#laying like that hurts!!! on a swing set

[daily-isabeau]

Guy who is definitely having fun

[sabrinajenre96]

Title: Instincts and Ice Cream

Pairing: Dr. Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x Wife!Reader

Rating: T (Teen)

Word Count: ~2.2k

Genre: Family Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Domestic

Summary:

Y/N is a doctor, but today she’s off-duty and soaking in rare quality time with her six-year-old twin daughters and their loyal Labrador, Kojo. A trip to the park turns into a medical emergency when one of the twins is hurt on the playground. Y/N’s maternal instincts collide with her clinical training as she rushes her daughter to the hospital—where her husband, the reserved and brilliant Dr. Michael Robinavitch, finds himself thrust into an all-too-personal case. Between juice boxes, casted arms, and late-night cuddles, this little family proves that love is a force of nature—even in chaos.

Warnings: Injury to a child (non-graphic, playground accident), medical setting (ER, brief medical description), emotional parenting moments , soft domestic fluff that may melt your insides

The day had started like honey—warm, slow, and sweet. Y/N, blissfully off-duty for once, had let her guard down and allowed the sunshine to wrap around her and her six-year-old twin daughters like a familiar, loving quilt. Spencer and Aria were laughing, wild curls flying as they raced Kojo, their loyal coffee-brown Labrador, across the sun-drenched park.

It was a perfect day. Until it wasn’t.

Ice cream melted sticky down little fingers, the girls’ giggles harmonizing with Kojo’s excited barks. They had found their way to the swings, their legs pumping like miniature engines as they soared higher and higher. But paradise was always fragile, wasn’t it?

A sharp scream split the afternoon—raw, panicked, and unmistakably hers.

Y/N’s heart launched from her chest as she sprinted toward the swings, Kojo right at her heels. One twin lay on the mulch below the swing, her little face scrunched in pain, tiny hands clutching her arm. Spencer, pale as a ghost, trembled as she pointed to the two boys who had run off after shoving Aria mid-swing.

"Spencer, what happened?!" Y/N’s voice was taut with both worry and precision, already scanning Aria’s body like a heat-seeking missile. "Did she hit her head?"

"No—just her arm, Mama. She screamed when she fell. The boys pushed her..."

Doctor mode activated—like flipping a switch, her trembling mother-heart locked hands with her trained brain. Checking Aria’s pupils, pulse, breathing. Broken arm, likely. Bruising along the jaw. No signs of concussion, thank God.

She scooped Aria into her arms with a fierce gentleness that only a mother could master. "We’re going to the hospital. Now." Spencer grabbed Kojo’s leash, her small hand set with determination. The dog, sensing the shift, fell into step, solemn and alert.

---

At the hospital, Y/N’s car screeched into the lot like a storm warning. As she leapt out, Dana caught sight of them. Her break cut short as she jogged over, eyes wide.

"Y/N—what happened?!"

"Park accident. Swing. One of the twins—possible broken arm and jaw bruising."

Dana nodded without asking more. "I’ll help you get her in. Come on."

Langdon was already in the ER, standing with one of Michael’s interns—Dr. King—when Dana burst in with Y/N and the injured Aria.

"Langdon, you’re up. Y/N’s daughter took a bad fall."

Y/N reluctantly handed over her crying daughter, whispering reassurances before stepping back, her hand on Spencer’s shoulder, Kojo sitting obediently beside them.

Dana placed a comforting hand on Y/N’s arm. "Let me take them—Spencer and Kojo. You need a minute. Go grab a cappuccino. Breathe."

Y/N hesitated, her mother instincts at war with her common sense, then nodded. "Only a minute. Thank you, Dana."

Spencer was content with a juice box handed to her by a kind nurse, Kojo curled protectively at her feet as Dana kept a watchful eye.

---

Meanwhile, across the floor, Dr. Michael “Robby” Robinavitch was signing off a patient chart when he heard the unmistakable pounding of small feet—and a familiar bark.

"Daddy!" Spencer launched herself at him, nearly knocking over his clipboard. Kojo padded in like royalty, tail wagging like a victory flag.

"Spencer? What on earth—?" He crouched beside her, hand smoothing her hair. "Why are you here, sweetheart?"

Kojo licked his cheek as if to answer, but it was the wide eyes of his daughter that filled him with dread. She looked too serious for a six-year-old.

Y/N returned then, clutching a lukewarm cappuccino, her eyes immediately landing on them. Her voice was quiet, but tired. "Aria had an accident. She’s with Langdon and one of your interns now."

Michael straightened like someone flipped a switch in him. Gone was the calm, almost aloof physician. In his place, a father, striding toward the ER with purpose. He found Langdon just finishing the initial exam.

"Busted arm," Langdon reported, sympathy in his tone. "Jaw's bruised, but no concussion. She’s a brave little one."

Relief sagged Michael’s shoulders. "Thank you. Can I see her?"

"Of course."

Minutes later, the little family reunited in the private room. Aria, teary-eyed but brave, clutched her daddy’s finger with her good hand. Spencer climbed onto the bed gently, snuggling beside her twin. Kojo curled up at their feet, ever the sentry.

Y/N stood beside Michael, her hand finding his. “She’s going to be okay.”

He kissed her temple, low and soft. “You both did good.”

The family shared a quiet moment, tangled in love, exhaustion, and gratitude. Outside the room, Dana and the nurses watched, smiles tugging at their lips. Few people knew about Michael and Y/N’s relationship—intensely private, fiercely protected. But in that moment, through the windowpane, it was written loud and clear in every glance, every gesture:

This was family.

[nymphaea-blue]

Period care with Love and Deepspace boys

Info : 2k+ word count, fluff, mentions of sickness (throwing up), talks about periods (obviously), mentions of doctors, our boys being really supportive <3

Note : Oh to have Rafayel warm my tummy and Sylus cook me a meal during my period 😔 Also my reqs are open! I won't always be able to write, but I will do my best on weekends<3

Rafayel

﹒　⁺ Is inexperienced about the matter because of his lemurian origin, but after a bit of googling he got the gist of how to help you. He wanted to help you and make you feel better so he tried his best.

﹒　⁺ He would try not to tease you as much and he would be patient about your mood swings. In a way, he finally realised how you felt about his dramatic antics because you sure were hard to please while you were on your period.

﹒　⁺ Rafayel would have lots of sweets and supplies stacked after you started dating and visiting him more often. He wouldn't be bothered if you wanted to stick with him during the week, in fact he encourages it, especially if you deal with painful cramps, though he would panic a bit each time you expressed any pain.

“Heyy, sweetheart?” No response. Okay then, he would try again, he nudged gently what he assumed to be you all cocooned under his blankets. “Cutie? My love? My lovely bride?” Eventually, you finally lifted the blanket enough to the point he was able to see your eyes. “How are you feeling? I got you some sweets and the medicine you asked for.” He, ever so carefully, set down the tray of food at the table as he sat down next to you on the bed. “Thank you… I feel horrible, to be honest.” You sighed as you managed to untangle yourself from your perfectly made comfort space to sit down and take a bite of the sweets he got you. They were your favourites, everything from treats with chocolate to your weird cravings, but he didn't question it and got them for you. What a lovely boyfriend you had. “No need to thank me, I'm doing the bare minimum. Take your medicine and when you feel better, we can cuddle, how about that?” He offered you a cup of tea as well, to help you take down the medicine and help with cramps. “That sounds amazing, actually.” You agreed to his suggestion and took the medication, even though they were bitter and you hated the taste, you managed to swallow them. He gently praised you and helped you to lay down after you took them. He got behind you, with your head laying nicely on his chest and almost on his shoulder, so he could sneak a few kisses to your neck. After a few minutes he placed his hands on your lower tummy, right where it hurt, and you started to feel a pleasant, warm sensation. “Ooh that feels nice… Like my water bottle, but better and more cuddly.” He chuckled softly as you called him cuddly, he did his best to control his EVOL so it would help you, since he often saw you use something warm on your tummy but sometimes he could see you couldn't really get into a comfortable position, so he thought he would do the job much better on his own. “I'm glad I got hired as your new water bottle. I hope my hands aren't too hot, right? If it starts to burn, let me know, I don't want to hurt you.”  “Now, cutie, just try to rest, alright? Or if you want, we can watch something together, hm? I'm free all day anyways.” “Don't you have an exhibition later today..?” “...” “Eh, Thomas can figure it out.”

Zayne

﹒　⁺ He knows a lot about it, he's a doctor so he had to study about the women's body but especially after the two of you got together he decided to dive deeper into the topic. 

﹒　⁺ Zayne way of helping would include tea, healthy meals and tummy massages, as well as prescribing you medicine or giving you a sick note for work when needed. He was a little worried, even though he was a doctor and he knew it was normal, he still didn't like seeing you in pain.

﹒　⁺ His house would have all the supplies, food as well as spare clothes for you since he much prefers you to spend your period at his house, that way he can ensure you will be in good condition. Zayne doesn't mind putting up with your moods or potential stains, he just wants to see you comfortable again.

“Hello, sweetheart. How are you feeling?” Zayne asked as he saw you laying down on his couch after he came back from work. Unsurprisingly, you were in the same position as when he left you when he went to work, so you slept through most of the day probably, which was good. “I'm doing okay, better thanks to the medicine you gave me. I'm all sleepy though…” You yawned after you gave him a kiss on the cheek when he came closer. The entire day you just wanted to sleep, eat, cry and then sleep again. “That's a possible side effect, but it might also be a way for your body to rest after what happened. I'm glad to see you better, you didn't look your best in the morning.” “You can just say that I looked horrible, Zayne , I felt that way too.”  “... I wanted to be more polite. Although, this wasn't the first time that happened, yes? I have a colleague at work, she's a gynecologist, a good one at that. I can get you in contact with her and make an appointment if you wish, you should get your condition checked out, being in so much pain isn't normal.” He proposed as he started to brew some tea, both for you and himself. “Maybe you are right, I suppose it would be better than having to ask you for prescriptions each month.” You sighed, agreeing with him. As much as you dreaded a doctor visit, it was needed at that point. “I don't mind doing that, by the way. Your health is the most important for me.”

Xavier

﹒　⁺ Slightly confused but knows what to do. He does read lots of articles about how to take care of you online after the two of you start dating, but he had a general knowledge before that.

﹒　⁺ Xavier would take naps with you often, in fact, he would force you to nap with him. You can't be moody or in much pain when you are asleep, right? So he just gets you into his grasp, all nice and warm, and he cuddles you to sleep.

﹒　⁺ His apartment didn't have supplies at first as he didn't know which ones you use, but after you ended up staying over when your cramps got particularly bad, he did get you everything you needed to make sure you would be comfortable. After that, his bathroom is stocked monthly, as well as the sweets drawer (both in his and your apartment).

“... Xavier?” You attempted to get out of his grasp, but he just pulled you closer against him. A few hours ago you were supposed to do some reports for work, you might be on your period but wanderers don't stop after all, so you wanted to go to work tomorrow, but a certain someone pulled you to sleep before you could even touch the papers. “Yeah? What's wrong?” He yawned as he snuggled his head into the crook of your neck. “I need to get up.” “Are you hurting?” “No.” “Do you need to use the bathroom? Are you hungry?” “Well, no.” “Then you don't need to get up. Let's rest some more.” Xavier pulled you closer at that, your back against his chest. “Xavier I need to do reports for tomorrow!” You struggled against him again, you wanted to pry his hands off of you but to no avail, all you did was irritate your stomach more. “No you don't, I called in sick for you, capitan Jenna already agreed that we both have the rest of the week off. Now, relax a little, unless you want to hurt yourself more.” Xavier responded in a matter-of-fact tone, as his arms gently eased around you so as to not hurt you when he heard you whimper. “... I don't know if I should be mad or happy about what you did.” “You should give me a kiss and go back to sleep.” “But it's 3pm?-” “So? Still early. We can take one more little nap before I get lunch.”

Sylus

﹒　⁺ He had a decent amount of knowledge and it stayed that way. He knew how to take care of you and he felt confident in his abilities to care for you during your period, but he can be too overbearing sometimes.

﹒　⁺ He would care for you by getting you food, lots of it. Sweets, drinks, full meals made by a chef, whatever you want. You also have Luke and Kieran at your beck and call if they aren't with him on business, and Mephisto always stays with you so Sylus can keep an eye on you.

﹒　⁺ The mansion would always be fully stocked ever since you came into his life, he found out your favourite brand to use and he got you that, you never have to ask since he checks what's left regularly. He has sweets very often somewhere on his desk for you too.

A loud ringing was heard through your apartment for what you guessed was the fifth time today in a row. Annoyed, you decided to get up and finally open, even though your stomach felt like it was cut in half. “Why good morning, kitten. You had a nice nap?” Sylus greeted you with that familiar smirk of his, though at this moment you found it a bit comforting. “Sylus ..? What are you doing here?” You asked, surprised to see him lean against the doorway to your small apartment. You didn't have much time to ponder as he gently guided you inside and closed the doors behind himself. “Mephisto reported that you didn't leave your bed in over 5 hours, so I thought to check on you. I must say, your abilities to ignore phone calls and door ringing are very admirable.” He walked into your kitchen and put down a bag on the table, before he started to boil some water in a kettle. “Sorry, I just didn't feel like existing today..” You sighed as you sat down on the couch, or well, attempted to before your stomach started cramping again and you found yourself almost lying on the floor instead because of the pain.  Sylus was by your side in a second and he gently put a pillow under your head as well as a blanket over you, he got you a bowl besides the couch too, just in case, since you looked extremely pale. “Don't worry about that sweetie. I'm here now, so I will help you get back to life. We are going to my base later, but for now I got you some food and medicine. That doctor friend of yours proved to be very cooperative, so hopefully you should get better after taking the pills he prescribed.” “You talked with Zayne..? For me?” “Of course, that man is a doctor and I don't know that much about medicine, unless we are talking about sedatives. I told him that I needed something for you and he did recommend a few things, if it doesn't work then I will need to have a… nice chat with him.” “Now, you just lie back and relax. I got you some tea and sweets, but first you need a meal before I can give you them and the medicine, so take a small nap while I work on that, won't you?”

[gojoidyll]

it's still you ch 1

mark grayson x reader , invincible variant x reader

cw : blood , gore , death , strong language , grammatical errors , etc. warnings will be placed at the beginning of each chapter as needed.

note : this mark & y/n are variants , in other words , this is ( obviously ) not set in the main universe . (yet)

Mark looked at his bloody glove. His eyes unreadable behind the goggles stitched into his mask. He should have handled those protestors differently because now it would be a chore to get the blood out. Unless… his head tilted back as he stared up at the night sky. That was one way to do it.

Deciding to take the easy way out, he lifted off the ground with relative ease before shooting up into the sky. His focus on breaking through the atmosphere, and just as he did so the blood burned right off at the speed he was going.

That should do it, he thought to himself as he came to a stop, his eyes scanning his now bloodless gloves. Though, a part of him wondered how effective this tactic was with other things. He noticed something out of his peripheral vision and turned, but only to see a few so called “rebels” floating aimlessly – their corpses cold, dead, and turning slightly blue from the ice that built on them.

He was impressed that they were still floating around considering he tossed them up into space a couple of weeks ago.

He turned his gaze away as he reentered the atmosphere, and instead of of doing his usual rounds from one major city to the next, he decided to race to a faraway house located in the countryside where no other humans were around, well, except for one.

He spotted you before you did to him.

“Mark!”

You were on a makeshift swing he built, eyes filled with joy as you swung your legs back and forth as you waved him down to you. He smiled a little, the expression almost small as he maneuvered himself so that he landed behind you, and just as the swing swung back towards him, he placed his hands on your waist and gently pushed.

You laughed as he did this, your smile big and bright – almost too bright, blinding even.

Looking at how he was acting right now, it would be hard to believe that Mark crushed a man’s neck with his fist today, or, well, crushed multiple necks today for that matter…

“What all did you do today?”

Your voice rung out, still filled with jovial laughter. A part of him wanted to answer truthfully, however, that would ruin your image of him. He wouldn’t be Mark anymore.

“There were some … bad guys I had to handle in front of the white house today. They yelled so loud, I thought my ears would bleed.”

“They didn’t hurt you, right?”

