#ten x trans reader

[love-quinn]

— CALL TIME

summary — a games shoot with your boyfriend mid-fight isn’t something that’s particularly appealing. but, in an effort to keep up appearances, you inadvertently find out the reason you’re fighting.

warnings — none

pairing — spencer agnew x fem!reader

pronouns — none (you/yours), reader is referred to explicitly as spencer’s girlfriend

featuring — spencer agnew, shayne topp, angela giarratana, courtney miller, alex tran, kortney luby (mentioned)

word count — 3.4k

note — honestly still trying to figure out what i’m doing here, but i guess i write for smosh now?? i hope you enjoy anyway <33

Shoot weeks were always stressful. They resulted in 12 hour days, sometimes you had multiple shoots back to back and you didn’t get a break. A lot of the time, you’d scarf down Uber Eats at your desk while looking over two different scripts, four emails and the shoot schedule and realising that you’re probably not going to get a whole lot of sleep that night.

Your boyfriend was in the same boat, though. Not only was he often on camera, he was also directing all of the smosh games productions. A lot of the time while you were devouring a subway over your desk, Spencer was right there beside you, the two of you chatting idly about whether or not either of you thought that you would have the time or the energy to see each other outside of work that week.

The two of you had been dating privately for a little over a year, everyone at the office knew but you hadn’t announced anything publicly yet. Neither of you had any interest in it, to be perfectly honest. Your audience knew the two of you were close, you’d occasionally post photos of the two of you out at dinner together or at the movies or something, plus you’d run into fans quite a few times. But also, Spencer hung out in public more with Alex than he did with you, so people didn’t tend to take it to a romantic place.

During lunch on the Thursday of a shoot week would usually involve the two of you sitting tiredly in the open office area, your head on his shoulder while he showed you a video of something. You relished any opportunity to spend time together during shoot weeks, because you both really would just leave work, pass out and then go back to work.

This particular Thursday, though, you were alone at your table. Not alone, Shayne and Angela were there, the three of you engaged in random chatter. People filed in and out, working crew trying to eat quickly so they could get back to their spot on set and prepare for the next shoot, crew that wasn’t working sets that day still having a lot to get done behind the scenes. A few people had come and left your table but none of them touched the seat beside yours, knowing that Spencer would inevitably arrive and want to sit beside you.

He wasn’t coming, though, and you knew that.

You and Spencer both really valued communication, and you were normally really good at it. But with how exhausted you both were, neither of you had the energy to have an argument lately. You’d gone two full days without speaking unless completely necessary. Your last text from him had been from the morning earlier; We need two, not one. It had been about batteries, you’d been sent on a run to the supply closet for an extra one.

You hadn’t even been aware of how it started. One night he’d been kissing your temple in the parking lot, preparing to go back to his apartment while you went back to yours and the next morning you barely spoke.

You couldn’t even corner him about it at work. You’d tried to approach him in the kitchen, assuming he’d just been too busy to text you or stop by your desk like he usually did in the mornings. “You okay?” You’d asked him gently, hand on his arm gently.

He’d given you a pinched smile, “Yeah, babe.” He turned back to the fridge, shutting it stiffly. “I gotta go, call time’s in ten and I need to talk to Alex about the Games video we shot last night.”

You’d stood there in the office kitchen as he walked away. He didn’t approach you the rest of the day, but you had been on the same set for a few hours.

No text that night, no kiss in the parking lot as you parted ways, not even a dumb tweet he thought you’d like. Hell, he hadn’t even messaged you on Slack.

Shayne watched you eat with his eyebrows raised. “You okay? You’ve been quiet all morning.”

You looked up to see both Shayne and Angela looking at you. You hadn’t even realised the conversation had dropped off. “Oh, uh.” You shook your head, more at yourself than at them. “Yeah, it’s fine. Just one of those weeks, y’know.”

“It’s almost over,” Angela rubbed your arm sympathetically. “Just today and tomorrow and then it’s the weekend. Do you have much on this afternoon?”

You had to pull out your phone to check your schedule. You had two more shoots for the day but they were spread out so you were still gonna be at work for quite a while. Maybe you could take a nap in the green room between shows. “Yeah, I’m doing You Posted That? and then we’re playing whatever game or something tonight.” You rubbed your eyes.

“Hey, tomorrow you only have TNTL and then reddit,” Shayne said encouragingly. “Early afternoon. Go home and get some rest, you look rough, dude.” It was all said with love, so you just grimaced up at him.

“Okay, can I tell you guys something in confidence?”

Both of them immediately nodded, abandoning their forks.

“I think Spencer’s avoiding me,” you admitted softly.

Shayne and Angela were probably two of your closest working friends. The three of you often sat in the back of groups and giggled together like you were ten. When you’d first started working at Smosh, you’d been somewhat awkward around your castmates when you weren’t filming. You guys made each other laugh but you weren’t sure whether or not they actually liked you or if they just laughed along with you on camera to avoid awkwardness. That hadn’t lasted long, though, and now you felt like you could actually have serious conversations with people.

“I was wondering why he wasn’t here,” Angela admitted. “Usually I can never get you alone at lunch, I have so many TikToks I wanna show you.”

You shrugged. “He’s been weird for a couple of days now, like, look at this.” You pulled out your phone and showed them your text history or now lack thereof. Shayne saw the one message from the past three days and his eyebrows raised higher.

“And you’ve tried talking to him about it?”

You nodded, locking your phone and putting it on the table. “He basically ran out of the kitchen when I asked him if everything was okay. By the time I was done for the day he was already at home, he usually stops by my desk if he’s leaving earlier than I am. I wasn’t in a shoot or anything.”

Angela slackened, leaning against her elbows on the desk and looking up at you with a frown on her face. “That’s definitely weird, yeah. Yeah, no, that’s weird. You guys didn’t argue about anything or anything?”

You shook your head, fidgeting with your nails. “Monday everything was normal, now I’m here.”

Your phone buzzed with your alarm that you’d set, you had fifteen minutes until your call time for the next shoot. You’d mostly finished eating but you picked up your fork again and poked at the remaining food on your plate. “And like, I don’t know. I’m not spiralling, like I know that he loves me and everything and I don’t think we’re on the brink of breaking up or anything, I just have no idea what’s going on.”

Angela reached over and squeezed your wrist. “Anything I can do? I won’t do anything unless you tell me too, obviously, but I can talk to him about it if you want?”

You let out a puff of air and shook your head. “No, but thank you for the offer.” You stood, taking your little container of food to drop it back off at your desk before you went to set. “I’ll see you guys later? Thank you for letting me talk.”

“Of course, babe.”

“Yeah,” Shayne said genuinely. “Let either of us know if we can help?”

You moved through the next few hours as best you could, putting on your most entertaining face for the camera. You didn’t win the game but you also hadn’t embarrassed yourself a supreme amount, so you took it as a win. By the time you had to be on set for your final shoot of the game, you’d had a coffee and you were ready to head home. You didn’t let being tired stop you, you were still bright and smiley, the way the audience was used to seeing you.

You definitely regretted not reading the call sheet beyond your own call time, though, because Spencer was sitting at the table on his phone.

You didn’t know whether you were allowed to sit beside him. You wanted to, and you were sure that he wouldn’t get angry with you, but would it make the experience awkward?

You pretended to go back to your desk for something, hoping that at least one other person would be at the table before you had to sit down. This was why you never showed up anywhere early.

By the time you got back, your prayers had been answered and Courtney and Shayne had taken the two seats on either side of him. You slid on the other end of the table, across from Shayne, who smiled encouragingly at you.

“Hi!” You hadn’t seen Courtney all day and she smiled widely at you. “I tried that recipe you sent me last night and I think I’ve decided that I want to marry you.”

“Aw man,” Shane put a hand on his forehead, shaking his head as he glared at the table. “Didn’t even get a year in, I owe Damien twenty bucks.”

“Oh my god, wait, we’re kinda on a cute little double date right now,” Courtney giggled. “Look at us go.”

Courtney hadn’t been present at the table during lunch, but they could definitely tell that something was going on between you and Spencer, if only from the fact that he hadn’t already leaned behind her to tell you a joke that only you would find funny.

She waited until Spencer and Shayne got up to be mic’d to turn to you, voice hushed. “You okay?”

You rehashed the story as quickly and quietly as you could and she frowned. “I was wondering why he came and ate at my desk but I just assumed you were busy or something. That’s weird. It’s not gonna make the video weird is it?”

“No,” you assured them. “We’re adults, and as far as I know, we’re still together,” you’d said the last part jokingly. You were adults, you wouldn’t have broken up over something like this, not without a lot of discussion first, but you still had no idea why he was basically giving you the silent treatment.

“Alright, guys,” Alex called out and Spencer slid back into his chair. He shot you a smile and you returned it while Alex outlined who was giving the intro, how many points you needed to win, etc, things that you didn’t necessarily think about until you were doing them on camera. “And we’re rolling in three…”

Shayne started talking to the camera and you fidgeted under the desk. You really enjoyed filming for Smosh Games, it was probably your favourite channel to film for. But also, it was hard to enjoy a board game when you were on four different cameras. You’d have to talk to Kortney to make sure you didn’t look completely tired and bummed out the entire time in the final cut.

You managed to get through the first few rounds okay, making the group laugh a few times and getting a few moments that would make the video. It had started when someone made a dumb joke, some sort of thing about a really sophisticated cat or something, and Spencer had bounced off it. “Yeah, my neighbour across the hall is like, moving in with their partner or something, and I ran into them in the hallway a couple of days ago and offered to help with a box they were kinda struggling with and the box was just labeled ‘Lemons,’” The whole table giggled at that, trying to figure out where he was going with it. “And I was like… “Okay, this person has a thing for lemons I guess?” but then I go into their apartment and I find out that they apparently both had cats, right? And so my neighbour had a cat and now their partner’s cat is also moving in. Apparently both of the cats are called Lemons!”

That really got Courtney, their head getting thrown back as she laughed. “No way!”

“They’re soulmates, dude,” Shayne nodded.

Spencer looked over at you, path completely clear now that Courtney had scooted her chair back. You knew the one of Spencer’s neighbours that he was referring to, he’d told you the story as the two of you walked to your cars the afternoon after it happened.

“Would that be something that you were interested in?” He’d asked after a second, taking out his keys with the hand that wasn’t holding yours.

You liked cats, but your apartment didn’t allow them, and you also didn’t know if you really had the energy or the time to deal with a pet right now. You shook your head. “Not really, I’m fine solo over there,” you’d said.

Spencer had nodded and kissed your temple, right beside your eye on the side of your face. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he’d said in a low voice.

Spencer, at the games table, seemed to watch you have the realisation in real time. Your eyes had drifted back to the table in thought for a second and they came back up to lock with his. You looked a lot more resolute than you had before, and he was a little bit nervous.

He hadn’t been ignoring you to be immature, it had been honestly wanting to back off so as to not make you uncomfortable. He’d tried to take a step and you hadn’t wanted to, and he respected that. But he also didn’t know if what he had previously been doing was also what you wanted, so he was trying to just get to the weekend when he knew you’d be feeling better enough to maybe have a full conversation about where the two of you were at. You’d celebrated your one year anniversary two months earlier, he saw a future with you. He’d been confident that you felt the same way, you showed him consistently, but now he was worried he’d overstepped in ways he hadn’t realised. He’d thought you’d have said yes, maybe he was wrong about other things as well.

Your eyes were soft as they met his, flicking away to listen to Shayne talk. You weren’t having this conversation in the middle of the shoot. He turned to listen as well, but the two of you had both relaxed in the shoulders slightly, hoping that maybe by the end of the night you’d be on the same page.

The shoot wrapped up pretty quick with Courtney sweeping the game. You were the one to run through the ending spiel, like, subscribe, all that stuff. Once Alex finally called cut, Spencer was quick to lean over and murmur. “I gotta talk to Alex really quick about some stuff, I’ll be ten minutes max.”

You nodded at him and he practically ran to Alex, opening up his bag and pulling out a folder of something probably important. Shayne and Courtney watched the interaction. “Guess he’s not avoiding you anymore?”

“I realised what happened literally in the middle of filming,” you sighed, rubbing your face. “Oh my god, I’m so stupid.” You had to laugh, it was silly.

“He asked me to move in with him earlier this week. I said no because I thought he was asking if I wanted to get a cat.”

Both Shayne and Courtney also had to laugh. “No, that’s so dumb, I’m sorry,” Courtney put her forehead on your shoulder as a sign of support for a second before lifting it up. “At least it’s something you can fix easily.”

“Yeah,” Shayne nudged you. “You’ll be fine. You got this,”

You nodded, more just relieved that you’d figured out the problem so you could solve it. You knew Spencer hadn’t intentionally kept it from you, he’d thought you’d known this whole time. Spencer still didn’t know that you were unaware of your rejection, he’d just seen the love-filled look you’d given him and assumed that meant you still wanted to see him.

Shayne and Courtney packed their stuff up and headed off, not without both giving you an equally cheesy thumbs-up as they walked through the door. Spencer and Alex were both still nodding seriously at whatever piece of paper they were looking at, but they both smiled at you as you left to go back towards your desk.

You grabbed all your stuff and then stood outside the pod for a little while, dragging the toe of your shoes across the concrete flooring as you waited for your boyfriend. “Hi,” his voice was quiet but not awkward as he approached you from behind.

You didn’t wait, you wrapped your arms around his neck and he hugged you back with no hesitation. “I love you,” you mumbled into his neck.

“I love you too,” he replied immediately. “You okay?”

You nodded, pulling back just enough that he could see your face. “Yes, just stupid, I think.”

He laughed, ducking his head. “Yeah you are pretty dumb, aren’t you?” You pushed him off you and he took your hand, the two of you heading outside to your cars. “What specifically led you to this discovery?”

You squeezed his hand and stopped walking, pulling him off to the side so you weren’t standing in the middle of the road, coming to a stop in front of his car. “I thought you were asking if I wanted a cat.” You explained. “Last weekend, you asked ‘do you want to do that?’ and I thought you were talking about me getting a cat.”

He just smiled, still looking slightly confused. You squeezed his hand again and it hit him that time. “Oh! No, no, that’s not… no, I wasn’t asking if you wanted a cat.”

You nodded as if that was obvious. “No, I know that now.”

“No, that’s on me I asked it super vaguely,” he reasoned, swinging your joined arms slightly. “I thought you were saying no and I wanted to make sure I wasn’t like, smothering you or whatever. I didn’t want you to think that you not wanting to move in with me was going to make me super clingy or something.”

“Not at all,” you replied honestly. “In fact, you’re gonna have a hard time getting rid of me. If we’re living together I’m gonna be all over you like grease on those weird pans you have. We’re throwing them out by the way, I refuse to cook with those things.”

He laughed loudly, it almost echoing around the small parking lot. “They might not be non-stick but at least I don’t burn my hand on them every week like I do with yours.” His eyes were filled with a comfortable happiness behind his glasses as your hands still swung. “Wait,” he stopped you. “Does this mean you want to move in with me?”

You didn’t even bother teasing him that time. “I would love to,” you said honestly. “But seriously, you can keep the pans. I won't make you get rid of them, but I can not use them.”

He groaned, looking at the ground as his eyebrows furrowed. “You’re the worst girlfriend ever.”

“I have a perfectly good apartment, you know.”

“No, you already agreed,” he pulled you in and pressed his lips to yours for the first time in what had literally been days. “You’re moving in with me and my weird pans.” You didn’t even bother replying to that, instead kissing him again slowly. He let you. You were overdue for one anyway.

[elliesbelle]

nobody compares to you

chapter 6

pairing: ellie x reader

synopsis: you're in your junior year of college and at a party, you run into the girl who broke your heart: ellie williams. despite the time it took to reset your life, will you risk a broken heart again for her?

content warnings: modern college au, cursing, angst, messy lesbian relationships/situationships, loser!ellie makes an appearance for 0.5 seconds, brief and indirection mention of marijuana, mentions of death, brief mention of reader's genitals (implies that reader has a vagina, but if you headcanon reader as a trans girl w/a penis, just pretend it's a metaphorical vagina, i fully encourage it), sexual speech and content (not fully smut but there are drops of it), depictions of nudity, minors do not interact

word count: 4.6k

chapters: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen

series masterlist

my masterlist

i have a ko-fi if you like my work so much that you feel compelled to tip me ♡︎

the "nobody compares to you" spotify playlist

Abigail Anderson. Pre-med student. Rugby star. A brief hook-up from freshman year. 

And now approaching your frozen figure at a rather fast pace. 

As your shocked face emerges from behind the football you're still holding in your hands, Abby begins to register who it was that she’d almost killed via pigskin. 

“Oh, shit!” She murmurs your name as her jog comes to a stop at your feet. “I’m so sorry, my friend Jordan was being a dick. I meant to catch that.” 

You let out a nervous chuckle as your trembling fingers lift the football up to her. 

“Oh, it’s okay. My life definitely flashed before my eyes, but I’m alright otherwise.” You give her a smile. 

She returns it with a crooked one of her own, her fingers softly brushing against yours as she takes the football from you. 

“Well, you still look alive and pretty,” Abby says, tucking the ball underneath an arm. “And those were some impressive reflexes, I gotta say.” 

“Just practicing in case of a zombie apocalypse.” You joke, cheeks burning ever so slightly at her calling you pretty. “We can’t all be built like Themysciran Amazons the way you are.” 

“Themy-what?” Abby asks, eyebrows furrowing in confusion and chuckling. 

Your face erupts in flames in embarrassment from your geeky comic book reference. 

“Y-you know,” You stammer. “Like Wonder Woman. She’s from that island where it’s only women and they’re all these gorgeous, buff warriors who’ve renounced men.” 

Abby laugh. 

“Really? Well, thank you. You’re very cute for thinking I’m some hot warrior chick who’ll survive a zombie apocalypse.” 

Before you can respond, she continues. 

“How’ve you been? I haven’t seen you around much.” 

“Hey, I’ve been around.” You lie. You really haven’t been. “Probably haven’t noticed being an aspiring doctor and all.” 

“Still remember that, huh?” She smiles. 

“Of course.” You say, returning her smile. 

Freshman Year, Fall

You met Abby Anderson at the beginning of your freshman year when she was a sophomore. 

Being in a new and independent environment, you did what many single freshmen do upon first arriving: scoured the dating apps. 

Fresh out of a messy high school relationship, you came to college a little raw and emotionally vulnerable. You jumped into a casual relationship with a girl named Adriana within the first month of arriving on campus. After a drunken night of you and your roommate Tara recklessly swiping through your profile on a dating app, you somehow and hesitantly found yourself with a girlfriend after just two dates. 

The best word you would use to describe Adriana was nice. She was a pleasant person: brought you out on cute dates, paid for your food, always held your hand. You spent the two weeks of dating her trying to convince yourself that you were as into her as she was into you. But the further you tried to force attraction for her, the less interested you became. Then she introduced you to her friend, Abby Anderson. 

Abby was the kind of person that closeted gay girls would develop their first gay crush on at their initial glance. She was bold and exuded a sense of confidence & charisma that most 20-somethings haven’t achieved yet. People knew who she was when she walked around campus, whether personally or through reputation. Abby made friends quickly and kept them easily, so it was no shock that you got along very well with her when Adriana first introduced you. 

You pretended at the time not to notice the way Abby looked you up and down when first laying eyes on you. It was a quick glance and she pulled it off well enough that nobody else but you had caught it. You were amused by the way that Abby had held out her hand to you upon meeting. None of Adriana’s other friends had offered a handshake, and you chuckled quietly as you introduced yourself to her. 

Is she for real? A little prim and proper, you’d thought. You’d later find out it was merely her excuse to initiate physical contact. 

You’d originally come over to Adriana’s dorm to meet her friends, but you’d spent most of the time talking with Abby. She was very charming, keeping you engaged in conversation as if she’d known you for months already. She would ask you questions about yourself, seeming to be genuinely interested in your responses. It was effortless to keep up a banter with her, and she had you laughing in a way Adriana hadn’t been able to elicit from you herself. You weren’t fawning over Abby the way newly-discovered gays constantly were, but you were intrigued. By the end of the hang-out, you’d already exchanged numbers and socials. 

When Adriana amicably broke up with you a week later, saying that she felt as if “your heart didn’t seem quite into this” and “she’d like to see you comfortable” and “we honestly seem like we would vibe better as friends” over a phone call, you’d felt a wave of relief followed by a pang of guilt. You could tell that Adriana really didn’t feel any ill will towards you, but it did feel indecent that all you got out of the relationship was a mended heart as a result of the rebound. That, and a very interested Abby Anderson. 

It didn’t take a week since your split from Adriana that Abby was flirtatiously commenting under your Instagram posts or sending you at least ten snaps on Snapchat daily or messaging you borderline thirst traps accompanied by texts that were asking for your “opinion on her gym progress.” It was a mere five days since the break-up that you were dolling yourself up a bit to go hang out with Abby in her dorm room, just the two of you. 

Most of your friends playfully teased you about the position you’d placed yourself in. Hooking up with a recent ex’s friend seemed messy, but they encouraged you to put yourself out there all the same. Never having actually gone all the way with Adriana, they all hyped you up to hook up with Abby. All but one. 

“You’re judging me!” You said, lightly smacking Ellie’s arm. 

She chuckled, rolling her eyes at you. 

“I literally didn’t say anything, dude.” 

“Uh-huh, sure.” You returned her eye roll with your own before jumping off your bed to walk towards your closet. 

“Just sounds like a guilty conscience to me.” She shrugged, leaning back onto your headboard. 

You sighed and said, “Should I feel guilty, though?” 

Ellie shrugged again nonchalantly before saying, “Not gonna tell you how to feel.” 

“I just want to know your opinion!” 

“It’s your love life, dude. It’s up to you, not me.” 

“I know that! But what do you think I should do?” 

“Make your own decisions.” She chuckled once more. 

You groaned, turning away from her to continue rifling through your closet. 

“You’re so fucking useless.” You complained, fingers weaving between hangers as you tried to select an outfit to see Abby later that day. 

“What can I say? It’s a gift.” Ellie replied, resting the palms of her hands on the back of her head as she watched you. 

Despite yourself, you giggled quietly. As you continued to browse through your wardrobe, you felt Ellie’s ocean green eyes trailing your every movement. You kept your back turned to her, hiding the flames tickling your cheeks.  

You hadn’t bothered the rest of your friends about this the way you did Ellie. They’d all given their blessing for you to sleep with Abby, but Ellie? Ellie was persistent in remaining mysteriously neutral. She refused to voice any kind of personal bias. She didn’t seem disinterested, but she also withheld offering up her genuine opinion on your Abby situation. And for some reason, this bothered you. Something about her unhelpfulness compelled you to pester her about it. You knew you didn’t need Ellie’s approval. So why did it feel like you did?  

Ellie watched as you picked out a short dark blue dress, spreading it out on your bed next to her. She listened to you question yourself out loud on whether you should wear fishnet stockings underneath it or just go bare. She felt the way your fingers lingered when brushing softly against hers after she handed you your silver hoop earrings laying next to her on your bedside table. She inhaled your signature lavender scent as you slowly caressed your arms and legs up and down while applying your favourite lotion.

It felt so strange, prettying yourself up for another girl while Ellie sat on your bed and watched. She and you were just friends. You’ve never been anything more than that. Why did it feel strange, then? 

Are we though? Just friends? 

The way you’d stare at the way her big, calloused hands moved when she’d be rolling a joint or etching in her journal. The way she observed the exact manner your lips moved every time you spoke or laughed. The way you always noticed when she’d trace that intricate arm tattoo of hers when she’d get lost in thought. The way she watched exactly how your smile would often meet your soft eyes. 

Is this just friendship?

Ellie observed as you sat at your desk and carefully began applying your makeup, scooting towards the foot of your bed to better marvel at your technique. She’d begun to learn the routine you had by heart, mesmerized by how carefully and naturally your hands moved in a creative dance. She blurted out a compliment about how you were an artist for the way you did your makeup. You attempted to brush it off, but she insisted. You’re the artist here, she’d said. 

After finishing applying a shade of dark red lipstick, you gave yourself one last satisfied look in your mirror. You got up and began to shake your hair out of the bun it was in, walking to the foot of your bed where both your dress and Ellie waited. You looked at your chosen attire for the night and were suddenly hit with a predicament. 

“Umm, Ellie?” 

“What’s up, man?” 

“D-do you think you could help me with something?” 

“Uh… sure?” 

Your fingers fiddled with the bottom of your t-shirt. Your face flushed for what felt like the millionth time today. 

“C-can you help me put my dress on?” 

Ellie looked like someone dumped a bucket of ice-cold water right over her head. 

“What?” 

You scratched the back of your neck, a habit you’d picked up from her. 

“I forgot how t-tight this dress is, and I might fuck up my makeup if I just pull it on myself. Can you help me g-get it on?” 

Ellie’s face remained unreadable as she looked you up and down. 

“Yeah, okay.” She said finally. 

“T-thanks.” You said, nervously biting the inside of your cheek. 

Normal friends do not get nervous when they ask their friends to help them get dressed. 

“Just…just one second.” You said, meekly holding a finger up before turning your back to her. 

As you profusely thanked past you for already putting on your desired underwear for tonight, you carefully peeled off your t-shirt and threw it to the side. Though you had your back to her, you could feel Ellie’s gaze land on the black lace bra you’d decided on earlier. When you shed your pajama shorts, her eyes then drifted onto the matching black lace panties that left very little to the imagination. 

