#that eye contact before yanking the wires

[ghostlyarchaeologist]

"They have some sort of pin lock on the security system. You know, I'm gonna have a word with this Interpol agent in charge."

Leverage Redemption S02E12 The Museum Makeover Job.

[strangerhottotties]

Just an Eddie thought. Him calling reader Girl Scout or something similar after realizing why they know all these knots that are definitely not used for their intended purpose…

Not me immediately researching knots and rigging 🤣🤣🤣

The first time it captures his attention is in the upside down, or right before you come out.

"Shit!" Dustin curses for the forth time, trying to tie the sheets together above you. You watch the sheets slip apart as the yank, not holding at all.

"Dustin! Throw them over here!" You finally demand through the chorus of groaning. Dustin glances up at you.

"I can do it!" He yells.

"Dustin! It is cold, and gross, and slimy over here! Throw me the goddamn sheets or so help me, I will climb through it without it and you do not want that!"

Dustin yeilds halfway through your speech, using Lucas to help him haul all the sheets up and throw them through in balls of fabric. Eddie watches with amusement as you don't even stall once, dropping into a low squat to retrieve them. Your immediately not just tying the ends together, but using real knots.

It's a practiced motion. You've done this, he thinks, more than once. There's no hesitation and in under ten seconds you have the first two sheets linked together.

Eddie tilts his head as he watches you tug them tight and slide to the next knot. You barely even looking, still paying avid attention to the conversation around and contributing. You are sparing glances at your hands but in under a minute your launching the rope of sheets into the air and Eddie is wondering to himself, exactly how you knew how to do that.

"Good job, girl scout," he comments and in the dim lighting, he watches as your cheeks darken.

"Uh, yeah. Thanks." You reply, avoiding eye contact.

Eddie knows in that moment. He doesn't have solid evidence, but he knows. You're either a rigger or a rope bunny. At least until everyone's trying to find something in Eddie's music collection that he catches you staring at the cuffs slung on the wall.

It's inopportune to ask further questions for well... nearly the whole day it ate him. And then when he was hot wiring that RV... oh, did he see the way you were looking at him. That far away look in your eyes, he caught in the wide rear view mirror, made him flash pearly whites your way.

When Eddie hops up to allow Steve to drive, climbing into the back he makes a beeline to the seat you're in. As Steve pulls out Eddie's dropping down beside you, and the rough run out of the trailer park has you toppling right into Eddie's lap.

"Sorry! Shit!" You squeak in a way that goes south in the best possible way for Eddie.

"S'okay, Girl Scout," he purrs in your ear. He eats the flustered glare you give him right up as Steve evens the rig out on the road.

"Stop calling me that," you hiss, "I'm not a girl scout."

"Oh," he tells you with a malicious grin, "I know." He leans into your ear. You blink owlishly at him, and loves to watch your face go all horrorish and flushed pink. "But, uh, when this whole thing is over... You'll have to show me the, uh, other knots you know."

"Oh," you repeat and after a beat of silence, "okay," is your response. For a moment, Eddie thinks the universe might be balancing out for all the shit that it's slinging at him.

He spends the rest of the ride to the store with his hand on your thigh.

[britany1997]

Signed, Sealed, Delivered…I’m Yours

Paul x GN Selkie Reader

Paul x creature partner is my favvvv, think he would be so cute with a selkie reader🥰🥰 hope y’all love this! Not sure if there will be more yet but I plan to keep it fluffy regardless:)

(Also Paul is on the Santa Carla ocean conservation board because of Fishy, so he’s an advocate for all sea creatures🥹)

Warnings: reader is mentioned to be nude a couple times because in selkie lore, they are when they shed their seal skin🤷🏻‍♀️ (readers body not described)

Paul’s teeth tore into the skin of some asshole’s neck. He was sure at one point he’d known his name, but after an endless night of sharing joints, it was long forgotten.

Paul wasn’t picky about his blood, but stoners were his filet mignon. They had a sweet and spicy flavor, and they always left him with a buzz.

This one was yummy, but he’d been insufferable. He wore a scarf and wire rimmed glasses he didn’t need, he was a philosophy major who’d met both of his girlfriends in his gender studies class, and ten minutes into their conversation, he’d explained to Paul that it was actually pronounced “Van Goff” and not “Van Go.” Paul had quickly moved him from his smoke circle list to his dinner list.

As he sucked the last drops out of Mr. Pretentious, Paul let his body fall to the sandy ground underneath the boardwalk.

He checked his watch, there was still time before sunrise. Paul couldn’t think of anything better to do with the rest of his night then ride out his high on the beach.

Dwayne seemed to like it after all.

Paul snuck away from his dumping grounds and began to stumble towards the shore.

He paused, rubbing his eyes.

He had to be hallucinating, because reclining on the sand was the most attractive person he’d ever seen in his unlife…

…totally naked. God what was in that weed.

He rubbed his eyes again. You were still there.

So this was why Dwayne loved the beach so much.

You were radiant. Alluring in a way that made Paul swear he’d dreamed you up. No person was that perfect. He was over the moon instantly.

A look of pure determination washed over his face as he desperately tried to conjure the words to speak to you. He scowled as he thought this would have been a lot easier if he was sober.

After a few minutes, he realized he’d better come up with something quick because he’d been fumbling around behind you for an almost unacceptable amount of time.

Just as he was about to approach you, he watched you shiver as a cool breeze blew past. Your arms crossed over yourself, rubbing your shoulders as you tried to keep warm.

Paul softened. He may have been a bloodthirsty, vicious vampire. But dammit, he was also a gentle man.

His eyes scanned the shore until they landed on a sleek leather coat.

Paul strode to your side and picked up the coat, smoothing it out a little.

You whirled around, fear blooming in your chest at the sight of a strange man holding your coat, your only escape to the ocean.

But instead of keeping the coat for himself, he flashed you a warm smile and held it out to you.

“You must be freezing,” he said, maintaining impressive eye contact as your naked body graced the sand.

Your jaw dropped. You’d heard many horror stories from elder selkies about the cruel and savage human men who would hunt down stunning selkies, only to take their coats and lock them away. Confining the selkies to the land, and shackling them to the men who’d stolen from them.

The captured selkies would be forced to live as humans while their hearts ached desperately for the world beneath the water.

You’d met some of your kind who’d suffered this terrible fate and escaped, but some you knew had never returned.

But this sweet, handsome man, he was giving you your coat? You’d never heard of such a kind human man.

You took the coat from his hands, half expecting him to yank it back, but he didn’t, he let you take it. “Thank you,” you uttered reverently, folding the coat over your arms.

“No problem baby,” his smile widened, “what’s a babe like you doing out here so late?”

Your eyes narrowed in confusion. “I- I’m not a baby,” you told him. You had thought you looked like any regular adult human in this form.

Paul’s eyes widened, “oh uh, no sorry that’s not what I meant,” he rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s like uh…well you know it’s a nickname.”

He was wayyy to high for this.

“Nick…name?” You rubbed your temples, “but my name is not nick…” you trailed off, confused.

Paul’s head was pounding. “No, sugar, it’s like um…it’s like a nice thing to call someone you know?”

Your face flashed with something Paul thought resembled understanding as you nodded slowly.

“Damn babe, you from outer space or somethin?” He asked, only half-joking.

“No,” you replied.

“Mkay,” he shrugged, hey he had secrets too, one of them was currently decomposing under the boardwalk.

He noticed your shoulders shake before realizing the coat was still in your arms, “you’re not gonna put that on sweetheart?” he asked.

Your lips pulled downward. You weren’t ready to change back yet. Not when you were having such a wonderful time with this man. He was teaching you important human things. You figured you’d better stick around.

You vigorously shook your head no.

Paul mirrored your frown. He couldn’t let you freeze to death. “Alright baby well at least take mine,” he offered as he shrugged out of his own jacket and placed it around your shoulders.

You could have melted into a puddle right there.

This man hadn’t just returned your coat. He’d given you his coat as well. What a strong man he must be to brave the cold. He would be the perfect mate.

You practically purred as he buttoned the jacked around your shoulders. You leaned in to nuzzle against his shoulder. “You’re so strong” you hummed, “so warm, so handsome.”

God bless the beach.

Paul beamed, “yeah baby? I hit the gym every now and again, nothin special.” He flexed his bicep with a smirk.

“Mmm,” you hummed, moving closer to press your cheek to his chest, wrapping your arms around him, desperate to be close.

A goofy smile spread across Paul’s face as he couldn’t imagine a man on earth as lucky as he was.

Then he remembered. Daylight.

His watch confirmed his fears, it was time to go.

“Listen sugar, I could do this all night but I’ve gotta get going,” he cursed his Sun intolerant vampire body, “but give me your number honey and I’ll call you anytime.”

You glanced up at him, confusion written all over your face. “Which number do you want?” You asked.

His brow furrowed, “home, cell, work, whatever you have babe.”

“Three?” You guessed.

Paul shook his head in disbelief.

“Let’s try this, where do you live baby?” He asked.

You smiled, you knew this one.

“With you,” you purred, wrapping yourself around him once more.

Paul raised an eyebrow, “what?”

“I live with you now,” you informed him.

Paul stood still for a second, processing as you held him.

“Yeah ok,” he said, taking your hand and tugging you toward his motorcycle. Best night ever.

TLB Taglist❤️: (comment to be added)

@6lostgirl6 @misslavenderlady @crustyboypix @arenpath @anna1306 @bloodywickedvamp @kurt-nightcrawler @ria-coolgirl @gothamslostboy @vampirefilmlover @lostboys1987girl @solobagginses @dwaynedelight @dwaynesluscioushair @warrior-616 @sad-ghost-of-garbage @chiefdirector @its-freaking-bats @arbesa-mind @f4iryfxies @mickkmaiden333 @bitchyexpertprincess @katerinaval @rynsfandomsfun @softchonk @walmart-cereal @fraudfrog @memphiscity69

[simphornies]

A/N: Short but you'll see why <3 Loves and kisses!

Word count: 1.1k (1,196) Warnings: blood, everyone's fighting, major injury, alastor being alastor

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4

Deal Breaker [ Vox x Angel!Reader ] part 5

Your ears were ringing, vision blurred. The dust from the rubble got caught in your throat making you cough. Pain was the first thing you felt when your senses came to. As soon as the dust cleared you realized that you’d been entrapped under the rubble, one wrong move and it could all cave in. You looked down and two of your wings were pinned, golden blood oozing from under it.

Charlie was trying to get you out of the rubble, her screams were faintly audible and you heard her digging through. Then it stopped after another loud boom. The pain overpowered your body, you couldn’t yank yourself out without ripping your wings apart. For once in your life, you felt absolutely helpless under the rubble with no way of contacting anybody. You just hoped that the others were okay.

The Vees had come with their army of goons and with the lack of preparation everyone in the hotel had, everyone was in a struggle. Lucifer and Alastor were enraged, their demon forms fully showing. With Alastor’s tendrils and Lucifer’s mobility, they fended off the majority of the attackers. They both aimed for Velvette as soon as they got an opening.

Velvette laughed and wielded an angelic spear, launching it straight at Lucifer. Lucifer got ready to dodge it but Alastor quickly caught it, to his dismay, before it could get too close. “Wrong move.” She grinned.

Lucifer turned quickly and saw that Valentino had a dagger up to Charlie’s neck. His eyes turned red and flew straight at him. “Ah ah.” He menacingly smiled, “Any closer and Little Bleeding Heart will get it.” He cut her neck just enough to make her start bleeding.

He laughed as he saw everyone freeze, “For an establishment filled with such power…” He grinned wider with pride, “You all are so weak.”

They were at a standstill, neither side couldn’t move but it was clear that the Vees had the advantage.

Back at Vox’s security room he sees the commotion at the hotel, his heart dropping as soon as he realizes you weren’t on the field. “Y/N…” He scanned through all the footage and not once did he see you appear. He saw the first attack that made the ceiling fall. He thought of the worst. He knew he wasn’t in good enough physical condition to fight, making him hesitate. He sucked it up and left for the hotel as fast as he could go, traveling through the wires.

“What do you want?” Vaggie screamed, spear pointed at Valentino from a distance.

He laughed, “We want Y/N. To fuck off from you and work for us.” The evil in his grin wasn’t hard to miss.

“Like hell we’d ever hand her over to you, you freaks.” Husk hissed. His statement turned Valentino’s smug grin into a frown.

“Watch it, cat,” He held the blade tighter to Charlie’s neck, “I’ll kill this little bitch right n—”

A punch launched Valentino forward, blade dropping behind him. Lucifer flew to Charlie the moment he saw the opening as she fell to the floor. “Sweetie, are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” She coughed out. “But who-”

Everyone averted their attention to who landed the blow and to their surprise, Vox stood there seething with rage. “What the fuck, Vox?” Velvette screamed. It wasn’t long until she was surrounded by Alastor’s tendrils, all holding weapons. She groaned and crossed her arms, admitting defeat.

“I told you two to not fuck with, Y/N. Her business is with me and I change my mind however much I fucking want.” He angrily spoke, his voice laced with a stereo like effect. His cracked screen had sparks flying out of them, making him glitch every now and then.

The Vees got tied up and monitored by Lucifer while everyone else ran to find you under the rubble. You saw everything that happened thanks to the watch Vox gave you. Since Vox’s screen was cracked, you couldn’t get a hold of him and he was the only person that the watch could connect to. You just hoped everyone wasn’t hurt too bad.

Alastor stayed behind, facing Vox from across the battlefield. He glared at him, his smile becoming more menacing. “Greetings, old pal.” He snarled.

“Alastor.” Vox replied, “Look about Y/N, I’m s-”

“Keep her name-” He grew bigger in size, completely embracing his demon form, “OUT OF YOUR LYING MOUTH.” He hissed and launched his tendrils to attack him. Vox zapped away to dodge the attack, shooting electricity to make them fade away and to maintain his distance from him.

“Alastor! Let me expl-” A tendril managed to uppercut him, knocking him down. Alastor moved closer to him, looming over the injured Vox.

“My presence here in Hell surely stays an enigma. But blatant-” He kicks his side, tossing him a couple of feet. Vox clutched his side, blood dripping from the side of his mouth. “-and deliberate lies!” He stepped on him, savoring the sound of his ribs cracking underneath his shoes. “That damage my relations are where I draw the line.” His uncomfortable grin made Vox glitch out in fear, the sparks that flew out of the crack becoming more frequent. “I’ll make an example out of your wretched decisions to remind everyone not to mess with the Radio Demon.” He lifted his claws and lunged at Vox.

He was too weak to fight back or try to zap away. He knew his systems were in no condition to handle a fight, let alone one with Alastor. He looked up and watched as his claws came closer and closer.

For a moment, he thinks back on you. He remembered every detail he grew to love. He realized that he acted too quickly on his ideas. He remembered how you managed to soften his character, how you smiled whenever he’d give you gifts, how you were the common sense to his rash decisions. He remembered how your laugh would differ depending on the situation and he definitely remembered how it sounded when you were truly happy. He remembered the hospitality you provided him, the second chance you offered despite his reputation and his standing with Alastor. He realized that his pride prevented him from seeing the truth of it all.

He fell in love with you.

And he only came to realize it at the face of death.

He gritted his teeth, pushed his pain to the side and managed to zap away, avoiding Alastor’s claws. This move made him wince in pain. Alastor growled, “Putting up a senseless fight? You might just impress me.” He laughed.

Vox clenched his fists, “I’m not letting you kill me until I get to apologize to her.” He dodged an attack, “And I’m not letting anything stop me from telling her the full truth. And I put that on my soul. But I’m not hurting her more by attacking her friends. Especially you.”

He moved further away, “I surrender.” He raised his hands up in defeat. Alastor simply laughed at him before launching another set of tendrils toward him. Vox shut his eyes and braced for impact.

Taglist: @emekeneme @ghostdoodlen @chewbrry @dawko-fanpage @lofasofabread @hxzbinwrites @rapunzelbro @elsihiaweee @blackrose8425 @dickmastersworld @lofasofabread @rosiethevoxobesser @themetalbabygirl @markster666 @riskyraiker @fadingflowers-world(it won't let me tag the two of you but i'll send them)

[redr0sewrites]

OK HEAR ME OUT kafka pegging blade while he gives u head (or u fucking him while he eats kafka out whichever way works!!). i need this man RUINED....

UR SO REAL FOR THIS BRO IDK WHO U ARE BUT ILY‼️ FINALLY A HSR REQ AAAAAA<3 THE ALGORITHM FUCKED UP MY LAST KAFBLADE X READER POST SO I HOPE THIS GETS MORE ATTENTION! HOPE U LIKE IT<3 i liked both ideas/positions 🤭

Pairing: Kafka x amab!reader x Blade

🥀CW: smut(duh), strap, overstimulation, dirty talk, writer went feral, face fucking, marking, scratching, hickeys, i made the reader amab

🥀 minors dni

the routine was always the same after a stressful mission. blade and kafka followed you to your room, the tension wafting off of them both was practically palpable. it had been a relatively easy mission, but blades mara had unexpectedly acted up and kafka had needed to restrain him before he went too far. as kafka entered the room behind you, the both of you made eye contact. kafka gave a small nod, and you hummed in reply as blade entered behind her.

blade immediately moved towards the both of you, shutting the door behind him. however, kafka abruptly stopped him with a hand against his chest, and he looked at her in slight confusion.

"now now bladie, tonight is about you, hm~ get on the bed and relax, we just want to make you feel good, okay? can you do that for me?" kafka's voice was both sweet and sinister at the same time, like a beautiful gift wrapped in barbed wire. blade met your eyes and you nodded, lust already pooling in your abdomen in excitement.

blade moved to the bed, and kafka and you began to strip as blade did the same. soon, all of your clothes were discarded on the floor except for your undergarments and kafka looked at you expectantly. you turned towards blade, grinning wildly.

"bladie~" saying his name caught his attention, and he looked towards you expectantly. meanwhile, kafka was getting on a strap, but blade was so focused on you he didnt seem to notice.

"lay on your stomach" you said softly, and blade immediately flipped over. you moved to the head of the bed, removing your boxers as you went. you could see blades eyes on your cock, and you could already feel yourself growing hard. you sat down in front of him, legs framing his face and grabbed a fistful of his hair. blade whined softly, and kafka approached him from behind.

kafka applied a generous amount of lube to the strap, and immediately rubbed it against blades entrance. blade gasped softly, and his hips instinctively bucked against the bed. with his mouth wide open, you took the opportunity to bottom out into his mouth. blade groaned around your cock, the vibrations making you shiver as you yanked his hair a little harder, shoving your length deeper down his throat. kafka hummed in amusement and bottomed out fully inside blade. he let out a loud whimper at that, and you couldn't help but thrust roughly into his mouth, craving release already.

kafka began to thrust into blade at a steady pace, her nails raking down his back as you fucked his throat. blade was whimpering in pleasure, his whole body trembling at the overwhelming stimulation. the needy moans and pleas that left his mouth were muffled as you continued to fuck his throat, your own orgasm already approaching. you moan, hips jerking up as you thrust in deeper making blade gag around you.

both yours and kafkas thrusts speed up, the both of you were now focused solely on making blade cum. you could feel the coil in your stomach tightening as your release got closer and closer, and judging by the sinful sound escaping blades mouth he was close too. you could feel yourself on the brink of the burning pleasure you craved, and grabbed blades hair even rougher forcing him to deepthroat you.

