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kitten4sannie · 9 months ago

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blood pact

pairing: vampire! wooyoung x human! reader (fem)

genre: vampire society au, a lil bit of angst, smut

summary: living in a city overrun by bloodsuckers is already hard enough on its own, but you’re really put to the test when one of them ends up being your only hope in the face of danger.

w.c: 4.3k

warnings: blood/injury, depictions of violence, death(s)? of a few vampires, hard-ish dom (slight tamer)! wooyoung, subby (tiny bit bratty)! reader, these mfs are nasty alr, some light brat taming, one or two little slaps, praise/degradation, pet names/name calling, blood kink obv <3 (includes blood drinking/sharing), kissing, oral (giving), throat fucking, brief breath play, pain kink, mutual masturbation, lotus position but it’s rough !!, creampie

a/n: oh mannn i’m a bit late again 😣 but im excited to share this one with you all !! i wanted to thank my dear lily for beta reading this one for me and giving me lovely feedback that helps me grow as a writer, it truly means the world to me my dear 🩷 once again i do apologize if this fic seems disjointed in any way ,, things have been a bit weird but i won’t let life stop me from sharing nasty smut >:((( lol i hope you enjoy and please lemme know what you thought <33

song rec: dirt - depeche mode (we’re taking it wayyy back with this one <3)

fictober 2024

You were never able to pinpoint exactly when humanity went to shit, as it had always been in a state of constant conflict and disarray, but somewhere along the way, it turned into a raging dumpster fire — one that was close to impossible to put out once it was lit. Unbeknownst to humans, there was a society of vampires that lived in the shadows for centuries, waiting patiently until it was the perfect time to make their existence known and feared. What better time to take over the world than when the humans were too busy being at each other’s throats to even realize they had a common enemy, one that would drain them of their life source within a blink of an eye?

Anyone with a pulse had no choice but to fall in line and succumb to their undead overlords, having to make up their mind about whether they would like to join forces with the enemy by desecrating their DNA and joining those that single-handedly brought upon humanity’s destruction, or grovel at their feet and become a slave, a house pet of sorts whose soul purpose was to feed and entertain their blood-sucking masters.

It was not an easy choice for most, and especially for you, so you simply found another solution — blend in. If you embodied everything a vampire was, even down to their immeasurable sense of pride and entitlement, how could they tell you apart from the others? And when they saw through your ruse, you would drive a stake through their still heart. You would never join their empire, let alone be one of their toys, especially not for some pompous undead prick that would treat you like a glorified juice box.

Yet, here you were, drunk off your ass at a gothic nightclub that welcomed vampiric guests and shunned anyone with a beating heart, unless they were owned and branded.

“Gimme another whiskey, neat,” you slurred, holding your empty shot glass to the poor excuse of a human bartender standing on the other side of the bar. You scoffed at the jeweled collar he wore around his neck, knowing he was owned by whatever undead asshole that ran the nightclub. You had your own collar, of course, but you had taken it from someone that was…no longer in need of it. You did what you had to, to make it through another night in the corrupted world you regretfully called your home.

“I should cut you off, y’know, especially after being such a dick to me all night,” the man mumbled, despite reaching underneath the bar to grab an almost empty bottle of whiskey and filling your glass back up, not wanting to risk angering his superiors.

“But, you won’t. Your vampiric asshole of a boss wouldn’t like that you’re denying a paying customer.” You stuck your tongue out at the man, much to his dismay. You sipped on the whiskey, liking the way it burned as it went down your throat, grateful that you could still feel something, even if it was a drunkenness that would most likely do irreversible damage to your liver. It’s not like your life really mattered, not in this timeline, at least.

You lazily held your glass up in his direction, blowing a few strands of loose hair out of your eyes. The man simply held up the empty bottle and gave you a tight smile. “All out. Now, would you pay your tab?”

“Fineeee, oh my god,” you groaned dramatically, standing up from the barstool and wobbling a bit, fishing for your wallet somewhere inside your worn trench coat. When you opened it up, you came upon the discovery that it was completely empty, looking up to find fear inside the bartender’s eyes. “L-listen, I can replace that bottle, okay? I-I’ll…just need to stop by the local temp agency first.”

“I think you should leave, before they catch wind of this…” the bartender warned you under his breath, unconsciously tugging at his collar.

Swallowing harshly, you glanced around the crowded, dingy club past the collar of your coat, before stumbling your way past many vampire patrons that were drunk off the blood of their human pets who stayed close to them, wishing your blurry surroundings weren’t moving in slow motion. Paranoid that somebody was following you, you looked past your shoulder, only seeing the same crowd of drunken patrons. Temporarily relieved, you swiftly faced forward again, only to accidentally bump into someone face-first, your teeth clinking into the metal of their lip ring, your hands almost getting caught in the many necklaces they were wearing. “I’m so sorry, oh my god, please don’t kill me,” you automatically apologized, already knowing they weren’t human based on the lack of a collar and color in their cheeks.

“If I wanted to, I would,” Wooyoung teased in his own special way, quite aware of the way your heart rate spiked as soon as his light, airy words reached your ears. He enjoyed playing around with his food as much as the next vampire, but lately, it’s grown quite dull, like everything else in his never-ending life.

“O-oh!” you squeaked, letting out a nervous laugh, sticking one hand into your coat pocket to wrap your fingers around the sharp stake you carried with you everywhere.

He brought one manicured finger up to tap against the jewel sitting snugly against your collared neck, leaning in to press his lips against the slope of your ear. “I’d take you right here in front of everyone, drink you dry. Let them all enjoy the pretty sounds you’d make. Does that sound fun?”

“Oh, you can try it, if you want,” you goaded him, looking up at him with your big doe eyes once he pulled back, wondering if he knew just how unhinged you were, just how on the edge you really were. “But, what happens if I’m poisonous? I might not be worth the stomachache.”

Wooyoung chuckled to himself, not used to any human acting so boldly towards him. “Fair point, human.”

“Y/N,” you corrected him, letting go of you weapon in favor of wrapping your finger around one of his silver necklaces, teasing him back in your own way. “You should at least know my name if you’re going to drink from me.”

Wooyoung mused at your actions, studying you with his sly fox eyes, licking at the mole on his lip. He would’ve pursed you if you hadn’t suddenly gotten spooked by something, turning his head to watch you continue making your way out of the club, noticing that the owner quickly followed after you. Things were certainly getting interesting.

By the time you inhaled the cold night air into your lungs, you had already broke out into a sweat. You let your heavy coat hang off past your shoulders and leaned back against a nearby wall, regretting all the alcohol you had subjected your poor body into taking. “Fuck me…” you groaned, shutting your eyes and leaning your head back into the cool concrete behind you, hoping that would make the world stop spinning.

“Is that an invitation…?” asked the very vampire you had been talking shit about to the bartender just a few minutes earlier. “It’s the least you could offer me in exchange for all the whiskey you drank in my club, filthy human.”

Your blood ran cold. “D-don’t you even think about touching me…You aren’t my owner.”

“Oh, because of this little collar you have on? You really don’t have a clue about our kind, do you? There’s no pheromones on you, just your own filthy human scent,” the vampire chided, running his finger along the worn band of your lace collar. It made your skin crawl. You struggled to keep down all the alcohol you had drowned yourself in. Just then, he ripped it from your neck and replaced it with his slender fingers, squeezing around it until your vision grew just that more blurry. “But, don’t worry, I’ll make up for all the lost time that you haven’t been used like a proper toy.”

Blinding rage joined the revulsion you felt for the individual that continued to toy with you as though you were a defenseless child, the culmination of it churning around inside your body like molten hot lava ready to pour out of you. “Who the fuck do you think you are?” you barked, shoving your hands into his shoulders as hard as you could, your feverish anger growing that much more when he hardly moved.

In response, the vampire tugged your coat down and ripped open your top, causing the buttons to fly off. His abhorrent words became nothing more than radio static inside your ringing ears, once you saw red, clutching the wooden stake inside your pocket so tightly that it pierced your fragile skin. You reeled your arm back and drove it straight into the owner’s side, so violently that the wood split into shards, not letting go of it until you knew that it was lodged deeply inside him, wishing, hoping he felt even a fragment of the pain his kind had caused you. “Die,” you muttered, searching his eyes for some sign of shock, regret, grief, anything.

Confusion overtook your flushed features when the man simply laughed directly in your face, as though he were savoring a joke that you weren’t in on, suddenly feeling a white hot burning pain inside your abdomen. Something was wrong, deeply wrong. You tried to speak, but you couldn’t, not while you were gurgling on your own blood. You looked down to see the hilt of a dagger sticking out of your stomach, reality hitting you like a ton of bricks, rendering it impossible to draw in air.

“It never ceases to amuse me when a blood bag thinks they can stop someone like me with something as silly as a wooden stake,” he began, letting out a small hum, as he drove his ritual dagger in as far as it could go. He leaned in close to you, twisting the knife around inside you just to hear the delightful sounds of agony that escaped your red tinted lips. “I’ve been alive longer than your entire bloodline, pathetic human, and I’ll be outliving you tonight.” And with that, the club owner ripped the dagger back out and strolled back into the building, licking the crimson that still ran down the sides of his blade.

You should’ve known this would happen eventually in a world like this. You had no power from the very start. Why had you been blind to the truth until this very moment, when all you could see was your precious blood leaving your body? Regardless, it was far too late to ruminate over trivial things. Death’s gentle whispers were lulling you to sleep, its sweet promises of rest numbing out most of the visceral emotions that coursed through your veins. Slumping against the wall, you held your middle with trembling hands, gazing up at the full moon that loomed over you, wanting to enjoy her beauty one last time — at least, until someone blocked your view.

“For fuck’s sake, can’t you see I’m dying here? Let me look at the moon in peace…” you murmured, weakly glaring up at the stranger you had met inside that godforsaken club only a couple minutes ago.

“You still got some fire in you, doncha, sweetheart?” Wooyoung mused, crouching down so you were at eye level, reaching out to gently ruffle your hair. “But, you’ll die of blood loss soon…pity.”

“You’re very observant,” you replied snarkily, leaning your head back into the wall, your vision growing darker by the second. You let out a long, defeated sigh, choking a bit on the blood left inside your raw throat. “Are you just here to watch me die? If that’s the case, can you do me a favor and make it quick?”

“You didn’t seem like the type to give up so easily.” He leaned in close to you, his crimson eyes shining that much brighter when he asked, “Don’t you want revenge?”

His question echoed inside your mind, once as a whisper, and eventually as a desperate plea. “And what if I do…? It’s not like I can do much now…”

“Let me turn you.” He bared his fangs. “You’ll live, and you’ll be so much stronger than ever before.” He watched as your eyes widened, then returned to normal, figuring you were weighing your options, though they were vastly limited. “You’ll be free to take his life away, do with it as you please, just like he was going to do to you. Doesn’t that sound delicious?”

A few drops of blood dribbled down the side of your mouth. The sand in your hourglass was about to run out. “What do you get in return?”

Wooyoung’s lips curled up into a sadistic smile, his eyes resembling glowing crescent moons. “I’ll be your Master, of course. It’s only fair, being your savior, and all.”

Though that was the very last thing you wanted, you were far too stubborn to die out in such a pathetic fashion. Not only that, but you were being offered the deal of a lifetime, at the end of your lifetime, to be exact, and in exchange for your mortal soul, you could enact sweet, sweet revenge and have a new tale to tell, one that no man or monster could ever take from you.

“Speak now, or forever hold your peace,” Wooyoung joked slyly, tapping the invisible watch on his wrist.

“Alright, deal, but make it quick–” you were barely able to enunciate, before Wooyoung was all over you, one hand holding the side of your head, while the other felt where your artery was, immediately sinking his fangs deep into your neck to start the transformation process.

When you came to, you looked up at your savior, your eyes as red as the blood he had sucked out of you, all of the immense pain that plagued your body gone as quickly as it came, instead replaced by an indescribable thirst.

“How do you feel, pet?” Wooyoung asked, licking remnants of your life source from his manicured fingers.

You bared your new, needle sharp fangs to your Master. “Hungry.”

He smiled at you like a proud father would. “I think I know how we can fix that.”

The last thing the vampiric club owner expected to see when he was sitting inside the comfort of his secluded office was the human woman he had just murdered out of cold blood stomping up to his desk and tossing it out of the way like it wasn’t made of marble.

“H-hey, we can talk about this, right?” he asked nervously, holding his hands up, along with the stacks of cash that were in between his grubby fingers. “You want money? You can have it!”

You grabbed him by the collar, yanking him towards you so violently, he just about broke his neck. “I don’t want money. I want your life.”

When Wooyoung casually strolled into the cush office and pressed his back against the opaque door, the other vampire pleaded at him with his wide eyes. “Wooyoung, baby, this is your favorite club, isn’t it? Haven’t I treated you good here?”

“Y/N will treat you good too, don’t worry,” he reassures sweetly, dragging his tongue across his pointed teeth. He brought his finger up to his chin like he just remembered something, nodding to himself. “Ahh, she does bite, though.”

Just as Wooyoung’s cackles rang out inside the vast room, the club owner shifted his frightened gaze to you just in time to see your jaw open wide, gulping at the sheer size of your fangs. And just like that, you bit down onto the vampire’s neck, getting a good grip on his skin, before swiftly turning your head and causing a fountain of blood to rain over you.

Once you were done feeding, there was hardly anything left of the club owner. Most of him was inside you, and the rest was left splattered across the pedestrian paintings he had up on the walls. Still sitting on the floor near scattered, bloodied hundred dollar bills, you licked up the rest of him from your fingers, your entire body vibrating with pleasure now that your killer was no longer with you, and for other reasons you couldn’t quite explain. Perhaps it had something to do with your new body and your newfound love for excess.

Wooyoung clapped his hands together with giddy delight, giving the top of your head a few pats as a reward. “What a good girl. Do you feel full?”

Shaking your head, you reached up to Wooyoung’s waistband, undoing the belt buckle and easing his pants down, licking at your red stained lips all the while. The burning, mind-melting desire to consume didn’t leave you, it only multiplied. It clouded your mind, made you feel like you might lose your mind if you didn’t make it stop. “Not enough…my throat…need it filled…”

“Ahh, I see,” Wooyoung sighed knowingly. This always happened with the humans he turned; they turned into insatiable monsters, always driven by their need for more. He could never get tired of it. Leaning his back against the dripping wall, he reached down to slide his fingers into your soft hair, angling your head upwards, cooing softly at you as he pushed his way into your mouth. “Be careful with your fangs, sweetheart.”

Relaxing your throat upon the sudden intrusion, you opened your mouth wider, as to not pierce Wooyoung’s cock with your new fangs, feeling content once the entirety of his twitching length fit snugly inside. It was when the vampire thrusted further into your throat that you made a wet gagging sound, tears forming inside your crimson eyes, closing them.

“Ah, ah,” Wooyoung tutted, giving your cheek a light smack, smiling sweetly down at you when your eyes opened back up. “That’s right, you better look at me with those pretty eyes of yours if you’re going to take me down your throat like this. That’s what a good pet does.”

Once Wooyoung started to fuck your throat, eager to fill it with his cum, his pale fingers pulling tightly at your hair, you did your best not to choke around him, welcoming him in again, over and over, until saliva and pre-cum dripped down your chin and along your bare chest.

“Mmnh….nnnhmm…” you moaned in approval, reaching up to hold onto his bucking hips, digging your nails into his protruding hip bones. You blinked more tears away, wanting to see Wooyoung’s sadistic face without the constant blurriness that plagued your vision. Whether you had a penchant for punishment or you were simply bloodthirsty, it caused you to prod at the vampire’s cock with your fangs, the tangy flavor of iron joining the abundance of precum that lubed up your throat.

“Fuck, you’re a naughty girl, biting me like that,” Wooyoung hissed in between violent thrusts, suddenly holding your head still when the entirety of his cock was inside your throat, your nose brushing against his pubic bone, satisfied with the filthy gurgling noises you couldn’t help but make for him, feeling more of your spit drip down his heavy balls. He smacked his hand against your cheek again, watching it grow rosy, before pinching your nose tightly. “But, you can’t help it, huh? You just want to be put in your place. I can’t blame you for that.”

The sensation was suffocating, the feeling of being used added onto the constant buzz of pleasure that was running through your veins; it was nothing like you’ve ever experienced before. It almost made you wish that you had let yourself be turned a long time ago. No one could stop you now, not even him. Maybe your humanity was slipping away from you, much like your sanity with each passing moment.

It wasn’t until you could breathe again and something warm, heavy, was pressing down on the tip of your tongue that you faded back into reality, just in time for Wooyoung to shoot a seemingly never-ending cumshot down the back of your aching throat.

“You’ll swallow, won’t you?” he asked sweetly, giving the bottom of your chin a light tickle with his clawed fingers.

When you stuck out your tongue to show him that nothing was left, Wooyoung grabbed you by the chin and yanked you towards him, biting the tip of your tongue to draw blood. You watched him suck it off with half-lidded eyes, having to close your thighs together to keep a fresh wave of slick from dripping out of you.

Before you knew it, he was on the floor with you, not even needing to pull you into his lap, groaning into your mouth as you climbed into it yourself, the heated kiss you shared consisting mostly of tongue, pointed teeth, and blood. You swapped red-tinted saliva back and forth, your hands working in tandem to tear off each other’s clothes and grope one another wherever you could, trying to create as much friction between your lower halves as you could, Wooyoung’s stiff cock rubbing deliciously into your clothed cunt.

You broke the kiss when your thirst once again grew too strong to ignore, reaching up to run your index finger over the mole on Wooyoung’s glistening bottom lip, hissing softly when he pierced it with one of his fangs. You both watched the blood slowly trickle down along your skin, sharing a similar look with one another, before you leaned in to lap it up, your tongues meeting in the middle.

As though telepathically connected, you reached to slip your panties off from underneath your skirt the same time Wooyoung undid the buttons of his pants, immediately rubbing at yourselves in order to get off as quickly as possible.

“Look at me when you cum,” Wooyoung demanded between huffs of air, staring you down past his wispy lashes, the speed at which he was stroking his cock producing lewd squelching sounds, his slender fingers slicked up with his abundant pre-cum.

Trembling, you opened up your teary eyes to look at Wooyoung, the indescribable pleasure etched into his face causing you to throb nonstop, curling your fingers up in just the right way to launch you into a world of ecstasy. “C-cumming…”

Wooyoung groaned at the sight and feeling of your release spilling into his lap, squeezing his hand tightly around the base of his cock, hot spurts of cum landing on your abdomen and dripping down your bare cunt, not even caring that you both dirted his designer jeans with your shared arousal. “I’m gonna make you do that again, on my cock this time, you hear me?” he growled at you, lifting you up like you weighed nothing and dropping you down onto his growing erection.

“Fuck,” you gasped sharply, holding onto his shoulders to keep your composure, your thighs still shaking from your residual pleasure, a low, burning pain present within your core as your hole stretched to accommodate the vampire’s size. “T-too much…”

Wooyoung’s ego just about doubled in that moment, his ringed fingers closing in on your soft waist, suddenly bucking his hips up into you like it was his sole mission to do so in the afterlife. Smiling smugly at the small, broken noises he was punching out of you with his vicious thrusts, he couldn’t help but let out a few crazed giggles. “Can’t take it now that I’m rearranging these pretty guts of yours, huh?” He mirrored your pout, his lower lip jutting out. “But, I thought you were my cum slut, my good little blood whore.”

