak. He’d said so himself that day in the basement when he’d decided you couldn’t even last another day. You were nothing like Natasha or even Margaret, something that was a great source of discomfort for you.

“Why do you think you need to be more like Nat?” Peter had asked you one day when you brought it up.

You’d shrugged.

“I just feel…really…pathetic, sometimes,” you’d mumbled, playing with your fingers and avoiding his gaze.

Peter had taken your face into his hands, looking almost sad as you voiced your insecurity. You both knew why you wished you were more like the beautiful redhead, but Peter didn’t say anything about that. He’d simply pressed his lips to your forehead, keeping them there as he talked.

“You’re you, and that’s why I like you,” he’d whispered against your skin. “If I had wanted anyone else…  If I’d wanted someone more like Nat, I would’ve swiped her before Bucky had the chance to.”

That was when you learned that like Jane and Thor, Bucky and Natasha had known each other before this too. Such a thought hurt your heart, and you couldn’t imagine the betrayal she’d felt. Peter had mentioned something about them knowing Natasha since she was a kid, her having grown up in this town too. That level of betrayal had clearly made her heart harden against Bucky in the beginning instead of having some softness for him, leading to her being down in that basement for literal months.

It also explained why Bucky had seemed very upset when he mentioned it.

Natasha was still quiet around you these days, but you couldn’t help but notice that ever since she’d learned the truth about how you were taken, she wasn’t so…harsh. Before, where you could tell that she was that way for your own sake, just wanting you to fall in line for your benefit, now, you could see the patience and understanding in her eyes. They all seemed much more careful around sharp objects, now, having clarity on that incident in the kitchen with the blood.

You didn’t know how to feel about that either.

On the one hand, you didn’t feel so alone anymore. It’s not like you talked about it, but it felt good to be surrounded by people who not only knew what you’d been through, but who also cared. The silent support did make things a little easier. On the other hand, though, you didn’t think that you liked being pitied. You weren’t the only victim in this scenario, and you felt wrong being treated like the only one.

What about Jane who’d liked Thor before he kidnapped her? Or Natasha who’d grown up in this town, who’d grown up with Bucky and the rest, and was betrayed by a man she thought was her friend? Several men that she thought were her friends. To you, their situations seemed just as traumatic.

Even Margaret, whose origin with Steve you didn’t know, still had to live in a perpetual state of fear of being brutally raped by that man for all to see over the smallest of infractions. You helped Laura in the garden as the other woman walked around the property with her daughter. She cooed at her and looked as happy as could be, but you often wondered how much of it was fake for the sake of survival or how much of it was real as a conditioned way of coping? There were many times you leaned towards the latter…

…and there were many times you worried that would be you.

As if you’d conjured him up with your thoughts, you felt familiar hands on your shoulders just as Laura glanced up.

“Hello, Peter.”

The almost robotic way in which they’d all greet Peter anytime he joined you in some household task was almost frightening. Peter allowed you to be so casual with him, and you were reminded of that day he’d snapped at Jane in the greenhouse. It was a reminder that these women probably knew Peter much better than you did. Some of them had lived in this house with him for years, and they knew a whole other side of Peter that you didn’t.

“Laura,” he evenly greeted. “What are you and Y/N planting?”

“Just squash seeds,” she replied. “A personal request from Sam.”

She chuckled as she recalled when Sam had run into you both earlier. He’d seemed very enthusiastic about growing the vegetable, and Peter hummed at that. You felt him rest his chin on your head as you knelt, and if Laura was uncomfortable with his presence, she didn’t show it. You’d kind of gathered that it wasn’t normal for any of the men to be so involved with activities that had been dubbed as something solely for the women in the house.

Peter was just very lenient and accommodating with you.

You didn’t need to be a genius to know that Steve didn’t like it very much. If the blond had it his way, you would’ve been in the basement several times over by now, and any whiny request you made of Peter would’ve been answered with a spanking. That train of thought had a spark of gratitude flowing through you, and absentmindedly, you reached up to cover Peter’s hand on your shoulder with your own.

Laura glanced over at the action, but otherwise said nothing.

“Happy Birthday, Y/N.”

Those were the words you woke up to a few days later, eyes blinking open and face twisting in confusion as Peter’s face materialized before you. He hovered over you, one hand pressed into the bed at your side and the other resting on your stomach, playing with your fingers there. You stared at him in silence for an embarrassingly long amount of time. You heard what he said, but you couldn’t quite make sense of the words.

It was your birthday?

You paused to think back on how many months had passed, and with shock, you realized that Peter was right. It was certainly your birthday month, and while you didn’t keep up with the days as well as you would have liked—they all blended together now—Peter had no reason to lie. In fact, you were sure that Pepper had mentioned the date the other day, and you hadn’t even made the connection that your birthday was fast approaching.

The thought made you…sad.

This time last year, you’d been planning that trip with Wanda and MJ and Pietro. You’d been excited to look back on the memories on your next birthday, probably even planning another one. This time last year, you’d been free and cutting a cake that your mom had baked and cleaning up a mess after Pietro had smashed your face into the icing.

Now…

Now, you were in a prison. Your friends were dead, your mom was alone and probably stressing herself into an early grave over you, and you were staring into the face of the man who’d made it all happen. You were celebrating your birthday in a house that you didn’t want to be in and surrounded by people you didn’t want to be near. The thought made your eyes water, and Peter noticed, his face falling as he straightened.

“Hey, hey, what’s the matter?” he quietly wondered, touching your chin. “Why are you crying?”

You tried to hold them back, but your tears spilled over against your will, and your lips trembled.

“I shouldn’t be here…”

Realization hit Peter as he sighed.

“I’m supposed to be with my friends,” you tearfully told him. “…and my mom.”

“I know,” Peter breathed, moving closer and pulling you into his arms.

You pressed your face into his chest, trying to hold in your sobs, but it was no use.

“…but I’m here…and you don’t have to lift a finger today…”

Peter’s voice was soft, hopeful, as he tried to cheer you up.

“We can stay outside as much as you want,” he told you, stroking your back. “…or we can stay in here all day. Anything you want.”

You knew that ‘anything’ had limitations to it, but you still pulled away at the mention of being outside all day. Ever since you could, it was all you really wanted to do. Peter’s smile told you that he could see it in your eyes, and he reached up to wipe your face.

“The girls are going to cook your favorite,” he continued, gently cleaning your face. “Doesn’t that sound nice?”

It did…and it didn’t, but you nodded anyway.

You were having the hardest time accepting that it was actually your birthday. Even as Peter ran you a bath, something that wasn’t unusual, you still stared at the flower petals in the water in disbelief. When you made it downstairs only to be greeted with well wishes and birthday congratulations, it still didn’t feel real.

Each of the women—and Thor—hugged you, while the rest of the men only cheerfully wished you a happy birthday. It was jarring to see a smile on Steve’s face, and even now, you couldn’t tell if it had been genuine or forced.

You were one year older…and so very far from wiser.

Peter was content to lie in the grass with you by the pond. It was all you really wanted to do, just bask in the fresh air and savor this day before you had to return to household chores and allotted outside time. You could feel Peter playing with your hair and your dress as you laid there, staring at the sky and thinking on how drastically your life had changed in a year.

“What are you thinking about?” Peter asked you. “When you’re not crying or asking me to hold you, you’re so quiet…and I always want to know what you’re thinking.”

You blinked, frowning a bit.

“Just how different things were last year,” you whispered. “I feel like…it’s finally hitting me…that I’m going to be here the rest of my life.”

You didn’t sound or feel particularly sad as you said it. Truthfully, you didn’t know what you felt, but you knew that it felt strange. You were lying on the grass with your captor, talking to him like he was a friend while he played with you. The man responsible for your captivity was the same one you confided in. That was something you grappled with every day, and with each day that passed, that fact felt less and less weird.

“I told you…it doesn’t have to be a bad thing,” Peter whispered back, his hand on your face. “I’m going to make you so happy.”

You didn’t want Peter to make you happy…but the only other alternative was to live out the rest of your days miserable and angry and scared. You felt like you were being so ungrateful to think like that, noting just how much worse you could have it. Compared to any of the other men, Peter was a Godsend, but he was still the same man responsible for your kidnapping.

You turned to watch him as he sat up, and you watched him reach into his pocket.

“When I went to check on your mom all those months ago…I also got this…”

You didn’t sit up, just watching him as he held a small jewelry box in his hands. The sight of it made your heart jump for multiple reasons, and you didn’t really know what to do as he opened it. As expected, a ring was inside, but it strangely didn’t look like a typical engagement ring. You figured that one would come into play eventually, and you hated how casually that thought passed through your mind.

It was more of a band, yellow gold and dainty. It reminded you of a tree branch—or vine—twisting and curving into a shape. There were golden thorns that caught your eye, reminiscent of a rose bush, and you felt frozen as Peter took your hand. He was careful in sliding it onto your finger, and you soon understood why.

When Peter pulled on it, the thorns dug into your skin, and you hurriedly sat up with a hiss.

“I had this custom made,” he murmured, turning your hand over and admiring the painful piece of jewelry. “You can’t take this off without scratching up your finger and possibly leaving behind a bloody mess.”

He gently played with your fingers, admiring it some more before his dark eyes lifted to meet your gaze. Peter’s expression was entirely serious as he threaded his fingers with yours, bringing your hand up to kiss the back of it, his pink lips soft on your skin.

“You’re mine,” he whispered without breaking his gaze. “…and I want you to be reminded of that every single day.”

He rested his chin on the back of your hand.

“Just like I am every time I look at you…”

Your heart skipped a beat, and you took a deep breath.

“You understand…?”

You struggled to swallow, hesitating when he squeezed your finger, pressing the metal thorns into your skin, and you winced.

“Yes,” you told him, breathless. “I understand.”

Peter’s entire demeanor changed at that, a smile dancing along his lips as he leaned in to press a kiss to the corner of your mouth.

“Good,” he whispered, kissing your cheek, now. “Happy Birthday, pretty girl.”

You sat at the table as everyone around you sang.

The cake that Jane and Sharon baked was so pretty. Beautiful even. It looked like something you would’ve seen online and begged your mom to buy before she ultimately decided to just make it herself. It had the appropriate number of candles, and you stared into the flames as the song came to an end.

You felt Peter’s lips at your ear as he urged you to make a wish.

You blinked, eyes burning as you thought about the one wish you knew wouldn’t come true. The ring on your finger felt like a weight was tied to it, a reminder of just who you belonged to and the circumstances surrounding how you’d gotten here. You stared into the candle flames with tearful eyes, wondering what on earth you could possibly wish for.

Freedom was out of the question. There was no doubt in your mind that that would never happen. You considered wishing for happiness, but like earlier, you thought that you didn’t want to be happy with Peter. At least, you didn’t think you did, but living out the rest of your life in misery sounded like hell, like the worst thing that could ever happen.

…and yet, with tears in your eyes, that was what you wished for.

The other women clapped, cheering for you, but you could hear it dying down when your tears spilled over. You didn’t mean to start crying, and like every other time before, embarrassment filled you. You could feel Peter’s hands on your shoulder as he stood behind you, and when you glanced up, your eyes caught familiar green ones. You didn’t miss the concern on Natasha’s face as she eyed you.

You really did try to keep it together, even just for your own sake, but it was harder than it was supposed to be, and when everyone else grew quiet, you didn’t even need to look over to know that Steve’s hard gaze was on you. You wiped your face, but the tears just kept coming, and you heard Peter sigh.

“Here,” you heard Margaret say, her chair moving. “Let’s cut you a piece of-.”

“Sit down, Peggy.”

Steve’s cold voice was loud and clear in the otherwise quiet room, and you couldn’t even bring yourself to look at him. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at anyone. It was your birthday, and it was nothing at all like you expected it to be. Never in your wildest dreams would you have ever predicted your birthday—any of your birthdays—being spent surrounded by a household that you were taken and forced into.

When you finally glanced over, you were unsurprised to meet Steve’s cold blue gaze.

“Jane and Sharon spent so much time on your cake…”

You looked down at that, and you felt Peter’s hands tighten on your shoulders.

“You rested the entire day, as you should because it’s your birthday…and you’re crying…?”

“Steve-.”

“You let her get away with too much, Peter!”

You jumped as Steve raised his voice, and you hesitantly looked up as the blond stood. His handsome face was taut, jaw ticking as he looked between you and Peter with anger.

“Tantrums, crying fits, holding her hand with every single chore,” Steve continued. “After everything you—and I by extension—have allowed her to get away with…and she’s still ungrateful…”

Your eyes met Steve’s then, lips trembling as he turned his venomous gaze onto you.

“You still have the audacity to cry like a spoiled brat and for what? Because your birthday isn’t at all what you expected it to be, what…a year ago?”

More tears spilled over at that, and your eyes widened as Steve strode towards you.

“You’re never seeing your friends again, you’re never seeing your family again…”

“Steve,” Margaret murmured.

“It’s high time you accepted that and stopped crying like an overindulgent child.”

With every word that left Steve’s lips, you could only manage to cry harder, and you could hear Peter saying something to him, but it was impossible to make out over the sound of your sobs.

“No, she could have it a lot worse,” you managed to catch. “You’re too lenient, too accommodating, and for what? She’s not in charge, you are.”

You could feel Peter helping you stand, and you stumbled as he pulled you against him.

“If she belonged to me…you know exactly what I’d do to straighten her out...”

The thinly veiled threat had you shuddering, more tears falling as you recalled the memory of Steve and Margaret in the yard that morning. You clung to Peter at Steve’s words, and the brunette held you close.

“Maybe you should remind her of just how bad things could be.”

Steve’s parting words still echoed in your mind when Peter brought you back to your room. He was quick to shut the door behind you both, and no matter how hard you tried, you just couldn’t stop crying. Steve’s harsh words combined with the surrealness of your birthday being celebrated in captivity was sending you into a downward spiral.

The worst of it all was that Steve was right. Jane and Sharon had spent so much time on that cake, and it showed. Peter did let you get away with a lot, especially in comparison to the other men, and it could be so much worse for you, but that still didn’t make your situation better.

Nothing about any of this was good.

You could both hear and feel Peter trying to calm you, but it was of no use. Your forehead rested on his shoulder as he rubbed your arms and back, soothing sounds leaving his lips, and the sound of his voice made you flinch for some reason. Pulling away from him, you reached for the ring, hissing when it only served to dig into your skin.

“Y/N, stop- what are you doing?”

Peter’s hands were on yours, stopping you, and you only cried harder.

“Get it off,” you shrieked. “Take it off, take it off!”

“No,” Peter spat back. “You’re mine and-.”

“I don’t want to be yours,” you screamed, descending into a fit of sobs. “I want to go home, and I want my friends, and I want my mom.”

You pressed your hands into your face, stumbling away from Peter.

“I want my mom,” you cried.

The other man was quiet as you sobbed, chest heaving and aching. You scooted back towards the headboard, wiping your face as Peter stared at you with an expression that was unreadable. You couldn’t stop shaking and crying, and you bit your lip when Peter stood. His dark eyes drank you in, glinting with something unknown to you, and you watched him take a deep breath.

“You don’t want to be mine…?” he slowly asked.

You pressed your lips together, looking away.

“You don’t have a choice, pretty girl.”

Unlike all the other times, the term of endearment wasn’t dripping with sweetness. There was an edge in Peter’s voice, and you sniffed as he reached for your hand. He squeezed the ring, making you wince, and Peter softly chuckled to himself.

“Steve was right, you know… Things could be so much worse for you.”

“I know,” you tearfully replied, trying to get your hand free.

“I could take you like some animal for the whole house to see like Steve…” you blinked back tears. “…or maybe I should be like Tony and make you wear a leash when I decide to punish you.”

“Peter-.”

“I’ve been nothing but sweet to you…haven’t I…?”

He looked between your eyes, and you reluctantly nodded.

“…and yet you don’t want to be mine.”

He was still holding your hand, and his free hand came up to rest on the back of your neck. Peter was leaning in, nose brushing yours as he studied your face. He suddenly sighed, his expression falling.

“This was supposed to be a happy day for you,” he murmured, frown deepening. “It’s your birthday…and I spent it with you, they made you a cake… You were supposed to be happy, today.”

You didn’t know how to tell Peter that nothing about this day could be happy. If anything, it was sadder than any other day you’d spent here. It was your birthday…and you were so far removed from the people you loved.

“…maybe it still can be…”

You didn’t really understand Peter’s words until his lips brushed over yours. It took you by surprise, and you jerked, but Peter didn’t seem to mind as he kept kissing you. His hand on the back of your neck kept you from moving anywhere, and when he deepened the kiss, you gasped. Peter took that opportunity to taste the inside of your mouth, and your free hand pushed at his chest.

“It’s your birthday…you shouldn’t go to bed angry on your birthday,” he murmured into your skin as he kissed along your jaw.

“Peter-.”

You cut yourself off with a gasp when you found yourself on your back, Peter’s frame covering your own. The dresses and nightgowns you were made to wear were thin, and you felt every bit of Peter as he pressed himself against you. It wasn’t quite registering what was happening, and you felt almost removed from your body as Peter’s hands ran up and down your frame, lips lingering on your neck and jaw and lips. It was only when he started to push your nightgown up did the tears finally collect in your eyes.

“Peter…Peter, wait… Please,” you tearfully pleaded, pushing against him.

He ignored you, fighting against you to get your nightgown off, and your panic only grew as he struggled to undress himself too. One of his hands tangled at the nape of your neck, pulling your head back and baring your throat to him. He grazed his teeth over it, and you shuddered.

“You may not want to be mine…but you are,” he whispered, lips grazing your ear.

His bare chest brushed against your own, and he quietly kept telling you that it was okay as you cried.

“…and accepting that will make things so much easier for you…will make you so much happier.”

You shrieked, nails pressing into his arm and the other hand twisting into the sheets. He was pushing into you, slow and torturous, and it took your breath away, making your chest burn. When Peter was fully settled, fully sheathed into you, filling and warm and throbbing, he took a slow deep breath, like he was savoring the moment and feel of you.

He had you completely pinned beneath him, and you didn’t even try to hold in your sobs.

“Happy Birthday, pretty girl.”

[majesty-madness]

Within the Cover of Night - Arthur Morgan x reader (sfw)

Summary: At first, she thinks it’s nothing but her imagination; that because of the life she lives, she’s letting her paranoia get the better of her. And then she’s snatched up in the dead of night by a pair of unfamiliar hands. 

Word Count: 3500+

Warnings: established relationship between Arthur and Y/N, horror themes, kidnapping, stalking, violence, blood, injury, cursing, pissed off Arthur, crying, attempted rape, mentions of sexual assault, panic attack, attempted murder, serial killer, hostage situation, brief escape, comfort 

a/n: Not proofread. This is a very intense part two (and final), if you couldn't tell from the tags. However I will say that whenever I write something, I make sure to list the content in the warnings because I do not want anyone to be surprised (which has happened to me several times in my years of reading fanfiction, unfortunately). So if you do not see it explicitly mentioned in the warnings, it is not contained in the story at least when it comes to more serious or dark themes such as this. Just an FYI.

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HOUR ONE

HOUR TWO (final)

There’s a pressure, a pounding assaulting her temples. 

First there’s only darkness, what looks like an infinite void of nothing but slowly, the dark seeps away to give way to an orange flickering light. The blurriness of her vision gives way to clearer sight as the seconds tick by, and when she gathers the strength to lift her head, she sees him. 

It was the man from Strawberry.

Y/N lets out a gasp that echoes in the cave around causing the man to swoop forward from his sitting position, inching closer to her. 

“Shh, shh, shhh, everything is okay. You’re alright.” 

She attempted to scoot further away from the man but the thought quickly escaped her when her back collided with the rock wall behind her. The man stopped a few feet from her, eyes cascaded darkly by the single lantern before them.

“Let me go, you bastard! Let me go!” 

Even as the words fell into silence, Y/N could sense the malevolence shrouding him like a cloak. Especially, the moment that a smirk crested against his lips. 

“My my, you are beautiful. Compared to the others, you are a goddess.” 

His choice in words caused her to pause, contemplate. “Others?” She hated the way her voice quivered when the words left her mouth. 

“Oh yes. Don’t misunderstand me, they were all beautiful but it was in an…” He stopped, pondering what word he wanted to use, his face twitching in thought. “eccentric way; unique to each of them. Though I can’t say that was a bad thing.”

The pit in her stomach sank deeper with a cold chill pointedly reminding her this wasn’t the first time he’d done this. There had been other women, others that he had done God knows what to. But the way he was speaking about them made it seem like they were-

“Like my first, she was pretty. She had this long black hair softer than satin, and reflected the light like no other. Despite that, she had a speech impediment so I had to keep her gagged.” He stood from his slightly crouched position to begin pacing back and forth. 

Y/N watched him while he continued his monologue.

“Oh! And a few months ago, there was Isabell; blonde hair, fair skin, thin, perfect lips. She was a gift from the unsuspecting eye, but when I finally got her down to her chemise there was a rather unappealing birthmark across her collar.” He scoffed, “Didn’t like that.”

She felt the tension within her body rising, her muscles clenching and shaking with anxiety, the tips of her fingers turning cold from the nerves, and heart thumping at a bruising pace against her ribs. 

What kind of man; human could say these things?

“Though, Mary-Ann, she was special. She had a way about her, the way she carried herself; she had fire that girl. Not surprising, she had the reddest curly head of hair I ever did see. That’s not to mention those emerald dipped eyes.” In the midst of his description of this woman’s eyes, he jerked his head over to Y/N, enjoying the shell-shocked expression on her face. 

“And all those girls felt soo…good.” He ran his hands fully over his face, drifting promiscuously down his chest to his hips; his rolling back of his eyes and the sharp inhale of breath left little to the imagination of what he did to them. 

What he forced them to do.

He paused for a moment, letting the eeriness fall in and permeate the air with a suffocating weight. Then without warning, he whipped his head back to her, now taking slow methodical steps toward her. 

“Unfortunately, they didn’t love me enough. Didn’t appreciate me enough, but they were failures; the trials to my final prize.” Once he’s only mere inches from Y/N does he crouch down on one knee, extending his hand out to grip her chin with his thumb and forefinger.

Her skin crawled, prickling with the sensation of being dirty, covered in grime.

