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i-can-even-burn-salad · 2 years ago

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Chapter 28

Glass Shards

Warnings: Phantom pain, illusionary gore (it’s not real, but it sure looks real), mention of family loss

This one is a fill for my shiny new BTHB.

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Merridy awoke before the first ray of sunlight, the morning song of birds louder than Dragon’s Reach had ever been. Tucked up to her nose in her sleeping bag, she turned her head to find Damien’s spot empty. She discovered him a few steps further, sitting against a tree with his shoulders hunched over, both arms in front of him.

“Good morning,” she said.

Her smile faltered when Damien raised his head and met her gaze. His face was twisted in pain, his eyes red. Merridy struggled to free herself from the fabric, ignoring the morning’s chill, and hurried over to his side.

“What’s wrong? Does your hand hurt again?”

Damien didn’t reply. His breaths were labored and choppy. Merridy couldn’t remember the last time it had looked this bad. While she tried to figure out if there was anything she could do, Damien moved the fingers of his illusionary hand, in the same rhythm as the ones of his real hand.

“What are you doing?” Merridy couldn’t help but ask.

“I had hoped it would… I don’t know. Help me relax.” He laughed a desperate laugh. “It doesn’t.”

Merridy wrapped her arms around him, leaning her head against his shoulder. She slipped her fingers under his shirt, feeling how tense he was. His shoulder didn’t move at all as he let the illusion sink. Merridy had asked him before what it was he felt. He hadn’t been too precise, but she remembered him describing the pain, his hand torn apart and clenched into a fist, making his arm cramp.

“Perhaps because it doesn’t look right,” she mused quietly, trying to remember all he had told her about his illusion magic.

“What?”

“Your hand.” She wasn’t sure it was a good idea to bring it up like this. “Could it be that it doesn’t work because it doesn’t look like it feels? You once told me it feels torn, burned. But it looks normal. Perhaps if you change the illusion, then go from there…”

Or perhaps this was a horrible idea and would only make everything worse. She fell quiet, pressing herself against him. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, “I just wish I could help.”

Damien was quiet for a while. “Please… don’t look,” he then said, voice trembling.

“Okay.”

Merridy turned her head away, staring at the ground, her forehead now leaning against his shoulder. She wanted to tell him that she wouldn’t mind, even if she wasn’t so sure if it was true. The pattern of his breaths changed, deeper at first, then quickening. She managed to keep sitting still and her gaze averted as he started to shake, but when a quiet sob escaped him, she raised her head. If this wouldn’t work, it was her fault. She had to do something.

His hand looked every bit as horrible as she had feared. Charred, torn flesh, clinging to fingers balled into a fist. It made her feel sick.

“That’s good,” she said, even if it was anything but that. “Can you relax it now?”

“I… I can’t.” He stared at his hand, shoulders shaking. “I can’t.”

“Hey. Look at me.” She turned his head towards her, keeping her hand on his cheek to stop him from looking back at his hand. He seemed so hopeless and forlorn. “It’s okay. It was just an idea,” she said, her thoughts racing. If his own illusion resisted him, what could she do? Could she perhaps trick his mind? “Do you mind if I try something?” she asked.

Damien looked at her, if not hopeful, then at least full of trust. She held out her left hand, palm up.

“Give me your right hand.”

When he did as she asked, she swallowed. She couldn’t feel it resting on her palm, but it looked so real. So horribly real. Slowly she raised her right hand, hovering over it for a moment before reaching for his smallest finger. Merridy held her breath as she pretended to grab it, to pull it back. A part of her expected her own finger to go through his, but somehow it worked. Somehow Damien managed to make the illusion follow her movement, to allow her to place his finger flat on her hand. The rest of him flinched under her touch, but the illusion stayed steady.

Casting a quick glance at his face, she found his expression as unbelieving as she felt. She quickly continued, reaching for the next finger, and the next. With each one, she got a bit more confident, until at last his hand lay flat on hers and she covered it with her right.

“Thank you.”

Damien’s voice made her look up. Tears were running down his face, but his expression was more that of relief than of pain. He was still sitting with his shoulders hunched, so she pulled his hand back, until his arm was stretched out in front of him. Damien held it for a moment, then the illusion of his arm vanished as he sank back with a sigh.

“Are you okay?” Merridy asked.

“Yes.” He wiped his tears away before reaching out to her, wrapping his arm around her as soon as she came closer. “Yes. Thank you.”

Merridy sighed her own sigh of relief, leaning against him once more. She didn’t dare to hope that his pain was fully gone, too vivid the image of the horrible injuries. Next to his nightmares and scars, it was another puzzle piece that told her what had happened to him. She hated it.

“Damien?” When he made a quiet, questioning noise, she continued, “Please tell me if it happens again. I want to help you.”

He didn’t reply, but he held her a bit tighter.

After a while Merridy got up, to rekindle the fire and heat some water over it. She cooked porridge, garnishing the bowls with freshly plucked berries from a bush near the stream. Damien seemed to be relaxing slowly, thanking her as she handed him his portion. They ate in silence, but it was a comfortable one. Together they cleaned their dishes and rolled up their sleeping bags, and soon they were back on the road.

The landscape had long since changed completely. The sandy soil had given way to the brown of earth and gently undulating meadows stretched to the horizon. Single farms adorned the landscape and where streams flowed they were bordered by bushes and tall, straight trees. Merridy saw the outlines of the fields; some still brown and bare, on others the first plants already stretched their still tender shoots towards the sky. Bees and bumblebees were busy flying from blossom to blossom and every now and then she could spot a small lizard sitting on a stone, basking in the sun.

Merridy remembered the lizards, and the trees, and the flowers. She closed her eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath to enjoy their sweet smell. Then her gaze wandered northward, and although she could see nothing but endless fields, tears came to her eyes.

“What’s wrong?” Damien had stopped and looked at her with concern.

Merridy stopped as well, tearing herself away from the sight of the distant horizon. She shook her head while wiping her eyes.

“It’s nothing. Just… this is where I grew up. Not here exactly of course, but in this area. I haven’t been here in so long. It’s silly, but I miss it.”

He raised his hand to wipe another tear from her cheek and smiled at her. “It’s not silly. Do you want to tell me about it?”

Merridy nodded, ran her hand over her eyes once more, and then lifted her chin. “Tonight by the fire. Provided you can keep your eyes open this time,” she teased, nudging his shoulder. They had a long way to go, she couldn’t let every little sentimental memory get to her like that.

“Hey, hey. You were asleep before I was!” Damien protested. He tried to return the prodding, but she had already run ahead. With their packs, neither of them could really run, but they chased each other down the street for a bit until they both had to stop, out of breath.

For the rest of the day, Merridy pondered what exactly she was going to tell him. Eventually, she decided to just start at the beginning and see where her story would take her. The thought made her a little nervous. No one, not even Cedric, knew her whole story.

When the sun had set and they were sitting by the fire, eating the rest of the bread and holding a mug of tea, Merridy leaned against the fallen log that bordered their camp to one side. She looked up at the starry sky. Then she began to speak.

“My parents had a farm a few days’ travel north from here. There, the landscape is not quite as flat and there are more forests. People often raise animals or grow crops instead of flowers. There were four of us — my mother, my father, my sister Felicia and me.

We raised sheep. From spring to fall, the pastures around the farm were always dotted with small, white balls of plush. Everything revolved around the wool. Not an evening went by without Mother sitting at the spinning wheel or the loom. Often she would tell us stories and we would sit on the floor, sorting and combing the wool and listening to her. Sometimes she dyed the wool, but the most beautiful thing was when one of our sheep was born dark. Then she wove beautiful patterns from the white and black strands.”

Lost in thoughts, she drew patterns on the plain fabric of her pants. Each time she had watched in amazement as her mother’s nimble hands had pushed the shuttle back and forth.

“I… I have forgotten so many things. When I try to remember my parents, I only see them vaguely in front of me. I know that Mama had a very sweet voice and that I begged her every night to sing me to sleep. Papa was louder, when he laughed the whole house shook and his voice could be heard across the whole yard.

I remember my sister the most. She was only two years younger than me, and she always wanted to be like me. We were inseparable and did everything together. We ran through the woods, climbed the haylofts, and caught frogs in the creek. By the Seven, she admired me so much and I loved her so much. She was so young the last time I saw her. If she’s still alive, she’s a woman now.”

But what were the chances of that? Shouldn’t Merridy have found a trace of them at some point? Or had she just been too slow, looking in the wrong places? The world was big and so full of people who had lost everything.

“What happened?” Damien’s voice snapped her out of her thoughts. With his question he stopped her from sinking into endless, senseless musings and made her continue the story.

“Our farm was only an hour or two from the nearest village. At least if you didn’t walk particularly fast or had such short legs as I did. Most of the time we shopped on market days, but every now and then we still needed something. Almost always I was then sent to buy it. Just like on this day.

“Mama had given me the basket and the note and the money, and I walked proudly like a queen down the path. It was autumn, the trees had just begun to lose their leaves, and I ran across the path, kicking them up, until I arrived in the nearby village. Everyone there knew me, and while I was in the store and the merchant was picking things out from my list, she would always slip me a piece of candy.”

At the memory, Merridy smiled, but then sadness crossed her face and she stared at her hands clutching the long empty cup.

“On that day, a… a storm came up. It rained so hard that the water ran in streams over the paths and formed huge puddles. The merchant said that I should not go home in weather like that, but wait with her until the worst would be over. Such storms rarely last long here. She gave me more candy and a book so I wouldn’t get bored. I was not at all unhappy about having to wait, on the contrary. It seemed exciting to me, my very own adventure.

An hour or two later, when the rain had subsided, I made my way home. I couldn’t wait to tell Felicia all about it, I even had saved a piece of candy for her, but when I arrived…”

Merridy stared straight ahead without seeing anything, grateful that Damien was also silent and gave her the time she needed.

“The yard was… I don’t know. The ground was churned up and there were broken things everywhere. I don’t know what happened. Bandits? Marauders? Whoever it was, they had set the buildings on fire and the barns were completely burned down, but the storm must have saved the main house. The roof was partially burned and the walls blackened, but I could still enter the house. I called out, searched every room, ran into the fields, but I found no one. Even the sheep were gone, every single one. I was so scared. I hid in my room, under the bed, and waited there. I thought my family would come back and get me.”

A tear rolled down Merridy’s cheek, and this time she was not ashamed of it. Damien crossed the distance between them, leaning against the tree trunk next to her until his shoulder brushed hers.

“A few days passed until I realized that they would not come back. I took my little backpack and put my most important belongings in it, and all the food I could find. Then I started walking. Papa always told me about Caldeia when he was upset about the bandits. ‘One day,’ he said, ‘one day we will leave the farm and move to Caldeia. It’s safe there. No bandit rabble.’ So I figured they must have made their way to Caldeia. Maybe they just couldn’t wait, or maybe they had left me a message that the rain had washed away. I was already almost grown up, I told myself, I would make it on my own.”

She wiped her eyes and tried to smile, but it came out very crooked.

“For days I walked south until I found the Dragon Road. I still remember how amazed I was. Such a long, paved road, so wide that two carts could comfortably pass each other. My enthusiasm quickly faded. I followed the road east, on and on, day after day. Everything was cold and wet, and I was so terribly lonely. Occasionally other travelers passed by. Mostly they were traders, sitting on packed wagons, their hoods pulled deep into their faces and staring doggedly at the road. I never dared to speak to them and they always ignored me.

“I could not afford the inns from the few coppers I had taken with me. I thought that I would surely arrive soon and that I would then see my family again, so I walked on, day after day. I really had no concept of the sheer distance from here to Caldeia. My food had long run out, and I was so hungry. I felt weaker every day and at some point I just couldn’t go on. I laid down on the side of the road where I had collapsed, thinking that I was going to die now.”

Damien had begun to stroke her hair and now she turned to him, nestled her head against his chest and closed her eyes. So many years had passed, but still she remembered that day. She never wanted to be alone like that, ever again.

“I hadn’t heard the carts coming. All of a sudden there were people, they were saying something, but I was too tired to listen to them. They couldn’t very well chase me off the road, and I wasn’t in the way, so I didn’t care. But they didn’t want to chase me away at all. One woman wrapped me in a blanket and took me into her cart. I had never seen anything like that before. There were no goods or animals in it, but furniture like in a room. A bed, a table with two chairs nailed to the floor and even two windows with colorful curtains and cupboards on the wall were there.”

She yawned furtively, as if the mere memory of the cozy home reminded her how tired she was. Then she put the cup down on the grass and buried her hands in Damien’s jacket to warm them up. She could feel his heartbeat and noticed how the sadness of her memories slowly faded.

“The woman gave me some warm soup and put me into her bed. I think I fell asleep before she had fully pulled a blanket over me. When I woke up the woman explained everything to me. Her name was Yvanessa and she was part of a traveling circus. They were on their way to Dragon's Reach to spend the winter there. When I found out that it was exactly in the opposite direction, I started crying bitterly.

“I wanted to leave right away, but she convinced me that I wouldn’t stand a chance. I would not reach Caldeia alone. So Yvanessa offered me to stay with the circus, to spend the winter in Dragon's Reach, and travel with them to Amalhar next spring. Six months seemed like an impossibly long time, but it was my best chance to arrive in Caldeia in one piece. I agreed and stayed.”

Merridy yawned again and blinked tiredly. The fire had almost burned down, the moon had moved quite a bit further, and she was about to fall asleep.

“Let’s go to sleep. You can tell me the rest tomorrow,” Damien said. Carefully, he detached himself from her and leaned her back against the tree trunk before going to the fire to add some logs. Then he took the sleeping bags from his pack and spread them out on the ground.

Merridy watched him quietly, still lost in thought. When he was done she shuffled the few steps to her sleeping bag, wrapping herself into it. While Damien settled down behind her, she stared into the fire. She couldn’t help but think of all the people she had parted ways with. People she’d most likely never see again. The thought that one day Damien might become one of them made new tears well up in her eyes and she buried her hands in the fabric, feeling cold all of a sudden.

“Merry?”

She froze, trying in vain to control her shaky breaths.

“Hey…”

When he put his hand on her shoulder, something inside her broke. Unable to hold back a sob, she curled up, hiding her face in her arms. Damien followed her, slowly wrapping his arm around her. A light, hesitating touch at first, giving her every opportunity to draw back. When she didn’t, he pulled her towards him, until he held her so close she could feel his warmth, even through the two layers of fabric.

He didn’t say anything, and she was thankful for it. What was there to say? The past was long gone, and he couldn’t know her worries about the future. But right now, so tired she could barely keep her eyes open and with him holding her, those worries faded into the background. She found herself relaxing completely, feeling so safe in his embrace, she was asleep within minutes.

[ID: The top image is a banner covered in colorful glass shards. Across it is written the title of the story, glass shards, in a white to bright cyan gradient with a black outline. The font looks like written with a broad paintbrush. All other images in this post are purely ornamental lines. End ID.]

Tagging: @dont-touch-my-soup @kixngiggles @starlit-hopes-and-dreams @badthingshappenbingo

#Glass Shards #whump #fantasy whump #prompt: phantom pain #fandom: original work #badthingshappenbingo #gore tw #uh kinda... or not... I mean if you know him you know what happened (:#my writing

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aaronnaphiliou · 1 year ago

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Avatar the Last Airbender Whumptober 2023 Day 22

No. 22: “They never saw us coming, ‘til they hit the floor.”

Glass Shard | Vehicular Accident | “Watch out!”

Zuko got the Avatar onto his ship only for everything to go wrong. Now he was locked within himself staring out like a prisoner with only a one-way window to see the world.

#whumptober 2023 #no. 22 #dialogue prompt #lyric #glass shard #Vehicular accident #avatar the last airbender #avatar #avatar: tla #fanfic #character death tw #Non-con elements tw #Paralyzation tw #Locked in syndrome tw #Inspired by CantStopTheSignal #A Dragon Still Has... Series #gift fic #CantStopTheSignal #mysistersaship

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ghostedbunnie · 2 months ago

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nightmare in the daylight

knight!ghost x fem!reader

based on my prompt that you can find here.

warnings: non-con/dub-con, size kink, spanking, oral (f.receiving), fingering (f.receiving), thigh riding, biting, creampie, breeding kink

a/n: i feel so rusty so please be gentle i rewrote this way too many times, it was a lot longer and had more plot but i might just end up writing pt.2 if there is interest, I added a tag list for those who wanted to see this! 🫶

Ghost hadn't anticipated encountering a robbery on the forest trail while en route to collect his king's future wife. It was unexpected but not unwelcome; he was yearning for a skirmish, for blood and broken bones. The recent tranquility had left him restless. These bandits wouldn't pose much of a challenge, but they would at least satisfy his craving.

The skies began to pour as soon as he dismounted from his horse, startling the highwaymen. They were engaged in a one-sided fight with a few knights who had undoubtedly been sent to protect the carriage on its way to his kingdom. Before any of them could react to his arrival, heads started rolling. Chaos erupted once more, with screams of terror cutting through the forest and startling the remaining fauna.

After the final enemy fell to a sword through his abdomen, Ghost approached the carriage with slow, deliberate steps. As he opened the door, he was taken by surprise as a curtain was thrown into his face and a shard of glass was aimed for his neck by a scrawny, wild-looking maid. Despite your trembling, there was a fierce determination in your eyes, a vow that you would not give up without a struggle. Beneath his face plate, the corner of his mouth curled up, and with a wry snort, he deflected the shard from your bleeding hand. Seizing you by the back of your neck like a feisty kitten showing its claws, he pulled you out of the carriage and dropped you onto the chilly, muddy ground. As he turned back to the carriage to retrieve the princess, he realized she was no warrior; she had fainted at the sight of his imposing figure silhouetted against the moonlight.

As he carries your mistress to his horse, you launch at his back, kicking and screaming, trying to make him let her go. He unceremoniously deposits her on the horse like a sack of potatoes. Finally, he turns back to catch your hands, which have been beating at his back, with one of his much bigger hands. Your eyes go wide with terror as the reality of your position with this beast sinks in. He can't help but relish in the look of you now, wet hair sticking to your face, wild eyes, and scratches on your cheek from the broken glass. You look like a tasty meal for his beastly appetite and he's been starving for far too long. You are unaware of it but attracting his attention will be the worst mistake of your life. As he draws you closer with your bound wrists, he whispers into your ear so that you can hear him over the pouring rain, “Yer brave but stupid, girl.” After that, he hits the back of your neck and everything goes black.

The next thing you know, you are standing in front of the king who explains the entire situation. However, somehow that doesn't help the sinking feeling in your stomach, especially when the king mentions a reward for the behemoth of a man towering over you. He is still covered in blood, and daylight doesn't make him any less terrifying. He stalks around like a nightmare in black leathers that hug his form tight and emphasize his width. As if sensing your thoughts, he takes a step closer, taking up more of your space, and before you can move away, you catch the last words uttered by the king: “You brought me, my bride, Ghost, it's only fair you get a reward. Take your pick - anything you wish for will be yours.”

A weighty, gloved paw settles on the nape of your neck, causing you to startle. "I'll take 'er." Your mistress immediately starts to protest but despite her objections, the king simply nods and smiles, disregarding you entirely. You have no option but to allow the beast, that he called Ghost, to guide you away with a firm hand on your nape.

After navigating through several twists and turns, you find yourself in an unremarkable room. It contains only the absolute necessities—a bed and very little else. The one thing that draws your attention in the room is the sizeable tub that is still emitting steam, indicating it was just filled a few minutes ago.

Silently, Ghost pushes you towards the tub, and you promptly begin to retreat away from it. You refuse to bathe in his presence. Even though you are just a servant, you are still a virtuous lady.

“Either you go voluntarily or I'll throw you in kickin' and screamin'.” He growls and then says, "I'll relish it either way." You can sense the predatory undertone in his voice. You're fighting a losing battle, as going willingly gives him complete control, yet resisting might provoke an even more... primal response.

You break free from his hold, realizing that he let you go willingly.

"Can you... turn around?" he scoffs, moving to a chair that creaks under his weight. Leaning forward, elbows on his knees, he gestures for you to proceed. Though you want to scream or lash out, you hold back, sensing that he's waiting for you to lose control. Instead, you turn around and slowly peel off your muddied and torn dress. As you reach the chemise underneath, you sneak a peek and notice he has removed his helmet and face plate, revealing short dirty blond hair, black coal marks around his eyes, and prominent scars cutting through his lips and brow. Despite his broken nose, he remains strangely alluring, which frightens you. Hastily, you turn back, slide the chemise down, and attempt to hide under the steaming water.

"Good girl," he growls, satisfied with your obedience. Just as the relief that maybe this is all he wanted starts to sink into your bones, it's replaced with dread when you notice he starts shedding his clothes too. He loosens up his dark, blood-stained leathers with ease and deftness you wouldn't expect from a man his size.

"What are you doing?" Panic is evident in your question, but it doesn't seem to bother him at all.

"Can't bathe with my clothes on," he answers matter-of-factly. Once again, a wave of indignation courses through you, but it's quickly overshadowed by a pang of heat that forces you to rub your thighs together underwater. Your eyes can't help but stay glued to him, just as he did to you when you were taking your dress off. He is now down to his breeches, and when he pulls them down his thick thighs, you audibly gasp when you notice he is not wearing anything underneath. This earns you an amused chuckle, especially when he catches you looking again through your fingers.

Your mouth goes dry at the sight of him, but before your thoughts can drift to what lies between his powerful thighs, he steps into the tub with you. Water spills over the edges, though he doesn't seem to mind. He pulls you close, turning you so your back presses against him, your body nestled between his legs, leaning on his firm chest. The light tickle of his hair brushes against your skin, and his strong arm rests across your stomach, fingers splayed making you feel even smaller. The contact makes you squirm, but as you try to pull away, you only stir the hardening length behind you, making you flush with heat.

“Relax,” he grunts into your ear, more command than a suggestion.

“How can I possibly –ah.” Your reply gets cut off by a moan as his other hand falls from the edge of the tub and wanders between your legs. Your attempts at closing your legs seem futile even with one hand he is strong enough to force his way in and drag his fingers through your folds nearing the opening. Your spine arches instinctively and he answers with a nip to your neck and jaw, while forcing a finger up to the first knuckle in.

“Gotta loosen you up a bit, pet.” You have no choice but to surrender to his touch as he sinks his finger in and curls it, drawing a moan out of you before you clap a hand over your mouth to keep the sounds in. But all that decorum is forgotten when he adds a second one and scissors them before slowly prodding you with the third making you see stars. The tension building in your body suddenly snaps, sending you reeling, legs going numb and your fingers digging into his arm still wrapped around your stomach.

With your mind hazy from your first-ever orgasm, you don't even register that he pulls you out of the bath, drying you, and carrying you to the bed in the center of the spacious room. Your body already half asleep.

His gravelly voice pulls you out of your post-orgasmic haze. “Naive, little thing.” Suddenly he is trailing hungry, open-mouthed, and nippy kisses down the length of your body. Marking your neck and collarbones with angry red marks, biting down harder than necessary on the underside of your breast leaving behind imprints of his teeth, and making you hiss when the pain mixes with the pleasure, he licks a trail down your stomach and in a moment of clear-headedness you try to fist his hair and tug him up and away from your center but his hair is cut too short for any leverage. When you lock eyes with him, between your legs forcing them open with hunger and lust written all over his face you try to get away just for him to deliver a loud smack to your outer thigh before dragging you closer and licking a stripe through your folds with a loud guttural groan that you feel more than you hear it.

His thumb circles your clit while he alternates kissing, sucking, and fucking you with his tongue. When your squirming in an attempt to get away turns into grinding your hips against his face, his other hand rests on your stomach adding slight pressure and making you cry out which only spurs him on. The sounds that reverberated through his chest were nothing short of animalistic and when your second orgasm shot through your core, you fell limp against the sheets with a moan that would make you blush if at least half of your brain was still functioning properly. A new wave of panic sets in when you realize that he isn't stopping. On the contrary, he probes you with his fingers in addition to his tongue. You can feel the coil in your lower belly tightening again, heating up with his ministrations.

