#the way she squeezes his hand in the last gif hurts

[reidhalstead]

Brows dipping inwards, mouth opening in question; he wants to say that she doesn't know what she's saying and amber-coloured glasses have her delusional. Reid should've stopped this because lucidity will come crashing down on them, tomorrow. And he will have to explain — what? In between licking his wounds and scraping away that hurt from the bowl of the pan, scratching and cursing. Say some bullshit about how whiskey is a motivator that dulls and fuels hungers; that makes him a boy again, thinking he's running off the football pitch, unbuckling his helmet as he whisks his second girlfriend of the month off her feet at the sidelines, kissing her in front of the crowd. Unaware he'll have a quarterback boyfriend the following week, and get suspended for breaking Kyle's nose for making an under-the-table remark about it.

Much like the pain of a broken bone, the aching of regret, or never knowing what could've happened if Reid had let it die. He knows that whatever lost time Anika implies, he never would have done this before tonight. Never without losing something first and he only let himself shed that skin when she had a marker lid between her teeth and held his hand like she had no idea of what kind of mark she'd left on him.

It burns all over again, that auric caramel bubbling on the stove scenting the room in the sweet but bitter scent of candy left unattended; left to boil over. It's difficult to clean and hardens like rock when cooled. It clings to every surface, just as Anika's hand clutches the fabric of his shirt, bundling it up, nails ghosting through to catch the skin on his chest. Fuck everything. He'll bench self-loathing, even if it's screaming put me in, coach, because that core value of selfishness will take this, whilst it climbs into his lap. Shit.

"Anika—" but, at the last second he realises he doesn't want her to say anything, when he silences her with a visceral response. A hand travels to bury in the crook of her neck, holding her there, as another tentatively wanders to her waist. He can feel the glacier melting; the icy walls of his resolve crumbling down as roaring flames lap at its walls. Battling wants to remind each other of lines they've never crossed.

Forgotten is the corridor either side of them or the flickering light above their heads, basking them in yellow. Shoved down is the voice that warns him this is too close for comfort, prompting his focus on the pairs exploration in warring tongues. The roar of those flames turn into the thundering rush of the blood in her veins, the twitch in his mouth that lapses when he has to shutter the part of him that might cut her open. He can't — won't hurt her, and he'll be the one to run if he has to. Denying Anika the chance. Hard to run, when she's on his lap.

It will be an awkward manoeuvre whichever way he looks at it. The cool hand on her waist slips lower, grabbing her underside for support as he holds her steadily against him. He's twisting them over so he can brace one hand on the wall; the corridor rushes back to him, an awareness that has his senses enflamed against Anika's mouth in pauses to peck the corner of her mouth and trail along her chin. Reid's hand squeezes her ass as he manages to get one hand purchased on the wall, and he brings himself to a stand with Anika still wrapped around his waist.

He rests her back against the wall for a moment, mouth dips to plant something on her throat, but signals for a recourse when he steers in the other direction, stealing lips he isn't entitled to. Voices in a head louder, goading him; laughing like he might shatter this painted picture.

"Okay?" He whispers when he has to let her breathe. He hoists her further up his body, smiling like he's scored a Touchdown in the fourth quarter. That he's successfully pulled the woman from the waters, and they're remembering how to walk on solid ground again. He's feeding a monster he doesn't know how to defeat; The Bydo Core in the final mission of a forgotten video game. And all he allows to win in his mind is, fuck it all. Because the sandstorm has the line drawn in the desert, lost.

He doesn't ask, or wait when he carries her in the right direction down the corridor; weightless as he has to break away from feral exchanges to peer around her for the lock — he's searched the tight pockets of her jeans for the key, as he one-handedly gets it in the hole in the door, to nudge it open with his foot. He's laughing about that, too. This. Them. Shit. Terrible idea. He doesn't know how to do this. All he can think about when he gets the door closed is that if he focuses on this, then he won't know the taste of her verbena-poisoned blood.

He's embarrassed enough. Unlike in youth, where everything came so easily.

The keys are dropped carelessly to the carpet and he doesn't know what surface they've hit with closed eyes in the messily mapped apartment in the back of his thoughts. Instead, he's mapping the curves and the trembles of her body as Reid busies her hand back in her hair; they're feeding hungry creatures.

I know. And her eyes took his face in, slightly wider than before, because his words were so soft, yet they made her head spin, like she'd taken a hit of something; a physical blow. He knew of her ghosts, but he didn't know of the power they held over her. He didn't know that when her lips fell from his, it was because her ghosts wanted to entwine with his skin, and she didn't want to share. She never learned how to. Maybe because she'd grown up with two older sisters, who never let her play with their toys. Because all of it was theirs. Because they got there first, and she was the third, the one that they could've been without. Of course, all of this changed when they grew up, but Anika never did learn how to share. She had skipped right over that lesson. With age toys turned to money, and trust, and power. Her hands only fell from his, because her fears would've shattered them, him.

Fingers brushed her lips, where phantoms spilled in mockery. She shouldn't have told him, Anika thought. Maybe then he'd just walk off, think she's had a change of heart, or was just a raging bitch. Made him think that this was all a game — of spin the bottle. Or that one where everyone hid in the closet. She'd been there once, with a boy she barely knew who wore the most ugly glasses, and she had warned him that if he tried anything she'd break his foot. They stayed in silence for however long, before they emerged from the closet. She did stomp on his foot, just so he would know that she wasn't bluffing. That defense mechanism she's worked on since childhood. But Reid had stomped on all her defenses. Those double doors were down and he knew of what went on in that haunted house. He knew of the creaking floor, and that leak in the basement. The lights that flickered, like the ones they stood beneath now.

I shouldn't. Fuck. She could quite literally jump out the nearest window just to save herself the misery. The thought of never knowing how he tasted crossed her mind. She'd have to sit in the prison of her own mind where she'd play endless guessing games. Bounce thoughts around like balls in a pinball machine — what if he'd taste of something sweet, like strawberries. She'd never seen him eat one, but she would very vividly imagine the way his mouth would wrap around one. Maybe something sour, bitter like the words on his tongue, those times they've fought over stupid, mundane things like who'd take out the trash. He would, and she'd promise to do the dishes, and then never do them. They'd live in that small apartment, and cross each other's paths every day, and she'd never get to know the taste. Then death would come for her somewhere in a ditch, or with hands burried deep in some monstrous fuck, and the afterlife would be her own personal hellish room where that guessing game would never cease. I shouldn't, he said. And you'd rather deem me a prisoner?

Her stupid heart stumbled. "No, no — You should've." a breath. "A very long time ago." maybe they'd learn to live with the ghosts, and the ever crumbling facade of both their watch towars. She dipped her head closer to kiss him, this time absent of hesitance. That hand on his chest curled in to grab a fist full of his shirt, and the other got lost in a mess of blonde. Only if she pressed more into him, would she stop running. Swiftly, she crossed one leg over him and moved to sit on his lap (only then would they ever be at an eye-level), while starved mouths were taking their fill.

[tardxsblues]

[dawnwriterimagines]

The Verdict Due

SIMON 'GHOST' RILEY x FEM!READER TASK FORCE 141 x FEM!READER

Traitors Among Us (Part 1)

Innocents Among You (Part 2)

The Guilty Plea (Part 3)

Clear Skies (Part 5)

Summary: You head to Laswell to talk on the rest of your now ruined military career. Of course, you're forced to confront your team as it happens, the last people on earth you'd like to see.

If you liked this would you Buy me a Coffee?

Simon's steps are slow, lacking energy or purpose. Releasing the buckles strapping his vest down to him, he finally arrives to his door, lifting the camo from himself.

His forehead pressing into the wooden door, he finds it harder and harder to open everyday, seeing reminders of you every moment of everyday, when he closes his eyes, when he lays down in bed. Hell when he opens the door. He hated this room now.

Outside of the place that you both had made your home away from war, from battle, from the base, this was where the two of you had once spent most of your time.

He raised his head off the door, before bringing it back down on it, then doing it again, this time hard enough to hurt. "Fuck," he cursed, cursing himself, his stupid decisions, the times he'd never get back, the mistakes he'll never be able to erase. Huffing out bitterly, squeezing his eyes shut, he's still for a moment, before banging his fist against the wall. "Fuck!" There's a crackle along the wall, a clatter of dust and dried paint hitting his feet.

A shuddered breath leaves him, swallowing down his grief, his anger at himself. But, he can't help it. He's ruined everything.

Simon's head stays there against the doorway, he doesn't want to go in.

His head turns a bit, seeing a figure down the hallway, straightening up, dark eyes squinting. "Johnny?"

Quiet and Still. The Scotsman's mouth is set in a hard line, he runs a hand down his face, smearing the mess he'd made of himself. "I..." he breathes deeply. "I saw her today."

"You what?" Simon perks up, eyes wide. He looks past his comrade, seeing the open doorway of your room, "She's here," he speaks, voice alight and hopeful. Making his way past Johnny, "She's here?" he asks this time, bracing himself at her doorway.

But, the room is a mess and void of you. He'd nearly forgotten how the soldiers had left it, the day it happened he could watch it, it would've been too finalizing of what he thought was your betrayal. Today was meant to be the day they'd clean it all up, due to plaguing themselves with missions and ops that required long weeks, long hours. No one wanted to think about what they'd done.

But, now they'd only made another mistake in waiting too long. And now you had to be greeted by this mess.

"I didn't know it was--" Johnny couldn't turn back to the room, back to Simon, as he spoke. "I didn't know we did so much to her. I thought--how long--how could I--" he shakily began. "--how could you?" Simon's eyes flicker to his friend, dark circles and sunken cheeks seem to worsen. "She was so...she couldn't even look at me, Si. Like I'd make her sick, like I'd--hurt her again...I've never--" his fingers claw at his chest, hoping to rip away the ache in his heart, eyes haunted to tears and staring into the dark of his memory as he thought back. "I'd never--" he can't finish.

"She was here?" Simon asked again.

Johnny's clouded eyes look to Simon, opening his mouth before opting for nodding. Clearing his throat, finally seeming to get a handle on himself, "Just left."

"She what?" Simon bolts out towards the stairs, pushing through the doorway and jumping down the first flight to rush through the rest.

As he gets to the lobby floor, he shoves through the door, revealing the hallway to him, running down the long stretch before ramming into the side wall to catch himself at the corner. He continues down the way, running as fast as he's able, before bursting through the side doors of the front lobby.

He sees you immediately, beyond the glass doorways.

"(Y/n)..."

He's running before he can think to get his legs moving.

---

Leaving the dormitories, finally leaving behind the spare hospital wear that you had swapped for your own clothes, you waved down the first vehicle you'd seen.

The driver letting you into the truck, the two of you unaware as he begins to drive off, Simon shoving his way through the residential doors and coming to a stop in the middle of the street as you drive away.

You, having hopped a ride with one of the soldiers making his rounds, the Jeep shakes with the changing terrain, providing more conversation than the trooper that was much too quiet. Shifting his shoulders, adjusting his fingers around the leather, glancing one too many times through the mirror.

It was getting weird. But, you were a familiar face on the base, unfortunately now, it used to be because you were good at your job, the best sniper they had on the force. But now, it was because you were the first proclaimed traitor of the force in decades and the first to be wrong about.

So, the new attention is nothing to be pleased about.

"Find something interesting to look at, soldier?"

Back straightening, body stiffening and eyes facing the road, the trooper swallows thickly at having been caught eyeing you. "No, ma'am!"

"Then I suggest you keep your eyes on the road."

"Yes, ma'am!" clearing his throat. "Sorry, ma'am, I don't mean to stare."

Arms crossed, head turned to watch the smaller buildings go by, your jaw clenched. "It's fine..." you breathe, before relaxing a bit more as the drive goes farther and farther away from the residential areas. Eyes flickering over to the still tense trooper, you mutter. "Ease."

His shoulders drop, head turning, flustered. "Sorry, ma'am."

It was always strange to be called 'Ma'am' by fellow soldiers, usually you were only a year or so apart, others you had been younger by ten years or older by five. But, this trooper was new to the force, young, clearly still jumpy, you had been the same after your first missions on the Task Force.

"I'm sorry, ma'am," the trooper then speaks, shakily.

"You don't have to keep--"

"About what happened to you," he continued. "I'm not sure if you heard that yet, but it's--that sounds--I can't imagine. I'm sorry that happened to you."

For a moment too long you're quiet, holding your breath, staring at the scenery as it whistled on past, the wind whipping through your hair. Your nails tearing into your skin as you rake them over your scars, smearing the line of blood left after ripping out your IV line, abandoning it as you found a ride.

"Get any cool scars out of it, at least?" he jokes, lightheartedly.

Your eyes snap his way, his eyes widening before he looks back to the road, back to stiff.

You open your mouth to speak, but you can't. You're just angry, too angry to find the words. But, you don't want to take it out on him, he was just attempting to alleviate whatever burden he imagined to be on your shoulders. But, all it was was a reminder, this was all anyone could think of anymore, when it came to you, this ordeal.

The apologies, the reminders, the quiet looks, the whispers, the fucking gnawing pain still splintered through your spine, you were tired of it.

The car pulls up to the largest administrative building on the base camp, hopefully you were right and this was where Laswell was posted up.

Quickly pulling the car handle as the trooper steps out of the vehicle to assist you, you hurriedly speak as he reaches to touch you. "I've got it," you hiss out, harsher then you meant. Stepping down and off the platform, onto the sidewalk, you forget you don't have your IV pole to at least stabilize you. So, when you stumble, he grabs your arm, his other resting on your shoulder.

"Woah!" his grip lacks gentleness, though not bruising, it's enough to set you off.

Your arm goes back and over his arm, shrugging him off, roughly. "I said I got it!" Your palm pushing into his shoulder and sending him back and off of you, he shifts back and nearly off his feet, catching himself.

"Alright, jeez!"

You're stumbling back into the light pole luckily a few steps behind you, leaning yourself against the cemented metal, you balance yourself. Shaking off the buzz in your ears and rubbing away the tension built along your skin, taking a few shuttered breaths, turned away from the soldier.

The trooper takes a few steps away from you, expression lifted to frustration and annoyance, rolling his eyes, brows furrowed and back pedaling to the Jeep. "Fucking crazy," he mutters to himself, adjusting his gear and stepping up back to the vehicle.

But, he doesn't make it very far until you're on him.

"What the fu--!"

Taking the opening of his kevlar and yanking him out of the vehicle, unable to catch himself fast enough to get to his feet. You hold a steel grip on the collar of his uniform, literally holding him up by his straps, pulling his entire bodyweight off the ground, leaning down so you're face to face with him. "Say it again," you snapped, eyes dark and boring into his skull. "I wanna have a good excuse for what I'm about to do to you."

He was taller, probably stronger, but looking up at you, he could see the years of mayhem and chaos that's burned itself into your irises, made you the lieutenant he'd tripped up on properly respecting. "I didn't--I didn't say anything! I'm sorry, ma'am, it won't--it won't happen again!"

Nostrils flared, eyes flickering between his wide, fearful ones, your hands loosen around his gear. He falls forwards, landing on his forearms with a groan, releasing a relieved breath.

He looks up, watching as you turn and make your trek into the building. You had seemed so fragile before, with a limp in your walk, scars head to toe and those braces along your legs, he assumed you had no fight in you. He couldn't have imagined, five minutes, he'd be wrong.

---

"Laswell."

The Station Chief turns, manila folder files in hand, brows raised at the intrusion before her eyes widen at the sight of your tired figure.

"Gray..."

You don't wait to be invited inside, instead pulling up a chair as you let the door close behind you. Not fully out of a lack of respect but your legs were killing you and surely if you wait a second longer you'll literally tear a muscle. "You free?"

"Never. But, I can make time," she answers. "Is something wrong?"

You bite down on your tongue. What isn't wrong.

"I put in a request for council in resignation, ma'am. I'm just here to know if it went through."

"I did...receive your request," The woman is still quite surprised to see you, a bit off put at your presence, hearing about your scars was one thing, seeing them was another. "Of course. Though, I expected you to wait for my call before deciding to come to me."

"I'm sure," you feigned a slight chuckle that faded as soon as it started. You say nothing else but stare.

Laswell sighs, tossing down the folder she'd been holding. "Look, Lieutenant Gray--"

"Just (L/N)," you gritted out. "Please." You couldn't stand your codename at the moment, you didn't want to carry a single thing this team had given you.

"Lieutenant..." Laswell pulled up a chair on the opposite side of the long table, facing you, "You've accomplished much on the force, saved lives, eliminated threats that had the potential to level the united nations, your honors and distinctions. At the very least, here, your guidance is a treasure..."

"I'd like my resignation to be approved, Chief--"

Laswell continues. "I need you to careful think about what you're doing here, Gray--(L/n). I don't want you to be motivated by what's happened to you, you still have a place on the force, it doesn't have to be beside your team. Don't waste your talents in the field because of this experience."

"Experience," You scoffed at the word, nose cringing up in disgust at the downplay. "I didn't go on a rollercoaster at Disney World, god--I was tortured by my team for weeks while my fiancé threatened to kill me afterwards..." you were about to lose your mind. "What makes any of you think I'd want to stay here? Why can't any of you just respect my decision to leave? I'm resigning."

Laswell settles back into her chair, lips pressing together, she makes a hum of a sound. "I can arrange a transfer," she compromised. "But, my authorization goes through only after informing Price, he also needs to sign off on this."

Your jaw clenches, your fingers tightening around your clasped hands. "Then how about that favor you owe me?"

Station Chief straightens, brow lifting and arms crossed. "Excuse me, soldier?"

Sighing, reaching a hand into your bag, you bring out a folder of your own, some documents signed off. "I had to wonder who the evidence was sent to, given it was right after our mission and Price doesn't even look at his reports to sign off on something in under 24 hours, it wasn't him," watching as Laswell opened the folder, revealing her own name signing off on the interrogation, just a few of the photos that'd declared you guilty. "Thanks for ruining my career, Laswell."

She spreads out the evidence, her own signature on the papers, she breathes out. "And what are you trying to do here, Gray?"

"Stop calling me that."

"Trying to threaten me with what exactly--?"

"Nothing," you answered. "I'm asking for a favor, from someone I thought was my friend," you find it harder to say, Laswell's jaw clicks and she shifts in her chair. "You owe me that much."

"It's the job, (L/n). I was protecting our own, our resources were very promising."

"Until they weren't, huh?" you sarcastically gritted out.

"Yes..." Laswell sighs. "I do apologize, (L/n), but--"

"Just do this for me," you interrupted, pleading this time. "Please. I can't go to him, I can't even look at Simon, let alone Price. Forget about being in the same room with them. I just--I can't be here, this isn't where I belong anymore," looking down at your hands, the scars that circled your wrists. This was a final decision. "I'm resigning with or without you."

Rising from your seat, Laswell stands as you do, "You resign without clearance, they'll take everything from you. Your pension, your insurance, retirement, everything, you'll be dishonorably discharged, you understand that?"

"'Course, I do," you admit. "Honestly, I thought I'd be dead on a mission somewhere before I saw any of that, I don't expect anything out of this. Nothing's...worth any of this."

As you turn the handle to leave, Laswell speaks once more. "I just wanted to enlighten you on what I'm risking for you, signing off on this."

At that, you glance back to her, watching as the older woman sighs heavily, picking up a pen, opening up the manila folder she'd been holding onto previously. Opening it up to reveal your resignation papers.

"If I do this, when I call on you, Gray," Laswell says. "I expect you to be there."

As she wrote her signature down on the dotted line, you swallowed down the ache that's plagued you for weeks, "I swear."

As the station chief continues down the packet, turning to the next page and signing once again, you slowly slide back into your chair, sitting silently as you watch her sign off on your leave from military service.

You bring your hand up fast as a tear runs down your face, wiping it away before Laswell can see, sniffing quietly.

---

Walking slowly down the side hallway of the admin building, you stare out into space, your eyes glistening as you hold the signed resignation packet to your chest, pressing it to yourself tightly.

Passing the front desk, the security posted up at the elevators, you enter the main hall and come to a stop. Your grip on your documents tightening as you watch rain pour out onto the outer glass of the windows.

Watching the downpour outside, you can't seem to get your feet moving to just leave this place. That's all you need to do, just...walk right through it, into a car, past the gates, onto the highway. Just...go home.

As you flinch at the pitter patter of the rain hitting the building, a short burst of thunder, you try to inch your way closer to the doors but the closer you get, the more you can remember. The more you can feel.

The rain gets louder, and louder. It's cold, although you recall it being 90 degrees and in the middle of the desert. It must just be you.

Putting your folder away and into your bag, the automatic doors open for you, but it's too hard to step through. Staring out into the open landscape, the dividing border of the desert land and the gates surrounding the base. The dry ground now turning muddy, trucks driving by and the mud swelling up at the change in pressure, soldiers rushing through the rain, kicking up mud, flicking up umbrellas.