“I am…! I–fuck, I am, Master…!” you found yourself crying out, tears inside your hazy eyes, tasting dried blood when you wet your dry lips, knowing you wouldn’t even recognize your reflection if you saw it now. You were a new model, remolded, changed for the better.

His hypnotic eyes began to glow. “Be a good sleeve and take it for your Master, yeah?”

You did as he said, taking everything he gave you like a pliant doll, letting him lick, bite, drink from you, and fuck you dumb for as long as his still heart desired, wondering if he was even aware of how much your blood boiled inside you.

Wooyoung was just like the others. They were all the same, treating you like a helpless toy, using you for their enjoyment and tossing you aside when they were bored, viewing your humanity as your downfall, and perhaps they were right. Like two magnets, you couldn’t live without the other, and now, you were a monster like him, one in the same.

Just as you both reached your climax together, holding desperately onto one another, Wooyoung’s bewitching gaze no longer holding captive, you felt a supreme power rise within yourself. You didn’t need him, not when you were now your own Master. The only thing you served now was your endless hunger.

Wooyoung couldn’t get you off once you latched onto his neck, gasping and sputtering, his constant struggles only forcing your fangs just that much deeper into his skin and the artery you had targeted, digging his claws into your back as a last ditch effort. “But, we…we made a pact,” he coughed out, his gravelly voice reflecting the immense pain he felt. He couldn’t fight back any longer, simply slumping back against the wall to accept his fate, holding his hand up to his torn neck, despite it not doing anything to prevent the crimson from flowing through his fingers. “I don’t understand…”

“I recall warning you that I was poisonous,” you replied softly, licking remnants of his precious life source from your stained lips.

He couldn’t help but smile, his eyes resembling half-moons. “Fair point, human…”

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januaryembrs · 1 year ago

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SKIN LIKE PUFF PASTRY | Spencer Reid x Prentiss!Reader [6]

description: the ONE where you help him grieve another woman + the ONE with the promise

length: 8.04k

warnings: maeves death. grief. Spencer is a sad bby. HOWEVER maybe perhaps some fluff? healing journey! gun, blood, usual cm warnings.

author's note. HERE YOU GO POOKIES. I hope you enjoy now I've put you all out of your misery.

previous chpt | next chpt | series masterlist

'Lacy, oh lacy, skin like puff pastry,

aren't you the sweetest thing on this side of hell?'

The one where you help him grieve another woman.

It killed her walking up those stairs every day. She knew the gift baskets were piling up, had already had a terse conversation with his neighbour about leaving ‘clutter’ in the hallway, to which she thinks she might have swung at the eighty year old woman if she didn’t think it would cause Spencer problems.

He had enough on his plate already. Maeve had died, for fuck sake.

In fact, she almost entirely blew her top when she made it to the top of the steps to see every single one of Garcia’s gift baskets had been moved, the bunches of tulips she’d brought him every other day over the past two weeks gone with little trace other than browning petals scattering his door mat. Even the cookies JJ had baked him, the card Henry had drawn for his uncle Spencer had been moved.

Bugsy stopped for a second, her head snapping to the door to the right where his neighbour, Miss Cavanaugh, had shuffled out of her apartment in her pink dressing gown, her grey, wispy curls flat against her head as if she’d just rolled out of bed.

She blinked at the younger girl through thick, bubble-like glasses, her blue eyes annoyed the minute she saw her standing there.

“You can’t just take people's things, you know, I don’t care if it got in the way of your daily walk, Miriam, those were for Spencer-” Bugsy started, her voice as calm as she could get it even though her scowl spoke for itself.

“I didn’t touch any of his crap, little lady,” Miriam raised her mottled hand, crooked fingers shushing the outrage Bug had been ready to bark at her, and the women sighed when they realised they might just have another argument like their last one, “Kid was poking around at like six in the morning taking it all in, nearly woke up my dog,”

Bugsy rolled her eyes, “God forbid,” Miriam flipped her the finger which made Bugsy’s jaw drop wide open, shuffling back into her apartment muttering to herself, her mail in her mangled hands, “Old bag,” Bug murmured to herself, but her eyes quickly locked back onto Spencer’s door.

He had been out. Well, he had been into his hallway, but it was something.

Her legs felt like jelly when she took hesitant steps towards his doorway, her knuckles gently rapping on the wood, a frog crawling into her throat that she tried clearing with a cough.

“Spencer?” Her voice was soft, melodic, and it made him wince where he sat against the other side of his entrance, his own hair a state of disarray, “It’s me,”

Of course he knew it was her. He didn’t think a day could ever go by where he wouldn’t know her by the sound of her steps alone. Like he’d grown a sixth sense for these sorts of things, like they were linked by some weird Spidey powers like in the comics she’d brought over to his apartment and begged him to read, because even though he could devour a million words a minute (her words not his) it was the art in it she loved and that forced him to slow down and enjoy the pages.

He wanted to tell her to go away, but he couldn’t find it in him to ever be so cruel, to dig himself a bigger trench of regret than he already felt. He couldn’t save Maeve, physically could never get the image of her dying from his ginormous, genius brain that held onto every detail, and on top of it, he knew he deserved none of the kindness Bugsy showered him with. He’d heard her come stand outside his door every single morning, heard her knocking with the same worried call of his name at the same time before breakfast. He heard her sigh after ten or so minutes and leave, her retreating footsteps clunking down the stairs sadly.

She was too good for him. He’d only solidified it that she was so beyond what he deserved, that he could never treat her the way she deserved to be treated, the same way he hadn’t with Maeve.

Spencer’s self loathing was a poison, slowly devouring him every time he heard her voice, felt her approach through the floorboards, when he’d seen the little notes she’d left on the books she’d dropped off outside his door. Usually they were her reviews on them, a list of pros and cons, her general musings, all things they would have chatted over a bagel if things had been normal between them. But he couldn’t remember the last time they’d had breakfast together the way they had like clockwork since she joined the BAU. That was a lie. He could remember, of course he could, it had been four months, three weeks and five days ago, a Monday. He thinks she knocked around 10am. Something like that.

It was the day before she’d flown to London, actually. She had dropped the boys (the boys being Niko and Sergio) off to his apartment, thanked him a bunch of times for looking after them, given him five months worth of cat litter and kibbles and immediately unwrapped a to-go bag of their favourite pastries from the bakery downtown. He remembered it was close to October because she’d bought over maple buns and they only sold at the beginning of Autumn, and he’d asked if she’d be doing anything for Halloween seeing as their usual plans of a horror movie marathon were being put on pause while she was in England. She wasn’t, and she’d asked to call him instead so they could discuss their favourite trick or treating outfits they’d seen.

He’d promised her a call, only another case popped up by the time the thirty-first rolled around, and it had never happened.

Spencer hated how he was able to remember every detail of her face the day she’d left, the warmth of her hug he’d clung onto for months. He hated that day she’d surprised him and he hadn’t even thought to wrap his arms around her because he’d been so stuck feeling the overwhelming shock of seeing her. He hated that he’d made her frown like that, that she had ever doubted that he wanted to see her. But it had felt like he’d been caught cheating, why had it felt like cheating?

He knew why. He knew why seeing her when he was going out to call Maeve had felt like he was double-crossing her.

Not that it mattered anymore, he thought bitterly. Because Maeve was dead. And Bugsy had every right to hate him. But she didn’t. Because she was too good.

He hated himself more than he’d ever thought was possible.

He heard her sigh, but she didn’t repeat herself. Nor did she leave. Instead, he felt the door rattle behind his own spine as she slumped against the wood, sliding to the floor until she unknowingly leaned against him, little more than a few centimetres from his warmth.

He heard her pull out something from her bag, and the tell tale slip of paper over paper told him she’d brought a book with her, pre-empting staying longer this time. Spencer wanted to tell her not to bother, because if he got brave enough to open the door to her and see her face, smell her clothes, feel the softness of her hugs, he thinks if he told her every thought bouncing around that aching skull of his, it would all come crashing down around him, and he wouldn’t ever be able to stop telling her how sorry he was. For all of it. For letting her pull away from him when she was grieving. For letting her kiss him that night Derek brought her over, because it was obvious she wanted to forget the whole thing. For pushing her away when she came back from London. For being rude and cold when she wanted answers. For trying desperately to completely detach himself from her, which had only ever made him want to scream in frustration because it hadn’t worked anyway.

Maeve had died because of him, an innocent woman he’d seen himself falling for if they’d been given the chance had died, and he was still head over heels in terrible, stupid love with Bugsy.

They stayed there, her reading and him aching from the inside out, for about seven minutes before her phone rang. He heard her huff, letting it go to answer phone and settling back down with her novel. That is, until her dial tone sprung back to life and she half growled under her breath, assuming she pressed the answer button, and he heard her voice again.

“Hello?” She said, the slight annoyance bleeding into her words, and Spencer already knew that duty was calling by the way her book thumped to the floor and he could just picture her rubbing over her temple in frustration. “I have an appointment, Hotch, I can be there in a couple hours,” Silence, where he guessed Hotch was chiding her on her tardiness, “No, I know I’m supposed to book these things off- it’s just- it’s a contraceptive implant removal, yeah I really busted my IUD when I broke my arm, it’s not settled since,” Spencer almost smiled on instinct, almost, though he thought even if he did it would look like a bitter grimace because he’d not moved his face in over ten days. But she was a really good liar, and he’d always found that part of her charm. She huffed again, “God, you sound like Emily, yes I’m being safe- we are not having this conversation, Aaron, I’ll get there when I get there,”

With that, perhaps the only person who would ever be allowed to slam the phone down on Aaron Hotchner in a huff did, and they were left alone in silence again.

“You shouldn’t ignore their calls for my sake,” He found his voice, even if it was groggy with misuse. He felt her straighten against the wooden door, her shock palpable through the brief moment of silence that seemed to stretch on for just a second too long, as if she was scrambling not to say something else than what came out.

“Pot, meet kettle,” She murmured back, loud enough he could hear it, and she felt him shuffle behind the door, wanting to smack herself in the face for not feeling him there sooner.

“New case?” He asked, his eyes heavy, his pyjamas days old. He knew he needed to shower, but the minute he’d walked into his apartment everything had felt pointless.

“Yup.” She breathed in, her shoes brushing against his welcome mat with a scratch as she pulled her knees up to her chest, “Although I think Hotch will stick to Penelope making the calls after today,”

Something between a scoff and a sigh came from his throat, something she couldn’t tell if it was good or bad.

“What is it?” He replied, and she remained quiet for a second, picking the skin around her nails.

“I’ll tell you if you open the door,” She bartered, wondering for a second if she’d gone too far and had pushed him back into the hole she was coaxing him out of.

“Blackmail,” Spencer said, all emotion gone from his voice, and Bugsy winced, “A little on the nose for someone who’s grieving,”

But she could sense it. The way his syllable raised on the last word, that he was being cynical, not cruel like she’d worried.

“Think of it as a trade deal,” She humoured him, though she kept her voice soft so he knew she meant no harm, just to cheer him up if it was even possible, “You get your answer, and I get to give you this incredibly boring book that I know you can devour in a half hour and give me the summarised version,”

He smiled. Weakly, and only for a brief few seconds, because if there was anything that warmed him up from the cold, dark, nothingness place he’d found himself in it was her.

He wished he could dislike the fact she did it so easily, wish he could dislike how simple it was to like her, to feel himself wanting her even in that nothingness place he was crawling through as a lone ranger. He wanted to pull her into him tightly, wanted to let her fuss over him, to apologise until his voice ran even more hoarse, but he couldn’t. He feared if he touched her, she’d be marked for death right then and then; that he’d taint her somehow. And that he could never do.

Yet, he bent to her will. He stood up, prompting her to do the same, leaving his door on the latch as he pulled it open a crack, enough for her to jimmy the book through, The Death of Ivan Ilyich, by Leo Tolstoy.

He had read Tolstoy before, of course he had. War and Peace was one of the first books he ever owned in Russian, ironically enough one that he’d read only a few days before they’d driven to Baltimore and he’d met Bugsy for the first time. Yet it was this one she’d given him of all of Tolstoy’s works; the one where the protagonist goes on a journey of acceptance that he’s dying with no explanation as to why.

He thought she might just be the only person who knew how to crawl into the mess of his brain and find something familiar in there. Because this was the same book he’d read when Emily had died.

He would never tell her he already owned it, however. Nor would he call her out for the fact she most certainly didn’t find it boring considering she was so far into it with annotations already scribbled in the margins. He just took it with a lump in his throat, his eyes burning with the idea she was so incredibly her that it felt like he had no option but to drown in it.

“Body’s been found in San Francisco,” She said gently, and he knew she wished he would open the door fully so she could at least see him. Yet he kept the door on the latch. Because if there wasn’t a barrier between them, he wasn’t sure how else he would keep it all in, “You get to know more when you finish the book,”

He sighed, holding the book tight to his chest, and they stood there for a second, the air turning stifling as they both held back a million words behind brave faces, “Will you be gone long?”

“No, only a few days, I hope,” She replied, zipping her bag up and slinging it on her back judging by the sounds coming from her side of the door. She hovered, not wanting to say the wrong thing, but wanting to stay here on his welcome mat because this was the closest they'd been physically and otherwise in months.

“Be safe,” He murmured, and her hand shot through the gap in the doorway, her pinky finger raised to the heavens.

“Promise,” Bugsy said, her heart jack hammering against her ribcage when a long, warm finger wrapped around hers, and they squeezed them together. It was just a little touch, but it was a start. She wished he would open the door so she could beg him to talk to her, even if it meant crawling to her knees, she wasn’t above it whatsoever.

Reluctantly, she let him go, though she noted the way he had held onto her until she did so.

“I have to go,” She said sadly, drawing her hand to her chest like she’d received a Midas touch, and her hand was suddenly valuable after gracing his own.

Her skin felt electric, her breaths felt laboured. She wanted more, but she couldn’t have it.

And with that, it took every ounce of resolve to turn on her heels and head back down to her car.

–

Bugsy stared at the artwork with a grimace, picking hard at her cuticles because the metallic smell was making her stomach turn. Their UnSub had taken to painting with his victims’ blood, canvasses upon canvasses of leeched ichor brushed out to make out an image of the bodies.

Her nose scrunched when another wave of hot, iron wafted up her nose, and she thought about asking Hotch if she could step outside for a moment, knowing he likely wouldn’t question her perhaps ever again after their little phone call.

“What other reasons would he have for separating plasma from the blood?” Hotch asked, and her brow furrowed, her mouth opening to speak before another voice cut her off.

“It’s a habit,”

She swore she gave herself whiplash with how fast her head snapped to the side. She would know his voice anywhere. It sounded lost and desolate, yes, but her eyes swirled with relief when she saw him standing there, looking skittish and tired but alive.

“Reid,” Morgan breathed, the same level of surprise she felt as JJ darted towards him, her arms wrapping around his middle before he could protest.

“Spence,” She said, and they hugged one another tightly, his eyes following over Jennifer’s shoulder to where Bugsy seemed to watch him unsurely, like she was waiting for him to tell her what to do, how to make it better, how to fix it. A girl who had always been so sure of herself now reduced to pining from afar for answers.

“I didn’t expect you back this soon. You sure you're ready?” Hotch asked, an almost identical look of hesitance on his face as Bugsy had on hers, and it was no wonder half of the department said they were two sides of the same coin.

“No but I think I figured something out,” He breathed, moving out of JJ’s embrace towards the boards where the victim profiles were, and he began speaking in that slow, cold tone he’d taken on.

Spencer, to no one's surprise, was able to all but fit their disjointed puzzle pieces together in the space of an hour's flight, and with just a few pointers in Garcia’s direction, they’d got their UnSub.

“And bingo was his name-o, actually his name is Bryan Hughes, he is an AB positive haemophiliac who works as a janitor at the Bay Area Museum of Art. And before you ask, yes his address has been sent to your phones.” Penelope rushed, pinging the information to their phones just as fast as it had appeared on her screen.

“You’re the best baby girl,” Morgan said into the speaker, hanging up the phone as the team stood from their place at the desk, Hotch assigning them tasks as everyone strapped on their kevlars and guns.

She held back for a moment, her eyes assessing him like man approaching a wounded wolf.

“I’m okay-” He was about to say, because he knew what she was going to ask before she thought to do it, except she simply nodded at him, turning on her heel to follow the others, despite him expecting something more Bugsy-like.

It wasn’t like her to leave him without some final word, some final stand, and he was right. Because no sooner had she gotten all of three paces, she whirled back around, heading back towards him with a timid expression, and she all but launched herself into his arms.

He held her tight, the warmth of her body making his eyes well up, because if there was anything that could have made him crack his resolve, it was her touch alone.

She carded her fingrs through his hair, tucking her face into his neck and breathing in deeply.

“I’ll see you when I get back,” She murmured, stopping herself from saying anymore as she released him, well aware of the fact he had tried squeezing her tighter before she’d had to let him go, like he hadn’t wanted her to go. But neither did she.

“Stay safe,” He said on instinct, and she nodded, her eyes trailing over his empty eyes and sallow skin.

She wanted to kiss away every trace of sadness there, but she couldn’t. Wanted to wrap him into a hug so tight she might just stop breathing, but it would have been worth it. Wanted to tuck him into bed and stroke his hair and feed him tea and chocolate and make sure he was kept well, because she’d do anything to make him better.

But she couldn’t. They had a case.

It took every scrap of resolve to let go of Spencer Reid, sheepish and mourning, and leave him in that room alone.

–

She sighed, scrubbing at the back of her hand with the shitty aeroplane soap they had on the jet, the tiny basin doing nothing to help the fact she was all but peeling off the top layer of her epidermis.

Catching Bryan had been messy; he had come at her with a scalpel, she had shot, his blood had sprayed over her arms, soaking right through. Spencer had all but gone white when she’d gotten to the runway, hoping to make it back to Quantico by midnight.

“Are you okay? Are you hurt?” He fretted, despite the fact it was the closest he'd come in weeks to an emotion that wasn't sadness, and he stood little more than a few centimetres away, his fingers twined together, wanting to check her over himself.

She waved him off, “It’s not mine. I’m going to wash up on the plane, don’t worry,” She replied, her expression exhausted, twitching on the spot to stop herself pushing his hair behind his ear. She knew he’d washed it because it looked particularly fluffy, the way it always did when he hadn’t bothered to style it before he left the house, “Are you okay?”

He nodded wordlessly, and took her mini suitcase from her side, wheeling it along the tarmac for her, his face a worried scowl as they boarded the jet.

She thanked him as she stepped past him putting it in the overhead luggage, heading straight for the toilets to wash up, Morgan and JJ ducking out of the way when they saw Carrie 2.0 passing by them.

