#usually i can get through those before the nausea hits

[vvyrmwood]

oh the body is rly not having it today huh 😐

[myvoiddreams]

Fragments of Starlight

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Summary: With the impending war, Y/N is captured by Hybern's general. As they struggle to protect those they care about, they reflect on their unrequited feelings for Azriel and their insecurities within the Night Court.

Word Count: 4,585

Warnings: ANGST, violence, torture, dark themes

A/N: This is my first time ever writing anything like this. I am a true sucker for angst. This is meant to go along with some of the events of ACOWAR, but of course, it’s different. Please don’t come at me for not following it’s exact story line. ALSO, I know that Azriel or Feyre would NEVER, but it’s just for the heartache okay!!

Part 2, Part 3

------

Now

All of it, it was all going to shit. I don’t know how my ears weren’t bleeding at the sheer amount of noise coming from the chaos around me. So much screaming, but was it Hybern’s forces, or our own? Everything was ringing, my head throbbing along with it. It was almost as if my breaths were not reaching my lungs. I was on the ground, all fours underneath me as I tried and tried to get myself to my feet. Everything was sore, it was like my muscles were not working. I stretched for the source of the aching on my temple and what I found was the warm, wet consistency of fresh blood.

My family, where is my family? Panic drenched me like a bucket of ice water.

With a groan, I grabbed my sword that lay beside me and turned to face the sky, now sitting at least. The sky, it was so blue. It almost felt like a disgusting joke to see something so beautiful, as dead bodies lay at my feet. Hybern’s forces were surrounding me, there was no escaping this.

I grit my teeth as I stand, my blade in hand. Dizziness rolls off me in waves, so much so that nausea is found coursing through my veins. I don’t get very far up before I’m slammed back down to the earth. My face hits the dirt as all the air leaves my lungs, leaving nothing but the taste of the earth and blood in my mouth. There is someone standing on my back, applying enough pressure I’m sure I’ll have a broken rib or two.

“Don’t go too far, sweetheart. We are just getting started with you.” A cry of pain leaves my lips as one of Hybern’s generals continues to crush my ribcage. The nausea and ringing in my head is too much. Then, with another blow to my head, everything is dark.

---

Before

“Oh, come on now sweet cheeks! You can do better than that. Az and I trained you myself!” Cassian’s voice was oh so annoying as he pinned me to my back. Sweat was gleaming across both of us as we spent the morning training. I was panting as my mind continued to reel.

Life had gotten tense with the Inner Circle recently. Not only was Prythian on the cusp of war with Hybern, but now we had to juggle the two newly made Fae that were the Archeron sisters.

I honestly felt bad for them. They did not ask for this life. I can only image what it would be like to go through life having your humanity ripped from you. Now knowing that you are going to be around for centuries instead of decades. And I felt bad for Feyre, who never wanted to see her sister’s dragged into this.

Usually, Azriel would be here with Cassian and me. Usually. It seemed as though Azriel had been getting far in over his head with the middle Archeron sister as of late. I would be lying if I said it didn’t bother me. But, I would never admit that fact out loud. Elain was half here and half not. Whenever she did speak, she’d just spew some crap that didn’t make any sense. But, that didn’t stop Azriel from spending any time he was not preparing for the war, with her.

Azriel. My heart seized at just the mention of his name. I had known the Shadowsinger for centuries. I stood by his side as he faced his own inner turmoil about Rhys being taken from us right under our feet. I stood by him even before that as I watched Windhaven and Devlon try to take was little he had away from him. Really, I had stood by everyone in this Inner Circle. But Azriel, Az was different. This too I would never admit out loud.

It took me holding him one night, after he had dreamt of his hands being lit aflame again, that it snapped. In all his vulnerability, it just, snapped. Az and I had shared a connection, a friendship, and I had loved him far long before the mating bond clicked in place. It only felt right that it was him. But, it hasn’t snapped for him.

It hurt, every single day, it hurt. And to watch him try so hard to make whatever it was happen with Elain, who was mated to someone else, made me feel worthless. This too, was not his fault. How was he supposed to know when I refused to breathe a word of it. Honestly, it might be a good thing, the distance. It hurts, but Azriel deserves happiness. I don’t know if I’m the one who can give him that.

“Damnit Cass!” I grunted as I fought back from his restraint.

“You are letting yourself get sloppy, Y/N. No room for that on the battlefield.” His face was smug. I felt some embarrassment creep up my neck and find its way on my cheeks.

“I know, I know.” I huffed. “Just let me up already.” I gave up on fighting back. Recently I found myself lacking the energy I used to have. I used to be full, driven, but I have found myself distant lately.

“Look, are you sure you’re okay, Y/N? You have not had your head in the game recently.” He stood and held a hand out to me. Cassian only wanted to check on me, it was nice really. I just wasn’t used to it. I had been the one the members of this court had always leaned their heads on. There just seemed to be no room for the others to do the same for me. So, I never asked them to. I wasn’t going to start now.

“I’m fine Cass, just tired.” I retorted.

“Aren’t we all sweet cheeks.” He said as he patted my back.

---

Now

Fire is crackling somewhere near me, but I can’t feel its warmth. I feel myself chained up. My arms were far above my head, hanging me from a support post. My feet had been stripped of their shoes, and now chains wrapped around my ankles. My body hurt, breathing hurt, and my head hurt. I was sure that this hellhole was only going to make it worse.

“Ah, there she is. Glad to see you actual awoke, we were starting to get worried.” Spoke the same general who broke my ribs.

I kept my mouth shut, only glaring at the direction of the voice. My vision was still blurry, and where I hope there was only one of him, I saw three.

The entrance flap of the tent open and closed to reveal another male. This one, I recognized. The King of Hybern himself.

“If it isn’t Y/N of the Night Court. I have to say, my men did a fine job bringing you in here for me. Wouldn’t you say so?” His voice was gruff. “Now that you’re here, we some questions we need answered, and I suggest you do answer them, dear. I’m sure you don’t want to find out what will happen if you don’t cooperate.”

I lazily lifted my head toward the King and sneered. “Try me.” I bit back, my voice laced with venom.

“Oh, I was afraid you’d say something of those sorts.” The king waved in another male, he was in head to toe in black. Something similar to what I’d see our very own Shadowsinger wear. Only this male was no where near the build of Az, but damn, did he look pissed.

The male pulled out a small dagger that was sheathed on their waist and made his way closer to me. I couldn’t help but let a little laugh escape my lips, “Size does matter you know,” I quipped. I know this man was here to interrogate me, but I could not let these people know how truly vulnerable I felt.

“Oh? I beg to differ.” The male stated as he plunged the dagger into the flesh of my calf.

---

Before 

Rhys wanted to have a family dinner tonight. It would be the first one in quite a long time. With everything going on, who was to blame anyone? I couldn’t say I was looking forward to it though. I used to love the time I could spend with my family, but now, it wasn’t the same. Not when my family was no longer the same. 

Rhys had Feyre, who don’t get me wrong, I love, and I love to see Rhys have the mate he has always deserved. But, with the additions of the Acheron sisters came with something strained. Cass hasn’t said anything, but I see the way he looks at Nesta. Nesta, who wants absolutely nothing to do with him, or any of us for that matter. Mor and Amren hadn’t been around as of late. Both were too busy preparing for this inevitable war. Mor with being an emissary and Amren with working out some logistics of the Cauldron. 

And Az. Azriel was no longer seeking me out. No longer spending time in the training ring or the library with me. Instead, he was with Elain. 

And then, there was me. Before this family all I was, was alone. Finding this family had saved me in more aspects than one, but I can feel it shifting under my feet, about to give way and take me with the edge of it. 

This though, is something I would never speak about. There is enough going on as it is. No one needs to be burdened about me, my unreciprocated feelings for the Shadowsinger, or my silly feelings of insecurity. I’m a friend to the court, a warrior, sometimes an advisor, but, I am nothing compared to the rest of them. I simply do not hold enough importance, and that is something I must live with. Something I am terrified they will realize as well. 

I was the last to make it to the table. Cauldron, even Elain is here. And next to Elain was Az. Hazel eyed, messy haired, Az. We caught each other’s eyes. I couldn’t help but let a smile creep up onto my face in greeting, and he smiled back.

I took my seat next to Cass and Amren and looked at the table around me. Even though war was around the corner, it felt good to gather as if nothing was wrong. Conservation started buzzing, everyone started eating, and I drifted off to a place that wouldn’t hurt me.

—- 

Now

Sweat is dripping off me in beads. My body is littered with cuts and bruises. But, I didn’t say a word. Not a single word about the size of our armies, not a word about what Rhys and the others had planned, not a word about our allies. Not a word. And I was paying for it.

Gods. They had left me here, giving me a break from the beatings and the torture. Whatever the used must have been laced with faebane because I have never felt this weak. This out of control of myself. I wasn’t healing, and I was still losing blood. At this rate, it wasn’t looking good. I was still hanging from my arms, I’m sure at this point I had a shoulder out of it’s socket. A rustling began again at the entrance of the tent.

“Back for more?” I croaked. My throat was completely dry from the screaming. But, when I got my eyes open enough to see what the cause of the noise was, my heart stopped dead in it’s tracks.

Elain.

---

Before

I retreated from dinner early. As pitiful as it sounds, I couldn’t be around it. I couldn’t stand to see Azriel with her any longer. Not when I knew he was the one who was slowly healing her and ruining me.

Knocking at my bedroom door pulled me from my thoughts and I was looking into a book, not really reading it. “Come in,” I shouted.

The site of Azriel caught me off guard. Once upon a time, it was normal for him to seek me out from my room. Now, it simply wasn’t. I couldn’t help but tense.

“Oh! Az!” I put my book down and stood. “How are you doing?” I smiled up at him.

“You would know if you hadn’t left dinner so early.” He looked down at me, frowning and crossing his arms. It was rare that Az was upset with me.

“Look, I’m sorry, I’m tired after training today.” I gave him a sad smile, not wanting him to push the issue further. “But please, tell me what I missed.”

This somehow made his shadows start to swirl around him and he huffed. “I was telling everyone how much progress Elain had made. She’s having actual conversations now.” He smiled at it, proud.

I tried not to show any hurt on my face. I have no right for this to hurt me. He was helping someone, and I had to be pitiful enough that I was jealous.

“That’s amazing Az, you’ve helped her a lot.” I let another smile grace my face. Before I knew what I was saying it was falling out of my lips, “But, you do realize that she is mated, right?”

Azriel’s demeanor shifted. His shadows became agitated, “Elain is a friend. She is going through a lot, and she needs support.” He sighed, “Plus, I think that cauldron could be wrong.” That sentence alone was enough to rip whatever was left in me to shreds. Why couldn’t he see me?

I had to take a deep breath to keep the silver lining in my eyes in place. “Az, when in your life have you ever seen the cauldron be wrong? Why would it start being wrong now?”

“Look, maybe you’ll understand one day, but it’s wrong about her and Lucien.” He crossed his arms now.

“It sounds like you want to it be wrong. Whether it is, or not.”

Azriel was growing frustrated. His eyebrow ticked and he huffed, “Can you blame me for wanting something more?”

“She is mated Azriel. Off limits.” I tried to stress him. “I don’t want to see you hurt if it doesn’t turn out the way you want.” I sighed. “I wouldn’t want my mate ripped away from me, I’m sure Lucien doesn’t either.” He doesn’t even realize that I’m talking about him. Not a single clue.

“Ripped away? Look Y/N, just because you’re alone, does not mean I have to be. Why are you making this about you?” He nearly snarled at me. Snarled. “I have finally found another purpose other than this war. I have found something, someone, to spend my time with and enjoy.”

His words hit me like an arrow to the chest. Alone. Maybe they all did see me, and they just didn’t care. Why couldn’t I be enough for him? Why hadn’t in all the time and cherished memories we have together be enough. We had held each other in hardship. We had trained together. We had grown together. We had spent countless Starfalls together. We had shared so many laughs and touches. Why wasn’t what we had enough for him?

The weight of Azriel’s words hung in the air, heavy silence settling between us. My heart ached with the sting of his remark, and I fought to keep any of my remaining composure.

I deflated, “Az,” I tried to sigh as he cut me off again.

“Well, maybe if you weren’t so insecure, you’d see that I’m just trying to help someone who’s been through a lot. You’re jealous and it’s clouding your judgment.” He stared at me, and I had to look away. I didn’t realize it but I began to shake. I couldn’t tell if it was from rage, or from the way my heart cracked as he spoke.

“I think you should go Az.” My voice began to break, and I could tell that my walls were going to come down. Not once had I ever asked him to leave.

His own eyes softened, and he reached for me, “Wait.”

He tried to continue but I cut him off, “Leave, Azriel.” I turned to face away from him. I gathered my arms together. I couldn’t let him see the tears that were rolling down my face, I wouldn’t.

He pulled his arm back to himself and hesitated, seeing the pain he was causing me. Without another word, he turned and left, the door closing behind with a heavy finality.

---

Now

Elain. What the fuck was she doing here?

Seeing her tore me from my stupor. She acted as if she was in a trance, half there. I was really panicking now. I could take this torture and pain, Elain, I don’t think she would last. I could hardly pull at my restraints at this point.

“Elain! Elain!” I screamed at her, trying to get her attention. One of the males that was hauling her in, left her side and strolled to mine. Next thing I knew I was tasting my own blood in my mouth as his fist met with my face. As the blood welled up in my mouth, I felt rage hit me. I spat at him. His face now coated with the bloody saliva that he caused me.

He wiped his hand over his face, ridding it of its bloody covering. I snarled at him as he drew a blade. Good. This way the focus would stay on me and not Elain. He brought the blade to my face, slicing a thin mark down my cheek. “If you wanted more, you could’ve just asked.” He trailed the blade down my neck, and now to my collar bone, all the while slicing lightly as he went. He brought his lips to my ear and his hand grabbed my face, “I have so much more than just blades and fists in store for you, girl.”

It was almost too hard to stomach. I didn’t want to know what he was alluding to. Elain, do this for Elain. I told myself. I kept silent and he pushed me away, returning to the other male who was already putting Elain into restraints.

Why is she here? Why is she not fighting back?

As they finished with her restraints, Hybern himself walked back into the tent.

“Cauldron be damned, if it’s not also Feyre’s cauldron made sister.” Hybern chuffed, “We are truly going to have such a fun time together.” He chuckled as he looked between Elain and I.

He nodded at his men and they both reach for their knives. One for me. One for Elain.

“Wait!” I blurted as I saw the man move toward Elaine, “Please, leave her unharmed.”

“Hmm,” hummed Hybern, “Now, tell me pretty thing, why would I do that?”

“She’s a Seer. Please, you must leave her unharmed or she will be no use to anyone. She will not come out of any trance if she is harmed.” I didn’t know if what I was blabbing was true. I only knew that I needed to protect Elain, for she could not protect herself.

Hybern nodded again at the male who was at Elain’s side. The male sheathed his blade and I let out a silent sigh.

“You on the other hand,” Hybern turned his attention back on me, “I have some questions about pretty Elain.” A wicked smile reached the lips of the male in front of me, as he lifted his blade threatening. “You, dear Y/N, best answer them.”

The male reached for my shirt and tore it in half. Now leaving my chest and abdomen exposed to the air, only a warrior’s wrap covering my breasts. I gasped at the bite of the air reaching my skin. My abdomen was littered with black and blue bruising from the beatings. The faebane in my system slowing any kind of healing.

I turned my face to a stone grimace. I could do this. I told myself. If nobody comes for you, then surely someone will come for Elain.

That truth hurt almost as much as the torture that I was being put through.

---

Before

It had been about a week since I’d seen Azriel. The bond that used to hum in my chest felt vacant. Rhysand had sent me and Cassian to one of the Illyrian war bands that were positioned in case of an attack.

It was a single flaming arrow that was sent into a tent that set everything into utter chaos. Cassian was in the middle of a meeting with some of the other commanders, and I was in the training ring.

Hybern’s forces hit us as if we were nothing but an anthill in their way.

I don’t know where Cassian was as I fought and fought, until I was brought down.

---

Now

I was hardly holding on. I had no energy to cry out anymore. No energy to even lift my own head up. My abdomen and back was near ribbons after that male drove his blade into me again and again.

Elain had seemed to snap in and out of it. When she was somewhat coherent, she would only cry. I felt bad for her, but I had done what I could do protect her. There wasn’t a single scratch on her.

At thinking of Elain my mind drifted to Azriel. I wonder if he’s looking for me, if not, her.

The inner circle had to know that something was wrong at this point. I only hope that Cassian was also okay after we were ambushed. I’m sure if he wasn’t, he’d be right next to me also receiving the beatings I was.

Blood dripped down my back, creating a small pool under me. I truly didn’t know how much longer I would last. I had never felt weaker in my life.

I should’ve told him that night. Anguish was suffocating me. I found myself retracing everything I did as of late. The way I stole myself away from my family because I was being nothing but pitiful. The way they started to treat me differently. The way one no one would come to me anymore, and I would not go to them. No wonder they have left you here. You are nothing to them. My mind bit at me.

What truly bothered me was the downfall of mine as Azriel’s friendship. He was the one person I could always truly count on. If I had fallen in training, if I had drank too much, if some stupid male had broke my heart, it was always Azriel that had caught me, and me him. It’s why I fell in love with him long before the bond snapped its place into my heart. And now I was going to die without him ever knowing. I was simply going to fade away as my blood pooled underneath me.

It's better this way. I told myself. Elain is unharmed, and I will fade before anyone knows of this bond. The war will be won and Az will be able to move on with someone he finds joy in.

I couldn’t help but let tears run down my face. I wanted to scream, to find some way out, but with the faebane running through me, I was simply too weak.

---

I woke to the sound of rustling at the entrance of the tent. The rustling led to Elain, and I could hear her restraints being messed with. I nearly couldn’t pry my eyes open at the sound. Maybe they would finally take me from my misery. I silently hoped. That’s when I heard a quiet gasp. I looked up to see.. Feyre? And behind her, the one messing with Elain’s chains, Azriel.

My heart lurched to a stop. They had come to help, we were going to get out.

“Azriel..” Feyre quietly said as he brought Elain into his arms.

“What.” He nearly hissed at her. That’s when he looked up and truly saw me.

“Az.. Feyre..” I choked on my words. Help was here. I was going to get out of here. To make it. Finally something positive bloomed in my chest in place of where that hole had found itself.

Azriel set Elain back down and rushed to my side. He put a hand to my cheek, “Y/N, we couldn’t find you anywhere. Cass, he said you were missing after the battle.” His touch sent shivers down my beaten spine.

My restraints still bore heavily into my wrists where I was strung up. Then, there was rustling and yelling coming from outside of the tent.

“Help me down, please.” My voice was raw and pleading.

The yelling was getting closer and closer.

“Az, we have to leave, now.” Feyre said, trying to scoop Elain into her arms.

Azriel’s hand left my cheek, and panic flared into his eyes as he took in my state.

Hybern’s soldiers were coming, realizing something was wrong. Azriel looked between Elain and I, backing up from where I was strung up. He was backing away from me. Why was he backing away from me?

My own panic started to settle deep inside of me, long squashing any hope that had found it’s place.

“Azriel… please,” I coughed quietly. Dread was setting deeply inside of me. They didn’t plan on saving two. They came here for Elain, not me.

A sob found it’s way onto my lips as he picked Elain from Feyre’s arms. Feyre herself looking torn, her eyes expressing so much anguish.

“We will come back Y/N. I promise.” Azriel’s words were yet another punch to the gut.

I couldn’t help but let the sobs I had been holding onto for so long bubble out of me.

“Please don’t leave me here.” I cried, no longer caring for the quietness. They both stiffened at the sound of my voice. “Please,” I was gasping for air as this point, “If you’re not going to take me, then at least put me down.”

Their eyes widened at my statement, but I couldn’t hold for much longer. I needed this pain to end. This suffering to be over with.

“We will be back. I will come straight back.” Azriel hushly stated. His eyes, those beautiful hazel eyes were boring into me. They were trying to convince me he was telling the truth, but I knew better. I knew that they were only getting into the camp once successfully.

They chose Elain. They were going to leave me behind.

“Just kill me, please kill me…” I sobbed, “Please if you are going to leave me behind, then just kill me.”

Feyre was crying now, and Azriel. I knew, that even though he was choosing Elain, Elain to save, and Elain to love, he still wouldn’t harm me.

“I’m so sorry Y/N.” Feyre bubbled out of her crying lips as she quickly left the tent under her cloak.

Azriel and I made eye contact again through my sobbing, through the tears that were leaving my eyes in force. “I will be right back. I will come back for you.” And then, he was gone. With Elain in his arms.

I broke, truly broke. No weapon could hurt me as much as the sight of who I loved most, my mate, leaving me here, strung up and bleeding out.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Don't Speak 50

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, obsession, stalking, manipulation, reclusive behaviour, disordered eating, dissociation, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Reader is a reclusive loner who ventures down to the library on a simple mission. Her task is complicated by the man she meets there. (f!short!reader)

Character: librarian!Andy Barber, Steve Kemp

Note: getting close.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me 

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you all. Take care. 💖

You hate the smell of hospitals. It clings in your nose even after you leave. You can taste it. It dries out the mouth. It stains like the blinding lights against the sterile walls. Your vision is washed out in the hangover of your outing. 

The doctor took your blood. He asked questions too but you didn’t answer them. Ann did. Even if you had tried, you wouldn’t have gotten a word in. 

You left with another appointment scheduled and an endless list of rules. No caffeine, no lunch meat, no hot baths, only sleep on your side... Your body is a prison. It always has been but now, it’s like solitary confinement. Dark and isolating. You can’t see the way out. 

You sit in the back of the car, staring at the seat in front of you. Like a child. She didn’t stop you from sitting back there but you can’t sit beside her. Maybe she prefers it too. Her touch has always said more than her words. She despises you. 

The colours of the city blur. Pallid and dull with the late dregs of winter. You hug yourself and a new tide of nausea overwhelms you as you touch your stomach. You try not to. It’s a reminder. You’re not showing yet, not there, but in other ways. You can feel it even if you can’t see it. 

Ann sighs as she rolls slowly down the suburban street. You recognise the brick house. You rarely see the outside of it. She hits the button below the rear view mirror and the garage door opens. You know what they do. They don’t let you out of the car outside, only in the garage. They’re hiding you. 

As she pulls in, you slump against the door. She unlocks the doors and clicks the button on her belt. You unhook your own seat belt and follow her at a delay. It’s easier to just do everything she wants. 

She hums as she stands, “oof, I’m sore,” she complains, “will you get the door.” 

You nod and go to the button mounted on the wall. Before you can hit it, a grizzly voice wafts through the frigid air, blowing in with the wind under the open garage door. Your hand lingers before the close button but doesn’t hit it. 

A man ducks to see through, “hi, excuse me,” he says as he raises a hand above him to grip the metal, “I’m looking to deliver a package...” 

“Oh, a package?” Ann echoes, “I’m not expecting anything.” 

“Uh, yeah, it’s for... Dr. Steve Kemp?” He shifts the flat box under his arm to read it. “It’s pretty cold out here. Think you can take it off my hands?” 

“Why, of course,” she strides along the length of the car, “I’m his wife.” 

The man nods as she approaches and his grey blue eyes wander over to you. His dark stubble refines the angle of his jaw as a tuque covers his hair. You squint. He’s familiar but you don’t know how. He stares for a moment then hands over the package, “just sign here.” 

He takes out his phone and presents it to her. She drags her finger over the screen then pulls back to examine the box, “thank you, sir. Bit late for a delivery.” 

“Got backed up with the ice up on the freeway. Everyone’s taking the back roads today.” 

“Ah, makes sense,” she says, “well, you have a good day.” 

“You as well, ma’am.” 

He backs up and marches off without another look or word in your direction. She looks down at the box and rolls her eyes. She backs up.  

“Close the door. It’s freezing.” 

You tap the button and the door descends with the thrum of the motor above. You wait for her to go inside first before you follow. You hear the kids and Steve’s low timbre. You wonder why the courier didn’t knock on the front door. Maybe he did but couldn’t be heard. The TV is blaring as the kids giggle and holler. 

“Steve,” Ann calls out as you leave your shoes on the mat, “you got a delivery.” 

He doesn’t answer. She keeps on down the hall and drops the package on the side table against the wall. She stops to peer into the front room. 

“Honey,” she says curtly, “package.” 

“Alright,” he says, slightly agitated as he helps Harper build blocks into a castle. “Thanks. Any idea what it is?” 

“I don’t know. Looked like more of those magazines. Aren’t those supposed to go to your office?” 

“Could be an old subscription,” he shrugs. You stand back in the shadows but he finds you, “how’d it go?” 

“Fine. She’s on track. She’ll have a scan next week,” she sniffs. “You made a mess in here.” 

“The kids are bored. It’s too cold to go outside,” he grumbles. 

“As long as I’m not the one cleaning it up,” she tuts. 

“Love you too, honey,” Steve says dryly.  

“Got enough to worry about with the baby...” she mutters, “I’m thinking of sending out a card as an announcement.” 

“Ann, really? No one cares about a third kid,” he chuckles. 

“I care,” she snips. “Aren’t you excited?” 

“Of course I am. I just don’t see why it needs to be a whole broadcast.” 

You shrink away from their argument as the children give pause at their parents’ tones. They might be young but there’s an obvious tension there. You don’t dare interrupt. 

“It’s a big deal,” she growls. “It’s almost dinner time. Did you take out the chicken like I asked?” 

“I promised the kids pizza. Figured we’d order.” 

“Pizza? It’s so expensive these day--” 

A knock cuts her off and she winces. She huffs and shakes her head. “Busy day.” 

“Could be Jeff. He borrowed my drill.” 

“Tell him to keep it,” she ignores the door and struts back down the hall. “You never use it anyway.” 

