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reiderwriter · 9 months

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Margaritas and Mistakes pt. 2

Pairing: Spencer x Female Reader

Genre: Smut, just filth really, nothing else. 18+ MINORS DNI!!

Summary: The morning after your night out you wake up and have to come face-to-face with the consequences of your actions. You find you quite enjoy those consequences though.

Warnings: Suggestive BDSM themes, soft!Dom Spencer (I'm a simple woman), daddy kink, dry humping, dirty talk, oral (F receiving), vaginally sex, multiple orgasms, over-stimulation, degradation, name-calling, pet names (baby girl, princess etc.), unprotected sex (no creampie).

A/N: Here's the much anticipated part two for yesterday's fic. Thank you for being patient everyone, and sorry to tease you all by having this completely written before pt 1 was even published but sometimes the anticipation only makes it better lol... Hope you will forgive me 🙏 ALSO! I hit 300 followers on this account yesterday, and I just want to say a massive thank you to everyone who has supported my writing here thus far! I can't do anything to celebrate as I'm on holiday for the next few days but thank you so much ♥️

Check out Part One!

Requests are open, and in the meantime please check out my masterlist!

When you woke up; that morning, you could instantly feel something was different. Not wrong, just different.

It wasn’t that you were uncomfortable, in fact the way the quilts laid on top of you kept you almost deliciously warm in your bed. It wasn’t the general mess of the night before either, as, surveying the room with one half cracked eye, you noted that all your discarded clothes seemed to be either neatly stacked away in the corner or perhaps left in the laundry hamper in your bathroom. The curtains were open, which you guess was somewhat of a change, but you honestly forgot to close them at least twice a week, so that wasn’t what it was.

You left out a quick yawn and decided whatever it was wasn’t as important as sleeping off the absolute killer headache that was currently burning a hole in the back of your head, a constant thumping that you wanted to do your best to avoid for now.

It was when you snuggled back into your sheets and attempted to turn over to find a new position that you realised exactly what it was that was wrong. You weren’t alone.

Cursing yourself for drinking so much you stayed as still as possible, as the man in bed next to you groaned in his sleep and seemed to pull you in tighter to his chest. You weren’t exactly complaining, but you couldn’t help the panic forming in your mind, as you absolutely had no recollection of bringing anyone home.

Scratch that, you had no recollection of getting home yourself at all.

Whoever it was, it was evident that he’d at least somewhat taken care of you. You couldn’t feel the mascara you’d worn last night glueing your eyelids shut, so obviously one of you had had the foresight to remove your makeup, and you honestly doubted it was you. The fact that you were wearing pyjamas, too, was probably a more positive sign. If you did have sex with the man, he’d most likely encouraged you to put clothes back on so you didn’t catch a chill in the night.

And boy did you hope that you had gotten lucky with whoever it was at your back last night. You couldn’t see his face obviously, with your back pressed up against his entire body, but you could feel him and he felt delicious.

He was long, and lean, but you could feel some strong muscles underneath as well. Even in sleep, he had a strong grip on your waist, the pressure of it pulling you back so your ass was directly in line with his crotch. You were almost tempted to shift slightly, to see if it’d give you a few more ideas about who your mystery man could be.

The best thing about him, thus far, however, was his scent. You knew that after drinking all of the alcohol you remembered ordering last night - and perhaps more that you didn’t remember - you absolutely didn’t smell that hot. And after a night of partying and dancing, too, you could almost feel the winter sweat sticking to your skin. Your bedmate, however, smelt absolutely fucking amazing. He had a musky, earthy scent, but it didn’t seem artificial. It felt warm and homely and all you wanted to do was turn around and nuzzle into his neck so you could breathe him indeeply.

But you had no fucking clue who this was, and you were coming up with blanks as to where you could’ve picked him up.

“Think, Y/N, think for once,” you whispered to yourself, chastising yourself for going shot for shot with Emily of all people.

You remembered being in Penelope’s apartment listening to Emily talk about her love of chardonnay, and you remembered the girls promising to find you a man that night. They’d obviously succeeded, but at the cost of your entire memory of the situation.

You thought a little harder again, back to sitting at the table and your stupid little game of fuck, marry, kill where you’d amitted your growing attraction to your office’s resident genius, and then downing a probably near fatal amount of shots to inspire your friends to forget they heard anything, and then… And then it all goes blank.

So you had no clues as to who your mystery man could be, and you didn’t want to risk waking him just to find out. In a last ditch effort, you cracked your eyes open again and reached out for your phone, sitting prettily on your nightstand, plugged in and charging. Whoever this man was, he was a saint, because if you couldn’t remember getting through the door, you definitely didn’t put your own phone on charge.

Trying not to stretch too much, you grabbed the phone and bought it as close to you as possible, shielding your bedmate from the light coming out of it. You immediately opened the messages, and your stomach dropped at what was waiting for you there.

Emily: I TOLF U I WAS A GR8 WING WOMAN!!1! When you two make baby ggeniuses, dont say I dind’t tell you so.

Penelope: Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do! Which is admittedly not a lot, but still!!!

JJ: Remember to take advil in the morning, I’m sure Reid will remind you as well, but you drank a lot tonight, and you never know when we’re going to get called in 🙂

The messages didn’t give you much of the context you needed, especially the ones sent by Penelope and Emily, but there was enough there to work out that you had majorly fucked up. And the sound of his groans from next to your ear told you that you only had around thirty seconds before your theory was tested and your mystery man woke up.

“Mornin’” came the voice from behind you, and if it were possible your heart started beating even faster. It was him.

“Reid! Good morning!” You tried to keep the curiosity and anxiety out of your voice, as you finally turned over to look at him. His sleepy face was one of the most beautiful things you’d ever seen. His hair fell in small waves into his face and you had to stop yourself from brushing it behind his ear for him. There was a five o’clock shadow forming on his face that you’d never seen before and the scruff really suited him. His most distracting feature, however, was his lack of shirt. And the many small love bites that were now forming on his neck.

“How’s your head this morning? I was going to try to get you to take something for it last night, but you wouldn’t let me.”

“Oh my head? It’s fine, totally fine. Nothing to worry about there. Totally not pounding.” You groan and he cracks a smile at your attempt to downplay your self-injury. He grabs your hips and pulls you closer somehow, and you almost panic, ready to place your hands on his chest and push him away, but you’re not quite ready to admit that you don’t remember exactly what you did or didn’t do the night before so instead you push your hands up to his neck and play with his hair.

“Are you going to ask or do you remember?” He smirks down at you, rubbing small comforting circles into your back. You let out a small sigh, a goodbye to those few blissfully peaceful moments.

“Ask what? Ask if I remember climbing into bed with my coworker and leaving some quite pretty marks on his neck or ask if I actually got further than my fantasies have in the last month?” You trace your hand down his neck, stopping at a rather red patch where you can still see some trace of your lipstick from the night before.

“Ask whether or not I’m going to be fair and tell you what actually happened, or keep you in the dark and let your imagination keep running wild.” He lifts his body up, and rests on his side, his arm propping his head up.

You make a sound of protest and attempt to follow his movement but his free hand holds your hips down with a soft pressure, holding you there less with strength and more with the weight of your own curiosity at whatever it is his body is suggesting.

“You begged me last night you know,” he starts, leaning down and whispering it directly into your ear. “To stay. To fuck you like a desperate little whore.” Your legs pushed together now, a sorry attempt to curb the growing need pooling between them, but he didn’t let up.

“You pushed me down on the bed when I didn’t do what you wanted, like a little brat. So drunk out of your mind that I couldn’t touch you, but begging for it like you would die if I didn’t hold you down and let you scream my name.” The hand on your hip moved up and under your pajama shirt, a rather flimsy thing that did nothing to stop his oncoming conquest of your body.

“You made me promise something, you know?” He says just as his hand reaches one of your nipples. He pinches it, hard, as you throw open your mouth in a near silent gasp. Your hips buck involuntarily, and suddenly one of his legs is between yours, pinning you down again so you can’t move as he keeps his attention on your chest.

“Made me promise I would stay and not let you forget. Promise that, when you woke up in the morning, I’d fill you in on everything you did, everything you asked for.” He keeps his voice as low as a whisper and you can feel his breath on your neck, the contact sending a shiver down your spine, arching your back and pushing your breasts further into his hand.

“S-Spencer-” you beg with just that one word for more. But he stills his hand and moves it out from under your top.

“But if you remember, then we’re finished here right. I can go?” He looks down at you, pouting now and you hesitate for a second before answering him.

“I don’t remember. I don’t remember anything, so please…” you don’t quite know what you’re begging for at that point, but if you’d filled him in on any of the jucier details of your fantasies as of late, then you were in for a very fun morning.

He shifted his weight again, this time pushing your hips together, and holding his chest up with his arms stacked on either side of your head, you looked up at him again as one of his hands came down and encouraged your leg to wrap around his waist, allowing him to push even more of his weight down into you.

His head moved back to your ear as he began rocking his hips tantalisingly slowly into yours, dry humping into you.

“At first, you didn’t even know it was me. Just fell back into whatever body you thought would pay you the most attention. Rocked yourself back into me on the dancefloor, right where anyone else could see what a little whore you were being.” Despite the layers of clothing that separated you and the torturious pace, you felt your arousal growing by the second as you listened to him recounting the events of the prior night.

“And even when you realised it was me you didn’t fucking stop. Kept teasing me and playing with me in public, in front of our friends.” He growled a little bit then, obviously still angry about your actions the night before. You were bucking your hips up to match his movements now, teetering close to the edge of an orgasm. He hadn’t even really touched you yet, and you were like putty in his hand, ready to be molded into whatever shape he wanted you in.

“I drove you home, kept my hands off you, I was perfectly ready to let you forget the entire thing, but you couldn’t keep your mouth shut could you.” His hand was on your ass now, encouraging you to keep up your pace and deepening the contact between the two of you. You could feel his entire length pressed into you, and you wanted it inside you.

“Told me you wanted me to slam you against a wall and finger-fuck you, wanted to be my cheap little whore, wanted me to use you,” he groaned into your ear and bit down on your neck a second later, and you moaned, the pain and pleasure mixing together deliciously.

And then he stopped, pulled away and rolled off of you, and you cried out at the loss of contact when you were so close to your release.

“What is it, baby? You want more?” He smirked from his new position, sat up on the opposite side of the bed, just far enough out of reach that you had to crawl over to him.

And so you did. So desperate for the man, you climbed into his lap, and begged him for any reciprocation with your moans as you began grinding down on his leg again.

“Does my little slut want to cum?” He asked, his hands placed firmly and flat on the bed sheets either side of him, leaning back softly to watch your attempts to entice him into touching you again.

“Get off and strip down to your panties,” he demanded, and you happily complied, not caring where the offending pieces of clothing landed before jumping back into his lap. Apart from his lack of shirt, he was still in all of his clothing from the night before, a pair of loose sweatpants and boxers, and you relished the feeling of the fabric against your legs as you wrapped your legs back around him.

“I want you to use my leg to get yourself off baby, do you think you can do that?” He asked you, and you immediately nodded your head, desperate to start, but his hands on your hips stopped you.

“Use your words baby, answer me nicely.”

“Yes, fuck, yes I want to do that, please,” you whimper and he loosens his grip a little bit.

“Yes, daddy,” he demands and your eyes shoot up to his. Seeing that he is completely serious you feel yourself only growing more aroused as you stutter out another reply.

“Yes, please daddy.” He smiles at you again now and lets go of you completely, resting his hands on the bed again. Your hands come up to his shoulders and you begin your movements. You push your chest directly against his, desperate for some of your bare skin to be met with his, your aching nipples rubbing up against the plains of his chest in a near perfect way. You grind down into his thigh like its a lifeline, your every attempt to set an even tempo foiled by your absolute desperation to reach your climax.

He keeps talking to you throughout, mixing the sweetest of affirmations with the most disgusting insults, both driving you more and more crazy as the minutes tick by.

“Look at this disgusting little puddle my little girl has left on my pants. You’re so desperate for me, aren’t you my sweet little whore?” You moan out a reply, but he wants your words again. Delivering a painful slap to your ass he asks again, and this time you eke out a reply.

“Yes, daddy, I’m a nasty little whore, I want you so badly, daddy.” You whimper, the words and the shock of the slap bringing you ever-closer to your first release. Your arms are wrapped around his back now, scratching and marking him as if to claim territory, each one of his sharp-intakes at the pain driving you closer and closer until you finally feel yourself fall off the edge.

“So good for me baby,” he presses a kiss to your temple as you collapse into his arms, breathless from all of your hard work.

“I didn’t even have to touch you, and look at you. Looking like a fucked out whore, just for me baby girl," he whispered into your ear as he lifted you up, gently laying you back down on the bed.

“You think you can still do some more, baby?” He asked, and you nodded. This time it was enough for him, because he instantly shed the rest of his clothes and moved between your legs.

“You look so beautiful like this, baby. Gonna take care of you okay, just relax,” he kissed the words into your neck and started trailing kisses the entire way down your bosy. He paused briefly to show your breasts some attention, swirling his tongue around one nipple while he teased, pinched and pulled the other one, eventually switching to give them equal love.

But he didn’t stop at your breasts, pressing kisses down the length of your stomach before reaching your panties again. He looked up at you from his position before pulling them down your leg, making sure that your entire attention was devoted to him. He didn’t have to try hard, as your thoughts had been filled with him ever since he’d woken that morning, and you found you were quite content for it to stay that way forever.

He lifted your hips and slipped the offending piece of fabric down your legs. You shivered at the loss of contact at first, the sodden lace having been stuck to you after your desperate movements earlier. You were bare for all of five seconds before he dove into you, nudging your clit with his nose while he pressed kitten licks against your slit. You moaned out, not caring about controlling your volume, and didn’t stop as he continued licking and kissing like he was a man starved.

His tongue eventually made its way up to your clit and that’s when you lost it, bucking your hips wildly up into his mouth in a desperate attempt to use his face to get yourself off, but one of his large hands pinned you down again. He didn’t let up, rolling your clit around his tongue, bringing his other hand up to press a finger into you, beginning to pump in and out.

You didn’t even feel the build up this time, just closed your eyes as your hips jerked up once, twice into his face, not even a breath escaping your lips for what felt like an eternity as he let you ride through your second orgasm. He didn’t stop, but he removed his mouth from your centre, his fingers still pumping into you as you began twitching underneath him.

“Good girl, so fucking good for me. You’ve got one more left, right baby? One more left to give me, hmm?” He asked, but you couldn’t answer anymore, just nodding your head as best you could and bucking into his hands like a woman gone mad.

“Perfect baby, open your legs wide for me, okay?” His voice was gentle now as he gave his cock a few pumps, removing his fingers and flipping you onto your knees, putting you in the perfect position for him.

“You have to tell me if you want me to stop, okay princess? Tell me if it’s too much and we can end this right here,” he gently pulled the hair away from your face and pressed a final kiss to the back of your neck, finally lining his cock up with your glistening hole.

Then he’s finally pushed into you, and you could've sworn you saw stars. He fully sheathed himself inside of you and didn't move for a minute, choosing instead to press small kisses against your neck and back whilst you adjusted to his considerable length. He didn’t have to wait long though, as you could feel yourself practically dripping around him, making even more of a mess of your sheets.

He picks up a steady pace, pulling out halfway and then snapping his hips back into you with such force you’re grabbing your pillows with a vice grip. You tried to push your head back down into the pillow to soften your moans as well, but he grabbed you by your hair, wrapping it around his wrist, using his new leverage to pull you back onto his dick with each stroke.

“Wanna hear you baby girl, don’t fucking hold back,” he grunted into your ear, the new angle of his hips hitting that deep spot within you that had you flooding the sheets almost instantly, pushing out wave after wave of cum as you moan his name like an animal driven mad.

“That’s right baby girl, fucking cum around my cock, get it nice and wet,” he continues pounding into you, pulling out more and more of his length each time to hit deeper and deeper each time he returns to you. Your legs were practically shaking then at the overstimulation, your tongue hanging out of your head as you failed to form any coherent thought except “yes.”

His hips start faltering quickly and you knew he was close. A few more snaps of his hips and he pulled out of you completely with a small curse, shooting his load up your back as he released his hold on your hair gently. He collapsed on top of you, his arms around you as he kissed his way up your spine.

The two of you sat there for a few minutes, the only sound that of your ragged breaths as you both attempted to catch your breath. After a few minutes he pulled away, and you heard him retreat to the bathroom. He came back swiftly with a washcloth and cleaned the two of you up, wiping his cum from your back and chest and doing his best to clean up your cunt without overstimulating you even more.

“Baby, we have to go to the bathroom now, you need to pee,” he gently turns you over and you whimper at the movement. He presses a gentle kiss to your cheek and you push yourself up to a sitting position next to him, unhappy that he’s being so responsible now after possibly ruining you for other men forever.

“You’re going to have to carry me, you know,” you grumble, resting your head against his shoulder. “My legs are still shaking like I’ve just walked a thousand miles with no rest.”

He chuckles at that and wrapped your legs around him, picking you up swiftly. He didn’t move immediately, just content to have you in his arms for a few seconds. You looked down into his eyes and you felt it too. Like you’d never want to be anywhere else but right here, in his arms. You pressed a gentle, sweet kiss to his lips and you felt his smile as he returned it.

“Come on, Y/N, it’s not the first time I’ve had to force you into the bathroom and I doubt it will be the last,” he laughs, and you laugh with him. And in that moment you realise that he has you for life.

--X--

🏷️: @ihavenotitlesblog @gibbsgirl7 @beefyboisbeefybongos @bluecandycake @piecsesrising @dim-i-try @simp4f1 @marylovesevanpeters @daddy-dotcom @alondralolll @thearsonistrat @eddiemunsonssweetoltatties

(I know some of you didn't ask to be tagged but you asked for a pt. 2 so thought it couldn't hurt, lmk if you want to be untagged!)

#spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid smut #mgg #criminal minds fanfiction #maturereiding #criminal minds fandom #criminal minds fic #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x oc #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fandom

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burnyouwithacigarettelighter · 9 months

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PROVE IT ───

jackson rippner ✧𖦹

ೃ⁀➷ “You think you are possessing me / But I've got my teeth in you.” — ‘Unicorn’, Angela Carter

pairing. jackson rippner x reader

summary. after breaking up with your boyfriend. you meet a handsome stranger at a bar. you tell him your cunt’s better than the girl’s your boyfriend cheated on you with; he tells you to prove it.

warnings. swearing, slight breeding kink, unprotected sex, creampie, p in v, semi-public sex, porn with some plot, impact play, degradation/insults, SMUT UNDER THE CUT!

word count. 3.6k

a/n. i seriously doubt i wrote jackson’s character accurately in this so please comment anything i can improve on LOL🙏

It’s not often you spill your entire life story to a stranger at the bar, but this one, this stranger with his watery blue eyes and plush lips, is oddly inviting; charismatic to a fault. It makes you want to give him everything, and absently, in your alcohol riddled mind, you think he’d make a good scammer.

Or, serial killer, whichever he prefers really.

But it's not entirely his fault; you’re stress drinking, downing too many shots in too little a time frame, and the alcohol’s already hit your system ten-fold.

You’re there because you’d broken up with your boyfriend the night before. You’d been dating just short of a year. He was required to travel a lot, mostly in Europe, as per his job, and you let him go each time without qualms - love them, let them go, right?

Wrong. He’d been cheating on you since he went to Copenhagen — four months, now — with a pretty little Dane that wanted to marry.

You were furious when he told you, of course, it’s fucking insanity for him to marry someone he’s known for four months, but you began seeing all the differences between you and the woman he cheated on you with: she, a perfect homemaker, you, a distressed professional he saw maybe once a month.

“Hey, hey, don’t beat yourself up,” the stranger across from you said softly, breaking you out of your nostalgic stupor and back into reality. “‘cause he’s a right asshole. For cheating on you like that.”

The man had entered the bar hours after you did, housing a simple drink or two and absently watching the softball game on the bar TV, before you drunkenly inched closer to him, desperate to rant your dilemma to just about anyone who’d listen. He bit, and here you were now.

You peered up at the man, inspecting him. He’s gorgeous, definitely, but you can’t tell if you actually think that, or your foggy, not-been-fucked-for-months mind just wants him to rail you into next week.

No matter, you thought, downing another shot. It burned the back of your throat sweetly, fire trailing down your insides. “M’not beating myself up,” you protested weakly, “jus’ — m’just… wondering if her cunt was - so much better than mine,”

He laughed, boisterously, the kind of laugh you hear rumble out from a close friend while you detail every wrongdoing or shameful memory in your life: he’s comfortable right now, as are you.

“Well,” he inched closer, large hand sitting itself on your thigh and slowly inching upwards, “if it bothers you that much, why not prove it? That your pussy’s as good as you think.”

This wasn’t the first of his attempts to flirt with you: firstly he’d tucked a stray hair away from your face, later he swiped a drop of drink off your lip, then he’d clutched you by the waist, pulling you close to him when someone squeezed past you in the crowded bar. His brisk touch wasn’t unfamiliar by any means, but it did suggest more than the other ones, especially coupled with the lustful words he was purring in your ear.

Then, there’s a gap in your memory. One too many shots, a stranger toying with the hem of the skirt you donned for the bar, and his sweet voice in your ear was too much for your dizzy head, and the only thing you remember is this: one moment, he’s getting braver, rough fingers ghosting the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, and the next, you’re pressed against a bathroom stall wall, the handsome stranger’s knee pushing your quivering legs apart.

You’re trading wet, messy kisses, and his hands are sneakily climbing up your shirt till they reach your chest. There’s a sharp intake of breath from him: “Fuck, sweetheart, no bra? You really were looking for someone to prove you right,” he cooed, touching your breasts needily.

He’s kneading you artfully, fingers pawing at your flesh like he’s never felt something so soft, so plump. Your back arches as he does this; you’re practically putty in his hands.

It doesn’t slip past you that you’re being felt up in a bar bathroom by a gorgeous stranger whom you don’t know the name of, but you don’t care. “Please,” you beg, his name coming up completely blank on your tongue, “please.”

“‘Please’ what, honey?” The stranger says huskily, one of his hands moving from your breasts up to your jaw, pushing it to the side to gain access to your neck. “Please kiss me? Finger me? Fuck me?”

You’re too drunk - and fucking horny - to deal with his theatrics, so you whine instead of answering, your weak fingers carding through his brown locks.

“God,” he says, “How long has it been since you’ve been properly fucked? Just some touching and you’re already too fucking dumb to speak.”

His words make your cheeks burn with shame, but it also makes your core throb. The oh-so sweet stranger who listened to your problems all night telling you you’re just a dumb horny bitch is such a juxtaposition it's got you all hot and bothered.

“Please,” you beg again, more desperate than before, “I need you.”

The man let out an incredulous chuckle, head cocking back. “Baby, don’t tell me you like it like that. God, you’re such a fucking whore,” he said, before undoing his belt buckle and fly.

He had noticed how your legs clenched around his knee, how your breathing got sharper as soon as the words “dumb” and “whore” slipped out of his pretty mouth, how your fingers trailed his back needily, desperate for any kind of touch.

You bit your lip, watching the stranger through bleary, hooded eyes. He’d pulled his pants down just enough for his boxer shorts to be visible, before he grabbed you by the waist and turned you to press your face against the wall.

One of his arms then draped across your shoulders, pinning you down and arching your back, hard, making your ass press flush against the large tent in his underwear. You let out a small gasp at the feeling, and you could practically see the smirk curling slyly on his face.

He can’t be that big, right? It was just your drunk mind, making him feel bigger than you thought through his shorts. Plus, you hadn’t been fucked in over a month — you were probably just not used to it.

Because, that’d be totally unfair - he’s beautiful, charming, an amazing kisser, and has a huge cock? No fucking way — if he was all that, he’s definitely a secret terrorist, or something.

However, these days, you’ve learned that you don't have the best intuition. First, with your boyfriend, then again, with the man who just pulled out his thick cock, stroking it gently.

“Oh, fuck,” you cursed, head straining to look at him behind you. Unconsciously, you shyly closed your legs at the sight of him.

“Ah, ah, ah,” the man crooned, his other hand sliding between your legs and spreading them apart once more. “No take backs, honey. You did say you wanted me, did you not?”

The two of you were flush against each other, and you could feel his hard length resting between your legs. Just that, just him between you, already had you trembling in anticipation.

“Then fuck me already,” you bit back, feigning confidence. In actuality, you were thinking: how was all that supposed to fit? And, of all people, you, who hadn’t been stretched out to fit any cock at all, not since last month, when your boyfriend made his routine visit. You were a loyal girl, alright, and your fingers never went as deep as any cock could.

But the moment for you to reveal your worries passed, and he simpered. “So fucking eager.”

Then, his large hands smoothed down the swell of your ass, following the curve, before he lifted his hand up and came down on your cheek, making a loud noise reverberate throughout the empty bathroom.

Your breath caught in your throat, a choked gasp mixed with a tense moan coming out instead, and you flushed. Thank god you were pressed against the cold bathroom stall wall, for it provided a miniscule relief to your burning face.

He’d spanked you, and you fucking moaned.

“So you do like it dirty.” he cooed, fingers returning and hooking into the waistband of your panties.

“I bet,” he said, dragging the thin fabric down extremely slow, “that you didn’t come to the bar tonight to just drink,” he pressed closer against you, your folds now sitting right above his thick length, “you came, with no bra and a slutty skirt on, looking to get fucked senseless, didn’t you?”

He slowly slid in and out against your folds, his cock just barely grazing your clit, and you swore you could have screamed. The way he was teasing you was absolutely delectable and, in the same vein, incredibly torturous.

“Answer me, honey.” he hummed, free hand rubbing circles on the skin of your hip.

You let out an exasperated groan. “I - I came here tonight, to - ah!” you squeaked when the fat tip of the man’s cock poked your tight hole.

“You came here tonight to… what?” He said, nonchalant, as if he wasn’t slowly driving his large dick into you.

“I came here to…” you squeezed your eyes shut, trying to ground your thoughts, and squarely not think about how mouthwateringly good the handsome strangers cock felt, “to get—“

Then, the loudest keen you’d ever heard tore out of you, your eyes rolling into the back of your head, when he suddenly shoved all of his length into your soaking cunt.

He bottomed out with a breathy laugh, watching your knees buckle and your mouth hang wide open. Then, once more, his calloused hand came down on your ass, a large crack sounding out within the bathroom.

“Shut the fuck up, whore. Someone’ll hear.” The stranger said, as if he hadn’t just made a loud noise spanking you like that.

But the way he insulted, complemented, mocked and teased all in a few sentences had you shuddering; never in your life did you think such dirty words could make you so wet.

You barely kept in another whine, waves of pleasure ebbing throughout your body. The burning pain of the spank in combination to how your walls squeezed around his cock had you barely coherent, your face taut with pleasure.

“Fuck, baby, you’re dripping all over my cock,” he whispered, leaning down for you to hear. As he did so, however, his dick pressed further into you, and another helpless groan rolled off your tongue.

“But you’re too goddamn loud.” The stranger growled, and the arm of the hand that was pressing you against the wall shifted, now covering your mouth.

Before you could protest, he slid out, then snapped into you. Immediately, you saw stars, and a muffled mewl slipped past your lips.

“Jesus christ,” he murmured, “your little fuckhole’s taking me so well.” He began to slide in and out at a fast, rhythmic pace, so fast you could barely comprehend the ecstacy you were feeling.

“Oh my god,” you barely stuttered out past his large hand. He was pounding in and out of you relentlessly, selfishly, no regard for your moans or helpless whines, merely focussed on thrusting his fat cock into your sweet cunt.

Then, the both of you heard the bathroom door open, and you froze. The handsome stranger moved quickly, grabbing you by the waist and planting you on his lap as he sat down on the toilet. His other hand, still trained on your mouth, gripped tighter than ever when he felt the groan bubble up from your throat: this new position of you on his lap had his long length pressed right against your cervix.

“Now you really gotta be quiet, honey,” he whispered, pressing his face into your neck. You shut your eyes helplessly, a dejected whimper exiting your mouth.

“Just be fucking quiet. You don’t want everyone in this bar to know what a dirty slut you are, spreading your legs for a fucking stranger in the bathroom, right?” He said, words foul and like poison, but actions completely stark to it: he was pressing sweet, chaste kisses on your shoulder, laying his head on your back.

The man in the other stall was taking so fucking long to finish, and, despite the stranger’s words, he began to slowly rut into you, his large hands coming to rest on your hips and help you slide up and down on his cock.

Your eyes widened. “What are- ah, wh— what are you doing?” you said, a stuttered, hesitant moan leaving your mouth, but you were completely without the motivation to actually stop him: the pleasure you felt earlier had increased immensely in this slower, riskier pace he took on.

“Shh,” was all you saw him say, as you strained your neck to look at him. He looked the epitome of smug, lips curled, cheeks flushed attractively, strands of hair falling down onto his forehead.

Without his hand to muffle your groans, you muffled them yourself, biting down on your tongue. One hand of yours gripped onto the stranger's thigh to keep your balance, and your other hand sneakily traveled down to your wet, hot mound, fingers beginning to rub at your clit.

He noticed this, however, hand gripping at your wrist and pulling you back to pin your arm behind you. “Only I get to touch you,” he snarled, “because this fuckin’ pussy’s all mine. Gonna be all mine.”

You let out a shaky exhale at his words, but you found your cunt more flexible than before, the soft slapping of your skin between each other sounding easier, wetter. Jesus, did you really get more turned on by what he’d said?

Finally, the person who had wandered in and entered the stall beside you exited the bathroom entirely, and you belted out a sharp moan with how the stranger swiftly picked you up and pressed you against the wall once more, this time facing him.

He plunged his big cock into you like nothing before, animalistically, nails digging so hard into your hips you swore he drew blood. His pace was stuttered, desperate, like nothing could distract him from pounding into you, not even a fucking meteor.

You, on the other hand, were arching, the pleasure taking your body over completely. Your hands carded through his brown hair, tugging when he hit that particularly spongy spot into you. He groaned, a rough and stuttered thing, feeling himself brush against that spot every time.

Your tight cunt was stretching and contracting around his dick, like you were made with his fat length in mind, and it drove you up the fucking wall: the pain in your hip, the cold linoleum wall, his cock thrusting in and out — it was all so much, and your orgasm began to spill out from under you. It was slow, like water coming out of an overfilled glass.

“You — god, you’re fucking coming, aren’t you,” the stranger said knowingly. Your cunt had gotten tenser, stickier, trying to grip at him like you were afraid he’d never come back to you.

You nodded rapidly, opting to do so in fear an unintelligible string of groans would come out instead of your words.

He grinned, and lifted your legs to wrap around his waist, allowing his cock deeper access into you. Your toes curled, the new angle like being impaled, his dick easily slipping past your slick folds.

One of his hands lifted off your hip and trailed across your lower stomach, “Can you feel that, honey? Its my fucking cock, so deep m’gonna shoot my come right in your womb,” he purred, pressing the bulge.

Both of you were affected, a breathy grunt slipping past his lips, and you a feverish mewl. You couldn’t believe how big he was, large enough for him to be fucking visible on you from the outside.

Suddenly, you remembered the man’s name: he’d said it, offhand, to the bartender before you dragged him to the bathroom. He asked the bartender to put your drinks on his tab, under the name Jackson.

You face grew taut, your orgasm suddenly switching from a slow, sneaky drip to a hard smack, right across your face. “Jackson! Jackson, please,” you moaned at last, his name sounding right at home on your tongue.

“Fuck, honey, you remembered? God, that’s so hot,” He whispered sweetly, then dragged you through your orgasm, thick cock pounding in and out of your throbbing core.

It was like all the pleasure had steadily built up within your insides, all up into a big ball, then had suddenly burst, flowing throughout your entire body like you weren’t already being fucked relentlessly.

“Such a - fuck - tight and pretty pussy,” he said, leaning into rest his head against your chest. You were weak, sensitively riding out your high, but you knew Jackson wasn’t quite as close.

His thrusts began getting sloppier, harsher and focussed merely on feeling your walls against every inch of him. Your head rested beside his own, your eyes practically crossing with the overstimulation.

Despite your orgasm, your cunt was still soaking, definitely dripping and marking a wet patch on both your skirt and his pants. It made you tremble, thinking of you two tiredly exiting the bathroom, disheveled and having to cover the other up.