You plead with him, saying you can't take anymore just for him to disregard it with a growl, “You've got plenty more in ya.”

You've lost count of how many times you came when he manhandled you around onto your hands and knees propping your hips up with a pillow. You turn to look at him with heavy-lidded eyes and your breath catches in your throat at the sight of him standing behind you with his massive hand tugging at his thick, angry-looking, and leaking cock with his eyes glued to your core, still pulsing and wet from all your previous orgasms. Without warning he grabs your hips, aligns the blunt head of his cock with your entrance, and pushes in. Your fingers dig into the sheets from the sheer stretch as you mewl and whimper when he drags himself all the way to slam back in. Everything is too much and not enough at the same time, with every thrust his fingers dig into your hips and you are sure there will be fingerprints left with how hard he is gripping you and the idea makes you wetter. Prompted by the delicious drag of his cock your walls keep tightening around him, as he pushes you closer and closer to your release. One of his muscular arms circles your waist, his chest flush to your back, as his other arm comes to rest next to your head with one of his legs still firmly planted on the floor and the other resting next to you on the bed for better purchase. This new angle combined with the gravelly grunts so close to your ear become your undoing and you hurtle full-force into another mind-numbing orgasm with Ghost following close behind.

“Come f'r me, pet.” Again, not a suggestion but a command and who are you to refuse him? So you do as he says, pussy fluttering from the aftershocks as he fucks you through it, thumb circling your clit before he fills you up, not allowing you to move an inch, keeping your hips propped up and when he pulls out which drags another set of whimpers from you he meticulously pushes his spend back with thick, calloused fingers. “Gotta make sure it takes.”

If your consciousness weren't slipping away, you'd likely be alarmed, but instead, your eyes begin to close again, and this time, sleep claims you.

You wake to a heavy weight pressing down on your back, and it takes a moment for your mind to catch up with the events of yesterday. When it does, your entire body flushes and you attempt to move out of bed, only to find it futile. You're pinned beneath strong arms marked with scars—some from arrows, large and small, and others older, circular, and still appearing raw.

Your thoughts are abruptly interrupted as a thick, muscular thigh presses deeper between your legs, forcing them apart. Without much thought, you begin to grind against it, a primal urge stirring within you. Despite the lingering soreness from yesterday, a fresh wave of need starts to build, and any trace of resistance fades in the face of overwhelming pleasure. It feels shameful, but you can't stop the tentative movements, slowly finding a rhythm—until the sudden flex of his thigh makes you gasp, your eyes rolling back.

“So needy,” he growls close to your ear but there's no trace of anger in his voice, if anything he sounds pleased. “Come on, ride it harder.” He punctuates the sentence with yet another flex of his thigh and a nip to your neck, making you shudder but follow through with his command. As you grind back against his thigh you take a note of his cock stirring, resting heavy and hard between your bare ass. You push against it absentmindedly and find yourself pinned under him, your legs still held apart with his thigh that's now embarrassingly slick with your arousal. The visual of it makes you turn your head away, eyes closed and whimpering. Ghost doesn't like that. His massive paw of a hand grabs at your cheeks, your lips puckering involuntarily while he grunts at you to keep those eyes open for him. As he licks into your mouth, it suddenly dawns on you—this is your first kiss. You had already let this beast inside you before even sharing a kiss, and everything felt so out of order, that it made you want to scream and cry. Instead, you settle on throwing your hands around him and clawing at his back as he aligns himself with your needy, sore pussy and thrusts to the hilt without so much as a warning.

Even after yesterday, the burn of the stretch to accommodate his length makes fresh tears spring up into your eyes and roll down the apples of your cheeks. You swear you see his scarred lips twitch up into a savage smile at the sight of them before he licks them clean off your cheeks with a satisfied groan. In retaliation you dig your nails deeper into his sturdy back, hoping to break the skin and leave a mark that only ends up urging him to fuck you harder, faster. The sounds reverberating in the room drive you crazy; over them, you don't even notice a soft knock at the door but whoever it was scurries away registering the sound of the moans he wrings out of you with one particularly hard thrust that pushes so deep you swear you can feel him in your throat. Effortlessly he manhandles your legs on his shoulders to hit a different angle. As you struggle with the overwhelming feeling of fullness he leaves a deceptively soft kiss on your ankle before he folds you in half again and wrestles another mind-shattering orgasm out of you and succumbing to one himself, painting your insides with his spent. Pulling out, he doesn't bother moving, he simply rests his head on your chest between your breasts, squeezing the air out of your lungs with the sheer size of him. “Rest now, pet. Plenty of time for more o' that later.”

At that moment, you know there is no turning back; you've been taken, branded from the inside out. You wonder if this is truly so horrible, perhaps this nightmare of a man will drive away all the other nightmares plaguing your mind.

Or perhaps he is even more dreadful than your imagination could have ever conjured.

taglist: @a66-1 , @ghostlythots , @rttxcmt , @september-22-1998 , @fluffysmiko , @gyusbrownie , @bumblebeesfromvenus , @magicalforestcat , @nommingonfood , @tami-doodles , @fateisnotafactor , @m-a-l-a-c-z-a-r-n-a , @nicolebarnes , @msdevil333 , @lilpothoscuttings , @tealeaftallulah , @not-reptilian , @moonfloweronmars , @aliceinwonderland-5678 , @marshmelloe , @i-love-you-just-the-same, @lazyperfectioniste , @tragedyinwaves , @thisisforthebest97 , @talkingcorn , @hxnneydew , @resplendantrosewood , @telvannitea , @the-casual-act , @hello-lemons, @kiwicopia , @just-a-sewer-goblin

#cod mw2 #cod x reader #x reader insert #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x you #bunnie writes #tw noncon #tw dubcon #simon riley x reader #cod smut

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moonstruckme · 30 days ago

Note

Hi!! Could you please write something for Spencer where r is used to men being like really loud and rough and all that (maybe bc of her father or smth) and just her getting used to how gentle Spencer is and almost thinking it’s too good to be true?

Thank you for requesting angel <3

Spencer Reid x fem!reader ♡ 905 words

It happens when you’re still half asleep. You fumble for your phone on Spencer’s nightstand, your alarm chiming, and knock a picture frame off instead. You’re fully awake by the time you hear the sound of glass shattering against the floor.

You mumble a curse. Spencer hums questioningly into his pillow.

You get down from the bed, managing to step over the glass, but you’re not thinking clearly enough. When you sink onto your knees, little shards prick the skin. You pick the frame up carefully. It’s a picture of Spencer and his mom. An old one, of her chasing a three or four-year-old Spencer around someone’s yard. They’re both laughing, her arms outstretched towards him and his face turning to look over his shoulder. It’s obviously a sentimental photo.

Your cursing intensifies, though you keep it internal now. You feel awful.

Spencer’s head appears over the edge of the bed as you’re scraping the glass into a pile. His eyes are half-open, expression still weighted with drowsiness.

“What happened?” he asks.

There’s no accusation in his tone, but you feel suddenly teary. You haven’t fought with Spencer yet, and you weren’t expecting to be yelled at first thing this morning. You suppose you’ve earned it, though.

“Spence, I’m so sorry.”

“What are you doing?”

“I—I knocked over your picture. The frame broke. I feel awful, I’ll get you a new one o—or I can replace the glass if the frame is important to you.”

“What?” Spencer blinks, brows furrowed as though he’s having trouble grasping this. “No, it’s—stop. Don’t do that.”

You still, looking up at him hesitantly with your hands cupped around the glass pile. “What do you want me to do?”

“You can’t clean glass up with your hands.” He shuffles his way out from under the covers, taking a big step over the class to stand behind you. His hands wrap around your elbows. “Get away from there.”

His tone conveys some upset, but not nearly as much as you were prepared for. And his grip on your arms is gentle. You can’t make sense of it.

You let him guide you into the bathroom, sitting up on the counter when he prompts you. Spencer takes your hands in his, looking them over and brushing his fingers lightly across your palms before determining there’s no glass in them. His eyes skim you over. When they land on your knees, his expression pinches.

“Why did you do this?” You expect him to grasp your knee roughly, but his fingers wrap around it with care, thumb rubbing over the soft underside as though to soothe you.

“I wasn’t thinking,” you say softly. “I feel so bad about the picture with your mom, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Spencer sounds surprised. His eyes flit up to yours, soft brown, curious. “I can get a new frame. You didn’t need to hurt yourself.”

“Well, I didn’t do it on purpose.” Your voice drops to a murmur as Spencer bends down, opening a drawer to take out first aid supplies.

He pulls each tiny piece of glass from your knees with heart-aching care. One hand stays on the back of whichever knee he’s working on, to steady him and to comfort you, and it’s a slow, attentive, tender process. Gradually, a realization seeps into you.

Spencer isn’t going to blow up at you. Maybe someday, but not about this, not over just anything. You’re not sure how you could have been so expectant of someone who’s been nothing but kind and gentle with you turning harsh and forceful at the first upset.

You don’t even wince as Spencer cleans up your knees. He’s careful to give you no reason to, every touch considerate and sweet. He straightens after smoothing bandages over the cuts, still holding your lower thighs in his hands.

“That wasn’t a very nice way to wake up,” he says. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you say, but you hold your arms out for a hug anyway.

Spencer’s happy to oblige you, his hips fitting between your legs and palms sliding across your back. He smells like sleep. You hook your chin over his shoulder, contentment filling your belly like warm honey.

“You seemed upset,” he murmurs, a question if you choose to answer it.

“I was nervous,” you admit. “I thought you’d be mad.”

“For knocking the frame over?”

“Mhm. I still feel really bad.”

Spencer draws a line between your shoulders. “Don’t feel bad. You didn’t do it on purpose.”

You hum. “You’re a lot less loud than most guys, do you know that?”

He pauses. “Is that a bad thing?”

“No.” You pull away from him, cradling his face in your hand. “I’m just not used to it, is all. I keep expecting you to yell at me, but that doesn’t seem like it’s really your thing.”

“I guess I don’t think of it as my thing,” Spencer agrees, mouth curving as he repeats your words. “My mom says I was always a quiet kid. I guess I just never thought yelling would get me anywhere.”

“Don’t start.” You grin, and his cheek dimples under your palm. “I like you like this.”

“Okay, I’ll try not to.” He tilts his face into your touch. His hands drop back to your knees, skimming down the unharmed sides next to the bandages. “And you shouldn’t get angry at yourself on my behalf anymore, either.”

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whumptober · 1 year ago

Text

Whumptober 2023

Welcome to Whumptober 2023 — the sixth year running!

COMPLETIONISTS/PARTICIPANT BADGES CAN BE FOUND HERE

To those of you who participated last year, welcome back! To everyone joining this year, welcome!

Please make sure to read the Event Info carefully, as most of your questions will be answered there already. For everything else, you are welcome to come to our ask box or ask questions in our Discord server here.

This year’s AO3 Collection can be found here.

And this years playlist can be found here.

There are 139 prompt options in total this year - this is including the alternatives list! A special thanks goes out to those who took part in our trope vote back in July. From the 1526 responses to our list of 223 tropes, we looked through the popularity results, as well as your honourable mentions, and were able to produce this years prompts list. Stay tuned, as we will be posting some of the results at a later date!

We’re very excited to see the community come together once more and be a wild, chaotic bunch of creators and consumers of whump. Go wild with the prompts, and support your fellow creators - we wish you all the fun!

Best of luck and happy whumping,

Mods Vanne, Yenn, Kitty and Surro

(All 31 Themes + Prompts, Event Information and FAQs are posted below the cut!)

Whumptober 2023 Prompt List

No. 1: “But now this room is spinning while I’m trying just to fill in all the gaps.”

Safety Net | Swooning | “How many fingers am I holding up?”

No. 2: “I’ll call out your name, but you won’t call back.”

Thermometer | Delirium | “They don't care about you.”

No. 3: “Like crying out in empty rooms; with no-one there except the moon.”

Journal | Solitary Confinement | “Make it stop.”

No. 4: “I see the danger, It’s written there in your eyes.”

Cattle Prod | Shock | “You in there?”

No. 5: “You better pray I don't get up this time around.”

Debris | Pinned Down | “It's broken.”

No. 6: “Do or die, you’ll never make me; Because the world will never take my heart.”

Recording | Made to Watch | “It should have been me.”

No. 7: " “I paced around for hours on empty; I jumped at the slightest of sounds.”

Alleyway | Radio Silence | “Can you hear me?”

No. 8: “I’ve got soul, but I’m not a soldier.”

Overcrowded ER | Outnumbered | “It’s all for nothing.”

No. 9: “Learning everything ain't what it seems, that's the thing about these days.”

Polaroid | Mistaken Identity | “You're a liar.”

No. 10: “Can’t you see that you’re lost without me?”

Broken Phone | Stranded | “You said you'd never leave.”

No. 11: “All the lights going dark and my hope’s destroyed.”

Animal trap | Captivity | “No one will find you.”

No. 12: “I haven't slept in days but who's counting?”

Red | Insomnia | “I’m up, I’m up.”

No. 13: “It comes and goes like the strength in your bones.”

Cold Compress | Infection | “I don’t feel so good.”

No. 14: “Feed me poison, fill me ‘till I drown.”

Flare | Water Inhalation | “Just hold on.”

No. 15: “I don't need you to help me I can handle things myself.”

Makeshift Bandages | Suppressed Suffering | “I’m fine.”

No. 16: “Would you lie with me and just forget the world?”

Gurney | Flatline | “Don’t go where I can’t follow.”

No. 17: “You’re the lump in my throat and the knot in my chest.”

Collar | Touch Aversion | “Leave me alone.”

No. 18: “I tend to deflect when I’m feeling threatened.”

Blindfold | Tortured For Information | “Hit them harder.”

No. 19: “I’ll take one final step, all you have to do is make me.”

Floral Bouquet | Psychological | “I’m not as stupid as you think I am.”

No. 20: “People don’t change people, time does.”

Blanket | Found Family | “You will regret touching them.”

No. 21: “See the chains around my feet.”

Vows | Restraints | “Don't move.”

No. 22: “They never saw us coming, ‘til they hit the floor.”

Glass Shard | Vehicular Accident | “Watch out!”

No. 23: “It’s gonna get me by the end of the night.”

Shadows | Stalking | “Who’s there?”

No. 24: “I’ve got a head full of chemicals; mouth full of ridicule.”

Goodbye Note | Neglect | “I thought they were with you.”

No. 25: “You’re not delivering a perfect body to the grave.”

Storm | Buried Alive | “They’re not breathing!”

No. 26: “Sometimes I get so tired; I don’t even know myself.”

Seeing Double | Working To Exhaustion | “You look awful.”

No. 27: “You drew stars around my scars; But now I’m bleeding.”

Matches | Scars | “Let me see”

No. 28: “We might not make it to the morning; so go on and tell me now.”

Bloody Knife | Sacrifice | “You'll have to go through me.”

No. 29: “I only sink deeper the deeper I think.”

Scented Candle | Troubled Past Resurfacing | “What happened to me?”

No. 30: “It’s okay, just to say, ‘I’m not okay’.”

Borrowed Clothing | Bridal Carry | “Not much longer...”

No. 31: “I thought that I was getting better.”

Emptiness | Setbacks | “Take it easy.”

Alternatives List:

Betrayal

Aftermath of Failure

Brass Knuckles

Decoy

Body Modification

Playing Cards

Examination

Hunting

Drugging

Shaking

Panic

Broken

Miscommunication

Lab Rat

Reluctant Whumper

Event Info & Rules

~ Please read our extensive event info posts before sending us an ask ~

WHUMPTOBER is a month-long, prompt-based creation challenge (think: Inktober, but whumpier). There are 31 official themes this year - one for each day of the month - which can be used, skipped, or combined in any way you’d like. The 'theme' of each day is the line of lyrics.

The prompts are merely to serve as inspiration without being taken literally (e.g. you don’t have to include the exact wording of prompts into your work). Feel free to run rampant on interpretation. For example, if the prompt is "flame", you could create something with reference to a candle/campfire, your character could have suffered a burn, or the flame could be related to the 'spark' of a relationship. It's truly up to you!

In total, there are 4 prompts for each day: there's lyrics, an object, a trope and a line of dialogue to choose from. We want to give everyone as much creative freedom as possible, as well as increase event accessibility for folks with triggers and squicks.

Creators can PRODUCE work in any media they choose, including but not limited to: writing, visual artwork, photo/video/audio edits, paper crafts and elaborate recommendation lists (not just a list of links). Creators can PARTICIPATE as much or as little as they want (i.e. you don’t have to do ALL the prompts if you don’t want to) and prompts can be used in any order. They are also free to use even after the event ends.

When uploading Whumptober content to your blog, be sure to tag the with:

#whumptober2023 …..(the event tag)

#no.1, #no.2, #no.3, …..(day number)

#lyric, #bruises, #stabbing, …..(the theme or specific prompt you chose)

#fandom or #OC, … (ironman, originalcontent, oc …)

#medium …..(gifs, fic, podcast, art, etc.)

#teeth, #gore tw, #etc …..(trigger warnings & any additional tags. Add "tw" AFTER the trigger/content warning. )

#nsfwhump …..(only for nsfw content)

#your own tags go here

PLEASE BE DILIGENT WITH YOUR TAGGING. Only properly tagged posts are considered for archiving on the official @whumptober-archive blog. They must be tagged in the order above. An elaborate post about our tagging system can be found [here]

Unfortunately, due to the sheer number of participants in recent years, we cannot guarantee your work will be archived. A random selection of properly tagged posts from all genres will be reblogged each day.

Whumpers who produce content for 31 total theme days are considered event completionists and will be tagged in a masterpost at the end of the month. A form will be published at the beginning of November asking you to tell us if you completed the event. You do not need to post anything you have created, we rely on trust and we will not check this.

Questions not addressed in one of our many event info posts can be directed to this blog. We will not answer any questions that have been answered in the FAQs or rules already.

Frequently Asked Questions

Q. How does this year’s prompt list work? What do I have to choose?

You can create something based on:

The overall theme/lyric of the day

Prompt 1, 2 or 3

One or several of the alternative prompts

A combination of the above

Q. Is [specific anything] allowed?

When in doubt: JUST DO IT!

Q. Do I have to do all 31 days?

Participate as much or little as you like! Just be sure to tag your posts properly (ex. #no.7, #radio silence). If you create works for 31 total theme days you will become a completionist. But apart from that, there are no repercussions if you don’t fill prompts for each day.

Q. Can I post early/late?

Yes, you can post whenever you want. We will only reblog posts during October, but you can use our prompts all year round. The day you post will only affect your probability of being reblogged.

Q. Will you reblog my post?

Due to the sheer number of content posted during Whumptober we can’t promise to reblog every single post. We will make a random selection trying to capture a wide variety of content. The following will increase your chances at being reblogged:

tag your post properly

post within 2-3 days of the theme you want to fill: if you fill the prompt for Day 1 your chances of being reblogged during October 1st to 3rd are highest and will go towards zero afterwards.

Q. What if I don’t understand a prompt/theme?

Send us an ask! We’re happy to help with wild, unhelpful clarifications or brainstorming. That being said, the themes are entirely up for interpretation. Don’t take them too literally. For example: You can be choking on a cherry, someone else can choke you or you could be choked up on emotions, etc.

Q. What kind of content can I make? Can it be NSFW?

This is a MIXED MEDIA event! You can write fic, post meta, doodle or paint, create a gifset or photo edit, link a song, or get crafty with video - anything goes. As for NSFW, make what you like, we just hope that you’ll tag your work accordingly so that others participating in the event can stay safe.

Q. Can I combine Whumptober with other creation challenges?

Absolutely, as long as the other challenges allow it too.

Q. Can I upload/repost my Whumptober content to other social media platforms?

Of course! You can post your own content wherever you like (or you can opt to not publish it at all). Additionally we’ve created an AO3 Collection to archive any fics posted there. It can be accessed here. The tumblr blog @whumptober-archive is the official archive, so please respect the boundaries of any closeted whumpers in your social circle.

Q. Can I use prompts to write a new chapter for an existing fic?

Yes.

Q. An existing fic I am currently writing contains many of the Whumptober prompts, can I use it?

If you are actively writing this fic at the moment with the Whumptober prompts in mind, yes. If you’ve previously posted something that checks the boxes, we ask that you not include it retroactively for this current year. You can, however, add new chapters relating to one or more of the prompts.

Q. What kind of characters can I write for?

Fandom characters, OC characters, human, furry, alien, cyborg, RPF, whoever you like. You can use the generic “whumpee” character or have specific ones.

Q. Does it have to take place in a specific fandom?

No, you can create works for your own worlds or for fandoms or for both. You can also create more generic or pan-fandom works. You can do cross-overs or use OCs, whatever you want.

Q. Can I use a prompt multiple times?

Yes, but it only counts once towards being a completionist.

Q. If I’m not comfortable with one day’s prompts can I use a prompt of a different day as a substitute and still be a completionist?

No, you can’t exchange prompts for different days. However, if all four prompts of a specific day make you uncomfortable, we have created an alternate prompts list that you can draw from. You can exchange any prompt with these, but please make sure not to use them twice.

Q. Where can I post my work?

Post where and how you want. You don’t have to (cross)post it to Tumblr or at all. Just keep in mind if it’s not on Tumblr we will not be able to add it to the blog archive.

Q. Can I start posting early?

You can, but this is an October event and wouldn’t it be more fun with everyone doing it at the same time? That being said, you can post early, but we won’t be reblogging any work predating October 1st.

Q. Do I have to finish a fic I started/can I post WIP’s?

Yes you can post WIPs. And you’re not obligated to finish it in October for it to count towards being a completionist.

Q. Is co-writing allowed?

Yes, absolutely, and it would count towards being a completionist for both/all of you.

Q. Do I have to create 31 standalone pieces to be considered a completionist or can I write one continuous story?

One continuous story is fine. The challenge is to write something for 31 prompts. If that’s spread over 31 fics or just one, you are still considered a completionist. (The same goes for every other media you choose.)

Q. Is there a min/max limit on word count?

There is no limit.

Q. Can I combine prompts? Is there a limit on how many?

No limit and combine as many as you’d like.

Q. Is a hc/angst/emotional whump focus ok?

Of course! We are not going to establish a threshold for whumpiness. If you think it’s whumpy enough, then it’s whumpy enough. It can be physical, psychological, emotional, or any combination of the three.

Q. What’s considered nsfw?

See this post

Q. What is whump?

Typically the genre includes situations where a fictional character is hurt, be it emotionally, psychologically, or physically. Fanlore provides information here.

Q. My interpretation of the prompt isn’t whumpy at all, does that count?

If you don’t think your interpretation is whumpy, then it doesn’t count for Whumptober. Remember that whump comes in many forms, though, and that we don’t have a whump-checker or a threshold for how much whump needs to be included. If you think your interpretation contains enough whump to count, then it does.

Q. Can I start working on the prompts before October?

Absolutely! That’s why we post the prompts a month in advance. We recognise how difficult it can be creating for 31 days in “real time” so feel free to start creating early!

Q. How do I tag triggers?

tw at the end of the word, ex. #gore tw

Q. Do I have to use your tags?

Yes, if you want your work archived on the blog. If not, feel free to use whatever tags you want.

Q. Does combining prompts count towards completion?

Yes

Q. Can we @ you?

Yes but we mostly rely on the #whumptober2023 tag.

Q. Is there anything we are absolutely not allowed to write?

There are no rules, but please make sure to properly tag your trigger warnings. And keep in mind Tumblr’s policies if you are posting it here (or the policies for whatever site you use).

Q. Where can I go for brainstorming help?

Here on Discord or come into our ask box.

