#and I even scrambled back as fast as I damn well could so I could be there like a half hour late in case something went wrong

[neverbesokind]

every. time. I think I have a handle on this fucking job, I realize that I don't and I am a failure.

[fairyofshampgyu]

Super shy !

genre: smut, baker au, college au, crack

Pairing: shy loser virgin bakery worker ! soobin x college customer ! reader

Warnings: sub soobin, dom reader, clubbing, loss of virginity, riding, hand job, titty groping (can’t be a Soobin smut without him being obsessed with boobies be fr), premature ejaculation,

word count: 2.9k

As soon as you stepped into the newly established campus bakery, walking up to the counter and observing all the pastries, contemplating for a rather long time before you end up deciding on what you’d usually order anyway, Soobin couldn’t help feeling like his world got totally turned upside down. The sight of you rendering him completely speechless and unable to even think.

Time seemingly going by so slow like in the kdramas as your shiny hair majestically blows in the non existent wind inside, smile brightening up the entire bakery. He could practically see the roses blooming around your face like in the mangas. Was this love at first sight?!

Realistically, no.

But were you incredibly attractive to him and a breath of fresh air to the moody, stressed out college students that purchase a single coffee and stay for hours completing assignments with their backs concerningly hunched over? Hell yes.

And unfortunately for Soobin, he does not do well with pretty people. At all. Not realising you had even ordered, too in awe and preoccupied with taking in all your features until he’s snapped back to reality with the clearing of your throat and he can already feel his cheeks burning up horribly fast. Oh god. He really, really hopes it’s not evident right now.

“S-sorry…What did you say?” He begins apologising profusely to you, too embarrassed to even look you in the eyes, staring off more to the side. This was definitely not his best customer service.

With a chuckle, you brush it off and state your order again, “I said could I have the strawberry swirl cheesecake please?” If Soobin could look at himself in third person, he would so be face palming right now. Or better yet, maybe he could just go up and like, punch himself straight up or something for acting like such a loser.

“Ah right... That’s ₩7500. Cash or card?”

You pay with cash and Soobin, very nervously, fumbles around to garner the right amount of change to hand you, though doing it in the most awkward way possible and his palm makes direct contact with yours as he hands the money, making him blush even more and let out a small obvious gasp at the feeling of your soft hand. Oh my god. Why did he do that?! He really hopes you didn’t find that weird.

You only let out another chuckle, thanking him before you’re leaving the bakery in an elegant manner and Soobin is left to sigh and watch your back disappear. Damn it. He’ll probably never see you again. You were so pretty and so cute, too cute even-

“You’re such a virgin.”

His thoughts about you are abruptly dissipated by his coworker and unfortunately best friend, Choi Beomgyu who gives him the stupidest, most annoying grin he would definitely like to slap off his face right now.

“Just shut up.” Soobin grimaces and rolls his eyes at beomgyu, bringing a batch of freshly baked cookies out of the oven behind him and placing them into the display glass one by one.

"You’re pinker than the strawberry macarons we sell. That's saying something." Beomgyu raises an eyebrow at him with sass.

So does that mean you could see how flustered he was getting then? Oh no! Soobin clears his throat and narrows his eyes at beomgyu anyway. “Am not.”

“Are too! Anyway, all I’m saying is that interaction was painful to watch. You’re really giving pathetic, loser, virgin right now. I cant lie.” Beomgyu attempts to stifle in one of his obnoxious laughs.

Soobin is quick to snap back, "You've only ever slept with one person!"

"S-so!! At least im not a virgin!" Beomgyu’s cheeks also become the equivalent to the strawberry macarons as he scrambles to try and defend himself, brows furrowed and cheeks puffed.

“Well, the concept of a virgin is purely societal anyway. It doesn’t actually matter. It doesn’t mean anything really.” Soobin bitterly replies, continuing to work whilst his counterpart does completely nothing like most of the time. It's usually soobin that does work, remind him not to agree to beomyu's silly ideas of getting a job together ever again.

Beomgyu scoffs and snickers at this, "Whatever. You’re just saying all that to make yourself feel better because you’re a loser. LMAO"

"I’ll punch you right now."

"Then we'll both be fired~”

A poor customer still awaits at the counter to be served, standing in bewilderment and tiredness. Waiting for the two bakers to finish bickering and sighing as they don’t seem like they’re going to stop anytime soon.

Soobin doesn’t expect to see you again, in complete honesty, he’s almost forgotten you even exist after you never come again. But he’s in luck and more than pleasantly surprised when he hears the bell to the door go ding!, indicating a customer had walked in. He looks up from the cake he was decorating and in comes you looking cuter than the first time he saw you. He tries not to mess up the cake and he stands up straight almost instantly when he sees you, waiting for you to order and trying to remain calm.

You laugh and point at his cute nose when you come up to the counter. “You have like, icing all on your nose.”

“O-oh. I do?” He points at himself and you nod in reply. He feels himself going redder by the minute. He must look so stupid right now! And he urgently brings his sleeve up and tries to wipe the icing off his nose to not make himself look an even more of a complete fool in front of you .

“Ah wait no. Let me do it!” You lean over the counter as you see him struggling and wipe it off the top of his cute bunny like nose instead for him.

And that was the end of soobin. The end.

-

You become a regular at the bakery and soobin becomes a regular of embarrassing the absolute shit out of himself each time he sees you. He really doesn’t think he can top the previous comedic disaster that occurs when you enter, yet he always proves himself wrong, the awkwardness reaching new heights each time. From dropping trays of pastries, spilling drinks, nearly slipping in front of you, giving you a ₩50000 note when it was only ₩5000 change, the list goes on and on. He’s actually surprised he hasn’t lost his job yet.

And there’s also always a disappointed beomgyu shaking his head afterwards ready to make fun of him when Soobin promises to make a move but freezes every time you’re in sight, too much of a pussy.

“I’m calling an intervention.” Beomgyu declares and sighs after the nth time of soobin making absolutely no moves on you whatsoever, “Soobin, my man, my bro, you desperately need to get banged. It’s painful seeing the way you act. Your little crush is not gonna like you with the way you act. That’s it. We’re going clubbing tonight after this shift. No buts.”

“But-”

“I said no buts!”

“You know I hate clubbing.”

“You’ve never even been with me despite my constant pleads.” Beomgyu shakes his head and makes a dramatic pained face at his way.

“So? I know I’ll hate it.”

“You’re such a hater bro.”

“Yes I am. And I take pride in it. I’m a hater of everything.”

Beomgyu just sighs. He was utterly hopeless.

Unfortunately, there was no way Soobin could get out of this because beomgyu was having absolutely none of his protests and excuses and that’s how he ends up finding himself at the club anyway after his shift, sitting off to the side as he watches beomgyu disappear somewhere into the crowd. Soobin sighs as he downs his jack and coke. This was going to be a long fucking night.

-

In the dimly lit club, soobin’s discomfort was palpable, like a fish out of water and you noticed instantly upon arrival. It’s that cute tall baker boy who always serves you! You excitedly make your way and sit next to him, he looked a little lonely. “Hey! You work at that bakery on campus. I go there!”

Soobin’s eyes nearly fall out of his sockets at the sight of you sitting next to him and he nearly chokes on his drink as he splutters on his straw and nods. Act calm, act calm, act calm, act calm. Act cool and mysterious.

It’s you! You’re speaking to him?!

“So…these things not really your scene, huh?”

“Gee. How did you ever notice?” Soobin attempts to smile and joke with dry humour but it executes a little more awkward and nervous than how he would have liked.

You also try to carry on the conversation since this is the first time you’ve got to ever actually talk to the cute boy before. “I’m very intuitive. I can just sense things like that.”

He laughs at that too, feeling a bit more comfortable around you now. “No but yeah, I’d much rather be at home right now sleeping. Can’t say I’m much of an advocate for getting stupidly drunk with sweaty people you don’t even know with terrible rave music and flashing lights that should have an epilepsy warning”

“I get it.” You chuckle at how passionate he gets talking about how much he hates clubbing, frown on his cute face. “So why are you here then?”

“Friend wanted me to. Said I needed to finally get laid or whatever.” Soobin rolls his eyes and sips on his drink again, motioning his head to the direction of beomgyu on the dance floor, clearly drunk off his ass now.

“Oh, you’re a Virgin?”

Soobin’s ears go red when he realises what he said to you. “O-oh um y-yeah I guess…”

“Are you waiting for like marriage or the right person or something?” You question, genuinely surprised. He was tall and very attractive and it was rare for college boys to not hook up every single night these days.

“God no. Just never happened. I don’t really care for things like that. It’s probably overhyped anyway and doesn’t even feel that good. Like porn is highly unrealistic anyway.”

“You think so?” You chuckle at him and he nods, continuing to cutely sip on his drink with his straw. “Well maybe you should to try it out first and see for yourself.” Your words start to become a little flirty as you grow more confident talking with him and also because of the alcohol making you slightly tipsy now. “Sorry, but do you want to get out of here?”

“Yes please.” Soobin’s eyes widen even more at your suggestion and he’s more than happy to get out of here with you especially.

“Umm your friend is a bit….out of it right now.” You watch beomgyu drunk from afar, whipping his long hair back and forth claiming to everyone around he’ll be able to do it fast enough to lift off his feet and fly like a helicopter.

“He’ll be…he’ll be fine I’m sure”

Soobin has no idea what good stuff he must have done in his past life to get to this moment right now, in your room, making out with you, in your bed. Did he mention making out? With you?! The customer he’s been crushing on for months?! Holy, he might hyperventilate right now. It all feels like a dream. Is this real right now?

You cup his cheek and move into his lap, continuing to move your lips against his and soobin’s ears and face are all flushed, breathing loud of enough for you to hear and he looks all nervous and a little shaky.

You stop kissing him but he chases after your lips still and you stroke his cheek, “Are you okay Soobin?”

He’s only able to nod, lips parted and eyes all glazed over. He’s so out of it just from making out with you it’s crazy. But so cute too.

“C-can you…can we…just want…”

“What do you want, baby?” You chuckle and stroke his cheek as he manages to utter some words. The petname only makes his head go even more haywire.

“W-want you…”

“What do you want me to do?” You giggle and coo at him.

He shyly shows you the boner he’s had this entire time. You can’t believe he got a boner just from some kissing. “Can you-will you touch me…please? Need it…” He pleads at you nervously, so red in the face.

“Are you sure?”

He nods his head exceptionally fast and you begin to unbuckle his jeans as he watches you take his flushed and hard dick out, breathing only becoming heavier. Damn, you didn’t think he’d be that big.

You take him into your hands and his mouth his already agape, gasping when you slowly start to stroke him.

You pump his big cock at a steady pace so as not to overwhelm him too much, though twisting and thumbing at the tip occasionally that has him drooling at the corner of his mouth and beads of precum dribbling out heavily from his cock. It’s endearing how far gone he is just at you stroking his dick slow, shy whimpers and other noises eliciting from his mouth.

You unbutton you shirt with your other hand as you continue to pump him and his eyes go crazed at the sight of your tits, you guiding his own big inexperienced hands to grope at them and he does, slumping his head into your neck and shoulder moaning into it and still groping and squeezing at your tits.

With a sudden yelp you feel Soobin’s cum spurt up and leak into your hands, his eyes rolling back as he whimpers continuously from his premature orgasm.

He doesn’t lift his head from your shoulder yet, too embarrassed to face you but he eventually does, eyes still half lidded, trying to catch his breath and he’s hard again. “W-will you fuck me? Please please please. Wanna feel it, wanna feel you, please?” He practically begs, still panting out.

“Are you really sure, Soobin? With me?”

“Yes please! Only want you.”

You study his face for any hesitancy but it’s clear he’s so set on wanting you to fuck him. So you wrap your hands around both his wrists and bring him to lay down on your pillows instead, you still straddling his lap.

When you’ve undressed your lower half, you bring his dick and slide it over your entrance a few times, he moans out loud, hands coming up shyly to cover his face and then you sink down incredibly slowly on his massive length . Soobin’s jaw drops and breath hitches at the feeling of his dick finally in your warm pussy, a strangled moan ripping out of him. He could seriously cum just from being in you right now, but he tries so hard not to or you’ll be disappointed and he doesn’t want to see you disappointed or embarrass himself even more.

“You good, baby?”

“M’ f-fine. Just-Just need a minute.” Soobin shakes out.

You take his hands away from his face and lean down to softly kiss him instead, trying to calm him down and he effuses into your mouth, kissing back passionately with his eyes closed.

“I’m ready now…” He pulls away after a while and looks you in the eyes.

So you start to slowly move, riding him, going up and down on his virgin dick. Soobin’s mouth hangs open in endless moans and gasps and whimpers, face buried into your pillow to the side and his hair all messy now. Whole body flushed and shaking underneath you.

“Better than you thought, baby?” You grunt out, bouncing on top of his cock.

“So much better. O-oh my god, f-fuck…ah!” So maybe sex wasn’t overhyped after all. Because goddamn, you feel so fucking good. Maybe it was just you. But Soobin truly feels like he’s gliding on fluffy clouds right now. All the times he’s touched himself not even coming close to how he feels right now stuffed in your pussy as you fuck him, watching mesmerised as your tits bounce with each movement. He could die here right now in full contentment. Oh how he was so wrong.

It’s not long at all before Soobin can’t hold it anymore. His hips bucking up and breath hitching as a loud strangled mewl tumbles out of his mouth and you feel hot cum fill you up suddenly that makes you still your movements on him. He lets out a long slurred groan and then goes limp beneath you, eyes closing shut and open as he fades from conscious to not every now and then. Is he really that fucked out?

After a while, he finally somewhat recovers and comes back to you from his high, still panting out and chest rising up and down. He looks up at you with a small shy smile on his lips, arm thrown over his forehead.

“You know I literally only go to the bakery because of how cute and silly you are and how you always make a mess of yourself whenever I walk in” You chuckle and admit, drawing shapes into his chest.

“W-wait you knew I liked you?” Soobin asks, shocked and feeling embarrassed again.

You laugh, “Come on, you made it rather obvious.”

Please actually reblog !!!!!! and leave comments !!!! guys 😭 if you like the fic. It’s really appreciated and so nice tysm !<3🙏💕🌷🌷! It’s incredibly discouraging and irriating when fics have such little reblogs ☹️. At least send an anon in the inbox if you don’t want to rb, don’t just like. Feedback is always appreciated it make writers want to actually write :)

A/n: having serious writers block rn but forced myself to write this in practically one sitting (it was so painful) and has not been proof read at all so if it makes no sense I apologise 😭

[elizabebabe]

𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐚 𝐲𝐨𝐠𝐚 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 ꕤ 𝐜𝐡𝐫𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐨

𝐢𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡: yoga teacher y/n’s student has her thinking unprofessional thoughts.

minors dni!

| “you got so wet so quickly…been a while since someone touched you baby?”

| “damn — spread open for me, on your mat?”

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: use of y/n, pet name, smut with little plot, fingering, f!masturbation, fantasies, horny!y/n, lowk lonely!y/n.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1.1k!

𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬: kicking off the remodel with a one-shot !! zabe loves yoga, zabe loves chris, mix em together?

“today we’ll be doing a few more advanced stretches, stretching out your backs, calves and any other tight muscles.” your voice echoed through the studio, your students crisscrossed on their mats awaiting instruction.

you had early morning classes every day of the week but wednesday was particularly your favorite since you got to see a certain student, his name was chris and yes he was handsome but he also cared about your profession or…maybe less about your profession and more about yoga itself.

he wanted you to help him fix his bad back, asking questions, asking for advice, you needed to be professional which is why all your attempts of asking for his number ended in failure.

you turned on your speakers, the usual calm, lyricless music waving through the room, also not forgetting to turn off the lights to give a more relaxed feel you always wanted to share with your students.

“we’re gonna start how we always start, savasana.” you scrambled around the room, stepping between bodies laying atop their personal mats ensuring everyone knew what they were doing.

you took 3-4 minutes to correct anyone making mistakes and marking who could use a bit of help, some days of the week you had kids joining in with their guardian, on wednesdays you have a pretty mixed group of ages so it can be hard to “grade”.

“alright, that’s savasana.” 

“come up to ‘mountain’ pose.” you continue, stepping on your mat to follow along to your own instructions, trying to ignore your eyes telling you to gaze at the brunette man in the front row.

⋆˚｡⋆୨୧˚

after an hour of tough stretches, your class huffed and puffed on their way out but one man stayed behind.

“hey.” he nudged at your turned back.

“oh! hi.” the interaction taking you by surprise as you never really interacted, “what can i do for you.” you smiled awkwardly.

“well, with the ‘cobra’ pose.” he hiked his yoga mats strap over his shoulder, “i’m struggling with getting my back that low, it kinda hurts.” he says with a cute, loose smile maybe embarrassed by what he’s saying.

“oh no! if it hurts, find a way to make it more comfortable for you.” you gestured with your hands.

“it shouldn’t hurt, maybe uncomfortable but it shouldn’t hurt—“ the rambling of yours continued.

he snickered which interrupted your words, “thanks.” he gently patted your shoulder before turning towards and out the glass door.

the embarrassment he felt now flipped on you as you wanted to crawl into a hole from the exchange.

⋆˚｡⋆୨୧˚

your drive home was silent as you sat overthinking about what played on your mind, ‘he just wanted advice, he doesn’t like you.’

‘why did he touch you then?’

‘it was a pat on the damn shoulder, did you see how fast he got out of there?’

you felt crazy as voices in your head fought over something so small, your key turned into the knob of your apartment door, remembering the exam you promised yourself to study for.

you were in community college, typically only having one class a day left lots of time to work on your yoga studio your parents helped pay for.

you threw your tote and mat to the ground, ignoring the thought to change into some of your loose pajamas and sitting at your small dining table for one.

the first few minutes of studying were fine, even taking off your fitted white jacket as you got in the zone. you were able to focus and concentrate on the work ahead of you but that didn’t stop the little voice in your head nagging about him.

you knew his name was chris or at least that’s what he filled out on the forms you had tucked in a random cabinet—

‘this is crazy.’ you huffed before averting your attention back to your notebook.

…

you scrolled through your phone immediately contradicting yourself by looking for different chris’s throughout social media — ‘doesn't he follow the studio's instagram?’

you scrolled through the following list before finding him, his handsome face adorning his profile picture and only a few photos on his feed, but you loved every second of scrolling through them..

adjusting yourself in your chair every so often at the sight of his beautifully crafted face, you couldn't help your fingers sliding past the waistband of your tight leggings that matched that thrown fitted jacket and quickly underneath your light blue panties that you could only hope chris would see one day.

your fingers quickly found your wet folds slipping through the slick and imagining it was the man from your front row, “you got so wet so quickly…been a while since someone touched you baby?” his voice echoed through your head.

the guilt you felt from thinking about him almost warranted you to stop but when your finger accidentally grazed over your clit you couldn’t stop yourself.

the actions continued, one of your fingers dipping into your soppy hole, another leaving airy touches on your clit.

it wasn’t enough, even with his face and his veiny hands you remember pressing firmly into the mat beneath him you couldn’t hit the right spots you knew those long fingers of his could.

but it didn’t stop you from trying, you pushed deeper into yourself once you slid down the wooden chair you uncomfortably sat in the position of your hips reminding you of when you instructed him through a certain pose even showing him a private demonstration, your fingers curling and grazing that spongy spot you aimed for, you remember that day, silently begging him to make a move, touch you in a any way but he never did.

trying to focus on your fantasy as you pumped into yourself made you wetter, “damn — spread open for me, on your mat?” you imagined him laying you down, taking his time while he undressed you, your drippy hole dripping onto the mat beneath you both.

“you’re gonna have to clean this later.” he says, scissoring his fingers inside you, eliciting a moan from your throat.

“gonna think about me when you do it?” 

“how wet i get you?” he continued.

“chris..” you grunted as your body buzzed and legs shook, you were close and all because you “stumbled” upon his instagram, your fingers picked up speed, vigorous motion ensued on your sensitive bud.

the rope snapping in your stomach halting your movements, your mouth agape and sweat dotting your skin.

a certain ’ding’ brought your attention back to your phone.

an instagram dm, a unexpected “can we talk?” from the man you finished all over your fingers for.

second smut baby !! and it’s about my man..

i hate this :( that’s why it took me so long to post bc i was debating whether it was too lackluster but i wanted to post something while i work on longer things, again thank you for the support on ‘southern belle’ and i love you. 🕰️

🏷️ @fratbrochrisgf @3lizaluvs @lily-strnlo @i-love-ptv @venusjaynie @jetaimevous @lizzysmith110 @firexovni @bagsbyclair0

i hope you’re satisfied with your purchase!

© elizabebabe

[too-much-tma-stuff]

Finally Getting Help (pt 15)

Masterpost

The conversation trailed off as the stars came out and Danny started to watch them, head propped against Jason’s shoulder as he stared up at the sky. Jason was content to watch the fire, the flickering was hypnotic. Time passed slowly, until Danny gave a jaw cracking yawn that made Jason chuckle.

“How about we douse the fire and head to bed huh? It’s been a long day,” Jason suggested and Danny nodded, reluctantly pulling away from Jason he got up with a groan. Jason was about to go grab a bucket of water when Danny gestured and a wash of frost rushed over the ground and doused the fire with a sizzle and a puff of smoke and steam. “How many powers do you have?” Jason blurted.

“I don’t even know, I’m still developing them sometimes,” Danny sighed as he shuffled towards the tent “Clockwork says it’s something to do with me being half human. Most ghost’s powers are sort of stuck but I’m still growing and changing so I can keep learning. I sort of eventually figure out any power I see anyone else use. As long as they’re not too specialized, I’m not going to learn time manipulation just cause I saw Clockwork do it.” 

“Clockwork?” Jason asked as he followed Danny. 

“The ancient of time, he keeps an eye out for me. He means well, even though he’s a cryptic asshole most of the time.” 

“Daniel!” A voice Jason didn’t recognize shouted, but he was guessing Danny did, and it was not a welcome visitor by the way he flinched and immediately looked up with glowing green eyes. “I knew if I kept the trackers on you you would leave that god forsaken mansion eventually.” An odd, almost vampiric looking man with red eyes said as he floated down towards them. 

Jason still didn’t recognize the man but he didn't think anyone who looked That sinister could be a good guy. From the way that he was floating and context clues Jason could guess that this was a ghost. God Damn it! He only had one of his normal guns on him, he had put down the blaster! With the stranger's attention on Danny Jason scrambled for his gun.

“Vlad, what part of ‘stay the hell away from me’ don’t you understand?” Danny snarled.

Shit Vlad? Vlad masters the baby daddy? Jason felt a snarl rip its way out of his own throat, the pit swirling furiously inside him making him want to kill something. It wasn’t an unfamiliar feeling though it didn’t happen as often these days. At least Vlad only seemed to have eyes for Danny, he probably didn’t register Jason as a threat, or even a person of interest. It was a little unflattering but it gave Jason an opening to go for the blaster in his bag.

“I thought you said you would never allow a billionaire to adopt you, clearly something has changed. Come with me Daniel, I understand you infinitely better than Bruce Wayne,” He spat the name with contempt. “I can take care of you and-” 

Jason got the gun and fired, his aim was true, the glowing green blast struck Vlad squarely in the stomach and he reared back with a pained yowl, red eyes snapping to Jason. He touched the wound in his stomach, dripping green blood, it wasn’t as deep as Jason would have liked and it was already healing fast, but Still, he’d done some damage and Vlad seemed furious. 

“You insolent brat!” He growled, holding out hands that were glowing with energy. Jason tensed to dodge but before he could Danny was in front of him, a shield of green energy in front of him. 

“ENOUGH!” Danny yelled, and changed form, shooting up into the sky he fired back at Vlad, rabidly throwing bolts of green energy at him. “I have had ENOUGH! You have drugged me, kidnapped me, threatened my friends, cloned me, and then killed the clones when they weren’t perfect.” Danny landed a hit, Vlad was unable to dodge or block so many in a row and he let out a grunt as Danny struck his chest, pushing him back a few feet. 

Vlad tried to duplicate himself to shield himself but Danny shot them as quickly as they were made, making them disappear in puffs of smoke and screams. Once they were gone he focused again on Vlad. His eyes were glowing even brighter with frustration and rage as he directed both hands at his attacker and shot an even more powerful blast, landing a hit on Vlad that sent him trembling back, clutching a bloody and swollen nose. 

“You are a pathetic, terrible, Lonely failure and you always will be! You will never get what you want! NEVER YOU HEAR ME?! YOu stay the hell away from me and my kids! MY kids! Or I will fucking kill you!” Danny swore, shooting at Vlad again, who barely managed a clumsy dodge. 

“Come now Daniel you don’t mean that,” Vlad said but for the first time he sounded nervous. Danny had never lost his temper like this before, they’d fought, but he’d never even sworn.

They were distracted again and Jason had a clear shot, Vlad was clearly tough if he took a shot to these shots running but he couldn’t be indestructible. He shot again, aiming for the head this time, unfortunately the green glow gave him away and Vlad dropped down to avoid it. Vlad shot back, and Jason threw himself out of the way and rolled back up to his feet, ready to dodge, or fire again. 

“No!” Danny shouted at Vlad, flying at him so fast he barely had time to throw up a shield of his own before Danny collided with him, forcing him back again. His hands pressed against the shield, glowing toxic green before the close range blast broke the shield and sent Vlad tumbling through the air. “I put up with you for the sake of my parents and my secret but now that doesn’t matter anymore I have no reason to go easy on you! I’m done! I’m done with you!” 

And then he screamed, that same earth shattering wail, and with Vlad already knocked off balance, bleeding green from his chest, his nose, and generally beaten to hell, he had no defense. The sound forced him down with more than the force than gravity, the sound and impact leveled trees in a near perfect circle and left a crater in the soft earth at the bank of the lake. And Danny just kept screaming, pushing Vlad deeper into the wet earth. Jason could see that Vlad was screaming too, probably from the pain, but he couldn’t hear anything over the feeling of Danny’s wail.

Jason wanted to clamp his own hands over his ears and block out the sound but he couldn’t, he needed to keep hold of his blaster, and remain ready. The water rushed in and covered Vlad quickly once Danny stopped screaming. Jason bolted towards the edge of the new cove for Vlad to emerge. 

He came up gasping and coughing, floundering before he grabbed the edge of the hole and dragged himself out. Jason was there to meet him with a gun to his head and a glowing green glare of his own. Jason wanted to shoot Vlad and kill him, but he didn’t want to do that in front of Danny. For all he had just said he would kill Vlad Jason didn’t think he really meant it. Danny wasn't a killer at heart.  

“Stay very still,” He said calmly once Vlad had finished hacking up all the water he’d breathed in. He kept one hand on the gun and his finger on the trigger as he pulled a com out of his pocket, sliding it into his ear and turning it on. “O? Are you there?”

“Hood? Report?” Bruce’s clipped ‘batman’ voice came through.

“Vlad crashed the party, Track our location, I have him pinned,” Jason said without taking his eyes off Vlad who was still breathing hard and bleeding, glaring up at him. 

“On our way,” Bruce said quickly. “ETA 18 minutes.” 

“Very well done Todd,” Vlad drawled dryly and Jason twitched, of course since he’d been to Galas Vlad would know who he was, but Jason still did Not like it. “But you might want to look out, I believe young Daniel is in need of rescue.”

Jason knew better, he really did, but he couldn’t help glancing up quickly, and he was glad he did. He was just in time to see Danny revert to his human form and fall. Jason barely managed not to drop the gun as he ran to catch Danny, taking the brunt of the impact and going to his knees to keep them both intact through the landing. 

“Danny?” He gasped, pushing the other man’s hair back from his face, his eyes were closed and he wasn’t responding to his name but he was breathing. Jason glanced over to see Vlad was already gone. “Shit. B, you still there?”

“Yes. What happened Jay?” He asked, sounding more worried, more like Bruce. 

“Danny passed out,” Jason said as he set the other man down, grabbing a light and checking his pupils. “Pupils are responsive but he’s not waking up even with the light shining in his face. Vlad escaped but he couldn’t have gotten far in that condition. Danny really gave him hell.” 

“We’ll be there soon,” Bruce said, clipped and determined. Jason could hear the motor in the background, if he was pushing the usually silent jet to the point it was making that sound he really would be there in minutes. 

Jason sat down and pulled Danny nearly into his lap, still holding the gun just in case. He thought Vlad had made a break for it but he didn’t want to let his guard down. After all he had thought Vlad would be smarter then to attack them today, he had clearly underestimated the man’s obsessiveness and stupidity. The last thing he needed now was for Vlad to try and make a break for it with Danny while he was so vulnerable. 

He was rocking just a little, he didn’t know if he was trying to sooth Danny or himself as he waited for Bruce and whichever of his siblings were tagging along to arrive. He thought that he was in shock judging by how vague he felt and the odd aura at the edges of his vision. It was always sort of funny having the vague knowledge that he Was in shock but not really being able to do anything about it.