At this point, you didn’t know what kind of filthy fucking noises were exiting your mouth, with Jackson’s grunts and groans covering up your whines completely.

“M’gonna come,” he said a few long moments later, almost inaudible. “Say my name, say who owns this tight fucking pussy.”

“You do! Jackson does!” You exclaimed, his cock ripping in and out of you quicker and more jolted. “Jackson owns this pussy!”

Jackson grinned weakly, and with one final, harried thrust, he let go deep within you. He clenched his jaw, piercing blue eyes shutting tight and losing himself within the warm and wet feeling of your cunt squeezing him for every drop.

You were so fucking full, and even when Jackson pulled his softening cock out of you — which, was still huge despite its idleness — you felt stuffed to the brim.

His come dripped down your leg, and he promptly pulled your panties up, patting your worn out cunt as he did so. “You’re taking all my fucking come, so good honey.” he said, pressing a hungry kiss to your neck. “You were right: this cunt’s better than whoever your shit ex cheated on you with.”

“Told you so.” You gazed up at him through heavy-lidded, gleeful eyes. He was an absolute darling sweetheart, it seemed, switching from degradingly fucking you to romantically praising you. “Are you… up for round two?” you said, as he slipped his hand within your own, clasping tightly. You didn’t really mean round two - though, you wouldn’t protest it, especially with his delectable way of fucking you - you actually just wanted to go home with him… see where this relationship could lead you.

“Sweetheart, you don’t have to ask. You’re comin’ home with me tonight,” he saw through you cheekily, pulling you close to him.

So, you did go home with him, and in the morning you laid beside him in the ruffled white sheets, counting the freckles on his face.

His eyes fluttered open when you shuffled. “Were you watching me?” he said, voice low and sleepy.

You nodded silently, your hand coming up to pet his skin comfortingly. After a beat passed, you asked the question that was bothering you all morning. “Jackson, you wanted to fuck me first, right?”

He blinked, tense for a moment, before smoothing out his expression. “What?” he opted on saying instead, sounding every bit clueless and entirely convincing.

Not convincing enough for you, however. “Baby, you think I didn’t notice the shots you were calling over and inching toward me? I was drunk, not stupid.”

“Are you saying I took advantage of you?” He said darkly, a side of him otherwise unknown to you ‘till now.

You raised a judging brow. “No need to be offended. I wanted to see where it was going to go: ‘did the handsome stranger want to fuck me, or did he want to kill me?’.”

He pulled you close to him, his arm snaking around your hips. “So, what are you saying?” he said, pressing a patronizing kiss to your forehead.

“Hm. Well, I jus’ wanna know if this is a one nightstand.”

“And you don’t care about the - drinks, the “taking advantage” part?”

You let out a laugh. “I was confident, darling; I keep pepper spray and a pocket knife in my purse. Even if you did - which you didn’t - I’d make it out alive.”

Jackson bit his lip, looking up at you. This had meant to be a one night stand, considering the job he had, but you were looking at him so sweetly, so accepting, like you secretly knew what he did for a living and wanted him despite it.

“Not a one night stand,” he murmured, leaning into your touch.

You beamed, and, later, when you did find out what he did for a living, you merely cocked your head. Thought about it… outweighed the pros, the cons, (and the fact you were completely right: he was perfect, but also a fucking sociopath), and merely shrugged.

“Honey, you’ll never do anything to me. Why should I care what you do for a living? Just don’t,” you warned, staring at him like you could and would fucking kill him, “cheat on me.”

You didn’t have the best intuition. And, as it turned out, a great moral compass, either.

#cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy smut #cillian murphy #jackson rippner #jackson rippner x reader #jackson rippner smut #redeye

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theres-a-body-here · 1 month

Text

Love Letter Aftermath

First part

The realization of receiving a love admission sinks in for the killers

Characters: Oni, Trapper, Deathslinger, Mastermind, Cannibal, Ghostface Warnings: Some spice Male!reader

The Oni - Kazan Yamaoka

He's angry

Angry at you for giving him that damn letter

And angry at himself for keeping it

He keeps it on his shrine

Even while he tries to distract himself with training between trials, your letter is all that's on his mind

At least once a day, for a couple of minutes, he stares at the letter while working up the courage to crumple it and dispose of it

He never can

When Rin found the letter, his heat sunk

She thought it was cute, but rolled her eyes at how Kazan was acting

The days following the letter, you've noticed in trials with Oni, he never downs you with his Kanabo anymore, only his Katana

Even during chases, when he's activated his blood fury right behind you, he stampedes off somewhere to down anyone else

And when he carries you to hooks, you've noticed how gently he holds you

But he never stays after hooking you and seems to avoid your gaze

Strangely, Rin has been giving you some leeway during trials as well

The Trapper - Evan MacMillan

When he got back to his realm after the trial, he immediately went to work on making a box for the letter

Yeah, a whole keepsake box for a single letter

He places it next to the box where he keeps his old drawings

Whenever he sees you in trials, he still gets those butterflies

If you step in one of his traps, he's immediately rushing to where he heard you scream

If he sees any other survivors trying to free you, he swats at them

Evan gently pulls at the jaw of the trap and pulls it apart, letting you retract your injured foot

He's trying his hardest not to ogle your legs

"Sorry," he mutters gruffly, his hands holding your leg softly while he inspects the damage

He picked up some gauze that one of the others dropped and begins to bandage your wound

He can feel your gaze burning holes into his mask as he works

He's the one to break the silence

"I've killed you... and your friends, over and over."

There's a long pause on your end before you respond

"I know"

You two leave it at that

The Deathslinger - Caleb Quinn

Caleb keeps the letter under the bar counter in his realm

Whenever he returns from an exhausting or lost trial, he looks at it

A small part of him still thinks you're messing with him

He's way too nervous and skittish around you now to do anything, so you're gonna have to initiate everything

In trials, you do your best to spend time with him

Especially when you insist that he treats you no different

When he carries you to hook, you take the moment to touch him

You turn your head to plant a kiss on the back of his neck

Caleb visibly shivers and lets out a groan

"Yer tryin' ta kill me, ain'tcha?"

"Is it working?"

Despite you asking otherwise, he tends to leave you alone when he can in trials, opting to hide the others

If you confront him about it, he'll deny it

The Mastermind - Albert Wesker

He keeps your letter in the inner pocket of his jacket

You definitely have his full attention now

Don't expect any special treatment, because he's not gonna give it

In fact, he seems to actively seek you out first if he knows you're in his trial

Wesker gets angry when you can't loop him for more than a couple of minutes

"Are you even trying? Pathetic"

While carrying you to a hook, he's lecturing you all the way

"You didn't run it tight enough. You were too greedy with the pallet. You didn't check your blind spots."

He'll get even more irritated if you start to tear up

Can't you see he's trying to help you?

Wesker refuses to have someone so vulnerable as an admirer

So you better get to it

If you do manage to improve and become better in trials, his attitude changes

It goes from scoldings to rewards

He takes off his gloves to hold your chin and pull you close

You feel his lips ghost over your cheek and shiver when he tightens his grip on you

He stares at your face, drinking up your reactions

And then he lets you go, watching as your face twists from dazed to confused

"What? Were you expecting a kiss?"

You're gonna have to do a lot more if you wanna get a smooch from him

The Cannibal - Bubba Sawyer

He tapped your letter to the side of his chainsaw

He gets all giddy when he glances at it during his sweeps, especially if he manages to down a survivor

It's his good luck charm

If he spots you in a trial, he'll literally drop everything to rush over and give you hug

Bubba would honestly hug you all trial if you let him

He's definitely become a bit more protective over you, maybe even prone to jealousy

He doesn't even let anyone work on gens with you, revving his chainsaw if anyone gets too close

Once everyone gets the message and leaves you two be, he'll sit behind you as you work and hug you

Expect lots of nuzzles

Bubba whines when the gen is completed and you have to stand up to find a new one

He follows you like a puppy until you find the next one and the process begins anew

The Ghostface - Danny Johnson

Danny doesn't really have anywhere he can store the letter safely

So he does the logical thing and memorizes it's contents, word for word

He doesn't care what happens to the paper

Sometimes during trials, he'll tease you by reciting it during chases

Even adding things you're certain you never added

"And I promise to always let you smash whenever and wherever you want," he says, mimicking your voice as you dangle from the hook

"I NEVER WROTE THAT!!"

Being her favorite, The Entity doesn't care if Danny spares you every trial

But he won't

Because he's a meanie

"No hard feelings, right boo?" He coos as he plunges his blade into your back

If you're sore about it, he's more than happy to make it up to you

He'll run his cold leather-gloved hands under your shirt, pressing you against a wall as you try to stay angry

"Come on, don't be like that," he mutters into your ear, squishing your sides

If you fold now, he'll tease you for being whipped

But if you stay strong, he'll pull out the big guns

He buries his masked face into your neck, slowly grinding his hips against yours

"You feel that, baby? You feel how sorry I am?" He growls, pressing his hard-on against you

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hopelesslyromanticshark · 2 months

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Hiii can I request for some percy jackson x daughter of Apollo! (or Asclepius) Reader hcs?

⋆⭒˚.⋆ percy jackson x daughter of apollo! reader hcs

content: percy jackson x daughter of apollo! reader hcs warning: mentions girls w/ trust issues, mentions of shitty exes (the only men you can trust are fictional. when i said date fake men, i meant like ken dolls, not assholes.) language probs author's note: so, i made the executive decision to combine this request with another one that i got about percy with a daughter of apollo but she's got trust issues and isn't super bubbly. so if that was your request, it's also in here!! i just figured i might as well join them. but also idk why this one took sooooo long for me to figure out where i wanted to go with it but i did finally do it and that's what matters lol

seaweed brain and his grumpy sunshine girl

when i tell you it took months for percy to even get this girl to acknowledge him-

she had given up on love a long time ago, being stabbed in the back far too many times

and people tried to warn percy of that

but he liked a challenge

he'd stop by the infirmary with paper cuts and pouty lips at least once a day

"doc y/n, i'm dying, look, i think you can see bone-"

"band aids with cartoon characters are in the left cabinet, jackson," she'd bit out, not even glancing up from her clipboard.

percy's frown but went to get the band aid, completely missing how she'd look up once his back was turned, the smallest smile on her lips before she shook it away.

"hey, so, i heard you're killer with a bow and i could use some tips," he'd try again, running to catch up with her and plastering a dopey smile on his lips.

"kayla's better. i'll set you up for training with her."

"w-what? no, that's alright-"

"i thought you wanted to get better?" the girl questioned, raising a brow at him and glancing over out of the corner of her eye.

he deflated for a moment before sucking in a breath.

"sounds good. thanks."

it wasn't that kayla was a terrible teacher or anything, percy's heart just wasn't in it.

"what's with the pout? you're getting better," kayla told percy as they sat down for a break, percy shrugging as he took a sip of his water.

"it's nothing."

"...she likes those orange chocolates. the ones you that look like oranges and you have to smash apart," kayla admitted with a sigh, crossing her arms and giving percy a pointed look as he choked out his water.

"w-what?! who? i don't even-"

"don't lie to me. apollo, god of truth, remember?"

"okay, you've got me." percy admitted as he hung his head, his cheeks burning

"i know. just...be gentle with her. and travis should be able to sneak the candy into camp for you."

"i have no intentions of hurting her. i've heard...about stuff. she didn't deserve that. thanks, by the way," percy replied as he jumped up, eager to track down the son of hermes.

"anytime, jackson."

a few days later and travis slid percy the goods during breakfast.

his excitement was growing as he approached the standoffish daughter of apollo, who was basking in the sun at the edge of the forest.

"hey, y/n! didn't think i'd see anyone out here," percy started, feigning ignorance as he took a seat next to her, feeling the blazing sun tickle his skin.

he tried not to think about her father watching this happen

"it's pretty quiet out here. or it was," the girl murmured, shooting a pointed look at percy.

"my bad. let me make it up to you," offered percy, holding up the chocolate orange and watching her eyes instantly brighten in excitement

"oh my gods!! that's my favorite chocolate of, like, all time!" she squealed and percy decided in that moment that he'd give an arm and leg to have her that excited every day.

"really?? no way, it's one of my favorites too!!" he lied.

he'd never had it before and even if he had, the chocolates his mom brought home would always be his favorite.

so, the two split the chocolate orange and percy had to act like he enjoyed it even though he hated every bite

like a gentleman, and totally not because he didn't want it, he gave her the last slice

there was a call of y/n's name, something about being needed in the infirmary.

she shared a look with percy, something close to panic in her eyes and he had a feeling he knew why

the last person she got close to like this hurt her and she didn't want to feel that pain ever again

"you know, it's not supposed to be painful. it doesn't have to be," he muttered, seemingly out of nowhere, but they both knew.

she took a few moments to contemplate and she only broke out of thought because of the calling of her name again.

"let's grab breakfast tomorrow and go from there," she whispered, nodding her head like she was confirming to herself too.

when she looked back at the boy, she saw a smile brighter than any sunbeam her father could produce

and she fell just a little bit more in love with him

"can't wait," percy replied, more than happy with baby steps. baby steps still meant they were going forwards

then, unexpectedly, the girl shot forwards and press her lips to his cheek

it seemed to have surprised her too as her eyes were wide when she pulled back and scampered away to the infirmary with promises of tomorrow

and percy was more than willing to wait, as he walked around camp with what looked like a chocolate kiss on his cheek for the rest of the day

#postcards from covey ౨ৎ #all my love ౨ৎ #percy jackson #pjo #percy jackon and the olympians #pjo fandom #percy jackson x reader

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bonny-kookoo · 3 months

Text

Jungkook

Princess | Intro/ Part 01

There's more to it than what meets the eye.

Tags/Warnings: Wolfdog Hybrid!Jungkook, Showdog Hybrid!Reader, Enemies to lovers, Angst, Fluff?, Brat!Reader, Jungkook has major brat tamer energy, reader has some issues, mentions of depression

Length: 6.5k Words

-> Masterlist

♥━━━━━━━━━━•.♡.•━━━━━━━━━━━━♥

Jungkook hates loosing.

And that’s especially true when it comes to bets- because he also can’t really pass up any opportunity to show off and be the best at something. So when he took on the bet with Jimin, he didn’t think anything of it- after all, even if he lost, he could still simply teach that so-called ‘puppy’ Jimin was supposed to be working with a killer choreo and make his way on top either way.

What Jimin failed to tell him, however, was that you are an absolute menace.

Not only are you spoiled to high heavens and dressed head to toe in pretty designer pieces designed and tailored just for you, no- your attitude is making him want to throw himself into a busy road to be run over by any moving vehicle willing to do so. It’s been not even thirty minutes he’s spent in the meeting room, and he already regrets his big mouth with Jimin.

But maybe it’s just a bad first impression. Maybe, you’re just having a bad day.

“So, basically, we’ve got four weeks to make it work.” Your manager says, having finished his plan as he stands at the end of the table everyone is sitting at, you included- though you clearly do not listen to the conversations happening at all, instead occupied with a game on your switch console, decorated in plastic gemstones and cute stickers, sound not even all the way down as to not interrupt anyone.

Jungkook feels his blood boiling. Can’t you at least attempt to listen? After all, it’s your career that’s on the line.

“I’ll need the possible song choices she made, and I also gotta get a copy of the guidelines and what the judges generally look for. Doesn’t have to be today, but I’d like to have it before we start making anything up.” Jungkook offers, arms crossed. You’ve not even looked at him once today.

If he just went by looks, you’d actually be quite cute- you're clearly taking good care of yourself, and you fall right into the category of hybrid girl he’d see himself interested in- but your character seems to be the exact opposite, as you stare down at the small screen in your hands, lashes long, hiding your gaze a little from him.

“We can totally do that.” Your manager says. “I- uhm.. Are you okay with that too?” He asks towards you, and you simply take in a deep breath before you sigh, shoulders shrugging and head somewhat nodding. Your eyes however never break away from your game, instead, you just adjust your seating postition a little before you become completely detached from the situation again. “I’m sorry about that. She’s.. Having a bad day.” Your manager justifies.

Jungkook smells the lie right away.

“Practice will start at 7 AM then-” Jungkook starts, and that seems to catch your attention as your face turns into a frown. “-And we’ll practice the whole week, except weekends.”

“That’s too early.” You mumble, grumbling down at your game while your legs stretch out under the table, feet brushing against his shins. You’re not wearing shoes, only your knee-high socks, having discarded the slip on’s early on for no apparent reason other than comfort.

“She usually sleeps until.. 11 so..” Your manager starts, and Jungkook has to swallow a growl.

“8.” He says sternly, staring at you who scoffs down at your hands. “She’ll have to get up earlier then.” He decides, making you lift your chin a little, before you save your game, turn off the console and put it on the table, your arms now crossed as well as you finally, for the first time, look at him.

The fire in your eyes could seriously burn someone if it was to be manifested into a real flame, he decides.

“You’ll have to wait until I show up then.” You answer him, and his eyes narrow, feeling challenged. But before he can respond, your manager seems to sense the growing tension between you two, as he dissolves the meeting quickly to have you driven back home.

Jungkook however, can’t let go this easily.

“You forgot to tell me that she’s an absolute bitch.” Jungkook growls into his phone, sitting on his couch with the TV on but on mute. “There’s no way I’ll be working with her for four weeks without committing a crime.” He threatens, and Jimin has the audacity to laugh.

“Oh Jungkookie, don’t let her fool you!” He laughs. “She’s a literal angel, believe me. She just acts all tough.”

“Or she was just interested in you.” Jungkook denies. “I’ve spent barely an hour with her and I already know She’s gonna be a handful to manage.” He sighs.

“Come on now, she’s what? Half your size?” Jimin playfully exaggerates. “Just put her in timeout, big guy, and you’ll be fine.” He jokes, very much aware of Jungkook’s rather dominant nature due to his wolfblood. And while the joke is funny, it’s also a problem.

Jungkook doesn’t know if he can really stay calm while working with you. And his career could be over in a second if he so much as lashes out at you verbally- because no way would someone work with a hybrid choreograph or dancer who can’t keep his cool. He already has issues getting some gigs due to his wolfblood mixed in- one mistake and he can surely put his career to rest.

He really regrets taking on this bet now.

Hopefully this won’t end too badly.

♥━━━━━━━━━━•.♡.•━━━━━━━━━━━━♥

You really do not turn up at 8 like he told you to.

He’s impatiently waiting in the practice room, your manager and stylist and other staff already present- everyone trying to get a hold of you with no luck at all. It’s only until an hour later that another staff member informs everyone that you’ve finally woken up, and that you’re currently on your way to the practice room.

Jungkook is pissed, to say the least.

If you work like this the entire four weeks, there’s no way he can manage to push a good choreography into your head that you can pull off properly on stage. And if you fail, it’ll be on him- and he just can’t accept that. Hopefully, you’ll warm up to the idea of actually putting effort into this.

Hopefully.

When you finally turn up, you don’t appear to be sorry at all- still somewhat asleep and in no way ready to start practicing anytime soon. Instead, you sit down and take out your breakfast to eat, while your stylist runs a brush through your hair. But what’s odd about this, is more or less that Jungkook can sense a total shift in energy right now.

It’s like they’re shielding you, giving him no access to you until they deem the timing alright.

And you just robotically eat your little breakfast, while everyone else scatters around you, rushing from spot to spot. Jungkook isn’t too sure what exactly might be happening- but then again, it’s also not unusual to see such a scene. You’re a showhybrid after all- meant to look pretty at all times and in every living moment just in case there’s a camera around. And he knows that the practice is going to be filmed occasionally for some behind the scenes content for your fanbase- which is why you have your stylist around in the first place. You’re just supposed to look like you’re not wearing any makeup at all.

No one wants to see reality, because reality is what everyone can witness if they look in the mirror. And that’s boring. That’s not entertaining. That’s not something to be jealous of, or something to admire.

In a way, Jungkook starts to feel a bit sorry for you. Do you ever have a moment for yourself?

Either way, the moment the cameras start running, you switch character almost instantly. Suddenly you’re polite, soft spoken and determined to get every step right- though your true nature does poke it’s head through on occasion, especially when you can’t get something quite right the first or second try.

“Maybe we need to work on how to keep to the beat first.” Jungkook suggests, and at that, you seem to break, sighing with an agitated groan as your tail unravels, falling limp behind you. He’s not seen this happen often- his best friend Yoongi being a dog-hybrid with a curled tail as well, who can be quite grumpy most of the time. But even he never has his tail this.. Lifeless.

It’s unnerving to see.

“I’m not lobotomized, mutt.” You groan, making the manager motion to cut the cameras for a second. “I can keep to a beat, you’re just shit at teaching.” You growl to yourself, sitting down stubbornly as you visibly try and mask the fact that you’re out of breath.

Truth be told, Jungkook isn’t technically a choreographer. He usually works with professional dancers or simply follows whatever he’s given by an artist themselves- so yes, he might actually be a little rusty when it comes to teaching others.

Do you have to be so rude about it though? No.

“Well we’re going around in circles like this.” Jungkook shakes his head. “I’ll get us something to drink. Try and calm down a bit..” He attempts to soothe your temper, as he leaves the practice room- mostly so that he himself can escape the situation for a moment.

He’s not sure what it is. Maybe your scent full of anger and fear filling the space so much that it feels like it’s drowning him in the room, or the fact that you always have to be so rude-

Wait.

Fear?

Alarmed by that, Jungkook walks a bit faster with the water bottles in hand to get back into the room- just to find you not there anymore, everyone looking at him as if they’re surprised to see him back already. “Where is she?” Jungkook asks, and your manager blinks a little, caught off guard.

“She went to get something to drink.” He states, making Jungkook frown.

“I said I’m gonna get us some. Why did she go by herself?” Jungkook asks. “She doesn’t even know where the vending machines are.”

“She said you were taking too long.” A stylist mentions. Jungkook pinches the bridge of his nose.

“I was gone for not even five minutes?” He growls to himself, before he hears you enter the room again, a small juicebox in hand that you punch the tiny straw into. “Don’t just run off.” He scolds you.

You roll your eyes.

“Yeah alright, Daddy.” You scoff, walking past him to sit in a corner- actually facing it for some reason, your back turned towards everyone else.

“Ah, don’t be alarmed.” Your manager explains. “She.. Sometimes does this. We don’t know either why, and we don’t really question it either. Give her a few minutes and she’ll be right back to practice.” He beams at him, and Jungkook feels weirdly played.

Something’s odd here.

But it’s also none of his business.

♥━━━━━━━━━━•.♡.•━━━━━━━━━━━━♥

The next day, you’re not there on time again.

And despite the fact that Jungkook had told you no food in the practice room was allowed, you clearly disregarded that as nothing but background noise, while you take out your bag of foods in the middle of the large room.

“I said no food in the practice room.” Jungkook scolds, walking towards you to stand right in front of you, arms crossed. “and you’re also late again. Two hours to be exact.”

“You said no food.” You shrug, lifting up the small bag of puffed rice crisps. “That’s snacks.” You respond, making him narrow his eyes and clench his jaw.

“put it to the side.” He says. “You’re here to practice, not to eat.” He reminds you, able to talk freely with almost none of your staff around today.

“can’t practice on an empty stomach.” You respond however, letting yourself fall into your bag, before you take out your phone to scroll on it while you eat your snacks- crumbs already littering the floor. “Why’s your wifi so shit in here?” You mumble to yourself, when suddenly, the signal stops entirely. “Hey, your internet cut off-“ you start, before you spot him putting his phone down. “Turn it back on-“

“Since you’re acting like a brat, I’ll treat you like one.” He simply says. “wifi stays off until you practiced.” He scolds, boldly taking both your snacks and your phone from you to put it on a table close by, the act alone catching you so off guard that it has you frozen in place while you process it. “Do you want to get up yourself or do I need to help you with that as well?” He asks, and you glare at him.

“Touch me and I’ll sue you.” You threaten, and he watches you for a moment as if to see if you’re serious- before he decides you’re clearly not, with the way your tail slightly twitches, clearly needing to be consciously held down by yourself to not wag.

“Alright that’s it.” He simply tells you before he walks towards you, and much to his dismay, you let yourself fall limply down onto the ground as if you’re trying to become liquid. “You’re being ridiculous right now-“

“let me have the wifi again!” You just huff. “and my snacks. I’m hungry.” You argue.

“get up earlier tomorrow and have breakfast then.” He shakes his head, before he grabs your wrists to lift you into a sitting position. But the moment he lets go, you’ve flopped back down again, lips twitching.

Now your tail is wagging, clearly.

“so that’s what you’re after, huh?” Jungkook clicks his tongue. “too bad. I’m not playing your game.” He says, before he walks to the side where all his stuff is, changing his shoes.

“wait- What’re you doing?” You ask, watching him tie his sneakers.

“going home.” He answers without looking. “were clearly not getting anywhere.”

You sigh, groaning out lout before you angrily hit the floor-

Getting up to walk towards him, pulling his jacket from his hands before you let it fall onto the table. “I wanna practice.” You pout.

“What a bummer, princess.” He answers, taking his jacket back to slip it on. “I don’t. Now get your stuff, and then-“ He tells you, walking closer before he points to the door behind you. “-get out.” He demands.

And you just angrily huff at yourself, doing just that.

♥━━━━━━━━━━•.♡.•━━━━━━━━━━━━♥

You fail to get to practice on time again the day after.

And the day after that.

But on friday, Jungkook has finally had enough of your poor excuses and frankly stupid behavior.

"Why is she late this time?" Jungkook asks your staff, jaw clenched as he's already frustrated again. You're clearly not taking this seriously, and he honestly doesn't know how anyone else has ever managed to work with you in any way.

"We're.. not sure." Your manager says, face showing his own shame about your behavior. "She turned her phone off, we can't reach her."

That's it.

Jungkook can understand a lot of things. You're used to being spoiled and having everything set in front of you on a silver platter- he gets that. Sometimes, people's minds can be poisoned by wealth and success. But turning off your phone? That's too far.

What if something actually happened? What if you're sick, in need of help, in danger? This is absolutely ridiculous behaviour, and he does not care anymore. "She said she lives in the city here, right?" Jungkook asks, and the manager nods. "Alright, where exactly?" He wonders, and a stylist of yours calls out your address.

And that sets him off even further- because you barely live ten minutes away from him. Which means there's not even a single reason as to why you would be late at all.

"What are you going to do?" Your manager worries as Jungkook changes his shoes and slips on his jacket, grabbing the keys to his motorcycle.

"I'm getting her myself."

If there’s one thing Jungkook hates, then it’s people isolating themselves just for their own convenience. It’s mainly due to his best friend years back doing that constantly- turning off his phone to get some quiet time for himself, until he actually did end up being in trouble.

And when someone tried to call him, and couldn’t get a hold of him, they just thought ‘It’s probably one of those days again.’

If Jungkook didn’t go against his better judgement, if he didn’t end up checking up on him despite his mind telling him that it was for nothing, Yoongi would not be alive today.

He rings your doorbell multiple times, annoyingly so to get you to stand up at some point. There’s no way you can sleep through that, especially when he starts angrily knocking onto your door. Suddenly, you open it, staring at him with eyes barely open. “What.” You ask, and Jungkook takes a look at you for a second.

You’ve clearly been asleep, but you don’t look rested at all- eyes barely open as you glare at him, and funnily enough, one of your ears is even a bit floppy- not quite entirely down, but also no standing as straight as it usually does. “You’re late.” Jungkook scolds. You attempt to close the door again, making him attempt something dangerous.

He puts his hand in between the door.

But, maybe Jimin wasn’t so wrong after all, because you immediately open the door again, now wide awake as you look at his hand, worried you might’ve hurt him. Only when you don’t find anything you push his palm back towards him, and cross you arms.

“Come on.” He says, nodding towards the hallway behind him.

“No.” You deny.

“What do you mean, no?’ he asks, agitated.

“I said no. I don’t wanna.” You answer, walking back into your apartment- and with your door left open, he takes it as an invitation to walk inside.

The second he closes the door and turns around, he’s in shock.

Cardboard boxes, trash bags, crumpled papers and wrappings all over the place. Shoes litter the entrance area, your coats are thrown over the chairs at your open kitchen which sink is filled with unwashed dishes. The windows are shut, curtains heavy as they hide the mess in your home from the outside world. It’s so dark that Jungkook feels like if he wasn’t a hybrid, he most likely wouldn’t be able to see where he’s stepping at all.

How long have you been living like this?

The apartment isn’t big, there doesn’t seem to be many rooms at all. After searching for a bit he finds you curled up in your large bed, pink bedsheets and blankets halfway on the floor while your little gaming console chimes and beeps while you play.

“..come on now, you’ve.. got the weekend off.” Jungkook says. “it’s just today-“

“I said I don’t want to.” You growl, face focused on your game. “now fuck off and leave me.”

Jungkook sighs. This really isn’t any of his business.

But somehow, as he walks back into the main area of the small apartment, he finds himself opening a new trashbag to throw away all the plastic strewn around. He puts your shoes in order, places the garbage bags in a corner to have them out the way, before he rips the cardboard apart to throw away easier later. He’s not sure why he’s doing that- maybe partially to annoy you and get you to get out of bed, or maybe because he pities you.

This isn’t just laziness. From the way you act, to the body language you scream out quietly, to the fact that you don’t seem motivated for anything at all.

This is something deeper.

“What’re you doing?” You growl from a corner, before you walk closer to rip the cardboard box from his hands, throwing it in a corner again. “I told you to fuck off.” You threaten, and he nods.

“heard it loud and clear.” He agrees with crossed arms, and you huff.

“Ears seem to be working then.” You snap. “the mistake must be in your brain.”

“I can assure you it’s working just fine as well.” He answers, and you snarl at that, distinctive canines showing.

“Then why are you still here digging through my shit?!” You bark at him, and he shrugs.

“Because no one deserves to rot away like this.”

It’s quiet at that, for a good moment. The only sound heard is the clock in the kitchen ticking, some faint rain against the windows, and a garbage bag slowly slipping a little from its position. And when it falls to the floor, he catches a short second of your eyes tearing up, before you turn around, looking away from him before you run off into your bedroom-

But the door won’t close with all the clutter, making you angrily growl at it while you try and somewhat pull it close.

Jungkook slowly walks towards you, to pull your hands off of the door handle, making you drop down to the floor in defeat, sitting right on your clothes that are laying on the floor. “leave me alone.” You cry to yourself, head low and hybrid ears even lower as you sit there, kicking away some of the clutter.

The wolfdog hybrid slowly squats down to your level, before he carefully moves a broken jar away from your leg and onto a small table close by. “What’s going on with you?” He finally asks, and you kick your leg again at that, a small box flying through the room.

“I just want to be alone!” You bark. “I don’t want anyone in here, I don’t want to go to practice, I don’t want to do this stupid contest, I don’t want anyone to look at me!” You complain loudly, and Jungkook would easily call this a textbook temper tantrum, if it wasn’t for your clearly desperate tears.

“did you tell your management?” He asks, and you scoff, sniffling.

“as if they care!” You huff. “it’s always just do this, do that, go here, eat that, smile, be nice, film everything.!” You tell him. “I want to go home!” You begin to cry now, hiding your face in your hands.

“Home?” Jungkook wonders, unsure what you mean. Isn’t this your home?

“I just wanna go home..” you continue to cry into your hands. “I wanna go see mom, and dad..” you mumble muffled into your palms, and Jungkook feels terrible seeing you like this. He doesn’t know you, but something is clearly not right. This isn’t acting, because your body language, your scent- everything tells him that you’re in genuine distress.

“Maybe you can visit them?” He wonders, slowly reaching out to put his hand on your knee, offering silent comfort that you, for now, seem to accept. “do they live far away-“

“they won’t let me.” You say. “they told them.. they told them I don’t wanna see them and that I hate them, and now they hate me.” You whimper.

“They?” the wolfdog asks, pushing some clutter to the side to sit down as well.

“the company.” You mumble. “because.. my dad didn’t want me to move away back when.. when I was still a pup.” You say. A pup possibly meaning that you were still underage. “and.. back then, I thought it was for the best. This was such a one-in-a-million chance..” you reveal to him. “I thought it was worth it.”

“Do they threaten you?” Jungkook worries, and you’re quiet for a moment.

“..They’re all I have.” You admit. “my.. my apartment. My money. My name. They own me.” You say, defeat evident in your voice as you slowly calm down again, tension leaving your body. “just.. leave me alone.”

“I cant.” Jungkook denies with a sigh. “not anymore.”

