#tw: mentions of past drug addiction

[reidsmanuscript]

Cracks in the System

Summary: What happens when a string of murders tied to the District Attorney's office lands on the BAU's desk, a high Spencer Reid struggles through withdrawal, and reader, the genius A.D.A., stumbles upon Reid's darkest secret? Tensions rise as professional and personal boundaries blur, leading to revelations that could shatter them both. Pairing: Spencer reid x lawyer!reader Genre: HEAVY ANGST, a little bit of comfort, open-bittersweet-ending Tw: spencer's addiction arc, no y/n but reader has a lastname and a nickname bc it would be impossible otherwise, mental health issues, mention of food and skipping meals?, imppliead reader's past with drugs and abuse (not graphic tho), canon typical cm violence, reader dislikes gideon as father figure wc: 9.2k! A/N: i always HATED how reid´s addiction got portrayed so here´s my take on it, english is not my first language part I - part II - part III - ... - masterlist

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In the chill of autumn morning, while the BAU reunited for the debriefing of a case where their help had been specially requested per the District Attorney, old college friend of Hotch, a string of murder had been recently connected due to the victim’s correlation to the office.

Morgan, Prentiss, Gideon, and Hotch sat in their usual spots, reviewing the files as JJ prepared to brief them. Spencer Reid entered late for the second time that week, a distant look in his eyes, his demeanor unusually absent. No one acknowledged his lateness.

JJ took it as her cue to begin. “A string of murders have been committed around the capitol's perimeter, 3 women all killed and found at the surroundings of their home, Sarah Jennings, 23, defense attorney. Found in a downtown alley.." She clicked to the next slide, revealing another victim. "Second, Nicole Hart, 25, paralegal. And finally, Emily Russell, 30, judge. Found just outside her apartment. All victims were killed within a three-month span. Each one of them were found with a different note”

"Your silence speaks for itself."

"Mitigating circumstances should not overshadow the gravity of the crime."

"Your behavior demonstrates a pattern of reckless disregard for justice."

“M.O.?” asks Prentiss. “Strangulation and multiple stabs to the chest were revealed by the reports” answers JJ.

Morgan adds “So overkill and legal connection, did they knew each other?”

“Families have denied any possibility of any of them being friends with each other” JJ answers.

Reid, who has been anxiously tapping his fingers in the arms of his chair, huffs in frustration, ignoring how annoying his subtle tremor is “So outside a simple note no connection.”

Gideos shoots him a glare but before he can say anything Garcia appears through the tv screen “My dear fuzzy friends, i have found something," She adjusts her glasses and clicks away at her keyboard. "All four victims have recent ties to cases handled by the District Attorney's office, big ones, too. Corruption charges, high-profile lawsuits, political scandals. It's a feast of legal drama."

Morgan leans forward, his interest piqued. "Anything specific about their involvement?"

"Funny you should ask," Garcia says with a wry grin. “Jennings provided testimonies in ongoing cases. Hart did legal research for one of those cases, and Russell? Well, she worked directly with the DA's office on prepping trial strategies. But here's the kicker—none of them worked together. Different cases, different departments. And all of them seemed to be very successful on their own"

Prentiss raises an eyebrow. "So 3 successful women with overkill, that sounds like envy to me"

Reid, his voice laced with a nervous edge, blurts out “Envy could be a factor, but it's also the level of violence. Overkill is usually a sign of a deep personal rage. It's like the unsub is targeting not just their professional lives, but something deeper, maybe the idea of success they represent.”

Gideon glances at the screen. "Any connections between the cases themselves?"

Garcia shakes her head. "Nothing that stands out yet, but I’m digging deeper. Let me keep working on it. I'll be needing access to the information the D.A. office has”

Gideon folds his arms over the table. “If they're found around their personal home it could mean the unsub is following them or getting the information from somewhere else. Someone inside the DA’s office could be leaking it."

Morgan shakes his head. "How do we narrow it down? A place like that probably has dozens of people handling sensitive information."

Hotch rises from his chair. "We need a list of who has access to it and interrogate them, but first, we should brief the DA. If someone in their office is compromised, they need to be aware of the risks."

JJ nods. "The District Attorney requested our help specifically. She mentioned an ADA, Woodvale, her right hand, who might be able to help us get a clearer picture of the internal dynamics in their office.” A photo of you in professional attire, looking sharp with an almost predatory confidence appears on the tv screen while JJ explains how you have been working with all the victims for different cases.

Morgan smirks. "Sounds like she’s got her hands full with this mess."

Reid rolls his eyes, muttering under his breath, "Perfect. Another overachiever."

The team exchanges uneasy glances but says nothing. Hotch sends Morgan and Reid to the D.A. office while Prenttis, Gideon and him go to the victims' workplace. As the team disperses, Reid lingers behind, rubbing his temples in frustration. Gideon notices but says nothing.

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At your office, returning from Judge Gibson’s chambers after pushing for a warrant, your assistant, Molly, looks up from her desk.

"Austin’s waiting in your office," she says, a small smile tugging at her lips.

You thank her and add, “Call the detectives and let them know the warrant is secured.”

As you step into your office, Austin is lounging in the chair across from your desk, a familiar paper bag dangling from his hand.

“Your mom sent you this,” he announces, lifting the bag as if it’s a prized trophy.

You let out a sigh, already knowing what’s inside and taking off the clip that holds your hair in a half pony off, relaxing a bit. “Can you stop going to my parents’ house without me? It’s kind of weird.”

“It’s not weird. She always gives me sweets and pastries. You should see the look on her face when I take them.”

“Well, I’m glad someone enjoys them” you mutter, dropping your leather bag in your chair, taking the bag and peeking inside, finding a full banana loaf and a neatly packed sandwich that your mom always sends every couple weeks to ensure you eat enough and take time to rest.

You grab the loaf and glance back at the door. “Molly, I’m taking fifteen for lunch” you call. As you step toward her desk, handing over to her the dessert, you notice two men standing in front of it.

Neither of them looks familiar, no badges in sight, so they're not cops or detectives. One of them’s dressed too casually to be a lawyer, and the tall one has a leather messenger bag just like yours. He seemed distracted, his sharp features catching the light as he frowned slightly, visibly uncomfortable with the brightness in the room.

Molly glances at you, then back at the men. “They asked to see you, Ms. Woodvale.”

You study them for a moment, your fingers still wrapped around the paper bag from Austin. The tall one stood out, his tousled hair, a quiet intensity in his eyes. You quickly push the thought aside. “And you are?”

The broad one steps forward, offering a warm but professional smile. “Agent Morgan. This is Dr. Spencer Reid. We’re with the FBI.”

Your eyes narrow slightly, not out of distrust but because an unannounced visit from the FBI rarely means good news. “FBI? What’s going on?”

Morgan’s gaze shifts between you and Austin who is now standing behind you with his arms crossed, casually leaning against the doorframe. “Can we speak in private?” he asks, his tone calm but firm.

You frown but nod slightly, feeling the sensitivity of the conversation, opening the door widely for them to enter, looking at Austin apologetically, and you see him frowned as well but gets the hint.

Austin pushes off the doorframe, clearly reluctant to leave. “I’ll be outside if you need me, Woody.” you would’ve preferred he did not use the dumb nickname he gave you in front of the feds, but at least it softened the tension in the air. It was a subtle reminder that you had allies.

Once inside, you clip your hair back and slip into professional mode as they take in your office, your diplomas, the little wooden chess board your father gifted you when you were 15, your little trinkets arranged through the shelfs. You set the paper bag down on your desk, smooth your blue suit, crossing your arms as Morgan steps forward, his tone polite but serious. “We’re here about the leak in your office. The D.A. suggested you might have information that could help us.”

Your expression hardens, a mix of frustration and worry bubbling beneath the surface. You’d been working to deal with the fallout, but if the FBI was here now, it meant the situation had escalated far beyond your control. “I’m already working with the detectives assigned to the case,” you say, keeping your tone even. “Why is the FBI suddenly involved?”

“Because people are dying,” answers Reid sharply and a bit too harshly, with a too obvious expression.

Morgan glares at him briefly, before stepping in to clarify. “We believe the leak in your office is connected to a string of murders. The unsub is targeting individuals tied to the office, we believe is a male driven by envy towards powerful and successful women and possibly has someone from here leaking personal information. Does that ring any bells?”

Your brow furrows as you digest the information. “Envy over women?” You let out a short, disbelieving laugh. “That doesn’t help or narrow anything down in a place like this. And ff there’s someone leaking information in this office, I would’ve—”

“Maybe you’re too close to it to see the cracks,” Reid interrupts, frustration clear in his voice. His gaze is sharp, challenging, and for a brief moment, you feel like you’re being dissected under a microscope.

“Excuse me?” The words come out clipped, your irritation flaring at his insinuation.

Morgan steps in, shooting Reid a pointed look that speaks volumes. “What Dr. Reid is trying to say,” he begins, his tone patient, “Is that we’re not ruling anything out yet. We’re here to figure out how the information is getting out, not to place blame.”

Your eyes linger on Reid for a moment. His posture is rigid, his hands curling around the straps of his bag, fingers flexing into fists before relaxing again. There’s something raw about him, an edge that feels out of place but oddly familiar. You can’t decide if it’s irritation, exhaustion, or something else entirely.

“And what exactly makes you think the information is still coming from here?”

Morgan reaches into his jacket, pulling out a thin file. He places it on your desk and flips it open, revealing photos of victims and case files. “These are the people we’ve identified so far. All of them were connected to cases your office has handled in the past 3 months. The timeline suggests the leak is ongoing.”

You skim the photos, the pit in your stomach growing heavier with each passing second. “And you’re sure this isn’t coincidental?”

Reid answers again, his voice tight. “Murders tied to your office’s cases? That’s not a coincidence. It’s a pattern.”

“Reid,” Morgan says firmly, his voice a quiet warning.

Reid exhales sharply, scratching his neck he mutters, “Sorry. I mean... it’s statistically significant.”

You straighten up, your gaze flicking between the two agents. “What do you need from me?”

Morgan’s grin softens the tension in the room. “Your insight, the D.A. said she trusted you to be our inside guide. We think you can help us fill in some blanks.”

You go through the file and nod “Fine. But if we’re doing this, I want access to everything you have so far. I don’t work blind.”

“Fair enough, we will also need a list of the people who have access to sensible information for our tech analyst, and if you can come to our office it would be useful” Morgan says.

“I'll have my assistant send it, let me just get some stuff” they nod and step out of your office, you grab your coat, satchel leather bag swinging it over one shoulder and eyed the untouched lunch.

“She’s going to be pissed if you give that to anyone else,” Austin says from the doorframe. You roll your eyes and bite the sandwich, your mother is an incredible woman and baker, but in your opinion she always excels herself when it comes to savory. “What was that about?” He asks.

“Apparently we have a mole in the office that's connected to murder by someone who’s envious of women” you answer halfway through that sandwich.

Austin’s expression sharpens as he steps closer. “Need me to look into it?” he offers, he’s an experienced private investigator who’s helped you through more cases than you can count. His connections, street smarts, and knack for digging up information have been invaluable to you, especially when things get too tangled for the usual channels. You could call him your best friend; though sometimes you threaten to kill him for knowing way too much about you.

You nod, finishing the sandwich, crumpling the paper bag and walking to the door “I'll text you if I need your help” you leave the office, going through the hallways to find the agents who lead you to their SUV on the way to Quantico.

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At headquarters, you stand in a room in front of the plastic board, all the victims, your ex-colleagues, none of them were truly friends, just girls you have worked with and you have lamented their deaths when you find out. You never thought their deaths could be related, less so to your office. You never thought their deaths would affect you so… personally.

You had already been introduced to the team, they all seemed professional and grounded, though you already knew Agent Hotchner from when he was a prosecutor, you shaked hands with Prentiss, Gideon, and JJ, letting your coat and bag in one of the chair’s arm in the conference room after being hand out the files.

The team gathers around the plastic board, Reid standing slightly to the side, tapping a pen against his palm with restless energy. He was looking at you and the way your eyes moved through the board, like you were physically trying to connect the dots, the way you were flicking your nails unconsciously, it was driving him crazy.

They had given the full profile of the unsub. Male from 30 to 35, probably has a job in the criminal justice world but his work goes unnoticed which lead to him being envious of women and blaming them when it comes to injustice, therefore the accusing notes.

You could think in a couple names from that description, but none of them were capable of murder, let alone how violent the crime scene pictures showed. From the list of people with recent access you had gave out, you secretly wished they were wrong about a mole. Although something sat wrong for you when you looked at the notes, why would someone-

A bright sound cuts through the room and your thoughts, Garcia’s voice, announcing through the screen, “Okay, folks, I’ve cross-checked the office access records with everything we have so far, and guess what? We have a match.” She sounded confident “Someone on the inside had access to all of the victims’ files. And it’s not just anyone. We have a name, and a face.” she announced showing a picture of a Paralegal friend of you, no. “Ana Lopez” Garcia continues, the name sounding almost foreign as it leaves her lips. “She’s been in and out of the office with access to every victim’s file, and I’ve cross-referenced her movements—she’s had a direct connection to every single one of them. And what's more... she had an unusual interest in the victim's case files long before things escalated.”

“it´s not Ana” the words leave your tongue before you can stop them.

Prentiss looks at you with a concerned expression “is she your friend? look i know it can be hard to digest that she-”

“She's very advocate to the victims,” you interrupt, with a voice tight, as you shakes your head. “Ana's been one of the most outspoken advocates for justice in the office. She’s passionate about these cases, about the women who get overlooked. She doesn’t fit the profile. This isn’t her."

“People can do out-of-character things when they’re pushed to their limit” Gideon interjects calmly, cutting through your spiraling thoughts and rambling. His voice is soft, but there’s an undeniable weight to it. “We’ve all seen it. The pressure can change people. It’s not always what it seems.”

Hotch nods, already stepping into action. “We’ll have to bring Ana in for questioning. Morgan, JJ, go to her house, Garcia will send you the address.”

Morgan gives a nod, and JJ’s gaze flickers to you, but she doesn’t say anything, respecting the heavy tension that hangs in the air.

You stand still, a knot of frustration tightening in the chest. You couldn’t shake the feeling of wrongness in all of this. Partially because Ana was a steady paralegal who wouldn´t hand out sensitive information, and partially because you felt there was something else buried deeper, and you needed answers.

“Look… let me dig further into this,” you reach for your phone, desperately avoiding the feeling of becoming someone who clings to conspiracy theories. “How are you planning on doing that?” Hotch’s voice is firm, questioning, but not dismissive.

“You have your sources, and I have mine,” your tone sharp as you speed dials a number. The phone rings once, twice, before it clicks. “Austin,” you step into the bullpen to take the call. “They think the mole is Ana”

“Lopez? That can be it. One time, I saw her take down a guy who was trying to cut corners on a case. She was too righteous about it, if you ask me.”

You exhale sharply, a mix of frustration and confusion clawing, making the room too warm for your liking, leading you to take your navy blazer off and settle it over a desk chair. “I don’t know, Austin. My gut tells me there's something more. I need answers.”

“You think someone’s using her name? Hacking her or setting her up?” Austin asks, picking up on her suspicions.

“Exactly,” you answer quickly. “I don’t know how they’re doing it, but I need you to dig into everything—anything that could explain this. There has to be something we’re missing. Get me answers, Austin.”

“Understood, Captain,” he replies, his voice laced with a touch of humor despite the seriousness of the situation. “I’ll get to work on this and call you with anything I find.” he hangs up.

You save your phone, square your shoulders and take a deep breath, noticing Prentiss walking towards you, concern in her eyes. She stops just a few feet away and speaks gently, “Hey… I know this is a lot, and I know it’s close to home for you. Do you want some coffee? It might help clear your head for a moment.”

You glance at her, tired but appreciative of the offer. A small sigh escapes your lips as you nod. “Yeah, I think that’s a good idea.”

She leads you to the break room, a quiet part of the office where the noise of the investigation feels a little further away. The sound of the coffee machine brews in the background as she pours two cups, and you deny when she asks for how much sugar. She hands one before sitting down across from you at the table.

You take the mug in your hands, feeling the warmth seep through, the bitter and burn taste grounding your thoughts. “I get that you’re all just doing your jobs, Prentiss. I understand that. It’s just... as an attorney, you learn to read people. And sometimes, you have to trust your gut. Right now, my gut is telling me I missed something, not about Ana but about all of this.”

Prentiss nods like she understands what you are saying, letting the silence settle between you for a moment “You know you seem young to be A.D.A.” she jokes lightly.

Raising up your cup “That’s what the defense always says before losing” you say back, thanking internally for the attempt to ease up “I'm 22… I graduated from law school at 18 and immediately got an internship… so since then i’ve been working up my position”

Prentiss chuckles softly, leaning back in her chair. “Don't tell me you are a genius too… I can see why though. You’ve got a sharp edge to you—good for the courtroom, probably not so great for poker.”

You chuckle, a small smirk tugging at your lips. “Well, let’s just say I prefer chess.” Sensing where the conversation might go, you subtly steer it away, curious about what she meant by too but before you can say more, Austin’s ringtone erupts, cutting through the quiet hum of the break room. You quickly pull your phone out and answer. “Got you answers” he says.

That was enough for you to put him on speaker mode and head back to the room with the rest of the team.

“Turns out Ana had an intern who’s been frequenting closed files, Daniel Reeves” he states, and when you don´t recognize the name it weirds you out. “I don’t recall that name”.

“That’s because he was at the office while you and I were on vacation in L.A. in February,” Austin explains. You’re too focused on connecting the dots to notice Gideon’s raised eyebrows or Spencer’s subtle eye roll.

“Anyway,” Austin continues, “This kid’s good with computers and had access to her credentials. Nobody paid too much attention to him, but an officer told me he’s been prowling around the file room for the last couple of months. I can’t guarantee he’s your guy, but it’s definitely worth looking into.”

“Daniel Reeves…” Garcia says through the desk phone speaker. “Graduated top of his class in computer science, specialized in cybersecurity, and interned with several law firms before Ana’s office. If anyone could hack a system and cover their tracks, it’s him.”

“Looks like he had access to the same systems Ana uses,” Garcia adds “And—oh, this is interesting—there’s a flagged incident from his previous internship. Something about unauthorized access to confidential records, but no charges were filed.”

Hotch steps forward, his posture commanding as always. “Garcia, send the new address to Morgan and JJ. I’ll let them know we found the mole”

“On it, Hotch. They’ll be there in no time.” She answers.

You take a deep breath, rubbing your forehead and letting settle the satisfaction that you are being useful to stop this madness. You glance at the phone, and press the speakerphone off. “Thanks for your help, Austin.”

The voice on the other end crackles with a slight delay, but Austin’s tone is unmistakable “Glad I could help Woody, take care”. You smile faintly at the nickname. “You too,” you say before hanging up and saving your phone in your bag, returning your attention to the team.

Reid, still fidgeting with the files in front of him, looks up briefly, his gaze lingering just a little too long. The flicker of his interest escapes you, your thoughts focused on the notes but you don't acknowledge it, choosing instead to focus on the case.

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There was something oddly familiar about the notes; and, of course, you were the only one noticing it. Since Austin’s discovery, they had brought in Daniel Reeves, who confessed to being blackmailed, claiming he had no idea who was behind any of this, so it was almost a dead end. You flicked your nails unconsciously, if you had a pen you would swirl it and if you weren’t so anxious you would be seated with your leg bouncing.

"Your silence speaks for itself."

"Integrity means different things to different people. Some get to define it for themselves."

"Your behavior demonstrates a pattern of reckless disregard for justice."

