#or when a kid is tearing their wrists open with their own fingernails

[malewifespike]

Work today is hell we had to put the same kid in seclusion 3 times in the span of 2 hours because he just could not chill out and he kept attacking staff and the seclusions were traumatic as fuck for everyone involved the kid was screaming and begging and then trying to bite us it was just so bad and then I just have to go back to my group and be like hi everyone! :) but i feel dead inside

[munson-blurbs]

Ghostin' (Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader): Chapter 2

Part One

Summary: Five weeks after receiving unexpected news, you still haven't spoken to any of your friends. A talk with Wayne helps you make a decision, while Steve struggles with his own guilt and the possibility that Vecna isn't quite done with him yet.

Warnings: language, S4 is canon, pregnancy

WC: 4.8k

Taglist: @kaybee87 @sidthedollface2 @chelebelletx @livsters @atombombbibunny @tattooedkiss13 @manda-panda-monium @charming-winchester @corroded-hellfire @trashmouth-richie @sweet-villain @slightlyvicked @hxllfired @yogizzz @tlclick73 @thefreakofhawkins86 @sheisjoeschateau @harrypotteranna23-blog @harringr0ve

Divider credits to @firefly-graphics

You wake up to sunlight streaming through your kitchen window, giving a groan as you wipe the sleep from your eyes and sit up; an action that is becoming more difficult with your growing bump. The TV screen is blue, and likely has been for awhile. You’ve fallen asleep watching a movie, again. At this rate, you’ll never finish St. Elmo’s Fire until after the baby comes, and then you’ll be too busy raising a kid by yourself.

As you pop the VHS out of the player, your body feels like it’s been drained of all warmth. Your plan was to watch the movie last night and return it to Family Video immediately. Some random high school kid worked there on Saturday nights, which meant you could sneak in and out without your friends getting a glimpse of your belly.

But now it’s Sunday morning. And Steve Harrington works on Sunday mornings.

Maybe I can just toss it through the doors like a Frisbee, you think wryly. In theory, you could just return it tomorrow and pay the late fee, but you can’t afford to waste money now. You bury your head in your hands with an exasperated groan. You throw on the oversized sweatshirt that best conceals the bump, though you look completely ridiculous in the mid-July heat. Your keys practically slip through your fingers, sweaty from your own body heat and nerves. 

There’s only one other person who knows your secret besides the nurse and your parents, and you find yourself driving to his place before you even realize where you’re going. 

Rapping on the door lightly in case he’s still asleep, you let out a breath you didn’t know you’re holding. Guilt gnaws at your insides; here you are, bothering someone with your own problems for the umpteenth time. 

“Hey there, darlin’.” Wayne greets you with a tired smile. “You got any more of those pictures for me?” The man, usually so stoic, was elated any time you brought new grainy ultrasound photos. 

You shake your head. “Not today, but I have an appointment in a few days.” Given the high-stress situation, your doctor had you coming in more often than the traditional expectant mother. “‘M sorry if I woke you up.”

Wayne holds the door open for you and you step inside the trailer. Each visit, it smells less and less like Eddie’s signature scent of musky cologne, stale cigarettes, and weed. “You’re never a bother. Always cheers me up to see you and my little grandbaby.” 

The first time you met Wayne, a few months into your relationship with Eddie, you were so nervous. This was the man who raised him, who took him in when no one else would, and you desperately wanted to make a good impression. You had a similar feeling now, looking anxiously at the ground while you tried to formulate a sentence.

“Could I ask you for a favor?” You’re picking at your fingernails, unable to look him in the eyes. 

“‘Course,” Wayne says softly. “What do you need?”

You hold out the VHS. “D’you think you could return this to Family Video for me today?” Your hand trembles, and considering your wrist is fully healed, it has to be due to your own anxiety. Tears prickle at your eyes. 

“Oh, darlin’,” Wayne sighs, sitting on the couch and patting the spot next to him. “You still haven’t talked to your friends?” You can only manage another head shake as the teardrops fall. He pulls you in for a side hug. “You know they won’t judge you. They’ll still love you, and they will certainly love that baby.”

“That’s the thing,” you manage through heaving sobs. “I know they’ll be here for me, for us,” you amend, placing a hand on your belly, “but that’s not what I want. I don’t want to keep being everyone’s pathetic pity case.” You feel Wayne’s grizzled hand rubbing your back gently, and you start to calm down. “I don’t want to be a burden to people.”

Wayne pauses for a moment before speaking. “Did I ever tell you about the time Eddie and I had to go on food stamps?” he says finally.

You scrunch up your face. “I don’t think so.”

“It was a couple months after I got custody, and as my shit luck would have it, I lost my job. Thought we could just push through, but then I woke up one morning with no money in the bank and just a bottle of mustard in the fridge. If it was just me, I would’ve dealt with it. But now I got a ten-year-old kid; a growing boy. He’s gotta eat.

“So I bite the bullet and sign up for food stamps. I’d always promised I’d never rely on anyone else, especially the government, but there I am at the grocery store, week after week, with that booklet in hand.” 

A hint of a grin appears on his stubbled face. “I tried to hide it from Eddie, but you know how he is; can never mind his own business.” It’s not lost on you that he’s referring to his nephew in the present tense, like he’s still here. “And one day he catches me paying with stamps instead of cash, an’ he goes, ‘what’s that?’  I’m tellin’ him that I’ll explain later, but he pulls my arm down, looks, and says, ‘oh, it’s just food stamps.’ Real casual, no big deal. Meanwhile, I’m humiliated, thinkin’ I’m less of a man for not being able to provide.”

“But that’s not true,” you interject. “You did what you had to do to take care of him.”

“‘S not how I felt, though,” he counters, and you nod. “We get in my truck and I finally say to him, ‘I’m sorry we gotta use food stamps. ‘S only till I find work again.’ An’ you know what this kid says to me?”

“Mm-mm.”

“He goes, ‘Better than mustard for breakfast.’” You and Wayne both laugh at that, and soon you’re crying again, but now it’s from laughing too hard. 

“That is a classic ‘Eddie’ moment,” you giggle, wiping the tears from your cheeks. 

Wayne scratches his whiskers. “Yeah, that memory always cheers me up. But that’s not why I told you.” You give him a puzzled look, and he continues. “Sometimes, we have to let people in, even if we wanna push them away. Because nine times outta ten, that fear is all in our head, and they aren’t bothered by our weaknesses at all.” His eyes are misty as he reaches for your hand. “It can be embarrassing and scary as hell to admit you need help. But trust me’,” he says, “it’s better than mustard for breakfast.”

You exhale, still feeling ambivalent about confronting Steve, but slightly less on-edge. “Thank you, Wayne,” you whisper. “Anyone ever tell you that you’re the best?”

“Jus’ you, darlin’,” he replies with a grin. “And if you and that baby of yours ever need anything else, you don’t hesitate to knock on this door.”

Taking a deep breath, you push open the door to Family Video. The bell on the door alerts Robin that there’s a customer, and she puts her book down and looks over. As soon as she sees who it is, her entire face lights up. “Y/N! You’re alive!” she cries out, nearly leaping over the counter and sprinting to you. “We were so worried!” She stops just short of you. “Wait, are you sick?”

Your brows pinch together in confusion. “No? Why?”

She points to your attire. “You’re wearing a sweatshirt and it’s, like, 90 degrees outside,” she says simply.

“Oh, yeah, no,” you rush, “it’s just, um, cold in the air conditioning?” But it comes out as more than a question, and Robin picks up on it right away.

“What’s going on?” She crosses her arms over her chest suspiciously, but quickly lets them drop. “Look, I know we didn’t know each other long before…everything…but you know you can tell me anything.”

You look around cautiously before slowly lifting your outer layer up over the gentle curve of your belly. Your shirt still covers your skin, but the bump is still prominent enough beneath it to warrant a gasp from your new friend.

“Oh, my God,” she murmurs, still unbelieving. 

“D’you wanna feel it?” you ask shyly. It’s a bit of a relief, actually; having someone else know your secret. It makes everything slightly less scary. 

Robin brings a hand to your stomach, smiling as she lightly touches it. “Oh, my God,” she repeats, blinking away tears. “Does Steve know?”

Your face blanches and you instinctively pull away. “It’s not his.” Your tone is snappy, and you feel bad as soon as you hear it. “‘M sorry, I just…”

“No, no,” Robin shakes her head. “I didn’t mean it like…” Her eyes widen when she realizes. “It’s Eddie’s.”

“Yeah,” you say, voice choked with emotion. “Yeah, it is.” You clear your throat. “And to answer your question, no; I haven’t told Steve.”

Robin bites her lower lip in contemplation. “Are you going to?” She glances towards the breakroom. “Because he’ll be coming out here in, like, five minutes.”

After your conversation with Wayne, you thought you were ready to explain everything to Steve, but now that the moment arrived, you’re suddenly unsure. “I don’t…I don’t think so.” You let your gaze drop to the tiled floor and place St. Elmo’s Fire on the counter. “I’m just gonna return this and go.” You head for the door before stopping to turn back to Robin. “Please don’t say anything to him. I’m not ready yet.”

She nods, miming zipping her lips and throwing away the key. “He won’t be mad, you know,” she tells you. “If anything, he’ll just fall even more in love with you.” She claps a palm over her mouth. “You didn’t hear that.”

But it’s too late–your head is spinning with the news. “Steve’s in love with me?” you gawp. “No, he’s in love with Nancy.”

“Was in love with Nancy, until…” she hears the breakroom doorknob rattling and shoots you a warning glance. “Incoming–I’ll explain another time.”

You exit as fast as you can, grateful you haven’t developed the infamous pregnancy waddle yet, and get into your car just as Steve walks back into the storeroom. 

“Did I just hear–” Steve questions, scanning the room. “Never mind.” He gives a little stretch and yawns. “My dreams are so realistic now; I can’t even tell what’s actually happening and what’s not.”

Robin rests her elbows on the counter, pressing her lips together like she’s physically trying to conceal your secret. “Anything good? Or just the usual nightmares?”

“What do you think?” Steve mumbles. “D’you still have them?”

“Sometimes,” Robin admits. “Not as much as in the beginning.” She twirls a piece of thread from her vest around her finger absentmindedly. “For me, it’s those damn vines. I feel them winding around my body, and I’m writhing underneath them, but when I finally break free, it…it’s too late for you and Nancy.”

Steve pauses. “Do you ever see him? Vecna, I mean? Is he there?”

“No, oddly enough. Maybe he’ll show up in future installments of ‘Recounts of Robin’s Traumatic Experiences.’” She laughs half-heartedly at her joke. “What about you?”

“Yeah,” Steve nods. “I see him. Hear the chimes, too.” The dream he just had in the breakroom was one of the most terrifying ones yet. 

He’s back in the gym at Hawkins High, shooting three-pointers, when a familiar voice calls out. 

“Hey, Steve.”

“Eddie!” Steve’s grin is so wide, it practically splits his face open. “We thought we lost you forever!”

“You know you can’t get rid of me that easily,” Eddie says, giving his signature smirk. “How’s life treatin’ you?”

Steve sighs. “Not great, dude. The town’s a mess, I have the worst dreams—“

“And you’re in love with Y/N,” Eddie cuts him off, his smile melting into a more sadistic expression. “You, Steve Harrington, want to get with my girlfriend. You selfish fucking prick.” His voice deepens, becomes sinister. “You could get any girl in this town, but you want what you can’t have; is that it?”

“N-No,” Steve stammers. “That’s not it at all.”

“I bet you wanted me to die, just so you could take her from me. That’s why you told me not to be a hero, isn’t it?” The voice coming from Eddie’s body doesn’t even resemble his anymore. “You knew if you said that, I’d take it as a challenge. Put my life at risk.” Thick, ugly vines snake around Eddie’s limbs. “Did you get everything you wanted, Steve?”

“I didn’t want you to die! I wasn’t trying to steal your girlfriend, Eddie! I swear!” 

And then Steve hears them: the demobats. They start off squawking faintly from a distance, but they get louder. No matter how fast Steve sprints, he can never outrun them. 

He shakes the memory away, tousling his hair in the process. “Sometimes, I worry that they’re not dreams,” he says softly. “Max told me that Vecna uses your biggest fears, your insecurities, and uses them to draw you in. And that’s how it is in every single nightmare I have.”

“Is it the Eddie thing?” Robin asks, her voice gentle. She knows when to poke fun at her friend, and when he needs to be taken seriously. When Steve is quiet, she gingerly places her hand on his forearm. “Steve, in these dreams, what is Vecna telling you?”

He gnaws on his lips, trying to suppress the tears that will inevitably fall. “That…that it’s my fault Eddie’s dead. That I wanted him to die so I could be with Y/N.”

“But that’s a lie. You know that’s a lie,” Robin reassures him, but it does little good. “We wanted to save everyone, including Eddie. Even if you wanted to be with Y/N then, you wouldn’t have Eddie killed over it.”

“I know; logically, I know that. But Vecna’s so convincing. He has me questioning everything.” Steve grabs a handful of Laffy Taffy from the candy counter, unwrapping a strawberry one and popping it in his mouth whole.

Robin snorts at the sight of him struggling to chew on the candy. “You know you can just, like, bite into it like a normal person?”

“Yeah, but where’s the fun in that?” Steve smiles at her genuinely–it feels so good to smile–until his face suddenly contorts in pain. “Son of a bitch!” He reaches into his mouth and pulls the chewed pink blob out, now with a shiny silver addition to it. “My filling! Dammit!”

“Guess I’m taking your shift tomorrow while you go to the dentist?” Robin says with a roll of her eyes. “What were you saying about that being fun?”

Steve takes the hand that he isn’t using to massage his jaw and flips off his friend. “Actually, yeah,” he replies sheepishly. “If you wouldn’t mind?”

Walking into Hawkins Dental, Steve is hard to miss with the bag of frozen broccoli pressed to his cheek. You’re glad you’re sitting down, because the desk hides your belly. You’re one of two receptionists at the office, and neither the dentist nor the hygienists have noticed your bump yet. For all they know, it could just be run-of-the-mill weight gain.

The bag falls from Steve’s grip when he sees it’s you behind the counter. “Y/N,” he breathes, “wh-what are you doing here?” He shakes his head. “Okay, that was a dumb question. I just meant…I miss you. Miss, um, hanging out with you.” He picks the veggies up from the floor and puts it back to his face. For a moment, when he saw you, the pain just seemed to fade away.

You nod, trying your best not to rest your hand on your stomach. It’s a newfound habit that you find yourself doing any time you get anxious; like your first instinct is to protect your baby before anything else. “You’re here to get your filling replaced?” you ask matter-of-factly, trying to keep an even tone. You shuffle around in your chair for the intake forms and hand him a clipboard. “Fill these out and bring them back here. Dr. Scrivello will be with you shortly.”

A few moments later, Steve’s back with his completed paperwork. You can hear Dr. Scrivello finishing up with his current patient, but he’s not done fast enough to prevent you having a conversation with Steve.

“How have you been?” he murmurs, scratching nervously at the granite counter. “It’s been…”

“Almost six weeks,” you answer too quickly, and your face flushes.

Steve doesn’t seem to be fazed by your quick calculation. “Too long. Especially for people who were sharing a bed.”

“How did you manage to pull out a filling?” you change the subject. “Another casualty of a Family Video candy section?”

“The Laffy Taffy got me this time.” He gives a small chuckle before wincing. “Can’t laugh; hurts too much.”

You point to the bag in his hand. “Looks like it’s your turn to use frozen vegetables to nurse your wounds.”

“Oh, shit, yeah!” Steve raises his brows. “How’s your wrist? You’re not wearing the sling anymore.”

“Doctor said I only needed it for four weeks. Just have to be careful with it.” A confession is on the tip of your tongue. You want nothing more than to spill everything and to be pulled into a Steve hug. He just makes you feel safe and warm; you haven’t felt this way since…since Eddie.

“Steven Harrington?” Dr. Scrivello calls out, and both of you look over at him. “You can come on back.” He waves him over and pushes his thick black glasses up the bridge of his nose.

“Wish me luck,” Steve mumbles.

“Good luck, Steven,” you tease. But it’s you who will need luck. You just don’t know it yet.

Steve walks out of the room only twenty minutes later. The cavity wasn’t deep, so the dentist didn’t even need to use novocaine to fill it. You weren’t expecting him to be done so soon, and you’re reaching up to pull another file from the shelf. Your scrubs are riding up slightly, exposing your stomach.

“Am I good to–whoa.” Steve’s eyes are immediately drawn to your bump. “Y/N, are you–” He stops mid sentence, remembering something his mom once said about never asking a woman if she’s pregnant.

You’re flooded with a mix of emotions, primarily fear and embarrassment. Though you didn’t exactly have a plan to tell Steve your news, it certainly wasn’t like this. “I wanted to…” you start, but you can’t even manage to finish your own lie. “I’m sorry.”

Steve’s brows pinch together. “Sorry? Why?”

“Can you come back at noon?” You glance at your watch; it’s 10:30 AM now. “That’s when I take my lunch break.”

“Yeah, ‘course,” he says, unsure whether to make eye contact. “Do I have a copay?”

“Huh? Oh, no, you’re good.” You shove your hands in your pants pockets to keep Steve from seeing them trembling. “I’ll, um, see you later?”

“Yeah, later.” He can barely choke out the two words, shuffling through the door back to his car. 

You slump back into your chair. You’ve got an hour and a half, a full ninety minutes, to come up with a way to explain everything to Steve. Sure, the whole pregnancy announcement was out of the way, but now you have to tell him why you’ve been ignoring him. And the whole him being in love with you remark from Robin won’t stop replaying in your head.

The electronic hum of the bell buzzes at exactly twelve o’clock. You look up to see Steve walking through the door, carrying a giant brown bag with the Bradley’s Big Buys logo stamped on the side.

“Ready?” he asks, and you nod and place the “out to lunch” placard on the counter.

“Got yourself anything good?” You motion to the bag in his hand as the two of you walk outside. “More frozen produce for either of our various ailments?”

Steve cracks a smile; it doesn’t hurt as badly as it did this morning. “Nah, just got you a little something.” He holds it open for you to peer in. There are five jars inside, each a different type of pickle. “I heard that craving pickles is, like, super common for pregnant people,” he explains, blushing. “But I wasn’t sure what kind, so I just kinda…got them all.”

You can’t lie; a crisp, juicy pickle sounds like heaven right about now, but there’s a sinking feeling attached to the craving. “You didn’t have to do this,” you whisper.

He runs a hand through his hair, a disappointed sigh escaping his lips. “I knew I should’ve gone with ice cream, but I was afraid it would all melt.”

“No, no; ‘s not that.” Your lip quivers as you talk, finally ready to be honest. “Steve, the reason I didn’t tell you about this is because I didn’t want you to feel even more obligated to take care of me.”

You can’t miss the flustered look on his face. “Obligated? I never felt obligated to take care of you.” He places his hand over yours. “Where did you get that idea from?”

“Wasn’t anything you said or did,” you rush to explain, “‘s just hard for me to accept help from people. Makes me feel useless. Like I can’t take care of myself.”

Steve’s heart shatters at your admission. “No, God, no. I never felt that way—I never…that’s not why I stuck around.” He looks around, noticing the people passing by. “Wanna continue this in the car?” You nod and follow him to the BMW, sliding into the passenger seat. In a few more months, that might not be so easy. 

“When Eddie and I went for that walk in the woods, in the Upside Down, he asked me to take care of you if he…if he couldn’t,” Steve begins. 

“So you did this for Eddie?” Now it makes sense; there was an obligation to uphold a promise to his late friend. 

“That’s how it started, yeah. But then we started spending more time together, and I realized that…this might sound weird, but I felt peaceful with you. In a way I’ve never felt before.”

Your nose crinkles. “There are a lot of words I would use to describe the last few months, and ‘peaceful’ definitely isn’t one of them.”

“Exactly!” Steve’s burst of enthusiasm startles you. “Sorry. But that’s what’s so strange about it. Like, I should be tense all the time, and I mostly am, but being around you made me feel like things could maybe be, I dunno, normal again. Whatever that means,” he adds with a wave of his hand. 

“And I think part of it was selfish, too,” he continues. “It felt nice to be needed, instead of the one always asking for help.”

“That’s how I’ve been feeling,” you tell him, unwrapping your peanut butter sandwich and digging in. “I didn’t want to be a burden, a charity case.” 

“You’re not. I don’t see you that way; none of us do.” You assume he’s talking about Robin and the rest of the party. “For better or for worse, you’re our friend now. And friends take care of each other.” He leans down and takes a bite of your sandwich. “See? I’m hungry, and you helped me!”

You swat at him playfully. “Didn’t anyone ever teach you not to mess with a pregnant lady’s food? You could be taking away vital nutrients from the baby!”

Steve swallows his stolen piece of sandwich. “Speaking of which, how long have you known?”

You knew that your turn was coming, but it didn’t make things any easier. “Since I went to the hospital for my wrist. They ran a pregnancy test before they could do an x-ray, and—surprise.” You cup your small bump lovingly. 

“Is that why you asked me to leave and stopped talking to me?”

“Yeah. I felt bad enough having you take care of me. And I know you, Steve Harrington; you would’ve insisted on taking care of this kid, too.”

“Damn right I would’ve!” Steve smacks the gearshift for emphasis. “And I would’ve done it happily.” He looks at you with his big brown eyes. “I still will, if you’re okay with it.”

You drop your gaze as though you’ve developed a sudden interest in the car upholstery. It’s better than mustard for breakfast, you remind yourself. Let people help you if you need it—and you NEED it now more than ever. 

“I have a doctor’s appointment next Tuesday; just a check-up to make sure Little Bean is nice and healthy,” you say slowly. Every instinct is urging you to shut up and handle it alone, but you push them away. “My mom usually comes with me, but she can’t take off from work this time.”

Steve smiles knowingly. “I can take you. I have off on Tuesdays, so it’s perfect.”

“Thank you.” Relief flows through your body like a river, calm after a storm. You glance over at the Bradley’s bag tucked under the glove compartment. “This calls for a celebration. Put on some music, yeah?”

Steve starts the car and flips through the radio stations until the sound of Led Zeppelin pumps through the speakers. 

“Ooh, I love Black Dog!” you squeal, opening a jar of Kosher Dills and fishing one out, tapping it against the rim to avoid dripping pickle juice on yourself. You hold the jar out to Steve. “Want one?”

“Pickles with a peanut butter sandwich?” he grimaces. “I’ll pass.”

“Suit yourself,” you shrug, crunching into the snack and singing along to the radio. 

Eyes that shine, burnin' red 

Dreams of you all through my head 

Ah ah, ah ah, ah ah, ah ah, ah ah, ah ah, ahhh

The sound of you singing, so carefree, fills Steve with a warmth that he hasn’t experienced since before that wretched spring break. He wants to capture the joy, both yours and his, and hold onto it forever. “You know what always annoyed me about this song?” Steve pauses before relenting and biting into a pickle. “They never even say the words ‘black dog.’” 