“fuck off-“ you start, grabbing at his hand, but he somehow moves it around, holding yours now instead.

“I won’t.” He sternly says. “Alright? I don’t know how, but I’ll figure something out.” He promises, and you look up at him with slightly red eyes, confused.

“Figure out what?” You ask, and he smiles.

“How to bring you home.

♥━━━━━━━━━━•.♡.•━━━━━━━━━━━━♥

You’re very clearly not very happy about Jungkook currently cleaning your apartment with you.

You’re slow and sluggish, and you constantly complain about everything- and Jungkook can somewhat understand it. You’ve quite literally buried yourself in this little cave, having someone take it apart like this must be horribly uncomfortable. But it’s for the best- and you’ll soon realize that.

That doesn’t mean you don’t annoy him, still.

“Come on now, get up.” Jungkook scolds you, as he watches you sit on the couch.

“What?” You complain. “I’m cleaning.. under the coffee table.” You pretend, but he doesn’t take that as an appropriate answer.

“We agreed on one area at a time. We’re still in the kitchen.” He says. “now get over here and help me with the dishes. I wash, you dry.” He decides, making you somewhat reluctantly get up. It’s odd to have anyone in your apartment at all, since not even staff is allowed inside- you constantly find and make up excuses to keep them out at all times. This is your only safe space, after all.

The only place no one is looking at you.

“yesterday..” jungkook slowly says, putting another plate towards you so you can dry it. “..you said that the company owns you.” He remembers, and you nod. “To what degree?”

“I have an independence license.” You say. An independence license is basically a permanent permit to live on your own, and also work on your own. Basically, with it, you don’t need an owner at all. “But.. the company has full control over my finances and such. And they own my, you know, brand name.” You shrug.

“I meant it, you know?” He tells you, draining the sink of the soapy water. “I’ll try and figure something out.”

“Don’t bother.” You simply say. “it doesn’t matter.”

“It does.” Jungkook denies, drying his hands on a towel. But you stay silent as you put the dishes away in their proper places, not really sparing him any glance at all again.

Jungkook doesn’t really know yet how to help you. First, he wants to somehow get into contact with your parents and set things right again- maybe he can get their names and phone number from jimin who’s been working you for a good while now. And then, maybe they can help, too.

“I’m tired.” You complain as you sit down on the now finally somewhat clean floor, all the trash in bags and in a corner.

“You can take a nap.” Jungkook agrees, and you look at him with positive surprise.

“wait, really?!” You ask, tail wagging a little.

“sure. You’ve been working hard.” He approves. “and now that your couch isn’t cluttered, you can take a proper nap there.”

“Why not my bed?” You whine, disappointed.

“bed is for proper sleep. Couch is for naps.” He explains. “if you go to bed now you’ll just start rotting again.”

You stay quiet for a good moment, before you speak again, looking out the windows, curtains by now pulled open. Slowly, you walk over to the couch to sit down on, staring at your hands in your lap.

“I’m such a fuck up, am I not?” You sigh. “imagine if people knew how much of a failure I am.”

“You’re not a failure.” Jungkook denies, sitting down next to you on the couch. “just.. a bit lost at the moment.”

“Jungkook..” you say quietly, looking at his chest. “I really want to go home.” You admit, and he smiles softly.

“I know. And I’ll figure out a way, promise.” He offers, opening his arms. And much to his surprise, you take the invitation- even so much as to crawl onto his lap, leaning against his chest with your arms wrapped around him. It’s a lot more than he thought this was going to be, but he also can’t deny that this feels oddly comforting for him too.

And even though your tail is still limp and lifeless, at least you’re starting to open up. And maybe jimin was right after all.

Maybe you’re just acting tough.

♥━━━━━━━━━━•.♡.•━━━━━━━━━━━━♥

Jungkook quickly learns that you really must’ve left home at a very young age- because you’re very much completely lost in translation when it comes to general tasks that fall onto someone when they live alone.

You’ve got no idea how to properly do laundry, you don’t know how to cook at all, and you have no idea what cleaning products to use for what. When he asked you if you had some window cleaner, you’d stared at him for a good second before you asked him why he can’t just use soap- and cooking in your book is simply boiling water for instant noodles.

It’s no wonder your apartment was in the state it was in. No one ever taught you how to look after yourself and your own home.

“Alright?” Jungkook asks while you stare at the washing machine with a determined gaze.

“put the clothes in, put the soap-squishy-thing in, close the door and then set it to that program there.” You repeat. Jungkook nods.

“But-?” He presses, and you stare at him for a second, thinking.

“But...uh..” you try and find an answer. “no colored stuff with white clothes? And no black with colors?” You try, and he grins, tail wagging.

“Good girl. See? You’re not dumb, you just didn’t know.” He praises. “now press start and then we can go laze around a little until it’s done.” He says, making you happily press the start button.

Something that Jungkook has noticed, is that the entire apartment seems oddly.. sterile almost, in that it looks and feels taken straight out of a magazine. You’ve got no thing personal it seems like, no blankets that aren’t a neutral color, no toys, no plushies despite you telling him by now that you love these things. Instead, you only really have your little gaming console and that’s it- your bedroom is mostly taken over by designer clothes and shoes, as well as all sorts of accessories. The bathroom contains shelves full of skincare for face and body, but everything else appears to be not at all to be your personality.

“You can get yourself some new blankets for the couch now that we’ve cleaned up.” Jungkook mentions, but at that you simply begin to pout next to him, legs pulled close to you as you slide down a little, slouching.

“Nah, they’ll say no.” You huff, watching the TV commercial play.

So you really meant it when you said that the company has full control over your money. He believed it might just involve big spendings, which would make sense- but it looks like it more so involves every single purchase you make instead.

“How long is your contract?” He asks, and you shrug.

“I think forever.” You say, flopping to the side, legs hanging off to the floor. “I don’t know.”

“Thats.. not legal.” Jungkook frowns. “did you never renew it?”

“Huh?” Your ears tilt towards him for a second. He still wonders why one of your ears is floppy these days. “..no. I don’t think I ever did.”

“I.. how long have you been with them?” He asks, and you hold your hands in front of you to start counting. And the more fingers you seem to add, the more concerned he becomes.

“Well, I uh.. wait, I left when I was..” you mumble to yourself. “and now that I’m.. I think eleven years?” You answer, looking at him.

The maximum contract length for hybrids is five years.

Five.

“I.. okay, can you do me a favor?” He asks, and you nod, slowly sitting up. “next time you’re at your company’s HQ, try and get a hold of a copy of your contract. But don’t tell anyone what you need it for.” He says.

If he can get a copy of whatever slave contract you’re under, getting you out of it will be easy. There’s strict laws for hybrids in place after all- one can’t just work them like pets, there’s rules every company has to follow. And that is the same in your industry as well.

“am I gonna go to jail?” You ask, and Jungkook shakes his head.

“No no, you did nothing wrong.” He denies, reaching out to pet your head- pleasantly surprised when you visibly accept the gesture.

Because he speaks the truth. You did nothing wrong.

You were simply used from the start.

♥━━━━━━━━━━•.♡.•━━━━━━━━━━━━♥

On Monday, jungkook is standing at your door, 7 AM.

And you really, really do not want to go with him.

“Come on now-“ he urges again, pulling on your fluffy sweater while you cling to the doorframe of your apartment building entrance, having just seen what exactly Jungkook uses as his preferred means of transportation.

“No, you’re not getting me on that death-trap, no way in hell!” You complain, escaping his grasp just for a second before his arms are around your middle, easily removing your fingers from the door with a smile sent towards the security guard as reassurance, before he carries your struggling body towards his Harley. “No!” You complain. “This is kidnapping! Abduction!” You cry out, before he puts the helmet he’d gotten recently on your head, hands fastening the strap beneath your chin before he gets onto the motorcycle as well, sitting in front of you.

And the second it roars to life, you’re clinging to him with arms and legs involved, resulting in Jungkook adjusting your grip a little to not strangle him.

Well- at least he’s not driving fast.

“I hate you.” You complain when he removes the helmet again in the underground parking lot beneath the dance studio, pupils still blown wide, cheeks a bit flushed.

“If you just got up yourself like a big girl, I wouldn’t have to drive you.” He easily tells you, helping you down from the vehicle. “we’ll do this again and again until you learn.” He explains, stepping into the elevator with you- still lowly growling to yourself, pissed off at his attitude.

You’re not a kid. He’s stupid.

But it does work, because at least you somewhat practice with him for a few hours, before you stubbornly lay down starfish style in the middle of the practice room, demanding a break- one he grants for once, even if it’s just ten minutes.

“I really don’t wanna go to that contest.” You huff, half of your face squished against the shiny floorboards. Jungkook slowly walks towards you, squatting down to flick his finger against one of your ears that’s again, a little floppy today.

“I know.” He answers, because he does still remember your outburst, devastating cries edged into his mind.

“Hey Jungkook?” you ask, as he absent-mindedly rubs your ear between his fingers, almost enchanted by the softness of it.

“Yeah?” He answers, noticing the way you clearly enjoy such a simple touch to the fullest. You’re constantly surrounded by people, and yet it’s clear that you’re touch-starved and just treated like a doll and nothing else. How lonely must you have been until now?

“Do you have a girlfriend?” You ask. “or a boyfriend?” You wonder, leaning into his hand with closed eyes.

“No.” He answers, unsure and most of all suspicious.

“nice.” You smile, tail wagging softly. “I’m your girlfriend then.” You decide, and he freezes.

“...what?” He asks, sitting down now, a water bottle next to his crossed legs. “You can’t.. that’s not how it works.” He explains, but you shrug.

“My mom and my dad didn’t like each other either.” You reply, staring at nothing ahead, chin on your hands. “they just.. got together out of convenience. Cause they were the same hybrid breed, and I guess didn’t have anyone else at the time.” You mumble. “love isn’t real anyways. I’m pretty- isn’t that enough for you to like me?” You ask, turning your head to look at him with a gaze so.. detached that it makes him feel pity.

Is that your view on the world around you?

“You are pretty.” He responds. “but that’s not a foundation for.. a relationship.” He shakes his head.

“I don’t mind that you’re a mix.” You shrug. “you’re handsome, I’m pretty, and I have money.” You say. “if we get together thousands will flock to your dance studio. You’ll be super successful. “ You propose to him. “doesn’t even have to be for long. You can just.. I don’t know. Spend some time with me until you get bored, and then move on.”

“No.” He denies again. You frown.

“Huh.” You huff, slowly sitting up. “whatever then, I guess.”

“Do you even like me?” he asks you, confused, and you shrug before nodding.

“You’re nice. A bit stick-up-you-ass, but overall nice.” You offer.

Jungkook just watches you for a second, in full disbelief at what had been done to you. Raised in a place of luxury, with a golden spoon in your mouth and lies fed daily to create the view you have on everything around you right now. No kindness without some ulterior motive fits your reality. Everything has to be convenient for everyone involved.

“I don’t want a relationship without love, no matter what I might gain from it.” He explains himself, and you roll your eyes, before you flop onto your back, arms crossed again as you sulk. “You shouldn’t settle for less either.”

“Yeah well I wont get that.” You answer. “no one wants me. They want.. her.” You say, while twirling the silver name tag from around your neck in your fingers.

Until he leans over you, body entirely covering yours for a second, causing you to become nervous and wide eyed at his bold move. He’s looking at your neck, and you’re sure he must’ve realized what’s in it for him- after all, everyone is out for something to gain.

His hands move around your neck, fingers warm. You close your eyes as his face draws closer, awaiting the inevitable.

When suddenly, the collar around your neck is undone, and pulled off your neck.

“what-“ you ask, eyes open again as you watch him still above you, now looking into your eyes, and no longer anywhere else.

“I don’t want her.” He says, referring to the name on the tag around your neck that’s now in his hand, pushed into the floorboards where he holds himself up.

“But I’d like to get to know you instead.”

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evilminji · 3 months

Text

You know how in Naruto, Sealing is a Finicky Art?

It's like computer coding, calligraphy, and symbolism had a super-powered/reality bending baby. You gotta think in VERY ADHD twirls and swirls too be any good at it. Which is why the Uzumaki rocked it so hard. But I digress.

Is Complexe AF.

Bends Reality and is EASY to fuck up.

Wanna bet? The BEST way to learn/use it? Is to copy already functioning examples? But Oh! How do you KNOW they are functioning? Safe? Well OBVIOUSLY, your Skilled At Seals teacher looks at it first! THEN gives it too you!

Using random seals you find in the dirt is how you get splattered across three different countryside in peices, after all. Possibly take out a nearly Town or two while your at it. No One Is THAT Dumb... RIGHT?

Enter Stage Right o/~☆ Humanity, Everybody! *polite, if strained, golf clapping*

They ABSOLUTELY Are!

Especially Ninja!

Ninja who, after fuckin MURDERING A WHOLE ASS VILLAGE OF SEALING MASTERS, decided to pick through the rubble! Because THAT is gonna work out GREAT! After all... it's not like you just KILLED the fuckers who could tell you what IS and IS NOT functional!

Was that once the "hazardous advanced class' sealing failures" bin? Or was it the "super awesome candy and rainbows" stash!? You don't know. NO ONE DOES NOW. You fuckin KILLED THE PEOPLE WHO DID.

They had their own REGIONAL Sealing Script.

You know, the one they taught to THEIR STUDENTS. Not outsiders. The students you KILLED, you absolute fuck nuggets. But hey! The threat of the Super Scary Sealing Masters is no more! Good job. You've successfully burned down the library. It can't hurt you ever again.

But NOW? You have piles upon piles of GIBBERISH.

You can only VAGUELY tell the novice seals from the master's. And even then? Do you have any idea what most of them DO? Nope. And after a certain point in training? The shaky, uncertain hand writing becomes smooth enough, that it all blends together in "Seals".

Now... what is the SMART thing to do?

Curse your hubris and the atrocities your fear allowed you to commit, obviously. But BEYOND that, Don't Touch Them. But we're Ninja. So WE are all suicidal idiots. The less smart but still Reasonably Precautionary thing to do? Study the amateur Seals. Learn Sealing from other masters.

Crack the Regional Script and slowly, painstakingly, work through each seal as we sort out what is and isn't safe. What can be salvaged. What can be used and how.

A process that will likely take years if not decades.

But of course, that's not GOOD ENOUGH for certain grabby handed, power hungry, short sighted, fuck weasels! No, no. It much EASIER to just throw human life into the blender until profit pops out! Completely IGNORING, of course, that SOME of these?

Could very well be the "Too Dangerous To Ever Use/Will Destroy Us All/Take Them All With Us" type of Seals that Kage usually LOCK UP. The kind you CAN'T destroy once you've made them, because the fall out would be WORSE. And?

Even if you are a murderous, middle management, go nowhere in your life, BASTARD of a ninja? Sometimes you can look down at the massive, intricately detailed, killer off nation's before you. Something that was WRAPPED in locks upon locks upon chains upon seals. And KNOW in your selfish, survival at all costs little heart... You DO NOT want anyone to fuck with this.

You CAN NOT let anyone fuck with this.

NO ONE can be allowed to touch it.

Not for ANYTHING.

You may fear S Class Kage and Missing Nin and what all else they may do to you. But THIS? Your eyes can't even properly FOCUS on it. It's like a tunnel that's lined with poetry, stretching all the way to the Earth's core. It's perfectly flat. It moves, a gentle rotation. But is that just your eyes, tricking you?

So much ink, it swallows the scroll, and this is when it's COMPRESSED.

How many nations?

How many NATIONS must this monstrosity span, when free?

It must have taken a Master decades, if not their entire life, to complete. Possibly a family, several generations. But... but gods it is a work of MADNESS. No wonder it was sealed. It speak, you... you THINK... of Death...

Of it's KING.

Something BEYOND the Shinigami. BEYOND Death and the Purelands.

Who the FUCK would try to summon something beyond GODS? Did they think they could control it? Chain it like the bijuu? You're so cold inside. Because you KNOW. You fucking KNOW, the ambitions and arrogance of those above you.

They'll think they can.

They won't listen.

You... you have to take this and RUN. You stand no chance. But no chance is better then oblivion. Anything is better then standing by and watching it happen.

You obviously don't make it. You never expected too. But at least... at least you won't have to watch whatever THAT is... arrive... fuck...

At least you TRIED.

And? Because leaf Ninja, specifically certain teams, have the MOST Shit luck imaginable? They arrive, having crossed paths with several other teams, on the way back home (yay! Warm food and real beds!) Just in time to see a desperate looking ninja from one of the small villages get fuckin pincushioned. Drop what is VERY clearly an Uzushio Scroll of considerable size and SEVERE SSS+ DO Not EVER Touch Grade Type Markings, and then some joining from that same village go to grab it.

Notice them.

You know... the multiple LEAF NINJA. Who TOO THIS DAY, wear the UZU swirl on their uniforms as a mourning tribute to the DEAR AND PRECIOUS ALLIES they could not save. The Uzushio Allies. Those ones. The ones that were, in fact, from Uzushio.

LIKE THE SCROLL YOU ARE HOLDING.

By the WAY! How DID you get that Scroll? Doesn't seem like something our dear friends would just HAND over, now does it? You didn't happen to LOOT THEIR FUCKIN GRAVES did you? Cause we sure would be MAD about that!

Real Mad.

Dude obviously panics. Because that? That is a VERY pissed off bunch of Ninja, many in the bingo book, one of whom is Very Clearly throwing off BIJUU CHAKRA. And just said "my family's" Ha ha... Oh Shit that's an Uzumaki.

So he decides to USE THE SEAL.

What does it do?

He doesn't know! But it's probably SOMETHING big and impressive, right?

Yes. :) Yes it Does.

*Crack*

The SKY cracks. Like a pane of glass, struck by a hammer. Spiderwebbing as far as the eye can see above them, all from one central point, directly above the seal. The cracks there are concentrated. A point of impact. And through the cracks... something GREEN shines.

Brighter then the daylight around it, yet darker in color then the blue of the sky. Lazily whisping out like escaping mist. Time seems slow as their eyes all whip up wards. Even with senses beyond the normal human base, it is... inconceivable. SOMETHING winds back. They can not see it.

But they can feel it.

Like changing pressure as a storm rolls in.

*Crack!*

Green overtakes the blue. The sky a Kaleidescape of shards, held together by stubbornness alone. Reflecting a calm day that seems IMPOSSIBLE in the face of what's occurring. There should be wind. Great pressure changes in the face of so much FORCE, but the trees are eerily still.. utterly silent..

Nothing dares bring attention to itself.

Some distant part of their minds try to gather the thought that... that it could be an illusion. They... they should check. But they can FEEL it. Like a weight draped gently but without mercy upon their shoulders. It did not slam. But... but they can not move. Can barely breathe. It is beyond killing intent.

It is simply...

DEATH.

*CRASH!*

At last, the sky gives way. A fist, the size of towers punching through. It... it is almost elegant. A ring, almost in the shinigami's visage, wraps itself in a howling and snarled menace, around a great shining finger. A glove protects almost delicate looking, claw tipped fingers. The fist pulls back. Shard of sky falling, Floating, suspended in their moment of destruction, a glittering frame for the gapping wound that has overtaken everything.

Death...

Death has Green Eyes.

A crown of ice and starlight, pulled straight from the coldest north, hair that drifts like the drowned. His skin is that of a corpse. His breath a coldness that seems to suck all warmth from the world. There is no rage, no great irritation, his face merely twisted in slight annoyance. Mild displeasure.

And yet it feels like their greatest sin.

It BURNS.

They are ants. Less then ants. He... He LOOMS so TALL. The Green BURNS into their eyes, into their veins, chokes their lungs. The silence stretches. Those great eyes, the eyes of a GOD, move from them. To the man with the Seal.

He dies instantly.

Shit.

They... they need to... to...

Naruto wanders over and picks up the scroll, completely ignore the Giant Sky God Of Death and how all his friends are frozen in primordial fear. He roughly shakes the dirt off the delicate old relic, then squint at it. Figures he's holding it upside-down. Flipping it, he squints harder. Tilts his head and hums.

"Oh!"

He holds his hand up, turning to look at the terrifying Deity From Beyond Comprehension.

"It's me! I'm the Uzumaki! But, uh, I didn't actually summon you? Our stuff got stolen. Which really sucks!" He looks down again, brings the paper nearly to his nose trying to make out some thing. "Uuuuuh, huh. Got it! Can you get smaller? I don't got any BBQ or anything ON me right now, but Choji's Family makes REALLY good food! We can go out to eat? Ooh ooh! Maybe RAMEN! You like Ramen, right?!"

"Yep, Definitely one of Shouta's."

Rumbles The Actual Fucking King Of Death, shaking the trees and ground under your feet. As you probably stare at your fellow Leaf Nin like WTF.

"Sure, man. Give me a second."

And suddenly? He's leaning forward. Shrinking and twisting in ways that are painful to look at. The sky is... is not healing, so much as UNcracking. Rewinding itself to a pristine state. Until only a large, floating, armored God in black and white floats above you. Glowing.

One that... that is apparently FRIENDS with the Uzumaki Clan.

Because of course he is.

Naruto's introducing his Toads. And teammates. You almost feel bad for Hatake. But like? Better you then me, buddy. THEN? Death? Decides? For some inconceivable reason. "You know what? Im'ma just turn into a human WITH NO CHAKRA NETWORK. Reeeeeally freak out the locals."

And now Leaf is INCHARGE of entertaining A GOD until he decides to leave.

Or (presumably) Else.

And!! Because life loves to kick ninjas IN THE BALLS (for their stupid, STUPID life choices, YOU FUCKERS) it just HAD to be the One God? That can SEE DEAD PEOPLE. Because it's not like ninjas have Death Related Traumas or anything!

*internal ninja screaming*

Feed the guy some BBQ! Stat! Please Akimichi! Save us!

@hdgnj @hypewinter @the-witchhunter @ailithnight @nerdpoe @mutable-manifestation

#dpxnaruto #naruto prompt #dp prompt #dpxnaruto prompt #narutoxdp #whoops we summoned a ghost king!#but dont worry #UZU accidentally did that TONS #he just asks for food then leaves #cool guy #thats why were are all chakra beasts and also probably ghosts now!#naruto is like?#new frien?#new frien!#no hes not asking #minji's writing

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2smolbeans · 6 months

Text

"Nearly breaking down as you saw Marco softly smile at you. A smile you haven't seen ever since he found his 'darling'."

Part 2 Part 2.5 character info

Love Me, Love Me Not

Yandere Best Friend x Obstacle Reader

*unedited

Tags: kidnapping, complicit murder, guilt, suggestive tones, mixed signals, eventual smut, oneshot, reader is going through mixed feelings, one sided crush, yandere is in love with someone else, imprisonment, will they won't they vibes.

Disclaimer: This is just a scenario I thought of with an Oc! So nothing is really 'official' or canon-

_____________________________

One too many times, you should've called the police. Why didn't you though? Now you sit there on the shower floor, hot water burning your back as you try to warm up the chill that goes down your spine. Their eyes, oh god they were open and staring at you dead in fear. Why did you cover for him?

You felt the sob trapped in your throat rip out of you as you remembered all the horrible things you were complicit in. There was nothing you could do now but accept the reality. You wouldn't get caught. The two of you burned all the evidence, and sadly, the victims were easy to dispose of. Did anyone look for them? Was anyone curious about them going missing?

The guilt was heavy, and it didn't help that the person you did it for- couldn't give two shits about you.

Marco, your happy go lucky best friend. You remembered that night when he called you, in a panic, begging you to rush to where he was. Of course you went, you were so worried for him. Upon arrival, you saw the large bag and tools. The look on his face warning you to do as he says before he decides to have another matching body bag beside him.

"You trust me don't you? I just need help with this, and then we can be over with it!"

You should've ran, screamed, called for help. But instead, you just grabbed the lower half of the bag, feeling the dreadful sensation of its limbs. You heard a shocked hum across you before the bag lifted off the ground.

"This is why you're always my number one go to. I apperciate this, I mean it. I won't ever forget this. Now follow me 'kay?"

What a joke. It was all a lie, wasn't it? All of that just for some sick obsession. Just for his "girlfriend" to focus on him and him only. If Marco just pursued her normally like a decent fucking human being, nobody would've been hurt, lies wouldn't have been told, your friendship would've been intact..

He could've just told those once alive victims that he wanted to ask her out. If Marco just smiled at her like he used to smile towards you- you're damn sure she would've fallen for him.

It worked for you afterall..

Maybe you should've let go when you had the chance. Cause now here you are, fending for your life as the killer you once called a friend claims you're the very obstacle of their relationship.

What? But you helped him?

You're staring at her in the wrong way.

Are you fucking kidding me? Does he know how many times you cried. The nights you spent mourning for the dead and the friendship that once was?

He still cares about you. But you forced him to get rid of you.

That's funny since you're currently showering at his apartment. You can't leave, though. He's locked the doors and windows. He even went as far as locking the knife cabniet and potential weapons. Still with the shower running, you didn't flinch at the sound of the bathroom door opening.

Curled up in a ball as you sat in the shower, you finally saw the eyes staring down at your naked form. You couldn't read his face, understand his expression, or even tell what he was thinking. It was foreign, new.

"Hey. Are you done? You're taking up the water bill y'know?"

Oh right, how long were you there for? Awkardly, you tried standing up while covering yourself with what little your hands could hide. You hoped he would at least save you some dignity, but he just kept staring with a blank expression.

"Here's a towel. Dry up and come to the kitchen. I made us something to eat"

You thanked Marco as you were quick to wrap your body with the towel. Looking again at Marco, you saw a hint of dissapointnent splay upon his eyes.

"Okay..Well just-Just..do whatever. Don't take too long or else I'll drag you out myself."

Rolling your eyes, you pushed Marco out of the bathroom as you closed the door. Locking - Oh right, he removed all the locks to each room..Drying off your body, you put on the clothes he left for you. Eventually, you made it to the kitchen, sitting down on the chair as you watched him cook.

He looked so calm, so soft as he focused on flipping the meat. You almost smiled when you heard him mutter about how he spilled some oil on his shirt.

Eventually sitting down to join you, Marco gave you your food as he offered you a drink. You declined of course, not feeling thirsty and paranoid of whatever poison he might spike it with. Smelling the aroma of the food, you felt your mouth water. He was always a good cook, hell you remembered the first time you visited his place.

How he made you a nice cooked lamb with mash potatoes. You recalled it being the first time you've ever seen Marco so particular about a certain thing - even though he's always been a speradic and chaotic individual. Though, the quick realization of your perdicment made the food cold and unappetizing.

Biting your lip, you turn your head away as you felt your eyes burn.

Don't cry, don't cry.

You sucked it up. Inhaled the air that surrounded you and forced a bite into your mouth. The food was good, you couldn't deny it. But it didn't taste as good as it did before. It's good, you say. Nearly breaking down as you saw Marco softly smile at you. A smile you haven't seen ever since he found his 'darling'. You want to run away and cry, to start fresh and new.

"I'm actually glad you moved in with me, it feels nice talking to someone who's helped me"

With the murders?

"Hey, we finally reached one of our bucket lists! To be roomates! Huh, well isn't that kind of funny? And we didn't even plan it out- kinda just happened huh!"

He was just rubbing the salt in the wound at this point. Forcing a smile, you just continued eating, chewing your food as a distraction as he kept on staring at you. Where's his girlfriend? Why didn’t he just make her move into his apartment if you're in the way?

"Oh her? She's at work, don't worry about it"

You stop eating, finishing your plate as you push it towards Marco.

"All done? I'm glad you enjoyed it! Just sit right there while I put everything away"

Is there any way for you to escape? There has to be a way, right? What are you doing here? How long is Marco planning on keeping you alive?

"Hey, your not thinking of doing anything weird right?"

You nod your head no profusely, trying to get his suspicion off of you. Patting your shoulder, Marco motions you to the couch. Sitting down before you as he drags you along with him. Placing you on his lap, he turns on the TV- switching through channels while you freeze on the spot.

"Is there anything you want to tell me?"

Out of nowhere, his hands slowly begin to play with your shirt. His fingers rubbing up and down your sides, his crouch nearly pressing against you. Confused, you just sit there, your hands on your knees as you glued your eyes to the screen.

"You're not lying to me, are you?"

His voice is so sweet, so much closer than you anticapted. You nearly buck against his touch just as his palm brushes a certain spot ever so subtly. Why was he doing this? You had a slight speculation why - or at least a hopeful stupid thought that would fufill your old wishes.

"...If you say so"

You find yourself now sitting beside him, pushed off of his lap. Feeling the weight shift on the couch, Marco stood up and walked away for what seemed like forever.

"I just remembered I have to quickly run by to get some things. I'll be back.."

If like nothing happened, you were alone. Confused, you wave your hands around as you scrunch up your face. Talking to yourself as you pace around the room. Calming down, you walk towards the door. Examining it as you realised that Marco had left one of the security laches loose. Should you risk it? You could grab the butterknife he gave you for the meal to loosen the door..

Oh fuck.

You could perhaps finally leave.

____________________________

Part 2 coming up soon!

____________________________

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thexsilentxwordsmith · 6 months

Text

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!Reader

Author's Note: Yes I reworked this piece because I liked the concept of forbidden attraction, but wanted it slightly different cause I didn't like how I executed it the first time. I think this works much better! Also stay tuned for Tuesday, October 31st cause we have a real treat for Halloween coming!

Joining the 141 had one hard rule: no relationships of any kind between members, but that is something proving to be too much the closer you and Simon get.

You weren’t meant to be here, panting like an animal in heat, nearly naked in Simon’s bed as his fingers traced burning lines down your abdomen and over the curve of your hips to tug playfully at the seam of your panties. Yet that's exactly where you found yourself.

You were pure temptation, forbidden fruit, the most delicious type of sin; you were not supposed to be doing this, but from the moment you first met when you joined the task force as their medic he knew he had to have you and nothing could sate that growing, gnawing hunger in him until he possessed every last inch of you for his own.

It had started innocent enough: chaste glances whenever you came into contact, friendly quips and pleasantries, guiltless touches that never lingered more than need be… until that just wasn’t enough. That nagging ache was just too strong to hold off the closer you both got, the attraction clouding all judgment that told him this was wrong and that he should leave it alone; coworkers couldn't get involved, that was the one rule that was strictly upheld when you joined the task force.

This wasn't like him to risk his job, but he just couldn’t let these feelings go.

How could he when you made him feel alive for the first time in years? Even just being in your presence left him giddy like a fucking teenager again, full of raging hormones and excitement for days after. Why would he not want to have that all for himself?

You weren’t much better, not once you realized what was happening between you. “We’re just friends,” you’d repeat over and over as if the very utterance of the phrase could alter what was slowly creeping its way inside your mind, but the more Simon found reasons to come visit you in the infirmary, the more you knew what not nipping this in the bud would lead to.

And yet you didn’t want it to stop.

He was more than the stoic killer, the man cloaked in the face of death; he was passionate and smart and he looked at you as if he would burn everything to the fucking ground and salt the earth just to have you. To be coveted in such an all-consuming way, having never experienced something so intense before, that was euphoric. How could you possibly let that just walk away?

It was just drinks, it was just staying out a little later than usual, it was just a little crush that’ll pass; that was your excuses for him time and again. And yet you could not help the way you began to imagine coveting such intense passion for your own or what it would be like to have such a strong, virile man take you rough and exasperatedly. To belong to someone who was so obviously obsessed he could not help himself that he was willing to risk it all, put his entire life into jeopardy, it was hard not to get sucked in.

No, not just anyone. Simon. Only Simon.

So that was how you found yourself in his room after hours by some flimsy excuse made that you couldn’t even remember now. And the low light of the room, the tension permeating the space like a heavy fog, the closeness of that beast of a man as he looked down at you with those eyes that screamed he was being swallowed whole by his desire was enough to make things start.

Calloused fingertips sliding across your bare arm were then suddenly around your waist and then your hip. Not once did you try to swat his hand away; you didn’t want that feeling caused by his touch to stop, the one making your mind fuzzy.

Then his shirt was off along with your own and Simon found himself struggling to breathe. Inhaling deep and exhaling just as heavy, he could only stare back at all that soft, supple skin. “Goddamn,” he stammered out the breathless word as those fingers traced patterns on your palms hanging at your sides. “You’re more beautiful than I coulda fuckin’ imagined, sweetheart.”