"you better- ahh~ you better fucking swallow all of it- fuck." you groaned, blades mouth hollowing as you felt your release barrel through you. you were seeing stars, your legs trembling as you continued to thrust into blades mouth, prolonging your high. at the same time, kafka reached around blade and pumped his own throbbing cock while thrusting into him roughly, and he gasped and squealed as his own orgasm made him shudder and sob in pleasure. you pulled out from his mouth, looking down to admire your lover.

blades face already looked deliciously fucked out, soft tears were streaming down his face and a bit of your release was dripping from his lip. you used your thumb to scoop it up, and blade instinctively opened his mouth, sticking out his tongue to taste the slick. you stuck your fingers in his mouth, and he sucked them dry, making your cock twitch and begin to harden again.

"heh, looks like you both enjoyed yourselves~" kafkas voice sounding sweet, but you could tell that she was needy too. she hadnt had her release yet.

"wanna switch, kaf?" you ask, and she smirks at you knowingly.

"is that okay with you bladie?" she purrs, her voice soft. blade nods eagerly and she chuckles, switching places with you. you align yourself with blades weeping hole. you reached down and pumped his cock and he gasped. blade was already hard, and you began to slowly rub him as he rocked into your hand and against the bed. at the same time, kafka had grabbed a fistful of his hair, her sharp nails digging into his scalp as blade began to eat her out. you could hear soft moaning coming from both of them, and began to enter blades hole. he was still slightly tight from his last orgasm, and you abruptly pushed in and bottomed out causing him to gasp. you pulled your hand from his cock and he whined, yet you reassuringly ran your hands up and down his sides as he continued licking kafkas messy cunt. you had a full view of her bare form, and she was exquisite.

"like what you see?" she asks, her voice already rough from moaning. her dark hair cascaded over her shoulders, and her eyes were blown with lust. a pretty blush coated her cheeks and her perky breasts bounced as her hips moved against blades face. her pussy was already wet, slick coating the dark curls or hair surrounding her cunt and her thighs already had a few bite marks left by blade. you nodded, drinking in the beauty of your partners before you.

you began to slowly thrust into blade, starting with a steady place. your tip ghosted over a sensitive spot so deep inside him and he mewled, hips bucking as he pulled his face away from kafkas heat. immediately you stopped, and kafka hummed disappointedly. blade turned and looked at you wuth pleading eyes, and you reached up and yanked his hair roughly.

"you stop, i stop. got that?" blade nodded, teary eyed as he leaned down to press a soft kiss against kafkas clit. she moaned softly, and you continued to thrust into him roughly. one of blades hands moved up to finger kafka while he ate her out, and her moans of pleasure grew louder as she felt her orgasm begin to build. blade could feel her slick spilling against his tongue, drops of liquid hold dripping down his chin. you were thrusting into him mercilessly, and the coil in his stomach grew tighter as his brain went foggy with pleasure. blade was rutting against the bed, his whole body begging for release. both you and kafka were close too, he could feel your thrusts getting sloppier as kafka grinded her wet cunt against his face.

"p-please.." blade moaned softly against kafkas pussy, his second orgasm of the night approaching fast. you could feel you own release building, and your thrusts were messy and eratic. your nails raked down blades back and you grabbed his hips, forcing yourself in deeper as your hips slapped against his.

your brain was hazy as the need to cum overwhelmed your senses. kafkas moans were music to your ears as she came, she squirted soaking blades pretty face in her cum. blade shuddered, a broaking and pleading moan escaping as he came too, his release soaking his stomach and abdomen. his hole was squeezing you so, so tight, it felt too good to be true. the building coil in your stomach snapped as your release erupted from you, your seed flooding blades hole as he whimpered in pleasure beneath you. you thrusted a few more times, carrying the both of you through your high before collapsing against his back with a sigh.

kafka was the first to get up, you heard her walk away and seconds later the sound of your large bathtub running made you sit up. you slowly pulled out of blade, and he gasped in overstimulation as your length left his hole.

"you okay bladie?" you ask softly, laying beside him and stroking his hair lovingly.

"mhm. felt good..." his voice was husky with pleasure, and he looked like he might drift off. he didnt have the chance too however, as kafkas voice cut through the silence.

"the two of you should go get in the tub, i'll join you both in a minute i just need to clean up" she said, her voice soft and sweet. you nodded, and blade hummed. the two of you went to the bathroom, and sunk into the warm water. it accommodated all three of you with room to spare, and soon kafka returned and joined you. it had been another wonderful night with your lovers, and you couldnt ask for anything more. <3

AUUUGH TY NONNIE SORRY THIS TOOK LIKE 3 DAYS TO WRITE 😭 PLSSS BLADE AND KAFKA R SO SILLY THIS IS SO DELICIOUS I HOPE U ENJOYED!!!! FEEL FREE TO SEND IN MORE HSR THIRSTS AND REQUESTS, I WANT MORE!!!!!!!!

[turtlecleric]

Wooooo self-indulgence yayyyyy

bay!raph x fem reader, angst and hurt/comfort, cw: implied past sexual assault, panic attack, dissociation, trigger words, if I need to add more warnings please do let me know (sorry to the people on the tag list, as always feel free to ignore)

---

When Raph pulls you into his room, presses your back against the door, and buries his face in your neck, you can't help but giggle like a fucking teenager. You feel his hot breath against your skin as he speaks, and it makes you shiver, makes your smile widen so much your cheeks hurt.

“Been waitin’ all day to getcha to myself, doll.”

The earnest excitement in his voice makes you melt. Large hands trail up and down your sides, massaging and kneading, and then his lips find yours. You sigh into his kiss, slow and sweet like honey. The barest glide of his tongue across yours, the low rumble in his chest that manages to vibrate your mouth just a bit. It's driving you a little crazy, to be honest. You can't get over the fact that he can get you this worked up just from kissing.

Too soon, he pulls his mouth away and goes back to nuzzling into your neck. His hands tighten on your waist before one comes up to cup your breast over your shirt. You two have only gotten past kissing a couple of times before, so it pulls a loud, surprised squeak out of you.

Raph's other hand comes up quickly to cover your mouth, and your smile slips away as your eyes widen and your heart stutters in your chest. He murmurs into your ear, his breath hot against your skin, but the chill it sends through you this time isn't a good one.

“Shhh, you gotta keep quiet, baby girl. We're-”

No.

His next words are lost on you. There's a roaring static in your mind as sick panic takes over. It blurs your vision, distorts what you're hearing. You can't focus. You can't breathe. You can't move.

You're not there. Raph isn't him. Don't- don't slip back there, don't- no no no no-

Someone is standing over you. You're dizzy. Silent. As still as a statue. You feel their hand lift from your mouth, but you don't react.

Keep quiet. Keep quiet. Keep quiet.

You're aware of your heartbeat jackrabbiting against your ribs. You're aware that the person is talking to you again. You're aware of the barbed wire that's wrapping around your lungs and tightening. Tightening.

Keep quiet.

---

When Raph lifts his head to look at you, he freezes.

Something is… very, very wrong.

Your eyes are glossy, the faraway look causing alarm bells to blare in his head. You're not even blinking. Silent tears start to track down your face, and when he realizes how tense you are under his touch, he pulls away immediately. Raph says your name, tentative and quiet, and when you don't react, that's when he really truly starts to panic.

He says your name again, a little louder. You don't respond. Again. His hand hovers in the air between you, unsure and confused and fuck, what happened? What did he do? What does he do?

Carefully, he tries to take your limp hand in his. The moment he makes contact with your skin, you whimper and jolt back against the door in a full-body flinch. He yanks his hand back and watches in horror as you start to visibly tremble. The sight actually makes him nauseous, has him backing away from you and trying to make himself as non-threatening as possible.

What happened?

Are you… are you actually scared of him? The thought lodges his heart in his throat. Has his chest aching with something like betrayal, but no that… doesn't actually make sense?

“I'm not gonna hurtcha, sweetheart. You know that right?”

You don't respond. God, what has he done?

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. You probably didn't want him to touch you like that. He went too far too quickly. You- you probably want him to go and are too scared to say- but he's stuck! You're blocking the door! He can't- he doesn't want to move you so he can leave, but he doesn't want to keep scaring you, but he- but, but no, it still doesn't make sense. If you were actually scared of him, you wouldn't have been- this whole time with- what the fuck is going on?

He's stuck. Well and truly stuck. He can't talk to you, he can't touch you, he can't give you any more space than he already is. He's terrified, terrified, of making things worse.

So he waits.

---

Awareness returns to you slowly, and control returns even slower. It burns when you blink. Your muscles ache, exhaustion weighing you down like chains. It's harder than it should be to raise your hand and wipe at your eyes, to keep yourself standing upright.

You realize all at once what happened, and the mortification of it happening in front of Raphael has you covering your face in hot shame.

Wait. Raph. Where..?

You lift your head from your hands to look around the room. When you spot him, your heart clenches painfully in your chest. He's sitting in the furthest corner of the room, hunched in on himself, his arms circled around his knees and his head ducked low.

Making himself small.

You swallow, trying to shake away the fog in your brain enough to go to him. Your legs feel like jelly, but you manage it without falling. When you kneel and place a hand on his arm, his head jerks up in surprise, and you see that he's been… crying.

He's talking before you can open your mouth, each word a knife between your ribs, each break in his voice taking the knife and twisting.

“I didn't mean to scare you. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I know that I'm- I guess I just thought- I'm sorry. I went too far, I didn't- I shoulda- I'm sorry, I'm so fucking sorry-”

“Hey,” you croak, wincing when he flinches at your wrecked voice. “No, Raphie. No. That was… not your fault, okay? It's a me problem. I should've told you- uh. There's just certain things that can…” You sigh, not yet thinking clearly enough to have this conversation.

You mentally kick yourself. You should've told him before it ever became an issue, but. When people find out, they… look at you differently. You wanted to hold onto that normalcy a little longer. Put it off just a little more. But the look in his eyes - confusion, fear, regret - it hurts to see. Hurts to know that this could've been avoided if you'd sucked it up and warned him, told him the things that set you off from the beginning.

You're too tired to think straight. Still shaking. But you know he deserves an explanation.

“Can we… can we just…” Brain fog. Hell man. Focus, come on. Your hand on his arm tightens. “I'm not scared of you. I love you. I love you so, so much. It's not that you- I mean I- I promise I'm going to explain, but right now I…” The tears threaten to spill over again, and the frustration tangles in your chest like so much fishing line. You're fucking this up, you know you are. You really need to sleep. To get to a point where your brain can actually do its job. Are you even making any sense? Is he going to get fed up with you and- no, stop. Stop it. Raph is still staring at you, waiting, waiting. You try again. “I just need some time. Then I can explain. Okay?”

Raph's lips thin, his brows pinching together as he watches your face. He looks like he's in agony as he does so, but he unfurls a bit. Slowly, carefully, he reaches his hand toward your face. It stops just before he makes contact, and the hesitancy, the worry that radiates off of him, compels you to lean forward and press your cheek into his palm. Your tiny smile seems to bolster him, and after a moment he speaks.

“Whatever you need. Anything, okay? Anything.”

You close your eyes, raising a hand to press against the back of his hand cradling your face. He's so… tender. It makes the tears spill over again, makes something snap in your chest like a rubber band pulled too far. Your body flashes hot with embarrassment as you dissolve into ugly, keening sobs, but when you lean toward Raphael he's quick to wrap you in a gentle embrace.

He holds you close, letting you weep into his plastron and hold onto him tightly. He doesn't move a muscle, doesn't shush you, doesn't say anything at all. It's unusual for him, but then you realize. He's still terrified of doing whatever it was that set you off again. The thought has you surging up to wrap your arms around his neck, and he lets you. You try to tell him you love him again. It comes out barely intelligible, but he understands you anyway.

“I love you, too,” he whispers. After a long moment, he continues. “No matter what, okay?”

Your throat feels like it's stuck in a vice. Like you couldn't possibly push past it to speak. Somehow, you do. “Okay.”

---

Tag list: @yorshie @luckycharms1701 @thejudiciousneurotic @khayalli @thelaundrybitch @mxalmighty

[standfucker]

Engravings

inspired by the following comment on my last SH fic:

Couldn't stop thinking about it, which eventually led to this.

Characters: Sanji

Reader: GN, they/them

Word Count: 6.2k

CW: Hurt/Comfort, SH, SH scars, auditory hallucinations, PTSD, mental institution-related trauma. No shipping, ace-friendly

Summary: It’s Sanji. You’re immediately, wholeheartedly certain. It’s Sanji, and he knows.

AO3 Link

"I’m listening to everything / please, tell me everything"

Nothing’s happened.

The sea is calm, the sun is shining, and the breeze is strong. All in all, a great day for sailing.

Nothing’s happened…

No recent squabbles among the crew, no surprises from sea beasts, no battles with pirates or Marines.

There’s no reason to feel the way you do. No trigger or logic to it. But you feel it anyway.

It’s like there’s an invisible filter over everything. Nothing looks different. Things sound different, though. The sounds of the waves and wind, the snapping of sailcloth and rope, the din of the crew’s voices. All of it wavers, like someone has their hand on a universal volume dial, yanking it back and forth at random. Sometimes the sounds are piercingly loud, like they’re right next to your ears, making you resist the urge to cover them. Sometimes the sounds blend into the background of everything else in a low, dull hum–so distorted that you have to focus to parse what’s being said to you.

The sound issue is your second tip-off that you’re having that kind of day. The first is the sense that the Sunny feels too small. And, crushingly, overwhelmingly, it feels like your fault. Irrational, but you can’t shake it. Really, it’s stupid: On the outside, it just looks like you’re hanging out next to your crewmates, making idle conversation. Inwardly, there’s such a deep feeling of guilt for just being there that you’re ready to throw yourself overboard.

You try to cope. You really do. You make an effort, mentally talking yourself through it.

I am allowed to take up space. I am allowed to exist.

You want to cry. You want to get down on your knees and beg for forgiveness. It doesn’t make sense, and there’s no cause you can identify. You feel like you’re going to throw up.

No one notices. How could they? Your mask is calm smiles and practiced eye contact, formed with easy jokes and interest in what the others say. Your mask is years in the making, thick with each layer you’ve added to seal in the cracks. It’s heavy and ugly, but it keeps you safe.

I am allowed to exist.

There’s no danger. You can’t explain why your fight-or-flight response is going off. There’s something wrong with you, and no one can see it because the problem is deep in the wiring. You can’t even see it. But you can feel it, and it feels so god-awful you don’t know how to endure it.

You feel yourself shaking from head to toe, so much so that it’s hard to keep your balance. But when you look down, your body is completely still. The noise around you blends together and buzzes like static, harsh on your ears. Then it gets louder.

I am allowed to exist.

You want to crawl in a hole and hide.

I am…

You excuse yourself–casually, collectedly–and head for the ship’s interior. You know what you’re going to do before you even start moving, like the decision’s already been made for you. A certainty that settles in your system, something to hold onto. The background noise grows even louder.

You stumble into the bathroom. As soon as you shut the door, all sound cuts out. 

You can’t hear anything. Not even the sea, nor the creaking wood of the ship. The room shifts, draws away from you until you have tunnel vision. Your vision warps, then focuses on the cabinet above the sink until you can see nothing else. Just like before.

It’s been a few weeks since the last time.

The background noise slowly picks up, but it’s distant, like you’re hearing it coming from a different ship. You reach for the cabinet.

What are you doing?

You open the cabinet. It’s organized so each crewmate’s stuff is clustered together, with the common items at the bottom. Your gaze passes over your deodorant, your nail clippers, your toothbrush, and settles on your straight razor.

Aren’t you too old for this?

You take your razor. From the common items, you take a bottle of alcohol. You fold up some tissue paper.

What would the crew think?

It’s hard to ignore the thoughts. But like any bully, they usually go away if you don’t give them energy. Usually.

The razor’s weight in your hand is comforting. It shouldn’t be, but it is. You unfold it, wipe down the blade with some alcohol. Then you lift up your sleeve and slide it over your shoulder.

This stretch of sea has been balmy. With the pleasant weather, you’ve worn a t-shirt, the short sleeves going just less than halfway down your arm. Underneath them, high up on your shoulder, are the scars. Faint and healed, a few shades lighter than your skin tone. Noticeable in the light, but that’s why you don’t participate in the group baths.

The background noise gets louder again. You think you hear shouting, faintly, but that’s normal for the crew. It barely registers over your heartbeat. 

Your heart is beating harder than before, dull thumps in your chest that seem to echo. Anticipating, ready.

Everything is going to be okay.

Finally. Finally. A hurt you can make sense of. Small, controlled. Yours.

There’s supposed to be a rush, you’ve heard. You don’t feel one. But there is a difference. The tunnel vision stops, the filter lifts. The world snaps back into place, the sound goes back to normal.

That’s when you really notice the shouting, no longer muffled by brain static. Something’s off. You focus. It doesn’t sound argumentative, like Zoro and Sanji. Nor is it playful, like Luffy or Franky’s might be. It’s startled and panicky, immediately grabbing your attention and making your adrenaline surge.

A second later, you hear an echoing BOOM, followed by an ear-splitting crunching of wood. It’s a sound you recognize, one you’ve heard before–a cannonball tearing into the ship.

You’re under attack.

For just a moment, you stare at your equipment, caught off guard. Then you pull yourself together–take your feelings and compartmentalize them for later dealing with–and tear out of the bathroom, dropping the tissue in the process. Your pistols are in their case, in the sleeping quarters. You need to get to them before you can join the fight…

The enemy pirates are strong–for a New World crew. Unfortunately for them, they’re completely outclassed by Luffy alone, much less the combined strength of the Straw Hats. Still, the numbers favor the enemy, and the battle is tiring enough to be distracting. Enough so that you forgot about what you were doing before it started. It’s only an hour into helping Franky patch up the ship, when you feel your shirt sleeve catch on your scabs, that you remember.

Then you realize you left your equipment out in the bathroom.

The razor. The alcohol. The bloody tissue paper.

Panic floods your system. You drop your tools and jump up as if electrocuted, all but flying to the bathroom. Has anyone used it since the fight?

Please no, please please please be wrong.

You kick the door open. It bangs harshly against the wall.

The equipment is gone. Your stomach sinks.

No no no no no.

You open the cabinet. Everything’s been returned to its place. Your straight razor has been folded and put away, as has the alcohol. The used tissue paper is gone. Not in the trash, either. Whoever it was must have discarded it in the toilet.

No no no no no!

Who? 

Who was it? You run through the possibilities in your head. Zoro? No, he wouldn’t clean up after someone else’s mess. Neither would Nami. At least, not for free. And what about the rest of the crew?

Whoever it was, would they even know what they saw? Surely they’d just think you cut yourself shaving. That was the only explanation, right? Even if the patterns on the tissue paper were distinct, the stains shaped into blurry, beaded lines–unless they had done it before, there’s no way they’d know. Right?

This time, when you shiver, it’s for real, not just a figment of your imagination. What would happen if you were found out? At best you’d be kicked out of the crew. At worst…

I’ll get locked up again.

You feel ill. Dizzy and nauseated with the prospect. You try not to spiral, try to get a grip before panic can take hold. The best you can do is to close the door behind you, sit on the floor, and take deep breaths.

You’re not sure how long you’re there–minutes, hours–but you don’t get up until someone knocks on the door.

“You almost done?” Usopp calls from the other side.