He looked up when he heard the bat-plane overhead and watched it coming in for a water landing. Finally feeling safe enough to holster his gun, freeing both hands to scoop Danny into his arms, getting up with Danny still cradled close. It wasn’t like the other man was heavy, Jason stumbled just a little as he went over to meet his family as the ramp dropped and they came rushing out. 

“Any idea what’s wrong with him?” Batman asked gruffly, going straight to them pushing a medical gurney.

“I think he just overused his powers,” Jason said numbly, putting Danny down on the rolling bed and followed Bruce back into the plane and the same time Spoiler, Blackbat, and Red Robin took off into the woods, to search for Vlad no doubt. Jason hoped they found him but somehow he doubted they would, Vlad could turn invisible and intangible after all, and Danny hadn’t had time to build them everything they’d need. Even with a decent amount of confiscated Fenton tech Jason didn’t like their odds. 

“He has this sonic attack that's really strong but seems to take a lot out of him. He passed out pretty soon after using it the second time,” He explained, sitting down heavily next to the bed as Bruce fussed and checked Danny’s vitals. 

“His heartbeat is slow but strong, pupils responding, like you said, he isn’t visibly injured. I think you’re right he over used it. We’ll set up an IV just to give him some energy and hydration and hopefully he’ll wake up soon. He’ll be okay Jay,” Bruce said, pausing to rest a hand on Jason’s shoulder. “I’ll take you back to the manor, I’m sure the others will find Vlad.”

“They’ve all got their wards?” Jason asked distractedly and Bruce nodded as he buckled Danny and the gurney in securely so he wouldn’t roll around during transport. “Good, ya, let's go home. I’m sorry, taking him camping was stupid. It was helping but I should have known that with Vlad still out there-”

“No, we didn’t see this coming, it’s not your fault,” Bruce interrupted, before sitting back in the pilot's seat and taking off. 

Jason didn’t agree, but he didn’t argue either. No one had argued with him, he was sure they’d all thought, like he did, that with the entire justice league after him and the ‘woman of his dreams’ behind bars Vlad would have bigger things to worry about. They’d all underestimated just how obsessed with Danny Vlad was, in this family of obsessive assholes it was a particularly foolish mistake.

Next

[evanpetersmybf]

All he asked for was you

Tate Langdon x female!reader

Summary: Tate loves you too much. He would do anything for you, to keep you by his side, to make you love him forever. He would cross any line to make you his, it doesn't matter how evil it is... But was it really worth it?

Genre: ANGST!! and some smut

Word count: 5,104

Warnings: Obsessive, stalkish and violent behavior, implicit toxic relationship; mentions of weapons, murder, mental health issues, family issues, school shooting; use of Y/N, swearing, cunnilingus, fingering, unprotected p in v. (i hope i'm not missing any...) NOT PROOFREAD !!

A/N: English isn't my first language!! Sorry if I have some mistakes and if Tate's a bit ooc (i tried to keep him in character as much as i could). I wasn't sure (and still not) if this is good but I spent days writing it, so I had to post it.

A small playlist with songs that inspired me for this: monster by meg and dia, pacify her by melanie martinez, all i want is you by rebzyyx, skyfall by adele, psycho by doko, paparazzi by lady gaga, dark red by steve lacy.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ཐི ♡ ཋྀ

Tate never believed in love, nor was he a romantic one. 

In fact, he despised it. How could he even believe in that feeling when he never felt loved by his own mother? At least that’s what he pretended.

The blond always had the facade of a tough guy, although he couldn’t fool anyone. Constance knew well he was a sensitive boy. Probably the most crybaby ever to exist… And the most unstable one.

Now he was here. His chest going up and down, breathing shallow and fast. His eyes were darting around the room, looking for something or perhaps someone. Some silly tears were rolling down his cheeks while he anxiously fidgeted with a ring on his finger. The clock on the wall continued its tick-tack. The time kept running. His heart kept beating. It was getting late.

He refused to look at the wooden floor. He didn’t want to accept reality. If Tate did that, he would feel like the biggest monster on Earth.

Nevertheless, he couldn’t stay like this.

He had to do something real fast.

Today, 18:40

You were supposed to arrive at 19:00.

But he remained there, next to the corpse of his rival. A bloody ax beside the dead man’s bleeding head.

Whom he thought was his worst enemy, was someone really dear to you.

Well, Tate fervently believed this was something justified. He couldn’t stand that fucking asshole anymore! That scumbag needed to be put back in his place. And Tate only did that. Furthermore, he actually helped him. He took him away from this shitty world. It was a favor.

He had already killed his mother’s boyfriend, so why was he feeling guilty?

Maybe because his victim was special to you. Because his death would hurt you. And Langdon swore to God he would never let anybody or anything hurt you, including himself.

He loved you.

He wanted to be the one to hold your hand forever.

Tate snapped back to the present and frowned. He picked up the weapon, putting it in his backpack. He didn’t even mind cleaning it. Then, he proceeded to knelt right next to the lifeless dude and cleaned the blood surrounding his body; afterwards, he dragged him to the basement and…

19:00

A knock on the door.

You arrived.

“DAMN IT!” 

He left his dead foe lying limp on the cold basement ground and quickly ran upstairs, straight to his room. He also left the backpack there.

Tate spent the last twenty minutes cleaning the mess he made in the living room after he atrociously smashed your friend’s head, forgetting that had poor time to get ready. 

He desperately looked for clean clothes, scrambling the entire closet in search of fresh garments while he cussed at himself, at his mother, at that freaking boy, at the entire world but you.

Finally he found some jeans and a striped shirt. He looked at himself in the mirror after changing and cleaned the tiny drops of blood that stayed on his face and hands. He never realized he left the bloody clothing on the bed.

Another knock.

19:07

Tate opened the door, immediately throwing himself at you and giving you one of the warmest hugs. His demeanor with you was completely different; you were the only creature capable of changing his fucked up mind into something more beautiful, more peaceful. The issue was that it only happened when he was with you, otherwise he would be aggressive and rude as usual.

You got the best of him. 

“Missed you so fuckin’ much, babe…” Voice muffled since his face was buried in the crook of your neck. Tate always did the same thing; clinging onto you like a small koala would.

“Heh, me too, hun!” You spoke with the same soothing voice he adored. Tate giggled and placed a tender kiss on your jawline, then another, and another, and another.

Soon enough, he was peppering kisses all over your neck, making you moan softly. Oh those sounds. He could hear you melting under his touch, his embrace, for the rest of eternity.

He loved making you squirm, making you laugh, making you feel loved.

He was way too sweet.

Only if you knew.

Four weeks before today…

Tate has always had the bad habit of stalking you. Yeah… He wasn’t proud of it. But can you blame him? He’s constantly afraid of you leaving him. He wanted to make sure you never did so… Otherwise he would die. Literally.

Don’t ask how he would die. You already know the answer.

You two were supposed to have a date, albeit you had to cancel your meeting.

And that, of course, made him overthink. It didn’t matter how many times you told him you were going to study; he felt betrayed, as if you were rejecting him. And Tate hated and feared rejection to the bone.

“Pretty please? Please, Y/N! I don’t wanna go home early, mom’s gonna be there and-and–”

“Tate, I can’t skip this. I have like, a test every day next week and I must study. I don’t wanna fail. Please, sweetie. I promise I’ll make it up to ya’, mhm?” 

He rolled his eyes and whined, almost throwing a tantrum. He didn’t try to manipulate you on purpose. It came out naturally. “But I need you, Y/N! Why do you always do the same, huh? Am I not that important? Don’t you love me any longer?”

His childish crying continued for a couple of minutes, until it stopped and the blond agreed a deal with you.

You thought he was calm now, but no. How naive.

You went to the library to study as you said… Without noticing he followed you.

Quietly, he got into that maze of books after you and hid behind some shelves.

Tate noticed you sat on an empty table. Thank God. Oh?

Who. Is. He.

A man Tate didn’t know sat next to you. Really close. Too close for Tate’s liking. He tried to think he was a stranger, that he wasn’t going to talk to you… He was wrong.

He clenched his hands into a ball when he saw that idiot talking to you, and the worst part was that you followed suit. It seemed you two were friends or something.

How DARE YOU talk to another man? No, how dare you talk to another HUMAN BEING!?

Tate was insecure 24/7.

If you weren’t there, Tate was falling apart. It was simple.

No Y/N, no happy Tate. Was it too hard to understand?

Three weeks before today…

It was Friday. Tate was impatiently waiting for you outside the campus, hanging a small bouquet of flowers he picked up.

Once he spotted you coming out from the building, he waved his hand and embraced you tightly once you were in front of him. He gave you the adorable present.

“Tate!”

“How did you do? Did you pass your tests? Don’t tell me, I’m sure you did.” Said, grinning from ear to ear. He was away from you for an entire week. How did he survive? He didn’t know, but he was glad to have you with him again. “Tell me about your life in the last days, baby. Please? I feel like I haven’t seen you in years!”

There he was, the one and only drama queen Tate Langdon.

You talked about the tests, about how the teachers were being a pain in the ass (which clearly triggered in him the intense desire of hurting them because they stressed you), and… About a guy. The same guy from the library, with whom you spent the entire last week studying. He couldn’t stand it. He saw him as a threat to your relationship, especially since he was an old friend that you met many years ago. 

As the days went by, you gave him more reasons to hate that jerk. Why? Well of course because you spent hours at the library doing homework or studying with him. Or even hanging out with him and other people.

In reality, you went out with him to a museum just once, and then skating with other colleagues. Nothing compared to the time you spent with Tate; in a week, you would hang out with him almost daily, and if you were way too busy, he would go to your place and spend the night there. He was so attached to you to the point he had to see you at least once a day. And that’s why he was so jealous of your friend. Tate couldn’t stand the idea of you sharing your life with someone else who wasn’t him or your family… And he also got jealous of them, but he was handling it.

Two weeks before today.

After Tate’s pleas, you decided to introduce your friend to him.

Probably a big mistake.

The date was really awkward; your friend tried being nice, and Tate acted surprisingly kind. Of course it was odd; usually, he despised all of your friends and treated them badly, yet this time was different. You were stunned, however, you tried to ignore it and instead got happy as he finally accepted a random person as your buddy. 

Still and all, he hated that moron. It didn’t matter how much he tried liking your pal, he was jealous of him. He was getting on his nerves. He denied the fact that you had more love for other people that wasn’t him. Tate desired being your only one. Your number one. Your entire world. Because that’s what you were for him. And he was willing to do whatever to keep you with him.

Tate exchanged numbers with him and meticulously plotted a plan to ascertain he would never talk to you ever again. At first, it came out as a simple “I’m gonna scare the shit outta him”, nonetheless, it turned into a darker idea, very likely involving physical violence.

One week before today…

The last few days, Tate won Peter’s trust. Ah yes. That’s your friend's name. You were glad that he finally opened his warm heart and began to meet more people besides you.

You thought he needed a friend, an empathetic person who could support the blond when you weren’t available, that way he would feel less lonely and depressed.

They went to the cinema, to the arcade, even to a music store. Everything was going according to what he planned.

Eventually, he invited Peter to his place to play chess and other board games on a Sunday afternoon, before you arrived and had a date with Tate due to your anniversary. 

Today, 16:00

Peter and Tate were eating pizza and having a great noon, talking about their lives and random stuff, like school and music. They both enjoyed Nirvana, and since Peter played the guitar, he agreed on teaching your boy how to.

If it weren’t for Tate’s twisted mind, they would’ve been best friends.

The guitarist wasn’t a bad guy. He was a great buddy that really appreciated you and the crybaby, but Langdon had something else in mind.

18:00

The men watched a movie. Tate didn’t even know its name; in fact, he didn’t even pay attention to it. Instead, he was focused on his next actions, plotting them carefully.

“Crap, mom’s gonna arrive soon…” Tate mumbled with annoyance, biting his nails and tapping his foot on the floor. He was lying. You were going to arrive, not Constance.

“Damn, bro. Well, I don’t have a problem. I wanna meet her.”

“Huh? No no no, you shouldn’t. That bitch is crazy.”

Peter scoffed, disagreeing with Tate’s rude manner to call his own momma.

“Hey, you shouldn’t talk like that. I bet she loves you!”

That pissed him off. “You don’t know anything, Peter. Your family is different. Your life’s different. You won’t understand!” He yelled, standing up from the couch and now pacing around the room, trying to keep it calm.

“Dude, calm down!

“NO! I fucking won’t!”

The screaming continued for a while. Tate revealed his unstable and crystal self. Even something so insignificant could drive him to the edge, like what happened today. That definitely surprised the other one, who used to think that Tate was a sweet boy. “I dunno why Y/N is dating you.”

“What did you say?” Tate abruptly stopped pacing.

“Y/N. Y/N doesn’t deserve you.”

“WHY WOULD YOU EVEN SAY THAT!?” He pounced on Peter, gripping his neck with one rough hand, applying enough pressure on the sides to stop the blood circulation in his carotids and make him lose consciousness.

Before passing out, Peter, getting pale, managed to croak out: “Because she deserves better…”

Soon enough, he fainted, giving Tate minutes to think about what else to do. 

Your boyfriend wasn’t planning on murdering Peter today. No, he didn’t have time. He also was supposed to meet you.. But this was the perfect excuse! And not only that; he indirectly admitted he was in love with you! Or that’s what Tate interpreted with his delusional point of view.

Peter didn’t feel anything romantic for you, he was just worried Tate might be too unhinged to be your partner.

Thus, he went to his room and grabbed his backpack. Then, went to the garden shed and picked up the ax that belonged to his father, and a bottle of lye.

He had to get the job done quickly, nevertheless, he lost track of time.

18:30

Tate came back to the living room, just to notice that Peter wasn’t there anymore.

“FUCK IT!” Langdon got nervous. What if he escaped? What if he told you that Tate was crazy? He couldn’t allow this, not at all.

Thankfully, or maybe not, Tate found Peter crawling towards the front door, the poor dude still feeling dizzy after being choked.

Tate didn’t have any mercy.

“Where do you think you’re going, lil’ piece of shit!?”

18:38

Tate finally did it. He brutally murdered Peter, smashing his head several times with the ax.

He got rid of that little issue. He took him to somewhere clean.

Once he assured the other man wasn’t breathing, he dropped the weapon on the floor, making a loud metallic thud.

19:10

Tate was pinning you down on the couch, the same couch where your dead friend was sitting just an hour ago.

His hands were traveling all along your body, tracing sweet patterns on your skin.

Eventually, his fingers were clumsily pulling down your panties, not minding to take off your skirt. “Did you bring this for easy access, baby?” Tate chuckled and buried his face between your legs, holding your thighs in place; his lips plastered messy kisses over the warm flesh, biting it and leaving tiny marks after sucking.

Your reaction was alluring to him; he enjoyed listening to your pleas, to your whimpers. If it was for him, he would spend the entire day making you cum over and over again.

He finally got rid of your underwear, tossing it aside. Without further ado, the boy spread your folds with his large digits, and continued to lick your throbbing wet cunt.

“So fucking pretty… So wet for me, huh?”

His tongue lapped your small clit two or three times, then, traced a zigzag and circles on the sensitive nub. While he devoured you, he inserted his middle and ring finger, pumping them in and out of your cute hole, curling them and hitting the right spot to make you feel butterflies.

Tate could feel his arousal growing; his erection being restrained by the tight fabric of his jeans. He was desperate, yeah. But he always put you in the first place, and that included pleasuring you before him.

After a while, he replaced his fingers with his tongue, fucking your pussy with the agile muscle and now rubbing your clit with his thumb, applying pressure that sent electric waves through your body. He stopped using his tongue on you and instead looked at that stunning face of yours. He was delighted with your flushed cheeks, with every single gesture you did, with the way your eyes rolled to the back of your head. He wanted to take a picture of you to remember this moment forever.

His thumb increased the pace, while his free hand lifted up your blouse and tried to undo your bra. He couldn’t. You giggled when he groaned in frustration; he was too horny to think straight and that’s why you helped him to take off the garment.

Tate sighed and after that awkward and funny moment, he kept rubbing your bud, using your own juices and his saliva as a lubricant, intensifying the sensation. His left pinched and pulled your nipple, making you gasp and twitch beneath him, whilst his mouth abused your other one, greedily sucking on it.

“Tate, ‘m gonna cum! I-”

Tate cut you off by kissing you harshly; his tongue invading your warm mouth, exploring it and then nibbling your bottom lip until it bleeded. He licked the tiny drops of blood, savoring the metallic taste of it.

Unable to hold on any longer, you reached your orgasm, coming undone while Tate kept caressing your pussy, decreasing the velocity while you finally calmed down.

He left you panting; your heart beating so fast just like his.

You tried to sit up on the couch, breathing deep for more air, but the blond prevented you from going away.

“Where do you think you’re doing? We’re not done yet, you’re gonna cum again!”

Tate carried you bridal style and went upstairs straight to his bedroom. He threw you on the bed.

Without stopping looking at you, he unbuckled his belt and pulled down his jeans along the boxers; his dick already erect and throbbing, the veins thick and the tip leaking precum.

Using the clear liquid as lube, he stroked his shaft for a while, jerking off to the sight of you. He groaned and whimpered, closing his eyes as his hand pumped himself.

One of your hands went to your breasts, massaging them softly as your right went down between your legs, slowly teasing your womanhood and coating your index finger with your arousal, using it to rub your aching bundle of nerves.

Tate’s dark room was now filled with both of your moans; Tate calling your name several times and you begging him to fuck you.

He couldn’t stand this anymore. He NEEDED to be inside you, to feel your warmth enveloping him. “On all fours. Now.” You immediately obeyed, feeling as eager as him.

“Look at me, mhm?” He positioned behind you and rubbed the tip against your wet folds, teasing you for a bit. Afterwards, he slowly entered his cock inside your slit, moving it slowly at first. His thumb went to your clitoris, toying with it just like minutes before. He picked up the pace and fucked you fast and hard; his cockhead brushing your cervix. Grabbing a fistful of your hair, Tate pulled your head towards him, still with the deep thrusting.  “Fuck, Y/N! You’re so pretty… So fucking precious, so fucking mine!” Moaned against your ear, voice raspy and agitated.

Panting, you stopped looking at him and instead looked to the bed. Why? Who knows, but you did it. And you saw Tate’s dirty clothes. Dirty with blood. A lot of blood.

You froze. Maybe it was red paint? 

“U-uh, Tate?” You muttered, feeling already bewildered by the sight. You tried not to jump into conclusions, although you knew Tate and he has always been… Secretive.. And aggressive, of course. 

After your boyfriend heard your shaky whisper, he stopped moving, even if he wanted to keep going. “Hm?”

“What’s this?” Tate sighed and pulled out from you, not understanding what you meant. 

“What’s what?”

Without saying anything else to him, you grabbed the shirt and touched the weird stain. It was still fresh. You took your fingers to your mouth to taste it; and the metallic tang was too obvious. “Tate, what the fuck is this!?”

You threw it at him. Freaked out, you stood up and picked up your clothes, putting them on again, all meanwhile Tate connected the dots and realized he was probably going to get caught.

“Wait, Y/N! It’s not what it looks like, I swear, damn it!” He yelled and grabbed your arm, not wanting you to leave like this. He had to save his reputation, he couldn’t let you think bad of him even if you had all the right. Because, why the fuck the fabric was soaked in blood?

“Then what is it, Tate? WHY DOES IT HAVE SO MUCH BLOOD!?”

“CALM DOWN, PLEASE!” 

You attempted to get away from his grip, struggling with him until, somehow, you managed to do so. However, you tripped with his dirty shoes and fell, realizing they were also stained with the red liquid. “Tate, what…? Why? What is this?”

“Nothing, I swear!” He didn’t have any excuses. Saying it was paint would’ve been lame. You were too smart and he knew lying wasn’t a good choice.

Feeling overwhelmed with the matter, you went downstairs, walking as fast as you could. Passing through the living room, a very familiar bag caught your eye. It was definitely Peter’s. You decided to grab it and realized it had his phone inside. Something was off.

Tate was standing behind you; fists clenched and heart beating like crazy. He tried to approach you, still thinking about what to do or what to say. 

“Tate… What is this doing here? Peter’s here?” 

“Huh? Yeah… He— He came earlier and had to go soon, he left this accidentally, yup…” You could see him fidgeting with that ring on his finger, again. 

“Bullshit!”

Tate scowled and grabbed your chin, making you look at his dark orbs. “Tell me, Y/N, do you trust me or not, huh? Look me in the eyes and say you don’t!”

The struggle continued for what seemed eternity. You trying to run away from the house and he trying to make you stay. “Please, Y/N, just listen to me!”

“You did something to him, right? I know him, Tate! He would NEVER leave his phone like this! Is this a joke?”

“Why do you care so much about that asshole!? What has he done for you!? Tell me!”

“Oh my, you’re jealous! I knew it! All that crap about being his friend was a lie, right? Tate, you’re being delusional! I can have friends, I can hang out with whoever I want, whether you like it or not!” 

Tate pressed your cheeks between his thumb and the rest of his fingers, squeezing the flesh with his veiny, big hand, pressing it tightly enough to leave the mark of his long digits on it.

“You can’t! You’re mine. Only mine. Since the day you were born you were meant to be mine. Not his, not anybody, just me.”

“Tate… We should end this…” You thought this was the best for both. Being in a relationship with him was draining; always being careful to not hurt him, make him jealous or mad. He was such a sensitive boy that always took everything too personally. He felt everything a little too much.

Since the beginning you knew he was unstable and that he had many issues, but you tried to see beyond his sick mind, you tried to understand him despite being so different.

Tate felt so safe with you. You were the only person who understood him, or at least made attempts to. 

He felt rejected by the entire society, even by his own mother, until he met you and he had a minimum spark of hope that the world didn’t suck that much.

That’s why he clung to you. That’s why you were his everything. He would lose his mind if you leave him.

He felt like dying when he heard you wanted to finish the relationship.

He couldn’t breathe. 

Some tears were now falling to the floor, his eyes puffy and an ugly frown on his face. His mouth twisted as he sobbed loudly, tugging the hem of your shirt while he begged you to stay. He was crying like a newborn, like a baby who had to be apart from his mother for a second.

“No no no no, you can’t do this to me!” He whimpered, his speech cracking as he tried to hold you close whilst you were stepping back. You were slipping through his fingers, you were leaving him.

“Tate, if something happened to Peter, I will never forgive you! Can’t you see you’re hurting me?”

Tate swore he would never hurt you, nor let anyone. But here he was, finally snapping out of it and seeing the cruel truth. 

“You’ve been hurting me the whole time, Tate! I tried to understand you, I really did, I tried to help you, to save you from yourself! But it’s impossible. I’m losing myself here with you, I don’t even know who I am anymore! You don’t want help, do you? ‘Cause it doesn’t matter what I do, you’re never satisfied! You suffocate me!”

All those words were like daggers penetrating his skin, touching his nerves and making him die of pain. You were tearing him apart, just the way he was destroying you.

He finally let go of you, feeling a tornado of emotions. Tate felt depressed, mad, resentful, like he was going crazy. Though, he knew he had to leave if that’s what you wanted. He couldn’t bring himself to break another promise.

Thereby, he confessed his crimes to you. He explained he killed his mom’s partner a few days ago, and that now he had killed your friend. Why? He was jealous, he was scared you’d left him. You did it before you discovered the cruel reality, anyways. That’s why he told you. Because he couldn’t lose anything else.

The situation was utterly disgusting. Tate was sick. He murdered an innocent man and then proceeded to fuck you, as it was the maximum test of love, as if his life meant nothing.

You knew he wasn’t what people often considered “normal”. But this was definitely more than just being a “weirdo”. Tate needed psychiatric help… And being arrested, of course.

“You make me wanna puke, Tate! You’re the evil!”

Without hesitating, you left Tate behind, running as fast as you could from that living hell.

You just wanted to cry, curl up into a ball and wake up from this nightmare. You wished it was merely a bad dream.

Tomorrow morning, you’d go to the police, but for now you needed to sleep.

Monday morning, 11:05

You couldn’t sleep all night. You spent hours thinking about everything, about how this looked like a cruel joke to you. Eventually, you fell asleep at 4AM, and didn’t wake up at what seemed almost midday. 

An intense sound of police sirens woke you from your slumber. Startled by the loud noise, you rubbed your eyes and went to the window, trying to get a glimpse of what was happening outside.

Police cars and SWAT vans were going in a specific direction… Towards Tate’s street. It couldn’t be, right?

Did his mother find the corpse? Or perhaps something else?

You looked at the clock, realizing it was late and you had to go to class. 

08:00

After the most painful night of his life, Tate decided today everything would be over.

He had to cleanse the world… To take people to somewhere else, to some place full of peace away from the piss and the vomit that runs down the streets.

He was doing this not only because of your breakup, but also because of many other reasons. Your split up was the straw that broke the camel and drove him to the edge.

10:40

 After shooting the school, Tate left the place, looking unfazed about what he just did. He was unhinged. 

He peacefully got into his place, went to his room and stayed there for some minutes. 

The blond sat on the edge of the bed, leaving the gun right next to him and stared at nothing. His gaze was empty, but also there were some tears threatening to spill.

His mind was a whirlwind. Some part of him was satisfied, but the other was confused, wondering what was he thinking, what had he done?

What would you think of him now? Were you even there? Did he kill you too and he didn’t even notice?

In the end, he recognized he indeed was the evil you said. Damn it. You were right, again, as ever.

Tate wanted to hear your voice, to comfort him, to hear you saying everything was okay. That he’d be okay. He desired to hear “I love you” from you once more.

11:15

You went downstairs to find your family apparently mourning you.

They thought you were at school when the shooting happened. They believed you were gone, but here you were. 

Eventually, they explained to you what happened.

The first thing that popped into your mind was Tate’s wellbeing, still unaware that he was the culprit. You were afraid something terrible could’ve happened to him, you were regretting your last words to him, but you also had to get him prisoner.

Your heart dropped when they explained to you he was the shooter.

No, it couldn’t be possible. 

It was possible. After all, he had already killed two men.

Even if you despise what he did, some part of you still longed for him, still was in love with his once kind heart.

A terrifying feeling of dread filled your body, making you feel numb, as if none of this was real… 

11:25

After running to Tate’s house and seeing it surrounded by the cops and the SWAT team, everything stopped. Constance’s distressed cries and pleas were heard from outside, followed suit by the sound of bullets. It was over now.

Tate was certainly a troubled individual who dedicated his entire life to searching for something, to feel something, to feel loved.

All he asked for was love, to be loved, to love. All he wanted was you.

But at the same time, your love led him to an never-ending obsession that ultimately broke both of you.

He became your biggest regret.

All he feared, all his nightmares came true. Everything he was so afraid of was him and only himself. 

[wannabehockeygf]

No Hard Feelings - Beckett Sennecke

I did it again guys sorry!!! Word Count: 6.6k Pairing: Beckett Sennecke x fem! reader Tags: Fluff, slight? age gap (8 years), inexperienced cute guy!, he falls first Warnings: suggested smut, slight? age gap (as stated above), alcohol Notes: This is loosely based on one of my favourite movies, No Hard Feelings (I love you JLaw), so if you've seen it that's what I was going for. (***) is a general separator/time skip. Yes, I know people under the age of 21 get kicked out of casinos (I had that happen to me in Vegas at the age of 17) but for the sake of fiction! This is not proof read! And sorry if it gets repetitive.

we <3 u baffled duckling! *** This morning

THE BOY YOU WERE KISSING LAST NIGHT WAS BAD.

Not even ‘bad’ as in, damn he was hot, ‘bad’ as in, he didn’t know what the fuck he was doing.

You probably should’ve expected that. A couple of days in Vegas is the dream for anyone over the age of twenty-one, but since you couldn’t afford it three years ago, you were doing it now. Now and alone, since your friends couldn’t book enough time off work to make it out of LA on time.

Making friends isn’t a hard thing for you to do, it wasn’t ever. You always saw the world through rose-colored glasses – energetic, funny, always the life of the party – an optimist, as one would call it. So, going alone wasn’t as scary for you as it would be for others.

You celebrated your birthday at home early, with your friends and family that could make it, before you took a six p.m. flight to Las Vegas. You went to your hotel to simply drop off your bag and put on a party dress before making a beeline for the first bar on the strip.

…That was all you could remember. Now, you were lying on top of the blankets in your own hotel room, thankfully, with your wallet and phone intact. Your head was pounding, your surroundings swirling into a mess of colors as a ringing in your ear wouldn’t go away no matter how loudly you groaned.

You’re hungover. Severely, apparently, and there’s nothing you hate more than being hungover. You always swore you turned into a raging bitch, mostly because of the fact that you didn’t let anyone have more than two words with you before getting upset or angry.