Breathing deeply, you scuff your shoes forwards, feeling the first drop hit your skin, it's warm, but it's no comfort. Gasping at the feeling, you stumble back into the building, the automatic doors closing.

Short gasps of breath quietly leave you, your nails burrow into the skin of your forearm, you stare at the rain as it pelts at the ground, flooding pot holes and falling into storm drains.

The automatic door opens again, you back up, shifting to the side, as an officer gives you a strange look as he walks past and into the rain.

Your hesitance to proceed into the rain was noticed by a few in the main lobby. Like Kyle, who still stood in his mission uniform, dropping off his reports to the main desk, getting off the elevator to see you staring up at the cloudy sky.

His eyes widening in shock, he's lost in his own world when he begins to take steps towards you, lips parting in disbelief, voice cracking as he breathes out to say, to beg or plead for forgiveness.

The automatic door opens again as you shuffle forwards to try to step outside, he doesn't fully notice your fear of the weather when he speaks.

"(Y/n)..."

You turn at the sound of your name and his eyes flicker to the large scar along your cheek, the red of your eye still, that had changed the color of your iris, maybe permanently. The way you hold your bag tight in your hands as if to shield it from the rain before yourself.

You don't say anything, he hadn't expected you to. You stare at him, surprised to see him, then the expression changes to terror, brows pulling inward and hands sinking into your bag to bring it closer. His heart aching at your reaction to him, his lips pressing together, he doesn't know if she should say another thing. Just let you go.

"(Y/n), I..." he can't help himself as he continues, breathlessly.

You back away from him, out of the building and into the rain. The moment it hits your back, soaking through your shirt, rain hitting the top of your head, down your back, you tense up and spin around.

Kyle's brows furrow, before worriedly witnessing as you curl into yourself instantly, crying out in terror, your hands coming up and over your head. "(Y/n)!"

Realizing what you'd done, your back hits the glass doorway, too late for the doorway to register you wanting to come back inside. You stumble to the corner of the building, just next to the doorway and under the too small gutter to find any shelter from the pelting water at your skin.

A loud sob leaves you, squeezing your eyes shut, you can feel the torture starting again, the unbearable freeze of your limbs, the force of crashing pounds of water along your spine. The screams they would pull from you...

Your torment lasts only a few seconds, suddenly the rain stops, but the sound continues around you. A coat settling around your shoulders and over your head, Kyle's hands on your shoulders, he's yelling over the thunder. "Come on, let's get you out of this. Come on, (Y/n)," he takes your arms. "Let me help you, please!"

"You did this," you cried. "I told you. I told you it wasn't me. But, you kept turning it back on! And then you'd leave it like that and it drove me fucking insane. I'll never be ok again, I can't--" hyperventilating. "Don't touch me, Kyle."

Kyle swallows thickly, head hanging low, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment before leaning down to you. "I can't leave you here like this, please, love," he hauls you up to your feet. You shove him back, pressing yourself further into the corner, shaking, "(Y/n)--"

"Don't put your fucking hands on me. What don't you get, huh?" you spat. Pulling off the jacket he'd placed over you, tensing at ever drop of rain that fell over you after, but you toss it back at him. "I don't want anything from you. Never again."

"I'm sorry," Kyle clutches the jacket. "I'm so bloody sorry. I'm sorry for every damn thing I'd ever done to you. I'm sorry we didn't listen. I should've never done that to you. I didn't want to, I just--I thought I was doing the right thing for all of us," his voice breaks and he cries under the rain as his little sister, his family, hatefully stares him down. "I thought you'd give in, that it'd be over as quick as it started! I'm sorry I couldn't trust that you were telling the truth all that time."

"I don't want your apology!" you yell. "Cause you'll never know the same feeling. You'll never understand what you've taken from me. What you've done to me--" hiccupping painfully.

Kyle looks away from you, inhaling with a shudder, reddening eyes are covered as he raises his hands to run over his face.

"Your apologies. Your wishes for forgiveness," you seethe. " You should keep them. They mean nothing to me."

With that, you shove on past him, re-entering the building and rushing down the hallway, you turn the corner away from Kyle. Leaving the distraught man out in the rain, the automatic door sliding closed as he looks on after you.

Part 5 OUT NOW!

[soaps-mohawk]

Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 36: To The Sea

Summary: It's time to move on. You're not sure where you're going exactly, but anywhere is better than Texas

Pairing: Poly 141 x reader

Word Count: 7,816 words

Warnings: ANGST, injuries, medical stuff, descriptions of pain and injuries, brief discussion about strangulation, mentions of PTSD and nightmares, so much crying, Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alternate Universe, angst, a very little sprinkle of comfort, language, mentions of medications, still very heavy emotionally

A/N: Not actually a lot of warnings for this one. It's a lot of dialogue and inner monologues. Not a lot happens, just mostly setting the scene for the next chunk of the story. Bring tissues though, the last part of the chapter emotionally wrecked me but also might be the best thing I've ever written.

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It’s warm outside. 

Not even the shade from the building can completely shield you from the dome of heat that seems to surround the base. It seeps into the concrete and asphalt that lock it into place, trapping everyone in a bubble that may as well be an oven. It’s always hot in Texas, though. You hate it. You’ve been spoiled by the cold, rainy seasons in England. You’d gladly take that over Texas. 

You’d take anything over Texas. 

The heat prickles at your skin, your arm starting to get sweaty in the sling. It had been Dr. Keller’s idea to keep your shoulder as still as possible so you don’t continue to cause yourself pain when you move. It still hurts, but at least you won’t instinctively try to use your left arm now.

Despite the warmth, there’s still a chill deep in your bones. The warmth of the pain medicine has worn off and you’ve been left with the perpetual ice that has seemed to coat your insides. Dr. Keller says it's the stress giving you a fever. Every nightmare, every flashback sends your body temperature spiking, your heart beating right out of your chest. You’re not out of the woods yet. It can take a long time to recover from that level of distress and the omega taking over. You almost regret it, but there was no guarantee you would have lived either way at that time. You did what you had to do, and it did work out in the end. 

But at what cost? 

Dr. Keller’s phone buzzes in her pocket and she pulls it out, staring down at the screen for a moment. “Kyle wants to come by.” 

You don’t want to see him. You don’t want to see any of them. 

“I think you should see him. Even if it’s just for a moment.” She squeezes your hand. “I’ll be right here.” 

It’s a predicament. Dr. Keller supports your decision to keep them away, putting some distance between all of you for the time being. Yet, she also says being close to your pack will help your healing. Having your pack around will help your omega settle once again. She needs that safety, that security before she finally lets go completely. 

You don’t want to be close to them, but you may not have any other choice. 

You sit there in silence, picking at the fabric of your sweatpants as you wait for Kyle’s arrival. Sweat has started to bead on your back, the day only getting warmer and warmer as the sun moves higher in the sky. You want to go back inside, back into the cool air conditioned building. You want to crawl back onto the hospital bed and lay there for the next few hours. 

You can’t. 

Footsteps approach, but you don’t look up. You know who it is. You don’t want to see him. 

“Kyle.” Dr. Keller greets. 

“Christine.” He says back. It still throws you off, hearing Dr. Keller's first name. She'll always be Dr. Keller to you. Kyle turns his attention to you, still standing a few steps from the bench you're perched on. “Hi, love.” He says. The affectionate nickname almost makes you wince. You don't look up at him. You don’t want to see his face. “I wanted to stop by and see how you’re doing.” 

You don't move, don't give an answer. You don't have an answer to give anyway. You shouldn't have to give an answer. 

He lowers himself onto the bench, sitting as far away from you as he can. “It’s hot today.” He says, adjusting his hat. Always wearing a hat. Maybe that's why he and Price work so well together. 

He stares at you for a long moment but you don't bother moving, your gaze still on your sweatpants. They're starting to get a bit warm, even with your perpetual chill. 

“I’m not here to apologize.” He says, breaking the silence. “You’ve probably heard enough apologies to last you a lifetime.” He shakes his head. “Words can’t fix what we did. Nothing can fix what we did, how we left you there. All we can do is give you what you need, try and make you as comfortable as possible.” 

Tears burn your eyes as you listen to him. He's not wrong, an apology won't fix what happened. No words will ever be able to fix what they put you through. You're not sure there's anything they could do that would make up for it. An apology still would have been nice, despite the fact you know how guilty he is. Their avoidance of you, their willingness to give you such space in an unknown place just proves how guilty they all are. 

That doesn't make things hurt any less. 

You slowly turn away from Kyle, angling yourself towards Dr. Keller. 

He doesn't say anything further in that regard, taking your movement as an answer to his non-apology. He leans forward instead, resting his elbows on his knees. “I just wanted to let you know that we’re getting ready to leave soon. We’ll be heading somewhere safe, somewhere quiet and secluded. I think you’ll like it.” 

Dr. Keller had informed you of that earlier after she went to speak to them. They've decided what to do, what's best for the pack again. You might have protested, except for the fact it meant you were getting to leave Texas. Where exactly they're taking you, you're not sure. You just know it's not Texas. 

“I want you to know that we’re here if you need us.” He stares at you for a moment longer before pushing himself up to stand. 

If, not when. 

Maybe they're finally getting the message. 

Dr. Keller stands, touching your right shoulder gently before she steps away with Kyle, speaking quietly with him, but you can still hear every word in the nearly silent space around you. 

“In an attempt to remain a neutral, professional party in this situation, I feel it would be appropriate for me to tell you not to beat yourself up too much about this.” Dr. Keller says. “The unprofessional side of me has many words I’d like to say to all of you.” She clears her throat. “That being said, on a positive note I can say you’re all doing the right thing for once, prioritizing your omega and fulfilling her needs, even if her needs require you to leave her alone for now. I know it’s hard, I know every instinct is screaming at you to help her, but just take comfort in knowing you are helping her. You’re doing the best thing you can do for her at this time.” Dr. Keller puts a hand on his arm, squeezing it gently. “Even if it is tearing you up inside.” 

“Thanks, Doc.” He says. 

“I’ll see you soon.” She says, patting his arm before she heads back towards your bench. 

You turn your head just slightly, not missing the way Gaz lingers for a brief moment before he turns his back on you, walking back down the sidewalk. 

It hurts. 

You want to cry with every swallow. No matter how much you chew, it doesn’t ease the pain of trying to swallow solid food. Even the worst sore throat you’ve ever had pales in comparison to this pain. Tears burn in your eyes as you eat, unable to refuse this time in favor of choking down some liquid nutrients. Even liquids make your throat ache, but they are easy to chug to get it over with at once. 

This feels like torture. 

Dr. Keller looks guilty as she spoon-feeds you the soup. Chicken noodle, something simple and easy but still something with some substance. It makes you think back to when you were sick as a child, your mother dutifully feeding you homemade chicken noodle soup until you reached the age you could feed yourself. 

You do feel like a child again, unable to even hold the spoon. Well, you could hold it, but it would have come at the expense of some burns from how badly your hand was shaking. 

So instead you sit here, being spoon-fed soup you can barely stand eating. 

“I know.” She says as a tear finally falls, your inhale shaky from the ache in your throat. “You need something in your system for the sedative. It’s a long flight and you’ll be sick when you wake up if you don’t have anything in your stomach. That’s going to hurt a lot worse than eating now.” 

Yeah. You’ve already figured that out. 

“Strangulation is a tough thing to survive.” She says, dragging the bottom of the spoon against the edge of the bowl to wipe off any soup that might drip on you. “Then again, so is getting shot, and distressing to the point of your omega taking over.” She holds the spoon up to your lips, and you’re tempted to refuse. “You’ve survived a lot, more than most could. And to look this good after...” 

You blink up at her, teary eyed and sickly looking, exhausted and bruised. Your left eye is still almost swollen shut, and your hair is tangled perhaps beyond saving, tied up in a bun at the top of your head. All just reminders of what you survived, all reminders of what happened to you. Of what was allowed to happen to you. 

You’re not quite sure when the last time you had a real shower was either. 

“I know.” She says, spooning more soup into your mouth. “You might not feel like it, right now.” 

“I want a shower.” You say, your voice still hoarse and cracking through your throat. A real shower might solve a lot of problems for you right now. It won’t fix much, but being truly clean would make a lot of things feel better. 

“I wholeheartedly agree.” Dr. Keller says. 

You give her a look. You don't smell that bad. She should know, she’s the one that cleaned the blood off of you and the one who gave you the sponge bath this morning. 

She gives you a look back. “I meant it would be nice to take a real shower. Once we get where we’re going, we can work on the logistics of a shower.” 

Right. You can’t exactly stand for a long time on your own, not to mention the problem of only being able to use one arm without bringing blinding pain upon yourself. That’s where the pack would come in handy. 

The thought of one of them seeing you vulnerable like that, putting their hands on you right now makes your skin crawl. 

A shiver runs down your spine, your body shuddering uncontrollably. You grunt as your shoulder screams in pain, another electric jolt burning straight through your nerves and down through your feet. Fuck. You mouth the word, squeezing your eyes shut. It makes your stomach churn, the soup starting to burn a path back up through your esophagus.

“Breathe for me.” Dr. Keller says, putting a gentle hand on your right shoulder. 

In and out. You focus on your breath, the only thing you can do without feeling like you’re going to go insane from the pain. It’s all you can do in this situation. It’s the only thing you can do at all. Breathe. Just keep breathing. 

Sometimes you don’t want to. 

The pain passes as it always does, leaving behind a subtle ache that will linger until the next flare of pain. It’s a constant, never-ending cycle that you can’t escape from. Weeks, Dr. Keller had said. It can take weeks to heal. You’ll be stuck in this cycle for weeks and weeks. What if it never heals? That is a possibility. It’s always a risk with any injury. 

What if the rest of your life is like this? 

You’re crying again, hot tears blazing a path down your cheeks. They won’t stop, they never stop. There’s a constant stream down your face, even in your sleep. You’ve woken to find your face and neck damp from the never ceasing flood of tears. 

How you can’t wait for the time to come when you have none left.

You’d welcome the numbness at this point, greet it like an old friend and invite it in for tea. Anything over the pain and tears that won’t stop. The depression-fueled numbness that had filled you when Price and Gaz left, then Soap and Ghost would be a welcome relief at this point. Anything would be better than the pain. 

You almost wish you were in a coma right now. Then you wouldn’t feel anything at all. 

Dr. Keller puts the spoon back into the soup bowl before rolling the table to the side. She puts a hand on your head, gently stroking your hair as you cry. The room is silent aside from your sniffles, Dr. Keller not having to say a single word. The silence is almost a blessing. You’re tired of hearing words, of hearing people speak. There’s nothing anyone can say that will do anything to help you, to comfort you, to make it better. 

There’s nothing anyone can do to make it better. 

You’re so tired of being like this. 

The sedative is kicking in before you even reach the airfield. She can see the way your head is drooping further and further forward in the car, your body jostling without any complaint. It had started kicking in before you even got into the car, as you offered very little resistance when Kyle helped her mauver you into the front seat. She chose Kyle out of everyone to help her in hopes it would be easiest on you. Your claimed alpha’s beta is a good place to start in rebuilding the bonds within the pack, and his calm demeanor certainly helps. He is a caretaker through and through, that beta trait prominent above the others in him. He would have made a good medic, had he gone that route. 

Your chin drops to your chest as the car comes to a stop in front of the plane, your body slumping to the side against the door. 

“She’s out.” Christine says, unbuckling her seatbelt. 

“Makes this easier.” Kyle says, getting out of the car. 

They maneuver you into the wheelchair, Christine easing your head onto your right shoulder to avoid aggravating the left. The less pain you’re in when you come out of it, the better, though pain will be unavoidable. Kyle pushes the wheelchair up the ramp of the plane, Christine following close behind. She’s glad she gave you the sedative before you left the med center to avoid as much pain as possible. She almost wishes she had given it to you earlier, as getting you into a sweatshirt had been a battle of its own. Though, the longer it stays in your system, the longer you’ll sleep through the flight. The longer you sleep through the flight, the longer they can delay the inevitable emotional storm of being enclosed in a tight space with your pack. 

If you’re lucky, you’ll be out of it long enough for them to reach the cottage without incident. 

John is waiting near the front of the aircraft, his eyes watching carefully as Kyle helps maneuver you into a seat. Even with the turmoil in the pack bonds, an alpha will always feel protective over their omega. There’s some things that can’t be undone, even in such a fragile state. Some instincts can’t be unlearned, no matter what. 

“I gave her a sedative.” Christine explains as she gets you as comfortable as possible in the seat. “It won’t last the whole flight, but it’ll take a while to wear off regardless.” 

“Is that more for her or for us?” John asks. 

“Both.” Christine says. “Mostly for her. It helps with the pain of moving around, but it will also keep her calm in close quarters like this.” 

“Here.” John says, handing her something. It’s a blanket, brand new by the feel of it. “Johnny made a store run this morning. It’s going to get cold in here, so he got the warmest one he could find.” 

Christine takes the blanket, the fabric thick and soft in her hands. It’s a touching gesture, speaking volumes of their desire to still care for you despite everything, their willingness to do what they have to, to keep the pack together. “Perfect.” She says, carefully draping it over you and tucking it around you before John gets you secured in the seat. 

“It’s going to be a long flight.” John says, taking a step back. 

“It is.” Christine says, pulling out her thermometer. She takes your temperature, letting out a hum at the number that pops up on screen. “I need to monitor her temperature.” She explains as John gives her a look. “It’s been spiking when she gets stressed.” 

“She's not quite out of it yet, is she?” John asks.

“Not quite.” She says, putting the thermometer back in her bag. “I’ve only seen two omegas successfully come back from that point, and I know the number across the board isn’t very high. It takes a long time for the body and the brain to get back to normal.” 

“And on top of everything that happened...” 

She stares up at him for a long moment. “She’s very strong. I knew she was a fighter, but to come out the other side even where she is now...” Christine shakes her head. “I didn’t want to say this at the time, but I was expecting the worst. When that call came in about what state she was in...” She bites her lip, holding the emotions back. “Her resilience and fortitude is what kept her alive. That and Simon’s courage to do what needed to be done.” 

“I know.” John says, looking past her. “We all owe a lot to him.” 

Christine puts a gentle hand on his arm. “You’re doing what’s best for her. No matter how much it hurts, no matter how much it goes against every instinct you have, it’s what she needs.” 

“That’s all that matters to us right now.” John says, staring down at her hand for a moment. “There’s nothing else we can do, so it’s time we start putting our priorities where they should have been the whole time.” 

Christine gives him a small smile. “I’m proud of you for that. It takes a lot to unlearn the things you’ve been told since the beginning.” 

The corner of John’s lips twitch before his face falls into the emotionless mask he’s been wearing for the last few days. “It’s about time we get our heads out of our arses.” 

“I can’t blame you totally.” She shrugs. “We were all just doing what the initiative was telling us to do. We couldn’t have known. There wasn’t any room to question it.” 

“I wish we would have figured it out sooner.” He sighs. 

“Things might have been worse if the truth did come out sooner. If you started digging into the initiative too soon, Shepherd might have gotten antsy and taken more drastic measures to stop the truth from coming out entirely.” She glances down at you. “I think this was all inevitable.” She turns her gaze back to John. “What happened, happened. None of us can change that. All we can do is keep moving forward with what we have right now.” 

He stares at her for a long moment. “The more time passes, the more I’ve come to realize why Kate chose you for this position.” 

The corner of her lips turns up in a smile. “Well, I am rather good at my job, which, among other things, involves advocating on behalf of omegas.” 

John huffs. “Wish we would have listened sooner.” 

“You can’t change the past.” She repeats, looking down at you again. “But you can change the future.” 

You woke from your sedation about four hours from Helston. 

Well, ’woke’ might have been too strong of a word for it. Your eyes opened, but you were still hazy, movements sluggish and entirely unaware of the world around you. You floated between sleep and awareness for an hour before finally gaining consciousness completely. Awareness took quite a while to return, though. Not until they were moving you to the car from the plane. 

Even still you’re groggy, slumped against the door in the back seat of the car. You blink slowly, eyes unfocused as you stare out the window at the blur of green passing by. 

“How is she?” John asks from the driver's seat, glancing up at the rearview mirror. 

“Cow.” You say, blinking slowly as the car passes a field of cows. 

“Still out of it.” Christine answers from the back seat where she's sitting next to you. Your response might have been enough to answer that. “Better than being in pain, though.” 

“How long will it take for her to get out of it?” Kyle asks. 

“Hopefully she’ll be more lucid by the time we get there, but it could take a few hours for it to completely wear off.” Christine says, wiping a bit of drool from your chin. “Probably not a bad thing. This is a big change, and with everything that’s happened, it’s going to take some time to settle in.” 

“Things are going to be rough.” Kyle says. 

“Yes.” She agrees. “Being enclosed in a small space with the people you want to see the least in the world isn’t an ideal situation. It’ll be an adjustment for everyone. I trust all of your abilities to adapt, though. Just don't go in expecting things to be the way they were.”

