#gripping the edge of the sink staring at myself in the mirror

[wild-moss-art]

your wip doesn't look bad it's just unfinished

[zukkaoru]

why is writing fluffy lighthearted fics so hard. each sentence is like extracting a tooth. why can i accidentally write 10k words of character study angst but not 1k on purpose words of two characters being happy

[sinsandsweetness]

something about hyperfeminine reader x rick.... another anon said he'd adore pink nail polish & i so totally agree. maybe cause he's so rough and sharp edged? and it's the very opposite of him? so the pretty pink skirts & sweet perfume you always wear would make his brain fuzzy in the best way !! 🤧

using this as an excuse to write something extremely self indulgent 🤍 obsessed with this sweet, girly, almost bimbo reader that Rick can’t help but be a little extra soft with… <3

When he steps out of the shower and onto the bathmat, he can’t help but smile at the sight of you sitting on the sink, one foot up and crouched over, focused intently on the toenail you’re currently painting. And he can’t help but notice how cute it is that your tongue is poking out the side of your mouth.

Rick rubs a towel on his hair and then wraps it around his waist, walking over to the dresser in the bedroom and grabbing some boxers. You’re a little too immersed in perfecting the pale pink pedicure to notice that he even finished his shower.

“Need some help?” He asks, coming up to the sink and reaching into a drawer. Grabbing some shaving cream and a safety razor.

You look up at the sound of his husky voice. Taking in the sight of his wet hair. Curls forming and dripping onto his shoulders. His torso, glistening with little beads of water that are racing to meet the waist band of his plaid boxer shorts.

“Hm?” You say. The sight of him went straight between your legs, making you almost immediately forget his question.

“D’you need some help there, sweetie?” He nods towards the hand gripping at Essie’s ballet slippers.

“Oh. No, I just finished. Thank you though,” you smile up at him sweetly, screwing the cap back on the bottle and turning to let your legs dangle off the marble countertop.

He positions himself in between your legs and against the vanity, while you lean back on your hands. Watching his brows draw together in focus as he rubs shaving cream along his jaw, his chin and the bottom half of his face. Grabbing the razor, he starts to make long, languid strokes down his face and neck. The blade moving with ever curve of his jaw, so smooth and intentional. But he can feel you staring. Glancing from the mirror to your gaze and then back. Trying to fight the smirk from forming on his face.

“Is it hard?” You ask, oblivious to the teasing grin on his face.

“Shaving?”

“Yeah. Aren’t you scared you’re gonna cut yourself, or somethin’?” You ask, doe eyes wide and curious. And the sight makes him think about you on your knees, having looked up at him in nearly the exact same way, all sweet and eager and so fucking perfect.

Rick shakes his head, at both the intrusive thought and your question, “Not really. Don’t you shave your legs? It’s the same thing, sweetheart.”

“But this is on your face. And you’ve seen how many times I end up nicking myself.”

He smiles, knowing that it’s true. Watching you sit on the side of the tub, silky robe leaving very little to the imagination as you glide a razor up your legs, trying to go nice and slow and get every little hair. Turning sharply to look at him with wide eyes and a hand on your mouth when you both notice a crimson droplet, trickling all the way down to your ankle.

“Yeah. You aren’t so good at that are you?” He chuckles, pressing a quick peck to your mouth which you immediately wipe off because now there’s shaving cream on your nose.

It takes everything in his power not to kiss you again.

“So how do you always get it so good?” Your honeyed voice brings him back.

“Practice I guess. You wanna try?”

“And leave you with any more scars? No thank you.” You joke.

“C’mon. Give it a try.”

“You sure?”

He nods, urging the razor into your hand and leaning in for you, “Mhm. I trust you.”

You gulp at that comment. Hoping he can still keep that trust in a few minutes when you’re all done.

You try to copy what he was doing, going extra slow over the ridge of his jaw and the bump of his adam’s apple. He hums in approval and you take it as some kind of praise. Sitting up straight and a little more confident now that his hands have moved to your hips, pulling you to the edge of the counter. Panties now flush with his groin.

“I did it.” You say triumphantly, handing him back the razor and letting your hands slide around his waist, fingers interlocking on top of his tailbone. Cheek pressed to his chest as he leans forward to rinse the razor under the faucet beside you. Tapping the metal on the counter twice. The sound echoing through the room, before he places it on a folded towel on the other side of the sink.

He leans back up to look at you. Pretty eyes and pouty lips. Hair all soft and natural, and tucked behind the dainty gold jewelry dangling from your ears.

“Y’look so pretty.” You marvel, one hand coming up to his jaw. Freshly shaved, so smooth and warm. With just the tiniest strip of leftover shaving cream that needed to be washed off.

You are so much prettier, sweet girl, he thinks to himself. Unable to form a verbal answer now that you’re touching his face. His heart doing somersaults like it was the first time. It isn’t. But he loves feeling like it is.

Being with you in this moment makes him forget what was stressing him out before his shower. Completely unbothered by the tedious week he’d had helping the Tobin with the walls.

Now, all he can even think about is you. Your face. Your voice. Your long legs and the holy temple in between them.

He closes his eyes at your touch, soft and delicately tracing your way down his jaw. The attention sending a tingly, serene feeling up his neck and down his spine.

He can’t even help what he does next. Not that he really needed to. And definitely not that he wanted to. He pulls you in, tangling his fingers into the locks at the nape of your neck. Kissing your soft, plush lips and tracing a tongue over your bottom one.

You taste like candy. And you smell like a vanilla cupcake. And the combination of the two makes him want nothing more than to take a damn bite.

Gosh, you couldn’t be more different from him. So pure and soft and sweet. So fucking kind and perfect. And though he may be a bit biased given your relationship and all, he’s positive that not a soul in Alexandria would disagree.

Your breath hitches in your throat as he pulls your legs around his waist, and he can’t help but smile against your lips and think to himself how fucking lucky he is that he found someone who can be his escape. Who can make his brain feel all fuzzy and his heart feel way too full. Who effortlessly distracts him from everything that’s wrong with in the world, just by being your beautiful self.

[sadhornyygirl]

Kinktober

Day 25: quickie (stu macher)

Stu knew exactly what made him throb and how to rip an orgasm through his body in a way that made him tremble. His cock hit all the right spots, and you craved the way he leaned in, palming your ass in his hands and just fucking you like his life depended on it, which happened to be the situation you found yourself in at the moment.

Her whole family is out in the backyard socializing while Stu slams his dick in and out of her soaking wet pussy with his fingers stuck in her mouth. He was bent over the sink in the upstairs bathroom, his pants pulled to the side, as he destroyed you in every way. He made you look at yourself as being ruined and being left in the dark.

Tiptoeing with his harsh grip, pinning you against the marble counter. "Quiet little bitch!" Stu hissed, his sage covering his fingers as his eyes stared at you through the mirror.

Spilling onto the fabric of the cloth from where Stu had

grabbed you against the door when you first followed him here. His moans were muffled against his hand as he sucked on his thick fingers with his eyes rolled back. The only sound that could really be heard was the echo of their skin colliding and the crush of his cock stretching her tight pussy.

Your hands gripped the edge of the counter, praying your body wouldn't give out as the knot in your belly began to swell pleasurably with each hard thrust. Stu leaned over you, pulling your hair to the side, so he could kiss yours. Neck and s

and whisper dirty things in your ear

“Look at you, you dirty little slut. As I pound you harder.

Fuck, I'm going to fill you with cum. Is that what you want, baby? "

You shook your head desperately, thighs shaking as Stu pounded into you through your intense climax. He had to hold your body up, and you were and you were and you were limping against him as you tried to stay still. His cock throbbed between you, squeezing the velvety walls and spilling hot semen deep inside you until you were absolutely dripping from him. Stu panted heavily, stilling his hips and pulling you back against his chest before molding his lips over yours.

"So good for me, little bitch, shit, you're the best thing that ever happened to me.",

"You only say that because I can follow your excited antics," You rolled your eyes, making him laugh.

"Or because you're the best woman in the world," Stu whispered softly, "And all mine." He pulled you you you out of you carefully, adjusting your pants back over your cum-soaked pussy as you fixed your dress.

You both try to look presentable when you find yourself back in the yard, but you're struggling because your legs are so wobbly.

You have to cling to Stu's side, which just makes him smile

mischievously as he engaged in a conversation with Billy. Stu's arm held you tightly as your knees went weak, catching them and pulling you back to your feet. Billy connected the dots with the look on Stu's face and his weak legs. ,

"Oh my God, please say you don't-oh gross," he whined when he saw the blush heating up his face as Stu just laughed.

"Have you seen her ass? I can't deny myself when it looks so fucking good"

"Stu!" You whimpered, hiding your face in his chest, which only made him smile even more. He liked to make you nervous because you always hid in him, and there was no place he liked you more than pressed against him.

[wetpillowprincess]

God I have been scrolling thru ur blog for hours and my entire hand is wet from how long I’ve been edging and how badly I want to come. I’m laying with my legs spread wide and I’m afraid if I move or breathe I’ll come and the fun will be over. I want to lock eyes with you at a party and sneak off to the bathroom and fuck each other hard and fast with our clothes half on, your dress pulled down around your waist and your hand twisted in my hair, burying my face in your chest. You moan into my hair to keep quiet as I wrap my arms around your waist and spread my hands across back and leave marks all down your torso. Without taking my attention off of your tits I would hike up your dress and push myself in between your legs as I lifted you up onto the sink. You’re leaving marks on the mirror and no longer trying to quiet your moans but we don’t care, because I’m three fingers deep and your wetness is pooling in the palm of my hand. I kiss you hard on the mouth and you grope at my chest zealously as I keep us balanced upright. My fingers pump in and out of you rhythmically, and the sound of your wetness makes my vision fog up with sheer disbelief at the perfection of the moment. For a minute I watch, entranced, as your mouth bites itself and fall open with gasps of pleasure, until you thread one hand through my hair and the other interrupting the palm fucking you, gently guiding my mouth to your cunt. I stare at it as if dumbstruck by an angel, your thighs framing it on either side like wings. It sings it’s siren song and I am a desperate sailor, happily swimming towards my demise. I grip my hands around your waist to keep you steady, and what I feel as I cover your clit with my tongue and lips is not biology but magic, not pleasure but God. My own cunt is numb and cold from the wetness and buzzing of pleasure that has been building since the second you walked into the bathroom behind me, and my knees buckle from your sweet and earthy taste. You barely keep in a scream as I slide my tongue inside you, and your legs snap around my head, drawing me in closer than possible. I suck and lick and kiss and edge until my jaw is nearly locked, but like an avalanche, my chin and cheeks are wet with squirt and cum, and you grip the wall and mirror behind you to brace yourself as you unconsciously grind harder into my face. Before you even cool down you bring my cum soaked mouth to yours and lick inside. I finally fall to my knees and you come with me, draping yourself across my body and burying your face into my neck with kisses and nips. Your hands touch and grope every inch of me and my back and your knees on the cold hard floor means nothing to either of us. I loop my fingers through your hair not to guide you but to feel you, to feel the muscles on your scalp move as your mouth works at my chest, stomach and hips. Your fingers barely brush the edge of my underwear and the world goes quiet. With the same eyes you first watched me dance with, you watch me now as I throw my head back in pleasure as your jaw works at my pussy. I cum quickly but you still kiss me there because you are hungry too. After, you don’t bother moving. You rest your cheek against my naked pelvis and i thread my fingers through your hair draped over my thigh. Our dresses are piled up and discarded but before we fall asleep we help each other get dressed, making one person jobs for two people. I kiss your shoulders lightly as I zip you up, and you kiss my nose as you pull the dress over my head, giggling from exhaustion and disbelief at what we just did. We don’t bother to touch up our hair or your shade of lipstick smeared onto my face because when you take me home, we’re just getting straight out of it.

holy fuck you deserve your pussy ate the fuck out for this. anon...you're so sexy and i'm so wet because of everything you said.

[brattybottomdyke]

im on my back in the middle of the bed, you hovering over me with your knee between my thighs. my fingers tangle through your hair as you kiss me, slow and deliberate. a soft whimper escapes from my lips to yours, feeling your hands on my waist, holding me still as your knee gets closer to my center. more time passes, kissing each other’s lips, necks as if time doesn’t exist around us. but then, my heart beat picks up as our kiss grows more intense, your grip on my hip tightening and your knee finally making contact with my center, where i’ve wanted it for so long. i can feel you smirk against my lips as i shudder and let out a low moan. but before i know it, you break the kiss and pull away from me, your hands still on my hips. you roll me onto my stomach and flip me around so my head is near the end of the bed, facing the mirror and i can feel the bed shift as you reposition yourself behind me.

your hands tease up the back of my thighs, and i arch my back lifting my ass and leaning into your touch. you run your hands over my ass before spanking me swiftly, a few times on each cheek. i bite my lip and smirk, a little moan falling from my lips as i feel the sting and warmth spread across my skin. you lean over me and place a few hot kisses along my back, working your way up to my neck. im melting under your hands, leaning back into you, tilting my head to give you better access to my throat.

