#she dragged in mini to be the brains

[activate-shadow-of-the-window]

A sketch I may or may not ink. From left to right, there’s Skizzle Man, Mini Muka, and Salem Lady, the leading rebels of the Red and Gold Uprising. In the Horizons AU, all three are parrot-folk who would eventually follow Grian across the Sea of Guardians to the Land of the Sunrise, alongside the rest of the Evo crew.

[killerlookz]

Olive Green Couch | Spencer Reid

description: when your best friend drags you to a party to meet a boy she's been fawning over, you find yourself completely bored and unimpressed- good thing you've stumbled upon a strikingly handsome (yet awkward) young graduate student named Spencer who seems equally as unhappy to be there to share your misery with.

pairing: grad school! spencer reid x f! reader

content: uhh mostly fluff, drinking, reader is described as wearing a mini skirt and wearing high heels.

word count: 4,242

If I have to hear one more Weezer song I'm going to be sick. You think as the slow drums of Undone pour out over an all too expensive speaker system for a frat house.

The MIT frats were nothing like you experienced before, they were- for lack of a better term- a complete and utter sausage party. You can't remember the last time you'd seen this many men in a single room. If you weren't so bored maybe you would appreciate this as a reprieve from the usual maintaining "ratio" of the state school frat parties you'd been to. But even now you'd prefer that if it meant you wouldn't have to deal with another sloppily drunk man explaining the plot of The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy to you. Rich, pretentious, too smart for his own good MIT frat guy or dude-bro, alpha male, business major state school frat guy- it didn't matter; they were the same side of the same misogynistic coin.

You look down at the shot-glass sized solo cup in your hand, staring at the clear liquid inside. Maybe just one more shot and you'd finally start to enjoy the state you were in. You hoped maybe six shots would be the perfect number of drunk to enjoy yourself. You screw your eyes shut and throw back your head as you lift the cup to your mouth. The cheap vodka burns the second it touches your tongue, and you wince as you feel it travel down your throat and to your stomach. Your body shivers involuntarily as the warmth in your belly grows.

You face forward again, looking across the living room for your best friend- the one who dragged you here in the first place. You had suggested bar hopping or trying to get into a club, you didn't buy her a fake ID for no reason. But she insisted on coming here instead. Here- to this sweaty house filled with... well... dorks. She came here looking for some guy- Michael... Matthew... Miles.... shit, you couldn't remember. It didn't matter, you were here now, and she had ditched you to fend for yourself.

You take a step forward and all the alcohol you had drank prior seems to hit you a once, "Woah" You can't help but say out-loud as you catch your balance and wait for the room to stop spinning.

You take a few more wobbly steps forward before acclimating to your new, tipsy state. You make your way through the dimly lit house, trying to find your friend amongst the crowd and rowdy conversations. Observing the bodies that populated the house you suddenly felt insecure, and insanely overdressed- why was everyone wearing jeans and a t-shirt? Maybe a mini skirt was the wrong choice for tonight.

You make your way to a back room of the house, occupied by maybe only 10 people by your inebriated brain's estimate. There's an ugly looking olive green couch in the middle of the room- it' had obviously been through a lot but and you hated to imagine what had happened on that couch over the years, but right now it looked like the most comfortable thing in the world. You walk over and plop yourself over onto the couch, the cushions having a lot less give than you expected.

The beginning riff of Someday by The Strokes plays just outside of the room, and you groan- turning to the guy who you had just realized was sitting next to you.

"Do you know who's Dj-ing this fucking thing- can you tell them to play some Britney or something?" The words fall off your tongue, sloppily.

The boy sitting next to you turns to look at you, a confused look drawn upon his face, "Huh- me?"

Shit. He's kind of cute- In a dorky sort of way. His brown hair is perfectly unkempt, and small curls form at the back of his neck. His jawline is sharp, and his hollow cheeks accentuate his prominent cheek bones. His eyes are dark, and he looks a like he hasn't slept in years- you figured with the workload MIT students probably have- it would make sense if he actually hadn't slept since getting there. Truth be told, all things combined he looked a little sickly- he was obviously lanky maybe scrawny was a better word- his button up shirt seemed a little ill-fitted for his body, and his tie poorly tied. Still- you couldn't help but notice he was hot. The first hot guy you'd seen all night.

"Yes, you, pretty boy." You smirk.

His face reads as even more confused upon your clarification.

"Oh um," He looks down at the half-drunken beer that sits between his legs, shakes his head before looking back up at you, "I-uh I don't know the DJ, and I- um, also don't know who Britney is." He responds, a small nervous tremble in his voice.

"Spears?" You let out a small laugh, "You know like- Hit Me Baby One More Time." You half sing.

"Oh-" He looks off to the side, "No" he faces you again.

"Go figure," You scoff, still, keeping a smile on your face. "Say- are you in this frat?"

He shakes his head, "Oh- no, I'm a grad student."

"A grad student?" You respond, your eyes widen in shock no shot the man you were looking at right now was any older than you. "How old are you?"

"21" He responds, almost nonchalantly- like it wasn't some insane feat. "Well," He clarifies, "I'm actually in my third graduate program, I already have a PhD in mathematics and chemistry, from Cal Tech. I'm working on my engineering one now."

"Jesus," You smile, "So what, you're like some sort of genius, huh?"

"Well, I don't believe that intelligence can be accurately quantified- but I do have an IQ of 187, and an eidetic memory, and can read twenty thousand words per-minute."

You stare at him in awe for a moment, "So, a you are a genius?"

He gives you a small smile in response, "Yeah- I guess." He nods.

You're suddenly intrigued, only twenty-one years old and already a doctor twice over.

"So what brings you here Doctor...uh..."

"Reid," He nods and presses his lips into a line. "Oh! But, don't call me doctor you can call me Spencer."

"Well then, what brings you here, Spencer?" You correct yourself with a smile.

"My friend- uh he wanted me to come with him, he's meeting some girl here and he didn't want to go alone. I kind of got dragged along."

"Well," You grin, "It must be fate that we're here together on this ugly green couch, because if you could believe it- I'm here for the exact same reason except my friend- she's uh, meeting a guy here."

Spencer takes a small sip of the beer he had been holding, wincing as the liquid touched his lips. You figured he probably wasn't much of a drinker, he probably had things much more important on his plate than getting drunk and partying.

"Not much of a partier?" You ask to confirm your suspicions.

"Mhh," Spencer hums, mouth still full of beer, he shuts his eyes tight as he swallows thickly. "No." He shakes his head violently. "What gave it away?"

"Oh!" You bite your lip... "Nothing!" You say, innocently, voice steeped in sarcasm.

"It's okay," He laughs, "I know I look like a dork."

His laugh is infectious, and you can't help but smile in response. And Damn- he's really cute.

"Oh! Don't say that," You swat your hand at him, "I'm sure you get tons of ladies."

Spencer tilts his head to one side, in obvious disbelief of what you just said,

"I don't really appreciate the sarcasm," He says, his eyes narrowing at you.

"Sarcasm?" You pout, "No- I mean it Spencer, what you're like a genius. And I mean- you're not bad to look at," You bite your lip, "Not at all."

Spencer shook his head, "I was a child prodigy in a Las Vegas public school, and until now, I've always been way younger than everyone in college- my experience with girls is practically in the negatives."

"Oooh!" You smirk, "Vegas," You raise an eyebrow.

"Mhm," He takes another sip of his beer, his face more relaxed this time.

"You think I'd make a good showgirl?" You wink

"Oh- um," Spencer is suddenly blinking rapidly as his head scans you up and down. You can't help but feel a little bad at the way you have him flustered,

"I'm kidding! You don't have to answer that." You reassure. "Negative experience with girls, hm?"

"Yeah- I-uh, I haven't even had my first kiss yet." He says, looking down at his lap, refusing to make eye contact with you.

"No?" You say, still shocked, even given his prior explanations of his experiences with women, "Well..." You start, pausing for a moment, "If you ever want that to change let me know." Maybe that last part was meant to be a joke, but truth is you kind of really hoped he said yes, right there, right now.

"What?" He looks back up at you, eyebrows furrowed, "No- I don't need a pity kiss. I don't even know who you are."

"It is not a pity kiss, and I'm y/n, I go to UMASS, the Boston campus- like 15 minutes away. I'm 20, and uhhh... Well, the rest you can find out later." You wink, "Now you know me!" You smile, perking up from your spot on the couch.

"Well- uh. Nice to meet you y/n" He gives you an awkward tight lipped smile. "Are you- um- enjoying your night."

"God no," You scoff. "Does that make two of us?"

Spencer nods, side moving his eyes to look around the room. It had gotten significantly more crowded since you'd came in here, you hadn't noticed, you'd been too focused on getting to know Spencer that you kind of forgot you were at a party to begin with. It didn't seem to matter now anyway, you were intrigued beyond belief and wanted to know more about Dr. Reid.

"So, why'd you leave Caltech? The weather is certainly a lot nicer than it is here," Your body physically recoils at the thought of having to go back outside to the brisk New England fall after the party was over.

Spencer shrugged, "You can only get so many degrees at one place before you need a change of scenery. I've been at CalTech since I was like- fourteen."

"Fourteen?" Your eyes widen, thinking about what you were like at fourteen. You certainly weren't CalTech material, that's for sure. "When did you graduate high school?"

"1993," He smiles and nods, "Twelve years old"

Spencer had a charming humility about him, he was the smartest person you'd ever met but he spoke in a way that made it feel like it was every day that someone could graduate high school at 12 and have two PhDs by 21.

"What do you plan on doing after college with that pretty head of yours?" You ask, your slightly intoxicated brain unable to stop you from instinctively reaching out and fluffing his hair. Spencer's eyes flick up towards your hand and he gives you an awkward smile paired with a small laugh.

"Well- I uhh... I've been in contact with this guy- well from the FBI, the BAU... Behavioral Analysis Unit. We came into contact after my second dissertation, he was shocked at how young I was, having done so much- he suggested I come to the academy when I was done with this one." Spencer explained, he talked in a way that made him seem unsure of himself, like he, himself didn't fully understand how it happened.

"God," You muse, "The fucking FBI? Could you get any cooler?"

"You know," Spencer remarks, "I think that's the first time anyone has ever used to word "cool" to describe me." The tone in his voice is light, it's clear he's happy about that fact, but you can't help but feel your heart break at the statement.

"Cool even sounds like a little bit of an understatement to me. But you know... I think I'm a little too intoxicated right now to think of a synonym, so cool it is!"

"Do you have any plans for after college?" Spencer asks, nervously running a finger around the rim of the glass in his lap.

"Nothing as cool as the FBI," You shrug, "Actually, nothing concrete, really. Has me feeling a little inadequate in a room full of geniuses."

"Oh trust me," Spencer scans his head around the room, "Not all of these guys are geniuses."

"Well- they're complete nerds at the very least." You giggle.

"I think I qualify as a nerd too." Spencer smiles back.

"Oh you definitely do," You say, scooting closer to him, taking the beer glass out of his hand, "But you haven't tried to talk down to me about some movie everyone's seen, or some album everyone's heard like I'm some dumb idiot bimbo yet." You huff, finishing what was left of the liquid in the glass with a single gulp. You slam the cup down on the coffee table in front of you, "And even if I was a dumb idiot bimbo- what makes them think I'd care about whatever they'd have to say about OK Computer. We've all listened to Karma Police, big deal!" You realize you're getting a little heated over this and cut yourself off, "Anyways," You smile, "What I mean is you don't seem like some self important loser."

"Oh," Spencer furrows his eyebrows, "Thank...you?"

"Do you want to get out of here?"

"Y-Yeah, Yeah we can go." Spencer nods.

You stand up from the couch, wobbling a little bit as your legs lift you up. The room, is blurry, for a moment all you can see are vague blobs of color instead of people. You shut your eyes tight, blinking them open to fix your blurry vision. You glance over toward Spencer, who's grabbing a tan suit jacket that had been draped over the back of the couch. He slinks the jacket on over his thin frame.

"You alright?" He asks, concern in his eyes. He must have been able to read the drunk all over your face.

"Y-Yeah I'm fine, lets go," You nod, reassuringly. You could handle your liquor, besides you hadn't drank that much tonight.

The two of you head for the door, wherever it is. Spencer was leading the way, and you hoped he had a better sense of direction than you did. The music is suddenly a lot louder as you exit the room you were in, and you suddenly feel a lot drunker. The sudden change in feeling causes you to stumble a little, bumping Spencer in the back. High heels and alcohol were never a good mix.

"Oh- hey," Spencer stops suddenly, turning around to smile at you, "Are you sure you're alright?"

You look around the room, at the hoard of people, the room thick with a combination of weed and cigarette smoke. You've never felt so lost in your life when did it get so crowded in here? The obnoxious yelling of frat guys mixed with the music turned to a volume you were sure would get the cops to show up is absolutely ear-splitting.

"Can you hold my hand?" You ask Spencer, needing his guidance more than you realized.

"Uh, yeah, yeah." He nods. You reach your hand out for Spencer to grab, and it takes him a few times to correctly slot his fingers between yours. You smile a little, watching him try to figure out the perfect hand-holding position. He couldn't be more pathetic if he tried- it was kind of adorable.

Spencer's hand is warm, a little sweaty against your palm. But his grip is tight and reassuring as the two of you walk the rest of the way out of the house.

As soon as the front door opens a brisk wind hits you, nipping at your exposed flesh. Goosebumps already dot up and down your skin, the only warmth you feel is Spencer's hand wrapped around yours, and you knew that warm sensation would end as soon as his hand got cold too.

With a little hesitance, you step outside to brave the cold. Your heels click as you carefully make your way down the concrete steps in front of the house. You stare down at your feat as you make each movement, fearing accidentally rolling your ankle or falling. You'd probably take end up Spencer down with you.

"Hmm," Spencer hums, noticing your trepidation, "Here," Spencer untwines his hand from yours and places an arm around your back, reaching to your other side, but barely touches your other arm, just holds firm enough for you not to fall.

You reach the bottom of the stairs, thankful for Spencer's help,

"You don't have to hold me so far away you know, you can pull me a little closer." You turn your head to look at him, "I mean it is kind of chilly out."

"Oh-uh," Spencer's arm pulls to hold you just a little bit closer, "Better?" His grip is still pretty weak around you, and you sigh.

"You know, Spence, I'm still pretty cold." You frown, staring down the suit jacket he was wearing.

"Do you want to go back inside? I didn't even have a full beer the entire time I was there- I can go get my car real quick and drive you home if you want. It's only a block or so away." Spencer responds, his voice quick, and nervous- it was obvious he was eager to solve the problem of you being so cold.

"No," You laugh, shaking your head, "I'm cold is kind of girl-code for, you should give me your jacket."

"Oh!" Spencer laughs, "Oh- I'm sorry, yeah- here, here have it." Spencer speaks earnestly as he slips the jacket off of his shoulders. He shivers as the loss of the fabric leaves him in only a thin button up and you can't help but feel a little bad for asking him to give it to you. But he hands you the jacket with a smile on his face, which lingers even after you put it on. It provides a marginal amount more of warmth than what you felt prior.

"Better?" Spencer asks.

"Mhm," You nod, "Thank you."

Spencer only gives you a tight lipped smile and a nod in response.

"So," Spencer starts as the two of you begin walking, his hand slipping into yours almost instinctually, it catches you a little off guard, and you feel your cheeks run hot at the gesture. "Where are you headed?"

"Oh- uh, back to Boston I guess," You squint your eyes, thinking, "I usually take the bus, the stop is up that way." You point up ahead in front of you.

"Let me go with you," Spencer says quickly, "I mean- not to your place, but let me ride the bus with you, I don't want you going by yourself."

"Why not? I'm a big girl, I can take care of myself." You retort, trying to hide the fact that secretly, butterflies are growing in your stomach at his eagerness to take care of you.

"I just want to make sure you get home okay." His hand grips yours tighter.

"Okay," A small smile draws at your lips, you don't want to fight him on it anymore, truth was you'd love nothing more than to spend a little bit more time with him, even if it was a short bus ride.

The streets of the city are utterly dead, not a sound to be heard except the whistling of the wind and collision of your high heels and the pavement. You wonder what time it even is, how long had you even spent at that stupid party?

The bus is just as empty as the rest of the city. When it arrives, nobody but you and Spencer are on, the two of you sitting patiently under the bright fluorescent lights for the bus to move. The lights are straining on your eyes, and the horrendously carpet-patterned seats might hurt your eyes even worse.

"What stop do you get off at?" Spencer asks, being the one sitting the closest to the button to let the driver know when it's your stop.

"University Drive."

The lights dim as the bus driver pulls away from the stop you'd been picked up at, and you're able to relax your eyes once more. You let your eyes relax until all of a sudden they're closed and then-

"Hey," You feel your head being jerked, "We're here."

"Hmm?" You grumble, slowly opening your eyes.

Your stomach drops, and you're absolutely mortified to see your head is rested on Spencer's shoulder. You whip your head off from where it laid and quickly stand up from the seat.

The bus ride was fifteen minutes, you couldn't believe you fell asleep. Much less fell asleep on some guy you barely knew. You're a mess of worry as you exit the bus, thinking about how awkward you probably made Spencer feel. You're so caught up in your thoughts you barely notice how cold it is as you step outside.

"Hey, look, I'm right over there." You say, pointing to the large dorm building behind you.

"I'll walk you to the door." He smiles, and your panic immediately slides away.

You walk with your head down, looking intently at the sidewalk under you as you head forward to your building, trying your best to keep in a straight line. You had to admit, you were pretty upset your time with Spencer would be ending in just a few short minutes from now. You tried to scheme up a plan to get Spencer to stay longer, but no ideas would stick to your brain. You sigh, crossing your arms across your chest as you approach the front door.

You whip around to look at Spencer who's trailing just a few inches behind you.

"Well," You sigh, "I guess this is it." You pull your mouth to one side in a small pout.

"Yeah- I-uh, I guess so," He shrugs, "I had a nice time tonight, thanks for, making my first party experience a lot better than i was expecting." Spencer's hands are shoved into his pocket, and he rocks back and forth while he talks, unsure of himself as his eyes dart all around you.

"Of course," You grin, letting your hands drop down at your sides, "Say," You cut yourself off, and shove your hands into the pocket of Spencer's coat, fishing, until you find what you were hoping for. You pull out a pen from one of the coat pockets, and grab Spencer's hand. "I want to see you again before you become some big tough FBI agent." You smile, scrawling the digits of your phone number on the back of his hand. "Call me sometime?" You hold his hand up for an extra moment, before letting it drop back down.

"Mmmhm, yeah," Spencer bobs his head up and down vigorously.

"Okay, good. Goodnight Spencer," You smile, giving him a small wave.

"Goodnight y/n" He smiles back, as the two of you turn around to go your separate ways.

You notice as you turn back around that you're still wearing Spencer's jacket, part of you has the urge to call out to him to give it back, the other part of you wants to keep it- if he wants to get it back, he'll have to come see you again.

"Wait! Y/n!" You hear Spencer from just behind you. You frown a little, thinking your plan to keep Spencer's jacket had been foiled and he was calling to get it back from you.

"Yeah?" You whip your head back around.

"Did you mean it when you said to let you know if I wanted to have my first kiss- and that you'd change that I've never um-"

"Uhh..huh," You responded, a little to eager as an uncontrollable smile began to tug at the ends of your lips, "Are you asking me to kiss you Spencer?"

"Maybe," His voice breaks, unable to look you directly in the eyes.

You raise one eyebrow, "Maybe?"

"Ahem. Uh- I mean- yes."

Before you know it, you're tugging at his tie, pulling him close to you. Your lips are on his, just a peck at first, Spencer is hesitant. He is unsure of what to do with any part of his body, his lips move carefully, his hands unsure of just where they should be, they rest on your hips- before they move right under your shoulders. You make the decision to tilt your head and deepen the kiss. Spencer's lips are soft with inexperience, he has absolutely no clue what he's doing, yet you can't get enough.

The two of you pull away slowly, neither one of you wanting to give up the kiss- but you eventually have to surrender to the night and to the cold. You place one final peck on Spencer's lips.

