#if they'd handled it in more of a 'it didn't have to be this way' way like with shadow weaver or simon in infinity train

[idiopath-fic-smile]

(two people asked for more, so here's like 600ish additional words of Eliot not having a clue!)

They'd chosen their current headquarters partly because it was in an area of town that didn't see much traffic. The street was more or less empty, except for a few people starting to poke their heads out of doors, investigating the sound. His ears were ringing. He swallowed.

Nobody to chase. Nobody to subdue. Just a whole lot of sudden goddamn unanswered questions.

His phone rang.

"That was your car, right?" said Hardison. "CCTV footage's a little grainy, but I thought I could make out—"

"Yeah, it's my car," said Eliot. The smoke was beginning to clear, revealing a small pile of rubble. "Shit."

"Anyone hurt?"

"No."

"You better come back up, then," said Hardison.

"Y'all better come down," Eliot countered. "Whoever did this, if they could ID and locate my car, they likely know where we meet. Nobody's going back in there until I sweep it, and in the meantime—Lisbon protocols."

Lisbon protocols meant a series of evasive driving maneuvers, ending in a speedy trip to the closest safehouse.

Eliot took a breath and let it out. Shakier than he wanted. He would need to be calm, by the time Hardison and Parker rejoined him. His job was to keep them safe, and that meant—

"Grabbed your bug-out bag," said Parker, right beside him.

Eliot jumped. He saw Parker note this, and then he saw her visibly decide to move on.

"And tell you what, man, you better have a good reason why your emergency go-bag is so heavy," said Hardison beside her. "If your sourdough starter is in here, we are having words." And okay, Parker had clearly harnessed up and dropped from the elevator shaft, that much made sense, but Hardison agreeing to be strapped in for a free fall was out of the fucking ordinary. Eliot wasn't sure what his face was doing—hopefully nothing—but Hardison put a careful hand on his bicep.

"You okay?" said Hardison.

Eliot nodded and stepped away. "Nobody in the blast zone, and nobody suspicious in the area," he added. "Bomb must've been on a timer." He didn't bother saying what they both already knew: the bomb had gone off within minutes of Eliot's usual lunch trip. Odds were good someone was watching them closely.

"Take a breath, man," said Hardison.

"I'm breathing, alright?" Eliot snapped. If his oxygen supply had been cut off, he wouldn't have been able to picture so clearly how fucked they were. "What are we waiting for? Lisbon protocol, let's go."

"We're revisiting it later if you're actually okay," said Hardison.

"Revisit it in the goddamn car," Eliot gritted out. "We'll take Hardison's, once I've cleared it."

"I'm driving," said Parker.

"No way in Hell, you drive like a sack of raccoons," said Eliot.

Parker nodded. She didn't smile or anything, but he still sensed something like relief.

.

Hardison drove. He was decent behind the wheel, Eliot could admit that much. Generally, Eliot found it a little irritating all the things Hardison could do without trying all that hard, but at the moment—he'd take it.

After they were positive they had nobody on their trail, Eliot let himself slump down in the back seat and take a breath.

"So," said Parker, exchanging a glance with Hardison. "My bug-out bag doesn't include the 'talking about feelings' puppets, but we think it's probably time to talk about feelings."

Eliot eyed the door handle. He'd tucked and rolled from a moving vehicle before; it wouldn't be that hard to—

The child locks clicked on.

Hardison met his eyes in the rear view mirror. "Don't make me circle back and get the puppets," said Hardison. "Those things give my nightmares nightmares."

For the wnip meme if you're still taking them - no idea if you've seen Leverage (and no worries if not, of course), but I'd live for your Ready For Love / IDOAG-style take on the Leverage OT3, no matter the plot. The snark! The noodle incidents! The yearning potential always inherent in established-het-couple-plus-life-partner! It would be great.

oh my gosh, this is an amazing prompt and i love leverage!!! my first thought was that it would actually be very funny to put Elliott in a close-to-identical spot as Cosmo in Ready For Love, and then, uh. this happened:

The irritating thing about Hardison and Parker—

Well, there were plenty of irritating things about Hardison, too many to name, and at least two about Parker. Hers were the way she ate when she was feeding herself (Elliott still wasn’t over the time he’d walked in on her sprinkling Frosted Flakes onto a piece of pizza. “What?” she’d said. “It’s fortified with vitamins and minerals”) and the way she threw herself into danger even when Elliott was right there to take the hit. But the most annoying thing about them as a couple was that they had no shame, about anything.

“Anniversary cruise next month,” Hardison announced when Elliott slunk into headquarters on Monday morning, nursing a headache he’d been assured was not a concussion. “You coming?”

“I—am I coming,” Elliott repeated. “To your anniversary cruise?”

“Of course he is,” said Parker, dropping upside down out of the ceiling. “We already hacked into his calendar, he’s free.”

Elliott pinched the bridge of his nose, temples pounding. There were many, many things he could’ve said just then, chief among them “Seriously, again?” or “What is your goddamn addiction to having a third wheel around?” or “Do you two get off on being fucking pined at?” or even just a classic “Dammit, Hardison.” For reasons that surpassed his own goddamn understanding, what he said was,

“Next month’s not your anniversary.”

Parker flipped and landed soundlessly on her feet. “Yes it is,” she said. “September 16.”

“No,” said Elliott, with way more patience than they deserved, “y’all got together in August. August 28th.”

Hardison blinked. “Dude, you memorized our anniversary?”

Shit. Elliott could’ve hit himself. He had no cover, for knowing something like that. No real explanation, except for how closely he watched them.

“Well, you weren’t gonna do it!” Elliott blustered.

“Hey now,” said Hardison, “I think—I think I resent that. How could you believe I’d forget one of the most important days of my life?”

“Because you just did!” snapped Elliott.

Parker appeared at Elliott’s side (literally appeared; he hadn’t tracked the approach at all) with a bottle of painkillers, which she shook meaningfully.

“What?” said Elliott.

“I think she means ‘for the headache you’re suffering through for no good damn reason,’” Hardison suggested.

“Taking too many isn’t good for you,” said Elliott.

“Pain also isn’t good for you,” said Parker, and wasn’t that the truth?

“Oh, for god’s sake, gimme that,” said Elliott, pouring out two pills and swallowing them dry.

Hardison shook his head. “Why do you even have to be macho about how you take your Tylenol?”

“At any rate, we’re booking tickets for September,” Parker reported. “Three tickets, unless you’re busy. Which you’re not.”

“Because I’m coming on your anniversary cruise,” said Elliott disbelievingly.

“There, I think he’s catching on!” said Hardison. He and Parker high-fived.

See? Fucking irritating.

[rhettrosunsets]

Wildflowers And Refuge - Petals And Promises Series|Boblena X Fem!Reader

Pairing: Robert Reynolds X Fem!Floral Powered Reader X Yelena Belova (Boblena X Reader)

Category: Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Fluffy Ending.

Summary: It was supposed to be a simple mission. Bob and Yelena promised you that it'd be so easy that they'd be back for dinner and before you had the chance to worry about them, leaving you with a forehead kiss and a promise. Except, that didn't happen, and you know somethings not right. When you go to look for your partners it leads you to somewhere that brings back un-welcomed memories, but Bob and Yelena are there to pick up the pieces just like how you did for them.

The one where reader gets to save Bob And Yelena for a change

Masterlist

Read More Of The Petals And Protection Series Here!

Warnings: Canon Marvel Violence!! Reader experiences PTSD and disassociates. Mention of blood, bruises and cuts. Mention of needles, mention of IV, mentions of reader's mental state, readers over-thinking and worrying, reader has a similar origin to Bob's, Reader is described as pale in flashbacks when talking about the lab, mentions of reader being abandoned and left for dead, memories of reader being alone in the lab. Long story short: Reader is going THROUGH it and Bob and Yelena don't play about their girlfriend.

The mission was supposed to be simple. In and out, just like that. a Quick intel grab at an old lab and nothing more, back to the Tower before dinner.

Bob and Yelena had both assured you of that before they left, with kisses to your forehead and pinky promises that they’d be home before you missed them. You believed them too, you didn't have a reason not too.

Yelena was a heavily trained RedRoom assassin who has killed more people than any of you ever care to think about, while Bob quite literally has powers so powerful you don't even know how to express it, even if he doesn't use them due to reason's you three prefer to leave unsaid. To put it short, your partners were complete badasses who did this sort of thing regularly, and outside of the mental toll and some pretty gnarly injuries sometimes, they were always okay.

They always came back.

But this time, they didn't. The others tried to tell you to wait, that Yelena and Bob could handle themselves, that maybe the comms were just glitching, that you were overreacting and that they would be home soon.

But you weren’t, You could feel it in your soul that something was truly wrong.

It felt like silence, not the kind of silence that felt like home when Yelena, Bob and you would curl up on the couch in the early mornings and listen to the birds sing, no, it felt that awful kind of silence you remembered from your time in the lab, where there was nothing for miles except the sounds of you crying out for help. You just knew, and you could feel it in the way that the plant’s were freaking out, vines wrapping around your wrists tightly when you walked by your plants on the windowsill, the same plant's Yelena and Bob help take care of when you aren't at the tower. You knew you had to do something, they had saved you once, and now, whether they like it or not, you’re going to go and save them.

So you went looking. You didn’t ask for permission, you didn’t wait, you didn’t even tell the rest of the team you were leaving, you just couldn’t. You didn’t want to waste anymore time arguing with the team about if they were okay or not, you just wanted to get to your partners as fast as you could. That awful tightness in your chest, the one that always came before something terrible was suffocating you from the inside, It felt like something was trying to claw through your chest, like a horrible ache that wouldn’t disappear until you saw Bob and Yelena alive.

You follow the pull, the roots seemingly knowing where you lead you as you drag yourself through rugged terrain. The roots tug you to an abandoned building tucked in the mountains, crumbling and rusted. Your chest clinches, as you curl into yourself inadvertently, the place was so painfully familiar it made you physically sick.

It looked just like the place you’d been left in, the same cold concrete, the same metal doors that croaked and sounded like a laugh as you opened them, the same stillness that became the reason why you hated silence for so long and had to have Bob and Yelena speak to you to get you to sleep most nights when you first started dating.

You almost turned back, your body almost collapsing on the forest floor as you stare at the building in front of you, your breathing labored and uneven. But you pushed through, because Bob and Yelena had saved your life in a building exactly like this, they had cared for you, and they showed you what true love felt like, and now? Now it was your turn.

The hallways were tight, the air an extreme chill that bites your exposed skin with every step. Your breath came in short, panicked gasps as the sound of your boots echoed off the walls. The same boots Yelena insisted you had in case something had ever gone wrong, and saying that if anything she could get you to match with her one of these days, and get you out of your normal wardrobe of oversized sweaters, and soft colors. Something that at the time had made both you and Bob laugh. But here you were, wearing all black, and wearing those exact boots.

The trauma crept in fast and got worse the further you walked. You saw flashes of yourself here, you remembered the way your body ached as you laid curled on the floor, your chest heaving as you sobbed, wondering if anyone would ever find you. You see yourself pale, bleeding and forgotten from society, abandoned and left to rot like you were nothing. And despite your mind telling you too, you didn’t stop, because they were here. Your partners, Bob who held you so gently, and praised you for the smallest of things, but never treated you like you were going to break. And Yelena, who always made sure you were their priority, giving you the love and care you were so devoid of for so long.

Your partners, who learned how to make special blends of tea just so they could bring it to you on the mornings where the day seemed too hard to approach. Your partners who would grab fuzzy blankets when they saw them at the store, not caring that you already had a whole collection at this point, always declaring that if it made you happy, then they were going to spoil you. Your partners, who you loved, more than anything in this world. They where here, and you weren't stopping until you were back in the tower under piles of fuzzy blankets with them.

When you pushed open the last door at the end of the hallway, your breath hitched in your throat, tears immediately welling in your eyes. There sat Bob and Yelena, they were alive. Bound to chairs, bloodied, and gagged, but they were alive. Their eyes flew open when they saw you, immediately beginning to thrash in their holds as they obviously had expected the rest of their team, and not their girlfriend who has never gone out on a mission in her life.

Yelena instantly, shook her head no, as if to scream at you “What are you doing here??”

Bob’s voice cracked behind the gag, as he managed to croak out. “Baby, it’s not safe, you need to leave, now.” You were already running over to them, immediately untying their holds, ignoring the shaking in your knees, as you freed them from their holds, wincing as the rope slid against your hands. “You’re okay" you choked out. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you.” More so telling yourself, than them.