You fumble around the nightstand for your phone, trying to focus your bleary vision on the screen. The bright light makes you wince, but you manage to unlock it and check your notifications. A flood of messages from your friends and family, wishing you a happy birthday, and... oh no.

A text from the hotel’s app, which you for some reason had to download to access the Wifi, warned you that there were 5 minutes until the end of the check-out window. Stupidly, you remember you decided to book separate hotels for the two nights you’d stay, to get the full Vegas experience.

Yeah, well, you were regretting that now.

With a groan, you drag yourself out of bed, every movement feeling like it’s amplified by the pounding in your head. You glance at the time on your phone again, hoping maybe, just maybe, you misread it. No such luck. You have five minutes to gather your things and check out before they charge you for another night.

Scrambling around the room, you shove your belongings back into your bag, not caring if anything is folded or in its proper place. You barely have time to splash some water on your face and brush your teeth before you stumble out the door, clutching your phone and wallet like lifelines.

The hallway is dizzying, the carpet’s geometric pattern only adding to your disorientation. You manage to make it to the elevator and hit the lobby button, praying it gets there fast enough. The doors open, and you step out, wobbling slightly but determined to make it to the front desk in time.

The clerk at the desk raises an eyebrow as you approach, probably used to seeing hungover guests but not ones quite as frantic as you. You plaster on your best apologetic smile and hand over your key card, mumbling something about checking out.

“Cutting it a bit close, aren’t we?” the clerk remarks, but there’s a hint of amusement in their voice. They quickly process your checkout, and you breathe a sigh of relief when you see the charges haven’t increased.

With that hurdle out of the way, you step aside and find a couch in the lobby to plop down on. You figure you need a moment to compose yourself before making the trek to the next hotel.

Suddenly, a tall figure strides in front of you, stopping, and you look up to see the face of a man. A very familiar face.

Oh fuck.

He doesn’t smirk or make a cocky remark like you expect, instead opting to awkwardly rub the back of his neck thinking of the words before speaking. “Hey…” He says, quietly, a good escape from how loud everything around you felt.

You blink a few times, trying to clear the fog from your mind as you stare up at the man in front of you. “Hey,” you croak out, your voice raspy from a combination of last night’s drinks and this morning’s hangover.

He’s tall and lanky, with messy dark hair and a slight scruff on his face. He looks sheepish, like he’s just as unsure about this encounter as you are, but along with that, he looks young. Younger than you remember, and far too young for you. You vaguely know why you remember him, but you’d rather not deal with it, especially with the new revelation of his supposed baby face, so you decide to lie.

“Do I... know you?” you ask hesitantly, wincing at how disoriented you sound.

The man blushes furiously, looking around before meeting your gaze again. His eyes are a dark, sad blue, which have a complexity that you couldn’t even begin to try to explain right now. “Um, yeah… we met last night. The casino.” He fumbles with his words, and you can tell he's not used to this kind of confrontation.

You remember, but you really don’t want to deal with this right now. You stand up, grabbing the handle of your carry-on, before looking back at him and oh god, he may look fifteen but he towers over you, which makes your heart skip a beat. You swallow hard, trying to look past him, “No, sorry, I don’t think I remember,” You reply, taking a step forward.

The man suddenly grabs at your sleeve, stopping you from walking away. You turn back around to face him, an annoyed expression on your face. His blush deepens as he realizes what he just did, and lets go of your sleeve, “Sorry, I–” He trails off, trying to find the right words, “Beckett.”

“What?” You shoot back, your head still pounding.

The man swallows hard, shoving his hands in his pockets while trying to avoid your gaze. “My name. You have to remember me, right?” He murmurs, tripping over every single word in that sentence.

You stare at him for a moment, his awkward demeanor clashing with your hangover-induced irritability. “Beckett?” You echo, the name tugging at the edges of your fuzzy memory.

***

Last night

“Beckett.” He says, shuffling slightly in the empty booth he was sitting in near the casino. You, quite buzzed by this point but not completely wasted, approached this man thinking he was cute, and you were determined to flirt your ass off. And what better way to start then to tell him your name first, then ask for his?

You smile, finding his tense posture endearing as you slide into the booth, right beside him.  “You’re adorable, Beckett. You here with anyone?”

Beckett's cheeks flush slightly, and he looks down at his drink, which seems to just be a coke, swirling the ice around nervously before replying, "Just… with some friends" he stammers, his eyes darting around as if searching for an escape route.

You lean in closer, the chaos of the casino fading into the background as you focus on Beckett. His nervousness only seems to amplify your playful mood, and you find yourself drawn to unraveling more about him.

"Friends, huh? What brings you to Vegas with them?" you inquire, leaning even closer to him just to tangle your hands in his messy hair.

Beckett squeaks, an unexpected noise from his surprisingly deep voice, along with his cheeks burning at your contact. “We’re here for the– Oh god…” He mumbles, his voice trailing off as your fingers began to weave through his hair, ruffling it further.

Your lips curl into a small smile, enjoying how he seemed to melt like butter in your hands, “Cat got your tongue?” You remarked with a playful chuckle, pausing your movements, “Should I stop?”

“No! Please don’t!” He blurted out with a weird urgency. Realizing what he just did, Beckett’s cheeks turned an even deeper shade of crimson as you teased him combined with his own strange outburst, his gaze flickering between your eyes and the drink in front of him. His hand twitched nervously on the tabletop, clearly unsure of how to handle your playful advances. He quieted down, his voice barely audible over the din of the casino, “I’m just… not used to this.”

You tilt your head slightly, a mischievous glint in your eyes as you continue to run your fingers through his hair, enjoying the way he reacts to your touch. "Not used to what? Pretty girls playing with your hair?" you tease lightly, your voice low enough to keep the conversation intimate amidst the surrounding noise.

Beckett shifts in his seat, although he doesn’t dare move away. "Um, yeah, something like that," he admits shyly, his gaze flickering back to his drink before meeting yours again. 

"Well, get used to it," you reply with a grin, deciding to play along with the game of teasing. "You’re very pretty too," Your tone is light, but there's a warmth to it.

Beckett chuckles nervously, clearly flustered but also intrigued by your playful banter. His cheeks remain flushed as he attempts to regain his composure, his gaze alternating between your eyes and his untouched drink. The chaotic atmosphere of the casino seems to fade away as you two engage in this small bubble of conversation, your teasing and his awkwardness creating a peculiar but oddly charming dynamic.

"I... uh, thank you," Beckett stammers, his voice barely above a whisper. His fingers nervously tap against the table, betraying his attempt to appear composed. "You’re very… nice.”

You chuckle softly at his awkward compliment, enjoying the way he squirms under your playful attention. Leaning closer, you tease, “Just nice? Not beautiful or captivating?”

Beckett takes a deep breath through his nose before turning his head slightly to meet your gaze, your body almost completely draped right beside his now. He doesn’t hold eye contact for more than a second, inhaling sharply before looking away again. “No–God, no, you’re gorgeous, I’m just–”

You couldn't help but grin at Beckett's flustered response, finding his nervousness endearing. His attempt to compliment you only made him more charming in your eyes, and god did you want to pounce on him right then and there. "Wow, Beckett," you teased, leaning back slightly but keeping your gaze locked on him. "You really know how to flatter a girl."

Beckett's cheeks flushed deeper, his fingers now nervously playing with the condensation on his drink. "I-I'm sorry, I didn't mean to... I mean, I just... You're..." He struggled for words, his blue eyes wide and earnest as he searched for the right thing to say.

You pouted at his stuttering. "Relax, Beckett," you reassured him gently, reaching out to briefly touch his hand, “Take your time.”

Beckett's hand twitched under your touch, his eyes flickering down to where your fingers briefly grazed his before retreating. He swallowed hard, visibly trying to regain his composure as he met your gaze again. "Sorry," Beckett murmured, his voice barely audible over the background noise of the casino. "I… why are you here? In Vegas.”

You lean back slightly, your hand lightly resting on his shoulder now. "Oh, you know, birthday celebration," you answer casually, as if it's the most ordinary thing in the world to strike up a conversation with a stranger in a crowded bar. "Decided to treat myself to a spontaneous Vegas trip."

His eyebrows raise in surprise. "Happy birthday," Beckett says sincerely, his voice softening with a genuine warmth. "That sounds fun… Um, weird question, but how old are you?”

You chuckle at his question, appreciating his attempt to keep the conversation going despite his nerves. "Thanks. And I'm twenty-six today.”

Beckett’s eyes widen, almost to the point where they’re about to pop out of his head, and he tries his best to hide his surprise, although he isn’t doing a very good job at it. Your hand finds it’s way into his hair again, playfully tugging at the strands as you frown at him, “What? You’re not about to call me old, are you?”

Beckett's eyes widened further, caught off guard by your playful tug at his hair and your teasing challenge. He blushed furiously, his nervous laughter mingling with the cacophony of the casino around you.

"N-no! Of course not," Beckett stammered, his hands fidgeting with his drink again. "You... you look great. Really. I just... I didn't expect..." He paused, swallowing hard, “I’m eighteen. Is that… okay?”

"Eighteen?" you echoed with a playful smirk, leaning in closer again. "You're just a baby."

Beckett's cheeks flushed deeper at your teasing, but he managed a nervous laugh. "I-I guess so," he admitted, his fingers tapping nervously on the table. "Sorry, I didn't mean to... I mean, you just seem... more experienced."

You laughed softly, enjoying his flustered attempts to navigate the conversation. "Well, I've had a few more birthdays than you, that's for sure," you replied lightly, your hand still resting on his shoulder. "But age is just a number, right?"

"Yeah, definitely," Beckett agreed quickly, his eyes flickering up to meet yours before darting away again. "I mean, you're... you're really cool, and..." He trailed off, distracted by the newfound feeling of both your hands on him, this time on his chest.

You lean in even closer, your breath ghosting over his ear as you let your hands wander over his chest, feeling the rise and fall of his rapid breathing. "You're cute, Beckett," you whisper, your lips just inches from his ear. "And very sweet."

Beckett swallows hard, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment as he tries to steady his nerves. "Th-thanks," he stammers, his voice barely audible over the din of the casino. He looks up at you, his blue eyes wide and vulnerable. “I’m… uh, my friends are going to be back soon.”

Your smile widens at Beckett's shy confession, and you decide to push the envelope a little further. "Your friends?" you repeat, leaning in close enough that your breath tickles his ear. "Are they going to rescue you from me, or are you hoping they get lost for a while?"

Beckett's cheeks flush even deeper, and he swallows nervously. "I-I don't know," he mumbles, his voice barely a whisper. "Maybe... maybe a little of both."

You chuckle softly, amused by his honesty. "Well, until they come back, how about we make the most of our time together?" you suggest, your fingers trailing down his arm in a gentle caress.

Beckett's breath hitches at your touch, and he glances around the bar, as if expecting his friends to appear at any moment. "I-I guess we could," he agrees hesitantly, his eyes flickering back to yours. "What do you have in mind?"

You pull back slightly, your gaze still fixed on Beckett's flushed face. “You wanna go up to my room?” 

"I-I don't know," he stammers, his voice barely audible over the noise of the casino. "I mean, I... I've never..."

“That’s okay…” You muse, your hand messing with the collar of his white dress shirt, “We don’t have to do anything. Or… I could teach you?”

"Teach me?" Beckett's voice trembles slightly, and his wide eyes reveal a mix of curiosity and apprehension. "Like, what exactly?"

You smile reassuringly, your fingers gently tracing the line of his jaw. "Nothing you're not comfortable with," you assure him softly. "We can just hang out, talk, or… see where things go. No pressure."

He swallows hard, clearly torn between his nerves and his growing curiosity. "Okay," he finally whispers, his voice barely audible.

You take his hand in yours, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "Let's go then," you say with a warm smile, standing up and guiding him out of the booth. Beckett follows you, his hand trembling slightly in yours as you lead him through the bustling casino.

The elevator ride up to your room is filled with a tense silence, broken only by the soft hum of the elevator music. You steal glances at Beckett, noticing the way he fidgets nervously with the hem of his shirt.

"Relax," you murmur softly, giving his hand another gentle squeeze. "This is just about having a good time, okay?"

He nods, taking a deep breath and trying to steady his nerves. "Yeah, okay," he murmurs, his voice a little stronger now.

When the elevator doors open, you lead him down the hallway to your room. Once inside, the door clicks shut behind you, and the noise of the casino fades into a distant memory. Beckett looks around, his eyes wide with a mix of awe and nervousness.

"Nice room, I–” Beckett starts, only to get cut off by you literally pouncing on him, grabbing his face and pulling it down towards your lips.

Beckett's eyes widen in shock as your lips press against his, his hands frozen at his sides. For a moment, he remains still, unsure of what to do, but then he slowly starts to respond, his lips moving tentatively against yours. The kiss is awkward, and he uses way too much tongue, but as he relaxes, it becomes more confident, his hands finding their way to your waist.

You pull back slightly, just enough to meet his gaze, and smile at the sight of his flushed cheeks and wide eyes. "See? Not so bad, right?" you whisper, your voice teasing but gentle.

Beckett nods, still looking a little dazed. "Y-yeah," he breathes, his hands tightening slightly on your waist as if to anchor himself. "Not bad at all. But can we–”

Once again, you kiss him before he can respond, tugging at the hair at the nape of his neck. He kisses back, not any better, but he definitely tries. "Beckett," you murmur against his lips, your voice a soft whisper that sends shivers down his spine. "Shut up, please.”

Beckett's lips part slightly in surprise at your bold request, but he quickly recovers, his hands tentatively exploring your waist as he deepens the kiss. You pull away, standing on your tip toes to trail sloppy, open-mouthed kisses down his neck, which cause a whimper to escape from him. 

You guide him to the bed, pushing him down gently so that he's sitting on the edge. Standing between his legs, you run your hands through his hair again, tilting his head back so you can kiss him deeply. This time, his response is more confident, his hands finding their way to your hips and pulling you closer.

Your fingers work deftly, undoing the buttons of his shirt one by one, exposing his skin inch by inch. He shivers under your touch, his breath coming in short, quick bursts. "Is this okay?" you murmur, your lips ghosting over his jaw.

"Yes," he breathes, his voice barely audible.

You smile, pressing a soft kiss to his neck before continuing your exploration. His shirt falls open, and you take a moment to admire his lean physique, your hands running over his chest and stomach. His skin is warm under your touch, and you feel his muscles tense and relax as he tries to steady his breathing.

You push him gently back onto the bed, climbing on top of him and straddling his hips. His hands find their way to your thighs, his fingers digging into your skin as you lean down to kiss him again, this time your tongues tangling in a heated dance.

Your hands move to his jeans, undoing the button and zipper before slipping your hand inside, feeling the heat of his arousal through the fabric of his boxers. He gasps into your mouth, his hips bucking involuntarily at your touch. "Relax," you murmur against his lips, your voice a soothing whisper. "I've got you."

Your fingers tease the waistband of his boxers, and you feel his hips twitch in anticipation. Leaning down, you press a trail of kisses along his jawline, down his neck, and over his chest, your lips and tongue exploring every inch of his skin. Beckett's hands move to your back, his fingers trembling slightly as they slide under your shirt, seeking out the warmth of your skin.

But, as soon as you tug at his jeans, wanting them completely off, he squeals and pushes you off of him, breathing heavily.

You land beside him, your breath coming in quick, shallow bursts as you try to make sense of his sudden retreat. Beckett sits up, his eyes wide and panicked, his chest rising and falling rapidly. For a moment, neither of you speaks, the only sound in the room the muffled thrum of the street below.

“Sorry,” Beckett whispers, his voice trembling. He runs a hand through his hair, looking more lost than ever. “I… don’t think I can do this.”

You take a deep breath, forcing yourself to calm down as you look at Beckett, his face flushed and his eyes wide with panic. “Are you a virgin or something?” You ask, gently although your patience is wearing thin.

His eyes widen as he shakes his head panicked. “No! I’m not!” He exclaims, “I mean… barely, I just... I didn't think... I mean, I didn't expect..."

You sigh, frustration bubbling up despite your attempt to stay calm. You sit up, running a hand through your hair as you try to compose yourself. "Look, Beckett," you start, your voice more controlled now. "It's okay to be nervous. Just, do you want to hook up or not?”

Beckett freezes, caught off guard by your direct question. His eyes widen as he processes your words, his mind racing with a mix of uncertainty and desire. He opens his mouth to reply, but the words catch in his throat, his nerves getting the better of him. Finally, he takes a deep breath, his voice quiet. "I... I want to," he admits softly, his cheeks flushing deeper with embarrassment.

“Really? Because it really doesn’t seem like that,” You say, crossing your arms defensively.

Beckett's shoulders slump slightly, his cheeks burning with embarrassment as he realizes he's disappointed you. He looks down at his hands, unsure of how to salvage the situation. "I... I'm sorry," he murmurs, his voice barely audible over the hum of the air conditioning in the room.

You sigh, falling back onto the bed. “It’s fine, whatever. Just leave, please.”

Beckett sits there, visibly conflicted and unsure how to proceed. He watches you retreat to the bed, your frustration palpable in the air. Eventually, he begins to button his shirt back up and stands up. “I’m… sorry. Happy Birthday.” He decides to say, plainly, and without another word, leaves the room.

And not long after that, you fall asleep.

***

This morning

“Oh… my god.” You murmur, your cheeks burning at the memory as you face him right now. You immediately feel bad, as you didn’t remember what you did with him, but at the same time, a part of you thought it was a little bit immature of him to not know what he was doing at all. Especially since he said he wasn’t a virgin.

Beckett raises an eyebrow, slumping slightly. “Um, so I take it you remember now…?” He asks, quietly.

You groan inwardly, unable to hide your frustration as the memories from last night flood back. It wasn’t just that Beckett had been inexperienced, but the way the encounter had ended left you feeling awkward and unsatisfied.

“Yeah, I remember,” you mutter, rubbing your temples as you try to shake off the lingering embarrassment. “Look, I’m sorry for how things went down last night. It was just… really unexpected.”

Beckett nods, his eyes downcast. “I know, I was a mess. I didn’t mean to ruin your night. I mean, you seemed… really horny.” He replies, his voice getting smaller.

You sigh heavily, trying to push down the frustration bubbling up inside you. "Yeah, I was," you admit bluntly, not wanting to sugarcoat the truth. "I was looking for a good time, Beckett, and you... well, you weren't ready for that."

Beckett's cheeks flush even more, his eyes darting away from yours. "I know, I'm sorry," he mumbles, clearly feeling the weight of your disappointment. He takes a deep breath, mustering up all the confidence he has before continuing, “Can I ask you something, though?”

You take a deep breath, trying to rein in your frustration. "Yeah, what is it?" you ask, crossing your arms defensively.

Beckett hesitates, his eyes flickering nervously to yours before looking away again. "Do you think we could try again?" he asks, his voice barely above a whisper. "I mean, not like, hook up, but a date or something.”

“A date?” You echo, as if the word itself is foreign to you. You were never one for serious relationships, your last one ended when you were Beckett’s age, and you never tried again, instead opting for casual, no-strings endeavors. 

Your laugh echoes through the room, cutting through the tension like a knife. Beckett flinches, his expression shifting from hopeful to crestfallen in an instant. His cheeks flush even deeper, and he looks down at the floor, his hands fidgeting nervously.

"A date?" you say, again, unable to hide the incredulity in your voice. "You think after last night, we should go on a date?"

Beckett swallows hard, his eyes still downcast. "I just thought... maybe we could start over. Get to know each other better."

You let out an exasperated sigh, running a hand through your hair. "Look, I get it. You're a nice guy, and maybe in another life, things would be different. But I don't do dates. I don't do relationships. I'm here for a good time, not a long time."

He looks up at you then, his blue eyes wide with a mix of hurt and determination. "But why not? What's so bad about trying to get to know someone? To see if there's something more?"

You can feel your patience wearing thin, the frustration bubbling up inside you. "Because I don't have time for that. I have my life, my career, my friends. I don't need complications. Last night was supposed to be fun, simple. And it wasn't."

Beckett takes a deep breath, clearly gathering his courage. "I get that, but maybe... just maybe, we could be good together. I felt something last night, even if it was awkward and messy. Didn't you feel it too?"

“Look, no hard feelings, but I believed stuff like that at your age too. All that ‘meant to be’ shit, but, guess what? I got dumped. Shit happens, Beckett, and I don’t want you wasting your time on someone like me. I mean, look at me, I get drunk and pounce on random guys in Vegas. I’m a mess.” You end up monologuing, pacing along with it, the words endlessly flowing as Beckett looks at you wide-eyed.

Beckett flinches at your tone, his shoulders slumping further. "I understand," he says quietly, though it's clear he doesn't. "But I thought maybe we could be different. That we could... I don't know, figure things out together."

You stop pacing, turning to face him with a sigh. "And what if we can't? What if this ends up being another mess? I'm not looking to fix anything, Beckett. I'm not looking for someone to fix me."

"I'm not trying to fix you," he insists, finally meeting your gaze. "I just... I like you. I think you’re beautiful, and even though you were absolutely wasted last night, I can tell you’re a good person, too.”

You scoff along with a chuckle. “Just because there’s an Eiffel Tower outside, doesn’t mean that we’re in the city of love, babe. Now, can you just go live your life and leave me alone, please?”

Beckett's shoulders slump, and he takes a deep breath, clearly gathering the last of his courage. "I get it," he says softly, his voice barely audible. "I really do. But I still think you're worth the risk." With that, he turns and walks away, leaving you standing there, your frustration boiling over.

You watch him go, a mix of anger and confusion churning in your gut. You can't believe this kid—this barely-adult—had the nerve to suggest something so ridiculous. Who does he think he is, trying to swoop in and "fix" you? The very idea makes your skin crawl.

***

Tonight

After a long day of walking the strip, where the neon lights blazed and the city’s cacophony thrummed through your bones, you finally trudge into your new hotel, exhausted. Your feet ache from the endless parade of shops, your senses are dulled by the not-so-discreet drinks you indulged in, and all you crave is the solace of your room, a comforting meal from room service, and the promise of sleep before your flight home in the morning. But that’s when you see him.

Beckett is sprawled out on one of the lobby couches, limbs askew, wearing a hockey jersey that makes you cringe. The garish colors clash horribly with the elegant decor of the lobby, and for a moment, you consider just leaving him there, not wanting to deal with the hassle. However, the outline of his phone and wallet in his pocket catches your eye, and you can’t help but imagine how terrifying it would be to wake up and find them gone, lost to the myriad of opportunistic thieves in Vegas.

With a resigned sigh, you approach Beckett, shaking your head at the sight. "Hey," you say, gently shaking his shoulder. "Wake up."

Beckett stirs, blinking groggily up at you, his eyes bleary and unfocused. "Huh? Oh, it's you," he mumbles, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. "What time is it?"

"It's late," you reply, your voice softer than you intended. “Why are you in my hotel? Stalker much?”

Beckett's cheeks flush with embarrassment, and he shifts uncomfortably on the couch. "I'm not stalking you," he mutters defensively. "I was already here. After party. I went to an… event.” He says groggily, sitting up.

You laugh, crossing your arms, “Oh yeah? What kind of event does some eighteen-year-old kid have to go to in Vegas?” You question, gesturing to his jersey, “An Anaheim Ducks watch party?”

Beckett frowns, blinking sleep out of his eyes as he sits up straighter. “No, it’s not even hockey season,” he corrects you, running a hand through his tousled hair. “You know the team?”

You sigh, softening a little. “I live in LA. Would be kind of weird if I didn’t.”

Beckett’s eyes widen, and he immediately leans forward, “Really?” he asks, his expression lighting up.

You raise an eyebrow as you study him, “Yeah? What, you gonna try to find me now? Take me to a romantic dinner?”

Beckett shakes his head again before gesturing to his jersey, “No, I uh… just got drafted. Hence, the jersey.”

Your eyes widen in surprise. "Drafted? Like, to the NHL?"

Beckett nods, a shy smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Yeah, the Ducks picked me up,” he says, holding up three fingers, “Third overall.”

Your eyes widen even further, your initial frustration beginning to melt away. "Third overall? That's... wow, that's impressive," you admit, genuinely impressed despite yourself.

Beckett shrugs, trying to downplay it, but there's a proud glint in his eyes. "Yeah, it's pretty crazy. Still getting used to the idea."

You nod slowly, taking in the news. "So, you're not just some random kid," you muse aloud. "You're actually going places. That’s why you’re in Vegas?”

Beckett nods, his expression a mix of pride and nervousness. "Yeah, for the draft," he replies, his voice tinged with uncertainty. "I was celebrating with a few friends here tonight, but... well, they left early."

You raise an eyebrow, noting the slight defensiveness in his tone. "Left you hanging, huh?" you remark, a hint of sympathy creeping into your voice despite your earlier frustration. "That sucks."

"Yeah," Beckett admits, his shoulders slumping a little. "It does. But... it gave me some time to think."

You watch him carefully, unsure where this conversation is heading. "Think about what?" you prompt, genuinely curious now.

Beckett hesitates, chewing on his lower lip as he searches for the right words. "About us," he admits finally, his eyes meeting yours with a mix of vulnerability and determination.

Your heart skips a beat, caught off guard by his honesty. "Us?" you echo, your voice softer than before. "Beckett, there's no 'us.' Last night was... a mess."

"I know," Beckett agrees, his voice earnest. "And I'm sorry about that. I was... overwhelmed. But I can't stop thinking about you, about how things could've been different."

You sigh, torn between frustration and a strange sense of curiosity. "Beckett, I'm not looking for anything serious," you say, trying to be clear despite the conflicting emotions stirring within you. "I told you that."

"I know," he acknowledges, his gaze unwavering. "But maybe we don't have to define it right now. Maybe we can just... see where things go."

You hesitate, chewing on your lower lip as you consider his words. A part of you wants to push him away, to stick to your rules and avoid any potential mess. But another part of you—the part that felt a spark of connection last night—wonders if there might be more to explore.

“Goodnight, Beckett,” you finally say, quietly, patting him on the shoulder as you begin to stride off. “I’ll see you on TV one day.”

***

The next morning - Las Vegas International Airport

Well, this was it. You were going home after a weekend in Vegas that was both uneventful and extremely eventful at the same time. The vibrant lights of the strip and the distant echo of slot machines still linger in your mind as you sit at your gate, the screen flashing ‘Los Angeles’ in bold letters. The cacophony of announcements, chatter, and the occasional wail of a child fills the air, but you try to tune out all the noise and relax.

Suddenly, someone slides into the seat beside you, and you look over. Immediately, you groan. Beckett settles into the seat beside you at the airport gate, looking a bit sheepish but determined. His hair is tousled from a night of restless sleep, and he's wearing a hoodie emblazoned with the Anaheim Ducks logo. You feel a mix of annoyance and curiosity as he sits down without a word. Before you can speak, he breaks the silence.

"Fancy seeing you here. I’m on this flight too,” Beckett starts, speaking confidently. This is different from the shy, flustered young man you met two nights ago. This man knows what he wants and he’s making sure you know it.

You raise an eyebrow. “Is this that ‘professional athlete’ superiority that all of you eventually get?” you reply, your tone sarcastic.

Beckett chuckles softly, shaking his head as he looks at you with a playful glint in his eyes. "Nah, this is just me trying not to let you slip away without giving me a fair shot," he replies, his voice earnest yet laced with humor.

You roll your eyes, trying to maintain a semblance of annoyance despite the warmth spreading in your chest. "Give you a fair shot? We barely know each other," you retort, crossing your arms defensively.

"That's true," Beckett acknowledges with a nod, his expression earnest. "But I want to change that. I want to get to know you better."

You sigh, feeling conflicted. "Beckett, I told you—"

"—that you're not looking for anything serious," he finishes your sentence, his voice gentle yet determined. "I remember. But I’m not asking you for much. One date.”

His sincerity catches you off guard. You study his face, searching for any hint of insincerity or game-playing, but all you find is genuine earnestness and a touch of nervous hope.

"You're persistent," you remark finally, unable to hide a small smile. "Most guys would have given up by now."

Beckett shrugs, a self-deprecating smile quirking his lips. "I guess I'm not most guys," he replies softly. “And when I tell you you are the most gorgeous woman I have ever seen, I mean it. I would never forgive myself if I let you leave without another word.”

You pause, surprised by Beckett's sudden confession. His words catch you off guard, and for a moment, you're at a loss for what to say. The sincerity in his eyes is undeniable, and despite your reservations, a part of you is intrigued by his persistence.

"I... Beckett, I appreciate your honesty," you begin cautiously, your voice softening. "But you barely know me. Why are you so sure about this?"

Beckett takes a deep breath, his gaze steady as he meets your eyes. "I know what I felt when I met you," he admits earnestly. "It's rare to meet someone who challenges me like you do. And... I want to take that chance, even if it's just one date."

