#so that i get to be head empty and write whatever

[wayeasier]

COUNT TO TWENTY-TWO — part eight

⋆˙⟡ robert (bob) reynolds x reader (thunderbolts*)

summary: Last fight, last room, last everything. Even though it hurt, you had to keep fighting to save your missing ghost. He did too and only because of you. At the end, you will find out you will be seeing the others from your little group sooner than you'd expect.

warnings: canon-typical violence, swearing, mention of kissing (nothing major), thunderbolts* spoilers (obviously)

author's note: english is not my native language, so i apologize for all grammatical errors / mistakes in my writing (if there are any!)

PART ONE | PART TWO | PART THREE | PART FOUR | PART FIVE | PART SIX | PART SEVEN | PART EIGHT ...

It was almost like gravity shifted. It was as if the world decided that you were supposed to tumble on the other side.

You and the others tumbled sideways, falling from the basement-like doors that Alexei had opened for you. The floor seemed to almost lurch sideways, shoving you down so you could crash into a new additional room. You hit hard, falling down onto the ground, shoulder-first right between Bob and Yelena.

Around you, the others coughed and groaned too, scattered right behind you. The room was quiet, which was the first thing you noticed. It felt colder than the others and felt almost empty. It was different than the attic, the downstairs kitchen, or the road where the chicken-suited Bob attacked you all. 

You lifted your head slowly, staring ahead of you. You squinted as you took in the surroundings and the strange figure just further away in the middle of the room. Sitting on a hospital-like examination table. The dark shadow of the figure sat hunched forward, their head slightly bowed to their chest and their back turned to you. Sitting still as a statue. It looked straight out of a horror movie, you were expecting the silhouette to move and jump at you at any moment given to them.

You could feel something.

It started as a slow and cold feeling at the back of your head, almost tingling. It was a strange familiarity pulling at you. You somehow felt as if you had met the dark figure already. An unknown recognition flooding your senses.

You rose off the ground first, pushing yourself off the floor with your palms at first and then you stood up from your knees. Still staring ahead at the figure, just like the people behind you. Yelena and Bob stood up on either side of you next. John and Alexei straightened up behind you too. Even the loud Russian was quiet at this moment. Ava stood behind, as well preparing herself for whatever may await her. Bucky was focusing his gaze on the back-turned figure right in front of him. No one spoke at first. 

Behind the dark, back-turned silhouette, were shadows. It looked like they were a pair of stains where people used to be. They clung to the wall as if painted there. The dark shadows were blurred at the edges. Nearly as if someone tried to smudge it with their hand. Like they were trapped in place. They looked like stuck shadows of people, painted by the Void himself with his dark hands with his mind crushing the joy out of them.

You didn’t know what was waiting for you, but you knew this had to be the last room out of Bob’s. The final room. This nightmare doesn’t get to keep you.

You glanced sideways, finding Bob staring bewildered in front of him, your gaze was torn off when the blonde woman spoke next to you, making you turn your head at her.

"I've been here before," she said, staring ahead of her. You furrowed your brows at the words, but looked back ahead, staring at the dark silhouette hunching over like a living creature of nightmare. 

“This is where it started,” Bob said, looking fixedly at the figure before him, “I was roaming around the Southeast Asia. Thought I’d figure something out... Or at least find more drugs.”

A very quiet, almost unheard mechanical sound made its way to your ears from behind you. You turned just in time to see a pair of modern-looking doors, that you hadn’t even noticed before, start to slide shut. Bucky and John both stepped back to look, Ava stared back at it too. Nobody moved at all, until Bob took a step forward. Inching closer to the figure. Then slowly, everyone on their feet began to move forward. Bob’s voice accompanied your steps.

“And there’s this guy. He started talking to me about… a medical study. A trial drug that can make you stronger,” his steps slowed for a moment, but then he continued to walk forward as if nothing stopped him, “felt like a miracle. If I get it, I could show them I was more. That I was… something.”

Everyone stared at Bob while he spoke. You and Yelena stared at him from the front, heads turned at him over your shoulders. The dark-haired woman's, Ava’s, eyes were burning at the back of his head. The three super-soldiers were staring too, their eyes fixated on the man with the blue crewneck.  

Then suddenly, a voice came to join.

“And look what you unleashed.”

Everyone stopped at that.

The voice was different. It was a deep, distorted. It sounded almost like Bob. But it also sounded like something else too. Something different. Something unreal. Almost imaginary. Its voice sounded like it had been morphed with a touch of a nightmare that was peeking at you from night to night. A rasping, hollow sound that was twisted and warped. A dark echo. 

You recognized that voice.

It was the one that had spoken to you in your latest darkest moments. The one that told you to follow your fears. The one that was in the rooms of your shame and fear.

It was the one Bob spoke about in the attic when it was just the two of you.

The Void.

The figure then finally moved, as if it heard your thoughts of the calling of his name. The shadow lifted its head, shoulder stretching back to straighten its posture from the hunched-over position. The figure then slid off the edge of the examination table. The shadowy dark feet touched the ground without a single sound. No footsteps sounding out. As if it wasn’t really standing on the floor. But the figure was. Then it rounded the table slowly. It didn’t run, it wasn’t hurried. Because it didn’t need to be.

You stepped back reflexively. And so did Bob on your right. His fingers brushed just past yours and his eyes snapped even wider. Like he finally realized that he was alive. That this was actually happening and it wasn't just his eyes believing a dream thought.

“The most shameful thing was thinking you could be anything more than… nothing,” the dark side of Bob spoke. The voice was laced with all the emotion of darkness and mockery.

The shape of the figure was unmistakably Bob. But it wasn't actually him. It was like his whole figure was wrapped in the darkest shadow that you could possibly find. The Void had the exact same outline of Bob, when he was in those hospital clothes that he was wearing back in the vault in Utah. His body wasn’t what you call a black colour. It was beyond black, something even darker. It was darkness. The type of darkness as if the light had never existed. The type of darkness that makes you afraid. One that makes you afraid without actually knowing why.

On his face, there were those two, small white pinpricks glowing where Bob’s blue sky-like eyes should be. It was almost like there were made holes that the light bled from. But that light did not comfort. It brought fear. It made you step away, prepare for the worst. 

That was what children are terrified of. Not monsters with teeth that they show on television. Fangs and roars with colors that were friendly and childishly bright. Not beasts or monsters that wait. It was this. The quiet dark. The quiet that scares. The shape that stands just at the doorway, staring at you unmovingly. It doesn’t growl. It doesn’t move. It doesn't scare with jumping at you. It simply is. In all spaces where the light doesn’t reach. The shape that waits in the shadows until you’re alone and afraid to move. Just like you’re now. 

Then, the Void tilted its head. It was not out of curiosity. But it looked like it was a recognition. Your fingers twitched when the small, white, glowing pinpricks moved slightly and you were so sure they had a perfect vision of you. Staring straight at you. 

Yelena stepped forward. Her posture is straight, no fear showing off her. Almost like this was a normal day for her. Then she spoke out to the dark silhouette, “we’re leaving.” 

But the Void stood still. Staring without moving his head. The white dots were glowing the same way, staring at the six people in front of him.

“No.” 

At that moment, the table behind the Void’s form began to ascend. It started floating upward gently and slowly. It lifted itself off the floor just behind his back. The table leveled for a second. Then it rocked swiftly forward, passing in the blink of an eye towards you. It was pushed by an invisible string of the Void’s mind. Moving straight at you and Yelena like it was targeted. 

You leapt aside as the table flew closer to you. But your quick response sent you crashing into Bob’s side. Your side colliding with him in a quick motion. His arm snapped around your forearm and pulled you closer, just enough for the table not to crash into you. The heavy impact drove Yelena and Alexei backwards, crashing them against the now shut modern-looking doors at the back of the room you were in. The table pinned them there, metal bending around their torsos. 

Just a moment later, a piece of the metal piece tore itself free from its ceiling bracket above your heads and the light panel wrapped tightly around Bucky’s torso too. Slamming the metal-armed man into a medical steel cabinet just behind him. He was trapped underneath the cold metal, pushed against the steel cabinet full of pills and medicines. 

In another flicker of a moment, another sharp streak of metal from the light panels above shot off towards John. With a quick movement, it ripped through his shoulder and pinned him against another similar medical cabinet closest to him. He gasped as it ripped through his skin and made him be pushed against the metal. 

Ava was then struck next. A heavy metal that flew towards her easily curled around her body. The force threw her into a wall just where Alexei and Yelena were stuck at.

All of them were stuck. 

Just you and Bob remained. Both of you watched the chaos unfold in front of you. The Void hovered motionless at the front of the room. Not moving in the slightest, it was practically like he was enjoying the scene in front of him.

You looked at Bob just when Ava was pushed against the wall, trapped under the cold and heavy metal that wrapped itself around her waist like a snake. Bob didn't look at you, he was turned around, staring at the people who were stuck behind him. He gripped your arm tightly, and his fingers were twitching on your forearm. His mouth was parted, his expression furrowed, and he was scared. His brows hooked down like a sad puppy. His hand was otherwise still wrapped around yours like he was glued to you.

You could hear Yelena groan under the metal behind you, John was grimacing and gasping as his hand came up to the metal panel that was holding him hostage against the metal cabinet.

"Stop. Just... just let them go," Bob slowly turned towards the dark figure that was staring at him motionless. His fingers twitched around your forearm when he spoke. His voice was trembling slightly. He stepped half in front of you slowly.

"You really think they care about you?" came the low voice again while the dark figure's white glowing eyes stared ahead at you and Bob like you did not belong in this world. The darkness continued to hurt, "you don't matter. To anyone."

"Bob, don't—" you said, not taking your eyes off the Void in front of you. The Void's gaze bore into yours like it could open and break you apart and merge all your nightmares into you, so you could never escape them.

"That's not true!" Yelena gasped out, managing to yell out from underneath the metal that was pushing against her chest. You turned around just as a metal cord then wrapped and tightened itself around her neck, shutting her up fast. Alexei was next to yell out when he noticed that the darkness was hurting his daughter, "no!"

"Don't hurt her," Bob turned around, staring back up at Void. You turned around at the sound of his voice, staring at his brown curls and then back at the dark silhouette of his own body that lived just in front of you.

The Void rolled his shoulder and let out a bored breath, "Robert, the hero..." The Void finally moved then, his head snapped to the aide and on quiet command, the glass broke into a million tiny pieces that flew straight at you and everyone behind.

"You followed your fears," the dark figure's white pinpricks glowed slightly, almost like they had moved onto you.

Bob inhaled sharply beside you, his shoulder once again grazing yours as he stood closer, "no,” he said, "don't talk to—"

But the Void didn’t stop, his gaze bore into yours and his head tilted to the side as he was observing you. He spoke curiously to you, "you're not afraid of me."

Bob pulled you with him when he took a step back at Void's voice. He was still gripping your arm. The man in blue crewneck didn’t even seem to notice that you stumbled slightly beside him, his eyes pointed at the darkness that seemed to be interested in the very important person to him who was standing just beside him.

"Why don't you let me—" the Void started to say with its deep, low voice that seemed to hurt at your temples, but Bob gripped your arm and pulled you behind him, almost like he wanted to become a human shield just for you.

"I'm stronger than you," Bob said, his head moving upward, lifting his gaze towards the living nightmare in front of him.

"Let's see," the Void said after a moment of silence. Then, without a second to spare, Bob's fingers felt like they were not working anymore and your arm was free from his grasp.

One moment you were standing just beside Bob, his fingers wrapped around your suit-covered forearm, looking into the glowing white eyes before you. Then in the next, you were ripped from his grasp like his hand was never there. You were hurled through the air and the pain that came back was almost immediate. A blooming pain in your whole body, especially at the back of your head. The small, but very sharp glass pieces slid under your body, sharp ends digging into your cheek, your temple, your hands as you tried to stop yourself from whatever was going on. The broken shards scraping against your exposed skin, especially your face as you don't wear any face protection.

There was blood on your fingers, it was dripping over your gloves and onto your grey suit. Everything was loud but also so muffled. There is this strange, almost underwater-like sensation in your head and ears. Especially because your skull collided with the doors behind you. It hurt so badly that it felt like your teeth were close to shattering.

Somewhere above you, Yelena shouted your name. She and her father were trapped under the metal against the shut doors just above you, and you were at their feet. Her voice sounded far away. Like you were in a hole somewhere far away. Your vision danced in your eyes, hazy and blurry. Your vision was a mess of broken shapes of different colours and trembling shadows that swayed just before you. You couldn't even make out what they actually are. The room then suddenly trembled, like there was an earthquake approaching or an explosion had gone off.

Bob’s voice ripped through the air just as the room started to tremble. It was a loud cry of absolute terror. A painful sound that you hadn't heard from anyone before. It sounded so far away, just like Yelena's voice, but you heard it.

Bob turned back to the center of the room from where he watched your body lay on the floor in the sea of glass. His whole face changed. There wasn't the horror that there was before, he didn't look scared. He was raging. His fists clenched, his chest heaving just as he turned back at the dark silhouette.

All you saw were two silhouettes as blurry lines. One of the silhouettes, the dark shadow, was standing, while the other one was lunging at the him.

Bob launched himself forward at the dark version that lived within him. The punch came connecting hard with the side of the Void’s face. The Void’s head jerked sideways, but he felt solid. Bob didn’t wait for Void to move. He threw another punch, fist tightening as he struck toward the darkness' temple again, but this time the darkness moved before him.

The Void's arm shot up and blocked Bob’s fist. The next second, he was shoved back by the dark figure of himself. Then the punch from the nightmare came. Right across Bob’s jaw. His head snapped sideways and he gasped out a pained breath.

The second strike came even faster from the opposite side. The Void’s other hand crashed into the opposite side of Bob's face, making his body twist with the impact. Bob barely stayed standing at the impact of the Void's punches.

He staggered backward, then launched back at the Void as if something had pushed him to fight. The Void ducked low almost like he knew what Bob was planning and threw a punch into Bob’s stomach. Bob but then folded forward with his arms sneaking around his middle where it hurt. His stomach was clenching.

Bob didn’t have a second to recover from the pain. The next strike came up from below, an uppercut straight to his chin as he was bent forward. His head jerked back. Then he crashed down. He fell on the floor just in front of his dark self, his knees on the floor, his body curved inward as pain shot up.

“Get up, Bobby!” John’s voice rang out from behind him. He was still pinned, his arm slightly trembling as he tried to push against the sharp metal jammed through his shoulder. His eyes were on the man on the floor.

"You thought you were gonna be some great man?" The void judged the man on the floor. Bob then lifted himself back onto his knees, his face saddened and hurt. He looked over at the dark man. The Void dipped his head low and mocked him, "some saviour?"

John's eyes snapped at the man on the floor and then to his left, right at the ground where you were kaying under Alexei and Yelena. His face was enraged, angered. He took in your state, his jaw clenching, and he returned his gaze back at the front where the two were fighting for their lives. And yours too.

Bob was still on his knees, one hand clutching at his stomach where the previous blows had been struck. He lifted his head slowly, his curls hung with sweat on his forehead. He looked wrecked, Void was giving him the bare minimum from what he was seeing, but he felt the absolute maximum from what he was feeling. He was in pain, but he had to fight. For his friends. For you.

For his ghost.

“Can’t even save yourself,” the Void mockingly said, staring down at the self that was slowly getting up. Pushing his body up with all the power that was hiding beneath his skin and bones.

He then launched himself once again. His fist flying out, aiming straight for the Void's face. But once again, the Void ducked down just as the fist was mere centimeters away from his face. Almost like he learned this as a choreography, the whole fight was almost predicted in his own way.

Then a dark fist met Bob's stomach again, curling him inward at the impact. He gasped out at the new pain. Before he could stumble forward, the Void seized him. Like a small muppet that he was playing with.

A dark shadow-like hand grabbed the back of Bob’s neck, fingers locking around him. The Void lifted him in a swift way and dragged him up to full height, feet barely walking over the ground that was just beneath him. A violent punch flew straight into his stomach, and the force nearly lifted Bob off the floor. He gasped out as another wave of pain erupted in his body. Then came another punch, to the same exact spot with the same exact force. Once again nearly knocking him off the floor.

The Void drew his fist back and then he slammed it straight into Bob’s face. The impact of the flying fist threw his body backward like he was made of nothing but feathers. Then he crashed down. Right onto his chest and face.

You were lying on the floor right across from him. Your body was curled against the wall, laying on the floor. Glass was on the floor all around you like you had fallen into a sea of glass. There were small pieces embedded in your cheek, scattered down your face, blood slowly drying on there. Your eyes were half-lidded, squinting, struggling to focus. But, yet you were looking right at him.

Bob’s heart did something painful in his chest. Not like the Void’s punches. It was something that he had not felt before. It was so warm and deep. It wasn't pain, it was a small jump that made him feel something. He didn’t know if you could even see him as you laid there. But he saw you.

And that was enough for him.

"We will always be alone," the dark figure rasped out to the man. Saying every word with an even harder voice, to make Bob remember each word of his sentence. Bob's legs shook, barely obeying as he planted his knees under him, lifting his head up. His gaze not wavering from your laying body just under Alexei's and Yelena's trapped bodies.

The room began to shift.

It was really subtle at first. Bob almost thought it was just his mind playing tricks on him from all the punches he had gotten from the dark figure standing just behind him. But then he really saw the shirt. The room was in fact moving. The floor was stretching.

The floor beneath his knees didn’t crack or bend. It didn't break, it just stretched further away like it was a gum. Almost like the ground was made from clay and someone was playing with it. The glass from the metal cabinets shattered as the room stretched, more sharp glass pieces falling around into the already nearly full glass sea swimming just around him in the room.

And you were at the end of it all. At the end of the room. At the end of his vision.

His breathing was loud in his ears. He wasn't breathing, he was gasping. He was in actual pain. But it wasn't his pain that he was hearing in his ears. It was the real in his ears. The pain of the closest ones to him. The far groans of his friends stuck there because of him, the rattling of the walls stretching away into almost a hallway, the looped sound of glass breaking. The room kept slipping away. You were disappearing into the end of a hallway that wasn’t there a moment ago.

It was all fading into each other, stretching into something that hurt him more than the punches did.

The Void stared at the man on his knees. He did not move, he did not reach out to Bob. The Void didn't need to, he had what he wanted. He did what he wanted. He knew Bob would snap again and give him more of his darkest desire.

Bob's body moved almost like it wasn't his. His hand pressed itself with its palm to his bent knee as he rose off the floor. He turned sharply on his heel and sprinted with his body half-crouched, shoulders forward right behind himself. Bob slammed into the into his own shadow and the both of them hit the ground hard. Their bodies colliding together on the ground, Bob right above him.

The moment he collided with the Void, the roar of the structure of the medical-like room was eclipsed by an even more violent crashing, the room destroying itself just above your heads.

Bob rose the second Void's back touched the ground. One hand curled into a fist and he raised it just above his head. Without anything to spare in the time he had, he swung his arm downward to meet the lightlessness' dark vice face that held the outline of his own.

He punched once. He then punched again, but with the other arm. Once the left arm, the next time the right arm.

He pressed his punches hard, fists pounding into the wicked ill-lighted face below him. Again it went, left then right, repeating each punch. Each of his punches were so truthful that it seemed to send tremors through the room. Maybe even the whole building. The metal groaned everywhere, but the sound fell deaf onto his ears. The ceiling above his head cracked. Pieces dropping down onto the floor around like they were pieces of a puzzle.

He couldn't stop. Bob couldn't stop. Each punch made him feel something. He kept going. Trying to ruin the curse's pitch-black face, which was portrayed as his own.

The Void let him. The dark body laid beneath him, the curls snapping to the side with each blow that his face took from Bob. Then something shifted in him again, a small turn of his head after another punch. The Void's face fully turned fully towards Bob.

Then he grinned up at him.

White teeth flashed like snow in the darkness. A grin that stretched too wide. One that would easily scare anyone. One that terrifies people. Mocks you until you would rather crawl away and hide until you can't. Those eyes, two identical glowing pinpricks, stared directly into Bob’s with mockery that pulled at his chest.

“Is that all you got?” the Void asked, voice swaying with cruelty and mockery. And then the darkness chuckled. Mocking not only Bob above him, but everyone in the room who was praying for the man.

It mocked the hope itself.

Bob didn’t answer. He couldn't. He continued with the punches, his knuckles drawing invisible shapes with nearly useless bangs upon the shadow's unpained face. Even as the shadow grinned up, Bob did not falter in throwing his fist down.

Each collision of his fist against the unmoved Void below sent tremors through the floor and the entire room. Hurting not just Bob, but also the ones behind him.

From the soles of his shoes, a blackness began to bleed slowly into him like a growing parasite that he had no idea of. Slowly it spread like a spilled ink on a paper. It was wrapping around him like he was a sheet of paper. It started at the tips of his old worn-out shoes, curling around his ankles hungrily.

The dark crawled up past his shoe-covered ankles, slipping over his feet and slowly moving around his calves. The shadow-colored ink clung to him like liquid that was trying to claim him, pull him to the dark side of his own life.

Bob didn’t notice. He couldn’t notice.

He was still swinging at the darkness below him. His movements were frantic and repeated. One is like the other one. A desperate attempt to hurt what hurt him. He didn't see the terror of night spreading slowly up his body, now at his knees.

The Void had never wanted to have a double-sided fight. He wasn't planning on winning. He knew he didn't even need to try. The Void only wanted to make Bob fight long enough until he could forget that he was becoming the Void himself. To let him think, believe the fact that he was resisting and fighting against the enemy. While at the same time, he was only letting go. Doing exactly what the other side wanted.

"This isn't right," Bucky turned his head away from the scene where Bob was trying his best to defend himself from the dark side of his own life. The dark shadow spreading over him was like a spilled coffee on a white blouse. He looked down at you, his eyes looking over the laying body near the two Russians' feet. Your face was streaked with red blood from the glass.

"Twenty-Two!" he breathed out loud enough for it to fly to your ears, "he needs you. You're what he needs now. Right now!"

His voice was distant, but it was there. You heard his words.

Your arms throbbed from the sharp edges of the shattered pieces of glass beneath them, blood weaving tiny rivers down your palms and even cutting lines through your grey tactical suit. Your vision swam like you were trapped with never seeing the world again. But you heard it. You heard Bucky's words.

You closed your eyes. For just a moment. A one that felt like a forever. You saw nothing. Only the familiar dark shapes and colours behind your eyelids that hid there.

And then you did everything you could. You moved the way your body allowed you. Your palms pressed down against the glass-littered floor beneath your body. The sharp edges of the glass shards biting into your skin. You then slowly began to rise back up onto your feet.

The glass dug into your half-covered palms. Blood smeared beneath your hands, trailing down onto your sleeves like a red tattoo.

Your legs trembled as you reached yourself back up onto your height.

John was on your right, still flush against the metal cabinet. He stared at you with an expression that you had not seen on his face before. It was deep and real. His eyes locked on your trembling body. He swallowed hard and spoke to you, “he needs you,” his eyes stared deep into yours "we need you."

You looked at him and your eyes told the many words you couldn't even get out. He nodded and then you did too. Turning your head away, looking straight towards where Bob was fighting for himself. Slowly letting the darkness consume him whole. The shadow wrapped around his torso, nearing his shoulders now.

The entire room was collapsing. Breaking down by each second to pass.

Your feet found the floor beneath you. You took a step, it felt unreal but it was there. Then another and another. You moved like someone walking through a dream, the pain did not amuse you. You pushed it far back into your mind, your mind was set on your finally found missing ghost. On Bob.

Your feet are hurting, you knew that. Your whole body is hurting. But you barely felt it as you moved forward. The room was breaking, collapsing like it was made out of a piece of paper. The entire pieces of the ceiling falling through holes in the ground that hadn’t been there a moment before. The room was tearing itself open. An open wound. Self-destructive.

The shadow had wound itself around Bob's neck like he was in a chokehold. So, you ran. Even though it hurt. You were halfway down the stretched down room now as you were running. Every step sent blossoming pain through your entire body.

Suddenly, a part of the floor gave under your right foot as you ran and you crashed forward, your body falling forward as your leg hung down into a hole full of void. You gasped in pain when your body made contact with the floor. But your eyes stayed on Bob in front of you.

"B—Bob!" you slammed your hands against the floor and pushed yourself back to your feet, yelling out the man's name like he was a saint.

“You can’t save him,” the dark voice snarled at you from the air. It was speaking to you, "you're my light. You're our light. But the light is not enough for a darkness this dark—"

“Maybe not,” you said with a pained voice as you pushed yourself even more forward towards Bob, "but I can remind him who he is.”

You dove just right past another similar void-like black hole that appeared just beside your another step. You slid across the surface of the hospital-like floor. Right towards the nearly full shadow, Bob is in front of you.

You then caught Bob by the shoulders. Pulling your body flush against him, but he kept punching the darkness below him like his arm was not his. Your front slammed into his back as your arms wrapped around his form. Bob didn't react at all. His fist still moved in that repeated motion without a single thought.

You shifted, pulling your body flush against his side, kneeling with him he threw his fists down. The shadow darkness clinging to him like a skin now. Wrapped around his neck, now just below his jaw like a turtle-neck. All over his body, up his arms, over his chest, down his spine, and legs. Completely dark apart from his head.

You brought your shaky and bloody hands up to his face. The glass pieces that were embedded in your palms through your gloves scraped against his jaw as your fingers gently curled around the soft skin of his face. You cupped his face, your thumbs brushing the skin of his cheeks, leaving small maroon stains over his flushed skin.

"Bob," you whispered now, your voice trembling as you looked down at Bob. Not daring to look at the grinning mad nightmare below him, "I'm here. I'm with you."

You leaned in closer as you said those words, your temple brushing the side of his own temple that was hidden under his brown curls. Your lips softly brushed his skin just beside his pink lips "I'm here,” you repeated against where his lips met with his cheek, “you're not alone. You will never be alone.”

Even as your lips remained on the corner of his mouth, even as your palms cupped the side of his face, Bob’s fist kept moving. The darkness was clinging to him even more with each punch that was thrown. The darkness that called itself a void wanted to finish what he had started. Destroy himself.

“It will always be just us,” the Void rasped to Bob with a venomous, mocking voice that made you tremble with each humming dark word.

You stayed there even as he spoke just a few centimeters away from you. You let your finger gently drag along the edge of Bob's soft jaw, you then softly whispered against the corner of his mouth, "don’t listen to him. You’re with me. You’re with us.”

As you spoke those few words, you felt something just beside your body. A new person on your side.

Yelena was there.

She wrapped herself around Bob’s shaking body from behind, her side warm against your own. Her arms looped around his neck, her forehead pressed into the slope of his shoulder just beside your own head. You moved closer to her, almost as if you really wanted to be sure she was actually there by your side.

Then a moment later, came another sudden crash of a body just on the opposite side of you.

John was next.

He dropped down beside Bob, one arm going instantly around Bob’s who was high in the air, ready to throw another slam into the Void's face below. John instantly grabbed it when he landed onto his knees, He held it, letting him relax his punching arm in his grasp. Bob trembled and where your finger was on his cheek, you felt a bit of something warm touching you. A tear.

You pressed your forehead against his more fully. It was more a temple to temple. You shifted slightly so your lips left his skin by his mouth. Your face flush against his. His arm then moved, and you felt the shift of his shoulder against yours. Not the one John held, but the other one closer to you. It rose upward and curled around your arm. His hand was gripping yours tightly like he was trying out the grip in his fingers. His fingers were digging into the sleeve of your grey suit-covered arm.

You felt another body crashing just behind you and Yelena. It was the metal-armed man this time. Bucky was there.

His arm slid over Yelena’s back, the other arm wrapping around Bob. His face was close to Yelena's. He groaned as he dropped to his knees, his body crashing against your and the blonde woman's backs. You were all so close to each other. All because of Bob.