John's hands tighten around the steering wheel, his knuckles going white. Kyle cracks his window open, prepared for the thickening of John's scent in the air. Christine knows she hit a nerve, but it needed to be said. Even if you were open to forgiveness right now, even if they had chosen to go after you right away, things still wouldn't be the same. Things won't ever be the same. It is their fault deep at the root of it. Those cameras were put up because of them, you were taken because of them. You were chosen for the “initiative” because of them, because Kate thought you'd fit in well with them. Their decisions shaped your life, and will continue to shape your life. 

Can you ever come to forgive them? Christine likes to think so. She has the hope that they can put in the work and regain your trust and earn eventual forgiveness. She knows you'll allow them to try once the initial hurt and emotions begin to fade, once the two of you put in enough work to start processing the trauma around the events that happened. It will take time. Probably a long time. 

She'll be there every step of the way. 

“Ashley did some shopping for us, picked up some stuff to get us until we can get into town.” Kyle says, looking at his phone. 

“Good.” John says, his shoulders starting to relax. “Should wait a couple days before going. Get settled in.”

“She's still working on cleaning up. Probably still be there when we get there.” Kyle says, putting his phone back in his pocket. 

“That's fine. We’ll probably have to utilize her a bit.” 

“Doubt she'll complain.” Kyle says, looking out the window. “Be thrilled to have something to do besides work.” 

You let out a quiet groan, shifting against the door. “Hurts.” 

“I know, honey.” Christine says, carefully adjusting your left arm. “I’ll give you more pain meds once we get to the cottage.” 

“We’ll be there in half an hour.” John says, glancing up at the rearview mirror again before turning his eyes back to the road. 

The half hour seems to take the longest as you continue to become more and more lucid and aware. The pain sets in first, your brain picking up on those signals before anything else. John’s knuckles are white around the steering wheel as you begin to whine and whimper around every bend in the road and turn he has to make, every jostle of the car. Every instinct in his body tells him to pull over and comfort you, but he can’t. It’s more important to get to the cottage, and there’s no guarantee you’d even let him. It might make things worse. 

The last thing you need right now is for things to get worse. 

Christine breathes a sigh of relief as they pull up to the cottage, glad she can finally get you somewhere more comfortable. You’ve been in far too many uncomfortable positions today, moved around too much. She would have liked to keep you in Texas a couple more days, but she knew as soon as you were able to travel, the better. The sooner they could get off the grid, the better. 

The sooner they could get out of Texas, the better. 

Kyle is getting the wheelchair out of the trunk when Johnny and Simon pull up, not having been far behind. They likely took a turn around the back roads to ensure no one was following and to keep things from looking too suspicious. 

Christine keeps you from slumping out of the car as she carefully opens the door on your side. You’re more awake than you were, blinking up at her with almost startlingly aware eyes.

“Crutch.” You pout when she pulls the wheelchair closer. 

She gives you a look. “Honey I'm not sure you could even stand right now.” You may be more aware, but that doesn’t mean your body is working as it should.

You let out a defiant noise as you attempt to get your legs out of the car, trying to hide your grunts of pain and discomfort. 

She's tempted to stand there and let you try, but she knows all hell will break loose if she lets you fall. She's not willing to take that risk, not to mention it will cause you more pain to get you up off the ground. 

“Come on,” She says, stopping you before you can get your feet under you. “Nice and slow.” 

You let out a quiet growl of indignation but you allow her to help you, your legs trembling as she eases you up. Kyle is there with the wheelchair, getting it as close to you as possible so she can sit you down quickly. 

“Ow.” You breathe, eyes pinched closed as you breathe through the pain. 

“I know.” She says, patting your good shoulder lightly. She's glad she put you in the sweatshirt before you left Texas. It's chilly outside, chillier than it was further inland a few days ago. 

It's hard to believe it's only been a few days since you were taken. Barely even a week. So much happened in such a short period of time. It feels like it’s been weeks since everything started, but then again, it had been weeks since John and Kyle first left. It had been weeks since you had been around your whole pack together by the time you were taken. The deep depression you sunk into before the events of the last week had been draining you slowly for weeks before this. It had started before John and Kyle were deployed, back to that day when you revealed the cameras and the secret you had been hiding from them. 

How long you’ve gone in such turmoil. 

How far you still have to go. 

The path up to the door is rocky and uneven, the wheelchair jostling as she pushes it up towards the door. She can picture your face, the way it has to be screwed up in pain. You're silent though, holding it all in. She almost wishes you weren't being silent about it. 

The door is already open, light shining from inside as she approaches. Kyle is in the house already, having gone ahead to greet his sister. John is right behind the two of you as Christine turns to wheel you up the steps into the house. His eyes are on you, focused and ready should you fall.  

Christine would never let you fall, and from the way your hand is gripping the arm of the chair for dear life, you probably couldn't anyway. 

She wheels you through the entryway, the inside warmer thanks to a fire that's burning. It's a nice cottage, far nicer than she had been expecting judging from the outside. 

Johnny lets out a low whistle as he enters behind John, looking around. “Yer parents own this?” 

“It was given to our mum by our grandparents. They did some...renovations before they passed it on.” Kyle says. 

“Yer tellin’ me.” Johnny says. 

It looks new inside. New wood floors, freshly painted walls. The furniture looks like she would expect to find in an English seaside cottage, though. Kyle’s parents went to France for summer vacation instead of utilizing the cottage, and none of his siblings had wanted to use it, he told them. It looks almost perfect, like it came right out of a home renovation show. Kyle’s sister must have worked some sort of magic to get it this clean. 

It is a very nice cottage. It’s small, the door opening right to the main area. There’s two couches and a chair in the middle of the room around a coffee table. To the left of the couches is a fireplace, the fire already lit and crackling. It looks original, likely having been untouched in the renovations. There’s a door to the left of the fireplace closer to the main entryway. A bedroom maybe? To the right of the front door are two doors, one on the far wall and one facing the front door. 

The stairs are in the middle of the house, leading up to the second floor where there’s likely more bedrooms. On the far side of the main area is the dining area and beyond that is a sliding glass door. Around the corner on the far side of the stairs is likely the kitchen. She can see the fridge from where she’s standing. It’s new. Very new. Makes her wonder just how long ago it had been renovated. 

“Everyone, this is my sister Ashley.” Kyle says, introducing the other woman in the room. 

“Hello,” she says, giving everyone a wave and a dazzling smile. 

She’s dressed simply in jeans and a t-shirt, her medium box braids pulled up into a bun on top of her head. They look a lot alike, her and Kyle. Tall and slender and stunning. They have the same smile and the same soft brown eyes. She's wearing scent blockers, but Christine can imagine her having a soft scent like lavender or something fresh like mint. 

“There's two rooms down here, and two upstairs.” Kyle says. “The main bedroom is through there.” He points towards a door to their left. “I figure we'll give that to our omega. The bathroom in there has a walk-in shower.” 

“Perfect.” Christine says. That will make getting you in and out of the shower easier at least, and you won’t have to go far to use the bathroom.

“You should take the other room down here.” John says, looking at Christine. “So you can be close in case of an emergency.”

And so you don't have to be too close to them, so you won’t feel like they’re hovering.

He doesn't have to say that part out loud. 

“I put new sheets on all the beds.” Ashley says. “I also picked up everything Kyle sent on the list. Food, some clothes, some other necessities.”

You let out a quiet groan, Christine patting your head gently. You have to be exhausted and sore after the day. She should give you another dose of pain medicine like she said she would. You’re going to need it tonight. 

“Let's get you laying down for a bit.” She says, wheeling you towards the door. 

Kyle opens it for her, revealing a spacious room with a big window looking out towards the sea. You're going to spend a lot of time in front of that window, she thinks. The bed is in the middle of the room, and there’s two chairs facing the window. She’s almost tempted to sit you in one of the chairs, but laying down will be more comfortable for you right now. 

You're still too out of it now to care much as she wheels you to the double bed. With Kyle's help they get you horizontal, Christine draping the blanket at the end of the bed over you. It’s not very soft, but it will do for now. She’ll have to get the guys to pick up some soft blankets for you when they go to town. She has a whole list of things starting in her head she needs them to pick up.

She leans your crutch against the end of the bed just in case you might need it for an emergency. She hopes you’ll yell first, but you always have been stubborn. Being mostly bed-bound has only made that worse. 

“I’m going to go look through the things Ashley picked up.” She says, patting your leg gently. “Get some rest.” 

Christine leaves the door open a crack as she exits, wanting to give you a little privacy as you nap, or at least she hopes you’ll nap. It’s going to be a rough adjustment, and you’re going to need as much rest as you can get. 

“I’m assuming you’re Christine.” Ashley says, walking up to her. 

“I am.” She says, giving Ashley a smile. 

She can’t help but get lost in Ashley’s soft gaze for a moment. The Garrick siblings seem to share the same magnetic energy. There’s something almost ethereal about them. She could easily imagine them with glowing halos and angel wings. It’s almost like she’s being blessed with the opportunity to look upon her. She could spend an hour staring at Ashley’s face and not grow tired of looking at her.

“I picked up the items Kyle said you needed.” She says, motioning to the bags on the coffee table, pulling Christine out of her daze. “I couldn’t find the exact nutrient powder you asked for, so I got one that was as close as I could find.” 

Christine glances through the bags. She was thorough, getting at least two of everything. 

“I got warmer clothes for her too, since it can get chilly out here this time of year. Just some simple things for now until you guys get into town.” Ashley says. “I did some research too and I read that omegas like comforting things so I picked up some extra blankets and pillows” Ashley says, motioning to a couple bags sitting on the couch. “I also picked up this,” She pulls a stuffed dog from one of the bags, holding it up. “It was the softest one I could find. I thought it might help.” 

A small smile forms on Christine’s face, her heart fluttering in her chest from the sweet, thoughtful gesture. Ashley doesn’t even know you, nor did she know exactly what happened to you, and yet she went so far as to pick up some comfort items for you. You have nothing right now, only the borrowed clothes on your back. All of your belongings are still on base, all of the things that you had built to make your perfect nest. Would you want any of them still? Or have they been tainted by the events of the last few weeks? 

That Ashley thought to do this has warmth flooding Christine’s body. You can have some comfort now without having to wait for their trip to town. She almost feels the urge to cry. She wants to hug Ashley, thank her over and over for her kindness. Ashley has no idea how much her small act of kindness means, how much it's going to mean. 

A smile forms on Christine’s face as she stares at the stuffed dog. “It’s perfect.” 

You can hear it. 

In the distance, the quiet roar reaches your ears as you’re dragged from the sweet arms of sleep. It must be a dream, or perhaps the sedative is still clinging to your mind, making you imagine things. 

No. 

You’d know that sound anywhere. 

The effort to push yourself up to sit is a momentous one, every cell in your body protesting after a day of being moved and jostled. The last thing you want is to move right now, but you have to. 

The pain meds have done little to help.

The crutch at the end of your bed must be a thousand miles away as you sit there and stare at it. The ache in your body only increases as you become more and more aware of the pain, almost as if it can tell what it is your mind is planning. 

The door is cracked open, letting in a slit of light from outside. It’s dark in the room, the curtains pulled over the window. It’s a blessing compared to the bright yellow light outside the door. You welcome the darkness as your head begins to throb. You could call for assistance. You’d get more help than you needed. More help than you want. 

No. 

You need to do this. 

The effort it takes to get standing nearly sends you back onto the bed. The pain nearly blinds you as your feet touch the floor, your body leaning against the side of the mattress out of desperation. If you fall, you’ll never be alone again. You can’t afford that. You don’t want that. 

If you fall, you’ll never get up again. 

The breaths out of your nose are short and sharp as you reach for the crutch, fingers trembling in the effort to fight the pain threatening to blind you. You’re trembling like a leaf in a storm as your fingers finally wrap around the cool metal. The rubber bottom drags across the floor as you tug it over to you, holding it against your chest for a moment. 

Breathe. That’s what you need to do. Breathe. 

In and out. 

Nice and slow. 

The pain is only a memory. The pain is nothing. The memories forming at the edges of your mind will take over and wipe out the pain and the misery. You just have to be sure. You just have to be certain.

You push yourself upright using the crutch, tucking it under your arm. You should go back to bed. You should rest. 

No. 

You need to know. 

You need to be certain.

The first step you take nearly makes you sick. 

It’s like watching a baby deer walk for the first time, knees wobbling, feet shaking. You lean heavily on the crutch, your determination the only thing keeping you from tumbling to the floor in a heap. That might almost hurt worse than forcing yourself to stand upright. 

If you fall, you’ll never get up again. 

Inch by inch you move across the floor, silently grateful for the socks on your feet. They allow you to slide across the hardwood, but they also pose a threat. Slide too far and you’ll lose your feet. 

If you fall, you’ll never get up again. 

The determination and your desire for certainty is what keeps you sliding inch by inch across the floor towards that strip of blinding light in front of you. It’s hovering before you, threatening you. How do you know there’s not one of them standing guard, waiting for you to try and leave? You can’t know. You don’t have a clue what’s waiting on the other side of that door. It could be nothing. It could be your entire pack. 

Breathe. 

In and out. 

You take a moment at the door, resting your aching feet. Your body is throbbing from the effort to keep yourself upright, the sedative still numbing your brain and your movements. It’s like treading through honey, everything twice as hard as it should be. You can walk. You’ve done it before. You did it in the medical center. 

You can do it here. 

You use the crutch to push the door open more, your free arm still tucked in a sling to keep you from moving it. Reaching for it with that arm would have put you on the floor, would have caused more pain than you needed, would have made you fall. 

If you fall, you’ll never get up again. 

Breathe. 

The light burns. Explosions of yellows and whites erupt behind your eyelids as you screw them tight against the sudden onslaught. The sun is in the room, shining its rays directly into your sensitive eyes. Your stomach churns, your fingers tightening around the crutch so tight your knuckles begin to ache. The oppressive light makes you want to recede back into the darkness of the room behind you like a vampire shying away from the light of day. 

No. 

You won’t be defeated by the harsh artificial lighting. You need to know. 

You need to be certain.

The others are moving around. You can hear voices around the corner, voices upstairs with thudding footsteps. The air is thick with a mesh of scents, cleaning chemicals, and the burn of scent blocker. Your nose wrinkles at the sudden onslaught against your senses, your sedated brain making it all seem so much worse. 

You need to know. 

The hardwood floors continue and you use them to your advantage as you shuffle your way across the main area. The fire crackles as you pass, the popping of a log making you startle. Your feet slide again, your body pushing up against the crutch to hold yourself steady. 

If you fall, you’ll never get up again. 

Your target is dead ahead, a mile away but so close you can almost taste it. Just past the dining table and straight on till morning. 

Despite your snail’s pace, no one seems to notice you shuffling your way across the house. It should make you upset, the fact that none of them notice you moving around, but instead it makes you glad. They’d try to stop you if they noticed you, turn you around and shuffle you back to bed. Or worse, they’d carry you. 

How easily you could slip away, though. 

Well...in theory. 

Perhaps that’s why they ‘re not paying you any mind. How far could you really go in your current state? 

Why would you want to stray from the only safe space you have? 

The world outside is more dangerous with the state you’re in. Not just because of your injuries and your status, but also because you know Shepherd is still out there, and for all you know Graves is as well. 

He could be waiting right outside the door. 

No. 

They’d know. 

They’d protect you. 

They failed. 

You push past the fear in favor of certainty as you push forward, passing the dining table in your slow crawl towards the sliding glass door. 

It poses an entirely new threat as you stand before it, staring out the darkened glass. You have to get it open. Getting it open takes strength and you’re down to one hand that’s trying to keep you upright. 

You have to know. 

You have to be certain. 

You lean your weight on the crutch, ignoring the way it digs into your armpit as you reach for the handle. You click the lock, wrapping your fingers around the plastic before pulling. Your body screams with pain as you tug, the door sliding in the track as slowly as you had moved across the small living area. It’s almost as if it's mocking you. 

It’s open only as wide as you need to crutch your way through, doing your best not to knock your left shoulder against the frame. 

If you fall, you’ll never get up again. 

Breathe. 

You can smell it. 

The salty sea air invades your senses, slipping up through your nose and straight into your brain. Memories come flooding back of childhood vacations back when things were simpler. Back when nothing mattered but the sand and the water and avoiding getting chased by your brothers carrying the piece of seaweed they found. 

Polkadot bathing suits, bright red to be seen easily. Toes in the water, sand everywhere. The nap in the silent car home. 

How simple life was back then. How easy life was. 

Your heart aches for those days again. The days when you could exist without a care in the world, trusting your pack would keep you safe, trusting your family would care for you. Your mind yearns for that sense of safety and security again. 

The world is grey as you hobble across the porch, the grey seeming to go on forever. You missed it, the chill in the air, the gloomy grey overhead. How you yearned for the gloom of England while stuck in the heat of Texas. 

Anything is better than Texas. 

Your forward shuffle pauses at the edge of the deck, your eyes looking out into the grey. Your breath catches in your throat as you stare out into the distance, the ache in your chest intensifying. It blocks out the pain in your body, numbing you to everything else as you stand there, legs trembling from the effort of going the short distance from your room to the end of the porch. 

You can see it. 

Emotions swirl inside of you like a hurricane as you stare out where the grey water meets the grey sky in the line of the horizon. Those emotions threaten to choke you as you stand there trembling at the edge of the porch. There’s a breeze, a cold one that bites through the fabric of your sweatshirt and into the skin below, but you don’t care. 

You can’t care. 

Your legs shake from the exertion, the neverending exhaustion that’s settled deep into your bones. It’s not just a physical exhaustion, but a mental one as well. It’s been a long week. 

Only a week. 

So much has happened in a week. 

You want to sit. You want to sink down onto the porch and rest. 

If you fall, you’ll never get up again. 

There’s a pain in your chest as your breath catches in your throat. The emotions are whirling, tightening around your chest, squeezing your lungs until they feel like they might pop. 

Breathe. 

In and out. 

You needed certainty. You needed to know. 

You can hear it. You can smell it. You can see it. 

A single tear rolls down your cheek as you stare out at the sea. 

NEXT ->

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[rqnarok]

summary: dark!old man!logan would do anything for the sake of you going back into his arms. 

cws/tags: smut, mdni! old man!logan. obsessive behavior. fem!reader. logan calls himself ‘old man’. pet names. unspecified age gap. unstable power dynamic. crying. soft dom!logan. sub!reader. not proofread. 

You’re not sure if you can even call him your ‘ex.’ 

The both of you never had the ‘talk’, and never did have any middle ground stating what kind of relationship this is. 

Logan’s way older than you - way more mature - “Need t’be fucked by a real man, ‘s that it, baby?” way more experienced. 

No matter how heated the night before, Logan still turns everything cold with his aloofness - and you - you never feel brave enough to speak up against it. 

With a heavy heart and numerous self-loathing sessions, you concluded that it was time to let him go - convincing yourself you deserve someone more. Someone you’d be comfortable with to ask for something more. 

And you did, well, that’s what you tell yourself as you busied yourself with everything else. Withdrawing from him little by little, texting him things such as  ‘Can’t meet you today, sorry’ or ‘Something else came up..’ to avoid ending up on his sheets.

Logan’s not stupid. He may be old, a fucking hundred years old something but he’s not dumb. He knows what you’re doing. 

Reading the texts you sent him, he’d grumble curse words under his breaths before tugging off his glasses in a harsh movement. 

He just didn’t think you’d last so long dodging him. Logan expected you to give up on the first day of the second week—he was wrong because it’s been a month, damnit.

Sometime during the unlabeled relationship that went on for almost a year already, you put Logan’s number on the list as your ‘alternative’ contact, making people ring his number when yours is not answering.

And Logan always answers your phone calls. He’d justify himself that it’s merely a habit that he’s still trying to break, but truthfully it’s to make sure you’re hanging out with the ‘right people.’ 

Logan fucking hates it when he’s hearing a guy’s voice on the other line—toughens himself to respond, lowering his voice and curting his answers. He’ll let them know you’re busy. 

In the second month, you run back into Logan in desperation. 

Your eyes are all puffy from crying because your last date was such a prick! He called you nasty-horrible-sickening names before erasing your number off his phone for no reason. 

Logan opens his arms to welcome your hiccuping figure standing before him. Shushing you down and rubbing circles on your back - telling you to tell him who hurted you. 

This dependency you hold on him makes his cock twitch. That he’s right: you still seek him out no matter how long it takes. 

You don’t even notice how bad it gets—that’s the best thing. You never learn, huh?

That’s alright - because he’ll try for real this time. Groans out praises after praises to you, “What’s that, baby? Y’feel good?” Logan jeers overhead, holding himself over you with his hand gripping onto the headboard, “Too good?” He chuckles as his other hand thumbs on your puffy button.

His rough fingers pad up your clit, sending electricity throughout your body. Making you writhe underneath him and Logan scolds you in the softest way he can, “Stay still f’me, will ya?” 