His vulnerability tugs at something inside you. You've always been guarded, especially after getting heartbroken all those years ago, but Beckett's openness is disarming. You end up laughing, “Okay, are you sure that ‘feeling’ wasn’t just you being horny?”

At that moment, the boy you met a few nights ago comes back as his cheeks tinge pink. “No!” he exclaims, nervously, “I mean… maybe a little, but that’s definitely not why I want to take you out.”

You chuckle softly at Beckett's flustered response, finding his awkward honesty oddly endearing. Despite your initial annoyance, his sincerity begins to chip away at your defenses. “You do know how old I am, right?” you question, still wondering why he’s so sure about this.

Beckett's cheeks flush deeper as he nods, clearly embarrassed but determined to continue. "Yeah, I know," he admits, his voice steady despite his nervousness. "You're older than me, but age doesn't really matter to me. What matters is getting to know you better, seeing where things could go."

You tilt your head, studying him intently. His earnestness is undeniable, and despite your initial reservations, you find yourself intrigued by his persistence and sincerity. "You're quite the charmer, aren't you?" you tease lightly, trying to lighten the tension that's built between you.

Beckett chuckles nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. "I'm trying," he admits, his gaze earnest as he meets your eyes. "Look, I get that you've been through some stuff. So have I, in different ways. But... I can't stop thinking about you. And I don't want to wonder 'what if?'"

His words strike a chord within you. The familiarity of unresolved questions and missed opportunities resonate, and for a moment, you find yourself considering his proposal. "One date," you finally concede, your voice softer than before. "But I'm not making any promises beyond that."

A bright smile spreads across Beckett's face, genuine and relieved. "One date is all I'm asking for," he agrees eagerly. "Thank you."

And as he smiles at you, all boyish and bright-eyed but with a deeper maturity within, you know he’s right. 

This isn’t like anything you’ve felt before.

[ellephlox]

Muted Dawn

Pairing: Matt x fem!reader

Summary: You get mugged in the middle of the night, but Matt isn't there to save you.

Warnings: mugging, canon-typical violence, swearing, injuries, physical/verbal assault

In mid-summer, the midnight air of New York had a surreal balminess to it. You wore a tank top and a thin red jacket on top, your suitcase rolling loudly behind you as you hurried down the sidewalk. Every crack, every pebble, every sewer grate — they were all thunderclaps compared to the otherwise quiet evening. The luggage was too heavy to carry, though, so it would have to roll behind you.

It was a long day. You'd flown out to visit family, and your return flight was supposed to be midday. It had been cancelled, though, leaving you to scramble for a layover that could get you to New York by morning. It was a complete shit show, and you'd had to sprint to your gates at the airport with this stupid shitty suitcase that you were half-tempted to just dump in the garbage.

Matt still thought you'd arrived in the evening. He texted you earlier that he had a case to work on with Foggy, and that he'd be up in the office plowing through work, probably until early morning.

You didn't have the heart to tell him that you'd actually touched down in New York at eleven p.m. because that would be a surefire way to pull Matt out of work to meet you at the airport. Dragging him from his responsibilities — which were already too numerous — was the last thing you wanted.

So, solo travel in the middle of the night was your only option. You took the airport train to the nearest station, and from there took a train, and from there took another train that deposited you at 50th Street. Matt's apartment was only a ten minute walk, tops, from the station. Just a short walk. Too short to justify calling an Uber, mostly because you didn't exactly have a lot of money left in your wallet and your next paycheck wasn't for another few days.

Thump thump thump thump thump thump thump—

"Shit," you said aloud, staring between your luggage wheels and the sidewalk, which had switched from mildly smooth to practically cobbled. That didn't bode well for your plan to walk quietly back to the apartment. You snapped the handle down and tried to carry the suitcase again, but managed only to go a few steps before your arm felt as though it were going to break off. "Come on."

"Need some help?" The voice that came from the shadows was most definitely not Matt's, and goosebumps ran down your arms immediately. You didn't bother answering; it was always best to ignore anyone who tried talking to you on the streets of Hell's Kitchen. To regain some speed you pulled your handle back out — no sense in trying to be quiet now — and continued on your way, the thumps more rapid this time as you picked up the pace.

Thumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthump—

"I asked you a question, darling." To your horror, mingled with the sound of your suitcase wheels smashing along the sidewalk were now footsteps, and a figure appeared in the corner of your eye.

"You gonna answer? Not very nice of you." He jogged in front of you, blocking your way effectively, and now you could properly see him. He was pale — practically pasty in the moonlight — and wore a sweatshirt so stained it might as well have been a used napkin at a greasy fast food joint. He had a beard, untamed and straggly, and despite the wild look to him that suggested he was hungry, he was big. Most definitely someone you didn't want to try taking on in a fight.

"Get the hell out of my way," you snapped at him.

"I want to see what's in that suitcase. It's making a hell of a racket."

"Sorry to disappoint." You tried to weave your way around him, but he stepped in front of you again.

Damn it. You suddenly regretted not texting Matt about your late arrival. If you had, you wouldn't be alone on the street right now — Matt would have been beside you — and this wouldn't be happening. Fear, potent and throbbing, swirled in your stomach like a dense fog. You felt like a wild animal, ensnared in a trap with nowhere to go. You glanced behind you; the street was just as empty and silent, with the few streetlights flickering menacingly as though about to burn out.

"Look, bitch, you want to do this the easy or the hard way?"

"I said, let me get by. I don't want any trouble."

"Trouble?" he said, then laughed, scanning you from head to toe. "You look like little Red Riding Hood. What're you going to do?"

"I can scream. People will come and you'll be in deep shit."

"You're a fucking idiot if you think that. These back streets of Hell's Kitchen are the furthest you can get from help, darling."

"Unless the devil hears me," you breathed out, depending on the hope that this man had heard of Matt's other persona. "Then I have a good feeling your legs will get broken. You heard of him?"

Except the devil wasn't out tonight. He was instead filing paperwork, far away on the other end of the Kitchen, and probably wearing a suit. Unless the man in front of you fell for the bluff... you were thoroughly screwed.

But the man pulled out a gun, which you had not been expecting. "Devil ain't out here. No one's seen him in a few days. Hard way it is, then. You scream, darling, and I'll shoot you between the eyes."

You froze. Never had you felt so helpless in your life. Your heart was banging against your chest like a frantic bird, trying to escape, and yet your limbs wouldn't move, for fear of that black weapon pointing directly at your head. "Please," you said finally, the word coming out in a rasp. "I just want to go home."

"And you can, once you gimme what I want." The man pointed the gun at the suitcase. "Open it up."

You trembled slightly. Should you try fighting him? Sure, Matt had taught you some basic self-defense, but this man had a gun. What could you do against that? Maybe you could try grabbing the gun, or kicking it from his hands, but... that was ridiculous. You had hardly any training. Most likely you'd end up falling on your ass, and then the guy would put a bullet in you.

No, your best chance was to comply. Slowly you bent down and fumbled with the clasp of the suitcase, your hands shaking so hard that it wouldn't open up.

"I said open it!" the man demanded, jabbing the gun against your temple. It was cold and hard, and against your volition you yelped, squeezing your eyes shut. When the bullet didn't come, you slowly opened your eyes, and resumed your struggle with the clasp, finally popping it open. Shame grazed your face as you opened the luggage to unfolded laundry and toiletries haphazardly thrown in; not that this man cared, but somehow you felt as though your last shred of dignity was chewed up and spat on.

Maybe Matt would finish his paperwork early and put on the suit. Maybe he could hear you, right now, and he was on his way, leaping across rooftops. But no one was coming, and you stepped back, allowing the man to root through your belongings. He stooped over the suitcase, his gun now dangling at your side. You eyed him. Though you weren't exactly fast, especially compared to Matt, maybe you could make a break for it, and at least get away. Your suitcase was a lost cause at this point, but frankly, you didn't care.

Do it. Now. While he's distracted. Before you could lose your nerve, you took off, terror burning in your veins and making you pump your arms as hard as you could. You were only a few blocks from home, not far at all —

But footsteps rang behind you, heavy and faster than you. You chanced a look over your shoulder, and hardly had time to react before the man behind you overtook you entirely, tackling you to the sidewalk. Pavement slashed and gnawed against your skin, burning white hot — your cheek, your knees, the palms of your hands.

"Never run away from me like that before I'm done," the man said, in an almost childish way, as though a toy had been taken from him. He grabbed you by your arm and pulled you roughly to your feet. "I'm not finished with you yet."

By this point, tears were flowing down your cheeks, and all sense of shame was gone. Nothing mattered now except surviving, leaving this man and getting into the safety of home. Desperately you thought of the couch, and the shower, and bed, places that had seemed so close just ten minutes ago and now felt impossibly far away. "Please," you begged him. "Please. Take whatever you want, I just want to leave. Please."

He wrenched your arm in response, twisting it back much farther than it wanted to go. You shrieked, thinking that your arm must be broken, but then he let go and slapped your face, right across the cheek that still burned from the fall.

"Quiet!" he said roughly. "Let me finish." He kept his grip on your arm as he bent down to return to the suitcase, and you were yanked off your feet, falling to the ground like some absurd doll in the hands of an aggressive six-year-old. You didn't watch closely what the man took, because your vision was too blurred, but a dazed glance downwards told you that your laptop, earbuds, and jewelry were gone.

"Where's your wallet?" he asked, turning back to you. You didn't question him at all and reached into your pocket, your fingertips searching obediently for the wallet. Where are you, Matt? The man wasn't patient, though, and plunged his hand into your pocket to take over. You stayed stock still, the feeling of his hand against your thigh more disturbing than you could have predicted, as he extracted the wallet, then your phone, and pushed you away.

"Now here's what's going to happen," he said, pulling the gun out again. "I'm gonna let you live, because bodies are hard to take care of. But if you try squealing, if you go running off to a cop — if you tell anyone at all, I swear I'm going to find you and kill you." He took out your license and read it aloud — your name, your height, your weight, your address. "See, darling, I know everything about you. And if I get a whiff that you've tried telling someone about this little exchange we had tonight, I'll come to your address, and I'll slit your throat. Got it, darling?"

You nodded violently.

"Now get out of here," he said, and shoved you one last time. You didn't hesitate, and ran.

He could have taken more. Your clothing, your bracelet from Matt that you wore, your body, your life. All those you still had. The things he'd taken were meaningless, just trinkets. Things you could buy again.

But this reasoning didn't comfort you at all, and the moment you were in the safety of the apartment, with the door locked, you broke down altogether. You could hardly breathe, and every two seconds you ran to the window to check the street, certain that you'd see that stained sweatshirt ambling along the sidewalk, or hear a sudden knock at the door. Your phone was gone, so there was no way to call 911 if you needed to. And Matt wouldn't be able to reach you, either. You wished, like never before, that you could have his hearing. The ability to know when Matt was on his way back, and to hear him coming down the sidewalk, would be infinitely comforting; even more so would be the assurance that you'd hear that man who mugged you if he decided to come to the apartment.

But all you could hear was the whir of the refrigerator and your own shallow breaths.

It was therefore a heart-wrenching shock when you heard the deadbolt unlock, maybe an hour later. Maybe two hours later, or three. You weren't sure; time was a vortex, or even a black hole, with an event horizon so monstrous that everything was sucked into it.

Matt's home. As if you were dropped into an icy bath, you suddenly leapt to your feet. You hadn't showered. Your clothing was torn at the knees, and that man's scent was probably all over you, not to mention blood was smeared across your face and hands from the scrapes. Not good. Not good at all.

You ran into the bathroom just as the front door sprung open, and you only caught the smallest glimpse of the storm cloud of emotion already on Matt's face before you slammed the bathroom door shut and locked it.

Why, exactly, you were hiding from him, when there was no doubt he could smell the man and blood either way, wasn't clear to you. Maybe it was the shame of him seeing you like this. He was so capable, so responsible, and to sense you on the floor like a puddle... it made you feel even worse than you already felt. Yes, you'd wanted Matt to save you, but it was too late now, wasn't it? Now you were just going to be another thing he had to take care of.

So, a shower it was.

Matt's fist pounded on the door. "Y/N? What happened?"

"I'm showering."

"It's two in the morning. I can smell your blood and your heart is flying. What happened?"

This time, it wasn't Matt asking, but the Devil of Hell's Kitchen. You could hear it in the low growl of his voice, the restlessness that simultaneously wanted to defend you as well as throw a punch at something.

"I'm okay, Matt. I'm okay. I just need a minute to clean up," you told him, starting the water. "Please."

"Y/N, if you don't unlock this door, I'm going to knock it off its hinges."

The thought made new tears spring to your eyes all over again. Your money — all gone. You'd have to cancel your credit cards now. And while you'd spent most of your money while visiting family, you'd had at least two twenties in your wallet — forty dollars, now gone, and forty dollars less to fix a broken door with.

Matt must have sensed the tears, because his next words were much gentler. "Whatever happened, you can tell me. I can—"

He fell silent. You peeled off your jacket, examining the scrapes on your hands briefly. Those would sting in the water, undoubtedly. Taking care of them was an imperative. Matt had a case to work on, and a city to save. The thought of him being preoccupied with your damn hands was enough to make you want to throw your fist into the wall with anger. Anger with yourself. How could you have let yourself get mugged? If you'd just called a fucking Uber from the station, then this would never have happened.

Matt said something on the other side of the door, too softly for you to hear.

"Didn't catch that," you said, as casually as possible. Priority number one was making sure Matt didn't know the extent to which you were freaked out.

"I said, who did this?"

"I don't know," you said evenly. It was harder than you thought it would be to keep your voice steady, when every instinct in you wanted to say it with a sob, and to curl back up on the floor. Standing was too hard, listening to Matt was too hard, simply breathing was too hard — every time you closed your eyes, the feeling of the gun against your temple returned to you.

There was a sudden click, and the door swung open. Matt had unlocked it, somehow, and you didn't have the energy to question how he'd done it.

His presence was like a live electric wire as he stepped into the room. You could feel the tension rising within him, threatening to spill over if you didn't give a name or a hint of what happened. You crossed your arms, wishing you'd left your jacket on, even though it didn't make a difference for what Matt could sense about you. The scrape on your face seared angrily and the fleeting thought passed through you that Matt could probably feel the heat of it just as clearly as you.

"I said I was fine," you said finally, keeping your voice controlled. "I told you I needed a minute."

"That doesn't matter when you're hurt. I need to know how hurt. Let me just feel—"

"Matt, please." You were shaking now, and torn between collapsing into his arms and never letting him know the extent to which you were absolutely petrified. Matt froze.

"Do you need me to leave?" he asked softly.

"I... no. I don't know what I need. I need..." A thrill of horror raced through you at the realization that you hadn't checked the window in awhile. What if the man was coming up the street now, on his way to break in and finish the deed with a bullet in your head? A bullet in Matt's head? You brushed by him and hurried to the window, squinting out at the dark.

Matt followed, and this time he didn't wait before coming up right behind you and cupping your cheek with his hand. It was gentle, but not a romantic act — you could feel the way his fingertips grazed over the scrape, accounting for the grit and sweat and blood that adorned it. Unable to bring yourself to move, you stood like a deer in the headlights as his hands then moved to your temples.

"No concussion," he said, but his jaw remained just as tight as he lowered his fingers to your own hands, breezing over them gingerly.

"These scrapes need to be cleaned." His face tensed as his hand hovered near your thigh. "Did he—?"

"No. No, I was just..." Mugged. It was too embarrassing to admit, and the word lodged in your throat. "Just some things were taken. Phone. Wallet. Suitcase."

"Jesus, at seven in the evening? Did anyone see? I want a name. A description. Anything. I'll find him and—"

"It wasn't seven in the evening." You dipped your head, tears welling again. "My plane was delayed."

You feared that he was going to be pissed, but instead he simply looked bemused. "Why didn't you say anything? I would've met you at the airport."

"Because you had work," you said, more stiffly. "And I know that me getting robbed looks bad, but I don't want to be your burden. Foggy needed your help tonight, not me."

"Not you? That's bullshit, Y/N," Matt said, and the electricity that had been buzzing in his movements finally exploded. "The reason I put on the damn suit anyway is because I care about people, including you. And you — you're above the rest, because I love you. Don't you see that? I need this, I need to find whoever did this, because if I don't, then I've failed you. I've failed myself, I've failed the city, I've failed my faith."

"Matt, it's not that serious. I overreacted, that's all."

"Like hell you overreacted. How do you think I felt when I left work and heard your heartbeat from two blocks away, racing like you were staring death in the face? When I got into the apartment and could smell your blood? When I came in here and could taste your fear?"

"I didn't ask you to sense those things," you snapped, and the moment the words were out of your mouth, you regretted them. It wasn't as though you could have simply elected to not see Matt that time he'd arrived at the apartment, torn up and bloody, or simply turned your head when you'd heard him yelling in the hospital as Claire stitched up his guts. In fact, it was impossible to not pay attention even more at times like that. Your mouth was dry as you shook your head. "I'm sorry, Matt. I don't mean that."

Still, he didn't get mad at you. "I know."

And it was that, his patience despite the energy palpitating in his fists that made you sink onto the couch, placing your face in your hands. "Shit, I'm so sorry. I... I can tell you what happened. It's just that admitting it makes it so much more real. It's humiliating."

Matt sat next to you, just shy of touching you. Waiting for your permission, likely. "Who was it?"

"Bearded man. Stained sweatshirt, really large — probably six foot four."

"Where?"

"Three blocks directly west of us."

"How did you get the scrapes?"

You closed your eyes. "I tried to get away. He tackled me. There was a gun, too. He kept it pointed at my head, and — Oh, God. He said if I told anyone, that he'd come here. He's got our address because of my license. He said he'd come here with the gun and—"

"Pointed at your head?" Matt's voice dropped to a dangerous low again, reminiscent of the devil. "You could've been killed." He got to his feet, stalking to the cabinet and unbuttoning his shirt.

"Matt," you said weakly, unsure of how to make the request for him to stay. He wanted to leave. He needed to let out the energy and protect, as was his standard, but you needed him to protect from here. The thought of being alone in the apartment was unbearable; you wanted him by your side, keeping you safe with his presence, not the mask.

"I wasn't there for you." Matt's fists were clenching and unclenching rhythmically as he stood in front of the suit, shirtless. Contemplating, or strategizing? You weren't sure. "I — if he had shot you — I can't—"

"Matt," you said again, louder this time. "I need—"

You were about to say "you" but the energy broiling in Matt's stance made you fall short. He needed to do this. You could be alone for a bit longer, you told yourself. "I need the bandages," you finished. "They're... not in the bathroom."

"They're under the kitchen sink," Matt said, and suddenly he turned around, his expression softer. "Let me help."

Inwardly sighing, you sat on the armchair, hugging your knees, while Matt cleaned your scrapes with a steady hand. He didn't say a word as he worked, his eyes darting about uncharacteristically. You still couldn't get a read on exactly what he was thinking. There was no chance he'd be angry at you, but that didn't preclude him from being disappointed.

How many other people would have been able to hold their own against that man? Everyone else in Matt's circle would have been capable. Frank, Jessica, Danny, Luke — they wouldn't have been even fazed at all. Elektra would have had a field day with him. Even Karen and Foggy had proved themselves quick to react in dangerous situations, and you couldn't help but think anyone in that situation other than you would have walked away unscathed. Your cheeks burned at the thought, as much as you willed them not to.

"What is it?" Matt said, his voice so low it was almost a whisper.

Of course he'd notice the shift in your temperature.

"Maybe I deserved it," you said, a bit bitterly. "I shouldn't have been walking out there. Like you said, I could've called you. And I didn't. I could've learned more self-defense over the past few years, and I haven't. It's my own stupidity that's got me where I am."

Matt stilled. "You're blaming yourself?"

"I'm blaming my lack of foresight."

He resumed dabbing at your hands, and was silent for so long that you thought he wasn't going to answer. Finally, he said, "With that line of reasoning, then it's my fault Elena Cardenas was killed. I should have done more."

"That's not the same, and you know it."

He ignored you. "It's also my fault that Foggy got shot, that time we were in Reyes's office. If I had been listening more closely to what was going on down the street, then I would have heard the threat coming sooner."

"Matt, come on. You know what I meant."

"And it's my fault that Fisk got out of prison. If I had the wherewithal to kill him the first day I met him, he would never have—"

"Stop it!"

"Do you get it?" he whispered. "It's not your fault. We could preoccupy ourselves all day with the ifs that might have changed what happened. But you can't beat yourself up over the ifs that you couldn't have predicted. The bad people in this world don't get to benefit from your own self-degradation. Never take the fall for something they've done."

You let out a short laugh through the tears that caught in your eyes. "You give great advice, Matt, but you're terrible at following it yourself."

"Touché. Take off your pants for me?"

You smiled. "You really know how to sweet-talk a girl."

Matt brushed his thumbs over the corners of your eyes, exactly where they were still damp. "Well, maybe once your knees are cleaned up, I'll show you how it's really done."

You pulled off your pants and tossed them onto the couch. "You're not... heading out onto the street?"

"I'd rather be here."

You hardly dared to believe it. "You sure?"

"Positive." He didn't hesitate as he bent down onto the floor, methodically poring over the scrapes with the washcloth. "You're my priority."

A warm glow flushed through your cheeks, this time out of relief, and the smile that tugged at Matt's lips told you that he sensed it. You let him finish bandaging up your knees before you grabbed his arm and pulled him next to you on the armchair. There wasn't much space, but you lifted your knees so that he was partially underneath you, squeezed next to one another so tightly that you could feel his heartbeat.

"Hey," you said, after a moment. "How'd you unlock the bathroom door without a key so quickly?"

"It's an easy trick. Stick showed me years ago."

"Can you show me?"

"A good magician keeps his secrets," Matt said. At your frown, he laughed. "I'll show you tomorrow."

"I love you," you said, resting your head on his shoulder.

"I love you more than you'll ever know," he answered. You fell asleep to his hand running through your hair, the billboard outside rotating between hues of violet and cobalt, and the faint thrum of the muted air conditioner in the apartment above.

When you woke, you were in bed. It was still early; the dawn outside was muted. Matt must have carried you into the bedroom, because you had no memory of moving in there yourself. For a moment you feared he had taken to the streets, but feeling the warmth on your left, he was still there, and had been for some time. You shifted, trying to get nearer to his warmth. He said nothing but tugged you in even closer, his arms and legs thrown over you protectively.

What if you had been shot and killed? The thought was eerie. This bed would be empty. Matt would surely be out for the man's blood. And all this... you wouldn't ever get to experience it again. It was far too easy to take each day for granted. Far, far too easy.

One day at a time, then, you decided, and closed your eyes again as Matt's hand crept over your own.

[blackseafoam]

Marked Part III

A Bad Batch x Red Dead Redemption crossover AU (with illustrations)

PART 1 - PART 2

Word count: 2002

CW: Stuff you'd normally find in a western story. Swearing, smoking, gun touting, bullet wounds, horse jokes.

“Why do you keep looking over there? The job is as good as done, Arthur.” Javier gestured with his whiskey glass, elbows planted on the bar top.

“Yeah, have a drink. We earned it.” Lenny nodded with his beer.

“Slow down, Summers, remember the last time you came here to ‘wind down’” Javier jabbed, snickering.

“Shut up, Esquella.” Lenny muttered into his glass as he raised it.

Arthur barely noticed the two bickering. His mind elsewhere. There was a nagging feeling those three soldiers weren’t done fighting yet. The energy between those men was almost as if they could talk without speaking. Their expressions clearly showed they were not ready to give up yet. Like an animal in a snare, biting and scratching to its last breath, chewing off its leg to get away if it has to.

He sipped his whiskey but kept one eye dutifully on the front of the Sheriff's office, just in case, even as the sun went down and the warm light of lanterns and candles became the only way to see.

BOOM. Every glass on every table shuddered at once. Lenny choked on his drink.

Dutch’s boys knew the sound of dynamite all too well. Arthur got to his feet and ran outside, closely followed by his inebriated posse.

The side of the sheriff's station was blown wide open, a gaping hole in the wall revealed the inside of the holding cell, and prisoners nowhere to be seen. Arthur cursed, making eye contact with the deputy inside, on the other side of the bars, standing frozen in shock.

“Damn, these guys might be even crazier than us.” Lenny huffed. Javier sighed with frusdration.

“Goddamn. I can’t believe it.” Arthur couldn’t help but sound a little impressed.

Arthur’s attention went to the muddy ground, to the scrambling footprints, four, no, five sets of boots led toward the main road, then disappeared.

“They got on a wagon, come on.” Arthur growled, then turned to get his horse. This bounty was now officially giving them a run for their money.

“Do you think they heard that?” Wrecker laughed as soon as his brothers climbed aboard the wagon. With a flick of the reins they were off as quickly as Murray could pull the full load. Tech, being the designated driver, climbed to the front and took the reins. They headed south out of the town,the opposite direction of their old camp. It almost felt good to get into some action again, almost.

“Where’s Meggy?” Hunter huffed as he took a seat.

“In here!” His seat spoke. Echo huffed a laugh as Hunter stood in shock and opened the crate. The three siblings in the cargo area shared a reunion hug.

“How touching.” Crosshair caught up to the wagon on Havoc, rifle trained to the sky in one hand, reins in the other. The jet black steed’s nostrils flaring with excitement. “Celebrate later, we’re being followed.” He cast a glance over his shoulder.

Three horsemen coming up from behind caught the light of the train station on the edge of town. Barely visible at this distance, but closing fast.

“Did you bring our guns?” Echo began moving the supply crates to barricade the rear of the open wagon.

“In here!” Meggy handed him a saddlebag from the floor.

Echo moved one crate toward the front of the wagon. Hunter motioned Meggy to take cover behind it. “Do not move from this spot until we say so.” He said sternly. Meggy looked at him with eyes wide open, nodding and sitting frozen still. The intensity in his expression taking her aback.

Wrecker loaded his sawn-off shotgun, Echo spun his pistol, and Hunter turned the safety off of his revolver. Tech urged the horse to continue as fast as he dared into the night. He wasn’t familiar with this road but from his vague recollection of maps it was relatively straight.

The first shot rang out, splintering through the back of the driver’s seat. Missing Tech’s hip by inches. Being on the wagon meant their aim would be marginally better than their pursuers at full gallop. Hopefully.

Sure enough, it was their three escorts from earlier that came into view in the moonlight. One of them took another shot, but it went wide. Hunter and Echo returned fire, forcing the bounty hunters to spread out evasively. Meggy watched in horror over the crate, covering her ears and not daring to move a muscle as she crouched in the corner. Her limbs shook with adrenaline.

“We are not going to outrun them, we need a plan!” Tech called over his shoulder.

“No way we’re surrendering!” Wrecker bit out as he rolled into the back to take cover.

“I have an idea.” Tech gritted his teeth and veered the wagon onto the train tracks.

“TE-ECH, what are you do-oing!?” Echo yelled, the seriousness in his tone cut by his jostling voice. The wagon wheels bumped violently as they rolled over the railroad ties.

“Blackwater!” Is all he said in response.

Echo didn’t have time to ask more questions, as more shots rang out. A shot went straight through Hunter’s side, and into the crate protecting Meggy.

Hunter staggered, Echo noticed. “Hunter’s hit!” He announced. Hunter was still firing after he stumbled to his knees, Wrecker stowed his shotgun went to his brother’s aid. His close-range weapon wasn’t much help in the firefight anyway.

“We still need more distance!” Crosshair spat, his expression steeling as he thought. He knew that as soon as their enemies caught up with the wagon, it was all over. And they were getting uncomfortably close by the second.

The massive railroad bridge that was Bard’s Crossing stretched high over the yawning mouth of the Dakota River before it spanned out into Flat Iron Lake. Tech was leading them straight for it, an absolute madman, but probably one of the only people who could pull it off. Crosshair couldn’t help but smirk at his brother, the lunacy of the situation.

In that moment, Crosshair realized what he needed to do. He slowed Havoc to a canter. The stallion grunted, wanting to stay with his herd.

“Crosshair, what are you doing?!” Wrecker called out, crouched over Hunter, trying to staunch the hole in his side.

“Buying time.” Crosshair said, releasing the reins to cock his rifle. Using his seat to further slow his horse.

“This isn’t part of the plan!” Tech started to slow Murray.

“Too bad, it is now. GO! I’ll meet you in Blackwater.”

Tech nodded reluctantly, and urged Marauder back up to speed.

“This is not good, we shouldn’t split up!” Echo lowered his pistol, watching Crosshair and Havoc disappear into the darkness. “Running off to be the hero never works Crosshair!” He futilely called after his brother.

After the bridge, Tech steered the wagon back onto the road uncomfortably close to an oncoming train, thankfully still going slow as it left the nearby station. He cast an apologetic wave at the conductor who was visibly angry. They pulled the wagon over as soon as possible, Tech held up the driver’s lantern to check on Hunter. “How bad?” He was almost afraid to ask.