Bob surged forward as soon as his wrists were free, grabbing your face in his hands, as he looked you directly in your eyes “Why would you come here?” he said, panic flashing through his eyes as he scanned you, looking for any injuries. “This place! it’s like the one you-”

“I know” you whispered, cutting him off, your vision swimming with tears, wether from relief or from the feeling of being somewhere so eerily similar to the lab you had once been left for dead in, you didn't know. Yelena pulled you into her arms as soon as she managed to stand up, her hand clutching your back and head, pulling you impossibly close to her. “You shouldn’t be here, Darling. Where's the rest of the team?!” she asked fiercely, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other clutching your waist like she was trying to hold you together. “It’s too much, it’s too much for you, darling. We never wanted you to see some place like this again.” she muttered out, her eyes scanning your features just like Bob had.

“I had to!” you said crying out as you buried your face in her shoulder. “I couldn’t lose you two.” They didn’t argue after that, they just held you between them, whispering soft words to you as the three of you left the building.

Back at the Tower, it hits you harder than you expected. You assumed it was going to bring back bad memories, but you didn’t know the extent of what you might feel.

When you walk into the med-bay, the walls are too white, you flinch when a nurse snaps a rubber band around a saline line, and you keep seeing those rusted metal doors, that concrete floor in the back of your mind.

And then, as if you brain wasn't being cruel enough, you see the way Bob and Yelena's bodies looked tied to those chairs, and the fear in their eyes when they saw you enter that dark room.

And suddenly, it’s like you’re there again, laying In that old lab, left for dead, abandoned and alone. Your breathing goes shallow, your chest caves inward, and you know you’re about to have a panic attack.

Bob is the first to notice, he doesn’t say anything at first, just walks over to where you're leaning on the wall waiting for Yelena to finish getting checked over, and cups your face in his hands. He softly says your name, trying to bring you back to them. You flinch, not at him, never at him. But at the way your name feels being said back to you, you feel like your body isn’t your own again, like you’re just a test subject, a failure, like you aren’t good enough.

His heart shatters as he sees the lost gaze in your eyes, the one telling him that you are far away in your head, too far to be listening to his words and feeling his touch. “Hey,” he murmurs, guiding you with a firm hand on your low back to sit down out of the med-bay, and instead on the couch where your collection of abandoned fuzzy blankets and books are. “You’re safe sweet-girl, you’re home. We’re not there anymore, they can never hurt you or us again baby.” he whispers softly as he rubs your cheeks with his thumbs as he's crouched in front of you.

He hear's Yelena walk out of the med-bay and into the living room where you two are sitting, but he keeps his focus and gaze on you, trying to get you to come back to reality and get out of that dark place in your head.

Yelena walks over quietly, trying to be as gentle as she can while all bruised up and her joints still aching. She crouches in front of you, her hands warm on your knees, drawing gentle shapes helping to ground you more. “You should've never had to come after us like that Darling” she says quietly, like it pains her to say it, “We should’ve been more careful."

“You weren’t supposed to see that place, sweet-girl” Bob says, as he sits on the couch and pulls you into his side “Not when you’ve already had to live it.”

You shake your head slowly, as you begin to ground yourself, slowly coming back to your partners as you mutter a soft “You’re the only reason I got out of the first one, I had to come get you guys. I didn't want to be left alone again, I need you two.”

They pull you into their arms again, keeping you as close to both of them as they can, it feels familiar, it feels safe, and it feels like you’re loved.

Yelena murmurs something in Russian into your hair, probably some gentle praise that you can’t quite make out in your current state, while Bob presses a gentle kiss to your temple and whispers softly into your ear “You’re not alone baby, not now, not ever again.” And as the panic begins to fades and your breathing evens, you realize, you're in their arms, and you're home.

[tinyshyteacup]

Taglist: @kellynickelsgirl00 @i-doutt-it @beth-isnt-home @darylandbethfanforever9 @brianna-merlim @pumpkinkpieandtomato @smashleywow @imadisneyprincessiswear @clementineslawyer @pandaofsilentdeath @dixonsbridexx @imadisneyprincessiswear @staley83

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TW: cussing, Merle is well ... Merle, angst, walkers (Zombies), talk of amputation, lecherous behavior, aftermath of an attack, gruesome scenes, graves/death (offscreen)

Part 3

Between Brothers - Part 4

The morning sun filters through the van's dirty windows, casting everything in a hazy golden light. You're still deep in sleep, curled up in the moving blankets, when Merle quietly pushes himself up from his makeshift bedroll.

He watches you for a moment—the way your hair falls, the gentle rise and fall of your chest. You look peaceful when you sleep, more vulnerable. It does something to him, seeing you like this. Something he doesn't want to examine too closely.

The fuel gauge had been riding near empty yesterday, though he hadn't mentioned it. No point worrying the girl about something he could handle. He'd spotted several abandoned cars along the road they'd traveled, and dawn was the perfect time to do a little resource gathering without an audience.

Moving carefully to avoid waking you, Merle gathers his knife and a piece of rubber tubing from his pack. The van's back door closes with a soft click, and he uses a bent coat hanger to secure it from the outside—can't have you wandering off, or anything getting in while you sleep.

The walk back to the main road takes about thirty minutes. The morning air is crisp, carrying the scent of pine and something less pleasant—the ever-present smell of decay that seems to cling to everything now.

The first car he tries, a blue sedan, has barely a gallon left. Merle wrestles with the gas cap, cursing under his breath as he tries to grip it with his stump while working the siphon tube. It's frustrating as hell, doing everything one-handed. Simple tasks that used to take seconds now require planning and patience—two things Merle has never been known for.

As he works, his mind drifts back to you sleeping in the van. Soft and warm and conveniently dependent on him for survival. The thought sends a familiar heat through his veins. He's been thinking about it more and more—what it would be like to have something warm to curl up against on cold nights. Someone easy on the eyes to take the edge off all this stress and uncertainty.

Hell, it's been months since he'd had a girl. Even longer since he's had a clean one. You're scared of him, sure, but there's something else in those eyes.

Curiosity, maybe.

Or maybe he's just seeing what he wants to see.

Either way, keeping you around is starting to look like one of his better decisions. A man's got needs, after all, and the apocalypse doesn't change that. If anything, it makes those needs more pressing.

He finds better luck with a pickup truck—nearly a full tank. The siphoning goes easier this time, though he still has to brace the tube with his stump while creating suction. The taste of gasoline hits his tongue, and he spits, grimacing.

"Fucking hate that part," he mutters, but the can is filling steadily.

By the time he makes it back to the van, you're stirring awake. He can hear you moving around inside as he removes the coat hanger and pulls the door up.

"Rise and shine, sleeping beauty," he drawls, hoisting the gas can with his good arm. "We got places to be."

You stretch, wincing at the stiffness in your back from sleeping on the van floor. Your hair is mussed, and there's a crease on your cheek from the blanket. The sight of you all rumpled and sleepy makes his jeans feel a little tighter.

"Where did you go?" you ask, your accent thicker when you're just waking up.

"Fuel run," he says, hefting the jerry can. "We were runnin' on fumes yesterday."

Your eyebrows draw together. "You could have told me. I would have helped."

"Didn't want to worry your pretty little head about it." He starts pouring the gas into the tank, trying to ignore the way the simple act of holding the can steady makes his stump ache. "Besides, you needed your beauty sleep."

You're quiet for a moment, watching him work. Then you say, "How's your arm?"

"Fine."

"Merle."

There's something in your tone that makes him look up. You're giving him that steady look that means you're not buying his bullshit.

"When's the last time you checked it?"

"Don't need to. It's fine."

"It's been two days." You're already reaching for the first aid supplies from the glove compartment. "Sit down."

"I said it's fine."

"And I said sit down."

There's steel in your voice now, and despite himself, Merle finds it kind of attractive. Most people are too scared of him to push back, but you're not backing down. He sits.

Your hands are gentle as you unwrap the dirty bandages, and he tries not to think about how long it's been since someone touched him with anything approaching tenderness. The wound looks angry and red around the edges, and he knows it needs cleaning even if he won't admit it.

"This needs to stay clean," you murmur, reaching for the antiseptic. "Infection is the last thing you need right now."

The alcohol burns like hellfire when you pour it over the wound, and he grits his teeth to keep from making a sound. You work quickly and efficiently, your touch sure and steady. Where the hell did a sheltered little thing like you learn field medicine?

"There," you say, tying off the fresh bandage. "That should hold."

"Thanks, Sweet cheeks." He flexes his arm experimentally. The fresh bandage feels better than he wants to admit.

"Don't mention it." You're already packing the supplies away. "Where are we going?"

"Quarry camp. 'Bout an hour's drive from here." He pours the rest of the gasoline into the tank, the smell sharp in the morning air. "That's where my group was holed up before everything went to shit."

He tosses you a warm can of beans. "Breakfast of champions."

The van rumbles to life, and soon you're back on the road, winding through Georgia countryside that would be beautiful if you could forget about the world ending. Merle drives with his stump resting on the wheel, occasionally gesturing with his good hand.

"You sleep alright?" he asks, glancing over at you. "Looked pretty peaceful all curled up like a little kitten."

There's something in his tone that makes you blush, and he grins at the reaction.

"Didn't snore or nothin'. That's good—can't stand a woman who snores. Had this one girl, Candy, sounded like a freight train when she slept. Made it real hard to concentrate on more important things."

You focus on your beans, not wanting to know what 'important things' he means.

Rolling hills stretch out on either side, dotted with farmhouses that look peaceful from a distance. It's only when you get closer that you notice the broken windows, the doors hanging open like slack jaws.

"See that water tower there? That's where me and Daryl used to go huntin' Daddy'd drop us off with a .22 and tell us not to come back empty-handed." He chuckles, but there's no real humor in it. "Course, if we did come back empty-handed, we'd get a reminder about how to aim better."

You nod, still working on the cold beans with your fingers. The normalcy of the conversation feels surreal against the backdrop of abandoned farmhouses and overturned cars scattered along the roadside like discarded toys.

"Speaking of which," Merle continues, glancing at you with that calculating look again, "we need to work on your education, lil' doe. Can't have you lookin' at me like a deer in headlights every time I open my mouth."

"I don't look at you like—"

"Sugar, you got more confused expressions than a cat in a dog house." He grins, clearly enjoying himself. "Tell you what, next time you don't understand somethin' I say, you just speak up. Ol' Merle'll give you a proper redneck education. Free of charge, though I do accept payment in other forms."

The way he says it makes you roll your eyes, but you're getting used to his constant innuendos.

You don't have to wait long for the opportunity. They pass what looks like the remains of a roadside stand, and Merle gestures toward it with his chin.

"Bet old Jimmy was runnin' shine outta that place. Had that look about it."

You frown, trying to piece together the context. "Shine?"

Merle's eyebrows shoot up, and he lets out a whistle. "Well, I'll be damned. You really are green as grass, ain't ya?" He seems genuinely delighted by your ignorance. "Moonshine, darlin'. White lightning. Hooch. The kind of liquor that'll put hair on your chest and burn a hole through your belly."

"Oh." You feel that familiar heat creep up your neck. "Illegal alcohol."

"Illegal, hell. It's a art form where I come from." He warms to the subject, his voice taking on an almost professorial tone. "See, you take your corn mash, you ferment it real good, then you run it through a still. Copper tubing, usually, though some folks use whatever they can get their hands on. The trick is gettin' the temperature just right—too hot and you'll blow yourself to kingdom come, too cool and you get nothing but expensive water."

You find yourself genuinely interested despite the subject matter. "You've made it?"

"Honey, I was runnin' shine before I was old enough to drive. Family business, you might say." His grin turns wicked. "Course, always drank more product than I sold."

You can see it in the way he leans forward slightly, scanning the horizon like he's expecting to see familiar faces any moment.

A walker stumbles out from behind an overturned pickup truck as they round a bend, and you tense automatically. But Merle just speeds up, clipping it with the van's side mirror. The walker spins and falls, arms windmilling, and you watch it struggle to get up in the rearview mirror.

"Shouldn't we—?"

"Nah. Ain't worth the gas to stop." Merle glances at you, noting your white knuckles on the door handle. "You're wound tighter than bark on a tree, sugar."

Another expression. You give him a questioning look, trying to distract yourself from the image of the walker still thrashing in the road behind you.

"Means you're tense, darlin'. Nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs. Ready to jump outta your skin at every little thing." He reaches over and squeezes your knee with his good hand, the touch brief but somehow grounding. "Relax. Ain't nothin' out here we can't handle."

The contact sends an unexpected warmth through you, and you're annoyed at yourself for the reaction. This is Merle—crude, dangerous, probably unhinged. You shouldn't find his touch comforting.