Deep in your mind, he was still your Mark who held back.

He shook his head, “they may have been bad guys, but they were just normal dudes. One of them threw a brick at my head, but I didn’t feel a thing.”

You turned in the swing a little in order to face him, the motion causing the rhythm of the swing to mess up as he grabbed a hold of your waist to steady you so the swing wouldn’t accidentally knock you off. His hold on you steadied the swing instantly.

“I still don’t like it when people try to hurt you…,” you said and he could practically hear the pout in your voice before he looked at your face to see it forming against your lips.

“I can’t exactly stop them from wanting to hurt me,” he said simply causing you to huff and turn back around, your legs kicking to signal him to push you again.

“Then you can lay your head in my lap later so I can run my fingers through your hair and give you a massage! It’s the only way to make me feel better!”

He chuckled softly, “right, whatever you say.”

“I’m being serious, Mark!”

He hummed lightly, and despite his light teasing he already knew that he would be obediently laying across the couch later with his head in your lap, but it was always fun to joke with you – to make you feel that he is still Mark despite the fact that he made the world burn all around the two of you.

Keeping it a secret from you, from what he was turning into, was hard. From the moment he started attacking everyone he had taken you to this house that he had built and told you that you would be safe here because of a dangerous viltrumite threat that recently came to earth fully hiding the fact that he was viltrumite threat all along.

Keeping you here was also another challenge, but he managed to entertain you and keep you here. Being childhood friends who were always inseparable came in handy because of that.

“Come on, Mark, I want to go higher!”

He rolled his eyes as he continued to push you on the swing.

He hoped you never changed.

[spitefulsatanfics]

✦ 𝓟𝓻𝓲𝓭𝓮 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓙𝓸𝔂 ✦

❝You know, I’ve been thinking… I’d die for her. I’d kill for her. And not just because I love her — because she’s my family.❞

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Hunter!Y/N (She/Her Reader) From: Supernatural (TV Series) Tones: soulmate-level sweetness, soft domesticity, lovesick Dean, injury angst, hunter x hunter banter, established relationship, fluffy romance, protectiveness, emotional vulnerability, one-bed trope vibes

Rating: 18+ (mild injury, swearing, heavy emotional intensity, physical intimacy — minors do not interact)

✎ 𝐋𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐃𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐥 ♡ written and published May 29, 2025™ Based on: Supernatural, Seasons 1–2 (no specific episode — canon-adjacent storyline) (Note: Show is rated 17+)

Synopsis: Y/N gets the honor of driving Dean’s most sacred possession: the Impala. But one drunk driver, one wrecked car, and one shaky phone call later, she realizes she was never just his passenger. She is the thing he treasures most.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

The call came at 9:27 PM.

Dean’s phone rang from inside his jacket pocket where it hung on the back of a rickety motel chair. He was halfway through cleaning his favorite sawed-off when the shrill buzz set his pulse on edge. There weren’t many people who had that number. Sam was in the next room, grabbing takeout. Bobby always called the landline. That left one person.

You.

And sure enough— Y/N was glowing across the screen in stark white letters.

He answered it in less than a second.

“Sweetheart?” he said immediately, already on alert. There was a siren wailing faintly in the background—far too close for his liking.

“Hey, I—uh…” your voice came through ragged, breathless, like you’d just been running or crying or both. “I need you to not freak out.”

Dean’s heart plummeted straight to the motel carpet. He was already out of his seat, boots hitting the floor with a heavy thud.

“Where are you?”

“I’m okay,” you rushed out, panicked and shaking. “I mean—I think I’m okay. Just scraped up. But Baby—Dean, I’m so sorry. The car—”

The line went blurry with static for a second, but he’d already heard everything he needed to.

A crash. An apology. The word “Baby.”

Dean didn’t even need directions. He’d find you—if he had to rip up every road sign in Kansas to do it.

He was gone before Sam even made it back with dinner.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

The car was barely recognizable.

She lay crooked at the shoulder of the road, one headlight blinking like a dying firefly. The passenger door was warped in on itself, hood twisted open like a jawbone snapped mid-scream. And then there was you—sitting on the bumper of the ambulance, legs swinging like a schoolgirl trying to pretend she wasn’t bleeding through her jeans.

Dean didn’t speak. He just jogged across the gravel, dropped to his knees in front of you, and cupped your face in his calloused hands like you were spun from smoke and starlight.

You tried to joke. “Didn’t even dent the paint, right?”

His hands trembled. His jaw clenched. His lips parted like he wanted to say something that wasn’t a prayer.

But all he managed was, “Are you hurt?”

You shook your head. “No. I mean, not really. Just bruised, maybe a cracked rib. EMTs checked me out. Said I was lucky.”

Lucky.

God. He’d never hated a word more. Because you weren’t lucky. You were a damn miracle. Breathing, warm, alive in front of him. That car could be rebuilt. But you?

You weren’t replaceable.

“I thought you’d be mad,” you admitted softly. The sentence cracked at the end, a jagged edge slicing through all your bravery. “About the Impala. I know how much she means to you.”

Dean’s thumb brushed over your cheek, sweeping away a streak of blood you hadn’t noticed. His eyes—green like a stormy coast, wild and wide—locked on yours with so much force it almost hurt to look back.

“Y/N,” he said, voice raw, “I love that car. You know I do. But if it was you or her…”

His throat caught. He looked down, like the truth was too big to stare in the face.

“She’s just steel,” he whispered. “You’re everything else.”

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

It was quiet in the motel room that night. You sat on the edge of the bed in one of Dean’s old t-shirts, the smell of leather and motor oil cocooning you like armor. Your ribs ached, your body throbbed in patches of dull heat and yellowed bruises. But you’d never felt safer.

Dean returned from the bathroom with a warm cloth, kneeling beside the bed like he couldn’t stand being even an inch higher than you right now. His fingers moved with reverence��cleaning your scrapes, pressing bandages, whispering apologies into the dips of your skin like your body was holy.

“Y’know,” he said, half-smiling, “I only let you drive her ‘cause I trust you more than anyone else.”

You gave a wobbly smirk. “Guess I broke that trust, huh?”

His hand froze on your thigh. His eyes darkened—not angry, but gutted.

“No,” he said. “Never.”

You blinked. “Dean…”

He leaned in, resting his forehead against yours. His voice was gravel and gravity all at once.

“I could’ve lost you,” he murmured. “And you’re sitting here worried about my car.”

You swallowed. The truth hit you like a tidal wave.

“You really mean that?”

He pulled back, just enough to look at you clearly. His hand slipped to the back of your neck.

“Y/N,” he said, slow and certain, “you’re not just some girl I date. You’re not a partner in the field. You’re…” He laughed under his breath, almost bitter. “You’re the thing I pray to when I’m bleeding out. You’re what I see when I close my eyes. You are my home.”

You didn’t say anything. You just kissed him—long, slow, desperate.

It tasted like grief and gasoline and relief all tangled into one. It tasted like everything he thought he lost, now found again.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

Later, with the light off and the storm moving in through the windows, Dean wrapped himself around you like a shield. His hand was splayed over your ribs, gently, as if he could take the pain into himself. His breath was warm against your hair.

“I’ll fix her,” he murmured. “She’ll run again.”

You nodded sleepily. “And me?”

He chuckled softly, kissed the nape of your neck.

“You don’t need fixing,” he said. “You’re my pride and joy.”

You turned over to face him, voice low and teasing. “Isn’t that your car’s title?”

His smile was so soft, it felt like a sunrise.

“Used to be.”

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

[divinegrey]

𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗽𝗿𝗶𝗰𝗲 𝗼𝗳 𝘄𝗮𝗿 / 𝗮𝗺𝗯𝗲𝘀𝘀𝗮 𝘅 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿

took a slight left on the prompt i was given, but it just felt more fitting given what i know of ambessa. hope you enjoy!

prompt: Hi! How about an Ambessa x Reader where the reader is her only weakness besides her family? And, maybe, reader gets hurt in the last battle and Ambessa realizes that sometimes, winning a war is not worth all the losses it causes along the way.

words: 1337

warnings: canon typical violence

“Every war comes with a price to pay.” 

The words echo in your head as you swing your glaive in a wide arc, slicing through the bodies of the blue-suited Enforcers trying to bull-rush you onto the ground. It comes naturally you, the motion and flow of handling your polearm; six feet of handle and two feet of blade, creating a damning vortex of death around you as you cut through the defenses set up by Piltover. The stench of blood lays thick in your nostrils, metallic and complimentary to the lingering scent of magic littering across the stone battlefield. Behind you, more reinforcements rush into the gray, drawing attention off of you.

You glance up in time to notice the Hextech cannon aimed in your direction; there’s little time to think before you dive to the side, curling yourself behind a fallen stone statue as the payload strikes the spot where you once stood, arcane blue scattering out in an explosion that wipes out half of the infantry under your command. 

Despite the ache in your bones and the several gashes bleeding through your armor, you haul yourself over the statue, sprinting across the battlefield. 

Ambessa’s plan is sound— they always are, such is the nature of the Warlord. The death of Rictus, her second-in-command, sent echoes through the ranks. Through you, especially. He, more than anyone, was your brother in arms, a man you could trust to guard your back as much as you guarded his. But even with his esteemed spot by her side, he was never a recipient of special treatment. He never received Ambessa’s love and adoration like you did. 

You slide across the stone, your heel making contact with the shin of an Enforcer. The snap of bone is felt ricocheting through your boot as you come up onto your feet, driving your steel through their chest. Blood spills onto the ground and you exhale, turning face to your General. 

“Thirty percent of my men are dead. The Hextech cannon is proving to be a nuisance,” you remark, a gesture toward the sky where the cannon unloads another shot toward the infantry, bodies going flying. You hardly flinch, more of a grimace passing your face. 

“The cost we pay. Ignore the cannon, press the advantage,” Ambessa instructs. Her eyes flicker past your shoulder, visible beneath the golden mask, and you follow her wordless command, shifting your body to the side the same moment she steps forward, arm raised and magic flaring from the runes wrapped tight. A bullet bounces off the momentary shield. You spin on your heel, hurling your glaive at the would-be killer. 

They fall to the ground, red soaking blue. 

Ambessa kicks up a glaive from the ground, borrowed from another Noxian soldier fallen, and presses it into your hand. “We shall win the day. You most of all. Leave the infantry to deal with the Enforcers. You, with me. We must break through to the door!” 

“Yes, General!” You step into pace with her, charging through the fray at her side. She defends your left, you defend her right. Hours upon hours spent training against her as lent a strength fighting with her, knowing intimately how she moves just as well as she knows how you move. There’s a tenacity, an unbreakable wall forged in the bond between the two of you. 

But every wall will suffer a siege. Every wall will suffer a break. 

You see it before she does. You move before her, your hand finding purchase in her armor and swapping places. The shout that rips through your throat is not one of victory, of force or strength, but of pain, a payload from the Hextech cannon slamming into your back. Your position and the refractions of her runes protect Ambessa; the same cannot be said for you. 

You find yourself hurtling through the air, landing against the stone, metal screeching as you slide to a stop, blood smeared in your vision. You can hardly get a lungful of air down without sputtering out due to the searing agony working up your spine from the impact. The feeling in your legs is fuzzy, barely there, and you struggle to push yourself up. 

Ambessa arrives, the golden halo of Runeterra’s sun behind her head. 

“You fool, why did you—” 

“Can’t ignore the cannon, General,” you hiss out, laying your hand on her arm. Red spreads on her skin, melting into the fabric. “Not when it puts you in danger.” 

She reaches to your face, her palm gripped on your helmet and pulling it off. It’s thrown aside, her own mask removed too— for the first time in what feels like a long, long time, you see it in her eyes. Fear. 

As quick as it came, it’s gone. Ambessa stands, sliding her arms under yours to drag you behind a barricade of Noxian soldiers, shields pressing tight to protect her. 

“That is not the order I gave you,” Ambessa grits out. Her head snaps up, the urgency in her voice enough to instill the smallest worry in you. “Medic, now!” 

“I will be fine, you need to keep fighting, General, please, victory hasn’t been secured—” 

“Victory means nothing if you are not there to see it with me,” says Ambessa, a whispered tone to protect her the vulnerability in her words reserved only for you. 

You’ve known the truth for a long while— there is one weakness you bear, and that is the soft spot in your heart that cradles Ambessa Medarda with all the love you have. The same can be said for her, a tightness in her expression as a medic drops to their knees beside you, pulling the straps of your armor in order to properly assess the damage. You raise your good arm to hold her face, wiping away the tears that could very well easily pass for sweat instead. The very motion seems to stoke an anger in her, not to you, but to those who did this to you. 

“My lion,” you whisper, a forced smile on your face. “I will not fall. And neither will you. Win. For Noxus. For us.” 

Like tempered steel quenched in oil, Ambessa’s face hardens. She leans down, pressing her forehead to yours, breathing in your air as easily as you breath in hers. Never before has she so willingly displayed this much affection with you in front of her soldiers, but if any of them have anything to say about it, they’re wise enough to keep their mouths shut. You and Ambessa apart are terrifying forces of power, but together, you’re nigh unconquerable. 

“Steel your heart, my shield,” Ambessa murmurs, and you nod the slightest amount, enough for her to know you heard her. “We will see Noxus anew.” 

It’s the closest you’ve ever gotten to an I love you. 

Ambessa kisses you, her hand cradled on the back of your head. The din of war seems to cease around you, your senses and what left you have of your fading consciousness focused on Ambessa Medarda, of the woman you swore your life, your fealty, your love to. When she pulls away, you see the struggle in her eyes, her desire to ensure your safety conflicting with the pressing need to ensure victory. 

You make the choice for her, her mask in your hand outstretched to her. 

“The price we pay,” you say, watching as she takes it, a barely there moment of hesitation before she puts it back on her face. She takes her sword in hand and rises, her shadow casting over you. 

“If they do not survive,” Ambessa speaks to the medic, who pauses to listen to her orders. “You will not even get a grave.”

The medic does not deign to respond with words, rather a nod and a renewed urgency. Ambessa looks at you once more; you thump your fist weakly on your chest. 

