#Rusty Meeks

[subsidystadium]

Major League Baseball continues extorting taxpayer money out of numerous cities

Several years ago, Major League Baseball decided to eliminate numerous minor league baseball teams. They also updated the ballpark facility standards for minor league baseball teams. What does that mean exactly? What things must be upgraded or built? As Baseball America wrote when this update was announced, it is now mandatory for a ballpark to have “larger clubhouses, brighter stadium lights,…

[cute-sucker]

note: inspired by @lionasvault diner!jj x deer!reader ! <3

short masterlist: part two here, part three here, part four here, part five here !

˚❀༉‧₊˚.˚❀༉‧₊˚.˚❀༉‧₊˚.˚❀༉‧₊˚.˚❀༉‧₊˚.˚❀༉‧₊˚.˚❀༉‧₊˚.˚❀༉‧₊˚.˚❀༉‧₊˚.˚❀༉‧₊˚.˚❀༉‧₊˚.˚❀༉‧₊˚.˚❀༉‧₊˚.

being a single mother with a rafe camerons child was never easy.

the little girl hung on your shoulder giggling as she held onto you, and you tried to hide the squeezing pain that you felt in your heart. she knew nothing about her situation completely obvious. 

you were a kook. all through, the short bikinis, strutting upon everything you owned, winning pageants, and academic awards. it was your life. you were a soccer player on the side of it all, a crazy defender. you had enjoyed your life, knowing that you were going to marry someone. 

rafe. 

that's who the person was going to be. the sweet boy who gave you roses on your anniversary, telling you was better than any kook girl he had met. and it was all fun and games, sneaking away to be with someone older, someone bad, someone playful and someone who treated you "well." it helped that he was kook too, smug about his place in the world, and a callous hand dragging you across to show you around at parties. 

school ended on a good note for you, and you headed to university, with high dreams and a cute boyfriend at that. sure he was brooding, sure he was mean, sure he dropped notes about you not needing a higher education because you were wife material. but your parents had told you to go and be independent. 

so that's what you were doing. now, escaping from his clutches, a six-month-old baby girl gurgled at you as you tried to ignore the unfamiliarity of the whole new place you had rented. it was a cute town you thought, the little painted signs, and you found yourself staring at the flat. your landlord's little painted key felt warm in your hand, and you found yourself tearing up. 

finally, you set down your small brown suitcase, willing yourself to be stronger. willing yourself to look at the bright side of things, the fact that the apartment had 1 room for the two of you, and the fact that the sink had pretty roses on it, and the fact that you were finally free. 

you gazed back at your baby, her sleepy smile, as her eyes blinked and when it found a familiar face - gurgled with happiness. you felt as if your heart was going to burst with happiness, and with that, you decided that you should explore the town

˚❀༉‧₊˚.˚

the town was better than you thought it would be, there was a small ballet studio across the street, meek book stands nearby, and a farmers market that sold you the ripest strawberries known to mankind. so yes, when you saw those strawberries you bought a carton. immediately your baby girl made grabby grabby hands, and you smiled down at her, brushing a curl of hair away from her face. 

"what, baby? you want one too?" you cooed, before giving her a red strawberry. she squealed before taking a big bite out of it, mushing it in her claw hands, giving you an inquisitory look. you sighed, and continued to push the stroller. 

jj's diner. 

that's what it read on bright rusty red letters, it was colored a gorgeous gray, and the glass windows showed a homely setting. grandparents sat with one other, sipping on coffees, you watched kids take big bites out of syrapy pancakes and stripes of bacon. this was a scene to beyond, and you couldn't help but yearn for it, as you opened the door of the diner. 

a sweet smell wafted by, as if fresh blueberry muffins had just been made. it felt like home, like a safe space, and before you knew it you were dragging in your stroller, and sitting down near the window. finally you found yourself smiling with joy as you looked down at the laminated plastic menu. 

"i'm jj, what can i get 'cha?" a gruff voice muttered, and you pursed your lips before looking up. it was a guy with dirty blonde hair, a backward hat, and white tee with what looked like mustard to you? "c'mon mama, i don't got all the time in the world." 

he looked at you pointly as if annoyed. the name 'jj,' seemed to flash in your mind. that was the diner's name? this was his diner, wasn't it. clearly they were short on staff. 

you flushed quickly, and you picked up your menu, "yeah i'll take the pancakes? extra syrup, and maybe some..." you crinkled your nose before looking at your baby girl who had a menu in her mouth, giving you a gumless smile "can i have mashed banana?" 

he looked baffled, chuckling while putting a hand on his hip, "mashed bananas? i don't serve that." once again you felt like an idiot stammering out your words. finally it was as if he looked at you properly, your creased clothes and messy hair. you had been up all night worrying about this move. 

he shook his head, and then swiped a hand to pick up the menus, "yeah. it's alright. mashed bananas and pancakes. got it." and somehow when he gave you that half smile you felt your heart lift up. 

˚❀༉‧₊˚.˚

by the end of the trip to the diner, you had gotten up to clean your hands asking a kind lady to look after your baby for a second - and when you came back jj was sitting next to your baby cooing. 

he gave you a confused look when you came back, as your baby chewed on his finger, giving a delighted shriek. you found yourself trying to figure out what was happening. 

"she yours?" he asked, and you gave him a quick nod before trying to pull her into your arms. you avoided his gaze. you didn't want him to say anything about it. after all, you had enough people judging you. 

instead you zoned on your baby who gave a final cry before letting you pick her up. she still reached her chubby arms for jj's, eyes welling up as if she was going to cry. 

you sighed, "really sorry about this. i know it's not okay." 

jj looked at you again, reaching for his hate before waving his hand to console you, "nah. i don't mind." 

you gave him a tightlipped smile, and then put your baby in your stroller to head out, "thanks for everything." 

"don't mention it." 

somehow you felt as if you had made a friend. 

[johnpriceslamb]

heyy is it okay if u maybe due a little story of arthur morgan?? i jus love him sm

arthur comes back to camp after a job in a bad angry mood since it didnt go to plan then the reader (being his sweetheart gf) cheers him up :(🩷 -🎀

𝓐𝓛𝓦𝓐𝓨𝓢 𝓕𝓞𝓡𝓔𝓥𝓔𝓡 , ˗ˏˋ 🍓 ˎˊ˗

˗ˏˋ꒰ The obvious annoyance which swelled in his stomach almost dies instantly when he makes eye-contact with you. ꒱ ˎˊ˗

BEFORE YOU PROCEED! ┆female ! reader . hyper-fem ! reader . Arthur Morgan is a die-for 4 his sweetheart gf . OOC ! Arthur Morgan . reader is mentioned 2 be physically shorter than character mentioned below . not proof-read . 1.0k wrdz

꒰ arthur morgan x fem ! reader . ꒱

Muddy, wet, icky.

Sweat easily adheres to his already warm skin, rolling down the creases on his forehead and clinging to the ends of his hair. His clothes are attached to his sweat-stained skin, rusty spurrs jingling loudly with the leading sounds of water-filled boots. The sun glares down at him, taunting him even, to make his day even more miserable as it scorches the back of his neck because of the hat; lack thereof- lost from travelling back.

He’ll go find for it soon enough. Just not now.

It’s unlikely for a usual stagecoach robbery to go wrong, he’s done this many times before. Maybe he was starting to feel the effects of ageing. But somehow, things went south a bit too quickly and the man ended up in.. water. With many dead bodies floating around, and cash that wasn’t even worth it at the end.

Just thinking about that whole situation almost makes a vein pop in his head.

A grunt and a low huff escapes his chapped lips when entering the vicinity of the camp. The same water-filled boots squeak each step he took as he storms back to his bed-roll. Everyone knew he was in a bad mood, despite being far away.

Unfortunately for him, someone could not take the hint.

Miss Grimshaw.

“Mister Morgan.” She greets.

“..Miss Grimshaw.” He grunts, wiping the mud off his face just to seem less.. bearable to look at.

The older woman stares down at him for a while, sizing him up with narrowed eyes. “I’ve noticed that you haven’t been putting money in the camps communal funds for a very long time.” She prods at him.

She does not leave any room for him to reply back with just one simple glare. Arthur is smart enough to let out a low sigh and nod at her words mindlessly, not really paying attention. Said-woman sneers at him as she usually does with the others. The sight of the mud coated on his garments caused the wrinkles on her cheek to crease further, furrowing her brows in disdain.

“You should be ashamed of yourself!” She flails her arms around, “A grown man covered in crap like this—” Her hand is raised, but with a light tap on her shoulder from behind comes the reluctancy of lowering her hand down to peer whom distracted her.

A meek, soft voice from behind immediately catches his attention, “Miss? Ive finished folding your clothes.”

Her attitude does a huge spin. She’s softer now, bickering to herself before mumbling a ‘thank you, dear.’ You tell her that you’ve set it by her bed-roll, to which she nods and walks away, leaving you with the man whom seemed like he was about to burst from irritation. He swore you were some kind of angel in disguise, how you manage to make her soften up just a bit is beyond his comprehension.

His eyes land on yours. It was almost like a non-verbal way of saying ‘thank you’ from practically losing the beast.

You look up at him with those familiar beady eyes, a small smile etched on your face as you eagerly come closer to him. Almost immediately do you feel the aura he radiated- tired, exhausted, angry.. and most importantly, wants to be comforted.

“Oh, dear..” You pity him akin to a pup getting kicked. The way his muck-covered clothes wiped a bit of grime on yours is something you don’t question, “Are you—

You don’t have time to say your full sentence. He’s grabbed you by the waist and easily pulls you to his tent. A soft squeal escapes your lips at the sudden movements, eyes widening at how quick he was.

And you’re squished to his chest, practically glued to him as he wraps his arms around you. The muck is easily visible on your clean dress, but did you mind? No.

You loosen up in his tight hold, placing your chin on the curve of his neck. Your finger-nails drag up and down on his back, drawing little patterns and shapes. Despite being absolutely humid, Arthur doesn’t let that become an obstacle when being with you.

Your serenade-like voice pulls him back to reality, sleepy eyes staring down at yours.

“Was it that bad?” You unconsciously touch his growing stubble, noting to yourself to cut it later. He leans into the palm of your hand, nodding wordlessly.

“Bad don’t even manage to describe the hell I went through today.” He squishes you tighter like a stuffie. He buries his face in your shoulder, the faint scent of pinewood and cinnamon invading his nose- and gosh was it such an addicting smell. He notices the simple bow you adorned in your hair, and the little bow sewed to your top. He noticed every single thing, despite feeling like he’s about to burst.

Slowly but surely, did the irritation fade away from his stomach as he holds you closely.

“‘M sorry to hear,” You apologised, frowning at the sight of your beloved so worked up. Sometimes, he wondered how the hell you even manage to be apart of this gang, “D’ya wanna talk about it?”

He shakes his head with a low grunt, “Nah. Just wan’ be near you.”

The layers-upon-layers of light pink coloured frills covered his lap as you were plopped on him. He mindlessly fiddles with the pretty design, sighing loudly.

“‘M always here to talk to, y’know?” You press a kiss on his cheek.

“I know.” He sighs, cuddling you closely. You really were an angel.

“I don’t deserve you.” He mumbles quietly. You squint your eyes at his own comments, clearly not like it.

“You do.”

A moment of quiet and peace between the two of you, his hand affectionately squeezes yours as a way to comfort himself more than you.

Suddenly, the realisation hits you.

“..Arthur, think you ‘n’ I needa get a bath after this.”

[milkteabinniechan]

Pink Carnations - A Bridgerton Story

ko-fi // m.list

pairing: Bridgerton Au! Chan x female reader

a/n: This was a labor of love honestly and I wanted to break out of my normal writing comfort zone so thank you all for giving me the platform to do that <3 I hope you all enjoy the first chapter. Please leave feedback!! It helps me out sm

Chapter One

Pink carnations lined the pathway to your house. That's how you knew spring was arriving. Long lines of pink. You'd push open your bedroom windows and breathe in the freshly cut grass, you'd let the warm breeze press past your hair, tickling your neck and shoulders.

It was your wedding day.

"Everyone is waiting downstairs, ma'am." A chambermaid squeaked from the doorway.

She was a new hire. A small, meek little thing that didn't talk much and avoided all eye contact. You had attempted many times to spark up a conversation with her, but all your efforts had fall flat thus far. You turned towards the door and gave her a firm nod. You took a deep breath in and made your way towards the stairs. Your dress swirled and swept across your legs as you moved.

You absolutely adored your dress. Long, flowing chiffon cascaded down your hips, falling to your feet at perfect length. A beaded corset swam up your waist and chest, while delicate lace fabric draped your shoulders, trickling down like a spring rain.

You counted your footsteps as you ascended down the staircase; one, two, three, four. Before you knew it, you were in the main hall of your family home. The kitchen staff had decorated every corner of the enormous mansion you called home. As you glanced around the room, there was only one person you were really looking for.

Chan was a potential suitor but he never pursued you. Gentlemen brought flowers to your door nearly every day. Bouquets of roses and purple tulips filled your room like something out of a fairytale. But he never sent so much as a flower petal.

"No carnations? Do these men not know you at all?" Your sister had notes the lack of your favorite flora.

Now it was your wedding day, a perfectly respectable man by the name of Felix Lee had asked for your hand in marriage. He came from a wealthy family

And had always treated you with the utmost respect. He was very well-liked in the town. Quite the charmer to the gaggle of ladies that had found themselves swarming him every chance they could. He had a beautiful smile and effortlesslessy gorgeous hair. You found yourself shrinking around him whenever he would speak, fearing that the light he exuded would burn you away.

But however magical Felix seemed, you still found yourself searching for Chan around every corridor. The whole town had been invited to this momentous occasion as Lady Whistledown had so affectionately called it.

She had gushed ansd gooned over the entire guest list, right down to the third cousin of the second aunt of the twice removed great uncle of… whatever. This was a spectacle. This was not for you. You were the eldest of your family. As your mother had never bore a son, the responsibility came down to you to marry someone in good standing to provide for your family. Although you would not live in this place anymore, your siblings and your parents would be well taken care of.

“The newest Whistledown has just arrived!” a valet ran into the dining hall with a small white paper in hand. 

“She’s writing on the day of your wedding? That has to be a good sign.” Your sister nudged your shoulder with hers.

The two of you shared a smile that quickly faded when you saw the shocked faces slowly peppering across the room. Judgemental eyes shot through you like rusty nails, leaving an infectious monster spreading through your entire body. Your mother crossed the marble floor to hand you the latest gossip. Your hands began to shake as you lifted the small sheet to your face.

Dearest, Gentle Reader, 

They say what is good for the goose is good for the gander, but what if the goose has taken a GANDER at another? This writer has heard a rumor most scandalous, about a certain Lady that has spent a significant amount of her time and attention on someone who is NOT her groom to be. A man in good standing is only considered as such if the company he keeps holds themselves to the same standards. Perhaps this bride may be having second thoughts?

taglist: @sugawhaaa @trixiekaulitz @chrizzztopherbang @cassidymb121 @roanns-posts @staysinbloom @yaorzu-blog @bubblebisk @cotton-candycloudz @beautyinhypnosis @domicaru @doohnut @strawberry31 @slxtmeri @newhope8 @tinyelfperson

[purestxblood]

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐛𝐞 𝐚 𝐬𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐞 –

𝐃𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐛𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐮𝐥, 𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐲 𝐬𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐬 –

affectionate, approving, beaming, bright, brilliant, broad, charming, cheerful, compassionate, dazzling, encouraging, enthusiastic, friendly, gentle, genuine, infectious, innocent, irresistible, placid, playful, pleased, radiant, reassuring, sweet, soft, sunny, tender, warm, welcoming, windsome.

𝐃𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐛𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐞 –

cold, condescending, cruel, dazed, devilish, dry, enigmatic, evil, feeble, fixed, forced, furtive, grave, grim, haughty, helpless, ingratiating, insolent, ironic, malicious, meek, melancholy, mocking, mournful, mysterious, oily, reluctant, rueful, sarcastic, sardonic, scornful, shy, slight, smug, sober, strained, strange, stony, thin, timid, tremulous, triumphant, ugly, vague, weak, weird, wicked, wistful, wry.