"Another one," Merle says, pointing ahead where another walker is dragging itself across the road. "This one's missin' its legs. Poor bastard's been crawlin' around like that for who knows how long."

You watch in horrified fascination as he drives past. The walker's fingernails are worn down to bloody nubs from clawing at the asphalt, leaving dark streaks behind it. Its hospital gown is shredded and stained with things you don't want to identify.

"That's just wrong," you murmur, pressing a hand to your stomach as it churns.

"Yeah, well, world's full of wrong now." Merle's voice has lost some of its humor. "Trick is not lettin' it get to you. You start feelin' sorry for every piece of walking meat out there, you'll go crazy faster than you can say 'boo.'"

The walker's moans fade behind them, but the sound lingers in your ears. You wonder how long it's been crawling, if it remembers being human, if there's any part of the person it used to be still trapped inside that rotting shell.

"Stop it," Merle says sharply.

"Stop what?"

"Thinkin' about it. I can see them wheels turnin' in your head, and it ain't gonna do you no good. They ain't people anymore, lil' doe. They're just meat that forgot how to quit movin'."

But even as he says it, you catch him glancing in the rearview mirror, watching until the crawling walker disappears around a bend.

The landscape gradually becomes more familiar to Merle, and his mood shifts again. There's an anticipation in the way he sits forward, his good hand drumming against the steering wheel.

"Almost there," he says, his voice tight. "Just over that ridge."

But when they crest the hill, what you find isn't what Merle expected.

The quarry camp is a wasteland.

The van rolls to a stop, and for a long moment, neither of you moves. The silence is deafening.

Tents are scattered and torn, their fabric fluttering in the breeze like prayer flags. Dark stains mark the ground—blood, you realize with a sick feeling. A pile of charred walker corpses smolders near what used to be a fire pit, the smell of burnt flesh heavy in the air.

And there, stripped down, sits a bright orange car.

"No," Merle breathes. "No, no, no..."

He throws the van into park and jumps out, leaving the door hanging open. You follow more slowly, your stomach churning as the full scope of the destruction becomes clear.

Merle stalks through the camp like a man possessed, his good hand clenched into a fist. "Where the hell is everyone? WHERE THE HELL IS EVERYONE?"

He kicks at an overturned folding chair, sending it flying. A camp stove lies on its side, dented and blackened. Someone's family photos are scattered in the dirt, trampled and stained.

"They were supposed to be here!" His voice cracks with rage and something deeper—fear. "This was supposed to be safe! This was the plan!"

He spins in a circle, taking in the devastation. "Goddamn it! GODDAMN IT ALL TO HELL!"

You stand frozen, watching him unravel. This isn't the crude, confident man you've been traveling with. This is someone coming apart at the seams.

"Should've known better than to trust a fucking cop!" Merle kicks at a pile of scattered clothes.

His breathing is ragged, and there's a wild look in his eyes that scares you more than any walker.

"Don't give a shit about any of 'em," he snarls, though his voice wavers. "Don't give a damn about the whole lot of those ungrateful bastards. But my baby brother..." His voice breaks. "Sonofabitch was HERE!"

You feel sick, imagining what must have happened to these people. The fear they must have felt, the chaos, the desperate attempts to survive that obviously failed.

Your eyes are drawn to the hillside above the camp, where a row of rough wooden crosses marks fresh graves. The sight makes your blood run cold.

"Merle," you say quietly, but he's not listening.

He's spiraling, his voice getting louder and more frantic as he searches through the debris.

You flinch as his fist connects with the side of the car. "If somethin' happened to my baby brother, I'll kill every last one of these walking pieces of shit!"

"Merle!" you call louder.

He whips around, eyes blazing. "WHAT?"

You point up the hill with a shaking hand. "Are those ..."

His face goes white. Without a word, he starts running up the hill, you following behind on unsteady legs.

Before you follow him up, you pull a scarf from your pack and wrap it around your hair, covering your hair. Some customs run deeper than fear, and disturbing the dead without proper respect is asking for trouble.

The crosses are crude, hastily made from whatever wood was available. Some are fashioned from broken fence posts, others from pieces of furniture. They're driven into the hard Georgia clay at uneven angles, creating a makeshift cemetery that speaks of desperation and grief.

"What's your brother's name?" you ask breathlessly. "His full name?"

"Daryl!" he snaps, not looking at you. "Daryl goddamn Dixon! Why?"

Your hands are shaking as you approach the first grave. The marker has a name scratched into it with what looks like a knife blade:, "Ed Peletier."

"Ed," you call out, your voice hollow. "Ed Peletier."

Merle doesn't respond. He's moved to the next grave, staring at the marker like it might change if he looks hard enough.

You continue down the row, your stomach churning with each name. "Amy...Harrison" Your voice catches. The wood is newer on this one, the letters carved more carefully. Someone had taken time with this grave, had cared enough to make it neat.

"Amy," you repeat, louder this time. "There's a Amy, and Ed..."

You scan the remaining graves quickly, your heart in your throat. But as you reach the end of the row, you realize something that makes you relieved for him.

"Merle," you say softly. "Your brother's name isn't here."

That seems to snap him out of whayever daze he's in. He looks at you, his eyes focusing.

"You sure? You're fucking sure?"

"I'm sure. Look for yourself."

He does, moving from grave to grave with desperate intensity. When he reaches the end of the row, he stops and stops back down the hill.

You start after him, then reach for the small bottle of water in your pack. Merle watches in confusion as you pour a small amount over your hands, rubbing them together.

"What the hell are you doing now?"

"Washing my hands," you say simply. "So spirits don't follow us."

"Spirits?" Merle's voice climbs an octave. "What kind of voodoo bullshit—"

"It's not voodoo," you say quietly. "It's just... where I come from, you always wash your hands after visiting graves. It's a sign of respect."

"Well, where I come from, we don't have time for fairy tales," Merle snaps, his relief turning to impatience. He grabs your wrist with his good hand, his grip tight enough to bruise. "We got work to do."

"Wait, I'm not finished—"

"You're finished." He starts dragging you down the hill, his strides long and aggressive. "We gotta find him. We gotta find my baby brother."

"Merle, you're hurting me—"

"World's full of hurt, lil-doe. You better get used to it." But he loosens his grip slightly, though he doesn't let go. "Can't waste time on superstitions when my brothers out there somewhere."

By the time you reach the van, Merle's practically vibrating with nervous energy. He shoves you toward the passenger side, not roughly but with an urgency that borders on manic.

"Get in. We're burnin' daylight."

"Where are we going?" you ask as he throws the van into gear.

"Wherever the trail leads," he says, his jaw set with determination. "Gonna check every camp, every safe house, every hole in the ground if I have to. That boy's blood, and kin don't leave blood behind."

The van roars to life, and he guns it, spraying dirt and gravel as you race away from the destroyed camp.

[kabr0ztrousers]

Kabr0z Writes Episode 155: Single mother to-be

Find the rest of the Kabr0z Writes anthology here!

Ao3!

CWs: group sex; giving and receiving oral sex; knotting; degradation; impregnation/breeding kink; enthusiastic consent

A/N: This one was easier to write than I predicted! Thanks Red Anon for some really excellent fic suggestions that helped get the creativity flowing

#############################################

The two lupines stood over you. One was a tawny brown, the other a glossy black. You didn't know their names. What's the point? You were only interested in one thing from each other, and as you sat on your bed looking from one slavering wolf-man to the other, you were looking forward to taking it.

The wolves watched you, predatory eyes fixed on your body as you stripped in front of them. You took your time, feeling their gaze as you slowly removed your t-shirt, then your shorts, showing off your midriff. You stretched as you took off your socks, wiggling your toes while they stared at you.

They closed in on you, you feigned resistance as the black one undid your bra, the brown one peeling off your knickers. They were careful not to rip anything, hands at once rough and gentle. You let yourself be handled by them. Their tongues passed your lips as they kissed you, one after the other, groping hands squeezing your waist, your belly, your tits. They were all over you. Occasional brushes past your crotch made you shiver. Nobody wanted this over too quickly, and having a pair of lupines worshipping every inch of you is certainly one way to get in the mood.

You let them push you to your hands and knees, down on all fours with the black one behind you, the brown one in front. Somewhere in the jumble of limbs and tongues they'd both found the time to strip off too. The three of you stayed for a moment, panting, taking in the scene. Letting the fantasy wash over you.

The brown one ran his fingers through your hair, absent minded. His dark eyes stared down at you as you struggled to keep your gaze off his thick red cock, gently hardening in front of your face. He let your head, soft touches almost tickling your scalp.

Then he remembered what you wanted.

You yelped as his grip tightened on your head. A fistful of hair becomes a handle with which to pull you in. You couldn't keep the grin off your face when his balls dragged across your face. Your hand strayed between your legs, opening your lips to the wolf behind you.

He didn't need any more instruction. A wide, flat tongue slid over your slit, tasting you as it slid over and around your crotch. His attention made your toes curl, your clit pulsing and throbbing. Waves of static pleasure lapped against your mind as his tongue worked. You could feel how wet you were, leaking directly into his mouth as you mumbled your satisfaction into the lupine ballsack occupying your mouth.

“Damn, you're eager, aren't you?” The brown one muttered “Tell you what, if you ask me really nicely, I'll fuck your face. Would you like that?”

He hadn't pulled your face away from his balls. You tried to nod, pulling your hair against his fist, feeling yourself throb as you did so.

“Beg”

A soft moan leaped from your lips as he yanked you back. His cock was poised at your face, just out of reach of your outstretched tongue.

He repeated himself “Beg, slut”

“Please” you looked up at him. Your voice wavered with the distraction of the other one still relentlessly tongue-fucking you “Please fuck my mouth”

He leaned down to you, his other hand stroking your cheek as his eyes came level with yours “Good slut. You know what good sluts get?”

He stood rapidly, guiding his cock into your mouth “Rewards”

He started slowly, letting you get accustomed to the thick rod in your mouth. You ran your tongue over the tip, teasing the hole. Every eager suck was rewarded with a jet of salty-sweet precum, thin and warm, coating your tongue, rolling down your throat. You sighed in satisfaction, tracing the ventral tube with the tip of your tongue, trying to beckon him onwards, urging him deeper.

Instead he pulled out. You whined, the heavenly tongue leaving your aching, leaking quim, your fingers rubbing against your clit, desperate for stimulation.

The black one spoke “I'm going to rut you. Do you want that?”

“Yes” you whined

“Tell me what you want, slut”

“Please” you were gasping, your mind only able to focus on how much you needed it “I want your cock”

“Good enough”

You almost cried when his cock parted your lower lips. He filled you beautifully, gliding in on an ocean of slick. Your eyes crossed and your tongue lolled, your thoughts just a jumble of sensation. You stared at the cock in front of you, dripping with your spit and precum

“P-please” you managed “Wanna suck”

“Good girl” The brown-furred lupine let you take his cock into your mouth, suckling on it while the black one’s hips slapped against yours.

Sweat dropped off you. Your toes flexed and clenched. You moaned and sighed your orgasms into the cock in your mouth. All you could do, all you wanted to do, was grip the bedsheets for dear life. You let the lupines use you, silently urging them on.

You felt the black one's knot swelling, pushing against your cunt. You slid a hand between your legs. Your fingers gripped behind the thick ball of throbbing flesh, pushing it into you.

“You want my knot? Huh?” He was panting. His words came breathy and growling “you wanna be a single mother?”

You nodded, the cock slipping from your mouth “cum in me” you begged him “knock me up” another moan as you neared your peak again “please”

The brown one pushed his cock back into your mouth.

The black one pushed harder.

Both knots slipped into you. The brown stuck behind your teeth, the tip squirting thick cum into the back of your throat. You spluttered and gagged. Wolf cum dripped from your nose as you struggled to swallow it.

That's not the one that was making you shake. The black wolf’s cock was buried in your cunt. The entire length stretching the tight, muscular walls. You could feel it throb. Swelling as pulse after pulse of virile wolf seed flowed directly into your fertile womb. You thought you could feel it. Millions of swimmers finding your eggs, lodging themselves in your baby-maker. You couldn't, of course, but just the idea of it was making your head spin.

You touched your belly, the clammy, sweaty skin slick under your fingers. Still plugged up with wolf-knot, leaking cum from your hole, you wished your dreams into being.

[weedle-testaburger]

one little pet peeve I have with media is when they don't give any weight to killing people and just go '...yes?' when people ask 'hey is it OK to kill our enemies?' as if it's not a difficult moral question

[orphiicheartd]

Of those who went to Playful Land, Vil came out of it with a surprising aversion to all things puppets. And a constant Urge to scratch at the right side of his face, fearful of feeling wood rooted in there rather than human skin. Even months afterward, he'd still feel a certain ick when dealing with anything related to puppets and will have a blatantly obvious fear response to finding even stray sticks in his hair.