You bark out a laugh. “You should write to Jimmy Page and let him know. File a formal complaint.”

“Maybe I will!” Steve shoots you a kind smile. “You know, Y/N; you’re not alone. We’re all scared, trying to figure out how the hell to deal with what we went through.” He gives a sarcastic chuckle. “There’s no handbook on coping with interdimensional trauma.”

“If you find one with a chapter on being a single mom because your child’s father died in said alternate dimension, let me know,” you quip wryly.

“I’ll keep an eye out,” Steve squeezes your hand. “I just know,” he tells you, a tear sliding down his cheek, “I just know Eddie would’ve been so happy to be a dad.”

You look up at him with wide, shiny eyes. “You think so?”

“Yes, absolutely,” he affirms. “He wanted the whole shebang with you–marriage, house in the suburbs, kids.” He wipes his eyes. “Eddie really fuckin’ loved you.”

You take in the information, bittersweet emotions swirling through you. You still love Eddie, love him so much it makes you physically ache, but there’s deep-rooted anger. And then the guilt of being angry at a dead man; a dead man whose baby you were carrying. It was all too much.

Twisting the lid back on the pickle jar, you clear your throat and reach for the car door. “Thank you again, Steve. For everything.” You lean over and press a soft kiss to his cheek. “You’re a great friend.”

Steve nods; the word friend is both comforting and unsettling. “Any time,” he manages. Anything for you. Anything you ever need, I’ll drop everything and come to you. No questions asked.

Tension resolved between you and him, Steve tucks himself into bed that night with a hope that he’ll have sweet dreams. He should know better by now.

It’s one of the usual nightmares, where Steve is calling out for his friends in the Upside Down, but no one is around. He’s alone, terrified, with no one to save him.

And then he hears the grandfather clock, so loud the world seems to vibrate. Clang, clang, clang, clang. But there’s something different this time. 

Steve’s blood runs cold at the sound of a fifth chime.

 –

[vuulpecula]

Her own gaze had stayed on her paperwork, though it wasn't looking at it, wasn't focusing, as she listened. Then they were looking up at the same time, their gazes meeting and she had to drop a hand under the table just to hide how it formed into a fist, nails digging into the palm of her hand. There was a lump in her throat the size of a meteor and no matter how many times she swallowed while looking back at his blue eyes, it would not go away. Even as he looked away, as he rubbed his face, she was unable to tear her own gaze from him. From the tears springing to his eyes, the one that rolled down his cheek. Her own felt uncomfortably hot, fighting against the emotion, holding it back as hard as she could. Fingernails pressing even harder. Though her nose was tingling and she knew it meant that the tears were so close to showing, that her eyes were probably already betraying her with a glassy surface.

I saw you dying in my head. Rick was right, what he had done was right, even if it had been one bullet too many. If he hadn't, she would be dead, he would be dead, and those kids they saved, they would be next along with anyone else who was unfortunate enough to catch a stray.

When he grabbed her wrist, Fox tensed, though only because she had not expected it. Had not prepared herself for physical touch and it almost brought forth a sharp intake of air from her chest. As if she was short of it, as if the motion alone had left her breathless. She swallowed again, fighting back the lump, readying herself to speak after a moments silence between them.

"You don't have to apologize for anything," she spoke much softer than she intended. Nearly whispering even though they were the only ones currently in the room. "And you aren't a murderer; you did what had to be done and you..." She bit her lip when she felt it trembling, looking away from him. Squeezing her hand tighter. "I think you really did save my life, your life, everyone who was there. You did your job, Rick, and you did it better than most." Better than her. "I--I froze, when he turned that gun, but if it had landed on you..." There was a hardness that came over her damp eyes. "If he had turned that gun on you, I would have put more than two shots in him." She would have emptied the entire cartridge, she knew she would have just as she knew he had saved her.

"Between you, me, and the fence post..." She wasn't supposed to be saying anything, but he looked so worried, so afraid of what his future might hold. "...Sheriff said everything sounded as if it was by the book. He might recommend some counseling for, y'know, what happened, but he said he would not have done anything differently." Aside from have his sniper actually stay by the car with a rifle, but that was on her, not him. The silence fell between them for a few more moments, quiet enough to make the clock on the wall sound loud. Then, she was scooting back her chair, the metal squeaking against the floor. Standing, she opened her arms toward him, albeit perhaps a big awkwardly. Her left hand aching from where it had been balled so tightly. Crescent shapes indented in her palm.

"C'mon, get up." She instructed, trying to sound like one of the guys. "Come here," there was only a few ways she knew of to help someone when she thought they might have a sob stuck in their chest--hold them tightly, keep them safe, let them be as vulnerable as they need to be.

@rickgrimesdoingrickthings

"Yeah, I'm up for it." Rick gave her a reassuring nod, gently taking the pen and sitting down to write it. He was taking more deep breathes than usual, afraid to get overwhelmed again. He focused and quietly wrote his part of the report, signing where he had to sign, recalling the facts. ... The deputy could sense the soft tension though- about the events. He had this connection with Fox since their first day working together- he also had it with Shane. "I shot him...more than once...I know...I know." Rick wasn't making eye contact, his voice was tense, but honest- his tone would get a bit more acute and hoarse whenever he was frank like that. "I didn't mean to." He finally looked at her, making eye contact.

"I didn't mean. I just aimed and fired and...and it was so fast." Rick was good at drawing and aiming, everyone knew that, the was one of the most skilled of the force. But that drawn at that cafe- it had been something else. "My finger shook...too much adrenaline I think. My hand just moved." His eyes got a bit wet. "I...I saw you dying. In my head." His gaze was so worried, as if he were talking directly to her soul. "I saw him shooting you, then me, and hitting people outside as well. I...I sensed it...I...I had to kill him- it was you or him...it was us or him..." Rick raised his hand to the height of his chest, trying to explain himself. "For a moment I felt as if...as if he already had killed you.

He sighed and facepalmed, brushing his hair back with his hand, looking down. "I didn't...I didn't like what I did. I'm not proud of what I did." Rick looked up at her again, his chest so tense. "But I had to, right? I had to do it...right? I sensed he was going to shoot...he was....he was going to shoot." A tear escaped down his face. "I'm not...a murderer...I...I knew what I was doing." He nodded again, closing his eyes, his breathing so shaky. He desperately needed some support. He felt so guilty. Support he hadn't been having in the past years, but this time, the situation was just so much heavier. It was as if his emotions already weren't fitting his body anymore- and now there was the guilt, pressuring his feelings to erupt. For some seconds, he felt jailed in his own physical body, suffering in agony, unable to run, his own mind haunting himself, that event playing again and again in his head- he had training, he was prepared to face such situations, but the accumulated tensions and depressions of his life lately, it shook him, it made all that feel so much heavier. And the insecurity of the consequences? If he lost his job? His badge? What was he going to do? By the way his life had been going downhill, he was scared losing was just a prophecy waiting to happen. How was he going to pay for Carl's pension once the divorce papers were done? Would he be refrained from seeing Carl? His eyelids were getting red, it was a bad sign- his emotions were so strong his body was unable to express them, breaking. His life was simply...crumbling, bit by bit in front of him. What if Fox had died that night? Instinctively he took hold of her wrist- a sudden need he felt to make sure she was there- she was okay. As soon as that thought settled, he let go of her, mumbling "sorry" in a low weak whisper. Rick lowered his head and tried to focus on the papers, reviewing what he had written. "Thanks...thanks for the coffee." He took it, slowly approaching it to his lips, feeling the warm liquid comfort him, like a a soft embrace.

@vuulpecula

[divinerulerluvr]

Deal is a Deal

Tate and you decide to try something new sexually.

Pairing - Tate Langdon x Fem!reader

Words - 1.8k

Warnings - Smut, ice play, fingering (fem receiving), slapping, mirror kink (?), internet humiliation, shit like that

Requested by anon: I just want a rough Tate Langdon smut. I just want him to choke me and finger me and then fuck me hard with his hand around throat. I love your writings so much! I hope you are doing well!

Stepping out of the shower, you dry off your skin before wrapping your towel around your body and head into your bedroom.

Tate leans back on your bed, his eyes set on your phone as he scrolls through it. He said he had never owned a phone and you found it odd. It was 2021 and he never had a cellphone?

Ignoring him, you walk over to your dresser and grab out some clothes to put on. “Do girls like rough sex?” he asks randomly, clearly having found your Twitter account. You glance over your shoulder at him, an amused smile on your lips.

“I mean, yeah. I do, at least,” you reply.

“Like, being slapped and choked and shit?” he asks further, shutting off your phone and sitting up in your bed. You chuckle, his questions awfully funny.

“I guess,” you answer. He smiles, humming shortly to himself. “Well then…” he leads off, standing from the bed and walking to where you stand. He grabs your towel and pulls it from your body, leaving you naked. “Let’s try something new,”

You smile, his devilish smirk making you excited already. “Safeword?” you ask first, making sure there was one established. He thinks for a second. “Avalanche?” he replies. You nod. “If I say ‘Avalanche’, you stop immediately,” you say.

“Sounds good to me,” he comments. “Get on the bed,”

Nodding obediently, you get onto your bed. He grabs one of your scarves from your vanity and gets on top of you. He grabs your wrists and ties them together with the scarf before securing them on your headboard.

Stepping back to admire his work, he smirks as he sees you tied up and completely naked. He pulls off his own shirt, revealing his lightly toned body.

“Be right back. Down move,” he adds on condescendingly. He exits the room, leaving you naked and tied to the bed while he did whatever he had left for. After a few moments, Tate returns with a cup and a bandana.

“What’s that for?” you ask, seeing him set the two objects down on your nightstand. From what you say, the cup had nothing in it.

“No talking. You talk, I get to slap you. The same goes with moaning,” he quickly instructs, his newfound dominance taking you by surprise. Using the bandana, he leans over you and lifts your head up.

Staying completely still and silent, you let Tate tie the bandana over your eyes like a blindfold. Now, unable to see anything but darkness, you squirm on the bed.

You hear a shuffling like ice in an empty glass as Tate sits beside you on the bed by your legs. Your entire body jolts when you feel an ice cube being placed on your stomach. “Fuck,” you hiss through your teeth.

Quickly noticing your mess up, he slaps your face with medium force before you could do anything.

Keeping quiet, you bite on your inner cheek. “Better,” Tate comments, pleased with your silence after he had slapped you. He goes back to the ice cube and slowly runs it up your body, the cold stinging your skin.

The small, slowly melting ice cube slowly creeps up to your chest, rolling over your breasts and leaving a cold, wet trail in its wake.

Your breathing picks up, as does your arousal. Tate circles the ice cube around your nipple before moving to the other. “You’re doing such a good job,” he comments lowly, his free hand resting on your thigh so his fingers were teasingly close to your core.

He continues his teasing, your hands balled into fists as you try your hardest to not make any noise. Tate places the mostly melted ice cube in your mouth, allowing you to suck on it as he grabs a fresh ice cube.

This time, he trails the ice cube downwards. Your body tenses as he parts your legs from your thighs, spreading your legs open shamelessly. Tate brings the ice cube down to your thighs, running it in circles on both of your thighs.

After a few more moments of taking joy in how you thrash, Tate moves the ice cube to your cunt. A sharp inhale leaves your lips accidentally, only earning another slap to the same cheek on your face.

The pain sent shockwaves through your body, this slap being harder than the previous one. “No noise,” he says simply.

Trailing the freezing cold and slowly melting ice cube through your pussy, he focuses on rubbing your clit with it. Your body tenses yet again, a signal to Tate that you enjoyed it. After all, you hadn’t said “Avalanche” yet.

He chuckles at your apparent eagerness, more than turned on by how you reacted to the ice cube on your wet pussy. “You want more?” he asks, a subtle patronizing tone in his voice. You nod, still unsure if you should speak.

“You’re gonna have to use your words. I don’t understand pathetic gestures,” Tate teases.

“Yes, I want more,” you speak, glad he was allowing you to speak. But it was apparently a trap, given he slapped you again. This time on the left side of your face instead of the right. Maybe now the pain would be even on both sides.

“Come on, baby,” he says, no longer sitting on the bed. “I expected you to not give into my lies,”

Staying silent this time, he hums in satisfaction. “Better,” he approves. He grabs something else off of the nightstand, enhancing your nerves even more. Being tied up left you defenseless. Unable to protest anything Tate did.

Nothing happened for a few seconds, only making your breathing intensify. After a bit, you heard the sound of a camera shutter clicking.

You immediately knew what he was doing.

After the camera clicked a few more times, he stopped and removed your blindfold. “Now, be a good girl for me. Or…” he trails off, showing you your phone screen. On the screen, a tweet was open ready to be sent.

The tweet consisted of two pictures; both of your naked and tied up body. “I’ll be sending this out,” he finishes his sentence. You look at him, seeing that he wasn’t kidding. “Nod if you understand,”

You nod frantically, swallowing thickly. He smirks, setting your phone down on the nightstand before moving his attention to the scarf that kept your wrists bundled together.

He unties you from the headboard but keeps reties your wrists behind your back this time. He sits on the bed behind you, pulling you into his body so that you were resting with your back flush to his bare chest.

Tate points loosely at the body mirror in front of you guys, his chin resting on your shoulder. “Watch yourself as I touch you,” he instructs, pressing a kiss to your cheek as your eyes meet in the mirror.

Trailing his hand down your body, his hand reaches your pussy. Keeping your eyes on your own reflection in the mirror, you fall back into his body as he runs his finger over your clit.

Your entire body jolts, but you manage to keep silent due to his instruction and ultimatums of slapping you if you misbehave. Without warning, he pushes two fingers into your cunt. Your fingernails dig into your palms, your hands pressed into Tate’s hip as they remained tied.

Subtly, you try and pull your hips back due to the pain of his sudden intrusion. “That little move counts as misbehaving,” he says, his lips grazing your ears as he whispers.

Your eyes jump onto his in the mirror, giving him a brief nod as you returned to your prior position where your hips were relaxed. He starts moving his fingers inside of you, causing you to slam your eyes shut so you wouldn’t moan.

“Open,” he instructs vaguely, his free hand coming up to wrap roughly around your neck. You open your eyes, looking at your disheveled reflection in the mirror.

Moving his fingers quicker, he prods at your g-spot while mixing both a “come here” motion and moving his fingers in and out of you. You shake in his arms, your head resting on his shoulders as you watch yourself in the mirror.

“Look at you, being so good,” he praises, his dark eyes falling onto yours in the mirror. Your fingers manage to grip the waistband of his pants even if your hands were tied up. He chuckles at the minor movement. “Such a good little slut,”

Tears form in your eyes, unable to handle the pleasure that plowed over you in these intense waves.

You were inches from cumming when Tate slowed his movements. “Did I say you could finish?” he asks, the question clearly rhetorical due to his prior instructions. “No. I didn’t. So that means you don’t,”

With a submissive nod, you relax even further into his arms as his fingers move to your clit. His free hand stays secure around your neck, squeezing the sides with enough force to make your breathing go rugged.

Rubbing circles on your clit, he takes pleasure in the way you thrive pathetically in his arms. He had never done anything quite like this and he enjoyed it. Maybe not as much as doing other things, but it was rather fun.

“You have to ask to cum. So, that means to cum, you have to be slapped,”

Internally, you groan at his words. Continuing to hold out on your orgasm, you try and delay it best you can. That was until he pushed his fingers back into you and used his thumb to continue and rub your clit.

Giving up, you whimper. “Can I cum?” you ask, your voice breaking as you speak. The hand on your neck briefly lets go and slaps you. Hard. “Yes, you may,” Tate replies, his hand returning to choke you.

Your legs quiver as your orgasm ripples over you. “Fuck!” you cry out, only earning you another slap. You didn’t care anymore, though.

Tate fingers you through your orgasm, watching you shake in the mirror with great pleasure. Overstimulated, you wanted nothing more than to get him to leave your hypersensitive cunt alone.

But you still refused to say “Avalanche”.

Panting, you feel his fingers slow down inside of you until he had completely stopped your movement. He watches you in the mirror for a second before moving from behind you.

You lay back on the bed, your eyes meeting him as he stands beside the bed, your phone in his hand. He clicks a button and you heard a ‘swoosh’ sound affect. Tate looks down at your defenseless look and grins.

“Sent,”

“No!” you try and protest, but you were still tied and over all, truly defenseless.

He shrugs, tossing your phone on the dresser carelessly as if it wouldn’t break. “A deal is a deal, baby,”

Taglist:

@just-some-lesbian @evanmybeloved @sallyscigarettes @arsenicbruise @auricgold @billyhxrgrove @liandav @peanutbutter-y-jams @ellamaianderson

[heroicheroes]

TW for some light gore, swearing, offensive language, canon typical violence Chapter 2

Tim had just crossed another kid off his list, hopping from roof to roof, when he heard laughter. It was the kind of laughter that, when you heard it, made your stomach turn and raised your flight or flight instincts. The kind you heard and expected the city’s vigilantes to show up soon, even if it wasn’t Joker laughter. Tim jumped to the neighboring alleyway and peeked his head over the ledge. 

Four guys were crowding around a fifth figure. Two held beer bottles and one had a gun tucked into his pants. They were leering and crowing at the cornered man, close enough that Tim couldn’t really see them, but far enough away to be out of each other’s way. He could hear mutterings of “fucking retard” and “doesn’t know this is our territory” and “fucking out of his mind, dead in the head.” Then one moved just enough for Tim to get a glance at the man’s face and-

Jason!?

That was Jason fucking Todd. 

He was alive!?!

Why was he… just standing there? There was already swelling in his eye from a punch and it was like Jason hadn’t even felt it. Like he wouldn’t- no, couldn’t- react. He was going to get seriously hurt if he didn’t defend himself. And it was clear that he wasn’t going to any time soon. 

Tim needed to do something then. He looked around frantically, trying to make up a quick plan. He had an extra batarang in his backpack, and a couple of recordings of Batman’s voice for emergencies. There was a light nearby that he could take out and if he did it right, the thugs below would run without even seeing the Dark Knight himself. Afterall, everyone was on their best behavior when the smallest infraction could land them in the hospital.

One thug pulled out a knife and went to bring it up to Jason’s face, and Tim knew he needed to move. With one hand he threw a rock at the sole light in the alley and sparks showered down on the group. A second later, he threw the batarang with a well-practiced flick of his wrist, knocking the switchblade out of hand, and hit play on his phone. Batman’s growl echoed through the alleyway. The four thugs didn’t even hesitate as before bolting, shoving each other out of their way in order to get out the fastest. 

Tim cautiously climbed down the fire escape, watching intently to make sure they didn’t come back. Jason was still standing blank-faced where he’d been cornered and not only had he not reacted to Tim’s distraction, he barely even tilted his head towards Tim when he walked up to him. “Jason?” Tim was hesitant. Something wasn’t right here.

There was no recognition at even his own name, but that was Jason Todd, alright. 

Tim’s gaze slowly moved down and a soft whine escaped him at the sight. He didn’t know how Jason could even be standing right now. There were tears in the now dirt-stained suit he’d been buried in and through the tears, was a horrifying sight. His right leg was clearly broken, still with the thin brace that had been added beneath his clothes to make it passable for the funeral. His fingers were a mess of blood, bent out of place, missing fingernails and shredded beyond belief. Tim had a sinking feeling he would find splinters from hell all throughout Jason’s hands. Beneath the dirty button down, the previously sewn gashes in Jason’s sides were split open and blood was slowly weeping from them. New bruises from the thugs were starting to bloom on his torso. Blood was slowly staining the already ruined tux and Tim knew that it wouldn’t be long before it was drip, drip, dripping on the ground beneath him.

He needed to be taken care of sooner than later, and at this point, Batman had likely finished his patrol and Leslie’s clinic was down to a single emergency doctor. But Tim’s parents were out of town for the month and he had long since gotten the biggest and most thorough first aid kit money could buy. And between his nightly jaunts throughout Gotham, following the Bats, his martial arts classes, skateboarding and his other miscellaneous injuries, Tim knew his way around it. So he pulled out his phone and ordered an uber to take them to Drake Manor. 

Amnesia

Just have an idea and I want to throw some of what I've already gotten done out here. No idea how long it'll take between additions from me, but anyone who wants to add or continue to what I already have, feel free.