Because of the Bob that was just beside you. Crying. His blue eyes were shut tightly. His lips parted in a cry out. His brow furrowed and quiet sobs wracked through him. Finally getting to him like they were trying to push him down for who knows how long. His fists had stopped, one arm wrapped in John's grasp and the other one gripping yours like he was scared you might leave him. The Void beneath him writhed, he was slowly disappearing. The outline of him was blurry, like an actual shadow. The Void's body was breaking away.

Another crash of a body came from behind. It was Alexei.

He slid in just behind Bob, beside John who was holding Bob's arm. His hand reached forward, grabbing at the blue cloth of his crewneck that clung to Bob's shoulders. His fingers wrapped around it.

Then came the last final crash of a person into your group. It was the dark-haired woman, Ava.

She landed beside Alexei and Yelena, sliding just on her knees to wrap her arms around the trembling frame of Bob on his knees. Her hand was already out before she had really fully stopped moving, grabbing at whatever of Bob she could reach out.

Then all of you in that one moment, you all pulled. And all of you fell back.

You hit the floor with Bob with you. His body pressed flush against yours. The others followed too, Yelena landing just to your right. John, who was actually still bleeding from where metal had caught him in his shoulder, collapsed to Bob’s other side, his arm still looped with the other man. Ava fell just beside John and Bob. Bucky was laying lowest, near Yelena's waist, but he kept an arm on Bob's stomach as you all laid on your backs on the medical-like ground. Alexei hit the ground right beside his daughter, he moved to the side closer to her when Ava came, letting her go in front of him. He was still grasping Bob's edge of his soft blue crewneck.

All of you were there. On the floor, holding Bob like your life depended on his.

Your hand stayed on Bob’s cheek. Even as your bodies dropped onto your backs, even as your head met the cold floor, you stayed with him, your hand not losing its holding point off his cheekbone. Your bloodied palm holding him, fingers scraped with small sharp glass pieces etched in them almost invisibly, fingers trembling unsteadily but you still held him. You couldn't let go of him.

You could feel the damp skin from his tears. His cheek was wet under your fingers, his eyes were closed shut, eyelashes kissing his cheeks. He was breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling in uneven motion.

Your thumb brushed gently along the soft edge of his cheekbone. His head tilted to the side, closer to your touch. Leaning into the curve of your palm. Like he belonged in it.

The hand that was wrapped around your arm slowly moved lower as you laid still on the ground for a moment, fingers dragged along the edge of your sleeve until they found your gloved bloodied palm. His fingers curled around yours. One of your hands on his cheek and the other one in his grasp.

Beside you, Yelena’s arm was draped across Bob’s chest. She let out a deep breath and moved her arm away, letting it hang by her side. John had rolled onto his side, not holding Bob's arm as a hostage anymore. Ava’s hand had loosened from the back of Bob’s crewneck and she laid still too. Alexei was lying on his back, gasping for air. Bucky had his arm draped over Bob's stomach too, he moved it away just when he laid.

Then you saw it in the corner of your eye. The shadows were moving off the streets around you.

The shadows were disappearing, fading.

Gone was the black parasite-like shadow that was wrapped around Bob’s body just moments before. The growing shadow from his boots to his jaw that threatened him to take the whole. It was gone. The darkness dripped slowly away from the cracks in the ground of the streets. The thick void-black shadow that stole over the city was fading. Showing off the bright streets of New York City.

You were in the street. The streets of New York City. Middle of the road. You weren’t in the medical-like facility that the Void had come from. You didn’t know when the shift happened, but suddenly, you were all lying in the shattered place of a city street. Of New York. You were not in the Watchtower anymore.

The street beneath your backs was half-covered in soot and debris from whatever had happened. But above you was no longer a black void. But a bright, soft blue a sky that matched so well with Bob's eyes.

You felt him shift just beside your body which was flush against yours. His fingers gripped yours more weakly, and you looked down just as his lashes fluttered against his soft cheeks under his eyes.

He blinked once and then twice. Staring up at the marching blue sky above him, then he turned his head towards you. His curls falling over his face, softly brushing against your forehead. Your noses were so close they nearly brushed against each other. The city was shattered around you, a whole world fallen to pieces of darkness and shame of nightmares, but in that moment, it was just the two of you. Or that's what your mind whispered to you.

He whispered your name. So quietly. You barely heard it. But you felt it as the words left his mouth and a breath fell upon your face, "Twenty-Two..."

You gave him a smile. A real one, but small enough that it barely stretched your lips. But it was real, it was genuine. Your thumb moved gently across his cheek, wiping away the last, clinging tear that stained at his cheek. There was a smudge of red maroon stain just below his eye, but he wasn't hurt. It was your own blood. You let your eyes drag over his face and then you leaned forward, closing the tiniest space between the two of you.

You kissed him. Not on the lips. Just close by.

Softly on the same place as before. The corner of his mouth, where cheek met lips. You left your lips there for just a moment, your breath mingling with his as he breathed out through his nose. For a good point in time, you pulled back and rested your forehead to his temple again.

The two of you sat up then. Both of you. Together with your hands still laced. Shoulders touching like you were glued together.

The others slowly sat up too on the street of New York City. Yelena pushed herself upright just beside you, her arm brushing against yours. John moved up, hand pressed to his not much bleeding shoulder that was healed quickly thankfully to his super soldier serum flooding his veins like a wild beast.

Ava pushed herself off the ground too, her eyes scanning the street where the shadows were fading away from the city's buildings. Alexei groaned something in Russian under his breath and rolled up to sit. Bucky sat up too, his eyes moving around the city too, observing the now-free city from the darkness.

You looked at Bob again. He was staring down at the street, brows furrowed as he looked at the city above him. Buildings towering above him. Then he slowly turned his head and looked at you, his brows unfurrowing as his eyes fell upon you. You tightened your hand in his. He tightened his hand back.

"You—Are you okay?" you whispered, tightening your grip on his hand again and letting your other hand fall from his face. His eyes followed your hand that slowly slid from his face, almost like he already missed your contact. His eyes flickered up back to yours, "why wouldn't I be? You're here with me."

You then rose up with the others, standing back up on your feet. Bob was still beside you, his hand in yours, his fingertips grazing over your knuckles.

Around you, the world was crawling back to its original state. The buildings that had looked like blacked-out silhouettes of a dark nightmare slowly faded back into reality. Colours brushing back like they were being painted. Then, people began to appear, stumbling from the shadows that had once sent them into their biggest fear. The shadows were retreating back. Showing off people's and the world's true colours.

John was nearby, taking in the New York around him that was coming back to its original glory. He turned slowly, his eyes falling upon Bob next to you. He gave him a slow nod, "you were great in there, Bob.”

Bob blinked at the mention of his name and turned his gaze away from the New York at John, his smile twitched on his lips, "thanks, Walker."

Then he leaned in slightly, his brows scrunching up in confusion, “um, wait... in where?”

"Oh—what happened here?" he gasped out as he noticed the ruined street around him and the flipped car that laid there on its roof just a few steps away from him, "sorry, I'm just... I'm just a little bit fuzzy."

"Aha... okay," Alexei muttered, also staring at the confused Bob whose hand was still looped in yours. Alexei blinked at him, "are you serious?"

Yelena walked closer to Bob, her head tilting in confusion at him. Her voice was careful when she spoke, "are you okay?"

"Yeah. I'm fine," Bob turned his head at her and gave her a smile that stretched at his lips. It looked genuine, almost... Almost as if he didn't remember anything that had happened in the last few moments.

Bob looked like someone who had just woken up from a long, comfortable nap and hadn’t yet remembered what the nightmare he had while he slept. And in a way that made you twist your thoughts, you thought it was maybe exactly that was. He didn't seem to recall whatever had happened. You were kind of glad on one side, but on the other side, you were quite disappointed or even sad.

Then, from behind you all sounded a loud high-pitched voice that carried itself to you. A sharp voice cutting through. Valentina's voice was furious and loud. She has her phone up to her ear, her other hand throwing gestures around that looked almost like she was swatting away a fly that kept bothering her. She was pacing around too, just at some unknown destroyed ruins just behind her with a covering thrown over it.

"I'm gonna kill that person!" the Russian in red suit said, pointing his finger directly at Valentina. Before anyone could say anything, he started walking towards the woman, his shoulder squared forward and his steps almost too steady.

"Wait, wait, wait. Hold up. What happens when he regains his memory?" John quickly tried to stop Alexei but he kept walking away. He realized Alexei won't probably stop at his words, so he turned around to face you, Bob, and Yelena. Hoping that someone else has the answer that he's looking for.

Yelena looked up at Bob and then at you. She tilted her head slightly, almost as if she was expecting you to say what happens. Like she was silently asking you the same question.

"Um... I don't know. Come on, Bob," you shrugged your shoulders and started walking, pulling Bob with you by your holding hands. Your fingers tightening around his once again.

Bob glanced down at your holding hands, then up at you with raised eyebrows, "oh? Me too?” he asked quickly.

"Of course. We stick together from now on," Yelena spoke for you, already walking just in front of you, moving to catch her father before he actually hurts Valentina.

"That's nice," Bob smiled faintly and you felt him squeeze your hand back.

"We can't kill her. We've got to take her in," you heard Bucky say to Alexei at the front as they approached the mentioned woman just a few steps before them. Alexei stared at the woman like he was about to jump at her, "maybe when we take her in... we can break a few bones," he said from under his bushy beard.

You walked side by side with Bob. Your hands are held together. The two of you are trailing just at the end of your little wannabe superhero group that tried to save New York just a few minutes before.

You nudged his shoulder gently with your own, "hey... You really don’t remember anything?”

He looked down at you then and the corners of his mouth twitched in a soft, crooked smile. The corner of his lips where yours were just a little while before, "it’s just a bit fuzzy… you know?” he said with an exhale of a laugh. He shook his head which made a few of his brown curls fall over his forehead.

You nodded slowly. Actually a few times, your gaze dropping from the man beside you to the group in front of you. Unfortunately, deep inside your chest was a very growing pot of disappointment. Even though it felt selfish. He did not know that he got hurt, that he nearly died stuck in his own nightmare. The disappointment came from the fact that he didn’t remember the attic. He didn't remember your talk as you sat next to each other in his childhood house's attic. He didn’t remember the ghosts. The cards you both have had since you were children. The press of your lips against the corner of his. He didn’t remember how you pulled him from within the darkness' grasp with your own bloodied hands cupped around his face, whispering that he was not alone. He didn’t remember your forehead resting against his temple as the shadows disappeared from his body.

Or… so you thought.

“But,” he said suddenly, his voice almost amused or cheerful, "I remember when we were in an attic."

You stopped walking at that, your head snapping up at the man. He kept going for half a step but then he realized you weren’t beside him, his hand still in yours so he had his whole arm was hanging to the back. He smiled at you and stepped closer, "you had a card,” he said, “similar to mine. You showed it to me in the attic."

"You remember that?" you breathed out and continued walking behind the others who were going right after Valentina.

He nodded slowly, staring at you as both of you walked with your hands together. Then without you expecting it at all, he leaned down to your head until his lips brushed gently against your temple.

“You’re my missing ghost,” he whispered, the words sounding slightly muffled against your skin, "how could I ever forget that?”

And then he pressed a small, soft kiss just there. Right on your temple.

"Okay! Guys! I know we're all having feelings right now. I have too!" Valentina started to walk away on her heels, stepping over broken ruins to move behind the thrown on covering on one of the ruins just behind her.

"Hi!" Alexei started walking faster and so did Bucky on his side. The red-suited man raised his arm up and waved to her innocently. A thought of snapping her bones in his mind like a pink dream.

"Oh—give me a half a second!" she started to say as she disappeared behind a heavy cloth covering that was draped over what looked like a makeshift wall from ruins up close. The two super-soldiers, Alexei and Bucky, were quick to follow the woman who dipped away. They both fastened their steps and dipped in between the thrown sheet of covering and stepped through it to wherever she had just went to.

You were quick to follow Yelena with Bob just behind you. You were dragging him with your hand, his fingers around yours. You followed through the parted covering next.

Just as you stepped on the other side of the makeshift wall, you were met with a sea of people. At least hundreds of them. Maybe even more than a hundred. They were all gathered right in front of you, all of them facing you with their huge cameras pointed at you like you were an animal in a zoo. Cameramen and photographers lined the front with their lenses pointed straight at you all in the front. Flashes went from all the sides as you stepped through in the front.

Valentina stood at the front like a queen facing her own country. A transparent podium right in front of you with dozens of microphones stuck on top of it, facing her mouth to catch every word she's going to say for the public before her.

"Is it live?" Valentina asked her assistant who was standing just beside her. The younger woman nodded and Valentina smiled back at the people in front of her.

Valentina leaned toward the microphones, "for years, I've been working secretly to develop a new age of protection. Today, the citizens of the United States needed that protection and thanks to my hard work... They got it!"

You squinted your eyes at her, a frown on your face. Bob was nodding to her words, it looked like he was agreeing with her even though he didn't know a single thing that had actually happened before. You hit his shoulder with yours and his head snapped to yours with wide eyes. He turned to you with surprise all over him. You leaned to the side, your eyes on the public in front of you, "don't do that," you said under your breath, "she is lying."

Bob widened his eyes and stood still like a statue out of a stone. Then what came next hit you so hard in your soul that you couldn't even believe it. Valentina said the most unhinged thing ever. Something nobody in the whole of New York was expecting.

"Ladies and gentlemen... Meet the New Avengers!"

The crowd erupted into cheers. Applause broke out from the people before you, flashes snapping even more now.

A deep frown pulled across your face as those words left her mouth, you squinted at her from where you were standing with Bob. You were not standing with Bob anymore. You realized that when you heard a clapping sound that sounded too close to you.

He was standing a step away from you. He was smiling at you and the others just on your right, his palms coming together in excited applause. He was clapping.

He was turned towards you all. Towards Alexei, Bucky, John, Ava, Yelena, and you. Clapping for you six. All six of you were even dressed for combat. And Bob, he was the only one in civilian clothes, he looked like a fan as he was clapping.

You stared at him, your lips parting slowly as you stared at the man in disbelief, "Bob,” you breathed, low at first to only catch his attention. But it did not, faze him at all, he just continued with a smile and clapped. You tried louder then, more sharper, "Bob?"

“Why are you clapping?” you whispered-shouted at him, stepping closer to the man, “you are not doing this! You know you’re not—why are you—”

He just grinned at you, almost like he did not hear you. He continued clapping. He didn't even seem confused at this. You stared at him in disbelief. You glanced at the others just to your right.

John's mouth was parted open in disbelief, his expression furrowed as he stared at the cheering people in front of him. Alexei was enjoying it. Ava's eyes were wide, and she was looking from side to side, from one photographer to another reporter in front of her. Bucky looked at the reporters and then at Yelena, who was already looking at him and she gave him a firm nod.

She slowly walked over to where Valentina was standing in front of the transparent table. Yelena stopped just beside the woman and she leaned by her ear.

"We own you now," she leaned in and whispered to the woman.

Valentina's fake, smile twitched down and then twitched back up again. She stared at the crowd before her, her smile twitching. She then turned back up and breathed out, her professional fake smile back on like a mask.

Yelena then leaned away with a smirk on her lips. Still by Valentina's side, staring at the crowd before her. She closed her eyes for a moment, she let out a deep breath, and looked back at the people. Prepared for whatever may come in the future. The consequences of becoming the New Avengers as Valentina had said to the audience.

"Bob," you said again, trying to catch the man's attention once more, "Bob..." it was less of a warning now, it was more of a plea.

"Okay—stop clapping! Bob. Bob, please—" you whispered-shouted again, taking a step towards him. He grinned at you and continued clapping.

You were quick to pull your hands up and grab his right arm, holding his wrist between your fingers, gripping his blue crewneck's sleeve.

"You're a part of the New Avengers! That's exciting," he leaned closer to you, his arm in your palm. Not clapping anymore.

"Well," you said, uncertain of your own next words. You looked over your shoulder towards where the others were. Alexei smiled at you from under his unkept bushy beard and nodded to you, as he was the only one to hear your small conversation with the man in corduroy pants, "we are. You are too."

"What—" he started to say but was cut off when Alexei nudged his shoulder with his. He grinned at him and nodded towards where Yelena was leaving from where she had come from through the opening of the covering over the makeshift wall. You nodded towards where Alexei nodded towards and then you dragged Bob with you once again, following Yelena and as well the others who were leaving too. Leaving Valentina to face the public herself.

You went through the hole in he covering and moved to the side where no flashes of cameras, photographers, or reporters were. You breathed out and stopped just beside Bucky. You put the top of your hand on your forehead and exhaled, letting go of Bob's hand. He stood still, looking up at the towering buildings of New York City.

"So, what now?" John came just beside you, his shoulder knocking into yours. You knocked yours back.

"I don't know. I want to go home," Ava said breathlessly, staring down at the ground, her hands on her hips. John nodded with his lips pouted, "good idea. I'm heading home."

"Yeah. I know Valentina's going to have our asses ready for something in a few days," Ava said again, lifting her head up and staring at others. You nodded, your hand still on your forehead. Ava then added, "we should've let Alexei break her bones just this time.”

"Also, Bobby. Can you—Can you fix this taco you made out of my shield?" John turned towards Bob, leaning himself slightly forward to look at him over you.

"Oh. Woah, I did that?" Bob looked down at the bent shield in John's hands. His eyes nearly bulged out, wide as a deer.

John blinked at him and then lowered his arm. He muttered quietly with a huff, "nevermind..."

"Awh. So, we are not called Thunderbolts anymore?" Alexei suddenly appeared next to Ava, his smile was downturned and his arms were on his hips too. She turned to him as he spoke out with his thick Russian accent.

“We are the New Avengers,” Ava said to the man next to her. Then she added with a flick of her head, “apparently..."

Alexei leaned back on his heels, staring at the Watchtower that was close by, "so what now? We go to that big tower in the sky where the Avengers were before?"

Ava turned to him and raised her eyebrows, "that doesn't sound bad."

"It does not! You are all so welcome!" another voice joined your conversation and you all turned towards it. It was Valentina. She had her arms clasped together with a smile plastered on her face.

"You—" John started but was cut off by Valentina raised her finger and shushed him like a little baby. She smiled at him with her teeth out and turned towards Yelena and then looked at you others.

"As I said... You are welcome at the Watchtower. After it gets reconstructed because it's ruined. Again!" the woman rolled her eyes at her last word.

You took a slow step forward, "we didn’t agree to this. You threw us into the public eye without any warning, Valentina. Some of us almost died today. I did once, remember? Why did you do this?"

Valentina blinked slowly, but her smile remained on her lips like it was painted on with permanent marker, "yes. I see, you're angry. I understand. But this… this is bigger than one bad day. Everyone will die once, won't they?"

You blinked at her a few times.

Valentina exhaled loudly. Almost too dramatically. She turned back toward the group of you with a look that look of hers when she was going to have a long, boring speech.

“Go home,” she said flatly with another exhale of her breath, "get rest. Make some coffee. Or tea, I don't really care” she paused and then clasped her hands together into a prayer, “and please, for god’s sake, don’t die. Not now. I’ve just branded you.”

"Branded us? What are we... a brand now?" John muttered from next to you with sarcasm dripping from his lips.

Valentina ignored him and continued her speech without making any remark at him, "I’ll be contacting you soon. Very soon. When I do, I expect you back here in New York. Specifically, the Watchtower. It will be rebuilt. For the New Avengers!" Valentina smiled at you with all her teeth.

"In the meantime, do whatever. Sleep. Meditate. Cook. Find a hobby. I don’t care. Just don’t make me regret... this" she gestured at you all with her hands.

Before you could say anything to the woman. She was already leaving. She turned and walked off again without looking back at you, no other words uttered to any of you.

You turned back towards Bob who was somehow already staring down at you with those blue eyes of his. You then looked back in front of you where others were.

“Well. As I said, I’m going home,” Ava was the first to speak, stretching her arms high above her head with a groan. She then dropped her arms back and looked at you and everyone else, "see you,” she added, her mask jumping back on her head before she disappeared in a blur and phased somewhere further away. You didn’t even get the chance to say anything to her.

Yelena was next to move. She turned to you first. She gave you a tight smile, "take care,” she said softly. You smiled back at her as she said that.

“You too. I’ll see you,” you replied with a small smile of your own. But she had already turned around, walking off into the street without another word to anyone else.

"I don't get a take care from her?" John muttered childishly from beside you, his shoulders dropping sadly. You chuckled and your eyes moved to the other Russian who was already grinning like a little boy.

Alexei let out a loud, delighted shriek which made you grimace, "I love you, my new team! So cool!” he called out with his familiar thick Russian accent, "I need to go with my Lena. Bye!” he waved with his both arms above his head and then quickly ran off after his daughter, catching up to her before she was quick to disappear into the long streets of the New York City.

Bucky was next to go. He stood there for a moment, hands on his hips, eyes narrowed as he scanned the ruins of the street like he still wasn’t sure any of this had actually happened and that it was all his dream. He shook his head, his longer hair falling over his eyes slightly. He exhaled sharply through his nose and looked over at you, John, and you.

“I didn’t even plan on going anywhere today,” he said with a huff and shook his head, "then suddenly I’m in the New Avengers?"

He turned to face you again. He gave you a single nod and then looked over at Bob, then finally at John on your left.

“You all take care,” Bucky added and gave another firm nod, his eyes flickered to John on your left and he grimaced but gave a smile afterwards, "don't die, Walker..." he then started walking, leaving you three standing alone.

It was just you now. You, John, and Bob.

"Hey. You got a take care from Bucky at least," you joked to John, who scoffed like a teenage boy. Nudging his side with your elbow, "also a don't die! I didn't get that one."

“That was cool,” Bob said with a smile, his shoulder brushing against yours as he shifted slightly on his feet.

John grumbled under his breath as he followed, "I say don’t die all the time. Nobody calls me cool.”

“That’s because you also say stuff like... Can you fix this taco you made out of my shield?" you mocked his voice as you tried to speak like he did. You then nudged him with your elbow once again and he swatted your arm away with a loud dramatic groan.

"But—it is a taco. He literally bent my shield!" John yelled out, pointing his hand at the curved metal in his hand. Lifting the curved piece up to show it off to you and Bob. You both quietly chuckled and snorted at the twisted metal piece that used to be his shield.

John let out a long, dragged out sigh, “alright… I should probably head... home too,” he muttered, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck, staring ahead at the street that stretched in front of him.

You looked up at him with a small smile and nodded at him, “yeah...” you said. John then nodded again, once and then again, "you too. Stay safe. Don’t die.”

You rolled your eyes at that, grinning, "right. Especially me... No promises here.”

He then shifted his attention to Bob right next to you, "and you—uh…” John gestured vaguely at him with his bent shield, "stay happy. Or… whatever..."

"John, you can't—" you shook your head and John raised his hands with a few chuckles. Then he turned back to you, his body completely facing yours. Just stood there in front of you, not moving at all. Just standing there in front of you. Your brows pulled together at his weird stance, "what?” you asked, tilting your head at him.

He didn’t answer. He just stood there. You squinted your eyes at him, "John?”

His eyes flickered up to meet yours, his stance still as a statue, “Twenty-two?” he said your name the same way you did said his.

"What? Are you—" you tilted your head up at him, confusion drawing on your face. Puzzled.

He exhaled deeply that his shoulder fell down, "damn it,” he muttered and before you could ask anything else, he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around you in a hug. You froze at that. You didn’t move. Didn’t even breathe. You stood still as a dead one.

Bob stared at the interaction from beside you, brows furrowed and mouth hanging slightly open like he was not expecting this either.

It took you a moment until you let your hands up slowly, wrapping your arms around his frame to return the hug. You did it slowly, carefully, almost like you weren't sure. Your hands finding their way to rest lightly on his back.

John didn’t say anything else for when you hugged. Then when he pulled back, he didn’t meet your eyes. Just cleared his throat and nodded once, staring at the street, "do not make this weird."

“It was already weird,” you said staring up at the man with taco-shield. John scoffed and his eyes found yours again, "I'll see you," he told you and then his gaze flickered to Bob beside you who was watching the whole scene unfold like a movie scene, "you too, Bobby."

Bob smiled at him awkwardly and gave him a short wave. John didn’t say anything else, but just gave a short, awkward nod in return to the man in blue crewneck. John then turned on his heels and he finally he walked away, his silhouette growing smaller with every step as he went down the long street of New York.

You then exhaled a breath that you didn't even realize that you were holding. You looked down at your feet, at the tip of your tactical boots and then back up. This time up at Bob's face who was silently observing you.

He was still staring. Like he never took his eyes off you. When he caught your gaze, he straightened his shoulders slightly, shuffling on his feet.

“Can I... Do I go with you?" he asked quietly. Almost like he was looking for an allowance from you. He was hoping for you to say yes deep in his chest. He didn't know where else he could go. He was in Malaysia for months while they did their experiments. Then before Malaysia, he was mostly on the streets, looking for drugs and staying in motels that nearly did not even have a bed or a functioning shower. He was an addict who tried to live.

You blinked at him and then a smile stretched on your lips, "yes... You can and you do."

A grin spread on his lips. From one ear to another, he was beaming. You both then started walking together, shoulder brushing against each other's with each step you took.

You have an apartment. It's an average size, you'd say. It is small, but not cramped small. You hadn’t been there much lately, you've been mostly on the road because of the missions that Valentina assigned you. You hadn't been there for nearly months. You cannot count the weeks you hadn't been home on your fingers anymore.

The time passed quietly, but also pretty quickly. One minute you were walking on the half-destroyed street of New York, the next you were holding two tickets at the nearest airport in the city, and then the next you were slowly drifting off into sleep on your flight back home. Valentina somehow managed to get you and Bob two flight tickets with one of her private contacts without anyone being on the flight with you. That was one thing she was good at, using her money for when you needed it. They wouldn't have let you on a normal, public flight with bombs, knives, and guns strapped to your suit with blood on your face and hands.

Bob had fallen asleep not long after takeoff of the shaking plane. His head rested against your shoulder. His whole body heavy with exhaustion, his breath even for the first time in the whole day you'd say. His eyelashes softly fallen on his cheeks, fluttering slightly while he dreamed.

Your seat was by the window, so you leaned your head against the colder part of it. It pressed on your exposed skin of your face, cooling you slightly as the warmth from Bob radiated onto you. His warm palm wrapped around your own.

And you let yourself lean back against him. His curls brushing against your jaw as you put your head upon his. You laid together, sleeping soundlessly until the plane touched ground and you both had to face whatever awaited you next in your upcoming life chapter that you had not planned beforehand.

But for now, he was here. You were here. And that was enough for the both of you.

hope you liked this! if yes, comments and feedback are very appreciated! <3

well. we just finished the whole thunderbolts* movie for the writing.... eight chapters done, two to go most likely :,)

TAGLIST: @qardasngan , @one17 , @ren-ni , @werewolfgirl1995 , @mysticdelusionengineer , @lauryn2theelectricboogaloo , @mewmew222 , @badbishsblog , @lovely-foxes-exe , @funkyfable , @melvin333 , @sunflower-0180 , @witch-of-letters , @articel1967 , @kazamys , @ch-3-rry , @blackstabbath6

[jjksdoll]

STAY | jjk

in which. your love stands at the center of a war between the world and the two of you, and you’re left with no choice but to let it go.

pairing. idol!jk x female!reader

genre. forbidden love

aus. idol au, established relationship au

rating. 13+, sfw

words. 1k

content/warnings. explicit language, mentions of stalking/death threats, celeb life</3

note. oh how i love idol!jungkook au. i’m not gonna let go of that au any time soon. and also,, hello?? i’m kind of new here??🥹 i’m so excited to start sharing small bits of my writing with u guys. please look forward to it. mwah<3

your head hurts.

not just because of how much you cried last night. not because of the way your throat burned from screaming when it felt like the only person who ever made you feel steady was slipping through your fingers.

it hurts because deep down, you know that whatever this is between you and him.. it was never built to survive.

not in this world. not like this.

‘i want to date a celebrity,’ they said.