“You. You’ll love me. I can tell, you’re different.” With his manic eyes, he caresses her cheek with surprising gentleness. “You’ll love me, right?” 

No. Is what flashed to the front of her mind, but her mouth uttered something else. 

“Of course.” She breathed inside a heavy exhale she didn’t realize she was holding in. 

The words felt disgusting, wrong as they left her and hovered in the air. No matter how much her body wanted to scream and curse him out to set her free, her mind flipped the script and decided that the best way to escape was to placate him in his sick game. 

Y/N watched as the man unnervingly grinned and hopped up to a full standing position. “Wonderful. First things first, we need to get you some clothes. It’s proper for a woman to wear more feminine attire.” 

He gestured to her riding pants and button up shirt tucked into her waistband as he sauntered off into the darkened cave. 

Bastard. 

Y/N silently swore, eyes drifting from what she assumed was the entrance of the cave and the environment around her. She skimmed all around for any kind of sharp object that could be used to cut her free, but none existed. It seemed that he was more thorough than she originally thought. 

And now that she was looking around she paid more attention to what was actually contained with this, mining shaft as it were. There was the lantern still sitting in front of her, but there was also a second one in a near corner and it illuminated a padded bedroll with a pillow. 

The mere sight of it caused a bubbling in her stomach and burning sensation inside her throat. Her mind began to imagine the most horrible things if she let him take her to it. 

Thoughts of him forcing her to lay down, tearing her clothes from her body, all the while he’d trail poisonous kisses against her flesh making her flesh feel as though it were rotting and his hands caressing her skin with sandpaper before he did the unthinkable.

“No! No, that’s not gonna happen.” Y/N pleaded to herself, shaking her head briefly to wave the vulgar thoughts away.

Snapping her from those thoughts were the sound of footsteps echoing through the mine. 

Her eyes whipped over to the sound, gulping down the saliva gathering in her throat, trying to steady the heart that beat so wildly inside her ribcage. 

The man turned the corner with an obvious outfit in hand, a simple white blouse and plaid skirt. “This should do you very nicely.”

He walked over to her, setting the skirt onto the ground and throwing the shirt on top. 

Y/N shifted uncomfortably as she set the trap. “Can you take these ropes off me?” 

“Excuse me?” He said incredulously, raising a brow at the suggestion. 

“Well..” Y/N tilted her head, bit her lip, as she tried to appear more docile. Innocent. “I can’t change in those clothes, if my hands are tied up. Don’t you want me to be pretty for you?”

In his moment of contemplation, Y/N thought he’d flat out refuse. His lip quirked up, and he clicked his tongue like it was a difficult question. However, to her surprise, he let way to a smile. “Of course, darling. You make an excellent point.”

He leaned down and yanked her up with one swift motion. “As long as you promise to behave for me, dear.”

Y/N nodded slowly and without hurry for fear that any expression of emotion would upset him. 

Softly, he untied the itchy ropes from her wrists leaving her standing awkwardly in front of him. It took a second before he gestured to the clothes. “Well?” 

Arthur suddenly flashed to her mind, giving her the false presence that he was with her right now and she silently hoped that he would forgive her for what she was about to do. Hesitantly, she began to unbutton her own blouse followed shortly by her pants leaving her in her bloomers. 

Once she got the fabric off her, the heat of shame flowed through her cheeks from standing so exposed in front of a man she didn’t know. The reality of it almost sent her to tears, but she hardened her resolve to appear calm for she needed him to let down his guard for her escape. Although she could sense the hunger in his eyes even if she tried her best not to look at him.

She started on the blouse first, and it was on in less than a minute so she switched to the skirt. The skirt itself was by no means complicated, but it took some adjustment to get it around her hips and it was in the middle of doing so that an idea popped into her head. 

Instead of methodical tugs on the garb to fit, Y/N tugged hastily, and with seeming difficulty around her body (not to mention a few puffs of air to sell her plight).

“What is it, my love?” 

Y/N huffed again, pouted almost. “I’m..having some trouble. It doesn’t seem to want to-” 

Without warning, she fell forward; tripping on her own feet and into his arms. The man’s arms instinctually extended out to break her fall and Y/N’s hand inconspicuously smoothed over his waist to feel for a weapon. 

No gun, no knife. She concluded, moving onto her next move. 

“Clumsy.” He uttered condescendingly causing Y/N to dip her head back to gaze up at him and give him the best doe eyes she could muster. 

“Oh! I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to.” 

He chuckles as he brings a hand up to cup her cheek. “It’s alright, you didn’t hurt me.”

From his waist, Y/N brought her hands to rest on the back of his neck. “Oh yeah?” She tugged him a little closer to her and smiled. “Well, that’s too-”

She brought up her right knee in an upward motion, managing a single blow to the man’s groin. “Bad!” 

A choked moan from his mouth punctuated the dark cave and he fell to his knees and when he did so, Y/N gave him one quick jab to the side of his jaw and made a run for it down the same way he had returned. 

Her rapid footsteps reverberated off the stony walls, along with her shallow breaths for oxygen as she sprinted for the exit. In the first few minutes of running, and she only kept seeing the rock surrounding her, Y/N worried that they were a lot deeper inside than she suspected which devolved into the thought that this could be a maze. 

Those thoughts were dashed once she caught the night of the starry sky. 

It was cool outside despite the hot sun during the prime hours of the afternoon. The open air cold water against her burning lungs, the sound of trees rustling in the wind a sweet symphony, the light of the full moon a beacon of hope. 

To her immediate right, there was a well traveled footpath leading, maybe, ten feet until the drop off to the solid dirt floor. She wasted no time hiking down the trail. Y/N was in such an adrenaline fueled hurry that she ended up actually tripping the last few feets and rolled on the forest green grass below her. But she crawled her way from the ground to begin in a mad sprint toward the trees where a populated trail would more than likely be. 

She burst through the shrubbery, avoiding many rocks, fallen logs, and dirt holes in the process. 

It took several minutes (though it felt like hours) before Y/N caught a glimpse of a road just beyond the treeline. 

A glimmer of relief surfaced from the depths of her fear and repulsion of that man. 

So close, she was so close. 

Just then, a brutal force from behind tackled her to the forest floor.

She knew who it was, she didn’t need to look and with that retaliation, the panic flooded her veins and she let out a blood curdling scream. 

“Shut up!” The man shouted over top of her screaming. 

They tussled with each other on the grass, Y/N attempting with all her might to pull away from him and the man pulling her under him and pinning her hands above her head. 

“Let me go! Let me go, you bastard! Just let me go!” Y/N continued to screech and now, beginning to cry, for the fear became too much to contain. 

With her plea, the man ripped the front of her shirt open to expose her to the open air. “You should’ve done what you were told, you little slut! Now, I’m gonna show you who you belong to!” 

He leaned down to harshly kiss her neck, running his tongue along the pressure point all while Y/N kicked and screamed and cried and begged for him to just stop. 

“HEY! You get away from her, you son of a bitch!” The growl of a voice shouted from somewhere. 

Y/N opened her eyes to witness the man being yanked off of her and thrown to the ground again, only this time someone was on top of him, and this time, met with the fury rage of another man’s fists. 

Through the bleary tears, she saw the back of a familiar tan jacket along with a familiar black hat. 

Could it be?

The touch of someone’s hand made her jump, almost recoiling from the sensation. 

“Hey, hey it’s okay. You’re alright.” 

She recognized that voice. 

“Charles?” 

“Yeah, it’s me. Everythings’ okay now. Let’s get you out of here.” He gently coaxed, lifting his hand out for her to take. 

In a daze, she took his hand in her’s in order to let him lift her from the ground. Once she was standing, he tried leading her away from the man but she stopped. 

“Wait, I want to see.” 

Charles offered no rebuttal or suggestion, opting to let Y/N do what she wished and turn back to the event unfolding in front of them. 

Before her, Arthur, the man she loved so dearly, was beating the life out of the man that had threatened her mere moments ago. By this point, the man’s face was covered in blood and one eye was horribly swollen, turning shades of purple. 

The sight of it was awful, downright brutal as Arthur brought down blow after blow to the man’s more than broken cheekbone. Yet seeing him in pain as Arthur wore a pure predatory expression sparked the slightest bit of satisfaction in her gut.

After what that man had done, not only to her; kidnapping her, and attempting to have his way with her, but what he did to all those other women, he would pay for it. And perhaps the law would have caught him someday, who knows? But that didn’t matter, not now, not to an outlaw who had nothing to lose except the love of a woman who he’d thought he never deserved.

In a split second, Arthur had stopped punching the man in order to begin choking him to death. He gasped, sputtered for air as his hand desperately grabbed Arthur’s jacket sleeves to somehow loosen his grip. It quickly proved useless especially when the man’s eyes finally closed, and the rapid breathing of his chest slowed to nothing. 

Arthur pulled his bloodied hands away, stumbling back as he came back to standing. His body contracts with the stuttering breaths of heightened exhaustion. 

“Arthur…” 

Barely a word, a whisper really, regardless it draws his attention. The hardened expression full of a white hot rage softens to one of unadulterated love. 

“Y/N…” 

He rushes to her, nearly colliding with her but once he takes her into his hold, she wraps her arms around him tightly fearing that if she let go, he would disappear along with her hope that she had survived. 

“Oh Arthur..” The beginnings of a deeply wounded sob burst from her mouth, tears rolling down her face. 

Arthur cradled the back of her head and held her back, whispering sweet words into her hair. “Shhh, it’s okay, sweetheart. I’m here, I’m here. I gotcha.” 

He proceeded to press kiss after kiss into her hair, temple, and cheek while he gently rocked her back and forth. 

“He..he was gonna-” 

Y/N started but Arthur quickly cut her off from her train of thought. “I know, I know, you don’t gotta say it. But he ain’t gonna hurt you ever again nor anyone else, I promise.”

She cried harder at his loving proclamation causing him to hug her tighter.

Charles, who had been standing off to the side, carefully took a few steps toward the couple. “Arthur, we should go.” 

Arthur’s eyes flicked up to meet Charles’ and nodded before gently tugging Y/N away to look at him. “Let’s get outta here, okay?”

She simply nodded, saying no more as Arthur led her to his horse nearby. He got up on the saddle first, then extended his hand down to Y/N which she happily took and resided to sit behind him, letting her arms wrap tightly around his waist and bury her face in his back. The smell of smoke and gunpowder with a hint of the earthy forest filtered through her nose, soothing over her every nerve. 

His distinct, musky aroma brought her back to the sweetness of his love and adoration for her; a sense of being that brought about the comfort of undeniable safety. 

Before she knew it, they were in motion; the familiar bouncing of being on horseback allowed Y/N time to readjust back to reality. The entire ride back to camp was a long, tired one. Once the surge of adrenaline had worn off, her body began to feel the effects; particularly the urge to sleep. 

She had such a difficult time keeping her eyes open that she barely noticed when they’d finally gotten back and Arthur helped her down from the horse. 

As soon as he escorted her to sit on his cot, she snapped out of her sleepy state.

“You with me, darling?” 

Y/N finally looked up at him out of her daze, “Yeah, I’m with you.”

He nodded, suddenly pulling out a handkerchief and dabbing it against her cheek. 

“What’s wrong? Is there dirt on my face or something?” Y/N asked, pulling her head away. 

“No, but you got a cut on your cheek; bled quite a bit.” Arthur softly answered as his hand hovered in the air, waiting for her to let him help. 

“Oh..” She uttered, leaning back to let Arthur wipe off her, unknowingly, bloody cheek. 

A couple of quiet minutes passed of Arthur focusing hard on wiping away the blood, and Y/N watching him. Her eyes first observed on his own green-ish blue eyes then down to his lips, then to the old scar on his chin; the one she’d spent days memorizing, and eventually to his wickedly bruised knuckles, obtained when he beat her would be rapist to death. It got her wondering.

“How did you find me?” 

“Uh…” He breathed for a moment, startled from his deep thoughts, “It wasn’t too long after you were taken that Charles and I followed the tracks left behind. It was actually Charles who had realized something was wrong. He woke up everyone in camp and then we started after you.”

“In the dark?” Y/N asked surprised. 

More often than not, she was advised against hunting or tracking at night. It was nearly impossible to track at that time especially with moonless skies, and it was also more likely that you'd get lost or start following your own tracks so to hear that Arthur and Charles followed her through the forest at night shocked her. 

“Of course.” He huffed as if the answer was obvious, “After you told me about that little confrontation in Strawberry, I wasn’t about to wait ‘til morning.” 

She watched as Arthur swiped the handkerchief across her cheek one final time before setting it on the table nearby, figuring he’d probably wash it when he got up tomorrow. He stood from his crouched position in front of her to instead sit beside her on his cot. 

“Thank you. I mean it, Arthur. I-I don’t know what I woulda done if you hadn’t been there in time.”

“Don’t go worrying about it,” He reassured, “It didn’t happen and I won’t ever let it happen. Not as long as I’m with you.”

Y/N nodded, then leaned down to rest her head on his shoulder. He brought one arm to settle around her shoulder while he used his free hand to take her small hand in his much larger one. They enjoyed the silence of the night, the gang already having gone back to bed once they saw Y/N was alright and the hidden crickets all around providing a lolling symphony 

“Would it be alright if I slept in your tent again tonight?” Y/N asked, a hopeful fluttering residing in her stomach. Though, she pretty much already knew the answer.

Arthur playfully scoffed, kissing the top of her head. “After today, sweetheart, I ain’t never lettin’ you sleep alone again.”

Y/N smiled fondly. “I look forward to it.”

[crookedkryptonitebeliever]

Yandere Coworker (part 10)

Tw: afab reader, Cyprus has some fucked up exes, mentions of violence, pretty much just some boring exposition about our resident stimky

Masterlists, Part 1 , part 11

Cyprus furrowed his eyebrows and shook his head. "No. We are going home. These fucking animals can't control themselves today. Come on." He snatched your wrist and dragged you away from the table, the food hadn't even arrived yet and he was leaving.

"Wait, we're sorry!" One of them piped up, making you and Cyprus turn around. You saw that all the men at the table were standing up, ready to restrain him. "Look, Cy. We're just... We fucked up, we get it. We're sorry." Another one continued.

"We're just happy you found someone different, we didn't mean to scare the shit out of your girl, It's just so new and-"

You interrupted their apology by asking what they meant by someone "different". You could never get used to all seven pairs of eyes on you instantly, feeling like you almost had a heart attack with the sudden blast of attention on you.

"Sweetie, you're worlds apart from Cyprus and the women he usually chooses." Said one of the girlfriends with a coo. The three of them stared at you adoringly, smiling and leaning toward your particular direction. You wonder what they saw you as.

You looked back up to Cyprus, he seemed frozen in place. His lips were tightly pursed and his steely eyes glared at his friends.

"Sit down with us for a while, and we'll tell you what you want to know about your loverboy." Purred another one of the women. You returned your attention to them, now completely interested in this topic. Wrenching your hand away from Cyprus's loosened grip, you hastily returned to your original seat. Which prompted a cheer from the six of them, the men roaring and clapping in encouragement, while the women sang praises and giggled gleefully.

They turned their attention to Cyprus. "Come on, Cy. At least wait till your girl is fed before hitting the road."

You can see him clench his fist momentarily before marching right up to you. But he didn't take a seat, instead lifting you up by the waist and swiftly plopping you down on his lap. Cyprus protectively wrapped his muscular arms around your smaller form, letting his pecks and leather jacket engulf you.

The other patrons spared your table a glance, they didn't seem to care about the commotion Cyprus's friends were causing in the pub.

Cyprus didn't have anything to say, allowing you to freely converse with the men and women at the table, whom you still haven't learned the names of.

They watched you eagerly to open up the conversation that you wanted to have, but you were nervous. It felt like you were presenting in front of the entire world, these people will remember every blunder, every social faux pas, and every cringeworthy moment that may be birthed from your anxiousness.

You cleared your throat and shifted until you felt comfortable and cozy enough to continue. You felt his soft lips brush against your hair whenever you moved, only when you were relatively stable did Cyprus properly kiss you on the back of the head. Subconsciously, you're sinking deeper into him and shrinking yourself, his friends are as intimidating as a pack of laughing hyenas and you're a piece of fresh meat for them to tear into.

"I'm right here, baby." He whispered, squeezing you assuringly after noticing that you froze up. Somehow, that comforted you enough to relax your tensed shoulders.

The woman closest to you must have heard him, as a very audible and visceral "Aww!" left her supple lips. Cyprus whipped his head to the side and snapped at her to shut up. They laughed at his attempt to control the situation, which still confused you; making you wonder if they even saw Cyprus as a threat. Or if they were just comfortable enough to continuously disrespect him like that.

You gulped as you mustered all your courage to ask about what they meant about you being different, wanting to know in what sense. You then went on to ask if they think you're "different", as in, you're considered abnormal or an outcast of society- perhaps that statement opened old wounds from the past as you felt a strong feeling of dread and nausea wash over you.

"No, nothing like that!" One of the men exclaimed seemingly alarming the rest of the group that they might have offended you. The teasing smiles on their faces dropped and their expression morphed into that of concern and surprise. This sudden change spooked you, what did they see to make them drop their usual carefree attitude? Why did they care about your feelings this much when it's somewhat established that Cyprus is a player and cycles through his flings like laundry?

Eventually, the atmosphere calmed enough for one of the boys to clarify what they meant.

"You are nothing like his batshit crazy exes. You're nice and shy, Cy genuinely likes you too." Again, with the usage of 'shy'. You were curious enough to ask them what they meant by 'shy' and why it is used frequently when describing you.

He stammered, flabbergasted that you were asking the obvious, "You are! I don't know what else to tell you- you're just shy--" His words were cut short by another one of his buddies.

"What that dumbass is trying to say is, you're not loud. Not acting like a total bitch and nothing like Cyprus."

You took a few seconds to stew in his words. So they think Cyprus is actually unpleasant to be with?

"Yeah." One of the girls nonchalantly sipped on her beer after responding. Followed by the rest of them agreeing. Cyprus simply huffed and rolled his eyes at their admittance.

You then asked about why are they still friends with him.

They shrugged, all almost simultaneously. They giggled among each other until one of them spoke up again. "He's not that bad. Cyprus sucks sometimes, but he's a real good guy and we like him."

"He keeps us alive."

"He bailed me out of jail."

"He's the dad of our friend group."

"If it wasn't for him, our lives would be all fucked up."

"Yeah, he sets us straight."

"I owe him money."

"He owes me money."

The boys continued raving about how great a character Cyprus is.

"But his exes though... no thank you." The girls had a grimace on their beautiful faces. "They're horrible, the worst. 'EWW' personified."

It appears that the girlfriends are especially disapproving of his past women. You decided to press on, you could try and shake Cyprus's abhorrent interest in you by mimicking the behavior of these people he dated.

"Oh, honey. They're the worst. Ugh."

You asked how so.

"Where do I begin-"

"Oh my god, tell her about the girl who literally poisoned us because she didn't like how we looked at Cyprus."

"Yeah! And the girl who thought it was cute to spread some fake rumors about us infecting the whole town with some STD. I almost got fired from work because of that!"

"And, and, the girl who got into a nasty fistfight with the boys because she didn't like our jokes... It was impressive how she won, though."

"And the girl who sucker-punched me in the face and fucked up my nose." She pointed at her sniffer, which you now notice was slightly crooked.

"And the girl who sucker-punched Cyprus in the face and caused a pub brawl. You just had to be there to see the bloodbath, she actually got us banned from the last place."

"And the girl who totaled our bikes and cars because she didn't like how Cyprus had a life and friends."

"And the girl who stalked Cyprus, broke into his apartment, burnt it down, and left each of us a box containing dead, mangled rats. That was why Cyprus quit his last job and moved away- don't worry though, she's behind bars now."

"And the girl who literally stabbed Cyprus in the leg because of an argument about how he shouldn't order steak at every restaurant he goes to- I think we got banned from that pub too."

"And the girl who committed identity fraud using Cyprus's credit card, and stole a hundred dollars from my purse when I wasn't looking."

"And the girl who was just so mean to us that it managed to make Lydia cry! She kept insulting us and splashed water on Cyprus's face when he stepped in."

You now know one of the girls' names is Lydia. She's the brunette.

"And the girl who strangled Cyprus because he didn't text her back fast enough."

"And the girl who tried to kill Cyprus."

"Oh, come on, Kitty. You have to be more specific than that, I can think of ten of his exes who tried to kill him and us."

Kitty is the woman with the red highlights in her black hair.

"Don't forget, he dated someone who shits on all his life choices, made sure he knows she thinks he's ugly, is ungrateful for all that he has done for her, and dared to get all teary-eyed and pissy because Cyprus isn't chasing her enough."

"Oh my god, what about that one bitch who tried to control everything about him, down to how he speaks and blinks? She's fucking crazy! Literally, she tried everything. Blackmail, sabotage and even drugging, she even tried to frame him for a murder that he didn't commit!"

"What about that girl who stole Jewel's panties, and planted them in Cyprus's car just to try and ruin our friend group by accusing him of cheating on her? What a fucking weirdo and a dumb bitch for not checking if there were any surveillance cameras before breaking into a house."

Jewel is the woman with platinum blond hair and a pair of blue earrings.

You counted the number of different girls that they mentioned. At least 15, and they kept going. You turned your head up to look at Cyprus, he appeared bored as the girls casually recounted his most traumatic encounters with his previous girlfriends.

From what you heard, it seems like his love life is filled with hatred, yelling, fear, and struggles to attain dominance. Is that why his approach to you is so strange, forceful, and unnerving? Yet somewhat gentle?

It's undeniable you're different. It's like you're the first decent human being that he has ever dated. He tasted the deliciousness of the bare minimum and couldn't go back, he just had to go after you.

"And You? You're a fucking angel." Lydia's sudden shift of attention towards you made you jolt. "You're nothing but sweetness. Cyprus, you better hold onto her and never fucking let go."

Each member expressed their agreement and approval of your character.

You told them that they shouldn't accept you too soon. You could be one of them too, waiting to backstab everyone. For all they know, you could be a two-faced psycho and the worst instance of his exes.

The table fell silent momentarily. You held your breath as your eyes darted from person to person.

You felt your blood run cold when all of them erupted into thundering laughter, including Cyprus. You felt his entire frame shake as he found what you said hilarious.