She quickly averted her stare as you turned to face her, not fully meeting each other’s eyes. 

“Do you think you could—?” You gestured to your dress next to her on the bed. 

“Yeah.” She said, picking it up before approaching you. 

You watched her face as she lifted the dress above your head. Her tense fingers gripped the collar tightly as you raised your arms. You felt goosebumps form where her hands inadvertently brushed against your skin, lowering the dress onto your figure. As you fit your head and arms through, she pulled the dress all the way down to your thighs. You tugged your hair out from the collar and let it fall behind you when your eyes met hers. 

“Uhh,” She said awkwardly. “Your lipstick…” 

Your right hand flew up to your mouth. 

“Oh shit, did it smudge—?” 

“Yeah, a little, but it’s okay, I got it.” 

“Wh—“ 

Before you could react any further, Ellie licked her thumb and brought it to the edge of your bottom lip. It was as though your entire body was set on fire the exact second that you felt the wetness from her finger meet the corner of your mouth. Her eyebrows furrowed as she rubbed off the small streaks of smeared lipstick. You could have sworn she could hear how loud your heart was beating in the moment, feel the way it echoed through your entire body. You felt your mouth water as your eyes fell on her tongue sticking out slightly in concentration. Someone could easily sneak into your room right now and rob you blind, the way you both remained completely encaptured in this moment. 

“There,” Ellie whispered. “Got it.” 

Her thumb slowly drifted from your lip to your cheek, her hand suddenly caressing your face. You were frozen in place, trying not to combust as every cell in your body danced fervently. Her ocean green irises kept darting back and forth between your eyes and your crimson lips. Both your mouths were parted, the unsaid at the tip of both your tongues, waiting for whoever was bravest to let the truth drip out. 

But instead, after what felt like twenty-five years, Ellie let her hand drop from your face back to her side. She swallowed and cleared her throat, breaking eye contact with you to stare at the floor. You blinked and gulped, quickly plummeting back to reality. 

“Th-thanks, El.” 

“No problem, bro.” 

“Bro.” Ugh. Okay, Ellie. 

You were far less clothed a minute ago, and yet somehow you now were feeling much more naked than ever before. 

“I-I think I left the shoes I want across the hall in Sidney’s room. Give me a sec?” 

“Yeah, man. Go ahead.” 

You nodded and retreated quickly out the door. As you shut it behind you, you leaned against it and clutched at your chest with both hands. 

Oh god, fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. What the fuck. What just happened? What the fuck. Fuck. 

Inside your room and unbeknownst to you, Ellie was leaning against her side of the door, quietly cursing to herself. 

“Did I really just fucking do that? What the fuck, oh my fucking god. God damn it. Fuck, fuck, fuck.” 

“Hey, are you okay?” 

You blinked. 

“Yes! Sorry, just spaced out for a second.” 

You adjusted yourself under the covers to turn more towards Abby. Your previously glassy eyes met her concerned ones. 

“Was it that bad?” She joked. 

“No, oh my god, Abby,” You giggled, covering your face with your hands. “I think you getting me to cum twice in less than a minute speaks for itself.” 

Abby smirked. 

“Only twice? Wanna add a couple more to that?” She said, propping herself up on her elbow to look at you better. 

“I think my pussy needs a sec before you make her see heaven again.” You replied. 

“Mmm,” was all Abby said in reply, drinking in your naked figure in her bed. 

The rest of the evening seemed surreal. Ellie had watched you finish getting ready, remaining mostly quiet for the rest of the time. She didn’t touch you again, almost as if she was afraid to. She’d walked you partway to Abby’s building before giving the excuse that she had some client she needed to meet. Her signature Converse stormed off without a second glance back at you. As you waved her off, you thought about how she didn’t have anything on her to sell, and you both knew it. 

Throughout the entire night with Abby, though you allowed yourself to unwind and have some fun for once, your thoughts still continued to dance back incessantly to your auburn-haired friend. 

“What’s on your mind, pretty girl?” Abby asked. 

“Just taking a minute and being impressed by you.” 

Abby laughed. 

“So not that bad, huh?” She joked. “But really. What’s up?” 

You pursed your lips. You liked Abby, but she did not need to know all about this “friendship” of yours with Ellie. 

“Not gonna lie,” You said, quickly coming up with a lie. “I was feeling really guilty before coming here tonight. Just cause Adriana’s your friend and we just broke up.” 

It wasn’t completely far from the truth. You were feeling guilty about seeing Abby after Adriana. But she wasn’t the lesbian who you couldn’t get out of your head all night. 

“Mm, that does make sense.” Abby replied, understanding. “It’s true, though. What I said earlier. Adriana did say it was okay.” 

Sometime after you’d arrived at Abby’s dorm and before you’d both dropped the pretense of you coming over just to “hang out,” Abby disclosed that she’d asked for Adriana’s permission to fool around with you already. You were a bit surprised, but pleasantly so. You did come here tonight with specific intentions, but it did relieve you to know that Adriana meant it when she’d expressed no ill will towards you. And it kindled a warmth in you that Abby’d gone into this prepared and still with the respect of her friend. 

“No, I know,” You said, the crease between your eyebrows crinkling as you thought up a quick lie. “I just… I still like Adriana as a person and I didn’t want my wandering vagina to get in the way of your friendship with her.” 

Abby suddenly guffawed, her laugh so infectious and genuine that it made you giggle in response. 

“D-did you just say ‘wandering vagina,’ oh my g—” She chortled. “Never heard that before.” 

You shrugged, smiling at how easily amused Abby has been turning out to be. 

“You say the strangest shit, you know?” Abby said, still chuckling. 

“What can I say? It’s a gift.” You replied, to which Abby smiled. 

“But really though,” Abby continued. “You don’t have to worry about me and Adriana. We’re still cool; nothing’s changed in our friendship. You both told me you weren’t serious, and she’s also just someone who’s never been possessive or jealous as a person. We’re all adults here, so no need to feel guilty. I promise.” 

“Yeah, that…that does help.” You said, hoping that answer would suffice for Abby. 

Abby seemed like she wanted to press more but decided against it. Instead, she grabbed your hips all of a sudden and lifted you up to place you on top of her, making you straddle her waist. 

“Wh—Abby!” You said, startled. Your arms instinctively flew up to cover your bare breasts, the bed covers no longer shrouding your nakedness. 

Abby chuckled, reaching up to your wrists and pulling them away from your chest. 

“Anyone ever tell you how cute you are when you have such a serious thinking face on?” She said. 

A bashful look crossed your face as you stuttered a quiet “no” in response. 

Abby smirked, dropping your wrists and placing her hands on your waist, tracing up and down your inner thighs with her thumbs. Your breath hitched and you gulped, feeling yourself instinctively grind against her. 

“Well, you are.” She said. “And you’re cute, acting all shy about being naked in front of me like I wasn’t just knuckles deep inside you ten minutes ago.” 

You bit your lip, partly from embarrassment and partly because Abby’s tracing of your thighs turned into squeezing. 

“Y-you w-weren’t… knuckles-deep…” You stammered. 

Abby chuckled, raising an eyebrow. 

“Why the hell are you correcting me on how far inside of you I was anatomically?” She asked, extremely amused. 

“I don’t know!” You said, flustered and rolling your eyes. 

Abby chuckled, wrapping a muscular arm around your waist to keep you steady as she sat up to be at eye-level with you. With her free hand, she firmly gripped your chin between her large fingers and forced your eyes to meet hers. 

“You’re very easy to fluster, you know.” She whispered. 

“I-I—” was all that you could get out before Abby’s lips found yours. The sentence you’d meant to continue instead turned into a quiet shriek of surprise then into a lustful sigh that melted into the kiss. 

Not ten seconds later, Abby pulled away slightly, a cocky look on her face. 

“Any more anatomical complaints, then?” She murmured. 

“Not at all, Dr. Anderson.” You chuckled breathlessly. 

You jolted as Abby laughed again all of a sudden, grabbing both your shoulders for support. 

“Was it… that funny?” You chuckled, a little confused. 

“No, no, I’m sorry,” Abby said. “It’s just that—my dad was Dr. Anderson.” 

“Your dad?” 

“Yeah, he was a doctor.” She explained. “Before he passed, he used to be a surgeon back when my family and I lived in Utah.” 

Shit, her dad. Of course. 

Abby had mentioned her father to you several times already. You didn’t know much about him other than the fact that Abby completely adored the man and that he had died when she was only 16. 

“Right, makes sense.” You said, wrapping your arms around her neck. 

Abby’s father didn’t seem like an off-limits topic with her. In fact, you were in awe of how at peace she was with it. She seemed happy to talk about her dad, somehow able to acknowledge his passing and yet speak of him as if he was always present in a way. She didn’t make it uncomfortable to ask about him, and you often had the impression that she actually preferred it when others didn’t fuss over it. So you made sure not to. 

“So no to calling you Dr. Anderson, then?” You asked. 

“Well, actually,” Abby embraced your waist and pulled you closer to her body. “Kind of studying to be a doctor. Like him.” 

“Wait, really?” You replied, a bit of shock in your voice. “How did I not know that?” 

“Don’t really know, pretty girl,” She replied, smirking. “Got too distracted by my washboard abs to notice?” 

“Oh my god, shut the fuck up.” You scoffed, smiling and rolling your eyes. 

Abby chuckled before leaning into your neck to leave trails of kisses. 

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re also very cute when you have a little bit of an attitude?” She asked, lifting her head up slightly in between kisses. 

“Mm, I don’t know,” You sighed, pulling her further into you and trying not to grind too eagerly against her once again. “Maybe once or twice. But why don’t you remind me, Dr. Anderson?” 

You heard Abby suddenly moan in your ear, almost growling, before you were suddenly thrown on your back onto the bed. Any words that meant to roll off your tongue were replaced instead with cries of pleasure as your knees were pried apart with Abby’s strong hands, her mouth finding ways to answer your question without words. 

Present Day 

“So still planning on becoming a surgeon, then?” You ask. 

“Starting med school immediately after I graduate this year.” Abby replies. 

“Wow,” You say, impressed. “That’s really soon. Are you nervous about it?” 

“Hmm, not nervous, exactly,” Abby replies, thinking. “I grew up around doctor shit, so I have a tiny idea of what I’m facing. I’m choosing to stay positive about it all for now.” 

“Commendable,” You smile. “How the hell have you been surviving all your pre-med shit with sports and all?” 

“Hey,” She says, shrugging. “You said it yourself. I’m basically a superhero.” 

You chuckle. You’ve forgotten just how confident Abby is and how attractive it was to see it in action. 

“Right, of course. How could I forget?” 

“You know, maybe if I really was Wonder Woman, I could attend my next class and get a coffee with you right now. If you’re not busy, that is.” 

“That is not how Wonder Woman works, Abby.” You say, giggling. 

“Oh, whatever.” Abby laughs, rolling her eyes. “Forgot just how much of a nerd you were, pretty girl.” 

“Hey—” You start. 

“YO ABS, are you gonna throw that shit back or keep flirting with hot chicks?!” A voice behind Abby calls. 

Abby grunts in annoyance, turning around to face her friend Jordan who was several feet away from where you both were. 

“Stop throwing like a little bitch and we wouldn’t be having this problem, dumbass!” She calls back at him, to which he replies with a playful, “Oh, fuck off!”

You watch as Abby draws back, arms flexing as she throws the football in a quick, perfect spiral towards Jordan. He catches it, but not before it makes a loud thud against his chest. 

“OW, FUCK—" He shouts in pain. 

“Dumbass!” She hollers in response. 

You're both chuckling when she turns back to face you. 

“Need to go?” You ask. 

“Didn’t you hear? I’m busy flirting with hot chicks. Well, just one hot chick.” 

Your purse your lips, sheepish. 

“So,” She said. “Coffee?” 

“Abby, you just said you had a class to get to in a bit. Also,” You gesture to your mostly-empty coffee cup still next to you in the grass. “Beat you to the punch.” 

“Ah, fuck.” 

“Sorry,” You chuckle. “I’ve also got class in,” You checked your phone for the time. “Around five minutes or so.” 

“Wow, you really wanna avoid getting a coffee with me that bad, huh?” 

“Oh, absolutely. I premeditatedly mapped out my entire class schedule this semester just so I didn’t have to hang out with you right at this moment.” You joke. 

“I knew it.” 

You laugh. 

“Can I at least walk you to class, though?” Abby asks. 

“Sure,” You replies. “But what about your class?” 

“Got a bit of time; don’t worry about it.” 

You smile before you gather your things together quickly. You reach for your coffee cup but it disappears suddenly before your hand is even inches from it.  

“Abby!” You exclaim, jumping up onto your feet as you quickly pull your backpack on. 

“What?” She questions, walking backwards while still facing you to throw your coffee cup away in a nearby trash can. 

“I can’t throw away my own trash?” 

“Just being helpful.” She says, shrugging. 

“You can’t be both a superhero and some chivalrous lesbian knight.” 

“I can do whatever I want, pretty girl.” 

You feel your face getting hot once more. 

“So,” She starts. “Which way is your next class?” She begins walking in the wrong direction. 

“About twenty feet east of where you’re heading, silly.” 

“Oh, uhh…” Abby stops in her tracks, eyebrows furrowed in concentration while processing your directions. 

You laugh and roll your eyes, grabbing her arm and leading her towards the building your next class was in. 

“Straley Hall, right in front of you, dummy. Remind me never to travel across the country with you.” You say. 

“What kind of nerd actually says ‘east’ when giving directions!” She complains. 

“That’s a perfectly normal thing to say!” 

“Why are the cutest girls always the weirdest ones?” Abby says, shaking her head. 

You looked away from her, trying to hide your embarrassed smile. 

“How are you supposed to save people’s lives when you don’t even understand simple directions, Dr. Anderson?” 

She smirks at your comment and her lips form to reply with a retort of their own. 

Just a few feet down the brick college road, Ellie stands frozen on the spot. Her hands are balled up in fists and her jaw is clenched. Her ocean green eyes trail after your unknowing figure, fixating on the wide smile on your lips as you let out peals of genuine laughter and your fingers still gently caressing the bicep of golden girl and star athlete, Abigail Anderson.

author's notes:

HAHAHAHA "in case of a zombie apocalypse" get it, cause the game is set in a zomb—yeah y'all get it (sorry not really)

let's all take a brief sexy second together and imagine abby as amazon from themyscira... now let's all let out the collective horny sigh together.

thank you all for being so patient waiting for this one. life has been... yeah (if you've been keeping up with the personal stuff I've said on my blog the last week, that should add more context to what a shit my life has been recently). i've been having to push myself with writing lately cause i feel like i'm getting too into my head about it. but thank y'all so much for being supportive and all, thank you for not giving up on me!

not gonna lie, loves. i may have gotten extremely horny writing certain scenes in this and had to take multiple breaks because my mind was concocting too many distracting scenarios as a result (the ellie scene took me days to get through to write, i'm so dead serious, and the smut-adjacent abby scene almost turned into a full-fledged smut scene cause i'm such a fucking lesbian, oops, i genuinely had to restrain myself so i could write the story the way i actually have it planned out).

abby having no sense of direction at the end of the chapter is just a personal reference to me when i played tlou2 for the first time and when i was playing as abby at the very start when she's mad at owen for getting mel pregnant and trying to go after joel on her own, i got lost for like 10 minutes just going in circles in the fucking woods and snow like a moron. just wanted to be a little bit silly by creating no sense of direction!abby hehe

taglist: @lonelyfooryouonly, @elliesinterlude, @sawaagyapong, @peppesgirl, @iconsoft, @maybeidohaveadhd, @ellieswifee, @valiantllamapersonpony-blog, @nil-eena, @echostinn, @uraesthete, @softbunlvr, @cherriessxinthespring, @amitycat, @chrissyfishywissy, @yevheniiaaa, @machetegirl109, @bertandfearnie, @ximtiredx, @efam, @elliesnoviecita, @oatmilkchaii, @tayyyystan, @emothurman, @livvy-2000, @abigaillovestoread, @gold-dustwomxn, @liabadoobee, @yuckyfucky, @ximtiredx, @qtefolleunpez, @libr4sonsa

[freyito]

Hi! You asked for Aventurine requests among others, so I hope that you like this one? (Also, no pressure to accept this request! But thank you in advance for reading it <3) Could I maybe request Aventurine with an FTM!reader who dresses rather femininely? Reader can sometimes get rather insecure due to how people see him (either misgendering him or mocking him for being a trans man who still likes dressing femininely), so Aventurine comforts him and spoils him by getting him all the feminine clothing he likes. Idk, I thought it would be really sweet. I hope that request was coherent in any way. As I said, no pressure to do this if you aren't comfortable with it, but thank you so much in advance if you do! And thank you so much for writing fem readers, there's so little representation for us and it means the world to me <3

✧ a/n: if i had a nickel for everytime someone requested (one of) my comfort character(s) with an FtM reader who dresses femininely who gets a little insecure i'd have two nickels!!!! which isnt a lot but im soo happy it happened twice!!!!

fr tho thank you for this ask ehe.... healing my inner younger adult or sumn (shoutout to one of my exes who was super into femboys and completely killed my fashion sense) also idk where this name came from i just felt it. idk.

✭ pairing: aventurine x ftm reader

���� cw: ftm reader, dysphoria, comfort, this was written from the HEART, proofread

✎ wc:2.1k

ꜱᴛʀᴀᴡʙᴇʀʀʏ ꜱʜᴏʀᴛᴄᴀᴋᴇ

When you transitioned, you didn’t kill off your fashion, no, quite the opposite. It had never felt quite right to be called a girl, to be considered a woman. The clothes you wore had nothing to do with it, you were sure. Still, for a little bit after your public transition, you tried to dress more “traditionally masculine”, but it was only when you started wearing dresses and skirts and anything perceived as “feminine” that you felt truly at ease.

It was also around then that you got odd looks, and more mistakes and misgendering. Most of the time it was from strangers, so you chose to ignore it. It had no real effect on you since they were strangers, and their own opinions didn’t matter to you.

In doing this, you gained confidence, not that you didn’t have any before. You were simply presenting yourself how you liked, and you didn’t give a damn about who saw you as what. This confidence is what drew Aventurine’s attention to you, he quite enjoyed your slight flair for the dramatic, how ethereal you looked in certain dresses, and all around… you. He had never really fallen for someone as hard as he fell for you.

He pampers you as is, of course. Anything you want is yours, perhaps even three times over. No time to even say ‘I want’ or ‘I would like’, it’s yours. Especially clothes. He’s a bit of a fashionista himself, after all. You see a pretty dress you like? He’s buying it, and maybe a suit to match. Even a ball gown, something a little too formal for every-day wear? Don’t worry, he’ll find a reason to wear it.

Aventurine finds you pretty handsome any day of the week, even on your worst days, your most dysphoric days, where you want to do nothing but lie down in bed, dressed only in a massive t-shirt and boxers, unable to tame your disheveled looks. Which, those days seem to be becoming more and more frequent.

It had been quite a while since you two started dating, and you yourself knew dating one of the Ten Stonehearts would put some direct attention onto you. He wasn’t necessarily a celebrity, but of course paparazzi fled to him like flies to honey. And with that, you end up in the crossfire.

You do your best to ignore it, even when pictures of you and Aventurine end up on social media, even when the posts shift from referring to you as his ‘partner’, to his ‘girlfriend’, even when the comments referred to you as his girlfriend from the start. You shouldn’t let it get to you, you tell yourself, they’re just strangers is all, and they have no real connection to you. And yet, you can’t help but keep scrolling through those comments.

‘She’s so lucky!!’

‘I wish I was his girlfriend’

‘why can’t i be her :(‘

‘i’d give anything to be his GIRL’

Every little she, every little ‘girl’ gets to you. It cuts like knives, reopening old wounds you had forgotten about. Those words take root in your heart and you withdraw into yourself. Aventurine had been out on a… business trip, and you were left to wallow in your own dysphoric hell by yourself. Simply staring into your closet makes you feel sick, not even the clothes, but knowing that this is what you wore, and that is simply how people will perceive you from then on, his girlfriend. It hurts, dammit.

Despite the sickening pit forming in your stomach, you can't help but continue to scroll through the comments. Very few know of you, given your limited social media presence, even if Aventurine had tagged you in a couple posts of his own and even referred to you as his boyfriend. The few comments that mention you that do refer to you properly do not wash out just how many more had all sunk their fangs into the word ‘she’.

You finally pry your phone away from your eyes, turning it off and putting it face down as you bury your head into the plush pillows beneath you. You want to scream, to cry, but ultimately you are left with silence. Which turns out to be even worse, stuck with your thoughts that take hold and rip any semblance of confidence you had. Those words sink even deeper into your very bones, a reminder that you aren’t in the same leagues as a cis man, that perhaps you never will be. And then, the words ‘not a real boy’ start to rise. And slowly, that voice becomes louder, and louder, and lou–

You are interrupted by the muffled chime of a video call, raising your head and simply staring at your phone for a couple more moments. You knew exactly who was calling you, of course, he was the only one you really video called these days. And now, you didn’t even know if you wanted to pick up the phone. To you, it meant looking at yourself, seeing a girl. Doesn’t matter how little your portrait was in the corner, you’d still be there, all the same.

As if it was instinct, however, you pick up your phone and accept the call. You feel as if you immediately regret this decision, watching as your face pops up half-hidden by the sheets of your unkempt bed, finally minimizing into the corner.

“Hey handsome,” Aventurine starts, flashing you a pretty smile. He was driving, eyes on the road (thankfully), but peering at the phone every now and then. “How’s your night going, hm?”

“Good.” You mumbled, doing your best to sound at the very least okay. Your voice is muffled by the sheets and rather heavy, groggy.

“Awh, did I wake you up? I’m sorry,” He coos, still not looking at his phone, which you thank whichever Aeon you have to for that. “Just missed you is all.”

“It’s okay,” You manage to squeak out, tracing over his features mentally. He himself seemed so tired, despite how hard he played the relaxed character, you could tell that whatever meeting he had just gotten out of didn’t necessarily go all that well. “I missed you, too.”

You can see Aventurine smile, but silence fills the space between you two. The faint rumbling of the car on the road is soothing in a way, not too loud but not too quiet, enough to keep your thoughts from drifting. Perhaps you really are tired, with how easy it feels to fall asleep at the moment. Perhaps you were just tired, and that’s why such words got to you… and yet, as you did your best to surrender to sleep, Aventurine’s voice pulled you right back into reality.

“Have you been crying?” He doesn’t even tiptoe around it. It seems he had finally parked, and he finally got a good look at you. 

“Uhm–” You hadn’t even known you were crying, it seems you were so hyper-focused on just how you looked too much of a woman, and how badly you just did not want to see yourself.

“Hey, hey, what happened?” You can’t really lie to Aventurine, he’s pretty damn perceptive and it’s a little scary. Not just that, but he tends to worry about you, considering his luck doesn’t affect you. Seeing as he’s a whole star system away, he has every right to worry.

“It’s fine,” You groan, readjusting in the bed and doing what you could to hide your face while still allowing him to see some of it. You know you can’t get your way out of it, but deflect nonetheless. “Life sucks, is all.”

Aventurine purses his lips and furrows his brows, before clicking his tongue and shaking his head. He lets it go, for now. “Well, whatever it is, I’ll be home in like… three days, okay?” His voice softens from his usual sly tone.

You utter a low effort ‘mhm’, unable to conjure up any other words or sounds. You can see the worry creep into his expression, and somehow, it makes you think of a horrible, wretched question in the face of things.

“Do you see me as a girl?”

He lets out a ‘huh?’ before the question fully processes in his head. “No! Not at all! Why would you think that?” He raises his voice slightly, not panicked but as if in a rush to soothe your mind.

“I dunno. Seems like everyone else sees me as your girlfriend.” You huff, tilting your head.

“Well that’s them. You’re my boyfriend.”

“But–”

“Nuh uh. You’re my boyfriend. You’re a boy. Nothing else. Unless you wanna be my Husband?”

Aventurine’s cheeky tone returned and it caused a blush to bloom across your cheeks. You’re more surprised by the question itself, rightfully so, and it felt like it came out of left field. He chuckles at your reaction, raising his eyebrows, before shaking his head.

“What makes you think that, love?” He continues on if he hadn’t said anything, his voice softening once more.

You still once more, shaking your head. You feel as if you’ve already answered the question– you did– but, there was more than just that. “‘Cause of how I dress… do you even like it? Like... all the dresses and skirts and stuff."

“Of course I do!” He answers so quickly, placing his hand over his chest as if he was offended. “You look stunning! No matter how you dress. Is it annoying you?”

“... No.”

“Then you shouldn’t worry, okay? I love you, you know that, right?”

You nod meagerly, unable to find words. His reassurance helps a lot, but it would still take you a couple days to shake it off. For now, you would keep away from social media– especially those that were dedicated to Aventurine– to keep your head clear.

“C’mon, say it back,” Aventurine coos, “Or else I’ll start to feel a little hurt.”

“Love you too.”

“I’ll settle,” He huffs, but still his voice takes on a gentler tone once more. “Now, I’ll see you soon, okay? And I have a lot of gifts for you.”

WIth that, you two say your goodnights, and he promises you once more that he sees you as a man, regardless of how you dress or how you feel. You felt lighter, for sure, and were quite anxious and excited for Aventurine to come home. And the next days go by painfully slow, your mood dipping and rising equally, and yet, you were able to keep away from the same comments that had tanked your comfort within your body.

