#struggling to be coherent about anything but angst

[gallifreyanhotfive]

Once the Illness leaves me I swear to God it's over for the Doctor. I am destroying them. I will tear them apart.

[shegetsburned]

Uhm hi 👋🏻 could you please write something about Gojo, Nanami, Geto and Toji's reactions to their significant other's life being threatened? Like heartbreaking stuff that ends up well? 👉🏻👈🏻

LOSING YOU w. jujutsu kaisen men ˚ 𐙚 ⋆.

.angst/fluff.

• — ft. satoru gojo, kento nanami, suguru geto, toji fushiguro. took me ages to get to but i’m a sucker for angst, so i just had to do it. thanks for the request, luv! • — content. their reaction to your life being threatened. • — tw. mentions of death, violence, murder.

satoru gojo

₊˚⊹ ᰔ as soon as your name came out of yaga’s mouth, satoru wasted no time and vanished. he searched every place he knew, every corner and alley, in a matter of seconds. there was no coherent thought in his mind while he teleported. the only thing he could clearly see was you. that you were in danger and that you needed to be saved. that he couldn’t let you die and that he previously had so clearly promised that he’d never let anything happen to either you or him.

a liar, he thought he was. how could he have let this happen? what was the point of being the strongest sorcerer if he couldn’t even protect you. he really did believe nothing could happen to you if he was by your side. he’d murder anyone who’d ever try to harm you without even looking back. this time wouldn’t be any different.

he felt his heartbeat reach his ears when he finally felt you near an ally, back pressed against the wall. a hand on your chest, crimson blood dripping down your shirt. jerky breaths escaping your trembling lips. this curse had taken his sweet time with you. it wanted to feed and you were a tasty dinner. there were marks of struggle on your shredded clothes and bruised wrists.

nothing came out of satoru’s mouth when his eyes landed on you. he just couldn’t believe he had let this happen to you. his expression was stoic. when he slowly approached you the curse immediately felt it. the strongest sorcerer doesn’t let most curses escape from his grasp. but this one.. this one would inevitably suffer the most.

it wasn’t long before the curse felt his body being pushed against the wall in front of you. a yelp was heard when his skull hit the wall head-on. you could hear the bones crack and send shivers through your entire being. that’s when you realized your boyfriend had finally arrived. but when you lifted your head trying to catch a glimpse of his eyes he had already turned all his attention towards the threat.

you had never seen him like this. he was lifeless. his eyebrows were lowered and pulled closer together. you could’ve sworn his eyes bulged. he was enraged. he didn’t even bother to raise his arm towards the curse, he just advanced and slowly- very slowly crushed every little bone in the monster’s body.

you were out of breath but couldn’t shift your gaze from the horrible spectacle in front of you. the wall caved under the pressure as gojo used his infinity to create a space between him and the curse which only crushed it more. it was cruel. cruel but deserving considering the circumstances.

the curse’s body was retracting upon itself with no way out. a loud and piercing cry followed the sound of the wall being crushed under the weight of the infinity. the only thing you found the strength to mumble under your breath was your boyfriend’s name.

after a few seconds, black smoke emanated from the crushed bricked wall with no curses in sight. no remains, nothing. your heavy breath filled the air as satoru finally sighted. you could barely see his eyes when he turned to you, crouching down at your height.

his violence had surprised you, but you were so relieved. tears ran down your cheeks when you tried to speak. you tried to reach for satoru when he crouched but he was quicker and wrapped one arm around your back and another supporting the back of your head. he held you close and it made you feel at home. his scent and touch reassured you when you buried your head in his neck.

still silent, he held you tightly close to his chest. his hand threaded your hair, a slight pressure applied so he could make sure you were okay. you could feel all his anger slowly fade when you returned the gesture with one hand against his chest. your tears slowly fading as you felt the warmth of satoru around your body.

“satoru..”

he shushed you. always pulling you closer and closer to him. he wasn’t going to leave this time. he’d never let you endure something like this ever again.

“i’m right here. you’re safe. lend me your pain, baby. i’ll carry you the rest of the way.” he whispered into your ear, caressing your back so that you’d warm up to his touch. you could feel he was slowly coming back to being the satoru you knew.

you were safe in his arms but guilt still ran deep inside of him. he promised to take you to shoko as soon as possible, resting by your side until you were completely healthy. he also promised himself to assign you with an escort when he couldn’t be here to protect you.

satoru’s only concern was you and he’d never let anything get in the way of your well-being ever again. if he had to show every curse on this earth that he’d destroy them if they ever tried to get near you, he’d have no hesitation in doing so. you were safe. you knew it, now.

kento nanami

₊˚⊹ ᰔ you were the most important person for nanami. his one and only. his love, his soul, his heart. he would’ve resigned in an instant if you hadn’t begged him to keep his job as a sorcerer. but knowing his personal feelings about loss, you knew it’d break him if something came to happen to you. that is precisely why you always acted cautiously, never putting yourself in harm's way and living your life as safely as you could. unfortunately, this time, your efforts had been in vain.

when he saw you, helplessly struggling at the mercy of a first-grade curse wrapped around your throat, all he could think about was how much he regretted not having taken a safer job and bought you that house you both talked about so much on a beach in malaysia.

he knew he needed to act quickly or the curse would finish you off as easily as it had taken you hostage.

you wiggled your feet when it lifted you off the ground, hands desperately scratching and holding onto his grasp so he’d let go of his claws around your throat. you could feel kento’s eyes on you but couldn’t even dare to look at him or do anything else than push against the claws so they wouldn’t crush your neck further.

therefore, you couldn’t see him remove his tie, wrapping it tightly around his knuckles. he knew he couldn’t use a weapon, scared that the curse would use you as a shield. his fists were more precise and his sword wasn’t enough to unleash the rage he had built up inside.

he slowly made his way to the curse but, with every step, its hold crushed you more. you were so scared, almost out of breath with tears rolling down your cheeks. these cheeks kento had kissed so many times to take away your pain. you were hoping he’d do it once more.

once he realized that the threatening stance he was in only alarmed the curse, kento stood down, lowering his curse energy’s flow to an almost invisible state. he made himself look harmless in the face of the monster which slowly but surely helped you to breathe better.

you knew your husband. you had heard it several times from yuji and Ino and you also personally knew that he always handled things the right way. this is was kept you from breaking down and letting go of your almost meaningless fight against the curse’s strength. you had never doubted him and you wouldn’t now. he built his strength with yours. that’s what kento had told you the day he had asked for your hand.

his eyes were locked with your struggling gaze. despite him trying to contain himself, his veins stood out from how tightly he clenched his fists. he would’ve massacred the curse right here and now if it hadn’t cowardly taken you hostage. nanami might have seemed harmless in the moment but his anger was apparent.

without thinking much about it, he threw his sword aside, lifting his hands above to show complete surrender to the curse.

“let her go.”

the furious and deep voice of your husband made you whine, finally hearing a sign from him. unfortunately you could feel that the curse was still hesitating. the clinging of the sword on the ground had startled it which only showed kento how weak it really was. it also showed that it did not want to fight but preferred to flee.

this strange demeanor encouraged kento to step closer, hands still in the air, and that’s when he saw his opening. the curse was looking left and right to find an escape which diminished his attention and loosened his grip around your throat. it lasted just a few seconds but it was enough for you to breathe out his name.

“kento..”

that’s when he drew his fist and used all of his force and cursed energy to deliver a devastating blow right into the curse spirit’s face. it was sent flying several meters away after dropping you so kento could easily catch you and keep you from hitting the ground, arms wrapped around your body.

it only took one hit. one punch to obliterate half of the curse’s body in pieces. the shock had been so violent that your savior’s knuckles bled on your shirt through his yellow tie.

“mine.”

you could feel his heavy breath against your neck when he got on one knee, holding you against him, a hand carefully placed on your cheek. his thumb caressing your skin and whipping the single tear you shed.

“my love..”

kento’s expression had returned to the one you knew. the calm but stoic gaze he wore returned your breath to a normal pace. his arms pulled you always closer to him and he felt his sense come back when your fingers brushed the hand he had placed on your shoulder. you couldn’t talk or you’d burst into tears so you smiled in admiration.

he placed his warm lips upon your forehead and you could feel how scared he had been, maybe even more scared than you. his eyes were stuck on your finger, the one that wore his ring.

losing haibara had crushed his soul to tiny little pieces and you had been the one to delicately put them all back together with your innocent kindness and understanding. he’d be damned if he was to let something happen to the one who saved his heart.

this was the first and last time your life had been threatened, thanks to the careful supervision of kento but also his promise to quit his job and buy that house. he hadn’t realized how much he already had with you and would curse anybody who tried to take his happiness away from him ever again.

suguru geto

₊˚⊹ ᰔ you trusted him. you trusted that, if you were in pain, suguru would find ways to eradicate that pain. you trusted that if you showed any sign of distress, he’d be by your side helping you in any way he could. most importantly, you trusted that he’d protect you no matter the cost and no matter the consequences, because he was devoted to you. if there was something he’d burn the whole world for, it’d be you.

these men, these humans, these pathetic monkeys that had attacked you on your way home never knew what would come for them. you were beaten and almost lifeless when the men started searching for any kind of money or jewelry you had on your person. of course, you had resisted. that’s the only thing you could do, because you were so scared that if you had willingly complied to their demand they would’ve asked for more.

being helpless was scary. you thought it wouldn’t be so scary with suguru by your side, but right now you had never been more terrified. you also knew that your boyfriend would never forgive the men that harmed you, so the only thing you could do was wait. because you did not doubt him. you never doubted him. you knew he’d come for you.

when the men had finished checking your bags and any belongings you had on your person, one approached you, lifting your chin with a vulgar smile. you couldn’t even look at him in the eyes but hit bullseye when you spat directly in his face making him drop you in anger. he cursed under his breath before tightly grabbing you by the collar. a hand in the air so it’d land on your face.

with a weak and desperate groan you turned your face away but was surprised when the slap never landed.

when you reopened your eyes to look at your aggressor, he had his own hands wrapped his throat. it’s like he was struggling to breath, a firm pressure was crushing his neck as he tried to break free from this invisible hold.

when you realized what might be happening you tried to take a peak at the other men who were all struggling with the same problem. scratching and screaming at the invisible menace that were preventing them from breathing.

under the distressed shoutings, a cocky laugh attracted your gaze. when you turned to look at the source, your face lit up at the sight of suguru. but he didn’t look as relieved as you were. his laugh was dark, almost cynical. it was psychotic and displeased.

you had seen him despise simple-minded humans before but killing them was a different story. he wasn’t only taking their lives, he was torturing them. their necks were getting slowly squashed by the curses he had sent on them.

seeing you struggle to breath, helpless at the hand of those who had harmed an innocent girl like you. his girl. it had awaken another kind of hatred in him. a hatred that had been buried deep for so long.

suguru took one good look at you, searching for your eyes but you were incapable of keeping them open. you were just glad your boyfriend had arrived. you knew you were safe when you rested your eyes, a small smile of satisfaction drawn on your lips.

when he concentrated his gaze back on the man that had touched you, he crouched in front of him, getting to his level before taking over the curse and wrapping his hand around the stranger’s neck. tormenting him and taking the air away from him. suguru tightened his grip, his smile fading when he brought the man closer and closer towards death.

“so you think you can just harm her and get away with it?”

the man was hissing swears as small cries of help escaped his bloody lips. his face was swollen and breaking down under suguru’s hold and his watering eyes looked like they would pop out of their socket sooner or later. that’s how tight he held the man.

“pathetic.”

he fed on their cries. helplessly calling out for help, the men only fueled his rage with their insufferable sounds. the sorcerer remembered every time he had felt an ounce of empathy for these beings in the past and regretted every actions he had done to protect them when he saw your wounded state. what they had done was inexcusable and no amount of pain would be enough to atone for it.

after a while, resigned, your offender chocked out a weak apology. but as he did, all the bones in his body instantly broke under another a new kind of pressure coming from yet another curse suguru had unleashed upon him. so now he laid there, between your boyfriend’s compressed clutch. dead.

after a few seconds he dropped the body on the ground like garbage waste and walked to you, passing by the other men that were struggling to breath. he pushed the first one aside with his foot, throwing one on the ground, creating a path for him to walk to you.

“move. i’ve come to take what’s mine.”

on suguru’s command, two snaps followed when the curses broke the other men’s necks before they fell on the floor. three lifeless corpses were now scattered in front of both of you, and as soon as he made sure those stupide monkeys had payed for what they had done, he joined you.

when he leaned towards you, his hand grazed yours, wrapping it with his own in a warm grip. his eyes searched for yours, lifting your chin with his thumb before running it along your jaw, making comforting circles on your cheek.

“are you alright, my love? can you walk?”

suguru’s tone was calmer than before. his eyes never left yours when he wiped one of your tears. his comforting smile reassured you and you nodded at his question, holding onto his wrist when he helped you up, closing the distance between the two of you.

you could hear his calm heartbeat when you leaned against his chest, hiding between his arms and you wondered how he could be so tranquil after killing these men so easily. little did you know the only thing he felt was rage. he knew he was right to despise these inferior beings that had harmed the only important thing that mattered.

he could’ve burned the world for you.

toji fushiguro

₊˚⊹ ᰔ toji fushiguro was an asshole. a first-class asshole. you guys had slept together left and right and he always left first. you had no expectations regarding the man. no doubt that you were replaceable. he didn’t open up much and never talked about his work which didn’t alarm you much considering toji’s character.

basically, emotionally and personally speaking, you two weren’t close. that’s why, when two strangers raided your apartment, screaming fushiguro’s name in anger, you wondered why you had accepted to sleep with a man with a secret and violent past.

your furniture was on the floor and the men had destroyed most of your electronics so you had no way to call for help. one was guarding the door while the other took care of questioning you. it had something to do with a bet and broken promises. of course, money had to be involved, otherwise, why would they be threatening the girl he had slept with once or twice to know of his whereabouts?

tied to a chair, almost unconscious, he had been covering you with bruises and scratches using anything that he could find but you still gave him the same answer. you had no idea where toji was as he never kept contact with you. he was always the one that came to you. and if you were honest with yourself, you didn’t expect him to come save you anytime soon.

after a while, when the man realized he might not easily get an answer out of you, he reached in his back, pulling out a pistol from the edge of his pants. at the sight of the gun, your heart shattered. that was it for you, you thought. you couldn’t get out of this mess and you would die convinced toji was out there somewhere, probably getting rich and fucking naive girls like you.

you couldn’t even talk anymore, your head was hanging in front of you, blood dripping from your mouth to your thighs. you didn’t know if you’d last long, your vision was blurry and you felt yourself chasing the dark tunnel that clouded your eyesight.

you could hear faint words of command when your chin was lifted with the cold metallic canon of the pistol. the man had your life between his hands. you knew he’d pull the trigger if he eventually realized you couldn’t give him any information he needed. you knew he would kill you. it was so easy and you were pissing him off.

your eyes never left his nervous figure which only frustrated him more and, out of instinct, he slapped you with the handle of the pistol, almost knocking the air out of you. your jaw was broken and tears were flooding your eyes when the blow forced you to look away.

but as he pulled his arm up, preparing for another strike, he seemed to stop in his movement, startled by something behind him. sounds of struggles and a broken door were heard when he shifted his gaze entirely towards the front of your apartment. his accomplice had disappeared which alerted the man and made him call out to him.

several seconds and unanswered calls later, on his guard, the armed stranger decided to go take a look. as soon as he took a step towards the broken piece of wood that was left, a corpse dropped to his feet.

it was the other man, and he seemed to have been brutally murdered from the back, a hole at his heart’s level revealed the level of violence he had endured which left the man panicked and distressed. sweat was covering his forehead when he tried to peak out the door, fingers trembling against the handle and trigger.

unfortunately for him, a tall and broad shadow quickly covered him, before a shot came off. one single gunshot followed by a loud thud.

you could barely make up the identity of the person who had saved you with your weak sight, but his odour was enough for you to distinguish the man clearly. he always smelled the same.

toji was here. he was standing in the doorway, a tight grip around his gun and a grin covering his scarred lips. “can’t believe they send these weaklings to come after me.”

he carefully stepped between the cadavers, examining the poor state of your apartment and their lifeless bodies before his gaze shifted to you. a quick exchange was enough for you to sigh in relief and let yourself relax to an unconscious state.

despite himself, he did feel an ounce of guilt when he took a good look at you. his mistakes had almost gotten you killed. he couldn’t have imagined how he would’ve felt if he had arrived too late. the blood on your face, the broken jaw and the many scars were revealed by the moonlight passing through the door. the cold air misplaced your hair for toji to see tears strolling down your face.

his grin faded as he stood still in front of you and the mess he had made. his grip had loosened around the gun but he slowly moved the canon towards the second man he had killed. without hesitation, he emptied his clip through the culprit’s head, a look of contempt and disgust plastered on his face.

“tsk.. you just had to go and get yourself noticed, hm?” he said, now focused only on you.

thanks to toji, you were safe now. and you had silently thanked him for coming back for you.

carrying you bridal style as you laid there now unconscious but safe in his arms, he placed his thumb against your jaw, tilting your head to get a proper look at you. even now, you were so beautifully calm and your cheeks wore a pink tint, probably because of the cold, which only accentuated your beauty and innocence.

with a sigh, like it weighed on his conscience, toji murmured. “guess someone’s gonna have to take care of you, from now on.”

but the truth was far from what it appeared to be. saving you that night had just brought the man closer to the conclusion that he cherished you more than he thought he did. you weighed on his conscience like a guilty obsession which he could only nourish by spending more time by your side.

© shegetsburned 2024 please do not repost/edit/or claim my writing as your own.

[mockerycrow]

Frozen Fingertips [2/2] (Ghost x GN!Reader)

ghost masterlist - part one

Summary: Ghost struggles to keep you alive through these harsh times.

A/N: I’m so glad you guys enjoyed part one!! i did not shrink the font of this one because i realized that it may strain some peoples’ eyes. this is not as angsty as i wished it to be, and it isn’t as long as i hoped. i apologize. tbh i don’t like this, but i hope y’all enjoy

[WARNINGS: Descriptions of developing hypothermia and frost bite, delirium, near-death experience(s), angst to fluff.]

THE BLIZZARD WAS not stopping and it didn’t show signs of stopping any time soon, which honestly terrifies Ghost because of your awful condition. Despite his previous efforts, you quickly slipped back into a delirious state of developing hypothermia—a state you weren’t completely aware of, but you knew something was wrong. You could vaguely acknowledge the way that you were fading in and out wasn’t normal, but it wasn’t like you could do anything about it. What you hated was the painful tingling and the weird.. harsh cold entering your lungs every time you took a deep breath. You’re so warm, yet your lungs burn cold.

You only saw times in glimpses—what you thought was likely a matter of hours, expanded across a matter of a few days. The harsh blizzard was unwavering, it’s snow falling from the sky harshly messing with the radio signals. Ghost would sit by the window with his personal radio on his vest, along with the emergency signal radio he had stowed in his pack. He would get small glimpses of other peoples voices—Price’s would come through occasionally, luckily long enough for Ghost to update him about their situation and their whereabouts, your condition; but Ghost was never able to provide an update about an exact location. The windows were frosted over and even when they weren’t, all Ghost saw was endless snow and pine trees far as the eye can see, until they eventually faded from view due to the snow coverage. Every time Ghost suddenly becomes aware of his breath, he can’t help but glance over at you; wrapped up in two sleeping bags, sitting way too close to the fireplace—sometimes shuddering, and sometimes.. not moving at all. His heart drops to his stomach when he doesn’t see your breath in the air. He calls your name loudly, firm and demanding and when you don’t answer, he scrambles from his position by the window. “Fuck,” He utters. “Fuck!”

Ghost ignores the pain in his knees when they harshly bash against the ground as he kneels next to you. He grabs your face by your cheeks, startled by the hue of blue on your lips. “Bloody bell—wake up!” Ghost snarls, somehow managing to keep his voice steady. He holds his breath until he sees your chest slowly yet shakily rise—and then you exhale very slowly, and clearly with amounts of trouble. Relief floods Ghost’s veins, but it’s quickly replaced by frustration and panic. You gasp quietly before you begin to shiver uncontrollably again, and taking Ghost completely by surprise; you open your eyes. Your eyes are glazed over, your eyelids puffy. “[Name]?” Ghost questions, his eyes staring hard into yours, silently noting your dialed pupils. “[Name], can you hear me?” If you do, you don’t make coherent indication. Your tongue darts out and wets your lips before you croak out, “I gotta pee.” Ghost huffs and shakes his head, his hand shooting up and laying on your chest—which is covered by many thicker layers, so disregarding Ghost’s hand, it’s not very likely you could’ve gotten up without help, anyway. “You went an hour ago, yeah? You need to stay layin’ down.” You groan and despite your arms being tucked into your multiple covers, something moves against the fabric as if to swat Ghost’s hand away. Ghost can’t help but swallow nervously; he isn’t stupid, he’s aware you’re in one of the stages of hypothermia, he told Price as much. He’s been able to keep the frostbite at bay, but he’s running out of firewood. It’s snowing way too damn hard for him to even pick up stray logs and sticks laying around. Your slowed heartrate, increased urge to urinate, slow cognitive functions, slurred speech, cold skin—blue lips..

It’s not looking good and Ghost doesn’t want to think about that, but that’s all he can see of you right now, so how could he not? And it’s hard both mentally and physically to stay in this cabin, seeing you deteriorate while he himself is getting absolutely fucking freezing. Ghost has had to shed a layer or two just to keep you alive. He can’t deny the way the cold air is scratching at his skin, seeping through his balaclava and into his jaw, nearly making his bones hurt. Ghost clenches his teeth as he shudders for a moment, eyes fluttering closed just long enough to gain his composure. Fuck. Ghost doesn’t want to die here. He doesn’t want you to die here, not like this. Not in a run-down abandoned cabin with shitty insulation, where frostbite is nipping at your fingers and where the cold is finally getting to Ghost’s head. He grits his teeth and sits back on his ass normally with a gloved hand to his head, his vision absolutely swimming. “Stop it,” He grunts quietly. “Hafta stay up.” Ghost takes a deep breath and grunts as he pushes himself to his feet, his boots booming against the wooden floor as he walks over to the area where the firewood is kept. He grabs a few of the pre-cut logs and he makes his way over to you and the fireplace, tossing the logs into the ashes, slowly refueling the dying embers. Ghost sniffles a little under his mask as he grabs a piece of paper and takes out a lighter, lighting it on fire before quickly tossing it into the fireplace to make a better fuel source. He crouches near the growing fire, taking his spot by your feet. Ghost sucks in a shuddering breath and rubs his upper arms, and he can’t help but take another glance at you. You stopped trying to get out of your warm enclosure of blankets, but your eyes were darting around the room slowly, unfocused and hazy.

Ghost’s chest clenches for a moment and he walks back over to your shivering form, and he already did it, but he presses his fingers against your lukewarm skin—nearly cold. Your eyes flutter again and then they vaguely glance in the direction that you think he’s in; which you’re almost right, but a few inches off. You try to speak but a quiet choked noise leaves you, your breathing shaky—finally from fear this time. Ghost puts his finger to his mask in a shushing motion, trying his best to keep you calm. “You’ll be alright, yeah? Gotta wait until the storm’s done brewing out there.” He attempts to reassure your delirious brain, but you can only make another “out of it” noise before your eyes flutter shut once again, you losing consciousness. Ghost feels an ugly and dreadful feeling deep in his gut, scratching at his veins, climbing them until his fingertips are cold both due to the temperature and panic. Ghost has always insisted he doesn’t panic, and he hasn’t—until now. Not until he fears the storm won’t pass over and help won’t arrive until you’re frozen and stiff under your fear, despite his desperate attempts to keep you warm—and alive. Ghost doesn’t want to admit it, but fuck, he’s terrified to fall asleep because out of the two of you, what if he’s the only one who wakes up?

Ghost’s eyelids flutter for a moment before he inhales in a sharp manner and his spine straightens up, his hands clenching together for a moment. “M’not going to fall asleep.” He mutters to himself as he takes his place next to you on the floor and holy hell, the floor is cold—so he silently scoots closer to you and wraps an arm around your body, and Ghost uses his other arm as a pillow. Your chest very slowly rises and falls, and he finds comfort in the sight of a sign of you being alive—you’re still here with him, and that’s all he needs.

