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dr3amofagame · 3 years

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Dream thought that he can bring server together, he thought that they can be one big family... Well at least he really bond them, even if they bonded to fight against him. Even if that mean he's not part of this server anymore.

right,, the one big happy family thing always destroys me

bc it’s really the driving force behind everything he’s done, the reason why he’s cut off everything he’s ever loved, moved forwards despite everything he’s ever lost. it doesn’t make what he does right, by any means, but c!dream’s longing for a better past, his clinging to a family he loved and lost - it’s so desperately, painfully human and is very much the cherry on top of his whole tragic story. it’s something that tugs at my heart every time i think about it - especially how in the end, pretty much nobody knew what drove him to the lengths he went to, and how everyone still sees him as being motiveless, or doing it all for personal gain and power. it’s reasonable, with their limited povs, but oh man does it hurt when we know his real reasoning.

this,, ended up weirdly long haha but oh man was it fun. have some dream team angst as i cry abt c!dream for the millionth time

tws: death, grief, off-screen murder, implied mental deterioration

Two weeks after Dream dies, Sapnap asks George if he wants to come to the vault.

He almost says no. It’d be an early journey if they want to get out without anyone seeing, and he’s just- tired. He’s been tired for months even though he spends most of his time sleeping, usually can’t even find the energy to pull himself out of bed. The weird dreams hadn’t helped in the slightest, though they’ve been gone for a few weeks, and he’s not seen XD in a long time, save for a few minutes after he first heard the news. In all honesty, he doesn’t want to deal with the mental strain of anything to do with Dream at all.

But- Sapnap is still his best friend, even if they’ve grown apart ever since that fateful night with Dream, and he still knows the Netherborn better than nearly- well, everyone, now, with Dream gone. As much as Sapnap tried to put on a strong front, Dream’s death had taken its toll.

Killing Dream had taken its toll.

He’d been asleep (again) when it all went down, but he knows that somehow, Dream had escaped prison. Somehow, it ended with Sapnap’s sword stabbed hilt-deep in Dream’s chest, an unmarked grave in the forest behind the Community House that he knows Sapnap visits when he thinks nobody’s watching.

So when Sapnap asks, dark bags under his red-rimmed eyes, if he wants to come with him to see what belongings they can find in Dream’s old blackstone-brick vault- he says yes.

“There,” Sapnap gestures over the crest of a netherrack cliff above a bubbling lava lake, and George strains to look at what the other is pointing at. There, settled over a small outcrop of netherrack and gravel, a messy bridge of various blocks leading from it, lies the signature black and purple silhouette of a nether portal. “It’s just across that.”

George hums in acknowledgement, and they clamber down in sync. It’s been a while since he’s spent time one-on-one with Sapnap like this; George had half-forgotten what it feels like, to work with someone so different and yet know them so well. Years and years of teamwork means they fall in step almost without thinking, Sapnap easily sliding forward to block a skeleton’s arrow while George nocks one of his own to shoot it through the skull. It is a partnership built on years of bickering and banter and deep-set trust, of having to face a stronger, more agile opponent together through wind and rain and snow.

He missed it, though he’ll never admit that to anyone but himself.

He hesitates in front of the nether portal, pulling Sapnap back automatically by his sweater sleeve. “You sure the other side is safe?”

“Yeah, yeah- it should be,” Sapnap pulls his arm away, lets him enter the portal first before stepping into the frame himself. “Not a manhunt.”

“Mm,” George laughs, tired. “Just checking.”

The portal hums, purple creeping into the corners of George’s vision and filling it until it’s all he can see, and he rubs at his eyes to clear his vision as he stumbles out the other side. Sapnap walks out, seeming unfazed - it’s always been something that George has envied in the other, how unaffected he is by portals, but he’s also always had worse portal sickness than most- “We’re here.”

The place is - put lightly, a wreck, wooden planks scattered all over the floor and inch-deep water sloshing around his shoes. “What’s with the water?”

“I don’t know, someone must’ve come here after for something,” Sapnap frowns, points across the room to a chute leading upwards, filled with a crude spiral staircase of oak. “We’re going up there.”

George nods, letting him take the lead. The staircase is rickety, the bottom steps waterlogged; Sapnap grimaces the whole way up, makes some comment under his breath about how unsafe it all is, but they continue without much issue. The top of it is surprisingly unassuming - there’s really nothing around, just a small hollowed out space carpeted by savannah grass, shorn short. Sapnap tosses him a pickaxe.

“He respawned up here, that day - he’s gotta have a bed up here somewhere.” He gestures at the plain stone walls surrounding them, “My guess is that it’s just behind one of these walls. Just mine two or three blocks in all the way across, I’ll start from this side.”

“Whatever, Snapnap,” George takes the pickaxe anyway, walking over to the other side of the room and ignoring the protests Sapnap throws at his back. Mining the stone is simple, methodical; it’s a steady rhythm of the pick hitting stone and blocks falling into his inventory; if he closes his eyes, he can almost pretend that they’re in the middle of a manhunt, and Dream has holed himself into the wall as he always does for them to find him. He doesn’t, because thinking about manhunt does nothing but make something cold and choking claw up his throat, almost like guilt, almost like regret, and he doesn’t have the energy for that in the slightest.

His next swing rings oddly hollow, and when the block drops neatly away the wall opens to a narrow corridor. He calls Sapnap over.

“Here.” Sapnap moves with large, heavy strides, face tightening into a foreign expression of grim determination when he catches the darkness behind the one-block hole George mined, “I found it.”

“Well, obviously,” he rolls his eyes as he takes out the bottom block, looking at George from the corner of his eye. “Nice observation, genius.”

“Hey! You told me to find it, and I did, unlike you- you should be thanking me, Sapnap.”

“Whatever, Gogy,” Sapnap sighs, looking into the corridor, feet settling against the ground into a wide stance that George recognizes as the one he’d usually use in a fight. It makes something long-forgotten ache in his chest, joining the dull ball of hurt that has been there for what feels like months, “You ready?”

“Yeah, yeah, hurry up, will you?” The retort rings hollow, dying on his lips even as he says it, and George watches as Sapnap turns his head away and pretends not to notice.

“Let’s go.”

The hallway is dark, dusty, a hastily made thing as shown by the rough gouges made on either side by a quickly working pickaxe. It opens into a tiny room, similarly carved into the mountain with roughhewn walls of stone; George’s lips thin and press against each other as he takes a closer look at the room, stepping in behind Sapnap.

“This place is a mess,” he states drily, scuffing his foot against the floor and cringing at the trail it leaves in the dust. There’s a bed left in the corner, a thin little thing with the covers thrown off, lying halfway on the floor, and a few chests and furnaces scattered aimlessly against the walls and making the whole thing look more cramped. There are papers strewn over the floor and chests, piles of coal and wood left to collect dust in the corners. It looks like a whirlwind swept through the place, and it’s almost eerie to see this room, completely untouched since the twentieth, a snapshot in time of Dream in the middle of his spiral into madness.

Sapnap kicks at one such pile with a humorless scoff, “That’s an understatement.”

“You looking for anything in particular?” George jabs his thumb at the mess in front of them, “Because I’m not cleaning all of that up.”

“I guess- just look through the chests?” Sapnap’s face darkens visibly even despite the dim lighting, and George stifles the urge to poke fun at how the younger clearly didn’t plan this far ahead, per usual. “Just look for anything useful, worth taking back I guess.”

“Mmhm.” He moves to the left-most chest as Sapnap moves to the right, watching from the corner of his eye as the other strikes up a torch to place in the middle of the room. The lid creaks open, and he rummages through the contents, vaguely surprised when his hand meets row after row of glass bottles. He pulls one out, squints at the contents. “Hey Sapnap, is this a regen?”

Sapnap looks over. “Yeah,” he says, rolling his eyes when George pockets it. “Seriously- you know Sam literally has an automatic potion brewer, right. You can just steal from that instead.”

“Or I could just steal from here,” he closes the lid, moving to the next chest. “That’s just his pots chest. He really stacked up, didn’t he?”

“Well, you know Dream. Always had to plan for the end of the world.” Sapnap closes the chest that he was hunched over, tossing over something in a flash of gold, “Was just his food chest. Don’t know why someone needs eight stacks of gapples, but whatever. We can split the god apples later.”

“Sure,” George nods, distracted as he fiddles with clasp of the next chest. This one, unlike the last, seems more worn over the bottom edge of the lid, the wood almost seeming to bear dents where fingers had pressed into the areas right by the clasp again and again. The lid eases open, and he frowns at the chest’s contents; there’s no rhyme or reason to them at first glance. There’s a half-stack of stone in the top left, a couple pieces of leather thrown in the bottom corner, a low-durability crossbow, unenchanted, that he briefly runs his hands over before throwing it back into the chest. He rummages through it for another second, about to dismiss it as a junk chest, when a well-worn book near the back of the chest catches his eye.

He pulls it towards him with careful hands, breath having caught in his throat. The cover is leather, scuffed and scratched in several places, not bearing the dull shine of a book that’s been signed and preserved magically. It doesn’t seem to be titled, no ink against the usual places on the front cover or spine, but the whole thing looks well-loved, the thread of the spine slightly frayed the leather heavily creased from where the cover had been eased open again and again.

He opens the front cover, and sucks in a breath through his teeth.

“Sapnap? I think I found something.”

There, nestled between the front cover and the first page, lays a pile of photographs. Unlike everything else in the room, these are clearly well-loved, well-cared for, the corners are sharp, the surfaces shiny, despite how often they must have been thumbed through and looked at. He plucks the first one off the top of the pile - it’s one that was taken from the inside of the old community house before the floor was replaced with crafting tables, string lights hanging from the ceiling in an impromptu party, Alyssa’s legs dangling from where she’s sitting at the edge of the spiral staircase, Callahan leaning against the wall with a slice of cake held between his hands. Sapnap’s sitting in the middle of the floor across from himself, both of their faces glowing softly in the flickering light - his own face is caught in a grimace, Sapnap bent over himself in laughter- Sapnap walks up behind him, gasps at the sight.

“What are-”

George passes over the photo wordlessly as he moves to the next; there’s Sam, grinning at the camera with a newly tamed Fran by his side, tail a white blur against the green of the grass; Bad, hands clutched around a bucket as he yells at someone off the frame, a salmon head poking slightly out the top; Ponk, sitting proudly in the top branches of his first lemon tree.

His breath catches at the next; it’s dim, the sky a pretty blend of purple-pink from the last remaining dregs of light of a sunset, hovering over the dark edge of the ocean stretching out towards the horizon. They’re sitting in boats, the bottom edges lit softly from the coral sitting in the shallow waters below them, brilliant halos of reds and pinks and yellows and oranges and blues dotted with the soft lights of sea pickles painting the wood in muted rainbows. Sapnap’s smiling from one in the back, head tipped to the side cheekily, right hand lifted in a cocky two-fingered salute. George is sitting in the back of a boat in the foreground, glasses lifted to his forehead, eyes mid-roll even as he grins obligingly at the camera-

And then, in the front, there’s Dream.

His mask is pulled to the side of his face, exposing his freckled skin and brilliant green eyes; he’s smiling widely, all teeth, hair wet and sticking up in a ring of untamed swirls and spikes. His eyes are crinkled at the corners, cheeks red, arm stretched forward off-frame from where he’d held the camera in front of them to take the selfie. George’s thumb brushes over the photo, pressing lightly against the dusty mess of hair framing Dream’s face, pausing at the sight of his pure, unadulterated joy.

What had happened to them?

A soft, choked sound comes from behind him, and George tucks the photos away, pressing them between two random pages in the book. His eyes flicker to the book’s contents, finally, finding Dream’s familiar, looping scrawl written on the first page. The words are big and messy, all capitalized and underlined several times, the last four circled roughly.

REMEMBER WHY YOU’RE DOING THIS: ONE BIG HAPPY FAMILY.

He snaps the book shut.

“George-”

“Let’s go home, Sapnap.” He throws one last look at the room, at the messy, desperate edges, the remnants of a man lost in his own reckless belief that he could build something beautiful out of blood and ash. He swallows, blinks back the image of a brilliant smile, freckled cheeks ruddy with laughter, at the golden glow of memories long-forgotten that threaten now to burn him with their warmth. He can imagine Dream, settled in the middle of this mess, pressing himself closer to the fire contained in these photographs, these memories, and not realizing how he’s being burned, can nearly see a ghost of him tucked in these shadowed corners, haunting the hopes that he had clung to against all reason with the promise that it could all be worth it.

Sapnap frowns at him tiredly, photos pressed against his own chest. “George,” he says, cautious, and George’s shoulders hunch defensively.

“Let’s go home,” he stands up, hearing more than seeing as Sapnap does the same. “Whatever closure you’re looking for- you’re not finding it here.”

#tw death #tw grief #tw murder #tw mental deterioration #queue <3 #long post #my writing :D #my asks !!

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lesbobiwan · 3 years

Text

bounty (boba fett x reader)

rating: explicit

pairing: boba fett x female reader

summary: you come to boba to make one of your fantasies a reality. he has a few conditions first.

warnings: predator/prey kink, pretending to be a bounty, probably unsafe sex bc yall fuck in a forest but we dont need to talk about it, light choking, name calling, everything is safe sane and consensual, breeding kink

You’re breathing too loud in the quiet of the forest. You know that your pants echo through the woods and that you’re being too careless as you run, but you couldn’t care less.

The only thought going through your mind is to run. You know there’s a small village up ahead. If you can just break through the edge of the forest, you can find somewhere to lay low. Maybe a shopping center?

A twig snaps behind you.

You curse, still too loud for the peace and quiet of the forest. He’s toying with you now.

The great Boba Fett would never be stupid as to step on a twig. He’s close, and he wants you to know it. Was he ever far, or was he just letting you tire yourself out in a futile attempt to get away from him?

And tire yourself out you have. Your thighs ache and your lungs burn. You’ve never ran this much before in your life. Adrenaline pumps through your body, but you’ve always been a realist at heart.

You can’t last much longer.

Another snapping of foliage.

You can hear his footsteps now. Fear, despite your best efforts, shoots down your spine.

Stars, why are you doing this? All you wanted was to get fucked, maybe put into binders and act like he had a puck on you.

Oh, right.

“If you want to get fucked like a bounty,” Boba had told you just before he sent you running, “You’re going to run like a bounty. Now go.”

“You done running, girl?” His voice booms through the trees, sounding entirely unaffected as though he wasn’t running through the forest after you. “Or am I going to have to mess up your pretty face to bring you in?”

Arousal simmers low in your gut. Stars, he’s really getting into this thing, isn’t he?

“Fuck you!” You spit over your shoulder, picking up the pace in hopes to drag out the chase a little longer.

You’re not ashamed to admit that the idea of being hunted has you soaking through your panties.

Boba chuckles, sounding much too close for comfort, “Don’t give me any ideas.”

Shit.

A gloved hand closes around your bicep and jerks your body to a stop.

A yelp escapes you before you can stop it.

A second hand clasps over your mouth.

“Don’t scream,” he whispers in your ear, voice distorted through the helmet, “If I let you go, will you cooperate?”

“Fuck you!” Your voice is muffled from the meat of his palm. “Let me go!”

His amused demeanor vanishes. Boba wedges foot behind the backs of your knees and sends you sprawling to the ground with a shove.

It’s not rough, but it’s definitely enough to have you dazed. You barely have time to blink before he’s on you again.

He flips you onto your stomach with a show of strength that has you fighting back a moan and straddles the backs of your thighs to keep you in place.

“What the fuck are you —”

“Quiet,” Boba hisses, strong hands grabbing you by the wrists to pull them together at the small of your back. The binders that snap around your wrists are cold, but not the reason for the goosebumps that spread across your skin.

You hope he doesn’t realize the way you rub your thighs together.

“You’ve got a smart mouth,” Boba pants into your ear. His cock is hard against your ass. “’S that what got you in this situation, huh?”

You almost scoff. He knows that its your mouth that got you in this situation.

“You mouth off to the wrong person and get a bounty put on you?” He continues, subtly grinding his erection into your ass.

You can’t help it. A moan escapes you and you push back against him.

“Oh,” Boba sounds amused, damn him, “Is that what you do? Fuck the sorry son of a bitch that tries to take you in?” He presses his hips harder against you.

“Please!” You gasp, trying to cant your hips back to feel more of him, “I’ll do anything!”

He laughs cruelly and pulls you to your feet quick enough to have your vision swimming. “Anything?” He mocks, pulling your back tight against his chest as his free hand creeps up to wrap around your neck.

Another moan rips from your throat. “Yes! Anything!” You roll your hips back against the cock pressing into the small of your back, “Anything! Please, just let me go,”

Boba hums. His thumb strokes across your carotid artery as he contemplates your offer.

It’s quiet in the forest besides your ragged breathing. You’d almost think he’s forgotten about you if it wasn’t for the subtle grind of his hips against you.

It’s stifling. It’s degrading and objectifying but so fucking hot.

“Boba,” You try again, but he cuts you off with a quick jerk of your body.

He hauls you over a fallen tree like you way nothing. You’re completely folded over the tree, your ass being propped up in the air while your chest and shoulders dangle.

Your moan is so loud that the nearest birds fly away.

A heavy hand smacks against your right asscheek.

“Fuck!” You gasp, your hips jerking — whether to escape the spank or to search for a new one, you don’t know.

“Is that how you’ve lasted this long?” He demands, landing another spank on your left cheek. “You promise to fuck whoever it is that catches you in exchange for your freedom?”

He presses his weight against you and all hopes of escaping, if you even wanted to anymore, vanish without a trace.

“You gonna take my cock, girl?” His hands drift to the waistband of your pants before he yanks them and your panties down hard enough to pop some of the seams. “You gonna be my good little whore?”

“Yes!” You sob, writhing against the tree that props your hips up. Your feet can’t find purchase against the soil, slipping and sliding no matter how you try to shift your position. “I will!”

“You will what?” Boba presses, tracing his leather covered fingers over your cunt. “Stars, you’re soaking, girl,” he murmurs, spreading your juices across his fingertips.

“I’ll be your good whore,” You repeat, cheeks flushing a red to match the accents on his armor.

His pleased hum sends another flood of wetness to your core. One of his hands reach around to pinch your clit between two finger while the other goes to unbuckle his pants.

You gasp and jerk against his fingers. “Please!” You gasp, trying your best to push into his hand.

The bark of the tree rubs uncomfortable against the exposed skin of your hips, but the pain fizzles into pleasure with each passing second. Your head begins to pound with the blood that rushes to it. The rough texture is a grounding presence that fights against the way Boba’s very existence threatens to send you flying high into atmosphere.

“Please, what?” Boba asks, smacking his freed cock against your cunt with a wet pop, “Please fuck you so you can go free? So you can vanish and I lose out on a paycheck?”

Stars, you think you might combust. Every fiber of your being is alight. If he doesn’t fuck you, you think you’re gonna wither up and die.

“No! No, I won’t! I’ll stay!” You can’t even register the words leaving your mouth. Nothing matters except getting his cock in you. “I’ll stay. I’ll — I’ll be yours!”

The tip of his cock, thick and heavy, presses against your hole. “You’ll be mine?” He repeats, slowly inching his cock into you.

No matter how many times he presses into you, you’re always worried he won’t fit. He’s just so thick. The stretch is devastating and enough to force a high whine from your lips.

He forces his cock into your cunt fully with a harsh thrust that forces the breath from your lungs.

Immediately, he sets a punishing pace, one hand holding the binders that keep your wrists together at the small of your back while the other gathers your hair up to force your head up.

“You’ll be mine?” Boba repeats, letting go of your binders to land three quick slaps against your ass. “Answer me!”

“Yes!” You cry out, tears gathering in your eyes against the onslaught on your cunt. “Yes, I’ll be yours!”