You can’t answer. You can’t even speak outside of high-pitched whines, a mess of your own saliva drips until it reaches your chin. Your whole body is finally sticky after it’s been cold for weeks. His fat cock driving onto his home over and over, better than anything you’ve ever felt before.

“Yeah, y’just need your old man, hm? No one else can t‘care of this pussy like I do, sweetheart.”

He maliciously slows down his movement to watch his length entering your wet folds, humming at the vulgar squelching sound, “Come take a look a’her, baby. She’s squeezing me in - misses me so much.” 

The sight of him is trouble, messy greying hair and beard; chest full of scars. Everything you should’ve stayed away from.

”Yeayeahyea- Missed you so m-much. Ah-” 

But you cannot think when he’s holding you like this - when he angles himself so his tip is continuously hitting against that spongy spot inside you that makes your body weak. 

A string of ah ah ahs are leaving your mouth as he growls next to your face. “‘M cumming —”

His head falls back as he feels how your dripping pussy milks him dry, instantly following after as he buries himself deeper to make sure none of his cum drips out, “F-fuck. Good fuckin’ girl.” 

When he’s finished, Logan falls atop you in tiredness before rolling himself slightly to the side so he doesn’t suffocate you with his weight. Pampering your tear-flushed cheeks with slow kisses - the feel of his beard burning onto your skin like a streak of fire.

“C’meback, sweet girl.” He whispers in a quiet voice, hoping you’d give in completely. 

And you do - you always do.

Moments later, he’d have you resting on his chest, fingers combing through your hair to calm you down from the noises inside your head.

You don’t have to know that he was the one who drove your date away. 

It’s a mistake that the boy called Logan’s number because he was so impatient to hear back from you. A goddamn mistake. 

Because of that, Logan became aware of his existence and tracks him down. Threatens the other guy to stay the fuck away from you. 

Poor guy almost pissed his pants in fright. Running away scared shitless after Logan let go of his collar. 

Logan doesn’t know when exactly he turned into this wild animal. A sick old fuck who’d do anything to keep you in his embrace. 

Why does it matter? Everything is in its right place now. He’ll make sure you’d never have to know about the things he’d do for you.

[melzula]

Can you please write jealous Zuko? It can be however you like😊

a/n: i love jealous zuko! however this ended up being more angsty than i intended😭 hope you enjoy!

summary: a party at the palace leads to a deep revelation for zuko

He was miserable.

The palace didn’t throw parties very often these days, but the recent conquering of another Earth colony was deemed a call for celebration, and so all of the noble families in the Capital City were invited to attend. A grand feast was held and praises were showered upon Ozai throughout the night. It was one of the rare times Zuko didn’t have to worry about his father’s wrath, and so he should have been enjoying himself.

But he couldn’t, not when he could see that across the way another boy was flirting with you right in front of him.

You were Zuko’s everything- his childhood best friend that he’d always held harbored feelings for. During his banishment he thought of you constantly, and upon his arrival he immediately asked you to be his girlfriend. You were sweet and friendly, easily approachable and always able to cheer him up despite his moodiness, you were perfect. And apparently this other boy could see this too.

You smile out of politeness and nod along to the boy’s rambling story about his fire bending skills and high IQ, not very interested in listening but too nice to brush him off. It infuriates Zuko to see someone else take advantage of your kindness, and he’s unable to just sit back and watch any longer.

A harsh hand lands upon the boy’s shoulder, startling both of you in the process. Zuko’s eyes are blazing with fury, his palm scorching the fabric of the boy’s robes and scaring the spirits out of him in the process.

“Can’t you take a hint? She doesn’t want to talk to you!” the Prince bellow angrily, prompting a few guests nearby to turn their heads curiously towards the commotion. A bit embarrassed at the sudden attention, you gently pull Zuko’s hand away and drag him out to the gardens before he can escalate the situation any further. The last thing you need is for him to cause a scene at his father’s party.

“What?” Zuko says defensively as you wordlessly walk through the palace hallways. “I was helping you!”

“You were acting jealous again,” you chide gently.

“No I wasn’t!” He argues defensively only to shrink under your pointed gaze. “…I was.”

“I love you, Zuko, but I don’t love how jealous you can get sometimes. I’m your girlfriend, don’t you trust me?”

“Of course I do!” He interjects quickly, almost offended at the notion.

“Then what is it? Why do you act this way?”

Zuko is silent, his eyes casted sullenly to the floor as you patiently wait for his answer. You take his hands in your own and give them a reassuring squeeze to let him know you’re there for him, and the act seems to coax him out of his stupor.

“I’m afraid you’ll change your mind about being with me, and once the right guy comes along you’ll realize you’re better off without me,” he admits quietly, almost ashamed to voice the thought out loud.

“Zuko…” you utter sadly, heartbroken at the fact that he could even believe such a thing.

“Why do you want to be with a boy who’s been exiled from his own country before? Whose own father burned his face? Who’s so messed up in every way possible?”

Gently carefully cupping his face in your hands, you tilt his head upward to meet your sincere gaze. His eyes are glossy with tears he refuses to let fall, and your heart aches for the poor boy before you. You wish you could take away all of his hurt in agony, but you can’t, so you do your best to take away his insecurity instead.

“I wish you could yourself the way I see you,” you tell him lovingly. “You are more than enough for me, more than I could ever ask for. You’re strong, you’re brave, you’re smart. You’re you. I love you, Zuko. No one’s ever going to get into the way of that.”

He says nothing in response but simply yanks you into his arms for the tightest hug you’ve ever possibly received. You know he isn’t the best at words or emotions, but his embrace conveys that he is grateful for every word to come out of your mouth.

He knows he may be jealous at times, but he also knows that he doesn’t have to be anymore.

Because you’re not going anywhere.

| atla tags: @sirkekselord @niktwazny303

| zuko tags: @thebluelcdy @royahllty @the-firebender-girl @ilovespideyyy @yiyibetch @eridanuswave @lammello @a-monsters-love @knaite-solo @taeeemin

[gemstone-roses]

Keep me warm

Summary: reader is terrified of storms, soaking wet, she shows up at hannibals door, terrified and needing comfort. Size kink. Cock warming.

Warnings: 18 plus only. NSFW, descriptions of a panic attack, cock warming, size kink, smut, hurt/comfort. You know the drill.

A:N- thankyou for requesting this I have been thinking about this scenario ever since! Hope your okay! Much love ❤️. I know you said you'd be fine with hc but you get a whole fic instead🥰 also I got rained on so much last week and now I'm full of cold I HATE this time of year ugh. I hope you like this I really do 🥰🥰

This might be one of my favourite things I've written.

You regret every decision you've made leading up to this point.

Grey clouds gather above you, you look up, wincing.

You thought you could make it home before the rain. Only wearing a light jacket, definitely not equipped for the kind of weather about to unleash on your head.

Fuck you whisper, hands clenching as thunder rolls in.

You shove your jacket off and hold it above your head in a pathetic attempt to retain at least a bit of dignity. You know you can't make it home with the storm, your anxiety already heightening with every crack you hear.

But you can make it to hannibal.

He's the only one who knew of your fear. Having to reveal it one day when you were both on the way to a crime scene.

The rain falls hard on the front of the car, wipers working overtime to clear it, your amazed hannibal can even see through the haze of rain. Your breath hitches as you hear the beginnings of a storm. You hoped he didn't notice. But this is hannibal. Of course he did. He glances over at you, sees your chest heaving and pulls over.

"Y/N" he says softly, shifting in his seat to face you.

But the rain is coming down so fast and hard and it's like you can feel it, in your soul. Your head spins as you try and take a deep breath. Hannibal places his hand on your thigh and squeezes, once again calling your name. When you don't look at him, he reaches out and grips your chin gently.

His face is flooded with concern

"I- can't

You push your hand into your chest, trying to ease the weight that's settled there.

"I know, I know, y/n, keep your eyes on me, okay?" Hannibal soothes.

You force yourself to keep looking at him, his big hand still rests cupping your chin, applying a slight pressure.

"Good" he smiles, hannibal weighs up the options in his head. Getting out of the car is out of the question, and he asks "do you trust me?" And you nod, so hannibal unclips your belt and says "Come here" before pulling you onto his lap. He immediately holds you tight, pushing you into his chest. "It'll be over soon my love" he soothes as he holds you against him. You can hear his heart beat as you lay on him, and eventually it calms you.

By the time you knock frantically at his door, your positively soaking wet, teeth chattering, tears blending in with the rain running down your face.

Hannibal opens the door and your hit instantly with a wall of warm. His brow furrows in concern as he takes in your state.

"S-storm" you mutter, looking down at the floor before you feel two hands wrap around your waist and pull you into the house.

Hannibal immediately pulls you into his embrace, placing a gentle kiss to your forehead. You shrink into his embrace, his presence beginning to melt away the fear you felt.

Shivers rack your body, cold setting in, hannibal holds you tighter.

'I've got you' he says.

"Come on, let's get you warmed up hm?" His hand comes to cup your face as he speaks.

He leads you to the lounge, where the fire is roaring.

"Let's get out of those wet clothes my love" he says, his hands rest lightly on your waist. Waiting.

You look at him, his eyes blown wide, hannibal swallows visibly.

"Would you like me to leave while you change?" He asks.

"No" you whisper.

Hannibal lifts your soaking shirt over your head. His breath catches in his throat as he does, lips parted slightly as he takes you in.

You slip out of your pants just as hannibal places the dry shirt over your head. It falls just below your knees.

Hannibal runs his fingers over your neck "you, are exquisite" he says, slightly breathless.

Heat rises to your face, warming you. Your still shivering slightly though, and hannibal of course, notices.

"Come here" he whispers, sitting down on the sofa and pulling you on top of him.

You let out a moan as you feel his cock against you, sitting deliciously against your core.

Hannibals cock hardens even more at the noise you made.

"Your still colder than I'd like darling" he says seriously, running his hands up and down your exposed thigh.

"Mm" is all you manage to say.

"I was working on my memory palace, when you knocked"

"M sorry" you mutter, ducking your head.

Hannibal tuts, lifting your chin to look at him.

"No, do not apologise, but, I do need to finish my thoughts" he says as his cock twitches.

"How about we stay like this until I'm done hm? And then I'll cook and you can spend the night?" He asks.

You nod.

"Words, darling" hannibal says sternly.

"Yes" you breathe out.

You shift slightly, his clothed cock pushing against you making you drip with need.

Hannibal grips your hips and stills you.

"Not until I'm finished" he grins. Before pushing you back slightly so he can free his cock from his pants.

You watch in awe as his thick cock springs up against his stomach.

Hannibal places his hands back on your hips before guiding you to sit on his cock.

You close your eyes, pleasure overtaking you as he sinks inside.

"No my love, you keep your eyes on me" he says, his voice gravelly.

"Hanni, please" you whisper, his cock filling you stretching you so good.

He ignores you. Continuing his thoughts as he twitches his cock every now and then inside you.

He keeps one hand gripping your chin, looking at him as you warm his cock.

"You feel so good, sitting on my cock like this, so perfect" he says.

Your chest heaves at his words.

"M so full, please, I need you" you choke out, feeling every ridge of his cock inside you, he pushed himself up on the couch slightly, causing him to hit another spot inside you.

"Fuck" you cry out.

Hannibal smirks, before wrapping his arms around you and pulling you into him. He begins to trace small patterns on your back.

"Hanni, it feels so good" you whisper into his chest, clenching around him.

"I know my love, just a bit longer I promise, your doing so well for me".

You whine at his words, and hannibal keeps talking to you like that, you relax into him, his cock still snug inside you as he holds you, warming you up, as you warm his cock.

[katsukikitten]

Mentions of children and a baby, fluffy and then angst. MDNI

Katsuki wakes up to the sound of laughter, soft giggling before two small bodies crawl into the oversized bed.

"Daddy!" They whisper, or what they call a whisper, having not learned the subtleness of it yet. More of a hushed yell of his title as little hands slap across his bare skin, "Daddy wake up!"

He scoops them to him, pressing them against his scarred chest with a grunt before his eyes flutter open, by the sun alone he can tell it's barely seven am. A glance at his clock confirms it and the kids squeal from how he squeezes them to him. He's barely gotten an hour and a half of sleep and when he glances over his shoulder he sees that you're still in bed, he wonders if it was a late night for you too. You were texting him late last night although that was normal for you, Katsuki still wonders if the newest edition to the family was the cause of your unrest.

Katsuki thinks he can pin his twin boys to him and lull them to sleep for another hour or so, he's done it before but their giggles say otherwise.

"Grandma is comin today to see sissy!" Their hushed yell too loud for Katsuki's liking, at least while you and baby try to sleep. Little hands pressing at his chest and setting off little popping explosions that earn them a fatherly glare although Katsuki was sure yours was sharper than his somehow.

It's befitting that he'd have two little hellions just like himself, a "double curse" his ma has teased about your whole pregnancy but she quietly whispered to Katsuki after she first met the twins, "You were easy to raise."

And the youngest Bakugou, his baby girl, took after you. All of her features a carbon copy of you just as his boys were the spitting image of him.

"We wanna tell her we helped with breakfast!" They're pushing again, although this time without their explosions after the warning glare from their father.

"You'll wake yer mother and yer sister." He grunts, but presses kisses to their faces that they giggle about, "Wait in the kitchen for me yea? But do not touch that stove."

"Okay daddy!" Their "whispers" lost and a full on yell before their eyes widen from their mistake, Katsuki and the boys holding their breath only for the baby to coo and you to let out a sleepy "Hmm?'

Katsuki knows that you can still fall asleep, that you'd have risen if you were more awake so that he could sleep but he's up now and he doesn't mind. He's glad the boys have listened to him that yes, momma is a super woman but that daddy can help them too.

And Katsuki cannot say he isn't proud that the boys love to cook with him.

After the coast is clear he sends them on their way with a playful swat to their butts that they giggle about, always rough housing those two. Encouraged of course by Bakugou but when it comes to the baby their hands shake with a little nervousness asking for gloves because they know their quirk could hurt their baby sister and that they are not in control of their gift yet.

Katsuki rises enough to sit on the side of the bed in nothing but his boxers, chest and half of his face scarred from a tale long ago that his kids beg for the story but he never tells. Not yet anyway. Rubbing his large palms across his handsome features, bromine eyes softened to candied apples thanks to his family. Ash blonde stubble looking more grey and crows feet next to his shining eyes.

He yawns, hears his boys giggle as they try to get the usual stuff for pancakes. One helping the other to climb the counter in order to reach the pancake mix and they're good boys. They don't touch the stove while they wait.

Katsuki rises fully now, grabbing a shirt from the clean hamper and sliding it on. Coming over to your side of the bed to look at you. Sleeping soundly and when he spies the bags under your eyes being kissed by your long lashes, he's more than thankful the boys woke him up instead. He leans over, kisses your temple softly, runs his hand feather light over your arm before his cooing baby girl. Talking to herself softly as she stares up at the ceiling, arms moving here and there but nothing too excitable.

And then she sees her father and her face lights up, pure joy just like when she sees her mom. Not fully Katsuki knows this but maybe it's even better to know that his baby girl still knows that these blurry shapes are him. Her cooing and babble louder now, excited as she reaches up for him and he gives a big smile pulling her up to press her into his arms.

"Good morning sweetheart." He coos back, a kiss to her wispy hairline. Softly shutting the door as he takes her to her room, passing by his boys and shutting the door to each. You insisted they should have separate rooms that you didn't want the twins to feel like one person and although they both had "sleep overs" often, they loved their own space as well.

"Boys you'll have to pick up yer rooms a bit before grams gets here." He says to them as he walks down the hall after baby girl has a fresh diaper and outfit, at least for now.

"Even though she doesn't go in there."

"Yea grams never sees our room unless we show her!'

"Mmhmm even though she doesn't go in there. It's still nice to have a straightened room ain't it?" Katsuki looks to them as they play in the water more than they wash their hands.

The morning is easy somehow and Katsuki is so so thankful he waited as long as he did to have kids. He's much more mellow now, can do more of the gentle parenting shit the baby books talked about. And yes his mother yelled at him often and he knows his ma loves him, he just doesn't want that for his kids. And yea he does yell sometimes, gets frustrated or blows up, they're two six year olds with big ass feelings and little bodies.

But he always apologizes

You taught him that and if you couldn't collect yourself either you always pointed out it isn't kind to yell, apologized and explained your own big feelings. Plus when you had the right partner parenting could be easy, it could be a lot of fucking fun. At least that's what Bakugou has always thought.

He supports you and he listened to his Ma the first time when Mitsuki said you weren't going to ask for help and that Katsuki needed to step up. So he'd take turns before you become exhausted and burned out, he split chores or took on more when you couldn't. And as always you did the same for him.

Now is just one of those weird times where you both are exhausted and trying your best to work with the schedule you have but Katsuki thinks you need a little more rest than him even if you've been home. Even if you can send the boys to grams or your own parents or to their cousins house for a sleepover, you still deserve rest because at the end of the day no matter how much he could step up kids will always want their moms first.

"Katsuki." You call gently from the hall as the boys bounce around while a TV show plays on low, their giggling hushed while Katsuki "spoils" the baby and keeps her held to him.

"Ah did we wake ya?"

"MOM WE HELPED WITH PANCAKES!" They scream excitedly, rushing to their half asleep mom to cling to your legs. Chattering away about how they helped with everything even dishes. How yours is in the microwave and how daddy said he'd heat them up. You respond, brushing your hands over their little skulls, pushing down their hair and they hum on.

"You came home late, you should have woken me up." You say softly, barely enough time to get ready before Mitsuki was due here in less than twenty minutes.

"Haaah? And let you hog all this to yerself?" He gestures to the living room where it looks as if a bomb went off, toys, stuffed animals and blankets scattered about that you and Katsuki would have to sing the clean up song just to have it all put away. Mostly anyway, it'd all come out again as they showed their grams and gramps their collection.

You laugh loudly, god damn does he love that sound. Loves that it echoes in his own chest enough to make him smirk or chuckle. Watches you come closer to kiss the babies forehead from over the back of the couch before kissing him on the lips.

The boys of course erupt in a chorus of EWS before they're getting a look from you both. This was definitely still a lightly teasing household.

"Go get ready. The number one hero can handle this." He leans up for another kiss that you give him of course, your once sharp claws now rounded to soft nails scratch at his scruff.

"Kay."

You're out of the shower and dressed without a second to spare, the doorbell rings. The boys wait impatiently to see if it's okay to answer the door, hopping up and down because they were never allowed to swing it open even if they were expecting someone. When Katsuki confirms on the door bell camera it's his mother, he rises to stand at the door to open it.

Sunlight bleeds in, obstructs the view of his mother for a moment

And then Katsuki wakes up.

His alarm blaring from his bedside table making his heart race with adrenaline, his palm poised and ready. Glowing a deep orange as he collects himself a moment. Growling as he smashes another phone turning to stare at the ceiling. He dares not reach out to your side of the bed even though he knows what he'll find.

Still, his curious, masochist palms reach out to find cool sheets. Sheets on your side of the bed that haven't been warmed for over two years, why would they?

No giggling laughter can be heard in the home, no cooing little girl he can greet with a smile after a hard ass night at work because the four of you made it worth it over and over again.

No visit from his ma on his rare few days off because there was no laughter, no cooing, and there may never be.

There never was because you left him two years ago. Left his sheets cool, the house he bought for his future family frigid in your absence no matter how high he turned up the heat or let the sun bleed into his home.

He couldn't even call it a home, homes were warm, joyful, this?

Well this was just another roof over his head, a bed to sleep in, a fridge to hold milk for his protein shakes.

Nothing for bacon and eggs or pancakes. Nothing for formula in the little bottles that were set out on the grass looking drying rack he'd tell his sons not to play with.

Katsuki rises enough to sit on the edge of the bed, rubbing his handsome features with big palms. Fingers lingering over scars from a tale long ago but with no sons to beg for the story.

He hardly has the strength to rise from the bed as he comes to terms that all it ever was and all that his two sons and daughter that he saw so vividly, ever will be

Was a dream.

[retroellie]

Mile-high club

Summary: After a month of not having sex, you decide to be bold with what you want from spencer. Stepping out of both your comfort zones due to complete sexual frustration.

A/N: This one is a bit rushed, but can y'all tell what my faviote spencer era is? Like i love long haired spencer i can not! Also yall... I just turned 19 :) So that's a little life update lmao. Anyways love and miss y'all!!

Warnings: NSFW, public sex and dirty talk

Word count: 5.4K

As with any other case, this case dragged on and on until you felt you were nothing but skin and bones. Cases always left you feeling so empty inside, always so bleak... it always took you a bit to come back to your natural self. The first rule of being a part of the FBI is never to take it personally, don't take it to heart. But how could you not? You're inviting yourself into these people's lives, picking apart their brains, and using that to your advantage. You knew it was for the best but that didn't mean you had to like it.