Ghost is awoken from a banging on the cabin door. He jolts ever so slightly, but he’s immediately hit with chills, his limbs trembling. Fuck, he fell asleep. His eyelids feel like sandbags and and he can’t stop fucking shaking—and he feels so heavy.. so tired. “Ghost!” A familiar voice yells outside of the cabin. His arm wraps around your form tighter when he doesn’t immediately recognize the British accent behind the door, he grunts as he clumsily sits up and pulls you closer, his trembling hand grasping as his hip, taking out his service pistol. The door opens as he attempts to aim it, his weak and low voice hissing out, “I’ll blow your fuckin’ brains out—“

“Ghost, it’s Price. We found you. Put the gun down.”

Ghost blinks slowly as he looks at the figure who slowly approaches, two others trailing behind—and it is Price—with Gaz and Soap. Ghost sharply inhaled and his arm lowers, the pistol slipping out of his grip. Gaz rushes over to him and your limp form, taking off his gloves. “We got you, Ghost. We got you.” Price assures, but his lips are pressed together as he watches Gaz. Ghost’s head rolls back for a moment, blacking out for a few seconds—Soap’s hands catching his head before it hits the floor. “They’re alive,” Gaz grunts out, leaning down to pick you up bridal style while keeping all of the layers around your body. “Barely, but we gotta get ‘em both to warmth. Now.”

When Ghost finally comes to, the first thing he notices is the smell—it doesn’t smell like rotting and burning wood; his lungs don’t burn with every breath and he can keep his fingers. The second thing he notices is the ache within his throat and his limbs, and the third thing he notices is that he is not wearing his mask. He still feels heavy, but it’s not the kind of heavy where you want to sleep forever heavy. It’s a.. comforting heavy. Someone laying on top of him heavy. It takes him a hot second to open his eyes, and another second to adjust to the harsh lights of the hospital room—oh, wait, they’re not that bad, his head just hurts. Ghost notices someone laying their head on the bed on top of Ghost, their arms under their head as a cushion. He blinks blearily as he doesn’t register it at first; the hospital gown, two IV drips for two separate patients, and the bandages covering your fingers—it’s you. His eyes widen and he lets out a quiet noise, causing you to lift your head up immediately and look at him with the most vulnerable look you could ever have, your eyes wide and bulging like when a child doesn’t know whether to believe the adult in front of them. “Ghost?” You ask, and fuck, your throat croaks. Your vocal cords sound like they’ve been torn apart and reattached, croaking with relief and pain. He swallows thickly and he nods for a moment, unable to find his voice. Your eyes soften for a moment before you whisper to him. “Hurts to talk, huh? Me too.”

Then don’t, said his silent gaze. Yet, somehow, you manage to catch on his memo. Wordlessly, you reach up to one of his hands—covered in scars and calluses, but you don’t mind. Your hands are similar as you nervously glance at him, grabbing his wrist and turning it over so his palm faces up. Ghost eyes your movements, but makes no move to stop you. You take one of your pointer fingers—the one that isn’t bandaged—and you trace letters into his hand slowly.

T H A N K Y O U

Ghost meets your gaze, and you have tears in your eyes. His hand is grossly limp as he grabs the hand you were moving away, and he instead pulls your hand closer to his face for a closer inspection. The bandages concern him, so he looks at you again. You reach for the clipboard you left by his feet and you place it in his lap, pointing to the part of the medical report about your frostbite blisters. Ghost inhales deeply for a moment before his fingers tap against your hand—rhythmically? Oh, it’s morse code.

Ghost is tapping SAFE over and over while looking at you, to reassure himself—and you. You nod in response and offer him the smile he’s been waiting to see and you tap back to him, SAFE.

[mariasont]

hi!! I have a spencer reid x fem!reader request, how about emily plotline but it's spencer instead of emily and reader totally falls apart after she thinks he died, to the point of self-destructive behaviors. she simply can't cope. i totally understand if you're not comfortable with writing something like that, though.

i hope you're having a great day <3

Beyond the Grave - S.R

a/n: angellllll thank you so much for requesting !!!!!! <3 i hope you have the BEST day ever!

masterlist

‧₊˚ ✩°｡⋆♡ ⋆˙⟡♡ ⋆˙⟡♡⋆｡°✩˚₊‧

pairings: spencer reid x fem!reader

warnings: angst, spencer dead for a hot sec then he's not, reader using alcohol to cope, weight loss briefly mentioned, unhealthy coping methods, happy ending!

wc: 1.7k

The knocks were there again, a stubborn sound you chose to ignore as you smothered yourself with your pillow. You willed yourself to drown out the noise and fall back asleep, to forget that your existence now had shrunk to the four corners of your mattress--a fact that didn't necessarily bring you any pride.

When it first happened, you were in a constant state of disbelief. The harsh truth that Spencer had died, leaving a void that you were powerless to fill, seemed to a cruel joke. You found yourself caught in an endless loop of denial, half-expecting him to stroll through the door or wake up to the realization that this was all just a bad dream.

But that never happened so you spent your days imprisoned in your own home, a shell of your former self, devoid of anything that once animated your being. You distanced yourself from everything that once brought you happiness--your family, your friends, your gardening.

You had just introduced Spencer to it a couple months before it happened--when to plant each flower, how to prepare the soil, the schedule of watering. But now it all felt very meaningless, and the once-tended garden became a forgotten space, overgrown and disregarded.

Each morning at work, you were met with a twisting, angry sickness--a gnawing reaction to the collective failure of everyone in that room. You had all let him down, and now the weight of never seeing his smile again was a blade that kept twisting deeper. It was excruciating.

The blow landed on you with a severity that others seemed spared from. You couldn't simply erase the memory and move on. It wasn't an option; it was etched into your very being, monopolizing every thought and sensation.

The team had attempted to piece you back together, but eventually, their help felt like a stabbing reminder. You were beyond repair, a lost cause--you skipped meals, you never slept, you drank too much. With every look in the mirror, you saw the reflection of someone slowly crumbling away. 

Finally, you were angry, a scalding feeling that spread through your veins. You were furious at Spencer leaving you, at the unsub for taking him away, and at yourself for failing to save him, for arriving too late, for watching him struggle against the knife, for watching him disappear into surgery and not come out.

The incessant knocking persisted, an annoyance that finally drew you from your bed. Your limbs were heavy with sleep, a thick haze still clouding your mind. You dragged yourself toward the door, a string of mental curses directed at the uncivilized disturber--likely Penelope with her usual invites for a girl's night out.

But as you swung the door open, the familiar world upended itself, flipped around, and splatted to the bottom of the universe. Dryness clung to your throat, your hands rendered numb at your sides.

And there he was--Spencer, not a ghost, not a figment conjured by your overwrought imagination, but flesh and blood--alive. You fought the urge to pinch yourself. You questioned your sanity briefly, but those eyes--his eyes--were indelibly seared in your memory. You would know them anywhere.

You can't breathe, can't form coherent thoughts. This moment is the very one you've replayed in your dreams, a thousand different ways, and now that it's tangibly here, you can't breathe.

Spencer's heart squeezed at the sight of you. Your eyes were swollen and tinged with the redness as if you'd been crying or just woken up or both. Your hair was shorter than he remembered, ending just shy above your shoulders. You face was washed and hollowed out; the color sapped away as if the sun had become a stranger to you.

"Hey," his voice floated to you, soft as though he was worried you might vanish at any louder sound.

A hesitant hand reached out, trembling as if half-expecting it to pass right through him. But when your fingers brushed against his--solid and warm--reality intensified to an almost unbearable degree, too visceral to be anything but real. 

"B-But you're dead," you choke out, a tremor in each syllable. Your fingers find their way to your lips, the ground seeming to spin in a disorienting whirl. "Spencer, I watched you die."

"Can I come in?"

He didn't wait for an answer, stepping around you into the room. His eyes swept over the cluttered space--the litter of empty alcohol bottles, the stacks of dirt dishes. His heart plummeted, a sinking stone to the pit of his stomach.

One of the first things he noticed about you was your near-compulsive need for keeping things clean, orderly. Your desk had been organized to an almost surgical degree, and Morgan took a secret pleasure in disrupting your system, shifting your pens just to get a reaction. But Spencer had memorized the exact coordinates of your things and discreetly corrected each item before you could notice.

So, this, the sight of your neglected home was something he never thought he'd see.

"Maybe we should sit?" Spencer suggested, more firmly. "I have explanations for everything."

With a nod, you make you way to the couch. His gaze lingers on you, taking in the way the clothes that once hugged you, now draped over your frame in loose folds. He noted the strained swallow, the constant bobbing of your knee, and the startled wideness in your eyes, as if you weren't really sure how to process the sudden influx of information.

He told you everything--why he faked his death, what he had been doing this whole time, why it wasn't Hotch's fault for keeping it from you, and why you had to be kept in the dark. 

His expectations hadn't included you jumping up and down at the sight of him, but the coldness he encountered caught him off guard. Brows knitted downward, knees angled away as if his presence was unbearable, you offered no words when he spoke, an occasional vacant look washing over your features.

"Did you even think of me once, or was I out of sight, out of mind?"

The words surprised him, your tone casual, but your balled fists resting on your knees betrayed you.

"I never stopped thinking of you," Spencer's response was immediate, his hand reaching towards yours.

But you recoiled immediately, shaking your head.

"No, no," you stammered out, tears welling up in your eyes as you struggled to speak. "You can't just...leave me and come back and act as if... as if...it's all okay."

Your voice broke with every word and so did his heart.

With a quick motion, you're on your feet, nearly tripping over the disorder that's invaded your space. Spencer's instinct is to reach out, to steady you, but he knows better.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs, standing to follow your movements. "I didn't have a choice. Believe me, if there was any other way, I'd never have left. I couldn't--"

He paused, a hand brushing through his hair as he blew out a breath.

"But that's just it, Spencer, I don't believe you," you snap, voice trembling with indignation. "You were my best friend, the one person I relied on, and you disappeared."

He started to speak, but you took a step back holding your hand out to stop him. 

"No, you died Spencer. I went to your funeral. I stood over your grave, and now you're here." Tears were streaming down your cheeks as you turned away, hiding your face. "How can you just stand there after all of that?"

Spencer moves closer. "You're being unfair," he says cornering you against the wall. "Why are you being like this?"

His eyes search yours, probing for an explanation, and you give it to him, raw and unfiltered.

"Why am I being like this? Maybe because I'm in love with you."

Spencer's steps falter, retreating as if struck. 

"Oh, come on, don't act so surprised," you blurt out, already wishing you could take back the words. "I know you know." You're rambling now. "I mean, in team briefings I always save you a seat, in meetings I'm always the first one to back your theories, and for crying out loud I got you a copy of the first edition of On the Origin of Species by Darwin for your birthday, like do you know how hard that was to find? What platonic friend would--"

Your admissions pour out unchecked until Spencer's hands are on your cheeks, and his lips meet yours, stopping the flow of your confessions. 

Your breath hitches, a startled sound muffled by Spencer's mouth, a rush of surprise coursing through you. For a heartbeat, you're frozen, but as quickly as it comes, it fades into a warmth that blooms deep in your chest, and you're kissing him back with a desperation that matches the pounding of your heart. 

The world narrows down to the sweet pressure of his mouth moving with careful ease against yours, your hands finding their way to his hair, tangling with the soft strands as you melt into him. 

You pull back just enough to see his eyes, your breaths mingling, foreheads still touching, softly panting. 

"I'm still so upset with you," you whisper, your eyes glistening. 

Spencer's hands are soft on your skin, brushing away the tear. "I know. I'll spend the rest of my life making it up to you."

You nibble on your lower lip and give a small nod. Spencer responds by wrapping his arms around you, pulling you closer. "Promise?" you ask, heart in your throat. "I don't want you to leave me again."

You had never felt so vulnerable. 

"Promise," he replies. "I'm not going anywhere, baby."

You let out a shaky breath, the reality of his words setting in. In a moment of boldness, you reach up to trace the lines of his face, memorizing every detail. 

Spencer's eyes soften, and he whispers, "By the way, I love you too. From the very first moment I saw you."

It's like a key turning a lock. You don't say anything, you don't need to. The silence is enough--the quiet understanding that you'll heal, you'll grow, just like the garden waiting for your return.

taglist: @hotchhner @khxna

[maiverie]

THE RAIN HAS AN EDGE ╰ ﹙ ☁️ ﹚ft. park sunghoon ﹕ a oneshot ﹙ preview ﹚

you are the girl with an umbrella on a rainy day, and sunghoon is the boy at the bus stop drenched from head to toe.

in a nutshell ﹒ there’s a heavy downpour so you hold an umbrella over sunghoon and he looks at you like you’re crazy // 100% fluff

word count ﹒ preview is 1.5k; full ver ~6-7k

fic one of the chasing rainbows series ﹙ coming soon ! ﹚

“true, the sun and the wind inspire. but the rain has an edge. who, after all, dreams of dancing in the dust? or kissing in the bright sun?” — cynthia barnett

now playing ﹒ paris in the rain﹙ lauv ﹚

THE FIRST TIME you talk to park sunghoon, it’s raining, it’s cold, and jake had ditched you to “hang out” with chaewon, because he’s a crappy friend who pounces at any opportunity for female attention.

after your study session in the school library finishes, you find yourself standing at the school’s front entrance, grimacing at the downpour of rain in front of you. heavy pellets pummel from the sky like bullets, forming puddles in the divots of the ground and lowering the temperature enough to make you shiver. 

lucky for you, you remembered to bring your umbrella.

this was a habit of yours even on the sunniest of days, after spending five days bedridden with a fever following The Great Downpour of 2020.

when you reached for your backpack and unfurled your umbrella, it sprung to life and off you went, hopping down the cement paveway that led to the nearest bus stop.

you’re just about to slip in your earphones when you stop in your tracks, spotting a figure a few steps ahead of you. 

the person is crouching on the ground at the bus stop, hunched over and hugging their bookbag in an attempt at gathering warmth. 

the person is drenched and miserable.

and practically radiating angst and despair.  

because you’ve always been a totally (impulsive) caring and selfless person, you shuffle over and hold your umbrella over the person’s head.

they look up — and just when you encounter a cold gaze, dark brows and raven hair — you realise that the moody figure is none other than park sunghoon.

park sunghoon, the ridiculously good-looking senior everybody whispers about but doesn’t actually know anything about. 

park sunghoon, the guy who always wears a stoic, unsmiling expression that makes him the most unapproachable of his group of friends. 

and park sunghoon, the one who’s staring at you with a baffled and slightly distrustful expression on his face. 

oh.

you’re just standing here, staring at him like a creep. 

crap.

you should say something.

you open and shut your mouth a few times, trying to brainstorm what you might possibly say. you want to sound smart. and funny. and cool. so, naturally, the first thing that comes out of your mouth is a very intelligent and super profound, “it’s, uh. . . raining.”

sunghoon continues to stare, his brows slightly furrowed to suggest he was questioning your sanity. 

“it’s raining,” you stupidly repeat louder, as though he hadn’t heard you over the rain. 

“good catch,” he replies, his gruff voice coinciding with the slight dip of his lips. 

the rumors are so true. 

sunghoon definitely has a very grumpy, rather angsty demeanour. you’ve actually spotted him around school a few times (you may or may not follow him with your eyes every time he’s around. is that a crime? it can’t be! you’re not the only one in the student body who finds him extremely attractive and painfully enigmatic), but he’s not the kind of person you can approach so easily.

in fact, he’s been coined the nickname ice prince for a reason.

“yes, uh,” you struggle to string together a coherent set of words, especially because he stands to his feet now, and you have to make the effort to not be intimidated by his height. 

“what i meant to say is that it’s raining but you don’t have an umbrella,” you laughed awkwardly, wanting to whack your head and yell stupid, stupid, stupid for impulsively waddling over here and saying stupid things to park sunghoon of all people. “i-i mean, obviously it’s a free country and you can totally do whatever you want, but, as you might already know — and i’m sure you do because you’re one of the smartest kids in school — standing in the rain can get you sick, like, really sick, and i only know this because about three years ago i forgot my umbrella and — funny story — i ended up getting so sick that i had to take five days off school because my fever was so high.”

oh god.

you quickly slap the tips of your fingers over your lips to physically restrain yourself from talking. the motion makes sunghoon’s gaze quickly flit to your lips, before they bounce back up to your eyes.

his stare is so painfully emotionless that you cringe inwardly.

you wish he’d say something.

anything. literally anything.

but he’s silent.

well, of course he is — you basically just trauma dumped about your stupid fever story. boo-hoo, you were sick from the rain — who cares?

just when you think you’ve reached the death of the conversation, you’re surprised by the sound of his soft voice.

“. . . niki.”

huh?

you blink, leaning in slightly so that you can hear him better.

“. . . niki. my brother. he took the last umbrella.”

oh.

your lips form a small o as you nod in understanding. “oh, niki! that doesn’t surprise me. he’s in my class, you know, and he’s always playing pranks on our teacher. one time he actually hid the test papers so we got a whole extra day to study,” your voice lowers to a whisper, “can’t believe i still failed it though. . .”

sunghoon doesn’t say anything, and afraid of being submerged in awkward silence again, you rush to fill in the space. 

“so where’s niki now?”

he shrugs. “soccer practice, probably.”

“oh,” you frown. “wait, aren’t you part of the soccer team, too? you’re the goalie. you saved so many goals last season and helped the team to their first win in two years,” you say, though your eyes widen in panic as soon the words leave your mouth, “n-not that i’m a stalker, or anything,” you frantically add, “it’s just that everyone knows you’re the goalie because one, it’s common knowledge, and two, the game is coming up and we’re all on the edge of our seats to find out how it goes!” 

stupid stupid stupid. 

why are you rambling so much? 

sunghoon doesn’t seem to mind, though his lips flatten in a rather sour manner. “i quit the team, actually.”

you gasp. “you’re the person jake is replacing? he’s been so cocky ever since it was announced that he’d be on the team. what made you quit?”

he shrugs, “it got boring,” he mumbles, then his ears turn slightly red and he dips his head in an emotion you never imagined park sunghoon could wear — embarrassment. “and i accidentally sprained my ankle.”

you blinked in surprise. “how?”

he hesitates before answering. “i tripped.” 

you stifle a laugh at the irony, because while sunghoon was a lot of adjectives — tall, handsome, mysterious, brooding, kind of scary, even — you never thought he was clumsy.

you softly cackle, earning you a glare from the boy. 

“sorry,” you grin playfully, growing accustomed to his icy aura. “i just never pictured you as a klutz.”

“says you,” he grumbles, “weren’t you the one who tripped and fell in the cafeteria last week? ”

“what—” you choked, “you saw that?”

he exhaled through his nose in amusement. “who didn’t?” sunghoon raised a brow at you. “i’m pretty sure someone recorded and posted it. the caption was ‘dumbass fails to do simple task and ends up with food all over her clothes.’”

your eyes slammed shut before they shot open. “fucking jake,” you growled, gripping the umbrella tightly. “i’m going to kill him.”

sunghoon chuckled, and the sound made your heart beat a little faster. you caught a fleeting glimpse of his smile which — by the way — showcased the most emotion you had ever seen from the boy. it couldn’t be helped that your stomach mangled and twisted at his pearly-white boyish smile, one that made his cheeks bunch up his face and his eyes twinkle like stars.

how pretty.

his smile faded as quickly as it appeared, however, and you soon found yourself facing his usual blank expression again. 

you want to try say something that might make him smile or laugh again, but he suddenly steps outside of the cage of your umbrella and raises his hand, hailing down the incoming bus. 

it slowly stops by the road beside the two of you, marking the end of your little interaction. 

“oh, your bus is here,” you force a smile, rather disappointed. “i’ll, um, see you later, sunghoon.”

“get home safe,” he retrieves his bus card from his pocket, glancing over his shoulder before he boards his bus. “and thanks. for the umbrella.” 

“n-no problem!” you quickly smile, “and by the way, my name is—”

“i know your name,” he interjects, and you think your mind is playing tricks on you when you see the edges of his lips twitch upward. “see you around.” 

sunghoon disappears into the bus and it whizzes by you, though you stay frozen in your feet for what feels like forever. 

he knows your name.

he’ll see you around.

you tuck your lip between your teeth, cheeks and ears flaring up.

and he wants you to get home safe.

.

( to be continued )

this is a preview only ﹒ full fic is estimated 6-7k ﹒ taglist open — send an ask, dm, or reply !

a/n . btw this is a preview only. the full fic might come out next week ? anyway my first hoonie fic and it's 100% pure, unadulterated fluff <3 this is inspired by paris in the rain + the above quote + an exo fic i adore ^^ hope u all liked it :) see u in the full version maybe 🤓

[newobsessionweekly]

Rays of hope

Main masterlist | The Rookie masterlist

Tim Bradford x wife!reader

Fandom: The Rookie

Summary: Your son is kidnapped and you and your husband, Tim, do everything you can to get him back.

ANGST | Hurt to comfort

Requested: Yes - here

Warnings: Kidnapping, kid being held hostage, description of being shot, injuries, losing consciousness.

A/N: I LOVE WRITING ANGST. I've worked so hard on this one and I absolutely love how it turned out. I won't say anything else, I'll let you enjoy it. I have so many ideas and I seriously make it a full time job writing everything.

Words: 6.1k

GIF not mine, credits to the owner.

As the soft light of dawn filtered through the curtains, the Bradford household stirred with the promise of a new day. The aroma of brewing coffee mingled with the gentle sounds of morning chatter as you and Tim bustled around the kitchen, preparing for the day ahead.

Evan, your bright-eyed three-year-old, bounced around the room with infectious energy, his laughter filling the air. Tim knelt down, scooping his son up into his strong arms, showering him with tickles and kisses.

"Hey there, little man," he chuckled, his voice infused with affection. "What adventures are you up today?"

Evan giggled gleefully, wrapping his tiny arms around his father's neck. His response was a jumble of words, excitement evident despite his struggles with forming coherent sentences. "Catch the bad guys like mommy and daddy!"

Tim chuckled, planting a gentle kiss on Evan's cheek. "That's right, buddy. Just like Mommy and Daddy" he said, his voice gentle as he tousled Evan's hair affectionately. "But first, how about some superhero breakfast?"

Tim's presence seemed to illuminate the room even more. He approached you with a tender smile, his eyes reflecting the depth of his love as he enveloped you in his embrace. His arms wrapped around you securely, a comforting shield against any worries or doubts.

"Morning, baby," his voice, like a soothing melody, whispered into your ear, sending shivers of warmth down your spine. "How are my two favorite girls this morning?"

In that moment, as his hand brushed over your bump with such tender care, you felt an overwhelming rush of love and gratitude for the man standing before you. Tim's gaze lingered on you, his eyes filled with an unspoken promise of unwavering support and devotion.

"We're doing great," you replied, leaning into his embrace, savoring the feeling of being held so close.

Tim pressed a gentle kiss to your temple, his lips lingering there for a moment as if to convey all the love he felt. "You look absolutely radiant," he murmured, his voice filled with awe and admiration. "I swear, every day you glow even more."

As Tim settled Evan into his chair, you couldn't help but admire the sight before you. Tim embodied strength and tenderness in equal measure. Dressed casually, his rugged charm shone through effortlessly. With every movement, his love for you and your son was evident, his hands deftly helped Evan eat breakfast while his eyes sparkled with warmth. Watching him with Evan, you couldn't help but feel a wave of adoration for the man who filled your home with love and security.

"Uh-oh. We have a problem," you announced, your voice tinged with concern as you glanced down at your phone. "Nanny just texted me. She can't make it today."

Tim's brow furrowed slightly as he considered the situation, his mind already working on a solution. "What about your mom?" he suggested. "Can't she babysit Evan today?"

You shook your head regretfully, a sigh escaping your lips. "I don't think so. She's outside LA now," you explained, your thoughts racing to find an alternative. "Maybe your sister?"

At the mention of Genny, Tim's expression darkened slightly, "No, custody battle today," he murmured, his voice tinged with a hint of worry. "We'll figure something out, baby. Don't worry."

As you and Tim exchanged worried glances, Evan piped up from his seat, his innocent voice breaking the tension in the room. "Mommy, Daddy, no worry," he declared, his eyes wide with determination. "Evan help!"