"Your behavior demonstrates a pattern of reckless disregard for justice." That one had stuck up with you. Reckless disregard. Reckless disregard. Reckless disregard. The way it rolled through your tongue gave you the clue of something else. You knew you had used those words before, if you could only place where; thousands of citations, warrants? Your eyes would move from point to point like you were physically searching, your nails would flick faster and faster. Where?

“God, could you stop doing that!?” Reid snaps, his gaze sharp with annoyance, and you look at him with the eyes of a deer caught in headlights.

You have learned over the years to not take stuff thrown at you personally, whether it is an out loud objection, a dirty trick in court with a judge, an inmate yelling at you for getting a sentence, an annoyed face in the search of a judge to sign a warrant, you do-not-take-it-personally.

But the look on Reid’s face made you feel like a 15-year-old misfit again, the girl who would cry, jump, and be on the verge of a panic attack if anyone accidentally touched her or if something too sweet triggered memories of hands creeping up, a teenager surrounded by college students who believed she was a narcissist egomaniac violent freak, a look you were afraid to find in your parents eyes when the therapist had told them about your anger issues and impulsiveness after you had destroyed the lamp in your bedroom, a look of plain annoyance not for what you had done but for who you are and what you represent, a mere obstacle, you were awkward and overwhelmed by everything. For a moment, the confident prosecutor, the woman in charge, vanished.

And you knew everybody in the room had noticed it, even after you had recovered from that second, you noticed it in the look on Derek's face, the way he looked at you apologetically, “Reid.” Gideon said, like a father scold his kid.

“It's okay I'll.. i need a coffee” you excuse yourself out of the room as fast and collected as you can, looking for some air.

In the room Reid senses his outburst has landed harder than he would’ve imagined. “Reid, go back to the scene. Start digging through the evidence again. There might be something we missed.” Hotch’s voice cuts through the air, and he opens his mouth to protest “Now.” Hotch remarks, which stops him from going further.

It was just so fucking annoying, the way she flicked her nails nonstop. Why did nobody see it?. So on his way out he grabs the leather bag that’s in one of the chairs of the room and finds it so irritating when Gideon follows him to notice there’s another satchel, in his desk chair covered with a blue blazer, his satchel.

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You had poured yourself another cup of extra bitter coffee, why did it affect you so much? god it was pathetic, you had faced worse than some guy calling you annoying. Maybe because you haven't seen it coming, maybe because it was so… reckless.

Reckless disregard. Reckless disregard.

Now where the fuck did you know that from? While being focused you sensed someone coming and discovered it was Morgan’s footsteps echoing through the bullpen, drawing your attention back to the present.

“Hey,” he said softly, his voice low as he stepped into your line of sight. “How you holding up?”

You took a deep breath, trying to center yourself. “I’m fine, just… thinking. I guess.” you tried to brush off, your mind was already elsewhere.

“Look, Reid is going th—”

“I’ve had it worse, really. I mean, law school is not for the weak,” you interrupted, joking, before he could start feeling pity for you.

He huffs with humor and decides to drop the apology on Reid’s behalf. Instead, he leans casually against the wall, arms crossed, his eyes watching you carefully “Occupational hazard I suppose... you know sometimes I wonder what happens after we catch the Unsubs”

“Well the fight doesn't end there, it does bring peace to the victims but believe me.. the legal battle sometimes is worse than the haunt.” you stare at the wall as you recall some of the people you have helped over the years.

“What do you mean?” Morgan's brows furrowed as he leaned closer, genuinely intrigued.

“Well…” you began, taking a deep breath, “The system is messy. It’s not like TV where the bad guy just goes to jail, and everyone walks away happy. Families have to relive their trauma during trials. There are plea deals, technicalities, appeals... It drags on. And sometimes,” you pause, gripping your cup a little tighter, “Justice doesn’t feel like justice at all.”

Morgan tilted his head, his voice softer now. “You’ve seen that happen, haven’t you?”

You exhale sharply, giving him a sidelong glance. “More times than I’d like to admit. You work so hard to get the right outcome, and then… loopholes, errors, or even just bad luck. It’s like pouring water into a cracked glass. It never fills up.”

He nodded, his expression thoughtful. “And the people who go through that… they don’t always come out the other side, do they?”

“No, they don’t.” You look down into your coffee, your mind turning over the notes again. “Sometimes they snap under the weight of it all, the pain, the guilt, the blame, the...”

Blame

Your head snaps at him as you realize. “Blame.” That was it.

He furrowed his eyebrows not catching your thoughts “What?”

The cup clatters onto the counter, the sound sharp in the quiet hallway, but you’re already moving, your steps brisk as you head toward the conference room. Morgan calls after you, his voice a mix of confusion and concern. “Hey, hold up! What’s going on?”

You don’t answer immediately, your mind racing as you burst into the room. The others look up, startled by your sudden entrance. Without a word, you grab the bag containing the notes from the board, your hands moving with purpose as you spread them out in front of you.

“Blame,” you say, your voice firm, almost breathless. “These notes and murders—they’re not coming from someone who’s envious, but from someone who’s blaming the system. Not because it didn’t recognize them, but because it failed them!” The words tumble out faster than you can organize them, your thoughts racing ahead of your mouth. You’re not even fully conscious of what you’re saying, already dissecting the next connection in your mind.

JJ steps closer, his brows furrowed in curiosity. “Failed them how?”

“They’re not jealous of the people they’re targeting,” you continue, pointing to the scattered notes as your mind sharpens. “They’re angry. Angry at the system for not delivering justice, for letting them down when they needed it the most.” You reach for one of the notes, holding it up as you ramble. “Look at the phrasing they’re accusatory they’re challenging the idea of accountability, of consequences it’s not about wanting what these people have it’s about punishing them for what the unsub sees as complicity in their pain.”

In your state of mind you barely recall the sound of Hotch’s phone and him stepping out of the room, too focused on looking at Morgan, Prentiss and JJ.

“The profile is wrong” Prentiss says, nodding slowly as she starts piecing it together herself. Her eyes flick to the board covered with crime scene photos and victims’ profiles. “That’s why he’s targeting people from both sides, defense and prosecution. It’s not about personal grudges against individuals; it’s about what they represent.”

“Exactly,” you reply, your voice firm. “He sees them as symbols of a broken system. Defense attorneys, paralegals, judges—they’re all complicit in his eyes. They’re the ones who allowed the system to fail him.”

Prentiss gestures to the timeline on the board. “But what was the trigger? What pushed him from feeling betrayed to committing these murders?”

You take a deep breath, your eyes scanning the notes again. “It’s got to be personal—a case he was directly connected to. Something happened that made him feel like the system didn’t just fail, but actively betrayed him. He have go to the records”

Morgan pushes off the table, already reaching for the phone. “Hey, Babygirl, we need you to go through court files and find something that stands out, any cases around three months ago when the murders started.”

“Okay, do you have anything more specific to know what I’m looking for?” Garcia’s voice crackles through the speaker, the familiar clacking of her keyboard filling the room as she prepares to search.

“We need to focus on high-profile cases that could have shaken the system. Look for any parole hearings, controversial verdicts, or any case that resulted in a big upset—something that would’ve made the Unsub feel like the system betrayed him,” He explains, already pacing with his phone pressed to his ear.

"Got it," Garcia responds, her fingers already flying across the keyboard. "I'll start pulling up all cases with defense or prosecution lawyers involved. High stakes stuff."

But before all of you could start digging and theorizing, Hotch’s voice cuts through the air, leaving you all frozen. “They’ve found another body with another note.”

The tension in the room thickens. Your breath takes off and without missing a beat, you all gather your things, it takes you a minute to find your blazer but in the heat of the moment you didn’t question why and how had your bag gotten under it, instincts kicking into gear as you rush to the scene.

“JJ you are with me, Gideon and Reid are already going to the scene” they all nod at the commanding voice of Hotch and you rush to get in the back seat of the black SUV with Morgan and Prentiss.

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In the car you take a moment to breathe and collect your thoughts to be able to think of anyone who can feel betrayed enough to commit murder. The problem is that anyone can feel betrayed enough to have an outburst. Hell, you were no one to talk about outburst if more than a couple times you had imagined yourself throwing something to inmates or smashing their heads against the table when all the evidence pointed at them being guilty and insisted on dragging the trials off.

“Can I ask why L.A. in the winter?” Prentiss' voice from the passenger seat brings you back to the car.

“What?”

“I mean it wouldn’t be my first choice for a romantic getaway” she thinks out loud.

“Ohh.. wait, romantic? Austin is not my boyfriend.. I just don’t like travelling alone” you are quick to correct her. You weren't lying, the statistics show how dangerous it is for women to travel alone and it gave your parents some peace to think someone will be there to keep you company that they trusted, plus he’s a good travel buddy because he knows when to bother and when to not do it.

Prentiss nods, as if taking mental notes, probably profiling you. “I just thought L.A. in the winter was more of a vacation spot, you know? Beaches, sunshine... not really the first place you’d think of for a quiet getaway.”

“They hold the biggest Doctor Who convention there during that time of the year ” you mumble, noticing how both Morgan and Prentiss look at each other as if sharing a thought and before you can ask, the blue and red lights hit you, announcing the arrival to the apartment complex, the crime scene.

You all step out of the car, the place is full of officers and you rush to where Gideon and Hotch are standing, note in hand. You notice how Reid has some urgency to tell you something but when JJ hands you the bag that secures evidence with the note.

"No one is above the law. Except for the guilty who’ve been given second chances."

Glancing at the note, your mind races, piecing together fragments of information, second chances. “Parole,” you murmur “The unsub is a victim, and their victimizer got out on parole!” Your eyes dart from point to point, connecting the dots. “That’s what he means by second chances.”

Hotch nods sharply “Garcia is already going through parole records.”

Just as the words settle, a new idea strikes you like lightning, and you barely take a breath before blurting, “I think I know something about the notes!” The sudden burst of realization sends you sprinting to the car, leaving the team, and a startled Spencer Reid, in your wake.

“Wait-” Spencer starts, his voice tight and laced with something unspoken, but you’re already too far gone to hear the rest, leaving him with panic in his eyes and an open mouth as he was about to say something.

Fumbling through your bag, your hands shake with the adrenaline coursing through you. “Your silence speaks for itself. Integrity means different things to different people. Some get to define it for themselves. Reckless disregard for justice. Second chances...” You mutter fragments aloud, recognizing the phrases. They weren’t random. You’ve read these words before, somewhere specific. A draft of a closing statement? A court transcript? Your fingers move frantically, searching for your phone, your notes, something. Why did you brought your copy of Crime and Punishment? and why did it look a little bit newer than yours? Where's your phone? Where are your files?. Not every criminal can get out on parole—they need good behavior, a stable support system… Maybe you put it in the front pocket.

Your hand grazes something cold and smooth. Glass. Then something sharp, metal. You freeze, pulling the objects into view. Two small bottles of Dilaudid and a needle. Your throat tightens, and you feel the air around you thin and the familiar warm that comes with anger starts to settle down your back.

You glance up, almost instinctively, and your furious eyes land on him. Spencer’s standing a few feet away, his expression is a contorted pale mask of fear, guilt, and helplessness, his eyes wide and pleading as they lock onto yours, making you look away at the full disclosure of a crime scene.

The chaos of the crime scene rushes back to you. The flash of blue and red lights dancing across every surface, the sharp crackle of radio chatter blending with raised voices, the metallic tang of blood still fresh in the air. Officers move purposefully, their dark uniforms a blur of activity as evidence is collected and barriers are secured.

There are 3 things going on in your brain right now.

This is not your bag, it's Spencer’s.

Spencer is an addict.

You are in the middle of a crime scene, surrounded by cops with a full stash of illegal drugs.

You have to think, think fast and now. The unsub, the drugs, the notes, his sharpness, the victims.

You see Morgan stepping out of the building, his sharp gaze scanning the scene. Panic rushes through you like ice water. You shove the Dilaudid and needle back into the bag, your hands trembling as you close it. Your mind races, desperate to piece together what to do next. “Morgan I need you to drive me to my office”

“What? Why?” he looks at you like you are out of your mind.

“I need a file I thought I had it with me but I don't and it would be faster I don't think the words of the notes are random I think I have seen them before in some legal file that could lead us to the Unsub” the words rush, you are rambling desperate to get out that place, clutching the strap of the bag to your chest.

Morgan’s sharp gaze lingers on you as he signals the car. “Get in,” he says before telling Prentiss and Hotch about it and getting in the car.

You slide into the passenger seat, gripping the bag so tightly your knuckles ache. Morgan settles into the driver’s seat and starts the engine, the rumble of the car barely masking the tension between you. As you approach your office building, you mentally rehearse your next steps. Get upstairs, dispose of the drugs, and look for the file. Your mind spins with the weight of the discovery, but you shove it aside as Morgan pulls up to the curb.

You get out of the car and enter the building. It’s past 10 pm so no one is around, except you two, as you get closer to your office you hear a noise somewhere that makes Morgan instincts spark up. “It's probably the janitor” you brush off.

“I’ll take a look” you nod and ask for his phone to call Garcia if needed, he gives it to you as he takes off his gun and you thank whatever mess that cleaning man was making, giving you the opportunity to execute your plan alone.

You open the door and rush to the bathroom taking the bottles out. How could Reid do something like this? Did his team know? The anger, a familiar flame, burns through you as you flush the contents of the bottle and went back to the office to look for the paper bag that had contained your lunch this morning.

It was irrational for you to be this angry at him without even knowing him but it was there, simmering under the surface. How could someone do this to himself? To his team? To the people who rely on him?

The crumpled paper bag from earlier sat on your desk, you broke the needle off, and shoved it inside with the empty bottles to dump it deep into one of the trash cans in the hallway. Out of sight, out of mind. At least for now.

You go through your cabinets, looking for the draft files. “Where is it?” you muttered under your breath, flipping through yet another folder. The contents were a jumble of case summaries, old briefs, and legal drafts, but none of them held the connection you were chasing. You were good with names, especially if it was tied to a legal document, which could be sad but right now is useful when you finally stumble upon a file that felt too familiar. You pulled it out, the edges worn from use, and opened it. A closing statement you’d written 5 years ago during a case.

Lawrence Finch. Larry.

Father of two kids with a wife, family that was taken away from him because in a car accident where the other driver was a rich guy who was too high to understand anything and got out harmless, Evan Grayson was his name. You remember how hollow he looked and how much he had thanked you after you got the guy sentenced. In your closing statement you spoke about the depth of his loss, about the void that could never be filled. You'd used his words, his pain, to hammer home the injustice, the lives lost because of one reckless decision. You remembered how his face had softened in that brief moment of relief after the sentence was handed down. He’d shaken your hand and said, “You gave me my justice.”

Glancing at the words you realize how the words you’d written, once so full of conviction, now echoed in your head, twisted and distorted. The Unsub had taken your closing statement—Lawrence Finch’s words—and turned them into something chilling.

"Your silence speaks for the victims. They can no longer speak for themselves." had become "Your silence speaks for itself."

"Integrity is the foundation of justice. It means holding those responsible accountable, no matter who they are." was now "Integrity means different things to different people. Some get to define it for themselves."

"His behavior demonstrates a complete disregard for human life, a pattern of recklessness that cannot go unpunished." had morphed into "Your behavior demonstrates a pattern of reckless disregard for justice."

And the final sting, the one that had sealed the fate of the driver who’d taken a family’s life, was now twisted into something far more personal "No one is above the law, not even those who believe their privilege protects them from it." turned into "No one is above the law. Except for the guilty who’ve been given second chances."

He wasn’t just echoing your words—he was using them, warping them into a weapon.

You grab Morgan’s phone and look through the contacts before pressing call “Garcia, I need you to look up something for me,” the urgency was clear in your voice.

“You are not my chocolate thunder but speak and you'll be heard” Garcia responded, always upbeat even when the stakes were high.

“Evan Grayson. I need everything you can find on him—parole status, criminal record, anything recent,” you said, pacing the room as your mind spun with connections you were still piecing together.

"Got it! Give me a second, I’ll dig into the system,” Garcia said, her voice clicking into business mode. A few moments of silence passed, you hear some rustling outside but ignore it, before she spoke again, her tone more focused. “Okay, here we go. Evan Grayson, 27, convicted of vehicular manslaughter five years ago. Served three years, got released early on good behavior.”

“Garcia, they guy murdered almost an entire family five years ago, the only one left was the father Larry Finch, he’s our unsub, he’s been using the words of trial for the notes!” you said, your voice tight. “We need to localize him and inform the rest of the team that-.”

Before you could finish, a scuffle echoed from down the hallway, followed by a muffled shout that cut through the silence of the building. Morgan’s voice calling your name with an edge of panic. Garcia’s voice asking what was going on felt far.

You bolted toward the sound, heart pounding in your chest. The door to your office was ajar, and you caught sight of Morgan wrestling with someone, a blur of motion. The other figure was struggling, trying to break free, but Morgan’s grip was like steel.

"Get down!" Morgan barked, his voice gruff with exertion.

Your eyes widened as you recognized the man, Larry Finch, the very person whose family had been torn apart in the accident. He was here. Right here. In your office. Probably looking for you.

Your mind raced, trying to process the situation, but Morgan didn’t give you time to think. He quickly subdued Larry, pinning him to the ground with the precision only years of training could provide. The fight drained from Larry’s body as Morgan cuffed him, his breath coming in ragged gasps with his gaze towards the officers that were running towards him.

His words pierced the air, heavy with accusation. “You promised me he would never get out! You failed me! All of you failed me!” Larry’s voice was raw, full of grief and rage. This wasn’t the grieving father you’d met 5 years ago, this was a man hollowed out by loss, filled with nothing but rage and betrayal. His words struck deep because he wasn’t wrong, you understood profusely the feelings and you had failed him somehow and maybe if you had known about Evan Grayson getting out you could’ve done something. Those eyes full of hurt and betrayal were locked on you as they pulled him away, Morgan´s concerned gaze on your figure frozen behind the door of your office, with your hands still clenching the statement.

He went to put a hand on your shoulder to comfort you “Wanna step outside for some air?” he offers. You shake your head, moving on to the next task, locking your feelings away “i’ll meet you outside, I just… I need to do something real quick.”. He hesitates but nods and leaves you alone giving your shoulder a brief squeeze as you walk back to your desk, focused on the pace of your breaths and working on keeping them even. You see Morgan’s phone screen with a message from Garcia “i heard noises and called for backup”

So everyone was downstairs. Everyone including Reid. Reid. Dilaudid. Your fault. Anger.

You exhaled slowly, willing yourself to stay in control and not destroy or throw anything that was at your reach, you grab the black desk phone, speed dialing 9 without even looking. When a calming “Hello?” sounds in the other line you breathe deep again, the grip on the phone getting tighter, you close your eyes, steadying yourself as you grab a pen and paper with shaking hands.

“Dr. Fitzgerald i… i need your help”

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You step outside just as JJ and Reid emerge from a black SUV. JJ barely spares a glance before rushing toward Morgan, Prentiss, and Hotch, but Reid stops. His gaze lands on you, then drifts lower to the satchel slung across your body. His satchel.

Your breath catches for half a second, but you don’t give him the chance. Before he can take a step in your direction, you move first. Quick, deliberate. You make your way to another SUV, open the backseat, and set the bag inside without so much as a glance in his direction. Then, with Larry’s file gripped tight in your hand, you head straight for the team.

You don’t look at him. You can’t.

But it doesn’t stop you from feeling the weight of his stare. From sensing the way he lingers, trying to find a moment, an opening, to talk to you alone. You know exactly how that conversation will go, how the fury and frustration bubbling under your skin will erupt the second he speaks. If he tries, you will yell. And you don’t trust yourself to stop.

So, instead, you focus. You lay out what you’ve found to the rest of the team members, flipping through the notes, explaining the connections, your voice steady despite the storm inside you, trusting that he’ll have the decency to not approach you.