𝗗𝗲𝘀𝗰𝗿𝗶𝗯𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗮 𝘀𝗺𝗶𝗹𝗲𝘀 𝗼𝗳 𝗲𝗺𝗼𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻 –

amused, crooked, knowing, mischievous, quiet, quick, rusty, sudden, vacant.

𝗗𝗲𝘀𝗰𝗿𝗶𝗯𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗹𝗶𝗽𝘀 𝗶𝗻 𝗮 𝘀𝗺𝗶𝗹𝗲 –

chapped, cracked, moist, plump, thin, tight.

[ystrike1]

Hikikomori Princess and Dokuzetsu Knight - By Sakai Yukari (8/10)

Being a Princess is tough, but hiding away is never the right answer. Our protagonist used to be a cool and caring young girl, but now she's a loser shut in! Luckily she has an obsessive fan. A boy who loved her back when she was cool. He became a knight just so he could support her, and save her from herself. He won't tolerate her cowardice. He has vowed to make her great once more!

Rusty is an awful princess. No manners. No social skills. No friends. Average looks. She whines and complains every time her competent mother tries to teach her anything.

She's hopeless.

She's also kind of a perv. She's a huge fan of Edward. A very young, very handsome, very accomplished knight who is known for his angelic personality.

The Queen decides to use Edward. He is her last resort. The only princess is completely useless. The Queen has to shame her into taking her duties seriously.

Edward is surprisingly harsh in private, but under that he indulges Rusty too. Even more than her mother. He knows her quite well. Rusty has a problematic personality. She actually has a strong sense of justice, and she feels trapped in her life as the princess. Edward tries to help her see and understand how much power she actually weilds as the princess. She doesn't have to be helpless forever, but she has to put in the work.

Edward used to be useless and meek. Rusty was his friend and his inspiration. He really admired her. Little Rusty used to defend the weak......and piss off the strong. She made too many enemies as a child, which is part of the reason why she became a shut in.

He doesn't tell her.

He wants her to remember him.

Rusty doesn't even remember the name of the boy she used to coddle and defend.

She finally goes out in public, and she's confronted by the bully that used to pick fights with her and Edward.

It's very immature and funny until it isn't.

Edward has always been ready and willing to kill for Rusty.

He officially becomes her etiquette instructor as well.

They get closer when she actually tries to grow as a person it's very sweet.

Rusty starts to embrace her true self. She learns how to fight back against the corruption around her. Her country does need her. There are useless fools in the noble faction that need to be put down.

Rusty fights back for Edward.

Eventually, she does it for her friends.

Fighting for respect for her own sake seemed so tedious and boring, so she avoided it. Thanks to Edward she learns that fighting for others is her passion.

He's a yandere, but he's not toxic in the slightest. He's a refreshing breathe of fresh air that wants his princess to thrive.

His entire life, career, and drive is supporting her though so there's no denying his obsession.

[cissyenthusiast010155]

I am SO excited that the Mafia AU won for your Lady D fic poll and I CANNOT wait to read it!

My Little Toyslut ~MobBoss!Alcina Dimitrescu xFem Spy!Traitor!Reader (Mafia AU)

Summary— The infamous, mob boss Lady D finds out she had a traitor in her midst. What will she do when she finds out it’s Reader, one of her closest and most trusted advisors…? Anon Response— Hi hi hi anon!! I am so glad to hear how much you look forward to my Alcina!MafiaAU fics! Here is another one, it’s another one shot (doesn’t take place in the same plotline as the first), but it’s still an Alcina!MafiaAU fic. Hope you enjoy! ♥️

Link to First Alcina!Mafia Fic (;

Mommy… Master List

Requests & Prompt List

Warnings: NSFW, 18+!!, smut, wee bit of angst, eating out (oral sex), implied smut, kissing, teasing, degradation, light torture themes, light hate sex theme, light non-con theme, implied overstimulation, fear, implied future smut, etc.

Enjoy (;

You were swaying in the air, your wrists bound by tight rope which in turn was hung around a rusty ceiling beam. Your head was ringing and your vision was blurry as you began to wake up. Part of you vision was clouded from your dried up blood, a consequence of having been hit in the head. That's how you had lost consciousness.

You tried to wiggle at your restraints, but it seemed that the more you fought, the tighter the rope pulled against your sensitive and now raw wrists. In dismay, you turned your attention to the room around you, trying to memorize and remember every detail as if your life depended on it.

Realistically, it probably did. The most infamous, powerful boss in the city had found out you were a spy, undercover for the Agency. You had spent years infiltrating Lady Dimitrescu's inner circle of corruption. It had taken immense push and pull over the years to gain her trust. And then another fucking idiot of a mob boss had found your name out, and in spite and seek for vengeance, he had given you up. One of Lady D's closest advisors... He wanted to watch her empire crumble, and you were his choice of weapon.

You were torn from your thoughts as the only door in the room opened and two goons entered, followed by none other than Lady D. The two men gave you sleazy grins as they stalked towards you, but Dimitrescu had other ideas...

"Leave us."

The goons turned around with grumbles, but listened as they left the falling apart room, slamming the door behind them. Lady D's gaze then turned towards you. Your breathing was shallow and you lowered your head and gaze in turn. She slowly stalked towards you, making the hairs in the back of your neck bristle with pure fear. You were trembling, hanging mess by the time was right in front of you, towering over your hanging frame.

"I must say I was... surprised when it was your name that came up in my recent meeting..." She purred warily.

You still kept your head down and did not meet the woman's gaze. You wouldn't dare. Afterall, you'd seen her slaughter men for far less. When you made no response, Alcina cocked her brow in satisfaction and she continued.

"I must admit... You had me fooled. Not many people can say that... not many who are alive anyway..." Alcina hummed, as her claws ran up from your cheeks down to your feet.

You shuttered at the touch, closing your eyes and preparing to feel the pain of being slashed to bits. But instead, you heard the sound of her claws retracting. And then you felt her stern hand on your chin, roughly forcing your head and gaze up to meet hers. You fought against the restraints and her hold, but to no avail, they were both far stronger and far more resolved.

"Look at me, Draga!" She sneered.

Your meek gaze met the powerful woman's. You bit your lip and tried not to cry or shake too violently. Her eyes were red and bloodshot, as if she had been crying.

"I invited you into my empire, into my bed... and this is how you repay me...??" Alcina jeered.

You couldn't stop the tears that came pouring down your face anymore. They flowed all the way down to Alcina's fingers, where she curtly would wipe them away without another word about it.

"I... I-- I'm sorry--" you stammered, your eyes looking around frantically while trying to make sense of what she wanted from you.

For a mere moment, you saw the rawness of hurt flash across the woman’s facade. But it was quickly replaced with rageful apathy.

Before you could comprehend what was happening, she dropped your head and sliced something above you with her razor sharp claws. Your limp, trembling body hit the cement ground with a crack!. You were still bound by the wrists, but you were no longer hanging from the ceiling.

In one swift move, the lady grabbed you by the wrists and pushed you up against the dirty wall, so that your were outstretched from her one hand tight hold on your wrists, your toes barely touching the floor.

You winced, letting out a guttural and painful groan, and tore your head to the side, screwing your eyes shut tight. You could feel the woman’s heavy, hot breath against your neck. Her face was right up in your personal space.

You waited for your doom with bated breath, tears still running down your cheeks with no plan to stop anytime soon. But instead of doom, you suddenly felt Alcina’s hot mouth on your neck. Her slippery tongue licked and irritated your sheening skin, as her mouth sucked tightly, creating the exact vacuum of pressure for the perfect bruise.

At the first hickey, you didn’t know how to respond, your body simply limp, still, and silent towards the menacing woman. But by the second bruising, this one the lady placed right on your collarbone, you couldn’t help the breath you sucked in, accompanied by a shiver running through your spine.

But slowly, bruise after bruise, Alcina started to warm your body up. By the time she got to your pressure point, you had craned your neck back for her access and were overtly breathily groaning out after each marking, your eyes threatening to roll back. You could feel the tight coil in your core slowly building as your breathing shallowed and your body came alive.

Alcina sliced your clothing off piece by piece with no further comment, and you took it from her, not daring to oppose. With more exposed skin came more slow and meticulous sucking and marking. By the time the powerful woman got to your thighs, you were an aching mess. But you bit your lip, resisting the urge to beg, as you knew better to talk unless instructed to.

“Who do you belong to, Draga…?” Alcina growled into your now exposed cunt, her hot breath alone to make your core clench around nothing.

You suddenly felt dizzy, and very subservient. The lady tended to have that effect on you. You had hated it at first, as your job was to take her down by spying on her. But overtime, you had learned that Lady Alcina Dimitrescu wasn’t as bad as you originally thought. Or at least her tongue and fingers weren’t…

“I… y-you my lady—“ you whimpered.

“That’s right… So what’s this when I hear someone else is claiming to own you and your services…?” She cooed wickedly, as her free hand gripped your left thigh until it bled.

“N-nothing ma’am—! I belong to y-you and you only…!” You pleaded, trying to fight back tears.

“Good girl…” Alcina hummed, before sliding her lengthy tongue all the way into your core.

You couldn’t help how your body reacted to the woman and her wicked administrations. You shuddered, hating just how good her slithering tongue felt inside your cunt. Your head hit the wall with a light crack! as your eyes effectively rolled back, a filthy moan spewing out from your lips.

“That’s right… My little toyslut… aren’t you…?” Alcina chuckled darkly, pulling away her tongue from your cunt momentarily.

The whimper that erupted from your throat at the loss of stimulation made you want to throw up. But all these feelings were quickly stifled by the intense pleasure of two of the lady’s fingers filling your core. You nodded your head vigorously, willing to do and say anything as long as she continued to make you feel this good.

The first orgasm that Alcina pulled out of you hit you like a brick, your body spasming against the wall and her firm hanging hold on your wrists. You desperately tried to stifle your sounds of pleasure, but your pleasure was so intense, you couldn’t contain your screams.

“That’s it, my little whore… Be a good draga and take it.” the tall mob boss wickedly cooed.

