#and these men always deal with their emotions through violence | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

punkshort · 3 months

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somewhere to run | 8. restrained

Pairing: sheriff!Joel x f!reader

Chapter Summary: Patrick gets released from jail. You and Joel are left to deal with the fallout.

Chapter Warnings: language, angst, hurt/comfort, threats of violence, jealousy, possessiveness, destruction of property, DV is an underlying theme but not explicitly discussed, reminiscing of smut, emotional abuse, reader being called degrading terms for women (not by Joel), infidelity

WC: 8.1K

Series Masterlist

Helen greeted him when he walked through the front doors of the station and he nodded to her in return, just like always. As he walked through the bullpen and a few of his men said good morning or hey, boss, he replied in turn. Everybody was looking at him and treating him like it was any other day. But it wasn't just any other day. He surely must have been walking differently, or maybe his eyes shone a little brighter. Something had to be different because he didn't feel normal anymore. He felt like a brand new man. How was it not obvious? Wasn't it painted across his chest in red? Couldn't they see?

Joel had driven home early from your apartment that morning, the sun barely hanging in the sky in the hopes of avoiding prying eyes this time. At least he had the good sense to park a couple streets over, learning his lesson from the last time he visited you at night.

He had all but given up hope that you would be his one day. Especially after hearing your heart wrenching story, he thought you certainly wouldn't want anything to do with him. With anybody. How would it be possible for someone who had been through what you had been through to trust anyone ever again?

He wouldn't have even blamed you. But somehow, miraculously, you did trust again. And you chose to trust him. You let him into your life, into your heart, into your bed.

Leaving you that morning was the hardest thing he ever did. He was minutes away from calling into work sick, but you insisted he shouldn't, that you would be fine, that you would see him later. He struggled with it, guilt washing over him yet again, not knowing what to do. You were so used to putting up a facade, lying and pretending that everything was okay that you had become frighteningly good at it, sometimes making you difficult to read. The sun peeking over the tops of the trees and the reassurance that Patrick was still in jail, if only for a few more hours, made him finally decide to leave. But the moment he stepped out your front door and fresh air hit his lungs instead of your intoxicating scent, he knew he was done for. He already missed you.

As he pulled into his driveway, he began worrying about later that night. Even with a restraining order, he didn't trust Patrick. He wanted to be with you. But Sarah needed him, too. He had already left her with Tommy the night before and he'd never done that two days in a row.

When he walked into his quiet house, his first instinct was to follow his normal morning routine: shower, dress, coffee, but he stopped himself as he was picking out a fresh set of clothes for the day. He pinched his shirt away from his chest and took a sniff, his eyes fluttering shut for just a moment before letting it go.

He smelled like you.

Deciding to skip the shower, he begrudgingly changed his clothes, hoping that your scent would linger on his skin all day.

He jogged down the stairs as he blindly finished knotting his tie. Heading into the kitchen, he flicked on the coffee pot and grabbed his favorite mug before glancing around the room. He wasn't usually one for breakfast, but he had a feeling it would be a long day, so he swung open the fridge to see what was inside. His eyes immediately landed on an unfamiliar styrofoam box. With a frown, he picked it up and placed it on the counter, then flipped it open to reveal his favorite sandwich from Tommy's diner, completely untouched with a note written on the inside lid.

Weren't at the station, thought I would find you here but I guess I missed you. -T

So, Tommy already knew he wasn't working late and he wasn't home. Shit. It had only been a few hours and he already slipped up.

Carol's voice echoed through his head as he drove to work. A warning veiled as friendly advice to keep things separate. As much as it pained him, he knew he had to be careful. This town was too small and gossip travelled too quickly and he couldn't risk fucking up your case against Patrick all because he couldn't control himself and keep his dick in his pants.

He should have thought about that before he left. He should have talked to you about keeping your relationship a secret, although you seemed to come to that conclusion on your own, having urged him to leave before the town woke.

Hell, he didn't even talk to you about the nature of your relationship at all.

As he walked into the break room and poured his second cup of coffee, he mentally scolded himself for being so stupid. He needed to get his head on straight. Maybe he could lie to Tommy and convince him he went on a walk to clear his head when he had stopped by, when in actuality your thighs were probably trembling over his shoulders while he buried his nose and tongue deep inside your sweet, little -

"Shit!" Joel grumbled, shaking his hand to flick the drops of scalding coffee off his skin before running his fingers under some cool water for relief.

Yeah, he really needed to get his head on straight.

"Hey boss, got a minute?"

Joel glanced up from his computer at Bobby standing in the doorway to his office with his hands on his hips. Shockingly, he had actually managed to get into a groove and gotten some work done. It was probably the longest he'd gone without thinking about you in a while, but he would find his mind wrapping itself back around you in a moment because his deputy was coming to talk to him about the last person on earth he wanted to hear about.

"The asshole's lawyer's here insistin' we let 'em go."

Joel knew he would have to do it today. Patrick posted bail and, legally, Joel was only allowed to hold him for a certain amount of time. But it still made his blood run cold.

He swallowed the lump in his throat and forced himself to stand up, snatching his keys and rounding the desk.

"I'll take care of it."

As Joel made his way to the back of the station, his eye caught a younger man in an expensive looking suit waiting next to Bobby's desk. He was furiously tapping out something on his phone, but when he noticed Joel, he pocketed the device and picked up his leather briefcase from the stack of precariously placed files on the desk.

"Sheriff?" he asked, jogging to catch up with Joel's long strides.

"That's me," he replied gruffly.

"Beckett Kennedy," the man said, stretching out his hand. Joel came to a sudden stop, making Beckett stumble a bit in surprise.

"Joel," he replied, grasping his hand in a firm handshake. His eyes raked over the man's dark, slicked back hair as he tried to ignore his overpowering, and no doubt over-priced, cologne. "Joel Miller."

"Good to meet you. I'm representing -"

"I know, my deputy told me. I'm lettin' him out right now, heard he posted bail. Sorry, been a busy mornin'," Joel replied, turning on his heel to unlock the door that led to the holding cells.

"Much appreciated, Sheriff," Beckett said, trailing after Joel. The man looked very young. Joel was beginning to wonder if maybe Patrick hired a rookie, but when they rounded the corner and Beckett laid eyes on Patrick's bruised and swollen face, Joel quickly realized the lawyer was smarter than he seemed.

"The hell did you do to my client?" Beckett asked, his pleasant demeanor long gone.

"Didn't do anythin'," Joel said calmly as he sifted through the keys in his hand, trying to locate the right one.

"Bullshit. He fucking attacked me in a bar," Patrick said, standing up and gripping the metal bars. Beckett swiveled around to glare at Joel, who was still taking his time finding the key.

"You assaulted my client, Sheriff?"

"Didn't assault anyone," Joel said, finally finding the key and turning it in the lock. He swung the door open and leaned against it, rolling his eyes as Patrick made a big show about limping out of the cell. "Believe you lawyers call it self-defense. Your client swung on me when I was tryin' to have a calm conversation with him 'bout his alcohol consumption that night. Or don't you remember?" Joel asked, turning on Patrick now. "Maybe you had somethin' else in your system besides whiskey that's makin' it hard to recall."

Patrick was about to reply, anger flaring in his eyes, when Beckett held out his hand.

"Don't say a word," he muttered, and Joel grinned when Patrick ruefully clamped his mouth shut. "I don't like what you're insinuating, Sheriff, and all these charges against him are over the line. Two counts aggravated assault, aggravated sexual assault, public intoxication, assaulting an officer-"

"That one's considered a hate crime down here, by the way."

Patrick glared at him and it took everything Joel had not to bash his skull into the iron bars.

Beckett sighed as he scrolled on his phone, reading down the rest of the list of charges silently before glancing back up at the two men and saying your name questioningly.

Hearing your name out of that man's mouth made Joel's whole body ignite with rage. His blood pumped loudly in his ears as he tried to take deep breaths and focus on what they were saying. Keep it separate. Don't fuck this up.

"Yeah, that's my wife," Patrick had said, and again, Joel felt his muscles spasm under his shirt. As if they had a mind of their own, arms itching to reach out and strangle him. Wife. Wife. Wife.

"We're gonna have to talk about this in private," Beckett said to Patrick. Joel took a deep breath, grateful that they were leaving because he wasn't sure if he would be able to hold himself back much longer. But as Joel walked them back out to the front of the station, he felt compelled to say just one more thing.

"Now your client's got a restrainin' order against him. I trust you will make sure he understands what that means if he violates it."

"I know what it fucking means," Patrick spat. "You forget I'm a cop, too? Seems like it, considering the way I've been treated here-"

"That's enough," Beckett said, cutting Patrick off yet again. "Thank you, Sheriff. I'll be in touch."

"I am sure you will," Joel said, leaning against Helen's desk as he watched the two men leave, the front door clicking shut quietly after them.

"Piece of work," Helen muttered as she adjusted her glasses on the tip of her nose and turned back to her computer.

"Yeah, you're tellin' me," Joel sighed. He shoved himself off the desk and headed back to his desk, only pulling his phone out when he had privacy once again.

Joel: He's out.

You stood in the middle of your kitchen staring down blankly at your phone. The two little words taunting you, glaring at you, piercing your skin before knocking the wind out of you.

He's out. He's out. He's out.

You rushed down the stairs and triple checked your locks with shaky fingers before forcing yourself to take a deep breath. It will be okay. This time will be different.

You trudged back up the steps and locked the door behind you, one that you typically left unlocked because you felt it to be more of a hinderance than anything, but going forward you would have to take every precaution. As much as you hated to admit it, you knew Patrick very well. He wouldn't take this lying down. He never has. He will find a way, he will find you and when he gets his hands on you again -

"Stop it," you mumbled to yourself, gently knocking the heel of your hand against your temple, hoping to shake loose the bad thoughts. Just as another wave of panic was about to surge, your phone buzzed again.

Joel: It will be okay. I won't let him touch you.

You took a slow breath in and closed your eyes. How did he know you so well already? How could he know you, inside and out, almost better than you knew yourself?

You knew why.

Because he cares. Because he pays attention and listens and puts your needs first. All of them. Always worried if you ate enough, if you took pain medicine when you were hurting, if you needed a ride back from work, if you could come for him again.

You couldn't live in fear anymore. You finally had someone fighting in your corner, someone who could actually help you, someone you trusted. You needed to be strong. Joel couldn't do everything for you, although you were fairly certain if he could, he would. You picked up your phone and typed out a reply.

You: I know. Thank you.

It was brief, but you knew he needed the reassurance that you were okay. And just as quickly as you sent the message, another popped up on your screen.

Joel: Me and Sarah will pick you up from work tonight and take you home. I'll check your place before I leave.

Tears burned your eyes instantly, overcome with so much gratitude you could just melt into the floor. You hadn't thought about being alone overnight yet, and the idea sent a shock of anxiety through you. Be brave. Be strong.

You: Okay.

Joel: Miss you.

You smiled, your eyes crinkling just enough to cause the tears you were fighting to hold back to fall down your cheeks.

You: I miss you too :)

You took another deep breath and looked around your small living room. You made it this far. You could do this.

It will be different this time.

You had half expected the rest of the waitresses to know what happened when you arrived at the diner that evening. Every time you made eye contact with one of them, you kept waiting for the inevitable look of pity, or their eyes to travel over your face, trying to see past your makeup to what was hidden underneath, but they seemed to treat you exactly the same as always. The butterflies in your stomach quieted down after an hour when you realized Tommy and Maria must have kept their word when Joel asked them to keep your situation private.

At the very least you had expected Maria to try to talk to you about it quietly, or maybe Tommy to make some comment, but they didn't say a word. They welcomed you back to work as if you had been on vacation and you were actually able to push Patrick and the last few days out of your mind. Before you knew it, the dinner rush was nearly over, and you were close to surviving your first shift back. Your legs and feet ached as you unloaded a bus tub in the dish area. You felt sweaty and tired, but you still had a couple hours left in your shift and you could only hope that the rest of the night would be quiet.

"What can I make ya?"

Your head swiveled around in surprise, somehow not hearing one of the cooks, Thor, sneak up on you. He was leaning his big, hulking frame against the wall casually as he waited for your response, as though it wasn't the first time he's ever initiated a conversation with you that wasn't strictly work related. To say he was a big man was an understatement. With tattoo covered arms that were as wide as your torso and towered at least a foot over you, when you first met him, he immediately made you nervous. His intimidating physique and quiet demeanor set you on edge, but by the end of your first day you had realized he was actually very kind. Sure, he kept to himself and didn't say much, but he kept his cool under pressure and he was always doing silent favors for the waitstaff.

"Huh?" was all you could think of to say. He raised an eyebrow at you, giving you a look like it was the most obvious question in the world.

"I said, what can I make ya?" he said again, and then it clicked. He wanted to make you something for dinner. He's never offered before. In fact, you were fairly certain you've never seen him away from the grill once, let alone tracking down waitresses in the dish room for a chat.

"Oh," you said, setting the empty bus tub down and looking around uncomfortably. "You don't have to -"

"If you don't pick somethin', I'm makin' you a BLT."

You met his eyes again, trying to figure out what spurred this on, but his expression gave nothing away.

"Tommy told you, didn't he?" you asked quietly. He gave a small shrug and crossed his arms.

"Don't know what you're talkin' 'bout."

You dropped your gaze to the floor, trying to hide your reaction. He was just offering to make you a sandwich, but it was more than that. He was trying to do something to help. Essentially an acquaintance, a step up from a stranger, he was attempting to reach out and offer his support, in his own way.

He must have seen your eyes grow misty because he pushed off the wall with a grunt, ready to make a hasty exit.

"BLT it is," he said gruffly, and just as he was about to turn to leave, you spoke.

"With turkey?"

He glanced at you and you swore you saw the corner of his bearded mouth twitch, the muscles trying to pull into a smile, but he wouldn't let them. He gave you a quick nod and then headed back behind the line. You bit your lip to try to hold back your smile as you wiped your hands on your apron, then headed out the door back into the dining room.

It was getting close to the end of the night. The diner was closing in thirty minutes and there were only two tables left in the building. With any luck, you would be able to get out of there on time, eager to climb into the safety of Joel's truck. You had been nervous about sleeping alone now that Patrick was out of jail, but now all you could think about was curling up in your bed that hopefully still smelled like Joel.

You were wiping down the coffee machines when you heard the door open and Maria greet a customer. You groaned inwardly when you heard her tell them that the counter was open, and you hoped it was just someone who maybe wanted coffee and a piece of pie so you could still get out on time. Glancing up through the kitchen window, you spotted Thor and Tommy putting away the salad bar and listening to a hockey game over the radio. You sighed, now wishing more than ever that the customer didn't want anything complicated since the kitchen was nearly all broken down for the night.

The fake smile that you plastered across your face fell when you turned around, and you felt all the blood drain from your face when you met a pair of cold, familiar eyes set around a broken nose, waiting for you.

"Y-you can't be he-"

"I know, just listen to me, alright?" Patrick pleaded, looking guilty for maybe the first time in his life.

You looked over his shoulder at Maria, but she was too busy sweeping the foyer to notice what was happening.

"Please look at me, baby."

"Don't call me that," you said softly, but still, your eyes involuntarily slid back to him.

You saw his jaw clench as he cracked a knuckle in his finger, but he forced a smile anyway.

"I guess I deserved that," he admitted, leaning forward as his eyes raked up and down your body. "You look good. Uniform's sexy."

"Stop it," you said, your voice a little firmer now, but still too quiet.

"What? I can't compliment my own wife?" he said with a smile and a tilt of his head. You just stared at him, not sure what to say, worried about setting him off again. After a moment, he sighed and leaned back.

"Can I get a coffee? My head's fucking killing me."

You hesitated and glanced around the dining room, watching as one of the two tables got up. Maria wished them good night as they left, and she continued to clean up the foyer.

"What do you want?" you finally asked, your eyes flicking back to him.

"I just told you," he said, his voice taking on a menacing tone. "I want a cup of coffee and I want to talk to my fucking wife."

You took a shaky breath in and reached down below the counter for a mug. This was the Patrick you were used to.

"And then you'll go?"

His eyes narrowed at you and his jaw ticked to the side, but eventually he nodded.

"Yeah. And then I'll go."

Your hand trembled as you picked up the coffee pot and filled a mug. Turning back around, you stepped forward and placed the cup in front of him, realizing a moment too late that you were within arms length of him, but fortunately he didn't do anything. Hurriedly, you stepped backwards a few feet, creating some distance.

His eyes slowly lifted up from the steaming mug as he stared at you, something sinister flickering behind his eyes. Something that sent a shiver down your spine and made your heart begin beating twice as fast.

"You-"

He stopped himself as he clenched his fists and took a deep breath, then tried again.

"You fucking whore."

Your eyes widened and you stumbled back, your shoulder blades knocking against the behemoth of a coffee machine. Sweat was beginning to accumulate at the base of your skull as your fear spiked.

Patrick stood up from his stool and beckoned you forward. Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed the last table get up to leave and part of you was relieved. At least whatever was going to happen wouldn't involve innocent customers.

His face was growing hot as he beckoned you forward again, accidentally knocking the coffee over with a clatter, the dark liquid trailing like a lazy river down the counter. And this time, you shook your head.

"I fucking smell him on you, you slut!" he growled lowly, anger and fury lacing every word.

You gasped, your hands coming up to clamp over your mouth as tears began to cloud your vision.

"There a problem here?"

Both of you jumped when Tommy's voice rang out from somewhere next to you.

"No, there's no problem," Patrick said, unphased by Tommy's presence. "Just trying to talk to my wife, do you mind?"

"Actually, I do. Pretty sure you ain't allowed to be around her right now," Tommy said, taking a step forward, almost standing between you now. Maria's head popped up from a booth when she heard the tone in Tommy's voice and she quickly made her way to the hostess stand, picking up the phone and dialing.

"Pretty sure that's none of your fucking business," Patrick sneered, eyeing Tommy up and down. "The fuck you gonna do about it?"

"Call the police, for one," Tommy quipped, and Patrick scoffed.

"Oh, your sheriff? That motherfu-" Patrick's voice trailed off as he froze, his eyes going round as he actually stumbled backwards, his gaze fixed on something behind you both. When you turned around, you found Thor was standing quietly right behind you, staring Patrick down. Quite literally, as he towered over him by a good five or six inches.

Thor placed a gentle hand on your shoulder, urging you to the side so he could step forward.

"You wanna try that again, boy?" Thor asked, his voice taking on a tone you never heard from him before.

"You got guard dogs now? How many men in this town are you fucking?" Patrick shouted, craning his neck to try to look at you, but Tommy stepped forward again, blocking his view.

"She's one of our own. We don't take too kindly to people talkin' to one of us like that around here," Tommy said, squaring his jaw.

"Jesus Christ," Patrick muttered, then huffed out a disbelieving laugh before glancing around the dining room. He realized his options were limited, so he began to back away.

"Fine. I'll leave," he said, looking at Thor and holding his palms up in defeat.

"Good idea," Tommy said, still not moving until Patrick slowly backed up towards the doors, trying and failing to think of one more jab to get in before he disappeared. Maria quickly locked the doors and twisted around, eyes wide.

"I'm so sorry!" she exclaimed, rushing towards you. "I had no idea, I didn't know what he looked like-"

"It's okay," you said, waving her off and sagging against the counter, your body suddenly feeling weak.

"I called the station, Bobby will be here in a minute. Let's take you to the office so you can have some privacy."

Maria wrapped her arm around your shoulder, turning you towards the kitchen, but just as you were about to walk through the door, you stopped and turned around to look at Thor and Tommy.

"Thank you," you whispered, your bottom lip trembling. They both looked at you, Tommy waving you off with a smile, about to say something, but Thor unexpectedly spoke up.

"Don't need to thank us. Like he said, you're one of us now. We look out for each other."

You were pretty sure even Tommy was surprised by the amount of words Thor said at once because he slowly turned his head to look up at him in shock.

You gave Thor a small smile and nodded before letting Maria lead you to the back.

"When do you think I'll have a shift where we don't have to get the police involved?" you asked Maria, and she chuckled. It had been about twenty minutes and the adrenaline was wearing off. You were beginning to feel more like yourself again, more at ease. Maybe having people in your life know the truth wasn't actually a bad thing. You felt safe. You felt protected. And most of all, you felt like you belonged. But you also felt an unshakable cloud of guilt and fear. Guilt for dragging innocent people into your drama, and fear that Patrick won't back down so easily next time someone tries to stand up for you.

"To be fair, the Marcus thing could have happened to any one of us. You just got lucky that day."

You laughed and leaned your head against the wall.

"Yeah, guess you're right."

There was a soft knock on the office door and Maria stood to open it. You rolled your head to the side then straightened up when Joel walked in, looking frazzled and shaken up with the curls on top of his head messier than usual, most likely from his fingers anxiously combing through them.