It wasn’t until they were already in the air did she emerge, her change of clothes on her skin that had been rubbed raw, her uniform in a biohazard bag that she swiftly dumped at the back of the jet to keep it out of sight. She threw herself down on the nearest seat, her entire body aching from the long few days, but she didn’t miss the hazel eyes that bore into the side of her head to her right.

She turned to meet their gaze, even though she already knew who it was before she’d even looked. Spencer looked like he was caught between about five different sentences to start with, his eyes trailing down her arms and to her hands that were now squeaky clean.

“You sure you’re okay?” He murmured, and she flipped her palms over for him to see for himself. No cuts. No abrasions. Except her usually marred cuticles she’d been picking at all day.

“Pinkie promised, didn’t I?” She teased, but no humour met his face. He just looked back at her, like he didn’t quite believe her still, like she was a ghost where his best friend should be sat, or a trick of the light. She turned her knees towards him, her sleepy eyes buttery and genuine, as if she was trying to make herself as relaxed as possible, just so he would stop worrying, “Spencer, I’m fine. Didn’t even knick me,”

He stayed quiet for a moment, looking down to his satchel bag where he played with the buckle, the brown leather cold in between his fingers, “I’m sorry I’ve been weird and distant and ignoring you- I just…”

“Spencer,” She tried to interject with a honeyed voice, but he shook his head, a crease forming between his brows when he heard her say his name like that.

“I just worry I’m letting everyone down, but when I saw you covered in blood-” He gulped, willing his eyes not to burn up again with unshed tears.

“Spence, it’s okay,” She cooed, shuffling closer to him in her seat, her hand migrating to his knee, because she didn’t know if he’d want to touch her after she’d had someone else's blood all over her hand. She liked her chances, yet the last thing she wanted was to push him. “No one’s expecting you to go back to normal, I just want to know you’re safe. I owe you as much, I mean you looked after me when Emily was gone,”

“You don’t owe me anything, Bug,” He shook his head again, his brows furrowing and she was quick to correct herself, “Besides, I loved living with you,” He rested his palm over her hand and gave her what he hoped looked like a small smile.

“I didn’t mean it like that, Spence,” She said, flipping her hand over to squeeze his fingers gently, “Did you not think I loved living with you too? I just want to take care of you for me,”

He looked at her, her eyes hopeful as she roved over his clean clothes, his freshly washed hair, his satchel he’d kept tight in his lap, as if checking him over for bruises despite the fact he hadn’t been in the field. The crushing weight over his chest like a fallen log seemed to shift, and with it, her hand soothed the wound, her smile dried his eyes, her warmth engulfed his very core in a blanket.

Spencer knew he was going to be okay if it was him and her. He knew the world was livable again if she was fighting in his corner. But then, when hadn’t she been?

Sensing his ease in attitude, or perhaps she just knew his eyes so well to notice the way they seemed to carry less burden as soon as she’d spoken, she leaned back in her seat, “Besides, the boys miss you. They said you gave them more treats than I do and Niko appreciated you brushing his fur for him,”

He smiled over at her bashfully, his head dropping down to lean on her shoulder as she pressed her cheek to his head.

“Well, if the boys miss me, I guess I have no choice,” He murmured, his eyes heavy the second he rested against her, like she’d sprayed a sedative over him, and he couldn’t help think that her new perfume wasn’t nearly as them as her old one had been. Not that he disliked this one, just that the other one reminded him of morning breakfasts, and movie marathons, and nights when they would bake apple cake at twelve in the morning because she made it how he liked it to a tea.

She chuckled, and it sounded like a hum in his ear, as he curled up to her side, “Get some sleep, I’ll wake you up when we land and I’ll drive us home,”

And it didn’t take much for him to do so, even if something had been right on the tip of his tongue; his apartment had only felt like home when she said it like that.

+1. The one with the promise.

He’d had that dream again.

It had been four months since Maeve died, but he’s had that dream again.

He’d start out in a restaurant, the walls lined top to toe with books, the chandelier the perfect amount of dust that it had character but not tackiness. A waiter would bring him over a menu and an iced tea, his favourite. He’d go to look up to ask why he’d been sat at a restaurant he had no recollection of getting to, and he’d see her staring back at him.

Maeve. Looking healthy and happy, like he hadn’t watched her brains sprayed across that warehouse floor.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” She would say, a glass of some kind of white wine swirling in her hand, her teeth straight and white and pretty when she smiled.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to keep you,” He’d say, though he couldn’t feel his mouth moving, he just knew it had come from him. “Where are we?”

“You promised me a date, so this is it,” Maeve said, a glint in her blue eyes, “First and the last. Let’s make it count,”

His heart would give a jump then, because he’d remember this was the only time he’d ever get to see her. He’d remember that she was dead, that he had never seen her in person like this until the day she’d died.

He’d open his mouth to apologise, to beg for an explanation or forgiveness, whichever one he thought was more pressing, and then the door would swing open.

And Bugsy would walk in.

Donned in the same bluebell dress she’d worn at JJ’s wedding, only her arm wasn’t broken. And she’d walk right up to him, that smile on her face that said she was excited to see him.

And Maeve would look at her, and instead of scowling or sneering like a woman soaking in jealousy would, they would look at one another and grin like they’d known each other decades.

“Car’s out front when you guys are done,” Bugsy would chirp, her eyes warm when she looked down at the dead woman, satiated in genuine happiness to see her, “Don’t keep him too long,”

“One dance, Agent Prentiss, and he’s all yours,” Maeve would reply with a giggle, her brunette locks falling like a waterfall over her shoulder when she’d stand, offering a hand to him to sweep him onto the dancefloor, “You coming, Spencer?”

And his eyes would snap open, returning him back to the horrible reality of his darkened bedroom, his apartment silent other than the sound of Bugsy tossing in the spare room, the way she did when she got too warm in her sleep, and he threw his legs out of bed to go get her some cold water.

But the dream never left him. The same one he’d had for months, since she’d moved in with him to take care of him, make sure he was eating and keeping as happy as he could be.

The sight of her in that blue dress, waiting for him to finish his dance haunted him almost as much as Maeve did.

–

“Why didn’t you tell me you hadn’t been sleeping?” She asked, cornering him in the kitchen once they’d both dropped their go bags in their room and he’d jumped for the kettle to make them both coffee.

He blanked, the mug nearly slipping from his grasp as he plonked it down on the counter in front of her, “Why would you think-”

“Spencer,” She said as a warning, her lip quirking between her teeth as she gnawed at it worriedly.

“I didn’t want you to worry,” He confessed too quickly, scratching the back of his neck the way he did when he was nervous, “I know you worry about me, especially right now, and when you worry, you don’t sleep, and I just thought what’s the point in both of us running on nothing,”

She huffed, and he shuffled around the island to meet her where she stood by the bar stools, looking like she wanted to be cross with him but she couldn’t find it in herself.

“You should have told me, I could have stroked your back the way you liked, or, I don’t know,” She shrugged, looking anywhere but his guilty looking hues, “Smuggled night nurse in your tea,”

“Drugs. Cause that’s way better than my thing,” He teased, and she snickered, and he sighed in relief that she wasn’t really mad at him. He hated lying to her, he’d just wanted to keep his odd dream to himself until he could make sense of it, “Did Dave tell you anything else?”

She shook her head, and he knew she was telling the truth because she seemed to immediately be the one assessing him for anything else she should have been told much sooner.

“Is your head okay?” She asked, putting a gentle hand to his forehead to check for migraine heat, “I know they get worse when you don’t sleep-”

“My head’s fine, Bug,” Spencer replied, grabbing her hand with his long fingertips, pulling them from his face to squeeze at her side with a warming smile, “Promise. I’ll tell you if it gets bad,”

She watched him sceptically for a moment before she leaned over to grab her coffee, taking a long sip, and sighing in delight when it tasted perfect, “I love your memory, did I ever tell you that?”

He chuckled, dodging a rogue Niko that bobbed between his feet because it was almost dinner time for the two miscreants, moving back over to the sink to tidy the granules of sugar he’d spilled, “Many times. But I’d remember your coffee even if I had a normal brain,”

“Humble as always,” She remarked, smiling devilishly when he shot her a glare over his shoulder. It was then that Sergio jumped up onto the counter, the way Spencer had tried scolding him for a million times because of the germs, only for the onyx black cat to flick his tail in his face as if to flip him a middle finger, yowling in the man’s face for his usual dinner of kibble and water.

“Alright, alright,” Spencer sighed, reaching into the cabinet to grab their food, two fluffy bodies immediately weaving in between his long legs with mews and head bumps, because those boys knew how to wrap him around their little finger, “You ought to start being nice to me, boys. One day it’ll probably just be me and you guys, and then you can’t just bat your tails at me like you do your mom-”

“I know I’m turning twenty eight but I still got a few years left kicking, Spence,” Bugsy protested, her brows furrowing when she heard his murmurs, which she hadn’t found entirely odd since he always spoke to the boys when he fed them, except this time it had made her draw back in confusion, “Where am I in this hypothetical bachelor pad you got going on?”

“You’ll be with whatever guy is lucky enough to talk his way into dating you, maybe engaged, maybe married,” He said like it was nothing, despite the fact he’d been thinking about that exact scenario for months. Since Penelope had mentioned just how good British men were in bed, in fact. Because he felt both sick and curious as to whatever it had been that had come out of her mouth in return, “And I’ll look after the boys while the two of you move on, because you’ll feel sorry for taking my only friends away from me when you leave, and I’ll be forced to become a lonely, old cat man,”

“That’s not true,” She said, her face warming when he chuckled cynically, running a hand through his hair, “Spence, you can’t actually believe that?”

“Yes it is, Bugsy, you don’t need to try and make me feel better,” He brushed her off, wiping his knuckles over heavy eyelids, “You and I both like facts, right? It’s a quantifiable fact that zero women except Maeve have ever fallen in love with me in thirty years. Even if we call it twelve years to remove the factor of less meaningful relationships developing before adulthood, that means I’ll be forty two by the time I next get a shot, at which point I’ll be too old and washed up for anyone to find me attractive. Let’s face it, no one is ever going to love me like that again,”

“That’s not true,” She repeated, her chest hammering, her face scrunched into a scowl, “You’re wrong. Quantifiably wrong.”

“You have no data to back that statement up, Bug,” He replied with a dark snicker, and maybe it was the lack of sleep or the idea of her engaged to some other bonehead that had made him so crass, “Can’t make a conclusion without drawing on your evidence, to which you have none,”

“Yes, I do, asshole. I know for a fact that someone is in love with you,” She snapped, and it was like a bolt of lightning had cut through their conversation, blowing up in her face, her entire body freezing the second the words had left her mouth.

She looked at him, her eyes panicked, and all teasing had dropped out of his expression, leaving something confused, “Bug-”

“I don’t know why I said that,” She cut him off, jumping into action and avoiding his burning gaze. But he was fast, and he was pushing off the counter just as quickly as her.

“Bugsy, what do you mean? I don’t understand,” He persisted, darting only a pace behind her when she moved towards the living room to grab her cardigan off the back of the sofa.

She shook her head, “Ignore that, it doesn’t matter,”

“No, what did you mean by that?” Spencer asked, his voice tense because he had never seen her cower away from him like that, her body moving entirely into a state of flight. She shook her head, snatching the white fabric in her fingers and spinning on her heel to head for the doorway. But there he was, blocking her escape, his impossibly tall body stopping her right in her tracks, and she didn’t need to look up to know he had that special Spencer brand of Puppy Eyes.

“I’m going to the store-”

“Bugsy,”

“It doesn’t matter, Spence, just leave it,” She said shakily, trying to duck around him only for him to dodge to the left and stop her advance, “Spence, leave it, please,”

“What did you mean? Just tell me,” He begged, his cadence wary, the sound of it flushing her entire chest with a heat she’d never known. She swore she was going into cardiac arrest, her heartbeat was in her throat, and it made it difficult to swallow, let alone push him away, “Do you know something?”

Her breaths were deep, begging her chest to behave as it damn near spun her vision into dizziness. He was just a man. He was just a boy. How could he have so much control over her entire body when he had barely even touched her? When he had just asked her one tiny little question?

It was unethical, how her stomach rippled with butterflies the second she dared to look at his hazel eyes, round and intense where they never left her face. It should have been illegal for begging to look so good on him.

She took a sigh, shaking her head and looking back to his mismatched socks, chuckling bitterly, and putting her head in her hands. She couldn’t escape from this, her only defence mechanism was to curl into herself like an armadillo against a predator, her attacker being the god's honest truth that he was owed years ago.

“I really,” She cleared her throat, her eyes starting to burn with unshed tears, “I really messed things up with you,”

“What?” Spencer’s hot hands wrapped around her wrists, pulling them away from her face so he could hear her every word clearly, “I thought we were okay now, I thought we were friends again,”

She laughed emptily, her bottom lip quivering, her hands shaking under his touch. He was so warm, he always had been, but it felt as if he was everywhere when he was only really touching the skin of her pulsepoint. She hoped he couldn’t feel just how it beat for him, beat so loud and fast all for him.

“That’s the problem,” She whispered, her glassy eyes meeting his as she gave an unsure breath, gulping loudly. It was like he stared right at her soul, and pleaded it to speak to him. And she had never been able to say no to him, not when he looked like that, “When I came back from London, I came back to tell you that…”

She breathed again, because she felt like she was holding it while she confessed, she knew it was no wonder she felt so dizzy, but she couldn’t look away from him, where his face was morphing into realisation.

“I came to tell you that.. I-I’m in love with you, Spencer,” A single tear dribbled down her cheek, but he let go of her hands quickly to catch it, his lips pressing together in a silenced word, most like ‘oh’. His brows quirked above his nose, his eyes turning into devastation as soon as she’d said it. But it was out there now, so there was no use in trying to keep it in anymore. “I have been, for a while I think, and I wanted to tell you because I thought you might-might-” She gulped, the finger that had brushed the first tear stroking down until it rested under her jaw, the feeling of it damn near making her whine, “I don’t know, I just hoped you would feel anything back- but you don’t have to say anything, I know you’re hurting and so I just kept it in, but every time I see you I feel like I’m choking and I don’t know how to make it stop-”

“Tell me you’re lying,” Spencer said with a biting tone, his eyes honey comb gold and glistening when he looked at her. It couldn’t be true. He never got this lucky. It couldn’t be, he refused-

She shook her head frantically, her eyes pleading and wet, “Never, Spencer. I would never lie to you. I’m sorry if I’ve upset you- I know you’re hurting, I know you’re grieving and I shouldn’t have assumed-“

“I love you too,” He whispered, and it was like her words came to fruition as her voice was robbed, the air leaving her lungs. Her jaw dropped, her wet eyes boring into his chest, his hands skirting up to hold her face in his hands, thumbs stroking over her tear ladened skin, “God, Bug, I’ve loved you for so long, I thought you didn’t want anything like that after that kiss-”

Her expression dropped, eyebrows scrunching together, “What kiss?”

He blanked, for once speechless. Only the kiss he’d torn himself to pieces over for weeks and weeks. “The night- that Derek brought you over when you’d had…” He trailed off, wanting to throttle himself for how dumb he’d been in retrospect, “When you’d had the Molly,”

Her hand slapped over her mouth, his own hands flying to palm at his eyes, because how could he be so incredibly stupid. Ecstasy was a memory suppressant. He knew, he knew better than most, that taking recreational drugs like that robbed you of even the most life shattering moments.

She didn’t remember. How could she? She was so out of it she could barely walk without stumbling over a flat surface. And instead of asking her, instead of simply growing a pair and seeing what she remembered, he’d gotten a girlfriend.

This was all wrong. This was so wrong. The guilt from Maeve dying was a wound that had cut him deep, and yet having Bugsy in his arms so placid and warm and adoring was a salve he had never dreamed would feel so numbing.

“We kissed?” She asked, her eyes blazing with embarrassment, her hand running through her hair in shock horror, “I don’t- how don’t I remember that- that’s all I dreamed of for months-”

“Technically you kissed me,” He explained, despite the fact his cheeks had set on fire hearing her confess even the smallest bit more to him. She loved him. She was in love with him. She had been for months, she said. She loved him. “It would have been wrong if I did anything even if it was all I’d thought of too. And I just thought, because you never mentioned it, that you didn’t want to remember it at all,”

He felt like he’d taken some sort of truth serum, like he should shut himself up any second now because he was spilling his longest kept secret to the one person who should have never been privy to it. But it was okay if she knew. Because she loved him.

She looked at him, and he swore he’d never seen eyes so beautiful, but then he’d always loved her eyes. But the way they looked at him, as if he’d had a bag pulled from over his head, or his glasses had been given the correct prescription, because it was like he suddenly saw just how adoring she looked when she watched him like that.

And despite herself, she laughed.

It was girlish, and carefree, and happy. So, so happy. And he started laughing too. She fell into his chest, her face hot with embarrassment, and he wrapped his arms around her, feeling her giggling into his shirt, shaking her head.

“We’re so fucking stupid,” She said, and it was mumbled, and the sound of it made him smile wider.

“I’m a stupid, stupid man. I’m so sorry, Bug,” He replied, his large hand stroking down the back of her hair though a sour taste crawled up his throat.

He still owed Maeve that dance. Just as he’d told Rossi. Who had told Bugsy, because he knew she had some magic way of getting her way with everyone.

She pulled away, her eyes young and so incredibly pretty when she smiled at him like that. Sensing his hesitation, she tried to pull away from his embrace, worried like it was second nature to her by now that she’d overstepped. Only he didn’t let her. He kept his hand at the back of her head, one under her arm to pin her close to his body, because he wasn’t going to be stupid enough to let her go twice.

“You said you tried to tell me when you got back from London?” He said softly, and she nodded, like her confession had taken everything out of her, “But then when you got here… I was with Maeve,”

She swallowed, worried where he was going, and nodded again wordlessly.

He chewed the inside of his lip, taking a deep breath for courage, “I’m still- I feel terrible if-”

“You can still grieve, Spencer,” She cut him off, knowing what he was struggling to say, and his eyes crawled back up to meet her gaze, “It’s not heinous to need time to think, I know it’s a lot to ask, I never expected you to-”

He cut her off with a kiss to the apple of her cheek, warm and angelic, the feeling of it forcing her mouth shut, because she worried she might just whimper in delight if she didn’t. Her hand flew up to his forearm that moved around to cup neatly under her ear, his fingers weaving into her hair as he kissed again down near her jaw, her eyes fluttering shut. And when she thought it was done, when she thought her luck was spent, he kissed her again, on the cusp of her lips, a ghost breath slipping from a parted mouth, because she thought she might have just died and gone to heaven.

“Bugsy, I love you,” Spencer said, and her heart felt full, so full her eyes welled up all over again because it was everything she had ever wanted, “I just need a little time,”

Her eyelids flicked open, and the bliss written over her face took a knock, her head reeling back like he’d burned her. But, as before, he didn’t let her go, He refused to let her run away again. Not when he had everything he wanted, “That’s not a ‘no’. It’s just a very stupid man who has loved you for longer than you’d know hoping on everything that you’ll be willing to give me a month or two. I want to do this right, you deserve to have this done right, and I want to give you only the best version of myself,”

Spencer’s heart pounded against his slender ribcage as he waited for her response, because he knew he was pushing his luck. But he’d meant every word of it, and he figured if he had any chance at being the guy he’d always told himself she needed, he’d need to be honest with her. They’d need to be honest with each other.