Basic Summary: Tim Drake finds Jason Todd after he crawls out of his own grave but before the League of Assassins and decides to take Jason home to Drake Manor. (Title may change)

~~~

Prologue

Tim never thought he would ever actually be scared of Batman. But as he looked down on the alley below, Tim was terrified.

Batman was in a rage and he had been ever since he had come back from Ethiopia three weeks ago. Ever since he had come back alone.

It wasn't very hard for Tim to realize that Robin was dead. His Robin was gone. 

Tim pushed down the realization and bile it brought up as he dialed for emergency services. The criminal being beaten into the pavement below had only robbed a Walmart when he’d been discovered by Batman. Now he would be leaving in an ambulance. Tim only hoped that the sirens would be enough warning for Batman to get away.

Even as he waited, watching in horror, Tim began to think about how to save him. Bruce was a good man, damn it, and he was too lost in his own grief to realize how dangerous he had become. Batman needed a Robin. So Tim would find a Robin for him.

The ambulance arrived and Batman heard it just soon enough to disappear onto the gloomy fire escape above the alley. His form was nothing but a darker patch of shadow, but Tim had been following Gotham’s protectors long enough to recognize the tension in his gaze, the shaking of his shoulders. Batman was crying. 

His Hero… 

And then he was gone. 

Tim needed to get to work.

[august-anon]

Tickle Monster

sequel to Tickletober 2020 Day 13 - “Wake Up!”

---

Someone on ao3 asked about a sequel to that fic literally in October of 2020, and mentioned it again in Jan of this year, and I’m finally posting this. I am so sorry this took ages, whoever you were, I hope you enjoy this lol

---

Fandom: Gravity Falls

Ship(s): Gen!!!!!!

Characters (lee/ler): Lee!Ford,Mabel,Dipper,Stan, Ler!Ford,Mabel,Dipper,Stan

Word Count: 1720 words

Summary: Dipper and Mabel complete their mission, distracting Great Uncle Ford, with flying colors. Unfortunately for them (and for Stan), Ford knows how to fight back.

[ao3 link]

ALSO: warnings for some light angst in the beginning because apparently i can’t write Ford as not angsty lol

------------------------------------

Ford sighed as he watched Stanley go, that lost, desperate look still in his eyes. He really didn’t know what to do to help him at this point, and that hurt more than Ford had been prepared for.

It seemed that he just kept failing people.

He started this whole thing. He came to Gravity Falls in the first place. He brought Bill into this world. He was foolish and naive and power-hungry enough to listen to Bill’s lies. He built the portal Bill wanted, not considering the dangers. And he failed to protect his family, Stan especially.

And now his own brother could barely remember him.

Ford forced himself out of his thoughts as he moved toward the refrigerator. He said he’d make breakfast, so that’s what he’d do. Eggs could be easy enough, maybe even omelettes? Or perhaps pancakes, they were probably easy, right? They were just flour and eggs… and maybe they had some sugar in them? He’d figure it out.

He let out a bitter smile as happy, childish laughter rang out from the attic. Stan was a far better great-uncle than he was, even with his lapses in memory. It wasn’t really all that surprising to Ford.

Ford hadn’t really made all that much effort to be good with the kids, after all. Yet another failure of his.

He continued to struggle with breakfast, his bowl of pancake batter looking more like foaming grey sludge than anything edible. It seemed his multitudes of knowledge didn’t extend to cooking. He was debating starting over, maybe trying to actually find a recipe somewhere in this old shack, when he heard tiny footsteps thundering down the stairs.

“Great Uncle Ford!” Twin voices rang out.

Ford turned away from the counter, plastering a smile on his face that was probably more of a grimace. Dipper and Mabel slid into the kitchen on socked feet, giddy and giggling. A far cry from the tear-streaked faces he saw when he checked on them at night, making sure they were still there and alive, and finding them curled together in one of their tiny twin beds, clearly shaken by nightmares.

“Hello, kids,” he said. “You’re rather awake for the early hour.”

Mabel gave him a mischievous grin. “We’ve been tasked with distracting you.”

Ford furrowed his brow. “What--”

The two launched themselves at him and Ford’s eyes went wide in shock. He reached out to catch them so that they wouldn’t slip and hit the floor (tile floor and heads did not mix, Ford remembered that well from tussling with Stanley back in the day), but in doing so he overbalanced himself, toppling backwards and taking the kids down with him.

Before he could even begin to process what had just happened, and just what Mabel had meant by distracting him, he had two tiny bodies on top of him, pressing him into the tile. They had matching devilish grins focused on him, and Ford wondered what the hell Stanley had told them, and whether or not he needed to get up and run.

“Grunkle Stan told us about a monster that you might not have in your journals,” Dipper said, leaning forward.

Ford scrunched his face up in confusion. Was this just a distraction, as they said, or was Dipper telling the truth? Just as he opened his mouth to ask for clarification, Mabel leaned forward as well.

“Yeah, yeah! It’s such a cool monster, too! You know what it is?”

Ford shook his head, playing along. “No, what is this monster?” Perhaps if he placated them, he could get back to making breakfast before Stanley came back down and saw his pitiful progress.

Dipper and Mable exchanged an evil glance and grinned down at him. They raised their hands, fingers shaped in claws and wiggling wildly, and Ford felt a spark of recognition run through him. His eyes widened before they even answered.

“The Tickle Monster!” They shouted in unison.

And then, before he could even blink or think to defend himself, he had four tiny hands wiggling into all sorts of sensitive places. Ford tossed his head back against the tile and snickered quietly, trying to keep the worst of his laughter in. He couldn’t let two children best him!

But Mabel’s fingernails were wreaking havoc on the nerves of his ribs and neck, and Dipper’s fingertips digging into his sides and stomach weren’t serving him much better. He forgot how uncoordinated he got when he was tickled, not having been subjected to it since before Stanley got kicked out when they were younger. His hands were flailing everywhere, unable to latch onto either twin and save himself from their playful torture.

“No no no, you’re doing it all wrong,” a voice called out from the entryway. 

Ford felt a mix of dread, excitement, and anticipation fill his belly when he saw Stanley standing there. It only grew when he saw the spark of recognition in his eyes as he stalked closer.

“You gotta do it like this,” Stanley told the kids, and unceremoniously stuffed his hands into Ford’s armpits, scribbling away.

Ford howled, curling in on himself as best he could with two almost-teens still sitting on top of him and Stan looming over top of them all. He cackled madly and he could feel the tears building up in his eyes the longer the playful torment went on. It was so embarrassing, so humiliating, so…

Fun.

It felt kind of nice to let loose and laugh like he was, something he hadn’t done in a long time. The fingers driving him insane left him with no chance to overthink things as he usually did. All he could do was laugh and squirm and gasp for air.

The tickling abruptly halted and Ford sucked in a much-needed breath. He was naive to think it was over, however, because Stanley only grabbed his wrists and pinned them above his head before grinning at the kids. A nervous, playful, fluttering feeling filled his stomach, and he shot a look down at the kids.

“Have at it,” Stanley said.

Dipper and Mabel laughed before darting forward, burying their hands into his armpits. Ford was lost to his hysteria once more, only this time it was worse. His hands were pinned, he could even pretend like he was trying to defend himself from their dancing fingers, and he was too weak from laughter to tug his hands back.

Just when Ford was finally reaching his limit, he tilted his head back and made teary eye-contact with Stanley. Stanley gave him a smirk and a wink before releasing his wrists and setting Ford free.

Ford shot up, still laughing, and tackled Dipper and Mabel to the ground, careful to cushion their fall and avoid any injuries.

“Do you know what’s even worse than a Tickle Monster?” He asked, voice hoarse from the laughter his vocal cords were no longer used to.

Dipper and Mabel were giggling and squirming, clearly having picked up on where this was going, but neither made an attempt to escape. They shook their heads.

Ford raised his hands, fingers curled threateningly into claws, just as they had done to him. “A six-fingered Tickle Monster.”

Dipper and Mable squealed as his hands darted forward, the two soon lost to childish shrieks and cackles as he tickled away. The wide grin still hadn’t left Ford’s lips, even as his cheeks and eyes began to dry from his own mirthful tears. He even let out a few more chuckles at particularly silly sounds the kids made.

Maybe he wasn’t such a failure with them, after all.

But there was still one thing missing from their morning full of laughter. Ford turned around, slowing his ticklish assault on the kids, searching out Stanley. He stood at the counter, a new mixing bowl in front of him, making something that looked a lot closer to pancake batter than Ford’s attempt was.

Oh well, can’t win them all.

“Don’t think you’re off the hook,” Ford growled playfully.

Stanley froze, his body tense, and he slowly turned around to face Ford, a nervous smile spreading across his lips. His hands were raised in surrender, and he looked ready to bolt at any moment.

“You were just so sad this morning,” Stanley tried to reason with him, “I thought the kids could help cheer you up.”

Ford raised an eyebrow. “If I remember correctly, you were rather melancholy earlier, as well.”

They stared each other down, trapped in their little stand-off as Dipper and Mabel giggled quietly behind Ford. Then, Stanley tried to bolt, but Ford was much faster, the two of them crashing to the floor in no time. He quickly got Stanley pinned underneath him.

“Any last words?”

Stanley scowled (though Ford could see the amusement dancing in his eyes, so he wasn’t too worried), but Ford never actually gave him the chance to speak. He dug his fingers in, skittering around with no rhyme or reason as he mentally catalogued Stanely’s tickle spots. Eventually, he settled on Stanley’s ribs, the left side, the second rib from the top (that always used to get him screaming), as well as the little patch of skin on the right side on Stanley’s stomach, just a couple inches under his ribcage (that always used to get him begging for mercy). Stanley yelled and burst out into wild laughter, shoving at Ford’s hands but being too weak to stop him.

“You little--” Stanley started to yell through his laughter, but Ford cut him off.

“Ah ah ah, there are children present, Stanley.”

Stanley only cackled louder. Though that could have also been due to the fact that Ford had upped his tickling.

But speak of the devil and he shall appear, for the kids chose that moment to again make themselves known. Dipper attached himself to Ford’s back, shoving his hands into Ford’s armpits and clumsily tickling away. Mabel, on the other hand, launched herself into Stanley’s chest and started scribbling away at his stomach and sides.

Alright, Ford thought. The kids want a tickle fight? I’ll give them a tickle fight. And he dove back into the fray.

Needless to say, breakfast soon became brunch and the Shack was filled with laughter for a long time to come.

[silverstarlightwrites]

ah yes, the idea for yet another variant of this au chain

Team Seven take the mission to the Land of Waves. On the bridge, they fight Zabuza and Haku.

On the bridge, Sakura dies.

For a moment that lasts forever, everything seems to freeze. It’s shock, initially, on every face. Haku’s mirrors are in the midst of cracking apart, Naruto and Sasuke standing bloody and back-to-back between them, while Haku lunges across the expanse of stone to protect Zabuza from the shrill and deathly lightning in Kakashi’s hand.

Even Sakura herself seems stunned, rotating midair as if in slow motion. She seems unsure of herself, or how exactly she got where she is - bolted from one end of the bridge to the other, abandoning her post as Tazuna’s bodyguard to intercept Haku on their way to Kakashi.

And she’s made it, to her credit. Caught Haku just before they reach Zabuza, tagged them with her kunai. There’s blood on their clothes, a stark red streak against pale skin and fabric.

They’ve spun at the contact, reflexive, defensive. Somehow, even with the Chidori roaring in Kakashi’s palm, the world goes silent as Haku’s senbon sinks into Sakura’s neck. It’s all too slow as the strike transfers momentum, as Sakura’s feet lift from the ground and the senbon tears out of her throat. Sasuke stares on with Sharingan ablaze, unable to breathe, unable to look away as his eyes dutifully and traitorously record Sakura’s death in minute, excruciating detail. He doesn’t know, just yet, what the cost of his clan’s power truly is.

But Kakashi does, only too terribly well, and as time catches up with itself and Sakura goes crashing into the bridge, he strikes. His hand punches straight through Zabuza’s ribcage, tearing through his heart until Kakashi’s fingers protrude from his back. The surprise on his face is overlaid with the relief on Rin’s, and Kakashi yanks back, turns away, refuses to look at her ghost with the blood on his hands.

Sasuke is frozen, unblinking, struggling to breathe. He can’t drag his gaze away from Sakura’s body, and she looks so small where she’s crumpled on the bridge, utterly motionless in an expanding puddle of her own blood. He can’t see colours, except for the crimson, as if everything else has been spontaneously switched off.

She’s still breathing, barely, a weak flutter that-- Gods, Sasuke thinks he might be imagining it, actually, he can’t tell, and her body is outlined in white fire that he knows isn’t real, Sharingan whirring, head spinning. The world rotates.

It ruptures, all at once, as Naruto lets out an ear-piercing scream at Sasuke’s side. Whatever was holding it all snaps, and Sasuke whips around to check on Naruto, and sees the menacing red bleeding into blue eyes, sees the way his teeth are cracking and elongating in his jaws, the fangs that are too big for Naruto’s skull, the ink creeping out from the birthmarks on his cheeks, winding back along his temples and down his nose.

There’s a shout, Kakashi’s voice, but Naruto has already vanished in a blur of sticky red chakra and the shattering of the stone under his feet, and by the time Sasuke can find him again he’s already torn into Haku like a wild animal, cracking bone and shredding flesh. Their head rolls away from their body, before Naruto pounces on it.

The skull pancakes under Naruto’s hand, a splatter of brains like a water balloon bursting, a tongue poking from between his fingers and an eyeball popping into the air and arcing away. Naruto is snarling, glowing, and there’s blood dripping from every footprint he leaves, his skin melting and boiling as fast as it heals under the cloak of-- of-- oh gods, and Sasuke doesn’t even know, can’t even comprehend what it is that he’s seeing. A Naruto that isn’t himself, isn’t even human, and there are ethereal tails forming and lashing from the dark red chakra itself, two-- three. Long curves that look like ears, deep gouges in the stone as his nails-- claws, they’re claws, wickedly sharp, and they look more like bone than fingernail, like the animal is too big to be contained by Naruto’s real body.

Haku is in pieces under Naruto’s attack, and he won’t stop slashing and biting and shredding. Nausea boils up, fear and panic and Sasuke doesn’t fucking understand but he’s pretty fucking sure that he doesn’t want to, and it’s almost a relief when he has to turn away to vomit.

Kakashi’s voice is in the air, and every fibre of his body wants to help ruin the people who’ve killed Sakura right in front of them, wants to sprint to her side and try to save her - but he can’t, he knows, and he can’t lose control like his kids are. He’s the leader. He’s the adult. There’s too much blood under Sakura already, her carotid artery sundered by the attack, and she’s just a child, she’s beyond help, beyond Kakashi’s rudimentary skills in medical ninjutsu, she’s already gone and there’s nothing Kakashi can do to save her. Because there’s never anything he can do to save her.

But he can’t lose control, and he needs to triage the situation as best he can. If he fails to act, then he’ll lose Naruto too. He’ll lose Sasuke. He’ll lose all of them. So he sprints to Naruto, tackles him to the ground, ignores the sudden searing agony of the Kyuubi’s chakra biting into his skin. Naruto is wild, lost in the onslaught of his demon and grief, but where the Kyuubi’s domination brings with it new and unique strengths, it also brings weaknesses.

It takes more chakra and effort than Kakashi has, but he makes Naruto look him in the eye, brings as much of the Sharingan’s power to bear as he can. For a minute, struggling to keep Naruto down while he howls and snaps his teeth and tries to bite through Kakashi’s wrists, nothing visibly happens. Kakashi is shaking by the time Naruto finally stills, takes a deep breath, lets out a noise like a dying animal.

When Naruto slumps, the Kyuubi locked back into its cage, Kakashi goes down with him.

Sasuke’s approach is slow, shuddering, uncertain. His eyes are burning, and he can’t tell if it’s from chakra or from tears, but he doesn’t care. Naruto and Kakashi are breathing, tangled together in an unconscious pile, and Sasuke can’t even begin to think what to do with them so he ignores them. Goes to Sakura instead. She’s sprawled, her skin scraped and raw from her impact and tumble against the bridge, her throat torn open. Sasuke’s never seen what the inside of a larynx looks like before.

He turns away as he gags, but there’s nothing left to come up except a violent ache so deep that Sasuke thinks, for a moment, that he might be about to die as well. Sakura is limp when he tries to pick her up, warm and pliable and lifeless in his hands. He can’t get them to stop shaking, makes a mess as he tries to wipe her hair out of her face. Smears blood everywhere. It’s matted in her hair, the normal pink warped into a blurring crimson.

It’s the ninken who actually take control. Pakkun sets Bull and Shiba to guard Tazuna, even though the threat to him is gone. The cold reality is that they’re acting more like prison guards than bodyguards; Konoha has lost a genin and nearly lost her whole team, and it rarely forgives such offences. Guruko establishes a small parameter around the scene, and Akino keeps the remaining civilians in a tight group. Urushi comes to sit vigil with Sasuke, and they let him cradle Sakura’s body to his chest and cry.

With only a few words, Pakkun has Ūhei unsummon herself, and she vanishes in a puff of smoke to report to the Hokage and get a rescue team sent after them. With Bisuke’s help, Pakkun himself sets to untangling Naruto and Kakashi and ensuring they’ll live through this. Shiba, the only ninken with a lightning affinity, is pulled off Tazuna duty to give Kakashi a chakra transfusion; he jolts and moans when it’s delivered, but it’s a necessary agony and he doesn’t fully wake.

When Gatō makes his appearance, Bisuke vanishes and reappears on his shoulders, and his entourage is sent fleeing in panic as she rips out his throat too with delicate, savage fangs.

By the time that Ūhei returns with a rescue squad at her side, Naruto is awake again and he refuses to let anyone take Sakura’s body from him but the masked Anbu simply picks them up together. Gai is firm but gentle as he carries Kakashi - not quite awake, but beginning to stir. Sasuke tries to stand - he’s numb and hollow, and he thinks that he should feel like he did when he found Itachi over the bodies of their parents but he doesn’t. He doesn’t feel anything.

Perhaps he should feel guilty for that.

His legs fail him, however, and maybe he should feel pathetic for not even being able to pick himself up from the ground but he can’t bring himself to care as he’s carefully lifted up by Asuma. Sasuke wants nothing more than to stop existing while he watches his team over Asuma’s shoulder, stares unblinking at the way Naruto shakes and begs Sakura to wake up. She won’t.

She won’t ever again.

The ninken make the trip back with them, and if it is a quick affair then it is also a haunting one. Naruto doesn’t shut up the entire time, alternating between talking to the girl who cannot hear him and muttering quietly to himself. If Sasuke looks closely enough, he can see the flash of fangs in Naruto’s mouth that never quite flatten again.

The report to Hiruzen lasts for a lifetime, and is over far too soon. Kakashi is lucid by then, standing on his own feet but with Gai’s continued assistance. His report is... empty. Perhaps that’s as it should be - he does not cry, for death has already wrung from him as many tears as he could ever give it, but his voice is icy and his gaze is bitter and grim. He recommends, as emotionlessly as he explains all the rest, that Konoha execute Tazuna for his crimes.

Naruto finally surrenders Sakura’s body when her parents arrive. He and Sasuke will never forget the way they break when he does, the collapse and the howling and the way that Sakura is stiff and pale in their arms. Her eyes are still open, glazed and green and unseeing.

Why are her eyes still open?

Afterwards, after Sasuke and Naruto are released from Team Seven’s trip to the hospital but Kakashi is coerced to stay, two of the ninken stick around. Ūhei sticks to Sasuke’s side like a parasite, a warmth and stability that Sasuke finds himself loathing, while Bisuke trails Naruto at a short but definitive distance.

Naruto doesn’t let Sasuke wander home alone. He wants to, desperately, wants to hide away in the ocean of death that he lives in and-- gods, and what, exactly? Showering is an option that should be appealing, but it’s not. Even the thought of washing Sakura’s blood off himself - of erasing the last tangible evidence of her life - is sickening. They’d been cruel to her, in life. Sasuke had expected little of her at all, and he hadn’t cared if she’d known it. Naruto, with his puppy-love, hadn’t been better.

Except she was dead, and in the end her strength hadn’t mattered at all. Any one of them could have been caught the way she was - and it was bravery that had killed her, not weakness. She’d left the safety of distance and thrown herself in the way, in between their sensei and an incoming attack, and there was no way of knowing if Haku could have hurt or killed Kakashi in the attempt but Sakura had prevented it from even being an option.

Had she known? Had it been a decision on her part, or had it been instinct and desperation? Had she ever realised that-- gods, had she ever known that her team loved her?

A glare isn’t enough to discourage Naruto from following Sasuke home, as it never has been, and there’s a chance that Sasuke could make him leave with words but--

He can’t bring himself to speak. Not once, not at all. His voice feels like a weight in his throat, like he’s swallowed marbles, and that’s fine, really, because what right does he have to fucking use it anyway? Sakura’s voice has been stripped away. She’ll never speak again, and Sasuke deserves to far less than she does.

Did.

The dogs never leave their sides over the following weeks. Ūhei and Bisuke are their most common company, but all eight of the ninken rotate in and out. Naruto refuses to go back his own home, wherever the fuck it is. At first Sasuke hates him for it, hates everything, but eventually Naruto is absent for half a day - training, he says when he gets home - and Sasuke panics.

So much is gone. Almost everything is gone. Sakura is gone. And gods Naruto is annoying - but he understands, actually, Sasuke can see now, despite the absurd and cheery exterior he’d worn before. He’s always understood, and the cheerfulness was a lie. Or, perhaps, a choice. And the fear of losing him to is so overwhelming that Sasuke simply never asks him to leave.

They attend Sakura’s funeral. It’s... eerie. Too many people and too few people at the same time. Some that Sasuke doesn’t recognise - too many that he does. Sasuke stands between Naruto and Kakashi, and Kakashi doesn’t say a word to them, to anyone, and Sasuke lets Naruto hold onto his hand with a crushing grip. Ino approaches them, afterwards, and habit has Sasuke bracing himself but there’s no admiration in her eyes this time. She snarls at them. “It should have been you.”

It’s hard to argue with her.

Sakura’s parents are... unbearable. The agony in their expressions is so familiar, so intimate, and yet they’re so kind to Sasuke and Naruto despite the fact they let their daughter die. When Mebuki learns that they’re living on their own - not a parent between them - she begins visiting them. They’re not social calls, not really, and she doesn’t linger too long, but her visits are scheduled and regular, and bring with them meals put together for Sasuke and Naruto and whatever cleaning they haven’t managed between them. After the first week, she brings small snacks for whichever of the ninken are with them as well.

Kizashi gives them two stuffed animals and Sakura’s hitai-ite. The toys are generic - a very round bird and a fox, both worn by time and use - but they were hers, and beloved when she was small. Naruto tries to refuse the hitai-ite, because surely her parents want to keep such an important thing, but Kizashi insists. He doesn’t want it, he tells them. He would rather remember Sakura as his daughter, and not as a Konoha soldier.

Perhaps there’s merit in that, but Sasuke and Naruto set it between her toys on the dresser in their room, next to their team photos, and they can’t bring themselves to work out the bloodstains in the fabric, but the plate is kept perfectly polished. Maybe her parents just don’t understand - but Sakura was proud of her position as a Konoha-nin, and she died fulfilling it.