“A little worse than a graze, but I don’t think it hit anything important.” Wrecker reported.

“I’d… beg to differ, Wrecker. Feels pretty important.” Hunter huffed a small laugh which became a groan.

Echo rummaged through the kitchen crate for a whiskey bottle. Handing it to Hunter, who took a long swig before returning it. His face scrunching in anticipation before Echo splashed the stinging liquid onto the wound.

Tech finished by cleaning and staunching the wound with fabric from their triage kit, leftover from the war. They hadn’t had much use of it since then. After the train went by they were left in hanging silence. The tension began to abate, though worry about Crosshair still hung in the air. Wrecker looked out toward the bridge as if he could see his brother through the darkness if he tried hard enough.

Echo turned toward Meggy, still cowering in the corner of the wagon. Still doing exactly as Hunter instructed, staying put. Her face was lined with horror and her eyes were wet, as she hugged her still shaking legs.

“Hey, hey Meggy. We’re okay.” Echo went to her side. She glanced at him, then looked back toward Hunter and Tech. “Here, uh, come sit up here.” He took her elbow. The poor girl looked shell-shocked as if she were the one who’d been through a war. She took his offer to get up off the floor and sit on a crate with him, still shivering.

Crosshair halted Havoc, still on the bridge. He could already hear the hoofbeats of his pursuers pounding on the wooden struts. He deftly uncaulked his rifle and stowed it in the saddle as he slid off. Walking several paces toward the enemy, he raised his hands toward the stars above.

The gang got on their way again. “The closer we are to Blackwater, the safer we’ll be.” Tech assured, steering Murray to ford a shallow creek, letting the loyal beast take a long drink of water before continuing on.

“Why’s that?” Hunter croaked, taking another swig of whisky while trying to get comfortable against a sideways barrel close to Meggy’s seat.

“A few weeks ago the Van der Linde gang were here, and… left quite the mess.” Tech snapped the reins and Murray continued at a walk. “The gang robbed the Blackwater ferry. $150,000, according to the paper.” He added.

Wrecker whistled in amazement. “That’s a lot of cash…”

“It was a bloody affair, the Pinkertons got involved.”

“We should probably stay far enough away from the town if there are feds about, not to mention in case Meg–, I mean our wanted posters have made it out here.” Echo pointed out, casting a glance at Meggy beside him, still as a statue with Echo’s jacket draped over her shoulders. Hunter looking at her with concern, despite being the only one bleeding.

“Meggy, are you okay?” Hunter put the bottle to the side and reached out to her, wincing as the motion tugged painfully.

“She’s not hurt...” Echo pondered. “I think she’s scared, but she hasn’t said anything.”

“I’m okay.” Meggy nodded, and a tear ran down her face. She wiped it quickly, hoping no one saw.

Her brothers continued to console her as the wagon continued into the dark.

Arthur, Javier and Lenny rode up on the lone dark-clad outlaw with guns drawn.

“You’re coming with us.” Lenny spat, leveling his pistol.

“I would like to come to an arrangement.” Crosshair called out. “I have… a proposition.”

Lenny and Javier looked at Arthur, who raised his chin in interest. “Let’s talk somewhere we aren’t about to get crushed by a train.” He responded after a beat of consideration. Crosshair spun around and saw the light of an engine appearing on the other end of the bridge, when he turned back around Dutch’s boys were trotting back to solid ground. Crosshair mounted up and followed.

“You sure this is a good idea, Morgan?” Javier chided.

“Let’s hear him out. It’s our only option now.” Arthur cast a glance over his shoulder in the direction of Blackwater.

Between two prairie hills just outside Blackwater, the Bad Batch gang had settled in for the night, huddled against the wagon with a small campfire. Coyotes yapped nearby, and the crickets added to the chorus with their own nighttime song. Meggy laid on her bedroll between Hunter and Wrecker. Tech took the first watch after he untacked Marauder and brushed him. All five of them were silent with worry since the wagon wheels stopped. Every little sound had Tech looking up from what he was doing, hoping it was Crosshair catching up with them. Wrecker took the next watch, then Echo. Meggy and Hunter were allowed to sleep off the ordeal. The night slid by with no sign of their absent brother.

Taglist: @dragonrider9905 @omegafett99 @griffedeloup @happydragon @fionas-frenzy @dizzy-9906

Author's note:

"It didn't hit nothin' important!!" That scene from the Ballad of Buster Scruggs kept playing in my head while I wrote this. I might add some more illustrations to this later, cuz I still have some ideas, but for now I just wanted to get this OUT THERE. I've completed a rough outline of the whole story at this point, and I'm so excited for the stuff at the climax. I have no idea how many chapters this will be but I'm trying to keep each one around 1.5 - 3k words.

I am so grateful for the positive feedback on the first two chapters thank y’all so much! I am certainly not the most experienced writer, and have been kind of hard on myself with this chapter, but had to keep remembering that this is all just for fun and doesn’t have to be perfect.

[tetsutits]

ᰔ cw – fem!reader, weddings, ran is such a wife guy its insane, unprotected ptv, mdni (0.9k words)

most people will agree that weddings are events that are pure, sacred, an act that signifies love and devotion to ones lover. and though they aren't wrong -- a part of you thinks otherwise.

fate sealed and deal done, you now are a married woman with a beautiful rock on your finger -- the very best, of course. ran haitani demands only the best for his beloved, he won't settle for any less than perfect.

fitted in a pretty, white, flowy gown, dolled up so that you could almost be mistaken for a princess, you look like the definition of beauty.

what do they say about brides wearing white on weddings again? oh, right, they were to show pureness, virtue, and innocence.

you disagree.

-- because the way your husband is fucking you right now is nowhere near innocent or pure.

"fuck! fuck--! ran, oh, yes-!"

"fucking hell, baby," your husband groans into your ear, lips grazing over the sensitive skin of your jaw, "'driving me insane."

his wandering hands touch and grope all over you, shamelessly squeezing at your tits through the fabric of your wedding dress that's been hiked up over your hips.

"you're, you're being too loud, ran," you gasp, mouth forming a silent 'o' at the way the tip of his cock repeatedly rubs deliciously against that one spongey spot inside you over and over.

what can you say? your husband knows you too well. body and soul.

he laughs breathily, "this pussy's g'nna kill me one day, i swear,"

impatient as he can be, ran could not wait any longer after your vows and ring exchange. he whisked you away with a hand interlocked with yours, pulling you down hallways and rooms to escape family and guests at the wedding -- just too damn impatient and needing to be alone with you.

impatient, and horny.

now bent over a table in some random cramped room, your husband fucks into your tight pussy like he's never going to get a chance to fuck you ever again. he didn't even bother dropping his slacks all the way, just needing to whip his dick out as soon as he could.

with your gown and veil flipped over your hips, the front of his thighs slap against the back of yours, the skin burning pink and red, drowning out the dirty squelches of your sloppy pussy.

"oh, ran! fuck, fuck, keep doing that, right there--!"

pain blooms satisfyingly, and the way his heavy balls slap against your clit every time he thrusts deep into you has you rolling your eyes and throwing your head back.

he groans, way too loud and not thinking of how anyone passing by can hear everything going on inside this room, "yeah? right there? don' need to tell me, baby, i know."

his breath sends shivers down your spine, little tingles lighting up nerve endings and adding to the ever-growing stimulation. his husky voice makes you squeeze uncontrollably around his dick, pulsing and spasming.

"what? you like that?" he teases, voice low as he thrusts up even harder, gripping your hips tighter so he can force them down to his own, "y'like when i'm fucking you like this, hard and fast?"

"yes, yes! so good, so good," you whine.

the fact that anyone could walk in on the two of you anytime pumps adrenaline all through your body, it makes everything ten times more intense than it is. you could drown in the way ran fucks you so good, perfectly even -- and you relish in the way every thrust brings both pain and pleasure.

"ahh, fuck, if you keep squeezin' me like this, you'll make me cum, princess."

your hands scramble behind you for any stability, trying your best to grab him for any support, but his hips thrust too hard, too harsh, you can barely keep yourself up on your toes at this point.

"ran, ran, ran--!" you babble and squeal as soon as you feel two of his fingers slide over your swollen bud, flicking it and rubbing directly over it.

"c'mon, cum all over this fuckin' dick," he groans, pressing wet kisses all over your jaw and neck, licking away the drops of sweat that gather there. "soak my cock."

and, oh, you do.

ran feels you drench him in slick, pussy so wet he thinks he could drown in it. you tighten impossibly around him, and for a slight second he thinks you might push him right out of you.

all this time, he never stops fucking back into you, determined to prolong your high, to hear you whine and cry even more than you are right now.

you'd be one lucky bride if your makeup isn't melting down your face.

"ahh, yeah, shit, shit," he croaks, eyes tight and face screwed up in pleasure.

ran pulls out abruptly as soon as you come down from your high, slipping out of your wet cunt only so he can blow his entire load all over your veil. coating the lacy material in spurts of his hot cum.

"r-ran! what the fuck!" you squeal, face turned to look back at him in shock.

he groans shamelessly, hand working over his dick to make sure every last drop is out, only then does he slump over you with a stupid smile on his face.

"jus' needed to mark my territory." he says, face tucked into your neck. "what?"

you furrow your brows. "what do you mean 'what?' are you serious right now?!"

he doesn't even look sorry. "hell yeah. 'so hot knowing my cum is on my wife's veil."

"you're disgusting."

"i know."

"you're getting me a new one." you demand.

"anything my wife wants, she gets."

---

IM SO SORRY FOR THE LAST PART ASJDBAKBD thank you for reading!!1

[throneofsapphics]

have your little girlfriend, part 6

poly!Rowaelin x f!Reader

Summary: “Aren’t I safe with you?” Maybe the words were a bit bitter, a bit manipulative, but right now she didn’t care. Neither of them would do anything to her when she was hurt like this.

Warnings: darkish aelin/rowan, mental health struggles, forced medicating, implied sexual content 

Word Count: ~2.6k 

A/N: a short one but I promise it's not abandoned, there should be about two more parts, and I have them vaguely planned out!

series masterlist

Soft moss caressed her feet as she ran through the woods, into the dark night’s welcoming embrace. The sweet night air welcomed her, the trees whispering in her ear; faster. 

Sharp and icy wind knocked her to the ground, sending her tumbling over and over and over.

Launching forward in bed, her breaths came fast and heavy - pain lancing through her body. Rowan’s hands were warm on her skin, tugging her into his embrace. The same wind, gentler, cooled her neck. 

“You’re safe,” he murmured, arms tightening. Wincing, she tried to wiggle out of his grip. 

He let her go, and snatched a tonic from the bedside table. The color gave away which one it was. 

Ignoring the pain, she rolled away. “I don’t -,” another lash of pain, “need it,” she gritted her teeth. 

“Bullshit,” he sounded tired. Hopefully too tired to fight her. She should’ve known better. 

Footsteps, and a smaller hand pushed hair away from her face. Aelin frowning down at her. “You need it, petal.” 

“I don’t.” Her hand ran over her hair again, and she sighed, melting into the touch.

“Yes you do.” Rowan said from behind her. Fists clenched the sheets. 

“I said I don’t.” 

She was frustrated for several reasons. One, she hadn’t had a minute alone in what felt like years - really it was only a few weeks. Two, those damn tonics numbed her, put her right into a heavy sleep. Three, they hadn’t ‘allowed’ her to do anything that felt worthwhile. No going back down to her workshop, no walking into the forest or through the city - even when the tonics did their job. All she got was brief walks around the private gardens, ushered through secluded passages, and rare contact with anyone beside them. So, she’d made a personal pact with herself. Until she had a promise she could leave the fucking castle, that same day, she wouldn’t take a tonic. At this point, she’d take even an hour away from her new prison. 

That started three days ago, but the pain started to feel good. It reminded her she was still alive, that everything was real. Thank the Gods she’ll only have to settle once. Sure, she’d heard of the physical effects - but nobody mentioned how much it scrambled their emotions. Maybe that was only her, she didn’t want to ask. 

“You know it’s not safe for you to leave,” Aelin said softly. She squeezed her eyes shut again as another pain shot up her spine. It was always worse at night, especially when the nightmares came.

“Aren’t I safe with you?” Maybe the words were a bit bitter, a bit manipulative, but right now she didn’t care. Neither of them would do anything to her when she was hurt like this. Maybe Rowan was making a tally for later, but that was a problem she’d face months from now. Aelin sighed before sitting, pulling her head onto her lap, fingers running through her hair. She could’ve purred. 

-

‘We should just take her,’ Aelin said to him. He glanced down at the figure, body still curled in tightly, even with Aelin’s fingers running through her hair. Every protective instinct roared against it, especially with her so vulnerable in the first few weeks. Somehow, he hadn’t given in during her little three day protest. If they gave in, she’d either be pacified for a while, or start pushing for more. He’s well aware it would be the latter. 

‘We need to wait at least a month.’ It was Aelin’s first time watching someone else go through this, and it’s different than experiencing it. Part of him felt bad, Aelin only had him to deal with during hers, but she had both of them. That part was heavily outweighed by satisfaction that she had two people to protect her. 

Could she go a whole month without giving in? Probably, but there’s no fucking way he’s letting her go that long without one. 

“Take it, and in one month we’ll go out.”

“No deal.” 

Looking at Aelin, they both knew what they needed to do - and she’d probably hate them for it, at least for a little while. 

Easily, Aelin picked her up and shifted her in her lap, arms holding her back flush against her chest, legs crossing her to pin hers. She realized what was happening a few seconds later, and started squirming. 

Rowan had already moved, his hand squeezing her jaw, prying it open and tipping the liquid back down. She spluttered, but his hand was already holding her mouth closed. Cheeks puffed, she refused to swallow. 

He called her name as a warning. She still didn’t. Rolling his eyes, he pinched her nose shut. Eyes widened, and she tried to hold out. Her face reddened, eyes revealing just how furious she was, but the need for air overtook her, and he watched her throat bob. 

All sorts of foul curses, including ones she probably just invented, left her mouth as he released her, still thrashing in Aelin’s arms as his wife held her steady. It was easy enough for Aelin to hold her, and wait until she’d calmed somewhat - until sleep started to overtake her eyes. 

“I hate you both,” she murmured, before her eyes finally closed. It didn’t phase him. Rowan didn’t care if she hated him now, as long as she was safe and free of pain. 

Even after she fell asleep, Aelin continued to hold her - stroking her hair, arms, anywhere that might bring a bit of comfort. 

Everything seemed more extreme for her. Emotions included, she’d been … unstable, and it didn’t help that she had her breakdown directly before this. Settling was different for each person, but Rowan hadn’t seen anything quite like this before. 

-

She woke up pissed, fully aware of what happened right before sleep overtook her. Truth be told, she’d expected something like this, but it didn’t make her any less angry. She felt violated. Was there any line they wouldn’t cross? No, not when it comes to her and her safety. That disturbed her more than she cared to admit. 

In her current state, she couldn’t go anywhere, but once she was well again? Would staying or leaving hurt more? Well, if she left they’d track her down and drag her back here, and then she’d never taste freedom again, unless they allowed it. She winced at her own thoughts, Aelin and Rowan weren’t that bad. 

Blinking her eyes open, Aelin was standing a few feet away - assessing her. Checking if she’d bite, probably. 

“I’m mad at you,” her voice was rough with sleep - and she wasn’t sure why she said it, maybe she wanted the air clear, for them to know exactly where they stood with her right now. 

“I figured,” Aelin seemed to think it was safe to take a few steps towards her, reaching out her hand. Looking at it, she felt the desire to spit, but settled for rolling to her other side instead. The hurt came through the bond, and she ignored it. Good, maybe Aelin could feel a fraction of what she does right now. 

Gods. That doesn’t sound like her. 

Launching up in the bed, she held her head in her hands. 

“Are you hurting?” Aelin asked, ignoring her not-so-subtle request for distance and taking a seat next to her on the bed, close but not touching. 

A shake of her head, and a quiet, “no.” Silence settled over the two of them, and she had the sudden desire to actually speak. Instinctually, she knew she could trust her mate. Maybe she’d regret saying this later. “My mind … it feels wrong, like it doesn’t belong to me.” 

Aelin shifted closer, their shoulders now touching. “Does it feel like someone else is there?” 

Does it? Like someone is messing with her mind. She ran through her body, trying to assess for anything malignant or out of place. Nothing. Another shake of her head. An indistinguishable wave of emotions flooded through her - such a twisted mess she couldn’t pick one from another but only had the desire to get it out, to fend it off by any means necessary. 

Vaguely, she heard Aelin calling Rowan’s name, heard the door open. 

-

She seemed fine one moment, and the next she’d started hitting the side of her head. Aelin grabbed her hands, holding them down but then - she felt her magic. Like an ancient beast writhing inside of her, trapped and trying to find a way out. She yelled for Rowan, and as soon as he entered a shield of flames surrounded the room. Keeping them and her magic inside. 

Was she keeping her safe, or keeping the world safe from her? It didn’t matter, not now. 

Rowan’s hands gripped the sides of her head, forcing her to look at him. “Bring it back in,” he snarled softly. 

He held firm, even as she tried to pry his hands away from her face, nails leaving small red marks behind. Not enough to draw blood, but enough for a slight sting. He was aware how easily he could hurt her, and slid his hands down, gripping her wrists instead, straddling her thighs. 

Her body fought him, but her magic didn’t touch him or Aelin - only wreaking havoc on their surroundings. Rowan tried her name, again and again. When nothing worked, he gave a silent plea for forgiveness. 

The air ripped from her lungs, he watched her face grow red, her body to the brink of unconsciousness, before the magic stopped - abruptly, leaving the room feeling distinctly empty. Forcing air back into her lungs, she hovered on the edge of barely awake. 

“Stay awake for me,” he gently shook her shoulders. He didn’t notice Aelin had crawled up next to them, her hand now brushing the hair away from her face. 

“Come back to us, love,” she murmured. 

Slow and heavy blinks, he watched her eyes focus, taking in her surroundings. His hands were still holding her in a sitting position, and once he was convinced she could sit on her own, he let go, shuffling slowly off her. Rowan wanted to be out of the striking range, just in case. 

-

There really wasn’t any line they wouldn’t cross - not when it came to hers or their safety. Abstractly, she should thank him - he did her a favor, keeping her magic from completely destroying the surroundings. In reality, she didn’t thank them. That would feel dishonest, and she didn’t feel like being a liar today. Did it make her a petulant child? Maybe, but her entire autonomy had been stripped from her over the last few weeks and she was sick of it. They took it in their hands to make all of her decisions, to decide what she could and couldn’t do.

Insane. That’s how she felt. Like she was holding desperately onto the last thread of her sanity, clinging to it like a lifeline. Was it possible for Fae to go completely insane while settling? Maybe. It looked more likely by the day. 

“I didn’t like that.” 

Aelin snorted. “Neither did I.” She shot her a puzzled look. “In Wendlyn,” she explained, “I came close to a … burnout, of sorts, and he did the same thing to me.”

For some stupid reason, it made her feel a bit better. 

“You should get some sleep,” Rowan’s voice was gruff. She shot him a particularly withering look, and his mouth tightened but he didn’t comment. 

Aelin, instead, reached over to a side table and plucked two books, passing one to her. She’d bought two copies of the same book for them, and somehow exercised enough patience to read at the same pace as her. 

“Don’t you have things to do?” Aelin told Rowan. Probably things they both should do. His eyes rolled, but he pressed a kiss to both of their foreheads before heading out the door. 

She let Aelin fuss and arrange the pillows around her, before they both settled into the book. 

Her mind was still scrambled, head still dazed enough it was difficult to focus on the words. Eventually, she - gently - tossed the book aside and leant her head on her mate’s shoulder. “Read to me,” she said, adding a “please.” 

A soft laugh, but Aelin’s comforting voice filled the room, putting inflections in the right places, painting a clear picture in her mind. This, she should ask her to do more often. 

-

Rowan woke to her the sweet scent of her arousal, like the first bloom of spring. His eyes shot open, meeting Aelin’s stare. Turquoise eyes were filled with amusement, she squirmed between them, nightdress ridden up, thighs rubbing together. 

It had been painful, but necessary, keeping themselves from touching her the last several weeks. 

Soft and gentle moans left her lips, laced with frustration. 

‘We really should help her,’ Aelin’s eyes met his. 

‘Wouldn’t want to leave our mate unsatisfied.’ Her eyes gleamed. ‘Be gentle,’ he cautioned, ignoring his wife’s glare and switching his attention back to her. 

-

A month passed, and the days switched between dragging each second out and passing in a semi-aware haze. 

“Do you want to get out of the castle?” Aelin asked, not seeming keen on the idea, but y/n nearly threw herself off of the bed, Aelin moving quick enough to steady her with a soft chuckle.

“Yes,” she repeated, “yes, yes, yes.” 

Begging for basic freedoms? She shut the voice out. 

They took a secluded exit out of the castle. The sun was barely cresting over the horizon, the cool air filling and refreshing her lungs. She was aware of Aelin watching her every reaction, her hand clutched around hers, but she didn’t care at this moment. There would be time to analyze it later, for now she’d take the temporary reprieve. The streets were near empty, but she didn’t mind. After this much time … alone, she figured it might be a bit overwhelming to see several people, and even she could admit her magic was erratic at best. 

The longer she spent trapped in their room, the more time she had to think, and the more dangerous her thoughts grew. Sometimes she thought they underestimated her, maybe thought she wasn’t quite on their level of intelligence, a feisty little creature that would eventually cave to their wishes - even if it took some time. 

They’d quickly proven there were no limits when it came to her, and that idea, that they would keep her locked in a tiny box in name of her safety, started an itch all of her rationalization couldn’t stop. 

The smart choice would be to talk to them, but the last time she tried that everything shattered around her. Instead, she dreamed and planned. After she got through this, she’d be immortal - filled with endless time to wait before she acted.

Her head lay on Aelin’s chest, her fingers running through her hair, a book propped in her mate’s other hand.

Sweet moments and memories fluttered through her mind, but she forced herself to remember the others. Their trust in her was fragile, all she needed was to build it back up again. She didn’t think of the after, only of the freedom. It became her only goal, the one thing occupying her idle mind. 

The door shut gently, and she lifted her head, Rowan’s frame filling it. His mouth curved into the slightest smile seeing the two of them, striding over towards the bed. 

“You’re dirty,” Aelin snapped at him. His eyes rolled before meeting hers. 

‘Did I miss something?’ 

‘Something with the book, she’s been on edge,’ she answered silently. His brows rose, but he knew better than to try to interrupt again, and headed towards the washroom.

She forced the guilt deep, deep down, letting sleep take over instead - exhaustion still filled her, the effects of her settling lessening, but still present. 

-

taglist: @wallacewillow0773638 @inloveallthetime @sstrohma @moonlightttfae

[liveontelevision]

Little Lucifer x Reader blurb that's been sitting in my drafts for like 2 weeks my bad yall

♡♡♡

"You know, it's a little embarrassing, I actually had a crush on you when I first came to the hotel." You try to laugh it off, giggling between the lines of a ludicrous thought.

A crush?

On the King of Hell?

I mean, come on.

Oh, but he had to bite his tongue. Hard. He needed to play it off just like you were. By the time he had processed the information, your back was facing him, already engaged in some other conversation with Angel Dust.

You treated it like just a passing thought, a little qwip to make your friends laugh. But that's not what really bugged Lucifer. No, it was the past tense of it all. What could've turned your feelings rotten? Were you so sure that nothing could happen? That it wasn't even a possibility? Why did those feelings vanish?

What did I do wrong?

"You're gonna catch a fly, your majesty!" An accent accompanies the phrase that finally snaps him out of his fog. Angel Dust sends you and the bartender into a little fit of snickers.

He was in fact sitting mouth open, eyes wide. He was hoping he could play it off by simply not mentioning it allowed, but his body betrayed him. He let his thoughts run over the arrogance he should've been feeling- as the sin of pride- so he goes with that.

"Of course, you had a crush on me! I'm The King of Hell, I'm sure all that power can be quite alluring. And my smile, obviously." His daring smirk he holds slowly fades when he hears a scoff passing your lips.

"Yeah, obviously." You roll your eyes at his words, leaning against the counter. Your nonchalant demeanor seems to make Lucifer shrink. "But, no, really.. it was, uh... your sense of humor, and how flustered you'd get around Alastor- you'd get so red in the face," you're still laughing through your words, not noticing the shine in Lucifer's eyes just from the sound of it.

"And just.. you care so much, you know? About Charlie and the hotel, even those little ducks.. You put your heart into everything, and it shows." Lucifer swears the room had disapated around the two of you. With a flushed face, mostly due to the drinks - you'd never be so bold while sober - you're smiling at him so sweetly, he could get lost in just the way your lips curl. How your eyes squint and how your cheeks puff just a little when you fully grin.

A snort snaps both of you out of it.

"So, you like how he's a dad, huh? Is that it? Got a thing for dilfs-" You immediately push Angel from his stool as he starts yapping about some modern lingo Lucifer doesn't quite understand.

"What's that now?" Lucifer cocks his head to the side, watching you scramble and wrestle your hand over Angel's mouth.

"Nothing!" You blurt out quickly.

Moving on!

"B-But yeah, it's not a big deal, It was just a little crush. Besides, you're like a 10,000 year old angel, a king. Plus, I saw your ring-" Damn it. He finds himself placing his right hand overtop his left. "-and that kind of helped me get over it faster.. no harm, no foul!" You finish quickly.

"Well, we're not exactly together anymore." He said those words so fast that it brings everyone's attention to him. The thought of some newfound gossip drew Angel in, but the idea that Lucifer might be correcting you? That he's trying to argue the reasoning you gave as to why you can't like him? You feel your breath start to shallow.

"No shit! Got some marital problems with queenie? Give us the deets, your highness!" Angel is leaning on the back of his hands, eagerly awaiting the beans that Lucifer was apparently meant to spill. He looks around the lobby before sighing and tapping his finger absentmindedly. His claw against the metal wedding band makes a quiet tick-tick-ticking.

"O-Oh jeez.. uh..." before he can fret any further, the sensation of a warm palm overtop his fidgeting hands brings him a sense of dread and relief.

"You don't have to talk about it, if you don't want to." You speak softly, aiming to sooth and also give a little privacy from the nosy guest behind you. And while he appreciates your sincerity, he needs you to understand.

"No no, I brought it up in the first place. But, uh.. you know, we've been together since Eden and 10,000 years is a long time. So.. we just drifted apart.. and sometimes..." Lucifer's eyes drop with his hesitant words. You weren't sure if he was reminiscing of fond times or regretting them with the face he was making. But then, his eyes come up to meet yours.

"Sometimes, people change."

[ladykailitha]

Sweet Home Indiana Part 3

Shit! I can't believe I forgot to post this this morning! I don't know where my head was, honestly.

I'm reaching a point where I'm running out of plot so I don't think this story is going to be longer than 10 chapters max. A lot of the second half of the movie takes place over months as the main character gets ready to marry the rich bachelor, only for her to find out that her husband signed the divorce papers and she forgot ON HER WEDDING DAY (as in she was informed on her wedding day that she forgot). Which really won't work for this story.

So yeah, I suspect to be finished with this story sooner rather than later.

Eddie does have to do a lot of grovelling but he unfortunately gets worse before he gets better. He's really REALLY dumb in this, okay?

Part 1 Part 2

****

Eddie watched Steve walk away and he gently put the brownie back into the box.

Fuck.

His stomach churned as he swallowed down the bite in his mouth. He had forgotten so much about the man he once swore to love until the end of his days. But he remembered that look of absolute betrayal before the mask dropped.

So Eddie did what he was good at when times got tough, he ran. He was supposed to have been trying to convince Steve to come with him, but he had fucked it up so badly there was no coming back from that.

The worst part is that there had been a few times in the last decade where Eddie could have healed what was between them, that he could have reached out and gotten back in touch. But Eddie had ran each time.

He wouldn’t say each time ended in a rushed marriage, but two of them definitely did.

Eddie would think about reaching out only to hear about how well Steve was doing from Dustin or Max and how happy he was and Eddie would run out a marry the first guy who would fuck him.

The other times he would think about contacting Steve and some small trouble (or not so small in the case of his band breaking up) would crop up and he be scrambling to keep his head above water.

Steve was thriving here in Hawkins and wasn’t that just a kick to the head. He had a little bakery that was doing well, Robin was here, and if all the times the kids called Eddie were any indication, Steve was still on speaking terms with all of them.

He needed a fucking drink. He didn’t care that it was only a little after noon, he needed to turn off his brain. He turned on his heel and stormed out of the bakery.

“I thought I recognized the van,” a warm voice said. “Were you gonna tell me you were in town?”

Eddie looked around before he spotted his Uncle Wayne, leaning up against the side of the building.