“im gonna fuck you from behind and you’re gonna watch,” your breath tickles my skin as you whisper in my ear. my eyes lock onto the view of us in the mirror, watching as your hands roam over my body and squeeze my hips, thighs, ass. “sound good, angel?” i can barely nod my head in agreement and you press a quick kiss to my neck.

im already wet, i have been since we were making out and now i can feel myself growing more needy at your idea. i can feel the bed shifting again under your weight, watching you as you reach into the side table drawer to grab your strap. i lean forward, pressing my chest into the bed, sticking my ass further up, wiggling a little back and forth, earning myself another swift spank from your free hand. your fingers slip down further, reaching my wetness and i can’t help but moan when i feel you teasing me. i glance up again into the mirror watching as you take your hand away from me and use it to lube up your strap and my face blushes and grows warm in anticipation.

you’re kneeling behind me and drop your face lower until i can’t see you anymore, but i can feel your mouth on me, tasting me, unable to help yourself. it feels so good, your tongue exploring, making me wetter as i grind myself against your face. it doesn’t last too long, both of us need it too much and you straighten up, wasting no time to sink your strap into me. your hands find their way to my waist and you just start pounding into me.

i try to bounce my hips against yours, meeting your thrusts because you just feel too good. my head drops, face falling into the mattress when i feel another spank on my ass, grabbing my attention. “cmon angel, i told you to watch.” i pick my face up and stare into the mirror, watching my mouth fall open as you fuck into me from behind.

you lean over me, not slowing your thrusts at all and it feels like you’re hitting even deeper inside of me. your lips reach my neck, teeth sinking in, marking me as yours. the moans are near constant as you’re already getting me closer. i feel your lips tease the outside of my ear. “keep watching baby, i want you to see your pretty face when i make you cum all over my cock.”

that alone is enough to almost push me over the edge, and then i feel one of your hands reach up and start grabbing one of my breasts. my head falls back, just a little against your shoulder, and i watch as your mouth dips back into my neck to mark me again. “play with yourself, doll. make yourself feel so good for daddy.” my hands slips between my thighs, finding my clit, fingers growing slick as i touch myself, just like you said. i try to keep my eyes open, trying to keep watching us in the mirror but it’s getting harder as my orgasm grows closer.

“don’t close those pretty eyes, angel. keep them open, keep playing with that little clit, keep going and cum for me. cum for daddy.” you finish your sentence with a spank across my ass again, pumping your strap into my me faster and faster, your grip tightening on my hips. “fuck…fuck fuck,” i manage to choke out as i move my fingers faster, bouncing my hips against you, growing desperate for my release.

i watch in the mirror as my mouth falls open, a whimper squeaking out as i cum hard on your strap. my arms grow weak, the orgasm quaking through my body as you keep fucking me, barely slowing down chasing your own release. “cum in me daddy, please cum in me…” i softly beg, still watching your face as your hips stop as you groan and cum with your cock deep inside me.

we both collapse to the bed, panting and gently kissing each other. your hands lightly trace over my body, mumbling soft praises as you slip your strap out of me. we climb into bed, perfectly spooned and fall asleep with your arms around me keeping me close and safe.

[cloudcountry]

SUMMARY: You realize how much Trey Clover has helped you while brushing your teeth.

WARNINGS: Mentions of bad self care (not eating, not drinking), Reader is very depression-coded.

COMMENTS: hi you guys might think i'm stupid for this but that's TOO BAD!!! i am projecting myself onto mc so hard right now because this is personal.

trey clover is literally the reason i take care of my teeth even though i never had the energy for it before. he's the reason i brush my teeth twice a day because he was my first twst obsession (although it wasnt romantic ^^") and i was like "hey wouldn't it be silly if i took care of myself?"

cue me months later actually falling into a routine of taking care of my teeth. he pioneered my self care journey and its so STUPID because he isn't even REAL but i cannot thank this fictional man enough. he got me out of bed when i felt like i couldn't get up.

It hits you like a ton of bricks as you’re brushing your teeth in Heartslabyul’s bathrooms.

The toothbrush in your hand suddenly feels a lot heavier, the minty taste of toothpaste in your mouth shocking you out of the hazy sleepiness you’d been enveloped in. You look up from the point where the mirror meets the sink and stare at your reflection, bubbly white foam lining your mouth and eyes wide.

When did this start?

You didn’t use to care for yourself like this. There were days when you would go without eating for long periods of time, days when you wouldn’t drink any water. There were times when your body screamed for you to stop, to sleep, and you didn’t listen. There were times when you knew you needed to talk to someone but kept it all in.

There were days when you couldn’t even do something as simple as brushing your teeth twice a day.

And now you were.

You had been brushing your teeth twice a day for weeks now. You were even flossing. You grip the edge of the sink and try to hold back the rush of emotions that floods you, creeping up your throat like you’re going to be sick. Great Seven, it shouldn’t have been this big of a deal. It was so small, so stupid and insignificant but it was so confusing.

“Hey, sweetcakes? What’s wrong?”

You barely register the bathroom door closing behind you and the sleepy green-haired boy that comes up behind you, resting his hands on your arms. You shake your head and clean down, spitting out the toothpaste in your mouth and wiping away the excess around your lips.

“Sorry, sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you. I was just thinking.” you mumble, washing off your toothbrush.

“What were you thinking about?” he murmurs, resting his chin on you, “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, but it looked serious.”

“I...I don’t take good care of myself. I never have. But lately I’ve been trying and I didn’t even know it. I used to barely have the energy to brush my teeth once and now I’m doing it twice a day, every day, and sometimes I even floss and I didn’t even know I was doing it? It used to be so hard before, but now it’s like second nature.”

Trey laughs softly, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple.

“That’s a good thing, honey. That’s very good.” he says, and his voice is gravelly with sleep and it makes your heart flutter because he’s proud, he’s proud of you for doing something you should have been doing anyway because he knows it's hard for you and—

“It’s gross. I’m gross.” you huff, gripping the toothbrush tighter, “Don’t you ever get tired of it? Taking care of me? I know I’m hard to work with and it must be even more work for you.”

“Honey, look at me.” Trey demands softly, tilting your chin up so you’re looking at him in the mirror, “You are not gross. You’ve made a lot of progress and you’re taking such good care of yourself. You’ve told me before how hard it is and I’ve seen it firsthand. I do it because I love you. You’ve never forced me to be here.”

Fuck. Your eyes are starting to burn and there’s a lump in your throat and you have to force yourself to look away from those warm eyes or else you’ll burst into tears right here. Trey understands, and he makes no move to get your attention again. He allows you to collect yourself, doesn’t comment on your soft sniffles, and keeps holding you.

“It’s because of you.” you whisper, furiously wiping your eyes, “I’m only doing these things because of you. You—”

“Now, don’t say that. If you didn’t even realize you were doing it, how could it have been because of me?” he asks, holding you impossibly closer, “Trust me, love. I’m happy to have helped you along, but you can’t credit me for your hard work. And even if you don't feel like it, someday you’ll do these things for yourself, I know it.”

Your eyes are glassy as he turns your tired body around, and you offer no resistance when you’re pulled into his chest. Slowly, you lift your arms, and your hands cling to the material of his pajama shirt as you softly cry into him.

“It’ll be okay, love. I’m so proud of you.” he murmurs, kissing your forehead, “I’m so, so proud.”

[propertyofwhitney67]

haiii it’s the anon who forgot the prompts :3 let’s go with cages, comfort, and a smidge of angst. thank u!!!!!!

It's for your own safety

M!Kylar x Suicidal F!Reader

Closed Prompt Event: Caged, Comfort, & Angst

Words: 589

Tw: Suicidal reader, attempted suicide?, self-harm, knife, blood, angst, caged

Note: Of course!! I like exploring the more darker ones. I've been through some of this myself so I used that experience to write this :)

The thoughts got louder and louder as I laid there in bed with Kylar. Between the loud thoughts and his suffocating grip, I couldn't get comfortable let alone sleep. I stared up at the skylight, looking at the beautiful night sky with my mind going a mile a minute. Despite the beauty, it couldn’t distract me from my thoughts.

It was hard, but I eventually slipped out of Kylar’s grasp and sat at the edge of the bed, staring at his knife on the bedside table. He always kept it near, and it was sharp enough for what I wanted to do. My fingers twitched at the thought alone. It’s been a while, but I needed to scratch that itch.

Slipping off the bed, I grabbed the knife and took it to the bathroom. I closed the door behind me, not thinking to lock it. I leaned against the sink, staring at myself in the mirror with empty eyes. After a while I pulled away from the sink and sat on the toilet, staring at the knife in my hands. The light reflected off it and showed my reflection, a girl with dead eyes and nothing to live for.

I traced the knife against the skin of my left arm, thoughts getting louder and louder as I did. I teetered on the edge of hurting myself or going back to Kylar. Hurting myself gives me a few moments of euphoria, but Kylar holds me till the thoughts eventually pass. Impulsively I chose the former, putting pressure on the knife and cutting into my skin. I watched the blood run down my forearm and drip onto my bare thighs. Gripping the handle tighter, I prepared myself to cut deeper. The brief euphoria wasn’t enough, I needed more. 

Before I could plunge the knife deeper into my arm, it was yanked from my hands and thrown across the bathroom. I started to yell angrily but looked up to find a distressed and crying Kylar. “M-My love…?” I didn’t answer and he reached out to hold my arm, inspecting the fresh cut. “I have to clean it…” He gently put my arm down, afraid to hurt me, and started digging under the sink for a first aid kit of some kind. I kept silent, numbly staring at the wall while Kylar frantically searched. My arms hung limp at my sides, blood dripping and staining the expensive tile beneath me. 

He kneeled before me, equipped with a first aid kit. “This might sting.” He whispered and began to clean the cut as gently as possible, “I would have helped…I’m always here for you.” I stared past him, feeling numb to everything around me.

When he finished cleaning and bandaging my arm, he pulled me into his arms and held me close. “You can’t leave me, I’m nothing without you.” He cupped my face, “I love you, you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me and I can’t lose you.”

Kylar scooped me up and carried me back into the bedroom, placing me on the floor beside a cage. I looked up at him in mild confusion. I knew he had a cage, but I’ve only been put in it a few times as punishment. “I can’t take the chance of losing you.” He opened the cage and shoved me inside, locking it behind me. He sat on the floor staring at me with tears in his eyes, as if this hurt him more than it hurt me. “It’s for your own safety.”

𝘔𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵

𝘒𝘰-𝘍𝘪

[beautifulbrainrot]

Prompt 23 with a plus sized reader and subspencer?

Spencer Reid x Fem!PlusSized!Reader

i hope this is good! i myself am not plus sized but i do struggle with body image issues, 🫶🏼

Prompt 23: i love your body baby. everything you hate about it drives me crazy

cw 18+ minors dni plussize!reader, sorta sub!spence (kinda vanilla ig) body image issues, self hatred, oral (f receiving), body worship

you didn’t know how long you had been staring at your self in the bathroom mirror, but you didn’t feel any better about what you saw. too preoccupied judging your reflection you didn’t see spencer walk past the bathroom behind you a peek in. he immediately recognised the look of sadnesses as you looked at your body, his heart squeezing in his chest as you looked at the parts he loved about you with disgust.

“what going on in here?” he questioned, stepping into the bathroom behind you.

“oh, nothing! just got out of the shower.” you replied quickly, moving to walk past him but before you could exit the door he stepped in front of you.

“spence.. what are you doing?” you asked, eyebrow raising quizzically. he placed his hands on your broad hips, your breathing quickening as your brain flooded with self-deprecating thoughts. his heart broke as he saw you expression change from confusion to sadness. he knelt down st your feet and gripped your thighs, placing soft kisses on the stretch mark covered flesh. a blush erupted over your face, and you tried to push him away but he only gripped on tighter, his kisses moving closer to the edge of the towel.

“spencer stop! why are you doing this?” you pleaded, confusion and sadness still etched across your face.

“because i love you body baby. everything you hate about it drives me crazy.” he stated, pulling your towel off in one quick tug, and burying his face in cunt when it hit the floor.