You’d patched him up so many times, seen more of him than anyone else, and yet here and now it was like experiencing the sight of him bare before you for the first time. Pupils dilated, breaths hitched, nerve endings exploded to life and the overwhelming urge to explore each other until you both knew the other by touch alone filled the space between you.

Those same fingertips played with the button on your jeans, testing how far you were willing to let him go. At any second there was an unknown fear your hand would push his away and you would stop this right in its tracks, but as you gave him a nod and he undid your jeans and slid them down your legs, he allowed himself to hope that this wouldn’t end at all.

Suddenly he grabbed your hand and brought you over to his bed, sitting you down to sit beside you so close he was pressed into your side. Being this close, everything became so clear and even though the room was anything but cold, a shiver went up his spine a the weight of his decision.

"Take it off," he murmured near the side of your head as he filled his nostrils with your scent, that natural musk that was specific to only you, the one that made it near impossible to function whenever you were close. "The mask. I want ya to take it off."

You couldn't be stopped. With unsteady hands you reached up to his face, gently sliding your fingertips under the thin fabric covering his face and slowly you pulled it up and over until all of his visage was revealed to you. It wasn't the first time you'd seen him, but this time was so much more important.

Copper eyes sparkled now that they were released from the bounds of the mask, shifting colors in the pale light as they were so full with emotion. Lust, yes, desire, of course, but so much more and you were caught in their penetrating gaze.

His hand moved up to cup against your face, thumb rubbing back and forth across your cheek as his eyes flitted to your lips where he watched the moistened, full bits of flesh call him to embrace. Instead of connecting those yearning bits of flesh, his hand wandered to the back of your head to pull it towards him so that he could rest his forehead against yours.

"I need ya," he said, that gruff voice unable to hide the begging lilt in his tone, "so fuckin' bad."

“We really shouldn’t be doing this,” you whispered the half-hearted objection with eyes closed as he leaned in and ghosted his lips over your own, so close he could taste your muggy breath.

Risking more, your fingertips glided across the bulky muscles of his abdomen, called as if by a siren’s song to stroke along all that beautiful skin available for you alone. They danced over the sparse covering of hair that led down into his pants and the sound of him trying to gulp down air to fill his lungs as his breath got caught in his chest caught your attention.

The unbearable need to shove you down onto your back, spread your legs to slip in between, and fuck you until you were too exhausted to move flooded his veins; it was a monumental task to keep himself from giving in, but he had to be sure you wanted this just as bad, that he was not taking something that was not his to take.

That you were willing to accept the risk as well.

“Then tell me ta stop,” he breathed back onto your parted lips, rough fingers taking your chin firmly into his grasp to pull your head up so that he could place his lips along your jawline. Each caress of his mouth sent shivers down your spine, tiny pricks of electricity that had you reeling in agony for more.

Under your chin and down the side of your throat he went, scourging the flesh for anyone else that would dare come after him. “Shove me away, tell me to get the fuck out so ya can get dressed and leave,” he groaned into your skin. “Tell me ya don’t want this and we’ll never fuckin’ speak of it again. But…I want ya to stay; I'm tired of pretending you're not in my goddamn veins and that I don't dream 'bout all the ways ta make ya mine.”

You swallowed hard, sanity slipping violently away the longer his mouth left those euphoric trails of tingles down your neck until your cheeks flushed crimson while that damp heat continued to gather between your legs. Bodies molded into one another, desperately begging to become one in that lust-fueled connection that would send you both straight to hell, the air thick with unrequited desire that had built to its breaking point, you knew there was no way you could leave him now.

Your choice had already been made the moment you stepped inside his room and he shut the door.

Opening your eyes, you waited until he felt you move and pulled his head up so that you could look directly into those copper eyes nearly black now in the dim light. “No,” you shook your head, “I can’t leave, not now. I need you Simon; fuck, I need you so bad it hurts.”

What more was there to say to that? He had wanted to hear you say those words for so long now it almost didn’t feel real, as if at any moment he would wake up alone in his room with a wet spot staining his boxers and the cycle of agony would continue.

Harshly he moved his hand back to where it was wrapped around the back of your head and taking a deep breath he pulled your face to him to crash his yearning mouth onto yours. Fiery and aggressive he captured your lips over and over, greedy to make up for all the lost time he had spent pining for their embrace.

Simon needed you like air in his lungs, like a man dying of thirst needs water, and in that moment nothing existed in the entire world outside of that bed: not consequences or repercussions for his actions, not reprimands or disciplinary actions, not court-martials or anything else the higher ups could threaten him with. The ecstasy of you was worth all the goddamn bullshit he may face for the crime of needing you.

Advancing on top of you, he pushed you down onto your back until you were pressed into his mattress beneath him, his body buzzing from the high of finally unleashing the monster that had kept him suffering. Torsos pressed firmly together so that you could hardly breathe, limbs intertwined as he easily slid between your thighs, hips grinding into one another, he completely lost himself.

“Never thought I’d hear ya say those words,” he groaned into your mouth, making you swallow down his desperation. “Needed ya for so fuckin’ long, thought I was gonna lose my goddamn mind, luv. It’s been so hard tryin’ to keep distance between us. I'm fuckin' dyin' wantin' you and not being able to do a damned thing 'bout it. I don't care what the fuck the rules say, I have ta have ya.”

“Then take me,” you moaned as your hands slipped between your burning bodies and rushed to his belt to loosen it so that you could undo his pants and pull them down. “Please, Simon. Please. I need to feel you inside me.”

Simon shimmied to help you until they hung around his ankles and he could kick them off, that same he did with his boxers, never letting up on his assault of your mouth. Fuck, he was so hard it was nearly painful and he hissed as the head of his cock brushed up against you. His large hands pulled at the crotch of your panties, sliding them to the side and out of the way.

The excitement of the moment had gotten to your body and what met his fingers was that sticky moistness that meant you were ready for him. Sitting up on his knees he aligned the tip of his cock so that he could slip through your delicate petals to coat himself in your juices, adding lubrication to make this easier.

You got the first feel of what he had to offer and fuck was more than you could have imagined as it throbbed and pulled near your aching hole. Grabbing onto your hips, he pressed his swollen tip directly onto your entrance and thrust until it slipped inside. Instantly you were filled with him, fuller than you had ever been before, and your head flew back as you mewled loudly at being stretched to capacity.

The agony was finally over.

"N-nh… mmm…" Simon groaned behind closed lips as he jerked. So fucking tight, so soft and warm and wet, it was more than anything he could have hoped for and he had to pause a second to collect himself.

Right and wrong didn't exist anymore, it was only you and him now, reveling in that thrill of experiencing each other for the first time in that most intimate way. As he began to thrust back and forth through your pussy, he knew he would do whatever it took to have you like this over and over again, fuck the rules.

And as his body meshed perfectly with yours as if you were created for one another, cock pounding into you to make the desperate moans escape your lips like quiet praises, you knew that from that moment on no matter what came you were his.

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faintedlcve · 7 months

Text

YOU COULD'VE DIED!

So I had this request and I totally forgot about it and I'm so so so so so so so sorry lol

Pairing: Theodore Nott x fem!reader

Warnings: mentions of weight, anxiety attacks, eating disorder, reader has adhd, not proof read and my writing lol

Request: So the reader a long time ago like when she was eighth/9ish used to be on the bigger side before her adhd meds and then got really skinny and stuff and timeskip to sixth year her meds don’t really work aswelll so she starts getting an appetite that was usually suppressed and she quit quidditch last year because of stress and her biggest fear is secretly getting fat again and she starts to have so much anxiety about it

WARNING: I am in no way shaming any one in this text. You are beautiful the way you are. I'm just adhering to the request. I do not agree with anything horrible about weight or anything else you can think of that is in this text.

I'm also really really sorry if you go through eating disorders or something similar to what's mentioned in this text x stay strong xx you're not alone 💕

Most people have nightmares about psycho killers in white masks with a knife who are really crazily into fictional movies they try to make it reality. Most people have nightmares about falling from really high cliffs with jagged edges that could rip you in half quicker than the speed of the platform 9¾'s train. Most people have nightmares about burning in fires that could kill you probably faster than the Dursleys burnt Harry's hogwarts letters.

But not you. You had nightmares about gaining weight. About being the girl that you were when you were nine. You hated your ADHD but oh those adhd meds really helped you to stop being the obese person you were. You were disgusted by your younger self even though you shouldn't have been.

You sat in the Great Hall processing your nightmare. You knew you had a normal weight, probably even lower than healthy. And yet you looked around at all those pretty girls with effortless hourglass bodies and wished you could look like them. You knew you had a normal weight and yet your dreams, or perhaps nightmares, kept on taunting you about it.

Those thoughts clouded your mind. Filled your head. Over and over. And over. Until you felt like starving yourself. And you'd do that until you fainted and realised it's really unhealthy. But then it'd be too late and this vicious cycle continued until you felt like you couldn't do it anymore. Until you were sick of being yourself. Until you wished you were anyone but yourself. Until y-

"Hey y/n!" Theo greeted you as he entered the Great Hall. He was the first one there. After you of course. He grabbed a vanilla cupcake with strawberry icing and sprinkles for himself and a chocolate cupcake with chocolate icing for you.

"here I got you a chocolate cupcake with chocolate icing. Your favourite." Theo smiled as he passed it on to you.

Even though your heart wanted to accept it, your brain knew better.

"no I'm fine, really! Thanks so much though! I'm full" you replied. as if to reprimand you, your stomach rumbled.

"your stomach disagrees" he chuckled. "go on have it it's fine it's just a cupcake"

You knew he was trying to be a good friend. You knew he was looking out for you at yet it was so hard for you to suppress the urge to scream "just a cupcake? JUST A CUPCAKE?! well, I'll have you know that cupcake contains sugar and butter which stores in your body as fat so you wouldn't even suggest it unless you hated me" you obviously didn't say it out loud. You knew you were overreacting in your head.

"erm no thanks." You politely turned the offer of the cupcake down.

"Ya sure?" He asked one last time.

"yup." You replied.

"alright suit yourself" Blaise said as he leaned across the table to get the cupcake from your side.

You didn't have dinner that night and the couple of nights after either. You knew you should've. But you were so insecure about your weight you just couldn't. So you didn't. And you should've. You really should've.

Unfortunately for you, you realised that too late.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡*:☆

You woke up on a white bed. Where were you? You glanced around. There was no way. You were in a hospital bed. After Theo explained it to you, you realised what had happened. On your way to the dorm you had fainted due to the lack of food. You had no energy left in your body and it finally gave out. Theo had realised you had fainted and had carried you to the Madam Pomfrey's. He looked strangely cross at you.

"T-thanks" you replied to him.

"for what?" He said. "I couldn't save you."

"you kinda did" you said smiling at him.

He pulled something out of his pocket and handed it to you. It was a cookie.

Before you could say no, he cut you off.

"you are eating this cookie right now or I will never forgive myself for letting you starve yourself."

You reluctantly grabbed the cookie.

"you didn't make me starve myself. I did it to myself. It's not your fault." You replied as you broke a piece off the cookie.

"but why?" He asked.

"sorry?"

"why did you starve yourself"

"erm i well i had a nightmare I was gaining weight and I thought I was I had gained half a kilogram since last year and I just thought I'd look ugly and I just didn't want to not be liked by anyone!" there it was. The word vomit. The bundle of feelings inside of you all out to the one person you thought would be disgusted by you if you ever gained weight. The one person you loved.

"Woah! Slow down. No matter how many kilograms you put in you'll never be fat or ugly! I can't believe you let a nightmare lead you on! You can't have an unhealthy relationship with food!" He exclaimed.

"you're just saying that."

"I'm not just saying that. I mean it y/n. From the moment I laid eyes on you, I fell in love with you and a couple kilograms isn't gonna change that." He replied.

"Aw- wait you what?!" You asked realising what he just said.

"I thought it was obvious? I love you y/n. I always have" Theo said. "but I'm still cross at you for not eating food."

"ok ok I'm sorry." You replied.

"YOU COULD'VE DIED!" Pansy exclaimed bursting into the room.

"Jesus Christ Pansy! You almost gave me a heart attack!" You said shocked at her entrance.

But you knew her words were right. And so were Theo's. From that moment you tried to prevent yourself from starving yourself and with the support of Theo and all your friends it was that much more easy.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡*:☆

A/n: the ending kinda sucks lol sorry for the lateness of this x hope you liked it!!

Taglist: @m3ntallyunstable34 lmk if you want to be added to my taglist (through asks or you can message me x I'll always respond ❤️)

#harry potter #harry potter imagine #theodore nott #theodore nott fluff #theodore nott x reader #theo nott #theodore nott x y/n #theodore nott x you #lorenzo zurzolo #theo x reader #theodore nott imagine #theo fluff #theo nott x reader #theodore

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megamindsecretlair · 7 months

Text

What's Your Favorite Scary Movie?

Pairing: Ghostface x Black!Fem!Shy!reader / Plus Size reader

Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, You are in charge of your own reading experience. Intentional use of AAVE. Smut, PWP, cursing, protected PIV, oral (male receiving), size kink, degradation kink, toxic smut, stranger smut (but implied relationship), praise kink, mocking, minor knife play, use of pet names, all consensual. Mention of drinking and tipsy sex. Implied relationship.

Summary: At a Halloween party, you lure a sexy Ghostface down to the basement for a little bit of naughty fun.

Word Count: 2,231k

A/N: I am feral. I've been feening for Ghostface smut, so I wrote some for a little Friday the 13th fun. Wish I got this out sooner, but well. Listen, a time was had writing this! I hope you enjoy. Because I definitely did! Please consider commenting and reblogging to help support writers!

You couldn’t take your eyes off of the tall man wearing a black tank, black jeans, and a Ghostface mask. The party raged on all around you, but you were only concerned with getting next to him.

He wore the mask so you weren’t sure what he looked like. He could be ugly. But there was no way that he had a body like that, tattoos covering his muscled arms, and he was ugly. But that wasn’t the point. He exuded a type of indifference that made you want to flock to him.

You weren’t that thirsty though. You adjusted the suspenders on your school girl outfit. The skirt was completely inappropriate. It stopped mid thigh and if you coughed too hard, you’d flash anyone behind you. The sweater was a size too big so that it hung down past the skirt. Your dress shirt was a size too small and half buttoned up anyway. You wore a sexy bra underneath but the sides of the shirt were just long enough to cover it. All anyone saw was your exposed chest.

It was meant to be lewd. Filthy. To conjure up all those thoughts of first crushes in high school. The type of crush that you still think about to this day, even when you’re kissing your significant other. The type of crush that burned from the inside out.

Ghostface stood still in the living room, surrounded by gyrating bodies to music. Everyone was dressed in costumes for the Friday the 13th party. There were a few Jason’s and Freddy Krueger’s walking around.

You crooked your finger. If he was looking at you behind that mask, he’d follow you. You turned and went through the exact replica of Stu’s house from the movie. You went down the stairs that led to the basement.

You looked around the dingy garage. A moment later, the door opened. Ghostface walked down the steps slowly, his heavy boots echoing off of the wooden steps. His dark skin blended with the shadows in the garage and it only turned you on more.

You were dripping already. The aura this man had was intoxicating all on its own. The mask was a stark contrast, showing the fake sympathetic visage of a ghost. You squeezed your thick thighs together, trying to get some kind of attention between your legs.

“What’s your favorite scary movie?” He asked, with a voicebox from the movie. If you were dripping before, you were a sopping mess. The movie voice always strangely turned you on. He always sounded so condescending and mocking. Smug.

“Too obvious to say Scream?”

“Maybe. Why do you like that fucked up movie?” He asked. He walked closer. No, he stalked closer. His body was fluid, with a little hood lean that made you lick your lips.

Had you died and gone to heaven? If so, you definitely didn’t want to go back to Earth.

“It’s more psychological horror. The killer could be anybody,” you said.

Ghostface flexed and unflexed his gloved fingers. The leather stretched tight over big, grown man’s hands.

“Even you?” He asked.

“Even you,” you said and grinned. You backed away from him, but then his hand shot out and wrapped around your neck. You gasped at the pressure. It was just right. Not too hard and not too soft.

“You shouldn’t follow strange men down in the basement. That’s a certified way to get killed.”

Ghostface produced a knife. It was long and slightly curved. He ran it over your skin. The coldness of the knife made you gasp. It was real. You knew it was. The thought made your heart speed up. You looked up into expressionless eyes.

“You followed me. Maybe you’re the one in danger,” you said.

“I really hope so. Why don’t you pull down those panties and let me see what we got,” he said.

You followed his command. Your eyes never left the mask as you wiggled out of your panties. They were damp anyway. He pushed you backwards. Your legs connected with something solid behind you, a little too tall for you to hop onto.

He forced you down anyway, hiking your butt onto the edge of whatever it was. It felt solid and cold. The coldness seeped onto your ass, chilling you further from the frigid garage.

Ghostface dropped the knife on the object you were leaning on. He removed his hand from your throat so he could take his time removing his gloves. He ran one hand down the middle of your chest. His warm, big hands played with the edges of your bra. His other hand coasted down your outfit until he reached the end of the skirt.

“I like easy little sluts,” he said.

He lifted your skirt and ran his hands around your wet curls. “The easiest one,” you said.

“You want to be fucked, Princess?” He asked.

You nodded and bit your lip. Fuck yes, you want to be fucked. “Yes, right now,” you said. You weren’t sure what was wrong with you. You hadn’t taken anything and you weren’t drunk off your ass for once. You were a little tipsy though, the alcohol you consumed gave you a pleasant tingle. You wanted him so badly you were aching with it.

“I can’t hear you, Princess,” he said. He tilted his head, maintaining that calm and cool demeanor.

You felt like you were ready to burst at any minute. Your clit started throbbing in tune with your heartbeat. It paced at a steady tempo, building higher the longer your stood there.

“Yes, I want to be fucked. So badly,” you begged.

Ghostface laughed at you. It was cruel. It was hot as hell. “Turn around,” he said. His laughter died. The raspy sound was like its own caress over your sensitive brown skin.

You turned around and faced some type of freezer that lay horizontally. You placed your hands on the fridge and giggled at the cold top.

You could only rely on your other senses. You smelled the spiciness of his scent. His cologne passed through your nose and you inhaled deeply, committing it to memory. You heard him rustling, pulling down his jeans. His methods were concise and controlled. There was a sound of a package ripping and then more rustling.

Finally, he scooted up behind you and pushed on your lower back. Your chest hit the top of the freezer. He lifted up your skirt and slammed inside.

“Oh fuck,” you moaned. You were so wet that he went in easily, slipping nearly out already. But his was thick and long and as he really started hitting it, your eyes were already rolling into the back of your head.

He leaned forward and placed one hand on top of the freeze next to yours. The other gripped your waist, slamming you up and down on his dick.

“Fuck, this pussy feel so good,” he rasped right next to your ear. You moaned loudly, letting him know that you were thoroughly enjoying this. The feel of him. The anonymous nature of it.

You started to slam back on him on his own steam. You matched his tempo so that he was hitting you harder and harder. You felt him so deep inside of you that the tip of him hit your G spot and you cried out.

Your orgasm rocked through you and you shook from the sheer force of it. Ghostface didn’t give you a moment of reprieve. He kept up his punishing strokes, shoving you into the fridge.

The wet slap of your thighs bounced off of the walls. Ghostface slapped your ass and you tensed up, breaking your concentration. “Relax Princess,” he cooed. The tinny voicebox was just hotter this up close and personal.

You took quick, shallow breaths trying to calm down from your orgasm and still take his brutal thrusts.

You slumped against the fridge and took the delicious pleasure. You were riding a unique high and it was bliss. Ecstasy. Your cheek touched the cool metal and it was just what you needed to cool your overheated skin. Sweat clung to you. You probably looked like a proper mess but you didn’t care. That was easily one of the best orgasms you ever had.

Ghostface slowed his thrusts and tapped your cheek a few times, enough to hurt.

“Aw, is my Princess tapping out?” He asked.

He slid out slowly, so slowly to make you feel every inch of him. His mushroom head stretched your pussy and you whined, ready to jump out of your skin. He pushed back in with as much carefulness as the way out.

“Fuck you,” you groaned out. You panted, needing more. Ghostface dropped his head to your shoulder and chuckled.

“Already got that part covered,” he said. To emphasize his point, he shoved in with a quick thrust and you cried out. Banging your fists on top of the fridge.

“I want to be fucked. If you can’t handle that, maybe I’ll find someone who will,” you said.

Ghostface dug his fingers into your hair and yanked, pulling you backwards with a painful tug.

“I’ll kill anyone who touches you,” he said.

You were almost tempted to test that theory. You wiggled, trying to gauge how much room you had. Ghostface had an iron grip on you. There was no room to wiggle. If you wanted to move, it was only if he let you.

You clenched around his dick and he chuckled. “What ya thinkin’ about Princess? Me murdering someone for you turn you on?”

You tried to shake your head. It wasn’t that. But your pussy betrayed you, clenching around him again.

He chuckled again and began moving. His strokes were deep and slow. “Don’t lie to me, Princess. I don’t like it,” he whispered. He moved his hand from your waist down to you pussy. His fingers moved between your folds, searching out your throbbing clit.

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” you said. You stood on tiptoes, leaning away from him. He kept going, rolling your dripping arousal all around your swollen nub.

“I said I’m sorry!” You cried and stomped your foot. This was too much sensation. Too much stimulation. Between him working inside of you, trying to imprint there, and his expert fingers on your pussy, you were nearing another orgasm.

“Oh, please, I’m sorry,” you said. Your orgasm crested anyway. Your legs turned to jelly as your orgasm rushed over you like an avalanche. Covering you in a blanket of bliss. He picked up his pace, bringing your hips down faster and faster.

“Act like a brat, this is what fuckin’ sluts get,” he said. He slapped your ass and each consecutive one hurt worse than the last.

He finally slammed in one final time and released a string of curses. There were a mix of platitudes and you were almost certain that he asked you to marry him. You felt him twitch and flex inside of you and you were only sorry that you couldn’t feel him leak out after.

He groaned and slapped your ass one more time for good measure. He slipped from inside you and groaned as he took off the condom.

“Come lick this shit up,” he demanded. You turned and dropped to your knees. You couldn’t support your own weight anyway.

Cum dripped slowly from this tip of his dick. He stroked himself and moved closer, slapping it against your lips. “Open up,” he said.

You opened your mouth and looked into his ghost mask. His dick slipped in and he moaned. He threw his head back and released a deep sigh.

“Need this,” he said. He began to fuck your mouth. He grabbed the sides of your head and thrust in as far as he could. You slobbered and coated his dick in saliva. He leaked into your mouth, the salty flavor of him turning you on.

His head was still thrown back. His hips stuttered every so often as if your mouth felt too good on him. It was a heady feeling. Knowing that you affected him just as much. That you turned him on this much.

That the sweet curves of your body and the sweet nectar of your body was enough to make him crazy. Possessive. Feral. Fresh arousal gushed from you and you moaned around his dick.

“Like the way I taste, Princess?” He asked. His fingers petted your cheek. You smelled your arousal on him faintly.

Spit dribbled down your chin and down his dick. You nodded and moaned again. You would never get sick of this. Of being his little toy that he constantly fucked with.

He moaned and kept pumping into your mouth. “Sweet fuck,” he moaned and released himself inside your mouth. Hot splashes of cum danced on your tongue and then you swallowed him all down.

“Such a good little slut for me, Princess,” he said.

You whimpered. You popped his dick out with a loud pop and grinned at him. He nodded for you to get up. He watched you struggle to your feet, your legs feeling like noodles.

“Don’t test me again, Princess,” he said. He pulled his pants up and zipped himself back up.

“Yes, Sir,” you said with a grin. Knowing damn well that you were on your way to do just that.

Psst. There's more! The Secret Ghostface Files

#megaminds secret files #The Secret Ghostface Files #Ghostface x Black!reader #Ghostface x Black reader #Ghostface x Fem!reader #Ghostface x Fem reader #Ghostface x reader #Ghostface x you #Ghostface smut #Ghostface fan fic #Ghostface fanfic #Ghostface fan fiction #Ghostface fanfiction

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simp4wom3n · 1 year

Text

The Quiet One Pt III

Pairing: Tara Carpenter x fem!reader

Summary: After moving to New York with Tara to escape their past, y/n finds themselves desperate to keep her girlfriend safe, especially when a new killer is on the loose. ~ Word Count: 7.526k ~ Warnings: Scream VI spoilers, graphic descriptions of blood and gore, swearing (I think that's everything)

A/N: Hi!!! part 3 is finally here!! i'm sorry it took so long I have actually been so fkn busy its a lil painful I won't lie. This one also took a while to write so hopefully you guys like it - and yes there will be a pt 4 coming soon. <3

Pt1 ~ Pt2 ~ Pt3 ~ Pt4 ~ Pt5

A packed frat party with dizzying lights and deafening music wasn't the typical place you chose to reflect, yet here you were, sitting on an old couch, drink in hand, dressed in a pirate costume with your fellow crewmate nowhere to be found.

Moving to New York was easily one of the better decisions you had ever made. Escaping the small town of Woodsboro that provided you with nothing but nightmares felt like a breath of fresh air. As a matter of fact, the only thing you were glad that Woodsboro gave you was Tara.

You had been dating since your shared 3-day nightmare over 6 months ago, and your relationship grew stronger every day. That was at least until something shifted. Something in the way Tara looked at you had changed. The usual squeal of happiness at the sight of you was replaced with an almost irritated sigh. Your presence becoming more of a burden for the girl than a blessing.

Sure, you were overprotective. How couldn't you be? She was quite literally all that you had left. Sam, Mindy, Chad. They were all there, but none of them knew you like Tara did. None of them loved you like Tara did.

After the two of you were Richie and Amber's 'pin cushions', you ultimately decided you were sick of being the loner that everybody could take advantage of. The small, insignificant girl that everyone laughed at and made fun of. The weak punching bag that gets stabbed and shot on repeat.

Instead of relishing every opportunity to be alone, you now practically hate to be alone, the horror of the attacks leaving deep and permanent wounds. You rarely distanced yourself from Tara. When being with her was impossible, going to the gym with Chad was your next best option.

Although you didn't see the point at first, you quickly realised that the extra muscle would not only help you regain the strength you'd lost due to your extensive wounds, but it would also improve your ability to protect Tara, or more specifically, beat the shit out of anyone who tried to touch her.

Unfortunately, your overbearing need to protect Tara landed you in this position. Painfully reminded of what should be by Mindy and Anika's cuddling less than a few metres away from you, you blankly stare at the array of drunk teens in front of you, singing and swaying to the music whilst probably eyeing up their next hook-up.

"You alright there, y/n?" Anika's sweet voice breaks you out of your drunken haze, your sour mood and distant stare evidently not as concealed as you thought. "Yeah, fine... I'm getting another drink" You chug the rest of your drink, the poorly mixed liquid burning the back of your throat as your face scrunches at the taste, before you push yourself up off the couch, not particularly interested in a drunk heart-to-heart conversation.

Stumbling your way through the crowd, mumbling "excuse me"s and "sorry"s to every person you bump into, you make your way towards the kitchen to steal what was left of the cheap liquor.

Your muffled apologies were cut off when a strong shoulder barged into you, almost knocking you off your feet. Your drunken gaze quickly turns towards the inconsiderate asshole who ran into you, your face scrunched in annoyance until your eyes catch a glimpse of a familiar bandana.

"Tara?" Her clearly intoxicated eyes met yours briefly as she was dragged through the crowds, her arm being pulled by a dude you presumed to be an egotistical frat boy. Every ounce of alcohol left your system as you sobered up instantly, your feet quickly following their trail despite having to shove past a few unhappy partygoers.

"Tara!" you exclaim as you catch up to them on the stairs, where Tara walks in front of the jackass, willingly leading herself into an inevitable death trap. Her head turns to face you, a look of disappointment on her face that you try to brush off. "She's good down here." You sarcastically smile at the boy, grabbing Taras's arm as you gently try to pull her back down the stairs.

"Come on, let's go" "No, y/n... It's fine, I want to" "Wha-" "See y/n... she wants to" The douchebag smirks as he firmly grabs ahold of Tara's other arm, forcibly dragging her up the stairs as she loses her footing. Her grunts of pain cause every last bit of your patience to evaporate as you run up the stairs after her.

"Get your fucking hands off her!" you yell violently, yanking him down the steps by the shirt. His back collides with the wall, forcing him to stumble before regaining his footing and charging towards you. "Get the fuck off of me!" he yells, but you hold your ground. "You want to go motherfucker? Ok." Tara's protests from behind you go unheard as you uppercut him hard in the chin, his head jerking backwards as he falls to the ground in agony, blood spilling from his lips.

"Touch her again, and I'll send you to the hospital next time", You threaten him, your eyes catching a glimpse of Sam appearing out of the crowd, a slight smirk on her lips at the scene in front of her - she loved the new you.

"Y/n?!" Your focus is stolen from your moment of victory as you turn around and are met with a furious Tara. "Are you fucking kidding me?!" She scoffed in disbelief, shaking her head before she carelessly pushed past you, her shoulder bumping into you.

"Dammit"

"Tara! Will you stop?" you called after her as she continued walking quickly away from you, the rest of the group following behind you. Was the punch a little overboard? Maybe, but at the end of the day, that dude had it coming.

"I cannot believe you did that.", she yelled at you, her tone laced with irritation. "That guy was a dick. He was going to take advantage of you!" "So?!". Your jaw dropped as she finally faced you, her face purely showing frustration. No sarcasm, no guilt, nothing. You couldn't believe what you had just heard. The thought of Tara consciously allowing herself to be dragged away by some guy that would undoubtedly take advantage of her, or worse, infuriated you.

"So?! What the fuck do you mean so?!" "Maybe I didn't care because at least I would finally get away from you!... I mean, look, y/n... you're looking out for me, I get that, I appreciate that, but you never leave me alone unless it is physically fucking impossible for you to be there... you have to let me go." Her harsh tone softened the more she spoke, perhaps realising the words that were falling from her mouth as she stared into your tear-ridden eyes.

"Let you go?" you grinned wryly as tears streamed down your cheeks. "How do you expect me to do that, Tara? I love you... You are literally all that I have left. You are all that I care about. I-I moved to fucking New York because of you, like... I-I can't."

Despite Tara's gaze softening at your cries, your heart cracked as you realised that you were hanging onto her by a thread. Uncontrollable sobs began to escape you as your hand attempted to keep them in. A mixture of embarrassment and guilt washed over you as you turned on your heels and ran off towards the apartment you, unfortunately, shared with the gorgeous girl you were running away from.

In times like these, you resented the fact that you shared a bedroom with Tara.

Before you ran away, you thought you saw a flash of guilt in Tara's eyes, a thought which helped somewhat soothe your racing thoughts as you verged on the edge of a breakdown.

She was right. She always was. You never left her alone, that was true, but you couldn't let her go. You just couldn't. It had been months since Dewey was brutally taken from you, and you still have nightmares about it. She knew that. She was the one who used to comfort you when you would wake up in a cold sweat, the pictures of Dewey lying dead on the floor fresh in your mind.

You used to think you had no love to give, but now it seemed you had too much.

The rest of the group had returned to the apartment shortly after you barged down the door with tears streaming down your face. You had taken cover in Sam's room, knowing that Tara would similarly seek the comfort of your shared bedroom once she got home.

When you heard the front door slam shut and the shuffling of footsteps outside the closed bedroom door, you shot to your feet as you checked over yourself in Sam's mirror, hoping to wipe away the remnants of your recent meltdown, the weight of Tara's words still pulling on you.

With one last deep breath, you turned the door handle slowly and softly, a slight creak escaping its worn hinges. When you poked your head around the corner, you noticed your bedroom light was on, and the door was wide open, which you took as a sign of Tara's presence.

Slowly padding softly across the wooden floor into the living room, you spot Mindy sitting on the couch as Chad and Sam move around the kitchen. Mindy's kind eyes land on your dishevelled figure as you sluggishly approach her, falling back into the sofa next to her with a distant look on your face.

"You alright there, matey?". Your brows furrowed slightly at Mindy's odd choice of wording before realising you were still in your pirate costume. You chuckled slightly as you wiped at your eyes, your head nodding subtly as you gave the girl a small smile.

You sat silently for a moment, the sound of cupboards opening and closing echoing from the kitchen as Chad appeared to be searching for something. "Go talk to her.". Your eyes shifted back to the girl sitting next to you, a knowing look on her face as she smiled at you gently. You glanced toward your bedroom, watching Quinn exit the room before Chad entered, closing the door behind him.