"I told you guys, she's just so fucking cute and funny." Said Cyprus before he craned his head down to smooch you on the cheek. You squirmed in his lap as he snaked his arms tighter around your body.

"That sounds like what his exes would never ever say." Interjected one of his buddies.

You said that you're serious! How can they prove that you wouldn't turn out that way? Cyprus is a massive insanity magnet, there is a high chance that you're just some closeted murderer!

"Oh, I don't know, sweetie. Maybe it's because you're humble enough to suggest that you're not above those psychos- which you absolutely are above them. Maybe it's because we've been observing you all this time and we know you don't have an evil bone in your body. Maybe it's because we heard nothing but positives about you. Maybe it's because you're actually good for Cyprus." Listed Jewel.

"Yeah! Cy barely smokes now. You're helping him as much as he is helping you kick your phone addiction." Said one of the boys.

You insisted that you weren't addicted to your phone. They ignored you and continued talking over you, gushing over how you're angelic and kind- almost like praising a deity of some sort. With them putting you on a pedestal like that, you felt uncomfortable.

You cut in, asking them a burning question. You asked about the common denominator that all of his insane exes had.

"Funny how you're asking them and not me." Snarked Cyprus. You said that it's a somewhat unbiased, third party view of his dating life, if you had asked Cyprus directly, he may not have given an accurate answer. To that, he simply rolled his eyes at you before adjusting his glasses.

They all took a second to think about it. Until one of them said:

"They're all fast. Like, they started becoming a pair after meeting each other for a few days. Sometimes even hours."

"And his relationships were- no offence Cy, low effort? There wasn't that strong a commitment to it."

He shrugged, seemingly aware and accepting of that observation.

You said that this relationship with Cyprus started overnight with no weight.

"We have known each other for over a year." Cyprus corrected you.

"I was madly in love with you for months, and I had to spell it out, letter by letter, because you were that clueless." He lovingly pinched your cheek. You swatted his hand away.

"Do you guys know how hard it was to get her to ease up? The fact that she's a major crybaby too makes it way harder than it should be." He teasingly nuzzled his nose against the back of your neck.

"But she's my crybaby, and I will never let her go." He snickered when you writhed in his lap as he playfully poked your sides.

"You're so cute." He murmured in your ears as he tortured you with tickles. You desperately tried to escape his grasp, but he was just too strong, too fast for you to do so.

"You're definitely his last love. His endgame. And we're happy for both of you, you guys are perfect for each other and meant to be!"

Kitty raised her half empty glass of beer. "A toast to Cyprus's first relationship that wouldn't end in a disaster, and his last!"

Everyone else raised their glass except you.

You can only look on in horror as everyone on the table turns a blind eye to the distress you're facing. Among the lively chatter and gleeful guffaws, you're floating in your own puddle of misery. You're trapped, doomed to be with someone who you're not interested in if you're not doing anything to stop it soon.

Well, at least you can see the waiter coming over with the food. Even if you are facing the horrors, at least you wouldn't have to do it hungry.

[moriwood]

One More Shot — l.hs

lee heeseung x male reader angst (heavy?) 1k words

Your best friend Heeseung bursts into your apartment with soju after breaking up with his nth girlfriend of the year. A few bottles later, the true meaning of your relationship with him is put into question.

includes: drinking and crying, bros being homos(?), cringy dramatic lines warning: toxic relationships, blood and violence? (very very minor, like 2 sentences max)

“Get in,” you sigh, beckoning your best friend Heeseung into your apartment. In his hands were heavy plastic bags, one full of liquor and the other snacks. He trudges past you, dropping himself and his items on your couch before staring at you wistfully.

“She broke up with me,” he hesitates, “said I had someone else in my mind or something, whatever excuse that was.”

You lean against the doorframe. “Well, do you?”

Heeseung scrunches his face in disgust. “No, dude. I suck at relationships but I don’t cheat.”

You take the bags from him and set the bottles of Yakult and soju on your coffee table. “The Yakult’s for you, wimp,” Heeseung weakly smiles.

“What’s up then?” you mumble, opening two bottles of soju. Heeseung immediately grabs a bottle and chugs it down.

“That bad?” you ask. “Three weeks of that girl got you that bad?”

Heeseung laughs.

“Exactly, dude! Three weeks, fucking three weeks. I can’t make these relationships last.”

You wish you knew. Heeseung has practically thrown himself to any woman who showed him interest for the past year, and a delusional version of you would love to link this phenomenon to something that you said a year ago.

It’s not like Heeseung is a bad guy, he really isn’t. He’s a romanticist, he likes bouquets of flowers, the arm around the shoulder, the subtle kisses to the nape… A part of you wishes you could’ve been one of the dozen women instead, but you knew where your place was.

“I don’t know what to tell you, Heeseung,” you chuckle, “it’s not like I’ve dated anyone yet.”

You grab yourself a bottle of soju, taking a glance at the pack of Yakult to the side. Maybe not tonight. You could drink soju by itself anyway, you think.

“No Yakult? ‘Lil bro trying to man up?”

You shrug. Heeseung stares at you oddly before grabbing another bottle to drink. The two of you sit in silence, trading snacks in between sips of soju. You’ve always been satisfied with this ritual of yours with him, just the warmth between the two of you equating to a hundred unspoken sentences. Yet, this one feels different. The television’s off, no video games are being played, and there is an invisible wall dividing you from leaning on him. Heeseung is on edge, distant, as if holding back. 

As you both drink the silence away, you slowly slip into a different space of inebriation.

“Sometimes, I wonder,” Heeseung seems to think over the next words in his mind, “why you’re still friends with me.”

So that’s what he really wanted to talk about.

“I don’t know,” you answered truthfully. You really don’t know.

“All these women come and go but you’re still here.”

“They were girlfriends. I’m your best friend,” you reason, hoping that it’s enough to cut the conversation off without delving into something else.

“But you liked me, didn’t you?”

Maybe Heeseung is actually not that good of a person. Perhaps, you’ve just gotten used to him, standing right there beside him, a fallback for when things go awry. A convenience store receipt crumples beneath your feet, reminding you that you sent him money for your drinks and snacks tonight.

“We don’t have to talk about that anymore, Heeseung,” you warn him, “it was a year ago.”

“It still hasn’t changed though, right?”

You open another bottle of soju for yourself but Heeseung only snatches it away. He chugs it all down again, before standing and clasping his clammy hands on your shoulders. He was pinning you down to your couch.

“Answer me.”

You close your eyes and breathe deeply. “What do you want me to say, Heeseung?”

“You know, she always felt off whenever you were with me. You hovered around us, clinging onto me like some fucking lost kid. God, I swear you’ve made this year so miserable for me.”

You’re trembling. Your room starts to stink of liquor as Heeseung continues to breathe down on you.

“Are you trying to blame me for you being a shitty boyfriend?” you whisper as you stare directly into his rage-filled eyes. Then you shove his hands away, standing up to meet his height.

“You shouldn't have said anything. You should’ve just kept it all to yourself. Now, my mind's all messed up. I don't know how to approach you, I don't know how to approach all of this bullshit!”

“I told you I'd understand if you wanted to end the friendship, Heeseung! I’m not the one who crawled back here weeks later pretending nothing happened,” you exasperate, accidentally knocking a bottle off the floor with your foot, causing it to shatter and spill over your wooden floor.

Heeseung attempts to pull you away from the shards but you push his hand away. He insists, shoving you to a dry side of your couch. He pins you again but now he rests his head on your shoulder.

“Fuck, it’s all coming out wrong,” Heeseung says under his breath, speech slightly slurred with drunkenness. The sleeve of your shirt gets wet as Heeseung begins to sob.

“I should’ve given you the chance,” he finally says. “I shouldn’t have rejected you back then.”

Your hands find their way to Heeseung’s back, attempting to soothe him as he slowly embraces you tightly.

“I’m so sorry,” he repeats between hiccups. “It was so hard for me to admit it but I think I like you too.”

The thought has been prodding at the back of your head since that moment from a year ago, that there must be a reason why Heeseung chose to remain friends with you despite your confession. There must be a reason why there became a palpable tension between the two of you each time you met since then. You’re giddy with the feeling of your repressed feelings finally being reciprocated, and the liquor in your system only rouses you further.

“I’m not too late, am I?”

You feel pain spike up your leg, noticing a slit on your foot bleeding, mixing with the spilled soju. Let the brain run later as the heart decides to beat what it wants. 

“No, you’re not, Heeseung, you’re not. You’re right on time.”  

author's note: this is my first fic! very new to this platform (in terms of posting) so please be gentle if it sucks jk. feels like i could flesh this out more ngl aioksaozkasd i decided to start posting cuz of my friend hehet~ now somebody please tell me what to do next 💀 (sorry for rambling)

— moriwood.

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

Supernova

A/N: *sigh* here we are again simping over a man I shouldn't be. Oh well.

Summary: Imprisoned in deep space, Ettore discovers an old flame still burns as bright. And hurts just as much. NSFW, 18+, Minors DNI

Warnings under the cut~ | Word Count: 5.4k~ | Links to my Taglists: General Taglist | Ettore Taglist

Warnings: toxic relationships, mentions of sexual related crimes, cursing, choking, Ettore being a simp, masturbation, oral (m receiving), rough sex, biting, face slapping, hair pulling, fingering, pussy slapping, mouth fuccin, swallowing

Of all the fucking people to see on this ship.

He’d have picked anyone else, to be honest. Any other rat-faced, intemperate bitch to spend the rest of his miserable young life with. To wait out his days ‘til, eventually, they’d all die. He could deal with the other female prisoners, it’s not like all of the women on the ship were that bad to look at. Just most of them. Crime had done a number on them after all those years, many of them sullen in the face, violence brimming beneath their expressions.

But he’d take them all on, every single day of his life, instead of her.

His fucking ex-girlfriend.

A brief relationship. Yes. But it frustrated him all the same.

It had been years since then at least, so the sheer bitterness of seeing her again wasn’t so fresh. She’d looked his way once in passing in the canteen, but had not lingered. Perhaps she didn’t even recognise him.

But he’d recognise her anywhere.

Ettore. Who now wouldn't be seen dead in a relationship, having done the terrible things that landed him here.

Ettore. Who had a questionable past with women.

She’d changed. Matured somewhat. Before, she was smaller, slimmer, not a woman you would usually associate with such violence. But what she lacked in stature she made up for in temper, even back then she was a loaded gun with the safety off, threatening to shoot her rage in any direction she seemed necessary.

And for whatever reason at the time, when he was younger, a bit more stupid he supposed, blinded by her striking nature, they’d gotten into a relationship, though never defined. One that was equally destructive to each of them.

He’d always been in and out of the police station. He wasn’t smart, so he didn’t easily evade capture. But she did. She always got off light, using her sex to her advantage. It was much easier when a barely twenty year old girl could easily go from violent offender to playing the victim with a simple expression change. She did it too well.

But now, clearly, she’d done something even she couldn’t escape from.

How many years had it really been? He couldn’t really even remember. They'd all blurred together.

All he cared to remember of their relationship was that it was toxic, on both parts. Never in terms of outright violence, it wasn’t like that, but they hurt each other with their words, with their actions and attitudes. Where he was cold and not willing to back down and admit his wrongdoings, she was sharp, quick-witted, but her insults hurt him the most.

But it was exciting. God it was so fucking exciting to be with her.

As wrong as it was, the only manner in which either of them knew how to get the anger to simmer down, was to fuck. It’s possibly the healthiest sexual relationship he’s had with a woman, and that’s saying something. He doesn’t dwell on that fact too much.

Whenever they had a fight, which was extremely regular, they would expel it with hate sex. It was rough, aggressive, borderline violent. And they would say as much to each other, before submitting their bodies, tangled against each other like strangling.

Now, looking at her. Her maturity astonished him. She, in principle, hadn’t changed, but there was something about her that he couldn’t shake. He couldn’t tell how he felt that she didn’t recognise him. Most of the prisoners were indifferent to each other, barely talking even in close situations, so that wasn’t out of the ordinary, but he felt the simmer of that nostalgic anger again when he saw her.

Since realising it was her, his use of the Box had increased dramatically. Using his imagination was horrendous. She was right there. He could have the real thing if he wanted. And yet he found himself, stroking his cock vigorously to the memories of their chaotic fucking. Remembering the way her breath used to feel against his skin, holding back her sounds from being too loud, the way her tits pressed against his chest, the way the flesh of her thighs felt in his palm as he raised them to rut into her deeper. Her skin. Voice. Taste. He wanted to sink his teeth into her, and lick at the blood that pooled to the surface; would she taste as sweet as she used to? For some reason, he thought she would taste better now.

Fucking his hand to the thought of her wasn’t enough, he needed to feel her pussy choke him for all he was worth. Needed to stuff himself inside her until she winced as he reached the end of her. He would pull her back by her hips, digging his fingers in as far as they would go, and watch as he disappeared inside her, each thrust punctuated by her sweet moans.

Each day that went by, her ignorance of him was growing too much. Those dark feelings he’d buried since they broke up and he went down his own path of crime were now bubbling to the surface, angry at having been suppressed for so long.

Now that he had seen her. She was everywhere.

He nearly cracked when he saw her walk the short route from the showers to her cell, her hair all wet and already dressed in her sleepwear, which left little to the imagination. It was the closest he'd come to seeing her body in years.

He wasn't shy about admitting it to himself what he thought in that moment.

Thought about grabbing her, pinning her down. He'd use restraints if he had to. Ripping those shorts off and just taking her right there, not caring if she was ready or not. Just a pure animalistic desire put entirely being fucking himself into her.

He didn't.

But the reins on his control were slipping.

He watched across the canteen as she went to put her tray back, eyes floating over her form. The red scrubs they all wore were shapeless, but his eyes were boring holes in it, wondering if she still looked the same, if her tits would still fill his palm as effortlessly as they used to.

Another male prisoner was talking to her, in a clear, over-zealous manner, with a stupid grin on his face. He was talking excitedly, shooting his shot. And Ettore stared darkly, eyes flitting between them and gauging her reaction.

Something akin to excitement and pride bolted through him when she turned away, rolling her eyes.

God she still does that. Fucking brat.

He watched as she walked away, his eyes fixed on the sway of her hips, the slope of her neck. There’s a heat burning in his belly, one he recognises as desire. He feels his cock impossibly hard at the prospect of having her again.

It’s beyond dark in the hallways by the time he’s finished in the Box. He fans his shirt against his chest as he leaves, eyes adjusting to the darkness of the corridor, barely even seeing someone is waiting for him to be done, leaning against the wall.

His whole body goes warm when his eyes land on her, waiting there with ankles crossed, tapping her foot against the linoleum floor. But when the door opened, she looked up at him, having to bite her cheek to suppress her grin.

The little bitch had known it was him the entire time.

And had chosen to ignore him.

He stood, as amused as she was, and she didn’t move an inch as he stalked towards her, except when she brushed her hair out her face to look at him better. Their eyes bore into each other as he leaned his arm next to her, against the wall, right next to her head. Though she was a head shorter than him, she looked at him as if she held all the cards.

“Ettore” she greeted, her tone rising at the end.

Fuck. Her voice.

He tried hard not to grin. He thought she was being a little temptress and knew entirely what she was doing, pressing all his buttons she knew existed. Poking and prodding at the darkness that lingered under his skin, threatening to burst free in goosebumps.

She raised an eyebrow when he didn’t respond, “I'd say it's nice to see you but…”

“Hm” he responded low in his chest. She was so close. He could just reach out and touch her, she was real. “Considering how things ended”

It was her turn to hum, something dark behind her eyes, “We were younger. Stupid. Especially you” she teased, “We just weren’t right for each other”

Fuck. You. Ettore thought.

“Maybe you’re right…” he hummed, “...we were a bad combination. But you have to admit…we had something. Didn't we"

She smirked, seeing an open window, “Is that what you think about? When you’re in there” she cocked her head towards the Box, “Do you think about me?”

You know I fucking do.

Ettore’s smile faded, replaced by an expression of silent rage. She stood there watching him vibrate with need, practically able to feel the thumping of his heart, able to hear how his blood sloshed around inside him, humming with a deep, dark desire.

“Do you still think about our fights?” she asked, her voice provoking, “how they always ended?” she was speaking in a whisper now, and Ettore’s hand formed a fist, his body yearning to touch her. And how she just stood there, knowing entirely what she was doing to him, with that bratty fucking smirk on her face. He wanted to wipe it off, show her who he was now.

“Savour that memory. Because it’s not happening again” she smiled, slipping from the wall towards the Box.

He saw red, and grabbed her arm tightly, pulling her back with force. Don't you know what I've done, stupid bitch. Her amused expression never falters.

"Nobody says no to me"

“Now, now, play nice” she taunts, “If you do, I will too”

“Who said I want you nice” he asked with a hard expression, “I’m not looking for nice”

Her damned smile is driving him crazy. And he’s surprised, when he shouldn’t be, when he grabs her face but she doesn’t move an inch. His fingers press against her jaw tightly, surely hurting her. Her eyes look over his face, beguiling him, perhaps taking in how much about him had changed.

“I always did bring out the worst in you, didn’t I”

Ettore grinned darkly, “You know how I like it”

Their faces are so close, they can feel one another’s hot breaths, lips yearning to collide like two stars, to only self-destruct into supernova. From here, he can see how his fingers are making red indents in her skin, the way her chest moves from her breathing and how her pupils dilate at the forceful nature of their attraction. He wonders if underneath this hard, bratty exterior, if she is soaking wet for him, pathetic little bitch.

“Christ, you still drive me fucking crazy”

She grins at that, as if she’s won. He hates that self-righteous look on her face. And being so close to him, practically touching, she can feel his manhood throbbing through the thin material of his scrubs, desperately seeking fulfilment.

“What do you say we find somewhere, recreate some of those old memories”

She hums, pulling her face forcibly from him, “Dream on” she shrugs, “Use your imagination”

Oh, so that’s how it’s going to be.

He would be offended, angry even. If he didn’t know her. And knew that this was her nature.

She makes a point of standing in the doorway of the Box, forearms leaning against the frame. Provoking him.

He gives her a cold, hard look, “What if I don’t want to? What if I want the real thing?”

“There’s plenty of women here. Maybe you could pretend it’s me” she winks, making his heart freeze in his chest for a moment, “Goodnight, Ettore”

Fucking tease.

The Box door shuts and he has to ground himself, digging his nails into his palm, thinking about what she’s doing to herself behind that door. What pretty sounds she would make, when his cock forced its way into her again.

When he laid in bed, trying to ignore the stark blue light of the ship and the incessant hum. That wasn't keeping him awake.

What would she do, if he just walked into her cell, began to touch her sleeping form, running his hand over her soft skin. Was she a deep sleeper still, as she used to be? Would his hand on her flesh wake her up?

He imagined kissing and biting her neck, marking her as his own, as she was always meant to be. And if she did wake up soon enough, she'd find him pulling off her underwear, teasing his hot and angry tip against her slit.

It'd be easy to take it by force. He could. If he wanted to.

She was different to the other women, the ones he'd had after her. The ones who met their end.

They were all stupid, wanting a love from him that they could never get in a million years. Wanted more than he could offer. Something they paid for with their lives.

She never expected his love. She saw the darkness in his eyes and wanted to see more of it, to see what abyss it led to in his soul. She had seen that side of him and nurtured it, fed it. Let him take his anger out on her body, and revelled in it, with that look she always gave him, when she knew he wanted it.

She'd given that look today, seeing that darkness lingering in him. Perhaps she wondered if she could fan those flames and see how brightly he'd burn, no matter the cost to them both.

He thought about back then. How he used to start fights, just so he got to fuck her the way they both liked.

It made him hard thinking about it.

He wanted her to want it. Something he'd never admit. Deep down, perhaps he'd known she wanted it too.

It was that odd familiar feeling. Like a spark is igniting his insides when he sees her actively talking to the other guys on the ship. Namely Monte. Tall and broad. Prick.

There is jealousy, sure. But also that raw unbridled lust that used to drive him. Drive them. Maybe she hasn't changed as much as he thought.

He wonders. Could he still make her burn like she used to? Could he still feel the heat himself, and let himself be marred by it?

He'd been so cold for so long.

He wanted to feel alive again.

It frustrated him to no end, now that she knew how much he wanted her again, how much her attitude had flipped. Entertaining the flirting of other guys. She’d taken to wearing tank tops, deliberately not wearing anything underneath, and wearing her scrub bottoms low on her waist, sometimes so low he swore he could see the dimples at the base of her spine, where he used to rest his thumbs to tug her body to his.

Any guy that flirts, or so much as passes a glance in her direction, however overzealous, she welcomes with a wicked grin and flirts back, just to irk him. Whenever her eyes met his, they glinted with pride at getting the reaction she’d wanted.

He felt almost feverish, every nerve and vein in his body felt piping hot. Blood rushed to his cock with astonishing speed whenever she so much as breathed in the same room as him. And the flirting? His fists were tight, white-knuckled, seeing that smug look on her face.

They don’t understand you like I do. Nobody will know your body like I do.

She turns away from Monte, who has a stupid fucking smile again, as if he ever has a chance. And her eyes meet Ettore’s over her shoulder.

Their eyes lock. As if she is saying what are you going to do about it.

A challenge.

Break. Come to me. Show me how much you want me.

He couldn’t wait. Tonight she’d scream.

Staying awake at night, he knew all her movements. She always gets up in the middle of the night, with such quiet, delicate footsteps and goes to refill her water bottle.

It was the only window of opportunity he found, to be alone with her.

Careful not to wake his cellmates, he crosses the threshold out to the corridor, the blue light straining his eyes. But just barely enough to see her disappear around the corner. He felt the chill of the air conditioning on his bare chest, skin prickling up, but it was overcome with the heat that ran through his blood. He was sure that his own cells inside him were vibrating, aching to collide with hers.

He grinned, darkly with all his teeth, when he saw the back of her. If she had heard him approach she didn’t show it. And he thought she was perfect for being taken right then, just how she was. In her sleepwear, a top that hung too big on her, with a pair of shorts on her bottom half, her hair tied in a loose bun, messy from writhing around in bed.