Out of the corner of your eye, you catch movement. Reid. He’s walking toward another SUV, the leather bag, your leather bag, slipping from his shoulder as he places it inside without hesitation.

He caught on.

You force yourself to keep talking, to keep your focus on the case, but inside, you're torn. Part of you wants to be grateful that he understood, that he’s playing along. Another part of you hates that he did.

Because it means he knows. And that’s almost worse.

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You watched the chessboard, considering the game’s progress. The case was wrapped up, but you still had some files and reports to gather. More than that, you liked talking to the team, there was something about the spirit of family among them that you hadn’t expected. It was a strange feeling, one that tugged at you.

“Would you like to play?” you heard someone ask you, making you turn around to see Agent Gideon, speaking of “family”, you had noticed how he acted like a mentor or father to Reid, maybe he was. You knew fathers weren't perfect, you guess that extended to figurative ones too, but how could someone so proud of playing that role ignore something as obvious as Reid’s addiction? No help, no support. Did he even know what it was like to battle something like that? did he even know what it was like having an addiction? did he know Reid has one?

“Yes” you answer to him, chess has always played an important part in your life, a way out, literally and metaphorically, a board of 46 squares and more possible moves than the amount of atoms in the universe, a regulated and controlled space, where you had all the control.

You both sat at opposite sides of the board, rearranging the pieces. “Black or white?” he asked. “I'm fine with either”. You didn't believe in luck or coincidences, so when he grabbed both queens and made you pick, drawing black, you didn't think much of it. Mathematically you were at a disadvantage, when two machines play chess, black always loses. But you’d gone through enough to know better than to give up on a weak starting position.

So move after move, you weren't playing to win really, and judging his moves he wasn't either, you can tell a lot from someone's way to play chess. “It's nice to play against someone new you know?”. Gideon glanced for a second at Reid with a brief smile. That made you doubt your next move, because your rage has always made you freeze for a second and erratic the next. How could he?. Yes, you have been avoiding Reid at all costs. No, you didn't know if he and Dr. Fitzgerald had talked. You had helped him in the best way you could've possibly found fighting to not panic too much.

So you hummed in response, letting the wheels in your head turn as you shifted your strategy, so when you started playing to win, the game was too advance for him to do a proper counter attack.

“Checkmate” a smile appeared on your face, the same one when you knew the inmate was going to get convicted, when your closing statement had convinced the jury. When someone underestimated you.

Gideon tilted his head, eyebrows raised, lips pursed. He glanced between you and the board. “Didn’t see that one coming,”

With your fingers still resting lightly on the queen, you paused for a second. “Yeah there's a lot of things you either don't see or choose to ignore, Agent Gideon” your piercing stare and a cool voice, heavy with the weight of frustration.

Gideon’s smile faltered, and for the first time, his eyes showed something more than just the calm resolve he always projected. Your words had hit the mark. He knew it wasn’t just about chess.

You had outplayed him, just as you had outplayed the situation. And just as you had done with Reid, by realizing and taking action, something that clearly no one else had.

After talking to Hotch, reports in hand, as you walked out of the Headquarters and stumble upon Morgan, who gives you a warm and friendly smile as he says hi.

"Hey umm.. I wasn't really able to thanked you the other night after you saved my life, I truly thought it was just a cleaning lady" It felt so shameful how unaware you had been at the danger that night because of your meltdown.

He moves his hand as it was nothing. "Hey I'm just glad I decided to go with you instead of waiting in the car"

Reaching for one of your presentation cards, neatly saved in your new black leather bag, holding it between your index and middle finger to him "Well... I still own a big one. So if you ever need legal help or anything else, don't hesitate to reach for me"

He takes it nodding and reads it out loud your full name with a funny pace "I'll hold on to that one Miss A.D.A. Woodvale".

You laugh at his way to pronounce it, feeling too formal for the moment "Please just.. call me Woody"

He chuckles "Wait like the Toy Story character?"

You chuckled too "Yeah it's uhh.. dumb name but.." you shrug as a friendly smile paints your face as you realize you had made a new friend which was weird for you but felt oddly satisfying as you said your goodbyes and walked in opposite's directions.

Your thoughts wandered to Spencer, against your better judgment, they always did recently. It was infuritating the fact that your mind always went back around him, you couldn’t quite say why exactly, because if you would've have never found out what you did, he would've have stayed as the rude and annoying agent you met once.

But then you remembered the other side of him—the trembling hands, the lost stares, the outburst, the bottles you found in his bag. You couldn’t unsee it, couldn’t separate him from the shadow of his addiction. And it broke something inside you, because you knew what that darkness looked like, how it devoured people whole.

You wanted to reach for him, to offer more than the cold anger and frustration you’d shown, but you were too afraid. Afraid of what it might mean for both of you if he couldn’t, or wouldn’t, fight his way out. Afraid that you would fall too, trying to save someone.

You hoped he would get help. You prayed to gods you didn't even believe in for it. You knew all too well what it felt like to be trapped in that cycle, in your body. You couldn’t bear the thought of him staying there, lost.

And so you walked away, keeping your distance, even though a part of you that you didn’t understood ached to stay.

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part II Feedback feeds motivation! Likes, reblogs and comments are all appreciated <3

[kimmi-never-dies]

Yandere!Hyun-Ju x fem!reader head canons

(A/N): I know the poll is still up and is likely gonna change when I'm in the process of finishing this up but I had time now and this prompt was in the lead so I just decided this is what I'm writing.

TW: yandere, obsessive behavior, mentions of but never graphic violence, mentions of stalking and implied kidnapping, drugging.

Her behavior:

Again, she’s definitely a hopeless romantic, Hyun-Ju seems like the type to crave intimacy, affection, and all the other cheesy romance things, but never knows how to ask for it.

And adding that, along with the fact that society practically turned its back on her the second she wanted to openly be the woman she was on the inside, kinda turned her into an obsessive, clingy person.

She doesn’t mean to be this way, she’s just scared of being abandoned again.

Hyun-Ju never thought she’d end up becoming so infatuated with someone, but when you entered her life, everything changed.

You were so different from everyone else, you accepted her, you were so understanding and gentle…

She needed you more than life itself…you were a lifeline for her.

I kinda see Hyun-Ju being two sub-types of yandere, delusional and dependent.

She’d definitely disguise most of her delusions as jokes, for example:

“What do you mean you’re going on a date? But you’re my wife! You can’t be unfaithful!”

But her dependency is very clear, but dependency can be easily explained by abandonment issues, so you’d never guess it was really because she was practically addicted to you.

But she really can’t help it! After the games…after all the people she’d lost…she needed to keep you safe, she needed you to stay.

Dealing with rivals:

Definitely a jealous type, literally wants to scream, cry, and physically rip you away from anyone who’s not her.

Hyun-Ju doesn’t wanna share your attention, you should only focus on her!

HYUN-JU WAS A SARGENT IN THE SPECIAL FORCES

She is SCARY.

If she did happen to somehow gain a romantic rival she’d first stalk them online until she’s figured out everything about them.

She’s gotten a lot of people cut off from your life by digging up old tweets…

But if that doesn’t work, she isn’t above getting her hands dirty…

I don’t think Hyun-Ju could actually bring herself to just straight up murder someone, I know she went crazy on those guards but ACTUAL murder I don’t think so.

But she’s definitely not afraid to follow someone home and beat the ever-loving shit out of them as a warning.

Confessing to her darling:

There’s two ways this could go, and it really depends on you: Tonight was *finally* the night, Hyun-Ju was gonna tell (Y/n) how she felt about her! Everything was prepped and ready, she decorated her apartment with fairy lights, lit a couple of (Y/n)’s favorite scented candles, and made dinner. Hyun-Ju was now just getting dressed and awaiting her sweet-girls arrival.

She was dressed up in a beautiful forest-green dress with a gold necklace with an (your first initial) shaped pendent, which she got a while ago, playing it off as “there were no H’s and it made me think of you.” Her makeup was also simple, her signature brown winged liner, some mascara, and a bit of red tinted-gloss

The silence of Hyun-Ju’s apartment was suddenly interrupted by a knocking at the door.

‘She’s here!’ Hyun-Ju thought to herself excitedly as she rushed to open the door.

She could’ve fallen to her knee and proposed right then and there…

(Y/n) was stunning…her dress/suit hugging her body in all the right ways, and her hair was done perfectly, just like always…

-a few hours later-

After a while of eating dinner and watching some stupid comedy movie, Hyun-Ju finally worked up her courage and turned to face (Y/n). Her hands were shaking as she paused the tv, looking into her (e/c) eyes with nothing but love and a small twinge go something…darker…

“Sweet girl…I know we’ve been good friends for such a long time but…over these past few years I’ve wanted something more, I love you, and I wanna be your wife one day…so with that being said, please…will you be my girlfriend…?”

You sat shocked for a few minutes before responding to her, you couldn’t help but notice the desperate yet hopeful look on her face.

“Oh Hyun-Ju…”

Yes

"I'd love to..."

did she hear that right?

yes??

she would grin from ear to ear, pull you close as gently as she could, and kiss you.

this first kiss and every kiss after that would be full of love, passion, and happiness, masking the obsessive and violent feelings that got here to this moment, here with you...

And she was never letting you go...

No

"I'm sorry...I don't feel the same...but I'd love to still be your friend."

friend?

FRIEND??

all of this, following you everywhere, taking all those pictures of you, fighting off rivals left and right, only for you to wanna be FRIENDS!?

Hyun-Ju was NOT accepting this, but luckily she already had a backup plan.

struggling didn't help much when she lunged at you, pinning you to the ground effortlessly as she pulled something out of her dress pocket.

and once you felt that prick in your neck, and the sedative hit, you didn't struggle at all.

don't be scared sweet girl, she won't hurt you.

she'll make sure no one can hurt you...or even find you again...

[sturnslutz]

doomsday

tw: vomiting, mention of lacing, angst. def recommend listening to the song above on repeat while reading! the return of fratboy!chris and independent!reader 😇

it wasn't not normal for chris to distance himself from people. he didn't mean to, but sometimes everything just becomes too much.

sports, his schoolwork, you. it all became too much. he knew he didn't have feelings for you, of course not. but you distancing yourself from him after hookups changed something in him that he didn't know could be changed.

you heard from matt that chris wasn't doing too well, and you couldn't help but wonder just a bit. it wasn't like you were asking him if he was okay every second, but you texted him a couple times just checking in and all you got were a couple dry responses and sometimes just plain being left on read.

it didn't affect you too much though. why should it? you guys hooked up a couple times, that's it.

it was until it's been weeks since you heard from him that really affected you. the aching in between your legs caused you to go hookup with some old hookups, but chris lingered in your mind.

where had he gone?

matt had called you. "rosy, chris isn't okay. y'needa get to my place now."

that's all he had said before the line went flat. you quickly got ready, hopping into your car and driving to matt's building which was about 10 minutes away. you made your way upstairs, knocking on matt's door and it being opened with vey.

she had this look that made you uneasy. "what happened?" you quickly whispered to her as she took your hand and led you in. "he got laced."

your heart drops at the sight. chris and matt in the bathroom with chris hunched over the toilet, gagging heard throughout the dorm. matt was sitting next to him, noticing you got here and stood up and made his way next to you, leading you into the bathroom.

"chris? it's rosy." you sat down next to him, rubbing his back. he looked up, wiping his mouth. he had never looked like this. his eyebags were the worst you had ever seen, his face was pale, and he had clearly lost a ton of weight.

he had tears running down his face, and a tired look. he said nothing to you before closing the toilet lid, and flushing it, before standing up and washing his mouth out in the sink before walking past vey and matt and flopped down on matt's bed, all without a word.

you looked at matt with sadness in your eyes, but also a bit of confusion. matt and vey both walked into the bathroom, shutting it as you stood up and leaned against the sink. "what the fuck happened?" a voice no more than a whisper came out of your lips.

"he's been in a really bad place recently. he didn't tell me or nick why but he's been staying with a friend off campus these past couple days. and this guy is like a well known drug addict and he's the one who chris gets all his shit from. i guess chris smoked or took some stuff from him that had something in it, and he passed out in the guy's house. i tracked his phone because he wasn't calling me back or anything, got to the house, saw chris passed out on the ground in the living room. his guy was nowhere to be found, and i stayed with chris till he woke up, and took care of him until we drove back here."

matt explained everything and vey had gotten emotional at the thought of everything, her eyes welling up with tears as she sniffled, turning away from the both of you. you knew vey has had some experiences with lacing and drugs, all of that, from her family so the topic was sensitive to her.

matt rubbed her back and you stayed silent, just thinking. chris almost died. you knew chris obviously wasn't doing so good, but the thought of him passing out and just seeing how he looked made you distressed.

"when was this?" you asked softly as you looked up to matt's saddened face. "about 8 hours ago. he's been vomiting for the past 3. i'm thinking about taking him to the hospital if he doesn't stop. thankfully, the time periods in between his vomiting have gotten longer. i called nick and my parents already, and nick's on his way right now and my parents are heading over soon. i just hate knowing they're gonna see him like this."

your thoughts were quickly interrupted at the noise of someone banging on the dorm's door. matt opened the bathroom door, exiting it and opening the front to nick bursting in. "chris, oh my god." he said without another word as he walked over to chris who glanced up, sighing. "nick, i'm fine." his voice was almost nonexistent and came out raspy.

nick wrapped his arms around chris and sat down next to him. chris merely hugged him back, glancing over his shoulder, looking at you with distressed eyes. neither of you broke eye contact as tears welled up in your eyes. you hated crying in front of people.

you broke the eye contact as you coughed, looking up at the ceiling, blinking and trying to get rid of the blurry vision as you turned back into the bathroom. vey followed in after you, closing the door and rubbing your back as you covered your mouth, not being able to hold in the sobs anymore.

choked sobs and coughs bounced off the walls, and vey brought you into her arms, rubbing your back and hair, quietly reassuring you as you wrapped your arms around her, sobbing into her shoulder and neck. you were sure the triplets could hear you despite the meer piece of wood blocking you guys, but you didn't care.

you weren't one to cry for others but someone so close to you, chris more or less erupted more emotions from deep inside you that haven't been released in months.

you didn't know why you were crying like this over him. it's not like you guys were dating but the love in your heart, even if it's just a bit, overcame you.

after a couple minutes of vey whispering into your ear and rubbing your back, you had finally calmed down just a bit. "it's so fucking embarrassing i'm crying like this." you muttered into your hands as you broke your body away from vey's and sliding down the wall next to you, pulling your knees up to your chest.

she slipped down next to you, rubbing your knee. "it's not. at all. i need you to understand that what you're feeling is perfectly normal and it's a normal response to something as severe as this happening. hell, even i cried. and so did matt. he called me when he was lying next to chris, sobbing into the phone and praying that chris was going to wake up. we all understand how you're feeling, rosy. this isn't something small, this was serious. i'm happy you're allowing yourself to let these emotions out."

vey reassured you, making you feel a lot better. the thought of matt sobbing to her over the phone and praying for chris made your heart tighten with the ringing thought that chris had seriously almost died.

you took a couple moments to recollect yourself, before taking a deep breath. "it's gonna be so embarrassing when i walk out. the whole building probably just heard me crying." you laughed softly, and vey gave a sad smile, shrugging.

"probably. doesn't mean it was pointless though. c'mere." she stood up, taking your hand and bringing you up also. she ripped off a couple paper towels, wetting them and wiping your eyes and cheeks.

you had looked into the mirror, your face and eyes red and puffy, and dried mascara staining your cheeks before vey wiped it off. she rewet the towels before holding them against your eyes, instantly soothing your burning vision.

once she was finished, she tossed them into the trash. "you ready?" she softly asked, her hand hovering over the knob and you gave a slight nod. she opened it, matt waiting next to the door before his eyes flickered up, looking at the both of you. "you guys okay?" he softly asked the both of you as she nodded and you shrugged.

you looked over to the bed, seeing nick and chris in the same position, but now nick was rubbing chris's back as chris cried into his hands. your heart dropped again, he was crying because he heard you sob.

he looked up, his red puffy face similar to yours. "i- am so sorry. i don't know why i ghosted everyone, i don't know why i left, i don't know why i took anything that fucking bitch gave me. you were the only thing in my mind when i was doing everything, and i just couldn't control anything i did. i was stressed out over fucking everything. rosy, and everyone, im so sorry." while he was talking, he stood up and got close to you, cupping your cheeks, looking down at you.

in other instances, this would've been so embarrassing for the both of you, this action being very unrecognizable for the both of you, but right now, no one cared. all everyone cared about was, chris's wellbeing.

some time had passed, and you and vey had left. the triplets' parents had come and the both of you decided to give the family some space. matt had insisted you to stay to meet them, but you declined almost immediately. it's not like you didn't want to, but it was a big step for you.

that night, nick and matt had made a groupchat with you and vey and had told you guys that their parents insisted on bringing chris to the hospital. they told you he vomited again, and passed out due to dehydration. he woke up and they're probably staying the night in the hospital to make sure chris's vitals were stable, and for now they were.

vey had decided to come over and take your mind off of everything. you had thought about smoking, but decided not to because of everything today. so, you both resorted to making slime, skincare, eating, and watching movies.

it felt like a weight off your shoulders knowing chris was okay.

@muwapsturniolo @lovergirl4gracieabrams @m4ttg1rl @lypsiiii @tyummyz @sturniqlo @emely9274 @shadowthesim @mattsobvimyfav @sturnl0ve @wastelandzella @fallininlust @chrisslut04 @sophand4n4 @vainilladollie @slutforchrissturniolo2 @ncm9696 @snoopychris @sofieeeeex @chr0mehrts @cockettechris @iloveduckssm @stvrnioloslvt @sturn777 @priscillaog @allylovescody @sturniolo101 @mattssslutbby @mattybsgroupie @mattysketchup @m11rx @slut4brunettes @trevorsgodmother @chrislova @slut4christopherr @sturns-mermaid @oopsiedaisydeer comment to be added or removed.

[arlana-likes-to-write]

hello!!

tw drugs??

i have no idea if you take request for Natasha and daughter reader, but if you do, would you be willing to write about nat finding out the drugs addiction of reader and like the angst of a mother and then like happy ending where nat obviously helps reader to be clean again?

Leave a Light On

Warning: mention of death, past of abuse in the Red Room, substance abuse (drugs, alcohol), laced, drug buying, hallucinations, fighting, physical injuries,

Relationships: Natasha x reader (platonic), Natasha x Maria

Word Count: 4.1K

“Parker,” the boy jumped almost 10 feet in the air at Natasha’s voice. The Black Widow felt terrible for scaring the teen, but your absence worried her more. “Where’s my kid?” He looked at Ned and MJ, a confused expression on his face. As the seconds ticked by, her heart started to beat rapidly. The sound echoed in her ears.

“She’s not with us, Miss. Romanoff,” Peter said. “She said she couldn’t hang out because she was working on a school project.” MJ nodded.

“We haven’t hung out with her outside of school lately,” she said. The Black nodded, thanked the kids, and left them. There wasn’t much she could get out of them regarding your whereabouts. She needed to find you. The lies were stacking up.

I’ll be with Peter. I’m not hungry; I ate before. I’m sorry I’m late; I had to stay after school. Nat, I’m tired. I’m going to turn in early.

Natasha knew it was going to be difficult. She adopted you when she and her sister brought down the Red Room. You were so young when Natasha found you in a room. You looked so small. At that moment, Natasha wasn’t going to let you go.

The Black Widow found Tony in his lap. She grabbed the table from him and threw it onto the couch. “You know normal people say hello when they enter a room.”