But she smiled at him, sweet and besotted beneath his palm, and he didn’t know why he’d ever doubted her.

“I waited six years, what’s a few months on top of that?” She smirked, her face glowing when he pressed another gentle kiss to her forehead, and he felt how hot her blood ran under his touch. He hoped she couldn’t feel how his did the same.

“I promise. Just a few more months, bug,”

And he meant it. With everything in him, Spencer meant it. He wouldn’t let her go ever again.

TAGLIST:

@release-your-sweets @smileykiddie08 @caramelised-onions. @the-tpd-bau @stephthepeach @sunflowersndpeaches s @sammy-4103 @starmansirius @yeonalie @delusionallooney @hades-disappointment-child @sadbae-33 @mdanon027 @swag13r @frickin-bats @bilesxbilinskixlahey @mindfullycriminal @mrsbellastyles @nilopillo @imagines--galore @bluejaysaysstuff @imaginexred @flow33didontsmoke @spicyspirit @mywellspringoflife @lovelyygirl8 @pleasantwitchgarden @star-girl-interlud3 @rosylnsworld @jamieolivia27 @halcyonwithletters @waywardhunter95 @ineedtosusoutmyreadinglist @theoraekenslover @niktwazny303 @bliindmattmurdock @alyeskathewave @littlemadamred @yondiii @cultish-corner @lllucere @escapismurmom @stillhere197 @hiireadstuff @amortencjja @queermaxwooo @telengraph @ivyflowers13 @estrela-rogers @greenvita @busy-buzzing @kitty-kei @universallyblizzardlove @suckstobrlaurie

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fic #matthew grey gubler x reader

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claggorstuff · 7 months ago

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I NEED a claggor x reader where the reader is sent to the other dimension with ekko, and like ekko and powder, claggor and that dimensions reader have an established relationship. What would his reaction to us acting weird, being that the last time we saw him was under a pile of rubble. Would he catch on, or would he only realize once we finally leave with ekko through the portal device? Thank you ❤️❤️❤️

Hehe, I have time to do this now

I can't make up a title for this so let's just go with what you said

I shot up, surroundings now entirely different from before, I was all of the sudden in a new room, new home, and surrounded by these odd gadgets, all growing some sort of flower or plant.. it smelt like lilacs, oddly. I stumbled through the home calling for jayce or ekko or even that little furry fellow, in stumbled... him. A face I could recognize but just barely, the memory of his eyes, void of light or life, it was stuck in me forever..

"Y/n.. are you good? 'Nother nightmare or...?"

"Y-You.." I felt sick to the stomach, his goggles were on a desk filled with petals and roots and liquids unkown

"Me...?" His voice was gruff and tired, full of natural confusion

I stared as if he were a stranger, but in my guilt and sorrow, I lunged into his arms as if he'd disappear before my eyes. He held me warmly, rubbing my back, ignoring the confusion he had about why I was acting in such a way. I looked up at him. He'd become so different, so beautiful, and clearly, he'd become an inventor, fitting for a mind as large as his.

"Any reason for all.. this?"

"..I uh.. you just.. looked tired."

"Ahh.. right.. sorry, I pulled another all-nighter. I just can't get them to absorb the-"

"It's ok.. don't apologize, I know how hard you work, claggor." The name left my mouth for the first time in ten years. It stung like a hornet to say it, but he just gave me a soft and appreciative smile.

"Thanks y/n, besides- I made a new flower just for you this time-! And it's my best yet, wanna see it?"

"Sure..sure.. but uhm.. where's ekko? I think I need to speak to him first."

"Well, he's probably back at benzos still, we can go there and then come back for the thing, c'mon let's go."

He took my hand, pulling me along the lanes, which were.. cleaner, than I remember. Not a brothel in sight, and when we got to benzos, I could see ekko stumbling out looking just as confused as I was. I ran over and yanked him out of sight before claggor could yell over at us to wait up, and he was in a state of disarray

"What the hell happened?!" I yelled, agitation in my voice as if it was he who brought us here

"How the hell would I know. JINX is in there, but she's not jinx shes- she's powder and benzos in there and.. nothing is right here.. I'm just glad I'm not crazy. That I'm not the only one who knows there's something wrong.. are you okay though..?"

"I'm just.. he's.. he's here, and it hurts. It hurts so damn bad.. but I'll be okay, we gotta figure out a way to get home." I crossed my arms, squeezing my wrists, holding back the tears that begged to come out.

"We'll figure this out.. I'll figure this out. You just go back to him.. enjoy the time you got with him." He gave me a nervous smile, I could tell he was worried for me. He knew this is what I longed for all these years that claggor has been gone. And I knew that too, but I can power through the pain. The longing. The grief.. he walked back out so that we didn't look so suspicious, claggor walked over and slung his arm around my shoulder chuckling

"What're you two up to now? You better not be telling him about my stuff so he wins the innovators comp!"

"No.. I'd never." I fake giggled, conveying my confusion about what he was even talking about. He kissed my cheek, sending fire through my face.

"So, I've been having trouble with the infusions of the grey clearing system the flowers have, any ideas?"

"Grey..clearing.. flowers..? Uhhh.. not a clue."

He stared seemingly bewildered by this answer, as if I tend to have all the answers, he chuckled and nodded

"Making me figure it out myself again I guess?"

"Yep."

I walked with him down to what used to be the room he, Mylo, powder, and vi slept in, it had been turned into a lab of sorts, you could tell they'd all moved out, but Vander always liked to have visitors I suppose, I guess that's why claggor converted it into a lab for him and powders little habits of invention. I saw many flowers, big and small, many colors, many beautiful forms.. but on his desk laid a great beauty of a flower. It shined with a spectrum of colors reflecting off each petal almost like oil, it's petals curved at the base and twisted at the tips into spirals. I stepped closer to it to investigate perhaps what he named this marvelous thing, only to see.. it shared my own name.

"Oh uh.. yeah, I forgot to show you my latest little project... your birthday was coming up and I couldn't just give you some boring necklace or flower.. so.." He put a hand over it and pulled the lever at the top emitting a gas onto it that it seemed to absorb and grow, it's petals curling as if to breathe.

"That's.. for me..? You made a whole new species of plant for..me..?"

"Well- you know I got a knack for these things n.. I really don't think its all that yet, it doesn't even compare.."

He stared down at it seeming disappointed, I've not the slightest clue how he could be, it was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen.. it had function in its beauty, one of his plants that live off of the carbon emissions of fossil fuels it looked like.

"...I think it's more than enough for me." I opened the little window to touch it, he sighed and shook his head

"Not possible, REALLY not possible." He murmured, smiling a little as he watched me play with the flowers spiraled outward petals, to think that this is what I could've had from him.. this is what I could've had if..

"...Are you.. crying..?" He quickly crouched to my level to put an arm around me as I wept. He doesn't know that I'm not the girl he loves or ever did love, it pains me to know I can't stay, that I have to go back to visiting his grave in the underground, the city full of smog and sewage that this version of him wouldn't stand for.. I could barely speak, unknowing of how to explain why I wept.

"I just.. I really love it, claggor. I do.." I croaked out, he rubbed my cheek, wiping away tears and picked me up gently

"Well, I'm not finished with it yet, so be patient!" He nervously spoke, I could tell he was trying to calm me down.

"Alright.. if I have to." The mask of this different me went back on as he carried me up to Ekko, Mylo, and Powder. We conversated for a while until powder and ekko left to visit vi, I'd wondered what she looked like here, but I was too reluctant to leave Claggor to go see. As the days went by, Ekko and Heimerdinger seemed to be finding a way back home, and it got harder to hide who I was. Claggor seemed to be catching on slowly to the fact I wasn't telling the full truth of why I would seem to be lost in his eyes, why I would just have fits of crying and grief late at night next to his sleeping body, he didn't know how much it looked like his cold corpse shining in the blue light of the moon.

The night of the innovators competition, Claggor danced with me to the music played at the celebration.. but I could tell something was off. Later on Ekko had taken me to where he'd been working on his stuff with Heimerdinger and Powder, Heimerdinger was tinkering with his machine excitedly as Powder and Ekko cautioned him. I knew it was time to go, and it was time to leave this world behind. Time to leave claggor behind. When I heard a call from the entrance.

"What the hell is going on here?!"

I swiveled around when suddenly it happened, me and Ekko were separated from the bodies of these different versions of ourselves. Heimerdinger had disappeared, Claggor rushed to hold the woman he loved, and I could only stare and smile. She was meant to be with him, not me. But before we left, he stared up at me. He stared up at me and gave me one last smile before he disappeared for the rest of my life.

Sigma Sigma on the wall.. who's the skibidiest of them all...

Freaky...

#arcane #claggor #arcane claggor #claggor arcane #fanfic #x reader #claggor x reader

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alexisaflop · 4 months ago

Text

Wait on your song - Steve Harrington x Henderson reader

Stranger things rewrite with reader as Dustin's older sibling and Nancy's best friend. When I say slow burn I mean slow burn - sort of enemies to lovers.

Title based on Rock n Roll Suicide by David Bowie

Limited gendered language towards reader

Wider context: character is a nerd first and foremost. An art lover, they work in the Hawkins Record shop, and write their own songs sometimes. They're best friends with Nancy and Barb but know Jonathan from a shared interest in art and music.

Other things to know: I have wrangled the reader to have moved from England when they started middle school because I will probably use Britishisms and i guess this makes it more natural? Also it's a fanfic so why not?

Content warnings: universe app violence/gore, swearing. Use of Y/N.

MASTERLIST

Chapter below the cut - actually finished this time!

Chapter One: The Vanishing of Will Byers

It was unusually still for an early November night as you locked up Breaking Records. Another slow shift finished. You tightened your jacket around you, before pedalling off to the Wheelers.

Dustin had been talking about Mike's campaign all week, so you knew that was exactly where he'd be. That was fine with you, it would be good to check in with Nancy. This week was choc full of tests, and you, Nancy, and Barb had made a pact to hold each other accountable for studying.

Nancy especially has been worrying about her GPA for college applications. But since she'd starting going out on-and-off with Steve, you were concerned she was getting distracted. You knew Nancy would never forgive herself if she dropped her grades for some boy. Especially one like Steve.

The Wheeler's house always felt so inviting. Knowing better than to interrupt Ted's television time whilst Karen put Holly to bed, you let yourself in. After quickly poking your head in to say hello to Ted, you headed up to Nancy's room.

It was weird how much Nancy's room was like yours at home despite being in a much nicer house. Her walls were plastered with film posters (yours with music posters and record sleeves) and pictures of the two of you and Barb or her with Mike. She was criminally neat though, her bookshelf stacked carefully and her bed carefully made.

Nancy herself, however, looked considerably less put together. Her hair was falling out of what had become a pretty scrappy ponytail and her eyes looked strained and tired.

'Nance, you really shouldn't do much more tonight. You need to have enough energy to sit the tests not sleep through them,' you said as she hugged you hello.

She sighed, 'I know, but they're all I can think about right now.'

'Me too, but there's only so much you can do,' you said, secretly a bit jealous that Nancy didn't have to work, and had all this time to use on studying. But also, at least you got paid to work at Breaking Records, and on slow days you managed to sneak in some revision too.

'Mike! Mike!' you heard Mrs Wheeler calling.

'I'm jealous of the boys,' Nancy said, moving the subject, 'they have been down there All. Day.'

You hear some muffled shouting from Mike followed by, 'You mean the end? Fifteen after!'

'I should probably go help your mum,' you say, 'as much as I love you Nance, I'm really here to get Dustin.'

The four boys were in disarray as you came down the stairs.

'Damn guys what did you do? The battles in these games are still fictional right?'

Mike gave you an unimpressed look whilst Lucas and Will whispered something about dice in the corner.

'Come on Dustin we've used up enough of these good people's time,' you said, gesturing upstairs.

Dustin offered around cold pizza before disappearing upstairs. You helped the boys clean up whilst they run you through the campaign so far.

You find Mrs Wheeler upstairs and thank her for having Dustin basically all weekend, and letting him and the boys 'stink up her basement'.

She smiled and said, 'It's nice to see them still being kids. Now Nancy feels all grown up, it makes me appreciate how they won't be this young forever. But I do wish sometimes they wouldn't make such a mess!'

You thank her once again, before heading outside to hear, 'sister is such a jerk.'

You frown at him and he says, 'oh no not you, Nancy, she's got a stick up her butt.'

You shake your head, 'I don't see how insulting my friend instead of me is meant to get me to forgive you, little brother.'

'Yeah she's been like this ever since she started going out with that Steve Harrington,' Lucas says, whilst Mike protests that she's always been a jerk.

'Steve might be a jerk, but that doesn't make Nancy one,' you say, trying not to think of all the lunchtimes she'd skipped on you and Barb for to go and hang out with Steve.

Something must have been showing on your face, because all Lucas has to do is pointedly raise his eyebrows at you.

'Whatever Sinclair, let's go. I'm shattered from work, and I've got like a million tests to sit this week.'

As you head back Dustin and Will agree on a race for the price of a comic. Will races off as Dustin swears.

'I didn't say go yet!' Dustin yells after him, 'I'm gonna kill you!'

All Will has to say to that is, 'I'll take your X-Men 134!'

You watch Will cycle away and wonder, as you do most times, if you should go home with him. But every time you think he'd be embarrassed to have to be escorted home in a way that none of the other boys do. Either way that night you don't sleep easy.

×××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××

The next morning you wake up to your alarm squawking even though it was still dark outside. You stumble out of bed, get dressed and ready to go before hammering on Dustin's door, his room suspiciously quiet.

'Come on Dustin, you're going to be late!'

You hear some expletives through the door and roll your eyes before heading out and pedalling to school.

You find Nancy by the lockers with Barb.

'We just made out a couple times,' Nancy protests.

You and Barb share a look before saying together in airy voices, 'we just made out a couple times.'

Nancy gives us a death stare, which immediately softens as Barb says, 'just please don't start hanging out with Tommy H and Carol all the time.'

You can feel Barb's concern, it feels like the two of you are being left behind.

'I would never,' Nancy says, at least having the decency to make a face.

You smile to show there are no hard feelings, before saying, 'Barb even if she does go for those guys, I would never, ever leave you for them - yuck. Am I not enough for you Barb, without Nancy is our friendship worth nothing,' you mock getting down onto your knees, 'Am I not also worthy of your love?'

Barb cracks a smile at you being so overdramatic and Nancy just raises an eyebrow, slightly shaking her head.

'See how she already turns against us!' you gesture dramatically, 'You have broken my heart Nancy, and more importantly you have broken Barb's.'

'Hey babe, hey Nancy's weird friends,' you hear a voice behind you say.

Steve.

He's looking at you like you're crazy, has he never had a bit of banter before? No, never had to break the tension?

Or at least turn up at a better time?

'They are not weird,' Nancy reprimands him, which you appreciate.

'Seriously?' Steve looks at you and then back to Nancy, 'so did you get my note?'

Knowing you've missed something, you glanced at Barb.

'Ooh the bathroom, how romantic,' you say without thinking, trailing off as you see Nancy flush slightly and Steve glare at you.

'Well you let me know when you have someone to leave notes in a locker for, and I'll give you some tips,' Steve quips.

Fair enough, 'and I'll give you some ideas of how to not get girls to think you're gross' you reply.

He and Nancy are walking away as he says, 'all I heard was, ideas of how to not get girls'.

You're not sure whether you were supposed to hear him or not.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

After school you headed to band practice. You played the flute and had started learning piccolo for fun. At home you played guitar and you were teaching yourself a bit of piano for fun, but for the sake of school band you were on the flute.

You have your dad to thank for learning all the instruments. He loved music and had his own band. He'd always joked that you could start a family band, well family duo. And as you'd got older and you started writing your own stuff he said that he'd always be your Roadie.

You liked Band, it reminded you that music is expression, another way of communicating with people.Unfortunately, as far as you knew it did not allow for communication beyond the grave.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

When you got home, Dustin was concerned, rushing about getting 'supplies'. When he finally told you 'supplies for finding Will' your stomach drops.

The bit of hope you had had, is snuffed out. Dustin runs through how the police are involved but the Party don't want to just sit and wait to be found.

'But that's what they told you to do?' you ask.

Dustin nods.

'Then you should stay here, I want you safe.'

'Do you really think they'll find him?'

'Wait here,' you say, 'I'm serious, I'll be right back.'

You return, Walkie in hand, 'channel 6, yeah? I want updates every hour of where you are. I'll have it all night, call me if anything happens.'

Dustin shrugs, but agrees.

'I mean it Dusty! Anything happens I want to hear about it.'

Then the phone rings.

It's Nancy, she's cancelling on you. Thinking it's because she's heard about the boys ridiculous plan to find Will alone, in the dark, and cold, you're about to offer to help.

'Steve just really wanted to see me tonight.'

You roll your eyes. You're happy for her as her friend, exploring new things, going out with someone actually popular and getting that American high school experience.

But Steve's name every time you spoke to Nancy was getting to you. When you first moved here, he'd given you so much crap about your accent whilst his friends made jabs about your self-made clothes and lack of nice hair and makeup or living with your single mum. And now Nancy is into him.

You phone Barb after Nancy gets you to cover for her if her mom calls.

Barb feels similar to you. She thinks the two of you are getting left behind.

'What if we never find someone like Steve?'

'We die happy I guess, I'm holding myself to a higher standard than bullies.'

'Come on, Y/N, you know what I mean. Someone we can be with. Someone who wants us around all the time. Someone who we can go out with and show off to the world, y'know?'

Everything you could think of to say felt cheap. Having moved here halfway through a school year, you'd become pretty confident in just taking things at your own pace. Not like Barb, who had always been able to fit into the background.

'We'll be okay.'

After some quiet, you make up an excuse that you want to keep an eye on Dustin tonight what with everything going on.

So you say goodnight to Barb and head over to the Byers' to check in on them. You triple check you have your Walkie and that it's on before heading off.

You and Jonathan aren't especially close, although you have often bonded over his music taste and photography hobby whilst picking up your brothers from various places.

Jonathan's house ends up to be a muster point for Will's search party.

So they still haven't found him.

It's getting dark as you join Jonathan in the throngs of people.

'You saw him last night?' Jonathan's voice is dry and scratchy.

'Yeah, I went home with all of them from the Wheeler's. I should have taken him all the way home from mine, I'm so sorry Jonathan,' you say.

He shakes his head, 'I should have been home. My mom thought I'd be home, Will probably thought I would be too. But I picked up a stupid extra shift. I let him down.'

You sigh, 'this is not your fault Jonathan. He's a smart kid, I know he'll be okay.'

He looks at you and you know he doesn't believe you. So instead you pull him into a hug, he smells like autumn leaves and vanilla.

You realise you've never hugged Jonathan before, generally opting for a more awkward wave or even more fist bump, so you're not sure what to expect. He reacts slowly, before gripping your jacket tightly, his fingers embedded on the patches you sewed on. His head falls on your shoulder and you think he's crying. Unsure of what else to do, you just don't let go.