Swallowing hard, you find your voice. “Yeah. Just a sec.”

Usopp doesn’t so much as give you a second glance when you pass him. It’s not him.

You’re hypervigilant the rest of the day, scrutinizing every action, every word from your crewmates. Nothing seems different, but that only makes you more paranoid.

Nami offers you a tangerine. The simple action sets off a cascade of racing thoughts: Is she trying to make you feel better? Because she knows? Did she tell anyone? Did she tell Chopper? Luffy?

Every interaction is like that–an innocuous action that makes you flip out internally.

Franky gives you a gift: A cute little wind-up frog toy, made from scrap metal. He says it's to thank you for helping with repairs. You scan his face, but he’s only grinning proudly. Not Franky, either. 

Zoro invites you to drink with him. Brook plays a song you like. Robin hands you a book she’s just finished, saying it might suit your tastes. Nothing unusual, but enough to make you second guess everything. Each time, you cling to your mask, holding it so tightly to your face that you can barely breathe.

The next day, Sanji cooks your favorite meal for dinner. That wouldn’t be too weird, except you know for a fact that your favorite involves pricy ingredients that he prefers to save. You know this because he mentioned it, years ago, when he was teaching you how to make the dish.

You and Sanji had joined the Straw Hats at the same time. Two weeks before Luffy had shown up, you had tried and failed to dine-and-dash from Baratie. Zeff forced you to work to pay it off, plus an extra week to “teach you a lesson.” That was when you got to know Sanji. Unlike the rest of the chefs, he wasn’t mad at you for what you did. He even taught you some of the basics of cooking. As the only soft presence on the floating restaurant, you grew attached, and that feeling of reliance never really left since then. You were drawn to his air of confidence and self-assuredness, but mostly to the fact that he never hid who he was, even when who he was could be straight-up idiotic at times. But you still respected that about him.

You always liked to hang out around the cook, helping him prepare meals with what you learned at Baratie. You both fought well together, having each others’ backs in battle despite your different fighting styles. It was safe to say that he was your favorite crewmate, and though you weren’t sure what he thought of you, you viewed him as your closest friend.

So you really, really don’t want it to be Sanji.

You appraise his expression, his movement, his actions. It all seems normal, on the surface. And yet, it feels off somehow, but you can’t tell if that’s just the paranoia speaking.

“How is it?” Sanji inquires.

You stare for a second. It’s not a question he usually asks–he knows it’s your favorite and he knows you think it’s amazing. Maybe it’s just your imagination, but the smile doesn’t seem to reach his eyes.

“Delicious, as always,” you say. Your own smile lights up your face, the way you’ve carefully practiced. “What’s the occasion?”

He pauses, rubs the back of his neck. “No reason, really. I just thought that it’s been a while since we’ve had it.”

That evening, you’re alone at the port side of the ship, leaning against the railing and looking out at the night sea. Sometimes it helps with your racing thoughts. This time, it does nothing. Nothing keeps you from fixating on the situation. You feel like you’re hanging by a thread, like at any moment you’ll get kicked off the crew, and then your whole world will unravel. And it’s entirely your fault.

The questions won’t stop repeating themselves: Who was it? Did they know?

Behind you, someone clears their throat. You whirl around a bit too quickly and steady yourself with a hand on the railing. Sanji’s standing there with his hands in his pockets. Something about his posture sets alarm bells off in your head. He’s too stiff, trying too hard to appear composed.

“Hey, Y/n,” Sanji says gently, “can I talk to you about something?”

It’s Sanji. 

You’re immediately, wholeheartedly certain. It’s Sanji, and he knows.

You gape at him for a moment, then collect yourself. The mask comes back on.

“Actually, I’m pretty tired. Gonna turn in for the night. Tomorrow, okay?” you dismiss, and go to walk past him.

“Wait a second, Y/n,” he reaches to grab your wrist, but you yank it away before he can.

“Don’t!” you snap, stepping back, then quickly correct yourself. “I mean–don’t surprise me like that! We’ll talk tomorrow. I really should sleep...”

Sanji frowns, hand slowly lowering, and you make a hasty retreat.

The rest of the week is torture. You’re constantly avoiding Sanji wherever possible. He doesn’t strike up conversation when the others are around, which only makes you more certain that he knows. You ensure that you’re never alone with him, and if he does approach you by himself, you make yourself scarce. It becomes harder and harder to hide that you’re avoiding him. The crew takes notice–it’s not difficult considering you and Sanji are normally close.

Zoro’s the first to say something.

“Oi, Y/n. Did you have a fight with the cook or something?” he asks bluntly.

“No, we didn’t,” you reply.

Zoro’s eyes narrow slightly. “Well, you’re both acting weird.”

Some of the others are looking your way, now. Anxiety sours your stomach. You hold your mask steady as he continues.

“You’ve been kind of flighty lately. And he’s oddly subdued,” Zoro says, “I can’t believe I’m saying this, since he’s finally quiet for once, but it’s annoying. Would you just talk to him?”

“Uh…yeah, sure thing.”

Obviously, you don’t talk to Sanji. You keep evading him at every turn, only growing more distressed with each passing day. You know you can’t dodge the issue forever, but the moment you stop is the moment you’ll get kicked off the crew or worse, and that thought makes you want to die.

But the Sunny is only so large, and eventually, Sanji manages to corner you one night at the bow of the ship. You have your back to the figurehead, throat dry as you face him. Brook is up in the crow’s nest, keeping watch. Everyone else is asleep. It’s just you two, and you know you’ve run out of luck.

“We need to talk, Y/n,” Sanji says firmly.

Your throat goes dry. “Now?”

“Right now. No more running,” he says, taking a few steps closer. “I need to ask you something, and I need you to answer honestly.”

There’s no getting out of it anymore. “...Alright.” you say. Your heart pounds harder, palms growing damp.

Sanji takes a long drag off his cigarette, then stubs it out–that’s when your adrenaline really spikes, when you know you’re in for it. He looks you in the eye.

“Should you have access to firearms?”

The question hits you like a brick, stunning you into wide-eyed silence. You open your mouth, then close it, unable to respond for a second.

“...What are you talking about?” you try.

“Given how you’ve been avoiding me,” he says coolly, “I think you know exactly what I’m talking about.”

“I’m–I’m not following.”

“Don’t play dumb with me, Y/n!” he snaps, and you cringe. “Of everything you’re hiding, this is the one thing I’m going to find out. I’m not asking. You’re going to tell me or I’m going to tell Chopper. So answer me, right now: Are you safe around guns?”

You can’t take another step back, but you instinctively try anyway, your heel scraping the wood of the ship. But there’s nothing you can do. The mask crumbles, years and years of desperate crafting turning to dust in an instant.

“God, Sanji,” you respond, “what am I supposed to say to that?”

“The truth,” he says.

“And if you didn’t like my answer, what would you do? Take them away from me?”

“Yes.” His tone is unyielding, his eyes hard.

Yours start to sting at the corners. “And what after that? You’ll have me–” you bite your tongue to keep the tears from forming, “–you’ll have me kicked off the crew?”

“I never said that,” he says stiffly, “you don’t get it–”

“You don’t get it!” you bite back, voice rising. You lower it before continuing, “you don’t know anything.”

“I know you’re cutting.”

You flinch. The words sting. It’s not a pleasant sting this time. You turn your head, unable to look him in the eye.

“It’s just…” Sanji says, and there’s a touch of hurt in his voice, “after everything we’ve been through, I thought you trusted me.”

“I do,” you say automatically.

“You have a funny way of showing it.”

That stings even deeper. You shake your head. “I do, Sanji, but this is different.”

“Why?”

“It’s none of your business!” you bite. Bile rises in your throat at your venom; you hate being callous.

“My friend’s hurting themselves,” Sanji replies thinly, “that makes it my business.”

“That isn’t how this works!” you argue. “You don’t get to know everything about me just because you don’t like this!”

“Don’t I?”

“No!”

“You don’t feel safe with me.”

That one’s like a punch to the gut. You can’t tell what’s worse, the words themselves or the way he’s looking at you. That one hurts the most, because it’s true.

“...No,” you say after a moment, then steel yourself. “You’re right. I don’t. I can’t.”

“Why?”

“Sanji, please.”

“Don’t you plead now,” Sanji says, his tone hardening. “Don’t you put me in this position, Y/n.”

“I don’t have a choice, Sanji. I can’t. I just can’t.”

“Why?”

“Sanji!”

“Why?!”

“Because last time I trusted someone with this, I lost everything!” you blurt out. “I was institutionalized, okay?! Locked up! Is that what you wanted to know? Are you satisfied now?”

Your words echo in the silence that follows. He stares, jaw dropped slightly. You’re shaking, for real this time, and the words pour from you like a dam unblocked.

“You don’t know how humiliating it is, Sanji, to have the strings on all your clothes cut off, to be given only felt tip pens to write with, to not have doors, to have a scheduled bed time. To have all your choices taken away.” Your vision blurs as you continue. “I couldn’t do anything. It was like a prison. The other patients didn’t give a shit. The staff definitely didn’t give a shit. And all the while, they drained me of all my savings, until I didn’t have a single berri to my name. Then they kicked me to the curb. The one who reported me didn’t want to be associated with a crazy person. Neither did the rest of my friends. I was homeless. I had no one and nothing! That’s why I fled my home island, and that’s why I tried to dine and dash at Baratie.”

Sanji looks taken aback. He blinks quickly, then stares down at the deck. “What would you have me do, then?”

“This is supposed to be private!” You cover your face, fighting back tears. “You need–you need to keep your mouth shut and mind your business! I don't want anyone’s ‘support.’ You were never supposed to know.” You take a shaky breath and lower your hands. “If you really care, you’ll keep it to yourself, you’ll forget what you saw, and if you tell anyone…I won’t stick around to make the same mistake twice.”

Despite what you say, you already know it’s too late. There’s no going back, and now that he knows, it’s only a matter of time until you’re left behind. You bite your tongue to keep from crying at the thought, but you have to bite harder this time. The tears keep threatening to spill anyway, until you’re tasting iron.

Sanji is quiet. He pulls out his cigarettes and lights one, not speaking until after he takes a drag. “…Do you regret joining the crew?”

“Joining the Straw Hats was the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” you say honestly. “I’m the happiest I’ve ever been.”

“But you aren’t happy, are you?”

“Multiply something by zero and you get zero, right?” You look away, guilt eating at you. Experience tells you that no one wants to hear this. “I’m not trying to sound dramatic. I just… I don’t work right.”

“I don’t think you’re being dramatic.”

For some reason, that, more than anything else, breaks you. The first tears slip past your defense. You say nothing, lower lip trembling.

Sanji takes another slow drag of his cig and exhales away from your direction. “I don’t know how I missed it.”

“I do,” you say. “At the hospital, they…” the words die in your throat as the memories surge forward. “They…they…” You can’t finish, but tears begin streaming down your cheeks. You shake your head. “Let’s just say, after that, I learned not to ever give anything away. Never again.”

“They did something to you.”

You barely nod. Already you feel yourself slipping into a flashback, feel the nurses holding you down and the needle jabbing into your flesh.

“I’m sorry,” Sanji says, taking a step toward you, and then another, until he can reach out and gently touch your forearm. The touch brings you back, grounding you so that you’re back in the present. But the gentle action, and Sanji’s soft expression, only makes the tears flow faster, makes your nose run. You shrug.

“It must have been scary.”

Slowly, you nod again.

“Will you answer my question, Y/n? Please?” Sanji asks. “Please, I need to know you’re safe around guns. Will you at least tell me that much?”

You swallow the lump in your throat and wipe your face. When you answer, you look him in the eye so he knows you’re telling the truth. “Yeah. I’m… Yeah.”

Sanji sighs, his shoulders sagging with relief. “Thank goodness. Okay. Can I ask you something else?” At your nod, he goes on. “How long have you been feeling like this? Before the hospital, I mean.”

“...Since I was young,” you sniff. “I’ve been ‘coping’ on and off for years.”

Sanji sticks his hands in his pockets. “Okay. Can I see?”

“What?” The question catches you so off-guard that you stop crying. “I’m–I’m sorry?”

“You’re not going to show Chopper, right?” Sanji says. “So–”

“You’re not gonna tell him?” you cut him off, surprised.

“I haven't decided yet,” he admits. “I don’t want to go against your wishes, Y/n. But I don’t know the extent of the damage. Just… Just, let me see?”

“No.” You’re shocked at his audacity. What’s he thinking? Of course you can’t do that.

“I won’t judge. I swear, I just want to know you’re okay,” Sanji says.

“You can say that, but…” you rub your arm. “Be real. You’ll never look at me the same way again.”

“It won’t change how I think of you.”

“It will!” you shout, then lower your voice. “It will, forever. There’s no going back once that line is crossed and you see me for what I really am.”

He frowns. “Which is?”

“A freak!” 

Neither of you say anything for a moment. Then you shake your head again. “I’m sorry, Sanji. But a guy like you–strong, handsome, confident–you wouldn’t understand.”

Sanji gets a weird look on his face, one you’ve never seen in all the years you’ve sailed with him. He looks to the side, then down, then up. His drags on his cigarette become long and harsh, finishing it in three breaths. He lights another, making a face. Then he nods to himself, like he’s decided something.

“Okay,” Sanji says. “There’s something I want you to see.”

You frown. When Sanji puts his hands on the hem of his pants, you frown deeper. He pauses.

“Um. Just trust me, okay? I promise I’m not doing anything weird–just wait a sec.”

He slides down his pants, and you have no idea what’s going through his head until his pale upper thighs are exposed. Then, finally, you understand, and you cover your mouth in shock.

Both of his upper thighs are covered in a myriad of scars. There must be over a hundred, clustered just above where shorts would hide them. Most of them are big, inches long and criss-crossed with each other. A few are keloid scars, thick and raised above the skin.

Your stare could burn a hole through his flesh. Slowly, you look up at him. Sanji has a faint blush on his face, looking sheepish.

“Guys like me can be freaks too,” he says simply.

You’re in complete disbelief. You keep looking back from the scars to his face. It’s too much to process–where would you even begin? Sanji, of everyone on the crew–Sanji’s like you? Brave, unwavering, gallant Sanji? Of everyone? When you don’t respond, he speaks again.

“See, Y/n? You’re not alone.”

Tears sting the corners of your eyes again. You find your voice. “Yours are old.”

“Yeah. I got lucky. Had someone’s support.” Sanji smiles slightly, in a way that he only does when thinking of…

“Zeff?”

“Yeah. He eventually found out.” Sanji laughs nervously. “At first he freaked out. Thought I was using kitchen knives. After he calmed down, he told me…he told me he wouldn’t abandon me over that, because what kind of parent would that make him?” His expression wavers like he’s trying not to cry.

You, on the other hand, start crying again the moment you hear the word “abandoned.” You realize that’s precisely how you felt back then.

Sanji grabs your shoulders so you look up at him. “You’re not getting kicked off of the crew.”

“...I’m not?” you ask, voice small and pathetic.

“No. I promise.” Sanji squeezes your shoulders reassuringly. “No one else needs to know. But, Y/n, I’m not going to leave you to deal with this alone. So, will you show me?”

“...You won’t tell anyone?”

“I won’t. I swear on my honor. This stays between us.” He lowers his arms.

You bite your lip, sniffing. You shut your eyes, mustering up your courage, and nod. Sanji waits patiently as you breathe slowly to steady yourself. You hesitate before peeling back your sleeve, exposing your upper arm.

He’s quiet as he inspects the damage. Unlike his old scars, yours have yet to finish healing, still in the scabbing stage. A ladder of thin, dark red lines decorate your upper arm and shoulder. You look between your cuts and his scars. Yours aren’t as deep as what Sanji had done, which you feel weirdly ashamed about.

Sanji’s hand comes up, hovering over your cuts like he’s going to touch them, but then he rests it on your forearm instead. Despite the clear evidence that he won’t judge you, you’re still self-conscious, so you break the silence.

“The scabs catch on my sleeves,” you say awkwardly.

Sanji nods. “I had to bandage my thigh so it wouldn’t bleed through while I was working. It always felt so…”

“Stupid,” you both say. Then you both smile at the unexpected camaraderie. 

“What’s really stupid is how long I went thinking I was the only one,” you say, “and all this time, you…” You gesture vaguely.

“Can you do something for me?” Sanji asks. “Whatever you’re using–I’m not going to take anything from you. But in exchange, I want you to talk to me. We can talk in the galley, when it’s just us two.”

“I don’t know how to talk about it.”

How could you, after what had been done to you? After everyone you used to trust turned their backs? Knowing that Sanji understood you couldn’t fix the mental scars left behind by others. You could try to rationalize it, but just thinking about discussing the past made your throat dry up.

“If I told you about mine first, would it make you more comfortable?” Sanji offers.

You balk. “You–you don’t have to do that.”

“I don’t mind, if it means helping you.” Sanji says earnestly. “You can tell me anything. I won’t judge. How could I? We’re the same.”

Something broken inside you changes right then. Deep engravings fill with gold like broken pottery, sealing some of the cracks in your soul. Unmasked and exposed, Sanji sees into you, and he doesn’t waver or turn. He smiles, gently and softly and lovingly. Your eyes fill with fresh tears.

Sanji holds out his pinky finger. “Freaks?”

You smile from ear to ear, even as the tears start flowing again, and lock pinkies with him. “Freaks.”

So caught up in the moment are the two of you that neither one notices when Zoro appears until it’s too late.

He’s further down the deck, but standing right under one of the ship’s lights, so you can see him smile. “Hey, you guys are–” he starts, then notices Sanji’s pants. His smile instantly turns to a look of indignation, then rage. “What the hell?!”

Sanji scrambles to pull up his pants as Zoro charges.

“What the hell are you doing to Y/n, you creep?!” Zoro yells.

You hurriedly pull down your sleeve and move in front of Sanji, holding your arms up. “Wait a sec, Zoro!” 

“I-It’s not what it looks like!” Sanji cries.

Zoro screeches to a halt right in front of you, but then stretches over your shoulder to snarl at Sanji. “You better have a good explanation for this, shitty cook!”

You grab Zoro’s arms to hold him back. Not that you could ever hope to overpower him, but you know he’s too brotherly toward you to push you out of the way. “Zoro!”

“What?” Zoro turns his focus on you, “what did he do? I’ll kick his ass for you, Y/n.”

“No, that’s–”

Sanji interjects, “I didn’t–”

“We were…”

Zoro relaxes somewhat, now frowning and looking at both of you weirdly. “What exactly were you guys doing?”

Really, being in the middle of the night, it’s not a good look. You and Sanji are both caught off guard. Fumbling hard, you both speak at once.

“I was looking at a fungal infection!” you say.

“They were removing a tick!” Sanji says at the same time.

Both of you glance at each other.

“Tick,” you correct.

“Fungal,” Sanji says.

Zoro blinks. “A fungal tick?”

You both just nod.

Zoro stares between you two, then relaxes. “Oh... Okay. Good of you to not wake Chopper.” He nods and turns, leaving the two of you to it.

So flooded with relief are you that it’s staggering. You mentally thank the stars that Zoro is a simple and straightforward type of guy.

You and Sanji watch Zoro walk away. Once he’s out of earshot, you both look at each other.

Then you both burst out laughing.

“Oh my god,” you breathe, clutching your chest.

Sanji wipes away a tear. “That was close, huh?”

