#you’re not a prisoner and you can go be happy and no one will stop you so please

[rose-tinted-nostalgia]

I’ll never understand how a man I’ve begged to leave can pretend like I’m holding him hostage. I do, regrettably, need his support, and yet I’ve actively begged him to go over and over and over again, because I’d rather be homeless then live with this threat hanging over my head, and still, he doesn’t leave, and he pretends like he’s some god-tier husband and father, and I’m the nagging, helpless bitch of a wife who won’t put out, doesn’t appreciate his efforts, never lets him have a moment of peace, and is actively keeping him here against his will, killing him with some misery I’ve forced upon him, as if he’d allow me that kind of power.

[navybrat817]

Give Me One More

Pairing: Soft!Dark Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: You don't need Bucky. He's going to prove you wrong. Over and over and over...

Word Count: Over 3.7k

Warnings: DUBCON to be safe, explicit sexual content, unprotected vaginal sex, oral sex (f. receiving), overstimulation, masturbation, established and slightly toxic relationship, pet names, possessive behavior, family drama, betrayal, threats (not against reader), loose backstory, slight feels (it's me, okay?), Bucky Barnes (he's a warning and a bit mean, okay?).

A/N: I spoke about prisoner!Bucky ages back and I couldn't let this go. Especially not when I'm looking at that beautiful edit by the more beautiful @nixakimbo! ❤️Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own (but thanks to @whisperlullaby for discussing this man with me!). Divider by the talented @saradika. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

You pushed the curtain aside to look out the bedroom window, the clouds dark and thick in the sky. Your home used to be your safe haven, a place of comfort, and all you wanted to do now was escape from your prison of sorts. Not the kind of place your boyfriend, Bucky, spent time in. The bars that kept you in couldn't be seen by the naked eye.

“Can't stay in there all day,” Bucky said from the hall, his deep voice reminding you that you weren't alone.

You’d never be alone again.

“Yes, I can,” you called back. You had been in your bedroom for well over an hour since you snapped at him and left him alone in the living room. If staying in there meant avoiding him, you were fine with that.

You half expected him to stomp down the hall, but he only said, “You’re being a fucking brat.”

Blood rushed to your cheeks as anger flowed through you. “Leave me alone, asshole!” You shouted, feeling every bit like the brat he said you were.

You weren’t sure what set you off today. It could've been because you were still angry that Bucky used you. How long did it take for an empire to fall? In your case, six months.

Half a year ago, Bucky Barnes bumped into you at your favorite coffee shop. Literally. He was large, built like a powerhouse, but his grip that kept you from falling was so gentle. One look in his cerulean eyes and you were a goner. He easily charmed his way into your life and bed. He treated you like a princess, better than any boyfriend before, and you naively believed it was fate that brought you together.

You should’ve known it wasn't the beginning of a happy new chapter in your story. It was a clock winding down to your doom. More specifically, your father’s doom. Because Bucky wanted to destroy the man who helped land him in jail.

The White Wolf, a nickname for Bucky you recently learned about, wasn't a good man. Far from it and far from being a reformed criminal. He took it personally that your dad got him put behind bars for a short time. So he tore his life apart. Took his job away. Urged his friends to abandon or turn on him. Got him put in jail. Bucky even rubbed it in his face that he fucked his daughter. All in six months.

It would almost be impressive if you weren't the one living with the aftermath.

Had your dad known exactly who you were seeing, he may have tried to stop you.

“Asshole,” you muttered.

What Bucky didn't plan on was falling for you or so he said. You were, apparently, his chance at happiness. Because of that, he wouldn't let you go. And he expected you to just forgive him and move forward.

How could you forgive him?

He promised he’d hunt you down if you tried to leave him. You naturally tried and didn't get very far. The sick part was how much you enjoyed him chasing after you and bringing you back. After he fucked you where he found you.

As if he read your mind, he called out, “I know you're frustrated. Bet if you sit on my cock you'll feel better.”

Your cheeks flamed, your panties damp. Damn him for still arousing you with so little words. “Go fuck yourself.”

That actually wasn't a bad idea. He was right. You were frustrated and itching to get out of your own skin. Maybe if you got yourself off, you’d feel a little better. Not happy, but better.

“I don't need him,” you said.

That was what you told yourself as you stripped down and got on the bed. But as you ran your hands along your breasts, gasping as you moved one hand lower, it didn't feel right. The normal fire within you didn't burn. Didn't even a flicker. A raw ache instead outweighed the pleasure you tried to give yourself.

“Damn it,” you muttered.

You heard Bucky’s dark chuckle from the doorway and made the mistake of looking his way. You weren't sure how long he'd been standing there, but his cock was free from the confines of his pants and he lost his shirt at some point, too. He didn't attempt to hide the array of scars and tattoos that littered his torso. Ones you traced with your fingers and tongue more times than you could count. Back when you weren't a pawn in his game.

But if you really were a pawn, why did he have your name tattooed over his chest?

“Looks like you need a hand,” he said, brushing back his long hair as his eyes moved along your body from head to toe.

You ignored your racing heart as you said through your teeth, “Go away.”

He tore your life apart like a tornado, leaving destruction where there was once calm and beauty. Instead of letting you pick up the pieces, he continued to wreck everything around you. He broke you, too, but you were also the only thing he put back together.

The smirk he gave you was one you used to adore. “What’s wrong, princess? Still mad at me?”

You scoffed. Was he serious? “Yes, I’m fucking mad at you.”

“Still mad about the past? Or is it because you can't get out of your own head long enough to make yourself come?” He taunted, slowly stroking his thick cock. “Did you ever actually get yourself off before me? Or did you not know what an orgasm was until I gave you one?”

You watched with a lustful gaze as his hand moved up and down, your eyes not leaving the sight as you desperately tried to get some sort of relief. “I had plenty before you showed up,” you hissed, sliding a finger into your tight hole.

“You know, all you have to do is admit that I'm right: That I've ruined you and all you can think about is how good it feels when I'm fucking you. Admit it and I’ll get you off.”

Pushing another finger inside yourself, you refused to admit that he was telling the truth. Nothing felt as good as he did. And that was the problem, wasn't it? You shouldn't want or need him. Not after everything he had done to your family.

He groaned as he watched your fingers sink in. “You're so pathetic laying there. My pretty little slut wants to prove the impossible. Just wants to prove that she doesn't need me when we both know that's a fucking lie,” he grunted as his cock twitched, making you clench in want despite your anger at his words. “Better hurry up and say it. Otherwise I'm going to come all over you and you're going to be left begging to come and not get off at all.”

You whined as a tear fell from your eye. “You're an asshole. The lowest of the low.”

He chuckled as he brushed his thumb along the tip, watching as your eyes followed the motion. “Now you're just trying to hurt my feelings and that's mean, princess. That isn't you. I'm the mean one in this relationship.”

Your fingers froze as you narrowed your eyes. “Relationship? Don't you mean your prisoner?”

Your breath caught in your throat when he smirked, something darker than before. “You think you're a prisoner? You have no fucking idea. I’ve been to prison. This is a fucking walk in the park,” he said, pouring more salt in the open wound when he added, “And your dad knows all about prison now, doesn't he?”

You choked on your next breath. “How dare-”

“Relationship, prisoner, my girl. You're still fucking mine,” he snarled, the sound sending a shiver down your spine. “And I'm still right. So just say it. Tell me you need my cock and I'll get you off. Fuck that pretty pussy so good you cry for me. Won't even make you apologize for repeatedly calling me an asshole.”

“I wish I never met you,” you blurted out.

Guilt churned in your stomach at the hurt in his eyes. Why did you still care after what he did? Why did he matter to you? “You don't mean that,” he whispered before he blinked, ice in his gaze. “You’re just being a fucking brat.”

You let out a small scream of frustration when you removed your fingers and reached for your side drawer where you kept your vibrator. If Bucky was going to keep being an asshole who wouldn't get you off, your toy would. But he didn't let you get very far. Not when he was on you in a flash, throwing the toy far behind him and pinning your wrists above your head.

His breathing was almost as heavy as yours.

“Oh no, princess. You're so confident you can come without me then that must mean you don't need any help at all coming,” he smirked, gripping your wrists tighter as you squirmed beneath him. You didn't dare look down when his cock brushed against your skin. “It's cute that you think you're stronger than I am. That sexual frustration must really be fucking with your head. I can fix that.”

“You're fucking sick. I don't… I… I don't need you,” you said, not having to see your eyes to know your pupils were blown with lust. Your tongue darted out to lick bottom lip before your gaze settled on his, challenging. “You need me more than I need you. What was it you said? That I was the best pussy you ever had? And you’d be happy to keep your cock in me all day every day?”

“Just like my cock is the best you ever had.”

You opened your legs a bit more when he clenched his jaw. “And you don't want to finish on me. You want to be in me. If it were any other guy, he'd-”

He growled when he grabbed your chin. It was a reminder of just how strong he was and how he could hurt you if he wanted to. “There are no other guys. Do you fucking hear me?”

It was your turn to smirk. Bucky was a lot of things, but he never strayed. Not once. He would forever be faithful. “You sure about that? Maybe I can't relax right now, but if you won't fuck me I’m sure I can find someone who-”

He flipped you on your stomach and gripped the back of your neck before you could finish that statement. “If you think I wouldn’t kill any guy who touches you, you’re out of your fucking mind. Keep pushing me, sweetheart. See what happens.”

You bit back a moan at the gravel in his voice as you turned your head to the side, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye. It was dangerous to poke the bear, but you were past the point of caring. Especially when fury looked beautiful on him. “What's wrong, Bucky? Don't like the taste of your own medicine?”

He leaned down, his breath harsh against your ear. “I prefer the taste of your pussy. Always so good for me. You wanna hear that I need you? Fine. I fucking need you,” he rasped, biting at your earlobe. “Happy?”

“And that you’re sorry?”

“For hurting you? Yes,” he whispered, nosing along your neck. “Never meant to hurt you.”

You shuddered, almost delirious from needing to come. And the fact that he admitted that he needed you. That he was sorry for hurting you. But you weren't ready to play nice. “I'll be happier when you finally decide to fuck me, but you're just a fucking asshole, aren't you?”

He let out a slow breath. “Yeah, I'm a fucking asshole.” He nipped your earlobe roughly again in retaliation before settling between your legs and teasingly brushing the tip of his cock along your folds. “And I'll fuck you when you say you need me, too.”

You tried to push back to take him in, but he kept a firm hold on your hips. You tried to wiggle out of it, but it only brought you frustration as you groaned. “If you're really going to make me say it, don't hold your breath. You can't threaten me, Bucky. You're all talk. And guess what?” You said, smiling sweetly. “I can find another guy to fuck me better than you can.”

You couldn’t see the thunderous look in his eyes, but you heard the low and menacing chuckle in his throat. It sent chills down your spine. Maybe you pushed too far this time, but you didn’t care. He deserved it and worse.

“You're trying to piss me off and I want you to remember that you pushed me to this,” he said more to himself than you before sheathing you in one hard thrust, your mouth falling open in a cry at his sudden intrusion. “Hope you enjoy the bed since you won't even be able to walk out of this room.”

You stared at the wall, your eyes unseeing as Bucky tore you apart. Seconds passed. Minutes. Hours. The sound of his grunts from behind you filled your ears, along with the brutal slap of skin-on-skin. Your body burned, the overwhelming stretch from his cock making you lose sense of yourself. You told yourself he’d finish fucking you soon, but that felt like ages ago.

You also told yourself there was no way you’d have another orgasm, but he proved you wrong. Climax after climax, your release practically flooded around him. At this rate, you really wouldn't be able to get out of bed.

“Bucky,” you gasped, trying to grip the sheets for purchase as he pulled out and slammed back into you. “Please…”

You were boneless, exhausted, and he just kept going. “Oh, no, princess. You wanted to get off.”

Tears of ecstasy streamed down your cheeks, whimpering when you felt yourself on the cusp of another orgasm. How was that possible? How many had he given you? “Bucky, I…” you moaned as you clenched around his cock again.

He cooed, a taunting sound when you choked on a sob. “So good, but I want another.”

“I don't… ” Your eyes rolled back, your head spinning. “I can't.”

You’d seriously lost count at that point how many times you’d come. And your whimper didn't stop Bucky from mockingly cooing again. “Aww, you don't think you can? My poor little fuck doll can still talk which means she hasn't had enough yet. This pussy is so fucking wet for me, so swollen,” he taunted, reaching underneath you and flicking your overstimulated clit as a choked moan escaped you, your walls tightening around him once again. “See? Your greedy little cunt can't get enough of me.”

Why did your body need him so badly? “I can't…” you whined as he licked one of your tears away, seemingly unbothered by the sheen of sweat on your face.

“You think anyone else can do this? Work your body up like this over and over again?” He grunted against your cheek. Your eyes squeezed shut at his harsh panting, his pace not slowing. “All you had to do was say that you need me. But no. You just had to be a fucking brat.”

You practically wailed as you teetered on the edge of another orgasm. “I-I need you. Just you, Bucky,” you said. At least, you thought you said it. You had a tough time stringing any thoughts together with his cock splitting you open.

But his thrusts don’t slow. They were just as relentless as before. “Oh, no. You had your chance to say it,” he snarled, leaning up to pull your hips back against his. “And my pussy is telling me all I need to know. So just lay there and give me another.”

The pleasure bordered on the edge of pain as a sob escaped. There was no possible way you could come again. As much as you thought you couldn’t take it, your body tensed. You still craved him and wanted to give him one more. So you did. You shattered. It was almost too easy that he managed to pull another orgasm from your pliable body.

Or maybe you were just easy for him.

Bucky smacked your ass hard enough to make you cry out, his hand kneading the flesh with a delighted groan. “Fuck, each one is better than the last, princess. You want me to fill you up huh? You wanna feel me dripping from you?” He chuckled darkly, finally slowing down as you let out another sob. He shushed you before he put a hand on the back of your neck and kept you down. “I’m gonna fill you up and you’re gonna take it. Then, I'm gonna lick you clean until I'm satisfied.”

“No…”

He gave you one more smack for good measure when you made a sound of protest. “C'mon, princess. Beg for me to fill you up. If you can talk.”

You didn’t know if you could. You were practically a drooling mess as he drove in as deep as he can go. “Pl… Pl… Bu…” you tried to moan, another tear falling as he shushed you again.

“Got you cockdrunk, didn't I? Need to be pumped full? Then let me give you every. Fucking. Drop.”

A tired moan came out when he filled you up, giving a few slow thrusts as he finished. Your body trembled beneath him, a whiplash of chills and heat. You barely registered him pulling out before he flipped you onto your back. Glassy and unfocused eyes. Makeup smeared all your face. Tears stains on your cheeks. You must’ve looked quite the sight.

He relished in ruining you.

And the beautiful bastard didn’t even look like he broke a sweat.

“Should I call you a dog? You’re drooling, princess,” he smirked. You didn’t have it in you to argue as his eyes drifted down to your pussy. It was still twitching and leaking with your mixed release. He licked his lips as he slid down your body more to fully take in the sight. “And you look good enough to eat, so I think that's just what I'll do.”

“What…” you gasped. He couldn't. Not after all that.

You whimpered as you tried to push him away with a tired hand, but he grabbed your wrists with a tsk. “No, no, no, sweetheart. You keep your hands to yourself. I told you I wasn't done with you and it's rude to keep a man from his meal.”

You were still floating from the multiple orgasms he gave you when he took his first lick. Your shivers picked up again and he groaned at your taste before diving in. Any strength you had to try to push him away depleted immediately, even with how sensitive your walls felt. You couldn't stop him.

You’d never be able to stop him.

After a minute, your eyes widened when you felt him build you up again. “No,” you moaned, but the sight of him between your legs, eating you like he was starving, was too much.

He just hummed against you. "Give. Me. One. More.”

Your back arched when his lips latched onto your clit, forcing the orgasm from your worn out body. You weren’t sure if you made a sound, but you trembled as your release went on for what seemed like forever. Bucky’s tongue lapped it all up, humming before he sat back and looked at your wrecked form again. He made a show of licking the shine from his lips and looked just as proud as ruining you with his tongue the way he did with his cock.

“If you ever try to threaten me with another man or refuse to admit you want me again, I'll make sure to tie you to this bed for a week and refuse to let you come even if you beg for it. And I shouldn’t have to mention what else I can do. Do you understand?”

You trembled, knowing exactly what Bucky was capable of. While he never laid a hand on you to inflict pain, you knew the damage he did to others. Like the bodies buried and cold in the ground because of him. Not to mention the connections he still had at the prison. All he had to do was say the word and that would be the true end of your dad.

With unfocused and teary eyes, you gave him a nod. “Yes, Sir,” you whispered.

“Now tell me you love me and that you’re sorry,” he ordered.

A tear slid from the corner of your eye. “…Love you. I’m sorry.”

His smile was tender and for a second you forgot about everything else. “That’s my good girl,” he praised, your heart betraying you like your body did when he kissed your lips. “And I love you, too.”

You whined as he left your line of sight, but he came back almost right away to sit beside you, the bed dipping under his weight. “Drink it, princess,” he urged, his voice gentler than before he helped you take a sip of water. He even smiled again when he wiped another tear of yours away. “We can go back to the way it was before, you know. When you were blissfully unaware and we just quickly fell in love.”

The pain in your heart came and went as your breathing evened. You wished you could go back to innocent movie nights and meals. To waking up beside him with a smile on your face. To making love so passionate that you believed you were made for each other. There was no changing anything or going back. You could only move forward with him by your side.

Bucky sighed when you didn't say anything. “I know I’m a piece of shit, but I won't stop loving you. And I think you learned your lesson.”

You blinked a little as you took another sip, on the verge of passing out.

“You’re mine and I’m never letting you go,” he whispered, brushing the gentlest of kisses against the top of your head. “Don’t you ever fucking forget that.”

So... I know he isn't all good, but I had fun writing this and I hope you lovelies enjoyed it! Would love to hear your thoughts and maybe I'll expand on this? Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[inkdrinkerworld]

Maybe Spencer is having a bad BAD day, full on ptsd, and sunshine!reader is trying hard to cheer him up. It gets to a point where Spmcer just snaps and says something mean and starts a fight

Spencer can feel the bars around him. He feels trapped in his own mind because he can see that he isn’t in prison anymore, but his brain has been conjuring these vivid dreams of him being back and of Shaw sending men to beat him up.

Every night, the dreams end with Spencer never being found not guilty and him having to spend five years in prison and his eventual death from Shaw’s men.

He’s gasping and shaking and there’s a sweat spot on his sheets. He apologises every morning, you tell him it’s okay and that you’re here to talk. He never wants to talk about it and you never push.

He doesn’t sleep the rest of the night and it makes him irritable.

When he comes into work, you try not to internalise the way he brushes you out of his path as he beelines for the coffee pot.

“I already put your cup on your desk. With breakfast.” You try to temper your cheeriness when you notice the way his shoulders tense.

Spencer wants to be grateful, but all he can think is, ‘I can do it myself. I can take care of myself.’

He doesn’t say anything, not a quiet thanks, not even a half smile.

Your nerves are frayed immediately.

You don’t know what Spencer experienced in prison, he’s told you bits and pieces, the nicer parts of living in a 4 x 4.

Yet, you know the signs of PTSD and as the day drags on, you’re almost certain Spencer’s having a rough go of things.

He’s been snappy with Luke, nice with Penelope, and then flippant with you all over again. It’s hard not to feel like nothing you do is helping.

“We could go out to get lunch. From the place you like, the burger joint.” Spencer’s been slipping in and out of this conversation and the longer he hears your sweet voice, the more it sounds like chalk grating a blackboard.

At his silence, “Or we could order in? Whatever helps, Spence.”

Suddenly, his coffee cup is shattering in the wall behind your head and Spencer’s chest is racing. “Stop!” You feel hot tears prick behind your eyes at being yelled at; at work no less.

“It would help if you weren’t fucking hovering all the damn time. I can take care of myself, I don’t need your help. As a matter of fact, I don’t want your help. Go find someone else to be happy go lucky with, some of us can’t stand it.”

Your breath hitches, you’ve never heard Spencer speak with such venom. You reach a hand to your cheek pulling it away to find blood on your fingertips. Spencer must see it too because he’s on his feet, reaching for you as you step away from his outstretched hands.