"Now you have to call me." You giggle, unable to hide your excitement.

"Yeah-yeah," Spencer nods, eyes wide, his lips are shiny and his cheeks a pretty shade of pink. "Absolutely."

"Goodnight Spencer." You say once more, before turning around to head inside.

A/N: whew! when I tell you I spent all day writing this i mean all day! that's okay though... im obsessed with grad school! reid. anyways..... thinking about making a (potentially smutty) part two to this ;-)

[pascals-doll]

unwanted smoke sessions

ellie williams x reader

ೀ this is just a pure nasty thought in my high mind rn like RIGHT NEOW!!! enjoy this mini drabble.

ೀ we seen mean!dealer ellie on 4/20 but what about sub!ellie yall likeee😩🤧

ೀ description: SMUT! sub!ellie, dom!reader, mean!reader, no descriptions of reader except yall is smoking!, mentions of dina!, use of sex toy (vibrator use—ellie rec), poessesive!reader, USE OF BELT BONDAGE (ellie rec), mentions of jealous reader, HELLA OVERSTIMULATION (ellie rec), fingering (ellie rec), slight cum denial (if u squint frfr) 💝

you had walked in ellie and dina having a smoke sesh together. they passed the blunt that was shared in between the both of them, sitting closely as their shoulders brushed each other’s.

you observed them for a good miniute before walking through, dina scooting away slightly which just made your blood boil more.

they were passing a dutchie, might aswell been fuckin’ french kissing while at it.

“you love this, don’t you? pretty girl.” you praised as you puffed on your joint lazily. one of your hands held the joint you puffed on as the other held a slim bullet vibrator up to Ellie’s overstimulated clit.

you were working ellie to her third orgasm of the day, legs sprawled open and wide across as her hands were pulled together by your own pretty shiny belt as they thrashed against her chest; squirming around as she cries out your name.

“jesus fuck—please!” ellie begged.

ellie wasn’t much of a moaner, more of a whimper and silent-like sounds falling from her lips, but tonight. tonight was different.

you wanted her to be loud, you were making sure of it.

“you also loved your little sesh with dina, huh baby?” you were coy and your face gleamed dangerously. you click the vibrator once, setting it higher. you listen to the way the vibration level increases through the loud buzzes coming from the beautiful pleasureable machinery.

you cocked your head to the side as you brought your joint to take another drag, your face completely deadpan as you press the tip of the slim bullet into her clit more then angling it.

you smoked your joint without a care, as if you didn’t have your girlfriend squirming and screaming right under you.

“no! fuck—please no, it was nothing! i swear.” she cried out, her hips bucking into the machinery helplessly. your brows furrowed, exhaling.

“oh… no? then why were you so close, my love? all gigglin’—smilin’ and shit. you think she cute?” you turn the vibrator slightly, circling it around her own cum coated clit aswell.

ellies chest heaved as she practically tore out cries from her throat because of the overwhelming sensation of pressuring high vibrations on her soak and vulnerable arousal. “god no! no! y’know this—pu-please!” ellie was crumbling, exactly how you wanted.

“know what? only thing i know is who’s pussy this belong too—you remember, don’t’ya?” you gritted through your teeth.

you leaned down to kiss away the tears that dare to fall from the corners of ellie’s eyes, bringing up your hand to caress her hot pink cheeks as you looked into her flushed and fucked out eyes.

“no! fuck no!—only you, always you.” ellies cry of denial fizzes into a sob. you began to pepper kisses all over her; her tear-stained cheeks, lips, jaw, neck, and down below. easying her.

“this sweet wet pussy—who does it belong too, hm?” your smile was so sweet and mean against the rhythm of her broken and sloppy kisses had her brain short circuiting. your eyes never left hers as you continued to smoke your joint down to a roach.

“you baby, i swear—pussy s’all yourss.” her fucked out state couldn’t stop her from slurring out. you watch the way her wrists squirmed together and shook while enclosed within your belt as her perky titties mushes together. you just gave her another teasing smile.

you took your ring and middle finger, lathering it in her leaking creamy juices as you fingers massaged her sensitive, erupting the most shallow moans from the auburn beauty. the way her cunt glistened while covered in her own cum had you salivating, observing the way her cunt basically sobbed for something while spasming around nothing.

your joint was nothing but a conetip, completely disregarding it as you flicked it with your finger before replacing hands, now using your dominant hand to hold the vibrator.

“couldn’t quite hear’ya, pretty girl.” you plunge your two fingers into her desperate hole, fucking your fingers in and out as you kept the slim bullet vibrator on her clit. the sensation of the high vibrations sending her body through carnal shockwaves as her belted wrists reach out to try to hold onto you.

“you, you, only you—fuck!”

“say you won’t smoke with her ever again—or you won’t come.”

“i-i won’t smoke—fuck me! i wont smoke with ha-her ever again.” the tiltalting wave of overwhelming pleasure as her body thrilled itself towards her fourth orgasm.

“say her name.”

“please! mm’soo close!” she begged, legs intensely twining together tightly closing around the bullet vibrations, clutching the vibrator onto her pussy for her dear life.

“say her fucking name!” you couldn’t help but yell as you felt jealousy swallowing your insides.

“gah! fuck me!—i wont ever smoke with dina again, i promise—m’yours! im cumming, fuck m’cumming!” ellie finally rides through her orgasm. you turned off the vibrator as soon you felt her cunt clenching sex mush around your soaked fingers.

you let out a happy hum as you brought your fingers to suck off clean, savoring the fruity salty she tasted like. you then were quick to unbuckle the belt from around her wrists, massaging them as you brought them to wrap around your neck as you pulled her into you.

“no more unwanted smoke sessions.”

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a/n: i love when my weed makes me cook sum up 4 all yall beautiful people !! hoping this will make yall happy till ts weekend, uploading chap. 4 of GATÚBELA ! love you all and thank u for the patience :3

ALSO IF MY GIRL EVER SMOKE W ANOTHER BITCH THATS A BODY IDGAF???? OSRS😭😭

[reallyromealone]

This isn't a request but I'm brain rotting rn about imagining Emma is once again at a toman meeting with another 'girl' and Draken of course scolds her and is like "Don't go bringing your schoolmates to a gang meeting," but it's actually reader crossdressing and Mikey's new bf

Thank you, bye bye I had to tell somebody and I thought you would like it. 🤧

Title: cross dressing

Fandom: Tokyo revengers

Pairing: Mikey x reader

Warnings: slight au, male reader, cross dressing, fluff

Notes: made some slight alterations for the sake of hahas

🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️

Mikey was slightly annoyed as he heard his younger sister brought someone to a Toman meeting, the girl making friends at university and he often saw her friends when he got home from gang stuff or helping shinichiro with his shop on occasion.

What he wasn't expecting was (name) to be dressed in cute feminine clothes and a mini skirt, tucked flat-- Mikey chuckled silently to himself as he knew (name) probably regretted letting Emma get into drag racing shows. Draken scolded the girl as (name) glanced around and saw Mikey leaned back on his chair with his legs spread, slicked back blond hair showing off his tattoos as he winked before blowing out smoke from his cigarette.

(Name) And Mikey had recently begun dating, the blond initially hesitant when he learned Emma had a male friend and Draken nearly hostile at his girlfriend being so close to the cute boy but they quickly realized that (name) was not interested in Emma or any other girl.

What Draken didn't know was that Mikey immediately went on the hunt, practically popping up anywhere (name) was to flirt with him and eventually begin dating him.

So when the twenty-one year old saw his boyfriends bare thighs swished slightly by stockings and that cute skirt, (name) looked nervous at the look he gave him though... The Toman underlings who stood in position in the back garden of Toman headquarters didn't see the look as their boss being a horny bastard but instead saw it as annoyed.

To be fair, Mikey was incredibly hard to read.

"She can stay but she has to stay out of the way, we aren't responsible if she gets hurt" Draken sighed and kissed Emma's forehead as the blond girl beamed up at the tattooed man "thanks Kenny!" She said sweetly and the giant of a man grumbled but didn't say anything.

(Name) Sat with Emma quietly as they started their meeting, Emma and (name) chatting amongst themselves and working on a project, (name) explaining his half and what he was doing.

They didn't even notice the meeting end until Mikey wandered to them "oi" he said passively as (name) looked up confused and Mikey raised his hand, many members holding their breaths only for Mikey to grip (name)s neck and kiss him softly "what" Baji said confused, he was fully ready to get the cute girls number but seems Mikey got to her first.

"What's with the clothes? They look weird" he asked confused and mitsuya looked up from his laptop, working on business expenses that he will be sending to Koko later "Mikey! Don't tell a girl her clothes look weird! That's rude!"

"But (name) isn't a girl" Mikey said bluntly as he plopped beside (name) and draped himself over the other "I just made (name) wear girl clothes, he owed me a favor" Emma said sweetly "besides he looks cute! Don't judge my fashion Mikey!"

"Wait, she's a dude?" Pah said confused and (name) nodded "yeah "

"Wait why did Mikey kiss you?" Chifuyu was also confused, a group of grown ass men who ran a notorious gang and made illegal millions couldn't figure out was a relationship for the life of them.

"(Name)s my boyfriend" Mikey said bluntly, Draken connecting the dots fast.

That would explain why Mikey went to a specific apartment often.

And based on how he played with (name)s skirt...

He would be going back pretty damn soon.

[poeticallyspiteful]

Hi there.

Maybe a newt x f reader where reader its a healer ( doctor) . reader was a friend of theseus and they were working on a case from the Ministry of magic. Thank you so much ❤️

kiss it better

newt scamander x reader

fluff (making out)

cw: unedited, blood, a lil bit of ~suggestiveness~/(okay a lot a bit of suggestiveness i write like a romance novelist sometimes lol sorry not sorry), making out, newt is ripped and hot as hell

summary: newt gets injured and theseus knows the perfect person to kiss it better.

notes: thank you so much for the request love!!! i wasn’t sure exactly what you were looking for with this one so i just used my imagination so i do hope you like it. feel free to request something more if you don’t though :))

16+ please!!

“theseus, this is ridiculous, let go of me.”

it was a small cut, just a little one. a small mishap with alone of his creatures, that was all. such a tiny little ailment.

“it is bleeding profusely and goes all the way across your stomach, newt!” theseus exclaimed, pulling his brothers coat sleeve like a child dragging their parents through a candy store. “she’s very nice, you know that.”

oh, newt knew you were nice— that was the problem. you were so nice, so pretty, so incredibly everything that newt could hardly bare it. years and years of friendship with you and he could hardly even contain his joy at the sound of your laugh, at the mere sight of you. it made it hard to breathe, hard to think, hard to exist when all he could focus on was you.

“you’re working a case, theseus,” newt sighed, allowing his brother to pull him up the stairs to your apartment. “she’s probably reviewing files or something, it would be rude to interrupt her work.”

but the scamander brothers were already outside your door, and theseus was already knocking. before newt could brace himself for the wave of love sickness that would inevitably hit him the second he saw you, the door swung open and there you were; nice, pretty, perfect.

“hi newt, theseus,” you greeted, chest heaving (you may have ran across the apartment the second you’d heard their voices coming down the hall) “what can i— oh merlin’s beard.”

newt looked down, unsurprised to see the blood had seeped through his white shirt. he gave you a lopsided smile and you rolled your eyes, a pitiful attempt to avoid eye contact with the boyish man before you.

“come inside.”

theseus all but shoved newt inside, already straightening out his suit and brushing the left over floo powder off of his shirt. he looked up to you and his brother, unphased by the confused look on your faces.

“well, i best be off.”

you gawked at him. “your— your not going to stay?” you asked. he shook his head. “theseus! your brother is injured and you’re leaving?”

“we have a case!”

“it’s really okay,” newt said, bashfully, suddenly reminding you of the reason they were there.

scoffing, you turned back to newt, waving your friend off. “workaholic,” you murdered as you began searching for your emergency bandage kit.

and with that, theseus shut the door— but not before sending his brother a mischievous wink. newt felt a shiver down his spine.

sneaky bastard.

you finally found the small red box, pulling it open and rifling through it for a disinfectant and some gaws, as well as a mini suture kit.

glancing up at newt through your eyelashes, you hummed expectantly. “shirt off,” you ordered, some foreign sort of confidence surging through you.

newt swore all the brain cells left his mind. “pardon?” he chocked, suddenly not too concerned with his injuries.

“i can’t exactly fix you through the shirt. now c’mon, we don’t have all day,” you explained.

quickly, newt obeyed, shedding his baggy coat and undoing the bloodied buttons. very quickly, he felt exposed, but the bashful look on your face made him feel more smug than anything.

you had never seen newt shirtless before now, but my lord, did you wish the sight to be engraved in your mind till the day you died. you could see the viens that traveled up his tanned arms, and as shocked to see his biceps had been rather toned under that jacket all this time. his freckles spanned all down his chest and arms as well, dancing around the thin scars across him.

for a man so cute and clever, he was sure an enthralling sight to see.

clearing your throat, you finally looked down at the wound intently, relieved to see it didn’t look like too hard of a fix. with some shallow sutures and cleaning, he’d be better in no time.

“not too bad,” you murmured without thinking, entire body going cold at the implication. shit. the clever smile on newts face grew. “i— i meant the cut isn’t too bad, doesn’t look, y’know, infected.”

“good,” newt agreed, leaning back on his arms. his abdomen tensed at the movement and he hissed at the pain. “ouch.”

before you could look at him too closely, or think too much apparently, you knealt down infront of him. however, as he opened his legs to allow you space between them, you realized the predicament you’d put yourself in.

holy fucking shit.

you looked up hesitantly, feeling your heart race at the way newt looked down at you; nervous and kind, like he was just as surprised by your position as you were.

“this might sting a little,” you announced, trying to redirect his (and yours) attention back to the real reason you were on your knees.

carefully, you wiped the cotton pad across the cut, cleaning up the blood around the wound. newt hissed again, hands gripping the blanket laid across your couch. you had to will yourself to keep your eyes on the wound.

“almost done,” you reassured, finally looking up to see newts eyes screwed shut in pain. quickly, you dabbed at the far end of the wound, bringing your hands down quickly. “all done.”

newt sighed in relief, swallowing roughly. he glanced down to his stomach, feeling his head buzz as you looked back up at him. “whatcha thinking, doc?” he teased.

you could’ve died at the irony. you could not tell him what you were thinking right now.

“well, it’ll only need a few stitches at the edges there on the left, but it should be fine otherwise. just some bandages and you’ll be good,” you answered.

“no magic?” he asked.

“sadly, my regulations to do these sorts of healing charms only spans as far as britain,” you replied. “i’m working on getting the papers here in the states, but for now, just my handy work.”

newt smiled, another grin which made you weak in the knees. “your handy work is quite good.”

you ignored the heat in your face from the praise as you began you sutures. you felt newt shiver under your hands as they fluttered across his stomach, tracing the stitches and looking for any imperfections. finally satisfied with the stitching, you taped some bandages across them, and stood up once you were done. three easy steps, and nothing went wrong—

as you took a step back, you stumbled over the edge of your rug, fumbling backwards as you tried to regain your balance. before you realized what had happened, you felt newts hands on the back of your thighs, pulling you forward.

and forward was onto his lap.

you had spoken too soon.

you caught yourself with a tight grip on his bare shoulders, the skin soft and hot under your hands. your face was barely an inch from his, and your eyes met his in a brief moment of panic.

“s-sorry, i just didn’t want you to hit your head on the coffee table,” newt whispered, eyes darting form your eyes to your lips and back again nervously. he seemed very regretful of his action at first, but he didn’t budge to move you off of him, hands gripping the flesh around your hips.

“t-thank you,” you stammered, gathering all your strength not to squirm in his arms, your heart beating faster than your blood could pump.

newts eyes found yours again, thumbs making small circles in your hip bone. “have i ever told you that you’re very pretty?” the low rasp of his voice could’ve made you faint on any ordinary day, but given that you were practically straddling him, nothing could’ve made you more lightheaded. “especially up so close.”

“newt,” you whispered.

“what, love?”

“please kiss me.”

newt closed the gap without a second thought, kissing you gently. his lips were soft, but needy, pulling away and coming back for more over and over and over again. his hands traveled from your hips all the way up to your head, resting on your jaw. you moved your hands up his neck, playing with the curls on the nape.

you whined as he pulled away entirely, pulling him impossibly closer to yourself. “why’d you stop?”

“isn’t there a rule about strenuous activities post surgery?” he teased, laughing as he pressed another kiss to your lips briefly; he had waited too long to do this and he didn’t wanna stop now. “making out seems pretty strenuous to me.”

“i’ll kiss it better.”

[tyx003-alt]

Now playing: Pinkpantheress - pain ( slowed + reverb ), https://youtu.be/eMOKD-RUfIg?si=A_LVdfr_LkN47D6S

●━━━━━━─────── ⇆◁ㅤ❚❚ㅤ▷ㅤ↻

Teacher / Y/N X Miss Circle X Miss Grace ———————— [Cash out, Jump start, Kick start.]

Note ; [Who should i make next?]

✏ < You were at home, laying in the dark by yourself. You lay in a starfish position on the old wreaked-up mattress, pondering if you should hit up your Co-workers for some late night food. You've done it before with Mister Demi, though he got scared in the dark at night near the shops, Miss Sasha was fine but you couldn't call her over now, she's probably sleeping from the hard time with the kindergartners.

✏ < Miss Emily was perfect but she always said next time, you know she was busy and was honest, Zip, Oliver and Edward gave her a hard time for the past couple of weeks of trashing her class room, taking some advantage that she was patient and sweet. And of course you and Miss Circle always stayed back to help, even if Miss Circle only did it because you were there and didn't care for anything else. She mostly leaned against the door frame as she seemed annoyed.

✏ < Oh, right you never really dialled her unless it was important or you needed to get something from her. Miss Circle didn't seem to yell at you, only stay calm and layed back. She liked to turn off her brain for a minute when sitting next to you on the Gray lined couch in the break room while Miss Grace sat polietly next to you too. They both seemed more chilled down but kept their seemed normal expressions.

✏ < But now you lazily wrap three fingers around your phone, tapping away at a group chat with the teachers. Kicking up Miss Circles contact, you send ; "Wanna go get a snack at the mall ..?" No one answers but after a few milliseconds, she texts ; "No." You had to get her to come, who doesn't want someone to go out to a mall with them, especially at night. "I'll get you a Mcflurry with extra oreos." Immediately she aggressively sent ; "Who wouldn't wanna come." And that was it, easy, right? Not exactly. Your message was seen on read by every teacher except Emily and Sasha. You said too meet up at the closet mall since it was open 24/7.

✏ < You were half surprised that Miss Circle dragged Miss Grace around, but its only a little bit surprising only because all three of you guys talked silently in the break rooms once in a blue moon. Making this whole thing not the brightest but it suits,

✏ < You walked too the mall but it seemed as Miss Circle had other plans ..she bringed Miss Grace as you all cashed out money and went inside the mall. Sprinting into the mini Cafe on one of the sides, they walked behind you while chatting slowly. You slip in and order a drink or maybe just a cake or little treat, Miss Grace ordered coffee and Miss Circle was already coming back with her Mcflurry. All three of you stayed their for a few hours just hanging out, you even got too know Miss Grace more about her life and so Miss Circles.

✏ < And after everything, you take a ride home from them in a uber, you fell asleep. You waked up in your bed, seeing a little drawing with a triangle with two lines across the top. It reads ; "I miss you more then anything.." well, atleast you know that one person seems to care ... [Maybe even two.]

✏ THIS PICTURE WAS NOT MADE BY ME. ✎

Credits to: hanaki_edit

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

Black Metal and Bourbon (III)

AU MASTERLIST || THE FINAL PART

PAIRING: Biker/Mechanic!Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Bartender!Reader

WORDCOUNT: 7.9k

WARNINGS: Depictions of injuries, blood, gore, abductions, death, talks about bike crashes, violence, guns, intended harm, past toxic relationship, murder, protective!Simon, suggestive content, (1) dirty joke, etc. (18+ mini-series)

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

You remember the long nights when you would sit in the empty bar and wonder why you’d never left. Why you couldn’t up and disappear like you wanted to—a bird taking flight and choosing any direction at all to travel, just as long as you didn’t stay on this branch. It wouldn’t have been hard. There wasn’t anything here that mattered to you. 