He wasn't really able to stomach having ribbons on his wrists or even wearing harnesses for commercial or modeling gigs he did that year for a bit either. He'd tossed the clothes from Playful Land in the back of the Film club's costume shed, as he didn't want them to go to waste even still. He'd even asked the other's willing to give theirs up to store them in there too. He doesn't think he would be able to use them for anything, though, as just the idea of wearing that ensemble again is Abhorrent to him. Even the mere thought of Epel try one on left him feeling nauseous.

[livingdeaddoctor]

would that knowing the thoughts were irrational would Make Them Go Away!!!!

[skaruresonic]

no fear

"Bloober remaking Silent Hill 3, which has far fewer defenders because the game gets classified either as 'cult crap' or 'women's horror,' ignoring its psychological elements"

one fear

[yandere-daydreams]

tw - physical abuse, mentions of kidnapping, themes of marking/ownership. based on this ask.

Suguru has your name tattooed just below his collarbone.

It's subtle. Black ink pressed into neat kanji, bold lettering camouflaged behind the swirls and patterns of his other designs. Yours emerges from the back of a brilliant, white and blue dragon, while Satoru's hangs below, settled into the spiraling pupil of the dragon's eye. You try not to look for it. Really, you try not to look at him at all, but he makes it difficult - always forcing your hand against his chest, always asking you to read out the only names that have or will ever matter to him. It might be a little more romantic if he didn't seem so proud, if he didn't purr out his affirmations of love with quite so much self-satisfaction. He wants evidence of his claim to you, of his right to you, and what could be more telling than carrying your name so close to his heart?

Satoru wears two wedding rings.

Technically four, if you count the engagement bands he keeps on a delicate silver chain around his neck. It's embarrassing, honestly. He'd always been the one to propose - first to Suguru, when they were fresh out of high school, then to you, on the first anniversary of your abduction. The two of you aren't actually married (no, they'd never let you stray far enough from their countryside estate for that), but Satoru likes to pretend, and Suguru likes to indulge him. He calls you by all the right terms of endearment, brings home cake and flowers every few weeks for some invented milestone, whines when he finds your rarely-worn ring stuffed under the mattress or broken into pieces on the floor. He's always wanted something domestic, something mutual. Your continued imprisonment may eliminate any hope for the latter, but he can still try to nudge you towards the former.

They've both carved their names into you.

Suguru's, first, stretching over the small of your back. The lines are jagged, the scarring ugly and only just beginning to heal around the roughest patches. He did it on impulse - as a punishment for trying to run away, as proof that you'd never really be able to get away from them. He wanted to make himself a part of you, and in a way, he did.

Satoru's had to be inflicted later on, after weeks of building jealousy and off-handed comments about how unfair it would be to leave you so lopsided. His name was handled more with more care - engraved in your shared bedroom rather than the back of Suguru's car, using a proper scalpel rather than a rusted pocket knife. Suguru held you while Satoru did the dirty work, nuzzling into your tear-streaked cheeks and promising that they were only doing this because they loved you, because they had to make sure you knew who you belonged with. That did nothing to stop the pain, of course, almost as intense as the bitter hatred you feel every time Satoru presses a line of kisses up the length of your spine or Suguru settles a hand over the ruined mess of skin and flesh that you once called your own. Satoru holds up his rings to your scars, and Suguru offers to get another line of ink, and they try to convince you that you're all on equal ground. You're not, though. Obviously, you're not.

As violently as they refuse to admit it, Satoru can take off his rings, and Suguru can cover up his tattoos. Your claims to them can be removed, or hidden, and if they ever wanted to, they could leave, separate themselves, run.

For whatever reason, you just weren't given the same choice.

[itsmistyeyedbi]

Now that I think about it, I wanna rewrite the breakfast scene in book 3. There probably won't be any hectic changes, but considering the fact that Zuri’s Rook died when she was 8, she'd actually be able to answer Farah's question👀

And considering how Rebecca responds to it, her reaction would be a little more...hm👀👀

I lowkey want to write the direct aftermath of that kiss at the end of book 3. The detective spends the night at the warehouse, so Zuri would still be there in the morning.

Considering the talk Morgan would have had with Adam after the kiss, and the one Nate had with him before it (the one on the patreon, for those who have seen that unseen scene👀), breakfast that morning would be awkward as hell and those two would immediately know that something happened.

And if this was in the poly route I posted about!? Especially if its path 2!? OOF.

[klausysworld]

A Second Chance

A thousand years ago, when the Mikaelson's were still human, Niklaus had a secret lover.

She was soft and sweet, gentle and kind. Y/N would wash the blood away from the wounds that colour his skin as a result of his father's rage. Her soft humming would lull him to sleep, his head against her breast comfortably as they lay out in the forest where he felt most at home.

His siblings knew of Y/N, they had seen her around and met her once or twice but Esther and Mikael weren't in the know. Niklaus was too afraid they'd forbid him from seeing her and he could handle being without her.

Each of his siblings had sworn not to tell but Finn was so awful at keeping things from their mother.

Niklaus hadn't known that he brother has tattled until it was too late.

Henrik had been killed and Esther and Mikael in turn made the rest of their children undead forever.

However it was only when Klaus's true identity came to light that Y/N was punished too. In addition to Mikael locking away Niklaus's wolf side and swearing hatred on him, he sought to punish him further by shoving a dagger deep into her chest.

Niklaus's scream shook the trees, Elijah held him as his sobs dragged the grass back into the ground and buried the life that was lost.

As centuries past, his grief was hidden behind more death and agony of which Klaus inflicted across the world. Her face was painted a million times over, a thousand different styles until Klaus could not bear to look at her anymore, it was like tearing his heart out over and over.

When the daggers came into his possession, they reminded him of her. He could still see her fearful eyes begging him for help as the blood seeped through her dress. And yet the weapon made him feel close to her each time he used them.

Her memory began to fade as the years went by, she drifted within his mind as other things came and went. But she could never be forgotton.

Esther knew that, and she used that to her advantage. She knew from the first time she stumbled across her son bathing in the lake late at night with his arms hanging loosely around a girls naked hips, their foreheads touching as they gazed lovingly at each other. When mikael killed her, she kept the girl preserved and buried safely.

A thousand years later she finally had use for the girl.

So when her children stood threateningly at the doorway, Klaus's rage on full display, Y/N's frightened whisper would break his attention.

His eyes found her. She was in that same dress she died in, still stained by her own blood but now coated head to toe in mud. He stepped forward but Esther's hand grabbed Y/N's wrist tight in a warning and he froze. So did Elijah and Rebekah.

"She's human, Niklaus." His mother reminded. "You could be human with her, have a family, a real life together like you were supposed to." She offered, watching the glimmer in her sons eyes.

Elijah stepped forward, hold hand resting on Klaus's shoulder as he too stared straight at the confused, petrified girl they had all loved.

"She's not real." Elijah whispered, assuming it was a trick and Esther's expression darkened as a blade was swiped quickly across Y/N's wrist, not hard enough to be fatal but enough to draw blood and panic Klaus.

He was in front of her in a second, trying to pull her to him but Esther threw him to the wall before he could reach and just like that Elijah and Rebekah were moving too.

Y/N was shaking silently in the corner by the time that Esther had been torn apart.

Her body flinched and trembled even once she resided in Niklaus's arms. She whimpered weakly, confused words recited in the same language they had used all that time ago. Niklaus didn't remember much but he had played the memories of their words over and over so many times that he was still able to comfort her in his mother tongue.

They got her home quickly, hiding her away in Klaus's room and muttering amongst themselves as to what to do.

"There must be a way to at least let her understand english-" Rebekah questioned and Elijah sighed, glancing over to how Y/N's fingers touched Klaus's curls and she whispered in their old language about how short it had become.

"We'll ask Davina... we should let Niklaus get her washed...she appears as though she'd been dug up." He murmured, a furrow to is brow.

Rebekahs gaze drifted to her dirtied finger nails. "She wasn't dug up...mother wouldn't be so kind. She dug her own way out." She uttered and Elijah grimaced.

"Come, we should get her some tea..." Elijah swallowed thickly, guiding Rebekah out of the room and leaving his brother alone with his old love.

His hands tried to pick the clumps of dirt from her hair whilst also trying to understand the fast words she threw at him. He tried to give her the word for bathing and eventually she nodded, holding onto his hands as he lead her into the bathroom.

The bath was small, not like the lake and the water was hot, it startled her. Klaus steadied her, helping her down and climbing in behind her when she cried out for him not to leave her alone. Not again.

The feel of her skin back against his was a feeling Klaus had been so sure he had forgotten forever. She tried to turn to face him, ending up completely pressed on top of him as his hands washed the soap and water down her back only start panicking when the expensive body wash made her soft skin scatter with red rash.

"Oh-" He muttered and wrapped his arm round her waist and lifted her up with him. She muttered out in confusion but didn't struggle, too happy to be in his hold as he drained the water and started again, laying back down with her. "Come here, my sweet." He guided her onto her back so he could reach and see her hair as he washed it enough until it was back to the silkiness he remembered so fondly.

He heard her little sniffles first, before her shoulder shook slightly with a sob. Klaus's heart sunk slightly and he nudged his nose into the side of her neck, placing gentle kissed like she had loved so much but they made her cry harder.

Her words were lost on him, he couldn't recall the language well enough after so long and it made his guilt swirl so much it hurt. Klaus tried to make sense of something but all he could make out was "Darkness" and "loneliness".

He tried to comfort her with the few words still in memory but she wouldn't stop, not even once she was dressed in one of his shirts and tucked to his chest under the covers, a cup of tea in Klaus's hands that he'd insisted she sip on from time to time.

Eventually she sunk into sleep but it only lasted for so long before she was clawing at her throat with her already broken nails, as though she were suffocating.

Klaus grabbed at her hands, immediately being sucked into her mind. The image of her waking beneath the ground, unable to breathe or see as her hands tried to find the light above.

Only a few seconds passed before Elijah was bursting through the door, awakened by the screams. Rebekah and Marcel a few seconds later.

"I'm calling Davina." Marcel muttered to Rebekah after actually seeing the girls condition and hearing her foreign cries.

The lights were back on which calmed her partly, finally being able to see. Her hands clung onto Klaus's shirt, clutching the fabric against her palm for any sort of security.

Elijah and Rebekah were sat on the edge of Klaus's bed, watching the once full of life girl from their village full of fear and confusion.

Ages went by before Marcel returned with a half asleep Davina and a couple candles. Klaus rocked his love calmly, hand stroking her arm to prove he was still there as Davina set up around them. Her chant echoed through the room, flames standing tall and proud as she reluctantly held her hand out for Klaus to take and then gently held Y/N's in the other.

"I'm sorry...this is the only way I can think of." She whispered before a thousand years worth of Klaus's memories were thrust upon Y/N.

A loud sound of pain emitted from her and she held her head. Klaus frowned in concern, trying to cup her face to see what was happening but when she looked back at him it was like she had seen a ghost.

A thousand variants of each emotion painted her expression before she crawled back against him and breathed in his scent with each hiccuped cry.

After a while the others left and Klaus rest his chin on top her head.

She didn't utter a word for days, not in any language. Klaus would dress her and feed her each day, hold her to him as he showed her the television which only seemed to hurt her head.

He had left her downstairs on the couch when she had fallen into for once a stable sleep without the traumatic nightmare of being buried alive.

He was just in the other room, trying to think of any way to make things better for her and for them.

Y/N being alive had never once been a possibility in his mind, especially her being alive with no knowledge of any time passing to all of a sudden knowing every shameful act he'd committed.

Klaus was too lost in thought to hear Camille making her way into the abattoir, calling out for him and stumbling across Y/N who had just woken.

"Oh...uh hi." She blinked at the girl. She was clearly in Klaus's clothes. The sweatpants were barely holding onto her hips and the shirt was easily recognisable. Y/N stared back, she recognised her, from Klaus's memories. Camille, Cami.

He liked her, they'd danced together. He'd thought about her, a lot. It made her stomach twist uneasily and her knees pull to her chest self-consciously.

"Camille." Klaus's voice echoed over her head before he was kneeling down beside her and stroking her head, checking she hadn't woken in terror again. "I'm afraid this isn't a good time." He informed her, sitting down on the sofa and noting how Y/N withdrew, instantly making the mental connection.