You were doing what you normally did after cases, drinking hot tea on the jet aching for the sweet release of sleep. This time, however, you weren't aching for sleep. This entire week there was a thought always in the back of your mind, you weren't sure why it was this case specifically but for some reason, the thought lingered. Spencer... You felt yourself heating up every time around him, focusing only on his hands when he was showing you paperwork or squeezing your thighs together as you watched his hips. You had never been the needy one in the relationship, it has always been Spencer... but something about him now left you hungry. You racked it off to just you being hormonal, but you knew it was because Spencer's hands hadn't been on you for a while. Back-to-back cases like these always left no time to get down with Spencer... one downside to this job among many.

Even now, while sitting on the jet, you could only look at him. Emily and JJ were talking about god knows what, while you started across the jet to see your little Spencer. He was reading, his hands so delicately following as he read... His hair had gotten long, almost touching his shoulders now. You had gotten real used to pulling on it, sometimes subconsciously doing it as you hugged him. You started to think about how he looked last time you made him whimper, the picture burnt into your brain as you slid yourself up and down until he begged you to stop. "too much...." was all he could muster up, his wrist rubbing against the rope as he so badly wanted to reach up to touch you.

"You hear Y/N?" You heard a voice say, your heart dropping as you whipped your head towards it.

The voice belonged to Emily, her eyebrow raised as she wondered what you were thinking. She could see that something was up and not just because she was a profiler. Anyone who could see how you were looking at Spencer could see exactly how you were feeling, sexually frustrated. The way you gripped onto your coffee mug, and bit the inside of your lip roughly... basically eye fucked Spencer. Obviously, you could never tell Emily how you were thinking about Spencer being so pussy drunk that it physically hurt him. So you just sent a smile over to her, brought your tea to your lips, and nodded.

"Yeah! Sorry..." You kept the grin on your face, your embarrassment getting the best of you as you began to become flustered. "Just a bit distracted today."

You flicked your eyes between my cup and Emily, not wanting to make too much eye contact in the state you were in, your state being extremely turned on. It was gross to even admit, but even just looking at Spencer... your body reacted. Emily looked over at JJ, shooting her a look. You caught onto this, but not sure what that look even meant. JJ just chuckled softly, shifting herself in her chair. You looked between them, feeling as though you were left out of a really funny inside joke of theirs. Emily looked back at you, giving you a smirk.

"I can see that..." She leaned back in her chair, hands placed on her stomach as she read your confusion. "Been a while?"

Her words confused you, not sure what she meant by that. You now started feeling like you were the butt of the joke, feeling like you did in high school when girls would giggle behind you. "Been a while." Could mean anything, has it been a while since you showered? Has it been a while since you ate? Has it been a while since you went to a concert? The possibilities were endless yet Emily still expected an answer. You furrowed your brows, cocking your head to the side.

"What?" You asked, genuinely needing an explanation before you could even answer her question. Emily chuckled once again, looking back at Spencer before huddling herself closer to you as if she had to tell you a huge secret.

"You and Spencer?" That was all she said.

Your heart dropped, was Emily a mind reader? or were you just that frustrated that it was written on your skin? Her words made you think, however, how long has it been? It was definitely before this case and the one before it... then there was that 4-day conference y'all were forced to attend, well then that one week you got your period and didn't feel like doing anything but laying in bed... You would say it's been a good month, maybe a little more. This was definitely not normal for you two, sex was like food to the two of you. It was y'alls way to destress from cases, it became so normal to go home after a long case and bang it out. Trust and believe this drought had been taking a toll on you, you were so horny that you could start humping Spencer's leg at any moment, just like a dog in heat.

You hesitated to answer, not wanting to cross that boundary with Emily but also not wanting to be humiliated. You were the more private person when it came to the BAU, you would come in and do your work... that's it. Obviously, you were a part of the BAU family, you knew everyone's business and you would hang out with them outside of work. But you were a mystery to everyone there, well except Spencer, he had quite literally known you inside and out. As of right now though, you were frustrated and in need of a rant so that boundary didn't exist for you today.

"Is it that noticeable?" You said sarcastically, scoffing as you did so. You hated the feeling of being easily read, but the frustration was sloshing around inside you so it was only a matter of time before the people around you figured it out. Emily chuckled softly, looking over at JJ before she spoke.

"I mean you have been grouchy, you're not focused, and well..." Emily paused, she was now reading you like a book. "You've been undressing Spencer with your eyes this entire trip."

You wanted to melt into the ground, and let the worms use your flesh as food. You were embarrassed, completely and utterly ashamed of her words. You were acting like a starved man, only able to focus on the mere thought of food... like a complete glutton-driven man. You never really knew how much you needed sex, you started to wonder if you always had this need deep inside you. You remember before Spencer, you went months without an orgasm and was perfectly fine. Maybe it was Spencer, maybe his cock switched something on inside your pussy... or maybe other men hadn't been doing it right.

You felt your cheeks heat up but at the same time, your body ran cold. All you could do was watch as Emily snickered at your reaction, like your embarrassment was the funniest thing she had ever seen. You were much younger than Emily and JJ, you were newer to this world and newer to sex than they were. Trust and believe that both women have had their share of droughts, so this is not new to them. They weren't trying to embarrass you or make you feel you needed to be ashamed. No, they just found it amusing that you were so blinded to the fact you were so obvious with your motives. Let's just say your subtle touches and comments towards Spencer weren't so subtle.

"I just..." You start, your voice sounding as though you were pouting and honestly... you were pouting. "It used to be every day! Every night, after work... like clockwork! But this stupid fucking job is getting in the way of us, I mean sex is how we communicate!"

Your voice is rising, alerting the sleeping Derek who sat right behind you. He was too tired to even comprehend what you were talking about, which surprised you because he always teased you and Spencer about your sex life. The girls didn't laugh this time, only watched as you looked like you were going crazy. They didn't realize how upset you were about this, this felt it went far beyond sex to you. It did in some sense, as said before you and Spencer were always having sex so if there was no sex happening... there was no and him happening either. This could turn into a therapy session, you could cry about how you felt ignored and put aside but it wasn't that at all... you were just so horny for Spencer, this frustration building up and ready to burst. JJ sighed softly, patting you on the shoulder.

"I get it... I mean we get it." She points between her and Emily, shooting Emily a smile. "Y/N... You need to have sex or you're going to go insane."

Emily nods, agreeing with JJ's clear over-exaggeration. You felt like you were already going insane, you couldn't do anything without the thought of Spencer's cock down your throat completely eliminating your focus. So although it was clear JJ was being dramatic about it, you felt it was pretty accurate for the feeling inside you. You let out a sigh, pushing your hair back as you leaned back in your chair. You have been at this job for 4 years, and insanity came with the job, so this feeling of complete and utter insanity due to not having sex was killing you simply because it was so new to you.

"Trust me, I know." Was all you said, biting your lip softly as your eyes flicked over to Spencer once more.

He was now leaning back in his chair, his thighs slightly opened as his hands were placed on them delicately. He was looking out the window, watching the clouds go by as the sun started to set. You couldn't help but look at his veiny hands placed so pretty on his thighs, you suddenly gained tunnel vision and your eyes started to outline his cock. Spencer sensed you looking at him, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up as he turned his head. He made eye contact with you, sending you a soft smile. Talk about the straw that broke the camel's back, that opened the floodgates inside of you.

"You know what you should do?" JJ asked, trying to get your attention, and in only milliseconds... she had it. "You need to make him want it, it's what I used to do with Will all the time when I was pregnant, and believe me pregnancy hormones are no joke."

How does one go about making someone want them? You were no stranger in the teasing scene, it was your favorite thing to do with Spencer. But you haven't even had 2 seconds to tease him since the drought started, so you were a bit out of practice. Spencer would usually be a puddle on the floor you stepped on in seconds when you teased him, but he was so stressed that he couldn't tell his ass from his head sometimes. You were more than willing to know how JJ did it, and how she made men want her in times of desperation. 

"How?" You ask, feeling slightly more embarrassed by your sudden confusion. JJ thinks for a second, looking over at Emily for her to pitch in at any moment.

"There's many ways to do it, all people are different Y/N" Emily chuckled, looking over at JJ who was still thinking about how she even managed to seduce Will like she did. "My advice is just be overly affectionate with him, you know? Touch him more, show a little more skin, laugh louder... Just make it known, be loud with it."

You took in her words, especially the "make it known" and "be loud with it". You felt you could do that, with how frustrated you had become you could see yourself screaming for him to just fuck you. It would be a bit hard because Spencer is kind of not good with social cues, if you try to flirt with him sometimes, he just throws statistics your way. You repeated the words "make it known" in your head, how could you make it known... at that moment as you repeated it in your head like a mantra, you had such a devilish idea. Your hands almost started shaking due to excitement, the feeling taking over your body as you went to speak.

"I can do that..." You said with a smile, standing up from your seat and fixing your shirt. "I need to use the restroom, be right back."

You basically ran to the bathroom, zooming past Spencer who was quite confused at your sudden rush. You locked yourself in the small bathroom, the excitement taking over your body as you could see yourself start doing handstands due to excitement. You pulled out your phone, setting yourself on the small counter sink as you started to pull your shirt off. You weren't sure how to do this, your nerves getting the best of you as you clicked on your camera. You had no time to think, you just pulled your shirt off and aimed your camera at your chest.

The first one was more of a softcore nude, only in your bra as your hand laid on your chest. You took a couple of pictures with your bra on, then you clicked through them, deleting the ones you didn't like. You would've stopped there but you wanted to go the extra mile, you were "being loud" with it as Emily would say. You pulled your bra off, watching it fall to the floor, the nerves in your stomach only fooling you to go further. You pointed the camera at your chest, snapping a couple of pictures. Again, you weren't good at this... you never claimed to be, so you took pictures from multiple angles and positions. Some you were squeezing them together, some you weren't.... you weren't a model or a photographer so you were working with what you had.

You finished, hopping down from the sink and putting your clothes back on. You sat on the lidded toilet, scrolling through the pictures as you picked the ones you would send. You were nervous to say the least, you knew it was just Spencer but you had never taken sex outside of the bedroom before. This was new, this was scary... this was so arousing. You clicked on Spencer's name, his name being "spencie poop" In your phone, you clicked on the pictures you wanted and hovered over the send button. Would this work? what if he isn't into it as much as you are? What were you even doing?

"Make it known. be loud with it." You repeated in your head, closing your eyes before clicking the send button. It took only seconds for it to send the anticipation building in your stomach. You decided to stay sitting in the toilet for a little longer, getting yourself together before you faced the world behind the small bathroom door. You knew Spencer wouldn't see the pictures until later on, knowing that he always put his phone on silent as he hated technology, especially when it interrupted his reading time. You wondered how he would react, knowing that Spencer didn't know how to react to most things. You wouldn't be surprised if Spencer sent you a thumbs up and a message saying how pretty you look, you weren't sure this would even work in your favor.

You gathered yourself, breathing in and out before you stood up to leave the bathroom. As you reached for the door, there was a small knock on it. You assumed it was someone who needed to use the bathroom, you had been in there for a good 15 minutes before you decided to leave. You reached for the door, opening it... Your heart dropped, your entire body went hot and your underwear became wetter than before. It was Spencer, his face was bright red and his hands shook softly. He didn't give you time to even open the door all the way before he barged into the small bathroom with you, shutting and locking the door behind you.

"Are you crazy?" He whispered, hoping no one else saw him or heard him come in. You were pressed against the sink, Spencer pressed against you as the small bathroom was not made for two. "Are you trying to get me in trouble? what if someone had seen?"

Spencer looked upset but his hard cock against your stomach gave his true feelings away. Spencer could never be mad at you, you knew this and you took advantage of it often. Unfortunately, Spencer was very by the books, he followed all the rules but when it came to you... rules didn't exist. So he wasn't actually upset about the pictures, he was just frustrated you decided to send them now. While Hotch was sitting right next to him, a clear shot of his phone and everything. You bit your lip softly, your eyes being pulled toward his cock rubbing against your belly, there was no hiding that in this small compact area.

"Seems like you liked them.." You teased softly, chuckling out as you looked up at him with doe eyes.

Spencer could have come then and there, your innocence creating a deep desire within him. He let out a sigh, his breath panning across your face as he did so smelling of coffee and mint. You brought your hand up to his tie, fiddling with it softly as you stood on your tiptoes, trying to come face-to-face with him. Spencer's breath hitched as your lips brushed his own, his mind going foggy and forgetting where he was in the moment... Something inside him though reminded him, the small voice in the back of his head telling him this was a bad idea and the team was only feet away from you both. As you started to undo his belt, He grabbed onto your shoulders, pushing you back softly.

"Y/N, that was extremely inappropriate..." He said sternly, trying not to give in to your pleading eyes. "Hotch was right next to me an..."

His words were cut off by your hand grasping his cock softly. In the short time, he had been scolding you, you managed to stuff your hand down his pants, Spencer was far too focused on trying to not give into your motives he didn't even realize. Spencer became putty just then, your hand rubbing his cock slowly cutting his iq down by 100. You knew this was also a horrible idea, I mean were you really going to let your twisted, horny mind risk your job? The answer was, yes... yes you were. If it meant that Spencer would be inside of you, then you would do anything.

"I know baby... I've been so bad." You whispered out, your hand still wrapped around his cock. You fluttered your eyes up at him, watching as his ability to control himself slowly disappeared. "But I had to! it's been so long, you have me all worked up and it's starting to hurt."

You rub his cock softly, his own eyes fluttering shut as you turn him into putty. Spencer hadn't even realized how long it had been, he didn't have much time to think about anything but work nowadays. He didn't realize it until he almost came in your hand just from a few pumps. His body had heated up, his cheeks red as you slid your thumb across his tip. His head was foggy but he still couldn't get past the thought that his boss was just outside the small bathroom you both had been in. He stiffened himself up again, putting a hand on your wrist.

"Y/N, the team is inches away from us." He spoke, pulling your hands from his pants and doing up his belt again. "I promise you I will let you do whatever when we get home to make up for these last couple of weeks okay?"

Trust and believe that it took Spencer his entire self-control to say no to you, especially after seeing those pictures. Your half-naked body, the way you looked up at the camera for him. He wasn't sure if he would be able to get his cock to soften after knowing those pictures existed, he knew this was going to be a long trip home. He struggled with getting his belt looped, his hands shook so vigorously that they were no help to him. You finally reached your hand out to stop his hands, reaching up to lift his head to look up at you.

"Spencer, if you tell me to stop right now... I will." You spoke, you were frustrated and it was so obvious you both needed this. "I will stop and we can walk out of here like nothing happened okay? I just need you to say "I want this to stop." and that's it, I'll stop. But all i need is 5 minutes, I'll get us both off and no one will even notice.``

Spencer thought for a moment, seeing how serious you were. He knew you would never force him to do anything, so he knew if he really did tell you to stop, you would. but he really didn't want you to stop, his "professional FBI agent" side told him to stop but his "love drunk" side didn't want you to stop. All he could think about was your pictures and how uncomfortable this boner was going to be for the rest of the plane ride if he didn't just flat-out fuck you.

He tried to calculate just how far away the team was from the two of you and what the chances of them hearing the two of you were. He came up with it being 72% they won't hear the two of you, due to the fact the bathroom is a bit insulated and most of the team liked to sit far from the bathroom. You could see him doing this math in his head just by the look on his face, you chuckled to yourself knowing this was a complete Spencer Reid thing. Spencer struggled internally, both his logical and hormonal sides butting heads just as he looked down at you with those pretty doe eyes you kept giving him. Spencer was going to burst, the month of no sex finally catching up to him all at once.

"Fuck it..." He said right before crashing his lips onto yours.

Now Spencer Reid must have really been frustrated as he never used words like that, but something about you just sent him over the edge each time. You kissed him back immediately, his hands kept your mouth on him as his tongue slid into your mouth. It was all so fast-paced, just like you said it would be... you just needed five minutes. You reached down to his half-done belt and started undoing it once more, trying to focus on his lips and your hands at the same time. Spencer was so completely engulfed in the kiss that he couldn't even contemplate helping you at all, he just pressed you against the sink hinting at you to hop on it.

You positioned yourself on the sink, Spencer's hands going to your ass to prevent you from falling into it. You finally got his pants undone, pulling them down so only his cock could bounce free causing a soft groan to fall from his lips. You smirked softly into the kiss, feeling just as hard he had gotten just from your little "fight".

"Really liked them huh?" You said through the kiss, Spencer just kissed you harder trying to get you to shut up.

You just laughed softly, your hands now going to your own pants to take them off. You struggled with your pants, trying to keep Spencer's mouth satisfied with your mouth while also trying to get out of your very tight pants. Spencer noticed this, pulling away from you to help you slide your pants down your thighs and watching them bunch up on your ankles. As soon as they were out of the way, Spencer didn't even bother with your panties, he just pushed them to the side and slid himself into you.

"Fuc.." Was all he could get out before he stuffed his face into your neck, silencing his moans that were bound to come out.

Your eyes immediately rolled to the back of your head, gripping onto his shoulders for support. You felt whole again, his cock sliding inside of you like it never left. Spencer didn't sit still for long before he started thrusting inside of you, his hands gripping your hips roughly. Spencer's thrust started rough and fast, taking your word for it only taking 5 minutes. To avoid suspicion and losing your job, you both needed to hurry up and get off.

You couldn't help but get lost in the feeling, finally after weeks of needing to be fucked and it's actually happening plus the feeling of getting caught only added to the pleasure. You thrust back into Spencer, lifting your hips off the counter just to slam your own hips into his. It went like this for minutes, both of you breathing heavily and using each other's bodies to get off. Suddenly you felt a knot inside of your form, your hands moving up to his hair to pull on it to alert him.

"Gonna cum... fuck gonna cum." You whispered into his ear, as his face was still stuffed between your neck and your shoulder. He was afraid if he replied, he was going to not be able to control the moans that came from his throat.

He just thrusted faster, his hand coming up to rest on the mirror as you both were being pushed further and further up onto the sink so the faucet was almost digging into your back. He let out a couple of soft whimpers as his thrust became sloppier, his eyes tearing up as his cock twitched. He'd never come this fast before, only besides the first few times you both had fucked, but this was a record and it was clear he had become so backed up that this was definitely needed.

He came first, coating the inside of your walls with his hot cum, fucking himself through his own orgasm as well as coaxing you to your own. You came only moments later, the feeling of his warm breath on your neck and his hot cum inside of you... you broke. You came with a soft moan and your nails digging into his shoulders. It wasn't the best orgasm he had ever given you but it was so needed, it felt like you had been given water after days of dehydration.

As said before, you needed to be quick so after a few seconds of recovering from ecstasy, you both were pulling your clothes back on. It felt dirty in a way, aftercare, and soft kisses weren't a luxury you had at the moment. You watched as he pulled his pants back on, once again struggling with his belt. You realized how lighter and rested he looked now like the quickie was the thing he was missing his entire life. You chuckled softly, moving your hands down to his belt to help him loop it through.

"Guess we just joined the mile-high club huh?" You smirked up at him, his face still red with lust. Spencer chuckled softly, watching as your hands fixed his belt.

Spencer was almost embarrassed that he allowed you to sit high and dry for almost a month straight, he hadn't even thought of touching you that entire time. Although his mind had been elsewhere the entire time, it still felt wrong for a person to completely deny you of anything. Spencer felt he needed sex as much as you did, something he would have never thought he would ever need. He now understands why Morgan is the way he is, the constant need to feel that closeness to someone... to feel so vulnerable, especially in a job where vulnerability is a weakness. You noticed that Spencer had been in his head again, he always just had that look to him.

"You okay?" You asked, your hands now fixing his hair slightly. "I didn't push a boundary did i?"

Spencer shook his head almost immediately, the feeling of any discomfort so far away it wasn't even there. Spencer felt completely comfortable with you, even if it was such a weird situation to be in. He just got into his own head a lot, letting his mind wander and making up all kinds of assumptions about things. The assumption on his mind right now was that maybe having a healthy, functioning relationship in this field was almost impossible. You both hadn't had a single conversation that wasn't about a case or coffee or anything that didn't involve the office, in weeks. Could you both go on like that or are you both destined to just have quickies in the jet bathroom for the rest of your careers.

"No! Of course not!" He breathed out, basking in your soft hands touching his face softly, something you had done to comfort him. "Just wanted to say sorry for being so distant lately, didn't know you were feeling this...ignored?"

He wasn't sure what the right word to use was and honestly, you didn't know either. You weren't actually angry with him, just frustrated especially when your only kind of stress release was coming home and fucking him till he cried. You continued to rub his cheek softly with your thumb, pushing his hair back from his face.

"I'm not mad honey." You chuckled, trying to reassure him that he did nothing wrong. "Just please start checking in with me okay? So the feelings don't build up and we have to risk our jobs again."