‘i want to be in the spotlight,’ they said.

but no one tells you how brutal it is. how dehumanizing it feels to be dragged across the internet like you’re some cheap scandal. like you’re not someone who bleeds when they’re cut.

it’s been a week since the video of you and jungkook went viral. the video of your hands clasped, bodies close, his lips brushing yours on a quiet street at night.

a week since your face was exposed to millions.

a week since strangers started whispering your name like it belonged to them.

three days since the death threats began.

two days since you found out someone had been following you.

stalking you.

sending graphic, horrifying letters to your apartment. letters jungkook read with shaking hands and a clenched jaw. with eyes dark in a way you’d never seen before.

and last night..

last night, he finally cracked.

he told you it had to end.

and god, the way he looked at you when he said it. like it was the hardest sentence he’d ever forced out of his mouth.

his jaw clenched so tightly you thought it might shatter. his fists curled at his sides, like he was holding himself together by a thread.

you remember staring at him, your throat closing up, voice barely above a whisper.

“you’re breaking up with me?”

he couldn’t look at you.

he dragged his hands down his face with so much force it almost scared you.

“kook,” you tried again, your voice cracking as you took a step toward him. but he backed away before you could reach him.

and something inside you snapped.

“we can figure this out,” you begged. “i’ll be okay, jungkook. i promise- - it’ll pass, this whole thing— ”

“it fucking won’t!”

the words sliced through the room. sharp and brutal.

you flinched. hard.

he was gripping the back of his head now, knuckles white, chest rising and falling like he couldn’t breathe.

“this is my fault,” he muttered, voice shaking with rage and guilt. “i let them find you. i let them— fuck. I knew this would happen. and i still.. i still let myself have you.”

you stood frozen, breath catching in your throat, heart thudding so violently it made your fingertips numb.

he grabbed one of the letters off the table, his fingers shaking around the torn envelope.

“this- - this shit? this is on me,” he hissed. “i put you out there. i made you a target. i gave them a name to hunt.”

you stepped forward, tears burning down your cheeks, voice desperate and small.

“don’t say that. we’ll report it. they’ll investigate. we’ll find out who sent them— ”

“and then what?”

he cut you off, his voice low and empty. dead.

“you think they’ll stop? you think this is the worst it’ll get?”

his eyes locked onto yours, and they didn’t look like the eyes you knew.

not the warm, smiling ones that would crinkle when he laughed.

these were cold. hollow.

you barely choked out a reply.

“what?”

“you’re so fucking naive, y/n.” he laughed. but it wasn’t amused. it was hopeless. cruel. like he hated himself for even saying it.

he shook his head and turned away from you, dragging a hand down his mouth like he was trying to wipe the whole situation off his face.

“they’ll ruin you,” he said, voice low. “and i can’t live knowing i stood there and let it happen.”

you stood there, motionless. throat raw. lungs tight.

it felt like you were watching him crumble in slow motion, and still, all you could do was beg your heart not to shatter too loudly.

and then..

he stepped toward you.

slow. hesitant. like touching you would hurt him more than walking away.

and when his hand reached your cheek, thumb brushing away a tear with painful gentleness, you leaned into him like you were drowning.

“don’t do this,” you whispered, barely able to get the words out.

“don’t throw us away.”

his eyes searched yours, and for a second, just a second, he looked like your jungkook again.

the one who used to call you at 3am just to hear your voice.

the one who told you you made him feel safe when the world didn’t.

but that look faded just as fast as it came.

“i love you,” he said, like a confession. a surrender.

“i love you more than anything in this fucked up world.”

and then, he kissed you.

desperate.

hungry.

a mess of lips and breath and pain.

his mouth crushed into yours like it was the last time he’d ever get to taste you, like he wanted to memorize every curve, every soft inhale, every broken sob that passed between your bodies.

you kissed him back like your life depended on it. like if you held him hard enough, he’d stay.

his hands gripped your waist, pulling you impossibly close, your bodies pressed tight as the air between you turned heavy and hot and unbearable.

and when he pulled away, lips swollen, chest heaving, eyes red..

you knew.

he was going to walk away anyway.

“i’m sorry,” he whispered, forehead still resting against yours.

“i’m sorry for loving you when i was never meant to.”

© jjksdoll

[uhhhj13iguess]

the boy in apartment 5B

peter parker x gn!reader

summary: in the aftermath of the world forgetting about peter parker, peter finds himself wanting to let someone in again for the first time in months

wc: ~1.8k

omg okay i got permission to write a fic entirely based on a headcanon headcanons.foru wrote on tiktok, and i was fucking obsessed with it the second i read it. leighton, your work is beautiful, and i thank you for letting me run with this and flesh it out. some of the language is directly from their tiktok, so please go watch it! they’re the mastermind behind this bad boy, not me. i've been so afraid to write anything post nwh because it is devastatingly sad, and i don't like to acknowledge that my sweet boy peter is out there alone, forgotten, and miserably sad. but the hc was just so pure and sweet, and i had to expand on it

masterlist and taglist!

later in the winter months, you met your new neighbor, a meek brunette who moved into the apartment down the hall. you couldn't get much of a read on him, as all you'd exchanged were soft smiles and quiet greetings when passing through the halls.

there was no recognition as you passed him each day, no knowledge of spider-man or his extensive history. of everything he'd been through. it was just genuine human interaction, and as he began to catch onto that, it grew to mean everything to him. you only knew him as peter, the guy with tired eyes and messy hair who lived two doors down from you. you were a fresh start, and that both excited and terrified peter.

you found him sitting outside the building one day, visibly shivering and nose bright red. he was clearly upset, a day's worth of more trauma he could add to the list you knew nothing about. you swore his cheek had a soft yellow tinge to it, like a bruise almost healed.

peter flinched as he saw you approach him, not wanting to explain what he was doing sitting in the cold alone. you gave him a soft smile, a quick 'hey peter' as you passed and headed inside. he was both relieved and disappointed as you let him be, thankful to not have to explain himself, but feeling himself grow sad as you left him.

you didn't leave him for long, though, as minutes later you walked outside and took a seat next to him on the steps. you passed him a bowl, steam heavy between the two of you from the fresh soup you'd brought down for him. he took in in his hands with a confused look.

"i thought you might be cold out here. grandma's recipe," you motioned towards the bowl in his hands. "chicken dumpling. a great cure for whatever ails you."

the tone of whatever had weight to it, like you were referencing his emotional state without prying. he didn't say much, just staring down at the soup in his hands with his eyebrows furrowed. you left him with another soft smile, headed back inside for the evening.

he took a hesitant bite, not wanting to believe that his cute neighbor down the hall would poison him, but not trusting anyone around him at this point. after the flavors hit his tongue and his stomach blossomed with warmth, however, he'd be happy to go out this way, he thought.

he went inside that night with a little more strength than he'd left with.

later the next day, there was a soft knock at your door. you gave a 'comin!' as peter heard you run through your apartment, laughing quietly to himself as he heard you trip and mutter a string of curse words. you opened the door, a surprised look on your face as you saw peter in front of you, your bowl in his hands, empty and washed.

he held it out carefully, a genuine but tired smile on his lips. "thank you. it really does cure whatever ails you."

you gave him a playful smile back, a meek 'anytime' dancing on your tongue.

that moment was the starting point of your friendship with him, an invitation on both ends to reach out more. peter didn't want to admit it to himself yet; he couldn't, but you made him feel safe. everything about you put him at ease after a long day, after the weight of the world and the consequences of his decisions threatened to pull him under.

he started to show up at your apartment in the evenings, excited for a break from reality and to hear the adventures of your days. food became a silent peace offering between the two of you, an endless supply of sweet treats and warm soups traded on the harshest days, no words exchanged as you ate with him in silence, an occasional comment on how good everything tasted. words weren't needed with you, he didn't need to explain himself. he didn't need to justify his feelings or why he was suddenly being so weird and distant. you just let him be, and peter couldn't express how grateful he was for that.

over time, peter felt himself falling for you, and it terrified him to his core. he was so awkward with getting close to people now, scared to death of losing anyone else in his life. he fumbled his way through every part of falling for you: texts with too many emojis, stuttering his way through compliments, awkwardly hovering before asking if you wanted to hang out. but he was trying, and that surprised him.

he fought it for a while, his feelings for you. he cursed himself, angry that he was getting close to someone again. but he wanted to. he wanted to be close to you so badly. so after weeks of fighting it, he began to break down. to let you in. and it was messy. it was messy, and it was awkward, but it was real. he was trying, and you started to see some of his softness beneath all his scarring.

peter started to find any excuse he could to be around you, becoming your own personal handyman when you needed him. you didn't even have to ask. hell, half the time, you hadn't even noticed the issue yet. dripping faucet? he's on it. flickering light? he replaced the bulb and even bought it himself. he shrugs it off each time you thank him, bashful in your appreciation towards him. he did whatever he could for you, wanting to be a positive force in someone's life for once. he didn't even tell you how he scaled the side of your building the other day to fix your window that wouldn't fully shut. not that he could, without giving himself away anyway.

sometimes when you were talking to him or laughing, peter would go quiet. not a distant or sad quiet, but almost reverent. he would get so completely lost in you, so utterly entranced in your very being that it took all the words from his mouth. he didn't know how he managed to cross paths with you, how he managed to be blessed with someone so wonderful in his life after all he'd done, but over time, he stopped questioning it, rather soaking it up instead.

he was scared to let you in — how could he not be? but no matter how hard he tried, peter just couldn't stay away from you. he avoided many of the personal questions you asked him, the ones about his family, friends, or his past. you noticed, but you didn't pry, and peter appreciated that more than you could ever know. he wanted to let you in, to repay you for everything you'd done for him and all you've told him about yourself, but he didnt know how. he didn't know how to explain a life full of erased memories and unbearable losses.

but as time passed, he did. he'd catch himself accidentally lost in telling a story about may, eyes wide and mouth hung open as he realized what he was talking about. you gave him a smile, one so wide and excited that he hadn't seen before, as you patiently sat and waited for him to continue. he was flushed, almost embarrassed for how caught up he was over a story that he wouldn't have thought twice about telling a few months ago.

slowly, it became easier for him. he didn't tell you everything, but he began to let himself grieve his lost loved ones through the stories he told you. and you listened. you listened with such respect for him, peter almost thought it was laughable. because all he was talking about was a joke tony had told him once, but it was hard for him to get out, and you were so patient with him as he spoke. he fell quiet, tears flowing freely down his cheeks as he nervously laughed to himself. he told you how he'd lost more than he ever thought possible, and instead of asking for more information or shrugging him off, you just sat in a comfortable silence with him, your hand hesitantly on his.

that was another thing peter hadn't prepared for: touch. sure, he'd still been spider-man since everything happened, but there was a difference in the physical combat with criminals and the kind touches you gave him. whether it was a gentle hand on his arm as he spoke or a goodbye hug, each time, he didn't know how to handle it. his eyes would go wide, his breath caught in his throat. it had been a long time since someone touched him like that — not to heal, not to hurt, but just to be close. it made him nervous, but for the first time in a while, it was a good nervous.

when he realized he was fully and utterly in love with you, peter was so afraid. but his fear made him so gentle with you, treating you as though you were made of glass. he stared at you like you were made of stardust, a personal cosmic miracle standing before him. he held doors for you, buying an umbrella (which he'd never owned in his life) so he could make sure you'd never get caught wet in the rain again. he would give you his hoodie whenevr the weather grew shitty, even if it left him shivering.

and you noticed each small thing he did for you, from his handywork around your apartment to each gesture he made towards your comfort. you returned your appreciation in your own ways, leaving him little notes at his doorstep each morning to get him through the hard days, baking him treats, even going out of your way to pick up random junk electronics you saw out on your walks.

peter fell for you quickly, but you fell quicker, infatuated with him as soon as you realized just how much he hid to protect everyone around him. and when you kiss him for the first time, a kiss so soft and slow it was healing, you could feel part of him relax for the first time since you'd met him. you sat with your foreheads pressed together, a smile laced on your lips, and tangled in his own.

you pulled back enough to meet his eyes, your voice a gentle whisper. "whatever you're carrying, whatever hurt you're holding onto... you don't have to carry it alone anymore."

and for the first time in forever, he believed it.

taglist: guineveresghost nyutasgirl extremebookreader iamacheezburger

[cherrychilli]

18+Steve Harrington x f! reader, established relationship, young adult runaways, starting over, shitty parents, tiny bit of angst. Just a drop. WC: 1K Summary: Steve yearns for a fresh start. So do you. Somewhere new. Somewhere right for the two of you. But before that, he has something very important to take care of until it's time for the two of you to hit the road.

A/N: This little scene has been munching on my brain for the past week now ever since I came across the picture on the right. Had to write it out so I can finally drive it out (of me). Enjoy!

The craggy rock you hand him requires both hands to pick up and hold, a soft, patchy layer of moss caking your palms and fingers when you look back down at your empty hands.

"Yeah, this'll do," Steve tells you, ducking his head to reach inside his car, placing the cold, black stone on top of the accelerator pedal which makes the maroon beamer whir.

The brakes are still on, cloudy puffs of white smoke spilling out of the exhaust pipe.

"You're absolutely sure, right?", you check one last time, biting the inside of your cheek.

Steve turns to look at you. He isn't irritated despite the many times you've asked him this very question. He knows you're only trying to be considerate. He knows that you're only trying to make sure that he doesn't come to regret his decision.

So he steps away from the noisy, stationary vehicle until he's able to place his warm palms on your cheeks, leaning closer so he can slant his lips over yours.

"This is what I want. I'm absolutely sure of it, baby", he tells you when your lips separate with a little smack, picking off a spec of moss that'd made it on to your jaw from under his thumb.

You smile back at him. You just needed to hear it one more time and now that you have, you're ready for what's to come next.

"Okay. So, shall we?", you cock your head towards his car. The one that'd been gifted to him by his parents though not out of love or anything akin to it.

His father had forbade him from driving around in "whatever shit heap", Steve might have set his hopes on, taking great offence at the thought of his son causing the family any kind of embarrassment.

"We're better. Always. And we will conduct ourselves as such," his father had seethed at him from across the dinner table, pointing his fork, (the finest silverware of course) in Steve's direction, it's prongs juicy from his filet mignon cooked to a bloody rare.

So, with the shiny new BMW came strings as thick as piano wire. His parents tugging tugging tugging on them to puppeteer their son this way and that, though they were seldom ever satisfied. Even when Steve would bend over backwards of his own accord for them it was never enough. No kind of gymnastics could win their approval, he learned.

Now here he was with you, someone who he never had to prove himself to on the bank of lover's lake as he steps over the remains of the pricey watch his mother had pressured him to wear for the same reasons that his father had bought him the car. Steve had stomped the heel of his converse down on the timepiece 10 minutes ago when it stopped ticking once and for all, it's now crooked, fractured hands frozen at 9.18AM behind shattered glass.

Steve reaches in one last time to pull back on the hand brake and steps back, his fingers weaving in with yours as you both watched.

The car takes off and rolls forward swiftly, splashing into the water with a booming clap, tire tracks etched in the soft sand as the car travels further and sinks deeper. Steve watches on unblinking as it takes on water, mucky, opaque waves sloshing around and drowning the leather upholstery.

As far as he's concerned the thing's nothing more than fish food now, the front finally sinking deep enough under water to get wedged in the muddy riverbed. The trunk is the only thing sticking out above the water now, the engine sputtering to a stop as gentle waves lap away at the useless thing.

In it, he gladly leaves behind every memory of all the times he spent alone in that car and the night time drives he took in it, sore, red eyes and tears he couldn't shed inside his own home rolling down his soggy cheeks after every dispute with his high strung parents.

Even though he'd taken refuge in that car many a night, he still hated the damn thing, a constant reminder of how he was never enough for them. The thought that he might never be free of them scratched at the inside of his skull everyday as he drove around in a four wheeled spiderweb he wished to untangle himself from.

So severing those ties today was more than necessary, marking the end of his latest chapter. On with the new.

His bags are packed, just like yours in the trunk of the little butter yellow Volkswagen Beetle you'd saved up for and bought second hand with your own money and fixed up. You had to compromise too though of course. The paint job was a little patchy if you looked at it a little too long and the engine sometimes needed a few tries to get it going but the bug practically flew down the freeway when you needed it to. Perfect for long distance travel.

To Steve, your car meant something that his hadn't. It didn't carry any kind of strings to twist and turn you with like some kind of sad marionette. You drove it around free from any kind of expectations. And you didn't have to shoulder the fear that one slight misstep would cost you. You didn't have anyone in your life who would come down on you hard if you were ever seen driving around with so much as a little dent or a little scratch like his parents would. You were completely unburdened that way. He considered you so lucky.

With the sun shining down on you, you hand Steve the keys, letting him take over the wheel while you take over passenger princess duties with your shades pulled on. It was half his now anyway. You hadn't said so out loud but you know that he knew it too.

He sticks the key into the ignition, your car rumbling to a start, the radio coming alive. 'Let them say we're crazy, I don't care about that. Put your hand in my hand baby, don't ever look back...'

The battered, paling 'Now Leaving Hawkins' sign is just a few meters ahead. He's looking forward to seeing it shrink down to a pin point in the rearview mirror as he puts some much needed distance between you two and Hawkins for good.

So, Steve slips his own shades on too, a hopeful smile growing on his lips.

"Alright, doll. Let's blow this pop stand."

[re-freaks]

how would steve feel about the second magical girl

clarifying note before i start: i can write for peachblitz and vesperius in requests but they're not going to be part of the main story.. so if there's ever a 'meet the fam' steve episode, magical girl!reader will act as if she's never met them before, etc etc

"peachblitz," you hum, setting your half-empty coffee down. "she's new. very cheerful. very sparkly."

steve doesn't look up from his computer. "how sparkly?"

"like the cover of a lisa frank coloring book had a baby with a rave."

he blinks slowly. "gross."

you shrug, tugging a paperclip into a spiral. "she's not bad. i just worry she's gonna get herself vaporized by something with teeth. she wore her heels to a sludgebeast fight."

steve types something with unnecessary aggression. "sludgebeasts are dangerous."

"yeah," you sigh. "i told her. she just giggled and called me 'mama bear'."

his typing stops.

"she gave you a nickname?"

"don't," you mutter, rubbing your face, "she meant it nicely."

steve is very quiet. too quiet.

your wand buzzes from your bag, wary.

he's doing the silence thing again. check for claws.

you peek up. steve's nails are, indeed, sharper than they were ten seconds ago. his jaw is tense. his aura has that weird, hazy heat shimmer it gets when he's annoyed.

you raise a brow. "are you mad at her or at me?"

he leans back in his chair and folds his arms. "i just think it's interesting."

"don't do that."

"i think it's interesting," he repeats, with all the enthusiasm of someone who's mentally compiling a hit list, "that some sparkletits intern flies from whatever discount star system she crawled out of, and suddenly you're the one handing out advice."

you stare.

he glares. "i didn't get advice. when i started blowing things up, you kicked me in the dick and threw a vending machine at my head."

"because you threw a bus at a daycare."

"it was empty! it was a message!"

you pinch the bridge of your nose.

steve paces now, full of demonic energy and wounded pride. "she gets glitter and encouragement, and i get a concussion."

"you liked the concussion."

"that's not the point," he huffs. "the point is—why are you thinking about her?"

you frown, genuinely confused. "because.. she's my colleague? and i don't want her to die?"

"right," he mutters. "sure. concern. professional courtesy. very noble."

you squint. "are you jealous?"

"no," he lies. then, quickly, "yes. but not because of her."

your wand lets out a smug little ping.

you glance over. steve is back at his desk, typing again, but more pointedly than before. every keystroke like a tiny vendetta.

eventually, he mutters, "i could wear heels."

you laugh. you don't mean to. it just slips out.

he glares. "i could. i have the calves for it."

you cross your arms and smirk. "steve. are you trying to compete with a rookie who still calls her transformation phrase a 'catchy brand moment?'"

"no," he huffs. "i'm trying to protect my turf."

"does she threaten it?"

"you thinking about anyone else does."

that shuts you up.

for a second.

then you reach across the desk, steal his stapler, and say, lightly, "you know this doesn't make us exclusive, right?"

he bares his teeth in a grin. "not yet."

your wand hums.

he's gonna propose with a demonic HR form. i can feel it.

you sip your coffee, eyes on your very possessive maybe-boyfriend nemesis.

and you don't disagree.

magical girl masterlist

[littlelambscandyland]

My Baby, All Mine

Yan!Cg!Dhawan!Master x Little!Fem!Reader

Summary- The Master never admitted he cared for you, never even treated you kindly. How could he be so stupid? He didn’t do any of it right and then you were gone, dead. Whatever, it doesn’t matter now… He has you back and this time he isn’t going to let his little girl suffer. So many years to make up for. Don’t worry your papa’s never going to let you be hurt ever again… Well, he would be able to if you weren’t suddenly so stubborn. (4,950 Words)

Notes- I'm so sorry to my non-binary and boy readers, I'm in my pink girly era apparently and can't seem to get out of writing female reader stuff. Also I'm sorry if you hate pink, as for mentioned, pink girly era. I still love you all, I promise! I'll venture out again one day soon, maybe, hopefully. Also I don't mean to show so much of a bias for Dhawan!Master but he's the easiest for me to write and he's so girl dad coded.

Warnings-Reader briefly dies, Unhealthy friendships, Past abuse(ish), The Master being unstable, The Master being a bit delusional, Temporary Amnesia, Telepathy, Slight Dissociation, Forced Age Regression, Forced Toddler Regression, Implied Onesies, Pacifiers, Implied Pull-ups (just being worn)

It was your body that really disturbed him. So many regenerations, so many years, and now you were just… Gone. Of course, at first he walked it off. He didn’t need you, he didn’t care that you were dead, but your cold eyes kept creeping into his thoughts. Your face covered in blood and completely empty. He’d pace the TARDIS just trying to get a single thought in that wasn’t your lifeless form. Then, like it was scripted he started to remember every little memory he’s ever had with you. All the good, the bad, and all the in-betweens. He kept hearing your voice, your laughter, your childlike praise. He remembered how you were always so amazed by things, by him. Hundreds of years had passed and you still looked at the universe with such wonder, at him with such wonder. He never deserved you… He abandoned you, he insulted you, berated you for things that weren’t your fault, he’d hurt you, and he’d do it over and over again without a single thought. You were so sweet, you were so loving, you never judged him, and despite his actions you never showed him anything other than that adorable smile. He couldn’t bear it.

Four months he’s gone without you, he can’t do it anymore. Everything is plagued by you. He can’t conquer a planet, he can’t read a damn book, he can’t eat or sleep, he can’t even torment the Doctor without thinking about you. His poor, clever, beautiful girl. He should’ve never held on so loosely. It’s alright now, he’s going to make it better. He’s going to fix this, even if he has to tear this entire universe apart to do it.

Honestly, you should be less surprised. It’s the Master, he’s a chaotic ball of hatred and knowledge. Emphasis on the chaotic part. He did weird things all the time, not that they weren’t always completely entertaining to watch. You shouldn’t be surprised that he’s bouncing around the TARDIS while there’s the head of a monster hanging above the fireplace. You do wonder how he got such a large creature's head up there. He claims it’s there to remind him of something very important, and that he’ll take it down soon. Whatever he wants, you suppose.

You wish you didn’t have such a large gap in your memory… Four months isn’t that long with how long you’ve lived, but it feels like you’re missing something important. Not to mention, you just really want to see how the hell he was able to take that beast down. The Master said you hit your head far too hard on one of your adventures. He keeps telling you to be happy it was only four months and not your whole life that you forgot. He’s got a bit of a point, but you still want to know what happened in between the trip to that annoying orange planet and waking up in your bed yesterday.

The Master seems different than he was before. He’s always smiling around you now. The same manic unstable look in his eyes, but they held something so much deeper than you can pinpoint. The way he looks at things, at you, borders on the line of obsession. There is a voice whispering in the back of your head telling you that he is acting entirely out of character. A voice whispering that something is very wrong. Sometimes you think he’s staring at you in remorse, and other times you can’t tell if he’s elated or wants to tear you to shreds. He won’t let you call him Master anymore, so you call him sir now. You don’t think he’s any happier with that title, but he seems less stiff than the multiple times you’ve slipped up and called him Master. You think something might’ve happened between you both during those months you’ve forgotten, or maybe something happened to him…

It’s only been a day since you’ve woken up. Maybe you were just reading into things. Your head did still feel kind of fuzzy.

Even now you still feel like you're a bit unstable. You believe the Master when he says you hit your head because there is no other reason you can find for the extremely painful headache you’ve had since waking up. You’re dizzy, and tired, and you feel like you may be going insane with how nauseous you’ve been feeling. Watching the Master bouncing around the control panel flicking switches, typing coordinates, and pulling levers definitely doesn’t make you feel any better.

You suppose it’s a good thing he didn’t let you go on his most recent outing…

“Darling!” The Master calls out to you.

“Hm?!” You jolt from his loud voice and proximity.

There’s another thing to note. He calls you a bunch of pet names now.

“Where did you go in that little head of yours?” He asks, leading you to sit on the couch with him.

There’s another, he keeps calling you or random things a part of you little or tiny.

You’ve learned years ago lying to him only causes trouble, so you answer him truthfully. “I was wondering why you’re acting so weird… Or at least weirder than normal.”

The Master laughs, almost bitterly. “Of course you would notice.” He whispers while looking down and shaking his head. “You’ve always been too clever for your own good, of course you would notice my change in behavior.”

“Mast-” You cut yourself off when his head shoots up to glare at you. “Sir… Is, is everything okay? Did something happen? Did, uh, did I do something?”

Your anxiety was starting to bubble over now that he practically confessed to acting differently.Now that you knew it wasn’t all in your head, you begin to wonder what could’ve happened. You curse your brain for not letting you remember.

The Master sighs and lets out another one of his sad laughs. “You didn’t do anything wrong… You never do…” His eyes dart around for a second as he thinks. His eyes finally come back to your face. They have that intense obsessive look swimming in them again. “I have something to show you.”

Before you have a chance to question him, he’s jumping off the couch and bounding towards the halls with you being pulled along.

“Sir, please slow down… I don’t feel very well.” You plead, as your head starts pounding and your stomach churns.

He looks back at you before slowing his strides. In a matter of moments you went from being dragged to walking hand in hand next to him.You’re nervous for what he wanted to show you, knowing him it’ll probably be something horrific, but it was nice to walk hand in hand with him. You haven’t gotten a lot of physical contact since joining the Master all those years ago. Well, you had some but it was all violent.

The walk is silent. A bit tense, but along the way the Master regains his previous excitement. He’s got a slight bounce in his step like he did earlier. You can tell he’s trying increasingly hard not to start dragging you down the hall. It freaks you out a bit, you’ve never seen him so genuinely happy before. He’s had manic streaks of joy throughout his different faces, but it was all due to the instability in their head. This, this was so pure, or at least it seems so. You wish you understood what happens in his head.

When you finally come to a stop, the two of you stand in front of a door right next to the Master’s bedroom. You’ve never actually been inside his room, but you’ve dropped off plenty of things for him when he’s barricaded himself inside. The door you stand in front of is a very pastel pink and it has a pastel(ish) rainbow painted across it. There are colorful stars scattered over the wood. It’s rather cute in your opinion. Maybe a bit childish, but hey you’ve always had a more kidish style and personality. Who were you to judge?

You look over at the Master and almost jumpscared by the intensity of his stare. It was like he’s actively trying to look into your very soul. Was he trying to read your mind? More accurately, was he reading your mind?

His face went from his intense stare into a painfully wide grin. “Open the door.”

“Okay?” You draw the word out while taking hold of the golden handle.

You open the door a bit slower than you think he wanted, but you were nervous to see what was behind it. You have to walk inside a bit more to open it all the way. Once the door is open wide enough, you look around. Honestly, the room was adorable. It was also way bigger than the one you’re staying in. You’re not jealous. 