Q. My characters are minors, is that ok?

Yes, but as with everything else, use clear and descriptive tags.

Q. Can I cross post on other blogs?

Yes, multiple platforms and blogs are perfectly acceptable. You can also post different works to different accounts under different names, without posting them everywhere at once.

Note: This is a creation challenge, please don’t repost your old work under our tags (unless it’s been changed or edited for the event).

Thanks for reading, and happy whumping!

#whumptober2023 #whumptober 2023 prompts list #whumptober #prompts list #long post

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ode-to-melpomene · 6 days ago

Note

hi hi mel!!! i love all your works and your writing is so wonderful ^^

was wondering if you could write something where one of the bat boys reaches the reader right before they’re about to get kidnapped by some criminals?? like maybe they’re publicly in a relationship w the batboy’s wayne identity n get targeted for that reason but one of the boys gets there js in the nick of time :)

thank u sm and have a great rest of ur day ^^

Love this prompt! Some of these are pre-kidnapping, some are mid-kidnapping. If anyone wants additional characters added, let me know! Hope you enjoy 💛

Daring Rescues

Pairings: Bruce Wayne x gn!reader, Dick Grayson x gn!reader, Jason Todd x gn!reader, Tim Drake x gn!reader Synopsis: Who comes to your aid when you find yourself in need of saving? Word Count: 2466 Warnings: Established relationship! Kidnapping, minor injuries, general mortal peril.

Bruce Wayne:

Bruce knew better than to associate you with Batman. He had learned that lesson a hundred times over by now, how dangerous it was to associate the people he cared for with the cowl. But now wasn't the time to dwell on the blunder.

“Oracle, update,” he barked over the communication device. Bruce perched atop a balcony, staring down at the street below.

“Black SUV turning onto Carlton,” Barbera replied, the sound of her fingers furiously working over the keys of the Batcomputer meeting his ears. “The car is registered to a loan shark put away a few years ago. Suspected ties to Falcone.”

Bruce uttered a grunted mm in response, eyes narrowed beneath the cowl. His eyes scanned the road below. He caught the sounds of sirens wailing in the distance. “GCPD?”

“I’ve got them cutting off side roads. Headed your way now.”

He squared his shoulders and prepared himself to launch from the balcony, one hand braced on the ledge beneath him and the other on his belt. He cocked his head to the East and narrowed his eyes- yes, there. He watched the SUV turn the corner, skidding as it spun around the sharp turn and narrowly avoided oncoming traffic.

“Sixty-three miles an hour?” he guessed.

“Sixty-six. Sounds like you might be losing your touch.”

“Oracle,” Bruce warned. He scowled. That extra speed would change his entry angle.

“Sorry. Dropping in three-”

Bruce’s hand shot to his belt.

“Two-”

The end of the grappling hook shot out from the device in his hand and buried itself within the construction scaffolding across from him. He gave a single tug, then launched himself from the balcony-

“One-”

- And crashed feet first into the rear passenger window of the interior of the modified SUV, seats removed to provide more space in the back. Panicked shouts rang out as glass shards shattered across the interior. Bruce pulled his cape over the lower half of his face, preventing glass from cutting his skin as he hit the floor.

The vehicle swerved and he used the momentum to bring his elbow into collision with a man’s partially covered face, his jaw making a distressing crack at the impact. His other hand lashed out, grabbing the driver by his hair and slamming his face against the steering wheel. The driver’s nose crunched and blood sprayed against the vehicle’s dash.

Hands grasped at his suit and he drove his knee into the third assailant’s ribs, sending him stumbling backwards. Your muffled shriek filled the interior of the SUV as the vehicle swerved and momentarily rocked into the curb.

The driver’s hands gripped at Bruce’s wrist behind his head, his foot flooring the accelerator. Bruce let out a tsk as he lunged forward and looped his arm around the driver’s neck. The man’s shrill scream was quickly silenced as Bruce squeezed the man’s neck in the juncture of his elbow and bicep.

He pulled the man backwards and used his opposite hand to stabilize the chokehold. His freehand reached for the steering wheel, guiding the vehicle down the road. He just needed a moment-

The driver finally went limp in Bruce’s arms. He tugged, pulling the man from his seat and wedged a batarang against the brake, quickly bleeding off speed.

Muffled screams filled the room, followed by a grunt of pain. Familiar hands raked over Bruce’s belt. He gripped the wheel with one hand and turned his head just in time to see a zap of electricity come to life.

You dove towards the third kidnapper, barreling into him and driving the taser into the side of his neck. The man screamed, spasmed, and went limp.

You panted around the gag in your mouth, your hands chained together in front of you. You held the taser tightly in your hands, glaring down with a fiery expression.

When you turned your gaze on him, that fiery passion was replaced with a soft, mirthful glint in your eye. You gave him your best smile, despite the gag, and a cheesy thumbs up.

Bruce scowled, despite the way his heart skipped a beat.

Dick Grayson:

Why did you always have to rush into things?

Of course it was a set up. That was so obvious now that you had a split lip and blood trickling from your nose. It was a last ditch effort on the part of some petty criminals who wanted a piece of the Wayne wealth in exchange for Dick’s hapless partner.

The masked goons cornered you in your own apartment, toying with you like cats stalking a mouse. One swung a pipe wrench and you skittered backwards, nearly bumping into the end table next to your couch. You really needed to move that when this was all over, and make sure the space was less cluttered so you wouldn’t get tripped up like this again-

A blade came slashing down, glinting in the waning sunlight that filled your apartment as it narrowly missed your face. Your curse was met by vicious laughter. With a snarl, you gripped the end table and hucked it at the figure holding the blade.

Two of the goons jumped away from the end table as it flung towards them. You took the chance to dash to the kitchen, knocking over and tossing random items in your wake. As much as you appreciated the self defense training Dick had put you through, you didn’t trust yourself against their weapons. You took solace in knowing they weren’t here to kill you… but that didn’t mean they weren’t more than willing to rough you up.

You just needed to waste some time. So you threw a plate, a beautiful, arbor rimmed plate that had been a gift to you and Dick from Selina and Bruce (you suspected Selina stole them.) The assailants dodged the ceramic, so you snatched the detachable faucet and sprayed the nearest goon in the face with cold water. Too bad they were smart enough to wear masks.

And then you saw the balcony door slide open. It all happened so fast, a flash of black, blue, and silver darting into the space. Metal clashed with skin, a sickening thunk sounding as an escrima collided with an attacker’s skull. An angered shout tore through the air, only to be quickly silenced by a thud as the outspoken figure hit the floor.

It was over in a matter of moments. Three unconscious bodies on the floor, tucked out of sight behind your kitchen island, and a shadowed figure huffing agitated breaths through gritted teeth. Spots of blood on the escrima, on his face.

You blinked once, twice, clearing the fog from your vision. Nightwing- Dick loomed across from you. He tucked the escrimas behind his back and turned to face you, the scrunch in his brow covered by his mask.

“Are you alright?” you asked, voice barely above a tremble.

His expression softened immediately. He heaved a sigh and dashed around the kitchen island, sweeping you into his tight grasp. You wrapped your arms around him just as eagerly, pressing your face to the stretchy fabric of his suit.

“Should be asking you that, love.” Dick pulled away slightly, holding you at arms length. Though you couldn’t see his eyes through his mask, you knew he was carefully taking stock of your injuries.

“Just a few scrapes,” you said with a reassuring smile in spite of the way your swollen lip burned. “You should see the other guys.”

Dick barked out a laugh and pulled you flush against him once again, burying you in a tight embrace.

Jason Todd:

You should have called a cab.

Rain poured down on you, drenching you to the skin. Rain hadn’t been on the forecast today–you always made sure to check on days you chose to walk to-and-from work. When you had stepped out of the office building to find a slight drizzle dappling the sidewalk, you had thought nothing of it. Like many other Gothamites, you had assumed it was a passing spring weather.

Now the storm drains gurgled pitifully as water gushed into it. Your clothes were sodden, shoes waterlogged, mood dampened. You squelched down the sidewalk with a sour expression plastered across your features. The torrential downpour quieted your sentences, muffling your ears to the acute sound of footsteps following you from a distance.

You turned onto the next block and huffed, the wind now buffeting you face on. What a dreary, horrible day to be let off late from work. Jason would likely be on patrol by now, leaving you to sit alone in your shared apartment, reheating whatever he had left over from lunch. Maybe you could curl up in your bed and dive into that novel you had both been reading. That could make for a good conversation to wind him down from the emotional high of his patrol-

Foreign hands snatched you from your thoughts and dragged you into a dark alley, your scream muffled by a gloved palm.

You were slammed face first into a brick wall, the rough texture scraping your cheek. You bit back a snarl as the hands turned you around and smacked the back of your head against the hard stone. The chill edge of a blade was pressed to your throat and when your eyes readjusted to the sudden darkness and stinging pain in your head you were met with a masked figure. Great, because what you really needed after a long day was a mugging.

You fought viciously as the figures around you herded you down the back alley like a spitting, snarling animal. You stomped your heel on their feet, bit at their hands, kicked and flailed until you heard muffled requests for rope and chloroform. It wasn’t until you saw the van tucked away beside an industrial grade dumpster that you began caterwauling like an anguished banshee.

You were relieved by the sound of a familiar thump at the edge of the alleyway–you would recognize the sound of those heavy boots dropping anywhere, with how often you heard them on your fire escape. Your attackers slammed you against the van and you barked out a gleeful laugh at the sight. The attackers had a moment to turn their heads before Red Hood was descending on them with ferocity. You turned away, pressing your forehead to the van.

Screams, bones cracking, bodies hitting the ground. It was over quickly. When you turned to face him, his armored chest was heaving and he clenched and unclenched his fists at his side. You knew better than to touch him when he was this high strung, so you settled for the safer option.

“Took you look enough,” you teased breathlessly, keeping your gaze one the way the red surface of his helmet snapped to face you instead of on the (you hoped) unconscious kidnappers. “I was starting to wonder if I was going to have to take care of this myself.”

The toe of Jason’s boot nudged an unconscious figure, a red and rapidly welting bite mark blossoming on the individual’s hand and wrist. “I don’t doubt you could’ve, but a little help never hurt.”

You cracked a smile, softening the hard lines of your expression in the hopes it would ease him. His shoulders relaxed at your placating gesture. You extended a hand, fingers spread in a silent offer.

“Walk me home?” you asked, more for his benefit than yours. Your heart still pounded in your chest, but the tightness eased when he interlaced his gloved fingers with yours.

Tim Drake:

Warehouses were such a cliché place to harbor an abductee. What happened to creativity? Tim crawled through an upper window of the dilapidated warehouse, some thirty feet above the ground. He stepped carefully across the rafters as he surveyed the scene.

There you were, a normal college student tied to a chair–well, normal if you ignore the fact that you were rumored to be in a relationship with the Timothy Drake-Wayne. He frowned at the sight of your arms twisted behind you and tied to the back of the chair. They had you situated in the center of the empty room with goons patrolling around you. His eyes sought a singular figure atop a pile of scrap, a rifle in hand. The figure searched the rafters–Tim would have to be careful to avoid him.

Tim stalked across the rafters, keeping to the shadows. He crept across one of the beams that bridged the center of the warehouse, ducking low and staying out of the light. His eyes were fixed on you-

Oh. You perked up, your head lifting and shoulders easing. You knew he was there somewhere, judging by the way your head turned slightly to scan the open room. You tilted your head, a flimsy gesture towards a second figure, patrolling near you with one hand tucked away in her coat. A hidden weapon? He bit back a smile at your clever aid.

Tim took another step, and something clanged. He looked below him, spotting a hook hanging from a long chain, the chain swinging under the beams subtle movements. He turned just in time to see the sniper swing his rifle in the direction of the sound-

You screamed.

The shrill shriek shook each of the assailants and all eyes turned to you. He exhaled a harsh breath of relief as you wailed and the masked figures moved in towards you. The sniper’s weapons whipped towards you and away from Tim.

Tim dropped. His landing was cushioned by the goon you had pointed out, knocking the figure to the ground. He used the momentum to carry himself into a roll, then launched to his feet and barrelled into the next unsuspecting kidnapper. This one was ready, his hands up in fists. Tim gave an opening and ducked as the man’s fist sailed past Tim. He gripped the attacker's arm and yanked, tossing him over Tim’s shoulder. The man landed with a thunk and Tim was quick to follow, extracting a pair of cuffs from his belt and linking the two fallen attackers together.

A shot rang out. It seemed the sniper wasn’t very good, considering Tim remained fully intact. His hands dipped to his belt again and withdrew a few batarangs. A quick volley knocked the sniper's mask askew and sent them stumbling down the rickety pile of scrap they stood upon. He used the opening to launch himself across the room, bo staff extending in hand. He swept the kidnapper’s legs, sending the figure tumbling down the pile.

“How did you know I was here?” he asked as he knelt to cuff and gag the attacker, kicking the rifle aside in the process.

“It got drafty,” you called back from where you sat tied in the center of the room. “Must’ve left the window open.”

407 notes · View notes

pathologicalreid · 10 months ago

Text

the archer | S.R.

in which a trip to your hometown leads to an exposed past and a wrongful arrest, you can't help but wonder who could stay

who? spencer reid x fem!BAU!reader

category: angst

content warnings: normal cm violence/death. mentions of sexual assault and physical assault. mentions of miscarriage and dv. arson/fires. please take care of yourself while reading <3.

word count: 5.96k

a/n: if you or someone you know is a victim of domestic violence, the US hotline is 800-799-7233. be well and be safe.

can you see right through me?

Emily had called you into her office fifteen minutes before the briefing began to let you know that the case was in your hometown. “There are some things that may come to light in a small town, and I wanted to let you know that you can stay behind if you need to,” she told you, having shut the blinds to her office to give you the most privacy she could.

Giving it a moment, you thought about it before you met her eyes, “if someone tries to say something, I’d rather be there to clear things up than let them say anything.” You wiped your clammy palms on your plants before standing up, “and besides, who better to work on victimology than someone who knows the town.”

You stepped out of the office, holding the door open for Emily before the two of you made your way to the roundtable room.

The two victims had been killed a week apart, they were both women who you had gone to school with. The first was in your graduating class, Victoria Reynolds, kidnapped, sexually assaulted, and asphyxiated. The second was a year ahead of you, Melanie Baylor, kidnapped, sexually assaulted, and asphyxiated. The team had been called in by the lead detective on the case, Charlie Platten, and he had likely made the call without telling the police chief.

It had already been three days since the second body was recovered, and Emily didn’t want to waste any more time. You left the roundtable room to grab your go-bag, smiling when you felt a familiar presence next to you. “Are you alright?” Spencer asked, leaning against your desk while you reached underneath it for your bag.

Stepping in front of him, you looked up at him, “I’m okay, Spence.” You plopped your go bag on top of your desk, “it’ll be okay,” you whisper.

“And if at any point it’s not,” he prompted, placing a hand on your waist.

You simpered up at him, “You’ll be the first person I go to, love.”

He reached over and grabbed your bag off of your desk, carrying it to where the rest of the team is waiting for the elevator. “I’ll admit, I am interested in seeing your hometown,” he told you, letting you step into the elevator before him.

“Yeah, Y/N, maybe you can show us some of your old haunts once we solve the case,” Luke chimed in from the back of the elevator.

Laughing breathily, you turned your head to face Luke, “Do I really strike you as the kind of person to have ‘old haunts’, Alvez?”

A few of your team members chuckle. You faced forward, wondering how long it would be before one of them saw through you. When working with profilers, it was always a risk.

'cause all of my enemies started out friends

Emily sent you and Luke to the latest crime scene while she and Spencer set up at the precinct. JJ and Matt met with the latest victim's family while Tara and Rossi met with the medical examiner. Your stomach felt unsettled as soon as the plane landed, you had a bad feeling about this case. Spencer tried to ask you what was going on with you, but you just brushed him off.

You would tell him. After this case was over and you went home, you would tell Spencer everything. He deserved that.

“Did you know her?” Luke asked, using a gloved hand to inspect a shard of glass he found on the concrete.

Blinking rapidly, you snapped out of your stupor, “Melanie? Yeah, she was a year ahead of me in school. I graduated with Victoria though.” You used the toe of your boot to clear some dirt off of what looked like some sort of plaque. “I wasn’t all that close with either of them, but in a town this small, you kind of know everyone,” you explained.

Standing back up and walking back over to Luke, you looked at the building, it’s an abandoned factory on the edge of town. “Is there any significance to this building?”

“It was a functioning factory in the eighties,” you explained, looking at the vines growing up the side of it. “This business was the entire economy of the town, when the factory went down, so did the town.”

Luke nodded, taking a step back and eyeing the entire decrepit building. “And the church? Where the first body was found.”

You pursed your lips, “Only church in town, I was baptized there, when it burned down people had nowhere else to go, so they stopped believing.”

“How did the fire start?” He asked, turning the knob on the factory door, and looking surprised when it opened.

You shrugged, “lightning strike, I thought. I wasn’t much of a believer, especially once my mom died.”

Alvez nodded in understanding, “Would you say that both of these locations are important to the town and its history?”

Nodding, you followed Luke back to the SUV, leaning back in the passenger seat as you mentally prepared yourself for the scene your arrival at the precinct was about to cause.

When you got there, you immediately spotted the police chief ripping the lead detective, Charlie, a new one outside the front door. He saw you and did a double take, “And what the hell do you think you’re doing here?”

“Sir, we’re members of the BAU, our-“ Luke started explaining, obviously confused at the chief’s combative nature.

He held up a hand, “I wasn’t talking to you, agent.” Turning to face you, “You don’t show your face at home, leaving in the middle of the night ten years ago and now you’re what? A big bad FBI agent?”

You stiffened, pushing your shoulders back as you faced him. Stand tall, stay strong. “It wasn’t the middle of the night, and the FBI is only big and bad to the people who deserve it, Frank.”

The man in front of you scoffed, “I’m talking to your supervisor, you’re not working on this case.” He pushes past you, causing you to stumble back against the wall.

“What was that about? Who was that guy?” Luke asked, looking at you as you got your bearings back before walking into the precinct.

Bowing your head, you grumbled, “You just met my father.” At that moment, you were glad to be facing away from him, because you weren’t sure you could face any of it.

You’re still the newest member of the BAU, technically being a profiler but Emily pulled you in to help with public communications, since the old unit chief had been handling it along with Garcia, Emily did the same. When Spencer went to prison, she found she needed extra help, so you were snagged from your cozy office in sex crimes and sent to the BAU.

You fit in well with everyone, and you never really felt the need to prove yourself. Even taking the initiative to write letters to Spencer, because you didn’t want to be a stranger to him when he came back. So, when you met face-to-face last year, he thanked you. When you kissed him eight months ago, you both agreed to move slowly.

Seven months ago, he showed up at your door and told you he loved you.

Emily gave you an understanding look when she saw you walk into the police station, she, of course, knew everything about your situation.

“We don’t have enough for any sort of geographic profile yet,” Spencer said, standing in front of a whiteboard with a map over it, along with pictures of the two victims. He turned as soon as he saw you, smiling in a silent greeting. You winked in response, sitting down in the office chair next to him.

Luke stood in front of you, blocking your view of the whiteboard, “What do you mean that was your father? Why wouldn’t you say that your dad was the chief of police here?”

You shrugged, leaning back in the chair, “I may share DNA with the man, but I haven’t seen Frank Burris since I was twenty years old.”

“Doesn’t that bother you? Did she tell you?” Luke asked Spencer, who was still looking at the whiteboard, entirely unbothered.

“What did you find at the crime scene?” Emily asked, effectively ending Luke’s questioning. You had no idea if she had heard any of the previous conversation, but either way, you were grateful for the change in subject.

Taking a deep breath, you turned and faced her, “The dump sites are all places that are former symbols of the town, maybe the unsub wants to further desecrate these locations.” Emily nodded, prompting you to continue. “These kills are angry, the overkill and sexual assault definitely lean toward a male offender, I think the unsub is angry,” you said.

“Angry that his town is no longer what it once was,” Spencer suggested, taking his eyes off the whiteboard. “Are there any other locations that could fit that general description?”

Shaking your head, you crossed your arms over your chest, “Probably, I haven’t been here in ten years, it might help to talk to a local. Charlie could probably help.”

“Charlie can’t help with anything; the chief took him off the case. It belongs to me now,” a voice behind you said. Immediately, you straightened up in your chair, earning a strange look from Spencer. “Y/N, I’m looking forward to working with you,” the male voice said.

Swallowing thickly, you turned and faced him, “I wish I could say the same, Johnny.” You stood up, needing as much ground as you could get. “Do you know any places that would fit the description? Somewhere that used to be a symbol in the down, but is abandoned now?”

“The school burnt down about eight days ago, but you’d know that if you gave a damn about us,” he said indignantly, looking down at you.

You felt Spencer stand behind you, “do you have some kind of problem?”

Johnny eyed your boyfriend and you hoped he didn’t catch on to your relationship, “If I’m being totally honest, I’m not completely comfortable working with Y/N.”

“Our team was called in to help solve these murders and Agent Y/L/N is a part of that team,” Emily defended you. “If you have a problem, I suggest you suck it up until this case is solved.”

Angrily, Johnny stalked off. You turned around and grabbed a file off of the desk, glancing over at Emily and silently thanking her.

help me hold on to you

Later in your shared hotel room, Spencer looked at you curiously, “Was he an ex-boyfriend?”

You rolled your eyes and laid back on the bed, it wasn’t the worst bed you’ve slept in since joining the BAU, but it certainly wasn’t going to be winning any awards any time soon. “Don’t be jealous, Spence, it’s unbecoming," you deflected.

Spencer climbed on top of the bed and kissed your forehead, “I’m not jealous, I’m concerned.”

That made your heart clench, you sat up in the bed and cupped his face with your hands, “You don’t need to worry about me, okay?” You studied his face, the small crease in his forehead that told you he was overthinking the situation made you sigh. Gently, you leaned forward and placed a tender kiss on his forehead. “If I think you need to be concerned, I’ll tell you,” you whispered, allowing him to gather you in his arms.

“Okay, angel,” he whispered back.

You sighed and laid back against the pillows, “I have a bad feeling about this case,” you told him softly. Spencer doesn’t believe in intuition the way you do, but he’d never discredit your feelings.

He reached over and swept your hair behind your ear, “Me too.”

Pulling away from him, you looked at him curiously, “Why?”

He shrugged, “Both of them look like you. You’re the same age as them.” The victims, he was saying the victims were too similar to you for his own comfort. You hadn’t really given it much thought. If you start comparing yourself to the victims, you’d freeze up. That was a luxury you couldn’t afford.

“I’m not going anywhere, Spencer,” you comforted, curling up next to him.

i've been the archer, i've been the prey

The call came at five in the morning, only four hours after you had gone to sleep. Splitting up into two SUVs, half of you went to the precinct while the other half of you went to the crime scene.

“Katherine Meadows was dumped in front of the school,” Emily said, leading you, Tara, and Rossi into the precinct. You were still pulling your blazer on over your tank top, having been given approximately five minutes between waking up and getting out the door.

You stopped in your tracks; your mouth went dry. You knew of the other victims, but you were friends with Katherine. She helped you pay for your plane ticket out of here. You owed her your life, and now you’d never be able to repay her.

“What kind of school is it? Elementary? High school?” Rossi asked, flipping through a file that had been left on a desk.

Snapping out of your daze, you shook your head, “It’s K-12 all in the same building, that’s why it’s such a big deal that it’s gone.” You looked at the whiteboard, there weren’t any pictures of Katherine up yet, but you could imagine it. She looked more like you than the other victims, and you silently cursed Spencer for putting those thoughts in your head.

“Agent Y/L/N,” you heard Johnny call from behind you, he and your father were charging toward you at an alarming pace. “Are you armed?”

Your head snapped up, “yes,” you answered, putting your hand on your holstered weapon, watching as Johnny and Frank pulled their guns out.