His eyes locked onto you immediately and you could tell he was holding back. His hands fidgeted at his sides as he fought the urge to pull you into his arms. He glanced back and forth between you and Maria before clearing his throat.

"Sarah's out front. I didn't tell her what happened, didn't wanna scare her. D'you mind-"

"Of course not," Maria said, already understanding what he needed. "I'll take her in the back, let her pick out a dessert or two."

"Thank you," Joel said, waiting until she walked away before he shut the door and turned back to you.

"I'm so sorry," he said, quickly stepping forward to wrap his arms around you. You sighed, your arms draping around his neck as you leaned into his chest, breathing in his familiar, comforting scent. Your muscles instantly relaxed in his hold, your mind went blank and all of your worries, the guilt and the fear, began to drift away.

"I'm okay," you murmured into his shirt, but he just squeezed you tighter.

"I shoulda been here."

"You can't be here all the time, Joel," you said, leaning back to look up at him. "I know you want to do it all, and it's so sweet, but it's impossible." You reached up to cup his face, your thumb rubbing across his stubbled cheek gently. His eyes were still filled with worry, so you stretched up on your tiptoes, brushing your lips softly against his. He responded quickly, lips massaging yours before he pulled away all too soon. He let his forehead rest against yours and sighed heavily, his arms still holding you flush against him.

"I got three cars out lookin' for him. We'll find him and toss him back in jail."

You nodded, your eyes closed as you leaned against him, perfectly content to stay that way until your legs gave out.

"'Til we find him, you shouldn't be alone. Tommy said you could stay with them, or you could stay with me." He tried to keep the hope out of his voice, wanting you to make your choice without his influence, but he desperately hoped you would take him up on his offer.

"I-" you paused, eyes still closed, guilt slowly swelling back up in your chest. "Maybe we shouldn't confuse Sarah," you finally decided to say, and you felt his shoulders slump under your arms.

He wanted to argue with you, wanted to convince you to stay with him, but he didn't. He didn't say anything. He just nodded and stepped back. When your arms slid down from around his neck, he caught your wrist and brought it to his mouth, pressing a warm kiss against your pulse before letting you go.

You stared at one another for a long moment, so many things you both wanted to say, but couldn't.

A sudden trill filled the room. An upbeat tune playing from deep within his pocket. He slid his hand down to pluck out his phone from his pants, his thumb sliding over the screen before answering.

"Yeah?"

You took a step back and crossed your arms over your chest, watching as his eyes drifted around the office while he listened to whoever was on the other end of the call. He stared blankly at some old bankers boxes filled with receipts underneath the desk as he nodded along, his thumb coming up to rub anxiously against his lower lip.

As the phone call continued, with Joel only giving brief answers, you heard a knock at the door. You cracked it open then pushed it further when you saw Tommy waiting on the other side. He stepped into the small space, his mouth open about to ask Joel a question until he realized he was on the phone, then turned to you, instead.

"Any luck?"

"I don't think so," you said, shaking your head.

"We got a spare room, you can stay with us tonight. If you want, that is," Tommy offered awkwardly. You gave him a tight smile in return.

"Yeah, I - if you don't mind, that would be great."

Just as Tommy was about to answer, Joel turned around to face you both, shoving his phone back into his pocket.

"Can't find him," he said, trying to mask the frustration he was feeling, but you could see the muscles in his neck tense.

"Why don't you take her back to her place so she can get some things, then drop her off at our house? I'll take Sarah, you can pick her up when you come by. I'll make somethin' up 'bout a burst pipe or whatever," Tommy suggested, and again you could see Joel's exasperation seeping through as his eyes shifted back and forth between you and his brother, but he eventually agreed.

Joel drove you back to your apartment in silence. It was only a few minute drive, but it felt like it was an hour. So many things swirled around in your head, words sitting on the tip of your tongue, but you couldn't get them out. You were beginning to feel like a burden. You were asking so much of him and this poor town. The guilt was weighing you down, suffocating you, and you wished you had just run again when you had the chance, but then his hand slid across the console and his fingers brushed against yours and your selfishness won. You allowed his fingers to lace together with yours as his eyes remained focused on the road, looking for a parking spot and again, the words were right there. I need you. I hate that I'm so much trouble. I'm sorry.

"Alright," Joel said, pulling his hand back and cutting the engine. "I had one of my guys drive by earlier, but just in case, I'm goin' in first. You wait for me at the bottom of the stairs, door locked behind you til I come and get you. Got it?"

Only when you quickly nodded did he allow you to exit the truck. You stayed behind him as he approached your door, giving the knob and experimental twist before reaching his hand back towards you, waiting for your keys. You fumbled for a moment and handed him the correct one.

The door had been locked. You just assumed everything would be fine, but you would soon find out you were wrong.

You stood at the bottom of the stairs like you promised, watching as Joel walked up the steps, pulling his gun out only once he reached the top, then disappeared into your kitchen. You shifted your weight nervously, lower lip pulling between your teeth as your ears strained to try to figure out where he was. The place was very small, it shouldn't take that long. After several minutes without a sound, your curiosity got the better of you.

"Joel?" you called up quietly, and you finally saw the shadow of his frame darken the doorway before he appeared and looked down at you, his face unreadable.

"It's clear, but..." he trailed off, his eyes casting over his shoulder before looking down at you again. "He was here."

"What?" you asked, your eyebrows shooting up in surprise. "But the door-"

"I dunno," Joel said with a sigh before pulling his phone out and dialing a number. "Maybe he made a copy of your key or somethin'."

You shakily sat down on the bottom step, his words repeating over and over in your head. How could you be so stupid? Have you learned nothing? He could have killed you and these locks wouldn't have done a damn thing.

You vaguely heard Joel talking to one of his men over the phone, presumably asking whoever had stopped by your place earlier if there was anything suspicious that jumped out at him, but it didn't matter now. Just when you thought he couldn't violate you any more, he did. He had been in your space. In your safe haven. What did he do?

"Joel?" you called out again, standing up and leaning forward. You wanted to obey him and stay at the bottom of the stairs like you promised, but you needed to see what Patrick did. Joel was still talking on the phone, unable to hear you, so instead of calling out again, you went up. When you walked through the doorway, you gasped.

All of your plates, glasses, mugs, dishware were shattered in tiny pieces all over the kitchen floor. Cupboards were left open, food was poured all over the countertops, spilling down the wood cabinet doors and mixing with broken glass on the floor.

You kept your shoes on and tiptoed into the living room where you heard Joel's voice speaking lowly into the phone. You covered your mouth as you looked around the room. The few plants you had were smashed, dirt was spewed and ground into the old carpet. Books were flung onto the floor, some pages even ripped out, and the couch was turned upside down, thrown against the wall. You barely even noticed the TV was lying on its side, the screen smashed, because you were fixated on the holes punched and kicked into the walls, pieces of plaster and dust piled up on the floor under each one.

Eventually, you must have made a noise because Joel swiveled around to look at you.

"I'll call you back," he said into the phone, and hung up before rushing over to you. "I told you to wait downstairs."

"I know, but -" you lost your voice, unable to continue. Your whole life was in this apartment, and now it was destroyed. How long did it take? Minutes? An hour? Was that really all it took to pick up your entire world and shake it like a snow globe?

"It's just stuff," he said, trying to reassure you. "It can all be replaced. You can't be replaced, though. You hear me?"

You looked up at him, tears already streaming down your face. His eyes softened and he sighed before pulling you against his chest, his strong hands wrapping themselves around your middle, cradling your head against his pounding heart as you sobbed.

"What am I going to do?" you wondered out loud, your voice muffled against his shirt.

"Stay with me."

He felt you stiffen in his arms and he looked down at you.

"Please. I'd feel better if you stayed with me. Just until we find him, okay?"

"Okay," you agreed, trying not to show your relief but you already felt safer just knowing you would be under his watch that night. You still worried about Sarah, but you would make sure she knew you were sleeping on the couch. You refused to complicate Joel's life any further than you already had.

"Okay," he repeated, his voice soft. He leaned back and swiped a thumb over your cheek, drying your tears. "Let's see if we can get any of your clothes. Then we'll go get Sarah and go home."

Home.

You nodded and let him lead you to your bedroom, grabbing a tote bag from your small closet as you began to rifle through your dresser drawers.

Patrick had tossed your clothes around your room, but they didn't look like they were destroyed. It probably would have taken too long, you realized, as you packed a bag with whatever you could think of, ignoring how your comforter and sheets were piled at the foot of your bed, the strong smell of urine emanating from your mattress. When you stood up, you noticed for the first time the stuffed penguin Joel had won for you was torn in half, white fluffy stuffing spilling out in a corner of your room.

Choking back a sob, you walked towards the bathroom, but Joel reached out to stop you.

"What d'you need? I'll get it."

"What do you mean?" you asked, giving him a confused look as you wiped your nose on the back of your hand. "Why can't I -"

"Just tell me what you need and I'll grab it for you," he said, not allowing you to ask the question. You stared at him, trying to figure out what could possibly be worse than urine on your bed. When neither of you budged, you brushed past him and flicked on the light.

You only paused for a moment, Joel standing right behind you as you read the words repeatedly scrawled all over the mirror and walls with the few lipsticks you owned. Whore. Slut. Badge Bunny. Cunt.

You swallowed and looked down, averting your gaze to focus on packing your toiletries as quickly as you could. You heard Joel say your name softly from the doorway, but you ignored him and continued to throw things into your bag - shampoo, toothbrush, whore, face wash, slut, hair brush, deodorant.

A chill went down his spine as he watched your face harden and your eyes glaze over. Memories of how you pulled away from him in the past came creeping back: the cologne, the robbery, your marriage... Patrick, and everything he's done. He couldn't let you slip through his fingers again.

"I'm ready," you said numbly, pushing past him and heading to the door.

Joel followed you outside, making sure to lock up after, although you could hardly see the point, with what little belongings you had left clutched in your hand.

He jumped into the driver's seat and started the truck, glancing sideways at you, trying to figure out what to say to give you some comfort, but he was coming up empty.

"He knows," you said after a few painfully silent minutes. Joel flicked his gaze to you quickly before focusing back on the road, immediately knowing what you meant.

"How-"

"He said he could smell you on me," you told him, refusing to look at him as shame coursed through your veins.

Joel flinched. Now he was reading those words on your wall differently. Now he knew Patrick wrote those things because of him, and it made him feel sick.

"Did you say anythin'?"

"No," you said, shaking your head, still staring out your window. "Of course not."

"Good," he said. "That's... good. I mean-" he glanced over at you again, stumbling over his words. "Not good, it just-"

"I know what you're trying to say, Joel," you said quietly.

He tapped his fingers nervously against his thigh as another tense silence filled the truck.

"I'll have someone go over in the mornin', process the scene so we can press additional charges," he said, breaking the quiet. You just continued to stare out the window, exhausted.

"How will you prove it was even him?"

"DNA," was all Joel said, and you closed your eyes. You refused to give the situation any more tears, so you forced them back and opened your eyes, resting your forehead against the glass as Joel drove the short distance to Tommy and Maria's house.

"Why don't you just stay here and I'll go talk to Tommy?" Joel suggested, unbuckling his seatbelt as he turned to look at you. You stared straight ahead and gave him a slight nod.

He scanned your face, wishing he could see you smile again. He reached a hand over and gently squeezed your thigh, finally pulling your gaze off the dashboard and onto him. He hated that look in your eye. A distant, sad, hopeless look that made him want to comb through the whole town until he found Patrick so he could break every bone in his worthless fucking body.

"You're okay," he whispered, lifting his hand off your leg and sweetly pinching your chin between his thumb and index finger.

You forced a small smile, but it didn't reach your eyes. You took his hand in both of yours and brought his knuckles to your lips, closing your eyes as you kissed the back of his hand before pressing it into your soft cheek, and he felt a modicum of relief.

"I'm just tired," you said quietly, hoping that would placate him enough for the time being.

After about fifteen minutes, you saw Joel and Sarah exit Tommy's front door, her backpack slung over one shoulder, still clad in a soccer uniform. You hadn't realized she had a game that night, and you hoped the game had at least ended before Joel dragged her away to come to your rescue because you couldn't stomach ruining one more person's night.

He must have told Sarah you were in the car because she wasn't surprised to see you when she opened the door to the back of the cab.

"Your apartment's wrecked, huh?" she asked as she buckled her seatbelt. You looked at her, surprised, as Joel twisted around in his seat.

"We told her 'bout the burst pipe," he said, making sure to hold eye contact with you until you nodded in understanding.

"Yeah, it's a mess. Thanks for letting me crash with you," you said, turning to give her a smile. She grinned and nodded.

"It'll be fun. Can we do movie night tomorrow instead of Saturday, Dad?"

"It's a school night-"

"Please! Dad, please! She might not be here on Saturday," she whined.

Joel sighed and rubbed his eyes as he waited for a streetlight to turn green. You could tell he was exhausted, too, so you turned back towards Sarah to try to help.

"Tell you what. If I'm back in my apartment by Saturday, I'll still come by for movie night. Deal?"

Sarah thought it over for a moment before nodding.

"Deal."

Satisfied, she sat back in her seat and hummed along to the radio as she gazed out the window. Joel tilted his face towards you and mouthed thank you, and you smiled in return before looking out your own window.

You weren't sure what you expected when you saw Joel's house, but once you saw it, you could tell it was undeniably his. It was a remodeled two-story white farmhouse. There wasn't much in the way of decor, but what he did have was simple and tasteful. There were framed family photos that littered the mantle and bookcase, and the sparse art that hung on the walls were mostly landscapes. It just felt like him. Rustic, homey, and comfortable.

The light fixtures in the kitchen were dated, and the cupboards looked old, but in true Joel fashion, everything worked. Everything was taken care of. Not a single loose handle, squeaky hinge or burnt-out lightbulb in the place.

It was just after ten at night by the time the three of you arrived home. Joel urged Sarah to go get ready for bed while he walked down the small hallway to grab some linens from the downstairs bathroom. He dropped them on the couch and pointed up the stairs, where Sarah had just disappeared.

"You can have my bedroom, I'll take the couch. Lemme show you-"

"I can't let you do that, I'll sleep on the couch," you insisted, taking a step towards the living room but he wrapped his arm around you and pulled your back against his chest, his nose getting buried in your hair. You sighed and melted against him, weak and completely drained.

"Want you safe and sound in my bed. Please," he murmured against your ear. "I won't be able to sleep otherwise." You didn't have the strength to argue.

"Joel?" you whispered, your eyes closed as you relaxed into him further, letting him lightly sway you side to side as he nuzzled the back of your neck.

"Hmm?"

"Thank you. For... everything."

You wished you could put your gratitude into words, but everything you thought to say didn't seem like nearly enough.

"Don't want you to thank me," he mumbled before taking a deep breath. "But can you promise me somethin'?"

You frowned and turned around in his arms so you could look at him, waiting for him to continue.

"Don't shut me out, okay?" he asked softly, his fingers caressing your cheek. "I want you to talk to me, tell me what's goin' on in there," he said, gently tapping the side of your head. "No matter what it is, just... talk to me."

"I'm sorry," you whispered, feeling guilty, yet again. "I'm just not used to having anyone."

"You got me now, okay?" he said, giving you a quick kiss and then pulling back when he heard the water turn off in the bathroom above your heads. "I ain't goin' anywhere."

You gave him a small smile and took his hand as he led you upstairs. He made it crystal clear that the two of you were sleeping apart as he showed you his room, knowing that Sarah would have heard from the other side of the bathroom door. But before he left, a pair of pajamas in one hand and a pillow in the other, he gave you one more kiss, letting his lips linger until he heard Sarah flick the bathroom light off.

"You know where I am if you need me," he said, his voice once again a little louder than usual, for Sarah's benefit. He winked at you and shut the door, leaving you all alone in his bedroom.

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#joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel the last of us #joel miller smut #joel miller fluff #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller angst #joel miller series #joel miller x reader #sheriff!joel #STR fic #the last of us hbo #the last of us fanfiction #pedro pascal characters fanfiction #pedro pascal

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l0v3tast3 · 1 year

Note

141 men finding out military!reader is only 19 after they break down from being overwhelmed and overworked??

✎ this idea bounces around my head a lot actually and now i have a reason to write it down finally :) i wasn't sure if you wanted them altogether or separately so i did it separately because it's easier lol. i kept it platonic and sfw!

✎ tags : gender neutral!reader, reader has a panic attack, descriptions of violence/injury/death, swearing, hurt to comfort, all platonic relationships, only half proofread

you're barging into the safehouse where he had said to rendezvous, gasping for air that your closed throat won't let through. the rifle held in your dominant hand is dropped as soon as the door is shut behind you, and you're clawing at the straps of your helmet and chest armor to get them off because it's too tight and it's too much and you can't breathe.

this wasn't your first mission. it wasn't even the bloodiest one you'd been on thus far. you could handle the gore and the death and the pure misery of the victims of these situations, because at the end of the day, you were helping them, right?

unless you were too late.

the family had been huddled in a corner, two children laying underneath their parents. there had still been two other rooms to check in the house, but you were running out on shaky legs.

he's in front of you now, looking down at you and asking if you're injured. you're sitting on the floor, heaving for breath and tears pouring from your glassy eyes.

"it's not- it's not fucking fair!" you cried out finally, trying desperately to wipe your face dry on your sleeves, but it only worked to redden your skin further. "why are these people doing this? how could someone be so cruel?"

he sighed softly, not knowing how to respond. the team didn't show emotions like this, they didn't deal with them, not like this. but they had all been here, where you are now. they had all asked why, again and again and again until the word lost all meaning.

"i mean, are we even really helping? god, these people are all already dead! why are we here? why- jesus fucking christ, why am i here?" you rambled; you weren't talking to him anymore. your voice was fizzling out, getting quiet enough that he had to lean closer to hear your unsteady words.

"i can't help these people," you sobbed. "i'm just a kid, i'm only nineteen, i can't- i don't know what i'm supposed to do! they said i was special! they told me- said i was so much better and smarter than everyone else, what a fucking joke!"

☆ simon "ghost" riley

he knew you were young, but fuck, if that didn't break his heart, there was nothing left that would. simon didn't talk to you more than any of the others on the team, but you were special, like a little sibling to the team, to him. always having enough energy and kindness to make up for the rest of them.

seeing you like this was a first, even for him, the man who had seen the worst of the worst. it wasn't like he was immune to emotions, but he had spent so long pressing them all down until he couldn't feel them that this was new to him again. all he could do was offer a hand on your knee that he hoped resembled something like comfort.

"we're almost done here. the heli will come for us soon," he said quietly. "you did good, like always."

he watched and waited with you while your sobs whittled away to sniffles, never moving his hand from your knee, where you had grabbed onto it with one of your own. most people knew not to touch him, that they'd end up with one less hand if they did, but you were an exception.

☆ john "soap" mactavish

at first, he doesn't do anything, just kneels in front of you and stares in shock. you're nineteen? you had always danced around the question that the team would tease you with, asking if you still had to work on your homework, but it was always a joke. now it wasn't.

instead of dwelling, john shifts and sits in front of you, almost hovering over you awkwardly as he tried to figure out what to do. sure, he was one of the more open people on the team, but when you're standing next to ghost, just smiling makes you look emotionally vulnerable.

he takes your hands away from your face and into his, placing them on your lap before gently holding your shoulders. "look, we're almost done here, alright? we'll be far away before you know it." that didn't help much, so he paused again.

the almost-distraught look on his face forced a giggle out of you. his worry turned to confusion, why are you laughing now? you probably shouldn't have been, but the big, scottish military-man fretting over you was kind of funny.

"alrigh', lass, at least something cheered ya up," he grumbled, but turned serious again right after. "higher-ups were right, ya know. you are smarter than the rest of 'em. maybe even smarter than us, yeah?" he said with a smile.

☆ kyle "gaz" garrick

it wasn't that long ago that kyle was where you are now, fresh out of school and eager to prove himself in the military. except it had taken him several years longer than you to reach where you both were now; he had had plenty of time to come to terms with the horrors he saw.

now he realized that you hadn't, because you were smart and you were better than most other people, so they had thrown you in, like a minnow in a piranha pond. by all means, you were doing wonderfully for your circumstances, but you could only keep going for so long.

he sat down beside you, shoulder-to-shoulder, and wrapped an arm around you to bring your head down to rest on him. he sat with you quietly, giving you the time you needed to just get it all out.

eventually, once you're more calm, he breaks the silence with bad jokes that he definitely stole from simon.

"why do twitter users make bad soldiers?" you lifted your head to stare at him incredulously before he continued, "because, they're too quick to retweet."

☆ john price

the captain knew how young you were. he never told you, but he hadn't wanted you on the team at first; the second he was handed your file and saw your birthdate, he started protesting. but it wasn't up to him this time. he couldn't spare you from this, and he knew that it would always weigh on him. he knew he would always remember this, you, crumbling in on yourself in a heap on the floor.

john came down on one knee in front of you and started telling you a story about when he had started, how one of his first missions had gone so terribly wrong. you honestly thought he was just going to tell you to "suck it up" until he told you about one family he had saved during that mission, one that was still alive today. they still sent him letters, even.