“spence!” you yelled, moaning as he ravished you, licking broad stripes up your pussy and sucking harshly on your clit. he pulled back slightly to look at you and you blushed at the sight of his big brown eyes staring into yours.

“i’m showing you how much i love you and your body.” he replied simply before diving back in. you moaned loudly, and braced yourself on the sink as he started to gently open you with his slender fingers while still swiping your clip with his tongue. you gently reached down to card your fingers through his hair before pulling him closer into you harshly, moans from his mouth vibrating against you at the pleasurable pain.

he quickened his pace as you finally relaxed against the sink and let moans spill freely from you mouth. he pulled his face back away from your pussy, fingers still plunging deep inside of you, to gaze upon your body. he truly could not understand how you could look at it with such hatred, whereas he looked at it with such love and awe. but he was determined to help change how you looked at yourself. determined to show you how beautiful you truly are.

he dove back into you, suckling on your clit harshly and curling his fingers inside of you, pushing you in to an intense orgasm that had you trembling and moaning loudly. spencer stood up as you came down from your high, pressing kisses to every part of your body as he rose until he finally reached you face, where he kissed you on the lips, sweetly and gently, putting all his love for you into it, hoping you could feel it.

“i mean it. i love you. everything about you, you’re beautiful.” he whispered against you lips. though you still felt doubtful, the love radiating from his words brought a warmth to your heart and a small smile to your face.

——————

love you all 🫶🏼

[kryptid-writes]

Chapter 8 - Clipped Wings

Ashamed that Dean has discovered her wings, Y/N takes matters into her own hands to fix the problem.

(2.2k)

TW: This chapter contains self mutilation of wings that may be triggering for those that struggle with the topic of self harm. I am not trying to romanticize the subject, please don’t be afraid to seek help if you feel unsafe. 

American Mental Health Hotline (1- 800 - 622 - 4357)

Global Hotline (212 - 673 - 3000)

My head spins as I clutch at my chest, willing myself to breathe in ragged breaths. My body shivers from the uncomfortable cold sweat that clings to my skin. My hands, feet, and tip of my nose goes numb, the feeling much like the buzz of a static TV.

I wobble to my feet and hastily pop open the buttons on my shirt with shaky hands. I shove the fabric off my shoulders and let it pool around my feet. Once again, I’m completely vulnerable. Staring myself down in the mirror, my eyes full of resentment at the twisted version of myself staring back at me.

How could you be so careless? Now he knows how much of a freak you really are! I scold myself, gripping the edges of the sink and hang my head in shame.

Taking a piece of bandage from the front of my chest, I carelessly rip it in half with the sudden strength arising from the adrenaline coursing through my veins. I hastily unwind the wrap of musty bandages, revealing the tattered skin underneath which is now a blotchy red color from the lack of circulation. I cringe as I feel my wings pop free from the restrictive binding. Unsurprisingly, they’ve grown since the morning, reaching nearly a foot in length that now fall just above my hip. More feathers have filled in, some of them small, fuzzy, and gray, hugging the bone. And others that are long and white with a golden shimmer at the tips. They stretch out as far as their length will allow, trying to soothe the aching feeling from being confined for so long.

I glare at myself in the mirror, disgusted at how far I've fallen from the simple human I once was. This is what Lucifer wants. He wants me to become a monster just like him, trapping me into a life bound to my captor. This has been his plan all along.

I shake my head, my knuckles turning white from gripping the porcelain sink with the strength of a bull. Tears well up in my eyes, blurring my vision and clouding my mind.

I know what I have to do.

Carefully, I grab the powerful angel blade off the bathroom floor, hugging it to my chest. If this is the only thing that can kill an angel, surely it will get the job done.

 I turn on my heels and tilt my head back to see my wings clearly in the mirror, and with that it’s decided: they must be removed by any means necessary. I take a deep breath, gripping the angel blade, just as Dean taught me and press the blade to the top of my wing, just a few inches from where they distend from my back. I hesitate for a few seconds, my body shaking with fear and doubt that lasts for a fleeting moment. With one swift motion, I slice the blade across, cutting through the thin layer of flesh.

“Fuck,” I hiss under my breath. I’ve been hurt before many times in my life and I have the scars to prove it, but nothing compares to the pain that radiates from my wings. They’re more sensitive than I ever could’ve imagined.

Blood dribbles down from the wound, staining the white feathers surrounding the area. The sound of quiet droplets hitting the tile floor below cuts through the silence of the room.

My breath comes in ragged and my heart beats a thousand miles per second. With renewed determination, I bite my lip and hover the blade, just above the incision.

“Y/N?” Dean asks from the other side of the door, startling me out of my trance. His voice is low and caring, but very clearly concerned.

“Go away Dean,” I reply weakly, biting back the sobs that so badly want to spill out.

“Let’s just talk about this,” he says in a kind voice. I hear a soft thud, presumably from him leaning his head on the door.

Part of me wants to stop what I'm doing and open the door for him, let him come in and comfort me like I know he can, but I don’t. This is how it has to be. This is how I break Lucifer's hold on me. This is how I reclaim my humanity.

Ignoring his pleas, I drag the blade further down the weeping laceration, sawing until the bone is exposed. I involuntarily hiss and drop the blade to the floor as agonizing pain surges through me. It makes a loud clattering noise that rings out like the chime of a bell. This time the results are much more severe. Blood pours out of the wound, drenching my entire wing in a sickening crimson coating. Feathers flutter to the ground in clumps, landing in the forming pool of blood below. The feathers that were once pure and white, now stained in my misery, forever corrupted by sin. 

“Y/N? What are you doing in there?” Dean asks in a distressed voice.

I don’t respond, partially because I don’t want him to know the answer to the question, and because I’m unable to make any sound besides weak groans. My knees give out and I fall to the ground, slumping forward and tucking my head into my knees. I can’t stop the heaves of sobs that shake my body as the pain and torment becomes too much to handle.

“Y/N OPEN THIS DOOR!” He demands, knocking incessantly.

A whimper escapes my lips as the world slowly starts to spin. Every ounce of energy in me feels as if it's draining rapidly. My whole body feels light and the need to keep fighting slowly fades away, the pain grows dim and my mind becomes a blank slate, the emptiness feels warm and inviting.

The quiet clicks and jingles of the doorknob fill the silence, becoming more imperative by the second. With one final tick, the lock gives in and the door swings open with a bang.

I cusp my hand over the injury in a pitiful attempt to hide what I'd done.

“Oh fuck,” Dean gasps, immediately rushing to my side. He pulls me close and takes my head in his hands, panic taking over his features.

 My eyes are unfocused and my skin is pale as a ghost.

 He peels my hand away exposing the mess of flesh, feather and bone. His face drops.

I want to resist but I'm too weak to fight him. “Dean…” I groan softly, using all my energy to look him in the eye. Suddenly my eyelids feel heavy and my pupils drift to the ceiling.

“It’s me. I need you to stay awake, can you do that?” He says in a serious voice, lightly squeezing my jaw, keeping me grounded to reality.

I can’t manage a response as the words get caught in my throat. I blink slowly, widening my eyes as much as I can, trying my best to shake the sleepiness that so desperately calls my name.

He swiftly moves me to lie on the floor, dragging me away from the puddle of blood that stained my feet and hips. I should feel embarrassed that my half naked body is completely exposed to him, but it’s not even a concern that crosses my mind at this moment.

“I have to call Sam and Cas.” He states, fumbling for his phone.

“No!” I cry, “Please don’t tell them.” I meet his eyes with a look of desperation, silently pleading with him.

“Y/N -” He furrows his brows.

“I said no Dean!” I snap, followed by a soft, “Please….”

He thinks for a second before nodding his head and getting to his feet. With a sense of urgency he rushes to the cabinet and grabs the first aid kit, yanking it open with such haste that the flimsy plastic cracks and breaks under his touch. He rummages through the supplies, pulling out a needle and thread, as well as a travel size bottle of antiseptic. 

“You’re gonna need stitches,” he explains. “This is going to hurt a lot.” He looks at me sympathetically, then guides my head to lean on his shoulder. “Bite down, it’ll help with the pain.” 

I nod my head against his broad shoulder, trying to distract myself from the anticipation and anxiety riddling my mind. I can feel the nausea building in my stomach. I barely register his arms moving behind my head with precision as he threads the needle.

“Take a deep breath,” he orders.

I do as he says, attempting to control my breathing. The needle enters my sensitive skin, it feels like searing hot pain as he drags it through to the other side of the injury, pulling the thread taught. I can’t stop the scream that rips through my body. My wings tense up and fan out, trying to escape the pain.

“Shh, I'll make it quick,” he assures me, running a soothing hand down the feathers of my wings. The feeling it leaves is a pleasant surprise of soothing pleasure. I’m thankful for the contrast in sensations that temporarily distracts me from the searing pain.

I screw my eyes shut and bite down on his shoulder hard enough that I probably broke skin through his shirt as he continues to stitch me up. I sob in his arms, my tears stain his signature red flannel, but I'm too far gone to care. 

When the stitches are finished he opens the bottle of antiseptic and pours a bit onto the wound. It should hurt like hell, but at this point my body is too tired to even register the burn.

“All done.” He strokes my hair, letting me rest my head on him for as long as I need. “You made it sweetheart.” He places a tender kiss on the top of my head. “Let me get you cleaned up.”

I lean back, a disheveled mess, allowing him to stand up.

He grabs a fresh towel from the closet, running it under the tap until it's soaked in clean water. He takes a seat behind me, tucking his knees on either side of me and tenderly touches the rag to the bloodied area around the wound.

I hiss at the contact, it stings, but I bite my lip and let him work.

Carefully, he drags the towel down each feather, mopping up the crimson mess that paints my damaged wings like a gruesome crime scene. He takes his time, working his way from the top to the bottom til the feathers are nearly clean, leaving just a tint of pink behind. Without exchanging any words, he runs his fingers through the soft plumage, correcting the placement of the messy crooked ones until they lay neatly. 

I  can’t stop myself from sighing at his touch. His fingers radiate pleasure throughout my wings.

“Gorgeous,” he mutters under his breath, placing a soft kiss between my shoulder blades. 

“Th- thank you Dean,” I whisper, turning my head back to look at him, but still feeling a twinge of doubt.

“Don’t mention it, sweetheart,” he replies, his voice sweet and caring. He takes the excess of medical wrap and carefully wraps the cloth around the stitches, biting off the end with his teeth and tucking it away securely. He stands up and plops the dirty towel in the sink and washes away the blood that soaks his hands until the water runs clear, drying them on the sides of his jeans. Turning back to me, he lifts me off the floor like I weigh nothing to him and brings me to my bed, carefully laying me on the mattress, being mindful of my butchered wing. He scoots in next to me, pulling me close and wrapping his arm around my waist.

I rest my head on his chest, the rise and fall of his breathing instantly calm me.

“Why?” is all he can say.

The question hangs in the air as I scramble for the right thing to say, but it’s difficult to explain.

“I tried to get rid of them. I had too,” I try to explain, but the words become lost in translation. “I’m tired of being a freak…” I say in a hushed tone.

“You’re not a freak Y/N.” His hands wander to my wings, carefully tracing each feather. “You’re beautiful,” he coos. “Promise me you’ll never do this again,” he says in a more serious tone, his eyes brimming with tears.

I falter for a moment, the thought of living like this for the rest of my miserable life leaves me feeling sick. But, perhaps one day I could also learn to love the wings that Dean finds so utterly beautiful.

“Promise,” I reply, tucking my cozying my head into his chest and wrapping a damaged wing around us. 

He strokes my hair and I melt into his touch. 

Despite the disaster I had just subjected us too, I feel protected in his arms, like nothing could ever hurt me.

“Sleep” He whispers, pressing a kiss to the top of my head.

And with that I drift off into a peaceful slumber, thankful for the safe haven that is Dean Winchester.

Series Masterlist

Full Masterlist

[drunkewok]

Tiger Inside Chapter Twenty

Stray Kids Mafia (ongoing)

Masterlist

Likes, reblogs and feedback always greatly appreciated

WC: 3.4k

Pairing: Lee Know x reader

Genre: Series, Enemies to lovers, non-idol AU, Mafia AU

Synopsis: After years spent away from the family, two strangers start frequenting your place of work, only to bring daunting news. Flung back into the world of the mafia, you try to adapt to your new normal and work alongside a team of eight skilled members to uncover a mystery and take down an unknown enemy.

Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, drinking, swearing, violence, weapons

Disclaimer: Any portrayal of Stray Kids or any other idols in this story is purely fiction and do not at all reflect their own personalities or how I view them as a person, it is purely for the sake of the story.