By her increasing speed and your curling toes, your fractured mind could barely piece together the fact that this woman was not stopping anytime soon…

~~~

Alcina Dimitrescu Masterlist

[creepling]

Johnny fucking Stockholm’d!Reader in the back of one of the old cars behind the family house? 👀 In one of your mini fics you mentioned him taking her out to the sunflower fields, maybe that’s when it happens?

busted cars and sunsets - j. slaughter / 1k

an: hey i kinda went astray from relating it to the sunflower field drabble but it still has all that other good stuff you asked for!! i also ended up writing more than i thought so i hope you like it<33

tags: smut. MDNI. gn!reader. stockholm syndrome (kinda??). descriptions of trauma. canon-mentions of violence and cannibalism. innocent, sheepish reader. johnny is surprisingly gentle and nice?? but it might be a bluff. making out. grinding. fucking in a car. doggystyle. mentions of kidnapping.

Johnny was looking everywhere for you. Nancy was calling for supper, and you weren’t in the shed like you said you would be. He tried not to think about it too much, the thought of you running away or trying to escape. Maybe you got distracted or went inside for a drink. The sun was setting, and Johnny’s worrying crept up, forming a lump in his throat.

You were sheepish. At least you have been with the Slaughter family. Every minor squeak or crack sent you scattering. Maybe it was the trauma of trying to escape the house, the first time you ate human flesh, or the fact that the family kidnapped you. It’s been so long since the incident that you have begun to accept your fate and grow fond of your captures. Are people still looking for you? Or have they given up like they did with Maria? The thoughts clouded your mind, and you hugged your legs in the back of the rusted car in the Slaughter’s yard.

Johnny realised real quick where you were hiding. He noticed that you liked hiding, growing attached to your company. Johnny wished you grew attached to him, but adjusting to a new life takes a while. That is how he perceived it: you were lucky, the family liked you, and they spared your life. Now you’re one of them, and he can make you happy. Johnny made his way towards the cars, the ones too far gone to fix, and peered inside the busted-out window to see your trembling frame.

“Hey, sweetheart. Why you all bundled up in here?” Johnny said, surprisingly, in a soothing voice. You peeked your head up, giving a meek smile. You like it when he speaks softly. It is the only thing that makes you feel safe. His effort on tenderness is bearable, given the circumstances.

“Nubbin’s trap set off while I was picking flowers. I got scared,” You say. Johnny knew you were telling the truth from the look in your eyes. He motioned his hand to your ankle, checking for injury. “Don’t worry,” You reassure, cringing, “It didn’t get me.”

Johnny let out a stressful sigh. “That darn idiot. I’m gonna beat him over the head,” Johnny spat under his breath. He looked over at you, seeing you back into the corner as he displayed anger. He relaxed his cold stare and slowly opened the rusty door, sliding into the seat next to you and resting his hand on your knee.

“You got nothing to be scared about. No one’s gonna hurt you no more. Nubbins is just being reckless with his traps. Y’know, he puts them around to catch the rabbits.” Johnny reassures, levelling with reason in hopes you calm you down.

You sat silently until another call for supper came from inside the house. You looked at Johnny, twiddling a piece of string from your shirt. “I’m not really hungry,” You mutter, “Sorry…”

Johnny nodded in understanding, rubbing your calf with a gentle stroke. “That’s all right, darlin’. You can eat whenever you feel like it,” He knew Nancy wouldn’t like that much, but he certainly would protect you if she nagged you for it.

“Can we stay in here for a while? Watch the sunset?” You enquire, the thought of it making you smile. Appreciating the small things became a method to keep your sanity. It also made excuses for being around the house, a place you find troubling.

“Alright, but we go inside once the sun’s down, okay?” Johnny reasoned, and you nodded happily. 

You crawl over to Johnny and rest your head on his chest, spotting the sun meeting the horizon at your eye level. Johnny only had his eyes on you, his fingers playing with the ends of your hair, his tongue sliding along his bottom lip in thought.

“It’s beautiful,” You mutter, charmed by the colours in the evening sky.

“You’re beautiful,” Johnny claimed, his body sensing bashfulness prevail over you.

You look into his eyes, a slight smirk on Johnny’s face as he admires your innocence. Subconsciously, Johnny’s lips lean closer to yours. You stood still like time was frozen, fluttering your eyes shut when he kissed you.

He was rough but passionate as if to prove something to you. His hands explore you, cupping the back of your neck, grasping your thighs, tracing circles on the small of your back. You would be lying if you didn’t find it pleasant, giggling as he nibbled on your bottom lip, whispering sweet nothings. Your hips grind against him, feeling Johnny’s hot breath on your cheek as he gasped. 

“Oh, I wouldn’t do that, darlin’,” He chuckled, “You’ll get me worked up,”

“I can’t help it,” You laughed, your words conflicting with your innocent tone.

“Keep going,” Johnny purred, resting his hands on your waist and guiding your hips. You comply, watching the lustful stare in his eyes as he admires the movement of your body. You hike your shirt up, teasing him as you expose your stomach, slowly raising it until your chest greets his stare. Johnny gazes longingly up at you before entangling you into his hands and kissing you roughly.

“I need you so bad,”

The sun was greeting the horizon, the sky a deep tangerine, matching the tarnished colouring of the car. Your hand presses against the window, and a deep moan breaks loose from your confounded expression.

“Keep going, please, please-” You plead, gripping the busted leather seats to adjust to Johnny’s length inside you.

Johnny hunches over your body, teeth scraping down your spine, holding you in place with his rough hands. Estranged strands of hair sticking to his forehead. Sweat highlights the arc of his muscles.

“You’re so good for me,” He pants. He had to make this quick; otherwise, the family would set out looking for him. He feels you tightening around him, making him bend further down and grip your shoulders, burying his face into your neck.

Johnny’s groans grew husky, sending shivers down your spine. Arching your back, you grind into him. The profoundness of his cock inside you makes you fumble over your moans.

“Yes, baby. That’s it,” Johnny encouraged, rutting into you. “Keep fucking going.”

The rate of Johnny shagging into you eventually lends him his climax, and yours perfectly lines up with his. Both of your clothes are hanging by threads on your bodies. You collapse in each other's arms. His arms engulf you as you straddle his lap, your eyes drunk with lust, admiring your kidnapper, your disastrous love affair. 

“You’ll never leave me, will you?” Johnny asked, staring into your soul, soaking in everything about you.

“I would never,” You breathe out.

“Promise?” Johnny pleaded, brushing a strand of hair from your glistening face, basking in your doe-like glow.

“I promise,” You whisper, kissing the scars on his knuckles. Your mind goes astray, maybe from the lustrous high or because you made a promise you might not keep.

[am-3-thyst]

Te Quiero, Puta

Miguel O’Hara x Fem!Reader

blurb: miguel’s new secretary has seemingly caught his eye, how long can he keep his composure and try not to let his hunger overpower him?

themes: smut, slight angst, slight fluff (not proof read)

warnings: small use of spanish, y/n is not used, jealousy, possessive!miguel, mean!miguel, perv!miguel, creampie, biting, reader gets bent over desk, “slut”, “whore”, thigh kink/thigh fucking, subtle voice kink, oblivious!reader to less oblivious!reader, sub!reader

note: haven’t written smut in a while, might be a bit rusty

word count: 3.10k

It started when she had shown up in that cute blouse and tight pencil skirt, a spiderweb design embroidered into the fabric.

Silkie was her superhero alias. Miguel finding her to be a peculiar fit as his secretary, she handled both jobs at once. He couldn’t lie and say he was impressed, though his rough, reserved and egotistical demeanour hadn’t faded regardless of her and her oh so very tight skirt. Sure he’d taken a couple of glances downwards where the tight material dug into her thighs deliciously, while she was oblivious and her doe eyes would just look up at him sweetly. 

He pursed his lips whilst he stands at his monitors, the screens lights reflecting off his sharp jawline defining his somewhat permanent scowl that was carved into his face. Brooding at the screens, until he hears the small delicate steps from down the hall. Heels tapping against the floor, she enters with her hands under her bust, fiddling with her fingertips. Shy under his blistering gaze. A satchel filled with papers hung over her shoulder, bouncing against her waist with each step. 

He swallowed at the sight of her, her hair had been tied up ever so slightly higher than usual – baring her neck to him unknowingly. How he liked to think it was all for him. He turns his body fully towards her, as she peers up at him and gives him a meek wave. Extending her arm out, she shot out a web and swung up the platform, landing in front of him. He could thank gravity at the way her legs were angled as she shot up, he got a small glance of the cute pink panties worn underneath. Between those devilish thighs. She dusted off her skirt, flattening out any crease and plucks out the few sheets of papers stuffed into her satchel. 

“I’ve gotten the paperwork done for you, Miguel!” She smiled, holding it out to him. Her smile nearly glistened more than her curious, loving eyes. 

It's something he often adored, though he adored the thought of her eyes twitching with pleasure and her teeth biting her lip desirably even more.

He grunted, snatching them out of her grasp. “Alright then, get back to work yeah?” 

She frowned at his reaction, why was he so cruel? He could see the disappointment in her eyes, he internally chuckled to himself. The confusion and rejection in her face made his chest swell with pride, and he felt his suit tighten at the feeble sight. So cute. He thought, turning away from her and getting back to his work. 

She swung down, sitting down at her desk which was at a regular height compared to Miguels. She couldn’t help but bite her lip as her heart beat rapidly in her chest. God, his huge figure, broad shoulders, his big hands – she couldn’t help but be flustered. His voice was crisp and deep whenever he spoke to her, giggling quietly to herself she looked at her own monitor. Hoping Miguel hadn’t heard her. 

He did, in fact, hear her.

He could only ponder what made her emit that saccharine laugh? It swirled uneasy in his gut, the taste of it sour in his mouth. 

– 

He despises the sight of her with him.

Not only himself, out of the guilt and disgust that he deserves any love one would typically have; but the sight of her standing next to Hobie. Unknowing he was more of a brother to her, the view of her honeyed smile wasted on him had Miguel’s claws digging into his thighs. Lyla popped out, and tilted her head at him.

“Have you ever thought of instead, being a… y’know, asshole – you could maybe show her you’re interested?”

“That’s ridiculous,” He scoffed, glaring in her direction still. “You don’t understand the situation, Lyla. Stay out of it.”

The hologram rolled her eyes, glitching away from his vision. He grasps his food and exits the canteen swiftly, unaware of the yearning gaze from the delicate secretary he secretly cherished. Hobie tapped her shoulder, as she shook her head dumbly and looked back at him. 

“Sorry, what’s up?” 

“Oi, why don’t you stop working for him? Doesn’t he treat you like shit…?” Hobie questioned, biting into an apple. She sighed, twirling a strand of hair in between her fingers.

“You’re right… But I can’t help and think there’s something underneath all that rudeness. You know what I mean? There’s just… something about him. I can’t stay away from him.” 

He rolled his eyes, patting her back. “Don’t get yourself hurt, yeah?” She smiled, standing up and getting rid of her food tray. Making her way back to his office, there was a dark energy surrounding him. His scowl creased more than usual, his large body tense and rigid. She swung up to him, her hand laying on his flexed arm. 

“Miguel?” She spoke, eyes furrowed in worry. “Are… Are you okay?”

A subtle growl rumbled from deep within his chest, as he stared off into the distance. “You’re distracting, you know that?” He sucked his teeth, “Not only to me, but to everyone else.” 

His head shot towards her, glaring down. “We can’t have that.”

Confusion filled her, the oblivious look in her face angered yet turned him on more. He hated the effect she had on him, how stupid and unaware must she be? Does she not see what she's doing to me? His large hands plummeted to her waist, gripped her tightly as she squeaked under his rough grasp. Her thighs trembled in his peripheral vision, and he loved it so much. “Do you want this?” He growled, the tone going straight to her core. “Do you want me like I want you? Say it, pretty girl.” 

Butterflies dove straight into her abdomen, her cheeks red and flushed with each word. “Yes,” She whimpered out, her voice breathy and longing. “Please…”

He grasped her cheeks roughly between his fingertips, pulling her face closer to him. “Say it.”

“I want you. God, you’re all I want. Please…” “There’s no God here,” He whispered, her body shuddering beneath his touch. “Only me.” His fangs bared to her, and she whimpered desperately for his touch. Miguel’s head dove down slowly, his warm breath lingering on her neck causing her to shiver pleasurably. His teeth were so close to where he craved to dig them into…

But he came back to his senses, and pushed her away by the waist.

She ponders more than ever what she’d done wrong, whilst he mutters to himself. “Estoy loco.” (I’m crazy.) His whispers quietly, as she just stands blankly staring at the big frame of him scowling more to himself. 

“Miguel…” She pleaded, “What did I do wrong?” She lays her hand on his arm, his eyes go blank, distant. “What is it?” She continued, stepping closer to him. He pushes her away more, turning around swiftly and stares longingly into the hologram of his monitor screens. Before she could speak, he dismissed her. “Leave.” He hissed, his hands curling into a fist. Trembling slightly. 

“But-”

“I said go.” His voice was stern, never wavering with each breath. She nodded hopelessly, retreating away from him. She’d been unsure of what exactly to do. 

One thing she knew is that it hurt her heart the way he left her longing for him.

-

Miguel was more distracted.

He was angry, annoyed, horny. His emotions were bottled up and he could feel the cap of that bottle ready to burst. His thoughts were engulfed by her. Her smile, her hair, her waist, the sound of her voice whimpering for him. He was so turned on it killed him slowly. It's been a while since he's felt such a loving, desperate touch. He couldn’t help but push it away, like all good things he once had.

She would be ruined;

And maybe he wanted to ruin her. Ruin her from the inside out, fuck her pretty little hole that wrapped around his thick cock so deliciously as he would pound into her relentlessly. Little cries and whines for him to slow down as he would stuff her full to the brim. He could imagine how much she would enjoy it, and possibly beg for him to satisfy her more. His cock strained so tightly against his suit, and he growled at the feel of it. His mind was going wild with the overwhelming thoughts of her, the feel of her, the sounds of her, the smell of her. He grunted, hitting his desk angrily. It had been a week since he’d seen her, and fuck it was unbearable. He missed her sweet little scent, and her glossy lips. 

Sighing, Miguel snapped his fingers impatiently. Gesturing for Lyla to come out of her confines. 

She popped up in front of him, peering at him curiously. “Hi, Miguel…!” She spoke teasingly at the sight of his gruff face, her voice annoying him further.

“Call Silkie.” He demanded.

“Why? Hm? Huh?” 

“Just –,” He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Do it.”

Lyla laughed, “Alright then.”

She disappeared quicker than she had entered, his watch ringing. He peered at the screen, her face popping up with a sense of wonder and annoyance. He grinned eternally, missing her angelic features.  

“What’d you need, Miguel?” She spoke bluntly, the tone catching him off guard compared to what would usually be her bubbly, sugary voice. 

“We have matters to discuss. Come here, now.”

“What matters? Last time I checked you wanted nothing of me.”

Miguel sighed, his tone becoming rough. “Come here, that’s an order.”

She rolled her eyes, nodding before she hung up. Moments later she entered through a portal into his office, right in front of him. Her foot tapped impatiently against the platform, her eyes suddenly following his hand moving up to her face. She flinched slightly at the feel of his fingertips holding her chin, tilting her head up higher. “Miguel… Don't play these games with me…”

He shook his head, “I can’t hold it back anymore.” He pushed up against her roughly, backing her up against his desk. “I need to fuck you.” His breaths became heavy, and she couldn’t deny the wetness between her thighs.

“I won’t let this become a one time thing Miguel,” She whispered to him, her voice needy. “Please…”

With that, he lowered his lips and trapped her in a rough kiss. His tongue sneaking past her lips and his claws dug into her face violently. She whimpered at the sensation. His hands then caressed down her waist, before swiftly turning her around and bending her over the desk with an unruly passion. She squeaked at the sudden push, as she felt his gruff hands slide up her soft thighs, caressing them and pushing her skirt up to her waist. Her ass at his disposal, he spanked her and she let out a cry. Miguel chuckled to himself, pulling down her pink panties in a rush. The clap of his big palms cupping both sides of her ass rang inside his office, he indulged the sound without a care, groping the plump skin in his hands. 

Miguel groaned to himself, as a hand crept further between her thighs and touched the slick within. His finger slowly traveled further, rubbing her clit with his thumb. She moaned softly, arching her back slightly and pushing back against him. He quickly retreated his hands, giving her needy pussy a wet slap. 

“Mmph!” She squeaked, biting her lips and closing her eyes to enjoy the pleasure he willingly gave her. He was focused on toying with her, loving it bit by bit.

“Te quiero, puta.” (I want you, whore.) He muttered, continuing another slap to her cunt. “So, so bad…” He now delved his long, middle finger into her. Squelching because of how wet she was, he thrusted his finger in and out with a steady pace, before adding another one. She moaned out needily, butterflies going wild in her abdomen as his fingers hit the spot within her so very deliciously. “You’re such a slut,” He mumbled. “So wet on my fucking fingers, you wanted this didn’t you? Parading your juicy fucking ass around like it was nothing. You know what you do to me, don’t you hermosa?” (Beautiful.) The feel of his fingers repeatedly hitting inside her made her squeal, she shook her head dumbly at the pleasure.

“N-no! Hnghh… I didn’t-”