"all you need is one good save, kid. and you've got dozens already," he murmured. he wouldn't say it outright, but you really were one of his best.

you remembered the child clinging to your back as you ran out of a collapsing building, the woman who's leg you had managed to get unstuck from fallen debris, the man you had stopped from being executed just in time.

price smiled once he saw he had gotten through to you and helped, at least a little, and roughly patted your shoulder. "evac will be here soon, chin up now."

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rebelliousstories · 9 days

Text

Not On My Watch

Relationship: Cooper “The Ghoul” Howard x Reader

Fandom: Fallout

Request: Yes by @victias

Warnings: Strong Language, Brief Violence, Suggestive Themes

Word Count: 1,128

Main Masterlist: Here

Fallout Masterlist: Here

Summary: There is something that can flip a switch in even the most trusting of men; jealousy. Now what switch that is all depends on the man.

Walking alongside each other in the desert was not the most ideal plan for anyone. But it worked for them. Salvation from the blistering heat was found just up the road at a small city that was hustling and bustling with people and shops.

“How many you got left, baby?” She asked, peaking her head out from the lip of her matching cowboy hat. Deftly, Cooper dug around in his satchel to pull the bag with his chems out.

“Got three. Know anyone with access here?” He replied, tucking them back in and continuing to walk.

“Please. You know I always know a guy, baby. Don’t worry about it.” Her tone was teasing as she playfully hit his shoulder. Cooper allowed a small smirk to overtake his face at his partner’s jests. Thoughts ran rampant in his head as he continued to walk. His self esteem was finally on the up and up after they collected the latest bounty, but it was times like these that tested that.

It seems like a lifetime ago that he had stumbled upon the woman in the middle of the Wasteland, half beaten and looted, but determined to get her effects back in a timely manner. An unusual partnership struck up when she offered a hundred caps to help her find the men that took her gear. As they tracked them through the Wastelands, they quickly realized that they had more in common with each other than they previously thought.

Oh, and get her gear she did. Cooper did not realize that he was that attracted to someone so covered in blood and gore until he saw the hell she unleashed upon those men. From that point forward, they continued to travel and make their living together. Trading chems and caps for companionship.

However, in between the nights nestled together for warmth, and days on the open land, doubts came in to the scarred head of Cooper Howard. There was the persisting thought of never being there in the long run. If being feral doe not get him, it is going to be someone else. Or he will just have his body shut down because even he does not know what is going to happen exactly. Or maybe she would realize that being with a ghoul is more of a hinderance rather than a benefit.

“Hey,” she jolted him out of his thoughts, “you alright there, baby? You left for a little while.” Her voice was honey sweet, and lace with concern as she observed her partner.

“Course I’m alrigh’. Let’s go.” He trudged on ahead, leaving the woman to catch up to him yet again. Once in town, they took inventory of what was around them. A few street vendors for food and crafts, a medical shop, a bar, and a little inn that was left from the old days. Walking into the doctor's place, the sterile smell was a welcomed change of pace from the dirty way of. life outside these white walls. Their boots clicked against the hard floor as the saddled up to the counter.

“We don't take your kind here, Ghoul. Go somewhere else.” A man behind the counter spoke, looking up from his ledger. His eyes scanned the deformed man before his gaze landed on the woman next to him.

“Now what can I help you with, little lady?” He leered, teeth yellowed beyond saving in his smile.

“Sixty vials of chems. Now.” She stated. Her face was devoid of any emotion other than contempt. But the man in front of her only saw that as a challenge, while the Ghoul watched.

“Oh. I think we can strike up a deal. Just for you of course.” Once more, he tried to make himself more appealing than he actually was.

“Chems for caps. I have no interest in a man that looks, smells, and acts worse than the foulest of ghouls.” She said bluntly and watched the man's face fall. He shuffled around quietly and produced the sixty vials they requested.

“Sixty chems for one hundred twenty caps.” The doctor eyed the woman nervously for her next movement.

“That sign out front says ‘five chems for three caps.’ Now, the only you're gettin’ a hundred twenty caps from me, is if you supply the appropriate amount of chems. Now, here's thirty-six caps for sixty chems.” Tossing the bottle caps on the counter, the woman kept them just out of reach until the doctor produced what he had promised. He kept to himself while working on grabbing the vials. Once they had swapped hands, she tipped her hat as the duo walked outside.

“Pleasure doin’ business with you.” And with that, they left. She passed the chems to Cooper so he could replenish but he just stood there dumbfounded.

“The hell was that?” He questioned, voice tinged in false fury.

“That was me getting your meds. What's the problem?” She pushed back, wondering what was going on with the Ghoul.

“Why didn't you want him?” Cooper's quiet voice whispered as he kept his eyes to the ground.

“Whatcha talkin’ about baby? What do you mean?” Stepping closer, she tried to get him to look up but to no avail.

“You could have your choice of man. Even one not so… deformed. What are you even doing with me anyways?” There goes his barriers yet again. Howard had perfected building the walls back up around his heart when they would fall down in front of her. But she just stepped closer to him, and pressed her fingerless gloves hand to his cheeks so that she could look in his eyes.

“Coop, I don't want no one else but you,” she started, “I don't want someone not deformed. Most of these men are far uglier inside then out. I can deal with someone not attractive to most people. He just needs to be attractive to me.” By the time she had finished, Cooper was looking her in the eye, and feeling himself crumble.

“Now you gonna make this old cowpoke go soft which is not gonna be too good now, sweetheart.” He drawled out, resting his hands on her hips softly. Pulling her even closer, they stood underneath their hat brims for a moment.

“That's okay. As long as that cowpoke knows I ain't goin’ nowhere for no one. And I'll continue to make sure he believes and knows that. No self doubt on that front. Not on my watch.” She replied, saying them ever so softly.

“What's you say we try and find us a nice spot to camp tonight? Wanna be able to treat you for bein’ oh so kind.” Cooper smirked, finally Slipping right back into the charming ghoul she knew and loved.

“Lead the way, partner.”

#rebelliousstories #writing #cooper the ghoul howard #cooper howard x reader #cooper howard #cooper howard imagine #the ghoul imagine #the ghoul fallout #the ghoul x reader #the ghoul #fallout imagine #fallout

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spacesurfing · 2 years

Note

❛ would you like to go somewhere a little more private? ❜ with Anakin? (A girl with a big metal hand kink as I have one as well)

-- I love the metal hand as well, it's just so yummy. Thank you for sending in a request!!

•--•

Good Resolutions

Anakin Skywalker x Reader Smut

Summary: You and Anakin never found a way to get along. With your feuds and the war occupying your minds, you were convinced Anakin Skywalker only cared about himself. So maybe you should try as well. And you did.

Warnings: Anakin does make fun of the reader!!, violence, injury, blood, Metal hand kink, Dom!Anakin, brat tamer!Anakin, rough sex, p in v, oral (m receiving), slight humiliation, slight praise kink, inappropriate use of the force, hair pulling, soft ending :)

GIF NOT MINE!!

•--•

You didn't want this war. It had caused pain to everyone; to you, to Obi-Wan, to the clones that knew nothing more than fighting and to the civilians that had to endure it all. You felt horrible for all of the factors in this war. It had caused yourself grief and stress, things that the Jedi were forbid of, but you never understood how the Jedi just saying, "Hey, just don't feel anything and you can stay in our cult of magicians!" would fix any of your emotions from straining against your mind.

And him. Oh him. If you weren't a Jedi, you would've ripped Skywalker's face apart. You hated him, more than you had hated anything. There were only few things you let yourself hate, and one of them was no doubt him. He crawled under your skin, biting at you, irritating you. And the council always thought it was a good idea to bring you two together. In their eyes, the more you had to see him, the more you two "got along" (and the less they had to deal with his bullshit). And through the war process, you hated him even more.

The flirting, oh you couldn't stand the flirting. You didn't dare say anything to the council, you didn't wanna hear about your snitching from him everytime you walked beside him. You'd rather the unnerving silence that was always there till he wanted to brush his gloved hand against your arm, move a piece of loose hair from your face, have the audacity to correct your stances everytime you found yourself in battle. The way he called you 'pretty girl' whenever it was just you and him. You fucking hated everything about him and his stupid, handsome face.

He was really at your throat this whole week though. You'd been sent to Geonosis, another secret imperial base had been made for them to perform their various meetings. It also was supposedly a site for explosives construction on their half. So, you were happy that meant not blowing something to smithereens due to the possibility of very fatal explosives.

As the 501st communicated with your battalion of calm soldiers, you had to stand beside the rat they assigned you to help. You wished that Rex would find a question for you, so you could talk to him instead. You walked in silence with Skywalker, only few of your most skilled men behind you - Commander Tank, Reaper, Mitch, Magma and Cub.

Your men talked to you a lot, they loved jokes and sarcasm, but they didn't like bothering their General, especially when you were next to the man you hated more than anything - in those moments your shoulders were so tense your men thought you were about to punch something. But you honestly wish your men didn't care for your sanity because them being a distraction was better than them being silent and watching your back as Skywalker walked confidently next to you.

"Do you always breathe that loud?" Anakin peeped up, looking over at you. His face was blank but you could tell he was holding in a devilish smirk that you swear to maker you always wanted to slap off of his face.

You looked over at him with pure confusion, "What do you mean?"

"You sound like you're suffocating, is it too long of a walk for you little miss princess?" he asked, purposefully mocking you, just needing to get to your head, to tickle your insecurities.

Your nose scrunched up at his comment, "I've been breathing perfectly fine this whole time, Master Skywalker. Don't you have better things to listen to than my breathing anyways?"

"Well, when you're being incredibly loud, I can't focus on those 'better things'."

You turned away from him, your face hot. Did you really breathe that loud? No, he just wants to get to you. But what if you did really breathe that loud? You felt embarrassed beyond belief. All you wanted to do was fall back and escape to the transport ship that had left what seemed like a millennium ago.

Before you could think too far into it, one of your boys, Mitch, spoke up, "I don't think you breathe that loud, General."

The clone outfitted in white and a forest green fell into step next to you. You smiled widely at him, looking up. It was funny, the clones being taller than yourself - yet they only listened to you. You'd seen other people attempt to boss around your clones, but they had hard heads and they liked to knock them against anyone other than yourself.

Anakin muttered something under his breath, eyes averting away from your figure. You would've asked him what he had said if it weren't for you just simply not caring about his opinion on anything.

Mitch fell back into step with the rest of the men, leaving you in the same atmosphere that you were in before he trailed up on you; in Skywalker's restrained silence. You knew he wanted to say something else, he always wanted to say something about your men being "kiss-ups", just wanted you to give them your full attention.

'If you really want to insult me, don't do it in front of my men,' you spoke through thoughts. You'd think you'd have a force connection with someone you liked, someone that made you cherish their time and attention. The one between you and Anakin was unnecessary and stupid - that's why you never got into verbal arguments. It was almost like texting someone over a holopad, except you could hear their voice almost as if it were in a dark chamber, echoing off the walls of your mind.

He didn't respond, his eyes forward, watching the trail with carefulness that he only faked. He just didn't want to look at you is what the problem was, cause when he did, he would say something nasty. 'Come by my quarters when we get back to Coruscant, then I won't have to say a single word in front of your men.'

For once, you were up to the challenge of talking to him. You always denied his offers, which only sent more teases your way, more glares. The less you interacted with him, the more he mocked you. 'Fine, then I will.'

You watched out of the corner of your eye, a smirk spreading across his face.

It did take long to find something, the hideout that everyone was speaking of. It was small, carved into a peak. "Great, we'll be lucky if we don't find tunnels in this thing."

For once, Anakin let out a small huff of air - a laugh sort of. It was quiet, like he didn't want you, or anyone, to hear that he was laughing at something you said. We easily found the entrance, walked in with muffled footsteps, trying to sneak as quietly as we could try. Tank stood behind you protectively, the rest of your men in line with him. It was the same for Skywalker's battalion - Captain Rex in line with the rest of the 501st. And of course, you never got out of sync while next to Anakin, now closer than you were before in the tight halls.

"I don't like this one bit," Tank said under his breath, looking around while keeping his shoulders tense, ready for whatever there was to come.

"I know Tank but we'll get out of here as soon as possible," you whispered back, keeping your voice low. You were watching cracks trail up into the ceiling, the deep hum of machinery vibrating the atmosphere around you.

Anakin knew too, you felt it, that there was indeed a factory hidden in the cavern you were walking through. You kept your hand close to your hip, though the thought of a fight was very deep in your mind. All you were searching for now was the vibration of voices.

You closed yourself into your own thoughts, listening for noise. For a moment, you could only hear the soft whisper of a joke send over from Reaper to Kix, then you closed out that train. You heard the conveyer belt to the left of you, taking a turn down the next crossroad and simply walking straight. And to the right, you heard the voice of Poggle, speaking in native Geonosian to the other close members of the separatist alliance.

You held up your right hand, stopping your men and Skywalker's men in their tracks. As soon as that happened, you felt a jolt through your mind as he shared the same force channel as you did, listening to a language you never understood. Then you directed him to the left, listening to the sounds of machinery.

"We certainly got lucky this time boys," you claimed, turning around, addressing in a soft voice, "Mitch, I will need you to find a way to shut down the factory when we enter, Kix and Cub with accompany you. Rex and Tank will stay with me and General Skywalker. Hardcase and Jesse, you will stand guard in front of the factory, and the rest of you will take out droids that might be there and find explosive deposits."

The men all nodded, not daring to speak a response and they followed you in the same quiet march that they had kept up that whole time walking in.

"Master Skywalker, you are to take Rex and collect some of the most dangerous explosives when they are found. Tank and I will join you soon after, I would like to continue listening."

Anakin snickered, "They why don't you just take guard and Jesse and Hardcase can actually put the backpacks to use."

You hummed, beckoning Tank to take his backpack off and you dropped both yours and Tank's into Anakin's hands, "As you wish." He looked disappointed. Even though this was your mission, he had bossed you around without getting you upset. What a shame.

•--•

The mission went exactly as planned, which was something that never seemed to happen when you were beside Skywalker on a mission. But today, everything had went exactly as we planned it to go. Well, up until the end. You had hurried your men out and told them to call for a transport as you and Anakin stayed inside, cutting up some of the machinery, the lock on the controls not going to hold up forever. Mitch was good, but not that good.

And, we found a stray droid in the process, wandering into the factory after he must've heard no noise from it. As soon we we rushed at him, he had the last laugh, contacting Poggle to your location on the spot.

You scurried behind Anakin, talking to your men. They reported the transport ship was close, flying down to them now. As soon as you turned the corner to the main entrance though, you felt a sting in your arm. Eager to get out, you tried to not focus on the pain, rushing your men into the ship as you hurried out fast. Reaper threw down one of the explosives, it soon beeping and caving in the entrance.

You smiled in relief. This was the first good mission in a long time, your men keeping Anakin's calm. It was funny, the contrast between how you and Anakin interacted and how his men and your men interacted. Rex pointed that out once. You and Anakin then didn't communicate with each other the rest of the mission.

As you became grounded though, you grasped your arm. It hurt, bad, a searing pain. As you held your fingers up, you saw blood. You tried to hide the injury for the time being, the transport ship making it's way to the command ship and you scurried off as soon as it landed. Or well, tried to.

"Is that... blood, General?" Cub spoke. You winced at his question, turning around to see him standing right there behind you, checking out your wound.

Anakin stepped over, speaking in a commanding voice, "What do you mean blood?"

Cub turned you, showing Anakin the blood forming a circle on the fabric where the wound was under. Anakin grumbled, grabbing your wrist in a way that made you dizzy and dragged you to the infirmary, setting you down on a medical cot and calling over Kix.

The man in blue took off his helmet, setting it down and looking at your arm. "Could you, um, undress for me. If you need a shirt or something we have plenty."

You waved him off, stripping yourself of your long sleeved top and your robes. You had a tight breastband on, not revealing anything in particular but your arms and your stomach. You knew that the men were mature, not taking a wounded woman soldier as some sort of sex worker when she was to be almost half naked to receive medical attention. All the men were very respectful - too good to deserve the lives they had to live.

You waited for Anakin to leave, but as Kix tended to your wound, rubbing some bacta ointment on it and wrapping it up with bandages, Anakin continued to glare at you. You felt his eyes burning right through your head as he waited for Kix to finish.

"Are there any other wounded?" the medic asked when turning to Anakin. Anakin shook his head and Kix simply nodded, saying a goodbye to Anakin and walking back to the hangar bay to connect back with his group.

You downcast your eyes, a frown tugging at your lips as you avoided looking at his figure, broad and hovering over you like a building. You knew that if he was still standing there, arms crossed tight against his chest, he wanted to say something.

When the metal of the door shut with a mechanical noise, and Anakin burst into flames.

"You were injured, and you did tell me?!" he asked, raising his voice as he stared you down. You couldn't avoid his eyes now, looking back at his face you saw the fury in his expression, his eyebrows scrunched, his face in pure anguish.

You inhaled, looking away frantically, then back at him, "Why are you asking me like you've ever cared? When have you ever gave a shit about me?"

"Are you saying you don't believe I care?"

You scrunched your nose up in a way that flipped Anakin's heart, watching as you turned from this closed book into this flaming ball of emotion. "Why should I believe in any universe that you would care about me? You mock me in front of my men, criticize me constantly and overall, you're a huge dick."

Anakin was quick to unfold his arms and cage you into the medical bed, his hair falling in his face as he stared you down. Maker he was big. You had thought he was tall of course but as he really hunched over you, got in your face, he was intimidating to say the least.

"I have always cared about you, do you understand? I worry every moment you are on the field. You do not tell me I don't care about you, I would travel to the end of the galaxy to find you."

You huffed, not letting his fake front manipulate you. It wasn't fake, everything had come out of Anakin's mouth aggressive, yet true. He cared deeply, he thought of you constantly. He was always in a bad mood cause he couldn't have you. He acted like a playground bully because he was convinced it would protect you from his feelings. But fate always prevailed.

"Get out of my face."

Anakin tilted his head and in a mocking manner, spoke, "And what if I don't? You gonna call Mitch? Is he gonna kiss your ass like he always does?"

"You don't talk about Mitch like that, you slimeball," you growled, pushing at Anakin's shoulders. He stumbled a little, but not enough to move his arms from keeping you sitting on the cot.

"Then tell me. What. Are. You. Going. To. Do. About. It?"

As a Jedi, you knew you couldn't use aggression against him. The tones you two were using already was bad enough, biting at each other's necks like stray dogs, but you weren't gonna hit him.

Anakin's blue eyes pierced your soul, they were clouded, his face so close to you that butterflies roamed in your stomach and his lips were plump, curled into a snarl. But soon, a smug smirk played on his lips, "Nothing, you're too much of a good girl. You wouldn't do anything but sit there all pretty, waiting for one of your boys to pick you off your feet and pamper you."

"They don't pamper me, they protect me, something you just seem incapable of."

A rope snapped in Anakin. He couldn't take it anymore, pretending he didn't want you, trying to tell you he cared without actually saying it. Maker, he wanted to be the one to pamper you and protect you. He'd spend countless nights imagining you curled up in his lap, talking the day away, telling him about your latest mission, talking to him in that soft voice you always addressed Ahsoka in.

He knew there was nothing that would make you hate him more, so he move his hand up your arm and pressed his lips to yours. For the anger emitting from Anakin, his lips laid on yours tenderly. He wanted to be mean, he wanted to leave small bruises on your neck and thighs, he wanted to be rough with you, but he couldn't just ruin the first kiss out of a temper tantrum.

When you didn't kiss him back, he pulled away, looking at you with the same expression he had before, but his mouth was relaxed and his eyes had a soft look to them.

You didn't know how to respond. The kiss had made your heart throb, made your eyelids droop as if they wanted to close forever. Your lips felt hot, so did your face. And as if Anakin was water in a dessert, you lurched forward, catching his lips with your own in a desperate kiss. You grabbed at his shoulders, your lips moving against his as he snatched your waist with both hands.

Everything about this encounter made your ears hot, your face was on fire, your body felt like it was made of lava. Anakin tasted so sweet, something you would have never expected. You heard a loud laughter through the durasteel walls of the ship, pulling away from Anakin and pushing lightly on his chest.

"Anakin, there are people-"

"Would you like to go somewhere a little more private?" he asked, his metal hand massaging your waist as he pressed light breathy kisses over your lips. This is the most vulnerable he had ever seen you and maker did he want to make this last forever. But he was still so upset at you, for hiding from him, from keeping the injury to yourself.