“Please hand over your firearm to Detective Klein and put your hands up,” Frank commanded.

Taking a deep breath, you handed the weapon over to Johnny, facing him directly. It gave you tunnel vision, and you couldn’t even hear the protests of your team as you raised your hands level with your head.

Johnny grabbed your wrists, and you hissed as he cuffed you, the metal cutting into your skin when he made the handcuffs too tight. “Y/N Y/L/N, you’re under arrest for the murders of Victoria Reynolds, Melanie Baylor, and Katherine Meadows. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be held against you in a court of law.” He shoved you in the direction of the interrogation room, “You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you.”

An officer opened the door, and he pushed you down into a metal chair, hooking your handcuffs to the table in front of you.He continued reading your rights, “If you decide to answer questions without an attorney present, you will still have the right to cease answering at any time until you are able to talk to an attorney.” Johnny said, crossing his arms in front of his chest, “Do you understand your rights?”

You glared up at him, “What the hell are you doing, Johnny?”

He slammed a palm on the table, “Do you understand your rights?”

Pursing your lips, you looked away and peered right at the glass window ahead of you, “Yes, I understand my rights.”

“With these rights in mind, do you wish to speak to me?” He asked, leaning far too close to you, you could smell the cigarette smoke on his uniform. That smell was on you for years after you left, you were convinced you’d never be able to fully wash it off. Maybe you hadn’t.

You seethed up at him, “fuck no.”

Johnny nodded assuredly, opening the door to the interrogation room, and slamming it shut.

Taking a deep breath, you tried to pull the handcuffs away from where it was pinching your skin, you winced when it tore your skin. You set your head down on the cold table and sigh, knowing you should’ve taken Emily’s offer to stay behind when you had the chance.

Another officer came in later and told you they wanted your jacket and shoes for evidence, you didn’t fight them, numbly watching as he unlocked the handcuffs and took your jacket before putting the cuffs back on, just as tight. You kicked off your shoes for the officer and sat back down. Before he left, another officer came in and dropped an evidence box on the table.

It was an FBI scare tactic to leave an empty evidence box on an interrogation room table, but your box wasn’t empty.

They wanted to humiliate you in front of your team, and it was working.

all the king's horses, all the kings men, couldn't put me together again

The next people to open the door were Charlie and Tara, they sat down across from you. “I’m really sorry about all of this Y/N,” he muttered to you, pulling some files out of the evidence box.

You shrugged and shook your head, “Nothing Johnathan Klein does to me anymore really surprises me.” You looked at the files.

Charlie was hesitant to open the files, “there’s some rough stuff in here if you’re okay with going over some of it with us.”

Swallowing thickly, you looked at the file, “I don’t really have a ton of choice, do I?”

You hated both of them for pitying you, but more than anything you hated your father and Johnny for doing this to you and wasting time while there was a serial killer on the loose. He opened the file and placed pictures of the three victims in front of you.

For a couple of minutes, he asked general questions. Do you know them? How did you know them?

Then Tara finally asked a question, “Y/N, how old were you when your mother died?” She asked you, placing a photo of you and your mom in front of you. You were probably seven in the picture.

“Ten,” you answered, looking at the picture. You wondered if you could keep it once this was all over.

“When you were ten, you started a string of hospital visits that lasted until you were twenty years old. Broken ribs, concussions, fractures, and… a miscarriage,” Tara said, your eyes snapped up to look at her.

Your mouth went dry “You had Garcia unseal my files?” You couldn’t help the hurt in your voice.

The way Tara looked at you, you could tell she understood you in a whole new light now, “we had to. She felt horrible doing it.” That you didn’t doubt, the whole team had a mostly unspoken rule on inter-team profiling. You nodded understandingly.

“Y/N, do you have an alibi for the murders? We already cleared up that you weren’t working, but can anyone account for your whereabouts?” Charlie asked impatiently, he knew you didn’t do this, and it might not be his case anymore, but you could still tell he wanted it solved.

Looking directly at Tara, you answered the question, “No, I wasn’t with anyone.”

Your coworker set her jaw as Charlie got up and left.

“How did you get those injuries, Y/N?” Tara continued her line of questioning, setting a packet of medical records in front of you. You were still cuffed, so all you could do was touch the papers with your fingertips.

The paper read of chromosomes and a D&C, you couldn’t help the tears that flooded your eyes, “I- uh. I don’t want to look at that, please.”

Quickly, Tara pulled the papers away, “who hurt you?”

You bit your lip to stifle a cry, “Tara, please.” You knew what was going on, the only person who knew everything was retaliating against the precinct. They humiliated you, so she was going to humiliate them. She repeated the question and this time you answered, “My father.”

“Was your father also the father of your baby?” She asked, looking down at the papers. Honestly, she looked just about as uncomfortable as you were.

Solemnly, you shook your head, “That was Johnny. We were together from when I was fifteen until I was twenty. My dad-“ Your voice broke off, “Frank never touched me like that.”

“Can you tell me more about Frank?” She asked softly, the way she spoke to victims. The one thing you had tried to avoid.

Blearily, you looked up at your friend, “Can we take a break?”

Nodding, Tara stood up. When she opened the door, you heard shouting. People asking if your cuffs could be taken off. You just let your tears fall for a moment. Charlie came back and unlocked your cuffs, looking at the dried blood on them and the still bleeding wounds on your wrists, “I- I think we have a first aid kit somewhere.”

You brushed him off, waiting for him to leave and for Tara to come back. She did, draping a sweater over the table, and you tentatively grabbed it. Sighing when you recognized it as Spencer’s, “Has everyone seen the paperwork?”

She nodded slowly, “are you alright to talk to me about Frank now?”

You used your newly freed hands to wipe under your eyes before pulling the cardigan on. “It was my mom, she took everything he threw at her to protect me,” you whispered. “He hit me when I was ten, I had gotten a bad grade in social studies. So, my mom and I planned to leave, but he figured it out,” you said, furrowing your brows at the memory. “He strangled her, and she died. He told everyone she hung herself. The whole town believed him because he was the chief of police.”

Tara wrote something down, “he killed her in front of you?”

You nodded, “He needed someone else to take his aggression out on after that, so he beat me.” You told her, fiddling with the hem of Spencer’s sweater. “So, when I was fifteen and I met a boy, I thought I had found the answers to all of my problems, but I really had just discovered more.”

“The boy was Johnathan Klein?”

Affirming her question again, you continued your story, “he was a horny fifteen-year-old boy, and he had sex with me even when I begged him not to. He told me he had to because he loved me, and I believed him.”

Tara leaned over and looked you in the eyes, “You know that wasn’t your fault.”

“Wasn’t it?” You asked meekly, tilting your head to the side. “He proposed to me the day we graduated from high school. I had already accepted the fact that I was never getting out of the town, but what I didn’t know was by getting engaged to him I was very nearly signing my own death certificate.” You took a deep breath and tried to ignore the ache in your chest, “I found out I was pregnant when I was nineteen, and looking back at it now, I’m surprised it didn’t happen sooner.”

Tara didn’t speak, she just listened. You supposed that was the psychologist in her, letting you take the lead in your own story.

You furrowed your brows as you tried to bring memories that you had spent so long burying to the surface. “I knew I couldn’t make my baby go through the same thing I went through, so I tried to run, but I didn’t get far. He found me, he beat me, he brought me to the hospital, and he told me I killed our baby.” You could see the story was bothering Tara. When you told Emily, you told her in pieces over the span of a month. “The only people I was allowed to see after that were my dad, Johnny, and Katherine.” You wiped tears from your face, “the judge wouldn’t grant me a restraining order, my only option was to run. So, when Kath showed up with a plane ticket and an envelope of cash, I took the opportunity and left.”

“Y/N, do you think these murders could be somehow connected to your upbringing here?” Tara asked, flipping through another file.

You looked back at the glass that separates the observation room, having no idea who was on the other side listening. “I didn’t until Reid said the victims looked like me,” you confessed. It felt too convenient, victims looking like you, you being framed for their murders. Yet, you still made sure not to call Spencer by his first name, afraid of giving yourself away. “Do they have any evidence?”

“They found soil from the factory crime scene on your shoes, but your jacket is still being processed. Without an alibi, we can’t get them to release you,” Tara said.

Rolling your eyes, you leaned back in the chair, “Of course, they found soil from the factory crime scene on my shoes, I was at the scene yesterday.”

The door opened and Frank stepped inside, “Your alibi spoke up.” He sounded irritated, but not as irritated as he’s going to be once the BAU is through with him.

i see right through me

Spencer had settled you down on a desk in the corner of the precinct, disinfecting the cuts on your wrists made by Johnny’s handcuffs. “I’m sorry,” you whispered, watching as he cleaned the debris from your torn skin.

He didn’t respond, he just shook his head. You could tell he was thinking, as clearly as if you could see gears physically turning in his head.

“Spence, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” you whispered, bending your neck to try to catch his eyes.

He shook his head again, “I’m not upset, not with you at least.”

You raised your eyebrows in suspicion, “Then stop getting so lost in thought. What’s bothering you?”

He clasped both of your hands in his own, setting them in your lap, “Does it feel like a coincidence to you that the same night Johnny told us about the school the woman who helped you escape an abusive relationship was found dead at that school?” Spencer dropped your hands, reaching into the first aid kit and pulling out bandages before gingerly wrapping your wrists. At work, you tried to keep the public displays to a minimum, but you felt like these were extenuating circumstances, which was why you had secluded yourselves in the corner.

“I need to look at the crime scene photos again,” you said, trying to get off of the desk.

Spencer firmly placed both of his hands on your hips, effectively keeping you in place. “Once I’m done,” he whispered, securing the bandages on your wrists. “Are you alright?”

You tilted your head up at him and smiled sadly, “Everyone learned a lot about me today. Some of it I had never intended on telling them. I just feel… exposed? Raw?” You searched desperately for the right word to use to describe exactly how you feel.

Hanging your head low, your eyes traced patterns in the carpet when Spencer hooked a finger gently under your chin and lifted your head, so you were looking at him. His honey-colored eyes searched your face, and you felt like he was looking right through you. “You know nothing that happened today makes any of us see you differently, right? I don’t think of you as any less of a person because of what I learned today.”

You shook your head, “You don’t learn those things about your girlfriend and look at her the same.”

“You’re right. I don’t look at you the same, I’m even more in awe of you now than I was before. The fact that you’ve been through what you’ve been through and you’re this bright, shiny person sitting in front of me is astounding, but…” His voice trailed off.

Here it was, he couldn’t want who you were. He didn’t want the heavy history that comes with you. You shut your eyes.

He cupped your face with his hands, “it makes me worry that maybe I haven’t been there for you enough. Not in the same way you’re there for me.”

“Spence,” you whispered, swallowing back your emotions, and looking up at him.

Spencer shook his head, “I love you, and I have to make sure that you know that I’m always going to be there when you need me.”

Nodding rapidly, you stood up and wrapped your arms around him, “I know.” Your voice was little more than a rasp, “I know, I love you too.”

After assuring Emily and Tara that your friendship was intact, you turned to the team. “I think I play a bigger part in this case than I realize.”

“We were just coming to a similar conclusion, once we saw what Katherine Meadows looked like, it just confirmed our suspicions,” JJ said, looking at the whiteboard, which now had Kath’s picture on it, as well as yours. “The whole town seems to have it out for you, though. How do we narrow down the suspect pool?”

You stepped up to the whiteboard, “Because it’s not about the locations and their relation to the town, it’s about the locations and their relation to me.” You pointed to the factory, “When I was fifteen, this was the first place Johnny ever assaulted me.”

“You said he proposed to you at your high school graduation, right?” Tara said, “That’s the connection to the school.”

Nodding, you continued, “And we were going to get married at the church.”

Spencer wrote this all down on the whiteboard as you fit the pieces of this puzzle together. “Is there anywhere else that would fit in with these other locations?”

Flipping through a file, you set papers down on the desk in front of your team. “That’s our house, it was set on fire not long after I left,” you pointed out. “That’s where he’s going next.”

“But who will his victim be? If we can get to her before he can, then we can stop him before he gets to her,” Matt mentioned.

Slowly, you turned around and faced your team, “I don’t intend on letting anyone else get hurt. This is between me and Johnny.”

who could stay?

You sat yourself down at the dining room table. Nothing in the house had been moved, its charred remains were left defenseless against Mother Nature. You knew this table, there was blood ground into the wood grain. It was your blood.

You wished they had torn the rest of the structure down.

Spencer didn’t like the idea of you going alone, but you were armed, and you had an earpiece in. You weren’t alone, the team was nearby in case things went wrong.

“Incoming, blue pick-up pulling into the driveway,” Luke said through the radio. “Suspect’s getting out, it doesn’t look like anyone’s with him.”

Realistically, you knew nothing was going to happen to you, but there was some small voice in the back of your head that told you something was going to go awry.

You wiped your sweaty palms on the floral-patterned chair. Part of you was grateful that the team had enough faith in you to send you to get a confession on your own, but another part of you wished someone would’ve asked you if this is really what you want to do. Sure, you wanted Johnathan Klein to be put away for a long time, but you didn’t want to be in this house. When you left, you had hoped you’d never have to set foot in this godforsaken town ever again.

Sitting up straight, the front door opened. You’re not sure why he opens the door when there’s a hole in the wall leading right to you. “I thought you might come looking for me,” he said, placing a hand on your shoulder. “I always knew you’d come back to me, baby,” Johnny spoke to you in a low voice, but you knew the team could hear.

“I didn’t come here for you, Johnny,” you whispered, keeping your voice steady. “I came for the girls who were murdered. I knew them, we both did,” you told him. That was the truth, you felt like you owed them because they died while you got to live.

He sat next to you, placing a hand on your knee. It was all you could do to not flinch away from him. “Then why did you bring that guy? If not to make me jealous, then why?”

“Johnny, if I go with you, will it stop?” You asked, turning to him, reaching out your hand, and placing it on his arm.

Humming, he reached out and brushed your hair behind your ear, luckily not the side where you had your earbud in. “I don’t know what you mean, babe. You’ll have to spell it out for me,” he said, pulling you to your feet abruptly. You didn’t see the knife when he first walked in, you didn’t even know he had it until it was to your throat.

But you weren’t twenty years old anymore. You had grown up. You had learned self-defense.

So, you caught him off guard when you hit him, causing the knife to clatter to the ground. “You bitch!” He growled, “I’ll fucking kill you!”

“You won’t kill me,” you said, planting your feet on the ground. “You had five years to kill me, Johnny.”

He stood up, “No, but I killed a part of you. Didn’t I? When I killed your baby?”

After all these years, he knew how to get under your skin. He got one hit off, across your cheek, the strike so hard that your earbud went flying across the room. “You killed the part of me that you created, that’s not who I am. I recreated myself, a version of myself without this godforsaken town.”

“But I got you here, back home. I killed all those girls for you to come back to me,” he said, running straight at you.

You hit him with your gun, you physically struck him with the butt of the gun. You could’ve shot him, it would’ve been clean, but you didn’t. That would’ve been easy for him. He dropped like a ragdoll and the rest of your team came rushing in. Someone was calling your name, but you couldn’t hear.

Matt ended up being the one who cuffed him, you slowly walked away from them. Backing yourself into a wall, you watched it all happen.

When you left your hometown, you never quite felt like it was over. He was always still going to be around. But this? This felt final.

It made your chest ache.

Gently, Spencer took your hand and led you outside. “It’s done?”

He nodded rapidly, “It’s over, angel. Emily and Luke are at the precinct taking Frank into custody. They’ll both go away for a long time.”

“Spence, I want to go home,” you whispered, looking down the road and seeing houses that you recognize from your childhood. This whole town was filled with your own ghosts. “Can we go home?”

Spencer didn't answer, he just pulled you into him and held you tightly. You let him inspect the wound on your cheek before you went back to the hotel and put everyone’s belongings in an SUV.

On the jet, the two of you sequestered yourselves in the back where it’s darker. He offered to let you lie down, so you rested your head in his lap. He used one hand to hold his book and the other to smooth your hair back. Your eyes were shut, but you were vaguely aware of the rest of the team as they took turns peeking back at the both of you.

you could stay

please remember to like, reblog, and comment

#written by margot #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid angst #spencer reid hurt/comfort #spencer reid x you #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid imagine #criminal minds angst #criminal minds hurt/comfort #spencer reid x fem!reader #criminal minds fic #spencer reid fic #criminal minds imagine

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flaggermuser · 5 months ago

Text

I Bet On Losing Dogs

484 words || Definitely fluff, Cuddling, Night terrors/nightmares, Homelander being loved, GN Reader ||

Inspired by the song I Bet On Losing Dogs by Mitski

Thank you to @homeb0ys for the gif and @hom3landr for being the beta

You’d only left your bed for two minutes, having to get up for a glass of water when you returned.

Only to find him already in it, the covers pulled up to his neck, his suit hanging on the valet stand you’d bought especially for him.

“Another nightmare?”

Homelander nods - for the most powerful supe in the world, it was almost astounding that he could be reduced to a mess by something as trivial as a bad dream.

At least it did before he told you all about the bad room.

Then it all just made sense.

You place the glass of water on the bedside table, removing your pyjamas and slipping into bed. Immediately, he pulls you to him, his face buried in the crook of your neck as your arms encircle him.

Sleeping naked with him isn’t always sexual.

Sometimes he just needs the skin-to-skin contact to help ground him when the dreams wear their terrifying disguises, masking the reality that they’re really just painful memories, forcing their way to the surface.

Your fingers rake through his hair, your lips pressed to his forehead, your hand tracing patterns on his back all the while, you sing softly to him.

“My baby, my baby. You’re my baby, say it to me.”

If only you knew how important you truly were to him, how you created a place of safety, his only anchor to reality when he’s lost in the maelstrom inside his own head.

It’s a prison, not one of his design.

But fabricated from the shards of a young boy’s shattered mind.

“Where I'll be looking in their eyes when they're down. I'll be there on their side, I'm losing by their side.”

This night’s terror has him shaking in your arms, hot tears cascading down your chest, prompting him to hold you even tighter to the point where it’s almost crushing.

You would struggle for breath if you hadn’t learnt how to breathe through it. The bruises you’ll have in the morning are a small price to pay for keeping the horrors of his past at bay.

He’s shaking - once again forced into the shape of a frightened boy with no one to comfort him.

But you’re here.

With your love and your warmth.

Actions always speak louder than words and, in the moments where he’s amid maddening horror, your actions speak deafeningly loud.

They drown out the reconciliations, the overwhelming fear that threatens to consume him, to drag him down to the darkest recesses of his psyche where he’s truly broken, truly vulnerable.

In the blink of an eye, he relaxes, nuzzling further into your chest while falling asleep. Yet your grip on him never falters, you hold him tight the whole night through, reminding him that he’s safe, that he’s not alone.

You’re the lighthouse for the ship that he is.

Guiding him home when he’s lost at sea.

#homelander x reader #homelander x gn reader #the boys spoilers #homelander fanfic #Homelander fluff for once #season 4 spoilers #homelander spoilers #the boys s4 spoilers #the boys season 4 spoilers

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corkinavoid · 1 month ago

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DPxDC When a Bird Hits Your Window

Written for: Whumptober, prompt 6. NOT REALISING THEY'RE INJURED Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms | Healed Wrong | "It's not my blood."

He wakes up to a loud sound of breaking glass.

Yet, his first instinct - turn intangible and sink down through both the bed and the floor - is cut off shortly by a quiet, painful groan that follows it.

Danny blinks a few times, adjusting to the darkness in the room, and slowly sits up on the bed, listening in carefully. Someone broke into his kitchen through the window, that much he figured, but who, and, more importantly, why?

The groan turns into a moan, then something softer - a sob? a whimper? - and then there's some kind of shuffling. Danny hears the broken glass screeching over the tile floors.

Like someone is crawling over it.

Okay, definitely not a robber, then. Or, maybe it is, but a really unlucky one.

Danny stands up from his bed, phasing through the blanket in order to make as little noise as possible, and quietly makes his way through the hallway and to the kitchen door. Thankfully, he left it open in the evening, so peeking in is fairly easy-

He barely holds himself from gasping.

The thought of calling someone - police, 911, ambulance - is still only forming in his head, when his body is already moving forward. Danny kneels in front of the body on the floor, not sure what to do or where to start.

That is... a vigilante. An injured vigilante on his kitchen floor, lying face down, a hundred glass shards scattered around him. It looks almost pretty - the shards reflect the moonlight from the window, making the shadows look even darker than they are.

Danny pays no attention to the twisted beauty of it, instead biting his cheek from the inside and carefully touching the vigilante's shoulder. The guy flinches from the touch, shifts in his place, and raises his head up to look at Danny.

"Who-" he starts, his breaths quick and shallow, but the question is cut off by a pained wince. Now that Danny can see his face - sans the eyes because of the mask, yes - he notices that the guy is barely older than him.

And, now that he thinks about it, he's rather pretty.

Wrong thought, very wrong, entirely not fitting the situation. He needs to get his shit together.

"Come on, up you go," Danny mutters and leans forward, grabbing the vigilante by his armpits and raising him up. A dark, almost black puddle is left on the tiles where the guy landed.

"I'm not-" he starts protesting, and Danny suddenly remembers his name as he throws the guy's arm over his shoulder and all but drags him from the kitchen to the couch in the living room. Red Robin.

"Yes, you are," Danny cuts him off, not bothering with waiting for the end of that sentence. Red Robin whimpers. It's a sad, hurt sound, and Danny, unfortunately, knows it intimately - he's made it himself a lot of times before he metaphorically hung up his cape.

"I need to go," the vigilante insists as Danny unloads him on the couch and steps to the side to turn on the lamp on the table. And, when he looks back to Red Robin's chest, he barely holds back a curse.

"Unless you plan on going to a hospital, you don't," he argues, and, in two wide steps, reaches the shelf where he keeps the first aid. The zipper doesn't budge, and Danny bites his lower lip, throwing a quick glance to Red Robin. To hell with it, the guy is clearly too out of it to notice. Besides, it's not like being a meta - even if technically he is not - is a crime.

It's just a little intangibility to get the gauze.

"I don't need a hospital," Red argues back very confidently and tries to stand from the couch. Only he sways on his feet and almost falls, and Danny rushes back to him, catching his shoulder and sitting the vigilante back down.

"Really?" He asks, trying not to sound too sarcastic. That's how he deals with panic, sue him. "What about the blood?"

Red Robin blinks, staring at him owlishly. Is he concussed? He probably is, shit, he crashed through Danny's window at full speed. But before he can ask or say anything else, the vigilante looks down to his own chest.

Right to where it is currently covered in blood, with glass chards sticking out of his hero uniform, and a bloody fucking stab wound on his stomach. Danny distantly thinks about his ruined couch.

"It's not my blood," the guy tells him, not batting an eye. Danny holds back the urge to slap him, instead just taking a deep breath and leaning down to look Red Robin straight in the eyes. Lenses of his mask. Whatever.

"Okay, listen here. I didn't plan on saving anyone today, I actually didn't plan on saving anyone in any foreseeable future. So if you want me to throw you back out the window, I can arrange that in, like, less than ten seconds. Do you want to go back out the window?"

...and, maybe, he should have thought about the consequences better before he started his attempt at intimidation. Because, instead of saying anything, Red Robin leans in forward and boops him on the nose. With his own nose.

"Boop," he tells Danny quietly, with a lopsided, dorky grin on his lips.

And then, uncaring for the sheer bafflement he caused, he drops his head on the back of the couch, his whole body slumping down. Danny hastily checks his pulse and breathing, but, no, the guy is still alive. Just unconscious.

"I'll take that as a no, then," he sighs and finally gets to work on the vigilante's wounds.

He decidedly does not acknowledge how his cheeks feel like they are on fire.