“I need you to find my daughter,” he sat up in his chair. “Trace her phone, hack street cameras, anything. Just find her,” she pleaded. Tony nodded without a second thought. Natasha hated showing any weakness and hated asking for help of any kind, but she would do anything to find you.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The bass of the music was rattling your bones. The apartment was loud, sweaty, and overcrowded, but you never felt more alive. It reeked of alcohol, weed, and sex. As you stumbled through the party. People’s hands touched your body. Somehow, you got to the small kitchen and found your friend who brought you to this party. She was a sophomore in college, and right now, she had her tongue down some guy’s throat. You laughed and took the spoon out of the juice to fill your cup. Before you could sip the juice, a small shot glass was pushed into your free hand. “Take the shot, Tiny,” Heather yelled in your ear. You smiled at your friend and took the shot. It went down smoothly, and you chased it with your mixed drink. Everyone called you Tiny, from the Avengers, your friends at school, and the people you got high with. It was due to your small stature that kept you alive in the Red Room.

That place haunted your mind and body. There was no peace from the horrors you faced. The only time you felt at peace was when a strong drink was in your hand or a pill that would dissolve on your tongue.

“Here,” the guy Heather was kissing handed you a pill. It was light blue. “Take it,” he encouraged. There was no need for peer pressure. You took it. It tasted like blueberry as it dissolved on your tongue. You were ready for a fun night.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

You were alone. Somehow, you managed to leave the packed apartment and walk down the stairs. You sat there with your head on the wall while others came and went. No one stopped to see if you were okay. You weren’t. Your head was spinning, and there were a few missing memories. You had a shot, the pill you were given, and your first drink. You weren’t sure what you had after that. You were playing with a ring that rested on your right ring finger. It was a gift from Yelena. A ring that acted as a fidget toy. You could still hear the music from the apartment, but you sang your song.

“Poust vzegda boudyit solnse…” your voice slurred. It was the only light in the Red Room. You remembered your biological mother singing it to you as she held you close. Her soft voice covered the sound of gunshots and screams. Fuck the Red Room. Fuck that miserable place that broke you. Fuck Dreykov. Fuck it. Fuck all of it.

“Dorogoy,” you slowly raised your head. Eyes squinting at the person in front of you. Something was wrong. The stairwell you sat on felt too small - the walls were moving closer and closer to you. You tried to focus on the pattern on the wallpaper - a floral print but the flowers were moving, too. No, they weren’t just moving but blooming, stretching, and twisting, and the petals drifted towards you.

“Tiny,” that voice again called out. You knew that vice. That voice called so much pain and suffering. The voice robbed you and so many girls of their childhood. A hand touched your shoulder.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” you slapped the hand away and rushed to your feet. It took a moment for your feet to figure out what you wanted them to do. You stumbled your way down the last few steps and outside. The clear air helped clear your mind. You put your hood up and walked down the sidewalk. Glancing behind your shoulder, there was a car following you. They were going to bring you back. You could hear footsteps behind you.

It was a bad idea to quicken your pace. The mix of drugs and alcohol messed with your coordination. You stumbled, catching yourself on your palms. The pain moved through your arms. Again, you felt hands on you. “Net, net, otoydi (no, no, get off),” you yelled and tried to fight the hands off you. You couldn’t go back there. It would kill you.

“Hey,” the voice was quiet, and the hands left you. “Stop, you are going to hurt yourself.” The world around you started to spin. You couldn’t figure out which way was up or down. Bile began to form in your throat, and you rolled over to your side, throwing up the alcohol in your stomach. Your limbs felt heavy, and you were too weak to stop the hands carefully picking you up. “Poust vzegda boudyit solnse…” the voice whispered. Your head fell heavily against the person’s shoulder, and you drifted asleep.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

When you came to, there was a pounding in your head. Your mouth was dry, and it tasted like the drinks you had the night before. You groaned, and your stomach flipped. “Sweetheart,” Natasha’s voice echoed. Can you open your eyes for me?”

“No,” you moaned, squeezing your eyes shut.

“Why is that?” Her voice was soft and loving.

“I’m going to throw up,” Saliva pooled in your mouth. You heard movement and felt something placed on your lap.

“If you are going to be sick, it’s okay,” she ran her through your hair. You shook your head, which was a mistake as your stomach worsened. Being sick was a weakness. You weren’t weak. You were strong. “Come on, Tiny, if it will make you feel better, it’s okay.” You opened your eyes, grabbed the metal bowl, and threw up the contents of your stomach. Natasha robbed soothing circles on your back as you were sick. You slumped back once you were done, all your energy drained from your body.

“That’s probably not the last time you’ll be sick,” you weren’t sure when Helen opened the door and entered. “Your body is trying to expel the laced drugs in your system,” Laced? No, that was impossible. Heather won’t let you take something that was laced. “Do you want me to go over the damage you caused from what you took?” You’ve never seen her this angry at you. When you were first brought to the Tower, she had to give you a health exam. Her touch was so gentle, something you weren’t used to. “You’ll have to go to a rehab program.” It was like ice was injected into your veins. Going to a rehab program meant you had a problem. You were fine. You could stop if you wanted.

“I don’t need rehab,” you told the doctor. “It was a one-off. I’m fine.”

“Helen,” Natasha cut off the doctor before she could say more. “Can you give us a second?” Helen looked between you and the Black Widow. She nodded and closed the door behind her.

“I’m fine, Nat,” you said, playing with the blanket threads. You used it for movie nights and random hangouts around the Tower, a checked pattern of greens and blues. “It won’t happen again.” You saw her nod out of the corner of your eye.

“I believe you,” you slowly looked at her. She was smiling, a kind and bright smile that reminded you of when she saved you from the Red Room. The sirens were blaring, explosions rocked around you, and you smelt of death, but her smile as she held you close made you feel safe. “But if you lose your way, I’ll leave the light on.” You forced a smile.

When you first arrived at the Tower, you were terrified of everyone and everything. The only source of comfort was a small lighthouse nightlight that Natasha had. She gave it to you, and she learned that when you had it on, you needed her—you needed her to keep you safe. As you got used to living out of the Red Room control, you gave it back to her. She kept the light on, a reminder that she was always there.

“Okay,” you said. But you were okay. You had it under control.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

You lasted five days, clean of everything, even coffee, but the withdrawal was killing you. You were exhausted, snapped at everyone, and your body hurt. So, you gave in to the things that you knew would help. You bought a pack of cigarettes from Heather. Those helped to get you to 7 days. Until the nicotine couldn’t stop the shakes, you brought a gram of weed from Tyler, your dealer. That got you to 10 days. On the 11th day, you were desperate for it all to stop. Even when you managed to sleep, your mind created nightmares after nightmares. They made you relive your biological mother’s murder over and over again.

You bought something more substantial from Tyler and took it while you walked around the park. When the high hit and you walked back into the Tower, you saw Yelena going through the fridge. Dammit. You wanted to grab a snack and hide in your room until you were sober enough to be around people. “Tiny,” the blonde said. “I am going to make mac and cheese. Do you want some?” You were starving, but it was a bad idea to stay here. However, if you went to your room, it would look more suspicious. Without a word, you sat down at the kitchen island. “How was your day?” Her back was to you when she asked.

“Good,” you said. “We went for a walk,” Yelena placed a bowl before you. It took everything in you not to start giggling, even when you picked up the fork and mixed the hot sauce in the noodles. As you slowly ate, you felt Yelena’s eyes on you.

“Are you high?” She asked. You shook your head.

“Just high on life,” you laughed at your dumb joke. Yelena narrowed her eyes at you. “Damn tough, crowd,” you mumbled and slid off the chair to bring the rest of your food to your room.

“Tiny, get back here and tell me the truth.”

“You aren’t my mom,” you said.

“Then I’ll tell Natasha.”

“She isn’t my fucking mother either,” you regretted the words as soon as they left your mouth. Yelena grabbed your shoulder to stop you. It happened on instinct, you dropped your bowl and spun around. You grabbed onto Yelena’s wrist. You only let her go when she yelped in pain. The sound broke through the drug-induced haze in your mind. You dropped her hand.

With wide eyes and your heart beating, you stared at Yelena, who held onto her wrist. You were a monster, just like Dreykov said, just like your mother called you. “It’s okay, Tiny,” Yelena said. “I should not have grabbed you,” you saw the grimace of pain on her face. So you ran. You ran to your room and ignored the call of your name. The drugs in your system made your head feel fuzzy, and you stumbled a few times, but you made it. Slamming the door closed, you locked it and moved your dresser to block yourself in.

You stumbled onto your bed and heard knocking on the door. “Dorogoy,” it was Natasha. “Can you let me in?” You stayed frozen. “I’m not upset, no one is, but I need to know you are safe.”

“I am,” you managed to call out, wanting to give her some peace of mind. “I can’t open the door, Nat. I need a minute.” You heard her sigh.

“Okay, Yelena is fine, and I’m here for you. The light is always on.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

You stayed in your room until you knew everyone was asleep. Your stomach ached with hunger, and you were thirsty. The last time you ate was yesterday. You put your dresser back and carefully unlocked the door. You walked into the kitchen on quiet feet but froze when you heard voices. Someone was softly crying, and the other was trying to soothe them. You peeked around the corner and saw it was Maria and Natasha. The Black Widow was the one crying. You pressed your back against the wall and strained your ears.

“Baby, you have to breathe,” you heard Maria say. The relationship between the two was relatively new. It’s so new that Natasha hadn’t told you about it. You only knew that you caught them one night when you snuck back into the Tower after a party. “I know it hurts, but you will make yourself sick.”

“I don’t know how to help her,” Natasha’s voice shook at each word. “I feel the trouble coursing through her veins, but it’s got a hold on her,” you leaned against the wall and closed your eyes. “I can’t lose her. I don’t know what to do,” Maria sighed, and you waited with batted breath and wondered what she would say.

“You can’t help her if she isn’t willing to accept the help,” Maria softly spoke.

“It’s gonna kill her, Ria,” it felt like a snake wrapped around your lungs and squeezed tight. It was impossible to breathe. Even though you were in such a massive space as the Avenger Tower, you felt small. Once again, you ran back to your room to grab your wallet and took the stairs to the back exit of the Tower.

You weren’t sure where you were going. Each step felt heavy with guilt. “Hey, kid,” you looked at a man standing in an alley’s opening. “Want any?” He had a small baggie of pills. Without much thought, you handed him money and took the pills from him.

“Thanks,” you mumbled, walking with your hands in your pockets. If your mind wasn’t on a downward spiral, you knew buying from a random city corner was a bad idea. The pills looked sketchy, and a nagging feeling formed in the back of your skull. You walked down the sidewalk with the pills in your pocket, not able to take them, and stopped at a pay phone.

Fishing some quarters out of your wallet, you dialed Natasha’s phone number by memory and listened to it ring. “Hello?” She answered on the third ring. You were silent. “Who is this?” Even over the phone, you could tell she was still crying.

“Nat,” you answered.

“Hey Tiny, where are you?” You looked at the street corner and rattled off the closest intersection. “Are you on anything?” You closed your eyes and shook your head.

“Just the stuff from this afternoon,” you admitted. “I uh bought stuff, but I haven’t taken it.”

“What do you need?” It felt like the first person to ask you. Everyone thought they knew what you needed; no one asked what you wanted.

“You,” you answered. “Can you pick me up?” You heard her sigh in relief.

“Of course. I’ll be right there.”

“Thank you,” you whispered and hung up. You put your hood up as you felt the first drop of rain. It felt therapeutic as the rain began to pick up, and you waited at the corner for Natasha. Your mind was your worst enemy. Part of you wondered if she could come from you. Maybe you were more trouble than you were worth. You heavily considered taking the pills in your pocket.

But the rain silenced everything. The rain was steady, creating a soothing white noise that confronted you. The drum-like patter of the droplets hitting the roof calmed your racing mind. The water that hit the windows made a rhythmic beat. You loved the sound of cars splashing through the puddles. Your clothes stuck to your skin, and your hair was a mess. Still, you felt at peace. “Sweetheart,” you opened your eyes and saw Natasha standing before you with an umbrella. “Hi.”

She came when you called, and you pulled her into a hug. The hug was bone-crushing, and Natasha hugged you just as tight.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

When Natasha’s clothes were drenched like yours, you got into the passenger side, and the Black Widow ran to the driver’s side. She let out a sigh. “I didn’t expect the rain,” she said. “Or I’d bring towels.” You smiled and watched the rain run down the glass. “Do you want to go back to the tower?” She asked.

“I like the rain,” you answered instead. “For once, my mind was quiet,” Natasha said, starting the car and driving. “Where are we going?”

“Trust me,” you nodded. She drove in silence; the only sounds were the rain and the music on the radio. You leaned your head on the window and watched the rain. You picked some droplets, and they raced down the glass.

Finally, Natasha parked in front of an apartment building. “Why are we here?”

“Maria owns an apartment here,” Natasha unbuckled her seat belt. “She likes to have a place away from the craziness.” She turned off the car. “Follow me,” you exited the car and entered the complex. Natasha waved at the doorman and went straight to the elevator. You entered, and the Black Widow pressed the button on the roof. You began to hum the lullaby that your biological mother used to sing. It helped fill the silence. When the doors opened, Natasha grabbed your hand and pulled you to a small covering.

The metal roof over your head protected you from the rain, but it amplified the sound. It echoed slightly, which made it more intense and filled the space with a rich, immersive sound. You closed your eyes and allowed the sound to engulf you. Without opening your eyes, you put your hand in your pocket and handed the colorful pills to Natasha. You felt her take them. “Is Yelena okay?” you finally asked.

“Yeah, she is. Her wrist is just bruised. She’ll be fine tomorrow,” you nodded and opened your eyes, looking down at your feet. A pool of water started to form. “Tell me what’s happening, what’s been on your mind? Lately, you’ve been searching for a darker place to hide and that’s alright,” you looked at Natasha. “But if you carry on abusing, you’ll be robbed from us,” you licked your lips.

“I’m scared,” you admitted. “I’m so scared, Nat because the drugs silence his voice.” You knew she knew who you were talking to without saying his name.

“I know, baby girl, it’s so hard,” she took a few steps to get close to you. “You’ve been so strong, and you can move forward without that stuff.” You weren’t sure if you could. You relied so heavily on it.

“I need help. I can’t do this alone.”

“You aren’t alone. I’m here. I’m right here,” she said as she pulled you into her arms. Your body shook against hers as tears ran down your cheeks.

“I’m scared, mama. I’m so scared,” you whimpered. You were terrified, but you felt somewhat safe in her arms.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

3 Months

Your entire body hurt. There was a pounding in your head; the metallic taste of your blood filled your mouth, and you rested your head on the cool metal of the elevator. Groaning when the elevator stopped and you had to face the music. Your hood was up, and you stepped onto the floor. Glancing up slightly, you saw Maria in the kitchen. At least it wasn’t Natasha. Quietly, you walked to your room. “Hi, Tiny,” you groaned and stopped.

“Hi, Maria. I’m going to go to my room. I have a ton of homework,” you kept your head down.

“Why don’t you have something to eat before you start?”

“Not hungry” was the wrong answer. “I had a late lunch.” It was a half-life. You ate late because you were working on an assignment and hungry. But you needed to clean your face and put on makeup to cover the bruises.

“You know the rules, kid, you need to eat as soon as you get home from school,” God, you hated that rule right now. Bruce and Helen were worried about your weight while going through rehab. So after school, you had to eat a little snack. “Let me make you something,” you knew you weren’t winning this fight. You sat at the kitchen island with your head down and your bag by your feet. “How was school?”

“Good. I have an essay due at the end of the week,” your lip was aching from the repeated hits to the face. Maria placed a plate in front of you. It was a peanut butter sandwich.

“Kid, can you look at me?” You shook your head. “Come on, Tiny.” Sighing, you put your hood down and looked at her. You knew what she was seeing. Your lip was split. There was swelling around your nose, and the cuts on your cheeks were from the rings on Tyler’s hand.

“Don’t tell, Nat,” you broke the silence.

“FRIDAY inform Natasha she is needed in the med bay,” you groaned as Maria grabbed your hand and dragged you down to see Bruce. It was a blur as you sat on a medical bed, and Bruce cleaned and patched up your face. He determined your nose wasn’t broken, and you refused any pain medication. You were afraid to take any drugs as you were three months clean.

By the time Bruce was done, Natasha ran over to you. “Who did this to you?” she asked, gently cupping your face in her hands.

“You should see the other guy,” it was a poor attempt to joke because you couldn’t fight back. Tyler had some of his guys hold your arms. Maria gave you a pointed look over Natasha’s shoulder. “My old dealer,” you told them. “He’s been upset that I haven’t bought from him.” Natasha’s eyes turned stormy, and the look scared you. Maria took a quiet step closer as she saw the look of fear pass through your eyes.

“Names,” she said. Her voice was cold, and a shiver ran down your spine. It reminded you of orders given in the Red Room. You rattled off Tyler’s name and a few others. “I’ll be back.” Her hands left your face, and you felt cold.

“Mama,” you whimpered, and she stopped at the door. Can you stay? I need you to stay.” Everything hurt, and you were so scared you would use to stop it. Natasha’s face softened, and she walked back over to you. She sat down, and you slumped against her.

“I’ll handle it,” Maria said. She kissed Natasha’s cheek, then the top of your head. “Make sure you eat,” she teased. You nodded with a smile. Bruce came back in to give you ice, which Natasha held against your nose. She moved your hair and ran her fingers through it.

“I’m proud of you, dorogoy,” you hummed in question. “You needed something, and you asked for it.”

“You told me that you’ll leave the light on if I lose my way.”

[lexasimsverse]

meet ruth ★

she's a stripper who lives in the desert trying to escape her past but winds up needing to return home to face some demons that she had tucked away. along the way, she bumps into things where she finds herself doing the same very thing she's been running from.

i honestly see a lot of myself and my trauma in her so buckle up!

{tw: this story has a lot of mature themes and sexual content along with physical abuse being mentioned. other tw include: smoking, drugs, addiction, alcohol, sexual content, violence, assault, blood, death/murder, possible gore, guns/weapons, mental health issues/mentions. all trigger warnings will be shown as one word, for example - twalcohol. read at your own discretion!

my inspo for this story comes from listening to a lot of ethel cain + lana

[coco-loco-nut]

We Can’t Be Friends

Pairing: George Russel x Reader

Summary: George’s girlfriend, a former child actor, is not well liked by the public

TW: mentions of alcohol and drug abuse, implied child exploitation

A/n: going off of the more popular interpretation of the song (ari vs the public)

requests open!🫶 masterlist

———————

You just finished filming a short interview in a docuseries with some of your former colleagues, those who fell into the same trap and downfall as you did. You prefer not to air everything out, but you knew your statement would support the others.

The industry basically forced you into a drug and alcohol addiction, one that you thankfully beat, but you went from someone who was once loved to someone hated, just from how the media spun your name.

You met George at a hospital event -you now work as a biochemist and bioengineer- and he immediately recognized his childhood crush. You dated for a year before feeling strong enough to go public, but ever since he posted a very cute picture of you, the hate has started again.

“I’ll make a statement asking them to leave you alone,” George offers but you shake your head no. He hates seeing you upset, but both of you didn’t expect the backlash on you.

“They won’t understand, they could never even try. They will never know what it was like to grow up like that, even the docuseries won’t help,” you start to dismiss the thought.

“We can’t do nothing,” he tries to reason, wanting to protect you.

“I don’t want to tiptoe around the public, but I don’t want to hide, either way I’m feeding this fire,” you groan, running your hand through your hair as you pace the room. You had to call off of work today, the entrance to your townhome being blocked by paparazzi.

“The story is gonna die, and we’ll be alright,” George stands up and pulls you into a hug. In your mind you picture the public liking you again, waiting for their love again.

A few days later, George drags you out of the house for lunch, you had only been leaving for work. The two of you step out, a reporter immediately coming up to you. You ignore the first few, sitting in your silence.