There’s a large bed… That has what looks like the bars of a hospital bed but taller; kind of like a crib but not quite. You aren’t all that sure why they had that, but whatever. The bedspread is baby pink and there are a multitude of stuffed animals organized delicately on top. The walls are almost identical to the door; a very light pastel pink with the same rainbow and colorful stars, but more stretched and fitted for the room.

There’s a false window showing off a garden that had flowers and birds. Right by the “window” sits a large very comfy looking arm chair. A 3-tier bookshelf sits under the window and holds so, so many thin books that you couldn’t read the titles of them from where you stood. There are some thicker ones, you think you noticed the Wizard of Oz on there. There’s a carpet sitting in front of the chair and bookshelf; it has little roads and buildings on it. It’d be perfect to play with cars on. 

There’s a dresser sitting in front of the bed. It’s long and has more white than the light colored wood that seems more like an accent color at this point. On top of the dresser sat a few knicknacks and toys. In the center there was a really big tv. You’re not jealous. There are two doors on both sides of the dresser. One door was slightly ajar and you think it might be a closet because you see what you think is a sequin dress. The other door is shut and you didn’t really understand the circles on it, but with the time you’ve spent with the Master you think it’s Gallifreyan.

There are several more items and pieces of furniture scattered around the bedroom. None as eye catching as what you’ve spent the last minute analyzing. The large chest is simple but nice. The long table-looking-bed that has lots of drawers and looks like it belongs in a nurses office or a hospital confuses you. The giant bean bag in the corner looks super squishy. The bedside table looks simple and has locks on the drawers. The taller bookshelf that is built into the wall has way too many things on it for you to note all of it this second.

You wonder what this room was for, and the panic rises in you again. Did the Master adopt a kid or something? Oh God, was he going to tell you that you have to leave now? Did he want you to help care for the kid? You aren’t responsible enough for that! Why is he showing you this?

“Do you like it?” His voice sounds excited and nervous; a rare combination for him.

You only just realize he’s standing behind you, his hands on your shoulders. He’s leaning forward a bit and his chin is almost resting on your shoulder; if it wasn’t for his hand it would be. You try to look him in the eyes but can’t, so you turn back to look at the room.

“Why… Um, why are you showing me this?” Your voice comes out quiet, frightful.

You can feel his frown. Not physically, but it’s like you can feel it in the air. You don’t understand what’s going on. What is going on right now?

“It’s for you.”

You blink. “But, what’s it for? I mean what, what’s it supposed to do? Or, um, mean?”

It was his turn to blink at you in confusion. “You really don’t know?”

“Master, I'm not a mind reader like you…” You giggle as your nerves grow.

You feel him stiffen almost completely. His hands grip your shoulders a little tighter, and he stands up straight behind you. You turn to look behind you at him. His eyes are boring into your soul again. A look full of anger and sadness. The look you’re used to seeing on his face.

“Mast-”

“Stop.” He cuts you off. His hands cup your face, effectively tilting your head a bit to meet his eyes. “I… I’ve broken you…”

You shake your head. “You haven’t broken me.” An anxious laugh leaves your mouth as you speak.

“But, I have, dear.” The Master tells you, a broken laugh of his own accompanying his words. “I’ve broken you, beaten you down, and now you can’t even tell what an act of love looks like.”

“What act of love?” You laugh more. Why was he being so damn confusing?

“THIS!” He shouts at you, holding out his arms to the room around you. “I spent hours, days perfecting it to your perfect liking yet you can’t even tell it was made for you! You don’t even know what it is!” Despite the smile on his face you know it’s all in rage. The deranged cackle that accompanies it makes him sound like he’s on the verge of breaking himself.

“Sir…”

Normally you wouldn’t initiate physical contact when he’s like this, but concern for him overrides the potential punishment, and with the way he’s been acting you think it might help. Maybe? Just a little?

You put a hand on his chest. The fabric of his tie feels slightly cool. It warms quickly under your palm. He freezes, and so do you. You didn’t want to step too far, but he was scaring you. Something is wrong. Even if you are afraid you might anger him more, you want him to know that you still care. The Master suddenly slumps. His hands are thrown down by his sides and he looks defeated.

“What do you think you are to me?” His voice is quiet.

“I’m your…” Your eyebrows furrow. You watch as he takes your hand gently into one of his, still holding it close to his chest.

You didn’t want to say you were his friend. You insinuated that once and spent a week locked in your room with nothing to eat, good thing your bathroom has a sink… The second time you implied it he left you on an abandoned planet for 2 months. You didn’t want to say you were his employee. He didn’t pay you, and it felt too impersonal… You weren’t even close to being romantically involved. Sometimes he seemed almost fatherly to you, but you would never admit it out loud. You definitely looked up to him, he’s incredible, like a superhero (well a supervillain but who’s keeping track). He’s told you throughout several regenerations that he doesn’t care about you, so you really doubt any overly personal relationship is an answer you could give…

“It isn’t that hard to make a guess.” He seethes.

“I’m your… Companion… Like the Doctor has hers, but y’know,” You clear your throat. “Less emotions are involved…”

You don’t look at him. You stare in turmoil at his and yours intertwined hands. His hand tightened around yours the second you mentioned then Doctor, and tightened even more when you said “less emotions”. At this point he was close to crushing your hand with his.

“That,” The Master’s voice sounds emotional in a way you haven’t heard before. “Wasn’t the answer I was looking for… I suppose more, not what I was hoping for.” He laughed tightly. “You got close with one of those thoughts bouncing around in that head… You were far too focused on the past to give the answer I wanted.” He glares at the roof, lost in thought. “Guess this proves my point well enough then!” He breaks up again. His stressed smile drops. “I really have ruined you.”

You frown again. Why does he keep saying that? Really, it kind of hurts your feelings a bit.

“I’m not ruined.”

“No,” He agrees too quickly. “Not in the traditional sense. No, you’ve just forgotten what being loved and cared for is like… We can remedy that…  An easy fix really. You’ll be acting like a spoiled brat in no time.”

He grins with a look that screams delusion. You aren’t quite sure you were following his words right. You really want to say you understand, but you just don’t.

“Why don’t we start off slow, hm?” He asks, but it sounds more like a gleeful demand.

The Master pulls you towards him and throws you up and into his arms. When you don’t wrap your legs around him, he does it for you, manually bending each leg. You laugh in shock, and he saunters into the room further, kicking the door shut.

“Sir?”

“Shhhhhhhh…” He draws out the sound dramatically.

He lowers the bars and sets you down on the large bed leaving you to stare up at him from your newly seated position. He looks at you like he was searching for something again, then he bounds towards the closet door. He goes inside and you try to lean over to check what he’s doing. You don’t really get a chance to look because he marches out in just a few seconds with a purple something clothing in his hand.

You frown when he smiles at you. “Did you take something?” You ask abruptly.

You notice the bewilderment on his face.

“I’m only asking because there is something seriously wrong going on with you and it’s, it’s starting to scare me a bit… I mean you’re just acting really different and I’ve been with you for a long time now. I just- Did you get hit with like a poison dart, or hypnotized, or challenged, or I don’t know, cursed by a witch or something?”

The Master looks at you with so much shock and sorrow. “I just want to take care of you.” He says dismissively, losing all emotion in his face, and walking over to the weird looking table-bed.

“But, why? You’ve never felt the need to before.” You just wish he’d explain some more.

“That’s enough.” He sounds like an angry parent. “Stop questioning everything I do. Things are going to change and you don’t get a say in it unless it’s something actually useful.”

That sounds more like the Master you knew. You almost thought he was gone for a second.

You sigh in defeat. “I just want to understand.” You whisper. “You could at least explain things to me. Like… What’s changing? Why is it changing? What, exactly, do you need me to do? Just any information because I’m so confused.” You weren’t going to cry, but you damn well could right now.

All of this and your head and tummy still hurt.

The Master makes his way back around the side of the bed. He tosses some things next to the clothing on the bed, but he sits in front of the pile before you have a chance to see what they are. He stares at you for a moment before scooting closer and pulling you, rather awkwardly, into his arms. Once you finally settle, you’re positioned in his lap and still facing the room. You can feel how hard his hearts are beating in his chest. You don’t remember ever being able to feel his heartbeats before. It almost makes you smile. The Master rests his head on top of yours. 

“My precious girl…” He whispers into your hair. “Where should I start?” He trails off as he starts swaying the two of you side to side. “Hmmm, how about the answer I wanted you to give?”

You try to nod your head but can’t get far with the weight of his on it.

“The answer I wanted was my child.”

“Your what?” Your voice cracks.

“My child,” The Master states it so simply. “Like I said before, you got close with your little run-on thoughts. I do appreciate being seen as fatherly, well, at least to you.” He giggles wickedly. “Hm, now second, what is changing and why? The answer is everything. Your daily routine, your living arrangements, your diet and sleep, our interactions, the trips you’re allowed to go on. Honestly, I could go on for a while with this one so let’s move on to the why. The answer to that one is because I’ve had a very sudden, very aggressive change of heart… Towards you at least.” He holds you closer to his chest. “I’ve realized just how special you are dear, and I’ve realized just how much I need you in my life. I’ve woken up to the terror of not having you in my life and I never plan on doing that again.”

“What?”

“Just quiet for now, angel. What happened is in the past now… Now let’s see, what was that last question?” Before you can tell him he lets out a dramatic “ah ha”. “Yes, what do I need you to do? Hm, truly I’m not all that sure. Obviously I need you to continue to listen to me, follow the rules and schedules I set in place, accept your new role in the TARDIS, call me papa or daddy… Hm… Maybe I’m leaning more towards papa. Oh! Or you could always call me momma.” He says happily. “You’re not all that human anymore so their gendering of titles shouldn’t bother you too much anymore. Of course I won’t make you call me anything you don’t like, but as your parent I deserve the title of one.”

“Ma- Sir… You’re not my parent though…” You didn’t want to shatter his reality, but he was striking a nerve you didn’t even know you had before now.

“Yes, well, not biologically, but-”

Before he can finish you cut him off. “Not at all…” You frown and pull away from him. He grips you harder, but you still manage to get into an odd position that allows you to look at him. “We’ve spent years together and not one single time have you shown any care for me, let alone acted the way a parent would, unless that parent was abusive…” You were angry and shocked at the Master's words. His actions were disorienting and his speech was delusional. “I’m not trying to be cruel, but you have to realize that I can’t take things you do at face value. I know you too well to do that, and though I don’t know what you’re supposed to get out of this damned act, I don’t for a second buy that you just woke up one day and chose to care!”

The Master’s face holds barely contained rage. “You have no idea what I’m protecting you from.” He warns.

In an act of bitterness you say something you don’t actually mean. “Whatever it is, I’m sure it was your fault anyways.”

You’ve never spoken to him like this, and you didn’t know what possessed you to do it now. Unluckily for you the Master never seemed hesitant to put you back in your place.

The Master throws you against the bed. You’re silently glad that you didn’t land on one of the plushies with their glass eyes.

“Fine! Since you want to be so ungrateful” He hisses. “ I’ll remind you that I gave you a warning. And I’ll inform you that this is going to hurt.” He emphasizes his words with venom. “But, don’t for a single second pretend I didn’t try to keep you safe from this.”

The second his fingers touch your face your eyes slam closed. The pain that rips through your body is like nothing you’ve ever felt before. The feeling of flesh tearing and bones breaking. The pain mostly resonates in your stomach, in your head. It feels like you're being torn open and your head is being slammed into a wall. Images start flashing through your mind. The start of an adventure, the terror of a chase. A familiar looking monster, the same one the Master hung above the fire, snarls and snaps at you. Everything hurts and you’re so scared. You think you might be screaming but you can’t tell if it’s you now or you then. You can feel yourself dying all over again.

When your eyes open again you’re pressed tightly against the Master, laying on your side in his grip. Your whole body shakes, and you understand now what it’s like to experience pure agony. Your lungs feel like they’ve been filled with cement. You’re surprised you haven’t puked. All you can do is stare into the time lord's chest. No sobs leave your mouth. No words pass your lips. You can’t even move your arms if you wanted to.

“I know, love… Such a terrible thing.” He kisses your forehead and some of the pain starts to dull. “Do you see why I have to protect you now? I can’t have you dying on me like that all the time now. Clearly you aren’t strong enough for that kind of thing. Don’t worry, dear, papa’s going to take magnificent care of you.” The Master kisses your forehead again, lingering there for a moment. “That reminds me. Have to get you ready to go back to bed.” You didn't respond when he looked down at you, still too busy recalculating every moment. “Oh, yes so terrible I know, you’ve only been up for a few hours, but if you don’t rest up your body can’t heal.” He explains it like you’re a child, then again, to him you are. “Aren’t going to make this easy on me huh?”

He has a slightly sweet but mostly sadistic smile on his face. A grin that screams how proud he is of his victory over your minor argument.

The Master lifts you up, and if you had the ability you would scream out at the pain it causes. You fall straight into his chest, gaping like a fish as your lungs try to catch air. He rubs your back for what feels like, to you, several hours. Really it was only 4 minutes.

“I know, angel.” He pouts in an invalidating way. “As soon as we get you changed you can lay down and sleep away all this nasty stuff, okay?”

Every move he forces your body into feels like you’re being drowned in lava. Halfway through the process that you hadn’t been able to pay attention to, the pain started to become bearable. You feel something odd against your butt, it feels soft but cotton-y, padded. You have no energy to look down to see what the alien man is dressing you in. You have no energy to argue. And, aside from the weird padded thing, the fabric covering your legs to your arms and neck was incredibly comfy. 

When the time lord shuffles you around again you let out an involuntary whine. You didn’t think you’d be able to make a sound right now, so you startled yourself a bit. It isn’t that the movement is painful, though it is. The problem is the discomfort. It feels like you were being stretched and twisted into a pretzel. In just a few seconds the Master laid you back on your side. You almost let out a sigh of relief, but your lungs still don't feel like they have enough in them for that.

He settles back into the pink bed next to you. He tucks you in under the blankets and starts to draw you back into his chest, but stops. “Oh, I almost forgot!” The Master jumps out of the bed and disappears somewhere in the room. You stare at the mattress in his absence.

He rushes back and lays back down on his side facing you. You don’t get a chance to think of questioning his actions because you’re too busy being mortified by the paci he shoves into your mouth. You want to try and spit it back out but your mouth refuses to work with you.

The Master pulls you back against his chest, and despite how badly you wanted nothing to do with him at the moment, you relax under his hold. Though you don’t know if that was a conscious decision or your body doing what it needs to. His arms are warm. You find it grounding and soft the way he pets your hair down.

“Go to sleep, my darling girl. I’ll keep you safe.”

You don’t want to listen to him, but your eyes feel so heavy. He always has been a source of comfort even when he was the reason for your fear. You suppose it wouldn’t be too bad to give in to it just this once. You can go back to arguing with him about this insanity some other time. Right now, you can lay here, do your best to comprehend the trauma you’ve just remembered, enjoy the first bit of comfort you’ve been offered in years, and do your damndest to get some sleep.

[wrestlersownmyheart]

"Yeet Of Fate" Chapter 11 (Jey Uso X Female Reader)

Title: Yeet Of Fate Pairing: Jey Uso X Reader Summary: When you, an aspiring author, decide to take your skills to the world of wrestling, you decide to shadow and tag along with a couple of wrestlers to learn more about the sport for your upcoming book debut. None other than the Royal Rumble winner, Jey Uso, is the male wrestler you will be working with, and needless to say, that makes you nervous. You tell yourself, things will stay platonic. You tell yourself that…

Jey Uso is at the top of his game, the last thing he needs is a fan trailing around after him and fan girling all over the place. He wants to do his job, bask in the glory of it and call it a day. Not have to answer questions all day long from a wannabe writer. That's how he feels, until he meets Y/N face to face. She isn't what he expected. And he doesn't like to be wrong. As beautiful as she is… He will keep things platonic. He tells himself that…

Disclaimers: I own nothing or anyone associated or affiliated with WWE. I own only the original characters. This is just a fictional story that came from my imagination. Content/Trigger Warnings: Some more angst

Chapter 11

Jey sat on the sofa in his dressing room after his street fight. He looked at the empty space beside him and could literally picture Y/N sitting there with her laptop typing away at some story ideas, her legs draped across his lap. He shook his head, trying to clear the image away and free his mind of his thoughts of her.

He knew he'd miss her. He knew it. But this feeling was beyond anything he'd ever felt before. It felt like his title reign didn't even matter. Nothing seemed to matter without her.

A knock sounded at his door, and he rose to his feet, walked to the door and opened it.

Seeing it was Rhea, he let her in and returned to the sofa.

"So this is how it's going to be?" Rhea asked, sitting down beside him. "You being all moody, and ignoring everyone around you, including the fans?"

"Maybe. What does it matter?" He sulked.

"It matters because you have friends that care about you. You have fans that care about you. You had Y/N, who cared about you–probably still does, truth be told."

"Nah, not after what I said to her."

"What did you say?"

"I told her she was just a conquest. Basically, that I used her for sex."

Rhea cursed softly. "And did you?"

"No!"

"Then why in the world did you tell her that, you dumbass?"

"I was trying to get her to go home, so she'd be safe. She just wasn't safe here." Jey defended his actions. But she may not be safe even at her home, he thought, remembering Gunther's threats out at the ring.

"Well, Gunther is going to be out for a few months thanks to your–whatever that was out there. Plus he's being fined and suspended indefinitely for what he did to Y/N. Why not try to fix things with her? She'd be safe with all of us while he's gone."

"And then when he comes back? It'd be all to do over again. And she could get hurt even worse."

"I'm sure we could figure something out."

Jey shook his head. "Nah. It's over. She hates me now, anyway. And don't go tell her anything I said. It's better for her this way."

"She doesn't hate you, I'm sure of it," Rhea replied. "She's hurt, Jey. Badly. She's deleted her Tumblr, along with all her writings, and I think it's because she's-"

"I can't help it, Rhea!" Jey exclaimed, frustration evident on his face. "What's done is done."

"You've screwed up," Rhea accused. "You had everything and now you're losing it all–despite being the owner of that championship." Rhea said motioning to the belt. She then turned around and left the room. Too angry to speak to him anymore.

Jey sat still on the sofa for a long moment. Just thinking.

Before he could chicken out, he picked up his phone and dialed Y/N's number.

It didn't even ring. It went straight to voice mail.

He hung up.

Either she had her phone turned off–which was highly unlikely.

Or she'd blocked his number.

It was most definitely the latter, because he recalled the text she'd sent him after he admonished her for leaving the hospital.

"I'm no longer your problem, nor am I your whore…"

"Woman, if you only knew," he thought out loud. "You were never a problem. And you were definitely never my 'whore'."

Shaking his head at his foolishness, he pocketed his phone and began packing up for his next flight.

}i{}i{}i{}i{}i{

A week had passed and you'd resumed going to work. You failed to tell your boss about the injuries you'd sustained, because you knew she would insist on you taking more time off.

And that was the last thing you needed.

More free time to think about Jey.

As if you didn't do enough of that regardless.

Now, you looked up as a teenage boy approached the main desk of the library.

"Ready to check out your books?" You asked, trying to be cheerful and courteous despite your depression.

He nodded and handed over a few novels for you to check out. You punched in your code, and began scanning the books on the computer's barcode scanner. Then you began stamping the due date on them. Within moments you had the books checked out on the system and handed them over to the teenager. "Enjoy," you said with a small smile.

"You ready to go eat?" you're coworker and friend, Christina asked, coming out of the back office.

"I guess," you replied. "I'm not very hungry."

"Didn't you say you skipped breakfast?"

"Yes. I've not been eating so much lately. My nerves are just shot."

You mentally smacked yourself for letting out some information you meant to keep secret.

"What's going on that's stressing you?"

"Personal stuff," you said, "Stuff that I need to keep private."

"Okay," Christina said. "Well, come to lunch, girl. Watch me eat if nothing else. You need to get away for a while. I can see it in your eyes. You look really tired. The vacation didn't do much for you, did it?"

"You have no idea," you replied. "I should never have left. I should have just stayed home."

"Well, if you get to needing to talk about it, I'm here for you."

"Thanks, I appreciate that, Christina."

"No problem."

The two of you clocked out for lunch, and hit the cafeteria that was inside the library's building.

"I'll have a steak burrito," Christina put in her order, and then you did.

"I'll have the Greek salad."

You paused, as you recalled Jey's joking about women who ate salads. Tears sprung to your eyes and you quickly blinked them away.

"You okay?" Christina asked, seeming to notice your sudden quietness.

You nodded, and waited as the clerk pulled a pre-made salad out of the display case, and handed it to you.

You both paid for your food and then found a small table out in the lobby to sit at.

You nibbled at your salad in silence.

"Are you sure you don't want to talk about it?"

You looked over at Christina then–gave it some thought. She'd always proven to be trustworthy in the past.

"Can I tell you in confidence?"

"Absolutely. I won't say a single word to anyone."

You thought hard about it for a moment.

What would it hurt, you thought. Maybe she could give me some advice on how to get over Jey.

So, you told her.

Everything.

"I'm so sorry, Y/N," she replied, when you finished telling her about how Jey had proclaimed his love for you only to–twenty-four hours later–all but say he'd tricked you into sex. She placed her hand on yours, "Really. I can't believe how people can be so cruel."

"Me either," you said, wiping at a tear that had spilled down your cheek.

"I'm here for you," Christina said. "I know that's not a lot but it's the best I can do."

You shook your head, "No, it means a lot to me. Really."

Christina smiled and patted your hand. "It will be okay. It'll take you some time, but it will be okay."

You nodded. You didn't agree, but you nodded anyway.

The rest of the day went by quickly, and for that you were thankful. All you wanted was to go home and climb into bed.

About an hour until time for you to get off work, your boss, Mildred, commented on how pale you were looking.

"Are you sick?"

You shook your head, "No. Not that I know of."

She smiled warmly and told you to go home and get some rest. The rest of the staff could handle the remaining hour until closing time.

Dreading to get home to your empty house, but relieved because you could go to bed that much earlier, you accepted the offer and clocked out. Then you were grabbing your things and heading out to your car. Within seconds, your car was started and you were headed home.

Once at your house, you let yourself in, and noticed the suitcase from your travels was still in the foyer needing to be unpacked. Hanging your purse on a hook, you rolled the suitcase into the living room and began going through it. Making a pile of clothes for your laundry, you suddenly froze as you lifted the next garment out of the suitcase.

One of Jey's pink "YEET" shirts.

"How did this get in here?" you wondered aloud.

You must've accidently packed it while you were in a hurry to pack your clothes in the hotel room.

Gazing at the shirt, you made the mistake of lifting it to your face. Inhaling, you took in the scent of Jey's light, airy cologne.

Instantly, you sobbed. It was as if he was standing right there beside you.

"Jey, why'd you have to be such a jerk? Why couldn't you have been who I thought you were?"

Your phone rang suddenly, and you checked it.

Naomi.

Reluctantly, you answered the phone, unable to disguise the fact that you were crying.

"Hello?"

"Y/N? What's wrong, sweetie?"

"I'm… I'm going through my suitcase…"

"And? What's wrong with that? Talk to me, Y/N."

"I found one of his shirts in my things. It smells like him."

"Oh, baby… I'm so sorry."

"It's my own fault."

"No. No it's not. Jey needs to wake up."

"Jey isn't who he said he is. He never cared about me. He all but admitted it."

"That just doesn't sound like the Jey I know."

"Maybe none of us knew him," you snapped suddenly. "Maybe he's not who you think he is."

"Listen, I think that-"

"I'm done discussing this, Naomi. It hurts too much."

"Okay, Y/N. It'll be okay. We're here for you."

Suddenly angry, you rolled your eyes. So everyone says, you thought. But when it comes down to it, what can they really do to help?

Then you felt bad. Naomi really was just trying to help you.

"I know. Thank you."

"I just wanted to call and check in with you," Naomi said softly. "But I can see you're not doing very well. Is there anything I can do?"

"Can you reverse time?"

"No. No I can't."

"Then I guess there is nothing you can do."

"I'm sorry, Y/N."

"Don't worry about it." You swallowed back some more tears. "I-I need to go Naomi. I'm sorry, but I do."

"Okay, Y/N. Call us if there is anything we can do to help. Really."

"Thank you, Naomi," you said. "Bye."

"Bye, Y/N."

You hung up.

Numbly, you stood to your feet, and leaving the pile of laundry for in the morning, you headed upstairs to your bedroom, Jey's shirt in your hands. Once you reached your room, you fell onto the bed and curled up in the fetal position, snuggling against the shirt.

If you want on my tag list, just ask! 😀

Tagging:

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[afteredenn]

hello!! i love your writing style sm!!!!

do you have any vip headcanons? could be vianca-specific or anything else either!

ahhh sorry im getting to this so late but ty i really appreciate that :) i don't have anything substantial but i'll throw out a couple

bianca found out about the divorce when vic told candice on set (so she found out with the rest of the world)

one time in college bianca let vic give her bangs. she ended up looking too good and vic was so afraid of their own attraction that they purposely fucked up their own work as a defense mechanism i.e. gave her microbangs

jokes on them bianca still rocked microbangs (grudgingly)

there's an old lady in vic and spencer's apartment complex who looks like nana to the point where vic initially refused to make eye contact with her. but spencer loves her because she gives him expired candy, so vic has to grin and bear it whenever he wants to say hi in the hallway

vic's therapist goes to therapy and complains about them

none of bianca's college girlfriends hung around for long after meeting vic. they never gave a proper shovel talk but they had a habit of staring unsettlingly at the girls whenever they got too close

vic likes marking bianca up to indicate possession and bianca likes to hear them say it (that they're hers) even if she can't make herself believe it

none of these are super serious but i hope it's a sorta satisfying answer!

[tubbytarchia]

Missed drawing these two too

Bonuses

[feardrummed]

@slaughterlocked may or may not have liked for a starter

The sudden lack of a presence in her head was jarring, of course, but in the rush of feelings that come up in response to the absence is far more noticeable. The anger, the sadness and guilt all finally resurfacing with it gone. She's not sure how long she's been on the floor crying, how long since it was out of her brain, but the feeling of a hand on her shoulder is enough to make her aware of who is in the room with her. And maybe it wasn't really him, it wasn't him who had done this to her, but it existed because of him, and even now, she's convinced he still would have wanted that to happen to her, to have that control over her. He still did caused this, one way or another.

So her response is the same as it would be if it had all been him: anger and fear. She shoves the hand off her as she moves away finally, the distance actually feels real. "Don't fucking touch me!"

[ajdrawshq]

Is there any non-spoilery way you could talk about how isat isn't just about timeloops? because like I do want to check the game out eventually for sure if only because indie fun times but I'm busy for a while before I get the time and tbh I'm just not as curious because I don't know how it's gonna break that formula (also ngl no colors makes me lose 50% interest because I like. looking at colors. lots.)