You flatten yourself against the wall to let her pass. You stare up the stairs, wondering if you should just go and hide. When they need you, they’ll find you. 

“Get the door, will ya, sweetie?” Steve says. 

You hesitate. That’s all you are these days. A thing to be used. You’re not a person to them. Just a means to an end. You nod. 

You go down the hall to the door. You’re nervous. You don’t like strangers. You’ve had enough of them for the day. All those nurses poking and prodding and preening over that thing inside of you. 

Just get it over with. You make yourself open the door. 

Before you can say a word, you’re name whispers with the wind. You’re seized and pulled into a hug. You barely catch a glimpse before the woman has you in her arms. You can smell her. She always smells of cinnamon. 

“You’re alive,” she says. “Oh my god, you’re alive.” 

“Huh?” You wriggle in confusion, “Amber?” 

“I’ve been...” she loosens her hold but keeps her hands on your arms. “I’ve been looking for you. All these months. I’ve been...” her eyes gleam with tears. “I’ve been so afraid.” 

You’re frozen by more than the chill creeping in around her. Something cracks. Like a toothpick between your fingers, you feel it. All those weeks of hiding behind a wall, of telling yourself not to feel, to just get through it. It’s more than her being there, it’s the care and gentleness in her touch. That’s different. 

She lets you go and holds you at arm’s length, “hey, bub, what’s... you okay? Come on, let’s go home.” 

You blink at her. You look around at your eyes burn with a glimmer of tears, “what?” 

“Home, bubba. Please.” 

“Why?” You breathe. 

“Why? Because...” her voice trails off as you sense a shadow behind you. 

You turn as Steve stands in the doorway, his hands on his childrens’ shoulders. His eyes narrow and his jaw squares, “kids, go find your mother.” 

“Daddy?” Avery says. 

He hushes her and nudges them both down the hall. They run up the stairs and he turns to face you. And Amber. You don’t like the way he looks at her. 

“Ah, took you long enough,” he steps up next to her. “Right, dove? She really took her time. Almost like she doesn’t care at all.” 

You look between them, a sinking sensation rising in your chest. “What?” 

You can’t understand any of it. That wall is slowly crumbling. The only protection you have from any of this. The only thing keeping you from destroying yourself. 

“As if you do, doctor!” Amber snaps.  

He snorts, “as far as I have it, I’m the only one who ever tried to help you find her. Thanksgiving wasn’t that long ago, was it? You can’t blame me for your lack of follow up--” 

“Bullshit,” Amber snarls, her tone and words frightening you. “I’ve been searching for months. I’ve been tearing my hair out and you’ve had her all this time. Do you understand what that man’s been doing? He just sits outside my house and--” She throws her hands up, “you’re just like him.” 

“I’m helping this poor woman escape years of abuse and neglect. Neglect of her mental wellbeing, narcissistic abuse, using her to prop yourself up--” 

“I never—she's my sister. I take care of her.” 

“You do, Amber? So where have you been?” Steve chuckles. 

She lunges forward but doesn’t reach Steve as he steps back and she’s caught from behind. Another man stands behind her, his arm hooked around her middle as he restrains her. It’s him, the delivery man. You recognise him now. He was on her Insta. 

“Amb, please, calm down,” he holds onto her, “shhh, come on. Everyone, let’s be calm.” 

His voice alone puts his words into effect. You feel calm. He slowly releases Amber and squeezes her sleeve. He looks between you and Steve.  

Steve grabs your wrist and pulls you behind him, “I should call the police. You’re disturbing my family--” 

“She’s my family,” Amber growls. “Bub, please, come home.” 

“This doesn’t have to be hostile,” the other man says. “We came here to bring her sister home. That’s all.” 

“She is home--” 

“Ask her,” Amber cries out. “Look at her. I know she wants to come home. Right, bubba? Ask her. Ask. Her.” Amber’s close to tears as she begs, “please. Listen to her. Why does no one listen to her?” 

The words hit you like a punch in the gut. She’s right. No one listens, not if you don’t say what they want. No one but her. Your sister. The only person you ever had. The one who kept you behind her when your mother was having one of her fits, the one who told you to lock the door when the screaming got loud, the one who held you even when it hurt too much to be touched. 

The one who loves you.  

“Home. I want to go home,” you say and try to push past Steve. He turns and holds you, an arm across your chest. “No, home. With her. Amber--” 

You reach for her but he keeps you from getting to her. Amber extends her arm as you wriggle against the restraint. You stomp your feet and thrash. 

“This isn’t my home!” You holler. “This isn’t--” You’re breathless and dizzy. “Amber, help! Amber!” 

“Let her go, man,” the other man says. He’s taller than Steve. He steps up, filling the doorway. 

“Curtis,” Amber whines. 

“She’s not fit. She’s manic. Having an episode. You don’t understand. She’s in treatment. I’m a doctor--” 

“She says she wants to go.” That man, Curtis, grits through his teeth. 

“What is the meaning of this?” Ann snarls sourly as she comes down the stairs, “there are children in this house.” 

“Shouldn’t be,” Curtis sneers. “The meaning is simple. We came for her, we’re not leaving without her.” 

“And who the fuck are you, pal?” Steve puts himself between you and the door. Ann latches onto your wrist and tugs you back. 

“Let her go!” Amber cries out. 

You twist your wrist free as the room tilts and spins around you. Your head bobbles as you look around at the hazy figures. You back up and turn, racing away from the chaos. You hear your sister wail and that man she’s with snarls. There’s footsteps and a clamour. A mess all around. 

You hurl yourself upwards and stumble over the top step. You’re not thinking, just doing. You burst into the guest room and tear open the drawer in the nightstand. You grab your sweater and your journal and a few random pieces of clothing. You bundle it all up and charge back out. 

“Fuck off of her!” Curtis barks. 

“She’s trespassing,” Steve snarls. 

“Oh, stop it! Stop it!” Ann shrieks, “would you stress a pregnant woman like this? Oh my, oh my!” 

You barrel back down the stairs and stop at the bottom. You look at Ann as she touches her stomach. You curl your lip and the realisation startles on you. Locking you up in the room, not letting you out front, keeping you inside all day long... 

“What is all that?” She turns on you. “You’re not going anywhere.” 

“Come on, bub,” Amber shouts as Ann grabs your ear. “Let her go, you bitch!” 

Steve slips in his socks as he tries to hold her back. He flies back as Curtis throws him into the wall and stomps forward. Ann cries out and cowers away as the sting of her pinch throbs in the shell of your ear. 

“Shoes,” Curtis snarls, “go get em.” 

You look down as he glances at your feet. He turns back and grabs Steve by the back of his sweater and drags him away from Amber. He spins him by the shoulder and pins him to the wall. He snaps his fingers. 

“Amb, help her find her shoes.” 

Amber squeezes by and Ann moves toward you. Your sister puts her arm across you and steps up to the other woman. 

“Touch her again and I’ll rip your pretty hair out,” Amber lurches as if she might actually do it. Ann shies away with a screech. 

“Please, please, don’t hurt me,” she keeps her hand on her stomach, “you wouldn’t hurt a pregnant woman.” 

You shrink away and scuttle down the hall to the mat by the garage. You bend down the back of your sneakers as you step into them. You come back as Ann sobs. 

“Oh, please, we were only helping her,” she rocks against the wall. “Please, don’t hurt my husband. Steve, baby, are you okay?” 

“Fucking take her,” Steve shoves Curtis off of him as he kicks his foot into the wall. “She’s broken anyway. Can’t fix that.” 

Curtis staggers a single step and tilts his head dangerously. His hand balls to a fist. “That’s fucked up, doctor.” 

“Curt,” Amber puts her arm around your shoulders and ushers you forward, “let’s just go.” 

“Yeah, fucking run like you do from everything, Dove. Isn’t that how it goes?” Steve snarls. 

You stop beside him and waver. Amber stops too. You look at her and nod. You pull away and she lets you go. You face Steve with watery eyes. 

“You’re evil. I hate you.” You say. “You don’t deserve those children. Or mine.” 

His eyes flare and he stands straight. Curtis looms and you turn away. You walk forward and Amber follows. You don’t look back. You can’t. You’re going home. 

[angegiarratanawriter]

Unplanned

Warnings: Smut, GP!Character, Pregnancy

Word Count: 8292

Summary: A hook up after a night at the club has unexpected consequences

After a long shoot week at the Smosh office, some of the cast decides that you all deserve a night out. So, after wrapping on your final sketch on Friday, everyone heads out to Courtney’s favorite club in hopes of being able to let loose for the night. After all, you’ve all worked hard this week and could do with blowing off some steam.

As you walk into the club with Angela and Amanda by your side, you clench your jaw in anticipation. You’ve always liked going out with your friends, but a dive bar with karaoke is much more your scene than the loud music and flashing lights. The feeling of the bass pounding through your chest is already making your heart beat faster, and you readjust the collar of your crop top to give yourself some more room to breathe.

“Bar first?” Angela asks, looking at you and Amanda.

“Sure,” you reply.

“I could use a drink,” Amanda agrees.

You follow Angela up to the bar, where she opens a tab and orders all of you drinks. It’s a little bit surprising that she knows what you want before you do, but she’s always been attentive, and you have been going out together more since you moved in with her. When the bartender comes back with your martini, you take a sip and revel in the shiver that rolls down your spine at the taste.

“Good?” Angela asks, taking a sip of her rum and coke.

“One of the better ones I’ve had,” you say before taking another sip. “It’s a little strong, though.”

“Strong’s good,” Amanda nearly yells, having to raise her voice over the music.

“True.”

Before the conversation can take a turn in a different direction, you are being joined by a couple more of your castmates. Courtney and Shayne show up together, with Arasha and Chanse right behind them. They’re quick to get their own drinks, and then Amanda is ordering a round of shots to really get the party started. You take yours immediately, wanting to get to the other side of the nausea that hits after drinking tequila.

For now, everyone seems to content to stay at the bar, and that’s fine by you. You like dancing, but it’s always better when you’re already a little bit tipsy. When Courtney orders another round of shots, you realize that you’ll probably be there sooner rather than later, not that you really mind either way. This time it’s vodka, and it goes down a little bit smoother than the tequila did.

“Hey,” you hear an unfamiliar voice say from beside you.

You look up to find a girl with short dark hair and brown eyes looking at you with a coy smile on her face. If you’re honest, the smirk reminds you a little bit of Angela. That’s the only reason that you decide to actually talk to this girl. Usually you’d shoot people down when you’re out with your friends, but you’ve got a buzz going, and you realize that this is probably going to be one of those nights where all you think about is your feelings for your roommate.

“Hey,” you say, giving the girl a smile in return.

“I’m Ava. Can I buy you a drink?”

Before you have the chance to answer, you feel a strong arm come to wrap around your waist. You almost jump out of your skin at the contact, having not been expecting it. After taking a deep breath to regain your composure, you look up to find that it’s Angela who’s come to stand next to you. She’s glaring at the girl standing across from you, but as soon as she realizes she has your attention, she gives you hers.

“Hey, some of us are gonna go hit the dance floor,” Angela says. “You coming?”

“Uh, I-” You cut yourself off when you feel Angela’s hand squeeze at your waist, a clear indicator that you coming is not a debate. “Sure, yeah.”

With a sheepish smile in apology to the girl who had offered to buy you a drink, you follow your roommate out onto the dance floor. Chanse and Courtney are already there, and you can see Amanda and Arasha on their way back from what you guess is the bathroom. The only one missing is Shayne, but you find him closing out his tab when you glance back at the bar.

The song changes as you reach your friends, and you’re thrust into a throng of bodies dedicated to moving to the beat. You’re able to catch up quickly, moving your hips and throwing your arms in the air, just letting the bass settle deep inside your chest to guide you. The next hour is spent getting lost to the music and just enjoying being in the moment, something that you really haven’t gotten to do in a while. Maybe clubs are more fun than you thought.

As another, more sensual song starts blaring through the speakers, you feel a strong pair of hands grip your waist. A flash of short brown hair catches your eye, and you’re really hoping that the girl from the bar has come back to take another shot, because if it isn’t her, then that would mean that it’s Angela, and you don’t know if you could handle that.

Content to live in the fantasy for as long as you can, you press your hips back and start moving with the music again. The contact is intense, setting your whole body on fire and burning you from the inside out. The buzz that had been running through your veins for most of the night is starting to fizzle out, getting replaced by something else. Fuck, you’re gonna go home with this girl.

That though is only solidified when you grind back again and feel something hard pressing into your ass. You choke back a moan, your eyes closing and your head falling back against your dance partner’s shoulder. This ends up leaving you neck exposed, and it doesn’t take long for you to feel soft lips pressed against a patch of skin just below your ear. A moan does tumble out of your mouth this time, and you hear a soft chuckle that decidedly doesn’t come from bar girl.

“You’re so hot like this,” Angela murmurs in your ear, nipping it lightly. “Such a beautiful mess, and I haven’t even really started yet.”

“Oh, yeah?” you challenge, gasping when she pulls your hips back into hers. “What does ‘started’ look like?”

“Us finding a really dark corner in this place and you getting on your knees for me.”

“As much as I would love that, we really shouldn’t do this here.”

“You don’t have a choice, baby. You think I’m getting in a cab when I’m this hard?”

“Fuck, okay. Together or separate?”

“Together,” Angela answers, biting down roughly on your neck. “Everybody else is distracted, so we don’t have to worry about being seen.”

You nod and start to pull away, but Angela’s hands stay steady on your waist, not letting you move. The action is hot, you’ve always loved a display of strength, but it’s also confusing. Didn’t she just say she wanted to find somewhere more private? When you feel a hand trail in between your bodies and the shift of something hard against your ass, you realize exactly why she had kept you in place.

“What, don’t want anyone to see how turned on you are for me?” you tease.

“Trust me, baby, it has nothing to do with that,” Angela says, leaning closer to your ear. “I couldn’t care less if people saw just how desperate I am for you right now. I just don’t want to get caught before we have the chance to get going.”

“You make a good point. Let’s go.”

As you grab Angela’s hand, you pull her towards the back of the club and down the hallway that houses the bathrooms. You go past them, hoping that there’s some sort of storage closet or something that’s unlocked so that you’re not out in the open. After trying a couple of door knobs, you finally manage to find a room that’s open. You drag Angela inside and lock up behind you before turning on the light to find yourself in what seems to be an office.

“This is as good a place as any,” Angela says, walking behind the desk and leaning back against it. “Over here. On your knees.”

Never one to disobey, you quickly round the desk before moving to kneel for your roommate. Could she technically still be called your roommate after this? You have no idea, and don’t care to find out right now. Instead, you set your sights on the belt that is holding up her jeans and unbuckle it, pulling through the loops. As you toss it to the side, you look up to see her staring down at you with dark eyes.

Swallowing hard, you run your hand over Angela’s length, earning a sigh. You smile as you trail up higher, unbuttoning her jeans and then pulling down the zipper. The sight of her cock straining against her boxers has your eyes widening, and you pause for a minute, wanting to commit all of this to memory. Once you’re sure the image will have a hard time leaving your brain, you pull down her jeans and underwear and start to reach up.

“Wait,” Angela says, grabbing your wrist before you can touch her. “Are you sober enough to consent to this?”

“Yes.”

“And do you consent to this in general?”

“A thousand fucking percent,” you reply.

Angela searches your face for any signs of apprehension or uncertainty, and when she doesn’t find any, she releases your wrist. You smile up at her before moving your attention downwards, reaching out to wrap your fingers around her cock and stroking gently. She lets out a soft sigh, and you decide that your goal tonight is going to be to break her. You want to hear her moan your name.

Wanting to make that a reality as soon as possible, you lean in and lick a line all the way from the base of Angela’s cock all the way up, swirling your tongue around the tip. A hand comes to rest in your hair, encouraging you to keep going, so you do. You dip down and start to take her in your mouth, bobbing your head in a slow rhythm. With every bob, you take more of her until your nose is pressing against her stomach. You pause there for a second, looking up.

“Fuck,” Angela grunts. “So good for me. Can I chase it, baby?”

You do your best to nod, and Angela gets the message, because she immediately starts to rut her hips. The feeling of her cock hitting the back of your throat has you dripping, and you briefly consider shoving a hand down your pants just to get some relief before you feel the grip on your hair tighten. She’s close, and you want to focus on getting her there.

As you feel Angela start to tug at your hair, you hollow out your cheeks to create suction while using your tongue to trace the vein on the underside of her cock. You watch as her abs contract, the lines becoming more and more defined the closer to the edge she gets. It’s a beautiful sight to watch, but it doesn’t compare to her throwing her head back and biting down on a moan as she comes.

“Fuck,” Angela says as she comes down. “You-fuck.”

“That good, huh?” you tease as you tuck her cock back into her boxers.

“Better than. Come on, let’s get home so I can return the favor.”

“Oh, you don’t have to-”

“If you think I’m not eating you out after that performance, you are sorely mistaken.”

Deciding not to argue against something you actually want, you stand up and wipe some of the stray spit from the corner of your mouth. Angela tracks the action with a dark gaze, but ends up shaking her head before moving to rezip and button her pants. You grab her belt and hand it to her, and she pulls it through the loops before buckling it in the front.

“Do I look presentable?” Angela asks.

“You’re fine,” you answer, running your fingers through your hair to smooth it out. “Am I good?”

“Yep. Ready to go?”

“For sure.”

Getting out of the office unseen is the easy part. The hard part is making it past your friends without them asking a million questions. Courtney had noticed your absence, but you’re able to play it off by saying that you’d been hugging the toilet in the bathroom for the last twenty minutes, with Angela there to comfort you. Your disheveled appearance helps sell that story, and soon enough you’re both on your way home in a cab.

The drive to your apartment building feels like it takes forever, and the elevator ride up to your floor is even worse. By the time you make it through your front door, you’re practically vibrating with impatience. Luckily for you, Angela is too, because as soon as you both have your shoes off, she lifts you up by the backs of your thighs and carries you down the hallway.

You find yourself being thrown onto her bed, and with in seconds, she’s crawling on top of you and pressing your lips together. Even with everything you’ve done tonight, you have actually kissed, so it takes you a little bit by surprise. It doesn’t take you long to recover, though, and soon you’re pushing back against her lips with equal fervor.

After a few minutes of exploring each other’s mouths, Angela moves down your jawline and then to your neck, kissing and sucking at the same spot she had at the club. Your hips jump at the feeling, and you feel her smirk against your skin before moving down to leave what is definitely going to be a mark on your collarbone. As she starts to move down to your chest, she tugs at the hem of your shirt.

“Can I take this off?”

“Fuck yes,” you say, eagerly sitting up.

Angela smirks as she rips the shirt over your head, but the sight of your bare chest wipes it right off of her face. Apparently she hadn’t been ready for you not wearing a bra. She looks up at you with hunger in her eyes, and when you nod, she immediately leans down and takes a nipple in her mouth.

“Fuck,” you gasp.

You arch your back so that Angela can get more of your breast in her mouth, and you moan as you feel her suck hard. A hand comes up to cup your other tit, massaging it gently, and your hips buck into her again. You manage to find some friction this time in the form of Angela’s leg between your thighs, so you start grinding into it, chasing some of the relief that you desperately need.

As Angela switches to lavish your other nipple with affections, you bring your hand up to pinch at the one she just left. This has a wave of heat washing down your spine, and you grind down harder now that the end goal is within reach. Before you can get there, though, strong hands push your hips down into the bed, elimination the friction that had been building you up.

“Baby,” you whine, reaching down to grab her hips and try to pull her flush against you.

“You’re not coming on my thigh,” Angela says as she starts to kiss down your body. “I have somewhere else in mind for that.”

With a wink, Angela undoes the button of your jeans with her teeth and then pulls the zipper down the same way. She makes quick work of pulling them off of your body, and you think she’s about to take your panties off too, but she stops short. When she looks up at you, you realize that she won’t go any farther without your consent.

“I know you said yes at the club, but I need to hear you say it now,” Angela says.

“Yes,” you reply, trying and failing to keep the whine out of your voice.

Consent now established, or re-established, Angela wraps her fingers in the hem of your panties and pulls them down slowly. You squeeze your eyes shut in embarrassment as you feel them stick to you, but it doesn’t seem to bother her. In fact, you’re pretty sure you hear her let out a little hum of appreciation.

The first trace of Angela’s tongue against your slit has you crying out her name. You’re embarrassingly close already, but that only seems to spur her on as she draws circles around your clit before briefly moving down to your dripping entrance. She repeats the pattern over and over again, drawing moan after moan from your lips as you feel your core start to tighten.

“Ange, I’m-”

A burst of white hot pleasure explodes from your center, and you feel your entire body start to shake as your orgasm engulfs you. Angela works you down from it expertly, slowing her movements down before completely coming to a stop when you go slack against the bed. You feel start to trail kisses back up your body, and you open your eyes as you feel her breath fanning against your lips.

Embarrassingly, a full body shiver runs through you at the sight of Angela’s face. Her chin is covered in your wetness, and her perfect lips are a darker shade of pink than you’ve ever seen them. Before she has the chance to tease you about your reaction, you lean up and kiss her, moaning at the taste of yourself on her tongue.

“God, you’re so hot,” you murmur. “Fuck, do you have condoms?”

“What?” Angela says, pulling away in surprise.

“Condoms. Do you have them?”

“I don’t want you to feel like you have to-”

“I don’t, just like you didn’t when you said you wanted to go down on me,” you say, cutting her off. “Unless you don’t want to?”

“I do,” Angela says quickly. “I really fucking do.”

“Then get naked, grab a condom, and come fuck me.”

Angela nearly falls off the bed as she scrambles to get up, but she manages to get her feet under her. She stands up and pulls her collared shirt over her head before undoing the clasp of her bra and letting it fall from her arms. You take a minute to admire the view, but quickly get distracted when Angela pulls off her pants and underwear. She goes into the side table and grabs a condom, ripping the packaging off and rolling it on before climbing back on top of you.

“Are you sure about this?” Angela asks softly, positioning herself between your legs.

“Yes.”

“Because we don’t have to do this. We can leave it here for tonight and talk in the morning, or-”

“Angela, just shut up and fuck me already.”

The desperation in your voice seems to get Angela to understand that you want this, and she lines herself up at your entrance before pushing in. You do your best not to tense up, taking deep breaths to keep your muscles relaxed as she presses more into you. As soon as your hips connect, you feel your walls clench around her cock.

“Fuck, this isn’t gonna last long,” Angela mumbles. “Feels so good.”

Before you have the chance to tell her that you don’t care how long she lasts, she rolls her hips into you. The friction is delicious, and you find your head falling back against the pillows as you let out a loud moan that seems like it bounces off every single wall in your apartment. God, your neighbors are gonna hate you.

As Angela starts to build a rhythm with her thrusts, she shifts her hips slightly on every stroke. You wonder what she’s doing, but then you feel the tip of her cock rub against your g-spot, and you suddenly can’t think anymore. She smirks at the little choking sound that escapes your lips, and then she’s picking up speed and pounding you into the mattress.

It doesn’t take long for Angela to have you worked up and on the brink of orgasm, but you hold it, not wanting to let go yet. You dig your fingertips into her sides to give yourself something to hold onto, and suddenly her hips are stuttering into you. Low grunts are falling from her lips on every thrust now, and her eyes are glazed over as she chases her high.

“Fuck, Y/N,” Angela moans. “I need-I need you to come. I can’t-”

“I’m there,” you whine.

Your walls convulse around Angela’s cock as you come, and your legs try to clamp shut, only to be held open by the girl in between them. A sharp moan escapes your lips, and you hear her say your name again, which only adds to the pleasure that is coursing through your veins. It takes a long time for you to come down, only really coming back to yourself when you feel soft kisses being peppered across your cheek.

“You okay?” Angela asks, resting her head in the crook of your neck.

“Yeah,” you say, still trying to catch your breath. “Yeah, I’m good.”

“We should probably get cleaned up and head to bed.”

When you nod in agreement, Angela carefully pulls out of you before peeling the condom off and tying it closed. She gets up and offers you a hand that you take gratefully, before you both head out of her room and down the hallway to the bathroom. After a quick clean up, she leaves you to use the bathroom. As you pee, you realize that you never heard her door shut, and take that as an invitation to rejoin her. That night, you fall asleep feeling safe and sound in her arms.

—

An alarm blaring yanks you out of your sleep, and you groan, rolling over to bury your face in the pillow. This is the third time this week that you’ve woken up feeling like shit, and it’s only Wednesday. Before you have the chance to wallow in how miserable you feel, there’s a knock on your door and it opens just a crack.

“Hey, time to get up,” Angela says softly. “We have to be at the studio in less than an hour, and I wanna stop for some coffee if that’s cool.”

“Sure,” you say, sitting up slowly to avoid making your nausea worse. “I’ll be ready to go in twenty.”

Angela nods and closes the door, leaving you to start your day. Things between you two have been a little bit different ever since you hooked up. She’s been distant, but honestly, so have you. It’s like neither of you know how to walk back the line that you crossed that night a few weeks ago, and now you’re both just trying to learn how to live in the awkwardness.

Sighing, you climb out of bed and are immediately hit with a wave of nausea. Like the last two mornings, you sprint across the hall to the bathroom, closing the door and turning on the faucet so that Angela doesn’t hear you throwing up. After a minute of just sitting in front of the toilet, you get up and flush before starting to get ready. 

You brush your teeth and take a quick shower, then head back to your room to get dressed. Buttoning your jeans takes a little extra effort this morning, but you chalk it up to bloating. Once you’re dressed, you put on some light makeup and grab your bag before heading out to the living room. Angela is waiting for you there, and as soon as she sees you come in, she stands up.

“Ready?”

“Yeah,” you reply, heading to the door.