You try to remind yourself that he’s just reeling, that he’s been having a rough couple of nights, that this will pass and that you don’t need to be mean to him too. “Fuck you Spencer.” The words are out of you before you can think about it much more. It’s honestly the nicest thing you could muster right now, embarrassment and defeat hot in your chest.

Emily and Matt rush in, finding Spencer tugging at his hair. Emily sighs as she sees the broken mug, Matt sighs as he notes your missing presence.

“Fucking stupid.” Spencer murmurs to himself, pushing back his chair, digging around in his desk for a first aid kit. “I’ll come back and clean it up,” no one is really listening. Emily will do this for him while he cleans up his other mess.

Spencer finds you in the bathroom with Penelope cleaning the little shards from your hair and cheek.

She glares at him and Spencer feels even worse; to top it off you don’t even look at him, just at his shoes.

“I’ll finish it, Garcia.” She stills, not knowing what to do. As she looks at you, you give her a little nod and she leaves, rubbing your back as she goes.

Spencer doesn’t approach you for some time, standing there like you’re the one who exploded and he’s waiting for another shout.

“I’m sorry,” he starts, taking up the tweezers Penelope left behind and reaching for your cheek. Spencer cradles your face gently as he picks the shards out. “I shouldn’t have thrown the mug, or said any of what I said.”

You don’t say anything, letting him continue. “You don’t hover, and I love that you’re always smiling and happy. It’s not an excuse but my dreams are really getting to me, but I shouldn’t have taken that out on you.”

You offer Spencer your other hand. You weigh your words, “No you shouldn’t have. I understand that some of what happened while you were in prison is too hard to talk about, but you need to talk to someone Spencer. You can’t just throw things and scream and then shut people out.”

He nods, “Luke recommended me to a psychiatrist for people suffering from PTSD, but I guess I felt like going would be me admitting that things there got to me.”

You sigh, “I’m not sure if I can do this if you’re going to shut me out and be violent like that.” At Spencer’s panicked eyes you continue. “I know you wouldn’t hurt me on purpose, but this unchecked shit is going to. Whether you mean for it to or not.”

Spencer opens the first aid kit and swipes at your cheek gently, grateful that it hadn’t been a deep cut. Still he knows the silver scar it’s going to leave will eat at him forever.

“I made an appointment for tomorrow at nine.” He mumbles, worry and dread eating at his stomach. “I know it might take a bit for you to trust me again-“

You roll your eyes, “I do trust you. I trust that you’ll go to therapy, use all the tools given to you and cue me in when things are too hard. I trust that you won’t do this again Spencer. I’m not going to punish you for having an off day.”

Tears spring to his eyes unconsciously, “You don’t want to leave? Because I’d understand if you wanted to.”

You kiss his wrist, “No I don’t want to. I know you’re going to get better, but if there’s a next time, Spencer I’m not staying.”

“There won’t be a next time, I swear.” He kisses right under your injured cheek, tender and soft.

[unluckiestmember]

ARCANE WOMEN (or just vi!!) BEING FED STRAWBERRIES BY HAND BY THE READER?

Coming right up!

Arcane Women X Reader: Eating Strawberries

Characters: Powder/Jinx, Violet "Vi", Caitlyn Kiramman, Sevika and Mel Medarda.

Warning: Suggestive Themes, but overall SFW.

A/N: Who sent me this request? I'm gonna kiss you, because this is too adorable. Who sent it?!

Powder/Jinx

“Mmm, that’s delicious, toots! Give me some more- Ooo, wait, wait, wait! Throw it! I’m sure I can catch it in my mouth- Watch!”

Jinx hasn’t really ever eaten fruit due to the environment of Zaun and because she doesn’t go out of her way to experience delicacies like strawberries. But when you had her try some, especially by you feeding her some, she got giddy at the taste and the sweet gesture. She loves you feeding her anything, so strawberries are just a welcomed addition to the moment you two share of you babying her.

She loves you feeding her, but also loves making a game out of it, wanting you to throw the fruit into her mouth to catch or even pulling you down to her height to kiss you so you can taste the fruit on her lips. Moments like these are what Jinx cherishes with her favorite person in the world. Just be careful because sometimes it can get messy.

Violet “Vi”

“I don’t know what I did to deserve a lovely snack like yourself to feed me a snack, but please don’t stop. Mmm.”

Violet only had prison food for a good chunk of her life, so she’s open to eating anything and everything. You noticed she was big on sweets so one day after work, you fed her some strawberries and she instantly fell in love with them. Whenever she’s tired from a long day, she doesn’t expect much from you, so when you surprise her with a feeding sesh, she gets the biggest smile on her face and is so quick to lay her head on your lap or sit you on her lap and feed her.

Sometimes she’ll leave the strawberry on her teeth and pull you in to eat it yourself or if she’s feeling playful, she’ll toss some your way, leading to a night full of giggles. Because of you, she’s lived for being fed by you, even requesting you feed her some desserts or feeding you herself. At this point, you guys are pretty sure it’s your love language.

Caitlyn Kiramman

“Is it me or do these strawberries taste sweeter than usual? Do you want one?... They’re delicious, right? Here, have another.”

Caitlyn is used to the delicacies that fruit has to offer. She wouldn’t say strawberries are her favorite fruit or even type of berry, but she does like them from time to time. Especially if you feed them to her to start her morning or end her day. Externally, she’ll hum at the sweetness of the strawberry and at you, her beloved. But internally, she is melting like an ice cream.

It really relaxes her when you feed her strawberries or any fruit, and she isn’t afraid to feed you as well, either taking turns eating strawberries or slipping some in your mouth and humming at your delight. Eating strawberries makes her happy, especially when you are happy as well because your happiness means so much to her. Oh, and don’t expect to feed her without her ending your bonding moment with a sweet induced kiss to your cheek or your lips.

Sevika

“Now this is the life. You’re gonna make me become addicted to these things, you know that? Especially if I get to have a view like this to match.”

Sevika has had her fair share of strawberries before from some being smuggled into Zaun or someone in the marketplace selling some. And she enjoys them, even if they’re not his favorite fruit or berry. That being said, she lives for you, feeding her like a baby while she lays beside you or sits next to you while taking in the lovely scenery of her significant other keeping her company.

Sometimes she can’t help herself getting a bit experimental with strawberries and their usage, but regardless of the nights you share turning sweet in more ways than one, Sevika enjoys the feeding session as much as she enjoys a good battle, a job well done or even a happy ending. She’s also not afraid to feed you too, just expect her to tease you the entire time before she kisses you. She can’t help it, but you’re kinda cute when you pout.

Mel Medarda

“You know what will really set this off? Some cheese. Maybe some grapes too- Can we please get a platter over here with all the fixings? Thank you.”

Mel loves fruit platters and assortment trays, so strawberries are always a yes for her. She is fine with feeding you strawberries or you feeding her strawberries while you both relax together from a day of hard work in the council or away from one another. Don’t expect her to stop at strawberries though. No, this is Mel Medarda we’re talking about!

Before you know it, she’s feeding you every fruit under the sun, tasting some with you even and indulging whenever you feed her. Even if it gets a bit out of hand sometimes with the both of you taking a tour of fruit, it always ends with the both of you enjoying each other’s company, getting physically affectionate with kisses on the cheek or nuzzles against one another. It’s always nice eating with her, excess and all.

If you have requests for Arcane, X-Men '97 or Blue Eye Samurai, send them my way!

Likes and retweets are always appreciated! I love you all, stay safe, stay hydrated and have a good day!

[bigfatbimbo]

I love you like an Alcoholic

2.1k words,, Bill x Reader

a/n — You did it, you saved the town.

warnings — NSFW, dom!reader, sub!Bill, toxic relationships, book of bill time era, orgasm denial, ambiguous superpowers, NOT PROOFREAD**

summary — Bill goes to his incredibly powerful (moreso than him) business partner, you, to try to get him out of theraprism. Things take a turn.

“I had to pull a lot of strings for this Bill,” you cross your legs and lean back in your thrown. 

Bill straightens his bow-tie, “Well toots, what if I told you I can make it worth your while?”

You breathe and then get up from your chair, “I’d tell you to stop floating in my lair. It’s distracting.”

Snapping your fingers, a bar appears in your otherwise empty room. While pouring yourself a drink, you can feel Bills eye-roll from across the room.

With a tip of his hat, his more human form appears, and sits down at the bar stool next to you. “Better?”

“Could do with more abs.”

He laughs but doesn’t change his appearance, “So, y/n. We go way back, right? I’m not gonna sugar code it, you’ve always been one of my favorites to do business with, doll. Wanna know why?”

“The fact i’m always so interested in what you have to say?”

His eye practically twitched at your indifference. Your attention was never payed in full. “Ha! Don’t flatter your self, pal. No, i’ll tell you why: did you know out of everyone in the galaxy, you’re the only equal I do business with?”

Your eyebrow arches, “equal?”

“Humor me,” he doesn’t give you the chance to reply before continuing. “Now, given my current position in ‘necessary therapy’—“ he makes a point of doing obnoxious air quotes, “—I don’t have much to occupy my days. And we both know i’d be of better use to you out here, right?”

You took another sip of your wine before getting up from the bar and walking over to your throne. The bar disappears behind you, leaving cipher ass-flat on the ground.

“Oh come on—“ His open eye turns red momentarily, before he dusts himself off, “Look, it’s hard being a god, y/n, I know that much. With that responsibility, I think a business partner would do you good. And all you’d have to do is bail me out, that’s practically no downside for you at all, buddy.”

Your patience had been wearing thin, and without further consideration you let out a larger grown from your chair, “Cipher, you’re a liability. I don’t want you. I’m honestly struggling to find enjoyment in sharing a drink with you, despite our history.”

A flick of your hand lifts him off his feet and brings him over to you, “Thought you had a no floating policy, eh?” There’s no fear in his voice, but there is in his eye. He’s losing.

“I’m gonna make this clear to you. You’re gonna take your disgusting human form, and you’re gonna march your happy ass back to theraprism, and you’re gonna stay there. Want my advice? Stop being so damn pathetic.”

A portal opens to take him back and he struggles in your invisible grasp, “No, wait! Please, I’ll do anything, just wait!” 

A human form was already a disadvantage, one he’d accepted in order to strike a deal, but a disadvantage still. And he hadn’t had any contact in a long time, aside from various psychiatrists telling him what’s ’wrong with him.’ 

So, you being someone he has history with could have contributed to his annoyingly human problem. Maybe it was the excitement, your attention or the lack there of, but something terrible happened at that moment. 

“Jesus, Bill. You really have hit rock bottom,” You murmur to yourself as you pull his floating body closer to you, your fingers dance around the bulge without touching it.

“Hey, hey, watch it— Your the one that made me have this stupid fleshbag, anyways— cut that out!” He struggled in the air, finding that he just couldn’t turn back into his normal form. You’re doing, he’d assume. 

To his dismay, you giggle and lean back, “Well now i’m enjoying myself. Now this I could help with, Cipher,”

“Ah, ah pass! Just get me down from here and—“ Back to prison? He’d have to swallow his pride on this one. And besides, it’s not like he wouldn’t like it… “Whatever you want, doll. I’m here all night.”

You examine him further, “Is that so?” 

Before he can answer, you drop him to his knees in front of you. “Ow! Careful with the merchandise, sweetheart. I’m not in mint condition these days— ah!”

Your foot presses down lightly on the bulge in his pants, and your fingers grab onto his chin, “Been a minute since we’ve done this. Huh, Cipher?”

He nods, going to say something, before you interject, “So i’d be good if I was you, baby.”

You press down on his hard-on with more pressure, watching Ciphers face flicker, biting his lip, before letting on a whimper. 

Despite not being his first encounter, so to speak, with you of this nature, it never failed to eat as his pride. And furthermore, despite this, it felt good. If Bill was anything, he was selfish. He could admit he was letting it happen for himself, instead of in spite of himself. So it can’t be that humiliating?

But in this position, there’s always shame.

“Y/n — give me a break—“ He breathed, eye twitching. 

You rolled your eyes and snapped your fingers, with that, his pants were gone and his dick was exposed. That’s another thing he could do without: your unpredictability 

“Next time, say please. Asshole.” You say, lifting him up with your powers once more.

“Wow, buddy. I’m not the one being the jerk here—“ It came out quick, as Bill words often did. But these ones he regretted immediately.

Your eyebrows furrowed, “Tough crowd?” He felt a sensation tugging at the base of his dick, indicating the start of mind games that wouldn’t end anytime soon.

He backtracked. Play it off. “Yeesh, you’re a tough crowd! Did I say jerk? You heard me wrong, I meant lovely— Ah, wait! Wait!”

A wave of pleasure flooded his senses abruptly, followed by a short pinch of pain, similar to what a mortal feels when they prick their finger on a piece of metal. Does that happen a lot? They’re all so clutsy, can’t be that out of the ordinary—

“Smooth talk your way out and maybe I’ll lighten the blow, yeah?” You smile cruelly, hand dangling out, flexing as if teasing what you could do to him.

“I— I know we’ve had our disagreements but I— augh!” A spike of pain, his eye rolled back a bit, “You— I’ve always admired your work— Yes! Respected you even, you’re an idol, sweetheart, ah, yes!”

With each compliment a burst of pleasure would go through him, landing at his unnatural dick, now leaking with precum. He was nearly babbling, but he was as aware of that as he was aware of the fact it was dearly encouraged.

“Very good, Billy. You’re too sweet, really.” Your voice was smooth and you bit your lip, watching him writhe with pleasure mid-air.

“A-anything for you, toots! Ah, more, more!”

He didn’t notice he said anything wrong this time until it was too late, but your face had noticeably darkened at the statement. 

“That’s awful demanding for someone in your position, dontcha’ think?” You weren’t actually mad, of course you weren’t. But you loved to you with him, and you took every opportunity. One of the reasons Bill tried to avoid you when he could; you were far too similar people, dealing in cruelty for the sake of entertainment.

“Wha- No wait!” The attention to his dick ceased to exist, and he was left with only aching for attention again, despite the fact you never gave anything physical in the first place. 

All mind games. “That’s- That’s not fair!”

“I’d watch who you were talking too, baby,” You flick your hand, spreading out his body parts mid air, hard leaking cock protruding out, crying for any kind of sensation. 

“You know what I can do. I’m sure I don’t have to remind you,” You sigh expectantly.

Bill tried to speak to defend himself, to talk his way out, but he found his ability to gone.

“I can make you do what I want, Cipher. Can make you feel whatever I want. Extraordinary pain—“ He cries out for a split second, eye flashing with fear, “—Or overwhelming pleasure.”

This time his eye rolled back, and he moans in wonderful agony, unable to move expect for wriggling his body parts weakly. His dick twitched.

“You like that feeling?”

He nods weakly, eyes fogging up, letting a small whimper escape.

“Don’t want me to hurt you?” Another nod, “Want me to make you feel good? Think you deserve it?”

“Ah— y/n, I need…” He swallows, revising his words in his mind, “Please, I need this.”

It’s true, Bill had never reached such a low in his entire existence. And he wasn’t sure if this interaction was pushing him further down or making him feel better. Now, however, he was struggling to think.

“Aw, baby. You have taken your punishment well? Been having a rough time too..” Your tone switched to something softer, almost to a condescending note.

His pathetic appearance did him justice, he pretended this was on purpose. 

Either way, a whine slipped from his throat and he shut his eyes, playing into it. You cooed in response, bringing him closer to you in order to run your hand along the side of his cheek. 

A spurt of pleasure shoots through his dick once more, and now he can’t help but yearn for something more. “Touch me— I need it— Please.” He threw in, trying to help his chances, despite the struggle at forming a coherent thought other than need.

“Hm,” You consider. Finally you reach out, running a finger along the base of his cock, to the tip. “You really want me to?”

He nodded desperately, mouth falling open to let out a small whine. Swear bedded his hot, red face, and dripped down, make his multiple chins glisten. Ugh, you preferred him further away. His already greasy looking hair was now slick against his forehead, and his eyes were glazed over. 

You slowly shift all of your fingers onto his shaft and then saintly drag them up and down for the first few strokes. A gutteral whimper falls from Ciphers mouth, “Oh, yes!”

“What do we say, baby?” You ask, grip tightening suddenly as if to bring him back to reality, but not too tight. 

“Ah— Thank you!” He’d almost forgotten to detest you for making him say that. And he’d almost forgotten to remind himself to be mad after he was done feeling good.

He used to daydream about taking you down after these sessions. Rising to power and having you at his feet. But now he only wants to keep your attention on him. Now it’s all he can think about. 

You continue to stroke his leaking cock, leaning in to kiss his cheek fat, “Good boy.”

He moaned, “Don’t do that-“

“I’m not patronizing you. I mean it, you’re acting better than usual and i’m glad. Maybe you’re more desperate, or touch-starved, but you’re doing good. I’m proud of you, sweetheart.”

“Ah—“ He would have came right there if he could. And in the most literal sense, he couldn’t. You weren’t letting him. “Please, let me come. I can’t do this, have mercy, I’ll do anything—“

“I don’t know, I’m having a good time. Why should I?” Another desperate need to release wipes over him, an uncontrollable need that was actively being controlled. 

Despite himself, he teared up. His fingers rose to touch his face, which he realized, was now damp with falling tears, “No, no, no! I can’t- I’ve never- Human bodies— I need to. Please!”

You look at him and smile. 

“I’ve been good,” He reminded you.

With that, you have in. Your other hand moved away to snap your fingers, a gesture that wasn’t need to carry out the action, but to show that he’d earned his reward. 

“Yes! Thank you! Oh gods— Oh-“ He leaned back, finally having the orgasm that was being withheld from him. And god, it felt good.

You felt good, and he hated that. 

[daryltwdixon]

Kinktober #3 Playing House

that’s it, that’s the title

Warning: smuuuuuuuuuuuuuutty wheewwy! 🥵🌶️

You and Daryl are out scavenging on a run, going through a row of houses to find canned goods to stock up for winter before the cold front hits. No one knows what winter will bring-will walkers be more docile?

Surely the cold has to slow them down like it does for people, right? But no one is sure.

When Daryl offers to make the run, you're surprised when he calls your name to join him. It's not that you're afraid-you go on runs all the time. Just... not usually with Daryl. He's intimidating and aloof, and usually you head out with Glenn and sometimes Rick. You're quick, good at getting in and out, even it there are a couple of walkers around. You can get what's needed and leave.

So when Daryl asks you to join him today, you only hesitate because you ve never been alone with the man before. But you agree, feeling like you kind of miss the adrenaline of not knowing how the day will go since you all moved to the prison. You're happy life feels safe-of course, you are-but at heart, you might be called an adrenaline junkie.

You walk a few paces behind Daryl in the woods behind the row of houses, your eyes drawn to the way his muscles move beneath his shirt as he navigates the path ahead. Every time he pauses to check the trail, you take the opportunity to watch him longer than you should. His broad shoulders, the way his fingers expertly grip his crossbow… if only it were warmer and he wasn’t wearing that damn long-sleeve, you could see the gorgeous valleys of his arms. You catch yourself staring once or twice when he turns suddenly, his eyes meeting yours. Your breath hitches, and you look away quickly, a blush rushing to your cheeks. You swear one time you catch the ghost of a smirk on his lips.

It only gets worse when you stumble on a root sticking high out of the ground, feeling the earth rushing toward your face. Daryl’s strong grip catches you before you hit the dirt, pulling you up effortlessly. He holds you there longer than necessary, his eyes scanning your face as he brings you back to stand.

“Thought you were supposed to be good at bein’ quiet,” he murmurs. The rasp of his voice sends a tingling sensation through your skin. Why did you allow yourself to be alone with this man?

“Usually I am,” you grumble. You pull away, but the feeling of his hands lingers longer than it should.

There are a few more times where you know you stare too long at his arms as he holds up the crossbow, or brush up against him when you pass by to stake a lookout to the street before crossing into the suburban neighborhood.

Finally, you reach one of the houses. You quietly open the front door, wincing as it creaks so loud it might as well paint a big target on your back for any nearby walkers. You stop just as it’s wide enough to slip through, hyper-aware of Daryl’s body close behind you, his closeness throwing you off your game. You need space to breathe. You take off into the rooms, sweeping through with your knife held high as you check around. You’re at the top landing of the stairs when you feel a hand on your leg. You nearly jump out of your skin, turning quickly to see Daryl reaching through the banister, the heat of his skin searing through the fabric of your pants. For a second, you forget how to breathe.