You stepped into the familiar hustle and bustle of the station and Evan's eyes widened in wonder at the sight of officers in their crisp uniforms bustling about their duties. With a gleeful tug on Tim's hand, he eagerly dashed around, taking in every detail with unbridled enthusiasm.

"Daddy, look! Cops!" Evan exclaimed, his words a jumble of excitement as he pointed at the officers. "Lots and lots!"

Tim chuckled softly, his heart swelling with pride at his son's eagerness. "That's right, buddy," he affirmed, his voice warm with affection. "This is where mommy and daddy work, with all their friends."

Your son darted around, his boundless energy matched only by his excitement, he greeted each familiar face with enthusiasm, his words a mixture of gibberish and genuine attempts at conversation.

"Hi, Lulu!" Evan exclaimed, flashing Lucy a toothy grin as he reached up to give her a high-five.

Lucy laughed, her eyes crinkling at the corners with amusement. "Hi there, little buddy! If it isn't our favourite visitor!" she replied, returning the high-five with a gentle pat on the head. "You've grown so much since the last time we saw you!"

Evan beamed at the attention, his chest swelling with pride. "I big boy!" he declared proudly, his words punctuated by a triumphant grin.

Next, Evan turned his attention to Angela, his eyes alight with recognition. "Hi, Auntie Angie!" he chirped, reaching out to tug on her sleeve.

Angela's heart melted at the endearing nickname, her smile softening as she crouched down to Evan's level. "Hey, champ," she said, ruffling his hair affectionately. "He's the spitting image of his mother." she said to Lucy, shooting you a playful wink.

Evan beamed at the praise, his chest puffing out with pride. "I grow big like Daddy!" he declared, his words filled with confidence.

Nyla and Nolan watched the exchange with fond amusement, their own smiles widening as Evan made his rounds. You watched your son with amusement, glad he's terrorising your friends and gave you and your husband a moment to catch your breath.

"Don't forget Nyla and John." Evan eagerly nodded at your words, making his way to Nyla first.

She joined in, her face breaking into a wide smile as she crouched down to Evan's level. "Hey there, buddy! You remember my name?" she extended her hand for a handshake.

Evan shook her hand vigorously, his eyes shining with excitement. "You Nyla! I Evan, I help mommy and daddy catch bad guys!" he announced proudly, his words punctuated by a giggle.

Nolan chuckled, ruffling Evan's hair affectionately. "Looks like you've got quite the little helper there, Tim," he remarked, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

Evan saw the opportunity for more attention and he grabbed Nolan's pants, "John, look!" he exclaimed, pointing at something only he could see.

Nolan chuckled, crouching down to Evan's level. "What am I looking at, buddy?" he asked with a grin.

Evan giggled mischievously, his eyes dancing with mischief. "You funny!" he declared, wrapping his tiny arms around the officer's neck in a spontaneous hug.

Then, in a burst of excitement, Evan's face lit up with a newfound revelation. "I meet baby sister soon!" he announced, his words tumbling out in a rush.

The officers exchanged surprised glances, their expressions shifting from amusement to shock at the unexpected news. "Baby sister?" Angela echoed, her voice tinged with disbelief. "Congratulations!"

Nolan grinned, clapping Tim on the back in hearty congratulations. "Well, Bradford. Looks like you're in for double trouble," he teased, his tone affectionate yet teasing.

Amidst the chorus of well wishes and congratulations, both you and Tim couldn't help but feel a swell of gratitude for the supportive community they had found within the station.

"So, what's the little guy doing here?" Angela inquired, her brow furrowed in concern.

Tim sighed, running a hand through his hair as he explained the morning's events. "Well, nanny bailed on us last minute," he admitted, a hint of frustration creeping into his voice. "We didn't have enough time to find someone else to watch him."

Nyla nodded understandingly, her expression sympathetic. "I can call James," she offered, already reaching for her phone. "He can take Evan with him for the day."

Meanwhile, Lucy's eyes lit up with an idea. "And Tamara's here for a school project," she added eagerly, gesturing towards the young woman across the room. "She can watch Evan in the meantime."

Tim's shoulders visibly relaxed at the offers of help, gratitude flooding his heart. "Thank you, both of you," he said sincerely, his voice filled with relief.

You felt a wave of gratitude wash over you, touched by the kindness and support of your colleagues. Despite the unexpected hiccup in their morning routine, you couldn't help but feel reassured knowing that you had such caring friends to rely on.

As Evan bounced around the room, his excitement palpable, you couldn't help but smile at the sight of your son surrounded by so much love and warmth.

Tamara returned from the restroom and her heart skipped a beat at the sight of the empty break room. Evan's toys lay abandoned on the table, but there was no sign of the energetic three-year-old. She left only for a moment, assigning Smitty to keep an eye on Evan but she couldn't find any of them.

"Evan?" she called out, her voice tinged with concern as she scanned the room frantically. "Where are you?"

Panic began to bubble up inside her as she rushed out into the hallway, calling out for Evan at the top of her lungs. "Evan!" she shouted, her voice echoing off the walls of the station. "Come on, kid! This isn't funny. We didn't agree to play hide and seek!"

Her heart pounded in her chest as she raced through the corridors, her eyes darting from room to room in search of any sign of the missing child. The fear gnawed at her insides, threatening to overwhelm her with its intensity.

"Y/N's gonna kill me," she murmured under her breath, her mind racing with worst-case scenarios. She couldn't bear the thought of facing you and Tim with the news that your son was missing on her watch.

With each passing moment, the weight of responsibility pressed down on her shoulders, driving her to search even more desperately for Evan. She prayed with all her might that he was safe and sound, waiting to be found somewhere within the station.

Tamara's heart raced as she rushed to Angela's desk, her hands trembling with fear. Her eyes widened at the sight of Tamara's panicked expression, immediately sensing that something was terribly wrong.

"What happened?" Angela asked, her voice filled with concern as she reached out to steady Tamara.

"It's Evan," Tamara blurted out, her words tumbling out in a rush. "I don't know what happened. He—uh, he's not in the break room. I can't find him."

Panic surged through Tamara's veins, threatening to overwhelm her as she struggled to catch her breath. She couldn't shake the feeling of dread that gripped her heart, knowing that Evan was missing and she was responsible for his safety.

Angela's eyes widened in alarm as she grasped the gravity of the situation. "Okay, okay, let's stay calm," she reassured, though her own heart raced with fear. "Let's go to talk to Grey."

Together, they hurried to Sergeant Grey's office, their steps quickening with each passing moment. Angela explained the situation to the sergeant, her voice urgent as she described Evan's disappearance. He wasted no time in springing into action, dispatching officers to search the station up and down and the surrounding area for any sign of Evan.

Returning to Angela's desk, they accessed the security cameras from the station, their hands shaking as they scrolled through the footage. With bated breath, they watched as a figure dressed in black approached Evan in the break room, his face obscured from view.

As they watched in horror, the figure took Evan's hand and led him out of the station through the front door, disappearing into the bustling city beyond.

Angela's stomach churned with dread as she exchanged a horrified glance with Tamara. "We have to find him," she said, her voice trembling with urgency.

You and your rookie arrived as backup for Tim and the day seemed like any other—filled with the usual hustle and bustle of police work and the consuming thoughts about your son now more than ever. It wasn't about that you didn't trust Tamara or James, it was more the fact that your son was in a not so familiar place.

When Sergeant Grey's voice cut through the radio, your maternal instincts kicked in, suddenly feeling something was not right.

"7-Adam-19, 7-Adam-100, please return to the station," he commanded, his voice terse and filled with an unspoken sense of dread.

Immediately, you and your husband exchanged a look of concern, your hearts pounding in your chests as you hastily wrapped up the call. Questions swirled in your minds, but you could sense the urgency in Wade's voice, driving you to act without hesitation.

Rushing towards the station, your thoughts were racing with a million terrifying possibilities. The atmosphere was charged with tension, officers scurrying about with grim expressions etched upon their faces. You and Tim shared a look of mutual fear, your hearts pounding in your chests as you braced yourselves for the worst.

"What happened? Where's Evan?" your voice trembled with fear as you approached Sergeant Grey, your eyes searching desperately for any sign of reassurance.

Grey's expression was grave as he met your gaze, his own eyes filled with sorrow and sympathy. "Please sit down," he urged gently.

But Tim couldn't bring himself to comply, his chest tight with anxiety and dread. "Don't do that," he interjected. "Just tell us what happened."

Sergeant Grey sighed heavily, his shoulders slumping under the weight of the news he had to deliver. "Fine," he relented. "Evan's been kidnapped. We're waiting for the security footage of all cameras around the station, but Detective Lopez might have a lead."

The words hit you and Tim like a sledgehammer, leaving you reeling with disbelief and anguish. Your sweet, innocent son had been taken from you, and you both were powerless.

The weight of the situation settles over you like a suffocating blanket, "Thompson" the name escapes your lips in a whisper, heavy with the burden of past encounters with the man.

Memories flood your mind—the chilling threats, the sinister promises of retribution, the menacing glint in his eyes as he swore vengeance upon you and your loved ones.

Tim's expression darkens with a mix of anger and concern, his mind racing as he processes the implications of Thompson's involvement. "I didn't know he got out," he admits, his voice tight with frustration and worry.

Your eyes fill with tears, heart aching with the unbearable fear of the unknown as you grasp your husband's hand tightly. "We gotta find him, Tim. We need to find Evan," you plead, voice trembling with desperation.

Tim's jaw clenches with resolve as he pulls you into a tight embrace, his arms a comforting anchor amidst the storm of emotions raging within you. "We will, baby," he vows, his voice a steady reassurance in the face of uncertainty.

He holds you even tighter, his touch a silent reassurance amidst the chaos that surrounds you. With gentle strokes of his hand along your back, he tries to soothe the trembling of your body, his touch conveying more comfort than words ever could.

A wave of despair washed over you both as you sank into nearby chairs, minds racing with a whirlwind of emotions. In that moment, your world shattered into a million jagged pieces, leaving behind only a gaping void where your son's laughter once filled the air. Both of you were consumed by a sense of helplessness and grief, your hearts heavy with the unbearable weight of uncertainty.

Tim feels your trembling body in his arms, he knows that mere words can never be enough to ease the crushing weight of your fear. With gentle fingers, he brushes away the tears that stain your cheeks, his touch tender and comforting. Each stroke is a promise—a promise that he will do everything in his power to bring your son home safe and sound.

In the depths of his heart, Tim feels a surge of pain and helplessness, knowing that you, his wife, are bearing the weight of your son's disappearance with every fiber of your being. His own worries and fears are pushed aside as he focuses solely on providing comfort and strength to the one he loves most in the world.

Tamara rushes to your side, her usually composed attitude shattered by panic and guilt. Her face is pale, her hands shaking as she struggles to find the words to express her guilt.

"Y/N, Tim... I'm so sorry," she stammers, her voice quivering with emotion. "I was only gone for a minute, I left Smitty with him. I... I don't know what happened. When I got back, he—uh, he was gone. I'm so sorry."

Your heart breaks for Tamara, knowing the weight of guilt she must be carrying on her shoulders. Despite your own anguish, you reach out to embrace her, offering comfort and solace in the midst of the chaos.

"It's not your fault, Tamara," you reassure her, voice filled with compassion and understanding. "It's okay. We'll find him."

The tension in the room reaches a fever pitch, Angela breaks the heavy silence with a sense of urgency in her voice. "Guys, I think I've found something," she announces, her eyes darting between Tim and you.

Tim's heart leaps with hope as he strides over to Angela's desk, you close behind. "Show us," Tim demanded, his voice tight with barely contained emotion.

Angela quickly pulled up several surveillance footage clips on her computer screen, the images grainy but unmistakable. "Look here," she pointed, her finger tracing the path of a rusty van leaving the surroundings of the station.

Tim's jaw tightened with determination as he surveyed the footage, his mind already racing with plans and strategies to track down the van and bring Evan home. "It's worth a shot," he declared.

Your heart swelled with gratitude and relief, eyes shining with tears as you leaned in closer to the screen. "We have to go after it," you insisted, voice trembling with desperation and determination.

Tim nodded in agreement, his resolve unwavering. "Alright. Let's get airship support and all the surveillance footage we can find. We need to know every move that van makes," he commanded, already reaching for his radio to issue the orders.

Before you could finalize the plans, Tim's hand shot out to stop you in your tracks, his expression wrought with concern. "You should stay behind," he insisted, his voice soft but firm, his eyes pleading for you to consider your safety.

Your heart sank at the thought of being left behind, your fear for Evan overwhelming any sense of self-preservation. "Not a chance," you declared, your voice trembling with determination. "I'm coming with you. We need all the help we can get."

Tim's gaze softened as he looked into the your eyes, his heart swelling with love and admiration, "Y/N, please. I need to know you're safe. I need you and the baby girl safe," he confessed.

Your resolve only hardened at Tim's words, determination unyielding in the face of adversity. "And what about our boy? What about Evan? I need to find him," you insisted, voice filled with desperation.

In that moment, Tim knew that there was no arguing with your determination. With a heavy sigh, he relented, his heart heavy with worry but his resolve unshaken. "Alright," he murmured, pulling you into a tight embrace. "But promise me you'll stay close. I can't lose you too."

You nodded, your heart swelling with gratitude for Tim's understanding and support. "I promise," you vowed.

With a sense of urgency driving forward, you quickly arrived at the last location where the van was seen. The air crackled with tension as you surveyed the surroundings, the weight of the mission pressing down on you.

Tim's voice cut through the silence as he commanded the team to split up and patrol on foot, his words echoing with authority. "We need to cover every inch of this area," he instructed. "Lucy, Nolan, take east side. Nyla, Angela, cover west. We'll take north."

You nodded in silent agreement, eyes scanning the area for any sign of movement. With each step you took, your hearts hammered in your chests, minds racing with a thousand terrifying possibilities.

Together, you moved cautiously towards the building, the footsteps echoing in the eerie silence of the abandoned street. Tim's hand brushed against yours, a silent gesture of reassurance as you approached the looming structure.

Around the corner, you caught sight of the van parked haphazardly in the alleyway, its doors hanging open as if inviting you inside. Tim's grip tightened on his radio, the other one squeezing your hand even tighter, as he relayed your location, his voice steady and controlled despite the adrenaline coursing through his veins.

"7-Adam-19, we've located the van. Requesting immediate backup at the north entrance," he spoke into the radio, his words precise and urgent.

With bated breath, you entered the building, hearts pounding in your chests as you navigated through the dimly lit corridors hand in hand. Every creak of the floorboards, every flutter of movement in the shadows, sent shivers down your spines as you pressed forward, determination unwavering in the face of danger.

Your hearts stopped as you took in the sight before you— your precious son, bound and gagged, his eyes wide with fear, and the kidnapper, a sinister glint in his eyes as he held the gun to Evan's head.

Evan's small body trembling in fear as he stared up at both you and Tim with tear-filled eyes. The sight of him, helpless and vulnerable, struck a deep chord within you, igniting a firestorm of emotions that threatened to consume you whole.

The knots that bound Evan's wrists and ankles were tight and unforgiving, cutting into his delicate skin and leaving angry red marks in their wake. The sight of your son restrained like a prisoner sent a wave of nausea crashing over, your stomach churning with a mixture of anger and helplessness.

Tears streamed down your cheeks as you took in the sight of your son, heart breaking with every whimper and cry that escaped his lips. It was a sight you had only imagined in your worst nightmares—a sight that would haunt you both for the rest of your days.

You attempted to approach Evan, heart pounding with desperation and fear as Thompson responded with a chilling gesture, taking off the safety of the gun and pressing it even more firmly against Evan's trembling head. You froze in your tracks as you watched in horror, helpless to do anything but stand by and pray for a miracle.

Tim maintained a facade of indifference and purpose despite the pain and anger that consumed both of you. His face was a mask of determination, his eyes burning with a fierce intensity as he faced down the kidnapper. Inside, however, his heart was a tornado of fear and worry, his mind racing with a million worst-case scenarios.

Your heart felt like it was being crushed in a vice grip, your breath catching in your throat as you struggled against the overwhelming urge to protect your child.

Evan's whimpering pierced through the tense silence, his small voice tinged with confusion and fear as he struggled to understand the gravity of the situation unfolding before him.

Tears streamed down your face as you reached out a trembling hand towards your son, desperate to comfort him, but Tim's firm grip on your arm stopped you in your tracks.

"We can't risk it," Tim whispered urgently as he pulled you back to his side, his eyes never leaving Evan.

Your heart felt like it was being torn apart as you watched Evan's innocent whimpering, your own fear for your son threatening to consume you whole.

"Please," Tim pleaded as he addressed Thompson, his hands held up in a gesture of surrender. "Let him go. We can talk about this. Just let him go."

But Thompson's face twisted with anger and resentment, his grip on the gun tightening as he protested vehemently. "You think I'm just gonna let you walk away after what you did to me?" he spat. "You think I'm just gonna let you go back to your perfect little life while I rot in prison?"

Your heart sank as Thompson's words echoed in your mind, "What do you want?" you asked, your heart breaking at the thought of what Thompson might demand. "I'll give you anything. I'll do anything, just please let him go."

His eyes narrowed with hatred as he glared at you, "I want you to suffer," he snarled, his words like daggers in the silence. "Just like I did."

You and Tim tried to talk Thompson down, your hearts pounded in your chests, every second feeling like an eternity as you desperately sought to keep the kidnapper occupied. With Lucy and Nolan slowly approaching from behind, you prayed that they would be able to disarm him before it was too late.

Nolan positioned himself strategically behind Evan, ready to act as a shield if needed, while Lucy positioned herself behind Thompson, her muscles tensed and prepared for action.

"You're making a mistake," Tim stated firmly, his gaze unwavering as he locked eyes with the kidnapper. "You don't want to do this. Let my son go, and we can figure this out."

Thompson's eyes narrowed, his grip on the gun tightening as he glared at Tim with undisguised hostility. "You think I'm just gonna let you walk away after what you did?" he growled.

Tim's jaw clenched with determination as he met his gaze head-on. "We made a mistake," he admitted, "But that doesn't mean you have to make things worse. Let's talk about this like rational adults."

The kidnapper's expression remained cold and unforgiving, his finger twitching on the trigger as he glared at Tim and you with a mixture of anger and resentment. "You ruined my life," he spat, his voice filled with bitterness. "Now it's time for you to pay."

Tim's heart sank as he watched Thompson's finger inch closer to the trigger, every fiber of his being screaming to protect Evan at all costs. "Listen to me," Tim urged, "This isn't the answer. Let Evan go, and we can work this through."

But Thompson's eyes burned with a fierce determination, his grip on the gun unyielding as he leveled it at Evan's head. "It's too late for that," he snarled, his voice filled with rage. "You took everything from me. Now it's time for you to suffer."

Your heart sank at his words, the weight of his hatred crushing you beneath its suffocating grip. "We're sorry," you whispered, "We didn't know..."

Thompson cut you off with a bitter laugh, his laughter echoing off the walls of the empty room. "You didn't know?" he scoffed, "You didn't know that because of you, my wife and daughter are dead?"

Tears stung your eyes as Thompson's words hit you like a punch to the gut, the guilt weighing heavy on your conscience. "We're sorry," you repeated, "We didn't mean for any of this to happen."

His expression remained cold and unforgiving, his gaze fixed on Evan with a mixture of rage and sorrow. "You think your apologies can bring them back?" he growled, his voice laced with bitterness. "You think your words mean anything to me?"

"Even if you take our son away, it won't bring your wife and daughter back," Tim interjected, his voice steady despite the tension in the air. "Don't make things worse for yourself. If you let him go, we won't say a word. You won't go back to prison."

His words hung heavy in the air, a plea for reason in the midst of chaos.

But Thompson's patience wore thin, his grip on the gun tightening as he grew increasingly agitated. His eyes gleamed with malice as he surveyed the scene before him, a twisted smirk playing on his lips.

"Maybe you're right," he sneered, his voice dripping with venom. "Maybe your little bastard isn't the solution. Your whore of a wife is. And pregnant with your daughter. She's perfect."

The words struck like a dagger to the heart, sending a wave of agony crashing over you. Tim's jaw clenched with barely contained fury, his hands curling into fists at his sides as he struggled to maintain his composure.

When the kidnapper's attention shifted towards you, pointing the gun in your direction with a menacing glare, it created a window of opportunity for Lucy and Nolan to intervene. In that harrowing moment, your heart skipped a beat as the barrel of the gun leveled towards you, but amidst the terror, a glimmer of hope flickered to life.

Lucy lunged forward, her eyes focused solely on disarming the kidnapper before he could harm Evan any further. She reached for the gun, her muscles tensing as she prepared to wrestle it from Thompson's grasp.

But in the chaos of the moment, his finger tightened on the trigger, the deafening sound of gunfire shattering the tense silence like a thunderclap. Your heart stopped as you watched in horror, a rush of adrenaline coursing through your veins as the bullet struck its mark. Pain erupted through your body, but in the heat of the moment, the adrenaline dulled the sensation, allowing you to push through.

Every second felt like an eternity as you and Tim rushed to your son's side, the adrenaline coursing through your veins driving you forward. With trembling hands, you helped Nolan loosen the knots, your fingers fumbling in your haste to free Evan from his restraints.

As the last knot came undone, Evan let out a whimper, his tear-streaked face turning towards you and Tim with a look of desperation.

"Mommy!" he cried, his voice trembling.

Your heart shattered into a million pieces at the sound of Evan's voice, tears streaming down your face as you gathered him into your arms. "I'm here, baby," you murmured, your voice shaking with emotion. "Mommy and daddy are here. You're safe now."

Lucy pressed on, pinning the kidnapper to the ground and she swiftly secured him in handcuffs, effectively neutralizing the threat he posed.

Tim knelt down beside you and Evan, his movements were a blur of frantic yet tender gestures. With trembling hands, he pulled you both into his embrace, holding you close as if his mere touch could ward off the looming threat.

"I've got you," he whispered, his voice trembling with emotion as he pressed kisses to your foreheads. "I've got both of you. Everything's going to be okay." His words were a fervent mantra, repeated like a prayer as he desperately tried to reassure himself as much as you and Evan.

You found solace in Tim's embrace, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat a soothing lullaby against your ear. Despite the pain coursing through your body, his presence offered a sense of calm amidst the storm, grounding you in the midst of chaos. With each tender touch and whispered word,exhaustion began to overtake you, the weight of the ordeal bearing down on your weary body, sleep beckoned like a siren's call.

Your eyelids grew heavy with weariness, the pain fading into the background as you surrendered to the embrace of sleep, trusting Tim to keep you safe.

Tim's heart clenched with fear as he felt you grow limp in his arms, panic surging through him like a tidal wave. "No, no, stay with me," he pleaded, his voice thick with emotion. "Don't you dare leave me, Y/N."

But despite his desperate pleas, unconsciousness claimed you, your body going slack against him. Evan's worried voice pierced through the fog of Tim's panic, the little boy shaking your hand with his tiny fingers. "Mommy?" he called out.

Tim's heart shattered at the sight of you lying unconscious on the ground, your face pale and peaceful in sleep. With trembling hands, he scooped Evan into his arms, shielding him from the sight of his mother's still form.

"It's okay, buddy. Mommy's just resting, that's all." Tim whispered, his voice thick with emotion as he held Evan close. But inside, Tim's heart was gripped by fear, his mind racing with worry for you and your unborn baby.

Tim's shouts for help pierced through the chaos, his voice trembled with desperation, tears streaming down his cheeks unchecked as he held Evan tightly in his arms. Each cry for assistance was a desperate plea, a fervent prayer for the help that he so desperately needed.

As the paramedics rushed to your side, Tim watched in horror as they whisked you away on a stretcher. Fear gnawed at his insides, a cold dread settling over him like a suffocating blanket, his chest tightened with every step they took, each moment stretching out into an eternity of agonizing uncertainty.

Angela rushed at Tim's side, and with trembling hands, he handed over Evan into her care, his voice shaking with emotion as he tried to reassure his son in the midst of his own storm.

"It's okay, champ," Tim murmured, his voice choked with tears. "Go with Aunt Angela. Daddy's going with mommy to make sure she's okay." Despite the weight of his own fears bearing down on him, Tim forced a small smile for Evan's sake.