This invisible string was holding you back, waiting; tying you to something that you would never understand for as long as you lived. You had dreams and aspirations. 

So why hadn’t you grabbed them by the throat and dragged them along with you?

Maybe there were larger powers in that old town, a mischievous spirit that played a game of chess with the lives of its inhabitants. It certainly felt like it.

Especially when you’re flying through the air, the rain falling in slow motion as hands slash past wind to grab at your body. You recall flashes of that day. Snippets. 

Even now, you feel like you see it in the third person, your form getting tossed by the momentum of the flipping motorcycle and cutting the storm—Simon’s hands reaching out and grasping you. He had dragged you into his chest, his back taking the force of the ground as you slid along the wet streets, pained grunts echoing into your soul as your panic resulted in a shocked muteness. His hands had been gripping you so tight that veins had burst, the view of the sky above you as your back conformed to his chest. 

And then you’d both tumbled, rolled over and over as the screech of metal grated your ringing eardrums and pain flared like fire. Your head slammed into the front of the helmet with a smack, and nothing else is recalled. 

Until now, of course. 

You try to move your fingers, the tight hold of a cast over the entirety of your left forearm—the action brings a wave of weakness with it, making you grit your teeth. You’d woken up in the hospital with black dots in your vision, your body so unresponsive your mind had panicked thinking you wouldn’t be able to move at all. 

And Simon? 

Where was Simon? You’d been so loud with your hoarse calling that the nurses had rushed in and had to put you back under, letting you drift and brushing their hands over your head as you babbled on failing breath. Never once had your brain left you void of the mechanic’s brown eyes—his hands grabbing you, keeping you safe at the risk of his own flesh. 

He hadn’t been wearing a helmet.

But now…now you were fully conscious. 

“Where is he?” Your face is perhaps one of the few parts of you that was unscathed. Your legs were skinned—wrapped so tightly you couldn’t move them. While Simon’s leather jacket had saved your arms, they were still battered and bulging with blisters as big as your hand. Your forearm was broken.

The nurse shushed you, and your voice snapped. “Loralie, I’ve known you since middle school,” she pauses, lips thinning as she messes with your IV drip. “You’re going to tell me where the hell he is, or I’m going to scream that you made Braylan Holt forge your high school diploma.”

Sizzling eyes meet yours, but not even that will deter you—your heart is heard, rapid on the screen to your left.

“You’re a damn horror, Bartender.”

“You’re acting like I give a shit,” you growl and the nurse slightly moves back, never hearing that venom from you before to such a degree. “Where the fuck is Simon before I get up myself.”

It’s like a dog with fear aggression—you can’t comprehend the man you’d formed such a bond with hurt, much less here in this hospital with you and…and…

Your heart rate increases even more. 

He wasn’t wearing a helmet.

“That’s not gonna happen, Sweetheart,” Loralie grits out. “You won’t be walkin’ for another week, at least. Not with all that damage—your legs were so bloody the EMTs couldn’t tell where the hell the blood was even comin’ from.”

Your working hand curls into a tight fist, teeth snapping together as you restrain a flinch. You don’t want to think about that right now. 

“Simon,” you grunt, shaking. 

The woman stares for a moment before sighing. 

“You’re something strange, Girl. How the hell you managed to be stuck here is some mystery I can’t fathom. Fine,” she glares before a fast whisper. “But you best forget about that stint with Holt, alright? You never mention that again—”

“Already forgotten,” you grind out, impatient. Even the muddled agony from under the sheen of the pain meds couldn’t stop you. “Speak.”

“The man’s in rough shape. Hasn’t woken up yet.” Your jaw clenches tight, blood pumping like a river. A finger is leveled at you, moving in an accusing motion. “He’s lucky he didn’t die, by all accounts the shape he was in he should have. Had to go into surgery to get the bike shrapnel out of his legs.”

“Surgery?” Your eyes go wide, your voice frantic. “W-what about his head—did he hit it, or…or is he—”

“His brain waves are active.” The nurse tidies the blankets at the end of your bed. “Can’t say that about his body.” 

Your throat sinches violently, and you have to look away to hide your tears. Moments later, the woman lets out an aggressive sigh, her hands moving to cross over her chest. 

“That man must fucking love you,” you blank, blinking quickly as you sniffle and try to shift your expression back to fake anger.

“What…?” You ask, your tone defeated.

Loralie stares, her eyes moving to the IV only to waft back when she can gather her thoughts. 

“If he hadn’t grabbed you, you would have gone right off the edge of the road into the rocks.” In the bed, your body goes as still as possible, your ears twitching at the confession. “In the middle of getting road-burned to all hell, he still grabbed you. If you would have gone over, we’d only be having one of our intensive care rooms filled up…you hear?”

You can’t say anything, only watch as the nurse finishes up her work and exits with one last look of exasperation. 

Alone, your brain finally tries to comprehend what you’d just been told. 

“...Simon,” you whisper to dead air long minutes later, the machines all around you beeping. 

The tears come easily.

—

When your legs finally started working again, it didn’t bring you any comfort. Only Simon could do that, and seeing the looks from the other staff, they knew it as well. You couldn’t keep your full weight on your limbs, only bend the toes and knees in small intervals. 

The doctor said it was a fantastic start, but you felt helpless. 

You wanted to see him, yet first came the interview with the Sheriff to explain what had happened. After the details started coming back, a larger picture was formed, and when you had been able to get ahold of a phone—your own shattered and little more than a box—you’d heard a case had already been opened. 

Simon’s bike had been tampered with. 

After you’d given your statement, you had been surprised to find three mechanics at your door, walking in quickly and throwing over concerned looks at your busted forearm and hidden legs. 

“Christ,” Soap says, a flash of anger crossing like lightning over his eyes. “You don’t hurt much, do you?”

“No,” you lie easily. “Could be worse,” your words were whispered. 

John sends you an indiserable look as Gaz sips off his hat and keeps it in his grip as he frowns. 

“We’re happy you’re alright, Love. Scared us half to death when we heard the news—thought the worst,” Kyle commented, the Brit’s hand running over his neck slowly. 

They could all tell that you weren’t in the right mindset. 

“He’s alive,” you look over to Price sharply. Those blue eyes don’t waver. “That’s all that matters. He’s alive.”

“Aye,” Johnny agrees, nodding his head and crossing his arms. A stubborn expression was on his face. “Never known someone like Simon. The man’ll push through without a doubt—just needs time to rest up.”

“I shouldn’t have agreed to go out,” you mutter, rubbing at your cheek, thinking about a man with a mangled body and skinned bones. Jesus, he needed to be alright. He had to be. 

“No one could have thought that would happen,” Kyle comes over and puts a firm hand on your shoulder. “Hey, c’mon,” you look at him with a guilty face; fear under your tiny pupils. The man smiles, but it’s shaky at best. “We all know who to blame for this, yeah? Don’t go taking that from the person who needs to carry it.”

“We’ve been keeping up with it,” Soap adds, frowning. “Still no trace.”

“They haven't found him yet?” Your brows turn in with concern, a sudden paranoia entering your head—if they hadn’t found Graham, what’s to stop him from doing something like this again? Hell, if he was unhinged enough to commit attempted murder, what was stopping him from pushing those boundaries now that he’s already gone through with the former?  

“We’re not going anywhere,” John seems to sense this. You look at him quickly. The man grunts, lips moving as he speaks. “Not until he’s found.”

A piece of your heart eases at that, thankfulness flooding your veins.

“...Do,” your voice pauses, and you swallow down saliva slowly before you continue. “Do you know when they’ll let me see him?”

Soap and Gaz share a glance, the Scot going to ease into the chair on the other side of the room with a low sigh. 

“They’re not letting anyone in,” Kyle utters. “Not until his condition improves a bit. We tried.” 

“Two weeks,” John nods to you. “They’re only giving estimates.” 

Fingers twitching, you look down at your lap, the hospital bed hard under you. The words come out, and you find they’re met with a hard certainty from the men around you.

“What if they don’t find Graham?”

“...Then we will.”

—

The mechanics had all looked over their bikes for any tampering and had found none when they reported back to you—the bolts had been loosened only on Simon’s. Soap was the one who had mentioned that you might have never been the target at all, and that Graham had been a spiteful man who just wanted to make a point about his past relationships’ new attraction. The thought didn’t settle you.

All of them were undeniably worried about their friend.

You’d tried to get what you could out of the other nurses—any signs of waking or getting better, but there were only stiff looks as if it was taboo to talk about him. Like an inside joke with the devil. 

The staff had finally said they would tell you themselves if there was any change in Simon’s health. It didn’t stop you from asking, though. It currently didn’t stop you from sneaking out in the middle of the night after visiting hours, either. 

Your legs were still weak, sometimes going numb entirely as you dragged them over the floor. Inside your eyes, black dots swirled as you effectively dodged the front desk by taking the far back hallway; the lights above your head were too bright and too loud. 

Your arm burned something awful.

Eyes blinking rapidly, you pant as you go from room to room, not stopping even to breathe before room fourteen makes your soul pull in on itself like a crow holding a bell. The bit of metal jingles, attached to a red string that flutters in the wind—reaching back to the wreath it was stolen from. 

Not understanding the instinctual feeling, you grasp the handle and push open the door with more force than you’re able to push out of you; your working arm quivering violently. 

But the sight behind the door is something you would cross mountains for. 

Simon lies still on the bed, attached to so many machines he seems more like a cyborg than a man. Over his face, an oxygen mask takes the place of a balaclava, and the right side of flesh is patched with so many bandages the bulk makes your stomach drop. 

“Simon,” you whisper, stuttering as your blood falls internally to pool at your feet. 

Walking over as quickly as you’re able, you pause at the side of his bed, nearly falling over as your knees buckle. You lean your weight on the frame and take a deep breath. 

This man saved your life. 

You look at him, unable to say anything—unable to utter a sarcastic quip. Your hand stutters in its course through the sterile air, but at the very end of it, your skin settles over Simon’s hand; the limb on his chest. 

“Simon,” you say again, licking your lips, fingers squeezing his tattoos as if to bring the images to life. “Can you hear me, Brown-Eyes?” 

You needed him to wake up—needed to speak to him, see that October gaze lock so numbly with yours. Dead eyes had never meant so much to you than when the man that wore them wasn’t blinking so softly. Where had he gone?

“Simon,” you plead, getting choked up when nothing happens beyond the flicking of the light on the ceiling. The beeping of his pulse didn’t change, not even when you intertwined your fingers together to lock them like a knot—a promise. “I need you to be okay,” your voice stutters. 

“We have to get through this together…I…” Tears splatter his tattoos, his lovely, beautiful, tattoos, you hiccup. “We need each other.”

Maybe it was cliche, two people who relied on one another in a town of nobodies, but it didn’t make it untrue. And maybe it was a partial lie—after all, you didn’t know what Simon thought of you exactly, but the way he looked at you, how he cast his shadow above yours, was a well enough guess in the right direction. But you needed to say it, and your heart ached to see him like this.

Simon doesn’t move, his hand is cold and his lashes stuck to his cheeks.

“Simon,” you hiss, sniffling. 

The hours pass, and you stay there for as long as you’re able before your body is about to give out on you. You reluctantly kiss his forehead and leave with a crushing weight on your shoulders, so much so that the flashes of broken metal and rain don’t even bother you at this point.

A rage grows in your breast.

But when you sneak back to your room, you don’t go to bed. You can’t. The smell in the space is something that leaves your eyes stuck wide until your legs actually do buckle. Your eyes stare at the far wall blankly.

Cigarette smoke lingers in the air.

—

“He woke up last night.” Your blank eyes stare, expression stuck firm. Loralie gives you your lunch, setting it down on the bed tray. “Around three. Said your name and then passed out again.” 

“Why didn’t you get me?” You’re already pushing off the bed, your lips letting loose a grunt. The boys had to be at work today—a Thursday—so that left you alone and bored until they took a break and walked over to keep an eye on things. 

Wincing when your feet touch down, you’re quickly, and very easily, pushed back into bed with a scoff. 

“Loralie,” you growl, venom in your throat like a rampaging bull. 

“Sit down and let me finish.” The both of you glare before she rolls her eyes and points to the food. “Acting like a damn teenager. Eat.” She doesn’t start until you pick up the fork just to shove a single piece of the lunch into your mouth to spite her, slowly chewing it with a scowl. Loralie rubs at her temple. “He’s getting better, but it’s still a long road. Activity’s peaking every now and again—fingers been twitching, too. Some of the bandages have been able to come off.”

“Thank the fucking lord,” you breathe, running both hands over your face as you sigh out slowly. “Any estimate on when he might fully wake up.”

“God knows,” the nurse huffs. “He had brain bleed. Man was all kinds of messed-up.”

Your chest tightens, but you say nothing. You’d suddenly lost your appetite. 

As the afternoon rolls around, you take down your pain medicine and fight the blurriness of your eyes. Healing was a very long and very tiring process—it seemed like no matter how much sleep you got you still woke up tired. And you suppose that was why you fell into an uncomfortable nap and woke up to the window still open, the moonlight rays like sheer fabric cascading down to the tile floors. 

Groaning, your head lifts from the pillow; your first thoughts are always of Simon and how he’s doing. It was time to see him again. 

Your TV-static mind reruns how he looks over and over again—the bloody bandages, the wrappings around his face. Even the machines now seemed to sneer at you as your guilt grew harder to ignore. He’d saved you at the cost of himself…without even hesitating. 

Why would he do that?

“You really had to go and make me love you, huh?” You ask into the cold air, a breeze shifting through as you slowly sit up on one arm. “Simon, if I’d known you would have gone and done this, I would have never looked at that sold sign. At least then you’d be okay.”

“You love him?” Your body twists up, large patches of gauze pulling at dried blood and mixed plasma as your body keeps itself upright. The shadow in the corner of the room moves as your fatigued brain wakes itself back up in no time at all. 

Graham. 

Eyes stuck to the far corner, the phantom of your Ex stands tall—his eyes beady. Your entire being freezes as your lips part in horror, yet, you can’t make a sound. 

He’s disheveled looking, but those eyes of his have never been more rageful. Like walking through the hospital and coming face-to-face with a grizzly bear of all things. It’s strange, but your thoughts immediately go to Simon as he steps forward, sneering at you. 

“The first man that comes into town and you love him? I didn’t think you were so easy, but I guess I was wrong.”

“What are you doing here?” Your voice is hushed, panicked—adrenaline spikes in your veins. 

If you screamed, who’s to say he wouldn’t just pounce on you? 

Graham runs a hand over his hair, his scent taking up your nostrils until you feel the need to nearly gag at ash and tobacco. “I needed to see you—explain,” he stutters, emotions swiftly flicking from anger to fake remorse. 

Your hand slowly inches to the nurse-call button attached to the wall near the bed, the cord leaking out like a snake as your fingertip catches against it. 

“You weren’t supposed to be on that bike, okay? Celina fucking messed it up—she was supposed to keep you workin’ until he went out on his own.” He’s coming closer, and you push back up the mattress in distress. 

He doesn’t stop.

“What the fuck, Graham,” your voice rises slightly, cracking in the middle. 

The man growls. “It wasn’t my fault! J-just forget about it, okay? You’re fine now, it all worked out.”

“You tried to kill us!” You shout, and Graham’s instant hiss makes you flinch back and scamper as you slam the wall behind you. 

“Don’t do that,” he snaps. “Do not…do that. Keep your damn voice down!” 

“And if I scream?” You tilt your head, shaking violently. “What then, huh? You lousy son of a bitch.” 

“You’re lucky I don’t pay that Simon of yours a visit, yeah?” Your lungs tighten, a wheezing inhale stuck in your throat. 

“You wouldn’t, Graham,” you whisper hastily. “Not with all of this shit you’ve gotten yourself into—turn yourself in and fix this.” 

The man spays his hands and your hand shifts to the bulk of the nurse’s button, running over the top until you find the correct one to press. 

It moves in with a slight pop of plastic, the darkness of the room giving you extra coverage as you slowly drop it back down. 

“It’s too late for that.” Graham shakes his head, and his stench overtakes you as you gag lightly, casted hand coming up to hide your nose. He pauses near the side of the bed, and you push to the opposite side and hear your feet slap the ground. The size of your makeshift barrier doesn’t fill you with confidence. “You need to come with me.”

“What,” you laugh in exasperation; fear coating the hoarse noise. “No! Leave!”

It was obvious that your usual sarcastic tone had slipped to a fearful one, your heart making your voice palpitate with every thump of the veins in your neck. 

The door opens and Graham’s hand darts to the back of his pants. 

Loralie’s body comes into view. “What’s happened now—”

A great ear-shattering boom leaves you screaming as blood splatters into the air.

—

Simon woke up to the world spinning. 

He grunts heavily, the oxygen mask over his face tight before he can slap a weak hand to the plastic and pull it back. The man coughs, spine curling before a bone-deep pain makes him stop with a firm inhale. 

Blinking sluggishly, he grinds his teeth together and lets the mask slip to his cheek. Movement at his slide makes Simon pause—trying to gather his bearings.

What was going on?

“Simon, easy with it.” Scottish. Johnny. “Christ…how am I going to explain this?” More shuffling and fast feet over to the side of the bed. 

“Johnny,” Simon grunts, vocal cords tight. He needed water. 

“One second, just wait. Let me…” A pause before a sloshing of water. Above the man in the bed, the ceiling moves and swirls—dancing. Simon remembers water…the bike…

“Can you hold it, then?” He doesn’t answer the Scot, instead slapping out a hand to curl the body of the glass, bringing it to his lips and downing the liquid as it slips from the side and dribbles down the side of his face. 

Johnny grumbles, “Alright.”

You. 

Simon choked on the drink, moving it back before his arms slammed to the bed, the glass bouncing off and shattering against the floor. 

“Fucking hell!” Johnny shouts, rushing forward to put a stiff hand on Simon’s chest, trying to push him back down and avoid the glass that now litters the tile. “Stop it, you’ll destroy all the damn work they did, ya idiot!”

“Where is she?” Simon garbles out, glaring forward even as his body screams and peels back healed flesh. 

“Stay the fuck down and I will!” Blue eyes sear downward, meeting brown as they battle for a moment. 

Simon clenches his hands, but compiles, top half moving back to collapse to the pillows once more. Not once do his eyes stray from the Scot, ordering him mutely to continue as his heart pounds in his breast. He remembers grabbing you and then nothing else—the scream of sirens in his ears like a distant call from a dream. But his body ached far too much for this to be a dream. 

“Where,” Simon forces out through his accent, throat like gravel. His chest was filled with dread at the nervous sheen over Johnny’s face.

“Ah…” The Scot begins. “She’s fine, Simon. She’s alive.”

That didn’t give him any reassurance. 

Simon hisses, quickly trying to get back up again and succeeding in straining his body enough to sit halfway upward. All of the wires and cords attached to him rip and pop off, frantic beeping emanating from the room. 

“Take me to ‘er. Now.”

“I can’t do that!” Johnny hisses, hands out and failing to keep him stationary. “Would you just calm down?” 

The man doesn’t answer, not until the nurses rush into the room due to the noise and tell him false words to try and get him to lay back down. Simon knew something was wrong—instincts going haywire. 

Were you…dead? No, you couldn’t be. That wouldn't be possible. Johnny knew better than to lie to him. 

“Johnny!” Simon shouts as loud as he’s able; raw authority in his mouth. Even the nurses freeze at that. 

The mohawked man’s twisted face is wracked with guilt, and there calls to the fact that Gaz and Price are nowhere to be seen. 

Simon says it slowly, wounds bleeding and his face opening the long scrapes of road-burn on his left side. It burns like a fire—itching like no other. But it’s secondary to the pure adrenaline keeping him awake. 

“Where.”