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i-can-even-burn-salad · 2 years ago

Text

Part 18

Fancy Boots

Warnings: Nightmares and lots of self-hate, talk about manipulation, torture, and being forced to hurt

This one is a fill for my shiny new BTHB.

Previous | Masterlist | Next

That wasn’t quite how Riordan had imagined his evening would go. Instead of shamelessly inviting himself to dinner, he found himself sitting on the sofa, Damien’s sleeping figure leaning against him. His friend had fallen asleep almost instantly, telling him how fucking tired Damien must have been.

Riordan leaned his head against the backrest and looked towards the window. Night was falling, and in a bit, it would be completely dark. He had not thought to light a lamp or crystal before entering the room, and now he couldn’t get up to do so. He couldn’t do anything but sit and let his thoughts drift, unless he wanted to risk waking up Damien.

His mission had ended almost a week sooner than planned. After a whole fucking month in the north, he had been eager to leave ice and snow behind. To remember how it felt when his toes were warm. To eat something that wasn’t dried meat or half-burnt gruel. To come home.

Home.

He still wasn’t sure if he had a right to call it that. After his injury, Merridy and Damien had insisted he stay with them. He had been reluctant at first, not wanting to burden them. But his recovery had taken so much longer than anticipated. For almost ten weeks, he had been out of commission. Plagued with weakness and headaches at first, then slowly building his stamina back up, until he hadn’t felt like collapsing after merely walking across the garden. The headaches had never fully vanished, but they had become rare enough now that he could deal with them. Not that he had a choice, really.

After three months, he had returned to the citadel, worrying if he would even still have a job. The nyv he had worked with before had been impatient. In week one, he had sent his best wishes. In week two, he had inquired as to how long Riordan planned to be absent. In week three, he had let Riordan know that he had found a replacement for him, and thanked him for his work.

Luckily, the citadel had taken over his contract, turned it into a general one. Ever since, he had come back for a few days whenever he had been between missions. For the first time in almost a decade, he found himself bound to a place. Fuck, he had even toyed with the thought of purchasing a house in the neighborhood for himself. He had never before had the urge to settle down, but… it was nice to have a place to come home to.

Riordan’s finger brushed over the blanket he had wrapped around Damien’s shoulders. There were stitched letters he could only feel in the dim light, not see. His name. Merridy had put it there after yet another discussion of whether he should really stay. It had been half a silly joke, half assurance that he would always have a place here. He had mocked her for it, because that had been less embarrassing than starting to cry, and she had thrown a pillow at his head.

When Damien’s body started to slide, Riordan didn’t stop him, merely guided him until his head lay on his lap. That was a bit more comfortable and allowed him to relax as well. He hoped his friend would be able to sleep for a while. He had wanted to ask how long Merridy had been gone, how long those nightmares had been going on, but in the end, did it matter? One day, or two, or three, Damien was clearly miserable.

Riordan hated to see his friend like this. He hated all the glimpses of the horrors Damien had been through. He hated knowing that he had been a part of it, however small.

When Damien twitched in his sleep, Riordan lowered a hand to his head, stroking his temple. Perhaps knowing that he wasn’t alone would help to keep the nightmares at bay. He would do his best until Merridy came back. She would know how to help. She always knew what to do. Riordan paused, giving his hand a moment of rest. He hoped. He hoped she would come back. Soon. Back soon. Until then. He would.

The spot beneath his hand was empty. The weight on his legs was gone. Riordan flinched, suddenly aware that he had almost fallen asleep. Almost?

Where it had still been dim twilight a moment ago, now everything was pitch-black. He couldn’t see his hand in front of his eyes as he raised it, couldn’t hear— he heard something, turning his head in the direction of the sound. An icy hand seemed to grip his heart. Someone was crying, and it wasn’t hard to figure out who that was.

Riordan’s faint hope that his eyes would only need a moment to get used to the darkness turned out to be false. Everything stayed black. He couldn’t sign like this, and he didn’t know if he could dare to speak.

“Damien?” he whispered anyway, because he couldn’t just do nothing.

“Please. I can’t. I can’t do this.” Damien’s voice was shaky, his words interrupted by desperate gasps, coming too quickly. “I can’t. Don’t. Don’t make me.”

The cushions of the sofa were slightly tilted, telling Riordan that Damien must still be sitting on it. He shuffled closer, one hand feeling along the cushions, trying to find him.

The moment Riordan touched him, Damien screamed. He flinched, shifted somehow, but didn’t draw back. There must be nowhere for him to go on the sofa. Riordan pulled his hand back and pressed it to his chest, his heart racing. Fuck. He needed some light.

He nearly fell over the coffee table as he got up, stumbling towards the door. It was his luck that he had spent so many nights here, because he found the crystal mounted next to the door frame almost instantly. A quick touch, then soft yellow light filled the room. Riordan squeezed his eyes shut, taking a deep breath, before he dared to open them; slowly, very slowly.

The sudden light stung in his eyes, the pain so horribly familiar it made him feel nauseous. But unlike his headaches, this pain was fading after a moment, allowing him to finally see what he had already assumed.

Damien sat at the far end of the sofa, cowering into the corner. Tears were running down his face and his eyes were wide open, but he didn’t seem to see anything.

“Please. No. No.” He sobbed. “No.”

Riordan approached him slowly, pausing after each step. He didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t sign while Damien wasn’t looking at him, and he couldn’t speak without freaking him out. Touching him had also been a bad idea. Fuck; what could he do?

“Please. Please don’t…” Damien’s breaths came so quickly, Riordan had no idea how he still managed to speak. He pressed himself into the corner, grasping at his shoulder. When he found nothing where once his arm had been, he started to cry, gasping for breath in between each sob.

The moment Riordan’s shadow fell over Damien, he looked up. Something shifted in his gaze. Blind panic made room for recognition, only to be replaced by a new kind of fear. “I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry. Please don’t leave me here. Please. I don’t want to die.”

Riordan swallowed dryly. Damien’s nightmares were bad enough, but this… he didn’t see merely a shadow of his dream, he saw him. Instead of Riordan, his friend, he saw Riordan, the fucking squad leader who had dragged him into the dungeon and left him to die.

In any other situation, he would have left, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t leave Damien alone like this. He looked to the door, as if hoping for a miracle, for Merridy to appear and fix this. Of course she didn’t.

A strangled noise made him snap his attention back to the sofa.

“Please. Please don’t let them kill me.” Damien clawed at his throat, finding nothing, but leaving bright red marks on his skin. “Don’t let them kill me don’t let them kill me, please.”

Riordan couldn’t bear it any longer. He crossed the distance between them, sat down on the sofa and wrapped his arms around Damien. He knew this wasn’t exactly a great idea, but he couldn’t let him hurt himself, either.

Damien froze for a moment, then he started to struggle. Riordan resisted the urge to talk to him. It wouldn’t help. All he could do was hold him until he snapped out of it, pressing his arm against his side to stop him from hurting himself.

It didn’t take long for Damien to realize he was trapped. His body went limp, but he was still shaking violently. Riordan lost the fight against his own tears as he felt him sob in his arms. Fuck. This wasn’t fair. None of this was fair.

It’s me. It’s me it’s me it’s me.

Riordan wanted to scream it, but didn’t even dare to say it out loud.

It seemed to take forever for Damien to calm down, and even longer until something shifted. It was the way Damien held himself, the way his breathing changed, a fleeting touch on his arm.

“Riordan?” Damien’s voice was trembling.

Riordan let go of him instantly, only keeping his right hand on Damien’s arm. With his other he signed, “I’m here. Everything’s gonna be fine. It was just a dream. Just a dream.”

There were too many words, too quickly, that much was clear from Damien’s confused expression. It didn’t matter. Now that his friend was awake, Riordan pulled him into a hug, a real one. Damien leaned into it, even raising his arm to return it weakly.

“Can we. Can we get up?” he mumbled after a while. “Light a fire? I’m cold.”

“Of course.”

Riordan pulled back, still not daring to let go fully. With his free hand, he picked up the blanket that had dropped to the ground, draping it around Damien’s shoulders.

“Come.”

He helped him to his feet, leading him around the coffee table and in front of the fireplace. Once Damien was sitting on the rug, Riordan turned his attention towards the fireplace, brushing cold ashes aside and piling up fresh logs. While he worked to ignite the flames, his gaze kept wandering back to his friend.

Damien sat wrapped in the blanket, his eyes fixed on nothing in particular. The way he sometimes raised his hand to wipe away a tear tore at Riordan’s heart. Finally the fire was burning, slowly taking over the wood. Riordan put the fire poker back, brushed his hands against his pants and got up. He tapped Damien’s shoulder, to grab his attention.

“Anything I can do?” he asked as soon as Damien was looking at him.

Damien didn’t reply, but Riordan had the feeling it wasn’t because he didn’t understand him. Riordan sat down next to him.

“Your dreams,” he started, his hands freezing mid-air. He didn’t know how to ask. He wished he knew what they were about, so he could help better. At the same time, he wasn’t sure he could bear the full truth. “Are they always like this?”

Damien shook his head, not looking at him. “Usually, I… I dream of my time in the— in Caldeia. In a way. It’s… It’s not what happened, not always. It’s what could have… or couldn’t, but it feels real. In that moment.” He had that panicked look on his face again. “I should know. Sometimes I do know, but—”

Riordan tapped Damien’s arm, signing “I understand” as soon as he looked at him. Dreams didn’t always make sense. That didn’t make them any easier to bear.

When Damien nodded, ceasing his attempt to explain, Riordan reached for his arm. He could feel him tremble under his touch. “But not this time?“ he asked with his free hand.

Damien shook his head. “I dreamed of my time in Raqhar. And of… of Ed.”

He had mentioned that name before. Riordan’s research had revealed that Ed had been the leader of a particularly notorious band of rebels, long before the first rumors of the Nightmare of Raqhar. Little was known about his whereabouts these last years, but it was probably futile to hope he had found his end out there.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“I don’t want you to hate me,” Damien mumbled, pulling the blanket tighter around himself.

“What you had to do doesn’t change who you are. I know your heart.” To emphasize, and in case Damien didn’t know all the words, Riordan placed his hand on his chest, above his heart. “I could never hate you.”

There it was again, the look that always broke Riordan’s heart. Absolute disbelief every time someone saw something good in him. Riordan shuffled closer, so he could wrap his arms around Damien. Damien leaned against him, like he had on the sofa. He watched the fire, or at least looked into the direction of the fireplace. Long minutes passed until he suddenly started to speak.

“I fell for their propaganda when I was at my lowest. After my father died, and my brother left, and the family business was gone. I wanted to belong somewhere. To… I don’t know.” Damien’s voice shook as he whispered, “I don’t even know.”

Holding him like this made it all but impossible for Riordan to sign. Instead, he found Damien’s hand under the blanket, interlacing his fingers with Damien’s, waiting for him to continue.

The words came slowly at first; telling of meetings in a tavern, of false promises, of leaving his home. Riordan listened quietly, his heart sinking with every detail, every casual act of cruelty, every glimpse of Damien’s despair. A pattern formed in his mind of how Ed had dug his claws into Damien, with no intention of ever letting him go. A pattern Damien obviously couldn’t see.

When Damien came to the point where he had been punished for trying to use his magic against Ed, Riordan was so startled, he almost forgot he shouldn’t speak. He made a choked noise, pulling Damien out of his tale.

“You told me… back then, you told me you never tried to stop him,” he explained when Damien gave him a questioning look. “But you did. You tried.”

Damien laughed; quietly, desperately. “Didn’t do me much good, did it.” He freed his hand to grasp his right shoulder, his fingers trembling.

“What did he do to you?”

“Does it matter?”

“Yes.” Riordan’s reply had been too harsh, the motion too forceful, making Damien flinch. “Yes,” he repeated, taking care to keep his signs small, to not scare him again. “It matters. You matter.”

Damien’s expression told Riordan that he might disagree. He rubbed his shoulder.

“He returned after sunset. Made everyone watch as he punished me. Fifteen strokes standing, or thirty kneeling.”

Riordan pressed his lips together to not let a curse slip out. He felt sick. Fucking son of a mok. “Did you…?” he signed when the silence stretched on.

Damien was staring into the fire, his voice trembling. “I… I tried, but I couldn’t. I was… I had no strength left. I must have fainted, because when I came to, it was night. He had just left me hanging there, burnt from the sun and beaten half to death.”

A shiver ran through Damien. He pulled the blanket closer around his shoulders, burying his hand in it.

“One of the men… He was almost still a kid. Jesse. His name was Jesse.” Damien shook his head, tears glistening in his eyes. “He came and gave me some water, and stayed with me until sunrise. If not for him… I think I would have died that night. And then—” He swallowed. “Then I wished I had, because Ed knew. He always knew. Everything. And he started to use Jesse against me. The moment I stepped out of line, he would have punished him in my place.” His voice was barely a whisper at the end.

It wasn’t a surprise to Riordan. From the moment Damien had stepped in trying to save the man, Ed must have known his weakness. If only he could make Damien see it, too.

“Do you—“ Riordan let his hands sink. This was too important to risk Damien missing the point of what he was trying to say.

“May I speak?” he signed quickly, pointing at his mouth.

Seeing Damien think about it was good. It meant that when he finally nodded, it was more likely to actually be true.

“Do you think it was hard for Ed to…” Fuck. There really wasn’t a good way to phrase this, was there? “To do that to this woman?“

“No.” Damien didn’t hesitate with his reply. “He made no secret of how much he enjoyed it.”

Riordan took a deep breath. He had to be careful about this. “He enjoyed hurting people?“ he asked, as if that hadn’t been clear already from what Damien had told him.

Damien nodded.

“And yet, for years, he made you do it. What for? He didn’t care if he killed them. Cleaning up wasn’t his problem. His own reputation was bad enough, he didn’t need the Nightmare. What did he get out of it?”

It hurt to see the conflicting emotions on Damien’s face. Riordan wished he could help him forget his past, instead of poking around in it. Damien would never be able to move past it as long as he blamed himself for everything that had happened, though.

“I don’t know,” he eventually admitted.

“I do,” Riordan said. “He wanted to see you suffer. He lost his chance to lay his own hands onto his victims, but he got you. He enjoyed how much you hated yourself. He could see you despair, trying to make the best out of it, while he held all the strings to make it worse.”

Damien opened his mouth, then closed it again. Riordan continued, needing to get it all out before he lost his courage.

“He manipulated you, raised the stakes every time he pushed you too far.” His tone had been too harsh, and he took a deep breath, trying to calm down. “The first time, you didn’t want that man to die from his injuries, and he used it. When that wasn’t enough anymore, he straight out threatened to kill them. And when that wasn’t enough anymore, he threatened to kill those closest to you instead. He gave you enough freedom to make you think it was your decision, but every time you didn’t do exactly what he wanted, he found a way to punish you.”

Damien stared at him in stunned silence. Afraid he had spoken too harshly, Riordan reached for his hand through the blanket.

“You were also his victim. Not in the same way, but you were.”

“Can you…” Damien’s voice was strained, his gaze blank. “Can you give me a moment?”

“Of course.” Fuck, it hurt letting go of him. Riordan pulled his hand back, scrambling to his feet. “I’ll go check the fire in the hearth,” he mumbled, grabbing the tinderbox and fleeing the room.

In the kitchen, he found still enough embers to rekindle the fire. Riordan filled the kettle, pushing it over the flames and watching it until it boiled, and then a bit longer. He hoped he hadn’t messed everything up now. It was killing him to see Damien hate himself so much. If only he could see half of what his friends saw in him. If only Riordan could make him see.

With worry twisting his stomach, Riordan grabbed a teapot and scouted the shelf that held the containers of tea. He decided on a herbal mix; calming, at least supposedly so. A few minutes later, he climbed up the stairs, the freshly brewed tea in one hand, two empty cups in the other.

When he entered the living room, Damien sat almost as he had left him. He must have moved, though, because the flames in the fireplace burned brighter, a few new logs thrown in. Damien’s eyes were red as he looked up.

Riordan returned to his spot next to him, putting teapot and cups down in front of them. He poured some tea, picking up his own cup and watching Damien reach for his. His fingers tried to close around the handle, but slid off. Damien paused for a moment, taking an audible, deep breath, before closing his hand around the whole cup. When he raised it, his gaze met Riordan’s.

“At first I thought I was just bad at it,” he said, taking a sip before putting down his cup. “At using my left hand, I mean. But sometimes it still gives me trouble, even after all this time.” He raised his hand, and his sleeve slid back, revealing the scars around his wrist. “Perhaps I never noticed before, because the other hand was worse.” Damien turned his hand, looking at it, and suddenly, his right arm was back. He bent his fingers, the illusionary hand mirroring the movement of the real one. “Something never quite healed right. The shoulder, or the wrist, or… I don’t know. Guess it doesn’t matter anymore.” He laughed dryly. “At least I blew up the right one.”

“Damien…”

Ignoring him, Damien let the illusion vanish. He didn’t look at Riordan as he said, “In a way it saved me. I would never have gotten out. I knew that, but still…” He raised his head, his eyes dark and so full of pain. “I couldn’t give up. I was close, sometimes, but…“ A tear ran down his cheek, quickly followed by another as he whispered, “I didn’t want this to be all there was.”

He closed his fingers around his shoulder, taking a shaky breath. “Some days it hurts. The spot where my hand should be, and the scars, and the memories, and it’s all too much, but as long as this…” His voice broke and he wiped at his eyes. “As long as I have Merry and Valadan and you, and this life, it’s all… It’s all been worth it. To hold on. To survive.”

Riordan’s cup was empty. He set it down with trembling hands. Tears welled up in his eyes at the thought of how close Damien had been to losing his life without ever getting a chance to live. How easy it would have been for them to never meet. He found the lump in his throat didn’t allow him to speak, so he raised his hands.

“I’m glad you did,” he signed, his fingers trembling. “I’m glad you’re here.”

Damien looked at him as if he wanted to ask him why, but he didn’t. He didn’t do anything, so it was Riordan who reached out for him, carefully wrapping his arms around him. So close, he could feel just how much Damien was shaking. In his attempt to comfort him, Riordan rubbed his back in circling motions. It didn’t seem to help.

“I’m scared,” Damien said, his voice shaking just as much. “You found me. What if someone else does? I try not to think about it, but then I dream of being back, and I can’t help it. I am afraid, because all they’ll see is the Nightmare. I can’t be him anymore, I can’t take what they’ll to do him, to me, I can’t—”

“Hey. Breathe.” Riordan grabbed his arm, snapping him out of his panicked ramblings. “No one’s going to take you.”

Damien laughed, the sound breathless and almost a sob. “You can’t know that.”

“Listen to me. Listen to me.” Riordan could barely stop himself from shaking Damien, merely twisting the blanket in his fist. “I mean it. We won’t let them. We would fight for you. We would get you back.”

Riordan had no doubt about that. Valadan had almost killed him after merely assuming he was here to hurt his brother, and Merridy would rather have stabbed him than allow him to take Damien. As for him…

“I’d burn the damn palace into the ground if I had to. I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

Damien froze for a moment, his heavy breaths the only sound besides the crackling of the fire. Then he fell apart. He sank against Riordan, his shoulders heaving as he started to sob. Riordan held him, losing the fight against his own tears.

All the pain, all the fear. He had the suspicion Damien would never have talked about any of it, if not for the lack of several nights’ worth of sleep. Time would tell if his words had helped. As for tonight, it would be a victory already if Damien found a bit more rest.

When after a while Damien started to calm down, Riordan straightened up. He made sure Damien was sitting safely on his own before he leaned to the side, to grab the half-full cup Damien had put down.

“Here. You need to drink something.”

Riordan handed Damien the cup, his hand hovering nearby to make sure he wouldn’t drop it. When it was empty, he refilled it, waiting patiently until Damien had finished it as well. Then he got up, not missing the way Damien’s hand grasped at the air where his leg had been a moment ago, before being hurriedly pulled under the blanket.

“I’m not leaving. Give me a second.”

He took the teapot and put it on the coffee table, placing the cups next to it. When he returned, he brought two of the cushions with him. After handing one of them to Damien, he walked to the door, to dim the glowing crystal. The light of the fireplace was enough for him to find his way back and settle down on the rug.

“You don’t have to—” Damien started, only to break off when Riordan put his hand on his arm.

“But I want to.”

Damien obviously wanted to avoid every place where he had had a nightmare those last days. To evade any further discussion, Riordan flopped down, only to almost miss the cushion. He lifted his head as he pulled it closer, then dropped down on it with a sigh. Not that the rug was a worse place than a shitty tent at a research site. At least it was warm in the living room.

After a moment’s hesitation, Damien followed his example. He lay down as well, facing the fire, his back towards Riordan. They were as close as they could be without touching.

Slowly, Damien seemed to calm down. His breaths became more even, but he was still crying. Riordan listened to it for a while, staring at the flickering shadows in the room, until he couldn’t take it anymore. He reached for him, carefully draping his arm over Damien’s side, trying to offer him a bit of comfort. When Damien’s hand found his, he released the breath he had been holding. He didn’t want to make this weird, and he was glad Damien didn’t seem to see it as such.

Encouraged, Riordan shuffled closer until Damien’s back was against him. Feeling the rise and fall of his friend’s chest, he found himself relaxing as well. He was tired. He didn’t know how late it was, but the journey back had taken all day, and now they had spent a considerable amount of the night talking. He might as well try to get some sleep.

When Damien winced, startling awake at the edge of falling asleep, Riordan pulled him closer, pressing his hand.

“You can sleep,” he whispered. “I’m here. I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

[ID: The banner shows the feet of two people wearing boots, sitting next to each other in the grass. The title fancy boots is written next to them in a fancy looking, curly font in a bright green to yellow gradient. All other images are purely ornamental lines. End ID.]

Tagging: @teamwhump @dont-touch-my-soup @whump-in-the-moonlight @kixngiggles @badthingshappenbingo

#Fancy Boots #Glass Shards #whump #fantasy whump #badthingshappenbingo #prompt: nightmares #fandom: original work #my writing

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lethalchiralium · 2 months ago

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hii your bio says that requests are open, so, if you don't mind, can i request a simon x reader where reader is also part of the 141 and got severely hurt, and turns out she's pregnant with simon's baby (they are together) but because of her injuries she lost the child? maybe they didn't know that she's pregnant. thank you love💞

hi!! i LOVE this prompt, so sorry it took so long lol

bring heaven down just for you | simon riley x wife!reader

cw: mentions of injury, blood, miscarriages

The car accident was extreme, even for the 141. They weren’t expecting to get T-boned in a city street, trying to make their escape, but it was short lived. You didn’t remember much, being in the backseat with your seatbelt off, on “follower” duty - pistol in hand, watching if anyone was tailing the escape. Price in the driver’s seat, Gaz in passenger, and Soap and Ghost were already at the safe house.

You remembered the car rolling, throwing you around like a ragdoll. Your head slammed against the roof of the car and then darkness took over, at least until you remembered hearing Price’s yelling. The way the straps on your vest were tugged and the blood curdling scream that left you, the explosion of pain in your leg, your shoulder, your abdomen - it woke you up instantly, and adrenaline seemed to kick in ten fold. Barely a glance down and you could see why pulling you wouldn’t be a good idea - so many glass shards in your body, deep red blood bubbled up and trickled out, you felt your body internally gag. You looked to the sound of gunshots, seeing Gaz firing off round after round, and soon silence followed. A slow blink, you found yourself crying out in pain in the street, Price knelt beside you, administering aid as you heard faint sirens. Soon, your eyes closed then opened again, finding yourself being loaded into an ambulance - Gaz and Price covered in blood. Panic surged through you, but so did the pain. A low rumble of pain escaped your chest, Gaz reached forwards and took your right hand - where did you gun go? - and held it gently, saying something you couldn’t quite hear.

A hand settled on your good shoulder, the one opposite to Gaz, you looked to your captain, now able to hear the siren wailing as he spoke, “Who do we need to call for you?”