He smacked her ass with his free hand, the sting left behind leaving her yearning for more. “Liar.” He towered over her, reaching over to rest his head on her shoulder so he could whisper into her ear. “I’m going to fuck you so hard, you stupid whore.” He gets rid of his suit, his long veiny cock out in the open. He hisses as the cold air touches his hardness so pleasurably, he slips his cock between her plush thighs, thrusting at a medium pace. The tip of his dick hitting her clit slightly, and she arched with a feeble, desperate whine. 

“Please, fuck me!” She sobbed, shaking her hips subtly. He shook his head, tutting her advances and bit his lip as he focused on the pleasure he currently received between her soft legs. He grinds into them more, his balls slapping her outer thighs slightly with each soft thrust. Miguel panted slightly, feeling himself become more desperate for the feel of her. He stuffed his fingers back inside her once more for good measure, to make sure she was spread out enough to take his thick length. His hunger for her became wilder, nearly out of control. He spanked her inner thighs as he pulled his dick out of them, her legs spread wider for him. Ready for him. 

He pushed his cock into her, inch by inch. Reaching right inside of her, as soon as his balls hit the back of her thighs he let out a guttural moan, as she whined at the sensation of feeling so full. Her slick was already running down her thighs, and down to the base of his cock. The tightness of her cunt squirming desperately around him felt so euphoric. He thrusted into her swiftly, not giving her time to process the feeling of him. He was already at it, as she moaned with each slap of his balls hitting her clit sensually. He growled, as he stared down at the ripples going through her skin each time his thrusts hit her backside hard, her ass wobbling with each consistent hit. 

Her desire felt intense within her, butterflies continuing to spread like wildfire throughout her abdomen whilst a hot desire spread through her entire body. All of her felt flushed, and it was so difficult to focus on so many sensations at once. “M-Miguel! Mmph… Y-Yes!” She whimpered out desperately, biting her lip in an attempt to quieten her needy moans. Miguel spanked her ass at the sight, as she whimpered out louder at the action. 

“Don’t you dare try and be quiet, I love your stupid little noises.” The hunger inside him was overwhelming, as he pushed his dick roughly into her wet cunt over and over again – he couldn’t get enough of how good she felt around his dick. Better than he ever imagined. He reaches out his hands, his claws digging into her scalp and pulling her hair. Her head snapped up, eyes rolling to the back of her head from his violent thrusts into her. Her tongue lolled out dumbly, her moans growing louder by the second. 

“You’re mine.” He growled. Mine, mine, mine, mine. 

“Y-yes!” She hiccuped, as his dick relentlessly hit into her. “Yours! All- All yours!” 

His spare hand grasped at her plush waist and used it as leverage to keep violently fucking into her, a sadistic grin stuck on his face. His pace became faster, slapping echoing through the room, as she gripped onto the desk for dear life. His grunts had mixed with her desperate moans, and a fucked-out dumb smile forms on her face. Miguel could feel the tension within them both slowly rising, as he grips her hair harder and pulls back to whisper seductively in her ear. “You wanna cum? Huh?” He asked, as she nodded lazily. 

“M-mhm! Haah… Yes! M-more, please! Hngh!” She sobbed, his cock hitting deeper into her. More faster, more violently. “Keep those noises coming, puta.” (Whore.) He chuckled, hips clashing against her ass with such a divinity. Each feel of his cock had honeyed, breathy gasps erupting from her deliciously. Her body shivers at his words, her eyes blurring with desire. The wet noises from in between her legs grow louder, as they both feel themselves becoming lost in the pleasure. A coil snaps in her abdomen, and she lets out a whiny moan as her legs tremble, her cum coating the base of his cock. He emits a few more desperate thrusts, before snapping his head down to her bare neck and sinking in his teeth just right. He lets out a guttural moan, as his cum coats the insides of her warm pussy. His thrusts become sloppy, as he fucks the cum deep into her. 

She whimpers at the aftermath, feeling his warm cum splurge into the depths of her cunt so nicely. Miguel is left panting on her neck, before lifting his head to lick the bite wound sensually. He pulls out slowly, they both whimper at the feel of it, and she cries quietly feeling such a loss of the fullness in her depths. Miguel stands back, admiring her cum-coated cunt – and how the white sticky liquid tries to seep out of her warmth. He laughs to himself as a drop merely drips down her thighs, he pushes it back in with his finger and she whines at the sensation once more. He pulls up her panties, trapping his cum inside her. He gives her cunt one last little slap with a chuckle, as he pulls down her skirt as well. 

She has a fucked out smile, and takes unsteady breaths in an attempt to calm down from her high. She slowly turns around to face Miguel, her thighs quivering. He walks over to her in a sultry manner, looking down at her and her cute little smile. That little grin drove him crazy. The way she could be so adorable after getting fucked like a whore.

He reaches his head down and kisses her forehead. She hums happily at his touch.

Maybe he could break down his walls a little bit.

[fortheloveofwonderland]

Rusty | Chapter 3 | S.R

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Chapter Summary - Spencer invites you to stay with the provision you help him out around the ranch before you get a taste for the locals. Spencer’s stubbornness leads to your first fight.

Paring - Spencer Reid / Fem! Reader

Category - strangers to friends to lovers | angst | smut minors DNI

Warnings - mildly flirty banter, mentions of past addiction and prison, stubborn Spencer, arguing, past violent behaviour, dissociation.

WC - 6.1k

Chapter 3 - I Walk the Line

There was an unfamiliarity between strangers which always set you on the defensive. Strangers were such for a reason and you didn’t often make a habit of them becoming anything more. 

Of course all friends started as strangers, most people in your life had at one point been unknown to you. But there was a fear that came with ageing, an wariness that was ingrained in us for our own self-preservation. 

As children it was no big deal to go and speak to a person you had no prior relation with, but as adults seeking the solace of strangers would be seen as exponentially dangerous. 

Spencer Reid posed little threat to you, that of which you were certain. He was enchantingly awkward, not necessarily shy but definitely uncomfortable talking to people. He was meek and soft spoken, he had a gentle aura for which you felt safe around. He was not intimidating or threatening in any way.

But you exercised your prudence, just in case. It was far better to be safe than sorry and so you kept him at arm's length, dismissed any personal questions or changed the subject onto him. 

In return he was almost as guarded with what information he readily shared. Conversation became a little stifled because you were both clearly trying to keep pieces of yourself under wraps. By the time you were half way between the hospital and his ranch, you were both silently staring out of the window. 

Perhaps hanging around here wasn’t a good idea. It may be a port in the storm but it was abundant that you and Spencer were both determined to keep your cards close to your chests and no matter how safe it might be here, the awkwardness was grating. 

The drive was long and slightly arduous and you were relieved when you pulled into the dirt road that led up to his ranch. You parked the car more or less where you had last night and killed the engine. 

You turned to Spencer and he to you, a look of what could only be described as embarrassment on his features. You inhaled sharply and shook your head.

“You need help inside, right?” Your tone was laced with irritation.

“It wasn’t that.” He puckered his lips. “I, uh, realised I have no particularly edible food in my fridge aside from some butter and some take out that I’m fairly certain would make me ill if I dared to eat it.” 

You closed your eyes, pinching the bridge of your nose. 

“You really are relying on that kindness of strangers thing.” You baulked. 

“In case it wasn’t perfectly clear, I am all alone out here and I don’t own a car. I know I’m asking a lot of you, but it really would be a huge favour and I would owe you so many in return.” He looked pleading at you and there was something about that look that was nigh on impossible to say no to.

In the light of day he was somehow more handsome than you’d thought him last night. His face was sculpted of sharp lines and angles, there was a part of you that had an urge to reach out and touch his stubbly, carved jaw. His eyes were even more fervent now, looking at you with profound concentration. The little flecks of gold still shimmered like they had last night.

You hadn’t noticed in the dark the purple-black circles under his eyes making him look as though he hadn’t slept a day in his life. They had small crinkles in the corners, and more laugh lines around his mouth when he smiled.

You would assume him to be pushing forty but he still had a boyish look to his features. He was pretty in an understated kind of way, maybe not the kind of man to turn heads wherever he went but you were sure he got plenty of attention in his own right. 

You pulled a face, snapping yourself out of your thoughts and huffing once again.

“I told you, I really am in a hurry and this whole saga has set me back already.” You drummed your fingers on your thigh.

“Where are you off to in such a hurry?” His brow furrowed curiously.

“Here and there.” You shrugged. 

“Look I am happy for you to stay a little while longer because I get the impression you’re not actually in a rush at all. If you were you wouldn’t have stayed as long as you had. I have the space, I’m out here all alone and to be honest I could probably use some help around here while I’m healing.” He wet his lip with his tongue, your eyes were drawn to it like a magnet. 

“I, uh…” You looked back to his eyes, ignoring the way your stomach coiled. “You’re suggesting I help you around your ranch?” 

“Not for nothing of course. Like I say I can offer you a room and I can keep you fed.” He shrugged again, flexing the fingers poking out of his cast a little. 

“I’m from the city, I know nothing about being a rancher.” You sat back in your seat. 

“It’s all fairly simple stuff, just cleaning out the animals, taking the horses out and some-”

“Whoa no, see you lost me at taking the horses out.” You cut him off. “Taking them out as in…” 

“Riding them.” He chuckled. 

“Not gonna happen.” You reached into your pocket for your smokes whilst opening the window. You lit one without even asking if he minded. 

“I struggled at first but once you get the hang of it, it’s just like…riding a bike I guess.” He used his good hand to waft to smoke out of his face before turning and opening the passenger’s window. 

A breeze fluttered through the car, sending the smoke spiralling out of the window and thankfully out of Spencer’s face. 

“They aren’t the kind of stallions I usually like to have between my thighs, if you know what I mean.” You smirked around the cigarette and sent a wink his way. 

Spencer noticeably tensed. Your unexpected words and mildly flirtatious tone smacked him around the face and sent all the blood in his body rushing south like a waterfall. 

He clenched his jaw, shifting in his seat again and thankful his hat was still cradled in his lap. He could feel his cheeks pinken, his embarrassment and discomfort evident. 

A slight stirring in his groin, nothing ordinarily of note except for the fact it was the most excitement that appendage had shown since - 

“What’s wrong, Spence? What’s happening? Why aren’t you, uh…aren’t you enjoying this?” 

- Prison. 

Thoughts coalesced inside his brain, many thoughts which were particularly unwanted at the best of times let alone now. At least it still worked, he considered morbidly. 

“I, uh,” he croaked. “Duly noted.” 

You tried to hide the smile on your face by taking another drag on the cigarette. His reddening cheeks were utterly adorable. 

“I’ll take you to get some groceries but as for the ranch work…” you steered the conversation back on track. 

“What is it exactly you’re running away from?” His words surprised you and it was your turn to tense up. 

“E-excuse me?” You stuttered, cigarette wobbling precariously between your fingers. 

“It takes one to know one.” He shrugged. “How do you think I ended up out here?” 

You took another shaky drag and puffed the smoke out of your mouth while you contemplated this. In the distance with the radio shut off, you could hear the same shuffling from the stables you’d heard last night. 

“What were you running from?” You turned it back on him. 

“A series of poor life choices.” His lip turned up at the corner. “You?” 

“Much the same.” You agreed. 

“Look, Y/N, I’m not gonna sit here and beg you or anything because I still have at least a fragment of my dignity intact. But it would be a huge help for me if you stuck around a little while. I can teach you everything about horses and cattle and you’ll have a place to rest your head at night. It’s safe out here, whatever it is you’re running from won’t find you here.” He punctuated his sentence with a heavy sigh through his nose. 

You closed your eyes and puffed on the cigarette. You knew he was right, you’d felt that wave of safety wash over you last night and it was still blanketing you now. 

But if you stayed, even for a short time, were you putting this man in danger? What if it did find you and not only you suffered but this kind and handsome stranger? 

Mexico was just in your sights, so close yet just out of reach. There was nothing waiting for you there except a long and lonely existence. Here though, in this slice of seclusion on Spencer’s ranch, you could at the very least have basic companionship. 

And god knows he clearly needed that. 

Taking another long puff on the cigarette, maybe in an attempt to make him sweat a little, you opened your eyes as you exhaled the smoke. Spencer was watching you expectantly, drumming the fingers of his good hand against his thigh in anticipation. 

“Fine,” you rolled your eyes, puckering your lips. “I’ll stay. But just until you can do all this stuff for yourself again. Not a second longer.” 

Spencer breathed out in relief. He told himself it was because it would be almost impossible for him to look after this place by himself but he knew that wasn’t the full story. 

He knew that despite his instant attraction towards you, things couldn’t develop beyond simple friendship. He was acutely aware that even after all this time he wasn’t ready to venture into anything deeper than that, specifically things of a physical nature. 

Some things just can’t be undone and unfortunately for him he’d suffered one of those very things. It didn’t matter how many years had past, there would never be enough distance between himself and his trauma. 

But he still liked the idea of you staying for a simple comfort. A friend, or even just a companion might ease his troubled mind, might aid in quelling the demons he’d travelled halfway across the country to out run. 

But they never truly left, they were always there lurking in the shadows. Maybe you could shine a little light on them, banish them for even just a short while. 

“Thank you.” He replied much meeker than he’d meant to. 

You shrugged as if it was no big deal, turning in your seat and flicking the cigarette out of the window. You started the engine again with little notice. 

“Right then, point me in the direction of your hick town general store.” 

***

Bandera General Store was, for all intents and purposes, exactly as you imagined it to be.

Its wooden blue facade was wearing slightly, in need of a good lick of paint. Inside it sold everything from groceries to souvenirs to cowboy boots and books. 

Tucked away inside the front door was a sign meant to attract tourists. It informed you the store was built in the early nineteen hundreds and still had its original wood floors and tin ceilings. It had previously been a movie theatre, saddle shop and feed store. 

Supposedly during the prohibition era caskets were sold from the basement and cowboys would drink beer and play cards on the empty drums. 

It promoted a fully functional nineteen fifties ice cream fountain, only one of eleven in the state of Texas. And aside from their town library, Bandera General Store was the only place in town to get books. 

Honestly it was all a little too stereotypical for your liking. 

You stood out like a sore thumb, like a horse in a field of cattle. Patrons and workers offered you curious sideways expressions while Spencer simply waved amicably to them. 

He didn’t speak to anyone, just waved or occasionally nodded with the brim of his hat. He certainly knew these people in passing but not well enough to talk to them. 

You pushed the cart while Spencer limped by your side, cradling his arm against his chest. He filled the cart with essentials, but nothing that required a concerted effort to cook. You would soon come to learn that was because, despite the fact he’d lived alone since he was a teenager, he had no idea how to cook. 

He bypassed the liquor shelves but you did a one-eighty and circled back. You grabbed a bottle of scotch and dropped it into the cart, tucking it away between a carton of milk and a box of cereal. 

You hurried to catch up to Spencer who was perusing the collection of riding boots with a keen eye. He heard the cart cluttering closer and glanced at you briefly. 

“What size do you wear?” He asked, looking back at the array of boots. 

“In cowboy boots? Size absolutely never gonna happen.” You scoffed. 

“You can’t ride a horse in sneakers.” He scoffed, tipping his hat at you. 

The more he talked the more you could tell he wasn’t from the south. It hadn’t struck you as odd at first until you’d heard other voices in the store. 

Spencer’s accent you couldn’t quite place, but it didn’t certainly didn’t fit in in the Deep South. 

“I don’t want to ride a horse full stop.” You clipped back. 

“You said you’d help right?” He tilted his head in your direction. “Part of that helping is taking my horses out. And to do that you need the proper footwear.” 

“Goddamnit.” You grumbled with a shake of your head.

“Are there any you like the look of?” 

“No.” 

“I like these ones.” He plucked a fire engine red pair with blue stitching off of the shelf and mused over them. 

“You’ve got to be kidding me?” You shook your head again. 

“What size do you take?” He asked you again. 

With a sigh and a groan you told him nonetheless. It seemed easier than fighting with him and drawing attention to yourself. 

He rifled through the display for your size before finding a boxed pair near the back. Checking inside briefly to ensure it was the garish red pair, he closed the lid and with a smile deposited them in the cart. 

By the time you reached the checkout he was limping really fitfully, grimacing as he went. Each step seemed to cause his face to contort further, creasing and puckering until he had to lean against the cart to keep himself up right. 

You didn’t want to fuss over him, noticing the way his cheeks reddened slightly in his embarrassment so instead you started unloading the cart onto the small conveyor belt. 

“Hey Cosmo,” the elderly lady behind the counter glanced up over her crescent moon glasses. “You got a little hitch in your giddy up?” 

“Oh, no it’s nothing.” Spencer waved a dismissive hand, his one good hand. 

“You look awful worse for wear.” She pulled a face whilst she started ringing up the items and bagging them. 