Tim sat at your bedside, his fingers gently tracing patterns on the back of your hand as he watched over you. Evan was nestled against his chest, his soft snores filling the room with a comforting rhythm.

"How are you holding up, Tim?" Lucy asked, placing a reassuring hand on Tim's shoulders.

"Hanging in there." he whispered, caressing his son's hair like it was an anchor that kept his sanity at peace.

They took turns checking on you, their concern palpable in the air as Tim greeted them with a weary but grateful smile. With each visit, Tim's heart warmed by the unwavering support of his fellow officers and friends.

"Thanks for being here," he offered, his voice tinged with exhaustion but filled with appreciation. "It means a lot."

Angela's gaze softened as she placed a reassuring hand on Tim's shoulder. "We're here for you, Tim," she reassured him. "Whatever you need, just say the word."

As you began to stir, Tim's heart skipped a beat, his gaze never wavering from your face as you slowly blinked awake. "Hey there," he whispered softly, a tender smile gracing his lips as he brushed a stray lock of hair from your forehead. "How are you feeling?"

You returned his smile weakly, your voice barely above a whisper as you replied, "Better, now that you're here." The weight of the past few hours pressed heavily upon you, but the sight of Tim's presence beside you brought a sense of calm that you desperately needed.

Tim's heart swelled with relief at the sound of your voice, his fingers intertwining with yours as he leaned in to press another gentle kiss to your forehead. "I'm never leaving your side again," he vowed, his voice filled with conviction as he gazed into your eyes.

Evan stirred against Tim's chest, his sleepy voice calling out for you. "Mommy" he mumbled, his little arms reaching out in search of you.

Tim's heart melted at the sight of his son, his love for both you and Evan swelling within him like a tidal wave. "Shh, buddy," he whispered, his voice soft and soothing as he gently lifted Evan into his arms. "Mommy's right here."

Evan's sleepy eyes widened with delight as he caught sight of you, his face lighting up with joy. With a sleepy grin, he reached out towards you, his tiny fingers curling around your hand as Tim helped him to gently crawl onto the bed beside you.

You couldn't help but smile at the sight of your son, his presence bringing a sense of warmth and comfort that washed over you like a gentle wave. With Tim's steady hand guiding him, Evan nestled against your side, his sleepy gaze meeting yours with an expression of pure adoration.

"Love you, Mommy," Evan murmured, his voice filled with sleepy affection as he snuggled closer to you.

"I love you more, sweetheart," you whispered in reply as you pressed a tender kiss to Evan's forehead.

Tim's eyes glistened as he looked down at the two of you. With a tender smile, he leaned in to press a kiss to both your foreheads, his touch a silent affirmation of his love for you both.

"I love you both," Tim whispered, his voice thick with emotion as he held you and Evan close, "More than anything in this world."

[pretzel-box]

woe, Reverse AU angst be upon ye (not necessarily a request, just a thought i had, but if anything strikes feel free to go ham :3 i also like to think about this with the og universe because i love feeling emotional pain 🧘🏾)

but instead of the reader having a classified file for themselves (& having it for sale), there are videotapes (or maybe different colored pendrives? CDs work too, i guess!!) scattered across the abandoned offices, and at first Sebastian isn't sure what to do with them, but then he meets p.ai.nter and they recognize those immediately, questioning why Sebastian is carrying that stuff with him in a concerned tone, and Sebastian just stares at the computer like, "??? okay, what's up with it?"

p.ai.nter is hesitant to show him what those hide at first, but eventually agrees to let him watch, then warns him that he is not going to like any second of it

Sebastian gets comfortable in front of the screen but is only greeted with an extremely heartbreaking scene– it's (now an experiment) reader visibly shaking as they stare in horror at their new body, unable to speak in any way while sobbing and whimpering, hugging themselves (or maybe their tail? guess it depends on the way readers want to look) and wondering what they had done to deserve this outcome, to be stripped of their humanity

now i personally like to think that the reader struggling to speak is something that comes with their body being altered, like everything is big so they're not used to any of it so really all they can do is cry and struggle to say a coherent sentence because it sounds like a garbled mess, but that is also me wanting to add salt to the wound because this is supposed to be sad ooooo ⚡⚡

anyway, at the end of it all (cause there was more than one video, a whole documentary on reader and the experiments done on them), Sebastian is left feeling too many emotions and he doesn't even know when he started crying but he is (since the reader he knows now is different from the one he just saw in the videos but deep down it hurts so much because that is the same person in different years of their life) and p.ai.nter isn't sure how to comfort him so they keep apologizing till Sebastian finally chooses to leave

next time he stops by reader's shop he can't even bring himself to stare at them properly because he's afraid he'll start bawling his eyes out, meanwhile, reader is just staring at him like ":3? no snarky comments or banter today wow what happened to him" unaware that he has seen The Horrors

that's all thanks for coming to my tedtalk

Authors Note: This is inspired by this request but not 1:1 written like it. This is pure angst and some gore. READ AT OWN RISK.

Tags: GORE, Angst, Reversed AU, mentions of syringes, drugs and operations.

Words: 2,7k

The sound of a click filled the room, followed by the small red light blinking on the video camera, indicating it was recording. Sebastian glanced at you with irritation as you held the camera—a little relic you'd scavenged from a deeper part of the facility—not too long ago. He shoved his hands deeper into the pockets of the leather jacket you had once sold him.

"And we are live!~ Say hello to the viewers, Seb!" you teased, shoving the camera playfully in his face. He immediately pushed it away with his hand, his scowl deepening.

"I get it, I get it," he grumbled, pointing at the camera with a mock glare. "You found a new toy. Now what? You planning to make a movie or something?"

You shot him a sharp look, the room growing colder as if you were subtly irritated by his comment. Sebastian could sense he'd hit a nerve, a rare feat considering your usual carefree attitude. But then, unexpectedly, you burst out laughing, clutching your stomach and flashing him the signature grin that always greeted him when he came to your shop.

"I’ve already starred in plenty,” you replied cryptically, your words hanging in the air with an eerie undertone. Sebastian opened his mouth to ask what you meant, but you cut him off with another sly comment. “Maybe you’re the next big star, Solace.”

After leaving your shop, Sebastian wandered through the halls of the Hadal Blackside facility, the encounter with you replaying in his mind. He’d grown to enjoy your company—your banter, your teasing, the way you challenged him. But today, something about your behavior felt off. Beneath the jokes and sarcasm, there was something else—something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. And that unsettled him like an itch he couldn’t scratch.

How could he be in a relationship with someone so different, so complex? You were like a puzzle with missing pieces, a riddle that refused to be solved. The more he thought about it, the more it nagged at him. His legs carried him on autopilot through the winding corridors, his mind consumed by thoughts of you.

It wasn’t until he found himself in the office segment of the building that he realized he’d been walking without really paying attention. His hand hovered over the keycard reader, and it struck him that he hadn’t even looked for the blue plastic card he needed to get through the next door. The desk was a mess of papers, ink, and tapes.

His eyes fell on an old, unlabeled tape, the kind they'd used for surveillance back in the day. Scrawled on it in red ink was a series of numbers: *Z-13.* The sight of it piqued his curiosity, a nagging feeling that it was significant. Without thinking, he slipped it into his pocket. He’d find a way to watch it later.

Sebastian rummaged through countless drawers, lockers, and cabinets, searching for the keycard, but instead, he kept finding more of those mysterious tapes. Each one seemed older than the last, covered in dust and marked with strange codes.

His practical side told him he should probably look through all of them, not just the one he had picked up. So, he gathered them into a makeshift box he'd found lying around and continued his search for the keycard, all the while wondering what secrets these tapes might hold—and what they had to do with you. He know the Name Z-13 was related to you.

If there was anything he knew for sure, it was that you were full of surprises. And maybe, just maybe, these tapes would help him understand you a little better.

By pure coincidence, Sebastian ran into P.AI.nter a while later as he continued through the seemingly endless corridors of the facility, taking casual steps despite the weight of the wonky box filled with random tapes he was carrying. The AI's sketched face flickered to life, its eyes narrowing with a curious gaze. "Quite the haul today, Sebastian," it remarked, its voice tinged with artificial cheerfulness. "Planning to deliver all of that to our trusty shopkeeper?"

Sebastian grunted in response, setting the box down on the floor with a thud. He raised his hands above his head, stretching to relieve the ache that had settled in his shoulders from lugging the heavy box around. "Can you play them?" he asked, his voice a mix of curiosity and exhaustion. It was a simple question, and he knew the answer even as he asked it—of course P.AI.nter could play a few tapes.

But as soon as the question left his lips, the room fell into an uneasy silence. P.AI.nter’s usual cheerful demeanor seemed to shift, its sketched form glitching for a moment as if processing something more than just data. The AI stared at Sebastian and the tapes, an uncharacteristic hesitation creeping into its expression.

"It's just a tape, Sebastian," P.AI.nter finally replied, its voice flat, devoid of its usual light-heartedness. There was something in the way it spoke—something guarded, almost cautious—that only fueled Sebastian's curiosity further. The AI’s reluctance was like gasoline on a fire.

“A tape I want to watch,” Sebastian shot back, his patience wearing thin. He was tired of the evasiveness, the constant roadblocks whenever he sought answers. He moved with purpose, selecting one of the tapes and sliding it into the nearest recorder, right next to P.AI.nter’s screen.

“I have to warn you, Sebastian,” P.AI.nter said, its tone shifting to something closer to pleading. The air between them grew heavy, the tension thickening as the tape began to whirl in the machine. Sebastian paused, the gravity of the AI's words weighing on him.

"You won’t like any second of it," P.AI.nter added, its voice barely more than a whisper. There was a finality in its tone, a sense of foreboding that hung in the air like a storm about to break. The familiar face of his AI friend got replaced by some white noise and then a black screen.

Sebastian’s heart pounded in his chest as he watched the screen flicker to life, unsure of what he was about to see but certain of one thing: whatever was on these tapes, it was something the facility—and P.AI.nter—wanted to keep hidden.

“Hellooo! I'm one of the new researchers here at the Hadal Blackside. I'm recording Tape Nr. XXXX in Containment Cell XXXX. Wish me luck!”

Sebastian watched as a cheerful person appeared on the screen, holding a camera up to their face. Excitement radiated from their eyes, and despite the poor quality of the footage, their energy was infectious. Some of the information on the screen glitched out, redacting key details as if the tape had deliberately scrambled those moments, keeping certain things obscured.

The person on the screen shifted their stance, and the camera followed their movement. “This is a video for my friend who was super excited to hear about my job. I totally stole the camera for this, so shhh, we can't get caught,” they whispered conspiratorially, a playful grin spreading across their face. There was something unsettling about their carefree demeanor, yet Sebastian couldn't help but feel a small flicker of amusement. The tape felt like a low-quality YouTube vlog, reminiscent of simpler times, with this familiar-looking worker goofing off for the amusement of a friend.

“They told me this is super secret stuff,” the voice continued, the lens panning around the containment cell. “But I just have to show you this.”

The video abruptly cut to another segment, the view shifting to reveal a massive anglerfish-like entity lurking behind an enormous glass wall. The waters it swam in were inky black, like thick oil, giving the creature an unsettling and eerie aura as it moved in the dark liquid.

“Isn't it cool?” the person behind the camera asked with an almost childlike wonder, pressing their flat hand against the glass. “They’re hiding this here! They do some voodoo fish shit in this facility. Even the human centipede would turn pale in envy.”

Sebastian froze as he watched the footage. The creature behind the glass was terrifying—a monstrous anglerfish, its grotesque form barely discernible in the murky waters. It was an unsettling sight, made even more disturbing by the fact that this reckless researcher was standing mere inches from one of the most dangerous entities imaginable, their tone light and casual as if they were commenting on the weather.

A chill ran down Sebastian’s spine as he continued to watch the video, his breath caught in his throat. The footage shifted again, but the image of the monstrous fish remained burned into his mind. His gut twisted with unease. What was this person thinking, standing so close to something so deadly? And why did they seem so familiar?

As the old tape continued to play, the weight of the discovery settled on Sebastian’s shoulders like a heavy boulder. Whatever secrets were buried in these tapes, he was certain they weren’t meant to be uncovered—especially not by him. Yet here he was, staring at a reality that seemed more and more like a nightmare. The things he saw so far in the blackside were not as terrifying as this giant monster that rested behind that glass wall.

The tape ended abruptly, and for a moment, there was only silence. Sebastian’s hands trembled as he reached down to turn the cassette over, the worn edges rough against his fingertips. He knew there were at least four more tapes waiting in the box at his feet, each one a potential gateway to another nightmare. His breath caught in his throat, a cold sweat forming on his brow. Still, his curiosity and a gnawing need for answers compelled him to continue.

With a shaky breath, he pressed the tape back into the player, flipping it to the other side. The screen flickered to life again, this time showing a cold, sterile operating room. Several figures in hazmat suits moved with practiced precision, their faces obscured by masks and goggles. The room was pristine, a stark contrast to the horror Sebastian knew was about to unfold.

“This is Experiment Nr. XXXX,” a calm, clinical voice narrated. “And our newest trial patient, Z-13, who volunteered for their transformation.”

Sebastian’s eyes widened as he recognized the person strapped to the operating chair—the same person from the earlier footage. They were bound tightly, their limbs secured as though they were a dangerous criminal. There was no mistaking the fear and confusion in their eyes, even through the drug-induced haze.

“Z-13 was administered XXXX, XXXX, and XXXX 20 minutes prior to the start of this procedure,” the voice continued with an unsettling detachment. “Their pupils are dilated, and the patient has entered a state of delirium, necessary for the next phase of the experiment.”

The camera zoomed in on the bound figure, their eyes bloodshot and unnaturally wide, darting around the room in a frantic, unfocused search for something familiar. Sebastian felt his stomach churn with a sickening realization—this was no volunteer. This was a person trapped, forced into an unimaginable horror. The idea of volunteering was just another lie, a thin veneer over a darker truth.

Sebastian’s fingers dug into his knees as he watched, his body tense with dread. He knew what was coming next, but the tape did not shy away from the gruesome details. The hours that followed were a blur of pain and suffering, each tape more harrowing than the last. Scenes of torn flesh and oily blood filled the screen, detached limbs falling to the sterile floor with sickening thuds. Each cut, each scream was more unbearable than the last. And those eyes—those haunted, slowly awakening eyes—followed Sebastian throughout each frame, pleading silently for mercy.

With each passing minute, it became painfully clear that the drugs were losing its effectiveness and the person that was tied to the chair gained the ability to feel every single thing that happened there. The delirium ended and the terror began.

The scream tore through the speakers with such intensity that Sebastian flinched. It wasn’t just a scream—it was a raw, visceral sound, a guttural cry filled with a mix of agony, fear, and desperation. It was a sound so primal that it clawed its way into his very bones, settling there with an uncomfortable weight. It was the worst thing he had heard in ages. Every nerve in his body screamed in empathy for the poor soul on the screen, the person whose existence had been reduced to nothing but a vessel for pain.

“Silence them,” a cold, emotionless voice commanded from off-screen.

Almost immediately, a set of cruel, metal clamps were forcefully shoved into the patient's mouth, prying it open with a brutality that made Sebastian wince. These were the kind of instruments used for people with severe jaw fractures, designed to immobilize and inflict pain to prevent further injury. But here, they were used as a tool of torture, a means to quiet the suffering that had become too loud for the facility’s sterile walls. The rough, unyielding metal dug into their flesh, tearing into the soft tissue of their mouth, blood trickling down their chin. The sight was gruesome, and Sebastian could feel his stomach twist with disgust.

The person’s screams were abruptly cut off, replaced by a wet, choking gurgle. They were left to suffer in silence, their jaw now clamped shut, the metal rods cruelly keeping it from moving even a fraction. Tears streamed down their face, their eyes wide with terror and pain, every muscle in their body taut with agony.

And just when Sebastian thought it couldn’t possibly get any worse, the camera shifted. The surgeon, clad in a sterile suit that seemed to mock the very concept of humanity, moved over the patient's eyes. Those eyes—once filled with life, now wide with shock, pain, and a frantic, animalistic fear—darted around in sheer terror. They were crying frantically, tears mingling with the blood on their face.

“We will now begin our final part,” the disembodied voice continued with a chilling detachment. “Removal of the natural human eyes to replace them with XXXX using XXXX and XXXX. The expected results will lead to an ability to see underwater.”

Sebastian’s breath caught in his throat as he watched a gloved hand reach for a long, thin needle, the metal glinting ominously under the harsh, fluorescent lights. The needle was positioned directly over the patient's eye, the sharp tip hovering just above the delicate orb. Their wide, terrified gaze seemed to plead with the unseen surgeons, with the camera, with anyone who might be watching—to stop, to help, to do something.

But there was no help. There was no mercy.

The screen flickered for a moment, and then, mercifully, the tape cut to black. The room was plunged into darkness, the only sound the low hum of the equipment around him. Sebastian sat frozen, his heart pounding in his chest, his mind racing with the horrific images he had just witnessed. His hands were clenched so tightly that his knuckles were white, the tension radiating through his entire body.

He was left alone in the darkness, his thoughts a chaotic whirlwind. The horror of what he had seen, of what had been done to someone who had likely never asked for any of this, crashed over him.

Then P.AI.nters face greeted him on the screen.

“They first drugged them, then they put in a row of ocean animal dna into their body.”

He was pointing out the steps that the surgeons did in the tape.

“They cut off their fingers, waiting for them to grow back. They took of the part from the knees to the feet…and then they noticed that it wasn't enough.”

Sebastian raised his hands, to put them over his ears.

“They lost both their healthy legs. Next was their ears, they cut it off. And then…they silenced them by closing their jaw.”

He could still hear P.AI.nter.

���And then they lost their eyes. The transformation from the human self to…the thing they are now…took 7 weeks. They attached and deattached plenty of stuff on them.”

For a moment he felt the urge to shut P.AI.nter off for good.

“Our shopkeeper went through much, don't you think?”

A loud sound filled the room and then there was darkness.

[gingersxng]

Caught In The Act

Pairing: f!reader x Yunho

Genre: smut 18+, angst?

Summary: you finally caught your boyfriend in the act after months of cheating.

Notes: gf!reader, dom!reader, bf!yunho, switch!yunho, yunho is a manwhore, bigdick!yunho, cheating, getting caught in the act, unprotected sex (DONT), punishment, teasing, nipple play, fingering, cumming. May have forgot something!

Words: 1.3k

You and Yunho had been in a kinda messy relationship for 6 months. It was now very common for you to spend some of the nights alone without your boyfriend’s presence while he was out doing other stuff. You knew he slept around with other girls, the horny manwhore he was. You loved him so much that you actually accepted his behaviour, as long as you couldn’t see anything it didn’t happen you thought to yourself and you knew that he loved you more than everything.

All it took was some random girl to bite her lip or show a bit of cleavage for Yunho to go crazy and drag her to the nearest bathroom or whatever he could find… well tonight unfortunately it was your shared bed.

You stormed through the front door of your apartment, your heart racing with a mixture of anger and hurt. You had just received a tip-off from a friend about your boyfriend and now you was about to catch him red-handed. As you quietly made your way down the hallway, the sounds of passion and pleasure filled your ears, confirming your worst fears.

Stepping into the bedroom your blood boiled at the erotic sight in front of you. There he was, your so-called boyfriend, thrusting vigorously into some random girl, his big body dominating the petite stranger. The girl's moans echoed through the room, a stark contrast to your seething silence. Yunho's eyes were closed, his face contorted in pure ecstasy as he pounded away, completely oblivious to your presence.

"You fucking bastard!" Your voice cut through the air, sharp as a whip.

Startled, Yunho froze mid-thrust, his brown eyes widening as he turned to face you. The girl beneath him, sensing the shift in the atmosphere, quickly scrambled off the bed, covering her naked body with the sheets and got out of there in a flash.

"Y/N... baby, it's not what you think," Yunho stammered, his face flushing with a mix of guilt and arousal. His thick, veiny cock, still glistening with the girl's juices, stood erect, a testament to his recent activities.

"Not what I think? Really?" Your voice dripped with sarcasm as you took in the scene. The tangled sheets, the used condom on the bedside table, and the unmistakable scent of sex hanging heavy in the air. "You're fucking some random slut in our bed, and it's not what I think? You're a fucking manwhore, Yunho!"

Yunho's mouth opened and closed like a fish, struggling to form a coherent response. He knew he was caught, and the evidence of his infidelity was as plain as the hard-on that still tented the sheets.

"Get out of my sight," you spat, your hands balling into fists. "I want you out of this apartment by tomorrow. And take your pathetic dick with you because you're not getting a second chance at fucking me."

As you turned to leave, Yunho's hand shot out, grasping your wrist tightly. "Wait, Y/N. Please, just hear me out."

You glared at him, your eyes flashing with fury. "Let go of me, you asshole. I swear, if you don't let go right now, I'll scream and have you arrested for assault."

Yunho's grip loosened, but he didn't release you. "I know I fucked up, okay? I'm a dick, but I love you. I'm sorry. Please, just give me one chance to make it up to you."

You snorted derisively. "Make it up to me? How? By fucking me in this bed where you just had some nameless girl? No thanks. I've had enough of your bullshit."

"I'll do whatever it takes," he pleaded, his eyes pleading. "I'll do anything to keep you, Y/N. Please, just give me a chance to prove myself."

You studied him for a moment, your mind racing. Despite your anger, a small part of you was intrigued by his offer. Perhaps you could use this situation to your advantage, to teach him a lesson he'd never forget.

"Fine," you said finally, her voice cold. "But on one condition."

Yunho's eyes lit up with hope. "Anything, baby. Just name it."

"You will do exactly as I say, no questions asked. If you agree to that, I might consider giving you a chance to redeem yourself."

He nodded eagerly, his eyes fixed on you. "I agree. Whatever you want, I'll do it."

"Good," you purred, a devilish smile spreading across your face. "Then let's start with your punishment, shall we?"

Without waiting for a response you grabbed Yunho's hand and pulled him towards the bed. You pushed him down onto the mattress, his back hit the headboard hard and you straddled his waist, your short skirt riding up your thighs.

"You like fucking other girls, huh? Well, let's see how you like being fucked by me," you whispered seductively, your fingers reaching for the button of your blouse.

Yunho's eyes widened as you slowly unbuttoned your top, revealing your lace bra and the swell of your breasts. His cock, already semi-hard from the earlier encounter, began to stir again, thickening under your gaze.
"That's right, you filthy whore-lover," you taunted, your hands cupping your breasts, squeezing and teasing your sensitive nipples through the lace. "You're going to watch me pleasure myself while you lie there and do nothing. That's your punishment for being a cheating piece of shit."

As you spoke, your fingers worked the clasp of the bra, freeing your round and firm breasts. You leaned forward, your hard nipples grazing his chest, your breath hot on his skin. Yunho's cock twitched, straining against his stomach, but he didn't dare move, knowing any sign of resistance would only prolong his agony.

Your fingers drifted down your body, tracing the line of your waist before slipping beneath the waistband of your skirt. You moaned softly as your fingers found your wetness, stroking your clit, your pussy already aching for release.

"You like that, don't you? Watching me touch myself, imagining it's some random slut's hand on my pussy instead of yours," you teased, your fingers delving deeper, sliding through your slick folds. "Well, guess what? You're not getting a taste of this sweet pussy until I say so. And if you even think about touching yourself, I'll stop and leave you high and dry."

Yunho's breath hitched as he watched your fingers disappear into your pussy, his cock throbbing with need. He yearned to thrust his hips, to bury himself deep inside you, but he knew he had to endure this punishment if he wanted a chance at redemption.

Your moans filled the room as you fucked yourself with your fingers, your hips moving in a slow, sensual rhythm. Your eyes never left his, daring him to look away, to break the intense connection that bound you in this moment of forbidden pleasure.

"That's it, Yunho," you whispered. "Watch me cum, you filthy pervert. Imagine it's some other girl riding your cock, but remember, it's my pussy that's getting off, not yours."

Your fingers worked faster, your hips bucking against your hand as you neared your climax. Yunho's eyes were locked on you, his mouth dry as he fought the urge to beg for release. He wanted to taste you so bad, to feel your tight pussy clenching around his cock, but he knew he had to earn that privilege.