UHM OK WELL UM. hm. how DO i do this without spoiling anything. im very not good at describing things especially things i Really enjoy so how do i put this . hold on i might need to look at some reviews so i know how to words. ok

as a disclaimer i havent fully interacted with a lot of (if any??) media that has timeloops so i cant say for certain what it does differently from similar media that makes it stand out from others. at the same time ive never seen something that is so directly About Timeloops in this way even if i consider stuff ive heard about in passing but i could be wrong (madoka n utena come to mind ?). ill try to think abt the things that arent Just timeloop related plus the stuff u mentioned and hope that helps it feel more interesting and less generic?

i think one of the main things i can say is that it Really makes you feel what the protagonist is feeling. more than anything ive ever watched or played or whatever . and thats saying a LOT given how much i empathize with protags in games. and its not even just an empathy thing here. both the story progression and the gameplay work in such a way that you experience pretty much everything the same way they do, while still having their own personal stuff u can learn about of course

on that note tho. that is actually something to be careful of for a few reasons. i know ur generally pretty good with darker content so i doubt thatll be a problem for u here (its not that bad tbh but there is IS a warning when u open the game/look at the steam page and it aint lying) but. due to the nature of timeloops. it CAN get tiring and this is very much intended. and this helps a lot w the story and themes in a way that its. like. think how kh days does repetition on purpose. its a lot like that (although i had way easier of a time getting thru isat than days? i cant remember how u feel abt days' gameplay but i think it was positive ? either way getting thru isat was way more bearable than days imo). it does do a good job at balancing this with a couple mechanics that mean u dont have to repeat everything all the time (i had like. Very few actual full loops by the time i finished) and theres ALWAYS new things happening, even if ur super thorough with everything. its pretty easy to do things at whatever pace u feel like and if u wanna focus on the main story only to make it easier it wouldnt take too much away from the experience (tho i do encourage talking to the npcs at least a few times), and theres always a goal to work towards. also dialogue skipping and the banana peel are ur best friends

sort of adding onto that. it really, really helps that u are sharing the experience with the protagonist. not only does that help u relate to them (even if u dont share as many traits w them as i do akvdjsn) but theyre probably the most beloved character in the game and for good reason!! its really fun to see their interactions with the rest of the main cast and the npcs, and watch them all develop in different ways throughout the game. and my goodness all of the characters are beautifully written - at first ur kinda thinking ok its a ragtag group of sillies in an rpg whats new. but their personalities and relationships and hobbies and problems and everything about them is just so well done.. they feel so natural. human even. every conversation feels real to me. one of the main themes of the game is the concept of change, and each of them represent and approach it differently, both positively and negatively. its hard not to fall in love with them as individuals and as a group because they just have so much going on, even the ones i didnt expect to like at all!!

the worldbuilding is also a fun spin on fantasy rpg worlds. it mostly revolves around the area u play in bc well. of course it does. but its vv interesting to learn about all the different cultures within the world and how they interact with and build on the themes of the game. theres all sorts of queer stuff going on and its all handled like a love letter to people who relate, and i can feel it even with what i dont relate to at all!! the way "magic" works and the ways people use it in battle and everyday life is super cool too, makes the whole thing feel a lot more believable and realistic :3 i dont wanna talk abt any specifics bc its more fun to learn abt this stuff ingame

OH AND THE TEXT.. EFFECTS?.. idk what to call that but the way dialogue (both internal and external) is written and programmed is funky as hell (affectionate). it was weird at first bc oftentimes (mostly for humor) its like. almost the way i type actually?? which feels strange in a legit game but it Works. it works so well and adds tone and vibes and a Voice in a way u usually cant get in a game without any voice acting. deltarune is also good at that but this one does it differently enough for me to consider it unique

HAVE I MENTIONED THE ART STYLE i love the art style . its so charming and expressive especially all the talking sprites n battle portraits. simultaneously silly n adorable while fully capable of being serious. and creepy. anyway look at the sillies i love them n their designs dearly (especially Siffrin (1st on the left) and Mirabelle (2nd on the left))

also on that note, the lack of colors....... i both totally understand being put off by that (i also love looking at colors n this part made me feel weird abt it when i was thinking abt getting it at first) and personally enjoy it? without saying anything spoilery (bc its really not), its just another part of the worldbuilding and themes that i now find really fun :3 should be noted that i usually have an anti blue light filter so it mightve been easier to look at w the yellowish tint going on. maybe it even looks better that way ? kinda reminded me of old films now that i think abt it.. neat!!

as a last thing i couldnt quite insert somewhere else. it is equal parts a comedy and a tragedy, and it is so, so effective at accomplishing this. the humor is fantastic and adds to the games' and characters' personality, every tragic moment is . for lack of a better word or phrase. absolutely fucking delicious. and i adore how well it can shift from one to the other gradually or in an instant, or just be both at once!!!! yippee!!!!!!!

aaand thats all i can say. i have no idea if that cleared anything up BUT i encourage u to give it a try bc i do think youd like it in the end. u probably wouldnt finish it as fast as i did but that might be a good thing jfbskndj but yeah!!!! in stars and time!!!!!! its good and i love it!!!!!!!!

[tonycries]

Bad Boys Bring Roses - G.S.

Synopsis. You’ve never dealt with the yakuza - not once. So why is the future head of the Gojo clan suddenly coming up to you, demanding that you marry him for 30 days?

Pairing. Yakuza boss! Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, yakuza! au, fake marriage, annoyances to lovers, elders suck, mentioned k*lling (not reader or Satoru), Satoru is INSANE and SO down bad, one bed trope, praise, biting, oral (fem receiving), fíngering, unprotected, créampie, spitting, overstim, flower language, kníves, bit dark, HAPPY ENDING, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 9.1k (whoopsies)

A/N. I just HAD to get this out of my mind like I wanna write an entire book series on this. Spent too long researching rose language as well so see if y’all catch that hehe.

You thought the wedding invitation was a joke when it had arrived - a delicate, lacey little card that you’ve probably read over a million times by now. It had been stuffed haphazardly into your mailbox, along with a ridiculously large bouquet of purple roses. Seemingly inconspicuous when you first tore into the thick envelope, wondering which one of your friends was getting married now. 

And it was - that is, until you saw your name at the very top - right where the blushing bride’s was supposed to be. 

We hereby formally invite you to the marriage of…

What? 

No return address. No date. No groom’s name either. Only yours, written in beautiful, golden writing - inviting you to your own wedding, exactly a week from now.

You remember perfectly the way you’d flipped it over and over in your hands, the gears turning in your head as you tried to crack down on the motive behind this invitation. A threat? A joke? Texting all of your friends about what a cute prank that was - only to get a shared confused reaction, and a few “April Fool’s has already passed, y’know.”

Hell, you’d even cornered the mailman, desperate to get to the bottom of this. But that wasn’t particularly helpful when he was only able to shake his head in protest, pale as a sheet, and trembling ever-so-slightly as he sped away from you. Weird. 

Without a clue as to who sent the letter, or even a follow-up in the days after, you stuffed the invitation somewhere deep in the back of your closet and handed the bouquet to your mother. Not bothering to tell your parents where it was from - because who’d worry over a stupid prank like this? It was probably one of the kids from down the street that’d gotten their grubby lil’ hands on a printer. 

You, however, had more important things to focus on - like trying to help your father revive his failing diner. It was a family business, a quaint, hearty little shop. One that was quickly, and dangerously, losing both customers and employees with the brand new fast food place that’d popped up right across the street. 

Which is why you found yourself here - working overtime on a Saturday night, looking over the empty chairs and stacks of boxes from behind the counter. Whatever, it was only a few weeks until relocation anyway.

You heave out a sigh, eyes flitting to the clock beside you - 11:21pm.

Nine minutes more, you drum your fingers in boredom, maybe you should just close up early. Because sure as hell no one else was-

“Oh? Still open?”

“Ah- Uh, yes, welcome!” Jolting out of your reverie, you stand up ramrod straight, taking in the customer standing at the door. He wasn’t one of the regulars - no, you think you’d remember if he was. Cloudy white hair, piercing blue eyes that twinkle from above his shades, even in the dim light of the diner. He was so very tall, taking up almost all of the doorframe, only getting more and more imposing as he walks up to you in quick, long strides. Magnetizing. 

And if you dared let your eyes wonder, you caught a few tattoos peeking out from his unfairly snug button-up, clashing with its flashy blue color. Dragons? Trees? Or were they flowers - roses?

“Roses.” the man in front of you answers your unspoken question, voice so very deep, and melodic - tinged with something playful in it that you wouldn’t have expected at first glance. At your raised brow he continues with a wink, “Could tell ya were checkin’ me out, sweetheart.”

“F-forgive my rudeness, sir.” you sputter, face burning. You look away from the way his muscled ripple as he crosses his arms, immediately turning to fumble with the menus, “Please take a seat and I’ll be there with you shortly.”

You’d expected him to take up a booth, or maybe head towards one of the good tables around the corner. What you did not expect was for him to plop down on the stool right in front of you, flashing you a playful grin before humming, “S’alright, m’just waitin’ for someone.”

Oh. Well, it made sense that someone like him would be taken. Swallowing, you hand over the menu, before giving him a close-lipped smile, “A lover?”

Resting his head on his palms, not bothering to even glance at the list of dishes before him. “My fiancée.”

“Congratulations, Mr…”

“Gojo Satoru.” he tilts his head, looking way too happy with himself. “Please, call me Satoru.” 

You nod softly, picking up your pen and notepad to get this conversation over with - and maybe to also avoid his heavy stare that made something hot and uncomfortable coil in your stomach. “Right, Mr-” at his disappointed whine, “Satoru. Congratulations, must be one heck of a thing to plan.”

“Oh I’m having fun with the wedding planning.” He waves off your words with a chuckle, missing - or pointedly ignoring - the way you were waiting for his order. “How’s it going for you?”

What?

You narrow your eyes at the way Satoru was batting those long lashes up at you, deceivingly innocent and waiting for your answer. “I’m sorry- Me? Did you mean with the diner relocation plans or-”

“No no no.” he laughs, loud and boisterous. And usually you’d have a thing or two to say at someone interrupting you if you weren’t so mesmerized by that little dimple at the corner of his grin. One that moves as he plows on, “M’asking how wedding planning is going for you, wifey~”

There’s a beat of silence. One. Two. With you gaping at the pure audacity as Satoru quiets down to little titters, seemingly studying your reaction in amusement. Which slowly, but surely, drains from his face as you grit out a sharp, “I’m gonna have to ask you to leave, sir. We’re very busy and don’t have time to entertain your pick-up lines.”

Those widened blue eyes sweep the painfully empty diner, letting out a low whisper. “I can see that.” you let out a strangled noise of embarrassment at that. “But you’re really gonna ask your husband to leave?”

Huffing in frustration, “I don’t have a husband.”

“...you do.”

“I don’t.”

“You do.”

“I don’t. And who the fuck are you to tell me I do?”

“What?!” Satoru jumps out of his seat in shock, fast enough that the stool clatters to the floor with a deafening clang! Hands slamming on the counter as he leans over it - so close that you could feel his minty breath fanning your face with each hurried, shrill word that tumbles out of his lips. “What do you mean you don’t have a- I’m gonna kill those fuckin’- After I bought Canva premium just to make that invitation? Did the flowers come at least?”

And while Satoru is panicking, words spilling out of his mouth a mile a minute - only one of those rings in your mind - invitation. 

“You.” you hiss, barely audible over meltdown in front of you. Pointing a finger accusingly, “You’re the one behind that prank with the dumbass roses.”

That seems to snap Satoru out of his dramatic monologue - and you’re glad it did. Because he looks up to meet your glare, “Hey! You didn’t like the roses?” 

And for the first time, you see Satoru more serious than he’d been ever since stepping into this diner. Eyes somewhere behind you, ablaze and almost…frightening. “Didn’t you ask him?” 

You whirl around to see your father, who’d apparently rushed downstairs at the commotion. Baseball bat to fight off the intruder hanging in midair as he stands frozen, taking in the scene before him - but more importantly, that man in front of him. “You.”

---

And, well, it’s not everyday that you’re having late night tea with your parents and one of your father’s…business associates. Even rarer when said business associate is…you gulp, praying to whoever’s above that this is all some sick dream you’ll wake up any second from. 

“So, let me get this straight…” you sigh, pinching your nose in frustration. It’s been an hour or two of trying to understand whatever this was. Giving a stern look at the two men squirming across from you in the booth. “My father was conned by one of your-” you gesture your head at Satoru, which only makes his smirk grow, “-men to take a loan from your um-”

“Family, yakuza. Anything goes.” he supplies helpfully.

You wave him off, trying as quickly as possible to brush off the ‘yakuza’ bit that makes your stomach lurch. “And now he owes you a favor of…what exactly?”

Satoru leans across the table, t-shirt opening tantalizingly. Voice dropping to an almost-pleading murmur, “Look, I just need you to pretend to be my doting, loving, charming, gorgeous-” backtracking at your withering glare, “...Anyway. I just need a fake wife for a few months, convince my family to get off my back about arranged marriage n’ carrying the Gojo legacy. Then bam! you stomp all over my heart, we divorce and I’m too heartbroken to ever get married again. Easy.” 

“No.”

“Please?”

“No.”

You bet Satoru’s disappointed groan echoed across all 23 words of Tokyo, because it was definitely ringing in your ears amongst whirlwind thoughts of marriage? To a yakuza? Completely, and utterly ridiculous. And from his talks of “carrying the family name” it seemed like he was some sort of future head as well. Though, he definitely wasn’t acting like it right now. 

“Alright. Plan B, then.” 

Oh? You couldn’t help but think that maybe he wasn’t that much of a manchild as sits up from where he’d been splayed all over the table in tragedy. Lacing his fingers together before turning to your father, continuing in a more diplomatic tone, “But I want the cash you took. In full. Now. Gonna hafta disguise my best friend as my wife, n’ dresses for a six foot man aren’t cheap.”

Your mother looked like she could faint right then and there. Choking out a noise of surprise, “B-but we’ve deposited it all for the relocation- Please, can’t we pay any other-”

At the firm shake of his head, you stammer, “Now? Aren’t you some yakuza nepo baby, can’t you just ask your parents for money?”

“No.” Satoru chuckles, in a tone which told you that he probably could but might just lose his head for it. Only further supported as he muses, “Not unless I want a finger cut off for dealin’ money on the side. Seriously, sweetheart, why did you think I sent you the invitation last week?”

“Take me instead.” you father cries, trying to negotiate above Satoru’s half-joking mutters of “Ugh, I’m not into ol’ men dumb enough to sign yakuza contracts.”

It was all too much. You couldn’t take out the relocation deposit - it was a new start, possibly the only thing to save your family. Nor do you have enough in savings to pay back the loan. And if Satoru’s warning was anything to listen to, then you knew that dealing with the yakuza could be dangerous. Why you? Why you? Why you? 

“Fine.”

The moment that word leaves your lips, it’s like the whole world freezes. Everyone in the room - including yourself - unsure of whether they heard you right. “I’ll do it.” you clarify, voice hesitant but firm. Eyeing the way Satoru’s eyes begin to sparkle, the beginnings of a smile curling his lips. Raising a finger to shush your father’s protests, “But for a month, until we leave this place. After that m’going with my family and you’re never to contact us ever again. Deal?”

And oh Satoru seemed over the moon, reaching out to grasp your hand in a handshake - so warm, and softer than you’d imagined. “Swear on m’life, wifey. You can kill me if not.”

He was so intimidating - and intimidatingly exhilarating.

Only an hour more of arguing and a quick phone call later, men - yakuza, you assume - were flooding your family’s little diner. All tattooed and burly, looking somewhat comical as they carried your few packed-up suitcases outside. Well, at least they stayed for a late dinner. 

And ended up being witnesses to a very rushed, very rushed signing of marriage agreements. Evidence to really show up your alleged marriage. It barely even lasted a few minutes before, well, that was that - you were married, to the son of a yakuza head. 

You say a quick goodbye to your teary parents, soothing them with promises of “I’ll be back before you know it. One month. That’s all.” 

“And don’t worry about a thing,” Satoru sing-songs, coming up behind you. “If there’s anyone she’s safe with, it’s me.”

“You better keep your mitts off of my baby.” your father warns, raising the baseball bat still clutched in his hand menacingly. 

“I won’t lay a hand on her, father-in-law. And anyone that even thinks about it…” he cackles, breath hot against your ear, sending shivers down your spine. “I’ll kill.”

Prancing off to hold the door of that shiny black Mercedes parked outside open for you. “Ladies first.”

With another quick hug to your parents, you hastily make your way inside. Feeling extremely out of place amongst the overly luxurious interior in your slightly-stained work uniform. God, the covers on these cushions themselves probably cost more than your house. 

“Like the car? I can buy you one. Or four, as a wedding gift.” Satoru grins. 

Oh, right. You weren’t in here alone - you were here with your new…husband. The word felt so strange to even wrap your head around, instead you turn to meet his easy smile. Clenching your jaw as you grit out, “So how do we act m-married?”

You swear he brightens up impossibly, scooting closer to you on the seat. Heart lurching as he raises his eyes to meet yours, dizzy with the heat of his proximity, he promptly pulls out his Notes app. 

“Well, you see. I forgot to send this with the invitation so you better memorize this before we get home.” flashing you a long, long list of likes and dislikes, “Here’s my favorite color and my favorite Digimon and-”

That car ride could not have been longer. Because in addition to arguing with Satoru about who the best Digimon was, you had to fill out your own version of his overly extensive list. “So we can be foolproof.” he’d whined. And you’d been so engrossed in the process that you barely noticed the looming estate out the window.

“We’re here, young master and madam Gojo.”

It took a second to register that the driver was talking to you as well as Satoru, immediately pushing your face against the window to take in the scenic site before you. Heavy wooden doors - probably taller than an average house - opening to reveal sprawling gardens. Koi ponds and rose bushes lining a pathway that led to a traditional Japanese house - all power and glory. You half wondered whether you were still in Tokyo. 

“Home sweet home.” Satoru grunts. “Such a beautiful hell, huh?”

Your home, for the next month. At least. 

And if you had any doubt that Satoru was in fact the future yakuza head, that all went out the window at the welcome you got. Men lining the wooden hallway, bowing at the waist while your all-new husband wraps a hand around your shoulders, pointing out the various rooms and ornaments as he led you in. 

“-and this is going to be our room.” he brings you in front of a large tatami room, one the size of your entire diner. 

“Ours.” you repeat. Walking unhurriedly to the king-sized bed in the middle - the only bed. Heart pounding as you take it all in. 

“Ours.” Satoru echoes, happily. And if he was any bit as affected as you are, then he doesn’t show it, instead pulling out a blue yukata from the closet, a golden Gojo emblem stamped on the back. Made with such a pretty, delicate fabric that it made you shiver to think how much it cost. “Now, I had these made jus’ for you last week. You can give me a lil’ fashion show tomorrow, so make sure you get some rest, wifey.”

It’s only when he says the word “rest” that you realize exactly how tired you are. Your long shift and the entirety of this having your eyes feeling heavier than usual. 

“Um…” you start, risking a glance at the bed. 

Satoru jolts, “Ah- don’t worry, sweetheart. You take the bed.” beginning to saunter outside to meet his team. “Got some work, so I’ll be sleeping in my office. Dream of me~”

And, really, you almost felt bad splaying yourself out on the crisp navy sheets. Sinking into the heady smell of fabric softener, and something so so Satoru. Addictive. Like an expensive cologne that made your head spin, one that wafted through your mind as you dreamt of summer weddings, and blue, blue skies.

“Ichiji.”

“Yes, young master.”

“See to it that the madam is safe. Anyone try anything funny and you bring them back alive. I wanna be the one to play with them, okay~?”

“Of course, young master.”

---

Admittedly, you probably have the best sleep of your life at the Gojo estate- or, it would’ve been if your husband didn’t burst in every morning at 7am. Handing you a ridiculously big bouquet of white roses, straight from the garden, before dragging you outside. 

Milling about the estate, Satoru was never too far behind, chattering away. Letting you hold onto his strong arm crossing the bridges, occasionally having you show up to yakuza meetings as his plus one. Relishing in the rumors spreading all through the yakuza syndicates in Tokyo. Gojo Satoru, and the commoner wife he’d do anything for.

Weirdly enough, some strange little part of you thinks he puts in a lot more work than necessary for some pretend relationship…

“I think that stupid plan is really working, y’know.” you muse to him after a few days of this. Dipping your fingers into one of your favorite koi ponds with a nod at the figures watching you from a distance - Gojo clan elders, you assume. “Those old coots hate being within a five mile radius of me.”

Satoru huffs out a laugh, “That so? S’probably the method acting then, huh? Taking good care of me, wifey?” he wiggles his eyebrows, nudging you from where he was holding an umbrella beside you. 

Furrowing your brows mockingly, “S’funny for you to say, they don’t even look at me. But they follow me around everywhere.”

“Do they annoy you, must I do my duty as a husband and gouge their eyes out?”

He…didn’t sound like he was joking. 

Rolling your eyes, you pointedly ignoring the way your heart lurches at the word “husband.” Still so jumpy at the idea. “Speaking of, your parents give up the marriage proposals, yet?”

At this, Satoru clenches his jaw. “Still nagging, but they’re finally considering you as my actual bride rather than some hijink.” he spits out, seemingly recalling whatever conversation they’d had before. “And they want to have some family ‘dinner’, but it’s going to be awful and you don’t-”

“Let’s go.” you interrupt, nodding determinedly. “The realer this marriage seems, the faster we can divorce, no?”

He blinks at you slowly, “That’s…true. For the divorce, then?”

“For the divorce.”

And, well, that was settled - you were to meet your new in-laws. The ever-elusive heads of the Gojo clan. Also one of the most powerful yakuza in all of Japan, but, semantics really.

You spend the evening cooped up with Satoru in the library, poring over the bloody history of the yakuza - with the Gojo’s heading them all. The only time he actually leaves your side is a few hours before the dinner. 

“For you.” he’d murmured, lips ghosting your ear, slipping something cold onto your finger. You look down to see one of the most beautiful rings you’ve ever seen - gold, with delicate blue and white diamonds encrusting it, cut in the shape of roses. “Can’t be married without a wedding ring, huh? Think of it as a good luck charm for tonight.”

And with that he’s swept away in a flurry of bodyguards and ruffled men, and you’re left standing there all alone. Cheeks burning, wondering how the hell he knew your perfect fit. 

You worry longer about the dinner than you spend actually preparing for it. Though, that’s probably because of the group of stylists that come into your room to help you dress. Wordlessly fussing around you despite your weak attempts at conversation, eyes averted. Almost like they were…scared of you. 

But there wasn’t much time to think of that - not when you’re being marched off in the direction of what you remember Satoru had called the family dining room. “More like a fuckin’ meeting room for those hardasses.” he’d snarked.

The moment you step in, all eyes turn to you - the only ones you recognize being Satoru’s, who immediately stands with a smile. “Ah, wifey! Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.” pulling you into a tight hug. His voice drops into a low, raspy murmur in your ear, “Ya look fuckin’ gorgeous in my colors, y’know.”

Traitorously, jolts of electricity run down your spine. Especially at how fucking gorgeous he looked in traditional wear. Whispering back, “Playing up the doting husband bit, huh?”

“Only for you.”

Pulling away, you drink in his dangerously handsome state. Hair so effortlessly styled, tattoos winking at you from just above his yukata - blue, to match yours. So pretty.

Stammering out, “Corny.”

“Only for-”

“Now that the girl is finally here, may we begin with dinner?” A stained voice sounds from behind Satoru, old and tinged with a tone that years of customer service told you did not bode well. Craning your head, you look over his broad shoulders, meeting the eyes of several disapproving elders. 

Shit. Some of the most dangerous people in this country right now. 

Gathered here - for you. 

Automatically, you knew which ones were his parents - painfully upright, and hauntingly beautiful in a cold, calculated way. Sat right at the head of the long table. With a jolt, you realize that you two are seated right opposite them. 

“So.” his mother starts, as you take your seat with a bow. Satoru doesn’t waste any time on niceties, plopping down right next to you, scooting closer than necessary. “Congratulations on the…wedding, my son.”

My son. You ignore the way both parents pointedly avoided looking at you. Your husband, however, does not. “What~ Not gonna wish my dear wife as well?”

It’s a silent staredown - one that has the entire room on edge. You don’t realize that you’re clenching your fists in tension until Satoru untangles them, slipping his larger hands into yours. Gaze still alarmingly intense and locked on the other side of the table.

He wins.

“Congratulations. Let us begin now.” 

You breathe out a sigh of relief, the tension only slightly broken as butlers stream into the room, carrying decadent trays of food. Well, at least the food might make up for how appalling this dinner is going to be.

It’s only 15 minutes in that you realize how very, horribly wrong you are - because the elders of the Gojo estate really don’t hold back, do they? Thank God you memorized every part of that stupid likes and dislikes list.

Besides picking apart every aspect of your relationship that they could manage to squeeze out of you between the appetizer and the main course, the main scrutiny tonight seems to be you. But in that icy, subtle way that has Satoru’s jaw clenching tighter each second. 

Lips curling, Gojo senior eyes you over his wine glass. “So, dear,” voice dripping with underlying venom despite the pet name. “Is it true our Satoru missed an esteemed marriage meeting with the Zenin group to ambush you at some rundown old diner?”

You fight to keep the smile plastered onto your face, painful and cracking under the pressure. A hand squeezing under the table to stop Satoru from opening his mouth to retort, you answer instead, “Well, ambushed wouldn’t be the word. You could say we fell in love over the counter - at my family’s diner.”

“A waitress, she said?”

“Now we know why it was this rushed. Probably pregnant.”

“The scandal. How far the Gojo name has fallen.”

The few stifled gasps from the other end of the table are so dramatic that you could almost laugh. But you don’t. Breath hitching as Mrs. Gojo chuckles, “Marrying the daughter of a lowly diner owner? How... quaint.”

“Mother, be quiet or-”

“What?” she throws her hands in exasperation. “Can’t I say anything around here. Honestly, Satoru, I’m just trying to make conversation with your new wife.”

Before either you or Satoru can react, his father speaks up, apparently not done with the interrogation. “You understand that we’re just worried, right, dear? Especially with marrying into prestigious families, of course.” The emphasis on “prestigious” is not lost on you.” And it drives you insane. 

Steeling yourself, you train your eyes on the untouched food below you. “I understand.”

Plowing on as if trying to infuriate you, “And you understand that this position is dangerous? You’ll be targeted.”

“I understand.”

“Do you? Don’t be swept up in our Satoru’s charm and wealth, dear, my son just wants a way out of duty.” tone dripping with disdain, Satoru’s grip becoming tighter and tighter on yours. “The Gojo syndicate owns half of this city, we could bulldoze over that little diner of yours with only one phone call”

“My wife and I are leav-”

“I said I fuckin’ understand.” Your words hang in the air like a foul stench, and you raise your head to glare. If looks could kill, all the elders in this room would be six feet under and you’d be dancing on their graves already. “Neither me, nor my husband would ever let that happen because he knows a thing or two about respect, unlike you.” Lacing your fingers tighter with Satoru’s. “So shove your mighty family up your wrinkly asses. I don’t give a flying shit.” 

Eyes wide, jaws dropped, the old couple opposite you finally seems stunned into silence. And if it was any other situation you could’ve almost laughed at how similar they looked to Satoru when he found out you thought his proposal was a prank.

His father adjusts his glasses. “Perhaps that is so.”

Ah, if only the rest of the table would be quietened just as easily. 

“Not only is she a slut she’s a-”

Thud!

It all happens so fast you’re not even sure if your eyes are playing tricks on you. Because in a split-second, the knife that was at your side is suddenly embedded, deep into the wooden table - barely even an inch away from the elder that had spoken up. 

“You’re lucky I’m matching with my wife n’ didn’t want to dirty this new yukata.” a voice sounds from your side. Melodic and so so eerie that you don’t realize for a second that it’s Satoru - your Satoru. 

He loops an arm under your legs as he stands up. Easily maneuvering you into a princess carry, forcing you to cling onto his robes for dear life as your feet dangle from the floor. You look up - maybe to snap at Satoru to put you down - only for the words to die in your throat at how absolutely fucking feral your husband looked. Eyes wide, aura menacing. A grin gracing his features, not the familiar one which had your heart racing, no - something so dangerous and cold. 

“Now,” he hums. Turning his back to the room, gaze still locked with the shocked heads inside, “My lovely wife and I will be retiring. Won’t you all say goodnight to your future madam?”

You don’t know what shocks you more - the way everyone in that room mumbles out a disdainful little “Goodnight, ma’am.”, or the way Satoru cackles as he carries you to your shared bedroom. Laying you gently on the mattress with a quiet, “Be right back, sweetheart.”

What the fuck happened?

He could’ve killed that man. And looked like he wanted to. 

Your brain yells at you - run away run away run away- But you weren’t…scared? In fact, you don’t think you’ve ever been less fearful in your entire life. Especially not when Satoru stumbles back into the room, clearly rushing. Something warm spreading in your chest at the trays of food in his hands.

“Dinner’s better without a bunch of fossils on my kill list.” he grins. Settling right next to you on the bed, setting out the dinner he’d brought for you. And, well, you didn’t doubt that they really were on his kill list. 

