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celtic-crossbow · 22 days

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Blood Ties Chapter 22

Series Masterlist

Warnings: A bit of angst; Poorly written smut; oral (m rec) A/N: We all knew he'd be pissed and he has never been on good terms with emotions. This poor man, I swear. Regardless, he's getting better! We'll be moving forward soon!

The sun was warm against your skin when you finally felt awareness creeping into your subconscious. You must have slept all night. There was only the slightest hint of worry before you realized a warm chest was rising and falling evenly below your head, with only the slightest hint of a wheeze, the calming cadence of a heartbeat against your ear. You were safe and warm in bed with a recovering Daryl. He still felt feverish but it wasn’t so drastic anymore. Had Carol given him the tylenol since you had apparently fallen into a coma?

Stretching your legs, you smiled and snuggled closer, the baby obviously wide awake as well, rolling against the sore patch of skin you actually laid on. You had almost forgotten about it. Truly had almost forgotten about the entire ordeal. The hunt, the injury, your father, and—oh, god—the fact that Daryl had known you were gone and had to be sedated. Hadn’t you talked to him? Had he answered? It was then that you decided to look up at him—

And he was staring right back at you.

He didn’t say a single word, not yet, but his face said it all. Stoic, eyes calm but with a blue inferno burning just behind the surface. His hand was on top of yours, his fingers beginning to drum against your skin.

“Good morning?” You smiled behind a wince, knowing you were about to be reprimanded beyond anything Hershel could have said the night before. He only hummed, an upward jerk of his chin returning your greeting. “You’re mad.” You knew he was, and he had every right to be, but you stood by your decision to hunt, to find some form of independence whilst protecting him and caring for the group.

“Mhm.” He replied simply. If the impending backlash wasn’t looming, you would have thought it was amusing. The fact that he had yet to say anything at all was more daunting than any words he could have spoken.

“Are you gonna yell at me now?” You moved back just the slightest bit and propped yourself on your elbow.

“Mm-mm.” Daryl shook his head. His fingers continued to drum on top of your hand. You distantly wondered if that hurt the IV lingering in those veins.

“Can you say something?” You sat up completely and pulled your hand away, rubbing at your sore belly with the other before you thought better of it but it was too late. His eyes had already moved to that spot and squinted. The hand closest to you, reached out to grasp your sweater and pulled it up. You let him. There was no sense in trying to hide it. The bruising was a bit worse but not so much that you were compelled to call for Hershel. “It’s fine. I promise.” He didn’t just let the fabric fall back into place. He jerked it down before retracting his hand. “Daryl.”

“What?” His voice was raspy, downright gravelly and he coughed from the use of it.

“I know you’re upset with me, and I—”

“Upset. Right.” He nodded, suddenly invested in the IV, turning his hand over as if he was contemplating tearing out the tubing. Keeping his head still, his eyes moved back to your stomach. “Hershel checked it?”

“Yeah, first thing I asked him to do.” Anxiety was bubbling up inside your chest. Somehow, his impassiveness was much worse than the anger you had expected. “The baby’s fine, doing pirouettes and shit in there.” His jaw was moving back and forth, a sure sign that he was chewing on the inside of his bottom lip. “I knew you’d be furious with me, but it was something I had to do.”

“Don’t gimme that shit, Y/N.” There was finally a hint of vexation that, oddly enough, soothed some of your worry. “Didn’t hafta do nothin’.”

“You needed—still need—to be in this bed. No matter what I say, you’re always busting your ass and running your health into the ground to provide for us—for me. I couldn’t let you—”

“I know what m’doin’ an’ I don’t regret it. You’re the one pregnant an’ s’my job to make sure you’re both eatin’ an’ safe.” The archer snapped, pushing himself up a little higher on the pillows, his arms trembling from the effort. “Ya had no business out there. Could’a got a lot worse than a fuckin’ bruise.” He swallowed hard, adam’s apple bobbing while he looked down at your belly again. It occurred to you then that he had improved enough to say full sentences without gasping, making your endeavor even more worth it.

“I won’t apologize. I got a bruise. You got fucking pneumonia!” You squared your shoulders and could have sworn you saw a flutter of admiration before his eyes returned to that stoney glare.

“Then don’t.” He hissed lowly. “Only reason I ain’t throwin’ ya outta here is cause I need to keep a eye on ya so ya don’t do something even more stupid.”

“I’m a fucking adult! I don’t need your permission! Maybe I’ll go back out today!” You wouldn’t, and you knew damn well that he had grounds to act how he was but it just wasn’t who you were to back down. It just wasn’t.

“Over my dead body.”

“Well, I won’t be waiting long if you keep this shit up!” You gestured vaguely toward him, to the whole of him. He’d been on death’s doorstep, the very reason you had gone out in the first place. Was there no way for him to understand where your head was when you made that decision?

“Ain’t fuckin’ drugged today.”

Well, that was very true, and now he knew to watch for Hershel. There wasn’t a single doubt in your mind that he would plow right through anyone who stood in his way. You were oddly thankful for that. He was getting better but he still wasn’t there. Not by a long shot, especially if the worsening of his voice was anything to go by; the way he started to wheeze and visibly hold back coughs that he needed to allow to happen.