His leather gloves rub quick circles around your clit, “Mine? Mine to keep tied up and ready for my cock at all times?” He pounds into you even harder than before, if that’s even possible. “Mine to fuck and fill full of my cum?”

Oh fuck.

You clench around him at his words.

His modulated groan echoes through the forest. “You like that, girl? You like the idea of me keeping you filled the brim with my cum, huh? You want to be fucked and bred?” He punctuates his words with hard and shattering thrusts.

You can’t bring yourself to answer, too caught up in the way that he stretches you to say anything. Fuck, you’re so close.

“Are you gonna cum?” He whispers, bending to press his chest into your back.

The angle forces your upper body down even more, and all you can do it take it.

“Yes! Yes! Please let me come,” The tears are falling down your face in earnest now.

Boba’s hand, the one not rubbing devastating circles on your clit, wraps around your throat and squeezes just enough to make you see stars, “Cum.”

Your orgasm wracks your body like a bomb. Your thighs tremble with the force of how hard you cum, and every one of his thrusts is accompanied but a wet sound that would embarrass you if you were able to think in that moment.

Boba groans as you tighten around him. “Fuck, you’re so tight,” He slows the pace of his thrusts down, now grinding into your cunt and pressing his cock into that spot that makes you a drooling mess. “You want my cum? You want me to fill you up?”

His gravelly voice, still modulated by the helmet — and, fuck, it should not turn you on as much as it does to know that he kept on that helmet to fuck you —, sends more shivers down your spine.

“Yes! Please, fill me up! Fill me up, keep me, I’myoursI’myours,” You’re babbling now. The words spill from your lips like the slick that spills down your thighs.

“Fuck,” Boba hisses, grinding his hips once, twice, three more times before he stills and his cum floods your cunt.

You gasp and moan as your walls flutter around him, milking his cock for all it’s worth.

Your world is reduced down to feeling of Boba’s weight, a grounding presence against the aftershocks of pleasure that threaten to overwhelm you, and his hands that stroke down your back.

“Good girl,” He whispers, voice no longer filtered by the helmet. When did he take that off? “You did so good, little one,”

The binders fall off your wrists with a soft click.

Boba eases your bottoms back up around your hips and pulls your body off the tree.

“C’mon, lets get back to the ship so we can clean you up,” He presses a soft kiss, a drastic juxtaposition from the harsh way he treated you just minutes before, to your temple and resigns himself to supporting half of your weight when it’s evident that your legs are too weak to walk.

You press your body closer to him, relishing in the slight ache that comes from between your legs. “Y’know, you could always try acting if being a crime lord on Tatooine doesn’t work out,” You murmur against his shoulder.

Boba huffs. “You’re not funny.”

“Yes, I am,” You deny, hiding your smile in his pauldron.

You walk in silence, save for the way he’ll occasionally whisper a soft praise in your ear, until you finally remember something.

“Hey,” You slap a hand against his chest plate, “I know this was my idea, but I didn’t expect you to make me run.”

Boba’s laugh echoes through the forest and makes your body shake. “Exercise never hurt anyone, mesh’la,”

You scoff. “Yeah, sure. You look at the bruises on my hips in the morning and tell me that exercise doesn’t hurt.” You’re just complaining now, just finding ways to poke fun at him now that you’ve begun to climb down from the high peak of pleasure.

Boba’s hand around your waist drifts to dig into the raw skin on your hipbone, “I didn’t hear you complaining any,” He whispers into your ear, voice low and daring.

Goosebumps break out across your body.

Maybe your body will be ready for round two when you get back to the ship.

#boba fett x reader #baby's first smut #yeah this one got me #i want this so bad but i fucking hate running #i would only run for one man and that is boba #happy sunday #lee’s writing

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germvity · 3 years

Text

RISES THE MOON

leon s kennedy x reader // 5 // blue blood

the officer sighs, keeping you close as he slowly starts to settle himself. eventually, leon falls asleep himself, rolling over with you so you were between him and the wall of the shack. you mumble incoherently at the movement, eyelids fluttering as you stir. yet, leon's deep breathing and soothing heartbeat makes you fall asleep once more.

genre: angst with fluff

tags: nemesis 👺, he's stinky, david being a bully 2.0, leon being a sweetheart, he cares, jill being a good friend <3, might rewrite this chapter maybe bc i just know im gonna skip a few paragraphs to get this out a bit earlier :(

warnings: bullying, hitting/beatings, crying, confession swerves, mild heartbreak bc i hate myself </3

tag list <3

@trinswhimsys , @hex-touchstarved (ily mutual <3)

---

you woke up with a harsh headache and no recollection of what happened the night before, tears stinging your eyes as you crouch down to work on the dirty generator in front of you. the wires singed your fingertips, and you hiss, pulling away right as the generator let out a skull splitting bang. your head ached as your heartbeat picked up, and you darted from the machine and into the gas station with nemesis now hot on your tail. "fuck.." you whine, just your luck that he would be on you first. you throw down a pallet with urgency, gasping as his tentacle slashes a deep infection into you. you splutter, blue blood oozing down your body as you cough into your arm. vaulting the window was easy, but unfortunately the killer's appendage is much longer than you thought as it whips your back, leaving behind a nasty gash.

fortunately, a pallet was nestled between two cars and you ran for it, managing to stun the greedy monster before scrambling to safety. "fuck.." you whine, coughing up some blue sludge as you quickly hide in your surroundings. the nemesis walks past you angrily, storming away and leaving you for a moments peace. you spot a white box's aura nearby, and it beckoned you over the the feeling of safety. you round the corner and see it sat there, and crouch down to snap the flimsy lock. you raise the vial carefully out of the foam in the case, sighing in relief before a rough hand snatches the scruff of your shirt. you yelp in surprise as david throws you to the ground, the vaccine rolls away from you and you reach for it. "you fucker! i never lose a fight!" david roars, kicking your stomach firmly. you cry out in pain, curling up into a tight ball to try and avoid david hitting any vulnerable spots. "i hate you! i hate you so much..!" the fighter continues, but now crouches down to pull you from your protective position. he punches you roughly and you wail in pain as blood bursts from your nose.

"leon!" you scream, hoping he was in this trial to help you. "leon! help me!" you cry out again, and david's cruel laughter finds your ears. "that pretty boy isn't here." he grins, giving you another punch before a pair of hands grab him. "what the-?!" the zombie cuts him off, teeth piercing david's neck as he screams in agony. the fighter scrambles away, and the zombie ignores you to follow him. "hello? i heard screaming." a new voice intrudes, and jill peaks around the corner. "jesus- what happened?" she rushes over to you as you reach for her weakly. "david... he's so mean." you cry, letting her pull you close as she hugs you tightly. "come on, let's get you somewhere safe." she offers a sad smile, pulling you up carefully.

jill patches you up firmly and cured you, she let you follow her around for the trial, pointing out totems and chests for you to work on whilst she pumped out gens. ash gave your hair an affectionate ruffle in passing, but he was always more of a lone wolf, so he left quickly to distract nemesis. the rest of the trial went bad quickly. david was mori'd, ash died on hook and jill was gravely injured as well as dead on hook by the time the last generator was powered up.

with noed rampant in the end, and the gates blocked by the entity, you and jill stayed hidden behind a pile of crushed cars as the nemesis patrolled the gates carefully. "fuck... what are we gonna do?" you whimper, looking at jill. "i have an idea. i saw hatch earlier, we can find a key." jill gives you a smile, "but all the chests are open?" you remind her, and she shrugs. "no matter, elodie taught me how to look thoroughly." she pulls you along, and you have no choice but to follow. the chest you two found had a broken key in it, and jill tossed it away to start rummaging. "aha!" she beams, tossing a skeleton key into the air and catching it as she offers you her other hand. "c'mon, let's get out of here." she says, and you take her hand.

the two of you run past the undead, past nemesis who caught wind of your scratch marks and started following, stopping at the hatch. jill leans down, unlocking the door quickly as you turn to see nemesis approaching way too quick for your liking. "c'mon, move it!" she yells, pushing you down into the void and jumping in after you. the trap door slams shut, cutting off any light as the two of you fall into the thick smoke.

you regenerate abruptly, catching yourself but still falling when jill is thrown onto you. she wraps her arms around her waist and steadies the two of you quickly, mumbling an apology as she lets go of you. "it's okay.." you reply, letting her lead you to your shack. "leon's probably waiting, c'mon." jill yawns, spotting the blonde who was indeed waiting at your door. his eyes scan the tree line, searching for you. "leon!" you call, and his eyes brighten at the sight of you and jill. "y/n! are you okay?" he runs over to meet you half way, letting you hug him tightly. "be careful, they've had a rough trial." jill says sternly, and leon nods. "thanks for looking after them, jill." he smiles, and jill nods before walking away.

"come on then, let's get you rested." leon says, but freezes when he sees the bruises on your face, "oh, what happened?" he cups your face carefully, analysing you for any signs of a concussion. "david got me... he's really mad." you sigh, melting into his touch. "that fucker... he'll get what's coming to him." leon growls, pulling you into a tight and safe hug. "can we go inside?" you ask quietly, and he nods. "of course, c'mon."

you feel safe with leon, and relax more as you enter your practically shared home. leon turns away as he lets you get changed into some more comfy and cleaner clothes, taking off his bullet proof vest and putting it in its usual spot against the wall. you flop down on your bed with a huff, the blanket feels so welcoming as leon sits next to you. you rest your head on his thigh, letting him gently stroke your cheek as you close your eyes. "you feel any better?" he asks softly, and you nod. "good. just relax, yeah?" leon smiles, leaning back against your wall as he gets comfy.

you move from his lap and smile at him. "lay down with me?" you ask, and leon chuckles. "sure." he says, joining you and letting you cuddle into him. "leon?" you mumble softly, resting your head on his chest. "yeah?" he responds immediately, rubbing your back. "thank you for doing this for me... i don't deserve you." you smile sadly and leon huffs. "don't say that. you deserve the world." the blonde says firmly, moving so you would look at him. "i like you a lot, y/n." he admits yet you just smile. "i like you too." you reply, and leon's heart tightens as he realises you're unaware of his meaning. "i like you, so much more than i should.." he whispers and you process his words.

"wait... like that or am i reading into this too much..?" you ask sheepishly and leon nods, "like that." he confirms and you look away to think. "y/n..?" he whispers, desperate for any response. "i'm sorry... i can't... i don't wanna lose you or get hurt." you reply, voice also just above a whisper. "that's fine." leon smiles to hide the pain he felt. "i'm sorry..." you say again, holding him close. "it's alright, i don't mind." leon lies, his heart burning with sorrow. "just get some sleep, y/n." he says, holding you as if you would melt away if you let go.

"are you okay?" you ask softly, hands rubbing his back. "yeah, i'm completely fine." leon replies, ignoring the strain in his voice. "no you're not... i'm so sorry..." you whisper, feeling your own tears starting to well up. "don't cry, it's fine." leon smiles, wiping your face for you. "i'm so sorry, leon.. i just don't want to get hurt." you say, nestling your head into his neck. "i know, i know.. let's change the subject now until you fall asleep." he sighs.

soon enough the two of you are talking again, and leon almost forgets the rejection until you doze off. "as long as you're okay..." he whispers to himself as he brushes fallen hair from your face. "i couldn't care less about my own feelings." he smiles, tears stinging his eyes as he pulls you into his chest.

#dbd leon #leon kennedy x you #leon s kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy #dead by daylight resident evil #dead by daylight #germvity writing

71 notes · View notes

a-small-batch-of-dragons · 3 years

Text

Warm

Prompts: Um hi, I love your writing. Would you by any chance want to write a hurt/comfort piece where Janus returns from a meeting with the Light Sides and has a breakdown bc the Light Sides still don’t completely accept him after everything (not in an unsymp way, more in a suspicious-but-not-wanting-or-realizing-that-they-hurt-him-way) and Remus comforts him? Thank you lots (should you choose to write it :D) - anon

If your still up for prompts can you do remus helping to comfort janus after a busy day like he does stuff only dark sides would know that will help janus relax - whitehorsewolf

Thank you for the asks, babes!

Read on Ao3

Warnings: sympathetic dark bois

Pairings: can be dukeceit if you want, doesn’t have to be

Word Count: 1998

They’re not mean. They’re just cold.

Patton doesn’t insist that he’s evil and that they should never listen to him, that bar none, lying is wrong, and Thomas is a bad person for even thinking about it. Logan doesn’t throw barb after barb at him, pretending he doesn’t understand sarcasm and using it as an excuse to put down his intelligence. Virgil doesn’t make his life hell every time he dares open his mouth. Roman doesn’t loudly cut him off or glare at him or make fun of everything he says.

Patton is quiet, asking politely if Janus wouldn’t mind explaining a little more. Logan is clipped, smooth, dispassionate. Virgil never makes eye contact with him but backs him up, every single time. Roman apologizes when he misunderstands and offers solutions for Janus to consider.

They are considerate, they are careful, and Janus hates it.

They’re walking on eggshells now, not just with him, but with each other. They speak so carefully that every single word becomes a lie, a lie of omission. Janus’s mouth almost starts to bleed with how bitter it tastes.

They try. They do their best. And he does have to give them credit because they are trying. They’re trying so hard that it’s killing them. It’s killing him.

So much is going unsaid so they don’t accidentally hurt anyone else that they’re tearing themselves asunder.

Is this…what he wanted?

He certainly didn’t want it to be this cold.

Janus reaches his door with a groan, opening it and slipping inside. His fingers slide uselessly off the clasps at the front, unable to wrap around anything for long enough to undo the clasp, move the material, even work through the fabric of his gloves. The material saps the warmth from him the longer he can’t get it off, creating a strange warmth paradox where it’s the only thing that kept him standing in that frigid, frigid living room but now it’s wicking away every last speck of his own heat.

He hisses, his mouth still bone dry from the lies. He manages to get himself over to the heat lamp and bat clumsily at the base, searching desperately for the button to press and make all this cold, cold, cold go away. He misses.

He grits his teeth and tries again.

He summons up every last bit of willpower he has and tries again.

Finally, he hits the button and almost faints with relief. The warmth is there, it’s right there, he just has to…just has to get to it…it’s so close…it’s right there…

Snakes…snakes don’t do well in the…in the cold…it’s cold…it’s so cold…

It’s…so…cold…

…so…

…cold.

Janus falls to the floor, his hand outstretched for the warmth of the heat lamp.

Something bangs on his door.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

“Janny!”

��Janus can’t summon up anything to move.

“Janny, open up, or I’m coming in.”

He…can’t…move…too…cold…

“Janny? Janny, you’re not supposed to be the one that’s scary down here.”

…cold…

The hinges almost fly off his door as Remus kicks it in. If he weren’t as he currently is, he’d be pissed. As of right now, he’s just…there…lying on the ground…out of the warmth.

“Jeez, Janny, you’d think that you…were…Jan?”

Remus’s voice turns from manic glee to concern in less than an instant. Before Janus can blink—snakes don’t have eyelids—Remus is there, next to him, crouched on the floor.

“What’re you doing over here, Jan,” Remus mutters, “and why are you colder than a polar bear’s butthole?”

“Re…mus…”

“Yeah, Jan, it’s me, let’s…alright, let’s get you into the heat, yeah?” Remus grunts and gets his arms under Janus.

Janus almost groans with how warm Remus feels, even through the thick cloak. Once the heat’s gone it’s gone, replaced quickly by the blazing light of the lamp. Unconsciously, Janus lets his head flop to the side, the scales starting to gleam in the amber glow.

“Alright, that’s better, now let’s just—alright, here we go—why am I the one uncomfortable right now, is this what it’s like for all of you? It’s awful…”

If Janus had speech right now, he’d be asking Remus what he was talking about. Instead, all he can do is hiss clumsily as Remus starts to peel the layers off of him. Why is Remus doing this? Is something wrong with him?

Oh, right, he’s cold.

A high-pitched whine splits the air. He doesn’t like it. He would rather it stopped, thank you very much. It hurts. Did they leave some electronics on or something? Can this stop now?

Now Remus is making a shushing noise, what—

—oh. Is it…

“Shh, shh, Jan-Jan, it’s okay, hey, uh-uh, Snakey, you look at me now, yeah?”

Warm. Warm hand on his face. He tries to blink—does he have eyelids now?—and Remus’s face swims into view.

He’s worried. Remus never looks worried. It softens as soon as Janus can focus on him.

“Hey, Snakey,” Remus murmurs, “you just stay here, yeah? Be a little snake puddle?”

The whine keeps going. If anything it gets higher.

“Shh, shh, shh,” Remus hushes, “if you do too much of that you’ll spread the cold back around you, you gotta be quiet for a little, yeah? I’m gonna get the rest of these off you, but you don’t have to worry.”

…he’s the one making that noise. Well, that’s embarrassing. He’s sure if he could he’d be blushing right now. But cold-blooded and all that…

“There you go, Snakey,” comes Remus’s soft voice as those warm hands go back to work, “just stay right here and bask in your heat lamp. I’m gonna help.”

Janus lets his eyes close as more things start to jostle him lightly. He feels the thick layers being pulled away, exposing more and more scales to the bright light. It’s warm. It’s warm. He sags to the ground and his hands begin to twitch.

A chuckle comes from somewhere above him.

“Jan-Jan,” Remus murmurs, much closer, “I’m gonna get your soft stuff to put on and your scale brush, yeah?”

Janus just hums.

“When you got speech back you’re gonna tell me what happened,” comes the soft mutter before Remus is gone, leaving Janus there in the warmth.

Is he…mad? No, not really. The others haven’t done anything wrong, per se, they’re trying their best and it’s…it’s not easy. None of this is easy. As a matter of fact, they’re doing quite well, all things considered. He’s not exactly blameless here, is he?

Is he sad? That they don’t like him? Yes, a little, but that’s…that’s also not really what’s going on.

He’s just tired.

And very, very cold.

“Hey,” Remus murmurs, having crouched back down, “hey, Snakey, you here with me?”

“Mm…”

“Good. Here,” he says, raising a metal straw to Janus’s mouth, “you gotta drink something. You’re not looking so good.”

Janus opens his mouth and immediately winces when he feels something creak. Remus curses softly and summons something else.

“Alright, Snakey, I’m gonna sit you up a little. Hey, hey,” he soothes when Janus whines again in protest, “you’re not going anywhere, but you gotta rinse your mouth out. Trust me.”

Janus lets Remus—he doesn’t have much of a say in this, he’s still far too cold, but he trusts Remus—sit him up and lean him against something, tilted so his mouth is over a bowl.

“Here,” Remus says, holding up another cup, “it’s just warm water. Try and rinse your mouth out a bit, huh?”

Janus does, obediently taking a small mouthful and spitting into the bowl. Well, he more just…opens his mouth and lets it fall. There’s blood. And it’s going everywhere because he can’t aim like this.

“Hey, uh-uh,” Remus murmurs when he mumbles an apology, “you do know who you’re talking to, right Snakey?”

“’S messy.”

“If you think these little things are messy then I haven’t been working in the common area enough. Shh, shh,” Remus chuckles when Janus immediately protests, “I’m kidding. Mostly.”

Janus just keeps washing his mouth until it runs clear and it’s not as bitter anymore. Remus sets the bowl aside and raises the first straw to his mouth again.

“It’s just warm water and honey, it’s not gonna do anything to you. I promise.”

“…sure?”

“I’m sure, Snakey,” Remus hums, holding Janus firmly with his warm, warm arms, “I wouldn’t pull anything when you’re like this.”

He wouldn’t, Janus knows, he’s just…very tired.

“There you go…” Remus gentles him back to the ground when he’s had his fill, picking up the dry brush and rubbing it carefully over one of his shoulders. “When was the last time you brushed your scales, Snakey?”

“…mm.”