“It’s just me and you, Baby girl,” George whispers to you, supporting you however you choose to respond.

“Y/n, is it true that you have been in and out of rehab for the past year? You are in and out of hospitals,” one reporter, who always hounds you, asks causing you to whirl around. You don’t want to argue, but you don’t want to bite, so you choose a confusing answer.

“You’ve got me misunderstood, but at least I look this good,” you smirk, watching their face scrunch in confusion, gripping their paper and pen, before continuing your walk.

The next day a clip of one of your short interviews drops, taken while you were in college, as a trailer for the docuseries release the following week.

~-~-~-

I don’t like how this industry painted me, but I’m still here hanging, just not what they made me. It’s almost like a daydream sometimes, finally leaving that world. I feel so seen, I am everything that I defined myself as, not all that the industry made me be. My truth and I may always sit in silence, but one day I hope I am brave enough to say it out loud. For now, it’s only me on the road after recovery, but maybe that’s all I need.

~-~-~-

buzzfeed.com/uk

A list of every child actor we need to apologize to after watching “Drugged: The Truth Behind the Lives of Child Actors”

1. Y/n Y/l/n

~-~-~-

“Are you sure you want to go out there?” George asks, looking at the crowds of journalists. You nod, tired of being silent and waiting for things to be better, not caring about feeding the fire anymore.

“Let’s go,” you release a shaky breath, stepping out behind your boyfriend as he walks you to work.

“Y/n! Anything to comment regarding the documentary that’s been released and the allegations made by your former colleagues?” A journalist asks, the rest hoarding, pens at the ready.

“Actually, I do. You owe us an apology. Villainizing children who needed someone like you to expose how awful our working conditions were, that’s sick and cruel. You wrote lies about us, and instead of apologizing, you want to ask us for statements and exploit our names more? You’re sick. We can’t be friends,” you chem them out before continuing on your way to work. A part of you will always wait for their love, but you are tired of waiting for them to like you.

“You’re a badass. I hope they will see you are the biochemist and bioengineer, not the child actor. You’ve come so far and I’m so proud,” George says once your breathing steadies from the adrenaline.

“Thank you, Georgie,” a small part of you wants to flip them off behind you, just like you would’ve done ten years ago, but you don’t, finally moving forward.

[yandereforme]

Batfam/DC Masterpost part 2

Long posts

Yandere Batfamily x Neglected Reader

Singer, Martha Lookalike, Single Mom reader AU (check reblogs for more parts)

Yandere Mafia Batfamily (check reblogs for more parts)

Yandere Batfam x Batmom (check reblogs for more parts)

Yandere Batboys

One shots

Yandere Batfam x future reader

Yandere Jason x Joker’s kid

Yandere Batfam x Luna Lovegood Reader

Yandere Batfamily x Time traveling reader

[starkercreamery]

— tw: mentions of dr*gs, alcoholi*m, reh*b

Recovering drug addict and alcoholic Tony where everyone is almost ready to give up on him (or has given up entirely) until rehab aid, Deaf and Mute, Peter Parker is assigned to him. There's no frustated shouting, harsh words of reprimand, just gentle coaxing, understanding touches. There's no judgemental eyes just soft sad doe-like ones whenever he throws up or screams in frustration. Peter stays with him. Doesn't give up on him. Along the way Tony helps him too, enrolls him to speech recovery therapy, gets him checked out for possibilities to get his hearing back. It was so easy to help Peter. And little by little, the rehab aid became a friend, then a best friend, it gradually, slowly built until Tony realizes he had fallen for Peter. Hard. And he wants to be the best man for the kid.

Slowly but surely, his rehab went better than the past years, his withdrawal lessened, his body healthier. At the same time, he builds Peter a hearing aid, and Tony will always remember the look on his face when he first heard Tony's voice. With the help of the hearing aid and speech therapy, Peter gradually starts speaking again. His first work? "Tony." And god, Tony could've died happily when that first happened.

They took care of each other. Helped each other learn and grow. Until Tony can't do it anymore and confesses. He gets the sweetest "I love you too," in return.

He ends up marrying Peter a year later after his rehab. He wins countless rewards. His paper that he worked on with Peter regarding his condition got recognized. And when he wins a Nobel Prize, he stands at the podium, looking healthier than his previous years, gold ring on his finger as he says:

"First of all, I'd like to thank my life partner Peter Stark for helping me find my voice again. If it weren't for him, I wouldn't be here— I'd probably be wearing something orange and doing a really hard time— but all thanks to him, he's given me reason to be better and be the best man to take care of him. I love you so much, Pete. Once again, My Mrs. Stark, everyone."

[void-of-unparalled-chaos]

The Double-edged Blade of Chance

Not everyone gets to meet their soulmate. It was just a fact of life. There was always a chance, but chance was a double-edged blade. 

Jason quite literally runs into his soulmate at the young age of eight.

“Sorry! I thought you were a ghost!”

"Why would I be a ghost?”

  

@deadonmayn Day 5: Soulmates | Pretend | Jason and Danny were childhood friends | "I never thought I'd see you again."

TW: Major Character Death, Child Neglect, Mentions of Abuse, Mentions of Drug Addiction, Depression

AO3 link

   Not everyone gets to meet their soulmate. It was just a fact of life. There was always a chance, though. Maybe it was small, but it was a chance. For those born with black ink scrawled across their wrists, it was a hope. A perfect match who could understand you on every level straight down to your atoms was waiting, and maybe you would meet them today! Or tomorrow. Or a year from now. Or… never.

   Sometimes, life is cruel. Sometimes, black letters burn and scar. Sometimes, your soulmate dies before you can ever meet them. Words on your wrist were a chance, but chance was a double-edged blade. 

   On average, most people didn't meet their soulmates until their twenties or thirties. Jason Todd was not most people.

   Jason quite literally runs into his soulmate at the young age of eight. Lungs burning and legs shaking with adrenaline, he sprints with his singular pilfered apple. He's not being chased, but it's better to create distance between him and the scene of his crime. If the past six months as a street kid has taught him anything, it's that caution is a virtue. Caution keeps you alive. 

   He falls back into muscle memory, allowing his feet to carry him through familiar shortcuts. Jason rounds another corner into a dirty back alley only to ram into something face first. There's a startled yelp and before he knows it Jason is horizontal. The only thing separating him from the ground is a scrawny torso. Jason's about to throw himself away from the poor schmuck when there's a burst of pain in his back. He rolls and lands on the asphalt with a pained groan.

  The other kid scrambles away from him with panicked, pale blue eyes. He looks the same age as Jason, skinny like a twig with a loose-fitting NASA shirt and unruly black hair. If Jason had seen him walking down the street, he would never have guessed he knew how to throw a punch. 

   The kid scans him up and down, suddenly embarrassed, “Sorry! I thought you were a ghost!”

   Jason is so busy nursing his kidney that he doesn't register the significance of the words. Instead, he snaps back with incredulity, “Why would I be a ghost?”

   The kid stares at Jason with wide eyes. His mouth opens and closes, gaping like a fish out of water. Whatever. Let him have his crisis, it's not Jason's problem. He dusts off his apple and stands to leave.

   "Wait!" 

   Jason yanks his sleeve back out of the other kid's grip, "Don't touch me!"

   "Sorry…" he shrinks back and the expression on his face is so heartbroken that Jason almost feels bad, "Please don't go!"

   Jason ignores him. He has things to do and places to be. Winter will be coming soon, and his abandoned apartment has very little in terms of blankets or jackets. A cold street kid is a dead street kid. 

   “Just-” the kid cuts in front of him. Jason stops short. Twig kid rolls up his sleeve, holding his wrist so close to Jason’s face that he couldn’t look away if he tried, “Look!”

   Jason freezes. His eyes scan over the words once, twice, and then a third time. 

   Why would I be a ghost?

   Jason can feel the scowl evaporate from his face, replaced by a softness he doesn’t know what to do with. Gently, ever so gently, he brushes over the words with his thumb. He doesn’t need to look at his own wrist to verify. Now that his head isn’t so far up his ass, the words the other boy uttered finally click and he knows that this is his soulmate.

   “My name is Danny!”

    Jason lifts his eyes to meet his soulmate’s. Danny’s grin is brighter than the sun itself. Something unfurls when he sees that smile. His lips tick upwards.

   “I’m Jason.”

   And so begins a beautiful friendship.

   Danny’s parents were… interesting to say the least. Jason had never met them himself, but he sure heard about them a lot. The two were self-proclaimed ghost hunters, and Mrs. Fenton was a trained martial artist. They had taught Danny from a young age to defend himself and instilled a fear of ghosts while they were at it, hence Jason being floored with a kidney punch.

   Other than that, the Fentons were hands-off. They didn’t pay much attention to Danny or his older sister, Jazz, so the two were mostly left to their own devices. Jazz couldn’t entertain Danny all the time, so he had taken to slipping out of the apartment to explore. 

   Jason may have been young, but even so, he had an inkling that the Fenton parents could have been doing a better job… well… parenting. Then again, it wasn't as if Jason had room to talk. Willis’ form of parenting had been more fists than words, painting out the rules of the house with black and blue bruises. Catherine had been good to Jason, even living under the smog of Willis Todd’s anger. She had taught Jason to cook (recipes he still knew by heart) and would read to him late into the night, fingers skimming old pages (Jason still carried the old, battered copy of The Little Prince with him, one of the few belongings he grabbed before fleeing CPS). Even under the drug-induced haze, his mom had tried her best. When she became too ill to do much of anything, Jason paid it forward as best he could. 

   There were some benefits to all of this. With the Fentons paying so little attention to anything outside of work, Danny could sneak supplies to Jason no problem! Suddenly issues like food or clean water were no longer as pressing, and Jason had a lot more free time. Naturally, he spent it with Danny. Jason taught Danny how to slip in and out of Gotham’s shadows unnoticed, and Danny taught Jason all of the things he learned in school. Danny would tell Jason stories written in the stars such as Orpheus’ lyre and Orion the hunter. In return, Jason would read his battered copy of The Little Prince to him under the trees in the park.

   Like all good things, it had to come to an end. 

   It happens a little over a year after their fateful meeting. Danny arrives at their spot dragging his feet, eyes watery. Jason abandons his book on the grass beside him in favor of rushing to meet his soulmate, who all but collapses sniffling into his arms. They sit in the shade of their tree, Jason running his hands through Danny’s hair as he cries into his dirty shirt.

   “What happened?” Jason asks once the other boy has calmed some.

   “We’re moving.”

   “What?”

   “Mom and Dad want to move someplace in Illinois. Something about ectoplasm readings. They said we’re moving out by the end of the month!”

    It feels like the ground drops from underneath Jason, nothing but a yawning chasm beneath his feet. Moving? To Illinois?

   The tears return to Danny’s eyes with a vengeance, “I don’t want to move! I don’t want to leave you!”

   Jason sets his jaw, tugging Danny back into a hug. He swallows the lump in his throat with false bravado. “It’ll be okay, Danny. You wanna know why?”

  Danny makes an inquisitive noise, wiping his face on his shirt as Jason pulls away. 

   Jason reaches for Danny’s hand, turning his palm up to the sky. He stretches his arm out next to Danny's, their soul marks brushing next to each other. 

  “We’re soulmates, Danny. The universe decided that we are two halves of a whole. Fate decreed that we are meant to be together,” Jason poured the conviction into his words, “We’re soulmates, and soulmates are magic. Even if you leave for weeks, months, or years, I know we will find each other again. We’ll be together someday.”

   Danny gawked at him, wide eyes a pantomime of when they first met. He stared at Jason, and then- 

   “You read too many books, Jason.”

   Jason rolled his eyes good-naturedly, shoving Danny into the grass. Danny giggled as Jason fell beside him with a huff. They stared up at the branches of the trees. The leaves swayed in the breeze. Jason follows them in captivating circles, his soulmate a soothing presence beside him.

   “You really mean it though?” Danny asks.

   “Mean what?”

   “That we’ll be together again?”

   “Of course,” Jason easily confirms.

   It’s the most sure Jason has been of anything in his life. 

   With Danny gone, there is no steady supply of food or blankets. Jason quickly finds himself reacquainted with hunger and desperation. After the third consecutive night of dumpster diving with no reward, he decides something has to change. Armed with a tire iron, Jason makes money the only way he can. 

   Six months after Danny leaves, Jason steals the tires from the batmobile. Batman found this more amusing than aggravating, and the next thing Jason knows, he’s stepping into the role of Robin. Jason! As Robin! Who would have thought?

   The new gig comes with some super awesome advanced tech. With all his work for Bruce, Jason figures it's only fair that he gets free reign with the batcomputer, or as Jason likes to call it, his best chance at finding Danny. 

   The batcomputer is one of the most advanced pieces of technology in the world. It's hooked up to satellites, has access to almost every database, and can run ID checks in seconds. Theoretically, there should be nothing stopping Jason from finding Danny. And yet…

    It's like he’s disappeared.

   All evidence of the Fenton family only dates to before their move. It doesn’t make any sense! There should be paper trails or social media posts or something! Anything! Jason searches for weeks but it’s as if Danny stopped existing as soon as he moved.

   Jason doesn’t give up. There has to be something he’s missing, one little thread poking out of the seams. A single tug is all it takes. He just has to find it. He keeps looking.

   He keeps looking for years. 

   He hangs on to hope.

   Jason is fourteen when his hope shatters.

   The night starts off normal. Jason dons the Robin suit and joins Bruce on patrol. They run through Gotham, stopping an arms deal and tying up a few muggers. Jason stops to take a breath, looking out over his city. 

   Jason loves this. He yearns for the whip of the wind in his face as he swings between gargoyles and fire escapes. He likes to help people, to defend others from the scumbags that think they rule the streets. Jason loves being Robin. Danny being here with him is the only thing that could make it better. That’s why Jason stays up high near the stars. It makes him feel closer to Danny, wherever he is.

   Burning pain makes Jason stumble in his steps. He clutches his wrist with gasping breath, wondering what he’s been hit with and when. Quickly, he removes his glove, throwing it to the floor.

   His stomach fills with icy cool dread.

   “No…” Jason mutters, eyes wide as saucers as the black ink on his wrist begins to fade, “No no no no no-”

   He digs his fingers hard into the words as if that will stop the color from leaching away.

   “No! Don’t do this! Please, Danny, don’t-” his voice cracks with a sob as the black becomes a pale grey, “NO!  You're stronger than this, you jerk! Don’t give up! Fight!”

   Bruce lands on the roof with him. He says something, but Jason isn’t paying attention. 

   “Don’t… don’t leave me, Danny. Don’t leave me alone.”

   Jason would normally never cry in front of Bruce, but he doesn’t care about Bruce right now.

   “You can’t leave yet! I’m supposed to find you! Do you hear me, you asshole?! You're not allowed to leave!” 

    The words are nothing but pale scars. It’s over. It’s done. The burning fades to a numb nothingness. Jason throws his head into his forearm and screams.

   Nothing will ever be the same.

   Bruce takes Jason home. He refuses to speak, not even to Alfred when the butler greets him with the offering of a hug. Jason walks right past his open arms to the bathroom and takes off his suit. Jason doesn’t feel like Robin right now. Jason doesn’t feel like anything.

   He showers just to be done with it, unfeeling of the ice-cold spray. Like a preprogrammed machine he runs through his routine.  Water. Shampoo. Soap. Rinse. Dry. Jason heads straight to his room when he’s done, not even bothering to brush his teeth. Burying himself under his bed covers, he cries until he passes out from exhaustion.

   It doesn’t get any easier. 

   Jason pushes the misery down and gets through the next day one step at a time. Days turn into weeks. Weeks turn into months. He goes to school, forcing himself to pay attention rather than sink into tempting numbness. Danny would have been so excited that Jason was in school. Danny would have wanted him to learn. 

   He comes home to Wayne Manor feeling, ironically, like a ghost. Alfred’s food tastes like chalk. Dick’s endeavors at movie nights and days out are about as tempting as swimming in the polluted harbor. He still joins Bruce as Robin, but he leaves the batcave feeling angry, hitting harder than he’s ever hit before. As if that will change anything. As if that will bring Danny back. 

   Sometimes, Jason draws over the scarred words on his wrist with a black marker. He pretends that Danny is still out there somewhere in bumfuck Illinois, waiting for him. It helps.

__________________

   Danny Fenton was unlucky. The very first sign was his workaholic parents with their conditional attention and lack of safety precautions, leading to his eventual early demise (Also known as sign one hundred and twenty-six, not that Danny was counting). Then there was the whole Oh Shit I’m a Ghost revelation quickly followed by the Oh Shit My Parents Want to End Me realization. Danny could only assume that he pissed off some ancient deity in a past life. 

   So yes, Danny was extremely unlucky, but he did have one thing going for him: Jason. 

   How many people got to meet their soulmate so early in life? Perhaps all of his luck had been invested in Jason. Jason with his vibrant blue eyes and dirty hair. Jason with the soft voice he used for Danny alone. Jason with his stubborn hold on childlike wonder despite being faced with the worst Gotham had to offer. 

   Danny may be unlucky, but Jason made him feel like the luckiest guy on Earth.

   He thought about Jason frequently. Idly tracing the words spread across his wrist, Danny would let his mind drift. Sometimes, he relived old memories. Other times he dreamed of their future together. 

    He imagined moving out of his parent's house and into one of his own. Jason would move in with him, warm and safe for once in his life. He’d be free to focus on learning like he so obviously wanted. Danny would go to work and Jason would go to school, but they would always come back together at the end of the day. Jason would pull out a book and Danny would curl against his side. Jason would get that adorable scowl on his face when something happened he didn’t like, and Danny would kiss it off of him with so much sweetness that Jason would forget what had annoyed him in the first place. 

   The honeyed kisses were a new addition to the fantasy, but not an unwelcome one. 

   Danny also thought about the present. He wondered what Jason was doing now. Was he still holed up in that awful abandoned apartment? Did he have warm enough clothes for the upcoming winter? Did he find enough food to last him the week? Did Jason feel Danny die? He must have been so scared…

   Moving away from Jason was the worst thing to ever happen to Danny, including the portal accident. Four states away, there wasn’t much he could do to help his soulmate, and he had no way to contact him, no way to check on him. His parents barely left the lab let alone the house, so a family trip to Gotham was out of the question. He had thought about flying there himself after the whole dying and becoming a halfa thing, but between the ghosts coming through the portal and his parents, he couldn’t leave Amity Park unprotected. 

   Danny thought he had a solution to the issue when he met Clockwork. While they may have started off on the wrong foot, these days the two were on better terms. Danny would even go so far as to call him a friend. Perhaps Clockwork would be willing to help a guy out and pause time for a bit. Only for a few hours! Just enough time for Danny to return to Gotham, find Jason, and establish some form of contact. Surely that wasn’t too tall of an order!

   Evidently, it was. Even after bargaining, pestering, and begging for what felt like hours (it could have been days or it could have been minutes, time was weird in Clockwork’s lair), Clockwork still refused. 

   Danny tried Nocturn next. It was more out of desperation than anything. His relationship with the ancient was still rocky, and he wasn’t expecting much to come from it. To his surprise, Nocturn agreed to help him but only once. Just one dream. Just one chance. 

   Danny is so excited he has trouble falling asleep. Eventually, he gives up and knocks back some melatonin. He’s willing to see the ceiling children if it means he also gets to see Jason. Danny closes his eyes.

   When he opens them, he is standing in a library. It’s fancy, fancier than Gotham’s library. The shelves are decorative polished wood and filled with books in better condition than any Danny has seen in one before. One wall is bare of any books or shelves. A stone fireplace with glass doors resides against it, exuding a comforting heat that makes Danny’s eyes droop even while asleep. The couches and chairs near the pit are so plush and pristine that Danny is certain this is a private library. No way would any public seating be this clean.