You think of Will, and how he will probably cling to his brother like this if we find him. When. When we find him, you reprimand yourself.

Eventually he pulls away, awkwardly apologises, which you wave off. He walks away so you can't see his tears.

The sun has long set now. The trees have a low fog between them and a chill is settling into your bones. You pull your jacket tighter around you, knowing it's going to be a long night.

'He's a good student.. Will he's a good student. A great one. Scott Clarke I don't think we've met. Biology. Middle school.' Mr Clarke is talking to Hopper. You'd always liked Mr Clarke.

'Never liked science.'

'Maybe you just had a bad teacher,' Mr Clarke said. You smiled, he had always put the most effort into his lessons.

'Miss Radcliffe was a piece of work,' Hopper comments.

'Oh yeah she's still kicking around believe it or not'

'Oh yeah I believe it. Eternities. Sarah my daughter understood galaxies and hnivcerked and what not. I always thought there was enough going on down here to worry about'

'What grade is she? Maybe I'll get her in my class.'

'She's with her mom in the city... Thanks for coming out teach.'

And with that Hopper's gone into the mist.

'She died a few years back,' says someone you don't know.

'Who?' asks Mr Clarke

'His kid.'

You feel the guilt again. Will's just a kid. You hope he reappears from the mist.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

After hours in the mist and the damp air sticking your clothes to your skin the search was called off for the night.

You walked Jonathan home in silence. When you got to his house you offered to stay and help with anything but he declined. And it was clear that he and his mum needed some time together.

About halfway home on your bike the rain becomes thunderous. You can barely see as the rain comes in sheets and plasters your hair across your face.

Which is of course when Dustin chooses to start shouting over the radio.

'Y/N, Y/N, why aren't you answering? Where are you? I need your help! Code red!'

Maybe they've found Will? But he sounded so concerned.

Maybe another one of the Party is missing?

You swerve to the side of the road and attempt to seek some shelter under a tree.

'This better be important Dustin it is horrible out here.'

'Just come to Mike's. Please. I don't know who might be listening.'

He refused to answer anything else.

Having only moved in with Dustin and your mum (or mom? You never felt sure) only a few years ago, there were some things with Dustin that you still weren't sure about. Like how to tell if he's being overdramatic.

When you first met Dustin he had only been about 5, you were visiting from the UK. Your dad had had a work thing in Chicago and dropped you off to stay for a week. Dustin had looked up to you straight away, doing a silly English accent and making you read him the Sherlock Holmes books you'd been reading to him.

Going into that week you hadn't been sure what to expect. There had been an ugly fight at the end of it. They were divorced already at that point, and it just sort of happened.

You didn't really care, not as much as you had cared about Dustin anyway. He had gone off to his room to hide the fact he was crying. When you spoke to him he had only said

'We never got to finish our book.'

You had indulged the lie and carried on reading it to him. When it was time to leave, you left him with the book. He still had your copy, you had to borrow it from the library when you got home to find out the ending.

When your dad died and you had to move here permanently, Dustin had done everything to welcome you. And admittedly you had kind of shunned him, he really wanted to spend time with you and you had wanted to hide from the world.

But what surprised you most was when you were finished being angry and having shouting matches with your mum that turned into tears, you apologised to him and he accepted it. He was still excited to get to know you again.

Since then you'd helped him make costumes for campaigns and save up for science kits. You'd done homework with him and even played in the Party when they needed an extra character. It was because of Dustin that you had met Nancy and actually have more than one friend at all.

Now you didn't know what to think, other than he was in trouble and you better pedal faster.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

When you got the Wheeler's Dustin grabbed you before you could use the front door and took you straight to the back door to the basement.

Once he'd finally stopped dragging you, you took him by the shoulders and gave him a proper look over.

'You seem fine, just drenched...' you say, mostly to yourself.

'I *am* fine,' insisted Dustin, 'I don't need your help, but she does. We were looking for Will and we found her. We didn't know what to do but bring her somewhere safe and I said I'd call you.'

#stranger things #steve harrington x reader #writing #steve harrington x gn!reader #steve harrington x henderson!reader #wait on your song #strange things rewrite

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chimera-dreams · 1 month ago

Text

This Tiny Thing Called Entropy

As rain patters at the walls of the enclosed space you find safety and solace within, a knock echoes on your door. Upon opening it, you find the face of a familiar man, who's come to ask for your help.

Task Force 141 Ensemble x reader

tags: tags and warnings to be added by chapter | violence, reader has a nickname/callsign, slow burn, weird mix between modern and future, dystopian, androids, eventual smut, see full list on (Ao3) (registered users)

wc: 6.3k

You had mixed feelings about your workshop.

On one hand, it was a space wholly your own. The walls were decorated with entire ranges of tools, each drawer and cabinet always had at least two pencils inside them (because you seemed to be constantly losing them when you needed one most, and got sick of looking for one). The tables and benches were covered with various objects, the floor littered with scraps from projects you devoted yourself to.

Everything you had, you sourced yourself. Whether easily or painstakingly, every single item filling any available expanse belonged to you. Bits and bobs you worked your ass off to get your hands on, supplies that made your life immensely easier, whatever it was, it was yours.

Nobody was allowed into what amounted to your sanctuary of sorts. You kept your secrets tucked away here, hidden in plain sight, a purposefully messy space to keep your own paranoia in check. Not that you’d ever let anybody see it all to begin with, but on the off chance someone did happen to chance a peek, all they would see was a hobbyist’s devoted disaster zone and nothing more.

The area was alive, the same way you were, and different all the same. Ticking toys sat on shelves, both worn and new, awake and asleep. Clockwork contraptions that could fit in the palm of your hand, carved wooden figurines, trinkets – your workshop was a time capsule of sorts, a hodgepodge of a person’s fascinatingly old interests.

You had favorites, the ones you hated with all your soul and wouldn’t trade for the world, the ones you held begrudging respect for.

Most important to you was the little music box you had.

It was hidden more than everything else already was. This place could get burned to the ground and it would mean nothing to you as long as the music box was safe, unharmed. It was a gift from someone long gone, now. Someone you missed dearly.

There was a tiny safe you personally installed under the floorboards, air and watertight, a preservationist’s dream for the object they were most greedy for. Most desperate to protect. That is where you kept the music box.

This was your home; you treated it as such, and loved it as much.

On the other hand, this was where you saw the most pain. This was where you spent countless days and nights banging together new parts, carving wood, stressing over bills and the prices of materials, waiting to be hired for your next gig. Not many were hiring mercenaries at this time of year. It didn’t help that your prices were fairly high, compared to the next person, but that’s only because you worked hard to build a reliable reputation. You got shit done, and you got it done cleanly.

You prided yourself on your work. Not just the toys you fidgeted with, microscopic details taken apart and put back together with painstaking caution and heedfulness, but the things you did for whoever happened to be employing you. It was what you had to do to survive, and you weren’t about to half-ass your own life. Not after all you’d gone through, been through, and would have to endure.

Compared to the ordered disarray of your home, you were clean and quick with jobs. You got in, nabbed what you needed, snipped loose ties, and got out. The wage you charged was well deserved, earned through years of assiduous effort and exhaustive toil. You had a solid reputation for good reason, obtained through blood, sweat, and tears – rarely your own, of course. You’d gotten better at spilling less of your own, never leaving a trace that you were ever present.

Unfortunately, it was looking like you’d have to lower your service fees. You were in a bit of a pinch, having to choose between necessities to make ends meet.

Electricity, gas…can live without food for a bit…maybe water, too. Need electricity, though. Can live without heating…

Rain pitter-pattered against the window in the other room as you tinkered with a small toy in your hands, something to entertain yourself with. A bit of company.

The worst of the storm had already passed, leaving behind soothing relief that washed the world of its sin. As much as you would have loved a window in your workshop to ponder the weather and get some natural light into the room, it’d unfortunately bring too much attention to your…pastimes. The things you did weren’t favorable to all, whether innocent or not. In their eyes, it was all the same, all done for the same purpose.

In a world like this one, you had to be vigilant and careful of who you trusted.

The less people who knew about you, the better.

So, you kept yourself and all you knew secret.

A couple more twists of your screwdriver was all it took for the little clockwork bird in your palm to come to life. Its wings twitched, stuttering at first, struggling to grind open and closed, too sleepy to wake. Its beak clicked, its tiny legs shuddered, and then, it took a breath.

Beady eyes found yours, and you grinned down at the creature, watching it flutter its wings before settling comfortably in the cup of your hand.

The wee thing must have belonged to a child, a once well-loved toy that was left to rust on the street. You spotted it tucked into the crook between a storefront and the cracked cement sidewalk, and took it in a split-second decision. It took a fair amount of disassembling and scrubbing to get all its components cleaned up and functioning again, but it was worth it in the end. Now, you had a companion to sit by you when you worked late nights.

Rising from your seat, you swept your hand around you, giving it a provisional tour of your workspace. It wasn’t much, really, but it’s the one thing you could distinctly call home.

“You’re lucky I found you,” you said, showing off the number of boxes containing various clockwork pieces. Gears, nuts, hinges, chains, whatever you could possibly need to fix something old, make something new. “I had everything I needed to get you all better. Couldn’t let you go to waste.”

It hopped, looking over all your tools and equipment judgmentally, like its tiny head could comprehend anything, then looked up at you, appraising.

Your lips curled upwards. “Not a thought behind those eyes, huh?”

You were both startled by the sound of a fist knocking against your front door. Firm, assertive, confident. The bird – a chickadee, you believed; you chose to name her Chicken on a whim – flew up from your hand and zipped out of your workshop, wings beating as fast as they could to carry her up to the space between the cupboards in the kitchen and the ceiling.

Heart pounding in your chest and sinking low, you slowly slinked out of the room, walking on the tips of your toes. You slid your inner wrist across a hidden panel on the wall inside of it as you went, triggering a mechanism that whirred quietly. A pocket door closed shut behind you, sealing until it was flush with the wall and completely invisible, hiding your secrets. To anyone who didn’t know, they’d simply believe that no room existed behind that particular wall to begin with.

You weren’t expecting any guests. Nobody had messaged you regarding work, you lived in a low-contact, low-population area, and never gave your address out. Most likely, it was someone you knew, but you always had to be cautious. Anybody could come stalking up to your home, weasel their way through the gaps of your teeth, choke you from the inside out until you turned blue. You had to be careful, because any mistake could get you in deep shit.

Any mistake could spell your doom.

Permanently.

You stalked across the floor, wanting to give the illusion that nobody was home unless you proved you could allow entry to whoever was seeking refuge within your walls. Options for if they weren’t friendly flashed in your mind; the blade on the small table beside the door, the pistol in its drawer, the fire escape. Worst case scenario, you could either fight, or climb out the window in your bathroom.

Leaning against the door ever so gently, you stood higher on your toes to peek out the peephole, adjusting until you could see who was on the other side, and almost melted in relief. Safe.

Letting a cheeky smirk tilt your lips, you undid the range of locks on your door and pried it open, taking in the familiar face on the other side. You hadn’t realized how much you missed the man until you were face-to-face again. What was that saying – distance makes the heart grow fonder?

“Well, I’ll be,” you crooned, saccharine sweet. “If it isn’t one Mr. John Price.”

“Good to see you, too, doll,” he responded lazily, tipping his head in greeting, his voice as rough and drawling as you remembered. He still wore that silly boonie hat of his, still had that odd excuse of a beard, and still looked at you with those knowing, icy orbs. He grunted out a small ‘thanks’ when you stepped aside to let him in, taking no offense at your habit of opening the door only enough for him to fit through before it was closed behind him once more. Locked tight. Just in case.

Raindrops clung to his shoulders and the brim of his hat, dotting them like silver crystals, gems held together by surface tension, not yet ready to burst and seep into the fibers of his woolen jacket.

You motioned towards the tiny, two-seater table you had situated beside the end of the kitchen counter and moved to fill your kettle with water and plant it on the stove. Behind you, a chair scraped out from under the table, and John groaned lowly as he esconced into it, joints cracking.

“Sure you aren’t ready to retire yet, old man?” You teased, dropping sugar cubes into one of the two mugs you pulled from the cupboard above you. A tea bag went into each one – black tea, and butterfly pea tea. A rare taste of color in such a bleak, copper world. You knew he wasn’t particular to it, though.

“Maybe, I should,” he said. He sounded tired, worn down, taking your jest a bit too seriously for your liking.

Troubled, you looked over your shoulder, and found him staring at the wood grain beneath his clutched hands, unseeing. Distracted and distant – nothing like the man you knew. Granted, it’d been a while since you last met up, but you were confident enough to say that this behavior was very unlike him.

Sensing he needed some time to gather his thoughts, you kept busy with pouring the boiled water into the mugs, adding a spot of cream into both, and bringing them over to the table. Black tea for him, sweetened butterfly pea tea for you. Same as it had always been between you.

Your new friend must have decided John was safe, if you were treating him as a companion. She hopped down from the cabinets and flew over to him, landing on his shoulder.

That broke him out of his shaky trance.

He turned his head to eye her curiously, and she tilted hers in return, beady pupils taking in his features; scraggly, rugged, and something distinctly him.

“New project?” He voiced, drawing his mug towards himself.

“Found her on the street a few blocks from here. Figured it’d be alright to patch her up.”

“She looks brilliant. Haven’t lost your touch, have you?”

Warmth spread through your chest, and not just from the tea you sipped down.

Silence with him was comfortable, but he was restless, needing to fill the quiet; you could sense it from your seat. Unusual.

“How are you holding up?” He queried.

You smiled placatingly. “All’s in working order. Don’t worry ‘bout me, Cap. How about you? How’re your boys?”

He sighed, weary and crushed by the unimaginable weight of responsibility on his shoulders.

“Could be better,” the man admitted. His vulnerability unsettled you.

The edge of your ceramic cup clinked dully on the table. “Your job starting to catch up with you?”

“Something like that.”

The quiet dragged on a beat too long for your liking. You’d seen him in all sorts of states before, but dejected was not one of them. It made you uneasy, restive. Nervous, which was never good.

John Price was many things. Strong, certainly, anybody could see that. A capable leader, older and wiser than his visible age would leave you to believe. Smart, thoughtful, he planned everything in advance and never did things on a whim. His visit to you was deliberate, organized. Why?

“Heard a silo blew up a couple miles outside the city. That you?” You propped your chin up on the heel of your hand, fingers curled against your cheek, filling the empty air between you with something.

A muscle in his jaw fluttered. “Failed mission. Got bad intel. They had the whole place rigged. By the time we cleared the building, it was too late.”

Rage flickered to life beneath your ribs, your nose wrinkling along the bridge. The joints of your knuckles clicked, nails digging into your palm.

Gangsters, packs, cliques, whatever you wanted to call them, they were a pestilence. Rotten, parasitic cretins that leeched off the backs of the poor, taking the little money and land they owned. If you could, you’d burn them yourself, strip them of their flesh, their dignity, their pride, reveal the poison that spoiled the gums lining their necrotizing teeth and corroded their innards into melted puddles of decaying goop; once organs, now unrecognizable viscera.

It was people like them that would execute men who weren’t able to cough up protection money from their starved gullets and take their wives and daughters.

It was people like them that triggered the downfall of technology, all because they felt inferior to a different form of being, too slow to keep up with the quickening times.

They missed their train, and decided to blow out the entire railroad in the name of unjust revenge.

“Damn savages,” you grit out. “They’re trying to scare us out of the city.”

It was a war that never ended. There was always at least one power-hungry group that attempted to gain stance by eradicating communities, usually those of the lower class. They believed owning more property gave them more control, but all it did was harm the innocent and aid the powerful, who hated those they viewed as lesser. All it did was show off their insecurities, the knowledge that they were utterly, completely, entirely useless. Wastes of breath, of space.

Oh, how you hated them. They were the reason you were here, playing the part of faceless aide to those who offered the right price and hired for the right reason. Whether directly or indirectly, it made no difference to you.

“That’s what we’re tryin’ to stop,” John said.

Chicken chirped idly, hopping across the broad expanse of his shoulder.

You observed her, subconsciously fidgeting with the handle of your cup. Your finger rubbed at the chip imprinted on the material after you’d dropped it some ageless time ago, a habit, wired twiddling.

Small talk wasn’t your strong suit, neither was patience. It was time to address the dead elephant in the room.

“Why did you come here, John?”

“...Callin’ in a favor,” he confessed, hands holding his tea like a lifeline, absorbing its warmth until his knuckles paled to the bone. “I’ll pay you triple for your services, as well. Up front.”

Fuck.

Triple was a lot. You needed the money desperately, and that would be more than enough and then some to last you at least half a year if you were prodigal, a year if you were frugal.

More importantly, though, John Price was an old friend to you. You both owed a lot to each other, and a man such as him wasn’t exceptionally keen on calling for aid; so, if he was consulting you, you knew it was deeply serious, and felt compelled to support him.

Exhaling, you mulled over his offer. “Must be dire, if you want a favor.”

“We need as many hands as we can get.”

“Is Kate aware you’re hiring…let’s say, assistance?”

He huffed sardonically, the corner of his lip twitching upwards. “She was the one that sent me here.”

You snorted. “Of course. Men are never good at knowing when to ask for help.”

“Well aware, unfortunately.”

The captain paid no mind to the toy chickadee that had taken to pecking at his beard. Pointless, really, but you couldn’t blame her. She didn’t know any better. She didn’t know she was nothing but a toy in the opinion of most.

Something you could relate to.

“What’s the job?”

He subtly looked around your small flat, ever-vigilant of his surroundings, even in your hideout. You didn't judge him. While you had made sure there were no forms of surveillance, checking your space frequently, the walls always had ears for those nosy enough.

“Not safe to talk here,” he decided. “Got a place not far from here. Will you come with me?”

You considered what you had to do. Cleaning up your workshop (that’s been on the checklist since forever. You were confident you’d get to it, someday), settling on which bills you were going to pay, wallowing in the anxiety of your spiraling thoughts, rewatching your favorite show for the nth time until you passed out on the couch again…

“Sure, why not.”

John waited patiently while you poured out the tea you hardly drank down the drain and filled the cups with water, stuffed a backpack with a few necessities. Kindly, he looked away when you hesitated in front of your workshop entrance, allowing you the privacy of grabbing a few belongings from there. All that time, short minutes that they were, Chicken perched atop the table, watching you scurry around.

You threw on a jacket afterwards, grabbed her, stuffed her into your pocket, and spent a couple minutes meticulously twisting every lock on your door and pushing against it to ensure it held. Paranoia and old habits were hard things to shake – not that you had any interest in doing so. Letting your guard down was the fastest way to getting yourself ripped to shreds.

The rain had slowed into a drizzle, the kind that fogged glasses and stuck to hair, but didn’t soak the clothes. Chicken remained tucked away regardless, your little stowaway, curled in your hand.

The neighborhood you’d taken to was eerily silent, the lack of noise only interrupted by the flecks of water that landed on worn, moth-eaten awnings and overfilled trash bins. It wasn’t an ideal choice, it kind of sucked, actually, which is why you chose it. It was an ugly thing, though not outright dangerous, and scared away potential straying eyes. Everyone minded their business, for the most part.