“Hey, wifey.” Satoru speaks up after a few moments of silence, satisfied with the food laid in front of you. “M’sorry for putting you through that. No more family dinners from now.”

You inch closer to lay your head on his sculpted shoulder, a hand bringing up the food to his pretty lips. He smelled so good, faintly like pine, and clouds. It made you so dizzy. “Eat, Satoru.”

That’s all which is said, because maybe that’s all that was needed. And for a second there, you almost forget that this is all pretend.

---

“Hey, uh- mister. You alright?” you call out, voice barely audible over the rain. 

The sullen figure didn’t react at first, soaked through and eyes trained on the ground. Unmoving, even when you hesitantly drew closer, umbrella quivering in your hands. 

You should turn around - walk away like everyone else on the sidewalk was doing. But no, something about the way he sat alone, stoic to the storm around him made you inch closer. “Here.” you hold out your umbrella. “S’our diner’s, but you look like you could use this more than I do.”

He jolts, as if hearing you for the first time. A flash of blue, so quick you almost think you miss it. Still not raising his head fully, the man’s snowy hair tousles as he jerkily closes around the handle. Pretty. And so so sad.

“It’ll be alright.” you nod. 

And with that, you turn, running back in the rain to the haven of the diner, where your father was waiting impatiently - he’d just bought the boxes to start packing up for relocation. Fingers still burning ever-so-slightly where his hand had brushed against yours. How strange, you wondered his name.

---

Satoru stayed true to his word over the weeks that followed. His parents seemed well and fully intent on avoiding you. And, well, other than a few disdainful remarks, the elders mostly scurried away in fear at your very sight. 

The only thing that made your skin prickle was that the housekeepers had a penchant for peeping in on the two of you. Increasingly following you - they always did, but now…honestly, it was a bit disconcerting. 

But other than that, it was almost…peaceful. You wake up every morning to a large bouquet of burgundy roses at your bedside table - and a husband. Because Satoru had taken to sleeping on the little couch at the corner of your room every night - saying something about not wanting to rouse suspicion because if he actually had a wife he’d be “taking her to bed every night”. Somehow, you didn’t doubt it. 

“Funny how it’s getting close to a month of being married, but you haven’t even kissed me yet.” you deadpan. Looking down at where he was resting his head in your lap, sprawled across the soft grass in the garden.

Something else also happened - something different.

Because Satoru was a bit touchier, a bit closer. Like right now, preening into your fingers carding through his soft hair. “Oh~? Why, wanna take me to bed, wifey?”

“You wish.”

“Maybe I do.”

Your hands still, pulse racing as your eyes bore into Satoru’s, trying to figure out what sort of bad joke this was. Subconsciously, you find yourself leaning down closer - too closer. Close enough that you could count every shade of blue in his hungry gaze. But by the grace of whoever was above-

“Young master, please excuse the intrusion but you have-”

Sitting up abruptly, addressing the newcomer in a stone-cold tone. “How many fuckin’ times have I not told you to never bother me when I’m with my wife?”

The servant bows apologetically, sputtering out apologies as you move to get up. Flashing a smirk at Satoru’s dramatic pout, “I have to catch up on some reading anyway. See ya, Satoru.” 

“Noo~ my sweetheart don’t leave me~” 

You stifle a laugh at his little tantrum, so different from when he was serious. He was so….dizzying. “You’ll be okay, Satoru.” Glancing up nervously to meet the servant’s intense stare, studying the scene before him, how different his master was. “I’ll be at the library now.”

And Satoru notices - of course, he does. He sees that tiny flash of concern in your eyes. One that you might not have noticed yourself. He lowers his voice as you walk away, so you don’t hear him speaking behind you. Words dripping with a similar venom he always heard from his parents, “Now, tell me who you’re spying for. Names, first and last.” 

Satoru doesn’t join you in the library that day, the first time in weeks. And you find yourself missing him more than you should. It’s dark out by the time you’re raising your head from the books, joints aching from poring over them for hours. The house seems a lot quieter. Somewhat bigger. 

Something was wrong. Something was wrong. Something was wrong. 

Scratching the back of your head, you wander through the wooden hallways to your bedroom - wondering what was amiss. Your feet take you there as if on autopilot, thankful for Satoru’s meticulous tours. 

“Hey,” you smile softly at a servant making your bed, “Where are-”

Your question dies in your throat at the way she yelps at your words, hurrying down the corridor with a jerky bow. Weird. Leaving you all alone, and confused, muttering to yourself, it’s only then that you notice the flash of red by your bedside table. 

Not a bouquet. Only a single, red rose - a note tied around the stem, something you’d never gotten before. 

“The marriage proposals have been revoked, your contract is fulfilled, my ex-wife.”

Oh, reading that hurt more than it should’ve. You should be happy at being free, a few days earlier than expected at that - but it was over - just like that. You didn’t want to leave him. You didn’t want to leave him.You didn’t want to leave him.

 Were you going insane?

Clutching the flower like a lifeline, heaving out a sigh, “Maybe Satoru knows…”

“Thinking of me?”

Startled, you whirl behind to face your husband. In the dim-lighting, making out the stoney expression on his face, eyes wide and a little duller than they had been earlier today. 

“Satoru?”

His eyes light up at the mere sound of your voice - then you’re engulfed in him. Wrapping you in his arms, bowing his body into yours, so tight that it almost hurts. But you let him, fisting the fresh yukata in your hands - and that’s when you realize, he’s changed his robes since this morning. “Are you okay?” you whisper into his shoulder. Drinking in the smell of his cologne, and something faintly metallic. 

Every cell in your body is screaming at you to take the opportunity - to run away from this yakuza and his slaughter and whatever this was. But how could you? Staying rooted to the spot, not even a speck of fear.

Satoru heaves out a heavy breath, tickling the hairs at your nape as he pulls you impossibly closer. “Those nosy elders won’t be bothering you anymore, sweetheart. You’re free to go.”

A shudder runs down your spine at his words, and you didn’t want to think too hard about what they meant. Instead, you guide him to your bed - and, surprisingly, he allows you to. Letting the two of you sink into the plush mattress. With Satoru still in your arms. He repeats, “You’re free to go.”

Run away. Run away. Run away-

There it was again - that strained little manta. You stare right into his eyes, voice thick at the sinking feeling in your stomach. “My 30 days aren’t over yet.” 

“Leave. Please.” he grunts into the crook of your neck, like your hands drawing patterns down his back had broken some dam. “M’not a good man.” 

You press your lips to his forehead, searing and a desperate attempt to soothe the man. “I think I’ll be the judge of that.”

“I’m yakuza, sweetheart. Doomed to follow my parents here.” he mutters, strained and voice more unsure than you’ve ever heard. And once he started, it was like Satoru just couldn’t stop, rambling into your skin, “I hate it here, and you should, too. All these fuckin-”

“So go with me instead.”

“What if-”

“Toru.‘ you cut off his words, slurring and spilling out of his mouth. Gently, you pry him away from his little haven, reeling back to take a good look at the face he’s been hiding for so long. Hair mussed, curtaining his whirling eyes - all disheveled and vulnerable where he was once so suave. 

Your eyes bore into his, unwavering. “It’ll be alright, Toru.”

And then he’s kissing you - and you’re kissing him. Only when his lips meet yours, soft, and so so sweet, do you realize that this is everything you ever want right now - possibly these past few weeks. “Y’can kill me if you don’ want his.” he mutters into your open mouth.  

It’s so desperate - a messy clash of teeth and saliva, Satoru was drinking you in like you were the last drop of water on Earth. He tasted so sweet, like candy almost, and the gentle caress of a lover. You were addicted like you could do this forever and ever and-

And then he’s pulling away. A disappointed little whine leaves you involuntarily as he parts, delicate strings of saliva snapping in the space between you two. Satoru’s mouth drops into a soft oh! at the noise, surging forward minutely like he was about to kiss you senseless again. Only to halt with a pained grunt, just a hair’s breadth from your lips. 

“M’sorry.” Claiming your lips once again, like a man possessed. Drinking in your breathless gasps. Like he never wanted to let go. “F-fuck, sweetheart. Y’don’t know how crazy you drive me.” he pants.

“Why did you pick me?” you blurt out, a question that had been nagging at the back of your mind every time Satoru slipped his hand in yours, introducing you as his loving wife. “Was it just the debt?”

He’s kissing your pulse now, canines hovering over the erratic little cadence. Breathing you in like you were intoxicating. “No.” he’s licking a long, languid stripe up your neck. Pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses down every inch of skin he could reach. 

“Then why?” your words come out in almost an embarrassing plea. But by the way his breath hitches, you know that Satoru loves it. 

“Because.” he breathes, “You treated me like a human.”

He’s capturing your lips with his again, nipping at your bottom lips. You squeal as he pulls, suddenly wanting him to tease you like this everywhere. To have him absolutely ruin you like you know he could - treat you like the wife he claimed you were. 

But Satoru wasn’t done yet - far from it. He chuckles, kissing down your neck, fumbling with the ties of your yukata, “Remember that night? You probably don’t, was rainin’ so hard I thought I’d drown out there.” Worshiping the valley between your breasts as he hastily unbuckles your bra. “That night was when the marriage proposals had come in. They said I’d either carry the legacy or be forced to leave the family. Kicked out of my own home.” 

And you’re reeling from both his words and the way Satoru was rocking his hips into yours now, something hot, and so achingly hard pressing in the damp area between your legs. “Thought I was gonna take ‘em all out that night.”

“Take them all out?” your breath hitches.

“Every. Single. One.” Fingers dancing across the hem of your panties. “Wouldn’t have felt bad about it either.” 

Satoru’s licking down your navel now, humming in confirmation into your skin. “But then…” he groans, taking in the first fucking sinful sight of your drenched panties. So flimsy and already dripping for him - and after just a few kisses, really? You were heaven on Earth. “But then along came you. So pretty and all worried f’me. The daughter of that diner owner I’d loaned money too.”

You watch, heart racing as Satoru swallows in awe. Darkened gaze locked on the way your slick beads out of your pussy, bare thighs trying to close - give yourself some semblance of dignity. But no- how could you? When Satoru’s holding them apart.

“And then I knew…” he’s sliding his index underneath your panties up and down, grazing your swollen folds. Pooling your sweet sweet juices on his fingertip before popping it into his mouth. Eyes fluttering shut at the taste, and you’ve never seen him look so blissful. “I just had to have you.”

Rip! 

The cold air brushes against you before you even know it - only when you feel Satoru’s hot breath against your dripping cunt does it hit - this bastard just ripped your panties off. And he was dangling it like a badge of honor, breathing in your juices so animalistically. 

Your lips wobble as he just admires your pussy, the way it glistens and clenches around nothing. “Hah- please.”

“Please what?” he grins, and you can feel him licking little circles around your inner thigh. So close. “The wife of a yakuza boss has gotta know how to use her words.”

“You’re awful.”

“And yet you married me.”

With such a cute lil’ whine that makes Satoru’s cock twitch so painfully, you buck your hips closer to his hot mouth. “Wan’ your mouth on me, to eat me out. Please, Toru.”

He lets out a shuddering breath, “There’s my girl.”

You gasp when he surges forward, burying his pretty face nose-deep in your pussy. Holding your breath as he lazily licks up your folds - long, sloppy movements of his tongue all the way from your base to your swollen clit. Swirling deftly around the sensitive nub. 

Drunk off your pussy with the way he’s so messy - seemingly unable to decide between sucking harshly on your poor, ravaged clit to dipping into your sloppy hole. And it’s driving you mad, keening and pulling at his soft locks. You haven’t been touched this good in ages, and Satoru was well and fully intent on ruining you. 

“Shhh, don’t worry, wifey.” words muffled into your cunt, “Your husband’s gonna take care of you.” He’s throwing your legs over his broad shoulders.

“Real good care of you.” Then he’s plunging knuckle-deep in your plushy pussy, the tips of his long fingers massaging your plushy walls. Messy enough that your slick is trailing down his wrist. Roaming for that one spot he knows will have you moaning deliciously. Pressing down, hard.  “Found it. Gonna have you screamin’ my name til’ the entire estate hears.”

You tug on his hair, urging Satoru’s mouth towards your cunt - partially because you wanted him there, partially because you really needed him to shut up right now. 

And shit how could he ever say no to his pretty wife?

Satoru is grinning, you can feel it on your throbbing clit as he wraps his pretty pink lips around it. Pumping his fingers in and out, hitting that little spot each and every time. Looking like he was absolutely in heaven as he rolls and swirls his tongue against your clit over and over and-

“Sh-shit. Toru-”

“Mmm, yes- fuck, love it when you call me that.” he groans. And oh he’s looking at you like he wants to devour you - eyes half-lidded, such a pretty blush disting his cheeks - and making out with your pussy just as much. Tilting his head back, back, back so that your juices slide down his throat. “Feels good? Ya like when m’ruining your pretty pussy?”

“Yes!” you squirm. Shaking, bucking your hips into his touch so desperately. “Wanted it s’bad.” 

He’s becoming frenzied now, drinking in your cute little whimpers like he was addicted. But it wasn’t enough - it never was and fuck Satoru wanted more more more-

“Move your hips, yeah- jus’ like that.” Satoru’s grunting and smacking his lips against your own. Letting you pull and angle him just as you please. 

“Gonna be the best fuckin’ husband you’ll ever have. N’ anyone that says otherwise, m’gonna fuckin’ kill.” The vibrations have your body jerking violently. “Make you cum harder than y’ever have. C’mon, say yes.”

And with that, he’s alternating between lapping at your clit and bullying his tongue through your swollen folds. Stretching you, thrusting in and out of your sloppy hole. Jaw grinding deeper into you as he eats you out like his last meal. “Ngh- fuck, yes yes yes-”

“Beg for it, beg for your husband.”

“Wanna cum- Ah! Please, wanna cum, Toru.”

One hand so messy toying with your dripping entrance - not having the patience or the sanity to even draw circles anymore. Just quick, hurried patterns to get you off. The other digging into your hips, so hard you were sure it’d leave marks for tomorrow. Making you drag your sloppy pussy senselessly all over his mouth. Using him. 

“Hngh- Toru! Ah- fuck fuck Toru Toru T-”  You’re shaking - crying out as you cum. A guttural, strangled moan of your husband’s name. So violent, and hard that you don’t even realize at first. Just that you’re rocking your hips into Satoru, white-hot pleasure behind your eyes, blood roaring in your ears.

And he doesn’t stop - not even once. If you were in any better state of mind you’d wonder whether it hurt - whether his fingers were cramping up, and his tongue was tired. If they were, he didn’t show, only letting you chase your high as roughly as you want. 

Greedily lapping up all your juices. Even when you’re blinking your vision back, chest heaving as you try to regain our breath. “S-Satoru.” you mewl, stars behind your eyes with each flick of his tongue. 

“Jus’ a bit more. Wanna taste all of you.”

You weren’t going to make it out alive.

Big, fat tears pricking at your eyes from the overstimulation as Satoru finally rises from what you almost worried would be his favorite seat. “All done. Now, keep that pretty lil’ cunt on display f’me, my girl.”

And your cunt is clenching in- fear? Anticipation? As your husband finally unties his yukata, letting it slide off those milky, toned shoulders. And shit he was such a fucking masterpiece. The dim-lighting bouncing off every curve and dip of those carved abs. Delicate swirls of his tattoo inching from his collarbone, down, down, down, hugging Satoru in a way that made you so half-lucidly jealous. All the way till the last inky thorn meets the neat tufts of white hair peeking up from the hem of his underwear. 

“Touch me.” he groans into your ear. The words barely leave those pretty lips before your hands are everywhere. Dancing down his tattoo, groping at this pecs - too much to worship, not enough time. 

“Toru…” you trail off, hand reaching out to brush his waistband. Tugging just enough that his throbbing cock springs out, hitting his sculpted abdomen. Red, and so so angry, fat tip weeping down his length, already so soaked in precum. He was so intimidatingly long - longer than anyone else you’d had before. Thick enough that you wondered whether you’d hurt yourself. 

And he sees right through you.

“Now now, none of that.” he tuts, pushing your bare thighs as far apart as they’d go. He spreads your cunt so shamefully with his thumb. Spitting once, twice. Some of it splatter against your thigh as Satoru mixes his saliva with your slick. “Don’t worry, wifey, m’gonna make it feel good for ya.”

You flinch as he uses you like some object. Dangerously liking it more and more as he drags his fat head down your folds. Wetting himself, all the preparation he was going to give you because fuck Satoru needed to be inside your pretty lil’ pussy right now. 

Then you feel like you’re being split apart - as if Satoru’s cock was pushing all the way to your lungs as he presses through the first ring of muscle.

“Ah! Ngh- Toru, s’too big!” you yelp, eyes locked on the way your lips were stretched so lewdly around his tip. Clamping and quivering as he keeps pushing in, inch by fucking inch. No mercy. Absolutely none at all. 

And while he sounded like he was on cloud nine, you were having your head spin, torn between wanting to run away from his massive cock and just push yourself down for more more more. His lips claim yours - absolutely animalistic because God he needed to shut up your pretty whines or else Satoru was going to cum right here right now.

“Breathe, sweetheart, breath. Ngh- You can take it.” Satoru pants into your mouth, fucking into you in mindless, shallow little thrusts just to fit inside your snug cunt. Sounding like he was losing his sanity each time your heavenly walls milked him. “So fuckin’ tight. Jus’ relax f’me. Oh yeah, jus’ like that. You can take it you can-”

You gasp for air when he finally bottoms out inside you, tears streaming down your face and clawing at his back. 

Satoru only coos, letting you mark him up all you want. Pace increasing relentlessly, “Aww, my good lil’ wife. Taking me so well, huh?” Starting to rock his hips just a bit faster into yours, “Always knew y’would.” 

“Can y’feel me, right-.” Balls smacking against your ass, his finger tracing an invisible line halfway down your tummy. “-here?” Thumb stroking where he could feel himself bulging inside you, pressing down. Hard. 

You almost sob at the pressure, jolting - you should’ve expected that the yakuza boss would fuck so mean.

And shit you can just do nothing but take it, hips jerking wildly as Satoru pounds into you with reckless abandon. Clutching at his shoulders, the sheets, his hair - just anything. 

“C’mon~ Don’t run away from me,” he grunts, strained like he’s struggling to maintain restraint. Lacing his fingers on top of your head to slide you impossibly deeper onto his cock. “Jus’ fuckin’ got you, so don’t you dare run away.”

You can only nod. Eyes glazed, cockdrunk and letting him thrust so sloppily. “Won’t run away Toru…” you babble, “Wan’ you to make me yours.”

“Mine? Gonna be all mine?”

“All yours, Toru.”

And maybe you were an idiot, maybe you were a mastermind - because with a choked out little moan of what sounded like your name, Satoru’s pulling you both to sit up. The gravity makes you bury his cock deeper and faster into your tight pussy.

With the new angle, your husband’s hitting all the right spots easily, almost as if he knew your body better than you did. Veins rubbing so deliciously against your walls, shifting around your hips to fuck up into that poor, abused spot. 

“Ya like this, huh?” he groans, fingers now toying with your ravaged clit. Rolling it around harshly between two fingers. “Always knew this cute pussy could take me s’well. Just didn’t know it would feel this fucking heavenly.”

Faster, sloppier. Bouncing you on his rock-hard cock  like he was claiming you from the inside. So, so desperate and debauched.

And exactly where you wanted to be. 

You leave delicate pink bites down this pale neck, alongside those roses - marking him in your own way as you edge closer and closer. It was too much. Everything was too much. 

“Toru-” you sob. And he already knew what that meant. With how your voice breaks so adorably and the way you’re clenching around him hard enough that it’s almost difficult to ruin that cute pussy. 

“Close?” 

“Mhm…”

“Well then.” thrusts getting sloppy, with no reason or rhythm now. Grip on your body tightening like a vice. “Cum f’me like a good lil’ wife, then.”

And that makes you throw your head back in ecstasy - it makes you cum. Thighs quivering, jolts of electricity running down all the way from your overstimulated cunt to your hazy mind. It has you chanting Satoru’s name like a lifeline while his teeth dig into your flesh. Hard enough that you distinctly wondered whether he was out for blood.

Letting out low, muffled moans into your neck while he cums as well. Hot ropes of seed filling up your poor, bloated pussy, painting your walls such a sinful white. Cumming and cumming so hard you wondered whether you’d make it out alive.

And because of the obscene position, you could feel the way it dribbled down your legs. Thick globs landing in a pool on the overpriced sheets below, smearing so lewdly between you two. Hips still fucking up into you - not even thinking about it as he pushes his seed deeper and deeper. 

You managed to raise your eyes, still dazed to meet his - exhausted, and dark with lust and something else that you really weren’t in the right mind to decipher right now. 

And then Satoru’s lips find yours again, biting and tugging lazily. Tasting so unfairly of candy and sweet, sweet trouble. Body melting into you like all the worries have been lifted from his shoulders. He’s looping his arms tighter around your waist, crushing you into an almost-painful hug against him. 

Something soft. Something new. Something that makes a little part of your heart twinge to break the kiss and pull away mere millimeters. “We better not divorce after this.”

“Of course not.” He chuckles into your lips, resting his forehead against yours like he was trying to map the constellations in your eyes. “I haven’t even given you my wedding gift yet.”

Smirking, you lock your legs tighter around Satoru’s toned waist as he lets the two of you fall back into the mattress. Sinking into it - and each other - with both exhaustion and something of a quiet, unspoken little fondness. Batting your lashes up at him, “Mhm, I remember someone talking about giving me four mercedes as a wedding gift and I’m leaving if not.”

“Well then, better get to it. Four for my in-laws to get on their good side, too,” he nuzzles the bite mark on your neck. “Because I plan to stay like this for a long, long time.”

A/N. Plagiarism not authorized.

[frogmisc]

LEAVING AFTER AN ARUGMENT. . . you leave for an unrelated reason after an argument and he panics lads & f! reader

( I. ) first time writing for these guys kinda nervous eeeeeek ALSO what nicknames are we calling the boys? like is it baby, honey, or what cuz sometimes i wanna write dialogue for reader when she calls him and it's not his actual name if that makes any sense? lol

( II. ) send any lads reqs if you want ! i can't guarantee i'll get to them, but i'll try :)

. . .

it seemed like all you did was argue lately. tensions were high as both your schedules clashed, leaving no time for any meaningful connection. he was busy with work, irritated beyond belief as his colleagues continued to piss him off; you were drowning in missions, sorely overdue for some time off. everything you did annoyed him, and everything he did annoyed you.

you came out the shower, clad in your pajamas. you applied some lip balm while your eyes drifted to where he sat in the living room. despite your own exhaustion, you could tell he was stressed and wanted to offer some comfort. but after just one question of are you okay—

"for the last time, don't worry about it." he snapped, his jaw clenching as he attempted to retain control on his emotions.

your eyes narrowed at his tone, swallowing the hurt stuck in your throat as you carefully chose your next words. "i only want to help you—"

"well, you're not. in fact, you're making things worse."

your mouth opened... then closed. you stepped back, shaking your head at the audacity, emotionally clocking out of the conversation.

"right." you muttered, grabbing your phone and keys before snatching your coat off the rack impatiently.

he was so consumed in his own problems and how he would fix them that he hadn't noticed the uneasy silence that followed. he looked up, his discerning gaze scanning his surroundings. he caught the slam of the front door, blood draining from his face. he'd done it now.

🍎 CALEB

"...pips?" he asked the empty room, his voice quiet as if hoping to attract wildlife. the couch creaked as he stood slowly, his heart racing erratically in his chest. "hello?"

when he was met with no response, he ran over to the door. his throat constricted when he didn’t see your shoes next to his. shit. he shouldn't have said that. he groaned and ran his hands over his face. he really shouldn't have said that.

"makin' things worse? really, caleb?" he mumbled to himself in disbelief.

though his hand flew to the door handle, he hesitated to turn it. his thumb tapped on the handle anxiously. stupid, stupid, stupid. every fiber of his being ached to run after you, scoop you up into his arms, and take you back home where you belonged.

a part of him was scared—what if he ran after you and you finally told him to go away for good? he wouldn't do that in a million years, of course, but... he didn't want you to hate him, whatever the reason was. especially if it was his own doing. he couldn't live without you, and the empty house he stood in was a painful reminder.

he thought back to all the times he's brushed you off for work recently, leaving you in his flat with a placating kiss to your cheek. he didn't expect the fleet to demand so much of his attention, and now both of you were suffering for it.

caleb cursed under his breath and shoved his feet into his shoes, ripping the door open and sprinting down the street. he called your name, spinning around on the road to cover his bases, searching for any rustle, scent, or noise that would lead him to you.

"caleb, what are you doing?" you sighed from behind him.

he straightened up and turned, his hopes refusing to sink even after seeing the glare on your face. you just looked so cute in your pajamas and puffy jacket. he frowned, a new wave of guilt washing over him.

"get out of the road, please? and put on a shirt if you're outside—" your lecture was cut short as caleb hugged you tight, worming his warm hands under the wings of your coat and clothes "...what is up with you?" you asked softly, returning the embrace.

he squeezed you tight, savoring the feeling of your skin under his fingers. "i thought you left."

"i mean, i did. i just forgot my headphones in my car—"

"you scared me," he whispered into your neck.

an unbelieving laugh bubbled out of you, put off by his strong reaction. "what—did you think i left left?"

"yes." he whined, standing back and tilting your head up to face him. "you don't ever make things worse, princess. i don't know why i said that—"

"caleb."

"no, you're the only good thing i have left and i—" he choked up, his eyelids squeezing shut. "you don't deserve that. i love you, you know that right? i love you."

"i love you, too." you gripped his wrist, bringing him back down. "our lives aren't easy, and i don't expect you to be perfect all the time. we're both going to get to stressed and maybe annoyed with each other, but... i don't want us to grow apart because of it."

"no, never." he gripped your face with both hands, holding you firmly as if he were trying to communicate his pledge into your skull. "i'll never lash out like that again, pips, i promise. i know you were just trying to help—i'm so sorry." he peppered kisses all over your face until you wriggled out of his arms.

you extended your pinky, an expectant look on your face. he smiled gratefully and hooked his pinky with yours, allowing you to string him along back to bed and into your arms, where he belonged.

SYLUS

he checked the cameras surrounding his home, watching you storm down the pathway to your car. his heart thumped when the car door slammed shut, and he turned off the camera feed to save his thoughts from running wild.

he rose calmly from his chair, abandoning his drink and phone as he paced. ...he shouldn't have snapped at you. your look of hurt and betrayal was seared into his mind. the echo of you persisted even as he closed his eyes. i only want to help.

sylus debated enlisting the help of luke and kieran to keep an eye on you. he didn't want to pressure you to return home if you were upset with him, but he also wanted to be the one to comfort you... for a slight of his own doing... hm. what a paradoxical feeling.

his work required much of his time and effort, as did yours. of course the N109 zone had to act up when you finally found the time to spend the night. his stomach twisted with disappointment. what kind of man was he to put work over the most precious treasure of his life?

sylus gritted his teeth, grabbing his robe and tying it on before racing out the door. his motorcycle buzzed to life as he approached. mounting it with ease, he pulled up the map on his phone to check—

"where are you going at this hour?" you cast him a sideways look, judgement written all over your features.

...perhaps he should have checked the garage cameras before rushing outside with the intent of chasing your car down.

for once, his expression did not reflect his usual collected demeanor. "i... i thought you had left."

you held up your headphones. "forgot these in the car."

"i see." sylus cleared his throat, turning off his bike's engine. he swallowed thicky, choosing his words carefully as he had failed to do earlier. "i didn't mean what i said, kitten. making things worse is something you are not capable of."

you waved him off, turning to retire to bed. he frowned, hopping off his motorcycle and catching your hand, halting your withdrawal.

"i'm tired, sylus." you sighed, rubbing your eyes with the back of your hand.

of me? he thought in a panic, his throat suddenly bone-dry. sylus always had something to say, but in this moment, nothing he came up with seemed right. "what i said was in error. i never want to hurt you, so for tonight, i deeply apologize."