“It’s done, Daryl, and I’m here. I’m alive. The baby is fine. Can’t you just let it go and focus on getting better?”

“Can’t you just stop bein’ a horse’s ass an’ take care’a our baby instead’a worryin’ ‘bout me all the goddamn time?”

Your hands flew up toward the sides of your head, ready to grasp handfuls of your own hair and rip it out. “We’d both like for you to be here when they’re born, you absolute stubborn, clueless jackass! We both fucking love you and want you to fucking be here!” You realized your mistake the moment the words fell from your tongue but you refused to take it back.

Me too, crazy girl.

You gasped, watching the change wash over him from irate to docile to confused. Goddamn it, you had been so tired, you had missed it and it was likely he’d not admit it again without the influence of a drug loosening his tongue.

He loved you. And you were fighting with him when all he wanted to do was protect you and the little life you had created together. You wanted to cry, wanted him to say it again. You had to find middle ground, had to find a way to make him comfortable enough to show you that part of him.

With a quick curl of his lip, obvious disdain, whether toward his own weakness or your actions, he leaned toward the bedside table for the cup of water. The sound he made when you reached to help could only have been described as a growl. “Don’t need ya to mother me.”

“I’m not mothering you, Daryl.” You snatched up the cup and held it out to him, the snarl he gave the gesture making you think he wouldn’t take it. In the end, thirst overpowered petulance. Still, he glared at you over the rim as he drank deeply. When the cup was empty, he tossed it across the room rather than handing it back. “Stop being such a child. There’s one baby in this room and that’s enough.” With a sound of utter frustration, you made to get off the bed, halted by a firm hand on your forearm. Middle ground, middle ground, middle ground.

“Where’re ya goin’?”

“To get more water. You need to keep drinking.” When you moved again, he tugged you back.

“You’re stayin’ right the fuck there.”

You tried to pull free but he held fast, just tight enough to stay you but not enough to hurt. There was a conscious effort to keep your tone level. “Let go, Daryl. It’s just downstairs. I’ll be right back.”

“Nah.” His eyes narrowed, challenging. The staredown was rather intense and it was you who relented. His intentions weren’t out of anger even though that’s what he was displaying. He was scared. You had sacred this seasoned hunter, a man molded out of pain and a past that he still hadn’t shared with you.

You acquiesced to his demand, sliding back toward him and up to the pillows to sink into them beside him. The shocked expression didn’t linger, reverting to stoicism before he released his hold and placed both hands on his lap. You didn’t stop him when he began to tinker with the IV tubing. As long as he wasn’t trying to remove it.

“I know I scared you and for that, I’m sorry.” You occupied yourself with rubbing your hands over the swell of your abdomen. You wouldn’t remind him that you didn’t feel a single hint of remorse for doing what you did, but the way he was handling this, you had terrified him. You were fully aware of that before you had left, but seeing the effect firsthand had you feeling horrible. As difficult as it was, you watched him and refused to turn away, bidding him to look at you. When he finally obliged, he looked so defeated, your heart crushed under the weight of his despondency.

You could picture him tearing out that IV, blood flying, Carol begging him to stay in bed. Hershel would have run to the door by then, hearing the commotion. The old man might have tried to block the exit but he wouldn’t have stayed when he saw the determination, the anger and the fear. No, he would have gone for the morphine then and alerted Rick and the others.

Hershel said he took on all three. Feverish, breathless, and weak, Daryl had fought three healthy men to try and get to you. Even when you were in no immediate danger, he had been so desperate.

When exactly had he become your person?

He once touched you so roughly, simply claiming you for pleasure. It wasn’t something you could ever hold against him. It had been the same for you. You had just wanted to keep feeling something when the world around you was dying.

Daryl was all you ever wanted to feel now. You wanted to be surrounded by him, drown in him. Breathe him in and let him flow through your veins.

Before you could say another word or think another thought, the archer was leaning toward you and curling a hand around the back of your neck to pull you in, simultaneously dragging the nasal cannula from its position, just in time for his mouth to cover yours. It was desperate, full of a need that he couldn’t articulate, and any objections you had were swallowed eagerly. Your hand came to rest on his cheek, lips moving against his, opening for him when his tongue probed the seam of them. His right hand found your belly, laying flat before twisting into the fabric of your sweater. You were the one to separate, nuzzling your cheek against his when you felt his grip on your neck tighten. It was too easy to reach and remove his hand, moving back only enough to bring his knuckles to your lips.

“Scared the shit outta me.”

“I know. I’m right here, Daryl. I won’t do it again. I promise.”

There was a sound from deep in his chest, amplified by the rattle of what little fluid remained, as he shook his hand from your grasp and wound his arm beneath yours to pull you closer. “Y/N, I—” When you angled your head to search out his gaze, he avoided you, his cheeks tinted but not from fever. With a soft smile of understanding, you worked his fingers loose from your sweater, one by one, avoiding the IV line.

“It’s okay.” You whispered against his ear, shifting back and kissing those knuckles just as you had the others. It was one of those moments you had played out in your head while hunting. Daryl needed reassurance. He needed to understand that when you promised, you meant it.