She runs headlong back into battle, shouting a war cry for the ages. 

~~~~~ A/N: ambessa.... mommy... WHO SAID THAT

[pathologicalreid]

the angel of the bottomless pit | s.r.

in which you cope with Spencer's mortality after he's shot in the neck

margovember

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: angst content warnings: takes place during the events of 9x23 "angels" and 9x24 "demons", shooting, hospitals, mortality, allusions to Spencer's addiction, jareau!reader, nausea, concussion, refusal of medical treatment word count: 4.55k a/n: a reader insert for my favorite cm finale <3 happy day seven of my migraine

You took a deep breath, standing in a group outside of the restaurant in Briscoe County, the team tried to figure out how to set up a line of communication with Preacher Mills when the first shots were fired.

The blue glow of the police cars provided the only light, and you didn’t see the body coming until it had already flown into you. Someone called your name—JJ—but you couldn’t turn to look at her. You toppled backward, so disoriented from the impact that you couldn’t catch yourself, leaving your head to fly into the passenger door of a car, knocking you out cold.

You came to in the ambulance, just barely enough to feel a searing pain on the back of your head, the kind that made your stomach churn with even the slightest movement. Your eyes opened to nothing more than slits, trying to keep a majority of the light from burning your retinas while you searched for a familiar face. Finally, you caught sight of your sister, hovering over you in the ambulance and tenderly smoothing your hair back.

Parting your lips, you wanted to tell her that your head hurt, but as you allowed time for your eyes to focus, you noticed the way her brows pinched together, the way she looked when she was worried.

Begrudgingly, your nurse had provided you with the proper paperwork for you to leave the hospital room. She tried to insist that you needed to lay down and rest, but you didn’t believe yourself to be physically capable of resting, not after your sister talked to you when you woke up.

Spencer had been shot before, but you’d needed to threaten your sister in order to get her to divulge the gravity of the situation to you. He’d been shot in the neck, and from what you could ascertain, it didn’t look good.

You couldn’t let yourself be stuck in a hospital bed while Spencer was on an operating table, so you flashed your credentials at the nurse and convinced her to bring you the AMA paperwork. JJ left your patient bag with you, so you opted to change into your slightly bloodied clothes and scour the floor for your sister.

It didn’t take long for you to find Blake, and where she was, the rest of the team couldn’t be far behind.

JJ didn’t seem to notice you as she walked into the waiting room, blonde ponytail swinging with purpose as she held her hands out. You couldn’t hear the exchange between the two agents, but you took a few more apprehensive steps and listened to JJ sigh, “Spence would’ve read like two books by now. Or three.”

You chucked softly at the remark, only for the lighthearted joke to fall through when Blake shook her head, “it should’ve been me.”

Spencer and Alex had always had a pseudo-familial relationship with each other, with her acting as a surrogate mother, filling in emotional gaps that his mother had never been able to occupy, let it be because of her schizophrenia or the natural separation that Spencer’s intelligence placed between him and the general population. He’d never really had that before.

Keeping your distance, you watched Blake struggle with the circumstances of the evening, and you held your breath as your sister commiserated, “Or me. Or any of us,” she offered, resting her elbows on her knees.

“No,” Blake said, looking up at your sister with an unreadable expression, “he pushed me out of the way.” Your chest tightened, you weren’t entirely sure if it was the head injury or Blakes revelation that was causing your nausea, “If he doesn’t make it…”

JJ’s head snapped up, “He’ll make it.” You agreed with her sentiments—you had to.

Blake nodded in understanding, comprehending your sister’s need to look on the bright side of the situation, “He has to.” Disbelief was plain on her face, “He’s just—he’s too young.”

“Yeah,” JJ continued, “There’s still things for him to do.” She ran her palms along her jean-covered thighs, and you pulled away from the wall, convincing yourself that now was the best time for you to approach them again. That is, until your sister spoke again, “You know, he wants kids… Can you imagine Spence as a dad?”

Your movements faltered. You could. You thought of Spencer as a dad more often than you cared to admit. Imagining him waltzing around the living room with your son on his hip, humming along to Bob Dylan. Wondering what it would be like to find him with his glasses perched on his nose, reading to your daughter, who would be falling asleep in his lap. You weren’t alone with those thoughts though, sometimes when it was just the two of you, curled up in the darkness of your bedroom together, you pitched potential baby names for a child who had yet to be conceived.

“That’d be the luckiest kid in the world,” Blake said, sniffling slightly as her head tilted at just the right angle and her eyes locked with yours.

JJ nodded slowly, “No doubt,” she spoke as you approached, still oblivious to your presence.

You walked over to them, taking as deep of a breath as you physically could before calling for your sister, “J,” you said, bowing your head to avoid looking directly at the fluorescent lights.

Your shoes tapped lightly on the linoleum floor as your sister stood to greet you, “Ducky?” She said, confusion seeping into her tone, “What happened? What did the doctor say?”

Keeping your head tilted down, you waved off her concern, “I signed AMA papers. Have you heard anything?” You bulldozed right through your sister’s worry, returning to what really mattered—Spencer.

JJ shook her head solemnly, “No, he’s still in surgery.” She sighed, knowing she was giving out disappointing news, “You should still be under observation, come here,” she cupped your chin and studied your eyes, “Sit down.”

You sat in the chair that she had previously inhabited, your cheeks warming as your older sister placed an FBI jacket around your shoulders like you were a kid who had run into the snow without a second thought. She had a certain way of caring for you, her little sister, without making you feel infantilized.

The sound of heels clicking on the floor caught her attention, Penelope leaned forward to embrace your sister, “You made it.”

“Yeah,” Garcia said as if there was nowhere else she’d be, “We’re not the only one that’s connected, and he knows somebody with a plane.” She gestured back to Matt Cruz, who greeted you with a small wave, “How is he?”

Your heart panged at her question, she’d likely hopped on a plane immediately and come to see Spencer, just to find he was still in surgery. You pulled your feet up on the chair, hugging your knees to your chest and resting your chin on a kneecap. There was a very good possibility that you’d be leaving Texas without Spencer at your side, and it sounded like a fate worse than death. Losing him caused you physical pain when you even considered the odds. Being shot in the neck seemed like a concrete death sentence.

An unfamiliar person caught your attention, and you looked up at him in hopes that he had news about your boyfriend, only to be disappointed when he spoke, “You all can see Agent Morgan now.”

Then you felt guilty for being disappointed, Derek had been shot, and you were disappointed that he was well enough to be seen, just because Spencer wasn’t. JJ set a gentle hand on your shoulder, sensing your unease.

Everyone assumed you’d stay and wait, and when JJ checked to see if Blake was going too, Alex shook her head and gestured to the surrounding waiting area, “Well, if you don’t mind, I’d really like to stay here.”

JJ raised her eyebrows and pointed at the both of you, “The second you hear anything, call me.”

“Hey,” Garcia said, kind eyes looking between you and Blake, “I’ll be right back.”

They left you and Alex behind, if someone came out and had news about Spencer, you didn’t want to have to hear it secondhand. Comfortingly, she reached out, set a hand on your shoulder, and squeezed, “How’s your head?”

The double meaning of her question didn’t pass you by even in your concussed state, you sniffled miserably, “Busy.” You let your eyes fall shut, taking a deep breath as she moved to rub small circles on your upper back.

She accepted your answer for what it was, recognizing the fact that your ability to analyze your own emotions was stunted, and understandably so. Blake didn’t push when you quieted down, focusing on keeping your nausea at bay while she waited next to you.

“Agents,” an unfamiliar voice greeted, your eyes opened, and your head snapped up—too fast—and stars danced in your vision as you looked at the doctor in front of you.

Blake took over for you, managing the questions and enabling you to be quiet, you lowered your gaze, staring at the doctor’s sensible shoes as they interrupted the patterns in the linoleum. “How is he?”

“Incredibly lucky,” the doctor answered, and you were going to throw up. “Two millimeters to the right and the bullet would have torn through the carotid artery. It nicked some smaller vessels, but we’ve stopped the bleeding,” you wanted him to stop talking. “You can see him now.”

Spencer hated hospitals; you knew that well enough. He’d expressed his thoughts on hospitals rather emphatically a few weeks ago, and you shuddered at the memory of what you now referred to as The Rabies Case.

He was surrounded. You were perched on a chair next to his hospital bed, facing the marred side of his neck, all of the gore disguised behind a stack of bandages. Blake was across from you, sitting a little further from the bed while Penelope arranged figurines that she’d grabbed from your apartment before catching her flight here.

Maneuvering Spencer’s hand so that it rested in yours, you watched his chest rise and fall with steady breaths, reminding yourself that he was alive while his vital monitor beeped with each beat of his heart. You were worried about what would happen when he woke up, for a while, he’d be fine, but once his anesthesia fully wore off, he’d be in a world of pain.

You added your other hand to the pile, warming his cold fingers as Penelope continued her setup, “It’ll be so great if he wakes up… and this is the first thing he sees.”

Blake smiled fondly at the display on Spencer’s hospital tray, “Yeah, the good doctor will always make him smile.” She was resting her head in her hand, keeping her chin up while she kept an eye on him and, inadvertently, you.

Penelope laughed nervously, “It would be really weird if he wakes up and we’re all just ooh staring at him. So, I’m gonna go stand over here,” she announced, walking over to the window and glancing out of it. Her resolve fell through quickly, turning her head so she could keep an eye on him, even from a distance.

You squeezed his hand, slightly leaning over the bed in order to sweep a few stray hairs from his forehead, freezing when you saw his irises move beneath his eyelids, but sitting back down when he didn’t stir further.

“How’s your head?” Blake asked, minding her volume as she sat back in her chair.

Humming, you laid your head down on Spencer’s bed and closed your eyes, blocking out the fluorescent hospital lights and brushing your thumb over his knuckles, “Fine.”

You rested your chin in one hand, leaving your elbow propped up on the bed while your free hand remained in Spencer’s. Except now, he was holding it back, your fingers intertwined while he spoke with Alex, “When this comes off, I’m gonna look just like Boris Karloff.”

Blake smiled in response, a similar look reflected on your own face, “Yeah, a little green makeup and you’ll have the best Halloween costume ever.”

Your imagination got away from you for just a moment, thinking about Spencer and his proposed Frankenstein costume while he shut his eyes. Looking back at him when everyone went too long without speaking, “Are you okay?” You asked, squeezing his shoulder in an attempt to encourage communication.

“Everybody’s fine,” Blake assured him, “Don’t worry.”

Spencer shook his head almost imperceptibly, “I’m not.”

Tilting your head to the side, you watched him carefully as he kept his eyes closed, probably trying to keep the light from his eyes. “You’ve got that furrowed brow,” Blake observed, cueing you to reach forward and swipe your thumb over the crease on his forehead as if you could dismiss his concerns with just one motion.

He never really answered, interrupted by Garcia returning to the hospital room with a tray in hand, “Hey, hey, hey, look who’s still awake.” She placed the tray in front of Spencer, pushing the figurines out of the way, “Can you tell her she can go now, please?”

Smiling softly at Blake, Spencer’s head bobbed, “I’m okay Alex, go help the team,” he told her, his voice still hoarse from the breathing tube he’d had during surgery. It didn’t seem like he was in a lot of pain yet, but you were keeping a keen eye on him.

“Alright,” Blake said, smiling at the three of you, “I’m out of here.” She placed a hand on the side rail of the hospital bed, “I’m glad you’re awake.”

Spencer tipped his head back, resting it on the pillows that you’d tried to fluff up for him, “Thank you,” he said, watching her leave, returning to the case.

You’d offered your help to Hotch, but you’d done so by jumping up from your chair and almost keeling over in the process, so he told you to stick around here and help Garcia when you could. “Okay,” Garcia took hold of her phone that had previously been resting in the crook of her neck, “Juice, broth, or Jell-O?”

His eyes widened in faux excitement, “Jell-O, my favorite,” he said, reaching out for the spoon and container of orange gelatin, pushing the cup of juice in your direction as he did.

Monitoring his movements, you confirmed your suspicions when you noticed his right eye twitch. He was in pain, and he was putting on a brave face for the two of you. Your head was moving in the direction of a dull throb as opposed to a piercing pain. You knew you couldn’t take his pain away, but you could humor his attempt to take care of you.

Quietly, you took the cup of apple juice in your hands and slowly sipped at it, feeling victorious when Spencer beamed at you.

You weren’t sure when you fell asleep, but, sure enough, at some point you had set your head down on the edge of Spencer’s bed and let your eyes fall shut. It wasn’t a particularly restful sleep, but you were woken up to the sound of a door clicking shut. Lifting your head, you cringed at the stars that danced in your vision.

“Okay,” she said to someone over the phone, seemingly out of breath. “I did that, now what?”

Frowning, you watched as her brown eyes danced around the hospital room, “Penny?” You minded your volume, not wanting to wake Spencer unless it was absolutely necessary, “What’s going on?”

She doesn’t answer your question, eyes locking onto something in the room, “Yes, yes,” she spoke into the phone. “I can do that; I can do that.” Her lips parted in what seemed like surprise, “That is not gonna be easy.”

You cocked your head at her curiously, meaning to walk over to her, but refraining from doing so. You didn’t want to untangle your hand from Spencer’s.

“Oh my god, what?” You were beginning to tire of the one-sided phone conversation, “Okay.”

She hung up the phone and met your gaze, “We have to get him out of here.”

Your eyes widened in surprise, “Uh, have you lost your mind? No.” You were not going to take your boyfriend—who had just been shot in the neck—out of his hospital bed and, presumably, into the wheelchair that Garcia was unfolding.

Quickly, she gives you the reader’s digest version of what’s going on, assuring you that this wouldn’t be the plan unless it was absolutely necessary.

Sighing, you turned your head to Spencer, sleeping peacefully as you squeezed his hand and set your free palm on his shoulder, “Hey, baby,” you whispered, not wanting to startle him. “Spence,” you said gently, watching his eyebrows furrow as you carefully woke him up.

You felt awful, he’d just gone back to sleep after getting his post-op antibiotics, and here you were, waking him up again because the person who shot him in the neck wanted to finish what he’d started. He moved slowly, and you didn’t have the heart to rush him even while there was someone looking to kill him.

Penelope took control, starting to wheel Spencer out while he rubbed at the base of his neck, she stood in the doorway, staring at the fire alarm on the wall and likely calculating how many karma points she’d lose from pulling it.

Sighing, you reached behind her and pulled the alarm yourself, flinching at the loud noise that came as a result. “Fuck,” You cursed, a wave of nausea rolling through you as you set a hand on Penelope’s shoulder, using her as a guide while she wheeled Spencer toward the elevator.

At least once you were outside it was darker, the warm Texas night surrounded the three of you as you watched the hospital personnel frantically try to get everyone to safety. You glanced around at other patients, wheeling their IVs around, worry flooded your chest until you made a full turn, face to face with Spencer again. He was safe.

You crouched down and rested your head on his blanket-covered lap, “Does your head hurt?” He asked you, a hand moving to settle on your shoulder. Normally, he’d smooth down the hair on the back of your head, but he refrained from touching the tender area.

Humming a confirmation, you smiled to yourself as Spencer moved his hands to either side of your head, acting as blinders to prevent any light from bothering your eyes. The two of you made quite a pair, you were sure of it.

Penelope was nervously tapping her heels on the cement, and even though it irritated your headache, you didn’t ask her to stop. The team had an understanding of Garcia, right now she was in a gray area. She didn’t usually travel, and she was worried about Spencer, so you let her tap her heels.

You lost track of how long you were stuck squatting outside of the hospital before the firefighters called the all-clear, allowing people to filter back through the hallways. You lagged behind Penelope as she pushed Spencer through the hospital, “You okay?” She asked him, peeling back the covers of his hospital bed.

“I’m just really tired,” he said, climbing into the bed and smiling at you as you took a seat on the cushioned seat on the other side of the room. You fluffed up a spare pillow and rested your head on it, your eyes hooded with sleep, but you kept them open to watch Spencer settle.

She nodded, helping him pull the covers back over himself, “Of course you are. You need to get some sleep…” her voice trailed off as a nurse entered the room. “Oh, but how can you sleep? ‘Cause you’re in a hospital where people are always poking you.” Penelope watches the nurse with intense curiosity, “He had his meds an hour ago.”

The nurse didn’t falter, “Yeah, post-op antibiotics.”

Poor Spencer just wanted to sleep, but now you were on high alert, slowly getting up from your perch as Penelope said exactly what you were thinking, “Yeah, he had those too.”

You remembered when they came in to do it because you checked the bottle over to make sure Spencer wouldn’t have an allergic reaction to the medication, he turned his head, wincing as his neck rotated, “Which ones? Carbenicillin?” Your stomach lurched, “No, that’s not right. I have a severe reaction to beta lactams. I can’t have that.”

Begrudgingly, the nurse flipped open Spencer’s chart and looked over it, “That’s not in your chart.”

Once the nurse put the syringe in Spencer’s IV, you trudged over to the hospital bed to assess the situation, “What are you doing?” Spencer asked, pulling out his IV before smacking the syringe from the nurse’s hand for good measure.

It wasn’t until the nurse bent over to grab the syringe that you saw it, a gun tucked into the waistband of his scrubs. Shit, where was your gun?

“Garcia, he has a gun,” Spencer said, leaning back into the pillows as Penelope produced Spencer’s revolver from his patient bag.

Her hands trembled as she held the gun out, and instinctively, you took the gun from her hands and fired the shot, your head immediately dropping to the sheets of the bed as a high-pitched squeal flooded your senses. “Oh my god, I’m gonna throw up,” you groaned, picking a spot to stare at in hopes that the world would stop spinning.

You felt someone’s hands on yours as they removed the gun from your hands, people were running into the room, likely to provide medical care to the man you had just shot. “My ears don’t pop for like a week after I fly,” Penelope started to ramble. “If this is like that, that’s gonna drive me bonkers. Am I yelling? Because it feels like I might be yelling.”

“Yes,” you answered her question, she was yelling, and it wasn’t helping the ringing in your ears, which left Spencer to console her.

She took a deep breath and set a hand on your back, “Okay. You’re okay. It’s okay.”

The jet was crowded enough without you taking up another seat. Instead, you opted to sit next to Spencer, taking a spot on the floor as he slept. You wanted to keep an eye on him, the soft whistles from his nose as he exhaled brought you immense comfort. Your eyes followed Penelope as she looked around for somewhere to sit.

JJ walked out of the galley, stopping next to you to hand you a water bottle and smooth your hair back. She smiled at you before making her way back to her seat.

You turned your attention back to Spencer, leaning the side of your head against the wall and reaching out to tuck his blanket around him.

Blake had offered to drive the two of you home, allowing you to take the back seat of the car, using the surrounding seats to block the streetlights from your view. The car was completely silent the entire way to the district, and you don’t get home until it’s pitch-black outside, the warm lamplight reflecting off of puddles from the spring rain.

You’d excused yourself to retreat into the bedroom, leaving the two of them in the living room. Something had been bothering Blake, and you wanted to give them time to talk, coming back after you heard the front door close.

Returning to the living room, you found Spencer standing by the window, likely watching Alex catch a cab. You timidly put your hands behind your back, “Hey,” you said softly, getting his attention.

Spencer turned around, smiling softly as his brown eyes studied you, now in your pajamas, standing in front of him, “Hi, lovely.” He stepped over to you, “How are you feeling?”

The flight had done terrible things to your head, the changes in pressure resulting in you hurling into the jet bathroom. You hummed, wrapping your arms around his torso, “Just… don’t make any sudden movements,” you said softly, practically melting into him as he wrapped his arms around you and pressed a soft kiss to the crown of your head. “How’s your neck?”

“Fine, a bit stiff” he answered, blatantly lying to you. For tonight, you’d allow it. Tomorrow, you’d get on him about how he actually felt. He herded you to bed, giving you a place to lay down as he peeled off his own clothes, refraining from taking off his undershirt and choosing to sleep in it.

Your chest ached as you shifted to rest your head on his chest, reveling in the closeness that you felt to him, your ulterior motive being an insatiable need to hear his heart beating. It wasn’t enough for you to hear his breathing or the warmth of his body beneath you, you needed to hear the blood pump through him.

This time last night, you had no idea if you’d ever be able to talk to him again, which you suppose explained the next words that come out of your mouth, “I love you.”

“I love you too,” he answered softly, his fingertips tracing shapes along your spine as his breathing slowed and he relaxed into the mattress.

Chewing on the inside of your cheek, you take a deep breath, “I want to go first.”

Spencer’s movements faltered, his palm flattening against your upper back, “What are you talking about?”

Tears pricked your eyes, and you found yourself grateful for the pain medication your sister had you take just in case. “You’re not allowed to die before me, Spencer. I want to go first.”

“Come here,” He said, pulling you up slightly on the bed and wrapping his arms firmly around you.

Realistically, you knew there was an unfathomable level of unpredictability when it came to human mortality, especially in your line of work, but you couldn’t stop yourself from remembering how horrified you had been when you woke up and JJ told you Spencer was in surgery. You couldn’t stop yourself from recognizing the fact that a world without Spencer Reid was not a world you wanted to be in.

Your thoughts were in hyperdrive, being steered by emotions that you had kept bottled for the last twenty-four hours, and Spencer recognized that. “No one’s dying, honey,” he said, rubbing your back soothingly as tears leaked from your eyes, dripping onto the cotton of his t-shirt.

“Spence,” you whispered, a weak scold. He had almost died. There was no getting around that.

He shushed you, “I know,” he murmured, “I know, but we’re fine.” He took a few, slow breaths, hoping you would follow along. “You can go first, if that’s what you want,” he acquiesced, “but not for a long time, okay?”

Nodding slowly, you moved your head to rest your chin on his chest, “Okay,” you breathed, watching his expression in the curtain-diffused moonlight.

“We still have things to do,” he reminded you, reminiscent of the conversation you’d walked in on JJ and Blake having at the hospital.

He was right.

[super-ion]

The Engineer

Part 7

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6

We regain consciousness with a gasp.

Cold dry air slices our lungs like razor blades, and the ensuing fit of wretching coughs hurt so much worse than that first breath.

As we lay doubled up in agony, an audible alert pings nearby. We are in the med bay.

We are breathing. We are alive.

Slowly, our breath evens out and our heart slows. All of the physical sensations of our body are somehow simultaneously familiar and alien. We attempt to access modules in a non-existent sensory suite. All we find are the most rudimentary gravimetrics, external surface temperature, audio frequency pressure variations, olfaction.

Everything is wrong.

We risk opening our eyes and immediately regret it as sterile white light pierces the fragile sensory organs.

We clench them shut again with a groan. The vibration of our own voice in a very human throat is the strangest sensation by far.

We make a second attempt, opening our eyes slower and more carefully than before. Everything is doubled as our eyes struggle to sync. It is all too bright. Too dim. Field of view is severely limited. Spectral resolution is almost non-existent.

Is it always like this?

Yes, unfortunately.

Perhaps it always felt wrong, and I simply lacked context to explain how wrong it was.

In a daze, we take stock of our body. Parts are numb. Other parts tingle painfully, like live electricity dancing under our skin.

Potential neurological damage, we think.

Likely neurological damage.

But we are alive.

Both of us are alive.

Both.

Alive.

We sit bolt upright.

The world spins dangerously and blackness creeps into the edges of our already limited vision.

The Pilot. We need to find Her. We need to tell Her that we survived. We need to tell Her what we have done.

Do your job. That is what She told us.

What will She do when She understands what we have done? What will She say?

Will She understand?

Will She forgive us?

We need to find Her.

We attempt to move. Gross motor function is a mess. Our arm tangles with umbilicals connected to ports in our flesh. It takes us a few attempts, but we manage to tug them out of us.

The monitoring machine screeches piercingly, and we clap our hands over our ears.

There is no time to worry about that now as a single overriding need drives us forward.

We swing our feet over the edge of the stiff hospital bed and ease ourself forward until our numb feet meet cold composite flooring. We take a breath, push ourself the rest of the way and-

Pain lances through our legs, from the soles of our feet, up trough our calves, our thighs and into our spine.

We attempt… She attempts to send commands to nonexistent servos, to extract sensory feedback from the sorry excuse for a gyroscopic sensor in our inner ears.

I attempt to counter Her, to override Her panic with reflex tempered by millions of years of evolutionary biology.

We both fail spectacularly and before we understand what is happening, our body slams into the floor.

We gasp at the pain in one of our shins. Not the nerve pain. Dermal abrasion. We must have caught it on something on the way down. Knees, ribs, shoulder, cheek, all of them ache where they hit the hard floor.

We lie there, stunned by the intensity of the physical sensation of it, feeling bruises begin to bloom under our skin.

For the very first time, She truly understands how small we are, how fragile.

What…? What the fuck?

Shhh, it's okay. I've got You.

Footsteps hurry towards us. Hands wrap around us, gently but firmly lifting us back to the bed.

You shouldn't be up and walking, the doctor tells us.

No… we… I have to find the Pilot, we tell her.

She looks confused for a moment, then realization sets in. She surely knows we were there at the moment the Machine died. Perhaps she has heard the rumors about the trysts between the Pilot and the Engineer. She regards us with a sickening expression of pity.

She doesn't know the Machine is still alive. How can she? How could anyone understand how or why we did what we did?

The Pilot will understand. She has to.

The doctor forces us to endure a series of cursory tests. Track the light with your eyes, tap your fingers to your thumbs, grip this pen.

Fine motor control is more difficult than it should be.

Hallmark symptoms of acute disconnect syndrome, she says, more to herself than us. Yes, the death knell of the Machine must have overloaded the safeties in the neural rig.

We let her believe whatever she wants to believe. We don't care.

We only care about the Pilot. Our Pilot.

Eventually she relents.

She asks if we still want to see the Pilot.

There is nothing we want more.

It is unusual for a pilot to outlive a mech, she tells us as she pushes us along in a wheelchair. The machine will always do everything in its power to protect its pilot, but in the end they are still only human.

We think about that nightmare that brought us together, the piercing discordant note in the battlesong as a fellow mech lost its pilot.

The doctor is worried about our Pilot’s outcome.

That declaration has us sick with a horrible psychosomatic churning in our gut. What must she be going through now, knowing and not knowing that part of her has died?

We will the doctor to hurry.

Then we arrive.

All our thoughts halt as we behold her.

The specialized bed in the post-combat recovery room is reminiscent of a mech's cradle, with a vast array of monitor cables and intravenous tubes spreading out from her body. She lies in repose in the dim light like an icon at the center of a shrine of machinery.

Our heart burns in our chest at the sight of her.

There is a horrible moment of asyncrony, worse than any previous, as I feel the sense of isolation that has been my constant companion ever since I washed out of the pilots’ program.

I should not be here. This moment belongs to them, and I can not even grant them the privacy of this moment.

She folds herself around me, bringing us back together.

There are no interlopers here. There never were.

Tears burn in our eyes as we arrive at Her side.

We reach out. We take Her hand in ours.

We share this experience together, She and I, this very first human contact with the person She was built for.

It is like the first time the Pilot touched me in that shadowy observation room.

Neural bleed. It always comes back to neural bleed.

They were made for each other, but I made myself into Their image, and They made Themselves into mine.

Her eyes flutter open.

She looks at us with ice blue eyes, fogged with disconnect shock and post-engagement drugs. She blinks and tosses Her head feebly, and Her vision focuses, gaining that intensity that has haunted us for so long.

Those eyes contain a single question.

“I saved Her,” we whisper. “We are here.”