The elevator ride down to the parking garage brings on another wave of nausea, but you manage to dispel it by the time you climb into Angela’s car. The drive to the nearest coffee shop only takes five minutes, and then you’re heading off to the studio. When you get there, you head inside to find Amanda and Courtney chatting with Arasha in the main office.

“Yeah, I feel so much better,” Courtney says. “That cold was awful. I’m just glad my period was ending when I caught it.”

That statement makes you stop dead in your tracks. Wait a minute. Courtney’s period was ending? No, that couldn’t be right. Could it? If it was, that means yours was late. Like, extremely late. You guys weren’t perfectly synced, but you would have for sure started your period a few days before she did, as happens every month. A sinking feeling hits you in the pit of your stomach as you realize what this could mean.

“Hey, are you okay?” Angela asks from beside you. “You just got really pale.”

“Yeah, I’m good,” you say. “I-I’m gonna run to the bathroom.”

Without waiting for Angela to respond, you practically run down the hall and into the single person bathroom. You shut and lock the door behind you then walk over to the sink, turning the water on cold and splashing your face with it. The coolness does nothing to dispel the rising feeling of dread in your stomach, and you find yourself rushing to the toilet for the second time today.

After taking a minute to regain your composure, you take your spare toothbrush and toothpaste out of the bag and start brushing. All the while, you think about what’s going to happen now. You’re pregnant, you have to be. Your period is is a week and a half late and you’ve been waking up nauseous every morning for the last couple days. There’s no other logical explanation, right?

Knowing that there’s nothing you can do right now, you squash down your panic and resolve to go to the drugstore at lunch. Then you’ll be able to get a test and confirm that you actually are pregnant before you start really freaking out. With a sigh, you spit the toothpaste into the sink and rinse your mouth before putting everything away and walking back out to the office.

“There you are,” Amanda says, smiling as you walk over to the group that has formed. “We saw you come in, but then you disappeared.”

“I just had to use the bathroom,” you say, trying to give her a reassuring smile. “Are you ready for the shoots today?”

“God yes. I’ve been dying to play Gentleman’s Moose Master again.”

“The last one absolutely killed me,” Courtney agrees. “I can’t wait to see what we’ve got this time.”

“Yeah, that’ll be a good video,” you agree.

“What about you?” Amanda asks. “You’re filming a reaction video for Pit, right?”

“I am. God, I hope they don’t do me too dirty. Tommy got Angela good on the last one, I had to deal with her pouting for days after filming.”

“Hey, it was not that bad,” Angela protests with a pout.

“Oh, it was that bad,” Chanse chimes in. “You were grumpy for two days, and that was just what I saw here. I can’t imagine what you were like at home.”

“Mopey,” you say cheekily.

“Whatever,” Angela mutters, though you know she’s not actually feeling put out. “Let’s go, we’ve got to start getting ready.”

With that, the brunette turns around and starts walking in the direction of the art department. Shayne, Courtney, Amanda, and Trevor follow her, leaving you with the a few of your other castmates. You turn around to find Chanse looking at you with an eyebrow raised, but before you can say anything, Erin comes over and starts herding you to the stage you’re going to be shooting on today.

While you’d had a brief reprieve from your thoughts while you had been joking around with the rest of the cast, as soon as you sit down at the table on set, they all come rushing back in. You spend almost the entire shoot pretending to pay attention to the screen in front of you, but in reality, you’re a million miles away. When they call the final cut on the video, you let out a little sigh of relief and stand up, ready to move on to the next thing.

“Hey, are you okay?” Chanse asks as you walk back out to the main office. “You seem…off. I don’t really know how to explain it. And Angela has been pouting for weeks. Did something happen?”

“Yeah,” you say, sighing heavily as tears start to prick at the corners of your eyes. “It’s a long story, but I think I really fucked up and now I don’t know what to do.”

“Is there anything I can do?”

“Can you cover for me at lunch? I need to pick something up, but Angela can’t know about it.”

“Of course,” Chanse says softly. “I know this might be overstepping, but do you want someone to go with you?”

“Maybe,” you say, biting your lip as you think it through. “Yes. But then who’s gonna cover for us?”

“I’ll talk to Amanda, she won’t ask questions if she thinks I’m taking you out to lunch so that I can gush about the guy I hooked up with last weekend.”

“Okay, yeah. Thanks.”

“Of course. Now come on, we just have to get through an hour long shoot before we can go do whatever you need.”

You nod your head and follow him off the stage and back into the main office, where you find Ian and Anthony setting up for the sketch shoot. Most of it has already been filmed, but the final part got delayed due to some technical difficulties the other day so the final scene had been squeezed into today’s schedule.

This shoot goes a lot better than the last, with you being able to turn on your actor’s brain and set everything else on the back burner. It ends up running a little bit long, but that just means that lunch will be pushed back a bit. Not a complete travesty in the grand scheme of things. When the shoot ends, you walk off towards the kitchen to get Chanse, and you find him talking to Amanda.

“Wait, why are you going out for lunch?”

“Because I need to talk to her about something,” Chanse replies. “I hooked up with a guy this weekend, and I need adv-”

“Nope, stop,” Amanda says, holding her hand up. “I don’t wanna know. I’ll tell Ange that you guys went out.”

“Thank you.”

“Hey,” you say, stepping into the kitchen. “You ready?”

“Yeah,” Chanse says, walking towards you. “Let me just grab my keys.”

With a little nod, you turn and head back out towards the bullpen. You stop off at Chanse’s desk to grab his keys, and then you head out to the parking lot. He opens the door of his pick up truck for you and helps you in before going walking around the vehicle and hopping into the driver’s seat. He doesn’t start the engine though, just looks over at you with a soft expression.

“Tell me what’s going on.”

“I-I slept with Angela,” you whisper, looking down at your hands. “A few weeks ago. We were drunk and it just kind of happened, but things have been weird ever since. I think she thinks it was a mistake.”

“Have you talked to her?”

“No, I…I don’t know how to. I mean, how do I tell her that I…”

“Do you have feelings for her?” Chanse asks softly.

“I do. But now everything is weird and complicated, and I-”

“Why are things complicated? You slept together, that wouldn’t have happened if she didn’t feel something too.”

“Because I think…I think I’m pregnant.”

Chanse just sits there for a moment in stunned silence, his mouth opening and closing like a fish. You want him to say something, anything, even if he just calls you a fucking idiot for letting this happen. But you know he would never do that, he’s too kind and compassionate to have that kind of a response. Instead, he just puts the key into the ignition and turns it, then starts backing out of the parking spot.

“Where are we going?” you ask.

“To the pharmacy,” Chanse answers. “We’ll pick up a test, and you’ll take it. If it’s positive, then we can start to panic.”

“Yeah, right. Okay.”

The drive to the nearest drug store only takes five minutes, and soon you find yourself in the family planning aisle. Chanse stays by your side, offering silent support as you look at the pregnancy tests. Eventually you grab two Clearblues, then you head up to the front of the store and check out. With the tests now in hand, you’re tempted to just take them here, but you know that a CVS bathroom probably isn’t the best place to find out that you’re pregnant.

When you get back to the Smosh studio, Chanse takes you down a side hall that avoids the eating area before opening the door to the women’s bathroom for you. You swallow hard, but he gives you a look of encouragement, so you head inside and go into the first stall. After reading the directions, you pee on the sticks and then flush the toilet before heading out of the stall. You put the tests on a paper towel on the counter and then wash your hands.

After setting a timer on your phone for five minutes, you poke your head out of the bathroom. Chanse looks up at you, and when you nod your head back inside, he pushes himself off the wall and follows you in. For the next few minutes, you sit in silence, waiting for the alarm to go off with a pit of dread in your stomach. When it does, you take a deep breath and walk back to the counter, flipping over the tests.

“Positive,” you choke out, feeling tears streaming down your cheeks. “Both of them.”

“Fuck,” Chanse breathes out, walking over to wrap his arms around you. “It’s gonna be okay. You’ll figure this out.”

“I don’t-I didn’t-”

“I know. I know.”

“Nobody else can find out,” you say, sniffling. “Not before I talk to her.”

“They won’t.”

As if he knows exactly what to do, Chanse grabs a paper towel from the dispenser and wraps one of he tests up before putting it into your backpack. He then wraps the other one up and buries it, making sure that nobody will find it unless they’re looking for it. When he’s done, he turns to you and wraps you in one last hug.

“Everything’s going to be okay, I promise,” Chanse says.

“Thank you,” you whisper back. “Now I just have to figure out how to get through the rest of my day.”

With a sigh, you pull out of his arms and you both head to your next shoot. You spend most of it trying not to throw up, the confirmation of your pregnancy bringing back your nausea in full force. You notice Amanda watching you, a concerned look on her face, but before she can say something, Chanse stops her with a shake of his head and a few hushed words. If he hadn’t promised to keep your secret, you would have been concerned that he had told her.

When you’re finished shooting the short sketch with Chanse and Amanda, it’s time for you to get ready for your last video of the day. At this point, not having had lunch is starting to catch up to you, but there’s no time to find something to eat. You struggle to push away the brain fog that’s come down heavy in the past couple of minutes, and you manage to fight it back far enough that you can at the very least function.

As you walk onto the Reddit Stories set, you see Shayne and Angela talking over by the couch. They both look up when you come in, and he says one last thing to her before nodding in your direction. You watch her take a deep breath as she starts walking over to you, her hands fiddling nervously with the sleeves of her sweatshirt.

“Hey,” Angela says quietly. “You weren’t at lunch.”

“Yeah, I went out with Chanse,” you reply, looking down. “He wanted to talk about some stuff that happened over the weekend.”

“Oh, okay.”

“I’m sure he would’ve asked you to go if he actually needed advice, but he kinda just wanted to gush, so…”

“That’s not-” Angela cuts herself off, biting her bottom lip. “Are we okay?”

“What do you mean?”

“I just…things have been different since…you know. And I didn’t expect them not to be, but this feels…I don’t know. Like you’re mad at me?”

“Ange, I-”

“Did I make you uncomfortable? Do something you didn’t want?”

“Of course not,” you say immediately, not wanting her to think that she did anything wrong. “I’ve just had a lot to think about, and then today…”

“Today what?”

“I’ve just been feeling off, okay? It has nothing to do with anything that you did. I promise.”

Angela looks unconvinced, but she nods her head before walking over to the couch and taking a seat. You sigh and follow her over, plopping down and grabbing a pillow to wrap your arms around. Courtney does a few final checks with the crew, and they you start rolling. Shayne goes through the intro and introduces the theme, which happens to be ‘Am I The Asshole’ stories centered around roommates.

Listening to the stories is hard at first, but after two you manage to zone in and start actually giving your opinions on them. Engaging in the conversation seems to make the time go faster, and pretty soon, the episode is wrapping up. As Shayne does the typical sign off, you watch Chanse slip in through the stage door behind the cameras. He doesn’t seem to be here for you though, walking over to Erin and asking her a question.

When Courtney announces the final cut, you sigh in relief. As you go to stand up, your vision goes black and your legs buckle a little bit underneath you. Reaching out to steady yourself on the couch, you sit back down to try to regain your bearings. You hear Angela’s voice come from next to you, but it sounds really far away.

“Hey, are you okay?”

“What’s going on?” Chanse says, walking over from behind the camera.

“Dizzy,” you manage to stutter out, your eyes squeezed tightly shut.

“When was the last time you ate?”

“You literally took her out for lunch,” Angela says, sounding annoyed.

“Last night,” you say quietly. “I was too nauseous to eat this morning.”

“Okay, here’s what’s going to happen,” Chanse says. “I’m going to go grab you something from the kitchen, and Angela is going to take you to Ian’s office so that you can lay down on his couch. Alright?”

You nod, blinking your eyes open to shoot your friend a grateful look. He returns the gesture, then gets up and heads out towards the main office, leaving you alone with Angela. You look up at her slowly, and find that she already has her eyes on you, a concerned expression on her face. Before you have the chance to say anything, though, she helps you to your feet and starts leading you to Ian’s office.

“What’s going on with you?” Angela asks as soon as you’re inside, her jaw clenching.

“It’s nothing,” you say, hoping that denial will buy you a little bit of time.

“Don’t do that. First you lie about lunch, and then I find out that you were nauseous this morning and didn’t tell me. Seriously, Y/N. Tell me what’s going on.”

“This isn’t the right place to have this conversation-”

“The hell it isn’t,” Angela says angrily. “Look, I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s wrong-”

“I’m pregnant.”

That stops Angela in her tracks. Her eyes go wide, and then they trail down to your stomach before moving back up to your face. She almost looks like she doesn’t believe you, so you reach into your backpack and pull out the positive test. You unwrap it and hand it to her, but it only seems to make her freeze more.

“Say something,” you beg.

“I-”

Angela stutters and looks from you to the test and back up again, but she never actually says anything. You give her a minute to start to wrap her head around things, but the longer she stays quiet, the more your chest begins to ache. When she looks up at you again, you think that she’s finally about to say something, but she doesn’t. She just stares at you, her jaw clenched.

“Right,” you say, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. “I, uhm, I think I’m going to stay somewhere else tonight.”

You turn on your heels and walk out of the office, heading towards the kitchen at a brisk pace. Tears are falling freely down your cheeks now, and your vision is blurred enough that you almost smack into someone on your way down the hall. It takes strong hands on your shoulders to get you to focus, and you look up to see Chanse standing in front of you.

“What happened?”

“I told her,” you say quietly. “She, uh, she didn’t…”

Thinking about the way she looked at you is the clincher, and you collapse into Chanse’s arms, sobbing. He wraps his arms tightly around you, allowing you to let it out. By the time you manage to get yourself together, the shoulder of his shirt is drenched and you’re somehow in a closet instead of the hallway that this conversation started in. You have no idea how he moved you to somewhere more private, but you’re glad he did.

“Can I stay at your place tonight?” you ask, sounding small.

“Of course. Come on, let’s get out of here.”

For the second time today, you find yourself being led outside and helped into Chanse’s truck. You rest your head against the window as soon as he closes the door, and you watch the greenery that surrounds the studio thin out as you head back into the city. It doesn’t take long to arrive at his building, and soon you’re seated at his kitchen island, watching him cook.

“How are you doing?” Chanse asks, setting a plate of stir fry down in front of you.

“I’ve been better,” you reply honestly. “I mean, I didn’t expect her to be over the moon about this, but she could have at least said something.”

“She didn’t say anything?”

“Nope. Just stood there like a statue and stared at me.”

“Maybe she’s just processing.”

“I hope so. I don’t think I can do this alone.”

“Hey,” Chanse says softly, walking around the island to take a seat next to you. “You won’t be doing this alone. If she isn’t there, I will be. I know it’s not the same, but…”

“Thank you,” you say, smiling at him softly.

Before Chanse can say anything in response, his phone starts buzzing on the kitchen counter. He gives you an apologetic look before getting up and going to grab it. As he picks it up, he looks at the screen and frowns. He taps something and puts the phone back down, but it immediately starts buzzing again, so he sighs and answers it.

“Amanda, what’s up?”

“Do you want to tell me why Angela just called me in a panic, looking for Y/N?”

“No, not really,” Chanse says, putting the phone on speaker.

“Well, have you seen her?” Amanda asks. “Because I think our girl is going to have a panic attack if she doesn’t find her in the next five minutes.”

“It would serve her right. And she is definitely not my girl right now.”

“Oh my God, you’re mad at her. You’re never mad at her. What did she do?”

“It’s not my story to tell.”

“It’s fine, she’s gonna find out anyways,” you say, sighing.

“Wait, is Y/N with you?”

“She is,” Chanse says.

“So she’s not going home? What the fuck happened?”

“I’m pregnant,” you say quietly. “It’s Angela’s.”

“WHAT?” Amanda practically yells into the phone. “How? When? Does she know? Sorry, dumb question. She wouldn’t be panicking right now if she didn’t. But wait, why are you with Chanse?”

“Your girl froze,” Chanse says. “Y/N told her, and she just stood there.”

“Fucking idiot. I’m going to kill her.”

Before either you or Chanse has the chance to say anything back, there’s a knock on the door. You exchange a look with each other, but ultimately decide that whoever it is can go the fuck away. As you turn your attention back to the phone and Amanda, another series of knocks sound from the door, this time with a voice accompanying them.

“Chanse, I know Y/N is with you,” Angela calls out. “Open the door.”

“Is she at the door?” Amanda asks.

“Yeah,” Chanse says, walking around the island with his phone in his hand. “Look, I have to let you go. I’ll call you later, yeah?” Without waiting for an answer, he hangs up and turns towards you. “What do you want to do? Do you want to see her?”

“Not really, but I should,” you say. “We need to talk about this eventually.”

“That doesn’t mean it has to be tonight.”

“I know, but it should be. Let her in.”

Chanse nods and then heads to the front door. He pauses with his hand on the knob, looking back to give you one last chance to change your mind. When you don’t, he takes a deep breath and opens the door. He’s immediately shoved back, and you watch Angela walk into the apartment, her eyes scanning the room until find you. As she starts to walk over to you, you climb off of the stool you’re sitting on and wrap your arms around yourself.

“Hey,” you say quietly.

“Hey,” Angela says, visibly softening at the sound of your voice. “Can we talk?”

“We probably should.”

“Chanse, do you mind giving us a few minutes?”

“Of course,” Chanse replies, before walking over to you and giving your shoulder a squeeze. “I’ll be right down the hall if you need me.”

“Okay.”

With a soft smile to you and a glare to Angela, Chanse heads down the hallway and into his room. As soon as you hear the door click shut, you turn back to the girl standing in front of you. She’s looking at your stomach, a mix of wonder and uncertainty clouding her eyes. When she notices you watching her, she clears her throat and straightens up.

“So you’re really pregnant?” Angela asks quietly.

“Yes,” you reply softly.

“When did you find out?”

“Today. I…I heard Courtney talking about coming off of her period when we came in this morning, and I realized I was late. Chanse took me to the pharmacy during our lunch break, and I took a couple of tests. They came back positive.”

“Okay,” Angela says, taking a deep breath. “Okay. So, uhm, I know you probably have a lot that you want to say to me after what happened at the studio, but can I go first?” You nod your head, and Angela lets out a sigh of relief. “Okay. First, I want to say that I’m so sorry for how I reacted. Never in a million years did I think our conversation was heading in that direction, but that’s no excuse.”

“It’s okay. I forgive you.”

“I don’t forgive me, but I appreciate it. The second thing that I wanted to say is, I’m in. I want to be a part of this, with you. In whatever way you want me. But before you decide on that, you should know that I’ve been helplessly in love with you for the last six months.”

“What?”

“I’m in love with you,” Angela repeats, taking a step closer to you. “I love the way you make everyone around you smile, the way you care so deeply about all of our friends, the way you can make me laugh even when I’m having a bad day. I love your smile, and your laugh, and that little crease on your forehead that is only visible when you’re concentrating really, really hard. And so help me God, I love the way that you taste, the way you moan my name, the way you make me feel like I’m burning up from the inside out.”

“Ange,” you say quietly, tears welling in your eyes for the hundredth time today.

“I love you, Y/N. More than I’ve ever loved anyone in my entire life. Please, just give me a chance to show you that.”

“Only if you give me the chance to show you right back.”

“Deal.”

Not wanting to spend another second out of Angela’s arms, you close the distance between you and pull her into a passionate kiss. She responds immediately, sinking into the embrace and letting her body melt into yours. It just feels right, and you realize that no matter what happens next, you’ll always have Angela.

[babymetaldoll]

Are you mine - Chapter eight: "Every ending is a new beginning"

Summary: Spencer and his wife are starting to think about leaving the BAU after an unsub kidnaps a family member of the team. But instead, they make another choice for their family.   Warnings: Cursing, lots of violence ('cos it's a very dark case) kids in danger, sad moments.  Word count:  5.200 words A/N: I really feel sorry for Spencer and his wife. Life keeps getting harder and they don't have the guts to walk away from the FBI... honestly, I can relate to that. I wanna quit (SO BAD!!) but I can't.

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Spencer's point of view

Over the years, there have been so many signs warning us we had to leave the BAU. I feel stupid and blind for ignoring them all along. One of the biggest warnings was Kate's case and all that happened to her niece, Meg. I never wanted to expose Raven to any of those threats. And yet, my whole family has always been at risk only by working at the BAU.

If only we had left on time.

Back then, Kate was pregnant and having trouble with her niece, who felt replaced by the baby. It wasn't weird, considering she was a teenager who had been through her share of family drama after her parents died when she was a baby. (Y/N) told me she even got a belly button piercing and asked Savannah, Derek's girlfriend, to check it when it got infected. It was clear she felt the baby was a threat and that Kate was going to it more than she loved her. Which, if you ask me, it's crazy. Kate would take a bullet for her niece, and she was more of a daughter than anything else.

The day Meg disappeared we were killing time before going home. We were at our desks eating leftover pizza from lunch. JJ and Derek were sitting around our desk, as my wife sat next to me and heard me rambling, as usual.

- "Although the observable universe is continually expanding, there's really no way of knowing if the whole thing is gonna ultimately collapse into one gargantuan black hole."- I said and looked at my crowd staring at me, confused.

- "Wow, there's actually something our little genius doesn't know."- Morgan teased me and JJ chuckled as Kate walked to us and sighed, exhausted.

- "I will tell you one thing for sure, my universe is expanding and it is pretty frickin' stormy. Gotta love nausea and vertigo."

- "Which is why I got you these."- (Y/N) quickly replied and handed her friend (yes, they were good friends) a bag with saltine crackers, ginger and lemon tea, and some jello.

- "You are a lifesaver."

- "What can I say? I know exactly how you are feeling."- Kate's phone beeped as we chewed our pizza and her face changed completely, and stepped from happy to worry in a second.

- "What's wrong?"- my wife asked her, noticing her change as well.

- "I'm not sure. It's Meg. Have a panic code, "pepper," and I just got a text from her saying "pepp."

- "Maybe it's just an accident?"- JJ suggested, but Kate dismissed it as she called her niece.

- "Damn it. Straight to voicemail."- and that's when (Y/N) stood up and walked to her friend, openly worried.

- "Meg still acting out?"- Morgan asked, but Kate didn't reply, she dialed again and started talking with a woman who I guessed was the mother of Meg's best friend. I looked at (Y/N) and her eyes were already on me. When you are a parent and you hear a kid is in danger, it hits you differently. No doubt about that.

- "Stay put. I'm gonna have agents there asap."- those were Kate's last words before she walked away from us. (Y/N) followed her quickly and I stood there wondering if Meg was just acting out because Kate was pregnant or if she was really in danger. I really hoped it was the first option. But we couldn't risk it, so I left my pizza and ran to Hotch's office to tell him what was going on. In a minute, he was gathering the team. We most likely had a case.

The next couple of hours were rough, to say the least. I watched Kate crumble and fight, and try to stay logical to help bring her kid back home. But it was hard for her, of course she was. Not only was she alone in her pregnancy, but she was also too involved in the case. Meg was her life. I don't think I could ever stay rational if anything ever happened to Raven.

Somehow, Hotch convinced Kate to stay at home and rest as we all teamed back at the BAU. That was when Kate told us via video conference she knew who had taken Meg and her friend, Markayla.

- "After we closed the Riverside torso case, I couldn't let it go, so I revisited the crime scenes and started asking questions." - she started explaining as she kept pacing in her room.

- "Aaron, you looked at that case, too, and the evidence indicated the torso killer was working alone."- Rossi pointed out.

- "Kate's working a different tangent."- Hotch explained

- "I also kept tabs on missing women."- Callahan continued talking- "There was a female jogger in Modesto, Eileen Banks, categorized as voluntarily missing, but oddly killed in a car accident a few weeks later all the way in Maryland. She was never autopsied."

- "How is that related to this?"- the C.A.R.D agent helping us asked, not getting where Kate was going.

- "She had been flirting online with a young new boyfriend before she ran off, but it was the same Bobby in that picture from Sam."- Callahan finally explained and sighed defeated by reality. Her eyes were desperate and her face filled with guilt and concern.

- "It must have been the same group that took the girls."- Morgan added - "If this is related to that case, then these abductors are mobile."

- "We'll get an emergency warrant, we'll exhume the jogger's body and do an autopsy."- Hotch commanded.

- "I'll expedite it with Judge Lynch."- the cop said.

- "They were taken because of me."- Kate was desperate - "I was getting close."

- "No, Katie. This is not your fault. You were just doing your job."- (Y/N) tried to comfort her, but it was an impossible task.

- "The unsub knew that grabbing an FBI agent's daughter would bring a firestorm down upon him."- I pointed out, but I don't know if it was what anyone wanted to hear.

- "He's an extreme risk-taker."- JJ added before Garcia interrupted her with the news.

- "Ok, I got the 411 on this Bobby photo. It originated 6 years ago. The guy's name is Sven Sorensen, from Sweden. He's now 25. He still lives in Europe."

- "They used the picture to lure the girls."- Kate kept walking across her room like she was being held in a cage.

- "Whoever did this is most likely not a pedophile, but rather a preferential adult offender and long-term child abductor."- I pointed out, trying to give her some comfort. At least Meg wasn't in the hands of a child abuser.

- "But he targeted the girls."- JJ seemed confused.

- "Only because Kate was targeting him."- (Y/N) explained and we all made a long pause. It didn't look good. I held (Y/N)'s hand tight and she looked at me, fighting the tears in her eyes.

Hotch ended the video call with Kate and asked her to get some rest, for Meg and the baby. I was sure she wasn't going to be able to do such a thing, as a parent, you are alert 24/7 when it comes to your kids.

- "Not only did they wipe the girls' devices clean, but they also went after Kate because she was digging into missing person cases."- I pointed out as we kept looking at the files of the investigations Callahan had done.

- "Because Kate was onto something." - JJ added, which if I can say, was pretty much obvious.