Even Johnny can’t fight that tone. 

“Graham has ‘er.”

—

This was a hunting shed, you knew. One out in the middle of the trees—about three miles from town with its rot-infected walls and a chipping wood fireplace. The floor is nearly covered in cigarette butts. 

You stay stuck in the far corner—hands and feet zip-tied together. Your head had been covered by a bag that you had grabbed and ripped off when the world stopped jostling from the trunk of a car. From then, you had been dragged at gunpoint through the hell portal of the front door. 

Graham is watching from the single chair across the room, itching at his scalp with the barrel of a .44 Magnum and using his other hand to rub along his thigh. 

“Shit,” he mutters as you watch, silent and as still as a stake in the ground. “Shit, shit, shit.” Loralie’s blood is still splattered along your face. 

He’d shot her through the stomach. You’d seen her body drop: dead in an instant.

“I didn’t mean to do that,” Graham stands suddenly, and your body recoils with a slam of your shoulder into the wall. The frame shakes. The man quivers as he glares at you. “It wasn’t my fault she came in through the fucking door!” 

You only nod tinily in frantic agreement, looking around the room in search of anything that might help you. But there’s only so much you can do against a man holding a gun—a man who finds himself wanted for a slough of crimes which now just got incredibly long.

You had heard the sirens bouncing over the hills hours prior, but no one knew you were out here unless they happened to be the best-trained tracker of all time.

It should be morning now, but the threat of rain outside obscures the tiny slivers of light that try to pierce the leaves of the forest. 

“Fuck!” Graham screams, foot kicking out to connect with the chair and sending it flying backward before it splinters and clatters—all termite-eaten legs and cracked seat. 

Your mouth releases a squeak, panting breath a sharp gasp. 

You needed to figure something out. Quickly. 

The single window is smashed in, glass sprinkling the ground in large shards, and you don’t care if it’s the result of some teenagers smashing property or anything else for that matter—you had to snap these bonds. 

It wasn’t like the termites could help. 

“Graham.” You’d never call yourself stupid, and heaven help anyone else who tried to. You didn’t work at a bar without learning more and more about the human psyche than all the years in school and adult life combined. Everyone had games they played inside of their head, a series of tic-tac-toe boards or grandiose plots of fanatical sagas; it just so happened that Graham fashioned himself the hero of every single one of them. Every line was his chicken scratch signature. 

“Graham,” you raise your voice and say again, forcing past the quiver in your tone to a lake’s calm waters.

The man’s panicking—restless as he paces the front door, guarding it from you. It wasn’t too far-fetched to believe he could kill you now to put an end to this shit-show. He’d always taken the easy way out, after all. 

But his eyes snap to yours regardless, and you have to not scream at him as he does. 

“What?” He hisses, motioning to you with the gun with a limp arm. “You wanna weigh in, then? I did this for you and you went and ruined it!” 

“I know I did, baby,” you breathe, alarm bells blaring. “I’m sorry—I just wasn’t thinking. I wanted you to fight for me.”

Your throat simmers with bile.

What were you saying? You had no idea, but it played into Graham’s weaknesses. Maybe Simon had rubbed his casual strength over to subjugate your brash sarcasm and brutish aggression. 

Simon.

God, thinking about him made you want to cry. 

“What are you talkin’ about?” Graham intently listens, the gun shaking. “Don’t….Don’t fucking play with me right now,” he warns, growling. 

“I’m not playing,” you raise your hands up, the cast protecting one wrist, but the other had the harsh plastic suffocating your veins like it was a supple neck under a cougar’s jaw. “I’m not. I got with Simon because I wanted to make you jealous—at that party?” You suck down a fast breath. “I wanted you to swing on him, yeah? I know you could have made an example out of him.”

“Course I would have,” Graham mutters, pushing his hand up over his face to clear it of the sweat and crimson droplets. “Lousy no good mechanic with a shitty bike.” 

“Graham, can you cut off the zip-ties, please?” He laughs and shakes his head immediately.

“I’m not that stupid there, Sweetness.” Your jaw clenches, anger spiking. 

“I never said that you were,” you snapped desperately, hospital gown all dirty and your bandages hanging off of you like you were a mummy trapped in a tomb. It didn’t sound that far out of place. “You’re hurting me.”

The floors creak as you shuffle, moving your body forward trying to stand on bound ankles. It doesn’t work. Your ears twitch above the rumble from the clouds far above, past the hole-filled roof, to the sound of an exasperated scoff. 

“You’ll live. Now be quiet and let me think—you’ve made a mess of everything.” Adrenaline gives everyone a high like no other. It happens fast and can start up from the adrenal glands in mere moments when under stress or danger; when it leaves, it can result in lightheadedness, and trembling. Go long enough to where you can get it out of you entirely, it can even lead to tiredness. 

Three hours pass, and it’s storming outside as Graham is sleeping near the door. Curled like a wolf, the silver glint of the magnum is still clutched in his hand, fingers loose like worms as his face twitches. You had waited the past hour to see if he would wake up. 

Now it was time to act.

As you slowly hobble to your elbows and knees, dragging yourself along the cigarette-coated floor, you collect dust like the knick-knacks in your home. Taking small and quick breaths, your eyes lock with a sharp piece of glass as your agonizing injuries pull and break open. Blood is so heavy in the air that it’s able to be tasted on your tongue—coated so thick even the deluge of rain can’t get rid of the stain. 

Graham mutters in his sleep, and your heart beats far into your mouth; body locking up as your gaze flashes over to the twitching shadow. Lightning flashes outside as you slowly start back up again—one eye always to the side and the pupils smaller than a spec of dirt. 

You lick your lips, creeping onward until you can reach out your fingers and slice them on the side of the glass. Your lips hold tight a whine of pain, hand clenched over the material as you twist it around and line the edge up with the zip-tie. 

Your breath is all you can hear—loud inside of your head before the sawing motion makes the cuts over your hands grow deeper the more you press into the plastic. Welts had burst by now, puss seeping to the ground as the zip-tie around your wrists popped with a snap of hard material. 

A yell of achievement is kept inside of your sputtering chest as you shove your leaking palms to the wood, rolling to your back and bending your knees to bring your ankles upward. 

The second tie snaps just like the last, and your limbs roll themselves in circles to get the circulation back as quickly as possible, gaze jerking back and forth to Graham as your pulse roars. 

Run. Run. Run. 

Every rush of your blood sings the same order. 

Lose him in the storm. 

Your legs wobble as you shove yourself up, the glass still held in your hand—an infectious thought entering your body as you stare at the magnum. Stumbling, your bare feet steady themselves as your shoulder knocks the back wall, face contorted inwards. 

How hard would it be to steal it? He was sleeping. 

Blinking away the black fireworks in your vision, you look from the broken window to the door, remembering the bike crash as the rain seeps in from the roof. Water splashes as the minutes spread like crimson pools. 

Graham’s troubled face shifts as he groans, and you’re already out of the window with a slide of glass and a slap of wet grass. 

You’re running through the forest as if a deer, crashing through undergrowth and slipping down ravines. The gown and the trailing bandages have long been soaked, heavy in their own right—a second skin hanging off as your blood gets washed away by the rain. You don’t know when you started crying, but the sky’s tears bled with your own exceptionally well. 

There were multiple times when you swore there were footsteps behind you—right on your tail as your blurry vision finds phantoms in the bushes and the leaves as they fly up behind you at a kick of your mud-covered feet. 

You didn’t have a destination, and as far as you cared, you could die in these woods happily as long as Graham never had the chance to make a decision. In the end, his own ability to fuck himself over never had the chance to change—thank God.

A hand slams on your shoulder. 

Half a scream is stifled, as another is leveled to your mouth—your body is yanked to the side. Dragged behind the bark of a tree, lightning flares overhead as if as shocked as you were, arms and legs kicking out. 

There’s a stiff grunt, and large biceps that curl your waist. Words are about to be uttered into your ear canal before your teeth chomp down on the thick material of padded gloves, eyes wide with blurry panic. 

“Sunshine!” You don’t listen over your muffled curses, nails clawing into a forearm as your casted limb aches. 

Whirled around, your spine finds a trunk, and you snarl before, once more, “Bloody hell, Sunshine, it’s me!” 

Finally able to see who was keeping you hostage, your struggling halts with a knee halfway up and ready to send full force into a crotch. You blink multiple times, panting into the palm before the hand drops entirely and you can take down fragmented breaths.

A skeleton-painted balaclava is only a glimpse before those October eyes suck you in. 

Simon and you stare at one another as the storm rages on.

He was in all black—straps and holsters clipped onto his thighs and chest above a combat vest that you’d seen in military documentaries on TV; a compression shirt under a water-resistant covering rolled up to his elbows. And guns.

Guns at his thighs, a rifle at his chest, a knife at his belt. 

Simon Riley was dressed for war. 

You stutter, eyes beady as you open and close your mouth. 

Wasn’t he supposed to be in the hospital? How did he find you?

“How…” You blink as the man’s concerned eyes scan you over, rage shimmering in his expression as water saturates his mask. His gloved hands settle at your shoulders and squeeze before they move once more. “How did you…?”

“Let me look,” he mutters, touching your wrist and bringing it up. Your mouth shuts tight, flinching. Simon halts and quickly glances back up with a simmering gaze. He doesn’t move, and when he blinks, whatever anger that was mounting is re-hidden back behind the void of his irises. You stare as his browns melt. 

“Can I touch you, Love?” Water slaps your head but the barrier of trees helps slightly. The question was one of the most important he could have asked. 

You nod, but he still waits. 

“Yes,” your voice pushes out. Simon’s large hand recaptures your flesh like a precious object, twisting it around. 

He tenses at the blood, and, just like the realization outside of the vandalized shop, he tells you quietly, “You’re shaking.”

“Simon,” your lips wobble, sniffling. 

Your body is shielded in an instant. 

“It’s alright.” He breathes into your scalp—you feel his pulse, his hard surety; this wasn’t a hold that was quick to leave. “I’m ‘ere, I’ve got you. We’ll be alright. Focus on me, Sunshine. Focus.” 

It wasn’t soon after that those arms separated for a moment, the velcro of a vest in your ears before a rain jacket is carefully, yet quickly, pulled through your arms and zipped up. The rifle is leaning against a rock as the hood is pulled to protect your visage from the downpour. But the rain is the last thing on your mind. 

Screaming echoes out over the night and you gasp, head jerking up to the trees as the yowls vaguely take the incorporeal shape of your name on the battling wind. 

Simon growls, hand coming up to rest beside your skull on the trunk as he leans over you, gazing off into the night. 

“Stay still,” he utters into your ear, the compression shirt tight enough to make the bulk of bandages easily visible all along his arms and shoulders. A pistol is held loosely from his free hand—his fingers twitching around it as numb eyes move along the open spaces of forest. 

Not about to muster a response, your fatigued and addled mind begins to blank of all else but the scent of muddled oil and metal; tattoo ink. 

Simon grips you closer to his chest as the wrathful calls bounce on air-waves like arrows right to his building fury. The man’s jaw clenched tightly—body shaking not from the chill but from restraint. 

He’d broken out of the hospital with one goal: track you down and get you back. Anything else was an added pleasure that the veteran had mulled over as he busted out his old gear and strapped himself with whatever he might need. 

Everyone’s only concern was with how he was still shaky on his feet after the crash, but in reality, Simon barely noticed. The minute he’d heard you were gone, all bets were off. 

No one had clung to military life more than him, not even Price. 

No one messed with someone he cared about and got off scot-free, even if it ended in a life sentence in jail. Eating a meal was too good for Graham Whitaker—breathing was too good.

But before all of that dark work, first came you. 

Nothing else was touching you. Ever. 

So the rushing feet weren’t much of a concern to the man, truth be told. Simon clocked the fool a mile before his huffing was etching like a point through the storm, cheek to your scalp as you shiver and shake, fingers curled into his shirt as your eyelids flutter.

He needed to get you medical attention—clean those wounds. 

But Graham. 

“No!” His screaming continues, stumbling through about ten feet away—the glint of a gun at the fool’s thigh unmistakable. “No! I was asleep for five minutes!” 

Brown eyes don’t blink as they watch, feeling you tense and tighten even at the phonics of the man’s speech. 

“Don’t look, then, yeah?” Simon utters softly. The sound of the safety being flipped off on his gun was drowned out. Your mind barely comprehends the words, all of it slurring together as Simon’s hand curls your skull and covers your ear above the hood. An oil painting smeared by blood-coated fingers that hold you so sweetly. “Easy. It’ll be over soon.”

You get drunk on it as you nuzzle your face into his neck. Simon’s focus threatens to give way before he blinks at the scene ahead of him.

Graham twists in a circle, nearly sobbing as he yells even more and grips one hand into his hair, pulling harshly. It was like watching a toddler having a tantrum, though this was far more serious. And deadly.  

But all of that searching wasn't for nothing.

Simon lets his eyes lock with Graham Whitaker only once, and even then it was a mere glance. A Ghost deserves nothing more before it disappears back into smoke. 

Panicked widening, an arm seizing up. 

It had been for more of the mechanic’s benefit than anything else—torture in its own right as a rabbit stares down a wolf and its foaming maw. Simon was never reckless; never eager to kill even back then. It had been his job, and he’d done it tactfully—resourcefully. A dance of instinct and sheer nuance to get the ques down that had taken him decades to perfect. Training like that didn’t just go away.

People only saw him coming if he wanted them to.

And Simon desperately wanted this man to look into his eyes as he pulled that trigger. Not even the maggots would want the body he gives to them.

—

You both lay in bed, silent. 

The sheets are warm with body heat, and the cast around your arm had only come off two days ago—the flesh sore and the muscles weak. Around you, hard limbs are anchoring you to a chest filled with scars; scars you’d memorized easily as you traced over them like a painter with her favorite brush. 

He wouldn’t tell you the stories behind them, and you have to admit you were relieved about that. It was the past, after all. 

This moment was for the future.

“Want you to work with me in the shop,” Simon mutters as he stares into your eyes. You blink, brows lightly furrowing before his hand comes up and his digits brush your cheek softly. Your lashes flutter at the scrape of calluses as he continues in a low grumble. “Custom detailing.”

“...And will I be paid for this?” You ask him, teasingly—delicately. 

“As much as you want.” Simon isn’t joking. “More than what the fuckin’ bar can give you,” his breath moves over your pulse, making you shiver.

Your half-lidded eyes stay locked into those endless voids, his slow blinking waiting for an answer as the bulk of his belongings sits in the corner of your room. 

“Haven’t even finished the mural yet,” you huff. “Eager to get me next to you?”

“Yes.” Simon moves forward, and, without the need to hide himself from you, presses his lips to your chin, head dipping to tilt your face and allow him access to your neck. You hear him nearly purr when your fingers card his hair, nails set into his flesh.

“I make pretty good tips, Brown-Eyes.” Fingers pulse at your hips, slipping over flesh. 

There’s no reason to keep talking about this—your answer is already obvious—but the both of you enjoy this endless chase. 

Something new and, for you, something to make your feet stationary.  

Simon had taken out his CB1000R for the first time for your date yesterday, his eyes avoiding yours as you’d asked why he’d been five minutes late. He’d said it was because he’d been checking the motorcycle over all day—re-checking it once before coming over with a knot in his intestines. 

There was the very obvious change of two helmets, as well. You had thought you’d be hesitant to get on a bike again, but the feeling of Simon’s body in front of yours was more of a comfort than anything that came before. The wind at your sides as he’d driven far slower than ever—glancing back nearly every minute to make sure you were alright. 

Big teddy bear, you thought affectionately.

“Can give you a better one,” Simon jokes crudely in your bed, grunting like a beast. Your lips let loose a snort, head flopping down to rest on the top of the man’s skull. At his back, your fingers play with the brunt of his old scars as well as the new ones that are still and an angry red; barely closed.

“That was horrible.” Simon shivers under your study when your lips mutter your amusement.

“A bit.” He smirks. “You givin’ me an answer, Sunshine?”

This would be the last chance to get out of this town—say no and disappear, never to be seen again just like the hundreds before you. What life could you have out there? What could you build differently—build like a pack of wooden blocks and poke at before they fall down?

What could you nurture what you already had blooming?

You sigh, arm moving back to perch under Simon’s neck. Pulling him back, you tilt his head to meet yours as he hums, kissing him on the lips and taking his freedom as your own. Simon’s hand spans your spine as his fingers spread; the stretch of his tattoos corrupting your soul one atom at a time as he opens his eyes to watch.

A loyal sin had never tasted better. 

You ease back and whisper over his open mouth, “Yes.” 

October eyes consume you whole.

—

This town is small—it talks. Everyone knew what happened to Graham Whitaker; everyone knew who killed him. 

But small towns always have big secrets that no one ever discusses. 

They never found his body, and the boys had all made sure they never would. So, to this day, the bastard is still listed as he should be:

MISSING: GRAHAM WHITAKER

Dangerous individual believed armed and dangerous. Do not attempt to approach.

Information? Contact your local police force at the provided number below. 

Celina and the rest of Graham’s goons never showed their faces again, and even then, there was no evidence to directly tie them to anything beyond the loose connection to the vandalism.

Of course, the bar was always bustling, eager to speak about it even when ivy had crept over the telephone post flyers and hidden them from any eyes. That one cold case that was ingrained into its history until something else came along—told on long nights to ease the bored atmosphere of passing folk and crumbling buildings. Grumbled over the raw scent of black metal and grunted at the rim of a Neat Kentucky Bourbon.

The twitched smirk over those lips is always a staple, though, and so is the brown-eyed look passed your way as you sit content under the stretch of his arm, art journal open to yet another page as the appointments piled up. 

You haven’t shown him yet, but all of your sketches are of him.

TAGS:

@sheviro-blog, @ivebeentrashsince2001, @mrshesh, @berryjuicyy, @romantic-homicide, @kmi-02, @neelehksttr, @littlemisstrouble, @copperchromewriting, @coelhho-brannco, @pumpkinwitchcrusade, @fictional-men-have-my-heart, @sleepyqueerenergy, @cumikering, @everything-was-dark, @marmie-noir, @anna-banana27, @iamcautiouslyoptimistic, @irenelunarsworld, @rvjaa, @sarcanti, @aeneanc, @not-so-closeted-lesbian, @mutuallimbenclosure, @emily-who-killed-a-man, @gildedpoenies, @glitterypirateduck, @aldis-nuts, @writeforfandoms, @kohsk3nico, @peteymcskeet, @caramlizedtomatoes, @yoursweetobsession, @quesowakanda, @chthonian-spectre, @so-no-feint, @ray-rook, @extracrunchymilk, @doggydale, @frazie99, @develised, @1-800-no-users-left, @nuncubus, @aldis-nuts, @clear-your-mind-and-dream, @noonanaz, @cosmicpro, @stinkaton, @waves-against-a-cliff, @idocarealot

[lilac-5ky]

get him back! (ex-boyfriend!Toji x Fem!Reader)

mini kinktober tribute: hate sex

plot: you broke up with toji and he decided to break your friends, until you decide you've had enough.

tags: hate sex, toxic relationship, exes to ???, reader tried to be a good friend, toji is a manipulative asshole, against a door, unprotected sex, spanking, recording, derogatory petnames, slight angst and arguing.

wc: 2.2k

Masterlist | Kinktober Masterlist | AO3

“You fucking asshole! I know you’re holed in there like a damn rat; open up!”

Your fist bangs against his door with abandon. You don’t care that it’s 4 a.m. on a Thursday night or that the neighbors probably think of you as some crazy bitch, which maybe you are. You turned into one the moment your best friend was dumped through a three-word text.

“Saw your clunker out front; open up or the whole block will learn what a prick you are!”

Kimie was in love with him. She was in love with him when she collapsed on your doorstep an hour ago, and she was still in love with him when you left her sleeping soundly in your bed. So were Nanako, Azami, and Rio—the victims before her.

His modus operandi was the same with all four of your friends. He approached them one by one, casting the same spell that enchanted the panties off their thighs, dated them until he got bored, and then broke them into a state beyond repair, leaving you to pick up the pieces.