When Aventurine comes back home though, his arms are practically full of all sorts of boxes, jewelry boxes, and bags stuffed with Qilpoth knows how many clothes. He had to have someone help him bring his own luggage back to your apartment. He’s practically beaming, the fact that his gifts take up the entire couch was like an achievement for him. He showers you in kisses and praises and ‘I love you’s before he allows you to open his gifts.

He’s brought home almost an entire closet, pretty dresses, some rather formal, and even a ball gown, suits, as well, and a bunch of necklaces, bracelets, and rings. Many are adorned with gemstones, and most of those are aventurine stones. ‘For good luck’, he says, as if he didn’t know exactly what he was doing.

One gift, however, stands out among the rest. It isn’t big and poofy, it doesn’t shine, nor is it considered… formal. It’s a simple sundress, covered in floral designs, the material was light and airy. It’s beautiful as is, quite striking in its simplicity considering Aventurine’s fashion sense.

“It’s starting to get warm, y’know?” He shrugs, as you stare at it, running your thumb along the hem of its sleeves. “Wanted you to have something to wear, something pretty– not that the rest of your clothes aren’t pretty, but…”

As he stumbles over his words, you look at him and pull him into a kiss, one that isn’t quite heated, but rather tender and soft. When you pull away, there are practically stars in his eyes, and it seems you’ve soothed his own mind. Yet, his face is burning up, practically bright red as he looks away and clears his throat.

“Ahem… just wanted to, uh, let you know how pretty you are,” His voice shakes ever so slightly, as if a kiss was more bold than him proposing marriage. “And I wanted you to flaunt it.”

© freyito, 2024 | masterlist | queue | kofi | star header by roseschoices DO NOT REPOST AS YOUR OWN OR USE FOR AI/AI CHATBOTS.

[yanderes-galore]

I have seen requests were open! I have one, if it's okay-

Platonic yandere catnap/Theo x little(maybe trans if your comfortable) sis reader

Who he had gotten out before the hour of Joy all those years ago, but is back now trying to find him?

(Idk, I love sibling relationships and yanderes-)

Have a good day/night!^^

I'm just going to keep it general female pronouns as it just... doesn't change the story much? Here's more CatNap, this one is closer to canon than the normal AU I do.

You aren't actually related to Theo in this to make the plot work, but he sees you as his Little Sister... if that's okay? It doesn't change much plot-wise, I promise.

Yandere! CatNap with Little Sis! Darling

Pairing: Platonic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Female Darling, Obsession, Overprotective behavior, Human experimentation, Violence, Death, Drugging (Poppy Gas), Kidnapping, Stalking, First portion of this Darling is a child, Second portion you and CatNap are adults due to the time skip, Violence, Murder, Blood, Religious themes, Forced companionship.

A long time ago, you were raised in the Playcare Orphanage alongside Theo.

However, you weren't really one of the orphans.

Your parents were either scientists or perhaps even the founder of Playtime Co.

You were merely dropped off at Playcare to be watched, unaware of all the experiments going on.

Well... how could you be aware in the first place?

You were only five....

Theo was actually a playmate of yours, but you two acted like siblings.

Theo, the troublesome kid, saw you like a little sister.

You two were often seen playing with one another.

Scientists and your own parents originally were concerned when Theo grew attached to you.

The kid was a known troublemaker, often blaming his behavior on his "imaginary friend".

Supposedly he even spoke to you about his "friend", yet at your age you didn't entirely understand him.

You also saw Theo as a friend and sibling, even expressing despair when you learned Theo had gotten himself into a bad accident.

Truthfully, you never knew the real fate of Theo.

You were still often visiting Playcare when CatNap was introduced.

You were told Theo was "adopted" and "moved away".

In reality the kid became CatNap, reborn in a new body due to the Bigger Bodies project.

CatNap retained some memories that Theo had, but was essentially a new being.

He was the new guardian of Playcare, one meant to "protect and discipline" the orphans.

CatNap scared many of the kids or just... didn't get along with most.

However, with you?

Scientists noticed that CatNap was oddly attached to you.

The large cat hovered around you, acted playful and affectionate, and seemed to dislike you playing with other children and Smiling Critters.

The going theory was CatNap remembered you from when Theo was alive.

After all, CatNap often rambled about "The Prototype", it would make sense if he remembered his playmate.

Many STAFF were reluctant to pull you away from CatNap.

The large purple cat often picked you up, curling around you and purring.

STAFF were often met with hostility when they tried to take you away.

You had grown to adore CatNap, the large lavender smelling cat often putting you to sleep and watching over you.

You played with CatNap for years, perhaps four years after he was created.

You were around nine or ten before your parents wanted to stop you from going to Playcare.

They knew you were getting too old and CatNap (who would probably be around eleven or twelve) was getting too overprotective of his playmate.

CatNap still saw you as close to him, although the lines between sibling, friend, and playmate often blurred together.

You were taken out of Playcare before the Hour of Joy.

While you were sitting at home, no doubt with either your mother or father, CatNap was panicking when he couldn't find his best friend and sibling.

Poor you had no clue about the truth of Playtime Co.

Not until ten years later, where you return to the factory to learn the truth.

By this point you're just about in your 20s, which means CatNap would be too.

It's been years since you've entered this place.

You want to know the truth about Theo... only beginning to realize your mistake once you're trapped inside.

I imagine you follow a similar journey to the player character in Poppy Playtime.

You meet Poppy, you defeat Huggy Wuggy and Mommy Longlegs...

Eventually you return to Playcare... and memories come flooding back.

You know you need to escape, but you're also scanning your surroundings for answers.

All the while CatNap is hunting you... soon realizing just who you are.

It's been years and you have matured into a young woman.

CatNap feels a pang of envy deep within him.

Perhaps deep down he wishes he could've grown up alongside you.

CatNap doesn't hunt you for food or a sacrifice to The Prototype... he hunts you because you mean a lot to him.

Memories spark within him, times where you two would play and you'd even call him "brother".

It didn't matter if you were really related or not... you were bound together.

Even as the guardian of Playcare he cared for you.

He was devastated when you were gone.

But now you're here...!

Now you can play again!

CatNap would probably make his move eventually, stalking and watching you until the time is right...

Then, without warning, he'd use his Poppy Gas to knock you out.

If you had a gas mask, he'd break it before making you hallucinate.

When you eventually fall asleep... CatNap would pick you up by the back of your clothes and carry you down into the depths of Playcare.

Mini Smiling Critters scurry around in the dark but remain obedient when CatNap growls at them.

The large cat takes you deep into his territory before placing you down.

Like he did when you two were younger, he curls around you protectively.

You wake up eventually to the smell of blood and the faintest smell of lavender.

You're wrapped tightly in the tail of CatNap as the beast purrs and growls away in his sleep.

Upon your attempts to struggle against him, the cat shoots awake and glances at you.

You freeze when you see the beady white eyes stare back at you...

Only to hear and a loud purr as the cat nuzzles into you.

Nearby is CatNap's shrine to The Prototype, the cat silently happy that his prayers have been answered!

Now you two can play together... forever.

CatNap no doubt makes you, his little sister, worship The Prototype.

Mini Smiling Critters are docile towards you, mostly because CatNap would eat them if they weren't.

Speaking of eating... You often see CatNap hunt other toys and drag them to you.

The mix of toy and flesh is... nauseating to you.

However, you can't eat anything else.

Resulting in you trying to adapt.

Escape is near impossible without a Grab-Pack.

Even if you had one, CatNap never lets you out of his sight.

Despite you being an adult, CatNap still treats you like a little kid.

He never leaves your side and is incredibly protective of you.

If you tried to leave him, he'd have you gassed to drag you back.

In his own way... CatNap loves you.

He loves his little sister and playmate...

You two can now play in Playcare just like old times... even if it kills you in the end.

[withleeknow]

like you used to.

pairing: chan x reader genre/warnings: established relationship, angst word count: 0.6k note: "things i wish you'd said" for the fellow wifeu hehhehhehe. first bang chan piece, people !!

as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

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you remember when things were good.

now, you can only hope for a fraction of how they used to be. you don't even dare to ask for good again. you just want things to be better.

the way that everything is now - you don't know if it's right to label it bad. it's just... stagnant. lethargic. lifeless and on the verge of becoming unrevivable.

chan used to put you first, or at least, he would always make you feel like you were the center of his universe. when you'd first gotten together, the honeymoon phase seemed to last forever. you revolved around each other the way that everything in the solar system revolves around the sun. constant. a fact of life.

which is to say that the love was always endless. unwavering. persevering and true.

you could always feel the efforts he put in to prioritize your relationship. starting every morning with an i love you and ending the day the same way. staying on the phone for entire evenings whenever he had to be away. showering you with flowers and adorable small gifts any chance he got because he knew you didn't like extravagant things. running through the streets in the rain, giggling like a couple of fools utterly in love. spending hours talking and stargazing until the night faded away and you couldn't even see the stars anymore.

you were perfect together, perfect for each other.

what happened? what went wrong?

when did he start slipping away?

the i love you's don't sound the same anymore. when he gets into bed at night and presses a half-hearted kiss to your forehead, those three words feel like an obligation that he says just for the sake of upholding it.

no "just five, ten, fifteen more minutes!" when he wakes up in the morning and wraps his arms around you tightly for some extra cuddling time, peppering you with kisses on any exposed skin that he could find. instead, chan opts to desert the warmth of your side moments after his alarm rings. no lingering touches on your body before he leaves. just his fingertips ghosting on your back as if to quietly say "good morning, i'm going now".

it's a feeling that you can't quite describe even if someone asks you to - seeing the person you love the most fade away day by day, in front of your very eyes.

he's the last person you would expect this from.

the hardest thing to accept is that nothing happened. nothing went wrong. there's no one at fault, nothing to pin the blame on. love just went cold, and it's one of the saddest things that you and him will ever go through.

because your fire is still burning, not flickering even once while his love has been reduced to embers and you're helpless; you can't do anything to stop it from going out completely and turning frigid. because he's still the love of your life, even if you aren't the love of his anymore.

there are so many things that you wish you could tell him, so many things that you wish he would say to you.

tell me you want me and mean it.

kiss me like you did the first time under that shitty street light near the corner of my old apartment. it was dark and freezing, but we were so happy then, weren't we?

you don't have to love me forever like you once promised you would. just... love me. love me again.

because when he comes home and greets you with a smile - an empty one - that doesn't make his eyes light up like they used to, you know that the clock is ticking faster; time is cruel and time is running out.

you wish he would.

but you know he won't.

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all rights reserved © withleeknow. reposting, translating and/or modifying is not permitted by any means. [posted 02.01.2024]

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

Deal Breaker

Trans!Santiago Garcia X GN!Reader • Rating: PG  Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? • ko-fi • request info •

A/N: Written for @romanarose's Oscar Issac/Pedro Pascal Fan Art and Fiction Pride Event 2024! (Super late, but this is for the 'coming out' theme, thank you for letting me post it so late💚) This is super self-indulgent and just like *dreamy sigh* what would be the nicest reaction someone would have to someone else telling them they're trans.

Summary: Santi has something to tell you.

Warnings: overuse of italics, swearing, Santi being anxious, typos, please let me know if I've missed a warning.

Word Count: 1014

Santi paced back and forth outside of your house, practically wearing a groove into the pavement. (And trying not to walk into the lamp post again.) 

He’d been there for over ten minutes, trying his best to work up enough nerve to knock on your door. 

You’d been on one date, a chill one. Just a drink and cake at a little coffee shop he’d recommended. (Or, more correctly, Will had recommended and Santi had taken credit for.) You’d both ended up staying there talking for almost four hours. 

You've been messaging everyday, joking, sending voice notes, videos and pictures. Everything was going great. He liked you. A lot. 

And now he was going to fuck it all up. 

“Hi, just wanted to let you know…” He muttered under his breath, repeating what he was going to say, what he needed to say. “I just thought you should know… you know… before this gets any further, not that things have to get further, I mean… I want to say I like you and I’m… I’m…” 

“Santi?” 

He jumps, visibly jumps, his eyes wide like a rabbit startled by headlights. 

You find it quite endearing the way he looks at you, a bright panic. You’d just been grabbing some last minute bits and pieces and your local corner shop for the meal you were making together tonight. 

“Trans!” Santi says a little too loud. 

“What?” 

“Erm…”

“Trains?” 

“No.” 

“What did you say?”

He pauses, biting his bottom lip. Oh fuck fuck fuck fuck. “Trans.” He says very softly, closing his eyes for a second. This was not how it was meant to go. “I’m… I wanted to tell you before… I really like you and… you should know… I’m, I’m trans. I’m a trans man.” 

He looks up at you, ready to see disgust. Rejection. 

Instead you smile warmly and nod. “Okay, thank you for telling me.” You point to your front door, “you wanna go inside?” 

He pauses, staring at you for a long moment as his brain tries to and two and two together but keeps getting minus seven. “I… erm… inside?” 

“For the food, the meal date? We were gonna cook together?” You say politely, mistaking his confusion.

“You, you still want to… go out with me?” He doesn’t mean for the words to come out so softly, so small. 

It’s your turn to pause and truly absorb what he said. Your eyes widening as realisation dawns. “Oh, of course! Santi, fuck, sorry,” you put you hand on his arm and squeeze reassuringly. “It’s not a problem for me that you're trans, no problem at all. Doesn’t affect anything. I really like you too.” 

He gives you a brilliant smile, all of his nervous energy outpouring as relief washes over. 

He nods and walks with you as you both move towards the door, taking your shopping bag for you as you fish out your keys. 

“Do you, erm,” he pauses for a second to take off his shoes as you do the same, “do you have any… questions?” 

You turn away just to shut the door before you look back at him. “Questions?” 

“Yeah… about the trans stuff.” He shakes his head, trying to sound more assertive. Fuck, being shot at was always easier than this. “I mean, me being trans.” 

“Do you usually get questions?” 

He nods. 

You pause, thinking it over for a second. “Do you want me to ask questions?” You say sincerely. 

He smiles and rubs the back of his head. “You know, no one's ever asked that before.” 

You smile back.

“Erm, yeah, yeah,” he nods, “questions would be good actually. Normal.” 

You laugh good naturedly, “kay,” you make your way to the kitchen, pointing out the different rooms as you go. 

“Your house is really nice.” 

“Thank you.” 

“And thank you for, well, being so… for being normal about how I blurted it out outside, usually I’m a bit more together.” He says, a touch of bashfulness in his tone. 

“Are people usually not normal? Wait, that’s a numb as fuck question.”

Santi laughs as you pull a face. “A lot of people are very normal about it,” he smiles, “but I don’t tell a lot of people.” 

You nod as you start to unpack your bag, Santi jumps in to help. “So, when did you transition?” 

“Well,” he takes a deep breath. “I know it’s a cliche but I kind of always knew, you know?” 

“Not cliche, just a common experience.” You smile and nudge your shoulder into his. 

He grins. “Started ‘dressing like a boy’ when I was 15, but it wasn’t until I was 18 and out of the house that I changed my name and stuff.” 

You nod. 

“Been on T for a long time now. Managed to get top surgery when I was 24.” He pauses, “sorry, I’m word vomiting all over the place here and-”

“Hey,” you smile warmly, taking his hands, there’s a slight tremor to them. You rub your fingers over his skin reassuringly. “It’s good, great. Not oversharing, thank you for wanting to share with me.” 

He returned the expression a little shyly, “thanks, I just…” He screws up his eyes and sighs, “need to overshare one more thing.” 

“Go ahead.” You give his hands a soft squeeze.

“I’m, I haven’t had bottom surgery.” He swallows, keeping his eyes closed, “I don’t know if that’s a deal breaker for you, I understand if it is.” 

You lean forward and kiss his cheek. “Not a problem.” 

He opens his eyes quickly, looking at you like you painted every pink sunset cloud in the sky, before he presses a soft, sweet kiss to your lips. “Thank you.” He mutters, stroking your cheek and kissing you again. 

He slowly steps closer, pressing flush against you and snaking his right hand to rest on your hip, giving him all the leverage he needs to gently press you back against the counter top and slip his tongue into your mouth. 

It is a long time before the half unpacked groceries are remembered. 

Thank you for reading!

@pleasurebuttonwrites @raven-rk @campingwiththecharmings @alexxavicry @whatthefishh

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@novarosewood

If you'd like to be taken off the tag list please let me know here

[supernaturalscribe67]

Destiny

Words: 7,528

POV: 3rd Person

Pairing: Gabriel x Male!Winchester!Reader

Warning(s): Fluff, Slight Angst (if you squint), Language, Brotherly Drama/Teasing, Sexual Innuendos

Summary: (Y/N) Winchester never thought he would have to play a prominent role in the fight between Michael and Lucifer, but when Gabriel's attempt at convincing Sam and Dean to accept their destiny fails, (Y/N) is left pondering the situation at hand. What happens when Gabriel reveals the truth behind his disappearance from Heaven and his own role in the fight?

Heavily Inspired by S5.8 "Changing Channels"

Request:

Hey!! I was hoping you would be able to do this request.

It could feature hurt/comfort, angst, and fluff :)

Gabriel x Winchester!Reader

He could be trans or cis, up to you.

There was a younger Winchester brother, and with 3 full blooded Winchesters meant of course, a 3rd vessel. Gabriel's vessle. You both aren't keen on the idea of possession and end up falling for each other? Destiny had brought them together for battle but their hearts yearned for something else.

(something along those lines atleast)

:D

@genekies

A/N: I've sat here for the last ten minutes staring at the Summary because my brain is non-existent right now. Anyway, I really hope you enjoy this! Sorry it's so late! I also hope you don't mind that I changed the 'younger' Winchester to a middle Winchester~ I enjoyed writing something cute and fluffy after that heavy story I posted! Feedback is appreciated!

~ Much Love!

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.

“Son of a bitch.” 

“It’s him. It’s Doctor Sexy.” 

“Nutcracker!”

“I’ve got genital herpes.”

(Y/N) blamed himself for this. Why he thought any hunt he and his brothers did would be normal was beyond him. When was anything the Winchesters did ever normal?

He could count on one hand the number of times he’d encountered tricksters, none of them pleasant. Still, something about this trickster was different. Slight abnormalities in the realm of possibilities, Sam, Dean, and Castiel all agreed, Castiel seeming to know more than them, but unable to voice his thoughts before being whisked away by said ‘trickster’. From there, the Winchester brothers were tossed from TV show to TV show, enduring humiliation and awkward conversation. It wasn’t until Sam was transformed into the Impala that it clicked. 

It wasn’t a trickster. It was an angel. 

That was how they ended up in an abandoned warehouse, the angel stood in the center of a ring of Holy Fire. (Y/N) tried to hide the exhaustion on his face that resulted from their hectic escapades. What he would kill to go back to their motel, crawl under the scratchy covers, and go to sleep. 

“Where’s you get the Holy Oil?” The angel asked, a small smirk playing on the corner of his lips. 

“Well, I guess you could say we pulled it out of Sam’s ass,” Dean replied, straight-faced. 

Sam clenched his jaw and sent a death glare towards him. (Y/N) snickered, earning him the same glare. He pressed his lips together, mumbled a faint ‘sorry’ under his breath, and turned his attention back towards the wannabe trickster. 

The smirk he had vanished. “Where’d I screw up?” He asked. 

“You didn’t,” Sam shook his head. “Nobody gets a jump on Cas like you did.” 

“It was the way you talked about Armageddon,” Dean explained. 

“Meaning?” The angel furrowed his brows. 

“Well, call it personal experience, but nobody gets that angry unless they’re talking about their own family.” 

The angel looked away and lowered his head, a silent confirmation of their suspicions. 

“So, which one are you?” Sam cocked his head to the side. “Grumpy, Sneezy, or Douchey?” 

(Y/N) bit the inside of his cheeks, lowering his head to hide the small smile that appeared. Despite the gravity of the situation, he had to admit that Sam’s question was a little funny. He blamed it on him being tired. He was quick to erase the expression off his face before lifting his head. The angel’s gaze shifted over to Sam, and he hesitated for a moment.

“Gabriel, okay? They call me Gabriel.” 

“The archangel?” Sam asked. 

“Guilty.” 

“Okay, Gabriel. How does an archangel become a trickster?” Dean questioned. 

Gabriel shifted. “I consider it my own, private Witness Protection. I skipped out of Heaven, got a face transplant, and carved out my own little corner of the world. Until you three screwed it up,” his tone was full of irritation. 

(Y/N), Sam, and Dean shared a glance, almost as if communicating telepathically with one another - something they had become accustomed to growing up. While they knew significant details about the conflict between the archangels Michael and Lucifer, it seemed, to them, that the situation ran a lot deeper than it originally appeared. 

“So, boys, now what?” Gabriel’s voice broke them out of their trance. “Are we just going to stare at each other for the rest of eternity?” 

Dean licked his lips. ‘Well, first of all, you’re going to bring Cas back from wherever you stashed him.” 

“Oh, am I?”

“Yeah, or we’re going to dunk you in some Holy Oil and deep-fry ourselves an archangel.” 

Gabriel clenched his jaw, looking over at Sam, then at (Y/N). All of them shared the same serious expression. Poking his tongue into his cheek, he raised a hand and snapped his fingers. Shuffling could be heard behind the trio as they turned their heads to see a disheveled Castiel. His hair was more ruffled than usual, and a small cut ran across the bridge of his nose. Blood was splattered on the collar of his trenchcoat. He stumbled slightly. 

“Cas, you okay?” (Y/N) asked. 

“I’m fine,” Castiel replied, his icy gaze locked on Gabriel. “Hello, Gabriel.” 

Gabriel lowered his hand, crossed his arms over his chest, and smiled tightly. “Hey, bro. How’s the search for Daddy going? Let me guess. Awful,” Gabriel’s tone was harsh. 

The tension was so thick, you could cut it with a knife. It was obvious that there was more going on in Heaven than the Winchesters were led to believe. Multiple sides mean multiple stories. Who knows what really happened? 

“Alright, let’s get out of here. Sam, (Y/N)?” Dean slowly started to step towards the exit. 

Sam was the first to move, while (Y/N) seemed hesitant. In the end, he, too, turned his back on Gabriel and made his way towards his brothers. Castiel soon followed. 

“No,” Gabriel muttered. “Okay…hey, guys, so…” he stumbled over his words. “So what, huh? You’re just, you’re just gonna leave me here forever?” 

When the group reached the door, they all turned back to him. 

“No,” Dean began. “We’re not, because we don’t screw with people the way you do. And, for the record, this isn’t about some prize fight between your brothers or some destiny that can’t be stopped. This is about you being too afraid to stand up to your family.” 

Gabriel opened his mouth, as if to object, but stopped himself. He lowered his head in shame, turning his back to them. Wordlessly, Dean looked back, spotting a fire alarm on the wall. He easily broke the glass surrounding the alarm and pulled the handle. A shrill, faded sound echoed within the broken building. As Gabriel looked up, the aged sprinkler system burst open, showering him with cold water. Gabriel gazed at them, his face filled with defeat. 

“Don’t say I’ve never done anything for you,” Dean called out over the sound of the alarm. 

With that, Sam, Dean, and Castiel turned their backs one last time on Gabriel, walking out of the building. (Y/N), however, stayed put, his eyes locked onto Gabriel’s. He studied the look of hurt on his face, and (Y/N) couldn’t help but feel a slight pang of guilt. A part of him wanted to say something, to turn around and provide him with some type of comfort. They didn’t know what Gabriel was going through, nor what had caused him to leave Heaven in the first place. Perhaps, all he needed was someone to be there. To allow him to be heard. (Y/N) could relate to that feeling. Alas, as the ring of Holy Fire began to dissipate, over the blaring sound of the alarm, he could hear the faint shout of his older brother calling out his name. (Y/N) looked at the warehouse door, the breeze from the early morning shifting his wetting hair, then back to Gabriel. For a moment, he cast an apologetic look his way before he, swiftly, left the building. 

*~*

A couple of weeks after the incident with Gabriel, (Y/N) couldn’t seem to keep his thoughts at bay. Although his brothers had all since left the interaction behind them, refocusing their attention on their odd hunting jobs, (Y/N) couldn’t shake the reminder of the expression on Gabriel’s face. He had taken the time to carefully consider what Gabriel had been going through, or what he had been through before he had left Heaven. Sure, he wasn’t aware of the extent of it all, but he could sure sympathize with how it felt to be stuck between his brothers during their spats. Sam and Dean never threatened the sanctity of Heaven over their problems, but still. 

(Y/N) had taken many walks since then, because sleep had been so easily unobtainable. On nights when Sam and Dean slept soundly on their motel room beds - or couch, depending on who lost in the coin toss - (Y/N) would slink out of the room into the night. Alternatively, in the morning, if sleep didn’t come after the first walk, he would go on another, ultimately stopping for breakfast on his way back to the motel to appease his brothers. 

Sam and Dean were none the wiser. 

On those walks, his mind would always shift to Gabriel and the predicament he was in. In a way, he disagreed with what Dean had said to Gabriel. But, with everything that was said by Gabriel, himself, he partially agreed with it as well. Why was Gabriel so adamant about Sam and Dean allowing Lucifer and Michael to take possession of them for a fight that he wasn’t even willing to fight himself? He felt so in the dark about the whole debacle. Although he wasn’t directly involved in it, he was still interested to know what the fate of his brothers could be. It was thoughts and questions like those that kept his mind racing in the early hours of the morning, making him unable to get an adequate amount of sleep. 