Please do not copy or repost my work

"You've got to be kidding me." I grumbled through a heavy sigh as I watched my hair slowly slide out of place once more and waterfall down my shoulders, the clip barely hanging on for dear life by the strands. With a frustrated huff I pulled it from my hair, letting it tumble onto the counter. My hand gripped onto the edge of the sink, attempting to take a deep breath to compose myself, trying to keep myself calm before I erupted into a volcano of irritation.

The past week has made me quite painfully aware of how much I have taken advantage of having full abilities of both arms, the most mundane of tasks creating flurries of anger as I struggled to accomplish them.

Like trying to put my damn hair up.

I grabbed onto the clip once more, placing it in the restrained hand before flipping my head forward again, my free hand twisting the strands of hair around my palm as my fingers pulled it taut. I slowly and carefully balanced the twist against the back of my head, my hand now creeping towards the clip in my other at a pace slower than a snail, too scared to lose the twist I so carefully formed.

The teeth slipped through my hair, pulling it somewhat tight as it closed in around the twist. I hesitated before rising, continuing my balancing act, slow breathing calming me as I sent silent prayers to finally be successful.

With clamped shut eyes, I slowly let myself stand fully, not even needing to open my eyes to know that the hair was falling out of place once again, the clip just barely resting on the back of my shoulders.

"OH FOR FUCKS SAKE." Pulling the clip from my hair, I chucked it onto the counter, letting it tumble against the wall before coming to a halt.

My fingers fumbled with my phone, switching on the screen at punching in the code with a bit too much aggression. Opening my messages, I clicked the name at the top, a string of previous conversations littering the screen.

Me: S.O.S

I rested my hand onto the counter as I watched the sent under the message change to seen, focusing on the brief moment of silence before a pounding of feet within the hallway could be heard through the wall. 

My bedroom door slammed open with so much force I'm honestly surprised it wasn't blasted straight off its hinges, a panicked voice calling out from inside the room.

"Y/n!? What's wrong, where are you!?" 

"I'm in here, Lix." The door connecting my bathroom to my room, previously only cracked far enough to let sound travel, swung open the rest of the way, a once concerned Felix now staring dumbfounded at the clip in my hand being held out before him. "Help." 

"Jesus christ y/n, you can't be giving me heart attacks like that. I just about twisted my ankle throwing myself from my chair." He took the clip from my hand, twirling his finger in the air commanding me to turn around. 

"Thank youuu" I sang as his fingers twisted the hair up into position effortlessly, holding tight even after the clip slipped its teeth into it. My eyes studied his handiwork in the mirror before us, only a hint of annoyance behind his eyes as they met mine in the reflection. 

"You're an absolute blessing." I blew him a kiss in the mirror, watching his eyes roll back into the depths of his skull before looking down to the sling still confining me.

"When do you get to take that thing off anyways?"

"I'm actually just about to go pester Seungmin about it until he tells me I can, I'm sick of this I can't do it anymore." I slid my phone into my back pocket, eyes scanning the counter to ensure I wasn't forgetting anything of importance before sliding past Felix with a pat on his shoulder in thanks.

"Ah well good luck with that one. And when he tells you no, next time you need help with something please tell me what it is, I can't do these vague distress texts anymore." 

I stepped slowly down the stairs towards the main floor, single hand holding the banister and maintaining my balance before rounding the corner into the hall. The door to the medical room sat slightly ajar, a dull glow barely emitting from inside. 

"OH SEUNGMINNNN!" I nudged the door open with my foot, revealing a disheveled Seungmin turning from his desk with a scowl, the bags under his eyes leaving dark shadows. "Oh damn, you look like shit." I hopped up onto the medical bed beside his desk, taking a seat as he leaned back into his chair with crossed arms.

"What a friendly greeting. Ah yes y/n, I'm doing great thank you for asking, what about you?" His head tilted to the side as he stared flatly, clearly unamused by my abrupt and unannounced arrival.

"I'd be doing a hell of a lot better if you let me take this damn thing off." I carefully wiggled my arm in the sling, motioning towards him with it.

Seungmin's head fell back against the chair, a soft sigh leaving his lips before his hands met the arm rests of the chair, pushing him up to stand and crossing over to me. 

His hands were gentle as he slipped his fingers under the strap of the sling, loosening it enough to pull the strap over my head and freeing me from it. 

"Honestly, I'm surprised it took you this long to come crying about it." He gently lifted the arm, watching my face for any signs of distress as he checked the different motions of my shoulder. "You're usually a bit more stubborn than that."

"I mean, Chan told me I can't go home until the damn thing is off, so I've been trying to be patient with it to just get it over with." I stared down to my arm as its motions halted, Seungmin's hand still supporting my elbow with his hand as my eyes rose to meet his, frozen in time.

"Home?" His brows creased in confusion, his eyes darting between mine as he studied my words.

"Yeah, as in back in Gangnam. Did…did Chan not tell you guys?" My eyes scanned his face as it dropped, his eyes reflecting the expression of a sad puppy you're having to leave by themselves to go to work. Seungmin's voice grew quiet with a poor attempt to disguise the hurt hidden behind his words.

"You're leaving us?" I wanted to reach out and cup his face, the pain hiding behind his eyes was shattering my heart. I had genuinely thought that Chan would have informed the others of the plan, but my assumption now has Seungmin before me looking like I was crushing his heart into a million different shards with a single squeeze.

"It's only temporary Seungmin, Minho even has to come with me, it's not for long." His shoulders visibly dropped, the hidden tension he was holding in them now dissipated, as he closed his eyes with a soft sigh of relief. "Aw, were you really gonna miss me that much Minnie?" He swatted at my hand as I tried to pinch his cheek, the audible scoff that left him an obvious indicator that normal Seungmin quickly returned.

"Don't get too excited, I was just worried I'd have to mop Felix up off the floor." His eyes quickly broke from mine, distracting himself by acting fully engrossed unwrapping the bandage from my shoulder. I couldn't hide the small smile that stretched onto my face. The soft side of Seungmin peeking out, even if it was for a brief moment, reminded me that I did find a new home within the members. 

"I'm actually impressed for once, you've done a surprisingly good job keeping this clean." He mumbled as his eyes scanned over the wound that decorated my shoulder.

"I had to get good at it, I couldn't keep bothering you to redress it all the time." A slight chuckle left his lips as he once again tested the movement of my shoulder, a slight raise of my elbow with a slow rotation back then forward.

"How is that feeling?" His eyes peeked up to me through his lashes, once again scanning my face for any sign of discomfort that I might be trying to mask.

"Honestly not that bad, just really stiff." The dull pain that came with movement was far from unbearable, nowhere near as bad as I had expected it to be while healing from a gunshot.

"Well that's gonna happen when you haven't been using it at all in a week." He held a hand up, tapping the palm with his finger as an indication to place my own hand against his. As our palms connected, his instructions were clear to start applying gentle pressure against his as he pushed back with little resistance, the tensing of muscles in my bicep stretching up into my shoulder and slowly working the abused muscle. "You said Chan is sending Minho with you?"

I gave a soft nod as we continued repetitions of pressing against his hand for a moment, then relaxing before starting the cycle over.

"I want him to help you with these. He needs to start off with very little pressure, then slowly increase it to work the muscle back up. Your main worry right now is the damaged muscle tissue from the bullet, you need to gain that strength back, slowly." I tried not to wince at the pain caused from the repetition, fear that if I showed weakness in this moment, Seungmin would pry the golden ticket home out of my fingers in the blink of an eye.

Seungmin walked me through a few different exercises that he insisted I needed to practice multiple times a day. If I wanted to be out of the sling, I had to stay consistent.

My focus had been so pinned on Seungmin I hadn't had the moment to notice Chan’s quiet arrival, much opposite of my yelling as I entered. He leaned against the doorframe, silently observing the physical therapy session taking place before finally speaking up.

"Are you taking notes?" I just about jumped at the sudden appearance of his voice, causing him to chuckle softly as he came to stand next to me. Chan's eye focused on my hand, and up to my shoulder as I let my arm drop down to my side, before turning to Seungmin. "So what's the verdict?"

Seungmin let himself fall back into his chair once more, leaning back with fingers interlocking in his lap. His head tilted slightly as he looked to me, eyes scanning over my shoulder slowly before looking back to Chan with a soft smile.

“I’d say she’s good.”

The following day had dragged on, the excitement of getting to go home causing me to pack my bags with a little bit too much haste, leaving me staring down a blank wall attempting to burn away time. My suitcase and backpack sat by my bedroom door, just as eager as I was to finally return to our familiar space of comfort.

The boredom of the lengthy day leading into night brought me to now, staring down Chan's office door, too hesitant to place the knock. 

My hands were frozen at my sides, fingers just barely tangling within themselves as my nerves coursed through my veins. 

I had no idea how this was going to go, and in all honesty, I hadn't thought this far ahead. I wasn't quite sure what my game plan was, how I could convince Seongho, or how I could even start laying the brickwork before setting everything in motion.

Was I too far in over my head?

Had I bit off more than I could chew? 

None of that could matter. This was my chance to prove myself, to redeem myself for what I viewed as a failed mission on my part. I knew I had the ability to be an asset to the team, my connections could make us even stronger than before, I just had to get everything past Seongho.

I took a sharp deep breath before my fist connected with the wood, leaving multiple knocks before silence as I waited for Chan to welcome me in.

Minho had arrived back at the house shortly before after being sent on some tasks by Chan, the reminder of his presence being served to me on a silver platter as the door opened, Minho on the other side and stepping to the side to allow me to enter. 

Chan was leaning back in his seat, letting the chair bounce every so often. His calm demeanor provides at least a little bit of comfort that this meeting might go a little smoother than the shit show my brain was making it out to be.

When I had initially proposed the idea I was impulsive, quick to act before stopping to think what implications my idea might have. This was either going to go extremely well, or this is all going to be exploding before my eyes.

I held myself composed as I settled into a seat across from Chan, Minho taking the chair next to me and leaning back as he crossed one leg over the other in silence. 

"So, what's the plan?" Chan got straight to the point, staring me down and making me realize I hadn't thought this through as much as I should have, not expecting to have taken the full lead on this.

This is my own mission to accomplish, Minho is just along for the ride.

"Well." I readjusted in my seat, trying to lean against one of the arms of the chair to convince myself I was as calm as the other two. "I'm going to get through to Seongho slowly, this obviously isn't information I can dump on him all at once."

Chan pulled a paper towards him, scribbling something I couldn't decipher onto the page with a nod, his silence prompting me to continue. 

"Essentially I want me and him to have the ability to keep eyes on the lounge, I can continue my old job as normal without any of the patrons thinking something is up, but it might take me a little bit to fully get him on board with this.” 

"And what exactly is our end game here?" Minho's fingers tapped the armrest as he spoke, his head slightly tilted my direction as his eyes fell on me. 

"I think having Big Bang on our side can be a huge benefit to us, they’ll bring different strengths to the team, and no need to mention that having a few more bodies definitely won’t hurt.”

"But why would they even agree to meet with us in the first place? Let alone help us?" He was doubtful, eyes squinting as he blinked away in my direction.

"Because you guys have me." I tried to suppress a chuckle as he gave me a flat stare, his tone morphing into one of subtle surprise.

"You're not seriously about to tell me that you have connections with Big Bang."

I grinned with a raise of the brow in his direction, my expression being enough confirmation to his question without a single word spoken. 

"Well shit, okay." His head rolled back to Chan with lips pressed into a firm line, brows both raised in surprise. He was impressed, but still tried to hide it behind nonchalant expressions.

"Do you know how long this is going to take to get everything in order?" The tip of Chan's pen tapped on his desk, the subtle click echoing as he brought his attention to me. 

"Honestly, I wish I could tell you. There's no telling how Seongho is going to take this…" I ran my finger across my bottom lip, contemplating the different outcomes of how he might react to the news. 

It isn't necessarily an easy topic to digest, the person you've known so closely for so many years flipping everything up on its head and telling you they've been living as someone else. I couldn't plop down onto a couch next to him and be like 'so by the way, my name isn't Siu, and surprise! I'm in the mafia!' Let alone 'I'm in the mafia and my team needs your help'. 

I bit the inside of my cheek as my thoughts raced, would he get angry? Would he shut down on me? Would he vanish and cut communication? I had to breach the subject carefully, cutting it into bite sized pieces instead of handing it to him on one gigantic plate and saying good luck!