You nodded, and Anakin simply whisked you away by your arm, puling you through a side door in the infirmary, leading to a private meditation room, one where no Jedi was to be disturbed if not for their commlink going off. There were only two on each command ship and they were used often, the cheap soundproofing keeping out most of the loud talking and resulting in a hum that most Jedi could be okay with. They were convenient, down a hall that most weren't even permitted to be down anyways, the door with a solid lock on it.

It felt wrong, allowing such feelings and bringing them especially into a Jedi-oriented place. Maybe it was wrong, maybe it was forbidden, but Anakin refused to bat and eye at anything being necessarily wrong. This was only a show of passion right? You had to have passion as a Jedi, attachments were forbidden, but didn't you have an attachment to the Jedi order as a whole? It was something you always kept with you, something you could never defy, something that ran your whole life, it was a commitment. So, an attachment?

Your head ran dry of thoughts as he promptly locked the door. Immediately his lips latched themselves onto yours, hands holding your hips close to him as the top of your back pressed against the wall. His hair tickled your forehead, your hands reaching to hold the sides of his face, feeling the fluff of it tangle between your finger tips.

You could already feel him, hard against your thigh, pulling away for a moment to breathe before kissing you again. It was hot, his lips smothering you, heavy exhales between kissing him like our lives would end.

He squeezed your hip tight, making you gasp before sliding his tongue into your mouth. You felt yourself growing wet by the second. Maker, you hated this man more than anything, but the way he touched you and kissed you, the way his face felt under your hands, you never wanted to be away from him.

There was a counter in the corner of the room with a tea machine next to it. He didn't hesitate to move his hands down to your ass, giving it a squeeze and muttering an "Up" before carrying you over to it, mouth still locked onto yours as he dropped you on the counter. You were perfectly level with him in that moment, his tongue sliding against yours. You ached for him and his touch, you wanted to feel him everywhere. He pulled down your pants and boots, leaving them in a pool of clothing next to one of the meditation cushions. You felt absolutely bare, nothing but your breastband and panties on.

Anakin rested his forehead against yours, sharing the same air with you, staring at your curves and the way your panties clung to you. You looked so delicate to him, in a way where he didn't even want to touch you.

"You're so pretty," he groaned, gripping the side of your thighs, "I wanna fuck you, will you let me do that angel?"

You grinded yourself against his bulge, needy for something, anything from him, "Please Anakin, I-I need you."

He knelt down before you, dark blue crystals staring up into your own eyes, prompting you to watch him. He nipped a piece of the fabric, pulling them down your legs as his hands held you off of the surface. You felt like you were gonna start drooling over him, he was delicious to look at, something you always ignored. But you couldn't now, the eye-candy almost in shining light, the only single thing you could focus on.

And you didn't focus on anything else. Which is why you moaned in surprise when you felt cold against your clit. His glove must've been somewhere on his lap, but that didn't matter because his metal thumb rubbed circles against your clit. The contrast felt so good, and you couldn't help but become a whimpering mess.

He prodded a finger at your hole, "Do you like it when I touch you with my metal hand? You know, I did think you were weird, but I never suspected you were this weird."

You were about to make up a comeback, but when he slipped his finger into you, your thoughts were muddled. Your teeth latched onto your bottom lip and you unintentionally grinded against his hand.

"Ani..." you moaned, one of your hands gripping the end of the counter while the other moved to tangle itself into his hair.

He tilted his head, bringing his finger out from you, eliciting a noise from your throat. He popped his finger into his mouth and you could've sworn you could cum just to that sight alone.

"So sweet. I could just eat you up," he said, smirking as he slipped his finger back in, licking through your folds.

You died in that moment, adding a second finger, his lips circled your clit, sucking lightly. You moaned at his action, watching him. It was almost euphoric, the eye contact you two kept. You tugged lightly at his hair as he licked up your juices. He groaned, vibrating your nerves and making you moan his name.

He open-mouth kissed your pussy. "Keep making those nosies, y'sound so good," he muttered, attacking your clit with his tongue and lips, moving his fingers as he began to take them out before shoving them knuckle deep again.

You felt like he was pulling your soul out of you body, hand tugging his hair more often than not, but he loved it, groaning or growling before fucking his fingers into you harder. His fingertips caressed a spot in you which turned your eyes heavy and made you feel weak. He knew you were close, your stomach and walls were tight, your moans turned into whimpers and sighs, and you grinded against his face like a loth-cat in heat.

Anakin's last move was one you never expected and never would have in a million years. He pressed his metal fingers against the one spot inside of you, removing his mouth from your pussy. But, as soon as you thought he was just gonna teasingly edge you, you felt a tingling sensation at your clit. Was that-

"Cum for me, pretty thing, wanna see you cum on my metal hand. I know you wanna," he said, licking at you once more before you saw white, pulling him by his dirty blonde locks, his face so close to your womanhood you only saw his curious eyes as you came on his lips.

Anakin removed his fingers licking at them and cleaning off his lips. Lust was plastered on his face as he wrapped his arms around your thighs, the bend of your knees resting on his shoulders as he cleaned up the rest of your juices with his tongue.

"Sweetest thing in this galaxy, fuck," he muttered, closing his eyes for a second before pulling away from you, untangling your limbs from his own and pulling you off the counter. Anakin turned you around, shoving your chest against the counter. The cold surface made your nipples hard.

"Do you want this?" he asked.

"Yes, please Anakin, I need you," you whined. Okay, he had you tied around his finger now and he fucking knew it.

He hardly even took off his clothes, pulling out his length. You wish you could've seen it, knew what you were getting into before you took him straight. You had heard rumors from ladies at his favorite bar about how big he was. Sometimes you and Obi-Wan would go, equaling the time spent between you and Anakin, only for you to get mad from the mention of his name. But you never expected it to be that big. When you felt the head push against your entrance, you only slumped down and moaned.

Maker he was big, and you could feel him throbbing against your tight walls as he added more inches into you. It felt like he was in your stomach by the time he stopped, pelvis against your ass.

Grabbing your hair, he pulled you head up. You whimpered, attempting to grasp at something around your area, finding nothing and resulting to splaying your hands on the counter.

"You're so fucking tight, pretty thing. I'm surprised that it only took me kissing you to get you all shy. Always seemed like a brat to me," he whispered in your ear, slowly grinding his hips into you. You felt like puddy in his hands, taking everything he gave you, begging for him, letting him use you.

When you spoke, your words came out hoarse, "Shu- Shut up, nngh-"

As soon as the words came out, his hips pulled out before slamming down on your own. He kept you hair bundled up on his hands, keeping your head up.

"Don't back talk me, I'll fucking ruin you," he growled, "Tell me you're mine, tell me how much you love my cock in your pretty little pussy."

As he continued the teasing motion of grinding himself into you, you couldn't help it. " 'm all yours Ani, love how big your cock is, need you to fuck me so bad."

He laughed, straitening himself before taking your hands and keeping them together, pressing them down onto your back as he thrust into you shallowly. His movements made you squirm, pushing back against him.

"So needy," he groaned, smacking your ass, "Beg for it, angel."

"Please Ani, please. I need more, need you deeper Anakin."

It didn't seem to take much of any convincing before he started fucking you deep, rough thrusts that had your eyes going to the back of your head. You were completely useless, being used as a fuck toy for him. You grabbed the wrist that kept your arms pinned against your back, the only thing keeping you grounded to reality.

Anakin was in bliss, feeling your walls lightly spasm everytime he brushed your g-stop, hearing you moan his name like it was a prayer to some god. He might as well have been to you in that moment, he wanted to give you everything, watch you whimper for him. He wished this could've been softer, sweeter, but he wasn't gonna start sex over an argument and not blow off the months of steam you had caused him.

"You're never gonna lie to me again, right angel?" Anakin asked, pulling you up against by your hair.

"Y'never asked, I wasn't lying 'bout something you never asked," you managed, but you soon came to realize that he did not like that answer.

If you had thought Anakin was fucking you within an inch of your life by that time, maker was he pounding into you harder. You all but moaned louder than you've ever even talked and prayed nobody from the outside heard. Anakin had no room for talking anymore, angling his hips up and taking you so hard that you couldn't even focus on breathing correctly.

You weren't gonna last that long, not when he was pounding into your g-spot, fucking you like a ragdoll. You felt your core clench around him, stomach tightening. All you could make were whines of 'Anakin' and 'please'. And when you finally let go, you felt your soul leave your body.

"Good girl, cum around my cock, just like that," he whispered, voice all breath and rasp, feeling you release around him. He pulled out soon after, spilling his seed all over your lower back.

You stayed down, recovering from what you'd feel for days after this. His scooped up some of his cum with his index and middle finger, "Open up."

You took his two fingers into your mouth, sucking eagerly. It tasted tangy, but you didn't mind, better than him being rude and using your clothes to clean it up.

After making sure you were "clean", he simply fixed himself up, which hardly took long as he didn't really undress, put his glove back on and dressed you up. You didn't need his help, trying to push at his shoulders to let you take care of yourself, but he only shoved you back.

"Let me help you, please," he said, pressing a kiss to your hands before fixing your clothes while you gave into the attention.

He pulled you to your feet, looking down at you. Maker you were the most beautiful mess he'd ever seen. A small spot of drool patched the crease of your lips, your hair was a tangled mess, and your eyes were half-lidded. You must've been exhausted.

He only laughed, kissing your forehead sweetly, "How about we go back to the infirmary, get you a shirt and then we'll clean you up, okay?"

You nodded, holding onto his gloved hand and following him. What were you two even arguing about?

•--•

#anakin skywalker x reader #anakin skywalker smut #anakin skywalker x reader smut #star wars x reader #star wars x reader smut #star wars smut #anakin x reader #anakin x reader smut

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marvelfilth · 9 months

Text

Off the deep end 3 (18+)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Pairing: ghostface!Sam Carpenter x f!reader

Warnings: canon typical violence

Summary: Ghostface strikes again and you decide to take matters into your own hands

Masterlist

You're met with chaos when you enter the living room. Mindy is pacing, her hands up in the air as she explains something to annoyed Tara. Chad is talking to someone on the phone, his brows furrowed and his knee bouncing up and down rapidly. Anika sits still, her eyes locked on the TV and you follow her gaze, stopping in your tracks when you see the scene.

Ghostface mutilated two men, boys, from your class. Greg, the guy you've helped with multiple assignments is now dead, his fucking head detached from his body. Your eyes are pinned to the reporter at the scene as he continues on the details of the murder.

You fight the urge to throw up.

Sam turns you away from the TV and holds your hands tight, rubbing her thumb over your knuckles. "It's going to be okay," she whispers, "I won't let anything happen to you." She places a kiss on your open palm, and then leads it to her cheek, nuzzling.

But you're not listening. You're far too lost in your thoughts. Sam's here, with you. She was here the whole night and the day before.

Why would you ever think she'd take on the mantle of Ghostface, the very thing that almost ruined her life? It's so obvious now, no matter how hard she tries to hide it, you can see she's shaking ever so slightly. You see her jaw clench.

You see how hard she's trying to hide her emotions.

You pull her in a fierce hug, clinging for dear life, feeling her burrow her face into your neck with a heavy exhale. She's trembling with fear or rage - you're not sure.

You're forced to pull apart when Quinn bursts your bubble, phone in a hand. "My dad wants to talk to you." She glances at your joined hands, but doesn't comment.

Sam pulls away and steps away to a corner of the room, a crease forming between her brows as she listens to whatever detective Bailey has to say. You fight the urge to follow her to ease her worries.

"Are you okay?" The redhead asks.

You nod dazedly, not looking away from Sam.

"Do you want some water? You're kind of really pale," she mumbles.

You shake your head and finally look at her. "I'm fine. Do they know who did it?" You ask, gesturing to the TV.

She sighs. "No. There was only a mask."

You bite your lip, nodding.

Sam appears by your side a minute later, looking more pent up than before. "I need to go to the station," she says, giving the phone back to Quinn.

You knew to expect this, but still, your heart clenches painfully. This is really happening.

"What? Why?" Quinn asks, looking between the two of you.

Sam sighs, running a hand through her hair. You can tell she's conflicted, and the way her eyes keep flickering to the TV makes you reach out to her and grab her face, pinning her with your eyes. "Do you want me to go with you?"

"No. You'll stay here. It's safer." She looks around, her eyes lingering on Chad and Ethan. "Don't leave the apartment, okay?"

She waits for your nod and leaves in a hurry, Tara hot on her heels, and you're left to worry in the company of your friends. Mindy spews out theory after theory, each one wilder than the previous

They get positively horrifying after the fourth one, and you decide to tune her out to keep yourself from spiraling.

Ethan keeps sending you worried looks to which you always smile. The boy is way too sensitive and kind to be caught in this mess. You just hope he'll make it out alive.

"Let's go to my room," Quinn whispers, nudging you subtly.

You mindlessly follow her, eager to get away from the overstuffed room. She pushes you to sit on her bed and pulls out a bottle of cheap gin from her nightstand.

"Don't ask," she mutters.

You keep quiet and take a swing, sinking against her pillows. She joins you on the other side, throwing a hand over your shoulders.

"So what's the deal between you and Sam? You guys finally got your shit together?" She asks out of blue, taking away the bottle so you couldn't stall.

You're thankful for the distraction.

"I don't really know."

"Come on." She clings to your arm. "Give me the deets."

You laugh, but shake your head. "No deets, sorry."

She groans, pushing you away. "Fine. Keep your secrets."

You take back the bottle and take a big gulp, wincing at the taste. Quinn's eyes linger on you, but you pay her no mind, worriedly fiddling with your phone, waiting for Sam's call.

"Who do you think it is?" She breaks the silence before taking a swing.

The hair at the back of your neck stands at the way she looks at you, her eyes dark and pupils blown. A side of her mouth quirks up in a subtle smirk, but you catch it even in your inebriated state.

"What?"

"Oh, come on. You must have a suspect," she presses.

You gulp, sitting up straight. "I don't know, Quinn. I don't think any of our friends are capable of that." You shudder, looking away.

"Well, it's someone who's close to the Carpenters, that's for sure," she mumbles, putting the bottle away.

You don't like where the conversation is heading. The thought of someone close to you slicing people for fun makes your heart drop to your stomach. You think about Chad and Mindy, the way friendship with them came so easily. You think about Anika and her unwavering belief in everything that's good. You think about Ethan and Quinn, two completely opposite people who manage to make you feel welcomed, with the same crooked smile on their lips.

You shake your head. "Maybe it's different this time. Maybe-"

Your phone starts ringing, effectively cutting you off. You glance at the screen.

Unknown number.

Gulping, you look at Quinn, who looks back at you with wide eyes. It's probably the first time you see her unnerved, her hands shaking as she gestures at you to pick it up.

"Hello?" You answer.

You hear a click of the voice changer before the person on the other side speaks.

"Hello, Y/n. What's your favorite scary movie?"

×××

Each of Tara's muffled sobs feels like a stab to Sam's stomach. She tugs her sister closer, looking between the shelves to check where Ghostface is. She still can't believe he attacked them like that, in the middle of the street, and followed them to the store, killing everyone in the way.

She looks at Tara to see her own expression mirrored in the brown eyes, determined and focused.

"Sam?" Her sister mouths, to which she shakes her head, nudging her forward.

They need to get out right now.

She picks up a can from the floor and throws it with all of her might to the other side of the bodega, moving the second Ghostface turns around.

She doesn't flinch when the shotgun fires at the shelves across the room, only tugs Tara harsher, almost dragging her along. They're so close to the door they only need to take a few steps, but that means being seen and she can't afford that, so she waits with a baited breath for a perfect opportunity.

Ghostface moves almost silently, inching closer with each step. Sam knows she's almost out of time, she can see the looming figure in the crack between the shelves. She acts without thinking, pushing as hard as she can against the shelf and burying the masked figure under it.

They waste no time running away, not looking back to see if Ghostface is following them and getting the hell out of that store.

Police sirens greet them at the entrance and Sam exhales with relief, only now allowing herself to look back.

The store is a mess. The mask is left on the floor.

Her ears ring and her hand goes numb from how hard Tara grips it. Her chest heaves with each breath and all she wants to do is go back home, put on the mask and find that motherfucker.

And then a figure rounds the corner and crushes straight into them.

"Oh god, Sam. You're okay," you gasp, clinging to her. "Fuck, I thought-" that's the moment you look back to the store, your mouth dropping open at the sight. You jump back then, looking them both up and down until you're certain they're fine.

"What are you doing here?" Tara asks, her voice wavers. "How did you know?"

You look back at Sam, your eyes wide and watery. The anger in her chest gives way to something warm and tender, and she doesn't resist the urge to scoop you into her arms and drown in your comforting scent.

"I got a call," you hesitantly speak up, voice muffled against her jacket.

"No, we got a call," her sister's voice hardens as she rises to her towering five feet and zero inches.

"Tara, there's no need for this," Sam butts in, pulling away a bit and putting an arm around your shoulders. She senses the change in her sister, the way her shoulder tense even more, the way her eyes stay rooted to yours. "She just got here."

Tara's eyes snap to look at her sister. "And how did she know where to go?"

"Ghostface told me. Tara, I swear." You don't dare to look away from her. You need her to believe.

She nods tersely, but suspicion lingers in her eyes. You sigh in relief. That's all you can ask for.

You turn in Sam's arms and burrow your face into the crook of her neck, adrenaline finally leaving your body as tears start to roll down your cheeks.

You were terrified.

"It's okay. We're okay." Sam reassures, enveloping you in her arms.

You nod, choking on a sob and cling to her even more. Her hands circle your waist, pushing you snug against her as she whispers sweet reassurances into your ear. Tara steps back, her eyes narrowed as she keeps glancing between you and the store.

"Sam." Detective Bailey comes from behind her, making you jump in surprise. "I need you to come to the station with me." His tone is apologetic, but firm. He waits for Sam to nod before walking away to speak to other police officers.

"Go home, okay? I'll get back as soon as I can," she whispers against your temple.

You grip her tighter, but eventually nod.

×××

You wake up to the sound of your alarm. You open your eyes slowly, blinking against the rays of sun that managed to sneak past the heavy curtains, and curse when you realize it's already morning.

So much for staying up and waiting for Sam.

Sighing, you check your notifications and groan when you see thirty texts from Mindy. You text her to let her know you're on your way, putting on some fresh clothes and hurrying out of the door, already late to your class.

You spend half of the day dozing off, empty space next to you signaling that Sam and Tara are still at the station.

"What the fuck, Y/n? First you run out the door like a maniac, and then Tara and Sam get attacked at a bodega. Where were you?" Mindy asks the second you get close enough to hear her, and pulls you along to push you down on one of the benches in the park, Chad glaring at you from behind her shoulder.

You take a moment to respond, gulping at the outright murderous look on Mindy's face. "When Sam left I got a call from Ghostface," you start, and Mindy already opens her mouth to give you a piece of mind, only stopping when Anika tugs her down on her lap. "You probably know the script by now, but they said… well, they said they know Sam's secret and she's going to pay for it, like, right now. So I ran to warn her because she wouldn't pick up her phone, and when I got there it was already late. Ghostface left, but Sam and Tara were fine, thank god." You shudder at the memory.

It's quiet for a moment as Mindy contemplates your answer. "What secret?"

You wince, knowing you're probably a suspect now. "No idea."

Mindy blinks and then nods to herself. "Congratulations, dear Y/n, you just dethroned Ethan as my top suspect."

"Why am I a suspect?" Ethan shrieks, looking up from his book.

"So she's your suspect just because she got a call? Solid evidence." Anika mumbles, earning a withering glare from Mindy. "Babe, I appreciate your input, but it's totally not needed, I'm the expert here."

You sigh, but decide to stay quiet for your own sake. Whatever you say will undoubtedly make you even more of a suspect in her eyes anyway.

You check your phone, biting your lip at the lack of messages from Sam. Quinn looks over your shoulder, a smirk pulling at her lip when she reads some of your texts. You elbow her harshly and she rolls her eyes, scooting away from you.

"Y/n."

You jump up, face heating up when Sam pecks your cheek. You face her slowly, raising a knee to your chest. "Morning, Sam. Tara." You try to smile, but all you can manage is a grimace.

She looks tired, dark circles under her eyes tell you off the night spent in the interrogation room and you wish you were there with her. She moves slowly, looking you up and down. "You-"

"No need," Mindy swiftly interrupts the older girl, jumping up to her feet and pushing Sam and Tara to take a seat. "The interrogation has been taken care of."

Sam rolls her eyes, but doesn't say anything else, nudging Ethan to switch places with him. She settles, sighing deeply and leans on your shoulder, closing her eyes. You bite back a smile, wrapping an arm around her waist.

"Did you get home safe?" Tara asks, voice laced with suspicion.

She looks even worse than last night, her hair a mess, her eyes tinged red. You're ready for her to chew you out, no doubt she spent the night overthinking your every word.

You gulp, feeling Sam stiffen. "Yeah."