“Oh, Jan-Jan…” Remus shakes his head and strokes the brush down his arm, patiently working across the scales. “There…that’s better.”

The brush’s stiff bristles slide neatly between the scales and clean out even the most stubborn of detritus. Remus works patiently around the rest of his non-scaled skin. The bristles are too rough when they’re not on the scales. It’s quiet, just the soft buzz of the lamp and the scrape, scrape, scrape of the brush. It’s warm.

“Snakey,” Remus murmurs after a while, “do you think you can roll over for me?”

“…must I?”

“You can talk again,” he chuckles, along with a gentle poke to his belly, “that’s good. And unless you don’t want me to get the other side, you gotta roll over.”

“…help.”

“I gotcha.” Remus gently works his hands under Janus’s side and lifts, carefully letting him rest on his stomach. “There…you can breathe okay, yeah?”

“Mm.”

“Good.” The brush returns, working slowly over and over the scales. “You wanna tell me what happened?”

“Nothing.”

Another gentle poke to his side. “Don’t lie to me, Snakey,” Remus chides, “you don’t let yourself get like this just because.”

“The others are just…just…mm.”

“I know, but still.”

Janus sighs. He tells Remus how the others were cold. Not unkind, just cold. Remus hums, switching the brush to his other hand.

“It’s gonna take them time, Jan-Jan.”

“I’m not angry.”

“But it’s still nice to hear, yeah?”

“…mm.”

Remus finishes with the brush and carefully sets it aside, rolling Janus back so he can look at his face. The warmth is starting to seep into his bones, sinking him further and further into the floor. Remus chuckles.

“You gonna fall asleep there, Snakey?”

“’S warm.”

“I know, that’s the point. You can sleep, that’s okay. Want me to stay?”

Janus reaches out blindly for Remus’s sleeve. Remus lets him pull him down into the shady spot outside the heat lamp, pulling Janus a little closer. He’s not as warm as the heat lamp.

“If you wanna go ahead and fall asleep there, you do that. I’m not gonna go anywhere.”

It’s quiet. It’s warm.

“You’re doing great, Jan,” Remus whispers, “this shit is fucking hard on everybody. It’s gonna be okay.”

A warm hand settles on his belly, rubbing gentle circles.

“You rest now,” comes the murmur, growing longer and lower as it slowly becomes the only thing Janus can hear, “rest, Snakey…you’re warm now.”

Warm…

“You’re gonna be okay.”

…warm…

“Everything’s gonna be okay.”

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#dragonbabbles #fic #sanders sides #deceit sanders #janus sanders #remus sanders #sympathetic deceit #sympathetic remus

184 notes · View notes

extremelyblackandwhite · 3 years

Text

innocence - 25

PAIRING: bodyguard!bucky barnes x innocent actress!reader

WARNINGS: smut (18+)

A/N: me to me “you shall not write smut. BEHAVE” also me “mILE HIGH CLUB”. 2021 barely started and i already need jesus. also rip me attempting to post this before christmas but hey i refuse to let christmas end bc christmas is my only hope and love and it’s over.

NEXT CHAPTER

Bucky was the first one up as the clock struck 5AM. He was anxious for the flight, for everything really. Y/N had assured him she had bought first class tickets so he’d be comfortable with the long trip but he was still reticent about flying. As an Avenger he used to do national missions, preferring not to fly as it brought him some memories he didn’t like to relieve. Sam had suggested he took some sleeping pills while the flight was going but Bucky refused not to be there to support Y/N who’d been getting called by her team 24/7 about her “mishap” as her manager like to refer to. As if a 20-something dating was something weird. Bucky knew Steve did way worse things than that but of course, she had stepped off the line, off the good girl, virgin ‘til marriage, girl next door yet just gorgeously unattainable and if Y/N hadn’t told him to stay out of it, he would’ve threatened everyone.

Anyway, other than flying he kept wondering about her family. Y/N had a big family, at least more family than he had and he wasn’t entirely sure how they would react to him. Bucky knew he wasn’t the type of man you’d like your daughter to bring in. Who’d want to say that their daughter was dating an assassin? No one. He had wanted to say no, he wanted her to have a nice holiday but looking at her there was no denying her.

Y/N woke up half an hour later, extending her arm towards Bucky’s side only to feel the cold of the sheets on her side. She rose her torso, rubbing the sleep off her eyes before the blurry room became clear. He was sat on the big armchair, staring at the flight tickets.

- Someone’s an early bird. - she leaned on the bed, hands under her chin as he gave her his charming smile. - Excited?

- Nervous. - he rose from his chair to kiss her forehead. - Do you need anything, princess?

- Just need to get dressed. - she lazily got up from her bed. - You’re gonna love it, Buck. There’s snow on the ground, we can get spiced mulled tea and go see the decorations at the West End.

- I’m sure I will. Now get dressed unless you plan on going to the airport in your underwear.

- I don’t see you complaining. - she flirted, hips moving side to side as she opened his wardrobe to grab her burgundy long sleeve dress and pair of black flats. Bucky tried his best not to ogle at her and her figure in a matching black set of star motif bra and panties with garters to see through black stockings. Sometimes he had to slap himself to convince himself the woman standing in front of him actually liked him. - You’re okay with going, right?

- Of course, princess. Whatever makes you happy.

- Okay but what makes you happy? We don’t need to go if you don’t feel comfortable.

- Just regular meeting the parents nerves. - he pulled her hair away from her face to kiss her forehead.

- Based on the photos Rebecca has, I would say you’ve met enough parents not to be nervous anymore.

- Come here, you little minx. - he wrapped his arms around her waist pulling her in close to him. - I will have you know that I never met any of the girls’ parents. It was not a good thing for a lady to be seen alone with a man in my time, so we had to keep it a secret.

- Mhm, were you destroying ladies’ reputations in your day, Mr. Barnes? Is that it?

- Not my fault they couldn’t resist me. - he leaned down to kiss her but she turned her face away, naughty smile on her lips. - Don’t do that to me, princess. It’ll break my tiny heart.

- Stop playing Romeo and grab your bags before we’re late. - she swung her hips side to side to grab her own cary on, a small matte black suitcase with her initials on the bottom left in a small size.

Bucky followed her into the airport. He couldn’t seriously remember the last time he had been in an airport, maybe during his youth but right now everything seemed so different yet he didn’t feel scared. He looked to his right and there she was, holding his hand as the other pulled her trolley, dark sunglasses on to hide who she was but still sporting that smile that was truly hers, something he could pick out of a crowd. He never really liked the word or feeling of possession, neither did she, but they didn’t really mind the feeling that a ship’s rope held both their hands together in a nautical strong knot. It was that sort of feeling that disconnected them both from what surrounded them, the sound of echoed and at the same time murmured silence. Y/N didn’t mind, Bucky didn’t mind. The flashlights went by dim and the announcements went mute for both of them.

Y/N however did not like airports. For her, airports signified goodbyes, harmful and painful goodbyes those were you wave goodbye to your loved ones and walk into security checks with tears lodged in her throat, telling herself to put herself together as she approached the beginning of that line. It represented waving goodbye to her comforts to travel somewhere she was not happy, not that her life in the US after she left the UK didn’t made her happy, it did but it was a faux happiness. It was locked inside a bought apartment with people who didn’t or refused to understand her, with friends she loved and cared for but didn’t really check on her them too lost on their own lives, it was yearning for a love that took years to come and everyone told her it would come but never did. It was an odd feeling being at the airport but being with Bucky twisted that. It was no longer leaving loved ones, it was departing with them, it was leaving all the mess that haunted her behind yet she couldn’t help feeling like something lingered in the wind, some cut throating emotions and actions which would return to her.

She decided not to dwell on it, smiling at Bucky as he picked some snacks to bring inside the plane besides her telling him they probably would have the peanut M&Ms rather than his beloved chocolate only ones. She watched him as someone watched something that reminded them of a childhood memory or something that touched them, with a tinge of sadness, almost knowing it would never happen again. She felt tied to him but she felt at any time this knot could worn out and she feared he would leave. Things fade, nothing lasts forever and she wondered when he would realise that he was dating a ticking time bomb controlled by others. She had control over her own heart but her face, her reputation, that would never be hers to control.

- Y/N? - he laid his hand on top of her shoulder. - Are you okay, princess?

- Yeah, just thinking. - she handed the lady the tickets, holding Bucky’s hand as he led her inside the airplane.

Y/N was lucky to be used to first class, she spent in life in it but for Bucky it was a jarring new experience. His parents used to be well off, better than most however they were never well enough to afford flying anywhere. The closest he’d been to flying was in military helicopters but all his experience to commercial flying had been watching on magazines but even this looked so different. It looked like a perfect first class bedroom in a five star hotel with individual little places for each passenger and some for couples which he guessed was one for the two of them. As they approached their cabin, a polished dressed lady signalled them inside their own seats. She looked at Bucky who had star filled eyes as he noticed all the comfort of his seat.

- Is this how you travel? - he sat down by the window, looking at the small bottles of water, juices and fun sized treats. - Now I know why you travel so much. It’s like a damn hotel room here.

- Peanut M&M’s. - she grabbed one of the snacks from his side. - I believe you’ll be donating those to me.

- That’s a travesty, princess. I cannot believe you prefer those with peanuts

- Peanuts are great.

- Unless you’re allergic to them.

- You’re not allergic to peanuts. Steve would’ve told me if you were and I saw you eat a peanut energy bar yesterday. - she crossed her arms.

- First, I hate peanuts so it’s almost as if I were allergic to them. Second, KIND bars don’t count, you know how good they are, they add that little caramel drizzle.

- I guess we’re gonna have more than my nephews and nieces for a picky eater this Christmas. - she laughed, picking the remote to shuffle through whatever the company offered. Bucky leaned on her shoulder, leaving a kiss on it right before he did. - Thank you for coming with me.

- That’s not a problem, princess. Besides, who would guard you if I were not to come?

- Is this overtime then, Mr. Barnes? - she looked down at him, his childish yet charming smile whenever he meant to tease her which he so easily could do both meanings of the word. - We should prepare for take off.

It couldn’t be too different from take off in the quinjet. Bucky had done it once after the train incident but it always brought him back to it. He wasn’t like this and it pained him that the slightest of turbulences in any travels now made him feel like a kid. He didn’t use to be like this, he was fearless, going on the Cyclone time and time again and now ... now he was a shell of a man afraid of take off. He shouldn’t be afraid, it was not his role, right? He knew things were different then and were different now but he always wanted to be strong, strong for her as if any insecurity would throw her away. He knew it didn’t, Bucky knew Y/N was there to stick around and didn’t care about what the war and HYDRA had done to him but he cared. Bucky wanted to be her hero, her safe harbour and with this ...

His mind shattered into snowflakes as she held his hand, the captain’s voice muffled as the plane gathered speech. Y/N never hand cold hands or a cold touch, she was just warm, a little ray of sunshine burning his icy exterior and forcing him to see the beauty of winter. Bucky clearly mostly got distracted by her own beauty but her holding his hand, the rings on her fingers which she had gathered from little shops along the street against his hand, made him want to remove the dagger he had stuck on himself so he could feel pain forevermore.

The plane move upwards, both of them being pulled against their seats by the laws of physics on an endless climb and he still had his eyes closed, finding comfort in the darkness.

- Buck. - her finger caressed his jaw. - Look out the window.

Bucky peaked open one of his eyes, looking out the window near him to see a full blue sky, completely different from the dark skies of the winter filled New York they had just left.

- We fly above the clouds. Isn’t it beautiful? - she leaned against his shoulder.

- You see this everytime?

- Unless I’m flying at night, yeah. Sunsets and risings are particularly stunning.

- Now what?

- Now we wait for round 6 to 7 hours. We can put a movie on, maybe. Whatever you’d like.

Bucky took to shuffling through the movie catalogue himself. Some of the movies he’d never heard about and some he’d heard from Sam or from Steve’s list of movies he had to watch yet he never did. Capitan America himself stuck to the old classics, the movies they used to sneak through the backdoor of the theatre. He himself liked the classics too and Y/N, as a film/acting major herself, also had a soft spot for them. Bucky’s favourite was the Wizard of Oz, despite later knowing how controversial filming had been, yet he couldn’t help but always remember the wonder on his sister’s face and his own wonder as he watched the vivid colours. He could still feel it now, however the movie ended and soon the food came in and he found himself bored. There wasn’t much he could do on a plane and he found himself jealous of the 5 year old running up and down the cabin, despite most of Y/N’s laughter.

He covered himself in the company’s blanket and snuggled against the pillow and still he couldn’t sleep. Y/N on the other hand had fallen asleep the moment she pulled the leg rest, wrapped around in her blanket, face facing his which gave Bucky the excuse to look at her while she slept. Bucky always found it wildly amusing how she slept, lips slightly puckered, eyes fluttering until she fell in deep and hands fisting the blanket up to her chin. Eventually, Bucky got frustrated, moving around in his seat to find a comfortable position. How come he couldn’t find a comfortable position on a first class seat?

- Buck ... - she groaned, opening her eyes. - Stop moving around.

- I’m sorry, princess. I’m just ... so bored. How do you do this?

- I sleep. - she placed the blanket on her lap. - Why don’t you get something else to eat?

- How many hours left?

- You don’t wanna know. - she rubbed the sleep of her eyes, Bucky still laid against his seat, blanket on his lap, head against the head rest. Y/N started thinking about how to entertain him until her gaze fell onto his lap. Looking around the cabin was quiet, no cabin crew or passengers on their feet, just a calm cabin.

She moved closer to him, head against her shoulder, facade of a glistening angel on a renaissance painting. Her fingers traced the soft finish of his blanket, the embodied company name until her fingers were under the soft fabric. She slide her hand under his shirt, feeling his warm skin as her hand travelled downwards towards the Hugo Boss boxers he wore, fingers hooking on the waistband. Bucky swallowed dry, wondering if he had finally gone to sleep and this was finally a good dream or if his sweet, innocent girlfriend was actually about to do what his mind was rushing to as her fingers wrapped around his softened member. He grunted, looking at her like she was a fever dream, hips mindlessly thrusting into her soft warm hand. He would say there was no better feeling, had it not been for the fact he had been inside of her.

Y/N bite her lip, insecurely swiping her thumb over the tip, his pre cum dripping onto it. She didn’t know what she was doing, mostly going by the erotica she had read and seen before, guiding herself by his low sounds, mumbled by his own hand which laid against his own mouth. She looked up at him, cerulean eyes looking at the ceiling as if all his strength would break loose were he to look at her and she thought that was the most gorgeous he’d look. She straight herself up, pushing his hand away from his mouth to start kissing him, something which would look rather innocent to anyone who passed by. Her kiss was warm, hot and sinful, much more different than the shy ones she would lay on him each morning yet he guessed it matched with her movements, fast and tighter against his cock. He tried to remain still, allow her to do what she wanted to do but his body had a different idea, hips thrusting and gyrating against her hand like some idiot teenager as her mouth lowered to kiss his pulse point. His breathe quickened, coming into staccatto as her movement quickened. The environment was blurry and all he could think about and hear were her movements and his body shuddering until he was spurting thick ropes of white liquid onto her hand and his breathe came out knocked as if he had finished a race.

She cleaned her palm with a tissue, bringing her fingers up to her cherry tinted lips from her chapstick, disappearing within the plumpness of them. He swore he could cum again just from that sight. As he tried to regain his breathe from the latter event, she gave him a shy smile, pushing her blanket up to her chin. Whatever she did to him, whatever release she had given him had made him comfortable enough on that cloud nine that sent him into sleeping, only awaking once the plane wheels hit British soil.

It was dark, around 9PM the captain had said and Bucky himself thought the trip was over until both of them disembarked onto the airport which was a completely different world. Had it not been by Y/N’s unwillingness to spend more time in an airport, he would’ve possibly stood behind taking pictures yet once she spotted a man with a sheet with her name written in, she had his hand on hers and dragged him up to it.

Bucky had been in London, he remembered it from the war and some buildings were the same yet everything was brighter. His eyes shone against the decorations, wondering how bigger they could get and Y/N took great pleasure in seeing him so happy. All she wanted was to make him happy, all she wanted was to see him happy. The taxi driver stopped in front of her childhood home which gladly always seemed to look the same with christmas lights and garlands. Both of them step out the car and the nerves finally hit Bucky. How do you meet someone’s parents? How do you meet the person who just gave you a handjob’s parents and make a good impression? How could he make a good impression? He was a hundred year old never aging man with a metal arm dating the little rose that everyone put on an altar. He didn’t belong. Maybe he could stop her, maybe he could convince her not to ring the bell except she was already ringing the bell and the door was opening up.

A short woman in a white jumper and jeans opened the door. She had Y/N’s eyes, the same eyes Bucky would recognise anywhere and based by the tight hug she gave Y/N, he would guess she was his mother.

- Mum, this is Bucky. - she held Bucky’s hand. What should he do? Should he wave?

- Oh my, you’re tall. I thought that with a nickname like that you’d be small. Oh, here I am again rambling. We are so happy here, you know, you’re the first man Y/N brings home.

- Mum!

- What? It’s true. You’re my oldest child and only now have you brought a man. Aunt Petunia is really proud of you.

- Mum!

- Come in, Bucky. Can I call you Bucky? Come meet the family.

taglist: @disasterbii @lookiamtrying @buckysteveloki-me @americasass81 @jamesbarnesappreciationclub @lostinthebeans @mariahthelioness29 @buckyandsebastian @peaches-roses-sins @theadorasabditory @sipsteacasually @saiyanprincessswanie @booktease21 @noiralei @learisa @everythingisoverratedbutgreat @uglipotata72829 @naturalthrone22 @husherstan @mandiiblanche @vicmc624 @newyorkgoddess @itsallyscorner @chipilerendi @emzd34 @writerwrites @bluevxnus @that-girl-named-alex @captnrogers @nsfwsebbie @sarge-barnes-sir

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jean-kayak · 3 years

Text

Chapter 14

Summary: A relaxing summer at home after your second year of college sounds nice, until someone comes back and makes it anything but

Pairing: Eren Jaeger x black!fem!reader

Warnings: really this chapter is just fluff, underage drinking (reader is 20), Eren being a huge SIMP and SAP, reader gets a little tipsy, suggestive like once bc its Eren

Word Count: 3408

A/N: This one is not even close to being as long as the next chapter, but yeah, I really went in on the fluff and cuteness on this lmao enjoy

Tags: @iwascrybaby, @germinvasion, @styxtm, @prxttyguardian, @bigdaddyzawa, @erensblackgirlfriend, @kbbvbz, @tomsadversary, @pettyluxury, @protectpancakes

Chapter Summary: A mini vacation makes Eren come to a stark realization

Playlist for this Chapter:

1. While We're Young- Jhené Aiko

2. Morning Glory- Kehlani

3. Normal Girl-SZA

4. Off The Grid- Alina Baraz ft. Khalid

You raise your eyebrows when he tells you that you need a pack a bag, and you frown at him in suspicion, but he doesn't even blink at you as he goes back to whatever he was doing.

Your parents weren't home at the time you were leaving, so you just told them that you were hanging with Ymir for a couple of days, Jean wasn't going to be home, and you were going to be back before him, so you figured you didn't need to tell him anything.

So Eren decides to leave late at night on Friday, and ten minutes later he texts you that he's outside, and then he's driving down the street and to who knows where. You yawn widely, tears forming in your eyes, and you wipe them away as you notice that you've been driving for more than thirty minutes.

"You taking me somewhere in the country or something?" you ask, seeing that you don't recognize your surroundings anymore.

He chuckles as he reaches over to grab your hand, lacing his fingers with yours. "I told you. It's a surprise, it's about a couple hours away."

You roll your eyes when he tells you it's a surprise but nod anyway even though that still doesn't tell you exactly where you're going, and he huffs when you say you're going to go to sleep for the rest of the ride, and as you doze off, you feel his lips on your hand.