"Do you think he can handle it?" Minho's voice was gentle, almost that of concern. I know it wasn't coming from doubt in Seongho, even if the two weren't crazy about each other, but more nervousness to put trust in an outsider. I couldn't say I blamed him either, if he was already hesitant when I joined, I couldn't imagine what was going through his head at the thought of someone on our side that had never known this world in the first place.

“Do I think he’ll be able to handle the night at Blossom? Most definitely. He’s powerful and honestly will be a strong player to have on our side. Now do I think he’ll be able to handle all of the information I’m about to dump on him?” I tilted my head to the side with a small grimace. “That I’m not completely positive about quite yet.”

“He seems a little strong headed, the first time I met him I thought he was about to try and fight me, you sure you can convince him?”

“Okay but can you really blame him? He’s protective over his friends, and here you come out of nowhere manhandling me, he was just worried.”

Chan’s brow raised as he looked at Minho, able to communicate to him you did what? Without speaking a single word. Minho quickly pointed a finger at him before cutting in.

“She’s making this sound worse than it was.” He turned back to me with a glare, “Plus, I feel like that was a little too protective for just a friend.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” I straightened my back, sitting up as I stared back with irritated confusion, mouth hanging ajar.

“No no no, if you two argue back at her place that’s your prerogative, and it’ll be your own fire to extinguish, but you guys won’t be doing it in my office.” Chan pointed his pen between Minho and I with a stern glare before shooing the two of us off. “You leave in the morning, go make sure you’re ready or something.” He diverted his attention away from us as he focused onto something far more interesting on his computer screen, before beginning to type away.

Minho quickly stood and made his way to the door, leaving me behind as he slipped out into the hallway. With a roll of the eyes I stood, following him out as I heard Chan give out a breathy chuckle behind me. My glare back at him went unnoticed, his eyes focusing on the screen before him, as he watched me through his peripherals with a purse of the lips to suppress a grin.

In the hall, Minho leaned against the wall, arms crossed as he waited for me to join him.

“Why are we even doing this?” He sounded exhausted, face emotionless as his head tilted.

“Arguing? Good question, why do you keep picking fights?”

“You know that’s not what I’m talking about.”

“Oh, Seongho? Why not.” I pushed past him, continuing down the hall. Two can play this game.

“You can’t be serious right now.” He pulled himself from the wall, staring dumbfounded as I made it further away.

“Sorry! I’ve got packing to do! Gotta go!” I called out with a wave, still focused forward and not daring to look back.

“Oh please, we both know you’ve probably been packed all day.” I raised a single middle finger back at him as I continued walking, rounding the corner to the stairs and as far away from Lee Minho as I could possibly get.

Next Chapter

[captain-tch]

Somebody's Watching Me (Stranger Things x GN!Reader)

After surviving the events of 1984, you've managed to avoid the problems of the Upside Down. Until now. Warning: Depictions of excessive unhealthy exercise habits, violence and gore

Your breathing was laboured as you pushed your legs to go faster, pumping your arms at your sides. The music from your walkman was blocking out all noise, Rockwell’s Somebody’s Watching Me blasting through your headphones. Each beat of the music was timed perfectly with each footfall, your eyes trained on the path ahead of you. You followed your usual path, jogging past Lover’s Lake and rushing past Skull’s Rock, feeling dirt slide underneath your feet. 

You cast a quick glance at your watch, squinting at it under the bright moonlight. Your time wasn’t good enough. You forced yourself to go faster, calves burning as you raced through Hawkins, heart pounding in your chest as you finally saw the trailer park, jogging to a stop in front of your trailer. 

You pulled the headphones off your head, setting them to rest around your neck. You bent over at the waist, sucking in oxygen as quickly as you could. Your skin was glistening with sweat and you didn’t even care, snatching the bottom of your shirt and swiping the material across your forehead. 

You lazily fell to the steps of the trailer, giving yourself a minute to catch your breath. You reached for the water bottle you left beside it before your run, gulping it thirsty. The cool liquid ran down your throat. 

“I think that’s your fastest yet.” 

You frowned, turning in the direction of the voice. Your neighbour, Eddie Munson, was leaning in the doorway of his own trailer, taking a deep drag of a cigarette. You shrugged, his presence not unwelcome. He was always standing in that doorway, smoking or drinking, eyes searching for you as you ran back into the park in the middle of the night. 

“Pretty late for a run.” He raised a brow. “If I didn’t know any better I’d say you were running from something.” 

“Fuck off Munson,” you breathlessly cursed. 

“Is it safe?” 

You scoffed, leaning on your elbows. “I can look after myself.” 

“If you say so.” He flicked the end of his cigarette, ash falling to the ground. 

It wasn’t unusual for him to question your safety. Every time you sat on the steps, taking a minute to cool down, he’d press you for answers as to why you were sprinting through Hawkins in the dead of night. You never budged, lips sealed and brushing it off.

“Do you ever sleep?” 

His brow quipped in response. “Do you?” 

“Touche.” You stood up, interlocking your hands and cracking your back. “Well, as lovely as this is, my bed is calling me.” 

“Sleep tight.” 

You waved in acknowledgement, turning the key into the trailer door and collapsing inside. You flicked the lights on, making no moves towards your bedroom as you crept past your aunt, her snoring loudly on the couch, the TV droning on quietly. You quietly swept up the rubbish, putting out the smoke in her hand, going into the bathroom. 

You stared at the reflection in the mirror looking back at you. A scar from your collarbone cracking across your skin, drawing all along to the corner of your mouth. Absentmindedly, your hands trailed along the ridges of it, mapping it against your skin. Flashes of memories overwhelmed you - Bob, his beaming smile, his kind nature, the way he hugged you so tight. It rapidly dissolved into his blood curdling screams, the blood, his blood, painting the floors. 

If only you had run faster.

You squeezed your eyes tight, suppressing the cry building in your throat. You held tightly onto the edge of the sink, feeling your fingers turn numb with the pressure. You told yourself you couldn’t feel blood dripping down your chest, you couldn’t feel the claws ripping into you, you couldn’t feel the fear coursing through your body. You focused your attention on the porcelain under your grip. 

Drip. 

It’s not happening. 

Drip. 

You needed to see it. You needed to see it to believe it. Carefully, you pried one eye open, blood pounding in your ears. Your scar looked the same as it always had. There was no ripped, teared flesh like the day it happened, or the weeks that followed. Except there was blood. Not the large, growing stain that your mind conjured, instead small drops of blood mixing into the sweat on your top. 

A thin stream of blood was oozing from your nose. You laughed, relief sagging your tense muscles. It wasn’t the agonising wound that haunted your nightmares, it was a nosebleed. 

You did nothing to stop the flow of blood, jumping into the shower and washing away the late night activities, sweat and blood mixing in the water, turning the water a light brown as it disappeared down the drain. You relished the feeling of the warm water running down your spine, wishing you could stay in this moment forever. 

But, eventually, you would need to sleep. 

Sighing, you turned off the shower, drying yourself. You trudged to your room, getting into your cosiest pyjamas and collapsed into bed. Your eyelids were fluttering closed, your muscles aching from the run; you forced your eyes to stay open. You reached for the book gathering dust on your nightstand, cracking open the spine and glued my eyes to the pages of 1984. 

He was screaming your name. 

He was shouting your name as you slammed harshly into the floor, winded. The creature rose on top of you, its claws tearing into your skin as you felt pain you’d never felt before in your life. Your chest was wet with your own blood. 

His shadow appeared above you. The weight on your chest was lifted as unfamiliar hands pulled you back, towards safety, as he succumbed to the very fate you should’ve been subjected to. 

Bob’s eyes connected with yours, blood spurting from his lips. You screamed, spit flying from my mouth as you fought against the hands dragging you away. Tears intermingled with the blood as you saw Bob’s body eventually stop twitching.

The demodog roared, rushing towards you. 

Your eyes snapped open. Your hand found your scar, tracing the lines of it. You took a deep breath in, deep breath out. 

The sun had barely begun to appear over the horizon. Weariness weighed down your bones as you crawled out of bed, spotting your trainers in the corner of the room. 

You weren't fast enough. 

In a split second you were getting ready, tying the laces. Your head throbbed but you pushed it to the back of your mind, telling yourself that the running high would help. You shouldered your way out of the trailer, dropping your water bottle at the steps like clockwork. Eddie was standing outside his trailer, except this time he was tinkering with his van. You ignored his presence, deaf to his words as you slung your headphones over your ears and picked up your pace. 

The world was a blur around you. You ran your usual route, uncaring about how your legs begged for you to stop and how your heart threatened to break though your chest. Your breaths were heaving from you as you ran through the forest, already running behind schedule. 

You needed to be faster. 

Your foot slipped. You careened towards the floor, eating sticks as your head hit the ground hard. The world tilted on its axis. You groaned, unable to ignore the pounding in your head now, having angered your existing headache. You slowly crawled to your feet, rubbing the dirt off of your face with the back of your hand. When you pulled your hand back, a streak of blood was mingled with the mud. You lifted your hand to your nose, cursing under your breath as the steady stream of blood began falling from your nose. 

You wanted to start sprinting again; your body had other plans. Your body screamed when you tried to pick up the pace. A thunderstorm was tearing up the inside of your head. 

You yielded to your body, walking slowly back home. You were already planning on how you would need to go for two runs later tonight, to compensate for the time wasted here. You cursed colourfully again. 

“Do you know what time it is?” Eddie was sitting on the trailer steps, playing with the rings on his fingers. “You’re normally back way before now - thought I was gonna have to send out a search party.” 

“Fuck off, Munson.” You muttered weakly, turning your back to him. He jumped to his feet, moving closer. 

“Shit, you’re bleeding.” 

“It’s just a nosebleed.” 

Eddie took in your tired gait, the bags forming under your eyes, the vacant glaze in your stare. He nodded to himself. “Right, meet me back here in ten minutes. You’re riding with me.” 

“But -” 

He cut you off, his fingers acting out a zipping motion. “No buts, you’re wasting precious time.” 

You sighed, but complied. Everything hurt and you were exhausted. You couldn’t remember the last time you slept through the entire night. Actually, that was a lie. The last time you slept through the night was the day before Bob was butchered before your eyes. 

You completed your morning routine sluggishly, quickly showering and getting dressed. You didn’t pay much attention to how your clothes were creased, or how blood was crusting under your nose. Like a zombie you left the trailer, surprised to find Eddie waiting for you. 

He was looking at his watch, giving you a cheeky grin. “That was eleven minutes, but I’ll allow it.” 

“How selfless of you.” 

Eddie smiled to himself, grateful you had the energy to give him a quick quip. He held the passenger door open, watching carefully when you clambered in, slumping in the seat. He gently closed the door behind you, going around the van and sliding into the driver’s seat. Music exploded from the radio as soon as he turned the car over. 

He gave you a bashful smile. “Sorry.” 

He turned the music down a notch, pulling out of the trailer park. Your forehead found itself against the cool glass, eyes drooping. There was a small sense of relief you felt, the temperature of the glass momentarily numbing the banging in your head. In the corner of your vision you saw Eddie turn the music down further, until it was barely a drone. Your breathing slowed and finally, your eyes closed. 

There was so much blood. 

You jolted awake, Eddie’s hand hovering over your shoulder. Your frantic gaze flew around the van, the lab fading away as you realised where you were. Your head lolled against the window. 

“Sorry to interrupt your beauty sleep but we’re here.”

You nodded distantly, clicking the seat belt release. You gave him a grateful nod. “Thanks.” 

Your hand found the handle, cracking the door open when Eddie’s hand pulled it shut. You spun around to berate him, fighting how it made your head pound, when you saw how he was staring at you with a level of concern that robbed you of your breath. His eyes darted to the scar creeping out of your shirt, and back to you. 

“I know we’re not exactly friends but,” he took in your tired demeanour, the blood encrusting under your nostril. “You know you can talk to me about anything, right?”

You swallowed the lump that formed in your throat. You had hoped your problems would fade with time, but if anything they had only gotten more intense in the past few weeks. You’d been repressing the symptoms, but now that someone else had recognised it? It made you angry, because you realised you might have more of a problem than you thought. That bubble of anger grew into an inferno, vile words spitting from your lips. 

“See you, Eddie.” You slammed the door shut. “Thanks for the ride.” 

You skulked across the parking lot, praying that Eddie wouldn’t chase after you. You kept your head down, weaving in and out of students when you saw a familiar car pull up at the side of your vision. A BMW parked up, a student you didn’t recognise hopping out of the passenger side. You found your feet halted to a stop when the driver locked eyes with you. 

In an instant your back went straight. The muscles in your body tightened, and you resisted the urge to squeeze your eyes shut. You tightened your grip on your backpack as you tried to disappear into the crowd of people. 