With a cry of pleasure, your body stiffened, your pussy clenching around your fingers as you came, your juices flooding down your hand and onto Yunhos dick.

You collapsed against him, your breath ragged, your heart pounding.

"There," you said satisfied. "That's your punishment for now. But remember, this is just the beginning. If you want to prove yourself, you'll do whatever I say, no matter how depraved or humiliating it might be."

Yunho nodded, his eyes burning with a mixture of desire and determination. "I'll do whatever it takes, Y/N. Just tell me what you want, and I'll make it happen."

A wicked smile played on your lips as you considered the possibilities. "Oh, I have plenty of ideas, believe me. And if you thought this was humiliating, just wait until tomorrow. Because that's when the real fun begins."

[muddyorbsblr]

bigger than the whole sky [rtc what if…?]

'relinquish the crown' masterlist See my full list of works here!

BE WARNED SPOILERS FOR THE LOKI SEASON 2 FINALE AHEAD

Summary: What if…you'd broken Frigga's memory spell without Loki? | Your search for your husband leads you to a peculiar void beyond the Nine Realms, to a place that vaguely resembles the Tree of Life that you'd only read about in historical texts.

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Word Count: 3.3k

Warnings: angst with no happy ending in sight; this is in the RTC universe so…themes of incest if you squint; Loki S2 finale spoilers; slight violence in the beginning [let me know if i missed anything!]

Things to be aware of: gonna repeat it again…Loki S2 finale spoilers ahead; no prior reading of RTC is required to suffer enjoy reading this story

"I will ask you one final time, you sadistic hedonist," you panted, taking a moment to lean on Stormbreaker while the eccentric tyrannical leader of Sakaar laid bleeding on the ground. One hand clutched his abdomen where you'd struck him, the other gingerly held his broken nose.

This wasn't something that you enjoyed doing, putting others through pain. But knowing Loki's history with this Grandmaster long before you two had met was easing your worry somehow that you were doing something reprehensible. There were pains that your beloved, even after all the time you'd known each other prior to your betrothal and marriage, were not quite ready to share with you.

His time in Sakaar was among those pains.

That knowledge alone was enough to get you to stop catching your breath, marching over to the Grandmaster and pinning him to the ground with the end of your battle axe's handle.

"Where is Loki?"

"Lady, I already told you back in the viewing box, I haven't seen your u--Agh!" You pressed Stormbreaker's handle harder against a tender spot on his shoulder, his body visibly showing signs of surrender before he started tapping on the floor. "Alright I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he whined.

"Shall we try this again, then?" He did his best to nod his head, sighing heavily. "Where did you last see him?"

"I swear to you on my Champion's grave it's been millions of years for me here in Sakaar," he choked out, still audibly struggling to draw in his breath. "It was a time he didn't even know you yet. You probably hadn't even been born."

"So you truly bear no knowledge of my husband's whereabouts?"

"Your hus--I thought he was--"

"Mind your words, charlatan god." He let out another groan of pure agony as you pressed harder on his shoulder.

"I'm sorry I'm sorry! I--I really don't know where he is, Your Highness, I don't--"

"Then what use are you to me," you said darkly, another corner of your soul feeling ass if the lights had gone out. Another dead end.

You took a dagger out with your free hand, the Grandmaster's pleas of mercy sounding muffled as they fell on your dulled ears. Nothing he had to say could spare him now; to you, he was no longer a lead, a well lit path that could perhaps point you to where Loki had been all this time.

Now he was simply a shadow of your husband's past. Something so dark that he didn't even dare let you know about it.

Despair began to seep into your veins, a single question overtaking all other remotely coherent thought. Would you ever find him? Would you ever get to apologize? To tell him how you felt? How you'd always felt?

Before you could strike, a loud crack resounded throughout the Grandmaster's suite, coming from a glowing green portal that appeared in the center of the room.

"I would probably take that call, if I were you," the Grandmaster quipped, exhaling a large sigh of relief when you removed the weight of Stormbreaker off of him as you stepped toward the portal. Once the threshold had begun to close after you stepped through, he let out a final sentiment. "Please say hello to your husband for me when you find him."

That was more than enough for you to decide throwing your dagger into the small opening that remained, hitting the smug anachronistic bastard on his uninjured shoulder.

Then the portal finally closed, leaving you in a place you couldn't quite describe. All you knew was that it felt like a place you should never have been allowed access to. A place that should be beyond you. Beyond anyone.

Winding, glowing vines surrounded you, each of them looked and sounded as if they were teeming with a life of its own. If you listened carefully you could hear voices. Your voices. Infinite iterations of them. But one rang clearer than every other in the entire space.

"Did I do something that angered the Norns so fiercely that they condemned me to love a man I could never have?"

"I know what it feels like to kiss him. To touch him. To be desired by him. And it's ripping me apart to know that I will never know that again."

"The people will look at this union and see it for what it is. Sinful. Shameful!"

You tried to block the memories out of your mind, of you begging your grandmother Queen Frigga to lock your memories away. Of arguing with your grandfather Odin and with your father Thor because they were signing your life away to marry Loki. Of the harsh words you spat at them all behind closed doors.

Of the day the lock on your mind finally broke, after finding your journals prior to the spell being cast chronicling how you'd fallen for the god despite your better judgment. The head-splitting agony of your memories reconciling and finding their place back in your mind.

An agony suffered in your lonesome while Loki was away on assignment.

You scrambled desperately to think of anything else, to follow along the path of the vines and hear something other than your own mistakes being echoed back at you. These desperate attempts made you realize that the vines converged in a structure that eerily resembled an image that you'd only learned about in your youth.

"Yggdrasil?" you whispered in awe, your feet bringing you closer still until you found a parting just large enough for one to squeeze through.

Once you'd finally freed yourself from the winding vines, all air left your lungs at the sight that greeted you. A golden throne at the heart of the tree. All the vines anchored to the man -- or God, rather -- seated in it.

Loki.

"You've left quite a trail of bodies in your wake throughout this quest of yours, little Princess," he spoke, not moving even a fraction from where he sat.

He gave you a soft smile, tears beginning to form in his eyes as he stared at you. As if he couldn't believe you were here with him.

"It's been too long, my darling wife."

You'd rehearsed time and time again throughout your search for your husband what you would say to him once you'd been reunited. You would tell him how wrong you were for how you behaved throughout your betrothal, your marriage. And you would abandon every shred of your pride and beg for his forgiveness. You would tell him you loved him, that you'd always loved him.

And that you wanted to spend the rest of your life with him.

Yet somehow you could form none of those words. Instead you finally felt your body succumb to the tiredness brought about by the centuries you'd spent searching and laying waste to every imaginable corner of the Nine Realms and beyond for even the slightest shred of a clue as to where he could have been.

Instead you sunk to your knees, the tears streaming down your face as you stumbled over your words. "I remember everything. I had to find you. Tell you that I'm--"

"I know you are, my love. I watched you on the day the spell broke, the day you finally remembered. I wanted so desperately to come home to you. To not let you have to endure that pain alone."

"Why didn't you?" you blurted out, staring at all the vines he held in his hands. "What are all these?"

"Timelines," he answered you simply, giving you a minuscule shrug of his shoulders. "In every single one, there is an iteration of you and me. Some circumstances may differ, minor details. But at the heart of each of them, we live a life together. We find each other, fall in love. In some we even start a family."

"A family," you repeated breathlessly. The knowledge that each vine -- each timeline -- that was anchored to him held a variation of you and him, of your story, began to eat away at you, flooding you with guilt.

How wretched did you have to be that in your timeline you'd rejected him? Foolishly pushed him away with every mistake you made until finally it took you centuries to find him again?

"What happened?" you finally spoke after what felt like hours. "How did you get--"

"That is quite the long and harrowing tale, darling. In truth, it was a cavalcade of miscalculations and bad judgment calls, failed attempts of trying to save all these lives until I realized that the result would always stay the same if the equation contained the same variables."

"And what was that result?"

"Annihiliation," he answered you simply, giving you a misty eyed look. "Every single strand of time that I hold safe now would have been obliterated on sight. I know it. I've seen it. I've seen you disintegrate before me too many times than I wish to count. The device that once held them stable could no longer scale for an infinite number of possibilities, and letting countless timelines die in the name of the survival of a few was…unacceptable. The only thing that could carry a burden that great was--"

"A god," you finished, the words fighting you their entire way out, nearly choking you on the weight of them. The question that you wished to raise crippled you with its answer's implications. For you and your timeline specifically. "What happens if you let go?"

"It dies. Slowly. Drifts away until it eventually turns to ash." He began to make a motion, as if to approach you, until ultimately he decided against it. "This was the only way. It remains the only way. I must stay, and keep them safe. Watch our lives play out in derivatives of what ifs."

The selfish question that danced at the tip of your tongue plagued you with even more guilt. But what about my timeline? What about our life together? "There has to be another way," you grumbled, stubbornly shaking your head as if you were once again a toddler, refusing to accept the world for being what it was rather than what you wished it would be. "I could stay with you. I could stay and we can find a way together."

Your heart splintered watching him shake his head at you. "My beautiful headstrong wife," he breathed out, his tone filled with both fondness and heartbreak. "I can't in my good conscience let you abandon your life just so you could stay here with me. That would be too selfish, even for me. What would you have here?"

"You! I would have you. All these centuries I've spent in a desperate scramble to find you and tell you that I lo--" You found yourself completely choking on the words now, never having to articulate them before. "That I love you. That I've always loved you and I want us to start our lives together. I refuse to accept that after all this time I have to let you go. You can't make me."

"Asgard needs you, its future Queen."

"And I need you!" Your voice finally broke, sobs that you'd fought inside starting to bubble up. "It isn't fair that you hold all these different tellings of our story in your hands, but your story, yours and mine, ends in us apart. That you spend your days here, watching our life play out somewhere and somewhen else, and you're alone. Please don't send me away, husband," you began to beg. "Don't make me leave you. Let me stay."

He let out a sharp exhale, a tear escaping his eye, rolling down his cheek. "I've longed for the day I would hear you call me that," he sighed, a rueful smile gracing the handsome features that you were bereft of for centuries. "Truly I didn't think I would ever see you again, Y/N. My Y/N. I never thought that I would have you before me, and I hear those words you would only say in dreams with my own ears. Thank you, my dear heart. You have given me a gift in this quest of yours, in having a final moment with the woman I love…" More tears rolled down his cheeks when his smile widened before finishing his sentiment. "And the woman that loves me."

Your sobs filled the endless space, your body collapsing onto the ground as your grief overtook you. The notion of grieving for the living never seemed sensical to you until now. Now that the man, the god, you loved was calling this the last time you would ever see each other.

And you knew in your heart that with the power he wielded now, he could make that your reality without even lifting a finger. He could push you out of this void and back into any timeline of his choosing just as easily as he pulled you out of Sakaar.

The feel of familiar large hands pulling you up to your feet startled you, only having the briefest moment to look at your husband before he pulled you into a crushing embrace. You didn't think twice before wrapping your arms around him, holding him as close as you could and sobbing into his shoulder before realizing…

If his hands were on you, then why were the vines still in place?

"Loki," you sobbed. "Husband, please. No illusions."

"I can't hold you," he said, choking back his own sobs now. "I couldn't watch you break like this and do nothing." The duplicate he cast to hold you disappeared from your hold in a flash of green. "I've done it before against all my better judgment, I refuse to do it again."

"Then don't." Against your own better judgment, you stomped your foot, like a bratty child being told you had to go home. Which was almost precisely what this was. "If this is where you are and where you will remain, then this is where I wish to stay. With the god that owns my heart. With my husband." You blinked rapidly to expel the tears that blurred your vision before uttering the words that splintered at your heart even more. "I was made to be yours. You said that."

"And I yours," he finished, averting his gaze, letting his own tears drop to the fabric of  his trousers. "In every timeline. We must take solace in knowing that among these infinite tales, one is ours. What could have been ours."

"What should be ours," you insisted. You made your way over to him, placing your hand on the side of his face. He closed his eyes, leaning into your touch, the sight breaking your heart further. "Our story deserves its bliss-laden epilogue, too."

"Not at the cost of everyone else's. Deep down you know this to be true."

"That does not mean I accept it," you grumbled. "Let me stay."

"You know that I can't. I will not subject you to live out the rest of your days here. Without friends nor family, and only a husband that cannot even hold you as company."

"But at least you would have someone to hold you," you argued, throwing your arms around him and letting your tears flow once more. "I can't just leave you here all on your own. You can't make me." You knew that he damn right could.

"My love," he sighed, turning his head to press a kiss to your temple. "I wish for you to live a long, and fulfilled life. You've lost so much time in your search for me only for it to end like this. I can give you those centuries back, as a final gift. Reverse the clock, undo the toll it took on you. Let this be the final token of my affection. My fealty. My undying vow."

"Let me keep my memories," you pleaded, already feeling that this would truly be your final moments with him. You did not need to turn your gaze to know that the portal leading back to Asgard was there, waiting for you. Perhaps he would simply nudge you through with his mind, knowing that you would refuse to leave. "Let me keep my remnants of you if that is all that I can leave this place with."

He nodded once. "Very well, little Princess. When you walk through the portal only the physical years will be stripped away. Live well, and remember always that I love you. My heart will only ever belong to you. Until the end of time."

"I love you," you choked out through your tears. "Husband." Your heart ached at the sight of his tears, not bothering to fight back the urge to kiss them away. "I will miss you desperately and always. In every step that I must take in this life without you."

"You will always have me by your side," he swore. "When you feel a presence you cannot see, in gentle breezes within a still room. I will always be there."

You continued to wipe his tears away, the god constantly kissing at your palms. Seemingly refusing to let you go, too.

"May I kiss you?" you asked, barely audibly, your voice unable to even completely form the words. "One last time?"

He gave you a small nod, and you leaned in to press your lips to his, trying to pour out your years of lost time and the future that you were doomed to lose in just a few short moments into that single kiss. You could feel that when he kissed you back, he did so with both all the love he'd never been able to give you before, and the love that he would never be able to bestow in the future.

It was a kiss of finality. A kiss of goodbye. A bittersweet final page in the story of you and Loki.

I love you more than words can ever say, his voice echoed in your mind. Goodbye, my love. My fated. My darling wife.

When you pulled away he was gone. And you'd been returned to your shared chambers back in Asgard. As he promised, the physical toll the centuries-long search had taken on your body were gone. No more scars from miscalculated skirmishes. No more bruises from Sakaar.

No more physical reminders of what you'd endured trying to reunite with the love your life.

All that remained were the memories of those years, and your time in his domain beyond the Realms.

"Goodbye, my darling husband. My love. My Loki," you whispered into the quiet of your marital chambers, sinking to your knees once more and letting out a shriek of pure agony, the sobs swiftly returning and wracking your entire body as you lay pathetically on the floor.

"Y/N??"

The sound of your mother Lady Sif's voice provided little comfort, but it felt like a familiar balm. "Mother," you said weakly, unmoving from your spot on the ground even as she rushed to you, cradling you in her lap.

"What's wrong, sweetheart?" She stroked your hair while your tears soaked her sleep dress. You felt her wave someone over, and moments later you felt your grandmother Queen Frigga's presence in the room with you.

"I lost. I lost and I know not what to do now," you managed to say through your tears.

"What did you lose, Daughter?"

You'd briefly considered explaining your journey, from breaking the spell, to your journey through the centuries, to Loki's domain beyond the reach of space and time. To relay what had become of your husband.

Ultimately the words were beyond you due to your grief.

"Everything," you answered her, holding on to her tight as if you were a child again. This would be the only semblance of comfort you would have. "I lost everything."

A/N: I had to after that finale had me processing and feeling the big sad all day, I promise I'm working on 2 other stories based on the finale that have kinda better endings.

Also I sobbed throughout writing this entire thing, just for the record.

Now here's the song to add to the vibe:

'everything' taglist: @simplyholl @loopsisloops @imalovernotahater @coldnique @loz-3 @huntress-artemiss @salempoe @vickie5446 @athalialaufeyson @lokiprompts @kats72 @kikster606 @asgards-princess-of-mischief @lokixryss @thomase1 @mischief2sarawr @peaches1958 @lovingchoices14 @lunarnights95 @goblingirlsarah @iamlokisgloriouspurpose @creationsbyme @maple-seed @mjsthrillernp @ladyofthestayingpower @mygfloki @sititran @glitterylokislut @ozymdias @fictive-sl0th  @lokidbadguy @mochie85 @silverfire475 @joyful-enchantress @elizabethmidnight2017 @holdmytesseract @smolvenger @gigglingtiggerv2 @lokidokieokie @superficialdomina @anukulee @kmc1989 @november-rayne @goddessofwonderland @buttercupcookies-blog

[alexiethymia]

Boiling Hot Iron vs Lukewarm Water

Maomao's Way of Affection Part 2

[LN 12 spoilers]

I AM ACTUALLY FOAMING AT THE MOUTH. I mean I read it somewhere, but apparently yes, Maomao does initiate the kiss in the light novel. Even if she did accept his feelings, I always thought that it might have been too fast the way she was ready for a night visit already, but I always chalked it up to her upbringing in the pleasure district and her being fifty-fifty that Jinshi wouldn't actually try anything. But the fact that she is the one to actually instigate a kiss, and quite a sweet one at that, while Jinshi was sleeping. This scene in LN 12 really is in contrast to the scene in LN 5 where it was Jinshi who forced the kiss, and even to later on when Maomao ends up falling asleep and Jinshi restrains himself to a kiss on the forehead for replenishment.

It's hard to be coherent with my ramblings but one of the reasons why I love this series is the slow burn on Maomao's part which is really fulfilling, and the slight angst we get because of that, and not just on Jinshi's part.

Below is a translation from the Spanish translation of LN 12:

She just doesn't get it. He wants to step down from his position near the top of the country for a purpose. If that purpose was MaoMao himself, he would definitely have gone mad.

It's as hot as cast iron.

Maomao is not interested in such blazing heat. The only thing she can give back is a warm temperature.

Slowly puts his hand on Mr. Jinshi's cheek and feels his body temperature, which is the same as warm water. Her cheek was slightly colder. His eyelids were completely closed and he rubbed his cheek against my hand like a kitten to be pet. Looks like he sleeps, like he feels safe.

Maomao seems to struggle with the inequality of Jinshi's feelings and hers. She compares Jinshi's feelings to hot cast iron, and hers to warm water. And no wonder, to her, Jinshi willing to give up everything, including his position, for her, seems to be such a passionate love. As much as she snarks and would rather say that she could just do without all of Jinshi's gestures (*cough branding himself for example, this damn masochist cough*), she recognizes how much Jinshi has given up and is willing to give up for her, not to mention all that he has in fact given her.

She even goes to say, "I don't even have anything in return for you." When she says this line, I think that she isn't just referring to being unable to return the depth of Jinshi's feelings, but even their difference in position. As Suiren observes, despite Maomao's forthrightness, perhaps because of the environment they're in, she is very much aware of her station.

It's such a melancholic line coming from her. It seems to me as if she really is afraid of hurting Jinshi. She already doesn't like the thought of Jinshi being hurt like Luomen, but now she also doesn't want to be the one to hurt him. On top of that, for the normally aloof Maomao, it may be that she's starting to feel unconfident precisely because of the difference in position.

Maomao strikes me as a person who wants to be used. Even when she wasn't in love with Jinshi yet, she always seemed to want to be praised for doing a good job. So for her to think that it's just her who keeps receiving and receiving, while not being able to give anything back, the inequality (this time going in the reverse direction) must bother her a lot. She never used to care so for her to feel different from how she usually does because of Jinshi - caring about him, being unsure of herself because of him - oh she must hate how that feels so no wonder she wants to remove herself from the equation. But alas, it's too late.

Unlike Maomao though, I don't think that there's such a disparity between her feelings and Jinshi's despite that she describes his feelings as boiling hot and hers as warm. Yes definitely I feel that Jinshi's feelings may be stronger, but I feel that Maomao's is actually closer to his than she thinks. I think it may be because the nature of their feelings may be strongly influenced by their past.

Jinshi has always had the things he's loved taken from him. He wasn't allowed to prioritize a single thing or a single person because of the responsibilities he's had to assume from such a young age. Sure he's childish now but that may be because he had to grow up fast. Of course he would be desperate and slightly bit manic when it comes finally falling in love. He'll always feel that Maomao will be taken away from him unless he does something about it with his own hands.

Meanwhile, because of Maomao's complicated past with her birth parents, it's no wonder that Jinshi's passion unnerves her. Remember it was that same passion that caused her mother to hurt her. No wonder she doesn't want it. But when it comes to that feeling called love, that's the only version she recognizes because that's what she's been surrounded with in the pleasure district and even in the rear palace - lust imitating love, or even if it was love, a passionate and all-consuming love that destroys everything in its path.

But what does Jinshi make her feel? Trust. Safety. Even if her rational mind tells her that people's feelings change, Jinshi's constant proclamations that he will make everything be ok so that the both of them can be together may in fact actually reassure her. Heck, perhaps that was why Maomao goaded him to make that verbal confession a while back, precisely so she could have that assurance. She doesn't recognize it because she's never seen or had it, but perhaps this stability is something she's wanted her whole life. And I would say her feelings for Jinshi are nearly as strong as his for her, precisely because she feels for him the same way he makes her feel. Nothing passionate but also uncertain. But rather something warm and can be relied on. It's a feeling that pushes her to want to see him safe and healthy. It's a comforting and homey feeling that allows her to relax. And for Maomao who's always considered herself frigid, for her frozen heart to feel that warmth is also a tiny miracle in a way.

Jinshi is childish. Maomao is weird. But apart from their extremes, they're actually a lot alike - engrossed in their work, willful, but ultimately just. Apart from anything else, they're at ease when they can talk to each other. It's actually interesting for me to see how those emotions develop from Maomao's side since Jinshi is giving her space to take things at her own pace, another slow burn in a way. But while Jinshi's love is loud, Maomao's love is quiet. Even before this admission, it was always there, in the soft touches to the hair or cheeks, in being a refuge for rest and sleep, in her worry when he was overworking himself. The moment I would pinpoint that Maomao had actually already fallen in love with Jinshi was when she was contemplating Enen and Yao's relationship. She thinks to herself, "the more you cared for someone, the more you wanted a say in how they behaved - especially if that behavior involved hurting themselves." Now doesn't that sound familiar?

*Note - because I loved it and I'm impatient I'll share the translations for that particular scene in LN 12 in the comments section. One is translated from the Spanish version, while the other is translated from the Korean version. I got all of this from facebook. I'm quite interested to see how it'll come out in the English version.

[kachowden]

ok so i've just been reading a lot of stories on redit and by some freaking coincidence they all involve cheating.

to take my anger out i imagined a scenario:

You who just found out that your S/O cheated on you with a mutual friend are so angry you go to the first party you find because

1.free drinks

2.with loud music you can't think

then Loren sees you from afar and he's so happy because it's so unusual for you to show up in these kinds of places he walks over and starts a conversation you barely hear because all you think about is how identical he is to a dog happy with his owner and you remember the day you met he said he would do anything for you.

"anything?"

"what"

"you said you'd do anything for me, did you really mean anything?"

Loren, with absolutely no hesitation: "yes"

I don't know going forward, my brain cycles between him murdering your ex or fucking in the bathroom of the party

Tw: NSFW themes. Kinda angst, mild exhibitionism.

His hands were shaking. Grasping at every exposed bit of skin he could, squeezing and massaging. His breath was heavy, labored and hot. It fanned the back of your neck as your body jolted with each thrust.

The toilet seat thudded dully under the massive jocks weight. His arms circled around you, hugging himself to your chest while he struggled to form any coherent sentences. Merely mumbles of adoration. Praise. Your name.

He sung your name like a prayer. He begged and begged and begged. You weren’t sure what for. He didn’t explain. You didn’t know if he could.

He whined deeply and gruffly, hips seemingly having a mind of their own as they smashed and squished against a your thighs.

In and out. In and out.

His lips were hot. Unbearably almost in combination of your sweaty skin, as he trailed hot and heavy kisses up your shoulders and neck. Sucking and biting and marking.