He needs you. He’s always needed you just as much as you’ve needed him.

He was watching you, brow drawn inward, as if he didn’t know what was happening, where to go next. This time, you would take the lead. He had been so open, so gentle with you after the incident in the forest. He had shown you his insecurities to soothe your own. Now, you’d show him that you were there and that you planned to stay.

Your lips slotted over his and this time, it was him to grant you access, your tongue licking eagerly into his mouth to savor that familiar taste of him. You couldn’t get enough, but you needed to keep things slow. He was still sick. You needed to take care of him. He chased you when you pulled away, halted only by your splayed fingers on his chest.

“Let me.” You stated softly, the corners of your mouth lifted when he settled back onto the pillows. Your sweater was the first thing to go, bra following shortly after, any shame you felt over your body quickly dissolving under the heat of his gaze. He said nothing but the hand limited by the IV came to rest at the hollow of your throat, his calloused palm flat as it explored each breast, round and fuller from the pregnancy. His touch was gentle, the memory of you explaining that part of you was sore and sensitive. Fingertips grazed your nipples and you gasped, quick to grab his wrist below the tubing. His hand was guided to his lap, where he left it.

Pulling your lip between your teeth, you slowly dragged the sheets away. Daryl was still only clad in boxer briefs, his desire for you already obvious. When you sat yourself on his thighs, your damp heat through the leggings lured his attention but only momentarily. His eyes lifted right back to yours. There was no objection when you slipped your fingers into the waistband of his last shred of clothing, creeping backwards toward his feet and pulling the fabric along with you.

He was fully hard before you pulled the underwear off his feet and tossed them aside, finding him once again chewing the inside of his lip. He watched you stand and slip off your own clothing, but he remained stock still, only his eyes shifting with your movements. Completely bare to him, you crawled forward, your belly heavy below you but unhindering. However, your thighs trembled ever so slightly to hold your embarrassingly slick core away from his groin, not yet ready to give in to that desire.

His hands moved up your sides, over your ribs and back down to your hips, settling there. Each kiss you initiated was accepted and returned, small and chaste, your own hands exploring the planes of his chest and abdomen. Muscles twitched beneath your fingertips, his pulse jumped against your lips while your mouth carved a path to his collarbone. That special spot that made him suck in a sharp breath and, surprisingly, tilt his head to grant you better access.There was no scoff or sarcasm, no resistance, no attempt at control. He just gave it up to you. Maybe he just needed it.

“Just let me take care of you, okay?” Your request was a whisper against his skin, each word spoken into a different area, your mouth ending just over his right nipple. Your tongue flicked against the nub, your lips puckering to blow cool air against it just to watch him shiver. You’d never tell anyone that the badass bowman had sensitive nipples. It’d be your own little intimate weapon. You paid attention to the raised skin of old injuries, a brief kiss to each one. He was so beautiful, scars and all. You wished he could see himself as you did.

His breath stuttered with each wet press of your exploring mouth, muscles shuddering while pre-seminal fluid smeared over your skin on your journey. His cock twitched against you, the tip pressing into your sternum, your own nipples pebbling with your arousal. Daryl’s stomach spasmed when your tongue dipped into his navel, circling once before you continued downward.

It was difficult to suppress a chuckle when he growled, your intentional avoidance of his aching length not going unnoticed. His hip bones were prominent and deliciously inviting. You licked and nibbled over the ridge and then moved to the other side to do the same, eyes locking onto his hands fisting into the sheets. It wasn’t your intent to torture him, though the prospect of exploring that option in the future was indeed enticing. Before he could protest, your hand was wrapping around him, his body quaking with a heaving sigh of relief.

Rubbing your thumb over the tip, you collected some of the wetness there, finding it just enough to help your hand slide down in a smooth glide. Once, twice, and on the third stroke, he lost the battle with self control and his back arched, right hand holding the bed sheets so tightly that you could see the IV catheter that lingered in a vein just beside his knuckles. For a moment, you thought the simple touches were bringing him to orgasm but with a noise of discontentment, his eyes sought out yours. His gaze was dark, clouded with lust. There was no way you could deny him.

You never looked away while wrapping your lips around the head, swirling your tongue around the girth before dipping it into the slit. You yearned to continue, literally ached to take him over the edge positioned just as you were but his breathing was too fast, too unsteady. With a pout, you pulled off of him and climbed upward to place a hand on the side of his neck.

“M’good.” He argued without hesitance, but fell into a coughing fit. Worry overriding desire, you shifted back slightly and let him sit up to get himself under control. His forehead rested just above the valley of your breasts, your fingers idly carding through his hair. When you tried to place the cannula back onto his face, he languidly swatted at your efforts.

“You’re not.” You pressed a kiss into his hair, hand releasing the device and gliding over the scars on his back. He didn’t react and that would always make your heart flutter, this time to a degree you were sure he could pick up in such close proximity. “Catch your breath. I’ve got you.” It took a few moments and you remained patient. Surprisingly, so did his erection. When he was breathing easier, he lifted his head, cheek and nose nuzzling your neck.

