#Splatter Fatality

[szarina]

MY HEART IN YOUR HANDS

a night of his love bore a result. one that you can't escape from. you were still determined to let go of him and put him the story and happiness he deserves even you'll be left with nothing but a body with a shattered heart — Zayne is a another story. He's not willing to let you go when he's already in too deep.

❆ ₊⋆ ──── notes. inbox is open for any inquiries and requests that are related to this trilogy. thank you all for the support and the comments that made the sequels possible. i do apologize that it is rushed and all.

❆ ₊⋆ ──── taglist. @sillyfreakfanparty @chersyluvs @inzanekillian @regalillegal @quillsanddaggers @hebreeee @hi-itsmee @lupitalover @animegamerfox @xaakilove @iluvzayne @dstrctaya @roschea-arts @simpingpandas @auraficial @sill33witheen @popejar @skyline-night @aboobie @youraveragereaders @ssetsuka @nothoughts-justzayne

❆ ₊⋆ ──── content warnings. angst + yandere themes + implied noncon/dubcon + babytrapping + emotional manipulation + pregnancy + ooc zayne + possessiveness + brief descriptions of birth + insecurities + grammatical/typo errors.

READ PART ONE. PART TWO

It's probably a stomach bug or you overate which you always did when you're stressed.

That's what you said to yourself after breakfast when you came running to the nearest sink and hurling the contents of your stomach. The first purge came violently and the bits of your breakfast that wasn't digested by your stomach acid splatters on the pristine white sink of his kitchen.

Zayne rushes to your side. His white coat abandoned in the back of his chair and his sleeves are still rolled up while drawing circles in your back. You coughed up a bit, stealing a glance to him and your throat tightens and your stomach lurches forward. Another wave of nausea hits you.

The sound of the faucet being turned on registers in your brain and you watch as the once contents of your stomach slowly disappears and be washed away in the drain.

Concern was etched on his face. He takes a wash cloth, running it under the cold water flowing from the faucet, giving it a squeeze to wring out the excess water before bringing it to wipe the corners of your lips. His hand holding your jaw while he moves it to inspect your face.

After cleaning your mouth, he asks you a question. “We should go to the hospital.” He calmly says but there's a hint of tenderness in there.

“No. It's not necessary.” Straight out refusing him. It's just nausea, typical. There's several reasons for that but Zayne is quick to refute you. One of the cons of being with a doctor.

“It is needed. Clammy hands, elevated pulse and coldness, it could be a underlying symptoms of an illness. It's better to be sure. Your health should not be overlooked.”

Period. He didn't gave you any chance to refuse him again. He came with you all the way to the hospital and got you settled on one of the private rooms. Not the clinic for walk-in checkups or consultations.

You were kind of glad for the coldness of Zayne's hand while it massage the flesh of your arm. Personally taking your vital signs and doing the blood works while a nurse waits for his instructions. He taps your skin before sticking the end of the needle.

“You will feel a pinch.” He warns, it's not like you needed it. You survived in a fatal car crash and was prodded and wired to different machines.

Blood fills the syringe and he takes it out before putting it on a tray. “I need to get this done as soon as possible.” He orders and the nurse nods at him. Taking the needed information about you and rushes outside. Clearly, they were intimidated by Zayne and whatever he said is the unwritten rule in the book.

“You don't have to pause your work for me.” You surmised, resisting the urge to peel the band aid in your arm where he stuck the needle earlier to draw your blood.

“It isn't ideal but it won't hurt anyone for me to accompany you. Considering you're my patient and future wife. ” He affectionately pets your head. Pulling the chair besides your bed where you sat at. He sits right in front of you.

You ignore the last sentence. It doesn't ease your mind when Zayne is being overly affectionate to you like a housecat when it's near feeding time. Always watching, always close. He takes your hands in his. Marveling the smoothness of your own to his own scarred ones.

“It's going to be fine. Treat it like a another check up. We're only here to make sure you're fine.” His voice calm and assuring. Noticing the small tick when you're worried.

It didn't take long for your tests to come back. It wasn't a nurse who appeared but a another doctor. A woman wearing the same white coat similar to Zayne's, their identification card clipped in the left breast pocket of their uniforms.

Opposite to Zayne's stoic expression, she's bubbly for some reason. “Dr. Zayne.” She greeted the cardiac surgeon. A holographic screen appeared in front of her and with a smile that she fails to keep in doing so, she began to speak.

A sense of foreboding washes over you. You bit your lower lip unconsciously.

“There's no irregularities in the result of her blood tests, Dr. Zayne.” Her sight darting over you and Zayne. She glances back at the screen. “Although, the count of her red blood cells are lower and the white blood cells are higher than normal which is expected since hCG are detected in her blood.”

You didn't like where this is going.

“Congratulations, Dr. Zayne. She's pregnant.” She cheerily announces like it was a privilege to find out the most sought and talented cardiac surgeon is about to be a father.

Tears pricked at the corner of your eyes at the sudden revelation. You raise your head to look at Zayne. The other doctor left to give you both privacy at the sudden news. Is that mirth on his eyes? It faded before looking at you but nonetheless it is present. His expression lax.

The memories of what transpired that night sent chills to your spine. You desperately wanted to forget that night but the ache in your body throbs and the hickey he left in your neck stings. You didn't know Zayne was capable of doing that.

“Zayne....” Your voice trails off as you call him. “Is it not to early for me to be pregnant?” Disbelief follows your every word. You meet his gaze. Begging for him to say the truth, that it was only a lie, a fluke, a mistake.

He wraps his arm around you. Your head on his chest and your world crashes when he spoke those words. “Blood results doesn't lie. It's more accurate than any other tests.” He explains. “I am glad that you are fine.” He says with such familiarity, voice gentle and warm. It was much tender than what he used when telling a patient of good news.

There's a flicker of revelry on his eyes as his gaze fixated on the windows before looking down at you.

“You're only pregnant.” He whispers. “It was bound to happen.” His hold on you firm. He presses a kiss at the top of your head. “Don't be so afraid.”

His hazel green eyes darkens as he said those words. “You won't be alone, I'll be by your side — just like I promised.” He murmurs. His arms secured around you, sensing that you're about to pull away.

It didn't bring you the assurance or the words you wanted to hear. Your fingers tightens around the crisp coat of his. Enclosed by your fists, you didn't care if it got wrinkled. All you can think is how you're going to raise a child. Your child with him.

“My parents are back.”

Zayne tells you to get a reaction from you while he loosens his tie. He just got home from overtime at the hospital. A traffic incident got him stuck. He expected that you're already asleep considering your condition but you were wide awake. Poring over the pages of your book.

He sees the furrow of your eyebrows from the reflection of the mirror on the wall. “Is it too soon for them to be back?’ Your voice were flat but for the sake of conversation you try to carry. Zayne ignored the tone of your voice. “The conference ended early.”

He takes off his watch and pulls the drawer to put it. Zayne turns around to see you flipping pages of the book. You didn't even glanced at him. Keeping your response clipped and only mmm's and yeah's. You didn't take the news of your pregnancy well.

It was sudden of course, it only happened that night and weeks later, you are with his child. Considering he monitored all your cycles and since you were under his care, there's a little bit of change in your diet. Foods that are nutritious and rich in boosting your chances of fertility. You didn't suspect a thing.

The night when it happened, he got swept away. Strongly feeling those emotions that he wasn't aware of and he snapped when you said those dreadful words. Why would you leave him now? Don't you love him anymore? He only made his point that night despite your tearful protests that breaks his heart.

He feels a bit guilty about it but was soon relieved. It was necessary. You're not going to leave him, not when you're carrying his child and it would be a shame to your family and there's the risk of you getting shunned. Affluent families doesn't take shame lightly. It was losing face and the honor that was built from time to time. He knows your parents won't agree.

It only happened once — you argued to him. After the test results came back all positive for your pregnancy. He easily downplayed it as normal and you were both a couple. Engaged and waiting to be married. A good time for the upcoming union but your tears told another story. You wanted to leave him and he used the oldest trick in the book. Impregnate your stubborn soon-to-be wife. It worked quite well. Side effect? Your fiancée won't take it lightly and will give you the cold shoulder. Fine by him.

He won't let you go that easy.

He keeps a firm grip on your hand as you both walked in the familiar hallways of the posh restaurant. It was traditional and had lasted through the years despite the frequent Wanderers wrecking havoc in the area. Following the maître d' in where the private room with both of your parents are waiting.

This happened a few times. It was usually you would walk behind him. Almost tripping — trying to catch up his long strides. He never bothered to look behind nor waited for you. Deja vu was the thing you hated. Forcing you to replay all the wasted efforts you put. A reminder that you were always overlooked, ignored. This time you weren't. Walking side to side with his hand intertwined to yours.

Birthdays, graduations and the milestones in one's life are always celebrated here in this very restaurant. Yours and his. It's the little things in life, Zayne's mother would say. It's also the way where Zayne, her son to make him come. Even when he's busy with his studies, he would come. Always the dutiful son that respects his mother's wishes.

On those times, he keeps the facade that you two were both fine. Not realizing that their children in front of their parents are strangers. A relationship strained that it makes family dinners unbearable. You and Zayne both perfected that. Keeping up with appearances.

The room was spacious. A huge crystal chandelier dangling on the ceiling. The light reminiscent of a candles burning in the night, creating a more subdued lightning but still provides the warmth and comfort of the area. It reflects on the cream colored curtains. Glinting on the silver cutleries.

“Here they are.” Is the first voice you recognized upon entering the private room. Your father's voice. Boisterous and good natured just the way you remembered it.

The maître d' politely bowed before leaving the room.

“Finally.” Another voice pipes up and it was Zayne's mother. You can see the slight crinkles on the side of her face. A total opposite of Zayne who keeps the same stoic look on his face.

“My apologies. There's a bit of traffic on our way here. Thank you for waiting on us.” Zayne apologetically nods his head. Light catching on his glasses.

You subtly pried his hand on your plush waist before going to greet your parents while Zayne's parents fuss over him.

“It's been so long, (Y/N). I hope you're faring well.” Your father says before you hug him. “I am.” You lied through your teeth but masked it as something warm to assure your father. You glance at your mother. Stiffly greeting her. The same cold hard stare that scared you and prevented you from bonding with her. You didn't blame her though. She was scared when she almost died giving birth to you. Thanks to Zayne's parents that she was spared from the fate.

“Mother.” Is the only word you can call her but nonetheless, she kisses your cheek. The little bit of affection she can spare to you. Maybe, it's also the reason why you settle for the tiniest of form of affections that were given to you that you're easily contented by it.

The other woman, Zayne's mother approaches you with warm eyes. You can see the lines on her face. A testament that she lived her life on her profession. You adored this woman like she was your own mother. “(Y/N), darling.” She presses a chaste kiss to your cheek.

“You look lovely as always, my dear.” Zayne's mother compliments you. Squeezing the flab of your arm which you didn't mind. “Is my son treating you well?” She whispers discreetly which isn't so discreet since she glances at his son who was talking to your parents. Her eyes wandering all over you and you failed to notice it. She knows.

“Zayne's treating me well.” You repeat her words. Assuring her that her son was nothing but the best towards you. It earned you a kind smile from her.

It wasn't far from the truth but Zayne was nothing like the man you knew since childhood and before the accident. You were used to his indifference but this was the another side you wished you didn't knew. All it took for you was to almost die.

The lines of her face became more prominent as she held your hand. “I can see that and you're doing the same to my son. I've never seen him so tender — devoted.” She smiles a little wider. The kind of smile knowing her child is somewhat happy in a place. “You know how my son is, always a little hard on himself. You've brought the best of him, my dear child.”

The worst. You wanted to correct her but looking at her kind, warm eyes. That looked out after you since you were a kid — you can't bring yourself to the truth. You've brought out the worst in her son.

“I hope so.” You murmured. Lowering your gaze.

You couldn't meet her eyes while telling a lie.

Zayne was putting pieces of different dishes in your plate. Keeping a sharp eye on the sudden change since you started your cravings and you have gotten quite sensitive to certain smells. A frown quirked in your lips meant you didn't like the food. A thin line meant it was okay and the twinkle in your eyes is what you desired at the moment but you will still refuse it with a pout.

He also noticed how you occasionally glare at him. Not hiding your frustrations at him but keeping it subtle not enough to raise suspicions for the elders in the table to pick up your sour mood directed to him.

There's the sound of ice clinking in the glass and a thud. Your father suddenly putting the glass in the table before a chortle left his lips. Highly amused at the scene in front of him.

“Old habits don't die, huh? You're always making sure she's well fed. I'm glad to know you're still taking care of her.” Your father said amused.

“It's the least I can do for her.” Zayne murmured after placing a chunk of the juiciest part of the meat to your plate. He made sure you take a bite out of it.

Another voice joins in and it was Zayne's father. “Ever since they were children, Zayne always keeps an eye on her and that's the time I knew he'll always look after her. My son here always earning brownie points to impress her.”

Funny how the adults see it. That was lie but also half of the truth. The brownie points was after the accident. It was suffocating now. You glanced at him and he still sports the same stoic look on his face.

“So Zayne...” His mother began to speak, her voice serious but there's a hint of warmth on it. “It's rather unusual for you to call us. Is something the matter we need to discuss?” She looks knowingly at the both of you, her stare a little longer on you before looking at Zayne.

The cardiac surgeon that is her son looks at you. His face hidden by the curtain of his bangs. “Yes.” He paused.

Reaching out for your hand and linking to his. The table grew silent including your parents and his. Suddenly aware of the seriousness in his voice. Anticipating for the news that is about to be revealed. The look on his eyes were warm when you stare at him.

“(Y/N) and I are expecting.”

Your heart dropped at his announcement. You can hear your heartbeat ringing in your ears from how fast it was beating. The familiar sensation of bile rising up in your throat surfaces but you tried to contain it.

Of course, he was going tell your parents and his about this pregnancy. This wasn't just a family dinner. He planned it. His parents back in town, knowing their conference was still ongoing abroad. Yours was easy to convince. They were much easier to involve and they trust Zayne more than anyone else in the world.

Zayne's mother is the first to erupt in cheers. “Finally.” She claps her hand in astonishment. You wanted to deny it but you feel bad, not when they are all expecting a grandchild from the both of you. The union will bore the result in no time but there's no wedding have occured, yet.

Before the accident you decided that you were going to discuss this with Zayne. Call of the engagement and you will both proceed in your life without attachments and pretend this awful engagement for the both of you never existed but it was impossible now. You're pregnant. A outcome of that night you badly wanted to forget.

Just when they're still reeling from the surprise that you were with child. It didn't stop Zayne from proposing again, something that you badly wanted to be free from.

“I understand the seriousness of the situation that comes with (Y/N)'s pregnancy since it was unexpected. Considering that it already happened. Will you allow us to marry as soon as possible before our baby is born?” His tone never faltered at those words. It was like reading from a script that he already prepared for. He was sincere and all.

Your body stiffens. Discomfort being etched to your face. “Did we? Isn't this too soon? I was hoping maybe after the baby comes.” You denied. There was no discussion of it or anything at all. You looked at your soon-to-be in-laws hoping they will disagree at the sudden wedding just because you're pregnant. You look at your parents for help too but you were quickly denied.

You tried to pry your fingers from Zayne's hand discreetly but he squeezes it. A warning. “The time's right, (Y/N). The engagement has been so long and it's a perfect timing before the birth of our grandchild. We were all worried that you two aren't planning at all” Your father commented. A bit concerned at your behavior. Your mother remained quiet. Zayne's parents agreed with your father.

“You don't have to worry a thing. Zayne's good for you. He's a good man.” Your father added. It's the start of every misery when it comes to arranged marriages.

“I apologize for springing this up. (Y/N)'s a bit shaken up since it was — we recently known that she's pregnant.” The pad of his thumb grazes your knuckles. His voice apologetic and remorseful enough to convince your parents and his. You really don't know him anymore.

“Oh darling. We understand. It's fine to feel that way. Trust me, everything's going to be overwhelming starting from now but it will be a breeze after you and Zayne are married.”

You pressed your lips in a thin line. Feigning to consider the implication. You glance at Zayne who's been quiet while his mother gently assures you that being married to her son will be the best choice for yourself and for the baby.

Your father must have sensed your hesitation. He reached for your hands. Holding it to his own wrinkled ones.

“I know marriage is not easy as it can be. Take me and your mother but we worked it out. I trust Zayne with all of my heart.” Your father takes your hand in his. “When we received the news of your accident, my heart couldn't take it. My little girl is hurt. Alone and scared without her father and when I knew Zayne was with you. I have never felt so relieved. Someone is looking after my little girl.”

His voice warm and you see your father, your old man — a little bit younger than his age. Like he was at peace that he knew that his precious daughter is in the right hands. Tears brimmed at the corner of your eyes. You did love your father but your relationship with Zayne was the cause of your current misery.

“The baby...” He clears his throat. “My grandchild, consider it as a blessing to you (Y/N). After that inevitable accident and nearly losing your life. Consider it as a second chance to your life with Zayne.”

It was easy for him to say that but could you blame him? He didn't know. You wanted to shake your head in denial. The baby was no blessing. Zayne had put his baby in your womb as a punishment for wanting to leave him.

Everything was a blur to you. Worked it out? Your mother hated you. She can only spare you a bit of her affection. You desperately wanted to reach out to your father. Hoping that he'll listen to your plea but he had entrusted your life with Zayne cause no other man was enough to be with you. Zayne was the perfect husband that every parents wants for their daughters.

The dinner ended after they started discussing about the upcoming wedding. Zayne had excused you both with the reason that you need to rest early. Well wishes were made and Zayne's parents have decided to stay until the wedding.

The excitement was thick that even looking at them made you gag. There wasn't no malice on there cause it was for a good union that both families will be tied just like they wanted. It doesn't settle right with you.

They kept talking. How happy they were for there children being in love and the new addition of the family that will come in the next seven months. Hell, you didn't even knew you were pregnant and Zayne have known it before the tests. Simply because he knows you more than your own.

Uncertainty washes over you. This is not what you wanted. You were ready to walk away from all of this. Be shunned and be a disgrace to your own family. It will hurt but it was better than to be with him. Realizing that the Zayne you always wanted will never be him. There's always the shadow of doubt but alas circumstances changed that. He made it clear.

A gentle melody of the music being played in the radio fills the silence that is engulfing the both of you inside his car. You pressed your palm unconsciously to your stomach. It was still the seventh week of your pregnancy and there wasn't still a bump. The baby the size of a poppy seed sticking to your womb and doubted a baby bump will be prominent considering the natural roundness of your belly pouch. Well as normal people can see it, you're already pregnant.

“You've been quiet for awhile now. Do you want to talk?” He sees you rubbing your stomach. “No.” You answered him before pushing the button besides your seat. The seat reclines before you curled up. Ignoring him while he smoothly manipulates the steering wheel.

You continued to ignore him until you reached his house.

The heaviness of the air lays thick spreading in every corner that it was suffocating. Like the clouds bringing a storm.

“What were you thinking?” The silence of his house settled into you. Breaking it with a shout. The words slipped from your mouth. Your eyes blinks rapidly. There's a rattle of the chains from your sling bag as it hits the cold floor.

“What were you thinking, Zayne!?” You repeated. Your voice a little higher cause you never knew how to scream but someday you'll learn and maybe it was tonight.

Looking at that man who was once so dear to you. The man who you desperately wanted.

“Why would you do this to me? You didn't even want to be married — not to me, at least.” Your fist collided in his chest but he didn't budge. He welcomed it. He welcomed all the anger, the frustration.

“It is needed to be done.” He says without hesitation. A cold hard truth and you hated him for being true and honest with his intentions and feelings.

“Done?” You repeated the word as if your hearing had failed you and you turned deaf.

“How could you!?” You momentarily paused. Your voice quivered as you continued. “I gave you a chance. I was ready to walk away. I-I was prepared to leave anything behind cause I will never be yours. I will never be what you want. I will never be her.” A tear slipped from your eyes. Your body felt cold.

It was the truth. The cold hard truth. You gave up. How could you compete for a woman that holds his heart — his soul. That looking at him will ever remind you of her. That you will always be second. Part of you wished that you should have died that night.

The sight of your glassy eyes, burning with anger and frustration and hurt made his heart clench. It pained him to see you like this. Hurting over for the other woman. Yes, he admits it. He once loved her. Clinged to her existence cause it was the time that he felt that they belonged to each other until he realizes it was only an illusion. A sense of familiarity.

But what bothered him the most is your words. Leave him? Gave him a chance to walk away from this? From you? Why would you say that when you're already with his child. When all he did was take care of you?

He kept silent. His sight flickering between your teary eyes and the belly straining in your sundress. He lets you say it. Scream all your frustrations at him. You were in a delicate situation and he's letting you feel all of it but it doesn't mean he doesn't care. It's better to let it all out than harm you and the life growing inside you.

“I tried so hard for you. I learned things that I know would impress you. I learned how to bake. How to keep it shut. How not to annoy you. It didn't matter. You kept choosing her over me and now you want me? Decide for me? You're guilty. You're fucking guilty!” You screamed at him. Taking a breather because you didn't trust your voice no more.

“That's what you're feeling. You didn't love me! I smiled despite being hurt by you cause I know my place.” A violent sob racked through your body. You shoved him. Putting all the force of your anger and anguish in your hands. You want to hurt him so bad.

“You decided for me. You got me pregnant and you suddenly announced to my parents and yours that I'm pregnant. I — I — I hate you very much! I wished I died that night! I—”

I wished I died that night. Your words bouncing right back and forth in his mind. It rings on his head. The events that happened that night keeps replaying. Bleeding and unconscious. Barely breathing. You wished you died that night and what? Leave him alone in this world?

A frayed rope that was barely holding his emotions snaps, the ends wriggle — too late to realize what just happened.

Then his voice boomed. Akin to a crackle of thunder that shocks your insides that made you shut up. Staring at him wide eyed. The tears continued to spill.

“Enough!” He caught your wrists. Gently wrapped on his cold palms. “Don't you say that words again.” His voice back to the same composed ones. He pulls you closer to his. The scent of his seeping to yours and this is the times where you think Zayne can be warm too.

“Don't you say that words again. I will never let it happen to you again. Don't you ever say that!” He cups your cheeks. There's a slight tremor in his arms before composing himself.

The tears stopped and your anguish was replaced by confusion like you can't believe his words.

“Hate me.” He whispers. “Resent me. Hurt me.” He tenderly brushes the apple of your cheek. “Let me suffer with your hatred but I won't leave you. You are mine. And I will be with you for the madness you have to offer for me. I will take it — accept it — but don't you ever say those words again.” He says softly but there's the firmness to it. Making himself clear.

“You're mad.” Your voice came out unsteady. Disbelief painted in your face.

“Yes, I'm mad. If hatred is the only thing you will have for me in the long run. I will desire it as I desire you because you are mine.” His gaze locked into you. Clouded with darkness or simply madness.

A stray tear trickled down your cheek. Glistening in the trail of path of your still tear-stained cheek. He wipes it with his thumb. His gaze flickering between your eyes and lips.

“What happened to you? You're not the Zayne I knew.” Blinking slowly as try to clear your vision blurred by your unshed tears.

Is he for real? Or you got transferred to another reality where this version of Zayne madly desires you. Sees you for who you are.

There's only the sound of the breathing in each other's mouth. You can't process how to move or how to feel when he's holding you like this. None of you speak. Locked in each other's gazes. You were about to detach yourself from his hold and without a flicker nor a beat — he kisses you without a warning. The kiss that leaves you helpless.

It started out as soft. A tender kiss. The very first kiss you bestow when you didn't see each other for so long then the kiss turned out something as nothing but rough.

Feverish as his lips connected to yours. Pouring all those words that he can't speak of. That even the most sensible of man can be this emotional. Brought by the madness and the intensity of his feelings caused by this woman. His heart beating rapidly in his chest like a bird flapping it's wings wanting to be free.

He holds you close. Closer than he can ever hold. Afraid that if he lets you go — or loosen his grip you'll disappear. Forever lost.

His hand moves from the one holding your cheek to the back of your head and the other descending in the small of your back. Pulling you closer and deepening the kiss that you once lost to.

It was messy. The kind of kiss that all tongues. Dragging into each other. Tangled in desperation that air wasn't even a necessity.

You grip the lapels of his coat. It's the only thing you can hold unto while he keeps you caged in his arms. Leaving you no room to escape from his iron grip.

You were a marionette on his own strings but even he controlled your movements. You can't shut the thoughts running on your own mind.

Zayne's lips were warm on yours. You expected it to be cold but it was devoid of coldness but only the gentle warmth. It tastes like regret and sweet. Bittersweet you describe it.

He's kissing you. Pouring all the feelings he can't say to you and you thought of her. Does Zayne thinks of her while kissing you like this. Imagining it was her on his arms and not some fucked up, insecure woman who begs for attention that no one notices but only when she bleeds.

Still, you kissed him back.

He's not the only one who can kiss you like this. You kiss him while tears pours from your eyes. You didn't stop. You both didn't stop. Chasing each other's lips and tangling each other's tongues. Tasting each other's breath. You're a mess. A fuck up who enjoys being kissed by a man you love who loves another woman.

You dreamt what it was like to be kissed by him. It was sort of granted but it wasn't on your own terms. It was rough. The first night and the first time he kissed you. It was ugly as it can be but still it was a kiss. One that you yearned for a long time. If he wants the hatred you can give to him — then he's sure he will accept all the resentment you have to offer.

It was this kiss he craves — needed. The bitter taste of your regret but there's sweetness above it. Honest and raw that you loved him all this time and you were willing to throw whatever bit of your sanity left for this.

It was addicting. How the fullness of your lips molds into his. The scent of you driving him insane and the feel of your plush body pressed on him. He feels your pulse quicken under his touch. Knows that your heart beats for him and only him.

It's wrong but it feels so right. He couldn't think of her. Not like this. When it's your lips on his. Your touch burning on his skin. Electrifying. Maddening. He will accept this. Learn to embrace it. And when he's in too deep, he couldn't think of her but only you. In his arms. Trembling under his touch while you cried.