You heard him shouting your name, then a hand falling onto your arm. You spun around, seeing Steve Harrington holding onto you. You shook him off, trying to block him out. 

“Just talk to me, okay?” He snatched at your shoulders, forcing you to turn around and face him. His eyes instantly fell on the scar marring your skin, following it to where your shirt hid the extent of it. 

“About what? We have nothing to talk about.” 

“About what happened.” Steve didn’t elaborate, very much aware of the student body surrounding them. 

“He’s dead Steve,” You hissed quietly, harshly shoving him away from you. “There’s nothing else to talk about.” 

“We tried to check on you -” 

“It’s been two years, Steve, I think the moment’s passed.” You shrugged out of his grip, summoning the energy to glare at him. “I don’t need your pity!” With those final words, you walked into the school and didn’t look back.

~

Running was both your escape, and personal hell. You loved following your route around Hawkins, especially when the sun had fallen beneath the horizon and no souls dared to venture outside. It was where you could clear your mind of all thoughts plaguing you and just exist, focusing on each step carrying you closer to home. 

This type of running, however, felt like a damn chore. 

You waited for the rest of the track team to get into position, stretching. They talked amongst themselves whilst you stood alone, waiting for the coach to give a blow of the whistle. 

At the sidelines, Nancy Wheeler and Fred were busy, discussing amongst themselves how they’d include this segment into the school paper. Fred was frantically scribbling onto a notepad, nodding along to what Nancy was saying. 

As if she felt your eyes on her, she looked up. She gave you a small smile and a wave, which you half-heartedly returned. At least she didn't try to make you talk about it. She respected your space as well as she could, and you liked that. She wasn't suffocating.

The coach blew the whistle. 

Like a shot you were off, sprinting towards the finish line, a significant distance already between you and the person behind. You pumped your arms relentlessly, listening to the sound of your own staggered breathing as you pushed yourself further. 

Everything seemed normal until you heard it - a chime of a bell. 

Your steps faltered. You tumbled, body falling awkwardly to the ground as another chime rang out. You bolted upright from your position, uncaring about how there was a burning agony spreading in your wrist. 

There, in the trees that ran alongside the track, was a clock. At first glance it looked like an antique clock standing upright, you blinked and realised it was merged within the tree, with vines holding it in place. 

The clock chimed again. 

You slowly got to your feet, walking closer to the clock. Your hand was reaching out towards it, when it chimed one final time. 

“Hey,” Nancy shook your shoulders, clicking her fingers in front of your face. “Are you alright?” 

You looked back at the treeline, confusion clouding your thoughts. There wasn’t a clock there. You shook my head side to side, wiping at your eyes and searched for it again. 

It wasn’t there. 

“I -” You choked out, tearing your attention away from Nancy. The whole track team was standing there, staring down at you. You couldn’t read their expressions. You couldn’t believe anything you saw anymore. 

Maybe you were finally going mad. 

You clambered to your feet, backing away. “I - uh - I need to go.” 

You ran to the only place you could think of going, the school becoming a blur as you focused on your destination. As soon as the all too familiar door entered your line of vision, you were sprinting. You knocked against the door continuously, not stopping until Ms Kelly opened the door. Her brows furrowed when she saw you, dirt covered and weary. She opened the door an inch, gesturing for you to sit down. You fell into the chair gratefully.

You tapped your foot on the floor, waiting for Ms Kelly to say something. You're not sure why you showed up here, or why she wasn’t saying anything, but you were quickly losing your patience and you needed to go home soon. 

“So I saw Steve today.” 

Ms Kelly sat back, her brow raised. “Is that why you’re here?” 

You sighed, pressing the palms of your hands into your eyes. You wanted to tell her about what you'd seen and heard - you feared she wouldn’t believe you. Hell, you barely believed it yourself.  “I don’t know, I don’t - I just know he showed up, okay, and he was asking questions about ‘84 and I.” You bit your lip, tearing systematically at the skin. “I thought I was meant to be getting better.” 

“Recovery isn’t a straight line, you of all people should know that. You experienced trauma, it’s going to take a long time to heal, it might even never fully heal.” 

You slumped back in the chair, a large breath escaping your body. “Fantastic.” 

“I hope you don’t mind me asking, but is something else going on? I’m worried.” 

“That’s your job.” 

“There’s a reason you came here today, I want to help you.” 

You trained your eyes to the floor. “I know you said trauma isn’t a straight line… I feel like I’m at step 1 all over again.” 

“And why’s that?” 

“Because all I can think about is running. I keep getting these killer headaches, my nose is randomly bleeding and I haven’t slept. And I swear when I was at the track meet today I…” You stopped, holding the words back. Ms Kelly sent you an encouraging smile. “I heard a clock.” 

“You have PTSD, these are all perfectly normal with your condition.” 

“But why a clock?” 

“That’s something I’m afraid I can’t answer, only you. The mind works in mysterious ways.” 

You opened your mouth to say something else, a brisk knock cutting off your words. Ms Kelly gave you an apologetic look, getting to her feet and answering the door, shielding you out of sight. She was talking quietly with the person on the other side. 

You couldn’t sit here much longer. The longer you sat here, the more convinced you were that you were losing your mind. You just needed to get home, you just needed to run past the lake and everything would be okay. It’d all be okay when you become fast enough. 

“Ms Kelly, I need to go, but thank you.” 

“Are you sure? We can keep talking if you want.” Ms Kelly seemed hesitant to let you leave. 

“No, I’m okay.” You gave her what you hoped was a reassuring smile. You moved past her, seeing Chrissy Cunningham playing with the ends of her hair, filing into the office behind you.

~

The next day you moved like clockwork. Run, school, try to sleep, fail, run. Take pain relief for the head splitting headaches. Run. Sleep, wake up from the horrific nightmares. The most notable thing that happened was Chrissy’s dead body being found in Eddie’s trailer. Even that felt like a daze to you. 

It felt like you were walking through a cloud, feeling more distant from your body every day. The runs were the only thing grounding you, driving you to be better, to become better. 

You were tying your laces when a knock sounded at the door. You were already grumbling. “Look, I’ve already answered your stupid fucking questions, I don’t know what -” 

Instantly your mood turned sour, the sight of Steve, Max and Dustin standing in front of the door. “What the fuck are you doing here?” 

“Can we talk?” 

“No, I was just heading out.” You moved past them, locking the trailer door. 

“This is serious,” Dustin warned. 

You couldn’t suppress the dark laugh that slipped past your lips. “Not heard that before.” 

“Look, you really need to hear what we need to say.” Dustin pressed further, and you merely shrugged. 

“I don’t care.”

“You’re in danger!” 

“No shit, I’ve been in danger ever since you got me involved in ‘84. I’m done, I’m not doing this.” You emphasised your words, effectively cutting them off. You turned your back to them, looping your headphones over your head. 

“We think you’re next.” You froze, looking up at Dustin. You didn’t move, he took that as a sign to carry on. “Eddie didn’t kill Chrissy, but something did. And we think it’s coming for you.” 

“I’d like to see it try.” You clicked play on your walkman, sprinting away. You didn’t hear the curses, the pleas, you only felt that finally, karma would catch up to you. In a way, you felt a degree of relief, you’d finally repent for what happened to Bob. 

You ran to escape your thoughts, you ran to escape the horrors creeping up on you. You ran until you couldn’t breathe, running faster than you ever have before, praying that it will finally help you outrun the nightmares plaguing your every waking moment. 

You tripped. 

The walkman skipped, still secured around your waist. You swore. You got to your knees, hissing as you saw blood beading on your knee. 

“He was bleeding too.” 

You panicked, jumping to your feet. The forest around you had faded away, the sterile foyer of Hawkin’s Lab surrounding you. The roar of the demodog was so loud it felt like it was deafening you. 

“I bled for you.” Bob shuffled out of the hallway, clutching his hand to his bleeding stomach. Even from here you could see his hand was the only thing keeping his organs in place. “I died because you weren’t fast enough.” 

“No - no, I was running as fast as I could.” 

“It wasn’t good enough.” He released his hand, allowing his intestines to fall to the floor with a wet smack. You held back your bile, frozen in place as he stalked towards you. A streak of blood followed in his wake. “You let those creatures attack you. You wanted to die. And yet you let me sacrifice myself for an ungrateful little swine.” 

“Bob - please.” 

He was within reaching distance now. There was no trace of the godfather who treasured you, who treated you as his own. 

No, there was just a monster. 

The man who loved you like his own child transformed, turning into a tall monster, vines wrapping around its body. Its hands reached out towards you. You were frozen in place, horrified at the sight before you.

“It’s time.” 

His hand hovered over your head. His nails dug into your scalp. You whimpered. 

A freaky, eerie tune started to play out. “Who’s watching? Tell me who is watching. Who is watching me” 

You looked past the monster’s figure, seeing a bright ray of light. You were by the lake, Eddie shaking…you? Your body was lifted in the air, gaze vacant. Eddie was shouting your name, vigorously shaking your body. His hands were near your walkman. 

This wasn’t real. 

“I always feel like somebody’s watching me.”

With all of your might, you kicked the monster in the chest. He didn’t move, only looking down at your feeble effort and laughing darkly. The song continued to play as you struggled against its grip, losing motivation with each weak kick or lazy punch. 

“I don’t feel safe anymore, oh what a mess. I wonder who’s watching me now, who, the IRS?”

Bob didn’t die for nothing. He didn’t sacrifice himself so that you could die in the hands of this creature. You might not have been fast enough the day he died, but you weren't going to make that mistake again. 

You looked at the monster. Your hands lurched towards him, nails primed. You attacked his eyes, feeling them squelch under your fingers as you dug your nails in. The creature cried out in anguish, instantly releasing you from its hold.  

As the chorus launched, you charged towards the portal, echoes of who is watching me fuelling you further. The demodogs were screaming louder now but you didn’t pay them any mind, using your training to run fast, faster than you ever had in my life. 

You woke up with a gasp, falling over. Eddie gripped you tightly, rocking you backwards and forwards. You held onto him just as tight, the final notes of the song playing out in your headphones, reminding you of the horrors you just endured. His hair tickled your cheeks but you couldn't muster the energy to move it away, muscles frozen in place.

Steve, Dustin, Max and Lucas jumped out of Steve’s car, rushing forwards. You didn't move, eyes tightly squeezed and breathing in Eddie's scent of weed and motor oil.

“You woke up.” Dustin gaped at you, his mouth hanging open. 

You were just as baffled as the others, dreading to think what could have happened if the monster had succeeded.

"What do you remember?" Steve knelt besides Eddie, sitting next to you on the floor. His eyes were kind, the eyes of an old friend whose very presence reminded you of your life altering trauma.

Slowly, you pulled away from Eddie's embrace. Your chest was rapidly rising and falling, and you felt as if you couldn't quite catch your life. Your fingers found the edges of Eddie's jacket, fiddling with the material - an anchor. You relished the feeling of the dirt and sticks digging into your flesh, and the steady thrum of your bleeding knee.

You were here.

Bob wasn't here.

It wasn't here.

You coughed. It took you a few moments to find your voice again, mouth opening and closing like a fish gasping for air. "I - I think I was being hunted."

You looked around the group, the awe and worry cresting their faces, a deep dread settling into your stomach. You were in this for the long haul now, just like back in 1984, whether you liked it or not.

stranger things masterlist

[godlizzza]

I require more middle aged men being thirsty for each other!!

Herbert had always been fond of bodies.

He appreciated their intricacies, the millions of cells that were required to produce the slightest movement. He marvelled at the complex systems that worked in harmony to power a body, provide all its needs, everything perfectly synchronised like a well-oiled machine. A body was an ecosystem, an entire microcosm of life inside a life.

He spent all his days looking at bodies, taking them apart and putting them back together, and he never grew tired of it.

Yes, he liked the mechanics of the human form, but he loved Dan's body above all others.

At first it had seemed odd to him to lust after Dan. After all, there was nothing particularly unique about him- two arms, two legs, 206 bones- so why did Herbert feel an uncomfortable desire for him? He craved Dan's fingers, the bend of his ligaments that would bring his touch to Herbert's skin. His back, broad and strong, contained firm muscles Herbert wanted to wrap his arms around. His lips, nothing more than a couple of casings of mucosal membrane, sent shivers down Herbert's spine whenever he spoke.

Herbert stared at those lips now, watching from behind as Dan dabbed at the cut snaking up from the top of his mouth with a damp wadded up piece of toilet paper. He winced and the paper came away dotted with red. Dan glanced at Herbert's reflection in the mirror and smirked.