When he heard the water stop, he pushed forward, grabbing her bun and shoved her so hard into the wall he was sure she hit her face against it. It’s pitiful how he groaned low in his chest, the way his erection pressed against her soft ass, how flush his chest was to her back, standing tall over her as if he might kill her.

She gasped and winced slightly at the tight hold he had on her hair, her water bottle forgotten and water spilled to the floor. She hummed a laugh as he twisted her arm behind her back,

“This is pathetic, even for you”

“Shut the fuck up” he whispered, breath hot against the shell of her ear. A pleasant shiver ran through her, “can’t stand you prancing around, acting like a fucking slut with them”

He forgot how strong she was, for someone her size, as she yanks her hands away from him, elbowing him in the chest, making him grunt, annoyed.

“Fucking-” he grabs her again, shoving her back hard against the wall, curling his hand around her slender neck and squeezing slightly, pulling her up to look at him. He can tell just how hard she is trying not to smile, and it only makes his simmering anger build.

He can feel how tight his chest gets when he looks at her, feeling primal at the way his lungs inflate and deflate, “You know you want it, like you did back then” he growls.

She scoffs, “Back then?” she says with a bemused raise of her eyebrows, “...that was then”

“And it can be now too”

It’s like those nights back then, when he’d just become consumed in the smell of sex, just to satiate his hunger for her.

“I don’t think so” she smirks, choking in some air when his thumb presses slightly into her windpipe, choking tighter. He can feel her tits press against his chest as she breathes, the colour coming to her cheeks the harder he pushes on her neck.

“You think anyone could fuck you like I do?”

“I think Monte could” she grins.

He scoffs, pressing himself into her impossibly harder, allowing her to feel his hardness grazing against her clothed cunt.

“You want me to fight for you, don’t you, you little bitch”

Her own hands join his at her neck, fingers trying to dig under his. He can feel her heartbeat through her veins and he allows himself to wonder what she’d feel like inside. He’s never felt more torn, more in control but not at the same time.

“I’ve changed a lot since you last saw me. Done horrible things” she says,

“I don’t give a fuck about that”

I just want to remember how good I made you feel. How good you made me feel. To give you what you want.

She smiles softly, “It was always like this, wasn't it…us hurting each other” her eyes seem to study his face, and though almost imperceptible, his grip loosens somewhat, “I think it turns you on” she whispers, “does it excite you?”

The air seems thin in his chest at what she said. They were both awful people, there was no doubt about it. But that was what drew him in, and what continued to make him come back to her.

That she never judged him for those things, because she was just as bad.

“I think you want to hurt me” she smirks, “you’re pathetic”

Something clicks inside, Ettore crashes his lips against her, knocking his teeth against hers and kissing her belligerently, and though it’s rough and chaotic, she sighs contently into his mouth. It’s a mess of tongues and teeth, the way they kiss reflective of what is going on inside them. And the more he feels her hot breath and lips against his, the more his blood sings with desire, all flooding below his waist, pressing his erection against her stomach.

He pressed his thigh between hers, nudging them apart, one hand dipping beneath the hem of her shirt to feel her hot skin, trailing up and taking her shirt with it when he palms at her breast. He swallows her quiet moan as he kneads the flesh beneath his hand, his lips trailing from hers and dragging his nose across her cheek, taking this moment to breathe in her individual scent. He mouths at her neck, biting softly at first, but becoming more rough as he feels her jolt when his teeth sink into her skin, his tongue running across the bruised skin, groaning when he tastes the slightest bit of coppery blood.

“Stop that” she all but breathes, shoving her shoulder against him in reprimand.

He squeezes her breast hard at that, pushing her so much against the wall as if he is trying to mould her to it.

“You’re mine”

She even has the gall to laugh at him for saying that, despite the position they’re in.

With fire in his veins, pressing his bare chest against her, he bunches her tank top in his fists and tugs, the fabric surrendering beneath the harshness of his fingers, revealing her tits to him finally. His hips rut into hers, pushing her up the wall, one hand clutching her ass in his hand to keep her there as he mouths her other breast, running his tongue over the rosy bud.

Her head tilts back, landing on the wall with a thud as his wet muscle pleasures one nipple, nipping every now and then on the sensitive skin, and the other being moulded in his calloused palms. It feels better than before. Though even now, they’re considered young, they’d seen the glimmer of themselves before all this. And now, hurtling through space, he’s found her again, and this time there’s no letting her go.

Soft moans slip from her mouth, running her fingers through his hair and tugging hard, it makes him moan out as well, the vibration coursing through him into her chest.

His hand slips from her breast, trailing down her front, over her stomach to the hem of her underwear, not even wasting time and dipping beneath. Long, thick fingers glide over her slick mound, down to her entrance, where he shoves them inside her as far as they will go. He feels her body go rigid for a moment, a shocked gasp falling from her mouth, before they turn swiftly into whimpers and moans as he fucks her with his fingers.

She’s so wet, it’s easy. And he feels just how tight she is, every single ridge, just the feeling of her hot insides makes him want to bury himself inside of her as much as he can, as often as he deems fit. After a few moments, he finds that rough spot inside, using his fingers to rub hard against it. Her back arches against the wall, pressing her tits against his chest, the hardened buds rubbing almost painfully sensitive against his skin, her hands squeeze his shoulders and he groans at the sensation of her nails digging in.

“Say you want it” he whispers low against her ear.

He knows she does. He feels how wet she is for him, her sounds.

Her eyes crack open, her lips part in pleasured pants, curling up into a hedonistic smile, “No”

His mouth forms a frown. But she knows better.

He pulls his fingers out of her, giving a hard wet slap to her that makes her jolt and her clit throb, then going to tug her underwear down her legs. She kicks at him, writhing in his hold, her small fists trying to push him back.

“I said no”

“Yeah, yeah” Her face whips to one side and she whimpers as her cheek blooms with pain from his palm, “shut the fuck up”

Despite the hot pain on her face, she feels her insides flutter, clenching around nothing as she looks back at him, to see the hard expression he gives as she shoves his shorts past his hips. Her eyes land on his cock, all hard with the angry red tip weeping precum desperately.

“There he is” she smirks.

He props her up against the wall and shoves himself harshly inside her, barely giving her time to adjust to his size and length, until he hits her spongey end. Her chest erupts in a pink flushed colour, air expelled from her lungs.

He trembles slightly as he bottoms out inside her, completely filling her with himself and feeling her walls quiver uncontrollably around him. Squeezing the flesh of her thighs, he thrusts mercilessly into her, seeking the ultimate fulfilment he feels only her body can offer.

Ettore makes few sounds other than his hurried breaths and grunts into her ear, pushing himself so close to her that the only movement is his hips slapping against her thighs and the wet smack of their moist skin meeting each other. He grabs her face, digging into the skin where he’d hit her and keeps her quiet with his lips on hers, moving his tongue against hers. She hears his low sounds in his throat, deep and primal.

They fuck like they’re fighting, as they always had done. Fingers leaving red welts where he’d gripped her too hard, the mark on her cheek reddening, even the lewd sound of her pussy accepting him, it was all angry and aggressive.

She tightens her grip on the hair at his nape, chasing that pressure that was starting to build in her gut. She can feel him grin against her neck, he must be able to feel it too, the way her cunt trembles around him, the way her eyebrows furrow together and her lips caught between her teeth.

“You gonna cum for me?”

“Fuck you” she breathes, her voice strained by desire.

She never wanted to admit the things he did to her, sexual or not, made her feel excited and dangerous all at the same time. He huffs air as he laughs against her, feeling a sheen of sweat begin to cover his back as the effort of fucking her.

“You asked for it” his thumb pushes past her teeth, collecting her saliva on his thumb before dragging it down her body between them, rubbing in fast, furious circles on her overly-sensitive bud. It makes her strain her neck as she throws her head back, a barely-contained moan escaping.

“Just give up”

There’s little resolve left in her, the way his thick cock bullies that spot inside, pushing against her walls at the top in this position. The sheer lewdness of the situation had her nearly forget where they were, just fucking in a random hallway, and it sends a bolt of excitement down her spine at the thought of getting caught.

He watches how he disappears inside her, a ring of her arousal white at the base of him, how wet she sounds with each slap of skin. Hastening the circles on her clit, she grips him at his nape tight as he buries his face against her shoulder, her entire being shuddering as her orgasm blazes a burning trail through every limb, every cell, igniting her in a way only he ever could.

“Fuck-”

It’s the only sound he’s capable of making as an all-body shudder rolls through him. The way she clenches around him, holding him tightly.

He quickly pulls out of her, briefly feeling disappointed at the loss of her tightness, fisting his cock to completion. That is until she falls to her knees in front of him, looking up at him through her eyelashes, watching the way his chest heaves from this angle.

Cock slick with her arousal, watching the way he fists it quickly, she feels that familiar tug of arousal below her belly button.

His fingers thread through her hair, tugging at the crown to pull her face towards him. Holding himself at the base, he drags the tip over her lips, leaving a glistening path of both his and her arousal behind that she quickly collects with her tongue. Her lips chase his length before enveloping the tip in her mouth, running her tongue over the already sensitive slit.

A long, exasperated sound between a breath and a moan rushes out of him, having to lay his hand flat against the wall as she begins to bob her head on him, accepting his cock into her mouth with a renewed vigour, watching how he reacts.

Gripping her hair tight, she hums around him, sending a pleasant roll of warmth up his spine, and he tugs her head towards him, using her face for leverage to fuck himself into her mouth. He feels himself hit the back of her throat, and how her mouth contracts as she gags softly, trying to relax her jaw.

She closes her eyes as he sets his pace, hands resting on his thighs only slightly as she feels his hips press against her face. His cock bullies the back of her throat with a lewd wet sound, and it’s so intense, that she can feel her eyes watering, her slick gathering between her thighs once again and the throb of her previous orgasm still rolling through.

 He’s so close and she can feel it, and when she looks up at him, his head is thrown back, chest rising and falling steadily, eyes scrunched shut as his own pressure builds. She would’ve smirked at it, if he wasn’t buried to the hilt in her mouth. He looked the most handsome light this, pink in the face with his muscles of his stomach flexing, trying to hold back.

As soon as her hands cup his balls, hurtling him towards his own orgasm, his jaw slackens and his grip hardens in her hair in such a satisfyingly painful way.

“Shit-” he pulls himself from her mouth, shoving her head back to the wall and she takes a much needed breath in, “Open”

He fists his cock to her open mouth, his blue, wild eyes boring into hers, chest tightening as he comes undone and releases thick ropes of cum onto her waiting tongue. She blinks up at him, both of them smelling of sex and arousal, her breasts heaving with her breathing. In the stark, low light of the corridor, his face looks so sharp, as if it were made of stone, with a glow that almost looked inhuman.

She dives on him again, sucking off the remainder of his cum and pressing her tongue to the underside, tracing the throbbing vein there. The over-stimulation has Ettore shiver slightly, releasing his hold on her for a moment as she pulls off him with a wet pop. He watches with a lewd curiosity as her throat contracts, a sigh from her lips showing how she had swallowed all of him. Her eyes glisten in a kind of gloating pride right up at him, a mischievous glint behind it all as she smiles in satisfaction.

He pulls her up with a hard grip on her arm, letting his eyes fall all over her body.

“Miss me?” she whispers against his lips.

“Shut up” he responds with a grin, crashing his lips to hers. Binding himself to her irreparably.

And even though it damages them both, it just hurts too good to even think about stopping.

dividers by @saradika

General Taglist: @risefallrise @valeskafics @theoneeyedprince @thelittleswanao3 @hb8301

Ettore Taglist: @the-common-cowgirl

*Let me know if you want to be added to any taglist! Bold means I couldn’t tag, if I can't tag you you can always turn on notifications for when I post. DM me if you wanna be removed besties

[jensettermandu]

-𝙜𝙤𝙤𝙙 𝙜𝙞𝙧𝙡𝙨 𝙜𝙤 𝙩𝙤 𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙫𝙚𝙣, 𝙗𝙖𝙙 𝙜𝙞𝙧𝙡𝙨 𝙜𝙤 𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙮𝙬𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚-

-𝙩𝙤𝙤 𝙙𝙚𝙚𝙥, 𝙩𝙤𝙤 𝙡𝙞𝙩𝙩𝙡𝙚 𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙩𝙧𝙤𝙡-

1.2

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𝘨!𝘱 𝘫𝘦𝘯𝘯𝘪𝘦 𝘹 𝘧𝘦𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

content warning; MDNI, morally grey characters, toxic relation/situationships, domestic abuse, violence, substance use/abuse, mentions of weight/toxic beauty standards, dubcon, a lot of smut (spitting, spanking, bondage, choking, rough sex, etc. appears), age gap (legal), mentions of sensitive topics, not made for glorification of toxic relationships.

chapter wc: 11k+

"I haven't had time, so I would appreciate it if we could at least go at it once." This time she asked with her nicest voice. Y/n tilted her head as she looked at the mess she created in Jennie's sweats–she would lie if she said that she wasn't wet and her clit wasn't throbbing. It was especially hot after seeing Jennie be the mess she was while also being back to calling her these names and manhandling her. 

[Three days ago]

It was nothing new to bring someone back to the hotel room when the parties were over for Jennie. She hadn't been doing it as often anymore since she had someone back in the city who satisfied her needs. It seemed difficult to get satisfied by someone else, or worse.

The woman under her was completely naked as Jennie continued to kiss her with only her boxers left to restrain her cock. She pressed against her heat, her hands roaming her body, lips not leaving her skin as nails gently dragged along her back. Jennie was doing everything, all the things she always did and knew she was good at. All the things that always got her dick hard. The billionaire wasn't only good at making money, no, she was also great at pleasuring after growing addicted to sex because it was better than drugs and alcohol, but better when those two were involved.

"Just fuck me already," Jennie looked up at the complaint as she had been kissing and groping at her chest and all her other parts. To the eye the woman was good looking, she was sexy and beautiful because Jennie didn't just settle for anyone. Men and women would drool over the model or even pay to have her in bed–Jennie knew because she had paid models to sleep with her. Most of them took it because they needed the money and who wouldn't take thousands upon thousands if not millions in exchange for sex? Jennie liked to have something to brag about such as fucking an unobtainable model. Money didn't get her as excited anymore now that she was drowning in it. 

She collected women.

Jennie licked her lips and was about to grab hold of the model's hand but she was faster when she cupped her.

There was one problem—

"You're not even hard."

None of these women were the vixen back home.

Where Jennie had never felt hesitation, guilt, or stress, she hand found herself drowning in it. What came naturally felt like a task now when it wasn't that one body that was so familiar to her. 

"Are you fucking kidding me!?" The model exclaimed, clearly offended and Jennie yanked her hand away from her cock that had barely grown hard. Her jaw clenched as she took in breaths to not let embarrassment wash over her or the anger. She wasn't sure who she was angry at anymore. The model, herself, or Y/n...Or maybe even Asher who was keeping Jennie from being able to see the girl whenever she wanted to. Jennie didn't like having to wait for turns, but she did, God, she did and she felt pathetic, but she took every chance she had to dick Y/n down once her man left her for a few hours or days. 

The feline tried to blame it on the drugs and alcohol.

"Shut the fuck up." She gritted out and reached for her shirt that was thrown on the corner of the bed before pulling it over her head. She took her pants and pulled them on too, not zipping them up as she would head to the shower once the woman left. It was truly humiliating for Jennie, it made her insecure and the model wouldn't consider that it did. It wasn't her fault that she couldn't grow an erection even if she wanted to. She tried her best by taking her time.

"You just wasted like an hour of my time for this. Why would you bring someone over if you can't even get it up." The woman argued as she started to gather her clothes. Jennie's nose twitched as she sat at the edge of the bed with her fists clenching in anger. It wasn't anything in her system, she hadn't gotten drunk and had barely taken any drugs aside from a few white lines like she always did. There was only one explanation and it had never happened to her before.

Jennie had been in relationships and she knew that she hadn't stayed faithful in them because her dick always sprung to life when she saw someone hot who would look her way. It made her forget love the second a girl got on her knees to suck her off. Her love only lasted for the night, it always had.

"Shut the fuck up you bimbo-looking slut! I fucking brought you over and that's more than you will ever fucking accomplish in your life." Jennie snapped and stood up, glaring at the woman who was slipping her dress back on.

"You can't even accomplish an erection which is pathetic enough–no one's gonna waste their time on you anymore." The model bellowed, and Jennie felt it wash over her. The anger consumed her from how the girl was disrespecting her and when she was about to pass she grabbed hold of her wrist and forced her to face her.

"You're not fucking telling anyone about this or I will fucking ruin your career in a second." She threatened the woman as she didn't need it to spread to everyone that she couldn't even get her dick semi-hard. It was going around that she was making women cum left and right, and that she knew exactly how to blow someone's back or use her tongue. It would ruin her reputation when it came to this. For the last few women she had slept with, Jennie had to fake her orgasms and throw the condoms away before they could check if she truly had finished because she grew soft before she was able to finish. It was draining her and the frustrations only grew more, she had reached her peak, and the anger was boiling out of the lid that would blow up.

"Let go of me or they will get to know about this too."

"I told you something and you say that you fucking understand unless you want your career dead!" Jennie's voice boomed through the suite as her grip tightened on the woman's wrist. That anger came without any control, the control she didn't have, but it controlled her life, she was a slave to her anger. 

It happened right away as she slapped Jennie because the grip was numbing on her wrist, but Jennie's excuse was that she was already angry. The woman had already angered her and was only pushing more of her buttons. It was all her fault and not Jennie's when she barely flinched from the slap and used her strength when her knuckles itched before colliding with the model's face. It was out of her control in the end and it would have never happened if people listened right away. 

Jennie maybe wasn't the biggest person, but she surely did work out and did practise boxing simply for her safety as it was recommended by her team. She could never know who would show up, but it also ended with other people hurt as the force was enough to make the younger woman drop to the floor. Jennie felt her heart pick up in rate like it always would in these situations where she seemingly had no control as the sobs filled the room. It never seemed to stop her though. It only fueled her because of the sense of power she got from it, those bad feelings got replaced with power, dominance, killing whatever challenge the woman tried to put up by even looking her in the eye when she was angry.

It was a curse, but it had been there so long that it felt like a reward.

"Get the fuck out before I break more than your nose and remember that no one would ever believe you over me unless you want legal trouble for defamation of character." She spat out, flailing her hand the slightest that she had used. In the end, Jennie had all the money and Jennie was known as someone with a pure and sweet soul that helped everything and everyone around her. From donations to charities to everything else in between. 

No one would believe the girl below her whose nose was bleeding as she looked up at her terrified. It wasn't the first time she got that look. The look let her know that she wasn't the prey and it made her feel safe in her skin, it washed away the embarrassment and humiliation because the woman was scared of her.

"Are you deaf? Get the fuck out, good for nothing whore!" She snarled and watched how the crying girl got up from the floor, grabbing the rest of her stuff to hurry out. Jennie huffed and turned back to the bed with her pants resting at her hips and reached for her phone. She could hear the door slam closed as she opened the phone and looked through her contacts, unsure of who to contact, and what to prioritise. She was frustrated and slumped down onto the bed, sitting at the edge, it was just another lonely night.

Her fingers stumbled upon the name that was stuck to her like glue because she was stupid enough to let it happen. Jennie bit her lower lip and opened the messages she had with the vixen as she knew that she didn't answer phone calls after all the calls she dialled only to not be answered. These were lengths Jennie had never gone to and it was annoying her yet she kept going as she texted the girl.

1:01 AM Are you busy???

She exhaled deeply, waiting for an answer as she just stared ahead of herself, drowning in empty thoughts because she didn't want to think about what happened. The empty thought came to thoughts of wanting to conclude her problems, but she shut every one of them down because she was too rich and powerful to have these problems. She didn't believe in these things so they could never become real problems. The buzz of her phone that was resting on her thigh got her out of it though and she picked it back up.

1:07 AM Studying With Lisa The fuck do you want?

1:08 AM Nudes would suffice, or at least some kind of pictures to jerk off to

In the end, Jennie still felt sexually frustrated, it made the anger go away most of the time and she wouldn't be able to sleep unless she would at least cum in her hand or in the shower.  Or maybe both depending on how many pictures she gets–

1:11 AM Have you heard of pornhub, onlyfans or even paying someone to come and suck you off?

1:11 AM Not the same, it's late and I am too busy

1:12 AM You can scroll up then

1:13 AM I want new ones, in red or black lingerie

1:15 AM The fuck do I look like to you? Not a wishing well I hope you slot machine-built bitch

1:15 AM Usually you remind me of a cumslut the way you get covered in it. The fuck do you mean by slot machine?

Jennie groaned as Y/n was working on her nerves and all she wanted was to wank her prick and then go to sleep. She could use her imagination or replay what they had done, but it wouldn't work when her mind was preoccupied with anger and then sex.

1:20 AM You shit money and spurt cum like a slot machine It's all you are good for, pathetic loser :PhotoAttachment1 :PhotoAttachment2 :VideoAttachment3 Here, this is all you get for being so demanding Go kill yourself after instead of texting me again<33

She truly had no clue why she was putting up with the attitude of the mean girl. With most women, she would show them their place and not have them disrespect her or she would kick them to the curb. Maybe it was because she couldn't afford to throw away someone who worked like Viagra on her dick. Or maybe because Y/n didn't seem tameable after the few times Jennie snapped only for the girl to snap right back. It was a challenge and Jennie always won them, this one has been taking longer to win though.

Jennie opened the pictures of the girl in lacy lingerie and she knew that it was just because she had asked for specific ones that Y/n sent her in white and navy blue. It didn't matter as she looked at them while she pushed herself up the bed and leaned back against the headboard. She pulled her pants lower together with her boxers. Her hand blindly reached to the side where the bottle of lube was standing just for these moments. She licked her lips, opening the video of the girl feeling herself with music playing in the background in nothing but white lingerie, her body slim, perfect small tits, long legs, tiny waist, and a body so perfect Jennie couldn't get enough as her hand was already stroking around her growing cock.

Her mind forgot about what happened as it never really mattered since she was invincible to these things damaging her. Instead thinking about how Y/n would work her hands on her thick length and let her release on her face and chest. Her mind was occupied with the girl, never did she think about a specific woman during her days, but now it was happening more often and it was always the same face.