“I swear, if you don’t open the door right fucking now—” You’re suddenly dragged into his apartment, your wrist pulled against a firm wall of muscle as the door shuts behind you with a thud.

“And they say prayers don’t get answered.” His smile makes your guts churn, pearly white canines beaming below a taut, scarred lip. “Tad late though, aren’t ya? Been—what, two hours since I dumped that b—”

An attempted slap has your hand joining its twin in his grasp. “Call her a bitch again, and the next will be your balls!” You flail, trying to break free.

He doesn’t look disturbed in the slightest. His grin only turns wider at the sheer hatred with which you look at him.

You hate him. You hate Toji with every inch of your being. You hate how he ruined your friends’ lives on a whim; how he poisoned them against you, pointing you out as the reason for each of their breakups. You hate how there’s an ounce of truth in that accusation because, in his twisted brain, he’s doing all that for you. Because his ego can’t stand that you bailed on him first.

“Oh yeah?” He sneers, shoving your hands back against your chest. “Try me, girl. Show me what you got.”

His eyes provoke you, as smug as the rest of his face. You hate to think they were once the most wonderful thing in existence, and you treasured them like pure jade.

Your hands ball into fists, that remain glued to your sides. Your threats are empty, and he knows that. You aren’t there to fight. Just to give him a piece of your mind and hopefully, put an end to this insanity.

“Finally came around?” Toji asks at the lack of reaction.

You sigh. “How long will you keep this up?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Any more cute friends of yours left to fuck?”

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Your voice climbs a whole octave above his.

“You are.”

“Really? You’re gonna pin all of that on me?” It takes every bit of self-restraint not to pluck the hair out of his stupid head. “Please, enlighten me!”

“I miss you.” He admits, and he sounds earnest, but you aren’t fazed. You’ve heard all of that before; read all about it in the countless texts he’s sent over the past five months. “I miss my pretty baby and all the fun we had together. Miss how we talk, how we laugh, how we fuck.”

You managed to disregard the sculpted muscles decorating his bare chest that had been in plain sight since before you entered his place, yet now you look at them with a stare that is almost nostalgic.

“We were so good together, princess. Why be apart now, mm?” He reaches out to you, his forefinger curling near your cheek. “Don’tcha think your tantrum lasted long enough?”

“My tantrum?” You smack his hand away. “You are the one who had it good, Toji. You are the one who had a maid, a girlfriend, and a wallet all in one. You did nothing, and I did everything! I cleaned for you, I cooked for you—I even tagged along to all your stupid races, and you did what exactly? Fucked all my friends to get back at me for calling things off? If you really think it’s my fault, then you’re sick in the head, though that’s nothing new. You killed us; not me.”

Toji scratches the back of his head uncomfortably. As expected, he has nothing to say in return. He doesn’t miss you; he misses the comfort of you, and you don’t miss him either. You simply miss the way he sometimes held you tight against his chest and whispered he loved you so many times that you were inclined to believe him. You miss the dreams you created—the entire life you’d planned together only for it to be viciously torn apart by his current self.

“Can’t you see it? There’s no ‘we’ anymore. There’s only ‘you’ and ‘I’, and the poison that’s left behind from what we once were. It’s over between us, but ” you take advantage of his silence, “Kimie did nothing wrong. She loves you, so better give her a call, say you got high on some shit—I don’t fucking know—and apologize. Beg if you have to, but get back with her.”

“And why would I do that?” His arms fold over his chest, a thin obsidian brow shaping an arch. “Boring bitch was only good at getting my dick wet. Nothing like you.”

His voice mellows down as he speaks your name, his eyes waning past his eyelids, both soft, unlike the calloused palm that traces the outline of your face. “I was serious about you. Still am. Why else you think I did all that? I love you. Love my baby and her little pussy so much.”

“S-stop that.” Your heart skips a beat as he corners you against the door, your hand searching for the handle behind your back.

“My pussy.” His lips ghost over your neck while his hips buck into you possessively. “C’mon, baby. Be honest with yourself. You don’t really give a shit ‘bout Kimie. You came to me cause ya knew I’d fuck you good. Haven’t let anyone in my pussy since last time, mm?”

“You are wrong.” You breathe out, nails digging sharply into your palm. You don’t want this. You don’t want him. You are here for your friend—the only friend you’ve got left after he turned everyone against you. “You ain’t shit, Toji.”

“Yeah? How many guys have made you scream like I have? How many of ‘em have fucked both your brain and thighs into mush? How many of ‘em you called daddy, hm?” He bites into your shoulder, and an immediate shudder circuits from the point of impact across your body. “Thought so. No one fucks you like I do. No one will ever love you the way I do.”

“Fuck you, Toji.” The way his knee presses between your thighs coaxes a sigh he doesn’t miss. He grinds harder, your heat pulsing below your soaked underwear.

“Yeah? Fuck me?” He’s gone back to facing you, his minty breath tickling your bottom lip right before it follows his tongue into your mouth. Your body doesn’t resist; worse, it reciprocates.

“Yes. F—fuck you,” you mumble, having found a new reason to hate him.

He is right. You never cared that much about Kimie, because if you did, you wouldn’t have sneaked out in the middle of the night in your skimpiest outfit. Avenging your friend was the last thing in your mind, an afterthought drowned by his lips and his hands crawling beneath your dress.

“Why not do it yourself, baby?” Toji nibbles at your lip in the exact way he knows that you like. “Fuck me. Fuck me, and I’ll take that bitch Kirie back ‘f that’s what ya still want after.” His finger curls around the elastic band of your panties, awaiting your answer.

“God, I hate you so fucking much.”

“Hm?”

“It’s Kimie, you asshole.”

In an instant, your arms loop around his neck and your legs around his torso as Toji lifts you up against the door. He grunts into the kiss, teeth and tongues clashing while each tries to gain access to the other’s body. He rips your underwear into a single shred he flings away, giving your ass a rough smack that makes you whine countless little I hate you’s into his mouth.

Fumbling with the laces of his sweatpants, you lower them enough for his cock to spring free, already rock hard even when you’ve done nothing besides arguing. You almost moan at the sight, thinking to yourself there might just be a part of him you actually missed.

“Shoulda wash that potty mouth for all the useless shit it spews,” he murmurs against your skin, sliding your dress’ straps below your breasts and rolling the hem over your stomach. “‘member how much ya loved to suck me off? Gagged on every inch and swallowed every drop like the fucking cockslut that y’are.” His teeth dig in your flesh, coloring a mark right above where his fingers close around your neck. “My cockdrunk whore.”

“Just fuck me and get this over with.”

Your breathing grows strained the more pressure he applies, your walls clenching around his cock as he finally sinks inside. You try not to give him the satisfaction of a reaction, pursing your lips together while his thick girth stretches your cunt to its limits. You channel all the miserable memories he left you with, every tear you shed over him seemingly gathering as slick that squelches with each thrust your moans drown out. Oh no.

“Liar,” Toji smiles haughtily, a continuous drum from his hip ruthlessly slamming yours against the wooden door, your back rising higher each time. “Knew ya wanted this as much as I do.”

“N-no,” you pant out, stubbornly holding onto your last vestige of self-respect while the tip of his cock insists to kiss that one spot that has you seeing stars quicker than you can account for.

“Don’t tell me ya still lie to yourself ‘bout doing this to be a good friend.” And when you don’t answer, he reaches into his pocket to dig out his phone, first pointing the camera at your face and then at the point where his cock splits you open. “Wanna make a video and send it to her? See what she makes of you getting railed?”

“You fucking piece of shit!” You slap the phone from his grasp, the entire screen filling up with cracks before going dark.

“That was new.” His tongue clicks against his mouth’s roof. “Guess I’ll have to make you pay for this, hm?”

Both his palms drop to your ass, spanking both cheeks in tandem with his thrusts until tears thread your eyelashes, the intoxicating mix of pain and pleasure speeding up your orgasm.

“A bit louder, baby. Don’t think the neighbors heard ya.”

He bullies his cock faster into you, husky moans complimenting your high-pitched whimpers that fill the space and echo across the halls of his apartment building.

“T-Toji, I—” He finishes you off before you can finish your sentence, your eyes squeezing shut as fireworks blast behind your eyelids.

“That’s my girl.” He praises, laying soft kisses that you reject on your sweat-covered forehead. You don’t want to be fooled again. This is a one time thing.

“‘m not your—ugh, fucking girl.” You hiss, yanking at the frayed tufts of hair your fingers pick from his skull. “Never will be.”

“Sure about that?” A hand sneaks between your bodies and finds your clit. “Bet if I make ya cum ‘nough times, you’ll come crawling back to me.”

“N-not a chance,” quickly shifts into a loud, “Fuck!” when he starts rubbing quick circles around the sensitive nub. You can’t seem to stop moaning for him, feeling your second climax creep up on you at the same time he spills his load, fucking every velvety rope of his cum deep inside your sopping pussy.

You stand on your feet for the first time in a while, your knees trembling as you struggle to keep straight without his aid. Toji looks so smug with his cock still throbbing in his hand, the swollen red tip mocking you and your efforts to resist it.

He pulls his sweats up, and without a warning, the door flies wide open. This is your chance to leave. It’s what he wants. For you to either bear the shame of stumbling back home with his cum staining your legs down to your ankles or stay the night and be tricked into getting back together; humiliation on both ends.

“What’s it gonna be, baby?”

And as the door falls shut behind you, you know you’re going to hate yourself even more after this night than you ever hated him.

a/n: so i planned this waaaay too late, but i still wanted to partake in the madness known as kinktober. i'll be doing some of the days at random, sometimes adding more than one kinks to one one-shot. most will be about toji, unless-

and yes, i'm obsessed with olivia's new album. sue me. masterlist tomorrow, it's 5 am ffs.

[winterarmyy]

Promise Me | Part III

When he was sent out for war, Bucky made a promise to his lover that might just last through several lifetimes.

Navigation: Part I | Part II | Part III (end)

Words: 4.2k++

Pairing: 40s!bucky / eventually tfatws!bucky x female!reader

Warnings: angst but happy ending. The anticipation, the hesitation, yup it was real in this one. Not enough dialogue in my opinion but meh my brain was not braining. Bucky's scene before their official reunion.

P/S: Yeay, it's a wrap. Sorry for the delay guys. I'm still sick but feeling better, so that's a good news! This is the final part if the mini series, I hope you enjoy!

Read my other works here: Masterlist

Louisiana, 2024 – New beginning

War after war, from one fight into another, Bucky finally had the chance to catch a breath for himself. With the flagsmashers gone and Sam being the new Captain America just as Steve envisioned, there was a moment of peace for Bucky's tortured soul to finally rest.

He sat at the deck area of Sam's ship, watching the sun meets the ocean over the horizon, occasionally sipping on his probably fifth bottle of beer.

When he drowned himself in the memories of the events that happened these past few months, suddenly the tranquil of the sunset ahead of him doesn't interest him the least; not when a certain person had been occupying his mind.

Replaying all the twists and turns of his journey fighting those rogue group of super soldiers, one person had been but remained a mystery to him.

The Deathstalker.

It was the one puzzle piece that didn't seemed fit in the picture. As if she was plucked out entirely from a different story, a riddle that would lead him into another adventure beyond the unknown.

He still remembered the way her hands trembled against his face, tears pooling in her eyes that then fell into her mask as she muttered his name again and again.

Bucky gulped as his eyes loomed over hers, "Who are you?"

The Deathstalker seemed to be taken aback by his question. Her mutterings stopped and her eyes locked on his blue ones; there was hesitation in her gaze, or a contemplation of an answer that Bucky was dying to know.

"I-- i'm--" her words stumbled as her feet dragged backwards, putting some space between herself and Bucky.

Bucky's heart stammered in anticipation, he had a gut feeling that she wasn't just someone that he had crossed path with once or twice. He could tell they had some kind of a long history, a deeper connection; Where? When? He wasn't sure. He just knew it that there was something special between them, especially when she looked at him with such eyes.

But before she could give a definite answer, multiple groups of bounty hunters started to re-gather in their area. Zemo came in clutch with a car, picking up the injured Sam with the help of Sharon.

Bucky can hear Sharon's voice yelling out his name yet he didn't move an inch and within minutes they were surrounded by the hunters.

What was it that gave him such courage to court death just to hear her answer? Was it just purely out of curiosity or was it some kind of delusional hope that intrigued his soul?

Y/N looked around to assess their dire situation before gazing up at the taller. She knew this wasn't the best time for the truth and her hesitation only makes it worst.

But when, Bucky held out his hand towards her, "Come with me." there was a strong pull that made her wanted to just give in and take his hand.

And Bucky didn't know why he reached out for her, but it felt right. She glanced in between his hand and his pleading eyes, her own hand twitching, almost submitting to her desire but the last minute she decided to stand on her ground.

Y/N ended up turning her back and fled away, leaving her lover's hand hanging and his question unanswered.

Through the time that Bucky was deep in his memories, he may or may not have unintentionally bored his gaze towards Sarah's direction, which only triggered Sam into a protective brother that he is, "Don't flirt with my sister." He warned.

Bucky briefly scoffed and denied his accusations, "I'm not." He sipped on his bottle as he averted his gaze away.

The look on Sam's face seemed like he was trying to glare into Bucky's soul; he was sceptical with the his deflection. But the brunette only rolled his eyes in response as he spoke, "Seriously. I'm not interested." He continued before Sam couldn't interject, "Not that there's anything wrong with her.. it's just..." 

Seeing Bucky's struggles to find an excuse, Sam curiously quirked, "It's just that you already have a girl in mind?" He suggested.

There was a hint of softness in Bucky's smile when he ran his thumb across the glossy sticker of the bottle, "I had a girl." He spoke dearly as his eyes diluted into another spiral of scattered memories of his past lover, "I had the best girl."

Since the truth that was unfolded in Madripoor, Y/N had been keeping tabs on Bucky. At first, she couldn't believe it. She had to put everything about the super soldier serum on hold, to uncover more of Bucky's survival.

As it turn out, he managed to survive the fall from the train back in 1945 and had been brainwashed into a lethal weapon for Hydra for years after that.

His identity had been a secret for decades but since the fall of Hydra a few years back, the whole world knew who the Winter Soldier was. However, the people in the underground world was much fond of his villain's name, rather than the name of a war hero when it comes to addressing him.

Therefore, the lack of use of his real name had been one of the reason why Y/N was not aware of his existence. Not to mention, when he made his first public appearance when the bombing at Washington D.C. happened, she was determined to leave anything related to her past life behind and was trying to live a new life away in Singapore.

Then, a few years after that, when she came back to New York during the first year of the blip, Bucky was unfortunately, one of the people who vanished.

But, those things doesn't matter anymore now that she knew he was alive. Her Bucky. Her James. He's alive. Y/N couldn't remember the last time she was this happy, this overjoyed. That night, she couldn't sleep very well; not when her heart was working overtime all through the night.

Ever since then, she had been lurking around Bucky and Sam most of the time. Besides, her own mission of making sure the super soldier serum doesn't fall into the wrong hands and to put an end to the flagsmasher, Y/N was also there just to see Bucky.

She couldn't help it.

Imagine living a somewhat immortal life without a piece of your heart for decades. Withering to the fact that you can never see your lover, not in life nor in death; Or spending days and nights, missing and longing for his soul to be one with yours again.

And then suddenly discovering he was still alive.

Of course, she would use any excuse to see him every single day without fail. But at the same time, she didn't want to make things more complicated than it already was. With the crisis of the vigilante super soldiers, she didn't think it would be wise to reveal herself to Bucky anytime soon.

So, she stayed in the shadows instead, refuse to make herself known to Bucky. Whether as the Deathstalker or as Y/N.

Except for that one time that she decided to help him.

Bucky looked around the parking lot, trying to make a decision on which vehicle would be easiest for him to hijack. That was when he heard her signature robotic voice, "Hey, sarge!" She yelled.

He followed her voice upwards to see her feet dangling in the air, as she sat on the edge of the metal of the fire escape stairs. He hadn't seen her since their first encounter at Madripoor, "You..." Bucky whispered quietly.

Now that he thought about it, did she just call him by his title?

She titled her head to the side, "Do you require any assistance, sargent?" She asked nonchalantly as if they have been buddies for years.

Yup, she did used his title. 

Bucky's signature frown only deepened when she insinuated a jest-like tone. He wasn't sure whether she was trying to appear friendly in order to help him or slow him down. So be safe, his defence went up when he straighten his back into a stance.

When Y/N saw how his guard changed, she decided to get straight to the point, "I didn't come all the way here to fight with you, James" she leaned as if it'll close the distance between them.

She wondered if her words trigger a memory in him; after all, she did use the similar sentence in 1943 when Steve rescued him from Hydra's captivity. But the lack of response from Bucky told her otherwise. Perhaps, it was too long of past for him to remember, or it wasn't significant enough for him.

Bucky's brows quirked when she yelled, "Heads up." and his hand rose up to catch whatever it was she threw down at him.

Y/N briefly titled her head forward as she spoke, "Far left. The black bike." In which Bucky briefly followed her directions, to indeed see a black bike parked at the spot.

Bucky wordlessly turned his head back and gaze up at her with a questioning look on his face. He couldn't see her behind that mask she was wearing but if he could, he would've see her smiling, "You need it more than I do."

It has been a few months since that night. And she was still lurking somewhere in the dark. Everywhere he goes, she will be right around the corner; watching, observing.

Even now, when she found herself standing on one of the boardwalk in Louisiana, near where Sam's boat resides. There was no denying that she was sort of being a creep, basically stalking Bucky from where she was standing.

From this distance, she could see that Bucky was having the time of his life entertaining the kids with his left arm; or maybe the kids were, when they compete each other on how long they can last hanging from the vibranium metal.

Y/N just had to smile seeing him happy like this. Her heart bloomed with warmth that she never thought she would ever had the chance feel again. Bucky looked as if he was finally at peace, and that made her doubt if it was a good idea to insert herself in his life now.

She believed that he derserve a happy ending. After all he had gone through all those years, he should be able to have the luxury of having a completely new life, a new beginning. Away from the past that are just filled with painful memories and dreadful suffering. To find love again and live a long happy life where she is nothing but a distant memory.

He deserve that.

But is that what she truly wanted?

Brooklyn, 2024 – Truth Untold

"That'll be $25, sir." The red-haired smiled as she handed Bucky his usual order. He paid accordingly as he took it off her hands and walked out of the cozy little shop at the corner of the busy city street.

His gloved hand gripped onto the stem of the bouquet, as his dark and tall silhouette slithered through the crowd. Everybody seemed to be entranced with whatever it was on the screen of their phones, while Bucky felt like he was out of place and time with arrangement of primroses in his hands.

The hustle bustle of the city slowly transitioned into a much calmer and quieter scenary. He walked passed the rusty, almost deteriorating entrance gate, nodding to the old ground keeper as he passed by. He knew he could get lost if he doesn't keep his focus, yet his eyes remained on the petals of the flowers, gambling his trust in his feet to bring him to the only spot they recognized.

"Hey, doll." Bucky greeted, gripping on the stem a little tighter as he read the name of his lover on the worn-looking headstone. Months of cleaning and tending her grave, it still looked grey and sombre compared to when he first visited; but that tends to happen to a grave is been left out since the 70's.

He lowered into a crouching position and placed the flowers in front of the headstone, "I'm sorry I've been missing some weeks on ya. Duty calls." Bucky knew that wasn't a good excuse to miss their dates but the flagsmashers events had caused him to skip this little Tuesday routine of his.

As depressing it might sound, he missed coming here.

Besides going to therapy, this has been the only place where Bucky talks the most about his feelings. Though it might be completely a one-sided conversation, but he could spend hours talking to her. Telling her anything and everything that's been going on in that pretty head of his. No matter how scrambled and messy it was up there.

Bucky traced his fingers to the words engraved in the stone; it read 'Beloved daughter, sister, aunt, and friend.' Each title were delightful as they were but then again, she could've been 'a lovely wife' and 'a great mother', but she didn't.