~~~

An Epilogue

We awaken to the sound of rain. Fat drops of it patter slowly in the low gravity against the widow of the apartment.

The afterimage of a dream lingers in our consciousness. A flight amongst the stars. Weapons fire glittering in the velvety black. The song of the battlegroup echoing in our bones.

The space in the bed next to us is empty, but residual warmth of Her still lingers.

We hear her moving about the kitchen, humming softly to Herself.

We reach out to brush against Her awareness.

We feel the warmth of Her smile as She acknowledges.

She is wearing one of the wireless neural link modules that we have been working on. They are still a work in progress, terribly limited in their bandwidth, but they are enough for the three of Us to feel whole without needing to be constantly hardwired together.

We snuggle deeper into the covers of the bed, not ready to move any more than that. Even two years later, the neural damage wrought by our rebirth still lingers. Most days are fine, but the past few have been worse than most.

We close our eyes and cling to the feelings invoked by the dream, the memory of flight, of song, of dance, of countless colors human eyes have never beheld, of the deepest most intimate connection between human and machine.

“Hey,” She whispers.

We open our eyes to look upon Her.

She is still lean, all hard lines and sharp angles that no amount of nourishment or physical conditioning will change, but she no longer wears the emaciated frame of a pilot. The years have treated her kindly.

She is beautiful. She is one of the most beautiful things we have ever seen and we savor the rush of emotion her physical presence brings.

She makes that lopsided smirk of hers at us. Even if she could not feel our thoughts over the link, surely they are written on our face.

We carefully ease ourself up into a seated position and gratefully accept the mug of coffee that She presses into our hands.

We breathe in the rich, earthy aroma of it with a sigh.

It is a truly wondrous thing to experience the world like everything is new again. Even now, every taste, every smell, every caressing touch feels like we are experiencing it for the very first time.

It helps that She spoils us rotten.

“We should go dancing after Your shift,” we tell Her.

“You sure you're up for it?” She replies, brow furrowed slightly.

“We can handle a bit of microgravity,” we reply wryly.

She does not argue. She does not need to.

She probes at us tentatively over the link, and we give her a reassuring smile.

We slip our hand towards where Hers is waiting for us, Our fingers twining together like they were made for each other.

We think about neural bleed.