[Present]

Jennie's cock was hard and leaking with salty precum once again, unable to keep it down when she was with Y/n. The younger girl was right beneath her with her clothes on the floor as Jennie continued to kiss her. The cock rested heavily on Y/n's thigh while Jennie's fingers ran through her folds, coating them in stickiness as her thumb found the swollen clit where she had gathered the wetness. Y/n hummed into Jennie's mouth when she reached two fingers down before she with ease slid them inside to get the girl ready for the cock as the stretch got painful at times from how tight she was.

"Fuck," Y/n breathed out as she pulled away from Jennie's lips, the woman slowly doing scissoring motions while rubbing at her g-spot, her thumb still working her clit.

"Tell me how good it feels when I touch you."

"So fucking good, Jennie–" She whined as her hips bucked into Jennie, a moan getting caught in her throat. She pressed harder on her clit, rubbing in just the right motion while stretching the girl with her fingers that continued to spread the tight and squelching hole. Her hips slightly bucked, rubbing herself against the smooth thigh, having a hard time holding back. She kissed down, Y/n tilting her head as she nipped at her skin, knowing that the girl would kill her naked in bed if she left a hickey. Last time she got thrown out with barely any clothes on for trying.

"Who else can make you feel this good? Who else can make you such a desperate whore, Y/n?" The girl under her whined, back arching off the bed as she wrapped her arms tighter around Jennie's back for some grip. It was quite the opposite as the younger girl would leave Jennie with bite and scratch marks that were bleeding at times. Their chests pressed together, and Jennie could feel the cold barbells pressing against her from the pierced nipples.

"No one, God— no one, I'm only a whore for you." Jennie hummed at the stinging of nails pushing into her shoulder blades as Y/n's thighs quivered and her breathing picked up. It was a sort of control that Jennie loved, she loved having this control over Y/n because she depended on her to get a good release. 

She depended on her because no one had been able to fuck her right, not even the boyfriend who wasn't even hovering near her mind. All she could think about was the way Jennie pumped her fingers inside her, the way she rubbed at her walls, slowly stretching her to make sure her thick member would fit. Her thumb played with her clit and it was making her whole body tingle as she was nearing her orgasm. Her walls continued to clench as she whimpered and moaned for more. She had fallen for the wrong kind of thing, she had fallen for pleasure and it was all she wanted, it was all that mattered.

"You're so good, knowing what you are for me...A whore for me to empty into." At least she wished the girl would let her fill her hole with cum until it was leaking. To fuck it all right into her womb and leave her crying for more like she had done times before. Y/n let out another moan, her voice going up in pitch and making Jennie's dick twitch at the erotic sound. Her walls clasped around Jennie's two fingers and the heat washed over her body, her breathing coming to a stop for a few seconds as nails dug further into the skin from how she tensed up.

She looked at her, her head thrown back with her chest pressing against Jennie's. Her lips started to trail kisses along her jaw as she continued to work on her clit. "This is what you need, someone to fuck you right," Jennie grumbled, knowing that the guy wasn't able to satisfy Y/n the same way she did. She was the one who made her legs quiver, her back arch, and moans spill if not cries. 

Y/n knew it too and she was risking losing both because of where she was stuck yet she continued to grasp at Jennie with her thighs quivering around the woman. The orgasm hit her hard in waves of pleasure and her vision turned black. Her walls pulsating from the aftershocks caused by the high Jennie was able to take her to by simply touching her right. 

She slumped down, making Jennie slow down her movements as she continued to kiss along her jaw. Y/n lolled her head to the side and caught Jennie's wet lips with hers, tongues lethargically pressing against each other as her fingers now gently brushed over her shoulder blades and down to her back, feeling the muscles flex as Jennie moved. Her fingers pulled out of the snug and pulsating grip of her wet cunt and she rested both forearms on either side of the girl's head. Shuddering as her cock rested against the heat of the girl.

[Four months ago]

Jennie stopped the car outside the apartment complex and tapped her fingers against the wheel. The last time she had been outside of it was a week ago. It wasn't anything she usually did, but she felt like she needed to do some damage control. She felt like she had somewhat taken advantage when she decided to have sex with the girl who was on a high dose of Ecstasy. She didn't need Y/n to think the same and try to press any charges.

It wasn't like she hadn't had sex with anyone under the influence before, but in those instances, they had taken these drugs willingly–Jennie being under the same influence. The vixen got high on accident. Not only that but her number had been blocked by the younger girl. She just wanted to do damage control to see if it was because she had cheated or because of the circumstances the sex had been initiated under. If it was the second she would have to make sure the girl would be quiet by most likely bribing her, threatening if necessary. 

She got out of the car and was shooting in the dark as she had no clue what the girl's last name even was. All she knew was her first name. With the hood up and sunglasses on she walked through the parking lot and towards the door where she had seen Y/n come out of. She was a bit nervous, she couldn't tell how it would go–if she would even find the right door.

It seemed as if luck was on her side when an elderly woman was slowly pushing the door open. Jennie picked up her steps and quickly grabbed the door, pulling it open for her.

"Thank you." She smiled at her and before she could walk out and walk away the billionaire spoke up.

"Wait—uhm you wouldn't happen to know Y/n?"

"Y/n?" The elderly woman questioned as she turned to look at Jennie, holding onto her walker. She quickly nodded her head.

"I go to the same college as her and she only sent me her address, my phone battery is out and I can't ask what door is hers." Jennie reached for her phone and showed the screen that was just turned off, pretending to push the power button on the side. Her lips pursing in feigned despair.

"Third floor under the names Y/l/n and Thomson."

"Thank you, have a good day." Jennie thanked the woman and quickly walked in, letting the door fall closed. She heaved a sigh to see that there was no elevator in the four-story building. With that she started to make her way up the stairwell, her footsteps leaving echoes after them.

She went over what to say in her head, what excuses to use for what happened, and what to offer if the excuses weren't enough. A couple of thousand or a million wouldn't even make a change to her bank account as she earned the money right back in a few minutes. The loud sounds of her sneakers colliding with the stairs stalled as she reached the third floor and huffed, pulling down her hood and pushing her sunglasses up to the top of her head.

She slowly walked along the way, scanning the few doors until her eyes landed on the one with the two last names that were mentioned. It made her stop for a second–she hadn't thought far enough about what she would do if it were the boyfriend who opened. She had no clue what she had told him and the one time she had seen him: she couldn't deny that he was probably four times her size.

It couldn't get that bad though.

Jennie knocked on the door and put her hands in the pockets of her loose jeans as she waited for it to open.

It wasn't opening and she took out her phone to look at the time.

Sunday, 2 p.m.

She reached her hand out and knocked once more to make sure in case it was because she hadn't heard her.

And she did so for a third time.

Finally, she heard some type of noise from the other side and took a step back. Expectantly she waited and the door finally opened to reveal the girl she had slept with last week. It felt almost odd to come face to face with someone she hooked up with. She never really did unless it was some sort of fling she would call over more than once. There was no need to stick to one girl when she could have a new one every day.

It followed with a groan and she scanned the girl whose hair was dripping with water and a towel wrapped around her chest, leaving her overly exposed. Jennie swallowed and with the hand that was still in her pocket adjusted her dick that twitched.

"What the fuck?"

The question flew out of Y/n's mouth, utterly confused about what the older woman was doing outside her door.

Jennie cleared her throat and looked up from the long legs where water was still dripping down. She would pay to lick them up and then continue up–

"I wanted to talk."

"About what?" Y/n's tone was somewhat harsh and it was so for a good reason. The woman whom she had blocked and hoped she would never see again was right in front of her. It didn't feel right. She had spent the past week crying and sleeping on the couch or at Lisa's place all while constantly fighting with her boyfriend because she had no clue what to do with what happened. There was no finish after the start because how did she finish a race like this when she had no clue what the finish line looked like?

"About what happened."

Y/n grumbled and stepped aside as maybe the finish would be talking it through with Jennie. Or maybe she just had to come clean to her boyfriend. Or maybe she was supposed to keep quiet about it for the rest of her life. In the end, it wasn't like her to cheat. She was guilty of harmless flirting with other people, but it was usually for the benefit of a broke college student who got free drinks because she was pretty. She never let anything go further.

Jennie nodded as she stepped inside, using the opportunity to adjust herself a bit better as Y/n's back was turned to her–the lock clicking.

"You have a cat." She pointed out the obvious, for a moment forgetting what she came for as the Russian blue scurried over to them.

"That's Vinci, he's a fucking menace so don't touch him–he only doesn't hate me." Y/n warned as she turned around to see Jennie already crouching down. She stepped around the woman, letting her deal with it as she had already warned her about what the cat was.

"You're being dramatic, look he's coming over to me," Jennie said as the cat rubbed himself on some furniture before heading right over to Jennie. Y/n shrugged and walked into the open living room, she leaned against the backrest of the couch and looked at the woman. It didn't feel right to let her inside the apartment, the home that was hers and Asher's, but she had already invited her to a different place after Jennie invited her to sin. It somewhat irked her that she was so bothered by it. She knew she deserved it, but to see Jennie not mind it at all made her realise that it was her mistake and her mistake only. She couldn't blame Jennie for cheating on her boyfriend.

"I warned you, he's not nice at all."

Jennie reached her hand out and yelped when the cat jumped onto it, biting it with claws digging into her hand, Vinci's back paws kicking at it. The cat tousled with her hand. "Fucking hell!" She exclaimed and pulled him away with her other hand before quickly standing up. It didn't seem to end as he started to attack the sleeves of her pants.

"Get him away." She called for help as she tried to gently push him away to not hurt the cat, but it didn't seem possible, the claws digging into the material of her jeans. Y/n heaved a sigh and pushed herself up as Jennie got backed up into the wall by the cat that was biting on her feet as she tried to get away.

"Come here, my baby." Y/n cooed at the devil of a cat that had left Jennie's hand with scratches, bite marks and some blood streaks. Her feet were in the same condition as her hand. She watched as the girl picked him up, kind of worried that he would do the same to her and leave her exposed clavicles a bloody mess, but all he did was purr and cling to her.

Y/n looked over at Jennie who inspected her hand.

"Told you so." She said. She had told her that the cat wasn't fond of anyone aside from her. Jennie huffed and followed after Y/n who walked back into the living area and let the cat down that ran right to his cat tree, climbing to the top before laying down and staring right at Jennie.

"He has your personality." The brunette commented. He was just as mean as Y/n and the girl was the first one to be a bitch towards her without a care about who Jennie was. She made herself comfortable as she sat down on the couch, the vixen sitting on the other end of it.

"You don't even know me cuckold." Y/n hissed and fixed her towel to make sure that it was secure, feeling the intense gaze of Jennie. Over the years she had grown used to the gazes that could at times make her skin crawl, especially if she was out. The woman's wasn't subtle and Jennie continued to come off as an asshole with the way she stared.

"Know you enough to see that you're quite the bitch and the last thing I am is a cuckold."

"Fine, an unwanted cum stain," Y/n said and clicked her tongue as Jennie was certainly unwanted here and yet she was there. 

Jennie rarely had anyone talking to her that way unless they were her closest friends, but even those were few. Her eyes narrowed, unsure of how to take it from the girl who didn't seem to care for a second about who she was. She leaned back on the couch and rested her arm on the backrest.

"Is that so?" Was all she could say as she was quite speechless after being called an unwanted cum stain for the first time in her life. 

"Yeah, I blocked your number for a reason." Y/n's eyes averted away from Jennie and she looked at the blank screen of the TV. 

That was the exact reason as to why Jennie had come. If the girl hadn't blocked her she would've just asked her through texts and possibly see if she was up for more if the waters were safe. Now it was different as she was at her apartment on a Sunday.

"Which is?"

"Because I don't want to see you again."

Y/n pressed the idea as Jennie was asking a lot of why questions and she didn't need a better reason than simply not wanting to see her.

"Why is that?"

"Cause, there's no good reason to see you again."

The only reason seemed to be if she wanted to cheat again which she wasn't supposed to want. That thrill, that good sex, the thought of being horrible yet still enjoying herself during the moment, she wasn't supposed to want that. There was no good reason for Y/n to see Jennie when it came to Asher. She felt horrible, she felt even worse for enjoying it, and even worse for wanting to experience that adrenaline once again. It was as if she had taken a hit of heroin and grown addicted right away and now the only thing that would be able to suffice her boring life was Jennie with her dick.

It wasn't her fault that her boyfriend was at most decent in bed and even then was all gentle and loving. Scared to hurt her physically because he was so much bigger or say something that would hurt her. They clashed in bed. He was soft and uncomfortable with anything aside from praises and Y/n wanted to at times bang her head against the wall because of it. It was just the sex which didn't matter since she loved him for being the person that he was. Sex was just occasional for them as it wasn't a big part of their relationship. It gave her no right to cheat.

"Not even the sex?" Jennie asked with her eyebrows raised, removing the sunglasses from the top of her head.

"Not even the sex."

She felt somewhat challenged, her big ego about how good she was at pleasuring getting bruised. It made the foundation crack, and her ego extremely fragile because of how big and blown it was. The smallest poke made it blow up and blow away with the wind. That was why she never allowed anyone to try and step on her, or somehow bruise it by putting herself on top right away. Right now she was fighting with Y/n about that spot despite the girl not knowing it, at least she thought she didn't know.

"So it wasn't good?" Jennie continued to ask as she wasn't believing the girl and she also refused to be the only one to think that sex with the girl was quite amazing. She had to think the same.

"Not good enough for me to even remember it." Y/n lied as she could remember every single part of it and the only thing she couldn't remember was anything else from that night.

"You have to remember something. You were high but I hope that wasn't a problem since I asked for your consent."

"Don't worry, I'm not going to accuse you of anything. I was high, but well aware of what was happening even if I was more prone to letting it happen...You should consider not fucking girls high on E 'cause not everyone would let it slide after because of the headspace you get into."

"That was why I came." Jennie knew that it wasn't right to have sex with the girl if she wasn't in the right state of mind. It wasn't the case since it hadn't made her dissociative just like Y/n said that she had been aware. Although ecstasy had made her more clingy and somewhat unaware of how far things were being taken until they had happened since standards lowered and everyone was a friend when ecstasy coursed in the veins. She was worried she would have regretted it differently after and then accused Jennie of things.

"Well, you have your answer," Y/n concluded and was about to stand up, but was stopped.

"Okay, but why did you block me if that wasn't the problem?" That still bothered Jennie because she felt imbecilic for trying to text the girl only to be blocked. It made no sense for her to be blocked in the first place when she usually had to block girls because they thought the sex meant something. Everyone wanted it to mean something because she had money.

"What does it matter to you?"

"Didn't think it would be a one-time thing, especially if we both were drunk and high...Doesn't count in my opinion." Jennie used it as an excuse for her bruised ego. All she wanted to do was have sex one more time and prove how good she was, but then block the girl to bruise hers right back.

Y/n raised her eyebrows at the words and watched as Jennie shifted, her gaze catching her eyes. She blinked, trying to process what she meant by that.

"What?"

Jennie shrugged at that. "I want to have sex with you at least once more...I could pay you if that means that you agree." She casually explained that she wanted to at least have sex once more with the vixen and this time properly to make sure that she would remember it and want more.

The girl on the other side looked more offended than pleased by the offer.

"Okay, first of all, I would never have sex with anyone for money and second, no." Y/n ridiculed the whole thing as bizarre as she couldn't phantom where the older woman had so much confidence to ask something like this. It didn't matter how good-looking someone was, it was a far reach, but maybe girls agreed to her if they were desperate enough. Y/n knew that she wasn't.

"Why not? It's just sex, it's not like I am some musty creep."

"Because I have a boyfriend, it's cheating," Y/n answered as it was cheating, but that didn't mean that she wouldn't do it. She refrained from leaping to the world of selfishness which was lust and desire. It wasn't right at all and she tried her best to not look for valid reasons to go through with it. The internal battle was constant when she knew what she should choose right away. She was supposed to leave Sin City- she wasn't supposed to enter to begin with.

"Doesn't count if he won't find out. Where is he?" Jennie glanced around the empty apartment, finding no reason for the girl to hold back if her man wasn't home and wouldn't find out. It was only cheating if she got caught in her opinion. It was like playing a board game, she only got called out for it if the rest saw, found out, or suspected that she was cheating. The coast was clear and the game could continue without any problems.

"Practice," Y/n mumbled and widened her eyes at the sound of a zipper flying open.

"What're you doing, keep it in your pants, Jennie." She exclaimed as the woman was about to reach into her pants because she thought that it was the green light when the girl answered. She heaved a sigh and rested her fingers under the hem of her boxer briefs, the pants unzipped and her dick slowly growing harder.

"Is it because you don't want to cheat or what?" She asked. Jennie had a past of cheating, but it had never bothered her like it did Y/n so she couldn't grasp it.

Y/n inhaled deeply, her gaze falling on the cat that was now asleep, the apartment silent.

"It's because of the opposite when it shouldn't be." She couldn't help but want it, but she knew that it wasn't right so she couldn't grasp what was wrong with her head. She loved her boyfriend and that meant that she shouldn't even think of it, but she truly didn't love him any less just because she wanted some good sex. It was just sex, it wasn't even what defined their relationship since sex was the last thing on their list. It wasn't like she would stop loving him or he her—as long as he didn't find out–Jennie was nothing but some good dick.

Y/n felt horrible, all those reasonings weren't right, and there was no good enough reason to cheat. She was aware of that. Nothing was ever good enough to go this far. Nothing was excusable. She felt ashamed for enjoying it–

Yet she found herself bent over the couch with Jennie giving her such backshots that her eyes were rolling back when she came and cheating wasn't even a real word or concept. "Oh fuck." Jennie groaned out, pulling out of the girl and jerking herself off before blowing her hot load right on the perfectly slim ridges of her spine.

It didn't count as long as he didn't find out.

[Present]

"You're on birth control, we don't need them," Jennie complained as the younger girl opened the bedside drawer and reached for the condoms she had in there. It was becoming quite an expense because of how they went at it for hours when they could. She didn't use them with her boyfriend but did at times so there would be no questions about why there were condoms at home. Her hands ran over Y/n's body which was straddling her thighs as she sat leaned against the headboard.

"We do." The answer was simple as she deadpanned it.

"What for?" Jennie asked as she cupped her one breast, her fingers tugging at the hard nipple and toying around with the piercing. She leaned in and left a few kisses along the other breast before sucking in the bud into her mouth. She toyed with the nipple, playing with the piercing and grazing her teeth along it as it scraped over her teeth. Sighs left Y/n's mouth as she gripped onto Jennie's head.

"Not just for pregnancy." She breathed out and Jennie pulled away, another frown graced her eyebrows and Y/n handed her the wrapper, but she didn't take it.

"Do you think I carry some kind of STD?" She seriously asked and Y/n shrugged her shoulders at that, not up for humouring Jennie who always acted like she was dead in the brain in Y/n's opinion. At least she knew how to use her other head.

"Didn't say you do, but you never know what might happen. I only have one partner and see you on the side while I have no clue who you sleep with. If I were to catch something, what would I say?" The words left her with ease, cheating being a normal topic and she knew what she was at the back of her head. Y/n tried to ignore it most of the time because she didn't want to face the horrible person that she was.

"I use protection with every girl I meet." She had started to at least as she was done with shoving plan B's down girl's throats. Then she had no other choice since they would be able to tell that she had been faking her orgasms since she grew soft inside if she even got it up which hadn't been possible last time. It was mostly possible when she was wasted drunk, that was when she could get it up and hope for it to stay up. 

"Oh wow, would you look at that, how great that I have stacked up on condoms then," the sarcasm irked Jennie as Y/n opened the packet herself and took out the rubber.

"You don't use them when you suck me off–" Jennie pointed out and her breath shuddered at how Y/n gently started to pull the condom over her dick that was standing proudly (seemingly just for her) like usual. It clicked in her head that it was something more than just protection from pregnancy and STDs because then she would make sure to have a condom on when she would go down on her. "What is it then?" She asked and grabbed hold of Y/n's wrist and hip, stopping the girl from being able to get on top of her. Her grip was tight to make sure she would stay.

"What does it matter to you? You're here to fuck so stop being a freak." Y/n defensively let out as Jennie had gotten oddly close to her and she didn't like it. She didn't like the girl asking her all these questions or even talking to her too much. They were supposed to fuck and then part ways. It had taken an even more wrong turn than cheating somewhere along the way with how their relationship looked like.

She let go of her wrist and grabbed hold of her dick. "I will fuck you." She sneered as she guided her tip to the sopping hole. Y/n's breath hitched as a cry left her lips and not in pleasure when the girl forcefully pushed her down fully on her length. She grasped onto Jennie's shoulders, her heart speeding up at the pain that had shot up through her whole spine. "Jen–" Her words were cut short, getting caught in her throat as Jennie planted her feet down and started to pound into her. Her lip was between her teeth, her eyes trained on their heat, watching how her cock disappeared into the girl whose pussy was grasping her inside.

"Fuck, you fucking cunt." Y/n whined, the pain slowly subsided but it didn't change the fact that Jennie had been way harsher than she was ready for without letting her adjust to the stretch. Her walls were throbbing around the cock that stretched her out in a way that turned into pleasure. The way the curved shaft caressed her g-spot made her stomach tighten, feeling Jennie deep inside her as each thrust filled her to the brim and made her clench to get as much as possible.

"You don't want to take my cum? I will fuck you so good you will be begging for me to knock you up. Fucking whore, acting all superior, I will fuck you into place like the slut that you are." Jennie rambled on, grunting with each thrust as Y/n wrapped her arms around her shoulders, unable to keep up with how sudden it all was. It was safe to say that she was angry and to Y/n that meant being fucked silly. 

"I hate you so much."

"Yet you take my dick like you don't." Jennie groaned, the girl on top of her moaning right by her ear and she reached her hands down to her ass, gripping firmly. She was filling her to the hilt, with each downstroke she thrust up, Y/n's ass slapping against her thighs and her nails digging into the sides of her neck. The girl tried her best to meet the rough thrusts, her thighs tensing up and gasps fell from her lips. 

Jennie had no clue what it was, but she forgot her self-control around the girl. Not only because she was hot, but because she gave her every reason to not have any control over her anger when she liked to treat her like dirt under her shoes. However, Jennie did control it because the girl would most likely be crying from pain right now and not pleasure. She was just giving back the same type of attitude by fucking her like a whore.