The laughter dies down into giggles before you calm yourselves, grinning at each other. Then you’re both throwing your arms around the other in a tight embrace, squeezing like you’ve never been hugged before in your lives. You bury your face in Sanji’s chest, he rests his head on yours. Your fingers dig into the other’s clothing, soaking in the warmth and the comfort that you could only get from someone who truly understood. You stay like that for a few minutes, quiet, close, and held.

“Are you sure?” you whisper after a minute. “That you want to deal with this? With me? What if I never get better?”

“Nothing’s set in stone but the poneglyphs,” Sanji replies, running a hand over your head so you look up at him. “Our future hasn’t been determined.”

“Our future?”

“You and me and the rest of the crew. There’s still time to grow, and to change.” He holds the back of your head tenderly.

“When does that time run out?” you ask, uncertain.

“It doesn’t.” Sanji smiles down at you. “As long as we’re alive, there’s another chance. That opportunity is always there.”

You smile back, then press your face into his chest again. Sanji squeezes you tighter.

“Tomorrow,” you mumble into his shirt. “Let’s talk tomorrow. I’m tired.”

“I bet.”

“I never want to hide from you again.”

You feel Sanji kiss the top of your head. “And I never want to make you cry again.”

“I want to tell you everything.”

“I’ll listen.”

You both stay like that for a while longer, each second spent there healing something within yourselves.

It will take weeks to figure out how to talk about your troubles. When you’re up for it, you talk in the galley as Sanji cooks, you helping him out as usual with prep and cleanup. It’s even longer before Sanji learns everything. In the interim, you become the only Straw Hat to learn of Sanji’s past before he ever gets a wedding invite.

Like worn muscles rebuilding, like bone regrowing stronger, the scars you’ve revealed to each other, both physical and mental, strengthen your bond more than anything else ever could.

"let it out, let me in, take a hold of my hand / there's nothing like another soul that's been cut up the same" -Handwritten, The Gaslight Anthem

[house-of-kolchek]

Dress (Part Two)

Leon Kennedy x Reader

OK I KNOW ITS BEEN A HOT MINUTE SINCE PART ONE BUT I LITERALLY REWROTE THIS THREE TIMES I APOLOGIZE

Also I love you all.

Word Count: 3.6k

Part One (18+)

Ok this is slightly (significantly) more drama than I was initially planning so. Enjoy my tears.

You didn’t get your dress dry cleaned. 

In fact, for a long time it remained in that pile, pooling at the foot of your bed. You were too afraid to call at first, your stomach churning with guilt, rejection and most of all, shame. And finally, two weeks later when you did try to call, the phone didn’t make it three rings before it was sent to voicemail.

So, with growing resentment in your eyes, you turned your phone off completely.

But still, as you stopped seeing him at work, that nagging itch in the back of your mind convinced you to ask around - even begging Hunnigan to assure you that yes, he was still alive in the least.

With that knowledge, you resigned to staring at the dress on your floor. The rumples in your sheets from your unmade bed - having not properly made it since that night. You felt like you were going crazy, biting at your nails and asking question after question to yourself in the silence.

Was he more drunk than you thought?

Did he think it was something else?

Did he regret it - did you ruin something over a one night stand?

The six week mark came and went. You’d finally picked up your dress a week prior, dumping it into a bag for donation, or just garbage, you weren’t quite sure. At this point, that stain was probably cemented into the fabric. You’d gone through a deep cleanse of your room, your apartment, anything to push away the plaguing memories of that night. If Leon wasn’t going to get back in contact with you, you would just have to move on.

Which was, of course, easier said than done. 

“Raven two- are you still with me?” The voice in your ear snapped. You cursed, glancing back at the smooth wall in front of you. The questions in your head were starting to follow you everywhere - even into work. You couldn’t help but wonder if you should have been working in the state you were in, but who would accept “My best friend and I slept together and then he disappeared” as an even remotely valid excuse?

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just looking for intel,” you muttered into the piece, picking at your nails, and the bits of dirt catching underneath them. The hallway behind you was long, leading to a sealed door. “There’s a door here that’s locked with a biometric scanner. The name matches our guy though.” You continued to study the panel, lightly running your fingers along the seams until - bingo.

With the edge of your knife, you pried against the gap in the panel, until the screen flew off, falling to the floor with a crack. Within a second, the lights had dimmed, a faint echo of an alarm bleating across invisible speakers. You cursed under your breath, taking a moment to analyze the collection of wires and motherboard looking things beneath the panel. 

What the fuck did any of them even mean.

“Fuck it.” You grabbed a handful of wires, and in a final hail mary moment, yanked them all from the panel. The alarm grew to a shriek, though you caught sight of the door shifting, just enough to indicate that the lock had faltered. Honestly, you had no idea how that even worked. 

“What the hell is going on in there?” your earpiece rang again. Your operative sounded less than thrilled.

“Well, let’s just say the security in this place is weird,” you huffed, reaching to pry the door open enough to slide into the office. “I made it into Brown’s office though.”

“Good,” she sighed. “From what I can tell they’ve dispatched a team towards the office. You’ve likely got two minutes before you need to be out of there, so get the notes and go.”

You nodded to the empty room, your brows furrowing as the lights within the office continued to flash. A computer was still on, the login information filled in.

How convenient.

You raced over to the computer, snatching a random flash drive from the desk. Clicking the login button, you watched the foreboding circle on the screen as the information loaded, your heart soaring as the desktop flashed into view. Wasting no time, you hit the files tab, plugging in the USB and copying anything, everything that you saw. You filtered through the email tab, copying the most recent files onto the drive as well. 

And then, a chorus of voices caught your attention. 

As the drive process edged towards completion, you searched through the room again, your attention catching on a door on the opposite wall. Praying that it wasn’t a closet, you ejected the drive, your arms flailing to grab at a pile of file folders, each labelled with three lettered initials. Hopefully they were important; you didn’t have the time to care. 

In a haste, you wrenched the door open, and-

“Fuck me.”

It was a closet.

“Harper,” you hissed into your piece, pushing forward between the hanging jackets and a mop handle. “I’m a little stuck in place right now, and I would really appreciate any backup.”

“Where are you?”

“In a broom closet. In Brown’s office.”

You heard a frustrated curse. A chorus of frantic typing on a keyboard before Harper’s voice was back in your ear.

“Okay, hang tight. Kennedy’s on his way.”

Wait.

“Fucking hell,” you cursed, wondering why the world had decided to curse you further in this clusterfuck of a mission. “How far out?”

“Five minutes. He was already on his way to the building.”

???????

You let out a whispered acknowledgment, falling silent as the first voice burst through the room. And then another, and another, until you were counting five low voices, assigning each other different areas to scout.

There was no way you could hide in here. Your free hand fell to the knife at your waist, shifting to the holstered gun along your thigh, and then back to the knife. It was safer. 

Better for close combat.

As Harper’s voice echoed “three minutes” into your ear, you heard a shuffle of footsteps halt directly in front of you. You held your breath, unsheathing your knife and loosening your knees into a short crouch.

The door flew open, and you lunged.

The first man let out a shout as you barrelled straight through him, sending him stumbling back off his feet. The four others - plus another surprise attendee - all whirled around to face you, their guns drawn. In a second, you ducked to the side, shuffling yourself behind the computer desk. You gave up on the file folders with a curse, throwing them over the desk towards your attackers.

In the distraction, you unholstered your gun, switching your knife to the other hand and crossing them together. Ducking your head over, you took a shot, hearing a pained cry. You shot again, creeping closer to the side of the desk. If you could sneak your way around and out the door, you could-

“He’s there.”

Another round of gunshots, ringing with that familiar weight, cut through the room. It felt quicker than three minutes, and you couldn’t help but peek your head over the desk.

Leon’s expression was stoic, his brows drawn into a line as he let loose another spray of gunfire. Two men fell to the ground, clutching at their legs. You took the opportunity to shoot out from your position, circling around towards the door. You took a few shots of your own, downing another two attackers as Leon’s arm reached out to force you behind him. 

You didn’t waste any time, grabbing his wrist and running from the room.

“Are you okay?” He huffed from beside you, having just barely caught up to your pace. You nodded, not trusting the words in your throat. His hair had gotten longer in the weeks, and there was a new hollowness just below his cheekbones. The sight of him sent a pang of emotion through you, and you chose to ignore it, keeping your expression blank as you raced towards the lab entrance.

Leon called your name as you escaped the building - surprisingly easily as no other security detail came after you. Your back flared, but your feet ignored the will of your mind, turning you to face the agent. With his long hair, wearing that familiar leather jacket and a pair of knitted brows. The sight of him, after those weeks of radio silence, of forcing you to question yourself over, and over again.

You weren’t relieved to see him. There was no spark of joy, no twinge of grief in your heart. You were angry.

“What the fuck do you want, Leon?”

He recoiled at the venom in your voice, his lips tightening further into a frown. You wanted to feel bad, to apologize and reach out for his hand, as you’d done in every argument before. But you couldn’t allow yourself to do that.

Leon cleared his throat.

“You’re bleeding,” was the only thing he said, directing his gaze to your side. You glanced down, taking in the dark, damp spot against the navy fabric of your shirt. The pain in your side didn’t even flare up until you pressed a hand to the wound, a sharp breath hissing between your teeth. Leon stumbled forward a step, his arm stretching out, until you caught his gaze, and he faltered.

It was quiet for a moment, the dull throb in your side beginning to grow in intensity. Leon’s gaze fell to the side, his teeth catching his bottom lip. If you had to hazard a guess, he looked angry, but you couldn’t tell why. 

“Just get me out of here,” you breathed, after another moment of silence between you two.

—

You didn’t let Leon come with you into the infirmary, much to his vocal protest. You received a visit from Ingrid, her expression remaining mostly concerned, though her lips held a tight line, and some prodding got her to admit that the agent had mercilessly been pestering her regarding your wellbeing. 

Why now?

You remained steadfast, refusing to confront him and allow yourself to fall back into whatever spell had prompted this whole disaster in the first place. You wallowed, you caught yourself staring at his contact in your phone. You listened to the low, muffled timbre of his voice outside your room and fought the urge to call him in, face the time, the distance that’d been placed between you two. You forced a wall up, defensive and as strong as you could muster.

You kept that wall up for five days. And then Ingrid decided she’d had enough.

You were leaning against the bed, packing up your few personal items to take home when the door opened, signaling Ingrid’s arrival.

“Hey - do you think we could stop at a drive thru on the way? I swear to god I need an actual meal-”

You shut right up as Leon Kennedy stumbled into your room, looking like a feral cat as he shrugged Ingrid’s hands off his shoulders. Her gaze found yours, unrelenting as she gestured between the two of you.

“Change of plans. Leon’s driving you home. Figure out whatever the fuck is going on between you two or I swear to god I am leaving you to die on your next missions,” she hissed, slamming the door shut without another word.

You all but shriveled into ash, your throat tightening as the man that had plagued your mind for the past two months scowled at the wall. He rolled his shoulders, biting the inside of his cheek as his gaze slowly, sloooooowly found yours.

“What have you been doing here, Leon?” you finally sighed.

“You need to be more careful.”

You huffed. “Noted. As if you have any right to tell me that. I’ll ask again: what are you doing here?” 

“If I hadn't shown up, who knows what could have happened.”

“Leon-”

“You know, you’d most likely be dead!” His voice grew in pitch, his gaze growing harder as he took a step towards you. You took a step back.

“Leon-”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you that reckless,” he hissed. 

“Well, what the hell do you think caused that?” you shouted. Leon’s mouth finally snapped shut. His jaw clenched, his gaze falling away from yours.

“You can’t just disappear for six weeks and-” you cut off with a hissed curse, reaching for the sudden flare of pain in your side. Leon’s arm shot out, and against your better judgement, you stepped away from it, holding a hand out to stop him. You watched him wince.

“You can’t just do that to me and pretend everything’s fine, Leon,” you finished. He looked hurt, his hand coming up to cover his face under the facade of brushing a stray hair away from his eyes. And the silence between you grew for a long moment.

“I know,” he finally breathed, his voice clipping at the end of its sentence. When you spared him a glance, you noticed the tightness of his fists, his nails digging hard into his palm as his gaze remained unfocused against the floor. You swallowed against the lump in your throat, forcing the words out from your lips.

“Did I do something wrong?” you asked, and his gaze snapped back to yours in a moment. Before he could get a word out, you were talking again. “Did I take advantage of you? Because I swear, I thought you were fully coherent. Hell, I’ve seen you in a much worse state without any problems, but maybe I read into something and I forced your hand and-”

Leon’s hands found your shoulders, and you physically jerked out of your thoughts. You watched his face twist into something that looked like pain as his hands flew off of you with a muttered apology. 

“You didn’t do anything wrong, I swear,” he muttered. “I did everything wrong. I just…”

You waited. And he took a breath.

“Let’s get you home.”

You let his words balance on your tongue, your gaze slipping away from him. Your brain felt like mush, both relieved and disappointed. Overall, entirely unsure of what to think. So, with a silent nod, you let him slip your bag over his shoulder, his hand hovering over your shoulder as he led you out of the infirmary and to his car.

God, you’d missed his car.

The door shut behind you, and you immediately noticed your chapstick, still settled in the second cupholder between the seats. His bags were still strewn across the backseat, along with one of your old hoodies, the only neatly folded item on the seat. Leon flicked on the radio as he drove home, keeping the volume low enough that it almost blended with the noise of the car along the road.

You recognized the song, something you used to sing to your curtains at night. Something about a fancy dress, bought for a single person.

You reached across the dashboard to switch the radio station.

Throughout the drive, you made too much effort to sneak some glances at him. He looked tense, his grip on the wheel almost as tight as his jaw. He had that familiar knot in his brows that told you of the racing thoughts in his own head. And every once in a while, you’d catch him as he snapped his attention back to the road.

By the time you arrived at your home, you’d actually tired yourself out trying to analyze his thoughts. 

Leon parked the car, glancing towards your front door. Though it wasn’t dark, the moment felt familiar. The awkward silence, the silence that thickened the air. So, before it could get too reminiscent, you practically threw yourself out the car door. 

Leon was on his feet as you shut the door, looking over the roof of the car to meet your gaze. He’d already reached to grab your bag, hoisting it over his shoulder.

“Can I help you bring this in?”

You fucking hated this distance between the two of you.

“Do you want to come in?”

Leon barely hesitated - only enough for his shoulders to relax - before he nodded, circling around the car to follow you into your home.

You shut the door, directing Leon to just drop your bag by the pile of stuff in the hall, before you trudged over to the couch, falling into the comfort of the cushions. He sat next to you, much closer than you would have expected. You spent a long moment staring into space, mustering up the words you needed to say before finally letting out a heavy sigh.

“Why did you disappear for two months? And then why did you show up? Why did I have to listen to you outside of my hospital room? Why did you leave in the first place?” 

As you asked them, your questions didn’t seem to stop, and Leon seemed to pick up on the increasing urgency in your voice as he caught your hand, rubbing a circle along your knuckles because he knew it would calm you down. You wanted to pull away from it, to keep that fiery wind in your sails before your resolve completely crumbled. Yet as you started to pull away, his grip tightened on your hand, a sharp breath sounding from his lips. 

“I don’t know,” he admitted, his own nose scrunching as he thought. “I thought I ruined something, that maybe I took advantage of you and ruined things.”

“So why not just talk about it?” you pressed. “I mean, we’ve seen each other through much worse.”

Leon was quiet. (I’m about to hit you with the cheesiest fucking line known to man)

“I mean, what could be worse than fucking that up and losing you?”

There was a strong wave of pure feeling that crashed through your chest. Something that felt like grief, like adoration. It felt like pain and bliss all tied up together in a bow. It was like you were teetering at the edge of a cliff and something in his words had just anchored at you. But at the same time, it felt like you were watching each other crumble apart next to each other. 

Without any warning, you burst into tears. 

Leon’s breath caught in his throat as you flew into him, wrapping your arms tight around his neck and pulling him as close as possible. He was trembling, his own arms wrapping around your waist, as he buried his nose into your shoulder.

It was rare to see this kind of emotion from him. His voice was trembling, and his grip on your waist was tight enough that you wondered if he was scared to let go. Those walls you’d watched him carefully craft over the years crumbled right in front of you, and your heart couldn’t help but swell at the outpouring of those emotions he’d locked up for so long.

“Can you forgive me for running away?” he asked. Pleaded, really. His eyes grew wider in your silence. A part of you wanted to wash away the past weeks, draw him right back into your arms without another battle. The smaller, more bitter part of you wanted to keep arguing, to show him just how much he’d hurt you. 

But this was Leon. He was your closest friend…. And he was looking at you without any defense in his gaze. He held only sincerity, if not a little bit of fear as he waited. You’d been more honest with him than anyone else, and in a moment you simply knew with utmost confidence he would offer you the same. So you asked.

“What did that night mean to you?” you asked, fighting against the tightness in your chest for volume. As you pulled away to face him head on, his gaze softened. His lips twitching in the first smile you’d seen in months.

“You said you bought that dress for me,” he started, his gaze unwavering. “And I swear I saw heaven. I meant every word I said. And I want you. I want to be with you.”

The words were simple, but they made your heart soar. 

“You’re my person,” you muttered. “Always.”

And Leon let out a huge breath, his eyes falling shut and his shoulders sagging before he surged upwards to kiss you.

When he kissed you, it felt like he craved you, like he couldn’t live without the feeling of your lips against his. He held you tight, his fingers digging softly into your back. You let your own hands curl into his shirt, your lips parting just enough for his tongue to prod against the seam.

Leon broke away from you for barely a second before he kissed you again, soft and so tender that you felt like glass about to shatter. Your thumb brushed against his cheekbone, feeling the warmth of his skin, the tickle of his hair, simply reassuring yourself that he was actually there in front of you.

He pulled you close, closer than you could even have thought possible, his hands curling into your shirt. When he finally pulled away from you, his forehead resting against your collarbone, his breath shook. Your shirt grew damp, and your arms tightened around him.

“Y’know how much I missed you, you fucking dumbass?” you sighed, and Leon let out a weak chuckle. He lifted his head slowly, his nose barely brushing against your jaw as you found those ever familiar baby blues of his.

“I think I have some idea,” he whispered with a short grin.

And you kissed him again.

TAGGING:

@chaosandbubbles @obsessedwithtoomanythings @navstuffs

[nethhiri]

Marooned: Chapter 33

Kid x FemReader x Killer

Warnings: Sex (dub con), violence, gore, murder

Indulgence

This was the room Kid liked to take people to torture, though none of the captives were there. It was just you. And you were being tortured. Your hands were shackled above you, your throat hurt from all the noise you were making, and there were tears running down your face. But you didn't try to get free. You wanted to be here. You could feel Kid's nails dig into the flesh of your hips. 

"Open yer eyes. Don't pretend ya don't like an audience," Kid barked in your ear between pants. 

You were strung up in the middle of the room, fully nude, with only Kid's grasp to steady you as he fucked you from behind. In front of you, the other three officers watched. Kid yanked your hair back, forcing you to look up at them. Their eyes clung to your form, hungrily devoured the scene in front of them. You couldn't make direct eye contact with any of them, especially not Wire, though to see him look at you with hostility would surely excite you. This was not the spectacle that you invited them to watch.

When next you blinked, they were suddenly all very close. Their hands went wherever they pleased, eliciting a shiver from you. Hot breath was against your skin and there were sweet praises and curses alike being whispered against it. If only your hands weren't bound so you could touch them back. 