Suddenly, the coldness of that lingered on his body melted. Replacing with the burning feeling of your skin. Melting like snowflakes.

The taste of salt in your tears made it addicting. Like the sweets he's fond — tasting the hint of something that shouldn't be there but it's always right. Meant to be there. Everything's balanced. Everything's feels right when it's your lips on his. When it's you who consumed his thoughts.

He will freeze hell for you.

Looking at your glassy eyes and the spit stained lips mix with yours and his. He wipes your tears again. Pressing his forehead to yours and the silence engulfs the both of you with the exception of the gasps taking air again after the kiss.

“You're going to hurt us both, Zayne.” Your voice shaky and pleading.

“Yes, but what is pain when my love for you can endure everything. A love without pain shall not last. And my love for you will be eternal.” He declares without hesitation. That it is the truth and will only be the truth.

Your eyes widens at the depth of the darkness of his words.

“I'll fix us both. I will do everything in my power — whatever it takes. You're not going to leave me and I won't leave you.” His hand holding your cheek descends to your round belly. “Not when our child is growing inside you. Not when you're mine.”

He kisses your forehead with all the love and promise. For a future with you.

That night something broke. A bond that was long forged from ice and a frozen promise. A vow destroyed when his own blood and flesh sprouted inside you. And just like that, he broke the fate of his with a twist of his devotion for the woman in his arms.

The chapel is something out from a dream. A job well done for a kind of rushed wedding. You can see the vibrant hues of wisteria draping over the gables of the chapel. A willow tree in the distance. The air is cool and buds of the flowers are slowly blooming as they sprouted from the damp earth. There's a burst of rain earlier leaving the scent of the soil and the cool breeze gently caressing your skin. It's the weather you want for a wedding. A auspicious day to be married.

Your family insisted per Zayne's flawless convincing, you weren't sure if it was even one. It was the truth coming from him and it was better this way since you're still in the early stages of your pregnancy. Both of your families agreed without a fuss and the wedding day came.

You found yourself behind the wooden doors of the chapel that remains timeless as the years gone by and you can tell that it was maintained. You tried to look up straight ahead as you hear the faint music began to play. The instrumental version of your favorite song from a movie. The doors opened and you think to yourself — it is now or never — or maybe you can run away from this. Save yourself from another heartbreak and disappointments.

You think of the flowers decorated in the pews and how it took the effort to make it pretty for your special day. You recognized a few of them. It's going to be wasted on you. You didn't deserve pretty things. It's not too late. Your conscience told you but as you take your first step towards him — it didn't matter anymore.

During the days you spend thinking about the future as a stupid teenager that carried until your mid-twenties you envisioned your wedding with him. You will be dressed in white and you know Zayne will be handsome in his tailored suit. He's always handsome — you mused to yourself but after years of pining and yearning for him that will never be reciprocated — you abandoned the dream. Some things aren't meant to be.

Then suddenly, you're the one walking down the aisle towards him when you have already given up for this moment. A future with Zayne. A future for the man who noticed you when you knocked on death's doorstep and suddenly — poof — like a flick of a wand or the sudden appearance of a heartbeat in the electrocardiogram after you flatlined — he's marrying you and you doubt him.

He didn't love you. He was guilty for all of this that until this day — by marrying you, he will atone for the misfortune that fell upon you when it's not his fault. You were just born at the wrong time and place, carrying the resentment your mother that placed to you. You can't bring yourself to believe that he truly loves you.

He didn't need to do all of this and he acted like he didn't had a choice to be with her when you gave him the chance. You were willing to walk away! And then when you decided that your tears aren't enough for this relationship to last long, that it wasn't truly you — the heartbeats growing stronger in your stomach tells you how far he can go just to prevent you from leaving him.

Your thought drifted to her, lingering in the back of your mind and surfaces when you're at most vulnerable. A pure soul with a pretty face. Beautiful inside and out. Fearless and gentle to everyone. You were not. You were a thief stealing Zayne from her when you they're the happiest with each other. A coward for letting fear take control of you. Powerless.

The smile plastered on your face strains in your skin. The more you tried to keep it up, the more it numb you. You really can't marry him. You're stealing him from her. You didn't want him to resent you for existing but the gazes of everyone lies heavily on you. The thoughts still screams inside your brain.

And as you take his hand, you can't erase her.

He didn't missed how your eyes flickers between the doors behind you and him. Still contemplating to left after what he had done to secure this day with you. As if it the life he put in your belly isn't enough. That's why a wedding must happen with both of your families as the witness of this union.

Zayne stands there waiting for you, there isn't amiss from his usual stoic expression but his eyes tell something. Certainty. It wasn't arrogance but the confidence that you were truly his.

His gaze fall to the beauty of his bride — about to be his wife. Walking towards him, clutching a bouquet of your favorite flowers. The blues and greens a dedication to the commitment.

The wedding gown beautifully hugs your plush figure. The gentle swell of your belly strains against the fabric of your dress, it wasn't a baby bump but you're getting there.

The draped sleeves of your wedding gown delicately exposes your soft rounded shoulders. A touch of modesty and a tease there. Your hair woven into delicate braids and a silver tiara rests at the top of your head weaved with leaves and small blossoms of flowers. It is what considered a timeless and elegant look.

As you get nearer, Zayne basks in your softer features especially your face. A light make up enough to highlight your features.

It was the face he learned to love, the one he gets to look whenever you weren't looking. Him constantly admiring you from how your round cheeks puff when you're pouting and the fullness of your lips that he founds himself staring at it more than he can count.

There's a slight tremor in your hand as you take his and once you're facing each other in the middle of the altar, the priest beginning his spiel about the sacred vows of marriage and the people staring at the both of you — Zayne knows you will always be his and that is the finality of it.

His eyes remained on you the whole time. Admiring the bride that was about to be his. It didn't deter him how glassy your eyes look, at the cusp of crying. He reaches out to wipe the tear that rolls from your eye. He can hear the small awe of the crowd.

Don't cry. You repeated the words like a mantra. You're going to play in his cards but it didn't stop the single tear from rolling. All of this feels wrong cause it was never yours to begin with.

You keep your eyes on him and behind those piercing gaze of the green of his eyes — does he imagine of her instead of you? Does he think that it should be her standing in your place? That she should be the one dressed in white — them exchanging vows of eternity and not even death will part them and find each other in the next life.

Your chest felt tight and your stomach in a twist. You wished you can blame it on the pregnancy hormones or something cause it's easier to put the blame than take responsibility of your actions. You should have left, instead you waited for him and that was the biggest mistake. You were trapped with no way out.

In the same measured voice, he began to speak of his vows. The intensity is thick that you're the only one who can pick it up underlined with warmth that makes it convincing. He affirms you with those words, tinged with softness that is solely reserved for you. A rarity for those who have heard it.

His eyes never left you. Looking deeply into your eyes while he gently lifts your soft hand before slipping the ring in your finger.

“I do.” The words are hauntingly sickening when it was your turn to say it. Your hands tremble as you take his hand, you were scared that out of nervousness you won't be able to put it but lo and behold it slips smoothly on his scarred finger.

His hands cups your jaw, the coldness of his hands seeps into your skin. The priest have pronounced you both, husband and wife — the kiss is about to seal the union.

You only tipped your face to look at him and then, he's leaning down to you — bestowing the kiss that he's going to be yours.

The eyes, they will never lie. You see the same hazel green eyes of his looking at you and you wonder when he looks at you like this. His eyes soft but holds the composure, a hesitation that once never existed and with the love he made you believe but the love's dubious and the real one was the one he holds for her.

Her. You can't stop thinking about her. Sweet, beautiful her will never be compared to you. You glanced at the doors and for a brief moment you see her. Crying silently while the love of her life — kissing someone who is not her. You closed your eyes in surrender.

And when you feel the slow, soft breath coming from his mouth — you strategically move your face slightly to the side and only for him the corner of your mouth. A shaky breath escapes your lips. Swallowing the bitter invisible pill down your throat.

He remains calm and calculating under the rejection of his kiss towards you. He subtly pulls you closer to him and even when you reject his kiss in your lips, you will still feel his love as he gently kissed your forehead. A devotion that he hopes you'll understand and accept.

Silver Springs.

The place where Zayne took you after the wedding. A cozy place nestled in the middle of the woods with a lake view. Perfect for sunsets and sunrises. A perfect getaway from the bustling crowd of Linkon.

You wouldn't exactly call it a honeymoon and retreat is a more befitting word for it. A three day and two nights to be away from everyone. It was your first day as newlyweds — husband and wife. You didn't need to stay long in this place and Zayne have his duties as a doctor.

You didn't know what to feel after the wedding. Everything was rush from your pregnancy to marriage. You didn't thought of it and suddenly you're in the middle of the woods with your husband. The word is strange in your tongue. Zayne — your husband. The very one who had been so distant to you and he's the one who is constantly hovering over you.

Dusk had settled and Mr. Moon have made it appearance. The night is dark — dotted with tiny stars and the crickets chirped in the surrounding area. For some reason it gave you a peace of mind for a few minutes. It reminded you of the summers spent at the countryside where your siblings and you frolicked over the damp grasses and throwing mudpies at each other. Your mother disapproved but your father was forgiving. Children should be children — he says. You can't even hear a drop of scoldings from your old man.

Zayne's in the other room, putting the bags away. You didn't bother helping him. Already exhausted of what transpired yesterday and you want to sleep for now but your brain didn't allow. Since the beginning of your pregnancy, your sleep schedule was a mess. You were out like a light in the mornings and sometines you stayed up late like a night owl. If it wasn't for Zayne's interfering and making sure your sleep schedule was aligned to what a pregnant woman should have.

The door creaked and it revealed Zayne. Holding a cup of tea that helps you sleep comfortably. He places it on the bedside table.

“You're going to regret all of this.”

You blurt out of the blue. The words were sharp but it's a surrender. He stops in his tracks. His gaze falling down on you. Studying you for a second.

“What do you mean?” He asks evenly but he knows what you're referring to. He needs to hear the words.

Your absentmindedly caress your rounded belly. “Me. All of this.” Your tone bitter. “You're going to regret marrying me and having me to bear your children.” You say without indifference nor a quiver to your voice. Not yet. You're still not cracking.

“I don't regret any of it.” He says as he settled down besides you. The wind rustles the trees outside and crickets stopped chirping. The night falling into the silence.

You move to your side and without hesitation, you crawled towards him. Climbing on his lap, caging his thighs. He didn't react much like he anticipated this one and is relishing on the sudden affection of his pregnant wife.

He leans behind the headboard. Holding your wide hip and grounding you on his lap. Securing that you won't let go after such bold move.

“I won't ever regret of marrying you nor putting my child into you. It will happen in due time and I decided it's the best for the both of us.” He says flatly — like it was the reason that makes sense.

You remained silent. Reaching out to touch his face and he melts into your hold. Grasping your wrist as you traced the features of his face.

This man. Your husband belonged to her and you're the one touching him like this. Freely admiring how the light dances on his pale skin. The perfectly sculpted face that you think he was made from a god. Those thick lashes arched in novelty. Framing those narrow eyes of his with eyes the color of forest in spring dappled in sunlight.

“You were so out of reach from my fingers. I watched you. Loved you silently. Hoping that one day you'll look at me but you never did.” Your voice trembled. The calmness of your exterior starting to fade away the more you look at him.

“I heard I flatlined.” It was awful, during your stay at the hospital you heard how Zayne was desperately reviving you after your heart stopped beating, sending you into another cardiac arrest and almost had given up until your heartbeat had surfaced again.

“Was it only the time you realized you were truly afraid of losing me or was it I was slipping away from you?” You searched for a bit of emotion on his face but it remained stoic like he was thinking.

“I never feared anything more than losing you.” The fear, the pain, the guilt that wracked his whole being. All that crashes into a single tidal wave. Rendering him powerless to protect you from all the things that harmed you. It was out of his control of what happened to that fatal car accident that it almost costed your life.

It was beneath him. He had never been so useless his whole life. He never wanted to see you hurt again. Lying in the bed — fighting for you life.

“My mistake ks that I had never given you the chance to know you more but now, I have a lifetime to know you and I won't let anything get between us.” He squeezed the plushness of your waist.

“Yeah?” You asked not moved by his declaration. “What about her? You loved her.” Your eyes burn, thinking of her. He watched as the white of your eyes turned red — deeply affecting him that you still think of her when it was you he choose.

“She doesn't hold my affections the same you hold mine.” He says coldly like the entire existence of her was nothing and is a taboo one to speak that will get you cursed. His expression barely cracked. The reserved, calm exterior were nothing to the cold gaze in his eyes. Simmering with the unadulterated devotion and the darkness merging in those depths.

“That's it?” You murmur — unsure, like you can't believe what he said. “That's it?” You repeated again. All his life it was for her. Being a doctor specializing in the cardiology since she was sick, something in the heart. Devoting his studies to understand her condition and he says that like it doesn't matter anymore.

“You built yourself for her, Zayne — you loved her more than anything else and it is this easy for you to say that I'm the one who holds your affection when you turned like this after what happened to me?”

“I did love her but she's not you. She's not the one I married, not the one who's carrying my child. You're the only one that matters and it will be the end for this. We have a future together.” He says without indifference.

“You won't know the extent of my devotions — I will kill for you. Let the world know that you are mine.” He added. The room turns cold as he let those chilling words left his mouth without breaking eye contact. Frost have formed in the corners of the room but he's warm.

He watch as your eyes widens at his declaration. The heavy implications lays thick and it was true. You don't how far he'll go to such lengths for you, to prove that you're the only one. Enough to convince you to abandon the thought that you will always be second.

Kill. The word is strong. Shivers creep down your spine. It doesn't hold any hostility but the thought of him killing for you, scares you the most.

“I save lives and I can take one too — if anyone touches you — let alone a strand of your hair, I'm the last person they'll be looking at. I am capable of holding a knife to someone's throat much as I am with a scalpel. Nobody will harm you as long I am here.” He added.

In which he already did. The paramedics fault to sent the man also in Akso Hospital. The negligence of his drunk driving endangered your life and in the unforeseen future will also put the others. He just ended it. Administering small doses of potent drug that made it look like he peacefully passed away in his sleep.

“I turned you into a monster.” You whispered, about to remove yourself from him but he kept you on his hold.

“You didn't. You made me feel without restraints. Real. This is who I am.” The tone of his voice didn't change while he strokes your cheeks adoringly.

You were on top of him but is Zayne is quick to admonish you to place you beneath him, that he's always the one to be in control.

“My devotion runs deep for you, more than you will ever know.”

This isn't what you envisioned for your future. Forever tied to him for this lifetime. He took the words from your mouth but it doesn't mean it was enough to say it again.

“I will hate you in the long run.” You warned him but Zayne smiles softly at you.

“It's fine. I have enough love for the both of us. Enough for the two little ones.” A faint smile ghosted his lips. Already attached to the twins — to the thought of being a husband to you and a father to your unborn children. He rests his palm to your protruding belly.

He gently switches the position of you both and now you're lying beneath him. Your hair sprawled like dark halo in the pillows. “You didn't kissed me properly in our wedding.”

His gaze lingering on the soft plump lips of yours before looking at your eyes. “I'll be kissing you properly tonight. You won't deny me right?” It wasn't a question for he kissed you and it's not only a kiss he got from you.

It was a real honeymoon after all.

It's the first time in months you have seen her again.

In the quiet afternoon of the corridors in the hospital, dressed in her hunter uniform. You were done for your monthly check-up with Zayne in your side. His crisp white uniform is abandoned for his black dress shirt and trousers paired with his leather shoes. He's not a doctor today but a doting husband to his heavily pregnant wife.

The flowy pale blue sundress did nothing to conceal the pronounced baby bump. Straining against the fabric and it's the only piece of clothing that is providing you comfort. Loose and breathable.

It may the effect of your pregnancy but you weren't the same anymore when you've seen her. There's no more stinging burn in your eyes nor the heaviness in your chest. You felt at peace or you made peace with your emotions towards her. It's not the assurance that Zayne was your husband and pregnant with his child — it is because you surrendered.

There is no point on dwelling with your ugly insecurities towards her and besides you're going to harm your babies in your womb. You were already at risk with your pregnancy and you shall not strain the innocent babies growing inside you.

The thoughts will always linger. Zayne studies your reaction or the possible trigger of a meltdown but he found nothing. He should be assured — relieved but the neutral expression in your face didn't settle right with him and then he noticed — the mask you were wearing.

Well, it didn't last long for the facadé to crack. You were calm but there's still the hurt left in your heart.

He didn't speak of it but he keeps a firm grip to your plush waist. Shielding you from any possible stress that may harm you and the babies in your womb.

They crossed paths again. What once yesterday's silent promise was nothing to today's and future's commitment to you. He didn't spare her a glance not once when in the past he look at her like she's the most precious thing in the world but now, she was only a shadow. A remnant of the past. He couldn't bother not when there's you in his hold, pregnant with his children. A future he looks forward to.

After leaving the hospital, you were both walking in the nearby park in Linkon. The trees were lush with greenery, the pond glimmering from the sunlight reflecting in the water. The grass soft to touch. The weather wasn't also warm or cold just a right touch of being a good weather.

It's been a few paces and the you noticed it, the stares.

Of course, who would not stare at the eye candy besides you holding your hands. If Zayne weren't a doctor he could be a model. Posing on different cover pages of famous magazines dressed in the latest trends of clothing. Haute couture and all that. Walking in the runway. He must be used from all of it. Except he's not the only one being stared at. They're also looking at you and Zayne noticed that.

You were looking more radiant. Lovelier and fresh like a rain drop. The pale blue sundress did your voluptuous curves justice even with your bump. You could be quite oblivious to but not for long.

The stares, they were weighted and when people stares either they are judging or admiring and you always think of former. You weren't a pretty face nor have the body of a model or maybe it's just the bump. That's right the bump and you unconsciously squeezed your hand in his. Anxiety filling the pregnancy brain of yours.

“Is there something on my face, Zayne. They're staring.” You asked him unsure. Pulling your cardigan closer to you.

He turns around to face you. Another curious gaze from a man he catched giving them a sharp look that says back off before looking at you. “No.” His voice tender and assuring.

“It must be the bump or I've gotten too big.” He sees how your eyes turned sad and the tears was already there.

“It's not the bump. It's you.” His voice firm and it kind of scares you.

“They're admiring my wife.” He explains and the sadness were replaced of a assurance. “Don't worry about them. You have me.” He softly murmurs to you and you believe him.

It makes him want to protect you more.

Zayne took you to a nearby flower shop. Where a nice old lady owns it. Keeping in mind to pick the flowers you wanted to plant since you've been eyeing the vacant part of the garden in the house. You didn't need to tell him. He knows. You've also been much open to him, vocal about what you want.

For the twins, you spoke to him one night about how you wanted flowers in the garden. You wanted flowers to bloom for the twins and he's more than happy to fulfill that for you.

“When are you due, dearie?” A voice spoke besides you. A gardening can in their hand while they admire the potted plants near you. Her hair silver, kept into a neat bun. Their eyes kind and she reminds you of the nice grandmas you meet in the hospital during your checkups or anywhere.

“In a few months.” You said softly, your fingertips tracing the petals of the daises. Admiring the other variants of flowers, thinking of what you should plant for your babies.

She laughs in a light-hearted way. Patting her apron smudged with dirt from tending all the plants in her shop. “The little ones are joys, you know.”

Your mood dampened a bit, remembering how you got pregnant in the first place and Zayne notices about to intervene not wanting to upset you further. “First one?” The nice old lady inquired.

You smiled softly as your gaze drifts to your round belly. “Twins, actually.” You murmur.

“Double the blessing at the first try.” She muses, looking at you. “Pregnancy suits you beautifully, sweetheart.”

Your face warmed at the compliment. “Excuse me, dearie. I shall find you a selection of seed packets of flowers you might like for your babies.” She left with a smile and you turned around to meet his gaze.

“You don't need to hover.”

He keep his hand planted at the small of your back and you sighed. This man can be stubborn.

The old lady came back with the seed packets she promised. She noticed Zayne. “You take care of her.”

“I will.” His voice flat while staring adoringly at you.

You both left shortly after getting the seed packets and bulbs of the flowers you wanted.

“I'm staying home for today.” He tells you one morning. The sun were barely up and you were puking your guts out in the toilet. Six months in your pregnancy and nausea have been kicking you harder than ever. Your twins were literally taking up the space in your belly.

“Is that allowed? You're the chief surgeon.” You take his hand as he assisted you in getting back to your feet again and guiding you towards the bedroom.

“My colleagues can handle today's work.” He says it like it's the most obvious thing and if he says so. You don't have the strength to argue nor push him anymore not when you're already resting your head on his chest. The warmth of his body and the coldness of his hands is what you need.

“Mmm...” A small sound escaped your lips as you tried to suppressed the sudden movements of one of your twins. It was kicking your stomach. You raised your head to meet his gaze. “Calm your spawns in my belly.” Groaning as you feel the both of your twins getting more active.

The surgeon put his hand on your belly. Rubbing soft circles around it and the twins immediately settled down. You didn't mean to sound bitter and call your twins — spawn but with your emotions heightened caused by your pregnancy that is your husband's fault. You can't help it.

Triggered by the way you addressed your precious babies — the familiar stinging pricking behind your eyes started and it broke out when you look at him.

“I hate you.” The words slipped from your mouth and then followed by another. “I hate that you put them in my belly without asking me if I wanted them.”

You couldn't count how many time you said you hated him than you loved him still Zayne remains tender with you. He did said he got enough love for you and how will he accept the hatred from you.

He countered it. “I love you.” He murmurs. “I love that you're mine. I love that you're going to be the mother of my children.” Your lips curls up in a pout and quivered as you broke out in sob and he kisses your tears away until you calmed down.

It's not really a big price he needed to pay. He didn't regret his decisions cause it was planned and he only acted upon it. Similar to operations, you can't cut open without studying their condition and Zayne knew that you still love him.

If you should not have still loved him, you would have tried to escape him or hurt the two little ones growing in your belly but you didn't. You loved them, nurtured and took care of them with care. His extensions of devotion.

Even when you screamed and told him how much you hated him — why did you still accept him in your arms when he seeks it or the days where you look for him for the safety of his body he provided you with love and comfort.

Strongly besotted that when you tried to annoy him with your cravings having particularly developed a taste for the brightly orange colors of the carrots that should have been obliterated — he took a bite after you said that “I'm going to eat carrots cause you hate it so you can hate me too.” He long avoided that disgusting excuse of a vegetable and only you can make him eat it — not to spite you but to show that he will never hate you cause the mistake you only did was love him with all your heart.

There's also your pregnancy, he didn't thought about being a father but with you — everything's right. Falling into its rightful pieces.

Some nights, she crossed his mind. Thinking that he didn't truly loved her. He did became what he is today but it's not enough for a reason to stay. To love is to hurt. That phrase didn't justify when his love for her slowly diluted and was filled for you. Filling the cracks of your shattered heart. He only got hurt when he almost lost you — when your heart decided to stop beating.

He was terrified of losing you — of living a life without the sound of your voice or your presence haunting him.

You are his destruction and you shall be only his salvation.

Stained his hands with the blood of he saved and those who harmed you. He will protect you even it cost him what he believes in.

It was all the answers and the logic that he received that he didn't truly loved her cause Zayne only bleeds for you.

The twins came early as expected.

Aurora. His first born daughter and the eldest of the twin came into the world crying her eyes out like a newborn does. Her cries filled the quietness of the hallways and mixes with the storm raging outside.

The other twin — the one that gave all the doctors and nurses including him the scare. It wasn't visible since they were trained to be calm in situations like this. He didn't came crying for he wasn't breathing.

They had tried to all medical procedures to coax his youngest to cry or breath and even with his specialty in neonatal care, it didn't prepared him for this scenario until he sees your weakened state, reaching out for his child — your child with him.

Zayne didn't believe in miracles that it was only the will of the mind and body shall survive in dire straits but a mother's love for her child proves that miracles exist.

He placed your son to your chest and you cradled your unmoving child to your chest. “Mommy's waiting for you.” You whispered. Your voice hopeful — trying not to crack. Gently tapping his back to coax him to cry or breath or anything that he's alive. It was minutes of pure torture but you remained calm, you didn't let the fear of losing your child take over.

You didn't take your eyes off him. Tears are welling up in your eyes but you didn't let it slip and then it happened — a tiny flutter of breath — his tiny fists curls up in your chest. You let out a breath that you didn't know you were holding and the tears fall before you can realize. You let out a choked laugh. Relieved that your baby boy is alive and well.

“Yue.” You call his name and he gave you the tiniest of smiles before his eyes began to open and stares at you with eyes similar to his father.

Outside the storm had passed. Dark skies began to part and to show the moon peeking through the stormy clouds. Shining brightly and fully.

The room is dim. The monitors beep and seeing you in bed brought unwanted painful memories for him. You're not in that situation anymore. You're alive and passed out from exhaustion despite trying to fight it earlier to admire your children.

The twins are resting in their separate bassinet. Already done with their tests and no health conditions were present. Both healthy and thriving.

Zayne loves his children before they were even born but his gaze fixated on his baby boy. The one who didn't cry and breathed not until surrounded by your warmth or hear the voice of his mother.

Similar to him whenever he wasn't near to you. His fingers gently stroke his baby's boy head then whispered. “You shouldn't scare your mother like that.” The baby only stirred, lips twitching as if understanding him.

He looks at you peacefully sleeping. He will never you put with this kind of pain again. He promised to himself. Admiring his wife blissfully vulnerable and beautiful.

“We're together now.” He said before placing a chaste kiss to your cheek.

At that moment with the twins and you resting, Zayne had never felt so complete in his life.

It felt surreal — how you managed to birth your two babies. Peacefully asleep in their separate cribs, dressed in their snowman onesies.

The pregnancy scared you and with Zayne constantly hovering over you adds the anxiety that you weren't going to be a good mother. You weren't even ready to conceived the both of them but Zayne wanted them — wanted to grow in your womb that you will have no means to leave him.