It’s a little shameful, of course, that Sasuke is sharing his room with Naruto - but Naruto disagrees, and Sasuke can’t bring himself to care. Sleeping alone has proven... difficult. And pride is worthless.

The dogs never leave, but Naruto and Sasuke don‘t see Kakashi after Sakura’s funeral. There are meetings with Hiruzen, visits from some of the other jōnin, and no matter how vehemently they protest, they’re assigned a new sensei. It’s hideously uncommon, and it’s not Kaede-sensei’s fault, but Sasuke can’t help but hate her too. She can’t replace Kakashi, and Sasuke resents her for even trying, no matter that Kakashi-sensei has abandoned them. At least they’re not given a new teammate. As if anyone could possibly replace Sakura.

“The dog-Anbu is back,” Naruto says one day, while they spar under Kaede’s watchful eye. “I think... I think it might be Kakashi-sensei.”

And Sasuke knows about the dog-Anbu, of course. Though he rarely speaks himself, Naruto has no such compunction, and his chatter has become a familiar comfort. A Naruto who’s talking is a Naruto who’s alive. He’s told Sasuke all about growing up, about the loneliness and the dread. About the hatred of the village. The dog-Anbu had been the most familiar regular amongst the quiet tail of Anbu who’d watched Naruto his entire life - and yet never intervened. Had it been willful, or were they under orders? Hard to say, given that they were almost never given direct trouble anymore. The civilians who saw them out and about - on the rare occasion they were - were either too sympathetic or too wary to confront them. There was no opportunity to intervene even if the dog-Anbu wanted to.

That the surreptitious Anbu presence was back should have been concerning, but... Naruto had always found comfort in the recognisable dog-Anbu. Maybe it was contagious.

And if Kakashi was still watching them, then he hadn’t abandoned them. Somehow, it made Kaede’s training more welcome.

Jiraiya becomes part of their lives. He’s an irregular and brief presence, but he drifts in and out. They meet him early, and Naruto refuses to leave Sasuke’s side to fulfill whatever task Jiraiya has for him, and so they learn together the truth of the beast caged inside Naruto’s skin. Jiraiya works on the Seal, repairs what he can from the damage Naruto did on the bridge, ensures its continued integrity. He’s hard to like on a personal level, but they don’t begrudge his visits when they happen - making sure Naruto has control of the demon is imperative. He can’t use a power he can’t control.

Because that’s their secret, of course. In the dead of night, in the quiet of the Uchiha compound, when it’s just them and the ghosts. Naruto practices, with Sasuke on hand - Sasuke who’s learnt from Jiraiya that the Sharingan can manipulate the Bijuu, who finally understands what it was Kakashi did to bring Naruto down when Sakura died - and Sasuke practices with him, and forces back what power slips beyond Naruto’s grasp when they break open tiny cracks in the Seal.

And Naruto helps Sasuke too, offers a barrier of stolen demonic chakra that is the only thing, they’ve found, that can provide any resistance to the sticky black flames Sasuke can conjure. It makes his eyes bleed, and the chakra cost is like ashes in his veins, but creating and controlling the Amaterasu gets easier every time he does it.

They’re going to need it. Sasuke isn’t sure if Naruto simply needed the context of Sasuke’s quest for vengeance or if Sakura’s death made him understand the purpose of revenge, but they’re in it together, now. Naruto refuses to leave Sasuke’s side - and if that means following him down the path that leads to killing Itachi, then so be it. His power, despite what Sasuke had once thought, is immense and - somehow - at Sasuke’s disposal.

It’s strange, he thinks. How Naruto can still have faith in people, the differences in how he talks to Sakura’s ghost as if she’s watching them, as if she’s not simply gone, as if she might be proud of them, and how Sasuke can never bring himself to say a single word. Stranger still, how easily Naruto throws that faith away when Sasuke asks him to.

Strange, but comforting. Love, perhaps, if Sasuke lets himself dare to contemplate so fragile and dangerous a thing. And if Naruto will forsake his morals at Sasuke’s behest, then the least he can do is hold true to them. Because one day, when they’re ready, when they’re so strong that nobody will ever be able to rip away a life they love ever again, they’ll hunt down Itachi and make him pay for the lives he tore down.

But first - and maybe it’s practice, or maybe it’s vengeance, or maybe it’s both - they’ll return to the Land of Waves, once they’ve got enough control of their strength, and they’ll burn the Great Sakura Bridge to the ground.

[fuyumis-panties]

Description: Touya squeezed his eyes closed, gripping his bedsheets until his knuckles turned white. He imagined hearing his father’s loud footsteps approaching his bedroom. The sound of his door sliding on its hinges. He could almost feel his father’s hot skin, wet mouth. The thrumming of panic under his burning skin, stifling his broken cries as his daddy takes whatever he wants.

Tags/Warnings: Dead Dove, Domestic Abuse, Referenced Incest and Sexual Assault

——————

“Have you been dying your hair?"

“ Me ? Are you kidding me? No way! Why would I do that?”

It all started when Touya’s hair had begun to shift shades of color. He was hardly 8 years old yet his scarlet red hair soon began to grow in splotches of white. He would stare himself down in the mirror right before a bath, his fingernails would find their way to his scalp where he’d rip and pull to try and tear the white strands straight from where they came from.

It, of course, never worked and his hair continued growing with more and more white. Cutting out chunks of his hair never worked either, just left him looking funny and his father would always reprimand him for acting out with such childish behavior.

“ Ow!!”

His whole world crumbled the day his quirk rebelled against his body. Smoke steamed up from his small forearm and the skin was turning all red, irritated, and blotchy. He remembers his father’s large, too-hot hand wrapping around his wrist and yanking in an upward motion to get a better look. The force of the tug nearly lifted Touya completely off his feet.

Touya had seen an expression on his father’s face that’s never been there before. Anger swelled with disappointment and disdain. He dropped Touya back down onto the training mats of their gym, glaring at his first-born child.

“That’s it. We’re done,” The man decided right then and there, Touya watched his father turn and retreat out of the room. Touya managed to scramble up to his feet properly and chase after his father, catching himself on the nearly paper-thin walls as his much smaller legs carried him with quick urgency behind his father.

“Wait! Wait! It won’t happen again! Daddy please! Please, don’t give up on me! It was one ti--” His words were cut off as his head snapped so hard to the side he had been surprised his head didn’t spin all the way around his neck.

Touya’s equilibrium had been completely thrown off from the force of the blow he received right to his cheek, making him stumble off to the side and right into a wall. His father’s hand was raised again, a threat that if the boy were to try and speak again he’d receive another backhand to the face…

“That’s enough, Touya! If you get hurt so easily by your own quirk, then you are no longer worth any of my time,” His father said through angrily gritted teeth, his threatening hand lowering slowly back down to his side.

That moment will forever be ingrained in Touya’s mind, living there forever to taunt him and remind him of how much of a failure he was. He was supposed to be nothing but perfect, daddy’s protege and the future number one hero.

That night he had cried to Fuyumi, who provided zero amount of solace. His little sister was almost happy about the whole ordeal, chirping something along the lines of; “Sure you might be bummed out right now, but think! Now that you don’t have to train as much, you’ll have more time to spend with me and mom!”

Touya couldn’t even appreciate his sister’s attempts at comforting him, the only thought gracing his mind was to burn down the house. Set it alight with everyone inside. His sicko dad, annoying sister, and all too reserved mother.

It wasn’t long before Natsuo was born, seemingly only months after Touya was made out to be another one of daddy’s failures. Though Natsuo was born with stark white hair, not even an ounce of Endeavor’s signature red within this child. Even after Natsuo peeked his eyes open when he was brought home there was no sign of Endeavor, wide grey eyes were what greeted the world.

Touya decided right then and there that he loved Natsuo. He loved watching his mother feed him, sing to him, dress him, bathe him. Natsuo was so small yet so chubby. Touya has also never seen his mother smile so warmly at anything, for a while he thought his mother just lacked emotions altogether. But when she held Natsuo, her eyes would soften and she’d wear the warmest smile.

She seemed to love touching the baby, running her cold fingers along his soft arms and chubby little legs. Her demeanor would light up the moment Natsuo broke up into squeaky, delighted laughter.

Natsuo made their mother so happy, therefore, Touya only was provoked to love this baby even more.

Touya ended up distracted, for the most part. He spent a lot of time fawning over Natsuo and playing with his baby brother, he spent most of his days with Fuyumi too. He made a small realization that maybe getting closer with his siblings wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

But there were nights where Touya would lie awake in his bedroom, staring listlessly at his ceiling. He could hear the quiet creaking of the floorboards above his room or in the hallway. Through the paper-thin walls, if he listened hard enough, he could hear his mother quietly singing a lullaby to Natsuo.

Touya squeezed his eyes closed, gripping his bedsheets until his knuckles turned white. He imagined hearing his father’s loud footsteps approaching his bedroom. The sound of his door sliding on its hinges. He could almost feel his father’s hot skin, wet mouth. The thrumming of panic under his burning skin, stifling his broken cries as his daddy takes whatever he wants at the moment.

Touya clenches his thighs together. He wanted to throw up.

Touya felt warmth against his cheek, an acrid scent of burning flesh attacked his nostrils. His heart hammered against his ribcage and bile burned the back of his tongue. Eyes snapped open to his dark ceiling and eerily silent room.

His father wasn’t there. The only thing Touya saw was a sudden flicker of blue, the warmth on his cheek earlier grew into a sharp, horrible pain that didn’t cease even as he came back to himself. He yelped helplessly and shot up, hands flying to his face but the flames were suddenly gone as quickly as they came.

His trembling fingers grazed over his cheek, feeling a warm wet substance coat the tips of his fingers. He shifted his jaw and more pain shot through the right side of his face. That night, Touya had made a quiet shuffle to the bathroom and flicked on the lights, making a realization that in his moment of panic he had burnt through his cheek.

Nothing a couple of bandages and cool water can’t handle.

The everlasting neglect from his father just about drove Touya up a wall. Natsuo was beginning to grow up, getting older and prettier . Touya never lost his love for his little brother, it only seemed to grow and swell the older the little boy got. Touya loved Fuyumi too but not in the same, burning, passionate way he loved little Natsuo.

The moment Natsuo was able to walk and talk relatively okay on his own, Touya took advantage of that and began dragging the child around everywhere. He vented all of his twisted thoughts and inner turmoil to the oblivious child who was all smiles and sticky fingers still. Touya didn’t care, so long as he had someone.

Touya hardly just turned eleven when his mother came home with yet another baby. He wasn't as excited about this child as he was about Natsuo... This baby seemed perfectly split down the middle, half of his small little head was white and the other was red. A blue and grey eye in correlation with his hair.

A perfect mixture of their parents…

It was disgusting.

His father had the most perverse expression on his face the moment his eyes had fallen upon the infant. He looked crazed, demented. His father’s lips curled into some sort of animalist grin, hunger and excitement ignited within this man. Touya knew almost immediately what Endeavor was thinking, he’d finally been able to craft the perfect child for his selfish desires.

Touya made mental notes on how defeated his mother looked. Her eyes were downcast and heavy with dark bags, she looked absolutely weak and frail. No warmth or softness in the gaze directed towards her new baby, honestly it hardly looked like she was looking at him at all.

Shoto. That was the name Endeavor had decided on. It made sense, the kanji translation meaning burn and freeze . It made Touya sick down to the pits of his stomach. His father very clearly had high hopes because little Shoto was split down the middle so perfectly that he’d end up with the perfect combination of quirks.

Touya tried anything to get his father’s attention back on him again. He’d scream, yell, throw entire temper tantrums... He had begun to burn himself, wrapping his small fingers around his thin bicep and creating enough heat to eat through layers of flesh. Occasionally, he’d opt for putting his hands on his thighs or stomach to sizzle away the flesh there.

Nothing worked, nothing got the attention he so desperately craved. It was as though Touya no longer existed, he died with the birth of Shoto . Perfect, small, little Shoto . Touya has never wanted to rip something apart as much as he does his baby brother.

All the child does is cry… And cry… And cry. Their mother pays no mind to the wailing of the small infant she leaves negligent in the cradle. A hungry baby. A hungry baby with a soiled diaper. A hungry, dirty baby in need of attention and comfort.

Touya had the reoccurring thought that maybe the fate of the world agreed with him… Shoto deserved to suffer, deserved to sit in his own shit while squealing pitiful little cries. Deserved to starve . Touya reveled and basked in any pitiful noise his baby brother made in the damned nursery. It got to the point of Endeavor, of all people, had to provide for the child.

It was clear to Touya that his father had never handled an infant before. Just in a disgusting way, he manhandled the tiny human, making baby Shoto cry even more even as he was changed and bathed and eventually fed. At least, the feeding ended up shutting the baby up once and for all for now.

The ghost of the Todoroki estate, which Touya had proclaimed as his own title, saw everything that went on. Even as his father took a fistful of his mother’s hair, cracking her across the face with his other hand as he goes on and on about how she needs to step up and start acting like a goddamn mother. She needs to be the one nurturing Shoto into becoming a strong, healthy boy so he can have the perfect vessel to mold into the future number one hero.

Touya just about smiled when his mother made no sign of compliance, she was like a limp little doll within her husband’s hands. Touya stopped eavesdropping on his parents, slipping away from that room and wandering the halls aimlessly.

He had only peeked inside Fuyumi’s room where he found her forcing clip-in bows into Natsuo’s fluffy white hair. Natsuo had only protested for a moment before giving into his sister’s antics. The interaction was all too normal considering Touya had just watched his father throw his mom around as though she weighed no heavier than a singular feather.

Touya slipped away quickly before he’d end up pulled into the same antics, quietly padding down the empty halls. Returning to his ghosting state of disassociation. One moment he was right outside his sister’s room and about to pass upon his own room, only to blink and suddenly be outside the door of the nursery. He was sure that maybe he had drifted here subconsciously out of simple curiosity seeing as he hasn’t ever been inside the nursery yet… Or even within proximity of the baby that resides inside said nursery.

Touya peeked inside cautiously but really there was nothing very special to see. The nursery didn’t have anything exactly special. There was a crib, a couple of toys, bottles, pacifiers, a baby changing table. Typical baby stuff that Touya was familiar with considering his experience with Natsuo four years ago.

The room was lit with a very light golden glow from a nightlight in the corner, the room was warm and comfortable. A different aura compared to the rest of the house, which was all too quiet and scarily cold. The comfort of the room seemed to lure Touya the rest of the way inside, hesitantly approaching the tiny bundle of baby sleeping soundly in the crib.

Shoto was sleeping so peacefully, little arms sprawled on either side of his head. His lips parted and his chubby cheeks were glistening with dribbles of saliva as the baby babbled in his sleep. Tiny fingers curled and uncurled, squeaking and apparently dreaming.

What could babies dream about anyways?

Touya shook away the question as quickly as it came. This was the future of Japan? This tiny, unhealthily tiny, baby was supposed to surpass All Might?

“What makes… You… So special?” Touya worked up the nerve to speak, talking so softly. The words come out slow and hesitant, jaw twitching with irritation the longer he stares down at the sleeping baby.

Touya slowly reached down, opening his palm towards the unknowing child.

“One blast from me, and you’d be…” Touya trailed off, letting his hand light up with bright blue flames. The flames sharpened the immature, chubby features Shoto had for now. The heat and light must’ve startled Shoto awake, his eyebrows twitched and his eyes shifted under their lids.

“So…” Touya sucked in a sharp breath when he felt his throat closing up, tears burning behind his eyes. His emotions clawed up the inside of his chest while his hand trembled where it hovered over the baby.

“So… Why? Why you?” Touya’s emotions swelled more until his vision became screwed with tears. Red, white, and blue blurring together, and Touya felt his muscles beginning to quiver even more. He bit back his sad emotions and fought for something a little more familiar and comfortable.

Therefore, his anger swelled up to the surface and nearly suffocated him. Glassy blue and grey round eyes sleepily blinked up at him and he had to almost physically restrain himself from shoving two burning fingers into the child’s eye sockets and disabling him.

“ Why you?!” Touya raised his voice yet it did nothing to startle Shoto, waterfalls of tears cascading down Touya’s cheeks yet Shoto stared up at him in awe. Completely and blissfully unaware of how cruel this life may turn out for him.

“ After everything I did for him... I’m working so hard!! It’s never enough! And I got so close…” Touya’s breath hitched to the back of his throat when Shoto’s eyes widened slightly and tiny hands reached towards him. Shoto’s left hand grabbed a hold of Touya’s thumb where the flames subconsciously subsided, not giving room to injure Shoto.

The flames, in general, began to fade and Touya’s anger was slowly disappearing along with them.

“But then you…-” Touya tried to continue and kept slowly trailing off more and more, “-you just… ruined…”

The flames went out completely and Shoto’s tiny fingers squeezed excitedly around his eldest brother’s thumb. The sound of Shoto’s slowly beginning to crack up with small bouts of happy laughter, just giggling and cooing without a single care in the world right now. His little feet kick out happily as he tried to guide Touya’s thumb into his mouth to gnaw and bite it like a pacifier.

Touya was stuck frozen where he stands, watching the whole interaction. His hand was trembling horribly but he never once pulled back even after Shoto succeeded in sticking his thumb in his mouth. The gross factor didn’t even hit the 11-year-old yet, staring with wide blue eyes which seemed to be made out of glass.

“... Everything.”

[ashintheairlikesnow]

I’m Here

CW: Negative stimming including stimming resulting in self-injury, pet whump, death of parents, grief, ableism, past noncon references, r*pe survivor having severe PTSD flashbacks, memory of shock collars, derogatory language, dehumanization, meltdown/panic attack, whump of a minor referenced repeatedly. 

This is Chris in a very dark place - stay safe.

Directly follows Found Out, Akio, and Chris Sees.

Come on, 223499-

I'm Tristan! My, my, my name is Tristan, Tristan H-Higgs and I l, I, I live at-... but, um, no, no, at my, my my aunt's ap, apartment now-

Tristan Higgs is a fucking corpse, kid. You don't have a name anymore.

No, I'm, my, my name is, is, is-is-

 Your name is for your prospective to choose. Now let me show you how we shut you up.

 The boy is screaming, twisting, writhing in pain on the floor, clawing at the black collar around his neck, desperate to somehow escape it, but there isn’t any way out. He digs his fingernails down his skin but it’s still there, the collar never leaves, you’re only safe with your collar on, no wait that hadn’t happened yet-

Oh, that’s nice. Time for the Drip for you. 

N-no, no-

Welcome home, 223499.

M-my name is, is, is Tristan-

Chris slams the door on his way into the bathroom, locks it behind him, sweeps everything off the counter with a crash, plastic bottles of soap bouncing, a toothpaste container clicking against the tile, the toothbrush holder shattering and sending shards of ceramic pale on one side and rainbow-painted on the other everywhere. He stares at them clicking over the floor before they stop, some of them skimming the tile all the way to the wall. 

Inside his head, there is a cry, bubbling up behind the wall that his life has been hidden behind, deep inside the cold pale light that all the worst things drown in. 

Beneath the Drip, the needle in his arm, beneath the pain, the fear, the hands that moved over him and the bodies that moved inside him and the voice in his ear whispering, pet, pet, pet until he was one, until he wasn’t anything else any longer, until he was ready to be overwritten.

My, my, my name is Tristan Higgs, my name is, is, is Tristan, my name is-

Didn’t I tell you Tristan Higgs is dead, trainee? All that’s left of you is my pretty little whore. You wanted it so bad you signed up for this. Now get on your knees and show your handler some respect.

No, pl-please, please I don’t-, I, I, I don’t want to, I-

What you want doesn’t matter anymore, 223499. 

Please-

What you want is irrelevant, trainee. Now let me show you what I want.

Inside his head there is a boy, screaming, his wrists forced down by larger hands, body rocked in a rhythm of terrible pain while a stranger who will be his entire world whispers in his ear, I paid extra for this and you did not disappoint, darlin’.

There’s a boy alone in a white room, painting with his own blood on pristine white walls, just to see color, just to see something, anything, that isn’t nothing at all. There’s a boy, alone, whispering apologies to the parents he is losing, their memories slip-sliding under the surface until they are gone.

There is a boy, screaming.

Chris screams with him, their voices in tandem, in echo, but it's the same voice, and the scream was always him, always Tristan Higgs inside him, buried beneath it all.

Chris screams until his throat is raw, bashes his hands into the mirror until it rattles under his fists, rocks forward to knock his head into it. Again, and again, and again, rattling it inside the frame, trying to force a break. The chaos inside him is too much, too strong, and at the center of the train tracks is her face, always her face, her hands, her lips moving and fighting to speak, her face. 

 I love you, baby, I l-love you, it's okay, it's okay-

 Mom, please, pl-... please, no, no no no, I’m, I’m s-sorry, I’m so so sorry, I’m, I’m sorry-

 Sssshhh, baby, it’s-... it’s okay, it’ll b-be okay, Tris, Mommy loves you, h-honey, Mommy-... loves you s-so much-... Her eyes shining like marbles, her blood on the wall, burbling from her chest as she fought and fought to breathe and then she stopped and her eyes, her eyes stayed open…

 He laid with her and she was so cold and no one came to help him and no one came and they were both so cold and he stayed with them all night, wailing into her shirt soaked in blood, into his side, laid down between them and tried to keep them warm with blankets but they were gone and it didn’t matter and it was-

 If it weren’t for you, she’d still be alive.

 His aunt looks at him with hate or stares through him and there’s no routine and there’s no therapy and Aki is gone and his phone is gone and he hurts himself desperately just to feel something other than the chaos and the noise and the cracking, shrieking angry pain inside him, the guilt the blame the hate and oh, how he hates himself for not staying still the one time it counted and no one is coming and no one loves him anymore because they’re gone and his aunt doesn’t love him because he should never have been born-

 If he weren’t born she’d still be alive-

 "It's not okay!" He screams again, tearing at his hair, clawing at his arms, dragging deep red welts down on each side, trying to dig the pain out from inside of him. “It’s not okay, it’s, it’s, it’s not, it’s, it’s not, not, not, not-not-not, not okay, not-”

 Please, pl-please, let, let, let me go-

 Told you to stop rocking, didn’t I? You did this to yourself. Be still, statue boy.

 Pl-please, I, I don’t know how-

 You’ll learn.

 His head snaps to the side with the imagined memory of a slap to the face, his breath catches with the pale shade of the shock collar lighting him up, nerves sparking shrieking agony, the needle in his arm, it's in his arm again this isn’t freedom he’s just gone crazy from drugs again and he’s on the Drip again and he was never not on the Drip he was, was never free no one saved him no one is coming-

 He rocks forward, again and again, banging his head into the mirror until there's blood, until it cracks, bad luck for seven years, Tris, sucks to be us, and they laughed, the two of them, carefully picking the shards up to put in the wastebin and Aki grinned at him, unbothered, because his mom would probably forgive them and it wasn’t a big deal-