You feel something shaking your shoulder, and you breathe in deeply as you peel your eyes open, looking around to see you're in a parking lot. "Where are we?" you ask with a yawn, looking ahead of you to see a big building about two stories tall.

"Furniture store." You frown, turning your head to look at him.

"A furniture store? Why?"

"Wanted to change up my apartment," he answers, getting out the car and you follow.

"And why did I have to come?" you ask, meeting him on his side of the truck as he locks it.

"To get you some practice, since you wanna do interior design. You can use my apartment as a project or something." You feel your face heating at the thought, and you mask it with a scrunch of your nose.

"You're a dork." He smirks softly as he wraps his arm around you, walking you towards the building.

"Only for you."

The automatic doors slide open, and the place is pretty huge, but not big enough where you feel like you might be lost, and you let him lead you whichever way. "Okay, so what do you start with?" he asks you, stopping at the living room section, and you shrug.

"Colors, I guess," you admit, looking at the different couches. "What's your favorite color?" you ask, absentmindedly running your hand over the back of an armchair.

"Any color that you look good in." You roll your eyes as you scoff, turning to look at him.

"Which is?"

"Everything." You chuckle as you push at his chest lightly, almost thinking it's a lost cause until he speaks up again. "I don't know. Dark green, maybe?"

You nod as you look at the different furniture. "Okay, that's a start. And sometimes, I look at how big you want something to be depending on what you want to use it for. So, for example, how big would you want your couch to be?"

"Big enough for us to have sex on." You drop your head as you scoff, having trouble fighting the smile off your face.

"You're insufferable." You're pretty sure Eren makes you walk through the entire store, looking at stuff that you know he doesn't even own, and you notice that he keeps asking you if you like certain things or not.

"Why does it matter if I like it or not? It's your apartment," you add, and he busies himself with pulling the drawers open on a desk while he keeps his other arm wrapped around your waist. He mumbles something that you don't catch, but you don't get to ask because he's pulling you somewhere else.

You're almost out of the place when your eyes land on the prettiest coffee table you've ever seen. You gasp in surprise, stopping in your tracks and walking towards it, pulling Eren with you.

It's a deep mahogany, glass on top, and there's storage for smaller things like magazines or coasters, and it's just right height, you never understood the appeal of coffee tables that are nearly touching the ground. "You like it?" Eren asks you, jumping you out of your trance.

"I love it," you breathe, running your hand over it softly. "But there's literally nowhere for me to put it," you joke, giving it one last look before you start to walk away, and you stop when you realize Eren's not following. "Are we leaving?" you ask, pointing towards the door, thinking that maybe he wanted to look at something else.

But then he's waving you off, walking towards you. "Yeah, let's go."

"You know we just passed the college Jean goes to, right?" you say, your eyebrows raised, and Eren just shrugs as he keeps his attention on the road.

"Yeah, so?"

"So? What if he sees us? He said he had something to do for school," you stress, starting to feel yourself panic a little.

"Don't worry. Seriously, he's not going to find out." He sounds confident, so it calms you a little bit, but that panic is still underlying. He grabs your hand, giving it a soft squeeze. "I'm being serious. I already checked beforehand, we're fine."

You nod this time, his words reassuring you as you start to notice the light poles on the street you're driving down are covered in decorations. The further he drives down the road, the more decorations seem to be lining the buildings. "Is there some kind of festival?" you ask, looking around.

Eren shrugs as he pulls the truck into a parking spot on the street. "Let's find out," he says, and you're once again following him out, and when you get out, you can hear music playing. You follow the sound of the music, and you reach what must be the main area because there's suddenly food trucks lining the streets, a bunch of activities to do, and a crowd of people dancing.

They've cut off the whole street for the occasion, and you smile widely as you look around. "I think this is some festival for the town or something," Eren says, remembering hearing something about it before he went back home, and you bounce on your feet excitedly.

"Well, we can't just stand here!" You grab his hand, almost pulling him off his feet as you run towards the thicker part of the crowd. He laces his fingers with yours as you both walk through to look at the different venues and the different food they have.

He nearly buys everything that your eyes linger on for too long, and you firmly tell him to not buy you anything else, to which he just responds with a roll of his eyes, both of you knowing that he's still going to do it.

He watches you fondly when you get excited about the face painted, but he denies it when you say that he should get one. "Oh, come on, you have to get one," you urge, feeling the paint on your face starting to harden.

The person who did yours tells you that you could paint on Eren's face and that only makes you more excited. You force him to sit down on the bench as you look through the options, grabbing his wrist when he tries to sneak away.

"Just pick one, please?" you say, and he gives you a warm look as he smiles softly.

"Fine." He gives in, and you grab the brush excitedly. "Anything yellow," he responds when you ask him what he wants.

"Why yellow? Because I look good in it?" you tease, picking out something that's easy for you to draw.

"It's the color you picked on the fortune teller." You freeze, looking up at him, before smiling softly as you dip the paintbrush in the paint.

"You remember that?" you ask shyly, and he would nod, but you're already starting to paint on his face.

"Of course I do. It's the first time I talked to you." He huffs softly when he sees you shy away again before you focus on the flower you're drawing. He chuckles softly as he watches you stick your tongue out in concentration, and you pull away with a frown.

"Why are you laughing at me?" you ask, grabbing his chin to angle his cheek closer towards you.

He moves before you can turn his face, pecking a kiss on your nose. "Because you look cute." You shake your head, feeling your face flush warm before grabbing his chin again and moving his head where you want it.

"Okay," you sigh when you finish, putting the brush down, and you hold the mirror up for him to see what it looks like, and you put your head on the side of it. "Do you like it?" you ask impatiently, and he nods as he stands, pulling you up with him.

"Yeah, it looks good for someone with no art skills," he jokes, making you roll your eyes but you laugh anyway, and you both walk away as he takes out his phone.

You peek over his shoulder, not realizing he opened the camera app, and he plants his lips on your cheek that doesn't have paint on it, snapping the picture, and he locks his phone before you can see it. You're trying to convince him to let you see it, both of you walking closer to the music, and suddenly you're being pulled into the dancing crowd.

Both of your eyes widen in surprise, but then you notice a kid grabbing your hands, and you laugh instantly as you start dancing, blending into the crowd, but to Eren, you're the only one he sees.

And huh.

Is that what this feels like? He's always seen it in movies, read it in books, but he's never experienced it like this, the feeling so strong. He unlocks his phone, his heart skipping a beat when he looks over the picture, the biggest grin on his face before he looks back up at you.

You look like you're having the time of your life, and he realizes that he's fallen so far, so fast in so little time. He feels like he's living in some kind of movie, and he always thought it was unrealistic to feel this way about you in a short amount of time, but the longer he looks at you, the more he believes that it's more than possible.

And he looks back down at his phone, making the picture his lock screen.

"Let me have some more," you whisper, and Eren rolls his eyes as he scoffs, checking to make sure the coast is clear before handing you his glass.

"Woah, woah," he says when you take a huge sip of wine, taking the glass out of your hand. "Ease up will you," he chastises, setting the glass on the stool next to the both of you.

"I have to get as much as I can before they see me," you respond, having trouble hiding your giggles as the alcohol fills your system.

The festival had started to die down, and he saw a sign for wine and art. He knew they weren't going to let you have any, but he was having a hard time denying you, and now he scoffs at your tipsy state. "We're supposed to be painting," he responds, grabbing the paintbrush.

"Well, what are we drawing?" you say, your words slurring just a bit, and he shrugs as he wraps his arm tighter around you.

"Whatever you want," he says, adjusting the both of you on the stool you're sitting on. He was surprised the both of you could fit on it, but he only took that as an excuse to hold you. "How about four flowers?"

Your eyebrows crease before you turn to look at you. "Why four?" He smiles at you, and you feel like you should know the answer, but you can't think of it. "The fortune teller?" you try, and he nods, making you roll your eyes.

"Why are you such a sap?" you reply playfully, and he laughs softly before putting the brush in your hand, then putting his hand on top of yours. He guides your hand over the canvas as you start painting. "How'd you know that these are my favorite?"

"Lucky guess." It's the flowers you had in your hair at the wedding.

You frown at him again, but go back to painting anyway, the strokes not as clean due to a variety of reasons, but the outline comes out good, and he helps you color them in.

He lets you have one last sip before he tells you that you're not getting anymore, and you frown but listen anyway. "Why aren't you drinking?"

"Because I'm driving," he replies lamely, and you nod softly as your mouth falls open.

"Oh. You're so responsible."

He rolls his eyes. "Thanks," he says dryly.

You both finish your painting around the same time everyone else does, or rather people are starting to get less incoherent, so they can't focus on painting, and Eren takes the canvas, leading you out of the gallery with an arm around your waist.

"I'm so full and tired," you whine, your steps a little wobbly, and he chuckles as he carefully puts the canvas in the backseat before helping you in.

He starts driving away and about ten minutes in, he realizes you're really quiet, so he assumes you've fallen asleep, but then you gasp, making him jump out of his skin and almost swerve off the road.

"What the fuck--"

"A drive-in movie, we have to go!" you yell, probably a little bit more loudly than you needed, pointing out the window, and he looks to see an empty lot with cars and a giant movie screen.

He finds himself already slowing down and turning into the lot without even thinking about it, backing in so that you can watch the movie from the bed of the truck. He gets out first, letting the tail down so that he can set up some of the blankets he still has in his truck before helping you up, your steps shaky as you get in.

He lays down first, and you follow, and he chuckles as you instantly grab a blanket, wrapping yourself up before you lay on him. "Don't fall asleep, this was your idea," he speaks up when he hears you go quiet again, and you shift slightly.

"M not sleep. I'm just tired," you mumble, making him huff fondly.

The movie that's playing is something he's never seen before, and he's actually pretty focused on it when he feels you moving, and he just assumes that you're trying to get comfortable.

"Eren," he hears you whisper, and he hums to show that he heard you, keeping his focus on the movie.

"What, baby?" he says when you say his name again, and he tears his eyes from the screen to look down at you.

"I want a kiss," you say softly, and he half rolls his eyes before leaning down anyway. "One more." He sighs fondly before leaning down again, cupping your face in his hand, and he pulls away when you try and deepen the kiss.

"You're drunk, baby," he tells you, and you frown as you shake your head.

"No, I'm not," you argue, and he raises his eyebrows at you.

"Intoxicated," he tries, and you purse your lips as you think.

"Maybe." He huffs again before kissing you on the forehead.

"I'll kiss you again when you're sober." You groan softly in protest, but you don't say anything else as you turn your attention back to the movie.

Eren rolls his eyes when he hears you complain about being tired for the millionth time that night as he guides you into the dark apartment. He leads you to his room, catching you every time you almost fall, and the moment your eyes land on the bed, you're flopping on it face down.

"Hey, you gotta change first," he tells you, dropping your bag on the floor softly, but you groan softly, turning your head so that you can breathe.

"M fine," you argue, and he scoffs as he walks over to you.

"Trust me, you'll want to get changed." You groan as you roll over, unbuttoning your shorts, sliding them down your legs before letting them fall to the floor. You roll back onto your stomach, reaching under your shirt to unhook your bra, maneuvering it out from under you before it joins your shorts on the floor.

"Are you happy now?" you groan, and he rolls his eyes again as he moves back to your bag. You feel the bed dip next to you as he climbs in, but you don't move.

"Can you sit up for me?" he asks, and you sigh, turning your head to look at him. "It'll only take a second."

You sit up slowly as you start to feel a headache coming on, blinking slowly, and you notice that he's putting your bonnet on, and he catches you when you try and lay back down, not letting you go until all of your hair is in it.

"Now you can lay down." He barely gets the words out as your body hits the mattress again, and you get comfortable as you snuggle your face into the pillow, and he notices that you're blinking gets heavier, but you're looking at him.

"What?" he questions softly, running the back of his fingers over your face gently, and you give him a sleepy smile.

"You're really pretty," you mumble, and he huffs in surprise as he feels his face heating up.

"You think I'm pretty?"

You nod as fast as your body can let you, sighing heavily. "You're like...like," you nod again. "Yeah, you're like really pretty." And then you're out like a light.

Your soft snores fill the room, and he finds himself smiling fondly as he watches you sleep, and before he can think, he's slowly getting out of the bed and grabbing his sketchbook. He slides back in the bed, and all of the images from earlier today come flooding into his head and onto the pages.

He doesn't know how long he sits there, filling every last inch of the paper in you, but he can't stop until he's drawn everything. He draws your face when you were concentrating on painting on his face, he draws you attempting to concentrate on the painting even though the wine was making you even more incoherent, and he finds himself smiling for long enough that his face hurts.

When he gets all of those images out of his head, he looks back over at you before starting on the next drawing, chuckling softly at how your face is smushed by the pillow.

And he wonders if it could work between the both of you, but he doesn't know how you feel, and he doesn't want to do anything that will cause you to stop talking to him like you did back then even though he still doesn't know what he did.

But he's scared to ask, and part of him thinks it's the reason for that conflicted look you have in your eyes sometimes, and he wants to ask you what he did so that he can fix it because he doesn't want to hurt you. Not when you mean so much to him.

When he thinks that he's gotten most of the images drawn, and when he's about to run out of room is where he should call it a night, putting the book somewhere you won't be able to find it easily before laying down next to you.

You breathe in deeply, shifting closer to him in your sleep, and he carefully lays you on his chest, and the familiar weight of you puts him to sleep.

|Chapter 13|Masterlist|Chapter 15|

#nothing changed #eren jaeger #eren yaeger #eren jaeger x black reader #eren yaeger x black reader #eren yaeger x reader #eren jaeger x reader #aot fanfiction #snk fanfiction

57 notes · View notes

whump-town · 3 years

Text

Cracks in the Ceiling

little hurt LOT comfort

my version of Route 66 bc how are you going to cut him open and give such minimal comfort?? like damn

Morgan’s tearing through the open case file in front of him, attention more or less on his teammates debating the case openly around him. His head is pounding, there’s this ache fixated on his right temple that no amount of Tylenol has managed to dull. If it weren’t for the pain he’d lean over and make Rossi aware of the fact that he’s 100% certain that Hotch slept in his office last night. He’s no snitch but this is the second time this week and it’s a pattern of behavior that has never been good in the past. It’s a behavior worth noting. For now, he decides to leave it. The others are gathering, filling into place, everyone’s mostly in their usual seats at the round table. He isn’t alerted or even too worried about Hotch standing rather than sitting, dark eyes darting over them. It’s probably nothing, Morgan shakes his head, not a big deal.

They jump into the work, Morgan keeps quiet. He’s got some things scratched into the margins of his file but he’ll bring them up now. Nothing worth stating just yet, not even proper observations but maybe Reid will have something to spitball. “--as you know, the amber alert is…” Morgan looks up, frowning at the sound of just how breathless Hotch is. As if he’s just run a marathon or taken down an Unsub by himself. Morgan looks the man up and down. The stark contrast of his boss’ pale face to the red of his tie. Morgan frowns, “Hotch?” He’s already on his feet, heart hammering, standing just as Hotch rasps an “excuse me”.

“Aaron!”

Rossi gets to him first. Kneeling right down on the ground, no reservations left for personal space. Anywhere else, anything else and it might have been funny. Rossi is so careful about himself. He won’t get his shoes dirty and he’s not putting creases in his pants let alone kneeling on the ground and risking wearing down the material around his knee and yet here he is. Placing a crease in his shoes at the toes and digging a knee in the, no doubt, filthy carpet. His clothes don’t matter, he’s paying them no mind as he calls Hotch’s name again. Begging-- “Look at me! Aaron? Aaron!”

It’s all snippets, no solidity.

Rossi’s rough palm, his skin radiating an intense uncomfortable heat against Hotch’s cheek. The rings on his fingers biting with their chilled metal, startlingly present in a haze of sensations he can’t name. All too much information for his brain, warmth and the chill, and how heavy his diaphragm feels as he draws in breathes.

Bright lights, rocking, and back and forth. White, bright white dancing from one eye over to the other.

“Mr. Hotchner?”

Drugs. He can feel them in his veins, thick as sludge crawling up his throat.

“Mr. Hotchner, can you hear me?”

Pulse is thready.

He’s not responding.

He can see Rossi-- it’s not worry pulling his face down, it’s hopelessness. A deep realization that he can do nothing, that he’s powerless and clueless. He can do nothing but sit there as the paramedics work, providing no commentary, having generally no idea what to do.

Starting lactated ringers.

Systolic is dropping.

BP is 90/60.

Systolic is his heart, which Rossi knows isn’t good. His blood pressure runs low, he takes medication for that. Maybe… Maybe he just didn’t take his meds this morning. That’s an easy enough explanation. No need to think the worst.

But the worst is what they get.

Foyet returned from the grave. Sometimes it’s like that man never really left. Hotch still looks over his shoulder, wakes up in the middle of the night thinking about him. Catches himself thinking like a trapped animal, reflexively isolating himself. It was only a few months but the paranoia is something he’s never been able to shake. He put his family at risk, lost Haley and Jack for months, and every time he was alone with a team member Foyet could be watching and if Foyet wanted to… he couldn’t even keep a serial killer from breaking into his home. He’s nearly lost all of them to serial killers, what’s he really going to be able to do to stop Foyet from killing them?

Back from the grave?

It’s like he never left.

Garcia approaches the bed slowly, put off by the stark contrast of the bags under Hotch’s eyes, and the intense pallor of his face. The only reassurance he’s even alive is the fog, the oxygen mask flushed with each of his shaky and choked breaths. “Sir?” She slowly reaches down and takes his right hand in both of her own. His hand is freezing, limp, and heavy in her hand. Lifeless. Even his veins look wrong, the colors aren’t right.

Settling herself with a deep breath, Garcia runs her thumb across his knuckles. Trying to draw some sort of stability, some consciousness to the madness buzzing around them. The hospital alight with all the wrong sorts of energy.

His head is turned slightly to her, lips parted as his breathing labors on. Leaving his lungs in harsh rasps. His left arm is curled limply around the light pink basin in his lap. It makes her stomach ache to imagine him alone back here, even if he wasn’t awake.

“Ma’am,” a nurse steps into the room, followed by two men on each of her sides. “They’re ready for him in OR 2. We’re going take him there now.”

Garcia nods, hands shaking a little harder than she’d like at the thought of him going somewhere she can’t watch over. This isn’t the same as the field. There she can hear what he hears. She’s right there with them but… “O--Okay,” she whispers, nodding tightly as she gently lays his hand back down on the bed. She looks him back over once more. Memorizing all that she can and biting back the emotion working up her throat. “Take care of him,” she says, letting out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. “He’s really important to me.”

The nurse stops, ignoring the other two men as they place all the machines they can around and in Hotch’s lap. She squeezes Garcia’s arm gently, “he’s in the best hands.” She nods, a small sympathetic smile in place. “We’ll take care of him, ma’am. I promise.”

Garcia nods, “okay.” She has to trust them and she can do that. She believes in medicine. She understands it. He’s going to be okay. Eventually. Not right now but soon and she’ll stay with him for as long as she can.

“Hello?” She answers her phone on the second ring, her hands shaking so badly she misses the answer button the first time. Her eyes stay on Hotch, watching and struggling to keep up with the fast pace of the staff pushing him down the hall. Distracted enough to not even care that it’s Morgan calling her and that she should greet him with their usual luster. She just can’t find it in herself to conjure it up right now.

Morgan greets her a second later, a mind centered on just getting this case over with. He can’t think about Hotch. Can’t get distracted. “Hey, Baby Girl,” he says, pulling the phone back and hitting the speakerphone so JJ can hear. “It’s Morgan. How’s Hotch?”