That night was no different. The three of them had traveled to a town along the East Coast, following the clues of a possible Wendigo. The case had just started, and the interviews and clues left much to be desired. They weren’t even close to pinpointing the approximate area in the nearby woodland where it could reside. Sam and Dean were running thin, and (Y/N) was no help. Not with the way his mind had been racing lately. It wasn’t like he could help it, though. He tried, he did, and a part of him couldn’t see how Sam and Dean were able to concentrate whilst everything was going on in Heaven. He had always envied them for their sense of focus, something he lacked greatly at times. When he started the walks, clearing his mind was his initial goal, but going out on his own, in the dead of night, only seemed to make his thoughts louder. 

The town was small, and barely had much of a park, just some cheap playground equipment that looked as if it needed to be updated and a small trail. (Y/N) was thankful for the benches that were laid along the path. Despite the park’s size, it had a beautiful view; a full panoramic of the deep, dark ocean past craggy cliffs, cut off by a steel fence. The ocean was loud and, despite the distance from the land to the sea, mist sprayed (Y/N)’s face faintly, painting his features with minuscule water droplets. He had worn a jacket that night. Even though it was surprisingly hot during the day, as soon as the sun dropped, the temperatures did as well. 

(Y/N) had been sat on the bench for close to an hour. If he had to guess, it was nearly midnight. Not once had he been able to keep Gabriel out of his mind. Gabriel, the fight, Sam, and Dean, all took turns at the forefront of his brain, but Gabriel won most of the time. He always drifted to the sad, kicked puppy-dog look he had before he left. He couldn’t imagine what Gabriel had to go through. (Y/N) thought Sam and Dean were impossible to be with all the time, but he couldn’t fathom being near Michael and Lucifer as much as Gabriel must have. He must have been quite burnt out. 

“Do you mind if I sit here?” A voice jerked (Y/N) from his train of thought. 

(Y/N) jumped, eyes wide as he looked towards the direction of the voice. Stood, about a foot away from the bench, was Gabriel. His expression was soft, his brown hair partially damp, the locks illuminated slightly by the nearby street lamp. Once his heart rate began to return to normal, (Y/N) nodded and gestured towards the empty seat next to him. 

“Sure,” he mumbled. 

With a short nod, Gabriel shuffled over and sat down, leaning against the back of the bench. His legs were slightly spread and his hands were clasped together in his lap. For a moment, the two of them sat in silence, listening to the sound of the crashing waves from below. Even though Gabriel had done so much to the Winchesters as a part of his trickster ‘Witness Protection’, (Y/N) didn’t feel any resentment towards him, nor did he feel agitation, even with his proximity. A part of him thought he should be, that was how Dean would react, at least. Shouldn’t he be at least a little bit pissed? Perhaps it was the weeks of thinking, working the idea into his head that he and Gabriel could, potentially, have more in common than he originally thought. It could be that he was more forgiving than his brother. In the end, (Y/N) chalked it up to him being a great judge of character. 

“How did you find me?” (Y/N) broke the silence. 

“What?” Gabriel asked. 

“How did you find me? These symbols, or whatever, Cas put on my ribs were supposed to stop angels from being able to find me. Or did he just tattoo my ribs for nothing?” 

Gabriel let out a faint chuckle and shook his head. “I admit, you were hard to find. All I did, though, was follow the sound of your prayers. They were quieter than most, but they were still noticeable.” 

(Y/N) looked over at Gabriel, confused. “Prayers? I didn’t pray to you.” 

“I guess not technically. I know that wasn’t your intention half the time, but, every time you thought of me, asked those questions, made those statements, it was as if you did.” 

(Y/N) pursed his lips and gave a faint nod. “I see…”

They were, once again, engulfed in silence as they stared out onto the water. No one said anything. Surprisingly, it was peaceful.

“I guess I should be asking why you found me. Why are you here, Gabriel?” (Y/N) asked. 

Gabriel hesitated for a moment, fumbling with his fingers. “Look, I’m not good at this sort of thing, but…” he trailed. “I thought I should come here and apologize. For everything.” 

(Y/N) looked over at Gabriel as he placed his hands into his jacket pockets and leaned back against the bench. “Shouldn’t you be apologizing to Sam and Dean, too?” 

Gabriel snorted. “Are you kidding? Those two would probably stab me before I even had the chance to say anything.” 

(Y/N) smirked. “I guess you’re right. The fact that you were practically hounding them to accept being Michael and Lucifer’s vessels doesn’t help your case either.” 

“Yeah, I realized that I probably went about it the wrong way.” 

“Probably?” 

“Okay, I definitely went about it the wrong way.” 

“That’s putting it lightly.” (Y/N) mumbled. “Why the fight, Gabriel? I mean, why now?” 

Gabriel shrugged his shoulders. “Michael and Luci have been going at it for centuries. Even before this fight, they were at each other’s throats half the time.” he began to rub his fingers together. “But, this fight…it wasn’t originally supposed to only be those two.” 

(Y/N) furrowed his brows. “What do you mean?” 

“Well,” Gabriel stuttered before he stood up. Slowly, he began to pace back and forth in front of (Y/N), looking between the ground and his hands. “You know what it’s like, right? Your brothers are arguing about the dumbest things and they’ve been going at it for a while, getting a little carried away, so you have to step in and, um,” 

“Be the mediator?” 

“Yeah! You have to try and calm them down so they don’t kill each other?” 

“Well, yeah, I’ve had to do that plenty of times with Sam and Dean.” 

“Right. Back then, I had to do the same thing with Michael and Luci. Sometimes it worked, and other times, not so much. With this fight, that’s what I was supposed to do.” 

“Wait, this fight that they want to use Sam and Dean for? How’re you supposed to mediate that?” 

“I was just supposed to make sure they didn’t actually kill each other. Try to get them to talk it out. I’ve always been good at that, so it would only make sense that I would take a crack at it this go around. However, since they would be at their full power in their vessels, the last thing that needed to happen was for them to turn on me, kill me, and then each other. So, to make sure I had enough power, I, also, have to have a vessel.” 

Gabriel stopped pacing in front of him and finally faced him, his hands together in front of him. (Y/N) stared at him intently, eyes narrowed in concentration. It was as if Gabriel could see the gears working in his mind. If Michael needed a vessel, which was Dean, and Lucifer needed a vessel, which was Sam, then, that meant…

(Y/N)’s eyes widened. “Am I your vessel?” He breathed. 

“Ding, ding, ding! We have a winner!” Gabriel smirked, although it wasn’t as confident as the one he had when he was covered by his trickster persona. 

(Y/N)’s mouth sat agape. He was gobsmacked. His lips moved up and down as he tried to form words, but his mind nor mouth would work. It all made sense, though. Why would Sam and Dean be the only vessels? Why had he never considered that he, too, was destined to be one? It was clear as glass, yet, the thought never crossed his mind. 

“You know, when you think about it, it kind of makes sense that you’re my vessel. I mean, you’re the mediator, I’m the mediator. You’re the middle child, I’m practically the middle child. There are, actually, a lot of similarities between you and me. So, it was a great pick,” Gabriel rambled, placing his hands on his hips.

(Y/N) help his hand up. “Gabriel, just…stop.” 

Gabriel looked down and cleared his throat. “Sorry,” he pursed his lips. 

(Y/N) sat there and attempted to wrap his head around the whole situation. His thoughts were foggy and the front of his head was starting to pound. He reached his hands up and began to massage his temples. 

“So, what you’re saying,” (Y/N) let out a breathy chuckle. “Is that you, the archangel Gabriel, are supposed to use me as a mediator for your two power-hungry brothers who, may I remind you, are also archangels?” 

Slowly, Gabriel nodded. “Basically.” 

“And you think this is a good idea?” 

“Absolutely not.” 

“What?” 

Gabriel sighed. “Look,” He returned to his spot on the bench next to (Y/N), his body now facing him. “The times when my mediation did work was when they had their smaller fights. Little bickers here and there. When Michael and Luci are really, really mad at each other, nothing can get between them. So, most likely, what would happen is I would need to get involved in the fight to stop them.” 

“Oh, God,” (Y/N) grumbled and placed his face into his hands.

“But, believe me, that is the last thing I want to do. I mean, Michael and Luci, they’re both strong on their own, but, if they were to team up against me for trying to stop them, even with you as my vessel, I don’t stand a chance. It would be two against one.” 

(Y/N) just nodded, running his hands down his face, his gaze returning to the cool, pounding waves. A chill ran down his spine. He hadn’t realized how cold he had gotten, what with the mix of wind and misty air.

“Why are you telling me this now?” He asked quietly. “Why wasn’t I told any of this before?” 

“Well, when I went off the grid, everyone just assumed that it was my way of backing out of the fight. In a way, I guess they were right.” 

“And back at the warehouse? Why didn’t you tell me then?”

“Because I still had no intention of joining the fight. However, after what Dean had said to me…” Gabriel shook his head. “I realized that he was right. I am a coward. I tried to push your brothers into accepting their roles as vessels because I want this fight to be done and over with. I just wish the fight didn’t have to happen. I figured it would be wrong if I didn’t tell you now. You deserve to know.” 

“Well, I appreciate that. And, for the record, I don’t want this fight to happen either. The last thing I want is my brothers to get involved in something that has nothing to do with them.”

“The fight’s gonna happen one way or another, and I thought getting your brothers to go along would be the best way to go about it. Once I listened to your prayers, though, I realized how it would affect you. I know you wouldn’t want to lose either one of your brothers, even though they can be assholes sometimes.” 

(Y/N) snorted. “Like you’re one to talk.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Well, unlike your brothers, mine can be caring and nice when they want to be.” 

“Believe it or not, Michael and Luci both have the capability of being nice! I witnessed it firsthand.” 

“Bullshit!” 

“It’s not! Granted, they were a whole lot nicer when they were fledglings, kind of got a little rocky as they got older, but they could still be nice!” 

“Wait, wait, wait, fledglings?” 

“Yeah.”

“What’re fledglings?” 

“Newborn angels.”

“So…baby angels?” 

“In a sense,” Gabriel shrugged. A mischievous smirk then appeared at the corner of his lips. “Do you want to hear some embarrassing stories about when Michael and Luci were younger?” 

“Of course I do,” (Y/N) sat back, turning his body to face Gabriel as well. 

“Okay, but, in return, you have to tell me some embarrassing stories about your brothers.”

(Y/N) bit his lip as he contemplated the offer. Finally, he smirked. “Deal.” 

For the next while, Gabriel and (Y/N) went back and forth, sharing their embarrassing stories from their abnormal families. They joked, laughed, and, overall, had a good time. Not only did it lighten the mood from the bombshell Gabriel had dropped, but it allowed them to grasp a basic understanding of their past and present lives. 

There were a few things (Y/N) learned throughout their conversation. One; Gabriel and his brothers shared some scary similarities with the Winchesters in regards to mannerisms and attitudes. Two; Gabriel could talk for a millenia if he was given the opportunity. And three; (Y/N) felt oddly calm around Gabriel. It hadn’t even struck him how easily Gabriel was able to shift the conversation as smoothly as he did. (Y/N) wasn’t too sure how he could feel that way around him. As they sat there and talked, after everything that was said, and after everything that happened with the warehouse incident - he’ll never forget the nutcracker - he couldn’t help but feel a strong sense of comfort around him. There was something about Gabriel that filled (Y/N) with a sense of peace and belonging, and he couldn’t quite put his finger on it as to why that was. 

It wasn’t like he was complaining, though. 

They talked until the moon sat near the far end of the sky. Unbeknownst to them, the two had begun to scoot closer to one another as the conversation continued, getting to the point where their knees and shoulders were touching. It wasn’t uncomfortable or awkward. Neither of them pulled away out of instinct. It felt right. It felt natural. 

Gabriel droned on and on about, yet, another story when Lucifer was a young angel. He seemed to have more stories about him than he did of Michael. (Y/N) was quite the opposite. He had more stories about Dean than he did with Sam. Both of them laughed as Gabriel tried his best to continue. 

“So - so Dad got angry because Lucifer kept letting the bugs out of their sanctuary, and -” Gabriel looked over at (Y/N), and his smile vanished. 

(Y/N) glanced up at him, noticing the change of demeanor instantly. His smile, too, disappeared. “Is something wrong?” 

As he kept his eye on him, Gabriel reached up and gently brushed his thumb against (Y/N)’s bottom lip. (Y/N) felt his cheeks heat up and his brows furrow in confusion. 

“Your lips are blue,” Gabriel stated. He glanced up at the sky and his brows shot up. “I am so sorry. I didn’t realize we had been out here so long.” Gabriel sat up. 

“How long how we been out here?” (Y/N) dug into his pocket and pulled out his phone. 

3:27 AM

“Oh shit,” he mumbled as he quickly stood up. 

His legs and ass were completely numb, causing him to sway at the rapid movement. Gabriel was by his side in an instant, hands on his shoulders to steady him. They had been out together for, close to, four hours. No wonder (Y/N)’s lips were blue. He shivered, teeth chattering lightly. Once (Y/N) was able to stand on his own, Gabriel took off his jacket and draped it over (Y/N)’s shoulders. (Y/N) shook his head. 

“Oh, no, Gabriel, it’s okay. I just need to get back to the motel.” He stuttered tiredly. 

“I’m the reason you were out here for so long. Consider it a, um, token of my appreciation for talking to me,” Gabriel smiled sweetly.

(Y/N) returned the smile. “Well, thank you for keeping me company.” 

“Let me take you back to the motel.” 

“No. If Sam and Dean see you, they’ll kill you and then me.”

“Then I won’t let them see me.”

Without another word, Gabriel reached up and pressed his index and middle fingers against (Y/N)’s forehead. (Y/N) inhaled shakily and closed his eyes. One second, he was standing in the park, then, the next, he and Gabriel were standing in front of the Winchester’s motel room. He breathed a sigh of relief once he saw the faded numbers etched onto the door. 

“Thank you,” he smiled and retrieved the key from his pocket. 

“Anytime. And, uh, if you ever feel the need to talk again under better weather conditions, feel free to pray. When the prayers are sent directly to me, it’s a lot easier for me to hear.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” 

“Now go warm up.”

(Y/N) flashed Gabriel one last smile as he turned the key to the room and opened the door. Gabriel vanished. 

Moonlight pooled in through the cracked door as (Y/N) crept into the room. He felt the warmth flood his face and hands as he entered. Despite the heavy jacket he had gone out with, having spent hours in the windy, misty park, he was bound to get cold eventually. He didn’t think he would get that cold, though.

As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he could see Sam sleeping soundly on his stomach, face nuzzled against the cheap pillow, and Dean sprawled out on the couch, legs and arms spread in uncomfortable positions that he would undoubtedly complain about the next day, mouth slightly open, and drool coating his chin and pillow. (Y/N) was thankful for his stealth ability.

Slowly, he made his way over to the unoccupied bed and crawled underneath the covers. Not bothering to change his clothes or take off his shoes, he nestled into the thick - yet somehow extremely thin - comforter. His eyes closed as soon as his head hit the pillow.

*~*

That was the best night’s sleep he had gotten in ages. 

Well, it would have been, had he not been awoken by a flying pillow to the face.

(Y/N) groaned as he opened his eyes ever so slightly. The sunlight beamed in through the window, caressing his skin, and he hated it. He glanced tiredly in the direction that the pillow came from and found Dean with an amused grin spread across his lips.

“Mornin’ sunshine,” Dean greeted.

“Fuck off,” (Y/N) grunted as he grabbed the pillow and chucked it lazily back at him. He missed terribly. 

“Looks like someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed,” Sam teased as he sat a cup of steaming coffee on the nightstand next to (Y/N).

“Thanks,” he mumbled and sat up. “And I just got a pillow thrown at my face, am I supposed to jump for joy and sing Kumbaya?” 

“Are you sure it’s the pillow and has nothing to do with you getting back so late?” Dean quirked a brow.

(Y/N) went to reach for the coffee cup, but stopped himself. He glanced at Dean, brows furrowed and eyes narrowed. “How do you know about that?” 

“Well, one, you’re wearing the exact same thing you were wearing yesterday, plus you wore your shoes to bed. Two, I heard you getting back last night,”

“Bullshit. You were passed out.”

“Do you realize how loud you stumbled in? I’m surprised Sammy didn’t wake up because of it. My third point, though,” Dean pointed down to his brother’s chest. “That’s not your jacket. So…did you get lucky?” 

(Y/N) looked down at himself and his brows raised. He was still wearing Gabriel’s jacket. He had been so tired and cold last night that he had completely forgotten to take it off or even give it back. He reached up and played with the collar gently. He had to remember to thank Gabriel for giving it to him.

Oh, wait, prayers! Thank you for the jacket, Gabriel!

“Well?” Dean pressed.

“Huh?” (Y/N) looked over at him. 

“Did you get lucky?” 

(Y/N) snorted. “If I got lucky, do you think I would be here right now?”

“Not unless it was bad.”

“Would that mean I still got ‘lucky’ if it was bad? What kind of luck is that?” 

“You’re dodging the question.”

(Y/N) rolled his eyes. “No, Dean, I didn’t get lucky.”

“Then who’d you meet?” Sam asked.

“Why does it matter?” (Y/N) questioned.

“Because you’re smiling,” Dean pointed out, taking a sip of his coffee. “And you don’t smile like that normally. It’s kind of freaky.”

“Oh, fuck off, Dean,”

(Y/N) hadn’t even realized he had been smiling, but he could hear it in his voice. Dean was right, it had been ages since he had smiled like that. His cheeks were starting to hurt. He reached over, took a sip of his coffee, then put it down. He stood up from his spot on the bed and stretched his aching muscles.

“So,” Dean pursed his lips. “Who was it?”

“You’re not gonna let this go, are you, Dean?”

“Nope,” Dean popped.

(Y/N) shook his head. “It was just this guy that I met at the bar. He bought me a drink, we sat and talked and, when the bar closed, we went to the nearest park and continued our talk.”

Dean’s smirk faltered and was replaced with a frown. “That’s it? You just…talked?” 

“Yeah,” (Y/N) shrugged.

“You’re more boring than Sam,”

“Hey!” Sam exclaimed.

“What do you want me to say, Dean? ‘I found this guy at the bar, we went to the park, I gave him head, he gave me a twenty, said ‘no homo’, and walked away’?” (Y/N) asked. 

“Well, that would have been a hell of a lot more entertaining than ‘we just talked’.”

(Y/N) waved him off. “Whatever,” he mumbled, then kicked his shoes off.

Sam took a sip of his coffee and cleared his throat. “I wouldn’t get too comfortable. We’re gonna go look for that Wendigo.”

“I’m taking a shower before we go, so…” (Y/N) stuck his tongue out at Sam.

Sam smirked and shook his head as (Y/N) gathered some of his clothes from his duffel bag. Without another word, he vanished into the bathroom.

*~*

(Y/N) was sick for a week after that. As it turns out, cold air and wet hair don’t necessarily mix well. At first, he tried to push through it, but fatigue and a sore throat caught up to him and left him on research duty for the duration of the Wendigo hunt. During that time, whenever Sam and Dean were out looking for clues, leaving him alone in the stuffy motel room, he would pray to Gabriel. Gabriel would be quick to respond.

The two would sit and talk for hours, idle chit-chat here and there, and would always seem to dance around the topic of the fight one way or another. Those talks continued well after (Y/N) felt better and the Wendigo hunt concluded. (Y/N) resumed his nightly walks, and Gabriel would accompany him. In the mornings, when Sam and Dean would occasionally catch onto (Y/N)’s disappearing acts, he would play it off as a spontaneous trip to the local bar scene, fabricating stories about meeting a dreamy man he would talk to or go back to his place. It wasn’t a complete lie, so he didn’t feel as bad when he told them. 

As the months went on, (Y/N) could feel himself growing fonder of Gabriel. It was a strong feeling. Is that what love felt like? He could only assume. Yet, the feeling was more than that. He felt connected to him in a much stronger sense of the word. A spiritual sense, perhaps? He couldn’t quite pinpoint the cause of those feelings, but the last thing he was going to do was fight himself on them, despite how obvious it was that his brothers would disapprove of his relationship with Gabriel. That’s what secrets were for. He had gone long enough without telling them, what’s a couple more months or years?

Whenever they were together, (Y/N) felt whole, as if a lost piece of a puzzle he didn’t even know he had found its way to him. When he was with his brothers, or by himself, he found his mind constantly shifting to thoughts of Gabriel. Of what they would talk about, of Gabriel’s smile, of the way his stomach would turn whenever they stood or sat close to one another. He would crave his presence, desperate to hear the sound of his voice. It was killing him, slowly, from the inside out, and he knew if he didn’t say anything soon, he would combust. He had to tell Gabriel his feelings.

One thing he loved about small towns was the lack of artificial lights. Sure, there were dull street lamps scattered around that looked as if they needed to be changed years ago, but the absence of skyscrapers and people, overall, meant not much was needed to illuminate the roads. Locals knew them like the back of their hand anyway. With the minimal light, almost anywhere in town, you could see the stars that decorated the night sky. If you wanted, you could pick out each constellation. Orion’s Belt and the Big Dipper were rather prominent that night.

There were several smaller parks in town, but the biggest sat in the middle of downtown. It wasn’t used as a children’s area as much as a casual gathering ground. (Y/N) could imagine dogs in the grass and elderly couples walking arm-in-arm during the daylight hours. By night, it was abandoned, the distant sound of country music playing from the only local bar. It was the perfect place for him and Gabriel to meet.

They sat on a bench in the middle of the park, heads tilted back as they stared at the stars. Their sides and legs were pressed together, and, for the first time in a while, they said nothing. Normally, their meetings were filled with lively conversation from the moment they saw each other to the moment they parted. (Y/N) had to wonder if Gabriel could tell that he wanted to have a serious discussion. Perhaps he had a lot on his mind. Or, perhaps, Gabriel was too busy reading (Y/N)’s to say anything. Regardless, they had been sat there for close to half an hour without as much as a single word to each other. (Y/N) knew just sitting there wasn’t going to do any good. He had to bite the bullet and say something. 

“Gabriel?” He started, his voice coming out small and quiet.

Gabriel hummed. “Yes?”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Of course,”

(Y/N) hesitated. “Well, first of all, I just wanted to say that I like spending time with you.” He began to fiddle with his fingers. “And I don’t want what I’m about to ask to make our meetings stop.”

“Honestly, I think, at this point, the only thing that you can ask to make our meetings stop is ‘Hey, can our meetings stop?’.”

(Y/N) chuckled lightly. “Gabe, I’m being serious.”

“So am I,” he smirked.

“Well, um…” he paused. “Do you ever feel like we’re connected in other ways?”

Gabriel furrowed his brows. He turned his body to face (Y/N), rested his elbow on the back of the bench, and placed his cheek into his hand. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know, to be honest. I mean, it feels like…more.”

Gabriel studied (Y/N)’s face, noticing his lack of eye contact. He stayed quiet for a moment, and (Y/N) could feel the anxiety building inside of him. He knew he did a piss poor job at explaining what he meant, but it was the best he could come up with. Slowly, Gabriel smirked.

“You have a crush on me, don’t you?” He teased.

(Y/N)’s eyes widened and the heat rose to his cheeks. He glanced over at Gabriel, then back down at his lap. 

“I, well…I’m not…I- that’s not the point, okay!?” (Y/N) shook his head. “The point is that it doesn’t feel like just a crush to me. It feels like an even deeper connection than that. Like something about our souls and- nevermind, this just sounds stupid,” his shoulders deflated in defeat.

Gabriel waved his hands and shook his head. “Hey, hey, it’s not stupid, alright? I get what you’re saying. You feel as if we’re connected by something other than you just being my vessel.”

(Y/N) nodded and let out a shaky breath. “Yeah, exactly.”

“I feel it, too.”

“You do?”

“I mean, yeah,” Gabriel folded his hands in his lap. “I felt that when we first saw each other, even before the warehouse. Then, everything with your brothers happened, and we met again, and, still,  I felt that connection.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I thought I was looking too hard into it. I started thinking that, maybe, the connection was all in my head. That it was, truly, just our connection by you being my vessel. When Dean said what he did about me being too afraid to face my family, I thought no one would understand my point of view on the fight. What I’ve had to go through being related to Michael and Lucifer. Then, you started to pray to me, and I knew that you understood me. That’s what made me come find you in the first place. Once we were alone, I felt this sense of…peace. I hate to admit it, but I feel like I can barely go a single day without wanting to see you. Without needing to see you. I knew it was more at that point.”

(Y/N)’s eyes were on Gabriel as he listened intently to what he was saying. He shook his head. “I feel the same way. It’s almost as if, I don’t know, I can’t breathe when you’re not around.”

“Well, please don’t stop on my account.”

“Stop it, we’re having a serious moment,” (Y/N) slapped his arm.

“Sorry, sorry,” Gabriel smirked. “I mean, as cliche as it sounds, it feels, almost as if we were meant for each other, right? Like we were meant to be together? Almost as if it was more than you being my vessel that bought us together.”