 Let’s, let’s, let’s make up a, a routine, Aki, yeah?

 Yeah, sure, but can we like… be normal teenagers for a half-hour first?

 Um, how, how do we-

 I thought we might start by watching TV and not doing our homework. You know, get crazy with it. Maybe even go super crazy and eat leftover pizza.

 Chris's lips curl back from his teeth and he stares at himself in the mirror, his wide green eyes and pale eyebrows that darkened a little with age, blue hair that hangs around his face, frames the lines of his cheekbones. The gash along his forehead where he hit the mirror hard enough to open it, bright red blood welling up and slowly seeping out.

 He lifts one hand, pressing his fingertips to the crack in the mirror that matches the cut in his forehead. There’s a little bit of blood there, and it smears under his fingers. For a second, he’s fascinated by it, the liquid that slips along, ripples his reflection.

 It doesn’t feel like part of him. It’s just something he can control, when he can’t control anything else.

 Behind him, the doorknob rattles, but Chris barely notices. “Chris?” It’s Jake’s voice, and Chris swallows, ignores the push, the urge, to let him in. Instead he keeps looking at himself, tries to see the boy inside his head, the boy in the room, under the men, the boy screaming in his head while his mouth learned to say all the words they wanted.. 

 Come here, pretty-... oh, look at you, so full of tears for me, hm? 

 On your back, gorgeous boy.

 On your knees, pretty pet.

 What you want doesn’t matter anymore.

 No isn’t an option for you any longer.

 Don’t I always give you options, pretty thing? You can choose to be good, my good little slut, or…

 “You, you, you can choose pain,” Chris whispers, finishing the sentence that started in his handler’s voice, in his mind. “Too, too, too… pretty to, to be for anything else. Too pretty… too, too pretty for, for, for…”

 He nails the dismount for the first time on the the bars, his body does exactly what he wants, and he looks up to see his mom cheering for him, and he jumps up and down, hands moving, rocking with his happiness, and his team cheers for him, and his scores are really good so he can go to state and he’s so happy-

 He’s so happy-

 She’s so proud of him-

 There’s a hand in his hair, jerking his head back to look up at his Sir, who smiles down at him, and Tristan can barely see him through his tears. He’s tied down and he can’t escape and he doesn’t know it’s his Sir, yet, he was still Tristan then but his Sir’s hand is in his hair and he whispers, God, I love that you came already flexible for me, sweetheart…

 Please, n-no, please, I don’t want, want this, please, I-I-I don’t, I, I-... I need h-help, I didn’t… sign, yet, please call, call, call the the the-the cops-

 Sssshhh. Sir’s finger to his lips, and he didn’t dare bite, even then. Hands on his wrists, forcing them down against the table. His back arches, trying to get away, and his Sir laughs at him, low soft chuckle, and boy weeps, turning his head to the side. You’re going to be perfect, sweet boy, I can already tell.

 No, no, no no no, no, pl-please don’t, please, please, no, no, g-god, oh oh oh god, oh god, no-

 I paid extra for this, and you did not disappoint.

 The pain, when it comes, is blinding and never-ending and Tristan Higgs is screaming. 

No one cares.

No one will come to save him.

 Chris groans, pulling at his hair, trying to rip it out by the roots to settle his jangling shrieking nerves, scratching his fingernails down his cheeks as deep sa he can, smacking his hands again and again into the broken mirror, shrieking at the pretty face split apart by the cracks. A piece of the mirror falls out into the sink, and Jake is still talking, trying to open the door, but Chris isn’t listening.

 He can’t hear Jake over the sound of his own mind turning against him, spitting memories he’d thought were gone, but no, dead things don’t always decay, sometimes they just wait to come back and tear out your throat and show you how it’s all your fault.

 What about you, Tris? Mrs. Nakamura’s voice is gently teasing, soft and unassuming. She’s sitting with a book in a soft cozy chair somewhere with nice warm lights, and everyone watches Tristan’s hands move to tap on himself without judgement, without shame. We all know Aki can’t take his eyes off of that pretty Nicole girl-

 Mom. No. Please, please do not talk about this. Oh my god. She’s just my teammate!

 I’m just being silly, Aki. 

 It’s, um, it’s okay, Mrs. Na, na, Nakamura. I’m just-... nobody for, for, for me, right now. Tristan’s face is red, he’s blushing, and he hasn’t really thought about it much, beyond just thinking everyone is pretty, but he hasn’t told his mom yet, and-

 Oh, well, maybe later. You two are so busy getting ready for state, anyway. 

 He can hear Jake back on the stairs, now, thumping down them and away, and Chris’s hands move rapidly over the sink and counter, avoiding the bits of shattered mirror. He’s standing in ceramic but he doesn’t notice, he doesn’t care. His body doesn’t belong to him, anyway, his body belongs to his handler his owner his rescuer his anyone but him it’s not his it’s not his body, they took his body and he doesn’t get it back…

 He wants his body back.

 He yanks open the drawer, shoving through the disposable shaving razors that Jake buys, the nail-clipping kit he keeps in here, a stupid little comb that he can’t see any use for, rolls of gauze and bandages, tossing them to the floor, until he finds what he’s looking for. 

 A pair of scissors, used mostly for gauze and bandages, big shining metal scissors that weigh heavy in his hands.

 Chris stares up at himself in the remaining mirror, pulls a hank of his hair out straight with one hand, and clips right through it with the scissors. He lets out an exhale, and grabs another bit of hair, and does it again.

 Blue drifts down to gather with the broken glass in the sink and on the floor, piling higher and higher as Chris keeps cutting, staring into his eyes and not looking at how even the cut is. He looks at the bloody mess on his forehead-

 Mom, please, I’m sorry, I’m sorry I, I, I moved, I’m so so sorry, I’m sorry…

 It’s okay, baby-

 Blood on the wall, he stayed there all night and no one came. She was cold, he couldn’t keep her warm all by himself.

 “It’s, it’s not okay,” Chris whispers, and Sir’s hand is heavy on his neck, look at how you ruined yourself since you left me, darlin’, but his Sir can’t stop him because his Sir is dead, too. Everyone who cares for him dies but Jake and Antoni and Laken and maybe they’ll die, too, because of him, because he’s too pretty to be for anything else-

 There’s blood on the featureless white wall and he pulls it through his fingers and it’s something that’s not white, he barely recognizes it as his blood, it’s just bright red and feels good under his fingers, the blood cools and dries so he hits his head and makes more, and more, and more-

 He keeps cutting, until what’s left is a shaggy, unkempt mess, different lengths all over, and all his hard-won long hair is gone. He has wisps that hang over his forehead, little bits that tickle the tops of his ears. He cuts until it’s just little scruffs, barely blue at all. 

 He drops the scissors into the sink on top of the pile of blue hair, runs his hands back through his hair, watches more loose bits drift slowly downward.

 He lifts his hands and takes out his piercings, one by one, dropping them into the sink with the hair, until his ears are bare, too, and his eyebrow. Nothing but a thin narrow face, nothing but freckles that stand out too much, nothing but big eyes and chin. 

 He pulls his shirt off over his head, and then his compression shirt. Takes off his pants and his boxers and then straightens to stare at himself naked in the bit of mirror still left.

 “I, I’m good for you,” He whispers, tilts his head just right, looks up at himself through his eyelashes. His look is warm and liquid and well-trained, a show of desire he’s never once felt. He bites down on his lower lip, just so, hand moving as if to brush a bit of hair back - but the hair he might have touched is gone, it’s in the pile in the sink. 

 The look is ruined by what he’s done.

 Good.

Wide green eyes, yeah, let’s see those eyes nice and empty for me, trainee, but they’re red-rimmed and shadowed, full of pain. His eyelashes - inhuman, unearthly, pretty boy - are barely visible. Freckles that stand out too much, I’m going to kiss every single one until you understand how beautiful you are, Chris, okay? scattered over his nose and the angled cheekbones. Narrow chin, perfect for gripping and moving his head around, smeared with drying blood. Bleeding from the slash across his forehead, running slowly down to stain his pale eyebrow darker, to run into his left eye, what the fuck did you do to yourself, trainee?

 “Not, not a trainee,” Chris whispers. “Not a, a pet. Not Tristan. Not, not, not. I’m, I’m Chris, I made myself, I’m, I’m, I’m, I’m, I’m... I’m I’m Chris, I’m, I’m Christopher fucking Stanton, I’m-... I’m Chris.”

 Big scratches down his cheeks, his neck, bright red welts that might turn to bruises, that he could open into bleeding, he could make himself so ugly no one ever wants him again. “Not, not, not so pretty anymore,” He whispers, and his throat closes up against the words, but it feels good, it feels important. “Not, not, not pretty, now.”

 Not worth dying over, not worth breaking, not worth noticing, not worth taking, not worth buying, not worth rescuing, not worth being arrested for, not worth saving, not pretty enough to hurt, not pretty enough to love. 

 You fucking freak, I don’t know how Ronnie managed to think you were so great, you can barely brush your own teeth.

 How the hell did she love you? You ruined her life.

 If it weren’t for you...

 The door suddenly jolts open, and Chris doesn’t flinch - he doesn’t look back - only stares at himself, rocking slowly forward and back on his toes and heels until his head bumps the cracks in the glass like the cracks inside of him, his hands twisting at the ends of his wrists to smack rhythmically into his sides, his hips, harder and harder, fighting to find the same soothing rush that motions like this normally bring. 

 It’s too loud, inside of him. It’s too much. He can’t stop the trains roaring up out of the light, bringing everything into the darkness where he only wants to hide.

 “Holy shit, Chris,” Jake whispers, standing behind him, eyes wide with shock. “Wh-... why did you… Oh, Chris, no. Oh, no, oh fuck, Chris, you hurt yourself, you haven’t done that since-”

 Chris turns, ceramic crackling underfoot, sharp little spikes of pain in his feet, and looks up into Jake’s eyes. “Tris, Tristan Higgs was pretty,” He says, weakly. “I don’t want to, to, to be pretty anymore.”

 Oh, darlin’, aren’t you just pretty as a picture.

 Open up, 499.

 He’s such a sweet, handsome boy, Ronnie, you’d never know he had, you know...

 You can just say it, you know. It’s not a dirty word. 

 You’re too pretty for anything else, 499, you were always going to be somebody’s slut.

 You want it-

 I, I don’t want to-

 No one gives a fuck what you want.

I don’t, don’t, don’t want to, please-, pl-please, please stop, please please stop touching me-

What do you say, trainee?

I want this. I want you.

Good boy.

 A shudder ripples through him, a memory of pain, long gone but still written over every inch of his body. Broken, and dirty, and used until he forgot how to be anything else. He feels suddenly exhausted, weighed down, too heavy to move. There’s a weight on his chest and every breath takes an effort, takes determination, and he is losing the battle. 

His lip wobbles, and he feels infinitely young, like all the years didn’t happen, and he’s still just Tristan Higgs in the end, ready to be broken, bent, and twisted. 

He looks at Jake, and his brother blurs with tears. “He was, was, was too pretty for an, anything else, I d-don’t want to, to-to-to be pr-pretty like him anymore-... s-so I made, made, made myself uh-ugly-”

 Jake sweeps him up and Chris lets himself be swept. The cry is bubbling up again and he wails into Jake’s shirt, gripping into the fabric and twisting his hands, tears rolling down his cheeks and stinging into the places he scratched himself. He’s pulling, tapping, rocking his bloodied head into Jake’s shoulder, fighting the trains in his mind that aren’t thoughts but memories, each one fighting to be the first to hurt him by coming back to the surface. 

 They crash into each other, into the wall of cold white light. They break through.

 Inside him the boy in the black collar is screaming, the boy in the collar is crying, the boy is laid back on silk sheets and cries tears he has to keep inside his head while his face is smiling and his voice makes all the right sounds, the boy has his wrists and ankles locked down to keep him still, the boy is curled up between his parents waiting for someone to come and nobody is coming, the boy wears a suit in court that itches and he can’t stop shaking his hands and the judge doesn’t like him and the social worker doesn’t like him and the boy is curled up on a bed in a windowless room missing his friends, the boy hits his head and hits himself and the words are gone and the boy is screaming the boy is screaming the boy is screaming-

 Mom, can Tris sleep over tonight?

 Again, Aki? Well, I guess I don’t see any harm. You’ve got half your closet in Aki’s room by now, anyway. Call you mom and ask her, Tris, okay?

 You fucking freak, I wish you had died with your bastard father instead of her.

 I hate you, I, I hate you so, so, so-so much-

 You should hate your fucking self, Tristan.

 I love you, kiddo. It’s you and me, right?

Right, Mom. You, you, you and, and me.

Til your dad comes home, anyway. Can’t wait ‘til he’s working days and we’re not alone at night, huh?

Your prospective will choose your name.

I, I’m a… number. My name is… 223499, Romantic designation, Facility 001. I am a pet and… and… a toy. I am an active par, participant in fulfilling m-my, my, my owner’s desires-

I paid extra and you did not disappoint.

On your knees, gorgeous boy.

I think we’ll play a game, sweetheart.

Show some respect, 223499.

Come here, darlin’.

Good boy

I love you, Tris

Good pet

It’s, it’s okay, it’s-... okay, I l-love you, it’ll be okay-

Good boy

The boy is screaming for help and nobody is coming to save him-

“I’ve got you,” Jake whispers, holding him tightly, and Chris buries himself into the warmth, the familiar scent, the feeling of Jake’s arms is branded deeper than anything else in the world. I will rescue you, I’ll come back to you, Chris, I promise, I’m here.

I want you I love you I’m here.  

“You made Chris, and you’re still Chris. This is just all the shit they took from you, that’s all. It’s okay, you can cry, Chris, go ahead and cry. It’s okay, it’s hard when it comes back, and Kauri and Ant and Laken and I, we’re all here with you.”

Chris sobs in Jake’s arms, bleeding all over his shirt, but Jake doesn’t care. He holds him anyway. There’s a throbbing pain inside his head, but it’s not stronger than the memories, and the cold white light isn’t holding them back like it used to, anymore.

Her face, her hands, the blood coming out of her, the silent house around them. 

Her face.

Her eyes.

She loved him.

Oh, no, did you fall down? Oh, it’s okay, honey, I’m right here, I’ve got you - it’s hard the first time, but we get back up and try again. Here, let Mommy give it a kiss - there, all better, right?

Therapy is rough sometimes, sweetie, but listen - we can do this, together, Tris. We can do the hard stuff if we do it together. D’you want a hug? Yeah, hugs can help make it better, right? That’s what moms do.

I heard the thunder, baby. Go ahead, climb in, I’ve got you, c’mere, I’ll hold you.

I want you I love you I’m here.

I l-love you, it’s okay, it’s okay, I love you, Tris...

“I, I, I don’t want to, to be Tristan Higgs,” Chris cries against Jake’s neck, shoulders shaking, rocking, rocking, rocking in his arms. Jake’s hands are up in what’s left of his hair, feeling the short, chopped strands, rubbing over the nape of his neck, soothing the twisting hurt and fear inside him. “I don’t, I don’t, he, he, he, it was his fault, for, for, for for for moving when he had to, to be still, and I wasn’t, I didn’t do it right, and they, they d-died because of me… I l-loved, I was, they, they, they shot them and-and left me and, and, and no one came, nobody came to help, no, no, no, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry-”

“I know,” Jake murmurs. “I know. It wasn’t your fault, you were just a kid. It wasn’t your fault, Chris, whatever happened, it-... it wasn’t your fault. It was never your fault. You’re whoever you want to be, Chris, but Tristan is still a part of you, okay? We have to work on making everything integrate, work together, or it’s going to keep hurting. You have to get past the conditioning to forget, or it’s going to… get worse.”

Chris whimpers at the idea that he could feel any worse than this. “I don’t, don’t… don’t want to, to, to to to lose her again,” Chris whispers, shaking his head. “Don’t want to, to lose y-you-”

“Never. You can’t ever lose me, you’re stuck with me. I’m not going anywhere. Let’s clean up this mess, Laken is probably dying to talk to you-”

“No,” Chris whispers, begs without a voice. “No, not, not them, not… not yet.”

The scream is bubbling up again, the boy in the cold white room is rocking, rocking, rocking with his hands tied behind his back, can’t touch can’t hurt can’t feel can’t think someone help me but nobody is coming except the handler with his smile and his pain and his hands-

“Okay. No problem. Cleaning first. I’m going to bandage you up, and I’ll clean up the mess while you sit and maybe drink some water. But… can we… can we do one thing? Will you let me do one thing?”

“Wh, what?”

“Will you let me fix your hair?”

Chris pulls back a little to look up at Jake, and he smiles faintly back down, sympathetic and loving, and it’s not okay, but Jake is here, so it’s… it’s better than it would be if he were alone. “Um… y, yes, you, you you you, you can fix it.” 

“Okay. I love you, little man. You weren’t supposed to see it so soon, we were going to get you ready, and it’s going to hurt coming back, but I promise… I promise it’s good for you to have it. Okay? Do you trust me, when I say that?”

Chris meets the sincere love in those blue eyes. “I, I trust you.”

He does. But he doesn’t believe him.

It’s okay, baby, it’s, it’s okay…

It’s not, and it never was, but… he remembers her face, at least. He remembers her voice.

He remembers her.

I love you, Tris, I’m so proud of you for doing the hard things, and I’m right here with you. I’ve got you, sweetheart. You and me, right? We can do all the hard shit as long as we do it together.

His fingers twitch, and he buries himself against Jake and sees her eyes full of tears and dying and her chest covered in blood and the blood on the wall and she tells him she loves him and then she doesn’t tell him anything anymore and her body is cold and Tristan curls up between them, blood drying on the wall and no one comes until the sun is shining and the blood is dry but Tristan is still crying-

Chris begins, again, to scream, but this time Jake is holding him, this time someone’s here, this time there’s someone who isn’t leaving, this time he can wail with arms around him and this time he’s not alone.

The boy is Christopher Stanton and he is Tristan Higgs and the boy is screaming and his brother came to help him and his brother is holding him tight.

I love you, Tris. I’m so proud of you.

I’m here, Chris. I’m not going anywhere.

I want you 

I love you 

I’ve got you 

I’m here.

---

Tagging: @burtlederp  , @finder-of-rings  , @endless-whump , @whumpfigure, @slaintetowhump, @astrobly  @newandfiguringitout  , @doveotions  , @pretty-face-breaker  , @boxboysandotherwhump  , @oops-its-whump  @moose-teeth  , @cubeswhump  , @cupcakes-and-pain  @whump-tr0pes  @whumpiary  @orchidscript

[lordabovehelpme]

Daylight- Din Djarin x Reader

Amazing and spectacular moodboard done by @jedi-jesi

A/n: Here’s another part for my Days filled with Love series!!! I hope you guys like it!

Warnings: children, breastfeeding. 

You can find the first part here. :) 

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Rolling out of bed, you groan. Tobbi, your newborn son, has started crying once again in the middle of the night.

“Cyare?” Your husband's arms reach out at the loss of your warmth. His voice is groggy and yet it still makes you weak in the knees.

“I’ll be right back, your son is crying again.”

A huff of amusement falls from his lips. “My son?”

Smiling, you lean over him and press a kiss to his lips. He hums and his arms wrap around your shoulders. “Yes, your son.”

Peeling yourself from his embrace you walk over to the cribs attached to the wall of the main hull. Tobbi has his arms outstretched and his legs are kicking. Isabet, your newborn daughter, is still dead asleep. You swear she could sleep through anything.

Picking up Tobbi, you hug him to your chest and start shushing him. His loud sobs start to turn into whimpers. “What’s wrong buddy?” Giving him a look, you lift his bottom to your nose and give a whiff. “You don’t need to be changed. Oh, are you hungry?”

His eyes peer up at you and he hiccups, cheeks still wet from his tears. Little chubby fingers pull at the neckline of your shirt.

Crawling back into bed, you rest your back against the wall and pull your shirt over your head. Almost instantly, Tobbi latches onto you. A large warm palm lifts from the abyss of blankets and rests on the back of his son.

His head lifts from the blankets and you suppress a laugh. Soft brown curls rest messily, framing his face perfectly. His eyelids are still closed and yet a small smile graces his features. Another hand reaches for your thigh and pulls at the flesh.

Letting out a groan, he rests his head atop your lap. Your hand starts to comb through his hair and a wet kiss is pressed to the skin of your thigh in gratitude.

Small fingernails scratch at your chest and Tobbi’s eyes stare up at you. “Hey handsome.” Leaving your husband's hair, you brush the small tuft of brown curls he was born with.

“That’s my name.” You can hear the pout in his voice and a small nip is inflicted to the same spot on your thigh. His hands wrap around your waist and pull you as close as he can to you.

Laughing quietly, you move your hand back to your husband's head. “He does look exactly like you, as all your children do. It’s not fair.”

You can feel his smile on your legs.

Tobbi slaps your chest, trying to get your attention back on him. “Little bugger is greedy.”

“Just like you.”

His head launches up from your lap to stare at you. “Me?” A glint of mischief dances through his eyes. But before he can do anything, a wail comes from the other crib. Climbing out of the bed he points at you, “This isn’t over.”

You watch as he disappears behind the corner and the wails grow louder as they get closer. Soon enough, he crawls back under the covers, baby and all. Tobbi finally releases you and a small sigh comes from him. Smiling you trace his nose, your heart swelling with love for him. “Here, trade me. Burp him, because she’s probably hungry too.”

Taking his son from your arms, he places your daughter in them. Just as your son did earlier, she latches onto your other breast. However, her eyes remain closed.

“Hey little man.” Grabbing an old shirt, he places it over his shoulder and then carefully raises his son's face to the covered area. Small confident pats are given to his back.

You remember when Myles was a newborn, Din didn’t want to even touch him in fear of hurting him. Yet, here he is, being like the hottest dad you’ve ever laid eyes on. “I love you so much.”

His eyes lock onto yours and he leans forwards, catching your lips in a small kiss. “Love you too cyare.” You both just smile back at each other.

“Mommy?” You jump slightly and quickly pull the sheet up over your chest, doing the best you can to cover yourself.

“What are you doing up?” Your husband turns to Reeza and quickly lifts her onto the bed, not breaking his steady rhythm of pats on Tobbi’s back.

“I heard Issy crying.” She rubs her eyes before climbing onto her father and sitting herself in his lap, wrapping her tiny arms around his waist. A burp falls from Tobbi’s mouth and you see your husband's proud smile. “Ew.”

Your husband laughs, “We had to do the same thing with you.” He ruffles her hair and places Tobbi on your lap, making sure his head and neck are supported. Picking Reeza up, he climbs off the bed. “Let’s go tuck you back in. Say night to Mommy.”

He turns to face the kids bunks so Reeza can look at you. “Night Mommy. Night Tobbi.” She sends a glare to the bundle at your breast. “Night Issy.”

Biting back a smile, you blow her a kiss. “Goodnight sweetheart.”

After a few minutes, he returns to you. Picking Tobbi back up he moves to walk him over to the crib. You watch as the stoic mandalorian presses a kiss to his sleeping son's forehead and then brings his forehead to meet his own. His lips move, telling you that he is saying something but you are too far away and it is too quiet for you to hear what words were uttered.

Rounding the corner, your husband leaves your view for a minute only to arrive again. Grabbing the base of the sheet, he slowly pulls the fabric away from your chest. His eyes land on his daughter, but you don’t miss the quick glance he had to your exposed skin.

His hand grabs your foot and starts to press into the arch. Groaning, you let your head rest on the wall behind you. Strong fingers rub up, down, and around your foot, easing away all your pain. When he decides that he was given enough attention to that foot, he moves to the other.

You feel Isabet’s sucking start to slow down, the telltale sign of her being full. Soon enough, her mouth releases you and one of her expressive brown eyes open. Reaching for the old shirt Din had used, your hands are swatted away.

“Let me, cyare. You need to get some rest.” Smiling at him with heart eyes, you hand him your daughter. Going through the same process, he pats her back. After a few minutes she lets out a burp and her body immediately falls into a slumber.