"sy..." you quirked an amused smile up, and his brows furrowed in confusion. "i am really tired. and i imagine you are, too. we're both high-strung, and you're not going to be perfect all the time."

"you deserve nothing less," he argued with a firm shake of his head. his hands rested on your waist, rubbing soothing circles into your skin.

"you demonstrate that to me everyday, but i don't expect that of you all the time. you're human." your hand lifted to hold his cheek, thumb brushing over his skin after he leaned into your touch. "but when we fall short, i don't want us to take it out on each other."

his hand covered yours, pressing a kiss to your palm regretfully. "...i know, sweetie. i'm sorry. i love you, and seeing you walk out today reminded me that you mean the world to me. i would sooner abandon my work than push you away."

"i love you, too." you smiled and he brought you closer to his chest, hugging you as though he were afraid you would disappear.

when the night breeze made you shiver, he lifted you in his arms and tumbled into bed with you, his work long forgotten the moment your soft giggles hit his ears.

RAFAYEL

rafayel didn't look up from his blank canvas after realizing you left, but painting was the last thing on his mind. his knee bobbed uncontrollably, his brush wagging between his fingers nervously.

why did he say that? he always had to have the last word, even when he didn't mean anything that left his mouth. he might as well have said get out, i don't need you, when the truth was the polar opposite.

he heard your car engine rumble to life and fear seized his chest. you weren't—you weren't leaving were you?

rafayel knew his attitude was a lot to deal with sometimes. getting snippy when you were both upset was a recipe for disaster, and he often envied your patience in those instances. he always wondered when you would finally get fed up with him though he never believed it would happen.

until it did, today.

you were one of the few that loved him as he was and he was not letting you go because he let his exhaustion screw everything up.

he let his tools clatter to the floor as he sprung to his feet, speeding to the driveway. he spotted your car and practically ran into it, slamming his hands against the driver's window.

huh? rafayel peered inside but the driver's seat was empty. weird, he swore he heard you scream...

the backseat window rolled down, your annoyed head popping out soon after. "what are you doing?! you scared me!"

he scooted over to the back window sheepishly, his confusion apparent on his face. "what, uh... what are you doing?" he coughed to cover up his quivering voice, resting his arms on the door.

you bent over, searching under the seats. "i'm looking for my headphones. i'm pretty sure they rolled under here somewhere..."

his eyes darted to the front, seeing the dashboard lit and ready to go. "you turned the car on, so i thought..."

"i needed the lights. my phone wasn't enough." you explained hurriedly, then paused. you sat up and stared at him. "...you thought what?"

"i thought you left." he mumbled. rafayel's fingers rapped along the roof of your vehicle that it could've passed as rain. after a moment, he gave into his need to be close to you, opening the door and slipping into the backseat.

"you know i didn't mean it, right?" he began.

you glanced at him, shrugging. "i don't know. did you?"

"i didn't." he said indignantly, but his tone softened when he remembered his goal: apologize, not defend. "i would never mean something like that, cutie. i say stupid things when i'm backed into a corner. that's no excuse, though."

"yeah." you concede, sitting beside him. the soft melodies from the radio made the dip in the conversation less uncomfortable. "you really thought i was going to leave?"

he ran his hand through his hair nervously. "i thought you finally got tired of me."

"raf..." you frowned, your hand reaching to his. "we'll get tired of each other from time to time. it comes with being life partners—there's good days and bad days. doesn't mean we love each other any less."

you pulled his head into your shoulder and he didn't waste any time curling into you, clinging to you like his life depended on it. you could feel his racing heartbeat against your skin, but with every deep breath of your scent, it calmed down. little by little. his hair brushed against your cheek as he nuzzled impossibly closer.

"i know. but as your life partner, i should be making you happier. i'm sorry for losing sight of my top priority." he pressed an apologetic kiss to the crook of your neck. "i love you more than anything."

you smiled, stroking his fluffy hair. "i love you, too."

thomas found you two cuddled up in the backseat together the next morning.

ZAYNE

regret flooded him immediately. he let his head drop into his hands in disappointment, but his shame found him even as he closed his eyes. he didn't give himself time to wallow in self-pity—he got up, grabbed his jacket, and flew out the door after you.

he called your name just as he sees a flash of your pajamas turning around the corner into the garage. keys. he vaguely remembered the jingle of keys—did you intend to leave?

he burst into the garage after you, his breath short as he locked eyes with you over the hood of your car.

you raised an eyebrow but didn't stop moving. you were about to open the door when he grasped your arm, turning your body to face him. his grip fell from your biceps to your hands, lacing your fingers together pleadingly. you looked up in confusion—

"forgive me. i did not mean to snap. you were only trying to help, i know that—"

"zayne—"

"please, allow me to finish. i will never force you to do anything you do not wish to, but i promise i will never let my stress cloud my judgement in a way that makes you suffer. please don't go. i will—"

"zayne," your lips curved into a smile and zayne's brain had to buffer. "i'm not leaving."

he blinked, his eyes darting between you and your car. "but..."

you nodded to the center compartment through the window. "i left my headphones inside."

"oh."

your smile only grew as he released your hands, stepping back to allow you to open the door and retrieve your headphones. you pocketed your stuff and hooked arms with him, a gesture that weighed guilty upon his shoulders. he didn't deserve your affection after he lashed out at you, at least not so easily.

"i accept your apology." you hummed, leaning your head against his arm as he walked you back inside. "i wasn't mad, just... annoyed. we're both stressed out, and stuff like this will happen when we're both in bad moods. let's try not to make a habit of it."

"of course." he whispered. then, even quieter, "i don't deserve you."

you pursed your lips. "i don't like it when you talk down on yourself."

"i know," zayne murmured. "though it's hard not to when you... you make things so easy."

you smiled up at him. "loving you is easy."

his eyes communicated his gratitude, but the way he stopped in his tracks to embrace you said much more. i love you.

XAVIER

shit. xavier frowned, leaning back and peering through the window. he caught you walking down the street, dialing someone on your phone. when you spun around, he quickly let the curtains fall back into place. he didn't know what to do.

he was an idiot, that much he knew. xavier often got short when he was sleepy, but even more so when sleepy and stressed. he never meant to lash out at you, and normally he wouldn't, but... you just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. with the sorry state he was in, the next person that talked to him was going to be unfairly assailed.

his palms grew clammy as he caught your voice muffled through the glass. you sounded upset. he peeked outside again, watching you vent. he winced and sunk back into the couch, his mind racing—what does he do? what does he say?

next, he heard a car pulling up to the house. his heart dropped in panic—he whipped around, watching someone park right where you stood. you opened the door...

oh, no. xavier scrambled off the couch, running past his coat and shoes out the door. he called your name as he sprinted down the sidewalk.

"what're you doing, xav?" you gave him a look before you entered the car, keeping a foot on the pavement to stabilize yourself as you climbed inside.

"wait—!" xavier came to an abrupt stop behind you, ready to pull you out if he needed to.

"yeah, that's my boyfriend." you laughed softly to tara. your friend ducked her head to catch a glimpse of him through the open door and waved in greeting.

huh?

"he looks like he's seen a ghost." tara mirrored your odd look from earlier.

xavier shifted behind you.

"he's been out of it all week, you know... working pretty hard." you rifled for something in the backseat, exclaiming happily once you recovered your headphones. "thanks for coming all this way, i appreciate it. have fun on your vacation."

"of course, no problem. think about having one yourself, hm?" tara smiled, honking her car in farewell as she disappeared down the street.

"i—i thought—" xavier took deep breaths to calm himself. "i'm so sorry."

"you thought what?" you asked, stuffing your headphones in your pockets.

"that you were going to leave." he admitted, blue eyes filled with panic and worry. "i'm sorry for snapping at you, you didn't deserve it. you never deserve anything like that, it won't happen again."

you flattened your hand against his chest, feeling his racing heartbeat. "it's okay, xav—"

"it's not." xavier's eyes hardened, guilt welling up inside him. why were you being so forgiving?

"i trust you won't do it again. even you seem surprised by your outburst. this isn't you, and both of us know that." you continued calmly. "sometimes the stress gets to us. i get it."

he bowed his head, covering your hand with his own and squeezing it every so often to soothe his nerves. "you could never make things worse. i love you, so much."

you smiled. "i love you, too. let's sleep in? i'll call in if you will."

"yes, please." he groaned with relief, nodding. he intertwined your fingers, swinging your hands between you as you walked back home.

──── love, honey.

[444venicebitch444]

a/n: ty guys so much for all the love on my last post, i absolutely wasn’t expecting it. probably gonna write something about joel miller in the next few days. if you have requests, send away, ly!

simon riley who gets a new neighbour that won’t keep her fucking blinds closed. 

he'd seen the moving truck, a pretty bird thanking the movers and hadn’t thought much of it; he wasn’t one to make conversation with his neighbors, so he minded his own business. 

or at least he tried, but it was real fucking difficult when he could see through your windows at any god given moment.

at the beginning it wasn’t even intentional, he actually found himself getting annoyed at how exposed you were. did you have no fucking self preservation sense, letting anyone and everyone look into your house? christ, people these days.

but then the fascination creeped in and he couldn’t help but let his eyes travel to you. watching as you sat on the couch on your phone, watching tv, reading, whatever. 

he observed as you came home from work, talking on your phone way too loudly for his liking, or laughing like the girls he always found insufferable in school when your friends came over. 

after only a few weeks he put a name, and every other thing there was to know, to the pretty face. not like it was hard: you had your name on your mailbox, public social media profiles, and readily available professional and academic information on the first page of his google search.

simon knew it was weird, that he should stop watching, maybe mention your lack of blinds to you, but he couldn’t. not when he saw you undressing in a way that felt like you knew he was watching, like you were doing this on purpose, teasing him. 

he tried telling himself that this was a bloody mid-life crisis, that he was too bored after retiring and needed to pull his shit together, but it did little to quell his growing enchantment. 

so when he saw you struggling with your ground floor window, a rusted old thing he’d noticed quite a while ago, he exited his home withe the excuse of collecting his mail despite his mailbox being empty and shot a casual, gruff “everything all right?”

you were polite, sweet, assured him it was nothing, just the old house acting up, but he insisted. 

he pulled at the old wooden frame with big, calloused hands, your gaze inevitably slipping to his strong, ink covered bicep, the muscle flexing as the window finally budged.

he noticed your look, of course he did, and couldn’t suppress a tiny smirk as he stepped back, “there you go, love”.

you thanked him profusely, then introduced yourself, obtaining his name right back, and offered him a cup of tea, but simon wanted to take his time. he had to think with his head, not his cock, and make sure you were the right one before getting himself too invested.

so, despite every bone in his body wanting to do the opposite, he refused “maybe some other time”

“I’m holding you to that, simon” you smiled and the sound of his name dripping from your lips like the sweetest of honies almost made his knees buckle. 

after your interaction simon got more diligent, looking for anything wrong with you, anything to turn him away, to put a stop to this; but he couldn’t.

every bit of information he attained made him fall deeper, fed his growing love for you, validated the idea he had created in his head. you were bloody perfect for him.

so he did take you up on your offer of tea and biscuits, and showed up at your doorstep.  

the sight of you greeting him with a soft smile and wearing a pretty sundress almost had him throwing his self control out the window and just telling you how you were made to be his. but he resisted.

he was a little awkward, but in a strangely endearing way. he made you laugh (god, he would die a happy man if your laughter was the last thing he heard), and was respectful, polite. 

and obviously you found him attractive, you weren’t being exactly subtle: simon knew he wasn’t that funny and that there was absolutely no need for you to grab his arm as you giggled. 

simon held onto every touch, every laugh, every time his name left your mouth like a man starved, his chest warming at the realization that he might have a chance, that you might love him back if he made an effort.

and sure, he might’ve placed a tiny listening device under your coffee table while you made a second kettle of tea, but that was just because he wanted to understand you better. to know how to please you, how to make you happy.

the ego boost he go from it a few days later as he listened in on your phone call was just a bonus. he couldn’t help the smile that decorated his face as you ranted to you friend, “he’s, like, unbelievably hot, build like a fucking tank. and sweet too! i know fucking your neighbour isn’t a good idea but christ”.

so you could imagine his surprise when he saw you come out of a car that wasn’t yours, an arm that wasn’t his around your waist. when the wanker kissed you at your doorstep, practically eating your face off, his fists clenched, blunt nails leaving bloody crescent moons on his palm.

who the fuck was that bloke? what the fuck were you doing? didn’t you like him? hadn’t you said that-

simon took a deep breath. he needed to calm down. 

this wasn’t your fault, of course it wasn’t. you didn’t know how he felt, he hadn’t told you yet, how were you supposed to know?

you were his sweet, little bird, you’d never do anything to purposely hurt him. you weren’t like that.

so any ounce of anger towards you disappeared as soon as it appeared. that man, though?

the entire night, simon seethed. he’d closed his curtains but the image of him around you was burned on the front of his brain and he fantasised. fantasised about being the one driving you home, kissing you, pulling you upstairs, tasting you, burying himself into you as you screamed out his name. fantasised about crushing that man’s skull, cutting him up limb by limb, making him eat his own tongue, teaching him to keep it in his mouth instead of letting it slip into yours.

but simon wasn’t one to just steep in his fury, he did something about it. 

so in the morning, as soon as he saw you and the asshole go downstairs, he turned the volume up on the laptop hooked to the listening device as he got dressed.

the guy offered to make you breakfast, and simon’s eyes damn near fell from his skull at how fast they rolled.

“that’s…nice, but I have to go to work, micheal” your voice came out static-y from the old computer, but the annoyance in it was unmistakable. simon knew you didn’t work on saturdays and it made him grin: you didn’t even like the bloke, you just needed a shag. and while simon didn’t exactly approve the way about which you went about it (i mean, he was literally across the street, love), he could understand that.

had you thought of him while he fucked you? had you imagined his strong arms around you? his cleft lip against your plush ones?

simon realised something good had come out of your little hook up: it had given him a courage of sorts. you were his, not this man’s who he was sure hadn’t fucked you right, who certainly didn’t love you as much as he did, and who wasn’t even enjoyable enough to keep around for breakfast.

so that same afternoon, he knocked on your door, had another cuppa and finally asked you on a date, being met with the brightest smile you’d given him as of yet, and making you promptly forget about micheal.

which was good because simon really didn’t want you knowing about how micheal hadn’t shown up to work the next day and the police had found his car abandoned, specs of blood on the seat.

[purinfelix]

you're no good for me, but baby i want you - n. riki ✶⋆.˚

summary: after growing tired of his constant teasing you made up your mind not to give Niki anymore of your attention, but you should've known that he wouldn't let you go that easily - and is willing to go to desperate measures to get you just to look at him ──── delinquent Niki x class president reader || sfw but a little suggestive, kissing/making out, so much tension like so much, enemies to lovers sorta? || w/c: 2.7k

a/n: okay i'm trying to get better at writing longer fics/ones that actually have closure bc looking back i realise i kinda always leave u guys on cliffhangers LOLL - also i rlly tried to avoid making this too cliche given the trope i hope it worked !!! actually really like this one so i hope it doesn't flop rip

‘Bad boy’ felt too cliche - at least for your liking. You preferred to refer to Niki as what he was, a delinquent, a troublemaker, someone who skipped most of his classes and spent the rest dosing off or arguing with the teacher. But no matter what you called him you were sure of one thing, he pissed you off.

To be honest, you had absolutely no interest in the sorts of things a student like him got up to in his own time, but it was the fact that he insisted on dragging you into his business that irritated you the most. You weren’t sure why exactly he kept targeting you, maybe it was because he just wanted to mess with the class president or because you seemed like an easy target to him - whatever reason he had didn’t make it any less tiring though.

Skipping classes was one thing, but his constant breaches of uniform code meant that you were running out of warning slips - and patience. It didn’t help that whenever you did, he would only look you up and down with an amused smirk, brows raised as if daring you to continue telling him off - which only worked to make you stumble over your words.

That’s why you had made the decision to stop giving him anymore of your attention, and the most recent time you had seen him sporting his signature look - no blazer, dress shirt half unbuttoned and several silver earrings, you chose to ignore him. You simply walked past him in the hallway without so much as a passing glance, hoping it would tell him to stop wasting your time and causing trouble.

Little did you know, he would misinterpret your signs to mean the exact opposite.

The next morning when you were waiting at your desk you heard a wave of hushed murmurs coming from down the hall, and couldn’t help but feel partly responsible. A loud thud sent the classroom door flying open and a couple of his friends filed in with amused grins - and it was only when Niki followed them in did you see why. Not only had he gone and messily bleached parts of his jet black hair, but he now donned a piercing straight through his right eyebrow which, judging from the pink tinge surrounding it, was both brand new and self-made.

You were unable to stop your neck from craning as your eyes followed his figure, watching as he sauntered over to his desk in the back corner of the classroom, threw his books onto it and sat down. The expression on his face showed that he couldn’t care less about being there, but his eyes trained on you as if waiting for you to make a move.

You hated that he knew you so well, because before you knew it you were out of your seat and at the head of his desk, arms folded with a stern expression on your face. You can’t remember exactly what you said but it must’ve been harsh, and loud enough to summon the attention of almost the entire class, and your teacher who stormed into the classroom shortly after to tell the two of you off. It must’ve also been harsh enough to earn the two of you an after-school detention, which was your very first - though it clearly wasn’t Niki’s.

So that’s how the two of you had ended up alone, in an empty, hot classroom - waiting as the minutes of your detention ticked by agonisingly slowly. Irritated was an understatement. It was taking every ounce of self-control you had not to turn around and punch Niki right there and then. You kept your fuming to yourself, at least for now though, while you worked silently on an assignment, determined to at least make good use of being stuck here for the next hour or so - even if it meant spending it in a tense silence.

Niki didn’t seem to share the same sentiment, having sat himself in the chair right beside yours and kicked his feet up on the desk, twirling a pen in one hand as he hummed softly to himself. You were trying your best to ignore him, and he was trying his best to make that very difficult.

“What are you working on?” he asked curiously as he leaned in over your shoulder.

“Just an assignment,” you shot back curtly.

“Ah of course, what a goody-two shoes,” he scoffed as he sat back.

“Rather a goody-two shoes than a good-for-nothing delinquent,” you mumbled under your breath, though not quiet enough to escape his ears.

“A delinquent? Is that really what you think of me?” he asked in faux-offence, “I’m hurt.” You turned slightly, just enough to see the dramatic pout he had formed across his lips, his brows curving upwards and his piercing going with it.

“Whatever,” you huff, feeling both irritation and exhaustion rise in you, “it’s your fault we’re here in the first place anyways.”

“Oh yeah, my fault that you started a petty argument.”

“Your fault for dyeing your hair that stupid colour and getting that piece of metal jammed in your face!” You cry out, fully facing him now as you felt your face burning hot, “I mean seriously, all I did was ignore you once, and you go ahead and did something ridiculous like that?” Gesturing to his piercing and new hair, you can’t help but feel even more infuriated at the sight of his smirk which only grew as he watched you from half-lidded eyes.

“What makes you think I did it for you?” He asks teasingly, and you suddenly feel your bravado begin to crumble - he’s right, who are you to assume that?

“Well, I-” you stutter, but he interrupts you.

“Well maybe I did,” he laughs softly, “that depends on whether you like it or not.”

“That is so besides the point, Niki,” you whine, “it’s against uniform policy.”

“Oh c’mon, you think it’s a little cool,” he taunts, and you turn back around in your seat, chewing your bottom lip as you’re determined not to give him a response which you’re sure will only fuel his ego.

You sit in silence for a bit, and you can tell he’s watching you carefully in the way he leans in, keen eyes trained on your expression - almost as if he’s trying to figure out what you’re thinking. But that’s a challenge even you’re struggling with right now.

He’s the one to break the silence again. “I am sorry about getting you a detention though, that wasn’t what I meant to do.” You blink in disbelief because for the very first time, he sounds almost as if he really means what he’s saying.

“Is that an apology?” you say, gasping to show your surprise, though this quickly dissolved into a soft laugh.

“Yeah, yeah, don’t let it get to your head,” he sighs, “I just couldn’t sit here and watch you sulk for the next hour.”

You can’t help but smile to yourself, feeling the tension between the two of you melt away at his apology, just enough for you to want to keep talking to him - even if it means neglecting your homework, for now. Your eyes move over his face, his sharp jaw, his eyebrow piercing glinting under the warm classroom light.

“Did it hurt?”

It’s a stupid question, you know, but it’s the only thing you can think to ask as you fiddle nervously in your seat. If you’re being completely honest, you do think it’s cool, you’ve always thought his piercing were cool - and right now you want nothing more than to reach out and feel them for yourself. But your common sense stops you.

“Well, duh,” he scoffs, sitting back in his seat as his eyes fix on yours, “figured a smart-ass like you would’ve been able to guess that.”

“Just asking,” you grumble defensively, though your curiosity urges you to keep talking. “If it hurt, why’d you do it?”

“Well, you like it, don’t you?” He asks, “that’s all the reason I need.”

You’re tempted to tell him off again, but something about his tone catches you off guard - it’s oddly earnest, and he says it with such a simplicity that makes you really believe that maybe he’s telling the truth and you’re unable to find the resolve to spoil this moment

“Can I feel it?”

He’s almost as shocked by your request as you are, and even as it leaves your mouth you’re unsure entirely why you’re asking it. His eyes widen in a way that you can’t help but find a little cute, even as you’re struggling to process your own thoughts.

“Sure,” he replies, a little too quickly, almost as if he had been waiting for you to ask him that, but can’t believe you actually did. You turn in your chair to face him, your arms coming up awkwardly to bridge the distance between you both but it’s clear you’re still too far.

You’re about to lean forward more in your seat to reach him, until you notice his hand coming down to grip the leg of your chair and it isn’t until you feel yourself moving and hear the faint screech of the legs against the floor that you realise that he’s pulling it - pulling you closer to him.

Once you’re close enough he stops, though his hand doesn’t leave the back of your chair, instead resting there as if trapping you in with him as he leans down as that his face is level with yours. You try not to overthink the way your knees are touching, or how this is your first time seeing him this close and how he’s even better looking up close. Carefully, you bring your hand and pray that he doesn’t notice the way it trembles, as your thumb grazes his thick brow gently. Even though you wish he didn’t, he keeps his eyes open and you can feel the weight of his gaze on you as your fingers close around the small metal ball.

“It’s cold,” you mumble, not sure what else to say to fill the air between you two.

“It’s metal,” he says matter-of-factly, letting out a small laugh at your fascination with it.

“You didn’t need to to do this just to get my attention, you know,” your eyes focus on the piercing as you speak, unable to look him in the eyes when admitting something that feels like a confession.

“I had to get you to look at me somehow.” You’re again amazed at how he can say such earnest things with such a serious face, and even as you look away you know his eyes are on you.

“Most people would’ve just said hi or something, not put a brand new hole in their face,” you sigh, fingers moving to tuck a stray strand of bleached hair behind his ear.

“Well most people wouldn’t be here now with you touching their face, so by my standards my plan worked better.”

“Did that plan have to include getting me my first-ever detention?” You ask in annoyance, though you can’t help but laugh softly at his simplicity.

“Well, not at first,” he admits, “but at least we’re alone, hm?”

“Because you need me alone to talk to me?”

“No, because I need you alone to do this.”

You’re pretty sure if you weren’t already leaning towards him you would’ve fallen backwards from the forceful way his lips crash into yours - and if not from that then the sheer shock of just that. Luckily for you though, he already has an arm snaked around your waist, keeping a hold of you and pulling you closer.

It shocks you though that, despite the initial force, Niki’s kiss is gentle, almost as if he’s easing you into something he knows you’re struggling to accept. He’s experienced, that’s for sure, but you can tell in his movements that he’s holding back from pushing you any further.

You don’t even realise it but your hands are cupping his face, caressing his strong jawline and pulling him closer to you. You open your mouth to talk but the only noise that comes out is a breathy gasp and if you weren’t so caught up in the feeling of his hands in your hair you might’ve stopped to feel embarrassed about how desperate you sound for him right now.

“Niki,” you mumble against his lips, unsure of what to do as you feel your mind struggle to comprehend what’s happening.

“Want me to stop?” he says in between heavy breaths, and even though it sounds like a taunt you know him well enough to know he’s being serious.

You shake your head in response, but decide to have a little fun of your own while you can. “When have you ever cared what I want?”

“Oh, you have no clue,” he hums in a low whisper as he leans back in.

“And when have you ever listened to what I’ve told you to do?”

“You’re right about that,” he smirks, pressing his lips to yours again, this time with the reckless abandon you’ve come to expect from him - almost as if he was waiting for your permission to let go. You thought you would’ve felt a little predictable, pathetic even, for having fallen so easily into his trap and giving him much more than just your attention at this point. But from the way his hands roam your body, grasping for more of you as he whines against your lips you smile to yourself at the realisation that really, he’s the one who’s fallen into your trap.

This sense of control is what finally calms your mind, even if it still struggles with just how ‘wrong’ all of this sounds against how right his lips on yours feel. The sound of footsteps echoing down the hallway however forces you to tear yourself away from him, though his hands don’t leave your body as you strain to figure out who it might be.

“Shit, it’s the teacher,” you say under your breath, pulling away from him to smooth down your skirt. Niki clearly doesn’t care, but still lets out a soft sigh as he hangs his head, leaning back in his chair.

“Tomorrow,” you continue suddenly, “I want the eyebrow piercing and the bleached hair gone.” You know you’re being harsh, but you also know that, given what just happened, you can’t afford to be nice.

“Wh-” he says suddenly, looking at you in disbelief, “I thought you liked them though.”

“Doesn’t matter,” you say firmly, “they’re still breaking like ten different uniform rules.”

“Just when I thought I’d finally broken your guard down,” he groans.

“Well, they’ve served their purpose already, haven’t they?” you taunt lightly, bringing a hand up to swipe at your bottom lip which you can feel is a little plump from him biting it. His eyes watch attentively as you do, and he lets out a soft laugh followed by a nod in agreement.

“You’re right,” he exhales, “but now I’m thinking if I keep them in I might keep getting lucky.”

“Niki,” you sigh.

“I mean, maybe if I had a reward for following rules I might feel more motivated,” he hums, looking away as he feigns innocence.

You pause, thinking to yourself for just long enough. “I’ll be studying in the library after school, maybe if you do as I say I’ll let you join me.”

“Studying? That’s what we’re calling it now?”

“Take it or leave it.”

“I’ll be there,” he laughs, leaning back in his chair with a satisfied smile - one that you can’t help but share even as the same teacher who gave you both this detention comes in to tell you you’re free to go.

You watch as he swings his bag over one shoulder coolly, tossing you his signature smirk - only this time, it doesn’t just annoy you, it lingers, sticking to your thoughts in a way you don’t want to admit. Because you know you should be mad, you should roll your eyes and remind yourself that he’s still the same infuriating troublemaker. But as he walks away the only thing you find yourself wondering is if he’ll actually show up tomorrow, and worse, if a part of you wants him to.

[lacedcompulsion]

FLATLANDS

Hotch sends you and Spencer to Iowa to conduct a death row interview with an inmate. Thing is, there's not much to do in Iowa but fuck.

pairing: spencer reid x bau!reader

tags/warnings: 18+, wc: 5.9k, whew, smut, porn w plot, piv sex, unprotected sex, drunk sex, oral sex (both receiving), fingering, soft-dom spencer ish, biting, praise kink, this is so self-indulgent muahahaha, discussions of a case, but nothing too bad it's canon typical stuff, iowa hate idgaf!!, drinking/getting drunk, i think that's it!

notes: this is likeeee. one of my first times writing longer smut. also i did in fact say i would re-upload old re-worked fics before posting anything new but alas! i am a liar! here is something brand new! i spent like. 9 straight hours on this yesterday. and it is currently almost 8 am and i just spent all night finishing it up instead of sleeping. ALSO i am in fact a philosophy major (future barista moment) and my fics get soooo. philosophy-esque. like. every single time. i'm sorry... i am who i am.