More importantly, it meant that you were safe, in a backwards sort of way.

Less people meant less risk of being found out. Your neighborhood held no interest for the greedy.

You let him guide the way down twisting streets and through narrow alleyways, keeping pace by sheer force of will alone (fuck him and his long-ass strides), until the spaces between businesses and housing grew further and further apart.

Cracks in cement sidewalks made way for flora – grass, flowers, spurge euphorbia. Fragile, pintsized life, seen as so wholly meaningless to most. Unnoticeable, unnoteworthy.

You saw them, anyway. You paid attention to the yellow-green leaves with dried tips that housed a poisonous, milky lifeblood. You took note of the few bees that found their way to this sad part of town, feeding on weak, pitiful blooms of miniscule white and gold. Sometimes, you stopped to observe, to track a dewdrop of water as it raced its way down a stem, or decorate the delicate petals of roses that survived in the rough, somehow.

You’d thought to smell them from time to time, to give in to the idiom, but the smell of roses only made you feel sick in the base of your throat. Flowers weren’t your favorite. Pretty to look at, nothing more. The thought of cutting them from their source of vitality for the sole purpose of letting them wilt in your homestead and flood the space with their decaying scent made you morose. It was a low form of flattery. You preferred them alive and thriving, blessing the world as much as they could.

That way, you could admire from a distance, draw inspiration from their brilliant colors and intricate weaving, and not be suffocated by their overpowering presence.

You were a witness to this world as much as you were a conscious actuality within it.

You preferred to keep it that way, when possible.

No words passed between you, save for the scuffle of soles on solid ground. You doubted he walked the whole way to your flat, he wasn’t soaked to the muscle from the rain, but walking back made sense. It was easier to cover where you were going by twisting and turning every which way.

John seemed satisfied by the time he trotted down a set of stairs that led to a cellar door beneath a store in a mixed use building. A front, presumably, a farce to keep attention away. Respecting that, you kept your sights on the back of his head as he punched in a keycode into the door. A lock hummed audibly, then clicked, allowing him to push open the door.

He jerked his head towards it and you slipped in past him, waiting patiently for him to step inside, too, and close the entrance, sealing you inside the makeshift safehouse.

It was lit up brightly, initially causing you to squint in discomfort before you adjusted. A table, some chairs, a kitchenette, what looked to be a simple bathroom off to the side. Blank, cement walls, a painfully sterile yet somehow mangy feel. All the basic necessities that a safehouse should have.

Which, yes, included two other guys and a few guns set on the table, alongside scattered pieces of paper and various other objects you didn’t bother paying too much attention to.

You stared at the two men, who had stopped whatever it was they were doing (one looked to have been cleaning a gun while the other was…sketching?), and they stared right back, not necessarily hostile, but certainly alert.

John stepped up beside you and planted a firm hand on your shoulder, reassuring. He always was far more perceptive than he let on.

“Boys, this is the mercenary that’ll be joining us for the foreseeable future. Kate and I can vouch for her,” he introduced you, then went from left to right, pointing out each man as he went. “Kyle Garrick and John MacTavish, my sergeants.”

The former nodded his head in greeting. placing the gun down to give you his full attention. Kyle Garrick was the picture of masculine beauty. Plush, slightly rosy, full lips were complimented by neatly trimmed and maintained facial hair along the line of his jaw and upper lip. His dark skin looked smooth and clean, well-nourished; you imagined it might have felt like firm pottery clay. Beneath long, thick lashes were a pair of glossy orbs, a surprising shade of hazel that suited him perfectly.

“Pleasure to meet you,” he said, polite as can be.

MacTavish, on the other hand, wolf-whistled, shameless in the way he looked you up and down. “Aren’t ye a bonnie thing?”

The first thing you clocked was his accent, distinctly Scottish, maybe from somewhere in the Highlands. The next was that he had a rough sort of handsomeness to him, with high cheekbones, a sharply angled jaw, straight brows, and a strong chin. Cerulean orbs took you in, glinting with mischief and interest alike, such a striking splash of ocean capri that it caught you off guard. Finally, you noticed his mohawk, and you had to hold back a snort.

It was boyish, yet you couldn’t imagine any other style on him, despite having known him for all of ten seconds.

“Johnny,” a voice came from across the room, heavy on the warning tone, and you squeaked, startled out of your skin.

You looked up at the man you hadn’t noticed before, balking at his sheer bulk and, more importantly, how he managed to hide said bulk so well, like a ghost. He easily breached over 6 feet tall and donned a balaclava painted in the image of a skull, dark and brooding from where he was leaning against the wall with his arms folded over his, frankly, greatly oversized chest. It almost made you feel self conscious.

You resisted the urge to squeeze your own tits to compare.

It was his eyes that creeped you out the most, though.

Chestnut irises bored into you, appearing nearly pitch black from the way his brows shaded his sockets, except for the sliver of amber at the very bottom, ringed by inked lines, a stunning tattoo. It was like he was peering straight through you, carving into your being, flaying your chest open to bare your raw lungs and heart to him.

Price chuckled at your reaction, and you shot him a glare. “And, that would be Ghost, my lieutenant.”

Oh. You hit the nail right on the head with that one.

“Och, c’mon, LT,” Johnny whined. Honest to god, whined. “Jus’ sayin’ hallo tae the lass. Ye dinnae mind, do ye, hen?”

You pulled your lips back and shrugged. You weren’t opposed to compliments. “Not a bit.”

A stellar, blindingly white grin split across his face, cheeks pushing his aquamarine orbs into pretty little crescents. Somehow, it made your stomach flutter. “Knew you wouldnae.”

Kyle sighed, albeit fondly. “Ignore him, Tav’s an incorrigible flirt.”

“Am no’!”

“You’ll bat your lashes at any girl you see.”

Pouting, Johnny folded his arms over his chest. “Tha’s only ‘cos ye dinnae even have tae try. Ye’re such a pretty boy tha’ all ye have tae do is smile an’ the skirts come flyin’ off. Isnae fair.”

Taking the route of ignoring the brooding man, Kyle smiled disarmingly at you (oh, Johnny was right, that smile could win him millions). “So, you’re a mercenary?”

“Yep,” you confirmed, popping the ‘p’. MacTavish’s indignant outrage at being brushed off amused you greatly.

Only for Ghost to scare the fuck out of you a second time by speaking up again, reminding you of his existence. His voice was heavy, gruff, laced with a thick Manchester accent. It fit the image he cultivated, if it was worth making your heart shoot out of your ass. “What’s your experience?”

He’s vetting you.

Best thing you could do was entertain him. Building trust was all about answering questions when asked.

“Mostly infiltration, data gathering, tracking folks down via digital footprint, that kind of stuff,” you said.

His eyes narrowed microscopically. You picked up on the detail, and knew he was trying to pick apart your answer. He wanted more information, proof you were an ally, someone that could be relied on.

Someone who was capable of getting her hands dirty.

“She’s worked with Laswell before,” John tacked on.

He wasn’t wrong, you and Kate Laswell were familiar with each other, and had partnered up on a couple occasions. Mutually beneficial, of course. You gave her eyes on the ground, got your hands on slippery intel, and she sent you rare and difficult to find parts, items that money couldn’t buy, not easily. With her, it wasn’t about the cash – she did still pay her fair share, mind you – but a deeper sense of sympathy, of understanding.

She knew what it was like for you, to live in this world, this hellscape that did everything it could to tear you down. She knew, so she took care of you in little ways when she could. You never said no. You couldn’t afford to, regardless of how much you wanted to bristle and proclaim total indepence.

Sadly, it just didn’t work like that.

You’ve had time to come to terms with it. The fact that you couldn’t exist solely on your own terms, that you needed people, as few as you could get away with.

Which ended up being two: John Price and Kate Laswell.

You had every intention of keeping it that way, no matter how much time you were going to spend working with this motley crew, how close you’d have to stand beside them.

It’s fine. You had plenty of familiarity with keeping people at arm’s length.

“What kind o’ data?” Johnny questioned, having turned a chair around to sit in it backwards, beefy forearms (wow) propped up on the backrest.

“Money wires, shady activity, locations at given dates and times. Honestly, most of it is pretty boring and mundane. I don’t go out on the field super often.”

“An’, when ye do?”

You hesitated, shifting your weight from one leg to the other. You hated the attention, hated how it made you break out into a nervous sweat, antsy and jittery. It made you look suspicious, especially with a crowd like this. The limelight was never meant for you, and you respected that wholeheartedly.

“I do what I have to do to finish a job,” you eventually muttered, less than satisfactory, but at least it was something.

It appeased three of the four men present. John by fact that he already knew what your job entailed, had worked with you before, and Johnny and Kyle for reasons beyond you.

Ghost?

Earning his trust would be difficult, if possible at all. Something that had to be forged in battle, in the heat, drenched in blood next to one another.

You’ll never earn their full trust, a voice whispered in your head. You’ll always be a lying bastard, and nobody likes a lying bastard.

If you won’t let them in, what makes you think they’ll let you in?

Because, your life depended on it.

That was always your justification, and it worked well for you every time you had to use it. Every day of your life was lived on the edge, constantly on your toes. You were cogent in keeping everyone three paces ahead of you, maintaining distance.

For your sake, and theirs.

It’s just temporary, anyway, you mused. I’ll get this job done, and we’ll all go our separate ways.

That was the plan you had set up for yourself. You were good at honoring plans. It was practically coded into you, an instinctive habit to heed a set path from point A to point B. Get the job done, get out, get paid. Well, that last one was going to happen first, if John was to be believed about paying you up front, but the concept remained the same.

The only trust you needed was confidence that they’d cover your back in the field, and you’d cover theirs.

You knew John had yours and, if the praise you’d heard from him about his boys was to be believed, they would have yours by proxy, too.

They’re good men, those mutts. Maybe not good people, but none of us really are at the end of the day, huh? Not in this line of work. Least of all an old rag like me. We get our hands dirty so the world can stay clean.

So, in return, you’d have theirs. It was simultaneously the least and most you could do.

For the sake of keeping the world clean.

Each man tensed when a squawk sounded from your jacket pocket, and you watched as Chicken climbed her way out, determined to escape her warm, fluffy prison. Without a lick of hesitation, she jumped up and immediately flew over to Kyle, circling his head a few times before she dropped onto his shoulder and promptly began nuzzling into his neck.

“Uhh…” He was frozen in place, taken aback.

You smirked, bemused that your partner-in-crime’s loyalty lied in who she considered prettiest. “Looks like she likes you.”

Johnny cooed, radiating golden retriever energy, invisible tail wagging as he checked out the clockwork contraption. “Who’s this wee thing?”

“That’s Chicken. Found her and fixed her up. Seems she’s whipped for Garrick over here.”

“Ye named ‘er ‘Chicken’?”

“It’s because she’s a chickadee. Couldn’t think of anything more fitting.”

Kyle laughed softly, raising a finger to lightly brush against her belly. “Hello, Chicky. You’re a sweet thing, aren’t you?”

“She’s a little dumb,” you shrugged. “Curious creature. I think that’s how she got lost the first time, having flown off from her owner. Ended up in a ditch for me to find.”

John rubbed a hand over his chin. “She was pecking at my beard earlier.”

“I do believe she was trying to preen you.”

“Preen me?”

“That,” you cocked your head to the side, “or find bugs to eat.”

Kyle and Johnny burst into laughter at their captain’s perturbed expression, to which Chicken joined in with little chirps of her own.

Velvet and warm, that’s how it felt, seeing how the boys interacted with one another. Playful jabs and ribbing, continued cackles, Johnny’s harmless attempts to snatch the bird away from Kyle. It was painfully obvious how much they cared for each other. To be able to act like boys, the brothers-in-arms that they were, was a rare and precious thing. If nothing else, you hoped you could come away from this experience with the memory of happiness, however small it may be.

“What about her original owner?” Kyle asked as they calmed down, admiring the small chickadee’s bronze sheen.

The smile you wore fell away, replaced by a deep, harsh seriousness.

“If people are going to treat her like she’s nothing more than a toy, then they won’t miss her when she’s gone,” you grit out slowly.

“Seems like it’s an important topic to you,” he murmured. Gently repositioning Chicken in his hold, he stretched out his hand to you, offering her back – much to Chicken’s displeasure. The angry series of squawks let you know exactly how she felt about leaving her Prince Charming “Here.”

You shook your head. “Keep her. She likes you more than me, anyway. Just make sure to take good care of her, or I’ll hunt you down and turn you into a clock.”

He snorted, but accepted the gift, lifting his other hand to scritch at Chicken’s tiny little forehead. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

The puffed chickadee appeared more than delighted to learn Kyle would be keeping her, leaning into his touch and chirping up a mechanical storm. You laughed under your breath, relieved to know he’d treat her well. You could see it in the way he cradled her, in how he pet her with only one digit. They were smitten at first sight, who were you to take that away from them?

“If she ever starts getting faulty or breaks, let me know, and I’ll repair her again.”

“I will,” he promised.

It brought you joy, knowing how much they loved each other already. A small fragment of light born from a new love in a dull, muted, dark world. If you could only do one thing, it would be this; adding as many spots of color to each and every day as you could. There was cheer to be found in even the weest of lifeforms, if one knew where to look. Sometimes, all they needed was a guiding hand.

If that was all you could be in this world, you’d happily take up the mantle.

You felt John fill the empty space to your left, unhurriedly, purposeful. Effortlessly, he pulled you into a different place, a different existence, present yet far away from the others.

“Do they know?” You spoke in a muted tone, a conversation meant only for you and the captain.

John hummed his dissent. “I didn't tell them.”

You weren’t able to turn away from the sight of Kyle and Johnny playing with the former’s new companion and partner in (legal) (ish) crime. Greedy, that’s what you were. Greedy for any scrap of mirth you could find, whether yours or someone else’s “Won't that come back to bite you in the ass? What with trust and all.”

He gazed at you for a long, drawn out moment of time. Then, his hand eclipsed your upper back, comforting and reassuring in its weight, in the warmth that seeped through your clothing.

“I'd rather deal with a few angry soldiers to protect you. I know my boys, they're loyal, they don’t hate your kind, nor would they turn you in. I just don't want them to treat you differently. You're one of us, now.”

How true were his words? He knew his team better than anybody else, you knew that, but even the most open of people kept secrets. Was there really no judgement to be had in this circle, or was it a matter of distance?

From afar, caring was difficult, but once brought together, prejudices came to light.

So, how long could precarious balance last?

Your attention shifted from the pair of sergeants to the geist that lingered in the shadows, and a chill ran down the length of your back when you saw him, looming as he always had. It wasn’t his size, nor the way the light seemed to avoid him, no.

It was the fact that he was already staring at you.

banners by saradika-graphics ♥

lemme know if there's any formatting issues or if I missed anything <3

#This Tiny Thing Called Entropy #task force 141 x reader #soap x reader #ghost x reader #gaz x reader #price x reader #john mactavish x reader #simon riley x reader #kyle garrick x reader #john price x reader #chimera writes

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patricide1885 · 8 months ago

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Loosely connected observations I'd love to hear people's thoughts on:

As the video I just posted pointed out, people are remarkably receptive to new rules in a new setting. Often you can obey more than the people making the rules even expected, therefore you end up giving away more freedom than you would have been expected to.

In hypnosis (a topic I've been looking into for a long time but still don't seem to fully understand) there is a common tactic where you greet someone and reach out to shake their hand casually, and when they give you their hand you suddenly yank it towards yourself while acting normal and like you didn't just do something extremely weird. This functions as a hypnotic induction that puts the person into a highly suggestible state and they will start looking to you to tell them what to do for a period and will be more receptive to it. I understand this specific tactic to work by essentially dislodging a person's confidence in their understanding of the world and going into a sort of baby brain child-like state where they look to the confident person that has thrown their expectations into disarray to re-establish reality for them.

You might be familiar with this phenomenon if you're in a new social situation where everyone is doing things you don't understand or is operating based on ideas of reality that would normally sound weird and you go along with it because you have made the judgement that you don't inherently understand the culture or the situation and you are afraid of acting weird/you don't view your understanding of the world to be accurate. You are allowing those people to dictate reality to you. This generally happens without you realizing it.

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hedarose · 2 months ago

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Shapeshifter / Demonic Spirit ! AU

After the team began living in the cabin and killing and consuming the animals that roamed the woods surrounding them- weird things started to happen. First it started with wet or muddy footprints that were left in a trail each night, but they never seemed to lead back to the same person…

Each morning like clockwork Laura Lee would be meticulous about cleaning the mess to avoid having a cabin that was in any sort of disarray. Until one morning there was no trail… and there was no Lottie… or Taissa. Laura Lee dropped her broom and ran outside only to stop dead in her tracks when she saw a perfectly still doe standing with white glowing eyes staring back at her in the morning haze with a blanket of darkness to consume its fur- a flicker of something to its left revealed a barely visible cougar that was twitching its ear. A piercing scream ripped out of Laura Lee’s lungs and woke the rest of the girls who piled up behind her to catch a glimpse of the beasts who gazed upon the cabin. That had only been the beginning, more had begun to change after that. Jackie awoke one morning with her legs kicking rapidly to a beat she wasn’t sure she herself could manage, only to realize she was shrinking and was sprouting a thick layer of white fur- there she was suddenly- as a jackalope. Shauna turned the next day before dawn broke, she was out for a pee and suddenly her back cracked in a violent fashion as her body grew and grew and grew until she turned into a moose- frankly into a size she didn’t know a body could reach. Van was less terrifying, but still a dark omen if the others were to see it that way, she screamed with all her might until she turned into a small screeching thing- a black cat with claws as sharp as razors. Laura Lee turned into a dark soul looking creature with the only identifiable feature being the white glowing eyes. Mari made herself known as a wolf on the night of a full moon as she sprinted around the camp howling with a mouthful of red carcass from a recent kill of Natalie’s. The other girls slowly turned into a mix of the aforementioned beings. It was never at a time of their choosing, it was always the Wilderness that chose. It chose. But the girls became used to it, even welcoming it and gathering together in a ceremony dressed in deer skins and antlers to thank the Wilderness for the gift of sight and ability to see and feel. Even Coach Ben as scared as he was and unwilling as he was, welcomed the change- as he turned into a raven he finally felt free even to just move again- even if only for a while, but what goes up must come down.

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jusst-you-race · 10 months ago

Note

Not really a new pairing, but Landoscar 18?

i will never say no to writing landoscar don't worry! this could be it's own thing, but also could definitely be set in the condo au... enjoy! from this prompt list

“Here, drink this. You’ll feel better.”

Oscar winces as he hears yet another coughing fit break out through the wall. It’s a hacking sort of cough, the type that makes you feel like you’re about to throw up a lung, and it’s far from the first time he’s heard it today. His heart clenches with sympathy, and he finally makes up his mind on the internal debate he’s been having with himself for the last hour and a half.

He marches determinedly into the kitchen, and pulls out all the ingredients he keeps just for occasions like this. He’s sure that many mums have almost identical lemon honey and ginger tea recipes, but he still can’t help but think his mum’s is the best.