   It's all very nice, but not nearly as nice as the sight of the teenager residing on the furniture. The round baby fat that had shaped his face had begun to make way for a chiseled jaw. He's put on weight, no longer as gaunt as Danny remembers with more muscle. The skinny, starving kid Danny had known is no more.

   He's older now, almost unrecognizable, but that furrow in his brow as he reads and the slightly crooked nose gives him away. This is Jason. Danny's Jason. 

   "Jay!"

   Jason startles, dropping his book. He scrambles to his feet, tense as he stares uncomprehendingly at Danny. It hurts to not be recognized, but Danny understands. He looks different too.

   "...Danny?" 

   Danny can't find the words to respond so he settles for a smile, opening his arms in invitation. 

   Jason catapults into them. They clutch onto one another. The embrace is familiar but different, arms lankier than they used to be. Jason shakes like he’s crying. Danny thinks he might be too.

   Jason finally pulls away, hands running over Danny’s shoulders and arms,  "This… this isn't real. I'm dreaming."

   Danny laughs, "Well that depends on your definition of real. It may be a dream, but I'm still here."

   Jason’s hands raise to cup Danny’s face, "You died.”

   "Yeah,” Danny can’t help but lean into Jason’s palms, fingers rising to brush over his soulmate’s.

   "I don't care if it isn't real, I-" Jason swallowed. He closed his eyes, pressing his forehead against Danny’s, "Can we just… pretend it is?"

   "Of course, Jay."

   Jason plants a kiss on his forehead and drags him over to the couch. They collapse onto the cushions, Jason’s chest breaking Danny’s fall and strong arms wrapping around him.

   "I missed you," Danny says into his shirt.

   "Not as much as I missed you."

   "You look better. You look like you've been taking care of yourself."

   "Sometimes."

   "Only sometimes?"

   Jason laughs.

   For the next hour or so, Jason tells him about his life as Batman’s sidekick, Robin. Life in Wayne Manor has been beneficial for him. His smile is fuller and more carefree as he talks about his latest patrol than it ever was when he was living in the apartment. He seems happy in a way that Danny rarely saw.

   "I'm so proud of you, Jay."

   Jason doesn't say anything in reply, but he doesn't have to. His wet eyes are response enough. He's quiet for so long that Danny's convinced he's broken him. 

   Then Jason leans in, slowly, oh so slowly. Danny's heart flutters. He closes his eyes, tilting his head forward. He prepares himself to feel the press of lips against his own and then-

    His alarm goes off. 

    Danny's eyes fly open, surveying his room in frustration. He never got Jason's number. Fuck.

   There’s nothing to be done except to continue on with life. Between school and ghost fights Danny still finds time to pester Clockwork. It’s the same song and dance each time but Danny is nothing if not persistent. Occasionally, his attempts are rewarded with glimpses into his soulmate's life. Just little everyday things like Jason doing his homework or cooking with an older man in a suit. This of course led to Danny pushing for more, something like an actual conversation or contact information, all of which Clockwork refused to provide. It didn’t stop Danny from asking. 

   If Clockwork truly wanted Danny to stop then he shouldn’t have rewarded his behavior in the first place.

   It's not long after Nocturn’s favor that Danny finally wears the old cog down.

   “Come on, Clockwork! Please?” Danny whines, tugging on the ancient’s cloak, “I just want to talk to my soulmate!”

   Clockwork ignored him, peering through another screen.

    “It’s not like we haven’t already met! How could there possibly be any harm in us talking?”

   Clockwork stopped, considering. This had never happened before! Danny waited with bated breath.

   “I’ll let you see him-”

   Danny cheered, happily doing loop-de-loops in the air. 

   “I wasn’t finished,”

   Danny stopped cheering.

   “I’ll let you see him, but you can’t interfere.”

   “Interfere? Interfere with what?”

   Clockwork frowned, “Some things are destined to be. If I take you to him, you can’t stop what is about to happen. For better or worse. Are you sure this is what you want?”

   Danny stilled, considering. This didn’t sound like he was going to talk to Jason. It seemed like this would be a mere passive observance. It wasn't much different from watching Jason through Clockworks’s portals. Whatever. Danny would take what he could get.

   “I’m sure.” Anything to see Jason again.

   “I foresaw as such.”

   Danny barely has time (heh time) to register the sad look Clockwork shoots his way before he’s portaled out of the ghost’s lair. One blink he is staring at the gears and cogs in the walls, then next he is standing in a warehouse. Alone.

   “Clockwork?”

   There’s no response, so Danny investigates. It's hot. Hot enough that Danny feels like he is sweating despite his intangibility. The warehouse is filled with boxes upon boxes. As he wanders further in, he begins to hear signs of life. He peers between the crates.

   A few musclemen are unloading more crates to the floor. Someone out of sight sounds like they’re laughing. No not laughing. Full-blown manic cackling. That’s a villain's laugh if Danny has ever heard one.

   He peaks around the corner to get a better view and nearly reels back. That’s a clown. A fully dressed clown. Green hair, white face paint, and all.

   Danny hates clowns.

   “What? What’s going on here?”

   Jason!

   Danny looks over his shoulder in the direction of the footsteps.

   “Just step over here and you’ll understand everything, Robin.”

   A blonde woman rounds the corner, Robin, Jason, following close behind. They walk past Danny and right into the clown. 

   “What?!” Jason leaps between the woman and the gun lime-flavored Mr.Mime is aiming squarely at her chest, “But you said…”

   “I lied.” 

   The woman is aiming a gun at Jason’s head. Danny growls, but it goes unheard.

  “I can’t afford to have you stirring up trouble. I’ve been dipping into the medical funds myself. If you blow the whistle on the Joker, the investigation will certainly uncover my embezzling. Sorry about that, kid. Looks like you picked the wrong person to trust. ”

   “Clockwork,” Danny asks the open air, “what is this?”

   Jason is surrounded but his eyes are solely focused on the woman. He looks devastated.

   “What should we do with him?” the woman asks the clown. 

   “Something I’ve wanted to do for years,” The clown lets out another one of those awful cackles. 

   Danny doesn’t think it would be possible to hate this guy more than he already does, but then he pistol whips his soulmate across the chest hard enough that he hits the ground.

   Jason gets up again. He’s always been tenacious, Danny thinks as he watches him punch the clown in the gut. He feels a glimmer of satisfaction. Jason will be okay. He’s giving the newest additions to Danny’s shitlist a solid beat down, and Danny gets a front-row seat.

   But then one of the gym bros knocks Jason to the floor again. He follows it up with a kick to the ribs. Jason lies there heaving, and suddenly Danny isn’t so certain anymore.

   The clown approaches him, dragging a crowbar against the concrete with a harsh scraping sound.

   “This is going to hurt you a lot more than it does me.”

   Danny tries to rush forward. He wants to tear that crowbar out of the clown’s hand and hit him so hard that he loses his teeth. He wants to grab Jason by the collar of that stupid outfit and fly him far away to safety. Danny wants to, but he can’t. His feet are rooted to the ground. His arms refuse to lift from his sides. His head won’t swivel on his neck. Danny can’t even switch off his invisibility. All he can do is blink as the crowbar careens into Jason’s ribs.

   “You can’t interfere, Daniel.”

   “Clockwork,” Danny grits out, quiet and desperate, “Clockwork, please.”

   He feels a hand squeeze his shoulder, “All is as it should be.”

   No no no no no no no no no no no no no-

   Danny isn’t sure how long he’s there, frozen uselessly in place as the maniac clown brings the crowbar down on Jason’s body over and over and over again. Eventually, he seems to get bored and decides to leave Jason to the mercy of a bomb. With a grand flourish to the ever-so-helpful timer, he leaves Jason bleeding on the floor. That woman is there too, but Danny doesn’t care about her. 

   Finally, Danny can move. He collapses next to Jason, cradling his beaten face in his hands and murmuring nonsensical platitudes. Jason’s breath wheezes shallowly, unseeing gaze fixed far away. 

   The clock ticks down. 

   Jason doesn’t make it to six minutes. 

   Danny chokes back a sob as the words on his wrist burn. With utmost care, he brushes Jason’s eyelids shut. Danny presses a kiss to his forehead. It still feels warm against his own ice-cold lips. Taking Jason’s limp hand in his own he leans back. He waits. He hopes. 

   He doesn’t have to wait long. 

   Danny almost thinks that Jason’s- no, the body’s eyes have opened once more. The color gives him pause though. Vivid green eyes like his own blink open in place of blue. A pale, wispy figure sits up, legs remaining within the corpse as if superimposed. The domino mask that had covered his face has been replaced by what looks like permanent grease paint. The Robin uniform is a mess even in death. The holes and tears have carried over, but thankfully it's no longer bloodstained. Jason’s wounds are all but gone except for a single glowing ectoplasmic scar running from his hairline down to his cheek.

   The newly formed ghost’s chest heaves in a mimicry of desperate breathing. Danny remembers it from when he first died. He had also panicked at the lack of oxygen in his lungs. It's hard to break such an ingrained instinct. 

   Danny feels his soul mark tingle, and though he doesn't look away from his soulmate he can see the green glow of the words in the corner of his eye. 

   “Jason?” Danny drops the corpse’s hand in favor of reaching for Jason’s.

   Jason’s eyes whip around wildly, landing on Danny. His chest slows to a stop, “Danny?”

   “Yeah, Jay,” Danny lets out a broken laugh, tears pooling in his eyes, “It’s me.”

   “Danny!” Jason lunges for him wrapping his arms around his waist, “I never thought I’d see you again,” he choked out, voice watery with emotion.

  Danny clutches him back, gloved fingers curling into the fabric of his cape, “I wish it were under better circumstances. I’m sorry, Jason,” Danny sniffs, tears soaking into the fabric of Jason’s shoulder, “Fuck, I’m so sorry.”

   “It’s okay! Well, not really,” They pull back to look at each other. Jason tucks a strand of hair behind Danny’s ear, fingers lingering to trace his jaw, “but I get to see your pretty face again so I can’t complain.”

   Danny flushes green but still manages to level Jason with a look, “That’s stupid and you know it! You have every right to complain you just-” 

   Danny cuts himself off with a small, distressed noise. Danny has died before. He knows what it’s like. And now Jason has too. They both know. There are no words.

   “Yeah…” Jason trails off, eyes lingering on his body, “Yeah. But you're here, right? You found me!"

   Danny smiles, cupping his soulmate's face in both hands, “Always,” he presses a chaste kiss to Jason’s lips. Even after it ends their foreheads remain touching. 

   “I missed you,” the grin Jason gives him could only be described as dopey.

   “Not as much as I missed you,” he teases back.

   Jason pulls him into another hug. They hold one another until their tears finally dry up. It reminds Danny of the good old days, running rampant through Gotham’s streets and finding solace from everything awful in each other. 

  Suddenly Jason starts to giggle. Danny doesn’t know why but his joy is contagious and soon Danny is snickering alongside him.

   “Why are you laughing?” Danny asks between unneeded breaths.

   Jason slips his tattered glove off, displaying his soulmark with a wiry grin, “I just realized I’m a ghost!” Jason giggles again, “And so are you!”

    “Why would I be a ghost?” Danny deadpans, which only causes Jason to laugh harder.

   Danny glances at the clock. One minute. “We should leave.”

   Jason nods, standing up before Danny can even move and offering his hand. Danny takes it, rising to his feet. Their fingers remain linked together as they phase through the wall of the warehouse. They turn to watch it blow with a sense of finality. The flames licking the sky feel like an end, but also a new beginning. 

   Danny turns away from the ruins and focuses. His fingers sharpen and tear through the fabric of reality, opening a swirling green portal into the Infinite Realms. 

   He holds the portal open with one hand, extending the other back out for Jason to take, “Together?”

   “Together,” Jason’s fingers clasp his own.

   This time, they don’t have to pretend. 

[marrrrss]

dad! Voight x Kid! Reader request —

Voight has to deal with a traumatized kid he recently took under his care. Maybe he brings them to the department and they see someone/something that freaks them out so he calms them down <3

♡ no pressure. you don't have to do it if you don't want to.

Next time call me kiddo

Dad! Hank Voight x Kid! Reader

Fluff

Summary: request

TW: kid has some traumas pills, drugs, alcohol (mentioned)

Writers note: did a minor minor tiny tiny change to the request. Enjoy!

Word count: 1306 words

**english's not my first language**

(Gift's not mine)

Y/n. A teen that was found by the intelligence team of Hank Voight during a case. Drugged and beaten up by her parents. Addicted to pills and alcohol. Since a small toddler watching the parents drugged as hell and the dad beating mom. The dad got busted by his drug deal buddies and the mom went in with him due to being into the drug deal with him. Love in sickness and in health and drug deals.

The interrogation of the dad made Hank's blood boil. Not literal.

"you know y/n is going into the system right? You and your lady will die in a room smaller than this" the agent says with his rough voice pointing around the interrogation room

"y/n was supposed to never happen. The kid drugs herself? Then what. It's on the family blood" the dad says with a grin making Hank's vision becomes red. Red with anger. It takes everything to not kill this guy in this interrogation room.

This was 4 months ago. Hank chose to take the kid in instead of seeing the kid going through the system and never getting out or getting the help y/n needs. Or probably what would happen. Ending up in the streets getting the addiction worse.

For the past 5 months your life changed completely. School, rehab, therapy. Repeat. Even if you wanted to find anything around Hank's house nothing was around. Hank hide all the alcohol and medical pills to make sure no relapse would happen (of course not your mental health medication).

Hank became the family you never knew you had or deserved. He gave you a safe space , a shoulder to cry on and a group of people that care for you. More than you ever thought.

One evening you leave school earlier because one of your teachers got sick. Hank was supposed to go pick you up but as you left earlier you walked to the station that wasn't too far away.

Getting there you great Trudy and ask her if you can go up to intelligence which she with a "go on, and don't bother them!".

Entering intelligence you notice the space oddly quiet and empty. Getting further into the unit you see the border full of pictures of probably a case and you freeze when you see the photos of what you assume are the dead people on the case. Blood all over their face or Simply pale. Freaking out you get back downstairs and leave going home . 'why didn't I call him' goes Trought your mind as you walk back to Hank's home. 'Damnit I should have called or texted before appearing announced on the station'

As you enter the home, back in the station the team comes in from a case scene.

"Voight, Y/n came around" Trudy says as intelligence team enters the station

"what do you mean she came around?" Voight asks raising an eyebrow getting closer to the front desk

"she said one of her teachers got sick or whatever. She went upstairs but then left and without a word"

"did she say where she went? Wait she went upstairs?" Voight asks trying not to panic

" she didn't. And yeah she went upstairs to wait for you" Trudy asks now getting worried too

"damnit I'll be back" Voight says leaving again, now alone letting his team standing in the station entry looking at Trudy, questioning what's going on.

He knew you would be home. It was the only place you would be. As he parks the car in front of the house he rushes in, questioning if you say the case photos that he was working on.

"y/n!" He says getting inside the house, closing the door behind him.

As he turns to the living room he spots you looking blankly at the TV that was on in a random Chanel.

He knew that look.

The look of freaking out. Like he saw when he got you out of your parents house when they got busted. When he went to see you at the hospital after you got treated and he told you he wanted to take you in so you didn't go through the system . The look when you started taking your mental meds. The look when you were tempted to relapse. The look when you had the first nightmare in the house and he helped you calm down. The look when he got hurt on his hand on the job and you saw when he got home. The look that he hated seeing on you so much.

"hey" Hank says quietly as he sits next to you. "Teacher got sick uh?"

You nod slowly answering him yes.

There was a long pause before y/n says in a low and unstable voice "those people... The... Board on the station with uhm... The victims... Is the-" a big breath is taken "-do y'all have a lead on the killer?" The kid asks in a shaky voice. The images of people with shots in the head. Blood in their faces. Black eyes. Pale faces. Innocent people.

"we have a lead. The team is taking care of it. You could have called.... I had picked you up kiddo" voight was fighting not pulling you into a hug. Trying to give you space but the look on your face . The panic was killing him. "Next time call kiddo. I don't want you to see this things"

"I'm sorr-" your cut off by Hank "don't say you're sorry for fucks sake. You came in and saw it. It wasn't supposed to happen. So next time if you have a dead last period. Call me. I or someone else is gonna pick you up, ok?" The man says caressing your arm before pulling you into a hug.

You hug him back instantly. You felt safe there as you never did. It was still weird having someone carrying for you but you were committed to open up and letting him in. At the end of the day he took you in.

"thank you" "no need to thank me kiddo. I just don't want to see you like this again. You didn't drink or did something stupid, right?" Voight asks worrying you might have relapsed .

"no no. Promise I didn't" y/n says as they break the hug. "I didn't and I won't."

"alright I believe you. And I'll talk to your therapist to advance your appointment to this week instead of next week. Ok with you?"

"yeah- yeah.. thanks" y/n says looking down

"I need to go back to the station. I promise I'll close the case ok? The person who did it will pay" he says reassuring you the person who did it

"I know you will"

"will you be ok alone?" He asks getting up from the couch looking down on you.

Yeah I will, Thanks" y/n says looking up at voight

"When I leave the station and close the case I'll text you. And will bring take out for dinner. Any requests?"

"That burger place we like close to the station?" A hint on y/n face appearing. As a mirror it appears in Voights face.

"got it. The usual from that place. I'll go but please... Anything... Even just bugging me on work. Text or call."

"I will. I learned my lesson today." A chuckle excaped y/n lips as she says it.

"you sure did. See you at dinner, anything call me" Voight smirk smashed in his face. Y/n will be fine. He starts walking to the front door leaving .

He walks to his car still worried about you but he knew that getting that guy would make you ease a bit . Everything would be alright in the end of the day. It always did.

The End<3

[ratlikeclown]

WIP Wolverine x femReader 18+

“God, do you ever suck on anything other than Wade’s dick and cheap cigars?”

He leaned in close to your ear and growled,

“Ya lookin to find out Princess?”

x Deadpool kinda eventually lmfaoooo

FemY/n is mid 20’s - early 30’s

Tw for depression and like drug use mentions ig

🌶️🫵

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hello 👋 This is the first fanfic that I have written in over 10 years the brain rot is so unbelievably real for wolverine and deadpool rn

its a little embarrassing tbh lmfaoo

—————————

I’m not really sure how to tag this tbh. I’ve never posted on tumblr. . It’s a little spicy and will get more interesting later. I just wanted to toss this small part out for readers to test the waters. Anyway um I’m not experienced writing y/n pov so please be nice.

Your friend, Wade Wilson, couldn’t take no for an answer. You knew that and yet you still had the audacity to tell him ‘no’ three times tonight. And about thirty minutes after you ignored his last phone call there he was, practically knocking down your door. It wasn’t like he couldn’t actually kick in your door, he was just being polite. 

The apartment buzzer went off. You sat up from your position on the couch, hoping he’d just give up and leave if you didn’t acknowledge him. Like a stray cat. Or a crackhead.

“Knock knock~” you heard his voice through the door. “I smell Hot Pockets and sadness I know you’re in there”

Gripping the arm of the sofa you waited hoping he’d have the common courtesy fuck off .You heard the door knob rattle. Dumbass.

With a click of the lock, your door swung open revealing Wade, grinning as he shoved his Baby Knife back into his coat.

“Wade, what the fuck? I told you-“

He clapped his hands loudly, interrupting you.

 “Let’s go Funshine Bear, the nights young and I’m not going anywhere without you” Wade marched past you, straight to your bedroom humming to himself.

“You look awful by the way, we’ll fix you up though.” He clicked his tongue and crooked a finger in your direction. You huffed angrily, sliding off the couch to follow him. 

You stopped in the doorway, almost refusing to step inside. He was elbows deep in your closet drawers, throwing clothes onto your bed, muttering his disapproval at every item he tossed.