She had a sweet southern lilt, kind eyes and she was clearly concerned for Spencer. 

You looked between the two of them in mild confusion at the strange nickname she’d bestowed upon him. He must have heard it before because he didn’t seem perturbed by it. 

“Shoulda seen the other guy.” He forced a laugh, pushing himself back up straight. “I’m fine, honestly. Thanks though.” 

He shuffled to the end of the belt in time to see the bottle of scotch make its way through. He shot you a look as it was being bagged and you offered him a shrug of response. 

“And who might your pretty lady friend be, Cosmo? Never seen ya with company before.” She tittered, smirking wildly between the two of you. 

“Uh,” Spencer furrowed his brow, looking to you for an answer. 

“Elizabeth. Elizabeth Parker. Cosmo here is my lover.” You teased and Spencer turned exactly twenty shades of red. 

“Friends, we’re friends.” He was quick to correct. “She has a particularly abhorrent sense of humour.” 

The woman blinked at Spencer several times, clearly not quite understanding but nonetheless shrugged and continued her work. 

“Ain’t one to judge honey-pie.” She sighed wistfully. “In my day I was a regular harlot.” 

You almost cackled at the mere thought but managed to cover it with a cough and turned your face away from the elderly woman. 

Spencer was now at least ten extra shades of red. 

“Uh, good to know.” He nodded with a tight lipped smile. 

Conversation gratefully waned and the old lady rang everything up and Spencer paid while you transferred the bags back to the cart. She sent him on his way with a take care of yourself and he returned the gesture with a tip of his hat. 

He started outside and you followed, watching the way he had to stop briefly after every few steps. You pushed the cart to the car and insisted he get inside and sit down, no matter how much he wanted to argue that he would help. 

Eventually he relented and got in the car while you deposited the bags in the trunk and returned the cart. 

He wouldn’t make eye contact when you got in the car, staring out the window instead. You started the engine and pulled away from the curb in silence. 

He was flexing the fingers poking out of his cast and his other hand was circled around his knee. Even out of the corner of your eye you could see his winces of pain. 

It was obvious to you he wasn’t used to asking for help and wasn’t comfortable having people see him in pain. He’d asked you to stay but you could tell his resolve in that decision was waning. 

He was trying to put on a brave front but his demeanour was a clear sign he was uncomfortable with this. 

His shoulders were tense and his brow was deeply creased. He was deep in thought, desperately trying to hide how much pain he was in and failing. 

You got about a mile or so down the road before you glanced at him again and huffed out a breath. 

“So, Cosmo?” 

His head practically whipped around to face you, his lips parting slightly as he exhaled. 

“Uh, yeah,” he wrinkled his nose. “Short for Cosmopolitan. City slickers stick out around here. When I first came to town I reeked of the city apparently.” 

“City boy, huh?” You nodded to yourself. 

“Originally Las Vegas but before I came here I was living in DC since my early twenties.” He gnawed on his bottom lip. That would explain The Washington Post on his coffee table. “How about you? You said you’re a city girl.” 

He noticed the way your hands tightened a little on the steering wheel. He had already sensed your reclusive nature, the way in which you weren’t comfortable sharing facets of yourself with just anyone. Information was privileged and you regarded who you shared that information with readily. 

Whatever demons you might be running from contributed to your closed off sensibility and he wondered if you might even begrudge him the simplest knowledge of knowing where you were from. 

You sat back against the chair, eyes no longer flickering over to him but remaining firm out of the window. Your chest heaved slightly with your breaths and the furrow of your brow told him you were weighing up your options. 

Eventually your grip loosened a little on the wheel but when you spoke, you spoke quietly.

“New York.” You muttered. 

Spencer watched the side of your face, even after all this time he was unable to stop himself falling into old patterns of reading behaviour. He didn’t think you were lying, he was sure of it in fact. 

“Why do you do that?” Your voice startled him a little.

“Do what?” He frowned. 

You hit your blinker and were soon taking the right turn off the road onto the dirt path that led to his ranch.

“Study me, like you’re trying to read me.” You remembered the behavioural books you’d seen on his bookshelves. 

“Force of habit.” He spoke without meaning to.

As the car jolted along the uneven track, you glanced at him briefly.

“What does that mean?” You chewed on the inside of your cheek. “What exactly did you do in DC?” 

Spencer swallowed around his dry tongue, ignoring a pang that spiralled through his knee at a particular dip in the road. Soon you were rolling the car to a stop near his lodge and cutting the engine. You turned to face him. 

There was no way he was telling you the truth. Spencer liked it out here where no one knew who he was or where he came from. Down here he wasn’t the son of a schizophrenic, his father hadn’t abandoned him. He wasn’t a former drug addict or convict. 

He wasn’t SSA Spencer Reid, or Doctor Spencer Reid. He was just Spencer Reid, Spencer Reid and his horses and his cattle living on his small slice of paradise. 

“I was a professor.” He answered, knowing he was still able to control his expression so as not to give away the lie. “Psychology.” 

Ah, that would explain those sweater vests, you thought to yourself.

“Big leap from professor to cowboy.” You smirked a little at him. 

“What about you?” He ignored your sentiment. “What do you do?” 

“This and that.” You shrugged, suddenly turning and swinging the car door open. “You need a hand getting out?” 

Spencer watched in mild confusion as you got out of the car and closed the door. He shook his head, not surprised you hadn’t willinging given any more information over. He opened his own door slowly and carefully.

“I’m fine,” he replied, internalising a groan that wanted to escape when he manoeuvred his legs out of the car and onto the ground. 

Using his one good hand he braced it against the bucket of the seat and used all of his strength to push himself to standing so he didn’t have to put an unnecessary weight on his knee. This time the groan erupted and from where you were standing at the trunk you came rushing to his side.

“Stop, stop,” you fussed. “Let me help you.”

You reached for him, hand brushing against his arm but no sooner had you come into contact, Spencer flinched and pulled his arm out of your reach as though you’d burned him.

“I said I’m fine.” He spat harshly, stubbornly pushing past you and starting to limp towards his lodge. 

Ignoring his grumbles and groans of pains and the fact he had to stop every few steps was hard even though he was a virtual stranger. You didn’t want to see him in pain but it was becoming evident he wasn’t willing to show weakness around you. 

You couldn’t help but replay in your mind the way he’d flinched when you touched him. The brief look he’d given you as he’d pulled his arm away was one of terror but had only lasted a fraction of a second. 

You recalled the medication in his bathroom cabinet. Paroxetine. Used for treating depression, OCD, panic attacks, anxiety and…

…PTSD. 

Post-traumatic stress disorder could explain his aversion to unprovoked physical touch. You’d had your suspicion when he’d told you he had been a professor that it wasn’t the truth. 

Perhaps he was a vet. Perhaps he’d been in the army in a former life and was dealing with the aftermath of serving for his country. 

It would explain his desire to isolate himself, his flinching at your touch. The medication. 

Whatever it was, Spencer Reid was an enigma. And you were sure if he had his way, he would remain as much. 

You watched him struggling with the steps up to his lodge, fighting back the urge to help as he leaned almost all of his weight against the bannister. 

Instead you focused yourself on gathering the bags from the trunk. You cradled them in your arms and by the time you caught up with him he’d only just managed to get the door unlocked. 

You followed him inside and placed the groceries on the breakfast bar next to the old coffee mug and even older phone. 

He removed his stetson and denim shirt, hanging the former up on a hook by the door and tossing the latter over the arm of the couch. 

His white t-shirt was stained with dirt and mud. He ran his fingers through his greasy hair before turning towards the bags on the counter. 

Before he could start unpacking them, the phone caught his eye. He picked it up and leaned back against the counter while tapping a few buttons. 

His throat dried out as he looked at the text message that was waiting for him. It was time stamped late last night. You watched the way the light in his eyes dimmed, the way he swiped his tongue over his bottom lip before rolling it between his teeth. His brows furrowed in a look of concern. 

He opened the message, despite his better judgement. 

📲 Luke Alvez: Hey man, haven’t heard from you in a while and wanted to check in. Penelope says she’s been trying to call you over the last week but you haven’t been answering. I just wanted to make sure everything was okay. I know I’m not exactly on the list of people you want to talk to, but can you at least let me know you’re okay? Let someone know you’re okay. 

His lips moved in tiny fractions as he read the words on his screen but you couldn’t ascertain what he was mouthing. His grip on the device was tight, his knuckles white. 

“What’s up?” Your voice snapped his attention away from the device and he looked at you in slight shock as though he’d forgotten you were there. 

He locked the phone and slid it into his pocket with a shake of his head. 

“Nothing just…a message from a, uh, friend.” He swallowed thickly, turning away from you and starting to empty one of the bags with one hand.

“Nuh uh, that’s not the face you pull when a ‘friend’ texts you.” You chuckled, sidling up to him. 

His back straightened, you noticed a brief flare of his nostrils. 

“It’s…complicated okay? I don’t wanna talk about it.” You shook you off. 

He fumbled with the milk carton, almost allowing it to slip through his hand. You managed to reach out and take it from him without touching him again. You set it on the counter.

“I can handle a few groceries, Spencer. Why don’t you go lay down or something?” 

“I’m not five years old.” He barked with an over exaggerated roll of his eyes. 

“I didn’t say you were. But unpacking groceries is not a two person job so why don’t you rest up for a bit?” You remained softened, not wanting to bite back.

“I need to feed the horses.” 

“Well we can do that together once I’m done here.” You exhaled. “If you don’t want to rest, how about taking a shower? You’re kinda filthy.”

He glanced down at his body now, seemingly forgetting that fact. You noticed something falter in his eyes and you had a pretty good guess what it was. You’d seen his shower, it was over the tub just like in his spare cabin. Getting into it wouldn’t be an easy feat with his injuries.

“You need me to help you?” 

Once again his eyes shot up to you and there was a flash of terror behind them again.

“What? No!” He shook his head, his tone incredulous. 

“You think I’ve never seen a naked man before, Spencer?” You cocked an eyebrow and put your hand on your hip. 

“You…I…I can shower just fine.” He spat. “The doctor gave me a sleeve thing to go over my cast. I’ll be fine.”

“Say it one more time and I might believe you.” You rolled your eyes.

“What?” 

“I’m fine, I’ll be fine.” You did a pretty poor imitation of him. 

His jaw tightened, clearly not impressed by it. 

“I can shower by myself. And I don’t appreciate your teasing. This is my home. I invited you into my home, the least you can do is show me some respect.” He growled at you. 

No, no way. This jagoff doesn’t get to talk to me like that when I’m doing him a favour! 

“You invited me into your home to help you, asshole! Which is what I’m trying to do but for some reason you won’t let me.” You crossed your arms over your chest. 

“I wanted your help with my animals. I don’t need you treating me like an invalid and trying to wrap me in cotton wool! I’m not a child, goddamnit.” 

“Well you’re certainly acting like one!” You bit back. “Are you always like this?”

“Like what?” He tried to fold his own arms to mirror you but it was cumbersome due to his cast. 

“A grouch?” It was the nicest of things you could have said. 

“Excuse me?” He scoffed. 

“I just want to know what to expect if I’m going to be staying here. Are you always like this? Will I constantly have to walk on eggshells around you? Or are you just being an asshole because you’re in pain?” 

His back straightened again at the same time as his jaw tightening. His eyes turned darker, it was slightly intimidating. He squared his shoulders and once again his nostrils flared. He wasn’t of a thick build but he was tall, much taller than you and he was using his height to unnerve you. 

“You can go now.” He spoke relatively calmly given how angry he felt. 

“I’m sorry?” Your face contorted in bewilderment. 

“You can go. I don’t need you here, I’m going to be just f-”

“If you say you’re fine one more goddamn time, I swear to god!” You cut him off, your voice raising a few decibels. 

“Get out.” He shook his head, sounding less angry and more fed up. 

“With pleasure.” You spat back, unfurling your arms from across your chest and turning on the heels of your sneakers. 

You didn’t turn back. You didn’t take one last look at him or anything of the sort. You stormed towards the door and flung it open with such force it swung against its hinges. Your footsteps on the stairs were heavy as you descended them. 

You still didn’t turn back, despite the fact you could feel his eyes piercing into the back of your head. You kept walking, slid into the driver’s seat of your car and within seconds he heard the engine scream to life. 

And you still didn’t look back when you reversed the car, turning in a quick and tight circle. Once facing the road you slammed your foot on the accelerator and sent a flurry of gravel and sand flying behind you as you peeled off down the dirt road. 

Spencer felt the anger rising in a bubble in his stomach. He’d never been an angry person, he was always so passive even in light of his countless traumas. 

But prison had brought out a side of him that he’d managed to keep contained his entire life. A part of him that had always hidden just beneath the surface but had never been facilitated. His inner Hulk, that’s what his therapist had named it. Spencer liked things to be named, it helped him make sense of them.

His inner Hulk had been dormant his entire life up until he was arrested in Mexico. What those men did to him on the inside unleashed that beast that he’d kept under lock and key up until then. 

The first time he let that Hulk out was when he held Cat Adams by the throat as he shoved her against the wall of the interrogation room. He’d hoped it was just a one time thing, he was on edge and his mother was missing. 

He stemmed it for months after, but eventually the Hulk appeared again. And this time that anger had been entirely misdirected. 

“What’s wrong, Spence? What’s happening? Why aren’t you, uh…aren’t you enjoying this?” The other man looked at him with a sadness in his eyes and Spencer felt his gut coiling into knots.

“I, uh, I just…I’m not ready.” He suddenly shot up from the couch. 

The other man stared at him through hooded eyes, his lips puffy from their intense make out session. 

“It’s okay,” the other man cooed. “We don’t have to do anything. I’m sorry if I rushed you.”

He stood up too and came closer to Spencer. He placed his hands gently on the younger man's shoulders but Spencer wouldn’t make eye contact with him. 

“Spence?” The man whispered. “Did something…did they do something to you in prison?” 

A flash of something indiscernible in Spencer’s eyes and then suddenly - 

“Don’t touch me!” Spencer spat, shoving the other man roughly by the chest. “And don’t talk to me about that place.” 

“Spencer?” The man sucked in a breath. “You know you can tell me anything. This is a safe space, baby.” 

When the hand came towards him, Spencer felt that bubble of anger in his stomach. It rapidly spread up his chest, down his extremities. Before the hand could touch him again, Spencer reacted without much thought behind it.

He was surprisingly swift when he wanted to be and he circled his hand around the wrist of the hand that was edging near him. He gripped it tightly and in one quick move he was able to spin the arm, and the man it was attached to, pinning the arm against his back.

The other man groaned in pain, at the twisting in his shoulder blade, at the nails digging into the skin of his wrist. 

“S-Spencer,” he stuttered. “What are you doing?” 

“I told you not to touch me.” He gave the arm another tug, the other man wincing. 

“I’m s-sorry,” the other man sniffed. “Please, I won’t do it again.” 

Somewhere in Spencer’s brain a light seemed to turn on and he snapped back around. He blinked several times in quick succession as his arm fell to his side, letting go of the other man.

He stumbled backwards, staring at his hand as if it were an alien appendage. His heart thrummed violently against his chest. What had just happened? One minute the hand had been reaching for him and the next Spencer was holding that hand hostage by the mans own back. 

The other man turned to him cautiously, a look of fear apparent in his eyes. He’d never looked at him in the same way again.

To this day Spencer couldn’t remember giving the command to act with such force towards the man who had only ever loved him. A combination of time and therapy had helped him understand what had happened and even though this was given a name, it was one time he’d rather it was unknown. 

He’d dissociated. For less than a minute in time his brain detached itself from reality and his trauma had acted on his behalf. 

He’d acted on compulsion, the way in which he’d wanted to be able to fend off the unwanted touches before but didn’t have the compunction to at the time. 

The rage bubble, the Hulk, the dissociation. The symptoms were treated by his medication but they were still a part of him. Pieces of what made him who he was. 

Part of the reason he’d moved out here was to keep others away. But it also served the purpose of keeping himself away from others. 

He no longer trusted his own actions. If he could become violent towards someone he loved, who was to say he couldn’t be that way with anyone? 

And he’d invited you into his home. He’d put you in danger by asking you to stay. For two years he hadn’t had a violent outburst but that was only because he’d isolated himself, kept himself locked away where he couldn’t hurt anyone else. 

He closed his eyes, clenching and unclenching his good hand at his side. When he felt the bubble of anger rising, he was to close his eyes and count to ten. 

He did as his therapist taught him, slowly but surely feeling the anger start to calm. He hadn’t taken his medication. He needed to. But the moment he opened his eyes again the rage came flooding back like a tsunami and before he could even take a single step, his mind divorced itself from reality and he spiralled into the abyss. 

@andiebeaword @muffin-cup @measure-in-pain @dreatine @matthew-gray-gubler-lover @justreadingficsdontmindme @spencer-reid-wonderland @thebloomingeagle @kalulakunundrum @small-and-violent @voledart @katrina0-0 @bakugouswh0r3