You let him, only to get back at the person who got you into this position. You felt a bit bad playing with the wonder boys feelings. What with the way he seemed to cry your name while bucking his hips into you so fervently.

When he finally started singing his I love you’s he made quick work to force your lips together and swallow any rejections on your tongue.

“Loren-“

“No no shh please, please let me have this. Let me have you just once. Just right now please.”

Your heart hurt hearing him, though with your foggy mind and recked insides you couldn’t pay much mind to the feeling. Only squishing his face to your chest and pressing deeper into his old.

Loren breathed sweetly at that, continuing his previous brutal thrusts, that only seemed to have groan more desperate, if that were even possible.

The more you felt his hands sweetly cupping and holding your own, tracing each bit of skin as he pumped himself into you, the more you felt your previous reasoning for doing this fade a way.

Why hadn’t you been dating Loren again? He had made his feelings more than abundantly clear before you were dating the jackass you were with now.

And loren was so…devoted to you. It was almost scary. He acted like he couldn’t breath without you. That this, what you were doing right now, was something he had fantasized over..craved for years.

Oh god if only you knew.

You blinked dazedly, sharply arching your back when a particular thrust hit your sweet spot, and Loren’s entire pattern switched.

His hips angled ravenously into your thighs, thrusting deeply and even at times stoping just to grind into you. You shuddered as he layered more wet passionate kisses against your skin, forming a small heart into your chest. You thought you peaked at initials too, but when you felt yourself being lifted and cradled fully into his sweaty chest, you didn’t bother to check again.

Your back met with the deliciously cold shower wall, and you marveled at the strength of the jock before you, who held you up by your thighs and continued thrusting.

“Y/n y/n y/n y/n”

It was a breathless whisper but it made your stomach flutter and your body clench, drawing out a low whimper and moan from loren, who slotted himself into the crook of your neck. Your arms circled around his head, holding him close and relishing in the feeling of your bodies sliding and pressing and grinding against each other.

“I love you…I love you..”

At this point you don’t think he was even saying it to you. It sounded more like a fact, something he was merely stating to the air in his own haze, as he hugged you so dearly. The weight of him inside you was intoxicating. Loren was nothing to sneeze at by any means.

“I-“

Loren didn’t let you reply. Not with the way he quickly fell to his knees in the shower, twisting you around and forcing you onto your own, bringing you back into a dip as he laid himself over you, lifting one of you legs to make sure he never once separated from you.

His thrusts were wild. So fucking desperate. Like he couldn’t control himself at feel of your body so sweetly warming and squeezing his cock.

Your eyes rolled back at the angle, and you barely had time to balk at the sight of his letterman underneath you, protecting you from the cold tile of the shower.

“Loren-“

Fuck would he not let you get one word out. He seemed hell bent on keeping you from talking, despite how typically he clung to your every word.

His thrusts grew erratic, chasing something you couldn’t see but prioritizing your experience over it all. He breathing was heavy, gasping, and at one point he dropped your leg gently and hovered over you, his shadow shielding you from any wondering eyes.

You weren’t sure why until the door unlocked and a drunk couple tried to wander their way in. Your eyes widened soberly, before they rolled back again when Loren kept thrusting, his hand covering your mouth gently, keeping your sounds to himself while he glared literal daggers at the couple who stared stalk still.

“Get out.”

It was a growl and tone you had never heard from the jock himself. Only whispers from people who had been there to witness it.

Fucking hell it was so hot. You gripped his forearm tightly, body convulsing when you came, though Lorne didn’t cease his pace, only cooing gently in your ear when the couple finally left and locked the door.

“Baby…fuck baby…thank you..thank you…you feel so good y/n..just one more please? Please I’ll do anything I’ll- nnnng…!”

Your body became play dough very quickly, only held up by the Loren’s strong arms that man handled you so gently, you didn’t think you could just call this sex anymore.

It was far too passionate to be just sex.

What with the way he so gently repositioned you on your back, hugging you deeply into his curving chest, his back hunched as he kept your legs locked firm around his waist, and as he continued to beg and cry and moan for you. Only for you.

Your finish was fast approaching and you finally regained the strength to hold onto the tall male, who groaned deeply and who’s hips shuttered when your nails dug into his skin.

“Loren…-“

“Y/n please…please…just let me have this..”

You paused, blinking blearily.

Then you sighed, gently. There was no disappointment in your tone, when you gently kissed the side of his neck and leaned back to stare the distraught captain in the eyes. You marveled at the flush of his cheeks, and the sheer desperation in his his shiny eyes. You brought your hands gently around his jaw and smiled.

“Okay..”

Your lips gently pressing into his own seemed to be the final straw for Loren, who’s hips grew violently and hard before he came thunderously, moaning deeply with your own high riding alongside his.

Your breath shortened and choked at the weight and heat in your belly.

He didn’t pull out when he finished. Only shuttering and shifting slightly, relishing in your warmth.

You peaked, out of breath, at his expression, and had you not been on the brink of sleep, you would’ve felt concern at the wide of his eyes, and the untamed smile that split his cheeks.

“I love you…so much y/n..”

“I know..”

“No…you don’t.”

[mae-gi-writes]

everything that i'll never be | kim mingyu . seventeen

You'll never be his first and that bothers you, that she had his heart before you ever did.

genre: angst, relationship problems, insecure! reader. Mentions of self-harm.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

She's so much better than you. In so many ways.

There's no way you can compete. You're not even competition to her. Come on, it's almost as if trying to compare a Ferrari to a stupidly tiny honda that would break down whenever it had to breach the motorway.

This is how envious you are of the girl that once had your boyfriend's heart.

And you hate yourself for it, because every argument that arises is because of that sole reason; you can't stand the thought of her having him first. You can't stand the thought that Mingyu had the opportunity, all his firsts, with a girl that was someone other than you.

Which is why the words suddenly fly out of your mouth one day without warning.

"How was she like? Your ex?"

The words sound raw and painful, even coming from your mouth. You hate it. You hate yourself the most at this particular moment. Even more so when Mingyu stops in mid-action and blinks at you like you've just told him you'd committed a first-degree murder.

It's not that it's surprising. It's just that-- more so -- it's been six years. Six years already, and you still haven't gotten over it. So there is, ultimately, a problem. With you.

Mingyu lowers the knife he's been using to chop the carrots into tiny thin slices. He suggested bringing duck to your annual family dinner this Christmas, which you thought was a good idea, until you realized the amount of preparation that came along with it.

So here you are, on a beautiful 24th December night with the snow falling like soft petals along the sky line, making sure that the duck that you've put into the oven a few minutes ago isn't roasting itself to death.

"Why are you asking now?" is Mingyu's question.

You shrug half-heartedly in an attempt to show him that it isn't that much of a big deal whether he answers your question or not. Though it is, as you keep your eyes trailed on the timer on your phone, "I had a nightmare," you admit.

"About?" his eyebrow raises a fraction, body stilling to await your answer.

You struggle to find something coherent, put together, that doesn't sound so lame once you say it out loud because god forbid it is the most childish thing to think of when it's been six years of your relationship.

And yet, she's still the gap, that empty space, that lingers between the two of you like the unsaid corpse filling the room.

"About you," you pause, "and her."

Mingyu lets out a soft breath, "Y/N, we can't be having this conversation six years down the line. I love you, and I'm with you--"

"I know that." he doesn't have to talk to you like you're a child.

"Then why are you still on about her when clearly you're the one I've chosen to be with for the rest of my life?" the hurt in his voice is real and it makes your heart ache with guilt. You shouldn't have asked him anything in the first place. You know, more than anyone, that Mingyu would steal the moon for you had you asked for it. It's undoubtable, the love that he bears for you, the way his eyes find yours across the room like you're the sun that makes his earth rotate.

He continues now, pent-up frustration laced in his alto. Almost like he's about to cry, "it hurts me too, to hear you talk about her over and over again. It gets tiring after a while, Y/N. I'm tired of it, honestly."

"Alright," tears prick at your eyelids but you refuse to blink, gaze permanently latched onto the oven as you fight against the flood of emotion building in the pit of your stomach, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have told you anything, but--"

"it's not doing you any good either. So why do you do this to yourself? What triggered it?" he's on a roll now, not caring what you have scrambled for an answer, the need to hear your reason a priority in comparison to the millions of excuses you have stacked up against your tongue, "because this isn't about just the nightmare, is it? You've mentioned her at least once during these two weeks and I--I'm tired of it, Y/N. I don't want to keep going through that. She's a part of my past and yes, we were in love once. But I don't love her anymore. You're the one I chose to be with," he holds up the peeler and the carrot in evidence, "isn't that exactly what I'm doing right now? Why do you have to ruin this for us?"

"I--" his speech hits you like a truck. You hadn't expected Mingyu to just spit out his feelings without filter or remorse, which makes it even worse as you try to struggle and comprehend what his words mean exactly. The ache in your chest grows. For a moment, you can't breath, the soft pants stinging the back of your throat as it burns with effort of restraining tears.

You swallow thickly, harsh gulps of air that makes you shudder. Finally, you manage to whisper out a soft, "I'm sorry, Mingyu. I shouldn't-- I shouldn't have bought this up. You're right. I'm just--I'm just a walking time bomb and I'm pathetic--" you shake your head, the tears now spilling down your cheeks as you bite down onto your lower lip. You catch sight of Mingyu's stance faltering ever so slightly, but you move back, as if the physical distance might help you keep your broken heart in check, '--I'm really sorry, Mingyu."

You don't wait for him to answer before you're swiveling on your feet and dashing through the open doorway of your bathroom. It's not much, but it's enough physical space for you to lock the door and slide down onto the floor.

You let the sobs take over, your shoulders hunching over your knees as you start crying. Once you do, you can't stop. You can't.

Because the truth is, you're scared.

You're scared that you'll never be enough for Mingyu and that -- whatever happened in the ktichen -- is the exact proof of that. You're not her. She's --gentle and kind and just agrees to everything that Mingyu ays without putting up a fight. And they made a cute couple, and she's prettier. Prettier than you'll ever be and you wonder what Mingyu even saw in you in the first place.

And she's his first. Will always be his first. Something that you'll never be, no matter how hard you try.

You're so focused on feeling your body shatter with tears and pain and guilt from the past that you don't hear Mingyu's voice until he starts knocking against the door.

"Please," he murmurs, "can we just talk?"

"I'm fine," you blubber out, "please just leave me alone. I really don't want to talk about this right now."

"Y/N, I didn't mean to hurt you, what I meant was--"

"I know already, Mingyu. Just stop." you sniffle and wipe your snot with the back of your hand, "I got it. It's me. I'm the problem. I'll always be the problem."

"That's not what I said, don't put words in my mouth--"

"Just leave me alone." And as if that might help, you whisper, "please." So he does. you hear his footsteps retract after a few beats of agonizing silence, and when he does walk away, you slump back into a small puddle of broken pieces of your heart as you try to hold it all together.

But it's not a memory that you can erase with just a few beers or some good sleep. It's a stain that will last forever, and you're not quite sure how you'll deal with that.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

"Hey Y/N?"

Your head rises from the slump of your arms. You're not quite sure how long you've been in the bathroom.

Mingyu knocks. You let out a sigh, but don't say anything. Nothing feels right at the moment, no words can seem to fill the empty, now awkward space between you and Mingyu.

"Y/N, I can leave you alone if you want," he pauses, "but...do you mind if I use the bathroom? I kinda...need to pee."

Fuck. Of course. Just when you're about to lose your mind and go on an existential crisis.

You unlock the bathroom after a beat of silence, not even bothering to look up at his face as you sidestep your boyfriend and make your way to the couch. You plop down onto it, hearing the sound of the door shut close as you find your usual navy blanket. It's warm and comforting, wrapping you up in its warmth as the toilet flushes, Mingyu's coughs reaching the living room area. The scent of roasted duck fills the room and you sniff appreciatively. Despite it all, it seems that the food has survived, a proof that no matter how much humans may suffer, they could still go about and do their things right.

"Y/N."

You jump slightly, turning your head in his direction but allowing your eyes to stray along his shirt. The silence answers in your stead.

"How are you feeling?"

You shrug once more. How are you even supposed to feel?

It's a weird contortion of things that make you want to hurl the living room chair at the tv and one that makes you want to curl up in bed and cry and cry and cry.

The couch dips under Mingyu's weight once he joins you on the couch. Still, you don't look at him, rather deciding that picking on your nails is a better option.

"Y/N," he says once more, before his big hand is reaching for yours and stopping your actions with a gentle grip, "don't do that. You're going to hurt yourself."

"That's the whole point," you mutter to yourself, though it's not quiet enough that he doesn't pick on it.

He squeezes your hand in response, "we talked about this before, didn't we? The nervous hand-picking."

"Can you just--" your voice raises, as if in a holler, only to die mid-way up your throat. You slump against the couch. You're tired and overwhelmed, and it shows.

The silence seems to stretch out before you, with only the slow hum of the fridge keeping you company as you keep on staring at the blank tv screen. How have you come to this? How are you fighting about someone that isn't even in the picture anymore?

Ah yes, because you decided to re-open that door and let yourself wonder, picture, your boyfriend with the likes of her when you know it's only going to induce more pain.

“I’m not going to tell you what to do, or how to feel,” Mingyu starts, his voice shattering the silence like glass. “But just so that you know, every time you talk about this — about her — it hurts me too, because she’s not my present and I’m not in love with her, not anymore. You talking about it makes me uncomfortable,” he peers over at your face, “do you understand that, Y/N?” He says it gently, all his words without bite.

“Then maybe if you had just talked it through with me without avoiding my questions all the time, maybe we wouldn’t be here,” you shoot back, “maybe you like to take the easy way out a little too much.”

“I did give you the chance to talk about it. Remember that night when I told you to ask me anything about her that you wanted to know about?”

Another onset of tears builds at the back of your throat. Why is he doing this to you? What have you ever done to deserve this?

You turn away from him almost instinctively. This time, Mingyu lets you do your thing, not even bothering to try and call your name and honestly, you don’t mind. You need some space to cry it out and be with yourself for a little while.

There’s so much you want to tell him: why did he even break up with her in the first place? Why did he choose you instead? Would things have been different if you hadn’t told him of your feelings?

Would you have been happier right now, if you’d never been together?

ʚ♡ɞ˚

It’s been a few days and you feel like a corpse.

Your life is a walking nightmare, your mind plagued by nothing but the pain of realizing you’re a second option to your boyfriend. You wish that he could walk in your shoes, only to get a glimpse of what’s going on inside your head. In any case, life feels dull and void of colour in contrast to the lights blazing across the streets to celebrate the new year’s coming up.

Mingyu doesn’t offer to talk it through and you take it as his way of telling you he’s not interested in your bullshit. So wrapping yourself up in your thickest blanket, you barely leave the flat on the days to come, if only for groceries. After all, you don’t see the point when your world is crumbling.

It’s on a Wednesday afternoon that Mingyu sends you a text while he’s at work. You receive it in mid-workout, frowning slightly as the message pops up on the screen.

Mingyu: do you have time this afternoon? Can we talk?

You type back your reply with a mere “yes” before resuming your squats with even more conviction. You decide that you have to brace yourself for anything that might happen, considering that you really did fuck up this time.

Will your heart be able to take it if he tells you to break it off?

All thoughts and memories of what would be your wedding, the concepts you’d conjured, the white dress that you’d fantasized over. All those things seem awash with the pain of knowing that maybe this won’t become a reality.

That hurts.

The afternoon crawls by at a snail’s pace and you spend it lumbering back and forth across the hallway as your brain tricks you into concocting all possible scenarios that might unfold; you and Mingyu breaking up is at the forefront of your mind, no matter how much you try to steer yourself away from it.

The door creaks open to signal Mingyu’s arrival. You freeze, fingers finding purchase onto your shirt as you grip its corners, panic suddenly overwhelming your senses.

He’s here, and he hasn’t greeted you yet.

You’re not sure how your heart will take it.

“Y/N?”

The scuff of his boots squeak against the silence of the corridor as he pulls them off. Small a small gesture, which holds so much meaning once you realize you might never hear it again.

You force out a reply, “yes?”

A few moments later, your boyfriend appears looking disheveled and, to your surprise, holding a bouquet of roses.

“Sorry if they’re a bit wimpy,” he says sheepishly while handing the flowers over, and you hope he hasn’t taken note of how your hands are trembling, “I was late to pick them up from the florist’s.”

Tears burned at the corners of your eyes. You looked up at him, eyelashes glimmering as your vision slowly blurred, “why?” You murmured.

“Because,” he shrugs then, a small gentle smile making its way to his face, “I know you’ve been going through a rough patch, but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t be taken care of.”

You couldn’t help it.

You burst into tears.

And Mingyu holds on to you as you sob and soband keep on sobbing. All the pain, the fear of losing him, the thought of never being enough… all of these mesh into you and cras through your body in waves that rocks your entire ecosystem. Mingyu is there through it all, murmuring soft encouraging words as he rocks you back and forth against his chest.

The crying stops at some point, leaving you numb and tired, a slumped figure that leans against your boyfriend while he’s gently pawing away at the caked tears along your cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur out, breaths shaking from emotion.

But Mingyu shakes his head, “it’s okay.”

“It’s not—okay, and I shouldn’t have acted this way,” you whisper out, “and I’m sorry if I keep pestering you about her but the truth is, I’m scared I might never be enough for you, Mingyu, because I’m not. You—You deserve everything.”

Mingyu stays silent, still brushing the tears away as you wait for his answer. He finally turns you to him, holds you close in his lap so that there’s no chance of escape even if you wanted to.

In his dark eyes tou see your reflection; a disheveled maniac looking like she’s been haunted for days.

Mingyu probably thinks so too.

“I understand,” he starts off softly, “how hard it is for you to imagine me with other people, it sucks. And it’s not great, especially when you know these people.”

Your chest aches, another pang of hurt ringing through your heart at the mention of her. You suck in a breath, but he continues:

“But I think otherwise. I think she made me realize that maybe, she’s not what I want, nor what I need,” something softens in his eyes then, hands squeezing your waist, “what I need is right here, and nowhere else, Y/N. So you can cry about not being the first, but trust me, I want to make you my last.”

Another sob racks its way up your throat. You blink furiously, hands finding purchase onto your sweater sleeves to bunch it up nervously, “do you—“ you stammer out the words, “do you mean that?”

Mingyu nods, the softest of smiles on his face, as your hands come up to wrap around his neck.

“You’re sure sure?” You peer up at him.

He chuckles, “I’m hundred percent sure.”

And proceeds to kiss your next words away as if to seal the deal, to show you that yes, you are the woman he’s been waiting for, the only one he’ll ever have to wait for.

Maybe that’s just a baby step in your world. You will have more days like this, more days of insecurity and fear and straight up panic. That’s not something that you fix overnight.

But for Mingyu, you’ll try anything to make your happy ending.

[whysodelirious08]

Not Like Her - E.M [fem reader probably. Maybe neutral?]

Toxic bf Eddie Munson

Adult language. Angst. Hurt/slight comfort but not really. OK ending kinda.

"Why can you just be like-"

"Like what, Eddie? Like her?!"

"No- I didn't mean- I. Fuck-"

"I'm not, Eddie! I'm not her. And if you can't understand that then this isn't going to work! I'm sick of it. Sick of you comparing me to your ex. All the damn time!"

"Don't twist things. I don't compare you to her. Don't fucking lie!"

"Lie? Lie?! Do you remember what you said yesterday? You said that your ex wouldn't of made the cocktails like that. Wouldn't of made those kinds of drinks. Would've invited more people. Would've kept calm and composed when your ass of a friend broke MY t.v."

"Hey- OK-! That was a fuckin accident and I was just commenting. I was joking-!"

"Oh yeah. Haha. So fucking funny Eddie!"

"You want her soooo bad Eddie, why don't you sneak round her house again, huh? Go have a quick fuck and come back to me for seconds. You thought I wouldn't find out? Turns out your friends aren't as shitty of a person as you. Turns out they actually care about me. And MY fucking feelings."

You fell silent, waiting for whatever pathetic excuse was going to come from Eddie's mouth. Watching as his jaw hang slacked as he struggled to form some sort of lie. Some sort of coherent sentence to dig himself out of the grave. It almost gave you an ounce of satisfaction but the moment was short lived.

"It didn't mean anything- baby plea-"

"Just get out. Just get the fuck out Eddie. We're done. I'm done with your lies. Your games. Your sneaking out. I'm not here to just be used when it's convenient. Maybe I'll go for Steve. Maybe he'll be a better man than you ever were."

The suggestion clearly rose a jealous fire inside the taller man but you couldn't care less now. You would hurt his feelings if it got him to realise he had truly lost you and all chances he had before. He didn't leave right away. It took you calling Steve for him to storm past you, shoving you into the walla almost, and walk out the door. Slamming it. Another new door you needed to now fix.

"Hey...you free tonight? We can rent that movie you wanted to watch. Bill and Ted? I've got plenty of snacks" you offered, though you could tell Steve was already trying to pull on his shoes as he had been waiting for this moment. You told him you'd watch Bill and Ted when you dumped Eddie's pathetic ass. And now you had to keep your word.

[chevroletdean]

Tainted — Chapter 2: Breathe Me In, Bleed Me Out

SUMMARY: The world caves in for Dean’s girlfriend when she gets a panicked call from Sam— Dean is gone. And she has to find him. Can she keep her promise?

SHIP: Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader (MOC!Dean x Reader, Demon!Dean x Reader) GENRE: Angst, smuttish (nothing explicit, but definitely suggestive so MDNI) TO NOTE/WARNINGS: Seasons 9-10 spoilers, established relationship, angst, little bit of a time jump from chapter 1, more time jumps within this chapter, temporary character death, grief, canon level violence, demon!dean being an asshole, suggestive making out (while consenual, definitely laden with guilt), implied cheating WORD COUNT: 5.2k A/N: This chapter was honestly difficult for me to write. My struggles with writing Y/N stories bite me in the butt again, lol. I never know whether Y/N is too flat to be interesting or too fleshed out to be relatable, it's a fine balance. Feel free to let me know your opinions. Fair warning: A good amount of this is basically the plot of the episodes 9x20 and 10x01. CREDIT & LINKS: header edited by myself ──〃★ divider edited by myself ──〃★ series masterlist

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“Slowly, Sam,” she spoke through the phone despite the tremble in her own voice.

She’s had this bad feeling in her guts, teetering on the edge of panic. It’s been like this the whole day. The second her phone had started vibrating, the moment she saw Sam’s name on the display, she knew it was bad news.

She couldn’t put her finger on as to why.

She just knew.

Maybe it was the timing; Sam rarely called her out of the blue. Not like this, anyway. Not under these circumstances. He never had a reason to, until now. He always promised to give her a call should he need her help and even then they usually would text each other instead.

Maybe it was the way Sam stumbled across his own words, barely able to choke out a single coherent sentence. She could probably count the amount of times he sounded this freaked-out on one hand. He went on and on, rambling about “Metatron” and “Crowley” and “a knife” and “blood, so much blood.”

What else could it have been then, if not bad news?

A dull ache throbbed in her head as much as it did in her chest. She took off just two days ago, since a friend asked her to help with a hunt.

She had been reluctant about leaving the Bunker — they had enough on their plate already: Searching for Metatron was annoying, and then there was Dean’s insistence on killing him with the First Blade. Sam had locked the weapon away ever since he noticed the effect it had on his brother.

That knife paired with the Mark of Cain was a recipe for disaster. Until they’d find a cure for the curse, it was best to keep it hidden from Dean.

“Deep breath,” she said — at this point she wasn’t sure if she was trying to calm down Sam or rather herself. Her own exhale was shaky. As were her clammy hands that had an iron grip on the phone. “What happened?”

There was a long pause on the other end. Every second of it filled her with an absolute sense of dread.

“Where is he?,” she asked then. Hopeful, worried, terrified. “Where’s Dean?”

Sam’s voice was barely audible on the other end, yet his words hit her with the force of a thousand screams: “I’m sorry.”

It was a weird feeling. She wanted to cry and scream, to deny and to bargain. But she remained absolutely stiff and silent. Numbness was taking over.

“Where is he?,” she repeated her question, voice barely above a breath.

“I put him on your bed.”

Their bed, the only place remotely close to a sanctuary after long days of hunting and having to face the ugly of the world. She didn’t even want to think of the implications of their situation now. That bed, once a warm haven, would forever feel cold now.