It mirrored how weak you are that you are easily manipulated with no control of your autonomy. Forced to be with his children without the thought how it will change the course of your lives.

Zayne became the cold and ruthless man that didn't know he was capable of. He would rather let you hate him than leave. You screamed — told all the foul words that you knew but he only stands in front of you with cold gaze. Did his heart even break when you told them all those spiteful words?

The nursery was quiet. The walls were pale blue, painted with arctic animals. Penguins in the corner with their black and white feathers, polar bears in their snow white fur and the other wall were dotted with tiny snowman.

It became your haven when everything becomes too heavy for you to carry. What once you despised growing inside you became your comfort. You hated yourself for hating your children when they were inside your belly cause how come you would want something you didn't ask for and when your baby boy came out almost lifeless and brought to life with your warmth — it frightened you.

They lay asleep. A twitch of their lips in there and their body stirring. You reached out gently to stroke your daughter's cheek with your knuckles. Sweet Aurora with her adorable smile. Melting hearts after she was born. She looks like you with your eyes in hers, taking your facial features and you hope she won't take after your personality.

You kiss the pad of your fingertips, pressing it to her chubby cheeks. You teared up a little. Your gaze fell to the other crib where your baby boy rests well he's not when he sensed you. Reserved Yue who only cries when you're far away from him. Always wanting to he with you.

You take him out from his crib to soothe him. Cradling him close to your chest and your baby boy looks at you with his father's eyes. The same hazel green that you didn't know wether to love or hate it but it belongs to Yue. The baby you almost lost. He's a mirror of Zayne. A tiny version of your husband and the resemblance grew bigger every day.

“You know how to scare mommy, Yue.” You whispered in the quietness of the night and his round eyes stares at you — unblinking.

You sniffle a bit. “Mommy won't wish anything but she hopes that you and Aurora would grow up, strong and healthy.” You laugh a bit to yourself. It was every mother's wishes to their children and you're no different.

Then your voice drops lower like you were on the verge of crying — you are but you only smiled. “But I hope you and Aurora won't be like me.” Your voice cracks. “Please don't be like me.” You repeated and your breaks with every word. “Please don't change to be loved — to be wanted.” You don't want a repeat of history. You don't want your children to be in the same pain you had gone through.

“Learn to leave when you're not needed or wanted and learn to stand up for yourself. Mommy will teach you how even she failed to do it for herself.” The first tear came rolling and Yue raises his tiny hands as if to reach you.

You laugh to yourself before leaning down to kiss his forehead. “Mommy's sorry for telling you this, Yue.” You look at your daughter. “Aurora.” You silently call her name. “Mommy does not want her babies to be hurt.”

You wipe the tears using the heel of your palm before gently rocking your baby boy to sleep. You promised to yourself that they won't be like you. A weak coward who can only stand up for their self when it's only too late.

Zayne stilled for a moment when he hears you say those words. He didn't mean to hear it and assumed you were asleep except you weren't and he finds you in the nursery. Sitting in a rocking chair. Rubbing soft circles to your baby boy and then he hears you. Begging and broken.

After all this time you still think of that? That you still live in the past with the pain of his shortcomings but who could ever blame you — you were hurt by his own.

Slowly, he walks towards you.

The weariness of today can't compare to your pain. He holds your wrist — almost startling you and he catches the tear stains in your cheek and the embarrassment that followed.

He kneels in front of you. Reaching to wipe the tear stains on your face before cupping your round cheek on his large palm. “They won't know it. They will be loved the way I loved you.” He says in a calm voice that soothes your very being despite being hurt.

“I won't allow that.” His voice low enough for you to hear and not to disturb the children sleeping. “And you should never believe nor feel that.”

You were about to say something but your lips closed. Waiting for him to speak again.

“You were never meant to feel those things.” Brushing the tears with his thumb. “You're mine and I have a lifetime to spare and the next that you shall never feel these things again.” He assures you before standing up to press a kiss to your lips before his gaze fell down to his son who looks exactly like him. He softly caressed their soft head.

“Yue, Aurora and you shall never be in pain and I will rid everyone whoever tries to harm you all.” It's dark and chilling from how he spoke those words.

You only hoped that his words are true and there won't be a repeat of that again.

[reiding-writing]

cold!reader used to work with VCAC? the idea that she's good with children despite just hating everyone is so funny to me

would you consider writing a fic where the BAUs main witness is a kid and cold reader is the only person to get through to them? and then the kid becomes like super attached and the rest of the team is just like 'hm, strange' because they never expected her to be good with kids? thank you!

𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐲-𝐬𝐢𝐱 𝐡𝐨𝐮���𝐬.

A family annihilator who's killed three families in two months makes a fatal mistake. He leaves behind a witness, a child, and she's the only one that can help solve the case.

s10!cold!reader ❅ 10.0k ❅ series masterlist. ❅ main masterlist.

CW | typical criminal minds violence, violence against children, mentions of trauma and ptsd, you do not know how tempted i was to kill this child but i didn’t

The scent of burnt coffee lingers in the air, mingling with the sterile chill of the air conditioning.

The conference room is dim, the overhead lights casting a dull glow against the crime scene photos spread across the table. Three families, their faces smiling in old photographs, juxtaposed with the horror of their final moments.

You sit stiffly in your chair, arms crossed, watching as Hotch stands at the head of the table. His expression is unreadable, but the tension in his shoulders speaks for itself.

The team is silent as he clicks to the next slide on the projector, displaying the most recent crime scene. Blood splatters across beige carpet. A broken picture frame. A child's shoe, left in the doorway.

“This is our unsub's third family in six weeks,” Hotch says, his voice steady but heavy. “All killed in their own homes, in the middle of the night. No signs of forced entry, no clear connection between the families. Each time, he’s managed to evade security cameras and forensic evidence. He’s methodical, careful, and fast.”

“Spree killer tendencies, but controlled,” Spencer interjects from across the table. His fingers drum against the tabletop as he speaks. “He escalates quickly, but there’s no erratic behaviour at the scenes. He’s not disorganised—he knows exactly what he’s doing,”

“Until now,” JJ murmurs. She leans forward, her brows drawn together, eyes fixed on the next image—a little girl. The survivor.

She’s small, her arms wrapped tightly around her knees, pressed into the corner of what looks like a hospital bed. A police officer stands nearby, talking to her, but there’s no recognition in her eyes. She looks… empty.

“She got away,” Emily says, glancing at Hotch. “How?”

“The unsub killed her parents and older brother before she managed to escape through a back door,” he explains. “The neighbours called 911 when they heard screaming. By the time officers arrived, the house was quiet, and the suspect was gone. She was found hiding in their backyard shed.”

“A survivor,” Morgan says, shaking his head. “That changes things. This guy has a pattern—he wipes out the entire family unit. That means she wasn’t supposed to make it out alive,”

“Which means he might try again,” Rossi adds grimly.

A beat of silence. The weight of the statement settles over the room like thick fog.

“Local PD has had no luck getting her to talk,” Hotch continues. “She hasn’t said a word about what happened. Refuses to answer questions. She’s traumatised, barely verbal, and right now, she’s under police protection until we can confirm if she has any extended family who can take her in.”

You shift in your seat, already sensing where this is going. A slow dread creeps up your spine as Hotch’s gaze flickers toward you.

“We need to get through to her,” he says. “She’s the only witness we have, and if the unsub left anything behind—a name, a face, a detail—she’s the only one who can give it to us.”

His words hang in the air for a second too long. You feel everyone’s eyes move toward you.

And then Hotch says it.

“I want you to talk to her.”

You inhale sharply, jaw tightening. "Hotch—"

“You have a PhD in Psychology,” he cuts in smoothly, as if he already anticipated your pushback. “And your time in VCAC makes you the most qualified person here to work with child victims.”

The mention of VCAC makes your stomach twist. You fight the urge to grimace.

“I moved to the BAU for a reason,” you remind him, keeping your voice measured. “Children can be… difficult. Especially ones dealing with trauma this severe. She’s not just going to start talking because I ask her to.”

“I know,” Hotch says. “But if anyone can get her to open up, it’s you.”

Silence stretches between you.

You don’t want to do this.

You hate working with kids. Not because you don’t care, but because they feel too much.

They cry, they panic, they cling, and their emotions are messy—unpredictable in ways adults rarely are.

You spent years in VCAC, watching helpless children break apart under the weight of their own trauma, and it wore you down in ways you never admitted.

That’s why you left.

You’re not the nurturing type. You don’t coddle, you don’t reassure with empty promises, and you don’t have the patience for endless sobs and incomprehensible explanations.

And yet.

You glance at the image of the little girl again. She looks so small. So completely alone.

No one else in this room is going to be able to reach her. And if she doesn’t talk, if she doesn’t tell you what she saw—

The unsub will keep killing.

You exhale slowly, forcing the tension out of your shoulders.

“Fine,” you say finally. “I’ll do it.”

“Good,” Hotch nods. “Wheels up in 30.”

The meeting disperses, chairs scraping against the floor as the team gathers their things. You stay seated for a moment, staring at the blurred-out image of the girl on the screen.

A hand brushes against your arm.

You look up to see Spencer standing beside you, concern flickering in his eyes.

“You okay?” he asks softly.

You almost say yes, but stop yourself. Instead, you shrug.

“It’s just… not my favourite thing to do,” you admit, voice quieter than usual.

He nods, as if he understands. Maybe he does.

“You’ll be good at it,” he says. No hesitation. No doubt. Just quiet certainty.

For some reason, that makes your chest tighten.

You swallow, push back your chair, and stand.

“Let’s hope so,” you mutter, grabbing your case file.

And then you follow the team out the door.

—

The jet touches down in Minnesota under a dull, overcast sky, the kind that promises rain but never quite delivers. The air outside is biting, cold enough that you pull your coat tighter around you as the team steps off the plane.

The local PD is already waiting for you on the tarmac, their unmarked cars idling, exhaust curling into the frigid air. Hotch exchanges quick introductions, then splits the team without hesitation.

“Rossi—you’re with me at the latest crime scene. JJ, you’ll work with the department’s media liaison to handle the press. Morgan, Prentiss, you’re going to the ME’s office to go over autopsy findings.”

His gaze lands on you. “You’re going to the station to talk to the girl.”

You nod, ignoring the way your stomach tightens at the assignment.

“I’ll go with her,” Spencer says, stepping forward.

Hotch gives him a brief look, then nods. “Keep me updated.”

You don’t say anything as you and Spencer break off from the group, climbing into the backseat of a waiting squad car. The officer driving doesn’t speak much, just gives you a curt nod before pulling out onto the highway.

You spend the drive flipping through the case file, rereading the details you already know.

The survivor’s name is Madelyn Carter. Eight years old. No prior history of abuse or neglect. No suspicious activity leading up to the night of the murders. A completely normal kid—until the night she lost everything.

The police reports are frustratingly sparse. Non-verbal. Unresponsive to questioning. Won’t engage.

You tap your fingers against the file, jaw tight. She’s just a child, but already, you can feel the weight of the challenge ahead of you.

The police station is small, tucked into a sleepy suburban district, the kind of place that probably never sees much worse than drunk and disorderly charges.

But today, it’s buzzing with quiet tension.

You and Spencer are led to a small interview room at the end of the hallway. The walls are a washed-out shade of blue, meant to be calming, but the effect is ruined by the harsh fluorescent lighting.

And there, curled up on a chair too big for her, is Madelyn.

She’s impossibly small, arms wrapped around herself, knees drawn up to her chest. Her hair is tangled at the ends, her clothes a size too big, probably donated by someone at the station. A stuffed rabbit sits limply in her lap, its fur worn and patchy.

She doesn’t look up when you walk in.

The officer standing in the corner—a middle-aged woman with tired eyes—gives you a look that’s equal parts sympathy and frustration.

“She hasn’t said a word since we brought her in,” she murmurs.

You nod, but your focus is on the girl.

You know better than to overwhelm her right away, so you take your time settling into the chair across from her. No sudden movements. No clipped, authoritative tone. Just careful, deliberate quiet.

“Hi, Madelyn,” you say gently.

She doesn’t acknowledge you.

That’s fine. You expected this.

You shift slightly in your seat, keeping your posture relaxed as you introduce yourself to her. “I’m a Doctor, I’m going to try and help you,”

Still nothing.

You glance at Spencer, who watches the interaction closely, hands tucked into the pockets of his cardigan.

“That’s a nice bunny,” you say, nodding toward the stuffed animal in her lap.

Madelyn doesn’t respond, doesn’t even flick her eyes toward you. She just tightens her grip on the rabbit, her small fingers curling into its worn fur.

You exhale slowly, adjusting your approach.

“I used to have one kind of like that when I was little,” you continue, keeping your voice soft, conversational. “Mine was a bear, though. His name was Theo. I took him everywhere.”

Nothing.

Not surprising, but frustrating nonetheless.

You lean back slightly in your chair, glancing at Spencer, who watches the exchange with quiet patience.

“You’re good at this,” he murmurs under his breath, just for you to hear. “Just be patient,”

You barely resist the urge to roll your eyes. “She hasn’t said a word, Spencer.”

“That doesn’t mean she’s not listening,”

You don’t respond, but his words linger in your mind as you turn back to Madelyn.

She’s still curled up, still silent, but you notice the way her fingers twitch slightly against the rabbit’s ear. It’s a small movement, but it tells you one thing, she’s aware of you.

That’s something.

You decide to change tactics. Instead of talking, you lean forward, resting your arms on the table between you. Then you take out your notepad and a pen, clicking it open.

Madelyn doesn’t look up, but you catch the smallest flicker of movement in her posture—curiosity.

Good.

You start to doodle. Simple things. A flower, a star, little patterns in the margins.

Still nothing from her.

But when you glance up a few minutes later, her eyes are on the notepad.

Just for a second. But she was looking.

You resist the urge to smile. Instead, you gently slide the notepad across the table toward her, placing the pen on top.

“You can draw something, if you want,” you say simply. “You don’t have to, but sometimes it helps.”

Madelyn doesn’t react immediately. But then, slowly—so slowly—her fingers twitch again, and she reaches out.

She doesn’t grab the pen. But she touches it.

Your heart stutters slightly in your chest.

Progress.

You let her take her time. You don’t push, don’t rush. You just watch as her tiny fingers trace the edge of the pen absently.

You glance at Spencer again, and his expression is warm. Encouraging.

After a long silence, he speaks, his voice gentle.

“Do you like stories, Madelyn?”

She doesn’t answer.

But after a moment, she nods. Barely. But it’s a nod.

You share a look with Spencer, and for the first time since walking into this room, you feel the smallest spark of hope.

She’s in there.

You just have to find a way to bring her out.

—

You don’t know how long you sit there, watching Madelyn’s fingers trace absent shapes against the edge of the pen. Time moves strangely in moments like this—slow and thick, like wading through molasses.

Spencer stays quiet, offering his presence but not overwhelming the space. You appreciate it more than you’d ever admit.

Madelyn doesn’t speak. But she nods. And she touches the pen.

That’s more than you had ten minutes ago.

So you build on it.

“You like stories,” you say, keeping your voice soft. “What kind of stories?”

No response.

You lean back slightly. “I like mysteries.” A pause. “Not the scary kind, though. More like… puzzles. Things that make you think.”

Nothing at first. But then—so subtle you almost miss it—Madelyn shifts. It’s small, just the faintest movement of her shoulders, but it’s acknowledgment.

Encouraged, you try again.

“I think you might be really good at puzzles,” you say casually. “The way you were looking at my drawings earlier—that was you figuring things out, right?”

She still doesn’t answer, but this time, you catch the way she avoids your gaze, like she’s fighting the urge to react.

She’s engaged. Even if she won’t admit it yet.

So you take another risk.

“Do you want to play a game?”

That gets her attention. Not fully, but her head tilts just slightly—like she’s listening more closely.

You grab the notepad again, flipping to a fresh page.

“It’s really simple,” you tell her. “I draw something, and you guess what it is. If you guess right, it’s your turn to draw something for me.”

You don’t expect an immediate response, so you keep moving. You draw a cat. Just a simple, messy sketch, the kind a kid might do. Then you slide the notepad back toward her and wait.

Silence.

You don’t push.

Then, after an agonising pause—Madelyn reaches for the pen.

She doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t look at you.

But she writes one word in the space beneath your drawing.

Cat.

Something in your chest unclenches.

“Yeah,” you say, voice even softer than before. “It’s a cat.”

Madelyn’s fingers tighten around the pen.

Then—hesitant, almost reluctant—she starts to draw.

It’s shaky, unsure, but after a moment, you recognise it.

A rabbit. Her stuffed animal.

You don’t rush to answer. You let the moment sit, giving her control.

Finally, you say, “Is it your bunny?”

Madelyn nods.

Not small. Not hesitant. A real, full nod.

Your breath catches. Spencer’s posture shifts beside you, like he can feel the significance of it, too.

You’ve got her.

—

It takes another hour before she agrees to talk.

You don’t push her. You keep playing, keep gently pulling her out of the dark space she’s been locked in. She tells you her bunny’s name is Milo, that he’s red because it’s her favourite colour, about things that don’t hurt to answer.

She tells you her friends call her Maddie. You ask if you can. She agrees.

And slowly, carefully, she leans into it.

Finally, when the moment feels right, you set your pen down.

“Maddie,” you say gently. “I need to ask you about what happened that night.”

Immediately, she shrinks in on herself.

You don’t reach for her. Don’t move too fast.

“I know it’s scary,” you continue. “And I know it hurts to think about. But you’re the only one who knows what he looks like.”

Her grip on Milo tightens.

You lean forward slightly. “I want to stop him,” you say. “I don’t want him to hurt anyone else. But I can’t do that without your help.”

She’s trembling. But she’s listening.

Spencer speaks for the first time in a while, his voice quiet but steady.

“We can do it in a way that’s not so scary,” he tells her. “You don’t have to remember everything at once. We can do it piece by piece, and you can stop whenever you want.”

Maddie hesitates.

Then, after a long, agonising pause—she nods.

You take a slow breath.

“Okay,” you murmur. “Let’s do this together.”

—

The cognitive interview is exhausting. For her, for you, for everyone in the room.

You guide her through it carefully—asking her to picture the house, to focus on what she remembers before things got bad.

She whispers about the TV being on. About how her brother was playing a game on his tablet. About how her dad was in the kitchen, and her mom was upstairs.

Then—the noise.

Something breaking.

Screaming.

Maddie shakes violently, curling in on herself, and you immediately pull back.

“It’s okay,” you say quickly. “You’re safe. You’re here with us.”

She nods, but her breath is coming too fast, her body trembling too much.

Spencer places a gentle hand on your arm, meeting your gaze. You understand what he’s asking. Back off. Give her a moment.

So you do.

You wait.

Finally, she whispers, “He—he was big,”

You go still.

She’s talking about him.

You nod encouragingly. “Okay. Big. Can you tell me anything else?”

A shaky breath.

“H-he had a… a hat.”

You glance at Spencer, who’s already jotting this down in the case file.

Maddie’s voice is barely audible.

“I think it was red.”

Your heart pounds.

Piece by piece, she tells you more. His height. His clothes. A scar on his arm.

By the time she stops, she’s crying.

You reach forward, gently—so gently—and brush a piece of hair from her face.

“You did so good, Maddie,” you tell her. “So, so good.”

She hiccups, her tiny body wracked with exhaustion.

And then—before you can react—she throws herself into your arms.

You freeze.

You’re not the nurturing type. You don’t know how to do this.

But right now, this kid trusts you in a way she doesn’t trust anyone else.

So you let her cling.

You let her cry.

And for the first time in a long time—

You don’t pull away.

—

The interview is over, but somehow, it feels like the work is just beginning.

Maddie doesn’t leave your side.

Not even for a second.

You’d thought that once the interview was done, you’d be able to hand her over to someone else—maybe the police, or someone from her extended family who was supposed to arrive soon. But instead, Maddie just… clings.

After the interview, she refuses to let go of your hand. You try to tell her she can go with one of the officers to get something to eat, but her grip tightens.

When you tell her it’s time for you to go back to work, she just looks up at you, her eyes wide with that quiet, vulnerable desperation that makes you want to soften, but you can’t.

Her tiny fingers dig into your sleeve when you stand, like she’s afraid you’ll disappear.

You can’t blame her.

You’ve been the one who’s been there for her, the one who’s gotten her to speak, the one who’s made her feel safe for the first time in days.

But the child is persistent.

Everywhere you go, she follows. To the small break room where the team is gathering, to the bathroom when you briefly step away, back to the conference room where they’ve gathered for a case update.

She’s your shadow now.

And the team notices.

You try not to make it awkward, but it's impossible when she insists on sitting at your side, her tiny body almost engulfed by the chair next to you. Her stuffed bunny sits in her lap, its fur nearly as frayed as her nerves, but she holds it tightly. It’s like her last link to some semblance of safety.

Morgan raises an eyebrow as he walks in. “I thought we were done with the interview?”

“We are,” you say, keeping your tone neutral. “She just… she doesn’t want to leave me.”

No one teases you—at least, not directly—but there’s a quiet amusement in the air as they all take in the sight of Madelyn curled up in her oversized chair, the edges of her blanket practically touching the floor, with you sitting across from her.

Hotch is the only one who doesn’t seem particularly surprised. He’s worked with children before—he knows how attachment works, especially after trauma.

But the others? They’re bemused.

JJ glances over at you as she sips her coffee, a smile pulling at her lips. “She seems to have taken quite a liking to you,”

You tilt your head, barely acknowledging her. “I’m just doing my job.”

Maddie, of course, doesn’t let go of you, even as the case discussion begins. She stays glued to your side, her small hand clutching the sleeve of your jacket, her eyes darting from one agent to the next as they go over the details of the unsub’s pattern.

You keep your voice even, answering questions when necessary, but it’s becoming increasingly hard to focus when you feel the weight of her gaze fixed on you, like she’s waiting for something.

Spencer notices.

He’s been watching the whole scene unfold with quiet fascination, his arms crossed, his head slightly tilted, like he’s trying to puzzle out the situation. Finally, when the meeting breaks up, he sidles up next to you as you get ready to leave the conference room.

“She’s really latched onto you, huh?” he says, his voice low, but the smile tugging at his lips is evident.

You glance at him, your expression unreadable. “It’s nothing. Just transference.”

“Uh-huh.” He doesn’t believe you, but he doesn’t push.

Maddie hasn’t let go of you once during the discussion, and now that it’s over, she’s still following you around, pressing close to your side as you move toward the exit.

“Are you hungry, Maddie?” you ask her gently, glancing down at her with a touch of exasperation. “You haven’t eaten, and I’m pretty sure there’s a café close to here.”

Her head nods almost imperceptibly.

Spencer watches, his eyes softening slightly as he observes the quiet bond that’s developed between the two of you. It’s not obvious at first—just the way the girl clings to you like you’re the only thing tethering her to some kind of reality.

“Maybe we can grab lunch,” he suggests, his tone more teasing than anything. “I mean, you’ve earned it. Getting the kid to open up like that? Not easy.”

You roll your eyes, though there's no malice behind it. “I’m just doing what needs to be done.”

“You’re good at it.”

You mutter something under your breath about it not being a permanent situation, but Spencer just chuckles.

He walks with you as you lead Maddie toward the small café a few blocks away. As you cross the threshold of the restaurant, you notice the oddity of the whole situation.

It’s strange to have someone at your side like this. A small, vulnerable child who insists on being with you despite everything that happened.

The waitress gives you an odd look when you request a secluded booth, but she doesn’t say anything. You slide in, Maddie immediately beside you, her fingers still clutching your sleeve.

Spencer orders for everyone, giving Maddie a soft smile as he does. You can’t help but notice the way his expression softens around her.

“She seems to like you,” Spencer comments as you sit, his voice light but carrying a certain warmth.

You cross your arms and shoot him a glance. “What can I say? I’m just a magnet for clingy children.”

Spencer laughs quietly, but it’s warm. “You’re good with her. I think she feels safe around you. And you are good at what you do.”

“Thanks,” you mutter, but there’s something unsettlingly genuine in your voice.

Spencer raises an eyebrow, but he doesn’t press you. Instead, he changes the subject, discussing the case with you as if nothing’s out of the ordinary.

But in the back of your mind, you can’t shake the feeling that something has changed.

As you eat, Maddie picks at her food, her gaze flickering from you to Spencer and back again. She looks at you with a certain familiarity, like she trusts you completely, like you’re the one person who’s made her feel safe in the whirlwind of everything that happened.

After a while, she speaks.

“Are you boyfriend and girlfriend?”

Your fork stops halfway to your mouth. Spencer looks at you from across the table, just as surprised.

You freeze. How do you explain the whole weird mess that is your and Spencer’s relationship to an eight-year-old? How do you explain the not-together-but-kinda-together situation that doesn’t even make sense to you half the time?

So you side-step the question.

“No, sweetie,” you say, “Not quite.”

Maddie doesn’t seem disappointed by that answer. She just nods, although a little confused.

You glance at Spencer, who’s trying to hide a smile behind his cup of water.

“It’s okay to be curious,” he tells her gently.

You roll your eyes and take another bite of your food. “It's just complicated,”

Maddie shrugs, her focus shifting back to her plate. She doesn't press any further, and for a brief moment, you almost feel normal again—just two adults eating lunch with a kid. Like a proxy family.

But normal doesn’t last long. The reality is that she’s still attached to you, and you're still the one she turns to. For now, at least.

And despite all your reservations, there’s a part of you that’s starting to understand why.

—

The evening sets in with an oppressive stillness that mirrors the tension in the air.

Maddie has been tucked into a small cot, an officer stationed outside her door to ensure her safety. She’s asleep now, her face still flushed from the day’s events, her small form curled tightly under the blankets. The moment she closed her eyes, a quiet kind of peace settled in the room, but the unease in your chest hasn’t subsided.

The case isn’t over. Not by a long shot.

The team has reconvened, sitting around the large conference table in the BAU’s temporary Minnesota office. The maps, photos, and notes are all spread out before you, the room filled with the usual quiet hum of focus.