[the-moral-of-the-rose]

A tribute to the cats of Montgomery's books.

Part 1. Anne Shirley (later: Blythe).

Rusty-the cat (the fighter):

"The animal was well past kitten-hood, lank, thin, disreputable looking. Pieces of both ears were lacking, one eye was temporarily out of repair, and one jowl ludicrously swollen. As for color, if a once black cat had been well and thoroughly singed the result would have resembled the hue of this waif’s thin, draggled, unsightly fur." (Anne of The Island).

"But, like Kipling’s cat, he “walked by himself.” His paw was against every cat, and every cat’s paw against him. One by one he vanquished the aristocratic felines of Spofford Avenue. As for human beings, he loved Anne and Anne alone. Nobody else even dared stroke him. An angry spit and something that sounded much like very improper language greeted any one who did.

“The airs that cat puts on are perfectly intolerable,” declared Stella." (Anne of The Island).

(He does get better looking though! He's said to become "plum and sleek" and his eyes heal!).

A fighter,

Independent,

Daring,

A survivor of an attempt of "chlorophorm murder".

Joseph-the-cat (a big fat softie that could fight if needed):

"Joseph, as the disgusted Stella said, looked like a walking rag-bag. It was impossible to say what his ground color was. His legs were white with black spots on them. His back was gray with a huge patch of yellow on one side and a black patch on the other. His tail was yellow with a gray tip. One ear was black and one yellow. A black patch over one eye gave him a fearfully rakish look. In reality he was meek and inoffensive, of a sociable disposition. In one respect, if in no other, Joseph was like a lily of the field. He toiled not neither did he spin or catch mice. Yet Solomon in all his glory slept not on softer cushions, or feasted more fully on fat things." (Anne of The Island).

"But Joseph rashly sat up and yawned. Rusty, burning to avenge his disgrace, swooped down upon him. Joseph, pacific by nature, could fight upon occasion and fight well. The result was a series of drawn battles. Every day Rusty and Joseph fought at sight. Anne took Rusty’s part and detested Joseph. Stella was in despair. But Aunt Jamesina only laughed." (Anne of The Island).

Joseph-with-a-coat-of-many-colors,

soft bean,

non-offensive,

sweet,

meek and gentle,

could fight if needed.

Sarah-the-cat (dignified queen):

"Sarah-cat gravely sat herself down before the fire and proceeded to wash her face. She was a large, sleek, gray-and-white cat, with an enormous dignity which was not at all impaired by any consciousness of her plebian origin. She had been given to Aunt Jamesina by her washerwoman.

“Her name was Sarah, so my husband always called puss the Sarah-cat,” explained Aunt Jamesina. “She is eight years old, and a remarkable mouser. Don’t worry, Stella. The Sarah-cat never fights and Joseph rarely.” (Anne of The Island).

"Rusty lowered his head, uttered a fearful shriek of hatred and defiance, and launched himself at the Sarah-cat.

The stately animal had stopped washing her face and was looking at him curiously. She met his onslaught with one contemptuous sweep of her capable paw. Rusty went rolling helplessly over on the rug; he picked himself up dazedly. What sort of a cat was this who had boxed his ears? He looked dubiously at the Sarah-cat. Would he or would he not? The Sarah-cat deliberately turned her back on him and resumed her toilet operations. Rusty decided that he would not. He never did. From that time on the Sarah-cat ruled the roost. Rusty never again interfered with her." (Anne of The Island).

Dignified,

Queenly,

Aloof,

A remarkable mouser,

Proud,

Ruler of the Patty's Place.

Such a queen.

Shrimp (best-family-cat):

"He seems to have recovered nicely from it," said Anne, stroking the glossy black-and-white curves of a contented pussy with huge jowls, purring on a chair in the firelight. [...] As for the Shrimp, Gilbert had called him that a year ago when Nan had brought the miserable, scrawny kitten home from the village where some boys had been torturing it, and the name clung, though it was very inappropriate now." (Anne of Ingleside).

Loves people,

good with children,

likes sleeping curled up with a member of his human family,

forgiving,

patient,

a little ray of sunshine.

Pussywillow (a little lady of the night sky):

"The Shrimp basked in the glow and Nan's kitten, Pussywillow, which always suggested some dainty exquisite little lady in black and silver, climbed everybody's legs impartially. "Two cats, and mouse tracks everywhere in the pantry," was Susan's disapproving parenthesis." (Anne of Ingleside).

Pretty,

Black and silver like a night sky,

Purring,

Dainty,

Sweet.

Jack Frost (a girl in hiding):

"Four years previously Rilla Blythe had had a treasured darling of a kitten, white as snow, with a saucy black tip to its tail, which she called Jack Frost. Susan disliked Jack Frost, though she could not or would not give any valid reason therefor.

"Take my word for it, Mrs. Dr. dear," she was wont to say ominously, "that cat will come to no good."

"But why do you think so?" Mrs. Blythe would ask.

"I do not think—I know," was all the answer Susan would vouchsafe.

With the rest of the Ingleside folk Jack Frost was a favourite; he was so very clean and well groomed, and never allowed a spot or stain to be seen on his beautiful white suit; he had endearing ways of purring and snuggling; he was scrupulously honest.

And then a domestic tragedy took place at Ingleside. Jack Frost had kittens!" (Rilla of Ingleside).

White and beautiful,

Clean and well-groomed,

Endearing,

Lovely,

Snuggler and purrer,

Mother of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde,

"Diabolical" cat according to Susan.

Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde (a cat suffering from bipolar disorder):

"In his Dr. Jekyll mood the cat was a drowsy, affectionate, domestic, cushion-loving puss, who liked petting [...] When the Mr. Hyde mood came upon him—which it invariably did before rain, or wind—he was a wild thing with changed eyes. The transformation always came suddenly. He would spring fiercely from a reverie with a savage snarl and bite at any restraining or caressing hand. His fur seemed to grow darker and his eyes gleamed with a diabolical light. There was really an unearthly beauty about him." (Rilla of Ingleside).

Orange and handsome,

Either sweet, purring, soft and cute, either dangerous and scary,

Possesed (?),

Some kind of mental illness (?),

A kitten of Jack Snow,

Called Goldie in his kittenhood,

Renamed by Walter.

Part 2. Emily Starr.

Mike the First (the fluffiest softie) and Saucy Sal (a badass girl):

"Mike had such a cute way of sitting up on his haunches and catching the bits in his paws, and Saucy Sal had her trick of touching Emily’s ankle with an almost human touch when her turn was too long in coming. Emily loved them both, but Mike was her favourite. He was a handsome, dark-grey cat with huge owl-like eyes, and he was so soft and fat and fluffy. Sal was always thin; no amount of feeding put any flesh on her bones. Emily liked her, but never cared to cuddle or stroke her because of her thinness. Yet there was a sort of weird beauty about her that appealed to Emily. She was grey-and-white—very white and very sleek, with a long, pointed face, very long ears and very green eyes. She was a redoubtable fighter, and strange cats were vanquished in one round. The fearless little spitfire would even attack dogs and rout them utterly." (Emily of New Moon).

Mike: soft, cute, fluffy, darling, handsome, purring, fat, cuddly.

Saucy Sal: a badass, fighter, brave, daring, sleek, green-eyed, gorgeous.

Smoke (the Aristo-cat):

"Smoke was a big Maltese and an aristocrat from the tip of his nose to the tip of his tail. There was no doubt whatever that he belonged to the cat caste of Vere de Vere. He had emerald eyes and a coat of plush. The only white thing about him was an adorable dicky." (Emily of New Moon).

Aristocrat,

Dignified,

Member of cat caste of Vere de Vere,

Eyes like jewels,

Dignified,

Beautiful.

Buttercup (a tiny cat-cherub):

"Buttercup was a chubby, yellow, delightful creature hardly out of kittenhood." (Emily of New Moon).

Delightful,

yellow ball of fluff,

cute,

small bean,

adorable.

Mike the Second (a cute furry grey demon of the night):

"Emily’s furry kitten, Mike II, frisked and scampered about like a small, charming demon of the night; the fire glowed with beautiful redness and allure through the gloom; there were nice whispery sounds everywhere. [...] (Emily of New Moon).

A gift from Old Kelly,

Cute, furry,

Charming, plump,

Fluffy,

Rescued by Emily,

A forever kitten,

Gone too soon.

Daffodil - Daff - Daffy (a life-long friend):

“The kitten was a delicate bit of striped greyness that reminded Emily of her dear lost Mikes. And it smelled so nice—of warmth and clean furriness, with whiffs of the clover hay where Saucy Sal had made her mother-nest." (Emily of New Moon).

"Daff," said Emily wearily, "you're the only thing in the world that stays put." (Emily's Quest).

"Don't you wish—or do you!—Daff, that you and I had been born sensible creatures, alive to the superior advantages of Quebec heaters!"(Emily's Quest).

Fluffy,

Grey,

Cute,

Nice,

Adorable,

Emily's friend and companion of her lonely years,

Snored loudly in his sleep during his later years,

Followed Emily everywhere,

My personal favourite.

Part 3. Pat Gardiner

Gentleman Tom (an immortal cat):

"Gentleman Tom sat beside Pat, on the one step from the landing into Judy's room, blinking at her with insolent green eyes, whose very expression would have sent Judy to the stake a few hundred years ago. A big, lanky cat who always looked as if he had a great many secret troubles; continually thin in spite of Judy's partial coddling; a black cat . . . "the blackest black cat I iver did be seeing." For a time he had been nameless. Judy held it wasn't lucky to name a baste that had just "come." Who knew what might be offended? So the black grimalkin was called Judy's Cat, with a capital, until one day Sid referred to it as "Gentleman Tom," and Gentleman Tom he was from that time forth, even Judy surrendering. Pat was fond of all cats, but her fondness for Gentleman Tom was tempered with awe." (Pat of Silver Bush).

Ageless,

Troubled,

Mysterious,

Fascinating,

Full of personality.

Bold-and-Bad (a mad-cat ball of energy):

'"Bold-and-Bad", the kitten of the summer, came flying across the yard to her. Pat picked him up and squeezed some purrs out of him. No matter what dreadful things happened at least there were still cats in the world."

"Even Bold-and-Bad, whom ordinarily nothing could subdue, crouched with an apologetic air under the stove."

"Sure and I will, Patsy darlint. Ye nadn't be fretting over Bold-and-Bad. He's living up to his name ivery minute of the day, slaping on the Poet's bed and getting rolled up in me shate of fly-paper. Sure and ye niver saw a madder cat." (Pat of Silver Bush).

Full of energy,

Mischievious,

Living up to his name,

Bold,

Bad-but-adorable,

Brave,

Unstoppable,

Always young.

Part 4. Valancy Stirling:

Banjo (a devilish philosopher):

"Banjo is a big, enchanting, grey devil-cat. Striped, of course. I don’t care a hang for any cat that hasn’t stripes. I never knew a cat who could swear as genteelly and effectively as Banjo. His only fault is that he snores horribly when he is asleep." (The Blue Castle).

Grey devil cat,

has his own chair,

rules his kingdom of Barney's hut,

a graceful swearer,

dignified,

Good Luck (a wistful philosopher):

"Luck is a dainty little cat. Always looking wistfully at you, as if he wanted to tell you something. Maybe he will pull it off sometime. Once in a thousand years, you know, one cat is allowed to speak. My cats are philosophers—neither of them ever cries over spilt milk." (The Blue Castle).

Dainty,

Wistfull,

Charming,

Enchanting,

Clever,

Interesting.

Part 5. Jane Stuart

Two Peters (little cuties):

"The Snowbeams told Jane their cat had kittens and she could have one. Jane went down to choose. There were four and the poor lean old mother cat was so proud and happy. Jane picked a black one with a pansy face—a really pansy face, so dark and velvety, with round golden eyes. She named it Peter on the spot. Then the Jimmy Johns, not to be outdone, brought over a kitten also. But this kitten was already named Peter and the Ella twin wept frantically over the idea of anybody changing it. So dad suggested calling them First Peter and Second Peter—which Mrs Snowbeam thought was sacrilegious. Second Peter was a dainty thing in black and silver, with a soft white breast. Both Peters slept at the foot of Jane's bed and swarmed over dad the minute he sat down."

"First Peter was sitting on the doorstone when Jane came downstairs, with a big mouse in his mouth, very proud of his prowess as a hunter." (Jane of Lantern Hill).

Cute,

Soft,

Adorable,

Lil hunters.

Silver Penny (small but mighty):

"Ding-dong had brought her a kitten to replace Second Peter...a scrap about as big as its mother's paw but which was destined to be a magnificent cat in black with four white paws. Jane and dad tried out all kinds of names on it before they went to bed and finally agreed on Silver Penny because of the round white spot between its ears." (Jane of Lantern Hill).

Beautiful,

Magnificent,

Adorable.

Part 6. Marigold Lesley

Lucifer and Witch of Endor (a devilish married couple):

"Of course the cats were present at the festivity also. Lucifer and the Witch of Endor. Both of black velvet with great round eyes. Cloud of Spruce was noted for its breed of black cats with topaz-hued eyes. Its kittens were not scattered broadcast but given away with due discrimination. Lucifer was Old Grandmother's favourite. A remote, subtle cat. An inscrutable cat so full of mystery that it fairly oozed out of him. The Witch of Endor became her name but compared to Lucifer she was commonplace." (Magic for Marigold).

Gorgeous,

Soulful,

Fascinating,

Witchy,

Subtle,

Almost human-like,

Clever.

Part 7. Kilmeny of The Orchard.

Timothy-The-Cat (Sir Timothy - the real head of the family):

"They have no living children, but Old Bob has a black cat which is his especial pride and darling. The name of this animal is Timothy and as such he must always be called and referred to. Never, as you value Robert’s good opinion, let him hear you speaking of his pet as ‘the cat,’ or even as ‘Tim.’ You will never be forgiven and he will not consider you a fit person to have charge of the school."

"The other end of the bench was occupied by Timothy, sleek and complacent, with a snowy breast and white paws. After old Robert had taken a mouthful of anything he gave a piece to Timothy, who ate it daintily and purred resonant gratitude." (Kilmeny of The Orchard).

Dignified,

With Royal airs,

Sleek,

Black,

Stunning,

A family member,

A family pride and joy.

I love how every cat has its own little personality!

[radskull-69]

(copy pasting what i said earlier-)

May I request Bob Velseb accidentally adopting child!reader? Like he found them one night and brought them home but accidentally got attached? Don't care if it's headcannons or a scenario!

If not, then that's fine!

at first, I was gonna do a whole ‘he found u in a dumpster thing’ but decided to take a bit more of a darker turn.

he was killing two victims, a couple by the looks of it in their own home. Nothing out of the ordinary.

until he heard the meek voice of you call out down the hall, turning his head he saw a small child strolling out of their room. No doubt waking up thanks to the commotion of their parents dying.

you were no doubt any older then five or six, such a shame to lose your parents at a age.

You thankfully couldn’t make anything out in the darkness other then bob’s glowing cyan eyes as he panted, frozen stock still as you both stared at each other .

bob was standing over the mangled bodies of your parents in his costume, blood coating his already red outfit. He didn’t feel guilty per say, but he didn’t feel hungry anymore. He lost his appetite…

it was when the flashing red and blue lights came from outside he broke out of his staring match with you, and in the mist of the moment he grabbed you with his spare hand and flee’d the scene before the cops could get him.

taking you back to his house definitely wasn’t ideal, but he didn’t have anywhere else to put you. He was sitting on the couch with his head in his hands while you ran around the living room and looking at all the bones he had laying around.

he was already regretting this, he should just eat you now. Though, as he peeked through his fingers and saw you playing with a rusty chainsaw he owned. He felt annoyed, but didn’t wanna kill you. Yet.

but other time the distant hunger to eat you faded without him realising it, just thinking that when you got more fed and fatter he’d eat ya. But it never came.

it was a bother for him to take care of you, fighting with himself if he should kill you the whole time. He definitely doesn’t know shit about kids and got you a dog bed at one stage, but after accidentally mentioning you while at work to a customer they gave him some tips. Thinking he was finally married and had a kid or smth

he doesn’t take you on his… hunts, but does feed you the meat he comes back with. He doesn’t tell you where he gets it until a while later when you catch him dragging in a body.

doesn’t take you to school or out much, since your considered missing. Begrudgingly let’s you sleep in his bed with him but after a while became content with it, would let you watch as he butchered the meat and gave you tips about knives.

when your a bit older, maybe around ten. He takes you on his hunts with him on Halloween, the first time you wore a ghost costume, a simple sheet. But that didn’t last long since it made killing hard.

you became desensitised to all the gore and killing since it’s what you were around so much for so long, not realising how wrong it is. Gives you pats on the head when you manage to cut someone in the ankles when they try to run.

when you got your own wanted poster he was so proud! Definitely hangs it up on the fridge.

[multifandommilfs]

Perks of Living Forever

Pairing: Andy x reader

Wc: 1834

Tw: death but they ressurect because immortality :)

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"who's that?" Nile held up a photoframe that encased a black and white picture of you and Andy posing together, her arm around your waist and yours hung around her shoulder. Andy seemed genuinely blissed and sober with a gaze from you directed to her. There was something intimate about it, Nile could tell, for your gaze held such affection, pure content by the meek crinkle of your eye. The photo seemed accidental, captured on the spur of the moment.

 

Nile turned the frame between her fingers in the direction of the team in her outstretched arm, seeing how Andy averted her eyes instantly, Joe and Nicky chuckling wryly. Andy snatched up her bottles of vodka and crossed the room, right out to the pier. Nile had her confusion thinly veiled.

 

"That's uh-" Joe scratched the back of his neck, his eyes finding Nicky's, an affirmation garnered. "Andy's lover. Taken quite recently I'd say. A year or two before World War Two, she got her hands on a camera, never told us how she did it, that's the first picture in our team. I'm quite proud that I took it." Nicky punched his arm lightly, eliciting chuckles. "We took it together!"

 

"A year before- why isn't she with Andy? With us? Is she-"

 

"We wish, but she's too stubborn for death itself." Nicky righted her.

 

"They had a disagreement on who they supported during the Second World War; you see- she had a psychopathic streak that longed for world dominion, took sides with Germany and went off the grid after the war ended. We couldn't find her but Andy persisted that she's alive, she was there for every soldier's death."

 