After putting her back down, he crawls up to you. His lips attach to your own, giving you a few smooches before resting his head in the spot between your neck and your shoulder.

“Wait, I need to put a shirt on.”

“Why? I’m not wearing a shirt. Plus, I like you like this.” His hands trail up to softly palm at the sensitive muscles on your chest.

“Din, you’re insufferable.” Grabbing his wrists and setting them back at his sides you feel him pout.

“Come on, we haven’t done anything for years!”

“Years?” Your eyebrows raise and your voice carries your amusement.

“Practically, come on. They’re all asleep. I checked. We can just be quiet and no one will know besides us.” His mouth attaches to that one spot on your neck that he knows gets you in the mood.

Biting your lip, you weigh the pros and cons in your head. “Fine, but we have to be quick, I can see the daylight starting to peek through.”

His head lifts from your neck and he smiles like a kid in a candy shop. “Maker, I love you.”

Wrapping your arms around his neck, you pull him to your lips. He growls before his lips start to move back down your body. “Love you too.”

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Next Part: Mother’s Day 

Well here you guys go! I hope you all liked it. (Just me feeding y’alls baby fever)

Haha love you all, Lordy. :)

Masterlist

Taglist: @ficthots @along-the-lines-of-space @jedi-jesi

If you want to be added to my tag list- just give me a holler! :)

[sweetyyhippyy]

Part of You. Spencer Reid x OC! Character. Chapter 12.

Chapter 12: Jealous and Undercover

(Not my gif)

Summary: Hotch has Derek and Bridgett go undercover to catch an unsub in a swingers club. Spencer gets jealous and reminds Bridgett who she is coming home to at the end of the night.

TW: Mentions of murder, talk of partner swapping, jealous Spencer, teasing Spencer (clit playing), unwanted touching, getting attacked by the unsub, more teasing, sexual innuendos. 

Word Count: 3.6k

A.N.: This is season 10 Spencer! Also, I think I’m going to be putting out 2 chapters a week (Saturdays and Wednesdays)! Lets see how it goes first! 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Do you know if Maddy or Kevin had any problems with anyone at their work? Or just anyone in general?” Derek questions the best friend of Maddy, one of the victims in the murder.

The girl sniffles, wiping tears from her eyes. “No. They were both nice, warm people. Maddy was always the first to volunteer at their daughter Maya's school field trips, PTA meetings. Kevin was hard working, but everyone loved him. Who would do this? Maya lost both of her parents.”

Bridgett hands the woman a tissue. “That’s what we’re trying to figure out. We read your statement you gave to the police and you said you were with them Saturday night, dinner, drinks; did you notice anyone suspicious when you were out?”

The woman sighs, staying silent.

“You know something you’re not telling us, Desiree. Talk to us.” Bridgett states.

“There’s a club that a friend of ours owns… it’s a swingers club. That’s where we were on Saturday. My husband and I went along with them and our partners got traded. I’m not sure the name of the man that Maddy ended up with but Kevin never lets her go alone.”

“So it’s a threesome?” Derek asks.

“Not always. Sometimes Kevin would watch while Maddy… you know.”

“How many times have you been there?” Bridgett questions.

“The four of us together… six or seven times. I think Maddy and Kevin went more frequently.”

“We’re going to need the name of the club, as well as the partners you and your husband had.”

***

“So all the victims went to the same swingers club. Club Encounters.” JJ says.

“They had to have met the unsub at the club. And had sex with him.” Rossi adds.

“Or let him watch.” Spencer says, writing something on the board in front of him.

“We need to get in the club. It’s Friday night so it’s most likely going to be packed.” Bridgett suggests.

“She’s right. Bridgett you and Morgan get dressed, you’ll be going undercover as a couple to get into the club.”

Bridgett looks over at Derek, suppressing a smile and raising her eyebrow at him. Spencer spins around quickly, not looking thrilled with Hotch’s plan. Bridgett makes eye contact with her boyfriend across from her and gives him a “calm down” look.

“Sir? We’ll be going undercover as a couple?” Bridgett questions.

“Married couple. Get back to the hotel and get ready. Be back here by 8pm. Everyone else, work on calling the names of the partners and asking them if they know anything.” Hotch leaves the room, leaving the rest of the team smirking at Derek and Bridgett.

“Let’s head back to get ready for our night out, Mrs. Morgan.” Derek jokes before walking out.  

Bridgett bites her bottom lip to prevent herself from smiling at his joke. Spencer pouts at Derek as he passes by, Derek paying him no mind. Bridgett gets up from her seat, grabbing her stuff and following Derek.

“Could I come with you guys… back to the hotel? There’s something I need to grab.” Spencer says, running to catch up with them.

“Yeah, come on pretty boy.”

***

“Come on, mama! You have like 10 more minutes before we have to leave.” Derek calls out from the other side of the door.

“Okay give me like 2 more minutes!” She responds, fluffing her hair up again.

Derek sits on the edge of the bed, fiddling with the watch on his wrist. Spencer was on the other side of the room, still not liking the arrangement that was going on. Derek scoffs out a laugh at Spencer’s visible pout on his face, looking like a child who was told they couldn’t get a second piece of cake for dessert.

“What’s on your mind, kid?” Derek asks, breaking the silence in the room.

“Hmm, nothing. Just uhh, thinking about the case.”

“You know I can tell when you’re lying right?”

The bathroom door opens up, Bridgett stepping out in a sexy tight white dress, the dress ending mid thigh ,and baby pink high heels. Spencer bites his lip, taking in the beauty that is his girlfriend. Derek’s eyes scanned his coworker’s body, shocked that she looked sexy as hell.

“I need help tying my dress.” Bridgett says, turning around and moving her hair to the side. Her entire back was exposed, both the men could tell she wasn’t wearing a bra, which drove Spencer up the wall.

Derek looks over at Spencer, motioning him to Bridgett. Spencer clears his throat, walking over to her and tying the little strings together on her dress up for her. Bridgett turns around and smiles, fixing her hair to flow down her back, completely oblivious to the gawking stares both of them were giving her.

“Well, what do you think?” She asks, smiling at both men, doing a spin.  

“I mean this in the most respectful way possible, but god damn you look good.” Derek gawks, making Bridgett’s cheeks get hot.

Spencer shoots him a dirty look, wrapping his arm around Bridgett, and giving her forehead a kiss.

Derek stands up, grinning. “I’ll give you two lovebirds a minute. But you need to be downstairs in less than 5 minutes.”

“Yes sir.” Bridgett replies, giving him a sarcastic salute.

Spencer rolls his eyes, tilting Bridgett’s chin up toward him and forcefully kissing her after Derek walks out of the room. Bridgett moans against him, tangling her fingers in his hair immediately. Her free hand slides up his chest wrapping her hand around his tie and pulling him close. Spencer pulls the end of her dress up over her butt, exposing her skimpy underwear. He pulls back from the kiss, looking down at her practically see through white panties.

“Is someone jealous that Derek and I are playing a couple?” Bridgett teases, nipping at his jaw.

Spencer slips his finger under the elastic of her panties and lightly circles the wet bud between her legs. Bridgett grips his arm, moaning loudly.

“You’re coming back to me, tonight, Bridgett. And in this outfit, you understand me?” He speaks in a deep voice, not breaking eye contact with her.

“Y-yes sir.” She mutters, trying to keep her composure. Spencer draws his fingers back out, coating his lips with her wetness as he licks his fingers clean. Bridgett presses her lips against his, tasting herself on his plump lips.

“Let’s go before Derek comes back up here.” He says, biting the side of her neck roughly. Bridgett yelps, laughing, massaging the area.

“I like jealous Spencer.” She states, fixing her dress and grabbing her clutch.

“Hey,” Spencer calls, pulling her toward him. “I love you.”

“I love you too. And, don’t worry, Derek and I aren’t going to do ‘swinger’ stuff, alright. We’re just trying to catch the unsub.”

“Yeah, I know.” Spencer says, stuffing his hands in his pockets, giving her a small forced smile.

Bridgett strokes his cheek softly, looking at his brown eyes. “Come on,  my love.” She says, pulling his arm out of his pocket and holding it in hers as they walk out of the room.

***

“Can you hear us?” Hotch asks through the earpiece in Bridgett’s ear hidden by her hair.

“Yes, sir.” Bridgett replies, walking arm and arm with Derek through the busy club. There were people dancing together on the dance floor, grinding against each other and making out. “I’m not trying to judge, but I can’t imagine sharing my significant other. I’m not good at sharing. I failed that part of kindergarten.” Bridgett jokes.

“You just have to pretend to share me, pretty girl.” Derek says. They both sit at the bar, sipping the fake cocktails they ordered. Derek wraps his arm around Bridgett’s waist, pulling her close to him.

Bridgett stiffens up around his grasp, her eyes flying over to him and growing wide.

“Hey mama, you gotta relax. I know you’re nervous, you haven’t done a lot of undercover stuff, but you gotta loosen up. We’re playing the part.”

Bridgett nods her head, resting her hand on his thigh, kissing his cheek. Derek nuzzles his head in her neck. It felt so weird cuddling up to a different man, and her boyfriend’s best friend nonetheless. As they were “fake” flirting, Bridgett’s eyes scan the room, fixating on a man that was staring them down.

“Derek, blonde man in a blue jean jacket in the left corner, black rimmed glasses.”

Derek picks his head up nonchalantly, turning it slowly toward the left corner of the club. Derek eyes him, studying his face and his body language. The man was definitely checking the two of them out.

“You see the scratch marks on the side of his neck?” Derek says in her ear.

Bridgett nods her head. “Carolina Doane had DNA under her fingernails, but they couldn’t identify it. Come here.” Bridgett takes Derek’s hand, leading him through the crowd over to the man. He takes a swig of his drink, eyeing the couple.

“Hey. Saw you checking us out from across the room. You like what you see?” Bridgett asks.

“Have a seat.” The man offers the chair across from him. Derek sits down first, Bridgett sitting on his lap. Derek snakes his arm around the front of her waist, keeping her in place.

“What’s your name, handsome?” Bridgett asks him.

“Connor Campbell. And you two?”

“I’m Isabelle, and this is my husband, Danny.”

“What are you looking for?” The man asks, taking another drink from the glass in his hand.  

“Well to tell you the truth it’s our first time here. We’re new to the swinging game. But I think I want double the fun.” Bridgett replies, “I don’t like to share but I like to be shared.”

“I think that can be arranged.”

“You come with anyone?” Derek asks.

“No. I came here alone. Easier for people to approach me. You want to head out of here? I have somewhere we can go.”

“Go with him. But try to keep him from going home. Garcia searched his name and we have units at his house searching for evidence. Try to stall.” Hotch’s voice rings from her ear.

“Yeah, let’s get out of here.” Bridgett says, standing up off Derek’s lap.

As the three of them headed out of the club, the potential unsub was getting handsy behind Bridgett as they made their way through the crowd, touching on her ass and hips. Once they made it outside together Bridgett walked in the middle of the two men. Clinging onto Connor’s arm and touching his chest, trying to make it look like she was interested in him.

“You’re an eager little one aren’t you?” Connor moans, slapping her ass. Bridgett bites her tongue to hide the disgust on her face.

“Yeah, it’s what I love about her. She’s very eager to please.” Derek replies, giving her hand a comforting squeeze, he could tell she was uncomfortable.

“Why don’t we get the party started in the car? I’m kinda into the voyeurism thing.” Bridgett says, slipping her hand under his shirt.

“You good with that, man? With me touching your wife in front of you?” He turns his head to Derek waiting for permission, even though he was already touching both sides of her hips.

Bridgett gives Derek a nod subtly, letting him know it was okay.  

“She’s all yours. You be a good girl and listen to him, got it?” Derek says, playing into this role too well.

She shoots Derek a nervous look behind Connor’s shoulder before he turns back around, Bridgett faking a smile at the man as he begins to touch her inner thigh, breathing heavily against her neck. He reeked of disgusting musty  cologne, cigarettes, and the whisky he was drinking inside. She was going to need a bleach bath after this was over.

“How much pleasure can you really get from your husband since you want to be shared?” He whispers to her, groping her breasts.

“And you think you can please me?” Bridgett asks.

“You’ve never wondered what it’s like to be with someone who can give you all the pleasure in the world, sweetheart?”  

Gag.

“We got him. He’s the unsub. Take him down, we’re on our way.” Hotch says in the earpiece.

“FBI, step away from her and put your hands up.” Derek says, drawing the gun on him.

Connor grabs Bridgett by the throat, pushing her against the brick building behind her. Her head bounces against the wall at the force he grabs her. Bridgett sinks her nails into his face, scratching him and attempting to push him off of her. His grip tightens around her windpipe as they struggle with each other, making her cough and gasp for air. Derek grabs Connor by his shirt collar, throwing him to the ground. As Connor’s hand drops from her neck, Bridgett loses her balance from the heels and falls to the ground, still choking and coughing. She watches Derek get on top of him and handcuff him.

“You good?” Derek asks, motioning over to her.

“Fine.” She chokes out, her voice sounding hoarse, still coughing deeply.

Two black SUVs pull up on the sidewalk next to them, the red and blue lights flashing, the team running out to help Derek and Bridgett.

“Are you okay?” JJ asks, helping Bridgett up off the ground.

“My head.” She moans out.

JJ turns her head, touching the spot that was sore on her scalp.  Bridgett winces and whines at the stinging on her head.

“You’re bleeding. We’ll call you to a medic.” JJ walks with her to the car, placing her in it while she speaks over the walkie for an ambulance. Bridgett shivered at the cold breeze from the wind and the blasting car AC.

“Here, sweetheart.” Kate takes the coat in her hand and wraps it around Bridgett’s shoulders. She has a towel in her hand as well and gently applies pressure to the back of her head.

“Thank you. Where’s Spence?”

“He’s with Derek, he’ll be here in a second. You did a good job catching the unsub, Bridgett. When the police got to his house there was another couple there, they were tied up and had been there for 2 days. They said he was torturing them and told them after tonight they’re agony would be over.”

Spencer walks up to Bridgett, his face softening once he sees her. “Hi, babe.” He says softly, bringing her in for a tight hug.

Bridgett nuzzles into his neck for comfort, relaxing against him. “Hi, baby.”

Spencer pulls away, giving her a kiss on the cheek. “The ambulance is here. Let’s get you checked out.” Spencer takes the towel from Kate, smiling at her and thanking her for taking care of Bridgett. Spencer guides her to the ambulance, letting the man take a look at the wound on the back of her head. He stayed by her side the whole time, holding her hand as they cleaned up the bit of blood on her head which stung more than anything.

“Do you have someone that can stay with you to make sure you don’t develop a concussion?” The paramedic asks.

“Yeah, she’s staying with me.” Spencer replies.

“Okay good. I’ll give you a list of questions you need to ask her every hour. If she starts to slur her words, throws up, has a seizure you need to bring her into the hospital. Keep ice on your head, avoid sleep for the next 6-8 hours.”

“Got it.” Bridgett mutters, keeping the ice pack he gave her on her head.

***

“I’ll make us some coffee since we’re not sleeping until tomorrow.” Spencer says, helping Bridgett sit on the bed.

“I need a shower. Desperately. I can still feel his disgusting hands on my skin.” Bridgett slips the heels off her feet, rolling her ankles around. Without asking, Spencer unzips her dress for her, sitting next to her.

“I gotta ask you the questions before you shower.” He says, taking a piece of paper out of his pocket.

“Spence, no you don’t. I’m fine.” Bridgett replies, taking her arms out of the sleeves of her dress, shimmying out of the dress the rest of the way, leaving her in only her panties.

Spencer’s eyes grow wide, his pupils dilating at the sight of his half naked girlfriend. He clears his throat, looking back at the paper. “What’s your name?”

Bridgett sighs, rolling her eyes and walking toward the bathroom. “Bridgett Rhonda Mendez.” She calls from the shower, turning the water on.

“How old are you?” Spencer’s voice seems closer. She pokes her head out from behind the curtain, chucking at him leaning against the sink. She draws the curtain back, fully on display and wet. Spencer sits in the closed toilet seat, trying not to look at her.

“I’m 27.”

“Do you know where you are right now?”

“In the shower. Waiting for my boyfriend to join me. He told me that I was coming back to him when the night was over.”

Spencer licks his lips, looking back at the paper. “Umm, what day of the week is it, today’s date, and the month?”

“Friday September 16th. Are we done?” Bridgett asks, slowly lathering the body soap all over her torso.

Spencer watches her for a few seconds, contemplating taking his clothes off and joining her.

Emily had a good point, Spencer had an IQ of 178, but a woman walks by, or in this case is sudsy in front of him, it drops down to 60.

Spencer looks down at the paper in his hand, he knew what was written on it, but he needed to look away from his girlfriend. “What happened prior to you hitting your head?”

Bridgett turns the shower head off, grabbing the towel off the rack next to the tub and dries her wet body off. Spencer’s eyes not leaving her glistening body.

Get it together, Spencer. Fucking Christ.

“Campbell was trying to get me in the mood by talking creepy to me. Hotch said to take him down and Derek drew his gun on Campbell. Then he grabbed me by my throat and choked me out against the wall.” Bridgett looked into Spencer’s eyes the whole time she was summarizing her night, drying the “fun” parts of her body off.

“You’re good… no concussion.” Spencer mutters, stuffing the piece of paper back in his pocket.

Bridgett leans up to kiss Spencer, making sure to press against him a little extra. “Do I get anything… special for answering all my questions right?”

He swears he feels his whole body jump at the feeling of her hot, silky smooth skin pressed up fully against him. “What did you have in mind?”

“Well… I got a bump on my head and even though the paramedic did a good job with making sure I’m okay, I think I need a doctor’s opinion.” Bridgett whispers in his ear, nipping at the spot behind his ear. “I think I need a full body exam to make sure I’m okay and not broken.”

“Well, I’m not an actual medical doctor, Bridge.”

Bridgett laughs at the fact that her attempt at being sexy went right over his head, just like every other time. At this point he should know all of her sexual advances. She presses her forehead against his shoulder for a second, trying not to make him feel bad for laughing.

“Spencer, I know. I’m trying to tell you to fuck me without actually saying the words.”

“Oh, right. Well, let’s give you that examination.”

***

“Okay, what’s your next question?” Bridgett asks, grabbing a handful of popcorn and taking a few bites.

“Have you given thought to us moving in together?” Spencer asks.

Bridgett’s eyes grow wide, Spencer took the game to a whole new level with his question. First they were just asking random questions that Bridgett found online like, “Have you ever practiced kissing in a mirror?” To which Bridgett learned that Spencer had. Now he was getting deep.

“The thought has crossed my mind a few times.” Bridgett replies with a smile. “Same question to you.”

“You said we couldn’t repeat questions!” Spencer says.

Bridgett playfully rolls her eyes, laughing to herself. “Okay, okay. In the next… 6 months do you see us living together?”

Spencer gives her a flat face, “You realize you asked me the same question in just different words?” He tosses an M&M at her, the candy hitting her chest and rolling down her cleavage. Spencer laughs, throwing his arms up in the air.

Bridgett airs her shirt out, the candy rolling out the bottom into the bed, she grabs it and pops it in her mouth.

“Really?”

“Really what? They’re my boobs! I know where they’ve been! And I showered! They’re clean! You’ve eaten things off my boobs before!  Don’t avoid my question!” Bridgett says loudly.

“I would say less than 6 months.”

“Really? You want to wake up every morning to me, have to deal with me all the time? Always somewhere in the apartment everywhere you turn and look? Imagine all my hair ties all over the place. You’ve started a collection in a jar at my apartment because I keep losing them.”

Spencer nods his head, “We already spend all our time together outside the job, I wake up next to you all the time, and I love it. I think it makes sense for us to live together officially.”

“Okay, well my lease ends in the next few months. I won’t renew it when it’s over.” Bridgett smiles, leaning over their snack pile to give him a kiss.

The tone of the kiss turns quickly once Bridgett starts to move the snacks out of her way to get closer to Spencer.

“I have to ask you the concussion questions again.” He says quickly, still trying to recover from the sex they had less than 45 minutes ago.

Bridgett groans, rolling her eyes. “If I could answer the questions in the middle of us having sex, and I answered them right, I think my brain is fine.”

[sparks-joy-imagines]

hate sex with gintoki + hijikata😨

hey anon, thank you for requesting, this was fun! I hope you like it😊 -niob

GN reader

warning: not sfw, reader gets penetrated, unsafe intercourse (pls don’t do this), oral (giving), rough, biting, hair pulling

Gin:

you stomp down the street, annoyed by the task your grandmother made you do: give the nice workers of Odd Jobs a small package of mochi as thank you for saving her clumsy cat from a tree last week

you ring the doorbell, but no one answers, you get impatient and let yourself in, after all you just want to drop off the present and be on your merry way

as you step inside you hear a noise and enter the room to give the mochi to one of the kids

unfortunately, the kids were out doing some errands and only Gintoki was there, sitting in his chair, feet resting on the desk and reading a Shōnen Jump, you sigh when you realise you have no choice but to deal with the lazy mob head, who didn't even bother to open the door

he saw your grumpy expression and was just as annoyed as you were, he started to provoke you right off the bat, telling you how irritating it was to see your face on such a nice day and how dare you to just enter his house without permission

already worked up you lash back at him without a second thought, storming towards him and tearing the magazine out of his hands, throwing it into a corner and placing the small package of mochi on the desk

he jumps from his chair, angrily grabbing you by the collar and pulling you so close that you can smell the sweets he just ate and  notice his crimson-coloured eyes

“what's your problem, bitch?” he snarls with anger

“if anything, you are my problem, asshole,” you retort

“well, fuck you, then,” he scoffs

“do it yourself,” you say under your breath without thinking about it

Gin’s eyes widen and he snaps at your remark, grabbing you by the neck and starts kissing you sloppy and aggressive, biting your lower lip, you immediately put your arms around him pressing your chest tightly against his, digging your nails in his back while his hands roam your body up and down, then squeezing your ass and thighs so hard that his fingernails dig into your skin and leave marks, you whimper at the stinging sensation and cling to him, trying not to fall backwards while he spins you around and pushes you in the direction of the desk

when your backside bums against the surface, he moves his mouth to your neck, biting and tugging on your sensitive skin with his teeth, creating marks and love bites, that will be visible for at least a week, the intoxicating pain makes you grab a fistful of his white hair and pull and yank at it, drawing a low grunt out of his throat

you hear a ripping sound as he tugs at your clothes, growling frustratedly against your neck while you fumble at his belt

after getting rid of your clothes, he grabs you at your hips and turns you around while pushing you against the hard wooden desk with his whole body, then inserting a finger without warning, the sudden intrusion makes you gasp, and you arch your back, pushing back against him as you can’t believe you actually want more of this, you hear a chuckle from him and feel a second finger entering you

he is hissing insults in your ear as he pulls out his fingers and without a second to lose shoves himself harshly into your throbbing hole, reaching deeply inside you, prodding your sweet spot, making you inhale sharply and release a loud moan

one of his hands holds you in place by your hip, the other hand is pressing your torso down on the desk as he mercilessly pounds into you from behind

he ruthlessly continues to fuck into you while a sadistic grin forms on his face, hearing you moan so loud and lewd just fuels him even more and he picks up the pace

you feel one of his hands snaking around your torso and yank you up until your shoulders meet his chest, this position brings you closer to your climax as you feel his hard thrusts against your core

Gin lets out a deep groan as you contract around him, he finally pushes you over the edge with a deep thrust, following right after you, riding out his orgasm with a few more strokes, spilling his seed inside you