"Why didn't you?" Bucky whispered quietly. "I just know that men must've been thrilled chasing after you, begging on their knees for your hand." He chuckled as he remembered all those times when his friends would ogle over her whenever he brought her out for a dance, "And you'd be a wonderful mother too." Knowing her gentle nature and how the kids in the hospital adored her, he just knew she would be.

His heart pierced painfully to think that she might have grown old alone, and died without family of her own. "You should've live a happy life, y/n. Marry a good man, build a family." Tears that pooled started to drip from the corner of his eyes, each tore an aching sob from his throat, "And I wished I could've be there with you."

It wasn't rare for Bucky to cry during his visits to Y/N's grave. He is the most vulnerable when he's with her; even in death, being around her has been comforting for his soul.

Y/N could clearly hear the sound of his sniffles when she stood closer to him like this. She spend day after day, gathering the courage and figuring out what to say if she ever confronted Bucky.

But in the end, the fact that Bucky was just within her reach, living, breathing; it broke whatever plan she had in her mind.

It still felt like a dream. A lucid one.

Bucky knew that was someone standing behind him; but he felt no sorts of vendetta from the person and if they mean him any harm, they would've done it sooner. He roughly stroke his palm across his face in effort to hide the tears streaks away and took a deep breath as he stood on his feet.

Whoever he had in mind, well it was definitely not that person who was standing behind him right now. It totally caught him off guard when he saw the Deathstalker standing in front of him instead of any other familiar faces.

Though her identity was still hidden, but instead of her combat attire, she was in a much comfortable clothes. Casual sneakers, basic jeans, an oversize sweater, its hood pulled over her head and a soft cloth mask covering her lower face.

Despite the change of style, her eyes were still the same. Big, brown and Bucky could only describe them to be filled with curiosity and concern as they looked up at him. He could feel the burn from the drag of her gaze on each part of his features; the softness of his lips, the red of his nose and especially the puffiness of his eyes.

He broke the silence when he started the conversation, "I assume that you're not going to fight me." He said, "At least you don't look like you're equipped for it..." Bucky pointed out the obvious.

Y/N took a few seconds of silent blinking before she responded with a shook of her head.

The lack of verbal response somehow caused him to feel slightly awkward. Rubbing the back on his neck, Bucky titled his head to the side, "So... you're here for your bike?" He asked. He still hold on to the bike that she lend to him, though it was back at his place, if that's what she wanted.

Her eyes curved into a pair of cresent moons, a side effect of a smile that Bucky couldn't see. She shook her head again to deny his speculation.

Bucky pointed out at the graveyard around them when he asked, "Uhh...are you here for a visit too?" He doubt it but it was worth to try.

Y/N looked over his shoulder, reading the familiar name engraved on the headstone behind him, before locking her eyes back to his. She shook her head yet again.

Bucky was starting to get why Sam felt annoyed with his staring problem now that he had first hand experience. Though she wasn't glaring at him like he would at Sam, but still, she was staring at him most of the time. And the lack of words made it more noticeable. "You don't talk much do you?" He asked, there was a hint of passive-aggressive in his tone.

And Y/N recognized that tone anywhere. She was surprised that that part of him hasn't change since the 40's. She remembered how Bucky would use this tone whenever he was irritated but he didn't want to be a jerk and yell out his frustration.

The fact that she still managed to notice this little quirks of his after all these years made her chuckle amusingly. There wasn't a voice changer now, it was just her voice; raw and unfiltered. And even if it was muffled behind the cloth of her mask, her laugh sounded awfully familiar to Bucky.

It sounded pretty and soft, that it tickled something in deep within his chest but not enough to trigger any memory from his subconcious, "Then, what are you doing here?" He asked curiously.

It took a moment of blinking silence before Y/N grabbed onto the fabric of her hood; she pulled it back and it revealed her slightly wavy hair dipped in raven. Bucky watched intently as her index finger slipped into the tiny slot at the side of her nose, hooking it on the fabric of her mask.

And those mere seconds of hesitation triggered the tears to form in her eyes. Her heart beating fast, tiredlessly pumping blood through the veins of her body yet her fingers still runs cold with fear.

Between the thumping sound of her own heartbeat, she might have second guessed her own decision of revealing her identity. Thinking that maybe it was best to leave the truth untold. Because what if Bucky refused to believe her?

It would truly destroy her; this time, beyond repair.

Y/N briefly closed her eyes as she breathed in, she then pulled the mask down to reveal her face. The crack in her voice betrayed the smile that curved on her trembling lips, "I'm here for you." She finally spoke.

The upward movement of muscle around her cheeks pushed her tears out, letting it flow from the corner of her eyes. She didn't dare to look at him in the face for too long, so her eyes casted downwards to where her feet dug the ground.

Decades passed and it might have been several lifetimes for Y/N since the 40's but it only felt like it was yesterday for Bucky. Especially when he had lived many years of his life to either be awake for the Winter Soldier or asleep in the freezing chambers.

All of which were just scattered of loose memories to him now. It haunted him, yes. But sometimes he couldn't tell if it was just a series of nightmares or actual reality. Thus, he tends to feel as if he had lost his sense of time. That is why he always felt out of place in the modern society.

Inside, he felt like he was still the man he was in the 40's; just thrusted forward in time. And since he started to tap into the memories of himself in those olden times, it made him felt like it hasn't been that long for Bucky since he last saw her.

Yes, he felt like it was just short distance of time but his soul certainly didn't feel the same. It had been deprived of its other half for far too long.

All the images of their time together flashed rapidly through his mind; every touch, every kiss, every laughter and even every tears they ever shared, all came rushing in like untamed waves crashing to the shore.

The beautiful strings of chaos in his head hadn't calm the slightest, in fact it pushed Bucky to move forward; to catch her silhouette before it could disappear on him like the way it always does in his dreams.

Y/N's vision was blocked when Bucky smushed her face to his chest, trapping her in an unbreakable embrace as he whispered her name, "y/n?"

Was he talking to her or was he talking to himself? Because he didn't stop muttering her name as if it was some sort of a ritual chanting.

Bucky's hand briefly roamed her body from the back of her head, barely passing her shoulders, across the spine and then folded around her waist, drawing her in; impossibly closer.

That was when she felt his body shake; much like herself, Bucky was crying for the lost time that they will never make back, for the pieces of hearts broken in those decades that they lived without one another.

Bucky had witness some unbelievable things throughout his long life on this earth; lots of mind-boggling creation of man-made technology, actual magic and sorcerers, aliens and literal Gods.

He should know that nothing is impossible. Yet, holding Y/N in his arms felt unbelievably surreal to him.

Before she managed to draw in the air, her body felt the need to melt into his form. She can feel his firm grasp around her frame, and feel how rapid his heart beating on her cheek.

At that moment, she couldn't help but to find resemblance of him to his past habits; he way he holds her, how his fingers would occasionally dance across her body, or how his nose would nudge into her hair.

Even his scent remained the same. At least the essence of it were unchanged.

Being in his arms reminded her of the whispers of promises Bucky made to her, "You promised to come home." Y/N tried to steady her breath, "You promised to come back to me."

Bucky pulled her head back, cradling her face in the contrast of his hands; one was once warm and another that felt familiar. He desperately wiped her tears away with his thumbs, almost too rough of a caress but surprisingly it brought more relief than pain to her.

Even in the sorrow and grief, anger managed to slipped through when she growled, "You dickhead, you left me behind." Though it was weak, her punches still hits the target perfectly.

Repeatedly slamming her tiny fists on his sturdy chest. The chest that were caged with heavy remorse and regret. And there wasn't really anything he could say to sooth the pain that she felt when he died.

Bucky knew that, but he had to say something, anything, "I-doll, I'm so sorry..." He was drowning her with his eyes, flooding her heart with his tears as his hand ran through her hair. Soft as he remembered it to be; at least compared from the lucid dreams she was starring in.

"Shhh!" Y/N hushed him quickly, "Just please..." her breath shuddered when she inhaled.

She didn't spend most of her lifetimes to hear an apology, not from him. If anything, he should swear on his life to never leave again, to stay this time around and always. She tugged him closer, lips hovering over each other's, just one nudge away to finally get the sweet taste of it, "...never again."

And when he kissed her, it tastes of her tears. But it was beyond fulfilling. Like their lost soul were finally being able to touch again. The gentle need, the tender crave of his kiss was enough to forge her trust back into its former glory.

And all of the sudden Bucky felt like he was drowning again; like he was desperate to breathe and she was the air. He kissed her again, and again, and again. As if he needed the taste of her lips to survive the waves; like she was his lighthouse in dark.

When they finally set apart, she wanted to speak but all she can do was croak, "Don't leave me, not again." Bucky's lips curved into a loving smile and he nods once. He folded her frame in his arms, tightly and closely; his whisper was ever-so-soft when he promised, "Never."

End.

Read my other works here: Masterlist

A/N: Did you notice two dialogue throwback from when Bucky was rescued in 1943? "I didnt come all the way here to fight with you, James" and "I'm here for you" Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this one. Thanks for reading and maybe tell you what you think?

[sidthedollface2]

A Crown fit for a God

Pairing: Azriel x Fem Reader, Eris x Fem Reader

Summary: Azriel sees you tearfully reading and asks Elain for help with a gift.

Warnings: Pining, talks of war, mostly fluff, Elain (it's fine don't worry) hurt/comfort/no comfort.

Word count: 1.6k

A/N: This belongs with a mini series I’m currently working on but it can be read as a stand alone. I’m not a writer so keep that in mind if you find mistakes. Lol.

Azriel watched from afar as you tenderly stroked the soft petals of a daisy. Your eyes closed as you deeply inhaled the floral scent. A soft smile spread across your face, enjoying the fragrance. Azriels heart beat wildly in his chest at the sight.

You sat on a bench next to a shallow pond, small fish and turtles leisurely swimming about. The sun was high in the sky, rays of light breaking through the trees, casting you in a divine glow. From your small satchel you pulled out your beloved book. One of young romance and finding true love, definitely not one of Nestas collection. The novel was about two friends sent to fight a war, similar to the war you fought in. The male had been caught by the enemy, with no way to tell his partner, she assumed he had passed leaving her to fight not only the war alone but live a life without her mate.

Azriel's heart clenched as you softly cried into the book, wiping the tears that rolled down your hot cheeks. He envisioned himself sitting beside you, his arm wrapped around your shoulders, tucked in close to his side. Peppering kisses to your temple, soothing your broken heart kiss by kiss. His daydream was interrupted as Rhys requested him mind to mind.

That afternoon Azriel sat next to Elain in her garden, thinking of you and how all these flowers would be jealous of not only your beauty but of your heart as well. He wished to bring you expensive and thoughtful things, place them at your feet like the God that you were, if only to see that shy smile once again.

He shouldn't have asked, but his mouth moved faster than his brain, “Elain, do you think you can show me how to make a flower crown?” he internally winced. Although he ended things with her the moment he saw you, they still remained acquaintances. He couldn’t bear pursuing you while he was bedding her. It wasn’t fair to drag her along when deep down he knew she wasn't what he truly desired. She was pretty and attractive by fae standards but you were incomparable. An exquisite work of art crafted by the first Gods.

“Azriel, is this for…..” she tried to say your name but it hurt too much. Jealousy ran through her, itching to deny him this simple request.

“Yes, I'm sorry. It was wrong of me –”

“Sit,” she relented, patting the space next to her. “What flowers does she like?”

Azriel took a moment to think, scratching at his chin in concentration.

“Hmm, I’m afraid I don’t know what flower she likes.” He slumped, already feeling useless in his attempt at a sweet gesture.

“That's ok, flowers also have meaning. What do you wish to convey to her?”

“Love.”

Azriel said with a quickness Elaine had never seen before.

“You love her.” Elain stated, smiling at Azriel with pride.

“More than I ever thought possible.” Azriel confirmed with a soft sigh as he cut the stem of a vibrant red rose. “But I don’t want to tell her just yet. Oh, she does enjoy the smell of daisies,” he remembered, picking the white daisies within his reach.

“Then daisies will do.”

Once Azriel gathered enough daisies he proceeded to twist them one by one just as Elain instructed. Holding two daisies, Azriel loops one over the stem of the other making a knot. One by one he loops more daisies to the main stem until it creates a crown large enough to fit on top of your pretty head. Once the main crown is done, he gathers green lace fern and baby's breath intertwining them between the daisies to make the crown appear vibrant and bountiful.

With a friendly hug he thanks Elain for her help and stalks off with a bounce in his step, eager to present his gift to you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Azriel finds you sitting on the wooden bench once again. It had been days since he saw you, Rhys having sent him on a mission before he had a chance to give you the crown. He makes himself known by clearing his throat, “May I join you?” He asks, glancing at the spot next to you, his hands held behind his back.

“Oh! Yes of course.” You glance up at him, noticing he’s not in his usual leathers but a navy collared shirt . It fits him perfectly. Snug around the diameter of his muscular arms and toned pecs. His strong thighs stretch the fabric of his sleek pants, as he takes the seat next to you, gently brushing his thigh against yours.

“I’m sorry to disrupt your reading, but I brought something you might need.”

Azriel then pulled out a blue box with a silver bow from a pocket of shadow, and handed it to you. Surprised at this unexpected gift, you remove the ribbon and within the box folded neatly was a lace handkerchief.

“If it’s real, it will never be over.” Azriel jerked his chin toward your book and your eyes widened.

“You’ve read it?” You beamed, clutching your beloved book to your chest. Holding it near your heart that wanted to desperately find someone. Someone willing to go into battle for the chance to be loved. A chance to find their equal in a world of undeserving immortals.

Azriel smiled and you melted at the sight, he was the light in the dark, a beacon lighting your way and you a moth to the flame.

“Yes, I’ve read it. It gets quite emotional towards the end.”

Azriel looked down with disappointment in his eyes, “I had got you something else, but I’m afraid it wilted before I was able to give it to you.”

You placed your hand on top of his. Azriel didn't flinch but relished in the warmth of your touch. “I’d still like to see it, if that's alright with you?”

Azriel nodded and his shadows carried the fragile crown, gently placing it in your lap. Azriel cheeks flushed, witnessing the cool shadows brushing against the softness of your cheek. For the first time ever he was jealous of them, he wanted to be the one to reach out and touch you, be gentle and tender towards you.

He wasn't known for soft things but for you he’d learn. For you he’d make flower crowns and read romantic books. He’d sit next to you and listen as the wind rustled through the trees, breathing in the citrus scent of your hair and the delicate perfume on your skin.

“I love it.” You gasp, gently thumbing at the browned petals, each touch bringing the flower back to its natural unwithered state. Your touch had the power to bring life to what once was. Flowers, once withered and decayed, are brought back to health. Animals that had been injured or hunted; a single touch healed and brought them back to vitality. Azriel smiled brightly at the display of your magic, “of course you’d be able to fix broken things. Perhaps,” he stalled, looking at his hands, “perhaps you’d be able to fix me too?”

You followed his line of sight, understanding the meaning behind his self-deprecation. Slowly you held his hands in yours, grasping them tightly hoping he’d understand the importance of your words. “Azriel, there's nothing to fix because you're not broken. All your flaws, all your imperfections, it’s what I adore about you.”

Azriels heart could explode, you wound him with your sweet words and gentle touches.

He hopes you’ll want all his flaws, all his imperfections and all his mistakes. He’s had many that's true, regrets that he can't undo, a darkness that can swallow him whole. But despite all his wrongdoings he can only hope you’ll choose him.

With nothing to hold him back slowly he leans forward, a scarred palm cups your soft face and he almost pulls back. Glancing between your supple lips and radiant eyes, he licks his lips closing the distance between–

“ I hope I'm not disrupting.”

Startled, you quickly pull away coming to a stand, cheeks flushed with embarrassment. Azriel clenches his jaw, as he stands towering over the Autumn heir in a show of dominance.

Stepping around the winged illyrian, Eris sideyes the boxed gift and flower crown with a look of annoyance and distaste. Before Eris can snatch it, Azriel carefully picks it up and steps in front of you, placing the crown softly on your head. You're breathtaking. He attentively adjusts the strands of hair that frame your face, rubbing your silky waves between his fingers, so much softer than he imagined. Soon, Azriel thinks. He’ll be able to keep you, If you choose to be his of course.

Reminding you of his presence Eris breaks the tension, “It’s time to go love.”

“Will they find eachother again? Once the war is over?” you ask, pleading that true love can withstand even the most violent of battles.

Please tell me love finds a way.

Before Azriel can answer, Eris swiftly pulls you away, wrapping his arm tightly around your waist, squeezing your hip, where he branded your body in a bargain. He kisses the corner of your mouth, looking over his shoulder with a smirk at a seething Azriel.

Azriels deep sultry voice carries in the wind, “in the middle of the chaos on the battlefield, he finds her. And she finally tells him –”

Your hopeful eyes are the last thing he sees as Eris winnows you away, leaving Azriel with three little words whispered in the air. A confession Azriel will one day be brave enough to purr between heated kisses and embraced bodies.

I love you.

[sevikaspillowprincess]

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆ IMAGINE ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Mini little hyper fixation on Sevs features 😌

Look at how thick her neck is. Gotta press a smooch to it to get started. But imagine holding her neck, your hand wouldn’t even fit a third of the way around. And when her neck muscles flex…especially when her choker is off 😮‍💨

Her face is all angles and it’s absolute perfection. Imagine running you fingers over her jawline, her protruding cheek bones. The way her nose is big but sits so godamn perfectly in the middle of her face. The eyebrows, the smile lines all of it!!

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

The ceiling fan had been making an odd rattle all night and you’d managed to ignore it, but now with the first rays of natural light coming through the window your brain was wide awake. You stretched out and rolled over slowly to face your sleeping wife. The sun was hitting her cheek right where her scars littered her face making them glow a brighter shade of blue then usual.

Reaching over gently you moved some of her bed hair to the side and brushed your finger tips over her cheek softly. A soft snort left Sevika’s lips as you made contact with her but she didn’t rouse from her obviously deep sleep. You wiped the tiny bit of drool from the side of her mouth before you finger traced down to her jaw. You admired the angles in the morning sun and lent down ever so softly pressing your lips against her jaw.

Reaching over you lightly grabbed her jaw and moved her face closer to you exposing an enticing amount of neck for your viewing. Sevika was stirring a little bit now, a little crease between her eyebrows as she was pulled from the depths of her slumber. Your eyes flitted back down to her lovely neck, watching as she swallowed. Leaning down a sigh escaped your lips as you nuzzled into her neck.

A soft murmur escaped your wife and you pressed you lips to the soft expanse of skin. You moved to the other side of her neck this time sucking ever so slightly. You heard a hiss from Sevika and smiled against her skin as a hand weaves it’s way into your hair.

‘It’s to early to get me goin’ already’ Sevika’s voice was husky and deeper then usual from sleep. Your heart skipped a bit as she pulled you against her.

‘But you look like such a snack lying there so pretty while you sleep!’ You argue back gently, enjoying the laziness of the moment as you flopped over her.

‘I’ll make you a deal’ Sevika husked into your ear, lifting her hand with her pinky raised so she could pinky swear what she would say next. You took it without hesitation. ‘Give me 20 more minutes and then we can have morning sex for breakfast’ Sevika’s eyes were now cracked open and she smiled sleepily down at you.

You shook her hand in confirmation as her lips sought yours out briefly. She then collapsed back against her pillow and dragged you up onto her body drawing a surprised squeaked out of you.

‘Forgot to mention that you’ll be my blanket for those 20 minutes’ A smug smirk pulled her lips up as she closed her eyes again, hand resting in its rightful place on your ass.

‘Of course’ You giggle, smiling as you nestle into your mountain of a wife. Even if you two ended up dozing for the next two hours you wouldn’t interrupt it again. Nothing beat spending quiet mornings like this with your lovely wife.