Quickly, but carefully, he makes enough tea for maybe five people (which is definitely overkill but better to be safe than sorry), and pours as much as he can fit into his biggest thermos. The kitchen is a bit of a mess once he’s done, but he decides that’s a problem for future Oscar. He digs out some throat lozenges he hopes are still alright from his bathroom cupboard, and then grabs some painkillers too for good measure. With all his supplies bundled precariously into his arms he leaves his flat and shuffles down the hall to his neighbour’s door.

After two bouts of gentle knocking, the door swings open, revealing a very sick looking Lando. His face is flushed, eyes drooping, and his curls are in complete disarray. He sniffs as he blinks blearily at Oscar in the light of the hallway.

“Oscar?” he croaks. His voice is hoarse, barely making its way out of his throat, and Oscar winces again. He fumbles with the things in his arms before he thrusts the thermos at Lando.

“Here, drink this. You’ll feel better.”

Lando blinks at him, his brain clearly only working at a snail's pace. He takes the thermos from Oscar slowly, staring at it in his hands before looking up at Oscar with an adorable confused frown.

“Osc, what is this?”

Oscar shuffles in the doorway, suddenly self conscious.

“It’s uh… Lemon honey and ginger tea… My mum used to make it for me all the time when I was sick, and heard you coughing lots so I thought maybe I’d make some for you. Err… yeah, hope that’s not weird.” He brings a hand up to awkwardly rub the back of his neck, and manages to drop the painkillers he’s holding in the process. Lando’s eyes follow them to the ground.

“Are those drugs?” Lando murmurs half to himself. Oscar quickly picks them up.

“Yeah, just some painkillers. And some throat lozenges. I mean you probably have some so maybe this was stupid I was thinking maybe just in case…” He trails off uselessly. Lando is still frowning at him, a cute little crease in the middle of his eyebrows, and Oscar knows he’s flushing under the scrutiny.

“You got all this for me?” Lando whispers, having given up on trying to properly talk now. Oscar nods stiffly. Lando’s face breaks into a sleepy smile that just about takes Oscar’s breath away. Even in his sick, bedraggled state Oscar thinks he’s beautiful.

Lando sticks a hand out. It takes Oscar a second before he realised Lando’s asking for the drugs and Oscar clumsily hands them over, trying not to drop them. Lando gathers them up in the blanket he has draped around himself. He blinks back up at Oscar.

“I would invite you in but—” He’s cut off by another coughing fit that has him hunching in half for a few seconds, and Oscars hand hover uselessly in the air while he wonders if he should help. Lando recovers quickly though, and gives a wry smile. Oscar thinks the point he was about to make has definitely been made now.

“Yeah..” Lando breathes. Oscar shakes his head.

“No, of course, don’t worry about it. I just wanted to drop those things off and let you get back to resting.” Oscar wrings his now empty hands. “Feel better soon, okay?”

Lando smiles at him again and it’s soft and sweet and Oscar feels a little bit like he’s standing too close to the sun.

“Thanks, Osc.”

#maybe i might expand on this and turn it into a little condo bonus scene #landoscar #formula 1 fic #formula 1 fanfic #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #bug writes #fic: condominium community #bug answers

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hiskillingjar · 5 months ago

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this is a question that might be considered a bit gross, but i really wanted to ask it. you can skip if you feel uncomfortable answering

Do you think Lawrence would have scabies? Maybe ringworm? Or any other type of condition that affects the skin?

They're not the most hygienic 'person' in the world, so they're definitely susceptible to catching something. Something that could start small, but would spread to the rest of their skin due to their lack of care for themselves

i love that now gato isn't as online as she was, i'm the person to come to with weird headcanons about the boys (gender neutral). i mean that genuinely, i'm living for it

i think lawrence knows how to keep up appearances and thus take care of themself pretty well. if they had to call out of work for any reason, people would take notice, and they just want to blend in as much as possible, disappear in the crowd, not stand out.

which isn't to say that they wouldn't fantasise about that sort of thing, having an infection, a mark on their body, that they could ruin and make worse if they chose to. divots on the skin, scabs, rashes, the body in ultimate disarray but ultimate control too. and god, if they were lucky enough to contract a parasite(!!!), a tapeworm, they wouldn't get out of bed, they'd feel so blessed by it.

almost...a little like...caring for another being...giving it your body and nourishing it as it eats away at you...what bliss.

#the inherent eroticism of contracting a disease #river walker #qs #headcanons #love the way this was asked too. a very fun idea <3

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phoenixfire-thewizardgoddess · 11 months ago

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Headcanon/Concept:

'The Tattle-Tale Heart'

"You should be dead." Lucifer advises, his tone bored and overall utterly unenthused about the whole situation. To be fair to his majesty, Lucifer was doing this under duress.

Said duress was a few feet away, eyes brimming with anxiety and worry as her father crouched over the pinned Overlord, clearly concerned for a number of reasons. The chief of which was the injured red prick, and a close second was likely the fact she'd had to use force against someone even for their own good.

A Princess of all that was dark and demonic, and yet, the little lives of sinners and their miserable woes seemed to wring her heart out. It was touching, and infuriating, in equal measure. Sometimes he can't help but wonder if she held more of Lillith or himself in that deceptively sweet humanoid form. Both had loved to help, in their own way... but only Lucifer had once agonised over enforcing his will on others.

Struggling against the bonds tethering the idiot to the floor, -and good luck with that you pompous fuck because those are divine bindings-, Alastor snarls at the King. Face so close they could just about kiss, though nothing would disgust him more, and he's pretty sure from what he's sussed out about the guy... Al here wouldn't be a big fan either.

Hah, maybe he should, just to get one over on the assho-... whoa, no, nope. That would cross a line. He blinks back to the situation at hand as Charlie touches his shoulder, a gentle query.

"Uh, Dad? Are you okay?"

"Er, yep, yup, yes totally my duckling! Just got lost in my head, you know how it is." Cemented into the current moment, Lucifer again rests his palm against the damaged flesh before him, the divine energy surging back at him was almost depleted through his earlier efforts but the wound looked pretty bad underneath.

"And you, you arrogant dick, should be dead."

"And you, your majesty, should have your eyes checked... it is merely an injury taking it's time to heal over. It's hardly the first time an angel has gotten too close... speaking of, would you care to remove your hands from me before I remove them for you?"

The warbling warning in the voice is easily batted aside by the royalty present, as the severity of the injury becomes clear as the light leaves it. Lucifer feels the divine surge of it in his palms as it joins his own half-divine, half-demonic form and writhes about for a bit.

An angelic essence tantrum, one could say, and knowing that it came from Adam of all the arrogant feathered fools above... Lucifer would have to say it was on-brand.

Charlie gasps, "Oh Al, you should have said something..."

Lucifer's gut clenches as he can actively see the way something sharp in Alastor's expression softens as he addresses Charlie.

"My dear, this is hardly the worst thing that has happened to me in Hell, it would have healed in time. What else do we have down here but time to make further mistakes? Hah-ha!

"No. I asked you to fight with me, and you took on the First Man to help defend my dream... so Im telling you, as your business partner and weird sort of managerial kid, that you should have said something to someone before it got this bad. And I am really, really angry with you, right now, because I hate seeing any of you hurt... and knowing that you didn't think you could come to ask for help was-... was-..." Charlie's expression dissolved into angry, desperate sobs that seemed to throw both the men into the room into disarray.

"Now, Charlotte-... "

"Char-Char, it's okay, Daddy's fixing it!"

"...indeed, 'Daddy' is trying, apparently." Alastor can't help but snipe, earning a tightening of the bindings until he snarled. He opens his mouth to deliver what might be a withering statement about Lucifer, when things go rather awry.

With a violent slam, the door opens, and Vaggie enters with the spear aimed point-first. "What's wrong, babe? What did he do?"

"Contrary to your opinion, Vagatha, it appears it may be what I did NOT do... that is cause for this kerfuffle." Alastor explains, and his ears flattened backward against his skull, clearly surprising Charlotte enough that she stopped crying.

"Wait, those are your EARS? Ohmygosh they look so fluffy, can I to-... no, wait, you don't like touch. I'm so sorry..."

"A negotiation for later, perhaps."

"Oh you sonovabitch, don't you dare try to make a deal with her-...!"

"I wouldn't dream of using such a paltry thing for-..."

"Actually, Sir, they already made a deal." Vaggie adds in, and the room goes dead silent. "Which yooooooooou clearly didn't know about, and I'm going to need you to take several deep breaths because we JUST rebuilt the hotel, your Majesty."

"Oh relax, she still has her soul... it was for a favour. It was the best way to ensure our reputations remained intac-..." the sentence broke into a sharp static scream as Lucifer's clawed hand slipped into the angry maw of the jagged wound. Blood, fever-hot, slipped down his arm as the King slipped under a frantically trembling set of lung to grasp-...

...nothing.

The confusion snapped him right out of the momentary malice, eyes flickering back to normal as horns and tail receeded. Only just noticing Charlotte and Vaggie's hands on him, trying to yank him back from a very dark place.

Anger surges back up, how dare this sinner make a deal with his Charlotte? And then dare to call out the King for being a terrible father?

And yet... the statistical anomaly doesn't line up here.

"You should be dead." Lucifer states in a monotonous voice, no inflection of the curiosity and bewilderment that races through him. He casts about again and feels Something that isn't right, beating away impossibly... and a trace of something familiar. "Where's-... where's your-..."

"Dad, STOP!"

"SIR, PLEASE!"

Heeding the frantic cries, he allows the women to haul him back and away from the Overlord, his arm covered to the elbow in slick crimson blood. With some small amount of smug pride, Lucifer notes that the Radio Demon is ashen and panting, the frayed stitches about the wound were snapped from his attempts to pull away in his bindings. He sure hoped that the fucker would feel his hand there anytime he thought to try making a deal with Char-Char again.

An enraged Charlie fills his vision, horns on full display.

"Dad, what the seven rings was THAT?! You had NO RIGHT to hurt him like that, and I can-... I can make a deal if I want to. If you ever do that again I'll-..." She looked to be struggling to find a good enough threat.

"...sell your soul to the porn moth guy?" Vaggie grimaces.

"Yes! That!" Charlie points, eyes wild. "I'll let Valentino have my soul, and probably all my ho-..."

There's a loud screech of static and a demonic "NO!" at the same moment Lucifer cried, "SWEETIE NO!"

"You will never even jest about such a thing!" Alastor adds, his fixed smile twisting into a truly disgusted grimace. Charlie turns to him immediately, as if to reassure, but chooses instead to snap away the bindings.

"I'm sorry, I won't... he licked my arm that one time I went there and I accidentally set fire to his studio, so I'd rather fight ten Adams than try that again, so-..." she was rambling, her hands hovering as if she wanted to help but didn't know where to start.

Thankfully, Vaggie happened to have at least basic field medic training and some excellent common sense (hell edition) in her possession. She did wrinkle her nose at the strong scent of blood, exposed innards and some sort of infection that had yet to flush out as she knelt beside the overlord.

"Well, this is gross. No two ways about it. I think we'll need to clean this up first and then do some dressings... do we have any antibiotics floating around the hotel? Or was draining the angelic energy enough to get your regeneration to kick in? Not sure how it works for Overlords compared to regular sinners."

All business. In the moment and handling the crisis in front of her like Lucifer should have.

Chagrined, Lucifer snapped his fingers and removed the extraneous blood from everyone present. "Charlie, I'm sorry you had to see that, I just-... you can't go making deals. Not with sinners, or goetia, or hellhounds, or the Sins - especially not Uncle Mammon if I see one sexbot version of you I will exterminate him to ashes- or ANYONE ever again. You're the Princess of Hell, a favour can be twisted to topple the entire realm if used carefully..."

"Dad, I know that. But I made a choice, and you don't get to come along and torture people I care about because of that choice." Charlie shoots back, there's a pointed venom in the statement, and briefly Lucifer considers what it must have looked like for her, to see him go from healer to harm-inflicter without a momentary pause.

"You're right. I overreacted." Next time he would wait until Charlie wasn't there to enact violent revenge. "Now, if you want me to I will heal the deer as long as he uses your favour up to get that healing."

"What?!" Charlie is indignant. "No, no you don't get to make my decisions for me like that. If you make that the condition, I'll just... make another deal for-... for twenty favours! Including weird sexy stuff that would make Angel blush!"

"...please don't, on my account." Alastor drawls, looking vaguely ill at the notion. "And do not trouble yourself over it sire... I have no intention of using the favour, it was necessary to share the information across. You created the rules for this place after all. "

Lucifer could second that. "True." Damn, he hated giving ground to the daughter-bewitching demon.

"Would you like to make a deal about the favour, little majesty, to make you feel better?" Alastor grinned, strained at the seams and uncomfortable to look at for too long.

"Oh fuck off... how about this, I heal you and you tell me where the FUCK your heart is?" He offers instead.

"WHAT?" It's unclear who shouted that lounder, Vaggie or Charlie. Telltale footfalls on the lower staircases meant that this little exchange had not gone unnoticed by other staff and their solitary guest. The door locked itself with a little devilish insurance against sudden intruders.

Alastor tried to glare hatefully at the King, but the effect was rather ruined by his pale features, and the obvious strain of remaining functional given everything going on.

"Perhaps you do need to have your eyes checked, I am certain you just missed it due to your ineptitude with anatomy. Isn't that why your wife le-...mmph?!"

Vaggie had taken the initiative to slam her hand over his mouth in a brave and very desperate action to stop the King from incinerating the Overlord they begrudgingly cared about and worked with.

She made a shrug gesture and tried to laugh it off. "Uh, Sir, sometimes the bloodloss makes people a bit delusional... and conceited... and really fucking rude... so let's pretend he didn't say that, okay?"

Seething, tail lashing, the Devil hiimself had to count to fifty-eight in his head to calm down... but he managed it. He could be the bigger-... uh, the better demon here. Can't let the guy bait you again, he's just deflecting.

"Oh come now, Bambi... is that the best you got?" He grins, moving closer and enjoying (a tad too strongly) the way the other pulled back from his outstretched hand, only Charlie and Vaggie's presence trapped him in place. Subtly moving to pin his arms down. "We're going to overlook your bullshit bignoting for now, because I can see that Adam really fucked you up, and I suppose that you do kinda deserve a little bit of help for defending the hotel. I just need you to tell me where your heart is... and how in the seven rings you're still breathing."

Those ears remained flattened.

"Al, is it... something you CAN speak about?" Charlie asks, and the red eyes shoot open to stare at her, taken aback. "I... I saw the collar, a little while back. It was by accident, I swear!"

"I would rather you not have known, little majesty, it will draw attention... but I can. Speak about the situation. I guess."

"I really appreciate you trusting us with this." Charlie encouraged, genuinely proud of getting honesty from her friend, whose past, secrets and motivation were all a mystery at this point.

With a flat sigh, refusing to look at Lucifer, Alastor simply advised "Vox has it."

There's a beat of silence.

"Like, in a jar or-...?"

"You mean, metaphorically...?"

"Ugh, is this a cannibal dating thing?"

As their questions garbled together, Lucifer could see the way the Overlord immediately closed off to them, that fake smile brightening until a fake persona was firmly in place.

"Nevermind. If you have sated your curiosity...?"

"Hold on, if what I think you did happened, then it's not possible. So what I want to know, is how you managed to do it?" Lucifer says, shifting on his knees because the carpet wasn't as plush as he'd originally assumed, and tentatively putting his hand against the wound. The weirdest thing... was that he could FEEL a heartbeat.

With concentration, he sent healing throughout the injury, encouraging broken vessels and torn muscles to mend, binding flesh and viscera back into place, and sending a sharp flush of energy to root out the infection he could just about taste in the air at this point.

As his magic passes through the pulse-point centres, a picture begins to form in Lucifer's mind.

"You have a pulse... so something's doing the pumping." He murmurs. "There's a shadowy something there, like a fake heart... made of something imbued with three different types of magical signature... and I can't think of anyone who would have known how to do this, in this ring. But it's not...real? Like an echo, but it's working."

"As I said... this is not the first encounter with an angel, your majesty."

"Hey, you alive in there?" a voice calls, multiple fists bang on the door. "Say the word, we got weapons!"

"We're okay! Thank you, though!" Charlie calls back.

"Use ya safeword if ya need it! We'll come... heh... right in and start blastin!"

"Fortheloveof-... OKAY, THANKS!"

Lucifer snapped his fingers in front of Alastor's face.

"Hey, focus, I need to know how this happened, it doesn't make SENSE and reeks of something sinners shouldn't be able to do. I healed you, so spit it out already."

"...fine. During a disagreement several years ago, in the manner in which we often disagreed, neither Vox nor I realised the Extermination had begun until angels flooded the area. Enlarged forms making us the centre of attention until one managed to pierce Vox's heart and take him down."

Alastor clenched his teeth so hard that rivulets of crimson began to run down his chin. A faint outline about his throat glowed a familiar colour, and Lucifer was rather hoping that the digs at his eyesight might be true, because there's no way that-...

"When the exorcists assumed we were both deceased or dying, they left... and someone else arrived. Someone who we all know... who would not be pleased to have their name shared. Someone whose magical healing was more... creative than most, and would use that for the chance to collar at least one overlord to their cause."

"Don't you hate Vox though?" Vaggie asked.

"Not really, no. I dislike what he has chosen to become, and the disagreement was around the liberties that foul moth was taking... if you think having him lick your arm was bad, Charlotte, try having him attempt to jam his tongue in your mouth before formal intorductions were even made. I wanted him dead. Vox saw potential and growth there... we disagreed."

"So you were... friends?"

Alastor tilted his head with a crunching sound, positively beaming as he added, "Why no, dear... we were married."

Lucifer rubs his temples, feeling like the main character of a sitcom at this point. "Okay, so you like the television, got it... next part, tell me about the heart!"

"I already have. To clarify, Vox was almost gone and Someone knew a way to move a willing participant's organ to the body of another, until such time as the recipient's own has healed or the living donor is killed. The specifics of it all remain somewhat... blurred, due to the nature of the situation, but it also creates a facsimile that works in place and at the same rate as it's real counterpart outside the body. I suspect it was bound with a trace of Vox's magic, as well as my own... and that of Someone."

"Ho-ho-hokay, that is ridiculous, that kind of thing has never worked. I saw some weird humans trying that sort of nonsense in the Living World a few centuries back, but they also seemed to think drilling holes in your skkull could make headaches stop, so I didn't take any notice!" Lucifer rambled, digging through the disorganised mess in his head for some clarity on where, when and which peoples that information pertained to. Downside of being immortal... you remembered a lot, but you only had the one main train of thought to check all the stations.

"Oh, it worked, alright... as you could see. Or more aptly, could not." Alastor rebutted. "It worked, because there were elements that Someone needed to use, that a living world counterpart would have no ability to extract or utilise. Such as memories, feelings, concepts that were given form as part of whatever it was they did."

"Does... Vox know?"

"No."

"Wait, how does he not know? Did you just like, not tell him 'oh hey by the way you have my heart in a literal and a metaphorical way'?" Lucifer frowned.

"Part of what Someone did required the blood of an enemy, the loss of an innate right, and the memories of affection shared. Somehow this conveyed into lost freedom and Vox's memories of our relationship being erased entirely. He is, however, alive."