They’re all working with urgency now—calculating, piecing together information, and drawing conclusions. But none of them, not even Hotch, seem willing to speak the one truth you’re certain of.

Madelyn is in danger.

It’s only a matter of time before the unsub comes back for her.

“Based on the pattern,” Hotch begins, his voice steady, “we can assume the unsub is going to strike again. He’s methodical. The way he works suggests he’s already been planning this next move. We have a window.”

You listen, but you’re not really hearing him. Your eyes are fixed on the girl’s picture—the innocent smile frozen in time, the eyes full of unspoken fear. She’s just a little girl.

“And our best bet,” Morgan continues, leaning forward as he studies the information in front of him, “is to get her back into her old house. Lure the unsub out with a setup that looks weak—something that’ll convince him to make his move.”

Your stomach churns.

“That’s what we’re doing,” Hotch affirms, his eyes briefly meeting yours. “We need to make sure he’s brought to justice, and we’re running out of time.”

You can feel it—the tension rising in your chest, suffocating you. It’s not just the decision they’re making. It’s the plan. It’s the idea that they’re considering putting Madelyn in danger again.

You can’t stay silent.

“Are you serious?” Your voice cuts through the conversation like a knife. “We’re going to use her as bait?”

There’s an edge in your tone, one you rarely let genuinely show. The room goes still, and all eyes turn toward you.

Hotch looks at you with that ever-steady gaze of his, the kind that’s usually so impenetrable, but you can see the frustration beneath it. “We don’t have many options here. If we can’t draw him out, we risk losing him completely.”

“By using a child?” You repeat the word like it’s a poison, something that doesn’t belong in the same sentence as the word justice. You stand, unable to keep still, the anger making your pulse quicken. “This isn’t some game, Hotch. This is a real little girl. She’s already been through enough. We can’t just—”

“You’re overreacting,” Morgan interjects, his voice quieter now but firm. “We’re not putting her at direct risk. The setup will be controlled, and we’ll have backup in place,”

You shake your head, the words slipping from you before you can stop them. “Controlled? How do you control something like that? How do you control what he does to her when he finds out she’s there?”

Spencer speaks up from across the room, his voice calm but carrying an underlying note of empathy. “We’re not doing this blindly. There’s a risk, yes. But we’re also talking about a chance to stop him, once and for all. This is what we do,”

You turn to him, frustration boiling in your chest. “This is not our mission. She’s not just some tool to help us find a solution to our problems. She’s a child!”

Spencer’s eyes flash for a moment, but he softens his tone, lowering his voice. “I know, but we’re doing this to protect her. We can’t just sit back and wait for him to come to her. That’s not an option anymore,”

The conversation swirls around you, their voices growing distant in your ears as the weight of the decision begins to settle over you.

The plan, the baiting, the manipulation of this little girl’s already broken world—none of it feels right. The thought of putting her in harm’s way, even with all the precautions in place, is enough to make your stomach turn.

But no one is listening to you.

And you know, in the back of your mind, that it’s already decided. They’re going to go through with it.

Hotch gives you one last look, his gaze unreadable but firm. “I understand your concern, but this is the best option we have.”

You hold his gaze for a beat, the frustration still burning in your chest, but you can’t push it anymore.

Instead, you take a breath and step back, your voice tight. “Fine. But don’t expect me to like it.”

The rest of the team doesn’t speak up—no one challenges the decision. They all know what needs to be done, even if it isn’t easy. Even if it feels wrong.

And in that moment, you realise just how far this has gone. You’re not just part of the team anymore. You’re now complicit in something that you can’t reconcile with the woman you thought you were.

—

That night, you sit at your desk, staring at the case file in front of you, though you’re not really looking at it. Your thoughts drift back to Madelyn—her fragile, trusting eyes, the way she’s clung to you all day.

You didn’t sign up for this.

Spencer walks past your desk, pausing when he sees the way you’re hunched over the case files.

“You’re really not okay with this, are you?” he asks quietly, his voice soft but knowing.

You don’t answer at first, focusing on the photo of Madelyn. Her smile, her bunny clutched tight in her hands, all of it makes you feel like you’re trapped in a nightmare you can’t wake up from.

Finally, you speak, your voice barely a whisper. “I just—I can’t believe we’re doing this to her.”

Spencer’s silence speaks volumes. He doesn’t say anything for a long time, and you don’t expect him to. Finally, he leans in, his tone steady but sympathetic.

“Sometimes, we have to make hard choices,” he says. “But that doesn’t mean we forget who we’re doing it for,”

You glance up at him, meeting his eyes. There’s something in his gaze—a quiet understanding, a recognition of the struggle.

“You’ll be okay,” He hesitates before setting a hand against your cheek, thumb brushing over your skin. “And so will she,”

—

The silence in the room is almost oppressive. Madelyn has been tucked into her cot for the night, her small body curled into the covers as if trying to make herself as small as possible.

You’ve been avoiding looking at her, because every time you do, the weight of what you’re about to ask her presses down harder on your chest.

You know that this is necessary. You know that this is the only way to stop the unsub and give her a chance at safety. But that doesn’t make it feel any less wrong.

The plan is set. Tomorrow, they’ll use her as bait. And you, the one person she trusts in the world, are expected to stand by and watch.

It doesn’t matter that you’ll be there to protect her. It doesn’t matter that you’ll be the one closest to her. The thought of her being used like this leaves a bitter taste in your mouth that no amount of logic can cleanse.

But there’s no getting around it. The team has made their decision.

So you sit at the edge of her cot, trying to steady the storm of conflicting emotions swirling inside you. You’re the one who has to make her understand, and that terrifies you.

Maddie is lying on her side, her bunny tucked into the crook of her arm. She looks so small in the dim light, so fragile, and it hurts to see her like this.

The trauma she’s endured is still written on her face, though the interview was a step forward. But that doesn’t mean she’s ready for what’s about to happen. None of you are.

“Maddie?” you say softly, your voice quieter than usual. She doesn’t respond at first, her wide eyes flicking from her bunny to you. She’s so still, almost as though she’s bracing herself for something worse.

“Hey, sweetheart, look at me,” you coax gently, reaching out to touch her shoulder. She hesitates for a moment, but then she turns, her face a mask of anxiety and exhaustion.

You swallow hard, forcing yourself to hold her gaze. “I need to tell you something important. Do you remember what I told you earlier, about keeping you safe?”

She nods, her lips trembling. “You’re gonna stay with me?” Her voice is barely above a whisper, like she’s afraid of hearing the wrong answer.

Your heart aches. You can feel the weight of what you’re about to say hanging in the air like a storm cloud. But you can’t lie to her. Not now. She deserves the truth. Even if it breaks you to say it.

“I’m not going anywhere, okay?” you promise, trying to keep your voice steady. “But tomorrow… tomorrow’s going to be a little different.”

She furrows her brow, her small hands twisting the edges of her blanket. “How?”

You take a slow breath, carefully choosing your words. “Tomorrow, we’re going to do something to make sure that bad man never comes back. Something that will keep you safe. But it’s going to be a little scary, and I need you to trust me, okay?”

She looks up at you, eyes wide with apprehension. You can see her processing, the fear bubbling under the surface, trying to break through. But she doesn’t pull away. She stays there, watching you, waiting for the rest of it.

“It’s not going to be easy,” you continue. “We’re going to go to your old house, the place where all this happened, and we’re going to make it look like it did before. We’re going to have people watching from close by, and I’ll be right outside. The whole time, okay?”

Her lips tremble again, and you can see that she’s struggling to understand. The idea of going back to that house—where so much horror happened—is almost too much for her to process. You don’t blame her. You’d feel the same way.

“I won’t leave you,” you say again, making sure she hears the sincerity in your voice. “You’ll be safe, Maddie. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

The trust in her eyes is palpable, but the fear is too. Her small body stiffens for a moment, and she looks down at her bunny like it’s the only thing holding her together. “What if… what if I’m scared?” she asks, her voice barely audible.

You lean in, your heart breaking just a little more. “It’s okay to be scared, But we’ll make all the scary things go away.”

There’s a long pause, and for a moment, you almost feel like you’re breaking. The responsibility is too much, the pressure too great. You want so badly to pull her out of this situation, to find another way. But you can’t. You have to do this, not just for her, but for everyone who’s been affected by this unsub.

Madelyn bites her lip, her eyes filled with uncertainty. “You promise?”

You nod, your voice thick with emotion. “I promise.”

She looks at you for a long moment, as if weighing your words, trying to decide if she can trust you. And then, just as you’re starting to doubt yourself, she nods, barely perceptible. “Okay. I trust you.”

The words settle between you both, and for a moment, you feel the quiet weight of the promise you just made. This isn’t just a case anymore. It’s her. It’s her safety, her future, and you’re the one who has to make sure she’s protected.

“Good girl,” you say softly, brushing a few stray strands of hair from her forehead. “You’re so brave, Maddie. I’m proud of you.”

Her eyes flicker up to you again, and this time, there’s a faint smile. It’s small, but it’s there. “I’m not scared if you’re with me.”

That’s the moment you realise: she’s not just trusting you to keep her safe. She’s trusting you to give her back a sense of control over her own life, something she hasn’t had since the night her family was taken from her. And you can’t let her down. Not now, not ever.

“I’ll be with you,” you repeat. “Every step of the way.”

And as you watch her settle back into the covers, her bunny tucked tightly under her arm, you make a silent vow to yourself that no matter what happens tomorrow, no matter what you have to do, you will keep that promise.

Because no one else is going to.

Not like you will.

—

The air inside the old house is heavy with tension, each creak of the floorboards under the team’s feet amplified in the stillness.

The plan is simple. Madelyn is placed in the house, under the guise of a minimal police presence, to lure the unsub into taking the bait.

Everything has been carefully orchestrated, right down to the smallest detail. Outside, the team is positioned in hidden locations, all eyes on the house. They’re watching for any signs that the unsub is approaching, but you know they’re all thinking the same thing—you hope this works.

You’ve spent the entire day getting Maddie ready, talking her through the steps again, reassuring her that this is the right thing to do, that she’ll be okay. And, despite your own misgivings, you’re trying to convince yourself of the same thing.

You’ve promised her that you would stay by her side, and you have to see that promise through.

The door to the house is left slightly ajar, a weak police presence positioned just inside. You take your position on the floor below Maddie’s bedroom, staying close, but not so close as to be obvious. Your heartbeat is a loud thrum in your ears as the time ticks by, every minute stretching into what feels like an eternity. The silence inside the house feels like a storm waiting to break.

Then, it happens.

The motion sensor outside the house triggers, and you hear it—the unmistakable sound of someone breaching the perimeter. Your stomach lurches. The unsub is here.

It’s go-time.

The team moves in quickly, and in that same instant, you spring into action, your focus singular. Your only thought is Maddie. The unsub can be handled by the others. They’ve got it covered. But you can’t take your eyes off the one person you promised to protect. You know exactly where she is, and you don’t even hesitate to run toward her.

—

You burst into her room, your heart pounding. The light is dim, casting long shadows across the space. Maddie is standing by the window, looking outside with wide, fearful eyes. The moment she hears the door open, she turns to you, her face a mixture of confusion and terror.

She doesn’t say anything, but you can see the fear etched into her small features, the tremor in her hands as she holds the bunny close.

Without thinking, you move towards her in two quick steps. You scoop her up in your arms, holding her tight to your chest, pressing her small form into you as though you can shield her from all the horrors in the world. The weight of her trust feels heavier than ever.

“Shh,” you whisper, your voice as steady as you can make it, though it cracks just a little. “It’s okay. You’re safe now. I’m right here. See? I told you you’d be okay.”

She clings to you, her fingers curling into your shirt. She’s trembling, but she doesn’t pull away. In this moment, she’s not just the scared little girl caught in a nightmare. She’s the child who trusted you with her safety—and that trust is all that matters.

You stroke her hair gently, trying to soothe her with the rhythm of your hand.

Your heart is racing, but you can’t afford to let that show. She’s looking up at you now, her wide eyes full of questions, full of fear that you can’t quite banish. But she trusts you. That’s enough.

“Everything’s going to be okay,” you say again, even though you can’t promise it. You hold her tighter, wanting to shield her from everything outside this room, from the danger lurking just beyond the walls. You’re not thinking of the unsub anymore—only of Maddie. She’s the only thing that matters.

For a moment, everything else fades away. The outside world is a blur of movement and sound, but you are anchored in this small, dimly lit room with this little girl in your arms.

You don’t hear the team’s voices anymore, don’t hear the chase or the shouting, don’t hear anything except Maddie’s breathing against your chest. She’s calm now, her body still trembling but no longer with fear—more from the shock, the exhaustion of the night.

It’s a strange thing, the weight of her small body in your arms. There’s something deeply instinctive about it, something that stirs in you like an echo from a past you thought you’d finally buried alongside your Professor.

In this moment, holding her like this, you can’t help but think of what might have been. If you’d had that child, if you’d stayed.

What would it have been like? To raise a child of your own? To care for someone who needed you as much as she does?

The thought catches you off guard. It’s a brief moment of reflection, one that passes as quickly as it comes, but the weight of it lingers, like the fading scent of something once held close. It’s not the first time you’ve thought about it, but it’s the first time it’s felt so… real.

You quickly push the thought aside, focusing again on Maddie’s presence. Not now.

This isn’t about you. It’s about her. Always her.

“Hey,” you murmur, pulling her back slightly to look into her eyes. “You did great. You were so brave. You’re okay. It’s over now.”

Her eyes are wide, still searching your face for reassurance, but she doesn’t speak. She doesn’t need to. You know that she’s still processing everything, still trying to make sense of the danger, of the chaos, of everything she’s been through in the past few days. But she’s safe now. She’s in your arms, and you’ll keep her safe for as long as it takes.

“Do you trust me?” you ask softly, even though you already know the answer.

Maddie nods, her small hand clutching tighter onto her bunny.

“Good,” you say, giving her a small but sincere smile. “Then we’ll get through this together.”

—

The storm has passed. The danger is over. Madelyn is safe. The unsub is in custody, and the team is in the clear. You’ve done your job. You’ve kept her safe, just as you promised.

But now comes the hardest part.

Her grandparents are here, having arrived just after the house was secured, the paperwork signed, and the chaos of the operation settled.

They’re older, frail but warm, and there’s a visible relief on their faces when they see their granddaughter—safe, unharmed, and sound, despite everything she’s been through.

They approach her cautiously, with a tenderness that is obvious in their every move, but it’s clear that Madelyn isn’t ready to leave yet.

She’s sitting on the edge of the bed, her back to you, staring down at her hands, her bunny still clutched tightly in her grip. Her eyes flicker toward the door every now and then, but she doesn’t look up.

She can hear the voices outside—her grandparents—her family—but she’s frozen. The transition from being with you, the one person she’s come to rely on, to a completely new environment is more than she’s ready for.

You move closer, kneeling beside her. Her head doesn’t turn, but you can tell she knows you’re there. The silence between you is comfortable, not awkward, but weighted with the realisation that this is the end of the road for you both. This is where you have to let her go.

“Maddie,” you say softly, your voice a little hoarse from the long hours. “Your grandparents are here. They’re going to take you home. You’ll be safe with them.”

She doesn’t say anything, but you can see her shoulders tense, just a little. Her fingers flex against her bunny’s fur, as if trying to hold onto some sense of control, some last shred of the familiar. She’s scared. You understand that, even though she’s made it through the worst of it, she’s still just a little girl. And little girls need security. They need the things they’ve trusted, and right now, that’s you.

“I know it’s hard,” you continue, gently brushing her hair back. “But you’re going to be okay now. You’re going to be with your family. You’re not alone anymore.”

Madelyn stays quiet, but this time, she finally turns her head to look at you. Her eyes are wide and vulnerable, and it’s all you can do to hold back the swell of emotion threatening to break free. She’s asking with just a look—Can I stay? Can you keep me safe?

But you can’t. You’ve done what you promised. You can’t be her protector forever, and you both know it. She needs her family now, the people who can be there for her in ways you can’t.

“I’ll always be here if you need me,” you say, your voice steady, though your heart is anything but. “But you’ve got your grandparents now. They love you, and they’re going to take care of you. You’ll be safe with them, just like I promised you.”

Maddie looks down at her bunny again, as if deciding whether to give it up. For a long moment, she just holds it, her fingers tracing the worn fabric. You don’t push her. She needs to come to this decision herself, in her own time. But eventually, she looks up at you, and her face is as serious as it’s ever been.

“I want you to have him,” she says quietly. “He keeps me safe. Maybe he can keep you safe too.”

Your throat tightens at the simple, honest offer. The bunny—her constant companion, the thing that has been with her through every terrifying moment, every flash of panic—is now being entrusted to you. You can feel the weight of it, of the trust in her small hands as she holds it out to you.

For a brief moment, you hesitate. You weren’t expecting this. You didn’t want this. You didn’t want to accept anything from her, to make it feel like a goodbye, like this was the end. But the way she’s looking at you—her eyes filled with the kind of vulnerability that only a child could show—it’s a gift. A gesture of complete trust.

You reach out, slowly, your fingers brushing against hers as she places the stuffed animal into your hands. You don’t say anything at first. You don’t need to. The weight of the moment says it all.

“I’ll look after him,” you say finally, your voice soft. “I promise,”

Maddie gives a small nod, her lip trembling slightly, but she doesn’t cry. She doesn’t need to. She knows she’s safe now. She knows that the danger is over, even though it’s going to take a long time for her to truly feel like it. But she trusts you. That’s what matters most.

Her grandparents step forward now, gentle and patient. Her grandmother reaches out, her hand trembling slightly, but Madelyn doesn’t move. She looks up at you one last time, and it’s like she’s asking you for permission. You nod, brushing a hand over her hair one last time, offering her the comfort and security she’s going to need in the days to come.

“You’re going to be okay, Maddie,” you repeat, knowing it’s true. You’ve done everything you could for her, and now it’s time to let go.

Madelyn doesn’t look back as her grandparents gently lead her out of the room. She doesn’t cry, though you’re sure the tears will come later. For now, she’s holding herself together, with the knowledge that she’s safe, and that she’s going to be okay.

—

The hum of the office is soothing in its familiar monotony. You step inside, the heavy weight of the case finally lifting from your shoulders. It’s strange—part of you feels relief, the other part feels like an echo of something left behind. Something you didn’t quite expect to feel, but there it is, nestled in your chest, quietly tugging at you.

You take a deep breath and walk to your desk, setting down your bag and the files you’ve been carrying all day. Then, without really thinking about it, you place the stuffed animal on the corner of your desk, the soft bunny now a permanent fixture in the workspace that’s been both home and battlefield for so long.

It’s a small thing, but it’s a thing that means something. And as soon as you set it down, you feel a soft exhale escape your lips. A sense of finality, of closure, as if everything has settled into place.

The case is over. Madelyn is safe. But something about this—about the stuffed animal—feels like a piece of you that will always remain in that small room with her, in the moment when you promised to keep her safe.

You don’t realise Spencer is watching you until you hear his soft voice.

“She gave it to you,” he says, a quiet smile tugging at his lips.

You glance over at him, momentarily surprised. His gaze is soft, understanding, and there’s a certain warmth in his eyes that you’re not sure you’re ready for.

You glance back at the bunny and then back at Spencer. It’s an odd feeling—the way he’s looking at you, almost as if he sees more than just the case, more than just the professional side of you. He sees the part of you that changed over the past 36 hours.

“She did,” you say, your voice low, not quite sure what to say after that. It’s true, but you hadn’t really thought it through. You hadn’t thought about what this moment would mean.

“You didn’t have to take it,” Spencer offers gently, taking a step closer. “But I think it’s... a good thing. That you did.”

You swallow, unsure how to process the mix of emotions stirring in your chest. It’s strange, this feeling. The feeling of having kept a promise, of having kept someone safe. You’ve done this kind of work before, but never like this. Never with this kind of personal connection.

“Yeah,” you say, your voice thick with something you can’t quite put into words.

Spencer steps closer, his posture relaxed, yet there’s an unspoken care in his movements. He looks at you—softly, steadily—and you feel the warmth of his presence settle around you. He reaches a hand out, his fingers brushing over the edge of your waist. It’s a gesture that’s comforting, gentle, not pushing, just there.

“You okay?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper, as if he’s afraid of breaking the moment. His touch is subtle, yet you can feel the tenderness in his gesture.

You nod, but the answer feels incomplete. How do you explain that you're fine, but also changed? How do you explain that the girl who clung to you, who trusted you with her safety, left something inside you that you hadn’t expected to find?

“I’m fine,” you say finally, because it’s easier to say than to explain.

Spencer doesn’t press, doesn’t ask for more details. He just gives a soft nod, his fingers still lingering for a moment longer than necessary before he steps back slightly. He doesn’t push. He’s always been good at giving space when needed.

“Want me to take you home?” he asks, his voice gentle. “Or… we could just go somewhere. Get some food. Something to relax.”

The offer is simple, but you can tell that it’s more than that. It’s his way of letting you know he’s there for you, not out of obligation, but because he wants to be. Because he sees you in a way that not many people do.

The soft affection in his voice, the quiet care in his words—it’s enough to make you feel like maybe, just maybe, you’re not as alone as you’ve felt in the past.

You glance at him, a soft smile tugging at the corner of your lips. For a moment, the world outside the office fades, and it’s just the two of you. He’s standing there, so patient, so steady, and the weight of the last 36 hours begins to feel a little less heavy with him around.

“That’d be nice,” you say finally, surprising yourself with the answer. You don’t know why, but you do. You could go home, retreat into the silence of your apartment, but there’s something about the idea of being with him—of having someone there, someone who understands, someone who’s seen the way you’ve changed—that feels better.

Spencer smiles, a quiet relief crossing his face. He steps forward, offering you a hand, and you take it without hesitation. His fingers close around yours, warm and comforting. It’s a simple gesture, but it feels like a promise, like something new is beginning.

“Let’s go then,” he says, giving your hand a gentle squeeze.

[piroulinewafers]

𝐨𝐢𝐥 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: mechanic! caleb x fem! reader 𝐜𝐰: smut. 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: caleb hates her car— the dents, the rust, the constant need for repairs— but he loves that it always brings her back to him. 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐬: open.

the morning sun hadn’t fully climbed over the rooftops when the unmistakable sputter of her car chugged its way into the lot behind caleb’s garage. it coughed once— loudly— then shuddered to a stop with a sad little wheeze that echoed across the quiet street. she winced, gently patting the dashboard like an apology.

she hoisted herself out of the driver’s seat and closing the creaky door with more care than it deserved considering the amount of near fatal accidents the hunk of metal had gotten her into.

caleb looked up from where he was flat on his back beneath the lifted frame of a vintage pickup. the summer heat had done little to cool his workshop-stained clothe, his coveralls were rolled down on his waist, thick blue fabric stained and oil-splattered, tied in a knot around his hips. his sweat-dampened t-shirt clung to his chest like a vice and broad arms, glistening with the sheen of sweat, flexed as he sat up to give her his full, undivided attention. as always, his treasured dog tags remained around his neck, an unspoken good luck charm, clinking softly as he sat up on the creeper.

caleb simply grinned when he saw her. the same grin he’d had since they were kids, when he used to dare her to eat worms or race her to the pond at the edge of town. except now, the grin came with the added charm of a sharp jaw, broad shoulders and arms that looked carved from marble, carved in smudges of car grease instead of fine polish.

she couldn’t help but find herself staring for a moment before snapping herself out of it. oh. right. the car.

“well, well,” he drawled, standing up and wiping his hands on a used rag that probably hadn’t been clean in a while. “look what the cat dragged in, my favorite hunk of junk.” 

“i-it’s not a hunk of junk,” she mumble defensively. she shifted awkwardly, glancing back at her car. “so… do you think you could take a look? it started making a new noise. kinda like a… whimper? or maybe a dying dog.” 

caleb laughed and headed towards the car, tossing the rag over his shoulder. “sounds serious, let’s have a look, hm?” 

she trailed after him, hands in the pockets of her pants as she watched him work. she quietly marvelled at the ease in his movements, the way his muscles flexed under the grime as he circled her car, eyeing it intensely. 

“alright sweetheart,” caleb drawled, crouching down beside the front of the car. “pop the hood for me, would ya?” 

practically tripping over herself, doing as he asked as he rolled beneath the car on the creeper, tools clanking as he worked. she wasn’t sure what she expected, but the sight of him so focused— brows furrowed, lips slightly parted as he muttered something under his breath— was oddly mesmerizing. 

“looks like your alternator’s strugglin’ again,” he called out from underneath the car. “and i’m guessin’ you ignored my advice last time about replacin’ this belt, huh?”

she shifted on her feet. “i mean… i thought maybe it just needed a little encouragement.” it came out as more of a question than a statement if anything at all.

caleb rolled out from under the car, an exasperated look on his face. “cars don’t just run on hope.” he shook his head, amused, before sitting up and wiping swear from his forehead. “you’re lucky i like ya. otherwise, i’d be lettin’ you deal with this mess yourself.” 

the mechanic stretched, almost purposefully in front of her, before turning his attention to the open hood. 

“your oil is looking dark and gritty too. that means its not circulating properly and that can cause all sorts of trouble for your engine,” he explained, glancing over at her. “no wonder this hunk of metal sounds like it’s on its last legs.”

she leaned in awkwardly, trying to get a better look at what he was referring to. “o-oh, so that’s not good?”

caleb simply grinned. “no, baby, that’s not good at all. but don’t you worry, i’ll get this thing runnin’ like a dream again in no time.”

“so… you can fix it?” 

“‘course i can. i can fix anythin’.” he leaned in a little closer. of course, he wouldn’t properly fix the things, only do enough to ensure she was safe on the road but not enough that she wouldn’t need his help anymore. he liked having her come running to him all teary eyed with her car troubles so he could swoop in and fix them for her. 

“but i charge extra if the customer looks at me with those big, dumb eyes and doesn’t even pretend to know what i’m talkin’ about.” 

immediately, her cheeks flushed a soft pink. “i’m trying to learn, caleb…” 

the man simply chuckled, reaching for a wrench. “then here’s lesson one: why don’t you make yourself useful and get hand me the torque wrench.” 

she blinked, dumbly. “which one is that?” 