[http-finnick]

𝐰𝐚𝐬𝐡-𝐮𝐩 | 𝐤𝐚𝐭𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐬.𝐞

katniss everdeen x fem!stylist!reader

summary: you find your victor with smudge makeup when you visit her cabin one night and help her remove it

cw: fluff, sitting on katniss's lap

"katniss" you called out as your knuckles throbbed from banging on the door to her cabin, you stepped back as the rush of air hit you and the door retracted sideways into the wall

"yes?" she answered, drowsiness tugging her eyes and face bloated from sleep as she leaned against the wall

your eyes searched her face before landing on the mess smudged around her eyes.

it wasnt just drowsiness stuck on her, it was makeup too.

"did you just go to sleep? no wash-up?" you questioned as her face turned from your unknowing insult

"-your face" you tried to correct but the scowl only grew deeper as you tried to save yourself from offending the victor even more

"makeup! did you remove all your makeup?" you almost shout as the word comes back into your brain and you struggle to speak, she rubs her eyes as you assume they must be itchy from all the dried mascara she just left

"...yeah?" her brow was raised as her foot inched closer to her bed, ready to pounce after a quick goodnight to the annoying stylist

"you didn't remove all the makeup, let me help." you try a softer approach and she seems to give in as her hand blocking the entrance fell and she made room for you to come in

"how long will it take?" she grimaced, probably assuming it would take just as long as it did to put on

"not long- how do you usually remove your makeup?" you ask as you reach over to unhook the miniature makeup bag on your belt, placing the dramatic ombre bag on her nightstand as she plopped on the bed

"I just shower?" you cringe at her confession and move to look at her foundation-stained cheeks and dark-smudged eyes

you motion for her to stand and she reluctantly does, you walk into the bathroom and she drags herself to follow. you crouch and dig in the cabinet until you find unopen soap and start tearing the paper coverings

you held it under the warm water of the sink before suds started sliding down your wrists, you spun around and she flinched when you brought your fingers to her face

"I'm just gonna wash your face, it'll be less itchy" you reassure and she nods

your fingers rubbed onto her cheeks, moving up onto her eyebrows before delicacy going over her eyes. the bubbles clouding her face quickly turned tan and black as the makeup came off smoothly.

"don't open your eyes yet." you ordered as you reached for the washcloth and soaked it in the warm water, turning back to her you swiped it against her until the soap was cleared

"can I open them?" "yes." you guided her back to the bed and to your colorful bag as you dug through products

"you can sit, these are the last couple of things..." you said as you pulled the wipes from their cushiony packaging. moving back to her you climbed on the bed as she closed her eyes. rubbing the wipe on her lashes to collect the last bits of mascara, you struggled to find a good position to keep still

"hold on- I just-" you mumbled as you tried to move comfortably before having your knees on either side of her lap without fully sitting on her, her hands gripped your hips instinctually and her soft fingers kept you put.

her eyes were still shut as she waited for you to continue and you snapped out of your haze and moved back to her lashes

"last step" you whispered against her as your arm stretched back to grab the mini bottle of lotion you kept

you massaged it into her face as her eyes got more droopy by the second, relaxing into your hand as you swiped the cream into her pores

her skin glowed, thankful for the hydration and you were tempted to stay put but ultimately moved up to start packing your things away

her eyes fluttered open as you zipped and clipped the bag onto your belt

"goodnight, katniss" you said before she smile and nodded back at you

an: YOU GUYS! we hit 500 followers! I can't believe this and I'm so happy and grateful for each and every one of you!! mwah mwah mwah! annnnd..this is the first time I'm writing for any other character that isn't finnick! I hope you guys liked it! <333

[forthelostones]

𝚙𝚝.𝚏𝚘𝚞𝚛; 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚎𝚢𝚎𝚜 𝚘𝚗𝚕𝚢 ─── ⋆

⟡⋆˙୨ᥫ᭡. 𝚗𝚞𝚛𝚜𝚎 𝚊𝚞 - 𝚌𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚐𝚎!𝚊𝚋𝚋𝚢 𝚡 𝚏𝚎𝚖!𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 ᥫ᭡.୧⋆˙⟡

synopsis: abby was a woman whose presence was becoming deeply irresistible to you. in your final year of nursing school, you toil with the idea of pursuing her — ruin what you have or enjoy what’s in front of you?

warnings. 18+ (mdni); sub!abby (eventually), mini slowburn, suggestive language, jealousy, nora & mel & ellie ft, smoking/drinking, mentions of parental death, nickname: dummy, and modern au - pre-established relation.

an: hi everyone, waaaa thanks for all the follows! i appreciate you all sooo soo much. so sorry this was a day late! i don't really like this chapter and probably will come back and edit to be a little better. but enjoyx

(no y/n)

wc: 3k

The midterm season ended with many restless nights with Abby. She was satisfied with the amount of time you two were spending together but found it incredibly irritating it was only because of school. She wanted you to be hanging out with her because it was her. She remembered one night while you two were studying some dosage math how your face scrunched up at the problem. Your eraser nub started to become obsolete, scratching against your notebook, followed by the brush of an angry hand. She liked to see you struggle, she enjoyed those small grunts you let out as you pressed harder onto the paper, as if that would make the right answer appear. “Abby.” You groaned. 

She started to notice that she liked that too when you would say her name all frustrated but softly with a sleepy pout. She let you struggle so she could scoop in and save you from your own mental despair. 

“Look, pay attention. The order is 750 mg of Erythromycin, okay? On hand is 250 mg of Erythromycin capsules,” Abby writes the formula neatly. “Let’s do that math. You know it, I know you do.” 

She watches you press your fingers into the sides of your temples as if you could massage your brain. You begin writing out the computation. 

“Oh, so it was 3 this whole time.” You sigh. 

“Yes, you were close.” Abby smiles as she reaches out to rub your back. Even though you both were sitting here, after a four-hour study session, she thought you looked precious. 

A week later, you had fallen asleep on her shoulder while sitting on her sofa rewatching an old lecture. She analyzed your face as if it were a picture she was never to see again. Your bottom lip was glossy and hanging, eyes gently shut with your eyelashes wrinkling in the inner corners, the way your body pressed against hers; heavy and relentlessly. She could tell you felt safe in her presence and that warmed her so much that she began to sweat from anxiety. She didn’t want to wake you up, she knew you hadn’t slept properly and lived off of energy drinks the last couple of days. Your little open-mouthed snores made her smile, you were perfect in her eyes. 

She had dozed off for a bit too and noticed your head was now on the back of the couch, slightly over her shoulder. 

“Hey, hey. Come on, let me get you some sleeping stuff.” 

You blink to uncloud your vision. Embarrassed, you wipe your face and hold it in your hands watching Abby carry over blankets from her hall closet. You silently say thank you to her, not sure if she even heard you. She drags a pillow from her bed, encased in a dark green jersey material. 

“Just lay down. Please?” Abby knew you’d protest and walk back to your apartment, which made her demands even stronger. How could she tell you she wanted you in her bed right now? She couldn’t. 

You press your head against the firm yet soft surface and drag the blanket up to your neck with her standing over you. Almost admiring you.

“I’m going to go to bed too, if you need me…” Her voice trailed off.

God, this smells like her, you thought. The conditioner she uses is melted into the fiber and threads of this pillow. The piney scent of her skin has left traces on the seams and all you can do is sink into it more, imagining it was her chest. You felt the rhythm of her breathing calm you to sleep and her bolder arms tucking you into her side.

Abby lay in her bed, one pillow missing, helplessly wishing that you would waddle to her door and slip under the covers with her. But you never did.

Two weeks later, Thanksgiving break rolled around and you were due back home to visit your family. Abby was sitting on the edge of your bed watching you fold your clothes up and place them in your duffle. Nursing student's schedules were different from the rest of the university, so your break started today, on Monday. 

“You are a horrible folder.” Abby snorts. 

“Since you’re so good at professionally folding clothes show me.” 

She stood up and took one of your sweaters, facing it on the bed, tossing the sleeves over the torso portion, and folding the bottom to the collar. She stood with a stupid grin admiring her work with her hands on her hips. You nudge her in the rib cage and she shoves you back. The last month or so you two would get into these playful rumbles that ended up with Abby grabbing or pinning your wrists down under her body. 

“No, not today. Stop.” She says.

It’s obvious I’m flirting right, Abby thought. 

“Thanks for your help but I usually just do my way to everything, shirts, pants, sweaters, not my underwear though, who folds those?” 

Abby plops on the bed and raises her eyebrows as to say, Me, idiot. 

“Abby please don’t…” 

“Folded and color coordinated,” 

You couldn’t get the image of her ass in a black thong out of your mind now. 

“You have to take care of them, they’re delicate.” She shrugs. 

“I know,” you say opening your underwear drawer. “It’s just, look at them.” 

Abby was looking, she was looking hard. You’re holding up a pair of nude cheeky, lace panties out of a handful you removed from the dresser. She wondered if you had worn those the day of the house party, and how different things would be right now if she had been responsible for destroying them that night.

“Okay teach me your stupid foldy-thingy,” you say. 

Abby holds your panties like they are pure gold. She tucks the corners in and then folds the crotch to make somewhat of a roll and presents it to you after retaking her position.

“You excited to go home?” She asks.

“Of course, I’m helping cook this year, so that’s kinda fun, I guess. How about you?” 

“I was just gonna camp out here, catch up on some NCLEX stuff.” 

Abby watches your mouth fall open. 

“Abigail!” You yell, startling her. She loved the way her name sounded between your lips.

“I can’t just let you be here alone, what the fuck, let me call home and change my flight, I’m serious.” 

You reach for your phone that sitting in the center of the bed. Before you know it Abby has it in her tight grip, and tucks it behind her back. “Nope. I’ll be okay.” 

You shove your empty duffle off the bed and climb to wrestle the phone from her grip. It happens so fast but suddenly, she’s under you and your legs are wrapped around her waist. 

“Abby, give me my phone, now.” 

She knows this is playful but the way your voice dropped with such authority made her tense. Your ass was pressed against the top of her mound that was now beating. As you place your arms on either side of her head she gulps. 

“What if I don’t?” She pokes. 

You roll your eyes. “Abby I can’t let you stay her alone. Plus Ellie invited me to this thing…” 

There it was. This wasn’t about her, it was about Ellie. 

You lift up and Abby sits up with your phone in her lap, trying to hide her frustration and she wasn’t good at that. “Right.” 

“Abby, it wasn’t just because of Ellie,” you start folding to hide from her eyes. “I like spending time with you. You’re a good friend to me. I wasn’t going to stay just for her.” 

“You weren’t?” 

“Not at all. But now I want to because of you. I wouldn’t feel right going home and being around my family knowing you’re here by yourself studying NCLEX flashcards.” 

“I’m just saying, you don't have to stay.” 

“I’m not asking for your permission, Abby.” 

The following morning Abby spent all day cleaning her apartment energetically awaiting your arrival. Her hair was tied messily on top of her head, bobbing as she scrubbed the inside of her tub. Part of her was doing this to settle her jitters, although you have hung out plenty of times, it was different. You and Abby came to an agreement that you would make a meal together, and she wanted it to be perfect. After sweating the chemicals she inhaled out of her pores, she showered and washed away any worries she had. 

She undressed over five times trying to find the right outfit and brushed her hair into different styles, but nothing was satisfying her. But as soon as you knocked on the front door she fluffed it and left it down, which she rarely does. Abby decided on black chino pants, a black short-sleeved top, a gold rope chain peaking under, and small matching gold hoops.

The soft jazz music played through her apartment, bouncing off the walls that were decorated in warm light from a few lamps. There were several candles littered around the living room too. You noticed Abby put on a tinted chapstick and mascara, darkening her eyes a bit. She smiles at you without saying a word, just relishing in your beauty. As she closed the door behind you, she took an unsuspecting look at you. 

“Are you ready Chef Anderson?” You ask. 

“I am very ready, let me get you a glass of wine.” 

Your glasses clink and she watches sip on the velvety liquid which stains your lips beautifully. You couldn’t take your eyes off her, she looked radiant. 

“I got all the groceries from the list you sent me and I am ready to cook, I only have one apron though…” 

“Good, I’m just here to look pretty and sit anyway.” You add. 

She scuffs at you and laughs lightly. Abby didn’t mind cooking for you, actually she preferred it this way.

You settle on the couch, body facing the kitchen and watch her tie a blue and white pinstriped apron around her waist. Her ass in those pants was decadent, you watched her bend over to reach into the fridge and shamelessly watched her muscle fill the slacks in all the right places. Her toned arms began prepping various veggies, flexing and precisely slicing them. You walk up behind her to get a better look, body pressed against the outside of her back and arm. She smiles over her shoulder and just continues to chop with such precision as if she were a surgeon. 

“Wanna try?” She asked, lifting the knife to you. 

You set your glass on the counter and pick up the professional-grade knife that was just in her hands. You begin dicing the onions but they come out jagged compared to the cut of hers. 

“How do you—“ 

Before you could finish your sentence her hands were coming up to yours, hand around your wrist and guiding you on the proper level of pressure to use. Her hips were gently brushing your backside, forearm swooping on your back, looking over your shoulder, and whispering praises in your ear. 

Like that. Ahh Perfect. Good. Slower. 

“My sous chef.” She smiled, tilting her head at you, as she refilled your glasses. She wiped her hands on her apron and moved on to the next thing. She didn’t mind that you were watching her hands grip around the base of the knife, proctoring her every move. 

“Am I doing a good job?” She asked.

“Yes, a very good job.” 

You emptied her cabinets with the proper cutlery to set the table. Abby found herself observing how neatly you laid out the plates and napkins, it felt right. She recognized the feelings that she had for you in that moment were undeniable. It felt like she could do this forever with you. Make dinner after a long shift and sit and talk to you about any and everything, live together, and build a dream life. Once you noticed her watching and staring, she blinked to awaken herself from that fantasy.

“Ah fuck,” she muttered. 

“What’s wrong?”

“This is my cooking shirt, I’m going to go change into something cleaner.” 

She walked away hurriedly, nervous that you noticed her soiled top. She crossed her arms, peeling off her shirt, exposing the back of her red mesh bra to you. Your eyebrows lift as you wonder if she has the matching panties. She exchanged the black shirt for a white one, where the sleeves suffocated her arms and clung to her body in a seductive way. The traces of the bra were outlined in the fabric, exposing the intricate lacing on the top. 

“This looks really delicious.” You smile as Abby dishes up your food.

She grins at your compliment and serves herself ready to eat.  

“I’m glad you’re here with me.” 

You push your food around on your plate, suddenly feeling shy, and look up to her waiting for your words back. “I’m really glad I stayed. You know how to treat a girl right.” 

Abby bit the corner of her lip, you always made her lose her train of thought when you looked at her with those wide eyes. Halfway through dinner, with a few more glasses of wine, and a lot of food in, you really begin to feel a flutter in your stomach and wonder if Abby is feeling the same way too. 

“So, the whole Nora situation.” Your voice trailed.

Abby sighs. “Nothing came of it, I still never replied to that message.” 

“Why not?” 

Abby couldn’t read your face — was it jealousy, contempt, or something else. 

“Not really interested in her. I could force myself to be but it’s not really fair is it?” 

“I mean, she just wanted to sleep with you I’m sure.” You sip. 

“How can you be so sure?” 

“I just know.”

“From personal experience?” 

“Don’t flatter yourself, Anderson.” 

Abby stood over the sink wiping down the countertop after washing the dishes, and you did the same to the dining room table. “All done Chef.” You smile, tossing the towel at her. You walk towards her with a half-lidded, tipsy look and she just shoves you away playfully.

“Come dance with me Anderson.” 

“What? No.” She chuckles apprehensively.

She dries her hands on the towel thrown over her shoulder and strolls over to you. You roll your hips to the music and turn around slowly, so she can get a glimpse of you. Her eyes travel up and down your body, appreciating the view. 

“C’mon Abby, show me how you showed Mel.” You poke. 

She doesn’t hesitate to drape your arms over her shoulders and lace her fingers behind your back. You glance down to her cherry mouth and back to her eyes. Music was playing but you couldn’t hear it, she trapped you, and there was no going back. 

“I’m not the best dancer you know.” She says. 

“Well, I can see that.” 

You look at her body, stiff as a board. You remove your arms and switch positions with her, bringing her arms over your shoulders and holding her waist. Abby was surprised to see you take the initiative. She laughed at how large her arms were in comparison to yours, but she noticed your grip was strong on her hips. 

“I like when you guide me.” She whispered. 

“You do?” 

“A lot.” 

“I tend to prefer to take the lead,” You smirk. 

Abby loses her footing as you push her back to fall into a box step. She becomes flustered trying to find the rhythm in the music, watching your feet, attempting to emulate your pattern. 

“Eyes up.” You say, lifting her chin. 

Abby fell into the steps, her eyes concentrating on you. She saw her deepest desire play out in her mind, which was kissing you, and there was nothing stopping her now. She also didn’t want to ruin the moment. 

“I got it.” She smiled. 

“See, now you can share this with whomever.” You say, pulling away. 

Abby scratched her neck. “What if I only want to share it with you?” 

Her words ring loudly in your ears, the combination of her touch and the wine was making everything sweeter. She stepped forward, wrapping her hand around the back of your neck, and pressed her lips against yours. The bitter grape taste swirled in your mouth as her smooth mouth found yours. You rest your hands on her waist, thumbs perched under her t-shirt, massaging her skin. 

Abby was embarrassed at how wet she became from just a simple kiss. Your fingers on her were cold but it was the warmest touch she ever received. Neither of you pulled away until you were fighting for air. It was the first time in Abby’s life that she made the first move on a woman she had an interest in. She grinned proudly after examining your sweet face.

“I’m sorry it took me so long to do that.” She said. 

“Don’t be sorry,” you glide your hands over the curve of her ass.

Abby’s stomach dropped through the floor as you gently toyed with her. She watched the ends of your grin curl, noticing how sensitive you made her. You lean in again, hovering in front of her lips. 

“You wanna do it again?” You tease. 

“I do.” She mumbles. 

You ghost your lips onto hers, barely touching, not even a peck. She huffs in frustration and pushes herself in closer, to which you pull away. She rolls her eyes and tries again, and you lean away. Finally, she grabs your face and doesn’t hold back. Your cheeks are crushed in her palms, her tongue is desperate in your mouth and searching for yours. Abby’s breathing heavily and walking you backward into the nearest wall. Without breaking contact, she grabs your wrists and puts them above your head. Her lips wrap around your tongue and she starts sucking without warning. Her thigh comes in between your legs, practically lifting you up the wall, and you gasp at the sensation. 

[tomssexdoll]

hiii i am OBSESSED with your writings 😄! I saw you wanted requests so here you gooooo!! the reader is apart of the band and it’s during one of their concerts and the reader is singing and dancing “sexually” ( for example the Water by Tyla dance where she twerks and pours water on herself ) and either tom or bill ( YOU CHOOSE BAE ) get so turned on and it ends with smut ( it can be rough smut since they are jealous at everyone else seeing the reader dance this way ) I HOPE THIS MAKES SENSE ! have a wonderful day ! 💕

HIII tysmm <3 ur actually so kind 😭😭

Tease

PAIRINGS: Bill 2010 x Female reader CONTENT: SMUT + a bit of angst SYPNOSIS: Y/N is on stage, performing with the band, its her turn to sing and she does a sexual dance, Bill gets super turned on by this and also jealous since everyone was watching her do it. He wants her all to himself. After the concert he drags her backstage and locks her into one of the little office rooms and fucks her brains out!! A/N: ILY TYSM FOR THE REQ UR AN ANGEL WARNINGS: dom!bill, sub!reader, p in v (missionary), fingering, rough kissing, hair pulling

As Bill was singing Dogs Unleashed, my part was coming up. I had something prepared that would make him go CRAZY. I had seen him eyeing me for the past couple months, getting possessive and jealous when other guys approached me. But I played it off, we were just friends weren't we? I loved teasing him, seeing him get enraged when another guy even looked at me.

I started singing my part and dancing provocatively,"touch me, treat me, love me, feed me", touching my boobs, down to my waist and then to my ass "touch me, tease me, love me feed me" turning around and slowly getting low on the floor, swaying my hips as I did, my mini skirt hiking up a bit. (yk the shawty got low low low dance thing)

I looked over at Bill, his hard on visible from where I was and anger in his eyes. I could tell I was gonna get a mouth full after the concert.