he holds you tightly, panting next to your ear as you both slowly come down from your high

you won’t be able to walk properly the next day(s)

 Hijikata:

after having a drink to release some stress, build up due to being treated like a sandbag by Okita all day long Hijikata was on his way back to the barracks, the drink did not help that much, and its little relaxing effect was gone the second he saw you walking down the streets, on your way home

why did he have to meet you of all people when he was in such a bad mood to begin with? he despised how you talk, how you move, your face and this little smile you showed most of the time except for when you looked at him, no, when you look at him your brows furrow immediately and if looks could kill he would be long dead, and the most annoying thing was that you were so goddamn attractive

your smooth voice, your graceful movements, your alluring eyes, and your tempting lips, it all drove him insane and now of all times intoxicated with alcohol he felt all those repressed and pent-up feelings and thoughts crashing down on him all at once

you saw him walking towards you as you were fidgeting with your house keys, the expression on his face resembling a real demon, grinding his teeth, asking in a low tone what the hell you were doing here

usually you had no problem with the police, but this guy was pissing you off every time you saw him, and on top of that he was so good looking, which irritated you even more

you give him a nasty glance but decide to ignore him, simply trying to get past him, Hijikata makes a quick step back and to the side, standing in your pathway and halting your movements

“I said: what the hell are you doing here? Don’t you know there are dangerous people around?”

you glare at him, he wants trouble? he can get it

“the only danger out here is you, you tax thief”

“stop being so irritating, with your stupid perfect smile and dumb shiny hair”

you look at him in absolute disbelief, puzzled whether his remarks were meant as a compliment or an insult

“excuse you, you are the one picking a fight right in front of my door?”

“well, if that's the case then why don’t we take the fight inside, I dare you”

his voice was deeper than before and his words didn’t sound like a threat anymore, much more like a suggestion, catching you off guard

this stupid tax thief, why would he say stuff like this with his stupid deep voice, when you argue every time, you see each other? this stupid, handsome tax thief, could it be that you are not the only one having late night fantasies about the other? not that you would ever admit it out loud

without a word you took a step forward to nudge against his side with your shoulder and head for the door only a few more steps ahead

you put the key into the keyhole and turn your head around

“you wanna fight, or what?” you ask him with a smirk on your lips

within a second Hijikata is right behind you and you turn the key to open the door

he pushes you through the door, his hands on your hips, he slams the door shut behind him, grabs your wrist pulls you close to him and hungrily kisses you

you kiss him back and direct him towards the bedroom while roaming your hands on his chest, his tongue toying with yours, you can taste the alcohol and cigarettes

you take off his uniform jacket and let it fall to the ground while he pushes you to the bed and makes you sit down on it

he’s towering over you, looking down on you with a mixture of dislike and lust in his eyes while he opens his belt and pants and tugs them down a little bit, just enough to reveal his hard length, the red tip already coated with pre-cum

he grabs your hair and shoves you closer, you hesitantly part your lips and mouth up his member, having a salty taste on your tongue

he pushes himself deeper, making you choke a little as he lets out a husky growl

you work your mouth up and down his length, stirring him up even more, he pulls roughly at your hair, suddenly yanking your head back

he takes off your and his own remaining clothes, crawls over you, and pushes you further to the middle of the bed

his hands feel up your nether regions, finding the spot, which makes you moan and throw back your head

he pushes your knees up and press them to your stomach, rubbing his cock at your entrance, abruptly plunging inside you with a raunchy grunt

he starts thrusting slowly but very hard, making you whimper, grabbing the bed sheets beneath you

“faster!” you command after a short while, biting down on your lip

Hijikata does as he’s told, thrusting faster inside you, pushing your closer to your release

you feel the waves of pleasure crashing down on you as he shoots his load deep inside you with a loud groan

he falls on top of you, burying his face in the crook of your neck, while your breaths start to slow down

gosh, you hated him so much

[sevlgi]

the special one

requested: yes

group: mamamoo

pairing: moonbyul x fem!reader

genre: fluff, angst

contents: vampire!moonbyul, bartender!reader

warnings: blood, weapons, vampires

synopsis: Moonbyul was always used to getting her way. So encountering an entire bar warned against her powers, and led by a surprisingly feisty human, wasn’t exactly on her bucket list.

a/n: lowkey wanted to wait for byul’s birthday to post this but i couldn’t wait :D enjoy!!

word count: 3.3k

As soon as she stepped into the bar, Byulyi could smell the thing she had been craving for the past month. Well, two things: blood, and some good alcohol.

She paid no mind to the hands grabbing at her as she slid through the crowd, skillfully evading being pulled into a dance circle by a group of admittedly pretty girls. Sure, they were easy targets for feeding, but there needed to be some alcohol in her system before she dealt with horny foreigners.

“A bottle of your finest soju, please.”

She smiled at the waiter who turned around, a girl probably barely 20 years old. A perfect target, then- someone who didn’t know the kinds of creatures that frequented the darker bars of Seoul.

It wasn’t even an egotistical thing to say that no one had been able to resist the allure of Byulyi’s gaze for centuries, and she never expected an almost teenaged girl to be the one to break that record. To her surprise, the kid looked down instantly, voice sounding odd as she polished the glass in her hands. “One second, ma’am.”

Pursing her crimson-stained lips, the vampire checked her clothing for the unlikely chance of bloodstains on the black fabric. Maybe it was the dark smeared eye makeup? But usually, all her looks did was draw more people in, even without using the power behind her eyes...

“Another one of you, eh?”

When her eyes shifted over to the staff door that the boy had entered, she found a defiant gaze, eyebrows cocked and hip jutting to one side. Unlike the earlier bartender, you stared right into her eyes without a change to your expression, no lust or euphoria seeping into cold irises. “I’m sorry, you are?” Byulyi asked, sending you a small smile. 

You remained unimpressed, flinging a dishrag onto the bar counter as you slammed your hands down onto the stone and leaned in closer. In close proximity, you were interestingly beautiful, the lack of sympathy attractive in some twisted way. “Y/N. Manager, and a strong hater of you vampires. See yourself out.”

The short-haired woman shrugged, leaning back in the barstool and crossing her arms. “I don’t think I will, manager. Tell me, did you train the kid how to recognize people like me?”

Taking a good look at the points of Byulyi’s nails and the glint to her teeth, you evidently decided not to fight her, gritting your teeth instead as you matched her stance. “Ryujin’s smart. She isn’t as strong as me, maybe, but she knows enough to not be caught in your trap.”

Every word spat out of your mouth sounds like a barbed and poisoned insult aimed right at the vampire’s heart, but they make no impact on stone skin. Still smiling, Byulyi waved a hand at the alcohol littering the bar. “Well, since you know not to fight me, how about that soju?”

You bristled at being ordered to do something, but set an ice-cold bottle of the soju down on the counter. “The most expensive in the house,” you hissed, shoving it over at her. “And you’re going to have to pay. No one else is coming to serve you tonight, now that I know what you are.”

“See you soon, manager,” she saluted, cracking the soju open with a simple flick of her wrist. Even if nothing else resulted from the night, she’d found another first.

You were going to be the first person that Byulyi won over by herself, without the influence of any powers whatsoever. And yes, she would win you over somehow. Eventually.

At first, Byulyi had been confused by the vendetta you seemed to have against vampires. It was true that she didn’t fit in with the clan system that most vampires in the city (or world) tended to adopt, but she didn’t think that anyone could be bad enough to make you quite so wary.

And it just so happened that the next time she dared to visit your bar, you were dealing with the difficult ones.

“I told you that we don’t allow vamps for a reason,” you scowled, eyes flicking between those of the five girls who stood with their arms crossed before you. “I may not be able to control you, but I sure as hell won’t let you feed on innocents.”

Irene exchanged a glance with Joy, who was just about to step forward when another voice interrupted the conversation. “Hey. Are you giving the manager trouble?”

You glared at Byulyi as well, though there wasn’t the venom that you directed at the clan. “Rogue. You’re going against us?” Seulgi asked, head cocked to a side. “Isn’t it in your best interest too to get rid of this... human?”

Strolling forward with her hands in the pockets of her pants, Byulyi sighed. “Look, manager here is stronger than you think. And if I want to remain in her best interests, be able to come to this bar sometimes, I’ll do what she asks. Including throwing you out.”

Despite the numbers of the clan, there was no possible way any of the five could match up to Byulyi’s sheer experience. She wasn’t violent compared to some, but she could certainly hold her own in a fight. You were silent behind the bar, but the stare you directed at the clan spoke volumes.

“Fine,” Yeri rolled her eyes, lips pinching together. “Come on. Survive another day, right?”

As they filed out of the bar, Byulyi’s eyes remained on them until the door swung shut. “You didn’t have to do that,” you said with your back turned, hands scrubbing at a bottle for no reason.

“Don’t worry, it was fun,” she grinned, sliding onto the barstool. “Is this why you dislike us vamps? Not all of us are like them, you know.”

You turned just to send her a half-hearted glare. “No, that’s not why. I always- I never liked you undead things, and being immune to your powers doesn’t help anything. But hoity-toity ones like them make it worse.”

The vampire leaned her chin on her hand, watching you work. The reddish glare of the bar’s lights only made the column of your throat look more inviting, but Byulyi wasn’t reckless enough to attack someone capable of resisting her. Besides, you were an interesting one. “I see. Well, if anyone tries to mess with you again, you call me,” she jested, smiling wider when you scoffed.

“Sure.” But contrasting your cold words, you slid a bottle of soju over to her, the same flavor that she’d liked best the last time. “On the house this time. But I don’t owe you anything after this,” you warned.

“Come on, a bottle of soju isn’t enough,” Byulyi pouted, laughing when you scrunched your nose. “You owe me a favor. I’m responsible, promise, I won’t ask for your blood or anything.”

You hesitated before agreeing, but finally allowed her to shake your hand. “Fine. A favor- geez, your hands are cold.”

She stared down at the pale skin once you had jerked away, a slight warmth from your human hands lingering. “I guess. I mean, I’m dead, what do you expect?”

“Dead, huh?” You almost look sympathetic for once, pouring out some soju for the both of you. “What’s that like?”

Byulyi raised an eyebrow as she clinked her glass against yours. “Being dead? Well, I don’t remember that. But now, it’s similar to being alive. My heart still beats, if that’s what you’re wondering. That’s what makes it hard for people to realize that we aren’t human too.”

“It still beats?” you frowned, scrunching your entire face at the taste of alcohol burning the back of your throat. “I always hear differently.”

She reached out for your hand, holding on loosely when you allowed her to hold it. “Come on, feel.”

You exhaled sharply when you felt the pounding at the pulsepoint of Byulyi’s neck, leaning in closer as if that’d allow you to hear it, too. When you looked down, though, you realized the position you were in. “If anyone looked at us, they’d think I was the vampire.”

“You’re right, aren’t you?” she smiled, only tilting her head more to expose her neck to you. “You could kill me right now.”

“Aren’t you already dead?” You bent down under the counter to hide the heat in your cheeks, your fingertips icy just from a couple seconds of contact. “How would I kill you?”

The vampire shrugged, “Wooden stake works on the weaker ones. Holy water, if you had any, but that one takes a lot to kill. For us older ones, the only thing that works is a sacred bullet; hard to come by for you humans, which is why you don’t know about it.”

Frowning, you looked over from the vault of good alcohol stored under the bar. “Huh. What else is fake?”

Byulyi scrunched her nose, looking remarkably like a cute and harmless hamster in a slightly bloodstained black outfit when she did. She was almost charming when she pondered your question, tapping blunt fingernails against her chin. “The mirror thing is, my friend Yongsun spends hours staring at herself. So’s the garlic allergy. I like garlic.”

“Good to know,” you chuckled when you stood up again. “Enjoy your soju, Byulyi  .”

She ghosted her own hands over your fingerprints marring the frosted glass of the alcohol bottle, bringing the entire thing to her lips. “I will.”

Seulgi’s grip was iron tight as she pulled your head back by your hair, your wrists straining against the duct tape holding them together as your scalp screamed. “I’ll ask you again. Where is she?”

Ryujin’s eyes were nothing short of terrified over the tape clamping over her mouth, but you remained firm with your chin jutting out. “I. Don’t. Know. I don’t serve vampires, and I don’t protect them.”

Scoffing, Irene scraped a fingernail against your cheek, the skin tearing under the serrated tip. “Don’t lie. She saved you from us last time, and Byulyi doesn’t risk her rogue status for just anyone.”

Glancing up at the ceiling, or the floor of your actual bar, Wendy mused, “I wonder if she’d hear you scream. If you mean so much to her, what would she give to save you?”

You sighed, going limp just to shake your head. “I told you. Byulyi protected me out of spite against you, not because she gives a shit about me. And I won’t scream. You can kill me in peace, as soon as you--”

Crashing into Wendy, the door to the basement slammed open with a kick from the very person you claimed to not give a shit about you. Byulyi finally looked like the vampire you feared her to be from the start, dark eyes ablaze with something that quite honestly frightened you. Her dark clothing swirled around her in the dusty air, pale brown hair glinting gold as her own nails cut the bonds holding Ryujin. “Go.”

She ran as told, too fast for Yeri’s claws to grasp onto the hem of her work jacket. “So it worked,” Joy smiled, cocking the slightly rusty pistol in her hand. Sacred bullet, you remembered, struggling more against your bonds when you realized what that bullet could do to the vampire glaring daggers at her opponents. “Stupid of you.”

In a sudden burst of strength, the duct tape ripped and you surged up, feeling at least a couple locks of hair remain in Seulgi’s fist. But in that rush, you tackled the tallest girl in the room, all breath knocked out of your lungs at the impact.

Scrambling for the gun, you screamed out at the feeling of sharp points sinking into your arm, hand faltering. “Let go--”

A harsh crack sounded by your ear when Byulyi’s foot stomped down on Joy’s ribs, her fangs pulling out just as your fingers closed around the gun. You panted as you twisted, blood dripping from your arm onto your face as you pressed the stone cold barrel into the girl’s pretty face. “Stand up,” you breathed, hands shaking as she eyed you. “Stand.”

The other four in her clan circled around you; despite the fact that you had no clue whatsoever about how to handle the weapon in your hands, you hoped that the fierce expression on your face was enough to convince them. Byulyi’s hand was surprisingly gentle on your shoulder, as was the expression on her face when she smiled at you. “Well. I believe you know what the blessed bullet in this gun does, and I’m sure you know better than to fight me on this.”

Irene hissed, fangs glistening under the dim lighting of the basement, “You don’t have Yongsun with you right now. What makes you think we can’t kill you, and your pretty human girlfriend too?”

Byulyi’s lips curved up in a smile as the cocking of another gun sounded by the basement door, Ryujin’s brow furrowed as she aimed. “Unlike this one, which I bet you only loaded one bullet into, that pistol over there has 4 bullets, straight from the hands of a priest,” the vampire explained with her hands behind her back. “More than enough to kill all of you, if I don’t get to you first.”

Yeri was already tugging at the wrist of Wendy, who stared futilely at the gun still pressed into Joy’s neck. Finally, Seulgi spoke up with a wavering voice, Irene not bothering to dispute as she asked, “What do you want? Money?”

“I want you to stay away from this bar, and with it, Y/N,” Byulyi gestured, deep voice smooth as she turned to you, sending a greasy wink that you rolled your eyes at. “And I’ll be telling all the other clans about this... incident. Sound fair?”

You breathed out a shallow sigh of relief when Irene nodded tentatively. “Good. Then get out, and don’t expect the pistol back,” you warned, waving Ryujin to get out of the stairway. “I don’t ever want to see your faces again.”

“I can’t thank you enough.”

Byulyi shrugged, clinking sojus with a grin on her face. She looked positively delighted, though she wasn’t the one with bite marks on her arm and a scrape on her cheekbone. “No need to. It was fun.”

“Fun?” you scoffed, downing the alcohol. “I wouldn’t call it that. But seriously, what do you want in return? That’s two favors I owe you now.”

“Is it?” she blinked. “I wasn’t keeping track.”

Looking out over the bar, you smiled at the sight of a vampire-free crowd, customers downing Ryujin’s specialty drinks as music boomed in LED speakers. “Yeah. Two favors. You better think fast, vampy.”

“There is one thing in mind.”

You raised an eyebrow and looked back over, head tilting when you realized that Byulyi wasn’t staring back like she usually did. “Yeah? What’s up?”

She cleared her throat suddenly, though you were sure that alcohol didn’t burn her like it did you. “I don’t want to use the favors for this, since I think that’d be immoral, but I... I want to be closer to you.”

Flicking your hand in the air between the two of you, you clarified, “What’s that mean? You wanna be friends? You wanna sit closer to me? Or sex--”

“No!” She held her hands out in front of her; to your satisfaction, you were sure that she’d be blushing if she was capable of it. “I may feel something for you. Not sexual, but something that I haven’t felt in a while. If I can, I’d like to use both my favors to call you my... girlfriend. Is that the term you use these days?”

“A girlfriend?” you laughed, shaking your head as you leaned forward in your chair. “That’s great and all, but you’ve barely known me for a month.”

Despite being a (not-so) human being, Byulyi visibly deflated. Without realizing it, your hand shot out and settled on her knee, thumb caressing the rough material of her jeans. “Okay. Then how about this: I will be your girlfriend. But it’ll be probational, like our alliance. As soon as you do something to piss me off, which I’m sure will be soon, I’ll decide if it’ll continue.”

She grinned, nose scrunching up as she offered you a toast. “Sounds perfect to me.”

The clink of the glass bottles was the chime of bells ringing in a new chapter, clear over the drunk energies of the night. Not wedding bells, of course- that wouldn’t happen for a good hundred more years. 

[mikrowrites]

knocking on heaven’s door

winchester!sister , sam x sister!reader , surprise jack kline x winchester!reader

SPN SEASON 15 FINALE SPOILERS!!!

summary: Dean’s gone, and Sam doesn’t know how to tell their sister, who stayed home at the bunker during the hunt.

warnings: ANGST, major character death, fluff flashbacks, grief

Y/N walked down the bunker steps, Miracle ahead of her and pulling on his leash. She unclipped the lead, watching the dog run happily to the kitchen with a smile.

Suddenly her phone began to ring in her back pocket, Y/N reaching for it and identifying the contact name “Dean-o”. She grinned, answering the call. “Hey big bro.”

“Hey little sis.” Dean replied. Y/N walked over and sat in one of the chairs in the library, putting the phone on speaker and setting it on the wood.

“How’s the hunt?” She asked.

Dean sighed. “It’s going. We’re outside a vamp nest right now. I think we’ll be home in time for lunch tomorrow.”

“So is that a hint for me to cook?” Y/N raised an eyebrow.

He chuckled through the phone. “You do make the best homemade pizza.”

Y/N hummed. “Damn right I do. Okay, okay. There’ll be deep dish waiting.”

“That’s what I like to hear.” Dean was silent a moment. “How’s the college search?”

She pursed her lips, looking at the open laptop on the table with an application pulled up. Since the world was out of immediate danger and the Winchesters now had control of their lives, Y/N had decided she wanted to finish college, do something. “I’m thinking Kansas State. Close to home, so I can see you guys often.”

“I’m proud of you, kiddo.” Dean responded. “When we get back after some pizza we’ll go get drinks, you and I. Celebrate.”

Y/N smiled. “Can’t wait.”

“Well, Sammy’s being impatient and we’ve gotta rescue some kids. I’ll call you after the hunt.” He chuckled into the receiver.

“Okay. Be careful! Love ya, big bro!” Y/N cheerily answered.

Dean smiled, shaking his head. “Back ‘atcha, kid.”

The line went dead.

—

Jack held his palm up in a farewell gesture, smiling at the three Winchesters.

“Goodbye.”

He then turned, and began to walk away. Sam and Dean watched, upset but understanding of the boy’s decision.

Y/N, however, pushed past her brothers, running forwards towards the nephilim. “Jack! Wait!”

Jack stopped, turning and looking at Y/N questioningly. “Yes, Y/N?”

She exhaled shakily, stepping up to him so they were inches away. “Will you listen to my prayers? At least mine?”

The boy smiled. “You can talk to me anytime. I’ll be with you.”

Y/N nodded, stepping back for a moment. Then, after either building her courage up or contemplating (maybe both), she approached Jack once more, grasping both sides of his face in her hands as she kissed him, the boy letting out a noise of shock before melting into her.

After a few seconds they pulled away, resting their foreheads against each other’s, before Jack squeezed Y/N’s hand in reassurance.

With that, Jack turned and walked away, glowing with a bright light until he disappeared. Y/N exhaled, closing her eyes momentarily before turning back and looking at her brothers. She walked back over to them, Sam casting her a smile and look of pity, but Dean squeezed her shoulder.

Y/N looked up at her eldest brother, who pulled her into an embrace. The man chuckled, rubbing her back comfortingly with his hand. “You had the privilege of loving him. That’s a gift.”

She nodded her head, burying her face in his jacket. “Thank you.”

—

Y/N paced through the war room, biting her fingernail. She sent another text, her heart beating in her chest. It was 4 am, and Dean hadn’t called back.

Called: Dean-o (47) DECLINED

To Dean-o: How’d the hunt go?

To Dean-o: Dean?

To Dean-o: Hello?

To Dean-o: Please call me you’re scaring me

To Dean-o: Dean please

Suddenly the creak of the bunker door echoed through the room, Y/N’s head snapping up, the girl sighing in relief. “Jesus, Sam. Dean wouldn’t pick up his phone.”

The tall man walked silently down the stairs, Y/N shaking her head in disbelief and looked up at the door, waiting for Dean to appear. She rolled her eyes. “No need to hide, asshole. You just got your pizza privileges revoked, though.”

Sam silently walked up to the girl, who finally turned to him, laughing a bit. “Over-dramatic as always.” He looked down at his sister, tears threatening to escape once more. He pitied how he was about to upheave her whole life, destroy the happiness the family momentarily had. Y/N peered up at Sam quizzically. “What?”

Sam hastily closed the distance, pulling Y/N in for a hug, holding her tight as his whole body trembled. The girl hesitantly wrapped her arms around him, furrowing her eyebrows in confusion.

He continued to embrace his sister, who lightly tapped his back with her palm. “Sam?”

“He’s gone.”

Y/N felt the breath being sucked from her lungs, as if her heart had just stopped beating right then and there. “Who’s gone? Sam...?”

Sam tightened his hold on Y/N. “He’s... I’m sorry... Dean’s...”

She pushed him away shaking her head. “No, no, you are not saying Dean Winchester is dead. You’re joking. No way. Our brother is fine. He’s just avoiding me and—”

“Y/N.” Sam pleaded. “I’m sorry.”

Tears began to well up in her eyes, Y/N running her hands through her hair. “You’re lying. You’re a liar!”

Sam attempted to reach out to comfort her, but Y/N took a step back. She met his eyes, a tear trailing down her face. “You—!” Y/N suddenly lashed out, throwing weak punches at Sam’s chest, shoving him back. She cried out with every punch, the tears beginning to waterfall down her cheeks.

The tall brunette took every hit, every shove, every curse for a while until Sam gently grasped both her wrists, spinning her and wrapping his arms around her from behind, holding her back against his chest. Y/N thrashed in Sam’s grip, screaming obscenities as she sobbed.