"Who do you want next?" Killer's hand found its way to your throat, not squeezing, just teasing. 

"I don't think she has to pick just one. Right, rag-doll? You would let Wire and I toss you back and forth, wouldn't you?" Heat's voice was somewhere to the side of you, but you couldn't look. You were transfixed by the sight of Wire perusing a wall of various tools, some for torture, some for pleasure.

Killer didn't have his helmet on, a dead giveaway that this was only a dream. As if on cue, you awoke with a gasp and a burning heat in your core. Fuck that was a good dream. You were disappointed that it was cut short. One, because that fantasy was really hot, and two, because now you were exceptionally horny. Even the soft fabric of the shirt Kid let you borrow against your nipples was maddening. You thought about taking an early morning shower for some relief or you could always take care of yourself right here. What were you even thinking? Kid was right there.  

The living orgasm dispenser was snoring next to you on his back. You nudged him, "Hey." He snored louder but didn't move. You spoke directly into his ear, "I wanna fuck." Still nothing. You groaned disappointedly. Maybe this will wake him up. You slid your hand down to meet his shaft, which was half-hard, as sleeping dicks normally are. He twitched, both on his face and with his dick, but didn't wake up. You thought about yesterday when Kid was talking about touching you in your sleep and that he would participate gladly. Did it count if it was him that was asleep? He was begging for you to fuck him yesterday. Using your poor judgement skills, you decided to fuck him anyway. There had been plenty of times that he had snatched you away and you hadn't been into it at first. You figured he would probably like it. 

You scooted down in the sheets until you found his cock with your mouth, easy since he slept naked. It, very eagerly, stood at full attention with a few bobs of your head. You let a glob of spit drip onto the head for good measure, before getting on top of him. He grunted as you rubbed yourself against him. You lined yourself up and sank down on him. There was a slight sting with the stretch of your cunt around him, but fuck did it feel good to be full. You were wound up fairly tightly from your dream. The feeling alone almost made you cum. You moved experimentally, watching Kid's face. A few strokes with your body made him stir, praises leaking from his lips in the form of quiet moans and grunts. You were panting soon after that, trying to hold in whatever noises that so desperately wanted to come out. The sound of your name made you freeze. Kid was still asleep. Maybe I imagined that.You went back to riding him, chasing your own release. His hips moved ever so slightly below you. "Fuck," you moaned. You looked up at him and his golden eyes were staring at you with bewilderment and some kind of lustful reverence. It startled you. Not enough to stop moving this time. "Good morning, Captain." Now that he was awake, all the sounds you had been bottling up came tumbling out.

"Is this a dream?" Never in a million years would he expect to wake up to this, especially not with you. Sometimes people were afraid to fuck him while he was awake; he didn't think anyone would try it while he was asleep. Not that he thought you were afraid of him, but because you hated him. Why were you being so generous by fucking him? Your expression was lost in pleasure. When you were looking at him, you weren't really looking at him, your eyes just happened to land there. Oh. You weren't doing this for him. It was purely for you. She's using me to get off. Fuck that's hot.

You shook your head and leaned down to kiss him. Kid's hands grabbed your hips and pulled them down on him, repeatedly. "Fuck, Kid!" You threw your head back, feeling your impending orgasm. "Don't stop!" You cried out as a wave of pleasure wracked your body, toes curling, back arching, pussy clenching, waking the entire ship up with your curses. There were a few more wet slaps before Kid pulled you down for another kiss, this time groaning into your mouth as he came. Both panting, you rested your head on his chest while you caught your breath.

"Shit, Rotten. Where'd that come from?" Kid's eyes were glazed over, both with post-coital bliss and the grogginess of just waking up. 

"Had a sexy dream. Woke up. Used your body to take care of it." You grinned and bit your lip. "Sorry. Thought you wouldn't mind."

"Ya only gotta be sorry for not waking me up sooner." His hands moved to grip your ass, the cold metal of the one making you shiver.

You rolled your eyes. "I tried."

"What was this sexy dream?" 

Your face turned red. Obviously Kid would share with Killer, but did that extend to other crewmates, let alone his other two closest friends? You cleared your throat, drawing your nails down his chest as you spoke, "I was shackled to the ceiling. And you were fucking me from behind." 

"Go on." Kid moved your hair to look at his handiwork, touching the metal that adorned your ear. "I know that can't be it. What's my wee little bunny fantasize about?"

Goosebumps ran down your spine. "Killer was there, watching." You hesitated. "H-Heat and Wire were there, too..." You quickly mumbled the next bit about them tossing you around to share. 

The rumble of Kid's laugh in his chest sent a tickle into your own from the vibrations. "Bunny is greedy, is she?"

"That doesn't bother you, does it?" You were relieved that he wasn't jealous or angry, not that he had any right to be. He seemed like the type, though jealousy did not lend itself to debauchery, which he clearly participated in. "Variety is the spice of life they say."

"Fuck no! That's hot. I'll call them in right now if ya want." 

You could tell by the fiery look in Kid's amber eyes that he wasn't joking, and he was more than willing to indulge you, and by extension, himself. "Ahh that's ok. I won't have the energy for torture today if we do that."

Kid's eyes were half-lidded, "But what if I want that. I could ask Killer for those seastone shackles ya liked so much. String ya up in the middle of my bed. Then we fuck ya until yer a drippin mess."

Shit that was an alluring mental image. You were seriously considering it. "I don't think Wire likes me like that." A thought popped into your head. "You think he enjoys a hate-fuck?"

The cold metal of Kid's hand slapped your ass. "Yer a depraved little thing, aye?"

"Takes one to know one." You grabbed his chin and bit his lip, pushing yourself up to get ready for the day.

——————————————————————————

After breakfast, you had pulled aside everyone who had been injured yesterday so you could check them over again. You had finished healing yourself after you showered the previous night and you felt recharged enough to use your power if you needed. The infirmary was cleared out in a few minutes. No one needed additional care, not even Reck, who felt terribly about what happened. Though Quincy came around a bit later for the same problem she had been having a few weeks prior.

"This is your second UTI in a month." You eyed her, already knowing where this was going. 

"Yeah?" She looked confused.

You looked to make sure Kid wasn't eavesdropping in the other room. "Who are you fuckin?" 

Quincy turned beet red. "H-how? I mean I'm not-"

"Please. You want to tease me about coming back this morning in only a t-shirt, but you can't admit you're having sex with someone." Finally you could tease her back. Possibly a bit unprofessional. "You don't have to say who. I'm kidding. But will you at least admit you are?"

She nodded. 

"That makes this easy then. Take the same medicine I gave you last time until it runs out." You continued, "Listen carefully. You have GOT to pee after sex. Or this WILL keep happening." You looked at her to make sure she heard. 

"That's it?"

"That's it." 

Quincy hesitated when she got the door. "Hey, I'm sorry about Minerva. I'm grateful."

You glanced at the snoozing shape in the corner. "If she cared about getting hurt, she wouldn't have done it. Trust me. She only does what she wants."

The personal nature of Quincy's problem had you thinking. You were going to have to be the bigger person, figuratively of course. You couldn't be checking for Kid all the time, and it wasn't fair to the patients not to have privacy. Begrudgingly, you went to the Big Fucking Hole, as you had been affectionately calling it, and placed your hands on one side. The wood began stretching to cover the gap. The action made your heart sink. You kind of liked when Kid was being annoying and the dumb little ways he got your attention. You couldn't have him watching all the time, though. You were about to sail through more dangerous waters, and the infirmary needed to be ready in case things turned ugly. 

Watching the hole shrink put you in a weird mood. You grabbed some items and went below deck. There was no better way to cheer you up than to make other people suffer. You were indebted to these people, for they were going to help you find the worst way to kill Warthin and Van Kossa. Giemsa's death was partially satisfying, but Kid got carried away too quickly. 

The men you had incapacitated yesterday were all strung up against the walls. Your first order of business was to give control and feeling back to their bodies. Their spinal cords had been altered in order to make them easier to capture. Something small, yet so devastating. You could have left them that way to spare them some pain, but then this whole experiment wouldn't be worth anything. You needed to know what method was the most painful. 

They started to beg for their lives as soon as you relinquished their functions to them. You were sure that would act as chum for your soon-to-be audience. You didn't bother rounding them up, that wasn't your job and you couldn't care less if they were there or not. 

"Mini, which one do you want?"

The boar sniffed around and bit one of the on the foot. You watched as she got a better grip in her mouth and tugged. The skin on the man's leg started to rip. You wondered what would happen first: degloving of his leg skin or dislocating his shoulders. The man screamed as Mini shook her head with his leg still in her mouth. The shackles holding his hands against the wall made metal groans, firmly in place. It turns out there was a third option, which finally won out. The man's skin was shredded off his hands from the force of Mini pulling, his bones crunching together to be forced through the shackle. The man writhed on the ground but wasn't able to go anywhere. One of his legs was crushed and he was currently pinned by one hoof in the center of his abdomen. You were already in a better mood watching. 

"Who wants to go next?" 

There were all silent, save for some whimpers and sniffles. It was hard to hear them over the screaming of Mini's toy. 

"THE LADY ASKED WHO WANTS TO GO NEXT," Kid's bark came from the doorway. 

Just as you predicted, the gang was all here. Though you didn't notice them right away because Kid took up the entire doorway, and he was distractingly hot when he was yelling on your behalf. 

"I'll choose for you then." You grabbed the scalpel you brought from the infirmary and walked up to the nearest victim. With precision, you sliced at several places in quick succession, symmetric on both sides. Blood dripped down the man and onto the floor at a slow yet steady pace. You purposefully picked vessels that were medium to small range calibers, too big to clot and too small to bleed out quickly. He started to plead with you, and then looked to the others to see if he would have better luck with them. "Shut up or I'll rip your vocal cords out. They aren't going to help you." 

You threw the scalpel down on one of the tables that was there. That didn't feel satisfying at all. A slow, inevitable death, not very painful or grotesque. 

"Can you do that thing where you make them explode?" Heat asked. 

"Nah. I think that was a special occasion." 

He looked disappointed. 

You went to the next man, intending to put him on his back on the floor. Didn't want organs spilling out during dissection. The shackles were slightly out of your reach and you could hear snickering behind you. 

"Do ya need help, wee bit? All ya have ta do is ask nice." 

Glaring at him, you touched your hand to the man hanging. In a flash of light, he was now on the ground. His hands were still hanging, however. "We're fine here, Captain." You stopped the bleeding from the wrist stumps and straightened the man out on the ground. You also created new shackles that held him in place in the floor. His clothes were cut off in an instant and you went right to it with a new blade, incising a large Y on his chest, with the tail going all the way down to the pubic ramus. With some quick strokes, you had the skin and then the fat peeled back, exposing muscle and bone. The man had passed out almost immediately after shrieking in a pitch so high it could crack glass. It was mesmerizing to watch the organs continue to undulate, performing their functions. 

Killer squatted down next to you. "Why can't you be this attentive to detail in the kitchen?"

"I'm not going to dignify that with an answer." At least when Killer poked fun at you, it was kinda cute. You pointed out an area on the liver. "That's where Reck got hit."

"I see." Killer pointed at some other things and you identified them for him. As someone who had a small knowledge of healing, he was very intrigued by this new perspective on the human body. Usually he only got to examine it after death or in pieces. He figured if you weren't going to be a permanent addition, he should try to learn from this. 

"What is this? An anatomy lesson? I wanna see the walls drippin with blood!" Kid stood over the two of you, arms folded.

Of all the tools on the wall, you didn't see what you were looking for. "I'm getting to it. It's gonna have to be the hard way though. Don't see any pruning shears." You looked at Wire, who you learned was in charge of this particular room. He shook his head to confirm they didn't have any. 

Putting your hand under the ribcage, you felt around for the diaphragm. It was hot, gushy, and wet, creating all sorts of squelching sounds as you tickled this guy from the inside. Carefully, so as not to cut yourself, you slid your other hand with the scalpel to the same area, making a cut into the muscle through to the chest cavity. You set the scalpel aside and reached both hands under the ribcage, squeezing them through the hole. The pressure against your hands changed with every breath from the lungs. You were up past your elbows reaching into this guy. There were a few meaty tearing sounds as you tugged at various connections to free your prize. You grabbed the scalpel once more and shoved it into the chest cavity, cutting away the last tie, the great vessels. Then with one tug, your hands came out from under the ribcage with a grapefruit sized pulsating organ. 

"It still beats for a minute or two after you cut it out." Blood dripped from your elbows as you held the man's heart in your hands. "Could have shown it to you still beating in the man's chest if I had shears to remove the ribcage. Then you can squeeze the heart until it stops and watch them convulse in real time. And you can do it over and over again if you can release the  heart before it completely stops." You offered the heart to Kid, who seemed fascinated by the way it twitched in his hands. 

Kid marveled at the organ, but he was more entranced by the way you casually described torturing a man with his own still-beating heart. And the vision of you tearing someone's heart out with blood dripping down your forearms made his own heart squeeze in his chest. You were a feral little beasty that he hoped would never be tamed. 

Now that you were on a roll, you were flooded with ideas. For the next man, you pulled off all his nails and pulled out all his teeth, and there weren't many to begin with. Then you skinned him. He actually remained conscious the entire time, though his voice grew hoarse from screaming. You put a hand against the bare muscle of his cheek. "You're doing so well for me," you purred. Gently pushing his head to turn, you started flaying the muscle of his face, moving down systematically until all his muscles had been dissected away. When you focused on him again, he was dead. "Shit, I missed when he died." 

Heat pointed about halfway down the man's body. "It was around when you got here."

"Thanks, Heat. You're a real peach." You patted his shoulder and your hand slid around the back of his neck, tracing your nails over the skin, as you walked behind him to the next victim. You tended to be more of a flirt when you were riled up like this, though you didn't realize that you were doing it sometimes. You also missed the way Heat's entire top half turned red. 

You stood in front of the last man. He had given up begging and was full on sobbing. "Mama's gonna get you for this," he blubbered.

"Mama can suck the fattest part of my ass."

"Save that fer us," Kid snickered under his breath.

Your heart skipped a beat. What did he mean by "us"? Did he tell them about your dream? Were you embarrassed or a little turned on by that threat? This was not the time to be thinking about that. You focused on what was in front of you. You had yet to indulge in a good old fashioned beating, nor had you used your powers. Maybe you could combine the two. It would probably end quickly, but it would be fun, and it would inflict a lot of pain. 

If you started with the spleen or liver, he would bleed out internally very quickly. Kidneys were also fairly bloody. The stomach was a safer bet. So were the intestines. And you could blow out one lung. You started with the stomach, punching the man as hard as you could without haki, and at the end of the punch you used your power to make it burst. From the outside, you couldn't tell anything changed until the man started wailing about something burning inside. You punched him in the gut several times using the same method. From his shrieking, you thought maybe you had found the winning torture methodology. There was a harsh wheezing as you popped his lung with another hit. 

Panting, you observed your work. You had decided to try this method on his bones too. Pleased with the grotesquely bruised and bloody man, who was still alive, you contemplated what Heat asked. Placing your hand over his face, you summoned the same rage that you had felt when it happened the first time. Nothing happened. A disappointed huff left your mouth. You were about to finish him off a different way, when you felt a presence beside you. 

"You gonna give up that easy?" Killer challenged.

"It's not working."

"Try harder then."

You growled with frustration, but tried again. Letting your eyes close, you thought about Mini being hurt by that man's comrades. You thought about how they wanted to hurt Quincy and how Reck could have died. It didn't work. You knew they were all okay, so you couldn't bring yourself to the same level of anger. 

Killer lowered his voice, "The whole point of this is to eventually use it on the people that betrayed you, right? Why don't you think of them?" 

One flash of Van Kossa's face in your mind and you felt the familiar spray of viscera. Beside you, Killer jerked back. The wetness soaked through your clothes and, just as Kid wanted, coated the walls.

"You did it!" Heat's former disappointment evaporated. He and Wire really only wanted to watch to see you do it again. 

Kid's hands clapped on both of your shoulders and gave you a shake. "Atta girl." 

You looked up at Kid with a sickening grin. If you could control this power at will, you would be a force to be reckoned with, to be feared, respected. You turned so that you were facing him, tapping your fingers on his chest. "You know, I was thinking."

Kid thought you were gonna say some nasty shit to him. He, for one, was definitely turned on watching you eviscerate these losers, and he knew you got some pleasure from it as well. Maybe you were about to tackle him to the ground right there. Apparently you weren't opposed to having the other three around. 

You continued, "Wouldn't it be something if you could control blood? I mean there's iron in it, and you control that." You licked your lips, tasting the iron that clung to them. "You could keep the blood in them longer so they wouldn't die as fast. Or even better, you could put the blood back in and I could heal them. Then we could do it all again. It would be an eternal hell."

"I like the way ya think." Kid smeared the blood over your lips, bending down to taste it for himself, his arm snaking around to pull you tight to him. "Depraved little bunny," he growled into your neck, continuing to nip and suck at the blood that stained your skin.

[zushimart]

crossed wires, UNOFFICIAL ch.3. the scene i was writing quickly spun into something else that doesn't fit into the rest of the somewhat already written and planned storyline. i wanted to post it anyways, since i do like how it came out. it's really cheesy. miscommunication, hurt and (immediate) comfort, fluff, suggestive undertones. m!spiderman!reader x civilian!scara. childhood friends to lovers. 2.3k words. warnings: ummm mild conflict caused by miscommunication. scara raises his voice, but quickly regulates his anger. he also cries, but is soothed. nothing bad. read ch.1 here. read ch.2 here.

two and a half minutes later there’s a pounding on scara’s window that frightens him out of the chair and onto the floor. he looks up from the runner rug he landed on to see a face sat on the fire escape, a grin stretching across lips. curses spill out of his mouth as he gets to his feet and leans over the desk pressed up against the wall to unlock the window. “what the fuck?”

“yanked down the ladder. faster than buzzing,” he says. “and you gave me a time limit.”

“that was self imposed,” scara snaps, standing on his tippy toes and stretching his body to try and peer over the boy’s shoulder. “did you pull it back up? the landlord’s gonna call the cops.”

“oh, so when i’m early, i’m scolded and when i’m late, i’m scolded,” he says, rolling his eyes and pushing scara out of the way to crawl onto the desk and into his studio apartment. scara takes another look and can see the stairs folded up, looking untouched. a sigh of relief follows.

“misattribution of my irritation,” scara says, slamming the window closed hard enough to rattle the walls of his glorified closet. he turns around to see him toeing his shoes off politely with his head bowed… until he opens his mouth and sours the courtesy:

“real big words for such a pretty face,” he says, dodging when scara swings. “i’m joking!”

“bad joke.”

and he bursts into giggles, pulling a squirming scara into a bone-crushing hug before the boy can think of interrogating him for his impossibly sudden appearance. “you’d die without them,” he mumbles, pushing his cold nose into scara’s neck. he’s clawing at his arms, trying to pull them off, but they tighten like vines.

“what the fuck is this for?” scara asks, strained as he’s lifted off his feet. the question goes ignored and the air punches from his lungs from the force of the next squeeze.

the boy’s voice is suddenly serious, “you can handcuff yourself to me,” he says.

scara’s face flushes red as a cherry. “don’t make it sound weird,” he admonishes, tone pitching up. he gives one last kick of his feet before he surrenders, going limp as a doll. he quietly hopes the slamming beat of his heart is not as loud as it is in his ears.