- "Yeah, this isn't some loner who wants to keep girls in a dungeon. This feels like trafficking."- Morgan verbalized what we were all thinking, but neither wanted to say.

- "That's the worst-case scenario."- the agent from the C.A.R.D team said and we all nodded.

- "Well, if it is trafficking, the upside is we've got a better chance of finding the girls alive."- Hotch murmured, clearly affected. My wife sighed and looked at him.

- "That if they don't sell them first."- there was a thick silence in the room after (Y/N) said those words. - "I know we all know Meg and this is hard for everybody in the team. But he has to try to stay objective and honest about our chances. And we know if they don't comply, they'll be beaten into submission or killed if they try to escape. So, what's the plan?"

(Y/N)'s point of view

We got a call an hour later, which was more like a miracle than anything else. Meg's friend, Markayla, had managed to escape and was transferred to the nearest hospital. Hotch asked me to go with him and talk to her and her mother. The minute I stood in front of that poor teenager my heart ached. She didn't have to go through that at that age. Not then, not ever. How can we protect our kids from all the evil around us? I kept asking myself that day, and I still haven't gotten the answer.

- "Hi Markayla, I'm agent Reid, this is Agent Hotchner. We work with Kate and we are helping her find Meg."

I introduced us because I was the less threatening person for a traumatized teenager, all things considered. I kept my phone in my hand the entire time. Kate was at the other end, she needed to hear what had happened and how Meg was holding up.

- "He killed him."- Markayla whispered, looking frightened and still shocked.- "He killed him right in front of me."

- "It's ok, Markayla."- I assured her in my sweetest voice. -"You're ok now. But we need to know, who were you meeting at the library?"

- "It was supposed to be Bobby."- she whispered, embarrassed.- "We were talking to him for a few months online. He seemed so cool. He said he had tickets to the 4for1 concert tonight, but he got stuck at work, so his mom picked us up instead."

- "And she was driving the van?"- Hotch asked her and Markayla nodded.

- "Yes. And she seemed nice, too, until we started asking about Bobby."

- "And what did she do?"- I questioned.

- "She locked the doors. Suddenly this guy popped up from the back and stabbed us in the neck."

- "Can you describe either of them?"- Hotch was asking the impossible but we depended on anything we could get from that poor kid.

- "They were white with brown hair. The creepy guy they gave us to had a wide face."- Makayla said, her eyes filling with fear just by remembering their faces.

- "I'll get a sketch artist."- the C.A.R.D. agent said, but Markayla started mumbling.

- "We had a plan."

- "What was the plan?"- I moved closer and cut her a simple smile.

- "Meg said Kate taught her what to do. Told me that if they tried to hurt us, we could buy time, role-play, get into their heads. That if they moved us, she'd distract them. That was our best opportunity, I had to escape and get help."

Tears ran down Markayla's cheeks as she remembered everything Meg had instructed her. I could only imagine how was Kate on the other side of the phone, hearing that conversation.

- "That's right. Kidnappers are most vulnerable at transfer points."- I assured her. - "Meg was doing the right thing."

- "Did the older man say anything about where he was taking you?"- Hotch asked her and she shook her head.

- "No, he just said he had plans for us. And then I ran. And that's when he shot the younger guy for losing me."- Markayla bit her lips as her chin quivered and she broke into tears- " Look, I didn't want to leave Meg, but she said you guys would never stop looking for her. That's what she said."- the poor girl sobbed and hugged her mother, who cried along with her. I excused myself that minute and left the room.

- "Did you get all that, Kate?"

- "I told Meg everything."- she sobbed at the other side of the line.- "I told her about sadists and that the only way to undermine them was to not show fear."

- "You taught her well, Kate. She can get through this."- I assured her because that was all we had to think about while we did our job, that we were going to save Meg.

On our way back to the BAU, I called Mikey. It was late, but I knew he would be up.

- "Nugget, how is work?"- he asked as soon as he picked up the phone. - "Please tell me you found the girls."

- "One, she managed to escape. But Meg is still missing. How is everything at home?"

- "Birdie is fast asleep. We had dinner at seven, then a warm bath and straight to bed. I'm watching her from the baby monitor and I'm pretty sure she is snoring, just like you do."- I smiled and sighed at the image of my baby resting safe and sound in her crib.

- "Thank you for taking care of her, Mikey."

- "Any time, Nugget."

- "I'll talk to you in the morning, my mom should be there around seven. I don't know if we'll have time to stop by in the morning to shower. We could just work until we find Meg."

- "Ok, I'm gonna try to get some sleep, but I'll call you or doc if anything happens. Which won't', 'cos uncle Mikey is here."

I took mental notes to get Mikey, Frank, Lu, and Mom a special gift to thank them for always taking care of Raven while we were gone. They were the ones we could always count on.

Back at the BAU, we delivered the profile to the police force while Rossi and JJ talked with the media. After the autopsy of the voluntarily missing runner, we analyzed the cases across the country and came to the worst conclusion about the unsubs.

- "This is sex slavery"- Hotch sighed. - "They are selling victims to serial killers."

Like we needed things to get even worse.

- "The operation's actually simple."- Hotch continued talking. - "The killers get to live out their fantasies, and in exchange for supplying the victims, the brokers make them agree to a disposal method."

- "This way he and his team are insulated from the investigation."- Rossi added as Aaron nodded.

- "Just like in the torso case, the behavior and forensics of the kills will only lead us to the customer who actually did the killing, not the broker."- Spencer pointed out and I nodded along.

- "Exactly. And he's smart enough to protect his network by encrypting all communication with his customers."

- "So if we can capture a killer while he's online, then Garcia can hack his system and lead us right to Meg."- Morgan suggested and I nodded one more time.

- "Just say the word."- Pen replied immediately, ready to search down the entire web to find Meg.

- "Garcia, the accident that killed the jogger in Modesto, Eileen Banks, who hit her?"- Hotch asked and she quickly typed.

- "Uh, Marcus Townsen hit the car over the embankment. He was admitted for minor injuries and then released."

- "Can you give us his background?- I asked as Garcia nodded and kept typing.

- "Searching munchkin. Holy heck, his license, registration, and insurance are all bogus."

- "Well, if it was a car crash, they would have checked his blood alcohol level at the hospital."- JJ said and Morgan added

- "Garcia, run the DNA of that blood sample through CODIS."- and that's when Penelope gasped.

- "Ok, he's on a sex offender registry. His real name is Miles Hendrick. He started off stalking a neighbor's kid and got busted in the elementary school bathroom."

- "Now he's graduated to this. Where does he live now?"- Rossi asked.

- "Largo, Maryland."

- "Let's go."- Hotch commanded as we all stood up quickly. - "Rossi, Morgan, and JJ, we'll send you the address. Reids, you are staying here."

- "I'm gonna call Kate. If we are worried, I can't imagine what she is feeling like."- I grabbed my phone and walked to my desk. It was already night, Meg had been missing for over 24 hours now. I didn't want to run the probabilities of her safety.

Spencer's point of view

When we heard from the team, they had Hendrick and Hotch immediately asked Garcia to break into his computer. Which turned into something harder to do than we imagined. While she tried to get the info from his browser, Morgan and Rossi were breaking Hendrick, getting all the info they could. In the end, he admitted to buying the girl he murdered and gave them the info Garcia needed to hack into his system.

- "Sweet mother gross."- Garcia scrolled down the screen and watched hundreds of pictures of kidnapped girls and women, ready to be sold. - "It's like Tinder for sociopaths."

- "They're selling women all over the country."- I stared at the screen disgusted as my wife stood next to me in silence.

- "Do you see Meg anywhere?"- Hotch asked as we all glued our eyes to the screen

- "Wait, wait, wait. Go back."- (Y/N) asked Penelope and pointed a picture. - "That's her. He dyed her hair."

- "She has been sold."- Garcia murmured in horror.

- "Can you tell to whom?"- Hotch demanded

- "No, 'cause the firewall's worse than the other one and I'm upset and I need help focusing!"- it was clear, Garcia was nearly having a meltdown.

- "What about the IP address? That should lead us back to the broker."- Hotch kept his head in the case and didn't even hesitate. He could remain cold-headed even at the worst times.

- "Yes, yes, very good, sir."- Garcia was typing as if her life depended on it. - "There it is! His name's Alex Zorgen. He's in Oakton, Virginia, and he's on his computer right now."

When the team came back with Zorgen and his partner, Paige, the interrogation began. Luckily, Hotch left me and (Y/N) to work together with the partner. She was broken, Zorgen had kidnapped her, tortured her, and raped her for years, but still refused to talk. Until we told her the truth about what had happened to her son, and how Zorgen had killed him. (Y/N) sat across the table from her and described how the man who had ruined her life had also taken her kid's.

Finally, Paige gave us all the info we needed, and Penelope was able to trace the IP address and give us Meg's location. And while the team drove to rescue Meg, me and my wife sat with Paige as she listed all the other serial killers who had been buying girls to torture and kill through the years. The list was surprisingly long, but it allowed to rescue over fifteen women.

(Y/N) was on the phone with Kate as I gathered all our things from our desks, ready to finally go home and get some rest with our daughter. That was when I caught JJ eating saltine crackers and raised an eyebrow.

- "Not you too!"- and she turned around, smiling, completely busted.- "Am I getting another godson?"

- "Probably"- she replied and grinned. - "Or maybe goddaughter."- I smiled and congratulated her, I loved the idea of our BAU family expanding.

- "I can't wait to tell (Y/N)! She is gonna be thrilled!"

And she was. We were all happy JJ was having another baby, but those news were soon overshadowed by the news of Kate's departure from the team. It hit (Y/N) pretty hard, she was her friend, her close friend, and of course, it made her feel incredibly sad. I guess it's a recurrent thing at the BAU, you get close to people and then, they leave.

We understood Kate, though. You can't continue doing a job when it jeopardizes your whole family.

After a few days, we were in our living room after Raven's bedtime. We were both sitting on the couch, reading in silence, an Ella Fitzgerald record playing as quiet background noise, until I heard her whisper what until then seemed to be the unthinkable.

- "Do you think we would ever leave the BAU?"

It took me by surprise that she'd ask me that. I can't lie, the subject had been in my mind for the last couple of weeks, but I guess I didn't think she'd be wondering something as important and huge as that.

- "I do."- I closed my book and looked at her. She seemed worried. - "When we are ready to take that step."

- "I don't wanna wait until something like what happened to Kate and Meg happens to us to leave."- she added and I held her hand, moving closer to her on the couch and feeling her cuddling against me.

- "I would never forgive myself if our kids are ever in danger only because of what we do for a living."

- "Don't think that ma cherie."- I kissed the top of her head and caressed her hand in mine. - "Nothing will happen to Raven or any future kid we have. They will always be happy and healthy, and we will take incredibly good care of them."

- "Promise me?"- she pouted and looked at me with her big beautiful eyes.

- "I promise."- she sighed and cuddled on my chest as I held her tight and closer to me.

- "And what would we do if we weren't Federal Agents?"- I heard her whisper a few minutes later.

- "I think I'd like teaching."

- "You'd be a great teacher. The hot teacher I would have had a crush on."- I smiled and kissed her head again.

- "Would you be my student?"

- "Hell yeah! Though I can't guarantee I'd ever learn anything. I'd be too busy staring at you."- I chuckled and watched her grinning at me for a moment before I asked.

- "What would you like to be? If you weren't with the FBI?"

- "I have no idea."- she whispered and sighed. - "What can I do with a PhD in Sociolinguistics?"

- "You can always teach, write books, work on research... what would you like?"

- "I honestly don't know."

- "You could be a stay-at-home mom if you want."- I don't know why I suggested that if I knew that had never been her dream. And I continued talking the minute I noticed her eyebrow raising as she stared at me. - "I mean if you want to take some time off and think about what you want to do. I don't wanna rush you."

- "I understand. I just don't picture myself waiting for you at home every day, like a 50's housewife."

- "In that fantasy, are you dressed like one?"- I joked and made her chuckle immediately.

- "You are a dirty boy, Dr. Reid."

- "You started, with the whole professor, student thing."

- "I was just being honest, you are being dirty."- she chuckled as I leaned and kissed her. It was the first time we ever talked about leaving the BAU, but trust me, it wasn't the last.

(Y/N)'s point of view

Though the thought of leaving the BAU had been a serious issue after what happened to Kate and her family, soon another idea invaded my entire being: baby fever.

JJ was pregnant again and her second pregnancy had been amazing. She was glowing and looking like a model with her tiny baby bump, though she was already over 33 weeks pregnant. She had gone with us on cases until she was six months old, and she barely had any symptoms. No morning sickness, no weird over-the-top cravings. It was the perfect pregnancy. And suddenly having a second kid seemed like the thing to do.

- "Everything looks great, (Y/N)."- Savannah, Derek's girlfriend, said as she looked through some of my medical exams and smiled at me. - "You are ready to start trying for a new baby, Dr. Reid."

- "That's still confusing."

- "I'm pretty sure you and Spencer know how to make a baby,"- she joked and I chuckled.

- "I mean the "Dr. Reid" part. It's confusing enough when Hotch calls us both Reid at work, adding the Doctor to it makes it impossible to tell us apart."- Savannah laughed as we both stood up and walked to each other. She wrapped her arms around me and gave me my exams back.

- "You just have to relax. Are you two planning any vacation soon?"

- "With this work and a toddler? Wish us luck!"- my cell phone rang and my friend simply sighed, staring at me as I read the screen.

- "I know what that sound means."

- "Duty calls. Thank you for helping me, Sav."

- "Anytime. Call me next weekend for brunch, double dates with little Raven are always fun, and it helps Derek get used to being around kids."

- "Are you two planning to add a little Morgan to the party?"- I nearly beamed at the thought, but Savannah shook her head as she continued smiling.

- "Not yet, but I like that he gets used to the idea."

- "Raven loves her uncle Morgan, so count us in."

Yes, Morgan, Savannah, me, and Spencer started double dating. I don't know when it happened, or why it happened. I just know it was a thing. And it made it pretty obvious we were drifting from being with JJ. Why? I don't know, but something started feeling off at some point. Besides, Morgan and Sav were adorable, funny, and more like us. The "siblings" relationship going on between Derek and my husband made things incredibly fun. It felt like hanging out with family, not friends.

During the months to follow we were deep into work. We had lost Kate, and we had JJ staying in Quantico for the last weeks of her pregnancy, so it was all down to Hotch, Derek, Morgan, Spencer, and me. Even Garcia started coming with us when the cases needed it.

Being two teammates down meant we were swamped with work, which sadly also meant we didn't have as much time as we'd like to be at home with Raven. Our baby daughter had already turned two years old, and she was growing up so fast. She was brave and loved climbing every game at the park near our apartment. Mikey and Frank would take her there at least twice every week. She loved baking with my mom and eating everything they created together. They would sometimes wait for us with homemade cookies or cupcakes.

On the weekends, we played a lot. On the weekends we were at home, of course. Spencer took her out every Saturday morning for their "father and daughter exclusive time." He started doing it the first week she was born, and it was his way to let me sleep and rest a little every Saturday morning. They would walk to the park and play. Sometimes they went to the bookstore and picked out new bedtime stories. But they would always come back home with some delicious breakfast to share with me.

But if you ask me now, I regret wasting so many weekends chasing serial killers. Weekends I could have spent with my baby girl, teaching her how to bake cookies, or taking pictures as she climbed every game in the park. Instead, I got the pictures our family sent us, while we were anywhere else, trying to make the world a better place for them.

- "Mommy? Can't sleep."- Raven woke me up one night, standing right next to me. I quickly opened the bed and she climbed until she was laid next to me.

- "Come here birdie, did you have a bad dream?"

- "No."- she whispered and clung onto me, as her tiny hands rubbed my cheeks.- "I miss you, Mommy."- my heart broke with those words.

- "I'm right here with you now, birdie."

- "But you go."

- "I won't go. I promise. I'll always be there for you."

Spencer's arms around us let me know he was hearing the entire conversation. He kissed the back of my neck and caressed Raven's hair as she slowly drifted back to sleep. My heart ached to think my daughter could ever think I might ever leave her. The saddest part was knowing if Hotch or Garcia called us, we would have to leave.

- "When JJ comes back, we should take a few days off."- I whispered and Spencer hummed in agreement.

We never did. We couldn't. But I wish we did.

A few weeks later, JJ had her second son, Michael. And the team welcomed a new member: Tara Lewis. She was funny and smart, and she had the best comebacks every time Morgan teased her. I loved her from the first day. She also made me miss Prentiss like crazy. That's why Spencer and I talked about it and decided Emily would be the godmother of our next kid. As a way to force her to visit more often.

Nearly four months later, Spencer and I sat on the edge of our bathtub, waiting for the result of a pregnancy test. I was already over ten days late, but still tried not to get my hopes high. Spencer was grinning like a little kid on Christmas morning. The alarm on my phone went off, and the two of us stayed still for another few seconds.

- "Ready to find out if we are gonna be parents again, Mrs. Reid?"- Spencer asked me, and I giggled nervously.

- "Would you do the honors, Dr. Reid?"- I replied as we stood up at the same time and walked to the sink. Spencer grabbed the test and turned it around. In a matter of seconds, his eyes filled with tears as the warmest smile lodged on his lips.

- "It's positive"- he whispered and wrapped his arms around me right away, and I started laughing, feeling tears of happiness rolling down my cheeks, as he held me tight against his body.

- "Really, honey bunny?"

- "Yes, chipmunk. We are gonna be parents again!"- Spencer kissed me sweetly as I could barely contain my happiness. Until one thought froze me.

- "Now... how are we telling Raven?"- I looked at Spencer, and he opened his mouth, but surprisingly, no word came from it. - "Yeah, that's what I thought."- I chuckled and shook my head- "Come on, let's get dressed before our baby wakes up."

Wanna know how Spencer and his wife told Raven? Read the one shot here.

Series' Masterlist - Author's masterlist

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[avonne-writes]

Oh my gosh happy early birthday Avonne!!!

Could I request: [ CARE ] sender nurses a sick / injured receiver🥰🥰

Thank you so much, dear! ❤️ it took me a few weeks, but here it is at last. Although I'm usually wary of a/b/o, I was hit by an idea that I had to explore, I hope you like it 😊

~

When Gale shuffles out of their bedroom that morning, scratching at his chest sleepily, the smell of scrambled eggs hits him from the kitchen and he finds himself suddenly, violently sick. He rushes to the bathroom as bitter bile floods his mouth. He barely makes it inside, but there’s no holding it back - he throws up into their toilet.

The noises he makes sound terrible even to his own ears, so he isn’t surprised when Bucky appears at his side as if summoned.

"Shit." Bucky cringes as Gale shakes and clutches at the ceramic. He’s in a 'kiss the cook' apron and sweatpants that must be Gale's because they're too tight at the waist. "Let me get you some water."

Gale wants to tell him that it's pointless at the moment, but he’s too busy puking his guts out. Bucky kneels beside him and rubs his back through it, his big, warm palm soothing despite Gale's misery. He strokes Gale's hair away from his forehead and shushes him comfortingly.

There’s nothing else he can do. But it's nice to have his mate there. Before Bucky, Gale never really had anyone take care of him like this.

When the nausea finally subsides, he sits back on his haunches and lets Bucky wipe his face with a soft towel. He rinses his mouth, then takes a sip of the glass of water Bucky presses to his lips.

"Thanks." He mumbles when Bucky starts stroking his back again. He can tell that Bucky's trying to put out calming pheromones. To some extent, it works, because the ache in Gale's stomach settles to a gentler ebb and flow.

His body begins to relax. He rinses his mouth again, then puts the glass down. His hands are still trembling, but that starts to subside too when Bucky gathers them between his palms to hold and caress Gale's skin.

"Only plain toast for you this morning." He tells Gale with a lopsided smile. "Pity, 'cause I was gonna spoil you with my Michelin-level breakfast."

When Gale thinks of those eggs, he feels his stomach roil again. He squeezes his eyes shut to fight it. "Must have eaten something bad."

Bucky hums in thought, combing Gale's sweaty hair with his fingers. "Or maybe you got it from me."

"What do you mean?" Gale asks as he’s pulled forward into Bucky’s embrace, Bucky’s neck bared for him to let him scent to help with his nausea. Grateful, he presses his nose to Bucky's pulse point and takes a long inhale. He smells sweet and content. Like home.

"Huh. You don’t smell sick though." Bucky muses as he scents Gale in turn. He draws his hand up and down Gale's back gently. "Still, I bet you five bucks it's the same stomach bug I had at work."

"What stomach bug?" Gale asks more insistently, pressing himself closer. His mate's scent is so comforting and warm, even more so than usual - he wants to get high on it to forget the pain still rolling in his belly.

"I didn’t wanna worry you with it." Bucky starts, and when he shrugs, the tip of Gale’s nose rubs right against his scent gland. Gale’s eyes fly open. "I threw up at work a few times this week but it always kinda went away immediately. I'm all good now."

Bucky pulls back and gives him a rueful look. "Should have figured I'd give it to you."

Beyond the smell of sickness and cleaning products and the lingering waft of scrambled eggs, Gale can feel it now. It’s everywhere. Now that he quite literally buried his face in it, he can’t ignore it, can’t put it out of his mind - the delicate, trickling sweetness of new life. A heady, content shift in the essence of Bucky's fragrance, underlying all of his emotions. Gale has been around enough pregnant people in his life to recognize it.

A baby.

Bucky snorts in amusement, mistaking Gale's wide-eyed stare for worry. "Told you, Buck." He stands and pats the small curve of his belly. "Fit as a fiddle. I could drink Curt under the table."

Gale whimpers. "Please don’t."

Bucky extends his arms to help him up, completely oblivious. He steadies Gale with an arm around his waist. "I know you're really sick when you don’t roll with the joke."

Gale swallows against the tumultous emotions swirling in him and takes another deep breath as Bucky guides him to the couch. The scent follows them.

It’s not just an illusion.

He's going to be a dad.

[slightlygaywritesslightlytoomuch]

Olivia Benson x fem!Reader

FREE PALESTINE

ANGST

Masterlist

(Credit to the owner)

The precinct lights cast a sickly yellow glow on your face as you slumped back in your chair. The file lay open on your desk, its stark details screaming at you. 10-year-old girl, missing for two days, possible abduction. The picture of the little girl, bright smile and eyes full of life, mirrored your own sister's at that age. A wave of nausea washed over you, bile rising in your throat. You squeezed your eyes shut, willing it away.

Olivia found you like that, head buried in your arms, the silence in the normally bustling squad room a dead giveaway. Concern etched lines on her forehead as she knelt beside you, her hand brushing against yours hesitantly. You flinched at the contact, the dam finally breaking.

"Hey," she murmured, her voice laced with worry. "What's wrong?"

You looked up, vision blurred with tears. The words came out in a broken whisper, "It's Sarah. The case, it's Sarah."

Olivia's brow furrowed. Sarah was your younger sister, the sunshine to your storm. You rarely spoke of her at work, preferring to keep your personal life separate. But this, this case ripped through those carefully constructed walls, leaving you raw and exposed.

She pulled you into a hug, your trembling form a stark contrast to her steady embrace. The familiar scent of her vanilla perfume and leather jacket did little to ease the storm raging inside you. You clung to her, burying your face in her shoulder, tears soaking the fabric of her uniform.

"It's okay," she whispered, her voice a soothing balm. "Let it out."

You didn't hold back. The image of the missing girl, so like Sarah, the fear of what she might be going through, the helplessness that clawed at your insides – it all came pouring out in a torrent of choked sobs. Olivia held you tight, a silent pillar of strength amidst the wreckage of your emotions.

When the last sob subsided, leaving you drained and shaky, she pulled back, wiping away the tears that streamed down your face with her thumbs. Her green eyes held a depth of tenderness that both soothed and ached.

"You don't have to pretend to be okay," she said softly. "We'll find her. We always do."

The unwavering certainty in her voice offered a sliver of hope. But the memory of countless cases with less fortunate endings loomed large.

The ride home was a blur. Olivia drove in silence, her hand resting on yours in a comforting gesture. You stole a glance at her profile, the strain etched on her face mirroring your own.

Once inside your apartment, the weight of the day truly hit you. You collapsed onto the couch, burying your face in the cushions. A choked sob escaped your lips.

Olivia knelt before you, her hand cupping your cheek. Her touch was gentle, a silent question in her eyes. You looked up, the raw vulnerability in your gaze a stark contrast to your usual stoicism.

"I can't," you whispered, voice thick with emotion. "What if we don't find her? What if..."

Olivia didn't let you finish. She pulled you close, cradling you in her arms. You melted into her embrace, the familiar scent and warmth a grounding force amidst the chaos.

"We will," she said fiercely, her voice a promise. "We always do everything we can. But it's okay not to be okay. You don't have to carry this alone."

You clung to her, the sound of her steady heartbeat a lighthouse in the storm. Tears streamed down your face again, a mixture of grief, fear, and a sliver of hope rekindled by her unwavering support.

As the minutes ticked by, your sobs subsided into sniffles. Olivia remained by your side, a silent pillar of strength. When you finally pulled back, your eyes red-rimmed but a flicker of determination returning, she brushed a stray tear from your cheek.

"We'll get some rest," she said, her voice firm but gentle. "And tomorrow, we fight like hell to bring that little girl home."

You nodded, a newfound resolve settling in your gut. The case wouldn't be easy, the path ahead uncertain. But with Olivia by your side, a love that had weathered countless storms, you knew you could face anything.

Later that night, as you lay curled up beside Olivia, the weight of the day finally lifted. The gentle rise and fall of her chest lulled you into a restless sleep, haunted by flashes of the missing girl's face and your sister's bright smile.