"You haven't been answering, I worried something had happened." She explained warily as she watched Klaus watch Y/N.

"This is Y/N." He introduced faintly, his attention not lifting to her. "She died a thousand years ago but my mother brought her back, she's struggling to adjust for the moment. I'd appreciate if you left, I don't think new people is helping right now." He tried to tell her to leave as politely as possible.

Cami only nodded, the information hitting like a wave as she apologised under her breath and retreated.

Klaus stroked Y/N's cheek as he sighed softly, "Please understand that I love you Y/N." He murmured. "I would have chosen you over any woman I have ever come across without a doubt. I would have taken my mother's deal, I would be human beside you." He told her, eyes sincere. "I only wish we could go back all those years, I should have married you then." He uttered, a kiss pressed to her cheek.

"Why didn't you?" She whispered, speaking in english for the first time.

"I was afraid. Not of us, of-"

"Mikael." She mumbled, “I remember now, sorry." She sniffed and he sighed.

"You shouldn't have been given all my memories like that, it's too much for anyone to handle all at once." He sighed, his hands cupping her face and stroking her soft cheeks. "I won't ever leave you alone again. Never in the dark, never in the cold, never anywhere."

"I don't understand why she would bring me back." Y/N whispered and Klaus frowned.

"I'm happy you're here, my heart." He murmured, his brows furrowed. "I've lived to long without you, and you have not lived long enough. Things will be better now."

"You hurt and kill..." She whispered, a soft sniff to her words and he looked down.

"I know." He nodded. He hated all the evil she had seen him do through his memories. He was nothing like he used to be. "But I'd never hurt you, and I'd keep you safe."

"I don't want to be here." She whimpered and he held her onto his lap.

"It's just hard at the moment, we've only just started adjusting. It'll get easier and you'll start to like it. I know you've seen things through me but it'll be so much better when you actually experience them." He persuaded, stroking her hair but she didn't look overly convinced.

"I don't want to push my way into your new life." She mumbled and sighed softly to himself in slight annoyance, not being annoyed with her but annoyed with the idea that he could ever not want her with him in his life. She would never be an inconvenience for him, a long time ago she was every thing for him and now she was that again. It had been clear that Klaus's attention had remained on her since the second his eyes found hers again, it was very possible that Klaus wouldn't be so infatuated with power so much now.

She held the innocence of his past that he had lost. She gave him something that no thing or other person could ever supply.

She was old life and she would be his new life, he could finally have a second chance worth taking.

His body was curled around hers, protecting her frame like a shield as he nuzzled her hair. "You're not pushing in, my love. If anything, I'm pulling you in. I don't think I can ever lose you again." Klaus uttered, his eyes closing as his mind conjured a hundred different possibilities for their future. "You are the life in my death, even when I was human...you were the light.

[misstycloud]

A loser's qualities~

Oral(f.reader receiving), facesitting, mean reader

--------

You stared at yourself in the mirror and recalled all the times people would call you beautiful; they were right, you were absolutely gorgeous. It's not bragging if it is true. Your hair was silky smooth and shiny, your lips were lovely and kissable , your style was to die for.

You really had everything in life.

It was soon time for you to meet up with your friends. You had all decided to grab dinner and then watch the latest hit film currently being shown in theatres. It would be a fantastic evening. You applied your make up skilfully, making sure not a single eyelash was out of place. Nothing would be able to stop your perfection.

As you combed through your hair, a choked sound interrupted your concentration. The gagging sent vibrations through your entire body. Ah, it seemed your toy was running a little low on oxygen. Stifling a sigh, you looked down to see the top of a sweaty forehead, hair was sticking to it like glue.

"mhm....!." your boyfriend gagged. His hands gripped your thighs harder, his nails digging into your flesh.

Really, all that talk about wanting to be a good boyfriend and he couldn't even handle ten minutes? Idiot. Your irritation grew as you lifted yourself just enough for the young man under you not to be choked by your pussy. He took greedy gasps of air and coughed a couple times. His entire face was covered in your slick and his lips were almost swollen of the work they'd been forced to do- which was virtually nothing as you hadn't even cum once. You knew he didn't have much going for him but to be this useless was absurd.

You stared at your boyfriend with disappointment.

He noticed your annoyed look and nearly cried. The last thing he ever wanted was to disappoint you, especially when the whole thing had been his idea in the first place. The two of your were supposed to stay in for the night and be comfortable- you had promised him this since months back- but suddenly you got a call from your friends, asking if you wanted to go out. When you told him of your plans he reminded you of your promise and in retaliation you emphasised on your need for fun and excitement; there was no way you would miss the fun for some boring movie he wanted to watch. He already knew begging would be pointless so he came up with another plan to make you stay. In a desperate attempt to keep you he wanted to show how fun he could be.

Unfortunately for him, you were less than pleased with his performance.

Your boyfriend panicked at the thought of underperforming. This wasn't just a matter of wether you were ditching to hang out with your friends, this was now a matter of wether you would find him valuable as a partner at all. He wasn't much of a looker, he had no friends and stayed in his corner all the time. The only advantage he had was his intellect. Too bad you didn't find too much value in that either.

He believed if he could please you as a man then your attitude toward him would shift, but it appeared he couldn't even do that, despite all the materials and videos he'd consumed in his spare time(he wanted to be prepared).

Tears welled up in the corners of his eyes. He fucked up. "Please, I can do it! I-I just need more practice..." he cried.

You rolled your eyes at his typical cry-baby behaviour. Did this man ever shut up? "I don't think practice is ever gonna help you. You're really hopeless, y'know."

He whimpered, "N-no, I said I can do it. Sit down, sit on my face!" he said as he tried to forcibly pull you down to rest onto his face. When you didn't budge he instead leaned up to place hasty kisses on your thighs. He licked and sucked on your skin, enough to leave marks. Despite him sucking-ass at eating you out, you had to admit, seeing him so pathetically glide his tongue over your thighs and beg for your attention sent heat to your core.

You supposed you always had a bit of a thing for pitiful men.

You smirked down at him. "Really? Are you sure you can handle it? It didn't seem like it before."

"Yes, yes I can! I promise I'll make you feel good if you just let me."

You pouted, faking uncertainty. "I don't know, baby. You didn't make me feel good at all before. I'm not convinced you can do it." You loved the way he shivered and let out a mix between a whimper and a moan at your nickname. Oh he just loved being your baby. "You haven't made me cum at all. Don't you want me to cum?"

"Of course I do, (Y/n)! I want nothing more than to pleasure you enough to..-to do that!" He blushed furiously under you.

Aw, he was still a little shy in the language.

"I'll make it happen, I swear." your boyfriends eyes dazed over for a second, blush still present. "I'm simply not used to it, that's all."

"You're not used to make girls cum on your face?" you teased.

Of course he wasn't. Before you he hadn't as much as held hands with someone of the opposite sex. He completely fit the die-alone virgin stereotype.

For the first time in the entire evening he had the courage to look you in the eye. With force determination he said, "I will learn for you (Y/n). If you teach me I'll be sure to satisfy you. I'm a very fast learner."

That was true. If he wasn't then he wouldn't be able to have the highest score out of everyone. His big brain was his only redemption.

"So, tell me, how do you want it?"

——-

(It’s the first time I’ve tried writing anything explicit, so hope it’s alright.)

[reiderwriter]

Little Angel

Pairing: Spencer Reid × virgin!fem reader

Genre: SMUT, some fluff, a little tiny smidge of angst. MINORS DNI 18+

Summary: As the youngest and most innocent member of the BAU, they all take care of their little angel. When they find out just how innocent you are, though, one member takes his possession to the next level. You're his little angel, and he's determined to have you.

Warnings: loss of virginity, loss of innocence, degradation, pet names, oral sex, thigh riding, fingering, cum marking, love bites, Spencer is territorial and possessive, Dom! Spencer Reid, PinV sex, mentions breeding, but he pulls out.

A/N: We've reached Day 8 of kinktober! It's our second "long" fic, meaning there's a bit more plot to this, and the smut scene is longer too (WC is almost 7k!) I hope you love this one just as much as I did... The kinktober masterlist can be found here, and my regular masterlist is here too! If you want something specific, my requests are open ❤️

Your first three months with the BAU were a blur, and for good reason. Endless cases, back-to-back, interrupted only by the slight hint of a weekend or the ever possible death row interview. You were tired, stressed, and afraid to walk home alone at night, and absolutely satisfied. As far as you were concerned, it was all worth it to get these monsters off the streets, to help save their victims and to find out what made them tick. There was nothing else you'd rather be doing. 

The team had helped you settle in well, too. You'd joined the team after Alex Blake had left - she'd recommended you actually from the college seminars you'd taken with her. You were obviously lacking a bit of experience, so they took on two team members, and you and Kate Callahan had the great opportunity of both being the newbie. But you had a slight disadvantage of age, coming in as the youngest member of the team. You thought that might be why you'd settled in so well, in all honesty. 

Hotch and Rossi were both protective in a fatherly way. Hotch pushed you and Rossi encouraged you and that was everything you needed from them. A strong pat on the back at the end of a case and a "you did good, kid," and whatever hell they'd pushed you through, it was worth it. Morgan's tough love was brotherly, but he did a great job at getting you to relax on and off the case, reminding you to not take the work home. JJ and Kate were great mentors. It wasn't easy being women in the FBI, let alone the unit that specifically looked into some of the most misogynistic killings, rapes and abductions in the world. They both gave you tips about how to handle condescending officers, and JJ had held your hair back after you'd puked your guts up on a particularly harrowing day in the field. With Penelope, friendship was easy, and you loved talking to her about whatever hyperfixation you were on that week, loving that there was someone on your team that had filled their life with genuine joy in the face of so much horror. 

And Spencer. Honestly, you were beginning to think that you'd used Spencer as a human stuffed toy a bit too much. 

You don't know how it happened at first, just that after one of your first few cases, you'd been so elated to find a victim alive, safe but traumatised, that you'd thrown yourself into his arms the minute you got back to the precinct. 

"We did it, I thought she was going to be dead, Spencer but she isn't." Your head was pressed into his chest, you were almost surprised he even heard them, muffled as they were. If you weren't so elated, you'd have noticed the way he'd stiffened at your touch, panicking slightly before awkwardly wrapping his arms around you, too. But you pulled away before you could notice that he wasn't really used to any physical comfort, bouncing off to write up your case report. 

Spencer noticed, though. Noticed how the heat of your body made him feel comforted, the way his heart rate increased to 125 BPM from it's base rate and didn't fall back to normal for another half hour. He noticed that you smelt like jasmine and patchouli, and more importantly, he noticed that he didn't really care if you touched him, and that was new. 

It became a kind of ritual for you, finding him after a case and folding into his arms to celebrate. They were friendly hugs, after all, a sign that you'd been through hell together, and you'd made it through like avenging angels. They only lingered longer when the cases went badly. You turned to crying in his arms after you'd discovered the body of a dead street girl, Veronica, in pieces in the house of an unsub who'd committed suicide by cop moments earlier. 

"I told her she'd be safe if she talked to us, Reid. I told her we'd protect her, that I'd protect her." You were so hurt by that failure that he'd had to drive you home that night, holding your hand the entire way so you didn't feel so alone, left to fester in your guilt. 

The rest of the team had begun teasing you about the hugs, but you'd brushed them off. You hugged everyone else too, and you knew for a fact that Penelope hugged every member of the team, so there was nothing special going on between you and Spencer. No one had deigned to inform you of Spencer's germophobia and aversion to touch. 

"Gonna tell me what that's all about?" Morgan asked Spencer as you bounced away from a hug one day, leaving to remove your FBI vest. 

"What what's all about?" He replied coldly, turning away to remove his own vest, replacing it with his blazer. 

"What, you don't have a statistic for how many germs are passed between people during a hug, Kid, come on, you were practically smelling her hair." The older man's eyebrows raised in a question again, but Spencer continued to blow him off. 

"I hug people all the time, it's not a big deal." He shrugged. 

"It took you four years to return one of Penelope's hugs, and you still only do that on special occasions. That's not all the time." 

"Derek, just drop it. There's nothing going on, she just… She just does it sometimes." 

It was when you'd hugged him in the middle of the office, without a case to use as an excuse, that you noticed an underlying tension in the office. You were all celebrating, of course, Callahan had just announced her pregnancy, and you were all so happy for her. You'd heard the happy news and instantly turned and thrown yourself into Spencer's arms. Even you weren't sure why, not even questioning it until you saw the awkward glances on the other profilers' faces. You brushed it off by rushing to give each of them hugs, and running out in a mad flush, needing air, or water or something to get you out of what was looking more and more like an interrogation room. 