“Wayne!” he cried and threw his arms around his neck.

Wayne hugged him back. “It’s good to see you kid.”

“Of course I was going to tell you I was in town,” Eddie scoffed. “I was just trying to take care of something first.”

Wayne looked behind him at the bakery and raised an eyebrow. “You coming back to make an honest man out him or are you setting to break his heart?”

“Why are you on his side?” Eddie whined. “Yes, I said some pretty stupid shit, but he wasn’t blameless in all the fuckery that went down.”

Wayne’s expression softened. “I know.” He put his arm around Eddie’s shoulders. “Come on, I’ll buy you lunch and we can talk about why you’re in town.”

“Mmk,” Eddie said weakly, letting Wayne lead him down the street to the nearby diner.

****

Steve was hyperventilating. He couldn’t do this. He wasn’t strong enough. Eddie Munson was the biggest asshole in the world and he still looked like sex on legs.

That funny little lopping walk he did when he wanted to move fast but didn’t want to run.

The long hair in waves around his face. His lean body stuffed into the tightest pair of jeans Steve had ever seen and he used to wear tight jeans for fuck’s sake. The god damn eyeliner on his big doe eyes.

And peaking out of the leather jacket were even more tattoos. Which it made sense considering he was some hot shot tattoo artist up in Seattle. But still! It wasn’t fair that the man who broke his heart wasn’t fat and balding at thirty. Nooooo...he had to come back to blue his balls as well as break his heart.

“Do I need to break his balls?” Robin asked coming back from the freezer. She crossed her arms over her chest and glared. Not at Steve specifically, but glared at the situation in general.

Steve gave a kind of hiccuping laugh and his lungs filled with the air he desperately needed.

“No,” he said with a broken smile. “I handled it. I’m just going to send it to Hal to make sure he’s not trying to take me to the cleaners or some other bullshit.”

Robin nodded. Hal Peterson was their business attorney, but he’d know enough to make sure Steve wasn’t being shafted by the whole ordeal.

“So what’s got you around the twist?” she asked.

“He looks hotter now than he did before he left,” Steve whined. “He’s supposed to balding and fat and falling apart at the seams. But no...he’s leaner, still with those long ridiculous curls, and better put together than I was.” He waved a hand at himself. His hair was greasy from standing around a hot oven, his hands and apron were covered in flour, he had frosting on his nose.

Robin came over and gave him a hug. He wrapped his arms around her and he let out a little sob.

“I’m sorry, Steve,” she murmured. “Are you going to be okay?”

He let out a shuddering sigh. “Probably not until he blows out of town again.”

Robin kissed the top of his head. “Let’s go out to the Hideout tonight. The shop will be fine. We handled today, we can handle tomorrow, too.”

Steve let out a shuddering sigh and nodded into her stomach.

“Good,” she stepped back and cupped his cheeks. “I know this sucks but you are the strongest, most capable person I’ve ever met. A weaker man would crumble under all this, but that person is not you. You understand me?”

He let out another shuddering sigh. “Thanks, Robs. I needed that.”

“I know you did, dingus,” she said fondly. “So lets knock today out of the ballpark, yeah?”

“Yeah!”

****

“I was hoping,” Eddie was telling Wayne, “that I could roll into town, get him to sign the divorce papers, and spend the rest of the week with you. But no, he’s being a stubborn ass.”

Wayne snorted. “You always did aim too high.”

“I thought he’d want to be rid of me,” Eddie huffed. “I’ve done nothing but run around all over this god forsaken country just to put some distance between me and him. I’ve hurt him in every possible way. I thought he was just wanting closure you know, calling me into town like he did.”

Wayne furrowed his brow. “He called you into to town?”

Eddie nodded and placed his chin on his hands on the table. “I was a bit of an ass about it because I didn’t explain things to Chrissy, but yeah. He told me that if I wanted to divorce him so bad, I’d have to come back to Hawkins and do the job proper.”

The waitress came set Wayne’s food down and Eddie sat up so she could do the same for him.

Wayne waited until she was gone before he turned back to Eddie. “When you told me you were marrying Chrissy, I was more than a little surprised.”

Eddie rubbed his eyes with the heels of his palms. “I know. I have my reasons, I just can’t tell you yet. But I promise it’s for a good reason.”

“He’s done really well for himself here,” Wayne said softly.

“And I haven’t?” Eddie spat out a tad too bitterly.

Wayne scowled. “Did I say you hadn’t, boy?” he snapped.

Eddie’s head reared back from the shock of his normally mild mannered uncle to snap at him. He shook his head, his lip beginning to quiver.

“I’m on your side,” Wayne said, to Eddie’s scoff. “I know I keep hyping up Steve, but I remember what you two were like when things were good, son. You were incandescent. But I look at you now and that sparkle has gone. I want to be happy for you, but first you’ve got to show me that you’re happy for yourself.”

“You don’t think I’m happy?” Eddie asked in confusion. “I have my own tattoo shop, I’m going to marry a great girl, and I’m still friends with most of the members of my band. What’s not to be happy about?”

Wayne shrugged. “You tell me.”

Eddie frowned. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, old man.”

Wayne dug his thumbs into his belt and licked his top lip nice and slow. Eddie ignored him and just stabbed at his food.

“Kiddo,” Wayne said, shaking his head, “you’re still in love with that boy even with these ten years gone.” His chin jutted up to point to Eddie’s food.

Eddie froze with his fork half way to his mouth and then looked down at his plate. It took him a full minute to realize what Wayne was talking about.

“Oh.”

He had ordered the breakfast platter. It had hash browns, scrambled eggs, ham, bacon, and sausage with a side of chocolate chip pancakes. But Eddie didn’t like hash browns or sausage. He would give them to Steve who did.

He thought about the little box that was sat next to him on the bench and the brownie Steve had concocted for him so long ago.

Eddie swallowed thickly, his stomach turning sour as he stared at the hash browns and sausage he was never going to eat.

“Eat up,” Wayne said with a soft smile. “You don’t want it to go to waste.” He scooped up the hash browns and put them on his plate and then stabbed both sausage.

He dipped the first sausage into his over easy eggs, ignoring Eddie’s turmoil. At least for the moment.

Eddie brought the fork all the way to his mouth and chewed, not really tasting it.

He ate through most of the food that way, until it came to the pancakes. He moaned happily.

“Seattle just doesn’t make pancakes the way Benny does,” he said softly.

Wayne’s smile was no less tender this time, but infinitely more fond. “You could always come back to Hawkins. You can set up a tattoo shop anywhere, so why not here?”

Eddie shook his head. “I wouldn’t do that to Steve. Divorce his ass and then move back into town with Chrissy in tow, shoving it in his face that I moved on.”

“I can see that,” Wayne murmured. “I just miss my boy is all and would love to see you more often than I get.”

Eddie took his hand and gave it a squeeze. “I know you do. And I would like you to meet Chrissy before the wedding.”

“I’d like that too.”

****

Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10

Tag List:

1- @mira-jadeamethyst @rozzieroos @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @emly03

2- @spectrum-spectre @estrellami-1 @zerokrox-blog @gregre369 ​@a-little-unsteddie

3- @chaosgremlinmunson @messrs-weasley @chaoticlovingdreamer @maya-custodios-dionach @danili666

4- @goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @i-must-potato @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog

5- @justforthedead89 @vecnuthy @irregular-child @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690

6- @anne-bennett-cosplayer @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @littlewildflowerkitten @genderless-spoon

7- @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @dragonmama76 @scheodingers-muppet @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt

8- @useless-nb-bisexual @disrespectedgoatman @counting-dollars-counting-stars @tinyplanet95 @blackpanzy

9- @amazing-spiderkeys @oldpinghai @raisedbylibrarians @kultiras @swimmingbirdrunningrock

10- @steddie-as-they-go @captain--low @micheledawn1975 @thespaceantwhowrites @mac-attack19

[middlingmay]

Prompt #26

“We shouldn’t be doing this.”

"Shouldn't, but here we are."

"Buck."

"Come on, Bucky. Don't tell me you're finally worried about getting caught?"

Bucky sputtered. "Well - yeah! Harding could be back any minute. I don't want him to see," he flapped his arms between them, "this."

But Buck only shoved him higher up on the desk. "We'll be fast. Just a quick screw."

Bucky sighed and looked up to the ceiling and Buck knew he had him, judging by the way he slapped a strong hand against the meat of Bucky's ass.

"Good boy," came the praise. "Out and in, nice and tight."

Bucky admitted defeat. "Alright. Just...make sure no one comes in."

Buck's smile got soft. "Don't worry. I won't let anyone see this side of you but me." He slapped him again, and John felt damn near equestrian. "Now get to it."

Bucky reached up until his fingers brushed against the cool glass of the light bulb. Thin and fragile, Bucky carefully unscrewed it from its fixture before passing it down to Bucky, who armed him with its replacement.

Once it was secure, Bucky scrambled off the desk and hid the evidence of the old bulb in his trouser pocket.

Buck shook his head as they left the room, hopelessly fond. "I do not know why you're so determined for Harding not to know you like him. It's a nice thing you did."

Harding had been increasingly peevish lately, irritable and snappy, dark bags under his eyes. When some of the boys had taken it as bad tidings of things to come, Bucky had recruited Buck to do some sleuthing. They'd found nothing more sinister than a flickering bulb in Harding's office that he couldn't find a replacement for, and was giving him a migraine. So Bucky had picked one up for him the last time he was in the village.

Bucky shrugged, not quite meeting Buck's eye. "Yeah, well. Can't go giving the higher ups ideas. Lest they take advantage of my good favour."

"Ideas like what?" And Bucky knew what Buck sounded like when he laughed at him without laughing at him. "That you're a good man? Thoughtful? Kind? Generous?"

Bucky did not blush. Was just hot today, was all.

Gale plucked a fresh toothpick from its pack and popped it in his mouth. "'Fraid that ship has sailed, baby."

"It has?" Bucky asked a little breathless like he always got whenever Buck pulled those rarely bestowed endearments outta nowhere.

"Mhm." And Christ, Gale was even giving him the apple cheeks, now. "Worst kept secret on the base".

[akingdomscrypt]

War is Over (and what have we done?)

Part Five

Paring; Graves x m!reader (slow burn)

WC; ~8.8k

Summary; where was Graves in all those months he was gone? What brought him back?

Warnings; just some general internal turmoil, brief imagery of death, implied human trafficking when including the context of past chapters, a lot of self doubt/feelings of betrayal. Tame compared to my usual stuff tbh

A/n; I hate dialogue. Also the moon phase mentioned in the beginning is what it would have been in-game for that mission too :3

---"And I'll crawl home to him"---

You arrive a few hours later, according to the ticking clock above the bed—knife still embedded into the plastic face and all, he hadn't bothered to remove it, even after all this time—and at that point Phil had started to believe Venn had chickened out. That, or she just didn't bother telling you.. perhaps she had forgotten. All were of an extremely low probability. He should know better by now than to doubt her.

Even now, only a few weeks later. You looked so.. so drastically different. Phil takes stock, compares your current form from when he had last seen you all those weeks ago—had it been weeks? Phil didn't even know what day it was.

Drifting. Up, down, and across every inch of your concealed form. Something foreign pulls at the hardened strings of his heart—strands of silk toughened up by years upon years of repressed emotion and poorly dealt hands—at the sight of you. Standing tall and confident, as if he can't see the strain buried in your shoulders from the effort of holding yourself up, keeping yourself from crumbling to dust right before his eyes. And he swears you've lost weight, a noticeable difference in the amount of muscle mass wrapped around your bones, even under all that clothing.

When his gaze meets yours, taking a peek into the torn and frayed patchwork of your soul, all he can feel is the stinging reminder of you wishing him dead. Telling him you'd hoped he'd died all those months back; suffocated by his own lungs.

And it's like the past decade of getting to know you, watching you open up, never happened. Wound so tightly, that all that progress is dumped right down the drain; he isn't sure if he'd ever be able to tear down those walls again. Not this time. He scrambles brick by brick to reach the top, but you're too fast, replacing those crumbling stacks with bolts and iron at an alarming rate.

He can't see over the wall anymore, it's too high to reach, too steep to climb. And he fears he may never have the honor of reaching that softer center ever again, barred by thick metal and scathing words.  

“You wanted to see me?” Hell… you even sound different. Cool and collected on the surface, but there's an edge there that tells Phil you're not as put together as you are trying to appear to be.

“I did.” But now that you're here, he can't remember the script he'd spent the last week constructing, so delicately, in his mind.

“Well,” you drawl, lifting your arms and gesturing widely. Dropping back down to your sides with a dull smack. “I'm here.”

Are you? Phil doesn't think so. Not really.

Your eyes are the only thing on display, and just a year ago Phil wouldn've prided himself in the fact that he could read you so well. But not anymore. 

He can't see that lighthouse shining through, guiding him through the night. There's nothing there. The lamp has run out of oil, and the keeper died months ago.

You're right here, and yet Phil has never found you to be so out of reach. 

Who would've thought; his savior, and the one who had damned him to the fiery pits of hell, were both the same man. It felt almost poetic.

Phil thinks he had made peace with his death. Sure, this hadn't been what his younger self had imagined when the topic of death was brought up; still bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, believing himself to be near invincible. 

He had never been particularly religious, even after being forced to sit in those church pews and listen to some old man drone on and on about shit his child brain didn't care to make sense of. Bored out of his mind, but only sitting still, behaving, because doing the opposite meant taking over his younger sister's chores for the rest of the day. 

Phil still couldn't help but think that maybe, just maybe, this was some sort of fucked-up retribution or some shit like that. Paying for the sins he'd committed within his lifespan, and so on.

And he wasn't just speaking of the blood that permanently stained his hands, no, he was thinking of you. Always you. 

You and those endless pools of warmth that made up your eyes, always a slight glimmer in them when you looked his way. You and those rough, work-hardened hands, always so soft and gentle when you handled him. Like he was something delicate, something to be cherished and protected. Him the altar and you the devoted worshiper knelt before him, praying for the mercy of a god who never answered your calls. 

And that laugh. Like nothing else he had experienced before, a blessed thing he was granted the honor of witnessing. Of having directed his way. So rare, but so carefully captured and sealed away in Phil's heart when he heard its boisterous sound. 

The main reason Phil had never really connected with the religion he was raised into was, even though they were the same people who preached about community and loving thy neighbor and whatever the hell, they were also the kind to shun and exile those they deemed unworthy. Those who didn't fit into the cookie cutter shapes chosen for them before they'd even taken their first breath. 

He had completely dismissed his family's religion entirely when, after one of the members of his church discovered him getting a bit too cuddly—nothing more than an innocent hug that lasted a few seconds longer than it should—with one of his male classmates, they were outcast from the very same church he'd practically grown up in. And Phil would forever be thankful for having parents who stuck up for him to the very end, he doesn't think he'd ever seen his dad so thoroughly pissed off than when going after a churchgoer who'd slung a few cruel choice words at a younger Phil. 

And Phil can't help but feel he knew this was how it would end when he made the decision; like some cruel method of justice.

So, while he no longer considered himself aligned with any specific religion, Phil still held onto that deep-rooted fear of something. Of damnation and redemption. And in that moment, as his heart began to slow and stutter in his chest, when his head felt too heavy to hold up, and the simple task of breathing caused his chest to burn, he did something he hadn't done since middle school. Something he never thought he'd do again.

He yearned for forgiveness; begged and pleaded until black swallowed up his vision whole.

Phil doesn't remember when the world had gone dark; doesn't think he had even fought against the pull. Willingly, had he responded to the siren's call through the waves crashing in his ear, a sound so alluring he would never even consider resisting, one that held a certain likeness to your voice. 

What he does remember is the sudden gulps of stinging ash in his lungs, shocking his system into alertness, and the touch of oddly cool hands pulling at his shoulders. Hard, sandy earth beneath him, but he can't look up, can't peel his eyelids open and take a glance at his savior when those hands disappear. Only to wrap a pair of arms snug around his waist and continue dragging him over jagged stones and bits of metal.

It's not until Phil abruptly feels a lot cooler than he did moments ago that he's finally able to force his eyes open, a gasping breath kick-starting his heart back into motion. 

And when he looks up, dazed and more than a little out of it, what he sees nearly steals his breath away once again. 

Smoke wafting off your uniform in waves, dancing with the remaining embers still shining bright in a sea of black like stars in a night sky. It should be terrifying, but it's not.

Because Phil cannot see how the material clings unnaturally to your body, his brain is too fogged up still to notice the torn patches in your clothing. Blood stains the dark fabric into a deeper shade, trickling from gouges in your skin and dripping onto his. 

All he sees is that perfect, unmarred face of yours. Mask pulled down and out of the way as you pant for breath; the flesh warmed a more intense reddish tone than usual, but Phil didn't register that, unable to yet comprehend that what was once untouched would soon become scarred and disfigured within the next few hours.

And with the setting sun positioned behind you, glowing almost like an angel's halo to frame your head, he had never been so enraptured by the sight of you as much as he was in that moment.

It's clumsy and uncoordinated, taking a few tries to even get the limb to function, but he manages. Reaching up to gently cup the jaw of his savior, his guardian angel, to feel that familiar warmth against his skin.

Only to have his wrist snatched out of the air by your still gloved hand, the hold a little tighter than normal, held for a second before being dropped carelessly onto his chest. And Phil doesn't have the energy to lift it again. 

“You breathin', sir?” Comes your once angelic voice, now sounding like someone had shoved a saw blade down your throat; scratchy and not at all the soothing rumble he was used to, a strange shiver alighting his nerves at the sound. 

All Phil can muster up is a strained, grunt-like sound in response. But that seems to be more than enough for you as you stand back up from your crouched position, sigh, and look over the ruined training grounds. 

There's a hard set to your jaw, and Phil begins to feel something akin to fear. An emotion he doesn't think he could recall ever feeling around you if he tried. 

“Good enough.” You huff, leaning back down to wrap your strong arms around his waist. Dragging him like a ragdoll to a more secluded, out-of-the-way spot just outside the remains of the designated training area. 

He can't fight it, can bring himself to move or speak or do much of anything, really. Laying limp in your hold and letting himself be hauled away.

Phil considers that whatever method of exfil you had prepared must be this way. He doesn't remember making any plans like that with you and the others. But why else would you take him here?

Those hopes are crushed when you prop him against a fallen log, the remains of Alejandro's base now just barely out of sight, then pull away.

“This should be fine,” you mumble to yourself, cold gaze studying him briefly before darting back to where you two had come from. “Mhm. They shouldn't patrol this far.”

“-nant?-” Crackles through your radio before Phil can muster the energy to ask you what you meant by that. The feed is distorted, the device had probably been damaged sometime during the fight, but it's clearly a panicked voice speaking on the other end. “-Lieu-en-t? Are- y- there? Pha-nt-m?-” 

“2-3,” you respond, voice level. “I'm here. Problem?” 

“-N-o, no problems, sir-” Kip, 2-3, says. A little calmer now that he has heard your voice. Phil watches the scene through blurry eyes. “-We got- he's- Viper is stable-”

“For now.” You mutter bitterly, switching the radio back on to reply with, “Give me a sit-rep, 2-3.” 

“-V-enn’s got ‘em lo-aded up-” a pause. “-a quarter left, sir.” 

A quarter left. Even in Phil’s muddled up state, he knows what that means. It meant three-quarters of the soldiers he had taken with him were dead. Too many to feasibly count. So many bodies left unidentified, in enemy territory. 

“-How-re yo-u and the- c-mander, Lt.?-” Phil would've said something if he could. But his vocal cords are paralyzed and his tongue feels like it's constructed of pure lead. 

“I’m breathing.” You joke, your slight amusement is obvious even in such a bland tone. At least to Phil it is. 

“A-nd,” if Kip notices, he doesn't mention it. “-and the commander?”

You spare one glance down at his slumped, barely breathing form, gaze shut-off and distant, and a cavernous pit of dread opens up in Phil's stomach.

“KIA.” You grunt, eyes narrowing down at Phil. And he may as well be, to have you look at him like that.

Kip doesn't respond and you click your radio off. And it's as easy as that, as if Phil, your co-founder, your friend, you lover, meant nothing to you. 

You turn and leave, and Phil doesn't even possess the ability to call your name.

The next time he wakes, Phil doesn't think he's been colder in his damn life. And he's done his time in deep dive operations in the frigid hellscape that is the wilderness of remote foreign bases just past the Bering Sea.

It's dark, stars and the illumination of the moons’ waxing gibbous all the man has to light his way. 

For a prolonged moment Phil doesn't even consider pushing himself up from his current pathetic, slumped over position against the decaying log. Would it even be worth it? He had nothing but the singed clothes on his back to call his own, not a weapon he can use in sight. Not even a pocket knife up his sleeve or a heart nestled in his ribcage. 

Phil has experienced his own fair share of betrayal within his lifetime; ranging from small, nonsense instances with his little sister, to slightly bigger ones like with the church; then there were the more prominent, glaring ones that stuck out like a sore thumb. From before he started this damn company, freshly enlisted, and only a year later when he met you.

With shitty, high ranked officers who didn't give a single fuck about what happened to him or his squad—not that that had changed much after being taken under the watchful eye of General Shepard. Freezing to death in bumfuck nowhere Russia, or nearly drowning in the middle of the goddamn Atlantic Ocean. 

You had been there for every single one. Such a constant in his life; a steady, unmovable force by Phil's side no matter what happened. Even before he'd fallen for you, before you became more than just a friend. Like two peas in a pod, you two.

There was no you without him, and vise versa, the soldiers you two worked with knew it too. They were always sure to throw in a teasing jab now and again, asking the typical “trouble in paradise?”, when you were spotted away from each other for more than a few hours.

So forgive Phil for being a bit melodramatic, because, out of all the people on this godforsaken planet, he never expected such a thing from you. 

Maybe he should have. He wouldn't be on the verge of catching fucking hypothermia in the middle of nowhere in a foreign country.

Phil tries to think back, to push past the pounding in his skull to recall even a moment that would have given away some sort of clue to your betrayal before it happened. Maybe he could've prevented it if he had just looked closer. 

But no. There's nothing. If anything, Phil recalls you being a bit more.. clingy, before this whole thing started. In your own way, of course; he's pretty sure you would rather be caught dead than let someone catch you hugging him or, heaven forbid, holding his hand. 

Your neediness manifested in standing just close enough to him that any shift in stance or movement caused your shoulders to brush together; getting up in his personal space and staying there. 

Maybe that was it? Maybe you had been so unusually affectionate because you'd planned on betraying him. And Phil was just too blinded by the sudden influx of your undivided attention to see it; he's starting to consider that that may have been your intention all along.

To distract him with your attention, to hide your true intentions under the guise of gentle words and adoring eyes. 

Phil gives it a few more minutes, shivering his ass off against that damn log, before he finally gives in and decides to stand. He wasn't dead—yet—and by staying he was nothing more than a sitting duck in shark infested waters—which was a weird saying, wasn't it; how could the waters be infested when that was a shark's natural habitat? 

Traveling under the blanket of night provided him with the highest chances of survival, even if it meant he was constantly on the verge of freezing to death. Under the dark, star speckled sky, he was, for the most part, safe from the prying eyes of enemy soldiers. It would be much more difficult for them to spot him under the protection of a waxing moon than, say, the full, all-encompassing concentrated power of the fucking sun. 

So he gets his hands under himself, weakened arms trying their damnedest to force him to his feet. Phil takes a moment, leaning against a strong, tall tree that was luckily rooted right beside its fallen brethren. 

The last time he had put anything in his stomach was yesterday (?) morning before they had been so rudely interrupted by the 141 boys knocking on their—or, really, not theirs at all—front door. And after an afternoon like that, all his energy was beyond drained. It's a surprise Phil was still standing—not that he was exactly doing a very good job at that—, though, to be fair, he wasn't new to going lengths of time without proper sustenance. It was a byproduct of the job, of the life he led, after all.

Phil can't do anything to rectify his current hunger right now, so he has no choice other than start getting some miles between himself and the wrecked base next door.

Signing, he looks down, spotting a small dagger lodged into the tree he'd been resting against before. Huh, at least you hadn't left him completely defenseless. 

Knife secured in his boot, Phil begins the long trek to who knows where. It's not like he could just make his way back to company HQ, now could he? Not when it was so damn clear he was an unwanted face there. 

The chipped watch on his wrist reads o-five-hundred, giving him about an hour until sunrise. Phil has already made pretty good progress, if he did say so himself. And the Vaqueros base has long since faded from his view; leaving Phil to now wander aimlessly through the harsh Mexican terrain; traversing over dry, crumbling rocks through a sparse forest, avoiding sudden drop offs and twisted roots on wobbly legs. 

Phil had detoured around the broken city of Las Almas, a certain brand of discomfort crawling up his spine and settling heavy across his shoulders at the mere thought of passing through the ruined city. The barest glimpses of it he'd gotten bore the harsh reality of cobblestone roads still bathed in watery crimson, the familiar color splattered over everything within reach; streaked over stone walls and staining the clothes of bodies still laying cold, face-down in the streets. 

One look at the carnage left behind and he'd nearly doubled over from the sheer force of the sudden churning of his stomach. Expelling the bile building at the back of his throat would only end in the burning of his esophagus from his empty, acid-filled belly. There were likely valuable resources left behind in the town, something to aid him in his solo travels, but he quickly dismissed the idea at the sight.

He'd rather skip this city and continue to walk with nothing to his name but the clothes on his body and the knife in his boot then be forced to face that massacre. 

Phil hopes, come morning, the very same people he'd stabbed in the back take the time to ghost over the town and dispose of the mess he'd left behind. To reap the souls of those innocent civilians and treat their bodies with much kinder hands than his own Shadows had. 

Phil was really getting tired of waking up to people dragging his ass around. 

Well, judging by the way, at least this time around, there were no sharp rocks digging into his spine and the fact that this ride was.. quite bumpy, it appeared Phil was being carried this time. What an improvement. 

And while he should probably be very concerned as to who, or what, exactly, is carrying him from point A—aka, where he'd likely had passed out again—to point B, the man can't bring himself to care. He doesn't have the energy for it.

Instead, he's in a bit of a daze. Wondering how in the everloving fuck this damn country jumped from near freezing in the night, to scorching hot temperatures that could rival the damn devil. All Phil remembers leading up to this is him cursing the damn sun with his whole chest, feeling like his freaking skin was melting off, then somehow finding himself face-down in the goddamn sand—when had he made it into the damn desert??

And now he was here. 

Being carried to God knows where, still sweating profusely under his clothes—how his body still had the capability to sweat when he was already so dehydrated, was beyond him—and too tired to do anything more than lay there. 

Phil must've drifted off again at some point, because when he wakes again he's no longer moving. Instead he's flat out on his back, a hard surface beneath him not unlike the old bunks he'd slept on when he was a newbie, and his entire body feels like one giant ass bruise. An all encompassing ache that traveled from the base of his skull to the tips of his toes—as if, now that he was finally resting, his entire body had collectively agreed to seek revenge on his overused muscles.

Distantly, he can hear the chatter of a man and a woman speaking in hushed voices, muttered Spanish drifting from somewhere to his left. 

Every instinct that had been ingrained into him screams at Phil to launch himself up and either attack or make a run for it. He does neither, too exhausted to even move or open his eyes, much less to try and stand. 

He ends up dancing on the fine line between consciousness and slumber while the two strangers talk, presumably, about him. Lingering in that peculiar space where you're not quite awake, but you're not sleeping either; able to hear and feel, but not aware enough to get up and move. 

Phil chose to use that time to attempt to listen in, see what all, if any, of the words he could catch. He wasn't going to pretend to know more than he did, as Phil really only knew the more simple Spanish phrases from his time in highschool when it was a required course. He picks up the usual filler words, a few pronouns, something that sounds much like ‘the American’, and the suppressed voices briefly increasing in volume, rushed, before quieting. Then silence.  

With nothing to stimulate his brain, Phil once again falls into a fitful rest. 

Power? Is that what this had been about? In all the years Phil has known you, he never would've thought of you as the type. But could that have been what you were after the entire time? And all these years you were just biding your time, waiting for the best time to strike. 

How could he have been so blind, how did he not see this coming? The person closest to him, a man who knew more about Phil than any single other person to exist. He should've seen this miles away before it hit him like a fucking freight train.

This is why you had to turn on others before they had the chance to flip the blade on you first—a lesson Phil had learned oh-so long ago. After all this time, how the hell had he forgotten that?

Which is why, the second Phil has the capacity to, he bolts upright and does his best to regain his bearings. A little dizzy, body shaky, limbs trembling from a lack of nutrients, but no longer in the fetal position at least. As aware as he physically can be. 

Somewhere between blinking away the blur obscuring his vision and forcing himself into a fully seated position, Phil hears the two voices again

Faint at first. Then growing louder. Closer. 