"That's the last time I let you convince me we don't need to fix that dip in the stairs," he said.

Herbert swept away from the door and up behind Dan. He embraced him, locking his hands together over Dan's chest and resting his forehead between his shoulder blades. With Dan bent over like that, it was easy for him to press a kiss to the nape of his neck, revelling in the resulting shiver.

"You're right," Herbert said, his voice muffled against the fluffy robe Dan had slung on in favour of a shirt. Herbert approved of this choice.

"I'm sorry, did I just hear that right?" Dan asked, his voice edged with laughter. "You just said I'm right? Who hit their head again? Me or you?"

Dan turned in his arms, but Herbert didn't ease up on him, making Dan lean back against the sink to support both their weight. His hands went to Herbert's hips, loosely gripping him through the cotton blend of his slacks. He tipped his chin down until his nose nearly brushed the frame of Herbert's glasses and smiled, pulling at the raw split skin over his lip. A dot of blood winked under the dim light like a ruby.

"I'm perfectly capable of admitting I should've pestered you into fixing that sooner," Herbert allowed and Dan snorted.

"Ah, yes, there's where it all went wrong," Dan chuckled, the worn lines around his eyes creasing.

The soft fondness Dan was looking at him with was at odds with the heat burning in Herbert's stomach. He leaned forward and kissed that affectionate smile, looping his hands up to clutch at Dan's shoulders. He swallowed the muffled grunt Dan let out, pressing closer and relishing in the heat seeping from Dan's body- his firm, exquisite body- and into him.

Dan broke the kiss with a gasp, his grip on Herbert's hips decidedly tighter than it had been before. He blinked at Herbert, his face a picture of astonishment. A streak of blood was smeared across his mouth like lipstick. Herbert ran his tongue over his lips, tasting the sharp tang of Dan's blood there.

Dan huffed out a noise somewhere between a laugh and a choked gargle.

"I know I shouldn't be surprised anymore," he began, voice low and gravelly, "but are you seriously turned on right now?"

Herbert put on a frown. "If you don't want to, that's fine, I'll just take care of myself-"

"No," Dan jumped to say. "No, no. That, uh, won't be necessary."

Herbert smirked. He stepped back, letting his arms slip from Dan's back to grasp the front of his robe and tug him forward. He walked backwards through the house he knew so well, pulling Dan with him like a ship towing a life-raft, until they reached the bedroom.

Dan grinned as Herbert fell back on the mattress, bouncing on the springs, exposing the gash still gleaming on his lip. A fresh rivulet of blood trickled to the corner of his mouth, gathering in a wrinkle. Herbert watched it keenly, thrilling as Dan kicked the door shut behind him.

"You're so weird," Dan whispered, shucking the robe. It fell to the ground, pooling around his feet, leaving him standing only in his thin sweatpants. He crawled over Herbert on the bed, his impressive frame crowding him against the sheets. "Anyone ever tell you that?"

"You have. Many times." Herbert ran his hands up from Dan's hips, over the pouch of his stomach and across the downy hairs brushing his chest. He cupped Dan's face and brought his bloody lips down to his. He said, "It's why you married me."

Herbert kissed him again, sighing inwardly and the perfect unison their bodies slipped into when pressed together.

[cookies-over-yonder]

gripping the edges of the sink and staring myself down in the mirror stretch marks are sexy stretch marks are sexy stretch marks are sexy stretch marks are sexy stretch marks are sexy stretch marks are sexy

[biboybuckley]

Dead Eyes

Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard | 2.8k | Teen and Up Audiences | Hurt/Comfort: Nightmare Edition

Neil has a nightmare and, despite his best efforts to handle it on his own, Andrew is there.

read on ao3

Neil didn’t expect the nightmares to stop. He never allowed himself the delusion of thinking that with his father gone and his mind and body both working through the achingly slow process of healing - one he isn’t sure will ever end - to imagine that the ghosts of his past life and the memories woven into their faces would ever stop tormenting him, especially in his sleep. 

But. Still.

There’s a part of him now, as he clutches the edges of the sink with a white knuckled grip and grinds his teeth together so hard he things he may break them, that desperately wishes he could seal his demons in a box, throw it into the deepest recess of his mind, and have a little time before they clawed their way back out. 

It doesn’t work like that, and Neil knows it, but he’d like to be able to open his eyes. 

He has them clenched tightly shut, his entire face screwed up, every muscle in his body tense and taught with a herculean effort to stop shaking. He was shaking when he woke up, he was shaking when he stumbled his way out of bed into the bathroom, but he swears he almost shook all the way apart when he caught his own reflection in the mirror. 

Dead eyes stared back at him. 

He tried wearing contacts again - briefly, last summer after everything with Ichirou was settled - but it didn’t take. When he’d walked out of the bathroom, Andrew had taken one look at him and caught his chin in an unforgiving grip when Neil tried to sidestep him. 

“No,” Andrew had said simply, but the look in his eyes was fierce and the clench of his jaw was tight. 

“I’m sick of seeing him,” Neil countered. Andrew hadn’t budged. 

“Then don’t see him,” he said after a beat. As if it were that easy. “See you.”

“I can’t-”

“He doesn’t get to take anything anymore.”

Neil’s response died in his throat as he tried to process that. 

Andrew released him with a shove back towards the bathroom. “Take them out.”

Neil knew he didn’t have to, that Andrew would give in if Neil pushed back, but Neil just swallowed his argument and took the contacts out. 

Now, with his eyes squeezed shut so hard it’s already giving him a headache, Neil wishes he hadn’t let Andrew throw them all out. He’d almost tried to save a pair, but one look from Andrew said all it needed to convince him not to. The contacts were a way to hide. Neil wasn’t doing that anymore. He had no one to hide from.  No one but myself, he thinks bitterly now. A tremor travels down his spine, sending gooseflesh across his skin. His chest feels tight and his breath shudders as he tries to inhale deeply through his nose and slowly through his mouth.

Having his eyes closed isn’t great either. All it does is allow the remnants of his nightmare to flash unbidden behind his eyelids, for the ghosts that cling to his very soul to torment him further. 

 You could just not look at the mirror, a voice in his head reminds him. But, no. No, he can’t. If he opens his eyes, they’ll find his own reflection again.

Neil spent a lot of time avoiding mirrors directly following his stint with Lola and Nathan, but eventually he got comfortable enough with his own reflection so it wasn’t really a problem. But when he’s like this, it’s like there are invisible fingers guiding his face towards the mirror, urging him to look, not allowing him to wrench his gaze away from his own eyes. 

He’s working on it. Well, he’s trying to. But it’s a hard thing to work on when failure means spiraling so deeply into his own demons that he’s made himself sick before. 

No, the dark of his own mind is better. Even if it is plagued by dead parents and sadistic smiles, knives and fire. 

Neil clenches his fingers a little tighter around the cold porcelain. Dimly, he worries he might break it. But he’s far too concerned now with finding some semblance of solidity, and the bite of the ceramic into his flesh - too dull to break his skin, but hard enough to bruise - offers him that. Offers him a small reminder that he’s real, and he’s here, and he’s not breaking apart into a million pieces despite what it may feel like. His stomach may churn and his throat may feel like it’s collapsing in on itself, and he may not be able to stop fucking shaking, but he’s here. 

He strains his ears, listening for any sounds from the other room. But there’s two doors between him and Andrew, and even then Andrew barely makes a sound in his sleep. Neil’s just grateful he manages to slip out of bed without stirring the other man. 

A part of Neil knows it’s stupid, that Andrew will probably be pissed in the morning if he somehow pieces together that Neil didn’t wake him, but Neil knows there’s been plenty of times Andrew hasn’t woken him. 

Another part of him, a part of him that he is trying valiantly to smother right now, desperately wishes he had woken Andrew, that Andrew was a solid line behind him for Neil to lean into and a secure pair of arms to hold him together so Neil didn’t have to do it himself. 

Neil blames that small, weak part of himself for what happens next. 

A thin, reedy sound falls from his lips and he struggles through another breath, his head dropping down between his shoulders as he twists his fingers in a desperate attempt to feel the porcelain bite into his skin. 

Fire. He’s on fire. 

There’s flames licking at his cheekbones, burning down his throat, skating across his skin. He’s burning from the inside out and he has no way to put it out. He can only twist his grip on the sink tighter and tighter as waves of flames travel down his body, rocking him harshly as his muscles tremble. He’s panting now, harsh breaths puffing through his clenched teeth as he screws up his face, his eyes staying shut as sparks dance behind his eyelids. 

It’s an eternity before the flames release him, leaving him sagging against the sink, not letting up his death grip for even a moment as he tries to catch his breath. Absently, he notes a tear working its way down his cheek. There’s a dull throbbing in his fingers from how hard he’s clenching the ceramic. His head is pounding now, in time with his racing pulse. 

The scars he carries feel ripped open, and it takes all his willpower to convince himself that’s not possible and he’s not bleeding out onto the floor. Still, the tremors become harder as phantom blood tracks down his skin. 

His breaths are coming fast despite his best efforts to calm himself, and he can feel frustrated tears burn behind his eyes. It feels as though the demons in his mind are stabbing hot knives at every vulnerable spot they can find, slicing his mental defenses to little ribbons with glee. 

Nathan’s cold smile flashes behind his eyelids and he can feel his own lips curving into a cruel mockery of it. The insane urge to laugh bubbles up in his chest, but he stamps it back down. He doesn’t need Andrew walking in on him laughing maniacally as he attempts to crush their sink to dust beneath his fingers. 

He swallows his laughter and tries to count to ten and then back to zero in as many languages as he can. It works well enough for the laugh to shrivel and die in the hollow cavity of his chest, but soon enough the numbers - he got as far as Russian - get lost in the static fuzz of his panicked mind. Every part of him wants to run right now. 

Neil knows he could just go for a run of Perimeter Road, but he’s not sure he trusts himself enough in this state to not just keep running. It’s his first instinct, a feeling so familiar it may as well be carved into his bones, woven through the strands of his DNA. He’s not sure if he’s gripping the sink so hard to keep himself from flying apart or to keep himself from bolting. Either way, he grips it like his very life depends on it, and he grinds his teeth, and he tries to continue his Russian counting. 

In the state he’s in, his mind a haze of panic and every nerve ending set on fire with adrenaline, Neil is hyper aware of his surroundings. He feels the brush of the very air against the skin of his arms, feels the sweat beading on his brow, feels the press of his cotton T-shirt resting against his chest. 

He hears when one of the floor boards in the bedroom creaks. 

Neil strains his ears, his breath catching in his throat. 

He hears the first door open. 

Run.

He hears another step land on the floor. 

Run!

He hears the bathroom door open. 

RUN!

He forces himself to still, the trembling beneath his skin fighting against every ounce of willpower he’s using to quell it. He can’t feel Andrew, but he knows he’s there, just a mere two feet away. 

He holds his breath still, waiting through the agonizingly long moments before-

“Yes or no?” 

Andrew’s voice is rough with sleep, thick with something Neil can’t piece together right now, and unwaveringly firm. 

“Yes,” Neil chokes out on his second attempt to answer, barely anything more than a ragged gasp tearing itself from his throat, clawing its way out whether Neil wants it to or not. 

In an instant, Andrew’s there, a solid line of heat at his back. A heavy palm lands on the back of his neck, hot fingers squeezing the sides of his throat in a silent command. Neil jerks his head in a harsh no. He can’t. He can’t move, he can’t do what Andrew wants, he can’t think, he can’t-

“Neil.” Andrew’s voice is a low rumble, softening the turmoil inside of Neil, flowing over him like golden honey. But his shoulders instinctively hunch higher, the lines of tension in his body blocking out Andrew despite Neil’s desperation to give in to him. 

“Neil.”

Neil lets out a thin sound through clenched teeth, straining to get the words out, to explain to Andrew that he can’t move or he won’t stop moving until he’s running. That the only reason he’s still here is because he won’t let himself move. 

But he doesn’t have to say a word. He never really does when it comes to Andrew, never has. Andrew just… knows. 

The grip on the back of his neck tightens and Andrew tugs Neil roughly, but so painfully gently all at the same time, towards him. Neil’s hands refuse to listen, gripping the sink. 

“Let go.” 

As if it were that easy. 

“Let. Go.” A warning growl tinges Andrew’s words and he pulls Neil at the same time, and Neil loses his grip on the ceramic edges with a harsh gasp. Before he can fall or shatter or dissipate into nothing, though, he’s yanked into Andrew’s solid chest, the hand on the back of Neil’s neck squeezing fiercely, the other coming up to grip his shoulder. 