A breath filled your lungs, only for you to cough and squeal out in pain. A moment more and you were able to grit out, “My husband.”

“What’s his name-“

The ambulance screeched to a halt, the back doors flung open, and your gurney was taken out. The IV in your elbow that was placed while you had passed out now seemed to prickle with pain, one nurse who walked beside your moving gurney drew a vile of blood before taking off, the rest of the medical crew pushed you into what you assumed was a trauma bay. You wouldn’t know, you’re not a medic. You’re just a sergeant, an infiltration specialist.

A doctor came in, placing a plastic bracelet on your wrist as you looked around with a heavy head. Price was with you, Gaz wasn’t… Where’s Soap and Ghost? Will they be here soon?

It felt like only two second passed when the nurse came back to your gurney, she was the one who took your blood. The other nurses still fluttered about, getting you ready for surgery as your captain stayed by your side. She had a somber look in her eye. There was a gentle hand on your shoulder, the good one, you paid no mind to Price - moving it to get his touch off of you. You didn’t want him there, you wanted-

“I have your test results, Miss.” You heard Price take a step back, the pain in your body began to feel fuzzy as the sedatives kicked in from your IV. The nurse stood beside you, holding onto the bed rail and you felt unease bubble into your lungs. In your adrenaline delirious state, you could still make out the look of the nurse’s face - the bearer of bad news. “Are you aware that you are pregnant?”

“I’m not pregnant.” It escaped like a whine, grabbing the nurse’s wrist with what little strength you had, your stomach twitched. “My husband and I have been- been trying for years. I- I can’t be.”

“You are, test confirms it. But we have to take you into surgery now, and I’m unsure if it will be viable after this.”

A growl emitted from your throat, “Save it. Save it. Save my baby. Please.”

There was a grim look on her face, and the doctor beside her. She stepped in, a calm look in her own eye as she spoke, “We’ll do the best we can, but I can’t guarantee anything.”

A hiccup escaped you, pain leaving you and your consciousness slipping away too, “Please. Save my baby.”

The doctor only nodded before she left, and the nurse gave you a somber look before leaving too. You couldn’t even look at your captain, the man you would have always looked to your guidance. But this… This was something you had to navigate alone and with your husband.

You were only awake for a few more moments, the anesthesiologist saying something about needing Price to leave, that you would be out soon. Your eyes grew heavy, you refused to fight it. Giving in meant not having to worry about losing the chance you’ve wanted.

When you woke up, pain encompassed you. A groan escaped you, your eyes opened and scanned the left side of the room, the light above your bed not being able to flood your room with light. It was dark outside, the stars still perched in the sky, your eyes moved right and you could see the dark mass of someone just entering through the door.

“Simon,” You whined his name, tears escaping your eyes in fat globs, your one good hand reaching for him. He was instantly by your side, hand gently moving from strands from your face. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“Whatever for?” He murmured as he pressed his lips to your temple. “You survived. Why would you be-“

Your jaw set, the words spoken like kerosene, meant to burn yourself alive. “I was pregnant.” The raw sob that escaped you made you push your head back, looking your husband in the eye as you sobbed from your injuries and the loss of what could’ve been. “I didn’t- I didn’t know and- and it’s gone.”

Your husband froze, you watched every muscle inside of him contract as he gazed at you. You watched, in such agony, as you husband’s forehead fell to your bandaged one, his warm hands holding your face and his own tears sprung from his face to mix with yours. And all you could hear was what sounded like howling - loud and heavy sobs, ones that would make your body tremble. It was just hard to realize that they were coming from you, you only realized it when Simon’s hand went around to your lower back, trying to move you towards him, trying to hold you in a way that could truly comfort you. It was useless. Useless.

“It’s gonna be okay.” A meaningless saying now. It hasn’t meant a fucking thing since your third miscarriage in your second year of marriage. It hasn’t meant anything since you had to stop counting your losses and began to pretend that your husband wasn’t fucking destroyed that you couldn’t give him the one thing you want to. A family.

How could it be okay when you couldn’t do this one fucking thing that your body was made to do?

“We’ll be okay.” He murmured against your skin, your good hand holding onto his jacket sleeve, your head pounded as the sobs grew louder, turning into wails. As much as it hurt your throat, it hurt more now that after three years since your last one, you had a chance. And it was ripped from you, ripped from your hands before you even had a chance to understand why it had been given to you. A chance to show your husband that you could be good too, that you weren’t like your past either.

“It- It hurt- hurts-“ Was all you could manage, and you felt Simon’s sob shake you, burn you, crucify you. God, this must be Hell for him, because it’s more than Hell for you to think about the pain he’s in.

“I know, my girl, I know it must hurt.”

A zap of pain in your belly and you were crying more, the wails quieting to you begging him for medicine. Tears watered your vision of your Simon as he pressed the call button, brushing your hair back before looking you in the eye again. Even if you couldn’t see too well from the tears and the pain, you could imagine his velvet brown eyes - you could feel his tears as he brushed your hair back over and over, his words rumbled through you like a prayer.

“Our time’ll come soon, baby. And I’m so sorry that it wasn’t now, n’I know that’s gotta hurt so bad.” A kiss and then his cheek was pressed to your hair, you could hear the nurse come in, and more voices enter your room. There was no reason to fight your urge to close your eyes, let the tears fall, and listen to him. “But I’ll be here. I’ll always be here, jus’ like every time before, and any time after. I’ll be here, even if I have to kill a thousand men to get here. I will be here.”

#lethalchiralium #lethal chiralium #simon ghost riley #simon riley #call of duty #might make more of this idk #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley x female reader #simon riley x f!reader #simon riley x wife!reader #simon ghost riley x f!reader #simon ghost riley x female reader #simon ghost riley x wife!reader

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namjooningera · 5 months ago

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Hi, first timer here. May I humbly request for a drabble with Yandere Nanami wherein his darling gets sick and tries to avoid Nanami, but fails and gets coddled in return

You absolutely may!

Yandere JJK react to you being sick

Characters: Nanami, gojo, geto, Toji

Tw: sickness, forced physical touch, poisoning (?) 👀

AN: I decided to go with all the characters cuz I actually like this prompt! However nanamis will be longer since you asked for him specifically :D btw y’all I’m thinking of adding Choso! Tell me what y’all think ;)

Nanami:

You cough and shake, body trembling. Nanami’s at work, you know that because he isn’t on his side of bed. His watch and phone have been picked off the nightstand, the windows were sealed shut again, and the clock on the night stand buzzed with the numbers

11:23 am.

It’s late. Well, sort of. It’s the late where you don’t usually wake up. Sure you don’t wake up as early as Nanami does, but you at least wake up before the afternoon.

Before, you’d wake up as early as possible, well, when you had a life, that is.

But your sniffling, your nose is clogged and your body aches. Your throat, restricted. You can barely swallow down that dry saliva because dammit your throat aches. You need some water to smooth your sore throat, but you find the glass at the night stand completely empty.

You slowly crawl out of bed, on all fours, body weak and mind empty. You’re tired, you feel dirty, and you feel like you could pass out.

You basically limp to the kitchen with your glass in your hand, at any point knowing you could drop it. It’s just so heavy in your weak hand, and it fucking slips.

It slips onto the floor and shatters. You sigh, staring at the broken glass on the floor. No worries! Right? You’ll pick up a broom and clean it up later.

That’s a future you problem

Amongst all the other problems you have. You get another glass from the cabinet, filling up your cup and downing the water. It hurts so bad, like a shards going down your throat but the slight relief it gives, helps.

But you can’t stand for long, your bottom hitting the kitchen counter, hands grabbing the edges for support. You stumble into it, trying to move, but your eyes get blurry.

Your body is weaker, your vision is weak, eyes droopy and legs starting to give out.

It’s fine- you’re fine. Is what you tell yourself. You can’t let Nanami know about this. He’ll take care of you- then his ego will boost ten fold. He’ll probably get more clingy and desperate, protective. He won’t let you go for a second then after your no longer sick, he’ll think he has some control over you know. That you owe him. That’s what you think anyway. Not that he actually cares about you (oh he certainly does), but you’d like to keep it in your head that he’s being fake, that he’s a bad man. Because you know as soon as you realize his actions are purely out of love, that he loves you, perhaps you’ll actually start to gain empathy for him. Feel emotions.. you shouldn’t.

He was your favorite coworker, best friend. You grew up with him, or at least from high school. He’s taken care of you before, but now you just don’t trust it.

Your back, starts to slide down the kitchen counter, and you hazily sit against the kitchen cabinet. You look at the time.

“11:46 am”

Ok great, he won’t be back until 7 right? That’s how it normally is if he has some out of city mission.

But your eyes get droopy, your dizzy, your vision is blurred, mouth dry and oh-

Your head is heavy and falls over onto the floor. You’re on your side, shivering. It’s hot but your also shivering, you can’t tell if your freezing or if your heating up. Your mind starts to shut down and so does your body- the sweat that drools down your forhead, the body heat that illuminates your skin.

You lay unconscious on the kitchen floor.

Nanami’s excited.

He’s able to come home early today. Around 3pm? He was so glad. It turns out this out of city mission was actually a lot simpler then told- or maybe it was gojo beating them before he could even arrive. Turns out gojo finished them off quick so he could have a chance to eat out in another city with Nanami. Nanami rolls his eyes at the thought. Luckily he was able to escape after a while of entertaining Gojo Satoru for that long. He could come home early to his darling and he was excited.

Excited to spend the mid-day with you too. He opened the door excitedly, a sliver of a smile adoring his face as he opened the door, bakery sweets in hand (he had to buy some to cope with Satorus constant crude comments).

“Sweetheart! I’m home!”

He says cheerfully, but his smile drops just a tad when you don’t come to the door to greet him. He just shrugs anyway, going off to the room to find you and tell you about his insufferable day, but feed you sweets and tell you, you make it all better.

But as he passes the kitchen, he immediately stops, his head is thrown in your direction and he sees you. On the floor.

You’re on the floor. Why are you on the floor? Why’s there broken glass? Did you hurt yourself? Purposely? On accident? He runs over, his feet sliding over the glass, he winces but ignored it, dropping on his knees, looking at your sweaty cold body. He was confused at the glass, his aching feet, your cold but heated body passed out on the floor.

“D-dear? My love?” He whispered. His voice lingered with panic, major panic actually, he was terrified.

“Dear please!” He raised his voice for the first time ever, breaking one of his own rules he had for himself.

Your ears are ringing, but your eyes finally start top open and you look up at him.

“N-Nanami..” even though your angry at him, furious, you look up at him, and you know the fear in his eyes are genuine.

And you see your best friend.

Your high school best friend. The sweet man from high school. Patient, kind, caring, quiet, your lovely best friend. The one that you.. had more then just friendly feelings for. I mean how could you not? He was so sweet and perfect. Always spoiling you, taking care of you, making sure you ate and we’re always well kept. He made you laugh too, unintentionally most of the time but still hilariously. And oh was he handsome. He’s always been, and it always made you wonder why he never dated. Never say anyone or had something as simple as a crush. You always thought it was probably because he was too busy, the jujutsu sorcerer life isn’t easy, it’s time consuming and utterly dangerous, no fit for a relationship.

You look up at Nanami. He’s your best friend. A year rolls down your eye, dropping to the floor.

“Sweetheart? Don’t cry? My love, what happened?” His voice was shaking, he was scared.

You haven’t seen him like this before.

Hah, no that’s a lie. You have. And it was.. quite.. violent.

And right before you got kidnapped.

You get it now.

He did do this, kidnapped you and all, for your own safety. To make sure he’d always have you his palms, his hands, so that you’d never break.

But look at you. Even now. Even though your in the safety of his home, his surveillance, your still ill and wounded.

Your shaky breaths leave your mouth and your lidded eyes look up at him. He swallows hard. He considers taking you to the hospital- but no. They’d take you away from him. But he’d also rather have you completely safe and hurt free. If letting you’d go meant you’d be better, then so be it.

But his hands shook as he went to touch you. He didn’t want you to leave. Once he lets you go you’ll be gone forever.

His hand caressed your cheek, a tear bubbling in his eyes, and that’s when you know. When you know what’s in his mind, what he’s thinking.

“I-I’m fine..” Your voice incredibly shaky and desperate.

Just get away. You think. Leave me alone. Fuck. You want him gone, you want this asshole- the idiot who betrayed you- who kidnapped you who hurt you- you want him gone and off your back.

“You’re not fine. Your not! Sweetheart I- what happened?”

“C-could be uh-“ you cough, “food poisoning?” Perhaps, but you’re unsure. You’re both unsure.

He picks you up. His arms shaking and feet stinging from the small shards of glass that stick up his heels. He carries you to your room, placing you softly on the bed with a shaky exhale leaving his lips.

His face is pale and sweaty, he looks more sick then you.

“I’ll call you an ambulance okay?” Shaky tears leave his eyes. He holds your hand tightly, towering over your spread body.

“W-wha?”

He sighs, a sad smile on his lips.

“I-if that’s what I have to do.. to.. stop this.”

You think. You could get away, have that chance. But you also think it isn’t worth it.

Looking up at your best friend, the tears leaving his eyes, that soft smile he’s looked at you with before. Fuck. You know there’s something deeper to this, he didn’t do all of this on purpose. His obsession, obsession with protecting you and shadowing you and god just his constant paranoia and possessiveness until he kidnapped you- it had to be at a fault not from him right?

And looking up at the man you called your alley, your best friend, your crush. You had to save him. Maybe then, once you do, you two could be normal again? You could learn to forgive him, he’d let you go, and heal. And once he healed.. perhaps you two could be something more? More than a forced relationship.

Your hand tightens over his. Barely, but he feels it.

“S-stay.”

His eyes widened and he looks down at you. “Honey? What?”

“D-don’t wanna go Kay? Can take care of m’self.”

He grumbled at that. “Absolutely not. Your body is heated to hell and your shivering. You look terrible.”

You huff. “Rude.”

“Dear please let me take you to a hospital? Or to get checked out at least, please?” He’s so desperate, it’d be sweet if it wasn’t for the situation you were in, with a lovesick yandere. But you knew he wouldn’t let you go until someone could heal and take care of you. You sighed to yourself.

“Just go buy some medicine? Will be fine…” you mumbled.

“Do you have to be so thick headed? I know you’re in pain. At least let me take care of you.”

“Just leave me alone!”

Your scream threw him back, stepping back from you. “I…I understand.”

He left the room, his eyebrows bunched up and his mouth in a scowl. You felt disgusting, but hoped some nap could help. A nap that would wake you up from this horrid shit, perhaps this was all a dream.

Alas, you wake up. And it’s not a dream. And you feel even worse, actually. Your throat is completely closed, you can’t speak for fucks sake, your entire body is covered in a thick inch of sweat and you feel sticky. Your clothes are too tight and your hair feels wet, sticking onto your forehead. Your stomach is empty but still feels twisted, and god your body is so weak. So weak you can’t get up, so weak you don’t think you can even move your hand to grab the glass of water on your nightstand.

Everything hurts. You can’t avoid Nanami now, you need him.

“N-Nanam…” your realize your voice is basically gone to dust, you can’t speak and you can’t call out for him, and that’s when the panic starts to set in.

What if he left the house and won’t be back until late night? What if he doesn’t come check on you? What if he’s so upset for you avoiding him and pushing him away so he doesn’t help you?

But as your thinking all these thoughts, the door slowly starts to crack open, you see some blonde hair peeking out and an eye.

“Nan…nana..mi..” his eyes widens and he ran over to you.

“You need me?”

It’s like he was waiting out there for you to call him, right outside the door until you wake up and asked for him. You push that thought to the back of your head.

“Sweetheart- your burning up even worse then before. Please, please let me take care of you at least. I’m begging you, my love.”

You grumbled, looking up at him from your pillow. The soft expensive fucking sheets that nobody should be allowed to buy, clutched and balled up in your sweaty hands.

“F-fine.” You mumbled.

He smiled, but not one out of happiness but out of relief. “I’ll be the best care taker you’ve ever seen, my love. You’ll be better in no time.”

Gojo-

Satoru is possible the worst man you could be sick around. He gets fucking clingy and won’t leave you alone for a second. Treating you like some newborn baby who needs the utmost care at every waking moment.

That’s why, when you feel a oh so familiar cough rise in your throat, a chill in your spine and a just lovely heat illuminating from your forehead, you don’t tell him.

You pretend like it’s not even there. You think it’ll pass anyway. It’s probably some cold, some small bug that you’ll get over in a few days.

But it’s not that easy, especially when the medicine cabinet is locked and Satoru barely leaves you alone.

“What was that?”

“What was what?” Your try to play off the fast you just chocked on your own disgusting heavy cough, as if you weren’t just about to puke from how gross and vile that cough felt.

You cleared your throat and continued to watch the TV. Satoru put on some lame show and you decided you had nothing better to do, so you plopped down on the sofa to watch, too. Well, plopped down on the entire other side of the sofa.

It’s funny though, he thinks you don’t see the way he slowly scoots over closer to you every second. It’s pathetic, really. But if you didn’t hate him so much you’d actually find it kind of endearing.

“Hey, uhh. You have any pain killers? Or just.. medicine.”

He looks at you suspiciously. “Why?”

“Just.. have a headache. You know..”

He raises his eyebrow at you but nods. “Follow me..”

He leads you out of the living and to the kitchen. Where he unlocks a cabinet with a key that he pulled out of who knows where.

He grabs some pain killers for your so called “headache” and while he’s taking a pill out, you sneak behind him and try to grab some cold cough medicine.

And obviously, you get caught immediately because who wouldn’t.

“I knew it! You are sick!”

“No! I just uhh..”

“You just uhh.” he mocks you. “You’re sick- I can see it all over your face. Can’t fool me.” He snickers, grabbing the cold couch medicine, and you, by the arm, and drags you to the living room where he forces you to situate yourself on the sofa while he stands.

“How long have you been sick?”

You shrug.

He scoffs. “Fine. You know what? Your not getting these,” he waves around the cough medicine, “until I get a hug. A hug for every pill you want.” He huffs and strikes his chin upwards, acting all mad and pouty.

“What? Your kidding. Satoru this isn’t funny.”

“It’s really not.” He answers.

“Fine. I’ll cough all over you and get you sick too.”

He huffed and bonked your head a few times. “Hey! You want the cough medicine or not? Don’t you wanna get better?” He teased with a very annoying smile on his face.

But your desperate, and you can feel your throat start to clog and a cough starting to gear up, you know what you have to.

“-ugh fine!”

….

It’s a few hours later.

Satoru was fucking elated. Floating on cloud nine, while you, were stuck in his arms. He had been clinging onto for who knows how long. As soon as you gave in and gave him those hugs, he wouldn’t let go.

Yes, he gave you those pills, yes you feel relieved and less sick, but god was it really worth it? Worth your dignity and sanity?

“One more episode pleaseeeee.” He whined, knowing damn well that he could just force you to watch with him anyway, but it was as if he wanted that reassurance that you wanted to watch with him too.

Which you didn’t.

“No satoru. I’m sleepy, okay? I’m tired.”

He mumbled something incoherent and grumbled, but then a smile appeared on his face.

“Oh no problem! Let’s just go to bed then!”

You didn’t realize what he meant until he grabbed you off the couch, carrying you off into your room giddily and jumped into bed with you.

He cuddled up to your side and sniffed into your neck, inhaling your scent and almost rubbing himself into your nape.

“S-satoru move..”

He chuckled and just squeezed closer to you. “But you’re sick sweetie.” He said with a faux pout, the kind where you know he was taunting you. “I need to be with you at all times to check your temperature and make sure my girl doesn’t get worse~”

Geto-

Suguru geto is a weird man.

He goes off everyday to his cult, his huge estate that wraps around his cult.

You don’t know it all started, what lead him to kill the leader and take over. No, you do know. You just wish you knew why. You wish you could’ve stopped him before his corruption. But alas, here you are.

But this time, Suguru is upset with you. Before he left to “work”, you had called him names and yelled at him. Told him to get away from you and that you hate him. You don’t know why you suddenly blew up, you’ve been eerily calm these past few days, but your upset. He’s been forcing himself on you, not sexually, but he’s been trapping you two together.

Following you everywhere you went, acting all calm when you got upset as if he wasn’t the problem. At one point he tried to get into the bathroom while you were showering, yes that was the last straw.

In your robe you yelled at him and called him out, and at one point it got out of hand, you started saying things that didn’t even have to do with why you were mad.

He left upset, he didn’t say anything. Just silent as he listened to your screams then left silent, too. And that was the scariest of them all.

But the truth is, you weren’t really upset about the fact he was trying to barge in when you were showering. Sure that would’ve been annoying and outright perverted, but you were mad for a different reason.

The way he almost found out that you were in fact, not showering.

But instead, using the showers loud water noise to cover up the fact that we’re puking.

When you saw the door handle start to turn as you coughed into the toilet, you quickly threw on a robe over your pajamas and wiped your mouth with the back of your hand.

You were angry because he almost caught you. The truth is, you’ve been sick for a while now. You know it’s some stomach bug, you get every now and then but you don’t want Suguru to know.

Because once he knows, it’ll just be another reason to control you. To coddle you and guilt you into staying with him.

But honestly the look on his face before he left- god did it make you feel guilty. You almost bit your inner cheek off seeing that. After all you still had.. unsolved feelings. He’s your best friend for fucks sake- no. He used to be your best friend. Before his corruption.

But you can’t help to think that perhaps- the Suguru you know is still there somewhere. He had to be right? That’s why he still loves and cares for you like he used to. Just now, it’s unwanted and forceful.

He comes home late tonight. You know why but you don’t say anything, you don’t comment on it. You’ve been reading, laying on your bed. Normally suguru comes in, lays on the bed and acts like he’s your husband who came home. Telling to you about his day, and asking about yours, as if he didn’t know.

But today, he doesn’t.

And you’re confused, but you don’t comment on it. And you don’t go to find him either because honestly you could care less.

But the thought lingers in the back of your mind, that uneasy feeling in your chest, heavy. You try to ignore it and read your book. But you can’t, your distracted and you can’t focus .

You decide you need some water, you get up and put your book on your nightstand. But as you walk to the door, about to pull the handle, Suguru comes storming in.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were sick?” He said angrily, basically threw the door open almost hitting you on the way, grabbing you by your mid arms.

Your confused. He doesn’t have cameras in the bathroom how could he know- oh.

You remember your slip up. The slip up you forgot.

When going to the kitchen to grab a glass of water after puking your guts out in the bathroom, desperately wanting to get that disgusting taste out your mouth and throat.

But then as you made your way to the kitchen for some water, you choke and feel yourself gagging. You throw up into the kitchen sink, coughing your guts out.

You thought that the cameras weren’t in the kitchen- and if so you forgot anyway. To focused on trying not to sob as that disgusting mass left your throat and emptied out your stomach.

“I don’t know what your talking bout Suguru..” you mumbled, trying to act stupid.

Obviously that doesn’t fly with Suguru and he just holds your arms tighter. “I saw you, don’t lie to me. Why didn’t you just tell me?” His voice was angry until it broke at his last words.

“Do you just not trust me anymore?” And god the desperation and sadness in his eyes actually hurt you for a second, the guilt in you starting to bubble up. But you push that aside and shrug your shoulders at him.

He grinds his teeth and pulls you into him. “I’ll earn back your trust, my dear. Or I’ll force it into you.”

Your eyes widen at the last part and you look up at him. He has to be joking, right?

“Excuse me?”

“Your going to bed rest for the rest of the week. I’ll be home the entire time.”

And you realize all your private time away from him has been taken away for the entire damn week, locked in a room, a bedroom, in bed, with Suguru. Fuck. But still, you did feel a twinge of guilt, so even though you heavily didn’t want to stay locked in a room with him, you unhappily agreed, but agreed either way.