“you’re a big girl, i’m sure you can figure it out, right?” 

flustered, she moved to the tray, picking up a tool and holding it out hesitantly. “this one, caleb?” 

he took it from her, brushing her fingers in the process. “close enough.” her shy attempts at comprehension were beyond adorable to him. 

caleb could feel the warmth of her skin beneath his touch, the softness of her hair as it brushed against his fingertips. there was a part of him that wanted to linger, to trail his fingers down the slope of her neck and across her shoulder, but he resisted the urge. for now, at least. 

instead, he stepped back and grabbed a rag, wiping his hands thoroughly before turning his attention back to the task at hand. 

caleb’s eyes flickered over, watching her fuss with the edge of her sleeve, flicking from the engine to him and back again. like she wanted to ask something but didn’t quite know how. caleb smirked, rag still in hand, and slowing rounded the open hood. 

“you sure treat this car like it’s made of glass,” he drawled, voice low, teasing. ‘you sure you aren’t the one makin’ it whimper?”

her brows furrowed, and she opened her mouth to respond, but before she could get a word out, he was in front of her. close. closer than he should be. one step forward and she was pressed between the now closed hot hood and the firm press of his chest. 

she blinked up at him, strartled but not pulling away. her breath caught, the warmth of the metal behind her meeting the heat of him in front of her, arms caging her as he rested his palms on either side of the hood. his grin was lazy, boyish, but his gaze razor-sharp.

“you know,” caleb murmured, dipping his head just enough for his nose to skim along her cheek. “for a car that rattles like a tin can, you sure get real protective of it.”

“i-its not that bad,” she whispered, voice hitching. her hands hovered uncertainly between them, fingers twitching as if deciding whether to push him away or pull him closer. 

he chuckled, low in his throat. “sweetheart, i’ve seen shoppin’ carts with smoother steering than this thing. “then, softer, closer, “but i kinda like that you keep comin’ to me anyway.”

her lips parts, flustered, eyes wide. 

“you said you liked her…” she mumbled, trying to sound accusatory.

“i like you,” he corrected, effortlessly, without shame or hesitation. “the car’s just a bonus.”

and then he kissed her. 

it wasn’t rushed, he kissed her like he meant to fix all her broken parts, like he could find out everything she’d never said just by the way she tasted. his hand came up to cradle the side of her face, thumb brushing against his cheek as his other arm stayed firmly braced beside her on the hood. she leaned into him like she’d been waiting to fall.

when he finally pulled back, just a breath away, his grin had softened into something quieter, dangerous.

“you’re real cute when you try to talk shop with me,” he said, brushing a strand of hair from her face, before smearing their mixed saliva on her lips with the pad of his thumb. 

“you always bring me the best kind of trouble, you know that?” he said, humming as his hands settled on either side of her thighs on the hood of her car.

caleb just smiled. “don’t look at me like that, baby,” he murmured, something sinful curling in the edges of his smirk. ‘you’re the one who came waltzin’ in here with those big eyes and that little voice beggin’ me to look under your hood.”

her breath hitched. “i— i didn’t mean it like that—“

“didn’t say you meant to,” he cut in gently, one hand brushing lightly along her bare thigh where her shirt was ridden up from the heat. the touch was barely there. “doesn’t change what i heard.”

she sucked in a sharp breath, her hand instinctively finding the hem of her shirt like a lifeline. 

he noticed. of course he noticed.

“you always fidget when you get nervous,” he said, tone mock-thoughtful as his fingers toyed lazily with the edge of her skirt. 

her cheeks flamed, eyes darting fro his lips to his eyes and back again, and oh, that only made him bolder.

he leaned in, brushing his mouth against the shell of her ear, like he had all the time in the world. “you know,” he murmured, “there’s something real sweet about you sitting here all shy, actin’ like you don’t know how pretty you look pressed up against my car.”

it wasn’t his car, of course, and yet he took ownership of it with his words so easily and she didn’t have it in her to refute him. 

she couldn’t speak, her mouth opened and closed once, then again. useless. she was burning alive in broad daylight and all he did was smile like he was watching it happen for sport.

“if you keep lookin’ at me like that,” he warned, brushing the tip of his nose along her jaw, “i’m gonna start thinking you want something else fixed too,”

her hand shot out, pressing lightly— hesitantly— against his chest, like she meant to stop him, but the way her fingers curled into the fabric told a different story.

caleb stilled at the touch, his eyes meeting hers again. this time, his grin was gone, replaced by an intense, honest look. 

“you can tell me if i’m pushing too hard,’ he said quietly, fingers ghosting along the outside of her knee. “i’ll back off. i will. you just gotta say it.”

she shook her head, quick and small. “you’re not— i don’t want you to back off.” 

the words were barely a whisper, but they landed like thunder and they were all he needed.

his mouth was on hers again, hungrier this time. not rough, but deeper, fuller, like he wanted to know what it tasted like when he resolve cracked. one hand cradled the back of her neck, thumb stroking soft at the nape as he tilted her chin up just enough to kiss her better. the other slid along her side, slow and reverent, like he was mapping out places he’d memorize later.

she melted into him, fingers gripping his shirt like she was afraid he’d vanish. 

caleb pressed closer, chest to chest, the edge of the hood biding gently at the backs of her thighs. the car groaned under their weight, and she made a startled sound that broke the kiss, but he only grinned.

“don’t worry,” he breathed out. “i reinforced the suspension last time you brought it in. guess i had a feelin’.”

she buried her face in his shoulder, mortified. he laughed, low and warm, wrapping his arms around her as if that would keep her from melting straight into the pavement from embarrassment.

he dipped  back down to her lips, catching her in another kiss, this one messier. less patient. like her permission had flipped a switch in him and now he couldn’t be bothered to hold back anymore.

caleb’s fingers dragged up the hem of her shirt, palms slipping under the soft fabric to feel the curve of her waist and the warmth of her skin beneath his calloused hands.

she gasped, jolting when he tugged it up over her ribs, fingers fumbling as she tried to stop him. 

“c-caleb— !” she whispered, voice high and panicked as her shirt bunched under her arms. “someone might see!”  she lightly scolded, cheeks pink.

he paused, just long enough to murmur against her throat, “nobody’s gonna see, baby. this is my lot, my garage. don’t worry.” 

“but my car— “

“forget the car,” he groaned, dragging the shirt over her head anyway, her arms caught awkwardly in the sleeves as he wrestled with it. “damn it, it’s like undressin’ a stubborn toddler— “

“i’m trying!” she let out, flushed all over as he finally get her shirt off and tossed it onto a nearby seat. “but if someone walks by and… and what if it makes noise again? you said it was on it’s last legs, caleb…”

he pulled back just enough to look at her, exasperated but grinning wide, chest heaving just a little. 

“i don’t wanna hear about you talking about this stupid thing while i’m getting my hands on you, alright?” 

he wiped his brow with the back of his hand, leaving a smear of grease across his forehead. “here, hold this wrench for me, would ya?” he asked, pressing the cool metal into her palm, as she grasped it, he used the opportunity to hook his fingers into the waistband of his coveralls bunched around his waist and tug them down, exposing more of his tanned, muscular thighs till the fabric pooled around his ankles. 

caleb easily plucked the wrench from her hands and dropped it back into the toolbox, the loud clatter causing her to scrunch her nose before his calloused fingers moved to burst against the smooth skin of her inner thighs. 

“shh, it’s okay,” he murmured, his breath hot against her ear. “no one’s going to hear us. i promise. you trust me, right?” 

she clumsily nodded, sniffling softly as her hands moved to settle on his strong forearms, a shaky breath leaving her. 

his fingers crept higher, hooking into the waistband of her panties and tugging them down with a swift tug, letting them drop to the ground and gently pinching her thigh to get her to step out of them. 

“turn around for me, baby,” he commanded softly, his voice low and rough with desire. “let me see that pretty back of yours.”

almost in a trance, she allowed him to guide her, turning to face the hood of her car, gasping softly as caleb pressed against her and forced her to lean forward onto it. 

caleb’s hands slid over the curve of her ass, squeezing the firm globes appreciatively. “aren’t you just the prettiest thing…” he groaned, leaning down to press a hot kiss to the nape of her neck. “i could just eat you up.”

she felt his hard cock pressed against her bare ass, the heat of him searing her skin as hr rolled his hips. 

caleb’s breathing grew heavier as he positioned himself behind her, thick cock pressing against her ass. he wrapped a hand around his shaft, giving it a few slow pumps before notching the swollen head at her entrance. the sensation of his hot flesh pressing against her sensitive fold made her gasp and squirm.

“fuck, you’re so wet already,” caleb groaned. without warning, he spat crudely into his palm, slicking up his hard length with the makeshift lubricant. 

the crude gesture had her huff in disapproval, her brows furrowing. “you’re so gross,” she whined, feeling a mix of embarrassment and reluctant excitement mixed with her faint disgust.

he just chuckled, amused by her cute display of discomfort. “what’s wrong now? getting shy on me?” 

before she could respond, he gripped her hips tightly and thrust forward, burying himself deep inside of her with one hard stroke. a loud cry of pleasure escaped her lips, only to be muffled by caleb’s quick thinking as he shoved two thick fingers into her mouth. 

“shh, remember what you said about someone hearin’ us?” he whispered, his breath hot against her ear. his hips began to move, withdrawing until just the tip remained before slamming back in, driving into her with deep, powerful thrusts.

each snap of his hips rocked her forward, the hood of her car creaking softly beneath her with the force of his rough coupling. the obscene sound of skin slapping against skin filled the air as he fucked her hard and fast.

“you’re being so loud, baby,” he teased, his voice a low, lust-filled rasp. “someone’s going to hear you.” 

to emphasize the point, he pressed his palm firmly against the palm of her back, forcing her to arch it, to lean forward until her breasts were flat against the car hood.

the new angle allow him to drive into her even deeper than before, thick cock kissing her cervix with each brutal thrust.

“fuck, you liked them, hm?”

her whimpers and moans only grew louder, more desperate, as he fucked her with wild abandon. in response, caleb shoved his fingers deeper into her mouth, pressing down on her tongue until her mewls were muffled.

drool began to leak out around his thick fingers, words and moaned pleas coming out in garbled words and whines as her tongue feverishly worked against the digits, but caleb simply kept pressing down enough to keep her pleasured sounds quieted as best as he could.

caleb was relentless, hips never slowing their punishing pace. he could feel her body tensing, her cunt fluttering around his thick shaft as her climbx approached. he knew she was close, could sense her desperation to cum, to find release from the overwhelming pleasure he was inflicting upon her willing body.

“cum for me, baby,“ he growled, his voice a dark, seductive command. “cum all over my cock like a good girl, m’kay? you can do that for me, right?” his words were punctuated by a particularly hard thrust. and easily, she fell apart beneath him, hands attempting to cling to anything but unable too, hair shielding her face as he had her pressed against the hood.

her body shook as her orgasm crashed over her, waves of intense pleasure radiating through every nerve ending. 

caleb groaned long and low as he felt her pussy clench and ripple around his shaft,  her release triggering his own. with one final thrust, he buried himself to the hilt inside of her, cock pulsing and throbbing as he spilled his hot seed deep inside of her spasming walls. 

finally spent, caleb slumped forward, his muscular chest pressing against her back and pinning her to the warm and now stick hood of her car. 

the both of them were panting, chests heaving in attempt to catch their breath in the aftermath of their passionate coupling. he nuzzled in her neck, lips brushing against her swear-damp skin as he placed soft kisses along her nape.

“mm, that was incredible. you’re incredible.” caleb murmured, his voice a low, satisfied rumble. “i could just stay like this forever.” 

she just let out a tired huff, almost pouty. “you’re squishing me, caleb.” she complained lightly. “i can barely breathe with you slumped on top of me like this.”

caleb just laughed, a deep rumbling godsend that vibrated through his chest and into hers. “sorry,” he chuckled, finally pulling away and relieving the pressure on her back. “i guess i got a little carried away there.”

as he sat up, she felt his softening length slip out of her, a gush of combined fluids leaking out and trickling down her inner thighs slowly. the sensation made her wrinkle her nose in distaste. caleb, noticing her discomfort, smirked wickedly at her.

“here, let me help you out,” he offered, his voice dripping with false innocence. before she could stop him, he reached down and smeared the lingering remains of his release along the insides of her thighs, marking her as his. 

“caleb!” she yelped out, trying to bat his hands away as he purposefully smeared the excess on his cock on her sensitive skin. “stop that! it’s already all sticky and gross..” 

he just laughed at her flustered reaction, grabbing her hands and hauling her upright with ease. “you’re so cute when you’re all disheveled and uncomfortable like this,” he teased, eyes glinting with amusement.   

she pouted up at him, cheeks burning still as she extended her arm to reach for her shirt, knowing she couldn’t properly reach it and caleb would go get it for her. “you’re such a jerk,” she murmured, but there was no heat behind her words.

caleb wordlessly moved to get her shirt for her, pressing it easily into her hands. “but i’m your jerk, i hope.” he murmured, leaning down to press a kiss to her forehead, warm and unhurried.

she huffed and tried to look unimpressed, even as her fingers curled into the hem of the shirt he’d never taken off like they didn’t want to let go. 

“come on,” he said gently, brushing her hair from her face with a grease-smudged thumb. “let’s clean you up and get you somethin’ to drink. you look all tuckered out.” 

she blinked up at him, flushed and fussy, still trying to tuck herself back into some semblance of composure. then, with a little breathless pout, she muttered under her breath, “and who’s fault is that?” 

caleb froze for half a second before letting out a laugh, squeezing her closer as he wrapped an arm around her waist, allowing her to lean against him on her wobbly legs.

he didn’t need to say anything, he could see the flustered expression on her face at just the sound of his laughter, catching the faintest ghost of a smile she was trying to hide in her efforts to be ‘upset’ with him. 

and god, did he love that— how easily she softened for him, even when she didn’t mean to. how her stubborn little protests melted under his touch.

if every busted belt and crooked alignment brought her back to him, again and again, then he hoped her car never ran right. 

𝐚/𝐧: i've been trying to write this for at least 3 weeks but i just couldn't get from point a (whatever the fuck i was writing) to point b (where i wanted it to eventually lead). we'll see if i delete this later. mechanic caleb one day ill do u justice...

[sarahsmi13s]

Fever Dream

pairing: evan buckley x nash!reader

characters: evan 'buck' buckley, nash!reader, bobby nash, athena grant

warnings: CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR 8.15, mentions of religion, blood, panic attack, nightmare, major character death, xreader (this is how i'm coping okay?), i'm delulu and gonna feed my fellow fandom siblings delusions, if i missed any please let me know!

word count: ~2.1k

a/n: as mentioned in the warnings, this contains spoilers for episode 15 so please if you don't want spoilers don't read. i wrote this simply because is how i'm choosing to cope until the next episode airs. i hope everyone out there is doing okay (in a general sense, i know so many of us are fucking mad). i hope this can help feed delusions or just maybe bring comfort.

summary: being separated from your team, your family, is hard enough... add in a deadly super virus and cctv cameras to give you a perfect view of them, and it's going to haunt you in ways you may never expect

Your fingers dug into Buck’s turn out. Your shaking and gasping cries merged with his screams, desperate prayers vibrating against his arm.

His throat hurt. It was raw and felt like it was bleeding, a metallic taste building up on his tongue. But he couldn’t bring himself to care. 

This couldn’t be it. This can’t be happening. Bobby’s not supposed to die.

No! No… Bobby was fine. He had been right behind Buck as they were leaving. He made it out. 

He was walking and talking, barking out orders like it was breathing.

Bobby was breathing.

Now…  Now he was what?

Now he was pacing around a room, alone. Professing his love to Athena and pleading with her to believe he didn’t want this. He was using every ounce of his strength to fight away any doubt in her heart. He was apologizing. Buck could still hear how he apologized to you as you were drug away from your attempts to pry the door open. 

Now he was crawling on the floor, his organs beginning to fail as he coughed up blood – red splatters decorating the ash covered floor. He was sweating, body feverish as his immune system kept trying to save him.

But nothing can save him…

Now he’s dying. Praying on his knees until blood filled his mouth like a fatal elixir, a final communion. Blood was coating his tongue and teeth, staining his lips crimson as his head fell to the table and his chest slowed to a stop.

Now he was in a body bag… and Buck-

– jolted awake, a raw cry straining his vocal cords as he gripped the duvet in his lap.

“Buck? Buck! Evan!” He knew that voice – that soft, gentle voice. “Hey, hey, baby it’s okay. It’s okay. I’m here. You’re safe.”

Gentle and warm hands cradled his face, tilting it up as thumbs wiped the tears away. He can barely make out anything through the tears and the panic scrambling his brain.

But those eyes… He knows those eyes. They’re safe. They’re home.

They’re you.

His entire body was shaking. Sweat dripped down his back, leaving goosebumps as the AC cooled his hot skin. Tears shone on his face in the dim lamplight, more spilling over his lash line to pool on your thumbs. His chest ached, it felt like he was trying suck in air from an empty oxygen tank.

“Breathe, Ev’. Breathe for me.”

He hit his chest to communicate that he was trying. Each gulp of air wheezed into his windpipe, barely giving him enough to speak. “I-I can’t…”

You nodded, moving his arms around you and pressing his hands flat against your back. “You can. You just gotta follow me, baby.”

He tried, he really tried. But his chest felt too tight, air snagged in his throat, scraping along what felt like open wounds lining his esophagus. All before getting forced out in broken, strangled sobs.

You only smiled softly at him, the expression warm and encouraging. Your thumbs brushed his cheeks gently, being careful not to rub his cheeks raw as your exhales cooled them. His hands were desperate and hard on your back, gripping at your sleep shirt as he tried to follow your breathing.

Neither of you knew how long it took before his chest expanded fully again. A full breath of air, accented by the scent of your shampoo, filled his lungs. He swallowed, nodding against you as he began to calm down.

You tilted your head, the movement small as you pushed his curl back from his damp forehead. There was no doubt this panic attack was the result of a nightmare. They weren’t uncommon in this line of work, but only a few brought on panic attacks.

Your hand rested at the back of his head, the other gently resting on the side of his neck. “What happened, Buck? What did you see?”

The question made his throat cinch up again, fresh waves of tears falling down his cheeks. He opened his mouth and the words tumbled out in broken, sob-ridden babbles.

You gently shushed him after a few moments, soothing the ache with the tender caress of your hands carding through his hair. His tears are hot against your skin as you tilted his chin up with your thumb. “Sweetheart, I need you to slow down.”

You weren’t upset with him, or frustrated in the slightest. If anything… you were scared and just wanted to help.

Buck swallowed, squeezing his eyes shut in an attempt to control himself. You pressed your lips to his head and gently rocked you both. It was a little awkward in this position, but all you cared about was making sure he was okay.

You pulled back to look at him, your hand moving back to his cheek to brush away the tears.

His eyes remained downcast, staring at where your knees pressed into his thighs. He gripped your shirt again as a soft cry fell from his lips.

“The lab…”

He felt you tense at the words. Your hands paused in their movements just long enough for him to catch it before you went right back to soothing him. 

A pang of guilt hit deep in his heart. 

“We-we had just got Hen and Chimney out, and everything was fine. But as I turned to Cap… he-” Buck bit his quivering lip, his eyes remaining fixated on your point of contact, not wanting to see the heartbreak in your eyes as he told you again what had happened in the damned lab. He hated to make you relive it, relive probably the worst day of your life. He wanted to take it back, take all of it back… but he kept going, knowing you wouldn’t just let him go back to sleep.

“He locked himself in… the hose line to his tank was torn in the explosion, he had been sick the whole time and no one knew. He sacrificed himself for Chimney… he’s gone.”

His voice cracked, sobs sending his trembling frame into your lap. Apologies tumbled past his lips and rumbled against your sternum. 

Your heart broke, frame rattling with the devastating cries of your boyfriend. You planted kisses on his head and rubbed his back. “Oh Evan, honey… it’s okay.”

“No, it’s not! He’s gone!” He pulled back swiftly, nearly headbutting you in the process. “Nothing is okay! How will it ever be okay?”

You held his face, fingers gently curling around his jaw to get him to look at you. “Baby, that was just a nightmare. He’s okay. He’s with Athena at their temporary apartment.”

Buck’s eyes met yours, his crystal blue eyes surrounded by red as his brow furrowed in confusion. “W-what? That-that’s impossible there was only one cure and we used that on Chimney. Bobby couldn’t have…” He trailed off, his voice giving way as he looked at you with pure desperation to understand.

Your thumbs rubbed under his eyes, tracing comforting crescents there. You couldn’t help the tears that stung your own eyes or how your lip quivered as you shook your head. “Baby, dad’s line was never compromised. His equipment was intact. He’s okay, I promise you.”

“But-”

You shushed him gently, adjusting how you were sitting to hold him. “I know… I know it felt real. Dreams like that always do. And it’s wild how, despite knowing the truth, your brain can twist reality so intricately that you wake up wondering which is which. Scared that the good life was the dream and the nightmare is your life…”

Buck sniffled, a small sound escaping his lips. His head was throbbing, pulsing alongside his heart as it crossed wires and memories. He was half-awake trying to make it all make sense.

“C’mon,” you said softly, sniffling as you kissed his damp forehead. You slipped out of the bed, grabbing Buck’s zip-up hoodie before pulling him to his feet. “Put this on and find your shoes.”

“Honey-”

“We’re going over there, right now.” 

Your words held a sense of authority, leaving no room for argument or questioning. Not that Buck needed to question you, he trusted you more than he trusted anyone.

The drive across town was a blur. Street lights and business signs merged together, nothing but bright neon streaks that went by too fast for anyone to process properly. 

Buck was fighting to stay awake, to pull himself out of his dream fog and focus. He felt stuck, constantly trying to decipher dream from reality.

A gentle squeeze to his hand felt like he was sucked back into his body. Everything around him clears, all becoming separate entities rather than a multi-colored blob. He could hear the low hum of the radio, the ambient sounds filling the space of the car in substitute of his voice.

Your lips brushed his knuckles as you reached across your body to put the car in park. “We’re here.” You could feel his hand trembling in yours just before you let go to exit the car.

He quickly got out after you, rounding the car and reaching for your hand again.

He needed it. He needed to be grounded. 

You both walked in, nodding to the doorman as you walked right past him to the elevator. 

After you got in and pressed the button you turned to Buck. He was bouncing on his toes, his unoccupied hand restless at his side.

“Baby, c’mere,” you said softly, tugging on his hand before wrapping your arms around him in a proper hug.

He immediately returned it, his arms pinning you to his chest desperately.

His voice was raspy as he spoke. “I’m so scared…” 

“I know, Ev’... I know. But I promise, he’s okay. You’ll see for yourself soon, I swear it.” 

The elevator slowed to a stop and you pulled apart as the doors opened. You took his hand again, gripping it tightly as you walked down the hall to your parents door.

Your knuckles rapped on the door in a rhythm that would signal to whoever was awake that it was you. Buck brought the concept up to Bobby back when you both began dating. It was just a silly little thing you did as a family, nothing serious.

But the sound of it made Buck’s stomach sink with anxiety.

What if Bobby would never hear that again? What if Buck would never hear Bobby knock like that again?

What if-

“Y/n? Buck?”

You smiled at Athena softly, a hint of an apology in it. “Hi, Athena…”

She wrapped her robe around her, yawning as she ushered you both inside. “It’s two in the morning, baby, what’re you doing here? Is everything okay?”

Her voice was laced with sleep and you almost felt bad for waking her up but there was a glass of water on the counter. She had been awake for a few minutes when you knocked.

Buck wiped at his eyes with his free hand as he squeezed yours.

You returned the gesture, rubbing your own eyes as you spoke.

“We umm… we need-”

“Bobby…” Buck’s frayed voice rattled through the kitchen, his shoulders dropping as if the strings keeping him so tense had been cut.

You and Athena looked up to see your dad walk out of the bedroom, stretching as he walked into the kitchen.

“Buck? Y/n? What’s going on? Everything okay?” He was slowly coming around to the idea of being awake at such an ungodly hour as he noticed the look on Buck’s face.

“Buck? What’s wrong?”

Without saying anything, Buck launched his 6’2” frame at your dad, curling into him like a child. He pressed his face into Bobby’s shoulder, crying in relief.

You noticed Athena glance at you from the corner of your eye as Bobby looked at you, hoping for an explanation.

You swallowed, arms wrapping around yourself as you leaned against the counter. “A nightmare… about the lab incident.”

Bobby gripped Buck tighter, realizing that being the only one not stuck in there must have taken a bigger toll on Buck than he thought.

Athena rubbed your arm, extending a comforting hand to you. Seeing Buck reacting so viscerally like this had to be affecting you too, she wanted you to know that you weren’t alone. 

You smiled at her appreciatively, resting your head on her shoulder as Buck pulled back from the hug.

“It-it felt so real… you died, Bobby. I-I thought we lost you.”

A deep frown pulled at your dad’s lips, his brow creasing as he gripped Buck’s shoulders.

“It was just a dream, son,” he said, pulling Buck back into a hug. “Everyone made it out. Everyone’s okay. I’m okay, and I don’t plan on changing that anytime soon.”

a/n: thank you so much for reading! i hope this could bring some comfort in, it was a huge comfort to write, and that it can hold you over until may 1...

and thank you to @startrekfangirl2233 for giving this a look over for me a giving some feedback!

also, happy easter to those who celebrate! i hope you're all having a great day!

tags (you can also follow @vinnys-recordcollection and turn on notifications ;p): @lovinglyeternal @bradleybeachbabe @achilles-rage @kmc1989 (tagged a few i thought might like it - apologies for anyone i missed, i gotta sort out taglists 😅)

[aaronsrpgs]

The Tight 90

(This is a continuation or a fractal reviewing of what I've written about in The Worksheet Manifesto and The Quickstart, The Home Game.)

THE TIGHT 90 is a 90-minute RPG session. It riffs on the perfect length/density of a movie, and I think it's a term I learned/stole from will jobst.