"That, uh, that sucks... dude." Vaggie tries to provide comfort, but is wildly out of her wheelhouse here. Charlie looks likewise flummoxed.

"Hah! Why yes, it does suck... but what is done is done. I have chosen to see it as mildly hilarious... after all, if the picture box does get his fondest wish and manages to kill me, he'll drop dead right alongside my corpse! Hahahahahaaaaaa!"

Charlie grimaced. "Oooh-kaaaaay, Al... you know I love and value you... so please don't take this the wrong way but... I'd like you to maybe try a few of the therapy sessions."

"My dear, I'd rather have your faher go fishing for my non-existent heart again..." there's a pause. "Hah, how poetic... the Devil seeking after the heart of a sinner, it feels like one of those telenovelas Niffty loves to watch. Oh, she will get a kick out of this when I tell her!"

"Whoa, I was trying to hurt you... don't make it weird!" Lucifer backtracks, eyes wide in alarm.

"Were you not elbow-deep inside m-...?"

"Nope! No! Not doing this, I get enough innuendo from the tall guy downstairs, thanks. From you, it's horrifying. Just... no." Lucifer flushes, angry and a little horrified about how this had all gone to (heh) Hell from the minute Charlie had decided to ask for his help.

'Dad I'm worried about Alastor, he's really hurt and won't tell me what's wrong.' She'd said. 'Please help me corner him and see what we can do, Vaggie said she feels angelic energy on the guy.'

And so he'd trundled along to play hero dad for Charlie, as always, and the red fucker had thrown such a hissy fit that normal restraints couldn't pin him down. So Lucifer had to break out some blessed ropes that he hadn't seen since Lillith left, and Char-Char had to whip up some royalty-grade divine bindings. He was very proud of her, but this was a mess of a situation.

Not to mention the fuss the big baby kicked off when Lucifer had snapped his shirt and coat aside to get at the bandages. Ugh.

And now here he was dealing with the only person in all hell he thought wouldn't thrown an innuendo his way, making weird insinuations while Charlie and Vaggie sat in stunned apprehension.

What was his life these days?

Ah, fuck it.

"Okay, so... what does this mean for the hotel? If the Someone is who I think you're alluding to, 'cause I'd know that magic anywhere, then clearly you're here for more than entertainment." Lucifer levels at Alastor, who was subtly wiggling his way free of the restraining girls.

"Nothing I can share. It would suffice to say that I was with Someone in a place a Cut Above the Rest for seven or s years... and then was tasked with ensuring that the others remain In Their Place without overtly damaging anything. If that makes sense?"

"...loud and clear."

"But why would... that person... want to see me fail?" Charlie asked, crestfallen, and Vaggie was instantly shuffling across the carpet at her for a hug. "I... I called so many times..."

"The ties that bind sometimes have knots in them, my dear... and as I am a man of my word, so are they."

"Who did... they... make a deal with?" Lucifer asked, curious and anxious all at once, feeling rather like a well-shaken can of soda.

"...one whom Niffty managed to tidy away. I do not know what that means."

"Okay, this is not great, but its more info than I had before all this started. So... is Someone coming here? What does it mean for you if they do? Does the whole..." Lucifer taps at his own chest, "stop working if you tell us anything, or something happens to them?

"I... don't know. The deal was made under circumstances of altered consciousness and bloodloss... but I would not be willing to test shattering or pressing against the boundaries just yet. I will not put that idiot video podcast in harm's way, even if he will never remember why."

"Understood." Fuck this fucker for starting to feel relatable. But if it was Lillith, or Charlie... he'd do whatever it takes to keep them safe.

"Okay, so we just... prepare for whatever happens, then, I guess. And if we have to do magical CPR on a television or something, we do it." Charlie says, right eye twitching as she makes some elaborate plans in her terrifyingly clever brain. "Vaggie, I'm going to need to break out my glitter glue for this... but I have a plan."

A flash of fear in that bright eye, before love replaces it. "Anything for you, babe."

"Do you require assistance, or would you prefer I return to regular duties instead? I understand that one of the rooms may have gained sentience and has attempted to eat Niffty twice today." Alastor says, buttoning his shirt closed, and using a small flick of his magic to remove both rumples and bloodstains from the fabric.

"Oho no, mister, you are taking it easy!" Charlie threatens, finger pointing and waggling sternly.

"Yeah, you don't look great... your body at least needs a chance to restock. Magical healing doesn't mean it didn't deplete your energy, just that a little boost tried to get stuff jumpstarted." Vaggie adds, matching the Radio Demon's glare.

The room starts to go dark, as distortion swims freely through the air; no longer constrained by blessed rope and able to use his powers again.

"Yeah, no... not dealing with this." Lucifer rolls his eyes, extends a hand to the sinner's forehead and intones, "Sleep." Expression impassive as the Overlord crumples forwards, almost directly into Lucifer, who is thankfully stronger than his diminuitive form suggests.

As he rises from the floor and hefts the other into his arms, the King can't help but notice the frantic tempo of the other's pulse, visibly beating against that pale throat. Lucifer frowns, sure he'd managed to purge the infection from the Demon, because right now his pulse should be languid in sleep...

...and then a small flicker of movement outside the window catches his eye. A flash of crimson sunlight accidentally alerting the three royals and royal-to-bes of an unexpected voyeur.

"...he's gonna kill us all when he wakes up." Vaggie groans.

Charlie snaps her fingers and the drone shatters, but it's already too late.

-------

Across town, with his eyes wide in horrified awe, Vox finds himself putting a clawed hand atop his thundering heart.

"...fuck."

And wasn't that just the understatement of the day?

#hazbin hotel #radiostatic #alastor #vox #lucifer #charlie #description of injury #vaggie

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a-canceled-stamp · 1 year ago

Note

What is the Cake Misunderstanding?

What kind of cake? Who is doing the misunderstanding? Will Tim & Jason get to have the cake and eat it too???

I have so many questions.

Ok so this is what the WIP looks like atm. Plz note that this all takes place in a 'Tim gets adopted early' AU.

Tim's been part of the family for a few months now. He isn't walking on eggshells anymore as things finally seems to be settling down. It's still strange to find the Manor so alive whenever he comes home from school. He likes it though. It makes him feel...welcome. A simple misunderstanding almost throws a wrench into this. One day in the middle of July, Jason tells Tim he's busy when asked if he wants to hang out. He's lying. Tim can tell he's lying, which is weird, but he tries not to linger on it - being sort-of brothers doesn't mean they have to hang out all the time. Tim gets it. But when Jason makes yet another half-assed excuse for the fourth time in the same week, Tim comes to a horrible conclusion. Jason doesn't want to hang out with him. Calling Jason out on this is not something Tim wants to do. This behavior is so unlike Jason that it makes him feel like the rug has been pulled out from under him. And forcing Jason to hang out with him would just be cruel. So Tim hides the confusion behind a tight smile and makes himself scarce. Later that same day, Tim heads to the kitchen, looking for something to eat. His heart plummets to his stomach when the sound of laughter reaches his ears. He rounds the corner, and find the kitchen in complete disarray - flour strewn everywhere, empty bowls stacked in the kitchen sink. Jason and Dick are standing around the table, still laughing. The moment Jason's eyes land on Tim, his smile drops. He immediately rushes toward him, waving his arms wildly, as if chasing away an animal. Get out! he yells, eyes wide. Get out, you can't be here! Tim, confused and startled, listens. He retreats to his room, his head spinning. Maybe he did something wrong earlier this week. Did he say something that hurt Jason's feelings? But if that were the case, Jason would've said something, right? Sitting down by his writing desk, he angrily fights the tears burning in his eyes. He thought he was done with the feeling of guilt and confusion and hurt swirling in his gut. He thought- He thought this place would be different. He thought they were different. What doesn't cross Tim's mind during all of this is one small yet crucial detail. Tim's birthday is in a few days.

So technically you are correct - Tim & Jason will get to have the cake and eat it too. Just with some hurt/comfort on the side lmao.

Thank you for the ask Rae Bae! \\^w^//💞💞💞

Ask me about my WIPs!

#ask game #wip game #ask

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lunariiawrites · 2 years ago

Text

Praise

Pairing: Cumulus x f!Reader

Rating: Explicit

Tags: Soft dom Cumulus, sexual content, dirty talk, praise

Summary: After a fight breaks out, you're left to clean up the mess, and Cumulus decides to show you a few notes on the piano, among other things.

a/n: My first smut in over seven years and my first f/f fic ever! Feedback is appreciated since I'm always hoping to grow, but I hope you like it!

----

Silence is both a blessing and a curse.

The morning had started oddly, the halls being almost silent save for the quiet footsteps of the siblings migrating to breakfast or whatever tasks they had assigned to them for the day. Fortunately, your tasks weren’t as time-consuming as normal, and having them done within a few hours allowed you to relax for a minute or two; hoping that Sister Imperator didn’t come rushing out of the shadows to scold you.

Sunlight decorated the wall in a multitude of colors, shining in from the stained glass window above. The clock overhead ticked ominously and you got the weird feeling that something wasn’t right. As time ticked on, the feeling nagged at you, gnawing at your brain like a pack of rabid wolves.

It was the first crash that broke the silence.

Being near the practice room, it would make sense that noise was being made. However, these weren’t the usual melodic tones that Papa and the ghouls would normally produce when practicing for a tour. Instead, it was a loud din of crashing, shouting, and growls that made you worried to move from your secluded bench in the hallway. After a few more minutes of shouting that suspiciously sounded like Dew and Swiss, the halls were almost quiet again.

Carefully making your way to the practice room, you peered inside, shocked to see the instruments in chaotic disarray. Papa stood in the middle of the mess, a frown clear on his face as he rubbed his temples in frustration. The door creaked, revealing your presence to the normally cheerful leader.

‘Strange. Where’d everyone go?’

“Ah, sister.” Giving a sad smile, he swept his hand around the room. “It’s quite a mess, no?” Indeed it was. Instruments were scattered haphazardly on the floor, joined by picks and sheets of music. It looked like a tornado had flung everything around before blinking out of existence.

“What happened?”

“There was a fight.” Shrugging, he sighed. “Everything was going fine one moment, then the next… Poof.”

Honestly, you felt bad for him. A fight breaking out was never a good thing and being that Papa viewed the ghouls as friends, as many in the abbey did, you could tell that not knowing how to help was hitting him hard.

A soft knock tapped on the door as it creaked open again. Looking over your shoulder, Papa nodded solemnly.

“Sister,” With a pleading look, he gestured around the room. “Can I ask you a favor?”

“Don’t worry about it, Papa.” Picking up some music sheets from the floor, you gave a reassuring smile. “I got this.”

After Papa had left the room, muttering something about Sister Imperator and her constant meetings, you set to work. Picking up a few more stray music sheets, you set them on a stand, almost painfully aware of a gaze locked onto you.

“Need some help?” A sweet voice startles you, as does the warm breath that tickles your ear. Turning, you’re surprised to see Cumulus standing behind you, surprisingly not wearing her mask. Instead, her glamour was almost fully off, as were the ghouls’ rights within the abbey.

“Sure.” Handing her the music notes, you smiled sheepishly. “Could you help me sort these? You’d know the order better than I would.”

Nodding, she took the sheets from you, arranging them so they were actually readable. Turning, you began to pick up the various instruments strewn all over, hoping that none of them were broken.

“It’ll be ok.” Cumulus broke the silence, setting the finished stack of papers back onto the stand.

“What?”

“The whole fight thing? Dew and Swiss were messing around and it got taken too far.” She explained casually, picking up her keyboard. “They’ll be fine. Probably make up by the end of the night.”

That wasn’t a surprise. Both Dew and Swiss had tempers that sometimes flared as a result of their banter. Thankfully, you had never been on the receiving end of either, the two usually treating you with respect and delivering good natured teasing at the most.

Cumulus hummed thoughtfully as she played a bit on her keyboard, her fingers tapping the keys lightly. Staring at her reverently, you smiled, getting lost in the music. After a bit, she nodded, satisfied.

“I wish I could play like you.”

“Come here.” Cumulus patted the seat next to her and you climbed the short steps of the stage, taking a seat on the padded cushion. “I’ll show you some things.”

Her hands were soft as they held yours, showing you where to press to produce certain notes and demonstrating certain chords. Eventually, she stood behind you, chin resting on your shoulder as she calmly guided you.

“Good girl.” Cumulus’ unique scent of vanilla and honey floats around you, invading your senses and making you shiver along with her words. “You’re doing so well.”

Your eyes closed as her hands left yours, goosebumps raising as cool fingertips caressed your heated skin, trailing up your arms.

“I’ve watched you, you know.” Running a hand through your hair, she chuckles as you tilt your head towards her touch. “Always running around, always helping everyone but never quite taking the time to relax.” Claws lightly scratch at your scalp and you groan, the noise barely slipping out.

“You’re so adorable.” Humming, she released your hair and gently grasped your jaw. “Look at me.” The words were a command, wrapped in a soft and gentle tone.

Opening your eyes made you flinch at first, not expecting her to be that close. Her hair spilled over her shoulder, almost tickling your face as you searched her own.

“You’re gorgeous.” Cumulus smiles at the compliment, a light blush blooming across her cheeks.

“So are you, sweetheart.” The words catch you off guard, and a blush flares across your cheeks, and the temptation to avert your eyes is high. Somehow, you keep your attention in front of you.

“I’d love to help you unwind a little.” Her thumb caressed your cheek almost lovingly, and you smiled. Cumulus waited for an answer, the hand not holding your face trailing up your thigh to squeeze lightly, grounding you for the moment. “What do you say?”

Word of what all ghouls were like behind closed doors frequently spread among the siblings, and the ghoulettes were said to be passionate lovers, if not a bit rough once in a while. Heat pooled in your gut as your mind brought unbidden images of what exactly Cumulus had in store for you if you were to say yes.

Hand on your thigh tightening, Cumulus growled softly, her tail waving back and forth in anticipation.

It didn’t take much to make a choice.

“Yes.”

The world spun as Cumulus pulled you from the semi-clean practice room. After a minute or so of walking and trying to keep up with her hurried pace, you ended up in a room decorated in white and blue.

Cumulus’ room.

Pressing you against the door, Cumulus pressed a hand next to your head, slotting a thigh in between your legs as she partially caged you in, a hungry look in her eyes. Control was something that the air ghoulette was normally praised for, but in this instance it looked like she was struggling.

“Last chance, love.” A purr rose from her throat as she nuzzled your throat, nipping gently. “If you don’t leave now, that’s it. You’re mine.”

Instead of answering with words, you answered with a harsh kiss, pulling her down towards you.

Her eyes flashed briefly before closing, not that she gave enough time for you to properly notice the flicker of her iris’. Instead of the soft and gentle ghoul you’d come to perceive her as, Cumulus’ demeanor now changed to that of the predator all the ghouls could be at heart.

You weren’t afraid in the least.

Shallow breaths left you as her plush lips continually met yours, the pace of the kiss almost seeming feverish. Your hands wound into her hair, tugging lightly on the blonde curls and coaxing a gentle moan from her. Her lips traveled down your neck, leaving wet kisses and the occasional bite.

Some of the siblings expressed a fear of being bitten, thinking that the ghouls’ fangs were too sharp. Instead, it seemed to offer just the right amount of pain among the pleasure, and Cumulus was careful not to break the delicate skin between her teeth. She chuckled as you craned your neck to give her more room.

“Such a good girl.” A lightning bolt of arousal shot through you at her words and she smirked, gripping your chin and directing your hooded eyes to focus on her.

“I think someone likes to be praised.”

Before long, you’re seated on the plush bed, covers silky against your skin as you fumbled with the buttons of your habit. You had managed to pull the top over your head, making your hair a mess. Cumulus kneeled in front of you, already undressed, a smile on her lips as she pulled off your skirt, claws leaving light scratches on your skin.

Leaning forward, you kiss down her collarbone and she sighs, fingers tangling in your hair. Murmuring her assent, she pushes your head down and moans when your breath ghosts her chest, tongue darting out to lick a hardened nipple. Cumulus purrs as you worship her, massaging her breasts as you lick, bite and suck.

Without warning, you’re flipped, Cumulus straddling your waist. She hums, kissing down your collarbone before copying your earlier actions, sucking hard. Your hips bucked, barely moving with the way she was holding your hips down. A keening whine left your throat, and you couldn’t stand it anymore.

“Please!” You begged, the plea sounding semi-broken from your throat. Cumulus smiled, lifting her head to regard you carefully. Purring, she stroked a cool hand down the flushed skin of your face, trailing her touch down to your waist.

“What is it, baby?” She cooed, voice soft and sweet once more. “Want me to fuck you?”

“Yes!”

“I’ll give you my fingers tonight.” Cumulus agreed, dipping a hand beneath your underwear to stroke your core lightly, adding to the fire. “Then if you’re good, you might get something else tomorrow.” A devious light entered her eyes for a moment and she smiled innocently.

“I might even share.”

The bloom of heat raged inside you at her words, and you gasped, bucking against her hand. Cumulus watched lovingly, seeing you become more desperate, stroking your clit with a steady hand and bending down to say the most filthy things in your ear.

“My good girl.” Pressing a finger into your folds, she whispered sweetly to you, curling her fingers just right to make you see stars. “If I had my way, you’d never leave this bed.”

“Fuck!” Arousal spiked as she played with the sensitive bundle of nerves. A knot settled in your stomach, and bucking your hips again, you pleaded with her to go faster.

Speeding up her pace, she pressed a kiss to your stomach, enjoying your high pitched moan and the soft squelching noises she was making with her fingers.

“So wet for me.” A broken plea burst from your lips and she leaned down, breath ghosting onto your cunt as she pulled her fingers out, inspecting how wet they were in the light. “So responsive.”

“Cumulus, plea–” Her mouth latched onto you, tongue circling your clit and diving through your folds. “Fuck!”

The knot burst as she sucked lightly on your clit, groaning contentedly as you came for her as she coaxed you through your orgasm, a pleased purr rumbling in her chest.

“Good job, baby.” Exhausted, you laid next to her, sighing as she pulled you into her arms, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Let’s get some rest, okay?”

“Not tired.” You mumbled, honestly wanting to stay up and talk with her some more. Cumulus chuckled, pulling the covers over you and watching as you nestled your head into the pillow.

“We’ll talk tomorrow, I promise.” She whispered, resting her chin on the crown of your head. “I’m not letting you go anytime soon.”

Falling asleep came easily after that, the melody Cumulus was humming making you drift off peacefully, feeling safe with her arms wrapped around you.

As you drifted off, Cumulus hugged you possessively as she heard the other ghouls through the wall, groaning at the sinful noise you two had made. Closing her eyes, the ghoulette smirked.

“She’s mine.”

#the band ghost #ghost bc #ghost bc fanfic #nameless ghouls #lunariia #cumulus x reader #cumulus ghoulette #ghost fanfiction #ghost x you #ghost x reader #lunariiawrites #mywriting #praise #praise and worship #cumulus x you #nameless ghouls x reader #nameless ghouls x you #ghoulettes x reader #nameless ghoulettes x reader

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