You crossed your arms as you watched him. 

“Do you have anything that doesn’t look like you took it from the Walmart dumpster?” He pulled a drawer out from the dresser and dumped it on the floor. “You know the one I’m talking about, right? Where all the coke addicted bronies go to have a bone sess before band practice.”

You crossed your arms as you watched him. “Wade, I’m not in the mood to go out.”

You heard him sigh, but continued to riffle through your things. 

“That’s nonsense, the plot can’t continue with out you. Annnd we made these plans last week.”

He peeked at you from behind the open closet door. “I’m a little worried about you. You aren’t your chipper self lately”

“I’m just tired” You replied dismissively.

It wasn’t like Wade hasn’t been trying to cheer you up in his own way. For the last few weeks he’d text you obscure and quite frankly disturbing memes at 3 AM. Excitedly offer you drugs that he’s pilfered from the his blind roommate- (he knows you don’t do drugs, he just wanted to brag about stealing coke from Blind Al)

He’s also been sending you the strangest X-Men fan fiction. (His favorites were ‘old man yaoi’ including Professor Xavier and Magneto) Usually you eat that kind of stuff up, finding it funny that you knew some of the people that the fanfiction was written about, like a private joke between you and Deadpool. But worst thing he’s done has beencalling you almost every day and attempting to make plans with you, but you always seem to cancel last minute. So yeah, he has been trying. It just.. didn’t help.

Your eyes flickered to your wall of photos next to the closet door.  Pictures of your closest friends and family. Their arms around you laughing, smiling. Pictures of trips and silly outings that meant the world to you. You felt so much guilt and regret looking at them.

Depression was a bitch. It was like a rabid dog that wouldn’t let you get back on your feet. You felt it gnawing at you, causing you to lose interest in everyone and everything. You felt alone. Your eyes fell back to Wade, you watched your friend hard at work trying to match your shoes with a dress he had found. He was clueless. You couldn’t tell him any of this though, it would just make him worry more.

There was someone you did want to talk to though. To tell everything to. Someone that you had grown so close to the last few months.

You missed Logan.

This realization caused your face to heat and anxiety weld up in your chest. You balled your hands into fits thinking about that arrogant jerk. You’ve tried to be a friend to Wolverine. After all this wasn’t his reality. He was your timeline’s replacement. (Idk you should go watch the movie. I’m not explaining it.) and for a while, you thought you were friends.

Lately, if he wasn’t drunk and depressingly moody, he was angry and a massive dick. 

“Y/N? Look a little pink at the cheeks are you feeling OK?” Wade was now standing less than a foot from you, his brows furrowed. You hadn’t noticed him move.

Snapping back from your thoughts by Wades voice, you ran hands over your face as you turn towards the attached bathroom.

“Dude, I told you I’m just not feeling good-” You stepped into the bathroom and turned on the faucet “I don’t wanna hang out with-“

“Logan?”

“Your friends.” You finished. You felt your face flush deeper at his name being mentioned.

“That’s what I said” Wade followed you to the bathroom, but thankfully didn’t come in. He stood outside while you closed the door. 

“Trust me honey, I know he’s the embodiment of a sentient happiness starved cactus whose father never loved him but-“

You groaned, trying to avoid Wades ramblings you turned the water on full blast, drowning out the remainder of his sentence. You splashed water on your face and ran a comb through your hair. You heard Wade continue talking, almost to himself while also sounding like he was talking to someone else in the room  as well. Someone you couldn’t see. He did that often. It was creepy.

You swung the door open frowning.

“-sometimes he stabs me through the face to shut me up, but I know he does it because he’s not good with words.”

Wade smile faded when he saw your face. 

“It’s kinda hot”

“I don’t want to talk about it Wade.” You sat down onto your bed with a huff despite the pile of clothes and plastic hangers. You stared at your hands. You felt the overwhelming weight of your anxiety in your chest and stomach. Maybe you should go out. Maybe he won’t show up tonight. Maybe-

“You look like you wanna talk about it Friendo.”

Wade joined you by dramatically pushing all the clothes off the bed, making an even bigger mess of your room. He flopped down onto your bed stomach first, propping himself up by his elbows. He kicked his feet and smiled at you.

“I’m all ears.”

“I don’t know how to start” You admitted.

“Start with an ‘I feel’ statement” 

Another sigh escaped your mouth. How did you feel? It felt complicated. You met him a few months ago. At first he was rude and closed off. Then he slowly began to open up, sure you still bickered and fought like cats, but it had playful undertones. (‘Sexy undertones’ Wade had joked) When he was being genuine and open, it felt like you could talk to him for hours. Though he never spoke for too long, he would to listen to you earnestly. Up until a few weeks ago, that is.

“I feel like Logan hates me. I feel like he would rather huff paint thinner than have a decent conversation with me.”

Wade laughed. “Well that’s not true, I can’t get him to huff anything.”

You shot him a look.

“Listen, I invite Mr. Grumpy out every time. But he’s too busy sulking to get fucked up with us. He would rather get drunk and pass out in the floor of the apartment. He probably won’t even show up.” Wade gave you a reassuring look.

“If he does you’re gonna be there with me. We’ll leave if you feel uncomfortable at all.”

He rolled over and sat up, putting an arm around you.

“I’ve just noticed your mood lately I need you to know that I love you.” He gave your shoulder a squeeze.  “-and I miss getting fucked up with you.”

“Will you stab him for me if he’s mean?”

“Of course. I always have Baby Knife on me.”

“Fine. Let me get ready”

He jumped off the bed excitedly.

You pushed Wade out the door to get dressed, pausing in the doorway. “Wade?”

“Yes Friendo?” He turned on his heel

“I love you too bud”

He squealed as you closed the door.

~~~

You never understood why Wade wouldn’t just buy a car. He makes decent money (he doesn’t) and could probably afford a nice one. (He couldn’t) At one point you recall him having a weird hyperfixation with the Honda Odyssey (he fucked Wolverine in one) (allegedly)

Instead, you were climbing into the back of a dirty beat up taxi cab that his friend, Dopinder, drove for a living. At least you didn’t have to walk. Dopinder was a sweet guy, if not a little unhinged every once in a while. 

“You look quite beautiful tonight Miss Y/N” He complimented you as you settled in the back seat. You smiled at him, appreciating the comment. Wade had picked out your dress and you felt a little exposed and out of your element in it. It wasn’t anything crazy, just a slick black dress with a low neck line. The dress was short, ending a little above the knee. The problem was the slit up the side. You wanted to wear tights under the outfit but Wade insisted on fishnets. ‘You look like a goth baddie’  he had assured you, ‘Like a Hot Topic clearance rack version of Morticia Addams.’

Wade hopped in the front and immediately started to flip through the radio channels. Dopinder usually had on pleasant sounding Indian pop music but Wade settled on some heavily censored 90’s hip hop. 

The drive was rocky. Wade, who almost never kept his hands to himself, would grab poor  Dopinder while dancing along to the music causing the cab to swerve. A lot.

Having made it to the bar in one piece, you quickly scrambled out of the back, thanking the young man for the ride. 

Wade waited for you at the door.

~~~

The bar was loud and dark. One of those typical bars you see in movies, filled with moving bodies and cigarette smoke. Music pumped through the speakers with some people lingering near the bar while others swayed on the dance floor. Wade bounced through the crowd pulling you along towards the bar, where his group of friends took up half the bar area. You scanned the crowd nervously. No Logan. Your muscles relaxed, and you moved with a little more energy.

Wade greeted his friends with various enthusiastic greetings and crude gestures. You smiled in greeting and waved at a friend you recognized but sat down on a stool next to where Wade stood, him blocking you from most of the other bar patrons. There was a part of you that was a little disappointed that Logan wasn’t here. It made sense if he didn’t show up here, this bar was honestly more like a club, upbeat and energetic. He’s used to dark depressing dive bars, places you can drink yourself into a coma and not be bothered. But the few times he had shown up here you had thought that he enjoyed your company, for a little while at least. During times when the others were off doing dubious shit somewhere, he’d sit with you at the bar. You even managed to get him to dance with you once. That all changed recently. Something happened that caused him to be distant and often rude for seemingly no reason.

Everyone seems to be so happy to see Wade and he, them. You didn’t really know why you were here. It already felt overwhelming. You used to love coming here. Drinking and dancing, playing pool badly and belting out shitty country music karaoke with everyone. Lately, things have felt different. You’ve lost interest in a lot of the things you use to enjoy, spending your days just working and rotting in your apartment. This was too much.

Wade touched your shoulder causing you to jump.

“Hey we’re off to play some darts you in?” 

You smiled at your friend. “You really wouldn’t want me to play, you’d end up as the dart board.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time Sweetheart” Wade laughed, “we’ll be over there if you change your mind.” He made a heart with his hands and turned toward the group already making their way to the play area.

You sat quietly at the counter with a glass of something sweet and strong. You wanted to feel a buzz but you needed it to taste good. Your eyes scanned the crowd, people watching. You watched people dance and sway to the newest Kesha song blaring through the speakers. You witnessed a near fight over a pool game. You heard Wade’s laughter from across the room, his friends echoing along. You felt alone. It was your fault you told yourself. If you wanted to feel better you would’ve gotten up and joined your friends. But here you sat, being miserable on purpose. 

“Hey beautiful, mind if I joined you?” Your head snapped up meeting the face of someone you didn’t recognize. He was good looking, in a vanilla frat boy kinda way. With his backwards hat, sleeveless tank, skinny jeans and all.

But he smiled like a wolf.

“I’m sorry.” You tried to smile politely, but you had a twinge of anxiety growing in your chest. “I’m not really in the mood for company” 

The man smiled motioning to the bartender for a drink. “Can’t I just buy you a drink? “

“Really, I’m fine” You turned back to your drink, your eyes unfocused, hoping that if you just ignored him he’d leave. Your gut flipped when you heard him pull out the stool next to you. He wasn’t leaving.

“Come on babe, I can show you a good time”

“She said she ain’t looking for company bub.” A low voice growled behind you. A beer bottle came down heavily in between you and the creep. Your eyes trailed the hairy but beautifully sculpted arm to its owner, though you already knew who it belonged to. Logan. Even in this lighting you could see his rugged face. His hair was styled in its iconic cat ear shape. His beard was trimmed nicely combined with his thick muttonchops. His eyes were a little hazy but beautiful and dark. You met those eyes for a brief moment, he smirked at you before his gaze flickered to the other man.

 “Well?” He rumbled, barring his teeth.

“Naw, I was here first grandpa, you fuck off.” The frat guy stood up straight, trying to look intimidating.

“Trust me” Logan chuckled. He straightened cracking his knuckles before raising his fists and extending three razor sharp Adamantium claws from each hand.

“You don’t want none of this”

~~~

“You didn’t have to do that” you looked down at your glass avoiding Logan’s gaze. You heard him land heavily in the bar stool next to you. He tapped the counter signaling the bartender who was very clearly avoiding your side of the bar.

“I wasn’t going to have some limp dick creeping on you.”

“I was handling it” 

“You didn’t seem like you were handling anything Princess.” He scoffed.

You shot him a look. He smirked as he chugged his remaining beer, you couldn’t help watch his throat bob as he drank. He finished and loudly set the bottle down. He met your eyes and you looked away feeling your face heat violently.

“You thirsty princess?” He asked as the bartender set down two shots of something before scurrying away. He slid one glass your way.

“No thank you. I have my own drink”

You pushed the glass back his way. He eyed your almost empty cocktail and shrugged.

“Suit yourself” he took the glasses and knocked back both shots simultaneously slamming the glasses back down. After a few moments of silence, where you clearly felt Logan eyeing you the entire time, you sighed.

“I didn’t think I’d see you tonight Logan.” You admitted. Another beer had appeared in front of him, he took a swig. He eyed you, his eyes slowly trailing from your face down your body. They rested at the slit in your dress, exposing most of your fishnet covered thigh. You felt a ping in your lower belly, causing you to cross your legs uncomfortably. His eyes followed to movement. He licked his lips and met your eyes again smirking.

“Why didja miss me?”

You looked down at the growing piles of shredded napkins you had been anxiously ripping apart. 

“Yes” you said at last. There was no point in lying. You did miss him. Even seeing him now, clearly drinking away his problems, you couldn’t help but feel glad he was there with you. You were glad he scared away that creep, despite his now passive aggressive demeanor. You met his eyes again.

He snorted and tipped the beer to his lips.“You’re a fucking liar”

You felt your gut squeeze with anger. Why was he treating you this way? You didn’t ask him to step in to a play hero. You didn’t ask him for anything. You just wanted to get out of your shitty apartment for one goddamn night. You balled your fists and spun to face him fully.

“What. The. Fuck.” You clenched your teeth annunciating each word bitterly. “Is. YOUR PROBLEM”

“My PROBLEM,” he practically spat the word,

”is that I have to deal with your moody ass attracting the eye of every fucking creep in this place when you very fucking clearly don’t want to be here.” 

You threw your hands up angrily and gestured around the bar. 

“I didn’t want to deal with any of this Logan. I just wanted to go out with my FRIENDS, which I used to think you were one. I don’t fucking know what prick you had up your ass lately, but you sure as hell don’t act like you like me. WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME?”

He was silent for a moment, studying your face, making it turn even redder. Then he laughed. He shook his head laughing and sloppily chugged his second beer.

You had enough. You needed to get away from him. You shoved yourself back, tipping the stool over in the process.

“Come find me when you figure out what you want.” You turned to leave. You made it a few steps before you heard Logan’s voice call mockingly.

“Nice dress by the way” 

You didn’t turn to look at him.

“Fuck you, Logan”

~~~

You ran your hands under cold water, leaning over the sink you splashed the water into your face and sighed. You looked into your mirrored face. This was a disaster.

Maybe if you just stayed in the bathroom you can avoid everyone until Wade was ready to leave. You felt bad that you ran off instead of finding him. You would’ve felt safe with Wade.

Your head was swimming, from the alcohol or the interaction with Logan you couldn’t tell.

The speaker above you crackled playing the opening notes to ‘Dirty Diana’, a favorite of yours. A banger Wade would say.

Without warning the door sung open and Logan stumbled in. 

“You’re in the wrong bathroom you drunk asshole” you snapped. His eyes met yours from a brief moment before he swayed slightly and took a step forward.

He pushed past you wordlessly and began kicking open the bathroom stalls. They were all empty. 

“Dude get out” You gripped the sink behind you, watching Logan warily. You knew deep down he wouldn’t hurt you but you obviously didn’t want him in here with you. He turned to you, taking a step forward.

”I needed to talk to you”

“Yeah, you could have waited til I got out of the ladies room??” 

“No.” he growled before in one swift movement he was in front of you, his arms on either side of the sink trapping you between them. Your breath came out in a shudder and your knees wobbled. This honestly was a thing out of a fantasy, something that you were embarrassed to admit you’ve thought about. You had been fighting your feelings for this big stupid man, stuck between thoughts of friendship and lust. God, he wasn’t helping with the latter.

“Logan”

“I’m sorry” he said looking as remorseful as he could under the circumstances.

“What did you need to talk about that couldn’t wait Lo?” You swallowed, gently lifting your hand and placing it on his chest, pushing lightly. His hands moved to your legs keeping you from pushing him further.

“Ya told me to find you when I figured out what I wanted”

“Yeah” You scoffed. “Enlighten me”

~~~

“I want you”

Logan leaned over you, his hands sliding up your thighs to rest on your hips. His fingers dug in lightly, the movement making your legs feel like jelly. You gripped his shoulders to steady yourself. He was so firm and warm under your hands.

His face was inches from yours, his expression unreadable in the low lighting. You smelled the smoke and alcohol on his breath.

“God, do you ever suck on anything other than Wade’s dick and cheap cigars?”

He leaned in close to your ear and growled, 

“Ya looking to find out princess?”

You felt a ping of desire sink into your lower belly as his hand moved from your waist.

Shivers went down your spine as his hands slid up your torso coming to a stop right below your breasts. One of his thumbs brushed upwards lightly, teasingly.

You sucked in a breath as he lowered his face to your neck and brushed a kiss to the sensitive skin. His facial hair tickling your jaw.

“Logan, you’re drunk.” You croaked out, pulling away slightly, your hands sliding from his shoulders. He moved with you.

You felt his lips brush your skin again, another kiss, before his thumb slid upward against your breast. Fuck. The wet heat between your legs was unbearable. You needed some sort of friction. You definitely noticed the pressure from his pants pressed against your stomach. So close, you just needed anything. You bucked your hips against his, almost involuntarily, causing a rumble to escape his throat. His thumb stroked again.

“That’s a good girl” His head bobbed lower dragging his tongue down as he kissed your neck. You could feel him smile as he sucked the skin of your collar bone in a way that would definitely leave a mark. Holy Hell. What was happening.

You were sick of your neck getting all the attention as you reached up to take his face in your hand. He practically melted at your touch, his breath hitching as you stroked his cheek with your thumb. You wanted him, needed his mouth on yours. You pulled his face up, a little roughly, to meet your gaze. You thought you heard him let out a little surprised chuckle from the movement. His eyes were half lidded as he met yours. He was drunk, and you realized, so were you. You leaned in, your lips feather light against his-

You jumped at Wade’s voice from the other side of the door, calling for you.

Shit. You dropped your hand away from his face.

Logan growled, low and angry. He abruptly took his hot hands from your body and leaned his head to your ear, you felt his lips against your skin.

“Some other time then, darlin’.” He pulled away from you swaying slightly, before grabbing his beer from the counter and yanking open the bathroom door.

~~~

Anyway, thanks for reading. I guess I don’t know if this is any good and I will be posting the rest on Ao3 eventually

[zeltqz]

𝐖𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐒 [𝐑𝐄𝐕𝐀𝐌𝐏𝐄𝐃]

⋆♱✮♱⋆ SERIES MASTERLIST.

♱ SECTION ONE

pairing. ex!ran x reader

length.

authors note. the long awaited series lmaoaoaaoaoo. if you read it before i took it down, wipe that shit from ur memory pls lol. i changed a lot up so don't try and remember anything from the previous version bc it's not the same <3

♱ SECTION TWO

SYNOPSIS. Bonten is forming and in the midst of it, you find yourself caught in the sticky webs of your ex-boyfriend and current Bonten executive, Haitani Ran.

GENRE. exes to lovers, crime, love triangle, porn with plot, unhealthy relationships, post-breakup, flashbacks to past relationship, bonten timeline

WARNINGS. please proceed with caution: heavy adult content, violence, drug use, criminal activity: gambling, prostitution mentions, etc.

♱ SECTION THREE

taglist form to be notified when each chapter drops.

CHAPTER LIST

Chapter One 7.9k words

content. angst, first meetings, mentions of alcoholic mother in rehab, drinking mentions, bonten timeline, smoking mentions from Ran in flashback

Chapter Two 7.2k words

content. smut, smoking, fluff

Chapter Three 5.2k words

content. pretty mild chapter, not many warnings

Chapter Four - 5.5k words

content. smut (again #noshameatall), mentions of violence; bruised eye, busted lip and concussion, more smut...but less detailed near the end, mentions of gangs

Chapter Five - 5.4k words

content. NSFW!!! prositution work, reader has a gun put to her head, minor violence

Chapter Six - 7k words

content. smoking, mild drug use, SMUT, mentions of past alcohol addiction, murder/implied death threats

Chapter Seven - 9.6k words

content. buckle up guys, there's a LOT. detailed drug descriptions gun play; shion puts a gun to rans head, TW FOR DRUGS!!!! reader does drugs, sanzu injects drugs like a lunatic, mentioned whorehouse, gambling, sanzu and mochi talk badly about women so tw objectification.