The following days were a blur of activity. You and Olivia dove headfirst into the case, chasing down leads, interviewing witnesses, the urgency to find the missing girl a constant

[pixie-in-a-moonlantern]

F/M Durgetash one-shot I birthed within a single day. Dead Dove: I don't like Gortash (hence the title), but I do find him mysteriously, annoyingly attractive. Couldn't get him out of my head - so I tried, the best way I knew how - by writing a fic xD. I hope you like it, but it's not essential to my wellbeing, I just really needed to get this off my chest. But it's been fun, so hopefully you'll have fun too.

Explicit 18+, F/M, Enver Gortash / The Dark Urge (old name Talas, new name Nara, some half-elf or other, unimportant), rough sex, cunnilingus, p in v, creampie, some emotional trauma, light stabbing/cutting with a dagger, a bit of aftercare in the form of bathing together.

Yes, Gortash bathes in this story. TWICE. He really needs it :P.

I Don't Like You

01 - Brain worms having a field day.

The night is slowly creeping in, but I’m in no state of mind to sleep. I pace and I rake my hair and I groan. My friends are watching me with concern in their eyes. I can’t blame them—I must look like a lunatic, more so than usually.

I feel like I’m going insane and for a whole new set of reasons than before.

What were we?

Gortash got into my head and now he’s refusing to leave. Was he just trying to mess with me? Did he notice the unmasked disdain in my face and decide to make my skin crawl in revenge? He must know I only have red fog in my brain where my past should be. And he looks just like the kind of man who would lie about it to make me nauseated. No way I’ve ever let those grubby hands touch me.

Yet…

I can hardly admit it to myself, but nausea is not the full extent of my reaction. I feel as if my own body knows this man. My memory is still a blank page, but something in me recognizes him. Something primal. Something hungry.

The urges I’ve been having since meeting Gortash have very little to do with Bhaal.

“Honeymuffin, are you still not ready for bed?”

I hear Halsin’s soothing voice and immediately feel myself relaxing. I turn to him, grateful for the distraction. He’s only dressed in his underpants and the sight of his bushy chest hits a dirty note.

I ignore his question and just press into him, kissing his gentle lips with ferociousness he hasn’t experienced from me yet. He’s responsive and gives in for a few seconds, but then chuckles into my mouth and drags me off of him by the shoulders to inspect me.

“What has gotten into you, my love?”

I groan, freeing myself from his grip. I always appreciate how sensitive he is to my moods and thoughts, but right now, I would die of embarrassment if someone actually found out what’s running through my head.

“I’m just irritated,” I lie through my teeth. “Gortash is one annoying son of a bitch. I hate that we have to pretend to work with him. ‘Notice the way he just kept us there under the threat of violence, to witness his sham of an inauguration? After everything he said about wanting to be partners? Ugh, I could just…” My fists close of their own accord, crushing the imaginary windpipe.

Halsin chuckles again and runs a calloused palm softly along my jaw in a comforting gesture.

“I know, Nara, I know,” he grumbles low, pulling me into a hug. “He irked me, as well. He isn’t worth the stress, though. Let’s sleep. We have another long day ahead of us tomorrow.”

But I can’t sleep. Once Halsin goes into his trance, it’s like he’s not here to hold me together anymore. I toss and turn. I grit my teeth. I grunt and pull on my hair. I try to silence my thoughts with a pillow over my head. It’s no use. I know what I have to do to get some peace of mind.

I get up as quietly as I possibly can. I don’t bother changing—I don’t plan to impress anyone. I just take a small dagger and throw a cloak over my shoulders, so I can hide in the shadows more easily, and sneak out of the inn.

I’m going to make him tell me the truth.

02 - Urge! But not to kill.

Getting into the Wyrmrock is laughably easy. I know the guards would just let me pass, but there’s no way in the Nine Hells I would embarrass myself like that. Little ol’ me going to see “Lord” Gortash in my casual clothes in the middle of the night—what a delicious story for the Baldur’s Mouth it would make. So I utilize every last muscle memory from the past I don’t remember, slipping in completely undetected.

He’s in the throne room, but not sitting on the damned thing. The main section is drowning in darkness, but I see a sliver of light coming from behind the door to one of the adjacent rooms. A study, maybe?

I almost trigger one of the traps as I’m sneaking towards him. There are Steel Watch still stationed around the room, but they appear less than attentive this time. Do they have some sort of down time? Or did Gortash put them in do-not-disturb mode?

I’m trying to not get myself executed, so I push down the instinct to grip the dagger I’m hiding under the cloak. If he wanted me dead, he wouldn’t have made such theatrics to gain my cooperation this morning. The question of whether I wanted him dead remains to be answered.

I take a quiet peek into the warmly lit room and suppress a whistle. It’s a study alright, but one Gortash seems to be using as an apartment—a wide, comfortable, richly adorned bed stands next to his desk, draped in red silk. He’s not in it, though—he sits by the desk, bent over a document, clad only in what looks like a bathrobe.

I try to filter myself through the crack in the door, but the stupid hinges creak so loud I gasp and just inelegantly stumble inside.

Gortash jumps off his chair and twirls around, body taut, eyes alert, a quill in his left hand held like a weapon, the other hand ready to shove the metal claws of his fancy gold netherstone-adorned gauntlet into someone’s eye. I grit my teeth and consider pulling out the dagger—but the second his gaze lands on me, he straightens and lets out a half relieved, half amused chortle.

“Sneaking up on me again?” He shakes his shaggy head. “Are Bhaalists simply unable to set up a meeting, like the rest of us?”

I open my mouth, a scathing comeback ready, but as soon as I let the air in the room in, I’m stunned. There’s a distinct fragrance of soap and perfume, a freshness that only comes from thoroughly scrubbing yourself clean, and, among them, the unmistakable scent of him. The musk that speaks directly to the undamaged parts of my brain.

I can’t believe how clean Gortash looks now. He evidently didn’t plan on any public appearances this late at night, so even his hair is not styled into spikes anymore and it’s just messily sticking out in natural directions, still a little damp from the bath. Funny—he didn’t think to wash before his big inauguration, but he washed now, when no one important is scheduled to see him?

He takes my silence as an opportunity to speak more, instead of waiting for an answer. He tilts his head, gaze slowly gliding down my body, and smirks.

“Shouldn’t you be curled on your bed next to the enormous druid, sleeping soundly? Wouldn’t he be oh so hurt if he knew you were seeking another man’s company?”

“What the fuck would you know?” I snap, his tone setting off a charge of anger inside me. “You don’t know him. Hells, you don’t know me! You don’t get to make snarky remarks about my enormous druid.”

Gortash cackles quietly and puts up his hands in a calming gesture.

“Of course I don’t.” His smirk deepens, his eyes studying my face. “But trust me, kitten. No one…” he takes a seductive little step towards me, “knows you like I do.”

“I doubt that,” I rasp barely audibly, a lump forming in my throat. My guts clench, breath shortening in panic. It’s all just an elaborate joke, I’m sure… but it feels so familiar.

“You really don’t remember,” he quips softly, as if to himself, and I can hear a hint of disappointment in his tone.

“What were we, Gortash?” I whisper, voice quivering on the cusp of a mental breakdown.

He stares at me, chewing his cheek, and his answer is a single word: “Enver.”

“What?” I scowl, anger rising again.

“My name,” he reminds me quietly. “You used to call me Enver, sweetheart.”

“Don’t call me pet names, Gortash,” I force through my teeth. “Whatever you dreamed was between us, it’s most definitely not there anymore.”

“Alright.” He presses his lips together in annoyance, but steps closer, eyes radiating something close to malice. I gulp, my hand curling into a fist, pressing to the hilt at my hip. “I won’t call you kitten, or love, or sweetheart. Those were all just words I used to tease you with.” Drawling, stretching his words, he hovers above me. “But I have earned the right to call you Talas.”

That makes me pause and I just blink at him blankly for a second. “Who’s that?”

Genuine shock colors his face. He takes a step back, mouth agape. “That you don’t remember my name, I would understand. But how do you not remember your own?”

“Because someone caved my head in, trying to kill me!” I scream, suddenly overflowing with something I haven’t felt for a while: self-pity. I feel tears prickle in my eyes and that just makes me want to yell louder. “Because someone took everything from me. And where the fuck were you when I was bleeding out into the dirt?! If you were such a shitty partner, why in the Hells did I even bother with you?”

Gortash’s features softened, pain and regret gleaming in his eyes.

“I wasn’t your keeper, Talas,” he countered. “You were always an independent force, often off on business I had no say in. But when you didn’t come back one day, I searched for you.” His eyebrows join in a pleading line. “I searched for you with every bit of resources I could spare. Then Orin muscled in on our plot and made me stop under the threat of unraveling the whole thing. I accepted you as a loss… but I mourned for a long time.”

His words eat their way into my chest like acid. I don’t want to believe a single one, but something in me knows it’s the truth.

“Don’t tell me you loved me,” I hiss. “You don’t strike me as a man who allows himself such weaknesses.”

He smirks and I bristle. I knew it. Liar!

“Love is for children,” he chuckles. “We had something much more precious. We made a great team. Your monstrosity and mine were in perfect harmony. No one understood me like you did. No one encouraged my every exploit like you did. You were such a horrible influence on me,” he purrs, his eyes half closed. “Delicious. Deplorable. Delightful.”

I gulp and shiver under the intensity of his gaze. It feels like he’s undressing me with his eyes and I can’t decide how I feel about it. I want to be disgusted, but that knot low in my belly has a different agenda. Without remembering a single minute of knowing him, my body knows it used to crave this man’s attention.

He extends his unclawed hand to me and grazes my skin. It burns and it tickles and it sends powerful signals all over my nervous system. But this is not what I want. It can’t be.

Quick as lightning, I pull my dagger out and press it to his neck in warning.

“Don’t. Touch. Me,” I filter through my teeth.

He catches my wrist quicker than I would’ve given him credit for. Instead of pulling it away, though, he presses the blade closer, almost cutting into himself. I gasp in shock, struggling against his strength. His dead eyes flicker to life, ablaze with desire.

“There she is,” he whispers almost breathlessly, biting his lip. “You seem so different… but I knew my pet monster was somewhere in there.”

“I’m nothing of yours,” I force through my dried throat, my voice failing me.

Suddenly, he moves my hand away from his neck, only to press my white-knuckled fist to his lips in a kiss. My whole body responds, buzzing in approval. “You don’t mean that,” he teases, his hot breath tickling the spot he kissed.

“Don’t do that,” I breathe out, a lump forming in my throat, making my voice sound funny.

He pulls my wrist to his mouth and licks it with a quick flick before his teeth start to nibble on the sensitive skin, sending shockwaves of ecstasy down my arm.

“Stop it,” I beg, the command I meant to utter melting into a pathetic mewl.

I twist and try to get away for a second or two, but he keeps moving lower and lower, licking, sucking, biting, and every last defense I had crumbles into ashes. It doesn’t matter that I’m someone else now. It doesn’t matter that I would never consciously and honestly team up with him again. It doesn’t matter what I think of him or what I believe he deserves.

I never had a chance. My body knows him, my body craves him. He’s like a drug addiction I never quite shook, and at the slightest sweet taste I relapse right back into him.

03 - A master. A slave.

He pulls me in, mouth still hungrily devouring my arm inch by inch, while his free hand frantically unties my cloak, revealing my simple shirt and long skirt underneath.

“You used to wear fancier things.” He side-eyes my clothing, not letting it distract him from my skin too much. “And would get mad when I tore them to shreds. This is perfect.”

My sluggish thoughts haven’t even begun to analyze the meaning in his words when he presses me flush to his chest, moving from nibbling on my shoulder to assaulting my mouth. I gasp for the breath he keeps stealing with every touch, but let him surround me and trap me with his body. I feel his desperate need mirroring my own. His taste is surprisingly sweet, with just a hint of hot spice.

“No,” I manage to mumble through our locked lips, grasping at the last straws of control. My hand is finally free—I try stabbing him in the crook of his neck. He yelps and groans, but my muscles are so useless I’ve barely scratched him. A thin streak of blood trickles out of the cut, marring the delicate fabric of his robe.

“You thought that would stop me?” he purrs, pulling the robe off his body. “Your knives left more than one scar on me. It was our thing.”

I stare at his muscly, hairy chest, mute. I see scars on his torso, criss-crossing his skin like a crude carving. That couldn’t be my doing… But the metallic scent of his blood sends a new sort of excitement through me. I know it’s my Urge, I know it’s not really me, but my will is weakened. My hand raises and cuts him again—just a little, but enough to satisfy the craving.

“Your body remembers,” he whispers into my ear, standing my hair on their ends.

His gloved hand caresses my arm and shoulder and closes around my throat. I gasp in panic, or I think I do, but heat pools in my lower regions in response. He presses a touch harder; his gold ornaments are digging into my skin, claws pinching my nape and my head is starting to swim with lack of oxygen. My fingers wrap around his wrist, but for some reason I don’t pull him away.

“Every time you hurt me, I will hurt you back,” he promises in a sweet, sin-filled voice. “Call it our love language.”

He lets go of my neck, hands roughly gripping my waist instead. He twirls us around and sits me on top of his desk. I fumble to find balance and end up sending his documents, ink and quills all over the floor. Instead of complaining, he eagerly swipes the rest of the items off the surface and pushes me down on my back.

The panic it triggers gives me back a chunk of my reason. Instead of letting him, I fight back, clawing at his bare chest with my nails and my dagger, leaving bloody gashes over his skin.

His head lulls back for a moment, which makes me realize I’m not helping at all. He’s enjoying the pain I give him. He takes fistfuls of my shirt and bends down to bite my shoulder—hard. I yelp, reaching into his hair to pull him away, but he’s already ripping clothes off of my torso, baring my skin, spilling my breasts.

“You are even more magnificent than I remember,” he rasps, grazing my curves with his gaze alone. The reverent look on his face sets my loins on fire.

I’m beginning to understand how I could’ve let him so close to me. A young, confused little thing, raised in worship of the Lord of Murder, would have no idea what love looks like. I’m still learning and stumbling, despite Halsin’s best efforts. A man who could make her feel so beautiful, so wanted among all the blood and death… such a man would have had the key to her rotten little heart.

I’m not that girl anymore. But I know that feeling. Its draw is familiar and powerful. My hands let go of his hair and fall next to my head, letting him run his rough palms across my chest and knead the pliant shape of my breasts.

His teeth close around one of my nipples and press just hard enough to shoot a barbed string of ecstasy directly to my sex. I muffle the moan with my hands. I can’t just let him win like that. I’m not doing this because I’m easy. I’m doing it so I don’t go insane.

“I missed this,” Gortash drawls, his lips and tongue making slow circles on my chest. “I missed you.” He bites into my flesh, gently, teasingly, while his hand slowly moves towards my sex. “In all your glory, Talas.”

“Stop calling me that,” I protest weakly, but he just chuckles and continues lower, and lower.

“You may not remember me,” he breathes on my folds, shamefully wet and wanton, “but I remember everything about you.”

And he dives between my thighs like a man who’s been starving and now can finally eat.

I gasp loudly, my hands instinctively grasping for something to hold onto—his hair. My legs twitch and wrap around him. I’m half worried I’m killing him, but he gives no indication of discomfort. His mouth is making the most intimidatingly dirty noises I’ve ever heard and I’m melting on his face.

All it takes him is a few minutes, stretched impossibly long in my damaged mind. I swallow the urge to scream and just grunt, not wanting to give him the satisfaction. He looks up from my lap, slick and gasping for breath, and smirks smugly. He knows I enjoyed it, no use hiding it.

He picks his robe off the floor and wipes his face, still watching me. My brain is too hazy to worry about the way I’m splayed on his desk, eaten out, undone. He props himself above me and studies my face.

“This is your most beautiful look,” he sighs, taking in the flush of my cheeks, the sweat glistening on my brow and the mess I made of my hair. “Precious little Bhaal-babe.”

I’m still coming down from the high when I feel him slip inside me. I distantly realize I should’ve gathered enough wit to stop him, but it’s too late. I squeeze around him in welcome and let out a long and thoroughly embarrassing moan. He matches me, closing his eyes.

“You still fit me like a glove.”

He’s so right. I live for the delicious stretch of Halsin’s gentle, loving thrusts—it’s the only sex I remember having, but I would kill for more—but this… Gortash feels like he was tailored specifically for me. My body knows his shape, just as it knows his touch. It’s like coming home after a long time and finding your old room exactly as you left it.

“Oh gods, I really do,” I groan as he lazily moves inside, savoring each stroke.

I wrap my legs around his waist and just enjoy the sensation, closing my eyes to ignore his intimate gaze for the sake of my sanity. If he’s trying to make me fall for him again, he’s as out of his mind as I am.

Clearly getting bored of the slow pace, he pulls me up and plops me back down on my belly. I’m too weak and needy to issue a protest, I just whine at the unexpected and unwelcome absence of him. He silences my discontent with a firm thrust that makes me gasp and clutch the edges of the desk so hard my knuckles turn white again.

“I know you love this one,” he purrs and presses my legs together with his own. “Sometimes you like to be in control. Other times you like to be controlled. You were the most fun I’ve ever had with anyone.”

I let out a growl at him mentioning his other partners while balls-deep in me. Perhaps he didn’t really want me back. Maybe he just missed the “fun”.

“You’re also the only one who made me consider settling down, Talas,” he continues as if he understood very well why his words upset me. “I wanted to breed you and watch you teach the little runt how to gut people.”

“Don’t even fucking think about it,” I sputter, miraculously finding enough ire to at least issue a warning, while still being happily pinned under him.

He chuckles. “Your response is still the same. Last time it was Daddy dearest… but you changed your mind about doing his bidding. Is Halsin aware you’re not going to give him a litter of cubs one day as he might hope?”

I don’t know how he even learned all these things about me, but I don’t care much. I grab the dagger left forgotten on the desk next to me and jam the blade into his thigh. Not deep enough to cripple, but definitely causing a lot of pain.

Gortash lets out a strangled scream, which mixes with a moan of pleasure not two seconds later. Fuck. I didn’t mean for him to like it.

What he does next pushes all irrelevant thoughts out of my head: he grabs my hair and yanks hard, pulling my head back, making my little cry sound ever more pathetic. His free hand digs fingers into my hip, holding me steady as he begins pounding into me with force.

I just open my mouth mutely, gasping for air, my eyes filling with tears. My brain turns into mush under the intensity of sensations he’s sending through my tortured body. I can’t see, I can’t speak, I can’t think. I hear a high-pitched whine through the mist around me… and I realize it’s mine. I’m screaming, lost in the sweet place between pain and complete ecstasy.

I spasm around his length so hard I can hear him gasp as well. My whole body shakes and curls into itself, a shaking, sweaty, moaning mess writhing on the cool polished wood of the desk. I can feel him swell within me, hot and ready, and I know he’s coming too—still inside me.

But I don’t care. I want it. Whatever he might hope to gain from it, I know I’m safe.

Instead of going slack like a good boy, he pulls out and flips me on my back again. He holds my legs spread, admiring what he did to me. I feel his seed leak out of me and drip to the floor. He smiles contently, dragging a fingertip across my clit, drawing out every last twitch my muscles are willing to give.

“This could be us every day,” he says softly. “Think about it.”

I don’t have an answer he would like, but he doesn’t wait for one. He picks me up in the most unexpectedly gentle way and carries me to the other side of the room. I thought he was putting me on the bed, either to sleep, cuddle or continue blissfully torturing me, but my breath hitches in surprise when he suddenly dips me into warm water. I slip into a roomy bathtub, blinking in confusion.

My brain needs a minute to restart, so I just watch him get inside with me, sitting me in his lap, cradling me. I don’t have the strength to protest. I just watch the little pinkish streaks, as water begins to wash out his wounds.

04 - This is why we can’t have nice things.

“How did you have this ready? Do you have invisible servants or something?”

Gortash chuckles and I vibrate along on his chest, making frantic little waves on the surface.

“The miracle of technology, Talas. My desk has a few convenient buttons and this tub fills and warms up automatically. I pressed one before we began.”

Well, that is convenient. I’m not sure if I want to be in this bath with him now, but it sure feels good on my exhausted muscles and aching sex. His arms around me feel nice, too, as much as I hate admitting it. I can hate a person and still enjoy their closeness, right? Right?

His hands caress me under the water and I let them.

“Good to know you bathe with your gauntlets on,” I quip, noticing the distinctive feel of metal against my skin.

He pulls his right hand up and turns it from one side to the other, letting the gold reflect the glimmer of flames in the nearby fireplace. The netherstone pulses with its own light, alive and tempting as the power it holds.

“While I’m more than happy to entertain you, I’m not letting my most prized possession just lie around for you to steal,” he smirks and I turn my head to have a better look at him, honestly impressed. “You changed. Your goals inevitably changed, too. I don’t trust you anymore, Talas.” He runs a soft finger along my jaw, dropping to the line of my neck and to my clavicle. I shiver, even submerged in warmth, too tired to correct the name this time. “If you want it for yourself, you’re going to have to kill me.”

I give him an evaluating once-over; then my eyes move to the dagger I left on the desk. His gaze follows mine and his smirk stretches more.

“Just keep in mind that those Steel Watchers outside will only take about ten seconds to join us. And even you, my dear, don’t have the skill to defeat them all naked and unarmed to get out of here alive.” His fingers trace the shape of my lips. “I would hate it if something happened to you before I had the chance to win you over.”

“You’re so full of shit, Gortash,” I sigh, laying my head in the crook of his neck. I feel too lazy to murder anyone right now, anyway. “You sent me to hunt Orin down and told me to not come back without her stone. You expect me to believe you actually give a fuck about me and care what I think about you? I’m here against your explicit orders, your lordship.”

“You came to see me surrounded by your new friends,” he grumbles and I finally hear discontent in his voice. “In the company of your new lover. What did you think I would do, fall on my knees in front of all my esteemed guests and your openly hostile troupe and beg you to come back to me?”

“Hmm, so your excuse is your pride?” I sneer. “I don’t believe a word that comes out of your mouth, no matter how trustworthy you somehow manage to sound. I only agreed to your deal because you didn’t give me any better choice. Karlach was furious. She wants you dead oh so very much. She gets really graphic, describing how she wants to kill you. You’re lucky I didn’t bring her along.”

Gortash groans and pinches the root of his nose.

“The company you keep nowadays,” he chides. “No wonder you changed so much. Every one of those bloody soft-hearted idiots putting their own opinions in your emptied mind.”

“When that’s what you wanted to do.” I nod in mock commiseration.

“I want us to be partners,” he scowls, tone wounded. “Equals. Sharing the power over the whole world. The Lord is only a part for me to play in public, while you reign over your own murderous kingdom from the shadows, unobstructed by law, unhindered by so-called heroes trying to stop you. We can have everything we’ve ever wanted. Together.”

I can’t believe how tempting he sounds right now. I close my eyes, letting my Urge surface just enough to enjoy the pure simplicity of the world he describes. I could let go. I could stop fighting for every sliver of free will. I could bathe in blood and have people worship my god through me. The Urge would be sated—I could feel the sweet rush of ecstasy from killing without worrying I might hurt someone close to me.

I would be lying if I said this vision of the future never crossed my mind. It’s an everyday struggle, trying to stay good, trying to do only good. A struggle I’m inevitably going to lose if my Urge grows in intensity for much longer. Killing Halsin. Or Lae’zel. Or Gale. The death of anyone in my camp—by my hand—would break me.

I care too much. Sometimes I imagine what it would feel like if I didn’t care at all.

“You would never tolerate any of my friends by my side, Gortash,” I say flatly. “If you really do want me, you want me all to yourself. Isolated, depending only on you. Malleable. So that if—gods forbid—I disagree with you, you could push all the right buttons and get me to change my mind, with no one to challenge your influence over me.”

I don’t know how, but I know it’s true. It’s what all people drunk on power do. The more powerless they feel without it, the more they enjoy any sliver of it they get and abuse the shit out of it. It’s why Gortash wants control over others in the first place. Inside, there’s a small, scared, unloved little boy, whose parents sold him to a devil.

I blink, my heartbeat spiking, as I realize I’ve just recalled a bit of my past—our past. Something I couldn’t have learned since the nautiloid. Was it Gortash himself, who confided in me, or did I discover this piece of history by myself? It feels like something he would keep very close and tell no one, so it wouldn’t damage the lofty image he’s trying to maintain.

“You’re just being paranoid, kitten,” he brushes me off, but his expression is no longer sporting his typical airy easiness. “When we were together, I was your confidant and your strength against the increasing demands of your Father. But you weren’t some impressionable child. You were determined and unyielding. Sharp as your blades.”

Sharp blades. Bhaal. His demands.

A sinking dread begins to fill my guts and I lift off Gortash’s chest to put some distance between us. My brain is still fuzzy, but bits of memories are beginning to float to the surface of my consciousness.

“Bhaal’s grand design,” I say in a shaking voice, “is for everyone to die for him. I was supposed to kill you, and then myself, as the last mortal alive. Did you know?”

Gortash’s eyes round in horror.

“Of course not! What kind of crazy design is that? How would he get any more murders with no one left to die?”

He’s right, but that doesn’t mean I wasn’t going to try and carry it out, anyway. Just like mad Orin is probably doing now. What a good little Daddy’s lapdog.

“But that wasn’t what you planned for yourself, was it?” I press, my voice steadying with my increasing certainty. “And so I was suddenly in the way. Just what would it take for you to turn on your closest ally? Is her planning your murder enough?”

“What are you trying to say, Talas?” he hisses, but I can see fear in his eyes.

“It was you, wasn’t it?” I growl, sliding away from him, so I can get out of the bathtub without him catching me. “You tried to kill me! Just so I wouldn’t kill you first.”

I jump to my feet, nearly slipping on the smooth wet surface, but holding my balance well enough to scramble out of the water. He tries grabbing my hand, then my leg, but I slip out of his grasp easily. I throw myself towards the desk and retake possession of my only weapon. By the time he’s out of the tub, I’m already pointing it at his throat.