Garcia really wishes she hadn’t worn heels today. The heels along with her much shorter legs are making it really hard to keep pace with Hotch. “He’s still out,” she informs him. Which kind of sucks. She’d feel really good right now if she’d just seen him awake. To talk to him. He’s always really good at calming her down. “They’re taking him to surgery.”

Morgan sighs, shaking his head. Damn, he’d really been hoping whatever this was to pass over as the flu. “Okay,” is all he says, hoping his disappointment doesn’t write itself all over his body. He clears his throat and tries to shake this awful feeling in his gut. “Alright, well, we need you to look through Samantha Wilcox’s text and email correspondents.”

Garcia nods her head, hoping what he’s saying actually sticks in her brain. She’d hate to have to call back and tell them she didn’t catch a word being said. Not after promising Dave, she would be okay to stay behind with Hotch. “Okay.” She agrees, “what am I looking for? Anything in particular?”

JJ’s voice cuts through and that takes Garcia by pleasant surprise. “She’s been in touch with her dad.”

Oh. Garcia thinks. That’s probably not good.

“And check vicap,” Morgan adds.

Garcia had seen the doors coming and the nurses and doctor’s throwing on scrub caps from down the hall. She’d seen them but she hadn’t thought this was where they part. Nervously, her eyes flicker over to Hotch. Maybe it’s better he’s not awake to see her like this. The last thing he needs is worrying about trying to soothe her nerves. “W-Why,” she stops as a nurse sympathetically directs her to.

She doesn’t hear a thing from then on. Her ears are ringing, words coming from the line but she doesn’t hear it. She just stands there. “They just took him back,” she manages. He’s gone from her sight. The hall is empty. It’s just her standing here.

For the sake of appearances she finds a seat in the waiting room, tries to manage deep even breathes. Remain calm. But Morgan’s request doesn’t take that long, he doesn’t even try to stay on the line with her. The conversation dies the second she tells him Hotch is in surgery and no one’s told her anything.

Out of boredom, unable to sit still a moment longer while her mind replays the pain of the day that it happened. Being forced to stay at her desk while knowing, while having listened as Emily explained the mess in his apartment. The tumbler shattered on the ground. Clear, composed Emily Pretniss’ voice trembling, the shattered glass in her throat. Not enough blood to know he’s dead but not enough to survive.

She goes to the gift shop to distract herself with the signs and clothes for expecting parents, for balloons that wish parents and grandparents a speedy recovery. So that she can stand amongst the aisle of teddy bears and t-shirts and exist in space and time that feels mute, feels non-existent.

She buys herself a sucker shaped like a heart and Hotch a teddy bear with a t-shirt that says “I love you” because he’ll pretend to hate it. He’ll hate the attention maybe but it’ll keep him company. After what Foyet did to him she gave him a troll, it’s all she had on her when was finally able to get to the hospital to see him. He was asleep by the time she got there, the doctor gave him sedatives. He got agitated after Haley and Jack left, tore stitches in restlessness. They set up a schedule, made sure he wasn’t alone after that.

She placed the troll in the palm of his hand, curled his fingers around it. He gave it back when he returned to work. She found it on her desk with a note, a simple “Thank you -H”. What a silly man, she’d meant for him just to keep it. She slipped it back into his go-bag the second he wasn’t watching. He got the message then.

It’s still in his go-bag.

The recovery room is filled with the sounds of heart monitors.

It’s good. Logically, Penelope Garcia knows it’s good but she’d rather be anywhere else in the world. Yet she’d fought rather bravely to get here, to be allowed someplace she should not be. Listening to the crowd of heart monitors softly ringing out the promise of ongoing survival, she feels hopeful. She’s not naive enough to feel safe.

She’d watched them extubate him. She’d stepped into the room a little prematurely, seen him attached to all those machines. Watched his chest rise and fall under the guide of the ventilator. Slivers of his eyes present as a doctor talked to him, guiding him through the process. He gags and chokes, still absent of mind as they move him. By the time anyone pays any attention to her he’s already back under the pull of the drugs. Asleep. They move him on the bed, settle his arms back to his sides and pull the blankets up to his chest. He’s no more than a body to manipulate.

“He’ll—He’ll be okay, right?” She’d seen the doctor extubate Hotch and her chest hurts at the sight of him. He’d been so limp as they pulled that tube out, coughing and curling into himself. Unaware of everything around him, he’d wrapped his arms around his chest. He’s as pale as the bedsheets he’s laying on and her protective streak wants nothing more than to gather all six feet of him up into a comfy blanket and cuddle his pain away. “Is he in any pain?”

The doctor clenches his teeth, taking a breath like he’s either uncertain or afraid to tell her the truth. He places his arms over his chest, “there was a lot of internal damage.” But he’s still chewing on what he’s really afraid to admit to, turning it over. Weighing the pros and cons— “We lost him on the table but—” panic strikes the happy blonde like a hand. “We got him right back, ma’am. He’s responding appropriately to the medication. Your friend is tough, his recovery is already coming along nicely.”

Garcia lets out a shaky breath. “Is there anything I can do? You know, until you move him?” They get hurt all the time and she tries really hard to stay objective, to keep coasting along because that’s always what the others do. Emily never loses her head and Hotch always stays in the field, takes care of more than his share of the work. So she can do that, she’s capable of that.

The doctor smiles, “yeah. When he wakes up, his throat’s going to be pretty agitated. Try to get him to drink some water. It’ll help later, make him stronger when the nurses come around wanting him back on his feet in a few hours.” He extends his hand for her to shake, “and I’m sure with you here, Agent Hotchner will make a speedy recovery.”

Garcia blushes and shakes his hand.

“So,” the doctor stuffs his hands in his lab coat. “Are the rumors true?”

Garcia frowns, tilting her head.

“Did he really…” the doctor’s eyes move to the man on the bed. He shakes his head, “was it really a serial killer that did all that to him?”

Garcia pulls in a heated breath, she’s an even-tempered woman. She’s not going to be hot-headed about any old thing but why would he even say something like that. With Hotch right there. Just as she’s about to lay into him Hotch mumbles something from the bed, turning his head and blinking heavily as he takes in the darkroom. She can’t make it out but he shakes his head and makes a clumsy pull at the nasal canal under his nose, trying to dislodge it. She throws the doctor a dirty look and moves to his side, calling his name. Garcia takes his hand, “what? What is it, sir?”

He frowns, tight. Grimacing as he swallows, adam’s apple bouncing as he shakes his head again. He looks at her, eyes drooping before his lips part, his mouth clumsily forming her name. He pushes at the nasal canal again, his discomfort obvious. “Is he here?” he rasps. “Foyet?”

Garcia curses that stupid doctor but she knows it’s not his fault. Old injuries and old scars. “No, honey,” she soothes, her thumb running over his knuckles. If he weren’t so high, so bogged down with the drugs he wouldn’t be so confused. He’d fuss over her endearment but instead, he leans closer. Turns his face towards her, trusts her. “Foyet’s long gone. He can’t hurt you. You’re safe.” The news seems to be surprising at first but she can see the moment he remembers. Foyet is dead. It puts him at some ease, helps but he’s still visibly uncomfortable.

She releases his hand, her heart breaking at the soft sound he makes. His panic swells as she steps to the side of the bed, going to the water pitcher. She pours a cup, holding it up so he can see what she’s doing. He shakes his head, making another clumsy tug at the oxygen canal and successfully moving it this time.

“Take a sip of this and I’ll bring you a strawberry milkshake later,” Garcia promises with a kind smile. “Come on, sir,” she urges. “One sip of water for your favorite milkshake?” She places the straw to his chapped lips and smiles when he takes a tentative sip.

He manages to raise his left hand, struggling to form a good hold on the cup. She lets him have it though, her palm just under it in case he drops it. “I don’t like strawberry milkshakes,” he rasps, sipping slowly at the water working numbers on his raw throat.

Garcia smiles, “I know sir.” She reaches up and lightly taps a finger against his temple, “I was just making sure they didn’t scramble your brains, that’s all.” She takes the cup back, noticing him slowly losing his grip, fighting the anesthesia still coursing through his veins.

He grins sleepily at her, eyes falling shut. “No more scrambled than usual,” he jokes softly.

She grins and takes his hand in her own, squeezing his limp fingers. “Oh, but that’s why we love you, sir.”

He nods, eyes shut as he slips back under the lingering anesthesia. “Garcia,” he mumbles, fingers curling around hers. “You don’t have to stay.”

She shakes her head, “I’m not gonna leave you back here all alone.” She looks around, he may be fighting sleep and will most likely spend his hour back here asleep but it’s creepy and she knows he wouldn’t leave her. “It’s kind of scary back here,” she admits and squeezes his hand. “And you wouldn’t leave me back here all by myself so don’t expect me to leave you.”

Hotch grumbles something under his breath she can’t quite hear but she takes it as his usual self-deprecating, overbearing nature sort of thing and lets it slip. “Get some sleep, sir.”

He doesn’t remember a word of their previous conversation.

A nurse comes in and they run through all the same old stuff. He’s given a pink bucket even though he doesn’t express he’s nauseous, still clutches it to his chest. Pink plastic rubbing against the surgical staples, he’s afraid breathing the wrong way will split him open. The morphine is making his head fuzzy, makes his dreams weird and his thoughts overwhelmingly rippled. But the world distorts a little and he sees Garica sitting there, all of the brightness in the world scribbling away on her notepad so that she can make sure he abides by every word they advise. He feels a little better with her here.

“Mmm,” he’s leaning into his side but he perks up a little when he hears the nurse say something about food. Tells them he can’t eat anything for the next forty-eight hours. His noise draws their attention, the first real reaction he’s had since this all began. “No milkshake then.”

Garcia frowns at him and then the nurse. She reaches over and squeezes his hand, “sorry, sir.”

He clears his throat, pressing the bucket harder into his stomach. “S’okay.” He really doesn’t care about that. The main concern right now is not throwing up. A battle that it feels like he won’t be winning.

“Mr. Hotchner?”

He cracks an eye open and knows that a good stretch of time has just passed. There are no markers for it within the room, the blinds are shut on the one window and there’s not a visible clock within his line of sight but intuitively he knows.

“I need to change your bandages.”

He nods, faintly able to recall this part of the healing from years ago. The constant monitoring, the bandage changes. Sucks. All of it. “Garcia?” they ask him if she can stay. He doesn’t want to do that to her but he also doesn’t want to force her away. “You don’t have to stay.” He finds her in the mix of people, around the sound of gauze being opened, and things shuffled around. “Take a break,” he manages a sliver of control. “Get some fresh air.”

She shakes her head.

“Garcia.” They’re waiting on his permission, to go on or kick her out. “Penelope,” he whispers, “you don’t have to look. You don’t want to.”

She frowns, standing to contest his nonsense head-on. “Sir, you’re one of the three most attractive men I know.” She stands there and dares him to say otherwise. He’s a good bit older than she is but she knows an attractive man when she sees one. She’s not blind.

He smirks, too loosely for it to be entirely of his volition and nothing to do with the drugs. “One of three, huh? That makes me the third?” She rolls her eyes and he waves her off, makes a motion for her to go. “Go eat, Penelope. Call Morgan. Get out of here.”

She doesn’t want to. She doesn’t want him to ever leave her line of sight again but she nods and listens.

Morgan tells her everything with the Wilcox case went decently. They got the dad and the girl made it out alive. She tells him Hotch is awake, facing this new disaster with his usual stoic ways. They end the awkwardly, neither really in the headspace to play around.

He’s asleep again when she comes back. Gown askew across his shoulders, leaving his collarbones scandalously out in the open. Makes him look naked but she can’t look away. Under all those layers, suits that haven’t really changed in the decade she’s known him, he’s deceivingly pale. She can see muscle, the way it lays, and yet the soft corners of him. Years of fatherhood having worn him down in places softened him in others. He’s gained weight but this has set him back again and she realizes that if she’s looking at his too-thin body here then he’s lost weight before her eyes. How long has he been sick?

Visiting hours are over, she’s supposed to be making her goodbyes for the night. This sullen feeling in her stomach only doubles, makes her feel sick. She can’t leave him. Don’t they understand that? He’s in no state to be left by himself. “Sir?” she whispers. She touches his hand and he flinches.

His sleepy frown deepens but he hears her whisper for him again. He hums, eyelids too heavy to lift fully. “Mhmm?”

“I have to go,” she says. “Visiting hours are over.”

He hums again, nods.

She takes advantage of his current state leans down and kisses his forehead, hugs him while he lets her. “I love you, sir, and I’ll be back as soon as I can.” She takes a moment, his eyes still closed, to move his hair off of his forehead. “Are you okay? Will you be okay?”

He nods, swallowing thickly against the dryness in his throat. Facing the next few hours alone sounds miserable but he’s more than mastered the art of sleeping off stays in the hospital. It’s going to be a long night but not an impossible one.

“Oh,” she mumbles, “okay.” She moves to gather her stuff when she remembers the teddy bear. “Sir?”

He opens his eyes, just sliver but he’s there.

“I thought… maybe…” she places the bear in his lap. “To keep you company?”

He smirks, “thank you, Garcia.” There’s something about the way he rubs at the bear’s ear, softly and entirely content that gives her hope. He’ll be okay, she knows, but that doesn’t stop her from worrying. He looks up at her, that same lopsided grin she’s seen all afternoon. The drugs will wear off and she’ll be left without that smile again. Having to barter her way into sad grins instead.

“I’ll see you in the morning,” she promises.

“Not until you’ve had breakfast,” he mumbles. “Eat first.”

She can’t help but smile even if she intends to listen. “Yes, sir.” So bossy. He’s lucky he’s cute or she’d have smacked him up the side of the head by now. She leaves, it hurts and she really, really doesn’t want to but she leaves.

He’ll be okay, she knows that.

And he is. There’s no good way to measure the day’s passing but a nurse comes in and tells it’s eight o’clock and that someone called the nurse’s desk asking for him, a name that came with a badge. Which confuses him but that really only leaves a small group of people, he assumes that means the team is back home.

It’s not them.

She gets there at nine o’clock and it’s only her badge and artfully mumbling something about Interpol that gets her back. They know he’s a federal agent and she’s betting on that. She’s always been good at poker.

He’s sleeping when she finds him, the only light in the room coming from the heart monitor. She wishes she knew how to read it, how to understand what the numbers mean so that she might be able to get a better grasp on the situation. All she knows is what Morgan told her over the phone but that seemed crazy. Hotch wasn’t even sick, Morgan said he was fine. Maybe a little off but he’s Hotch, he just simply is off.

“Emily?”

She steps into the room, following the sound of his sleep-disturbed voice.

“What’re you doing here?”

He’s obviously confused, frowning at her more than happy to see her. The morphine always gives him crazy dreams, he’s probably assuming that’s what this is. “I know I’m not your favorite,” she mumbles sarcastically, “but you don’t have to make it so abundantly clear.” With an eye roll, she sits herself down on the edge of the bed. For a moment, as his tired brain processes what she’s said, she fears what she fears every time she comes home-- that things between them have changed. That distance hasn’t made him fond but rather angry or has changed one of them so drastically that they no longer know one another.

He groans at her, shaking his head and grumbling her name in that bothered way he’s perfected over the years.

With a smile, she knows nothing has changed. He still manages to say her name like “leave me alone” meant to be taken as an endearment, an invitation to stay. “It’s okay,” she assures, tapping the back of her hand against his hip. “No hard feelings.”

He hums, not going to even bother with refuting any of her statements. That’s the beauty of their companionship, they never really have to say anything. That’s what she’s so afraid will change because she knows that if one day she comes home and he can’t read the “I love you” hidden in her sarcasm and the “please, don’t scare me like that again” in her playful proximity then that’s it. She can find the words for Reid and she’s always been able to suck up the physical comfort for Garcia or JJ but she just can’t with Hotch. She tried so hard after Foyet to be able to say something, to wrangle up comfort, but she just couldn’t.

But there was a moment, one night when the world seemed to be drowning in a rainstorm, that she woke up sick. His abdomen was still ablaze from Foyet’s attack, too fresh for him to be up and moving around. He’d followed the sound of her getting sick to the bathroom, making his slow way down the hall held upright by the wall. Moving forward only because stopping would cause him to fall. He didn’t leave her once he understood the noise just settled down on the ground beside her, back leaning on the bathtub. Neither said a word but she looked over at him and she saw all the comfort he couldn’t manage to bring to words. His worry etched across his face. She was supposed to be taking care of him and yet they’d ended up shoulder-to-shoulder waiting out a storm on the bathroom floor.

She has a fever-hazed memory of waking up with her head on his shoulder. A glass of water against her knee and the warmth of a heating pad against her stomach. No idea how he did it or when but they never spoke of it. Never had to. Somehow someone she can’t even manage to tell that she loves or that she even remotely feels concerned for turned out to be one of her closest friends. The asshole she once thought untrustworthy. He’s still an asshole but it’s one of those things that you just learn to look over.

Makes him interesting.

“So,” she says with a sigh, “you gonna scoot over or what?”

She gets another blanket out of a cabinet she sees in the corner of the room, distracts herself so that he’s certain she doesn’t see him moving. That’s what she’s talking about, there’s no communication needed. He can move himself over a little bit but it’s painful and he’s weak and he doesn’t want her to see that. She also knows he runs cold and won’t share his blankets with her. Loves her enough to share his bed but she’s yet to encounter someone he loves enough to share his blankets.

“What happened to your arm?” he can see it once she moves away again. A simple sling keeps it pinned to her chest, he assumes she’s either dislocated or been shot. Wonders why she didn’t call, why she didn’t tell anyone.

She sighs, he can’t see her roll her eyes but he knows that sigh and knows she’s done it even if he can’t see. “This prick,” she tosses the blanket on his legs as she climbs up beside him. “He kicked me, sent me down a flight of stairs.” He can tell she’s more embarrassed than hurt, which is good. She puffs out an agitated breath but despite this is very gentle as she gets closer to him. Hyperaware of the wounds she can’t see.

Her warmth is alluring, despite himself he leans closer, and she doesn’t say a word when his cheek comes to her shoulder.

“I’m okay, though,” she finally states. Moves some of her blanket over him, checks again that he’s comfortable. Which she assumes he is, or he wouldn’t be sleeping. “Clyde had given me three weeks off, told me to take a break. That’s why I came. I promise I didn’t take any unnecessary time off.”

He hums, appreciates this addition. She knew he would.

Her throat is sore where it catches the words she doesn’t know how to say. That she’s missed him terribly or that she loves him or that when Morgan told her what happened she couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t think or move. He takes her hand and she has to pinch her eyes shut so that she doesn’t cry and he squeezes her hand.

He’s missed her too.

He loves her.

He’s glad she came.

“Go to sleep,” she mumbles.

He hums.

--------------

The others come in at six, pilling into the room in dirty clothes from the day before and sore from the jet ride home. They’re too tired to speak, to do anything more than grumble and shove at one another to get through the door. As they pile in they take stock of the sight before them. Emily’s dark bruises, the black eye that the night had hidden from Hotch. Her hand still holding his. Hotch breathing, laying there entirely whole. Slowly returning to his normal colors.

They have questions, concerns to raise with both sleeping parties, but those can wait for a better hour.

They settle down in the room, squeezing together on chairs.

Morgan sees Hotch wake a little, a soft shift in his breathing.

“Back to sleep,” Morgan whispers, trying to keep the others from hearing. Hotch’s face pinches, mouth opening to ask the question Morgan already knows. “Everything went fine. Samantha is safe, no one got hurt.” He glances at Emily and shakes his head, “go back to sleep, Hotch. We’ll talk in the morning.”

And it settles once again.

Nothing but the soft sound of sleeping agents.