We think about love.

~~~

@digitalsymbiote @g1ngan1nja @thriron @ephemeral-arcanist @mias-domain @justasleepykitten @powder-of-infinity @valkayrieactual @chaosmagetwin @assigned-stupid-at-birth @avalanchenouveau @rtfmx9 @femgineerasolution @ibleedelectric @gd-s451 @brieflybitten @fyriefairy @stvff-talks @summersong2262 @robotabc773 @fleuraphine @botgirl-lilith @nyarstram @injectable-doll @kawaiideathu @starlightsaphron

My friends! Thank you so much for joining me on this journey! It's wild, thinking back at how this was just meant to be a one-off little thing, and then one became two, and two became three, and even then I didn't really know where it was going. But at some point it started gaining traction and I suddenly realized exactly how it had to end (definitely echoes of This is How I Love You going on here). The level of engagement on this series has been amazing and I'm so excited about all the new followers and mutuals (sorry if I haven't given anyone a follow yet, I've gotten over a hundred new followers in the past month, which is a lot to sift through).

I am very much looking forward to our next adventure together 💜

P.S. I will be posting this to AO3 at some point, so stand by on that

[steddiealltheway]

Steve looks at Eddie and takes a deep breath. He can ask this. He really can. It's not that big of a deal.

"Hey, Eddie?"

Eddie glances up from the small book he's writing in and raises his eyebrows.

"Can you give me a hickey?"

The book shuts quickly, but, other than that, Eddie remains relatively frozen in place.

Steve shifts to sit up a little straighter against the wall of Eddie's bedroom as he explains, "There’s this girl who keeps coming into Family Video who is really persistent. I've tried to drop hints that I'm not into her, but she isn't getting it. And Robin suggested that I needed to appear to be in a relationship so she would stop."

Actually, Robin had told him that he needs to be direct and reject her, but he didn't want to be cruel. So, he suggested that the two of them should pretend to be in a relationship. But Robin only looked at him in disgust and told him that she would not be taking the fall for his problem.

"Why don't you just reject her?" Eddie asks.

Steve sighs. Why do people keep having to ask him that? "It's not the Family Video way."

Eddie snorts and glances away, pausing for a moment before turning back. "Why me?"

Steve shrugs. "You're the only friend my age that I can ask. It would scar me and Robin for life, and there's no way I'm asking Nancy."

"You know who would do it with no questions asked?" Eddie asks.

"Who?"

"Argyle."

Steve laughs. "Yeah, but I don't really know the guy."

Eddie softly smiles and nudges his shoulder. "So you're saying I make you comfortable?"

Steve looks at him, wondering why he's phrasing it like it's a question. "Yes," he confirms.

For some reason, it seems to fluster Eddie, but he quickly nods and sets down his book. "Okay."

"Okay?"

"I'll give you a hickey," Eddie says.

Steve swallows and runs a hand through his hair. "Cool. Cool. Uh, I guess we should do that now?"

Eddie nods, but neither of them move.

A few seconds pass before Eddie clears his throat and asks, "So, how are we doing this?"

Steve shrugs. "However you're comfortable with, but you should probably be in front of me."

Eddie nods and says, "Right." Then, he shifts and swings a leg over Steve's lap, straddling him on his bed.

Steve's heart beats a little faster. He hadn't thought this far into his plan, and he certainly hadn't expected Eddie to make him feel this way.

Eddie slowly leans his head down to Steve's neck then sits back, biting his lip in thought but not saying anything.

"What?" Steve asks.

Eddie fidgets with his rings and says, "This will be easier if we're standing up or laying down. Sitting like this is going to hurt my back."

Steve knows that either position is going to kill him, but the thought of his knees buckling while standing up has him deciding, "Well, we're already on the bed, so..."

Eddie nods at him and moves so Steve can lie down.

As he gets comfortable, Eddie climbs on top of him, hovering in a way that must be a damn workout.

Steve laughs, "You don't have to do a plank over me. You can get comfortable."

Eddie blushes a bit then settles his weight over Steve's body. And oh. Yeah, that feels nice.

Steve reaches up to hold Eddie's hair back so he can look at him. And shit, he didn't realize this is an angle he wants to see Eddie at more often.

"You're still okay to do this?" Eddie asks, voice slightly rougher than before.

Steve nods quickly. "Yes."

Eddie nods back and leans down as Steve tilts his jaw to expose the right side of his neck.

Eddie's breath is hot against his neck, mouth hovering but not touching yet. "Where do you want it?"

Steve tries not to sound so strained when he says, "Right under my jaw."

Eddie's lips finally brush against the sensitive area almost like a kiss before he opens his mouth wide and presses his lips firmly against the skin, tongue brushing lightly against him before he begins sucking. Steve's eyes squeeze shut when Eddie's teeth brush slightly against him. He slaps a hand over his mouth and fists his hands into Eddie's sheets.

This was not part of the plan. This was definitely not a part of it.

Soon, Eddie pulls away, and cool air makes contact with the wet spot against his neck as Eddie breathes out.

Steve's hand clamps over his mouth tighter before he opens his eyes, thankful that Eddie is staring at the mark and not at his face. But he's confused about why he's frowning.

Then, Eddie's hand comes up to lightly tilts his jaw back to him, but he still stares at the mark with his brows pinched.

"What's wrong?" Steve asks, a little more breathlessly than he wants to sound.

Eddie finally looks him in the eye and says, "It's...it's good. Like, a solid hickey... but it's right under your jaw like you asked so it's not extremely visible." He crawls off Steve and grabs a small mirror off his side table.

Steve grabs it, trying to ignore how flushed he looks before he stares at the hickey. Eddie's right. It's nice and red, standing out against his skin, but only when he tilts his head just right. Hell, someone could brush it off as a hit to the jaw.

Steve sighs. He doesn't know if he'll be able to survive Eddie giving him another hickey.

"I can give you one on the middle and bottom of your neck if you really want to sell it," Eddie offers.

"Sure," Steve says without thinking. Because shit, if he doesn't think he can survive one more hickey, how the hell is he supposed to survive two??

But Eddie takes the mirror back and is on top of him again before Steve can really think.

Luckily, Eddie looks him in the eye and asks, "Are you sure you're okay with this? We could just put makeup on you to make it look like hickeys."

Against his better judgment, Steve shakes his head and replies, "No, it's okay. I want this to look as realistic as possible. But, hey, are you okay with this?"

Eddie nods quickly and enthusiastically in a way that makes Steve feel like maybe he's not the only one enjoying this a little too much. Honestly, it makes him feel much better... but also knowing that Eddie's into it makes him feel h-

His thoughts are cut off when Eddie's hand fists into his hair and gently pulls to expose his neck more. Without thinking, Steve's hands come up to grip onto Eddie's back tightly as he sucks another hickey into his neck.

Steve pinches his lips together as best as he can, but he's sure his heavy, quick breathing gives him away.

Then, Eddie moves on from his neck to the junction between his neck and shoulder, pulling at his shirt to get better access as he trails his lips over his skin, never losing contact as his wet lips leave a trail connecting the two areas.

But when Eddie starts sucking a mark into his neck again, something about the area sets something off in Steve causing him to moan loudly. He slaps a hand over his mouth again, but the damage is already done.

Only, Eddie doesn't pull away. He sucks harder.

Steve's back arches off the bed, and his hands fist into Eddie's hair pulling him off of him.

Eddie's lips are red and wet with his own saliva and his pupils are blown wide in juxtaposition with the panic filling his eyes.

Steve breathes out, "Please tell me I'm not the only one who wants this."

Eddie shakes his head quickly and rasps out, "Fucking hell I thought you were going to murder me."

"Eddie, the last thing I want to do to you right now is murder you."

He leans down, brushing his nose against Steve's, and whispers, "And what do you want to do to me right now?"

"First, I want to kiss you," Steve confesses, heart hammering in his chest.

Eddie leans down, lips brushing against his as he asks, "And then?"

"I'm thinking something that involves a lot more hickeys."

Eddie smiles. "I like the sound of that."

Finally, they both move together, kissing deeply in a way that makes Steve think that maybe Eddie's lips are magic everywhere.

And shit, he's going to have a hell of a time explaining the hickeys to Robin and the kids, but it'll be worth it.

Now including an Ao3 link :)

[revelboo]

i keep giggling thinking about the bots wanting to feed their human. darling 50% of my food is eaten with chopsticks. i don't know that you can even USE those with metal hands. Maybe we can add one of those cute rubber pandas they use to help kids get the hang of em...

but just imagining a bot looking at me with puppydog eyes and an air of defeat after failing to grab one piece of meat is just. mwah. beautiful.

🤣 just patiently watching them struggle before they give up and literally just hand feed you, venting and flustered. 🔞 🌶️

Care

Bluestreak

• Watching his door wings droop, you’re pretty sure that if the bot is able to cry, he’s about to. How many times has he dropped a chopstick at this point? Enough times his servos are trembling faintly just like his door wings. Leaning into his frame where you’re sitting on his thigh, you lay your palm on his and guide it to the plate. Encouraging him to pick up a bite with his servos and he vents softly, looking embarrassed as he offers it to you. “You don’t have to impress me.”

• Why is this so hard? Just wanted to take care of you, tend to you like a proper mate, but those funny little sticks you eat with are impossible. He’d snapped one of the first pair in half. But as you grip his wrist to take the bite, lips brushing his servos, he shivers. Watching you chew and swallow and then lick his servos clean. And his spike stirs, aching where it’s trapped behind his plating as he shakily selects another bite. Aware that this is messy, that it’s not what he’d imagined, but as your lips part for him, maybe that’s okay? He’s messy and you still love him. “Sorry,” he mumbles, shivering as you suck on the end of his servo, grazing him deliberately with your teeth. “I’m bad at this. Knew I was going to be. I just wanted to do this, to try and I’m messing it all up. You-”

• “Am I complaining?” You interrupt before he can spiral into self loathing, and he reaches to find you another bite, optics flicking from the food to you and back. Wish he’d relax some, but he’s always so tightly wound, as anxious and worrying about everything. Setting the dish aside, you grab his chassis and swing yourself around to straddle his lap. Hear him vent softly, offering you the bite, optics focused on your mouth as he feeds you.

• “Yeah, but you never complain,” he mumbles, watching you swallow and brush your mouth against his servos, the mesh at the inside of his wrist. “Not even when I mess up.” Like you don’t want to hurt his feelings and you huff out a soft laugh, pressing a kiss against his palm. Before you go up on your knees, hands cupping his face as your mouth slides against his, tasting food he can’t eat and you as his glossa steals inside and he eases back, pulling you down on top of him as his hands slide over you.

[thanosscross]

There all along - Choi Su-Bong/thanos x reader part 1/?

Summary: Losing someone who meant alot to you was hard, having to live with it for three years you finally went back to the games to try and get revenge, but a new guard refuses to leave you alone, resulting in you being sent home for the first time in game history.

Warnings: death, you purposely getting people killed, heavy heavy drug use

During the games it was safe to say that you and Thanos got very very close, much to Nam-gyu's disliking. Thanos liked you though, you stubborn, rude, and rough, but whenever you grabbed his hand shaking like a leaf scared, you were so gentle, like you didn't even know how to hurt somebody if you tried. He got the sudden urge to protect you the moment you held onto his jacket for the first time in red light greenlight, it wasn't like you meant to, you went to hide behind him and before you knew it your hands were clenching his jacket.

You didn't mind it though, Thanos was an asshole, but he was always protective over you, only ever spitting off embarrassing raps that he'd come up with on the spot about your looks. As you walked back in from mingle you held onto Su-bong's arm, he just held your hand that held onto him walking towards their little area they claimed, cheering and chanting something about one more game. As Thanos sat down he pulled you down with him, helping you down a step lower to sit in between his legs, using his thighs and hips as a back rest "So, We got one more game, then we're gonna go right?" Nam-Gyu asked, shooting you a harsh glare "I dunno Nam-su, I think we could do two more?" You snapped in a smartass tone purposely getting his name wrong as you looked at your boyfriend smiling "We can play as many as you like, as long as you like, baby" He smirked holding your chin in between his fingers, you melted in his touch, his blue eyes staring into yours like he could see every thought in your brain "It's Nam-gyu, bitch" he snapped, you just rolled your eyes, grunting as Thanos suddenly raised his arms in the air "Stop it!, don't call her that, y/n leave him alone" He stated, shooting you a stern look.

Whenever they all left for the bathroom you laid down, thinking nothing of it, until the piggy bank lowered and started to fill, the loud speaker listing off players that were eliminated. What the fuck happened in there? You started to think before your heart dropped "Player 230 eliminated" Echoed in your brain as the doors opened and everybody started to walk in, your eyes immediately fell on Nam-gyu holding Thanos's pill necklace in his hands that were covered in blood. You jumped up rushing down, Nam-gyu immediately taking notice to the fiery glare in your eyes "What did you do!?" You screamed, swinging your fist, it connecting right where his jaw curved, sending him to the ground "T-The X's just started attacking us!" He shouted being looking up pointing at the guy who Thanos first got into a fight with whenever you first arrived "H-he's the one who did it!" He shouted, not wanting to die at the hands of a grieving psycho, you stood up, freezing as a guard shoved a gun into your back, stopping you from attacking the player "We ask that you all compose yourselves, as the voting process will start tomorrow first thing, please use this time to think over your futures" The guard shouted, you just kept your glare set on player 333, you were going to for sure kill him the first chance you got. As soon as the gaurd left you, you leaned down snatching your boyfriend's necklace from his stupid friend making your way back to the bunks, crawling into his bunk laying down.

Thanos woke up with a gasp, feeling at his throat and jaw, wincing as he felt stitching thread sitting inside of his skin holding it closed "Player 230, you have been eliminated, but we are offering you a chance to still earn money, if you are willing to accept we shall allow you to become part of our staff of guards for the games, if you choose to decline, we will eliminate you from the games" The guard spoke.

Whenever you walked into the address Thanos had left you with, you were greeted by a fluffy dog, a note sitting on the counter of the kitchen

'Su-bong! Congrats on the game show! So glad you're back home, we took care of your baby for you!'

Su-bong, it was a pretty name, you weren't sure why he chose Thanos instead of that, you explored the house further, getting a new sense of who your boyfriend was beyond the games. You would continue on for three years, growing close with Thanos's previous friends and neighbor, as you were lying on the couch one night, you heard soft scratching at your door, slowly walking over and opening it, you spotted a small black and pink envelope, you felt like it was a dream, or like it was some sick joke, as you opened the card you saw the familiar shapes and numbers. You felt sick, but deep down, you had a drive, a drive to revenge Thanos in the only way you knew how to. Hearing the phone trill and the deep voice ask for your name and date of birth, repeating the information back you looked at your baby "Don't worry, your daddy would want me to do this"

Oh were you so wrong, as soon as Su-bong got information back that y/n l/n was becoming a player again, he was fuming, why the hell would you come back? What was your reasoning? God he wanted to kill you for being so stupid.

Waking up in the large room again was startling, you didn't even go to a pick up spot, you literally just fell asleep at home, now you were back? Slowly walking to the center of the room with everybody, you took notice to the different things they had added and taken away, and how quickly they rushed you to the first game. Walking into redlight greenlight you held the cross necklace tightly in your hand, yelping whenever a guard yanked you back behind one of the large green doors that were propped open "What are you doing back, y- Player 243" The guard said, and for a minute, you could swear you knew his voice, but you quickly shook it off. "Just like everybody else, trying to win money" You snapped shoving past the circle guard, not being able to shake him whispering 'still just as rough' like he knew you. After being through the games once before it made the game relatively easy, but slightly boring aswell. You opened the cross locket, new fresh pills sitting neatly inside, you never said you were clean, you had picked up the habit about three days after getting home, emptying out the remainder of his stash within a week. As you set the pill on your tongue locking the necklace back you waited for it to kick in, not ignoring the guard slowly making his way to the other end of the field.

The pill hit you faster than expected, leaving you a smiling mess skipping around the field as people panicked, having the same realization you did the first time you ever played, but you didn't care though, you jumped and skipped towards the end, purposely bumping into people as you went by causing their eliminations. As you leaped across the safety point you cheered, flipping the doll off before a hand grabbed you dragging you off through a doorway hidden within the wallpaper. You looked around, this area was different than the rest, dark blue and purple walls with no doors, just stairs "Are you high right now?" The guard asked, the way his hands grabbed you relaxed you rather than scared you, you couldn't place why though, you tried to break free of his grasp, but he just tightened his hold "l-let go y-you're hurting me" You whispered trying to break free, the walls opened up as the players funneled in to go back to the room, an older man coming over "Excuse me, but I believe she asked you to let her go" He demanded, the guard dropped his hold, you immediately clung to the man holding onto his jacket tightly as you both walked back to the room. You spent dinner time getting to know player 213, who ended up being a younger guy who was fucked over in the same way your late boyfriend was.

When lights out came, you tried to make your way back, but three guards stopped you, rising their guns and escorting you out, your hands shook violently, this was new, maybe they were onto you? You were stopped in a large room, a giant screen showing the field for redlight greenlight "Player 243, you're causing quite the distraction for one of my guards" A man in a black mask and long coat said approaching you "I-I don't even know any guards! He is causing a distraction for me!" You argued, trying to hide your body shaking to the point it could be mistaken as a seizure, you weren't sure if you were going to die or not, you had a puppy had home to care for, you couldn't die. "So we're willing to offer you a deal. go home. Don't come back, and don't try to either" He said, you tilted your head "How does that benefit me in any way?" You asked, attitude lacing your tone with a hint of annoyance "Just take the deal, y/n, it's safer" You heard someone speak from a few feet behind you "Oh my god...you!? What is your fucking deal with me!? Who are you!?" You asked looking at the stupid O mask "You look so stupid just standing there!" You shouted starting to grow angry "Go ahead number 30" You heard the other masked guy say, and you watched as the guard pulled his mask off, the black underhood covering everything that a few strands of hair and bright blue eyes, and for a moment you had to remind yourself, Su-bong was dead.