"Why hadn't you told me about it before? Why keep this from me?" She felt like a pariah, like the camera that captured the picture in her grasp, intruding on something that wasn't privy to her.

 

Nicky and Joe exchanged a conflicted glance. "We don't like to talk about it."

___________

Goussainville, just outside of Paris, September 2, 1940. A cacophony of gunshots hollered throughout the Charlie safe house, hauling them awake from sleep instantly, hearts pounding loudly in their ears, contrasting their silent footsteps that threaded fast on the wooden floorboards, pistols angled downward in their stiffly outstretched arms.

 

Book slammed his shoulder into Andy's room, a damp splat onto the ground as it broke off from its rusty hinges. "Oh shit." Book swore. The smell of metallic blugeoning them in the face. "Foterre!"

 

"What is it?" His chest heaving, the sight obscured by his two tall friends provided him with more consternation before they parted and he almost retched.

 

Andy, chest flat against the floor, lips dipped in a spreading puddle of her own blood, they could see the cragged outline of her blown-apart skull; the flesh gave way to bullets.

 

They stared, drenched in their own shock. Nicky made the first move, hands turning her on her back, the Glock in her hands slipping out of her loose grasp was it then that he realized the true extent of the injury and grimaced in disgust, recoiling away from the disfigured face, hair crusted with blood.

 

Then Booker lunged forward, rutting her against the ground by her shoulders. "Wake up Andy! Wake the fuck up!"

 

A wheeze and splutter filled them with immediate relief. They looked on as the trauma healed itself familiarly, flesh filling out the hollow, skin sticking itself back together as her pupils adjusted to the light. Booker released her, trembling from adrenaline, from fear. Nicky reached for Joe's hand and held it in a vice grip. They could see the disappointment clearly in her eyes as she heaved herself off the floor, tucking the gun into the back of her jeans. "Get back to sleep boys." Her tone of voice reminded them of a failed mission as she staggered for the bathroom.

______

 

Nile looked between the lovers, then out of the window to see Booker and Andy. She held a reassuring smile on her face to quell his tears. She could tell that they were going to split up; Booker would have to craft his own path, a consequence of his treachery that harboured a pure goal at heart. "She'll make it into a bedtime story when she's ready, or perhaps you'll dream about it." Nicky chided, throwing Nile a half-grimace smile. She really had to give it to Nicky's welcoming nature for the instant comfort she felt.

____

Andy's arm acted as a barricade at the doorframe, being the first to step past the threshold of their safehouse, stilling the rest of them.

 

"Someone's here." She kept her voice low, only audible to the ones behind her, her eyes left the haphazardly rolled-up mat by the doorway. Her gaze sweeping the darkened room, the shadows that drove up the walls made it all the more unsettling.

 

There was nothing, not even a whisper of wind from the window left ajar, but her hand readied on her gun, another hand reaching into the house at an awkward angle to slap the light switch on.

 

Light bathed the room in a blink, the darkness shrinking away to the corners. The hasty shuffle they heard then was unmistakable. Andy drew out her gun in an instant, the others following suit.

 

She zeroed in on the root of the noise, making a daring step onto the wooden floorboards despite Nile's less-than-erupting protest.

 

"You two keep watch." And Joe disappeared past the doorframe, Nicky's demurring trailing behind him.

 

Nile scrambled to the edge of the doorway; she had Andy and Joe at the corner of her eye now as they crept further into the house. She held her breath as Andy rounded the corner, bracing for a gunshot, a scream, something other than the heinous silence that was ceasing her breath, ladened on their shoulders and squeezing their throats.

 

She forced a breath in, adamantly staying calm even though she was anything but that. Then Andy said a name she didn't know, the silence perforated, Joe sprinting away from her view and Italian words were churning out of Nicky as he stepped past Nile and right into the house, his eyes wide as he shoved his gun back. Nike was compelled to follow without a word, her feet fast, gun pointed towards the floor by her thigh. Her heart beating fast in her chest at the urgency of others.

 

But it didn't need to last when she saw Andy, her arms wound around a silhouette so tightly that she would've thought it was a chokehold if it weren't for the pair of grasping hands pulling the back of her shirt taut.

 

The haste that passed her nerves was replaced with gnawing uncertainty, the feeling of intrusion coming back into her again as she watched Nicky and Joe being pulled into the embrace. Her heart twisted uncomfortably at the feeling, yet she couldn't help but watch as a raw sob escaped from one of you, pulling into each other unyieldingly.

 

When all of you broke apart, she scurried to the nearest couch.

 

She could faintly hear a watery chuckle, a few exchanged words that brimmed with affection and she wondered if she could ever find that kind of connection outside of the formed group. Immortality was the ultimate curse for someone who loved too much.

 

Nicky and Joe appeared in no time, hauling her away from her thoughts. "You should meet her." Joe offered. "The partner." Nicky filled in the spaces and everything seemed to click together too fast for Nile to handle. "What, really? That's the woman in the photo? Andy's wife?" She had to force her voice down from the shock.

_______

 

With Nick and Joe splitting away from the both of you to the girl you didn't know, your lips sought Andy's out. She stumbled backwards from the force, gasping softly before maneuvering you closer by your jaw, her actions tentative yet knowing. It was all familiar when you let half your weight on her, knees trembling as your arms hung around her shoulders. All familiar and fervent, filling yourself with what you missed for the last few decades.

 

She was quiet when you parted, her eyes glazed with affection as her thumb ran rounds from your cheek to your jaw. It was a warmth you had forgotten and arose tears that blurred your vision, your lips cracking into a smile.

 

"I don't think I've been so haunted by someone." You said it with mirth and she let out a scoff of wet laughter.

 

"Shut up with your poetry." She ducked her nose into the crook of your neck; you could feel her smile on your skin, her hand on your jaw dropping to another side of your shoulder as you held her.

 

When the adrenaline fell away, you remembered what you wanted to say during decades where you were manipulated by fear. Fear made you hunger for control and power. But you knew deep down that you couldn't ever be sorry for living that life. It was every human instinct to replace what was lost with something else. So you said so.

 

"I'm not sorry for wanting what I wanted." You whispered and felt her stiffen beneath your fingertips, the weight on your shoulder beginning to lift.

 

"But I am sorry for leaving." You got it out fast before she could look you in the eye and steal your courage, making you swallow your words. "So s- sorry." Your voice broke and you pushed your face into her shoulder with a sudden burst of tears as she rose from yours, catching you in time. "I'm so- I'm so sorry." Your lips twisted with ugly sobs and this time you didn't know if you were apologizing to her or yourself for putting the both of you through this torture.

 

A warmth smoothed over your back, her hand on your shoulder cupping the nape of your neck as her lips pressed against the crown of your head again and again and again. "I have nothing to forgive you for." She said. "But I cannot say the same for the others."

 

You nodded wordlessly in her clutch, tears soaking her sleeve. You laid against the damp fabric, listening to her pulse beating through bone and skin and basked in it, letting your breath level with hers as her fingers weaved through your hair, momentarily scratching your scalp.

 

"Lovebirds, an introduction is needed." Joe's words left you moving apart from each other, her hand finding its place on your waist as yours hung around her shoulder.

 

A girl stepped into your view, her eyes widening, a grin spreading across her lips as Andy became the medium of introduction.

 

"God, you look so much like the photograph!" She spilled with wonder tinted in her features. "I mean it's like you haven't aged a bit and that photograph was what- 10 years ago?"

 

"Perks of living forever." You glanced at Andy before shaking Nile's hand. "You never age."

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Here's a link to my masterlist ^^

Comment, reblog, drop an ask! Feedback is greatly adored

[emotionallyattachednerd]

Play Nice | Cyberverse Dead End x f!robot | Dub-Con | NSFW 18+

Word count: 2900+

Warnings: Dub-con, smut ( touching, fingering, first time, spike in valve and rough interfacing ), piercings, angst and au where decepticons win. NSFW 18+.

Notes: I really wanted to write someone from Cyberverse, and I have a weird obsession with this guy. I wrote him being such a jerk and controlling as he messes around with an autobot, so just a heads up that this is again dub-con. Eat at it! 🥰

☕ Coffee

The end of the war resulted in the autobots surrendering to the decepticons, not the way they expected it to go, yet it happened. Now they were prisoners of war, spoils, the strongest sent off to the mines to work while the weaker looking ones were sent to the sale yard and sold off to the highest bidder. That was the autobots fate, no choice given, and there was nothing they could do about it.

You were a femme, not built for war, simply a desk clerk, so it was no surprise to you that you ended up in the sales. Looking around yourself you notice most either fought against their retrants, some putting on a brave face and accepting their fate, while you on the other hand, you were utterly petrified, and you failed to hide this from anyone.

Warm lubricants continually stream down your cheek platings while your frame quivers uncontrollably, anxious whimpers sounding from your lips while you keep your helm bowed low the entire time. The decepticons in charge of the sales relish your fear, taunt you, even touch you, but they didn't force themselves on you, because you were one of the few with your seals still intact, and that was apparently a high demand through the sales. According to them, you were worth a lot. Not that it made you feel any better in the slightest, quite the opposite, it only made you feel degraded and ailing.

No help was coming for you, that's the reality.

Once shoved out onto the platform the bids were placed, the number climbing higher by the second while you stood there trying to tuck yourself into the smallest ball possible in your standing position. It's horrible, you want to escape, and you day dream in that moment that an autobot will swing in and save you, taking you away from the abhorrent nightmare.

Then it happens, the final bid is placed, and it's over. You've been sold.

Your cuffed servos are grabbed and you're tugged forward, optics meeting pedes before your chin is gripped between firm digits and you're forced to look up at the winning bidder. Piercing white optics bore down into your meek baby blue optics, looking rather pleased with his purchase holding a stretched smirk.

"You're mine, autobot." There's something about his voice that sends crawling shivers through your frame, on top of that there is no hint of kindness, and this makes your spark chamber clench tightly against your pulsing spark.

Most of it was a blur before you found yourself pulled into what you assume was where he lived. Very luxurious, fine dark decor, pointing out that he had high ranking, not that made you feel any better. He just purchased you, like property, and called you his.

"Relax, autobot." That rusty yet silky voice hits your audios. "If I wanted to hurt you, I wouldn't have spent a ridiculous amount on you. How you behave is up to you."

He comes back over and disables your cuffs. Finally, you're able to rub your sore wrists and not feel so tied down. You willingly meet his gaze and he still has that smug grin on him. He looked pretty damn proud indeed.

"The names Dead End. I'm one of Lord Megatron's favourite soldiers, so you should be very grateful with the life you'll have, but that all depends on you, if you're going to be a good femme and play nice, or to be a brat and give me a nagging headache. So, what will it be?"

The fight in you is gone, if it was ever even there before, you just don't have the strength or bravery to fight him. That would be stupid anyway.

"I'll be good." You barely manage to speak, but he hears it.

"Smart femme. Now, let's have a close look."

He grabs your servo and pulls you towards him, causing you to lift your other and hold it against his chassis while a frightened squeak left you. He lets out a light chuckle that vibrates against you and you bow your helm submissively. Weak and pathetic , that's all you are.

You bite back a whimper when you feel his servos dragging down across your waist and behind over your aft, digits gripping into your soft armour causing a soft creak to sound from the contact. He was mapping you out, feeling your frame, touching what was rightfully his now. His curious servos continue to roam, up and down over again, a long sickening dread flooding through your tanks.

"Stop." You barely whisper, voice meek and frightened. "Please."

"I don't think that's you showing me good behaviour. I didn't buy you so you can boss me around." He narrows his optics at you, boring deeply, making you cower under his dominating shadow.

"I'm just scared." Your spark was hammering rapidly against your chamber, as was your processor swirling wildly.

"I already said I'm not going to hurt you, so you shouldn't be so scared. Interfacing is fun, and you'll understand why soon. Like I said, you're mine, and we're doing things my way." Dead End continues his touching, admiring your frame and mapping you out, before he tilts your helm up to look at him again. "I hope you weren't lying when you were asked if you were a virgin and said yes. Are you still sealed?" His words dripped with a foulness, yet the air is clean.

"I-I am."

"So I'm not going to discover any unpleasant surprises?" He speaks so crudely, almost pouting a little like you were lying.

"No, no, I'm not lying, I promise." Meek, shuddering, your fear and anxiety corrupting through your entire frame and processor. How did it come to this? Losing the war, sold off like property, and now you're forced to do whatever this decepticon wanted.

His touch against your cheek plating was silky, in a sickening way, and he continued to caress the area with affection, before he took hold of your servo and pulled you towards the berth. The moment of dreaded truth. "Play nice for me, femme. Lay on the berth, spread those thighs, and retract your panel. I'm going to take real good care of you."

You don't want to, but you have no choice, and you let out a shuttered vent before moving towards the berth, a heavy sickening weight corrupting your spark chamber. Once on your back you find yourself staring at the ceiling, servos clenching against the berth covered in silks when you feel his weight crawling closer, his cold shadow looming over you.

Dead End likes the sight of your innocence, a growing hunger roaring through him with pride while he observes his new autobot pet. After everything, he's earned it, a prize to keep, and he was going to do what he liked with you. He'll teach you, have you moaning and begging for him, that was his promise.

Giving a silent prayer for yourself, you then spread your legs, taking a deep vent in and retracting your panel. Your helm turns on its side to avoid looking at him and that aggravating smug smile of his. Accepting this fate was your only option, that didn't mean it was going to be easy.

A startled yelp erupts from you when you feel his servo bluntly between thighs and cupping against your exposed valve. Your instincts kick in as your thighs close and you grab hold of his servo, trying to pry him away. He easily shoves your servo away and pins his weight on you.

"Don't do that."

Then you feel his knee pad pressing up against your valve that creates a surprising moan from you feeling your valve react from the contact. This makes you cover your mouth, optics wide and face heated with embarrassment that such a sound was made. You didn't mean it, or did you? He heard it, very clearly, and he seemed to really like it.

"Does that feel good? I knew you wouldn't be able to resist me. I'll have you making all sorts of sounds soon enough, it'll be fun." Dead End continues to rub his knee up against your valve while watching your reactions, relishing your confused growing desire that bursts from your face, no matter how hard you try to hide it.

Turning your helm to the side, all you can do is let it happen, even though this wasn't something you asked for, you can't deny the new bubbling pleasure pooling around your valve. Your sensitive node pulses, growing thrills rushing through your entire frame, dainty whimpers turning into low moans as you feel the pleasure he was creating in you.

Dead End's knee pad is already soaked with your fluids, and he grins with a happy greed filling him, drinking up your positive response. Leaning closer he tilts your helm to look back at him, before sealing your lips over his for a heated kiss.

Sure, you've been kissed before, but nothing like this. His kiss was hungry, dominant, and you feel his glossa invade between your lips causing you to let out a muffled whimper, before he lays himself between your thighs more snug and starts to grind his heated panel against you while devouring your lips.

He knew what he was doing, and he was bringing out all the forbidden pleasures from you. You hated it, but you also feel yourself liking it much to your scared confusion.

With shaky servos moving onto his shoulders, you start to kiss him back, innocently. He likes your response, letting out his own moan and deepening the kiss. Money well spent he thought to himself.

Your mind starts to blank while kissing him, slowly falling in sync with him and simply forgetting just how you ended up here, before your mind snaps back to reality when you feel his spike, now extended out, rubbing up against your valve. Breaking the kiss you shyly glance between your pressed bodies and let out a skittish whimper at his embellished spike.

Dead End had piercings, two frenum ball bars and a little ring at the tarped tip. He looks down as well with you and lets out a low chuckle. "Like what you see? These babies are going to become your obsession. Only my spike will be able to ever satisfy you."

Is that true? You don't have time to think too much before feeling his servo against your valve again and a digit being pushed in, prepping you. The small invasion causes you to let out a wince, clenching around his digit with dimmed optics. It hurts.

"As much as I do love a tight valve, you're only going to hurt yourself even more if you don't relax. Spread your thighs a little more, and ease your thoughts. I'll take care of you."

Listening, you do as says, trying to allow him to stretch your valve, feeling his digit curling against your inner channel and another slowly rubbing against your node, earning a skittish moan from you.