“Y/N.” He rasped, his hands smoothing over your sides and around to your back. “Need ya.” There was so much more than a sexual desire within that statement. It wasn’t something he actively tried to conceal. He wanted you to know of your importance in his life. For that time, it was as close to a declaration of love as you would get without some sort of influential stimulant.

“Daryl.” With a hand on each side of his face, you guided him, your lips meeting his. “Lay back for me.” The command was soft against his mouth, but he did as he was told. Even as he moved, you were reaching between your bodies and guiding him to your entrance. He met no resistance, eased by your arousal, and slipped inside. Your walls stretched and molded around him, dragging a whimper from somewhere deep within you that melded with the groan vibrating over his tongue.

His hands scrabbled to your hips, jaw clenched and twitching, words grating out of him. “Are ya—”

“I’m fine. Just—” You exhaled and gave yourself a moment to adjust. “Just relax, okay.” You felt his grip loosen, only slightly but enough for you to pay closer attention to how his jaw was just shy of going slack. “Let me take care of you.” You placed your hands over his—mindful of the IV—with the first roll of your hips, his head pressing back into the pillow. Fighting the urge to chase the pleasure you knew awaited you was just simply so arduous but necessary. You needed him as desperately as he needed you. Maybe it was selfish to have him like this while he recovered, but you had come so close to losing him. He had been so scared that he was losing you. This was something so far beyond carnal.

The rhythm you settled on was slow, leaning forward slightly to press your palms into the pillow on either side of his head. It allowed you to dip forward, stealing kisses and nuzzling against his cheek while you rode him so agonizingly slowly. His breathing only picked up slightly, if not a little ragged, rough palms exploring your hips, your thighs, the round of your belly. Periodically, his hips would jerk, a silent plea for more that you couldn’t give him, not then. He let you soothe him, allowed you to keep him on his back when you both knew he could change that if he truly wanted, sick or not.

“Christ,” Daryl grunted, squeezing your waist. “Are ya tryin’ to kill me?”

You risked a chuckle, rising on your knees until he almost slipped out of you before sinking back down. “Quite the opposite.”

“Goddamnit, woman, I ain’t gonna break! Can ya just—”

You silenced him with your tongue shoving straight past his lips, swallowing the frustrated growl and drawn out moan that followed, your walls purposefully squeezing him. You’d get him there.

Eventually.

In fact, you were almost certain it was you suffering the most. You were in control but forced to refrain, the hormones raging through your blood demanding a satisfying release that was just not approaching fast enough. Your clit was stiff and throbbing and yet to be touched. You were barely catching yourself before taking on a pace that would send him into a frenzy.

As if reading your mind, his left hand wedged its way between your bodies for his thumb to press against your neglected bundle of nerves, igniting a fire deep in your belly. “Daryl.” You panted, rocking against him while his digits continued to work at you. “Oh, god, don’t stop.”

“Didn’t plan on it.” He rasped, urging you forward to kiss you hard, teeth and tongues clashing. It wasn’t long before you could hear it in the way he grunted against your mouth, suppressing whines as well as wheezing. You could feel it in how he twitched and swelled within you. Regardless, he didn’t leave you to guess. “M’gonna—”

“Just let go.” You would be right behind him. Hell, maybe right in front him. You had just taken the liberty of attempting to swallow down any sound he might make when he reminded you how he could play your body like a finely tuned instrument and added just enough pressure to his strokes to send you spiraling, forcing your own shout against his tongue.

The high you rode was seemingly endless, pulse after pulse and wave after wave. The contractions of your velvety walls had Daryl following you almost immediately, his release warm as your body welcomed it, pulled it deeper. His hips were driving upward in steady, shallow thrusts to meet your downward presses, keeping you suspended in bliss with him until you were too sensitive to move. Even in the aftermath, you had enough presence of mind to squeeze his bicep when the pressure became overwhelming.

Your forehead rested against his when reality began to flicker back into focus, his wheezing breaths the first thing you were able to hone in on and react to accordingly. With clumsy movements, you grabbed the nasal cannula and positioned it on his face, pulling him to sit up so you could rub at his back, encouraging him to cough.

“Shouldn’t have let you take that off to begin with.”

“Quit fussin’, it ain’t that bad.” He promptly coughed but shot you a look when you opened your mouth. “Feel like a old man in a nursin’ home.” He rasped, trying again to clear his lungs.

“But your dick still works just fine. May have gotten me pregnant, Dixon.” Your concern melted into laughter that had his eyes squinting.

“Think s’funny?” He snapped harmlessly, a hand pressed against his chest.

“Just imagine how Hershel would have reacted if I’d needed to go get him.”

“Nah. Don’t really wanna.”

He was still inside of you, softening but the sensation somehow a comfort that you weren’t ready to give up. Fingers smoothed back his hair, just long enough now to be tousled and spiked, the epitome of proper sex hair. Fingertips whispered over his jaw, once and then again, the love you felt for the man threatening to doom your heart into an explosion.

“Daryl, I—”

He caught your wrist, that uncertain, conflicted look in his eyes. Like he didn’t understand how you could be compelled to feel so strongly for him. Like he just knew you could find better in almost any man that wasn’t him. Maybe he didn’t remember what he had said, after all. Maybe you had read into his earlier words simply on a mission to find what you wanted to hear.