“Wait for me,” she muttered weakly. There it was, that long awaited lump in her throat. She tried to swallow it, along with the tears that threatened to dwell up and spill over. “Don’t do anything stupid until I get back.”

Without hesitation she checked out of the motel, ditched her current case, and drove back to the Bunker. While there was no point in fretting over it now, she did curse herself for giving in to Dean’s suggestion.

“It’s just a hundred-something miles, you should take the case,” his encouragement had been. He had practically been urging her to chase that ghost. How could she not have seen it? Why did she not question his adamancy?

“I guess it’s a simple salt and burn, shouldn’t take too long,” she had given in so easily. Why did she brush it off so quickly? Why did Dean have to push her away?

Why did she let him?

If she had to guess, she would’ve said she expected him to act differently.

Since that particularily restless night, she thought his calmer, more reserved mood was a good sign. Oh, how wrong she had been.

After weeks and months of battling with himself and the Mark of Cain plaguing him non-stop, she had grown accustomed to Dean’s shitty moods. She had braced herself for an explosion in case the curse would take over.

An outburst, she would’ve understood. He could’ve been rude to her, cold even, anything to try and make her hate him. All of that, she already mentally prepared for. But instead, he put distance between them so subtly and gently that she didn’t even recognize it for what it was:

A silent suicide mission.

This fucker knew trying to rile her up into driving her away would fail. He knew that if he wanted her out of the way of his plan, he’d have to resort to softer methods. To distracting her with a case, to plotting in secret.

Dean had been planning to use the First Blade against Metatron all this time. All by himself, despite the warning signs. He’s reduced himself to a weapon, again, even though they all tried to convince him that they were in this together.

Lebanon, Kansas was roughly two hours away. Thanks to violating multiple traffic laws, she arrived there in just under one and a half. It was honestly a miracle she made it there in one piece.

The first strange thing she noticed was Baby’s empty parking spot. The black Impala was nowhere to be seen. Alarmed, she thought Sam might’ve drove off to do God knows what.

Immediately she rushed inside, downstairs and into the war room. An eerie silence occupied the space. Dominated it. A silence she didn’t want to get used to, but she could already feel it settle in as if the Bunker was its new home.

Sam was nowhere to be seen, presumably — hopefully — keeping watch in Dean’s and her room. Did she even want to see what would await her there? Was any of this even real? It felt like such a joke, a twisted prank of a cruel fate. A nightmare she just wanted to wake up from.

Her heavy feet carried her down the hallway, but her legs were dragging along the floor like she was walking through water. Cold, heavy water slowing her down.

The door was slightly ajar and for a second her body refused to move entirely. Pushing it open and stepping inside felt impossible. No amount of time could help her brace herself for seeing her boyfriend’s corpse anyway. Thus, with a heavy heart and bated breath, she slipped inside.

Sam’s tall figure stood at the end of the bed, his back facing her and blocking her view, effectively.

Except, as she dared to take a glimpse, her eyes fell on an empty bed. Rustled sheets, stained with some blood. But no body.

Her stomach churned, racing mind unable to make sense of any of this.

“What did you do?,” she rasped. Casting her eyes towards Sam, she caught a glimpse of a piece of paper in his hands. Snatching it from his hands swiftly, she read the note over and over again.

Let me go.

Undoubtedly Dean’s handwriting, sharp and confident brushstrokes of a ballpoint pen. Let me go? What was that even supposed to mean?

“Sam, what did you do?,” she repeated her question, more urgently this time.

The younger Winchester stood there all frozen and speechless.

It was so difficult to contain her pain and her anger. Didn’t she tell Sam to wait until she was there? Didn’t she tell him to keep an eye on Dean just before she left two days ago?

Oh, how badly she wanted to yell at him for this mess.

But wasn’t that too easy? Pointing the finger at someone else, when she failed Dean all the same.

Not only was there no point in blaming Sam, it also didn’t look like he knew what was going on either. He looked about as distraught as she felt. She had to actively grab his arms to gain his attention.

“What the hell happened? Where’s Dean?”

Sam shook his head and she could see the wheels turning behind those knitted brows.

“Crowley,” Sam stuttered out. “He… I called him and—”

Her eyes almost popped out of her head, she widened them so much. Another cycle of sold souls might just be her last straw. Why did these boys always have to sacrifice themselves for each other?

“You made a deal?,” she interrupted him, furious.

“No deal. I told him to make it right,” Sam mumbled, more to himself, continuously shaking his head in disbelief. “When I came to check, they were both gone.”

Baffled, she blinked at him, seeking the truth in his words until her expression softened. She had no idea why Crowley would take Dean’s body, or what that note meant. Whether it was a petty, sick joke by the King of Hell or if it meant Dean was still out there somewhere, they had to find him.

“We will make it right,” she muttered, loosening her grip on Sam’s elbows. “Like we always do. We’ll find him.”

Hunters go through the five stages of grief like it’s a regular routine. A ritual, if you will. This life came with so much loss and pain. You’d think at some point you’d get used to it. To death all around you, to preparing yet another hunter’s burial.

But the fact that Dean was gone hit her like a whiplash. She didn’t even get to process any of it, no closure, nothing to make her know for sure where he was, whether he was okay, if there was still a chance. If she was still allowed to hope.

It took them weeks. Several weeks of trial and error. Tracking down Crowley did nothing. They had zero clues. No matter how many demons they asked, nobody knew what happened to Dean Winchester. The angels were fighting their own battle. Fellow hunters hadn’t seen or heard from him either.

She felt like she was slowly going insane. Her mind was a liminal space — she got the sense that she was thrown into cold water without knowing how to properly swim. She managed to keep her head up somewhat, but for how much longer could she take all of this?

At this point Sam and her were grasping at straws. The bigger fish in that vast ocean of questions were no help, so they had to dive deeper. They couldn’t afford to leave a stone unturned.

And who knew that a seemingly random case would prove to be their number one lead so far?

“I don’t know what to tell you, man,” the cashier sighed and awkwardly rubbed his neck. A young man, probably working a part-time job at this gas station. The poor bystanding citizen went over what he saw once more. “This guy was just browsing through zines, then this other guy charged at him and he— KAPOW! BAM! — He just stabbed him. Kinda badass, honestly.”

Maybe not so poor after all. The guy seemed ecstatic about his eventful day at a rather boring job.

Sam and her exchanged a glance, unsure of what to make of the worker’s thrilled testimony.

Pointing at the surveillance cameras in the corner, she asked: “Mind if we check the tapes?”

They were lead to the computers in the back and the gas station attendant opened the recordings for them. Sam put three of the videos side by side, two showing the interior of the store, one being an angle from outside.

As she saw the Impala roll in on one of the clips, her eyes widened. She physically leapt forward, pushing Sam aside and zooming in on the figure stepping out of the familiar vehicle.

Her heart began racing a thousand miles per hour as she recognized what was undoubtedly her boyfriend walking into the gas station.

Then, Dean was alive after all? But it made no sense. Why was he not calling her, how did he survive that fight against Metatron?

So many questions flooded her mind that she was barely paying attention to the footage of some man coming up to Dean, clearly going for a strike. Dean dodged the attack and sunk the First Blade into the stranger. After that, he just left, taking that magazine along and driving away.

She barely registered Sam’s arm reaching over her to pause the video. He rewound it and played it again in slow motion, frame by frame until his trained eye prompted him to hit pause again.

Dean’s eyes were entirely consumed by a pitch black darkness. Demonic, soulless pits of black.

Something deep within her core collapsed as she connected the dots. Ignoring Sam’s attempts of stopping her, she made a beeline towards the exit. Clumsy fingers fished for her phone and she hastily dialed Crowley’s number.

His thick accent and smug tone made her want to reach through the line and rip out his tongue. “Colour me surprised. What can I do for the Winchester’s dearest?”

She didn’t even bother with a proper hello, let alone with reacting to his teasing greeting.

“I swear whatever demon is using Dean’s body as a meatsuit, I’ll send both them and you straight into hellfire myself,” she snarled through gritted teeth, fueled by a rage she’s never experienced before. She could only imagine the anger the Mark of Cain always caused for Dean, but she assumed her own came pretty close to the same level just then and there.

It earned her little more than a bemused chuckle.

Oh, that bastard was done for on so many levels.

“Crowley, I swear to all that’s holy I will—”

“Charming,” he interrupted her cursing, “But it’s all him, love.”

What?

“Call it the new and improved Dean,” Crowley hummed nonchalantly. “I did say the Mark of Cain would give him a nice and fancy upgrade, didn’t I?”

Surprisingly, a scavenger hunt to track down Crowley and/or Dean was even more frustrating than finding Metatron. Now, they all had good reason to getting ahold of that asshole, but Dean came first.

He always did. Plus, she didn’t make that promise for him just to fail him after.

Truth be told, she had no idea what she’d do once she would find him. Or rather, what was left of him. Judging by what Crowley said, the Mark of Cain had finally turned Dean into a monster.

For all they knew he was dangerous, yet she couldn’t care less.

It took her a while, but she managed to find a trail. Apparently the demonic version of the green-eyed hunter was a little more reckless when it came to covering up his traces.

Or maybe he didn’t particularly care about if or who might find him.

Either way, there weren’t many black ’67 Chevys cruising from motel to the next. If her hunch was correct, he was staying at one near her current location — lucky her, on one side. On the other hand, Sam was following a different lead one state over.

She couldn’t just let this chance slip, though. There was not enough time for backup. And, who knew, maybe it was a nothing burger anyway.

To be safe, she sent Sam a text that included the address, and purposefully ignored his reply about how she shouldn’t take risks by going alone.

She made her way to a motel that looked more run down than most of the ones even she was used to. It almost looked abandoned, definitely old, were it not for the bar on the other side of the street. That one was buzzing with light and music even from the buildings adjacent to it.

And wouldn’t you know it — Baby was parked right in front of said bar, empty.

This was her chance. She was ready to pick every lock of every room if it meant a chance at getting Dean back. The motel was definitely as hauntingly quiet and empty as your average ghost-filled mansion.

But it played into her hands. There wasn’t even any staff present.

Quickly, she snuck behind the reception’s desk and flipped through every document she could find. One name in particular struck her as odd — Joseph Perry. Unless the actual Joe, Aerosmith’s lead guitarist was renting a room in one of America’s most shabby motels, she hit the nail on the head.

One quick text message to Sam — ‘Found him. Room 205, he’s out. I’m going in.’ — and she tiptoed down the hallway. Picking the lock was almost too easy, because not even a minute later she found herself standing in the middle of a two-bedroom.

Instead of flickering on the lights, she resorted to using her phone’s flashlight. No need to draw any attention.

Eagerly, she rummaged through the room. The small closet space was filled with flannels and denim she recognized. Even their scent was familiar, though that brought back emotions she couldn’t focus on right now.

She didn’t even know what she was looking for exactly. Clues to what Dean’s been up to the whole time, where he’d go next. Heck, maybe even the First Blade, if only to take it away from him again.

The dresser between the two beds was next, the drawers of which were empty.

Her snooping and investigating was cut short by the light switch turning on.

Fuck.

Her breath hitched in her throat and she didn’t dare to move a muscle. She knew she’d be done for if he’d catch her trying anything funny.

A deep, gravelly yet smooth, and painfully familiar voice appeared behind her: “Didn’t I say to leave me be, sweetheart?”

He couldn’t possibly know the sting that petname caused. The hollow ache it stirred. How long has it been since she’d hear his voice at all, let alone have him call her that?

His presence alone was enough to make the ends of her hair stand up tall. She wished she could call it a bittersweet reunion, but with these circumstances, it was more of a fight-or-flight instinct than anything.

“You mean that lousy note?,” she choked out and she cursed herself for the way her voice quivered. Damn it, her heart was aching so badly. “You were never a poet, but I was hoping for a more heartfelt goodbye.”

With her back still facing him, her hand slowly slid into the inner pocket of her denim jacket. Her fingers were shaky and sweaty as she curled them around the handle of her angel blade.

His voice echoed in her memories; “When things go to shit, you have to stop it.”

The look of desperation in his green eyes.

The very same green eyes she was met with upon spinning around and raising her weapon. She felt as though she was the one being stabbed.

“Stop me.”

How could she possibly do it? How could she keep such a promise? How could he ask something like that of her?

Her movement faltered midway. Not that she stood much of a chance anyway. Within a flash of a second, her wrist was captured by Dean, her arm twisted forward and around until she dropped the blade.

The silver object clattered on the floor and along with it, her heart dropped too.

“I thought I recognized that car of yours outside,” Dean hummed thoughtfully, his intense gaze scanning her up and down. “You just couldn’t let me be, huh?”

The huntress yelped softly as he shoved her back against the dresser.

The wooden edge was digging right into her lower back, an uncomfortable bite against her spine as she found herself trapped between the furniture and the twisted version of the love of her life.

His body pinned hers into an immobile state. He was close enough for her to feel the warmth of his breath against the shell of her ear.

“So what’s the grande plan here?,” he grinned, lips brushing against the juncture of her jaw ever so slightly. “Your pretty face shows up, you bat those eyelashes and then what?”

She tensed up visibly, clenching her jaw. She didn’t have an answer. Maybe she should’ve thought this through, but then again, she didn’t think that she’d actually run into him.

Using her other hand, she tried reaching for her other pocket. However, before she even had the chance of pulling out the anti-demon handcuffs, Dean grabbed that hand too, encircling both of her wrists in one iron grasp.

The cuffs fell down right next to the angel blade and for good measure, Dean kicked both items haphazardly into a random direction, so long as it was out of reach for her.

“Don’t get sneaky on me now, doll,” he muttered and the dangerous, grumbling edge in his voice had her shudder. “I asked you a question.”

Her only chance of getting out of this was to buy more time.

“Can you run that by me again? I wasn’t really paying attention.”

Whilst Dean’s lips twitched into a smirk, he didn’t appreciate her teasing attitude. His other hand darted up and found home around the delicate of her throat. A choked gasp errupted from her as she felt his fingers wrap snugly around her windpipes.

While it definitely hurt, it wasn’t enough to do any actual damage. He was applying just enough pressure to make her head all dizzy and her panic all spiked.

“Always a witty comment,” he tutted, clicking his tongue as he leaned closer. “Never knows when to shut that pretty mouth of hers, until it’s put to good use.”

She couldn’t suppress the heat rising to her cheeks if she tried. Not that she wasn’t used to him being assertive, but the intensity of this was downright dangerous.

“You clearly didn’t think this through, doll,” he whispered, his hot breath tickling her lips. “You have no idea what you’re up against.”

Black flashed across his eyes, dark and consuming.

It should’ve scared her, and it’s not like she wasn’t aware that he could so easily snuff out her life. He’d have to squeeze just a little harder. He’d just have to flick his wrist. But how could she focus on fear when every fiber of her being was consumed by guilt?

She swore she’d save him from this, and she failed so miserably.

“Promise me you’ll put an end to it if things go wrong. Please.” His plea rang through her mind still, clear as a bell.

“I promise I’ll do everything I can,” she had nodded back then. “If we run out of options, I’ll do it.”

An ultimatium. The last resort. As long as there was so much as a slither of hope—

It was still Dean. Her Dean, demon or not. That thought was equally comforting and devastating. The lines were as blurry as the swirl of her emotions.

“You’re not my enemy, Dean,” she tried, her voice strained through the chokehold he still had on her. “It’s the Mark, you’re not yourself.”

Dean barked out a laugh and shook his head, his eyes emerald once more. “And that’s where you’re wrong, doll. I’ve never felt better.”

As if to demonstrate, his hands vanished from her wrists and throat, seizing her hips instead. He lifted her up with ease and shoved her on top of the dresser with such sudden force that her hands instinctively sought an anchor in his arms.

Arms she used to rely on — they’d lull her to sleep, they’d welcome her home, they’d provide her with warmth. Arms she had taken for granted. Arms she had missed feeling around her.

Large hands slipped under her jacket, greedily pawing at her waist and she stiffened at the sensation of his warm fingers slipping under her shirt. His touch still felt the same and she didn’t know which was worse: That it still had the same effect on her or that Dean knew.

“Dean,” she uttered, all breathless and not even coming close to making it sound like a protest.

“Isn’t this what you came here for?”

He didn’t even give her time to process his question, let alone come up with an answer. Rough hands pulled her impossibly closer until he stood between her thighs, towering over her like some unyielding wall.

“To see me,” he went on — and damn it if months of lonely, sleepless nights didn’t turn his voice into the most alluring siren’s song for her. He brought his forehead down to hers and all her eyes could focus on was the shape of his lips. “To feel me?”

Guilty as charged, evident by her giving in to the magnetic pull.

The question of who closed the gap between them was overshadowed by the fact that their mouths all but crashed together. A burning hunger took over, consuming and demanding, and leading to a devouring rather than just a kiss.

It wasn’t pretty by any means. Just a tangled mess of bumping noses and clashing teeth, of hands wandering and exploring and claiming.

A whimper of hers fueled Dean to shove her jacket off her shoulders, whereas pride filled her upon drawing a grunt from his lips with just a simple tug on his sandy hair.

The taste of him was as intoxicating as she remembered it to be, not least because of the whiskey sticking to his tongue.

Her body fell into old habits as if no time had passed. Her back arched instinctively and she completely melted into his embrace — those arms welcoming her home once more —, even as his warm lips worked a path down her jawline.

Clearly Dean still had her body perfectly memorized all the same, knowing exactly which buttons to push. Sharp teeth grazed across her pulse, before the swipe of a warm tongue soothed over the sting.

“Gotta say, sweetheart,” Dean muttered, his words husky and muffled by her flushed skin as he nibbled down her collarbones. “I did miss this. Always so damn responsive.”

Her fingers combed through strands of hair that had grown longer since she last saw him.

So much time has passed. So much has happened since. But have things really changed?

“I missed you, too.”

She knew that was neither what he said nor what he meant, yet she couldn’t help but yearn. She couldn’t help but trust. It’s always been her greatest weakness. Dean always has been her greatest weakness.

His grip tightened on her curves until she was sure she’d be covered in finger-shaped marks.

Good. ‘Cause if he were to ever slip away from her again, she’d want all the traces of him she could keep, locked deep within her. Every single bruise. She’d want his bite to infect her from the inside.

She buried her face in the crook of his neck, inhaling his scent with the intent to catalogue it into the depth of her brain.

A soft click from the other end of the room made her heart flip.

“I’m sorry, Dean,” she whispered.

They only had this one chance.

Her hands cupped his jawline, fingers caressing stubbled skin as if handling porcelain, and her lips found his in a softer kiss.

“I’m so sorry,” she repeated gently, letting him taste and swallow the words.

Her apology confused him enough to distract him.

Sam took the opportunity, capturing Dean’s arms from behind and securing them behind his back. The handcuffs snapped into place around his wrists, the engraved pentagrams rendering the demon pretty much powerless.

Dean growled and writhed in protest to his brother yanking him away. He was like a caged animal, baring his teeth as well as his inky eyes. Kicking and screaming got him nowhere, though.

With combined strength, Sam and her managed to drag him back to the Impala, where they pushed him into the backseat.

Sam slammed the door shut, taking a deep breath. She half expected him to scold her for tackling this by herself. But his expression held nothing but concern as his eyes gave her a once-over.

“You okay?”

Was she? Honestly, she didn’t even know anymore.

From the corners of her eyes she glanced through the backseat window. Dean sat there fuming silently, his dark eyes screaming bloody murder as he glared at Sam and her.

“We basically just arrested a demonic Dean, I’ll take it as a win,” she shrugged, deflecting the question with weak humor.

Sam’s eyes followed the direction of her gaze. Undoubtedly, he was also glad that they managed to find and capture him. But the real challenge was still ahead of them.

“Did he hurt you?,” he asked.

“I’m okay,” she said through a clenched jaw and shook her head. “Thanks for your help back there.”

With that, she slid into the passenger seat. That was as much conversation as she was comfortable with. She knew Sam had questions, but she didn’t have any answers. It was all a haze for her too.

Sam rounded the car and got behind the wheel. His nose scrunched up in disgust as he shoved empty beer cans off the dashboard.

“It’s just a car,” Dean scoffed from the back, rolling his eyes. Yeah, alright, the Mark of Cain had not just corrupted him, Dean was definitely beside himself. That might’ve just been the most concerning thing she’s ever heard him say.

Sam was still busy clearing trash out of his seat. A glance towards the woman next to him confirmed his suspicions that her side wasn’t any cleaner.

She picked up a black bra from the floor, along with a ripped condom wrapper. Lovely. Crumpling both the foil and the fabric in her fist, she sent the damned things flying out of the window.

“Good to know someone was having fun the past few months,” she grumbled, pain obviously lacing her tone.

Again, she had to remind herself that this wasn’t Dean. Not really. Or at least a Dean that wasn’t thinking straight. Still, the idea of him roaming the streets like the world was a banquet at his feet, while she was working day and night to save him, made her sick to her stomach.

Knowing she wouldn’t like Dean’s response anyway, she turned on the radio. She didn’t want an explanation, much less any smug mockery. All she wanted was to get back to the Bunker and put an end to this nightmare.

Just like she had promised.

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[cheynovak]

Sugar - Part 7  The final chapter

Soldier boy x F/ reader  (Y/N)       

Warnings: 18+, sex, age difference, anger, hurst, angst, happy ending...

Side note: English isn’t my first language.          

*Does not follow The Boys storyline * 

--      

Y/N is a college student who pays her apartment, bills and school tuition with the money she makes as ‘sugar baby’ for Soldier boy. What started as just being a companion on lonely moments became quickly more physical.     But how will Y/N cope with the dominant side of Ben when he finds out she has a life beside pleasuring him?    

-- 

Ben watched the door close in his face, rain started pouring down on him, the finality of Y/N's words echoing in his mind.

He had lost her, and the weight of that realization crushed him. He stood there for a long time, unable to move, his heart aching with regret and sorrow. Eventually, he turned away. 

The next few weeks blurred together in a haze of pain and self-destruction. Ben couldn't bear the emptiness that Y/N's absence left in his life, and he turned to anything that might dull the ache. He started drinking even more heavily, spending his nights in bars, downing shot after shot in an attempt to forget his pain. 

But alcohol wasn't enough to drown out the memories of her smile, her laughter, the warmth of her touch. Desperate for a deeper escape. It started with adding an extra few lines of cocaine, then escalated to pills and other substances. The highs were fleeting, but for a brief moment, they allowed him to escape the torment of his own thoughts. 

His downward spiral continued to deepen as he sought solace in the arms of other women. He frequented seedy motels and cheap escorts, trying to fill the void that Y/N had left. But no amount of meaningless sex could replace what he had lost, and each morning he woke up feeling even more hollow and broken than before. 

One night, as Ben stumbled out of yet another bar, high and barely coherent, he pulled out his phone and dialled the number of the only person he could think of. It rang a few times before a groggy voice answered. "What the hell, man? It's 3 AM." 

-- 

The next morning, Ben woke up on Legend's couch, feeling the effects of his latest binge. His head pounded, and his body ached, but the worst pain was the emotional one. Legend sat nearby, watching him with a mix of concern and anger. 

"You look like hell," Legend said bluntly. "How much did you take? No fuck that, what did you do?" 

Ben took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. "I messed up, Legend. I lost her. Legend sighed, shaking his head. " You need to get your shit together. She is just a girl, you’ll find another one.”  

Ben didn’t even listen, drowning in self-pity. 

One evening, Ben found himself back at Legend's place, as they sat in the dimly lit living room, the atmosphere felt heavy with unspoken tension. "So, what's next for you, man?" Legend asked, taking a swig of his whiskey.  

Ben hesitated, then said, "I’m going to try and talk to Y/N. Apologize. Try to make things right." 

Legend scoffed, shaking his head. "Forget about her, Ben. She's just another girl, a pussy to fuck. You don't need to go chasing after some chick who can't handle you. "Ben's expression darkened, his jaw clenching. "She's not just another girl.” 

Legend rolled his eyes. "Seriously, man? Get over it. There are plenty of girls out there. You can find another one to screw." 

The crude dismissal of Y/N as nothing more than a sexual object snapped something inside Ben. Before he knew it, he was on his feet, grabbing Legend by the collar and slamming him against the wall. His hand clamped around Legend's neck, his grip tight and unyielding. 