Neil’s hands, desperate for something to cling to, find purchase in Neil’s own shirt, a fist digging into his stomach, and in Andrew’s, clutching the fabric of his shirt just the the side of where Neil’s forehead is pressed into Andrew’s chest, held there by Andrew’s own hand. 

It isn’t until Neil starts to feel the steady thump of Andrew’s pulse beneath his knuckles that Neil is able to suck in a full, ragged gasp of air instead of the short bursts he’d been gasping since Andrew touched him. Andrew doesn’t move, Neil can barely even feel the rise and fall of his breaths. The only sign he has that Andrew is alive and real and there is the pounding of his heart beneath Neil’s own touch.

“Breathe,” Andrew instructs, like it’s just that simple. 

But Neil gave himself over to Andrew the moment he released the sink. And Andrew says to breathe. 

Neil takes a slow breath, the cool air soothing his burning lungs and raw throat. He sucks in deep breath after deep breath through clenched teeth, guided by the stroke of Andrew’s fingers on the back of Neil’s neck, grounded by the press of Andrew’s chin into the crown of Neil’s head. He thinks he hears Andrew murmur Good into his hair, but he has no way of knowing if he actually did. 

After several minutes of neither of them moving, Andrew pulls back slightly. Neil tries to move with him, a small, broken sound falling from his lips. The hand that isn’t on Neil’s neck moves to grip his chin, forcing Neil to stop and face Andrew. 

“Look at me,” Andrew says.

Neil’s voice trembles and cracks, “I can’t.”

“Neil.” Neil just gives an aborted shake of his head, stopped by Andrew’s grip on his chin. “Abram.” Neil sucks in a sharp breath. “Look at me.” 

Neil opens his eyes. 

Hazel eyes, fiery and fierce with an emotion Neil’s spent brain doesn’t have the dedication to find a name for right now, stare back at him. Andrew’s jaw is tense, concern written in the tight corners of his mouth and slight crease of his brow. 

His eyes - Neil’s always loved Andrew’s eyes, even before he realized he loved them - search Neil’s own. The tight panic in Neil’s chest begins to unravel further under Andrew’s steady gaze. He releases his death grip on Andrew’s shirt, pressing a flat palm to his chest instead, feeling the thump of his heart once more. His other fist stays pressed into his own stomach, clenching his shirt tightly. 

But his breaths come easier now, and the fog of panic is beginning to lift. His jaw aches as he lets some of the tension release. 

“Who was it?” Andrew asks after a long beat of silence. 

Neil instantly stiffens again, his breath stopping in his throat and threatening to choke him. 

Andrew squeezes the back of his neck again, fiercely. Neil refocuses on Andrew’s eyes, resisting the replay of his nightmare that’s starting in his own mind. 

Andrew doesn’t ask again, just stares Neil down and grips the back of his neck so tight it's just this side of painful. 

It takes Neil a few tries to get the names out. “Nicky. Nicky and Dan.”

The only sign that he actually said it aloud is a tightening of the muscles around Andrew’s mouth and a nearly imperceptible nod. His death grip on Neil’s neck relaxes, his fingers petting through the fine hair at the base of his skull and down the overheated skin of his neck. 

Neil’s breathing has gotten close to normal, the adrenaline starting to wear off now that instead of falling endlessly, he has Andrew to crash into. Andrew to catch him and hold him together. 

“Do you want to tell me about it?” Andrew asks after several more infinite moments, his gaze never wavering from Neil’s.

Neil can’t stop the full-body flinch at the question. Andrew doesn’t say a word, and Neil doesn’t have to either. Andrew just nods, his fingers still stroking the skin of Neil’s neck. He doesn’t let go of Neil’s chin either, keeping his gaze trained into Neil’s eyes as though he can read his very soul through them. 

“How can you stand them?” Neil blurts it out before he can think better of it. He opens his mouth to explain, but then closes it. He doesn’t have to. 

Andrew’s quiet for a moment. He shifts his hold on Neil’s jaw, pressing three fingers under his chin to tilt his face up more, brushing his thumb across Neil’s bottom lip impossibly softly. He studies Neil’s eyes carefully, thoughtfully, and then shrugs one shoulder. 

“They’ve never been anything other than you for me.” He tilts his head slightly, as if considering. “One of the first real parts of you that I got.”

The unexpected answer steals Neil’s breath again, though this time not from panic. Andrew doesn’t look into his eyes and see the eyes of a killer, of someone heartless and cruel and demanding. Andrew doesn’t see dead eyes.

“Yes or no?” Neil whispers breathlessly. 

Andrew’s lips twitch ever so slightly and he lifts his chin. “Yes.” 

Neil crushes his mouth to Andrew’s, the kiss tinged with desperation and fading panic, but also - hope. Hope that one day, Neil can look into his own eyes and see what Andrew does. Hope that his eyes aren’t really dead, because he sure as hell isn’t. 

[starlitangels]

Shards on the Counter

This came from a pair of writing prompts on Pinterest. Let’s go! 1.5k words

CW: Blood, references to fantasy violence, Quinn, self-suturing, self-patching-up

—

I gripped the edges of my sink, watching the blood from my nose drip onto the porcelain and leave trails toward the drain. Pain burned over my entire body. “Okay, okay,” I whispered. Closing my eyes, I put my hands on my nose and felt around. With a jerk and a cry, I set the break back in place. My eyes watered. I let the tears join the blood in the sink.

I set my hands back down on the bathroom counter and stared myself in the face. Half of my neck scarred from multiple bites over a long period of time. Bleeding from punctures around the same area. A double black eye darkened the skin around both eyes from the broken nose.

The rest of my skin had slashes that were bleeding.

For the first time in a long time, I actually looked at myself. How skinny I’d gotten—unhealthily so. My muscles were still there, but I looked sick. My eyes seemed sunken and when I met my own gaze in the mirror, they were hollow.

My hair was thinner than it used to be and hung limp and dull. All luster and vibrance gone.

I barely recognized the person I’d become. Covered in blood and ashen. Barely alive. A walking corpse—a living ghost.

No wonder Quinn had won the fight. He’d taken my life from me. My spark. My friend and I were still alive, sure, but both of us had stumbled out of that building half-dead and losing a lot of blood.

I took a deep breath.

Wound back a fist.

And punched the mirror.

The whole thing shattered, several shards of glass embedding into my knuckles.

The wolf in the mirror wasn’t me. I didn’t recognize the eyes looking back at me.

I picked the glass out of my knuckles and went back to patching myself up. I was in so much pain that the sting of the sutures barely registered. Easy to ignore. What really hurt was disinfecting the wounds.

Halfway through sealing up a gash on my thigh, my phone rang. I dug it out of the pocket of my jeans that I’d discarded on the floor.

Incoming Call... David Shaw

I put my phone down on the counter and ignored it, cringing at each stitch.

The phone rang out.

Missed Call: David Shaw (2)

Huh. Apparently I’d missed another call from him at some point. Probably when I’d taken my friend to the Healer’s clinic to get them off Death’s door. They’d tried to get me on one of those beds but like hell was I going to let anyone else touch me.

I shook my head and finished the gash on my leg, disinfecting it again and screaming through clenched teeth at the burning.

Incoming Call... Ash

I rolled my eyes and got more suturing thread. Letting it ring out.

Missed Calls: David Shaw (2) & Ash

My phone didn’t ring again until I’d finished putting the skin of my arm back together.

Incoming Call... Ash

“They’re not giving up, are they?” I growled, snatching my phone and answering it. “What do you want, Asher?” I demanded.

“Tank, I know something happened,” Asher said. “You’ve ignored David’s calls twice, and mine once. Are you avoiding us?”

“If I was, I wouldn’t have answered this time, dumbass,” I snapped.

“Wait... why do you sound strained?” Asher asked.

“Probably because I’m stitching up my arm as we speak,” I said around sticking the needle between my teeth to move my phone to my other ear.

“Tank—what the hell?!” Asher demanded. “What do you mean you’re stitching yourself up?”

I scoffed. “Got in a fight. I’m fine.”

“Not if you’re stitching your own skin up!”

“Ash—”

I heard a door opening on his end of the line, and the jangling of keys.

“No, Ash, c’mon. You don’t have to blow this out of the water. It’s just a couple scratches. Don’t come over here,” I said. Embarrassment—of all the stupid emotions—rose in my chest at the thought of Asher seeing my broken mirror and blood-splattered bathroom. At the thought of anyone in my pack seeing... seeing me... like this.

“Not just me Tank. And don’t bother trying to skip town,” Asher replied.

I growled and hung up the phone. Not just me. Asher was bringing David.

Great. I shouldn’t have answered the call.

To be fair, if I hadn’t, he would have turned up anyway. At least this way I had forewarning.

By the time I finished my arm, I heard a fist banging on the door to my apartment. Double checking my stitch job as best I could, I went to answer it. Reluctantly. The fist banged again. “I’m coming, moron!” I shouted, limping on my sutured leg.

I opened the door.

Asher and David swore at the same time—but used two different words.

“You look like hell,” Asher said diplomatically.

“Go away. I’m fine,” I said.

David raising a single eyebrow was all it took to cow me. I blamed it on the exhaustion.

Growling, I stepped back and opened the door wider, letting them in.

“What. Happened?” David asked.

I glowered at him through my eyelashes. “Got in a fight,” I said, moving to limp back to the bathroom and shut the door to hide the broken mirror. My knee wobbled. Ash and David both jolted to catch me, and stared wide-eyed when I recoiled away from them. I shook my head and shut the bathroom door.

“What did you get in a fight with?” Asher asked, looking like he was going to cry any moment.

“Remember that vamp I was seeing?”

“Quinn?” David asked.

I blinked, surprised he’d remembered. “Yeah.”

“He did this to you?” Burning anger rose in David’s eyes.

“Yup.” I winced and tried to roll my shoulder to stretch out the stiffness, but only caused more pain to shoot toward my neck. “He...” I looked between the two of them. My alpha and beta. “He got taken in by the Department. I just kept him busy long enough for them to get there.” Bold-faced lies. He got away. And I wanted to be the one to finish him. But if I told David that, he’d order me off that path.

“Why did you have to?”

“I reported him to the Department a few weeks ago for being a monster,” I said. “In retaliation, he attacked my friend. Remember the unempowered one?” I winced as I probed a still-open wound. “I attacked him to save them. He got taken in. My friend and I ended up pretty... uh... bad.” I gestured to my wounds.

The concern in David’s face made me uniquely uncomfortable. He wasn’t supposed to be concerned about me. He was supposed to politely ignore me. Like he’d been doing in the... what... twelve years since I’d joined the pack? Longer?

I didn’t like it.

“Can I go?” I asked, meeting his eyes.

The concern was replaced by shock. “What?”

“Can I go? I... I need to get out of Dahlia. I’ve got some family up in Washington. I was hoping to go stay there to recover.”

“What for?”

“I just need time away. To distance myself from this place for a bit.” To plot my next move.

David regarded me.

While he stared, Asher shoved some of his black curls out of his way and started to inspect my wounds that I hadn’t stitched yet.

It seemed like David believed me. “You can,” he said. “Come back whenever you’re recovered enough.”

“Yeah,” Ash agreed. “We’ll miss you, Tank!” He went over to the bathroom door. “Mind if I grab some stuff to help you ou—”

“No, don’t!” I exclaimed as Asher pushed the door open.

He went rigid, staring at the carnage in the bathroom. “Wh... what happened to your mirror?”

David dodged around me to go investigate. They both turned to look at me with eerie synchronicity that only came from a pack bond solidified by childhood friendship.

“Tank?” David asked expectantly.

“Slipped and hit it.”

“With your head?” Ash demanded.

“Liar,” David growled. “There’s blood on those shards on the counter. You punched it.”

I snarled half-heartedly back at him. I was too exhausted to butt heads with him like I usually would. “Yup,” I said.

“Why?” Ash, again, looked like he was gonna cry.

“It’s not me I see when I look in it,” I mumbled under my breath.

Asher blinked tears from his eyes, his mouth wide with sorrow. I scoffed and rolled my eyes.

David sighed. “Go to Washington for a while. Expect me to check in,” he said.

“Mmhmm,” I grunted.

Asher tiptoed into my bathroom and came back out with my First Aid kit, starting to bandage me up gently. “At least you won.” His voice was soft, but optimistically hopeful.

“Yeah. Sure. This feels like winning.”

“Well, the leech got taken into custody, right?”

Well... “Right.”

“So, then, you won.”

“Mm.”

—

Edit, I forgot the Tag List: @zozo-01 @thegoldenlittlerose @shellssstuff @darlin-collins