Suguru just smiles at you. He doesn’t mean to be harsh, he cares. And he’s smart enough to know what your allergic to and what gets your stomach upset.

It’s just so weird how a curse managed to make it into y’all’s home, undetected by the both of you, and somehow infected you unknowingly.

Oh well.

What you don’t know can’t hurt you right?

Toji-

He’s overprotective and you know that.

That’s why, before you even know your sick, he’s all over you and checking you. He things it’s subtle (spoiler; it’s not) and he coddles you to death.

“I’m gonna take a day off today.” He’s doing it because of you and not one of his stupid excuses. And he says it, while his one arm is around your neck, the other around your belly, trapping to against his chest, your back to him, in bed.

“C-could you let go? I’m over heating..”

He groans and cuddles into you closer. “Few mo’ minutes, doll.” He mumbled into the back of your neck.

“I’m not sick I told you! Get off!”

Except it’s like your extreme refusal that your sick, the refusing his help and refusing him, just ends up in you sick.

You lay on the bed in front of him, while he pulled a chair up to you and spoon fed you soup. You can tell he enjoys it, a sly tug at his lips saying ‘I told you so’, he doesn’t have to say it out loud you just know.

You whine and tell him to go away, you don’t need him to baby you or stay home from work. That you’re perfectly fine taking care of yourself.

“Yeah? You refused me tryna’ help you and ya think you can take care of yourself fine?” He says, basically angry.

You huff and let him push a spoonful of hot soup into your mouth. “

“Why don’t ya just shut your mouth and let me take care of you. So damn bratty.”

You sigh and clutch at your blanket. You have nothing better to do then surrender to his touch because you feel so damn weak.

He slightly smiled at you, seeing you finally quiet down and let him feed you without a fight.

What a smart girl. He thinks.

It’s like you know the antidote is in the soup.

….

So that was crazy guys. Anyways! Should I add choso and Sukuna? I love them sm 😋 (tbh kinda scared to write Sukuna cuz he’s insane)

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steddieas-shegoes · 11 months ago

Text

wayne's got him

for @steddieholidaydrabbles prompt 'wayne adopts steve' rated g wc: 680 cw: migraines tags: hurt/comfort, established relationship, fluff

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

Steve's head was pulsing, a sharp pain shooting from his eyes to his neck, sitting at his jaw for minutes at a time.

He hadn't had a migraine this bad in a while, and definitely not since Eddie had started working. He didn't have anyone here to help, and Robin would be at work until the afternoon.

He slowly rolled over in bed, wincing as the pain got worse from the movement.

He couldn't contain the whimper he let out as he tried to settle again, his head hurting too much in every position to try to get comfortable.

"Steve? Y'alright?" Wayne's voice was probably a normal volume, but it felt like shards of glass in his ears, against his eyes.

Apparently, his responding whimper was enough to have Wayne opening the door and coming into the bedroom.

"You dyin'?" Wayne whispered, seemingly sensing that every noise was too much.

"No," Steve managed to say. "Migraine."

Wayne didn't respond at first and Steve couldn't keep his eyes open. What little light was coming through the window felt like the sun was shining two feet in front of him.

And then the light was gone, the room was nearly pitch black, and Wayne's footsteps were getting closer to the bed.

"Gonna get you some water and meds. Hungry?" He whispered.

Steve shook his head once, barely.

He may have passed out for a minute or two because the next thing he knows, he's being slowly lifted enough to take a sip from the glass that's being held against his lips.

"Just a few small sips, son. The meds are crushed up in it," Wayne whispered.

Steve did his best, dribbling some when he accidentally opened his mouth too far.

Wayne wiped his mouth and chin after with a towel hanging off the chair by the bed.

"Called Eddie to let him know, told him I got ya."

"'S okay."

"I got ya, I said. Lay back, I got the ice pack."

Steve did what he asked, sighing with relief when the ice pack was placed on his forehead.

"That better?" Wayne asked.

"Mhm."

"Leave it for ten minutes and then I'll switch it out with the hot water bottle."

Eddie must've told him that helps.

Their day wore on, Steve sleeping when he could find some relief, letting Wayne nurse him back to health when he couldn't.

By the time Eddie got home, Steve's head was in Wayne's lap while he slowly massaged his temple.

"Any better?" Eddie whispered.

"A bit," Steve replied softly. "He did the ice and heat."

"Of course he did. That's where I learned it from," Eddie smiled softly at him.

"You go get cleaned up and then take over," Wayne said to Eddie. "I got him."

Eddie kissed Steve's forehead before walking to the shower to wash off the day.

Steve closed his eyes again, trying to fend off the nausea of the smell of chemicals from the mechanic shop that always lingered on Eddie after a shift.

"Stinks, don't he?" Wayne asked quietly.

Steve smiled.

"A little. 'S okay."

"Smells hurt worse though, don't they?"

"Yeah."

"He's still got some learnin'. But I got ya both 'til he does."

Steve turned his head to look at Wayne.

"Why are you helping me? Weren't you tired after your shift?" Steve asked, realizing for the first time that Wayne had just gotten home from his night shift when he found Steve miserable that morning.

He'd been awake for more than 24 hours now, and didn't seem even remotely worried about himself.

"Cuz you're my boy. I love ya and if ya need me, I'm gonna be here."

Steve felt his eyes start to burn with incoming tears, his throat closing against a sob.

"But-"

"No buts. You got me same as Ed, and if I could, I'd adopt you too. Okay?"

"Okay."

By the time Eddie made it back into the bedroom, Steve was asleep, and Wayne's eyes were drooping closed.

Eddie didn't have the heart to make Wayne get up.

It'd be okay; He had Steve.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #steddieholidaydrabbles #wayne munson

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mins-fins · 6 months ago

Text

119

&&. unfortunately you aren't as slick as you thought you were.

pairing: lee jeno x gn!reader

genre: fluffity fluff fluff fluff

warnings: sexual jokes, thats it 😚

word count: 1.2k

notes: jj spread the jeno bias disease i literally cant believe this 😭😭 hes so……….im abt to draft another long jeno fic + an smau + another stupid drabble and all of that fun stuff!! dont get it twisted jisung is still my ult though 😒 no ones ever replacing him, anyway this came from a prompt someone sent me, smth about "kissing someone on a ferris wheel" which i just LOVEEEED hello??? okay ik none of you care abt my words, love jeno, love nct dream, pray i get park jisung pcs 😇 good night now <33

you are going to murder na jaemin.

the moment you get off this ferris wheel your throwing up your guts all over his shirt, or punching him in his face, or strangling him to death, whatever. the moment you step off this ride you're making sure he doesn't open his eyes to see the rest of his fellow human beings ever again.

maybe if you were less awkward you'd actually be thanking him, but you take one side glance at the boy beside you and want to smash your head against the glass.

jeno doesn't notice your side glance (and thank goodness he doesn't because you probably would've died if he took so much as a glance at you), he's much too busy glancing at the view from the height your at. you assume that jeno likes ferris wheels, he probably likes them more than you do.

"are you alright?"

you mentally prepare yourself for the voice crack you know might escape your lips. just talk to him like a normal human being, y/n, yeah you're into him and shit but that doesn't mean you can be a weirdo.

"yeah" you finally respond, thank goodness the voice cracks don't come out. "just feeling a little nauseous".

jeno raises an eyebrow. "scared of heights?"

you only manage a curt nod, a nod that makes jeno scoot closer to you, his lips stretching into a smile. "it's alright, i'll protect you".

fuck you lee jeno, fuck you, fuck you, fuck yo—

your somehow able to chuckle, amused by his words. "it's not like i'm dying or anything".

jeno frowns. "so you don't want my protection?"

you pretend to think about it, pressing your lips together as your eyebrows furrow, avoiding eye contact with jeno at all costs. if you look at him, your going to fall and never get up. "i wouldn't be entirely against it".

jeno's shoulder nudges yours, nothing but a small touch that drives you crazy. you wonder if the mini breakdown your having is noticeable, if maybe, he's doing it on purpose, making your heart race to get a kick out of it.

but when you think about it further, it makes you giggle, because this is lee jeno, you could get down on one knee and propose to him yet he'd still be confused by how you feel for him.

if lee jeno knew how you felt for him really, you probably wouldn't have resisted the urge to make out with him on this fucking ride or already.

that was a strange thought, a stupid one even, but it's one manifested from your deepest desires.

when you think about it, though, you wouldn't exactly mind it.

"that's good" jeno snickers at you, eyes examining your face as if it's an interesting exhibit at an art museum. "you need me".

you feign a sigh of irritation. "of course, what would i do without you?"

"you'd die, clearly" jeno replies, tilting his head and reaching over to lace your fingers with his. the cold rings on his fingers feel like glass shards against your fingers, but his soft hands contrast his stabbing rings. "isn't this sort of romantic?"

you choke on your spit.

"romantic? roma— hah! what are you talking about? what is romantic about this?"

soooo natural, y/n.

jeno simply shrugs, suddenly very interested in the view of the carnival from the ferris wheel. "were on a ferris wheel together, stars before us, just the two of us, this would be like.. the perfect date".

you blink, the words making you pause and your head spin. is he serious? is he really serious?

"is this your way of asking me out?"

you manage to ask that without sounding like a pathetic idiot who wanted to hear those exact words, and your response gets the same reaction out of jeno, flushed cheeks with an awkward chuckle accompanying the sight. you would've thought you were a genius if you weren't as flustered as he was.

jeno is speechless, and he fumbles through his speech like someone's holding him at gunpoint or something. "i— no! no! ..maybe? kinda?"

you pause, all your former confidence suddenly withering away, the blood rushing to your cheeks in full force. you laugh, taking his words as a joke, but jeno keeps silent, and so do you.

"are you serious?"

jeno can't speak, so he just nods wordlessly.

you blink, glancing from side to side, this ferris wheel won't be on the ground soon, but at least this makes it a little more bearable. "did you just confess your feelings for me like that?"

"well to be fair—"

"i was supposed to do it first!" you yell in another fit of feigned irritation, your cheeks a color reminiscent of jeno's cherry red shirt. "that's not fair! you beat me to it!"

"well how was i supposed to know you liked me back?"

you scoff, and jeno goes silent again, embarrassed by the question he just asked.

"you're such an idiot lee jeno.."

"can i kiss you?"

the question is a blurt of pure desperation, pure honesty from the deepest corners of jeno's mind, an inquiry he's been dying to ask you ever since he found himself interested in staring at your lips.

you hope you don't faint from the scorching heat radiating off your face.

"it's romantic" he laughs, his best excuse for that random inquiry. "i've always wanted to kiss someone in a ferris wheel, unless you don't want to then—"

you (in the most cliche turn of events) cut jeno off with a kiss. though you'd love to keep your fingers intertwined, you let go of his hand to find purchase on his shoulder, then tug him closer to you with a light jerk. a small squeak emits from him, but he quickly relaxes into the kiss, giggling at your enthusiasm.

though he giggles, he isn't much better off. it's nothing but a small press of the lips, it's not intense or anything, but jeno feels his heart soar. hie face heats to overwhelming heights, and he loops his arm around your waist, pressing you against him, as if the idea of not feeling every part of you would be maddening.

you both are just as desperate as each other, there's no push, just pull. it's a playful competition, your waiting for the other to pull away, stop the kiss because they need breath, it's stubborn in an idiotic way.

but jeno loses your little battle, because he pulls away for air, as red as the sunset in the early morning.

and though you laugh at the sight, you aren't much better off yourself (if the heat continuing to permeate from your face is enough).

"was that romantic enough for you?"

even with how breathless he is, jeno still manages a stupid question.

he squeals when you land a slap on his shoulder.

and while you thought you two were slick about it, considering you were like five feet in the air with nobody to see you, your equally red faces and intertwined hands were enough to get feigned vomits from your friends.

jaemin snickers as he looks between you two, and you glare as you see him open his mouth.

"so what happened up there?"

"clearly they got it on".

upon hearing the words, you let go of jeno's hand to yell and chase after lee donghyuck, who squeals and sprints away, shouting for renjun to help him.

jaemin just sends jeno a knowing look, a look that the older pretends he isn't bothered by.

for once, one of his ploys finally worked.

#lee jeno #jeno #nct #nct dream #nct imagines #nct drabbles #nct scenarios #nct dream imagines #nct dream drabbles #nct dream scenarios #jeno imagines #jeno drabbles #jeno scenarios #lee jeno x reader #𑁍 ࣪˖ 𓂃 isa's works!

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pin-k-ink · 6 months ago

Text

brand // nakahara chuuya

tw ⇢ chuuya is absolutely down bad, possessive!chuuya, body worship, obsession, cunnilingus, unprotected sex, praise kink, pet names, mild exhibitionism

wc ⇢ 7k

The scent of coffee and crisp paperwork hung heavy in the stillness of the office, broken only by the occasional shuffle of files or tapping of computer keys. To most, it was the mundane backdrop of another workday morning. But for Chuuya Nakahara, it provided the perfect vantage point to quietly observe his favorite distraction.

You sat across the room, seemingly oblivious to the weight of his stare as you chatted animatedly with a cluster of admiring interns. A husky peal of laughter spilled from your lips, prompting a familiar twisting in Chuuya's gut. Like depressing the soul from a silk bag, your natural charm effortlessly drew others into your radiant orbit.

Yet you remained utterly blind to your own allure.

With each dulcet giggle and casually artless brush of fingers over an arm, Chuuya's jaw clenched tighter. He watched, jaw muscle twitching, as one particularly bold intern leaned over your desk, lips tantalizingly close to the curved shell of your ear as he mock-whispered some no doubt asinine quip. The way your eyes crinkled at the corners when you laughed should have been illegal.

A low, guttural growl rumbled up from Chuuya's chest as your head fell back, exposed throat a brazen temptation. The urge to march over and yank you against him, to scrape blunt teeth over that creamy column and renew the bruises already mottling your skin, was overwhelming. To stake his claim in the most primal way possible.

But no, that wouldn't do. Not here, not with so many prying eyes to witness his loss of control. He was the master of his realm, alpha and omega. The idea of such a public display of weakness made his stomach churn.

No, when he finally made his move, it would be on his terms alone. An exquisitely calculated gambit to conquer you utterly.

The game was finally in play.

From that moment on, your every interaction was needling beneath Chuuya's skin like shards of glass. He watched, consumed by that same gnawing hunger, as you unwittingly flirted and teased your way through the ranks of the office. So effortlessly you captivated them, stringing them all along without a shred of awareness.

It was delicious torment for Chuuya, stoked higher with each innocent caress and artfully arched look from beneath a heavy fringe of lashes. By all rights, you should have been his from the very start. His to possess, his to shelter from wandering eyes, his to mark as utterly his own.

The breaking point came one hazy afternoon as he stood in the doorway to his office, covertly watching you chat with the new postal clerk. The young man's eyes raked over your form with undisguised appreciation, shamelessly drinking in the soft curves and inviting swell of cleavage peeking from your top.

As if in slow motion, you shifted position, back arching ever so slightly in a subconscious invitation. It was a subtle motion, one you likely didn't even register. But to the hungry eyes watching you, it was a revelation painted in neon lights.

That was the moment the maddeningly elaborate plan solidified in Chuuya's mind. He would put on a masterful spectacle, one designed to snare you so completely that you had no choice but to finally see him as he truly was.

The following days were an exercise in brutally focused restraint for Chuuya. Each lingering glance, every casual brush of fingertips over your arm as you laughed at some inane joke, chipped away at his resolve. The urge to abandon all pretenses and simply take what he desired clawed at his sanity like the relentless ticking of a doomsday clock.

But he couldn't, wouldn't risk ruining everything now. Not when the final act was so close at hand.

So he maintained his carefully cultivated facade of disinterested composure, all while plotting out the finer details. Acquiring the dress was the first priority - a sinful creation of ruched crimson silk and daring cut-outs designed to entice and enflame. Next came the accessories, each piece painstakingly chosen to be a brand of ownership crying out to the world that you were well and truly his.

The final touches fell exquisitely into place with dizzying speed. Venue secured, travel arrangements made, loose ends methodically tied up until there was nothing left but to execute the plan.

Chuuya could scarcely focus as the morning of the event dawned bright and clear. The weight of the small velvet box tucked into his breast pocket was a lead talisman burning against his skin with every breath. This was it, the cumulation of weeks' worth of meticulous scheming, all leading to this one singular moment.

He forced himself to maintain an aura of unruffled nonchalance as he strode through the office towards your desk. You barely looked up from the stack of paperwork before you, attention wholly consumed by the tedious task at hand.

"We're going out tonight," Chuuya stated flatly, allowing no room for argument. "Clear your evening."

Your brow furrowed minutely as you raised your head, opening your mouth to likely protest the short notice. But whatever objections you may have voiced died on your lips as you met the subtly blazing intensity of his stare head-on.

In that infinite breath, the world seemed to judder to a halt, static electricity cackling along your nerve endings. There was no refusing him when he got like this, radiating an almost feral aura of raw dominance. So you simply nodded, temporarily robbed of speech.

The barest ghost of a smirk played about the hard line of Chuuya's mouth before he turned on his heel and stalked away, leaving you to stare after his retreating back. The man moved with the coiled power and easy menace of a snared panther, danger and sensuality rolled into one. It was utterly bewitching.

Those last few hours crept by at an agonizing pace, each minute feeling like an eternity. You struggled to focus, mind incessantly wandering to that scorching look that had stolen your breath and set your pulse rabbiting. Just what did Chuuya have planned?

By the time the workday sputtered to a close, you were near vibrating out of your skin with ill-masked anticipation. The not knowing, the delicious suspense, was a uniquely heady aphrodisiac all on its own.

Which was why the sight of Chuuya leaning against the building's front entrance, an inscrutable mirage in his crisply tailored suit, very nearly stopped your heart on the spot. How was it possible for one man to exude such commanding, darkly magnetic appeal?

"Took you long enough," he chided, voice terse but thrumming with an undercurrent of silken promise that made you shiver. "We can't be late."

Without awaiting your response, Chuuya spun on his heel, long legs easily outpacing your stunned shuffle to keep up. It was just one more tantalizing brick in the foundation of exquisite tension rapidly being constructed around you.

At last you reached the car - a sleek, purring behemoth of mirrored obsidian and buttery cream leather. Settling into the plush backseat, you couldn't resist trailing your fingertips over the velvety smooth upholstery as Chuuya slid in beside you.

"Where-" you began, only to break off when he leveled you with a look that could have been carved from granite.

"You'll see," was his only terse response before signaling for the driver to depart.

The ride passed in a loaded silence, the air between you and Chuuya thickening with each aching mile until it felt like inhaling smoke. You stole sidelong glimpses at him, admiring the severe masculine lines of his profile and the way the passing streetlights gilded his sharp cheekbones.

Finally, you could bear the suspense no longer. "Chuuya, what's this all abou-?"

"We're here."

The words were toneless, yet somehow still managed to ring with finality. You swallowed hard, suddenly uncertain if you truly wished to know where 'here' was.

Chuuya was already climbing out, leaving you to hurry after him with your heart lodged firmly in your throat. As you stepped out onto the dimly lit street, the first thing that struck you was the pervasive quiet. Not eerie, per se, but begging to be disturbed.

The second was the gorgeous, multi-story heritage building rising before you. More manor than mere residence, it stood wreathed in artfully maintained gardens with myriad stone pathways winding playfully through the manicured foliage. It was...certainly not what you had expected.

Before you could voice any of the thousand questions whirling through your mind, Chuuya's hand closed with definitive authority about your wrist, tugging you against the solid wall of his chest. His free hand delved into his suit jacket to withdraw a small velvet box which he pressed firmly into your palm.

"Open it," he demanded, voice low and edged with that same unnameable intensity.

You did, inhaling a shocked little breath at the stunning set of jewelry nestled within the box's plush interior...

With trembling fingers, you lifted the exquisite ruby pendant from its nest of black velvet. Even in the muted streetlight, the deep crimson stones seemed to smolder with their own inner fire. Wordlessly, you turned it over, only to have the breath punched from your lungs.

There, engraved in a flowing script upon the ornate metal, were the unmistakable initials 'N.C.'

You whipped your head up to meet Chuuya's burning stare, a silent question seared into your features. He simply held your gaze, expression inscrutable yet blazing with unspoken promises that made your pulse spiral dizzily.

"Put it on," he finally rumbled, giving you the barest of nods.

There was no room for argument or negotiation, only complete submission. Trembling, you fumbled with the delicate clasp until the heavy pendant rested against the hollow of your throat. It was cool against your feverish skin, a claim of possession both brazenly overt yet darkly intimate.

Chuuya's eyes went molten at the sight, raking over the barbaric accessory before flicking back up to snare you in his smoldering scrutiny once more.

"Perfect," he purred in a rumbling timbre that danced like sparks along your nerve endings. "Now for the rest."

With those cryptic words, Chuuya produced a sleek garment bag from somewhere behind him and thrust it against your chest. You clutched it reflexively, mouth working soundlessly as you sought to formulate a coherent question. But Chuuya was already turning away, striding towards the imposing manor with the unwavering confidence of a man bound for the inner sanctum of his domain.

Casting one last bewildered glance at the softly rustling gardens surrounding you, you trailed after him. Each clicked footfall across the immaculately tended grounds resonated through you with finality. Like an outrider steadily advancing to lay siege upon some uncharted keep.

The double doors yawned open at Chuuya's approach, allowing you both to sweep unimpeded into the cavernous foyer with its vaulted ceilings and exquisite architectural detailing. The manor's opulence was simultaneously breathtaking and disconcerting.

"Get changed," Chuuya ordered without preamble, gesturing to the ornate wooden doors several paces further within. "And don't even think about giving me any arguments."

The look he pierced you with brooked no debate, so you swallowed down your growing sense of trepidation and nodded. With the garment bag clutched between white-knuckled fingers, you slipped through the doors and found yourself in a decadently-appointed boudoir.

Plush chaise longues and silk draperies abounded, giving the room an ambiance of sumptuous seduction that was dizzyingly at odds with the Gothic grandeur of the manor itself. You shook your head, trying in vain to quell the mounting disquiet fluttering madly within.

Each rustling movement of the garment bag's silk lining only served to heighten your unsettled state. But you knew there was no use delaying the inevitable, no deterring Chuuya once he'd set his mind to something.

With that resigned thought, you freed the dress from its protective cocoon with trembling hands. A punched-out exhalation escaped your lips, swallowed by the abrupt roaring in your ears.

The gown was...magnificent didn't seem an adequate descriptor. In deepest, most ensnaring shades of claret and crimson, it seemed to writhe as a living, sensual thing. Sumptuous folds of rich satin caressed with glistening silken trails of embroidered roses. Sheer side insets carved revealing glimpses of toned curves and supple skin. The plunging neckline was positively corseted in its scandalous indecency, the dramatic sweetheart bodice sculpted to accentuate the most intimate of feminine assets.

You traced one finger over the sinuous line of the gown, cheeks flushing at the thought of donning something so overtly designed to stir the most primal of urges. But you were already in far too deep to consider turning back now.

With a fortifying inhalation, you quickly shimmied out of your work attire and stepped into the gown's silken embrace. It clung to your figure like a second skin sheathed in scarlet petals, trailing sinfully over the dips and flares of your body in a wholly indecent manner. A silent siren's call to avarice and covetous lust.

You twisted this way and that before the gilt mirror, admiring and scrutinizing in equal measures. The pendant lay in a plush pool amidst the exposed upper swell of your breasts, its dark crimson hue a bloody brand for any who dared let their eyes linger. Somehow, it felt as if the dress had been expressly crafted for this one accessory alone.

With one final bracing breath, you gathered your resolve and swept towards the door. Better to rejoin Chuuya and hope for an explanation than remain barricaded away like a shamed concubine.

He was lounging with deceptive indolence in one of the foyer's opulent winged-back chairs, long legs outstretched before him in an image of unconcerned elegance. Yet there was nothing casual in the unerring way his gaze locked upon you the moment you appeared. Like that of a serpent hypnotized by a clutch of trembling prey.