“We ain’t got time to mess around,” he grunts up at you. “Don’t be long.” Your eyes flicker down to his hand, and he follows your gaze, quickly removing his hand as if it’s burned him.

After checking the rooms, trying to shake off the goosebumps from his touch, you make your way downstairs to the kitchen. Your nerves are still buzzing, but you realize Daryl is nowhere to be found. You trust he’s around somewhere. You reach up on your tiptoes to quietly sift through the top cabinets above the counters, your fingers coming into contact with a cool metal can. As you pull it down, you read the label—Baked Beans. You’re about to set it on the counter when you feel a hand wrap around your waist, fingers firm on your side. Your breath catches as another hand covers your mouth before you can make a sound.

The grip is firm, possessive, and for a split second, your body tenses in shock, adrenaline spiking in your bloodstream. But then you hear the familiar rasp of Daryl’s voice in your ear.

“Easy,” he growls quietly, his breath hot against your skin. “Didn’t mean to scare ya.”

Your heart races in your chest, but not from fear. The roughness of his palm against your waist sends a shiver down your spine, and though his grip softens, he doesn’t pull away.

He’s close, too close, his body pressing against yours in a way that makes your knees weak.

The smell of leather and sweat clings to him, his warmth radiating into you as his hips press you forward, pinning you against the cold surface of the counter. You suck in a breath, goosebumps rising as his voice rumbles low in your ear.

“Wanna play house?” The words are playful, teasing, but there’s an edge of something darker, something that makes your pulse quicken. His lips brush against the shell of your ear as he speaks, sending a jolt of heat straight through you. He pulls his hand from your mouth now that you’ve settled from the initial shock of his appearance.

There's a moment of heavy silence, the tension between you thick. You can feel his heartbeat through his chest, the weight of him pressing into you as if he's been waiting for this, as if the world has finally stopped long enough to give him this moment.

After a beat, his voice comes, low and gravelly. "Ain't like I just thought 'bout this today," he mutters, his lips brushing against the side of your neck. "Been thinkin' about it... for a while."

You swallow hard, your pulse racing, utter disbelief clouding your thoughts. "You have?"

His grip tightens on your waist, fingers digging in just enough to make you feel every inch of his strength. "Yeah," he admits, his voice rough but certain. "Tried to stay outta your way, but.." He pauses, his breath catching for a second. "Every time I look at ya, it's like... I can't stay away."

He shifts behind you, his mouth hovering dangerously close to your ear again, his words thick with something between need and frustration. "Ain't good at sayin' shit like this, but... you gotta know, I been wantin' this... you." His voice drops even lower, almost a growl, "Wanted ya since the first time I saw you."

You feel the truth of it in the way his hands won't let you go, the raw edge to his words, the way he's so close, yet still holding back just enough for you to make the next move.

"Daryl..." you start, your voice soft, but you don't know what else to say.

His lips brush your skin, rough, like he's fighting not to lose control. "This what you want too?" His voice cracks slightly, a vulnerability hidden behind his usual gruffness. "Cause if it ain't... you gotta tell me now. Ain't gonna stop once I start."

“I—I—“ you stutter, trying to calm your rapidly beating heart.

Suddenly he’s spinning you around, his hands coming up under your thighs. You squeak at the sudden movement, your arms flying to grip his neck as he hoists you up onto the counter, your legs around his waist. He keeps your hands firmly on your hips as he says, “been wondering what you’d feel like,” he whispers, rubbing up your thighs, “your skin,” his hands move up to your face, eyes flickering down to your mouth, bringing his thumb up to trace it, “these lips,”

"Tell me," he rasps, his thumb brushing along your jaw now, rough and slow, "you want this." His lips hover, so close, yet still not touching.

The air between you is electric, and you're frozen, caught in the space between wanting more and the shock of him finally saying it.

Finally acting on it.

"I want this." It's barely a whisper, but it's all he needs.

In an instant, his lips crash into yours, rough, urgent, and desperate. The kiss is nothing like you expected-it's not soft, not tentative.

It's raw, almost hungry, like he's been holding back for so long and now he can't stop. His hand on your jaw slides up to your hair, fingers tangling as he deepens the kiss, pulling you even closer.

His other hand grips on your waist to hold you steady, keeping you tight against him, his body solid and warm.

His kiss is demanding, lips moving over yours like he's trying to memorize every inch of you, every breath. You open your mouth for him, his tongue plunging into you, discovering your taste, your tongue, everything.

His lips leave yours for just a second, barely giving you time to breathe before he's kissing down the side of your neck, his breath hot against your skin. "Shoulda done this sooner," he mutters against your neck, his voice thick with frustration and something darker.

"Daryl..." you gasp, your fingers slipping under his shirt, feeling the rough edges of his skin, the scars, the heat radiating from him.

He groans at your touch, his hands bringing you flush against, pressing harder into you.

"I ain't stoppin' now," he growls, his mouth returning to yours, the kiss even deeper, more desperate this time. His teeth graze your lower lip, and you shudder, feeling him smile against your mouth, a rare moment of triumph as he finally lets go of the control he's always kept so tightly wound.

His hands are everywhere now-one gripping your waist, the other cradling the back of your head as if he's afraid to let go, afraid this moment will disappear if he does. He's rough, but there's a tenderness hidden beneath the urgency, a need to show you exactly how long he's wanted this, how much he's held back.

You’re pulling at his shirt, feeling the heat of his skin radiating off of him as he pulls away for a split second to remove it, his fingers expertly finding the hem of yours a moment later, ripping the fabric off of you. His kiss is ravenous as he pulls you in again, its teeth and tongues and fire as you explore the heat of his body against your bare skin, your body feeling electric under his touch. Soon his hands leave you, and for a moment you’re left feeling only the cold counter under you until you hear the clatter of a belt coming off, and pants being pushed down. He has his fingers hooked into the waste and of your pants soon after, pulling them off in a haste. The counter is freezing under your bare body and the contrast of the heat of him on you only raises more goosebumps along your skin.

His lips hungrily trace down your neck, nipping your shoulder and skin of your chest as his lips find your nipple and his tongue flattened against it, teeth grazing just right until he’s moving to the other. You lean your head back and moan quietly. His head comes up quickly, hand in your hair pulling him into you.

“As much as I want to hear you sing for me, sunshine, you’re gonna have to be quiet out here,” he growls into your lips, pulling you in for a desperate kiss before continuing his torturous teasing of your skin. You whimper at the sight of him lowering down in front of you, his blue eyes flicking up to yours as he pulls you forward, so the apex of your thighs sits at the edge of the counter.

“Beautiful,” he whispers, his breath fanning the slick heat of your center. You bring your own hand up to your mouth, biting your finger to keep quiet as he dives for you, his tongue expertly finding every crevice of you, lapping and drinking you in. He’s moaning against your wet cunt as he continues his greedy attack, and you feel the pressure of an orgasm building in your abdomen. Daryl’s eyes are on you as you whine and whimper, and he brings a finger up to tease your center. Your eyes roll back, your hand coming down from your mouth to cling to his hair. He gently pushes in a finger, quickly followed by a second, and you’re spasming under his touch when he hits the top of your g spot, making you gush around him. He hums his devotion and rapture at your pleasure.

As he pulls away from you, his fingers dive into his mouth, his tongue cleaning up every last drop of you as you grab for him. Pulling his face to you, you kiss and slide your tongue along his, the sweet tangy taste of you still on him. He’s growling into the kiss, pulling you off the counter to stand. Your knees nearly collapse at the sudden need to have to support yourself, but his hands hold you, the rough calluses sturdy against you. He spins you around, pushing you flat against the counter. The cool touch of the countertop makes your nipples harden as they press against it, your cheek laying gently down as Daryl kisses along your back.

“You have no idea what you do to me, do ya?” His voice is gravely against your skin as he kisses down your spine, his hands traveling up and down the sides of you and landing on your hips as he stands.

“Can ya feel what you do to me?” He asks you, his thick, hot cock pressed up against the center of you. You gasp at the contact, never knowing how thick he really was. You’re not sure you’ll be able to take it, and maybe he can feel the tension in your body as your hands come up to your sides, bracing yourself.

“Shhh, shh.. say the word and I’ll stop right here, right now, baby,” he says, hands gentle on your sides, thumbs rubbing circles where they lay against you. You let out a shaky breath, leaning up against him. Your hand snakes up and around his head, holding his hair while the other goes behind you to touch his side. He smiles, kissing your shoulder, bringing his hands to your front and kneading your breasts and your breath steadies.

“Just… be gentle, at first, please,” you whisper, “I don’t think I’ve had anyone— not that big,” you let out a breathy, nervous laugh.

He breaths against your neck, and you can feel the smile against the column of your throat, “I promise,”

You tentatively lay your hands back on the counter, laying yourself back down. He brings his hand to his cock then, stroking it himself before bringing it to your wet lips, readying himself for you. You hear him spit, and look behind you to see him lubing himself up with his own juices, and something about how absolutely carnal he is makes you shiver in fervent anticipation.

He holds you hip with one hand and gently guides himself into you inch by inch. You gasp at the feeling of nearly being split in half, and hear his deep, animalistic growl at the feeling of your walls constricting around him.

“Fuck,” he grunts out, barely above a whisper. He pauses as he bottoms out into you, his entire length buried so deep you swear you can feel him in your womb. After a long moment letting you adjust, you’re shaking with need. The list coursing through your body causes your mind to go blank with absolute desperation for this man, for friction, for movement.

“Daryl, please— move,” you beg, pushing yourself against him. He leans down suddenly and bites onto your shoulder.

“Say no more, darlin,” as he snaps his hips back and into you with hungry speed. You jolt forward, your body never feeling as full as it does now. He stays leaning over you as he grips your waist even harder in your hands, his hips unrelenting in their thrusts. His cock feels like it’s splitting you in half and filling you to the brim as he continues ruthlessly fucking you against the counter. You’re trying with all the caution left in you to not scream his name, only letting whimpers and small moans out, his name on repeat from your mouth.

“Drive me crazy, that’s wha’ ya do to me,” he says breathlessly between kissing your back as he moves in and out of you, “couldn’t stop thinking about you— about this. How you’d feel taking my cock, how you’d look with it buried in ya, fuck, baby,” his thrusts are becoming irregular, and he snakes one hand between your legs and your eyes widen at the overstimulation as he pulls back the hood of your clit, pressing the calloused pad of his finger perfectly on the nub, causing your legs to shake.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you whisper into the counter, unable to stop your body from convulsing under his touch.

“C’mon, baby, cum for me, cum on my cock. Love seeing you so desperate for me, so cock drunk for me,” you barely can hear his words as your cumming again, biting your lip so hard to stop yourself from screaming and you taste the metallic hint of blood on your tongue. The feeling of your walls squeezing him like that has him toppling over the edge too, a long, carnal grunt escaping from him.

Both of you are gulping down breaths as you come down from your highs, his arms now tight around your waist. You both finally stand and you turn to face him again, your hands coming up around his neck.

“If I knew this is what you had in mind, Dixon, I would’ve gone on a run with you a long time ago,” you tease, a smile tugging at your lips. He mirrors it, his rough exterior softening for a brief moment as he pulls you into another kiss.

But then, a distant snarling fills your ears, snapping both of you back to reality. You whip your heads toward the kitchen window, eyes narrowing at the sight of walkers accumulating by the woods where you came from. The urgency crashes over you—it’s time to go, and you have to move now.

“Time to show me how quick you really are on your feet, sunshine,” he says, scooping the discarded clothes into his arms before holding yours out to you.

[misstycloud]

Haunted House

Ghost yan x ghost reader

TW: suicide mention

——————

It was with curiosity you stared out the window. A car had pulled up in the drive way. Through the car windows you sa two adults and three children in the backseat. Well, it was definitely not a maintenance company then. It always bothered you so when they came and meddled with your house; though it technically didn’t belong to you anymore you still considered the building as you home, and prison.

You watched as the kids ran out of the vehicle to inspect the house. You had to admit, they were rather cute. Before you hadn’t really thought about having kids and weren’t sure if you ever would, but now you found yourself wondering if you would have made a good mother. One always ponder about the choices out of one’s reach.

They seemed happy, the family of five. Perhaps you would be fine with them around.

“What are you thinking about, dear?” A voice interrupted your dazed thoughtfulness as your mood instantly soured.

“Nothing so you can leave.”

The man behind you sighed. “Do you always have to act like this whenever I’m around?”

You couldn’t bring yourself to look back at him, fearing that the sight of him would send you into a frenzy. “I do when you’re the one who ruined my life.”

“Ruined your life? We were happy together, in fact, I remember you telling me ‘I promise to love you even in death’ but I guess that doesn’t apply, not with the way you treat me.”

You nearly gasped at his audacity. The nerve some people had!

“What? Are you actually serious right now- you can’t be? The way I treat you? You want to talk about the way I treat you? You killed me!” You shouted.

You had turned around now. Your eyes took in the handsome man you had once called the love of your life. Despite the hatred for true actions and pain he caused you, a small part of you still felt something when you looked at him. Maybe it was affection? Maybe it was the anguished feelings of a happy life that could have been? You weren’t sure.

He stilled for a moment before speaking again. “I know, and I am sorry it had to go that way-“

“Had to? You weren’t forced to do anything. At least take responsibility for your actions!”

“I wouldn’t have had to do it if you had just stopped flirting with those other men.” It seemed like it was his turn to become angry. “Don’t think I didn’t see how you looked at them, how your eyes lit up when you saw someone you very clearly fancied.”

“Oh my- we’ve been over this a hundred times, they were just coworkers nothing more. Besides, they have wives and kids of their own!”

It didn’t matter how much you insisted, your (ex)husband did not relent in his accusations.

“That doesn’t mean they’ll be loyal. You have no idea what a treasure you are, many would do anything to get to have you.” The man twirled a strand of your hair around his finger, entranced by your beauty.

“Oh, like you, you mean?” You fired back.

“Stop that.” He said. “I don’t want to fight with you, we’ve already done enough of that. I did what I had to do and nothing will ever change that. Now we’ll be together for ever, even in death, just like we promised each other at the altar. I wouldn’t have it any other way. I hope that one day you will understand how deep my feelings for you go and see things from my perspective. I love you, I really do.” He turned to leave you to your lonesome. Before he left, he told you one final thing, “No one else will adore you as much as I, especially now considering no man will ever see you besides me. You’re nothing more than a ghost after all.”

The tear threatening to escape earlier finally welled up. You cried and wiped your eyes with you cold, dead hand.

——————

Just as you had imagined, the family did bring you a new sense of happiness. Whilst not exactly ideal, watching over(spyin on) the parents and the children made your days more fulfilled. They brought laughter and fun back into your undead life.

Unfortunately you weren’t able to look out for them unless they stayed in the house. It was a real pain in the ass, not being able to leave the building. If you could, you would have left decades ago- much to your (ex)husband/ dismay. You suspected he was relieved to find that you were both confined to your place of death. It meant you couldn’t leave him, which was his goal the entire time. He got what he wanted in the end.

After stabbing you out of jealousy, you died in his arms, crying and demanding answers to why he would hurt you. When you (surprisingly) woke up again, you were in the same position you had been when your life drained out of you. Your man was clutching you tight to his chest and he was stroking you hair. At first you had believed it was all a dream, then you thought you survived the whole thing. He was still petting your hair and rambling on how he loved you and how he would rather die than be separated from you. You hadn’t expected him to be so literal.

You were shocked when you had pulled away from him, only to discover a second version of him lying unmovingly on the floor next to you. Then you noticed the pool of blood spilling out from his neck, and the knife he stabbed you with in his hand. With disbelief you glanced back at the ‘living’ version of him. He smiled somewhat solemnly at you as you took in his too-pale skin and the large scar he had on his throat.

You tried not to think about it too much. No matter what he did, you would never forgive him for taking your life away from you because of his irrational fear of you cheating on him. Well, it was impossible for you to leave or cheat on him now. You were the only ghosts in the house and didn’t have the ability to take even a small step outside the front door.

Instead of spending your days avoiding him as usual, you now followed the family around the house. Mostly the children of course. They had the habit of getting into trouble whenever their parents weren’t around. You had forgotten how many times you had saved them from tripping or bumping their heads. You were lucky you could touch things in the real world for a short second. You couldn’t before so you assumed it was because you were a young and weak ghost back then.

The whole babysitting act also appeared to bother your husband, which you relished in. You remembered one day when he approached you after the family had left for the grocery store.

“Don’t you think you’re spending an awful lot of time with those children?”

“I like them so I don’t mind.” You answered and continued staring at the drawings they made that afternoon, right before begging called to get dressed and meet by the car.

“Well, I don’t think it’s right for you to do the parents job.” He sneered.

Rolling your eyes, you said, “Like I said, I don’t mind.” Your wanted to leave it at that but your (ex)husband had other plans.

“Sweetie, I will be honest; I believe your getting too attached to this family, it’s not good.”

You sent a glare in his direction. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“What I mean is I think you should let them be. They’ll eventually move on whilst you’ll be stuck here. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

You scoffed at the audacity he had again. “A little late for that, don’t you think? This is the only source of happiness I have, don’t take anything more from me, please.”

“I don’t make you happy, then?” He asked, though his tone suggested he already knew the answer.

You could look him in the eye, choosing silence. He grumbled something incoherent. After another long minute of silence, he sighed. He did that a lot these days, you thought.

“Alright, my love. Continue to look after these living people if it brings you joy, but remember, it won’t last forever. I will be here when you’re done.”

Once more he left you alone to look out the window. Despite your will to disagree, you knew he was right. These people- this family- they were all still alive. You were not. Your time was over, your life stolen from you. It was only a question of when they’d leave. Until then, you’d be their guardian in this haunted house.

[avocado-writing]

Could you write the idea of Logan proposing and how the engagement, the planning and the wedding is like?

minors dni. oh, if it’s worst Logan? He’d be so worried, man. Really beating himself up over it. Is he too old for you, can you do better, would you laugh at him? Is he just locking you into a prison sentence by asking? And then the second he pop the question you burst into tears while sobbing “yes”, throwing yourself into his arms with such force that he’s knocked over.

It’s not a big ceremony. You only have a few people to invite (Wade immediately enlists himself as your best man/maid of honour, you have no choice) and the two of you don’t want anything too crazy anyway. You go to a registry office to sign the papers, you wearing something cute and second hand, him in jeans and a dress shirt. You’ve hired a bar for the reception and it’s been decked out in flowers and banners, and all your friends watch on happily as you drag him up for dance after dance, just because you want him to be close to you. You dance with all your friends actually - in fact Wade made you learn one of the ones from breakfast club to do with him - you boogie with Al, grab Laura’s hands and have a little groove together. She can’t stop giggling and Logan’s heart is so full watching you have fun with everyone who loves you so, so much… and sort of has to accept the fact that they love him too.

A local bakery did your cake and you convince Logan to cut your first slice with one of his claws. He spears a mouthful on the end of it and you carefully bite it off, eyes full of the promise of what you’re going to do later.

and you do. You don’t drink too much and neither does he, because you’re giddy on the vibes anyway, and you fall into bed that night. Hands everywhere. Kisses messy. He pins you to the mattress and you hold his face in your hands, whispering about how perfect he is, how much you love him, how fucking happy you are. He fucks you soft and slow, forehead against yours, wanting to hear every noise you make as he makes you come again and again.

“my husband,” you keep whispering, and nothing’s made him feel that good for a long time.

[dr-spencer-reids-queen]

Broken Mind, Broken Soul

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~1.6k

Warnings: heavy angst, abuse scars, post-prison!spencer, parent/domestic violence (explicit), pretending to be fine when you're not, smut (maybe considered CNC? i'm not sure but better but that on here)

Summary: Spencer is back from prison so he’s trying to pick up the pieces and get back into his old life. Something is off about you but he respects your boundaries until he sees what you’ve been hiding from him.

Square Filled: cold-blooded torture for @badthingshappenbingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are appreciated <3

x

Spencer is home. He’s home and everything is going to go back to the way it was. He’s not going to find you. He’s not going to hurt you anymore. You want to be happy that your boyfriend is out of prison after nearly three months of being locked up for a crime he didn’t do. He suffered in there and you couldn’t do anything about it. He’s home now, and everyone is so happy to see him.

You stare at your reflection in the mirror and try not to break down in tears. This day is for Spencer. He’s home. You can take a break from your personal shit to give him a proper welcome home. If you can do that, you might make it out of this alive. You shake your head and plaster a smile on your face, one that looks like you’re not dying inside.