Your jaw clenched slightly as your gaze returned to Mindy, a hesitant look on your face. "I don't think that's a good idea." You spoke softly, knowing she was upset because you wouldn't leave her alone, so there was no point. "Oh, come on, you know you want to. Just go. Go, go, go." Mindy shooed you off the couch and towards your room, your eyes landing on the door as if you were about to enter your worst nightmare.

Your hesitancy to enter caused Quinn to beat you to it, opening the door suddenly, mumbling something about her phone. You stood back, waiting for her to leave so you could try and talk to Tara. Or at least that was your plan until you heard Quinrn say something that made your heart sink.

"Did I cockblock you?"

The rest of the conversation from the room didn't help as your eyes were welled with tears. What the fuck was Chad doing with Tara in your bedroom for Quinn to say that. You harshly bit your lip in an attempt to calm yourself, an attempt which failed miserably as Chad exited the room and saw you, his face immediately stricken with guilt.

"Fuck this"

Before he could put together some fake apology, you were already turning around and bolting towards the front door. Grabbing your jumper and keys from the nearby hooks, you slid your shoes on as you shakily undid the many locks keeping you trapped inside this godforsaken apartment.

Ignoring the worried look from Mindy, when you finally got the door open, you practically jumped out of the apartment and slammed the door behind you.

Sobs wracked your body as you ran down the decrepit stairs and out the door onto the dark street. You knew it was prime time for a Ghostface attack, but at this point, you were happy to be the live bait.

Dragging your heavy feet up the winding stairs, your energy has completely depleted after your last hour of wandering through New York's streets. You didn't even have the power to think coherently, your mind completely blank as you scaled the stairs towards your apartment.

After aimlessly staring at your feet as you trek towards your door, you only pick your head up once you reach the top of the staircase. The front door was wide open. An unfamiliar figure stood in the doorway watching the TV whilst what appeared to be your entire friend group watched with them.

Sniffling and wiping away the tear tracks from your cheeks as you stalked towards your door, you entered slowly and rounded the male figure, a person you now recognised as 'the hot guy next door'. You looked at him queryingly before your eyes scanned the rest of the room, everyone looking glaringly concerned.

When your gaze finally lands on the TV, your heart sinks as you read the headline. Another ghostface attack. "What the fuck is going on?" your voice causes everyone's heads to turn towards you, some of them unaware of your presence until now. Your posture shrunk even further as everyone glared at you - some were soft, whilst others were deadly.

"Where were you?" Tara asked, a mixture of anger and concern laced in her tone. You hesitated. You didn't feel like voicing to the whole room how you had walked around aimlessly whilst sobbing and attracting weird and worried stares from random people.

"Just on a walk. Needed some fresh air." Your voice was quiet as you spoke, your eyes never leaving Tara's. She noticed how red and puffy yours were, how tears had stained your cheeks despite your blatant attempt at hiding it.

"Impeccable timing", you heard Chad mutter quietly, probably thinking you wouldn't hear it. Your gaze shifted to him as you looked at him insulted. The fact that he was even insinuating that you could have had something to do with it made your blood boil.

"Pack a bag. We leave in ten." "Sam, wait, Sam!". Sam walked quickly into the kitchen, Tara hot on her tail. You were too focused on the idea that now, because of your sulking, everyone in this room no longer trusts you. Tara might not trust you.

With a blank stare, you drag yourself further into the living room before collapsing on the couch Tara had previously occupied. You instantly brought your knees to your chest and buried your head in them, tears beginning to resurface as it appeared the world hated you more than ever.

Surrounded by Tara's perfume, you tried and failed to wrap your head around the returning nightmare that was brewing. Not only were you losing your grip on your beloved girlfriend, but you were now likely about to face up against another psycho who wanted nothing more than to see your and your friends' bodies dead in the ground.

As Tara and Sam's argument migrated back into the living room whilst Quinn phoned her dad, the sound of Sam's phone ringing echoing through the room caused you to flinch, your body beginning to involuntarily shake.

When she hung up on the caller, you breathed a sigh of relief. Unfortunately, your relief was short-lived, as you noticed Sam's face drop after she talked to Quinn's dad. She hung up the phone with a sorrowful yet determined look on her face, "I have to go to the station", she spoke as she moved to leave the apartment.

Before anyone could stop her, she was out the door, yet your eyes shifted towards Tara's sporadic movements as she searched for her jacket. "I'm going with her", she finally spoke after noticing everyone's questioning eyes.

As she reached the apartment door, she looked over her shoulder at you expectantly, almost anticipating that you would follow her. On any other day, you would, but at that moment, you selfishly decided that you were too hurt to follow after her.

After all, she didn't want your protection. Right?

You missed the look of disappointment on her face as you averted your eyes from her, instead choosing to focus on the TV. Clenching her jaw and nodding subtly, Tara turned back around and ran down the stairs after her sister.

You soon realised that letting her go was one of the worst decisions you had made to date.

They had been attacked. Of course, they had been attacked. The one time you let your emotions get the better of you, Tara almost ended up dead.

You knew the world hated you.

When you had gotten the call from Quinn's dad about the attack, you had never run so fast. You sprinted straight down to the station, desperate to see your girlfriend and make sure she was ok, even if she didn't want to see you.

When detective Bailey finally released them, you sat anxiously in an old and uncomfortable chair at the entrance to the station, your leg bouncing vigorously as your teeth dug into your bottom lip.

The sound of approaching footsteps caused your head to whip upwards, your eyes landing on Tara and Sam, visible injuries nowhere to be found on either of them.

You got to your feet quickly, standing impossibly straight as the girls finally reached you. You took a second to scan Tara, double and even triple checking that she was ok. That she wasn't hurt.

You wouldn't forgive yourself if she was.

Releasing a shaky sigh of relief, you softly nodded, whispering, "I'm glad you're ok", before turning on your heels and heading towards the door. Tara's face scrunched slightly at your behaviour, unsure why your usually confident and over-the-top personality was so... dull?

She kept her gaze on you as she followed you out the door, only to be surrounded by a bunch of reporters. Microphones and cameras were shoved in your face, and questions were hurled left and right.

You had to fight the urge to put your arm around Tara's shoulders, your head and heart at war as you still failed to comprehend how Tara felt. Whether she still loved you or not. Whether she would welcome your touch or not. You had no idea.

With the end of the sea of paparazzi finally in sight, you were seconds away from escaping until a familiar voice filled your ears.

"Gale Weathers. Channel 4."

The three of you simultaneously spun around with shock and disgust on your faces. "Do you ladies think you're the reason the Ghostface killer has come to the big apple?". You scoffed at her words, earning a raised brow from the woman.

Sam humourlessly chuckled in disbelief before you watched her swing a punch at Gale. The crowd of press gasped as Gale somehow dodged the hit altogether, a smug smirk making its way onto her face. "Nice try, sweetie, but I've done this dance before."

Your want to wipe that smug smile off her face was satisfyingly fulfilled as Tara punched her straight in the face, knocking her back as another gasp filled the air. You couldn't help but smile as Gale turned around, her mouth agape while holding her cheek.

"Stay away from us.". Regardless of your current problems, you had never felt more in love with Tara as she walked away without another glance in Gale's direction. The smile still lingered on your lips as you moved to follow the girls away from the cameras. To your dissatisfaction, Gale followed.

Listening to Gale try to justify herself for writing about what happened in Woodsboro all those months ago just made you more infuriated. 'Those fuckers can die in anonymity' is what she had said.

Yet look at her now.

When Sam mentioned what Dewey would think, you immediately tensed up, your gaze dropping to your feet as you sucked in a breath. Knowing that any mention of Dewey's name triggered you, Tara's gaze momentarily lingered on you before she returned to the conversation.

You zoned out of the rest of said conversation, only picking your head back up when Sam and Tara started to walk away. You watched as they headed towards a taxi while you began to walk back to the apartment.

"Y/n? Where are you going?" Tara's soft voice caused you to turn back, her eyes questioning you as her brows frowned slightly. "I-I was just gonna walk home... you kn-" "Get in." Tara interjected, earning a surprised look from you. "I-" "Y/n, get in the damn taxi." "Ok."

Just like before, she still had complete control over you. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn't say no to her. You watched as the two sisters entered the taxi before you rounded the car and followed on the other side. With the three of you in the back seat and Tara in the dreaded middle seat, avoiding physical contact with Tara was impossible as your shoulders and thighs brushed against each other.

Nothing but the faint hum of the radio filled the backseat as the vehicle drove away from the station. This distance, or lack of it, between you and Tara, was both comfortable and unsettling. You hadn't taken your eyes away from her hand, conveniently situated on her thigh, barely inches from yours.

The need to grasp her hand grew too strong for you to resist, so you gently brushed her pinky finger with yours before proceeding to intertwine your fingers. You mentally sighed at the softness of her delicate hand as soon as it was within your grasp.

Holy shit, you had missed her touch.

With the back of her hand facing upwards, your fingers gently moving against her knuckles, you studied her scar, which had served as a daily reminder of what the two of you had gone through together.

"I'm sorry I wasn't there... I should've -" "It's ok." Your eyes finally met hers as she gave you a warm smile, reassuringly squeezing your hand. "But what if you got hurt?" "I didn't... that's all that matters." Your eyes had begun to water slightly, the guilt of letting her go resurfacing as you looked her dead in the eyes. She gently leaned in and kissed your cheek sweetly before allowing you to rest your head on her shoulder.

Maybe everything was going to be alright after all.

"Ok nerds, listen up."

Mindy's monologue. A staple of the so-called 'franchise' you were tied up in. The whole friend group gathered on the grounds of your college, preparing to hear the numerous rules that undoubtedly come with the new title of this fucked up nightmare you were all living.

"Rule one! Everything is bigger than last time."

Great. Already off to a fantastic start. As Mindy began to explain what that meant, you grew increasingly concerned, not for your own safety, but for Tara's.

"Rule two! Whatever happened last time, expect the opposite."

Even better. Now, It apparently made no difference whether you had gone through this once before or not. To be honest, the idea of a serial killer following the conventions of a movie was still absurd and utterly terrifying to you, knowing full well what kind of fucked up shit happens in horror movies.

"And Rule three, no one is safe."

If your heart wasn't already racing, it was now hammering out of your chest as the gravity of the situation became clear. Tara shifted next to you at Mindy's comments, evidently similarly disturbed by the new rules.

But what frightened you the most was what Mindy said next. "Any of us could go at any time... especially Sam and Tara.". You had never felt so sick. You could feel beads of sweat dripping down the back of your neck as you nervously turned towards your girlfriend, fear overtaking your features.

Her eyes met yours briefly with a matching look of concern as Mindy started listing out the suspects. You had to admit Mindy was really good at this whole monologue thing, naming all the apparent suspects and their motives with ease.

That was until she looked in your direction.

"And finally, y/n.". You looked at her with wide eyes before your head rapidly scanned everyone else to see if you were the only one who didn't expect this. "The jealous girlfriend of the Tara Carpenter... who is also now, apparently, jacked.". You shook your head in denial. There was no way this was happening.

"Mindy, w-what? How come I'm a suspect? I mean, I was there for Woodsboro like you guys were... w-why?" you said, gesturing to the so-called 'core four' completely confused. A sense of betrayal was beginning to rise within you as Mindy continued to look at you with an almost sympathetic smile.

"Never trust the love interest," she said, shrugging her shoulders. "And besides, you have literally nothing to lose." Your mouth fell open. You inhaled sharply to keep your tears at bay, the comment being a ridiculously low blow from someone who typically looked out for you. "No parents, no Dewey. Even before the Woodsboro attack, you had no friends."

"Mindy!?" you heard Tara protest from next to you, clearly upset by her words. You sat in silence for a moment, processing what Mindy had said, and as much as you hated to admit it, she was right.

"No... she's right," you spoke sadly as you nodded your head, "But that's also why it wouldn't be me. I love Tara. I couldn't do anything to hurt her... ever.". You could feel Tara's eyes on you as you stared at Mindy, practically begging her to believe you, not that it mattered, seeing you weren't the killer.

But as far as everyone else was concerned, it very well could be you.

You were still slightly shaken from the group conversation a few hours ago, the realisation that you had nothing to lose playing on your mind as you sat on the couch with Anika. The 'core four' were too busy laughing whilst preparing dinner in the kitchen, whilst you spoke drearily with Anika.

"Have you guys talked about it?" Anika spoke, referring to your fight with Tara the other night. She did her best to comfort and guide you through your suffocating thoughts, your heavy bags under your eyes speaking volumes after another sleepless night. "Not really, no." "Why not?" "I don't know... We haven't really had the time, but I'm also just scared to bring it up."

Despite your new tough(er) exterior, you were still just as soft on the inside as you were before your meek existence got flipped on its head. "Well, I know for a fact that she loves you, and you love her. Your Y/n and Tara, you'll power through." Anika speaks softly, a playful smile playing on her lips as your head bobs gently, letting her words soak in.

"Yeah, well. I sure hope so." You finally move your gaze away from the girl sitting across from you, your tired eyes now landing on the TV screen as the news plays. Just as you begin to relax and enjoy the rest of your night, a new headline flashes across the bottom of the screen, erasing any traces of joy from your face.

'Sam Carpenter Named as Prime Suspect'

"Um, guys?" you shouted from your seat, loud enough to reach the others in the kitchen, whilst leaning forward to grab the remote. Turning the volume up as you hear footsteps enter the room behind you, your face scrunched in confusion as a video of Sam plays whilst the reporter's words make her out to be a psycho.

You risk a glance behind you. Sam's expression was completely blank as the light from the TV flickered on her face. You felt bad for her. You truly did. You struggle to grasp the fact that your friends didn't entirely trust you, and here she was with the entirety of New York being told she was the killer.

You were so preoccupied with the idea that the news dared to make this a story that you didn't notice Tara's eyes shifting to you. Her gaze has been drawn to your worn face. Your ordinarily bright eyes were heavy and unfocused as you stared in bewilderment at the television. She felt terrible about what she said to you a few nights before, and her heart only broke when she discovered how much damage her words had caused.

When Sam hastily turned the TV off and left the room, Tara's eyes left your figure briefly as she watched her sister move to sit solemnly at the dining table. She sighed defeatedly, the effects of Ghostface on the two of you shining brighter than they ever had before. Tara spared you one last worried glance before she followed her sister out of the room.

Chad and Mindy ultimately followed the girls, leaving you and Anika in stunned silence. The air in the room became unusually silent, the old pleasant chat between the two of you suffocated by the apartment's new tension and terror.

You sunk deeper into the couch as you pulled your legs up to your chest, the thick air ultimately releasing slightly as the sound of laughter flowed through the living room from the dining area. Tara's laughter rang in your ears, a sound you had so desperately missed.

You thought you felt her stare on you earlier, but you were too terrified to face it, your conversation with Anika still fresh in your memory. You leant your head against your knees and slowly closed your eyes, the general sound of genuine joy filling your ears as your breathing slowed and your body relaxed for the first time in ages.

You take a moment, revelling in your newfound tranquillity, to think on the emotional rollercoaster you had been sentenced to ride. Tara's love for you had never been questioned, and it wasn't her you didn't trust the night you stormed out. You knew she'd never cheat on you (or so you hoped), but you were unable to avoid what was staring you in the face.

Both at the party and in the comfort of your own home, someone you trusted and some random frat boy had come disturbingly close to finally severing the thread on which you dangled from the end of. You were holding on to Tara with your life, completely and totally unwilling to let go.

You heard the laughter slowly die before a harmony of notifications dinged throughout the apartment. You felt your phone vibrate in your pocket as you and Anika exchanged a confused glance. Hesitantly pulling your phone out of your pocket, you blinked in numbed horror as a photo of Quinn being attacked by Ghostface opened on your screen.

With the previously unheard sound of groans and bangs filling the apartment, you and Anika bolt up from the couch as the others run into the room, eyes focused on Quinn's door. Tara runs towards the door, but you instinctively grab her arm and pull her back towards you.

The feeling of her skin on yours makes your heart skip a rapid beat. You attempted to hide how her touch had affected you as you stepped in front of her, happily offering yourself up to essentially be her meat shield.

Despite your scars burning at the thought, you would much rather be the one to get stabbed if it meant Tara would be ok.

The noises of a struggle ceased as you all stood frozen, your eyes locked on the bedroom door. The silence was deafening. Your dry lips parted in silent terror, unsure whether to breathe or to scream. A single drop of sweat slowly crept its way down your forehead, the suspense reaching an all-time high.

"Run."

You recoiled in horror as the door burst open, Quinn's mangled and bloodied body being thrown out. Anika let out a piercing scream as the body collided with her, taking her to the ground with it. You try to ignore the gruesome sight in front of you as you focus on helping Anika up off the floor.

"Y/n!" Your head whipped around at the sound of Tara's distressed scream. "Wait, Y/n! Come on!" You watched in horror as Chad dragged her out the front door, leaving the rest of you to try and fight off the killer that was standing in front of you.

"Shit. Tara!" When you had Anika back on her feet, you instantly tried to follow your girlfriend. If Chad were to have learnt anything from what you had gone through, you would think it would be to not split up. That is the number one rule in legitimately every horror movie.

"Rookie."

You made the fatal mistake of assuming they were foolish enough to allow another person to escape while scrambling towards the door in a rush to avoid the killer's gaze. The others in the room watched in horror as the masked assailant slashed their knife upward, slicing directly through your left eye.

A grotesque scream erupted from your chest as you fell back onto the floor. The left side of your face felt like it erupted in flames, a powerful throbbing, making it impossible for you to think as the world spun around you. With your good eye, you watched as a steady stream of blood poured out of your gaping wound, which spanned from your jaw and through your eyebrow.

The left side of your face was paralysed with pain unlike any you had felt before. You tried to apply pressure to it with your shaky hands, but the moment your cold fingers touched your split flesh, another broken scream escaped your lips as a wave of nausea washed over you.

Mindy and Anika's screams flew straight over your head as you kneeled on the floor, the taste of blood flooding your senses as the pool of blood underneath you grew wider by the second. You didn't notice Sam's arms hauling you up off the floor until her face came into your now-restricted field of vision.

"S-Sam," you sobbed, her eyes widening and her face turning pale as she saw your profusely bleeding wound. She didn't say anything as she carried your broken form into Quinn's blood-splattered room with Mindy and Anika. She let you go the moment you walked into the room, closing and locking the door behind her to keep Ghostface from following you.

The banging on the door shook the entire room as you worked hard to slow your breathing. As you stood up, the adrenaline in your system began to kick in, and the banging at the door ceased as Sam's troubled gaze met yours.

"Y/n! Bathroom door! Hurry!" Sam whispered desperately towards you as she maintained her iron grip on the bedroom door handle. Turning your head too hastily towards the door, your vision blurred from blood loss and genuine blood falling into your eye as you lurched towards it as swiftly as you could.

As you passed through the bathroom, your hands left bloody handprints on the walls, your journey delayed by the disgustingly disfigured body of one of Quinn's many lovers - you could never tell the difference. With tears dripping from one eye and blood from the other, you returned your focus to the open doorway.

As your eyes left the mangled body, the sight of the infamous Ghostface mask made you jump as yet another scream left your lips. Your reflexes were quick as you reached for the door, trying to close it before the killer got in, but in your weakened state, they easily pushed the door back open, knocking you back as you stumbled into Sam.

They took another swing at you, thankfully missing as Sam pulled you away before you lost another eye. The two of you quickly retreated into the bedroom before you successfully slammed the door shut. Mindy joined you in trying to keep the door shut by fiddling with the lock while Ghostface proceeded to kick it down.

The room shook violently as you and Sam pushed a dresser towards the door, hoping it would serve as a better barricade. Finally getting it in front of the door, you and Mindy stood firm as you continued to resist Ghostface's merciless attempts to tear the door down.

You could feel your adrenaline beginning to wear off as the paralysing pain returned to your face. Peering down, you noticed how your blood had stained a large amount of your skin a dark crimson colour. 'That's a lot of blood.'.

Scrunching your face in pain only caused another wave to hit you as you whimpered. "What are we gonna do, f-fuck." You whispered to yourself brokenly, closing your eye as you tried to ignore the fact you were being violently shaken by someone who wanted nothing more than to kill all of you.

With your only good eye shut, you failed to notice as Sam opened the window and pulled a ladder across from her boyfriend's apartment until she yelled, "You guys go first!". Your eye snapped open at her words as you took in what was happening.

You stayed silent as Mindy argued with Sam, eventually leading to Sam crossing the ladder first whilst you continued holding your makeshift barricade. Once Sam had crossed, Mindy looked towards you. "Go, Mindy.", you spoke assertively. She tried to argue with you, but you were having none of it. "Mindy, go! I've got the door. Just get across the fucking ladder!".

Despite your vision being impaired by your own warm blood, you watched with a ghost of a smile as Mindy and Anika exchanged a sweet kiss before Mindy climbed out the window. You suppose that was one positive about everything that was happening. As far as you knew, Tara was safe, and that was all you needed.

The banging at the door grew louder as Mindy cautiously climbed the ladder. Your frail body was being pushed around by the shaky door as you yelled furiously, "Mindy! "Please hurry!" When she finally made it to the other side, you groaned and turned your attention to Anika, who was bleeding out on the end of the bed.

"Anika, go.". Her wet eyes shot up to yours, looking at you as if you were insane. "Go, Anika. Please.". A few extra tears slipped from her eyes at your words, your complacency at being left alone to die hitting her harder than she expected. You gave her one final nod before she started climbing out the window.

Your grip on the door was slipping with each passing second, the constant banging and rattling eventually leading your feet to slip on the pool of blood that had accumulated beneath you - whose blood? Nobody knows. As you plummeted to the floor, the door shattered behind you, your gaze immediately moving to Anika, who was still less than halfway across the ladder.

"Shit. Shit. Shit." you mumbled desperately as you watched Ghostface finally stalk through the doorway with you in his sight. That was at least until he heard Anika's whimpers from outside the window, causing their masked face to follow her cries. Their head tilted menacingly as their path changed, no longer walking towards you but stalking up behind Anika.

You could hear her panicked cries from your place on the floor, and despite your natural relief that you weren't the chosen target, there was no way in hell you were letting them touch Anika.

You scramble to your feet as Ghostface stabs their knife into the window sill, grabbing the back of their robe and pulling them away from the window with every ounce of strength. As you swing your arm at them, missing their head and instead hitting the headboard, they stumble back into the bed with a grunt.

You didn't quite calculate how you would fight them, seeing you were basically blind, but that probably would have been a good idea.

"Dammit," you mutter worriedly as you trip backwards, your bruised knuckles doing no good as Ghostface stands back up and elbows you directly in your fresh, gaping wound. A hoarse scream escapes your throat as you collapse onto the ground in agony.

Your agonising screams could be heard across the ladder, forcing those on the other side to panic even more. When they saw Ghostface reappearing at the window, their shouts and pleading grew louder as they tried to urge Anika to come across.

Waves of pain shot through your entire body as you curled up on the floor, sobbing hysterically as you couldn't move no matter how hard you tried, absolutely paralysed by the pain.

As you tried to lift yourself off the floor, the sound of Anika's screams resonated in your ears, combined with the violent shaking of the ladder. At this stage, you were crying violently, knowing that if you didn't hurry up and get your shit together, Anika would be their next victim.

All because you couldn't handle the pain.

You leapt off the ground in a final fit of rage, lunging at Ghostface to throw them off-balance until they eventually backed away from the ladder.

It wasn't until now that you noticed the lack of Anika's screams.

Your face paled as you briefly looked out the window. Your blurry vision was met with a glaringly empty ladder and a completely distraught Mindy. Your lips began to quiver as your eyes met Mindy's, the tears that fell down her cheeks telling you everything you needed to know.

Your heartbreak quickly turned into pure rage at yourself and Ghostface.

Your breathing grew thin and ragged as you turned back to the tall black figure, your body shaking with rage. You could almost feel their arrogance from where you stood, evidently relishing seeing you distressed.

They ripped their knife from the window sill before tossing it playfully in their hand. You, on the other hand, remained unfazed, solely concerned with the idea that this mother fucker was going to suffer for what he had just done. You rapidly ducked as their knife swung towards your head before smashing your fist into their masked jaw, their shrouded form staggering backwards at the impact.

"You. Fucking. Asshole." You spoke as you continued to throw punches at them, your rage fuelling every last bit of energy you had left. Ghostface appeared to be taken aback by your sudden outburst, at a complete loss as to what to do with their knife remaining useless in their hand as they try to protect themselves from your furious blows.

With one final punch to the face, their body crashed into the wall behind them, as they fell unconscious. With tears falling consistently down your face, you gave the killer one last look as you stood up and backed away towards the window (you never trusted them to actually be unconscious). The others began yelling your name in relief and desperation when they saw you, assuming you were dead after single-handedly defeating the madman.

Their calls broke you out of your rage-filled trance as you sucked in a large breath before looking across the ladder towards them. The pain was beginning to resurface as you felt your knees start to buckle underneath you.

"Y/n! let's go, come on!" Sam called out to you, desperation laced in her voice. You climbed out the window with one last glance at the body before you. As Anika's body came into view, you felt yourself holding back a gag. The sight of her body, combined with your weakened state, almost made you pass out and share a similar fate.

Your gentle whimpers accompanied you as you carefully climbed the shaking ladder, Sam and Mindy's beautiful voices promising you that everything would be OK - you had no option but to trust them. As blood flows from your agonising wound onto the ladder's rungs, you crawl with as much focus as possible.

Closing in on Sam's boyfriend's window, the girls both reach their arms out to you as they grab onto you and pull you into the apartment. The three of you collapse to the ground in a heap, clutching each other tightly as if one of you might slip away if the others let go.

"Tara and Chad are on their way", you heard Sam's boyfriend say as you continued to sob into her shoulder, her hands carefully avoiding your face. You remained in that position as you felt your body begin to go numb as your blood and adrenaline continued seeping from your body.

Feeling your body go weak, Sam pulls your head back gently as she goes to help you lie down. Mindy and Sam gently place you on the floor, lying on your back, your bloodied and distraught face facing the empty ceiling.

"Holy shit, y/n!"

Your girlfriend's distraught voice did not affect you as your single eye started drifting shut slowly. As blackness starts to encroach, you catch a final glimpse of Tara as she appears next to you, her face stricken with worry as her hands hover near your disfigured face.

"Y/n!?"

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dccomicsimagines · 4 months

Text

Shattered - Batfamily Imagine

Warning - Abuse, Abusive Behavior

Requested by Anon - Can I request a batfamily x reader where reader is very quiet and one day Bruce pushes too hard and reader runs away. Then reader is missing for weeks and they find her badly injured and Bruce is feeling bad

Author’s Note - This took me forever to finish. Also it spiraled into it’s own thing, but hope you enjoy it!

***

You felt your father watch you from across the cave. The punching bag swung back to you. Your fists cracked against the bag, echoing in the silence of the cave. The bats screeched in the distance.

Out of the corner of your eye, Bruce moved toward you. The tension in his shoulders, firmness of his jaw, you knew he was in a bad mood. You sensed it was caused by Damian. Damian and your father hadn’t gotten along well ever since Bane took over the city and Alfred died. Then again, Bruce hadn’t gotten along well with anyone since Alfred died. You swallowed back a lump in your throat. It hurt that you had to force yourself not to tense up when he reached you.

“Too practiced.” Bruce crossed his arms. His cowl was off. You caught the bag when it swung back to you, peeking at him shyly. “A live target won’t wait for you to punch them.” His eyes were ice cold steel. You wondered if your eyes were like that. Dick claimed you had Bruce’s eyes, but you never believed him.

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. Bruce’s lips formed a hard line. “Sorry,” you whispered finally. Your hand trembled slightly. You shouldn’t be nervous. He won’t hurt you.

“Sorry won’t save your life. Sorry will get you killed.” He turned and walked off to the sparring mat. Your eyes widened, blood draining out of your face. His hand gestured for you to follow.

Your feet moved without you realizing. Suddenly, you were on the mat and facing your father. He took off his cape and tossed it to the sidelines. “Attack,” he ordered. You blinked before running straight toward Bruce.

It occurred to you to surprise him as you flipped forward and sprang up to aim a kick to his jaw. He blocked it, pushing you away. You rolled with the push and landing safely on your feet.

“Predictable.” Bruce threw a punch your way. You barely dodged it. He was so fast. “You need to be unpredictable.”

The sparring session lasted a full hour. You had been thrown to the ground too many times to count. Your body ached, knowing you’ll have bruises the next morning.

Bruce offered his hand. You took it and stood up. “You’ll need more training if you’re going into the field alone.” He glanced at the batcomputer when it beeped with a message. “Shower and get to bed. You have school tomorrow.”

“Yes Dad.” You mumbled, holding his hand a moment longer. He allowed it and you felt comforted by it. You couldn’t remember the last time he hugged you.

Bruce pulled away too quickly for your liking, heading to the batcomputer. He joined a call with Jim Gordon. They were discussing the murder from the night before. Bruce believed it was a serial killer, thus why you weren’t allowed to patrol with him until the killer was off the streets.

You limped toward the showers. Your eyes burned with tears, your heart aching so bad you thought it was ripped from your chest. It confused you.

After your shower, you slowly walked up the stairs. Bruce was still at the batcomputer. You knew better than to bother him.

***

The next night, you sat by the batcomputer and organized files. You were still banned from patrol. The serial killer still on the loose. Your father was getting more and more unbearable. Biting your lip, you wished Alfred was here. He’d know how to get your father to stop and take a rest, but Alfred died a year ago.

A little bit of anger sparked in your heart. Why were you left to deal with your father alone? Why could all the others run off? You cursed your age, wishing you were eighteen or at least well trained enough to join the Teen Titans or something.

However, you took a deep breath, letting the anger go. You learned a long time ago that being angry with your father didn’t do any good. It was almost like he wanted your anger, so you didn’t give it to him.

The file organization was mind numbing. You peeked at your father’s tracker to see him at GCPD. He was probably talking to Commissioner Gordon about the serial killer. You wished you were with him.

Suddenly, the computer beeped that the batcave allowed access to someone. You opened the cameras to see a motorcycle flying down the tunnels. Excited, you got your feet to greet the motorcycle. As it came closer, you recognized the dark blue paint.

“Hey,” Dick greeted, parking his bike a few feet from you. “How you doing, kiddo?”

“I’m okay.” You crossed your arms tightly across your chest. “What are you doing here?”

Dick climbed off his bike. “Just visiting. Is Bruce here?” He came over to you, ruffling your hair.

“No, he’s out.” You bit your lip when he frowned slightly. Dick hummed, resting a hand on your chin to inspect the bruise on your cheekbone. You had washed off the makeup you used to hide it at school. “I’m fine.”

“You sure?” Dick pulled away. He took off his mask, looking you directly with those clear blue eyes. You avoided eye contact.

You didn’t answer, simply turning to point at the tracker on the screen. Dick went over to look. You sighed in slight relief.

“So a serial killer is on the loose huh? I saw it on the news, decided I should stop by,” Dick said, studying the screen to see all the files you were organizing.

You swallowed hard and took your seat back by the computer to continue your work. Dick watched you for a bit. “I don’t know when he’ll come home. You should probably go meet him,” you said after you heard Dick sigh.

Dick leaned against your chair, resting his arm on the headrest. “I was going to borrow some surveillance equipment. I want to stake out a few of Blockbuster’s operations.” Dick smirked when you looked up at him. “Wanna tag along?”

Your heart skipped a beat in excitement. It wasn’t until now that you realized how much you missed going out. Two weeks of only the cave and school was restricting. “Dad wouldn’t like it,” you said, biting your lip as you glanced at Batman’s tracker on the computer. He was driving through the city now. You assumed he was going to check out the next crime scene.

Dick followed your gaze to the screen before looking back at you. “Kiddo, we can leave him a note. He won’t be upset if we’re in Bludhaven.” He ruffled your hair. Your lips pulled into a smile.

“Are you sure?” You jumped to your feet.

“I’m sure. Go get your suit on.” Dick tapped your nose, grinning. “Heck, even pack an overnight bag. You can just stay over at my place.” You turned and ran off to gather your stuff.

***

Dick frowned as he watched you hurry away. You were limping. If you had been in the cave for two weeks, where would you have gotten hurt? The limp could have been a sprain, but the bruise on your cheek? Dick shook his head, swallowing hard. “Bruce, what are you doing?” he mumbled, eyeing the tracker.