We finished the concert and headed backstage, afte Bill changed out of his costume and into a regular outfit he grabbed my arm and dragged me into one of the empty offices, slamming the door shut behind him. "What the fuck is your problem Bill?" I groaned, my arm starting to hurt from his harsh grip.

"My problem?" he scoffed, "don't act stupid y/n, you knew what you were doing when you were doing that fucking dance" he pulled me closer, our noses barely touching.

"Why the fuck do you always have to tease me" he said, his voice low and threatening, I chuckled "teasing you? what?" acting dumb, he rolled his eyes "don't act fucking stupid, I see the looks you give me and the way you purposefully talk to guys to make me angry", "but we're just friends, aren't we Billy?" I narrowed my eyes at him.

His chest was heaving up and down, obviously angry and turned on at the same time. Unable to register everything he was feeling in the moment.

"Just chill out, I'll come back when you're not going to scream at me" I rolled my eyes, I was on my way to walk out the door but he grabbed me roughly and pinned me against the wall. "Don't fucking move." he said sternly, his voice threatening and dangerous. My eyes widened and my jaw dropped, he had never made a move this far before. It was always grabbed my waist or pulling me away, but this, this was new and I liked it.

"Okay.." I said quietly.

Without hesitation he smashed his lips into mine, grabbing the back of my head roughly, his movements passionate and desperate. I wrapped my arms around his neck, tugging at his hair slightly as his other free hand roamed my body.

"You wanna act like a fucking tease? Fine..but i'm not letting it slide" he muttered against my lips, lifting me up and laying us down on the couch, not breaking the kiss for even a second.

"I should do that dance every time we perform dogs unleashed shouldn't I, if it makes you this mad" I smirked, pulling away from the kiss. He only got more mad and tugged at my mini skirt, pulling it off with one swift motion, pressing his fingers against the wet patch on my panties. "Already wet huh? You get excited on making me this fucking angry?" he grabbed a fistfull of my hair, pulling on it as I moaned, nodding.

He chuckled menacingly and removed my panties, rubbing in between my folds and then shoving his 2 slender fingers into my pussy, causing me to gasp at the sudden intrusion. "Fuck!" I groaned as he pumped his fingers in and out, curling his fingers at my g spot.

"So fucking good! Holy fuck!" I moaned a bit too loudly, he pressed his lips onto mine again, "shut up.." he muttered lowly. I smirked against his lips and moaned into the kiss, giving him permission to slip his tongue in my mouth. Our tongues fought for dominance, his movements in my pussy only getting harder and faster.

"G'nna cum.." I squeaked, looking up at him. He grinned, going faster, curling his fingers harder. I whimpered softly, throwing my head back and cumming on his fingers, my legs twitching slightly as he pulled his fingers out.

He put his fingers to his mouth, licking all the slick that was on it. "mm.." he closed his eyes, obviously savouring the taste of my juices.

I reached over and unbuckled his belt, sliding his pants down. He helped by taking them off, leaving him in his boxers. My pussy ached for his cock, my clit swollen and needy.

He could tell, moving closer and rubbing his clothes erection against my clit, small moans leaving my mouth as I bit down onto his shoulder. "Just put it in me.." I grunted, thrusting my hips up.

"So desperate, are we?" he chuckled, continuing to tease me. I was getting frustrated and he knew it, continuing to tease me. I guess this was my punishment for being a teasing bitch for so long. I whimpered and tried to pull out his cock, instead of him complying and putting me out of my misery he slapped my hands away. "You don't just get to be a tease and get what you want, don't even fuckng try" he growled lowly, continuing to rub his erection against my pussy.

After 10 minutes of teasing me, my pussy was throbbing violently, I needed something, anything to put me out of my misery. This was literal torture.

I cried out "just fuck me already! I get it, I'm a tease!", he smirked "that's what I wanted to hear" he pulled his cock out and allinged himself with my entrance. Pushing in slowly, every inch agonizing.

"Fuck! Too much!" I whimpered, his cock too big for my hole. He grunted, trying to push more in "shut up! You wanted this, so you're getting it!" he finally bottomed himself out, retracting his cock before slamming it back in, starting off with a brutal pace.

He grabbed my legs and pulled me closer, pounding his cock into my pussy, hitting that gummy spot in me repeatedly. "Holy fuck!" I moaned, his hands moved to my top, taking it off and playing with my tits. I wrapped my legs around his waist, pulling him in closer.

He grazed his thumb against my nipples, teasing them. I cried out in pleasure as he started to suck my nipples, licking and biting them softly.

His pace became even harsher, abusing my hole. I wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling him in and kissing him roughly, slobbering all over each others mouthes.

His cock formed a buldge on top of my stomach, it slowly bobbed up and down as he thrusted in and out of me. He chuckled and pressed down on it, causing me to moan loudly, rolling my eyes back.

He did that a few more times before I smacked his arm "stop!" I rolled my eyes, he grinned and continued to ram his cock into me. A familiar knot started to form in my stomach, coiling down to my core.

"Fuck! I'm gonna cum!" I screamed out in pleasure, holding onto him tightly as I dug my nails into his back, cumming all over his length. He moaned loudly, feeling my pussy clench against his cock, releasing all of his thick cum into my pussy. He fell forward, collapsing onto me as we tried to regain our breaths.

After we put our clothes back on and went back outside everyones eyes widened at both of us. "Had a fun time in there?" Tom smirked, I rolled my eyes "shut up Tom" walking off to get something to drink, Bill trailing behind me.

E/N: I LOVE THIS, I THINK ITS MY BEST FIC YETTTT

[fraugwinska]

I LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE YOUR WRITING!!!

May I pretty please request Alastor’s wifey as like a Cheshire Cat?

Perhaps in her living life she led people to their deaths, as it’s sometimes interpreted as a guide. Then later on teamed up with Al and led victims to him?

I just like the idea of an unsettling smiley couple. That and Mad Hatter by Melanie Martinez has been on loop in my brain LOL

Anonymous, you beautiful bastard. You waited so patiently, but I do think it's worth it... I couldn't stop writing this!!! I had so much fun, I cannot tell you. And I will revisit this pair soon, because I can't get over how AMAZING they are! <3 Edit 14-05-24: This will be a mini-series! :D Let's see how many parts we get out of this one!

TW: Graphic depitions of violence and murder, mention of war, gore Minors DNI - Mature content - Adults only!

"Mon amour, can we go out tonight?"

You pulled the last strand of hair from the curling iron, scanning your work for any messy imperfection. Alastor, engrossed in a book, looked up at you, matching your sinister smile with his curious one.

"Oh? Bored already, darling? We went to Mimzy's only yesterday."

"Not that, silly." You walked over to him, setting the hot curling iron on a cool section of his dresser. You sat down, straddling him. Your hands folded behind his back, leaning in.

"I was just thinking that our last game has been a while, hasn't it?"

His eyes widened a bit, smile curling a bit higher. He set the book down on the side table and wrapped his arms around you, long, sharp fingers pressing into your waist with excited anticipation. You tilted your head, looking up at him.

"Well, we have been awfully busy lately with the hotel. I suppose it's high time we should find something to reward us for all our hard work, my darling!"

You nodded, giggling, and rubbed your nose against your husband's. The two of you always got excited when your interests lined up and plans of your games became more elaborate. It was how you met, after all.

Not even two months after your fall, you were well established in the capitol of the pride ring. Quickly adapting to your feline form and with wit and a good heap of charisma you landed a job at the overlord Zestial's newspaper agency, working your way up quickly to editor. Hell wasn't a scary place for you, at all. The world you came from had been the real hell.

When the germans invaded France, you knew your little village in the Somme valley would be the first they would take, and then Paris would be next. Your brothers and father were already dead. You had heard of the horrors the german soldiers were bringing upon the women and children of the countries they captured, which made the will of protecting your sister and mother even stronger. But you had always been a fighter, and you possessed the most unusual but useful weapons a woman could possess: beauty, cleverness and ruthlessness.

They had been such easy victims - young soldiers, craving a good pussy after being away from home for so long - you seduced them with laughable ease and your signature smile and lured them into the woods, where you'd kill them, your smile never falling as your knife would hit the lifeless body again and again. Sometimes, you'd get so many killings in one night you had to burn the clothes you wore because the blood would've stained them through. They would all be thrown in the Somme, where they'd be swallowed by the waters, never to be seen again. You didn't even care what the punishment would be once the war was over. All you cared about was to avenge the lost and protect the remaining members of your family and if killing the enemy was the way, you'd do it gladly and with as much pleasure as you could. You had disposed of about 40 bodies in the river before they caught you, red handed, the knife still in your victims crotch. They had been too cowardly to shoot you then and there. Instead, they had dragged you back to the town, tied your hands behind your back and forced you to kneel in front of the town square, your mother and sister watching you along the horrified villagers, and you watched them, as they were made to witness them put a bullet straight through your heart.

"On se voit en enfer, putains de salauds."

And then, you woke up. In Hell, naked, confused, hungry, angry. But not scared. Never scared. You were still you. And your smile never faded.

A lot of people were too weirded out by the constant smile on your face, that's when you first heard of Alastor. The radio demon, rising star of hell's overlords. Everyone feared him, and his smile. You didn't, and that's what made him approach you when you saw him at a party you had been invited to by one of Zestial's acquaintances, Rosie.

He was drawn to your smile, just as much as you were drawn to his. When he spoke, your ears twitched in excitement, as if listening to the greatest song in the world. He was unbelievably interesting, charming up to a point where you couldn't help but feel drawn to him, and his voice - Oh, doux comme un ange et vif comme le diable. You didn't want to, didn't expect it at all, but your heart did a jump the moment his hand touched yours when he asked you to dance.

"Your smile never falters, darling. I can't help but wonder why?"

You giggled, a gloved hand covering your mouth as he turned you, crimson glowing eyes never leaving yours.

"I don't know, really. My papan used to tell me that it was the only thing I had going for me, and it's what made silly soliders so easy to kill."

You could feel the air around him tense and shift, his grin widening at your words as he turned you in again.

"Ah, a lady after my own heart. I can appreciate a woman who knows how to have fun."

You didn't say anything to his comment, just smiled, and he pulled you closer.

"Why don't we have a little fun of our own? I have the right mind for a little game, if you're up to it, darling?"

It took the both of you only a few more minutes to decide to leave the party. It was the night of your first game. Your first kill. And your first kiss. You loved to retell the story of how you two met to everyone who'd ask. You didn't mind, not even when they were uncomfortable. They weren't used to the idea of two people like you, the serial killers, finding love with each other that none of you sought out. It was a genuine love that was born in a way that could only happen in hell, and yet, you felt that it was the truest and best love you had ever felt. It was the first time in forever you could remember your cheeks actually hurt from smiling.

Alastor stood up, lifting you from his lap with an ease that was effortless to him, and twirled you around.

"Well, then, why don't we go paint the town red?"

You laughed, wrapping your arms around his neck as he lowered you, placing a kiss on your nose.

"Red looks beautiful on both of us."

Dressed in your favourite dress, you and Alastor made your way into the city. You always had to keep from giggling when you saw the face of the other residents as they realized you weren't going out for a casual stroll, but for a game night. Especially the pricesses girlfriend made you want to burst out in laughter, her face scrunched into a mask of disdain and disgust. The two of you were always a sight, though. Alastor, looking as handsome as ever, the red suit and black dress shirt underneath complimenting his dark complexion and making his red eyes glow even brighter. And yourself, always a sight for sore eyes, in a black lace dress that accentuated your figure perfectly. People always stared at you when the two of you were out, and that was only part of the fun.

Alastor's hand held yours, his long, sharp nails scratching your skin, the both of you excited for the prospects of the night.

"Why don't you set the challenge today, mon chou?", you asked, looking up at him with a curious gaze, "I'd love to see what you come up with."

Alastor chuckled, pulling you closer to his side.

"Mh... let me think."

His hand was placed on his chin, his eyes closing as he hummed a tune, deep in thought.

"How about this? I'll give you a five minute head-start. You win if you bring them to kill themselves, before I catch them. If I catch them before they're dead, it's my win. That sound fair?"

You grinned, the thought of the game already getting you excited. You weren't nearly as strong as Alastor was, but so much more agile than him and with a few tricks up your sleeve - you had a feeling that this would be your night.

"More than fair, amour. As for my reward: If you lose, I get to decide what music we are listening to until our next game."

"Well, well, greedy now, aren't we, my little minx?"

His grin widened as he chuckled, his arm tightening around your waist, pulling you closer, his lips brushing against yours.

"You know what my request is if you lose. It's a deal, then. And the stakes are high, I hope you know."

You smiled, your eyes closing as you brushed your lips against his, and purred.

"The higher the better."

***

Oh, how you loved the sound of panicked breathing. This cretin really had no stamina, only one minute in and he was panting, crawling in the alley you chased the scruffy doberman sinner after slashing his feet in the shattered glass and debris. You made yourself visible again in front of him, hidden in the shadows as just a grinning, magenta scheme.

"Aw, poor boy. What's the matter, baby?", you cooed, licking your claws as if nothing had happened. "You seem a little frightened. Don't you want to touch me anymore?"

The man didn't speak, just gasped, crawling backwards. You took a step forward, crouching down, your sharp, pearly teeth glistening in the neon light of the dim street lamp.

"No need to be scared, sweetheart, I'm a nice kitty. Come here, let me touch you."

You stretched out a claw, reaching for him as your limb elongated with bone-chilling cracks. He backed away, trying to get up. You giggled, the sound high pitched and eerie. You made yourself invisible again, shifting behind him and suppressing a giggle as he shuddered, looking frantically around him to search for your frame. Two minutes down.

"I thought you like pussy, baby?", you purred, making your voice come from his left ear. He screamed, and ran, his feet leaving blood stains on the concrete, limping, holding the wound on his leg. You laughed and let the lamps blow out one by one as he passed them, showering him with broken glass and hot metal wires. He didn't know it, but you were guiding him, right into a dead end. You heard the sounds of Alastor's microphone feedback somewhere further down the road, and grinned. You had three more minutes to play, and you knew you'd win.

You appeared before this pathetic excuse of a man, who had reached the dead end and was looking frantically around for a way out. Three minutes down, time to wrap it up.

"You're breaking my heart, sweetie. Don't you like to play with me anymore?"

"Fuck, I... p-please, don't... don't hurt m-me, I'm sorry... just let... let me go." The man was shaking, pressing his back against the wall. You licked your teeth, and took another step towards him, your hands on his shoulders, leaning in.

"Oh, I'm not gonna hurt you, baby. I'm just a drunken, helpless little kitty, remember?"

He whimpered, and you smiled, a sick, sinister smile that made him shiver even more. He slid down the wall that was blocking his way as you bent down, caressing his cheek. One minute to go.

"No, I'm not gonna kill you today. You'll do it yourself."

You reached inside your purse, taking out a small, golden pocket knife. His eyes widened as he watched you place the object next to his shaking form and you let yourself fade out of existence, except for your ever-lasting grin.

"See, if you're a good boy, you'll die fast and painless. If not..."

The man looked up at what remained of you, breathing heavily. His eyes were wide with fear, but his pupils dilated as he scanned the place, and a glimmer of hope rose inside him.

"Well, you'll find out what else in about fifteen seconds."

His trembling hand wrapped around the handle of the knife, his eyes still fixed on the spot where your figure had been. You leaned in again, whispering into his ear, the air of your breath hot on his skin.

“Tik, tok, little pup...”

With a desperate roar, the doberman whipped the knife forward, ready to stab where he supposed you were. And he would've been right. If not for...

"Too slow, darling."

The man's eyes widened, his breath stuck in his throat as his hand was stopped, the blade millimeters away from your flesh. The cold, bony grip of Alastor's claw around his wrist tightened, and the knife was slowly being pulled out of his shaking hand as you made yourself visible. He chuckled, the sound reverberating in his chest and the surrounding buildings, and stepped forward, looming over the trembling mess of a man.

"Well, well, well. Look at this sloppy attempt. What's the matter, boy? Cat got your tongue?"

Alastor's claw dug deeper into his flesh, a pool of blood forming under the hand Alastor still had in his iron grip. His other hand reached out, grabbing the man's throat and lifting him up the wall. You joined his side, watching the horrified expression on the sinners face with a tilted head as you nestled into him, a slight pout on your lips.

"Aww, you're no fun, amour. I was so close to winning, too. What a shame."

Alastor's arm snaked around your waist, pulling you closer as he chuckled, squeezing the sinners neck a bit tighter. The man was gasping for air, his face turning red and his eyes starting to roll back into his skull. "Rules are rules, darling. I believe we said five minutes. That means the game is mine."

You sighed, your head leaning against Alastor's shoulder.

"C'est dommage, I was longing to listen to a little Presley again."

"Maybe next time, my love."

He leaned over to steal a kiss from your lips and you closed your eyes, not seeing but hearing the scream and the sound of ripping skin and muscles, the gurgling splatter of blood and the buzzing of your husbands static.

Oh, comme j'aime cet homme...

Alastor dropped the shredded remains of the sinner and it slumped into the pile of meat that used to be his head. He licked his lips, his eyes glowing in the darkness, a grin plastered on his face as he took off his stained jacket and put it over your shoulders.

"I believe I have a debt to collect, darling, and I'd rather do it in the privacy of our bedroom than here, don't you agree?"

He reached his hand out, and you smiled, taking it.

"Alors dépêche-toi et ne sois pas gentil, mon cerf"

Translations: On se voit en enfer, putains de salauds - See you in hell, you fucking bastards Oh, doux comme un ange et vif comme le diable - Oh, sweet as an angel and quick as the devil Oh, comme j'aime cet homme - Oh, how I love this man Alors dépêche-toi et ne sois pas gentil, mon cerf - So hurry up and don't be gentle, my deer

[em-prentiss]

There’s this stupid thought I keep having and it will not leave my head so I’m just gonna spiral over here; Jack has been begging for a build a bear for months so Aaron and Emily finally take him on a weekend off, and once they go to the store Emily is like what the hell is this place and she just keeps looking around so wondrously and when she sees the tiny little outfits she’s like oh my god this is the cutest thing ever. While they’re helping Jack with the whole process she keeps smiling this tiny little smile and looking around, and Aaron notices so when they’re done with Jack’s he leans in close and tells her to pick one. She immediately turns red and her eyes widen like, excuse you I don’t need a stuffed animal, I’m a grown woman in my 30s, and Aaron’s like reallyyyy and she’s like yep mhm let’s get out of here, Jack already got his stuffed animal but she looks around again as they’re leaving (where was all of this when she was a child?) and Aaron’s like yep you’re getting one and he takes her hand and drags her to the animals. 

She reluctantly chooses a brown bear but when she sees a tiny little suit outfit she doesn’t even pretend not to want it😭 so she starts building a mini bear Aaron that she can cuddle with when he’s gone on cases (she’s switched to counterterrorism) and she chooses to make a sound for it and gives the little recorder to Aaron and mumbles say something and he’s grinning and she’s blushing—her face is so red by this point—and she puts the little voice thing in the bear’s chest after he says something like sleep tight or I miss you and I’m coming home soon. She picks out a heart too and when they give it to her she lets Jack give it a tiny kiss so she can have both of her Hotchner boys close to her <3

Jack is so excited at the thought of both of them having stuffed animals and he starts trying to convince Aaron to get one😭 but Aaron is firmly like no I’m sorry and Jack’s like >:(( whatever at least me and Emily have matching cool plushies.

And then Emily picks out a suit outfit and tiny little shoes and names it something ridiculous like “Bear” because her brain is boiling atp from the heat of her blush, but Aaron is on the lookout for any weird looks she might get and whenever he finds someone with even a slightly confused stare he gives them that unsub glare and they turn away lmfaooo. She’s so red by the time they pay for it and give her the certificate, but you know what, her inner child is healed, so she actually doesn’t give a shit. However, she gets too embarrassed to carry the bag so Aaron carries it for her <3

Future baby hotchniss may or may not love to cuddle with it too🥺