Phil's eyes, still unfocused, dart around his surroundings.

A room. Closed off with only one door, and a window too small for his body. Below him is some sort of flimsy cot placed in the corner furthest from the exit, one that's metal frame squeals with the slightest movements.

Getting distinct now, one woman and one man, just as before. 

Phil's hand shoots down, patting his boot; heart rate skyrocketing when the man realizes the knife is missing. His crutch, the only thing he'd possessed to defend himself beyond his own bare hands. It was gone.

They'd taken it from him. 

Closer, closer, closer still. The door opens, hinges creaking as a tall, heavy set man walks in; black, cropped hair and a well kept mustache are the first things he notes. And Phil can immediately tell that, even if he were standing, there's no way this guy wouldn't tower over him. 

That is a problem. Not because Phil hasn't taken on much large men than himself, but because he usually managed such a feat when fully put together and decidedly not when half-starved, dehydrated, and barely conscious. 

While the man approaches Phil with a certain air of caution, the woman, on the other hand, stays behind. Leaning against the doorframe, watching.

But not afraid, no, there's nothing to hint at fear in her intense gaze. Long, dark hair pulled up and tied in loose updo, arms crossed tight over her chest, and mouth set into a firm line. And still she appears to be more curious, or concerned, than fearful; perhaps a bit heedful, but that's as far as it goes.

The man, surprisingly, seemed much more on guard than his counterpart. To be fair, and give the poor guy some credit, he was the one tasked with coming closer to Phil. And Phil, in all honesty, was not of the.. low-risk variety. 

Not that the two would know that, all identifying parts of his uniform were either torn or stained, but it's always safer to be wary of strangers. And given Phil's appearance—dirtied, bloody, and cowering like a caged animal ready to strike at any given moment—he obviously wasn't just some random guy who they'd stumbled upon.

Come to think of it, Phil wondered what they thought had happened to him, or why he was out there—wherever he was when they found him—in the first place. 

Beyond that, who were these people? Why did they bring him here, why not just leave him, a complete stranger and possible danger, where they'd found him instead of risking their lives carrying Phil to their home? At least they'd been smart enough to check him for weapons, for their sake.

Which begs the question; were these people just plain stupid, or did they trust enough in their own abilities to put him down if need be?

“So,” the man begins, now within a few feet of where Phil sits. Spine straight, chin lifted, and arms crossed much like his partner; posture firm, aiming to appear confident. “You military?”

Oh, what could have possibly given that away?

“Sorta.” Comes Phil's stilted reply. 

To Phil's great unsettlement, the man smiles. Only a tiny thing, a barely twitch at the corner of his mouth before it's gone. 

“Where am I?”

The man hesitates, and the woman chimes in with a few uttered words of Spanish again. 

“Not too far from the border, a few hours most.” when Phil doesn't respond, the man continues. “Name's Eric and this,” he tips his head slightly in the woman's direction. “Is my wife, Sofia. We have.. decided to help you back onto your feet.”

Another murmur, then Eric corrects with an, “if you want.” 

Lovely. Now it didn't sound as much like he was being held hostage.

“Y'all want to.. help me?” Phil asks, skeptical as he flicks his gaze between the two. Trying to decipher any double meaning, any sort of threat veiled under these too-good-to-be-true words. “...And why would you do that?” 

“My wife was a field medic, and me a soldier,” he begins. “We know what a person looks like wounded.. not only physically.” 

Oh, so they wanted to be some sort of great savior or some shit? Give Phil some weird form of therapy? He didn't need that, he didn't need anyone's pity. Especially not these strangers who knew absolutely nothing about him.

Eric must sense something off about him, because he immediately rushes to continue. “Like it or not, we are your best option. You go out there? Try to get home in the state you are in? You will die before the sun sets.” 

Phil wasn't quite sure he'd be opposed to that.. but the man had a point. He couldn't seek his revenge if he were dead, now could he?

“I won't stay long.” Phil asserts, sitting up a bit straighter with a challenging glint in his eye. 

“Of course not,” Eric agrees easily. “Just until you are better. Maybe a few days, yes?”

Phil shouldn't, he should get up, tell these people to go fuck themselves, and get as far away as he possibly can. Even if that means, come morning, he’ll have succumbed to the elements- “Okay.” 

“Okay.” Eric offers a smile and Phil isn't quite in his right mind, but he swears that man, this complete stranger, has some of the kindest eyes he's ever seen.

A few days turns into a month, and a single month becomes four. Phil learns a lot about the couple he's been staying with. 

Learns that Eric was telling the truth and that they both had met in the field; apparently the man had been outright refusing treatment so that his fellow soldiers could get it first, claiming it to be nothing more than a light scrap. According to Sofia—from what little Phil could gather with the language barrier; though narrowed eyes and flailing hands are pretty damn telling no matter the language, Phil supposed—it was most likely a lot worse than Eric let on. 

Only when Eric had conceded and pulled down the collar of his shirt to expose the long, jagged scar that began at just below his collar bones then traveled further, larger than the tugged down fabric could show, did Sophia give a satisfied hum. And Phil could tell from the gentle way she looked at Eric as he spoke, this woman wholeheartedly adored that man—he had to look away after a moment, feeling out of place, like Phil was intruding on something not meant for his eyes.

Phil also learns that the couple is very active in their little community, often volunteering for social events and making whatever donations they could to the local church, and more specifically the program involved directly in helping children in need. 

The two had discovered many years ago, after they left the service, that neither were capable of having children. And while it did put a strain on their relationship for some time, the couple loved each other too much to let that fact tear them apart. Instead, they dedicated their time and whatever leftover funds they had into helping provide for the few orphaned kids in the area. 

They even had some adopted children of their own, ones now grown and dispersed around the country; attending college and creating families of their own.

At some point, Phil had been baffled by how utterly good these people were, he couldn't believe how lucky he had been to be found by such genuinely kind people, ones who knew nothing of him or his crimes. They would hate him, surely, either cast him aside or turn him in to local authorities. Who would then hand him over to federal. 

He was a criminal on the run, something that had taken Phil a while to come to terms with. 

A thing he had realized on the very same porch steps he was setting on right now in month two. Eyes on the horizon as the hot, late spring sun faded in an array of nostalgic warm tones of red and orange, of yellow and pink. Dressed in clothing a few sizes too big; the ones he'd donned when he had arrived far beyond salvageable.

A small, child sized soccer ball rolls to his feet. Bumping against the toe of his boot, quickly followed by little feet stomping over to where Phil sat. Picking it up, Phil cradled the ball in his palm, offering it to the boy running over to him with a soft smile.

One of the orphaned kids; has a sister only a year younger than himself, something Phil knows not because the couple told him, but because he'd started doing some volunteer work himself—with Eric and Sophia’s encouragement. It helped keep his mind wonderfully empty, able to concentrate on the now rather than past or inevitable future. 

It also helped remind Phil why he'd even joined the military in the first place, what his younger self had aspired to be all those years ago. 

Phil had been able to reflect on a lot over these past seven months. Given the opportunity to think on why he did what he did, who he wanted to be. And, most importantly, you. 

After months upon months of denial, cursing your name before he went to bed each night. Reminded of you by the absence of a warm body curled up behind his own; the lack of a soft, rumbling voice murmuring a sleepy goodnight before you'd fall asleep with your face tucked away in the place between Phil's neck and shoulder. The gentle puffs of your breath ghosting over his skin and the secure weight of an arm draped over his waist, luring him to join you in the depths of dream land. 

Always making him feel so warm, so safe, in that perfect in between, just after the sun set and right before it rose again. For a few hours you were his. For a few fleeting hours he had you all to himself; he had someone. 

Someone more than the names of all the men he'd killed, ingrained permanently in his psyche no matter how hard he tried to ignore it; something more than a pen and himself up against stack after stack of paperwork containing nothing but political bullshit Phil couldn't care less about.

For that brief time Phil had belonged. 

But now.. now he had nothing. 

He wasn't a commander here, wasn't a soldier. Phil didn't have the responsibilities he'd had to manage back home at base anymore. He should probably be grateful, it was a stressful life.

But.. but he still wasn't quite.. anybody. He was nothing but the stranger who'd appeared in town out of nowhere. Who was silent and kept to himself, who barely even left the residence he'd been so lucky to be offered a place in. Not unless he was doing some volunteer work here and there.

He had nothing; he was nothing. Phil used to hold the reins of dozens who'd act solely with his interests at heart, and now he didn't even have an army to command. He wasn't anyone anymore. Not here.

At least, if he went back, he'd have something. Something more than this endless repetition of kindness he didn't deserve. You'd hate him, surely, after what he had done. 

To you, to your friends, family, fellow soldiers. Phil was supposed to be a leader, someone who those under his command looked to for guidance. Someone dependable, someone trustworthy.

It was, again, sometime ago on these same steps, where Phil had the grand revelation that maybe, just maybe, you hadn't betrayed him. You were just doing what you thought was best for yourself and the rest of the company. It was in everyone's best interest—except his. 

Phil had pushed you too far, stretched you too thin. Even though he knew how fragile delicate vulnerable-

Even though he knew damn well how you used to be, the cavernous depths of your own mind Phil had single-handedly had to drag you out of kicking and screaming several times over. 

Phil knew all of this, and yet he still did it. Never considered the consequences his actions would have on you—or the others, but you were more important—, never stopped to consider your own feelings on, well, anything. On what your opinions were for improving the company—even though you two had built it up from the ground up, together—, or what applications to accept, or whatever it was that you two had going on that was surely more than friends and co-founders did with each other.

He'd pushed and pushed and pushed- and Phil had broken you. 

Snapped you in two. 

So, at the very least, if he went back, Phil would have someone to hate him. Anything from you was better than being nothing. Even if it were hatred; he just needed to be someone again.

Just needed to belong.

“You can't stay here.”

Phil turns his head slowly, the sun now barely a sliver as darkness overtakes the sky. Stars begin to join the moon in illuminating the town.

“I'm sorry?” He asks, spotting Eric standing on the porch behind him. A somber sort of expression painting his features. 

Eric sighs, rocking on his feet briefly as his hands move to tuck into his pockets, seeking warmth as the lack of sunlight drops the temperature by several dozen degrees. 

“I don't mean- I am not kicking you out,” the man clarifies, looking off into the distance. A bittersweet smile gracing his lips. “But you are not happy here, are you?”

It's a rhetorical question, and Phil, too, turns away, looking back towards the sky, mouth pressed into a thin line. The sun had disappeared completely, and Phil instead looked to the moon.

Now a completely different phase from that fateful day where you'd abandoned left him against that log. So long ago, and yet Phil swore he could still smell the smoke burning his nostrils and scorching his throat. 

He was lucky to have not borne many scars from being trapped in that tank; he didn't want to know how you'd fared.

“You miss them.”

“What?” The words break Phil out of his trance, brows furrowing, but he doesn't turn back around.

“I don't know if it is a family or something else,” Eric continues. “But you miss them. This is not the life for you; you still carry that.. spirit I only remember having during my time in the army.”

“I can't go back.” 

“Because you think they will not take you?” 

“I,” Phil barks a hushed, humorless laugh. More of an exhale of air than everything, bitter and leaving a foul taste on his tongue. “I do not belong with them anymore, sir. They don't want me, I can promise you that.” 

“So grown,” Eric chides, coming to sit on the same step Phil was on. “And yet still so damn naive.” 

It's not cruel, but it does have Phil opening his mouth in protest, only to snap it back shut again with a huff.  

“You don't know what you're talking about.” He grits out, mouth forming a small pout, an ache of something opening up in his ribcage. A void, once full, overflowing, almost, but now so, so empty. Starving.

“Did you even consider, maybe,” Eric continues on with the same patience he'd had all those months ago. “..they miss you, too?”

Phil swears his heart stops just then, slow, stuttering to a halt before ba dum.. ba dum.. it gradually starts back up again. A frog leaped, lodging itself in his throat, suffocating him, echoing the beat of his heart. 

Eventually, he manages to croak out, “They don't.” 

“And how can you be so sure?” 

And Phil doesn't have anything to say to that, so he doesn't. Continuing to gaze up at the moon as if it held all the answers to his problems. Wondering if, maybe, you were looking up at it too.

“I will not pretend to know what you are going through,” Eric hesitates. “What you are running from. But.. but you cannot stay here, it's killing you. Sophia and I can both see it.” 

“With all due respect, sir,” Phil forces out. “you don't understand. He is stubborn, he is childish, and he is- he was. You wouldn't understand.”

“You are talking about this man like he's dead,” observant, are we? “And yet he is not, is he?”

You may as well be. “No.”

“Then maybe it's not too late.. maybe..”

Phil could feel hope sparking in his chest at the man's words, and he immediately crushed it between his fists. 

“It is.” Phil says, swallowing against the lump in his throat. “It is too late.”

A sigh. “But you're right. I can't stay.” 

The distant sound of a coyotes’ howl and the rustling of leaves fills the space between them as the conversation lulls to a stop. It's peaceful out here, much more so than any base Phil's stayed on, and even before that, far quieter than a house full of gentle chatter wafting in from the living room, or the sounds of childish glee from his sister's bedroom when she had a few friends over. Drifting down through thin but sturdy walls; both a perfect ambiance to listen to while he did his homework at the dining table. 

Nothing compared to the heartwarming sound of your laughter. Of your soft, rumbling voice; always so quiet, even when just chatting in his office or while overseeing the Shadows honing their skills in the courtyard. 

Quieter than his family, but louder than the silence between you two when you would give him the cold shoulder; a sea of rage hidden neatly within a show of blank stares and empty words.  

He misses you. 

You didn't do anything wrong. 

Why did he break you? When did he break you?

Was it just the incident all those months ago? When he'd forced you to shoot down people who, just the day before, Phil had told you to treat like family? Like brothers?

Or was it something far before that? Something you had been holding on to all this time; keeping caged within your heart instead of taking it out in him. 

He wishes you had taken it out on him. Maybe then he wouldn't be considered KIA by his own people, men and women and all alike, whom he—and you—had practically raised as his own?

Anyone who tried to proclaim that Phillip Graves didn't care about his soldiers, his Shadows, was just flat out wrong. A piece of his heart, of his soul, had been ripped out of him when one of his squads died in that botched mission Shepard had sent them on. Ambushed by Russian PMCs. Now that had been one very dreaded set of paperwork; writing down the names and cause of deaths for people who he knew, his friends. 

He hadn't even been able to tell their families what had happened to them when they came knocking on his door. No closure for any of those grieving relatives, phone calls day and night. Endless sobs and askings of why, why can't you? And my baby gave their life for your cause, but you can't even do me the honor of explaining why they're buried halfway across the world instead of with their family? 

“Where will you go?” Phil had been so lost in thought, he'd entirely forgotten Eric was still beside him. Five months ago and that would've never even been a possibility.

He was losing his touch. Would he even be useful back home? 

After all these months, surely not.

When the silence drags on a little too long to be comfortable, Phil murmurs a delicate, “I don't know..” then, “maybe I'll go back after all.” 

Phil does, in fact, not go back. 

Instead he finds himself staying at an apartment complex just a few cities away. Like a coward. 

Phil had left that night, before the sun rose again, and without saying goodbye to the couple who'd let him stay with them for a little over four months. He's only left a little note as thanks.

Also, like a coward. 

But Phil decided to embrace this sort of cowardice, at least for now. It's not that he couldn't just go over to the ol’ base, pop in and say hello to the people whose lives he had ruined- of course he could! 

He could do it right now if he wanted. He didn't want to. 

Phil could just pack up his shit—it had been fairly easy to retrieve his emergency fund, held in one of the many banks he had an account or two with; for security, of course—and skip over to that familiar town, take a few turns down some back roads and bam! Back home he would be.

Back home.

…

..would it still be home?

What if his Shadows hated him now? What if you'd turned them against him? Couldn't even stand the sight of him? Would they kill him then and there upon first sight? 

Or would they detain him, torture him maybe?

Either way, Phil couldn't risk it. It's been a few weeks since he left Sophia and Eric's residence, and he's no more motivated to go back to you his old stomping grounds today than he was all those months ago. 

He can't imagine which would be worse; seeing that look of disgust, of simmering hatred in the Shadows’ eyes or your own. 

Phil tries to keep his mind blissfully blank every moment of his waking hours. Preferring more to spend his time sleeping, but when he could not do so anymore, when his legs ached with the need to move and his stomach rioted in the name of it's hunger, he would have to get up. 

Reading, listening to a radio, sometimes even adding the background noise of the old TV in the corner of the living room whenever Phil needed to complete a simple task such as eating or another. 

As of right now, he was doing just that. Only this time.. this time it doesn't work. Swirling around the remaining bits of cereal in the now sweetened milk, gaze drifting up from the little floating pieces to the window before him instead. 

Thinking. Thinking of you. Because there wasn't any time where Phil wasn't thinking of you. Even with all these distracts, meant to keep his mind off his old life, off what he used to have, off you.

It didn't work. Not when it came to you. 

Wondering what you could be up to right now. How you were faring commanding an entire army of your own—or however many were left—, how you were handling all the politics that came with such a job.

When you two shared ownership, Phil was always the one to handle the people, scheduling meetings and dealing with generals and such.

It's been months, surely you were handling this fine on your own. You didn't need him, there was no reason for Phil to go back. Nothing more than his own selfish reasons. 

A little over ten months now, it has been. Phil shouldn't bother you. You were dealing with it perfectly fine, he'd bet. 

There was not a single excuse for him to assume you didn't have everything under control, for him to swoop in like some sort of savior. 

Sure, you'd always been a bit.. off kilter. But who wasn't in this line of work.. right? It was only to he expected after what you had been through, or what little you had told Phil.

He knew you didn't like crowds, didn't even like talking for that matter, hated interacting with the stuck up higher ups most of all, of course. Everyone did. But Phil knew you could also reign yourself in if need be.

Well, that was unless something threw you off center. It would have to be something huge, something life-changing for you to really-

Oh, fuck.

The metallic crash of his spoon bouncing off the ceramic bowl and clattering against the floor doesn't even register in Phil's mind. Not even the sweet milk that goes splattering everywhere pulls him away.

He'd broken you. He'd left you alone. Left you alone with her.

Fuck staying here, lying to himself and avoiding any and all subjects that reminded him of you. Reminded him of what he had lost.

Maybe if the event almost a year ago had never happened, and even if Phil had still been removed from your day to day, it wouldn't have been a possibility.

But you were broken. Shattered. Vulnerable. 

And for someone like you; that was a concoction that spelled nothing but bad decisions.

Phil left a few hours later. A single stuffed backpack and a rental car all he took with him in his haste. 

He hoped he wasn't too late. Hoped he hadn't broken you too much.

Maybe you were able to resist her offer.. maybe there was still a part of you left that knew it would bring nothing but your own destruction.

Maybe.

Standing before you now, with those empty eyes and stiff posture, Phil knew something was off. More than he had assumed before. Sure, he knew you were a bit fucked, had always been a bit fractured, but Phil had cared for you all the same. Knew there was something more to you beyond that rough, off-putting exterior.

But now, the way you covered yourself head to toe, the little twitches and fidgets you tried so hard to conceal—but Phil had been able to identify them then, and he still could now—, now it was obvious. There was no hiding it.

“You're..” Phil begins, hesitant. “Different.” 

You scoff, something in those clouded depths flickering. “You've said that before.”

“No, no, Phantom-” he winces, noting the way the name has your right hand—concealed in a glaringly different glove than the other—twitches, fingers curling slightly in one, quick movement, at the name. Your head ticking a bit to the left. 

“You are.. not yourself.” 

“Is that all you had to say?” You grit out, gaze narrowed, voice more a growl than the gentle rumble Phil was used to. “You called me down ‘ere again to tell me I'm “different”. As if it hasn't been almost an entire fucking year since you last saw me.” 

A step closer, another fidget. “People change, Graves. Just because you can't, too caught up in your own damn ego to care, doesn't mean others don't.” 

Phil can think back on that little insult later, pick another time to lick his wounds. Right now he needed to know. Needed a confirmation.

“Just tell me-” he doesn't care if he sounds like he's begging. He needs to know. “You told her no. Please, for Christ's sake, tell me you said no.”

Phil can hear the way your breathing hitches briefly, see the way you try to shift your posture impossibly straighter. “I don't know who you are referring to.” 

A part of Phil shrivels up and dies in that moment, frozen in time as you basically confirm what he already knew. What he knew and yet so desperately hoped he was wrong about. Hoped and prayed you'd be strong enough.

He was wrong.

“Oh, Phantom,” He breathes, right when his body kicks back into motion again. Unable to hide the pure, unfiltered grief in his croaked out words. “What.. what have you done?” 

Phil never gets to hear your reply, because right then there's a frantic knocking at the door. Panicked or enthused, Phil cannot decipher. 

It catches you both off guard, heads snapping to the person who hurts through the entrance. Not bothering to wait for an okay to come inside.

“Alik? What the fuck are you doing here?” You snap, glaring at the newcomer. 

1-5 comes to a halt right in front of you, breathing heavily from the exerting of running from wherever the hell he'd come from. Phil feels himself stiffening, waiting for something, anything to happen.

“Sorry, sir,” Alik pants. “But this couldn't wait.”

“Spit it out.” Phil cuts in, seeing how you tense and ready to go on one of your rare—or maybe not rare anymore—tangents. 

1-5 barely spares Phil a glance before locking eyes with you once more, unflinching.

“Viper,” he says, chest still heaving. A single word, a single word that bore so much weight within its five letters. “He is awake.”

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Masterpost | One | Two | Three | Four | Next

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[ronearoundblindly]

Feel free to ignore this… but any further (descriptive) thots on what the first time Ari calling reader Mrs Levinson would be like?!

I just can’t get the thot of tender love making out of my brain after reading the 3+1!

Please no pressure at all! Just wanted to let you know how much this Ari lives rent free in my brain 😵‍💫💙

Ari Levinson x bestfriend!Reader (now wife) from Bedrock and Blueprints series

woah. so. good lawd, i got all up in my own feels for a while and shrank my world down to just reader and this guy:

An expansion of the the last part of this. Warning for sexy times in the most loving way. MINORS DNI. WC 1.3k

A/N: holy sh*t. don't @ me if you hate this and hate terrible puns because 🙈 idk what happened...

Your relationship keeps evolving.

You started as distant acquaintances, sharing a friend but not much else. Soon, though, you and Ari found common ground and mutual respect. Slowly, the two of you learned more about each other and grew comfortable, playfully jabbing at each other's bad habits and blind spots.

You only ever wanted the best for one another.

It took a long time--many people would say too long--to WANT one another, and old habits die hard.

The strangest part of your wedding day is how easy it is to fall into the 'friend' pattern again. You're executing a planned day, hosting guests in your home, coordinating care of your baby. Ari's helping. He always does.

The ceremony is short and sweet, the party after a simple barbecue. It hardly feels...special.

On the other side of the lawn, Ari shows a few of your coworkers Rachel's favorite face he makes, and your daughter howls in joy, grabbing at Daddy from her perch your cubicle-mate's arms.

They're too far away to hear, but you can read Ari's body language pretty well after a decade.

What's wrong, honey? You love looking out at a crowd.

See? See all these people? They're here for you. For us. For...

Ari's eyes meet yours, his bottle of beer becoming an anchor in his outstretched hand. He beams.

...mommy.

You give a tiny little wave just as he gets ambushed by a few more guests cooing over Rachel. Ari is tall enough that you can see his gaze never leaves you, even when he's surrounded, even when he mutters an answer to a question, even as he pats shoulders and backs until he's out of the throng.

His radiant smile washes over you like the warm breeze on this perfect day. His feet land in time with thuds of Boyd and Dimitri battling it out on the cornhole boards, and the women flanking you twitter appreciative giggles as if putting voice to your heart's fluttering.

Ari is, well, damn fine to look at.

"Hey," he breathes heavily once making his way to you. "You wanna--" he gestures behind you to the house "--for a sec?"

"Oh, sure." You scramble to think what more could be missing from outside. Are the drinks running low? Is the grill ready for the next round of food? Does Rachel need a toy or maybe a hat?

He leads the way to open the door for you, and that's when you notice Ari's starting to sweat through the t-shirt he changed into after the ceremony. He's never been a fan of the penguin suits. As he puts it, "they rent them for a reason. Nobody wants to own one of these."

Whether for the entertainment or just to cool himself off, you assume Ari's heading for the kitchen and turn accordingly before an arm snaking around your waist hauls you backward.

"Not so fast, gorgeous," he snips in your ear, a familiar playfulness in the words warming down your spine.

"What are you doing, Ari?" you laugh, letting him man-handle you down the hall to the bedroom.

He touches you down gently beside the door and shuts it behind him quietly. Those pearly white teeth and bright blue eyes keep shining.

"Just taking a minute," he whispers, stepping closer, dragging his finger around your ear to move a bit of stray hair, "just for us."

His focus holds yours for a long time. The rough pad of his thumb traces the height of your cheekbone. A sheen of perspiration glistens on his temple. His flush glows pink even on the skin between beard hairs. Ari's tongue flicks out to wet his bottom lip.

Mixed with the muffled sound of your party outside, it's hard to tell his breathing has changed, but when your own eyes stop roaming the rest of his face, you see welling tears.

"Sorry, I don't know why..." Ari's cracking voice trails off. He sniffs and plants his hands against your hips to steady himself.

It makes your head spin.

"Sorry I took so lo--" but you don't let him get the words out.

Friends don't let friends cry over wasted time, no, because none of it was wasted. Learning about each other is necessary. Respecting one another is crucial. Laughing at the little things and the stupid things is essential. Everything happened just as it should.

You pour your approval into the kiss, tossing your arms around his neck and climbing him like the steadfast, rooted tree he's become, the centerpiece he is in the forest of your life, and Ari weathers the assault with gusto.

He sways with that changing wind of desire to lay you on the bed, shading you with his broad body and dangling hair, cocooning you both in your own little world, hot and heavy and light as a feather.

"I love you," he says as his wide palm explores up your skirt. "I love you," he says as two fingers move your panties out of the way. "I love you," he says as he discovers just how long you've been waiting for this touch.

"I love you," you repeat, undoing the fastening of his shorts. "I love you," you repeat, pushing them to the ground. "I love you," you repeat, taking his length in your hand.

"Please, Ari."

He hisses in tortured excitement. "Yeah?" In a flurry of fabrics, he's yanking your skirt around, tucking your leg up high over his waist as he climbs on the bed, too. "You want me, gorgeous?"

You like how much he leans into your new nickname; he's tried to ween himself off calling you 'kid' now that Rachel exists.

"Need you." Your words sound whiny and desperate because they are. "Need my husband."

The groan Ari lets out would wake the neighbors. Thank g-d there's a party outside...

He's so careful entering you, giving you time to stretch for him, giving him time to listen to every sated breath you both take. He pulls down the zipper at your side and peels your dress back, further exposing you. He loves how sensitive your nipples are since having a baby, but he also knows how much you hate these bras. He takes a moment to unhook you and fling that shit across the room, relishing your happy sigh of freedom.

"There's my wife," he chokes out, propped on his hands above you, surveying the bare beauty before him. His shirt is loose and wrinkled from where you've been gripping it for dear life. The shimmer of tears is back in his eyes--just for a second--until you bring him down to kiss again.

Once fully sheathed inside you, Ari sets a rhythm to mirror your whole relationship: slow and playful. He works to make you laugh, to make you fight him just a little bit because he's being silly. He flicks at your nipples and mouths at your shoulder. He only has one care in the whole world and for all time until--

Ari growls into your neck when there's a knock at the door.

"Just took the last bottle out of the fridge for Rachel, dearie. Thought you should know," Momma Joe's sweet old voice vibrates through, but you hear her footsteps fade quickly.

"'Spose that means I need to pump..." You toss your arms out in defeated frustration.

"Nah-uh," Ari shoots back, gathering you into a firm hold, pressing himself that much deeper inside you. He drapes that bubble of attention over you again, intent and adoring. "Right now? Right now you're mine, Misses Levinson."

He rolls his hips back, cock inching out of you, covered in your slippery arousal.

"And I need to pump--" he thrusts forward, the heft of him making your head loll back on the sheets "--again...and again...and again..."

Tags: @supraveng @1950schick @patzammit @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @yiiiikesmish @ashesofblackroses @royalwriteroftheuniverse @jamneuromain

[anyasathenaeum]

Home

A/N: I'm basing this off of this drabble I wrote as part of my 100 follower event, I really wanted to write a whole fic about it because Vash deserves to be taken care of and loved and lowkey told off for being reckless. Did I channel myself through this? Hell yeah I did. Enjoy friends!

Warnings: Explicit mentions of wounds, blood, violence

Word Count: 6.6K

"Well, this is definitely not how I expected today to go!"