Dick glanced over his shoulder to make sure you were out of earshot before tapping the comm button. “(Y/N), I don’t have time. If you’re done with the files, go to bed,” Bruce said harshly.

“It’s me, Bruce.” Dick pursed his lips, holding back a scoff. “Is that how you talk to her?”

“I’m in the middle of an investigation. (Y/N) knows not to bother me.” Dick shook his head. “Why are you there?”

“I stopped to borrow a few things and to check in on you and (Y/N).” Dick ran a hand through his hair. “Bruce, I’m taking (Y/N) with me for a few days. This isn’t good.”

Bruce didn’t respond. Dick knew what that silence meant. “Keep her safe,” he finally said softly. A moment of vulnerability.

“Always.” Dick held back the words he wanted to say. “I’ll talk to you in a few days.”

Bruce grunted and shut off the comm. Dick sighed. He would need to talk to the others about this. Dick felt responsible. He should have checked in on you more. He should have taken you with him once he first suspected. Dick swallowed hard as he heard you come up behind him. Forcing a smile on his face, he turned to you.

***

The weekend with Dick was a lot of fun, but you weren’t an idiot and Dick wasn’t that subtle. You knew Dick was concerned about your welfare. He had several calls during the weekend, calls you overheard when he thought you were asleep.

It was a relief to be home. Bruce seemed happy to have you back. Well, as happy as he could get nowadays, which wasn’t much. However, you did receive a shoulder pat before he sent you off to train. You practically melted at the touch.

You were on the balance beam, training in the balanced combat that Dick showed you. Bruce was at the computer, still going over evidence for the serial killer. He still hadn’t caught him. You were greatly concerned by the fact, but stayed quiet.

“I don’t have the time for this,” Bruce said suddenly. You glanced over at him as you practiced landing a kick without losing your balance. Bruce got to his feet. “(Y/N), come here.” You blinked before hopping off the beam and running over. He gestured for you to go to the changing room. You frowned, confused. Bruce growled. “Get ready for patrol,” he said sharply.

“Really?” you asked, voice barely a whisper. He narrowed his eyes at you. “Yes sir.” You swallowed hard and ran to get changed. Bruce was already in his batsuit.

You ran back out a minute later, strapping on your cape. Bruce marched to the batmobile at the sight of you. You jogged behind him. “I need you to stake out the other location.” Bruce hopped into the driver’s side. You got in beside him, holding back a smile at finally being in the batmobile with Bruce again. He drove off at full speed toward Gotham. “I have determined that the killer will strike in one of two locations. He leaves clues, a Riddler copycat.” He glanced at you. The hint of approval appeared in his eyes when he saw you were listening attentively. “He will strike tonight, so I don’t have the time to narrow it down.”

“Yes sir.” You bit your lip to hide a smile. He was treating you like he did Dick or Tim or Damian. An equal. You couldn’t believe it.

“I don’t want you to engage. If you see him, call me and stay in the shadows.” He suddenly stopped the batmobile by an old apartment building deep in the city. “Tracy Apartments. Watch for a man in a blue coat.” The hood opened and you hopped out. “Do not engage.” Bruce narrowed his eyes at you.

“Yes sir.” You nodded before grabbing your grapple gun and flying up to the rooftop. The roar of the batmobile sounded behind you almost like it was lifting you up and away. Landing on the roof safely, you sat on the edge of the roof, determined to do your very best.

***

Nothing happened except a few random people walking home from the bar on the corner. A homeless person entered an alley. You sighed, resting your elbow on your knee and your chin in your hand. Your father hadn’t messaged except to say he arrived at the other location.

The clock tower, only two blocks away, struck two. Your eyes grew heavy. Slowly, you drifted off only to be jerked awake when your elbow relaxed causing your head to fall. Panic filled you as you checked the apartment building. Nothing change. You relaxed, heart pounding away.

Another half an hour passed with you pinching your arm to stay awake. Just when you were about to fall asleep again, the man with the blue coat appeared. You tapped your comm. “Batman, the man is here. He is entering the apartment building.”

“Good. Don’t move until I arrive. ETA five minutes.” Batman’s comm clicked off. You got to your feet, staying in a crouch as the man entered the building. Tapping the side of your mask, you turned on your thermal camera to watch him move through the lobby. Strangely, the man took the stairs.

You traced him through the building, grateful for the building’s thin walls and the man’s gait. He stopped at an apartment on the far end of the third floor. You moved to the other end of the roof to peek in the window. There was two women inside watching TV. Two glasses of wine and bowls of what looked like ice cream sat on the table in front of them.

One of the women stood up and went to the door. A scream came from inside. The other woman on the couch stood up, grabbing the lamp next to her and throwing it at the attacker. You hesitated a moment. Bruce would be very angry. No more patrols for a long time. However, when both women disappeared out of your view, you pushed that out of your mind.

Leaping into the air, you used your grapple gun to accelerate toward their window. Using your feet, you broke through the window, somersaulting into a kick to the man’s face once you were able to pinpoint where he was. The two women cowered in the corner.

The man fell back against the door with a shout. “Stupid kid!” He struggled to his feet. You wondered if that’s why he attacked women. A inferiority complex with a dash of psychopathy. He held a knife up. You smirked at the knife, shaking your head. He came at you, but you dodged it easier and disarmed him. The man screamed as you put him into a hold and knocked him to the floor.

Curses sputtered out of his mouth as you quickly handcuffed his wrists and feet. “Robin.” You looked up in surprise to see Batman at the window. His jaw was a mask of pure fury. You swallowed hard and quickly got to your feet. “Go wait in the car.” He moved toward the man. You hurried to the window. The two women thanked you as you grappled down to the waiting batmobile.

It slid open as you approached and you hopped inside. Snuggling into your seat, you felt sick to your stomach. You knew that look your father gave you. A shiver ran down your spine. It was a look only Damian and Jason got when they disobeyed him.

***

“Disobeying direct orders!” Bruce grabbed one of his spare gloves and threw it across the cave. You flinched at the movement, putting your hands behind your back so he couldn’t see them shake. After changing out of your suit, you were told to stand in the middle of the changing room as your father let loose. “I expected more from you, (Y/N)!”

You opened your mouth, but a glare from him had you closing it again. The cave was colder than normal. You wondered if it was really colder or if it was just you. “I’m sorry, but I needed to step in,” you whispered, unable to speak louder. “He would have killed them.”

Bruce spun to you so fast that you flinched. “He could have killed you!” You looked into Bruce’s eyes, seeing the fear mixed in with his anger. It hurt. Bruce spun away from you, running a hand through his hair. Curses mumbled from under his breath. You watched him.

It was so tiring, so painful to live here with him. He was hard on you, mean even. You understood he cared about you, but did he love you like a daughter? Or were you just his child soldier? Tears filled your eyes as your heart ached for Alfred. Alfred would make this better, reason with him or at least be a comfort to you. You couldn’t remember him treating any of your brothers this way, but then again, they always had Alfred. You had no one.

“I’m taking you off patrols indefinitely,” Bruce said, his frown deepening when he turned back to see your tears. You quickly wiped your face with your sleeves. “And I think...you should go live with Dick, (Y/N).”

“What?!” You gasped, hands shaking violently. “Why?!”

Bruce took a deep breath. “I’m not...I’m not the man I used to be. You aren’t getting what you need from me.” He crossed his arms. His face was a steel mask. You wondered if he actually cared.

“No.” You shook your head before turning and running out of the room. Bruce was right behind you. Your chest tightened, suddenly you felt trapped. You failed to help him. You failed as a Robin.

“(Y/N)...” Bruce reached out to catch your shoulder, but you shook him off. Each breath hurt. You ran up the stairs of the cave and burst into his study. There was no footsteps behind you. Funny enough that was what hurt most of all.

***

The next morning, Dick ran up the steps of the manor. Bruce left him a message to come collect (Y/N). Is your daughter something to collect? Dick wanted to argue with him, shout at him, but Bruce wouldn’t pick up the phone. He tried calling you, but your phone went straight to voicemail.

Dick turned the knob, eyes widening when it opened. It wasn’t like Bruce to leave the door unlocked. Security risk and all. Dread festered in Dick’s gut. Something was wrong, he could feel it in the air.

“Bruce? (Y/N)?” Dick looked around. The manor looked the same except for the dust and stale air. He swallowed hard. Alfred would have been so upset seeing the manor this way. The only response he got was silence.

Biting his lip, Dick ran up the stairs toward your room. You were probably packing and couldn’t hear him.

Dick stood outside your door. It didn’t have the drawings and stickers like it used to. He wondered why you took them off. Alfred hated them, but never had the heart to force you to remove them. Dick ran a hand through his hair, knowing he just answered his own question. His heart sank to his feet.

There was a lot Dick regretted. He regretted not being around enough after Alfred passed. Too absorbed in his own grief and his own problems. The others were strong, but you were so young and Bruce was so...Bruce.

“(Y/N)?” He knocked on the door. Silence followed. Dick took a deep breath and tried the doorknob. It turned. Dick’s eyes widened slightly as he peeked inside your room.

Your room was barren. He almost didn’t recognize it. You used to have toys around, pictures, posters, things that made the room yours. He remembered how happy you were when Tim gifted you several posters of your favorite actors and actresses to put up. Those were all gone. Just the bed, dresser, and partly ajar closet.

The bed was neatly made except for the note on the pillow. Dick sighed. He should have came as soon as he got the call the night before. Grabbing the note, he opened it. I’m sorry. Dick blinked, turning the note over to see no other words. “Fuck.” He bit his lip and stormed out of the room.

Bruce’s rooms were as empty as was the kitchen and the study. Dick went to the grandfather clock, turning the hands to 10:27 before sprinting down the stairs.

He saw red when he found Bruce sitting at the batcomputer on a conference call with the Justice League. Bruce had his cowl on, acting like the stoic, coldhearted asshole that he always was.

Dick marched over. “He’ll have to get back to you,” Dick said sharply as he reached over to end the call. The surprise on the League’s members’ faces did nothing for Dick.

“What the hell are you doing?!” Bruce pushed Dick away from the batcomputer. Dick stumbled, catching himself on the edge of the computer.

“Did you even bother to check?” Dick threw the paper in Bruce’s face. Bruce caught it and crumpled it in his hand. “You told your daughter you were sending her away and you didn’t bother to check on her?!” Dick threw his hands in the air. “She’s gone, Bruce! All she left was that note saying she was sorry!” It was selfish, but it felt good to yell at Bruce. Dick only hoped his words sunk in.

Bruce tensed. He took off his cowl, revealing the new lines on his face. A bit more gray in his hair. Dick’s shoulders sank in relief as Bruce smoothed out the note to look at it.

“Damn it.” Bruce set the note on the computer before sinking into his chair like all the bones left his body. Dick’s anger cooled at the sight. The reaction is what he needed to see to know there was hope for Bruce, but a minute passed without Bruce moving.

Dick tapped his foot. “Well, are we going to look for her?!” Dick crossed his arms to stop himself from reaching out to shake Bruce’s shoulders.

“You have custody now.” Bruce turned away, running a hand over his blank expression. “It’s best you handle it.”

Now Dick was a bit of a hothead in his youth. It took him years to cool his anger, but it took that moment alone to strip all those years away. In a blink of an eye, Dick’s fist flew and sucker punched Bruce in the face.

Bruce took the hit, probably because he wasn’t expecting it. In a flash, Bruce was standing, fists flying toward Dick. Dick ducked. “Yeah, that’s right. I can take your hits,” Dick spat. “Is this what you did to (Y/N), Bruce? Swung at her without warning.”

“I never hit her!” Bruce dropped into full Batman mode. Dick dodged, flipping out of the way of every hit, playing the defensive. The reasonable part of Dick knew that he threw the first punch, but Dick at this moment didn’t care.

“Sure you didn’t. Where’d she get those bruises, Bruce? You grounded her from patrol.” Dick didn’t duck fast enough and took a hit to the side of the head. He saw stars, but quickly spun out of the way of Bruce’s right hook.

Suddenly, Bruce grabbed the front of Dick’s shirt and held him very close to his face. “I wouldn’t hurt my kids. We sparred, she didn’t block. I didn’t go easy on her because going easy means death in our line of work. You know that, Dick.” Bruce shoved Dick to the floor. Dick grunted, his back hitting one of the crates.

Bruce turned away, grabbing a taser from one of the tables and threw it across the cave. It shattered with a boom that echoed. Bats screeched. Dick slowly got to his feet. He was going to feel it all later. “So help us look for her. If you love her and care for her like a father should, then you need to help us find her.”

“She doesn’t need me.” Bruce turned to give Dick a pained look. “I make her flinch.”

Dick pursed his lips. He sighed, taking out his phone to message the others to get the search for you started. Most of his anger faded, but his disappointment remained. “Well, we’ll be on the comms. Join us if you want.” Dick turned and started up the stairs of the cave. He stopped after a moment and turned back to Bruce. “You know, if you believe she thinks you don’t love her, then maybe being the one to find her would be enough to prove otherwise.”

Bruce didn’t reply. Dick sighed and turned away, calling Barbara to start the search.

***

You sat down on the sandy beach, dropping your backpack next to you. The sun was warm. You closed your eyes, enjoying it’s shine. The last time you had been to a beach was...you couldn’t remember.

When you slipped out of the manor about an hour after your father told you that you were being sent away, you didn’t know where to go. You didn’t want to go to Dick or the others. They’d say you were a failure. They were all good partners to your father.

You swallowed hard, opening your eyes to watch the families on the beach. Some kids were playing in the water while their parents watched. You wondered what that must be like. Your heart panged.

It wasn’t your plan to come to the beach, which is why you stuck out like a sore thumb wearing jeans and a sweatshirt while everyone else was in bathing suits. All you wanted was to get out of the city and the first bus out of town was to a beach town in North Carolina.

You laid down on the sand, taking a deep breath of the salty air. It was only a matter of time before one of the family found you. You didn’t cover your tracks well, using a credit card to pay for the bus ticket and a snack at the station.

The sand was so soft. You dug your fingers into the sand and let it fall through your fingers.

Footsteps approached you. You tensed, reaching to hug your backpack to your side tightly. A shadow blocked the sun from you. “So you ran away from home to lay on a beach?”

Your eyes flew open to find Jason Todd staring down at you with a smirk. An ‘eep’ escaped you as you scrambled away from him. Jason’s smirk fell into a frown.

“What’s wrong with you, kid? I got Dick telling me that you’re missing.” Jason sat down next to you, keeping his distance though. You forced yourself to relax. “I caught you walking through Gotham on your own while I was heading home from a...meeting.” Jason cleared his throat. “So what’s going on?”

You pulled your knees to your chest, looking out at the ocean. A father held the hand of his young daughter as she walked in the surf. You swallowed hard, trying to remember if your father held your hand like that. Probably not.

“Kinda a long way to follow me, isn’t it?” you whispered. Your throat tightened, taking your voice with it.

Jason shrugged, stretching his legs out in front of him and slipped off his leather jacket to reveal his black t-shirt under it. He looked as out of place on this beach as you did. “Not every day you find your youngest sibling walking around on their own at four AM only to see them go to the bus station and buy a one way ticket.”

You curled tighter into yourself and rested your cheek on your knees to look away from him. Jason, for his credit, waited for you to speak, people watching. He didn’t usually have the patience, which meant he probably already knew about how you failed your father.

“He’s sending me away,” you finally whispered after swallowing past the lump in your throat. Jason studied you, shifting closer to you. Your eyes burned. A tear slipped out your cheek without warning. “He said he wasn’t the man he was and he can’t love me anymore.”

Jason was quiet. You sneaked a peek at him only to see his mouth a firm line. His eye twitched, barely concealing rage. “He told you that?”

“Basically. I could see it in his eyes.” It felt like you opened the flood gate and it all spilled out. “He hasn’t been the same since Alfred died. I try to do my best, but he never finds anything I do good enough. He hits hard when we train and doesn’t seem to care if I can’t dodged his attacks or not. We never stop to rest until he’s done.” You wiped your cheeks with the back of your hand. Your eyes stayed on the sand in front of you. Jason probably thought you were weak. “Then last night, he let me on patrol for the first time in weeks only to yell at me and send me to live with Dick because I disobeyed his orders.”

You looked up at Jason fast, worried he would yell too. “People were in danger, I had to go in. It could have been too late for them.” However, Jason’s eyes shined with emotion. You knew it might not be anger, but that’s what your mind only saw. “I’m sorry. Don’t yell at me.” You covered your ears and rocked yourself back and forth. More tears slid down your cheeks as you mumbled sorry over and over again.

Jason sighed before you felt a heavy arm fall around your shoulders. He pulled you into his side. The touch surprised you. You melted into him, filling a hole you didn’t realize you had in your heart.

“You did nothing wrong, nothing to be sorry about,” Jason mumbled, resting his chin on the top of your head. His hand rubbed your arm. “You’re okay.”

It felt so good to be held. You didn’t realize how much you missed it until now. A sob slipped out of you as you buried your face into his chest. Jason hummed and wrapped his other arm around you.

Jason’s heartbeat was soothing in your ear, better than the ocean only a few meters away. “Is she okay?” A stranger asked Jason.

“She is now. Thank you,” Jason said to them. He tightened his arms around you. His lips pressed against the top of your head. “I love ya, kid. Even when you threw up on me when you were a baby.”

You laughed softly, hiccupping. “Jay, you never knew me as a baby. I was three when you came to live with us.”

Jason chuckled. “I think you don’t remember.” He pulled away to look you in the eye. His smile reached his eyes. “I was spinning you around. You loved it until I went too fast and you just upchucked all over me.”

“No, I didn’t.” You shook your head, wiping away from your tears. Jason’s shirt had a damp spot on it. Your face burned at the sight. Glancing at Jason in worry, he just grinned and brushed some of the sand out of your hair.

“You did. It was terrible. Alfred was so ticked, but I heard him laughing in the next room.” Jason bit his lip, eyes softening. Your heart sank. “So let’s go get something to eat, maybe get a place to stay.” Jason stood up, brushing the sand off his jeans before offering a hand to you.

Sniffling, you took his hand and got to your feet. “Okay.” You grabbed your backpack. Jason snatched up his jacket and wrapped his arm around your shoulders to lead you off the beach and toward the boardwalk.

***

His phone beeped with a text from the family group chat. Dick was asking everyone for an update. Jason stared at the text, watching the others respond. They knew you bought a bus ticket, but weren’t sure what bus you got on. Bruce wasn’t part of the search.

Jason didn’t think he could be this angry at Bruce. At this point, he was back to ‘just back from the dead to find I wasn’t avenged and replaced’ stage. He took a deep breath before texting he didn’t find anything yet.

You sighed in your sleep and rolled over in the hotel bed. Jason looked up from his phone. He was lounging on the armchair in the corner with his booted feet up on the end of the bed. Once you had a full stomach, Jason got the room and you went to bed right away.

Bruce didn’t deserve you. You were so sweet when you were little, back before he died. Besides the vomiting incident at least, but to be honest, Jason always smiled when he remembered.

Of course, he knew he shouldn’t worry the family. He would be pissed if he knew that any of them knew where you were and didn’t tell him, but Jason couldn’t.

Bruce needed to suffer. He needed to feel the guilt and the pain that he had put you through. Borderline abuse. If Jason had known, he would have gotten you out of there.

Jason sighed and closed his eyes. Dick mentioned something about being concerned in the group chat, but Jason had muted it.

His mind went around and around for a long time. He opened the chat several times, but couldn’t make himself type the message.

A whimper came from you. Jason dropped his phone and instantly went to your side. He sat on the end of your bed, gently carting his fingers through your hair. Your eyes squeezed together. A soft ‘I’m sorry’ slipped from between your lips.

“Hush, you’re safe. No one is going to hurt you. Big brother is here,” Jason whispered. He took a deep breath to still the rage that bubbled up inside him. You relaxed, soothed by his touch. Jason’s heart swelled and in that moment, Jason decided a little vacation away from your father and the rest of the family was just what you needed.

***

After the first week passed and you weren’t found, Bruce started his own investigation. He was impressed by how fast you disappeared, but he felt sick knowing you were out in the world somewhere alone.

By the second week, Bruce followed leads only to find dead ends. None of the family found anything. Bruce had concluded you had to have been kidnapped. There was no other way you would be gone without a trace.

Third week, Bruce tracked down Ra’s al Ghul, Deathstroke, and Lady Shiva. None of them were part of your disappearance. He did checks into Task Force X and the government, but those were dead ends as well.

Bruce marched through the watchtower. It was the fourth week and no sign of you. He knew he looked rough from how Fire and Ice looked at him as he passed. A month old beard on his face. You would have left a razor by his suit in the changing room by now. There wasn’t time to eat or sleep, not when he needed to find you.

A flash of you as a little girl, running to hug him when he got home from patrol. You had a big smile on your face. He realized he couldn’t remember the last time you smiled.

Bruce shook his head. Focus. He marched into the meeting room to find Diana, Clark, and Hal waiting.

“Woah, Bats. Have you showered recently? Sheez.” Hal held his nose and waved his hand in front of his face.

A growl slid past Bruce’s lips. “My daughter is missing. I don’t have time for you, Jordan.” Clark and Diana shared a worried look. Hal just whistled.

“We know. Nightwing asked for our help,” Clark said, getting to his feet and reaching out to touch Bruce’s shoulder. Bruce flinched away from him. “We couldn’t find anything, Bruce. I’ve been sweeping the globe every few hours.”

Diana stood up, studying Bruce carefully. “When the last time you slept?”

“Let me know if you find anything.” Bruce turned sharply and started out of the room. He stopped when a green wall appeared in front of him.

“Nah, we can’t let you go like this, B. You look like you could collapse at any moment,” Hal said. Bruce spun to face him, glaring darkly. Hal was straight faced. Both Diana and Clark took a step toward him.

“Let me ask you.” Bruce held up a hand, stopping all three. “If it was your daughter, would you stop to rest?” He jabbed a finger at Hal. “You don’t have children, so you can’t understand, but I will only ask once for you to let me leave.”

Clark sighed. “Bruce...” He took another step forward. “Just sit down for a minute. I’ll do another sweep. Hal will too. Please. You passing out won’t help (Y/N).”

Bruce took a deep breath before melting into one of the chairs. The three heroes looked surprised. Clark and Hal flew off while Diana sat down beside him. “We’ll find her, Bruce,” Diana soothed. Bruce rested his head against the back of the chair and closed his eyes. He remembered the look on your face when he told you he was sending you away. It sent a shiver down his spine. He needed to find you soon. That will not be his last memory of you.

***

Jason laid back in his lounge chair, watching you and Artemis walk along the beach. Bizarro laid on the sand next to him, snoring away. After you had woken up, Jason offered to take you to the Outlaws’ Island. You happily agreed. It had been four weeks now, and Jason could see the changes in you. You smiled more, laughed more, your confidence and sense of self blossomed. Jason chuckled, watching Artemis and you race down the beach.

The island was off the grid, had protective shields that blocked it from radar and anyone with super sight or hearing. Jason still didn’t tell the family he had you. He hoped Bruce was suffering, sick with worry. Jason only felt a little guilty.

“Superman didn’t fly by again,” Bizarro said, waking up with a jerk. “He’s not looking.”

“I know.” Jason crossed his arms and relaxed. “But we’re not going to worry about it.”

“Bizarro is worried.” Bizarro laid back down and quickly went back to sleep. His snore shook Jason’s chair. Jason snorted. Superman was probably looking for you.

He smiled when he saw you and Artemis diving into the water for a swim. Spending time with Artemis was good for you. Jason knew from the first few days how much you craved attention from anyone. He closed his eyes, listening to the sound of you and Artemis joking and laughing at each other.

***

“I got information about an ancient Greek artifact being auctioned off in a week. Maxie Zeus is planning on buying it,” Artemis said as she walked into the den. Bizarro sat cross-legged in front of the tv, awed by The Lion King. A movie Bizarro picked out. Jason was reclining in the armchair. The chair was big enough for you to lay beside him, fast asleep and snuggled into his side.

“Good, we’ll make a plan in the morning,” Jason said softly, glancing down at you when you shifted closer to him.

Artemis sat on the couch. She raised an eyebrow at the tv before studying Jason with narrowed eyes. Jason ignored her gaze, watching the tv.

You woke up once the movie was done. “I’m going to bed,” you yawned, stretching your arms. Jason put the footrest down and helped you up. “Good night.” Jason ruffled your hair, Artemis patted your arm, while Bizarro waved wildly.

“Bad night, (Y/N).” Bizarro smiled big before turning back to the tv as the credits rolled.

Once you were out of the room, Jason turned to look at Artemis who was still staring at him. “Okay, what is it?”

“We can’t keep (Y/N) here forever.” Artemis crossed her arms. “Superman flew over the island fourteen times today. They even officially announced her disappearance with a million dollar reward for her return.” Jason pursed his lips. Artemis stood up as if her height would make her point. “You have to at least let them know she’s here. I understand your cause. Her father doesn’t deserve her, but I think he may have suffered enough, Jason.”

Jason stood up, puffing his chest out a little as he looked up to meet her gaze. “He abused her.”

“A man who doesn’t love his child wouldn’t spend four weeks running around the world, pulling favors, attacking super villains, and who knows what else just to find them.” Artemis smiled rather sadly at him. “I read the reports you’ve been keeping on their search for her. She needs to go home.”

“(Y/N) said she not homesick.” Bizarro turned to look at the two. Jason bit his lip, backing away from Artemis. He ran a hand through his hair.

“Bruce hurt her, Art.” Jason’s eyes burned. He turned away quickly before they noticed the shine in his eyes. “(Y/N) is the sweetest kid. She didn’t deserve to feel like nothing, to feel like no one cared about her. When I found her, she was craving for attention, love. That bastard didn’t even care she was gone. He didn’t start looking himself for a week.”

Artemis sighed. “I’m not saying that we just hand her over.” She laid a hand on Jason’s shoulder. “But they need to know she’s safe. Jason, they already may not forgive you for this.”

Jason groaned, rolling his eyes and running a hand over his face. Part of him refused to do it, wanting to keep you here and safe, but then he realized, he was acting a bit like Bruce. Locking you away on the island forever wouldn’t be possible.

His shoulders dropped. “I’ll talk to (Y/N) after the mission. It has to be her choice.” He looked at Artemis. “Not anyone else’s.”

Artemis nodded. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.” Bizarro grinned and gave Jason a thumbs down.

“We might as well start our plan to get that artifact since you’re all bleeding hearts right now.” Jason straightened his shoulders and gestured for them to follow him out of the room. Bizarro pouted, but got to his feet. Artemis just rolled her eyes.

***

“Hey Jay?” you asked, peeking into his office to find Jason sitting at his desk, studying a set of building plans. “What are you doing?” You opened the door wider when he looked up and smiled.

Jason chuckled. “Going over the plans of the auction house for the mission.” His eyes stayed on you as you wandered over to pull Mansfield Park out of his bookshelf.

“What mission?” You hugged the book to your chest and joined him at his desk. He tugged on a strand of your hair.

“Right, we talked about it after you went to bed.” Jason rubbed his chin. “Artemis found out a Greek relic is being auctioned off and Maxie Zeus is planning on buying it. We’re going to get it first.” He crossed his arms, frowning slightly at the plans. “It’s just...this auction house is very old and doesn’t have the best layout for an escape.”

“Why don’t you go in quietly?” You studied the layout. “Go in disguise, buy the artifact, and get out of there before Maxie Zeus knows what happened.”

Jason hummed. “That’s a good idea. Just that Artemis and Bizarro can’t do undercover work. Maxie will be looking for anyone looking like an Amazon or a Super.”

“I mean I could.” You bounced on your toes, looking up at Jason with sparkling eyes. “He wouldn’t be looking for me.”

Jason’s eyes widened. “Now that’s a thought.” He looked back at the building plans. “But you can’t go in alone. You’re too young. It would raise suspicion.” Jason sat back in his chair. “But if I came with you...” He chuckled. “That could work. If you’re up for it, (Y/N)? I don’t want to push you.”

You grinned, leaning against the desk. “I’m game.” You bit your lip. “Dad wouldn’t be mad about it, would he?”

Jason paused. “Kid, we don’t have to worry about your dad. It’s just a mission.” He reached up and ruffled your hair. You batted his hand away, giggling. He looked down at his copy of Mansfield Park. “Really? You chose that one instead of Emma?”

“I already read Emma.” You put a hand on your hip. “And you said Mansfield Park is one you have to read once in your life.”

Jason scoffed. “I guess I did, but be ready. It’s got nothing on Emma.” The two of you fell into a book debate. You admitted you hadn’t been this happy in a very long time.

***

You stepped in front of the mirror and wrinkled your nose. “Are you sure I have to dress like this? No normal rich kid dresses like this, you know that.”

“But it fits the type, doesn’t it?” Jason said as he leaned back against the chair in the dressing room. You spun around, hating the outfit. It reminded you of what Vickie Vale wore at the last Wayne Tech party when she was trying to get your father’s attention. Too fancy and the cut on you was awful.

Jason put on his sunglasses and adjusted his suit coat. He looked like some trust fund baby. Of course, you were pretending to be his daughter. You pointed out that you would have been a teen pregnancy. Jason thought it was funny, and said it frankly worked with the part you were trying to play.

The store attendant came in and poured her attention over Jason. You listened in, pretending you loved the clothes. Jason played the part well. You wished you got a video of this, maybe to use as bribery in the future. “I think that’s all, but is it okay for my little bean to wear this out? She just loves it so much,” Jason cooed to her.

“Of course, I’ll have everything else bagged up and sent to your hotel as promised.” The woman almost drooled.

“Thanks Daddy.” You had to swallow a bit of vomit. Even Bruce was only Dad, you never called him Daddy ever. However, you forced an adoring smile on your face as you skipped over to kiss Jason’s cheek.

“Anything for my baby.” Jason patted your back before turning to the attendant. “We must be on our way. I have an auction to get to.”

The attendant saw them out, continuously talking even when you both were out the door. “Can I never call you Daddy again?” you whispered as you approached the Red Camaro.

Jason got in the driver’s seat. You hopped in the passenger side. Once the doors were closed, Jason turned to you. “Never again. It was weird, but fit the part. Good job.” He winked at you.

Turning on the Camaro, Jason zoomed down the street somewhat recklessly. “Is this really going to work? Us pretending to be rich dummies and outbidding the artifact from Maxie Zeus? I thought we’d take the smart museum curator approach.” You bit your lip and adjusted your outfit.

“Do you think I could be a museum curator? Maybe Tim could, he’s boring enough.” Jason smirked. “Besides, Art and Bizarro are already in position. It will be fine.”

You hummed, closing your eyes. After a moment of silence, you dared to speak. “Jay, have you heard from Dad or the others at all?” Your heart ached slightly. No one tried to contact you in the month you’ve been gone. Jason would have told you if they did.

Jason flinched, glancing at you before focusing on the road. He worried his lip. “I didn’t tell them you were with me.” Your eyes widened in surprise. Jason blushed. “I wanted you to have time to figure things out, to heal, but they’re all looking for you. Even publicly announced your disappearance.”

“Is that why you had me change my hair color?” You touched your hair, feeling the cheap dye that hadn’t been all washed out. Dyeing your hair in an airplane bathroom hadn’t been easy.

“Kid, they have a million dollar reward for your return.” Jason sighed, clenching at the steering wheel. “Listen, I was going to tell you, but I wanted to wait until after the mission. You don’t have to decide anything right now, because it is your choice. I’m happy to keep you with me forever if you want.”

Butterflies fluttered in your stomach as you grinned. “Thanks Jay.”

Jason relaxed with a chuckle, looking at you. “You’re welcome, kid. Now let’s just focus on the mission for now. Hakuna Matata.”

“Sure Pumba.” You bit your lip to hold back a laugh.

Jason gasped as he stopped at a stop sign. “Hey, I’m Simba if anything. Prodigal son and all that.” You both laughed hard enough that Jason missed his turn.

***

Dick walked through a homeless shelter in Coast City. He saw several young teens. His heart ached for them, but none of them were you.

A beep came from his phone. ‘Call me. We have a sighting of (Y/N).’ Dick hurried out of the shelter, tapping Barbara’s name as he walked down the steps. Damian was waiting outside, tapping his foot impatiently. He opened his mouth to speak, but Dick held up a hand to stop him.