Her cock hit the right spots, reaching deep inside her and managing to caress her g-spot the entire time she was pounding into her. Jennie's breaths grew heavy, Y/n's body warm in her hold as she watched the perfect curves of her slim figure. Her eyes fell on the chest, the tits that were perfect to fit in her hands bounced and Jennie leaned in. Her teeth nipped at the skin, sucking the hard nipples into her mouth to play with the piercings and tug on them, it made Y/n moan and gasp right into her ear. The pleasure increased and her clit throbbed while her stomach tensed up.

"Wanna come." Y/n moaned out, wanting nothing more than to orgasm once again.

Jennie pulled away from the chest that was glistening with her spit, the hard buds left red and slightly swollen from how she abused them with her mouth. "Only if I let you." The room filled with the sounds of their skin slapping against each other. Y/n's moans and gasps bounced off the walls just like Jennie's moans and grunts. She could feel the brunette's cock deep in her as her walls clenched with each of the harsh thrusts that made her breathless. Jennie reached her hand behind Y/n's head and gripped her hair, forcing her away and making her look at her as the girl was hiding in her neck.

"You need so much cock to satisfy you that you go behind your boyfriend's back." She reminded her, deciding to trample on the girl because she had been getting on her nerves since she entered the apartment. She groaned, Y/n's nails digging into the sides of her neck as she continued to roll her hips, bouncing up and down on her length yet Jennie had all the control as she continued to piston in and out of her. 

Despite how whiny she felt and needy for an orgasm, her eyes barely staying open, she was getting pissed off by Jennie's words. "Shut the fuck up, you're sounding obsessed again." Y/n too knew how to trample the girl whose cock was rearranging her insides into a mess. The vixen knew that she was cheating, but she didn't want to be reminded of it, she didn't want to think of it. She knew that she had no right because it was a choice, but she still felt ashamed and guilty every single day. It didn't seem to stop her because the second she saw Jennie it was the same all over again.

Jennie stopped, Y/n still moving her hips although not for long when Jennie grabbed hold of her waist. "Fuck–" Y/n winced at the painful grip that would leave bruises. She wanted to be pissed but she had no time when Jennie pushed her onto her back before then forcing her onto her stomach. The girl barely managed to put up a fight from how quickly Jennie handled her.

"You're hurting me, you perverted jagoff." She complained and tried to struggle at the grip that Jennie had on her wrists, pinning them down above her head as she lay pressed into the mattress.

Jennie looked down, pinning both hands with her one. She looked down at the girl whose thighs she was straddling, her cock resting against her ass cheek. Y/n's back arched and the struggling did nothing, but only turned Jennie on more to know that she had all the control. It was tempting to just remove the condom since Y/n wouldn't be able to do anything about it or even notice at first–she refrained because she didn't want to get thrown out. She slowly rubbed her hard-on against her plump ass– "Don't call me obsessed with a fucking wimp."

"Ahh!" Y/n buried her face in the duvet, completely trapped under Jennie whose palm landed right against her ass cheek. It stung, the pain prickling on the skin as she heaved to try and distract herself from the pain. Jennie surely knew how to slap. It was another try to wiggle out from under her to get spared, all she felt was Jennie's cock rubbing against her ass. 

"Stop acting it." She mumbled into the sheets, eyes closed as she panted through her mouth before biting down and whining, eyes shut tightly at how the woman's palm collided with her ass again. 

Jennie gripped the flesh, soothing over the hot skin as she kneaded the girl's ass in her hand. "You think I care about him? If I did, I wouldn't be fucking his girlfriend." Jennie gritted out, the anger bubbling in her chest as her grip tightened on Y/n's wrists who twisted the duvet between her fingers at how numbing it was. She gasped out a breath as the pain was still lingering and Jennie only landed another harsh slap against the same ass cheek and she choked on a cry this time, trying to squirm under the woman. Her back arched and her ass pressed into Jennie at how the pain made her twist before she relaxed when the worst part subsided and all that was left was the pulsating left after.

"Fuck– that's not it," Y/n said with heavy breaths as it wasn't that which she found Jennie looking obsessed over. The vixen snivelled as she blinked away her tears and moved her head, resting her cheek against the mattress as she looked at Jennie over her shoulder. The hand was now caressing the reddening spot. 

She hummed, urging Y/n to say it as she removed her hand from her ass and grabbed the base of her dick that was throbbing as she positioned herself straddling the girl's thighs and pushed her tip between her legs, finding the aching hole. She only pushed her tip in, the younger girl already whimpering as the position made her a much tighter fit. The walls sucked her tip into a chokehold of a grip, making Jennie suck air through her teeth at how good the warm and tight cunt felt.

"You're obsessed with his position, with the fact that he isn't the one on the side but you and that's what you will always be."

Jennie bit down on her tongue, running her palm along the ridges of the slim girl's spine as she lowered herself, propping herself up on her forearms, still holding her hands pinned down with hers. She didn't want the girl to have any control whatsoever, all she wanted for Y/n to be able and use was her mouth. They came face to face and stared each other in the eye, the lust was strong, and it was fueling the whole room. They knew what they were doing and what it meant, what it was supposed to mean at least. 

"Don't act like you don't want me." Her tone was husky and she caught the whimper that was about to leave Y/n's mouth when she pushed herself inside the girl in one fluid motion. Y/n pulled away rather quickly as the moans started to spill when Jennie moved back out before slamming her cock back inside the sweltering heat. Her pelvis collided with Y/n's ass with each deep thrust, keeping it up as she continued to pull out, leaving her tip in and slamming it all back in. The vixen's lighter body getting fucked into the mattress.

"I fucking own you in the bedroom, I own you even when you fuck him because you think about me when you do." Her tone was gruff as she spoke in a hushed tone right into Y/n's ear who shivered at the air that brushed her sensitive ears. She grunted, going rougher and Y/n's moans got louder, unable to keep the sounds back when Jennie was pounding her full length into her tight hole. She clenched around her hard dick even more, it was followed by a muffled whimper from Jennie whose body was almost fully pressed against Y/n's back, their legs tangled together.

Each heaving breath mixing into the sounds, the two lost in their sins as the place they were in was the only place that brought them away from everything else. There was no guilt, no shame, no hesitation, or stress, not in their city of sins because it was just them. The two were addicted to these feelings and each other in ways that were unhealthy. There were no questions asked or anyone to judge. It was what made it possible to get lost in pleasure.

"Fuck, Y/n, fuck, I'm gonna make you cum so hard baby, I will fuck you so good the whole night. You're gonna take me so good like you always do, my favourite slut." Jennie mumbled, her mind getting lost as she kissed the girl's shoulder before licking a long stripe and biting down to pull at the thin skin. Her dick throbbed inside the pulsating walls that were warm and welcoming even if it got painful at times. The girl's cunt clasped around her with each thrust, having her cock in a choke hold as each time made Jennie moan right into her ear.

"You make me feel so good." Y/n let out a choked moan, her hips pushing into Jennie as her body turned into a heat that coursed through every nerve and vein. A sheen of sweat covered their bodies that pressed against each other with their heat conjoined. "Who else fucks your slutty pussy this good, hmm? Who else can get you like this?" She rasped, biting along her shoulder and up to her ear that she pulled at with her lips before kissing. Her hips were ruthless as she kept up the rough thrust that made her pant for air.

"Just you, only you can fuck me this good–your dick is the only dick that can fill me up this good."

Jennie's breathing got deeper and heavier, her heart beating harder as her balls tightened, being close to releasing another load. "Your pussy is so good, my favourite, I just wanna empty my balls into you 'cause you take me so well. You deserve all of my cum, baby." Y/n's moans were falling breathless after Jennie's tip had been abusing her g-spot the whole time. Jennie let go of her wrists. Y/n grasped at the sheets and Jennie moved her hand down and grabbed her hip. She lifted them slightly before letting her hand run down between Y/n's thighs.

"Jennie– Oh, I'm gonna–"

"Show me how good you feel." Jennie urged, her fingers circling the girl's clit in a motion that made her whole body tense. 

She watched the girl whose mouth was agape, eyes barely open and all she could see were the whites when Y/n's body spasmed more into her. The orgasm washed over her hard, black and white filling her vision as high-pitched moans spilled through her plump and wet lips without a pause, making her run out of breath at the end. It made her whole body weak and dizzy, whining at how the fingers were still playing with her clit. 

"I'm so close, I'm gonna cum so much." Jennie groaned out through the deep breaths and Y/n managed to find her words.

"On me. Please, Jennie." She pleaded, wanting Jennie to paint her with her thick and hot cum. It made her hips stutter and her stomach flexed, edging herself because of the request. She didn't waste time as she grabbed the base of her length and pulled out, getting off her thighs.

"Get the fuck up, I'm not gonna hold it for you." She gritted out, helping Y/n with one hand while removing the condom with the other. Her tip was swollen, throbbing and begging for a release, her balls having plenty for the vixen. Y/n got turned onto her back and Jennie stood on her knees beside her, the girl expectantly looking up at her. Eyes falling to the thick cock, a long vein running on the underside, her tip bright red and mushroom-shaped and her balls big and heavy.

Jennie jerked at her dick, staring the girl down, getting more turned on by how submissive she was being, how she had all the control, how she was begging for her. The power that she held over someone like Y/n. She looked at her perky breast, nipples hard and the silver jewellery pierced through them. Her eyes drowned in the perfect body laid out for her, how hot and sexy the girl was until her eyes landed back on her face, those sharp siren-like eyes, dark brown locks, luscious lips, flawless skin, every little feature.

It made Jennie raise her hand to her mouth and bite down on her fist to muffle the whimpers when her balls tightened and the cum started to shoot out of her tip. Her back arched as she bucked her hips into her hand, doing her best to control where it was going, but it seemed impossible at how intense the orgasm was this time compared to when she came in her pants. Her whimpering and moaning muffled and Y/n felt the warm and creamy release splattering onto her skin.

She didn't want the girl mocking her for it once again because she knew how mean Y/n was.

She heaved, breaths shaky as she managed to open her eyes which closed at some point. She did one last stroke and this time the cum just leaked out of her tip, dripping down onto the sheets as her dick started to go limp.

"Fuck, you look hot." She breathed out and Y/n glanced down at her chest which was covered in the fluid and she felt some on her face.

"Give me my phone." Y/n requested, holding her hand out as she lay in the same position, not having the energy to move at the moment. Jennie slumped down and reached over to the nightstand, taking the girl's phone before handing it to her, not realising how she obeyed each request no matter the girl's tone.

"Will you take a picture and send it to me?" She asked with a hopeful tone as she knew that she would be able to get off to the picture every single day for at least a week before asking for a new one. Y/n scoffed at the request.

"No, are you dumb?" She asked and Jennie frowned.

"Why not, you've sent pictures before?"

"Cause I am naked." She had sent the girl pictures, but never any nudes and never showed her face in them aside from a glimpse of her lips. Jennie grumbled to herself, trying to get a mental picture of the masterpieces she created on the girl. Y/n still opened her camera to see where it all was.

"You fucking cunt, you came in my hair." She complained and Jennie groaned when she got kicked in the thigh. Y/n turned her phone off and threw it to the side before she sat up, facing Jennie. She looked over her, the woman almost lying down as she sat leaning against the headboard. A frown and her lips puckered at the treatment. Her dick rested against her thigh and it wouldn't be long until it would be all ready for Y/n to take again. "Don't make that face until you've had cum in your hair." Y/n hissed and sucked air through her teeth.

"Where're you going?" Jennie asked when Y/n got up from the bed.

"Shower."

"I'm coming too–Wait, have you–" Jennie paused and sat up at the edge of the bed, Y/n looked back at the woman who sighed.

"Are you hungry?" Y/n raised her eyebrows at that and shrugged her shoulders. "I guess, I haven't eaten today." She replied. She hadn't had time to eat as her fridge was empty and she didn't have money for takeout or the time to buy any groceries. It was always Asher who did these things since the girl got too busy, but things got in the way after they had another fight and he never managed to buy anything before needing to leave for the weekend. 

She did fight with him, but she fought even more with Jennie who was the side thing. It made little sense, but it stayed.

"Why not?" Jennie asked, wondering how the girl was even standing up as it was close to 8 p.m. and she had some pretty intense sex a second ago. Jennie's legs felt like jelly and she sat at the bed, watching Y/n's naked figure.

"Haven't had time and my fridge is empty and I am too broke to order," Y/n answered while opening the closet door and taking out new sweats and tee. She stopped for a second and remembered the pair of sweats Jennie had forgotten after having spare clothes with her. She reached for the pair of grey sweats she had stuffed behind the rest of her bottoms. "Why do you care so much?" She asked with a sigh and turned back around, closing the door after her.

"I feel like it is a normal thing to care about people." Y/n only hummed and threw the sweats to Jennie before she headed for the door to get to the bathroom. Jennie quickly got up to not get locked out of the bathroom for taking too long once again, taking her phone and shirt with her. "Can I order food then?" She questioned and she usually left right after, but that hadn't been the case with Y/n for the past months. Never did she spare the women a second glance, she viewed them as her sex toys she threw away after using once, but Y/n was a doll she wanted to last a bit longer so she treated her well. 

Whatever treating someone well was in Jennie's world.

"Do whatever you want."

"Well, I mean can I order food for us both?" She rephrased her question for the girl. Following Y/n who walked into the bathroom which was right beside the bedroom from the side where the front door was.

"How long do you plan on staying? Friends are coming tomorrow at around 4," Y/n asked instead.

"I could leave before that? Or do you not want me to stay the night?" She confusedly asked and stepped inside the bathroom that wasn't too big with just a simple glass shower in the corner, a sink with a mirror and the toilet. At this point, she had fucked the girl on probably every surface in the apartment. She closed the door before she tossed the clothes onto the towel rack and Y/n started the shower.

"I was supposed to be studying."

"You can do that."

"Without anyone trying to stuff their dick inside me like a horny teenager." Jennie pursed her lips at that and ran a hand through her slightly tousled hair. She stepped into the shower where Y/n already was, closing the glass door and getting under the steaming water that was pouring down on them. "What if I don't? Or you could study tomorrow or any other day." She tried since she wanted to stay as long as possible since there was no telling when she would get to be with Y/n again. She wanted to get as much sex as possible in case the same problem occurred with another girl again. It could take anything from a day to a week. Jennie's arm would get sore.

"Fine."

"Good, I already ordered the food." She mumbled as she was starving after the sex with the succubus of a girl. Y/n rolled her eyes and Jennie grabbed hold of her hips, turning her around so she would face her. She pulled her closer and captured her wet lips with her own, the girl humming as she parted her lips for Jennie. 

TAGSLIST! @yxlis @jisooftme @geeminz @lisas-earlobe @xszn @badasgff @badaspookie @hwm1hyun / taglist is open

[cillianmesoftlyyy]

I Can Fix That... Pt. 2 | Jonathan Crane x fem!reader

author's note: I decided to make a pt. 2 purely for my own enjoyment, though I hope there are others out there as sadistic as myself. I finally watched the Batman trilogy and did research on DC fan pages to write this. It follows the plot of Nolan's DC adaptation so all characters mentioned (like Ra's Al Ghul) are from the comics and movies.

Summary| She gave into Crane because she needed to survive, at least that's what she's tried to tell herself, but there was something about this man that just felt so painfully... right. Now Crane has a proposition and he doesn't intend to take no for an answer because he's starting to like her -- uh oh-- too much. Where will their new agreement lead them when Gotham devolves into chaos?

Warnings| Based on an DC action movie- drugging, slut shaming, fear and terror, dubious kidnapping, restraints, drugs, physical violence, spitting, toxic relationship, mentions of a gun, chaos, and needles. I know- it's a lot.

word count: 8596k (lol oopsies?)

Wires- The Neighborhood 🎶

Where did you sleep last night- Iridium, Salazar, Liam Marks 🎵

Caesar on a TV Screen- The Last Dinner Party 🎶

i 

The detective nodded her head, surprised that she’d so easily forgotten her plan. Dr. Crane sniffed and spun his set of keys around his finger casually. 

“Now the best thing about being the creator of my fear serum,” he started, moving to the shelf of vials he had previously sorted, “is that I have an endless supply and every opportunity to use it whenever I want.” She could hear him smile but she could no longer see him. Crane admittedly liked the girl and he’d fucked her as a minor pivot in his original plan for the night. Now, it was time for business. He pulled a dish of powder from a locked drawer and hid it away from sight as he crossed back into the girl’s view. “You may think you understand what my serum can do, but you’ll never truly know until you try it.” She furrowed her brow and shook her head, wishing that she could back away from him but she couldn’t move. He changed the subject swiftly, not giving her a moment. 

“I applaud you for your performance tonight. I was more than willing to humor you and of course, your present state did you many favors. I like my women tied down…” he joked and chuckled darkly. “But now, we need to get practical.” He removed his glasses and folded them slowly. He slipped them into his breast pocket. “You know too much, Miss —, and we both know that your current allegiance to your job would prioritize a crude sense of justice over your affection for me. We can’t have that, can we? So, I’d like to propose a solution or a treatment of sorts.” He clenched his jaw, angling his head down so that he was looking up at her through his eyelashes. “You’ve already proven to yourself tonight that the mind has complete control over the body. Desire rules judgment… and I want to rule you.” He smiled darkly. Before she could speak, powder was thrown into her face, blocking every orifice with a sickening gas. 

The anxiety was immediate. She saw strange creatures approach her from all sides, poking and prodding her with dirty nails. She saw the walls leak a disgusting fluid, like blood and fecal matter and it spilled over the floor. People sorted through the liquid for scraps, children screamed and cried around her. She’d been one of those children, raised in an orphanage because her parents couldn’t afford to keep her. Strange men swarmed the children, offering toxic treats and money for favors which the children shied away from. She screamed, pulling at her restraints as she tried to fight off the assailants. She shook her head violently side to side, and she screamed involuntarily with raw terror at what she saw. In the midst of a nightmare of Gotham’s poverty and dark underbelly, Dr. Jonathan Crane stood calmly before her. He watched her, his arms crossed against his chest. He cocked his head to the side. 

“What do you see,” he asked calmly. She turned her attention to him like he was a beacon of light in a horrible storm. 

“Jonathan, help me!” She cried. 

“Tell me what you see,” he said again and clucked his tongue to calm her. She looked around again at the people she saw, rummaging through mountains of trash. 

“Horrible… horrible poverty. The things… the things I saw as a child. People starving, children crying…” she whimpered. Rats scrambled across her body and she screamed again, shaking against the table. “Jonathan, please!” She called for him and he waded towards her, oblivious to the horror around him. He stood above her and stroked her face. He removed the restraints from her waist and her wrists and helped her sit up. The things she saw darted out of her peripheral vision, distorted now and hard to understand. She couldn’t run because she couldn’t tell where she was anymore, where her body was in relation to her perspective. Did she even still have a body?

Dr. Crane grunted as he helped her off the table and held her up beside him. She fainted in his arms and he carried her out of the secondary lab into the corridor. He punched the elevator’s call button with his free hand and dragged her inside. As the large steel doors closed, he fished for his cellphone in his pocket and called his driver, telling him to meet him outside the hospital immediately. Crane hushed her, gently patting her head though she was still unconscious. The elevator dropped them at the floor she’d entered on originally and Crane carried her to the side door, ignoring the looks the night attendants gave the strange couple. A sleek black car waited outside in the alley, the engine running and dispelling smoky exhaust into the air around them. Crane opened the car door and helped her inside, smirking at the security guard at the door. 

“Our meeting was successful, thank you officer.” He waved goodnight to the security guard who shifted awkwardly in his seat at the side door. Climbing in after her, Crane leaned over the console to speak with his driver. 

“My apartment, please.” He gave the order sternly, even with the addition of the ‘please,’ and the driver nodded, speeding off into Gotham’s dark streets. His hand rested comfortably on her thigh as he watched her. She started to come to in the backseat, though the effects of the drug had still not worn off. Her breath was fast and she leaned deliriously into Crane’s shoulder, seeking protection from what she saw outside the tinted windows. She was so afraid that she felt safer in the arms of the man that had drugged her, and it would take hours to realize that, but by the time she did, the psychological effects would have already taken root. 

ii 

The car stopped outside of a dark apartment building in one of the only nice parts of town in Gotham city. It was raining as he helped her back out of the car and into the large lobby of his apartment building. She clung to his arm as he led her into an elevator, playing a soft melody that sounded like shrill screams to her intoxicated mind. As the elevator doors opened, effects of the drug began to wane though her heartbeat was still racing. She looked up at Crane’s sharp jaw and how he clenched it as he opened the door to his apartment and pushed her gently inside. 

“I pay my people extra to turn a blind eye to everything that I do. I understand these circumstances appear even more nefarious, being that I have admittedly drugged you and brought you to my apartment. What can I say, I’m a bad feminist.” He smiled darkly and locked the door. 

“When do I stop seeing… these things?” She collapsed into a chair behind her and cradled her head in her hands. 

“The effects will be gone in an hour,” he responded coolly and switched on some of the lights in his modern apartment. The apartment was two stories with a spiral staircase and an elevator that led to the upstairs. She looked around, trying her best to ignore the hallucinations and study the actual apartment itself. 

“You’ll be disappointed to know that I don’t have a lab here, it’s against the building’s codes. I spend very little time here actually, I’m always at Arkham or dealing with detectives… like you. I’m a busy man. Like I already told you, I have plans to ‘treat’ Falcone tomorrow so I’ll need that room free. This is the next best option and I think you’ll find it more comfortable in comparison.” He smirked and flicked a switch, immediately two restraints looped tightly around her wrists, emerging from a panel in the arms of the chair that she hadn’t noticed. Second restraints looped around her ankles, reminding her as her ankles were spread apart that he had removed her underwear. She turned her knees inward, hiding her crotch and scoffing with frustration. 

“Again?” She groaned and pulled at the strong leather material holding her to the chair. 