"So you get a call, they tell you exactly where to go and then you appear right after Ghostface leaves, when it's safe. Convenient," she grumbles, shaking her head.

"Can you leave her alone?" Ethan exclaims, throwing his hands in the air. "She's your suspect, we got it. Let's just move on."

Quinn nods, "You should've seen her face when she got the call. I thought someone died or something."

Tara sends you one last shrewd look before huffing and crossing her arms with a pout.

You curse yourself for being so stupid yesterday.

Sam's lips brush against the crook of your neck, muttering, "She'll come around, don't worry."

You nod stiffly, nose burrowed in her soft hair. Her lips leave a quick peck on your shoulder before straightening up and poking you in the ribs teasingly. You can't help but admire her strength - she was attacked mere hours ago and now she's back to her usual self.

Either her therapist is working overtime or she's found some way to let all that pent up anger out.

"You're protecting her, how sweet," Mindy coos before schooling her features into her best bad cop look. "What a coincidence that you two are my suspects too. Ethan. The shy and dorky guy who no one suspects because he's so shy and dorky. And, oh wait, you're awfully close to my main suspect." She rolls on the balls of her feet gesturing wildly, as she goes off on a rant.

It goes on for ages, making Ethan uncomfortable and squirmy.

"Mindy," you butt in, yearning a glare from Tara, but it gets her to stop and finally move on to the next suspect.

Quinn.

You stay quiet this time, listening to every word Mindy says. You've had this nagging feeling about the redhead ever since you saw that smirk on her face. It still sends shivers down your spine.

Sam notices the way you seem to shrink into her and sends you a questioning look, but your attention is on Quinn.

Mindy mentions something about cops and you perk up. "Why is your dad on the case?" You hurriedly ask.

Mindy's mouth snaps shut mid sentence, but she seems to appreciate the question, turning to face Quinn properly, hands on her hips.

Quinn rolls her eyes with a huff. "You think I know? It's literally his job, but he probably did it to keep an eye on me."

Mindy shakes her head, musing about the conveniences of having a cop dad. You tune her out, basking in the warmth of Sam's embrace. She smiles softly, and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. In this moment, no matter how short, you feel blissfully content.

When Mindy is finally done with her rant, Anika reminds you of your last class, speaking softly so as not to ruin the moment. You groan and untangle from Sam, making the older girl pout. Your lips meet in a chaste kiss before Anika finally tugs you away, too afraid of your new professor to be late.

You look back one last time to see Sam angled to your friends, giving them a piece of her mind by the looks of it.

It's not until you're done with your last class that Tata finds you in one of the halls.

"Y/n! Wait," she calls out, jogging to you.

You fiddle with your fingers, not really prepared for the conversation that's about to take place.

"God, you're fast," she gasps, using your shoulder for support as she bends over.

She takes her time getting her breathing under control and her hand feels scalding hot on your shoulder, making you squirm uncomfortably.

Finally, after a long moment, she looks up, a guilty look on her face, "I'm sorry," she starts, worrying a strap of her backpack. "For earlier. For accusing you and being a bitch."

You want to protest - you don't think she was being a bitch - but she stops you with a pointed look.

"Let me apologize." She waits for your nod before continuing. "You didn't deserve us jumping you like that, it's unfair to you. I just… It still hurts, you know? My best friend made a pin cushion out of me, and this situation is just a big fucking reminder. Because… you're my best friend, okay? You're like a breath of fresh fucking air and I love you for it, but every time someone gets attacked my brain just immediately goes to the worst case scenario and I can't help it." The words rush out and there's a steady stream of tears running down her cheeks. You desperately want to pull her in a hug, but she has your hands in a vice grip, keeping you in place, needing you to listen. "But I don't want to lose you. Not to Ghostface, and not because I was too afraid to trust you. So please, please, don't hurt me, okay? And don't hurt Sam. Don't you dare hurt Sam."

You barely manage a shaky nod before you're pulled in a bone crushing hug. You hold her close, blinking away tears as she cries freely into your shirt, her shoulders shaking with quiet sobs.

"I promise," you whisper, a plan already forming in your head.

×××

In your defense, you've sent Sam a text the second you stepped inside your apartment.

Bailey called later in the evening, apologizing profusely and claiming he needed her at the station again. She left only after you promised her you'd stay home this time, no matter what. As expected, Tara went with her, leaving you with Quinn who invited yet another fling to the apartment.

So you took your chance and rushed to your place. You did cross your fingers when you made that promise, after all.

You don't want to unnecessarily worry Sam and you're sure she won't be able to read the text until she's done at the station, so you hide a knife under one of your cushions and settle on your couch to wait.

You're sure Ghostface will show up.

You ignore the rising panic in your chest. You know you have to do this for your sake and for the sake of your friends, no matter how scary it is.

You've had an urge to do this for weeks, but you were never brave enough, preferring to stay in the safety of Sam's room. Now it's necessary. Now it feels like your only option. And your conversation with Tara only spurred you on.

You don't know how many of them there are, but you know that the one you need will show up sooner or later.

Minutes tickle by and you grow restless, shifting unnecessarily and looking at every visible corner, jumping up every time a car passes by your apartment.

Eventually, your exhaustion from the night before spent running around and panicking catches up to you and you nod off, falling into a deep sleep on your fluffy couch.

You wake up to continuous tapping against your coffee table.

You yawn and rub your eyes, before groaning and stretching your stiff neck. You blink, adjusting to the darkness in the room, your hand nudging against something sharp, and that's when you fully wake, jumping up in alert and grasping the knife in a tight grip. You slowly turn to face the source of the sound.

Ghostface sits on the loveseat, her legs crossed and her posture entirely relaxed as she playfully taps her knife against the glass of your coffee table.

You take a second to gather your courage and lunge.

_________________________

Literally Sam when R did that:

#sam carpenter x female reader #sam carpenter x y/n #sam carpenter x you #sam carpenter x reader #ghostface!sam carpenter #ghostface!sam x reader #ghostface!sam #melissa barrera x reader #off the deep end #sam carpenter smut

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tyblackthornsheadphones · 5 months

Note

Hiya! Maybe some hurt and comfort fic with the moon boys after the reader got hurt in a street scuffle thing? :)

i reread this only once and yes, i did notice the inconsistent verb tenses but honestly i don’t have the energy to go back and change it. i tried to keep physical descriptions of the reader to a minimum so it should be gender neutral and any race. if not, please let me know so i can fix it.

i also kind of forgot the reader was supposed to be hurt and wrote it more emotional but i hope it’s fine anyway. (i’m so bad at following requests i’m so sorry)

if you wanna support me you can buy me a ko-fi.

the two men had come out of nowhere, forcing you into an alleyway under the dark cover of the night. your only comfort was the thought that your boys were watching the city for these exact types of people, maybe they would come save you. and if you managed to hold off the two men for just long enough, you could get out of this alive.

you weren’t a fighter. marc had taught you basic self-defence, but even so you wouldn’t have been able to take on two big, buff men with guns and eyes that spoke of deranged thoughts and lack of care for any life but their own.

the rest was a blur. a white caped hero throwing punches, a body jumping in front of your own, blood on the concrete and on gloved hands.

“let’s get you home, amor.”

jake was angry, you could hear it in his tone, but you were still frozen in fear from the encounter, your mind buzzing yet simultaneously unable to string together any coherent thoughts. so you didn’t respond, and he carried you home in his arms, jumping into the loft through the window you always kept open for him on nights like these, the one you’d forgotten to close before leaving.

you have a routine for when your boys come back from their duties as moonknight. the suit heals their wounds, but it doesn’t wash away the blood. you run a warm cloth over their skin until the blood and grime is all washed off, a slow repetitive process that gives their mind the time to deal with the violence they committed and store away the memories somewhere far back.

it’s easy to let your muscle memory take over.

“you don’t have to do that tonight,” jake says, “let us take care of you. we want to make sure you’re alright after that.”

you shake your head. there’s still a part of you that’s numb, and you don’t think you could put your feelings into words, you don’t think there’s any real way to voice the way you were convinced you were going to die, the way your brain flashed through everything you regret and your friends you haven’t seen in a while and the goals you’d never accomplish.

the suit falls away and it’s just your jake. not the hero of london or the fist of vengeance, just your worried boyfriend.

you clean his knuckles of the blood that always somehow manages to seep through the bandages that make up their suit. his body tenses, and when you look up, you meet marc’s eyes. his jaw is clenched in a way that you recognise, he wants to speak but doesn’t quite know how to say it, he’s worried talking about it might not be what you need right now.

“i’m sorry,” you say finally, “for going out. a friend needed my help and i thought i could walk back home after. i didn’t think…”

“not your fault,” marc replies, “we should’ve gotten them before they even had the chance to touch you.”

“it’s not your fault either, you know,” you put the dirty cloth down.

he shakes his head. there’s no point in having this argument, it’s the same every time. you argue that it’s impossible to save everyone, that london is a huge city and they’re just one body that can only accomplish so much. marc’s dumb guilty conscience convinces him that any person he can’t save in time is blood on his hands, not the fault of the criminals who committed the act, but his for not being able to save them.

you understand why, and the fights always come back to the same thing.

the last remnants of adrenaline are fading and your hands grow shaky. marc leads you to bed, but you know this is the part where he leaves, back into the headspace while one of the others (usually steven) hold you under the safety of the blankets. he likes to take care of you, to provide, but he still struggles to be soft.

“i was so scared,” you finally admit when the lights are turned off and the room is dark and the boys can’t see your face. it’s easier to admit when you don’t have to look into the eyes of the men who act as london’s protectors, constantly in dangerous situations. you don’t have to deal with the feelings of inferiority, like comparing yourself to marc’s strong and brave ex-wife who would surely have been able to defend herself.

you don’t even know which one is fronting. maybe they all are. when the tears start to fall, all you care about is the comforting familiarity of the strong arms around you and the scent of the men you love.

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leenieweenie12 · 24 days

Text

No Weight At All

Just a little headcanon about our beloved Alfie comforting reader during a bit of a down episode. No dialogue, just thoughts and actions. Lightly inspired by lyrics from Something in the Orange by Zach Bryan.

Warnings: allusion to depression and/or some PTSD, vague mentions of trauma and violence

Word count: 515

divider from @cafekitsune

It had been a difficult few days for you and Alfie knew it. You never had to tell him how you were feeling, he always knew. He picked up on the smallest look in your eyes that told him you were caught up in your emotions. Even if to the rest of the world you appeared to be the happiest person in the world, a simple glance to your face told him the truth. Alfie had that skill with everyone, seeing into their soul. His intense gaze was proof of that.

The evening before had been quiet with both of you in the sitting room in your respective seats by the fire, Alfie with his spectacles resting on the tip of his nose rifling through paperwork and you pretending to read your book. When he noticed that you hadn’t turned the page in ten minutes, he knew something was up. You had been together long enough that Alfie knew better than to ask if you were alright. He knew you would say yes, even if that wasn’t the truth. Instead, he made you a cup of tea, exactly how you like it, and set it on the table next to you. He motioned to you to move over and make room for him. Snaking his arm around your waist, he slid you up on his lap to face him. He put his large hand behind your head and guided it down to his shoulder. You wrapped your arms around him and just sat like this, sitting on his lap with your head between his collar and jaw, two bodies melded into one, and closed your eyes.

Alfie loved being able to comfort you with such a simple gesture. He didn’t always know what it was that caused you to have these somber periods, but that was fine. There were things that happened in your past that were never discussed between the two of you. Alfie didn’t mind. He knew all about inner demons, from his own dealings with adults abusing their power over him as a child, to the trenches in France, to the replays in his mind of downright evil things he had done to supposedly deserving men who were on the wrong side of conflict. He could surely understand the desire to say nothing at all but still crave the comforting touch of another. Which is why he never asked you to talk about what was on your mind during these times. He knew you well enough to know that you would tell him in time or even never at all if you so chose.

The two of you sat together for what felt like hours but was likely far less. Alfie rubbed your back in a slow rhythm so soothing that you fell asleep. The growing weight of your head on his shoulder was the sign that told him you were no longer awake. Even with your entire body resting on his, he felt no weight at all. This was where he was happiest. This was where he was meant to be.

#alfie solomons #peaky blinders #alfie solomons x reader #alfie solomons fanfic #peaky blinders fanfic #alfie solomons headcanon #tom hardy

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strawbeerossi · 9 months

Text

Heartless

Pairing: Unsub!Fem!Reader x Spencer Reid

Part Description: With an old foe breaking out of prison, there are complications when Y/N is left alone with them, exposing her secret to Spencer about just who she is.

Content Warnings: Coarse language, there’s spoilers for season 12 and prison Reid, mentions of drugging, mentions of death, use of a knife, use of a gun, violence, death.

Word Count: 4.4K

Part one || Part two || Part three

Navigation || Masterlist || Request

Confusion had set in the minute that Y/N had gotten to Spencer’s car, watching the clumsy man nearly trip over his own two feet as he was pulling open the passenger side door, his tender touch against her lower back as he was so lovingly nudging her so she’d get in the car. “I thought you said this killer killed men. Why am I going to the office? Her MO isn’t women.” She tried, her boyfriend’s head shaking.

“Just listen to me!” Spencer snapped, bringing his hands to his hair while drawing in a breath. Trying to compose the very overwhelming emotions that seemed to be taking control. After prison, Spencer became more irritable. It was harder for him to control his emotions, he had major tunnel vision, and he was in a post traumatic stress state that wouldn’t ever leave him. Sure, things got better, in spurts. Therapy did so much for him, his girlfriend could only do so much, it was like his mind was against him.

“We need to get to the office now, okay? I promise you that I will explain everything in vivid detail but I need you in the fucking car! You’re gonna get hurt and I can’t lose someone else. Please just get in the car..” Watching Spencer panic and grow fearful was enough to make Y/N’s heart shatter. Her poor baby. In order to fulfill the man’s wishes, she was pressing a soft kiss against his cheek before climbing into the car, the seatbelt being snapped into place as soon as she was settled. “Please tell me what’s going on.”

Who the fuck was trying to take Y/N’s position? To claim all her hard work as their own? There was no doubt those men, no, those dirty pigs deserved to die. However, she was the one doing it. She was delivering justice to women who were failed by the system, by the courts, even by their spouses. What she did was vigilantism, doing what the law couldn’t. Even if her boyfriend was part of that same very law and would look down upon her choices. She had to keep it under the radar. She knew what would happen if her boyfriend was to find out.

She’d have to kill him.

It was almost a little laughable how naive Spencer was with the whole situation with his girlfriend, the way she would come over at all hours of the night, the way she’d always be tightly wound up. However, working in customer service for all shifts was a good excuse for that.

Spencer, the genius FBI profiler who had so much under his belt, had no idea he was in bed with a woman who he wanted to strangle. She’d like to think that he loved her, that he was overlooking everything just because he found solace in her arms. It was something that he told her, saying he needed her, that she made him sane after all the hell that he’d been put through.

Deep down, she knew that he was one of the good ones. The ones who deserved a loving relationship, a woman willing to take care of him, willing to deal with the long nights, days, even weeks when Spencer was off on a case. That was why she was there. To give a man who was the most deserving of love the very thing that he craved, needed. It wasn’t even just the sex that kept her there. It was that studious, lovable dork who always had so much to say, so much to teach her.

“There’s this woman, a woman who has been messing with me for years. I outsmarted her.” Spencer answered, one hand coming up to rub his right eye, the tunnel vision setting in as he was growing more overwhelmed. “Cat Adams. She-“ He let out a low sigh. “She drugged me, she framed me for murder, had me incarcerated, she.. She..” He was taking in a shaky breath while Y/N was reaching over to let her hand rest on his upper arm.

“You don’t have to say it right now, okay? I promise that it’s alright. I’m here for you.” Y/N assured her boyfriend, a weak smile on her face. Oh, she was gonna kill this bitch, for sure. She felt like this was going to be a bigger fight than it needed to be. Way too big.

Spencer was pulling in the parking garage soon after that, sitting in a deafening silence while he tried collecting himself the best that he could. He had to think clearly. Not only was he at risk but his girlfriend was too. Cat had so many people to do her dirty work outside of prison, he knew that. This was her handiwork. He didn't know how he didn't see it before.

Cat made the most sense. She was a 'Black Widow' killer. She used her seduction and charm to lure men in. She saw all men as threats, considered them all as evil and dark as the next. She never spared a thought for most of them. Spencer though.. Oh, Cat was infatuated. He was the only man to ever outsmart her, to arrest her while winning the game that she rigged against him. That woman wouldn't ever leave him alone, not until she was dead.

Being locked in a maximum security prison didn't deter her. Instead, it fueled her. It drove her to dig up every piece on Spencer that she possibly could. Hell, she had him drugged and imprisoned all the while blaming Mr. Scratch.

Emily Prentiss, the unit chief of the Behavioral Analysis Unit, was the one who greeted Spencer and Y/N by the elevator. "I'm glad you could make it. I know you've been busy with your personal investigation." She hummed, turning her attention to Y/N. "I had a suspicion our beloved Dr. Reid had a secret girlfriend." She joked, holding a hand out. "I'm Emily."

Y/N did her research on the BAU leader. She was strong willed, determined, and loyal to her work family. However, the mommy and daddy issues were apparent in her work ethic. The way she took on a more demanding tone, the way she looked at Y/N with that hint of mistrust. It was enough to make the other woman almost respect her. Emily was definitely going to make things difficult if she didn't play things smart.

The leader gets suspicious, and the team turns against her. No thanks.

"I'm Y/N. It's nice to meet you. I've heard a lot about you." Y/N greeted, a smile gracing her features while her hand was reaching out to hold Emily's, the two shaking hands before their hands were falling back to their usual places.

"Spencer. If you wouldn't mind taking Y/N somewhere she can get comfortable, everyone else is waiting on us." Straight to business.

"I know it's not really work appropriate," Spencer began, his gaze falling on his girlfriend before he was taking her hand. "I'd really appreciate it if she came in too. She's been my rock throughout all of this and I don't think I can even talk about.." He paused briefly, making Emily look at Y/N before letting out a sigh.

"Alright. If you would feel more comfortable with her there, she can sit in. However," Now her attention was on Y/N. "I don't know what Spencer has told you but this is a violent case. We are going to be talking about a lot of dark subject matters." She spoke, a warning to the very woman who was behind every single murder except the most recent one.

"I understand. I think that I can handle it. If I can't, I'll quietly excuse myself." Her tone was soft as she offered a gentle smile.

Following close behind her boyfriend and his boss, Y/N was looking around the bullpen. There was a lot of structure and order, yet a hint of chaos judging by the piles of files and other papers on certain desks. She could already guess which one was Spencer's, which made her smile.

Inside the conference room though, the talking was coming to a halt when a new woman was stepping in the room, hand tucked in Spencer's.

There was a blonde woman that was speaking up first, a wide smile on her face. "Who is this?!" She asked, the case at hand almost being forgotten by the woman with purple framed glasses, a dress that was littered with unicorns amongst other fantasy style items. She didn't look like someone who would willingly choose this career, seeming very overjoyed and kind, too kind for the world.

"I'm Y/N. You must be Penelope." Y/N spoke up, the woman perking up even more if it was possible. "You've been talking about me!" She laughed, putting her hands together. "Is this your girlfriend? Oh! Spencer she's so-"

"Garcia."

Emily's voice was bringing the woman back to the heavy reality of the situation, making her smile fall as she nodded. "Sorry, sorry. Um," She began while grabbing the remote on the table. "We have Matthew Thornton." She began, clicking a button on the remote to pull up the crime scene.

Whoever was trying to take Y/N's thunder didn't even do it right. They stabbed the body about seventy times, which was far too much work for her to even attempt. Besides that, she'd never think to leave behind a note taunting anyone. However, this wasn't her. With the way she could feel her boyfriend tense up, she knew this was the work of the woman he told her about in the car.

"She ended up being a part of a well coordinated prison break." Tara was speaking up, her gaze looking over the files in hand while frowning. "How did the guards not notice?" She asked while Matt was looking over at the woman's direction. "Guards were in on it. It doesn't help that some of those same guards were killed while on their shift once the break happened and their clothes were stolen. Makes it easy to scan an ID and open the doors for everyone."

"So, wait," Y/N interjected herself into the conversation, however nobody seemed against her speaking her thoughts out. "With the break and how it flew under the radar for so long, do we know how long they've been out?" She asked, her eyebrows raising in curiosity. Maybe blaming this on Cat Adams could potentially get her fully off the suspect list.

"According to reports, this went on months ago." David responded, making Luke nod. "Meaning, Cat has been fighting for Spencer's attention in the only way she could. It looks like the killings led up to Spencer's apartment at one point but they stopped, now they are back on track."

Oh. Blessing in disguise maybe?

"What do we know?" Spencer finally broke his silence, his hand reaching over for one of the files before he was opening it, although it was almost like he had it to where Y/N could see too. Was she unknowingly getting signed up to help?