His thumb grazed over your knuckles, back and forth. “I know.”

You wanted him to hear it again. Over and over until he believed it. Leaning forward, you brought up your other hand to mimic the previous actions of the first, lips brushing his, preparing to remind him of exactly how you felt and would continue to feel.

As if on cue, there came a small knock on the door, your wide eyes meeting before you both turned to stare at the entryway.

“If you two are done,” came Carol’s small voice, quivering with laughter, “I have Tylenol.”

#murda writes #blood ties #daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #the walking dead #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon x y/n #daryl dixon x you #daryl dixon smut #daryl dixon x female reader #daryl x female reader #pregnant!reader

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ghosts-cyphera · 6 months

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Here I am your biggest nightmare, I have a request from my not so beloved Graves with the prompt 27 “You’re a bad liar did you know?”, but I have no idea what to ask for with it, so good job love you bye *kiss kiss*

turns out that you, darling, were my biggest blessing because this is what got me out of my writing slump. fucking graves, lmao. it's far from my best work (besties please go easy on me), but I'm so very grateful to you for sending this in! ♡

warnings/content: phillip graves x gn!reader, 18+; mdni! angst with suggestive themes, mentions of the (in this drabble upcoming) massacre of las almas. reader working for the shadow company. blackmail leading to a kiss, implied future sex. petnames: sweetheart, baby. wordcount: 515

"I'm done." with shaking hands and a pounding heart, you stormed past graves, your boots falling heavy against the concrete floor. "I want nothing to do with this."

"if you think—," graves' fingers around your arm yanked you back to him. his touch was so tight, so unforgiving, that even through your tactical gear you knew your skin would be kissed by bruises after. "—for a goddamn moment that you can go and walk away from me, baby—"

"I am not your fucking baby, graves," you spat out, jaw clenched. "not after tonight's orders. I can't stop you from taking over las almas, but I sure as hell want nothing to do with it." your fingers moved to tear off the patch on your shoulder, and you let it fall on the ground. "I quit."

where you'd expected exploding rage: his face to turn red with his anger, and the scar on his cheek to scrunch up as he yelled... somehow this was worse.

the darkening eyes. the tilt of his head. the quiet amusement that finally—after what had seemed like a minute of him quietly observing you—turned audible as he parted his lips. "what do you think will happen to the people of las almas if you leave?"

"what?"

even more than you hated the way your voice had cracked, you hated the way that he laughed, low and breathless.

"you are what calms me down." he took a step toward you, fingers around your bicep tightening their grip as his chest pressed against yours. "you are what keeps me sane. take that away and—," his lips brushed against your earlobe, his voice low. "well. how much blood in your hands can you live with, sweetheart?"

your heart was racing: your thoughts clouding. "stop talking, phillip."

"why?" he raised a brow, his breath warm against your skin. familiar. "afraid you're gonna walk away? afraid you're gonna have to live with the guilt of knowing that if you had stayed—," he tilted his head, "if you had given yourself to me one more time—" his thumb moved to brush against your lower lip, and from the touch you shivered. "you could've saved them all?"

"get your fucking hands off me."

"no, walking away is not what you're afraid of," his voice was amused as he wet his lips. "you're afraid because you know you can't."

you jaw clenched as you swallowed, dry. "I never wanted any of this."

"you're a bad liar, did you know?" he laughed. "what you and I have is good. we both know it. fuck, if I didn't know any better I'd even go as far as to say that you learned to love me."

"yet you know that I hate every last thing about you."

"yet you will stay."

"not for you."

"for me, for them," he tilted his head as his lips moved to brush against yours. "doesn't matter." his lips captured yours in a kiss deep and dark—full of denied need, and guilt, and shame.

enough to bring the heaviest of tears to your eyes.

"the only thing that matters is that at the end of the day—"

enough to make your thighs clench.

"I will always win." his finger cupped your cheek, possessive. "never forget that, baby."

a/n: we hate him we hate him we hate him we want to fuck him we hate him

#phillip graves x reader #graves x reader #phillip graves x you #graves x you #philip graves x reader #phillip graves fic #m:pd

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nyrasproblm · 9 days

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LET THE WORLD BURN

Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x fem!reader (wife)

Word Count: 0,7K

Warning: possessive behavior

note: this short story is a failed attempt to write something based on the song below:

disclaimer: I do not own any rights to the music used as inspiration for this story.

You kept running as fast as you could, even though you somehow knew it would be useless. His fear spoke louder than his reason, the tears flowing freely down his face were proof of that.

Your knees were shaking slightly from all the time you ran, the hallways all looked the same. You always hated that about Harkonnen Fortress: everything looked exactly the same. Turning another hallway, you leaned against one of the walls to take a deep breath, still looking around with wide eyes.

Your husband's hoarse voice was still present in your ears, you thought you would never forget it.

Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen.