A few cases later, the entire team headed to O'Keefe's to celebrate. 

"To another case successfully solved," Morgan toasted, and you all joined him, lifting your glasses in triumph. 

"To the wonders of non-alcoholic beer," chimed in Kate, leaving you all laughing together. The booth was small, and as usual, you'd found yourself sat right in the arms of Spencer Reid. You hadn't intended it, honestly, having slightly avoided him recently, but you'd followed Penelope into her side of the circular table, and Reid had followed you. You were sat squished between them, your arms resting awkwardly on your lap between drinks. 

"Okay, a night of drinking is slightly boring without some games to spice things up, what do you say, hot chocolate?" Penelope said, addressing Morgan who was on her other side. 

"I'm all ears, baby girl. What were you thinking?" 

"How about twenty questions? We already know a lot about each other, let's see what we don't know?" Kate suggested, thriving off of the knowledge that as the sole sober member present, she'd hold all the cards tomorrow. 

"What, how is asking questions a game?" Reid questioned jokingly from beside you. "That's just an interrogation or a therapy session, there's no winner or loser."  

Already slightly buzzing from your drink, you turned to him and out your fingers in his lips, shushing him. 

"No time for logic in matters of the bottle, Spencer. Let's play." He pulled your fingers off him, but nodded, holding them in his grip still as you turned back to the table. 

"I'll start! JJ, are you and Will thinking of having more baby LaMontagne's?" Penelope jumped at the chance to probe her teammate, and you laughed at her enthusiasm. 

"There have been discussions, but I'll not confirm or deny yet." JJ said, taking a sip of her drink as she slyly avoided a direct answer. 

"I always forget why you were so good with the press, Miss No Answers. Okay, your turn to ask a question." 

"Okay, Morgan. Are you thinking of popping the question to Savannah anytime soon?" 

"Did she send you?" He laughed and took a drink. "If I do, she'll be the first to know." 

The game went back and forth like this for a few rounds before Penelope turned the spotlight back to you. 

"Okay, Y/N. You were a college student recently, I know you've got some wild stories. Where's the craziest place you've ever done it?" You knew Penelope didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. She was just an open person. 

But you shifted in your seat nonetheless, trying to figure out if you could answer or even if you would. Your tongue was a bit looser than you expected though, because before you could even finish thinking you just blurted it out. 

"Nowhere." 

The others blinked at you slightly before Penelope dived in with another question. 

"Is that Nowhere, Oaklahoma, or you're just not having sex in crazy places?" 

"No. I'm not… I'm not having sex. Period. Never have." You felt yourself shrink as the other members of the team awkwardly apologised for probing you so much. Really it wasn't that big of a deal, and it wasn't as if you were saving it for religious or moral reasons. But you'd not been the most popular teenager, and you'd started studying serial killers and sociopaths so early that you really hadn't wanted to get so intimate with someone else like that. 

Unbeknownst to you, Spencer's grip on his own drink had tightened ever so slightly, his heart race had picked up again, and suddenly the hand that was holding yours suddenly let you go, quietly dropping your fingers like they were glowing cinders, and he was dripping in gasoline, waiting to ignite. 

Lust. He felt sick with himself for the images that were suddenly flashing through his mind now that he knew you'd never been held in that way, trying not to fantasise about you underneath him, holding him, begging him, feeling all of him. He took another swig of his drink and politely excused himself to get another as he let himself catch some air, as the sudden realization that he wanted you - and had wanted you for quite some time now - finally hit him.

The next couple of weeks were normal, and you were thankful to have that discussion behind you. No one treated you differently, acted like you were more of a child than before, asked you how your dating life was or set you up on blind dates, which was really refreshing actually. You'd let some friends know previously, and that's all they'd done, surprised that you could live ignorant to wonders of sex without shrivelling up and dying. 

The only thing that was different was Spencer. And that wasn't really difference so much as growing more comfortable with each other. He'd rest his hand on the small of your back now in support sometimes, or have a hand slung over the back of your chair when sitting together. He was constantly at your side, especially if you were around male suspects or officers who'd taken a bit of a ballsy approach. 

You liked it, probably a bit too much. You gravitated towards him in a room filled with people, and found yourself hugging him more often, when you left a room, when you entered one, when he looked like he needed it. Which, recently, was all the time. A month went by with this increased comfort level, and soon you found yourself feeling wrong if his hands weren't on you. 

He stood close to you all the time, and you noticed the stares you were getting from everyone else. A few officers who'd approach you would apologise to him when they noticed him at your back, hand on your hip as he pulled you away. 

After one case, you could even swear that you felt more than him than you were expecting. He'd moved away slightly in between one of your hugs, but you'd pulled his arms back around you and stepped closer, pressing your back against his chest, letting your head rest on his arms. Something hard and long wedged up against your ass, and in a split second he was pulling away before you could ask him about it. He excused himself, and you felt your body burn up. It was Spencer, it was just Spencer and that wasn't because of you, it was some other reason. 

Spencer didn't know what he was doing. He grew more possessive over you by the day, and he'd honestly nearly bitten the head off an officer who asked him for your number. 

"Sorry, she doesn't have a phone." 

"But I saw her with one earlier. Look I get it she's FBI, and you guys are-" 

"Okay, so she's not interested."

"Hey, why don't you let her decide that wise guy?" 

"Oh sure, get angry I'm sure she'd love that. She's not interested, she has me." He couldn't help himself from getting in the officers face at that, and Morgan had to pull him back from the edge. 

"Wow, wow, hey, calm down." The officer stormed out, and he felt triumphant for only a second before Morgan rounded on him. 

"Whatever this thing you've got going on, Spencer, you need to get it out of your system as soon as possible." His voice was low and stern, throwing a glance over his shoulder to where you were sitting, staring confusedly through the glass at Spencer, whose eyes refused to move from your own. 

" I just wanted him to back off, she doesn't like him like that."

"No, you wanted him to back off because you've marked her like some animal marking its territory. She's not your prey, Spencer, she's our team member, now you're gonna have to get your act together and leave her alone, because we've got work to do." 

Sighing and throwing his hands through his hair again, he finally looked away from you and gathered his breath. He wanted to stop this too, this horrible perverted feeling of needing his hands on you, wanting to possess you day and night. To protect you. He just wasn't sure if he was strong enough to do that. 

The next time you all went to O'Keefe's he certainly tried. You expected him to follow you into the booth again - he didn't, sitting opposite you next to JJ. You expected him to talk to you or look at you for more than a second at a time - he didn't, avoiding most conversations entirely and keeping his eyes fixed on the bar. You certainly expected him to still be sat at the table when you returned from the bathroom, ready to slip into the seat beside him, force him to talk to you. Instead he was gone, and you scanned the rest of the bar trying to locate him. 

Something green and vile jumped you when you finally locked onto him, stood at the bar, surrounded by other women. Surrounded was maybe an exaggeration, as there were really only two of them, but they were practically draping themselves over him, and for some reason that set something alight inside of you. 

You watched them for a moment, how one of them trailed a hand up his arm as he shuddered away from their touch, the other pressing herself against the bar so her chest pushed up dramatically. The green bile in your throat carried your feet forwards, and before you knew it, you were clearing it from your throat to grab their attentions. 

"Spencer, there you are!" You brightened your tone specifically, as you locked eyes with his panicked ones. The two girls looked you up and down as you moved closer, brushing past them to climb up right into his lap on the barstool, pulling his arm around you as you pressed your ass into his crotch. 

"Are you going to introduce me to your new friends?" The smile didn't reach your eyes as you let your back rest against his chest comfortably, watching the women to see their reactions. The one touching him pulled her arm back instantly, and the other readjusted her dress before they both left silently, carrying their glasses back to wherever they came from. 

You watched them leave a little triumphantly before the green faded, and you realised what you had done. 

"Y/N…?" His voice was hesitant in your ear, and you shivered slightly before pushing off of him. 

"I'm so sorry, Spence, it just- it… looked like you were hard." You panicked again, pushing closer to him. "No, like you were in a hard situation, not that you were," your hand accidentally dropped to his crotch as you spoke your final words: "Hard."

He twitched beneath you as you finally looked down to where your hand was, as his mouth opened to say something. 

"Y/N…" was all you heard before you turned around, and fast walked to the entrance, picking your bag up quickly on the way, and then sprinted the second the cold air hit your face. 

You cursed yourself inwardly as you ran the three blocks more to your apartment, thankful that you were at least in walking (or apparently running) distance. What the hell had you been thinking? Practically sexually harassing one of your coworkers like that, grabbing his dick, albeit accidentally. 

You slammed your door shut behind you, leaning against it and sliding to the floor as you finally accepted that whatever this was with Reid, it wasn't friendship for you anymore. And you weren't sure if it had ever been. 

With your head between your legs, arms wrapped tightly around yourself, you started replaying each moment with him, each touch from the very first. How even the memory of a brush past you could excite a fire in your heart, a heat between your legs growing by the second. 

You wanted to crawl pathetically into bed and not think about him until the next morning at work,  but fate, or Doctor Spencer Reid, had other plans. 

The knock at your door was sudden and incessant, the banging starting loud, and staying consistent until you tentatively pulled it open. 

He was stood there, chest heaving, looking down at you, sweat coating his forehead. 

"Can I… Come in?" He asked, and you nodded, too stunned at his sudden appearance to tell if this was real or just your fantasy becoming a little too realistic. 

He thanked you for letting him inside, and you showed him inside, guiding him to he couch, where you took a seat opposite him. 

"I wanted to make sure you were okay, you left in a rush and…" He trailed off, eyes flicking down to your lips. His Adam's apple bobbed with his swallow, and you watched it yourself, trying to avoid meeting his eyes, as if you were a schoolgirl about to get in trouble with a disappointed teacher. 

"I'm okay." 

"Okay, that's great, that's… Great." His breaths caught up to him, and he took another deep breath and a swallow before continuing. "How about we continue that game from last time. Twenty questions?" 

You'd do anything to stop him walking out of that door, but you felt too shy to touch him again, even in the friendly ways you were used to, so you eagerly accepted. 

"Yes, that… That sounds fun, thank you." 

"Okay. Question one. Do you know why I'm here?" He asks as he shifts closer to you, still not touching, but at a proximity where it would be natural to accidentally brush against one another. 

"N-No. But I might have an idea." He nodded at your response before moving on to his next question. 

"Question two. Are you a virgin?" He didn't trip or stumble over the words, pushing them out slowly and delicately so as not to offend. 

"Yes." The lump in your throat was thick, almost as if he'd put something there that you couldn't help but choke on. 

"Question three. Do you want to remain a virgin?" 

You shook your head no, following it with your voice seconds later as he stood up from his seat, putting some distance between you. 

"Question four. Do you feel intoxicated or drunk right now?" He held himself still as you sat on the very edge of your chair, desperate to feel his hands on you now. 

"No, I only had one sip at the bar before…" He held up a hand to silence you, and you did. 

Question five. Answer me honestly. Do you like it when I touch you?" 

"Yes." Your breath was a whisper, but it was breathy, sounding almost pornographic in your neediness. 

"Question six. Do you like it when other people touch you?" 

"Do you?" His head snapped back to yours, and you froze under his gaze. "Not as much." You answered and relaxed again, pouting slightly at his lack of answer. 

"Question seven. Do you like me touching other people?" He took a step closer to you again with this question, but you continued pouting as you shook your head. 

"No. I don't." His lips quirked upwards before he could stop them, but he gathered himself together again. 

"Question eight. Do you want me to leave?" You met his eyes at that question, taking one good, hard, long look at him. You noted the tensed jaw, the clenched fists, his stiff body language, trailing your eyes over him before looking him directly in the eyes. 

"No." You let the word hang on your tongue, pulling it out a bit longer than was necessary as you watched him take in a shaky breath. 

"Question nine. Do you want me to come over there and kiss you?" 

"God, yes." He was on you in seconds, restraints gone, throwing himself back at you as his lips collided with your own. Virgin you may be, but you'd kissed men before, and it had been nothing like this. 

His hands trailed up to your hair, tipping your head back slightly so he could gain better access. He bit your lip and thrust his tongue into your mouth when you gasped, so eager to consume every part of you whole. 

You'd never felt like this before. 

He pulled away, and you tried desperately to chase his lips, even as your lungs begged you to stop. 

"Last question," he whispered in the space between you, holding the sides of your face at a distance so neither of you could be tempted to dive in for a second kiss, or a third, or fourth. "Do you want me to fuck you?" You whimpered at his words, nodding furiously as you tried to lunge at him again, but he held you firm. 