Gabriel reached over and grabbed (Y/N)’s hand, rubbing the side of it gently with his thumb. (Y/N) looked into Gabriel’s eyes, and he felt his heart soar. He reached up and caressed his cheek before they both leaned in, their lips fitting together perfectly in a sweet, loving kiss. Their eyes closed, and they both melted into a deep, sensual embrace. Almost immediately, all of the stress and worry seemingly melted away, replaced with a sense of belonging. A sense of closeness.

When they pulled back, they looked into each other’s eyes once more. A small smile creased the corner of (Y/N)’s lips.

“You’re right, it is pretty cheesy.” He whispered, his thumb tracing circles around Gabriel’s cheekbone.

Gabriel cocked a brow. “I thought we were having a serious conversation. Why do you get to make quips?”

“It’s kind of hard not to when I’m around you.” (Y/N) pressed his forehead against Gabriel’s.

Gabriel chuckled. “I guess I’m rubbing off on you, aren’t I?” He moved his hands to (Y/N)’s hips.

“I don’t see that as a bad thing.”

They sat together and enjoyed the peaceful quiet of their embrace. (Y/N) never felt more relaxed in his entire life, and he wanted to savor every moment he had with Gabriel.

Then, his mind started to drift. Drift to the fight, the battle between Michael and Lucifer, and to Sam and Dean. Gabriel had done such a good job at keeping him distracted from all the chaos that surrounded him that he hadn’t even had a chance to consider what could happen with the fight now that he and Gabriel were involved. Neither of them wanted to participate in the fight, but what would happen if they didn’t? Who would win? Would he lose one, or possibly both, of his brothers? If they did get involved in the fight, was there a possibility that he and Gabriel would lose each other? Did they even stand a chance to win against Michael and Lucifer if things were to turn ugly? Was there a chance that he could lose Gabriel even without being in the fight itself?

Gabriel reached a hand up and ran his fingers through (Y/N)’s hair soothingly. He pressed a small kiss to the corner of his lips. “Your thoughts are being really loud, Sugarplum.” He whispered. 

(Y/N) broke from his trance and shook his head lightly. “I’m sorry, it’s just…with the fight,” (Y/N) looked away briefly. “I don’t want to lose Sam and Dean, but now that I have you, I don’t want to lose you either.”

Gabriel gave him a sympathetic look as he pulled him close. “I know. This whole thing is one giant mess. I wish none of it had to happen. But I’m going to be with you every step of the way, I promise.”

(Y/N) shook his head. “You can’t promise me that. Knock on wood.”

“What?” Gabriel chuckled.

“I don’t want you to have just jinxed yourself, now knock on wood.”

Gabriel smirked as he rasped his knuckles against the wooden bench three times. “Better?”

“A little,” (Y/N) mumbled and nuzzled his cheek against Gabriel’s shoulder. “I don’t think I’ll feel better until this fight is over.”

Gabriel wrapped his arms tightly around him. “How about this? I promise to do everything in my power to keep you distracted. That way, you’re not too stressed out.”

(Y/N) pursed his lips in thought. “Not too distracted, though. I had practically forgotten about the fight until now, and I still need to stay on my toes.”

“How about I distract you just enough to keep your mind off of it?”

“That sounds perfect.”

“Well then, Sugarplum, how do you propose I keep you distracted?”

“You can start by kissing me again,”

“Oh, I can do more than kissing,” Gabriel mused in a suggestive tone and wiggled his brows.

(Y/N) slapped his chest. “Perv,” he grumbled. “Let’s just start with kissing.”

“Taking it slow, I like your style,” Gabriel nuzzled his nose against (Y/N)’s.

(Y/N) smiled widely. “Then shut up and kiss me already.”

Without another word, Gabriel leaned down, capturing (Y/N)’s lips in a deep kiss. Just like that, all of his problems dissipated, and it felt as if he was floating. The park didn’t exist anymore, nor the stumbling locals who left the bar periodically. There were no stars, no more beautiful night sky. The only two things that existed were Gabriel and (Y/N). They were complete. They were strong. They were one. It felt as if nothing in Heaven, Hell, or in between could tear them apart. 

And everything was as it should be.

[girlystories]

L'appel du vide (The call of the void)

— pairings: Henry Bowers + Patrick Hockstetter x female/daughter of a cop/new student reader

Summary: after your parents divorce (because your mom is kinda crazy) you move to your dads hometown, back to Derry, and your cousin richie. Additional warnings: depictions of animal cruelty, patrick hockstetter (enough said) Words: 3.5k

previous part here

next part here

Chapter 2: Bigmouth Strikes Again

𝐇𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐘 𝐁𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐑𝐒 wasn't in a good mood that day, to say the very least. His dad had dragged him early to school for some reason. He didn't know why, and he didn't care. What he did know is that it disturbed his routine. 

He usually woke up by his dad's noisy way of getting ready for work – groaning from the living room, where he slept, and he'd demand his morning beer. If he even bothered, Henry would eat something as he waited for Belch to pass by his house to pick him up – a farm located at the outskirts of Derry. He'd get on his seat – which was of course, at the front, and they'd talk shit. Like they always did, although Henry chose most of the time to remain silent, always too moody in the morning. On the ride they would blast music, driving recklessly around town while the townsfolk would shout curses at them to turn the damn volume down. 

But not today. And he was pissed. On the way to school he was resting on his seat with folded arms, looking out the window and refusing his eyes to meet his father's. 

When he arrived he was about to wait at the parking lot for Belch and the others to arrive, but his old man shot him a glare, and he instantly knew what he meant. With his head low, he reluctantly walked up the stairs, turning his head around and seeing his oh-so great son-of-a-bitch dad watching him like a hawk, his stoic and hateful eyes hiden behind his round sunglasses. 

How much he wanted to fucking punch him right then and there, but he knew he couldn't. He didn't want to admit it, but he was weak against him. He could never manage the courage to stand up for himself, proving his point in being a paper man.

To his utter luck, he was seen by the headmaster, not managing to sneak past his office. He was given a lecture about his attitude and lack of presence, as expected. 

When he was finally let to go, his immediate next destination was back outside to meet up with the others. It was the time they usually arrived, anyway. Ten minutes before the first bell rang and they had to attend their homeroom class. 

"What the fu–"

Just as he was about to walk outside the building he felt someone collide with his chest. If the many and unnecessary nuisances until now wasn't enough, this instantly managed to form a vein on his temple as he clenched his fist. Today was his unlucky day it seemed. He stopped himself from punching whoever it was just as he met the girl's gaze. 

They both shared the same look of surprise. He studied her from head to toe, from the way she styled her hair – which looked somewhat messy – to her slightly parted lips and unironed clothes. 

For some reason he didn't know what to say. She seemed... familiar, but he quickly knew she was new. He'd never seen her at any of his classes before, or anywhere else at school. Was she even the same age as him? His eyes then looked behind her to the distance, seeing the all familiar blue Trans-am parked at the usual spot. Their spot, to be in fact. 

He grounded his jaw, frowning his eyebrows, as he pushed past her, not caring a bit if he pushed her or something. He almost didn't notice Tozier hiding behind her, clinging on her jacket. He snorted at that. He'd mess with him later. 

"Get outta my way," he threatened. 

The others were resting their weight against the Trans-am, invested in their good ol' morning chit-chat, some smoking, some not. He approached them with his head low, staring at his shoes, his hands shoved inside his jean pockets. 

"Someone's in a good mood," Belch was the first to acknowledge him, noting his already grumpy attitude mockingly as he elbowed Vic to the side, who grunted in response and rubbed his side. 

Henry shot him a glare. "Shut your fucking mouth," he said and grabbed his pack, shoving a cigarette between his lips and searching for his lighter. 

"Fucking hell," he grumbled. 

Patrick handed him his significant zippo – which was probably stolen from his grandparents. Henry took it and lit his death stick, exhailing a satisfied cloud of smoke, happy for something to easy his nerves and tremendous headache.

"Thanks."

"Did your dad give you shit again?", Vic asked after a long pause. 

He didn't respond, taking another drag. "The headmaster saw me and wouldn't shut up again about the same ol' shit. Be careful in case he sees you too."

"Well, I don't think he has a problem with me. My grades are decent enough."

"That's because you're not afraid to cheat, Vic," Belch remarked. 

The bleach-blonde boy scoffed in response. "I don't cheat, asshole. I, for one, have a goal I want to pursue."

"So do I, smart-ass."

"What, you mean becoming an Olympic player or something?"

"Fuck you, man. You know damn well how much I want to make it to the American League."

"Whatever."

Patrick cleared his throat as he stared forward to nothing in particular, holding back a laugh, while Henry was about to start yelling at them to shut up from beside him. "Are ya done?"

"You're one to talk, Pat," Vic grumbled under his breath, folding his arms.

He looked at him for a moment, letting out a snort of laughter. The icy stare ignored by Vic who looked down as he kicked a stone with his boot. Patrick threw his finished cigarette and patted Henry on the shoulder as he eyed his watch, passing him and starting to make his way to the building's back entrance. He was always first one to separate their morning meeting, despite Henry being the self-proclaimed leader of the group. 

"Meet ya after class."

Without waiting for a response he pushed the door, walking slowly inside. He placed one hand inside his pocket, while the other ran through his mid-length hair that hang around his face. 

Henry's warning forgotten, he passed the principal's office with ease. Patrick rolled his eyes when he heard his name called just as he was out of view. He could just continue his way, pretending he didn't hear him, but allas, he walked into the office. 

"What is it, Mr. Corbin?", his voice dramatically switched into a much innocent one than he intended. His eyebrows lightly raised as he held his hands together in front of him. 

Mr. Corbin took off his eyeglasses, stopping his work on whatever papers he had held in front of him. "Your grades," he started, sighing as he captured his facade. "You've been held back one grade. Are you on your way to make that a yearly end goal? You need to step up, Hockstetter."

Patrick stared back at him, his eyes void of all emotion. He had had this conversation with his parents countless times before. It mostly began after 7th grade, when things got more serious. They would constantly nag about his future – especially his uptight and anxious mother. He didn't care really, only choosing to live in the present. He was mostly out of touch with reality, always going with the flow. If he would magically share a similar life like his parents, that'd be fine. If he ended up tossed aside and unsuccessful, then so be it. 

"I've also been informed about your attitude outside school. These aren't news, I'm afraid. You and Bowers lack motivation, without a care what you'll be doing with your life in the future." 

Patrick was always twisted from a very young age, despite him not seeing it that way. He would get that sort of thrilling feeling through his veins whenever he viewed any kind of discomfort on another, more so when he inflicted it himself. It was so intriguing for him, from the way that rabbit moved so rapid and swiftly, trying to get out of his grasp. When it's escape went unsuccessful it started to make noises. Patrick would study it with round eyes, which eventually were followed with a wide smile. At that age he didn't attempt to kill it yet, and let it go. He didn't see death as a real thing, until he stumbled upon a starved kitten, it's ribs visible and it's legs weak. 

He tilted his head as he stood over it, the kitty meowed at him, it's high-pitched cries filling his ears. At first he found it terribly annoying, but then he came to enjoy it. It was suffering without the care of its mother. He kneeled on the concrete and the small cat saw this as a welcome to come closer. He tried petting it for a moment and it started purring in a weird way. His fingers run along it's dry fur and he gave more attention on its neck as he grew bored. He stopped and he felt a rush of adrenaline when the cat started meowing louder as he grabbed its neck, it's legs trying to scratch him to get back down. 

The corners of his mouth quirked up in an eerily smile, his eyes shinning slightly. He felt the same feeling when he squeezed the rabbit long ago, but this time he didn't stop and increased the pressure. The kitty stopped moving and it's jaw hang open, it's yellow eyes wide – too wide. He had to compose himself for a moment, releasing his hands as it fell sharpy. He was a god. A chuckle left his lips but he stopped when he heard a hault of steps from behind him. 

It was a young boy that seemed of close age range by his height. He expected him to turn back around and run away, but he didn't. Patrick held a cold gaze. 

"What do you want?" he asked. 

The boy – surprisingly approached him. "What you did was pretty cool."

Patrick didn't expect that. He smiled again. "I do it all the time," he lied but it was mostly the truth. 

The boy looked at the dead cat, then at Patrick. "I'm Henry."

"I'm Patrick."

Henry grinned, revealing a missing tooth. "Cool, wanna join me and my friends? We're on our way to throw paper towels that old lady's house."

"The one with the crazy mole on her nose?"

Henry nodded. Patrick thought about it first. He didn't really have any friends, so this was certainly a change. 

"Sure, why not?"

After that he became a member of the group, soon to be the Bowers Gang. At first he wasn't as welcome, being one year older, but they became so close, they were particularly like brothers. 

Mr. Corbin dragged a hang over his features, a headache starting to form. He waved towards the door, finishing: "that's about it. If you and Bowers get send here one more time, I'll have to take drasting measures. You'll get a pass this time. Mainly because it's your first time, Hockstetter. Now get your ass to class."

Satisfied, Patrick fixed his slouched back and turned around. He instantly noticed the unfamiliar girl next to the doorframe, her curious round eyes watching their interaction with keen interest, like a show being presented for her. Only she didn't applaud, and instead stood there awkwardly. Though she didn't quite fear him, it seemed, but Patrick knew that he'd have to give a good first impression then. That'd change her image of him for sure, he mused. 

He walked out the office with long steps, slowing down only as their eyes met and he instinctively licked his lips when he saw that it worked. 

He didn't care in hearing what the principal shouted at him just as he made his way to class, his mind only on the new victim he found and how he'd proceed next. The corners of his mouth quirked up into that same eerly smile. 

 

   Just as soon as lunch period came, [Name] went to take a seat at a table in the cafeteria, grabbing with her a weird looking sandwich and a soda. The school food definitely wasn't considered a five star meal, but she didn't have much of a choice, since she forgot to bring her own food from home. 

She didn't really care much about not having anyone to sit with, although some company would be nice. She would go sit with her cousin and his friends but she couldn't really find them in this crowd. Despite the town being small, the school was pretty packed. 

Just as she was about to take a bite of her sandwich, she felt someone being pushed against her back. She groaned in annoyance and turned around, ready to cuss whoever hit her. 

She stopped when she noticed a boy trying to stand on both his legs, though unstable. In front of him was the large looking guy she saw with Victor in class before, who wore a hat and a sadistic grin. He was about to make another move on him but turned his head around when he heard his name from the other side of the room – Belch, [Name] heard and looked over at the origin of the call, who was an annoyed looking Henry Bowers. [Name] also noticed Victor and Hockstetter with him. As expected. She still couldn't believe that he was possibly one of Richie's bullies. 

Belch glanced back at the guy who was pushed on [Name] with a piercing glare, though he didn't pay any mind on her. He then turned around and left, going back with his friends, who pushed the door opened and left the cafeteria. 

[Name] looked around, wondering if anyone else saw the whole thing happened, but everyone just went on with their businesses, except maybe like three people, but they still said nothing. She raised a brow. Why didn't anyone do or say anything? Do they control the school or something? She couldn't believe it. People fucking sucked here. She looked back at him, who tried to wipe the dust off of him. His clothes were messy and hang around his body, but he quickly fixed them, along with his posture. He cleared his throat. It took a while for [Name] to notice they initiated contact, and she grew awkward knowing that she was looking at him the whole time. 

She decided to break the silence. "You okay?"

He rose his eyebrows – almost surprised – and tried fixing his brown hair, which was not as easy without the use of a mirror. "Uh, yeah."

The awkward silence around them rose once again as he stood behind her while she had her head still turned around. It was growing sore by the second and she drew a leg over the seat, taking a more comfortable position. 

"Who the hell was that?" she asked. 

He seemed more surprised, as his mouth fell agape for a split second. "Hold up. You don't know him?"

"Um, no?"

He let out a laugh, almost not believing her words. "You're joking, right?"

She shook her head and shrugged. "Should I?"

"I mean, no but-", he continued to stare at her with a look of surprise. "You honestly don't know of the Bowers Gang?"

She didn't know how to respond, then she said, "Well, actually, I'm knew here."

Her words seemed to bring some sort of understanding as he let out an 'ohhh'. Without asking he sat next to her and stook out his arm. "I'm Aiden."

She shook it. "[Name]."

He leaned against his palm, the edge of his elbow just barely touching the table. "So you're new, huh? How come of all places you choose good-old Derry?"

"I used to live here a long time ago," she said. "For now I'm living with my relatives while we search for a house to rent or buy."

"Relatives? Who? I might know 'em.'"

"I don't know if you do, but I'm Richie's cousin and –"

Aiden's eyes widened again. It was pretty amusing how easily surprised he got. 

"You're Tozier's cousin? As in Trashmouth Tozier?"

"Hey, I'd really appreciate you not talking bad about my cousin."

He ignored it, continuing, "No fucking way, dude. That guy doesn't know when to stop."

"So?", she asked as her eyes narrowed. 

He waved his hands dismissively. "No – I'm just saying. He's just a pretty easy target amongst the Bowers Gang."

Just as [Name] was about to ask more, a voice called Aiden from the distance. Two girls waved at them and approached them. 

"We've been looking everywhere for you," the blonde-haired girl said as she gave him a quick hug. 

"Fucking Huggins thought it was funny to push me while I was about to leave," Aiden rolled his eyes. "But he immediately left. I don't care either way."

"Ugh, just ignore them. They're just dumb."

The brunette's focus was at [Name]. "Hey, you're the new girl, right? I think we share English together," she pointed out. 

She titled her head, trying to recall seeing her. "Really? I didn't really notice you. Sorry."

"Oh, where are my manners?" Aiden said. "This is Jamie and Evelyn", he pointed first at the blonde then the brunette. 

[Name] shook their hands, while she revealed her name to the girls. "I'm new here," she added. 

"And she's Tozier's cousin," Aiden interrupted with a grin. 

[Name] sighed at that as she opened her soda. "I still wanna know about that Bowers guy."

The girls sat at the other side of the table, sharing a look and then looked back at her.

"Well, it's best to say to not mess with him or the rest of his gang. Unless you're unlucky then you're fucked. It's best to just not be an easy target," Everly said. 

"It's almost like the whole town fears them," Jamie added. 

[Name] raised a brow. "How come they target my cousin?", she looked at the boy next to her. "Or Aiden for that matter."

He sighed. "It's... a long story."

It would be a lie if she said she wasn't curious, but decided not to push it. "Okay, well," she said between bites, "They better not mess with Richie again."

Everlyn leaned close, "I don't think you're in control of that. I'd advice you to tell Richie to just avoid them as much as possible."

[Name] frowned at that, but she didn't say more. There was something she could do, right? She took a sip of her soda and licked her lips. 

Jamie nudged her friend's shoulder next to her, "Hey, let's invite her to Frank's party," without waiting for a response she looked back at [Name]. "Wanna join us on Friday? It starts at 8 pm."

She stopped chewing as she glanced at the three reluctantly. She really wasn't in the mood for that, wanting to relax the first week. 

"Come on! It'll be fun! We'll introduce you to other people. That way you'll make friends or something." She placed her hands together in a pleading manner, flickering her long lashes. "Pleaseee? Evelyn will give you a ride."

Evelyn shot a disapproving glare at her, mostly because she didn't bother asking first, but it went unnoticed by Jamie. 

[Name] shrugged. "Sure, I guess?", she rubbed the back of her head. "But I'll leave as soon as I get bored. I'm not really in the mood these couple of days."

Jamie rose from her seat and walked over to her, squeezing her into a hug. "Yay! I swear you won't get bored. And if it makes you feel better I won't leave your side."

   Evelyn was kind enough to give [Name] a ride back home, but she didn't really mind since she gave the other two a ride as well. She thanked her as she shut the door behind her, seeing Aiden wave at her while Jamie blew a kiss from behind the window. 

She walked in the Tozier residence and called out if anyone was home. She heard no response and she shrugged. Richie would be with his friends while her dad, and uncle and aunt would be at work. She threw her backpack and shoes off, going to the kitched and opening the fridge. Groaning at the vague options and the rumbling sound from her empty stomach she opted with a bowl of cereal. She sat at the living room, the blanket embracing her comfortably as she wore her pajamas. She should probably have better done her homework or study for that history test, but she really needed some sort of peace. She wasn't really paying attention to the movie, or the random commercials but she was almost shaken up by the sound of her door opening. 

It was her dad. He seemed to be in a really good mood – if the wise smile he had wasn't obvious he greeted her with enthusiasm. 

She quirked a brow, muching on her cereal. "Why so happy? Not that I mind."

He took of his boots, "We're having a barbecue tomorrow!", he exclaimed simply. 

"Huh?"

"Cancel any plans for tomorrow if you have any."

[insuke69]

Scars that make you who you are.

☆ Hobie x FTM trans reader

Transphobia will be blocked <33

★Warnings: Angst, kissing, cursing, body dysmorphia, misgendering mentioned

☆ Rating: 13+

★Symposis: You’re feeling self conscious about your surgery scars, but luckily you have Hobie to help you through it.

☆ 827 Words, Drabble nibble.

You transitioned a while back, hell, most people in your life didn’t really know that you’re trans besides friends who knew you pre-transition and your family, and of course your partner, Hobie, knows too.

You’ve managed to save enough money to be able to afford your top surgery and finally stop wearing binders all the time! You’re comfortable in your own skin for the first time in a while, you finally no longer feel like the boy who had to wear dresses because he was stuck in a feminine body. You were living your life no longer being deadnamed and no longer being referred to with ‘she/her’.

You had your top surgery and had the beautifully flat chest you deserved, yet two crescent lines where the stitches stayed. You remember researching and looking through so many websites stating that it usually takes over six months for the insisions to heal, but thankfully the doctor elaborated, saying that the scars will stay for at least a year, so you knew you had to deal with it.

Besides that, you felt.. Not good. You knew you were lucky to finally have what so many other people wish to afford at all, you finally got rid of those pesky breasts that wouldn’t leave you alone since you were ten. But here you were: shirtless in the mirror with your hands ghosting over your chest.

It’s been a few months, around six months, you’re all healed and aren’t that sore anymore, but your stitches still hurt like if the needle and thread were just stabbed into your sensitive flesh. It already is taking so long for you to heal at all, how the scars have to heal before you can even think about being shirtless comfortably at all? And what about Hobie? What if he isn’t willing to wait with you? Or if-

“Oi, Love, Have you seen my-” Hobie just opened the bathroom door, since you two live together and his gaze was averted towards the sink for what he was looking for, but he paused and looked at your expression before murmuring “ring..”

You look over at him and hesitantly cross your arms over your chest. You haven’t really been topless in front of Hobie since before the surgery, either because you had bandages around you most of the time, or because you didn’t feel confident enough in front of him no matter what the scenario was..

“You alrigh’?” He asked as he walked over to you and settled his hands on your shoulders from behind, his gaze locked with yours in the mirror in front of you two.

His warm hands sooth your skin on your shoulders, relaxing the tense muscles that laid below your flesh. “Nothing, Nothing, just.. I don’t know, my scars feel shitty.”

Hobie’s gaze softened and wrapped his arms around your torso with his hands easing over yours, “Yeah? Why? Does i’ hur’?”

“No, I don’t like them right now, the stitches are healed at least, but they look so shitty.”

As you spoke, Hobie began ghosting gentle kisses on your shoulders and back of your neck, his hands easing yours to relax and to loosen your hold so he could see the remnants of your surgery.

“No way, You’ve go’a be fuckin’ wit’ me.” He murmured almost jokingly as his hands went to your waist and rested on your abdomen from behind, “You’re so handsome, so perfect- tits or nah, scars and all.” You felt his warm breath and lip piercing flush against the side of your neck below your ear. 

His lips closed over your skin and began kissing and sucking your sweet and soft flesh, littering purple bruises on their wake.

You chuckle and tilt your head to the side to give him more access to you, “Sure. Yeah, You’re willing to wait over a year for them to even start to fade?” You asked sarcastically which made Hobie stop kissing your neck and frown at you through the mirror.

His hold hardened and he spun you so you were now facing him and placing a hand on your lower jaw in order to make you look up at him, “I’m willing to wait decades for you just to be able t’see your smile, You won’ be rid of me until I see you adore that boy in the mirror.” 

You smiled at his words, feeling like a warmth in them is sending pure love into your heart, probably because of the pure adoration in his eyes, or the blatant truth he’s saying. Fully confident in himself and reassurance.

He smiles at you before leaning down and kissing your lips, holding you by the hips as he pulled you up onto the bathroom counter. You reciprocate with your same passion while wrapping your arms around his neck.

“Now c’mon, let me adore my man.” Hobie cooed as he eased his hands over your thighs and glide to your knees to spread them.

_____________________

Stopping it right before the smut like a true writer <3

[softgreengrass]

Covert Narcissism

Wednesday Addams x reader

Summary: There's a new student at Nevermore, and she's certainly captured your attention.

Words: 3.8k

Warnings: swearing ig, otherwise none, implied f!reader

Author's Note: not angst!!! reader is a cocky little shit. there's a prank war. this was meant to be like half the length that it turned out oh well. thank u guys so much for all the support, i was so not expecting it! thank u thank u thank u thank u 💙💙💙

A new student at Nevermore. You had heard the rumors, seen Enid’s blog post about staying a safe distance away from her roommate, but nothing could’ve prepared you for the girl who walked into your world history class.

She looked utterly terrifying, in the way that made your head buzz and your stomach turn. She was also undeniably beautiful, with full lips and silky black hair, dead eyes dropped into a dangerous stare.

She sat down at an empty table in the center of the room — a safe choice, an attempt to blend in, a chance to observe.

Of course, you weren’t going to let her get away with that.