You found yourself shouting to Vash over the sounds of yelling, blows and glass shattering, the two of you hiding behind the bar in the town saloon as several angry and drunk patrons decided to have an impromptu brawl, cornering the both of you with no way out.

The two of you had drifted into this quaint little town, looking forward to a couple days of peace and rest. You two had gotten a room at the local inn and decided to go for a drink in the saloon, and then next thing you both knew, you were hiding behind the bar during a fight. Several other patrons hid behind the bar alongside the two of you, all of them clearly afraid or trying to figure out a way out, too.

"I'm sorry, (Y/N)!" Vash yelled back to you over the sounds of chaos, his expression sheepish, "I didn't think-"

"Don't worry about it!" You cut him off, flinching as glass shattered right above your head. The patrons were getting more and more reckless as they fought, clearly showing no thought to their surroundings.

You felt Vash's arm wrap around you as he tugged you closer to him, likely to shield you as he usually tried to do.

"We gotta get outta here! Before those idiots end up hurting themselves and us!" You exclaimed, glancing up at your best friend of many years as he looked around, clearly trying to figure out the best way to get out of this situation unscathed. Unfortunately, as a healer, escape strategies were not your forte.

"Alright," Vash replied after a couple moments, his expression resolute as he looked down at you with a nod, "On 3, follow me, and whatever you do, do NOT let go of my hand!"

All you could do was nod as you took his prosthetic hand in yours, clutching it tightly as you felt Vash squeeze your hand in return, as though confirming the plan with you one final time as you waited for his countdown.

"One..."

You felt your heartbeat in your ears as you prepared to sprint with Vash as fast as possible to get the two of you to safety.

"Two..."

The cries of the angry patrons were growing louder, all of them undoubtedly approaching the bar in midst of their fight, and you flinched again as another glass struck the bar near your head, a piece of broken glass flying free and striking your cheek.

"Three!"

Without a second of hesitation, Vash bolted forwards and away from the bar with your hand gripped tightly in his, the two of you sprinting as fast as you could to get to safety. You felt Vash tug your arm hard so you followed him, and you watched him flinch as a glass was thrown and suddenly struck the wall where his head had been merely a moment prior.

"Go, (Y/N)! Go!"

Vash quickly pushed you ahead of him, a yelp escaping you he promptly shoved you through an open saloon window. You tumbled to the ground rather ungracefully, groaning as you landed on your back, the wind getting knocked out of you. However, after a couple seconds of recovery, you realized that Vash hadn't followed you.

"Damn it!"

You cursed as you quickly scrambled to your feet, glancing through the window you had just been pushed out of only to see Vash trying to diffuse the situation and protect the other townsfolk.

"Come on, guys! Can't we figure this out in a way that doesn't involve violence?"

You watched Vash promptly dodge a glass bottle that was thrown at his head after that statement, his smile not even faltering for a moment.

"Now, now, that's not very nice!" You heard Vash say almost playfully, a soft chuckle coming out of him, "Come on, guys, you're scaring all the other nice folks. Why don't you guys go outside, talk it out, maybe drink some water?"

Vash's kindhearted suggestions were met with some choice rude words, angry hisses and yells of anger from the drunken patrons, who you could tell were beginning to turn on Vash rather than each other, now. You wanted to yell at him to shut up, to stop being so... so... good, and to get the hell out of there. You could feel your heart pounding in your chest frantically as you realize just how much danger Vash was putting himself in at that moment.

"Vash..." You found yourself whispering nervously under your breath, to nobody in particular, as your gaze remained glued to your best friend.

You suddenly lost sight of Vash from your window as he approached the drunken patrons, and a couple seconds later, you heard a yelp from Vash followed by a loud crashing sound. Then, the sound of several heavy blows and another loud crashing sound, as well as the sound of glass shattering. Your heart all but stopped in your chest as your mind began to go into overdrive, picturing all the things that might've been happening then and there. You were a literal second away from diving back into the saloon from the same window Vash shoved you out of when the saloon door slammed open and all the drunken patrons were promptly thrown out into the street.

As soon as you realized the instigators were no longer a threat, you sprinted back into the saloon, desperately looking around for your best friend and praying you would find him in once piece. Thankfully, to your relief, you saw Vash helping some of the other patrons who had been hiding behind the bar to their feet, smiling comfortingly at them all. Many of them thanked him profusely, some shaking his hand and others even patting his back or hugging him.

Out of nowhere, a bunch of emotions shot through you. Anger. Frustration. Fear. Despair. Relief. Happiness. You didn't know exactly what you were feeling, and you weren't given time to figure it out as Vash's gaze fell on you and his blue eyes widened behind his round, oversized yellow lenses.

"(Y/N)!"

Vash dashed over to where you were standing, and before you could so much as open your mouth, his arms were wrapping around you and he was pulling you into a tight hug, a clear sigh of relief escaping him. Your emotions continued to swirl within your chest as your face pressed against Vash's chest, your own arms coming up to wrap around him in return in a tight embrace - at least he was safe.

"Your cheek..." You heard Vash say gently, both his tone and the expression on his face worried as he looked down at you, his eyebrows furrowed and his hand coming up to gently touch your cheek.

As he touched it, you winced slightly as a stinging sensation suddenly registered - the piece of glass that struck you earlier must've cut you.

"Don't worry about me. It's no big deal, I can patch it up easily," You brushed Vash off, your eyes sweeping over him from head to toe, frantically searching him for any signs of injury from the skirmish, "Are you alright, though?"

"I'm right as rain!" Vash replied, chuckling sheepishly as his hand came up to rub the back of his neck.

You could suddenly feel the bottled up anger beginning to boil inside you as you glared at Vash, hissing under your breath at him, "What the hell were you thinking?! Y-You... you shove me out a window, and then you try to stop the fight yourself?! Vash, are you crazy?! You're so goddamned lucky you're not hurt, or I would've-"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" Vash immediately held his hands up in surrender, his expression a mixture of sheepishness, guilt, and nervousness, "I didn't mean to shove you that hard. I just... I wanted you to be safe."

The way Vash's voice fell as he spoke those last words, becoming quiet and serious as he looked at you, let you know that he was being genuine in his apology. You couldn't help but feel your heart flutter in your chest at Vash's concern for you, and despite your irritation and worry for the man known at the Humanoid Typhoon, you couldn't bring yourself to stay mad at him. He held your heart entirely in the palms of his hands without even knowing it.

"You're way stronger than any human, Stampede. Be a little gentler next time you're shoving me out a window to safety, alright?" You grumbled instead, shooting Vash a look that immediately told him your words held no heat.

The smile that Vash gave you in response was borderline blinding, and you couldn't help but find yourself smiling, too. It wasn't your fault - Vash's smile was just extremely contagious.

"I really am sorry, (Y/N)," Vash said more quietly, so only you could hear him. He let out a heavy sigh as his fingertips just barely grazed over your injured cheek, and you could practically sense the guilt radiating off of him as he gazed at the cut on your face.

"It's okay, Vash," You replied, your voice soft as you took his hand into yours and moved it away from your face, "This wasn't your fault. Plus, I got lucky. A tiny cut on my cheek is within my healing skills to handle."

The grin you gave Vash at your joke made him chuckle softly, relieving him of some of the guilt he had sitting in his chest. He knew very well that you were a very capable healer, one who had spent many years studying how to help people with various illnesses and injuries and one who had patched him up more times than he could count. Yet, still, Vash couldn't help but worry for you a bit. He always worried for you. How could he not, when you were nothing short of everything to him?

"If you say so, O Wise Healer!" Vash responded, quickly regaining his goofy, outgoing persona and bowing to you in an exaggerated gesture that made you sigh in playful exasperation and nudge him hard.

"Yeah, yeah, enough of that, Stampede. You're embarrassing me in front of the townsfolk," You mumbled half-heartedly, your cheeks heating up as you tried to stifle a laugh, "We should get back to the inn. I need to clean this up."

You tap your cheek and wince at the gentle sting from the cut, and Vash immediately nodded before wrapping his arm around your shoulders, "Right! Let's go."

With that, the two of you set out, making your ways back to the inn where the two of you had been staying during your stay in town. However, as the two of you walked through the town roads, you began to notice, out of the corner of your eye, a tenseness in Vash's body as he walked. You could even make out a wince here or there when he moved his body in a specific way, and that confirmed your suspicion - Vash hadn't come out of the conflict unscathed.

"Where are you hurt?" You asked suddenly, your voice low and firm.

You watched as Vash's eyes widened as he looked at you, and as he opened his mouth to contradict you and brush off your concerns, you immediately cut him off, your anger bursting forward as you snapped, "Don't you dare say you're fine, Vash. I can see you wincing and you trying not to move your body specific ways. You only do that when you're injured."

Vash immediately closed his mouth, his lips pressing into a thin line and his blue eyes betraying the guilt and shame he was feeling at being discovered.

Knowing better than to butt heads with you, Vash simply gave in and whispered quietly, bowing his head and looking like a child having been caught causing mischief, "My right side. One of the patrons had a broken glass bottle, they caught me on the upswing. It doesn't feel too deep, but it'll likely still need stitches."

You felt your anger spike, but rather than yelling at Vash in the middle of some small town with a bunch of strangers watching you, you held your tongue and continued to walk towards the inn without so much as a word of acknowledgement. However, as you replayed the incident over and over again in your mind, the sounds of Vash's yelp and the blows and the screaming of the fight you couldn't witness echoing in your brain, anger gave way to fear. Complete, overwhelming fear.

'Vash could've died today and I wouldn't have known. I would've been too late,' You thought to yourself, your heart squeezing painfully in your chest as you forced the images your mind had conjured out as best you could. 'He could've died protecting others and I would've been unable to save him or help him.'

Like an endless hurricane, your fear drove your anger, which in turn worsened your fear of losing Vash someday because he was too selfless and believed he wasn't worthy of aid. Your mind became a storm, and you were completely lost to it as you and Vash walked back to the inn.

Vash felt himself beginning to sweat nervously as you walked silently by his side, not uttering so much as a single word about his injury. Usually, you would yell at him or scold him immediately, your face gaining colour as you told him off for being reckless and too self-sacrificing and thoughtless, etc. etc. as you worked on patching him up. But now... you hadn't spoken a single word, which absolutely terrified Vash. And scarier still, your face had become a mask of cool indifference, giving no insight as to your true feelings.

"(Y/N)... I'm really sorry," Vash spoke up softly, keeping pace with you as you both approached the inn, his heart sinking in his chest as you didn't even bother acknowledging his apology.

Instead, you continued walking silently until you got to your shared room, and once you were both in the room, you closed the door behind Vash, locked it, and went to your bag to fish out your healing kit.

"(Y/N)?..."

Vash's voice was quiet and filled with concern, although you couldn't tell if the concern was for you or for himself. You looked up at him, and your heart twisted at the sight of Vash looking a lot like a kicked puppy. His big, blue eyes were wide and filled with worry and pleading, as if begging you to say something to him, and despite his height, his shoulders slouched and made him seem... small. Vulnerable. It hurt your heart to see him looking like that, but you couldn't bring yourself to address it due to still-swirling storm of emotions in your mind.

"Move your shirt so I can get to your injury," You said, your voice level and betraying nothing of the emotional torment inside your head, not sparing Vash another glance as you began preparing your equipment to tend to his wound, setting things down on one of the bedside tables with practiced routine and precision.

Vash sighed heavily as he watched you prepare your healing equipment, and he winced as he shifted slowly to take his turtleneck off, wriggling out of it to allow you access to his wound as he sat on a chair, waiting for you to begin your work. He couldn't help but feel extremely guilty for not telling you upfront that he had been injured, and every second that you spent silent was a second that made Vash's heart hurt a little bit more.

You had been Vash's best friend for many years, and you knew and understood him better than anybody else. You understood how he operated, how he thought, how he acted and reacted, and you had accepted him without question, faults and all. You were always there by his side, through thick and thin, to comfort him and support him and yes, even patch him up from time to time. Well, maybe more often than just time to time. Despite it all, though, you never once gave up on him. The two of you had always been a team. But now...

'Maybe this is it,' Vash thought to himself mournfully, his heart aching in his chest, 'Maybe I've finally gone too far and pushed (Y/N) away, too.'

"This first part will hurt."

Your voice snapped Vash out of his self-loathing for a moment, and he gazed down at that neutral mask you kept on your face as you explained to him what you were going to do, your eyes trained on the wound on his torso. To his surprise, you had already mended your own cheek - when did you even do that?

"I'll inject a local anesthetic into your skin around the slash, and then I'll stitch it up properly. You shouldn't feel anything but pressure and slight tugging once the anesthetic kicks in."

Your voice didn't so much as wobble even once, and it scared Vash. He had seen you go into your "healing mode", as he affectionately referred to it, many times in the past, but it had never been directed at him. This cool indifference was terrifying to him, because for the first time in a long time, he had no way to gauge what you were thinking or feeling. You had shut him out completely.

And Vash hated it. He hated every second of it.

"Thank you for taking care of me, (Y/N)." Vash's voice was quiet, so quiet you almost didn't hear him as you began your work, injecting the anesthetic, "I don't deserve you."

However, instead of your usual "Shut up!" or "Don't say that!" or "Enough of that!" responses whenever he said something like that, Vash was met with complete silence. You didn't acknowledge his statement, instead laser-focused on adequately numbing him before starting the tricky act of stitching his wound.

Upon assessment, the slash wound wasn't deep, just as Vash had told you, but it was decently long and definitely required stitches. Once the anesthetic had a couple moments to set in, you poked Vash with a needle near the edge of the wound.

"Feel anything?"

Vash just shook his head, watching you carefully as you nodded in response, your face still a mask of complete neutrality.

"I'm going to start the stitches now. Stay as still as possible."

Vash took a deep breath and stilled himself as best as he could, allowing you to start your work. True to your word, he felt no pain as you patched him up, but rather pressure and tugging as you tied off stitch after stitch. Your work was done slowly, meticulously, but as your hands worked, your mind spiraled out of control.

'The self-sacrificing idiot won't ever stop. Why won't he stop?'

'How many times has he gotten hurt without telling me?'

'How many more times will I patch him up before he dies?'

'Will I lose him soon?'

'Why, Vash? Why?'

'Please, Vash, don't go. Don't go. Stop this, please...'

'Stay with me. Please, Vash. Stay.'

While your mind spiraled, Vash sat on the chair silently as you worked, lost in his own thoughts and emotions. He couldn't shake the deep-seated feeling of guilt for lying to you about him being alright, and although your mask of indifference gave him no indication of your current thoughts and feelings, you hadn't been able to hide a flash of hurt before your mask went up. Just that split second had been enough to make Vash feel like a knife had been driven into his chest. He had never wanted to hurt you. That was never his intention. He loved you far too much to even think of hurting you, and yet, he still had. He knew lying to you hadn't been a good idea, but he did it to buy you peace of mind, even if only for a moment.

But now... with you closed off and feeling so far away from him, Vash regretted it more than ever, the fear of losing you for good spreading like wildfire through him. He should've just told you and been upfront about being hurt. He owed you that much, especially given that you'd always stuck by his side and never once complained about patching him up, even though you always scolded him about getting hurt afterwards.

"(Y/N)?" Vash's voice was small and shaky as he spoke, and he took a deep breath as he tried to keep his emotions from running wild as he tried to reach out to you, to get past your mask once more, "(Y/N), listen, I-... I'm... I'm so sorry I didn't tell you. I should've told you that I was hurt immediately, I don't know why I didn't, I guess I just... I thought-"

Vash's words died on his lips the moment he looked down at your face, his eyes widening and his heart shattering at the sight of tears streaking silently down your face as you diligently continued your work. Your mask had disappeared and the fear, the anger and the sadness you felt were all on display for all to see. How long had you been crying for?

"(Y/N)..."

Vash's voice was gentle and filled with concern for you as he turned to look at you, his hands taking your own into his and holding them close to his chest. He could feel your hands shaking as he held them, and he knew that you were unable to continue your work right now, too shaken by everything to keep going. Sure enough, you seemed to realize this yourself as you pulled back from him and put down your tools on the table next to you before promptly dissolving into full-blown sobs, your hands coming up to cover your face.

"(Y/N)!"

Vash immediately shifted and kneeled down so he was level with you, pulling you into his arms without hesitation and holding you close to his bare chest as tears welled in his own eyes. His heart completely broke as you sobbed against him desperately, your cries so filled with pain that it physically hurt Vash to hear them.

Had you been feeling this pain the whole time you were stitching him up? No... there was no way this pain was from just today. You must've been feeling this way for a long, long time and just never told him, likely for the same reason he hadn't told you he was hurt - to spare him the worry.

"Oh, (Y/N)... I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry!"

Vash found himself beginning to sob with you, the guilt of being the reason for your pain becoming too overwhelming as he held you close. All he wanted to do was hold you in his arms and beg and plead for your forgiveness and apologize to you over and over again until you understood just how sorry he was. He did this to you. Your pain was his fault.

The moment Vash had said your name in that worried and gentle tone, all the walls you had put up to try and do your job came crashing down as you began to sob, your fear and anger and sadness overwhelming you completely. You had felt Vash's arms pulling you into his warm and comforting embrace, and you found yourself clutching onto him with desperate need, your fingers digging into his skin as you tried to calm yourself down by reassuring yourself that he was still there. Vash was still there, still alive, and you were patching him up.

But as soon as you heard Vash's tearful apology, that set you off in another round of broken sobs, burrowing into his embrace and just holding onto him as best as you could, wanting nothing more than to just stay there indefinitely, stay in this moment where both you and Vash were safe and alive together and nobody could hurt either of you.

Eventually, you managed to calm yourself enough to pull yourself back together into one piece and to finish your task of stitching Vash's wound, pulling away from him and wiping your face with your hands. Vash himself was still trembling as you pulled away, his face stained from his tears, his beautiful blue eyes reddened and swollen and still filled with pain.

He looked at you desperately as you pulled away, as if pleading with you not to let go of him just yet, and you sniffled pitifully in response, "I-I have to finish... stitching you up. I-I can't... leave you like this."

That alone made Vash dissolve into tears again - here you were, in the middle of a breakdown because of all the fear and anger and sadness he had caused you, and yet you pulled yourself together so you could continue to take care of him regardless of the pain you felt. Tears began to spill down his cheeks once more as you said that, and he looked down in shame as sobs escaped him.

Despite how much your heart hurt from the fear of potentially losing Vash, seeing him cry before you somehow hurt worse. You found yourself now being the one pulling him into your arms, running your fingers gently through his hair and letting your fingertips drag over his scalp to calm him as he wept into you.

"Shh... shh..." You whispered to Vash gently, your own voice still thick from your tears, "It's alright, Vash. I... I have to move fast, before the anesthetic wears off. Okay?"

As you pulled away, Vash restrained himself from clutching onto you, instead nodding and wiping his face as he sat back on the chair, allowing you to finish up your work despite his whole body trembling.

With a deep, calming breath, you centered yourself and separated yourself as best as you could from every emotion that was coursing through you. You left your emotions behind for as long as possible as you picked your needle and medical thread back up and continued your stitching, throwing a couple more stitches before finishing up. Then, you gently applied a healing balm to the newly-stitched wound and covered it with a dressing, applied with a gentle yet firm touch.

Once you were done, you shakily stood from where you were sat on the ground, brushing your hands off and packing up your healing kit and trying to figure out how you were going to explain yourself to Vash. Yet, when you turned to look at him, you found Vash hunched over as he sat in the chair, his face in his hands as he propped his arms up on his knees, his whole body still shaking. You could hear quiet sniffles and broken sobs escaping him, and it broke your heart all over again. It was clear the last thing he needed right now was an explanation.

Before you could stop yourself, you walked over and kneeled down in front of Vash, pulling him into your arms and hugging him close. Immediately, as if seeking out his lifeline, Vash reached out and clutched onto you, wanting nothing but to keep you in his arms for the rest of eternity.

"I'm so sorry, (Y/N), 'm sorry... 'm sorry, (Y/N)," Vash sobbed on repeat, and all you could do was squeeze him tightly and press a kiss to the side of his head as he sobbed against you.

You shushed him gently and continued running your fingers through his hair soothingly like you had done before.

"It's alright, Vash. It's alright. Don't apologize... I should be apologizing to you," You whispered to him gently, your emotions coming under control as you focused on supporting the man in your embrace. "I shut you out, and I'm sorry, Vash. I just... I didn't know what else to do."

Hearing you apologizing to him for doing the only thing you could to cope with your pain made Vash feel like somebody was tearing his heart from his chest and crushing it slowly. He fought to keep him emotions from spiraling completely out of control, instead letting out a soft whimper as he hugged you tighter, shaking his head.

"N-No... It's my fault. I should've told you. I should've told you I was hurt instead of hiding it, and I'm... I'm so sorry, (Y/N). I didn't want to make you cry. I didn't want to hurt you, I-... I never wanted to hurt you. It's all my fault."

Vash's voice was filled with despair and you could feel how genuine each and every word he said was, how desperately he wanted you to understand how sorry he was for what he had done and how much he wanted your forgiveness. How badly he wished he could repent for the damage he had done to you.

"I'm scared, Vash."

Your words began to spill forward as tears slipped down your cheeks once more. You pulled away from Vash, looking up at him with fear obvious in your eyes.

"I'm scared that one of these days, you're going to use yourself as a shield and get hurt badly and you won't tell me. And because of that, you'll die. I'm scared because every time I lose sight of you in a fight, I don't know if it's the last time I'll ever see you alive. I'm scared that I'm going to lose you because you were too good and too self-sacrificing and you wanted to save everybody and you wanted to grant me a moment of peace. Losing you isn't worth a second of peace because if I lose you, I'm going to lose the only thing in this world that matters and makes sense to me, Vash. If I lose you, I'm going to lose the one person who brings me happiness and peace. If I lose you... I'm going to lose my home."

Vash's eyes widened and his heart lurched in his chest as your feelings poured forward, and despite you not explicitly saying those three little words, he could feel them in every single sentiment you expressed. As if those three words were the only thing you were telling him, over and over again.

"I'm scared because every time I lose sight of you in a fight, I don't know if it's the last time I'll ever see you alive."

I love you.

"If I lose you, I'm going to lose the one person who brings me happiness and peace."

I love you.

"If I lose you... I'm going to lose my home."

I love you, Vash.

When Vash didn't answer you, you inhaled shakily and continued, sniffling and wiping your face as you tried to keep calm.

"I know there were innocent people involved, Vash. I know that. And I know you always want to save everybody. But... you count, Vash. When you get hurt, it counts, because despite what you think of yourself, you're innocent, too. And if you keep this up, eventually, you won't be around anymore to protect people. Your body, though extraordinary, can only take so much damage and I can only fix so much. I can't... I can't bear to think of what'll happen if I can't help you, Vash. I don't even want to imagine it."

By the time you finished your rambling, you were fully in tears again, despite your best efforts. Your hands kept wiping your cheeks, but to no avail, and your whole body was shaking as you sobbed softly. Even though you were crying, part of you felt better now that your fears were finally out in the open, no longer hidden or kept secret.

As you sat there, sobbing in front of him as you told Vash how afraid you were of losing him, his heart swelled and cracked in tandem for you. You worried for him. You were scared for him. Your pain came from the care and affection you held for him and him alone. A warm arm and a cool arm both wrapped around you and pulled you back in against a familiar, warm and firm chest, and you felt a gentle kiss being pressed to your forehead before Vash nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck. Though his cheeks were still stained, his tears had stopped as he held you close once more, wanting to never let you go ever again.

"I love you, (Y/N)."

There they were. Those words he had never spoken aloud to anybody else in his entire existence. And yet, as he spoke them aloud, Vash knew that his words were never truer than they were in that moment. He loved you. More than anything else in this world, he loved you. You were everything to him, and the pain he felt when you wept in his arms was something he never wanted to feel ever again. He'd been shot, stabbed, burned and injured a million different ways, and he would take any of those a hundred times over seeing you cry because of him.

"I love you, (Y/N). I'm... I'm sorry I hurt you. I just... I didn't want you worrying about me. I figured that... if I didn't tell you, I was sparing you. I was protecting you from the pain you feel when somebody you care for gets hurt. But I didn't realize that in doing that, I was hurting you worse than I would've if I'd just told you. I promise that I'll try to be more careful, (Y/N), because I don't want to lose you, either. I promise I'll try for you."

His flesh-and-blood hand came up to cup the back of your head, gently stroking your hair as he spoke to you, his voice low and gentle as he explained his actions to you in return. You deserved to understand why he did what he did, and that he genuinely hadn't intended to hurt you.

Yet, not a single word he spoke really stuck in your brain as the words he spoke initially echoed loudly in your mind.

I love you, (Y/N).

He loved you. He loved you! Your heart sang in your chest at the revelation, and when you looked up at Vash's face, all sound in the world fell away, the only thing you could hear being the thrumming of your heartbeat in your ears. You took in every detail of his face; his beautiful and expressive blue eyes, swollen from his tears, his blonde hair, the mole under his left eye, the curve of his lips, his tear-stained cheeks, the furrowing of his eyebrows, the edge of his jaw, the slope of his nose, every tiny piece of him that you committed to memory.

"(Y/N)?"

"I love you, Vash."

You whispered it so softly that at first, Vash wasn't sure if he'd heard you right. But as you gazed at him, your eyes glistening, Vash realized he hadn't misheard you, his own eyes widening and his heart thundering in his chest.

Neither of you are sure which one of you leaned in first, or if both of you leaned in in tandem, but soon, soft lips pressed against your own in a gentle, tender and loving kiss, sending shivers down your back and making your heart feel ready to burst. You found your fingers burying themselves into Vash's hair as you pulled him closer to you, wishing to be as close to him as you possibly could be. You felt Vash's arms squeeze you a bit tighter, pressing you against him with a bit more force, making it clear that he, too, wanted you closer to him.

When the two of you broke away, both of your faces flushed and your hearts racing, you couldn't help but smile at Vash, who smiled back just as warmly and as lovingly. His hand came up to cup your cheek gently as he leaned down to kiss you again briefly before pulling away.

"I love you, Mayfly."

There was no hesitation in Vash's voice as he said it.

"I love you, too, Vash," You smiled up at him warmly, blushing at his use of a term of endearment before chuckling softly. "That being said, you seriously need to stop using yourself as a shield. If you ever get hurt again and don't tell me, I'll drag you somewhere safe and then wring your neck, Stampede. No matter how much I love you or how many other people are in danger. Understood?"

That drew a genuine laugh from Vash, who hugged you tightly to him once more and kissed your temple gently before letting his cheek rest against the top of your head.

"Of course. I'd expect no less from you, Mayfly."

"You'd better," You grumbled in response, burrowing further into his arms and sighing softly, allowing yourself to finally relax, letting go of the fear and the anger and sadness you had been feeling.

After a couple moments, you pulled away from Vash and stood up, which caused Vash to whine immediately at the loss of you and your embrace.

"(Y/NNNNN)..."

You couldn't help but giggle softly at the puppy dog eyes Vash was giving you, his pout making your heart flutter in your chest as you rolled your eyes at him playfully.

"Calm down, Stampede. I promise we can cuddle all night, okay? You need to get into bed first, though, so we don't reopen your wound or anything, okay?"

As soon as you mentioned cuddles, Vash perked up and smiled at you, making you laugh softly. You watched over him as he stood up from the chair he'd been sitting on while you'd stitched him up, and despite knowing he could do it on his own, you couldn't help but take Vash's arm in your own and support him as he moved to the bed and sat down slowly.

Vash winced slightly as he laid back on the bed, the stitches pulling and the wound aching, but as soon as his head hit the pillow, his exhaustion hit him. If it weren't for you puttering around the room, he likely already would've been fallen asleep.

"Hang on, love."

Your gentle voice reached Vash's ear and he watched sleepily as you took off his boots and put them down next to the bed.

"You don't need to-" Vash tried to argue quietly, only for you to shut him down immediately.

"You're exhausted, love. Just let me take care of you, okay?"

Vash's gaze was filled with warmth, affection and love as he smiled sleepily at you and mumbled in response, "You're too good for me, Mayfly. Thank you."

"Oh, shut up."

Ah, there was the you Vash knew well. He couldn't help but smile as his tiredness began to take over.

After a couple minutes, the room went dark as you turned out the lights and you slowly got into bed next to Vash, ensuring to lay next to his uninjured side. Your head rested on the same pillow, and you nuzzled your face into his neck as Vash slowly placed his arm around your waist and pulled you gently into him. You could feel his nose gently resting in your hair as he took a deep breath, inhaling your familiar scent and allowing your presence to comfort, calm and soothe him.

"We're not done talking about this. You know that, right, Vash?" You asked quietly, looking at the man you loved carefully.

Vash simply nodded and looked you in the eyes as he answered softly, "I know, Mayfly. We still have a lot to discuss. But for now, I'm just going to hold you. You're all I need in my life, (Y/N)."

And he was all you needed, too.