"Don't you ever talk about her like that," Ben growled, his voice low and dangerous. "She's more than that. She's worth more than.” 

Legend's eyes widened with shock and fear. He struggled to breathe, his hands clawing at Ben's arm. "Ben... let go..." Ben's eyes blazed with fury, but after a few tense seconds, he released his hold and stepped back, his chest heaving with anger. Legend crumpled to the floor, gasping for air. 

"What's wrong with you, man?" Legend sputtered, rubbing his neck. "You need to calm the hell down." 

Ben glared at him. "I won't let anyone talk about her like that. Not even you." Legend looked up at him, still shaken. "I... I didn’t mean anything by it. I was just trying to help you move on." Ben shook his head leaving his penthouse.  

Legend was nursing his bruised ego and neck. He couldn't shake the confrontation from his mind. He knew Ben was serious about Y/N, but he still thought it was all unnecessary drama. Deciding to take matters into his own hands before Ben would do stupid things he couldn’t fix, he picked up his phone and dialled Y/N's number.  

"Hello?" Y/N's voice came through, cautious and guarded. 

"Y/N, it's The Legend," he said, his tone attempting to sound friendly. "I think we need to talk. It's about Ben." 

"What about him?" she asked, suspicion clear in her voice. 

"Look, he’s been going through a rough time, and I know he wants to make things right with you. He just left my place.” 

“Did he made you call me?” He heard how displeased she was. 

“No, no he doesn’t know I was calling you, but he really cares about you. Can you please give him a chance?" 

Y/N sighed. "Legend, I appreciate the concern. But this isn't something you can fix with a phone call." 

"I get that," Legend replied, "He's trying... to be better. Just... hear him out, okay?" 

There was a long pause before Y/N responded. "I'll think about it. But Legend, this is between Ben and me. Please stay out of it." 

"Understood," he said, ending the call. 

-- 

A few days later. 

Ben found himself alone in his apartment, as he sat on the couch, lost in thought, a knock at the door pulled him from his thoughts. He wasn't expecting anyone, and a flicker of anxiety ran through him as he approached the door. When he opened it, his heart skipped a beat. 

Y/N stood there, looking determined yet slightly apprehensive. Ben blinked, unable to hide his surprise. "Y/N? What are you doing here?" 

"I'm ready to talk," she said simply, her voice steady. Ben stepped aside to let her in, his mind racing. She entered the apartment, taking a moment to look around before settling on the edge of the couch. Ben joined her, keeping a respectful distance. 

"I wasn't sure I would see you anymore," he admitted, his voice low. "I wasn't sure either," Y/N replied, her gaze meeting his. Ben nodded, his heart pounding while they sat down on the couch again. 

She took a deep breath, gathering her thoughts. "I need to understand why things went the way they did. Why you pushed me away, why you hurt me?” 

Ben ran a hand through his hair, feeling the weight of her words. "I was scared," he finally confessed. “Why?” she asked, she saw how difficult it was for him to answer. “I think I deserve this, Ben.”  

"I was terrified of not being enough for you, of not living up to your expectations. So I pushed you away before you could see how flawed I am.” Y/N listened, her expression softening slightly. "Ben, I never expected you to be perfect. I know your flaws.” 

As they sat in a moment of comfortable silence, Ben's curiosity got the better of him. He wanted to know how Y/N was really doing, beyond their complicated relationship. "How's school going?" he asked gently, hoping to steer the conversation into safer territory. 

Y/N's expression immediately shifted, her eyes welling up with tears. She looked down at her hands, trying to compose herself. "It's been... hard," she admitted, her voice trembling. "Ever since our fight, people have been treating me differently. They make jokes, call me names... they treat me like a whore." 

Ben's heart sank, guilt crashing over him like a tidal wave. "Y/N, I'm so sorry. I had no idea... I never meant for any of this to happen." She wiped at her eyes, trying to hold back the tears. 

She looked at him, her eyes filled with a mixture of sadness and vulnerability. "Ben, I don't blame you, not entirely... We both made mistakes. But it hurts, and... I don't know how to make it stop." Her tears started to stream down her cheeks. 

Ben reached out, taking her hand in his. Wanting nothing more than to pull her close to him, comforting her. 

Y/N looked up, meeting Ben's gaze, and saw something soft and tender in his eyes. The vulnerability and care reflecting, it made her heart ache with a confusing mix of emotions. She couldn't hold his gaze for long, feeling overwhelmed by the depth of his expression. 

His hand, warm and firm, enveloped hers, offering both comfort and connection. The weight of the world seemed to lighten just a bit with his touch. Ben's green eyes remained gentle, filled with an unspoken promise of support and understanding. It was a look she hadn't seen in a long time, one that made her feel safe and cherished despite everything. 

But also, one he would hide away every change he had, but not today, no it seemed like he was purposely showing her the man behind the armour.  

Without thinking, Y/N leaned in, resting her head against his shoulder, in the crook of his neck. She closed her eyes, breathing in his familiar scent, woodsy, but clean, a fragrance that had always brought her a sense of peace. 

Ben's arm instinctively wrapped around her, holding her close. The gesture was tender, protective, and Y/N felt a sense of calm wash over her. For a moment, all the hurt and chaos of the past weeks faded away, leaving just the two of them in their little bubble of comfort. 

And then for the first time in his life Ben said, "I'm so sorry for everything, Y/N," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "I wish I could take back all the pain I've caused you." She nuzzled deeper into his neck, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath. 

He tightened his hold on her, his heart swelling with a mix of hope and regret. "I promise I'll do better.” 

After what felt like an eternity, Ben gently kissed the top of Y/N's hair. The simple gesture sent a rush through her veins, igniting a spark that had been dimmed by their past pain. She could feel his breath against her scalp, warm and steady, grounding her in the present moment. 

Without thinking, her lips moved over the vein on his neck, not quite kissing but caressing his skin with soft, delicate brushes. She could feel his pulse quicken beneath her touch, a subtle thrum that mirrored the rising tempo of her own heartbeat. His breath hitched, and she felt the slight tremor in his body, a mixture of anticipation and restraint. 

His hand moving to cradle the back of her head, fingers tangling in her hair. He was torn between the urge to pull her closer and the need to respect her boundaries, uncertain of how far she wanted to go. The intimate connection between them was both exhilarating and fragile, a delicate balance of longing and hesitation. 

"Y/N," he whispered, his voice barely audible, filled with a blend of desire and caution. "You don't have to..." But she interrupted softly, lifting her head to meet his gaze. Her eyes were dark with emotion.  "I want to, but I need to know we're on the same page, Ben. That this isn't just a moment." 

“Tell me it’s not just physical.” she pleads. 

Ben cupped her face gently, his thumb brushing across her cheek. "It’s not just a moment," he assured her, his voice steady and sincere. "I want you, Y/N. Not just physical.” 

Her heart swelled at his words, the sincerity in his eyes melting away the last remnants of doubt. She leaned in closer, her lips brushing against his in a tentative, tender kiss. Ben responded with equal tenderness, deepening the kiss with a careful intensity that spoke volumes. His hands moved to her waist, pulling her closer as if afraid she might slip away.  

Y/N's hands moved to the back of his neck, fingers threading through his hair. The simple, intimate contact sent shivers down both their spines. Their breaths mingled, creating an electric atmosphere between them. Tongues asking permission to tango.  

Feeling a surge of need and urgency, Ben gently pulled her onto his lap. Y/N straddled him, her legs resting on either side of his hips. The closeness intensified the heat rushing between them, a connection they'd been craving for so long.  

His hands roamed from her thighs up to her back, drawing her even closer, while her fingers played with the strands of his hair, earning a soft groan from him. 

Their eyes locked, communicating a myriad of emotions without words. The world outside ceased to exist as they lost themselves in each other's presence. Ben leaned in, Y/N responded eagerly, deepening the kiss as her hands slid down to his shoulders, feeling the strength beneath his shirt. 

Ben's hands moved from her back to her hips, gripping them firmly but gently, guiding her movements as she felt his bulge growing underneath the fabric of his pants. The sensation of her warmth against him was intoxicating, driving him to explore further.  

He broke the kiss momentarily, trailing soft kisses along her jawline and down her neck, unable for her to keep a soft moan from escaping her lips. 

Her heart raced as she felt his lips on her skin, every touch sending a jolt of electricity through her body. She tilted her head back, giving him better access as she revelled in the sensation. The way he held her, the way he kissed her, everything felt right, as if they were finally aligning after being out of sync for so long. 

Y/N's hands roamed over his shoulders and down his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath her palm. "Ben," she breathed, her voice a mix of desire and vulnerability. As their passion intensified, Ben's hands trailed down to her ass, leaving a trail of fire along her skin.  

With each caress, she felt herself unravelling, the tension and pain of the past weeks melting away in the heat of their desire. She let out a soft sigh as his fingers found the hem of her shirt, inching it upwards with a tantalizing slowness. 

Her own hands eagerly exploring the expanse of Ben's chest, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath her fingertips. His muscles tensed and relaxed under her touch, a silent invitation for her to continue. With a shaky breath, she began to unbutton his shirt, revealing the strong lines of his torso inch by inch. 

Their kisses grew more fervent, hungry and desperate, as if trying to convey the depth of their longing through touch alone. Ben's hands roamed lower, tracing the curves of Y/N's body with an almost reverent touch. She gasped as his fingers brushed against her clothes core. 

With a silent understanding, they shed their remaining clothing, each piece a barrier to the intimacy they craved. In the dim light of the room, they stood before him, vulnerable yet unashamed.  

Y/N found herself on her knees between Ben's legs. Their gazes locked, filled with a raw desire that spoke volumes without a single word. In this intimate moment, they were lost in each other's eyes, the world around them fading. 

She gently tugged his pants and boxers down, freeing him. pressing her lips against the sensitive skin of his hip. Ben's breath caught in his throat as he felt the warmth of her mouth against his skin, sending a jolt of pleasure straight to his core. 

He watched with a mix of anticipation and longing as she moved closer, her lips trailing a path of fire along his thigh, inching ever closer to her destination. When she finally reached him, she hesitated for a moment, her eyes searching his for reassurance.  

Finding nothing but desire and trust reflected back at her. Ben's sharp intake of breath filled the room as she took him in her hand, her fingers wrapping around his length. She began with soft, slow strokes, feeling him harden even more in her grip.  

The warmth of his skin, the weight of him in her hand, all sent shivers of excitement through her. Leaning forward, she placed a soft kiss on the tip before parting her lips and taking him into her mouth.  

She moved slowly at first, letting her tongue swirl around the head, the taste of him alone made her moan. Ben groaned, his hand coming to rest on her head, his fingers tangling gently in her hair.  

Y/N worked him with a combination of skill and desperation, needing to hear more of his words, to feel his approval. That's it, baby," he murmured, "You're so good at this," he groaned, his voice rough with arousal.  

"So perfect. My perfect girl." His words spurred her on, her pace quickening as she took him deeper. Ben's breaths grew ragged, his hips thrusting gently in time with her movements. "That's it, sugar," he murmured, his voice dripping with praise.  

"Just like that." Encouraged by his response, Y/N took him deeper, hollowing her cheeks as she moved her mouth up and down his shaft. She used one hand to stroke the base, while the other hand rested on his thigh for balance.  

Her movements were steady and deliberate, her eyes flicking up to meet his every so often, drinking in the sight of his pleasure. Y/N adjusted her angle, taking him even deeper into her throat. She could feel every ridge and vein of him against her tongue, and the sensation made her own arousal build.  

She bobbed her head, her rhythm steady and unrelenting, her hand moving in sync with her mouth. The sensation was exquisite, sending a surge of pleasure coursing through Ben's veins. He let out a low groan, his hands tangling in her hair as he surrendered to the overwhelming waves of sensation crashing over him.  

Her touch was gentle yet firm, her lips and tongue working in perfect harmony to drive him to the brink of ecstasy and back. 

She could feel him holding back, trying not to push her head down. But the loved the way he reacted, how she felt his grip in her hair tighten, how his hips sporadically bucked up. And the way he praised her... made her moan.  

“Oh, that’s it, sugar... fuck.” 

As Y/N continued to pleasure him, Ben's breathing grew more erratic, and she could tell he was close. Suddenly, he pulled her away, stopping her just before he could come. She looked up at him, confusion and desire mingling in her eyes. Without a word, Ben lifted her from her knees, pulling her onto his lap so that she straddled him. 

He leaned in, capturing her lips in a deep kiss. His tongue swept into her mouth, claiming her with a possessive hunger that made her moan softly against his lips. As they kissed, his hand moved between her thighs, slipping under the fabric of her panties.  

His fingers found her slick with arousal, and he let out a groan of appreciation. "You're so wet," he murmured against her lips, his voice husky with desire. "All for me." His fingers slid through her folds, teasing her entrance before circling her clit with gentle, deliberate strokes. 

 Y/N gasped, her hips rocking against his hand, seeking more of his touch. Her need for him was overwhelming, every nerve in her body alight with longing. "Ben," she breathed, her voice trembling with need.  

"Please..." He grinned, a predatory glint in his eyes as he watched her writhe above him. "Patience, sugar," he said, his fingers continuing their tormenting dance. "I want to feel you come undone for me."  

Her hands clutched at his shoulders, her nails digging into his skin as she fought to stay upright. Ben's other hand slid up her back, pulling her closer as he kissed her breasts. Ben added another finger, increasing the intensity. He alternated between gentle caresses and firmer, more insistent movements, keeping her on the edge but never quite allowing her to tip over into climax.  

Ben's fingers worked her expertly, curling slightly to find that perfect spot inside her. The sensation was electric, and Y/N felt herself teetering on the edge of an overwhelming orgasm. "Ben, I'm so close," she whimpered, her voice a mix of desperation and desire.  

"Come for me sugar." With a final, confident movement, he pressed his fingers deeper, his thumb circling her clit. The pressure built to an unbearable peak, and with one last thrust and swirl of his fingers, he sent her over the edge. Her body convulsed in his arms, waves of pleasure crashing through her as she cried out his name.  

Throughout her climax, Ben's fingers continued their ministrations, drawing out every last shudder of pleasure until she was left trembling and breathless in his arms. As her trembling subsided, he gently guided her hips, aligning himself with her entrance.  

He looked into her eyes, his gaze filled with a mix of desire and tenderness. "Are you ready?" he asked, his voice soft and intimate. Y/N nodded, her breath still coming in heavy pants. "Yes," she whispered, her eyes locked onto his.  

Slowly, he entered her, filling her completely. She gasped at the sensation, her body adjusting. Ben's hands moved to her hips, guiding her movements as she began to ride him. The slow, sensual rhythm they found together was both intoxicating and deeply satisfying. His eyes darkened with renewed desire, and his grip on her hips tightened.  

He began to guide her movements with more force, his fingers digging into her skin in a way that sent delicious shivers down her spine. "That's my girl," he growled, his voice a rough whisper. "I need you to ride me harder, sugar."  

With his guidance, Y/N started to move with more urgency, her hips rocking back and forth with a rhythm that matched his rising intensity. Ben's hands moved to her waist, his fingers pressing into her flesh as he pulled her down onto him with each thrust, driving himself deeper inside her.  

The sensation was overwhelming, a perfect blend of roughness and tenderness that made her head spin. "Just like that," he praised, his voice thick with pleasure. "You're doing so good, baby. Don't stop." He thrust up into her, meeting her movements with a force that made her gasp.  

Each collision of their bodies sent waves of pleasure radiating through her, the friction and heat building to an almost unbearable intensity. Ben's eyes never left hers, mesmerized by the look of her.  

You're so tight," he groaned, his grip on her waist tightening even further. "I can't get enough of you." His words spurred her on, her movements growing more frantic as she rode him. She could feel another orgasm building, the pressure inside her mounting with each hard, deep thrust.  

Ben's hands roamed over her body, one moving up to cup her breast, his thumb brushing over her nipple in a way that made her cry out. He leaned forward, capturing her lips in a bruising kiss, his tongue demanding and insistent. The kiss was a perfect mirror of their physical connection intense, consuming, and utterly passionate.  

"Come for me again," he commanded, his voice a low, urgent growl. "I want to feel you come around me." Y/N's body obeyed before her mind could catch up, the combination of his rough thrusts and his commanding word. 

They stayed locked together, their bodies trembling with the aftershocks of their shared pleasure. Ben's grip on her softened, his hands moving to gently stroke her back as they caught their breath. He looked up at her. “If I had known that this was the way to make it up to you. I wouldn’t have waited so long.” 

Y/N smiled weakly, her heart full and her body spent. She leaned down to kiss him softly, their connection feeling stronger than ever. “Ben I...” she said still out of breath but his kiss interrupted her. 

Ben looked in her eyes, seeing the hope shimmering. Seeing his future before him. His hand caressed her cheek, eyes tracing her face, ready to tell her the one thing he was scared of, for so long.

And then he finally whispered:  “I love you.”  

--

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[whumped-by-glitter]

Chapter 2 Part 1: Mistakes and Backtalk

⚠️CW: Slave Whump, Dehumanization, Angst, Defiant Whumpee, Mention of Minor Whump (barely). If I missed anything, let me know, please!

@3-2-whump's official rating: ‘Dasa’s gonna have a real bad time, as if he wasn’t having a bad time already’

✨️A special thanks to my Beta Readers! I couldn't write a coherent sentence, much less a story without them! @3-2-whump, @generic-whumperz, @aloafofbreadwithanxiety. If you like my work, go check theirs out!

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Story under the cut.

Balor gritted his teeth, watching the great, noble Corvius, his father, go out, down the dirt path, to the slave building yet again to check on that idiot slave he called Boy. His concern for those beasts was humiliating. It was as if the man cared more about those damn slaves than him.

Watching his father preen over the slave made him wish the Drar had actually died, it was sickening. ‘And so what if Boy had died? If four days without food killed him, he deserved death. It certainly wasn't his fault Drar burned through food faster than other races,’ he thought with vitriol.

 That aside, don’t even get him started on that creepy runt he called Dog, the one being taught to consume poisons. Balor did not understand his father’s fascination with that one at all. That slave had more one on one time with his dear father than Balor ever had in his 19 years alive. It was disgusting.

Though, he wasn’t that different he supposed, recalling fondly the first time he’d injured that filthy Mongrel. The sight of the slave struggling against the pain to obey Balor’s own orders not to move, the image filled him with a feeling of absolute power. Power was not something he had obtained yet, despite his privileged birth. Thus having such a complete amount of it over The Dog was intoxicating. It was a small taste of what he hunkered for.

Balor huffed back to his room to get dressed and ready for the day. He put on his usual ruffled shirt, white today, and a pair of trousers. In the mirror he swept his short sandy blonde hair to the side of his round face. After wiping his pale, blue tinged skin, a trait inherent to his race, with a wash rag he met his own cold navy-blue eyes in the mirror. He frowned, seeing how his pudge made the fabric of his shirt strain slightly. His silhouette had been a source of great displeasure lately but he couldn’t bring himself to do anything about it. He pulled on his brown, gold trimmed boots, tightening the laces. Shaking off the depression, he headed out to meet up with his father.

Not finding him in the shabby, filthy, slave house off at the side of the building, Balor went out to the fields a little trek off from the main house. He shifted his blue speckled white wings in annoyance. He hated going out this far, it wasn’t worth the massive energy to fly, but walking the path was drudgery. It was far too much work when he could normally just have a slave bring him everything he needed without ever needing to leave the mansion.

The fields were at harvesting. Theirs were mostly made up of fruit orchards. The yellow-skinned lel fruit dotted the nearest trees. Beyond the lel trees there were rows of grapes climbing up ornate walls built to support the vines.

“You miscounted your yield yesterday!” He heard his father, yell at one of the slaves. The voice came from the grape fields.

He was still too far off to hear the slave’s pathetic reply. He sure as hell heard the subsequent slap though.

“Because of you I now need to go all the way to Xonia to clear up this mess!” Corvius exclaimed, slapping the slave again.

Balor watched the older man storm up the hill towards him and the back entrance of the mansion behind him.

“What happened Father?” Balor asked, trying to keep the glee out of his voice. It was satisfying to watch his father get worked up over some dumb slave.

“Zan, the slave we were brought to train for old man Banks has been messing up his count for months,” Corvius answered with a scowl on his face as he began walking them back towards the mansion. “I now have to go all the way to Xonia to get this straightened out with the merchant there. That means you will be in charge here. Can I trust you not to kill any slaves while I’m gone?”

Balor hid an eye roll, “Of course Father, you can count on me.” He was certain these next few days were going be a drag. The thought of that amount of responsibility made him tired just thinking about it.

Corvius paused walking. “I’m trusting you to run things, you best not disappoint me.”

Balor was certain his father had read his thoughts. He could feel the intrusion. The sensation made him more annoyed. It was considered rude for Tallisians to read each other’s or even Valtens’ thoughts. It added an additional layer of insult knowing his father rarely even intruded on the slaves in this manner. “I can assure you, I won’t,” he mumbled, “You don’t have to treat me like a child, I’m 19 now.”

“If you are no longer a child, why is it you perpetually still act like one?” Balor’s father sighed and shook his head. “This is an opportunity to prove yourself, you shouldn’t look so gloom. I’m leaving Zan’s discipline to you, if you do well discipline will be yours permanently.”

This got Balor’s attention, he finally met the old man’s gaze for the first time since they started talking this morning. He studied his pale blue tinged skin and weathered features. Perhaps he was looking for a hint of approval in those stern features, in which he found none of course. His thoughts turned back to fantasizing, maybe, just maybe, these next few days wouldn’t be such a drag after all.

“You’re engaged to the Crown Princess, it’s high time you start learning leadership and responsibility instead of loafing about.”

His father continued to lecture him, but Balor was hardly paying attention anymore. Instead, his mind was fantasizing about how best to make Zan suffer.

‘I could make him count lashes…. Nah, too simple. A stress position on the frame maybe? That had nothing to do with the infraction though….Forced silence, that would be a good start, I just need to decide how, and what I want to follow that up with…’ Balor’s thoughts continued to spin, musing on the possibilities.

He'd prefer his father’s favorite, The Mutt, the one he’s lived in the shadow of his whole life. Oh, how he’d love to take full control of that dog, that useless object of his father’s attention. Zan would have to do however, at least for now.

“Mongrel!” Corvius yelled as soon as they entered the mansion. A slight echo reverberated off the polished stone of the greeting room.

The Mutt seemed to materialize from shadows, the mask of void Corvius preferred firmly plastered on its face. ‘Creepy beast, it barely counts as a living thing,’ Balor thought as the slave knelt, pressing its forehead on the floor.

“Get my bags packed for five days,” Corvius ordered, barely glancing down at it.

“Yes Master,” The Mutt replied and disappeared up the stairs.

Corvius led his son into the parlor and sat him down. “Now before I go I need to give you some instructions. First, you are not allowed to maim, kill or permanently injured Zan in any way. Second, you will be giving The Mongrel its poison doses every day.”

This further interested Balor. He loved slipping the slave some Divinity’s Downfall for the entertainment of his friends. He was owed that much from it.

“Understood Father,” Balor replied, barely containing his excitement.

“You may have friends over and do as you please, but so help me if I come back to a wreck, you will be paying for it. You need to prove to me that you can manage these slaves. Show me that you can be King, consider this practice.”

His father’s tone was serious. The younger Tallisian knew he meant what he said and shuddered to think what ‘paying for it’ would look like.

“Everything will be in perfect order when you return,” Balor tried to sound confident despite the nerves.

It wasn’t long after the two had fallen into silence when The Dog returned with the packed bags for his Master.

“Everything is there?” Corvius asked with an eyebrow raised.

“Yes, Master,” The Mongrel bowed.

“Very well, don’t just stand there, take them to the carriage,” the Master snapped. “Oh, and Balor, I’ll be taking Ruby and Boy with me,” he added as the three of them began to walk out the front door.

Outside Balor saw that the two slaves had already been harnessed up and ready. He had been a little surprised when his father said he was taking those two, but saw now saw how similar in size the two were, Boy was growing fast.

Once he saw his father off, Balor was finally free. The first thing he wanted to do was to deal with Zan.

“Mutt, go fetch Zan,” Balor ordered.

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