"My my..." Chuuya's voice was a raptor's caress, smooth and seductive yet edged with thinly veiled possession. "If I didn't know better, I might think you were trying to tempt me, doll."

You flushed hotly beneath his ravenous scrutiny, suddenly uncertain and deeply aware of your compromising state of undress. The satin caressed your too-warm skin in a simulation of covetous fingers, sending prickles of vaulting desire shivering along your nerve endings.

Chuuya rose from his seated position with leonine grace, eyes never straying from where they blazed scorching paths over your displayed charms. Each prowling step he took in your direction seemed to fill the air with static, raising the fine hairs along your arms and nape.

When at last he stood mere inches before you, near enough that his body heat lapped against you in smoky tendrils, you had to resist the urge to sway forwards. To seek the blistering burn of that intoxicating radiance you knew lurked beneath his composed veneer.

"Look at you..." he breathed, voice a graveled rasp of undisguised want. His knuckles grazed your jawline in a lingering caress. "A delicious temptation in scarlet and sin. Do you have any idea how utterly sexy you are right now?"

A tremulous shudder gripped you at his words, at the sinful admiration blazing from his darkened eyes. Unconsciously, you leaned deeper into the cupping warmth of his palm, chasing that delicious frisson of sensation.

Chuuya's lips curved in a devastatingly carnal smirk before he abruptly dropped his hand, leaving you starved for his scorching brand once more. You fought back the urge to whimper at the loss, cheeks flushing hotly as you recognized your body's dizzying desperation.

"We should get going," he murmured, the words at harsh odds with the smoky timbre of his tone that seemed to caress over your heated skin like a physical touch. "Our reservations won't wait forever, pet."

With that, he spun on his heel and began striding towards the still-open doors, clearly expecting you to follow on obediently stumbling footsteps. Which you did without a moment's hesitation, drawn after him like a reliably enraptured moth to a searing flame.

The limousine was awaiting in the circular front drive when you emerged, engine purring in anticipation. But it wasn't the plush leather interior or sparkling crystal tumblers that immediately captured your eye. Rather, it was the enormous cascade of crimson roses spilling from an ornate crystal vase positioned in the center of the seat.

Rich velvet petals unfurled in an exquisite profusion, each glistening with twinkling dew-kissed diamonds that glimmered with ethereal brilliance beneath the car's golden interior lighting. It was like glimpsing the secret, sinful heart of a fairytale forest come alive.

So enraptured were you by the display that you very nearly didn't register Chuuya's hand at your back, exerting firm pressure to guide you into the lush interior. With infinite care, he deposited you amidst the floral splendor before sliding in opposite with that catlike grace.

The heavy door sealed you both into the cocoon of velvet opulence with a sense of finality that resonated through your very marrow. Whatever game Chuuya was orchestrating was clearly reaching its dizzying crescendo.

You scarcely dared breathe, nerves thrilling with indecipherable tension as you watched Chuuya accept two crystal flutes from the cabine's mini-bar. The pale amber liquid sloshed enticingly as he handed one to you with a smoldering look of heated possession.

"A toast," he murmured, voice like lascivious sin poured straight into your ringing ears. "To an evening that will forever banish any lingering doubts as to whom you belong to, pet."

His glass knocked against yours with a delicate tinkling clink, the sound carrying the solemn weight of a death knell. Wordlessly, you tipped the liquor past your lips in a burning swallow, scarcely registering the flavors. You were anchored adrift atop a roiling sea of Chuuya's unfathomable intentions, awaiting his lead.

No sooner had you lowered the glass than Chuuya was reaching for you with rekindled intensity blazing in his stare. One broad palm cradled your nape as he drew you flush against the rigid line of his body, coaxing your knees to bracket his lean hips in a scandalously intimate straddle.

The sumptuous dress bunched and pooled around your thighs in a provocative tumble of scarlet silk. Chuuya's free hand traced the daring neckline, following the plunging curve to where the dusky hollow of your breasts was left enticingly bare.

Beneath his smoldering stare, each nerve seemed to awaken into blistering life, searing awareness streaking from nerve ending to nerve ending. His hungry exhale fanned hotly against your parted lips as his fingers drifted inevitable lower, tracing patterns of molten lust across the exposed flesh left on display.

"All mine..." he rasped, words interspersed with open-mouthed, scorching kisses along the thundering pulse at your throat. "Tonight, you'll see just how far I'm willing to go to ensure the whole city knows that truth."

With a groan, he dragged you harder against him, claiming your lips in a branding kiss of possession as the limo thrummed to purring life and pulled away into the night.

The limo carved through the city's pulsing arteries in a blur of neon and shadow. You remained utterly transfixed by Chuuya, drowning in the blazing intensity of his eyes as he held you immobile in his searing appraisal.

With each passing minute, the tension thickened until it felt like inhaling molten desire with every breath. Chuuya's hands roamed in unhurried exploration, igniting licking flames wherever his fingers grazed bare skin. You squirmed helplessly against him, silently beseeching for something more, anything to slake this new aching need coiling low in your belly.

At last, the limousine rolled to a smooth stop, the muffled thrum of music and voices spilling in from outside. Chuuya offered you a slow, sinful smile before capturing your lips in one more devouring kiss.

"Showtime, doll," he purred against your tingling mouth. "Try to keep up."

With a smooth flick of his wrist, he exited the vehicle in one fluid sweep, leather oxfords striking the pavement with muted clicks. You hurried to join him, breathless and flushed in anticipation of whatever depraved delights he had orchestrated.

The venue was spectacular, all vaulted glass ceilings and glittering contemporary opulence. Immaculately dressed attendants glided amongst the crowd, proffering crystal flutes of effervescent champagne from silver trays. It was the very vision of rarefied indulgence.

And at its throbbing epicenter stood Chuuya, an indolent panther lording over his sumptuous court. His arm snaked about your waist, pulling you flush against his side with blatant possession as his gaze dared anyone to so much as linger.

"Exquisite, isn't it?" he murmured, mouth brushing the curved shell of your ear in an electrifying caress. "Though perhaps not quite as exquisite as how utterly breathtaking you look in that dress, sweetheart."

His fingers traced the plunging neckline with bold defiance, allowing anyone keen enough to catch the implication. You flushed hotly, mortified yet undeniably thrilled by this new, unabashed dynamic unfolding between you.

For the rest of the evening, Chuuya remained your phantomlike shadow, perpetually orbiting just within your peripheral awareness. His eyes followed your every move, every laugh, with a smoldering heat that seemed to bore straight through muscle and bone. That collar of rubies glittered like a shocking wound against your throat with each breath.

You basked in the laser focus of his attention, a silent sun worshipper tilting to receive the benediction of its radiance. Never had you felt so fervently desired, coveted down to your very molecules. It was utterly, devastatingly intoxicating.

And as the night's dying embers sputtered towards its inevitable conclusion, Chuuya drew you close in a shadowed alcove, one broad palm cradling your nape as his lips brushed yours in barely-there whispers of heated promise.

"Do you understand now?" he rasped, the graveled words sending frissons of liquid rapture spilling through your veins. "There is no escaping me, no sanctuary from my passion. I will chase you into the very fires of hell itself, if that's what it takes to make you truly mine."

Helplessly, you whimpered against the scorching brand of his mouth, the need and naked adoration thrumming through your very marrow in answer. In that suspended moment of freefall, only one certainty reigned...

You were so completely, utterly his.

The crescendo of the evening had reached its feverish apex, suspending you and Chuuya in a gossamer bubble impervious to the outside world. His eyes burned with banked embers of undisguised want, rendering you breathless and utterly enthralled beneath their molten scrutiny.

"Come with me," he rumbled, the words both demand and seductive entreaty as he pulled you into the protective cage of his arms. You followed without hesitation, craving the scorching caress of his body like a moth drawn to the beckoning flame.

Chuuya led you through a discreet side door and into the velvet-draped intimacy of a private lounge area. Plush settees lined the perimeter, affording furtive glimpses into secluded little worlds of whispered secrets and sensual intrigue. Yet it was the massive picture window, revealing a panoramic vista of the glittering cityscape below, that enraptured you most.

With your back to the sparkling lights and Chuuya a solid immovable presence behind you, it felt as if you hovered betwixt two celestial planes - earthly rapture and heavenly transcendence. His hands found your waist, exerting gentle pressure until you swayed back against the unyielding strength of his chest.

"Look at them down there," he murmured, voice a darkly sensual caress against the sensitive whorls of your ear. "All those lost, empty souls going about their meaningless existences without the first notion of true passion."

You shivered at the stark devotion, the unvarnished ardor ringing in his tone. Chuuya's arms tightened around you in a possessive band, surrounding you in his scorching orbit until it felt like the only truth that mattered.

"They will never understand what it means to burn for someone the way I burn for you," he continued inexorably. "To have every waking breath consumed by an all-devouring yearning for just one perfect creature amidst the stars."

His lips branded searing trails from the fragile hollow beneath your ear down the slender column of your throat, each press of mouth to fevered skin both worship and carnal demand. You arched shamelessly into him, skin awakening in tingling waves of desperation for his touch, his mouth, his everything.

"You are my first and final ecstasy, sweetheart," Chuuya rasped against the thundering pulse at the base of your neck. "My religion, my rapture, my ritual of sanctification. Never forget that truth, no matter what sweet oblivion may try to tempt you."

He turned you then to face him fully, cradling your face between his calloused palms as if you were the most precious treasure to grace his world. For a suspended breath, you simply stared into the fathomless depths of his eyes, mesmerized by the eternal inferno of devotion banked within their crimson depths.

Then, as if pulled by cosmic tides, your bodies collided in a burningconflagration of hushed gasps and tangling limbs. Chuuya kissed you with all the passionate intensity of a man laying claim to his destiny, his universe. Lips, teeth, tongues - all merged into one searing brand of exquisite possession.

You clung to him helplessly, adrift on a roiling sea of desire and overwhelming reverence for this incredible man who cherished you so ferociously. If loving him was your sole purpose in this life, then you would count yourself among the luckiest souls in existence.

When the need for air finally became too urgent to ignore, you broke apart with trembling gasps. Chuuya immediately tucked you under his chin, rocking you both in slow, soothing sways as your ragged breaths slowly calmed.

"You're mine," he vowed once more, the words both fervent prayer and inviolable truth. "Every atom of your being calls to me, beguiles me, inflames me beyond the bounds of rational thought. I will spend eternity honoring that perfect siren's call."

Head bowed in reverence against the strength of his chest, you could only nod your wordless acquiescence, profoundly humbled and adored beyond your wildest capacity to comprehend. Safe amidst the sanctuary of Chuuya's ardor, you allowed your eyes to slip shut in serene contentment.

And somewhere within that transcendent moment, you knew without a shadow of doubt that you need never fear being lost again.

The world beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows blurred into abstract washes of light and shadow as you remained cocooned in Chuuya's steadfast embrace. In the whisper-soft atmosphere of the private lounge, time seemed to still to a gossamer trickle, each breath drawn out into subtle eternities.

Chuuya's fingers traced idle patterns along the exposed skin of your back, raising delicious frissons with every meandering caress. You basked in the exquisite torture of his wandering touch, every nerve ending alive and thrumming in hopeless supplication for more.

At long last, he drew back just enough to capture your rapt gaze, eyes blazing molten trails over the curves and hollows of your face.

"Do you understand now, my darling?" His low rasp danced like searing embers along your sensitized skin. "This rapture, this all-consuming ecstasy - it is both my prayer and my pyre. You are the divine flame to which I will gladly let my soul be immolated, again and again, until the end of eternity."

You could only nod, rendered breathless and incoherent by the sheer intensity of his veneration. But even that small acquiescence seemed to stoke Chuuya's ardor to blinding new infernos.

"Then let me worship you as you deserve," he growled, the words seeming to vibrate from that primal bassline resonating through his very core. "Allow me to pay tribute to your perfection in the only way that will ever suffice."

With agonizing deliberation, he sank to one knee before you in a stance of utter fealty. His scorching gaze roamed over your form, eyes glittering with unholyztradesty as they lingered on each newly bared expanse of skin revealed by the bunching fabric.

He pressed his lips to the ultra-sensitive skin of your inner thigh in a branding caress of reverence. "Every divine inch of you shall be adored as it deserves," Chuuya swore with hushed intensity. "Hallowed...consecrated...until you know nothing but the most exalted raptures this humble worshipper can provide."

A tremor of pure, potent yearning gripped you at his words, at the devoted promise woven through each sensual lilt and rumbling timbre. You reached for him with trembling hands, fingers tangling through his sweat-damp crimson locks as if to anchor him to you forever in this moment of transcendent bliss.

Chuuya's smoldering eyes flickered shut on a low groan of rapture as he turned into the caress. His palms mapped scorching paths up the curves of your calves and thighs in unhurried exploration, maddeningly drawing out each lascivious inch.

When his questing fingers finally brushed the apex of your thighs in a shockingly intimate caress, your knees threatened to buckle from the sheer intensity lancing through you. Only Chuuya's steadying grip on your hips kept you tethered against the relentless onslaught of sensation.

"So exquisite..." he rasped in awestruck wonder. "So utterly perfect in your rapture that I fear my insignificant skills are blasphemously inadequate to honor you properly, my goddess."

You struggled to formulate a coherent response, to beg and plead for him to take you past the dizzying precipice, but all that escaped was a tremulous keen of plaintive yearning. Instead you resorted to guiding his seeking hand with shallow, sporadic bucks of your hips, silently beseeching him for that elusive, maddening friction that would finally shatter you apart.

Even in your rapidly fracturing state, you felt the volcanic upheaval of Chuuya's restraint at the explicit demand. He actually growled against the satin skin of your inner thigh, teeth grazing harsh and unforgiving in clear punishment. Or perhaps rapturous benediction - with this man, it became increasingly difficult to tell where one ended and the other began.

"Patience, my perfect temptation," he purred in a voice shredded by banked embers of desire. "The ecstasy I have planned for your undoing demands an eternity of exquisite suffering first."

Leaning forward, he lay another searing trail of open-mouthed kisses along the taut swells and shadowed valleys of your desire. Each brand of his lips stoked the inferno of your aching need higher and higher until you thought you would be consumed by the flames.

At last, when you thought the tension might shatter you asunder, Chuuya's questing fingers hooked the delicate silk of your panties, dragging the flimsy garment down your trembling thighs. The fabric fell away to a puddle of scarlet and ivory about your feet.

You could hear the hitch in his breathing, a stuttered inhale of sheer reverence and lust. Chuuya pressed another fervent kiss to the crest of your hip, the action a silent supplication to the divine. Then, with agonizing care, he slid the silken fabric of the dress up the curve of your hips until it rested high on your waist.

You gasped at the sudden rush of cool air against your feverish flesh, cheeks burning at the brazen exposure of your most intimate areas. Yet the momentary flash of mortification quickly dissolved beneath the heady rush of desire and the molten blaze of Chuuya's stare.

His pupils were blown wide, devouring any trace of blue in his eyes until they gleamed blacker than pitch. A low groan emanated from deep within his chest as he traced one long finger through the slick arousal glistening upon your quivering thighs.

"Exquisite," he rasped, the word a breathless prayer on his tongue. "Such perfect, unspoiled purity laid bare before me. Let us see just how far my goddess will let this humble supplicant push her."

Without preamble, Chuuya's hands curled around the backs of your thighs, lifting and guiding you into the cradle of his arms with unwavering certainty. Then, with a low growl, he pressed his open mouth against the aching swell of your desire.

It was the only warning you received before his tongue swept up the length of your folds in a languid, decadent caress. The searing contact ripped a cry from your throat, the sound swallowed in the plush darkness of the room.

Chuuya hummed his own rapturous approval, the vibrations resonating through your very core in waves of liquid heat. Then he was tracing teasing patterns along your swollen flesh, lapping up each fresh wave of moisture like a parched man at an oasis.

Every nerve was electrified, thrumming and humming with each lick and swirl and nip of his tongue. Chuuya seemed content to take his time, coaxing the most decadent sounds from your lips as you writhed against him, helpless and desperate.

His fingers dug bruising crescents into the soft skin of your thighs, keeping you in place for his ravenous exploration. And as his tongue delved deeper, sliding and thrusting against your throbbing entrance, you felt yourself begin to spiral higher and higher.

"That's it, my perfect goddess," he groaned against you. "Show me just how beautiful you are in the throes of ecstasy."

With those murmured words, he returned his focus to the pulsing pearl at the apex of your thighs. He alternated between suckling the sensitive bundle and laving over it with broad strokes. Each caress sent you spiraling higher and higher, closer and closer to the brink of oblivion.

Just when you thought you might combust from the sheer intensity of it all, Chuuya sealed his mouth around the pulsing jewel, fluttering his tongue over the straining point in rapid, unrelenting strokes. The added stimulation sent you hurtling towards the precipice, crashing and tumbling in a freefall of white-hot pleasure.

You shattered apart, vision going white as the force of the release crashed over you in endless waves. Somewhere in the distance, you were vaguely aware of Chuuya's rumbling groan of triumph, the feel of his fingers tightening into a punishing brand against your thighs.

Your muscles clenched and quivered in helpless spasms as the aftershocks shuddered through you, leaving you sated and spent. Slowly, Chuuya guided you back to earth, kissing and stroking until the world re-emerged from behind a gauzy curtain of euphoria.

He pulled you close as you came back to yourself, murmuring soft words of praise and adoration as he pressed reverent kisses to your temple. You melted into him, boneless and pliant as the blissful lethargy set in.

"My beautiful, exquisite angel," he rumbled in a graveled whisper, lips tracing the shell of your ear in a sinfully sensual caress. "Now it's my turn to show you how perfect you are in my eyes, just the way you are."

Chuuya's declaration resonated through you like the ringing echo of a divine proclamation. You turned to face him, wanting to drink in the raw devotion and passion burning in his eyes.

But the moment you met his searing gaze, all thoughts of sweet adoration and poetic worship fled, replaced by a blistering inferno of primal desire. Chuuya's eyes raked over your face with such molten hunger, such naked want, that a frisson of electricity jolted down your spine.

In an instant, he was pressing his lips to yours in a scorching kiss of carnal possession. The taste of yourself on his tongue was both sinfully salacious and exquisitely erotic. You could do nothing but yield, helplessly enthralled by the raw intensity of his need.

Chuuya's hand wound itself into the disheveled locks of your hair, pulling your head back to deepen the kiss. He swallowed your keening moan of pleasure with a rumbling growl, devouring your mouth as if starved for the very taste of you.

His other hand fisted in the delicate satin, bunching the material in a vice-like grip until you could feel the cool night air dancing along the heated skin of your exposed ass. The sudden awareness of the scandalous, vulnerable position only stoked the inferno higher, sending new rivulets of slick dripping from your pulsing core.

"Such a good girl for me," Chuuya breathed, voice ragged and darkly sensual as he dragged his lips down the column of your throat. "Always so willing to spread those pretty thighs and offer yourself up to me."

The words resonated through your every molecule, echoing the primal rhythm thrumming in your very veins. You whimpered, arching against him in wordless supplication, desperate for him to take you and brand you as his.

Chuuya answered with a guttural snarl, the sound primal and possessive. He surged to his feet in one smooth motion, lifting you with him. You clung to him instinctively, legs wrapping around his narrow waist in a desperate bid to anchor yourself against the blistering tide of desire.

Then his cock was brushing against you, the velvet-soft skin stretched taught and hot against the wetness pooling between your thighs. Chuuya's hand slipped down, aligning his hard length with your entrance before slowly, torturously sinking into the wet heat.

Your head fell back on a moan as he buried himself to the hilt, stretching and filling you so perfectly. For a moment, all you could do was cling to him and try to regain a semblance of breath. But then Chuuya began moving, rocking his hips in shallow, experimental thrusts.

His pace was slow and measured, each stroke a delicious torment that left you trembling and gasping. Chuuya's grip on you was punishing, fingertips digging into the supple flesh of your ass. You could feel the tension in his powerful frame, the way each muscle strained and coiled beneath the onslaught of pleasure.

But no matter how desperately you writhed against him, how tightly you gripped his shoulders, Chuuya refused to relinquish control. Instead, he kept his movements infuriatingly slow and languorous, each unhurried glide sending you further and further towards the edge.

"Chuuya, please," you whimpered, shamelessly rutting against him in search of more. "I need -"

"Shhh, doll," he soothed, the words punctuated with a low grunt as he hit a particularly sensitive spot. "I know what you need, and I'm going to give it to you. But I want to savor this perfect moment."

The raw emotion in his tone sent a shiver racing down your spine, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. You tightened your hold on his shoulders, nails scoring thin lines into the muscled flesh.

"Look out the window," Chuuya commanded, voice a low rasp of lust-drunk rapture. "Watch as the whole city bears witness to how beautifully you come apart for me."

Dazed and dizzy with desire, you forced your gaze to lift, drinking in the stunning panorama before you. It was a glittering expanse of lights and shadow, an entire cityscape laid bare for your viewing pleasure. And it was then that the true weight of Chuuya's command sank in.

Every facet of your pleasure was on display, an obscene spectacle for the entire city to witness. Anyone looking up from the street below would be treated to the lurid sight of your flushed, debauched body, writhing and arching against Chuuya in a frenzied state of utter wanton need.

Your inner walls fluttered and clenched, a rush of new heat and slick coating Chuuya's throbbing cock at the thought. He groaned at the sensation, a sound both exultant and agonized.

"Such a perfect little angel, aren't you?" His words were a darkly reverent growl, sending a fresh wave of pleasure jolting through you. "Let's put on a good show for them, sweetheart. Show them just who it is you belong to."

Chuuya's words were the final catalyst. The coil of tension wound within you snapped, sending you crashing and tumbling over the precipice. You cried out, a sound of pure rapture, as the waves of release washed over you in shuddering, relentless crests.

Dimly, you were aware of Chuuya's answering snarl, the harsh sting of teeth against the tender skin of your neck. His movements grew frantic, losing all trace of that practiced control as he chased his own climax.

His cock pulsed and twitched within you, each jerk and spasm intensifying your own pleasure. You rocked your hips against him, grinding yourself against the hard planes of his body. The additional friction pushed you right back to the precipice, poised on that shimmering knife's edge.

A single, well-placed thrust was all it took to send you spiraling into the abyss once more. Your teeth sunk into Chuuya's shoulder, muffling your wail of ecstasy as a gush of pure, hot liquid sprayed from your entrance, coating his thighs and cock in a torrential stream.

"Oh fuck, baby girl!" he grunted, burying himself as deep as possible as he found his own release. "Did you just -"

"Yes!" You sobbed, the word a strangled half-whisper as another rush of liquid gushed out. "Oh god, yes!"

Chuuya swore, hips jerking sporadically as he rode out the last tremors of his own orgasm. Then his arms tightened around you, cradling you against his chest in a protective band. His breath ghosted across your ear, a soothing murmur of praise and adoration.

"You're perfect, sweetheart. So utterly fucking perfect in every way. God, the things you do to me..." His voice trailed off into a groan of satisfaction as he pressed his forehead to yours, gazing into your eyes with such profound adoration that you thought your heart might shatter from the overwhelming intensity of it all.

"Never forget who you belong to, pet," he vowed, the words resonating with solemn promise. "I'll spend the rest of my life proving it to you, if I have to."

In the ensuing hush, the only sound was the slowing of your mingled breathing, the soft rustle of Chuuya's clothing as he adjusted his hold on you. Slowly, he lowered you until your feet touched the floor, steadying you with an arm wrapped about your waist.

You blinked up at him, a dreamy smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. The sight seemed to pull something loose within Chuuya's chest, the man giving a contented sigh.

"So fucking beautiful," he murmured, tenderly cupping your face. "Now let's get you home so I can continue worshipping this perfect body, just the way it deserves."

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