#criminal minds #derek morgan #aaron hotchner #david rossi #penelope garcia #emily prentiss

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hercleverboy · 4 years

Text

the burden of the blame

spencer reid x reader

based off of this request > the reader gets shot on a case while trying to protect a child. The reader gets pissed bc the child needs more help than she does and Spencer comes to her aid first. The kid dies and she thinks it’s her fault.

genre > angst/fluff

wc > 3.1k

after being shot and nearly killed on a case, the reader deals with spencers upset as well as the guilt she feels of not being able to save the victim.

Genre : Angst ending with fluff.

Word Count : 3.1k

Based on this request from @thatsonezesty13 : “Ok so the reader gets shot on a case while trying to protect a child. The reader gets pissed bc the child needs more help than she does and Spencer comes to her aid first. The kid dies and she thinks it’s her fault.”

A/N : I changed the story a little from the original request, but it’s still pretty much what you asked for! I hope you like it!

The team had spent a week hunting down an unsub, who just seemed to keep slipping through their grasp. This unsub was killing young boys in horrifically gruesome ways. The team profiled that he wanted to be well known, this unsub wanted to go down in history as one of the greatest serial killers of all time. He was a narcissist, he thrived off the fact that he had successfully evaded the police, and now that the FBI couldn’t seem to get him either, it only further boosted his ego. Finally, after two more bodies of young boys turned up, they eventually got a name and an address. Y/N, Morgan and Reid were already nearer to the address, so they arrived there before the rest of the team. They pulled up outside the property, jumping out the car and making their way to the front of the house. Morgan turned to the couple, going over the plan.

“We can’t afford to wait for the rest of the team, we’re going to have to go in, just us three.”

Y/N nodded, grabbing her gun from her holder. Morgan and Reid were going to take the front of the house, and Y/N was going to take the back. Just before they began to get into their positions Spencer grabbed his wife by the waist and pulled her into a quick kiss.

“You come back to me, okay?” He murmured against her lips.

Spencer and Y/N had been married for a year now and were even discussing having children together. He knew his wife was more than capable of protecting herself and was a downright badass in the field. However, this unsub was different. His actions were unpredictable, the profile couldn’t determine how he would react to them finding him. He couldn’t lose her.

She gave him a small smile. “Always.” She promised, before stealthily moving behind the house with her gun drawn.

She heard Derek break in the front door and at the same time she broke down the back door, moving quickly with her gun held up, surveying the rooms for any movement or clues as to where the unsub might be holding his most recent victim. She heard a faint bump and moved toward the sound. She pushed open a creaky door, shining her flashlight down into what appeared to be a basement.

“Jack Richards? FBI!” She called as she began to descend the staircase. When she reached the bottom step, her eyes landed on the unsub, who stood with the small child he’d kidnapped, a gun pressed to the child’s forehead.

“Put the gun down, Jack.” Y/N tried, though she knew this unsub was already past being reasoned with. She knew she had to try, especially with a young boy’s life at stake. “Let’s work this out.”

“I don’t want to work this out, agent. You don’t get it, do you?” The unsub taunted her. Y/N looked the child in the eyes, giving him a reassuring nod, one that said ‘stay calm. It’ll be okay. I’ll protect you.”

“I get it. You want to be well known, right?” Y/N started. “You want kids in criminology classes learning about your cases, you want the towns children to fear your name like an overtold ghost story.”

The unsubs grip on the boy and the gun faltered as he gasped. “Yes! I want to be the one their afraid of! I want to be as well-known as Dahmer and Bundy, I want to be told in stories 50 years from now!” He exclaimed.

“Haven’t you seen the news coverage, Jack? You’re famous.” She replied and the smile that covered the unsubs face made Y/N feel sick. But she had to keep the act up long enough to save this child.

“Why don’t you put the gun down and let the boy go, and you can go outside and see. The media are here, imagine all those cameras, all those news reporters. All calling your name, all wanting to hear your story.” Y/N emphasised, hopeful that her attempt to talk him down seemed to be getting somewhere.

The unsub simply smiled, unnerving Y/N. “Agent, that sounds great. But wouldn’t it make for an even greater story for the press to hear that it ended in such tragedy? With the death of a child and a courageous FBI agent that got caught in the crossfire?”

Her eyes widened, and she realised all too late what his words meant. “Wait-“She shouted out as three gunshots pierced through the air.

She watched as the boy and the unsub dropped to the floor. She turned around slowly, and saw Spencer holding his gun at the bottom of the staircase. The unsub was dead, the bullet that Spencer fired had hit him square in the forehead.

Y/N didn’t even register the pain in her left side until she looked down, watching the blood that blossomed on her white shirt. She collapsed to the ground in agony, but her eyes remained on the small boy, who was laying there bleeding, barely breathing but alive.

She heard Spencer’s voice calling for medics, as he rushed to his wife’s side. She cried out in pain as she registered the feeling of his hands pressing to her side, desperately trying to slow the flow of blood leaving her body.

“S-Spencer.” She choked out, tears leaving her eyes and trembling down the side of her face. His face came into view then, and she saw that he was crying too.

“Hey baby. I’m here, you gotta stay awake for me, okay. Please, oh god, please.” Her blood caked his hands, staining his shirt as he desperately tried to slow the bleeding.

“Spencer, you have to- you have to go to him. Help him, please.” She looked over to the small boy, before looking back to her husband, pleading him with her eyes.

“Y/N if I leave you you’re gonna bleed out, I can’t-“ He choked but she shook her head at him and let out a small whimper.

“Spencer- Spence- please. Please help him, I’ll be fine, I can hold on.” She begged and he went to protest again but the look in his wife’s eyes made him crack. He nodded, scrambling over to the small boy and checking his pulse with his fingers. It was barley there, and Spencer knew he wouldn’t last until medics arrived. He looked towards Y/N and shook his head slowly, tears falling down his cheeks.

“Bring him here, he can’t- he can’t die alone.” She cried and Spencer lifted the small boy up, laying him down next to Y/N, who reached over with the last of her strength to grab the boys hand.

The boys drowsy eyes flicked to hers, and they were so full of fear. Y/N hissed as Spencer’s hands returned to place pressure on her wound.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. I know it hurts. You can go, it’s okay.” She promised the young boy as she sobbed, her chest heaving, despite how it made her side burn. The boy took his last breath as the medics stormed the room, and Y/N let out a heart-wrenching cry.

They were seconds too late.

Spencer cried too, as he watched his wife slip from consciousness, her body going limp.

“Baby? Baby, please! Please.” He sobbed desperately trying to cling to his wife as he was pulled away by the medics.

Spencer watched helplessly as she was placed into the ambulance. She was still alive, by some miracle, she was fighting to live.

“Are you coming with us, Sir?” The medic asked, and Spencer nodded frantically, hopping in the back of the ambulance, the team promising to meet him in the hospital.

He held Y/N’s hand tightly in his and begged, prayed to every god that she would be okay. Once they made it to the hospital, she was rushed into emergency surgery, and Spencer was left in the waiting room, her blood caking his hands as he collapsed in on himself, the sobs wracking through him. The team rounded the corner into the waiting room at that moment, and JJ immediately rushed to her best friends’ side, taking him in a hug as Spencer sobbed into her shoulder.

JJ attempted to reassure him, but what could she say to make this better? Eventually they managed to convince Spencer to clean himself up in the hospital toilets, JJ having to go with him to help wash his wife’s blood from his trembling hands.

They sat in the waiting room for hours. The team had given up trying to get Spencer to eat or sleep, since he just snapped at them anytime they tried to ask him to take care of himself.

“Reid, Y/N would want you to take care of yourself, okay? You gotta eat something, man.” Derek tried, only to be met with Spencer’s harsh glare.

“I’m not doing anything until I know if my wife is alive.” He seethed, before turning his gaze back to the floor.

The team shared a look, but ultimately decided that Spencer wasn’t going to budge, so they stopped trying.

Hotch on the other hand was rather persistent. He sat next to the younger boy, who sighed and leaned back as his superior sat beside him.

“Hotch, I don’t wanna hear it-“ He started but Hotch cut him off.

“She will be just fine, you know that? Your wife is many things, a quitter is not one of them. You know how stubborn she is, she won’t go down without a fight.” Spencer almost smiled at the comment.

“I just keep thinking if I’d of gotten there sooner, maybe I could’ve stopped this, or even saved that boy I-“ Spencer couldn’t explain the guilt he’d felt as he watched the young boy die before him. He couldn’t help but feel as though he should’ve done more, but he was faced with an impossible choice; the love of his life or the life of a young innocent boy?

“Reid, there is nothing you could’ve done differently.”

“You know Y/N made me pick him up and bring him over to lie next to her so she could hold his hand? She didn’t want him to die alone.” Spencer choked out. His wife’s compassion was one of the things he’d fallen in love with. “I can’t lose her, Hotch.”

“You won’t.”

No one else spoke after that.

It was a long four hours of Spencer nervously pacing the waiting room, the team sat in the uncomfortable plastic chairs. Finally a doctor walked down the hallway, calling Y/N’s name out. Spencer sprang up from his seat.

“Yes, is she okay?” He asked desperately, his breaths coming out in soft pants. The doctor gave a small smile.

“Dr Reid, your wife is quite the fighter. She flatlined twice during surgery but she pulled through, against all odds. She is incredibly strong, we expect her to make a full recovery.”

Spencer had never felt a relief so sweet.

“She’s resting now, but as you’re her husband you’re welcome to go and sit by her, she could wake up any minute now. The rest of you will be able to see her later.”

Spencer thanked the doctor profusely before turning to face his team. He gave them a relieved smile, and they all smiled back, encouraging him to go and see his wife. He thanked them too before following the doctor towards Y/N’s room.

He pulled up a chair next to Y/N’s bed, moving to take his hand in hers, his focus on the small sparkling wedding ring that sat on her ring finger. He pressed as kiss to her hand, his eyes filling with tears as she looked at her.

“Hi, sweetheart.”

Spencer recited her favourite books from memory and told her stories, anything to push away the thoughts that entered his head.

what if she never wakes up?

It was in the middle of the night that Y/N finally twitched awake. Her eyes fluttered open, and she glanced around her, quickly registering where she was. She looked down to her left side, where her husband sat in a chair at her bedside. His hand held hers tightly, and he’d fallen asleep resting his hand on her stomach. She brought her other hand up and gently ran her hands through his hair, which woke Spencer from his slumber. She felt awful for waking him, the circles under his eyes that were darker than usual were an indication that he hadn’t had any sleep in a while.

“Y/N?” He whispered, looking up at her with tears in his eyes. “You’re awake, you’re okay?” He was more asking himself than her, trying to assure himself that he wasn’t dreaming.

“I’m okay.” She assured him and he let a sob escape his lips as he gently brought her into a hug, being careful of her injury. He sobbed into her shoulder as she held him tightly, soothing him with gentle shushes and calming strokes on his back.

Once he’d calmed down he pulled back and rested his forehead against hers. “I almost lost you, baby.” He whimpered.

She shook her head. “It’ll take more than a bullet to separate me from you, Spencer Reid. I believe I promised you forever. I intend to keep that promise.” She gestured to their wedding bands and he smiled down at them. He placed his hands on either side of her face, bringing her into him for a gentle kiss, one that reassured him that she was here, alive, and that the nightmare he’d been living was over.

When they pulled back, he sighed and Y/N frowned. “Now that I know you’re okay, would you mind telling me what on earth you were thinking?” He questioned.

Y/N wasn’t sure where this sudden change in mood had come from, and Spencer cut her off before she could answer him.

“You’ve gotta stop being so reckless, Y/N. Morgan and I were there too, you should’ve called out to us for backup before you went down the staircase.” He sounded like he was telling her off and Y/N couldn’t help but roll her eyes. “I’m serious, Y/N! Don’t you get it? You nearly died!”

“I told you to save him instead of me, Spence.” She spoke calmly. Her tone wasn’t accusatory, like she blamed him, nor was it cold or rude. She knew he was mad at her for putting herself in that position, but all she cared about at the time was saving that little boy.

He looked up at her bewildered, getting up from his seat. “Y/N, what was I supposed to do? Let you die?”

“Yes, Spencer. I would’ve happily given my life for that boy. Better me than him.” It was harsh and unfair to say, she knew that. But she was hurting and trying to make her husband understand the decisions she’d made.

Spencer’s eyes widened. “Don’t you dare say that, Y/N. Please, don’t ever say that.”

“This is my job, Spence. I made a promise that I would protect those who can’t protect themselves, and I need to keep that.” She explained.

Spencer scoffed. “What about the promises you made me, Y/N?” He asked, his voice getting louder, pointing to the golden wedding band that sat on his finger.

She sighed. “Spence its not the same-”

“Y/N Reid, you listen to me.” His voice was stern as he came to sit next to her again. “I will never, prioritise someone’s life over yours. I don’t care if it’s selfish, if its against the morals of my job. You’re my life, Y/N. I will not lose you. Do you understand?” His eyes searched hers, and she knew she better drop the subject, at least for now. She wasn’t going to win.

She smiled at him, which made his stern demeanour falter. He could never stay made at her.

He pulled her back into his embrace as the doctor came in, a smile on his face at the couple.

“Ah! Mrs Reid! Lovely to see you awake. How’s the pain?”

Y/N took a deep breath, hissing at the pain in her side. “It’s bad. Hurts like a bitch.” She joked and the doctor chuckled a little.

“We’ll get you something for that. I just came in to tell you that your vitals look good. You’re expected to make a full recovery and we can get you out of here by tomorrow.”

“Thank you, Doctor.” Spencer said and Y/N smiled gratefully as he walked away. Spencer opened his mouth to speak again, grasping Y/N’s hand in his, but was interrupted by the sound of voices coming down the hall.

Just then, the team burst into the room, all smiling happily at the sight of the couple, but also happy that Y/N was alive.

“There’s my beautiful best friend!” Garcia chirped at Y/N, as she placed a bouquet of flowers on the table next to her bed. She turned towards Spencer. “Move over, boy wonder. It’s my turn to get some of Y/N’s love.” She grinned, pulling Y/N into a tight embrace once Spencer had moved away with a chuckle. Spencer moved to stand at the back of the room next to Hotch, watching his wife laugh and joke with the people who’d become their family.

Hotch turned to him, smirking slightly. “See? I told you she’d be fine.”

Derek and Rossi moved to join the guys conversation, as JJ, Emily and Garcia all sat around Y/N’s bed, gossiping with her about something or other.

Derek chuckled lightly. “What, you think a bullet could take down the great Y/N Reid? Think again.”

“I heard that, Morgan. You know I could kick your ass if need be.” Y/N teased, which earned a laugh from the team.

Derek just raised his arms in mock surrender. “I know you could, doll. I know better than to underestimate you.” He teased back.

Rossi chimed in. “Damn right. She’s kinda scary when she’s mad, wouldn’t want to get on the wrong side of her.”

Spencer nodded in agreement with a laugh. “Its true. You should’ve seen her last week when I ate the rest of her crisps. She wasn’t happy.”

Spencer looked around the room and let himself bask in the warmth and happiness that filled it. Over the years he’d learned to cherish the little moments like that, where everyone was healthy, happy and together.

The fact that moments like that were so few and far between only made them more precious.

It was in that moment that Spencer Reid knew what true happiness felt like.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid one shot #mgg x reader #matthew gray gubler #matthew gray gubler x reader #criminal minds

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angelthebedsheet · 4 years

Note

Can you do a modern zuko x male reader where they vlog their day or they go on vacation. It’s okay if you can’t

a/n: ahhhh thanksies anonnie! i’ll try my best. zuko and m/n are camera transitions kings, i also have no idea on how airports work bc i’ve never been to one 💀💀, for their hotel room think of it was one of the waikiki resort hotel rooms w/ a balcony, i had fun with this!! lemme know if yall want a part 2!

lets get it yall!

“Hello, Zuko here. Welcome back to our channel. So tomorrow we’re going to Hawaii and we’re gonna take you guys with us.” Zuko said as he shot finger guns to the camera. “Right now, M/N is in the bathroom packing the last bit of his things. He’s a procrastinator.” Zuko commented. “YOU ACT LIKE YOU DIDN’T WAKE UP AT 5AM TO EVEN START PACKING.” M/N’s voice yelled from the bathroom. “He’s a liar don’t listen to him. He’s hangry.” Zuko said as he smiled.

“I’m hangry?” M/N walked to him. “Hey hey wait.” Zuko said as he turned the camera to record him. “C’mere. Imma teach you a lesson, boy.” M/N said as he rolled up his sleeves. “No wait you don’t haVE TO.” Zuko squealed as M/N threw him over his shoulder. “PUT ME DOWN!” Zuko yelled as he banged his fists on his back. “Nah you can’t talk mess like that and expect me to not attack you.” M/N teased as he walked out of frame. Zuko yelped as M/N dropped him in a chair. He started tickling him. Zuko busted out laughing. “B-Babe no!” Zuko exclaimed as he rolled the chair back. He slid back into frame with M/N tickling his sides. “Shut up and feel my wrath, pretty boy.” M/N cackled as Zuko squirmed around.

“I’m gonna piss my PANTS STOP.” Zuko cried out between laughs. M/N stopped and pressed a kiss to his lips. Zuko hummed with a soft smile. “We’re gonna edit that out?” Zuko asked. “Keep it in. They deserve to see how cute you look when you laugh.” M/N said. Zuko scoffed and slapped his arm. “Shut up. My image will be ruined.” Zuko said dramatically. “What image? You realize our fans have edits of you smiling and laughing?” M/N said as Zuko looked at him. “They do?” He whispered. M/N snorted. “Yeah they do. You’re on Twitter everyday, Zu. What do you think those profile pictures are?” M/N whispered back, amused. M/N watched as Zuko furrowed his eyebrows. He started laughing when Zuko’s face dropped. “Cut the camera, deadass. I’m an idiot, hold on.” Zuko whined as he ran a hand down his face. M/N kneeled down laughing. “It wasn’t that funny stop itttt.” Zuko said as he used his hand to cover his face. He gently kicked M/N’s side, causing him to wheeze.

“I’m turning off the camera. See you guys tomorrow, I’m tired of getting clowned.” Zuko mumbled with a small smile. “It’s just that you looked so fucking confused, I couldn’t handle it.” M/N cried. “Bye.” Zuko said as M/N raised his hand to wave. He covered the camera with his hand.

—————————-

M/N uncovered the camera with his hand. “And we’re back at the asscrack of dawn. It’s M/N here. Our plane is at 6am and we’re up at 3am. I already hate life.” He said as he wiped his eye. “Same here. Also why are you still wearing that bandana you can put on your durag. Isn’t that better for you?” Zuko commented as he looked at the f/c bandana. “Nigga why you still wearing that shirt you can put on your hoodie. Isn’t that better for you?” M/N said as he looked at Zuko. Zuko scrunched his nose and pushed M/N’s face away. “This is why we don’t speak early in the morning. His mouth is so rude.” Zuko whined. “You fell in love with me because of this mouth, sir.” M/N said. “Shush.” Zuko said as he covered M/N’s mouth. “Kinky.” His muffled voice said. Zuko groaned and wiped his hand off on M/N’s hoodie.

“I hate you.”

“Stop lying to yourself. You love me.”

“Yeah.... Unfortunately.”

“Unfortunately?? Guess I’ll just run away then.”

“Have fun.”

“You’re an asshole.” M/N chuckled. Zuko hummed with a smile. “But please change that bandana you look goofy with it.” Zuko said. “Garsh.” M/N commented as he set the camera down. He ducked out of frame and went to grab his durag. Zuko fixed his messy bun and threw on a hoodie. “Is that mine?” M/N asked from out of frame. “Yeah. Cry about it.” Zuko said, earning a pillow to the face. “Bitch.”

“Hoe.”

“Slut.”

“Cougar.”

“Whore.”

“Dumbass.”

“Clown.”