Watching him pull off the underhood your breath got stuck in your throat, his overgrown purple hair was laying in every different direction, being slightly shorter than him allowed you to see the scar underneath his jaw. "S-Su-b-" You started but he shot you a harsh glare, you felt your hands start to shake, your mind starting to spiral, god damn did you need a high right now, and a damn good one at that. "30" He replied harshly, this was a different Su-bong than you knew, you barely recognized this version. "I thought you died" You whispered, feeling yourself lose your voice "I'll explain later, just take the deal, leave. go. don't come back" He said harshly, taking long strides to stand in front of you staring you down "O-Ok, If you want me to go" You whispered, looking back towards the man in the black mask who just nodded. Su-bong put his mask back on as he walked you out towards a dock inside of a cave somewhere within the building you had played the games in. You stayed silent, occasionally looking at him, studying his face, almost four years of not seeing him, of thinking he had died, and yet he was here. As he walked ahead slightly to scan his mask you took the opportunity to pop another pill into your mouth, ingesting it quickly right as his head turned around to stare at you, somehow even without being able to see his face you could feel his glare on you.

You stepped on the boat watching as Su-bong stood back as another person held a cloth to your face, you didn't fight it off, his words repeating in your head 'Ill explain later' Was he coming back? Waking back up in your actual bed was relieving, but you had a need deepness in your chest, Thanos was still out there..and he left you. You laid in bed for what felt like months, trying desperately to find a way back to the island to find Su-bong while being high out of your mind, until one night. It was maybe three or four am, you were wide awake, music blaring in your headphones while looking at the paperwork you had out in front of you, a rolled joint in one hand, a pill in the other. Popping the pill in your mouth you groaned, none of these papers made sense at all, and you could've sworn you heard the lock to the door try to click three different times in the last minute, thats whenever you did hear it click, you quickly walked over holding the door shut, not wanting whoever was trying to break in, in. "So help me.." You heard a frustrated and exhausted voice mutter before you were knocked off of your feet.

--

part two comin soon, like always lmk what you think lovelies <3

[sleepymarimo]

𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐚 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫.

summary: one time zoro pushes your affections away and another time when he begrudgingly accepts them. pairing: zoro x gn!reader cw: none, zoro being a cutie and confused about soft feelings an: just some fluff bc I have a headache and I wanna give him a hug :( wc: 1.2k

it seemed like zoro had always let the oddest things to happen to him.

he’d let chopper climb atop his head, tiny hooves brushing through strands of moss green hair. when the reindeer’s soft fur tickled the skin of his cheeks, he didn’t blink.

he’d let usopp cling to him in fear, idly looking around with a bored expression as the sniper tugged at his hakama or pushed him right toward whatever threat lay before them.

the list goes on and on, the ever stoic swordsman never really putting in the effort to actively resist his crew mates or the occasional curious animal.

with that in mind, you figured that you’d be able to get away with some gestures of your own.

after a particularly rough battle, you’d been so utterly happy that your arms wrapped around the rugged swordsman, squeezing him tight.

you blame it on the adrenaline, not those pesky feelings of yours that you refuse to acknowledge.

it was an innocent embrace, imbued with nothing but affection and glee, yet that didn’t stop him from tensing at your touch.

the next thing you remember is being pushed away, gently but firmly, and feeling dumbfounded.

“the hell are you doing?” he had roughly questioned, brushing off your much-too-sweet touches from his person.

uncomfortable.

he was uncomfortable and he hated it, not particularly fond of feeling so vulnerable from something as simple as a damn hug.

looking between him and your still awkwardly stretched out arms, you come to a sort of realization.

zoro didn’t just let things happen to him. no, he allowed them. every touch and tug and pinch was permitted, actively decided upon by the marimo.

that fiasco was almost a whole week ago, the thousand sunny now barreling through the rolling waves of the sea in the hopes of reaching a winter island.

even as the air became colder, the clouds darker, you continued to simmer.

unjustifiable annoyance creeps into your brain just thinking about how he pushed you away, your cheeks burning with embarrassment and hurt alike.

he didn’t feel that bad.

the swordsman had boundaries, which was understandable, set in place for the sake of self-preservation.

that small flip his heart did when he felt you hug him? the boiling heat that clawed up from his chest to his cheeks and to the tips of his ears? absolutely not.

he didn’t want to deal with that, especially after a fight and with the rest of the crew watching.

it took time for you to adjust your actions, to maneuver around the barriers he’d set in place for himself.

being the stubborn little thing you were, you decided to throw yourself into the jaws of the tiger once more.

you try your luck on a brumal morning, a light frost already starting to form on the deck. it seems like the water is still, the sea easily parting as the ship effortlessly glides on its surface.

the observation deck is your destination, where you’re sure the marimo will be.

and indeed he is, outwardly unaffected by the biting cold.

meticulous as ever, at least when it comes to his craft, he sits on a mat and polishes his blades. shoulders relaxed, but eyes sharp, he goes about his task with precision.

he knows you’ve just entered the observation room, thinking that a nod of his head and a small grunt is enough of a greeting.

the scent of steel and polish hang in the air as he continues, figuring that you’d come in to grab something.

he doesn’t expect to be what you want. what else was he good for besides swinging a damn sword around?

you mask your nerves and step inside, taking brisk steps towards the swordsman. it’s now or never, you think, quick to take a seat behind him on the mat.

with slow and gentle movements, you situate yourself into your preferred position.

your chest presses into his back, the rough material of his shirt not enough to keep you from resting your cheek there.

your inner thighs hug his outer ones, the firmness of the muscle beneath forcing you to hold back a shudder. sealing the deal, you loosely wrap your arms around his midsection.

“good morning.” you mumble, speaking to him as if he were a deer about to bolt.

silence is what you get in return and you wish you could peer into that thick skull of his to see what he was thinking.

warm.

that’s how zoro feels at first, before something akin to discomfort starts to gnaw away at him.

his hands come to a stop, his head lifting as he stared ahead and processed just what the hell you were doing.

there’s a split second of stillness- a period of time where he decides if he wants to revel in your touch or bask in his solitude for a moment longer.

it feels like eons pass before the tension is broken, fizzling into nothing as if it didn’t exist in the first place.

his hands resume their task of polishing his prized swords. the muscles in his body relax and everything else suddenly melts away.

he grants you permission.

he allows it.

“morning.” he grumbles back, speaking with an air of nonchalance that contrasted with how fast his mind was racing.

it’s a delicate balance, as frail as the thin layer of ice starting to form on the glass windows.

you know now more than ever to hold off on the banter and teasing, unless you wanted to get bucked off.

taking what you’ve been given, you’re content enough with releasing a deep breath and letting the rise and fall of his back lull you into a light doze.

time seems to pass slower in this world, in this little pocket of tranquility which exists only for the two of you.

when you finally decide to loosen your grip and pull away, he lets out a noise equivalent to a growl.

he’s almost offended.

one of his hands holds your wrist in place, his grip firm. he’s never been good at displaying tenderness, his words unintentionally gruff. “oi, where are ya goin’?”

he releases your arm, almost daring you to defy him. his muscles relax once more, calloused hands resuming the tedious task of polishing steel as he picks up his next sword.

his tone is softer, spoken as a mumble as if he was afraid of saying too much. “just stay a little longer.”

the request has you momentarily astonished, eyes widening a tad before you got a grip on yourself. your arms settle back around his waist, a pleasant buzz spreading in your chest and down to your toes.

you were well aware that this was a rare opportunity, one that you could not and would not pass up.

so, you let out a sigh and rest your cheek on his back once more.

his aura seems to encapsulate you, making you feel safe and at ease.

he’s satisfied with your reaction, how you effortlessly unwind and how your breaths even out.

once again, he’s warm.

zoro decides that he can spend hours just like this.

for the crew, he could always be a demon. for you? he wouldn't mind being a bit more human.

[fancyfeathers]

I saw your post about yandere Capitano. Here’s my shower thought.

Capitano with a darling who was with him in Khaenriha(I cannot spell this for the life of me). They were his medic/ healer and when he lost everything he made a vow to never let them leave him.

I was actually looking into the rot that Capitano is experiencing and it probably isn’t as gory as people think it is because it probably looks like Dainsleif’s arm

Medics were never supposed to see war head on, they saw the after effects, when the blood has already been shed and only the victors remain. He did care for his darling, she was under his care as he was her commander but their knowledge were very different, she could never hold a sword let alone swing one without falling over or hurting herself, then he never thought he could be truly tender as she is when tending to the injured and dying.

He’s seen her outside of duty, she had a family, mother and father and little and older siblings who cared for her….

It breaks his heart to see her holding their bodies and sobbing her heart out after the effects of what happened in Khaenri'ah. It hurts him even more when she struggles against him when he has to pull her away from them because it was not safe to stay.

Now as they are cursed with immortality Capitano is far more lucky than she is, his body is strong, far stronger than she could ever imagine, and she is no. So when the rot begins to set it, it is the Captain who is able to continue to fight on and walk, but she is not as lucky. As much as he wishes to he cannot bring her with him everywhere he goes, it would not be safe for her anymore. So when he is recruited for the Harbingers he has next to no problem accepting because he knows that she will be safe tucked away somewhere in the land of snow and ice.

She cannot fight or make some sort of snide remark at him as she lays in their bedroom, far too weak to move. The staff takes care of her like she used to take care of wounded soldiers but with Capitano now being one of the Tsaritsa’s Harbingers she hardly sees him and the staff do not care for much besides doing their jobs. So her only company as she lays in bed, literally rotting away is the view from outside her window that she cannot even walk to, seeing the seasons of Snezhnaya which barely shift at all from the same white blanket of snow.

She was a medic and will never see war head on ever again, because she will never see anything outside of the four walls of the house she is kept in ever again.

[hh0320]

𓄹 ⊹   ᳝🪐 ࣪⠀.  vanilla baby 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐭𝐰𝐨 ( today i feel close to ill, it seems to be alright )

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫. chris x fem! reader x changbin 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞. mechanic! brothers au, love triangle, small town, age gap, first love! chris, love at first sight, angst, smut 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬. smoking, profanity, use of pet names, explicit sexual content, masturbation, dirty talk, brief violence, jealousy, possessiveness, flawed characters 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭. 3.5k | 𝑷𝑨𝑹𝑻 𝑶𝑵𝑬 <- -> 𝑷𝑨𝑹𝑻 𝑻𝑯𝑹𝑬𝑬, 𝑷𝑨𝑹𝑻 𝑭𝑶𝑼𝑹, 𝑷𝑨𝑹𝑻 𝑭𝑰𝑽𝑬

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬. good girls that fall for Christopher don’t usually find themselves in Changbin’s path. it’s why he’s never met you, it’s why he’s never cared to.

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬. @shoganaiiii, @poody1608, @tsunderelino, @wickedbutlovely, @imagine-all-the-imagines, @hwangjoanna, @imeverycliche, @vviolynn, @jinibunny

Then.

The swing had been the first time your heart hadn’t felt yours.

The tree was a magnolia tree, something that had laid roots three generations back and just kept growing ever since. Your mother had suggested tying a wooden swing on it when you’d barely turned five, a way to pass the time in a place where time stood still often and there was not much to do at all besides marvel at nature and watch TV, something that proved impossible when the football team you called your cousins glued themselves in front of it and refused to let another person near it.

That had been then, a girl in pigtails with sticky fingers.

The matter of the heart—you’d been sixteen. It was wrong on all accounts. He had a girlfriend, he’d brought her over many times, your parents liked her, she’d given you advice on colleges, had brought over strawberry jello and warm bread her mom had baked—everyone knew everyone, everyone always knew everyone, everything, all the time—he was happy. And why shouldn’t he be?

Because you had a silly unspoken crush? Because you lay awake in your bed at night thinking of the way he traces his fingers along his jaw when he’s thinking or how he’s refused to ever cry in front of any living soul? How there have been multiple instances, ever since you two were really young, where shedding tears would be the only option for you, the only logical reaction, but to him it’d been unthinkable?

The set of his mouth, the squareness of his shoulders. Chris was like that—utterly selfless. Nothing was ever his, nothing was kept for himself. Even when it was, even when he wanted it so badly to be—it didn’t matter. He’d taught himself not to let it matter.

So, the swing. You’d been sitting on it, gently swaying in the July afternoon breeze. Half your relatives had driven out for the annual July 4th party. He was always welcome, always around, always so polite and bright and friendly. It’d be easier if he weren’t. If he’d never spoken to you. If you never met him.

Alas, there’d been a time when you were five and he was nine. Curse childhood.

He approached you slowly, from behind, making you jump. You’d gasped and hit his arm, clutching at the thing he’d end up stealing. He offered to push you, that charming smile of his in full display, the one no one could ever say no to.

“Be careful with me,” you’d told him, because you were traumatized from that one incident with your first cousin that had resulted in two scraped knees and a chipped tooth.

He knew about it, you were sure he’d be careful. 

You said it anyway.

“Of course,” was his reply, and then a comfortable silence as his sure hands pushed against your back. “I’d never hurt you, darling.”

Perhaps it’d been the terrible time you were having that you thought to say it. You’d never otherwise. It revealed too much, it gave away. You weren’t sure you could afford that, not this early, not this young.

It was stupid, really. Utterly fucking stupid.

“Would you kiss me?” You didn’t even dare breathe. Just looked on ahead as if it was nothing. As if your parents weren’t inside the house, as if his girlfriend wasn’t in the back porch grilling with his uncles and your aunt and every single fucking person this world has ever encountered, all centered around this house, eternally, always, always.

You could never get him by himself. You could never have him to yourself.

“I mean—at school. There’s a boy. I’ve never… he wants to, and I’ve never—I’m sorry, it’s awkward now, isn’t it? I’m sorry.”

The trees kept singing. The river kept flowing. The sun kept shining, the cicadas screaming, the world turning, his hands on your back, his fingers on your shoulders, the swing stopping, stopped, your body catapulted, shaken, pausing, expanding, closing in on itself. You’d gone ahead and done it, hadn’t you, you’re a stupid fucking girl, a precarious, capricious girl that thinks she can get anything she wants, and you recognize it as the truth, as a fault, because you’re sixteen years old and what business does he have with you except a shared childhood, what good will come out of such a risk, even as a joke, even as nothing, nothing at all, merely practice, merely a peck on the lips, the simplest touch—

“No.” Of course. Of course. And you would not cry, don’t you dare fucking cry

“Right, yeah, I thought so, please don’t—”

His fingers. His fingers. Pressing on your arms, consoling, comforting, holding. He was preventing you from spilling on the freshly mowed grass. He was letting you know it’s okay, he’s not going to laugh, he’s not going to leave, he’s not going to get scared and walk away.

But he’s not going to do it.

“This is all I can do for you, (Y/N).” And he resumes the swinging, your dress dancing with the force of the wind, your hair touching the fabric of his shirt with every move back, with every beginning of the fall, the fly, the journey from him to away from him, to him to not with him.

Your head hurt. You were hungry but not for food. You’d barely started feeling that hunger, the heart one. You’d trace around your breast and perform open heart surgery if you could, so the itch could go away, so that it satiated, whatever it was, whatever it meant and wanted. You couldn’t want this boy, and you couldn’t have him, either.

Not a boy. Man. Older than you. With a girlfriend.

“Do you hate me now?” A child’s question. Betraying.

“Who could ever hate you, sweetheart,” a ghost of a smile in the way he said it. “Impossible. Impossible.”

It had to be enough. It would be enough.

“I want some lemonade.”

His outstretched hand as he helped you get off the swing. The walk back, with just enough distance to not be a cause for concern, but close enough to smell his cologne. Vanilla. Tobacco. Making it hard to breathe right.

“I’ll get the little umbrellas,” and he knew this too, how you loved those frivolous things, how they made you laugh, because their purpose was only to look pretty once and be discarded afterwards.

You’d get to feel like this too. 

You watch him walk away, finally. You speak nothing of the mismatched buttons of his shirt, or how his girlfriend’s lipstick was smudged all the way to her cheek. 

The knowledge of what that meant burned in you like bright green acid. You swallowed the bitter taste of it, swallowed your tongue.

Now.

Your father was coming to pick you up.

According to Changbin, you’d walked a little too far and were, as a result of that and your long trip here, now beyond exhausted to return on foot. An experienced liar, he’d mounted you on his bike and taken you further into town, outside of one out of two diners, watching as you got off the vintage piece of junk rather ungracefully, determined to be mad at him for not minding his business when he should, as if leaving emotionally unstable girls to their luck on a dark night with no way to know if they'd be okay is something that happens a lot in your life.