After a few minutes she let her body go limp in his hold, her mouth opening as if to scream, but only a raspy whimper escaped her throat. Y/N squeezed her eyes shut, hanging her head low as Sam held her tighter, resting his forehead on her shoulder from behind.

The bunker echoed with her soft cries, the two Winchesters mourning an incurable loss.

—

Y/N closed one of her eyes, biting her lip in concentration before she let the tip of her cue hit the ball, Dean letting out a low whistle. “Damn, kid. You play a mean game of pool.”

“Well, you know. Training meant many different skills to Bobby. How to shoot a gun, wardings, kicking ass at pool.” Y/N mused, reaching a plucking the $20 bill off the edge of the table and pocketing it.

Dean took a swig from his beer, nodding. “Well, those three check out.”

Y/N blushed at the compliment, Dean sitting at an empty table in the bar, gesturing for her to sit across from him. Sam was resting at the motel while Dean and Y/N decided to celebrate another successful hunt. The girl grabbed her own drink and sat down.

“Nice work today, kiddo. You saved our asses out there.” Dean tipped the neck of his beer forward in a toast, Y/N clinking her drink against the glass of his. They took a drink, the girl shaking her head.

“Anytime.” She smiled.

Dean sat forwards. “Y’know, only if you want to, but um, Sammy and I wouldn’t mind another person helping us out on hunts. If you wanted to, I mean, you don’t have to, but if you wanted to—”

“Dean.” Y/N interrupted his rambling, grinning. “I’d love to.”

The man smiled at his little sister, nodded. “Great. Awesome.”

Y/N nodded, smiling back and taking another drink before standing and grabbing her cue. “Another round? I’ll bet fifty on this one.”

Dean shook his head in amusement, smiling and joining her at the pool table.

He had failed one of his half-siblings in the past. Dean swore he’d never do it to her.

—

Y/N sat on her bed, gripping her phone in a white-knuckle grip. She stared blankly down at the photo on her phone, it was a photo taken from that night at the bar. Y/N and Dean stood side by side in front of the pool table, smiling wide. Dean held his beer bottle in his hand, his other arm wrapped over Y/N’s shoulders.

It had been a week. One torturous week since they burned his body, since they said goodbye.

She sniffed, before laying the phone down on the bed, straightening her back and raising her vision forwards. Y/N inhaled, her eyes steady and red-rimmed.

Y/N closed her eyes slowly.

“Jack?”

The room was silent, Y/N opening her mouth once more.

“You said you’d listen to my prayers. You’d always be with me.” She exhaled softly. “I don’t care what it takes. I don’t care if I take his place, if I go to hell, if I suffer, fine. But please. Please Jack, bring him back. Bring Dean back. Do something.”

“You can’t just let this happen. Bring him back. I know you can, so just please, do it. I can’t... I can’t live without him. I can’t live without my big brother. Just bring him back. If you ever loved me, prove it and bring Dean back.”

Y/N sat in deafening silence, before opening her eyes, fresh tears gathering as she stared forwards. “Please.”

Silence. Nothing.

The girl shakily sighed, lowering her head.

A knock at the door brought her head jolting up, only to feel as though deflating at the sight of Sam. “Hey.” He softly spoke. “Donna has a case. I... I think we should go.”

Y/N nodded. “Yeah.”

Sam bit the inside of his cheek, looking for something to say, but opting to step away and head for the library when coming up with nothing. Y/N looked around her room, before grabbing her duffle.

She could read Sam like a book. He didn’t plan on coming back to the bunker after this hunt.

Y/N packed her duffle, leaving only the things she knew she wouldn’t miss. She smiled as she pulled polaroids of her and her brothers off her wall, stashing them into her bag.

She met Sam up at the top of the bunker stairs, looking out at the place she and her brothers had called home. Y/N let one last prayer be recited in her head before turning to her brother. “Let’s go.”

The lights shut off one by one, engulfing the bunker in darkness.

[secret-rendezvous1d]

Omg omg omg That last Spencer ask you replied to- I can’t- I. Literally. Can’t. I’m in tears 😭😭 could you keep it going with the scene in the hospital? Instead of Garcia taking care of Spencer and shooting the one unsub it’s y/n and she’s so on the edge with all that adrenaline from the day that she collapses on Spencer’s hospital bed? Or a scene of her taking him home afterwards and looking after him?xxx you literally save my day with your blurbs

Okay, this one hurt me more-

Long blurb, I know... but I’m not sorry for that. This spewed out of me like a bunch of word vomit so I do apologise for lack of sense but I’m not sorry for the length.

* mentions of guns, injury, hospitals, drugs/medication *

“It should have been me.”

Blake admits with such a tentative tone, like she was terrified of an explosive confrontation over something she already felt terribly about, her eyes bouncing around the room so she could look at anything by YN’s worried face. The long silence of the waiting room being broken by her timid confession.

“It could have been anyone. It’s just his luck that it happened to him,” YN says, a soft smile on her lips as she looks up from picking her fingernails and aims her emotions towards the nervous woman opposite her, “it could have been me, it could have been any one of us-”

“He pushed me out the way,” she clarifies, “it should have been me.”

YN can see the guilt written across her face and it broke her to bits; there was no reason for blame to be put on anyone and there was no need for the ‘what should have happened’s and the ‘who it should’ve been’s and YN wasn’t going to let Blake blame herself as the reason why Spencer was shot in the field. The downside to the job, whilst it looked thrilling and managed to keep you on your toes, was knowing that anything like this could happen at any moment and they had to take it as it came and not dwell on when or how it would happen to who ever was in the wrong place at the wrong time. 

Spencer just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

“Don’t blame yourself,” YN sits up in her chair and reaches over, placing her hand on Blake’s knee and squeezing in reassuringly, “I don’t blame you for what happened and Spencer definitely wouldn’t blame you for what happened.”

“Won’t,” she retorts at YN’s use of tenses and it made the young girl stiffen in her seat. She’d really spoken as if all of her hope and her faith had fizzled away, like he he wasn’t going to survive the chances, and she wanted to slap herself on the wrist for delving that deep. For not believing in the strength he had to get through. “He won’t blame me.”

“He won’t,” YN repeats, “he’ll make it through. Spence is a strong guy, he won’t give up without a fight.”

She gives her Blake’s knee one more reassuring squeeze and she gives her a tight-lipped smile, because she really couldn’t bear to be happy and give off a bright spark under the circumstances, before she sat back and took a look at the clock. He’d been under for almost two hours and YN was beginning to lose all track of existence, like time was slipping away and becoming something that never existed, lost in her thoughts.

They still had so much they wanted to do together.

They wanted to travel the world together and create a book full of memories on how they spent their time in different countries and Spencer taught her about all of the different cultures, they poke about marriage and the kind of wedding they wanted to have, they spoke about having kids and threw around some of their favourite baby names like she was about to give birth, and he’d brought them tickets to a film festival that he had been eager to take her to and that she had been excited to go to because it was a date night and special date nights were rare when working in the Behavioural Analysis Unit of the FBI; they took any chance they got to treat each other and spend time with one another outside of the office.

What felt like another two hours had really one been twenty minutes when they were given permission to see him.

“How is he?”

YN stands to her feet in a haste, grabbing the bag full of Spencer’s belongings as the surgeon came to a halt in the middle of the waiting room. His explanation waiting until YN was fully stood in front of him so she could take in what he was about to tell her, her mind expecting the worst but her heart expecting the good news she had been silently manifesting and praying for.

“He’s incredibly lucky,” the surgeon explains, “two millimetres to the right and the bullet would have torn through the carotid artery.”

And he didn’t have to speak in Layman's terms for YN to understand just how lucky he really was. Watching him get shot was one thing, watching his barely conscious body being dragged from the danger was another thing... but being there as he bled out and essentially bled to death? That would have been the end of her career because she couldn’t do it without him.

“It nicked some small vessels but,” he smiles at YN and her knees are like jelly as she wobbles on her legs, “we stopped the bleeding. You can see him now.”

*

Seeing him so vulnerable in his hospital bed made her melt.

All sorts of emotions were running through her veins; she felt scared because all she could think about was something going wrong in his recovery, she felt sad because watching her boyfriend get shot wasn’t what she had expected and it shouldn’t have ever been something she witnessed, she felt angry because he could have prevented it from happening if he believed Blake had the situation handled, but she felt happy and she felt like crying happy tears because she felt like the world was back to normal now that he was awake and awaiting the one person he wanted to see.

“Hi,” he smiles sweetly and lifts a hand up to wave at her but it wasn’t so strong and he sounded sleepy and she couldn’t blame him for that, “come sit with me. I missed you.”

“I’m mad at you,” she states, arms folding over her chest as she stood in the doorway and took in his appearance; disheveled hair that stood in all directions, a bandage around his neck that kept his wound covered and safe from any kind of infection it could pick up, tubes and wires connected to him as the room fills with the rhythmic beeps from his heart monitor, “I’m really mad at you.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispers and there’s sincerity in his voice. He hoped she wasn’t going to be mad at him but she was (or so he thought) and that wasn’t what he had intended with his actions back at the crime scene. “Please, come sit with me though? You don’t have to talk to me. Just, sit so I know you’re safe here.”

She was never going to walk away.

The seat beside him looked comfier than the waiting room chairs anyway so she would have been a fool to ignore his plea in keeping him company. She sets his belongings at the foot of his bed and steps further into the room, the heat coming from the radiator feeling so tingly against her exposed skin, and she shrugs off her jacket so she could feel the real benefit of the radiator. She stands at the side of his bed and leans over, pressing her lips against his warm forehead and leaving a very faint gloss smear against his skin.

“Don’t ever scare me like that again,” she cups his face in her hands and they blush under her touch, “don’t do that again, Spencer.”

“Baby, I wouldn’t dream of it,” he tilts his head into her touch and closes his eyes, content with how she very clearly feigned her anger towards him and all kinds of warm and fuzzy because she’s all he needed for his recovery. Her lips press against his in the most gentlest of kisses before she pulls back and sits herself down, his eyes opening and never leaving her face, “I love you. You think I’d jeopardise that?”

“You already did,” she clarifies and brings the chair closer, resting her elbows on the thin mattress he was laid upon and grabbing his hand with one of her own, “I can’t cope with how it made me feel. It was the worst experience of my life and I’ve killed people.”

“Criminals,” he corrects her and she lets out a gentle laugh, “you’ve killed all the criminals like a badass.”

She rolls her eyes.

Spencer was back, thankfully, and YN couldn’t have felt more normal after such a night of chaos and panic and all things worrying.

*

Hours had passed since he had woken from surgery.

He’d slept for a couple of those hours and gave in to the aches behind his eyes but all he had wanted to do was stay awake and never take a moment with YN for granted ever again, even if it meant sleep was put on the back burner. Life was too short, especially when working such a career as they had, and there was an uncertainty to when they really would never see one another again and he’d already nearly left her behind. He couldn’t bare to think about that happening, or with the shoe being on the other foot, and watching her and looking at her made him feel so much more solace than knowing he was on the mend.

When her mobile dings with a text alert from Morgan, an image attached that he needed her to see, she feels her heart race. Whilst she had been sat there with Spencer, she had been wracking her brain and reading through files and notes on what the team had already thrown around and bounced off of one another, and they had kept her in the loop like she had kept them in the loop on just how Spencer was doing so shortly after his incident. The man in the picture was the man she had seen walk passed the ward, many times in the last few hours, and it left a sour taste behind.

He’s here.

At the nurse’s station. I’ve seen him walk outside Spence’s room a few times.

YN feels sick to her stomach. Things had been serene because she was away from the chaos of working the case that the team were working on and left with her boyfriend as she kept him company so he wasn’t alone - of course, he’d told her he was fine and that he was as safe as he could be and that the team needed her expertise and her skills more than she needed to be with him but she refused to leave him.

She wanted to be with him.

He never wanted to take a moment with her for granted and she never wanted to take a moment with him for granted, ever again. And there was no way she was going to let anyone ruin the track they had rebuilt to normality...

Shut the door and don’t leave Reid. Get him in a wheelchair if you can.

Spencer was clueless to the text exchange happening, just like he was clueless as to who the unsub was and how he was stood outside the ward; he wasn’t even phased by how intensely she had been staring at her phone nor had he seen how her eyes were constantly darting from the window of the ward to him to the phone in her hand as she awaited the texts. 

If not, shoot if you have your gun on you. Reid’s will be in his patient bag if you don’t. Back up is on the way, I’ll be there soon.

YN gulps thickly and the gun in the holster upon her hip felt much more heavier than usual. It was there, she wouldn’t be found without it (not now and not ever) tucked into her pocket or hanging off her belt, and she planned on using it if she needed it.

A knock on the door brings her back down to earth, it wakes Spencer up and it brings a sense of busyness to what had been filled with silence and nothing but their gentle breathing and no movement. A doctor stepping foot into the room, a clipboard in his hand and a solemn look on his face, interrupting their little bubble. Her phone went forgotten on his bedside table, locked to keep any of the wandering eyes from peeking at what her team was sending her, so she could keep her focus on whatever the doctor had to say.

“He, uh, he had his meds an hour ago,” YN reminds him and Spencer tucks up a little deeper under the thin, blue coloured comforter that came with the stay, “I was here so I saw.”

She was given a blunt answer in response, “yeah, post-op antibiotics.”

“Yeah, he had those, too.”

Curiosity gets the better of him and Spencer cranes his neck forward, trying to grab a look at what he was about to be given in regards to medication.

“What ones?” He catches sight of the label in the doctor’s hands and frowns to himself when he reads what he shouldn’t be reading, “carbenicillen? No, that’s not right. I have a severe reaction to beta lactams. I can’t have that.”

The clipboard that had been placed on the bed had been picked up by the doctor, her fingers flicking through his charts and his information, looking at him and shaking his head, “it’s not in your chart.”

YN feels her fight or flight response taking over when the doctor turns his body in the direction of the monitors that her boyfriend was wired up to, the antibiotic held in his hand as he preps and readies to medicate. Whatever Spencer was allergic to would have been written on his hospital chart so there was no way he was about to injected with whatever could kill him; he already faced death today and she wasn’t going to let that happen again. 

“What are you doing?” 

Spencer panics, YN panics, and he’s tugging at the wires he’s intubated with as the doctor readies himself to give him the medication he was asked to give him. A close call because Spencer fought back, slapping his hands away from the monitor so he couldn’t go through with the task of poisoning him with what he shouldn’t be allowed, the tiny bottle dropping to the floor and requiring him to pick it up... which only backfired against his mission.

“Gun,” Spencer calls and turns to his girlfriend but YN had seen it coming from a mile off, her gun ready and cocked before the doctor could turn around, “he has a gun, YN.”

By the time he turned, YN didn’t give him time to react because she had perfect aim and a clear shot that she wasn’t going to let go of. Spencer covered his ears as he prepared for the sound and closed his eyes because he couldn’t sit and watch his girlfriend have her turn in confronting death. 

But when he feels her collapse against the bed, a hiccup of a sob escaping her parted lips, his pained movements get thrown to the side because she looked and she sounded and she was exhausted. Stressed, emotional and tired and who could blame her? She’d been through a lot. She grips onto his waist and she buries her face into the hospital gown covering his chest and she just cries. With everything that had happened, she hadn’t cried yet. Even though she felt like she wanted to, she didn’t bring herself to show emotion because there was a need to be strong in front of her colleagues... even though they expected her to break-down, they were impressed by how strong she kept her guard up.

“You’re okay,” he coos into the top of her head. He hears Morgan’s footsteps in the hallway, standing by the ward as an extra set of hands in case there was any other corrupt officers standing by to complete their mission, and Spencer smiles warmly at him as he turns his back to give them the privacy they needed to have. His main focus being cuffing the ‘doctor, as he laid injured on the floor. “You saved my life, YN.”

That only makes a sob erupt from her chest and it shakes her body and forces her arms to tighten around him.

“You’re okay,” he repeats softly, kissing her head, “you did so good today. I’m so proud of you.” xx

[ellstersmash]

on this night, and in this light

Fandom: The Wayhaven Chronicles Pairing: Mason x Theo West Rating: T (language, sexually suggestive comments) Words: 1,299 [read on Ao3]

midnight drive w/ one anxiety girl, set somewhere in book 2 ig

-

There's something wrong with her car.

There are a shit-ton of things wrong with her car, actually, the first being that Mason is stuck in it. Sure, he volunteered. But in his defense, whenever he envisions time alone with Theo, it involves fewer clothes and a whole lot more touching. Flirting, at the very least, which is a pretty safe bet with her.

But not, apparently, a sure thing.

She taps her yellow-painted fingernails against the steering wheel in a frenetic flurry, then stops and grips it hard instead. The cheap faux leather squeaks at the sudden twist of her hands.

“Sorry.” Her eyes dart over to catch on his, then shift right back to the road.

No more than a minute later, the tapping starts again. Then stops abruptly with a muttered, “Shit.” Then starts again . . . and stops.

Mason takes in Theo's worrying lips and wrinkled brow and gently wiggling fingers. Her heart is racing—far too fast for how unbelievably slow she's driving.

“All right there, sweetheart?”

“Would be if my brain would chill the fuck out.” Then she pauses, peers over at him, and flicks her narrowed gaze around his features. “Why, what do you care?”

Good question. Mason shrugs and stretches his limbs out as best he can in the miniscule space of her passenger seat. “You are the one driving this rolling disaster. And I have better things to do tonight than scrape Wayhaven’s finest off a tree.”

Theo snorts. “Like what, listen to her bitch about her hyperactive fear response? I'm genuinely surprised you haven't thrown yourself through the windshield already.”

“Plenty of road left.”

She laughs, which is a start.

“So what's got you all wound up?” he asks, and can't help but add in a low, suggestive tone: “And please say it's me.”

It's a rarity to catch her off-guard and Mason smirks as her cheeks flush, can almost feel the heat of them under his knuckles but it doesn’t seem like the time. She looks over at him, then goes back to glaring at the road.

Not him, then. Damn. Even so, he gets the sense he’s being judged, his worthiness being weighed as long as her silence lasts. Finally, she huffs and twists her palms against the wheel again.

“Nothing.” She shakes her head ever so slightly then sucks in a deep breath that shudders a bit as she blows it out. “Everything.”

He nods slowly, lips pursed like he understands. And maybe he does.

There’s definitely something wrong with her car. Under the whir of belts and gears and pistons and the squeak of that loose panel on the back, there's a rattle. A new one. So quiet for him she probably can’t even hear it but it’s there right where it shouldn’t be. It’s probably not a big deal. He’s no mechanic, but big deals make big noises, right? Mason drowns it in the flip of his lighter as he stares out the window.

“Aren’t we a pair,” Theo says with a tight smile, her words stretched with sarcasm.

He frowns and puts the lighter away.

“Do you mind if we stop for a minute?” she asks a few endless miles later.

“Wouldn’t matter if I did. We’re not here for me.”

Theo veers sharply left, onto a nearly invisible path through the brush. It’s unpaved and narrow; her car’s mirrors just barely skim past the trees that crowd its boundaries. Yet she takes it more quickly than Mason might have, anticipating each bend. It opens out onto a grassy hill and a green expanse beyond—no house, no barn, no fields, nothing. Just a dirt road to nowhere.

She stops and kills the engine, tossing the keys into the cup holder.

“This where you murder me?” Mason asks.

“Any last words?”

“No.” He looks her up and down. “But I’ll take my last meal now, if that’s on the table.”

She laughs, not even bothering to ask what he’s craving, and unbuckles her seatbelt, grabbing a blanket from the back seat. Striped white and navy, it gets folded once and laid across the front end of her car before she climbs onto the dented hood. She sits with her legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles, leans back against the windshield, and pats the spot next to her in invitation.

Mason folds his arms and shakes his head. “You know, Adam would be pissed if he knew we were out here. This is not exactly a ‘defensible position.’”

“He does love his defensible positions. But that’s why you came along in the first place, right?” Theo curls her finger at him. “Come on, sunshine.”

He sighs and runs his fingers through his hair and climbs up on the car next to her, certain the thing’s going to crumple underneath him for all the racket it makes in protest. Miracle of miracles, it doesn’t, and once he’s settled down and gotten comfortable, it’s not so bad. The hood is warm and so is she and the air smells fresh and earthy and sweet with just a hint of motor oil. And the sky is speckled even brighter out here than from the Warehouse.

Despite the peace, Theo’s nervous energy has her breathing shallow and fidgeting nonstop, and she only manages a minute or two of silence before her unoccupied fingers assault the hood. Mason moves quickly to stop her, covering her hand with his own. Only out of impulse. Only to stop the noise of it, but her skin is soothing instead of searing and it carries a charge that spreads across his.

It shouldn’t be like this. After all they’ve done together, she shouldn’t still be so magnetic.

As he shakes off the puzzle and slides his fingers between hers, the sound of her heart beating like a fucking hummingbird tears him out of his own head and he looks over to see her watching the touch just as closely.

“This ok?” he asks, unsure how he’d answer if she had been the one to ask.

She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, out of her face. Her fingers flex and tighten as if testing the fit. “Y— Yeah.”

“I get it.” He lifts their folded hands. “It's overwhelming, and out of your control. You feel helpless.”

“More or less. So is that what it's like for you, too? Light gets too bright and you lose your shit?”

He narrows his eyes at her, but her lips are curved in a self-deprecating smile. A scoff to let it go and he chuckles. “More or less.”

“You mask it pretty well.”

Mason’s lips twitch upward at her complimentary tone. “I’ve had a lot of time to practice.”

“Well, we may be all fucked up, but”—Theo squeezes his hand—“at least we're in good company.”

Then she turns her attention to the sky.

It takes a while. Long enough to hear all about some space camp she went to as a kid. Long enough to get through all the constellations they both know, and for her to make up a few new ones. Long enough for the engine to turn cold and Mason's ass to go numb. But eventually her pulse steadies, her heart rate calms, her breathing deepens, and she asks if he wants to go back.

“I’m good,” he tells her.

But another hour and she can’t keep her eyes open. So Mason takes the driver’s seat and reverses carefully down the dirt road, then drives back the way they came. They make it up to speed and he’s just about to say something about that rattle when Theo’s hand slips onto his wrist. It smooths down the center of his palm and her fingers unfold into his.

Then he can’t hear it anymore.