"I need you to say your answer, baby. I need to hear your consent, okay?" You nod again and open your mouth, eyes never leaving his lips as you moan out a definitive "yes."

Instead of letting your lips fall against his again, he lunges for you, grabbing your legs and hauling you up into his arms, carrying you bridal style all the way back to your bedroom. 

"Gonna do it right," he mutters to himself as he throws you down on the bed, pulling back to take off his jacket and unbutton the cuffs on his shirt, rolling the sleeves up meticulously. 

"I'm going to take care of you, Y/N, okay?" You nod at him and flush, suddenly feeling the strength of his need for you as he holds himself back. He puts his hands on you again, gently coaxing your legs apart, pushing your skirt up over your hips. Reflexively, you move your hands over yourself, covering your sensitive places with your hands. 

"Don't cover yourself." His voice is strong, deep, as he orders you, and you let your arms drop back to your side. He traces his hands up and down your legs, almost as if he were memorising every inch of your skin, how you felt under his hands. 

His hands make their way up to your panties, and you watch with baited breath as he moves you, pulling your hips up so he can let them fall down. The lace material tickles you as he pushes them past your thighs, over your knees and finally off your legs entirely, balling them up and putting them in his pocket. 

"I'm going to touch you now, okay?" He asks it like a question, but he doesn't wait for your answer, unable to hold himself back before diving straight between your legs, so desperate to taste you that he's deaf to everything else. 

His tongue connects with your sensitive area first, tracing up and down at a steady pace as his legs half-heartedly push your legs open. It's almost as if he's enjoying the pressure of your legs wrapped around him, suffocating between your thighs as he feels your pleasure build, and build. 

Eventually he pushes your hips further apart, letting himself push his face into even more of you, his tongue entering your hole as he begins fucking it in and out of you, fingers coming back up to your clit to keep up the pressure there. 

"Spencer, please, please, fuck." 

"I love it when you beg for me like a needy little slut," he whispers, holding your legs apart as he looked up at you, face slick with your arousal. Your mouth drops wide at his words, and he immediately begins to retract them. 

"I'm sorry, Y/N, if that was too far, I just got caught up -" 

"I liked it." You said, quieting him as you spread your legs a bit further apart, begging for him to continue. He smiled and dived right back in, bringing his other hand up under your dress, all the way to your chest as you kept your legs open yourself. 

He sucked your clit into his mouth, lapping up all the juices you were releasing as you moaned underneath him, bucking into his face at the memory of his degradation. 

You were a needy little slut, and you needed him to make you cum. He was more than happy to oblige. 

He kept you there for what felt like forever, drinking you in for as long as he could. You orgasmed twice before he finished, completely overstimulated by the way he was desperately fucking you with his mouth. 

He was obsessed with you, with your scent, your taste, with being the first ever person to ever touch you like this, to fuck you, to make you feel so good. Without him even realising, you're pushed to the brink for a second time, shuddering under the heat of his mouth as he drinks you in. 

He finally pulls his head up again, coming up for air as you're twitching under him. 

"Perfect, baby, so perfect for me." His lips fall down to your own, and suddenly you're tasting yourself on his tongue. It's hypnotising, and despite the pleasure you've just received, you need more, desperate to feel him on you again. 

When he pulls his mouth away, he replaces himself with his fingers, pushing them into your mouth. 

"Suck," he says and you listen, as he watches the way you lick yourself off of him. 

He unzips your dress with his free hand, carefully pulling your arms out of the sleeves and pushing your dress off your body. You trace your tongue around every ridge of his fingers, leaving no inch undiscovered. He moved you to pull the dress of, and you graciously followed, letting him do whatever he wanted to you. 

"Nice little slut, tasting herself on my fingers?" He whispered when you were finally bare, pulling his fingers from your mouth, letting the trail of spit hang between you as you moaned. 

He removed himself from over you, and moved to sit on the edge of the bed. 

"Come here. Come and sit on my lap." 

You cautiously followed his directions. You'd thought that he'd fuck you then, after spending so long getting you ready, but apart from his tie, which he was in the middle of discarding as you crawled over to him, he hadn't derobed any further. 

"That's it baby, come and sit yourself down right here." He pat his thigh and you crawled over, lowering yourself down onto his clothed leg. 

"What now, Spencer?" You stuttered the words out, heart beating as you awaited his instructions. 

"Now, I want you to rock your hips back and forth. Just like this." He grabbed your hips and started moving you against his leg, pushing you down to grind into him. 

"Spencer, wait, I don't know-" 

"I do. I know you can do it, so please try. For me." You pulled you in for a kiss, and then removed his hands from you, leaving you to rock against his thigh. 

You were unsure of the movements at first, moving slowly as you dragged your aching cunt up and down the top of his pants, watching as you saw the wet patch you were making. You moaned with each movement, growing faster and more confident as you continued. 

"That's it baby, use me to get yourself off, okay? Let me see you." He whispered in your ears, pushing your sweat-slicked hair ou of your face, holding it up for you. 

"Spencer please," you don't even know what you're asking for as you beg him, feeling that familiar bubble in your stomach grow. 

"No, you can do it. You look so beautiful like this, Y/N, so desperate for my cock, huh?" You start trying to unbutton his shirt, desperate to see more of him, to feel more of his bare skin on your own. But he stops your hands and holds them against his chest. 

"You need to ask nicely first, before trying to undress me like a needy little whore." The words should sound violent, should humiliate you, but his voice is so soft you simply move faster, moaning and desperate to cum one more time. 

"Fuck, Spencer, I'm gonna… I'm gonna…" 

"No, you're not." Before you finish, he pulls you off his leg, hauling your body back onto the bed, and laying you back down on your back. You moan in disapproval, so frustrated with the lack of release that you feel tears prick the corners of your eyes. 

"Don't cry, baby. I'll give you what you want soon." He practically rips his clothes off, pulling his vest over his head, stumbling over each button and removing his belt and pants before climbing over to you. His cock finally free you take your first glance at it. 

You'd never entirely been sure how it was that the male appendage fit inside something as small as your pussy, and you were doubly unsure about how Spencer's was ever going to fit inside you. You stared at it wide eyed, as you took in the length, the girth, and the heat of it as he stroked it in one hands, pushing on top of you. 

He let go of it as soon as he was between your legs, letting it fall onto your stomach as he crawled between your legs. He trailed a finger over your lower abdomen just around where his cock was twitching against you as his other hand came up to stroke your hair. 

"You look worried, Y/N, what's wrong?" 

"Will it, um, will it fit?" You asked, knowing how cliché you sounded. 

"We've spent the last thirty-seven minutes loosening you up with foreplay. It should fit, but I can't promise it won't hurt."

"Right, if my hymen is still intact you have to…" 

"That's right. And then it's going to reach all the way in you to here," with each word, he stepped his fingers up from your clit to where the tip of his dick sat on your stomach, letting you come to terms with exactly how full you were about to be. 

"I'm going to fill you, and you're going to be mine, and I'm going to be yours. My sweet angel." He stroked your face, catching his thumb on your lips on the way down, tempted to thrust it into your mouth again, to see just how much of a whore you could be, given the chance. 

Instead, he lined himself up with your dripping core, and, making sure one last time that this is what you wanted, slowly pushed in. 

It was uncomfortable at first, having something so wholly alien inside of you, you weren't sure how to react. You wrapped your arms around him, digging your nails in, deep, as he pushed in further. 

"Y/N, I need to move more now, and it's going to hurt a little, you just have to trust me, okay?" He kissed the top of your head, but you were so lost in the sensations to answer. With one swift jerk of his hips, he pushed through your hymen, and fully sheathed himself inside of you. He pressed small kisses everywhere on your face, while whispering to you how beautiful you were. 

"You're doing so good for me angel, I'm going to take care of you. Going to make you feel so much better than this. You're so beautiful." His lips were distractingly sweet, as were his words, and soon you found yourself relaxing into him, the sharp pain of earlier fading to an electric buzz inside of you. 

You jerked your hips up to meet his, and with that, he knew you were ready. From his words, you'd assumed that he'd move slowly in you. But with one final lingering kiss to your lips, he lifted his chest up, pinned your legs tightly down, and started thrusting hard and fast. 

"Sorry, just couldn't help myself baby. Needed to see you looking ruined underneath me." Moans spilled out of your mouth with his every movement, and the orgasm you'd built up earlier hit you like a ton of bricks, blackness hazing over your eyes as they rolled back in your head. 

"Fuck, fuck, Spencer, don't stop!" You screamed at the top of your lungs, unable to control your pitch or volume as he slammed into you desperately. He was so turned on by the sight of you beneath him, so proud of having fucked away your virginity, to have given you your very first penetrative orgasm that he wouldn't have heard anything that came out of your mouth. 

His eyes were fixated at the place between you, where you joined, where he was entering you, defiling you, claiming you, using you, breeding you. 

He knew he wouldn't cum inside of you, not the first time, but it was tempting. Instead, he chose to move his lips back to your skin. He marked you with love bites and hickeys across your neck, chest and shoulders as you moaned with every roll of his hips, shuddering on his cock. He was close. And seeing you like this, displaying all the signs that you were his and his only, he finally lost it. 

Pulling his dick out of you, he stroked it through his release, spraying his seed over the parts of your skin he hadn't bruised with love. Your stomach, your breasts, hell, one spurt even landed dangerously close to your lips, he was everywhere. You. Were. His. 

He fell beside you, panting for a few moments as you finally cracked your eyes back open, realising what the two of you had just done. You wiped the cum from your face with a stray finger, staring at it for a second before licking it off your finger. 

"As hot as that was, I think we should get you cleaned up properly, angel." He spends forever cleaning you up, carrying you to the bathroom, washing your entire body with hot water and a fresh cloth, running you a hot bath to relax your muscles. You snuggle into his chest at some point in the bath, relaxing so much into him, that you drift off to sleep. 

You feel him carry you to bed, semi-conscious, tucking you in and climbing in next to you. He holds you through the night, the way he holds you after your bad cases. He holds you until he doesn't. 

You're blindsided by the cold bed the next morning. You knew he would be there, you'd felt him inside you and next to you, and you'd needed his warmth, but he was gone. You looked for him in every other part of your home, looked for a note or an explanation, but there wasn't one. 

Through tears, you got ready for work, ready to face him and make him answer why he was suddenly gone. You wanted him to apologise, especially since he'd marked you so badly the night before you looked like a car crash victim from the neck down. 

Dark lavender blossomed along your collar bones as you looked at yourself in the mirror, trailing a finger along every place that he touched the night before. 

"How could you be so stupid?" You cursed yourself. If you'd have listened to what he was saying last night, really listened, you'd have known he wasn't going to be here in the morning. He wanted to ruin you, to possess you, to take away your virginity, and he'd done just that. 

You almost wanted to keep the bruises on display going into work, to make him confront the pain he caused you by leaving. In the end, it was the inevitable stares from everyone else that convinced you otherwise. You wouldn't give him the satisfaction. 

You pushed through the doors to the bullpen and didn't bother putting your bag down before you started scanning the room for him. 

"Where's Spencer?" You practically shouted the words at Morgan, unable to hold back your anger. 

"Y/N, what's wrong?" 

"Where is he?" You demand, and there must be something in your eyes that speaks to your devastation because Morgan shuts up and just points to the top of the stairs, where Spencer is exiting Hotch's office without a care in the world. 

You don't realise that something is tears until you're beating a hand against his chest in frustration as they spill down your face. 

"Where were you?" You demand, sobbing into his chest, as he pulls your hands away. The entire office is watching your commotion, but you don't care, you're not letting him move you out of the way. 

"Y/N, I need you to sign this." His voice is calm, and you hate him for that. That he can stay so neutral when he's just broken your heart. 

"No, not until you tell me why you left." 

"Sign the papers, Y/N, trust me." He pulls your chin up so you can look him in the eye, and you catch a glimpse of the man who has been holding you, comforting you for the last four months. You snatch the pen from him and sign the papers, thrusting them back at him with a scowl. 

He smiles as he looks down at them, placing them back on his desk before pulling you in for a long, deep kiss. You're shocked at first, but you melt into it, pulling him closer so he can't leave again. 

"I'm sorry. I had to come into the office to declare our relationship, Morgan sometimes tells me I have a one track mind, and when I woke up this morning, the one thing I wanted to do was get it in writing that you were mine." 

Your push the tears out of his face, and attempt to pull him down for another kiss. You don't get the chance, as the sound of several throats clearing around you burst your bubble. 

"Public space, no canoodling." Rossi shouts down at you from the balcony, a soft smirk on his face. 

Penelope runs in from her office, and stares wide-eyed at the lack of space between the two of you. "You! And you! Security cameras….. You!"