You leave the bathroom in search of your boyfriend who is spending time outside away from everyone. Spencer must have gone through hell inside the four walls of the prison so it’s a bit overwhelming to be back to his normal life. Everyone must understand that because they’re inside having a good time and giving Spencer his space.

You push past everyone and walk over to Henry’s small playground. Spencer is swinging lightly on the swings and you stand by him, waiting for him to look at you. When he does, you can see how empty they are. God, Spencer, what happened to you? You hope your eyes aren’t as empty as his. You’re really trying hard to put on a brave face but you’re not sure how much longer you can do this.

“Hey,” you say softly.

“Hey, yourself.” You walk around the other swing and sway in sync with Spencer. “Tell me what you’ve been up to since I was gone?”

You were and are afraid of this question. You’ve been preparing yourself for this question since hearing he was coming back but you never knew how to answer it. One wrong word and he’ll know exactly what you’ve been up to.

“You know, working cases like normal. We helped a lot of people but it wasn’t the same without you. I just tried to get through the day every day.”

“Yeah, I get it,” he sighs.

He believes you. He has no reason not to. Spencer looks at you to see a faraway look in your eyes. Maybe it’s just him but something might not be right. The look is gone in a split second and you’re back to pretending. Maybe it’s just him.

“Look, I know Rosis wanted to throw you this party but want to go home?”

“Yeah, I do,” he nods.

You two say your goodbyes to everyone before heading home. The drive is silent like you two don’t know how to talk to each other anymore. Sure, it could be the fact that Spencer has been in prison this whole time but he suspects something else happened. You two didn’t talk much but he doesn’t know what could be bothering you.

It’s been nearly three months without you in his bed, and he can’t help himself when he sees you in his bed. It’s been three months since he’s touched you so he walks over to you and crawls up your body. You want to enjoy this. You want to be here for him but you’re stuck inside your own head. You don’t dare let him know what you’re thinking so maybe if you go along with it, you can slip further into the facade you’re putting up.

You two kiss but he’s so wound up that he doesn’t register that you’re not as into it as he is. You’re here for him, that’s all that matters. You’re okay with this even if your body is telling you no. He reaches for your shirt but you’re quick to grab his hands to stop him.

“Keep the shirt on.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I just want my shirt to stay on.”

“Okay,” he nods respectfully.

He kisses you in all the right spots and touches you where he knows you like to be touched. He is doing absolutely everything right so why do you want to break down in tears right now? Get it together. Just give him what he wants. It might fix you. So, you listen to that part of your brain. He flips you so you’re on your stomach and fucks you from behind. You grip the sheets tightly and put your face in the bed so he doesn’t see the tears, so he doesn’t hear your cries.

You love Spencer and you’re trying hard not to let him see your true feelings. You don’t want to hurt him. It has nothing to do with him but you’re scared to let him see just how broken you are. Thankfully, he’s spent by the time he’s done so he doesn’t see the tears on your cheeks. You immediately roll over and put your head over his heart, and he runs his fingers through your hair. He moves his hands down to your back but you immediately spring away from him.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I just need to shower.” He goes to move. “Alone.”

He watches you disappear into the bathroom with a frown. Since the BAU is requesting that Spencer take some time off, he is forced to stay home while you go to work. Everything seems to be the same but this time, you’re gone before he can wake up, and you get home right before he goes to bed. You don’t change in front of him anymore which is the first red flag. He has seen every intimate part of your body, tasted every part of you, so why are you hiding from him now? He’s not going to be a dick and force you to do something you don’t want to do, but why now?

What happened to you while he was in prison?

“Hey, are we okay?” Spencer asks one night after you had just gotten home from work.

“Of course we are.”

“Okay, because if we aren’t, you’d tell me, right?”

“Yes.”

“Are you okay?”

“I’ll be fine, Spencer.”

You walk into the bathroom to take a bath, leaving him to pick up the pieces you didn’t know you dropped. I’ll be fine. I’ll be fine. It’s the “be” part that is setting off alarm bells. If you had said, “I’m fine”, he would have passed it off and left you alone. The fact that you added the word “be” means you’re definitely not fine. The last time you said, “I’ll be fine” was when he had to pry you from your cold-hearted and evil father’s arms right before he went to prison for what he did to you.

Damn, he should have seen the signs before. You had shut everyone down. You didn’t want to be kissed or touched. You stayed in bed for seventy-two straight hours before Spencer had to force you out of it. Your father is and was an evil man who did untold cold-blooded torture to his own daughter. Your emotional scars don’t show but the physical ones do--whip marks, cigarette burns, and stab wounds. Anything to get his anger out.

Spencer walks to the bathroom carefully and knocks twice on the door. When you don’t answer, he pushes the door open to see you with your back turned toward him. There are newer and fresh scars on your back from the same kind of torture. Some are pinker than others. These ones are recent but how can this be? He hasn’t let you out of his sight since… Prison. He kneels next to the tub and looks at you but you’re not seeing him. You’re staring at the faucet as a single drop of water leaks from it.

“Who did this to you?” Spencer asks angrily. You don’t answer. “Was it your father?”

“He got out of prison when you went in. He found me at work and took me back to that farm,” you whisper. “I was just about to take two weeks off so no one questioned why I was gone. He kept me for three before he just let me go. I got back just days before you did.”

It takes Spencer five minutes to say something because of how angry he is, and he has all this pent-up anger that he’d love to get out.

“Is he breathing?” You can only nod in response. “Not for long, he won’t.”

Your head snaps up at his response but he’s already by the door.

“What are you going to do?”

“Something I should have done the first time around. That man will never touch a hair on your head ever again.”

Spencer leaves the bathroom door open so you can see what he’s doing. You get a flash of his FBI gun before he’s out of frame. You don’t stop him.

You’re in bed when he finally comes back. If you didn’t know where he was going, you’d think he went to the store. There is not a speck of blood on him or an ounce of regret on his face. You don’t ask where he’s been or if your father is alive even though you know he’d tell you if you did. Spencer climbs into bed and pulls you into him, and you rest your head on his chest.

I’m safe now. Spencer is home and everything is right with the world.

It’s going to take a long time until you’re okay again but with Spencer by your side, you know you can get there.

x

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[b14augrana]

The End Of The World

Alexia isn’t well post-breakup

Alexia Putellas x reader

masterlist

Warnings: angst, mutual breakup, yearning and heartbroken alexia, no happy ending

A/N: listen to the song for max effect! ‘right where you left me’ is another good one that fits this story. this is only a short fic, but i hope you enjoy :)

You and Alexia breaking up was for the best. She knows that.

Her career is demanding, and you just weren’t willing to pursue that lifestyle yet; it was glamorous, being the girlfriend of a professional footballer, but it also meant there were rarely any opportunities to spend quality time with her and that wasn’t the relationship you wanted. She understands that.

So why does it hurt worse than ending on bad terms? Actually, that’s a stupid question. Alexia knows why it hurts. If she had a reason to hate you, it would be easier to move on, but she cannot think of a single thing worth hating you for.

That’s what she hates the most — the lack of cruelty, toxicity, infidelity behind the breakup. There isn’t a single proper reason for her to stop yearning for you.

The first week after the breakup, she finds herself seeking out any signs of you wherever she could. It hurts, and she doesn’t have an excuse or a reason. She swore that your perfume lingered in the air, following her, taunting her. Whenever someone walks past, she notices; everyone smells like oranges, earth, and incense. Everyone smells like you.

On every street, there is something of yours. A mural you posed in front of for a photo, a flower bush you once pointed out on a walk because the budding flora stood out to you, a restaurant you introduced Alexia to without knowing it would quickly become her favourite. She sees apparitions of you in places that you would’ve been in right now, if you were still here. Still with her. Still part of her life.

Everything seems pointless and from the moment you declare the love story of her life to be over, Alexia thinks that everything should cease to exist. Why does the sun shine through the gaps in her curtains, when you aren’t laying beside her in the mornings to compliment it? Why does her heart continue to beat, when it cannot be listened to on sleepless nights, with your head on her chest?

Nobody works up the courage to ask her what’s wrong when she walks into the gym with dull under eyes and little to no energy in her movements. Alexia’s signature enthusiasm to be in the gym and improving herself is gone, and her teammates only look on with inconclusive questions as to why their captain is so… different. She watches them go on with their lives like nothing ever happened, and she’s so offended and bitter. They’re completely unaware that the end is here, at least for Alexia. The world has been at its inevitable end for longer than they know — the world ended when you stopped loving her.

Alexia isn’t one for letters, so it’s incredible that she finds herself sitting at her dining table, hunched over at an ungodly hour, scrawling words in her best handwriting onto a piece of paper.

She seals it in an envelope, running her thumb along the smooth surface for a second. She still knows your address by heart, and despite your house being much like a prison for her in terms of trying to avoid it at all costs, she finds herself navigating streets and turning corners to end up there.

Alexia passes a bookstore, and in the short moment she stands in front of it, she recalls standing in between aisles with you while you chose a book to buy. Clothing shops line the roads, and she can point out shirts in their windows that you own. A restaurant sits on the corner of the street, and she can point out the table you two had eaten breakfast, lunch, and dinner at…

But she can point something else out — you.

You’re there, in the window, sitting at the table in the same seat you always chose. It makes her wonder if those memories were lost on you. Magazine in one hand, tea in the other. She knows it’s tea, because you hate coffee.

Alexia becomes acutely aware of the letter in her hand, and her plans have changed.

When a waitress comes up to your table with a little white envelope in hand, explaining that someone had just come into the restaurant and asked her to give it to you, you’re confused. When you unfold the letter and read it, whatever you’re feeling is inexplicable.

‘Mi querido,

I probably shouldn’t be calling you ‘mi querido’, or writing this letter in the first place, but I’m afraid I won’t be able to live with myself if I don’t tell you how much I love you one more time. I cannot imagine a life where being happy and being without you are able to coexist. If I knew that my career would’ve been the end of us, I would’ve traded my first love for my forever love, in a heartbeat.

Sincerely yours…

Your head lifts and you crane to look out of the window. Streaks of blonde hair disappear down the street, further than you can see from your seat.

…Alexia.’

[foolinafable]

It's for the best .ೃ࿐

Keith Kogane x Fem!Reader Synopsis: locked in a cell, the white paladin remembers her happier times and hopes that she can make it back to a certain black paladin. Word count: 3.7K Tags: slight angst, flashbacks, mentions of torture but not graphic, set tentatively around season 4 Notes: Apparently, vld is having a resurgence so send in some requests!

You knew it was for the best. Sat cross-legged in the confines of your cell with a small smile on your lips, contented, knowing that you have done everything you could, that this wasn't in vain- rather it was what was supposed to happen. For the betterment of the entire universe, sometimes sacrifices need to be made. You remember telling Keith something similar during one of his many brooding moments. Now wishing that you could remember which conversation it was or maybe just that you had paid more attention to your time together, especially now you didn’t think you would ever see the boy with the mullet again. 

You were sat next to Hunk, the pair of you looking up giddily at Takashi Shirogane, the famed astro explorer. He was speaking to the class about his recent accomplishment as he had just broken the record for the fastest orbital velocity. Everyone had tried the flight simulator and despite not being able to get passed level 3- like the rest of the class you were still excited by the prospect of meeting the youngest pilot to ever lead a mission in space. Even more happy that you had done better than James Griffin in the simulator- as he never stopped going on about his good grades and how much better he is. So to wipe that smirk off his face made it all worth it. As you and Hunk were fangirling in the corner you heard Griffins whining causing your attention to go back to the simulator, where apparently one more person was having a go. The pair of you walked towards the commotion as the annoyed brunette sounded out “No way! Keith made it past level five?! Thing's got to be broken.” That was the first moment you saw him, well properly at least. The young boy with a mullet and a ‘disciplinary issue’ if you were to listen to what your teachers told you. He walked away from the training simulator with a grin on his face and you couldn’t help but smile too. Especially when he looked your way as he walked off. 

‘He doesn't even know you're gone’ you muse to yourself, and it’s true. The last you had heard from him was on the other side of a screen during a planning meeting with the Blade surrounded by your teammates, who similarly had yet to know the fate of the white paladin of Voltron. They would soon realise when you don't return through the wormhole and when they find your lion broken and alone. But then it will already be too late, as the galaran ship that held you prisoner was already galaxies away taking you towards inevitable doom. You think you're pathetic, as you are already giving up but what else can you do, your weapon is gone, lion missing,  and you are locked in a cell with only your body inside of it with nobody even knowing where you are- not even you. Worry roots deeply inside of yourself as you think of your friends, a lump in your throat growing at the thought of them discovering that you're gone- they have all lost enough already. You’re sure Lance would try to be enthusiastic, claiming that they found Shiro so they could find you. Still, even he would know the saddening truth that the galarans won’t make the same mistake twice as he tries to hide his tears from Pidge who would be clinging to Hunk, begging him to tell her it’s not true- she only just got her brother back and now she has lost her sister- blood related or not. You knew it would destroy the team if you couldn’t get back to them and what worries you is that you're struggling to see a way that you can.

It was nerve-wracking, waiting to find out who Iverson and the rest of the teachers decided to team you up with for the simulators. It was a big deal, as this was going to be your team for the rest of your time in the Garrison. Last year you couldn’t wait for this moment, but maybe that was because you were certain that the boy with the mullet would be by your side as you were as Shiro put it “the only person that can put up with him” but he left, dropped out without so much of a goodbye, and you could understand, the loss of Shiro, Matt and Sam was difficult for everyone but nobody took it worse than Keith and you suppose it made sense as Shiro was all the boy had. You shook the thoughts of him out of your mind when Iverson finally came into the room, twiddling the rings on your rings on your fingers as you stood near Hunk who looked ghostly pale and going on queasy as you both prayed that the older man would do you both a solid and put you two together. You listened as he called names into groups, feeling somewhat better when Griffin was put in a group that didn't include you. Then your name was called and you were told to stand next to a tall Cuban boy wearing blue, you smiled as you walked up to him and he smiled back seemingly just as nervous as you were, then a smaller boy with round glass and a green jumper joined the group, your eyes squinting when looking at him, almost as if you had seen him before but you couldn’t place where. But before you could question it Hunk's name fell out of Iverson’s lips, you looked up in alarm as you saw Hunk coming towards your group, shocked that your prayers had been answered. The fear that was eating away at you was dulled slightly as he came to stand next to you. Sure it wasn’t the team that you wanted but maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all.

Being in space has always made your internal clock question how long has passed, but it seems to be worse when alone in this cell. You believe it has been a few days based on the number of trays of food delivered to your cell, the only interaction with another you’ve had this whole time. At least you think, as you find yourself waking up exhausted with pains and aches all over your body, but you have no memory of doing anything or even anyone coming into your cell in the first place. You thought you would've been face to face with Zarkon or his witch by now, but as time passes, you struggle to believe that would happen at all, which causes a pit to develop in your stomach as the unknown of your future begins to dawn on you.

You can still hear the conforming hum of your lion in the back of your head, trying to reassure you that all is well but as the days pass by you begin to believe it less and less simply repeating to yourself that it was for the best.

“Things could’ve been a lot worse” you theorised. Sat with Pidge in this trash heap with your lions completely shut down. At least you were together and there were (up to now) no enemies trying to kill you both. To be honest, you wouldn’t want to be stuck here with anyone else. After Pidge finally revealed to everyone that she was in fact a girl, something you had figured out back in your garrison days, not long after you had become a team and saw the photo of her and Matt taken prior to the Kerberos mission, but you only knew because he had shown it to you first, during one of his many tutoring sessions with you. You liked to think that while Shiro was Keith’s mentor, Matt was yours. A sentiment he very much enjoyed, so much that Pidge later told you that she had already known who you were when she met you. A fact that made your heart swell. Your friendship with Matt was one of the many reasons that Pidge thought of you like a sister and the main reason you looked after her so much- you wanted to look after her for him while he couldn’t and while this mindset got you into many arguments with Keith over putting her safety over your own you wouldn’t change a thing because you knew it was the right thing to do (Also Keith couldn’t really say anything as he constantly put himself in harms way for everyone on the team.) You couldn’t help but feel protective over her as she was the youngest out of your ragtag bunch and was annoyingly the only one you could baby as you were the second youngest of the group as Lance loved to remind you. While being here with Pidge definitely made you feel a little better, you couldn’t help but be relentlessly worried for the rest of the group, as they always found some way to get into trouble- especially Lance and Keith. It was like trouble sought them out, always getting into some sort of issue whether it be with aliens or with each other. So you couldn’t help but double over in laughter when Pidge using her junk-made paladins started an argument between the fake Lance and Keith.  Eventually, you both decided that you had waited around for help long enough and decided to try and find your own way back to the castle. Pidge made you gather together materials to make a home beacon signal in hopes that it could reach the castles of lions to allow them to find you two. No surprise to you Pidge’s brilliance worked its magic as the castle of lions appeared in the sky from a wormhole, the pair of you hugged each other happy knowing that you weren’t going to grow old on a trash pile as you had both dramatically claimed. You two were more than ready to return to the fight against Zarkon to save the universe and hopefully, find Pidge’s family.      

You dream of him, black hair, violet eyes and his grumpy temperament clouding your thoughts as you try to rest. But, when you wake cold and alone in that dark cell you are reminded of the present and how you need to try and stop yourself from dreaming of the past.

Thought it was “just goodbye for now” you bitterly mumbled as you awoke from another dream of him. This time the memory sticks with you- of the goodbye you shared as he left to find himself with the blades, those were the words he uttered to you as you blanketed him in your embrace. That it was temporary, that you two would come back together again and you remember how you smiled through your sadness nodding at his words, believing him truthfully- as you always did. But you are now struggling to believe it anymore and you don't know if you are more mad at him for uttering those words or yourself for trusting them to be true. Up to now, all attempts to contact your lion have failed miserably but you can still hear your lion if you concentrate enough- as though you two are connected to the same string and you pray that it never snaps, clinging onto it like a lifeline.

You were buzzing, tapping your hands against your legs as you bounced on the balls of your feet, waiting for Pidges Lion in the cockpit while the rest of the team looked at you, amused. Lance, clearly feeding off your joyous attitude, ruffled the hair on your head, messing it up slightly. You turned to the boy, pouting as he withdrew his hands, using your own to try to flatten whatever mess he had made as he giggled at your reaction. A smile quickly returned to your face when Pidge stepped out of her lion with a familiar boy following behind her, you ran towards the pair, wrapping your arms around Matt’s shoulders in welcome, your smile only increasing when he hugged back with just as much gusto, you could hear Lance muttering something about someone being jealous if they were here to Hunk and Shiro but you weren’t paying close enough attention to anything he said, instead, you were very happy that the man who you would call a brother was really okay and just like Shiro had survived the Kerberos mission. When the family reunion had ended Pidge introduced Matt to the rest of the group, except for Keith as he was yet again away on some mission with the Blades. You watched amused as Matt’s eyes landed on Allura and something similar to what you see in a romcom played out as he screamed “You are so beautiful!” you struggled to keep the giggles to yourself as you saw Coran turn red in anger, clearly seeing this as an inappropriate way to talk to the princess and finding humour in Lance’s clear jealousy as Hunk made the boy walk away from the group. You decided to do something similar telling Pidge to give Matt a tour of the castle ship as you walked away with Coran and Allura, pulling both the alteans away with your hands.

Calming down an angry altean was albeit harder than you expected, especially when Allura was of no help at all as she was just laughing at how worked up the older man had become, but you understood it was because he felt so protective over her especially since there was no Alfor to help him and she was like Coran’s little girl so nobody would ever be good enough, you whispered just as much to him as Allura was talking to her mice and that seemed to make him less annoyed, knowing that somebody else understood him. It wasn’t until later when gossiping with Allura about your lives before all this, that she mentioned that it wasn’t just Matt’s interaction with her that annoyed Coran but also his interaction with you, claiming that he always got annoyed when others in his eyes tried to “flirt” with you, her or Pidge. However, she quickly noted that he never got annoyed or got Lance and Hunk to intimidate Keith like he did anyone else when it comes to you a comment made your cheeks burn.   

You startle awake to the sound of your cell door being opened, eyes darting towards the light, confused when the door continues to open, eyes squinting from the light now surrounding you for the first time in weeks as you try to identify the body in front of you when a voice gasped out and a familiar voice spoke your name. All worry evaporated from your body as Matt Holt wrapped you in a hug and you knew for the first time in weeks that everything would be okay and that maybe Keith was right- it was just goodbye for now.