“You sound disappointed,” Crane observed with a small smirk. “It’s only temporary. I didn’t get a chance to question you back at the lab, so we’ll do that here.” He gestured to his empty apartment and started to walk toward her slowly. His lips curled cruelly as he looked her up and down, strapped to the chair. “So tell me, what do you know?” He whispered and she stopped struggling for a moment. She still felt jumpy and nervous but having him so close relieved some of those feelings. The effects of the drug wore off more but the underlying sense of anxiety and loss of control prompted her to answer honestly.

I know that you are trying to make a powerful drug that mimics fear and so far, you’ve put it in a powder form. It works when ingested in some ways and immediately elicits a response that incapacitates the victim. You want to use it widely, to control Gotham…”

“Right, what else.” He leaned on the arms of the chair, his hands grasped around her wrists. 

“You don’t work for Falcone but you work with someone else. You’ve just been using Falcone’s drug operation to move your own prototypes of the fear serum. You want to be in charge and you know that fear can do whatever you want it to. The mind controls the body,” she recalled a sentence that he had used before he had thrown the powder in her face. “You’re also somehow connected to the missing micro-wave emmitter. I don’t know why but it may help you in some way, how?” She was breathing heavily like she was going to fall asleep. 

“Good work, detective.” 

“What are you using the micro-wave emitter for?” She asked. He chuckled and removed his hands from her wrists, backing up. He approached a small liquor cart and poured himself a drink, straight gin. She continued as he drank. 

“Who are you working with and how do you expect to control Gotham when everyone loses their minds?” She could barely contain her voice, anger and confusion rose into her throat like bile. 

“So many questions…” he swallowed and set down his glass, turning back to her slowly. “Aren’t you supposed to figure that out for yourself?” He raised his eyebrow. 

“The mirco-wave emitter would dry out any water supply that it comes into contact with. Wouldn’t it be easier to poison the water supply, you would reach more people… unless it doesn’t have the same effect when administered in water.” She looked up at him but his face was hard. “That’s why you’ve been using it in a powder, it only works in a powder form. If you dry up the water supply and release the powder into the air, there isn’t a way to combat the effects, is there?” 

Crane smiled and nodded slowly, “right again.” 

“How can you control people who have lost their minds on the serum? You can’t control chaos.” She furrowed her brow and leaned forward, questioning him. Crane cocked his head and studied her for a moment, noticing the last traces of the fear serum leaving her body. 

“Control has many forms, Y/N. The chaos that will come from my serum is planned, its existence is strategically executed.”

“But why are you doing this?” 

“I love it when you get flustered,” he chuckled darkly at her and licked his lips, his eyes rolling before returning to her face. “It’s not just me, I work for a large organization that has been responsible for all historical catastrophes throughout history. We deal in balance, balanced chaos. They hired me because I can control fear, I know how to use it and weaponize it. Gotham needs to be balanced and it cannot be balanced without it first destroying itself. Create a closed environment with the population’s problems and confront them with chaos, the balance will soon be restored.” 

“Who do you work for?” She whispered, her eyes wide. 

“Don’t you mean, who do we work for?” He crouched at her feet and placed his hands on her thighs. He smiled crazily up at her and she leaned away from him. 

“What?” She whispered. 

“I work for the League of Shadows, and now, so do you.” He dug his finger into the soft bottom of her chin and pushed her head up so that she could see the second floor more clearly. 

Standing at the rail were men clad in dark armor. One man stood out from the rest. He wore a black suit and carried a gold-tipped cane. He had long whiskers of gray hair like a mustache and steady cool eyes, deadlier than Crane’s.  

“Good work, Dr. Crane.” The man kept his focus on her and her blood went cold. “It’s so nice to finally meet you, Miss —. We’ve heard so much about you and of course, you’re the one that has caused us so much trouble!” He laughed sarcastically and descended the spiral staircase. 

“Who are you?” She growled. 

“Ra’s Al Ghul,” he smiled and the wrinkles on his face creased, pulling against his eyes. “I see you’ve already become acquainted with Dr. Crane, our very own criminal mastermind.”

“You’re too kind,” Crane smarted back, watching the girl’s face as she tried to take in all of the new information. 

“Now, I have a job proposition to offer you, Miss —. You seem to have figured most of our plan out but I don’t think you understand the complexity of our organization. You see, the League of Shadows is an ancient organization that has balanced the harmony of every major city in the world since the beginning of time. Gotham has gone bad, to the point of no return. Your ‘Batman’ as you call him can’t reverse what has been brewing for years. He never saw what you did, how the people of Gotham live in filth and poverty while the elite few enjoy the spoils. This city needs to be reborn, it needs chaos to restore the balance.”

“But wouldn’t you be killing thousands of innocent people?” She interjected and Al Ghul shrugged slightly. 

“Nobody’s innocent,” he answered quickly and then inhaled, clarifying, “Anyway, that’s not what we want to do here. If we take control of the city and hold it for ransom, we can work out a deal to replace the crooked government with some of our people. I’m offering you a role alongside my people. You’re smart, all that evidence you collected against Crane- none of the senior officers could have held a match to it. We destroyed it of course, as soon as Crane told us about your little visit.” She looked past Al Ghul to Crane who leaned against the wall calmly. Had they destroyed the copies? How could she be sure that they were telling the truth? “The box of evidence you had put aside for Sgt. Gordon was the hardest to find but we found it. What made you suspect Dr. Crane? Was it a gut instinct?” He drew on before she interrupted him. 

“You want me to help you kill people?” She furrowed her brow and nearly laughed in disbelief. 

“We want your help to save Gotham from itself and establish a new and better government.” He corrected, fixing his posture. Crane watched her closely and spoke up from the back of the room. 

“She’ll do it,” he answered and she opened her mouth to interject but his smirk silenced her. “She’ll do it because whether or not she wants to admit it, Miss —, is like us.” Crane reached into his breast pocket and removed his glasses. He cleaned the panels with a dish towel and pushed them onto his nose. She looked between Crane and Al Ghul, her heart beating quickly in her chest. 

“Will you join us, will you help us save Gotham?” Ra’s Al Ghul placed both of his hands on top of his walking stick and shifted his weight evenly between his feet. Crane folded his arms across his chest and cocked his head to the side, a knowing smile played on his wide pink lips. Her decision surprised her but the serum had already changed her chemistry, Crane had revealed her true self to herself and there was only one choice left. 

“Yes,” she whispered. 

Crane nodded, “good girl.” 

iii 

She was released from her restraints and she rubbed her wrists where the leather marked them. Ra’s Al Ghul snapped his fingers and a map was rolled out on Crane’s dining room table. The map was of the entire city of Gotham, showing the sewer and water lines. They explained the plan, showing her where the micro-wave emitter would be placed in the city and how it would be moved through each neighborhood. 

“What about the police?” She asked and gestured to the map of the city. Crane laughed and shook his head. 

“You were the only cop that suspected this, the rest will have no idea until it's already started. The person we really need to worry about is Batman,” he ran his fingers through his hair and glanced up at Al Ghul, “luckily for him, an old friend is coming by to visit.” Al Ghul nodded and smiled kindly at her. 

“Batman and I go way back. I’ll take care of him.” 

“What am I supposed to do?” She asked, her arms crossed beneath her breasts. Crane caught himself staring and cleared his throat. 

“You’ll help me with the production of the powder, ensuring that your cop friends don’t figure out too much and keeping Sgt. Gordon away from Arkham or leading him astray… anything,” Crane answered, setting his face as he spoke. She nodded. 

Though they had asked her to join their efforts, they also obviously didn’t trust her completely. They wouldn’t tell her everything, she knew. Her night had gone in a completely different direction than how she had imagined it. Everything had changed after the fear serum, it had shown her that what she feared most had already happened. The police were corrupt, run by small-time gangsters and criminals and crime continued to run rampant as the state lost more and more money, forcing social service organizations to close and more families out on the streets. This whole time she thought that the police could solve the problem but they only caused it. Crane was right, she was like him and she would do anything she could to change the city. After the meeting, Crane poured her a drink and dissolved a packet of powder into the liquor. He stirred it in front of her and Al Ghul before sliding it across the table’s surface. 

“This will put you to sleep for a few hours, twelve at most. It’s only a precaution to make sure that you have truly promised your allegiance to us. Everything that you say will be monitored from this point on.”

“Everything?” She looked at Crane who clenched his jaw, a faint tease of blush spread on his cheeks.

“Everything. Do as we say and follow our rules and you stay alive,” Crane finished and tapped the rim of the glass. “Now drink.” 

“How do I know that you aren’t just poisoning me?” She asked the men around her.

“We’re learning to trust each other, but you have to go first.” He smiled and when Al Ghul said nothing, she took the glass and drank it slowly. The last thing she saw were Crane’s eyes, set perfectly on her. 

She was conscious enough to set her glass down before falling back onto the couch. Crane approached her quickly and checked her pulse, monitoring her reaction to the drug. 

“Did it work?” Ra’s Al Ghul asked behind him and he nodded. 

“Yes, she’s out. Because of all the drugs in her system already, this one may take longer to wear off.” 

“All the other drugs?” Al Ghul raised his eyebrow and Crane chuckled. 

“I couldn’t help myself and besides,” he turned to Al Ghul, “you wanted her alive.” 

“I’m not convinced that we can trust her,” Al Ghul shook his head and pointed at the map for his men to clean up. 

“Oh, I’ll make sure we can.” 

“With your mind tricks?” Al Ghul teased and Crane sighed, rolling his beautiful eyes. 

“Don’t insult me, Ra’s. I know what I’m doing.” He warned the man calmly and nodded to the men. Two men helped carry her body as Crane led them back down the elevator into the lobby which was deserted at that time in the early morning. They climbed into Crane’s waiting car and pulled away from the curb. The girl’s body was limp against the seat and Crane resisted the urge to stare at her, fascinated by her sleeping body. The men carried her up to her apartment on the third floor of a small walkup. Crane rummaged through her coat pockets for the key into her apartment and unlocked the door. 

Her apartment was small and cozy, furnished with minimal couches and chairs. Books and art decorated the walls. Crane pushed through the door and directed the men to lie her down in her bedroom, the small room off of the main living area. They men looked back at him expectantly as he stood by the doorway, watching her sleep. He rolled his eyes and shooed them away. What did they think he was going to do? He’d already fucked her. Alone in her apartment, he stood by her bed and stroked her cheek. She slept on, engulfed by unconscious darkness. He leaned over her slowly and grasped her throat gently, exhaling across her face. He said nothing but looked her up and down and smirked, pleased at the sight of her. He’d won another spoil: her. 

 She woke up in her bed, twisted in the sheets as if she had been restless all night. She was sweaty and hot, the air stuffy around her. Crane and Al Ghul were nowhere to be seen. She checked her watch and hurried out of bed, stripping off her clothes from the night before and into black trousers and a dark blue sweater. She stumbled into the living room and wound her hair up into a claw clip, moving towards the door when a voice startled her. 

“Where do you think you’re going?” Dr. Crane spoke from the couch. He was in a fresh suit and looked well-rested. He was taking notes in a file on Falcone, his briefcase sat on the coffee table in front of him. She jumped, gasping from shock. 

“Jesus Christ, what are you doing here?” 

“I was waiting for you to wake up. We have work to do today. That bitch at the DA’s office wants to speak with me. I'm supposed to meet with her this afternoon. She’s questioning Falcone’s transfer.”

“I ordered the transfer after you did Falcone’s interview, maybe I could meet with her instead.” 

“No, I need you to take this file to the judge on Falcone’s case. I can handle her questions.” He stood and held out Falcone’s file. “I already gave my statement at the hearing but this file will confirm my medical opinion, hopefully that will get her off my back.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. 

“Do you think Falcone will talk if she speaks with him?” 

“Possibly,” he bent his head side to side and shrugged, “but we aren’t going to find out. Let’s go,” he snapped his briefcase closed and made for the front door. She glanced from the couch to her bedroom.

“Were you watching me all night?” She flushed angrily and followed him. He closed the door suddenly and spun her around, forcing her back against the front door. 

“I can only say this once because they aren’t listening now but as soon as we get in the car, they’ll be monitoring you. I am keeping you alive, Miss —. I will do everything in my power to keep you alive but the second you step away from me, you’re on your own. I know we have an understanding so believe me when I say that I would prefer very much if you didn’t die. Follow my directions because they’re following you.” He said in a harsh whisper, a strand of hair falling into his face. They stared at each other in silence, exchanging breath when he kissed her harshly. She wrapped her arms around his neck and moaned softly against his lips. He bucked into her hips and she gasped softly against his jaw. And just as quickly, he pulled away, breathing heavily and led her out the door and down the stairs into the waiting car. 

“I’ll need my gun back,” she pointed out as they settled on the backseat. Crane sighed, unbuttoning his suit jacket. He opened a small compartment in the car door and retrieved her gun. As he held it out, he took her jaw in his other hand, his thumb pressing into her fleshy cheek. 

“This is where that trust would come in handy, detective.” He whispered darkly. She looked at his lips and then up to his eyes, speechless around him. He watched her struggle for words and chuckled, handing her the gun. “Be careful, Y/N, and remember Ra’s plan.” He looked at her lips and sniffed, slapping the roof of the car. “This is her stop.” 

iv 

She met with the judge who oversaw Falcone’s case and gave him the thick folder. He looked at it briefly before recognizing the information. 

“I appreciate you coming out to speak to me about Falcone’s transfer to Arkham but I cleared everything with Ms. Dawes yesterday. She’s already scheduled a second psychiatrist to meet with Falcone first thing tomorrow morning. She mentioned that she’s also requested Dr. Crane’s case file. Has she seen this?” He waved the folder and she clicked her tongue, shocked that she had scheduled a second opinion and that Crane didn’t know about it.

“I’m not sure, sir. I was the detective working with the prosecution and I was the one who oversaw Dr. Crane’s examination and request for transfer. I can attest to Falcone's mood at the time as well. He screamed nonstop as Crane was trying to conduct a test of sanity. Anyway, I wanted to make sure that you saw Dr. Crane’s diagnosis in the aftermath of his transfer. This has updated notes that Dr. Crane shared with me. It might be useful in your deliberation.” She smiled and the judge looked down his nose at the folder. 

“Good point. Thank you, detective. This is helpful.” He opened the folder on his desk and put on his rounded spectacles. 

“Well now that we’ve spoken, I’ll try to catch Dawes and save her the trouble.” She pushed back her chair and brushed off her trousers. 

“Miss —?” The judge called from his desk. 

“Yes, sir?” She looked back.

“Dr. Crane has committed many of Falcone’s men to Arkham in the past few months, is that correct?” 

“Yes,” she nodded and her heart raced. 

“That must be a pretty crazy group.” The judge laughed and went back to the folder, completely missing the pattern. She sighed in relief and left quickly. She started to walk to Arkham, moving so quickly she felt like she may have been running. Dawes had already scheduled a second opinion, meaning that she was probably at Arkham pressuring Crane for his detailed diagnosis. It would take Dawes one second to figure it out so she hoped she could get there quickly enough to do something. She had no plan which she knew was stupid but whatever was bound to happen in the next few hours would be bad and she needed to help Crane. Her phone began to ring and she put it to her ear. 

“Hello?”

“Y/N.”

“Ra’s?”

“Are you on your way to Arkham?”

“Yes, sir.” 

“Turn around and go back to your precinct. I want you to stick close to Sgt. Gordon, go where he goes. You’re his top detective so run with it. If anything happens at Arkham, he’ll be there and I want you there with him. Crane will be fine.”

She slowed to a stop, skeptical but wanting to believe what her new boss was telling her, “ok, sir.”

After a second of silence, Ra’s added, “It’s Batman’s birthday and what better way to celebrate a playboy than with chaos?” The call ended before she could respond. 

She spun around and headed straight for the precinct. She spotted Gordon at his desk, working on paperwork. She hurried over and knocked on the door, letting herself in when he waved. 

“Good, I’m glad to see you. I need to run some ideas by you for the Falcone case.” 

“I just dropped off Crane's diagnosis for the judge but he said that Dawes may be seeking a second opinion.” 

“About that -” The intercom went off with a loud screech. 

“Attention all units! Attention all units! Batman was spotted at Arkham Asylum. He is believed to be armed and dangerous. Backup is requested at this time.” The voice repeated with a robotic drone. Sgt. Gordon looked from the speaker to her and grabbed his coat from his chair. 

“We need to get to the asylum right now.” Gordon yelled and she followed him closely, checking that her gun was still secured to her hip. She clipped her badge to her front pocket and pretended to sound confused. 

“Why are we going, Sgt? Do you think this is about Falcone?”

“It might, I’d feel better if I was there to find out; and if Batman is there, someone’s in trouble.” They hurried down the stairs and climbed into a car. Gordon sped away from the precinct and ran red lights. The tires bled across the roads as they came to a screeching halt behind a row of police cars parked outside the Asylum. 

“Why is everyone waiting outside?” She yelled over the noise. An officer standing with his gun aimed at the building yelled back. 

“We’re waiting for backup!”

“They’ll be here soon, sir. We should wait!” She yelled over the noise at the Sgt. 

Gordon looked up at the building and pulled his gun from his holster. He started moving towards the building, looking back to wave her on. 

“I’m going in. You coming?” He called. 

She groaned anxiously beneath her breath before responding, “yes, sir!” They raced up the stairs into the lobby which was left completely vacant. Gordon held up his gun and she followed suit, staying close behind him. She felt the urge to kill him now and find Crane but her gut warned her that someone else was in the room, watching. They walked slowly through the main corridor, past the abandoned security checkpoint, creeping closer to the wide atrium. When they stepped beneath the enormous domed ceiling a loud noise broke through the top of the building. She looked up and covered her face with her forearm to protect her eyes from large shards of falling glass. She saw a large dark blur surround Sgt. Gordon and pull him up to the roof. 

“Sgt. Gordon!” She yelled after him. She knew immediately that the blur was that bastard Batman. A small laugh escaped her mouth as she shook her head and lowered her gun. A group of SWAT ran in seconds later. She pointed at the ceiling with her gun and called them over. 

“He came down and took Sgt. Gordon!”

“Who?” Someone yelled at her and she shook her head, pretending to be unsure. 

“I don’t know! I think it was Batman.” She yelled, adding to their panic. 

“Batman!” Someone shouted and in the moment of distraction, she slipped away into a side corridor. She bolted towards a staircase and stopped at every floor, looking for signs of activity. Her body burned with soreness as she sprinted down each corridor. She wanted to scream his name but her lungs wouldn’t allow her the extra air to do so. She rounded a corner and ran into a group of police. They all started shouting at her until she showed them her badge. 

“I’m a detective- What the hell is going on here?” She yelled. 

“We’re looking for Dr. Crane!”

“Have you seen Sgt. Gordon?” She asked, panting and trying not to panic when they mentioned Crane’s name. “He disappeared and I've been looking for him.”

“No, we haven’t. We got a call that they found drugs in the building and then Batman showed up. Crane was running the operation.” One police officer responded and jerked their head to the side where they were going to run next. “It's down this corridor!”  

“I’ll come with you,” she shouted and led the unit, her gun pointed at the ground. Two large doors were falling off their hinges further down the hallway. The room itself was smokey and gaseous. She looked down from the doorway where there were stairs leading into a cement lined room like an empty indoor pool. Tables were littered with Crane’s fear serum and men that she assumed were dead. Huge vats of liquid marked with a toxic symbol sat on their sides by an open waterline. 

“This is it,” she said to the officer beside her and started to descend the staircase. The smoke made it hard to see so she moved slowly, looking around the floor for Crane’s familiar face. The men she saw were all part of Falcone’s posse who had been hired to help the drug operation run. Something snapped beneath her food and she looked down, seeing Crane’s scarecrow mask which she recognized from his drawing. She picked it up and looked around anxiously, her fingers around the gun shook. Then she saw him. Crane was propped up against a wall and bleeding slightly from the head, a thin trail of blood oozed on the wall behind his head. He was panting and flailing around, his pupils were mere penpoints. He’d been attacked with his own fear powder. She looked around before dropping into a crouch beside him. He recognized her but continued to shake, his eyes darting around her head. 

“Jonathan,” she whispered, “it's me.” 

“Did you find him?” Someone shouted and she yelled back that she had. He raised a judgemental eyebrow, his mouth forming a cuss word. His glasses were gone. 

“Trust me, Crane.” She whispered against his ear and held his wrists together. She took her handcuffs from her belt and handcuffed him. 

v 

She leaned against the wall and tapped her foot anxiously as they strapped him into a white straightjacket. She crossed the room and helped the officer secure the last belt, thankful for any excuse to touch him and remind him that she was still there. Looking up at her, he spat and she flinched slightly. His light eyes were ringed with red swollen skin and she wondered if he really felt betrayed by her. She wiped his spit from her cheek and returned to her place by the wall. 

“So this is the scarecrow,” Sgt. Gordon entered the room and let the door slam shut. Crane jumped from the noise and closed his eyes, taking a deep shaky breath. 

“Scarecrow… scarecrow.” Crane whispered with his eyes closed and shifted within the straightjacket. Sgt. Gordon pulled up a chair, the metal scraping against the floor, bristling Crane into opening his eyes. 

“What was the plan, Crane? How were you going to get the toxin into the air?” Gordon asked calmly and fingered the scarecrow mask. Her stomach turned watching Crane struggle to regain control over his mind. He shook and his eyes darted around the room, landing once or twice on her. She kept a straight face, giving no sign that she was terrified that something would happen to him or she would accidentally reveal something about him that they didn’t already know. When Crane didn’t respond, Gordon continued, his voice rising. 

“Who were you working for?” Gordon pressed and Crane’s eyes snapped to his, a crazy smile pulling at his lips. 

“Oh, it’s too late. You can’t stop it now.” He spoke through shivers, cutting up his words. He smiled at the end and Gordon shook his head. He stood and shoved the mask into her hands. 

“Here. Stay with Crane.” He growled and left the room, his footsteps echoing through the heavy steel door. She looked down at the mask in her hands and hid her smile. There was only one officer left in the room with them and she bit the inside of her cheek, trying to come up with a quick plan. 

“Are there any officers outside?” She asked the cop by the door who peeked his head outside the door. 

“No, ma’am.” 