Your joke caused Spencer to crack a smile, his laugh filling the small bathroom. He nodded, leaning down to set a soft kiss on your lips. The reality started to sit in however, you both just fucked on the job basically and the embarrassment and shame were written all over both of you. You both had only been gone for 15ish minutes so it was going to be an easy lie to come up with, you'll probably blame it on your motion sickness that you actually feel often on the jet. You both agreed on a story, you had gotten sick and asked Spencer to hold your hair back, easy enough. You went to open the door, taking a breath before facing your team again.

"Hey y/n?" Spencer spoke, stopping you in your tracks before you opened the door. You gave him your full attention, turning to see his eyes once again filled the lust. "I did like them...You should definitely start, you know I'm...Sending them more often."

You let out a soft chuckle, rolling your eyes before walking out of the bathroom. You both nonchalantly went back to your seats, as if nothing happened. JJ and Emily were talking about something when you got back, completely lost in conversation to realize what had just happened. You looked around at everyone, trying to see an inch of disgust or knowing on their faces. Fortunately, everyone was oblivious to the events that happened in the bathroom so you could relax in your seat. You tried to listen in on JJ and Emily's conversation, putting your two cents in here and there but your eyes kept flicking over to Spencer. He was now boring his eyes into your skin, making your body heat up once again. You could tell that what was supposed to be a simple quickie, was definitely not over yet and it was going to be a long trip home. 

[callsigns-haze]

i love your writing so much !!!! it’s kinda similar to another story you have but i was wondering if i could request your take on the twisters scene towards the end when tyler’s leg gets stuck under the debris in the town square ?? like reader is the one running over to him completely worried & stressed because her man is hurt 🥺

Not leaving

Pairing: Tyler Owens x Reader

Summary: Y/N races to save Tyler, trapped under debris after a tornado, refusing to leave his side until he's safely rescued.

Chapter Warnings: Intense storm danger, injury, descriptions of pain, and emotional distress.

The town square was a scene of devastation, the aftermath of the tornado leaving a trail of destruction in its wake. Buildings were reduced to rubble, cars overturned, and debris scattered everywhere. The air was thick with dust, the scent of rain and earth mingling with the acrid smell of smoke from a nearby fire.

Y/N’s heart pounded as she navigated through the wreckage, her eyes scanning the chaotic scene for any sign of Tyler. The last time she’d seen him, he had been trying to help a group of people take cover in a nearby building. But when the tornado hit, everything turned to chaos, and she’d lost sight of him.

“Tyler!” Y/N’s voice cracked as she called out, desperation lacing her tone. She clambered over a fallen tree, ignoring the sting of a cut on her leg, her only thought to find him, to make sure he was okay.

Suddenly, she spotted him—pinned under a massive piece of debris in the middle of the square. His face was pale, and he was struggling to move, pain etched across his features.

“Tyler!” Y/N screamed, rushing to his side. She dropped to her knees next to him, her hands shaking as she reached out to touch his face, to reassure herself that he was still there.

“Y/N…” Tyler’s voice was strained, his breath coming in short gasps. “I’m… I’m stuck.”

Y/N’s eyes filled with tears as she took in the sight of his leg trapped under the heavy debris. She could see the pain he was in, the way his hands clenched into fists as he tried to fight it.

“I’m going to get you out of here,” she promised, her voice trembling but determined. “Just hold on, okay? I’ll get help.”

She looked around frantically, but everyone else was either injured or already helping others. There was no time to wait for someone else. She had to do this herself.

“Stay with me, Tyler,” Y/N said, her voice tight with emotion as she crouched down and tried to lift the debris off his leg. It was heavy, far too heavy for her to move on her own, but she didn’t care. She wasn’t going to let him suffer, not for one more second.

Tyler groaned in pain as she strained against the weight, tears slipping down her cheeks as she gave it everything she had. But the debris barely budged, and she could see the anguish in his eyes.

“Y/N, stop…” Tyler managed to say, his voice hoarse. “You’ll hurt yourself. I… I’ll be okay. Just go get help.”

“I’m not leaving you,” Y/N choked out, shaking her head. “I’m not leaving you here, Tyler. I can’t.”

She tried again, her muscles burning with the effort, but the debris still wouldn’t move. Frustration and fear clawed at her, and she let out a sob, her hands trembling as she gripped his.

“Please, Tyler… just hold on a little longer,” she whispered, her tears falling onto his skin. “Help is coming, I promise.”

Tyler’s hand squeezed hers weakly, his eyes softening despite the pain. “I’m not going anywhere, Y/N. I promise.”

Finally, she heard the shouts of other rescuers approaching. Y/N turned to see a group of first responders rushing toward them, their faces grim as they took in the scene.

“Please, help him!” Y/N cried out, stepping back to let them work.

The rescuers quickly assessed the situation, then moved in with tools to lift the debris. It felt like an eternity as they carefully freed Tyler’s leg, Y/N watching with bated breath, her hands clenched tightly together.

When they finally managed to lift the debris, Tyler let out a pained groan, but Y/N was there in an instant, holding his hand and whispering reassurances. They quickly stabilized his leg and prepared to move him to safety.

“You did it, Y/N,” Tyler murmured as they lifted him onto a stretcher. His voice was weak, but there was a faint smile on his lips. “You saved me.”

Y/N leaned down, pressing a kiss to his forehead, her tears of relief mingling with the dirt and sweat on his skin. “I’m just glad you’re okay,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “I couldn’t lose you, Tyler. Not now, not ever.”

As they loaded him into the ambulance, Y/N climbed in beside him, never letting go of his hand. The storm had passed, but the fear of losing him still lingered, a shadow over the relief she felt at having him alive and safe.

“Just rest now,” she whispered, her thumb brushing over his knuckles gently. “I’m right here, and I’m not going anywhere.”

Tyler’s eyes fluttered closed, exhaustion overtaking him, but his grip on her hand remained firm. And as they sped away from the wreckage of the town square, Y/N knew that no matter what storms they faced, they would face them together.

Requests for Tyler are open be free to send in as much as you wish!

tagging some:

@senawashere

@saviorcomplexrry

@cevansbaby-dove

@saynotononsense

@missdottie

@willowisp7

@taorislover94

@eloquenceinpurple

@86laura11

@rosiahills22

@jessicab1991

@kmc1989

@shanimallina87

@eternalsams

@teen-antisocial

@katiemcrae

[selencgraphy]

Hi!!! If you’re comfortable with it, could you write something about Logan meeting reader’s parents for the first time and he sees that her father is verbally abusive and he maybe stands up for her and stuff. Thanks so much!!

— 𝐋𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐇𝐀𝐙𝐄

PAIRING: logan howlett x f!reader

TAGS: she/her pronouns for reader, verbal abuse, body shaming, protective!logan, logan is whipped (but when is he not?), established relationship, meeting the parents for the first time, hurt/comfort, reader is like in her early 30s, mutant!reader (telepath but she uses her powers like once...), thanksgiving, logan calling reader princess

A/N: i love protective!logan and have been meaning to write smth around these lines so thanks for the ask! sorry that it took a minute, i couldn't figure out how i wanted to go about writing it :( i hope you like it <3

WORD COUNT: ~1.3k

masterlist || request box <3

“You don’t have to come with me if you don’t want to, Lo,” you voiced as you watched him pack. It was tradition in your family that everyone gathered back at your parent’s house for Thanksgiving, but it had been only a few months since the two of you started dating. Things were going really well between the two of you and as much as you wanted to spend the holidays with him, the idea of Logan meeting your parents was overwhelming. You never failed to go home before despite your gripes with your father, but just because you had to go didn’t mean he did.

He stopped folding the shirt he had in his hands at your remark, setting it down and walking up to you, his gaze soft but laced with a hint of worry. As soon as he was within arms reach, you went to place your hands around his neck and his hands immediately found your waist. His eyes bore into yours as if he was looking for something in them. “D’you not want me to come, bub?”

Your heart dropped at the question. “Of course, I want you to come, baby. It’s just… my family. They can be a bit much. I’ve never brought someone home to meet them before, and we haven’t exactly had the best relationship since I left to be here,” you ramble, eventually stopping when you notice the look on his face. He was smiling. “Why’re you smiling?”

“My girlfriend is really cute, is why,” he whispered, pecking your lips without warning.

“M’being serious, Lo…”

“I know, I know, bub. I’m sorry,” he breathed, gently squeezing the part of your waist where his hands were. “I wanna go with you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he hummed, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead. You sighed, letting your head fall to rest on his chest.

“I just… I just don’t want them to scare you away,” you whisper. At your words, he removed one of his hands from your waist to gently lift you by your chin to look at you once more.

“M’not going anywhere, bub,” he assured, his voice never wavering as he stared into your eyes, trying to drill the words into your head. “I love you.”

“Love you too, Lo.”

—

You watched with bated breath as Logan greeted your parents, especially your dad. The handshake they exchanged felt like it lasted hours as your dad tried to size him up. “Nice to meet you, Logan,” he gruffly greeted. “Was worried Y/N made you up.”

You chuckle in an attempt to hide the fact that your father’s idea of a joke hurts, but you notice the subtle way Logan’s jaw clenches. The respectful demeanor he displayed was cracking. “Let’s eat, shall we?” your mother suggested, forcing the two men out of their macho exchange. With your father following after your mother, you took Logan’s hand in yours and gave it a squeeze, flashing a feeble smile.

Sitting down, your father sat at the head with your mother to his left and your sister next to her. Logan sat to the left of your father with you right next to him. Once everyone was settled with enough food on their plate, your father spoke again, completely dismissing Logan and looking at you. “Have you found work yet, Y/N?”

At the question, you wiped your hands and mouth, clearing your throat before you spoke. “I have,” you hesitated, unsure of where your father was taking this conversation. “Professor Xavier offered me a teaching position actually.” You were met with a dismissive hum, your face falling at the reaction. A moment passed before he spoke again—this time, speaking to Logan.

“So how did you meet my daughter, Logan?”

“I work at the school too,” he replied, his voice confident and steady. Your father merely scoffed and continued to eat while your mother asked more questions to fill the awkward silence. Even with your mother trying to lighten the mood as Logan told her about how you got together, the weight of your father’s silent gaze sent your heart racing, sweat slowly seeping out of your pores. In an attempt to ease your anxiety, you reached for more food.

“Make sure you save some for the rest of us, Y/N,” your father jeered. You froze, setting down the serving spoon in embarrassment and quickly placing your hands on your knees, tugging at the fabric at the sudden wave of self-consciousness.

“Lo, can we go?” you asked telepathically. He quickly nodded, giving your hand another reassuring squeeze.

“I think we’ll get going,” you mumble, your voice low in an attempt to maintain your composure. “Thank you for the food, ma.”

“Oh, c’mon Y/N. It was just a joke. I can’t joke around with my little girl anymore?” His words cut through you, but it seemed to hit Logan just as hard with the way his hand clenched, his claws threatening to break the skin. Just as you were about to speak, Logan beat you to it.

“S’not a joke. You’re just being fucking rude,” he started. Before continuing he turned to your sister. “Sorry for my language, kid.” He then looked back at your father. “I was actually a lil’ excited to meet the people who brought her into this godforsaken world, but now I’m just disappointed. She’s your daughter for fuck’s sake. Y/N is the kindest person I know. She’s been through hell, but she’s never let any of that get to her. You should be proud of her—of the woman she’s become and I won’t have you shit talk her, let alone do it in front of me. You don’t deserve my time and you sure as hell don’t deserve her.” Logan was breathing heavily now, his eyes blown with anger as he stared down your father.

He was standing up to your father in a way you and your sister never could, too afraid that harsh words might turn into something more, and it made you love him even more. But the emotions evoked by your father outweighed them, tears filling your eyes. “Let’s go, bub,” Logan gruffly said, the hand he held in his gently guiding you out of your parent’s house and into his car. He pulled out the driveway and headed off.

It was obvious he was trying to calm himself down before he tried to comfort you, still keeping a gentle hand on your thigh to tell you he was still here for you. Once his breath slowed, he pulled over and put the car into park, turning to you. Your eyes were red rimmed, eyes looking every which way and fingers tugging at your sleeves. “Princess?”

You hummed in response but didn’t look at him, tears threatening to spill. “Y/N, baby, can you look at me, please?” His voice was gentle, a hand raising to your cheek to try and face you to him. Slowly, your eyes met his and the floodgates opened, his thumbs immediately moving to wipe the tears away. His arms gently wrapped around you, pulling you into him the best he could over the center console. “I gotchu, honey. I gotchu.”

You stayed like that for a while until you were able to calm down. When he pulled away, he softly held his face in your hands as he spoke. “How about I make you your favorite, and we watch that movie you like when we get home?”

You sniffled, nodding at his suggestion and placing a hand over one of the ones he held on your face. He always knew how to make things better. When you got back to the mansion, you two did just that and as you sat in his bed, you couldn’t help the swell in your chest when you looked over at him. “Thank you, Lo,” you whispered. When he turned to you, his eyes softened.

“Anything for my girl,” he grinned, nudging his nose against yours before placing a kiss to your lips. 

[hughiecampbelle]

The Boys Preference: Dating After A Toxic Relationship

A/N: Not requested, just an idea I had 😊 Remember, requests are open! Be sure to read my rules and please respect that I'm only interested in writing for these characters. Thank you! Feedback is always appreciated 💜

Butcher is very vocal. He knows you jump and scare easily, so he always makes a point to say where or if he's going to touch you, if he's upset and why (so that you don't worry you're the reason), when he'll be back, etc. This takes a lot of trial and error between the two of you. Butcher is an angry, violent person. You knew this going into the relationship. There's always a worry it could turn on you, and that's what he fears most: that you'd ever be afraid of him. He reassures you constantly he would never, ever hurt you. He knows all about what your ex did. You wanted to be up front and honest, knowing some of your behaviors might seem strange or out of place. The last thing he ever wants to do is emulate your ex and though it takes a lot of rewiring and assessment of his actions, he's trying to be better for you so that he doesn't lose you.

Hughie hates what your ex has done. Bit by bit, you give him the overview of your relationship, what they were like, and how they treated you. Sometimes you jump or flinch and he's reminded all over again that, despite what he does, there will always be this underlying fear and distrust. It took a long time to date him let alone tell him everything. He's patient and gentle and makes sure you're okay with every step you take further into the relationship. He takes every relationship show regardless of past history. When you see your ex again you have to pull Hughie away, not wanting him to start anything. He can't help it. He looks at them and he sees red. He's filled with disgust and hatred. Hughies always been on the timid side, but the thought of someone hurting you like that boils his blood.

Annie never wants you to feel like you have to hide that kind of thing from her. She knows all about power hungry people who take advantage of others. Still, she can't believe it. You're kind and funny and sweet and you always have everyone's best interest at heart. You know what it's like to get hurt, you wouldn't dare hurt someone else. She knows you don't want any trouble with them, you just want to move on, but she can't help but light up when she sees them. Secretly she goes to them and makes it known if they so much as look at you, even think about you, they're done. She's always asking if what you're doing is okay and wants to be as open as possible about boundaries. You're grateful she likes innocent touching, mostly hand holding, and when you're having a hard time you know she'll grab your hand and squeeze it, reminding you she's always here for you.

M.M knows all about your ex. He was the one to help you get out of that relationship in the first place. Since then you've become really close, so close he's now your boyfriend. After your ex shows up at your work one day, Marvin decides to take things into his own hands. The Boys make a special appearance at their apartment where they make it known they are never to go near you ever again. You have a lot of fears about trusting someone again, especially in a relationship, but M.M. is patient. He never wants you to feel like you have to do something you don't want to or aren't ready for. He's more than okay with taking things slow. He actually prefers it that way. He's extremely protective over you and, unfortunately, are his biggest weakness. If Homelander ever found out about you, M.M. would be done for.

Frenchie met your ex a few times before you broke things off. The way they spoke to you, wanted to control you, all the sings were there. He feels awful that he didn't see it sooner, but you could never blame him. You're just glad you got away from them. Frenchie is attentive and devoted and males sure you're comfortable with every step in your relationship. He offers, jokingly though not jokingly, to have your ex killed when they start sending calls and texts and emails. You assure him it's okay, you'll handle it. He knows you're more than capable, but he's always got a back up plan ready just in case they want to try anything more. He's extremely patient when you decide to tell him. He knows there's more to the story than what you're sharing, but he doesn't push it. He's grateful you shared anything at all. It's a big step and means a lot that you'd trust him.

Kimiko is learning to trust just like you are. You've both been through a lot, but you find a great solace in one another. Kimiko isn't sure who this random person is that shows up looking for you, only that the rest of The Boys are suddenly cagey, angry, and very protective. They're grateful you're not there. When she asks about them, you finally tell her. You dated a while ago and it wasn't a safe relationship. You thought you could get away from them, but they seek you out. They like to know they're in control. She feels awful. You're genuine and smart and sweet. Those terrible things that happened to you only made you softer and, unfortunately, more prone to anxiety and distrust. She leaves it up to you to take the next steps in your relationship. You appreciate more than you could ever put into words. You love her, but you need to take things slow.

Bonus! Homelander killed them a long time ago. The moment you showed up in his life, he knew there was someone who'd hurt you. It takes a long time to tell anyone, let alone him. One day the phone calls and texts and emails just stop. They stop showing up at Vought looking for you. You think you've finally scared them off or perhaps they got bored, but it was actually your new boyfriend. Normally he'd like to boast all about how he tortured them, h9w easy it was to kill them, how stupid they looked when he pulled out all their teeth, but he knows you wouldn't like that, so he keeps it to himself. He knows no one will miss them. You certainly don't. You're sleeping better now and getting more comfortable in your relationship without the constant threat of them showing up or following you. Homelander rests easy knowing they can never hurt you again. He lacks a lot of self-awareness in this department.

[insomniakisses]

Misdirected Anger

Character: Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen (HOTD)

Reader type: Gender neutral

Warnings/Notes: mentions of B&C, mentions of blood and minor bodily harm, reader is married to Rhaenyra as is daemon, but no relationship to daemon stated, mentions of past trauma and Viserys being an awful father. Cannon Targcest, reader involved Incest, Targaryen reader. Hurt & Comfort

You couldn’t believe it. Every time you thought about it you felt sick. When your sister and wife, Queen Rhaenyra, had given the order for Aemond’s death you promised that to her along with her council. Daemon had presented you with his plan that he would sneak someone in to kill Aemond, promising it would only be Aemond who died.

You had agreed, too easily now you thought about it, helping him sneak out and sale off to kings landing while you distracted your wife. Usually you wouldn’t trust Daemon, he was known for his temper and violence but he was your wife’s husband and your uncle you had assumed you could.

You couldn’t. The news the following council meeting made you feel sick you stared at him, his smirking smug little face as your queen denied and denied the accusation. Having known the pain of loosing one’s child she would never have given such an order. Neither would you.

They excuse themselves to talk, the council departs all but you and Rhaenys. She watches you, the watery eyes and the far away expression and she scoffs.

“You thought you could trust him?” Its a statement that leaves her lips, as she knows the answer already.

Her expression, however, softens when she notices the blood dripping from your hands. Having dug your nails in to your palms and how you look like you might pass out. She moves to stand, guiding you up and to your chambers.

On the way a pissed off Daemon storms past pushing you aside in his temper. You call after him to no avail letting out a shaky breath when a guard informs you of the Queen summoning you. With a not so reassuring squeeze to the arm Rhaenys leaves you.

You follow the guard, the feeling of nausea rising and tears freely flowing. You feel like a child again, about to be berated for your actions by the ruler of the realm made to feel small and insignificant in the eyes of the crown.

You barely step a foot inside before shes yelling, her anger towards Daemon, only fuelled by their argument, all being directed at you. You can hardly think strait your head spins and your hearing comes and goes the noise of the room drowning out to focus on your erratic heart beat before an insult is thrown your way again.

Small. You feel it, like your back in kings landing and its your father standing in front of you. Her voice being replaced in your mind with his, he never did like you. A fact everyone well knows, Rhaenyra herself had been the one you ALWAYS ran to. At least until Daemon became more important. Yet here she was the same ice look in her eyes. The same insults.

“Useless.” “Idiotic.” “Good for nothing.” “Waste of a space.” “Disappointed.” “I hate yo-“

She stops herself on the last one, mouth hanging open as she gasps, having turned round to see your state. Knees to your chest head resting on them as you dig your nails into your skin breathing heavy.

“Baby!” She tells falling to her knees in front of you, but your already gone, shut down and deep into your own head.

Whimpers and babbles of apologies escaping you as you rock yourself, having learnt to sooth yourself from a young age, it breaks her heart knowing she caused you such great pain and she feels guilt at the jumbled words that leave your mouth next.

“Dae-“ *gasp* “mo-n” *gasp* “Aemond” *whimper* “pro-omised” *gasp* “kill” *breathing speeds up*

She nods scooping you into her arms, and onto her lap, her hand rubbing your back as she sways you like you would a small child. Three kisses are placed to your head as her other hands plays with your hair. Her soft voice whispering “breathe baby” and “I’ve got you little dragon”

Your eyes close as you grasp at her dress, head nuzzling against her neck as your breathing calms. Hiccups escaping now and then as silent tears fall against her neck.