You got up from your seat in the back row and shuffled over, sliding into the chair right next to her.

Her side-eye was deadly as she pulled out a black notebook.

“Hey there,” you said, laying on the charm as thick as possible.

“Can I help you?” she replied, expressionless.

“Where are you from?” you leaned back, gazing at the curve of her cheekbone. “Wait, let me guess. Tennessee?”

Her eyes hardened. “If you finish that sentence, I’ll hang your intestines like a chandelier.”

She didn’t understand the twinkle in your eye, or why all you did was laugh. “Because you’re the only ten I see.”

She grabbed a pen from her bag, clicking it to reveal a glinting blade. “Would you like this to be driven through your eye socket?”

“Take me out first, would you?”

You bit back another laugh at the fury that flashed across her face. Then the history teacher cleared his throat, signifying the start of class.

His lecture droned on and on about the Trans-Saharan Trade Network, and you busied yourself with slowly inching closer to her. She noticed, you knew she did, but she also didn’t bother moving, so you took that as an invitation. But as soon as you reached over to her notebook, pencil not yet touching paper, her hand shot out to grab your wrist.

Her grip was ice-cold, tight enough to cut off circulation. You swallowed.

“Do not test me,” she muttered.

You lifted your palms in surrender, eyes wide. You hadn’t expected her to be so physical about it.

Reluctantly, she let you go, and you rubbed your wrist as you shifted back over to your side of the desk. You decided to try to focus on the lecture for the rest of class, but by the third mention of concubines, you were zoned out and staring at the clock.

You couldn’t really tell what she was doing. It looked like she was taking notes, sure, but her eyes were glazed over and she could’ve been writing “asshole” over and over for all you knew.

She was almost deathly pale, her breathing so shallow you weren’t sure she really was alive. Her braids were absolutely meticulous, not a strand out of place. Her uniform was black and gray. You remembered the argument you had had with Weems when you first arrived at Nevermore — you demanded that you be allowed to wear something other than that godawful uniform, and she refused to relent, until eventually you were stuck scrubbing the floors in detention, striped blue blazer on. Of course the new girl would get special privileges.

There was something striking about her sunken eyes, about her perfect posture, about the fact that she was a new student at Nevermore in the middle of the first quarter. You tried to take in every part of her that you could: black nail polish, reddish lips, defined jawline, firm glare.

“It’s very obvious that you’re staring,” she muttered, still writing down her magical spells or whatnot.

“Is that a problem?” you asked.

“Only if you value your life.”

“You are just a ball of sunshine, aren’t you?”

“You cannot take a hint, can you?” she snapped, turning to face you, eyes narrowing. “I’m not interested.”

“Everyone’s interested,” you smirked, glancing down at her lips and back up to dark eyes.

She ignored you for the rest of the period, properly ignored you, and you tried not to be too bothered by it. You watched, laughing with your friends, as she challenged Bianca to a bout during fencing. Wednesday Addams was going to learn how things worked at Nevermore.

It was quite simple, really. Nobody tried to best Bianca, and nobody ignored you. For most, it wasn’t a problem at all. You had girls fawning over you left and right, plus the occasional pig-headed boy who thought he’d be the exception. Even if someone didn’t want to sleep with you, they wanted to be your friend, and while there weren’t any popularity contests at Nevermore, you would’ve won them all.

But Wednesday Addams wouldn’t give you the time of day for a week after she arrived. So, you decided to play her game.

“Heard about those murders in the woods?” you asked, sidling up next to her as she walked briskly down the hallway.

Wednesday didn’t respond.

“What if I told you I’m the killer?”

Her head snapped to look at you, and you grinned triumphantly. “You’re not capable of that.”

“Ouch,” you clutched your heart, lengthening your strides to keep up with her quickening pace. “Come on, you don’t know that. I could be a killer.”

“But you aren’t,” she said impatiently. 

“Why don’t you like me?” you asked earnestly, watching carefully for any twitches or flutters that might betray a reaction.

She replied without missing a beat. “Because you’re insufferable.”

“Bullshit,” you laughed.

Turning on her heel, she took an abrupt left turn, and you were forced to continue to your next class. You spent it brainstorming ways to irritate her, since her reaction was bound to be interesting, and soon you had a plan.

The problem was, you only had one class with her, and it seemed like she actively avoided you in the hallways. You had never been close with Enid, certainly not close enough to get into her dorm, and you weren’t going to embarrass yourself by asking around.

So for a while, you kept to annoying her in world history, laughing at every dirty look and death threat she responded with. It wasn’t as if you didn’t have other people to occupy your time.

When you caught Thing digging into the moisturizer drawer in the infirmary, a golden opportunity presented itself before you. You snatched him, holding the writhing hand until he stopped squirming and listened to what you had to say. You told him he would either help you prank Wednesday, or he would spend the rest of the week firmly duct-taped to the ceiling of Weems’ office.

Was it a threat? Yes. But you needed an inside man if you were going to have any shot of holding your own in the war you were about to start.

Eventually he agreed, after trying everything possible to free himself from your grasp, including flicking lotion into your eyes. You nearly slammed him into the table for that.

By the end of the day, you had already arranged your first prank: Thing stole Wednesday’s book of sheet music, and you replaced each piece with “I Want It That Way” for cello. The next morning, you woke up to dozens of plastic cups full of blood on the floor of your dorm, packed so close together that you had no hope of avoiding knocking them over.

So, you were late to class with blood-stained shoes. And as the blood you couldn’t sop up dried, your floor warped, looking more like mahogany than white oak.

And it was on.

World history became a battleground: you pulled a few strategic screws from her chair so it would collapse the moment she sat down, she coated your side of the desk in superglue, you told the teacher she had volunteered to give a lecture about the dissolution of Yugoslavia, she set fire to your pants in the middle of class.

“Unoriginal,” she deadpanned, looking down at the dead snake dumped inside of her bookbag. “Did you kill it?”

You shook your head, realizing too late that you had just knocked yourself down a few points.

“Disappointing.”

Your plan had worked perfectly — Wednesday spoke to you now. Nearly all of it was insults, but she was still speaking to you. The pranks escalated, and Wednesday’s death threats became more and more detailed, until you finally decided it was time to gain the upper hand. She had always committed the more gruesome pranks, always been the aggressive one, but you wanted control now. You were going to get a reaction out of her that wasn’t just anger at your defiance.

Enid and Wednesday were long gone, off to investigate some old mansion. You let yourself into their dorm, holding the biggest basket you could find, and swung open the doors to Wednesday’s wardrobe.

Under the cover of night, no one saw you carrying heaps of clothes outside or hauling them into a bleach-filled barrel. No one saw the assortment of dyes you had prepared: various shades of pink, pastel yellow and green, periwinkle blue.

You laughed quietly to yourself as you hung her clothes back up, leaving them to dry in her wardrobe overnight. There was no way she would be able to top this — there wasn’t a single aspect of your character vulnerable to an attack of this magnitude. You would defeat her here.

Wednesday didn’t show up to any of her classes the next day, but the wide-eyed looks Enid gave you were all the confirmation you needed. Maybe she would go back to ignoring you, but at least you would have won. You kept your head held high, your smile wide as you went about your day.

You should’ve known she wouldn’t have let you win so easily.

In the middle of a restful night’s sleep, you were awoken by a loud hum. At first, through the fog of drowsiness, you thought the heater had finally kicked on.

Then you felt the first few brush against your hand, and your eyes shot open. In a flash, an entire horde of bees was on you, stinging every inch of exposed skin. You screamed, waving your arms, and bees flooded your mouth. You didn't realize that the perpetrator was still standing in the shadows of your room.

You jumped out of bed, vision entirely blocked by the swarm, stumbling around not unlike a headless chicken. You swiped at your arms and face, feeling stingers drag down your skin, feeling prick after prick and feeling tingly swelling.

“You didn’t really think you would get away with something like that, did you?” Wednesday said blankly, tilting her head as she watched you struggle.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” you cried, shaking your limbs vigorously to get the thousands of tiny legs off of you.

“Do you surrender?” she smirked. You couldn’t see it, or you would have made a big deal out of it.

“Yes, Jesus Christ!” you exclaimed, scratching at your eyes and spitting out bees. “I surrender, you win, get them off!”

Wednesday picked up the smoker beside her and began spraying you. The bees slowly fell to the floor, asleep, and you stood shaking, red and swollen. You felt like an idiot and a half. What were you thinking, provoking the girl who got here for murdering someone?

“I accept your surrender,” she said, using a broom to scoop the bees into a drawstring bag.

“I would hope so,” you mumbled, looking at the bumps covering your arms, tensing your muscles to resist the urge to itch them. “How the hell do you have so many bees?”

“I’m a Hummer,” she said simply.

The nurse gave you a big tub of lotion and a few antihistamines, and you spent the next two days cooped up in your room, wishing death upon Wednesday Addams and her bees.

When you finally returned to your classes, Wednesday watched, amusement swimming somewhere deep in her eyes. The itchiness had somewhat subsided, but you still had to wear long sleeves and deflect countless questions about what happened to your face.

“Not so cocky now, are we?” Wednesday asked you in world history, nearly smiling at the way your face twisted in anger. 

“There’s a line between a practical joke and assault,” you bit.

“I don’t believe there is.”

You couldn’t argue with that. So you sat fuming for the rest of class and the days that followed. After a week, there were no remaining physical signs of what she had done, but your psyche would be scarred forever. And of course, it was then that Weems called you into her office for a favor.

“Why would I do that?” you asked, scrunching up your face.

“To put it simply,” she sighed, leaning forward over her desk. “The Sheriff needs Wednesday to be here at school on the night of the Rave’N.”

“Why do I have to take her?”

“Oh, please,” she smiled slyly. “Just ask her, alright? I’ll owe you.”

You raised your eyebrows, weighing your options. Get Wednesday to go to a dance with you, or be on Weems’ bad side again. You didn’t know when you had gotten off of it, but you certainly weren’t in a hurry to return. Besides, the least Wednesday could do after nearly murdering you was go to a dance with you.

“Fine.”

“I’m not going to the dance,” was Wednesday’s response, quick as a whip.

You weren’t the least bit surprised. “But I asked you nicely.”

“I am not participating in another pointless childish tradition.”

“But I’m asking you to go with me. To be my date,” you pouted, watching as she scowled at you.

“Perhaps you need to have your memory checked. I’ve already told you I’m not interested.”

“Don’t you owe me something? After, you know, traumatizing me for life?”

“Weak,” she muttered under her breath. “No, I don’t believe I do. You don’t owe me something for ruining my entire wardrobe, do you?”

“Actually,” you said quickly. “That was pretty harsh. What would you like me to do?”

“Not take me to the dance.”

You shook your head, smiling. “That’s not how favors work, I’m afraid. Come on, name anything. I’ll do it.”

You couldn’t believe you were doing this for Weems. 

She eyed you suspiciously. “If I go to the Rave’N with you, you’ll do anything I want?”

You resisted the urge to clarify, nodding your head.

“Fine. Pick me up at eight.”

She pushed you out of her dorm, slamming the door in your face. You stood there, bewildered, until you realized you needed to get ready. You had managed to get her to go to a school dance — that was something, right? 

A few hours later, your knuckles rapped against the door twice, and you took a step back. You repeated some assurances to yourself, looking down at your feet until the door opened.

The sight of her took your breath away for a moment.

Wednesday was as beautiful as she had been when you first saw her, her hair pinned back, her lips plump and dark. Her dress was black and elegant, and your heart seized as she met your eyes.

“You look ravishing, darling,” you said, grinning widely as her nostrils flared.

She wanted to throttle you as you stepped inside and said hello to Enid.

“Now, where were we?” you spun to face Wednesday. “I believe you were telling me to rip off my arm and shove it up my ass, correct?”

“Always so crude,” Wednesday muttered, digging through a black backpack. “I told you to burn eternally under the hand of a cruel god.”

“Oh, my bad.”

Enid took a hesitant step forward. “Are you guys going to the dance?”

You shot her a strange look. “Yes.”

Enid stifled a sound of surprise, watching as Wednesday pulled a tube of lipstick from her bag and applied a layer. “Oh. Well, have fun! See you down there!” She slipped between you and shut the door on her way out, leaving you in one of the most awkward situations you had ever had the pleasure of experiencing.

Wednesday looked utterly exasperated as she looked at you. “Well?”

“I, um,” you swallowed. “Are you ready?”

She blinked. “Yes.”

“Okay,” you cleared your throat. “Shall we?”

Wednesday’s arm was in yours as you walked down the stairs, some electro-pop song growing louder and louder with each step you took. You were quite pleased with yourself: you were going to walk in with Wednesday Addams on your arm. Not a big deal.

She stared steadily through her eyebrows as you approached the iced-out hall, ignoring Thornhill and Weems as they greeted you. It didn't take long to find Enid.

To your surprise, Wednesday didn't seem to despise the decor, though she certainly despised most of the attendees. Xavier and Lucas were both subjected to death-glares of the highest caliber.

After you both had a few Yeti-tinis in you, you dragged Wednesday to the dance floor. And then, something unbelievable happened. It was probably rarer than a total solar eclipse, and you didn't think many who had witnessed it had survived.

Wednesday Addams began to dance.

She stared at you unrelentingly as she moved, looking somewhere between a bird doing a mating dance and a teenager possessed with the spirit. You could do nothing but watch, hypnotized, as she danced around you.

You had never seen anyone move so freely. It really was spellbinding, and you could feel the entire dance floor watching her. But she was staring at you.

And then the song was over, and you were left standing and looking at each other again. There was something magical in the air.

Everyone else was lost in the music, already dancing again without a care in the world, and the floor vibrated with the bass, and she looked absolutely ethereal in the blueish light. You didn't know anything, except that you couldn't stop smiling. If you didn't know better, you would've thought she might kiss you.

Something dripped onto your shoulder, and then your head, and then it was raining down. Blood.

In moments, pure chaos broke loose. Screams overpowered the music, the floor turning into a grisly slip-n-slide as people rushed away from the shower.

There was a smile on her face, a smile, a smile on Wednesday Addams’ face. Everyone else was sprinting for the nearest exit, and she was smiling, and you were staring at her.

“Did you do this?” she asked.

You rubbed the back of your neck, face burning with the shame about to come. “No.”

Her face fell, but she would deny it if you ever told anyone. You didn’t plan to. “Oh.” She licked her lip. "They couldn't even spring for real pigs' blood, anyway. It's only paint."

The enchantment drained from the air along with her excitement, and you no longer wanted to be coated in red paint, so you parted ways with her and retreated to your dorm.

The next day, you found yourself in the quad with Wednesday and Enid, assigned to confetti clean-up.

“Aren’t you tired?” you asked.

Wednesday looked at you. “Why would I be tired?”

“You’ve been running through my mind all day,” you grinned, watching the familiar flare of irritation appear in her eyes.

“I’ll hide your body parts all over the country.”

“I’ll sweep you off your feet,” you winked.

“I’ll skin you alive.”

Enid laughed nervously, glancing between the two of you. “Um, no killing, right?”

“She won’t kill me,” you said smugly, leaning back.

Wednesday gritted her teeth, wanting more than ever to slit your throat. “Oh, but how I hate you.”

She stood up, muttering something about needing to write her novel, and stalked away. You smiled to yourself, already reminiscing on the annoyance written all over her face. You started thinking of other cheesy pickup lines — maybe you’d have to watch some rom-coms for inspiration.

Enid said your name, staring at you incredulously. You snapped to attention. “Oh my god, don’t you see it? Wednesday likes you!”

What? You shake your head, laughing slightly. “No, no, she hates me.”

Enid jumped up and down, squealing. “She likes you!”

“No, she doesn’t.”

Grasping your hands in hers, she beamed at you. “Oh wow, this is such a big day. I mean, I didn’t even know if, wow, I didn’t think this was possible! Ooh, this is so exciting!”

“Enid!” you said sharply, glaring at her until she stopped hopping.

“She doesn’t like me, we’re not even really friends. We just prank each other.”

“Did you not see the way she blushed?” she furrowed her eyebrows.

You thought back. Wednesday had glowered at you, jaw clenched. Her skin was as pale as ever. “No?”

“You’re blind,” Enid giggled. “She was like, bright red for her. She so likes you.”

You shook your head again, mind racing. Could it be? You played back every moment you could remember: each prank, each mean-spirited remark, each heated argument. She had never been anything but stone-faced, her tone never anything more than irritated. Why would she like you?

You could’ve laughed — if it were anyone else, you’d never even dream of asking that question. But it was Wednesday. You had accepted that she’d never want anything from you. You had accepted that.

What if she did like you? Did you like her? Well, she was beautiful, obviously. She had exactly your sense of humor. But you had never really liked someone like that. Enough to flirt, to touch, to go a little farther. But in a truly romantic sense? A genuine sense?

Shit. You liked Wednesday.

You rushed out of the quad, ignoring Enid’s excited questions, and stumbled over your feet as you made your way to Wednesday’s dorm. On the way, you tried to figure out the best way to ask her without activating her fight or flight, without getting punched in the nose for being too forward.

You caught your breath for a few seconds before knocking.

“What do you want?” she asked, glare colder than usual.

You smiled sheepishly, remembering how it felt to be swarmed by hungry bees. “I come in peace, I swear.”

“What do you want?” she repeated.

“Can I come in?”

She rolled her eyes, stepping aside with a huff and letting you enter. You glanced at the pile of new black clothes on her bed and turned to face her as she closed the door.

Suddenly, everything you had planned flew right out of your head. “Um, Enid said, Enid said that you like me?”

Wednesday’s eyes widened, her heart thundering in her chest. Of all the things she expected you to say, that was at the absolute bottom of the list.

“I, I don’t know if that’s true,” you said, pretending like your voice wasn’t shaking. You weren’t sure where all of your usual confidence was. “But, I think I like you too.”

Somehow, this was the most terrifying thing you’d ever experienced. Your hands were shaky, your heart beating so fast it could’ve been vibrating, your mouth dry.

Wednesday took a small, hesitant step towards you, her head tilted up. And, after you forgot how to breathe, her lips met yours. They were soft, and warmer than you expected, and gentle as they moved against yours. Your hands found their way to her face, hers gripped your waist. The moment could’ve lasted minutes or hours; it was all the same. It was only you and her.

“Shit,” you breathed as you pulled away, looking at her with blown pupils. Slowly, you grinned. “I knew you were interested.”

“I’m not above burying you alive, you know,” she said, not a hint of emotion in her voice, before pulling you back in for another kiss.

[syoddeye]

snipe

141 x transmasc!reader | 6k words | part four of spoils CW: noncon, MCD/major character death, predator/prey, restraints, lots of spit, degradation, praise, knives, guns, suicide/suicidal ideation, violence, blood A/N: Cunt, cock, and clit are used to describe genitalia of a trans masc reader’s body. Hit the back and/or block buttons as needed. Reader has body hair and hair long enough to grab. Banner by @/cafekitsune.

Stars dance across your vision before you’re properly awake, head swimming from the impact of hitting solid wood. The ringing in your ears gradually clears to the sound of wheels passing over gravel. Blearily, you roll to your stomach and spread your feet shoulder-width apart for stability, though that is as far as the bindings allow. The rope around your wrists is tighter, rooting them to the base of your spine. Being tied is something you’re accustomed to now, the skin a little rougher at the joints.

The hood is new.

Thin enough to breathe, thick enough to block your sight. The last thing you remember is disrobing for a morning bath.

You sniff. The scent of ripe grapefruit on the stem, sharp and bitter, coats your skin. A fragrance far weaker than the usual oils and perfumes the washers dip you in. You smell clean and sanctified, meaning whatever lies at this journey’s end is sure to be awful.

Laughter and cheer grow closer. Voices overlap, men talking amongst themselves in celebratory and enlivened tones. Thumping hooves and crushed rock keep their words from you. The cart rolls to a stop, and the chatter dies. Then footsteps, heavy but muted thuds on earth. A shrill squeal of a hinge, a shunk, and the floor rocks in place.

Tendrils of an earthy scent and leather seep through the hood, and your nostrils flare. A flash of warning before—a hand hauls you upright onto your knees, and another yanks the fabric roughly from your head. The sun litters your vision with spots, rapidly blinking away as a shadow falls over your face.

John looms. 

“Hello darlin’.”

His eyes drag over your form, his grip shifting to hoist you over a shoulder. You squirm as he adjusts the weight. For a moment, you glimpse a loose row of a dozen men bearing shotguns, various dead wildfowl hanging at their waists. Your stomach draws to your spine in a shocked breath as John ferries you closer, the cart driver, an older man, following. He sets you down facing the men and studies your apparel.

Myrtle green, medium-weight fabric sleeves one shoulder and cuts a dramatic slant down your torso, exposing half of your chest to the air before wrapping around your waist. It falls above your knees, and a brown leather cord cinches it together. Mercifully, someone’s given you shoes—plain things made of the same leather as the belt but sturdy with firm soles.

John traces the sleeve with a sound of approval. You do not count his three, your other tormentors, among the men. A fact that does not quell the boiling uncertainty in your gut.

Your keeper chucks your chin.

“I had a brilliant idea the other week, thinkin’ of your excursion in the gardens. Been some time since you had proper exercise,” He starts, “Today we hunt. A reprise of you playing quarry.”

John shrugs out of a tailored jacket and drapes it over the cart driver’s arm. “The four of us drew lots. Quadrants.” He gestures at the tree line at the bottom of the sloping hill behind you. “You, my darlin’, will have a ten minute headstart signaled by a shot. A second will announce the beginning of our hunt.”

He produces a strip of black leather with a brass closure from a pocket. “The first to find and collar the quarry, wins the right to exclusivity for three days.”

Three days. Three days with any of them.

John pinches your jaw, pressing the collar into bone. “Once you’re in there, you don’t leave ‘til one of us finds you, understood? These men, and others, have orders to shoot should they see your pretty arse take a single step out of the forest’s boundary.” He releases your face, patting your cheek with the brass. “Go to the tree line and wait. I’ll see you soon.”

Your feet feel leaden on the walk to the forest’s edge, struggling to shrug off his confidence. The sun above suggests it’s closer to noon than morning, meaning you must be far from the grounds. Meaningless hope buzzes about your head like a biting fly; you know there is no outrunning them. They’ve fucked the lesson into you countless times. It’s marrow-deep.

While you wait, you shift foot to foot, subtly stretching. John barks a laugh, cheering his men and clinking a snifter. How entertaining it is for him, the revelry of your torture. He catches you staring from the starting line and pats the bundle of rope strapped to his thigh. An eye drops in a wink, and he smirks into his glass. Something clicks into place: If this is a game to them, it must also be one for you. 

They do not expect strategy. They expect the same scared, pliable creature they corner at night. If there is no escape, you must choose the jaws to jump into. The lesser evil, if such a thing exists.

Immediately out of consideration is Simon, the brutalizer. All the power and heft of John in a meaner package without a thimble of mercy. He doesn't call for a servant when he’s finished, and you’ve never slept in his bed. He sends you, limping, into the halls to your rooms.

John is predictable and safer that way, but you’ve seen how he acts in competition, big or small. He already flaunts you like a trophy, seating you in his lap, between his legs, or tucked to his side. He muses openly about fucking you on the table at mealtimes. If he wins, you know he’ll use the occasion as an excuse to finally do it.

Soap is hardly better than Simon in ferocity, favoring teeth and nails to open and mark your body. He’s vocal, eager to condescend, and contorts you into positions he finds amusing. At least he winds down, licking his bites and scratches, massaging muscles. The worst, though, is that he pets your cunt like a cat, calls it one, too. Kitty.

Then there’s Kyle. He’s never taken you alone or slunk into your chambers in the dead of night. John’s invited him to share a handful of times. He seems to prefer...groups. Egging on his companions or keeping your mouth preoccupied. You do not know what three nights alone with him would entail.

No sooner do you make your decision, the starting gun fires. Instinct as old as the land propels you forward into the woods.

The trees swallow you whole.

~~

The temperature drops, the sun blotted out by the canopy. The woods are unfamiliar terrain. You cannot remember when you last visited a forest; if you had, it would’ve been by carriage or palanquin, on the safety of a road, and encircled by a retinue.

Ducking low-hanging branches and leaping over roots, you ruminate on your whiff of a plan. How to ensure Kyle finds you first. Without knowing the scale of the forest or the starting points of the other men, the task is daunting. The hedge maze was a controlled environment, tame and kept, but the woods are hostile, whipping and clawing, and the men, as far as you can tell, are trained for pursuit. Bloodhounds.

You come to a small clearing with a tranquil pond. Its polished green-blue glass surface reflects the trees and the window of sky above. A pang of thirst keenly reminds you of your last refreshment and meal from the night before. The memory invokes the taste of salt and tobacco on your tongue. You hesitate, torn between thirst and fear of stagnancy in more than one way. Still water harbors danger, and the woods will soon host another. You cannot be found retching.

A distant bang, sharp as a cracked whip, echoes. The sound of birds erupting from the canopy in a flurry of wings follows. The forest seems to hold its breath, frozen in the wake of the explosive sound. The reverberation slowly fades, leaving behind an eerie silence more unsettling than the noise itself.

Your heart finds new lodging in your throat.

The hunt is on.

~~

By your best estimation, four hours pass. A miracle, if you still believed in benevolent forces. Instead, an already immense paranoia metastasizes, making you frightened of your own breath. You creep as slow as molasses, but you might as well sprint. Mental exhaustion nibbles at your energy stores, demanding bigger and bigger bites.