If you had to remove one state from the contiguous union, it would be Iowa. 

You’re standing in a rusty hotel room, which, according to Hotch, is the best they could do to accommodate you. And Spencer. He’s one room over. Your feet vibrate against the rug. You tell yourself it’s the thought of him, one wall over — thinking, sitting, reading, whatever he’s doing — and not some rare kind of bacteria you’re going to catch from the stink of this place.

Hotch sent you and Reid here for a death row interview. One of the inmates, having spent the past seventeen years as a self-proclaimed monk, decided he was done with silence. He answered the bureau’s request for an interview in a letter addressed to Hotch’s desk, written in red ink. It’s your first prison interview — you usually wear the bad guys down before they’re locked away forever — but Spencer has done one or two, he said. You think it might be more.

You’d never been to Iowa, never had a case here. You’re not great with time off, even worse with real vacations. You don’t look out your window for fear the corn fields have gotten closer since you last peeked through the curtains. You swear you can see twenty miles out; the flatness makes it easy to mistake the horizon for something that never, ever ends. 

You’re picking at the skin of your fingernails, toes curled as they still rest but resist against the carpet, when there’s a knock at your door. You don’t check, because you’re not really fearful. It might make you a shitty FBI agent, but you doubt anyone is tracking you down in Iowa. (Iowa. It gets worse each time you think it.)

“Hi,” Spencer says, lips pulled flat. Flat. You think of fields. Corn. Emptiness. Your stomach churns then lurches when you think of your own bed in your own home in a state that has real hills and mountains and trees. 

“Hi.” 

“Thought you might want to look over the file before tomorrow?” He frames it like a question, and you offer a soft smile at his hesitancy before opening the door to let him in. He turns his body to the left to avoid making contact with you as he accepts the invitation and walks on through.

Your bed is still made, your suitcase resting on top of it. He scrunches his nose before recovering.

“I’m not a germaphobe, like someone we both know,” you mock.

“Maybe you should be.” You laugh. You’ve been his teammate for three years now, and it still gets you when he decides he can lighten up and make a joke.

He looks around, still awkward in the yellow tint of the hotel lamp, then decides to sit in the desk chair in the corner.

“You look so ominous,” you say, shaking your head as you pull the file out of the nightstand. 

“Why is your casefile in there?”

“Where do you keep yours?”

“I never put it away.”

“Checks out,” you say, raising your eyebrows and sitting criss-crossed on the edge of your bed, facing him.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Gary Foster,” you read off the top of the page, ignoring his bait. “Killed twenty-three women in his basement. His wife never knew.”

“Or claims she didn’t know,” Spencer corrects. 

“You think she did?”

He shrugs. “It doesn’t really matter what I think.”

You glance up at him to find him staring intently at the file in his hands. He’s gripping onto it like it’s all he knows. You store your observations away in your head under a tab titled Perhaps Ask Later. 

You’ve gone over this file a dozen times. It’s virtually seared into your memory. Still, you let him tack off the rest of the information to you, compile the intensive profile Hotch gave you into a bullet point list. 

“He’s gonna focus on me,” you say once he reaches a lull in speech.

“Because you’re a woman?” he confirms. You nod. “Maybe.”

You tap the file a few times with your fingers as a yawn creeps up your throat, threatening to escape. Spencer seems to get the hint before you even let it out. 

“We’ve got a long day tomorrow,” he says before standing. He takes a step forward before turning around and tucking the chair back into the desk. You smile at the politeness. “See you tomorrow?”

“Is that a question?” you tease as you lead him to the door. “I promise I won’t jump out of the window.”

“There’s not much out there.”

“No, there isn’t.” He fumbles with the key for the door across the hall. You wait for him to open it before you start to close yours, the way you would after driving a friend at home. “Night.”

“Night,” he says, though the latter half of the word is muffled by the shut of the door. 

The room is barren again. You open the curtains now that it’s nearing total darkness outside.

It takes six more hours for you to drift off into sleep.

– 

Your hand is immediately on your temple when you awake, rubbing at the budding headache you know will consume you once you get up. This is the punishment you get for allowing yourself only three hours of sleep.

The sunlight hits your bed in fluttering intervals of perfect warmth and scorching heat. This time, when the hindmost rolls around, you force yourself up and place your feet on the ground. You hold your tongue to refrain from releasing a long string of fucks and shits and realize your hand is still refusing to move from its spot rubbing circles in your face. When you make your way to the bathroom, you realize the bed is so hard you’ve left no indent. 

The sting of the shower is pelting, boiling enough that it feels purifying. After a night spent in sheets you’re sure dozens have sweat through, it’s more than welcome. The heat is the perfect substrate for the anticipatory dread of today’s interview. Speaking to monsters as if there’s a hint of human behind the stitching has never pulled at you in the right way. 

If anything, it’s slowly pulled you apart.

The outlet in your bathroom is broken so you’re forced to dry your hair sitting on the carpet of the room, right next to that window that stares out into nowhere. You feel itchy just sitting on it. You swear the fibers are pressing into your skin, merging with your skin. 

The file is open on the floor in front of you, and you use your thumb to wipe the water falling from your damp hair. The pages already begin to curdle like the feeling in your stomach. 

You put your hair in a ponytail, then worry it’s too sexual — because you’ve absorbed the profile and you know what earns a check on this guys list —- so you take it down and let it rest on your shoulders again. Your knees crack when you stand up and your hip tenses up like it might, too, when you slip your legs into your pants. 

There’s a knock on your door and you mutter fuck as you balance your time between finishing the rest of the buttons on your blouse and stumbling to the door.

“I need a couple minutes,” you say, before you say hello. You leave the door open as you retreat farther into the room. “You can wait in here.”

You squeeze your feet into your heels — half a size too small, and in your head you call the saleslady who insisted on that being necessary for this brand a word that would make your grandmother sour — and peripherally watch him step into the room, hands stuffed in his pockets. 

“You ready?” he asks. You can feel his eyes on your unmade bed. 

“Mhm.” You glance in the square mirror facing the bed and smooth out your clothes. 

“I mean for the interview,” he says after clearing his throat.

“My answer remains.”

“Cool.” He says it in the way that feels fraudulent, but is really just the way he speaks, you’ve come to realize.

“Are you ready?” you ask back, muffled by the file placed between your teeth as you fumble around your desk for your car keys and room card. You make eye contact with him as you head for the door.

“Don’t really have much of a choice, do I?”

“Stand up straight,” you say, holding the door open for him as you both step into the hallway.

“What?” he mutters. He does it anyway.

“He’s gonna zero in on you if you seem to lack confidence.”

“Right.”

It’s silence between you two in the hallway, the elevator, the lobby, and until you’re pulling out of the parking lot. There’s overgrown wheatgrass in the field to your left and plowed corn crop to your right. The furrows stretch on until the curve of the earth swallows them up.

The sky is dull, slate-colored, and bears striking resemblance to something that could wipe you clean. Grain silos whir by every couple of minutes. These people really own a lot of fucking land. Every few miles, a new one, along with a rusting tractor or collapsing barn or crop that looks about ready to dry up and blow away. It gets predictable after mile seven. 

The prison doesn’t appear so much as it settles into your vision. It’s low to the ground, sprawling, gray. A scar pressed into the ground. 

You feel like Spencer the way you’ve completely memorized the profile. You flash your badge at the gate, sign some kind of form and drive into a parking lot that feels as far from the prison as your hotel was.

Spencer lingers in the car two seconds after you get out. He’s nervous, and he’s trying not to show it. You don’t want to mention it, but you need to be on the same page, so you don’t stop your lips from unfurling.

“You’re doing that thing again.”

“What thing?”

“The anxious math,” you say. “You’re calculating the probability of saying the wrong thing before we even walk in.”

“That’s-” He seems to think better than arguing and redirects his sentence. “That’s not entirely inaccurate.”

You give him one of those closed lip smiles. “He’ll spot it in five seconds. He feeds on nerves like that. First, he’ll comment on your hands, because you fidget when you’re trying not to.”

“You sound like Hotch.”

You scoff out a half-laugh and choose to ignore the comment otherwise. “And he’ll ask how long you’ve known me. If we’re sleeping together. He won’t say it like that, of course. He’ll be crude. He wants to gauge what version of you shows up when you’re off-balance.”

“Why would that knock me off balance?” he asks. The hesitancy has stolen his tone again.

“You fluster easily.”

“Do I?”

“Mhm. You blink three times, touch your collar, and then deflect with statistics. You did it the first time I challenged you during a case.”

He tuts then holds the door of the prison open for you. “You’re profiling me.”

“Of course I am,” you say, then turn your head over your shoulder, waiting for him to walk back up beside you again. He’s close behind you, so close you can almost feel his breath on you. It makes you feel warm. “So will he.”

You greet two more guards inside before shaking hands with the warden. He thanks you for coming with that grim look on his face that everyone in this field seems to have permanently etched into the creases of their skin. The prison is colder inside than it has any right to be, as if the concrete has learned to hold onto every winter it’s ever survived. 

“Still nervous?” you whisper to Spencer. 

He smiles, shakes his head no. 

Good, you mouth.

You pretend not to notice his eyes fixate for a beat longer than necessary on your lips. You lick them in response. When he meets your eyes again, you pretend not to notice that something undecipherable is hidden behind his lids, too. 

—

Foster smiles when you walk in. He doesn’t look at Spencer. You let Spencer pull your chair out for you, which immediately catches the guy’s attention. You think of still water, use it as a guide for being calm.

“Well,” Foster says. He hasn’t dropped the smile from his face. “They sent a good-looking one.”

“We, the FBI, are really grateful you chose to cooperate with us,” you say. “You know, in your final days.”

“Hm.” He turns to Spencer, finally. “She yours?”

You don’t look at him, and you will him to ignore him, to start asking him the standard questions. What’s your name? What year were you born? 

“She’s her own,” he says instead. It comes out even and flat. 

“You hesitated,” Foster says. His smile shows his teeth, now. “I suppose that’s not a crime.”

“No,” you agree. You open your file and lay a picture of his mugshot on the table. You can tell he was expecting photos of one of the women whose life he stole away. “But murder is.”

Spencer clears his throat and nudges your ankle with the tip of his shoe. You give him no reaction, but the next time you reach for the file, you let your fingertips brush against his wrist. 

—

“That wasn’t awful,” Spencer says when you step out, though he says it like he’s releasing one big breath born out of a collection of accumulated air trapped in his lungs. 

Foster did say something crude. You’d prefer not to repeat it, mostly because you’re not sure if Spencer was blushing or if he was just hot. 

The prison was freezing, you remind yourself. Then you shove the thought back down. 

“It wasn’t great,” you say. “I wish I’d pushed him further about—”

“Stop,” he says. His hand is on your bicep now. “Don’t overthink it, you did great.”

“Okay,” you say. “Don’t profile me, now.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

The walk back to the car leaves you sticky and hot. You note, aimlessly, that Iowa gets hot enough if you let it — if you stay long enough to let it swelter.

“Our flight’s not till the morning,” you groan, slamming the car door shut.

“Not a fan of Iowa?”

“In how many languages do you know how to say fuck no?”

“Twelve," he says. His eyes flit to the ceiling. “No, fourteen.” 

“Ridiculous.” 

—

You crash as soon as you get back to your hotel room. You sleep for what feels like two hours but you know is way longer than that, and when you finally peel your eyes open you’re sweating. You’re clinging to your sheets, and you consider yourself bed-ridden as you roll over and check your phone. Hotch has sent you three messages asking for updates. Your stomach twinges with guilt for not answering, though you figure he probably moved on and texted Spencer.

Spencer.

You feel bad. You had ditched him, retreating to your hotel room the second you guys got back. You wonder what he did, if he got food, though there’s not much to do in Iowa. In fact, there’s nothing to do in Iowa. 

You slip out of your clothes and take a quick rinse-off in the shower. Your hair is still wet when you adorn yourself in a gray t-shirt and sleep shorts and creep over across the hall. Your fist raps against the door three times, then twice more for good measure. 

“Hi?”

“Hi,” you say, inviting yourself in as you push past him. It’s identical to yours, but everything’s on the opposite side. “Nice room.”

“Much nicer than yours.”

“Oh, for sure.” You clap your hands together, then flop down on the bed. “So, whatcha been up to?”

He nods his head at a book on the nightstand. You stretch over and pick it up. The History of Iowa’s Small Towns.

“Little on the nose, isn’t it, doctor?”

“It’s interesting.”

“Your mind amazes me,” you whisper, then place it back on the nightstand.

“Have you eaten?” he asks.

“I’m not really hungry,” you say. When he quirks his eyebrow, you add: “Really, I can’t eat for, like, at least two hours after I wake up.”

“You were asleep?”

You nod. “Couldn’t last night. You didn’t think I just ditched you, did you?”

He shrugs. “I wouldn’t have minded.”

You place a hand over your heart. “Well, doctor, I’m just plain offended.”

He smiles, real, genuine. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“How’d you mean it?” you ask. You move up on the bed, as if it’s your own, making space for him to sit next to you. 

He sighs, like he really doesn’t want to indulge in this conversation, but his lips pry open and you know he will. “Morgan always says I ramble too much.”

You shrug. “What’s much, anyway?”

“Well, if you’re not hungry,” he starts, lifting himself off the bed and over to the mini fridge, “are you thirsty?”

“My, my.” You smile, teeth and all. “I didn’t know you drank on the job.”

“Not technically on the job anymore, am I?” He holds up a little bottle. “It’s not exactly a martini, but it’s all I’ve got unless you want lukewarm ginger ale.”

You accept the bottle with mock ceremony and open it the second it’s in your hands. “Guess federal per diems only cover motel whiskey. Honestly, this is probably the classiest thing happening in Iowa tonight.”

He laughs softly, twisting open his own cap. “From what I’ve read, and seen, that’s a low bar.”

You raise yours. “To meeting the bar.”

He tilts his head, scrunches his nose. “To stepping over the bar with minimal effort.”

You both take a sip. It’s terrible. You make a face.

He sees it and raises an eyebrow. “Too refined for hotel whiskey?”

“Just surprised it didn’t come with a warning label,” you say, setting the bottle down on the nightstand. “Or a tetanus shot.”

“Don’t worry,” he says, taking another sip of his. “I’m sure the Iowa Department of Health is on it.”

You nod solemnly. “They’re probably just as fast as the Wi-Fi.”

That gets a small smile from him. He sits on the edge of the bed, a little closer than before, but still careful. He’s always so careful.

There’s a lull, full of quiet until the nighttime air-conditioning kicks on and you’re too tired to pretend anything really matters for a while.

“You ever drink from the mini bar before? Like, during a case?” you ask eventually.

“Only when I expect to be stranded somewhere like this.”

“Smart,” you say. 

He glances at you, amusement tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Can’t profile your way out of a cornfield without it.”

You hum in agreement. “I’m not sure if that’s depressing.”

He shrugs, taking another sip. “Probably.” His hand falls to his side, dangerously close to your thigh.

You accept another one. And then another one. You’re sure he’s going shot for shot with you, but you can’t really tell because your head is full and everything’s hazy and suddenly this bed is so, so comfortable. 

You lie back, legs still dangling off the edge, and stare up at the popcorn ceiling like it might reveal state secrets. “Did you know Iowa had one of the highest populations of covered bridges?”

Spencer blinks. “Iowa doesn’t.”

You squint. “It doesn’t?”

“No,” he says, amused. “That’s Madison County. Which is in Iowa. But it’s a specific — actually, nevermind. I’m not sure either of us are in a state for nuance.”

You wag a lazy finger at the ceiling. “I knew that.”

“Sure,” he says, and leans back beside you with a soft thud, hands crossed over his stomach. “Next you’ll tell me Iowa invented jazz.”

“It didn’t?” You cant your head to the side, a smile playing at your lips. 

“God, no.”

You sigh dramatically. “And here I thought this trip was educational.”

He turns his head just slightly toward you. His breath is hot, hotter than it was earlier, and his words are all slurred. You think you might sound the same but don’t keep yourself in line long enough to actually check. “You’ve learned a lot. For example, you’ve learned not to trust the minibar.”

“And that your idea of a good time is reading municipal histories.”

“I sensed you were captivated.”

You pull an arm over your face. “Do you always get this cocky after drinking?”

He tilts his head like he’s genuinely thinking about it. “I think I just feel safe knowing I’m not the only one embarrassing myself.”

You haul a leg up to bend into the bed with you and nudge him with your knee. “You’re not embarrassing. You’re weird. Like, in the good way.”

He doesn’t say anything for a moment, but you can hear the smile in his voice when he finally says: “Thanks. You’re weird too.”

“Weird and drunk.” You repeat the word drunk a few more times, drawing out a different syllable each time. “Spencer?” 

“Hm?”

“Don’t let me fall asleep here.”

“You say that like I have any control over you,” he murmurs. Your breath catches. Neither of you move.

You peek at him from under your arm. “Are you flirting with me?”

“What?” 

“Whatever. Then don’t speak with that— that tone. Or I’ll start to think you’re flirting with me.”

“I’m not really flirting with you.”

You let the arm drop, but not to the mattress; it finds its way to the sleeve of his shirt, playing with the fabric. “Not really or not yet?”

“That depends,” he says, voice dropped low to a whisper. “Would yet be a problem?”

You roll onto your elbow, looming over him. “Guess we’ll have to find out.”

It lands like a match.

“What are you doing?” he asks. Your lips are the closest they’ve ever been.

“I don’t know.” Your eyes move to where his hand has started to creep onto your thigh. “What are you doing?”

He moves first, but only barely. His head tilts up, lips parting like he’s about to ask a question. 

He gets his answer in the shape of your lips.

Your hand finds the edge of his jaw, fingers skimming up the side of his face. He’s warm. Still flushed from the whiskey or maybe just from you.

You’re kissing, you think. You. Spencer. Kissing. It should make you pull back. You work with him. This is strictly forbidden — that should definitely make you pull back.

But then his fingers press into your hips, grounding you, and you shift, and you’re straddling him before you’ve thought it through. It’s automatic, desperate, like the tension finally cracked open and all that’s left is the pull.

“Still not on the job?” you murmur between kisses, breath brushing his lips.

He shakes his head. “Not even a little.”

He starts to kiss you deeper, like he wants to memorize it. You wonder if he is. Your hands move up under his shirt, and his breath slips, just for a second. Just long enough to make you smile into his mouth.

There’s nothing quiet about any of this. Just heat. And want. And finally.

You roll your hips once as a test. When he tightens his grip on you, you have half the mind to do it again, and again, and again. 

Suddenly, all you can think of are your clothes on the ground and him inside you. 

“Fuck,” he mutters. You release his lips from yours.

“Fuck?”

“Shh,” he hushes, trying to silence you, but you’re already laughing.

“Oh my god, Dr. Spencer Reid, esteemed supervisory special agent, holder of three PhDs, just said fuck.” You whisper the last part, hand clutching at your chest.  

“Will you please resume what we were just doing?”

“My fucking pleasure.”

“Jesus,” he squeezes out. Your hands remove themselves from where they were resting under his shirt and head to the waist of his pants. You watch his chest rise a little quicker, fall with a little more readiness. His hands release your hips and come up to grip your wrists. “I say fuck one time and I’ll never hear the end of it.” 

“Maybe we can put it in another context.” You unhook your legs from their desired place around his hips and scooch yourself down his body. Your fingers, which were just barely, ever so delicately toying with his waistband, curl into both the cotton of his pants and his boxers and tug down at once. He helps you, hips coming off the bed just enough for you to drop them both to his ankles. 

He’s already hard, and your mouth is already hollow, already anticipating something to fill a long-lasting void. You say his name, but it sounds off, because your mouth is already imagining itself wrapped around something far less innocent than words.

His hand comes up to your face, brushing your cheekbone, and the feeling is too soft to name but impossible to ignore. You feel as though all the heat in the room has gotten sucked between your legs, and it pools low, desire biting at the edges of restraint.

“You don’t have to,” he says, watching you spit in your hand. You roll your eyes before wrapping the newly wet hand around him. 

“I’m going to. Just stay like that.” 

You stroke him softly, just a few times before spitting on the tip and working it back down. He whispers your name like its wax, made to melt. You’re not thinking and your voice is velvet when you ask him how long it’s been since he’s been touched like this, the way he deserves to be. Too long, comes his response, and you vow to yourself to show him what he’s been missing.

The next time you bring your lips up to release more spit, you reach down and kiss it. Just the tip, and just ever-so-slightly. You’re not sure he noticed at first, so you do it again, this time more pronounced, and then he’s removing his hand from your face and bringing it up to your hair. His grip is firm enough to anchor, not enough to command. 

When you open your lips more, he tightens his grip. When you make your way down, syrup-slick and mouth dripping of sin, he coils his want at the nape of your neck and pulls. You moan around him, which earns you another tug. 

“That feels good,” he whispers. “So fucking good.”

You’re drunk enough that the praise feels more than trembling and temporary. You take it for more than it probably is and pick up your pace.

He lasts not a minute longer before he’s guiding you off of him, and you couch as you come up for air. 

“I don’t want to finish yet,” he mumbles.

“No?”

“No.” He pulls you up off the ground, one hand on your wrist and the other still in your hair. “Wanna take care of you too. Do you want that? Yeah? Lie down for me.”

You do as you're told, nodding along the way, agreeing fervently and with little free will. You’re drooling, enough that it slips past your lips. He brings his index finger up to your face, collecting it on the pad of his finger and pushing it back into your mouth. Instinctively, you suck. He groans, low, a noise you never would have expected to hear from him, and it makes you shut your legs, thighs rubbing together slightly as you try to fight the feeling festering around your limbs.

He kneels before you, the same way you had with him. “Is this what you want?” You nod. “No, use your words.” He pries your legs open, blows between them. 

Your back is coming up off the bed, enough for him to bring a hand up and grab your waist again. “Yes.”

He wastes little time attaching his mouth to you, tongue everywhere, while his fingers leave bruises in your side. One of your hands is gripping the sheets so hard you can feel your fingernails digging into your palm even through it. This can’t be real, you think, because nothing real feels this good. And this feels so, so good. 

You feel fucked out and he hasn’t even put anything inside of you. It’s just his tongue swiping against you, swirling around your clit, sucking your clit, kissing your clit. You can’t think. At some time you stop being aware of what he’s doing and just let him do it.

His hand leaves your hip and you feel it pulse, throbbing at the loss of harsh connection. Then, he forces your fist to open, to release the white fabric, and he locks your fingers together. It feels intimate, more intimate than his mouth on you, and if you were sober you might have shrugged him away. But you’re not. You’re drunk. Very drunk. So instead you hold his hand harder.

His free hand is trailing along your thigh, and when you glance down at him his eyes are closed, and he looks content, satisfied, and you’re not sure you ever want to unfold from this position. He uses his other hand to trail up and down your thigh before his errant fingers find their way farther up your legs. 

When he slips two inside you, both at once, no warning, you mewl.

He detaches his mouth from you, like he wants to focus solely on finger fucking you. When you glance down at him again, he gives you a perfunctory smile before focusing back at the task he’s chosen to take up. He’s practically gift-wrapping your orgasm. 

“Right there,” you choke out when his fingers curl at the exact right moment in the exact right spot. You don’t announce that you’re coming, but Spencer is a genius. You’re sure he can figure it out. Everything comes undone in waves, the way seafoam spits back into the sand before dissipating, carrying itself back out into a vaster part of the water. 

“Good job,” he says. He kisses you. You can taste your slick on his lips.

“Spencer.”

“You’ve said that already.” You’d laugh if you weren’t so unraveled. “I’m gonna fuck you now, okay?”

“Mhm.”

“What did we say about using our words?”

“To… use them?”

“You’re so smart,” he says, and you can hear him breathing in the way that means he’s trying not to laugh as he presses scattered kisses across your cheek, jaw, lips. “Can you speak up and show me how smart you are?”

“I want you to fuck me.”

“Knew you had it in you.” One of his hands is pressed into the mattress next to your head, and the other is absent from your body. When you finally open your eyes, you look down to see him lining himself up with you.

There’s a pinch in your throat as you feel him ease himself inside, slowly, deliberately, like he’s scared you might crumble and break beneath him. You won’t, which you assure him by using one hand to grab onto his bicep and the other to rest on his hip, guiding him all the way inside of you. 

"I got so mad, earlier," he says. "When he was talking about you like that."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize," he whispers. "Don't fucking apologize."

The heat is back, swirling in your stomach, rushing up your chest like every vein you have has replaced blood with feverish fire. Spencer throws more gasoline on it when he slides almost all the way out, then pushes himself back in. You’re quiet, and even the air around you seems to have hushed itself. 

When he finds a rhythm, he takes advantage of it. Fucks you a little harder, just enough that you can’t close your mouth, can’t quiet yourself even when you try. You’re trying to tread carefully, but you don’t have it in you to not tip your chin up and search for a kiss. You move your other hand to wrap around his forearm, the one right next to your head, and you can’t stop yourself from digging your nails into the skin when he gives you one particularly hard thrust.

“Do that again,” you whisper.

“This?” he asks, though it’s more of a mock. He does it again, this time a little slower. You feel like crying, because you have no other outlet for what exactly it is you’re currently feeling. When he does it again you have no choice but to squeeze your eyes shut. He kisses you again, idly, like you’ve got all the time in the world. You’re not sure you have more than five minutes in you before you pass out. “You feel so good.”

“Needed you.”

“Yeah?” he says. Your words seem to have made him snap his hips against yours a little harder. 

He uses one of his hands to grab under your thigh, then pushes your leg up. You let out a broken moan you don’t even register as your own until he stretches you farther apart and you do it again. You’d be embarrassed if you weren’t clawing at an indescribable edge. You feel ripe. Nothing holy is coming for you. You arch your back like it might. 

"Mine." He says it while looking down at you. He says it with his chest. He says it like it's an absolute.

You bring your hand to the back of his neck and make him kiss you. Once for the thrill, twice just to feel the burn of it really settle in. 

Then you come. And everything else does, too. It’s unraveling. Not fingers but friction, not skin but static, not breath but flood. The room is slipping sideways, hips first, mouth second. you forget your name or maybe you give it away. There's no shape to anything, to the sting between your legs, only pulse — wet, reckless, existing in the hollows of your thighs. When he bends down and lets out a sound that sounds suspiciously like your name, your teeth catch on his shoulder like a warning. He doesn’t flinch. You bite down harder.

Nothing makes sense for a while except the sound of the air-conditioner. 

Spencer says something. Then again. Then, he taps your cheek twice, says your name until you come to.

“Hm?”

“You okay?”

“‘m okay. Are you okay?”

He laughs. It’s quiet and hoarse and still warm. “Yes ma’am.”

“Hmmmm.”

“Hmm what?’

“I like that. We’ll use that ‘nother time.” You let out a heavy sigh as he chuckles. He slips out of you and you suck in a breath that catches in the pockets of your teeth, cold and shocking against the roof of your mouth.

“Sorry.” You shake your head and hope it conveys that he has nothing to apologize for. He rolls over next to you. “You should pee.”

“Pee schmee.”

“I think I’m gonna retract my previous statements about your high level of intelligence now.” You smack him with your hand and laugh, hearty and probably too loud.

“I’m still drunk,” you say after a few more moments of silence.

“I think that’s how that whole drinking thing works, yeah.”

“Do you regret it?”

“No.” His answer comes quicker than you were expecting.

“Okay. Me neither. Just checking.” You blow hair out of your face, and when that doesn’t work you bring a palm up and use the strength of four fingers to wipe it away from the sweat gathering in satin sheets across your skin. “I hate this room.”

“Me too.”

“I don’t hate you,” you whisper.

“Well,” he whispers back. “I don’t hate you either.”

“Do you wanna maybe… I don’t know. Not be on the job tomorrow morning?”

It might just be the alcohol, but his expression is soft and lush, like when dawn’s light shudders through early morning fog. 

“I would like that.”