She stands carrying you to bed laying you down softly you watch with wet eyes and droopy eyelids as she undresses you to your underclothes in an attempt to cool your warm skin down, undressing herself before climbing in bed with you.

She lays behind you, humming when you turn to lay on her chest, her hands doing back to playing with your hair and rubbing your back. She kisses your head again, her signature three kisses, her hand tracing “I Love You” on your back and you let your eyes clothes as she whispers apologies and praises. Promising to never treat you like that again.

You just hope this is still the case when Daemon returns.

[sleepinthrumyalarms]

— power plays, pillow talk

pairing: victoria neuman x fem!reader

warnings:: smut, lesbian sex, size difference, strapon referred to as cock

summary:: a bottle of good wine, homemade dinner, a sweet little thing warming up her bed – what more could victoria possibly ask for after a long workday?

word count:: 1.5k

a/n: wow i'm rusty, haven't written smut in a good long while. starting off a bit vanilla with vicky. also she would 100% talk you thru it. i don't make the rules

never in her life had victoria neuman ever felt the need to compensate for something. a woman in power, in more ways than one, she never needed to climb through the ranks, simply gliding through them, a casualty or two on the way.

she had it all – a big car, a big house, a big desk at the Congress.

so you suppose it’s fitting; the big, girthy toy she has strapped around her hips under the material of her dress pants.

it’s huge, actually – got to be six inches at the very least, and that’s without taking into consideration the fact that you’ve never had any eye at all – of a dark, wine red color, the thick, thoughtfully lubed shaft glistening under the dim lights.

that one image of a hamster chomping down on a banana ten times his size pops up in your head.

your throat bobs with a soft gulp — oh god. you’re the hamster.

but victoria is nothing if not considerate. a soft silky pillow is lying under the small of your back, angling you properly for her, and the bedroom you share smells distinctly of something dark and woodsy, heady but not enough to overwhelm, the scented candles a welcome sensation that serves to relax you further.

when her hands grab ahold of your hips, thumbs pressing into the hipbones, you buck into her touch involuntarily. you’re not sure if it’s anxiety or arousal.

“no-no, that won’t do, pretty girl…” victoria chides softly, gives a playful little squeeze as a warning. “you promised you’d be good."

well, that’s true. you did.

you’re almost embarrassed – two glasses of cabernet sauvignon in and you’re already unable to think of anything but how much you want her. your skin tingles with anticipation, the gentle pressure of her hands grounding you as they slowly map their way up and down your body, caressing the undersides of your breasts, your shoulders, the plane of your belly. the warmth of the room wraps around you like a comforting embrace, the scent of the candles mingling with the subtle notes of the woman’s perfume – victoria’s hands work your body like dough, and that combined with the sight of the powerful politician standing between your thighs, all veneer and perfect composure, dark brown eyes trailing over your naked form like a feast is enough for your legs to part further. she doesn’t even have to ask.

“just like that, sweet thing. open up for me,” her palms rest on your thighs and she leans in to press a few gentle kisses to the side of your neck.

it’s intoxicating – her touch, her scent, how tender she’s with you, loving. you’re so aroused it’s starting to hurt.

“vicky…”

“i know, i know,” she murmurs. “need to get you ready for me first.”

she slides her ring finger through the warm petals of your pussy, humming at the wetness gathered there, and she can’t help but indulge herself. she leans down, face level with your cunt, and licks a thick stripe through the dripping warmth, teasing another involuntarily buck of your hips and a whimper from you.

you should’ve known she’d be too greedy to waste all that sweetness on her fake cock — she laps and slurps at you with gentle vigor, palm squeezing your hip to keep you from bucking into her mouth again. it’s a soft, affectionate kind of pleasure — victoria doesn’t rush, doesn’t push you too much too soon, deliberately avoiding your puffy clit to keep from any possible overstimulation.

you sigh softly, leaning your head back against the pillows, but before you can enjoy the heavenly sensation any further, she pulls away with one last flat lick, guiding your thigh to press against her hip.

the head of the toy pushes tantalizingly against your entrance, its smooth surface just barely parting your folds before she pulls back, sliding the silicone along your slit once more – the motion is slow and deliberate, the toy gliding easily through your wetness, teasing you with its presence. every so often victoria lets the tip dip inside, a fleeting, electrifying intrusion that leaves you aching for more, before withdrawing it again. the sensation sends shivers up your spine, your body instinctively arching towards the source of pleasure – but you know she’s doing it to get you nice and ready for her, as if the sloppy little courtesy licks weren’t enough.

"fuck, you're so wet," she whispers, her voice thick with satisfaction. "so eager. it's almost too easy."

she presses her hips more firmly this time, her cock breaching your entrance and slipping inside with a smooth, deliberate motion. the sensation is overwhelming, your body accommodating the intrusion with a mixture of relief and intense pleasure. she holds herself there for a moment, letting you feel the stretch and fullness.

god, it’s big – bigger than anything you’ve ever taken before. for a moment an alarming thought of not being able to fit the intimidating girth inside you shoots through your lust-clouded brain, but the smile on victoria’s painted lips tells you that she will make sure you do.

you tilt your head back with a shaky breath, and she chuckles, leaning in to nose at your earlobe, “good?”

biting your lip, you manage a nod in reply, hiding your face in her neck as you try to process the sensation.

victoria sets a slow, torturous pace, pulling out almost completely before sliding back in, her thighs kissing the backs of your legs. her hand shifts from your hip to your navel, gently sliding along your skin and pressing against your warm, sensitive stomach for purchase – the action so undeniably erotic it has a broken moan tearing from your mouth.

“oh?” victoria quirks a thick eyebrow, perfect white teeth peeking out to worry a plump lip between them. “does that feel good, sweet girl?”

her palm presses just the slightest bit firmer, enough to heighten the pleasure of her silicone cock pushing deep inside of your cunt deliciously as her fingers sprawl over the flesh of your belly — it flutters under her hand, muscles struggling to accommodate the enormous intrusion.

“d’you feel me here?” she asks, voice a silky purr, dripping with control and a hint of amusement as her hips drive the toy deeper into you, each thrust deliberate, strong, unyielding. “such a pretty tummy, baby… so, so perfect.”

you can’t even speak.

victoria leans down, her breath warm against your ear as she whispers, “i love how you open up for me… how you take every inch like you were made for this.”

the pressure in your stomach intensifies as she slows her movements, dragging each thrust out to an agonizing pace. her thick cock feels impossibly full inside you, stretching you in a way that teeters on the edge of pain and ecstasy.

"such a good girl, letting me stretch you, fill you up. gonna make it the only size you’ll ever take. the only that can ever satisfy you.”

she shifts her hips, the change in angle making you gasp as the toy hits that sweet spot inside you, the pleasure so intense it almost hurts. victoria's other hand that isn't busy trying to feel herself through the thin wall of flesh of your belly moves to prop herself next to your head, caging you in with her presence, and you reach to desperately hold onto her bicep, fingers digging into the dark blue of her power suit she has insisted on keeping draped over her shoulders.

“there you are, pretty girl. so close. so, so close, sweet thing. need you to cum for me."

victoria's pace quickens, hips snapping forward, and with a final, shuddering breath, you let go, the pleasure crashing over you in waves, overwhelming and all-consuming. she guides you through it, soft, reassuring whispers as she follows you into bliss, a guttural groan escaping her lips – for a moment the world is nothing but the two of you, tangled together in a haze of pleasure.

with the waves of white ecstasy beginning to ebb, she slows her thrusts to a gentle rhythm before withdrawing slowly, the loss of her presence inside you almost as intense as when she was buried deep. you whimper at the emptiness, your body still trembling with aftershocks, and her warm hands soothe the feeling away, a small, amused smile on her full lips, “thoughts?”

as if that isn't obvious.

you groan in response, wrap your arms around the woman’s shoulders to tug her down and press your lips against hers hungrily. then you pull away, breathless in satisfaction, and grin up at her, “fucking amazing. i wasn't even sure it’d be possible.”

victoria hums, her palm caressing your thigh thoughtfully, “in that case… you think you can take more?”

not one for being patient behind closed doors, she grasps your hips, coaxes you onto your stomach with firm hands.

“what am i saying. of course you can take more. cock-hungry little slut.”

the degrading words make you whimper into the silky pillow, and victoria coos, her tone the slightest bit patronizing, “ohh, yes you are, sweet thing. no use denying it.”

her fingers dig into your soft flesh, and suddenly all the warm tenderness is gone from her voice.

“up. don’t make me repeat myself.”

[plutoswritingplanet]

It's A Special Death You Saved (Feyd Rautha x Female!Reader) pt.3

a/n: so i lied about this being the last chapter, there's one more, i know im sorry....... also shout out to my friends, who were unbelievably helpful with the smut part because oh, there's smut here

Warnings: Explicit Sexual Content (yuuuh yuuuuuuh), Alcohol, like....a tiny bit of Humiliation.

Summary: The month-long courting comes to an end with a bang! As your engagement party commences, wine flows and darker feelings rise to the surface

Pt. 1, Pt.2 Pt.4 (finale)

In the darkness of the night, he still comes to you in your dreams, knife in hand, body taunt and ready to strike. Every single morning, you awake with a gasp, as visions of your tormentor plague you. In some, he slits your throat, reveling in the way red cascades down your nightgown. Other times, it's a quick and brutal stabbing, your insides twisting as you wake. 

But then, there are those rare nights where you rise from your bed, sweat clinging to your skin, as you fight with the pressure in your stomach, try to rid yourself of the images, before making yourself presentable for breakfast. 

Those dreams, nightmares, are the worst. 

White, elegant fingers, grabbing, pulling, pinching every surface of your exposed skin. Defined arms around you, squeezing your pliant body in an embrace that is as tender and romantic, as a snake suffocating its victim. Deceivingly soft lips, mapping a trail down your front, pulling back to reveal teeth, which make that same trail visible, hurting.

In those dreams, he paints you with black. Taints you, until you're molded into his perverse image, until there's no telling where he ends, and you begin. He makes you into a sculpture, in a way that an artist cuts away pieces of clay, slowly robbing you of all agency, until there's only what he wants to see. And you let him, with a trembling smile on your lips, hands twisted into the stained sheets of your bed. 

Ignoring him has become an art form as well.

Since your faithful tangle at the training barracks, you did everything in your power, to never appear in the same room as him, or at least, never alone. You became a shadow in your own home, a whisper of the person you used to be. Shame is a powerful thing, and you wore it like a wedding veil over your face. Paul would always help you, silently. Never asking outright what had happened between you and the Harkonnen, but somehow always knowing. Your brother, your salvation, breaks your heart everytime he grabs your hand, and leads you away from the predator in the room.

The date of your engagement party has been set a week into the future. The nervous bustling of the court only heightening your already wracked thoughts, as the inevitability of your situation begins to haul you to the ground. 

Your Mother took most of the preparations on her back, directing the servants, the kitchen, the musicians. She picked out a dress for you, some flowing abomination, which hung in your closet, reminding you every morning, that you will have to wear it with a smile. You hoped, there will be wine at the feast, hope that it will be sweet enough to dull your insides. 

As the date of the feast comes closer and closer, you begin to spend more time outside. 

The air is crisp and smells of seawater, and you can't help but inhale fully, every time. You want it seared into your brain, so whenever you're taken away from your home, you can run back to this memory, to the feel of grass under your fingers. 

- You'll catch a cold, if you keep sitting here.

Paul's voice brings you back from your dark thoughts, and you look up, from your spot in the grass. He stands a couple paces back, hands folded behind his back in a manner, that is reminding you of your Father more and more every day. 

- Do you want to join me? - you ask, your lips quirking up into a small smile - Or would you prefer to stand there like a pillar of salt?

Your brother shakes his head, before coming closer and plopping down next to you, his skinny legs stretched out in front of him. The both of you sit in silence for a while, enjoying the breeze ruffling your hair, the smell of ocean and the waves crashing into the cliffs. There are seagulls flying over your heads, and you feel the moisture from the grass seep into your clothing. 

A wistful sigh escapes you, before you can stop it, and you let yourself fall, laying flat on the hill. 

Paul looks down at you, undescribable sadness swimming in his eyes, and an instinct of sister awakes in you, a need to comfort, despite being a wreck yourself. So, you offer him a smile, a tired one, but a smile nonetheless. 

- Do you think we could take the horses for a ride today? - your brother asks with naive hope, his eyes turning to the sea.

- Mother won't allow me to go, she wants me to spend my pondering the proper behavior during the feast - try as you might, you can't hide the bitterness in your voice - Besides, I could fall off and hurt the merchandising. 

Paul's hand finds yours, and he squeezes your fingers tightly. It's hard not to break, in moments like these. When you're forced to remember, you'll most likely never see your family again. 

- If I could do something, anything... - you recognize that feverish note in your brother's voice, it's devoid of reason, impulsive, too much like you.

- But you can't, so you won't.

A frustrated sound escapes his mouth, and he turns back to the sea. You watch him through half-lidded eyes, eyelashes falling heavily on your cheeks. He looks like a Duke, you conclude, and that thought feels strangely comforting. No matter where you'll be shipped off, no matter what life has in store for you in the future, somehow, you know your brother will persevere. 

- Do you remember that time Gurney made us train on the beach? - you ask, a sudden wave of nostalgia washing over you, as the clouds float in the sky above you - Cause of the... The balance. We had to try to balance in the sand.

Paul twists his head towards you, surprised at the turn of the conversation, before cracking a smile. 

- Yes, he slipped on the rocks, nearly broke his backbone - he starts to wave his hands around in a wonderful reenactment of your mentor's fall, before collapsing next to you in the grass.

Your laughter mingles with the sounds of the sea, as the both of you, the future of House Atriedes, share memories, scenes from the life you've lived together. The good and the bad. The horse races through plains and hills of Caladan, the many, many food fights. It's hard to tell, how much time you spend together, laying in the grass, but when you finally fall into silence, the air has become considerably more chilly. A sign, it's time to return to reality, to your duties. 

- You should've been me, and I you - Paul whispers suddenly, and you close your eyes in a pained expression. 

Perhaps it's true. Perhaps Lady Jessica made a mistake, and gave a Daughter where she should've given a Son. Now, it's no longer important. Your roles have been set in place, all you could do, is fulfill them. Somewhere back, in the direction of the Palace you can hear a voice calling your names. A reminder, that the world outside this grassy sanctuary exists, and can't wait any longer. 

You move to stand, Paul gathering himself up closely behind. Your clothes stick to your body, and you're shivering from the cold, but if you could spend just one more moment exactly like that, you would've taken that chance without question. 

An arm snakes around your elbow, and you lean onto your brother's shoulder, as you start to walk back, steps swaying like a pair of drunkards. Then, Paul tugs you closer, you can feel him tense suddenly, as he leans with a sullen expression on his pale face.

- I hate the way he looks at you - he confesses, waves upon waves of righteous Atriedes fury crashing in his voice.

You don't know how to respond to that, so you stay silent, giving his arm a reassuring tug.

That was the last conversation you've had with your brother.

*** While the House Atriedes is characterized by a rather mellow temper, there was one thing they took extremely seriously. And those, unfortunately for you, were engagement rituals. 

So, that's why you sit posed like a porcelain doll in a deep chair, next to your soon-to-be husband, at the foot of a long table, surrounded by music, and dancing, and food. There are ribbons hung from the high ceilings, and flickering lights float around them like little fireflies. You watch, as they dance above you, the ridiculous headdress placed on your hair digs into your skul. Color surrounds you, your own dress flowing like a waterfall, elegant, yet delicate. The pools of fabric gather around your legs, a chiffon monstrosity, that you know, is supposed to make you beautiful. 

And perhaps you would've felt beautiful, if this was any other occasion. A birthday feast, perhaps. Dare you say, and engagement party with someone you actually loved. 

Speaking of which, your betrothed sits beside you, sticking out like a sore thumb. He looks utterly bored, eyes following the celebrating masses, hand playing with a steak knife. Not enough blood for his tastes, you suppose. He's dressed in traditional Harkonnen attire, which you think, doesn't really look that much different from all the other outfits you've seen him in. Black, sleek, efficient. You must be a curious pair, a mass of colorful materials and a black-stone pillar. 

The wine, thankfully, is sweet. It warms your face, and turns your insides into a pleasant mush. You should've eaten more, but then again, it was a celebration of your imprisonment, and if you wanted to get drunk, you would. And you did get drunk. Quickly. 

The dress moves with you, as you slowly slide down the chair, one leg resting up on the seat. A frightfully unbecoming sight, but you can't find it in yourself to care. Another, clumsy drink from your cup, and you sigh deeply, blinking a couple of times to rid yourself of sudden dizziness. 

Your betrothed gives you a look, whether it's of warning or amusement, you're not sure. And you don't care. Your nose scrunches in the general direction of his smooth head, and you take another sip, just to spite him.

- Shut up - you grumble, a slurr entering your words.

- I haven't said a word - he counters, and this time you can see him smile.

- You're thinking, it's annoying.

Feyd Rautha has an unpleasant laugh. 

Sharp and low, and very rough around the edges. It's like listening to an old spaceship try to take off, and you're sure you don't want to hear him laugh ever again. That's it, your goal in this, frankly, fucked up marriage, will be to never make your husband laugh. Although, it's best not to think about it so loudly, he might be a hidden mind reader, and would most likely laugh in your face every day, just to torture you. 

God. You were going to regret every sip come tomorrow morning.

- You're wrapped like a present - Feyd Rautha leans down with a smirk playing on his full lips, and you have to crane your neck to look him straight in the face - Shall I unwrap you here, while your family watches?

Despite the light tone, you shiver under his gaze. Something in the way his body seems relaxed yet tense at the same time tells you, this shameless man would do it in a heartbeat, if you as much as inclined your head. 

- Gross - you groan, hand untangling itself from the amassing of chiffon to push back at his face.

It's the first time, you've touched him out of your own volition, and even in your drunken daze, you note the sudden glint in his eyes. Fingers grab at your wrist, keeping you in place, as he leans further into your touch, turning his head slightly. Wine mixes with sudden embarrassment, as his lips brush against the meat of your palm. Then, black teeth shine and your heart jumps to your throat, as he bites down on your skin, hard enough to make you jump. Tongue darts out, licking a stripe up your thumb, before giving your fingertip a tiny nibble.

You tear your hand away from him, pressing it into your chest with an appalled expression. There are indents just below your thumb in the shape of his teeth, and the confounding feelings you've been trying to stoke for almost a month now, come crashing down upon you.

He looks satisfied with himself, returning back to his seat, and his steak knife. The utensil reflects the flowing lights, and despite yourself you swallow thickly, turning back to your cup, which is quickly becoming empty.

God, it was getting incessantly hot in this cursed dining hall. 

Whether it was the wine, or the sudden wave of knee-bending arousal washing through you, you couldn't tell. (It was both, you were fully aware it was both) And you're uncomfortable, terribly so. You fidget in your seat, almost painfully aware of the heat, which has now spread further down. The fabric of the dress slides against your body, skin becoming far too sensitive, too hungry for touch. You try to relieve some of your torment, legs squeezing and rubbing together. Treacherous tongues of self-awareness rear its ugly heads, and you look up, and...

Of course he noticed. 

Feyd Rautha places his chin in his hand, and he observes you with a knowing look, which turns dark and terrifying as soon as your eyes meet.

- Careful, lest the court starts talking - he warns you, his voice somehow becoming deeper than before, and you take a shuddering breath.

Dagnerous, this is dangerous.

 You're seated far away from your family, from any consolation, and even if they were close enough to intervene, the masses of dancing people, the sound of their laughter... Your heart stops, a snake curling itself around your insides. Truly, if that beast of a man wanted to, he could make do of his threat from earlier, and take you where you sit. Haunted by that thought, both terrifying and arousing, you down the rest of your wine. 

It doesn't taste as good anymore. Hell, it threatens to come back up, until you force it to sit in your stomach. 

Duncan, you need to find Duncan, or you'll do something incredibly stupid. You'll do something incredibly stupid either way, but at least the regret will be less biting. So, pulling yourself up on trembling arms, you shuffle out of your chair, your betrothed's heated gaze following you on your way through the hall. 

People don't even look at you, too enraptured with free food and drinks, and the music, which flows loudly through the air. Good, in any other case, the Duke's Daughter, stumbling drunk through corridors, would certainly lift some eyebrows. Your feet carry you towards the training barracks, a familiar route you've followed many times. Indulging in sex with your Father's most trusted advisor was not the healthiest form of regulating emotions, but you needed something, and God knows, you'd rather die than get it from anyone else. From Him especially.

The choice is made for you, however, as a strong hand wraps itself around your arm, just above your elbow, yanking you backwards, behind a stone column. The world spins in front of your eyes, and for a second you worry the company of wine warming your insides is about to abandon you along with breakfast. 

- Do you truly thought, you could sneak away from me?