08. -> to be posted

09. -> to be posted

more chapters tba

[sarafinamk]

Fallen Angel (Smiling Critters Space Riders AU Reader Insert) Part 3

Summary: Without the red smoke to help you through rehab, you begin to experience thoughts and feelings that you never had before. It gets worse before it gets better, but don't worry. It DOES slowly get better.

Check out the other parts here. Also, check out Part 2 to my Incorrect Quotes if you haven't already. The Smiling Critters Space Riders AU belongs to @onyxonline. Enjoy!

TW: Mentions of Blood, Mentions of Injury, Imprisonment, Trauma, Death mentions, Mentions of murder, Religious Trauma, Religious Imagery and Symbolism, Religious Cults, Drug Withdrawal, Drug Addiction, Mentions of Self harm, Mention of Suicide Attempt, Mental Health Issues, Slight cursing, LOTS of negative thoughts, Implied Abuse, Conditioning

----------

You weren’t sure how long you’ve been imprisoned at the heretics’ main space station for. Based on the lines scribbled in your journal, and what those healers and heretics told you, the closest timeline you could estimate was a month and a half…

Could be more…

In your defense, being in and out of consciousness because of not only healing from your wounds but dealing with your hellish headspace gave you no chance of keeping track. You weren’t sure if you TRULY wanted to know how long it’s been though…

Some of your wounds, at least, have healed. If you weren’t wearing those power mufflers, all your wounds would have disappeared a long time ago. But, no.

Those heretics just HAD to insist you heal the hard way. It is bad enough that those healers and their knights were watching your every move on the cameras. There was no nook or cranny in your accommodation that wasn’t under constant surveillance. They didn’t even try to be discreet about them. What’s worse is that now you had your whole body, head, and face exposed, especially to the people hellbent on killing you. They didn’t even deserve to have a face to associate with the Archangel. It was for your own good, they said. All that did was leave you with voices in your head screaming at you to get out, run, and hide from those prying eyes.

So what if there were a few instances where you tried to scratch yourself until you were satisfied with the red on you? You just needed a way to stop yourself from feeling these weird feelings. It’s leaving you weak. What would the Prototype say if he saw you showing such weakness when you were raised better than this? The scratching never went as far as it did the first time, though and it would never be like that ever again. Not on the heretics’ watch. They would always intervene before the first sign of red.

You spent a lot of time thinking about the perfect escape plan. You would get those power mufflers off, destroy those cameras the first chance you get, create a void, (maybe kill a few heretics along the way to send a message), and make an easy escape back to the prototype. It’s just… you could never muster any energy to go through with your ideas. You hated that you grew so lazy and weak when no prison was able to keep you contained in the past.

What happened to you?

Where was your energy to fight back, to make those heretics pay for what they’ve done to you…?

But…

Why save you?

Probably to interrogate you, torture you for ALL the intel concerning your God, and once they get everything, kill you. They can sure as hell try, but you’d rather die than betray your God and family like this!

You groan, cradling your pounding head with one hand. You slide down against the wall. Even though you've been clean for some time now, but you're still trying to get used to this red smoke free headspace of yours. Now you're just left sitting with thoughts and feelings you never had to sit with before, and you hated how much it consumes you. You wished you had the red smoke to help you through this, to make you forget these feelings, to go back to normal. But the Prototype never came back for you… no rescue parties were made for you as far as you know.

A few healers and knights argued that if he really wanted you back, he would’ve come get you by now, but he didn’t, and none of your “friends or family” did either, so you might as well get used to being here. You reminded them every single time that you don’t have “friends” nor are you selfish enough to need any. The Prototype was all anybody needed. You had that argument about 26 times before you stopped. There was no point in continuing this fight if they just refused to see any sense.

You hated to admit it, but...

Maybe they're right.

Not once, in the entire time since you’ve been separated from the Prototype was he there when you needed him the most. Your chest and the back of your eyes burn. Your vision goes blurry. You clench your blanket draped around your shoulders and take a few deep breaths until the burning sensation is smothered, and your vision clears up. You are NOT going to let weakness consume you.

Not now.

Not ever.

Not as long as you’re at the mercy of the heretics.

----------

Here you are, three months deep into your rehab program, sitting on the floor, and studying another one of Bubba’s “philosophy books” as he called them. He gave you some so that "you weren’t left pacing back and forth in a cell or being stuck with your thoughts all day." Granted you do try to do a few exercises to build your strength back. You discovered it was the best way to distract your mind from the mere thought of desiring red smoke. At least the books give you more to do in your cell.

To you, it was all heretic propaganda to stray the weak-minded away from the divine truth. It was still intriguing to study about, all the same. Besides, if you're going to be staying with the heretics, then now is a good time to start learning about their world and culture. As much as you hate to admit it, you're beginning to understand why many heretics find these kinds of teachings appealing. Not only does it go against everything the Prototype preaches, but there were so many teachings to choose from. How do the heretics even know which teachings are true? How do they know which teachings they should follow for the rest of their lives?

It was all so strange.

Back home, there is only one absolute truth: everything that happens in the galaxy is thanks to the Prototype. He’s the eternal source of happiness, of wisdom, of strength, of a second chance at life. He is in control of all. He gives his people his gifts, and in turn, they serve him. They devote their lives to him. To not believe in this truth would mean certain death.

In the heretic world, it seems it is up to the individual to shape the world in their image. Apparently, to discover the truth, you have to be willing to question everything. But how do these heretics expect to survive if they're expected to find their own happiness? How can they be trusted to take control of their lives when they don't fully know whether they made the right decision or not? How are they able to peacefully co-exist despite their differing beliefs?

Perhaps it's something you can clarify with the Space Riders when they come in for yet another visit. They've visited you quite frequently, but it was all so strange. They never asked you anything about the Prototype or the cult. In fact, the topic of conversation was always about… you. They would ask what you have been doing in “rehab” as they call it, how you are managing your red smoke cravings, what you have learned, how are the books (in Bubba’s case), and possible arrangements that are to be made once you are back in their custody. When they exhausted those topics, then they would make conversation with you...

Er...

...More like they would TRY to make conversation with you and you would give short answers. Sometimes, you wouldn't say anything at all. They never forced you to speak, nor did they ever punish you for being insubordinate. Instead, they just moved on to a different topic. This was something you never understood, but maybe they just want you to let your guard down long enough before punishing you.

The echoing of footsteps gets louder and closer to your cell, pulling you away from your thoughts. The seven Space Riders greet you, make themselves comfortable in front of your cell, and begin with the usual questions about you. You bite the bullet and decide you might as well entertain them.

[astayinwonderland]

Thinking of yandere!namjoon— he knows you are his soulmate

pairing: namjoon x f.reader

genre: yandere | smut +18 MDNI

a/n: this is pure ✨fiction✨ but contains toxic and stalker behaviour (not healthy).

tw: mentions of drug use

enjoy!(;

yandere!namjoon who fell in love with you as soon as he saw you smiling that summer afternoon. you walked by with a group of friends but who is that idiot who follows you closely and dares to put an arm around you?

yandere!namjoon who leaves an anonymous note on your car that leads to find your so-called boyfriend in a compromising position with his so-called friend you deserve so much better

yandere!namjoon who carefully follows you home at a safe distance but notices your fellow companion won’t walk with you anymore mission accomplished

yandare!namjoon who casually stretched his arm to reach for a book— the book you were reaching out for…what a perfectly planned meet cute you’ve been checking out this same book from the library for the past three weeks

yandere!namjoon who for your first date cooked you dinner and danced with you under the stars, finishing the night with you asleep in his arms. the translucent power he slipped into your drink making effect not to do anything inappropriate, but to make sure you started getting used to sleep with your true love

NSFW

yandere!namjoon who couldn’t hide his erection from you when you hugged him tightly but you are so perfectly made for him you decided to help him out. he never understood the hype of getting his cock sucked until you, his precious darling. “fuck, baby it f-feels so g-good, keep doing that… don’t. fucking. stop.”

yandere!namjoon who likes to tie you up and ruin you. your eyes fill with tears as a result of the out-of-this-world pleasure only he can give you. no one else would ever be close. “is it too much, baby? look at me… i love you. i. love. you.”

yandere!namjoon who feels the most alive when he is inside you. your cries, pleas, moans, curses fueling him to never let you go. your pussy clenching for his cum is more than enough to spill into you his release. your eyes consumed by lust is the best thing that has happened to him— that is until you said “i love you”

yandere!namjoon who slowly but surely gets you addicted to the way he makes love to you. you can’t seem to recall a time where it was not him inside you— and you need him every. single. day if possible. he makes sure to put in your drink a couple of drops of the aphrodisiac drug he hides so well. you have been tired, you need the encouragement as much he needs you.

yandare!namjoon who hugs you tightly while you sleep. keeping and eye on how your chest rises and falls… he can’t believe he is this lucky to have you. he can’t wait for you to wake up and do it all over again.

[mj-iza-writer]

Tw: drug abuse mentions.

Whumpee shyly walked into the pharmacy and wandered around a little before they got brave enough to go to the counter.

"HI, uhm, I'm here to pick up my script", Whumpee tried to hide their shaking. Why couldn't the normal pharmacist be here, the one that knew them. Not this new person.

"Name?", the pharmacist grunted.

"Whumpee", they were quick to answer.

"Ah yes, you have a flag on your account for drug abuse. I'm not able to give these to you", they looked up.

"But I have a text they are ready. I need those", Whumpee pleaded, "please, I-I have someone who keeps me on track, and my Doctor checks on me regularly. I'm getting better."

"No", came the reply, "I'm not given these out to you."

"Okay", Whumpee whispered, they looked down to hide their quivering lip.

Whumpee left the pharmacy and waited outside for a few minutes wondering what they should do.

They only had one more pill left for tomorrow. Caretaker was out of town for today and wouldn't be back until way after the pharmacy closed.

"Should I call Doctor", they looked at their phone.

"I don't know what else to do."

Whumpee dialed the office number.

"Hello this is Triage, how can I help you?", someone answered.

"HI, uhm I'm Whumpee. I really need to talk to Doctor. I'm having a problem", Whumpee's lip quivered again.

"Yep, they're right here, give me one second", the Triage person heard Whumpee's voice break.

"Whumpee?", a concerned voice came on a few seconds later, "are you okay? What's going on?"

Whumpee started to cry, and talk really fast, "I'm at the pharmacist... it's a new person.... they won't let me g-get my script bec-because of my past w-with drug abuse. And I told them I needed it.... I only have one more."

"Okay Whumpee take a deep breath for me" Doctor requested, "it's okay, where is Caretaker at?"

"They are out of town for a meeting", Whumpee mumbled, "please help me, I only have one more pill left", Whumpee's voice broke again, "I don't want the voices to come back. Please help me."

"Okay", Doctor sighed, "it's okay, I'm annoyed at the pharmacy not at you. Are you okay if I put you on hold and call them to straighten this out."

"Yes", Whumpee shook, "I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault. I'll get this all straightened out for you, just stay on the line for me okay", Doctor waited for Whumpee to agree, then put them on hold.

"These freaken pharmacist", Doctor grumbled as they looked through Whumpee's chart to find the phone number, "always getting in my way, and messing with my patient's care."

"Hello, Pharmacy, how can I help you today", someone answered.

"Hello, this is Doctor. I just received a call from one of my patients. Are you withholding their medication?", Doctor frowned, "I would hope not, they do in fact need that medication to stay on track with their mental health. It is also highly illegal to withhold medication without cause."

"I believe you are speaking of Whumpee, they were just in here. They have a flag on their account for drug abuse. This script is a fairly addictive controlled substance", the pharmacist explained.

"Yes, it's a controlled substance.... that's why I control it. They get a certain amount for a certain amount of time, and then they get a refill. They come in and see me every few weeks for a follow-up. They also have someone who monitors their medication for them."

"You are not helping them at all right now withholding their medication. They are terrified right now that they won't get it, and they will regress again. They literally called me crying", Doctor continued, "I am reporting you for harassment as well. That alert isn't there for you to play drug monitor, unless they are trying to get extra pills or showing signs of active addiction. I am going to send Whumpee back in, and I will remain on the line with them during their transaction. If you still withhold that script, you will have serious problems with me and law enforcement. Am I clear?"

"Yes", the pharmacist gulped, then heard the click of the phone being hung up.

"Whumpee?", Doctor came back on.

"I just spoke with the pharmacist. Everything should be straightened out for you. Please keep me on the line, though, so I can listen in. I don't want you to get hassled by them", Doctor's voice had gone back to their nice patient care voice.

"Yes Doctor, thankyou so much", Whumpee cautiously went inside and to the counter.

"Pi-pick up for Whumpee please", Whumpee was too scared to look at the person again.

The pharmacist gruffly handed over the script and took the payment.

Whumpee thanked them, then quickly left.

"They didn't seem friendly", Whumpee whispered to Doctor.

"Yeah, I'm sorry about that, hopefully next time the normal person will be there so you won't have any issues", Doctor stated.

"Thankyou for helping me Doctor, I'm sorry that I bothered you though", Whumpee sighed.

"Don't worry about it", Doctor smiled, "I'm here to take care of you...even if that means keeping the pharmacist in line. What are you up to now? Do you feel okay mentally, or should I call a police officer to come get you and bring you here?"

"No Doctor, I'm okay, I'm just going to walk home right now. I may stop and get some food though", Whumpee started to walk. They hid the medicine in a bag.

"Okay that sounds good", Doctor grinned, "let us know if you need anything else, I've got a few patients to see. I'll see you next week."

"Okay thankyou so much", Whumpee quickly thanked them before they hung up with each other.

A bit later Whumpee heard Caretaker come into the house.

"I'm home Whumpee", Caretaker called, "I heard you had a problem at the pharmacy today."

Whumpee peaked out from the kitchen and frowned.

"I did. It was embarrassing, demeaning, and unfair", Whumpee's lip started to quiver again, "and... and.. and... I didn't ask for these problems", Whumpee looked at Caretaker when tears started to fall, "I-I just want to be okay", they pleaded, "why do I have to beg to be okay?"

"I know Whumpee, I'm sorry", Caretaker held their arms out, "would a hug help, or would you prefer not to be touched?"

"I would like hug please", Whumpee nodded.

Caretaker smiled as they walked over and wrapped Whumpee in their arms.

"It's okay, I know it's hard right now, but their will come a time when you will be okay. Your drug abuse will be left far in the past. You may have to take the medication still, and that is perfectly fine, but it won't seem as big of a deal as it is right now. You may be able to live on your own even, but if not, I am always here. I will happily take care of you, I promise."

"But what if you get tired of me?", Whumpee rested their head on Caretaker's chest, "what then?"

"Tired of you? I don't think that's possible Whumpee", Caretaker chuckled.

"It is", Whumpee sighed.

"Nah! Not me at least", Caretaker squeezed a little tighter, "how about I get your medicine put away, then we can get started on dinner."

Whumpee nodded, "just a minute more on this hug please."

"Of course Whumpee anything for you", Caretaker chuckled.

Taglist. As always please let me know if you want to be added or taken off of the list. It's not a problem at all. @villainsandheroes @the-beasts-have-arrived @sacredwrath @porschethemermaid @monarchthefirst @generic-whumperz @bloodyandfrightened @freefallingup13 @notpeppermint @cyborg0109 @idontreallyexistyet @thebejeweledwatercat @painfulplots @whumpbump @everythingsscary @skittles-the-whumpee @expressionless-fr @theforeverdyingperson @legendarydelusiongoatee @candleshopmenace @whumpanthems @lavndvrr @ivymyers @starfields08000 @a-living-canvas

[spideysgeorg]

Ok we’re doing some Hobie hcs bc we need some good food around here. Tw for past abuse, sexual abuse (not on him), mentioned pet death, foster care, dystopian themes, drug use

Hobie is technically a missing person. He escaped from an abusive foster home when he was 12 and was unhoused for most of his adolescence.

He does actually own the crappy boat he lives in, only because it was given to him by an older unhoused friend who had gotten it on the cheap and had been trying to convert it into a permanent home but sadly died before it was fully finished. Hobie finished the conversion himself and has lived there since, largely undetected except by the select few people he wants to be able to find him.

He loves children and animals and is extremely good with them. He never baby talks to actual babies/little kids but hand him a kitten and he gets all mushy lol

He doesn’t eat meat because despite very much enjoying killing fascists, the PM’s smashed head looked like mince and he thinks about it all the time. He has absolutely no trouble shedding blood and guts but a bloody steak will make him straight up gag. He eats fish tho

His boat has a clan of “feral” cats that wait around on the deck for him to come home bc he feeds them even if he doesn’t have enough for himself. It’s a little bit dangerous to always have a NYAAAAAA alarm any time the cats hear him web sling in but he refuses to shoo them away. They aren’t technically his cats but when one of them dies he has to hide how torn up he is about it (because cats are smaller and more innocent and more trusting and more free than he can ever be)

He struggled with opiate addiction from a severe depression he went through during the period of time when he stopped being Spider-Man. He got clean and has stayed away from pills since (he won’t even take paracetamol) but smokes weed he grows himself in a closet to curb persisting urges. Also cigarettes. He tries not to overdo it with booze either but isn’t always successful. (If you don’t know about him having the Sam Raimi Spider-Man 2 quitting canon event, it’s in the web of life and destiny scene where all of them are looking at their respective canon events)

Hobie is extremely compassionate and it affects the way he does his work as Spider-Man. He allows certain things to happen that other Spideys wouldn’t and he’s vocally in opposition to the other Spideys’ brutalization of people committing crimes of desperation. He believes that crimes like theft are a symptom of a greater societal disease. He’ll interject in instances of violent robbery or mugging and things like that but only to ensure that the victims are safe, then determine the root cause of the attack and try to offer the perpetrator some direction. Sometimes the cause is hunger, addiction, or another unmet need. Hobie is much more willing to help them with that than have them thrown in prison. He doesn’t do that with rapists though, he kills those on sight. 🖤

Hobie has trained himself to look casual even though he’s always struggling with hyper-vigilance. He knows he doesn’t even need to keep that close attention on everything—that’s what spider senses are for—but he still takes note of all exits in a building, takes the seat against the wall, and analyzes the body language of everybody he sees for potential danger.

He’s also very emotionally intelligent. While he doesn’t show strong emotions outside of his Spider-Man persona very often, if ever, he can read everybody else’s without them even knowing and act accordingly. Sometimes he does this to prevent conflict, and other times he does it to cause conflict lol

He hasn’t cried in years but doesn’t consider that to be a “win” because sometimes he needs to cry to vent the extraordinary pressure of his place in the world and just can’t. His music is essential to keep him from completely spiraling since he has no other form of release.

He’s all for sexual liberation and consensual parties doing whatever they want. However, he doesn’t do casual sex himself. He needs to really bond with someone before he even wants to get intimate like that with anyone. This can be a problem because despite having quite a large social circle, he feels emotionally isolated in the same way that Gwen does, scared to bring anyone too close for fear of getting them killed.

His attraction and gender expression are pretty up in the air, though he doesn’t identify as trans and keeps he/him pronouns. His stance is that all that shit about gender norms was made up a long time ago and forced on everybody else and he’ll be damned if he lives out somebody else’s plan for his life.

Hobie is a singer in the same sense that cereal is technically a soup. He’s lucky his guitar skills are crazy bc his vocal range is really limited. Punk music works out for him like that—he doesn’t have to actually sing well for it to sound good. He actually likes all kinds of music but punk is the one he’s most comfortable actually performing.

He takes extremely good care of his hair and makes most of his body care/cosmetics himself because the cosmetics industry is indescribably evil. If he HAS to buy product, he only gets from black owned sources. Otherwise he mostly steals drug store lipstick and nail polish or calls dibs when his friends do their bi yearly dumping of their crusty purses and all the half-crushed expired makeup falls out with the crumbs and loose aspirin tablets lmao