Following a deerpath down an embankment, the sound of water brings your thirst front and center again. Hurdling a fallen tree, its decaying and damp wood gives some under your weight with a muted groan. You wince, pausing a moment before reaching the edge of tall grass. On your hands and knees, you swallow at the view. Cold water carves the landscape, beckoning and glinting in the light.

You creep to the bank and dip your hands into the clear, sparkling water,  nearly moaning from relief. The water finds and soothes the cuts and nicks on your fingers and palms. You drink greedily, ignoring the taste, eyes wide and darting. While the fear of falling ill remains, you cannot dehydrate further.

The third handful never makes it to your lips; it splashes on your chin and chest as you clap a hand to your mouth, stifling a screech. Upstream, resting on a log as if sunbathing, is the eviscerated corpse of a rabbit. Protruding from its tiny body, a knife. You throw yourself into the bush.

You wait. No movement from the trees, nothing in either direction of the stream’s course. It’s from one of them, and you know who among them favors knives. Simon. He’s been here. Close. 

The sun bounces off the blade and excises a thought—you could defend yourself. Do the hurting for once. 

Stealthing through the brush, you stare at the creature from across the water. Dead for a few hours, long enough that the gore is cooled. The decision is torturous. Terrified, you dash and hop over the stream, grab the handle, and continue. The rabbit’s corpse slides off with a wet noise, dropping to the ground as you jog.

You skid to a halt some distance away and duck behind a tree. A glance back reveals no pursuant; the foliage barely looks disturbed by your flight. Wiping it clean on moss, you examine the weapon. A four inch blade mounted on a polished wood handle, and sure enough, the letter ‘G’ is burned beneath the bolster. ‘Ghost’, a nickname John occasionally uses. A misnomer, you think, given how Simon never lets you forget where he is on the grounds. Stomping around, jeering, and crooning whenever you’re near. Whistling like you’re a dog.

And as if summoned by thought alone, sharp, shrill, and piercing—

Your head whorls on your shoulders. Endless green in every direction, trunks thick enough to obscure a giant—another whistle, closer. It echoes like the first. Disorienting. Yet you smell him before you see him as if he’s stepped upwind, probably on purpose.

A twig snaps, and you take off. 

He follows. The unmistakable thuds of his boots on the forest floor, too heavy to be anyone else. It hits you, vaulting over a log, that his pace is intentionally slow. Relaxed. Meant to wear and walk you down. How long has he been watching? A bleak question you want no answer to.

Tearing into a thin, narrow clearing, an alley of open space, you veer right toward a rocky outcropping. Two paces in, and your foot hooks an unseen root, hurtling you forward into a rough slide. The knife flies out of your hand, perhaps for the better. Your palms rip open, slivers shunting beneath your fingernails. Not a single sound leaves your mouth—pain is second to fear. Flipping to your back to push up, you freeze.

Clad head-to-toe in camouflage, with smears of paint coating the few places exposing his skin, Simon hovers in the tree line with a new, olive-colored mask fixed to his jaw. Through its cracked teeth, his lips move.

“Have a good run?”

His steps resemble a tiger’s loping confidence, unhurried and languid. No need to posture or bare his teeth; his bulk does the talking. Whatever light filters through the canopy is smothered in his dark eyes. The brutalizer, all solid and sharp edges, a mountain of a man seeking subjugation. The only struggle he must know is deciding how to take you apart. You scramble backward and clumsily grab the discarded knife.

“Don’t hurt yourself, snipe. That’s my job.”

A mitt disappears into a pocket then retracts with a metallic clink. A heavy chain choker dangles between his fingers, thick welded links with all of its burrs intact, a crude thing of his own design. How he must’ve labored to fashion it, imagined how it’d feel around your neck. What he must’ve pictured.

Surely not nine inches of steel disappearing into his stomach.

Simon doubles over with a guttural noise. The collar slips from his fingers, and John emerges from the trees to your right, his brows lowered in a menacing glare. Striding quickly, his fingers wrap around a second blade, not so much as glancing in your direction. Simon staggers to his feet, one hand gripping the offending blade's hilt, the other reaching for one of his own. He turns in time to meet John head-on.

You do not stick around for the outcome but look back as you reach the trees. Simon lurches, barely held at bay by John, and bellows something primal and incoherent. It rattles your very core, bouncing off each rib with the reminder: Hunting is a blood sport.

The sound of the fight fades as you run. 

After scrabbling down a steep gully and to the other side, you look for a hiding place. The hollow at the trunk of an elm all but rolls out a welcome mat, and you dive into its dark. Batting away cobwebs and tucking your legs into the cramped space, you suck in deep breaths. Your lungs scream for air, heartbeat in your ears. Every part of you shakes. The initial rush of the chase and escape ebbs away, leaving the burn of your muscles and the pulsing warmth of the gash in your left hand. Your good hand trembles as you cut a strip of tunic to crudely staunch and wrap the wound.

The hollow is dry, sheltered, and passably comfortable—circumstances aside. As you allow your muscles some respite and your heart rate to return to a baseline panic, you realize this is the first time off your feet since the cart. Exhaustion creeps over your shoulders like a warm blanket and whispers sweet lies of safety into your ears. Your mind does its best to keep you awake, but your body begs for compromise. The sleep that falls over you is fragile and whisper-thin, a veil.

~~

Distant voices wake you with a jolt, growing louder by the second. You wipe the sleep from your eyes with a knuckle and peek. Shadows dapple the ground, and rays of gold and amber of sunset streak through the canopy. The stiff muscles of your legs protest as you shift and strain to listen. You expect John or a wounded Simon; instead, a thick brogue trades barbs with the smooth timbre you hoped to hear all day.

Several minutes pass until they come into view.

Kyle and Soap a fair distance apart, fanned out and sweeping. It’s a far cry from the violent clash between Simon and John. Is working as a team allowed? John said three days of ‘exclusivity’, the prize of the hunt. Did they strike an agreement?

You hold your breath. Kyle strides ten meters from the elm. His suit is strange; you would not recognize him if it wasn’t for his voice. A cloak resembling the forest floor sweeps the ground, fastened to his back. It curves overhead, drooping low to cover the top half of his face. If he wasn’t moving, the mottled patterns of green and brown would render him near-invisible. You shudder at the thought and look past to Soap, who is, interestingly, clothed entirely in black, seemingly uncaring about camouflage. His gear absorbs the dying light of sunset.

You need to get Kyle’s attention and fast. 

Without taking your eyes off the men, you blindly feel for and pluck a pebble from the hollow’s floor and silently slide a foot out of the opening. You take aim at a nearby tree.

“Tav, I see something!” Kyle suddenly yells, pointing to an unseen space beyond his companion, and the men break into a run. You stumble after and nearly cry out, biting back a curse when they disappear into the lengthening shadows. 

When you no longer see nor hear them, you return to the hollow. Perhaps they’ll double-back and—

“I thought you might be near, snipe.” 

You whip around.

Kyle stalks toward you, his chest heaving from exertion. “Had an inkling.” He pushes his hood off, the sight of his focus unnerving in the low light. He’s more deliberate in his approach than Simon, curving his mouth in an easy grin like he’s not going to collar you like a wayward dog. A grin that has nothing to do with kindness. Gooseflesh rises on your skin.

“I see you found my knife.” He nods at your hand. “Thought I’d be nice.”

Your stomach churns at how he emphasizes nice. You turn the knife experimentally, the handle an inch too big to fit comfortably in your grasp. ‘G’ for ‘Gaz’; a clever red herring.

Kyle exhales, his smile sharpening into a smirk. “I admit I was curious to see what you’d do with it. I’m disappointed, snipe,” He advances, tutting when you retreat. “You’re either stupid, or you don’t hate us as much as you think you do.”

A breeze rolls over your naked shoulder, and you shiver, brows furrowing. “What?”

His eyes drop to your waist, then bounce to the knife. “You didn’t try to hang yourself with your belt, nor did you slit your own throat. Didn’t even risk getting shot.”

Kyle’s words stew your insides. You hadn’t thought of that method of escape. Was it stupidity? Naivety?

You know what it is. Hope. Like a cold you can’t shake. Protean and irrepressible. 

He holds a collar aloft. A rich, deep blue velvet comes alive in a sliver of light, its plush texture shimmering. Somehow you think it will be the softest thing you’ll see in Kyle’s company. The tinkling of the tiny bell fixed to its front an alarm. A third starting shot. The moment he intentionally shakes it, you turn tail and run.

~~

You hate these men. Loathe them. Fuck what Kyle said.

“Running will only tire you out, love,” he calls out playfully. ”And when I catch you—and I will catch you—it’ll just make things worse for yourself.”

To think you wanted him to be the winner.

Bolting into a lower area of the forest, the air is damp with fog. The ground softens beneath your feet, and it’s a step too late when you realize why. Your left foot plunges into mud, swallowing it to the ankle. Panic lights your veins like a spark meeting gunpowder, igniting every nerve ending as Kyle’s laughter dies abruptly. You curse, struggling to pull free, but each yank sucks the boot deeper. The cool, sticky mire oozes around the leather, making a messy suction noise with every tug. You wrench your foot free with a final kick, but the boot is lost.

You flounder over the muck to the solid ground of a meadow, eyes scanning the path ahead. They seize upon a massive nurse log, its void half-covered by a moss curtain, and you reroute. Diving, you crawl into the tunnel until you can’t go any further. You twist to your back and peer through the fissures in the wood to the outside. Quieting your breathing proves impossible, sheer terror ratcheting your heart rate at the sound of approaching footsteps. An insect with too many legs scurries up your tunic, but you do not dare move.

“Creative, I’ll give you that, but you can’t hide. Not from me.” Kyle chides, stopping beside your hiding spot. “You forget how I found you the day we met.” He speaks ponderously, probably thinking of how to flush you out. The damp wood bends beneath his boot as he steps onto the log, bouncing and testing it. “It’s poetic that I find you again…Ah, there.”

He’s silent, hovering over your concealed form, then steps off. 

There’s a rush of air before something slams into the bark, and the decaying wood splits with a sickening crack. Debris rains down on you, but you watch, frozen in horror, helpless, as Kyle violently opens the tree. He raises and swings something down, breaking your shelter open like any skilled durophage seeking a prize. His face gradually becomes clearer, the sclera of his eyes bright and irises burning. 

Kyle tosses his tool and cloak to press a knee to the ruined sanctuary. You swipe desperately with the knife, but he snatches your wrist. “Now, snipe, be good.” With a twist, he wrests it from you and sends it flying. He hauls you upright into a seated position and brings the length of velvet to your neck. “Blue suits you.”

It’s a futile thing, the fight. Victory is out of reach, just like your knife. Still, you kick. Push. Claw uselessly against the tough material of his clothes. A slip in your defense allows him to press the collar firmly to your airway. The pressure chokes a wheeze out of you, and his eyes narrow. Another push, and he’ll have you.

And then, gradually appearing overhead, a striped face, unnaturally iridescent eyes, looming—

Hooking Kyle’s neck with one arm and head with the other, Soap tucks his chin over a shoulder, grinning. “Hi, kitty. Is he troubling you?” He pulls Kyle off, laughing when you clamber up and out of the splintered log.

An awful thwack and subsequent thud spurs you onward. The man most likely to eat you piecemeal is going to get you. Have you. For three days. Discordant cackling, crunching leaves—your vision tunnels into the dark woods. Stupid, stupid hope.

Soap’s legs eat up the ground with a predator’s grace.

No, no, no.

An arm ensnares your waist and yanks, dragging you back into a solid mass. A tongue immediately licks from the crook of your naked shoulder up to a spot behind your ear. Wrestling you to the ground, Soap collapses his weight over you into the grass, fixing his torso to your spine. Your arms trapped underneath the combined weight, he lazily rolls his hips with a groan. He’s hard, worked up.

“Yield.” He hisses with a harsh dig of his hips, and when you don’t, he sets his teeth to your neck and bites.

A howl rips from your throat, and Soap chokes it off by shunting something under your windpipe. He curls a broad, coarse strap of fabric over the fresh wound and cinches it. Surfacing after a surreal wave of pain, you jerk at the sound of a shackle clicking into a lock.

“There we go.” Soap hoists you to your knees, fixing the collar until the small padlock fastening it sits in the notch of your throat. His eyes positively glitter when he works a fingertip underneath, rubbing it back and forth. “All mine.” A groan diverts his attention, the momentum making you stumble after him.

“You fucking madman.” Kyle spits, rubbing his neck as he stands, a bit unsteady on his feet. “I had them.”

Soap swings you around to his front, shoving you to your knees in the center of the meadow. He unzips his vest and withdraws a bright orange, snub-nosed pistol. “Aye, had—sit still, kitty—but it’s over.” He ignores the other man’s complaints, eyes flicking down as he fires. 

The flare soars into the twilight, leaving a fiery trail in its wake. Your captor, backlit by the glow, haloed as he heralds your defeat. Soap holds your gaze, licking his teeth until the light dissipates.

“Garrick. Build us a fire.”

~~

Revulsion hotter than the bonfire at your back burns in your belly. Jaw aching and throat raw, you stare at the four shadows passing a flask. John grips Soap’s shoulder, gesturing in your direction with a cigar, voices low in a conspiratorial tone. 

Simon glares daggers from his place on a fallen tree, a broad hand over the mass of fabric tied to his abdomen. He drinks the deepest, but Kyle is a close second. It had been Kyle’s idea, shared while he built the fire, that Soap christen his victory with your mouth. He was the one to tell Soap to tie your hands to your collar, too.

Your lips are puffy and swollen, covered in dry spittle from Soap’s conciliatory, wet kisses.

A loud clap and a snicker breaks you from your stupor. Eyes rolling in their sockets, refocusing, you watch John push Soap toward you. His vest long discarded, he reaches over his shoulders and pulls his shirt off, grinning, insufferably smug. Willfully misreads your staring. 

“Like what you see?”

Soap drops to a knee, lifts you by the rope, and forces his lips to yours in another mockery of a kiss. All to drop you onto the dewy grass, flicking open a knife to unceremoniously part you from your clothes. The draping fabric comes away in large swathes, the cool air chilling your sweat-slicked body. He sighs and drags a finger from your collarbone to your navel, tracing a circle around the divot, then continuing to the regrowing thatch covering the pad of fat above your sex. His lip curls at how you wince at his fingers, tangling and pulling the coarse hairs.

“Open ‘em,” he orders, sighing almost wistfully when you do, releasing the mean hold in your curls to drag a meaner knuckle down your seam. He stares at your cunt long enough that the shape of him becomes plain in his pants. With a grunt, he adjusts and leans closer, whispering conspiratorially as if you’re an accomplice, not a captive. “They keep callin’ you ‘snipe’ but that’s not what you are. My kitty. Sweet, fuckin’ kitty.”

It’s not often you talk back, no point to it, but Soap brings it out of you. 

“Don’t call me that—I’m not—“

His palm strikes like a cobra, the full width and fury of it slapping your cunt. You bite off the scream as fast as you can, pain white hot, but the titters of laughter say not fast enough. 

“Say again? Hmm? Thought so, kitty.”

Simon’s deep grumble floats through the flames, but the slap’s sting is slow to diffuse. Whatever is said, it prompts Soap to stand and strip. The flames dance across muscle and mass, and it’s then you think, pointedly turning your cheek in the grass, if there’s a way to sour his victory.

Soap makes a noise in the back of his throat when he knocks your legs open wider, spitting twice. One’s a bullseye to your cunt, a warm glob followed by the rough pad of a finger. He chuckles at your reflexive wriggling, spreading it over your hole. You’re already wet enough, no bottom to your body’s traitorous instincts—this is all part of Soap’s routine. Teeth. Tongue. Spit. 

There’s no pomp and circumstance, no triumphant speech you imagined a smug bastard like him would recite, just a single tap of his cock to yours, then he’s pushing in with a steady plunge that takes and takes. Despite how many times he’s had you, how they’ve all had you, the stretch is a punishing test every time. He retreats for half a second then barges in again, fucking into you, setting the tone.

It’s a long march to the brink. Blood lingers on your tongue and lips, having bit through them at the start from his fervor. It mixes with the saliva that drips from his mouth, long strings of it, glinting in the firelight. He’s practically foaming at the mouth, face twisted in an anger he’s too impassioned to hide. All because you haven’t made a sound louder than a single, pained breath. 

He’s tried hard, short strokes. Deep and slow. His frustration is as thick as the mist gathering in the trees above, but even that burns off with the fire. 

“C’mon, kitty. Not like you to hold back.” He pants, warm breath fanning over your face, his chest pressed to yours and arms bracketing your head. 

His companions remain close by. John attends to Simon between his legs, occupied, but Kyle—he’s happy to play heckler. “Chase take it out of you, Tav?”

Soap doesn’t respond, not to him, but drops his mouth to your ear. “Tryin’ to make a fool outta me?” He nips at the lobe. “Hm? Think you can steal from me? Keep quiet?”

“Forget their cock?” Kyle croons. 

He did out of selfishness, you think, and so did you, out of necessity. You’ve ignored the throbbing ache, pushed it to the far corners of your mind, treating the friction of his body as an annoyance rather than a source of pleasure. You’re helpless to watch realization pass over his reddened face, your wrists wrenched up to your neck.

“That it?” The blue of Soap’s eyes blacken slowly like the wick of a candle. Smoldering. He lifts off, settling onto his haunches, cock buried and twitching. Dog wagging its tail at the mere suggestion of a bone. He spits again and glides a hand over a thigh to rectify his mistake.

“No,” You rasp, throat dry from disuse. The sudden attention of his fingers on your engorged clit is electric, hurtling its ignored wanting to the forefront. “Fuck, no.”

Soap smirks and resumes thrusting with a renewed vigor, clumsily toying with your cock but spinning you up nonetheless. “Aye, there it is.” He snarls, shoving and adjusting slightly for a deeper angle. He crows with delight, finally punching noise from your lungs. 

It’s not often you protest, long past the point of it, but Soap—his barbarity, his hubris—it triggers something awful.

“Don’t touch me!” You snarl, jerking your own head and neck painfully, trying to claw at him. Your hands don’t make it past your bent knees. “I’ll fucking kill–”

A squeeze bordering on harsh around your dick cuts off the threat. 

Soap tuts, showing too many teeth as he bucks. Sweat from exertion and the fire’s heat drips from his temple to his chin, dropping somewhere onto your skin. “From silent to this, all your hissin’ ‘s just music to my ears, kitty.”

Your protests fade to ragged pants as Soap continues, a hard-fought and equally resisted overwhelming pleasure rendering you wordless. A tremor shudders through your body with a deliberate shift and targeted stroke of that unbearably sweet spot inside of you. Your back arches involuntarily off of the ground, eyes wrenching shut as the back of your head digs into the grass. Trapped and useless, your hands twitch. The grate of the collar a cruel tether.

His mouth claims yours once again, lips crushing together—broken moans spilling out from deep within your throat against his mouth. His fingers are deft things, milking sound and slick out of you. An intense, telltale pressure tightens like a coiled spring poised to snap.

Your nails dig into your skin, desperately holding onto the last fragments of control. 

“Give it, kitty,” Soap demands. “Give it here, you fuckin’ wildcat, be a good bo—”

A spark to a powder keg, fire licking at dry tinder. You white out, burning alive.

~~

You come to, impaled.

Kyle, down on one knee, tips your head back. He smiles at your recognition. “Yeah, they’re alive.”

His image bobs up and down. It takes a moment to piece together why.

Soap’s hauled you into his lap, cradling your legs in the crook of a thick arm, bouncing you with short, angry upward thrusts. The wet sound obscene and telling, the combined spend splattering between you. Your bound hands barely clasp over his bicep to hold on, back aching in discomfort, belly crushed. There is no corner of your cunt he does not find and mold to his liking at this angle. He ruts, groping and twisting your flat chest and nipples with his free hand.

He raggedly pants into your ear, nipping your neck when his movements jostle you into him. Filth streams from his lips, his wretched glee stitched into every word. Squeezing me good, fuckin’ mine, gonna be too loose for them after this.

“Cut the rope,” Soap suddenly commands. 

You catch a glimmer of uncertainty in Kyle’s eyes, quickly replaced by a smirk. 

“You sure?”

“Fight’s almost fucked out of them.”

“Slow down a tic, then.” Kyle chuckles, withdrawing a knife from his hip. He kisses the air in front of your face as he pulls the cord taut on the edge of the blade, sawing it until it snaps. 

The force knocks your back into Soap’s chest, and your hands fall to his thighs and brace.

Soap hisses in pleasure, nuzzling into the crook of your neck.

“You’re welcome,” Kyle murmurs, eyes locked to yours before retreating toward John and Simon, their positions reversed.

“Fought so hard and for what, wildcat?” Muffled into your skin, he prattles, tacking on a few more nothings. 

With Soap, he always reaches a point of near-incoherency. Fucks like he eats at the table. Messy, territorial, loud, and doesn’t know when to stop, to the point of overindulgence. A glutton.

It’s a running joke among his companions. Simon once said he needed a bib given his propensity to drool and spit. Put a plate of something tasty in front of him and he might as well be blind to—

Firelight bounces off something shiny in the grass. Your heart thunders at the sight. Balanced on a curled tuft of grass, the handle pointed toward you, is Kyle’s knife. Gaz’s knife.

Thought I’d be nice. 

I was curious to see what you’d do with it.

You can’t see his face now, but the message is clear. 

It takes some convincing, a few dramatic moans and a reciprocated praise that makes you want to tear your own bloody tongue out, but Soap eventually relinquishes your legs. Spine screaming, you flop into the grass face-first, tucking the knife under your chest. His fingers dig into the meat of your hips, lost in the pathetic cries you give him. 

It’s persuasive enough he doesn’t fight you when you motion to roll to your back. His eyes screwed shut in pleasure, stuttering, balls slapping against your soaked skin. Fully consumed.

You tug on a bit of chest hair and lure him into an open-mouthed kiss. He tastes like grapefruit. Faintly. The scent that coated your skin that morning. 

You cut him like one.

The knife sinks into his carotid, disappearing, then you yank it free and do it again. Soap jerks wildly, thrashing violently. Wet, gurgling curses and screams rip out of him as he struggles. He slips out of your warmth, buckling over onto you as blood pours from his neck. It’s adrenaline that pushes him off. You stagger to your feet, ignoring the rush of fluids from between your legs, and watch him writhe in the dirt. 

He slowly stills.

“Knew I liked him.” 

The deep gravel of Simon’s voice lifts your gaze. The three men rise from their perches, John discreetly wiping his mouth. 

“That’ll be fifty, sir.” Gamboling over with an impish smile, Kyle clicks his tongue at Soap’s corpse. “Well done, snipe.” He takes the knife from your hand, shock surrendering it easily.

Kyle throws an arm around your blood-soaked shoulders, laughing softly at your slack jawed expression. He admires the body like a painting then releases you. 

“Don’t worry, snipe. He’ll come to in a few hours. In the meantime,” He smacks a cheek. “You might want to start running.”

Tearing naked through the forest, their echoing laughs remind you once more.

Hunting is a blood sport.

[nsfw-lone-wolf-nergiganos]

hey there! i'd like to request a nsfw oneshot :D

yandere if that is okay, but soft yandere.

top - scaramouche/wanderer

bottom - trans male reader

i am 19, and go by he/him. thank you!

Sure Anon, your request is approved 💙😁

Soft Yandere Top! Scaramouche/Wanderer X Bottom! Trans Male Reader Nsfw

Warnings: fingering, overstimulation, degrading kinks

You were on your way back home after hanging out with your friends, and you had a great time. When you've made it home you were greeted by none other than your boyfriend, Scaramouche.

"Where have you been?" Scaramouche asked, "just hanging out with my friends," you replied. "Hmph, you could've just told me before you left," Scaramouche said while crossing his arms. You smirked at him before saying, "did you miss me?~" "Of course I did," he replied while kissing you gently. You kissed him back before he touched your chin gently to look up at him since he is slightly taller than you. He then began to whisper in your ear, "since you wanted to leave unannounced, I am going to teach you a lesson."

You smirked at him once again before saying, "oh, teach me a lesson then, daddy~." After you said that Scaramouche pushed you on the bed before tearing your clothes off, "oh, is daddy mad?~" You asked teasingly, "of course I am slut, you left without telling me." After he said that he began to put two fingers in your cunt harshly, this made you moan very loud.

"Do you love this?~" Scaramouche asked while moving his fingers in your cunt in a fast pace, "I d-do~," you moaned. You felt like cumming already, but you tried your best not to since you know that Scaramouche doesn't like it when you cum too early, and that would only result in him destroying your cunt until you pass out. But you really don't mind if he does that, you actually love it when he treats you like a slut.

"More daddy!~" You moaned while sticking your tongue out, "as you wish~," Scaramouche replied before moving his fingers in your cunt even faster, this made you moan even louder.

This went on for over ten minutes before you eventually began to cum on his fingers, Scaramouche then took his fingers out of your cunt. "Had enough already?" He asked, you began panting a little bit before saying, "maybe, maybe not, daddy~."

[kekaki-cupcakes]

Hey !

Hope ure doing good

I like AU and I wondered if u could please do a leo valdez x reader fic

Like...They live in the same apartment at the same floor and they see each other frequently in the corridors, and with the time they create an affinity

I have emerged from my cave. hello world. <3.