You now sat in the control room of the ship you had been captured in surrounded by freedom fighters. After hearing over hacked intercoms about it carrying ‘precious cargo’ for the emperor, they had infiltrated and taken control of the ship.

“And that was me was it?” you mused looking towards the Holt boy to which he cracked a smile sending you a simple nod in response. You had changed into your white and silver spacesuit and your bayard had been retrieved for you. Now more than ready to return home to the castle of lions, to the paladins and to him. 

The first thing you saw, unsurprisingly, as the ship came out of the wormhole was your lion, growling in happiness, bounding towards her paladin only stopping when she was at the front of the ship, eyes locked onto you. You smiled gleefully at your lion feeling your connection stronger than ever, as though the string that attached the you two was unwavering, unbreakable. As soon as the ship reached the castle of lions you were enveloped in the paladin’s embrace, you would’ve fallen over when Pidge launched herself into your arms, legs wrapped around your middle like a koala,  if weren’t for Lance keeping you balanced by surrounding you in a hug from behind. Hunk joined the misfit group of cadets finishing off the group hug similar to how they used to in the Garrison when they, for once, completed the training simulator much to Iverson’s shock. Thoughts of worry could be seen swimming through Shiro’s eyes as you caught them when looking up, he nodded at you, the tension flinging off him like water down a hill as you turned back to your family holding Pidge and Lance by the backs of their heads, smiling and reassuring them that this was real, that you were real as tears dropped from the twos eyes. You could feel Hunk’s laboured breaths, clearly trying to stay strong for the group as the rest were blubbering messes. Walking away from your embrace and towards the freedom fighters with Shiro shaking hands and thanking them for getting you back to them as the trio dropped towards the floor, holding onto each other like it was the last time. 

It was only later when you had changed into your everyday wear, speaking with Allura and Coran holding both of their hands, stroking them gently that the paladins noticed the new scars decorating your arms and some scorch marks adjourned your neck along with bruising that you wouldn’t comment on. Or rather that you couldn’t as you claimed to not remember anything except for the dark room you were kept in and then Matt saving you. Another change was your hair, which had a white streak in it, you simply chuckled at the development turning to Shiro claiming "We match now" causing everyone to laugh and they supposed it fit you well - “As she is the white paladin” Lance claimed.

It was only when Coran transferred your memories temporarily into a crystal that they all saw what you endured on the ship, you were beaten and tortured for answers, electrocuted, burned for sport and tested on by some druids. At that point, they stopped watching as Shiro was looking rather green, probably from remembering his own time with those vile creatures. But you mused that you were lucky as you still had all your limbs and according to Coran who looked at your scan results from the healing pod whatever they were trying on you didn’t work as you were the same as you were before, “except for a few scars and a new hair colour that is” He pondered twiddling his moustache. And he was right of course you didn’t feel any different, maybe a bit more anxious at night and a few more nightmares but who could blame you after being trapped in a dark room for weeks. Of course, the memory loss was slightly concerning but they all believed it to be a coping mechanism to keep you sane and you were glad that you could only properly remember the dark room, that it was all that really haunted you at night and that those things you saw on the screen projected from your mind didn’t and you hoped it stayed that way.

The entire universe that was apart of the coalition let out a sigh of relief when it was revealed by Allura on comms to the members of the alliance that the white paladin of Voltron had been found and returned mostly unharmed.  However, nobody’s relief could be felt greater than that of Keith Kogane who had been fighting with Kolivan for weeks when they received the information of your disappearance and probable capture, he remembers the way his legs nearly gave out from under him when during a meeting with Allura the altean claimed that Voltron couldn’t come to the rescue this time as they were missing a paladin- missing you. He Surprisingly didn’t even need to sneak out on a blade ship to try and find the castle of lions to see if it was true, rather Kolivan who was probably fed up with his moping simply turned to the boy and gave him ship and co-ordinates simply asking him to back in time for the next meeting. The older Galaran didn’t think he'd see the boy move so fast, mumbling annoyed about how much more work would get done if he did. 

You didn’t hear him on comms asking for Coran to allow him into the cockpit, too busy in the training deck with Shiro and Allura showing them that despite being out of action for a few weeks you were ready to get back out there because as you told them “the galra don’t wait for anyone” and that “this revolution wasn’t going to fight itself.” You didn’t even hear your teammates asking for you to come to the control room over comms, far too busy fighting the training dummies and your comms device left on the side. What you did notice was when you were lifted from behind, a pair of pale arms grabbing you by the waist causing a gasp to erupt from your throat, You spun around ready to attack until your eyes met his, and then your sword dropped to the floor as Keith held you in his arms, staring intensely at you as if you would disappear if he dared to look away for even a second. You quickly returned the embrace, arms circling his back as you threw your head onto his chest, almost unbelieving that he was there, his arms moved, crowding around your head pulling you impossibly closer to his body as he noticed the white strand of hair, his fingers pressed against it confused as he rested his nose atop your head, breathing you in, reminding himself that this was in fact, real and not just one of his sick dreams he has been having since finding out you were gone. 

Being held in his arms made everything real, and you thought that if you had to through everything all over again just to have this moment, in his arms, you would. It was all be for the best if you ended up in his arms at the end of it all.

[rishiguro]

VERDICT - NEUVILLETTE

warnings: mentions of murder. mentions of minor character death. reader has a brother. 3k+ words

a/n: happy angstober people

angstober event

you’ve heard a lot of stories about the fortress of meropide growing up in fontaine.

a prison, not just underground, but underwater, hidden from everybody. a place to lock away the criminals, with barely anybody ever returning after they served their time. personally, you’ve never encountered anybody that actually went there, only a couple of imposters, posing for the media with some wild stories. and while most of these stories sounded like they were trying too hard to get people’s attention with some wild preposterous claims and grotesque details, no one could ever really disprove whatever was said.

an aura of mystery surrounded the fortress and its so-called ‘duke’, like a thick fog, and everybody who dared to enter it to find out what was on the other side would never come back to tell the tale. 

who knows, you probably wouldn’t either.

because there was nothing left for you on the surface anymore. just like it was the case for so many people that you had briefly seen when you were given a small part of the fortress – your new home.

refusing to look at the man who was arguably the sole reason why you were in here in the first place, you kept looking up at the dirty ceiling above you. 

could you really spend the rest of your life here? the label ‘criminal’ forever stamped on your forehead for a crime you didn’t commit? 

tears welled up in your eyes as you remembered why you were in here, your chest tightening.

brother.

he seemed to notice your distress while sitting next to you, leaning his body slightly forward. “i’m afraid there’s nothing i can do,” neuvillette said, his voice sounding as apathetic as it did when he had sentenced you. 

blinking rapidly to clear your vision, you shook your head. “there must be,” you answered, turning your head a little. he couldn’t just leave you here, there had to be something he can do, anything, even if it was using his position of power as a literal ‘get-out-of-jail-card’. he couldn’t just turn his back on you, could he? “i swear, i didn’t do it. i’m innocent”

the man sighed, you don’t know if it was in defeat or annoyance. “you were proclaimed guilty”

proclaimed guilty by him. 

you clenched your jaw, pulling yourself up to sit upright on the bed, directly facing neuvillette now. “i thought you said you believed me”

for a long time, his belief in you was the only thing that kept you going. frankly, it was the only thing that helped you stay sane during your trial, the thing that kept you from bursting in tears as the prosecutor told some dramatic story to frame you for the heinous crime you were in for now.

crossing his arms in front of his chest, he looked down for a second, as if to gather his thoughts, carefully weighing his words in his mind. “this isn’t about what i believe in” 

you had to stop your jaw from falling slack, replaying his words over and over again in your mind. not about what he believed in? was this supposed to be a bad joke? a shocked laugh escaped you. he couldn’t be serious. “you’re the chief of justice! of course it’s about what you believe in!” you tried you best to keep your voice calm, but couldn’t help but get a little heated.

“it’s about what’s factual,” he replied immediately, his tone clearly not allowing any kind of protests. his eyes narrowed as he looked at you coldly, clenching his jaw for a second. he took a breath before continuing, his voice back to a regular volume. “and all the evidence is stacked against you” 

as he was talking you already shook your head in disbelief. “i’m innocent! why would i do such a horrible thing?” you reached out to him, grabbing his arm as he turned away, seemingly not wanting to see your outburst. was ist shame that was written all over his face? regret?

“tell me!” you demanded loudly, digging your fingers a little deeper into his arm in desperation. you had to stop yourself from shaking him as your voice grew unsteady and your breather grew a little flatter. “why would i kill my own family, my brother, when he’s the only person i had left?!”

it seemed like he didn‘t have an answer to that, not facing you while you looked at him, waiting for any kind of explanation.

he promised you that he believed you when you came to him with shaky knees and teary eyes, recounting the horrible accusations thrown your way.

he comforted you when you broke down crying, embracing you in one of his rare hugs unprompted while he muttered soft words into your ear, reminding you to breathe regularly.

he held you when you lashed out, angry at your brother for leaving you alone in this scary world and he held you when you fell apart later, feeling guilty for being the only one left and guilty for being angry at your brother in the first place. it wasn‘t his fault — and he certainly never wanted to leave you, you knew that.

the world was cruel and unjust.

but until now you believed that there was some sort of justice and fairness and neuvillette was the only reason you believed that.

even before you had met him you knew about him. his reputation was practically flawless — the people of fontaine spoke about him in a highly manner, a few maybe even more highly than they spoke of their archon: neuvillette was moral, just, fair, his verdicts always being the same ones that the oratrice mecanique d‘analyse cardinale would give, which made him seem infallible. 

and you believed it too. until he became the reason why you believed that the kind of justice served in fontaine wasn’t true, proper justice.

until you lost hope in the only thing that helped you stay sane after you came across the cold body of your own brother.

a shiver ran over neuvillette‘s back when he heard you laugh after his long silence. quickly you let go of his arm, dropping it like it was replaced by hot coals. “i can’t believe it,” you scoffed, shaking your head in disbelief again. this had to be a joke. would he really lie to you like that when you were the most vulnerable? “you never believed me when i said i didn’t do it, did you?”

much to your dismay, he stayed quiet, only pursing his lips slightly before pressing them together into a thin line. would he really betray you like that? was he ever on your side? “answer me!”

only when hearing your desperate pleas did he look at you again with his determined eyes. “i did. i thought you had no motive” he cleared his throat, shifting slightly in his seat before crossing his legs like he always did. “as you said, i didn’t think you’d gain anything from murdering your brother”

you recognized this neutral look on his face — the very same look he always took on whenever he was in court, listening to the defender and the prosecutor and finally also delivering his verdict.

“what changed?” you clenched your jaw, anxious about his answer. 

what would it be? did he let himself be swayed by the public opinion, listening to the voices booing your story out? did he trust the prosecutor's fabricated and seemingly flawless story? or were you simply not convincing enough?

“the facts changed,” he calmly stated, making you huff in disagreement.

“bullshit,” you spat, “you just found another story to believe in”

not waiting a second to retort, he leaned back slightly. “i told you, it's not about what i want to believe in, delusions aren’t what makes our justice. it’s fairness, facts,” he sighed. you don‘t know if it was in defeat or in a disappointed manner. his voice became sharper again its him putting his chin higher. “and that is what i represent”

“you‘ve convicted an innocent person,” you declared, mirroring his expression and posture. 

he would leave you here to rot, by now you were sure of it. and yet to you it seemed like he didn‘t really grasp the gravity of this.

neuvillette convicted you of murder. and if this wasn‘t bad enough, he truly believed that you had it in yourself to kill your own brother, your flesh and blood.

the only person you had left.

“i don’t give the final verdict. that is out of my hands,” he claimed, clearly referring to the oratrice — the huge scale behind himself in the court‘s opera epiclese.

was he really pinning the blame on a machine, denying any kind of involvement in your current situation? like he had nothing to do with this?

wasn‘t he supposed to be independent and just? wasn‘t this why he prided himself in his position and why the people of fontaine trusted him? because their beliefs aligned?  

“yet your decisions are always the same. how could you do this to me?”

instead of answering, neuvillette stood up, turning his back on you and taking a few steps towards the exit of your cell, well, dormitory.

could he really just leave like this and leave you behind? did he not feel any kind of remorse, pity, pain?

the echoing steps came to a halt a few moments after. you looked up at him again, only to realize he had already reached the exit. he had his hand on the dark wall, looking at you over his shoulder.

he couldn‘t even properly turn around to talk to you and face you after dooming you?

“i’m afraid there’s nothing i can do,” neuvillette stated in a matter-of-factly tone, “your sentence will be carried out accordingly, unless you wish to evoke your right to challenge a duelist”

so this was it? he would just go and leave you here?

“if there is nothing you wish to say to me, i’ll take my leave”

you knew neuvillette didn‘t exactly feel the way you did. he had troubles with emotions, often lacking the proper words to fully express himself and describing what was going on inside of him. and you used to pride yourself in being able to understand him regardless, possessing the ability to read him almost like an open book. you helped him navigate through the complicated world of feelings, taking your time and going at your speed.

but right now, you were second-guessing everything. was he even capable of any kind of emotion? did he just fool you all this time?

did he truly not feel any kind of remorse for what he did, for what he was doing?

you shook your head in disbelief. this had to be a joke, a sick prank someone played on you and somehow got not just the entire nation of fontaine, but also somehow managed to get neuvillette to play along. at least that‘s what you wanted to believe. “so that’s supposed ‘justice’” 

neuvillette turned around, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “it is justice,” he stated, “it’s about facts, not fiction”

you almost burst out laughing as he said that, so convinced of the system he served in. 

and truly, you once were too.

but you couldn‘t, not anymore. not after seeing how the trial against you turned into some sort of drama, like it was straight out of a book. journalists were publishing articles with grotesque headlines, bombarding you with horrendous questions that left you cringing uncomfortably. 

you watched as the story the prosecutor told got more and more dramatic, pointing at you accusatory as he recounted the ‘true events‘ of the fateful night, completely ignoring whatever you said to dispute his claims. “it’s not about facts, it’s about convenience! it’s just theatrics and entertainment!” you yelled as you jumped on your feet, not being able to contain your voice any longer.

“whoever presents the story that convinces the most people will win. and the people of fontaine are so easy to be swayed,” you continued, not letting the man in front of you get a single word in, “so thirsty for some juicy drama that lets them forget about their boring lives”

you couldn‘t stop yourself from scoffing again before letting a condescending laugh escape you. “and they don’t even have the critical thinking to reflect on everything”

your trial simply proved what you just told him. your point of view, your truth, simply didn‘t matter to the prosecutor or to the public. their story seemed to convenient, something that could be right out of a criminal novel that they loved to devour so much. the headlines in the newspaper were too sensational to be considered factual, too virulent to make any person doubt it. 

“the public’s opinion does not sway the sentence,” neuvillette claimed with a clenched jaw, starting to look agitated. 

and it seemed like they managed to get neuvillette on their side too. 

a sad smile appeared on your face. “then i guess you’re stupid too” stupid for not listening to your side, stupid to believe the prosecutor, stupid to not make a rational judgment.

too stupid to realize that your supposed motive wasn’t a motive at all.

money. why would you kill your own brother for money when the two of you never had anything to begin with? you couldn’t steal something when there wasn‘t anything in the first place. neuvillette knew that. he knew you came from nothing, he knew the two of you had nothing. 

and even if it was a motive — no amount of money would ever be able to heal the wound you had sustained from losing your brother.

how could he be so stupid?

“you’re acting childish,” he stated calmly. 

you were in jail and possibly would never see the light of day again. you were locked in an underwater fortress for a crime you didn‘t commit and nobody believed you.

and his worry was that you were acting childish?

“oh, i’m sorry for not being calm and collected like you after being unjustly sentenced for murdering my own brother!” you raised your voice at him again, angrily stepping closer to him. “and that by the one person that i thought actually believed me”

you had to swallow down the lump in your throat again, blinking rapidly before looking into his eyes again. 

how could he do this to you? was he truly so heartless? 

would he really leave you here, alone and heartbroken?

a familiar warm hand slightly caressed your cheek. “i love you,” he whispered to you, in the same loving voice he had always used with you. “but i cannot make any exceptions” he stepped back, the warmth leaving your cheek again, letting the cold creep up to you again. he looked almost hurt himself and you were almost willing to feel pity for him — maybe if he wasn’t the chief of justice. maybe if he couldn’t put a stop to all of this, “not even for you”

maybe if he had kept his promise to you.

your fingertips grazed over your cheek, longing for the warmth that neuvillette’s hand provided just a few seconds earlier. your chest tightened as you dug your teeth into your lower lip, feeling your eyes well up again. “so that’s it? you love me, but not enough to believe me? not enough to keep me safe? free?”

you clenched your fists at your sides, not noticing that he was doing exactly the same.

“this is about so much more than just you!” he exclaimed angrily, his voice practically booming off the walls, “you’re too self-centered to understand this!” 

did not wanting to rot in prison after being framed for a crime really make you self-centered? was that all he thought of you now?

“it’s my duty! my promise to the people from fontaine, my promise to our archon and my promise to myself to uphold justice,” he continued his rant, his voice growing uncharacteristically theatrical. 

was he really just a part of the theatrics of fontaine‘s supposed just court? was his equitable self just a ruse, an act he put on to fit in?

did you ever really know him?

“what about your promise to me?” your voice wasn‘t much more than a whisper as you spoke, looking up at him. not that you‘d be able to actually see him with how blurry your vision got from the tears in your eyes.

as childish and naive as it was, you couldn‘t help but wish for him to remember.

it was a late summer night, the first evening where you could finally go out. the past days it had rained with seemingly no end in sight and now you felt like you could finally breathe again.

you had been strolling around the city without any real goal, simply admiring how many people enjoyed the summer warmth after so many cold and wet days. 

neuvillette‘s hand was entangled with yours, the two of you walking in silence, simply enjoying each other‘s company. you had been seeing each other for a while now and yet it was still early enough for you to feel slightly nervous whenever you were near him, stomach turning and feeling butterflies when you held hands, hugged or kissed. 

it was on that day when he pulled you close to the fountain of lucine, wrapping his arms around you as the two of you spend some time listening to the ambience — the water running, the pigeons and other birds chirping and the few people talking around you, some whispering wishes to the fountain, some gleefully joking with each other. 

most people had already left when he turned you around to face him, letting go of your waist to grab your hands, pressing a kiss on your knuckles before he spoke.

it was the first time that he told you that he loved you, finally revealing just how much he cared for you and cherished you. how he would do everything in his power to protect you, how he would always believe you and how he would always stay by your side. 

how even when everybody turned their back on you, you would always have him. 

and yet here you were now.

you didn’t know what you would prefer — him forgetting about that day or him remembering, but simply not caring enough to act on it.

like everything he had told you — promised you — has been a lie. 

clenching his jaw, neuvillette turned around again.

no.

blinking away your tears you weakly called out his name, a part of you still expecting him to turn around.

don‘t go.

you hoped for a miracle, a change of heart. you wanted him to rush to you, to comfort you, to love you again.

maybe then everything would turn out to be okay again.

you stumbled, the back of your knees hitting the chair he had been sitting earlier, falling onto it.

don‘t leave me.

you still hoped that everything was just a big mistake.

you called out to him again, fighting against the tears that kept welling up in your eyes, leaving neuvillette‘s figure in front of you all blurred again. “what about that? why can you betray me like that, but not them?”

“i’m sorry” and with that he left, not even sparing you a single glance on his way out, as you pulled your knees up, hugging them while the tears began to roll over your cheek again.

reblogs are appreciated !

[crowsofdarkness]

Arranged: Chapter Five

*gif not mine. credit to owner*

Pairings: Mob!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: language, 18+ smut(ch 12 & ch 17), angst, fluff, mentions of death and violence. I will update the warnings with each chapter.

Summary: Reader would do anything to make her parents happy and that included agreeing to an arranged marriage. She never expected it to be to one of New York's most feared Mob Boss: Bucky Barnes. He is anything but loving towards Reader however when her parents are mysteriously killed, Bucky makes it his mission to find out who were at fault. And in the process, ends up coming close to losing Reader.

Authors Note: This was a story of mine on an old blog and I wanted to publish it on here. Since it's quite a long fic, I've decided to slowly updated it chapter by chapter. If anyone who is interested wants to be tagged, let me know!