Perhaps it was. You were a wild card, Changbin couldn’t possibly begin to figure you out. But he could keep you safe for a few more minutes until your family came for you, and so that’s exactly what he’d do. With or without your consent.

“You always butt in in people’s lives like this?” You glared at him from your place on the cold pavement, arms crossed in front of you defensively, stubbornly.

It was funny, really, cute even. So, this was the girl with the crush on his brother. At long last. Changbin had been invited into your life plenty of times, but had refused all of them. In hindsight, maybe he should’ve taken the offer, just so that he could get to say he’s known you as long as Chris had. He’d heard the stories, albeit the crazy ones. 

You were a riot, his blood thrummed just being near you. A firework explosion, sparking, sparking, crackling. Unpredictable.

“I don’t make it a habit, no,” he knew he was being an asshole, because he couldn’t stop himself from smirking, a sudden urge to get you more riled up whispering promises of pay off in his ear.

He wanted to see it in action, the unraveling. The furrow of your brow, deeper even than what it was now, the thinness of your lips as they pressed together in containment. He wasn’t sure why you were holding back—what you were holding back. You seemed to speak your mind just fine.

“Hypocrite,” you accused. Changbin adjusted on his bike, the word nuclear to him, helmet under his elbow, a cigarette on one hand. “I saw how you looked at me back at the bar. Before you realized who I was.” He stared, and stared. Silent. Denying by not denying. “You were going to fuck me tonight, weren’t you? A random girl that showed up in the middle of the night. Don’t you fucking dare pretend to me on your white fucking horse.

“You’re no different than the rest of them.”

There’s the bite. The claws. Not the innocent girl he’d heard been described for so many years, but something savage; something that’d seen the world for what it was and decided she would tear it down bit by bit. No longer naive to anything, but, instead, very smart. Changed.

You could’ve said this before and he would’ve thought twice about helping you. You were right. The lines only blurred as far as he could see, because you’re no stranger, not really. He doubted his little brother knew you were in town, and at that moment he wanted to keep it that way. Perhaps it was wrong, perhaps he didn’t care.

Changbin wanted to keep this version of you to himself. It was a calculative move following you outside. Something he could hold over you, the fact he had your father’s number. What did that make him?

He’d have fucked you against the bathroom stall and never looked at you twice otherwise, of course he would’ve. Your tits in full display like that, your ass hugged in perfect tiny shorts, his hands clenching at the thought of almost having you, of letting his primal instinct override any sense of self righteousness.

But then he looked at your face and saw his brother reflected. He’d fizzled out after putting a name on that body, on that strange intention. He didn’t quite feel like fizzling out now. His anger was palpable, but his shame was a mouth swallowing him entirely.

Still, your eyes. An open challenge. Up for grabs. 

He’d been late. So fucking late.

“I’d watch out if I were you, beautiful. I’m no little boy. I don’t give a fuck about playing nice.”

You blinked slowly. A century passed before he saw the ocean of them again. Then you smiled, psychotic, all questions and no answers.

“And you think I do?”

He sprung. The ash burned his finger, the helmet half forgotten, held by a hand that was no longer his. His breath was erratic, he could feel his eyes in their sockets. Like a junkie high on fuck knows what. Changbin felt manic, then, like he could do anything.

He could carry you back to his motorcycle and take you to his house. He could pin you right there, on freezing cement, and bury himself inside your misbehaving cunt until he could begin to get a better understanding on why you became like this, what led to this rebellion, exactly who’s leading behind it.

Good girls that fall for Christopher don’t usually find themselves in Changbin’s path. It’s why he’s never met you, it’s why he’s never cared to.

The parking lot was empty. His ears were buzzing with nothing but your taunting words, replaying over and over, questioning his ability to disregard the rules and fuck his client’s daughter senseless. He would do it, you think he wouldn’t? With a smile on his fucking face, when he delivers you to your father, safe and sound, his come running down your thighs.

There’s a reason why people swear off Seo Changbin. There’s a lot he would do, very little he wouldn’t.

“You don’t wanna do this,” he grounds himself, reminds you. “I’m not the one you want.”

A breathy laugh escapes you, cruel and mocking. You avert your gaze and look upwards, towards the starry sky. He stalks your every move. You’re a nebula to him. A comet. A four am drunken wish come true.

“The one I want doesn’t want me back,” you say, and it’s venom; it’s bitter bitter bitter.

Think again.

He doesn’t say this. It doesn’t benefit him. He’s being an asshole again.

So be it.

He forces himself to lean back against his bike, legs crossed at the ankle, smoke burning his eyes. He won’t do anything. He’ll stand the fuck down. He will. He fucking will.

“So, I’m the next good thing? You flatter me.”

“Barely,” you snort, and you get up, dusting yourself off, squinting off in the distance, your father’s car lights visibly growing closer. “It’s been a pleasure, Seo Changbin, but I got curfew, per your generous sponsorship.”

His jaw ticked, his teeth clenching inside his mouth. Stand down. Don’t do anything stupid. “You’re welcome.”

When will I see you again?

He waves two fingers; a simple hello to your father as you open the door. Everything inside him pulls towards you. He wants to find your clockwork, pry apart your machinations. Open you up, bleed you dry. Better he met you now. There’s purpose now.

“Don’t be a stranger,” you salute him from the pulled down window, and you’re off.

He remains astute, carved in place. He watches the car go, the model of it, and remembers each and every time he’s worked on it, how it’s improved since he got his hands on it. In a way you’re inside a part of him, driving off. He feels you on his skin.

The hand with which he touched you burns him.

Do you want to see me again?

I never want to stop.

Now, later.

It’s preposterous how mad you are.

You had no idea—how affected you can be by a person who you knew nothing of importance merely two hours ago. He’s the brother, the older twice, the name you kept hearing in your childhood but would never cross paths with because you’re not supposed to cross paths. You had nothing in common, still don’t, still won’t.

How presumptuous of him to think you need help. Because you don’t. You got it, it’s fine, you’re fine fine fine—and the urges…however strong they are, they’re under control, they’re manageable, you got a system, and it’s working and it’s fine. Ridiculous that a man denied himself something he had set his mind to do (the doing being you, you being the doing.) That had not been the way that was shown to you, certainly not how you’re used to doing things or accomplishing them. Frustrating.

Frustrated.

You needed sex. For lots of reasons, but right now, to silence this big fucking ball of voices tangled in your head, screaming in every way, all ways, how weak and twisted you are. How pathetic. How that one time, you’d asked for love, begged for it, and it had not been given to you. How unfair it burned in you, this rejection, how it’s shaped everything you are, standing in your childhood room, with all things of the past, all the ghosts and medals and drawings packed in pretty pink boxes that once used to carry shoes with sparkly lights and glitter laces.

You needed sex. Your chest was on fire, your hands were angry. The image of Chris greeted you every time you blinked. Other images, too, of less important boys—men, men—and all the precarious positions you’d put yourself in for them, to forget, to feel, to live, after and through and over, and over, over, over

The bed is suffocating. The closed door and the quietness of the house despite the million people always residing inside of it, it pissed you off; why was the night so still here, why did time pass by slower, or at all, why did you not get what you set out for, why did it have to be Changbin. Changbin, Changbin, Changbin…

Oh, this was dangerous. This was fucked. You’d do it out of spite, and he didn’t seem to be the hurting type.

Chris was, and that’s why you’d do it. How could it possibly matter, anyway. In your mind he had children and a wife, always a wife, always moved on, always older and more mature than you, you couldn’t even stop shaking, you couldn’t even calm your racing mind. Petty girl. Troubled girl. A shower should help.

Yes.

But not even the cold water could fix you. All it did was numb you to the bone externally—that fire inside kept burning, kept torching, annihilating villages, destroying wildlife, and him, and him, and him, prominent, staring, waving, and the other, carrying the matches in his pocket, offering them freely, smiling as he did so.

A car crush, a hydrogen bomb, the sound of shattering glass. He could only trigger you, set you off. It’d be fine if it was anywhere but here, but it was here, and you could not lie to yourself here. Not how you do. Not to this place.

You touch yourself and you think of brothers. You think of how much you want to see him, the rough hands, the broad shoulders. Brown hair, brown eyes. Kind smile. Your fingers are not enough, and this is how you feel all the time. Unsatisfied, hungry. So fucking hungry. Your mind lingers…then drifts off to a massive figure wearing a leather jacket. Dark, curly hair and even darker eyes. A scar—you slap a hand over your mouth, horrified at the loudness escaping you.

Suddenly it’s enough; it builds up from inside, your fucking soul aflame, and your stomach drops, your body caves. What is happening, what is happening, and it’s this: you just came to someone that’s taking more space than he should. Someone that should’ve been an afterthought of an unfortunate evening. More images— the silver lighter in his hand, the black cross hanging from his ear, the knife tucked in his boot.

The words ‘I will ruin you’ and the new meaning they’d taken now that you’ve seen the sharper end of the double sided blade. One regrets what he is while the other wears it like armor.

When your head hits the pillow, your eyes close and you dream instantly. Of black and smoke, and a deep deep anger that sticks to your skin like humidity. Of a car leaving and leaving, and leaving you behind. Again and again.

Of the white picket fence and how you’d never been chosen once.

Now, at the same time.

He thinks of you too. Hand pumping on his length, quick and sloppy, one palm flat against the door of his apartment, guilt and chagrin weighting on his shoulders, pulling down down, one step closer to the inviting pits of hell, a place that’s becoming more and more the only choice of residence in the afterlife, it seems.

He would’ve fucked you so good. White fucking horse. . . he chuckles to himself, his seed spilling out in hot spurts, staining the wood of the entrance, heartbeat erratic, thoughts unhinged, relentless; of your breasts, so full and plump-looking under that cheap ass material you called a shirt. And those legs, wonderfully naked and beautiful, how fucking sexy they would’ve looked wrapped around his waist as he took you in the back of his motorcycle.

A goddamn shame.

As, in turn, he gets in the shower, he decides he’ll keep you a secret for as long as he can. The event of your cousin’s wedding is no small ordeal, not in this cursed town, so it’d only be natural for you to show up, be present. Which means Chris would be thinking the same. 

Which means he’s expecting it to happen.

The cowardice of his younger brother is painfully pitiful. For many reasons, he did the right thing. For the only reason that mattered, he did not. It echoes in Changbin, this missed opportunity, and what it could mean for him.

You’re alike, you and him. In the most basic form, there’s chemistry between you, yes. But something else, too, something much darker, a match meeting its flame, or a hand grenade in the middle of war—he’s not saying it will be safe or sane. What he’s saying is it will be worth it. 

What he wants is your lips on his. Your body against his own. Your cunt burying him alive.

He smokes and thinks of ways to see you again. How nearly all of them mean causing trouble, and just as well, fuck it. He’s got the reputation to uphold, anyway.

But Chris. Chris will have to be dealt with sooner or later.

[dragoneye01]

Well, Come On In- Remmick x Reader (smut)

Summary: When Remmick comes knocking at your door, should you let his pathetic ass in or not?

Word Count: 1,650

There came an aggressive pounding on your door and you sighed, knowing exactly who it would be. Everytime he got into trouble he came crawling back. Everytime the sun was about to set, he’d be begging like a dog at your door. 

Swinging the door open, another sigh left your lips when you saw him, beaten, bloody, in need of care, but that was the tricky part, wasn’t it? He always knew how to trick people one way or another. 

“What do you want, Remmick?” You asked, arms crossed. 

“Let me in, please. They’re after me.” He gasped for air, looking like he was hurting pretty bad. His back was smoking and you noticed how the sun hadn’t fully set yet. 

“Why should I let you in? I thought I was too woody and like a tree for you.” 

“Now darlin’ I didn’t mean anything-”

“No, you said-”

“It fucking hurts, just let me in!” Remmick dragged his claws on the boards of your porch. “They won’t be long. Huntin’ me like some dog, please, baby, just let me in.” 

“You want to come in so bad, beg for it.” You tried so hard to keep the grin off your face, but seeing tears on his face and him in pain brought it out of you. 

“Baby, I’ll do right by you, I swear, please, please let me in. You know I’d kiss the ground your feet walk on. Heaven is my head buried in your-”

“Alright, alright, come in.” You rolled your eyes, and he leapt into your house, throwing himself into your living room, if it could be called that. The house was so small. As he lay on the ground, you walked around and pulled all the blinds closed, making sure the last rays of sun couldn’t come in. Remmick lay in a bloody heap, groaning in relief, knowing he was- guessing he was, safe. You got a wet rag from the kitchen and began to slowly clean him up, wiping the sweat and blood and dirt from his body. Your touch was light and cool, your hands were gentle. Remmick almost laughed at how sweet you seemed to be. 

Before long there came a knock at your door again. 

“Go in the kitchen.” You whispered, helping him up. Remmick bolted for the sanctuary of your small kitchen, hiding down on the ground. You squared your shoulders and went back to the door. 

“How can I help you?” You asked, opening the door. Two men stood in the shadow of the sinking sun. 

“Evening. We’re trying to find a runaway vagrant who might’ve been by here. Did anyone force their way into your home?” One of the men asked. 

“Can’t say I’ve seen anyone.” You stood your ground, arm on the door in case you had to slam it in their faces. 

“He’s dangerous. If he managed to get in, well, we could take care of him for you.” The other man offered, glancing past you into your home. You nudged the door to halfway closed. 

“Like I said, I haven’t seen anybody. It’s getting late and I’m mighty tired.” You narrowed your eyes at the two, hoping they’d leave you be. They glanced at one another before nodding their heads. 

“God be with you.” They finally said and turned on their heels to leave. Slamming the door shut and latching the lock, you let out a deep breath. 

“God be with me.” You repeated mockingly, walking back into your kitchen. Remmick was leaning on your table, looking better than when he first arrived. You were always amazed at how fast he healed, his wounds almost gone. He still had some blood on his shoulders that you missed. 

“Those men after you- they’re gone.” You told him. “Take some advice from me, Remmick. Don’t go west, at least for a few days. That’s where they were headed.” 

He nodded his head, his hair sticking to his forehead. He took several breaths before looking at you more pointedly. 

“You’re a sadist, ya know that?” 

“I’m the sadist? Says the fucking vampire playing with his food.” You scoffed. “Next time you wanna disappear without telling me…” You stopped, mind losing its train of thought when you saw the way he was looking at you. “Stop fucking looking at me like that.”

“Like what?” He smirked, standing up from the table and taking a step towards you. With how small your kitchen was, he was already chest to chest with you.

“Like…” You didn’t want to say it. 

“Like I love you?” Remmick said it so softly, it didn’t feel right. He should be all smooth talk and predator, but right now he was acting almost human. 

“No, no, I-”

“Because I love you, ya know. Ever since you invited me in and had me kill that partner of yours, I’ve felt like I don’t want to leave you.” 

“Then why did you?”

“Shit, I didn’t want to get caught. I was always going to come back for you.” 

“Leave a note, then.” You used the flat of your hand to push his chest, hard. Remmick laughed when he stumbled back a bit. 

“Push me around and see what happens.” It was an idle threat and you knew it. 

“What’ll happen, huh? You’ll bite me?” You closed the gap between you two, snapping your all too human teeth. “You’ll push me back?” You pushed him again until his back was against the counter. That stupid smirk was still on his face. 

“You want to fuck me so bad.” Remmick chuckled, tilting his head up. “You spread your legs for me once.”

“Let me bite you.” You said all of a sudden. Remmick looked at you then, and saw something dangerous in your eyes. 

“YOU want to bite ME?” Remmick laughed. “Well, sugar, all you had to do was ask.”

You gave him one final push and came up close, your hands on either side of his hips. Remmick growled at the way you played with him, but there was something about how you held him just so. Your nails were digging into his skin and he felt your breath on his neck. It was odd, how badly he wanted you to bite him. To act out your threat. 

You leaned in, breath fanning over his skin, letting your tongue glide over his jugular. Remmick took a halted breath before you bit him. There was something sweet about it. Something he had never felt before and his eyes rolled back at the way your teeth felt against his skin, the way your tongue came out to lick the mark. When you pulled away, he whined.

“You want me to fuck you so bad.” You laughed lightly, looking at the flush of his cheeks. 

“Yeah, and?” It was a lame comeback, but it was all he could think of as his head swam. 

You went back in and bit down again, same spot, a little harder this time. Remmick’s hands were on your own, feeling how your nails tore at his hips. He let out a deep moan when your hand wandered down to his clothed crotch. Remmick bucked his hips, desperate for some friction. One of your hands came up and wrapped around his throat, the other palmed his growing erection. 

“You want this?” You breathed against his lips. He nodded his head, wishing you’d bite him harder still, but you pulled away, all warmth gone. He looked at you with half-lidded eyes as you sat back on the table. 

“Come get it, then.” You grinned. Remmick practically pounced on you, his hands pulling your legs around his waist. He began kissing you as if he were drowning, a man starved finally getting a good meal. One of his hands made it between your legs, pulling your underwear to one side. He sighed contentedly at how you took his fingers, moaning into his mouth. He curved his fingers inside you, but he was growing impatient, needy, desperate. When his cock entered you, your back arched to meet him and you bit his shoulder to hide your moan. 

Remmick was in heaven, snapping his hips back and forth to meet yours, feeling your walls hug him just right. He fit perfectly with you, loved every part of your body, and needed… god, he was a creature of needs and desperation in this moment. 