“no, it’s a good idea,” the boy mumbles, lips brushing against the sensitive shallow above scara’s collarbones. his eyes widen as a shiver slides down his spine, followed by delicate fingertips tracing the ridge of the bones of his back lower and lower–– which means he’s being held up by the strength of a single arm. the revelation sizzles scara’s brain, restarting a few times from the electrical overload as lips ghost skin again, “i could keep you safe.” and scara realizes there’s a warm heat pooling in his stomach and a pathetic noise crawling up his throat… he panics, swallowing it as he flails wildly once again with a real strength this time. he’s dropped unceremoniously onto hardwood and he curses, rubbing at his tailbone. “sorry,” says the perpetrator with the gall to look sheepish.

“i-i’m still mad at you,” scara says, cringing at his own petulance. “don’t think you’ve distracted me with whatever… that was. acting like a guilty dog.”

he puts a finger to his lips and hums. “maybe a leash instead?”

“gross!” scara exclaims, kicking a foot out and making contact with his shin. there’s a sharp, sucking gasp as he keels over onto the floor. “f-freak,” scara stutters, mostly to himself as he tries to banish images the swift mind conjures.

after a minute of letting the pain dissipate, he opens his mouth again: “what are you mad about? yesterday?” he asks from where he lay, forehead still glued to the floor in defeat. “i’m sorry. that was shitty.”

“where did you go?” scara demands.

“around. i got you something,” he says, fishing around his pocket. “my apology gift.” scara almost groans. maybe mona was right, he had a boyfriend with none of the perks and all of the disappointment.

he gets into a sitting position across from scara and drops a small ball of tissue paper on the floor with excitement gleaming in his eye. scara reaches a tentative hand to take it and begins to unwrap. careful not to rip the delicate tissue, he reveals a strip of silver that catches the ambient light. he peels the piece out and it sits like a dime in his palm.

the little charm is quickly warmed by the heat of his hands. he eyes it closely, noticing the delicate carving of their initials sitting together. “did you make this?”

“mn,” he affirms with a smile.

it’s a replica from the past of a dime-turned-pendant the two traded as children before scara tied it to a bridge on a summer trip in paris with his step-mother.

he was proud, at the time, to declare his friendship as important as everyone else’s with the pendant’s leather cord knotted around a metal bar like the locks beside it. yae even helped guide his swiss army knife into the soft metal of the coin till chicken-scratch letters were married to each other. she took a photo for him, sent it to the other boy’s mom, too. until he grew up and realized the pendant was wrapped around a love lock bridge meant for people who kiss. and it was brought up to tease him. over and over.

“are you making fun of me?”

“what?” he asks, face falling.

scara’s heart races. “the jokes, the hug, this,” he starts, bile burning the back of his throat.

“what do you mean? why would i make fun of you?”

“y-you make fun of me all the time!”

“so do you!” he exclaims. “but why would i do it now?”

“what is this for?” scara asks, clutching the metal in his fist.

the eyes across from him widen. his throat bobs. he fidgets with his hands when he answers, “you seem worried… that i don’t care about you.”

scara’s face twists into a grimace as frustration surges like high tide. he can hear it in his ears as pressure constricts his temples. “what do you think i’m upset about? be clear.” and while previous blades had been blunt, like wooden sticks to spar with, these words are sharp.

the boy takes a resigned breath and opens up, uncrossing his arms and sitting with his legs spread. “that i’m late? i miss plans? i don’t text back?” he asks with a tilt of his head, the uncertainty dripping off his voice is like kerosene.

“no!” scara almost shouts as his temper ignites. his voice only climbs higher and higher, “why– you’re– you don’t even know what i’m… that’s not what i’m––” scara catches himself when the boy across from him flinches. taking a deep breath, he recalls nahida’s warm whispered prayers, i will be kind and gentle to every living thing. focusing on the weight of the drop of metal in his hand, he rubs it with his thumb, pressing flesh into the shallow channels of their initials. the flame dampens.

“that’s not what i’m upset about,” he says, settled.

then comes the exceedingly careful question, uttered like a plea: “what are you upset about?”

“i’m worried about you,” scara spills. “you won’t tell me what you’re doing, and it frustrates me, but it’s not a jealousy thing or a snubbed thing, it’s a… my b-best friend is suddenly skipping classes and he’s never done that before… thing,” the words tumble out of him, “and he shows up with bruises, and he texts me this cryptic shit like he’s on the run. and he’s not the kind of guy to disappear without telling anyone, but he keeps disappearing without telling anyone!” he says, drawing up into himself with crossed arms and an avoidant gaze like he can protect the physical while revealing the underbelly of his mind. “i’m upset because i’m scared that maybe you’re in... that you're in trouble! or something. and you won’t let me help. my best friend won’t let me help,” he says, opening his palm to take a look at the coin. “s-so, to me, this doesn’t… this doesn’t mean anything,” scara surmises with a frown and tosses it back to the other boy.

he catches it between his fingers. the nonchalance in his movement feels like a sleight against scara’s bumbling vulnerability. and as the climax of his words peters, the two fall into an unnameable silence. even the upstairs neighbor has retired with the absence of creaking footsteps from the ceiling above them.

despite this, he still searches for scara’s gaze. “do you think it’s your fault?” he asks gently.

“what?” the question is soft in his nervousness as he denies his eyes.

“do you think it’s your fault i won’t tell you?”

an admission of something, he notices, but the confirmation is overshadowed by the surgical precision of his question. in fact, his body reacts much quicker than a thought can form. his vision goes blurry and he blinks only to feel fat tears track down his cheeks. horrified, his sweater-covered palms vigorously wipe at his face and press down on his eyes, but like a burst levy, water flows. “is it my fault?” he asks, voice thick and bottom lip trembling.

“no,” he answers. he sounds closer. scara looks up to see him an arm’s length away. “it’s not. you know, you would be the first person i’d tell. if i could. you’re the only one who’s noticed,” he says. “noticed enough to make me admit something.” and he pokes a bit further: “noticed enough to cry about it.”

“s-shut up,” scara says, wiping at his face, but he does nothing to push the reaching hand away. the front of his loose sweater is fisted and pulled, but the material’s give does nothing to move him. instead, he takes the invitation by guiding himself into this new seat and wrapping his legs around a waist, arms around a neck. he forgoes the natural pillow of the other boy’s chest in favor of the reverse, guiding the other’s face into the same position as before –– lips and warm breath brushing scara’s collarbones –– a choice made to keep the illusion of control. no other reason. “you’re not lying, right?” scara asks, re-propping the ghost of his mental guard despite revealing the softness of his body.

“besides omission. and the shit i say sometimes… to cover. i don’t like lying. s’why i’m so bad at it,” the words are muffled against scara’s neck, sending tingles up his throat.

“and whatever… you’re doing. it’s dangerous?”

scara can feel his face squeeze around before he answers. “yeah. sure, yeah.”

“ridiculous,” scara mutters under his breath and gives the boy a pinch. “nahida loves you like a son, you know, she could help… somehow,” he mumbles. “and if you needed something crazy… like, anything… i could just… i would even call… her,” scara trails off. “if you needed me to.”

“what? just kill me if i do something stupid enough to warrant ei intervention.”

scara hums. “recently… she’s been a lot nicer,” he says.

“oh really?” he asks, shifting his weight and almost toppling them both. scara holds on tight, mouth opening to protest as he realizes the boy is about to stand… but he does it, and he does it like it’s easy.

scara swallows hard, really hard, as he’s carried to his bed. “is the thing you’re doing at the gym?” he blurts. “jesus christ, i wasn’t going to say it before, but,” the words get louder and louder in an attempt to drown the more shameful whispers of his mind turning his face red as he’s gently laid in the mattress.

he giggles, “i think it's a side effect." he presses a knee against scara's side and his eyes dart to the movement.

scara's almost disappointed when he pushes off to fall beside him and not on him, but the feeling is tempered by vines reclaiming his waist as a chest presses flush against his back. his head stuffs with cotton, edges of his vision softening.

and suddenly, he finds the plausible deniability laced through their years-long intimacy to be a bit cruel and unusual.

i should tell him to stop, scara thinks. he doesn’t know what he’s doing. he opens his mouth, but the betrayal of his brain leads to him detailing recent maternal events instead. among other things, too, like a plan for their report due the following week and how nahida’s bought him his favorite tea from a traditional shop or how he almost got hit by a car (earning a bone-crushing squeeze reminiscent to the one he was greeted with) and how spiderman is actually kind of awkward (a disappointed sigh) until the quiet attentive hums fade into whispers of a murmur, and then they die completely.

scara twists his head around, wiggling the velcro grip loose till he’s nose to nose with a softly snoring face.

he reaches down to feel around the boy’s wrist, slipping a finger under the leather strap and tugging it off. the ordeal takes three slow minutes, but the fruit of his labor is the pendant returned without having to ask.

he slips the bracelet onto his wrist. “i like it,” he whispers to the unconscious figure beside him. “thank you.” that counts, scara thinks to himself as he flops back around. right? he lets his mind guide him in dizzy circles, fighting sleep by the light of the lamp on his nightstand. he isn’t anxious, though… not in the steady presence of this other body in his bed, and that is enough.

[nightfallgame]

(NSFW) SHORT — Creed Ingram (01)

Originally Written: 06-16-20

Prompt: Honestly this isn't an ask as much as it is self indulgent imagining… But if Creed had already accepted his deep feelings toward you (but perhaps not the lust part), would he get turned on if you were brushing his hair and tugged a bit too hard? Like, imagine he's laying over your lap, and you're just brushing his hair. Ugh, embarrassed horny Creed is such a concept.

Your hands in Creed's hair feel... interesting. He's never been one to be touched. Most people's hands on him make his skin crawl. In your case, it sends chills racing through him— like maybe he's needed for longer than he thinks. 

As he lays with his head in your lap, Creed can't believe how vulnerable he's letting himself become. He's supposed to be untouchable. He's not supposed to have feelings. 

You've decided that brushing his hair is the best thing you could be doing right now. 

And that means that Creed has no choice but to lay in your lap, stay still, and let you have your way. He tries to tell himself that he's just humoring you, that he's allowing this only because it makes you smile. It's a losing battle to convince himself that it isn't because he wants the touch more than he could ever admit. 

His breathing has evened out into something slow and peaceful, Creed notes. Sighs leave his chest like his body really is relaxing into you. 

You're humming to yourself, coming through his hair gently and slowly. Creed, slowly, thinks he might be falling asleep. 

The brush hits a tangled bit. 

It's only for a second, but as you're adjusting the brush, your fingers give his hair a tug. 

Creed feels his cock give an interested little twitch. 

And yes, lust is a new concept for him as well. Before you, Creed rarely got himself off— and even then, it was quick and clinical. Since he's been with you, he's been biting down on sheets to keep himself quiet in his dorm on a bi-weekly basis, imagining your touch every time.

"Sorry," you mumble distractedly. "There's a knot there. I hope I didn't hurt you."

"N-No," Creed gets out, hating how his voice catches. "It's alright. There wasn't any pain."

It's not a lie. What he felt with that short tug was a rush of pure pleasure going straight between his legs. What is this? Another thing you do to him that makes him disgustingly hard? It's pathetic. He's being pathetic. It's inconceivable for someone like him to get off to a simple tug to his hair during brushing. 

Even so, Creed has to dismiss the thought that he wants it again. 

The brushing goes on. You hit a couple of other small tangles, but nothing like the first one. Creed finds himself anticipating every little tug— no matter how small. 

Now that he's paying attention to it, it's like every little yank is a line of pleasure wired straight to his cock. You've been playing with his hair for so long that his whole scalp feels tingly and sensitive, making everything much more intense. 

He's squirming a bit, Creed notes with horror. He's leaning into your touch. 

What he really wants is for you to pull for real. The concept of your hand gripping his hair and giving it a good tug is suddenly drool-worthy. Creed despises his body's lust immensely. 

It's quickly becoming torturous. He's too sensitive. How his body, which rejected all forms of touch up until you, has become such a delicate thing is beyond him, but Creed hates it just as much as he longs for more contact, more force. He's half-hard by now, stiffening slowly against the inside of his slacks as he tries not to let on that it's happening. If you knew that he was hard from just this, Creed wouldn't be able to meet your eye for weeks. 

But patience is quickly becoming a difficult thing, and within the next ten minutes, Creed's is starting to run out. He knows he's blushing. His mouth has gone dry. He needs something or it feels like he's going to explode from frustration. 

"...pull it."

The words come out suddenly, too much desperation behind them. There's no going back now. 

"What?" 

"Pull it. My hair."

Creed can feel himself dying of shame. This is awful, but somehow, the embarrassment is only making him harder. 

"Okay..." Sounding hesitant, you get a couple locks of hair between your fingers, then give a gentle tug. The gasp that leaves Creed's mouth is beyond humiliating. The way his cock twitches at the even-light force is even worse. 

You seem to pick up on what it's doing to him, because the next thing Creed knows, you're tugging with significantly more strength. Creed makes a sharp ngh noise between his teeth, hips jerking just a bit. That was intentional, and so, so not fair. His eyelids flutter. He instinctively leans into the force, following your hand like a touch-starved puppy. 

Again. You give three more little yanks in quick succession, and Creed's cock jerks and stiffens with every one. 

"You like this," you laugh, sounding happy and amused. "That's cute, Creed."

Creed feels his face go even hotter. He's breathing heavy. He's fully hard by now, cock pinned underneath his underwear uncomfortably. This is torture in its finest form, and you're seeing all of it. He's grateful, so, so grateful that he's on his side so that you can't see the bulge between his legs— how stiff he's gotten just from this teasing. 

"Sh-Shut up—"

Just as he says it, you get a real handful of his hair and pull. 

Creed moans. His hips hump against empty air. He thinks his eyes might be rolling. This feels so, so much better than touching himself to the memory of you. 

Humming, you hold that handful taut, not letting the pressure fade. The moment draws on for far too long, the pleasure only ramping up with every passing second. Creed feels hot all over, dizzy, his abdomen tight in the way that he's used to before he comes. 

If he comes from this, from nothing more than your hand in his hair, Creed thinks he'd die inside. He knows he's been lusting over you, been wanting nothing more than to fuck into your hand or mouth or hole just to have you. This is a whole new level of depravity. He's not the man. He's not in charge. He's just laying there helplessly while you make him whimper from nothing more than tugging on his hair. 

When you release your hold, Creed feels himself whimper. 

[heresthestorymorningglory]

Under Your Spell - Part 4

Good morning my loves!

The 4th and final part is here! See the warnings and the undying love share of my fellow Goosecord below before you proceed <3

A/N: Find previous parts here

As I said initially, approach with caution; as per usual it’s an 18+ NSFW but on top of that this one has a stalker warning, some voyeurism and also got a tad violent. it’s not TOTALLY Dead Dove, Don’t Eat but it toes that line, so if that’s not for you, just don’t okay?

I can’t post without giving credit where credit is due; this thing took on a life of it’s own and if it weren’t for @ken-dom and @travelerwashere it wouldn’t be what it is; I can’t thank you both enough for your constant support and inspiration (at all hours of the night) and keeping me from spiraling down the anxiety rabbit hole you both know I tend to lose myself in <3

Title credit goes to my fellow Goosecord compadre @webbo0, and he also gets credit for the “If you know me irl and you saw this…no you didn’t (you know who you are xD)

Enjoy babes <3

The man in the red Cadillac hadn't stayed long after that. You had redressed long enough to usher him out the door and go to bed yourself. 

The next morning, earlier than he's sure you'd prefer, a worker was outside your house, repairing the damaged wire. 

By early afternoon you had power restored and were sitting at your vanity in your bra and panties doing your makeup.

He watched intently as you put your lipstick on before standing and slipping into the dress you'd had on the night before. 

He tipped his head curiously as he pieced it together. You were going on a date…. probably with him. 

Sure enough, ten minutes later that red Cadillac pulled into your driveway and you bounded down your front steps to meet him. Couldn't even come to the door to pick you up, he scoffed irritated. You deserved better. 

Over the course of the week he watched this pathetic excuse of a man pick you up night after night and by Saturday night his chest was tight with rage. This man didn't deserve your attention, didn't deserve the effort you were putting in. 

Tonight he'd had enough. He yanked his boots on, not even bothering to tie them as he stomped out his front door, down the stairs and across the lawn before storming up your front steps, fist thudding hard against the heavy wooden door. 

The door opened and you were saying something he hadn't heard as he let himself in, kicking the door shut forcefully with his foot and grabbing you by then arms, thrusting you against the wall, he felt your feet slip out from under you, not expecting the intrusion, you gasped as your back made contact with the hard plaster before you breathed a laugh. 

You were laughing?

He clenched his jaw squeezing your arms harshly; pulling you off the wall and shoving you roughly through your bedroom door. You stumbled as he forced you backwards, throwing you down on your bed, his knee forcing your legs apart under your dress as he knelt over you, mattress sinking under his weight, leaning forward, your chest rising and falling as you breathed hard as he trapped you under him, your eyes fixed on him. 

Neither of you spoke for a beat before you chuckled again. 

"Took you long enough" you whispered

That heat of rage creeping through his body as his hand slid around your neck, he had flown out of the house in such a fury he hadn't even put gloves on. He squeezed and you tipped your head back, extending your neck with a low hum. 

His nose brushed your cheek as he breathed against your skin. His free hand disappearing up the skirt of your dress as your thighs squeezed hard around his knee. 

His fingers blindly curling around the thin fabric of your panties, pulling hard, the tearing of fibres loud in the quiet room. 

You were wet on his fingers making him moan low in the back of his throat. He squeezed your throat harder and you squirmed under him. 

"Mine" he growled through clenched teeth, as he thrust two fingers into your cunt. A strangled scream and a breathless gasp as your lungs tried desperately to take in more air than he would allow as you arched off the mattress. 

He thrust his fingers as you bucked your hips, "Say it" he demanded, releasing his grip on your throat as he shifted to kick his boots and jeans off.

You gasped, finally able to breathe and nodded. "Yes"

He pulled his fingers from inside you, both hands grabbing the neck of your dress, fingers curling against the warm flesh of your chest before he pulled hard, ripping the thin fabric right down the middle, exposing your body to him…you weren't wearing a bra…

He yanked his t-shirt off, throwing it over the side of the bed. "Say it," he repeated before dipping between your cleavage, biting harshly before sucking your nipple into his mouth, your moan of pleasure above him as he felt your fingers push through his hair. 

"I'm yours" you whispered

He moaned loud as he traded sides, his hands sliding over every inch of you he could touch. His mouth devouring everything he could reach. 

“I have a confession to make” you swallowed hard, catching your breath. He stopped his assault on your mid-section, lifting his head just enough to make eye contact with you. You were biting your bottom lip looking back. He didn’t say anything, just waited. 

You forced another swallow “That-that journal entry…” you stammered, it was the first time he’d seen you at a loss for words; were you…afraid? “It was a lie” 

He sat up as he processed your words; you sat up too, your hands sliding down his bare arms as he balanced his weight. “What?” 

“I knew you’d read it,” you whispered “I knew you were watching me, I-” you stopped blinking a few times before dropping your eyes from under his scrutiny “I- I didn’t…it didn’t” you licked your lips “It never happened”

He sat back on his heels slightly before he backhanded you hard and fast across the side of your face. Your hand instinctively flew to your already reddening cheek to stop the sting, eyes only leaving his briefly when you squeezed yours shut for a second. 