Bucky was at my back while Steve led the way up the front steps and they quickly ushered me inside, with no words spoken the entire drive back home. Something wasn’t right with this meeting they were almost late for, I couldn’t shake the weight in my stomach. 

“Steve, can you take her to her room and stay with her until I’m finished?” Bucky asked. 

“I’m not going to be held prisoner. You said it yourself, I can have free reign,” I reminded him. 

Steve simply placed a hand at the small of my back, trying to lead me upstairs, however my foot remained planted in the main entry way of the house. That was when Bucky’s other two bodyguards stepped in, ready to grasp my elbows to drag me upstairs. My yells of protests bounced off the walls. 

“Don’t fucking touch me!” I sneered. 

Bucky stepped between his men, anger flushing his cheeks. “Let’s get one thing straight, you don’t ever lay a finger on her, understand? She is to only be handled by Steve or I.” 

“Boss, all do respect, she’s been a pain since she’s first arrived,” Jake, one of his men said. 

The other man, Ryan, agreed with a nod. 

“Excuse me?” I asked, shocked. 

“Listen lady, I’d suggest you keep my mouth shut. You have no idea what you got yourself into,” Jake snapped. 

A shriek fell from my lips as I watched Bucky wrap his metal fingers around Jake's throat and pinned him against the back of the front door, feet dangling inches above the floor. 

“Bucky, stop.” I placed a hand on his other arm but it was as if Bucky couldn’t feel my touch. 

Jake was gasping, swallowing, for any ounce of air around him as Bucky tightened the grip on his throat. Jake scratched and clawed at the metal arm but failed, it not having any effect on Bucky. 

“I’d suggest you apologize to my future wife.” 

Nothing came out of Jake’s lips so Bucky squeezed harder. 

“Sorry,” Jake choked out. 

“Okay, let him go,” I said to Bucky. 

He still wouldn’t drop him so this time I did my best to step between the two of them. 

“God damnit, Bucky. Let. Him. Go!” 

Bucky’s gaze bounced from Jakes to mine and when he saw my worried one, he reluctantly dropped Jake to the floor; his gasps echoing down the halls. 

“You’re lucky I need you two assholes for this meeting otherwise you’d be gone,” Bucky threatened towards Ryan, who had been standing there, head down and avoiding the wrath of Bucky. 

“Y/N, let's get upstairs,” Steve suggested. 

“Well it’s about time you showed up. I’ve been waiting over an hour.” 

All eyes landed on the new man that entered the room. He was dressed in a suit that screamed expensive and he placed his glasses into his pocket, brown eyes resting on my face. The smile that crept to his lips didn’t sit well with me. 

“You must be the bride to be. I’m Tony Stark, an associate of your lover boy here. Will you be joining us?”

I stared at Tony’s extended hand and before I could even make the choice to shake it, Bucky had his hand on my hip and was leading me towards the stairs. 

“Not this time, Stark,” Bucky grumbled before motioning towards Steve. “She doesn’t have to stay in her room. Make sure she stays away from my office.” 

“Ah, come on Barnes. She would be a real asset,” Tony spoke once again. 

Bucky’s metal fingers twitched with rage so I reached for them and linked our hands together. He immediately eased into my touch, eyes softening as I looked into his eyes. 

“I’ll be up in my room. Come find me when you’re finished?” I suggested. 

He quickly nodded before he composed himself, ushering all the men to follow him towards his office. 

There was a nice breeze that afternoon, fall in New York fast approaching, and I smiled while bringing the blanket closer to me. I had been sitting on the balcony of my bedroom, watching the fast night life of the city approaching. Even if Barnes Manor was secluded, we were high up on a hill that you could still see the constant movement of cars driving through the city. 

I had a book perched on my lap but after reading the same sentence a handful of times, I had closed it with a long sigh. My mind had been wrapped up in what was happening downstairs and if Bucky would be finishing up soon. It had been almost two hours since he disappeared into his office, Steve standing outside my bedroom door that whole time. I mentioned it a few times to him that he didn’t need to stay, he could do whatever he wanted. 

“I figured you could use the company.” 

The only positive thing about Bucky being in that meeting for so long was that I was able to do a bit of research on this mystery man. 

Tony Stark was a billionaire, one of the few in New York. He had lost his parents when he was in college but he never let that affect him. He created his own empire by investing in other smaller companies and building them high for success. 

A silent investor is what his Wikipedia page said. 

What confused me was that Bucky had money, lots of it. He didn’t need Stark or his money so I had no idea what his part in Bucky’s company was. 

To be honest, I didn’t even know what Bucky was working in or into. All I knew was that he was a feared mob boss. 

But did I want to know that information? Could I live with what he does to the people that go against his orders? 

“Y/N?” 

I looked over my shoulder and gave a smile to Steve, who was leaning against the doorframe to the balcony. 

“Everything alright?” I asked. 

Steve ran a hand through his long hair and nodded. “Bucky sends his apologies. His meeting is running a bit longer than expected.” 

I shrugged. “It’s alright. I’ve got plenty of time.” 

He could hear the falter in my voice. “Did you want to talk? About anything?” 

I hesitated. “Is that a good idea? From what I hear, you and Bucky are best friends. I don’t want to say something that would upset you.” 

Steve shook his head with a chuckle. “It wouldn’t be anything I hadn’t heard before. Buck may come off as a hard ass but he really does care about the people closest to him. Plus, I’m here for you; safety wise and someone to vent too.” 

“Well, in that case,” I pointed to the seat next to me. “Have a seat.” 

“So, Bucky tells me you two are doing a courthouse wedding?” Steve asked while straightening out his dress shirt. 

I nodded. “When I think of a wedding, it's supposed to be this huge celebration where you prove your love for one another in front of your loved ones.” 

“I understand that,” Steve said. 

“I wish my parents did,” I sighed. “They’re upset because they arranged this whole thing to make sure the rest of my life I didn’t have to worry about anything.” 

“You didn’t get a say in this?” 

I shook my head while fidgeting with the rings on my fingers. “Nope and I can’t go against my parents; it was the number one rule while growing up.” 

Steve looked at my fingers and his brow raised in confusion when he saw the bare finger on my left hand. 

“No ring yet?” He questioned. 

“Oh,” I looked at my hand. “I don’t think Bucky is going to give me one, to be honest.” 

“I wouldn’t be too sure about that,” Steve suggested with a smirk. 

Suddenly, I felt a large presence behind me and when I looked over my shoulder, the pace of my heart began to quicken. Bucky was leaning against the railing, a smirk playing at his lips. He must have been so quiet as he walked in because I didn’t hear a thing. 

“Hi,” I breathed. 

“Steve keeping you company?” He questioned. 

“Yeah. Is that alright?” 

I couldn’t tell if Bucky was upset with Steve and I being alone. 

He nodded. “Steve’s the only one I trust to leave you with.” 

“Meeting go alright?” Steve questioned while he rose to his feet. 

Bucky nodded. “Do you mind bringing the car around? I’ve got an errand to run.” 

Steve quietly excused himself, leaving Bucky and I alone. 

“What about Jake?” I asked. 

From what I could tell, he had been Bucky’s driver. 

Bucky’s eyes clouded over with darkness, only for a moment. “He won’t be working for me anymore.” 

With the curtness in his voice, I decided not to press on with the issue. But I didn’t miss the splatter of blood on Bucky’s metal knuckles. 

“So,” I changed the subject. “I’m assuming you have other plans then?” 

He nodded. “I’ll only be gone an hour. Since Steve will be with me, can you promise that you won’t go anywhere?” 

“I’ve got nowhere to go,” I shrugged. 

Bucky let out a sad sigh while stuffing his hands deep into his pockets. “I don’t want to make you feel like a prisoner, Y/N.” 

I disagreed with his worry. “You don’t. I’m still settling in so it’ll take me some time.” 

“Would that stop you from spending some alone time with me tonight?” Bucky noticed my hesitation. “I’ll cook you dinner, that’s it. Please?”

I gnawed on my lip at how cute he looked when he begged. “Sure. I’d like that.” 

Bucky nodded. “Dining room. Seven o'clock.” 

“Seven o'clock,” I repeated before watching him walk out of the room, not before throwing another smile to me over his shoulder.

[revelboo]

Everything is Alright Pt 20

Starscream x Reader-care

• There it is in the back of his processor on repeat, that spark wrenching cry. You’d called him Star, not Starscream and there’d been real fear in your voice. But worst of all? You’d tried to comfort him after he’d nearly crushed you by accident in his servos. He can’t get that cry of frightened pain out of his head and it drags him places he’s doesn’t want to go. Of his servos involuntarily clenching, the feel of soft flesh and tiny bones giving. He can imagine it all too well. What he might have done without even meaning to.

• Not realizing until it’s too late. It’d been too close a thing. And it’s with him all rotation, that nagging what if twisting with the rest of the guilt and uncertainty. Like the fact that he wonders if you’re happy with him. You never complain aside from that one angry outburst, but you must resent being a prisoner. Pit, he’s not even sure if he’s doing a good job taking care of you. It’s not like he knows anything about humans at all. Maybe it’s time to learn.

• Laying flat on your back staring up at the ceiling, you try to figure out what exactly is wrong with you. Because you’ve sprinted past Stockholm’s straight into a weird and probably very toxic codependence. Groaning, you rake your fingers through your hair, stopping when you get snagged on tangles, because lack of bathing isn’t fantastic. But you’d been too scared of asking the giant robot who brought you a litter box for a toilet about a bath. Who knew how he’d interpret that request? Drop you in the nearest body of water? Try to use chemicals that while fine for him melts your flesh away? Nope. Even if you can smell yourself and you hate it.

• You’re not sure how many hours you lay there feeling sorry for yourself before the door slides open and there’s Starscream. Frowning. That frown slides into a scowl when he spots you and you sit up, skin prickling. Trying to figure out what you might have done to annoy him and coming up empty. His expression is almost thunderous as he scoops you up cupped between his palms and carries you out of his quarters. You peek up through his fingers as he walks, but have no idea where you’re going. Or what you did wrong.

• You squirm in his cupped hands, your own little fingers brushing against him. But you’re silent. Trusting him without question. The almost sweltering heat of the wash racks hits him as soon as he steps inside, the tension in his wings easing as he surveys the big space. Empty. He moves into a far corner tucked into an alcove, counting on his wingspan to disguise what he’s doing as he uncovers you. Immediately, your neck cranes to look around in open interest, grabbing his thumb to carefully stand in his palm. “Where are we?”

• Heat. Glorious heat and…. Humidity? Inhaling, you look up. That almost looks like a shower head. A tremor of excitement lifts through you even as you wonder if maybe he’d just gotten tired of his pet stinking. Well, you guess that answers the question of whether Cybertronians have a sense of smell or not. Even if it’s the most mortifying way possible to find out. Whatever his reasoning, you’re onboard if it means getting clean. Up until he carefully plucks at the hem of your shirt and you reflexively swat at that big servo without thinking.

• Venting in a low huff as you lift your chin at him in defiance, he runs that servo over your head affectionately. Those nasty coverings are coming off, though. Even if you’re apparently very reluctant to part with them. “I’ll find you something else,” he says, trying to figure out how to remove them from your little frame. A job made more difficult by the way you struggle, face reddening.

• Absolutely not. Sure, he’s a giant robot and probably couldn’t care less if you run around naked or dressed, but it matters to you. It’s also a fight you quickly realize you can’t win as he tugs at a sleeve and your wriggling to get away pops the seam. And yes, these are your only clothes and they smell, have blood on them from the wreck, and are getting threadbare, but they’re yours. And you don’t want to be naked in giant robot land. “I can bathe with them on,” you insist, hating how desperate the words are.

• Why so much fuss over coverings? Must be a human thing. Finally, you give up with an adorably pitiful growl, aggressively swatting his servos until he pulls back. Waiting. Refusing to look at him, you begin stripping layers off. Ah. Somehow you seem even smaller and more helpless without those flimsy coverings, your arms wrapped around yourself to try and hide yourself from him. Embarrassed he supposes as he triggers the water and watches you jerk in surprise, before sullenly relaxing, turning in an awkward shuffle so your back is to him. Your form- it’s almost like the protoarmor underneath a Cybertronian’s plating. Organic, but made curiously like a Cybertronian in shape. Shooting him a grouchy look over your shoulder, you reach up to work tangles from your hair.

• “Could you at least not stare at me?” You mutter, because he is. You can feel it. Probably with the same disgusted fascination you’d give a shaved cat. There’s no soap, so you scrub at your skin with your hands until it’s red, ignoring the giant alien voyeur. Up until the light touch of a servo nudging your hand away from your arm startles you. He’s frowning at your reddened skin in disapproval. “Soap? Cleanser?” You hazard. Preferably something not flesh melting. And he vents loudly, warm air washing over you to make you freeze. Exasperated with you if his expression is any indication.

Previous Next

[fluentmoviequoter]

With You, Even When I'm Not

Requested Here by the amazing @newobsessionweekly!

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!cop!reader

Summary: When one of Tim Bradford's enemies is released from prison, he sets out to hurt Tim by hurting you. You trust that Tim will save you, but time is not on your side.

Warnings: angst, car accident, torture (injuries to r), based on 2x11 but this isn't a rewrite (for once lol), crying, fluff and comfort

Word Count: 5.5k+ words

A/N: I didn't include a scene with Tim threatening someone like he does in 2x11 and I kinda regret it because it was hot, but I also really like how this turned out...

Masterlist Directory | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info/Fandom List

“The almighty Tim Bradford isn’t coming to save you. You know why? Because you’re already dead.”

You force your eyes open and ignore the pain and fear to say, “So are you.”

Less than eight hours ago, you sat beside Tim in roll call. You force yourself to remember that rather than consider what Ferguson plans to do to you.

- 8 Hours Ago - 

Your day starts like any other: you wake up, get ready, go to the station, and take your seat beside Tim for roll call. The sun is bright, the sky clear, and Los Angeles is event-free for once. So, it has the makings for a good day.

“What is up with you?” Tim asks quietly.

“What do you mean?” you counter.

“You’re all smiley and happy. Someone puked in my shop yesterday and you’re acting like this is the best job in the world.”

“It is!” You chuckle at his look before explaining, “It’s going to be a good day. Just let me enjoy this one for every hundred bad ones I’ve dealt with.”

“Sure.”

Wade enters, and you give him your full attention, though you never forget about Tim. He’s a constant in your life, and you wish you could have him by your side every moment, not just during roll call.

“Nolan, Harper is back so you can return to your TO,” Wade says.

“That’s why you’re so happy,” Tim muses. “You got rid of Nolan.”

You shake your head and smile before you stand. You’re patrolling in one of the nicest Los Angeles neighborhoods today, so you probably won’t see or hear Tim much today.

“Have a good one,” you tell him.

“Be careful,” he replies.

You exit the room, and Tim watches you go. Lucy walks to his side and stops, aware of what he’s looking at and longing for.

“Let’s go, boot, don’t just stand there,” Tim demands.

“Bradford,” Wade calls. “A word? Chen can stay.”

Tim nods and follows Lucy to the front of the room.

“Ferguson was released on parole this morning,” Wade says. “Sorry to tell you like this, but I thought you should know.”

“He had fifteen years left; how did this happen?” Tim asks.

“Who’s Ferguson?” Lucy inquires.

“Someone I arrested,” Tim answers. “He threatened to kill me when he got out.”

“Oh. Uh, should we-“

“That is up to Officer Bradford,” Wade interjects. “If you want to sit today out, I’ll understand.”

“No. I’m not letting him ruin my life, too. We can handle Ferguson if he’s stupid enough to show his face.”

“The parole board seems convinced he’s reformed, but we both know he’s a good liar and a better manipulator. Keep your eyes open, Tim, and don’t hesitate to call in anything you think is a threat.”

“Yes, sir. Let’s go, boot.”

Tim leads Lucy to the shop, and he's quieter than usual. Lucy hasn’t been a cop as long as him, but she knows what it’s like to have a criminal blame you for the consequences of their actions. She won’t push Tim, not about this, but she has questions about everything she heard.

“Pull up Roscoe Ferguson,” Tim says as he turns onto the road. “Get familiar with his face. If you see him, I want you to know it’s him.”

“You really think he’ll do something?” Lucy asks as she turns the dashboard computer toward her.

“I’m counting on it.”

“Dispatch, this is 7-Adam-9, are there any alerts in my area?” you ask into the radio.

“Negative, 7-Adam-9.”

You nod to yourself and place the radio back in the console. The morning has been quiet and slow. You know you shouldn’t complain; a sunny drive in the hills is rarely a bad thing, but you’re a cop, and you’re getting bored.

“7-Adam-9, switch to channel 4 for Sergeant Grey,” dispatch instructs.

You turn the channel dial and let Wade know you’re there. He doesn’t answer, and you slow at a stop sign as you bounce the radio against your thigh.

“You’re in the hills, right?” Wade asks suddenly.

He doesn't use your name or call number, only asks a rushed question. It concerns you, but you remain professional.

“Yes, sir,” you answer. “Do you need me to come back?”

“No, stay up there. Just wanted to double-check.”

“What’s going on?”

Wade goes silent again, and you repeat the question.

“Nothing, I hope. Just trying to keep everyone connected to Bradford out of the heart of LA today.”

“Why?”

“Ferguson was released.”

“He has 15 years left on his sentence!” you exclaim into your empty car.

“I know. I’m trying to get everything figured out and petition for it to be reversed, but for now, just keep working.”

“Yes, sir.”

You turn the channel back and set the radio down. Roscoe Ferguson hates Tim and would do anything to get to him. Tim knows you're here for him, so you focus on your assignment. The Hollywood hills are quiet this morning, but you know better than to let your guard down.

As you turn onto Tahoe Drive, you notice a black truck in your rearview. He gets close to the tail of your shop but slows suddenly and turns onto Tahoe Place. You roll your eyes; the people who live in the Hills drive like they own the hills. They probably do, but it doesn’t excuse unsafe vehicle operation.

You round the bend where Tahoe Drive turns into Lake Hollywood Drive, and the Hollywood Reservoir comes into view. When you glance up, you see the black truck speeding toward you again. You hit the lights and leave them on for a few seconds as a warning, but the driver doesn’t slow. If they pass you, you’ll stop them and issue a ticket, you decide.

There’s a point on Lake Hollywood Drive where there’s less than 200 feet of terrain between the road and the reservoir. It’s covered in sparse foliage, but it would be easy enough to get to the water or hide in the trees. You realize too late that the truck isn’t slowing down or moving to pass you as you near that point. It rams into you from behind, and you lurch forward before the seatbelt catches and snatches you backward. Steering is pointless as the shop slides into a small patch of dirt. The truck is still driving, pushing your car forward. The driver stops just before you collide with a tree, and you reach for the radio.

It's fallen from the console, and the seatbelt holds you uncomfortably tight to your seat. As you wrestle to free yourself and get the radio, you don’t see the man exit the truck or approach your window. He hits it with an illegal tool used for breaking into cars, and you turn your face away as glass showers over you.

“Hi,” he greets. “7-Adam-9, right?”

“And you’re Roscoe Ferguson,” you answer.

“Bradford, get back to the station,” Wade radios, “Now.”

“What’s going on?” Tim asks as he makes a U-turn.

“Ferguson stole a truck. We don’t know where he went after or what he’s planning to do.”

“We should find him,” Lucy says.

“And don’t say you should go look for him,” Wade adds. “You’re too close to this.”

“He’s not going to kill me, Grey,” Tim argues. “Let me help. I caught him once; I can do it again.”

“Get back to the station. That’s an order.”

“Yes, sir.”

Tim sighs as he continues driving toward the station. The last time he worried about Roscoe Ferguson, you were sitting beside him. Though you’ll never take the credit, Tim thinks you’re the main reason he finally got Ferguson in cuffs. 

“What now?” Lucy asks.

“We find a way to help find Ferguson,” Tim replies.

“Get out,” Ferguson demands. 

He pushes the gun closer to your face, and you raise your hands slowly. Your left shoulder aches from the impact of the seatbelt, and as you reach through the broken window to open your door, you feel the tiny scratches littering your face and neck sting. Ferguson pulls you away from the shop and pushes you toward the reservoir.

“What’s your plan here, Roscoe?” you ask.

He taps the gun against your back to make you keep walking. With your back to him, you slide your hand into your pocket and remove the laminated piece of paper you keep in it. It falls to the ground, and you hope it’s enough to help Tim find you and Roscoe. 