Finally, your eyes focus on Fey Rautha's face, almost demonic in the low light of the corridor. Shadows play on his expression, falling heavily over his eyes, and you try to wrench yourself from his grasp.

- What I do is none of your business - you slurr out, wringing your arm every which way, his fingers digging painfully into your flesh - Let go of me.

The Harkonnen presses himself closer to you, trapping your body between the stone and himself. His nose nearly crushes itself into the juncture between your neck and your shoulder, taking a disturbing long whiff. You can feel his chest vibrate against your own, as he groans deep within his throat. It sobers you up in record speed, and you start to thrash in his hold. He subdues your outburst, as if he was made for it, before dragging his nose up, towards your hair. You snarl like a wild animal.

- Let me go. 

His body moves on its own accord, tearing itself away from you in an instant, legs tripping over themselves, to put distance between your bodies. He looks up at you, muscles tense and an expression of shock painted across his pale face. 

The ability to use the Voice was something you rarely took part in. Training sessions with your Mother went well, as expected of a woman, but you still had a lot of work ahead of you. You blink forcefully, steadying yourself against the wall behind you. Then, you notice the borderline murderous look on your soon-to-be husband's face.

- Witch - he spits out, baring his blackened teeth at you.

- I am the Daughter of Duke Atriedes - your voice carries a note of righteous pride, despite dread climbing up your spine - And you will treat me with respect, wedded or not.

He straightens himself with petrifying speed, and as he takes a step towards you, actions overtake reflection. Your hand winds back, and you bring a resounding slap across his sharp cheekbone. While your palm blooms with pain, he seems to barely react, closing the distance between the two of you after a tense beat. Before you have a chance to react again, his hands grab at your face, and his lips crash against yours in a punishing kiss.

Teeth clink together and the momentum of the kiss makes your head collide with the stone pillar behind you. He's fingers dig into your cheeks and your jaw, as he devours you completely, bringing down all your defences in one swoop. You kiss him back, almost immediately, opening your mouth to let him in, to meet his tongue halfway. It's almost grotesque, how much you hate and love this at the same time, the buzzing of the wine mixing with the sound of your racing heart, with the sound of his unabashed sounds of pleasure. 

Hands flail at your sides, as you grab all you can take, pulling him even closer by the thick fabric of his tunic. 

His hands however, know exactly what they want, and as he lets go of your face, they both sink down. Fingers hook into the neckline of your dress, and he tears it down, your entire body swaying with the force of his movement. Your breasts are freed for only just a moment, cold air hitting them in a way that would be uncomfortable, if they weren't immediately covered by your betrothed's large palm. He palms at your chest, as if he wants to crush it, and you bite back a whine, which threatens to spill from your abused lips. 

- Don't - he growls a warning, unoccupied hand tangling itself within your hair - Sing.

And you do. As his mouth descends upon your neglected breast, where he alternates between licks and bites that make your back fly off the wall. Once again you don't know what to do with your hands, finding them entirely useless in the Harkonnen's overpowering grasp. One, grabs at his shoulder, undecided on whether to push him off, or pull him in closer. The other one scratches four lines into his skull, as he sucks on the sensitive skin under your ribs. 

Finally, he detaches from you completely, standing straight and regarding you with a look so intensely ravenous, it shakes you to your core. Your exposed chest rises and falls in tandem with your heaving breaths, and you shiver, as cold air hits your skin. His gaze drinks in your dissheveled hair, the way your lips are puffy and red. A beautiful sight for his blackened eyes. 

- I know who you went looking for - he starts, stalking towards you once again - Can't have that, can I?

You debate feigning confusion, outrage at such accusation, which hasn't really been uttered yet. But, as Feyd Rautha stops just short of the bottom hem of your dress, you suddenly find yourself unable to speak. Instead, as a last ditched effort to rid yourself of him, your hand extends, a half-hazard attempt at liberation. He swats it away, as one would a mere fly, before sinking to his knees in front of you. 

- Lift up your dress, Viper - his voice is like thunder in your ears, and you bite your lips at the sight of his eyes, dark and surprisingly eager.

Hands move clumsily in an effort to gather all those translucent layers. You nearly trip over yourself, earning a rather nasty chuckle from below. As soon, as your legs are visible, he dives between the chiffon, his head dissapearing from sight. You can feel his lips, traveling up the expanse of your calf, giving a light bite under your knee. 

Anticipation siezes your gut, and you grab onto the wall, as if that would save you. His hands grab your leg, skin incredibly warm to the touch for someone who looks so cold, and then, with forceful tugs, he starts to manouver you. 

You let out an unbecoming squeak, as he yanks your leg over his shoulder. Strong hands keep you in place, and he reaches out around the upper part of your thigh to all but tear your undergarments off of your core. The force of this action makes you jump in place on your one available leg, just to hold your balance, and for a second you consider swatting at him. 

That thought leaves you almost immediately after it appears, as an onslaugh of kitten licks unleashes downward. A vague, head like shape moves under your dress, the chiffon floating from place to place like a hypnotizing river. The wine must've heightened your senses to an alarming degree, because as soon as Feyd Rautha begins his ministrations, you're a mess. 

It's honestly humiliating, the way you fight for any purchase on the wall behind you, as he begins to lick in earnes, parting your legs further with one hand, while the other wraps securely around your used leg. While there, he cops a feel of your behind, fingers biting into the soft flesh, and you lock your lower lip between your teeth so hard, you can taste blood on your tongue.

As if he's developed some new telepathic talents, his hand leaves your ass, in favor of winding up, and slapping it harshly. The action makes your jump in place once again, a sound stuck between outrage and glee fleeing your throat, before you have the chance to stop it. Right, "sing", you remind yourself, and immediately feel him change his tactics. 

Your bundle of nerves opens new possibilities of torment, and as his lips close around the bud, you can't help the whine, escaping through your lips. The music is loud, you remind yourself. They won't hear, no one will hear. His hand pushes your dangling leg further up your shoulder, and your back arches from the stone. You will be sore as all hell after this is done, but for now, it doesn't matter. Nothing really matters, except the way your betrothed eats you out, like a man who's been starved for decades.

- Oh shit - you curse, hands flailing uselessly - Oh fuck!

All of a sudden, everything stops, and your building peak subsides into a dissatisfactory simmer. Feyd Rautha's head emerges from under the fabric, a terrible, shit-eating grin on his wet lips.

- Such language? - he teases, tongue darting out to lap at your arousal - So unbecoming of a-...

- Fucking don't stop! - there's panic in your movements, as you grab the back of his head, and shove him right under your dress again.

The laughter should be unsettling for you, but he returns to his post with twice as much motivation, and however more strength, and before you know it, your orgasm sneaks upon you. A sudden tightness in your core is all the warning you get, before the coil snaps, and your entire body starts to spasm in pleasure. 

It's good. Incredibly so. You'd risk saying it's the most intense you've ever came, but never out loud, never to him. That shameful secret was between you and whatever God that was listening. Stars erupt behind your eyelids, your breathing stopping for just a moment. 

And then you go deliciously limp, legs giving out completely. 

To his credit, the Harkonnen catches you before you hit the floor, the arm curling around your leg proving to be an unmeasurable support. His head emerges from under the dress once again, and he lets you slide down the wall, until you're seated. He sways on the balls of his feet, still towering you, even as he crouches. 

You swallow, throat slightly raw from all the noise you've done moments ago, and he follows the movements of your neck muscles with greedy eyes. Still greedy, after taking so much. Truly, he was a Harkonnen. And before you can stop yourself, a thought materializes in your brain, a treacherous little information, which would shake you to the core, if your muscles weren't currently made of taffy.

He blushes pink. Your betrothed blushes pink, from the exercise of making you cum on his tongue alone. God, what a precious sight.

He must've noticed the serene smile playing upon your lips, and his nature to ruin comes to light. His hand reaches back, and you freeze in your spot, as you recognize that damned golden steak knife. The blade shines in the dimly lit corridor, making your breathing faster, questions swimming behind your eyes. You don't really want to fight him in this state, but you fucking will, if he tries anything. 

- An engagement present, for you, Viper. - he rasps, licking his reddened lips in an obscene display, which doesn't repulse you quite as much as it should. 

- I have nothing to give in return - your voice is stern, and your betrothed flashes you an evil grin.

Then, he presents you the tip of the knife, golden utensil hanging between his slender fingers, and you look up at him, not understanding what is expected of you. Placing one knee on the floor, Feyd Rautha lowers himself to your eye level, for the hundredth of times surprising you with the sheer grace in his movements. 

- Kiss - he whispers, into the space between the both of you.

Your eyes fall to the knife, then, to him and you take a long, deep breath. Pride, your biggest flaw, takes a deadly hit, as the man twists the knife in his fingers, looking at you expectedly. You hate him, truly and deeply, and it must be showing on your face, because he sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth, as soon as your eyes meet. 

Swallowing your pride, you keep his gaze, leaning towards the blade. Your lips press delicately against the cool metal and the Harkonnen flashes you a nasty, self-satisfied smirk, before slipping the knife up his sleeve and standing up. 

- I'll see you back at the feast - he gives you a small bow, and you press your lips tightly together.

- Fuck you.

- After the wedding, my Viper.

And with that, he turns around.

 You're left there, on the floor, your dignity in shambles, the exertion catching up to you all at once, as if his presence alone was the only thing keeping you from feeling pain. A stupid thought, you chastize yourself, before slowly pulling yourself from the cold tiles. 

It takes you a couple of shameful minutes, trying to put yourself back together again. The ridiculous headdress, which has slipped all the way down from your hair, will probably never look the same, as when your Mother has styled it, but you can't find it in yourself to care. 

The music still plays, as you enter the hall, and thankfully, no one notices your arrival. No one but your betrothed, who raises his drinking cup in your direction, as if nothing had happened. His face is annoying, you conclude, and turn away, your aching legs taking you towards the center of the room, where people danced and sang in celebration of your engagement. What a lovely sight, what a lovely couple. Opposites attract, right?

Bitter, aching and humiliated, you throw yourself into the crowd, let it sway you from place to place, as you dance away this whole wretched week. The whole month-long courting rituals, which were just a bullshit attempt at torture. 

It's said, that when Death comes to take your soul, you're allowed one more dance before the eternal void. 

So you dance. 

[rainylana]

“It’s just a cut.”

Eddie Munson x female reader

summary: too many times had eddie tended to your wounds and broken heart. he’s had enough.

a potential series if you guys want it! let me know!

warnings: extremely angsty and not for everyone! i tried to make this as real as possible for both sides and it’s not an easy read. please tread with caution. therefore warnings are: physical and emotional abuse by readers mother, wounds and blood, mentions of weighed and irregular eating habits, low confidence and self esteem mentions, language, very angsty fight between reader and eddie, broken nose, lots of tears, reader still loves her mother very much despite her actions. eddie isn’t a jerk, i didn’t try to convey him that way, but this is a heavy subject and it needed to feel real. i dated a jerk and know what some of this can be like. requested by @h-ness1944 i hope you like this dear! i hope i did it justice to what you wanted!

Was he mad? You couldn’t tell. He hadn’t said anything in almost twenty minutes. Your heart was racing. The last thing you wanted was to loose him. You knew it was getting to him, seeing you all cut up and beaten on, but what else was there to do?

Your shirt was off, sitting on the couch in your bra and jeans as you sniffled, tears that had long since dried and left a sticky residue on your cheeks, mascara dark and streaked. Your mom had thrown a beer bottle at you again, a normal occurrence, they just didn’t usually hit you. It had sliced the skin on your back open. Luckily, it wasn’t bad enough to need stitches, but that didn’t matter to Eddie.

You regretted coming over. You shouldn’t have bothered him with it. You could feel the anger and hurt radiating off of him. You had sworn him to secrecy, and you could see the toll it took on him.

Your mom had increasingly got more creative when it came to dealing out punishments. She had ever since she started heavily drinking, when your dad had left her. You loved your dad and missed him dearly, but you didn’t blame him for leaving her. He had to take care of himself too. If he knew what your mom did, he’d surely come back to stop her. You couldn’t do that to him. At the end of the day, you could endure it, you just weren’t sure if Eddie could anymore.

“Please say something.” Your voice was hoarse.

You had your back to him, wincing slightly as he dapped a pad of alcohol on your cut, trying to make sure it didn’t get caught with an infection.

“What do you want me to say?” His voice barely conveyed any emotion.

When you had showed up, blood seeping through your shirt, he’d done what he did every time, debated taking you to the hospital, but your panicked state always talked him out of it. He’d sunk into protective mode, guiding you to the couch and pulling your shirt off, shushing you gently and telling you he’d get you fixed up. That was twenty five minutes ago. He was too quiet now.

His voice brought fresh tears to your eyes. “I’m sorry, Eddie.”

He sighed heavily, cursing himself. There was no need to be cold toward you. “You have nothing to apologize for.” He squeezed your shoulder. “I’m almost finished.”

He wiped your wound dry, covering it with a gauze and bandage. He’d stocked up on medical supplies a few months ago. One night he had cried when he realized just how quickly it was going. He was terrified for you, afraid one day, you wouldn’t walk through the door needing aid from your wounds. One day it would be Hopper, hat in his hands and offering his condolences. He had thought about going to the police so many times behind your back, but he’d loose you then. Was he being selfish?

“Please don’t hate me.” You cried emotionally, looking down to your shoes.

“Y/n,” He turned you gently, grabbing your chin. “I do not hate you.” His thumb traced your bottom lip, watching as you sniffled and cried, his other hand swiping away some tears that fell down your cheek. “Just calm down, honey.” He raised his chin to you, instructing softly. He didn’t want you to get yourself worked up like you usually did.

You breathed in the hands that held you upright, face beat red and blotchy. You body ached with pain and guilt. You wanted nothing more to curl up in his chest, but you fought the urge. He might not have wanted you too.

“What happened this time?” He said, reaching to the floor to hand you your shirt. “Was she drinking?”

You told him what happened, or lack of what happened. It was never really much of anything. She’d scream at you, call you names that you couldn’t repeat. Throw things and hit you. You said, nothing really, shrugging your shoulders. There was a time where Eddie would have demanded more of an answer, but he grew to realize that sometimes it never really was anything. That’s just how your mother was.

Eddie bit down hard on his lip, looking away from you to the kitchen. “Spend the weekend here with me. I don’t want you going back tonight.” He’d wanted you to move in with him for so long, but you never could leave your mother. He didn’t understand that, and your fought about it several times.

“Eddie?” You grabbed at his knee, eyes fearful and wide. “I really am sorry.”

He grabbed your hand and kissed it, but said nothing as he got up and disappeared into the bathroom. He couldn’t help it. With each time you came barging in during the night, day, whatever, it chipped away at his heart. He’d watched you change over the last year as your mother’s words became more harsh. You accepted the beatings more easily, but the way she spoke to you had taken it’s toll. He could see that clear as a bell.

Your self confidence had plummeted. You didn’t like to reveal any of your skin that you didn’t have to. You were much quieter than you used to be, only really speaking to him or some of the members of hellfire. Wayne, too, of course.

He was washing his hands, trying his best to not smash the mirror in front of him. He was being distant and he knew it, but he couldn’t help it. How much longer until you’d have to undergo surgery? How much longer until the words hurt so bad you’d kill yourself just to get away from it? How much longer until he’d be standing by your grave?

He looked up to find tour reflection, tearful and afraid. He knew what you were thinking. You knew what he was thinking. Slowly, you wrapped your arms around his torso, pressing your lips to his back to hold him. He relaxed into your touch, hands still slightly wet from the sink.

“Don’t worry about me, Ed’.” You whispered. “I’ll be okay.”

His hands held yours above his stomach, staring at your sad reflection. “No, you won’t.” He answers honestly, a small shake of his head that you barely miss. “Don’t lie to yourself.”

You were always crying. You were always sad. You were always so heartbroken, a shell of what you once used to be.

“It’s just a cut.” You defended, causing him to shrivel under your touch and pull away, quickly drying his hands with a towel and leaving the bathroom.

“Don’t start that shit.” He said lowly, entering your bedroom. “It’s not a cut. It’s never just a cut. It’s so much more than that.”

“Okay, okay, well-” You started to rant, mouth opening but falling closed at a loss of words.

He waited for you to speak.

“I don’t know what to say.” You cross your arms defensively. “I just- I don’t want you to worry. I’m sorry I came here. I shouldn’t have.”

No. That’s the last thing he wanted you to think. You were always welcome and he would always look after you. He cursed under his breath, rubbing a tired hand over his face. “Baby, no, that’s not what I’m saying.” He comes to you, grabbing your shoulders.

He pulls you into his chest, you’re a blubbering, whimpering mess. He’s careful to not touch your bandage. “I can’t not worry about you, angel.” His voice is full and close to breaking.

“You don’t understand how hard it is for me to watch you suffer like this. I can’t stand to see you wither away.” His eyes tear up, holding the back of your head. “I don’t know how much longer I’m going to be able to keep quiet, sweetheart.”

You’re sobs increase and you’re grasping on to him for dear life.

“I know you love her, baby, but she’s not good for you.” His voice shakes and so does his bottom lip. “God, I wish I could just take you away.”

You’re too distraught to say anything. You hold him and he holds you.

•

“I’m done, y/n.” Eddie’s got angry tears falling down his face, voice filled with a rage full venom he was dying to take out on something, anything. “I’m done with this shit. Either you go to the police or I will.”

“Eddie, please!” You’re begging him, practically on your knees as you sob hysterically. “Please, don’t! I’m sorry! It won’t happen again, I swear it!”

“You say that every time!” He says incredulously, flaying his arms about like you’d gone mad. “And every time nothing changes!”

It had been bad this time. Your mom had said absolutely disgusting things to you, taking about your weight, making remarks about the way you talked and how Eddie was crazy for being with you. You’d made the mistake of trying to stand up to her. Your nose was most likely broken from being shoved into the wall, the crunch still loud in your ears that made you cringe from the memory. The blood had dried, but it hurt to breath. Your tears caused you immense pain from the weight of your cries, the heaves from your chest making your face ache.

Eddie stepped back and sobbed softly, holding his head with a hand and cursed. “Fuck.” He couldn’t hold back his emotions this time.

You brought up your hand to your mouth, trying your best to calm down, but it wasn’t doing much good. “Eddie, please!” You whimpered. “You can’t say anything. You swore!”

“I know I did!” He snapped, throwing down his arm. “You swore me to something that you shouldn’t have! Now I’m stuck watching you get beat on every day! Do you know what the hell that does to me?” He was shouting now, tears boiling down your face. You turned away from him and bawled.

In the moment, he wondered if he was any better than your mother, yelling at you and making you cry. Maybe later, he’d hate himself for it, but he couldn’t keep it in anymore.

“Look at this picture.” He tore out his wallet and flipped it open, taking out the polaroid of you that he kept in the first sleeve. “Look at how happy you were there.” It was only a few years ago, back when the antics of your mother began. You were smiling with full teeth, wearing a pretty pink dress and face decorated with happiness and joy.

“You see how different you look?” He held the picture to your face. “You’re too thin. You don’t eat. You’ve got bruises all over you. I haven’t seen you smile like that in years.”

Your nose started bleeding again, you could feel the cool, metallic taste of blood on your upper lip. Eddie watched it drop down, his tear falling in sync with your blood.

“You can’t make me keep doing this, y/n.” He said your, shaking his head and grasping at the picture. “I love you too much to watch you get hurt. I’m giving you a choice, darlin’. It’s either you or me.”

“No.” You shake your head. “She won’t survive in jail, Eddie! She needs me to take care of her!” Your chest heaves through tears, a panicked anxiety making you hysterical. “Please, Eddie, please!” You fall to the floor at his feet, grasping at his knees, begging him to forget it all. You had snot and blood, hot tears falling down your face, making your skin red and blotchy.

You pulled at him and sobbed, and Eddie just didn’t know what to do. Both of your hearts were breaking. He held his hands at your head, and he slowly looked up at the ceiling and cried with you. “I can’t do it anymore, baby.” He whimpered. “I need you safe. I can’t wait until it’s too late. I won’t have you dying on me.”

“Eddie, please!” You’re hysterical, squeezing his legs.

“If you hate me it’s okay.” He sniffles, wiping a hand over his face. “I just need you safe. That’s all I need.”

You grow angry at his defiance, pushing yourself off the ground. “I said no, Eddie! She’s my mother, not yours!” You spat, a sudden change of emotion that had him reeling back.

“Y/n, please.” He begged, closing his eyes. “I- I can’t. I just..I just can’t anymore. You’re asking me to do the impossible. Do I have to watch you be killed!” He shouts at the end, eyes burning red with angry, hurt tears.

“I’ll break up with you!” You scream, the ache in your nose making you groan. “I swear to god, Eddie, if you tell anyone we’re done!”

It all went silent. Eddie cried. You cried. Hearts were racing and limbs were trembling. He took a slow, deep breath. “I have to.” It was all he said, keeping his eye on you, but it was enough.

With a cold glare, you were slamming the door on the way out.