"That's it, good femme. You're a quick learner." Dead End praised before hooking his other servo under you, lifting your hips and aft up a little and shifting closer, before adding a second digit.

Another wince leaves you, before feeling his lips against your neck, nibbling against your soft cables, enough to distract you from the slight burning ache as he stretches your valve with his digits. He knew how to get you aroused, and that worried you.

Was this the fate of autobots? Sold off to the highest bidder? You knew Megatron was cold, but slavery? Were you a slave or his whore? Was there a difference? The overwhelming questions make you whimper softly, and you've been distracted so much that you didn't realise his digits were gone, only to feel a pressure against your valve.

Dead End decides it's time to claim his prize. He coats his spike with your fluids and starts to nudge your entrance, watching as the tip pushes through, along with the metal piercings. He lets out a gritted moan feeling you clench around him, before meeting resistance and smirks. "Good, you weren't lying."

You're tense, scared, embarrassed, you simply couldn't answer him. It hurts as he continues to press forward, seal slowly tearing, before he nudges through and you cry out, servos gripping tightly at his arms as he continues to push forward until he's fully flushed.

The pain wasn't as terrible as you imagined, but it still stings, and your emotions are running high, confused by the tingling thrill slowly boiling, there's a buzzing arousal slowly flooding through you.

"Nice and snug, perfect." He coos from above while looking rather proud. "Not so bad, hey? I'll have you overloading over again, you won't be able to help yourself."

You feel his ridged spike stretching you fully, pulsing through your channel along with the cold metal piercings. It causes your frame to quivery in ecstasy followed by another low whine, then he starts moving, withdrawing himself and thrusting back in, working himself at a steady pace while letting out his own moans.

Soft gasps leave you after each thrust, feeling his length and the metal piercings rubbing along your inner channel, him grinding down against your node in a luscious way. The pleasure bubbles rather quickly in you, and without even realising you clench your thighs around his rocking waist, drawing him closer as your servos hold onto his supported arms holding himself up.

Those piercings are oddly nice, an added stimulation through your channel that makes you let out light moans, falling into the forbidden pleasure that corrupts you. Something's happening, and you weren't sure what it was, but before you can think more about it your whole frame suddenly erupts with a bursting overload, frame trembling as your silky valve is soaked with sticky fluids as your back arches, followed by a sweet mewl from your vocals. At first you're confused by what just happened, never having felt like that before, and it's Dead End's amused chuckle that catches your attention.

"Already? Slag, knew I was good, but that was something else. Bet you've never had an overload like that before, not even by touching yourself." His words sink in and you're scared again.

"I-I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I didn't mean-" You're cut off by his digit against your quivering lips.

"Relax, you're not in trouble. You'll learn to control your overloads, and you've got a pretty good teacher. But I think you've got a second one in your still." There's no time to answer before he starts moving again, firmly snapping his hips against you that creates loud moans from you and tightly holding onto him.

All control was gone. Instantly, you cling onto him while letting out lingering loud mewls against his neck, unable to hide anything or keep quiet, rejoicing in the blooming pleasure quickly sparking through you even more. To feel such a luxury buzz, tingling from your sensitive valve, it leaves a confusing allure that you can't help but enjoy. You didn't want this or ask for it, yet it happened, and there's a small deep part in you that is glad it happened. Is that wrong?

"Beautiful fragging sight you are, perfect tight valve, singing loudly, I knew you wouldn't be able to resist." Dead End grunts through his smug proudness. "There will be even more pleasure once I give you your own little piercings. You'll be a dazzling sight."

There's no response from you, because you can't. The room fills with the sounds of both your moans, metal slapping together, the added creak of the berth under his rough movements as he grunts harshly with each thrust with your squeaked gasps. You feel it, the second overload about to pop in you, and he senses this before pressing his body more against your smaller body, grinding himself firmly against you over again and letting out growing heated vents. He's not far off either.

Then it happens. His warm fluids fill you, spike pulsing rapidly as his piercings press against your compulsing channel. His movements don't slow as he starts to rub your node with his digit, and that's all that's needed for your to fall through your second overload and clench around him even more tightly than before, a high pitched mewl sounding as you continue to hold onto him, before his movements finally slow into soft jerky thrusts.

Soft moans of pleasure is all that's heard from you, optics hazy and shuttering as your cooling fans kick in to help cool your quivery heated frame. Your thighs and servos still hold onto him, as if he's all there is, you just can't bring yourself to let go of him.

Eventually, he stops, and savours your valve a little more before removing himself, watching as his spike is extracted and leaving your gaping valve with nothing to clench onto. Your juices and his fluids soak between your two and the berth, and he's rather proud of the sight.

"Perfect. Leaking so much, good response from you babe."

Shame fills you. Allowing him to make you feel like this, to give in so easily, it makes you feel even more weak and pathetic. He notices this and caresses your cheek plating, surprisingly tender, affection even.

"You've got nothing to worry about anymore, I promise that babe. In time you'll see I'm not a terrible guy, and this life will grow on you. We're going to have so much fun you and I." Suddenly, his lips are over yours once again, slowly deepening the kiss between you two, and you give in yet again.

Yeah, plenty of fun.

[fakemonalisa28-art]

Playlist:

Gibson Girl by Ethel Cain

I Know The End by Phoebe Bridgers

Dorothea by Taylor Swift

I’ve Been Let Down by Mazzy Star

All Of Me Wants All Of You by Sufjan Stevens

I Lied by Dark Mountain Orchid

Devil’s Backbone by The Civil Wars

Not All Who Wander Are Lost by Lana Del Rey

Valentine, Texas by Mitski

The Great Suburban Showdown by Billy Joel

Indiana by Adrianne Lenker & Buck Meek

Family Tree by Ethel Cain

It Will Come Back by Hozier

Text Book by Lana Del Rey

Rusty Cage by Johnny Cash

Daisy by Rosie Diamond

[hatchetno1]

sage forest mental institution.

chapter 3. in which you magically get unfucked. word count: 2.4k note: changed Reader's name to Y/N. doesn't hit the same lol.

So there you were, in the midst of four men. One behind a metal door holding you in place, one about to lunge for your neck, another who was encouraging the second one, and a fourth one whom you knew would do nothing to stop it.

The whirring of a machine.

“Stop,” a voice commanded, and all five of you turned to look at its source.

There stood—no, floated a man? Boy? His age was ambiguous and he seemed to be an apparition, because no way in hell was normal matter floating in the air. You could also practically see the camera behind him. (Did he pop out of the camera?)

Your first thought was, why is a Link cosplayer hovering in the air, and your second was, why is Link bleeding from his eyes?

“I just got ahold of Slender,” he announced lazily. Who the fuck is this Slender they keep talking about? “He says to bring the girl back. Alive. Mm-kay, gonna fuck off now.” As quickly as he appeared, he disappeared.

Jeff damn near threw a tantrum, before deciding he “doesn’t give a shit what the big man wants”, but strangely this time, Masky and Brian restrained him.

“Ugh, I forgot you fucks are walking microphones for Slendy,” he complained, throwing his head back as he groaned. “Fine, fine, it’s almost as if I’m not supposed to kill people nowadays.” You were left in awe at the amount of sarcasm in his voice.

“Free Toby,” commanded Masky. “And then we wait for him to bring us back. I’ll keep this one away from EJ.” He turns to the aforementioned Jeff. “Jeff, follow Hoodie and free Toby.” Jeff is strangely obedient and follows Brian, whose alias is apparently Hoodie, off to free this Toby, but grumbles nonetheless.

The grumbling grew quieter as Jeff and Hoodie walked away, leaving you in awkward silence with your captors. You felt Masky’s scrutinizing glare on you, so you cleared your throat and turn awkwardly to EJ, who now has an unhappy expression on his face, most likely grumpy that he couldn’t eat your kidneys or whatever.

“…Who’s that Link cosplayer and why is he floating?” You asked, then realize it might be unwise to speak now. Fortunately, the situation was forgiving enough, and EJ answered you.

“That is BEN. He sort of lives in dataspace.” You dared not pry further for an answer.

You heard the disgusting shriek of rusty metal hinges turning somewhere not too far from your current location, and you cringed. You turned to your left, taking in the sight of a boy, presumably Toby, who was also in a nightgown. The brown-haired boy’s demeanor was strange, almost meek, but you knew he wasn’t. Someone with this group couldn’t possibly be meek. He sniffed and sneezed, and his shoulders jerked. Probably a tic disorder. For whatever reason, his left cheek was also bandaged, and you wondered what kind of wound lay there. From this distance, you heard Hoodie brief him on the situation, how “The Operator” needed you alive and whatever. Bro has two names? What is he, quirky?

Masky looked around and nodded. “Time to go,” he says, before grabbing a key from Jeff and unlocking EJ’s door.

You didn’t know what you expected, because EJ lunged at you, and you knew he was hungry. In a second, his strangely lanky body was lifted off you, as he roared and cried for your organs. You had no idea what to think of this, but you turned to Masky, who sighed as Toby—who seemed to be stronger than he looks— and Hoodie restrained him.

“Come on. Gotta take you to your new home now. Or torture chamber. Don’t know what Boss wants with you.”

You were so fucked.

So here you are now, being transported with nary a trace of care from these men, all in light blue hospital gowns that do nothing to flatter them. Well, with as much care as you’d expect, at least. They are, after all, a serial killer, a cannibal, and three others who seemed to be seasoned fighters. And you don’t think they fight for show.

You pretty much get hurled into the boot of a truck that appeared out of nowhere. And when you say that it appeared out of nowhere, it appeared out of nowhere. So not only were they a serial killer, a cannibal, and three others who seemed to be seasoned not-for-show fighters, there was also some supernatural force coming into play that was clearly on their side.

Just as you wonder how Ben will get in with you, Hoodie gets into the back with you, and a threat from Masky is uttered, something like, “We’ll hunt you down if you escape, and we’ll make you wish you never ran away.” You don’t doubt him. You hear doors slam close, rocking the whole vehicle left and right. The glass shard Jeff was previously holding is now transferred into Hoodie’s hand, and you can only presume that the first reason why is to prevent Jeff from slicing your throat. The second is that, obviously, they need to hold your life hostage. It is at this moment you realize that you’re stupid, Ben is an apparition, and probably doesn’t require transport.

Against your natural instincts, you try to relax in the boot of this truck, still relatively tensed up due to the situation. Beside you, Hoodie is staring at you wordlessly, no hint of sympathy in his eyes, nothing that would tell you he’d hesitate to hurt you in Jeff’s place. You remember Ben’s exact words—bring the girl back alive. There was nothing insinuating you absolutely had to be in one piece.

To avoid the awkwardness, though you’re pretty sure you’re the only one feeling it given that the other probably has zero regard for you as a person, you clear your throat and lie back against the floor of the trunk. Hoodie does not move an inch, the hand grasping the shard holding steady. You wonder how he’s not bleeding from holding it, then decide that none of this is your problem. Yet.

They could torture you for fun, or they could decide all of a sudden that you’re no fun and kill you off. You decide against sighing, afraid that if you even just twitched in the wrong direction they’d cut that appendage off. Honestly, you don’t even know why you consider sighing. You should be fearing for your life.

But that’s just the thing. To fear is to have something to lose, and right now your only concern is that they might torture you without letting you dying, or just torture you to death. You know that a quick and painless death with these guys would be a miracle, given their sadistic and cannibalistic nature. Otherwise, you know that even if you died, the only thing you’d technically be losing is your life. And you don’t value your own life. After all, after around two entire decades of abuse and domestic violence, you grew up just not having anything to value. In the unlikely circumstance that you did find something to like, they’d just take it away from you.

These in mind, you manage to relax even further, and think yourself along this train of thought till you fall asleep, the group’s threats forgotten.

“Damn. She really just fell asleep.”

“You wanna bet on who’ll be able to hit her hardest without waking her up?”

“Huh-hey. The Operator told us—“ a whistle, snapping of fingers, and a harsh ‘fuck’—“to keep her alive.”

“Toby, are you just afraid of being a woman beater? You’re way past that.”

“Please, dear, she’s only a child—”

Whack. Thud.

You jerk awake. Though their voices had been drifting in slowly, the last person’s words triggered you. You don’t realize your body has acted before your eyes open, and you’re now sitting up ramrod straight, glaring at murderers, hands ready to defend.

Your brain registers the five in hospital gowns, and you remember that you’re being kidnapped. You regret the sudden movement, so you curl up into a defensive position, mouth opening to beg for your life. You may be passively suicidal, but you still have some sense of self-preservation.

Jeff looks at you in disgust. “Boooooring,” he drawls, then bends down to your height, face just inches away from yours. “I feed boring people to my dog.” A gulp sends its way down your throat. You have no idea what to say to that, and the classic option of apologizing comes to your mind, but you choke it back down lest Jeff actually try to feed you to his dog.

“Uh,” is, once again, your intelligent response to a bunch of insane murderers who are currently staring you down.

Masky acts just as you see Jeff cringe at your response, picking you up and slinging you over his shoulder. You startle, but he holds you firm. “Do not,” he repeats, calm venom in his words, “attempt to run. You will not succeed.”

You try to defend your not-so-little full-body twitch, but you once again save your own ass by shutting the fuck up. You praise yourself for not making shitty decisions today.

Mask’s back blocks you from looking at what’s ahead, what they seem to walk towards with such purpose in their footsteps. Where the evergreen grass ends, raised wooden stairs appear, wide enough to fit two or three people on top of it. A patio?

Your guess is confirmed as the three steps lead to the floor of a patio, and from your peripheral vision you register what can only be described as a normal wooden patio, except it’s run-down and flora is beginning to take over the gaps between the planks. You feel Masky’s free arm reach out and push something, likely a door. Its hinges squeak in protest as the man holding you continues moving forward.

You note that no light floods out from the open doorway, but the men continue walking forward anyway. Just as you think this might be your final resting place, Masky speaks.

“We, Eyeless Jack, Jeffrey Woods, Brian Thomas, Tobias Rogers, Timothy Wright and hostage…”

“Y/N,” EJ offers.

“And hostage Y/N,” Masky continues, “Request access to your home, Master.”

You could’ve sworn you didn’t blink, but suddenly you’re standing on a brown patterned carpet in a well-lit hall. At least, you think it’s a hall. There’s no time to even process the names, the full names they practically handed you.

You feel a huge presence behind you. That is to say, in front of Masky. Though intangible, it towers over you, choking you, clogging your breath, vision and hearing. Static?

It buzzes and buzzes, and you think your head might explode, you swear your eyeballs pop out of their sockets and that your brains leak out of your nostrils, but in a split second, you find yourself sitting on the floor, your eyes and brain intact. You feel around your head and face to confirm that everything is in place.

Tilting your head upwards might have been the scariest thing you’ve gone through today.

Faceless.

Indents where eyes should be and a slight raise where a nose should be.

And a large maw of teeth, tongue and saliva.

You don’t know how you should be reacting. But you’re pulled back to your surroundings as three voices seem to respond to this presence, this faceless entity with a monstrous mouth.

A chorus of three. “Master.”

You don’t see them, but you know that three of these men are bowing, one knee to the ground to this creature. Something in its chest rumbles, and you hope it’s not an angry one.

The entity retracts its tongue, and its teeth disappear into nothing, into white, sewing themselves back together into, for lack of better description, leather-like fabric.

Welcome back.

You’re left disoriented for a bit at the intrusive thought. No, it wasn’t your usual internal monologue. The voice was deep, smooth, imposing. But you hadn’t seen the entity, the so-called master, open his mouth, nor even move the muscles where a normal person’s mouth would be.

Slowly, the entity’s head turned towards you, its eyeless gaze piercing you, mind and soul.

You are to follow my proxies. They will ensure your survival in this household.

You hear a faint voice, similar to that of this entity’s, in the back of your head. Masky grunts in acknowledgement, seemingly in rhythm with that background voice. You realize that this entity is probably projecting his voice onto both of you at once.

You are to be brought to my office once you have been shown to your room. There, I will deliver a set of instructions to you.

The entity disappears. Jeff and EJ walk ahead on either side of you and ascend the stairways on either side of what you can only call a mansion lobby.

You feel a tug on the fabric of your clothes, over your right shoulder. “Come.” The stuttering voice that reminded the group to keep you alive sounds beside your ear. “Don’t want the Operator to wait too long,” he says amongst a slew of vocal tics, whistling and swearing. You wanted the jerky speech to soothe you, leave you in denial that this boy was a gentle being, but you knew otherwise. Sooner or later, something really fucked up would rear its ugly head above Toby’s brown, curly-haired head.

Wordlessly, you rise. He leads you, pinching the fabric of your sleeve to lead you.

It all feels like a dream. A really bad dream. Like a distasteful prank that’s being pulled on me right now.

But no one in your life remains to pull even the most harmless of pranks on you.

chapter 4 is out.