“Kill me to get to Tim? Hurt him without touching him because you know he won’t let you get the chance?”

“Shut up!” Ferguson yells. “Walk!”

Taunting him may not be your brightest decision, but making him mad will make him careless. When you reach the water, he grabs your belt and pulls you backward. Your breath rushes out as your back hits the ground, but you smile through the pain.

“You will never beat him,” you say.

“Tim Bradford took everything from me. Let’s see how he likes the feeling,” Ferguson responds.

He raises the gun to your face and pushes the barrel against your forehead. You keep your eyes on him, unwilling to flinch in the face of death. He changes his mind, however, and brings the butt of the handle down against your temple instead, and everything goes dark as the water blows in the wind.

Tim and Lucy have been relegated to desk duty. With Ferguson on the run and numerous threats against Tim’s life, Wade decided it would be best for him to stay here. Wade watches them from his office and shakes his head when Lucy begins twirling her handcuffs around her finger. His phone rings and Wade steps away from the glass door to answer it.

“Sergeant Grey,” he answers.

He listens silently before lowering the receiver and stepping out into the station. Tim looks up, and his expression drops immediately.

“What happened?” Tim asks as he stands.

“They found the stolen truck. It was involved in an accident near the reservoir. He, uh… Ferguson ran a cop off the road, and they’re both missing.”

“Who?” Tim asks, urgency and panic lacing the syllable.

Before Wade can answer, dispatch reads your badge number in a missing officer alert, and Tim’s blood runs cold. He freezes, staring at Wade as he realizes what has happened and that it’s his fault. Tim never anticipated Ferguson going for the people Tim cares about – loves – and he should have.

“Let me go out there,” Tim demands lowly. “I can find her.”

“I shouldn’t,” Wade answers. He looks to Lucy and adds, “But I will. Don’t try to do this alone, Bradford. Take help where you can get it.”

“I don’t want the credit; I want her back,” Tim snaps.

“Then get to the reservoir and do what you do best, Tim.”

Lucy nods at Wade, an unspoken promise that she’ll do her best to help him and keep him from spiraling. They both know that it’s easier said than done.

“Tim,” you call out when you wake.

“Nope, just me,” Ferguson says.

He’s sitting across from you as he carves a piece of wood into a chipmunk. Your arms are tied tightly behind you, and one of your ankles is secured to a metal pole with your handcuffs. Whatever he’s planning to do to you will hurt you, but it will hurt Tim much worse.

“I hope you’re asking for a lot of ransom,” you mumble.

“You and I both know this isn’t about money. It’s about that little partner of yours and what he did to me.”

“Making you pay for your crimes? Yeah, he’s a terrible person.”

Ferguson moves forward quickly. The half-finished wood carving falls to the floor as he presses the knife under your jaw.

“These whittling knives are small, but I can cut an artery before you can call out to him again,” he threatens.

You swallow, causing the knife to bob in his hand. He presses harder and turns to the left before standing. Warm blood trickles down your neck, and you wonder what he plans to do to you before he kills you. If you didn’t have so much faith in Tim, you’d be tempted to anger Ferguson and trick him into killing you early. It’s a terrible thing to think, but at the end of the day, you’re a cop, and you know when your chances aren’t good enough. Right now, they are.

“When he gets here, he will put a bullet in you this time,” you tell Ferguson.

“You stopped him last time,” he answers.

He’s planning to use you as a human shield; let Tim be the one to finish you off in the darkness. Perhaps that’s why you’re underground. The only light you see is from a small lamp; when it goes off, you will be plunged into complete darkness.

“Stop talking,” Ferguson demands as he retrieves his chipmunk. “We don’t have much air in here.”

You try not to let your shock show, but as you look around and fail to see a single air vent, you worry that Tim won’t make it in time. Forcing yourself to take a steady breath, you close your eyes.

“No, no, no,” Ferguson chides. “No napping. We have to stay awake for the pre-game, and the final score.”

He tips your head back, and your eyes open instinctually. When he sees that, he tightens his grip on your jaw and circles you. Looking at him upside-down, you tug against your restraints. He raises a foot and places it on your bound hands before stepping down hard and fast. Your shoulders pull backward at a painful angle with no room that makes you yell in pain. Ferguson’s laugh drowns out your scream, and he keeps his hand on your jaw as he lays a rope over the back of your neck to hang over your shoulders.

“He’s going to kill you,” you say between pants when Ferguson releases your face.

He hinges at his hip, invading your personal space as he smiles and says, “You too.”

“Bradford, there’s blood,” an officer alerts.

Tim steps to your open shop door and sees a few small, oblong blood drops on your seat. Based on the shape, you were in motion when they fell, and it wasn’t enough blood to kill you.

“Probably from the glass,” he decides. “Let’s move toward the reservoir. We can’t tell footprints apart but watch where you’re stepping!”

“Tim!” Lucy yells from just past the tree line.

He jogs to her side and looks down. She found a small, laminated piece of paper, and Tim recognizes it immediately. Your self-proclaimed “perfect fortune” from one of your first dinners together as P2s rather than rookies. He picks it up and looks toward the water. He’s looking in the right place, you made sure to tell him that, but he feels like he’s missing something else.

“Please,” you whimper, even though you know he can’t hear you.

“How many more times do I have to tell you?” Ferguson asks. “He’s not here.”

The only thing on your mind is Tim because if you stop thinking about him you’ll only know the unbearable pain and the man inflicting it. Ferguson places his foot between your legs, pushing against the chair slowly. It tips back, and you close your eyes and imagine Tim catching you. It doesn’t stop the initial pain of your leg being held in one place by the handcuffs as the rest of your body moves back or the scream you release as you hit the floor, but it does give you a reason to keep fighting. Ferguson pulls you up nearly as fast as he tipped you over, and the rope digs in against the side of your neck.

“This is the best workout I’ve ever had,” he says.

He wipes the sheen of sweat from his forehead, and you notice how hot and thick the air seems. Ferguson admitted that the air supply was limited, so if you start wasting it, maybe he will leave.

“If you call him…” you begin slowly. “Let me hear Tim Bradford’s voice one more time, and I will lure him here for you.”

“Do you think I’m dumb?” Ferguson asks.

You nod and immediately regret it when he pulls the rope and forces your head down toward your chest.

“I’m not letting you take control. This is my plan, and it ends beautifully.”

“I can’t do this!” Tim yells.

He runs his hands over the back of his head and down his face as he squats by the reservoir. There are no other hints about where Ferguson took you, nothing to guide Tim toward saving you, only dirt and broken promises. He told you that he wouldn’t let anything happen to you; Tim whispered the promise in the dead of night when you were asleep during an overnight patrol, yet he’s holding himself to keeping it like it will kill him if he doesn’t. Because it will.

“Tim don’t give up yet,” Lucy encourages. She lowers beside him and lays a hand on his back. “We can do this, but we have to work together. The paper means something right? Could it be more than an indication she was here?”

Tim wipes under his eye, and Lucy’s eyes widen as she realizes tears are streaming down his cheeks. He stops them quickly, but she pats his back to remind him he’s not fighting alone. You’re fighting, too, and Tim needs to remember that.

“Lucy, I lo-“ Tim stops suddenly, though Lucy is confident she knows where he was going. “I know what it means.”

He stands quickly, and Lucy follows him to the place where they found the fortune. The little strip of paper from a fortune cookie has been in your pocket since you read it, but not only for the encouraging message on the front.

“34831,” Tim says.

“Your badge number?” Lucy asks, tilting her head to the side. “What about it?”

“It was on the back of my fortune that night. Hers, though, didn’t have a number. So, we wrote one on it.”

“What’s the number?”

“2 25 12 9. I didn’t think she’d know what it meant.”

“What does it mean?”

“It’s an alphabet cypher, but backward.”

“B, Y, L, I,” Tim rattles off. “If she had this, she may have left more clues at those points: 2, 25, 12, and 9.”

“This would have been about 2,” Lucy says, gesturing to the ground. “That’s what, 2 meters from the car?”

Tim furrows his brows at Lucy’s use of meters but nods anyway.

“We can’t walk 25 meters forward, we’d be in the water,” Lucy points out.

“Then we need to spread out in every direction we can go 25 meters… Unless I’m wrong.”

“Don’t question it.”

“No, she would’ve fought. He wouldn’t have been able to make her go anywhere if she wasn’t willing to. We should assume that she couldn’t leave a trail after this point.”

“Then we’re back where we started?”

“Exactly.”

“Tim, what does that even mean?”

“She’s still here. They both are.”

Tim turns and yells for someone to get satellite imaging of the area and the camera footage from your car. Your body cam and police uniform shirt were discarded by the water but the cameras could tell them what happened before and during the initial attack.

“We’ll find her, Tim,” Lucy promises again.

“Thank you,” Tim whispers.

Running footsteps echo over the top of the tin deathtrap you’re in. Someone yells, and Ferguson ducks his head as he moves out of your sight.

“Tim!” you yell.

Your voice cracks, and as you prepare to yell again, Ferguson pulls the rope around your neck. It digs into your skin and compresses your windpipe. Tears begin leaking from your eyes, and after the day you’ve had, you don’t care to stop them.

“Tim, please,” you whisper.

“Welcome to the final round,” Ferguson says into your ear. 

He loosens the rope and pushes your chair forward. His foot pulls down against your hands again, pulling your shoulder muscles cruelly as they stretch to accommodate the impossible movement. You scream in agony as Ferguson pushes you past the point he stopped at previously.

“Did you stop to ask yourself what he’s thinking? Wouldn’t he have found you sooner if he cared? I’ve been out long enough that he knew, yet he let you out by yourself,” Ferguson taunts.

“You won’t win,” you say between ragged breaths.

Ferguson pulls your head to the side to hold the whittling knife against your windpipe, and the cut he made earlier pulls open. Your white shirt is stained with blood and tears, and even as your blinks slow and breathing begins to feel impossible, you trust Tim.

“The almighty Tim Bradford isn’t coming to save you. You know why? Because you’re already dead,” Ferguson says.

You force your eyes open and ignore the pain and fear to say, “So are you.”

Throwing your head backward, you ignore the sting of his knife sliding across the tender skin of your neck. Your skull hits Ferguson’s nose, and he staggers backward with a hand holding his face. Suddenly, you can’t pull a full breath into your lungs. Time has run out, and Tim isn’t here yet. You hold your breath as Ferguson stumbles behind you. He drops, and you see his hand and face are covered in blood. His chest rises and falls slowly, but you’re safe until the rest of the oxygen is used up.

“Tim,” you whisper toward the metal sheet above you.

“Wait!” Lucy calls. “The ground is hollow here.”

Tim returns to Lucy’s side and hears his footsteps echo. It sounds like there’s a metal sheeting under the dirt beneath his boots. He raises a hand to call a few officers over before someone screams. It’s muffled by the metal and earth, but it’s a clear sign of pain. Better than that, it means someone is still alive.

“Find a way in,” Tim demands quietly.

As he searches the area around the hollow spot, he wishes to hear your voice again. Not another scream, but an acknowledgement that you survived whatever caused you such agony.

"Bradford!” Janssen calls.

He waves Tim over and points to a small opening. Together, they lift the heavy steel cover away from the round hole. Another barrier of cloth and metal sheets blocks the entrance, and as Tim digs through, he wonders how much air is getting through, if any. The moment he can see inside the fortified bunker, he pulls his weapon and drops silently into the metal housing.

What was likely meant to be a storm shelter has been converted into a survivalist’s nightmare. A small corridor leads to a wider opening, and a dim light is the only sign that anyone is inside. Tim raises his guns and stays ready to shoot as he nears the opening.

“Tim,” you whisper.

Tim hears your voice and doesn’t hesitate to step into the open room and swing his gun as he clears the small, square area. Ferguson lies unconscious in the corner, and Tim can only see your back, the restraints keeping you in place, and the rope loosely wrapped around your neck and shoulders.

Your shoulders shake as you exhale slowly. When you notice that you can breathe again, you take a deep breath before letting your head fall forward.

“Tim,” you repeat, trying not to think of anything else.

Tim says your name as he holsters his gun. You sit up straight and try to turn your head to the side but are stopped by the pull of the rope and the pain in your shoulders. You hiss in pain before returning to your previous position.

“You can’t trick me, Roscoe,” you mumble.

Tim steps toward Ferguson and handcuffs him. He repeats your name as he moves into your line of sight. His hands are raised to his shoulders, though his expression is pure concern. When he sees the blood, sweat, and dirt covering you and your clothes, he has to fight not to rush to your side.

“Tim,” you say again. Your voice is louder than before but still has an untrusting quality. “Tim.”

When you start crying and lean toward Tim, he kneels before you. He reaches down carefully to use his key and remove the handcuff from your ankle. Your head rests on his shoulder as he moves, and when he sees the damage done to your ankle, the swelling, deep bruising, and handcuff-induced gash, he looks back at Ferguson.

Tim sits up slowly and raises a hand toward your face. He pushes your hair back softly and waits until your eyes meet to speak.

“I need to go get backup,” he says.

“No, no! Please don’t leave me, Tim,” you plead through your slowing tears.

You lean forward and wince when your shoulder meets its new range of motion.

“I need to get Ferguson out of here,” Tim explains. “There’s a lot of people above us waiting for me to signal.”

“Tim, please.”

“Can I yell?”

You swallow as Tim moves closer to you. He stops an inch away from you, with your knees almost touching his ribs.

“I’m not going to yell unless you say I can,” he adds.

Tim waits for your nod, then leans away from you slightly to yell for Janssen and Lucy to come in.

“Help me,” you whisper when Tim’s eyes return to you.

He sits back on his heels as he unloops the rope from around you. It’s heavy, and he sees your shoulders drop once it’s away from you. They drop unevenly, though, and he knows you need more help than he can give you.

“I’m staying with you,” Tim promises, “but I have to untie your hands.”

You shake your head quickly, and Tim moves his hands to the sides of your thighs as he agrees not to leave. He asks Lucy to free your hands and keeps his hands on you as Lucy cuts the restraints.

“Thank you,” you say.

Tim doesn’t answer before you pull your arms forward. With them free, you don’t hesitate to raise them and wrap them around his shoulders. It hurts, and you sob as you fall forward and cling to Tim. He welcomes your touch and wraps his arms around your waist, but he doesn’t touch you, too mindful of how injured you are and where those unseen injuries are.

“I knew you’d come,” you say through your tears.

Tim looks over your shoulder as Janssen and a few other officers carry Ferguson to the opening. He should call an EMT to meet you here, but he can’t let you go yet. His grip tightens around your waist without thinking. When your only reaction is relaxing against him, Tim holds you as tightly as he needs to. Your tears are drying, and you turn your face toward Tim’s neck to speak.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t leave more clues,” you begin. “But I knew you didn’t need them.”

“The paper was smart,” Tim replies. “And I will always find you.”

“He wanted to lure you down here and trick you into killing me. Every time I called out for you he reminded me that we would both die.”

Tim exhales deeply, unsure how to tell you he knows you and he’d never make that mistake. He sits back, twisting you so that he’s holding you against his chest rather than letting you support your own weight.

“It hurts,” you say softly.

“Can you get out of here? Go up the ladder?” he asks.

“There’s a ladder?”

Tim’s brows furrow at your question. How did Ferguson get you down here if you weren’t conscious when you came in? He shakes his head; the detectives (and Tim) will look into the details of your abduction later. For now, your safety is the priority.

“Can you climb out?” Tim asks.

“Not without help,” you answer. “I don’t think I can walk.”

Tim looks at your ankle again, and his eyes catch on the fresh blood pooling against your collarbone. He leans closer to you to find the source. When he sees the cut across the front of your neck, he knows you need help sooner rather than later.

“Hold on,” he instructs you.

“I- I can’t move my shoulder.”

Tim lays you against the metal floor and looks at your left shoulder. It’s out of its socket, but Tim can’t risk pushing it back in without knowing if your muscles or ligaments are still intact.

“Please just get me out of here.”

Tim nods and turns around so your hips are beside his shoulders. He leans down and pulls your legs over his shoulder rather than your arms. With one hand pressing your shoulder to your side, Tim stands and pulls you up in a modified fireman’s carry. You stifle the yell that tries to escape, and Tim’s heart breaks when he hears it. He spent so much time fighting, desperate to find you, that he didn’t consider how different things would be when he did.

With the help of Janssen, Nolan, and Lucy, Tim gets you back above ground. He collapses to the ground but makes sure you’re set down with care. You reach out for him immediately, and Tim pulls your chest to his again. The paramedics are close, but until they arrive, Tim will hold you like he never has.

“I’m so sorry,” Tim whispers.

“You found me,” you reply. “You found me.”

Your right hand squeezes Tim’s shirt in your hand as you hold onto him. You didn’t doubt him for a second. Being in his arms gives you the safety and comfort you need to fall apart because you know he’ll hold you together.

“I know what it means,” you say. “Or I think I do. B-Y-L-I; it’s backwards, right?”

Tim nods against you, and you smile through your tears. The paramedics arrive, and you’re carefully removed from Tim’s grasp, though his hand stays in yours. You’re not sure you’ll ever be able to let go, but Tim has already made a new promise, and he won’t leave your side until he’s forced to.

“Where’s Kojo?” you ask as Tim leads you into his house.

“He’s staying with Lucy tonight. He gets excited when he sees you and I didn’t want him to hurt you,” Tim answers.

He guides you to the couch and sits beside you after placing your things in his guest bedroom. Tim refused to let you return to your apartment alone after being discharged from the hospital, and you didn’t need much convincing to stay with him while you heal.

You lean your head against Tim’s shoulder, careful not to jostle your shoulder in its sling. He moves his arm to welcome you closer and tilts his head to rest beside yours.

“It’s I love you backward, right?”

Tim looks down at your hand, surprised to see your fortune in it. He takes it from you and flips it to see his handwriting. He nods and sits up straight. When you turn toward Tim, he wipes under your eyes as if he can still see the tears you cried when he saved you. Your skin is littered with scars and reminders of what Ferguson did to you, but Tim still seems to only see you underneath all of it.

“It’s I love you, Bradford,” he answers. “Whether you wanted that to mean ‘from Bradford’ or something else.”

“I begged for you to save me while I was down there with him.”

“I’m-“

“Don’t apologize. I just- I need you to know I trust you that much because I know you love me. I’ve known for a long time. But I also knew that even if you didn’t find me in time, I would die loving you. And life was worth living because you were in it.”

Tim’s hands rise out of his lap before freezing. He looks down at your neck and back to your eyes before smiling. His eyes look misty, but you know yours are, too, so you decide not to tease him about it this one time.

“I don’t know where I’m supposed to put my hands to kiss you,” he mumbles.

You hold his shoulder as you lean in and kiss him. His hands raise to your waist without thought, and other than the soreness of using your obliques to search for Tim while tied in place, it’s a painless touch. Tim moves slowly and intentionally as he kisses you, reminding you of everything he said and did, even what you weren’t present for.

“I love you, Tim Bradford,” you say against his lips.

“I love you. I will always love you, and I will never lose you again.”

Tim slides the fortune into your pocket as he kisses you again, and every pain and fear you faced disappears because you know Tim will always find you and make you whole.

[goodlucktai]

only going up from here

rise of the tmnt word count: 4k pairing: leo & mikey i wrote this for one of my very favorite people and best friends, the bentley to my bookshop and ben to my sammy and mikey to my leo. HAPPY BIRTHDAY @mykimouser! i'm genuinely better off for having you in my life, it would be significantly darker around here without you. i hope your day is absolutely amazing and you're surrounded by people who love you and you get everything you want forever <3 title borrowed from bummerland by AJR read on ao3

x

If you asked Mikey if he was protective of Leo, he would say of course he is! He wouldn’t even have to think about it, what kind of question is that? He’s protective of everything and everyone he loves, and he loves all his siblings more than life itself.  

If you asked Mikey if he was overprotective of Leo, he would say whaaaat? I don’t—I think you’re breaking up actually, shhhcchhkkchhssh—and he’d artfully dodge the conversation by literally sprinting away from it.

The thing is, Mikey knows how annoying it is to have well-meaning loved ones go into hypervigilant mode anytime they come within a five-foot radius of your person. He’s been lobbying since he was twelve for Raph to take the kid gloves off! And throw them far away!! Down a deep hole that Donnie could fill with cement and Leo could plant fake biohazard warning signs around so that no one would ever dare excavate!! 