“Listen to me, Talas—” he puts his hands up in a calming gesture, but I’ve had enough of his smooth words for one night.

“You picked up a fucking rock and you beat me and kicked me and tossed me against stone walls!”

I scream and I’m sure my prevalent feelings are pure rage, but out of nowhere I get ambushed by tears and sobs. My memories are still a mess, but the flashes of my body being beaten to a pulp are vivid and terrifying.

“Talas, please—”

“I bled and begged, and you teased and laughed, as if it was the funniest shit you ever got to do! And now that I’m somehow back, you’re trying to get me to believe your sweet lies, just so I won’t remember what you did to me. But I remember! I REMEMBER!”

I know I sound completely unhinged, but my chest is so filled with a mix of the worst feelings I’ve ever experienced, that it threatens to burst.

“IT WASN’T ME!” Gortash’s volume finally matches mine, making me wince and pause just enough for him to get a word in. “I would never hurt you like that! If I really had to kill you, dearest, I would’ve done it quick and clean. Because I love you, you stupid thing!”

His confession feels like a slap to the face. I didn’t see that coming. My first instinct is to pronounce it as another lie, especially in retrospect to the first time he mentioned love tonight, but my mind finally calms enough to actually think.

A man like him wouldn’t say anything like that if he didn’t mean it. It sounded… pathetic. Baring his soul similarly to revealing his most embarrassing childhood memory, knowing his feelings are unrequited. His pride would never allow him to grovel so much. Not anymore, not when he’s got a taste of actually being respected.

“Please, believe me,” he pleads, breath ragged, eyes wide. “I have no reason to hate you. This sounds like someone who had every reason. Who enjoyed your agony and loved seeing you on your knees. I. Would. Never.”

“But you…” I exhale, confused. I’ve almost had it. I’ve almost found the one responsible for my unfortunate fate. “Then who the fuck did this to me?” I whisper and stifle another sob.

“Please put down the dagger, Talas.” Gortash points at the sharp tip still hovering between his clavicles. I reluctantly lower it. I’m honestly pleasantly surprised he let me threaten him for so long without trying to disarm me. It makes me trust him just a smidge more. “And maybe we can figure it out together.”

“Stop calling me that!” I lash out annoyedly. “My name is Nara now. Deal with it.”

“When you stop calling me Gortash,” he smirks in response, his easy charm back.

I groan, rolling my eyes. “Fine. Enver,” I say begrudgingly, but the name feels much better on my tongue than I expected. I must’ve been used to calling him that, just as he said.

I turn to the desk, intent on putting the weapon back, but I freeze mid-step. A mix of stimuli, a flicker of light, a rustle of the fur rug on the floor, perhaps even a smell… and the memory of my attempted murder clears a bit more.

I see a shiny red surface with an opalescent finish. Hear a rustle of a long braid and the pitter-patter of bare feet on stone. I hear laughter again, but this time I’m not just imagining Gortash’s… Enver’s, I clearly recall a woman’s voice having the time of her life.

“Orin.”

The name falls flatly from my lips. I feel cold dread seep into my soul at the image of her. I never quite understood why she had this effect on me—until now. Even though my memory was coming up empty, she was triggering a post-traumatic response all the same, just like when my body yielded to Enver.

“Hm?”

I turn back, dagger still in my hand. I don’t plan on letting go of it any time soon. Enver watches me warily, with a hint of curiosity in his face.

“It was Orin.”

He frowns at first. Opens his mouth, presumably to defend her. Then closes it again, his features smoothing out.

“It makes sense. She took your place, both in the cult and in the Absolute plot. She wanted you gone. And she really seems to hate you, though I wouldn’t expect her to need any solid reason to kick someone to death. She would happily do it just for fun.”

I close my eyes for a second, but I only need a few gulps of breath to make up my mind. I pick up my torn and discarded clothes off the floor and put them back on, securing them in place as well as possible.

“Where are you going?”

Enver reaches for me and grabs my arm. I toss him a warning glare, but don’t move. He’s still naked and wet from head to toe, he poses virtually no danger to me.

“To hunt,” I answer plainly. “I know a mad bitch that needs killing.”

“Don’t be rash,” he shakes his head, some of the slicked back damp hair falling into his eyes. “You can’t know where she is. Or who she is. She could slaughter your whole camp while you sleep and you’d be left alone to face her. Remember, she is the Slayer now.”

“Well, since we’re counting suspects, she could very well be you,” I give him a wry smile. “But I doubt she would keep going this long, having me all to herself like that, so you’re probably safe.” He doesn’t appreciate my joke, scowling like a jack-o-lantern, concern crumpling his features. “I need to go back to my friends and figure out a way to find her before she does any real damage, Enver. I need to go now.”

He slowly lets go of my arm, letting me finish putting the cloak on.

“No need to sneak through the throne room, by the way,” he notes, watching me hide underneath the wide hood. “The Watch was instructed to let you in. If someone could really just sneak past them like that, I could easily expect Orin in your place. Thankfully, the Watch can spot the difference, with you having a tadpole.”

My eyebrows rise. So that’s why he took that bath? Did he think my unsettled hormones would lead me back to Wyrmrock to see him? I clearly never liked grimy men—and he knows it.

“You were waiting for me?”

“I was hopeful,” he confessed, dropping his gaze for a moment. “I couldn’t risk just inviting you. But at least I made sure you would get in without complications. You always did like to have all the facts.”

I chuckle and shake my head. I still believe at least half of his words are lies and most of the other half are cleverly picked and arranged bits of truth. But now I’m also pretty sure there’s something genuine in him, too. Hidden very deep, surrounded by enemies—but it’s there.

“Be safe, Talas,” he says quietly. “Nara,” he corrects himself, smiling softly. “You have your work cut out for you.”

“I’ll do my best to not disappoint,” I shrug, sheathing my dagger, stepping away.

“And will you at least consider my proposition?” He calls after me when I’m almost out the door. His voice sounds tentative. “That’s all I ask.”

I let my gaze slide down the length of his naked body, weighing my options. Well, consideration really costs me nothing, does it? It’s very unlikely that I will agree to it. I have much better prospects in my scope now—much healthier ones. But the least I can do for him is give it a thought.

“Sure,” I grace him with a little smile. “I will consider it.”

If you like this story, please show it by giving it some love: give a like, reblog, leave a nice comment.

I would also be very grateful if you take a few seconds out of your day and leave a kudos on the AO3 issue of this story ♥ (You CAN vote as guests.) THANK YOU!

[wsdwriting]

little snippet of writing for these guys \o/ if you’d like, listen to Susie Save Your Love by Allie X to hear the song that inspired this bit!!

(go here for character information)

reblogs appreciated \o/!!

Luz wakes up with a piercing headache, and curled around someone. She squirms—pulling herself in closer and pressing her face more firmly against the other person. Tries desperately to block out the light leaking through her eyelids. 

Her movement wakes them, though. They stretch, before laughing softly and running a hand through her hair. 

“Good morning, Luz.” Comes Amalia’s amused voice. 

Luz freezes. Tries to run through her memories to figure out what events led her to here—except she can’t recall anything. Stupid alcohol. 

She pulls away, braving the sunlit room. 

“‘Morning.” She mutters, throwing an arm over her eyes. 

“Let me get the curtains.” 

The bed dips and creaks as Amalia leaves it. Luz listens to the sound of curtains being tugged tightly closed, and removes her arm to probably the darkest they’ll get during the day in a room like this. 

Amalia flops back onto the bed, crawling under the covers. Her hair is messy, and she still hasn’t taken her makeup off from last light, and she looks beautiful. 

And Luz really shouldn’t be having those thoughts even if both of them are single. 

But… then again… they also spent the night together. And she’s wearing one of Luz’s shirts. 

“Um…” As much as she’s almost too nervous to ask, she has to know. “Did we…?”

“Luz!” Amalia exclaims, sounding a little scandalised. But before Luz can panic too much, she laughs. “No, no. You were much too drunk, anyway. I just drove you home, and you got clingy.”

Embarrassing, but probably less of a mess than fucking her friend. 

“Ah.” She tugs the covers up to hide her face a little. “Sorry…”

“It’s fine—I don’t mind.” Amalia smiles. “I wouldn’t have signed myself up as designated driver if I did.”

“True, true.”

“There’s water and painkillers on the bedside table, by the way.”

Luz turns so fast she flares up her nausea and has to take a second to recover. Amalia does not manage to cover her laugh. Not that Luz thinks she was particularly trying to. 

“You’re a life saver, Pedra.” Luz declares, quickly swallowing down the painkillers. 

“It’s nothing.” But Luz can tell she’s pleased. “I just figured since I was already here… oh, and by the way”—she plucks a small piece of paper from her bedside table—“you got someone’s number.”

“Oh, man…” Unsurprising, even though she’s been trying not to do that recently. “Do you remember who’s it is?”

“Not really.” Amalia looks over the paper like it’ll help her remember. “She was bald, I think. And pretty butch. I don’t know, I wasn’t paying much attention—too focused on getting you home, you know?” 

Luz tries to conjure the memories to mind and fails miserably. 

“What should I do with it?” Amalia asks, leaning to the side to dangle it over where Luz knows her rubbish bin by the desk is. “Put it with the others?”

They’ve gone through this whole post-club song and dance before—even if Amalia has never actually stayed the night. Luz throws away almost every number she gets, but that’s usually because she was just flirting to get free drinks. 

This time she can’t remember what happened. It could’ve been someone she really hit it off with—like Amalia. And even if it truly is like what happened with Amalia and she just gets a new friend, that’s a good thing, too. 

“No, no, I… I’ll think about it.”

“You’ll… think about it?” Amalia raises her eyebrows.

“I just want to see if I remember more, you know?” Then she groans. “Besides—I, um… I need a rebound after that last guy.”

“I thought you were over him.”

“I am! Miguel even made sure I deleted his number because they’ve seen what happens if I don’t. Just…” She sighs. “It’ll be easier with someone else, you know? So I can stop thinking about him entirely.”

Amalia opens her mouth likes she’s going to say something. Then she seems to think better of it and leans back to the bed, depositing the paper on the bedside table again. 

“If you’re sure.” She settles on. 

“Well… I guess I am… Maybe I’ll get some memories back after breakfast and decide to chuck it, anyway.” Luz says, laughing a little. “But we exchanged numbers at a club. So you never know, right?” 

“Right.” Amalia climbs out of bed, and heads to the door. “Wait here, I’ll go make breakfast.” 

“You’re my saviour, Pedra!” Luz calls after her. 

She doesn’t get a response, but figures Amalia was already too far away to bother. So, she curls up in the blankets again, content to catch a few more minutes of sleep before breakfast is ready.

——

hope you enjoyed \o/!! this is set kind of like… towards the end of the start section I would say. if you have any questions about the story feel free to send them in \o/!!

(also let me know if you want to be on a taglist for this writing!!)

[thetomorrowshow]

Whumptober 6 - Not Realizing They're Injured

title: exit 73

fandom: limited life smp

cw: blood and injury

~

Jimmy whoops, high-pitched and birdlike, as they run, their feet pounding against the asphalt. “We killed that one! Those Clockers didn’t know what hit ‘em!”

“Stop talking and just run,” Grian hisses, his words choppy. “We’re not out yet.”

They'd parked the van another block down, cleverly disguised as a plumber’s van—and if anyone opened it up, a plumber’s van is all they’d find. They’d spent a good bit of money outfitting it with drain snakes and wrenches and other tools, just in case anyone decided to find their van suspicious.

Right now, they’ve just got to make it there without getting caught.

Are they being followed? Probably not, they wove through some confusing alleys that Grian had somehow known his way through, they should be in the clear. Joel doesn’t look behind himself. He just keeps running.

They round another bend, and another, and Joel tries to keep himself pretty fit, but the stitch in his side is already burning and shouldn’t they have found the van yet?

“Where is that plumbing van?” he mutters angrily. Grian shushes him; Joel scoffs. “We lost ‘em ages ago, calm down,” he tells Grian, slowing just a bit to try and relax the stitch’s pain. “Where’d we park it?”

“Two more streets down,” Jimmy calls back—because of course he’s taken the lead, with his stupidly long legs. “I can see it, just over the hill.”

Great. Two more streets.

It’s kind of embarrassing that he’s already so out of breath. He swears he works out—it’s just been a long hit. He’s been hiding out at the cargo bay for hours, wedged behind some boxes, waiting for the moment that the Clockers showed up to sign for their contraband. Then it had been some quick moments of adrenaline—a fight, flashes of knives and fists—before Grian had the papers and they ran, the sudden energy still pumping through Joel’s veins.

He’d managed to grab Bdubs’s (one of the top Clockers that was overseeing the operation) famed pocket watch off the man himself, and that should sell for a pretty penny. It was plated gold with crystal glass, so the rumor went, and Joel couldn’t wait to have a jeweler test it.

Oh, that tiny man has got to be so furious right now. . . .

“There it is!” Jimmy cheers, pointing ahead. Joel still doesn’t see it all that well through the dark, but he trusts that Jimmy knows what’s going on and just focuses on one foot in front of the other, in through his nose and out through his mouth.

Grian grabs his hand and pulls him forward, toward the van. He sees it now, with its crooked pipe art on the side, dimly illuminated by the starlight above.

Joel’s the driver, of course. The others poke fun at him for never letting anyone else drive, but he’s not going to go into or out of a mission with intense nausea, so he’s driving. He climbs up into the driver’s seat, shoves the keys in the ignition and starts driving before he even knows that Grian and Jimmy are in.

Judging by an annoyed shout, Jimmy wasn’t all the way in, but the door shuts and Jimmy rolls into the backseat, his annoyance clear in the darkened reflection of the rearview mirror.

Grian immediately reaches for the radio. Joel smacks his hand away. Jimmy leans forward, also reaching for the radio. They both smack his hand.

“No music,” Joel grits out. He’s usually high-strung after a mission like this, no real outlet for the energy flowing through him. Yet, despite knowing that he’ll be quick to anger, the others always manage to provoke him.

The no-music rule has been in place for as long as Joel’s been driver. Can’t the others stop being idiots for two seconds and let him drive in peace?

The van trundles along at thirty-five miles per hour, and Joel turns toward the on-ramp of the freeway, grimacing as that stitch in his side pulls when he presses on the gas. He can’t wait to get home and just sleep, once the adrenaline has run its course.

Grian beside him is shuffling through the pages, making a satisfied noise with every leaf he reads. “Yep. This is exactly what we were after. Good job, team.”

“They had a ton of weapon storage,” Jimmy pipes up. “They must’ve been storing stuff at their port.”

“Maybe we should put up some people to watch, see where they move it to,” muses Grian. “Now that we know it’s there, they’ll be in a hurry to pack it all up.”

“Especially now that we have the blackmail.”

“Mhm. Joel, how’d your side go?”

“Fine,” Joel says shortly. He keeps his eyes fixed on the road, even as the white lines in the darkness seem almost to float on water.

Never think that when you’re driving, his mom had told him once, when the eight-year-old Joel had pointed it out. It’ll make you sleepy.

How long was he at his post? Seven hours, maybe? That isn’t too bad. With the adrenaline still jolting through him, he shouldn’t be this tired.

“His seatbelt isn’t on,” Jimmy says, ignoring the fact that Joel is a bear that he shouldn’t be poking with a stick.

Grian clicks his tongue, leans over Joel’s entire body to grapple with his seatbelt. “Safety first,” he reprimands, dragging the belt over him. Joel cranes his neck to see around Grian.

He clicks it into place at Joel’s hip, then sits back, examining his fingers.

Which exit was it, again? 73? Well, that one’s 69. Maybe he should get off the freeway, take some backroads. He doesn’t think they’ve been followed, but there are more cameras on the freeway.

The freeway will get them back quicker, though. And it’s in the plans to go this way, he doesn’t want to change them right as the job’s wrapping up. Sudden changes in plan are the highest cause of casualties in this business.

“Joel,” Grian says slowly. “Is there blood on you?”

Joel glances over at him; Grian’s holding his hand up to the window, something dark shining on his fingers.

“Maybe,” he shrugs. “I broke Bdubs’s nose.”

“Did you get injured?”

“Here—I’ve got a flashlight—”

A light clicks on and Joel resists the urge to growl at Jimmy. No lights on in the car, first rule of driving, why is Joel the only one with a bit of sense—

Grian pulls at his shirt, lifting it (Joel tolerates it, as much as he wants to literally bite him).

A moment of tugging his shirt this way and that, of Joel’s teeth grinding as he stares at the road.

Then Grian gasps.

“Joel—shoot—someone got you—”

“Holy moly—that’s a lot of blood—”

It all catches up to Joel at once.

The anger, the exhaustion, the stitch in his side—

And Bdubs had had a knife, hadn’t he? A knife that Joel had lost track of after he’d nicked the watch.

Grian’s hand presses down right on the stitch in his side, and Joel shouts behind his teeth, hands tightening on the wheel. That—that hurts—

“Pull over,” Grian commands. “Timmy can drive. Pull over.”

“Absolutely blummin’ not,” Joel says. His stomach is already roiling, there is no way he’s going to let someone else drive. “I can make it. How bad is it?”

More painful pawing at his side. Joel bites the inside of his cheek.

“It looks deep,” Grian says. “We should call ahead, get them ready for medical attention—Joel, seriously, pull over—”

“I’ll be fine. We’re almost there, anyways.”

Subtly, he taps a bit more on the gas. Now that he knows he’s been stabbed, apparently, he can barely think through the pain. It hurts quite a bit more than it did a minute ago—and his head is starting to feel woozy—

Jimmy’s talking on the phone behind him, and Grian is digging through the glovebox—Grian withdraws a bunched-up emergency blanket (it’s not in the little package anymore, he thinks Jimmy opened it up a while back because Joel wouldn’t turn off the air conditioning) and flicks open his pocket knife, cutting a long strip off the blanket.

Grian reaches around Joel, wriggling his arm behind Joel’s back. “This would be easier if you would pull over,” Grian grunts, threading the strip of the blanket between the seat and Joel’s back.

Joel stares ahead, sweat breaking out all over his body. He might be sick, regardless of—

White hot pain bursts through Joel’s side, radiates up and pounds on the confines of his brain, stealing his vision for a brief moment. He cries out, arms jerking without his input.

“Pull over—Joel, hit the brakes and pull over!”

Joel blinks rapidly, the road fuzzing back into sight. He’s driving between two lanes, his arms luckily dragging him more toward the middle of the road rather than the median. He straightens out as best he can with his stiff, lead-like arms.

Which exit are they on? 72. Great, so the next one. The next one, the next one, the next one—

“None of this will be worth it if you crash the van,” Grian’s saying in his ear, his voice echoing around Joel’s staticky brain. “Pull over!”

Next one, next one, next one—

Exit 72 B?

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Joel breathes, pressing even harder on the gas. They’re going ninety-five now, definitely too fast for this tired old van.

“They’ll be ready when we get there, I told them it was bad,” Jimmy says. Jimmy’s voice doesn’t echo quite like Grian’s, but it does sound funneled into his ear, almost like through a cardboard tube.

It isn’t bad, he wants to say. He can’t quite get his lips to move.

Exit 73.

He remembers to click on his turning signal, somehow. It seems important.

“Joel, slow down, slow down, brake brake brake—”

“Am braking, calm down,” Joel mumbles. He is, he thinks. He definitely moved his foot to the other pedal, even if he doesn’t dare look down at the odometer. He thinks if he turns his eyes down, they’ll shut.

He knows how to get back to the mansion from here, but Grian gives directions anyways. His hands are still on Joel, holding the strip of blanket tight around his gut. Joel doesn’t have the strength to argue.

Left here. Onto that country lane. Keep driving. Keep driving.

“Talk to me. Say something, Joel, stay awake.”

Joel groans. He doesn’t particularly want to talk to Grian, and right now he’s doing nothing but severely irritating him.

“’m fine,” he manages around his heavy tongue. “Stop worrying. Like my mom.”

Grian laughs, shrill and anxious. “I wouldn’t worry so much if you could put together a whole sentence! Or if you would pull over—”

“Jimmy,” breathe, “can drive—” breathe breathe breathe, “when I’m dead.”

“Might not be too far away, to be fair,” Jimmy says.

Is this what death feels like? Clammy and fuzzy and sweaty?

Joel had better not die, then, because that sounds like it would be downright hellish in more than small doses.

Geez, he’s tired. Can’t he just pass out? Wouldn’t that be nice?

Can’t close his eyes. He has to keep driving. Can’t close his eyes.

“Never been stabbed,” he says through numb lips. “Just got shot. Once.”

“Turn here,” Grian says. Joel blinks. He hadn’t realized they’d already reached another turn.

“There is so much blood we’re going to have to clean up, geez louise. . . .”

“Right, I’ll jus’ . . . stop,” snarks Joel back at Jimmy, “stop . . . bleedin’.”

“Eyes on the road,” says Grian. Joel’s eyes are on the road, though, he’s sure they are. He’s going to great lengths to keep them propped open and staring directly at the road.

“Joel, eyes open. Keep them open.”

“They are,” he insists. Grian squeezes his arm with the hand that isn’t holding the blanket, sticky and warm.

“More open than that. We’re almost there, okay?”

They are almost there. The driveway is just up ahead.

Joel squeezes the steering wheel. He’s got this. It wouldn’t be good to pass out right here, right before they make it.

He isn’t sure how he gets there, but he does. He stares straight ahead, more focusing on keeping his eyes open than he is on the road, and he pulls up in front of the doors, finally letting go of the wheel to shift into park.

It’s silent for a moment as Joel stares straight ahead, at the dark mansion ahead of them.

“Told you,” he manages, shooting what he hopes is a smirk in Grian’s direction.

Then the fuzziness coalesces into darkness entirely, and he slumps forward over the wheel and knows no more.

-

The mansion’s library was converted into something of a hospital, long ago. Joel had always disliked it—they hadn’t bothered to paint it white or anything, left the walls a deep red and surrounded by costly books and polished oak shelves and expensive wood flooring, so it just felt like some rich mad scientist’s pet project every time he walked in.

That was why he didn’t particularly enjoy waking up there.

He groans, blinks several times as the library’s ceiling comes into reluctant focus. His limbs ache, and there’s some kind of pain pulsing from his side, but it isn’t as sharp as he thinks it ought to be. Painkillers, probably.

Joel looks down, sees an IV in his arm. Yep. Painkillers.

“Are you actually awake, or just faking it?”

Joel glances over to his other side.

Grian’s sitting there, arms folded. His leather jacket lies discarded on the floor, the sleeves of his red shirt pushed up to his elbows. His sunglasses are stuck in his greasy hair, doing nothing to hide his disapproving raised eyebrow.

“Hey,” Joel croaks. Then, because his memory is a bit spotty, “We made it, right?”

Grian smacks his shoulder.

“Hey—ow! What—?”

“It’s for being a moron—both Jimmy and I are perfectly capable of driving—and why didn’t you say you were injured?”

Joel’s seen the two of them drive, and he would like to disagree on that point. The him being a moron, though . . . probably justified. “I didn’t know,” he says, in response to Grian’s question. “Really.”

Grian holds his gaze for a moment longer, irritation in every line of his face—and then his face softens, and he rolls his eyes.

“Just try not to die, okay?” he says, smacking his shoulder again (gentler, this time). “I don’t have time for a funeral.”

Joel scoffs. “I wasn’t going to die. I was fine!”

Grian doesn’t speak.

Was he—was he genuinely close?

“Well,” Joel says, deciding not to think about that. His hand not occupied by an IV fumbles into his jeans pocket, and just as he’d hoped, his fingers find cold metal. “I did grab . . . this.”

Grian’s jaw drops as he stares at the golden watch, glinting in the low light. “No way. No—you got a Clocker’s clock?”

“Better. Bdubs’s clock.”

“Oh, dear,” Grian chuckles, shaking his head. “You’re gonna be in for a lot more trouble than a pesky stab wound.”

Joel just smiles, drops his hand to his lap.

He could use another nap.

[luvzshy]

Famous reader x Billie like one when they both got stomach bugs on tour

Through Sickness and Health

The low hum of the tour bus usually lulled you to sleep, but tonight, the gentle rocking only made things worse. You had been on the road with Billie for weeks now, joining her on her latest tour. It had been a whirlwind of sold-out arenas, flashing lights, and screaming fans, but you loved every moment you spent with her, even when things got overwhelming. However, tonight wasn’t one of those nights where you could lean into the excitement of the tour.

It started with a weird feeling in your stomach after you and Billie ate dinner at a roadside diner—a place that neither of you would typically go to, but tour life sometimes meant grabbing whatever food was available. At first, you figured it was just fatigue. You’d both been running non-stop for days, and exhaustion had a way of making your body feel off.

But then, hours into the drive, you woke up feeling nauseous.

You were lying beside Billie in the small bunk, her arm draped over you as she slept soundly. You shifted slightly, hoping the discomfort would pass, but it only seemed to intensify. Swallowing hard, you tried to focus on your breathing, hoping it was just a fluke. However, the queasiness rolled over you in waves, and you knew something was wrong.

“Ugh…” Billie groaned softly from behind you, her breath hot on your neck as she tightened her grip around your waist. “I feel like crap.”

You rolled over to face her, and the sight of her pale face mirrored your own discomfort. “Me too,” you mumbled, rubbing your stomach. “I think it was that diner…”

Billie’s face twisted with an apologetic smile. “We should’ve skipped the fries,” she joked weakly, though you could tell she wasn’t feeling any better than you were. “Do you think we got food poisoning?”

“I hope not, but… I’m not ruling it out.”

Before either of you could say anything more, the queasiness hit you full force. You quickly sat up, trying not to panic, but it felt like the room was spinning. Billie, sensing your urgency, reached out and gently rubbed your back. “Hey, take it easy. Do you need water? Or the bathroom?”