“Good,” she smiled and raised her gun when the door snapped behind him. “Then this should be easy.” She cocked the gun and cornered the officer. “Face the wall,” she ordered and when he turned, she hit him over the head with the butt of her pistol, knocking him unconscious. She quickly handcuffed him and checked outside one last time before running over to Crane. He was still recovering from the toxin, his face set in a deep frown. She began to free him from his restraints, glancing at the door every few seconds. His eyes stayed on her face and he kept muttering things below his breath. When she undid the last restraint he jumped up and it fell from around his shoulders to the floor. She started to smile when he lunged at her and pushed her up against the tiled wall. Her hair clip cracked against the tile and clattered to the floor in pieces. She gasped beneath his hands, one holding her throat and the other grabbing the slack in her sweater, exposing her navel. 

“You betrayed me,” he growled, “you told Gordon... I saw you.” His eyes were wild and glazed, he looked right through her.

“What?” she gasped out though his hand was crushing her windpipe. 

“I saw you two! You fucked him. You fucked him!” He yelled, his body shook with anger like he was coming down from an adrenaline high. 

“No, I didn’t!” She struggled beneath his hands, “this is the toxin talking, Jonathan! I didn’t betray you-”

“But you fucked him,” his voice twisted into a heatbreaking whine, an image flicked before his eyes and he closed them quickly, shaking it from his head.

“No!” She coughed and she could feel herself getting light-headed. 

“You love him,” his voice was breaking beneath him and his eyes darted between hers as the toxin showed him more and more; everything of which included her.

“Jonathan!” she screamed and hit his chest hard with closed fists, “I can’t fucking breathe!” 

His eyes snapped open wider and he released his grip around her throat. Her feet landed on the ground and she coughed, sinking into a crouch against the wall. Crane stepped back and watched her silently. He was still shaking as he ran a hand anxiously through his hair. 

“Why would I save you if I loved him?” She cried in frustration, rubbing her bruised throat. “It’s the toxin, Jonathan… I didn’t do the things you think I did,” her voice softened. She looked up at him and stood slowly, grabbing onto the wall for support. Crane cradled his head in his hands and whimpered. 

“What do you see?” she asked quietly and stepped closer. He shook his head and created more distance between them. “Jonathan, tell me.” She pressed and he exhaled with a soft shutter.

“You… fuck,” he started through heavy breaths, working himself up again. “I see you and Gordon…” He rubbed his eyes and looked back up at her. “It’s been so long since…”

“Since what?” She furrowed her brow, questioning. His eyes darted away into the corner and he shook.

“Since my father last used it…” he took a deep breath and finished his sentence with a lengthy exhale, “on me.” 

“The fear toxin?” She whispered, slowly starting to understand what he was suggesting. He nodded and flinched as if something had attacked him. Was he saying that his father used a prototype of the fear toxin on him? She grabbed onto the sleeve of his suit jacket and tugged his attention away. 

“It’s just me. There’s no one else- nothing else in here except for me,” she gestured to the nearly empty room (the officer was still unconscious in the corner). “And I’m here for you,” she whispered and closed the distance between them, her hands slipped around his small waist beneath his suit jacket. She felt his body tense beneath her embrace before slowly (very slowly) releasing its tension. He didn’t hug her back but rested his forehead on her shoulder. She stroked his hair, and found the shallow wound on the back of his head. She ducked her head as she pulled away, finding his mouth and kissing him gently. The toxin was slowly wearing off and she could tell he was only beginning to return to his normal self. 

“We need to get up to my office,” he muttered and looked at the door. “They’re releasing the patients.”

“What?” She furrowed her brow. Crane sighed and shook his head. 

“Ra’s gave orders to open all of the cells. The patients will be let loose into the city.” He licked his lips and looked down at her. “We need to get upstairs.” His expression was tense as she could tell he was trying to fight the lingering effects of the toxin. She nodded. 

“Show me where to go.” 

He pulled her through the door and they ran down the corridor to an elevator. When the doors opened, Crane used his key to override the system, preventing anyone else from calling the elevator. He pressed the button for the floor with his office, not realizing that his other hand was squeezing tightly around hers. When the doors opened again, they rushed down the hallway and into Crane’s office. He sighed when the door was locked and the blinds closed. 

“What are we going to do?” She asked him quietly and he inhaled slowly. 

“I need to inject you with the antidote so the toxin doesn’t affect you when we leave the building.” He murmured, more to himself.

“We’re going out there?” She tried to keep the fear from her voice but he detected it instantly, raising an eyebrow. 

“Are you scared?” He asked automatically. 

“Of both of us dying out there at the hands of one of your old patients, yes, yes I am.” She nearly laughed. 

“Don’t you want to be part of the fun?” The Jonathan Crane she knew was definitely coming back. 

“I’d rather not become the ‘fun’,” she quipped and he smirked. 

“As you wish.” 

She followed him into his lab and he rummaged through a collection of vials arranged on one of the counters. Finding the right one, he slipped it inside a cartridge of what looked like an epipen. 

“Pull down your pants,” he ordered and then it was her turn to raise her eyebrow. “Don’t look at me like that and do what I tell you,” he said sternly and she did as he asked, pulling down her trousers where he had access to her thigh. “This will hurt,” he warned her before immediately plunging the needle into the fat around her thigh. She hissed in pain and heaved out a breath. 

“The good news is that you don’t have to ever do this again,” he patted her leg and buttoned her pants for her. “Now me,” he changed the vial and unbuckled his pants. He raised the hem of his boxers and punctured the needle into his upper thigh. He grunted in pain and closed his eyes for a moment and whistled out a tight breath. A large explosion shook the ground below their feet. She jumped and winced as she landed on her sore leg. Without opening his eyes, Crane nodded. 

“And that would be the patients leaving the building now.” He withdrew the needle and tossed it to the side, buckling his pants. 

“Let me see your head,” she touched his arm and he leaned forward slightly, turning his head where she could see it clearly. She carded her fingers through his dark hair and parted the dark roots away from the shallow wound. “It's a small cut, you’ll live.” 

“Thanks, doctor.” He smirked. Her fingers shifted through his hair as he straightened and she tried not to look disappointed when they were no longer twirled around his black locks. 

“Are you back now?” She looked up into his eyes, looking for trances of fear. 

“I think so,” he responded and traced his index finger around the collar of her sweater. There were small bruises where his fingers had been when he forced her against the wall in his state of panic. “Was I terrible?” He whispered. 

“Not more than usual,” she laughed lightly and covered his hand with hers. “I’m ok.” She insisted and he furrowed his eyebrows and licked his lips. 

He was going to apologize, he was going to tell her how much he loved her and that was why he had reacted so strongly to the toxin, but the words died on his lips so instead he said, “We should leave before the city goes all the way under.”

“They’ll raise the bridges so no one can leave, it’s too late.” 

Crane chuckled and leaned against the lab table behind him, his fingers grasping around the edge. “And once again, you severely underestimate me. Come on.” 

vi 

“Get on,” Crane held the bridle and gestured for her to mount the large black steed. 

“You’re kidding right?” She looked around at the burning city and then back to the police horse who’d lost its rider. 

“I wish I was,” he sighed and tugged her closer by her waistband, “now giddy-up, Miss —.” He joked flatley and pushed her up onto the saddle. He hoisted himself up after her and sat in front, taking the reins in his hands. She wrapped her arms around his waist and squeezed her thighs around the horse's stomach, holding on for dear life. 

“Where the hell did you learn to ride a horse?” She yelled over the panic and she felt him chuckle. 

“Oh, there are a lot of things that you don’t know about me, detective.” He smirked and kicked the horse into action. She gasped and held him tighter as they flew through the violence-strewn streets. She couldn’t imagine how ridiculous they looked to the people of Gotham but under the influence of the fear toxin, she hoped people were more afraid than amused seeing a man in a full suit riding a horse. Crane focused on the route ahead, navigating them through the broken city. 

“Where’s Ra’s?” She yelled into his ear. 

“Forget about him.” He growled and urged the horse faster. 

“Why? What happened?” 

“He tricked me. He didn't just want to impose an arguably better government, he wanted to kill everyone and to kill us too. He tipped off Batman and that’s how Batman found me. He didn't need me after the toxin had been released. He kept you away from me, didn’t he?” He called over his shoulder, leaping over a crashed car. 

“Yes, he told me to go to the precinct instead when I tried to warn you about the DA.” 

“He wanted Batman to find me and he assumed that you’d get stuck here after you followed Gordon. Two birds with one stone. I can’t believe I didn’t see it before.” He growled and turned the horse onto a side-street and into an alley. 

“Where are we going?” She asked, her grip tightening around Crane as she saw people screaming in the streets. 

“To my father’s house.” 

“How?” His father’s house? After his father had probably done something horrible to him?

“Just hold on,” he warned and flicked the reins again. She closed her eyes, wanting to block out the terror in the streets. While some of it gave her pleasure to see the raw side of humanity express itself, it reminded her of what she had seen as a child- the side of people that came out when they needed to survive. 

They rode to the edge of the city and Crane slowed the horse to a stop beside a tall building that looked abandoned. He hopped off of the horse and helped her down, catching her as she forced herself to slip over the saddle. The building was far enough away from the inner-city that it looked like it hadn’t been touched yet by the chaos, though the toxins had definitely reached it. 

“We need to get to the roof,” he informed her calmly and pointed her to the elevator. 

“Another elevator…” she whispered beneath her breath, knowing it wasn’t the right time to mention how much she hated the idea of going into one when the world around them was ending. Crane pressed the button labeled “20R,” and the elevator began to soar up. The elevator had windows that opened into the city. As the elevator climbed, they could see the destruction of Gotham and right across the bridge, normalcy.

“Ra’s is moving the micro-wave emitter by the high speed rail. If his plan goes accordingly, the emitter will poison the other side of the city beneath Wayne tower.” He pointed out the tall Wayne building from their vantage point. “I hate Gotham and I hate Batman, but I think I hate Ra’s Al Ghul more.” He sneered distastefully. “We could have run Gotham…” he sighed and shrugged, “maybe another day.” 

She couldn’t help herself but laugh. Being with Crane had opened her eyes to a new side of herself, one that was dark and masochistic. She liked this side better, way better. She liked thinking that one day she could be in charge, force out all of the government officials that were too dumb or sexist to listen to her. She could lead beside Crane… 

When the elevator doors opened a gust of wind met them. The doors opened onto the roof of the huge building. A helicopter stood in the center of a large bull’s eye, its blades running in circles above their heads. Crane’s hair ruffled in the wind and he squinted his eyes against it. Her mouth fell open in shock and Crane chuckled at her reaction. 

“That’s the funny thing about, trust, detective. I don’t believe in it,” he smirked and beckoned her to the helicopter’s doors. 

“You planned this?” She yelled as he gestured her to climb onto the landing gear. 

“Of course,” he smiled, "I always have a backup plan." Her mary janes slipped across the bars as she climbed and Crane supported her back, guiding her back into the body of the machine. He pulled himself inside after her and collapsed in one of the seats. She tried to orient herself, looking around the small helicopter, landing on the pilot. The pilot nodded at Crane, he was wearing a thick mask and goggles to keep the toxin away. 

“Ready doctor?” The pilot called from the front and Crane nodded breathlessly. He looked at her and clenched his jaw, returning to the version of Crane she knew so well. 

“Yes.”

[sunshinesickies]

Not proof read. Just wanted to get something out for the last day of Feveruary. Don’t worry I will catch up to the days I missed. Been a hell of a couple weeks, but hopefully life will smooth out enough soon for me to have some actual time to write! For now enjoy this fic of Vi on her period and Cait fussing over her. Based on two requests I had in my inbox for Vi on her period, one request by 🧸anon and another anon request. (Also I’ll add a picture later)

Feveruary Day 28— “Well it sounds to me like you need a bit of TLC”— CaitVi/Violyn

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of violence and prison

“Shit again?!” Vi groans as she curls into herself, wrapping her arms tightly around her abdomen. A uncomfortable pain was shooting through her once again and it made her simultaneously nauseous and incredibly irritated. She hasn’t felt like this in, well, years.

Vi tries to think back to when she last had her period only to come up with nothing. She’d been 15 when she was unjustifiably taken to Stillwater, so she’d known about and gotten them for a while. She can remember getting them a few times in prison, but she doesn’t want to think about that.

When you’re in a place like that, there was nothing provided to women during their cycles, only what they could scrap up, and even so, showing any sort of weakness usually meant you were to be beaten to a pulp later. But after her first few months there’s…nothing. She can’t recall having it again.

So yeah, periods in prison sucked, though Vi doesn’t understand why her cramps feel so bad this time. Maybe because they were often drowned out by the stinging pain of the guards’ sticks against her body, or maybe its because she’s grown a little weaker now that she’s living a cushy life in Kiramman estate.

Either way. This fucking sucks. Vi moans again as a fresh wave of cramps shoot through her. Her head is thumping, her body aches and she wants nothing more than for this to be over. Sometimes she hates being a woman.

Currently Vi is curled up on a cozy bed she found in one of the Kirammean’s smaller guest rooms. Yeah. Guest rooms. Plurals. She supposes this is one time she doesn’t think they’re a waste of space.

She’s trying to both hide from her girlfriend and from her own misery. If she could just fall asleep then maybe she could wake up and feel better, sleep off the rest of the pain. But every time she gets close to sleep, some random symptom (usually more cramps) keeps her up.

She knows she probably shouldn’t be hiding this from Caitlyn, but she can’t help it. Vi hates feeling weak. And right now she’s pretty sure she can’t even stand which is pissing her off to no end.

Taking in a calming breath, something Caitlyn has been having her work on whenever she gets frustrated, she squeezes her eyes shut tightly and tries counting as a way to distract herself.

She’s not sure how much time has passed, nor what time it even is. She’d woken up in the morning feeling terrible and somehow gotten herself out of the room without waking Cait up. The curtains in the guest room are drawn closed so tightly that the only light comes from the crack under the door to the hallway.

A gentle creak and the sound of soft footsteps soon pull Vi from her thoughts and she stiffens, hoping not to be found. She knows those steps.

“Violet? Are you in her darling?” Caitlyn’s gentle voice calls a second later and judging by the tone of her voice, Vi knows there’s no use to keep hiding. Plus her girlfriend’s voice was so soft, so warm, that Vi wishes she could sink into its invisible embrace.

“mmno.” Vi murmurs into the pillow she’s clutching and her body softens slightly when she hears an amused chuckle come from across the room.

“Vi? What are you doing in here?” Caitlyn makes her way over to the bed, squinting her good eye to try and make out Vi’s form curled up on the mattress. “Took me ages to find you.” She added, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Kinda the point.” Vi grumbled before curling more into herself with a slight wince, a motion that doesn’t go unnoticed by her attentive girlfriend.

“Are you alright, are you sick?” Caitlyn worries, a small crease forming between her brows.

“Mmfine.” Vi answers but Caitlyn doesn’t buy it for a second. “Vi.” She presses gently but in her no nonsense manner and Vi sighs deeply.

“On my fucking period. Don’t ’member it sucking this much.” She complains even though she hates admitting it. Caitlyn gives a sympathetic hum. “Poor love. Why didn’t you tell me, we’ve got painkillers and pretty much anything else you need.” She offers softly and the thought of having such access to these basic things makes Vi blink rapidly before any betraying tears can slip out.

“Don’t need ‘em. Please don’t make a fuss, Cait. Been through worse.” She answers curtly before she can break down. Caitlyn is slightly taken aback by the sharpness of her tone and she takes a breath, softening her response in her mind before her answers.

“I wont fuss, Vi, and I know you have but…well it sounds to me like you need a little TLC. Let me help? Please.” Caitlyn hums gently as she tucks a strand of hair away from Vi’s eyes.

“Okay…I guess it’d be nice to not feel this sucky.” Vi begrudgingly agrees and Caitlyn frowns as she cups Vi’s face. She isn’t overly warm but there’s some sweat around her temples that lets her know she really is miserable. Plus if she’s agreeing to take meds, Caitlyn knows she’s feeling worse off than she wants to let on. Sure periods are the worst, but Vi’s never mentioned having symptoms this bad, but come to think of it, she can’t remember Vi ever mentioning her period even though they’ve been together a few months now.

“Violet?” An inquiry strikes her attention. Vi hums for her to continue. “When was the last time you had your period?” She asks gently, curiously. Vi shrugs as she begins to sit up, groaning as she moves.

“Dunno…years, maybe?” Her response has Caitlyn completely taken aback this time. “That’s—well that’s interesting. I wonder if your body has been in too much stress for so long that it hasn’t had one, and now that you aren’t constantly watching your back or trying to just survive, that it’s hit you again with full force and then some.” She rambles her idea out loud and honestly, that makes sense to Vi.

She just wishes it weren’t so painful and annoying. “Well it better not be like this every month.” She sighs. “I’m sorry, Vi. Is there anything I can do to help?” Caitlyn hums and Vi looks up to meet her concerned, loving gaze.

“Maybe for now…could you just be with me?” Vi almost whispers, her tone bordering shy in a way that tugs at Caitlyn’s heart.

“Of course my love. There’s no where else I’d rather be. Come here, we can lay here for a bit, but soon I do think it best to get some meds in you.” She tries and Vi nods as Caitlyn moves to sit behind her. Vi settles closely into her girlfriend’s loving arms and for a moment, all the pain dissolves as she sinks into her hold. Caitlyn now has one hand slipped under her shirt, resting on her stomach as she traces soothing circles to her skin. Her other hand finds it way to Vi’s soft pink hair, her nails gently scratching her head.

“Thanks, cupcake.” Vi hums contentedly, the two comforting sensations quickly lulling her into a state of bliss. “Always, love.” Caitlyn leans down to press a kiss to her plush pink lips.

It doesn’t take long for Vi to finally fall asleep, feeling cozy and relaxed in her girlfriend’s loving hold. Periods be damned…though maybe it isn’t so bad. As long as Caitlyn is by her side, Vi feels as she can get through anything.

[yanderes-galore]

I have brainrot and must get out another HOTD fic. NOT PROOFREAD, I WAS COOKING WITH THIS. THIS IS AN ADULT AEGON II FIC, WHICH MEANS IT MENTIONS PLOT POINTS FROM THE BOOKS.

Spoilers For HOTD and Fire & Blood

A short story based on this idea I had.

Baptism By Fire

Yandere! Aegon II Targaryen Short

Pairing: Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Female Darling, Mentions of intimacy, General Mature Content Warning (This is HOTD/F&B so-) Obsession, Murder, Violence, Possessive behavior, Manipulation, Kidnapping, Adultery, Consensual turned Forced relationship.

Aegon never liked his older half-sister. In his eyes Rhaenyra was a usurper to the throne. In his younger years he never liked the thought of being king... but now, as an older man, he has grown into such a role.

Since he was a young boy, Aegon had always had his fill of pleasures. However, he did have one true love... which was surprisingly not his wife, Helaena. A maid that served his elder half-sister, you....

You were Rhaenyra's personal handmaid. You were around his age, a maid who came from a family of servants. Originally you were just another target of his unusually insatiable libido.

However, Aegon felt he could cast aside his responsibilities with you. In you he found companionship he wasn't expecting. It wasn't just when he had you in his chambers... it was whenever you were around.

Your "relationship" was kept secret from both his mother and elder-sister. He had a feeling they'd both hate him if he admitted to growing fond of you. As a result of your nights together Aegon always had Moon Tea prepared to hide the "evidence".

Aegon always felt you reciprocated his advances. Up until he was married he saw you as at least a friend, if not lover. However, all good things must come to an end.

Reluctantly he was forced onto the throne as the event known as the Dance of The Dragons began to culminate. Ever loyal to Rhaenyra, you stayed her handmaid. An action Aegon found resentment towards....

Aegon had Helaena to give him heirs, but he didn't particularly enjoy it. Aegon always found himself lusting over other women instead. Oddly his choices often resembled you.

As king during the Targaryen Civil War, it was expected he'd go through many hardships. Even with his golden mount, Sunfyre, by his side... The Blacks still proved to be formidable opponents. He still hated the idea of you being loyal to them... even after everything you shared together.

Aegon's thoughts about you never left his mind. Helaena was not blind to the infatuation in Aegon's eyes. The king, even as a fully fledged adult now, still thought of you. Fate had been cruel... and kept getting crueler.

Aegon wondered if he'd even see you again. Throughout his time as king he had witnessed, assassinations, and the death of his children. He suffers all while you tend to Rhaenyra and Daemon.

He finds himself yearning for you.

His hate for The Blacks grows when he fights Rhaenys. Upon dragon back he was struck down, Sunfyre unable to win against Rhaenys' mount, Meleys. As a result he was left burned and twisted.

By the time the king reunites with you, his face and body are marred. He feels mixed feelings when he sees you stand beside Rhaenyra during the attack on Dragonstone. Even more so when he sees you with Rhaenyra's son behind you.

Aegon feels no remorse when he orders guards to pull you and Rhaenyra's son away. He doesn't give a damn when he orders Sunfyre to sear and consume the false queen. That woman has taken enough from him.

Her death brings a grin to his face.

You're all his.

While many suggested he kill Aegon The Younger, the king turns down such suggestions. The boy, and you, already seemed traumatized enough. Instead he takes the boy prisoner.

Which makes you his new handmaid.

You didn't dare look at him after that. You looked so broken after seeing the death of Rhaenyra, your queen. The Dance of Dragons was not quite done, as resistance still brewed within Black supporters.

However, Aegon could care less currently.

He spared the boy partially for you. He may look different now... but his infatuation for you never left. You stare at his burned and scarred face in fear.

Despite such fear he finds himself embracing you. He struggled to walk and is nowhere close to how he was when he was younger. Even just in his 20's he looks like he's seen hell.

You don't move in his grip. He merely holds you tighter against him. He has waited a long time to have you again.

You still look just as beautiful as the last time he's seen you, a young woman in your 20's who hasn't been through war.

He still wishes to kiss you and share that much affection and intimacy with you. Yet, he settles with easing you into it with a kiss on your forehead. He even tries to cultivate the old feelings you had with advances... even allowing you to visit Aegon the Younger.

Your relationship may not be like it was before... it may never be...

But Aegon is determined.

He has you all to himself now... in his eyes he's won....

The war isn't over, many still support the prince he keeps prisoner. But for now he'd like to ignore all the warfare. He's tired of the fighting...

All he needs is you now...

With you in his arms... he'll take on whatever they throw at him.

He doesn't care if he dies now... as long as he has you by his side during it.