You sighed hard through your nose before dropping your hand. “If you’re going to slap me around, at least do it right” Your voice was low and even as you leaned to pull something from the drawer on your night stand. 

You threw a pair of gloves between you; his gloves. 

He looked from the brown leather, back at you; eyes dark. 

“What?” you scoffed “You think you’re the only one who can pop the lock on a patio door?” 

You had been in his house…”When?” 

“This afternoon,” you answered simply “They were on your dresser…in your bedroom”

How had he not noticed them missing? Because of you. He had been so engrossed in you he hadn’t even fucking noticed. 

“You were in the shower” your voice that same low even tone “Covered in blood; and judging by the look of you,” your eyes raking over his naked form “Not yours” 

This was it, this was going to be your breaking point; he had no explanation or reasoning for it that wouldn’t send you running screaming. He picked up the gloves sitting between you, blood spatter still on the backs. 

“What’s wrong?” You asked, fluttering your eyelashes as he looked back at you “Are you feeling a little vulnerable?” You asked, the menace was thick in your words  “A little violated maybe?” 

He didn’t answer, just pulled one glove on, buttoning the back before pulling on the other and doing the same.

“Did you kill somebody?” You asked the question as if it didn’t come with a loaded answer; an answer he was certain you already knew. 

There was no point in lying so he just nodded “Yes”

There was no fear in your eyes when he spoke the truth; in fact he swore you had perked up at the prospect. 

“Are you going to kill me?” 

You asked so pointedly he almost hadn’t known what to say; what a stupid thing to ask of course he would never hurt you; not really.

He just shook his head “No”

“Can I trust you?” You asked softly, moving from your current position to kneel on all fours in front of him, your noses practically touching as he knelt forward, you stood your ground, your lips practically on his at this point. 

“No” He whispered and you immediately closed the gap, your tongue invading his mouth and tangling with his; a now gloved hand gripping the back of your neck harshly, pulling you against him as the tatters of your dress and panites were cast aside. 

You broke the kiss first, chest heaving with the effort it was taking just to breathe, your face flush and lips red and swollen; making his cock twitch painfully between his legs. This turned you on, being watched, being in danger, being with him. 

“Hit me again” you sat back on your heels again, pressing your lips together “Please?”

He scoffed with a laugh; but moved to close the distance you had created and slapped you hard across the other cheek hard enough to knock you off balance. Taking advantage, his other arm wrapped around your waist, roughly pulling you on your back , your head hitting the headboard before landing on the pillows underneath. He gathered both your wrists in one gloved hand, pinning them over your head. Your legs no longer trapped under you, spread around him as the leather clad fingers of his free hand slid up your torso making you shiver before his hand stopped, hovering over your throat. 

“Do it” you whispered and he immediately shook his head. 

“I wanna hear you first” 

One hand still squeezing your wrists together, the other reached between you to guide himself inside. He sank into you with ease, a long loud moan as you arched off your bed as much as the restraint over your head would allow, your legs locking around his back, forcing him deeper still as he took a sharp breath in through his teeth.

“Fuck,” you gasped “Move, you gotta move” you grit your teeth 

He rolled his hips and you moaned, trying your best to meet his thrusts in your current state wasn’t easy. He relished having you like this, wrapped around him, completely at his mercy, putty in his hands. His hips keeping a hard steady rhythm; filling your small bedroom with your desperate needy cries until his hand closed around your throat, cutting off your voice, fingers sinking into the tender flesh of your neck, your eyes slipping closed, throat pressing against his palm as you leaned into his touch. 

“Look at me” He moaned breathlessly, before your eyes opened and you quivered underneath him. Keeping his hand heavy on your throat, he leaned closer, making you moan as he stretched you to your limit.

You tried desperately to trap his lips with yours but he kept himself just out of reach, only allowing his lips to brush against yours as he spoke “I want you to cum” he whispered; a silent cry from you as his hand stayed firm on your throat. “I want you to cum all over my cock, understand?” 

You nodded as much as your position would allow until he released his hold and your lungs filled with air

“Do you understand?” he asked again, your body quaking under him 

“Yes” your voice was hoarse and your throat was dry making you sound absolutely haggard. 

“Yes what?” He asked squeezing a little harder 

“Yes, sir” the words barely audible as you started to unravel right before his eyes

“I can’t hear you” He spoke almost too loudly with a harsh snap of his hips making you writhe with a loud moan “Yes. What.” 

“Sir!” you practically screamed “Yes, Sir,  God, p-please don’t” Your breath hitched with each pointed thrust of his hips “Please don’t stop” you begged. 

Your voice cracking as your orgasm rocked through your entire body; your cries of sheer pleasure swallowed by his mouth as his lips sealed over yours; his hand closing around your neck once more, squeezing hard…too hard as he spilled inside you. 

You tensed under him, your body struggling more the longer he denied you oxygen. Your legs dropping from around him as you tried to find any sort of leverage off the soft mattress, your heels not able to find purchase as they dug into the sheets. You had started to panic now, your wrists struggling to free themselves from his grip. You whimpered helplessly against his mouth. He had pulled out from inside you, straddling your hips, pinning you under him completely. 

He broke your kiss, but his hand still pressed firmly on your neck. Silent screams as your eyes pleaded; you had started to give up, losing the strength as the seconds ticked by.

“I told you, you couldn’t trust me” he whispered before releasing his hold on your windpipe 

You gasped finally able to breathe as circulation returned to your body. He had expected that little stunt to be enough to push you over the edge, scare you off, make you realize he wasn’t a good person. Instead, you said something else, something he hadn’t expected.  

“You don’t scare me” your vocal chords were strained as you spoke “Killed people or not”

He finally released your wrists and you dropped your arms with a groan “If you were going to kil me you would have done it by now” 

“Maybe I’m just biding my time” 

You shrugged “Guess I’ll find out”

***

He climbed behind the wheel of the car, fingers flexing under the leather gloves as he slid a pair of sunglasses up his nose, rolling a little faster than he intended going over the speedbump at the end of the street, the contents of the trunk thumping loudly; a quick glance in the rearview mirror before turning his attention back to the road in front of him.

[cryley]

Petrichor - Part 1

matty healy x reader (fluff) word count: 2.4k A/N: (moved from @cryley-fics where it was originally posted) ♡ Helloooo, it's Ry. This is actually the first fic I've posted on tumblr and also the first fic I've written in 7ish years. I've recently been yanked back into my 1975 obsession and literally can't stop thinking about Matty, so I decided to write again. Please please please be kind since I am v rusty with my writing ♡ ▹ masterlist ▹ part 1 ▹ part 2 ▹ part 3 ▹ part 4 ▹ part 5

I quickly brushed my hands off onto my apron before walking to the back room. Glancing at my watch, I groaned. It was too early to be awake. Well, I didn’t feel awake, but I tried my hardest to appear coherent. My eyes scanned the shelf full of metallic-looking bags until I found the one I needed. 

“Didn’t expect to see you here this early.”

“Good morning to you too, Atlas.” Grabbing the full bag of espresso beans, I chuckled. “I requested this afternoon off.”

Pushing my way back through the swinging door, I plopped the bag on the counter. The cafe was really quiet in the mornings before we opened. It was nice to see it this way before the rush of equally tired people waiting to get their dose of beans.

“Well if you ever want to switch permanently to mornings, I can maybe convince Lansen.” Atlas stood at the end of the counter tying his apron around his waist. 

I liked working the afternoon shifts, but it is nice working morning shifts when you end your shift at noon. Yeah, waking up at 3 am to get ready for work is the least fun thing to do in the world, but it beats retail. 

I shrugged and continued filling the machine with the beans, “When you’re done clocking in, can you finish setting up while I count in the back?”

Looking over to Atlas, he nodded. He didn’t mind staying out front all morning if I’d let him. Paperwork was his enemy. 

We were both some of the only shift leaders at this cafe. Most employees were either underage, newer hires, or simply just didn’t want the responsibility. Atlas was a very charismatic people-person who is perfect for customer interaction while I was…well let’s just say I liked doing back-of-house paperwork. 

Walking over to my side, he bumped my shoulder to give me the queue that he will take over. Before pushing past the door, I switched on the speakers and put on the “manager-approved playlist” which mostly just consisted of repetitive weird piano and smooth jazz.

I placed the register drawers on the desk and got to counting. My head bobbed to the awkward sound of cups clanging and off tempo trumpet. Checking the clock on the office wall, I stood up and sighed.

Jamming the drawers back into the registers, I heard Atlas humming to the speaker’s music. He always seemed too happy in the mornings. I watched him lightly dance around behind the bar as he made iced tea.

“Going to the restroom quickly before we open in 10.”

I untied my already somewhat messy apron and placed it behind the counter before walking off. The bathroom was well-lit and clean. Thankfully the closers did their job yesterday without me around. 

My tired reflection stared back at me in the mirror. In a rush, I could only manage to throw a beanie over my blonde hair and had to skip the contacts today. I pulled off my round wire-framed glasses to give them one last clean before inevitably becoming covered in splashes of coffee during my shift. I already couldn’t wait to go home and shower.

“Got any plans this weekend?” Atlas questioned as I placed my apron carefully back around my waist. 

I grabbed the keys to unlock the front door, “Going to that show I told you about last week.”

“Oh yeah! I forgot that was today. Makes sense now why you are working a morning shift.” He ran his fingers through his messy brown hair while looking at his reflection on a spoon. 

I rolled my eyes and settled into my usual spot behind the espresso machine. Atlas didn’t mind handling the register. More people to make conversation with.

A couple groups of customers came in over the next couple of hours. Most of them left with coffee to go, but some of the regular visitors made themselves comfortable at their usual tables. Atlas and I would sometimes switch positions with me at the register, but he would often chuckle at my fake chipper small talk, so I would make him switch back with me. 

“Hey Y/N! Hey Atlas!”

I finished my last cappuccino for the small crowd of customers and peered over my shoulder.

“Morning Lindsay.” I smiled, grabbing a rag to clean the counters, “Can you take over the bar for me so Atlas can take his break?”

She nodded as I stood behind the register. Atlas lazily saluted to me before disappearing to the back room. 

Lindsay started to clean and organize the drink area while I emptied the old pot of dark roast, so I could brew a fresh batch. It was nice to breathe for a second after the morning rush of customers subsided. 

“I’m going to go get some more beans from the back. Did you need anything?” Lindsay skipped over to the door while her ponytail twirled behind her. 

My finger tapped BREW, “No, I don’t think so. Thank you though Lin.”

I turned back to the register to check the time, 10 am. Only two hours left and I can leave for the week. I decided to use my time off this week after the concert because I never seem to have a reason to take vacations throughout the year otherwise. At least this week I might be able to take a trip somewhere after I recover from the show. 

The cafe seemed to quiet down until the sound of the door closed. I looked out at the now pouring down rain I didn’t realize started during my shift. A man shook off his dark umbrella before walking up to the counter. He had his head down, putting the umbrella away in his bag. He was a bit taller than me and dressed in a long black coat. It was open just enough to see his forest green distressed sweater over top of a white shirt. 

“Good morning.” The man mumbled in an unfamiliar voice.

It almost sounded like he spoke in an accent, but you couldn’t put your finger on it since it was so low and mumbled. 

“Good morning. What can I get for you?” I fidgeted my fingers, tracing over the tattoos on my arm. 

“Uh, a dark roast please.”

He was definitely British. 

I looked up from my hand tracing over the ink on my skin, “I actually just started brewing a fresh pot of dark roast. If you grab a seat at a table, I can bring it to you when it’s finished if you’d like?”

My eyes finally met his. Oh god. I know this man.

His brown eyes stared back at me. The sides of his mouth curled up to form a slight smile.

“Yeah, I’ll be here for a bit. I have some work to do, so it probably won’t be my last cup either.” His hand raised to his curly brown hair to push it out of his face. 

I finally broke eye contact to turn towards the pot of brewing coffee, “It’ll probably be about 5 minutes. Would you like anything to eat? It’s on the house.”

The dark-haired man cocked his head to the side raising his eyebrows, “Well I would love a scone.”

“I’ll bring it to you.”

He pulled out his phone and tapped it to the reader to pay for the coffee, “Thanks.” 

I definitely knew who this man was. I didn’t think I’d be seeing him before tonight. 

I grabbed the scone from the bakery case and placed it onto a plate using some tongs while the man found a seat at the table closest to the front window. I watched him as he took off his jacket and draped it over the back of his chair. He just started to settle down into his spot when I placed the plate on his table.

He cheekily smiled up at me with a wink, “Thank you, love.”

I flirtily winked back at him before heading to check on the brew. I could feel his eyes on me as I walked behind the counter. 

Atlas emerged from the back and placed his apron back on. I checked the clock and replaced the now empty apron hook with my own apron.

“Let me make myself a drink quickly and deliver this man his dark roast before I go on my break.”

Atlas nodded and began to take a couple of lingering orders at the till. 

As I finished pouring myself a hot tea, the dark roast was finally finished. I smiled back at the man at the corner table and realized his eyes never left me. A cup in each hand, I made my way back to the familiar face. 

“Here’s your dark roast.” I placed the cup gently on the table as I glanced down at his tattoos, “Did you need any cream or sugar?”

He caught me glancing and rolled up his sleeves to show off the art, “No thank you, love. I prefer it as is.”

“Nice meeting you, Matty. Enjoy your coffee.”

The man took a break from sipping his drink to look back in my direction. His eyes met mine once more as I blushed through a smile. 

I turned and made my way over to my usual couch in the opposite corner in front of the cafe. I usually took my breaks out on the floor since the back office didn’t get service at all. I could use the hour to catch up on emails. At least I would try to start catching up on emails until I undoubtingly get distracted from my crush sitting opposite me. Placing my tea on the coffee table to save my spot, I rushed to the back to grab my phone and headphones.

“Do you know that guy or something?” Lindsay followed me into the back.

A giggle escaped my mouth, “Not exactly. Just indirectly, I guess.”

She side-eyed me with a cheeky look before grabbing a refill of vanilla sweetener and heading back through the door. 

I could feel the heat rising to my face. Shoving my headphones in my ears, I decided to check the mirror in the office before returning to my tea. Man, I looked terrible. When I had dreamed of meeting Matty before, I didn’t look like I had been run over by a van. Managing to straighten my hair out as much as possible, I took a deep breath and made my way back out to the cafe. Pulling out my phone, I navigated to my music.

“On break” I mumbled over to the others while still staring down at my phone. 

My feet carried me over to the familiar maroon couch until an unfamiliar sight was sat in my spot. Matty. 

“Sorry,” He smirked, “were you going to sit here?”

Speechless, I picked up my tea, “It’s okay. I can sit somewhere e-”

“I’m joking!” He scooted over to the other end of the couch away from the window, “Come sit with me. I could use the company.”

“Didn’t you have work you wanted to get done?”

“It can wait.” He took another sip of his coffee. 

Without much hesitation, I shuffled my way into my seat realizing it was a lot closer to him than it had seemed. I blushed and picked up my tea, eager to take a sip. 

“So you obviously know who I am. Will you tell me about you?” He nudged my shoulder with his own. 

I tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear, “My name is Y/N.”

“Lovely name.”

I smiled, “And after work today, I’ll be getting ready to go to your show.”

“Oh, are you not one of those people who wait outside for hours and hours?” He takes a long sip of his drink, still not breaking eye contact. 

I’m the one to break it first as I look down at my hands and chuckle, “unfortunately I could only get stadium seating. GA was impossible to snag.”

“Oh yeah?”

“And expensive as fuck.” I rolled my eyes at him. 

“Okay, well that isn’t exactly our fault.”

I gave him an accusing look and shrugged. 

“Hey! I promise it isn’t our fault!” He laughed while leaning into my side, “Anyway, you shouldn’t accuse someone of lying when they could get you a side-stage view of your favorite band.”

His body leaning into mine felt like fire flowing through me. He was just a normal person like everyone else. I usually didn’t feel nervous when meeting famous people before. I used to meet loads of my favorite artists back when I went to shows more frequently. Maybe because I was just caught off guard in “the wild”?

“You’re telling me that you could get me side-stage tickets to Phoebe Bridgers?”

He matched my smirk, “Hah Hah. Very funny. I meant my band.”

“Bold of you to assume the 1975 is my favorite band.” I sipped my tea. 

“Your tattoo gave it away.” He lightly grabbed my arm in one hand and pointed with the other. 

I had a lot of tattoos on my arm, but in between some of the larger pieces I had a little box with the words “modernity has failed us” in scribbled writing. 

I immediately blushed. Not just from him noticing my 1975 tattoo, but mostly from the grasp he had on my arm. He rubbed his thumb over the scribbled words decorating my skin. 

“You have a lot of other cool ones too, but I think this is my favorite.” He winked. 

“So uh,” I tried not to stumble over my words, “what else do you want to know about me?”

“A lot actually. I have time.”

“Well, I only have 40 minutes left on my break.” I gestured with my free hand to the clock. 

He let go of my arm to rummage through his bag. I really wished he hadn’t let go. It felt cold and lonely without his warm thumb brushing over my skin. 

“That settles it then,” he handed me his phone, “can I have your number?”

My heart dropped. Is he serious right now? Even if I give him my number, it’s not like he is actually going to reach out to me. 

I take his phone and type my number into the field. I saw that he had already added my name at the top. Y/N (cute barista). 

[msfcatlover]

Changeling!Tim’s childhood is... actually kinda horrifying, when anyone looks into it.

(CW for forced medical procedures, and abuse in the form of temporary imprisonment. Also, minor self-harm, and… I don’t know what you call “eating something that will make you sick so your parents don’t get mad at you,” but I know it ain’t good.)

Tim had pretty pronounced fangs when he was younger, which his parents were just planning to wait out... until he was fast coming up on 10 and it was clear Tim wasn’t going to lose his teeth. A quick x-ray proved that Tim didn’t have adult teeth to grow in, just the one set he came with, and the fangs were only getting more obvious. His parents found an orthodontist willing to yank the fangs & wire up the rest of Tim’s teeth with braces to force them to look smooth & even as he grew up. (The doctor kept the teeth as a curiosity, and a decade later Damian will track that doctor down to steal them back.)

Something even Tim didn’t realize until he had to undergo a full Justice League-grade medical exam in preparation for becoming Robin, is that the tiny points on his ears aren’t natural. They have no idea what the ears of the baby Jack & Janet received looked like, but Tim’s points are actually mostly scar tissue. (Bruce puts it down as “a cosmetic procedure not dissimilar to ear cropping in canines” and tries not to feel sick.)

(There was also a period where the Drakes did an awful lot of research into cosmetic eye surgeries, but they eventually gave up. Apparently, it was a bigger concern that their son might end up blinded than that his eyes glowed in the dark and/or were the wrong color.)

As I mentioned before, Tim’s parents trim his thorns so that nobody goes to ruffle Tim’s hair and realizes he’s not human. He... actually started doing it himself when he decided to become Robin, because Tim has seen Bruce ruffle Jason & Dick’s hair so many times and didn’t want to hurt Bruce (or experience the absolute agony of having a thorn get caught in Bruce’s gloves and end up ripped out of Tim’s scalp,) as well as not wanting to give away Tim’s own inhuman nature with the single most obvious trait he has. (When the rest of the family find out, they are horrified and insist that Tim stop doing that. Instead of hair-ruffles, Tim gets hair-strokes that go only in one direction, bumping harmlessly over the curved outer edges of his thorns; it’s actually very soothing for both parties. Everyone absolutely uses Tim’s thorns as a stim toy, as long as Tim’s okay with it.)