But Leo has always been independent, more than any of the rest of them. More than maybe he really wanted to be. He takes care of himself, like he has to—like there aren’t a half dozen people around him who would happily do it, who want to do it, who would jump at the first chance to prove that he can depend on them for anything. 

Mikey doesn’t know when Leo got this idea in his head that dealing with him is a chore but it’s an idea that grew up with him. That grew about ten feet taller after the Krang invasion. It’s always towering over them, keeping Leo even further from the people who love him with both its long unwanted arms. 

Sometimes Mikey can slink past those arms and find the hole that Leo hides in and climb in there with him. He’s the best at it, because he’s the smallest, and the one their enemy’s eyes tend to jump right over when they’re sussing out a fight. He can go places the others can’t. And it’s a rule of the universe that once he gets within hugging distance of his brothers, they’re compelled at a molecular level to hug him. 

When they’re holed up together, in that place Leo goes to when he’s alone, it gets a little warmer but it’s still cold. It feels like one of those early winter mornings when the shadows are the longest and darkest and cover more ground than they do the rest of the year and Mikey is just waiting for that spring thaw. He’s been waiting for what feels like forever, but he knows it’ll come. He knows it will.

Two months after the invasion, the sun peeks out.  

“I’m going to tío’s,” Leo announces to the lair, one foot out the door already. 

There’s an immediate crash from the lab, and the familiar sound of a weighted barbell falling on a snapper’s chest from the dojo, as two older brothers scramble to either throw their entire weight into stopping him somehow (impossible) or at least convince him that one of them should tag along (more likely, but Leo would not be happy about it). 

Mikey scrambles from his upside-down seat on the sofa to poke his head over the back of it and call out, “Can I come?” 

Leo glances back down the hall, probably calculating the seconds until his quick escape is botched, but then he looks back at Mikey with that crooked, mischievous smile that’s been Mikey’s favorite since he was two.

“Grab your shoes, Miguelito. We’re prison breaking.” 

“Gimme two shakes!” Mikey says over his shoulder, already bolting for his room. 

Mikey’s arms have mostly healed up from the golden portal he opened into the Prison Dimension. There isn’t a crack or a scar left but the lingering nerve damage is killer. The colorful custom arm braces that Draxum sourced for him help a lot and he’s good about remembering to wear them—so there is really no reason for their entire family to be such worrywarts about it. Especially when Don’s shell is still too tender for battle armor and Raph’s lucky he can still see out of his right eye. 

“It’s because you’re both the babies,” April said a few weeks into their collective recovery period, poking Mikey right on the beak that he had wrinkled in frustration. “The youngest in the whole clan. Even Casey Jr.’s older than you two. Deal with it.” 

Donatello is technically a month older than his twin, not that either of them care about pesky things like birth dates. They’re twins in their souls. Even though that means Leo has to grit his teeth and plot convoluted revenge when Donnie dares play the older twin card. 

But also, Mikey knows even though no one has come out and said it, they’re the two who scared the rest of their family the most. 

Donnie and Raph did what they had to do because it was their direct responsibility. Donnie was the only person alive who could have piloted the Technodrome with some degree of success even without his ninpo-powered technopathy. And Raph gave Leo his escape pod because his top priorities have always started and ended with his little brothers. If there had been another way out, he would have taken it. 

Mikey was willing to disintegrate to get Leo out, holding that portal open even though it hurt, even though every ounce of instinct and intuition was telling him to let go, even though he had no way of really knowing it would work the way he wanted it to. Leo threw himself feet first into hell for the rest of them and came out the other side broken and bleeding and traumatized, and he wasn’t sorry he did it. He would do it again, and again, and again. 

So—Mikey gets it. He does. 

It doesn’t stop him from cramming his Jordans on and snatching up the nearest hoodie—pink; he never gave that back to Raphie, oops. He whirls around to find Leo in his doorway, sword slung over his shoulder, weight braced on the neon blue foldable crutch in his opposite arm. 

“Little rowdy back there,” Leo says peacefully, regarding the state of chaos in the lair as their older brothers actively hunt them down. “Let’s take off from here.”

“You got it, boss,” Mikey chirps, hopping in place as he ties his shoe. 

The cyan portal opens as easily as April opens her bedroom window to usher them in for a movie night, bright and inviting. Having opened a portal of his own, Mikey has a brand-new appreciation for how incredible Leo’s ninpo is. He’s never hesitated to hop right through, even back when Leo was still getting the hang of it—either he’ll go where he’s meant to, or he’ll have a fun adventure wherever he does end up. Literally win-win. 

He steps out into Run of the Mill’s back of house. A harried server pauses mid-step to give him a strange look. Then she visibly clocks the blue of the portal behind him, rolls her eyes and continues on her way. Mikey beams at her retreating figure. She should know who Leo is, Leo is the best. 

Leo takes long enough to join him that Mikey has started poking around in the dry storage area. 

“Raph caught me,” Leo says faux-somberly. “I let him know we’d be home by dinner.” 

“With some calzones as a peace offering,” Mikey says with a nod, matching his grave tone. It makes Leo crack a smile, because it’s always charming to him when his siblings commit to the bit. 

“Can I please get through for a can of tomato paste,” a salamander yokai in an apron and unnecessary hairnet says loudly from behind them. Oh, they are kind of just hogging the whole doorway, huh?

“Weeeell, since you said please,” Leo replies, steering Mikey by the shoulders out of dry storage through the prep kitchen and out the employees-only door. 

Mikey ambles along agreeably, and accepts the hot basket of mozzy sticks Leo plops into his hands without questioning where it came from, and hops up into a seat at the bar since the dining room is pretty full. 

“I’m gonna go bug tío Hueso for a bit,” Leo says. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, and if you do—”

“—deny everything and throw Draxum under the bus however I possibly can,” Mikey recites. He would never actually throw Draxum under the bus—unless it was a really funny bus—but they both know that so there’s no point bringing it up. 

“You’re my favorite,” Leo tells him. He knocks his knuckles on the bartop to get the attention of the rabbit yokai back there and wiggles his fingers in a wave when he has it. The yokai’s fur poofs a bit, like always, and he immediately drops the handful of forks he was holding with a noisy clatter. Then Leo whirls off to go make trouble elsewhere, crutch slowing him down not at all. 

The rabbit yokai is one Mikey knows pretty well from a hundred other afternoons just like this one. Usagi isn’t old enough to serve drinks, but he likes to roll silverware behind the bar so he can prop his phone up beneath the counter and watch TikToks. He always watches the Hamatos when they come in—maybe one Hamato in particular. 

It would probably make him less flustered around Leo if he knew that Leo’s entire family had a betting pool going on the two of them. Or maybe it would make it worse. Hmmmm. Mikey won’t mention it just in case. 

“Hi, Usagi,” Mikey says cheerfully, popping open the lid on the marinara sauce nestled into his ill-gotten gains. “Mozzy stick?”

“Hi, Mikey,” Usagi replies. “No, thanks. I’ve already eaten like a million garlic knots today and señor Hueso is making me take the leftover lasagna home since Auntie isn’t back until—” He cuts himself off, embarrassed. He always volunteers a ton of information and then wrongly assumes his friends don’t want to hear about all of that and reels himself back in. “Anyway! How are things?”

“Good!” Mikey says. “I’ve been one-hundred percenting all my Pokemon games since I’m stuck inside so much.”

Instead of remarking on that, or on the bright eye-catching colors of his arm braces, Usagi says, “Woah, even Diamond?”

“Yeah! Ohmigosh, I forgot to tell you, I caught Feebas!” Mikey pulls his phone out to show him proof, the victorious picture taken of his Switch screen. “I finally had to just lock in and totally ignore my phone for like two hours. Raph definitely thought I died when I didn’t reply to a meme Donnie sent in our group chat. Check it out!” 

Usagi leans over the bar to see and his reaction is everything Mikey could have hoped for. He gasps, “It’s a shiny?” 

“It’s a shiny!” Mikey hollers, then ducks his head a bit when the actual bartender gives the two of them a pointed look. Tucking his phone away, he says, “So what is your aunt up to? And what does it have to do with leftover lasagna?” 

“Oh! Well, she’s visiting with her sister, and I told her I could definitely fend for myself while she was gone, but yesterday there was kind of an incident with the microwave—”

Someone settles into a stool at Mikey’s right, and cuts right over Usagi to say, “Hey, Michael, right?”

Mikey glances over to find a really tall cat yokai, tawny fur with a black rosette pattern which makes Mikey think of a jaguar, except his ears are long and fluffy, and his face is distinctly more human than feline. 

“Half-right,” Mikey responds, frowning. “You just completely talked over my friend, bee tee dubs.”

“I’m sorry!” the cat is quick to apologize. “I didn’t realize you were friends, I thought he just worked here. You don’t mind, do you?” he adds to Usagi. 

Usagi has the deer-in-headlights look of someone thrust into a social interaction they Do Not Want To Have, and Mikey cringes a little at himself for it. Resolving to make it up to him later, he swivels in his seat to get the attention back on himself. 

“What’s up?” he says, hoping they can speedrun whatever this is. 

“I was just wondering how you’ve been since the invasion,” the cat says. “We haven’t seen you or your brothers around here much recently.” 

“Yeah, we’ve been spending more time at home,” Mikey says, the usual canned response they’ve taken to giving when their friends and associates wonder about their less frequent appearances lately. “We had some close calls but—you know, we won, so.” 

Usagi’s ear twitches, and his mouth turns down, and he gives the silverware he’s rolling his full attention. He has a lot of feelings about the Hamatos being involved in a huge fight that he was completely unaware of until it was long over. Mikey thinks he would have helped if they’d asked him to. He’d definitely do anything if Leo asked. But how could they ask? 

The cat yokai says, “Yeah, I saw the footage. Very impressive.” 

Mikey frowns and stops turning his seat back and forth. “Donnie—my brother wiped all the footage with us in it.” 

“I’m sure he did. But someone captured a few minutes of your battle on a scrying mirror and it made the rounds down here.”  

Ugh, magic, Mikey thinks with derision for the very first time in his life.

He makes a mental note to ask Draxum about how they can get rid of that footage, too. 

If Draxum doesn’t know, Big Mama will. Leo is her favorite. 

“Did I see Leonardo come in with you?” the yokai is saying, leaning in a little. “A few of my buddies and I, we were wondering if we could interest him in a proposal.”

A suspicious little animal in the back of Mikey’s brain sits up straight and starts paying attention. It’s weird that the guy guessed at Mikey’s name but knows Leo’s. It’s weird that he’s been paying attention to their comings and goings from the one place in the Hidden Cities they frequent regularly. And it’s weird that he has a proposal for a teenager.

On the other side of the bar, Usagi’s eyes are dark and watchful. He and Leo can talk shop about kenjutsu for hours at a time, and in this second Mikey doesn’t have trouble imagining Usagi with a sword in his hand. 

“Why?” Mikey says. 

“Those portals—I’ve never seen anything like it,” the cat says. “He could do so much with that ability. I’m sure he’s got people falling over themselves left and right to offer him work, but my employer could probably double any standing offers.” 

He still sounds surface-level friendly and admiring, but there’s a rot beneath it all, sickly-sweet. A greed. Mikey abruptly wants this guy at least one ocean and a language barrier away from himself and his big brother. 

Yeah, Leo’s portals are second-to-none. It’s incredible, the way he can think in three different places at once and account for every single sibling on the field like he’s playing 5D chess while everyone else is playing checkers. He makes it look easy because he’s Leo, and that’s what he does—he makes impossible stuff look like a breeze. Give his ninpo to a clown like this cat and they wouldn’t be able to accomplish a tenth of what Leo has in two years. Even if they had a hundred years. 

And Mikey can feel himself falling into that trap that Raphael so often falls into—that Donatello is guilty of tripping into now and then—the overprotective one. In the same second he thinks about how capable and cool Leo is, he’s thinking about how he would do anything to keep creeps like this away from him. He’s thinking about how Leo deserves to be around people who like him and appreciate him for him, and not for what he can do for them. 

“He’s sixteen,” Mikey says coldly. To him, sixteen feels very grown-up, but he makes sure to say it the way everyone else in his family constantly says it. “If he wanted a job, he’d work here.” 

“Oh, yes!” Usagi blurts. Then, “Uh, I mean, we’re hiring.” 

“A guy who can portal like that, taking pizza orders? Please,” the yokai says with an amiable grin, like they’re all in on the joke together. “Seriously, can I give you my card? Let him think about it. He could, uh—do some real good. For the community, you know? The Krang left a mark everywhere, even here. If he wanted to give back, there are lots of opportunities.” 

He takes a monochrome business card out of his wallet and slides it across the bar. Mikey doesn’t even look at it. He can feel himself getting really, properly angry. 

Leo’s too clever to get played, but he’s so guilt-motivated. He’s got that huge shadow hanging over him that convinces him so easily that he has all this stuff he has to make up for. He has all this love he has to earn. If this creep framed his job opportunity to Leo as a way to give back, to help people in the wake of an invasion he entirely blames himself for, then Leo would be lured right in. It wouldn’t even be hard. 

Michelangelo is so. Sick. Of this guy. 

“Can I just save you the time?” he says, smiling super brightly. “He’s not interested.”

The yokai’s smile fades a little, expression distinctly less friendly, but just for a second. He looks at something above Mikey’s head, and the smile stretches back out again. 

“I’ll wait to hear that from him,” the guy says, nodding to indicate something behind Mikey. 

Looking over his shoulder, Mikey sees Leo and Hueso chatting as they emerge from the office. Leo is waving his hand while he tells whatever story he’s telling, bright and animated, a far cry from that frightened boy they pulled out of the Prison Dimension. He feels safe here and he doesn’t have to put on a performance for anybody here and it shows. It’s why Raph let him go earlier without much of an argument. 

Mikey isn’t about to let anybody ruin it for him. 

Hueso wouldn’t exactly thank him for starting a brawl in his restaurant during the late lunch rush—and Mikey’s done a really good job of not getting banned this month! 

So sabotage it is. 

He’s the youngest of five—six, now, with the addition of Junior to their ranks—and when it comes to big, wounded eyes and crocodile tears to shake dad off his trail and throw another sibling under the bus, nobody does it better than him. 

Moving fast, Mikey pitches himself sideways off his seat. The stool clatters over noisily and Leo looks up in time to see Mikey hit the floor. Picture-perfect. 

“Ow!” he cries out, only half-faked. He did kind of land on one of his wrists a little too hard. 

“What the hell,” the yokai says dumbly. 

Leonardo is beside Mikey so fast, Mikey’s not one-hundred percent convinced he didn’t teleport himself there. He crouches, broken knee and all, and says, “Gravity two-hundred and eight, Angie zero.”

“No fair,” Mikey protests, sitting up. “It was two-hundred and two yesterday.” 

“Well, this wipe-out was embarrassing enough it’s worth multiple points.” 

Despite his teasing, Leo is entirely focused as he tests Mikey’s wrist for pain. When that doesn’t cause more than a wince, he pulls at the velcro straps until it’s loose enough to slide off. Mikey patiently endures Doctor Leon’s careful assessment of his arm, and buckles the brace back on when he’s allowed to. 

“What the heck happened?” Leo only asks when Mikey is helping him to his feet. 

“That guy pushed me down,” Mikey said immediately, head lowered enough that he has to look up more than usual to meet Leo’s eyes. 

“What?” the yokai snaps. “I didn’t push you down!”

“Sure, I just decided to fall down for no reason,” Mikey shoots back sarcastically. 

“That’s exactly what you did!” 

Leo glances at Usagi, the only eye-witness. Usagi says, to the cat yokai, “I saw the whole thing, man. You’re really gonna sit there and lie?”

Oh, we’re keeping you, Mikey thinks gleefully, almost forgetting to ham up his hurt expression. 

The cat yokai is definitely pissed off, but Leo stands up tall and steps in front of Mikey, his body language daring the guy to say one unkind word about his little brother. Hueso takes over before anything unfortunate can happen, encouraging the yokai to get his food to go and also to consider never coming back to this establishment since he thinks it’s acceptable behavior to bully a child, et cetera. All in a day’s work. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Mikey sees Usagi sweep the business card off the bar and probably into the trash somewhere behind it. 

They hang out at the bar for the rest of the afternoon. Usagi isn’t on the floor today, restocking and cleaning and running food instead, so he gets away with chatting and sneaking them free cranberries-on-the-rocks up until they leave. Leo finds out about the leftover lasagna situation and convinces the rabbit to come over for dinner, including a calzone for him in their take-home order to sweeten the deal.

“Uh,” Usagi says, “sure. Okay. That’d be—yeah.”

“Nice,” Leo says. He sounds way cooler about it than Mikey knows for a fact that he is on the inside. But that’s Leo to a tee—make it look easy. Don’t let anybody in on the big secret that you struggle, too. You have to unlock like fourteen friendship tiers before you get on the other side of all that. 

They portal most of the way to their favorite manhole back home, walking the final city block for a few extra minutes under the warm red evening sky. 

“So what happened with Puss in Boots back there?” Leo says apropos of nothing, when Mikey’s dramatic rendition of his capture of the Feebas and ultimate one-hundred percent completion of Brilliant Diamond has winded down. 

Mikey looks at him sidelong, but Leo is still looking ahead. He does kind of need to pay attention, the city sidewalks aren’t always clear, but that usually doesn’t stop him from looking at his brothers while they talk, to his brothers’ eternal exasperation. 

“I told you, he pushed me.”

“Uh-huh. And what actually happened?”

Ughhhhhh, Mikey has only fooled Leo like three times in his entire life, why did he automatically assume this would be success story number four? 

“That guy was weird,” Mikey mutters. He watches the ground while they walk, his untied shoelace flapping around with every step. “He knew about your portals and wanted stuff from you. He was super shady, Lee! He was like if Kingpin from the Spider-Man comics and Gaston from Beauty and the Beast had a baby. And were cats.”

Leo snorts, and Mikey jerks around so fast he’s not able to hide his smile in time. 

Aha! Mikey thinks, doing cartwheels in his mind. He laughed, I win!

“I’m not gonna let anybody walk all over you,” Mikey says, clenching one fist in front of him. “I know that you don’t need anybody looking out for you—believe me, I know.” They share a commiserating look, two little brothers against the world. Leo looks distinctly amused, like everything Mikey does is worth watching and bragging about later. “But I just love you so much, Leo. If this was a perfect world, everyone would love you as much as I do. But since that’s impossible, and no one will ever usurp me from my number one spot as your biggest fan, then I’ll settle for everyone at least liking you as much as I do. Which is still a pretty high bar, but it’s doable. If they just put the hours in, if they, you know, worked for it—”

“Oh my god, Miguel, stop,” Leo says, pushing at his shoulder. Mikey sways sideways with the push and comes right back, undeterred. 

“I’m unstoppable!” he hollers, lifting both arms and punching his fists up above his head. 

“Yeah,” Leonardo says, sounding like his old self again—sixteen years old, the whole world in his corner. “You’re the best.”

Mikey thinks he could do anything, he could light up the sky, he could punch a hole in the dimension, he could travel through time—he can definitely protect his brother. He’s the only person in the world who can get away with doing it, after all. That’s a big responsibility. Good thing Mikey is big enough to hold it. 

Daylight is only an afterthought in the sky now, all those rich autumn colors dimming into deep, vivid hues of purple and blue. The tunnel home is just around the corner, and they’ll have to reheat the food when they get there, but they’ll have to reheat Usagi’s anyway. 

When Leo reaches over and strings his arm around Mikey’s shoulders, Mikey adjusts his stride, shuffles his takeout bags to one hand, and puts his arm around Leo right back. 

“Thanks, Mike,” Leo says. “For being on my team. I know I don’t make it easy.”

“Your team is the only place I wanna be,” Mikey announces, when he’s sure his voice won’t wobble and give the wet sheen in his eyes away. “If you ever try to kick me out I will make your life a living hell. It seriously would not be worth it for you. Don’t tell Raph I said hell.”

Leo throws back his head and laughs for real. His crutch skids on a dead leaf and since they’re attached to each other they both stumble wildly and almost drop the calzones and get dirty looks from other Manhattanites. It’s the kind of moment that becomes the kind of memory that settles deep in the core of a person, never to be forgotten. 

And Mikey sees it—spring. The sun is finally coming out. Someday really soon, he thinks, those shadows that cling to Leo will have to find someone else to haunt. 

Until then, he can be sunshine enough for them both.