“My program caught her face on a security camera in a boutique in Greece. Jason was with her. Her hair was different, but it was (Y/N),” Barbara said, not bothering with a greeting.

“Jason? I should have known,” Dick said. Damian’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “How long ago was the sighting?”

“Twenty minutes. I’ll send the jet to meet you. ETA ten minutes.” Barbara hung up.

Damian huffed. “Todd had her this whole time?” His fists clenched. Dick laid a hand on his shoulder, rubbing gently as if to take away the tension.

��Let’s just focus on the fact (Y/N) is safe.” Dick took the car keys out of his pocket. “We got a jet to catch.” The two men headed off.

***

Bruce stood up so fast, his batcomputer chair flew back and fell onto the floor. Barbara’s message was loud and clear. Bruce had hacked into her system to monitor their progress on the search. The tension in his shoulders drained out of him. He dwelled in the moment, knowing you were safe.

However, rage filled him at the thought of Jason keeping you from him. Not letting anyone know where you were. Irresponsible. Selfish.

The computer beeped with the location of the sighting. Bruce grabbed his cowl and ran toward the batplane.

***

You swung your legs as you sat on one of the hinged chairs in the theater-like room of the old auction house. Jason was off getting a drink and mingling to learn the lay of the room. You were taking mental notes of your own. There was a hidden door in the bottom of the stage, but the quickest exit was the door on the left. If you remembered the map Jason had you memorize, that door would take you down a long hallway toward the kitchens.

The entrance doors banged open suddenly. You spun around in surprise. Maxie Zeus announced himself with a booming voice as three men dressed like gladiators carried him in on a throne that looked like clouds. “That’s insane,” you mumbled.

“I know everyone needs a theme, but it’s stupid,” Jason said, appearing beside you with a glass of whiskey in his hand. He handed another glass to you. You raised an eyebrow. “It’s just a coke. Calm down.” He sat down next to you, eyeing the room.

Taking the glass, you sipped at it to confirm. “He’s got plain clothes men in the corners,” you said softly. The men all had lightning symbols on their ties. Not subtle at all.

Jason smirked. “Good catch. We might have a hard time leaving if we outbid him.” Jason downed his drink. “I have Art and B moving to interfere. Unfortunately, this won’t be as quiet as we wanted.” He handed his glass off to a passing waiter who was relieved to have a reason not to approach Maxie Zeus. “I want you to run if this becomes a fire fight. Put on your suit and follow Art’s lead.”

You blinked. You assumed you would be told to run, not come back. “Will do.” Take a sip of your coke, you hid a smile. Your heart lifted. Finally, you were trusted in the way you always wanted. People began to take their seats as the auctioneer took the stage.

***

Dick and Damian skydived out of the jet, parachuting toward the auction house. “You have company,” Barbara reported quietly. “I got Batman on one of the cameras inside.”

“So B does care.” Dick pursed his lips as he and Damian floated down to land on a roof about a block from the auction house.

“Father is here?” Damian unclipped his parachute, letting it collect itself back into the pack.

“Yeah, so we’ll have to stay sharp.” Dick put his own pack together, dropping it on the roof for pickup later. “(Y/N) and Jason are in a tight situation.”

“TT.” Damian suddenly tensed, grabbing Dick’s arm. Dick looked at him in surprise. Damian was looking up. Dick followed his gaze to see Bizarro floating above them with a smile on his face.

Dick pursed his lips, fighting the urge to attack. Bizarro was on Jason’s side, and Jason was on their side. Hopefully. “Red Him said you were coming,” Bizarro said after a moment.

“He knew we were coming?” Damian hissed, reaching for his sword. Dick gestured for Damian to stop.

“No, Bizarro speaks in opposites.” Dick smiled. “Hi Bizarro, we’re looking for (Y/N).”

“(Y/N) isn’t in auction house with Red Him. We aren’t on a special mission for Red Her.” Bizarro landed on the roof with a thump. Damian eyed the roof nervously before checking to see if they had been seen. The streets were busy this time of evening. Lots of tourists. “Bizarro wasn’t ordered to help little people when nothing happens.”

Damian snorted, crossing his arms. Dick held up a hand. “Let us help. Can you take us to Artemis?”

Bizarro shook his head with a big grin. He grabbed Damian by the back of his cape. Damian grunted in protest, but stayed quiet. Dick just grabbed Bizarro’s other arm and they were in the air, heading toward the auction house. He updated Barbara as they flew.

***

Bruce frowned from his position in the rafters of the auction house. You were in the middle of the room, in the direct line of fire if Maxie Zeus broke the peace. He swallowed hard. His comm beeped. Bruce answered without thinking.

“Batman, Nightwing and Redbird are here. They are assisting the Outlaws in taking down Maxie Zeus and retrieving a Greek artifact. Can I connect your comm with theirs, so you can coordinate?” Barbara’s voice startled him only slightly. Dick and Damian were here too. Bruce frowned, too many risks here.

“My priority is (Y/N). Nothing else.” Bruce’s voice barely above a whisper, knowing sound would travel. He frowned when he saw how badly your hair was dyed. The clothes you were wearing were so unlike you.

Barbara sighed. “Please, Bruce. We’re more likely to get (Y/N) out safely if we’re all working together.”

Bruce knew she was right. He had more children here now. “Fine, patch me in.”

***

Jason grabbed your hand, squeezing gently as the artifact was brought on stage. It looked like nothing special, a simple wooden box. However, inside was a old arrowhead. The auctioneer said it has the arrow that killed Achilles.

You leaned over to him. “Really?”

“Art says so,” Jason mumbled, frowning slightly. You remembered he had a comm in his ear. The Outlaws only had three of them, so you didn’t have one. “We have company by the way.”

“What company?” You glanced at the doors, but they were still closed. Maxie Zeus still had the same amount of goons as before.

“Your father is here along with the double Ds.” Jason pursed his lips. “I should have known they had face recognition software looking for you.”

You tensed, a shiver running down your spine. “He’s going to be mad.” Your heart pounded so hard, it could have burst out of your chest.

Jason grabbed your hand. He squeezed tight. “He can’t hurt you. You are Robin,” he whispered in your ear. “You earned it and that can never be taken away from you.”

Blinking, you felt blood rushing to your face. “Really?”

“Really.” Jason smirked, kissing your cheek. “Now let’s focus.”

You nodded, watching the stage as the bidding began.

“A hundred thousand Drachma, young mortal.” Maxie’s voice boomed throughout the room. You glanced back at him. He was brimming with confidence.

With a shit-eating grin, Jason raised his hand. “Two hundred thousand Euros.”

The air was sucked out of the room. You forced a smile on your face.

“You dare?!” Maxie waved his bolt of lightning around. “Foolish little nothing. Three hundred thousand Drachma.”

“Four hundred thousand Euros.” Jason took your hand. “My baby wants it, so she gets it.” He threw you a smile. You acted like you were excited, hopefully others will not notice you were shaking with fear.

“One million Drachma!” Maxie screamed, pointing his bolt of lightning toward a empty chair. Electric energy hit the chair. You could smell the smoke. Some people screamed. You only flinched. Jason just hummed.

“Actually sir.” The auctioneer cleared his throat. Nervous sweat dripped down his face. “Drachma is not one of our accepted currencies.”

Several people quietly began to move toward the doors. Maxie’s men blocked them from leaving. “Okay, this is about to blow,” Jason hissed. He wrapped an arm around your shoulders. “Bizarro is going to bust through the far door.” Jason nodded toward the door. You eyed it.

“He can’t. It will hurt civilians.” You pursed your lips.

Jason let out a slow breath. “Fine, but move once he strikes.”

Maxie Zeus raised his bolt and aimed it at the auctioneer. The auctioneer held up his hands, knees quaking. “No one defies the King of the Gods.”

Time slowed. Jason pushed you down. You heard the crack of energy from Maxie’s bolt. The auctioneer cried out as a familiar black form soared from the rafters and tackled him out of the way. The bolt hit the curtain behind where the auctioneer stood and it burst into flames.

“Go,” Jason said. You sprinted toward the door as Maxie’s guard pulled out their own lightning weapons. With no hesitation, you leaped at one of the guard blocking the door and kick the weapon out of his hands.

You heard gunshots behind you, but you ignored it, punching out the guard. Civilians ran through the door. You disappeared into the panicked crowd.

***

Bruce moved off the auctioneer. “Run,” he whispered in the man’s ear. The auctioneer didn’t need to be told twice and joined the crowd leaving the room.

You were safe. Bruce caught a glimpse of you in the crowd. He relaxed slightly before standing up to face Maxie Zeus.

“Aww, Hades. Why are you here? You never did care much for weapons,” Maxie said, studying Bruce in his full batsuit.

“I don’t.” Bruce growled. “Stand down Maximilian.”

Jason hopped on the stage next to Bruce. His red hood suit was on along with the helmet. He picked up the box with the arrowhead inside and slipped it into his pocket. “Tell your demon to put the box down. He is unworthy to touch it,” Maxie said, aiming his bolt at Jason. Jason dodged to avoid the blast. The fire began to spread. Smoke filled the room.

“We need to get him outside,” Jason said into the comm. He coughed. Bruce grabbed Jason’s jacket and pulled him out of the way of another blast from Maxie. “Bizarro, put out the fire, will ya?”

“We’re going to have a long talk after this is over,” Bruce snapped, throwing a batarang to knock Maxie’s bolt out of his hand. Maxie scrambled after it.

Jason hummed. Bruce could feel the iciness of his gaze even though his eyes were hidden under his helmet. “We do.”

Bizarro burst through the far wall and shot ice beams at the flames. Bruce’s mouth twitched as Jason suddenly ran forward to attack Maxie. Maxie’s men swarmed, firing wildly. Bruce dodged and joined Jason in the fight.

***

You hid behind a corner in the chaos, changing into your makeshift Robin suit. Tossing the ugly outfit into the flames nearby, you helped some people out of the building.

“Robin, keep helping with the rescue,” Artemis ordered once you met her outside. You nodded. She patted your head and sprinted inside with her battle ax.

You guided people out. A young woman ran out, sputtering in Greek. You grabbed her when she stumbled.

“What’s wrong?” You asked, mind swirling as you tried to remember what little Greek you knew.

She gestured back inside. “Papa...he’s...”

A boom echoed from inside the building. Parts of the roof collapsed. People screamed in horror. The woman burst into tears, mumbling incoherently.

Your stomach sunk to your feet. You told yourself that your family all knew what they were doing. They were experts.

“I’ll go get him.” You helped the woman to lean against an emergency vehicle. She collapsed against it, sobbing.

Time slowed. You eyed the building. Artemis told you to help with the rescue, but you knew she meant for you to stay outside. Your blood ran hot. A flash of Bruce’s angry face appeared before your eyes.

“You’re Robin.” You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. Pushing yourself forward, you sprinted into the building.

***

Bruce ducked another blast from Maxie’s bolt. “Red Hood.” Jason’s head tilted slightly, glancing Bruce’s way. Bruce gestured to his forehead then chin. Jason nodded and slipped out of Maxie’s sight.

Dick and Damian were evacuating Maxie’s unconscious men. Bizarro and Artemis were attempting to prevent the building from full collapse. However, given the amount of debris falling, Bruce knew it was only a matter of time.

“Maximillian, you’ve lost.” Bruce stood tall, straightening his shoulders.

“Zeus never loses!” Maxie aimed his bolt at Bruce’s chest. Bruce held out his arms and waited.

The tip of the bolt glowed. A smirk pulled at Bruce’s lips as he saw Red Hood jump out of the shadows and struck a nerve strike to Maxie’s neck. Maxie fell like a ton of bricks.

“The building is going to collapse, there is nothing we can do,” Artemis said through the comm. “We need to get out now. Are you done toying with Maxie Zeus?”

“Yeah, we’re good.” Jason grunted, picking up Maxie’s bolt and tucking it in his belt. Bruce came to his side and picked up Maxie. Jason quickly supported the other side and both men dragged him out. Damian and Dick led the way, carrying the last of Maxie’s men between them.

The building groaned around them. Debris fell from the ceiling. They made it to the lobby.

“You’re going to be alright.” Your voice drifted from somewhere off to Bruce’s right. His blood ran cold.

“Who’s got eyes on Robin?” Bruce demanded into the comms. Jason grunted, Bruce took more of Maxie’s weight as they neared the entrance.

“Robin was outside, helping with the evac,” Artemis said. Her voice cracked.

Dick cleared his throat. “No sign of her out here.”

“Civilians last saw Robin going into the building.” Damian’s voice sounded very young. A lump formed in Bruce’s throat.

Bruce felt Jason’s gaze on him as they paused just inside the doorway out. Jason sighed deeply. “I got Maxie. Go get her,” Jason mumbled softly.

Bruce carefully shifted all of Maxie’s weight to Jason and sprinted off toward the direction of your voice.

***

The man’s leg was trapped under a piece of the roof. You knelt down next to him, trying to soothe him as you assessed the damage.

Dust showered from above combining with the remaining smoke from the fire. You coughed, glancing around the hallway. It looked like it led toward the backstage of the main theater where the auction was held. You wondered if the roof debris fell on the man when Bizarro broke through the building.

There was a big hole to your left, leading through another room, then to the lobby.

You swallowed hard, taking out a flashlight to study the man’s leg. It looked like it wasn’t wedged, which meant you could move it off without causing him pain or life threatening injury.

The man tapped your arm rapidly, babbling on. He pointed to the ceiling. The building whined around you.

“You’re going to be alright.” You took his hand and squeezed it gently. The man relaxed, still mumbling what you couldn’t understand. He closed his eyes.

You gripped the side of the roof and pulled. Your arms almost came out of their sockets. You bit your lip, using all your strength, but the roof piece didn’t move.

“Damn, I wish I had a comm,” you mumbled, letting go. The man looked at you with a scary look of acceptance. He spoke and pointed to the exit.

“No, I’m going to get you out.” You tried to lift it again. The man just closed his eyes again. “Come on.”

More dust fell. You coughed again, but you kept pulling at the roof piece. Suddenly, you felt the roof move.

You almost laughed, watching the man’s eyes widen in fear as he slid out from under the roof.

“Robin.” Your heart stopped. You turned to find Batman holding onto the roof piece. “Let go. I’m going to drop it.”

You jumped back. Bruce dropped it. The bang echoed throughout the building, kicking up more dust. It went straight into your lungs.

Coughing hard, you swore you saw the man ran out of the building after a sharp word from Bruce.

Bruce’s arms wrapped around you and your face was shoved into his shoulder. Your legs left the ground. Air rushed around your ears as you heard the crack of the building’s walls giving out.

You couldn’t get air in your lungs. Black swarmed your vision as the sound of shattering glass filled your ears. Bruce’s arms disappeared from around you and you felt a flash of pain before darkness overtook you.

***

Pain flared through your body. Your ears rang. You lifted your arm only to feel someone touch it and gently guide it down.

Suddenly, you were weightless, pressed against a warm mass. It was hard to breathe, your lungs heavy as two stones in your chest.

A mask was placed over your mouth and nose, fresh air filled your airways. You coughed, reaching up to pull at the mask only for another hand to hold it there.

“You’re okay, you’re okay,” Dick’s voice broke through the ringing. Your eyes felt sealed shut. You reached up to rub them only for someone to push your hands down again.

Suddenly, you were laid down on a hard surface. “Relax, kiddo. You’re okay, we’re all okay,” Dick soothed again. A hand held yours, you squeezed their fingers. “Good kid.” Lips pressed against your forehead before pulling away.

Voices bubbled to the surface. The panic in them made you shiver. A blanket was laid over you as Dick continued to soothe. The edge in his voice scared you.

You forced your eyes open, blinking at the bright lights. A dark shadow hovered above you. Your head hurt as you focused enough to see Dick’s head was turned.

“Straight to the Watchtower. Damian, call them, have the med team ready for when we come in,” Dick said. His hand tightened around yours. “Jay, take B off first. He’s worse off.”

Your heart stopped. Ice cold sunk into your body as you turned your head to follow Dick’s gaze.

Blood dripped onto the floor from the tip of a gloved hand. You choked when you realized it was Batman’s glove.

You gasped, causing pain to flare in your chest as you tried to sit up. Dick’s attention was back on you as he held you down.

“(Y/N), you’re fine. Bruce is going to be fine too, but you need to stay still and calm for me, okay?” Dick looked into your eyes. His mask was off. You knew it meant something was very wrong. He never would have taken his mask off in the field.

You fought harder, ignoring the pain. Dick swore, holding you down rather roughly. Artemis appeared beside him with a needle in her hand. You screamed through the mask as you felt the prick of the needle.

The strength seeped out of you like water down a drain. Black swarmed your vision. “Sleep now,” Dick whispered, running his fingers through your hair. The last thing you saw was the tears in his eyes.

***

You woke to a loud snore. A dull pain throbbed in your head as you opened your eyes. The lights were dim. You reached up to rub your eyes only to feel the pull of an IV.

Another loud snore. You blinked to find the snore coming from Jason, who was fast asleep in the chair next to your bed.

You took a breath, feeling the itch of the oxygen tubes in your nose. The heaviness in your lungs was still there, but the oxygen seemed to lighten it somewhat.

The walls were the familiar dark grey of the watchtower and a viewport to your right showed the stars. You swallowed hard, your mouth suddenly very dry.

You couldn’t remember how you got here. The last thing you remembered was...Greece. The building was about to collapse and you were trying to save a man who was trapped. Did you save him?

The door opened to your left. You flinched to find Damian in the doorway, wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt. It would have alarmed you to see him in such casual clothes on the watchtower, but the domino mask over his eyes reassured you.

“TT.” His shoulders relaxed as he came to your side.

Another snore burst from Jason. Damian sneered in disgust. “Let me guess, his incessant snores woke you,” Damian said, glancing at the monitors above your head.

You followed his gaze.“Wh...” You paused to try to wet your mouth. “What happened?”

A frown flickered on Damian’s lips. His dark eyes turned back to you. “You don’t remember?” You shook your head. Fear crept up your spine.

Jason snored again. Damian grabbed a cloth from your bedside and hurled it at Jason’s face. Jason sputtered, choking slightly as he jerked awake.

“The building was going to fall...and the man...did he make it out?” you asked, studying Damian’s steely face. Damian pursed his lips.

“He made it out,” Damian said.

You blinked. “But I didn’t make it out?” Damian glanced at Jason, who held his gaze. The silence was heavy.

Jason sighed and reached to take your hand. “You made it out, kid, but...Bruce didn’t.”

Images flashed before your eyes. Bruce beside you, holding up the piece of roof. The feeling of his arms around you as your ears hurt from the noise. Dick’s face sharp with fear. The blood dripping from Batman’s glove.

Suddenly, you couldn’t breathe like your lungs had been transformed into thin paper straws. Black crept into your vision.

“Woah, hey.” Jason grabbed your shoulders. His eyes looked directly into yours. “He’s alive, just hurt. Calm down.” He took a deep breath. You struggled to copy him.

“You’re an idiot, Todd.” Damian’s voice somehow made you relax.

“Shut up, demon-brat.” Jason sent a glare Damian’s way. You felt your lungs expand, letting you breathe normally. Your heart slowed.

“I’m too old to be considered a brat,” Damian retorted.

“That’s what you think.” Jason smirked as he released your shoulders and sat back down. “B is stable, but he’s got a long road ahead, even for him.”

You relaxed, falling against your pillow. “Can I see him?”

Jason raised an eyebrow. “TT, of course, but later though,” Damian said, sitting on the edge of your bed. He sent Jason a glare, which he met with one of his own.

“Rest now.” Jason reached over to squeeze your shoulder. “You hungry? Thirsty?” He got to his feet. You shook your head. “I’ll bring you something anyway. You need to eat.” Jason left the room, stretching his arms above his head. Damian watched him go.

“You’re not mad at him?” You shivered, pulling the blankets tighter around you.

“I was, but...well, it doesn’t matter now.” He patted your knee. An odd sense of affection from him, but it felt nice though. “Go back to sleep. I’ll stay with you.”

You felt the exhaustion deep within your bones. Slowly you drifted off. “Damian?” You yawned.

He hummed, watching you with a shine in his eyes that you weren’t sure you ever seen in him before.

“Dad isn’t mad at me, is he? I failed him as Robin.” You opened your eyes in time to see him flinch.

“No, he’s not upset, nor did you fail.” Damian took your hand, squeezing it tight. You smiled. The last thing you remembered before you fell asleep was how rough the calluses on his hands were.

***

Dick’s arm was around your shoulders, very warm in comparison to the cold air of the watchtower. Even with Damian’s sweatshirt, you were cold. You leaned into him as you both walked down the hall toward Bruce’s room.

“Just remember he’s got a long road ahead of him. He got out of his last surgery about three hours ago.” Dick smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

You nodded. “Thank you.” Your throat tightened, heart skipping a beat. It was all your fault. You should have been stronger, faster. A better Robin.

“We’re here.” Dick kissed the top of your head. You looked up at him to find him studying you. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” You swallowed against the lump in your throat. “I need to see him.”

Dick ran a hand through your hair. “Yeah, okay.” He opened the door, gesturing for you to step in.

You took a deep breath and stepped inside. Superman was sitting by the bed, looking up with a friendly, tired smile. You smiled back before focusing on the bed.

It didn’t look like him.

You bit your lip, stepping closer. He was covered in casts and bandages. Monitors beeped around him. An oxygen mask was over his mouth and nose.

“He’s awake,” Superman said, getting to his feet. “Still groggy from the anesthesia.”

“Dad?” His eyes flickered open. You rushed to his side. Your hand floated above his casted arm, not sure if you could touch him. “I’m so sorry.” Tears filled your eyes. “I’m sorry I wasn’t good enough and got you hurt.”

Bruce’s eyes widened slightly. His arm moved into your hand. “Don’t.” His whisper barely escaped the mask.

Superman removed the mask and stepped back. Dick rubbed your back, making you jump slightly because you had forgotten about him.

“Don’t cry,” Bruce rasped, coughing slightly.

You wiped your eyes with your sleeves. “I can’t help it.” Your lips trembled.

“So strong, so brave.” Bruce lifted his arm. He winced, but kept moving until he could touch your cheek. “You didn’t fail me. I failed you.”

The breath left your lungs. “What?”

“I wasn’t the father I should have been.” He brush away a stray tear with his thumb. You leaned into his hand like it was the most natural thing to do. “I’m so proud of you.” He choked slightly. Superman stepped up to try to put the mask back on him, but Bruce shook his head. “You are good enough, always were.”

“Don’t say that.” You took his hand in yours and rested it back on the bed. His arm shook from the strain.

“I’m not angry at you or Jason.” Bruce gasped, blood draining out of his face. He turned his head toward Superman and let him put the mask back on. His color came back with a few breaths.

Dick grunted, stepping to your side and pulling you against him. “Well, I’m sure he’s still a little upset at Jason. I know I am.” Dick smirked when a snort came from Bruce.

A smile tugged at your lips at the sound. “I’ll have to ask him and Bizarro how I couldn’t hear you or them for the month you were missing,” Superman said, crossing his arms as he retook his seat by Bruce’s bed.

Bruce squeezed your hand. You met his eye, seeing the love in them for the first time in months. A love you wondered had always been there, but just hidden.

You perched on the side of his bed, careful not to hurt him. Bruce’s eyes closed as Dick and Superman made small talk. You kept your hand in his, feeling so small and safe at the same time.

***

“You want some more, Dad?” You asked, holding out the pitcher of lemonade. Bruce shook his head, shifting in the lounge chair to find a better position. He still had his casts on, but he was healing.

You took your seat next to him and sipped from your own glass as the sun shined down and warmed your skin.

The gardens at Wayne Manor were a bit overgrown. Bruce had hired a few gardeners, but it would take time to reshape it to where Alfred had left it.

A month had past since Greece. Bruce was living at the manor with Tim and Cass taking care of him. You lived with Dick for now. Eventually, once Bruce had healed both physically and mentally, you would move back with him.

However, you made sure to visit a few times a week. Recently, Bruce insisted on sitting with you outside as the days turned sunny and warm for Gotham.

“How’s Bludhaven?” Bruce studied you. You kept your eyes on the gardens.

“Good.” You glanced at him. His lips were pursed, he turned back to the gardens as if to avoid your gaze. You smiled. “Not as cool as Gotham. I can’t wait to come back.”

A hint of a smile pulled at his lips. He sipped at his lemonade, wrinkling his nose. His jaw was relaxed, something you couldn’t have imagined seeing months ago.

“Jason wants me to spend the week with him,” you said. You almost laughed when Bruce narrowed his eyes. “With permission this time. He said I had to ask you and Dick. Dick said it was fine, but what do you think, Dad?”

“As long as you have your phone and you check in every day,” Bruce grumbled, crossing his arms. It was hard to do with his casts, you were impressed.

“I will.” You bit your lip. Your heart felt full. “I love you, Dad.”

Bruce looked at you, eyes sparkling slightly. “I love you too,” he mumbled after a moment. A lump formed in your throat as you felt yourself almost burst. You finally had your father back and nothing could have been better.

#bruce wayne #bruce wayne imagine #batman #Batman imagine #dc comics imagines #dc reader insert #reader insert #batsis #batsibling #batfamily imagine #batfamily #Jason todd #jason todd imagine #red hood #red hood imagine #tw abusive behavior #tw abuse

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seullovesme · 3 months

Text

partner in crime w/ kim minjeong

pairing ⥬ serial killer!winter x reader

warnings ⥬ mentions of death, blood, and murder, minjeong is obsessed with reader, lowkey toxic, minjeong is insane

should i make this a full fic? got inspo from a winter edit, she's so fine istg

it was horrifying to you at first to find out that your sweet minjeong was the one behind all the murders on the news. you pushed her away and locked yourself in the room for hours, listening to the sound of her crying and pleading for you to understand. it was crazy but you were starting to give in to her, you knew she wouldn't hurt you.

when you finally unlocked the door, she ran inside and hugged you while sobbing into your chest telling you she loves you so much and that she's scared of losing you. this was how she always was, extremely sweet and loving. there's no way this girl could hurt a fly, except there was. you held her tightly as she cried, telling her it was okay and you wouldn't tell anyone. you loved her and as much as it scared you, you wanted to protect her because to you, she was the same girl who'd taken care of you when you were sick, or sang you to sleep when you struggled to at night.

that was the beginning. now minjeong is not afraid to show up to your shared home (which is quite far from the town so you have no neighbors) with her clothes dirtied in blood, her skin stained red. she walks through the front door calling for you and in an instant, you come running to her so you could greet her. when you see her covered in her victim's blood, scold her for being so messy before you take her to the bathroom and start a warm bath for her.

after you help her undress, she gets in and you gently wash all the blood off her body, whispering about how proud you are of her while she lets out sounds of contentment. as she's finishing up and getting dressed for bed, you take her ruined clothes and put them in bag that you plan on burning later.

the rest of the night is spent cuddling in bed while minjeong listens to you talk about your day and how you've baked a bunch of things she should to try.

#seullovesme » posted!#winter x reader #winter #kim minjeong #kim minjeong x reader #aespa x reader #aespa x you #aespa winter #aespa fic #serial killer minjeong #kpop gg #kpop #kpop fanfic #kpop imagines #kpop idol x reader #aespa minjeong #minjeong x reader #minjeong imagines

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mouschiwrites · 2 months

Note

the creeps!!

how about... creeps x reader who is having a ptsd response due to something/someone from their before life?

your choice!

EEE thank you for giving me a little freedom with this one hehe, you're a doll <33 (hope these are okay; I realize these aren't exactly "comforting" but these guys are messed up,, I don't think you can really expect comfort from them lol)

!!TW!! for depiction/mention of PTSD! Proceed with caution lovelies!!

Creepypasta/MH: How They React When Your PTSD is Triggered

Characters: Jeff the Killer, Clockwork, Jane the Killer, "Ticci" Toby, Tim/Masky

Jeff the Killer

I'm going to be so real with you, his first response is not going to be to comfort you

He is going to kill whoever triggered you, or burn it if it's not a person

You can try to stop him, but he's not going to

Honestly he might lowkey be making it worse, doing it right there and then with you watching

Well, he'll probably tell you to close your eyes and plug your ears first

(But if you want to participate, he'll just say: "let me do this for you, babe.")

All you'll know is that one minute it's/they're there, and the next Jeff is taking you by the shoulders and leading you away quickly

Just ignore the char/blood on his hoodie

He'll ask if you want to talk about it while you're walking

If you decline he'll ask again when you're back home

While he doesn't really need a reason to kill for you, he still wants to know what that scumbag did (or just what happened)

If you're mad at him for what he did, he's not going to care

In his eyes, he did the right thing, and he's not going to apologize for it

Anything that hurts his love deserves to perish, if not for their sake then for his

He can't stand the thought of someone/something that makes you unhappy existing in this world

If you ever stress about it again, he will actually focus on you, holding you, consoling you by repeating "they're/it's gone, they/it won't hurt you anymore..."

There's an eerie smugness to his voice as he says it...

Clockwork

I feel like you guys would've already talked about your trauma

She's prone to attacks too, so it was a mutual discussion about triggers/what helps/what doesn't

So she knows exactly what's going on when you're triggered

Her first concern is you, trying to quell the attack before it gets too bad

She'll do something you told her helps ASAP

It'll make her feel better if you let her stay with you, but she understands if you need space

What she'd really like is to hold your hand and get your mind off of it by talking about something else

She'd be fine if she was the only one talking

Just as long as you're showing signs of improvement

When the attack is over, she'll give you time to process it

But eventually she will want to bring it up again

Specifically, she wants to make plans to... uh... "eliminate" the thing that triggered you

And those plans will be vividly detailed

If you don't want to take part in that, she'll make them (and execute them) herself

She just thought you'd wanna take part; I mean, it's how she """solved""" her trauma

She won't follow through if you explicitly tell her not to, but otherwise she operates under the assumption that this is a plan, not a fantasy

When you have another attack, she won't talk about how it/they can't hurt you anymore; she'll just focus on doing the things you said helped

Jane the Killer

She's pretty good at observing people, so I think she'd be able to sense your attack early on

Even if she doesn't know about your PTSD

The first thing she does is remove you from the situation, wrapping an arm around you and rushing away

She sends the meanest scowl to anyone who looks at you funny while you go

Then she focuses on grounding you; she's not too good with feelings, but she's logical enough to try and figure something out to help you

She won't talk much; just an occasional "breathe with me" or "focus on me" while she holds your hands and maintains eye contact

It doesn't show but she's actually so nervous, she has no idea if she's really helping you

She'll be right there with you through the worst of it, and she'll be there if you want to talk after

She will want to know what caused it, if she hasn't figured it out already

I honestly don't think she'll want to "eliminate" it/them

But she will talk the nastiest, goriest, most illegal shit about it/them

She gets all giddy when you grin about it too; internally she's going yeah!! made them smile!! (happy dance)

She'll try not to bring it up intentionally, but whenever it does come up she makes sure to express her strong distaste

If you ever actually want to... take care of things, she'll help with the cleanup, but she'll want you to have the satisfaction of planning and doing it yourself

I mean, she dreams of having that satisfaction herself (looks at Jeff)

Regardless of whether or not you want to do something illegal, ultimately she respects that it's your trauma and you get to deal with it however you like

"Ticci" Toby

Murder. Arson.

Literally his knee-jerk reaction

He just looks between you and the suspected trigger, points a thumb in its direction and says: "Want me to kill that guy/light that thing up?"

If you say yes he'll do it straight away; he doesn't care who's watching

He'll ask if you want to help first though ofc

Then he'll run away giggling like a second grader, grabbing your hand on the way

When you slow down he sighs satisfactorily, saying how fun that was

If you're still distressed (or if you refused his earlier offer), he finally takes notice of your emotions

He'll ask you quite bluntly what's wrong

When you explain it to him, he just nods solemnly

He knows from experience that having a rough past sucks, so he understands completely

If you haven't already he suggests that you "take care of it"

But if you agreed to murder/arson earlier he just grins again and says "Well then it's good that we did that back there!"