WHY RUN SHORT GAMES?

Short games are easier to fit in a schedule. (We're all so fucking busy.)

Short games are easier to pay attention to. (We're all so fucking mentally ill.)

Short games focus on the good stuff and discard the bad stuff. (We're all so fucking tired.)

HOW RUN SHORT GAMES?

Tell everyone, "We're only going to play for 90 minutes. Because of that, I'm going to focus on the things that are most interesting and exciting for everyone at table, and I'm going to skip over everything else. I would appreciate it if you would do the same. If there's something you're really excited to do, tell the table! And if things are dragging, offer an alternative that moves the game along."

But then we actually have to do that. :( How?

SET SCENES AND STAKES

Don't start in a place where nothing is happening and ask your players "What do you?" Give them something to latch onto! Give them an immediate problem! Here are the first four pages of an issue of Uncanny X-Men by Chris Claremont, Dave Cockrum, et al:

In four pages we get a fatal problem, introductions, flashbacks on how they got here, and spotlights on everyone's powers. Awesome!

And while you don't have to have your players' characters falling out of the sky, at least start them at the dungeon entrance with a couple clear things to DO.

(For more on setting scenes and stakes, check out Primetime Adventures by Matt Wilson, which Sam Dunnewold was kind enough to run for me.)

Of course, if they're falling out of the sky or standing at a foreboding dungeon entrance, some player is bound to ask, "What do I have with me?" To which I say:

CUT THE BORING SHIT

Shopping? Don't do it! If someone would logically have something, they can have it. And if they try to exploit that, they're no fun to play with! Tell them no. (More on that later.)

Conversations on meandering horseback? Don't do it! Comic writer Chuck Dixon said that if Batman and Robin needed to have a heart-to-heart, they should never just stand around talking. They should have a heart-to-heart while training on top of a speeding train.

(The example was actually Nightwing and Robin, but I didn't want people to click away and look up who Nightwing was. Also, Dixon is a shitty guy! But at least in this, he was right.)

Basically, almost anything you can get out of a shopping scene or a campfire chat, you can get from everyone falling out of the sky or trying to escape a wildfire. ALL SCENES SHOULD PULL DOUBLE DUTY AS PLOT AND CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT.

BE GENEROUS WITH INFORMATION

Imagine a scene at a gaming table. The characters walk into a house in an empty town and ask what they see. The GM tells them to roll perception. The highest result is middling at best. The GM says, "You think you can see some blood." Someone else asks if they can roll investigation. They get a middle high result. The GM says, "There are some bullet casings on the floor and claw marks on the walls." Are the claw marks big? Roll perception again. Do they look like any local animals? Roll nature.

THIS SHIT SUCKS. It's a way to take 30 minutes to poorly tell the players that something interesting happened, and it doesn't give them anything to do after.

Instead, try this: the walls are splattered with blood and empty shell casings lie cold on the floor. The blood doesn't line up with what you know about bullet wounds, though; it lines up with the huge claw marks that tear the walls and floor. And blood drops continue in a line outside...

AND THEN if a player has a cool ability or is an investigator or druid or whatever, you get to write them a cool note that says, "These claw marks are bigger than any animal from around here. Maybe bigger than any animal you've ever seen."

Other examples:

The prince says he doesn't feel threatened by the king. He's clearly lying.

Moving stealthily, you make it to the general's bedroom, but it's clear that he has some sort of sensors or security system set up there.

As a wizard, you know they're casting some sort of summoning spell, and if at least half of the cultists aren't hurt or incapacitated in five minutes, the spell will succeed.

GIVE THE SESSION AN ENDING

It could be an exciting cliffhanger if you think everyone will be there next session to pick it up. But if you're not sure, end with a calm moment where the players have a clear next step. That way you can start next session with, "Last time you'd promised the Cult of Mirrors that you would lead them in war against the Skeleton Army. They're ready to go and ask you what your plan is."

FURTHER HOMEWORK

"How To End Things" by Jason Morningstar. On cutting scenes. Don't be fooled by the Patron link; it's free.

"Grand Experiments: West Marches" by Ben Robbins. The ur-text of running player-motivated sessions that don't require everyone to be there.

BUT WHAT IF!!!

What if rolling investigation rolls are vital to building tension in my mystery game? What if knowing the exact inventory and distance are vital to my high-stress dungeon game? What if campfire stories are my favorite part of our cozy travel game?

COOL! There are lots of resources out there for you, so this isn't for you. But maybe I could tempt you into considering a different style of game sometimes?

(Special thanks to @ladytabletop for supporting my Tight 90 obsession.)

[un-till-the-end]

All evidence Till survives (1/4)

I'm way late to making this post, but I've never believed that Till died. Here's why:

Foreshadowing

1. Being Shot

Many fans have heard of the "red tape theory." But did you know Till being shot has been foreshadowed at least two other times, potentially non-fatally? The first time was back in early May 2024 in this art for ALNST Friday:

@crustyfloor noticed the bubble gun pointed directly at Till's head and the impact motion lines of a gunshot on the other side. They speculated that since it's not an actual weapon but a bubble gun, Till would be shot in the future but the wound would be non-fatal.

Then, for those who don't know, the "red tape theory" refers to this album cover art from late September last year:

The idea is the tape is meant to symbolize a bandage or perhaps a scar: a treatable wound. The splatter indicates where he will be shot (the same as above).

Next, @rotingdoll noticed in the teaser trailer for Round 7, a crosshair made of light appears, and a moment later that creates a flash of light over Till:

Similar to the bubble gun, it could be argued a crosshair of light is also meant to symbolize non-fatality, since light is usually harmless, just like bubbles. The light passes through him from top to bottom, covering him only fleetingly.

@kitsquared noted the same symbolism happening here as well:

This time, the light isn't even covering him but is behind him. The burst of light is in the same location as the impact motion lines and the red tape: over his branding.

Blood spray from a bullet comes from the exit wound, not the entry, according to @verdantlights. In other words, Till was not shot from the right but from the left, the exact same location as was foretold.

2. Round 5 & Round 7 Parallels:

@cepheusgalaxy pointed out Ruler of My Heart and Blink Gone are the only rounds Luka is a contestant in. As such, Mizi and Till fall prey to the same psychological manipulation that exploits their trauma and grief. In parallel, both Sua and Ivan purposefully lost so that Mizi and Till would win - and therefore live.

(Gifs from @sailermoon)

@noven-warsh outlined Luka's strategy:

1. taunting them with intimacy

2. reminding them of their dead loved ones

(Gifs again from @sailermoon)

3. and then maintaining his composure as they lose theirs'.

@mikhardwheat noted Mizi and Till are equally overwhelmed, they've had no time to process the deaths' of Sua and Ivan, and are surrounded by reminders of their grief. @cepheusgalaxy pointed out Mizi and Till are both extremely emotional.

They both struggle to focus and engage in the competition.

They look to the crowd and are demoralized by the overwhelming support from Luka's loyal fanbase.

Meanwhile, Till is witnessing Mizi's round, and Mizi is witnessing Till's round.

Even more significantly, as again identified by @cepheusgalaxy, Hyuna has returned to the stage. Ruler of My Heart is the only round no one died.

Not only is Round 7 a replay of Round 5, it's also cyclical. Mizi has returned to the competition. The rebellion is back on the stage again. We've come full circle.

Observations | Official Art & Symbolism | Criticisms & Commentary

[totallynotpochacco]

Oml I love your work sm, I’ve been reading you’re blog for a while and I’m obsessed 😭

If you end up having the time, may I request Naib, Ithaqua, Joseph and Richard—or just the first two if that’s too many! 🤍—with a s/o who was almost fatally injured in their matches and sort of comatose but eventually woke up? Feel free to ignore this if this is too much, thank you for your time~

Aww thank you so much my love<3 you’re so sweet!!! I didn’t really think that many people liked my stuff so it’s amazing to hear that they do! I try my best on these things and I hate when it takes me years to post something out.

I’m working on another fic that’s similar to this for naib so he won’t be included but I hope you’ll take Norton instead

Ithaqua, Joseph, Richard, and Norton with a fatally injured reader who finally wakes up!

———————————————————————

Basic background first before the good stuff<3

You were supposed be decoding, out of the way, and out of danger.

You weren’t supposed to take the hit. You weren’t supposed to be here.

It wasn’t fair when your body fell to the ground, blood splattering out underneath you into a pool of crimson liquid.

It wasn’t fair when he called out to you, and you didn’t answer, only to feel your pulse fading.

It wasn’t fair that he had to carry your limp body to Emily’s office in a panic, begging her to help.

And it wasn’t fair when she had said you might not wake up.

Ithaqua

He couldn’t sit by you the entire time you were in bed. It just reminded him of his mother.

He didn’t want to put himself through more with those terrible memories.

He’d visit you in the morning and at night.

Kissing you goodnight and kissing you good morning

Like some strange routine.

When he got the news you were awake he had dropped everything, but he didn’t run, he just had to make himself believe you were okay first.

He had to make sure this wasn’t some sick joke, and that he’d wake up in his bed only to be told you didn’t make it.

Stopping in the doorway, looking at you who seemed to be looking back at him with those surprised eyes, that beautiful smile he loved etched onto your face.

He knew after a blow like that there would be some damage, a large scar going from the side of your cheek and up to your forehead would forever be a reminder of his fuck up.

He feels terrible and sometimes it’s hard to look at you without guilt seeping in.

He doesn’t want to be like this but it’s his way of working through it.

He loves you a lot, he has dreams of marrying you and building a home far away. But now those dreams are plagued with the possibility that he’ll accidentally become the monster he tried to tell himself he wasn’t.

Joseph

Alcohol.

A lot of it.

Bottles and bottles of it by your bed side.

He refused to leave you. He couldn’t live with the fact he might of killed the only person he loved more than anything.

The only person that made this bearable. And they might be gone.

He would drink himself to sleep and he would drink the moment he opened his eyes.

Not a lot of people ever saw him cry, but now? Everyone did.

When he had a moment of soberness he’d look over and break down.

Joseph would barely shower, having to be dragged away from you and told to clean himself up, only to repeat that process.

During one of the times he was forced to bathe, he had stumbled back in, bottle in hand, only to be met with your disappointed gaze.

He knows how much you hated it when he drinks, and because of that he barely touched liquor anymore.

“You said you’d cut back on drinking.” Your voice broke the silence.

Joseph rushed over to your side, falling onto his knees and sobbing. “Stop it. Now’s no time for lecturing. I thought I had killed you. I thought you weren’t going to make it. I thought you’d be like Claud, and leave me all alone again.”

Your hand makes its way to his cheek, “I’m okay. I’d never leave you alone, I promise. These things were bound to happen. But I’ll be more careful.”

He nodded leaning into your touch.

Richard

He’s fuming mad. And of course concerned.

He was made to do one thing, protect, and he couldn’t even save the one he loves?

“What bullshit.” He’d say through gritted teeth. Watching over your body, breathing raggedly. His hands smoothing out your hair to look nice with a not so gentle hand. He’s holding himself back.

He believes this is partially your fault. You should have been out of the way. Doing your job and letting him rescue.

But no, you had to disobey, you just couldn’t listen.

He’ll look like he doesn’t want to be there when his facade slips around the others, but he really does. He hates the fact that you have a terrible possibility over your head.

And he can’t control it.

He’d make sure you look stunning even in your condition. He’d brush your hair, and make sure you’re somewhat clean. Because when you wake up he’s going to want to kiss you, remind you of the way it should be.

When he’s informed by Emily that you’ve made a recovery, hes immediately speed walking towards your room.

He wanted to be the first thing you saw, but oh well. He’ll have you back in tip top shape soon.

“Richard!” You exclaimed, reaching your hand out to him.

He takes it, kissing the back, “___, my dear. You gave me quite the scare.”

“I know.. I shouldn’t have been so foolish but-”

His lips are against yours before you can finish. It’s passionate and deep with his feelings. You can tell how much he missed you, how worried he was.

“Foolish or not, you’re still here, with me. And that’s all that matters.” He says softly, loving yet serious eyes looking into yours.

Norton

Out of everyone, him and Joseph are the two absolute messes.

Joseph might be a bit worse with his drinking but Norton becomes violent and agitated.

He’s freaking out, shoving people out of the way with more strength than necessary just to get to you.

He wasn’t there to help, maybe, if he was you’d be okay.

The possibility’s are running through his head and causing him to become anxious and angry.

Fools gold is right there behind him. Sitting in a corner silently waiting for you to awake.

Fools golds matches are either quick surrenders or he’s chairing everyone immediately.

Norton doesn’t know how to comfort himself and doesn’t particularly want his hunter version to even touch him let alone tell him nice things so he’s just suffering until you wake up.

This man actually wouldn’t leave you, even if he was dirty because he’s been like this before. It doesn’t bother him.

He had watched you wake up, your eyes being blinded by the bright light of day.

He was silent until you noticed him,

“Norton-?” You began, but the minute you spoke he jumped on you. Holding you tightly.

“Don’t you pull this shit again. You.. don’t know how worried I was.” He mumbled into your neck.

A lot of apologies were given that day and fools gold was right behind you when Norton had to go.

He may not have liked his other self but he shared the same love for you like he did. And if playing guard dog for a bit would ensure everyone to be happy and safe, then sure.

———————————————————————

I fear I only like Richard’s..

[panic-in-the-multiverse]

His Spider

Pairings: Frank Castle & Spider!teen!reader, (breif moment with Karen Page and brief mention of Matt Murdock)

Imagine: You show up at Franks doorstep covered in blood from head to toe

Contains/Warnings: blood, mention of death, panic attacks, angst??? Slight comfort at the end, mention of torture, mention of things included in said torture, reader is not tortured…physically at least, parental death… idk what else, reader is described to have a mom and dad

A/N Frank might be a bit ooc since it was a while I wrote for him, but tried my best, also decided to make this into a series, we’ll see if it’s gonna be an actual story or just random parts for the pairings, might do both

Kinda don’t like this one but thought fuck it and we’ll post it anyway

Around 2600 words, so not that long???

Also special thanks to @irisesforyoureyes for giving me this idea 🫶🏻🌟

Hot white blinding waves crashed into your brain tearing at the walls you had so carefully built up. You didn’t even notice the shaking of your hand, or the blood that covered your body — now dark and dried as it stuck to your skin and clothes. Eyes wide open as you stared ahead. You didn’t know how you’d gotten to Frank’s place. Frankly your memory was hazy. Eyes blurry with unshed tears. Mind racing trying to pick up the pieces that were scattered across your brain.

Frank had just glanced out the window when he froze. Stuck in place at the familiar yet unfamiliar way you stood by his door. He was used to blood. He knew how to clean blood out of clothes, knew how it stuck to your skin in an unpleasant way as it dried up — especially when it wasn’t even your own blood. But he didn’t know who’s blood it was that made him feel sick as he watched you. Didn’t know if it was your or someone else’s blood that stuck to your skin, didn’t know if you were seriously hurt or not.

You didn’t even have to knock before the door flew up and one pair of hands grabbed onto your shoulders. In your blurred vision you missed the panicked look on his face. The worry in his eyes. Scanning every part of you for an injury, for a fatal wound. His words fell on deaf ears, not even registering in your brain. And that didn’t exactly ease his worries as he tried to figure out what had happened.

Seeing as you weren’t about to fall into his arms out of exhaustion he deemed you good enough to not be driven to a hospital. Not that it eased his worries for even a second.

His hand moved up to your cheek touching the dried up blood that was splattered on your face in a sickening red color. He took in your scared eyes that were frozen in panic. Frank didn’t think you’d blinked for the entire duration that you’d been there. You were just frozen, your body at times shaking though he didn’t know if it was cause of the cold wind blowing outside or if it was tremors of panic.

“Kid? You hurt?” His thumb caressed your cheek in a soothing motion. The ministrations went unnoticed. “Kid? Hey, hey Kid? Kid? I need you to listen, you hurt? Is it your blood? Kid?” He repeated the words over and over hoping you’d finally hear him.

In the end he moved you into the warmth of his home — or at the very least it was warmer than outside. Your body still shook occasionally with tremors of shock. Body still stiff and frozen as you moved on autopilot as he guided you into the living room. He only left you for a second to shut the door. Frank stared at you for a moment, he didn’t know what to do, didn’t know how to help. He’d dealt with you and your panic attacks before, he’d dealt with you when you thought you’d killed a man, but this, he didn’t know what to do. He didn’t even know if you were hurt or not, couldn’t even read your expression on what had happened.

It took him a moment before he wrapped a soft texture friendly blanket around you. Due to your sensitivity now with your spider-powers he’d realized you were far more sensitive to things you touched. Frank might not admit he cares or likes you verbally, but it spoke volumes that he kept your favourite snack around and had bought a blanket for specifically you — well Karen had helped him with it but it was his idea and his money used.

“Kid? Please just…” his voice, tinted with an unfamiliar worrines reached your ears this time. His hand going to the back of your head to keep your eyes on him, despite the fact you looked more through him then at him. “Help me out here, can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s wrong”

“Someone’s out for you? You killed someone? Someone hurt you? Just tell me alright” he licked his lips, head tilting down before he looked up at your face once more. “At least tell me your alright… physically”

Both his hands cupped your face, forcing you to look at him, forcing you back to the present in his living room. Relief filled him as he watched you blink. Eyes darting around the room before they zeroed in on him.

“Yeah? You back? You here? What happened kid?”

It’s quite for several minutes. Your lips parting but no sound coming out as you tried to speak. Tried once more to make sense of what had happened in the last 24 hours.

“I-it’s not my b-blood” your voice was unusually quiet. An uncomfortable, sick feeling slithered its way into your stomach. Eyes zoning out once more as you replayed the events in your head.

“I-it‘s n-not my blood” you whispered once more. Eyes forcing its way up to Frank’s. “N-not my b-blood”

“Shh kid, shhh it’s okay” he moves your face into his chest. Sometimes he was glad to have had the experience to calm down a child, sure you were older than his two children had been but it was essentially the same thing. Frank’s eyes closed. At least he now knew you weren’t hurt physically. You weren’t about to drop dead in his arms in just a few seconds. He wasn’t about to lose another child.

Frank's arms wrapped around you as he kept you buried in his chest. The blanket still wrapped cozily around you. If tears escaped you he didn’t comment on it. Nor did he comment about how he could feel your body shaking. Feel how you trembled with each breath you took in as the panic that had frozen you was let out.

The big bad punisher didn’t know what to do. Arms wrapped around the teenager he’d gotten so fond of. Blood staining their clothes. Waiting for an answer that would never come. Waiting for a finger to point him in the direction of those who broke you. Those who tore you down into a trembling mess. The ones who’d caused tears to fall from your innocent eyes. The ones that caused blood to be splattered over your face.

The punisher needed to know, so he could go after them, kill every last one of them. But Frank couldn’t, not right now. Not when you were clinging to him so desperately. Not when your fingers curled around his shirt so tightly he thought you’d tear it off.

Frank didn’t know what to do. This wasn’t like comforting his children, back then when everything was different. His children never came to him crying with torn clothes and covered in blood.

Frank didn’t do heartfelt moments, he just didn’t. But despite everything he couldn’t help but to comfort you. You were a kid, not him, you weren’t Frank, you weren’t the punisher or Matt Murdock. You were just a kid. And despite being a vigilante you weren’t used to blood covering you from head to toe. You weren’t used to the brutality that your opponents actually possessed. The way they’d come for those close to you. Come at you with everything they’d got. Not caring that you weren’t even in college yet. Not caring of the casualties or consequences. Their ugly big horns had steered your way, twisting themselves into your life. They’d taken their chance and left a big gaping hole in your heart.

His hands carefully went over your body, checking for any fatal injuries, but when he found none he knew, Frank knew someone you cared about had died. If you weren’t hurt physically then it was something mentally. And with the lack of injuries that would of come from torture it only left him with one guess. Something he was far too familiar with.

“Little Red…” He pushed your face away. Staring into your eyes. Hoping for an answer. Maybe Matt would do a better job at this.

Frank's thumb went to your cheek trying to wipe away the blood that marked your skin, if only so you wouldn’t see it in the mirror later on.

“What happened?” he held your head still. Forcing you to look at him once more. Forcing you to give an answer.

“T-they” your words wear weak, stuttering as you tried to recollect what had happened. Your hand subconsciously trying to wipe off the dried blood that stained your hands. Eyes watering up once more as you zoned out, getting stuck in the memory of your parents demise. “T-they k-killed my, my-“ your hands grasped at your shirts collar, tugging it away from your skin. It felt as if your throat closed up, an ugly lump forming itself in your stomach. Breath becoming faster. You tried your best to breath properly, the way Matt told you too when your senses got to overwhelming. But the blood felt like it was stuck on you, itching, everything felt wrong. Everything felt close but too far away. Your hands started to shake again. Was it hot? It felt hot. Where you dying? Maybe? Probably?

You hadn’t even noticed Frank leaving the living room before he returned and pressed an ice pack into your hands as soon as he got you to release your shirt.

It wasn’t the first time Frank had been with you when your spider-senses took over. Or when panic filled you to the brim and poured over. Last time the switch of temperature had helped, so he’d guess it’d help this time too. Last time it had grounded you back to your surroundings and he only hoped it’d do the same the second time.

He needed you calm, needed you to tell him who they killed, and who they were. Frank needed to know so that he could help you the only way he knew how. Stop them permanently from going after you.

It’d taken him some time but eventually he got you to utter out the words he wanted to know.

“My parents” you’d said, staring at him with dead eyes. A fire had started to burn in them. A fire he knew all too well. But if there ever was one thing he agreed with Matt on it was that he didn’t want you to kill anyone, at least not while you were still a kid. Matt and him might have their differences and opinions on killing but both agreed that you weren’t to kill. You didn’t need that on your conscience.

He asked you how, though he knew it was probably too soon to ask. Either way you still told him. Eyes going distant once more.

You told him how they had snuck into your apartment. How you’d woken up tied to a chair. Blurry eyes squinting in the dark as you made out the shape of your crying parents on two chairs opposite from you. Two guns pointed to your head. The one you’d guessed to be the leader had held your head still forcing your eyes open as you watched them hurt your parents. Their ugly dark and twisted minds marking your your mom and dad, torturing them, as if they had information to give. As if they knew who you were at night. Who you snuck out to be after school hours.

How your dad’s sobs broke your heart with each muffled sound that left him. How watching your mom’s scared eyes telling you to run had burned themselves into your mind. How their fingers had twitched in pain. How blood seeped out to cover their white torn clothes. Pools of red forming by their feets. The sickening crack of their bones breaking. Their last breath.

Their last breath. You’d hated how their eyes died. The spark in them leaving. Staring empty back at you as you were cut free. Their bodies discarded on the living room carpet as if they were trash that needed to be taken out. The coffee table was gone, somewhere else to make place for the cruel scenes. Their blood stained the carpet. The carpet you’d spilt hot chocolate on a few days ago and your dad had helped you clean it up knowing your mom would be mad if she saw the stain.

Your hands had moved over their bodies as if to stop the blood that was still slightly seeping out of their wounds. Desperately trying to keep them alive. But they were already dead, there was no saving them. You could save a random woman on the street from getting mugged but not your own parents from being tortured to death.

Bloodstained hands rubbing your eyes to try and stop the tears. Wiping your mouth from the way the salty water stung your busted lip from the week prior (not yet healed to a hundred percent).

You must have sat for hours with your parents lifeless bodies. Eyes blurry and body shaking with sobs. You still didn’t know how you ended up with Frank. It was all a blur before you had raised your arm to knock at his door.

You didn’t know who they’d been, who had attacked you, just that they knew about your nightly activities. They’d wanted information. How you got your powers, where daredevil and punisher were. And even if you’d told them there wouldn’t have been any way to save your parents.

They’d left you there in the living room. A kid, broken and crying. Not seeing you as a threat, without the mask you were just a kid to them, and kids couldn’t do any harm. But a spider could with their venomous fangs.

… Or if said spider was friends with someone everyone was scared off.

Frank had called Karen over after your talk. He’d brought you to his bathroom while Karen made you hot chocolate. He’d done his best to wipe the blood off your hands and face with a wet towel. That was afterward thrown away in case seeing the blood would trigger you in any way. He’d given you spare clothes, that were way too baggy on you since you were still a kid, well teenager but a kid all the same to Frank.

When all was said and done you’d sat on his bed. Hands curled around the big cup of hot chocolate Karen had made you. You sat in her warm embrace until the hot chocolate was cold, tears falling and mixing with the sweet liquid. And when your eyes started to drop and your mind growing more hazy and tired you nuzzled into the comfort of Frank’s blankets. Eyes closing as Karen left to bring the still full cup of hot now cold chocolate in the kitchen.

Frank hadn’t left you until you were fast asleep. Despite his promise to stay with you during the entire night, he had Karen keep you company while you slept instead. His mind on one thing. No one hurt his spider. No one hurts his kids and gets away with it.

Clad in his vest. White painted skeleton skull bright in contrast to his dark coat. Guns held high. He’d be gone all night and the (next) day if he had to, as long as he got a lead and pointed in the right direction no one would stand down to his wrath. No one would be left unpunished when he was done with those who caused you so much pain.

He wasn’t even surprised when Matt joined him. Lately New York had gotten to realize that where one Spider went the Devil wasn’t far behind and the Punisher closer than anyone ever realized.

The Punisher was coming to send them to hell and the Devil wasn’t far behind to greet them.