"She was seen in a convenience store security footage." Penelope answered, quickly pulling up the files. As they went through the footage a couple times, the blonde was pausing it on Cat's face. There was no doubt about it being her. Why was she playing the long game though? When Y/N found someone she wanted dead, she got on with it. There wasn't any doubt going through her mind.

"She's taunting us. We could be walking directly into a trap." Emily pointed out the obvious, her hands resting against the tabletop while keeping a sharp eye on the screen ahead of her. "I think it's time for us to go off of our leads. Garcia, send us coordinates for her last known locations. Judging by how recent this footage is, she's close. I’m pairing all of us off. We need to play this safe.”

Emily just didn't know how close Cat really was.

◆:*:◇:*:◆:*:◇:*:◆

Cat had successfully evaded police capture for months now, keeping her eyes on one specific person. She saw Y/N approach Spencer in a bar a few months ago, getting cozy with him before going back to his apartment. So.. Cat did what she did best, digging.

She followed Y/N around on her nights of leisure, watching her use her intoxicating voice and seduction to lure unsuspecting men back to shitty motels and other discreet places just to kill them. Yet, after all that, she’d made sure to not leave a trace of evidence behind before she left.

Going straight home to her boyfriend, an FBI agent who would no doubt kill her if she found out.

That was when Cat decided to make her escape known, attracting the attention of the BAU in order to throw this woman under the bus. Cat’s obsession with Spencer knew absolutely no bounds. She would do what she could to make him suffer, all the while managing to keep him all to herself.

He didn’t deserve to be happy. No, he deserved to be with someone who was meant for him. She knew from the moment she met Spencer that he was an evil person, harboring a dark side that only she had managed to bring out after being part of completely breaking him down, making him crumble into a form of himself that he would never fully recognize.

She knew they’d be catching on soon. The BAU never disappointed her, she was going to one place where they wouldn’t be looking. In fact, it was the place where Y/N was sent after Emily was making the woman leave due to the fact that no normal civilian needed to be part of this. Spencer was against the idea entirely but at the promise of an agent going to guard his girlfriend, he had to deflate and accept she needed to go home, where she was safe.

So, as she was being ushered home by some big agent to keep her safe, Y/N could help but frown. They thought she needed a man to protect her?? She knew what she was doing. If Cat even showed up on her radar, it’d be easy to kill her. No guard would be able to hold her back either. She’d pieced together every horrible thing that Cat coordinated against Spencer, the way she pulled the strings in an elaborate plan to completely break him.

There was going to be a long, painful death in store for the notorious escaped convict, that was all she knew.

“You don’t have to be here you know.” Y/N murmured to the man beside her, her hand reaching in her purse so she could unlock her front door. “Sorry, ma’am. Orders.” He wasn’t gonna let up. It was enough to get under her skin, wanting to grab her blade tucked away in her bag and slit his throat. However, she wasn’t going to fully incriminate herself after seemingly getting away with murder.

As soon as the door was unlocked, she stepped inside and closed the door behind her. Thankfully, the man outside would just be standing guard, which was a shitty decision if Cat was as good as they said she was.

Y/N had gotten her shoes off before heading to her kitchen, flipping on the light before raising an eyebrow as she saw Cat Adams, the woman the whole team was looking for, at her kitchen table. She had a folder resting on the table, labeled for Spencer. “You’re home! Thank god, I was worried I’d have to go find you!”

“What the fuck are you doing in my apartment? How did you get into my apartment?”

“I have my ways! Now, why don’t you sit down?”

The way that this woman was talking to her had Y/N rolling her eyes. “I think I’m gonna have to ask you to leave before I shove a knife in your throat. I mean, it would be self defense, after all. You broke into my home, you’re a convicted murderer.”

“Ah. You’re a murderer too though.” Cat stated, opening the file in front of her to reveal the prints linking Y/N with each victim. The same bar where she met Spencer, the same drink, the same body language. “I mean.. This is plenty of evidence. The cameras may not work there but people have their eyes open. Always. I know so many people around here, you’d be surprised.”

Cat didn’t give Y/N time to ask any questions. “Now, what I wanna know is, what are you doing with Spencer Reid? Your whole crusade is to kill men who have gotten away with violence against their partners and/or their children. Men who are violent, harboring dark thoughts and using their strength to either take life away, or to try and end it.”

“I don’t see what that has to do with Spencer.”

“You don’t? You do know that Spencer murdered a woman, correct? In cold blood, might I add. She was trying to help him and he returned the favor by stabbing her to death.”

“Because you drugged him, Cat. I’m not fucking stupid, I’ve already been made aware.”

“Were you aware that after his release from prison, he came to visit me? He had to talk with me about my involvement, which I’m sure you know that I had his precious mommy under my lock and key. Do you know what he did to me? What he said?”

There was silence from Y/N’s end. That was something she hadn’t heard yet.

“You see, I was pregnant in prison. Spencer had come to question me, asking me all sorts of bullshit questions. So I answered. He got impatient with me. Started yelling, threw a table out of the way, and slammed me against a brick wall. He was going to choke me to death, Y/N. I had bruises for months after that. I even miscarried. If JJ hadn’t been there, I would’ve been dead.” The story wasn’t as tragic as Cat believed it to be. She deserved it.

“You fight for women and children who have been fucked over by the crooked structure of law enforcement. The same law enforcement that your sweet boyfriend is a part of. Killing all of those men was a waste of time. If you truly cared about those people who you claim to be fighting for, Spencer would’ve been dead a long time ago. I respected your choices leading up to that moment. The moment that you grew weak. The moment you betrayed every single thing you were fighting for.”

As if right on cue though, there was the sound of banging right outside the front door, Spencer’s voice being muffled by the front door as he called out to his girlfriend. He willingly sent her home, thinking she’d be safe. All the while, Cat left plenty of clues as to where she was. “Right on time! I knew Spencie wouldn’t fail me.” She grinned.

“Go be a good girl and unlock the door. I think you and him need to have a long talk about what you did.” She spoke, leaning back in her chair while nodding towards the front door, where Spencer was still yelling for his girlfriend. If she didn’t open the door soon, he’d have to pull a Derek and kick the wooden door clean off its hinges.

This was where Y/N’s heart fell into her stomach. Realization was setting in. Spencer was going to know. He was going to see the incriminating bullshit that Cat had in front of her. Everything was going to fall down to Y/N killing Spencer. This was what Cat needed her for. What she used her for.

She quietly approached the front door, unlocking each individual lock before pulling it open. “Oh thank god!” Spencer croaked, his arms wrapped tightly around his girlfriend while he held her flush against his chest. The comfort of knowing she was okay was enough to have him sobbing in her arms, unaware of what darkness was looming in the kitchen. “She’s on the way here.” He spoke, him against her shoulder while his eyes were closed.

The moment was gone in an instant. “I’m already here, Spencie. It’s so nice to see you again. I bet that you thought you were doing justice here,” Cat smirked, body leaning against the kitchen archway as she let an eyebrow raise. “I suggest you come inside, sit with us in the kitchen. We both have a lot to discuss with you.” She began, causing the couple to break apart from the hug as Y/N grabbed her boyfriend’s hand. “Come on.” She whispered, tears rolling down her pale cheeks as she led him into the kitchen.

“Now, I think you guys should recruit me into the fbi. Because I solved this case for you!” Cat grinned, pushing the closed file to Spencer. “Your killer, the one you’ve been searching for, has been right under your nose this whole time. It’s not even me!” She had a wicked smile on her face. This was another shot to Spencer’s heart, making him go through pain all over again. As long as she was alive, Spencer wouldn’t ever escape her.

You could hear a pin drop the minute that Spencer opened the file, his eyes staring at the pictures inside while his mouth ran dry. That was Y/N. His girlfriend. With the men who were murdered, the same bar they met in and everything.

“What the fuck is this?” There was anger in his voice, betrayal. “You’ve let me nearly kill myself from lack of sleep and bringing me to near heart attack level because of you?!” The venom in his voice had Y/N flinching upon impact, her eyes squeezing shut. “You don’t understand-“ She began, though it wasn’t long before Spencer was throwing the file down and standing.

“Was I another victim?! Were you playing the fucking long game with me? You wanted to catch me fully off guard?” He growled, the woman being backed up to the wall. Y/N felt powerless, her heart beating out of her chest as the man she loved was towering over her, keeping her trapped between himself and the wall.

However, once his back was to Cat, it was almost like something else flashed in his eyes. There was anger but now there was something else. Encouragement? She didn’t think much about it until Spencer was reaching over to take a knife out of the knife block, holding it out to his girlfriend. “Do it then. Go for it.” He growled, though there wasn’t fear behind his eyes. No.. There was a fucking smirk on his face, egging her on to make a move.

Y/N was slowly taking the knife once Spencer backed up, this time sitting in a chair. There were a few moments of silence while Y/N was looking at her reflection within the blade of the knife, something ticking inside of her. Something she’d been waiting to act on for a while. “I’m sorry.” She whispered, looking over at her boyfriend who seemed unbothered. “I don’t wanna fucking hear it. Just hurry up. We don’t have much time.”

The way she was encouraged made her face Cat, then everything went black.

The first thing she did was charge the other woman, knocking her out of the chair. The air was thick with adrenaline as the woman was wrestling the other to the ground. This was a long time coming. However, cat put up one hell of a fight, the woman ending up getting a good hit on Y/N and knocking her to the ground, which had Cat be the knife wielder.

As the woman was climbing on top of the other, she was pushing the knife deep into Y/N’s shoulder, the woman letting out a loud cry. “You’re pathetic, you know that? All that promise? All that strength. He was going to take it away from you anyway. You never loved him and he never loved-“

BANG

Blood was splattered all over Y/N’s face, the sound of a gunshot echoing through the apartment. The deadweight of Cat falling on top of her was enough to shock her. Did Spencer just.. There were a few moments where Y/N used the adrenaline coursing through her veins to shove the dead weight off of her.

“How dumb do you think I am?” Spencer asked after a moment, using a lighter to light up the incriminating evidence in the sink to let the pictures burn completely. “I’ve known the whole fucking time. You’re not exactly subtle. Be real. I was in that bar on a stakeout.” He continued on while looking back at Y/N.

“I was supposed to go in, do my job, and get out. However, you sat beside me. The way you were talking to me, touching me, and your body language gave you up immediately. However.. Against my better judgment, I had some sort of trust in you. I took you home with me.” He began while turning on the water to put out the fire from the burning evidence before grabbing the unidentifiable pictures and throwing them in the trash.

“I fell in love with you. Even if you didn’t deserve that love. Quite frankly, you still don’t.” He was taking off the purple scarf around his neck, wrapping it around her bleeding wound while he was moving to grab his microphone, putting a finger up. “Prentiss, send up medics. Cat’s down and Y/N is wounded.” He sent off the message while letting his arms cross as he looked over his girlfriend.

“I’m not gonna say a word about any of this. I told you that I refuse to lose you and I mean that. You’re not going to be locked up in a jail cell the rest of your life or mine. But you have to promise me that you’re not gonna fuck around and keep doing this bullshit. I mean it, if I feel like you are killing anyone else..” He was grabbing her chin by making her look up at him.

“I’ll kill you myself. Now, go get stitched up before you bleed out.” There was a soft kiss pressed against her lips while he was standing straight again, walking out of the apartment to greet the other team members downstairs.

He left Y/N to stand there, mostly in shock.

What the fuck just happened?

193 notes · View notes

cass-the-mess · 6 months

Text

Was it Real?

Vikhor "Stitch" Kuzmin x Bell!Reader SMUT 18+ MDNI

Photo cred: @pricescigar

A/N: This has been brewing in my drafts since MARCH lol, and I suddenly felt the urge to finish it today so I hope you guys enjoy it!

Synopsis: Bell manages to break out of Adler's mind control early on in the game. She infiltrates the KGB to hopefully reconnect with the current leader of Perseus himself Stitch, angst ensues, old feelings emerge, betrayal happens, they deal with it in the most reasonable way: Shmex :)

CW: Dark themes, dubious content, SMUT, office sex, ex-lovers to enemies to lovers? Stitch is a bad guy ish, possessive sex, degrading, PWP, canon typical violence (this is COD) but not the main theme of this, they're in love but it's complicated because she's a double agent, not really a happy ending but also not a sad ending.

P.S. this one is dedicated to @stararch4ngelqueen because she's great and she makes me wanna keep writing so :)

P.P.S. Dialogue in Italics are flashbacks, dialogues in bold are russian.

You see him right away when you turn the corner of the hallway, his imposing form walking out of the elevator surrounded by some of his most trusted men. The silvery scar tissue cutting through the left side of his face and into his eye adding onto the threatening aura around him.

You remember him, you remember the relationship you had with him before you got taken away and had all of your memories jumbled and carefully rearranged to fit into the narrative the Americans wanted you to be a part of.

Vikhor Kuzmin aka “Stitch”, current leader of Perseus, your mentor, the man who had taught you everything you knew. The man who had made you into the woman you were. That woman was long gone, that thought angered you. You had no loyalties to the American cause, nor to the men who you were currently working for.

Your loyalty to Russell Adler, the leader of this operation, was especially treacherous. You knew what he did to you, the lengths he had taken to turn you against the very people who had built you from the ground up, whatever charade you were currently playing by “helping” him sneak into the KGB to recover intel, was about to end. Sooner rather than later.

You watch intently through the shaded glass of the door you’re hiding behind as Stitch walks through the empty corridor, the armed men at his side posting themselves at strategic points in the hallway as he continues to make his way through the space, not sparing them a second glance, his patterned eyes ice cold and constantly searching and analyzing. The hood covering his head as well as the mask obscuring the bottom half of his face keeping his true emotions from shining through.

Your heart squeezes painfully at the sight of him, you didn’t know where you stood with him anymore, you knew just how important Perseus’ cause was to him, and how loyal to it he was. You doubted he’d ever forgive you, no matter the circumstances surrounding your disappearance, people didn’t just leave Perseus, and if they did, they were found and dealt with. You knew because that was your job, the executioner. The shadow of death, you were the last thing traitors saw before the light left their eyes.

At one point in time, you were his most trusted advisor, his right hand, his friend. You’d spent countless hours with him, the both of you planning, scheming, organizing, a myriad of different operations to spread your influence through the western countries. Most of which had greatly succeeded, you were always five steps ahead of the Americans.

You don’t know when exactly it changed, when your relationship with the stoic, brutal man, changed. When you became something more, when he started looking at you with a glint in his eyes, when his face relaxed a little when it was just the two of you in the same room, or when he started removing his mask around you. Exposing the gnarled, scarred skin of his face to you, letting you see just how truly broken he was.

But you didn’t think he was broken, you saw a man that had overcome challenge after challenge, continuously coming out on top and never giving up. Your respect for him grew, as did your heart. Butterflies swarming your abdomen whenever he looked your way, not needing to say a single word to you, his eyes always speaking so loud in the silence of the room.

Then he started smiling at you, not a full-blown smile, you didn’t think the man was even capable of such a feat, but a small, subtle quirk of his lips. So small you thought you’d imagined it at first. A fleeting curve of his full lips towards you, gone as fast as it had appeared. The memory makes you blush slightly in the dark space of the office you’re hiding in, chewing at your lips anxiously as you wait for him to dispatch the men around him, giving you an opening to talk to him. Hoping your connection plays in your favour, hoping the man won’t shoot you where you stand, knowing that he would, knowing that he should.

Afterall, you’d not only betrayed your cause, but you’d also betrayed him. That realization had weighed heavy on your shoulders ever since you woke up from whatever trance Adler had you in, all of your memories coming back to you in painful bursts, flashes of images blinding you as they assaulted your brain. The pain you had felt as each memory hit you, still sizzling inside you, causing a shiver to trail up your spine.

You take a steadying breath as you watch him through the tinted window, his white, scarred eye, glinting under the artificial light emanating from the fixtures above him. You’d asked him once if he could still see out of that eye, out of curiosity, but also because he seemed to see everything, all the time. Nothing ever escaped him, you wondered how he was able to be so alert with half his vision gone.

“I see.” Had been his curt answer, not giving you anymore detail than that, leaving you to speculate in silence about it, you found it unlikely that his vision had remained intact after taking a knife to the eye, though you supposed miracle stories could happen and he might’ve just been very lucky.

What had surprised you the most though, was weeks later, when you and him had been working together late one night, both absorbed in your respective tasks, you weren’t really paying attention to him, too preoccupied with finishing your own paperwork. He was though, you’d come to learn that he always was, his eyes always straying back to you, no matter how many times he tried to scold himself. You remember it like it was just yesterday, the scene playing out in your mind like a movie. That had been the start of something that meant so much more.

“it’s colour. I can’t see colour.” He’d said suddenly, his voice gruff from lack of use, the heavy Russian accent wrapping clumsily around the syllables of each word, startling you out of your state of deep concentration and forcing you to look up at him, your mouth agape at his sudden answer. The dim, amber lighting of the light above you, bouncing off the discoloured surface of his eye as he looks at you with an unwavering gaze.

“I- is it, weird…? Seeing colour with one eye and not with the other?” You’d replied to him after a beat, your voice coming out unsure as you took a hesitant step towards him, his two-tone eyes following your every movement like a hawk.

He’d never really given you a clear answer, his shoulders lifting in a shrug before dropping his gaze from yours and going back to his work, pensive look on his face as he continued to meticulously organize the papers before him. You didn’t blame him for not answering, hell, the fact that he even talked to you in complete sentences was something to marvel at. Considering he usually only interacted with his men, and even then, he would only really bark orders at them before dismissing them.

He tried though, you could tell he did, his English was choppy at best when he tried to talk to you, sometimes jumping back and forth to Russian when he couldn’t find his words. You’d started to learn Russian that way, and he started to learn English. It was beautiful really, now that you thought about it, he would teach you words in Russian, and you’d teach him the same words in English. He’d get frustrated when trying to pronounce some words and you’d giggle in your sleeve as he grew more and more flustered, the tips of his ears growing red with embarrassment until he huffed out a curse and gave up.

Your throat grows tight at the memory, eyes starting to sting with unshed tears as emotion threatens to overtake you, he was a complicated, brutal man, and yet he was so patient and gentle with you when you were together, his naturally gruff voice growing softer when he spoke to you. It hadn’t always been that way, of course, at first, he dismissed you as just another body in the sea of men he had to direct, not giving you his time of day, and barking orders your way the same way he would the rest of the men.

But then you’d started to make your mark, your work within the organization gaining more and more recognition from your peers, whispers growing and growing until they became a loud roaring in each room you would walk into, eyes tracking your every breath. Soldiers hanging onto your every word like they were prophecy.

He noticed, like he always did, way before everyone else did. Taking matters into his own hands and tracking your progress, reviewing everything you did himself before approving it to be passed down the chain of command, reeling in the few men who thought acting like dogs would get them anywhere but six feet deep with a bullet between their eyes. And so, the whispers started to change, echoes of Perseus’ executioner leaking from the cracks in the walls, men thrice your size averting their gaze when you walked by, in fear of angering their leader, knowing him as the type of man to not make threats, only promises.

He would seek your advice more often, confiding in you and asking your opinion on certain aspects of operations he wanted to greenlight. You’d been privy to the birth of many successful missions, a lot of which you’d tweaked and reworked under his careful guidance, the subtle glint in his eyes growing more and more every time you managed to surprise him, the pride in his voice unmistakable when those plans came to fruition.

One of those nights after a successful mission, he’d finally kissed you, it happened out of nowhere and even he seemed surprised about it. He’d been watching you all night from across the room, ice cold eyes trailing after you as you mingled with men unworthy of your attention, men who had no idea just exactly who they were talking to. His own thoughts surprised him, the sudden possessiveness coursing through his veins startling him and causing him to stiffen up in the corner of the room he was standing in, the men attempting to congratulate him on yet another successful operation immediately backing up at the sight of their leader so wound up.

You weren’t paying attention, not really, the sudden peak in popularity you were going through quite hard to digest at that time, going from “just another body” to Perseus’ Executioner was already taking its toll on you. So when a harsh slap resounded from across the room, startling everyone into silence, you took a second to understand what the buzz was about, your Russian at the time not as fluent as it was now, add to the fact that your brain was fuzzy from the effects of the alcohol you were drinking, the only words you caught amongst the whispers of the room currently staring in muted fear at their leader were “fucking mongrel” and “kill you where you stand.”

He'd stormed out after that, his anger palpable in the now silent room, the man victim of his wrath left to lick his wounds on the carpeted floor of the decorated conference room you were all left standing in, he wasn’t one for parties to begin with, he’d told you as much during one of your many late night conversations, social gatherings made him feel uneasy, especially when they served no purpose.

The remaining guests had slowly started to leave after that, some of them throwing you a questioning look as they walked out, forcing a frown to form on your face, sure you were still considered an outsider to this whole operation but you’d been with this team for months now, your work was paving the way for generations to come, Stitch was the first one to back that statement, his trust in you unwavering.