Tim’s parents also hire an in-house barber to cut Tim’s hair, so they can make sure it’s “properly disposed of.” (Tim’s nightmares always smell faintly of burning hair.)

Tim wears fancy dress gloves to all dinners, because with the uppercrust you never know if someone’s going to bring out the real silverware. (If someone tells him to take off the gloves or Tim’s skin happens to brush up against somebody’s jewelry, Tim just sorta has to... deal. It’s rude to rush out or refuse your hosts, after all.) (Fortunately, Dick and the Titans all prefer reusable plastic silverware. And as soon as any Bat finds out about Tim’s fae nature, Wayne Manor quickly switches to stainless steel.)

It’s nearly impossible to know if a meal was prepared with iodized salt or non-iodized salt until it’s already in Tim’s mouth and the burning-itching discomfort of coming in contact with an anti-fae substance begins. It’s rude not to at least try the food someone offers you, and it’s even ruder to just spit something out, especially out in public. At least Tim doesn’t usually have to fake it when he says he’s not feeling well in order to stop eating. (Tim doesn’t tell the Waynes about this until that medical exam, where he kinda jokes about being allergic to salt and someone’s like, “Wait, how do you eat? Everything has salt in it nowadays.” Alfred rather forlornly puts his sea salt up on the top shelf and buys a jar of iodized table salt on the next grocery run.)

Tim’s blood is immediately identifiable because it has chloroplasts in it. No, he’s not actually a plant; yes, he can perform limited photosynthesis. No, Tim was not aware of this about himself, he’s never been allowed to give blood before, and like??? Sure, he figured out he was a changeling, but that does not immediately translate to, “Oh, I should test my blood for plant cells!”

Tim’s room doesn’t look any different from any other boy his age... except for three nails over the door on the outside. For the iron horseshoe Tim’s parents hang there sometimes, when they don’t want him to bother them or when he’s grounded. (Thankfully, it's been very rare for Tim to actually be trapped in his room, as setting up a salt line on his windowsills has always been... well, he's not sure. A step too far, even for his parents? A step too many to remember and/or perform in the heat of the moment? Something they don’t even realize is necessary, assuming the horseshoe prevents Tim from leaving the room at all rather than simply crossing that one threshold? Tim doesn’t like to think about it. Tim typically stays in his room anyway when he feels the swooping nausea of it hanging over his door, if only so his parents don’t find him missing and decide sealing the windows is something they ought to be doing. Trapped not by any law or binding ritual, but by Tim’s own admittedly rare fear of consequences.) (After Tim is snatched by faerie hunters, Jason and Dick are the ones who search Tim’s house. There’s a moment of silence when they find the horseshoe and realize what the nails are for. “I really hope I don’t have to point this out,” Jason says, in the tone of someone who’s going to do it anyway, “but it’s never a good sign when a kid’s bedroom has a lock on the outside.”) 

[delimeful]

how easy you are to need (redux) (5)

warnings: misunderstandings/miscommunication, assumption of harm/abuse, references to starvation and blood, food, drug mentions, unreliable narrator is particularly strong in this one

-

When Virgil next woke, it was to a low and melodic humming.

The drugs had clearly worn off, going by how terrible he felt just laying there. He suspected the pain might have actually been what had woken him.

His breathing automatically shifted to something shallower, attempting to keep from putting pressure on the huge bruise that was his ribcage. The humming paused for a brief moment, before resuming.

So, they’d wised up and actually started guarding their captive. They must not have been expecting him to be so active last time, probably believing the tranquilizer would have a heavier effect.

Of course, that meant that they’d adjust the dosage to account for his resistance next time. Damn, he shouldn’t have played that card so early.

Figuring he’d already been caught out, Virgil cracked open an eye.

He was in the same spot, on the same couch. Roman was sitting in the nearby armchair, which had been turned slightly so that it was facing the couch more directly.

The hum was coming from him, a cheerful tune that had completely concealed the soft sursur of a polishing cloth against metal.

The runes on the hunting sword weren’t activated, but the hairs on the back of Virgil’s neck abruptly prickled anyhow, a chill running down his spine.

Roman glanced over at him without pausing his polishing, completely casual about the threat implied in each careful motion. “You’re awake! I’d say good morning, but we’re nearly at sunset now.”

Virgil couldn’t bring himself to tear his gaze away from the blade, not even to confirm that he’d slept another day away. He felt as though the moment he glanced away, he’d look back to find the point of that sword buried deep in his chest.

He’d expected they’d try to get him to shift as soon as possible, but somehow, he hadn’t expected them to threaten him physically. They had to know he would call their bluff, didn’t they? No matter how much they might not want a monster under their roof, human greed superseded hatred, and killing him now would be like throwing gold down a bottomless well.

His mouth felt glued shut when he swallowed, unwilling to let a single syllable through. He reached for his earlier bravado, his miserable confidence that death would be better than being caught, and found the bitter bravery rang hollow in the face of that singing metal.

The human’s hand had paused mid-swipe on the blade. When Virgil forced his eyes to flicker upwards, he found that Roman was staring at him with a distinct wrinkle to his brow.

He jolted upon making eye contact, and then tried for an uncertain smile.

“No need to worry,” he said, shifting the blade up slightly. “This is for Patton, not you.”

The words took a moment to register, but when they did, they landed sharper than any slap. Virgil felt the blood drain from his face quickly enough to leave him dizzy.

His humans were— they were different, weren’t they? Surely, they wouldn’t go so far as to punish Patton just because he’d been taken hostage, not when they’d all failed to contain him in the end.

So why? Sure, Virgil had threatened— threatened with that, but Roman had been watching so closely, he must know that Virgil hadn’t actually bitten Patton. Except. Some hunters believed any physical wound inflicted by a shifter was ‘infected’. How tightly had he gripped the human before? Had his nails bitten into clothing, or skin?

The memories were fuzzy, hazed over by adrenaline and drugs alike. He wasn’t sure.

“He’s not– he’s not,” Virgil started, and the words caught and tangled in the back of his throat like barbed wire. He yanked his arms free of the blanket tucked around him and pushed himself further upright to meet Roman’s gaze more directly. “I didn’t turn him. He’s not turned.”

In the back of his mind, a familiar refrain: Don’t kill him. Please don’t kill him.

Roman visibly reeled back, his grip on the sword’s hilt tightening in surprise, and then he let go of the blade altogether, leaving it balanced delicately across his lap, polishing cloth still folded over it.

“No! I mean, I– I know that, not that it would– even if he–,” He cut himself off, took a breath, and tried again. “I was only joking. I would never threaten Patton with any sort of violence, sword-inflicted or otherwise, even if he is atrociously bad at remembering that he is injured and should be avoiding straining himself as much as possible.”

Even with the emphasis, his voice was more exasperated than truly angry, and there was no sign of deceit in his manner. Patton was fine, Virgil had just– overreacted.

He needed to calm down. Hunters or not, there was no point putting ideas in their heads. He tried to force his body to relax, to ease away the tension that so visibly lined his frame, with little success.

Patton was safe, but he obviously wasn’t off-limits for violent threats, after all.

“Right. Well. How are your wounds?” Roman asked, apparently having correctly inferred that Virgil wasn’t much of a conversationalist. “We can’t give you any more pain medicine, not without risk of making things worse, but nothing should be debilitating. Frankly, I’m surprised you didn’t tear more stitches.”

He’d forgotten about his injuries amidst the sudden rush of terror, but sure enough, his side still felt awful. It was like he’d gone a round with a magically-corrupted grizzly bear or something.

Virgil slumped back against the couch to try and relieve some of the pain, but kept his jaw clenched shut. There was no point in them knowing how well he was healing, and he certainly wasn’t going to be the one to tell them which wounds were the worst off. Those were the most painful places to be hit.

There was another long stretch of quiet, and Roman let out a gusty sigh, lifting his hand up— Virgil barely concealed his flinch— and running it haphazardly through his hair.

“Look,” he started, leaning forwards, “I’m not sure what you—,”

“Dinner is ready,” said Logan, who had appeared in the doorway between one blink and the next. “How is— oh.”

Roman jumped, like he’d been caught red-handed, but Logan’s gaze had already flicked over to Virgil. “Good evening. It’s encouraging to see you awake. Do you feel up to walking? I am more than capable of carrying you again if not.”

“Don’t touch me,” Virgil snapped on automatic, too consumed by the phantom memory of that odd burning sensation to hold his tongue.

“Alright,” Logan said simply, not a single hint of temper at the attitude. Somehow, the absence felt almost more frightening. “We normally take meals in the kitchen area, down the hall here, but since we have two injured parties, the sitting room will work as an acceptable substitute.”

“I’ll get Patton!” Roman volunteered, having subtly kicked his sword under his chair midway through the conversation.

“Get the sheath for your blade while you’re at it,” Logan replied dryly. “Patton will have your head if you get sword polish on the rug again.”

“I was careful!” Roman protested, but he kicked his blade up into his hand as he fled from the room regardless.

Virgil barely resisted the urge to stare after him, bewildered that he’d gotten through the encounter without a single cut. Maybe Logan hadn’t been made aware of the plan to threaten him, and his unexpected arrival had interrupted it…? Or maybe it was a planned entrance, and this was a psychological tactic meant to stress him out.

Virgil sighed. Maybe Roman was just too hungry to postpone dinner. There was no point dwelling on it.

“I’ll be back momentarily,” Logan told him before leaving as well, completely scrapping Virgil’s earlier prediction of a constant watcher.

They were still underestimating him, probably assuming the ward had demoralized him. He hadn’t ruined all his chances of escape, after all.

He barely had time to try and assess the room more clearly before Logan returned, an impressive amount of dishware balanced in his arms. He spent a few concentrated moments setting them all down on the low table and then rose to his feet and left the room again without a word, an air of distraction about him.

Virgil glanced between the dishes set out, wishing his sense of smell wasn’t quite so good. Just as he’d forgotten his pain until Roman had asked after it, he’d forgotten how hungry he was until there was food in front of him.

He wasn’t dumb enough to think it was for him, of course. Even though they hadn’t said anything yet, he had a fair idea of what the humans were playing at.

He knew how to count, after all, and he could plainly see that there were only three of each dish set out. It was another incentive to shift, one that had been used against him before. They’d wait until he was starved, he expected, and then offer him raw meat, or some other carrion that only a wolf could eat.

It was a little cruel of them to eat right in front of him, going so far as to move their normal dining location, but he couldn’t deny that it was an effective tactic. The sharp ache in his side had already been joined by a dull pang in his stomach.

There was a breadbasket, there in the middle of everything. The tops of each roll were shiny with butter, but if he grabbed one from the sides, it probably wouldn’t leave a trace on his hands.

… What were the odds that they’d counted how many rolls were in there?

By the time Roman swept back into the room with an amused Patton in his arms, Virgil was carefully arranged in the same exact position as before, and the warm roll in his hoodie pocket was well-concealed by the folds of the blanket still draped partially over him.

Patton was deposited on the plush armchair closest to the fireplace, and he offered Virgil a smile as he carefully propped his injured leg up on a stack of hand-embroidered pillows.

“Sorry for the mess,” he apologized. “We’ve normally got things a little more put together than this, but I was relegated to potato peeling duty after I dropped half the silverware while trying to set the table. Turns out holding plates and crutches is a recipe for dish-aster!”

Roman groaned theatrically from where he was arranging everything out on the table, but he was still exceedingly gentle with the tray he set on Patton’s lap, an artful arrangement of silverware on either side of the meal. “You already murdered two of our poor plates, now you have to slander their good names with puns?”

Patton laughed, and said something else, but Virgil was having a hard time registering the words through the low ringing in his ears.

It was so strange, watching them joke around and chat casually, as if nothing was wrong. With the hunters, there had always been an air of impatience or malice, a sick glee in making him suffer.

His humans weren’t acting like that, but there wasn’t a trace of uncertainty in their manner, either. It was as though this was just another day for them, as though they’d always been capable of doing something like this, so much so that it was an unremarkable event.

It wasn’t the outright hatred of before, but it still felt bad in a different way.

“Sir Wolf?” Roman’s voice broke through the haze in his mind, and his head jolted up slightly as he realized the name was meant to refer to him.

It was certainly nicer than some of the things he’d been called.

The two humans were looking at him with open concern, Patton leaning towards him as far as he could without unbalancing his tray.

“Hey, kiddo. Are you back with us?” he asked.

Virgil blinked at him strangely for a moment— he hadn’t gone anywhere— and then was immediately, sharply distracted by a hand moving closer in the corner of his vision.

He flinched back, hard enough to make his injuries twinge, and the room went quiet for a beat.

“My apologies,” Roman said, his tone subdued. “I only meant to check your temperature; sometimes infected wounds can cause fevers and disorientation.”

“We won’t ever hit you, kiddo,” Patton swore firmly, and the pity in his voice rankled against Virgil, like a hand scrubbing his fur the wrong way.

How could they sit here and pretend to be soft, when they were so willing to hurt him in other, more insidious ways? He clenched his fists, teeth digging into the edge of his lip, but before he could spit out the acid words building on the back of his tongue, Logan appeared in the doorway again.

“Apologies for the wait,” he said, carrying a fourth tray in his hands. He shot a sharp glance at the other two, making them recede from their hovering with sheepish expressions, and stepped close enough to extend the tray out in offering.

Virgil stared at the normal, delicious-looking food in front of him, bewildered. There was no rotting carrion or raw, bloody meat. In fact, the only difference between the dishes set out on the table and the tray being offered to him was that the food was already portioned, rather than in large dishes to serve oneself.

“I’ve added a few malnutrition aids, and they’re most effective when freshly brewed, hence the delay,” Logan continued, still patiently holding the tray out. “I’m entirely confident that they will help– at worst, they’ll do nothing– but if it would put you more at ease, I can sample the food myself.”

They’d dosed it with something. Something that wasn’t immediately fatal enough that they were willing to ‘sample’ it to prove it was ‘safe’. Or, they’d realized he really wasn’t going to shift to heal and were offering genuine health-aiding tinctures to speed up the process.

Better to figure out which it was now. Besides, even drug-laced food was food, and it was in his best interest to play along until he had an actual plan to escape.

He took the tray without protest, half-expecting it to be yanked away the entire time, and settled it across his lap.

“Alright, now that we’re all here, let’s eat!”

Patton smiled at him, and suddenly, the gesture didn’t feel false and insincere. His previous anger had melted away in the face of his confusion and, admittedly, his relief that he would get food at all.

Virgil swallowed, and ducked his head to stare at his tray instead of the others’ faces.

Those feelings were dangerous. Just because they weren’t as bad as the hunters in one specific way didn’t mean he could trust them. Not even if he wanted to. Especially not if he wanted to.

It was beginning to seem like remembering that was going to be harder than he’d thought.

[brighterdaysarebeforeus]

Back on earth 1610!

@hobiesgender @hadesdaughter2002 @lirulua

Masterlist

Miles didn’t hit the ground this time, but only because Hobie still had his arm around his waist. He did get jerked awkwardly, though, and Hobie’s grip tightened so much that it sent more pain shooting up his side due to the giant bruise on his side. He grunted at the movement, and Hobie was careful to help him down onto the rooftop they’d landed on; making soothing noises in the back of his throat, Hobie checked Miles over while he attempted to gather himself together.

“Where…did we go…now?” Miles asked slowly, forcing himself to keep his breathing steady as the pain dulled into more of a throbbing than a shooting. Hobie glanced around them, taking in the city skyline.

“Eh, New York?” He tried, and Miles shot him a deadpan look that made him snort. Every time they’d gone through the portal, they’d ended up in some version of New York, being told they were there didn’t really help.

Miles opened his mouth to respond back, something snarky he was sure; before he could get the chance, there was the sound of another portal opening up behind them. Hobie made a ‘tsk’ noise against his teeth, urging Miles up again before he was really ready to be going. Miles stumbled, then fell over almost immediately due to something wrapping around his ankles and pulling his feet out from under him.

He twisted, saw Miguel in front of the disappearing portal, and scrambled backwards. Hobie darted in front of him, snarling and emitting a dangerous scent that made Miles’s nose scrunch up.

“End of the road, Morales.” Miguel said, his voice calm in spite of the tense way he held himself. He spoke around Hobie as if the teen didn’t exist, and Hobie shifted so that he wasn’t holding eye contact with Miles anymore. Miguel let out a warning growl, a short one, that Hobie responded with one of his own. He didn’t move, either. “Nowhere else to go.”

“I’m pretty sure I’ve heard that before.” Miles quipped breathlessly, grabbing hold of the red glowing thing wrapped around his ankles. He hissed quietly as his fingertips were stung by it the second they came into contact, yanking his hand back. Something small and panicked began growing in his chest, and though he tried to stop it, it began reflecting in his scent. Miguel smirked at him, seeming to think that Miles was cornered.

“And we all know how that ended, dont we?” Hobie growled back, dropping to his knee in a crouch. He reached back slowly, groping the area around Miles’s feet before his hand landed on his leg; he never once took his eyes off of Miguel the entire time, and Miguel’s own eyes were narrowed at him. He didn’t move though, just watched for a moment as Hobie trailed his hand down until he got to the buzzing red wire.

“Don’t, Brown.” Miguel snarled quietly. “You’re on thin ice to begin with.”

“With what?” Hobie made a little noise in the back of his throat, mockingly sympathetic. “The Spider Society?” Miguel didn’t say anything, just growled quietly. “Did ya not hear? I quit, boss. Don’t work for you lot anymore.”

“Don’t — ”

“Go!” Hobie yanked the red wire off, and Miles scrambled back again. Miguel let out a roar of anger as he got to his feet, and Miles booked it to the edge of the roof. The fact that they were on top of a tall building didn’t even phase him — he shot a web out and swung into the city below, only remembering at the last moment that even though he still had his suit on, he no longer had the mask on because he’d removed it in the two seconds they’d been in Hobie’s world.

He barely had time to yank it on, swearing at himself all the while, when there was the loud sound of an explosion nearby. It slammed him into the side of a building, on his mostly-uninjured side, and Hobie landed just next to him while he got his breath back.

“What’re we thinking that was?” Hobie asked, and Miles shook his head as he thought. There was something weird going on with him, something that didn’t have to do with the multiple injures he was trying to heal while still do his work as Spider-Man. His hands were shaky, he felt nauseous and clammy, and even though he wasn’t exactly exerting himself the way he normally did, he felt sweaty —

Black spots began appearing, similar to the one in Mumbatten, and the city around those spots turned weird — black and white and undetailed, like the vision Miles saw with —

“Spot!” He gasped out, and Hobie’s head snapped to him. He’d put his mask back on too, Miles distantly noticed, eyes wide and white against the red of it. “It’s Spot, he’s here he’s — my dad!”

“Better get moving then!” Hobie lifted Miles off the building and tossed him into the air, and Miles barely managed to get himself together long enough to keep swinging. Hobie went after him, the two of them silent and focused on their destination. Miles even forgot about Miguel, put the man on the back burner of his mind in his determination. Hobie stayed close by, he could smell him in the air around him, and though he was panicking, the scent of the omega so close by was soothing enough to keep him level headed so far.