The sick psychotic man you were stuck with for the rest of your life. That thought made you shiver slightly. Feyd treated you well, as well as someone like him could, but then you perhaps abused his good faith, spending too much time with other people than with him, spending more time with other men, laughing with them. Feyd gave you a warning to stop it, or he would be seen as a weak husband who doesn't have his wife's respect, but you didn't listen, so he started being extremely violent, not physically and not towards you, of course.

Feyd seemed obsessed with you since before the wedding, the possessive behavior seemed to get worse.

You had only been married for about a couple of months and you couldn't take it anymore, Feyd would kill anyone for anything. Before it was just the servants, but then he started killing guards, officers working for his uncle, and one of his concubines. It wouldn't take long for your turn to come.

You should calm down and not think like that because at your wedding Feyd swore at the altar that he would protect you, but you knew that wasn't true.

You took comfort in the fact that if Feyd laid a finger on you he would answer to your father, and the alliance his uncle had formed with your planet would end. But tonight... tonight made you forget all that.

Feyd seemed more skittish than usual, aggressive. He had entered his quarters and was breathing heavily, his nostrils flared. You remained quiet, but it seems that your silence irritated him even more, he started throwing the furniture in the room, the dresser, the mirror, and turned to you. You could have sworn you saw his eyes red with anger, without waiting another second you ran away, getting lost in the maze of colorless corridors of this place.

Your thoughts returned to the present moment when you realized that you had been standing in the same place for a long time, Feyd could reach you if you stayed there. Walking back, you sighed heavily and groaned in frustration when you saw that the next hallway was exactly the same as the one you were in.

Before you could turn back and see if you could enter another hallway, a pair of muscular arms closed around you, your back pressed against his chest, warm and hard from years of training. You looked down and immediately recognized the hands with the fingers full of Feyd rings. Before he could scream, a large, calloused hand covered his mouth.

"I was too weak, I shouldn't have fallen in love with someone treacherous like you." his voice tickled your ear. "I let you get too close, that will change."

You struggled and tried to free yourself, but it was useless, Feyd was bigger and stronger from the years of training and fighting.

"I know you think you can get away, but I'm the only one." he tightened his grip. "I can't let you go, don't you understand?"

He released you and turned your body, making you face him, then pushed you towards one of the dark walls, you felt your back pressed against the cold stone. Then he pressed himself against you, pinning your arms to your sides, bringing your body closer to his.

"You don't understand, you don't understand what I would do for you, woman." he nuzzled your cheek and you held your breath. "I would burn the world down, I would burn the whole world down for you. It would just be you and me, you would call my name."

"Don't say that, Feyd..."

"If I can't have you, then no one else can." Looking into his eyes, you knew that was true.

You were his forever.

#writing #writers on tumblr #dune fanfiction #fem reader #feyd rautha #dune fic #feyd rautha fanfic #feyd rautha imagine #feyd x reader #feyd rautha x reader #Spotify #feyd x you #feyd oneshot

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scudslut · 21 days

Text

18+, mdni

s4!daryl x fem!reader

a/n: this is such a random drabbleish thing, idk. i just have so many feelings about s4 daryl and how angsty but all consuming it would be to be with him at that point, like my fucking god i’ll explode.

sex is all it was — initially.

he didn’t even remember how it started if he was honest; one day finding himself thrusting all his burdens and frustrations into your supple, welcoming body.

it was an escape for the both of you, nothing more. somewhere to get lost for the lingering moments between life and death. leaving as soon as it was done and hardly speaking otherwise, if at all.

he wasn’t blind though. he knew it was more for you… something deeper than just an outlet for anger. solemn eyes tracking him around the prison searching for any sign of reciprocity. And he wasn’t void either. he felt the strings each time you were under him, or against him, whispering his name like a bedtime prayer to bind you two.

but there was a wall within him. one he built so tall and long ago he didn’t even remember the workings of. but any wall has its cracks and weakened points, and he found you knew them all somehow. had them mapped and jotted in your memory, poking them till they crumbled so he worked overtime fortifying. leaving you in the shadows for weeks at a time, with nothing but a glance towards you at most.

he couldn’t care — couldn’t let himself. there was too much on the line for not only him, but you. He didn’t want him for you, that wasn’t how it should be, but it seemed that the harder he pushed you away, the greater the fall was. finding you and slamming you against the nearest counter to be consumed by you. pent up so badly it honestly felt like he’d black out within the passion, the only thing keeping him lucid being the chants you sang softly. the eyes you gave him as he unloaded everything into you.

the longer it went on the worse it got, finding himself noticing the smaller details about you. the way sweat would build across the high points of your cheeks, glowing radiantly and flushed as he thrust slower. the way your hair would fall so perfectly around your shoulders and catch the light seeping in through the windows. and most of all, the way your voice lured him closer like the works of a siren, tone so soft and sultry as you praised him, his hands began to sweat.

he would turn you around, hoping the distant position would keep you unattached, or more so, him unattached. only to later begin tracing his eyes across your profile, over your jaw and neck while you gasped with closed eyes, eyelashes thick and wet from pleasured tears.

he was fucked, and he knew it. ran from it for so long he forgot what direction he was going and somehow circled back. and you were there as always, understanding him so fluently it was useless to hide. giving yourself to him so completely and vulnerably he had no choice but to give up.