With that in mind, you decided to follow after him, trying to look as inconspicuous as possible in your endeavours as the fuzziness in your brain started to dissipate from the alcohol you’d been indulging in earlier. His usual hangout place in the late hours of the evening tended to be in a room adjacent to his office, he used it for multiple different purposes, and right now, that room held most, if not all, of your joint findings for future operations. You decided to check there first.

You found him hunched over one of the tables, a piece of paper crumpled in his large fist, his shoulders heaving under the thick charcoal material of his jacket, the hood covering his head doing little to conceal the man’s current emotional state. You took a hesitant step forward, not wanting to startle, or anger him further in the state he was in.

“Vik…?” You’d called softly, the nickname somewhat new and foreign to you, but you’d taken to calling him that when it was just the two of you alone, his alias always felt wrong to say, you were never quite able to put a finger on why exactly you felt that way about him, but when he’d given you his real name after countless nights spent working with you, you’d decided to go with it, accepting the gesture as what you could only imagine meant something far greater to him.

He never did answer you, his hooded head shaking back and forth in the confines of the room, the flickering light above you doing very little in terms of actual lighting, mostly casting shadows on every corner of the room, illuminating his figure but not highlighting any of his features.

He was mumbling something under his breath, the heavy notes of Russian syllables registering in your mind and forcing you to get closer to him in an effort to understand his tense ramblings. He’d heard you for sure, but he was probably too far into his own head to really acknowledge you at this point.

You took another hesitant step forward, coming to a stop next to him, his words sounding clearer now that you were next to him, but your brain still couldn’t find the right associations at that moment, too overwhelmed with the events of that day to make sense of it all.

“Vik- Can you slow down? I can’t make out what-“

He’d turned around then, his bright eyes pinning you in place, his right eye as blue as the iciest lakes of Russia, and his left eye, as white as the tallest peaks of the motherland’s mountains. He rarely held any warmth in them, even when he looked at you, it didn’t surprise you, after all, the man was a product of his environment, and his environment had been nothing but harsh and unforgiving. All in all, he’d come out of it mostly unscathed, a smart and intimidating man with a steel resolve and an ambition for revolution, it was hard to not admire him in that sense.

“Fucking pigs. Have no respect for their superiors.” He finally answered after a long moment of looking at you, his breathing had calmed down some and he was finally able to slow down when he spoke, the harsh, grating sound of his dialect oddly comforting to you.

You frowned at him then, not understanding his anger, closing the distance between the both of you and gently grasping onto the scarred hand that was holding onto the piece of paper you’d seen him crumpling up when you walked in, extricating it from his grasp and straightening it.

Your eyebrows shot up as you carefully unfolded the paper to reveal the source of his anger; a crudely drawn stick figure with pigtails and enormous breasts, bent over in front of a hooded stick figure holding a knife. The drawing obviously representing you and him engaging in something obscene.

At the bottom of the piece of paper you made out the words “Perseus’ whore”, scrawled in sloppy writing, no doubt an attempt at humor from whoever gave this to him. You shook your head as a deep sigh escaped you, crumpling the offending art project and throwing it in the bin next to the table.

“He’ll get what’s coming to him.” You whispered as you gently placed your hand onto his broad shoulders, the soft fabric of his jacket warm under your touch, your head tilting slightly to catch his eyes. “The men closest to us respect me as they respect you Vik, this will not go unpunished.”

“No matter. I will not allow such vile conduct from lowly insects. He will pay with blood.” He’d said, carefully enunciating every word to make sure you understood his meaning well, his voice had grown rougher with barely contained anger.

The tension in the room had suddenly come to a boiling point, you remember the feeling vividly, his eyes had slowly dragged up your body until they’d landed on your face. The intensity he’d held in his gaze at that moment seared in your mind forever. You feel your breath hitch just at the memory, your throat bobbing as you swallow uneasily.

“My executioner. Together we’ll watch the world burn.” He had finally said, his rough hand carefully taking your much softer one from where it lay on his shoulder, fingers intertwining as he’d closed the distance between you and him. His mask long forgotten on the table next to you, he’d probably taken it off when he walked in, chucking it carelessly onto the pile of paperwork currently taking up most of the surface.

You remember smiling at his ruthlessness, the rough Russian words had somehow seemed so romantic to you in that moment. You remember the way his scarred lips had felt as he’d finally pressed them onto yours, so warm in contrast to the cold man they belonged to. You remember the way he’d held you that night, the way his muscular body had felt against yours, the way he’d whispered your name almost reverently in between soft kisses, his body gently crowding yours against the desk, pushing you up onto it so he could fit himself between your legs, his lips never leaving yours.

He'd taken you, right then and there, on the desk. Pushed everything off the wooden surface so he could have access to all of you without restraint. His lips explored your skin, worshipping every inch of it, every scar, every blemish as if the simple touch of his lips would somehow atone for the sins of others against you. The words he’d whispered to you alternating between Russian and English, he wanted to make sure you understood just how much you meant to him.

You’d done the same to him, ensured to kiss every scar you could see, your fingers gently traced the damaged skin of each and every one of them as you whispered your own words of worship to him, the taste of his skin burnt into your DNA, the shape of each of his tattoos engraved into your mind forever.

That night changed everything.

The memory fades, your heart clenches in melancholy at the knowledge that you’ll never be able to regain his trust, his softness, his love. All that you were eclipsed, and all that could’ve been was now nothing but wishful thinking on your part.

Vikhor didn’t forget, most of all, he didn’t forgive.

After what feels like an eternity, he finally dismisses his men with a curt nod followed by a rough command, the armed men hastily retreating to their assigned post, leaving the hallway deserted for the most part and the path to his office clear.

You follow his gaze as he sweeps the hallway himself one last time, the iciness of his eyes as they take in every detail one last time makes your heart beat faster in your chest, and you’re not sure if it’s out of fear or excitement. After a moment his critical gaze lands directly on the door you’re hiding behind, his eyes squinting at the tinted glass as you duck, a curse escaping your mouth.

The majority of his face is hidden by the gas mask he constantly wears outside, coupled with the thick hood obscuring his head, it’s hard to make out his expression as he finally turns around and enters his office, the door clicking quietly behind him. A relieved sigh leaves your mouth, you shuffle quietly, gathering your thoughts and trying to calm the storm raging in your mind as you get closer and closer to what you came here to do.

You hope he’ll listen, at the very least let you apologize and explain to him what happened to you, maybe even believe you when you tell him that your heart never left this place, that your purpose was and still is to be at his side, to rule the empire you helped him build over the years.

You know your chances are slim to none, but a small part of you hangs on to that sliver of hope that he’ll spare you, that he’ll accept the information you bring him. You swallow uneasily as you get up from where you were crouching on the floor, you throat suddenly dry and constricted. Most of all, you hope that he’ll remember his love for you, the love you both shared for one another before all of this went down, before your entire identity was ripped to shreds, before you were ripped from him.

You scan the hallway one last time before opening the door as quietly as possible, your eyes jumping from corner to corner to make sure no one sees you. You know this place like the back of your hand, spent countless hours walking through these very halls, working with some of these people, and yet, you’re nothing more than a ghost now, another soul lost to the cause, another name whispered, another body never recovered.

You step carefully, gracefully to his office, the blinds behind the tinted window are always closed and today is no exception. You strain your hearing in an attempt to decipher what he’s doing behind the closed door, nothing reaches you but dreadful silence. You grasp the door handle with a sweaty hand, fingers shaking as they wrap around the cold metal, your breath quickening as you slowly turn the handle and push open the door, one foot stepping in before you stop dead in your tracks, your eyes widening.

The sight before you is enough to make your stomach drop, you see the man you love lounging behind his desk, relaxed as ever, one foot propped on top of it, the heavy military boots he wears resting on the worn wood as he stretches his body out. His right hand wrapped around his gun, the metal glinting menacingly in the dim light of the room as he slowly rocks the weapon back and forth in his hand, dragging it over the surface of the desk every so often.

His other arm hangs on the side of the chair, out of view. His head is inclined slightly to one side, eyes pinning you to the spot as he glares at you with an intensity you’ve only ever seen directed at insubordinates within his ranks. The sword of Damocles hanging over your head in the very room you’d engineered Perseus’ most successful hits.

You open your mouth to speak but no words come out, your breath rushes out of you as you try to find your footing.

“Close the door.” He finally says, his English rusty and broken, his eyes unwavering as he tracks your every move like a predator waiting to pounce. You fumble with the door for a moment before finally closing it.

“Lock it.” He tells you, his voice coming out as growl and forcing a shiver of uneasiness to trail up your spine, every fiber of your being telling you to run, to get away, to save yourself before it’s too late.

“Vik-“ You start quietly as you turn around to face him, not moving from where you stand in fear of angering him further.

“Vik? After all this time?” He interrupts you roughly in Russian, his tone dripping with venom and disdain at your use of his given name. You miss the way he flinches at your voice, the lighting in the room too dark to perceive the slight reaction.

“Please listen to me, I promise- I promise this isn’t what you think it is.” You answer back in Russian, your voice quivering with unshed tears as you take a hesitant step towards him, imploring him to find it in him to listen to what you have to say.

“Do you know how many men I have looking for you, executioner? Do you know the price there is on your head right now, my love?” He spits that last part at you like the word leaves a bitter taste in his mouth, like he can’t believe he ever called you that to begin with.

He gets up then, slowly, confidently, his foot slowly dragging across the desk before falling heavily on the floor with a dull thud, the weight of it making the desk tremble slightly. The barrel of his gun drags against the wooden surface as he slowly rounds the desk to come face to face with you, standing well over a foot above you.

His smell assaults you then, clean linen and a hint of fresh mint overshadowed by gunpowder that sticks to every piece of clothing he owns. A smell that was once familiar and comforting now eliciting a shiver of fear in you, pale eyes that once held your entire world now only hold anger and hurt, a hurt that runs so deep you feel your heart crack under the weight of his gaze.

“I’m sorry Vik, I’m so fucking sorry, you have to listen to me please-“ You whisper as your voice breaks under the torrent of emotion raging through you.

“The Americans, they took me, they experimented on me, forced me to forget everything, made me into their puppet so I could feed them information on Perseus.” You tell him, stumbling over your words as you try to make him understand what’s at stake. His eyes harden, the scar running through his left eye looks even angrier like this, the usually pale blue of his right eye now looks almost black as anger simmers in it.

You swallow uneasily as cold metal presses under your chin, forcing your head up and straining the muscles of your neck.

“And? Did you? Did you betray us? Did you betray me, my love?” He whispers as he presses the cold metal harder against the delicate skin there, the heat in his gaze igniting something inside you, it feels wrong, so fucking wrong but you can’t help yourself as a whimper escapes you.

“No. No, I- “ You swallow uneasily as you try to keep your head upright and your gaze on his, refusing the let him see how scared you are.

“I told them nothing, I invented false leads to throw them off your scent. I convinced them to let me come here to get information because I wanted to warn you- They’re coming Vikhor, they want your head, Adler wants your head.” At the mention of Adler his other hand shoots up to wrap itself around your neck, pushing you against the door violently, the hand holding the gun lets go suddenly, the weapon clattering to the ground.

His now free hand comes up to his masked face, ripping away the constricting contraption to reveal more of his scarred flesh to you, his full lips pulled back into a feral snarl as he lowers his head to your ear. “You’re telling me Russell Adler is outside this fucking building waiting for you to bring him intel on ME?!” He rasps out in a deadly whisper, the hand around your neck tightening as he slaps the other one against the surface of the door, making you flinch.

“No. Not here. I’m alone, I promise I came alone, they trust me, I made them believe they could trust me. You need to move to a different location NOW Vik, I’ll give them a random location to give you time to get your men mobilized but you can’t stay.” You reply, one of your hands closing gently around the one at your neck, squeezing gently, reassuringly. Your eyes pleading with him, trying to get through the thick layer of ice between you and him.

He smirks then, his lips twisting in a deformed grin, exposing perfectly white teeth from the corner of his mouth as his hand loosens and his thumb slowly drags across your lips, his breath fanning across your cheek as a humorless laugh escapes him.

“I should fucking kill you, make an example out of you, discard you like the dog you are.” He whispers seductively, his eyes fixated on your lips as his thumb continues to rub gently across the delicate skin there, trying to coax your tongue out to wet them.

“Vik-“ You whimper breathlessly, your heart beating wildly in your chest.

“No, instead I think I’ll let you continue on this mission of yours, you keep feeding them faulty information and you keep giving me information like the good little bitch you are, and maybe, MAYBE, I’ll let you live.” He growls out, his lips now dangerously close to yours, a wicked glint in his eyes as his tongue pokes out, dragging across his own lips as hunger starts burning through the glaciers nestled in his eyes.

His mouth is on yours then, he’s kissing you like he’s never kissed you before, desperation driving his every move as both of his hands cradle your face, one of his knees pushing your legs apart, forcing your core against his clothed thigh, the thick muscle under you flexing to accommodate you.

Your own hands grab onto the sides of his face, his strong jaw speckled in stubble, the rough texture of it making you moan into his mouth, giving him the perfect opportunity to deepen the kiss, his tongue meeting yours for the first time in almost a year. A guttural groan escapes him at the taste of you, his desperation increasing tenfold as he suddenly scoops you up, one hand securely around your waist, while the other grabs a handful of your ass, encouraging you to wrap your legs around him.

You hear commotion as he drops you on his desk, his lips never leaving yours as he sweeps everything off the wooden surface, in one swoop all the clutter occupying his desk is sent flying across the room, you hear what you assume is a mug, shatter as it hits the floor.

His hands are grabbing everywhere at once, pulling at your clothing as he tries to get as close as possible to you, his need presses insistently against your stomach, pulling a moan from you as you try to move against him, your own delirium getting the best of you, all previous thoughts or worries gone from your mind as you finally feel him against you once more.

“Need you, Vik, please” You whine out, your hips straining towards his for any kind of relief, the Russian words coming from your mouth in such a needy manner pushing him into a frenzy, his hands dipping under the fabric of your shirt, pulling away from you just long enough to tear the piece of fabric off of you, exposing more of your skin to him. His hands immediately going to your breasts, pulling the cups of your bra low enough to expose them.

“Shut the fuck up, don’t say my name like that, not when you ripped my entire fucking heart out when you left, not when you left and took my soul with you. I couldn’t fucking think without you, I can’t fucking live without you.” He growls out, his voice betraying him as it cracks with emotion at his own admission.

Your answer comes as a moan as his lips wrap around one of your nipples, tongue curling over the sensitive bud, your hands tighten around his neck as you throw your head back in pleasure, hips grinding against his pulsing erection, the friction not nearly enough to provide any relief through the thickness of both your pants, you let out a frustrated cry at that, deciding to take matters into your own hands, you slide your fingers down his muscular chest, the wild thumping of his heart vibrating through your skin.

You reach his belt buckle a few moments later, nimble fingers working through the loops of his belt in quick efficient movements, finally freeing it. You hurriedly unzip his pants, his hips push into your hands as he continues to explore your skin, kissing and biting every inch of exposed flesh, making you his once again, making sure you’re real and not just a figment of his imagination.

When your hands finally wrap around the thickness of him, his forehead drops against your sternum, a grunt escaping his mouth as you slowly pump his length, your own mouth leaving a trail of sloppy kisses along his jaw, his name like a prayer on your tongue, reassuring him that you’re actually there, that you’re real, that you love him.

“Can’t- can’t wait. Need you, right here, right now.” He breathes out, his hands fumbling with your pants impatiently, almost tearing them in his haste to get them off of you, not even caring to remove them completely.

“I’m here, I’m here my love, take what you need.” You whisper reassuringly, your lips catching his in another kiss as his big hand cups your core, fingers dragging through your arousal before pushing one thick digit inside you, the tight ring of muscles relaxing around him as he starts thrusting his finger in a steady rhythm, more of your arousal leaking out around his hand.

You push your face against his clothed shoulder to muffle the sounds you make, not wanting to get caught, your teeth sinking into the thick layer of muscle when he adds a second finger, the soft squelching of your wetness resonating throughout the dark room, coupled with the soft curses leaving his mouth occasionally as you continue your own assault on him, precum leaking steadily from his tip and onto your hand, making a mess of his own.

“Always so fucking wet for me aren’t you? Even when you betray me, this pussy knows who it belongs to.” He growls possessively in your ear, his movements growing more relentless as you start clenching around him, the degrading statement only adding to your growing arousal.

You cum suddenly, violently around his fingers. Tears spring to your eyes as you throw your head back, a broken half sob, half moan escaping you as he continues to thrust his fingers slowly inside your pussy, your legs shaking from where they’re still hooked around his waist.

His fingers slide out of you, forcing a hiss from you at the sudden emptiness, but the feeling doesn’t last long, you feel the thick head of his length pressing against your opening, the familiar feeling causes a shiver to rip through you.

“Look at me. Wanna see you when I make you cum.” He commands, breaching you with a steady thrust. You struggle to keep your eyes open at the onslaught of pleasure overtaking you, your eyesight blurry from tears of pleasure threatening to spill out, but you nod clumsily, one hand twisting into the material of his sweater when he starts working himself deeper into you, his breathing growing ragged at the feel of you taking him deeper and deeper with each thrust.

You lose track of the words coming out of your mouth, Russian and English coming out as a jumbled mess, different variations of his name as well as pleas to let you cum fade into one another, his hips stuttering every so often when your voice cracks around the syllables of your prayers to gods who gave up on the both of you long ago.

His hands end up around your jaw once again, the roughened skin holding your face softly as his piercing eyes hold yours, his own jaw clenched hard enough to make the vein on his forehead jump with strain as he wrestles with his feelings and with the pleasure coursing through his body, wave after wave assaulting his senses like an unrelenting storm.

When your release comes, it’s an all-consuming inferno, the muscles in your core collapsing onto the heavy thickness of him within you, forcing his thrusts to turn erratic in turn. Your head thrown back in a silent scream as you soak the desk beneath you with the proof of your pleasure, a pleasure that gets stretched out as he chases after his own release, pumping into you with abandon, strong hands holding onto your head as his own eyes roll back into his head as he finally cums deep inside you.

You both lay there panting for a moment, your minds reeling, your hearts clenched tight with emotional turmoil, wanting to stay here forever, and wanting to disappear at the same time.

When he finally pulls out, a hiss escapes him, his eyes fixated on the evidence of your coupling slowly leaking out of your abused cunt as he tucks himself back into his pants gingerly, the mask of tense indifference he wore earlier falling back into place seamlessly.

“Go. Grab your shit. I’ll find you when I’m ready.” He grunts, turning around and exiting his office without another word, leaving you there.

#call of duty #call of duty cold war #stitch call of duty #vikhor stitch kuzmin #bell call of duty #fanfiction #Stitch x Bell #Stitch x Reader #russell adler #adler call of duty

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prince-liest · 1 month

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oh my god. your wording in one of ur latest anon answers. does…. is val the only one who does the dumping? does vox never dump val??? i always like… idk i assumed that they both broke it off in a never ending downward spiral, mutually. but oh my GOD? you’re saying val is the only one doing the breaking up? i….. this is shifting my entire perspective on vox. HOLD ON. HOLD ON. not to beat a dead dove here (that was a brilliant pun yes i’m stealing it), but……… this is sliding right into my vault where i keep my Vox and Domestic Violence Thoughts. he just seems so…. helpless. he’s helpless all the time and in complete denial about it. at first it was clear he’s pretty helpless around alastor -in both canon and your fic. alastor is stronger, and also, in the beginning had the Extreme emotional upper hand. i knew this, yet, like in canon, i assumed more or less alastor was the chink in his armor. vox DOES run the vee’s competently, he handles val, and he’s arguably the fourth most powerful sinner in hell (behind zestial, carmilla, and alastor). those 3 things are true, AND YET. let’s look behind the wizards curtain. how does vox live his Personal life. not his job or position of power. how does his close relationships define him. let’s see now. the initial intense obsession with alastor, which had ONLY left him rejected and humiliated. helpless. and now val. i Assume vox enacts some physical violence on val, too, but something in his wording in the last installment. vox made the point to compare alastors straight up murder attempts to how val acts. i do not think vox does that with val, at least not in a trivial and common manner (he has said the vee’s have all killed e/o before). and when i said “sure he can act disgruntled and upset in the moment” in another ask, i MEANT that vox could break up with val for a couple days before crawling right back like nothing happened. but NO. NOT EVEN THAT. vox endures, and he ultimately does Nothing. NOTHING. and not even that, he is subjected to val breaking it off in a cyclic manner, for superficial or nonexistent issues. and then after a week val will call and vox will come crawling back like nothing happened, and the timer for 4 months begins again. through everything, EVERYTHING, vox really just seems… passive in the grand scheme of things. it’s paradoxical, because he’s also outrageously ambitious. i think that’s one of his core character traits, a constant greed and pursuit of it. that’s unequivocally true about him. but then we look at his love life, and what do we see? he lets the two men he loves basically do whatever they want with him. and he does it because he loves them, as well as being unable to admit he’s suffering. i will say, from now on it’s clear that his relationship with alastor is veering off this direction, but i want to STRESS that it was actually ALASTOR that cemented that. vox, in a spurt of emotion, let it slip out his history of domestic violence. then, promptly brushed it off to appease alastor. he set the terms of the deal, but he did it as a silly pinky promise. he, again, never allows himself to take it SERIOUSLY. because IF HE DOES!!!! then he needs to set boundaries AND ABIDE BY THEM!!!!!!!! AND WHAT THEN. WHAT THEN. THEN THE NEXT TIME VAL OR ALASTOR CROSS A LINE, HE NEEDS TO END IT. LEAVE. DO ANYTHING. AND HE IS NEVER GONNA DO THAT!!!!!!!! and here’s the real fucking kicker…… he expects them to. to keep hurting him. that’s the root of it. it’s not a real boundary, because it’s an inevitability. valentino and alastor will always want to hurt him, so a relationship without that violence is nonexistent. (that’s what he believes btw. hopefully not the truth). and so, vox has made his choice. he’s a businessman, and he has weighed the pros and cons. the violence and crossed boundaries he faces is outweighed by his love for them, and ultimately, that means they can do whatever they want to him. he is helpless.