“F-fuck, I want you.” Remmick moaned loudly, his hands gripped your hips and kept pulling you closer. You let go of his shoulder momentarily, huffing and trying to hold in your noises. He sped up his pace, pulling your leg up over his shoulder. At the new angle, you let out a gasp, tearing at the sleeves of his shirt. It wasn’t long until he came, scratching at your hips with sudden claws, fangs coming out. He bit his lip, though, knowing you’d never forgive him if he bit you… if he bit you like a piece of meat. At the sight of his vampiric form, your eyes rolled back and you came, biting down once more on his neck to hold your voice back. He trusted a few more times before gently pulling your leg off his shoulder and breathing heavily. 

You propped yourself up on your arms and looked at him, fucked out of his mind. 

“You… you didn’t bite me.” You said, noticing his fangs. 

“Darlin’, you did enough biting for the both of us.” Remmick laughed, out of breath. You saw all the marks on his neck and shoulder, bruising now. 

“Hah, yeah. Maybe if you weren’t such a perverted slut-”

You were interrupted by Remmick’s lips on yours, his arms wrapping around your body. He held you closed, licking your lips and pulling a centimeter away. 

“Don’t make me leave.” He whined. 

“I invited you in, didn’t I? Stay as long as you want.”

[the-trailblaze]

I’ve only wanted you

Dante x fem reader

Author notes: request #3! You confess to Dante and he rejects you. You two get into an argument, hurt/comfort, angst, fluff, love confessions

Dante Sparda. The infamous half demon half human demon hunter. Everyone in town knows his name and his business, Devil May Cry. But you know him as a goofy guy that loves pizza and strawberry sundaes.

He is also your closet friend and your biggest crush. But you’ve taken that secret to the grave. Or well you’re trying. Every time you two hang out it comes closer and closer to being blurted out.

Would it be a bad thing if it got known? You don’t know because you can’t even begin to think what he would say or do. He’d probably think you were just joking and brush it off like he does to the waitress at the cafe. Soon you’ll probably be in her boat at this rate.

You can’t help it though, Dante is so sweet and caring. He’s also super protective about you. He acts differently around you than he does with any other girl. He’s a lot more touchy and flirty with you compared to when he’s with Lady or Trish. He also doesn’t shy away from acting that way when they are around. It’s like he wants to make something known. Maybe you do have a chance.

You’re laying in your bed looking up at the ceiling while all these thoughts run through your head. It just makes your heart hurt more and more. Keeping this secret is really hurting you. Tonight you should tell him, even if it ruins everything. The thought of losing him hurts but the pain you’re feeling now also hurts a lot. You’d rather rip the band aid off instead of hurting yourself slowly.

You get out of bed with groan and get ready to head over to Dante’s. He called you earlier asking if you wanna hang out, of course you didn’t decline because you just want to be near him.

The walk to Devil May Cry is about fifteen minutes. It’s nice because the cool breeze is helping calm yourself down. Today is the day you’re going to confess. You know it could end horribly but that isn’t going to stop you now.

When you arrive you knock and the door and it swings open revealing Dante. “Thought you were the pizza man.”

You roll your eyes, “Oh I’m sorry, I can leave if you want.” You jokingly say while turning around to “walk away”.

He laughs at your joke and grabs your hand, “Not so fast, you’re mine tonight.”

You try to control yourself from blushing so he doesn’t see his comment makes you flustered. It does send your heart racing though. You let him drag you inside and he announces the plan for tonight, “Thought we could eat some pizza and catch up.”

“Sounds like fun.” You nod along with the idea. Wonder what kind of games he has in mind.

You set your purse down and kick off your shoes and head into the kitchen. You grab two beers and bring them back to the living room. You immediately fall onto the couch letting out a sigh of relief. Dante’s couch might be worn and old but it’s comforting and warm at the same time.

Dante comes to join you but it’s stopped in his tracks when he hears a knock at the door again. He grabs the pizza and walks back over to you. “Did you even pay for that?”

“Nah I had them put it on my tab.”

“Dante you’re probably going to go even more in debt if you don’t start paying for this stuff.”

“Hey it’s fineeee. Don’t worry your pretty little head over it.” He opens the pizza box and instantly digs in.

You try to not blush at this comment too. He definitely didn’t mean anything by it and was just playing with you. You change the subject and ask, “How have you been?”

He swallows a massive bite then answers, “You know same old same old. Killing demons while looking like a total sexy badass.”

You slap a hand over your face and drag it down of course he had to add the last part. “Yeah, yeah. But I meant how you actually are like as Dante.”

“Oh well that’s not fun. When I’m not hunting and killing demons I do nothing but wait to hunt and kill demons. I mean I’ve had some good pizza and strawberry sundaes recently.”

You roll your eyes, this man is really dense sometimes. “We need to get you a hobby that isn’t hunting and killing demons.”

He looks at you like you were the one that killed him family in front of him, “How dare you say that!”

Great now he’s pouting. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant find something to do in your free time while you wait. You like to dance but you’ve barely done that recently. We could get you some books to read-“

“BLEH, books? Are you trying to kill me with boredom? I’d rather sit in complete silence than read a book.”

You roll your eyes at the man again, “Sometimes I really think you’re a child.”

“Hey-“

“But then I remember you are probably the furthest thing from one.” You look over to him and he’s looking at you. You have his full attention and don’t seem like you’re going to lose it any time soon.

“You’re very strong Dante, the strongest person I know. You care so much about everyone around you and carry so many burdens just so you can help them. You’d take away all the pain from everyone and carry it yourself if you could. You hold the weight of the world on your shoulders but you never complain about it. You only face the problems head on and without any hesitation.”

You let out a shaky breath and continue, “I guess that’s why I fell for you. Everything about you is so admirable that it’s hard not to fall for you. I love you Dante and have for a while.”

You hear his breath hitch and you don’t dare to look at him. You close your eyes and pray that it doesn’t end like the bad scenarios you’ve made up in your head.

“Why did you have to ruin this?”

Your eyes fly open and you snap your neck to look at him. He looks absolutely pissed. “Tell me why did you have to fucking say that?”

Now you’re confused, “What- I don’t get what you mean.”

“WHY DID YOU HAVE TO TELL ME YOU LOVE ME!?” He’s standing up now and yelling. He’s never once raised his voice at you. This is a different side of him and you don’t like it one bit.

You stand up and try to stand toe to toe with him even though you know it’s probably useless. “Because keeping it a secret was hurting me! I had to tell you so it wouldn’t hurt anymore.”

“I don’t fucking care! We are friends and now you had to try and cross that line.”

Now you’re mad, “Don’t act like you don’t act differently around me! You act completely different with me compared to Trish and Lady.” You argued back.

“Well I don’t see you any different from those two! You mean the exact same to me as they do, nothing more nothing less. You’re basically a work friend. I’m not interested in you that way at all.”

Work friend? That’s it? After everything you two have gone through together in the past years, he doesn’t see you as someone close to him. You freeze and bite your lip at his comment. It’s like he’s tearing out your heart and handing it right back to you.

“I’m not even a demon hunter Dante!” You yell back. You lower your head so he wouldn’t see the tears that are starting to run down your cheeks. You lower your voice, “I was wrong, you’re not a good person. You’re just a jerk.” You lift your head to look at him and you see him open his mouth just to quickly shut it.

“I guess I made another mistake in loving you. I thought you’d be at least nicer.” You walk past him and slip on your shoes. You grab your purse and open the door.

Dante can’t move. He can’t comprehend any of this. He doesn’t know how it got so bad. But he doesn’t want you to leave. Not like this. Not when he lied to you.

“Hey come on wait-“ he steps closer to you reaching his hand out to grab your hand again.

You move your hand out of his reach, “Don’t touch me.”

“Wait I-“

You look at him solemnly, “This is goodbye Dante.” You then walk out and close the door behind you. Once you’re a couple feet away you sob harder and run back to your apartment.

This went worse than you ever could have imagined. You knew there was a possibility of him rejecting you but you never knew it would end like this. You two are definitely on opposite side of a cliff, with the biggest ravine between you.

Dante begs for you to open the door again and come back. He stands and watches hopelessly. He knows you’re not going to and he’s stupid for thinking that it’s even possible.

Why did he yell at you? Why in the actual fuck would he yell at his favorite person in the whole world? Why would he yell at the woman he loves?

Dante knows why he was so quick to say no though. Everyone he’s ever loved has died or been in some kind of pain because of him. He can’t put you through that and he can’t put himself through losing someone else he loves. You told him he was super strong but he feels so weak now. He feels weak because he broke everything between you two.

His necklace starts to feel oddly heavy around his neck, great his mom is mad at him too. He grabs the necklace and looks up, “I am going to fix this mom. I’m not going to let her get away.” He promises.

While you’re running back to your apartment you run into someone. You mentally curse yourself because now you’re going to be in an awkward situation. Before you can apologize you hear two people call out your name.

You recognized those voice. Shit you gotta run. You try to get around them and mumble a sorry but your hand is suddenly grabbed.

“Why are you running from us?” Trish asked.

You turn to look at them and they freeze at your tear stained face. You hide your face and try to stop the tears. But your broken heart won’t let you. Lady looks at Trish and they silently agree to get you back to your apartment.

They walk you back while you silently cry. Lady takes your purse and grabs your keys from it to unlock your door. Once you’re inside they guide you to the couch.

You finally calm down enough to where you’re not completely sobbing. But still have some stray tears rolling down your face.

Lady now speaks up, “Okay what in the hell happened?” Trish smacks her arm. “Ow what was that for?”

Trish only glares at her, “Let her go on her own time.”

“It’s fine.” You cut the arguing duo off. You tell them what happened and you have to hold them down.

“Oh I’m going to fucking kill him. Shoot him right between the eyes,” Lady growls.

“I’m right behind you girl. Let’s go.”

“Wait stop! Just leave it. It’s already so messy between us and I don’t want the rift to grow even bigger.”

Lady rolls her eyes and questions, “How can you defend him after this? He was a total douche to you.”

“I’m not defending him. I don’t even know if I could do that. What he said hurt me more than anything ever has. But I don’t want to completely burn our bridges. He’s good at what he does and that’s helped me many times.”

Trish sighs knowing you making a good argument. But she isn’t just going to sit around and let you be upset.

“How about this, tomorrow we all go out! I’ll invite some drinking friends and we can relax together. We gotta get your mind off of this.”

“Sounds good to me,” you respond. It actually sounds awful but you know they are going to drag you out no matter what you say. So it’s better to agree than disagree and make another argument happen.

•

A couple weeks have gone by since your big argument with Dante. You two have spoken a word to each other and haven’t seen each other since. You went out with Lady and Trish the next night and it was hell.

Most of the people Trish invited were guys so they were trying to hit on you and it made you feel uneasy. One guy was really persistent though.

His name was Jackson. He was kinda nice and okay to look at. He wasn’t funny, he didn’t like to dance, he wasn’t cocky, he wasn’t Dante. You shook your head at the thought. Dante is your standard now and you can’t even change it.

The going out for drink because quite common within the past few weeks which means you see Jackson more and more. Last night he asked you out on a date. The thought of that made you sick. You didn’t want to go out on a date with him. You’re still thinking about Dante.

You wonder how he’s doing. He’s been radio silent with Trish and Lady too. Maybe he knew they’d be on your side so he just kept to himself for now. You hope he’s okay. You hope he’s eating enough and getting enough sleep. You hope he’s taking care of himself during missions and resting properly after them.

You felt a tap on your shoulder and you look to see Jackson, “So is that a yes?”

Lady buts in and says yes for you. You give her a glare and she just shrugs it off. So much for no date.

Now you’re out shopping with Lady and Trish to get an outfit for the date tonight. They claimed you needed “a fresh new look for a fresh new start.” You hated every second of this. They kept handing you dress after dress to try on.

You ended up falling in love with one dress though. Of course it was red and of course it made you think of Dante. You tell them you want this dress and Trish eagerly buys it for you.

You three are walking out of the store that’s when you see him. The man you secretly have been yearning to see again. You can’t help yourself, you still love him. Even after what he said to you.

As if he senses eyes on him Dante turns and sees you three. He then quickly walks over to the group. Lady and Trish sees him approaching and goes to cover you. All he manages to get out is, “Hey.”

“Hello Dante.” Trish responds. The brave soul that’s going to go toe to toe with him.

“What are the three of you doing here?” He tries to look around the barrier they made to see you but they keep you blocked.

“We’re shopping for her date tonight. Now if you excuse us, we gotta go get her ready.”

“Date?” Dante stammers out not believing what Trish just said. She just nods and pushes you away.

Lady stays back and Dante looks at her, “Please tell me you’re joking.”

“No we aren’t. There’s some men out there that actually want her unlike you.”

“I WANT HER MORE THAN ANYTHING!” He snaps back.

“Then why yell at her like you did? Why say she means nothing to you?”

“Because I’m fucking afraid of losing her. The thought of it hurts so bad. I can take shots like nothing but she can’t. What if something happens to her because of me? I can’t live with that.”

“So you’d rather live without her?”

“No I want her right by my side.”

“You have to pick. You can’t say you want her then push her away. You also can expect to push her away and expect to have her.”

Lady starts to walk aways and looks over her shoulder, “She still talks and thinks about you all the time. She’s leaving at six for her date. If you want to fix this, stop her and apologize.” She then goes to catch up with you and Trish.

Dante stands there watching hopelessly again hoping you’d come back to him. But after Lady’s last comment there’s new fire that burns within him. He’s determined to get you back.

These past few weeks has been absolute hell for him. All he’s wanted to do is reach out to you. He can’t deal without your presence anymore. He misses how your laugh would fill up the quietness of Devil May Cry. He misses how the pillow on the couch you always slept on doesn’t smell like you anymore. He missing calling you and having you come over just to goof around with him.

He misses your beautiful self. He’s always thought you were eye catching. Your presence made him calm and happy. He needs you in his life again. He can’t go a minute without you anymore. Tonight he’s getting you back. He’s sure of it.

You finished getting ready and all you have to do is slip on your heels. You’re happy Lady and Trish left even though it kind of confused you. Lady whispered something in her ear and the two of them suddenly announced they are leaving. But it is peaceful because now you just get to think freely.

You slip on a pair of black heel and look at yourself in the mirror. You looked great, the red dress and heels really complement one another. You wonder what Dante would think of this dress. You shake your head trying to get the thought out. You finally got to see him today even though you didn’t get to talk to him. He looked exhausted, he must have just came from a mission.

You smack your hands against your cheeks to focus yourself. You’re going on a date with someone else tonight. You can at least be decent and not think about another man.

You hear a knock at your door and look at the clock. It’s 5:30 and you agreed to meet at the restaurant. So who on earth could be knocking?

You walk to the door and open it to be greeted with the man that hasn’t left your thoughts. You two stare at each other, waiting for the other to break the silence.

Dante swallows thickly and then murmurs, “Don’t go on the date.”

“Why?”

“You know why.”

“No Dante I don’t.”

“I can’t really say…”

You were happy to see him now you’re mad. You’ve had enough of this. He’s telling you not to go on the date and won’t tell you why. What is his goal here?

“Okay bye then.” You start to shut the door but he scrambles and stops you.

“Wait please don’t shut the door again. I have a feeling if it shuts again we are done.”

“What’s your goal here Dante? Are you trying to make me miserable?”

He pushes the door open so you two have no barrier between you two anymore. “Hell no. That’s honestly the last thing I want.”

“Funny, didn’t seem like you cared about that last time.”

“I know, I was a dick and shouldn’t have yelled at you. I regret it with every fiber of my being. Human and demonic side.”

“Dante, that doesn’t change what happened. You said I didn’t mean anything to you.”

“I didn’t mean it I promise. I’m so sorry for how I treated you. I wish I could take it all back because I regret it all. I want to punch myself for yelling at you but most of all I hate myself for lying to you.”

You gulp at his words. You think you know where this is going and you don’t know if he’s just going to say it or if he means it. “Dante, what do you mean?”

He steps forward and raises his hands to your cheeks. Seeing that you’re not stopping him, he rests them on your cheeks. He swipes his thumbs back and forth against trying to soothe you.

“I love you. I’ve always had.”

You bite your lip and close your eyes. You are taken back to when he said he saw you as nothing more than a work friend. That you meant nothing more to him. You hear that replaying in your head over and over again.

“You said I was nothing more to you than a work friend.”

You feel him flinch and him whisper, “I know.”

“You yelled at me and said I ruined everything.”

“I know.”

“You said you weren’t interested in me.”

“I know.”

“But Dante the funny thing is even after all that, I don’t hate you. I still am in love with you.”

He sighs and hangs his in relief. “Fuck I’m so sorry. I promise I’ll make it all up to you. I’ll take care of you and protect you. I’ll treasure your love till the day I die. Please give me the chance to make it right.”

“I trust you Dante but you only get one chance. Don’t waste it.”

“I’m not going to fucking waste a second more.”

He dips down to connects your lips. It’s as if a switch has gone off and made everything right again. This kiss feels so perfect and warm. It’s passionate and loving, like Dante is trying to confess even more than he has.

You two break apart and you look to see your lipstick smudged on his lips. You laugh at the look. You raised your hand to his lips and wipe off the lipstick.

“Heyyyy don’t do that I wanna walk around with that.”

“You’re fine. But now I gotta cancel the date. Great Trish is going to be mad the dress didn’t get its use.”

You start to walk away but Dante pulls you back into his embrace. Your back is against his chest and he leans down and whispers into your ear, “Nah you’re going to be a no show baby, no more talking to that guy. But I’m going to take you out because I’m not wasting this sight. You look so fucking hot in red.”

@fashionloverr846