he’d whimper as the new feelings washed over him, letting you soothe and pleasure him however you wanted, finally feeling the overwhelming understanding that all you wanted to do was take his pain and absorb it yourself. feel it for him so he could see he wasn’t alone. you’d keep him, and he’d keep you.

you wouldn’t push him. emotional exhaustion was prevalent in you both and finally a night was spent together, close but distant, open arms but lingering remnants of closed-off barricades. it wasn’t simple for him, or you for that matter. it was a new map being drawn and completely new territory he’d never dipped a toe in before.

and the next time it wasn’t uncontrollable passion against any counters. it was shaky fingers unbuttoning his vest while he tried to control his breathing. eyes darting all over your body, unsure but starving and trying to trust. slow and deliberate hands would take him in, all of him, gentle and curious, learning him in a way no one had before. a way he’d never let anyone one.

he never felt like he had been lost until he was with you. you saw him. accepted him without even batting an eye like it was the most natural and obvious thing to do. years he had shut every ounce of sympathy and companionship away, scarred from all the bad he had seen people do, it was jarring to realize there were people who simply loved to love, that you loved him just because he was him. and he knew now he wouldn’t go back. he wouldn’t shut you out anymore because he loved you just the same.

he would always circle back to you.

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darklinsblog · 11 months

Text

Bring Me To Life| Sandman Imagine

Summary: Y/N is part of the Burgess family, somewhat of a black sheep, when she finds the prisoner her family has kept for 90 years, your father finds a way to dispose of his own daughter. Imprisoning her with The Dream Lord.

Pairing: Morpheus x Burguess! Reader

Requested: Yes

Author’s note: Will be updating my tag list so please comment if you want in on out of it!

You were always aware you were different from your family, they were always so shallow, empty, even.

Your father was nephew of the wealthy Roderick Burgess, and if Roderick was cruel and despicable, your father Maurice was much more worse.

For starters, he had way too many children, you were clearly the one in the middle, having many responsibilities that no child should have at your age, and even when you did everything you could to earn your father’s love and acceptance, you only got hatred in return.

He genuinely hated your guts.

His words, not yours.

But still someone a part of you was holding onto hope that maybe one day he would learn to love you.

While you waited for that day to come, you did your best to blend into the background, which for the record, wasn’t hard at all with six teens running around the house screaming all day long.

By your twenties you were a master of truly “minding your shit” as your father used to tell you, one particular day, everyone had gone hunting as the only female, it was easy to leave you behind.

You would be lying if you said that you weren’t bored out of your mind after a while, and then like a light switch, you remembered the house had a basement.

As any forgotten part of the house, you were told multiple times to leave it, to never even think of it, but at least the mysterious basement had to be more interesting than this empty mansion.

What you did not prepare for, was to find some… being trapped in a glass prison, he seemed like a man but something about him felt supernatural, extraordinary even.

His eyes followed even the slightest of your moves. As your fingertips merely crashed the cold surface of the glass, the eyes of the “man” opened wider, a distorted reflection of your father’s knowing figure, holding s large object, but before you could turn to face him.

All was suddenly black after a sharp pain hit the back of your neck and a buzz on your ears.

As you regained consciousness, your senses buzzed, everything somehow felt colder, lonelier, wrong…

When turning your head, you noticed the being you were staring at on the other side of the glass; only this time, he was right beside you.

Completely startled you backed away, until you met the cold surface of the bubble you were now trapped in.

You noticed more now the nakedness of the man (that is to refer to him because quite frankly, he was anything but human), which made your cheeks turn red and more than ever you appreciated your own clothes.

Tears were streaming down your face quietly and you wiped them away as soon as the left your eyes, embarrassed for this stranger to see you at your very worst.

“Morpheus”.

A voice inside your head spoke calmly but loudly, you turned to see the man beside you, empathy could be seen in his features, his hand softly grazing yours.

It had been so long since he last touched anyone, your skin felt soft and warm to the touch, it was something that now his heart longed for.

You didn’t know what it was, maybe the despair of being trapped here for God knows how long, the confusion and anger that came as to why you were here or the overall sadness.

Whatever it might’ve been, you found yourself embracing Morpheus softly by the neck, hiding your face as you sobbed lightly.

The Dream Lord was startled at first, but delicately his hands found a place in your back and to your waist he was letting you have complete control over this moment, he did not wish to touch you in any way that would make you uncomfortable.

He let you hold onto him as long and as hard as you needed to, but he knew his role there was only to contain your sadness until it went away.

“It is nice to know you, Morpheus” you whispered in his ear after a long period of sadness.

Ten long years had passed since you were trapped in the bubble prison with Morpheus, and you would be lying if you said you hadn’t developed a particular affection towards each other as well as a complex non-spoken communication between the two, he would let his voice echo your mind every now and then, but mostly, by simply looking at each other it was enough to know it all.

It hurt to think that nobody was looking for you, but then again, you would not be surprised by this, yet, a naive part of you thought maybe they were looking. Truth be told, if they were, they would’ve found you by now. After all, you were still in the same damn house.