TAG LIST: @verybadatwriting

[celestiamour]

‧₊˚✧ ❛[ don't cry now ]❜

━━━ .°˖✧ requested by @buniisdiary & anonymous ˚₊ ⊹

ft. hwang in-ho (young il) x f! reader — squid game

╰₊✧ you allow the man whom you believe is a fellow player to comfort you during a meltdown, completely oblivious to his true identity and intentions┊3.7k words

setting: season 2, episode 6 contains: smut!! dom in-ho & sub reader┊yandere, age gap (reader is early 20s, in-ho is late 40s/early 50s), innocent/naive crybaby reader, canon-typical violence, fingering, unprotected piv, loss of virginity, breeding

➤ author's note: oh god this is one of my first squid game wips? i was watching horton hears a who while finishing this up, but i’m strangely proud of it

you were shaking so much, it’s a wonder how you were still walking up and down those brightly colored stairs without collapsing. the final round of mingle games was the closest you’ve ever been to death so far, and you swear you brushed against the skeletal arms of death with a glimpse of one of his bony hands outstretched under his dark garments, ready to take you for his own. you still aren’t sure if it was a malfunction or a miracle that one of the doors popped open to reveal an empty room to house you and the woman you were with mere milliseconds after the countdown ended and before the guards entered with their guns blazing, but you were still alive to see another day. whether or not you were grateful for it remained a lingering question when it just meant you had to wake up the next morning, go through these death games thinly masquerading as an easy way to pay back debt all over again, and watch more brains get splattered on the floors if they weren’t your own.

collapsing onto the bottom bunk, you wished for the lights to turn out already so that you could fall asleep and forget about this nightmare. once again, the room was empty with fewer bunks than last time. out of the corner of your eye, you could see the rapper with purple hair and his goon celebrating their survival, talking about playing “one more game.” three hundred to four hundred million won still wasn’t enough, they wanted more and they were willing to put their lives on the line for it.

you felt like you were going to be sick at the lack of humanity in the room. in just a few days, people were already wishing death upon others if it meant they could stay and earn more money. did none of them have loved ones they wished to see again? did none of them consider the families who would never even get to have a proper burial for the ones who died within these walls? did none of them care for anything other than the transparent piggy bank hanging from the ceiling, collecting more paper cash with every bullet fired in another person’s skull? you didn’t care what they did with their own lives, but you did care that their choices impacted everyone else who wanted to leave. you didn’t even care if it still wasn’t enough money to pay off all your debts, you’re willing to do any dirty deed to dig yourself out at the expense of your own dignity, all you wanted to do was go home.

tears started to drip down your waterline. you didn’t think you were ever going home at this rate. you didn’t think you were ever going to be in the comfort of your own bedroom again, ever going to play with your pet again, ever going to celebrate your birthday again, ever going to see the bright full moon alongside the twinkling stars again— the last sight you were ever going to see was a masked guard in hot pink wielding a rifle with the fatal shot ringing in your ears because you lost some stupid game you haven’t played since you were a kid, and it could happen as soon as tomorrow. 

you thought of young-mi, who cried out yesterday that she wanted the games to end and that she wanted to go home as well. poor, sweet young-mi, who was pushed out of her path and couldn’t make it in time to save herself, now lies in a black coffin neatly wrapped with a pink bow instead of the bunk next to you like she usually did from the stress-induced exhaustion. 

it was just too much for you, and you started sobbing uncontrollably at the loss. the shock from the initial bloodshed had worn off, and the suffocating weight of reality dawned upon you, knees against your chest as you curled up in the little ball with your eyes shut tight to escape the bright white fluorescent lights shining from all sides. it isn’t the first time you cried in here, but it’s certainly the biggest meltdown you've ever had in your life. young-mi would always comfort you and you would her, but now she’s gone and you’re going to suffer the same fate.

people started to stare and whisper at your behavior, acting like it was erratic when you didn’t think it even came close to representing how you felt. you were surprised you weren’t wailing and screaming like a banshee. the people who also had a red badge like you looked upon you with sympathetic looks and pity, but the people who proudly sported a blue badge were mostly judgmental like you weren’t grateful for this golden opportunity of cash or death.

“come on, pretty girl! don’t cry,” thanos called out, approaching you and trying to wrap an arm around you, “just one more game, we’ll have enough to pay off our debts with extra!” his tone was so cheerful, already able to envision himself drifting around on the street in an expensive car and partying in a new spacious mansion.

although he was trying to console you in his own… unique way, you promptly slapped him away, “i won’t even be alive to pay off my debts, you asshole! i’m going to get killed like everyone else has, and you could too! i don’t understand how you could be so normal about it all when people are dying for this money, do the drugs you take stop you from feeling basic emotions too?!”

he let go of you, staring blankly like he wasn’t sure if he was supposed to laugh at how surprisingly observant you were or beat the shit out of you for yelling out his secret without thinking. being a pretty girl didn’t exempt you from his rage, even if he frequently acted like it would in an attempt to get on your good side or in your pants. the effects of the colorful pills from the mingle games still haven’t worn off, so this was either going to make him mellow enough to brush it off without any grudges at the insult or make him aggressive enough to start a fight.

“alright, i believe that’s enough,” a familiar voice of a third party interrupted the conversation, smooth and authoritative with expected compliance for his command. “she’s clearly upset, i don’t think you should bother her anymore.”

you looked up to see young-il next to you with an amiable smile on his face, surprised to see him coming to your rescue when you truthfully thought it would be hyun-ju, but your unexpected hero was more than welcome. you haven’t had too many interactions with him, primarily just existing in the same space as allies, but you would be lying if you said you didn’t secretly admire him from afar. he was so handsome despite his age and seemed to retain his empathy, unlike some others here, always caring and looking out for you as well as everyone else who needed a little extra attention like jun-hee and the elderly folk. every time you see him smile at you during these trying times, a little flame of hope for humanity sparkles within you.

thanos glared at him, recalling the humiliating beating both he and nam-gyu endured at his hands in front of everyone, and relented with his command. there’s something about that man that scared him enough to back off without a second thought, not just how he managed to kick his ass, there was something genuinely unnerving about him that no one else seemed to notice.

no one seems to notice the little glances he makes at the cameras and guards without fear. no one seems to notice how he always knows a little more than everyone else about these games. no one seems to notice that he sticks by the claimed previous winner as if he is trying to keep an eye on him. no one seems to notice how he studies you from afar in a predatory way, like how a starving wolf studies a lamb prancing about before devouring it. 

no one pays attention because they have bigger things to worry about on their mind. they don’t think there’s anything special about him and that he’s just another player trying to pay off their crippling debts, but little do they know about the omnipresent power he holds over everything that happens on this god-forsaken island.

“are you okay? he didn’t hurt you, did he?”

“n-no, he didn’t…” god, you were a sight, shivering in fear, hastily trying to wipe away the tears falling from your puffy eyes .”’m sorry you had to see all that, sir,” you sniffled, embarrassed, seemingly fine with the idea of breaking down in front of everyone else, but not him, which he found so fucking adorable. “would it be okay if…” you hesitated for a moment, “would it be okay if you stayed here with me for a bit?”

your teams have somewhat merged since the last game, but you were still scared of thanos coming to bother or worse after you called him out on his little secret. even if the other tried to shoo him away, he had this inflated sense of ego where he thought he could do whatever he wanted without thinking about anyone else, so unless they were a guard or they physically picked a fight with him and he lost, he would continue to do as he pleased which would possibly include personally eliminating you from the games like he’s done to others before. the only person who has put him in his place is young-il, so it’s only natural that you would feel safest with him.

he would rather have you all to himself, but he doesn’t mind having you join his group where he could keep a closer eye on you between the discussions of the vote.

throughout the entire voting process, you were a nervous wreck. you wanted to go home so bad, but when the numbers added up to a tie, you broke down once again. there was still a glimmer of hope, but it fell out of your hands and shattered on the ground. jun-hee and dae-ho tried their best to comfort you, but it was difficult when they themselves were so uncertain about their futures as well.

“oh, don’t cry now,” young-il tutted, wrapping you in a hug and patting you on the back. “come on, i’ll take you to the bathroom to wash up.”

nodding with a sniffle, you accepted his hand graciously as he pulled you off the bed. you wish you were stronger, strong enough to try to talk the other players into voting x so that you could go home rather than just bawling your eyes out at everything, but instead, you were only blinking away your tears and keeping your eyes trained on the ground as you shuffled along.

you didn’t question why the guards allowed him to bring you into the restroom without giving him any nonsense like they always did. you didn’t see the look they exchanged, one of absolute authority and a hidden one of understanding.  you didn’t know his true intentions, watching you intently in the mirror as you washed your face with the water flowing from the sink’s tap.

“i don’t know you do it,” you whispered, “i don’t know you stay so strong in a situation like this, i feel like i’m losing it with every passing second… i wish i could be more like you. i’m so useless.”

“no, don’t say nonsense like that,” he assured, rubbing soothing circles into your back as he pulled you in for a hug as you sobbed into his shoulder. “it’s thanks to people like you who remind me to have hope in humanity.”

it isn’t entirely false, you truly remind him of how beautiful humanity can be in a situation where sanity decays and reduces people to animals who think of nothing but their survival. you still remain thoughtful and innocent despite all that is going to destroy those virtues, and are so much stronger than you will ever realize. 

it makes him think that you could handle someone like him, someone who is broken and intensely possessive with the desire to have you for himself. he thinks he has the right to be a bit selfish when it comes to you, and before you knew it, his lips had found their way pressed onto yours. he isn’t gentle, yet he’s clearly holding back, as if he wanted to consume you whole but didn’t want to scare you away.

although it wouldn’t matter if you were scared, you were already trapped.

you were frozen for a moment when he pulled away and let out a little disappointed sigh, “i’m sorry, that was inappropriate of me. i shouldn’t have—”

“no, it’s okay,” you blurted out.

it isn’t your first kiss, but it’s the first kiss that made you feel the spark you’ve only ever read about in romance novels before, like fireworks at midnight of the new year. were you crazy for finding it so comforting? have you lost all your shame for asking him if he could do it again?

he looked at you in slight disbelief, but was more than happy to follow your request. his hand came to the back of your head and pulled you closer to him, recapturing your lips with his. he was a bit rougher this time, his tongue darting out to request access and explore your mouth. you didn’t quite know what to do with yourself, just standing still like a life-sized doll, but he seemed more than content to take control over you as he lifted you up to seat you on the porcelain edge of the sink. 

you’re everything he dreamed of and more, but he still wasn’t satisfied. he wanted more, and you could feel his desire poking through his tracksuit pants rubbing against your thigh as he pressed you against the wall. his lips lowered to your jaw, then to your neck, making your head spin with unfamiliar sensations. you knew what he wanted, you were naive, not outright stupid, but did you want it to? 

“is this okay?”

you weren’t sure. were you really willing to give your first time to an older man you barely knew? in a setting like this? you always dreamed of your first time being romantic, with someone you trusted in the comfort of your bedroom instead of a near stranger in a dingy restroom, but with the way the past few days were going, you weren’t sure if you would be able to ever live out that fantasy and relented, “y-yeah, it’s okay…”

he chose to ignore the doubt in your voice. he had you right where he wanted, and he didn’t know what he would do with himself if you said otherwise. it’s embarrassing how desperate he must seem, like a teenager doing it with his crush for the first time, but you were too wrapped up in the situation to notice. he hastily pulled off your clothing, finding the soft, untouched skin hiding underneath, and running a hand over its smoothness. you felt shy at the way he looked at you, like you were the most beautiful woman in the world and like he’s never seen anything that came even close before, making you flustered and instinctively want to hide away. 

young-il didn’t give you the chance to do so as his hand dipped into your underwear and his fingers brushed against your heat. you haven’t even realized how soaked you were from a single kiss, but he didn’t give you the time to dwell on the surprise of how quickly it took for you to be excited as his fingers gently pressed into your core. you’re so tight around just two of his fingers, already gasping at the foreign feeling and squirming— it made him wonder if he would even be able to fit, but he’s nothing if not patient. he had all the time in the world to spend with you now. 

“shh, it’s okay, you’re doing so good,” he breathed, languidly pumping his digits in and out of you, watching all of your pretty expressions like a hawk as your eyes scrunched up and your chest heaved. when he came closer to wrap his lips around one of your sensitive nipples hardened by the cold air, he could almost hear your heartbeat beating rapidly as you let out a little moan.

you weren’t exactly sure if you were doing as good as he made it sound; you weren’t doing much of anything aside from sitting there and taking his fingers. he was doing all of the work, and yet your entire body felt like it was on fire and starting to sweat. did it normally feel this intense? you weren’t even sure how you would be able to handle the real thing. as you felt an unfamiliar tightening in your abdomen, your hand flew to cover your mouth, self-conscious at how loud you were starting to become, “w-wait, sir, i think i’m going to—” the last word lingered as your sex-hazed mind tried to think of a word, a word for the sensation that has never happened to you until now, but you didn’t have the chance to as you suddenly gushed all over his hand and let out a muffled cry.

“aw, did you come already?” young-il seemed to be different now, more playful, as he raised his fingers to his mouth to lick them clean of your arousal and savoring your sweetness on his tongue. the taste was addicting, and he had half a mind to fall on his knees and to lap up all of your spilled juices right then and there, but he couldn’t wait anymore and needed to be inside of you. he doesn’t think he’s ever needed anything so badly before, making quick work to lower his sweats and underwear, “it’s going to hurt a bit at first, but it will feel good after a minute, i promise.” he had to hold back a chuckle at how you gawked at his size for a moment, wondering if you could really take it when you could barely handle just two of his fingers, but he knows he prepped you enough. 

“okay,” you murmured dumbly and leaned back, feeling your back hit the cold mirror attached to the wall above the sink. any thoughts you had in your head had basically been fucked out of it, embarassing as it may sound. all you could do was wrap your arms around his neck, burning your face into the crook of his neck as he gently pushed himself into you, inch by inch, holding himself back from ruthlessly ramming into you before you were ready. 

all your breaths were short and shallow, the sensation of being filled up like this encompassing your body in a mix of pain and pleasure. it hurt being stretched out and you couldn’t help but whine, your distress not going unnoticed by young-il as his thumb came up to your clit and circled it while peppering kisses to your face, “that’s it, just like that, tell me when you’re ready for me to move.”

after a few moments, you nodded, signaling him to continue. he’s slow at first, getting you used to the push and pull. it took a minute or two for the pain to dissolve into pure ecstasy. you found yourself pulling on his sleeves, silently asking him to speed up because you were too shy to say so. he’s a very perceptive person though, immediately noticing your need. if he were any crueler, he would tease you for it and make you beg for it. he could only imagine how beautiful you would look and sound, bashful and desperate for more, but he needed to get off too, and as nice as it was to leisurely fuck you as he currently was, he wasn’t getting anywhere like this. 

as he thrust into you and your welcoming cunt, he couldn’t help but think about how horrible he truly was. he was here to keep an eye on the previous winner and prevent him from trying to ruin the games, but here he was obsessing over a young lady who shouldn’t even be here. he’s disgusting, he knows it, and yet he doesn’t stop the constant motion or the thoughts running through his mind.

he wants to keep you here with him, locked away for his eyes only, away from everyone else. wouldn’t it be so nice to have you in his lap, watching the games and sharing a glass of liquor with you while you’re all dolled up? he doesn’t want to think of it like he’s keeping you as a pet, but he would like to marry you and have you as his trophy wife to accompany him during those annoying dinners with the vips. you wouldn’t have to work a day of your life if you were his, all you would have to do is look pretty and share his affections. and maybe a family someday too?

fuck, he was getting close just thinking about it. he should be allowed this much after giving his life to the games and abandoning everything he knew.

“sir, i’m close,” you whined, your nails digging into the fabric of his sleeves. 

“i am too… could i… could i do it inside?”

it’s not like him to ask, but if he wanted to build a life with you (or at some semblance of one), he owed you this much. 

you nodded, not thinking of what he was asking or what it could entail in the future. all you could think of was your oncoming climax, unraveling the tightened knot in your stomach and bursting at the seams.young-il followed shortly after with your velvety walls spasming around him, painting your insides white and filling you up to the brim to the point of some of it leaking out when he pulled himself from you. he couldn’t help but to collect some of the spillage with his finger and push it back into you, as if he didn’t want any of it to go waste.

“you won’t have to participate in the games anymore, i’m going to get you out of here.”

requested by bunii:

please please please could you do a smut with the front man of squid games s2 when he is pretending to be a player. Maybe you are scared, or crying because you wanna go home and he’s “comforting you” and brings you to the bathroom to wipe your tears, but then he kisses you… and so on.

requested by anonymous:

Heyy! I have been interested in your account and your squid game content recently!:) And I was wondering if you’d do my request?. Headcanons with yandere s2 Hwang in-ho/frontman with a fem reader who doesn’t know who he actually is?. Like she likes him but she doesn’t know he is the frontman or his “real identity”. Thank you!

[urdreamydoodles]

X-Men x Reader (Part.2)

You die in their arms (Part.2)

In the heat of battle, you succumbs to fatal injuries in the arms of your partner. Each X-Men, torn apart by grief, reacts to the devastating loss, facing the crushing reality that their greatest power cannot bring back the person they love most.

Characters: Logan Howlett, Remy LeBeau, Kurt Wagner, Scott Summers, Ororo Munroe, Rogue & Erik Lehnsherr

Logan Howlett

The battlefield was chaos. Explosions, gunfire, and the sound of metal clashing filled the air, but none of it mattered to Logan as he ran toward you. His enhanced senses had caught the scent of your blood, and his heart had clenched in a way that it never had before. He had seen you fall, your body crumpling under the impact of an enemy’s blow, and now every instinct screamed at him to get to you, to protect you.

When he reached your side, his breath hitched. Blood was seeping from a wound in your chest, staining the ground beneath you. Your eyes were open, barely, and you smiled weakly as you saw him. "Logan..." you whispered, your voice barely a rasp above the noise around you.

Logan dropped to his knees, his hands hovering over your body as if afraid to touch you, to hurt you further. His jaw clenched, and he growled low in his throat, fighting back the overwhelming panic that threatened to take hold. "Don’t talk, darlin'," he ordered, though his voice was gruff with emotion. "I’m gonna get you outta here, alright? You’re gonna be fine."

You shook your head, your breathing labored as pain surged through your body. "Logan... I’m not..." You coughed, blood splattering from your lips as your strength faded. "I can’t..."

Logan’s eyes flared with anger and desperation. "Don’t you dare talk like that!" he snapped, though his voice cracked with grief. His hands finally found your face, his rough fingers cradling your cheeks as he leaned over you. "You’re tougher than this. You’ve survived worse."

You tried to smile, but it was weak, your strength ebbing away with every passing second. "Not this time," you whispered, your hand weakly reaching up to rest on his arm. "I love you... Logan..."

Logan's breath caught in his throat, and for a moment, the battlefield disappeared. It was just the two of you, alone in this moment, and the weight of your words hit him like a punch to the gut. "I love you too," he growled, his voice barely above a whisper. "More than you know."

Your eyes fluttered shut, and your hand fell limply to the ground. Logan's heart shattered as he felt your pulse fade beneath his fingertips. He let out a broken, guttural roar, pulling your body close to his chest. His claws unsheathed instinctively, the rage and pain surging through him in a violent wave.

But no amount of violence could bring you back.

For the first time in years, Wolverine felt utterly helpless.

Remy LeBeau

The battle had been brutal, the air thick with the scent of smoke, gunpowder, and blood. Remy had always thrived in the chaos of combat, but today was different. He had been fighting with one eye on the battlefield and the other on you, making sure you were safe.

But the moment he saw you fall, his heart stopped.

Remy sprinted toward you, his heart pounding in his chest as fear took hold. When he reached you, his world narrowed to the sight of you lying on the ground, your body broken, blood pooling around you. "Non, non, non," he muttered under his breath, his Cajun accent thick with panic as he dropped to his knees beside you. His usually nimble fingers shook as he touched your face, brushing your hair back from your sweat-streaked forehead.

"Chérie, I’m here," he whispered, his voice trembling as he tried to hold it together. "Stay wit' me, d'accord? You ain’t leavin' me like dis."

You opened your eyes weakly, a sad smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "Remy..." you whispered, your voice so faint he had to lean in closer to hear you. "I... I can’t..."

Remy shook his head, his hands pressing against your wound in a futile attempt to stop the bleeding. "Non, you’re gon' be alright," he insisted, his voice breaking as tears filled his eyes. "Remy gon' fix dis, I promise. You jus' gotta hold on."

You looked up at him, your vision blurring as the pain became too much. "I love you," you whispered, your voice barely audible now.

The words hit him like a ton of bricks, and his heart clenched in his chest. "I love you too, mon amour," he choked out, his thumb brushing against your cheek. "Please, don’t go... I can’t do dis without you."

But your body was already going cold, and as your last breath left your lips, Remy’s world crumbled. He let out a ragged sob, pulling you into his arms, your blood staining his coat. The energy that always crackled at his fingertips fizzled out as grief consumed him.

The playful charm that Remy LeBeau was known for was gone, replaced by the hollow, crushing pain of losing the love of his life.

Kurt Wagner

The night sky above the battlefield was dark, but the flashes of light and explosions illuminated the destruction around you. Kurt had always been quick, teleporting in and out of danger, but even his agility couldn't save you from the blast that had hit you. The pain in your chest was unbearable as you crumpled to the ground, gasping for air.

Before you could register the pain fully, the familiar sound of Kurt's "bamf" echoed, and he was beside you in an instant. His golden eyes widened in horror as he saw you lying there, blood pouring from your wound.

"Y/N, mein Gott!" His voice cracked as he knelt beside you, his blue fingers trembling as they hovered over your wound. You had always loved the gentleness of his touch, but now those same hands felt helpless.

You tried to speak, but your voice came out as a rasp. "Kurt..."

He shook his head quickly, tears welling in his eyes. "Nein, don’t speak! I can take you to safety. I’ll... I’ll fix this, just hold on!" He reached out as if to teleport you away, but the pain was too great. You gasped, clutching his hand, stopping him.

“Kurt... it’s too late.”

His heart broke at your words, and he shook his head in disbelief, his tail twitching anxiously behind him. "No, no, no, it’s not too late! Please, Y/N, I cannot lose you!"

You could feel the world slipping away, the cold settling into your bones. Your hand found his cheek, brushing against the soft fur of his face. "I love you," you whispered, your voice growing weaker with every passing second.

He let out a choked sob, pressing his forehead against yours. "I love you too, more than life itself," he whispered, his tears falling onto your skin. "Please, don’t leave me."

Your heart slowed, the pain fading as the darkness crept in. The last thing you saw was Kurt’s face, his eyes filled with anguish as he held you close. You wanted to stay, to comfort him, but your body failed you.

As your heart stopped, Kurt’s grip on you tightened, a broken cry escaping his throat. He teleported away with your body, his sobs echoing in the empty space as he held you in his arms. For the first time, the darkness of the battlefield felt like a reflection of the void inside him.

Scott Summers

The battlefield was chaos, and Scott's voice rang out over the comms, directing the team with his usual authority. You had fought beside him countless times, but this battle felt different. The enemies were stronger, more relentless, and despite your best efforts, you found yourself caught in an explosion that left you broken on the ground.

Scott had seen it all from a distance, his visor hiding the horror in his eyes as he screamed your name. He ran to you, laser blasts tearing through the enemies that dared to stand in his way. When he reached you, his heart stopped at the sight of your blood-streaked form lying motionless on the ground.

"Y/N!" His voice was thick with fear as he dropped to his knees beside you, his hands shaking as they hovered over your body. He didn’t know what to do, how to fix this. He had always been the leader, the one with the answers, but in this moment, he was lost.

You looked up at him, trying to smile despite the pain that wracked your body. "Scott..." you whispered, your voice barely audible.

"Don’t talk," he ordered, his voice trembling as he tried to maintain control. "I’ll get you out of here. You’re going to be fine."

But you knew better. The cold was already creeping into your bones, and every breath was a struggle. You reached up, your hand weakly brushing against the side of his visor. "I love you," you whispered, your voice barely a breath.

Scott's composure shattered in an instant. He grabbed your hand, pressing it to his chest as tears filled his eyes, hidden behind his red-tinted visor. "I love you too," he whispered, his voice breaking. "Please, Y/N, don’t leave me. I can’t lose you."

But even as he spoke, your vision grew darker, and the world around you faded. You could feel your heart slowing, your body giving up. The last thing you saw was Scott’s face, his usually stoic expression replaced by one of utter devastation.

When your heart finally stopped, Scott let out a choked sob, his body trembling as he held you close. His visor glowed with an intensity that reflected the storm of emotions raging inside him, but he refused to take it off, knowing that if he did, the force of his grief would destroy everything around him.

He stayed with you, holding your lifeless body as the battle continued to rage around him. In that moment, nothing else mattered. You were gone, and with you, a piece of him had died too.

Ororo Munroe

The storm raged above as the battle unfolded, lightning flashing across the sky, mirroring Ororo’s inner turmoil. She had always fought with grace and precision, her connection to the elements unmatched, but today her focus was split. She kept glancing toward you, her heart tight with worry as you fought on the battlefield alongside the rest of the X-Men.

Then, in a flash of light, Ororo saw you fall.

Without hesitation, she soared through the air, the wind carrying her swiftly to your side. She landed next to you with a graceful thud, her heart pounding in her chest. “Y/N!” Her voice cracked, filled with a raw fear she rarely allowed herself to feel.

You lay on the ground, blood pooling beneath you, your breaths shallow and uneven. Your eyes flickered open as she knelt down, her hands hovering over you, unsure of where to touch without causing you more pain. “I’m here,” she whispered, her voice trembling as tears welled in her bright blue eyes. “I’m right here.”

You tried to smile but grimaced, the pain too much to hide. “Ororo... it’s bad.”

She shook her head, her white hair whipping in the wind as the storm above mirrored her growing panic. “No, it’s not. You’re going to be fine. I won’t let you leave me.”

Your fingers weakly reached up, brushing against her cheek as you gazed up at her, your expression soft despite the pain. “I love you... always have.”

Ororo’s heart clenched, her breath catching in her throat as she cupped your hand to her face. “I love you too,” she whispered, her tears falling freely now, mixing with the rain that had begun to pour. “Please don’t leave me.”

But she could feel the life slipping away from you, the spark in your eyes fading with each passing moment. Your hand fell from her cheek, and Ororo let out a heart-wrenching sob, clutching your body tightly to her chest as the storm above erupted into a frenzy of lightning and thunder.

The sky wept with her as she held you close, her heart shattering into pieces.