If you ever have an attack again he'll either remind you that the thing/person is gone, or he'll nag you about "taking care of it"

He'll begrudgingly put an arm around you though when you don't immediately calm down

He might offer you something to fidget with, too; that always helps him when he's anxious

Just try not to be too alarmed when it's a box cutter or a butterfly knife or something weird that he puts in your hand

Tim/Masky

I feel like he'd be a little awkward when you start to panic

He'll panic a little too, asking what's wrong and if/how he can help

He'll do anything you say, but if you're unable to respond he just puts his arm around your shoulders and takes you into another room

He'll hug you against him, patting your back awkwardly while you process the attack

He doesn't know what else to do :(

He probably realizes what's happening after a few minutes, and he only gets more awkward when that happens

He sucks at dealing with his own trauma; he is literally the worst person for you to be with right now

At least that's what he thinks

When you start to calm down he asks if you want to talk about it, but then immediately curses himself for asking such a stupid question (he doesn't even want to talk about his trauma; why should anyone else? (just his thoughts))

If you do want to talk it turns into a very deep and candid discussion in which you both open up a bit

He'll ask if there's anything that helps at all

Honestly he's asking for you as much as himself; he'd love to try anything that works for you

I don't think he'd suggest or condone killing/destroying the trigger; from his experience that just brings more issues

He'll basically just tell you "yeah, it sucks, and we just have to deal. Which sucks times two."

Very helpful, thank you Tim 👍

At least he always holds you whenever you have an attack <3

Thank you so much for this request!! And thanks for reading, take care sweethearts <33

(divider by saradika)

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50cal-fullauto-astarion · 8 months

Text

to leave the blood stay in the veins

monster!könig x f!rcursed!reader (no use of 'y/n') 6.6k words NSFW!

DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT‼️CW: extremely NSFW, descriptions of gore, implied consumption of human flesh by a non-human monster, mention of necrotic curse, monsterfucking, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, knotting (no omegaverse), outdoor sex, ambiguous ending, pre-established relationship, 0% proofread, könig and reader are both fucking unhinged.

Day 01 of the Haunted Hoedown Challenge by @/inklore

taboo au (monsterfucking) + "i'll be your dirty little secret, if that's what you're into." + oh no i'm dating the town serial killer

There is a beast in the woods, and it leaves so little meat on the bone that not even carrion birds find value in the corpses it leaves behind.

It’s a strange town in the foothills of the Austrian Alps, full of little sicknesses hiding in the corners, and you learned them well when you moved here. No one goes past the treeline at night. Hardly anyone is outside of home if they can help it. Tourists are the beast’s fodder.

Your boyfriend thinks it’s funny.

König, under his ever-present hood–a not altogether uncommon sight in your town, people come here when they have something to hide, something they are uncomfortable with or find hideous in themselves, and he has given an unimaginable amount for you out of love–laughs, sharp in the tooth.

“Anyone dumb enough to head into the trees is dumb enough to die,” he teases, but there is an arrogance and a contempt swimming deep in his bloodshot blue eyes.

“That’s coldblooded, but not wrong,” you tell him, from behind your own mask. Plain thing, blank in expression, modeled from the one from Eyes Without A Face. It covers the ravages of a curse, numb necrosis slowly spreading up your face through the years. “I still want you to get me a gun.”

“What’s a gun going to do against a thing like that?” he asks, tilting his head, the hood bagging off the curled horns that start at his temples and sweep back over his ears. “Something like that, you need silver. I’ll get you a knife. Big one. Nice and fucking sharp, Schatzi.”

The knife isn’t a comfort when the beast begins to hunt in town. It stalks from house to house, preying on people in their beds, their living rooms, their bathtubs–there is no rhyme or reason, not a whit of discernable pattern.

Only teeth-gouged bones and viscera ground into wall, tile, and carpet alike. Your neighbor falls victim, and you watch the police from your window, flinching when a veteran officer stumbles out into the fall-frosted grass to vomit, sobbing and pulling his hair.

“It got Emil,” you say, still watching through your sheer curtains.

König nearly cackles from your bed, lounging as he visits. “Good. Emil was a piece of shit. Depperte Fut.”

You glance at him from the corner of your eye, over your shoulder, before returning back to the circus in the yard next door. “‘Stupid cunt’ is a pretty strong insult. He was an asshole, but I don’t think he deserved to die like that,” you mumble.

“You don’t know all that much about your neighbors, Schatzi.”

You begin to rock side-to-side on your hips, the enormous silver blade König gifted you turning over and over in your hands, the point digging lightly into your palm.

It’s insane, the way you begin to tell yourself that you’ve seen König’s face nearly everyday for the last two years—you can see it right now. He lies on your bed, pointed teeth gleaming under his split philtrum in the soft yellow light of the bedside lamp and the red-blue flash of the cruisers. You know there is a man under the hood, however odd and satyr-seeming.

And yet. And yet.

The blade digs a little too deep, drawing a curse-blackened bead of blood. König’s eyes burn into the back of your neck, and you can only guess his horizontal pupils dilate into black holes.

Just quit your job. I’ll take care of you.

It’s a simple enough promise, and one you know König will keep, but not one you’re willing to make. You have few shreds of independence, hard-bought through years of fighting back against misfortunes and setbacks, and, no matter the depths with which you love him, you’re not willing to trade your shit wage on faith for love of a man. It doesn’t matter how helplessly besotted he is.

It’s this molar-cracking grit that delivers you right to the beast. Because you were forced to pick up an extra half shift at the hotel to fold towels behind the front desk, because you needed the money, because you wanted to pay back your beautiful, bloodthirsty boyfriend for the ridiculous blade he begat you.

The god forsaken thing lumbers down a deserted street, blocks from your little rental, and something fucking horrendous seizes you. It’s enormous, walking on cloven hooves and back-bent legs. Its arms are too fucking long, clawed, jagged. And worst is the skull, bleached white and glowing like a beacon in the dark, an enormous rack of brutally sharp horns dripping trinkets of bone and gold that glints in the street lamp it approaches.

A horrible fact hits you. It’s not lumbering, it’s wandering. Putting a massive, craggy hand on fences and peering into houses, taking its time, evaluating. You swear you can almost hear it humming.

You don’t know when your hand found the handle of the silver blade strapped to your belt under your coat, but the leather on the grip bites your palm with the force of your grip, a nauseous, cold sweat terror tearing apart your ability to think.

It’s a primal fear, one that makes you want to protect your soft, vulnerable neck, even if the blood that warms it runs venomous.

It’s a bad choice, but there are no good ones. When the beast lifts its head and scents the air, skull snapping your direction and shaking its grisly trophies, you run. You snap the huge blade off your hip and drop into a dead sprint, cutting between yards, trying to escape the horrendous bellow that reverberates through the bony chambers of the monster’s skull.

Choosing to run instead of freezing maybe bought you a few extra minutes before death decided it was time to seize your pulse in reclamation, and it hurts. The physical exertion it takes to bomb through the last stretches of suburbia before the forest closes in feels like you are breaking every bit of your body by forced choice, listening to that awful fucking thing chase after you.

Your blade makes a slicing sound cutting through the air at your side, the monster’s hooves pound the dirt as it digs in and chases after you, but, good god, it doesn’t sound like it’s even trying.

You don’t dare look back, pushing your body past agony, your lungs shredding in your chest. You’ve never moved this fast, you’ve never run this hard for this long. Your body is TV static—hissing, popping, distant—and, insanely, the urge to cry drills into your eye sockets.

You’re going to die. You’re going to die. You’re going to fucking die, stupidly and dumbly and pointlessly, because you wanted to pay your boyfriend a stupid sum of fucking money, for a stupid fucking knife that he bought you on a stupid fucking joke.

Two meters from the second worst decision of your life, the monster snaps out, rough hand between your shoulder blades, crashing you into the goddamned dirt. Your eyebrow splits on a tree root, your eyes roll in the back of your head, your hand stays manically tight on the blade, slicing your other arm.

“Schaaaatzi,” the miserable fucking thing hisses, pressing that same hand between your shoulder blades, pinning you into the freezing dirt.

Oh, god, no, it has König’s voice. It’s—it’s not him, but it has his voice, thin and washed out as low-hung fog, but you would know that voice. In hell, in high water, in the dirt with a massive, bark-rough hand grinding your skin raw through your coat—you - know - his - voice.

Furiously, you slash the blade over your head, behind your back, screaming and digging your feet in the dirt. For a brief second, as you hack at the wood of the monster’s hand and wrist, you’re even able to push yourself off the ground by mere inches. The beast growls and shoves you back down twice as hard, knocking the wind out of you, spasming your hand open. The knife drops, and you begin to blindly try digging and dragging yourself away.

“Stop…hurting…me,” the beast lows, still in your boyfriend’s voice, and you imagine a bathtub full of gnawed bones, a living room with scattered body parts, your kitchen smeared with blood like cave wall art, and you start to scream as loud as your lungs will allow, your mask filling with dirt in your horrendous and futile bid to escape. Bloody murder bellows, filled with rage, wanting to kill and consume and conflagrate.

If König is dead, you will take your pound of flesh. You will either die fighting, or win, and you will hack apart this freak-fuck’s corpse to burn in your woodstove to warm your home. You’ll mount its fucking skull on your front door, so anything else in these woods will know you won’t hesitate to make trophies of them either.

Bone, warm to the touch, presses against the back of your head. When it breathes, the air is as hot as exhaust, almost scalding your back. “Schatzi,” it bids you slowly once again.

“I’LL KILL YOU!” it rips your throat raw to shriek it, reaching back and almost dislocating your arms to rip at anything you can. Your hands fall on the dressings attached to its horns, you tear off a vertebra, and a gold wedding band, and a bracelet of rave kandi in plastic beads. “IF YOU HURT HIM, I’LL YOU FUCKING KILL YOU!”

The head presses harder, driving your face into the dirt. There is something desperate in the pressure. It spits all at once, grating and wide in a voice you know better than your own, “You pissed off a fucking witch, because you ran out of riddles to tell her, when she was ransoming you to your arshloch grandmother. She never paid. That’s why you were cursed—no one gave a fuck. But I gave her my face for you, to stop it halfway, better than fucking nothing.”

Your rage freezes immediately, your chest heaving under the weight it presses down on you.

No one knows that. Only König. He’s the only person who would know about his lonely and quiet climb up to the Scottish highlands. Besides you, and the witch, König is the only one who would know why his human face was distorted, malformed, made animalistic.

“Lee?” you pant, unleashing part of his first name, the only one he ever tolerates. And, fuck, instantly the pressure pulls away, the skull rubbing against your back to soothe it.

“It’s me, Schatzi,” the slow voice promises, nuzzling you. There’s rustling above you that you don’t dare turn to see. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

A tinkling piece of jewelry lowers in front of your eyes, and you can see that it dangles from an enormous, ligneous finger. You’re being shown a sterling silver charm bracelet. You’re being shown your bracelet, the one you thought you had lost months ago.

Your hand shoots out, wrapping around the finger, the peeling bark shearing off under your grip. You find instantly that you can pull yourself up on your hip, sitting, caged and protected under the beast’s massive body—under König’s massive body.

He shifts back onto his digitagrade haunches, holding himself over you, still offering your bracelet. He shudders at your touch on his hand, and you imagine that he may’ve never been handled with kindness in this shape. Which makes a certain amount of sense. Because he fucking kills and eats people.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” you snap, staring dead into the hollow sockets of his eyes. He shifts uncomfortably, turning his head. “Why—you have me so fucked up—what have you been thinking—?”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, do you have to—”

“Yes, I have to, fucker.” It’s impossible to wrap your head around the magnitude of what a simple secret and a silver bracelet has done to your understanding of the world. A complete unraveling—upheaval, utterly.

You take the bracelet from his finger, on which it fits like a ring, and push it into your wrist, sitting up on your knees and grabbing him by the underside of his jaw. Though it puts you in his blind spot, staring dead center at the sinus dimples between his eyes, it feels like you have a mote of power over him.

(If he were asked, he would say the power you hold over him could corrupt, absolutely. He would badly like you to ask someday.)

“Why are you—what are you? Have you always been like this? Or was this new, with the fucking witch? Are—Jesus Christ—why are—the monster isn’t supposed to come into town, why are you in TOWN?” you run off at the mouth, words stalling and crashing and fusing together as your thoughts overwhelm just how quickly you can speak.

And up from that impossibly deep throat–simultaneously from the center of your brain, and from all around you all at once–crawls König’s pitchy hyena-laugh, edged, always, with cruelty. He butts the jagged end of his nasal cavities into your stomach, catching on the threads of your sweater.

“Leshy, Schatzi, say it for me.”

Your hands pull his jaw closer, digging the bone into your stomach, wondering if he can feel the pressure of your deep breathing. Oh, fuck, you could crack. This is your König. You start to wonder how many of his perverse buttons you can hit, the part of you that felt shame for your attraction to what the world discarded as ‘ugly’ long ago removed from your emotional bank.

“Leshy,” you say, really leaning into the word, saying it deep in your chest. One of your hands travels the long length to the hinge of his jaw, gripping tight, directing his head to turn so you can meet one of his empty eyes. “Answer my fucking questions.”

The laugh doesn’t come this time. In its place is a near-violent whole-body shudder that wracks through you.

“Old! Alwaaays been this way,” and even in the strange disconnect of his voice from his physical form, you can tell his arousal is eating away at him in big bites–clipping his speech, broiling his brain with body heat, “can’t remember ever being young, haa-haa. And why do you think I’m hunting in town?”

Another trap, a stupid pop quiz, wanting to test your knowledge of him, or a gotcha! to check your observations and what you had missed.

Your hands get tighter, and you pull his jaw open, marveling at the sharp grooves ground into his teeth, like nightmarish, ivory rook pieces, tall and straight in the dry sockets. His chest begins to heave, his breath fogging into steaming clouds over your hands, and, remarkably, it smells like nothing at all apart from pin needles and snow.

You’d thought you’d smell decaying flesh or rotten blood. The only blood you can smell comes from your own busted brow and sliced arm, crusting black on your skin and in the fabric of your sweater as it coagulates.

“If I was working on a hunter’s instincts, I would say that Schladming has become too good at keeping people out of the forests. Even during daylight hours. It cuts down on prey,” you say, ice cold and clean as a slit throat. Your eyes flick back up to the socket, surrounded by the feeling that those glass-blue eyes of his humanoid form are drilling into you. He’s waiting for you to hit the hook. “But I’m working on your logic.”

“Oh, yeeaah,” he drawls, his hips shifting, and you feel as if he would bite his lips in anticipation now, if he could.

“Oh, yeeaah,” you echo him, “the logic of a fucking crazy asshole.” He feels like a huge grin, hands on his muscular, bunched, and flexing thighs. That detail is not lost on you. “You’re hunting in town because you’re pissed off. You reached a limit, and you got tired of sitting on your fucking reaction.”

You swear to god he moans a little. Just softly. It could be a breath, but you know him too well to dismiss it out of hand.

“That’s good, Schatzi. I like that. I like that you figured that out,” he says, definitely panting in rhythm now, his fogging breath giving away the rhythm secondary. “People are looking at you too much. I don’t fucking like it when they look at you too much.”

That’s a sudden thought that had not occurred to you, and you lash yourself silently because it hadn’t. König has always been possessive of you. Jealous. Protective. And he held grudges in ways that could spark blood feuds and successive generations of death.

Like a curse.

It’s a testament to how fucking cracked and perfectly matched the two of you are that you start laughing, stroking his orbital bones in big, pleased pats, kissing the bridge of his nose.

“Schatzi, please,” he groans, pressing into you insistently. “Promise you won’t tell. Promise me.”

“Why the fuck would I tell?” you laugh, losing track of your faculties, your very sense. What does it matter? What does it all even mean? You’ve found a man that loves you so deeply and truly and twistedly that he slaughters those who desire or deign you. You’ve found, and fallen in love with a man that would sell his face to save as much of yours as he could. “Who the fuck would I tell?”

The slope of his shoulders relaxes, and he moves closer to you, once again shielding you with the massive bulk of his body, warming you in the cold air. Tucked under his chin, you can study the soft suede-like material of his body, how the bark covering his arms gives way to a ruff of dense, double-layered fur around his shoulders and his long, muscular neck.

The rest of the muscle on him is horrendously hard, flexed like steel cabling under a layer of fat. There is something about this body that reminds you of the shape of the human one so well–long legs, a nipped waist, and flat hips built to strut and rock, all of it buttressing a broad set of shoulders.

You press your face into the ruff, pushing your fingers into it. Dear god, your hand goes deeper and deeper, and it just never seems to stop. His scent is–it’s almost familiar. He’s in there, somewhere–his musk, the metallic tang of blood seemingly sunken into his skin–but there’s so much more to it. Green, and earthy, almost like soil and moss.

A sound comes from his body, like a house settling. A deep, broad creak. The trophies on his horns rattle together, clinking like dull wind chimes. “More,” he says simply, leaving you to figure it out. Simple enough.

Your hand drops from the ruff, tracing over his convex chest, down to his stomach. Another shudder, and he pulls those big arms around your entire body, a fuller, more protective hug than you’ve ever felt.

“Schatzi–would you let me…” he breathes, a heaving sigh.

Another laugh cracks out of you, hysterical, constricted by your mask. Why not? Why shouldn’t you? You’ve always been a woman that loves monsters. You, yourself, are one. You can’t find a reason to halt your hands, nor your body, nor his desire.

In an odd show of tip-to-tail, you push the mask off your face, and kick off your boots, going for your zipper. “Yeah. Yeah, honey, come on. Show me,” you urge him, pawing at his massive waist as you struggle out of your jeans.

He groans and this obscene trill escapes his body–a low, rattling moan that travels miles through every cell of your body, his legs spreading wider. You laugh in delight and mania, watching rapt as his cock slides out of a sheath you hadn’t even caught sight of, his monstrous body a foreign land you hadn’t traveled yet, but, fuck, do you want to learn the lands well enough to call them home.

It’s heavy in your hands, a little slick, and, childishly, you almost giggle (holy shit, that is a sound that has never left your mouth in your living memory, and yet, here you are). It’s hot, hotter than you expected, and a vulnerable shade of pale, like a plant slip. Oh, and it’s elegant, almost spiraling. He huffs as you stroke the length of it, pushing your fingertips into his sheath at the base.

“I don’t think this is gonna fit,” you warn him, and it somehow feels as if you’re challenging yourself with the statement.

He takes it as a challenge for himself, though, and an aspiration to hold for you, “You are going to take all of it. I’m going to make sure.”

His massive hand comes to the back of your waist, finding your fulcrum without needing to search, pulling you off your knees to hold to beneath him. “You naked yet, or still fucking around?” he asks, breathing heavily, and you shove your jeans off the rest of the way.

“You’re being a little bitch,” you snipe, a dumb swipe at reclaiming dignity after you realize you’re so wet that it slicks your thighs, having darkened the crotch of your freshly abandoned jeans pathetically.

He throws another coarse laugh, haa-haa, shifting his massive body long, pulling you into place.

It’s on you, then, to figure out the logistics. Somehow, it just works, even through layers of physical translation. Under your hands, he reads König, loud and clear.

There’s a brief, flighty moment of terror as you rub the head of his cock between the lips of your cunt, rolling your hips to stimulate your clit against it. It is just fucking enormous, almost half again the size of his human cock. But then you grit your teeth, tipping your weight back so your shoulders rest against the dirt, bleak and unyielding ruthlessness seizing your mind.

You do not back down, you have never done it once in your life, and tonight is no different.

His head lifts, bottom jaw dropping, and he bays as you push yourself down on his length. The sound crashes into you, rocking your entire body, and the stretch burns, but you buckle down. What are the people in the houses just at the edge of suburbia thinking? Has the fucking abberation that has been slowly killing its way through their number taken to a different form of punishment? Has someone unlucky fallen to its new tastes?

It cuts your mouth into a horrid grin. If they only knew that you were no victim at all, if only they had an inkling of the fact that you are a victor. That you are the hand holding this nightmare’s collar, and he attacks for the sake of you.

Inch by inch, a slow journey, he fills you, pressing completely against your walls, body shaking with the effort it takes not to thrust fully into you. Oh, what destruction that would result in, what a wreckage that would make of your body, what lengths he would go to not ruin you in such a fashion.

“Fuck–fuck–Liebes,” he mutters, just for you, the moment he is as deep in you as he can go, most of his length still outside of what your body can handle, pleading, “I can’t–I. I have to move. Please, meine Liebes.”

“Go. Go-go-go,” you answer back, almost frantic, too full and occupied, needing motion or you might split apart into atoms. The way he answers is instant, undeniable, desperate, rocking into you as if testing waters, going faster as if he finds them warm and welcoming.

You lose yourselves to it, and your eyes threaten to roll back into your head, gripping onto the elbow of the arm suspending you, blood rushing to your head in an ache from the way you hang off him, forcing you lightheaded. Sap-like blood from where you’d hacked at him in rage drips down your arm, your waist, clinging to your skin in a way that feels permanent.

He tenses all around you, panting, clouds of steam fogging the air over your head from his pants. Words escape him, leaving nothing but animalistic grunts, the grinding of his dry, exposed teeth as your desperate pussy sucks him deeper and tighter.

You’d taught him as a human to find your g-spot, to destroy your brain with a steady climb, and he doesn’t even need to search now, every movement pressing every inch of his cock into it, and unrelenting onslaught that makes you shake and nearly drool, being fucked like a sacrifice.

König raps his other fist above your head and pulls out without warning, shaking his head and breathing roughly.

You imagine brutally grabbing him by the scruff and biting his ear–what kind of punishment would that even be, no worse than a bug bite to him, more likely than anything else–for the loss of his cock. Mostly just an impulsive fantasy, too barbaric and stupid to actually act upon, but you were thoroughly enjoying yourself, and it feels like hell to be split open against him with nothing inside you.

Breathless–and naked, sweating, and trembling in the woods–you start to sit up on your elbows, cunt throbbing. "What is it? Are you okay?" you ask, your love for him–your fear for him–overwhelming even your damnation-worthy starvation.

König, massive and so dark he's almost indistinguishable from the night apart from his skull, shakes his head again and puts up a clawed hand. Fine, the gesture says, and you’re realizing he’s beyond words now, but trying his best to communicate. Then he curls it into a loose fist and pantomimes masturbating and finishing.

"Christ!" But you’re laughing, tugging at a tuft of fur on his chest, spun out in your giddiness. It’s still him, you’ve already known, but to see it. To find him through this–this utterly new reality. "They teach you that signal in the forces?"

In his hollow sockets, twisting his body to watch you closely, he looks pleased with himself, ducking forward, bracing on his free hand to one side of your head as he nuzzles into your neck and breathes deeply.

He huffs, rough fingers running over your back, claws trailing the parts of your spine he can reach as he holds you, before he taps the side of your thigh with his other hand. At your eye level, he turns his finger in a slow loop. Roll over, maybe? It's worth a shot.

"Okay. Alright," you sigh, relieved. When you try to roll in his palm, he shakes his head and sets you down, pressing down against your body, pushing his arm under your ribs. With his other hand, he gestures a flat line on the ground. You ask, "On my stomach?"

Two knocks against the ground next to your head. Yes.

You stretch out flat over the frost-crisp grass, too hot to even register the chill against your bare skin, and König lowers with you, sliding the arm under you down to your diaphragm. With his knuckles, he taps your outer-thighs until they're drawn back together, and your breathing hitches when you understand what he intends.

With his legs on the outside of yours, he uses his free hand to run his cock up the length of your seam to tease your pussy, but he takes his sweet time with it. Impatient, you slide onto your knees with near-perfect timing, driving your entrance against his head, snarling with indignation when he bows away. "Fucker!"

He rumbles something almost humanoid, between a laugh and a gruff, trilling ‘rrrr’ you recognize as cousin to a sharp, challenging hum he makes when faced with an idiot comment in his human shape.

"Stop teasing me. I can't stand it," you try instead, turning to give him big eyes over your shoulder because you know that it works well on him.

He bends down and barely-barely nips the top of your ear, a startling move that leaves you perfectly inflamed all over again again. Greedy brat, it says to you, so pleased in the fact he is so desperately wanted.

The feeling of him inside you is extraordinary. He lubricates in this state, but you hardly need it with the nearly absurd way you’re wet, slick down your thighs. You wonder if your cunt is glimmering under the dim moon and streetlamps, because he'd said that to you once. Heilige sheiße, you have the prettiest pussy I’ve ever fucking seen, could just stare at how wet you get for me forever, he'd laughed during one delirious, marathon session of staying sunken between your legs.

He begins to rock his hips, growling quietly and pleased at the wet sounds of your of cunt squelching around him–another sound he enjoys, a marker of pride, how wet can I make my girl get–settling onto his forearm and pressing a little weight against your back.

He rests his head across your shoulders, burying his snout in your hair, breathing in hard-bought bursts of restraint.

"Yes, honey," you almost seethe, loosening your body, giving up a little of your own iron will to become just a little lost in the feeling of him. You relax your walls in a bid to take more of him, breathing tight, voice pitching up into a plea, "Yes, baby, that's perfect. That's so perfect, keep going. Just like that."

He rocks a little faster, thrusts a little deeper, breathes a little harder. The hand around your waist shifts up to your breast, but isn't dexterous enough to do more than give it an encompassing squeeze.

With your thighs pressed together, you feel as if your body can't stretch properly to take as much of him as you want (and you want all of him, every burning hot inch, fucking him so well that he cannot disappear into one of his miseries where he will not let you follow, because they all live in his head).

He ratchets back his speed, tries a new motion with his hips. He rolls instead of thrusting, a more fluid movement, brushing your insides in new ways that leave your swollen clit screaming for attention and your eyes watering. You breathe in ragged pants, fingers digging into the turf over your head, trying not to rip it with the force of your grip by the fistful.

You might cum. You might cum. You want to cum, and you might, and he's so much deeper now, panting hot as fire against your shoulders. You can feel the muscles in his abdomen clench and dance, his horns cutting the air in swipes of agitation above you, and he is so much this way. König: bigger, sometimes bloodier, but always so, so amplified.

"Honey, honey, honey," you whine in a chant under your breath, trying to ground yourself, trying to encourage him. You squeeze your thighs together for the extra stimulation, but you know you’re going to orgasm from him alone, no extra assistance needed. You’re just greedy, you just want it all, but you want him the worst.

When he pulls out this time, you snarl loud and gnash your teeth, digging your dirt-packed nails into his unyielding skin. You were full to the brim and on the wire-edge of climax, and he is so suddenly fucking gone it's almost as abrupt as violence.

"KÖNIG!" you shout, his callsign cutting from between your teeth like the desire to slit a throat, shattering the quiet around you both, reeling to find him with your burning eyes.

He collapses onto his side, cock jumping and leaking, and he whines deep in his throat, pulling at you with the flat of his hand. Your thigh, then his hip, your chest, then his–more hand signals, a story-told like a man with a sucking chest wound needing saving. He snakes his arm under you again, whining growing deeper, and you understand.

You roll, throwing your thigh over his hip, tucking tight against his chest. You give yourself one second of feeling cool air against your overheated pussy before you take him in hand and direct him home, and his deep, slick slide into you knocks the air out of your lungs like a punch to the solar plexus.

You’re only seconds away, and he can't be much farther, driving his head under yours to give you something to rest on that isn't the ground.

You don't utilize his offering, craning your neck as if you'll somehow get a glimpse of your connection from this angle–flat against him from belly to breast, resting your cheek and forehead against his heaving chest. His whine turns into a series of small, strangled howls and gasps as your voice crawls from whimpering to keening.

You’ve known you were going to cum, but you’re still somehow surprised with yourself at how quickly it's raced up, and how overwhelming it feels like it's going to be. You feel like you’re going insane.

His other arm wraps your ribs, too, squeezing you to him like you’re the only thing in the world worth keeping close, and damn him for it. You don't know why, but damn him.

"Cum, baby, cum," you instruct, gasping when you aren't clenching your teeth. You curl close to him, as close as your body will allow, spreading your legs as wide as you can. You drive back down into his thrusts, giving as much of yourself as you can, taking as much of him as you’re able.

You want it all–everything–every little bit of blood and bone that's built him into a home he offers only to you. "Cum in me. I'm ready, I want you to cum," you demand, finding it truer than true, finding yourself right on the razor-edge.

The command is all it takes. Three hard thrusts, and he's buried in you to the base, punching the wind out of your lungs, and filling you to the point of what feels like impossibility with his spend. It forces you to finish as well, lighting you up like a lightning storm, swallowing him deeper as you cum and cum like you'll never be able to stop, soaking the both of you.

You gasp a raw-throated howl, tears pricking the corners of your eyes, and you praise him as his cock kicks and kicks, emptying everything he's got to give into you.

A pressure builds inside you, beginning nearly unpleasant, until something just gives and his knot anchoring him to you feels right.

It feels special and dazzlingly intimate, and you’re boggled, again, with the knowledge you’re the only person in the world that he's ever shown himself to this way. It’s just a thing you know in your marrow, an immutable truth, like the sun setting in the west, or the cruelty of witches without their wants.

You wind down, sweating and panting and filthy in each other's arms, and you rock against him, holding him inside, clenching around him what little you can. You feel so wonderfully safe, so immaculately powerful, so stupidly, crazily, fantastically in love.

When your combined breathing evens, and the knot between you retreats, you groan when König shifts back into his human form, but only for the resituating you both have to endure.

The body against yours is familiar again, and you’re dreadfully sleepy, though you want to clean yourself and eat. You crave something raw, something bloody. You hunger the way an animal hungers after a hard fuck. His spend drips out of you now that his cock's returned to normal, and it forms a trail of cooling wet down the crease where your thigh meets your ass.

You feel lovely.

König laughs, rough and spent, tucking hair out of your face and kissing your closed eyelids. "Holy fucking shit, Schatzi," he marvels, looking at you like you are the only god that has ever mattered.

Your smile cuts sharp, and your fingers find his pulse point, tracing it thoughtfully. “You hungry? I bet you're fucking starved,” is all you say in return, eyes trailing the way his hand finds the charm bracelet newly returned to your wrist, touching it like a token.

It’s late and dark when you both manage to stumble your way back to your rental. He stays close, needy and soft, his hand on your hip, tugging you into his body when he can, careful of not knocking into the big, silver knife you’d placed back in the scabbard on your belt.

The hood is back on his head, rolled up to his nose, and his split mouth kisses against your neck and behind your ear, his eyes closed like he endures a waking dream. You, in your own filthied mask again, allow it, craning your neck to give him more room, anchoring him with an arm around his waist in return.

It is late now, and the neighborhood is silent. Again, you wonder what the quiet lives inside must be thinking–whether they think the crimes have increased into a new field of brutality, if they are fearing and wondering what body parts they will find at the treeline come dawn.

You know they will not leave the safety of their homes to investigate. They would be stupid to do something like that.

“That shower is going to feel so goddamned good,” you mutter, unlocking your door, and he nods against your skin.

“Oh, yeeaah,” he says, and the familiarity of the phrase makes you hum a laugh, shutting your eyes as you push through the threshold. "Get that blood off your skin before it stains. Your poor face, your poor arm. Poor Schatzi."

He splits off from you with a facsimile of a kiss–your masks pressing together at the mouth–and he pinches your ass before he takes off to the kitchen, his stomach growling, not even bothering to take off his boots.

You, however, kick off your shoes, and pull together clean clothes, heading toward the bathroom in the hall, the one with the big shower, in case he decides to join you.

Sleepy and content, you listen to his boots move heavily over the kitchen tile, the sound of the fridge door hissing snickt as he pulls it open, and shoves things around in his search for food. You nearly sway up to the closed door–why is it closed, you barely manage to wonder–your eyelids lead-weighted.

It takes only one thing to make them snap open wide, your back going ramrod straight. A dark smear, curling around the knob, around the edge of the door where it seams to the jamb.

Cold grips your lungs, sending your heart galloping painfully in the cage of your ribs, wondering if it really is copper you smell, or if it is a trick of your mind. The hall is too dark to tell if the swipe on the white door is red or black–if it is blood, if it is König’s or yours.

There is a presence at your back, and enormous hands on the door on either side of your head, so fast you cannot tell if you were even able to blink before you saw his wide, scarred, and knuckle-broken limbs spreading wide across the wood.

Your hand finds the grip of the knife, looking at the brutal gouges you had hacked into his forearm earlier in the night, and you are thinking faster and harder than you ever have in your life, realizing in a terrible microsecond that you will have to make a decision–that you will have to choose what reality you are willing to live with, or that you are simply mistaken.

Either way, you are moments from learning.

“Something wrong, Schatzi?” your boyfriend’s familiar voice asks, low and raspy, hot against the nape of your neck.

The laugh in his tone is cruel, and you can’t tell whether it belongs to König, or something pretending to be him.

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