“Oh we’re talking about ourselves now?” M/N said with a false sense of surpise. “Low blow you lil shit.” Zuko grumbled. “I’m leaving you and asking Sokka to come with me instead.” He said. “Tah. You think Sokka’s gonna wake up at 3:30 in the morning on a Saturday? He’d skin you alive.” M/N commented. “Somewhere in the distant he woke up sneezing.” Zuko said dramatically. M/N chuckled. He picked up the camera and adjusted his backpack strap. “Autobots roll out.” He said, making Zuko rolled his eyes. “See yall in the airport, teehee.” M/N said as he held his hand up. “Did you have to say teehee like that.” Zuko said. “Stop shitting on my parade before I fart on your pillow.” M/N said. “You’re disgusting, why do I date you?” Zuko grimaced. “Because you’re stupidly in love with me and you’re whipped for my stupid ass.” M/N sang.

“N. e. ways. Before I was so rudely interrupted by this big baby—”

“I’m NOT a baby.”

“Uh I’m not finished—”

“I’m a grown MAN.”

“Oh my god, can you let me do what I need to do.”

“Go on.”

“Okay damn. As I was sayin—”

“I just think—”

“I’m gonna beat you with a tiki torch, Zuko. Shut UP. Let me do the fucking transition, fireboy.”

Zuko bit his lip to hide his smile. M/N huffed before smiling at the camera. Zuko waved. “See y’all in a few!” M/N said before covering the camera with his hand.

——————————

Zuko uncovered the camera. “Well hello there again. We’re in the airport now. It’s too bright in here.” He said quietly. “This tastes like shit. Like it makes me depressed even drinking it but caffeine.” M/N said as he grimaced at the taste. “I told you to not buy that brand. You don’t listen.” Zuko commented as he balanced the camera ontop of his suitcase. “It’s not even brand coffee.” He mumbled. “What is it then?” Zuko asked as he fixed his bun. “You wanna try?” He asked as he handed him the cup. Zuko took a sip and gagged. “That’s gonna give you some type of heart disease what the fuck is that? It tastes horrible!” Zuko exclaimed as he pushed the cup away. “Just a shit ton of caffeine shots and 5 hour energy.” M/N said.

“Jesus fucking christ. How do you drink that crap? Give that to me. I’m getting you actual coffee so you don’t die of high blood pressure before the age of 50.” Zuko said, snatching the cup away. “Zukooooo.” M/N whined. Zuko stood up. “This is basically gasoline. As a matter of fact, no more coffee for you. I’m supposed to be the coffee addict but this here is death in a cup. I’m getting you go gurt or some shit.” He said as he left. “He’s a hater he just took my gasoline.” M/N whined. He sucked his teeth and grimaced. “It was pure fuel. Can you get high off of caffeine? I mean it is an adrenaline.” He said as he fixed his durag.

Soon Zuko came back with a water bottle and a smoothie. He sat down. “Drink some water to wash that god awful mix out.” Zuko said, tossing it to him. “You couldn’t hand it to me?” M/N mumbled as he opened it and drank some, swishing it around his mouth before drinking it. “What flavour’s the smoothie?” He asked. “Piña colada.” Zuko said as he gave it to him. “But aren’t we gonna have that in Hawaii?” He asked again. “Stop complaining before I take it.” Zuko groaned. M/N shook his head before drinking the smoothie. “See you guys soon.” Zuko said, covering the camera.

———————————

There was a montage of Zuko and M/N, going through baggage claim and boarding the plane before Zuko turned the camera to face them. They waved at the camera. Zuko covered it again.

———————————

M/N uncovered the camera. “Hey girl hey, I’m in a plane.” He said. “That was awful.” Zuko grumbled as he adjusted his seatbelt. “When will you brighten up? Is it because you’re pastey?” M/N asked. “Pastey? I’m not pastey.” Zuko said. “You need some vitamin D? The sun? That good ol melanin? Cuz your panties are in a twist.” M/N teased. Zuko only rolled his eyes.

———————————

M/N recorded the plane taking lift off. There was a monatage of the plane getting higher and higher off the ground till clouds started to show. He turned the camera to show him and Zuko. Zuko rubbed his eye and waved. M/N only smiled and pressed a kiss to Zuko’s cheek. Zuko closed his eyes and smiled. He covered the camera.

———————————

He uncovered the camera to show Zuko hugging his arm while sleeping. He cooed. “See how cute he is when he sleeps? Lil chubby ass cheeks. Lookin like a dumpling. I can’t even turn on my laptop because he’s hugging my arm. He’s just so....” M/N trailed off to fondly smile at him. He pressed a kiss ontop of Zuko’s head. “Since I’m editing this video before it comes out y’all gonna see some real mushy shit because we are simply two stupid guys in love. I know some of y’all just gon eat this shit up. See y’all in Hawaii.” He said softly before covering the camera.

————————————

Zuko uncovered the camera. “We’re in a car and M/N’s out like a light.” He said as he showed M/N’s head on his shoulder. “I like him when he’s quiet sometimes. S’nice. Forgot to mention we’re in Hawaii now.” He said as he showed the scenery that passed them by as they sat in the cab. “I can practically feel the jet lag so we’ll probably stop filming after we show you our hotel room and continue tomorrow.” Zuko said, leaning his cheek ontop of M/N’s head. “We’ll be back.” He said before swiping his hand down the camera.

———————————

Zuko’s hand swiped down the camera revealing their shoes walking down the sidewalk. There was a montage of them walking into the hotel, checking in, going up the elevator and walking to their room.

——————————-

“Time for the big reveal.” M/N said as he held the keycard. Zuko hummed as he swiped the keycard and opened the door. They gasped as they looked at how cute the room was. “Bro... this is...” M/N said as he held the door open for Zuko. He walked inside showing the camera the whole room. “Cute.” Zuko mumbled. “Better than our room.” M/N said as he closed the door. M/N placed his luggage in the corner of the room and plopped down on the bed belly first. “Holy shit, Zu baby come HERE.” His muffled voice said. “Why what happened?” Zuko asked as he went to sit on the bed. “Oh my god.” He said.

“I know. Yeah no we’re gonna sleep and cuddle the rest of the day cut the camera.” M/N said as he turned to lay on his back. He kicked his shoes off and pulled Zuko down. Zuko squealed before he moved his head to lay ontop of M/N’s. He kicked his shoes off. “Welp. We’re gonna knock out. Bye.” Zuko said with a smile. M/N waved and covered the camera.

#x black reader #zuko x male reader #x male reader #atla zuko #zuko #zuko is a soft boy #we love a teasing relationship #they’re in love #zuko x reader #atla x black reader #atla x reader

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clownistyping · 3 years

Text

A Witch and A Hick

'Meet cute nasty.'

Hi! I'm back kinda? I'm just here to post this lil self insert story of me and Lester Sinclair from House of Wax. He doesn't get enough love and I wanna kiss him so much.

I may change the title, is Lester a Hick????? He can be if you don't think to hard about it. Idk how many chapters this'll be bc its just me writing lol. This also got up to almost 2k words so 😳😳

Also @darling-disastrous here it is uwu

The vans brakes squeal as the girl presses down on them, Elizabeth Mayfield bounced back from the vans push. Her hair covers her face, It's filled with leaves, crystals and hair wraps on single strands.

"Oh shut it Chariot." She grumbles and smacks the steering wheel, putting the van in park as she looks around her surroundings.

Parked in a gas station parking lot, barely anybody around and the moon is high and bright,

"Good night for a reading huh?" She turns to ask the dog in the back of the van. Who raises his head from the mattress in the back, the mutt puts his head back down. Turning on the roof light as she walks,

"Move over, Mac." She grabs the cards from her bag. Pushing past the hanging crystals and dreamcatchers, she sits next to the dog.

She hums and closes her eyes as she shuffles the cards. Letting her mind empty itself, her breathing is in sync with the dogs. Setting the cards in a pile of four, she draws the first card. It tells her what's at hand, seven of cups. She raises a brow,

"Love?" She looks at her dog who sniffs her wrist covered in homemade bracelets, she smiles. Her face heating up,

"Love."

The second card speaks of the past and how it's changed her, six of cups reversed.

"Try to be easy going, I was and I am." She puts the card back in the stack and pulls the 3rd, this will offer her food for thought.

The high priestess shows,

"Act more on feelings than facts. Is what I'm doing not enough?" She gestures to her van, hinting at her traveling lifestyle.

"Is this what you're referencing to?" She lifts the seven of cups and places the two cards down together. Shaking her head she lifts the final card, which tells her a course of action she can take. The chariot arrives in her hand.

"Again, is what I'm doing not enough?" She says out loud,

"I named the van after this card. Come on give me a break." She says to no one but Mac listens.

"Should we go further?" She pets the mutt who leans into her hand,

"Maybe somewhere, where nobody will bother us." She mumbles and lays on the mattress,

"Maybe I can be a forest witch," she mumbles and closes her eyes, letting sleep take over.

Lester spits on the ground, he looks up at the bright moon as it shines through the woods. The music plays gently in the background,

He hums along with the tune of 'season of the witch.' And pats his thighs to the rhythm,

"Purdy night ain't it, Jonesy?" He asks the dog that sits on the back of the truck with him. She licks his face and he laughs.

The sun peeks through the back doors, waking the girl in the van. She hums and sits up, Mac is standing in front of her ready to go.

"Good idea." She says and takes him out to use the bathroom. When she puts Mac back in the van she tries to figure out where she is exactly.

She knows she's landed herself in Louisiana, but most of the state looks the same. So she heads in the gas station, In the traffic mirror hanging above the entrance she gets a glimpse of herself.

Elizabeth wears a long black slitted skirt, both sides are cut and her legs show when she walks. Her tank is wrinkled and her shawl is tempted to fall from her shoulders, she fixes it quickly and holds her side bag close.

"Can I help you?" The cashier, an older woman asks and Elizabeth blinks. Back in reality, she nods.

"Actually yes, two things. Where am I?" She asks and the woman points to the pamphlets nearby,

"Smallwood. Okay, and uh can I use your bathroom?"

"Gotta buy something first." The woman huffs and Elizabeth quickly searches for some travel food and drinks,

Her only source of income is tarot reading strangers and selling the jewelry she makes. Not a lot but enough if you make the prices almost criminal.

Grabbing some powdered donuts, quickly she pays for them and runs to the bathroom. Quickly she fixes herself up, putting on dark eyeliner only to smudge it and swiping on dark lip gloss. She smiles at her dark makeup, it simply makes her happy. Stepping out the bathroom quietly, in hopes of not gaining any attention she tries to leave silently.

But her eyes catch a drink, staring at the energy drink from the fridge. She looks up at the cashier who's glaring at her.

In a flash Elizabeth quickly snatches the drink and runs from the building, Mac barks from in the van and the woman hollers.

"Get back here you freak!" The cashier screams and Elizabeth laughs as she runs. The needed adrenaline pumping through her, slamming the van open she gets in.

Grabbing her keys, the van sputters and spits.

"Come on, Chariot! Come on!" Elizabeth yells as she turns the key, the van rumbles as the cashier starts to run towards it.

"Lets go!" Elizabeth yells as the van roars to life, slamming on the gas Mac is pushed back on the mattress and quickly the van escapes the parking lot with the screaming of its tires.

Elizabeth doesn't slow the van until she reaches a wooded area, trees tower over the colorful van as it fails to blend in. But they're miles from the gas station and coming down from the high speed.

"Cheers." Elizabeth raises the energy drink and Mac licks it, she laughs and opens it.

The drink sprays all over the girls face immediately upon opening. She spits out the blueberry flavor and Mac licks her face all over, laughing she pushes the dog back.

"I get it! That was well deserved karma!" She yells yells the universe,

Suddenly the van spits and sputters.

"Oh no." She whispers and the engine cuts itself off.

"No! Baby please!" She hollers and slams on the steering wheel,

"Is this my karma?" She whispers and leans into her sticky seat,

"I regret nothing." She says and sips her drink, Mac pants next to her. He breathes a disgusting smell.

The two sit as the girl finishes her drink, she cringes as the sticky feeling on her face.

"I can handle a lot of things," she starts, looking at Mac and then the bones she collects all scattered in the van.

"But I can't handle a facial." She laughs and gets out of the van, Mac jumps out with her and sniffs the new ground. Elizabeth grabs the water from the back she runs it over her face, washing away the substance. Once the feeling of soda was gone Elizabeth checks her face in the side mirror.

Her eyeliner was running, she shrugs.

"Tell me, Mac. How do I look?" She turns, expecting her dog.

"Mac?" She says and looks around, the dog stands in the distance. His head raised as he sniffs the area, Elizabeth cups her mouth and yells.

"Hey, Get back here!" Mac looks at her and quickly sprints away towards the scent.

Elizabeth groans and quickly runs after the speeding dog. But he's quickly lost in the weeds of Louisiana.

"Mac!" She calls out and hears no response, but a rotting smell hits her. She doesn't flinch, after willingly tearing through dead animals for a good bone. She's numb to the smell.

And now she knows where that damn dog is headed.

Stomping her way through the thickets, she tries to keep calm her fingers absent-mindedly fidgeting with her silver coin necklace.

"Well hey there buddy, where you come from?" Elizabeth hears a voice say and she follows it.

"Alright load up!" Lester says and opens the passenger door of the truck, Jonesy quickly hopes in the truck and sits down. Ready to ride. In the back is another deer carcass, along with a vulture he accidentally hit. Lester taps his hands against the wheel as the music plays, Johnny Cash sings Ring of Fire on the radio, the chorus sings and Lester joins.

"And it burns, burns burns! The ring of fire!" Lester sings off key and Jonesey howls with him.

"If I could, I'd be in a band, Jonesy." The dog licks Lester's face and he laughs,

"Ah you're right, my ugly mug don't belong on no stage. I'm happy right here." He kisses the dogs head and she barks.

Lester drives down the bumpy pathway that leads him to the roadkill pit, he always checks to see if any strays show. His heart is soft for animals without a home, he likes to gain their trust. Make them feel safe while also being independent.

"Think we'll find anything?" Lester asks and backs the truck up to face the pit. As the two leave the truck, Lester hears movement from the hole. Turning towards it he smiles when he sees a collared dog sniffing around the carcasses.

"Well hey there buddy, where you come from?"

The dog looks up, his mouth full of the meat.

"Oh come on you don't wanna be eating that old meat." Lester pats his thighs,

"I got some good eatin at my place if you wanna come with." Lester smiles and the dog stumbles his way through the pile, Jonesey sniffs the mutts face and licks it clean, the new dog pounces and the two quickly engage in play.

"Well ain't that sweet, already made a friend huh, Jonesy?"

Lester says, he lets the two play and opens the back of his truck. Tossing out the carcasses, he then opens the passenger door.

"Alright you two, let's get going!" Lester pats the door and Jonesy was quick to jump in.

The new dog stood in place and sat,

"Oh come on boy, don't be shy." Lester whistles,

"HEY!" Lester looks up, above the cliff he heard the voice.

"THAT'S MY DOG!" The person yells and Lester sees the stranger, the said dog barks at the voice.

A girl wearing dark flowy clothes, her face covered in runny makeup.

"Hey, watch out!" Lester calls out and suddenly the girl fell off the cliff.

#my writing #house of wax #house of wax 2005 #lester sinclair #lester sinclair x reader #canon x oc #oc x canon #self ship #self insert

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obx-saltlife · 4 years

Text

Do I Wanna Know?

John B. x Reader; phone sex?

Summary: You take some photos, they’re meant for your dumb boyfriend; you accidentally send them to John B.

Warnings: Smut, graphic language, phone sex, don’t send n00ds (okay do but be responsible, always!), maybe cheating implied so if you’re not comfortable with that then don’t read.

A/N: I don’t even know how this came about. Take awesome photos, do you, queens; but always, always be responsible and don’t just send them to anyone bc guys are assholes sometimes (all of the time).

“Text 6969 now and stay completely satisfie-...”

The rest of the commercial was cut off as you rolled your eyes and switched off the television.

Leaning your head back against the sofa you sighed softly. The house was silent and you were alone once again. This was the third time this week that your boyfriend ditched you for the night and although he had offered plenty of times to take you with him, you declined knowing that you had plenty of other things to do back home. At this point, your relationship was definitely changing and aside from missing maybe the idea of him terribly, there was absolutely no denying you were undoubtedly missing the physical aspects of your relationship as well.

You and your boyfriend hadn’t been intimate for a while, and although you were mostly okay with it for a while, there were times when you’d find it incredibly difficult to admit that you were, indeed lonely. It was definitely frustrating being in a relationship with someone who was more focused on working or whatever than spending time with their girlfriend. Honestly, you didn’t mind the space as much but even when you did get together, your boyfriend was always somewhere else, mentally. However; you would never call him out on any of this. It would definitely end in him telling you that you were being “clingy” and the move on to talking about something else. And what girl wants to go through that shit?

While going through some old magazines, you came up with an idea. Instead of siting at home wondering if your boyfriend missed you as much as you missed him, you decided that you were going to make him miss you.

Leaving the couch and the magazines behind, you walked into your room stripping out of the simple clothes you had been wearing around town earlier in the day, revealing a matching bralette and lacy panty set. You looked at yourself in the mirror, slightly thankful that the set was actually matching, a rare and almost unusual occurrence.

You weren’t sure how to go about this. You had never ventured to the dark side of technology like this, you hadn’t needed to. You would never have thought of taking these types of pictures of yourself before, and you weren’t all too sure what your boyfriend Jason would think of them. However; you expected him to like it, because who didn’t like seeing their significant other half-naked?

Moving over to the bed, you took your phone and started taking pictures. To be completely hoenst, you were mostly just playing it by ear. Having no idea what was actually considered “sexy” since you often saw yourself as the exact opposite of the word. The rush of adrenaline boosted your confidence as you realized that hopefully, in a matter of minutes, Jason would be as turned on as you were.

You picked a few photos that you thought Jason would like the most and hastily pressed the send button. However, before you put your phone down, it beeped and a message appeared.

Sent to John B. Routledge

“Shit, Shit, Shit!” You screamed out loud, “This would fucking happen to me!”

You couldn’t believe that you had just sent her racy photos to your best friend of ten years instead of your current boyfriend.

Panicking, you typed a message to John B: “Sorry! Those were definitely not for you! Disregard! Actually don’t even look at it!”

To say you were embarrassed was an understatement. You had no idea what to do, and you knew how awkward it was going to be once met up with the rest of the Pogues for surfing tomorrow morning.

“What is he even going to think when he sees those pictures?” You thought out loud, “What if the other boys see them? I'm a fucking idiot.”

Putting your face in your hands, you groaned and tried to think of ways to overcome this situation. However, the very familiar ring tone quickly interrupted your thoughts. Looking at the caller ID and inwardly groaning, a clear embarrassed flush on your cheeks.

Call from John B. Routledge

Sighing, you picked up the phone.

“H-Hey John B,” you began to stutter.

“Well, well, that text I just received is definitely different than your quirky meme of the day.” The voice said over the phone. You could tell that John B was smirking and you were even more embarrassed than you were before.

“John B that was meant for Jason! I didn’t mean to send those to you. I’m so sorry!” You rushed. You were never going to get over this. The embarrassment was literally mortifying.

“Why are you sorry? I’m definitely not complaining.”

“Come on, JB. Can you just delete the photos? We can pretend it never even happened”

“You know it’s funny,” He started, “I'm pretty sure red isn't your favorite color but it looks good on you.”

You were definitely mortified. Actually, mortified was an understatement. You couldn’t believe that he was acting like this! All you wanted him to do was to delete the photos and then that way; he could go on with his life and you could continue with yours as well.

“John B, just do me a solid and delete them okay? I already feel bad enough.” You sighed.

He didn’t say anything and now you were getting worried. Was he really that repulsed by you? Maybe, you were muted and he was showing your pictures to the other guys.