“Bathroom,” you managed to croak before stumbling out of the bed, making your way down the narrow hallway of the bus to the small bathroom at the back. Billie followed closely behind, equally as pale and shaky, her usual confident energy nowhere to be found.

For the next few hours, the two of you took turns hunched over the toilet, the stomach bug wreaking havoc on both of your bodies. Billie would try to comfort you, rubbing your back and whispering soft reassurances when it was your turn, and you’d do the same for her, even though you were both miserable. In between the waves of nausea, you’d collapse next to each other on the floor of the tiny bathroom, laughing at how ridiculous the situation was.

“This is so gross,” Billie groaned, resting her head on your shoulder after a particularly bad bout of nausea. “We’re supposed to be on tour, and here we are, practically living in this bathroom.”

“Yeah, this isn’t exactly how I pictured a romantic night on the road,” you teased, trying to make light of it despite how awful you both felt. “But hey, at least we’re suffering together, right?”

She smiled faintly, squeezing your hand. “Always together.”

When the worst seemed to pass, the two of you somehow managed to drag yourselves back to the bunk, exhausted and weak but at least no longer feeling like you’d keel over. Billie curled up against your side, her face buried in your neck, and for the first time in hours, you felt a little bit of comfort.

“I think we’re gonna have to cancel the show tomorrow,” Billie murmured, her voice heavy with regret. “There’s no way I can perform like this.”

You nodded, gently running your fingers through her hair. “Your fans will understand. You need to rest and get better.”

Billie sighed. “Yeah, I just hate letting people down.”

“You’re not letting anyone down. You’re human,” you reassured her. “And right now, your health is the most important thing.”

She looked up at you with tired but grateful eyes. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“You’ll never have to find out,” you said softly, kissing her forehead.

For the rest of the night, the two of you laid there, holding each other as the tour bus continued its journey. Despite how sick you both were, there was something comforting in knowing that even in moments like this, you had each other. Billie, usually so strong and confident, was vulnerable in your arms, and you were her anchor in this less-than-glamorous situation.

As the sun started to rise and the nausea finally began to subside, Billie whispered, “Next time, we’re skipping the diner.”

You chuckled softly, pressing a kiss to her temple. “Deal.”

And with that, you both drifted off into a much-needed sleep, wrapped in each other’s arms, knowing that no matter what the world threw at you—whether it was the chaos of a world tour or something as simple as a stomach bug—you’d always get through it together.

[sugar-omi]

cove and his pregnant wife!mc where she’s having lots morning sickness and sometimes can’t make it to the bathroom in time and she’s just all upset cause she feels so insecure

and cove just sits there and holds her hair every morning, rubbing her back and cleaning up some of her messes while she just apologizes

and he assures her he doesn’t mind, how she’s stronger than he’ll ever be because he would never be able to carry a baby and still care for everyone in her life and do all the things she does

just some fluff and comfort for a super insecure reader :,))

i enjoyed this idea sm more than i thought so mayhaps i.... got carried away,,,

pls cove w pregnant mc and just dad!cove in general is so GOOD i love him sm, he'd be such an angel w preg!mc let alone as a dad. man i wish we could get a dlc like that id actually scream n i'd never play anything else 👐👐👐

tags : comfort, pregnant fem/afab reader, reader has at least shoulder length hair, 1st trimester, morning sickness (vomiting), insecurities, drabble + hc's

synopsis : your pregnancy is running you through the ringer, cove is here to help you feel better

even when you find out you're pregnant, you're still taking care of so much

you do your usual chores and work / school on top of that

you still do things for cove that he insists he should be doing for you instead

like cove insists on doing all the cooking, or at least the majority so you have a break and can take care of yourself as you and your body goes through this adjustment

or the cleaning- don't even worry about putting the clothes in the washer, he'll do it before he leaves!

of course you tell cove you're pregnant, not incapable and he understands and lessens up but still hangs around in case you need something and does things that makes your day easier

however when you start experiencing bad morning sickness, cove insists on taking over more of the things you do since you're always so drained after spending the night throwing up

the first time it happens its in the middle of the night, around 4am and he wakes up because you're struggling in his arms...

cove grumbles, face pinched as he blinks through blurry vision. "wha..."

you grunt and huff, shoving cove on his back and that makes his eyes go wide as he lays there with his arms open and hanging in the air, as you run to the bathroom.

his shock doesn't last long though when he hears you heaving and he trips on the covers trying to get to you.

cove blinks through blurry vision, not even thinking about his glasses but subconsciously thankful he can at least make it to the bathroom without turning the room upside down.

you're leaned over the toilet bowl, trying to keep your hair out of your face but between throwing up your dinner and wiping your spit away in between waves its a bit hard, especially since you just woke up.

cove sits beside you, gathering your hair in his hands as he leans over you for a hair tie,

and he brushes your bangs off your sweaty forehead.

the ponytail leaves a lot to be desired, but that's something for another day

he starts rubbing your back, massaging your shoulders and placing loving kisses between your shoulder blades while you pant over the bowl, spitting.

it's quiet for a minute, a lucky break before another wave of nausea hits.

you spit and clear your throat before you mumble weakly. "sorry..."

you leave it at that, thoroughly embarrassed and stressed that you pushed cove so roughly earlier and now you're sick like this in front of him.

it doesn't make much sense, you've known each other for more than 15 years so you've seen each other in basically every state possible, especially since you've been married and dating for a good few of those.

cove smiles at you, trying to soothe you visually as well. "its okay, don't apologize about anything."

the next time you throw up, you're taking a nap on the couch and when you wake up you feel very queasy..

before you can do anything more than sit up from the couch, you end up throwing up on the floor.

you clutch your shirt, feeling a bit weak after such a long nap and a rude awakening but you push yourself up from the couch and drag yourself to the kitchen for some paper towels.

it's a bit hard, you're still nauseous and a headache is coming on but you snatch the roll off the counter and make your way back, trying to wipe it up quickly before cove gets back from work. thankfully, it didn't get on the rug, so it shouldn't be a hard clean.

but of course, another wave of nausea comes over you, finally making it to the bathroom this time.

when cove finally comes home and hears you in the bathroom, he puts down the food and flowers he brought home for you and finishes cleaning up for you.

you come out, having brushed your teeth twice before you deemed it good enough to finish the day with for now.

cove smiles at you, having just finished up wiping the floor with a wet rag.

you welcome cove home with a kiss on the cheek, but go on to fret. "you didn't have to clean it up i-" you start choking up a bit. "I could've finished it..."

cove takes you in his arms, seeing that you're starting to get teary eyed. "its okay, I wanna do it for you."

you wrap your arms around him and let his body heat comfort you and his solid arms wrapped so nicely around you helps ground you and calm you down.

"so uh.." cove rubs his arm. "I brought food, I don't know if you want any now but I have flowers too!"

he picks them up from the coffee table and presents them with a sheepish grin, looking for approval.

you smile and take the bouquet.

when cove wakes up in the middle of the night, he finds you crying in the kitchen.

even if you were crying quietly, when he flipped over in bed and realized you weren't there, he immediately got up to find you.

"y/n!"

you startle, surprised to see your husband up.

you start wiping at your tears, although it's fruitless since he's already seen you.

cove puts his hands on your shoulders. "what's wrong? are you okay?"

you nod, affirming that you're physically okay. or well, at least as okay as you can be with all this morning sickness. (why call it morning sickness if you're going to wake up from sleep at 4am and can't even take am afternoon nap without an unpleasant surprise!)

you sniffle, covering your face from cove and turning your body the other way.

you cant face him, you're so overwhelmed..

"y-yeah I just.." you huff, tears of flusteration coming over you again. "I'm so tired of being sick! I can't even sleep without throwing up, and I definitely can't trust myself not to throw up in public!"

you're getting really worked up now, and your hands are waving in the air as you animate your frustration. "I'm just so tired of being pregnant, I hate this.." you sigh, dragging your hands down your face, and you let yourself sick to the ground.

"im excited for the baby, but I'm so over it already..." you curl in on yourself. you feel guilty, as much as you love the new addition to your family already and are looking forward to the new stage of your life, you hate how sick you've been and you hate how cove has to take care of you and clean up after you.

it makes you uncomfortable even though there's love in his actions and you feel it, but it's hard when it feels like there's no end to this..

cove sinks to the floor beside you, pulling you into his lap, and you hide your face in his t-shirt, holding tightly onto his hand.

you sit in silence for a moment as cove thinks about a way to comfort you. he's not good with words, but clearly, that's something you need right now, and even so, he wants you to know just how much he loves you.

"I think you're really brave, and strong y/n..." cove starts carding his fingers through your messy hair.

"I could never carry a baby, and I'm not just saying that." cove laughs light heartedly, "even if I could I'd be way too scared.. but you're doing a really amazing thing, and I wish I could make you feel better."

cove is starting to fret a bit himself, he really wishes he could take everything for himself and make you feel better.

"you've always taken care of me, putting up with me crying all the time, letting me vent about my parents and all the things I struggle with.. you always wait for me, like when we shared a bed for the first time." you both laugh a bit at how much of a fail that was at first.

"and even now, even though you're carrying our baby, you take care of me in any little or big way as you always have." he urges you out of hiding, wiping away a couple of stray tears coming down. "its amazing. you're amazing. i know it's tough, and I wish I could do something more about it..."

cove starts to cry, so it's your turn to laugh and wipe away his tears. he takes your hand on his cheek and leans into your touch. "its my turn to take care of you. okay?"

you nod, still sniffling but this time it's because you're so moved by cove's determination to explain how much he loves and appreciates you.

"cool. now, what do you think about ice cream in bed?"

[mypookiebeardavyjones]

The undead, the drowned, and the nereid 🐙🌊🐟

(A/N) i told y’all I’d post! And let me know if y’all want a part two to this!

The crew would rest for the night, as they were permitted. Albeit one other did not need to sleep and were rather fascinated still by the rain.

As the crew walked to their cabins, with the captain following behind. He glanced back to the one left behind.

He felt the rain dripping from off his hat, the salty smell in the air and the rancid smell of raw fish from the undead sea-cursed crew.

He was used to all of that, until you.

A mermaid from the depths, an enigma even to him, a man with decades upon decades of history on the sea. He recalled the tales of the sirens, those who would drag the sailors to the depths, giggling as they watched them sink.

But for you, you were no siren, you could not sing or lure. Your voice he never even heard before. It was not like you were ugly either, the beauty of you could pull in a man… But not as strong as another maiden of the sea would be.

On the boat, beauty meant naught. If anything it was a waiting game to see how long it would take for your ugliest features to come about. How long until the sea turned you into its devastating force of monstrous hell. It did not work on you oddly though.

He doubted it was fate, or you were some lucky, chosen gal. No, no, it was definitely because you were already a seafolk.

“Ay’ get in,” he spoke suddenly, his crab leg tapping the floorboard. He was not mad but his tone did not show anything to differ that.

“I don’ care if ya’ miss ya’ damned home, I cannot afford one of me’ crew be sick as a dog.” He commanded.

“The rain doesn’t make me sick,” you replied, “if it did, I wouldn’t be stuck with barnacle duty when it does.” As you definitely turned back to the ocean’s never ending pool.

He huffed, “but a sleep deprived crewmate ain’t a useful one.”

“Who says a mermaid sleeps hm?” You tilted your head, a slight playful smile on your face, “we have two eyelids yes, doesn’t make us sleepy.”

He grew annoyed and started to walk towards you, “aye, but defiance is a damned trait if ya’ wish to live here long!” His siphon huffed out air, a surprise from the smoke he usually puffs.

A look of slight shock in your eyes, your feet tapped the floor and your fins lowered.

“I could give ya’ a hellish lashing of twenty, right now for ya’ ignoring me command.”

“Go ahead, I’m not stopping you.”

He furrowed his eyebrows, he raised a whip to strike as you stood there. You stood, and waited, without flinching or bracing for impact.

Your eyes gave a slow blink, he looked at you, he couldn’t- it’s not like hitting a man who deserves it rather than a woman who doesn’t.

He dropped it, sighing, “ya’ be lucky ya’ a lass.”

You chuckled a bit, you leaned on the railing and gestured to him to join you in the rain.

“And you’re lucky to be a captain,” you said with a smile on your lips, “to drift through the seas forever.”

He glanced at you then the ocean, the thought of it made his core sick. He hated this life, it reminded him of his betrayal and the nausea of love.

“I’m not lucky, this is a curse for a reason.” His crab claw pinched the air. “This sea is an endless pit that drags fools to its depths.” He huffed.

“…Is that a dig at sirens?”

“Na’ no, more than just ya’ kind out there!”

He quickly turned his head to you, his tentacles swaying swiftly too. He pulled out his pipe, taking a deep inhale as he exhaled smoke through his siphon.

“Ah, well..” you thought for a moment, “it’s… It can drown you, but when you’re drowning most of the time it’s someone else’s doing. Not you.”

Jones stopped, his eyes glanced at you, he was unsure on how to respond. But it’s not that simple, he thought.

“Naïve ya’ is,” he exhaled, “my tale ain’t tha’ simple lassie.”

“Then, well, let me see…” You thought, “Poseidon owns the sea, yes?”

He slowly cocked his head, “get ta’ tha’ point.”

“I hate Poseidon, he’s the god of the sea and yet so cruel and forceful.” You scoffed, “just like his brother Zeus…”

You looked at the rain, extending a hand a few droplets were able to be controlled by you into a little bubble of a heart. You held it close to your chest, but not close enough it would pop.

“I don’t let that ruin the seas for me, because the gods will be the ones to drown you. Not the sea itself.” She nodded.

Jones was in shock, your words alongside the manipulation of water in front of his eyes. An oceanid? Perhaps a nereid? What were you? He thought. The words you spoke left an ache in his chest, where his heart once was.

He had to inhale a larger puff to deal with the emotion, as his tentacled hand wrapped over his cut out heart’s spot.

“…Ya’ need ta’ get sleep.” He walked off, he shut off and pushed you away as all the others. You spoke to him, to his pain, and guessed it easily without knowing he thought.

It felt nice.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Grey Zone 5

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon, manipulation, age gap, bullying, toxic parental figures, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your relationship with your parents has never been good, and that with a family friend takes a strange turn(goth!reader)

Character: Lloyd Hansen

Note: Oh my mustachioed man!

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Lloyd pulls in at the last rest stop before you officially enter the true desolation of the northern wilds. You open your door before he can even turn off the engine, unable to hold back the spew of sickness. You spit onto the tarmac as the sun sets darkly above. You grip the door and flinch as Lloyd reaches over to rub your back.

"You okay, baby cakes?" He asks as you press the back of your hand to your mouth and sit back, trapping his hand against the seat.

"Yeah, I just get car sick, like I said," you're almost breathless as the bile sears in your throat, "I should go rinse my mouth out."

"Need help?" He asks and you send him a confounded look. He winks as you struggle to decipher his meaning.

"No," you unbuckle your seat belt and grab your little leather knapsack.

"I guess you're not in the mood for any snacks?" He says as he climbs out on his side, mirror you as you shut your door.

"No, I'm good," you cough.

You walk in stride with him, trying to keep ahead as you're paranoid about your breath and any possible dribble from your vomit. He reaches past you to open the door and holds it open. You flit in and search for the bathroom sign, leaving him behind as the taste of your sickness dries on your tongue.

You hurry down the hall and push into the ladies. You crank on the sink and bend over to rinse your mouth out. You dry off, wiping away much of your black lipstick. 

You fish a mint out of your bag and reapply the tint to your lips, checking your reflection one last time. You go into one of the stalls, just to be sure and wash your hands before venturing out into the store. 

As you come out. Lloyd stands by the magazine shelf, browsing without intent. He glances over at you and smirks, his hands full.

"Got ya... ginger ale," he holds up the green bottle, "and some anti-nausea stuff." He shakes the box of tablets.

"Oh, you didn't have to..."

"I saw it, so... whatever," he hands over the items, "paid and good to go, unless you need anything else."

"All good," you muster a smile.

"You just relax, sweetheart," he waves you towards the door, "we're looking at making midnight if we're lucky. You rest up... you'll need your energy for your vacation."

"Thanks," you mutter. You don't plan on relaxing, you have textbooks and more than enough homework.

"Let me get this," he opens the door for you again.

You step through and he follows closely, just grazing the loose fabric of your pants. You feel a tug but don't think much of it right as he passes you and hits the unlock button on his keys. You near the car and drop into the passenger seat with your goodies.

You crack the seal on the ginger ale, the mint tainting the flavor. You open the box of pills and break one free of the insert. You swallow it with another swig of soda and put the bottle in the cupholder, tucking away the pills in your bag before shoving it between your feet. You lean back and buckle up.

Lloyd turns the engine and flips the stereo on again. You're tired already. You're glad he's taken on most of the driving, aside from his lead foot.

"That's it, you just chill," he reaches over and claps his hand on your thigh, "we'll be home before we know it."

"Home?" You wonder.

"Home away from home," he shrugs and pulls his hand back to the wheel and shifts into gear. "don't worry about it, babe. I got you."

You don't respond. You're not really sure how to and you're stomach is still gurgly. You just want the meds to kick in so you can close your eyes without getting dizzy.

"Alright, back on the road," he steers around the lot, following another car towards the ramp, "huh," he snorts as he speeds up.

"What?"

"Nah, just thinking... feels like... a movie," he muses as he sits back, keeping one hand nonchalantly on the wheel even as the speedometer ticks up, "like we're going away on a honeymoon. Some ridiculous romcom... or maybe a horror movie. You seem partial to the latter."

"I guess. That's a stereotype though. I'm not really a horror person."

"No?" He sniffs, "my bad. I saw that Poe collection on your shelf, so I assumed--"

"I like to read, not so much into seeing gore," you shrug.

"Fair," he replies, "surprising..."

"Why's it surprising?"

"I didn't take you as squeamish with the whole..." he points to his nose, "ring thing."

You reach up to touch your septum.

"Oh, I couldn't really see them doing it," you say.

"Not that I don't like it," he assures you, "it's a look."

You furrow your brow and nearly laugh. Is he trying to sound young and hip or something? At least he's not like your mother, lecturing you on mutilating your body.

"You got any ink? Tattoo or something?" He asks, "something mommy and daddy don't know about?"

"Um, no," you say, "it's... expensive."

"Oh, do I ever know," he clucks.

"You have a tattoo?"

"Sure do," he pats his chest, "I'll give you a look once we get where we're going. It's nothing hardcore. Mostly a college mistake."

"Ah, makes sense."

"What else is college for?" He winks at you in the rearview, "making memories."

"Sure," you agree and yawn into your hand.

"I'll shut up now," he scoffs, "you rest that pretty head."

You look at him, hesitating before letting yourself relax against the seat. You cross your arms and lean into the door, closing your eyes to keep from glancing out the window. He must have got the drowsy stuff, your head is swimming.

🖤

Soon the motion of the car turns from alarming to soothing. You let yourself sink into the anti-nauseant laced drowse itching on your eyelids. You blink, slower and slower, as you succumb to the dark sky and your induced exhaustion. You drift into semi-consciousness, the engine still whirring in your ears.

The hours slip by like seconds and you wake much before your ready too. Not quite all the way as your head wobbles and your body feels buried in sand. You drag your hand across your face clumsily as the car slows and you hear the chirping of crickets. You grumble, batting your lashes before letting them close again. You nestle into the door, reaching for sleep once more.

A soft rumble, like a chuckle, rises as the engine quiets completely. You feel a shift and hear the driver's side door. You can't tell if it's real or you're dreaming. Not until your own door opens and your seatbelt barely keeps you from falling out of the car.

Lloyd nudges you back and snickers again, "ah, look at you, sleepy girl."

He bends over you, his fingertips fluttering over your stomach as he reaches to undo your seatbelt. You moan as you struggle to keep your eyes open. His shadow blocks the moonlight as your tongue sticks dryly to the roof of your mouth. You feel... more tired than you should.

"Let's get you to bed, huh? Look at you," he lets his hand wander down your thigh, "fuck, you're so warm." He tickles you through the fabric of your pants and you shiver, "and it's damn chilly, isn't it?"

He pushes his hands between your thighs and you gasp. You reach for him and he bats your hand away easily. He cups your cunt through your pants and you squirm. He puts his other arms below your chest, pinning you to the seat.

"Wha..." you babble.

"Shhhh, it's alright, babe," he purrs as he bends, pulling his hand down your thigh as he parts them wide, dipping his head into your lap. "Mmmm, you smell delicious."

He buries his face in your pelvis and takes a deep breath before exhaling hotly into you. You whimper and push on his head. He chuckles and pulls his head back. He raises the hand he had cupped against you and sniffs that too.

"The way I'm gonna taste you and find out it you're just as good as you smell," he stands and hooks his arms under yours, lifting you out of the seat, "and you're gonna be begging me for it."

"What are you talking..."

"It's okay, honeybee,  you're fucking out of it," he snaps shut the passenger door, keeping you against him, "if I wanted to, I could fuck you in the dirt right now but that's no fun."

"Huh?" You lean against him, your feet unsteady in your platform boots.

"My dicks been hard since we got in the car, you're lucky I don't test your throat out," he guides you along the pebbles and twigs, a large structure looming limned in moonlight.

"Mr. Hansen?" You eke out.

"Relax, I'm gonna put you to bed, nice and cozy. Cozier on my dick but we'll save that," he teases as his hand creeps down to squeeze your ass, "you got some of those rings in your nips too? Kinky shit."

You shake your head, stumbling with him up the wooden steps of the cabin. The place is dark and you didn't notice if your dad's SUV was there yet. They must have got there by then.

Lloyd angles you through the front door and moves seamlessly through the dark. His strength is unsettling, knowing he could do anything and you couldn't fight him off. Even if you weren't groggy.

"Come on, princess," he hums as he takes you up the stairs, each step creaking.

"Please," you beg, "why..."

"Shhh," he hushes you as he gets you to the top.

Your panic pulses and you try to shove away from him. He lets you and you go crashing into some unseen shape and bounce onto the floor. The noise of your tumble is deafening. Lloyd cackles and you hear something else. Suddenly, footsteps barreling but uneven, a door opens further down.

"What the fuck is going on?" Your mother snarls drunkenly.

"Nothing, Connie," he calls through a chortle, "girl's just a bit hopped up."

"Hopped up?!" She shrieks and you hear her struggling before she emerges, shining a light at you from the flash of her cell phone, "what?!"

"Calm down, she had some dramamine," he scoffs, "she doesn't have the same tolerance as you, Con."

"Oh, shut up," she huffs and turns back, casting the light away from both of you, "keep it down, some of us are trying to sleep."

"Pleasant as ever," he mutters as he slides his arms under you and lifts you. You touch your forehead, dizzied as he cradles you against his chest. He walks down the hall and stops to push open a door with his foot. He stands in the frame and clucks, "just like a honeymoon, huh? Me carrying you over the threshold." He enters and moves carefully through the dark as it thickens, "but we'll save the fun stuff for now."

He puts you on the bed and you grumble. He hovers over you, his hand trails down your body. You shiver and he presses his lips to your forehead and growls, "I can wait…"

He pushes away and stands straight, lurking as you feel him staring down at you. You hug yourself and roll onto your side, weak and disoriented. He takes in an audible breath and lets it out. 

"I'm not even gonna jerk off, as much as my balls are swinging like barbells," he taunts as he leans back on his heels, "I'm saving it all up for you, baby." He clicks his tongue in his cheek, "I'm even gonna be a gentleman and bring your stuff in. Don't worry, you can be naughty for me."

You don't say a word as you close your eyes, hoping to shut out this twisted reality. You hear him retreat, slow deliberate steps that stoke your nerves. He's letting you be for now, but it won't be forever. And now you know exactly what he wants…

🖤

The morning greets you with the sight of an unfamiliar room. Your memory doesn’t rush back but trickles in. A patchwork begins to form in your mind; your father sending you off with Lloyd, his herky jerky driving, the rest stop, and the wobbly scenes that came after.

You remember a conversation but not every word. Only enough to set you on edge. You sit up sharply as the words etch in your mind; ‘don’t worry, you can be naughty for me’. You want to shrug it off as a figment of your own imagination but it’s all too real in your mind.

You look around at the bedroom. Hardwood side for the walls and similarly coloured slats across the floor. The bed frame is elaborate, hand-carved with ornate knobs at the top of each post. There’s a quilty haphazardly pulled over you, gathering at your waist as you hold yourself with palms flat to the mattress.

Your duffle is in the plaid armchair set in the corner. It’s empty. You shake your head, clearing out the last of the cobwebs. Despite the nausea meds and a night of almost lifeless sleep, you wake swiftly. You feel eerily alert of every detail. 

You get up and near the tan dresser, your reflection appearing in the circle mirror perched above. Your eye makeup is smeared and your lipstick only left at the edges of your lips. You’re a mess.

Your hat hangs on the one of the posts that holds up the mirror and your knapsack from the other. You rest your hands on the thin metal handles and slide the top drawer open slowly. You look down as the wood grinds loudly.

Your underwear is neatly folded to one side but you didn’t pack enough to fill the whole drawer. At the other side, there’s something else, something unfamiliar. You touch the lacy fabric and hook your fingers through the slender straps. 

You pull it out of the drawer and let it hang down to the floor. It’s a full body suit, lace in the pattern of spiderwebs, with no lining. It wouldn’t hide much at all. You look up and see yourself positioned behind it, as if you’re trying to see what it would look like on.

You lower the garment and clear your throat. Last night wasn’t a dream, you’re lucky it was a nightmare. You quickly tuck the lacy bodysuit back into the drawer and close it.

What do you do? Do you tell your parents? You don’t imagine your mother would believe you, if she even listened. She’s already into the wine. And your father, Lloyd is his friend. He’d probably shrug it off as one of his jokes.