Leo Valdez x Reader--- Mortal/Apartment AU

»»————-　★　————-««

“...Hi?” You said, hitching your tote bag, the Kiki’s delivery service-patterned one, back onto your shoulder. It always fell down when you were walking down the front steps, past the skinny stray cat who slept underneath the mailboxes. Everyone in the building had named her Stick Insect. 

It was in a loving way. You hoped. 

Leo made an odd wheezing sound that sounded a lot like a beached whale taking its last breath as he dragged one of those old-fashioned red waggons behind him. He wiped his hands on his green army jacket, the one with all the jangly badges you could hear coming from a mile off. 

Your favourite was the Minecraft TNT one, underneath the trans flag pin, and one that just simply said ‘BBS’. You didn’t quite know what that meant. 

He grinned at you brightly, despite his shaky arms, and lugged the wagon of cardboard boxes and what seemed to be an entire chunk of golden sheet metal along the pavement.

»»————-　★　————-««

“Hi,” you said, holding the door open a second longer than necessary so that Leo could lug his giant cardboard box through. You still hadn’t figured out what he kept in all those boxes and bags.

“Hey!” he said, and bumped straight into a doorway with a red face. Then he scurried up the stairs and left you in the liminal space that was the empty apartment complex hallway after ten p.m. 

You stood there for a moment, and then realised you were still smiling.

»»————-　★　————-««

Shit. Shit. 

You were running so late. I mean, technically, it wasn’t your fault you were going to miss the start of your favourite classes ever. Your alarm clock, one of those old-fashioned red ones [it was also missing one of the bubble things on top and only rang on one side until it vibrated itself off your bedside table], hadn’t gone off in time this morning and began ringing loudly at nine thirty instead of seven thirty. 

You tossed your apple core into the little waste paper basket by the big hallway windows, and searched your pockets for your keys. Shit. 

“Hey,” Leo said, from where he was unlocking his door. He was room 7. He also had massive bags under his eyes, you noticed. You also noticed that his eyes were the prettiest glowing brown when the morning sun shone through the windows.

You blinked, forgetting why your hands were in your pockets. You probably looked like an idiot. “Uh, hi.”

He looked away, scratching the back of his neck. “Sorry… if your power went out at some point last night…? That might’ve been me.”

“Can you, like, control electricity or something?” You asked with a laugh. 

This was the first time you’d exchanged more than a few words since you’d asked for his name when you watched a very loud girl dressed solely in Olivia Rodrigo merch yell at a confused white guy to ‘pivot’, as he carried a complicated looking egg chair up the stairs. 

Leo shook his head. “Nah, I wish. ‘Was just... working on a project... And I may have blown up my power sockets. And the street lamp.”

“What are you building in there?” You asked, “A moving castle?”

»»————-　★　————-««

Your friend burped in your ear—in quite a disgusting way, may you add—and stumbled forward, arm slung over your shoulders. You roll your eyes at their inability to walk like a normal person after only three shots and pull your phone out of your pocket. After a few tries at putting your password in, 1989, you manage to unlock it. You’ve got charms hanging off the clear case—little soot sprites that swirl in your vision as you blink forcefully. 

The Uber’s on the street now, so you heaved your door shut behind you, room 4, and began to trudge down the staircase. There’s a new scorch mark on the third from the bottom step, and you picture a dragon stomping up after his 9-5. 

You tried to hold in a laugh, only to fail. Your friend giggled loudly, the laughter contagious, and faceplanted. 

“Fuck, dude,” you heard, and then turned to see Leo standing by his door, three raspberry slushies in his arms. It was the first time he hadn’t been lugging canvas bags or wooden crates in a while. 

He nodded. “Metal.” 

“Shut up!” you chuckle, wiping your brow. You reach down and pick up your friends floppy arms as they begin to snooze diagonally. The taste of vodka and pineapples rose in your throat. “Come on, get up!”

Leo peeked over the stair bannister. 

Nosy little bugger. Cute, nosy little bugger, you corrected yourself. Then you frowned, watching him blink owlishly and blush from the roots. You didn’t say that out loud, right?

“Uh, yes,” Leo squeaked, “you did.” 

»»————-　★　————-««

You carried the coffee cups as you walked up the stairs, eyes on your phone while you texted your friend to stop watching reruns of Brooklyn Nine Nine and get onto the word doc. 

The group project was due tonight, and the lazy bugger was stress-obsessing over Gina Lenetti, the human form of the one hundred emoji.

You slid your phone into the back pocket of your jeans, soot sprites catching on the denim, and fished out your keys once you reached your door. Another one banged shut further down the hall. You stuck your keys into the lock. “Hi.”

“Hey!” Leo panted, still in his pyjamas, and raced out of the building.

You rolled your eyes and grinned.

»»————-　★　————-««

“You’re gonna have to tell me what you’re doing with all of this junk,” you said cheerfully, moving your eyes in sync with the black and white cat clock hanging on the wall. 

You turned away when you got dizzy, taking in the piles of things balanced precariously around you like a steampunk library. Vintage machines like typewriters, telephones with the spinning number circles, and record players—the ones that have that big tuba shape sticking out the top—.

Drills and hammers were scattered on the layers of cute little rugs, posters from animes you hadn’t seen yet stuck to the walls, and a lot of Polaroid pictures. You picked one up. 

The two people you’d seen helping Leo move in a few months ago were grinning at the camera with Mickey Mouse hats on. 

“It’s not junk!” Leo looked up from the pile of jackets—black and white chequered ones, a giant purple hoodie, and one with flames up the sleeves—that he was hastily shoving off a mustard-coloured armchair. 

“Sorry,” you apologised with a laugh. “You’ll have to tell me what you’re doing with all those bits and bobs.”

He ran a hand through his dark, curly hair. “Okay, okay, but you can’t dob me into the landlord.”

“I would never,” you said, completely serious. Leo stared at you for a moment, his eyes all weird-looking. They made your chest feel like Ponyo, floating around and grinning. 

Then he looked away nervously. You smile and look away too. Leo’s kitchen, in the same spot as yours, with the same apartment layout, could not look any more different from yours. 

There were coloured magnets moved into swear words on the fridge and golden, oily instant coffee machines in parts on the bench. 

Your kitchen had jam jars of little flowers and chocolate-covered almonds scattered around the collection of salt and pepper shakers you’d inherited from some badass old aunt. You had matching sets of penguins, mushrooms, and creepy baby dolls, all filled with salt and pepper. 

“Sure…” Leo shoved some empty take-out boxes into his bin.

He looked at you with a wide smirk. He led you through to what you’d made into a spare room for your friends, and opened the door triumphantly. “Come on through... to Leo Land!”

You stepped around the door, even though you could’ve looked through the wide hole in it if you really wanted to. A hulking metal form was hanging from a wooden stand in the centre of the room, with wires and coils hanging out of it. 

More collections of scrap metal folded up into shapes that could be claws or grabber machines, maybe, were sitting on benches between spray cans of gold paint. 

Welding material, or at least that’s what they looked like, took up a corner, sparks flying. 

You narrowed your eyes at Leo, finally realising why he had so many tears in his cargo pants and paper clips in his jacket sleeves. “Leo…”

“Yah?”

“Are you perhaps building a bomb?”

“No!” Leo scoffed, literally hugging a giant metal boot to his chest like it was his baby. Except the boot had green eyes. “This is Festus!”

“A foetus?” you asked, wondering how deranged this pretty boy was, despite his cool old-fashioned toys, big jackets, and need for multiple slushies at a time. “Are you feeling okay?”

Leo rolled his brown eyes at you. “Festus is a dragon! Well, he's not a dragon yet; he’s just a torso, a half-done head, and a bunch of feet. He’s got nine feet right now, cause I haven’t been able to replicate a working one more than once.”

“You’re building a giant metal dragon in your spare room?”

“Well, it sounds stupid when you say it like that.”

“You’re so cool.”

»»————-　★　————-««

“Hey querida,” Leo said, kissing you on the cheek before you grabbed your mail from the boxes outside the building, waved to Stick Insect the skinny cat, and ran to your car. 

Stupid broken alarm clock.

“...Heyyy.” 

»»————-　★　————-««

“Mi amor!”

You turned around on the couch, putting down your takeout box of noodles [from the good place near the park where the old dude who plays chess against anyone who walks past lives]. “Yah?”

Leo came trudging into the lounge, slash kitchen, with your bright red alarm clock in his arms, all parts attached. “Fixed!”

He plopped down on the couch next to you, squashing the lion squishmellow that had been ripped open in the back, and showed you the now shiny metal and matching bits on the top, with that stupid little grin of his. 

You kissed the top of his nose and took the clock from his greasy, scarred [incredibly nice-looking] hands. “Thank you.”

The TV crackled in front of you both, balancing on the stack of old record players Leo was repairing for the second-hand store full of goths and old ladies down the street. You put the little alarm clock down near your feet and pulled out the strawberry-patterned blanket Piper’s girlfriend crocheted you both for Christmas. 

Leo leant over and curled his arm around your waist, laying half across you like a cat in the sun. You sat up a little, as he fiddled with the remote he’d added far too many buttons to for no reason at all. "Here, stick insect, kitty! Stick insect, here, kitty!”

Little padding sounds came from the hallway, and then the chubby, spotted cat launched herself over the back of the couch and onto Leo’s shoulder. 

He shreiked and headbutted you as Stick Insect hopped over and sat between you both, plopped down in loaf position, fluffy feet hidden. Leo sniffed haughtily and sank into the hug you gave him. Stick Insect began chewing on the necklace around your neck, the blue teardrop one Leo had made you a while ago. You kissed his forehead, stroking the cat's soft forehead gently.

He turned the TV on, looking up at you with sparkling eyes. “Howl, or Kiki?”

»»————-　★　————-««

I HAVE A PJO EVENT GOING ON RIGHT PLEASE GO INTERACT YOU CAN REQUEST ANYTHING JUST CHECK THE POST <3 <3

[foggyforest4169]

can i get ghost and soap x trans masc reader that's also part of task force 141? i love your work <3333

Yo wassup! I kinda forgot about tumblr with the stress of school but sure I’ll give it a shot!

SO I was thinking maybe a little bit of angst because I'm feeling devious >:) Hope you enjoy this!

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'𝙰𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚎𝚊𝚖' 𝙼𝚊𝚕𝚎!𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚡 𝚂𝚒𝚖𝚘𝚗 '𝙶𝚑𝚘𝚜𝚝' 𝚁𝚒𝚕𝚎𝚢 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝙹𝚘𝚑𝚗𝚗𝚢 '𝚂𝚘𝚊𝚙' 𝙼𝚊𝚌𝚃𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚜𝚑

You were of the plane back to base with the rest of task force 141 after a difficult mission that nearly failed. You were being guided by another person watching the security cameras. Well the mission nearly failed since the guy told you the wrong turn and you found yourself fighting atleast ten of Hassan's men. Luckily you made it out with a few marks, nothing some bandages couldn't fix but the tension on the plane was bad.

"You know y/n... it's your fucking fault that we nearly lost that mission... I told you to take a fucking right and you took a left" Someone said with such a bitterness in his voice, stressed from the mission and needy to put the blame on someone.

"What? You told me to take a left so don't blame me for your mistake, you lead me to Hassan's men" You said make as you could see the look on his face... pissed. He stayed silent for a while biting his bottom lip trying to keep his mouth shut, but the anger and stress was too much and he couldn't

"You know what... people like you shouldn't even be allowed on the team. This team is made up of real men not people like you. God I bet Price just felt pity because you tried so hard, drawing your beard on, deepening your voice and taking them shots. You are not a real guy. you never will be" He said as the plane fell silent, his words laced with venom as they hit you like bullets in the most vulnerable places. Your fists clenched as you just looked at him, tears of anger forming in your eyes while he chuckled at you. "What? Is the poor tra-"

"ENOUGH!" Ghost yelled at him as he shut up, ghost looking at you while you just stared at the ground cracking your knuckles. Why would he say such a thing? Has he always felt this way? He was meant to be your teammate... and he's just said all that.

The plane landed and you stormed off to your room at base, slamming and locking the door as you swallowed the lump in your throat. You'd always struggled with your emotions and it helped in the army but you wanted to see as manly as possible so you took it as 'Men dont cry, if they do they're weak'. So you put your headphones on and listened to yours, Ghost's and Soap's song, Boys don't cry by The Cure. It always gave you that bit of comfort and distraction while you sat in your room and just calmed yourself down, bandaging up some wounds from earlier.

Soon there was a knock on the door and a familiar voice. "Y/n let me in now" The gruff voice of Ghost said as he knocked on the door. You knew you couldn't avoid him so you sighed and opened the door, him and Johnny outside as they made their way in. Once they were in the door closed and greeted you with a tight hug while you just stood there

"Am I disgusting..." You whispered as they pulled away shocked

"Why would you say that? You're not disgusting at all" Johnny said as he held your face while Simon had already gone to report to Price about what happened

"Well I mean like he said... I'm not a real guy... jus-" You tried to speak but were soon interrupted by Johnny

"Aye shut it, you're a man. You know that, I know that, Si knows that. You're our boyfriend now shut up and put that film on we were watching before the mission handsome" He said with a smile as he kissed your head. Soon Ghost came back and he gave you a hug while Soap went to go write an incident report. His rough hands rubbing your back as you rested your head on his shoulder

"Come on we can get in bed and listen to our song while we wait for johnny" He said as he kissed your head. Once Johnny was back you all watches a movie, cuddled up and relaxing as Ghost held your face and chuckled a bit "You need a shave you look like Price" He said as he made you laugh a bit, looking at Johnny feeling better knowing you felt better know

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Thank you so much for reading this! Im sorry if its a bit shit, you get a bit rusty after 5 months. Anyway leave some suggestions because I have 0 ideas, Bye!!

[albinowolf16504]

Our Boy ~ Reid, Morgan, Aaron, X trans!male!Reader

Summery: you got top surgery done while your lover boys were on a mission. when they return to find you at home recovering. they end up pampering you for a bit before falling asleep together.

Warning: poly relations, top surgery recovery, homosexuality.

you're in your bathroom at 3am crying the thoughts you tried so hard to get rid of returning with force. your found yourself on the bathroom floor in only your sweatpants, your torso bare your old and new scars on your arms on display, only adding fuel to your worsening thoughts.

you should have killed yourself when you had the chance

your only a burden to everyone

you boyfriends don't love you they pity you

the thought becomes louder and more frequent you try to drown it out with loud music, but no luck. you try to think of a way to help but only come to one conclusion. cutting. crawling toward your sink, you open a drawer and pull out an old small 'necklace' case. opening it you see the multitude of blades. grabbing one you take your place back against the wall next to the speaker.

'your a pussy you wouldn't cut'

'your too weak to cut'

'your a pathetic excuse for a man'

slowly you drag the blade across your forearm drawing a line of red with your silver blade over the old white lines and the other scabbed red lines. you get 6 cuts in blood running down your arm to your fingers then dripping down onto the floor. leaning your head against the wall behind you, you let out a sigh of your thought seeping away with the blood. After sitting for ten minutes in the silence on your head you stand putting the blade back into the case then back into the drawer. pulling out some gauze and bandage wrap you wash your forearm wincing slightly as the sting of the water hits the fresh wounds. Once the bloods gone you place the gauze and wrap your arms. Sleepiness quickly seeps its way into your body and you turn off your music, clean up the blood on the floor then lay in your bed covering yourself in the blankets trying to get some sleep before work tomorrow.

— – – – – – – – – – – – – – 

As you wake up you can feel the throbs starting to come from your angry forearms. You sit up, turn off your alarm cursing as the movement cracks open some of the new scabs. You swing your feet over the edge of the huge bed so they can rest on the cold floor. After rubbing your eyes and stretching you grab clothes and head to the bathroom. Your thoughts were still silent from your breakdown a couple hours earlier so you were fine in the shower only winching as you washed over your new cuts. After you shower you wrap your arms in new clean gauze and bandages then throw on your black hoodie and cargo jeans. You made sure to grab one of Aaron's hoodies as it was 2 sizes too big so you knew it would hide the bandages well. Leaving the bead room you walked to your door and put on your military boots, grabbed your keys, and helmet then left the gloomy apartment. 

– – – — – – – – – – –

You pulled up to the BAU office turning off you loud bike and getting off. You quickly made your way into the office and took the elevator up. Once the ding for your floor was sounded you stepped out into the floor automatically being spotted by your other boyfriend Reid who was waiting for you with a cup of coffee.

“You make him wait for you! Your so lazy”

You shoved the thought to the back of your mind accepting the cup from your boyfriend's hand. You started walking toward your desk Reid going on about some random subject. You didn't hear much of it, making a b-line to your desk only to stop and give Derek a quick kiss on the head as you pass by. As you sat at your desk Reid made a spot for him on the counter behind you. 

“y/n.” Reid said from behind you, breaking the sleepy fog that was surrounding you head.

“Yeah . sorry still a little tired” you replied with a fake smile plastered on your face. Reid didn't look convinced.

“I asked if you're ok.” Reid repeated. You just nodded and replied with the ‘im fine’. You didn't hear a reply from Reid but you guessed that he may have just nodded his head, but you couldn't tell you were already starting on the pile of paperwork on your desk.

‘Look at you making them worry. You're such a burden.’ 

Reid left you to your work and you continued to keep your thoughts at bay. Aaron had come out of his office after about an hour of you arriving. Walking up to you he kissed you on the head and then walked over to Reid and morgan. After about 10 minutes Aaron clapped his hands together getting the team's attention.

“Let's take the rest of the day off guys.” There were happy cheers from everyone on the team. You close the report you were currently working on and grab your helmet from under your desk. Everyone was huddled together talking about a night out. You started to walk past them when Morgan caught your arm in his hand gently. You winced slightly but quickly covered it up hoping he didn't tell. 

“We’re all going to the bar you should join.” he said, letting go of my arm.

“No i'm alright ill just spoil the fun. You guys have fun though.” you smiled and headed to the elevator. Once the door closed your thoughts flooded in.

‘So pathetic they had to invite you because they feel bad’

‘You couldn't even finish your work.’

‘Lazy bitch’

You reach the parking lot, put your helmet on and get on your bike and speed home.

Once your home and your thoughts start up again and you again turn on music trying to drown out the thoughts but again fails and ends up sitting on your bathroom floor shirt off cutting again. After a bunch of new cuts you look down and you know you went too far because you slowly start to drift into blackness. The last thing you hear before you blackout is his boyfriend's Reid, Morgen, and Aaron barge into the bathroom. 

After a while you wake up on your couch, your arms wrapped tightly in bandages and sleeping on Morgan's body. Morgan's arm wrapped around you protectively. Aaron and Reid are on the floor next to each other talking about you, saddened by the fact they couldn't tell you  are  in pain and that you felt you couldn't talk to them. They couldn't tell you were awake yet so you just tried to cuddle closer to morgen.

“Afternoon Moonlight.” Morgan said, rubbing a hand up and down my back. You let out a groan, getting a half hearted chuckle from the men in the room. A Crushing feeling of shame and guilt hits you and you start to cry slightly, your face hidden in Morgan's chest. 

‘YOU BURDEN!’ your thoughts yell out. You cry slightly harder than Morgan hugging you closer sitting up with you on his lap. Aaron and Reid come in to hug you as well. Whispering sweet things in your ear. Somehow their sweet whispers slice up the thoughts and get rid of them.your crying stops but they don't move for a while. Then Morgan hands you to Aaron as if you weighed nothithing. Morgan got up and left somewhere but Aaron and Reid stayed next to you. Once your tears stopped you sat up. You couldn't make eye contact with any of them so  you just started to play with Aarons tie. Morgan returned with 4 mugs of hot chocolate, placing them on the coffee table in front. Morgan sat down and opened his arm beckoning you to him. You got up from Aarons lap and walked over sitting in Morgan's lap. Talking one of the mugs you took a sip, Aaron and Reid took places by the table and after some silence Reid was the first to speak.

“Baby why didn't you say something?” he looked down at his hands Aaron quickly grabbing one and holding on to it. You continued to look down.

“I don't want to be more of a burden you you guys.” you mumbled.

“You are not a burden to moonlight.” Morgan said, planting a kiss on the top of your head then wrapped his arms around your stomach hugging you close to him.

“He's the right little wolf. You're not a burden. You're a strong man who can take a lot but asking for help or even just having someone to listen to doesn't make you a burden.” Aaron said Morgan's fingers found their way under your chin and he gently lifted your head to face him directly.

“Moonlight. What's going on?” Morgan asked. After some more silence you spoke.

“Sometimes…... .sometimes it just get loud. My thoughts get loud. I used to be able to drown them out with music but they've become louder. I couldn't find a way to stop them until….until i used my cutting. Again.” They were all silent.

“There is a 34% higher rating in autistic males self harming compared to non autistic males.” Reid said.

“Well how about we try to help you.” Aaron said “what if we make a list of things you can do instead of harming yourself? How does that sound, little wolf?” Aaron reached out, taking your hand. You nodded and for the next 20 minutes you and your boyfriends made a list of things to do for when you feel the need to harm yourself. The first one was calling them then there was stuff like, rolling up in a blanket,reading, sleeping, rubber band, writing the thought etc. after that was done you were passed over to Reid so that Aaron and morgan can make dinner for the 4 of you. The rest of the night was filled with cuddles, games, kisses, and more fun.

[mrsaltieri-real]

Masterlist/Rules

Hey, I’m CJ and this is my masterlist and rules section. Requests are now CLOSED. If I don’t feel comfortable/want to write something, I simply won’t.

As a general rule, my blog is Explicit and 18+. If you’re below the age of 18 PLEASE DO NOT READ MY FICS OR FOLLOW ME.

🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞

I primarily write for Mickey Altieri and Ethan Landry but I’ll do anyone in Scream with the exception of:

- Jill Roberts

- Richie Kirsch

- Wayne Bailey

- Nancy Loomis

- Roman Bridger

I WILL NOT WRITE:

- borderline non-con (dub-con is okay)

- Pregnancy/Pregnancy kink

- Miscarriage

- Male/Non-Binary/Trans readers (I am not myself, so don’t want to provide misinformation)

- However, I will on occasion write for GN!Reader

- Incest

- underage ANYTHING

- piss/excrement kinks

Requests are now CLOSED.

⬇️ fics are below the cut ⬇️

Scream

Mickey Altieri

His Perfect Victim series (Mickey Altieri x OC!Dahlia Levine) 🔞

Chapter One: One Door Closes

Chapter Two: Stay Away

Chapter Three: Rejection

Chapter Four: Friends

Chapter Five: Healing

Chapter Six: Textbook Victim (Mickey’s POV)

Chapter Seven: Beginning of the End

Chapter Eight: Scars and Secrets

Chapter Nine: Better

Chapter Ten: Hello?

Chapter Eleven: I Think I Knew

Chapter Twelve: Plaything (Mickey’s POV)

Chapter Thirteen: A Deal’s a Deal

Chapter Fourteen: Notebooks (Mixed POV)

Chapter Fifteen: We Need to Talk About Mickey

Chapter Sixteen: Lexi

Chapter Seventeen: Three Little Words

Darling Dahlia (Mickey Altieri x OC!Dahlia Levine

The Feelings Mutual

Hidden Figures

His Addiction

Bloodstained Lips(slight NSFW, warnings within) 🔞

A Bad Feeling

The Concluding Chapter

The Sound Room(slight NSFW, warnings within) 🔞

A Distraction(NSFW, warnings within) 🔞

Mickey Altieri Dad!Headcanons

Til’ Death

Partner in Crime(NSFW, warnings within) 🔞

Mickey Altieri as a Boyfriend Headcanons (GN!Reader)

Mickey Altieri NSFW Headcanons (NSFW, warnings within) 🔞

When Boredom Strikes(NSFW, warnings within) 🔞

Freaky (Bodyswapped!Mickey Altieri)

Raw (Pre-Ghostface!Mickey Altieri(NSFW, warnings within) 🔞

I Can Be Sweet

Sweet Dreams (NSFW,warnings within) 🔞

Messy Eater (NSFW, warnings within)🔞

Sex Positions- Mickey Altieri 🔞

Helpless and Ruined (NSFW, Warnings within) 🔞

The Switch Up (NSFW, warnings within) 🔞

Mickey and Randy

Good Boy, Meeks (Mickey Altieri x Randy Meeks)🔞

Ethan Landry

Ethan Landry as a boyfriend (NSFW, warnings within) 🔞

Coercion (NSFW, warnings within) 🔞

Stress Reliever (NSFW, Warnings within)🔞

Who’s Pathetic Now? 🔞

The Next Stop (NSFW, warnings within) 🔞

Pretty in Red (Ethan x reader x GF!Chad, NSFW, warnings within) 🔞

Like a Virgin series (NSFW, 18+)

(part 1) 🔞

(part 2) 🔞

(part 3) 🔞

Stu Macher

Stu Macher as a Boyfriend (NSFW, warnings within) 🔞

Billy Loomis

Billy Loomis as a boyfriend (NSFW,warnings within) 🔞

First Love, Familiar Love (NSFW, WARNINGS WITHIN) 🔞

Sam Carpenter

Sam Carpenter as a Girlfriend (SFW and NSFW) 🔞

The Girl Next Door

Kelly

Testing The Talent (NSFW, warnings within) 🔞 (collab fic)

Go (1999)

Todd Gaines

Wasting Time (NSFW, warnings within) 🔞