“God, I’m such a fucking idiot.” You huffed, “I don’t even know why I thought this was a good idea anyway. It’s not like Jason would have even liked them.”

“Why would you even begin to think something like that?” He questioned.

“I don’t know, I-I- John B, can you please just delete them?” You pleaded.

“Hey, why would you think that?” He repeated.

How were you supposed to tell your best friend that your boyfriend was awful? You knew John B already didn’t like him to begin with and that he only tolerated him because you would beg him, Kie, Pope and JJ to. But, if they knew how he treated you, you wouldn’t hear the end of it not only from John B but from the rest of them as well. They liked treating you like one of the gang. Regardless, you knew there would be countless amounts of “I told you so’s” and even more lectures about why Jason wasn’t a good guy to begin with.

“I don’t know, JB. He’s just been really busy, apparently. I don’t even know. We haven’t really spent much time together and every time I try to do something for him, he just shrugs it off. It's discouraging and awful.” You said hoping this would get him off of your back.

You were wrong. Questions continued to come, and that's how you told your best friend absolutely everything that was going on with you and no-good Jason. Even though you knew that John B would probably be upset, you felt as if a giant weight had been lifted off of your shoulders.

“Can I tell you something?” John B asked.

“Anything.” You said nodding; quickly realizing that he couldn’t see you over the phone.

“Well, I- Honestly-If-Well, If you and I were in this position that you and that idiot Jason are in, I wouldn’t be able to keep my hands off of you.” John B admitted sheepishly, “Specially if you took pictures like that for me.”

“Shut up, JB,” You laughed, “I know what you’re doing and it’s not working.”

“What am I doing?”

“You’re just trying to make me feel better, and you’re doing a really shitty job.” You pointed out.

“I’m being honest!” He exclaimed, “Seriously, though. You’re beautiful.”

You sighed and rolled your eyes at his comments. You weren’t interested in talking about this; all you wanted him to do was delete the photos so you could carry on with your extensive plans to do absolutely nothing the rest of the night.

“Can I do something?” He asked knowing that you probably wouldn’t say anything anytime soon.

“Um, okay?” You questioned, now worried of what he was planning on saying next.

“I want to make you feel good.” He said his voice just above a whisper, “Will you please let me do that for you?”

“John B…”

“Just let me show you,” he said, getting back to his point, “Go upstairs, and get on the bed.”

“John B, can you please just delete the photos? It’s late and we have surfing early tomorrow morning.” You said changing the subject once again.

“Let me take care of you.” He said ignoring your pleas to delete the photos.

You couldn’t believe what he was doing. He was obviously aware of the fact that you had a boyfriend, and although you did have their issues you loved him very much and wouldn’t dream of hurting him. You looked over at the bed, contemplating granting his request.

“I love Jason.” You said, “I don’t want to cheat on him. I’m not sure if this is right, JB.”

“Do you trust me?” He asked.

“…Yes” you hesitated, of course you trusted him. He was your best friend, but at this time you weren’t really sure where he was going.

“You also know that I wouldn’t do anything to hurt you, right?” He asked, “That I wouldn’t do this if I thought you would be putting your relationship in jeopardy?”

“I know, JB.”

“Okay then.” He confirmed, “Get on the bed for me.”

You nodded, still realizing that he couldn’t see you and made your way toward your bed like you were told. After all, he did say that this wouldn’t hurt your relationship with Jason, right?

“God those pictures are driving me absolutely crazy.” He whispered, “I wish you could see what you’ve done to me. I keep thinking of what I’d do to you if you were here right now.”

He went silent. You listened carefully and heard a zipper in the background, seconds later you heard a soft thud proving that he had taken off his pants and they had hit the ground.

You silently gasped, realizing what was actually happening. You wanted to stop it, you really did. However; you were too curious to see where this went. You would be lying if you said that you weren’t turned on. You felt as if you were finally getting the recognition you deserved and you loved it.

“Let me ask you something” John B asked, his voice still quiet, “Does your boyfriend ever play with you like this? Does he touch you how want you to be touched?“

If you weren't turned on before, you definitely were now. You couldn’t believe that you were seeing this side of John B. A side of him, you had only ever heard about from the other two boys and gossipy girls in your group of friends. You were used to the little shy, somewhat awkward boy you met when you were 10 and he was only 8. Not the persistent, demanding man you were on the phone with now.

“No” You whispered, “He doesn’t.”

John B groaned, “I can make you feel so good, all you need to do is let me. Tell me what you want.”

Now noticing that familiar feeling in between your legs, you knew that you had finally cracked.

“Play with me, John B.”

“I told you I was going to make you feel good didn’t I?” He responded.

It was like you could feel his presence, and you knew that he was definitely giving some sort of smirk at the end of it. However, you were too turned on to laugh. You wanted him, and you wanted him now.

“Close your eyes for me, imagine me there.” He was back to his husky voice, “You’re going to touch yourself exactly as I say, and I don’t want you do anything unless I tell you to. Do you understand?”

“Please, John B.” You whimpered, “Tell me what to do.”

“I’m going to need you to take off what you’re wearing. Can you do that for me?” John B asked.

You slowly began taking off the red bralette set you were wearing earlier, waiting for John B’s next move. The line was silent; the only thing you could hear was his heavy breathing and a quiet groan, which signaled that he had just started touching himself.

“Fuck, I bet you look amazing right now. I wish I was with you, I wouldn’t waste any time getting your clothes off of you. I bet your skin feels amazing. You look so good in red, babe.” John B groaned.

“My clothes are off,” You whispered interrupting his thoughts, “Tell me what to do, JB.”

“Touch your breasts. Instead of your little hands imagine mine cupping them, rolling them around with my palms.” He instructed.

You did what you were told, you began touching your stomach gradually moving up as you began touching your breasts. Softly kneading them with your palms until you gradually gained more strength imagining John B’s hands touching you instead of your own. You let out a small whimper to let know John B that you were doing it, and every time you did you felt the feeling between your legs increase.

“Do my fingers feel good, rolling both your nipples between my thumbs and forefingers?” He questioned.

You gasped and let out another whimper as a response, still afraid of what your voice would actually sound like.

“Answer me.” He spoke.

“Your fingers feel good on me, JB.” You answer, “Your hands are so big.”

“Spread your legs for me,” He asks softly, “Can you feel the air against you?”

You spread your legs, feeling the air against your clit and gasped, “Fuck, John B.”

“Open yourself for me. Tell me what you want”

“Your mouth, I want your mouth.” You whispered, “Please, John B.”

You weren’t sure how long you could last without touching yourself, the way he was talking to you was driving you absolutely wild and you couldn’t handle it anymore.

“My mouth?” He questioned, “You want my tongue inside of you?”

“Yes!” You whined.

“Do you want to touch yourself, babe?” He asked.

“Yes, please let me, JB.”

“Do you still feel the air on you? Do you feel me licking your slit?” John B asked completely disregarding your cries, “God you taste so good.” The fact that you could now hear him touching himself clearly made you moan.

“I need you to touch me, John B. I’ve been doing what you told me to do, please.” You pleaded again.

“Are you turned on?” He asked.

“Yes”

“Are you wet?”

“I’m so wet- soaking.” You pleaded, “Please let me touch myself. I’ll do anything.”

“Anything?” He questioned.

“Mhm” You moaned pressing your thighs together. You were hoping that this would help you calm down, however it was just the opposite.

“I want you to put your hands on your slit, and then I want you to tell me what you want me to do.” John B commanded.

You didn’t waste any time moving your hands down and started rubbing yourself sighing with relief.

“Fuck me, John B.”

“I can’t think of anything else that I’d rather do.” He responded, “Now, I want you to do whatever feels good for you, okay? Feel free to slip in now.”

You continued to rub yourself as you left your finger slide inside of your while putting your other hand on your breast. You sighed as you moved it slowly. You closed your eyes as you imagined John B giving you the pleasure that you were giving yourself. You pushed another finger inside of yourself and raised your hips just slightly as you pretended that they were his.

“One or two?” John B asked groaning.

“Two”

The slapping sounds against his flesh became very noticeable now and that just encouraged you to keep doing what you were doing.

“Fuck yourself faster,” John B grunted, “Fuck, you feel incredible.” Something about hearing him utter those words made you ache for him more.

You did what you were told and moved your fingers faster, still bucking against them. Your fingers twisted and turned inside of you, finding the spot that you were desperately craving to find.

“Keep going, let me hear you.”

For the next few minutes the phone was filled with moans, gasps, grunts, and sighs. The two of you were pleasuring yourselves to no end, each of you wishing they were with one another to get your release. You could feel yourself building up as you continued to push your fingers inside of you. Biting your lip, you almost forgot that John B was on the other line until he spoke again.

“Play with your clit.”

You moved your fingers faster against yourself and moved the hand that was on your breast so it could pay full attention to your clit.

“J- So- You feel so good- Shit, John B!” You exclaimed moving your hand faster against your clit to drive yourself further. You began to get that feeling in the pit of your stomach and started to tighten around your fingers.

“I wish I could see you right now” John B started, “Watching you as you’re doing this. I bet you��re beautiful right now.”

“Close,” You whimpered.

John B let out an unreadable grunt and continued pumping himself through the phone. Along with the other sounds he was making, you could tell that he was close too.

“Make me cum, JB. Please.” You said still moving your hand against your clit.

“Together, just-not long now,” His sentences were getting choppy, his breathing ragged and erratic.

You were trying so hard to hold out for him but you were afraid you wouldn’t be able to do it. Just as you were about to let out your release, you heard a small, “Now”. You let out a small scream as you released and listened as John B let a small string of curse words as he came.

The two of you spent a few minutes in silence trying to catch your breaths after everything you had just done. You smiled to yourself finally feeling satisfied for the first time in a while, and weirdly you honestly couldn’t wait until you saw John B tomorrow morning, to talk about what had just happened. This newfound confidence told you the conversation would go well. You knew that right then wasn't the right time to say anything; especially after the moment you just shared.

“See you tomorrow?” You whispered.

“Wouldn’t have it any other way.” He said, “Bright and early?”

You continued to think. You knew that this whole entire experience was wrong, but everything felt so right. Although you loved Jason, you knew that you wanted to at least try and talk to John B about what happened.

You heard him yawn over the phone, realizing that between his busy day and everything else he must have been exhausted.

“Yes, definitely.” You smiled over the phone, “Get some sleep though, okay?”

“Call me some other time.” He said, his voice mixed with a lazy smile and exhaustion, “Goodnight.”

You knew exactly what he meant, and although you were still having mixed emotions you couldn’t wait to maybe call him again.

#outer banks fanfiction #outer banks imagines #john b x reader #john b smut #john b imagines #outer banks #outer banks netflix #obx do i wanna know

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no-whump-on-main · 3 years

Text

Apartment 307-8 (Grabbed by the hair)

Hi guys!! I'm so sorry it took me so long to update. School and work have been crazy but luckily I'm out of school next week so I'll have much more time and be posting more frequently! Apologies for the short chapter, I have no idea why but it just kicked my butt lol. I tried doing some cool multimedia stuff, I hope you enjoy! This is @sableflynn's BTHB request, grabbed by the hair.

TWs: Creepy, possessive whumper, mention of branding, also this chapter made me sad bc I love my mom and Elora's mom is sad so warning for that lmao

Elora was still lying there crying hours later. The tears had slowed from her initial keening sobs, but they still fell steadily down her face, accumulating in a small puddle on the tile by her head. She could see a bit of her reflection in the salty water; just her eyes, mostly. She saw green eyes that had once been so full of hope and life that were fading, the slow abandonment of hope almost making them gray out. She wanted to lie there forever, staring into her own eyes, until oblivion took her. If she cleared her head enough, she could pretend she was elsewhere, somewhere warm and loving; the blanket draped over her body did help with the fantasy, though she always knew somewhere in the back of her head that it was just that: a fantasy. She was still here. With him.

Clyde tried to give her time to recover, but his patience wore eventually. He began to get antsy after a few hours of watching her lie there, doing nothing but cry. Admittedly, he did enjoy it at first-seeing her so weak, so docile, because of him-but it eventually grew tiresome. Watching each tear drip down into the puddle became like watching paint dry.

He stood up abruptly. Elora was startled by the motion, flinching before stilling and watching him very carefully. What was he going to do?

“Get up,” he said simply.

Elora froze. She still felt sick, dizzy with pain and the lingering scent of her burning flesh in the bathroom. But why would he care about that? Why should she disobey him, when she knew what would happen?

Yet pride and pain got the better of her again.

“I can’t,” she whimpered. She felt weak. “I hurt. You hurt me.”

The piercing sound of a loud, sudden laugh began to echo through the bathroom. It reminded Elora of the laugh of a hyena. She winced.

“Darling, did you not think that was the point?”

Her expression hardened and her heart thumped in her chest. That was the point. She wanted to say something, but her mouth suddenly got dry.

The man simply grinned. “Get up,” he repeated, but she didn’t. She just laid there, dumbfounded.

He groaned angrily, rolling his eyes. “Fine,” he grumbled. “Be that way.”

He gathered up her hair in his hand, locked his fingers in a tight fist, and pulled up. Elora yelped and scrambled to get to her feet to relieve the pain, but he didn’t give her the chance; he carelessly dragged her off, out of the bathroom, through the hallway, and into the living room. She screamed and thrashed wildly, her hands desperately trying to push him away as her scalp burned like fire. Again and again, her feet scraped the ground to no avail, kicking and kicking but never able to gain enough traction to stand as she was mercilessly dragged. The man finally dropped her on the floor at the foot of a worn leather couch, releasing his death grip on her hair. Her hands immediately flew up to her head, applying gentle pressure to her scalp to try to ease the burning pain as she looked around the new room.

The living room was barren, like the man had half moved into it then given up. There was a dusty box in the corner, the couch, a worn coffee table, a small stand, and an old TV. Other than that, it was empty, in an eerie way. The aged carpet spanned the floor like an ocean.

The pressure didn’t do much and Elora dropped her hands, still wincing as the man plopped himself on the couch behind her, the leather making a loud crackling noise as he sat. She whipped her head around as her shoulders raised up to her ears instinctively. The man made a sour face, his features twisting into an ugly frown.

“Relax,” he commanded, forcefully pushing her shoulders down. At first, she tried to wiggle away, but that idea was abandoned when he tightened his grip, clearly as a warning. He grabbed the TV remote from the arm of the couch and turned it on. It started on some history channel documentary about cars, but Clyde quickly flipped through channels until he found the local news station.

A grin spread across his face as he read the blue banner spanning across the bottom of the screen. They were just in time.

UP NEXT: CAPE COD GIRL GOES MISSING; DESPERATE MOTHER PLEADS FOR HER RETURN

His hands wandered to Elora’s scalp and began to gently card through her hair. She inhaled sharply, and it took everything she had in her not to immediately shove him off. Somehow the gentleness felt worse than the pain; the false sense of care disgusted her. He was a maniac. He hurt her, he branded her, and now he was sitting on the couch petting her hair, pretending like none of it happened. It didn’t escape her attention how he set her on the floor instead of the couch, below him, like a dog.

The banner was bad enough, but she felt sick to her stomach when the station cut to a reporter sitting at a desk with a picture of her on half of the screen. It was the picture her mom took of her at the orchard last fall. It was candid; she remembered it. She was intently focused on a butterfly off on a tree, ignoring her mom as she snapped the photo. It was one of her favorite pictures of herself. And now, it was plastered all over the news.

The reporter on the TV began to speak. “Tonight, a desperate mother pleads for her missing daughter’s safe return. Elora Larkin, nineteen, of Barnstable county, Massachusetts has been missing since Friday night. She was last seen walking home from her job at Agathangelou’s bakery, wearing khakis, a black t-shirt, and black sneakers. The police have opened a tip line and are offering an unspecified reward for any information that leads to Miss Larkin.”

Elora felt a lurching sensation in her stomach, so visceral she wanted to throw up. That was her. On the news. Gone. Missing.

Behind her, the man chuckled.

“Look at that, baby. You’re all over New England.”

“I’m not your baby,” she snapped, turning around. But her head was spinning. All over New England? It wasn’t the Cape Cod news station on the TV. It wasn’t even a state news channel. It was entirely unfamiliar, the reporter’s face one she’d never seen.. So he’d taken her across state lines, making her chances of being found lower yet.

The man shushed her and put a finger up to her lips. “Watch.” She almost bit him, but decided it wasn’t worth the inevitable punishment that would follow. Besides, they might say something useful, something that could help her. She needed to pay attention.

The screen changed, and a missing persons poster popped up. Hers.

It was up for a minute before it faded away as the reporter came back on the screen.

“Such a sad story. Everyone in the studio is hoping and praying for her safe return. Unfortunately, vigilance is so important in this day and age. Up next, we have a recording of a press conference with the girl’s mother.

The girl’s mother. Her mother. Elora felt her heartbeat thumping in her chest.

And there she was. Jodie was standing at a podium in a building that had to be a police station. Demetrios was standing by her side, offering support by merely being present. While Elora hadn’t seen him cry even once in all the years she’d known him, he now looked like he was on the verge of tears.

Her mom started to speak. She looked so sad. Withered, like the life had been sucked out of her, from fear and overthinking and sleepless nights.

“My daughter-My daughter Elora has been missing since Friday night. She’s got-she’s got blonde hair, and green eyes, and she’s real tall. I’m sure pictures have gone around by now. She was walking home from work and-and then she disappeared. We were supposed to have dinner Sunday and she never came. It was supposed to be her weekend off. I- If someone has her, please, I’m begging you, let her go. Bring her home safe. She’s a good kid, she works hard, she rescues cats in her spare time...she doesn’t deserve this. And Elora, if you’re seeing this, I love you. I love you so much, honey. If you chose to leave, please just tell us you’re okay. It’s okay. You can go see the world, just tell us you’re okay. And if something-something bad happened, we’re gonna find you. I promise, baby, I love you and we’re gonna bring you home. Promise.”

At that point, she set the microphone down and began to cry, tears streaming down her face as she hurried off to an exit, the cameras following her for a few moments. Elora’s heart twisted in knots. Seeing her mom’s face brought her so much joy, yet knowing how worried she had to be made her feel sick with guilt.

But she promised. She promised she’d find her.

“That your mom?”

Elora stilled. He already knew the answer.

"She’s kinda pathetic. Could barely keep it together long enough to tell them about you.”

She went cold. “Stop,” she seethed. Her voice was eerily calm, given her anger.

"Or what?” he replied, twisting her hair up in his hand and giving it another tug.

Elora was silent. There was no or what. She knew that.

The reporter came back on the screen.

“Well, folks, that’s all we have on the case for tonight. Remember to be safe and vigilant. This has been Hannah Brown with News12.”

The man released her hair, picked up the remote, and turned off the T.V.

“Notice how they only talked about you, not me?”

Elora turned her head around. She was crying.

“What?”

He scoffed. “I said, notice how they only ran their mouths about you the whole time. Never said a word about me. You know what that means? They don’t know jack shit about me. They don’t know who you’re with or where you are. I probably shouldn’t tell you this, but we’re in Connecticut. We crossed state lines twice. They’re never going to find you, you know that?

She tried to hide it, but he could see her expression falling with every word he said, hope beginning to seep out of her. She shook her head vigorously, her bottom lip trembling.

“N-no! No, they will, you’re just crazy! You’re just fucking crazy!”

A scowl formed on his lips. “No, they won’t.”

She opened her mouth to protest, but in a split second, his hand was gripping tightly around her throat, cutting off her air. Her eyes went wide.

“No one is coming to save you.”

Elora swallowed, fear bright in her eyes. She tried to rip herself away, but the man raked his fingers across the fresh brand on her collarbone, sending her to the ground, keeling in pain.

“We could’ve had a nice evening if you behaved. Listened,” he grumbled, standing and once again grabbing her hair tightly before dragging her off towards the bathroom.

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