You back up and turn to the rest of the room. You hear the birds chirping, trees swaying, and the soft breeze flowing in through the slightly open window. You cross to the pane and look out at the deep cluster of trees that stretches for miles. It’s all the more obvious then that you’ve walked straight into his trap.

[valaruakars]

We Have Chemistry (Together)

A bonus chapter/prequel oneshot for Let's Get Physical

Gen || Jayce & Viktor || 3.7k || Modern/College AU || Ao3 Link Tags: Baby frat boy Jayce, developing friendships, misunderstandings, emotional hurt/comfort (shitty), hazing, underage drinking (for us USAmericans), alternating POV, no Beef!Reader today sorry babes

Help is high on the list of what people typically want from Viktor. Usually in class. Sometimes in the elevator beforehand or in the hallway after, or following a light tap on the shoulder in the library. All academic help, strictly speaking. But this wasn't about their lab report.

Sweaty palms, shaky hands—he’s got one shot at this. One phone call. He knows the landline and his mom’s cell by heart, but he can’t call her. Can’t let her see him like this. Can’t think of who the hell else to call—who even memorizes phone numbers anymore?—so maybe he’d better get comfortable with sleeping upright and a permanent wedgie. There are worse things, like the disappointed purse of her lips; the way she sighs and bows her head and makes him wonder if it’s his fault her hair’s already shot through with gray.

Except.

Area code, same as the rest. Dorm number. Cait’s birthday.

He types it out. It looks as familiar on the screen now as the first time he saw that string of numbers, when the coincidences jumped out at him as the patterns in numbers always do. Enough to make an impression, apparently. Just like the person it belongs to.

Who, in all likelihood, won’t be thrilled about this.

But he decides then and there that he’s just desperate enough for normal underwear and his too-firm twin XL bed—and, fuck, there’s a quiz in materials performance first thing in the morning so he really needs the sleep—to hit call.

It rings three times. He feels a hot surge of nausea two in, the rising urge to puke into his purple foam hat. It’s bitter in his throat like those IPAs he didn’t want to drink in the first place, but he’s never been great with peer pressure.

And on the fourth, above the rustling:

“Hello?”

He sounds annoyed.

He usually sounds annoyed, but sometimes Jayce wonders if it’s all in his head, because Viktor’s voice softens when he explains the equations to the girl that sits next to him and snaps her gum too loud and misses every other class. He’s heard it gently ask the professor for a letter of recommendation in the hall after lecture, and lilt into the phone—in what? Russian?—on the bench outside before it. It’s only when Viktor’s talking to him, which is already rare, does it get quick and terse.

But maybe he hears it wrong half the time because there’s part of him that’s been intimidated since day one. That first day of class, when he’d taken the last seat at the front and stuck his hand out to the guy beside him. He was nervous. It felt like the right thing to do. But those egg-yolk eyes had ticked curtly from Jayce’s hand to the professor he’d just introduced himself to, with a detour to his crooked pink bow tie. Maybe it was a little much with the blazer and ironed slacks in sweltering August. And in hindsight, yeah, maybe shaking the professor’s hand and explaining how this class fit into his three year plan was definitely too much, but Jesus fucking Christ *was it also too much to just come out and call him egotistical *for it.

Without even shaking his hand! Who does that?

Really, he’s just trying to make this feel like a good idea. It’s not.

It’s also too late to back out. “Hey—Hi, yeah, it’s Jayce… Your lab partner. From chemistry?” He’s already started running his mouth.

“Ah. I realize.”

He wrings the hat in his lap. The iron-on stars are starting to peel off. Glitter flakes cling in the creases of his wet palms. It’s delusional, isn’t it, to imagine that Viktor doesn’t hate him.

Only with a deep breath can he get himself to say, “I know it’s late…”

“It is.”

“But I really need your help.”

—

Help is high on the list of what people typically want from Viktor.

It’s what he’s good for—all those questions along the lines of, ‘Did you do the homework?’ which means, ‘Can I copy it?’ (No.) Or, ‘Do you know what he’s talking about?’ which means, ‘Can you explain it like I’m five?’ (Yes, but try to keep up.) *Sometimes it’s, *‘Have you taken any of Heimer’s classes?’ which either means, ‘Can you give me the study guides?’ (There aren’t any.) or ‘Can you tutor me, but we somehow hook up and never speak of it again?’ (Depends.)

That’s usually in class. Sometimes in the elevator beforehand, or in the hallway after, or following a light tap on the shoulder in the library. All academic help, strictly speaking.

But this wasn’t about their lab report.

If anything, it should’ve been about their lab report. Because what else could Jayce Talis—who moved seats after the first day of class and made a face like a whipped animal when they were partnered for lab work last week, who pledged a fraternity (abhorrent) and has his pick of pretty friends—possibly want from him?

It feels as though he blinks and thirty five minutes of his life have just dissolved* since he hung up the call, so lost in theoreticals of *why *and *me that curiosity itself must’ve found his pants and his wallet and led him here by the hand. Rumpled, but fully clothed. This is novel and extremely necessary considering he’s standing in a squat, brutalist building at the front desk of campus security.

All because Jayce asked, ‘Can you come pick me up?’

And Viktor simply agreed.

There’s no bail, no paperwork, no real formality here. The only requirement to walk Jayce out is to be over the age of eighteen, and he clears that easily enough. The state ID he hands though the sliding glass window of reception says as much, but he still has to remind the campus cop who flips it over three times like there’s something confusing about it that it’s just as legitimate as a driver’s license, thank you.

“Time to go, Talis,” the man bellows, snapping Viktor’s ID onto the counter with thick fingers and no further acknowledgement. As he pockets it, a metal chair scrapes across the linoleum somewhere out of frame, behind a door with a decades old pin-punch lock.

“You’re a lucky one, kid,” the officer chuckles, deep and phlegmy with the sound of black lung. “If I hadn’t laughed so hard you’d be at county intake right now.”

“Do I… Um, do I need to sign something?” Jayce asks. His voice is world-weary more than ass-kissing.

“You want this on record?”

“No, sir.”

“Then there’s the exit.”

By that point, Viktor’s already tapping his way to it. Jayce will follow, and with his long legged stride, he will catch up easily. Probably to thank him with that performative politeness that drives him to say ma’am or sir *or to *shake the hands of strangers, and then they’ll go their separate ways after has Viktor served his purpose. Like whatever this was never happened.

Behind him, a hydraulic arm shrieks, the intake door claps shut, and Jayce whispers an apology to no one for rattling the lobby’s musty silence as Viktor pushes outside. The tepid night air rushing against his face, and because he’s not rude, he holds the door open for Jayce.

But Viktor gets stuck. Or maybe stunned. Perhaps it’s flummoxed, or even transfixed. There’s no one perfect word to describe why he’s stopped, blocking the door and staring, which is rude, but happens to him with enough regularity that he’s owed a pass or five, and he’s using one now.

He blinks.

Blinks again.

Once more, and yes, Jayce is still standing in the doorway clutching a cheap wizard hat in his hand and a child sized blanket around his body. It strains around the bulk of his arms, stretching, cracking the gold vinyl stars. It matches the purple beneath his eyes, complements the tawny red his face is turning, and does not, in fact, reach low enough to cover his too small speedo.

Or the knee high boots.

A cape, Viktor realizes. Not that he’s just eyed Jayce from top to bottom with enough scrutiny to notice that he’s unnaturally hairless and his thighs are ribbed with stretch marks, or that his own face is set in a hard frown like this is all somehow unsavory. (It’s… not. Definitely not.) No, Viktor simply notices that the starry patterned blanket has a collar, which makes it a cape.

And despite this revelation, the fact that Jayce is mostly naked remains unchanged.

‘Why’ is on the tip of his tongue. It usually is; its natural habitat is in his mouth. But Jayce’s eyes flit from Viktor’s down to his pointy toed boots, then back up again, and he preemptively explains, bitterly, “Nothing in the lost and found fit.” Which actually explains nothing.

Viktor nods as though he understands (he doesn’t), and forces himself to just start walking.

Jayce tails him down the sidewalk in uncomfortable silence. It’s when they pass the parking lot that Jayce picks up the pace, falling into stride side by side. The pieces fall into place too—late night, terrible costume, and now, the acerbic smell of stale beer wafting off him. Frat party.

It’s worse on Jayce’s breath. “So…” A tight, tried sort of impatience undercuts his attempt to sound casual. It’s familiar. Understandable, too, after sitting through a scared straight experience on a weeknight. “Where’d you park?” Jayce asks.

Lack of a car notwithstanding, the implication he’d ever be swindled out of eight hundred dollars a semester to park on campus is a joke. Not a laughable one. “I took the bus,” he flatly answers.

“Oh.”

For a moment, Viktor can ignore the palpable disappointment—that he is disappointing. He can even empathize with the situation. Riding public transit dressed like that isn’t exactly ideal. But then Jayce asks, “They run this late?”

“The city ones do.”

And then Jayce says, “It’s just… I don’t have any money.”

“They’re free to students.”

And then Jayce mutters, “Uh, cool. Good to know,” because he doesn’t have to know, has never had to know. And suddenly Viktor doesn’t feel so bad for him anymore, that he gets to learn tonight that need-based scholarships don’t buy cars or taxis, and that sometimes it’s slightly inconvenient when you fuck up. Perhaps that should be more obvious to someone who just lucked out with a slap on the wrist for flagrant underage drinking.

Except they stop and Jayce takes one look at the bus stop bench; notices—what is hopefully just—dried, congealed soda spilled across one side. He asks, “Do you want to sit?” because he’s ignorant, yes, but not the worst to ever live.

Viktor says, “No, thank you,” knowing what Jayce doesn’t: the bus schedule, and that up and down in short order won’t feel particularly good.

When it grinds to a halt at the curb two minutes later, Jayce pulls his student ID out of his boot and soldiers onboard with his head down. He collapses full bodied onto the seats running parallel down the center aisle the same way he'd collapsed on the bench outside: hunched over with his face in his hands. Luckily, people are sparse at this hour, and there is nobody sitting across from them. Unluckily, someone in the back laughs openly.

With so much space, Viktor leaves an open seat between them. It feels right. But in the awful fluorescence before the lights wink out, Jayce’s skin looks waxy and his shoulders rise and fall with the deep, intentional breaths, and Viktor is struck by how alone he is—how strange it is that he’s alone in this. Where are the drunk friends that should’ve been picked up with him, or the cavalry that should’ve pulled up in a dirty Jeep with Greek letters on the bumper to save him?

He sits up as the dark bus drives on, soberly tucking his cape and forearms over his stomach, and Viktor snatches his eyes away. It doesn’t add up—not really. Jayce* does not particularly like him*, and Jayce has other friends.

He should probably ask which dorm is Jayce’s or if he knows what stop to get off at, but he knows the right question now. “May I ask—?” Viktor tries.

Only to be shot down with a clipped, “No,” which is strange to be on the other side of, but he’ll learn nothing from it.

Viktor nods and sits back quietly, the plexiglass window cool against his skull. The vibrations ghost shifting patterns behind his eyes. The silence is filled with the rumble of the engine accelerating, and the time with drafting a polite, impersonal email in his head to request they not be partnered together in the future.

At the next stop, two people get off, and when the bus drives on the silence is different. It lacks the subtle undertone of whispers and snickering, of other passengers entirely. Viktor opens his eyes to find there’s no one else left but the driver with her headphones in.

“Okay, fine,” Jayce suddenly sighs, like he’s been holding his breath the whole time. “Ask.”

They don’t look at each other. Viktor watches the traffic light ahead tick to green out of the corner of his eye. “Why did you call me?”

Jayce leans back and groans, pained, into his hands. “No, about the outfit. You’re supposed to ask about the outfit, or the night, or how I got caught.” He pulls the tiny cape tightly around himself again. It doesn’t contain how badly he smells of pore-distilled alcohol and nervous sweat. “Any of those.”

He considers, briefly. “Explain the night, then.”

“I went to this pledge party…”

“On a Wednesday?” admonishes Viktor, who is known to stay out at the library until they banish him at close and sleeps the minimal amount to function most days of the week; who smokes and drinks and fucks enough for at least two frat boys, just in a wholly different context. Who is, sometimes, kind of a hypocrite.

“It’s Thursday now,” Jayce corrects as if it matters, stalling for seconds. “It was mandatory, okay?” He’s embarrassed, shrinking in his seat. “They had us drink, then confiscated our phones and gave us these costumes. I was supposed to do magic—” which explains the conical wizard hat, ”—but I wasn’t doing a good enough job, so I had to go out onto campus on a special errand,” he accentuates with limp, one handed air quotes, “to, uh, get something.”

“Is that not considered, eh…?” Viktor forgets the word. It doesn’t have much of a place in his vocabulary; was never really relevant during freshman year orientation.

“Yeah, it’s hazing, but it’s not a big deal,” Jayce snaps, filling it in defensively. He deflates just as quickly, resigning to his lot. “It’s just something that happens.”

But Viktor shrugs, “I see no benefit to the situation.” That’s putting it mildly. He’d rather amputate his own leg than be humiliated and told what to do. “Quit.”

This is, apparently, an offensive suggestion. “It’s—No, it’s about the connections.” Jayce is resolute. “Networking. Knowing the right people who can probably get me in the door at the places I want to be one day.”

One word stands out: “Probably?”

“It’s not exactly guaranteed, but if it means the odds are better…”Jayce is less resolute. Like he’s trying to convince himself, confidence in his own choices waxing and waning fretfully.

“And,” asks Viktor, “you think this is worth it?”

“I don’t know,” Jayce whispers in a small, scratchy, tired voice. He knows what this means. The heinous costume; risking his academic career; having to embarrass himself in front of a classmate he hardly knows or cares about. “I just… I thought it would make it easier to make friends, but I don’t want the whole *parties and drinking and girls and ‘haha, isn’t it funny I failed that test?’ *experience.” For a moment he looks like he wants to put his face into the hat in his lap and scream. Instead, he pinches his eyes shut. “They pushed me harder than anyone else tonight, because they know I don’t belong. My grades just bring up their stupid academic average.”

Viktor doesn’t know what to say. It’s not uncommon, this helpless sensation of floundering when confided in, when faced with the enormity of things outside his ability to change or control. He didn’t know what to say when the girl he was tutoring last year told him she lost her scholarship, or when he caught Heimerdinger’s last TA sitting shell shocked on the bathroom floor after finding out their partner cheated. He didn’t know what to say when his mother told him babička wanted to go home home to die (she’s fine, just dramatic and bitter about getting old), or when she saw him changing his shirt while they were packing up the apartment and cried for how she failed him (she didn’t).

He does know that saying I’m sorry never feels right. That it’s empty, and nobody really feels better hearing it. But Jayce is smart and attractive and also, perhaps, just dramatic too. He belongs somewhere, even if he hasn’t found that place yet. “How valuable could these, eh, connections with stupid people be, hm?”

“I mean,” Jayce mutters, “it’s not that they’re stupid—”

“Don’t argue. I’m aware of nepotism and how it functions,” Viktor huffs, tempered by Jayce’s soft laugh of the same quality. “There are always other avenues to get what or where you want. Find them. Your time is better spent than,” he gestures broadly, “on this.”

“Yeah…” Jayce nods. It’s a kinder resignation this time. The troubled creases in his face start to ease away. “Okay.”

Cars pass. Silence settles, strange in that it’s easy. Or, it starts to. But Jayce takes a breath. Hesitates. Takes another one that turns into, “There was no one I could call.” He crosses his legs. Uncrosses them again. Can’t get comfortable with himself or the admission:* *“Not because they took my phone, there just isn’t anyone else.”

“Your friends?”

“Still in high school, and she’s not even old enough to drive yet.” He finds himself on the receiving end of a curious stare, and gets the why of it wrong. “It’s not like that, I swear,” he cringes. “She’s a lesbian, Viktor.” Which is all fine and good, but has nothing to do with why Jayce is speaking in singular. He asked about the plural.

“Your roommate?” he tries.

“Dropped out two weeks ago, and please don’t suggest my mom next.” Jayce rolls his eyes, and they don’t find their way back. He stares off, down at the floor, canting his head away. There’s glitter in his hair. “Trust me on this. It’s not like I wanted someone who hates me but has an oddly memorable phone number to be my one phone call tonight.”

He would’ve been allowed multiple phone calls is the first thing that Viktor thinks. The second: “I don’t dislike you.”

Another eye roll. “You gave me a look.”

“I look at plenty of people,” Viktor hand waves.

“No, a look,” he insists. “It was this ‘if we were in a Russian prison right now, I would shank you’ kind of look.” Viktor narrows his eyes, so he specifies, “When we got assigned in lab?”

“Why,” Viktor asks slowly, “is the prison Russian in this scenario?”

“Because you’re—”

“No. Do not finish that sentence.” Wildly rude and too common of an assumption, but, “In the spirit of forgiveness, I will let that slide,” he holds up a slender finger, “once.” Jayce mouths sorry as Viktor considers the sort of look his face is being accused of. “I…” But he only remembers reading the clear disappointment on Jayce’s. “Was probably thinking about something at the time,” Viktor shrugs.

“How much you wish I’d switch majors?”

“Mm, no. It was the end of class, so probably how much homework I could accomplish before work study, or how late to my next class I could reasonably be if I showed up with coffee from the dining hall.”

“Yeah, but…” He pivots in his seat. His thighs squeak on the plastic. “But you still called me egotistical on the first day of class!”

Yes, when Jayce made a painful show of ingratiating himself to the professor before class. Jayce throws that in his face like some sort of gotcha; in reality, it ranks one of his top ten social failures. “It was a question.” He was simply asking if, in hindsight, the action could be misconstrued as egotistical. “Not a criticism.”

But Jayce scoffs, “How was I supposed to think that when you wouldn’t even shake my hand?”

“It was stuck.” Viktor lifts up his right hand. Empty, but the cane still comes with it, dangling where it’s looped around his wrist. “You took yours away before I could get it out of the strap.”

“But I didn’t know yet that you—” Jayce scrubs his hand down his face, quiet until he whispers a revelatory, “Fuck.” Then a slightly hysterical, breathy, “Fuck,” and he’s smiling, gap-toothed and too brilliant for the lateness of hour.

“Eh, still a weird thing to do, though,” Viktor shrugs. He’s smiling a little too. It’s a private, wry thing. It’s a start.

And by the time they finish, on the other side of campus, on a sidewalk, at a bus stop much like the one they came from, things are very different.

For instance, Jayce has put the horrible wizard hat on. Ironically, of course.

They meander past the library, its windows tall and dark, cutting across the quad in front of it toward the residence halls. “What was your special errand, anyhow?” Viktor asks. “You never said. I’m curious.”

“Yeah, well, I’m trying to forget the horrors. Y’know, of getting caught trying to break into a building with my entire ass out,” he says sheepishly, catching the hat as it starts to slip. It’s not his entire ass. Only about eighty five percent. “I had to borrow something.”

There’s a word he’s avoiding. “What, exactly, were you trying to steal?”

“Borrow,” Jayce counters. “There’s this paperweight in Heimer’s office. Looks kind of like chalcedony, but it does have these faint striations, so I think it might be agate—

“I’m familiar.”

“Anyways, that. I was supposed to get that. Probably because it was impossible.”

“Mm, no, not impossible,” Viktor hums. “You should’ve called me sooner,” he says, dragging a carabiner from his pocket, stripped of paint and utterly ancient. When he holds it up, the street lights catch on tens of little metal teeth. “I have the key.”

[rachi-roo]

loved your BSD fic involving Atsushi with a migraine! 🤍 I’d love to see how you’d write some Akutagawa whump 👀 just wanna see that stubborn frail man SUFFER—

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Bungou Stray Dogs: Breathe Easy.

⚠️WOOP! WOOP! WOOP! WHUMP ALERT! WHUMP ALEEERT!⚠️ Thank you SO much for saying so! I had fun writing that one, and this one, too! Whump just 😭👌 You know? I hope this one turns out to be your liking, buddy. As someone who has experienced some ATROCIOUS asthma attacks, I'm writing this purely from my worst experience. For the juicy whumps. XD

Summary: After a mission, Akutagawa suffers and asthma attack, and Chuuya races against time to find and save him!

Tw: Asthma symptoms, vomiting, CPR

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Chuuya's voice crackled through Akutagawas earpiece as he exited through the back door of a port yard wear house. "Meet up at the extraction point. We'll head to the meeting from there."

The cold sea air caught in Akutagawas throat as he stepped out the door, a cough getting stuck in his chest as he responded to Chuuya. "Y-Yes, mhm. I'll be there ihin- cough-!" He had just finished wiping out a gang of weapon smugglers, and for some reason, it left him more out of breath than usual.

He covered his mouth, breathing steadily through his nose.

Calm down. Calm down.

"Akutagawa?" Hearing his partner coughing wasn't unusual for Chuuya, but he had learned to tell when it was serious. "You good?"

The other cleared his throat, feeling his chest tighten slightly.

Don't panic. Breathe.

He tried to speak again, but all that came out was an aggressive string of dry coughing. He clutched his chest, desperately trying to will himself to breathe, but nothing worked. His chest grew tighter. His breath shortened by the second.

An asthma attack.

They always come on so quickly. One. Two. Three. Four. Seconds passed, he never had time to think. Panic set in as he felt his lungs ache, being robbed of oxygen as he coughed again, dry wrenching as he doubled over in pain.

I can't breathe.

He wheezed, leaning one arm on a wall for support, his hands starting to feel tingly with numbness. A cold sweat pooling on his forehead.

"Ch- gasp Chuya-!" He called desperately through his raspy voice. What else could he do? Chuuya was his lifeline right now.

"I'm on my way. Stay put. Have you got your inhaler?"

Of course he didn't. Carrying one of those around made him look more feeble than he already was. A foolish move, which he regretted every time.

He stumbled to his knees, heaving and gagging on another round of harsh coughing. A line of saliva falls from his mouth as he begged internally for a breath.

His stomach churned with the strain his body was under, throwing up aggressively on the concrete. The acidic sting in his throat worsened as he tried breathing in directly after. The smell stinging his eyes. He fumbled frantically with his Jabot, ripping it from his neck as if removing it would make some kind of difference.

Hurry. Please.

The human body can last thirty to one hundred and eighty seconds without oxygen before collapsing. Time was short. Akutagawa couldn't help the tears that started to stream down his cheeks, his eyes red and sore with the effort and strain of the coughing. Unable to get a deep enough breath, his vision started to fade as black shapes danced before him.

The pain was unbearable. He looked around for someone to help him. Anyone. Another wave of nausea hit, Akutagawas heaved, throwing up for a second time, almost choking on the acidic bodily contents.

I can't see.

"H-Help-!" He wheezed through his tears, barely louder than a whisper, almost completely blind by this point even with his eyes open.

His mind started to faulter. Hearing things that weren't there. A strange, booming sound echoed through his skull, his own heartbeat. Unbearably loud, blocking out the sound of Chuuyas words as he desperately tried to find him among the various giant buildings and machinery at the dock.

Hands numb. Chest throbbing. Throat burning. His body gave out, collapsing onto the ground, barely missing the pile of puke beside him as he rolled onto his back, wheezing and gasping for air. The ends of his coat, Rashōmon, thrashed and flailed as it also felt his panic and fear.

"Akutagawa! Answer me! Damn it, where are you?"

The only sound he could make was a strangled gagging as he lay flat, barely able to lift a finger as the numbness had spread. In only eighty seconds, the mighty and feared Akutagawa Ryūnosuke had been defeated by a cruel mistake placed upon him by his own genetics.

His body twitched, his lips starting turn a shade of blue only comparable to that of a corpse. The ground fell from beneath him, dropping him into an endless, cold abyss.

Silence...

"Akutagawa!" Finally, Chuuya found him, rushing to his side and immediately beginning chest compressions.

"Akutagawa! Come on, come on buddy-!" Mouth to mouth. Becoming Akutagawas lungs for him. "Wake up-!" Chuuya growled through gritted teeth, pressing on his chest again.

One, two, three, four, fi-

A sharp gasp suddenly ripped from the black clad boys throat as he jolted back to life. Wheezing and grabbing at whatever was in reach in a flustered panic.

"There we go, c'mon, sit up. Easy, eeeeasy." Chuuya cooed, helping the boy to sit up straight as he wiped the streaks of Akutagawas vomit from his own mouth. "Deeeep breaths. In... And out..."

In a daze, Akutagawa coughed again, cringing in pain as he swallowed as much air as possible. He leaned against Chuuyas chest, feeling exhausted, like he'd been asleep for hours.

"Where... Am I?..."

"Hey, look at me." Chuuya gently held his chin, looking at his face, wiping the sweat and tears from his cheeks. "Can you hear me?... Aku?" He used his nickname, hoping the familiarity would help ground him better. The other blinked vaccantly in response, struggling to keep his head upright as it lulled to the side.

"...Dazai?"

"Not quite." Chuuya sighed, looking at Akutagawas blue fingertips, realising just how close they came to a true tragedy. He frowned, feeling Akutagawas forehead, making him blink as the movement startled him.

"Look what you've done, dumb ass. You're burning up now."

"M'fine..." Akutagawa wheezed, leaning into Chuuyas chest, too fatigued to support his own bodyweight. "I'm... Jus' tired... Where's home?" He slurred, closing his eyes as they burned, stinging from the tears.

Chuuya huffed, shifting Akutagawa so he could carry him piggyback. "You'd better not throw up on me... And from now on, whether you like it or not, you're carrying an inhaler."

"Mhm..." Akutagawa had no memory of what happened once he stepped out of the wear house and stayed in bed for the next few days, sleeping off the fatigue and pains he endured. Safe to say, he was fairly embarrassed that such a situation was so easily avoided if he had just remembered his inhaler.

There was one good thing that came from this event, Dazai popped in for a visit. And he brought figs.

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Thanks for reading!!