"Now, I'm sure there's a story here, but from the state of our little angel's neck here, I'm sure I don't want to hear it." Derek laughs, smacking Spencer on the back in praise as he walks up the stairs to the meeting room. 

You slap a hand over your neck, trying to pull the turtleneck further up to hide the mark you evidently missed. 

"She's my angel, now." Spencer calls up to him. "I have the paperwork to prove it."  

[anonymous-existences]

DCXDP Prompt 13 :

@demonic0angel I'm gonna borrow a bit of your 'First Burn' Prompt If ya don't mind <33 just a teeny bit(cuz song hehe) and make it more ANGSTY!!

Danny and Bruce are divorced, Only Dick knew they were together, Danny and Bruce's love started in college, oh how their love and passion were true and gentle, everyone around them wished them happy memories.

But as Bruce took the Mantle of Batman, He never told Danny, neither did Alfred have the heart to tell Danny that he was always getting into dangerous situations as he roamed around Gotham as a Vigilante, Sneaking out at night from their bed.

Bruce and Danny both adopted Dick, Little Richard 'Dick' Grayson, Danny's little boy, his precious little star. Bruce saw how much Danny cared for Dick, Bruce thought Dick could be a distraction for Danny so Danny doesn't notice his secret Vigilante nightlife.

....

Danny knew. He knew everything alright. Danny tries to not cry every night as he feels Bruce sneak away in the middle of the night, every whispers of love that Bruce utters to Danny felt like lies, Danny knew he had secrets too, His Past Vigilante life as a teenager is something he never told Bruce.

But this is something Danny is slowly breaking himself into denial, His husband is a vigilante, that's fine, he was fine with that, but the way he interacted with other women made Danny's heart break, even other heroes... Too close, Too Intimate, Too Comfortable.

Danny stopped following Bruce everytime he left by that time, he felt so hurt and so insecure of himself everytime he saw 'Batman' Interact with those others so.. closely.

It made Danny's core scream in doubt and his emotions derailing into confronting Bruce.

He thought Confronting Bruce about his nightly sneaking would get Bruce to finally trust Danny with the information about Him being Batman but no, it made Danny doubt so much more, Days of constant fight and reuniting, His Little Boy, Dick , and Alfred was the last thing keeping Danny in mental order, Organized and Composed as he always should be. Even if Bruce is Acting like a Playboy Brucie Wayne.

He tried to do what Jazz would have done but nothing FUCKING worked and Danny was always on edge, he felt that everything his husband said was a lie, he loved Bruce but why won't Bruce trust him? Please... please, just tell him the truth, I won't be mad. Please. Just tell me. Tell me everything. TELL ME! PLEASE! IM BEGGING YOU! JUST TELL M—

Danny loves Bruce, But as day passes, that love slowly felt one sided.

....

Dick didn't mean it, it was supposed to be a harmless little prank, he didn't know how rocky Bruce and Danny's Marriage was, he didn't know. He really didn't.

He didn't know a picture of Batman with Selina would seal it off. He didn't know a single lipstick would finish it all. He was only a child. It was his fault. He felt that it was his fault— why wouldn't he? He didn't know.. he really didn't.

Danny and Bruce screamed, it was nothing that Dick could have ever heard before, he didn't know at all. He really didn't.... It was only supposed to be a prank.. He didn't mean it...

...

Bruce soon took in Jason, Dick noticed how much Jason looked like Danny, Dick wanted to yell, he wanted to scream at Bruce, He wanted to confront him about passing the mantle to Jason— but... It's no use fighting against someone that's like Bruce. Not like Batman.

Dick secretly kept contact with Danny and his Family, Dani And Jazz was still his aunt as they lived in Bludhaven, he could always go to them as Nightwing and they'd know to help him without questioning. Dick felt bad everytime he did. He felt as though he was burdening the family of the person who's marriage he ruined, his own Father.

The only Father who could actually handle and was a real father.

Everything passed by so quickly.

Jason Died.

Tim Was adopted and he became Robin.

Jason came back to life.

Dick immediately took Jason to Danny.

Damian Came into their lives. Dick felt his blood Boil when Damian did but he couldn't blame Damian, Dick accepted Damian with a whole heart, acting like the Danny which the Manor Lost because of Bruce.

He will be the person who loved everyone, just like Danny, even if sometimes it's tiring— he just needs to keep being the Father of these children that Bruce struggles to be, It's the only Way Dick could honor Danny.

...

Bruce misses Danny Dearly, he regrets many things.

But the one he regrets the most is...

Losing Danny.

Danny and Bruce are Divorced Because Bruce Fucked up with being Batman and didn't tell the truth, Dick wanted to do a little prank cuz a kid will do pranks and snuck a lipstick on Bruce's coat and a picture of Selina with a kiss mark on it. Danny and Bruce's marriage are rocky as fuck, Dick secretly takes the other Wayne kids to Danny and they come to love Danny as their father much like Dick is attached to Danny, Jazz and Dani are the Wayne's Therapists. Specifically Jazz, she's the Best, Uncle Dan is Jason's Favorite mechanic.

Bruce Misses Danny dearly and wants him back and will try and probably try to court Danny again, nonstop as Batman, Danny still loves Bruce and hadn't moved on, His core is very much attached and embedded in the memory and love of Bruce Wayne, thus he is just waiting for Bruce to finally step up.

Yes this was Angsty, I apologize <33 but yes.

[orphicsun]

݁ ˖ ◜You're Vi's prison wife: 18+ HCs

•Vi who was never quiet in prison. She loved mouthing off, especially to the guys who had egos 20 times the size of their dicks. She usually stuck to using people for her own gain in Stillwater. Men were her entertainment, and women her pleasure. Anything between could serve as both, depending on how annoying they were.

•Vi who was sent to share your cell after she tortured some poor guy in the cell next to hers. The warden's orders were final, and she was banned from even stepping foot in that floor. You resided in the third floor for petty crimes, but you were a Zaunite, so of course you were given more time than necessary.

•Vi who was always either punching the walls of your cell or making sarcastic comments. It was honestly entertaining for you, a blessing in a place like Stillwater. She warmed up to you quickly, probably out of pure boredom and loneliness, but she didn't mind sharing a cell if it meant with a pretty undercity girl. She was starting to get...ansty, though.

•Vi who (mostly) jokingly asked you to be her prison wife. You laughed in her face at first, confused as to what the term 'prison wife' even meant. She explained to you, in great detail, that prison wives are like short-term relationships without the actual love. It was just a way to combat the loneliness that set in with the environment and to have a physical stress-reliever. Then she asked you forreal, and you ended up agreeing with the pathetic but desperate feelings that swarmed you. Everyone had the need to feel loved, even if it was pretend. It was just human nature.

•Vi who liked sneaking over to your bed at night when the guards didn't really care to do rounds after midnight. At first, it was for cheeky reasons such as talking to you, sometimes flirting around. Then, she'd plop down onto your bed and pull you in for late-night make-out sessions. Her lips felt so warm against yours, even if they were chapped and she was rather brash. Her kisses felt desperate in a sense, as she always sought out your tongue with hers, and after the first few times, quiet laughs and small sessions turned into her mouth finding its way down your body, her eyes remaining on yours as she ate you out like you were a Michelin-level meal in a world of canned beans.

•Vi who was a MUNCH. She loved taking her time, smothering her wet, sloppy kisses all over your thighs in the late hours until you cursed under your breath and only encouraged more. Fuck, she loved taking care of her prison wife. She'd finally slide her tongue between your slick folds, dipping deeper into your hole and letting her nose brush up against your swollen bud. Soon, she'd attend the mass that was your clit, her tongue swirling around it as she used her heavy hands to pry your legs further apart. You would be dumbed down to absolutely nothing, a blabbering slut for her to mold however she wanted. You would beg for mercy after the third orgasm, and Vi would feign sweetness, climbing up your body to clamp a hand over your mouth. When you finally began to relax, she gave you a shit-eating grin and slid two(or three if you can handle it) digits into your cunt, loving the way your whines created vibrations through her other hand that muffled your sounds.

•Vi who was more than just pleasure for you. Being a wife and all is always more than what you get from simply fucking. For instance: the prison food in Stillwater was unbelievably horrible, but you did like the peaches they'd serve. Vi, like clockwork, would shuffle over to you and hold out her tray to you, peaches the only uneaten food. In return, you had her back. If a guard asked you if Vi had anything to do with the guy with a broken nose? You didn't see a thing.

•Vi who was obsessed with your tits. Sometimes, she'd spend what felt like hours with her mouth latched onto one of your nipples, your breathing heavy from the pure intensity of her touch. She wouldn't even need to fuck you on those nights, and if she did she'd still have a hand groping a tit while she had her head buried between your thighs, or leave hickies on both as her fingers sought deep inside you.

•Vi who noticed you had a huge problem with not being able to shut up during sex, so she opted for slipping her fingers into your mouth. That choice turned out much different than she had even hoped for, because the feeling of your soft, wet tongue swirling around and tasting her skin? God, it’d send jolts straight to her core. It became a routine to practically finger-fuck your mouth while she was actually finger-fucking you.

•Vi who fell much harder for you than she should've. She wasn't immune to feelings, but at least tried to keep everything impersonal in prison. You, however, wrecked any efforts she made. You were addictive and made her weak in the knees with a smile. You were somehow so soft and sweet, and you didn't truly belong in a cell. Still, she was grateful you were, so she could have you all to herself for as long as possible.

•Vi who got out a few months before you, and when you finally returned to the under-city, she didn't hesitate to stake a claim on you forreal. You were hers, inside or outside of that fucked up prison. Just now, she could have you moan as loudly as she could possibly cause, and she could fuck you in her own bed.

[tiramissyoucake]

Oooooo I have a viltrumite mark request! How would he and the reader handle having kids? As a viltrumite I assume it would be on the agenda, but how exactly do you think that would go?

Vomitted a small blurb. i apologize. But absolutely, I think Viltrumites want heirs. In this scenario where earth is destroyed, reader is obedient under Mark's affection because there's nowhere to go. It's either death in space or him.

So they'd change the subject or divert his attention to avoid talking about it, having kids was a huge thing and you don't fake-love him enough for that, he'd catch on to the stalling game at some point.

Reader manages to evade him in this blurb, lmk if you want another where Mark finally gets to mark it

Here you go:

"I need your answer, NOW." He'd demand with folded arms, staring down at you as your back was facing him in the bed, dressed in sleepwear while Mark stood above you, shirt was thrown aside, only in comfortable pants. "I asked you multiple times, and you keep changing the subject. When will you give me heirs?"

The way he phrased it disgusted you, maybe if you spoke honestly now, he'd understand. "I don't think I'm ready." You'd explain as you sat up, the sheets slipping down to your waist. "Mark, kids are... a huge responsibility, who's to say we can take care of them properly?"

He seemed to take the bait, sitting on the edge of the bed and facing you with a stoic expression. "I understand you're scared, but we have everything we need, a powerful empire, a comfy bed, clean clothes and warm meals, what more could a child need?"

He dismantled your arguments so impatiently and was closing you in a corner, you had to think of a way out. Fast.

"... y-your.. conquests." You mumbled, the excuse building itself in your head quickly. "... dear, you've been so absent and neglectful recently." A glimmer of hope appears as his expression shifts to guilt.

"Our children should have present parents, parents who aren't busy with invasions." You glance away, keeping your expression away from his eyes. "I know it's your responsibility, but I can't accept, it's not a good time."

His hands clutch the sheets, frustrated as you illustrated your point. "Sweetheart, is that how you really feel? Have I been neglectful?" He cups your cheek and makes you look at him, your eyes downcast as you nod, ensuring to stab the guilt into his heart as you pouted and looked at him with your most vulnerable, saddened, kicked-puppy look.

Mark sighs, hugging you closely, his bare skin warm against you as he caught a whiff of your scent; he's come to associate it with home. "... I'm sorry, I really am. You know I love you, don't you?"

"I love you too dear, but..." You didn't know if he was rambling or if he wanted a response, nonetheless you absentmindedly replied, he continued. "Listen, let's compromise; okay?"

Too much resistance would raise alarm, you listened. "I'll agree to postponing, I have a few more invasions to carry out for the next 2 months, that should be plenty of time for you to think, don't you agree?"

You bought yourself 2 months successfully, nodding twice, although his smile said he expected a yes after those 2 months.

"Good..." his defined hand trailed up your thigh gently, pushing up the cloth and revealing your skin. The mattress sunk down as he pulled you closely, his heartfelt smile turning into an lustful grin. "Now, come here. I missed you."