(this was an entire rant, dear god. and of course the disclaimer that this is all my personal delusions, and not necessarily your take on vox in your series. i swear, i never know how these asks get so long. i promise i start of with a simple idea, then it all implodes into an essay. so sorry. love you.) -🌓

I have good news and bad news for you, anon!

The bad news is that I have misled you slightly: My actual full perspective of the Valentino and Vox on-and-off dating situation is that Vox dumps Valentino when he feels a sufficiently angry flavor of upset that Valentino refuses to listen to him on some things (usually not, actually, the violence, unless Val breaks something for Vox to be angry about); and Valentino dumps Vox when he wants Vox to annoyedly pretend not to moon after him for a week. In both situations, sometimes Vox ends up giving up the ghost and functionally crawling his way back to Val, but more commonly Valentino decides that he's had enough and rather handily seduces Vox into a round of what Vox promises himself is hate sex and not makeup sex but is inevitably always very sappy makeup sex with a side of lovebombing.

This is. Arguably not that different of a flavor from what you're describing, haha, especially since a lot of Vox managing to be the one to break things off at any given point in time hinges on him being able to frame his rationale as "anger" rather than "upset," the latter of which just gets brushed under the carpet of Emotions That Are Not Taken Seriously. He can act on a great many things if he justifies them as something he is right to be objective and angry over, including outright killing Valentino at least once at some point in the past, but anything that makes him feel vulnerable or, ah, let's deliberately and pointedly use the word hysterical, is a pre-existing internal struggle that Valentino knows how to manipulate to his advantage.

The good news is that this lovely analysis inspired me to almost completely rewrite a section of the next 666 fic that I'd been dissatisfied with. I initially wrote Vox as annoyed; what he needed to be was Very Stressed And Upset in a way that distinctly refused to dare stray into anger because the fundamental concern was about what Alastor wanted - just as you described, Vox fumbling his own distress with his learned helplessness when it comes to intimate relationships. Anyway, now I'm WAY happier with it! So thank you very much for that!

#ask #personal #half moon anon #666 live on air #my writing #long post #posting a snippet in a sec before I head to bed as a thank u <3 #god I do love staticmoth tho #they're All That Horrible Mess and they're fucking adorable and in very fucky love on top of it #val has supported vox in ways nobody else ever has and is in fact genuinely very very fond of vox #he's just also a manipulative narcissist with severe anger issues! oops!#get you a man that can do both!#(don't. please for the love of god don't.)#cw abuse #cw domestic violence #staticmoth

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manjiroscum · 1 year

Text

SAPPHIRE TEARS

Character/s: Pantalone/Regrator

Warnings: f!reader, mature language, explicit sexual themes, enemies to lovers, reader is a business woman, slight angst, light hurt to comfort, happy ending, mentions of arguments, pantalone has violet colored eyes here, safe sex practices, soft!pantalone, cunnilingus, and pet name used. Minors do not interact.

Note: commissioned by @imma-write-stuff 🫶 thank you so much luv and i hope you like it! 🥺

Synopsis: His god, gold, and glory is all Pantalone cared about until you came along to push on untouchable buttons.

WC: 1.5k

Miscommunication can lead to unfavorable arguments and encounters. The ninth harbinger, eyeing his glass of wine for a while now, thought so, too. If he had known you would be in this party, nearby the vicinity, Pantalone wouldn’t have come. A year may have passed since your last heated dispute, the Tsaritsa’s money maker still couldn’t forget the words the two of you exchanged. What was even more irritating than having Tartaglia burn through the monthly allowance he was told not to spend so tactlessly was the fact he couldn’t get near you or even strike up a conversation.

Because he was afraid you’d shoot him down.

To be the first to break the ice and dominate the conversation was Pantalone’s forte. It was a mere simple act that he knew the song and dance by heart. However, when his violet eyes which carried well-kept violence and malice landed on the poor unfortunate man hoping to be your last dance, the harbinger wished he could break etiquette. Maybe ramming his fist on the bastard’s silly face would do wonders for his souring mood. It was pathetic, really. For him to stay where he is, watching you from a distance, was irksome. And while he was a man with great ambition paired with a reputation known from miles away, Pantalone suffered cold feet for the first time in a long while. It wasn’t comedic for him, to say the least.

The whole image of him teetering between confronting you and remaining where he was bothered him the entire night the second he saw your elegant form waltz into the ballroom. The hugging dress you wore made every hue of eyes seek after you. You had grown more beautiful since the day you walked out on him while spitting curses at his ‘unethical’ ways of conducting business. Needless to say, the harbinger has burned the sight of your angry expression into his retinas that it was strange and oddly made his heart beat twice as hard whenever you directed a smile at someone. As an adult, petty fights shouldn’t be dwelled on. He should put the past behind him and move on to greener pastures like forming an alliance with you. Your businesses in Snezhnaya were doing well and he has heard about your accomplishments even during his trips to Liyue.

He just didn’t know what to say to you.

“What a spoil…” he muttered to himself, keeping the rim of his glass close to his lips. It was a quick tactic to keep unimportant conversations from occurring. Pantalone, despite how he loved the sound of business deals and whatnot, hated small talk. You knew this, endlessly berating him for this and how he can’t be considerate to his ‘potential’ partners. Oblivious to his gaze averting from your eyes down to your lips, sometimes even lingering on your breasts if he couldn’t help himself. Really, he was disgusted by what you can make him do. Even the Tsaritsa wouldn’t be able to command him to strip himself naked and admit Dottore was the superior servant of the archon. But if you would ask him to, Pantalone would run his bank dry and make himself appear as the fool he has always been since he let you walk out that night since your last fight.

Perhaps everyone was a fool at the hands of love and hate, toyed by mere emotions.

“You’re here,” you whispered to the harbinger. Whether he was surprised by your sudden proximity or the casual way you addressed him, Pantalone never gave away his thoughts. He wouldn’t be one of the Tsaritsa’s trusted men if he was an open book. Frankly, you wished he gave you a minuscule hint of whatever he was feeling. You wouldn’t be standing here, rubbing your arm awkwardly in search of what to say. When was the last time you two weren’t at each other's throats? It was embarrassing that you couldn’t remember. Thankfully, Pantalone did not prolong your silent agony as he raised his glass at you.

“Lovely party, isn’t it?”

“Hardly,” you admitted, unafraid to speak your thoughts to him. “Been quite boring. Not much to talk about with these people. I’d rather be on my way home.”

Whether it was the wine he has been sipping on all night or because of the atmosphere giving the possibility of something more than intense stares, Pantalone’s lips acted quicker than his brain would’ve liked. You didn’t hide how stunned you were at his offer to take you home by his carriage. Anyone who has hated the Regrator at some point in their life would have frozen at the abruptness of it all. And just as he was about to take it back, you found yourself laughing softly while nodding your head. To hear you laugh was so much better than your scorn.

“I’d be happy to accept that offer, my lord. That’s if you’re serious about it…”

He was. Pantalone was not someone who backed down. You realized the severity of his words the moment he called for you out the front door. Your coat wasn’t even put on correctly when he motioned for you to get in the carriage. Yet, he cursed himself for sitting across you. The entire ride to your house was filled with silence except for the sound of breathing. His gaze continuously landed on you, unable to look away for you looked beautiful under the moonlight’s blessing. It wasn’t until you confronted him about his staring that Pantalone stopped.

“What’s the matter, my lord? Is there something wrong with my face?”

“Nothing in particular,” he answered after composing his expression. Pantalone’s wish for you to drop the subject was left unanswered as you continued to prod him with various questions ranging from a teasing tone to an accusatory one. If he admitted that he found you pretty—right here, right now—the harbinger knew he had only two outcomes to face. An ultimate rejection or a confused look. He would rather stay quiet than reveal his feelings carelessly.

Unless he wanted to hurt himself with the reality of your hatred for him.

Seeing that you’re not getting a reply, you gave up with a sigh. The carriage carried you both through the icy road, the horses slowing down as your house grew nearer. Pantalone’s worry about improving this relationship grew as the frost built against the glass window. Maybe his hopes of becoming friends with you—perhaps even more in the near future—were baseless and lacked something. It lacked support from you.

And yet, when you glanced at him, longing in those eyes that were ruthlessly cold to him before, no one could blame him for taking your outreached hand as soon as you got off the carriage. The silent plea for him to join you in the comforts of your home was too deafening and tempting to merely ignore. He didn’t want to lose this chance handed to him on a silver platter. Your soft fingers against his gloved ones, pulling him into your house. Pantalone, willingly as he may, thought that if he were to meet his demise as soon as he got inside, he wouldn’t complain as long as it was by your hands.

Contrary to his imagination, he found heaven instead the second the bedroom door was flung open. His lips found yours in a heated manner, as if he was seeking warmth and to convince himself those days shrouded in the bitter cold were over. He even found euphoria in the shape of your pussy folds opening for his tongue. You guided his touches, encouraging him to continue when he hesitated for a moment. Pantalone’s lips, which were glossed with your juices, moved under the moonlight in the most unfamiliar way to deliver three words you never thought you would hear from him.

“I… desire you.”

“What?”

“I’ve been in love with you, sweetheart. I don't know when, but I guess I have always liked you.”

Strands of silver stood out on his dark hair, making you coil them around your finger, lips curled up as he kissed you more. Tears rolled down your face at his confession, especially the moment he sheathed himself inside you. He saw them and immediately pressed his mouth on them. The feeling of rubber wrapped around his cock was a bit uncomfortable, yet the second he started thrusting made you forget all about it. His kisses and groans fueled your passion, wanting nothing more than to hear him call out your name as you do the same at the peak of your climax. It was no secret that Pantalone sought the feeling of ecstasy from other people, but he has never felt such pure bliss in your arms. Especially once he slowed down his thrusts to hit deeper into you, savoring and burning the look of desperation in your face to reach your high. He came in thick spurts, spilling his warm cum into the rubber while hugging your quivering form. Your juices coated his cock and your thighs messily. Pantalone breathed in your scent, relishing it all with you by his side as what is believed to be an eternal winter continued to rage outside. Spring, at last, fell within the four corners of your bedroom.

#❣️pat.coms #genshin impact smut #genshin smut #genshin impact x reader #genshin fanfic #genshin pantalone #pantalone smut #pantalone x reader

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coochiequeens · 1 year

Text

Yes I already covered this and how Nessa’s car was vandalized. But I will always share stories about the gender cult threatening women.

A popular TikTok comedian has reported her car was vandalized following a series of videos she did criticizing non-binary activist Jeffery Marsh for allegedly inviting minors to communicate with him privately.

Shumirun Nessa, also known as @therealoverloadcomedyon TikTok, became the target of trans activist aggression after posting a series of videos responding to non-binary content creator Jeffery Marsh. In her first video, dated February 22, Nessa took issue with Marsh’s “therapeutic services,” some of which appear to be geared towards minors.

In Nessa’s video, she showed a few seconds of a close-up of Marsh wearing green eyeshadow, false eyelashes, and speaking through clenched teeth as angrily told his viewers to “stop telling trans people we’re inspirational.”

Mimicking Marsh’s pressed tone, Nessa tells Marsh: “Stop telling kids to go on your Patreon and chat to you privately without their parents knowing.” Nessa ends her video with a facial expression characteristic of her comedic styling, one which has earned her over seven million followers on the TikTok platform.

Following her critique, Nessa became the target of backlash from trans activists, who accused her of mischaracterizing Marsh’s intentions towards minors and likening her words to murder and violence. While many replies to Nessa’s video thanked her for her cadence, others took the opportunity to attack her appearance, religion, and political views.

“Please show us proof.. or are you just accusing someone with hearsay? Allah would be proud..NOT,” one user wrote in response to Nessa’s February 22 video.

Another commented: “This is transphobic. I have made excuses for you when you previously did problematic things but this is definitely far past the line. You are spreading harmful rhetoric that gets trans people murdered.”

Despite being a Bangladeshi woman who was born in and lives in England, one user @bluebelleofthesouth2.0 responded to Nessa’s 18-second clip with information regarding “child marriage in the Middle East.”

The woman shared the screenshot of information with a caption addressing Nessa directly:

“I genuinely liked you before this. Now I see you so fucking differently. Jeffrey isn’t fucking doing that shit and until you can provide proof that they are SIT DOWN… But we have proof of what men in your culture do every fucking day to little girls.”

Another user responding to the clip accused Nessa of “tokenizing” herself for “white supremacists,” and suggested that Nessa “really need[s] to go with the ethnic project.”

One non-binary TiktToker named Chelsea Hart responded to Nessa with an emotional two-minute video which she has since made private. In the video, Hart proclaimed that Nessa had “put Jeffrey’s life in danger and put every nonbinary person and trans person’s life in danger with [her] behavior.”

Hart said Nessa’s humorous TikTok was the “third time [she] has seen this lie about Jeffrey.” Hart declared that “recently, a bunch of conservatives have made it a point to edit Jeffrey’s videos in such a way that it leaves out the context that Jeffrey is a counsellor and a coach helping adults deal with childhood trauma.”

She says she does not know how Nessa got “swept up into far-right conspiracy theories,” and swears multiple times while defending Marsh, insisting that his content is for adults and adults only.

She talks directly to Nessa, saying “you were so willing, without any groundwork, to label Jeffrey a predator which would put Jeffrey’s life in danger…”

Hart goes on to reference the murder of a trans-identified teen Brianna Ghey that took place in England and accuses Nessa of “putting another trans life in danger… because cis people always believe each other over us.” She continues lecturing Nessa and again asserts that her short video “put a trans person’s life in danger less than a couple of weeks after a trans person was brutally stabbed to death in the country where [Nessa] lives.”

“Jeffrey Marsh is a fucking counselor,” Hart angrily shares, demanding Nessa take her video down.

In response to the backlash against her February 22 video, Nessa uploaded her second TikTok on March 1.

In her video Nessa says: “…a lot of people made stitches of me saying I’m transphobic… they’ve even attacked my scarf, my religion… and these people have also said [Marsh is] not talking to the kids.”

To defend her position, Nessa pieced together five clips of Marsh directly addressing minors taken from his own TikTok page, adding “so yeah, there’s a lot of videos of [Marsh] addressing kids.”

The main video she takes issue with is one where Marsh tells his audience: “Your parents screwed up. It’s okay to say so! That’s why I made a Patreon.”

Nessa responds to that clip and asks Marsh, “So you wanna talk to kids whose parents have screwed up? Why? Why you wanna talk to these particular kids? Why?”

She stitches more of Marsh’s footage where he informs his audience that his Patreon allows them to “connect in a way that has more privacy, so [they] could talk to each other in a way that’s more open and stuff that [they] wouldn’t share, like, in the comments…”

Nessa invites Marsh to clarify on his offer of private communication.

“So you wanna talk to kids on a social media platform privately about topics that cannot be talked about in… comment sections… because why? Why you wanna do that? What could be the reason? You teach kids how to go no contact with their parents…is that what you’re teaching them on Patreon? Or is it this” she asks, as she points to a screenshot from Marsh’s Patreon where he shared a post headlined “more on sex.”

Then Nessa goes into some frequently used grooming tactics by predators which include gaining access and isolating the victim.

Finally, Nessa shows a clip of Marsh in a tiara talking to his viewers and saying, “If you do not have a family that loves you… I’m going to be your family.”

Nessa boldly responds, “No, you cannot. You are a stranger on the internet. You are not their family,” and also notes that age restrictions can be turned off on Patreon, so children can indeed access his account where he coaches and encourages kids to go “no contact” with their parents.

Nessa ends her final video telling viewers, “you guys decide what you wanna believe.”

But on March 3, Nessa would report she had faced a real-world attack for her videos on Marsh.

Calling it her final address of the controversy, Nessa shows multiple clips of Marsh’s own content in which he repeatedly encourages his followers to go “no contact” with their parents.

Nessa responds to the clips and asks her own audience and to those intent on debasing her, “So if Jeffrey Marsh is really wanting to talk to the adults, why is… why are they already saying to the kids, ‘go no contact with your adults…?’”

Nessa even refers to Marsh with “they/them” pronouns in a show of respect for Marsh and his “nonbinary” identity and to prove that she is concerned with his content regarding children as opposed to his “gender identity.”

Approximately two days prior to filming her final video on the topic, her car was vandalized outside her home. She admits that she has no cameras to show footage and does not know who is responsible for damaging her vehicle. Still, Nessa asserts that this is her final video on the topic “for obvious reasons.”

Nessa provides footage of her car in the TikTok, showing one of the back doors had a piece of panel seemingly ripped off. She confirmed in the comments she is in the process of getting cameras to monitor her property.

While Nessa received an immense amount of backlash for stating her concerns about Marsh’s conduct, she is not the only one who has expressed similar worries.

On March 3, the same day as Nessa recorded her final video on Marsh, screenshots began to circulate on social media from a UK school warning parents and carers about Marsh’s content.

While the source TikTok for the screenshot has been made unavailable, it was initially posted by a mother who claimed she had received it from her son’s school.

Marsh has long been the topic of discussion amongst pro-woman activists for regularly denying the existence of biological sex, and even taking platforms to advertise feminine hygiene products.

In 2020, Marsh took place in a tampon advertisement campaign while calling himself a “non-binary person who does not menstruate.” Marsh claimed his intention behind taking the paid gig was to help end the stigma associated with periods. He said in a video: “And then the hate came for me,” and scolded women who took issue with his participation in the tampon promotion, claiming that they were “policing” gender by criticizing him.

In January, Reduxx noted that Marsh was well-known amongst child safeguarding advocates for his catalogue of videos directly addressing the “kids” in his audience. Marsh has encouraged people to go “no contact” with families or relatives who invalidate their gender identity, and has advised parents to provide “gender affirming care” for their children.

Violence directed at women who criticize gender ideology or proponents of child transitioning has seen a distinct uptick over the past year.

In November, Reduxx reported that mother and activist Jeanna Hoch was attacked after attending a Tacoma demonstration in support of women’s right to free speech. Colorado Springs Antifa published a blog post about Hoch on their official website in which her home address was offered at the top of the post, as well as a link to a flyer with her photo, full name, age, and address. The flyer also featured a QR code and a link to the blog post itself, which painted Hoch and the other women who attended the Tacoma event out to be far-right fascists.

On November 6, Antifa members distributed physical copies of the flyer in Hoch’s neighborhood and showed up at her home. Antifa members also took pictures of one of her vehicles and posted her license plate online. One of her vehicles was vandalized during the visit, with one Antifa member gluing a death threat to the driver’s side front windshield of her car.

Most recently, a Reduxx exclusive revealed a woman in Australia was left permanently disabled after being physically assaulted by a trans activist for her views on gender ideology.

By Yuliah Alma Yuliah is a junior researcher and journalist at Reduxx. She is a passionate advocate for women's rights and child safeguarding. Yuliah lives on the American east coast, and is an avid reader and book collector.

Early life and education

Marsh was born in York, Pennsylvania, and grew up on a farm nearby. Marsh often spoken about having felt misunderstood during a self-identified rough childhood.

Marsh attended college at the University of the Arts in Philadelphia and earned a BFA in Musical Theater, later moving to New York City to pursue a career in cabaret performance[1] before becoming an internet celebrity[2]and leader in the LGBTIQ community.[3]

If Chelsea’s defense is that he’s a counselor then my question is he actually licensed?

#Tiktok #Jeffery Marsh #Shumirun Nessa #@therealoverloadcomedyon #Chelsea Hart #Is Jeffrey a licensed counselor?#Trans cult and violence against women #Trans cult silencing women

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