Rogue

Rogue fought with everything she had, her strength and agility keeping her a step ahead of the enemies on the battlefield. For so long, she had feared touching others, but now that she had full control of her powers, she fought fearlessly, knowing she could protect the ones she loved.

But when she saw you collapse in the distance, her heart stopped.

Without thinking, Rogue flew across the battlefield, her breath catching in her throat as she reached your side. “Y/N!” she cried out, dropping to her knees beside you. Her hands shook as she touched your face, her gloved fingers trembling as she saw the blood staining your clothes.

You looked up at her, your vision blurred and fading. “Rogue...” you whispered, your voice barely a rasp above the chaos surrounding you.

“Shh, don’t talk,” Rogue whispered, her voice breaking as she gathered you in her arms. “You’re gonna be okay, ya hear? I ain’t lettin’ ya go.”

You smiled weakly, your hand reaching up to touch her face. “It’s too late... I can feel it.”

“No!” Rogue’s voice cracked as she held you tighter, her heart pounding in her chest. “Don’t you dare say that. We’re gonna get through this, together. Just hang on.”

But as you coughed, blood splattering from your lips, she knew the truth. You were slipping away, and there was nothing she could do to stop it. “I love you,” you whispered, your voice so soft it was almost lost in the wind.

Rogue choked on a sob, tears streaming down her face as she pressed her forehead to yours. “I love you too, more than anything. Please don’t leave me.”

But as your hand slipped from her cheek and your body went limp in her arms, Rogue’s world collapsed. She let out a broken cry, pulling you close as her tears fell onto your lifeless body.

For the first time in her life, Rogue felt truly powerless.

Erik Lehnsherr

The battlefield was chaos, a cacophony of screams, explosions, and the constant hum of metal twisting under Erik’s control. His powers were unmatched, and even as the battle raged, he moved with precision, guiding every metal shard, bullet, and beam to protect those who fought beside him.

But then he saw you fall.

In an instant, everything else became irrelevant. The clamor of war faded into the background as Erik’s heart seized with terror. He flew to your side, his cape billowing out behind him, metal shards scattering as he rushed to you. When he landed beside you, his breath caught in his throat. You were lying in a pool of your own blood, your eyes barely open.

"Y/N!" Erik’s voice was more frantic than it had ever been. He knelt beside you, his gloved hands hovering over you as he tried to figure out what to do, how to help. But for all his power, for all the control he had over the world’s elements, he couldn’t fix this.

You coughed weakly, blood trickling from the corner of your mouth as you looked up at him. "Erik..." your voice was barely a whisper, but he heard it as though it were the only sound in the world.

He shook his head, his steel-blue eyes wide with fear. "No, don’t speak. I’ll take you somewhere safe. I can save you." His voice was thick with desperation as he reached out, trying to wrap you in a cocoon of metal to shield you from the world.

But you weakly lifted your hand, stopping him. "It’s too late," you whispered, your voice filled with a sadness that made Erik’s heart shatter. "I... I love you."

The words struck him harder than any attack ever had. Erik had faced war, genocide, and the loss of his family, but nothing had prepared him for this. Nothing had prepared him for losing you. "No," he whispered, his voice breaking as tears welled in his eyes. "I can’t lose you. Not you, Y/N."

You smiled weakly, your hand slipping from his grasp as the life faded from your eyes. "I’ll always... love you," you whispered, before your body went limp in his arms.

Erik let out a guttural cry, a sound filled with pure, raw grief. The metal around him trembled, shaking violently as his control faltered under the weight of his anguish. For the first time in years, Magneto was powerless, and it tore him apart.

He held you close, your lifeless body cradled in his arms as the world around him collapsed into chaos. He didn’t care about the battle anymore, didn’t care about the war or the cause.

All that mattered was that you were gone.

[thatgenericwriter]

When Time Stops || Gregory House

Paring: Gregory House x gn!reader

Summary: reader is at home when they get a surprise visit

Warnings: angst, cussing, mentions of blood, guns/gunshots, wounds

Word Count: 1K

P.s. based off of season 2 ep 24 also requested by anonymous

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

The frantic pounding on the door to your apartment woke you from a blissful slumber. Groggily leaving your's and House's shared bed, you clumsily walk to the door. You let out a small swear as you slam your knee into the small table by the door before opening it.

You are met with the flushed face of one of House's ducklings, Chase. You and Chase had a pretty good relationship almost like siblings in a way. You had seen him with almost every expression on his chiseled face, but you had never seen him with this much worry, fear, or anxiety.

His face softened slightly at the sight of your messy hair and skewed pajamas before returning to his worry filled expression. "House has...he's been...he...House was shot."

It felt as if time itself had stopped. Chase was still talking, probably trying to calm you down, but all you could hear was the rapid heartbeat in your ears.

'How is this possible? Shot? Shot! How could he get shot in a hospital!? Is he okay? What if...what if it's fatal?'

Your spiraling thoughts distracted you from Chase grabbing your shoes and a bag of essentials. You only noticed you were walking when Chase opened the passenger door of his car for you.

He gently guides you into his car and clicks your seatbelt in place before jogging around to the other side. You blankly stare out of the window, your leg constantly bouncing anxiously.

Time passed so slowly. It feels like an eternity had gone by before you finally pull into the hospital parking lot. Before the car even fully stops, you are jumping out and practically sprinting through the hospital to the OR where you know House will be.

Just as your about to sprint through the doors leading to the OR, you feel a pair of strong arms hold you back. They pull you towards their chest, holding you close in their arms you hear them start to whisper in your ear.

"House is going to be okay. The bullet missed anything serious. He will live." Willson's reassuring whispers cause you to finally accept your reality.

Your knees buckle underneath you and James slowly lowers both of you to the ground. You turn in his arms and sob into his chest. He comfortingly rubs his hand up and down you back, whispering reassuring thoughts into your ear.

……

It’s been almost an hour since you arrived at the hospital. You're currently sitting in House’s chair watching as the cleaning crew cuts out the patch of carpet with House’s blood splattered on it. Bouncing his iconic ball between your hands trying desperately to stay calm as you wait to hear when and if House makes it out of surgery alive.

Although the bullet missed anything important, it still shattered inside of him causing the surgery to go longer than expected. You hear the door to the office open and you turn to look at who came through.

Cuddy stands there with a smile on her face. You feel your shoulders instantly relax and you stand up and walk into her expecting arms.

“Can I see him?” The momment Cuddy told you what floor he was on, you were sprinting out of the room. Frantically pressing the elevator button, you prayed that he was truely okay.

Standing in front of the doors that lead to his floor, you take a few deep breaths before opening the doors. There he is, looking annoyed even in a drug induced sleep. You slowly walk up to his bed, looking him over seeing the bloody bandage across his upper stomach. You were crying again.

You feel the tears streaming down your face. Tears of relief but also tears of anger. You were beyond furious. ‘How could someone do this to House? Your House? Why would they do this? Don’t they know he has a family here at work? That he has you?’ Your thoughts are interrupted by a series of ragged coughs.

You look over at the man who is lying in the bed next to House’s. He looks over at your tear stained face, then his eyes trail down and stop where your hands are attached to House’s hand.

“That bastard had someone waiting for him?” The confused look on your face made him let out a pitiiful laugh. “I shot House.” The world stoped once again. This time instead of feeling like you were drowning, all you could see was red.

Anger fueled you as you rushed over to the other bed. Before you can kill the man who shot your precious House, you're being restrained by large arms around you.

"You know, we have to stop meeting like this." Wilson slowly pulls you back over to House's bed.

The man in the other bed softly chuckles at you before going into another coughing fit. All you can do is glare at him and hold House's hand once again.

"Shouldn't he be awake by now? That bastard over there is! Why isn't House?" All Wilson could give you was a shrug, explaining that the anesthesia lasts differently for everyone.

.......

So you waited and waited and waited some more until you felt a slight twitch in his fingers. You look up at his face waiting for his eyes to finally open. And when they did, and he locked eyes with you, you started crying once more.

You feel his hand stroking your cheek wiping away the tears as they fall. You nuzzle your face into his hand, having a hard time believing that he's actually okay.

"Hey idiot, why are you crying? I'm obviously okay." All you could do was laugh at him. Even in the most serious of times he's still managed to be an ass. But he's your ass, and he's alive, and that's all that matters to you.

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

Author's Note: hey so I know it's been a while and this request is from a very long time ago and that's my bad but I'm trying to get through these request and I'm trying really hard to not give in to the writer's block but I will be writing more I will be getting through these requests even if it kills me

[wannaeatramyeon]

Gitae Kim x Reader: Unhinged

G/N. Short + sweet. You both have a fondness for violence. Masterlists

"Beat him up, please!"

You smile at Gitae, like a small devil sitting on his shoulders and whispering into his ear.

Not that he ever needed the push but it is refreshing being with someone that has a similar brutality to him, who didn't flinch and cower everytime he got his axe out, and when he returns home covered in blood, greets him with a grin and asks "Good day?"

Albeit this time, the violence would be well deserved.

Some fool, who obviously didn't know who you were, had the stupidity to try and hit on you, and be even more forceful when you told him to fuck off.

Presence not yet detected, Gitae had approached the scene with you somewhat backed against the wall and the guy looming over you. Except you didn't look nervous or anxious at all, you looked pissed as hell and like you were ready to pull the knife hidden in your boot and give him a fatal wound or two.

His heart warms at that thought.

Warms further when you look past the man and finally spot Gitae's huge, muscular frame. You give Gitae a smile, like butter wouldn't melt, then sweetly ask him to beat up that stranger.

How could Gitae deny you this? He never could say no to you anyway.

.

.

"Thanks babe!" You say, threading your fingers with his and pressing an obnoxious smooch to the back of his hand, not minding that it is splattered with crimson.

Gitae lets out a small exhale of amusement at your upbeat attitude and sunny demeanour.

You give one last harsh kick to the man, now lying bloodied and half dead on the floor. He winces as your foot connects painfully with his side.

Turning to Gitae, you pull a face when your stomach rumbles, and ask what he's thinking of for lunch.

[stargrltara]

Kinda Outa Luck

pairing: jason todd x fem!reader

summary: based off of the song ‘Kinda Outa Luck’ by lana del rey👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩 . reader is kinda inspired by catwoman in the batman , she works in a club, and on the low she’s gothams most wanted female thief. She is gorgeous, and she uses it to her advantage. Oh, did i mention she has a thing for the Red Hood? And, honesty, he does too, though he is pretty shit at hiding it. PT 1 PT2

warnings: EVENTUAL 18+ MDNI, mentions of clubs, tying up, begging, mentions of sexual natures and strippers, slapping, unprotected sex, p in v, teasing, some fluff and angst, enemies with benefits??

a/n:. guys if i’m being honest i’m not in the best place right now. but i really wanted to write this.. i’m also ovulating so enjoy 💓 . ( also i’m terribly bad at writing smut i’m SO sorry if this isn’t up to standard😰 . )

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

“ you never cared what i did at all

motel singer or the silver pole

i did what i had to do.. „

Everyone in Gotham knew who you were. Everyone knew you as the sexy, sly femme fatale who always got her way no matter the cost. You were a goddess. Females in Gotham would normally be petrified to have the confidence and power that you own. Even just working at the classy ‘Iceberg Lounge’ people would respect the floors you walked on. With millions of men drooling and tugging at your sequinned heels, begging for an ounce of attention as you deliver drinks and messages to your boss.

However, they never knew the true side of you. Sure, they established your mysterious ways to make men fawn and yearn for even a slight glance their way. But, they never knew who you were when the night called. Gotham’s most agile, seductive and infamously known thief and burglar in the whole of gotham.

Tugging on your skintight bodysuit, you swiftly rushed the inky latex onto your body, fiddling with the zipper which ended in the midst of your breasts, forcefully plunging them up. The material clinged firmly onto your fair skin, and fit you like a glove since the last time you’ve worn it. A melodic sensation of mischief trickled down your spine as you twirled your locks through the soft of your fingers, the sandy brown hair clutching onto the suit as you quickly collected the belongings and equipment needed for tonight’s schemes; and a smirk crept onto your faint lips.

“ femme fatale

always on the run

diamonds on my wrist

whiskey on my tongue „

The shattering of a reflective glass splattered like watercolored paint onto the cool, marbled floor, leaving an open space for fluorescent beams of silver moonlight to pour through, drowning the room in a luminous ember. 

The tranquil ambiance was soon interrupted when you quickly realised your mission. Swiftly swaying, you made your way to the jewellery display, peering at each of the rectangular, glass containers which secured each sentimental crystal. After picking the lock seamlessly, you slowly reached for the antique jewel, wrapping the soft, translucent gemstone inside the palm of the glove. The jewel reflected a shimmer from the gleam of the moon; an overworldly beauty traced upon it.

Suddenly, an alarm went off. Then another. Then another; the blaring noise agitating your ear canals. And then you were pulled away along with a strong pair of hands covering your mouth, smudging your lined lips and a hand gripped tightly around your waist. The figure hauled you away, pushing you against a wall; the cool brick against rubbing your back, spiking chills and your hairs on the back of your neck to rise.

“—Don’t speak.” An uncomfortably familiar voice muttered. His hand still on your mouth, covering your ability to curse him out as his head peaks around the corner to check for other criminals.

Glaring up at him with narrowed eyes, the light shone into his crimson mask; milky eyes disguised against his true identity. Gazing down, you could barely make out the murky suit he was wearing, the red hood symbol on the chest area and although your sight was a blurry haze, the clear display of his toned abdomen send veins of arousal to your core. Undeniably and unethically.

You managed to pull his hand off if your mouth, and the words “ Red, what the fuck are yo— “ could barely escape your mouth before he slammed you against the wall to get you to stop speaking as he noticed criminals run past. A light groan fell from your lips, and seeped into the material of his gloves; the warm of your breath igniting against his palm and in that moment, he scowled down at you.

Steadily removing his palm from your mouth, you could feel your heart beating out of your chest. Fast enough that he could probably hear it through his mask. “ Stay here, ‘m gonna go take care of this quick. “ his annoying voice echoed through his mask. You only pierced your eyes at him and crossed your arms over your chest before he quickly went to go and fight the criminals. His tall shadow swaying further away, and you couldn’t help but notice him look back to make sure you were still there.

You just stood there and watched as Red Hood took care of the criminals, putting them in their place and leaving them unconscious. With snark, he walked over to you, his hands flying up in the air in defence as you were about to open your lips parted, getting ready to curse him out.

“ Jesus, Red.. —you stalkin’ me or somethin’?! “ your voice was only a groan, a stubborn one at that. You were frustrated at him as he interfered with your carefree mission; but you were also pissed because he didn’t think you could handle those criminals alone. It made an infuriated glow grind down your spine, and one that made you seemed belittled against him.

He only scoffed, tilting his head at your ignorant comment before he sighed. “ Just give back what you stole, doll..“ Your brows raised at his hilarious joke, he seriously thought you were going to give back what you took? “ finders keepers..” you couldn’t deny your mind was corrupted by a foreign haze after he mummer his nickname for you; ‘doll’.

“.. and losers—” were your last words before you inched closer, and suddenly attacking him with a sly punch in the hip, and then a kick in the rib. A harsh groan arose form his mouth, and he fell to the ground, the brisk marble against his knee caps. You rapidly ran away, avoiding turning back. Part of you knew he could’ve easily chased after you, part of him knee he could’ve easily chased after you, but he didn’t. Instead he just turned on his heel, observing you dim into the shadows.

PT 1 .

[tacticaldiary]

can you do a ghost x head doctor!reader? kind of that scenario where ghost is like, “i don’t want a regular plain nurse; i want reader 🙄” and reader is like, the head doctor of the medical wing or whatever, and doesn’t usually deal with regular military injuries, but puts up with ghost’s shit anyways? 😋

Superficial Wounds, Deep Devotion

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader

Genre: Fluff; Hurt/Comfort

"Need me to kiss it better?" She quips with a roll of her eyes.

"I'll take anything you prescribe." Comes the smooth answer. It draws out a snort of laughter from her as she turns around with the gauze.

"All you need is to stop scaring away the field medics." She steps in between his legs, wiping down the cut on his shoulder with disinfectant.

Masterlist

"Ghost?" Her head snaps up from the clipboard. "What's wrong with him?" She frowns, pushing down the bubbling panic in her chest.

"He's asking for you to treat him in room Q42."

"Is he bleeding?" The urgency itches just below her skin but her cool professionalism doesn't crack. She doesn't deal with superficial injuries, only the most complex cases. She's seen it all. Mangled faces, guts hanging out, disfigured bodies.

So the fact that they were asking for her-...

Wait.

"Is command asking me to see him?" She says slowly.

The soldier shakes his head. "No ma'am. It was a request from the Lieutenant himself."

She releases a slow exhale, relief tingling. "I'll see to it." She dismisses him with a wave, starting down the hall.

Simon had this...habit of seeking her out. It was a perk of his rank, she supposes, but she'd been the only one to treat him ever since they'd encountered each other way back when she was an on-site combat nurse.

It's impossible to forget seeing him for the first time. That skull mask of his was splattered blood red, a bullet wound in his shoulder as he sat on one of the dusty cots in the emergency tents they'd set up in the middle of the desert.

They'd just clicked.

She ended up treating him again after that, and that's when he started personally requesting her.

It hadn't taken long for the spark between them to explode into something intense and loving. He was the anchor to her stressful life, unshakable and a steady presence. She was his person, one of the only people he trusted with his injuries and his heart, the warmth that let him focus on being better.

Swinging open the door without knocking, the man in question sits there in all his glory in front of her.

Admittedly, the first she stares at is his chest. He's shirtless, a cut that she can tell is superficial and non-fatal from all the way by the door.

"You can come inside." His voice is amused and knowing, the bastard.

"Inviting me into my own house?" She swallows, but listens. The door is kicked shut behind her. The moment it's closed he tugs off his mask, the weary lines of his face much more prominent under the harsh fluorescent lighting of the room. "How was your op?" Stopping by the cot he's sitting on to press a quick kiss to his sweaty head, she breezes past him to the medical trolley nearby.

"Fine. Did what we had to." They both know he won't volunteer any more information. Just as she doesn't confide in him with every horrific injury she deals with, he doesn't expose her to the horrific things he has to do. A mutual withholding of information for the peace of mind of both parties.

"Thought you weren't due to come home until tomorrow. I was gonna meet you on the tarmac and everything."

"Surprise." He deadpans, making her snicker.

"You know, for the big bad Ghost you are, you sure need to cause such a fuss about a little cut." Gathering what she needs, she casts him a glance over her shoulder.

"Thought it was your job to make sure I was in the best state possible for deployment?"

She loves this back-and-forth they have. He does too, if the relaxed way he leans back on his arms is anything to go by. It had taken years and years to get to the place they are right now. Years of work, of communication and trust.

"It's my job to take care of the worst, highest profile cases."

"I'd say this is pretty urgent." This playful side of him came out when they were alone.

"Need me to kiss it better?" She quips with a roll of her eyes.

"I'll take anything you prescribe." Comes the smooth answer. It draws out a snort of laughter from her as she turns around with her spoils.

"Can I prescribe you to stop scaring away the field medics?" She steps in between his legs, wiping down the cut on his shoulder with disinfectant. He doesn't wince or cringe or even flinch at the burn, eyes fixed on her face as she works.

"I'm a Lieutenant, I can do what I want."

She pauses, raising an eyebrow. "Are you really pulling rank on me right now?"

He hums, sliding up to hold her hips, tugging her closer. "Don't seem to mind it when we're alone, love." A smirk tugs at his mouth when a flush creeps up the back of her neck. God, he loves that look on her.

"What's gotten into you?" Shaking her head but unable to push down a smile, she works on securing the gauze, taping it down. "Getting clingy, are we now?"

He...well he can't deny it. He doesn't want to tell her the reason for it either, even if she's subtly fishing for answers.

He'd been an inch away from getting shredded by flying shrapnel from a car bomb today.

If Gaz, quick-witted, sharp, Gaz hadn't yelled and yanked him to cover behind a brick wall he would've been embedded with scraps of metal and rusty nails.

Dead, as his namesake.

Ghost wasn't afraid of death. Ghost got up every day ready to not see the sunrise again. Ghost was a cold blooded machine ready to do whatever his orders were.

But Simon wanted to live.

Simon wanted to come home to her. Simon wanted the last thing he saw to be her smile. Simon selfishly wanted her more than any victory his rifle could earn him.

Ghost had been unfazed, Simon had realised the inevitability of the avoided consequence.

Lips press against his bare shoulder. Right, left, and then gently on the gauze. It brings him back to the present, his grip on her tightens for a moment. Her gaze is soft, knowing. Because of course it is. She's the only one who's been able to get into his head like this, been able to crack the code to thoughts he himself doesn't have the key for.

"Any of other glaringly dangerous injuries I need to take a look at?" His eyes follow the smooth line of her neck as she tilts her head towards him. He exhales, shifts, and pulls her closer without warning, banding a strong arm around her.

"Dunno. Think you might have to conduct a comprehensive examination."

She laughs against his lips and goes down with him when he shifts farther up the cot.

Reblog, Like and Comment!

(1/09/2023)

[quandledlngle69]

micheal kaiser in the zombie apocalypse au is forced to watch you die for the fatal mistake he made when he gave you a pistol that accidentally killed bachira a few months back.

The boy had taken you by surprise, the shock of being sneaked up on had your finger reflexively pulling the trigger.

you had tried to stop the bleeding. you really did. the sound of him choking and gurgling on his own blood never left your head. You could only watch the pure fear and panic in his eyes as he held his neck, thick crimson spurting out with each beat of his heart. no matter how much gauze you held to his throat, the warm red liquid only soaked through, sticky on your hands.

you could only sob broken apologies as his eyes bore into yours, losing life every second, until he stilled in your arms, forever.

it was a tragic accident, but a certain person didn't see it that way.

they orchestrated this whole thing, from the infected chasing you till kaiser had made it through the metal door, only for it to slam in your face.

it was then you seemed to notice the square glass cage you were in, thick, seamless, air–tight. the only light seemed to be the harsh, clinical white that washed up a hospital room.

kaisers wide–eyes met yours, hands fisted as yours flattened uselessly against the glass. your voice was muffled as you desperately begged him to help, terror and hysterics taking over any rational thought.

the door barely holding the dead back is finally broken off its hinges, the stench of rot, sour and cloying filling the room like a wave.

they surrounded you, slow, no lunge, no frenzy, patient that they would inevitably get their food. Your nails could only scrape painfully at the metal door, hearing kaiser on the other side failed attempt to use his body to throw down the door. the first bite was sharp and fast, canines crunching to the very bone in your shoulder.

all you felt was white hot pain, and you could only wail in pure agony, losing your footing. the others fell, falling down and descending on you like vultures. your skin was peeled away in long stripes, rotting teeth disemboweling you ever so lethargically, blood splatters coating the once pristine glass. Minutes felt like hours, the sound of the blonde yelling until his voice simply couldn’t take it anymore.

your screams of suffering dwindled into gurgling gasps, your fingers eventually stopped clawing for freedom, head lolled forward, half-severed.

kaiser couldn't look away, even when you had stopped breathing.

the overwhelming emotions and nausea forced his stomach to hollow out whatever was left in there, violently vomiting until his throat burned with acid and his abdomen was in knots. but only then did he notice a familiar face on the other side, pupils merciless and cold.

and only when their eyes met, did isagi step back into the shadows.

Quandaledlngle69 © 2025

[malwaresilly]

the phone shook in their hands as they were shoved into the dark trees

This was a stupid dare

There had been rumors of some other-worldly being in these woods, the few survivors of what should've been fatal injuries having gone mad from whatever they saw

They huffed, making sure they recorded everything to prove that this thing was real.

Twigs snapped under shoes, giving them away to anything that may lurk in the shadows.

Something moves to their right, which they quickly move so that the camera is facing the shifting shadows.

They can only watch through the screen as horror grips their heart. No wonder those people went mad

The screen glitched and bugs out the longer it's recording this entity, who seems to stalk closer, just trying to look at it made their head hurt

The shadows seemed to close around them, what little light the moon gave off slowly disappearing with their sanity. They couldn't look away despite how hard they tried.

What felt like hands gripped them, far too many to be human but all felt humanoid. It was sickening.

A thousand voices whisper to them, all in their head as the entity closes any way of escape. It had lost enough of its prey before.

(tw for violence, slight dissecting and just. Horror type shit ahead )

The flash of sharp, almost mangled teeth snap them out of the odd trance a moment too late, a howling scream echoing through the trees as sharp points dig into giving skin and flesh.

Blood drips in thick rivulets onto the shadow that surrounds them as they're torn open, life being drained with each drop as innards are greedily devoured by something that can't be comprehended by their mortal mind. Only their heart and lungs remained in their open chest, life slipping from between their ribs and into the jaws of this being.

A single eye shows itself, curved with the glee of a hunter as they rip into one lung, tearing it out and swallowing the organ without care. Death seemed to loom in its gaze as it reached a hand in, fingers curling around that frantic, fragile little heart.

It cooed words that couldn't be heard as it slowly pulled that vital pump out of the dying body, who knew they were dead the moment they stepped into the dense forest.

The phone drops from their hand as their heart is wrought free from their nearly empty chest, sharp teeth stabbing into it, forcing blood to gush out and stain its face and teeth.

Even without their heart, they'd live for a few moments, not very long, but enough to see those jaws come down on their skull, making everything go black.

It devoured whatever was left of the fresh corpse, leaving nothing to waste, not even the bones that were broken to get to their innards.

It carried an unusual hunger that seemed to never cease, never calm on days. It could hold it off for a week at maximum before being forced to hunt and devour.

It noticed the phone, a face splitting grin finding its way onto its features.

The next morning, the phone was found at the outskirts of the forest, blood splattered on its case and screen

The only thing new in the camera roll? A video that could only show so much of the entity tearing into the wandering person, the angle sparing no hope or imagination of survival for its prey.

Hopefully that would discourage wandering people from entering that part of the woods for quite some time

Malware watches the people panic over the device, a silent smile on his dark features. A smile stained with blood.