But today something happened, Alex Burgess, your uncle, had gone down to see you two, it had been years since you saw him, but he was indeed, fragile and old, almost at the end of his days.

His eyes fell on you, you could see the sense of recognition in his gaze but quickly his eyes diverted to the King of dreams, completely disregarding your presence.

You held onto Morpheus’ arm trying to hold back on your anger as Alex Burgess went on his monologue to the King of Dreams about how he had done wrong in not wanting to be free all those years ago.

But you understood his motives as to why he didn’t chose freedom, his companion deserved that the perpetrators of her cold blooded murder paid the price.

Truth be told, it also did rub the wrong way to Morpheus how your own blood ignored you, after spending a decade by your side, he had gotten to know your very essence and in full honesty, you deserved something better than the rotten tree you were born in.

But something happened, as Alex turned his wheels to leave, the restraining runes were slightly wiped off.

You both looked at one another, acknowledging the window of opportunity you were given by the neglect of Alex.

For the first time in a decade you recognized in the eyes of the other, the almost foreign sentiment of hope, you step aside, letting Morpheus concentrate as you understood the only one who could set you free now was him.

Everything to you, seemed to happen in the blink of an eye, the cracks, the breaking, the shots fired and as Morpheus conjured some sort of vortex, he stretched out his hand for you to reach.

Going with him, was tempting, but you knew now as you stood in front of him, your journeys were very different, he had a kingdom to restore while you had to figure your own identity outside of the Burgess last name, to find if, you had any other living relatives, to find answers to all your questions.

You smiled at him, in a way which he understood it all.

“There will always be a place for you in the Dreaming Y/N Burgess” he finally spoke, after all those ages of silence, it wasn’t just a voice echoing in your brain, it was real.

You nodded, at the very edge of tears, the mixture of relief and nostalgia for this chapter of your life ending becoming all so overwhelming.

“I’ll come and find you, King of Dreams” you promised to him, the corners of his mouth lifting in the ghost of a smile.

“Till we meet again” he said taking your hand and planting a subtle kiss on it before going back to his world.

Leaving you be in yours.

But even as the chapter of your imprisonment came to and end, you knew, deep in your heart, your story with the myth in the flesh, was far from over.

Taglist: @emiemiemiii @ladyfairenvale @hungrhay @aurorarevenclaw1927 @adishax @meganmayhem89 @mrs-captainsteverogers @hb8301 @sarahbullet235 @bambooing-shenanigans @queenshelby @characterxreaderimagine @emarich7 @carolcrysis @sister-of-stars @coolsnowker @vvsdreaming @jesllianaquilesrolon @supermegapauselouca

#the sandman comics #sandman imagine #sandman netflix #dream of the endless #morpheus dream #sandman x reader #dream of the endless x reader #sandman shitpost #sandman dream #sandman x y/n #morpheus sandman #morpheus x reader #morpheus x you #lord morpheus #lord morpheus x reader

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mamayan · 8 months

Text

★彡Gentle☆彡

Giyuu Tomioka x GN! Reader

Giyuu is always gentle and firm when you need it.

tw: Fluff • Cuddling • Reader is described as “soft” • Hurt/Comfort • Depression • Please do not read if seeing descriptors of depression is triggering to you. This is meant to uplift not harm. Do not read if this does not seem supportive to your journey.

Again.

The day passed by again, and yet, you couldn’t bring yourself to move.

Again.

The thought of doing something as simple as bathing left you feeling exhausted.

Again.

You felt the dread filling you up inside, like the tide rising, and you were drowning once more in silence.

No one liked to talk about it. Reality was far too nasty an image to allow for others to see, so it was smashed down to avoid the light of day. Except, as you woke again in the middle of the night, you realized maybe it was all of you avoiding the light of day. Shamefully hidden away from prying eyes, hushed whispers of servants as they quietly performed their chores in the early morning when you finally went to sleep. Your eyes glanced at the empty bed beside you, numbly noting he still wasn’t back.

Was he dead?

The thought filled you with nausea even as you lay limp.

A divider moved, alerting you to a presence.

“I brought you food…” the voice which spoke was small and unsure. Your eyes were all which moves, seeing the silhouette of a Kakushi, their features hidden like always.

“Thank you…” it was the first time you’d spoken in nearly a week. You forced yourself to sit up, even as tears pricked your eyes as the Kakushi shuffled into the bedroom, placing a tray beside the bed even as your stomach pleaded not to do this. It was lying to you, you knew it was, but you were struggling—

“Tomioka-sama is back!” It was a distant cry, carrying into the room through an echo.

You flinched, cringing inward on yourself as the Kakushi beside you seemed to light up. You didn’t share the excitement, despite your relief flooding you at his safe return. It wasn’t as if you didn’t want to see him. It was the opposite in fact… what if he didn’t want to see you?

They were going to report on you. They always did, nothing deeper than the loyalty of those within the ranks of the corpse. While Giyuu wasn’t the most beloved amongst the Hashira themselves, he was still adored and respected by all the others. His dedication and hard work undeniably charming as he risks his life every time he takes a mission.

Where did that leave you? While he fought for his life and others away you were rotting like someone already—

“Tomioka-sama, welcome home!” You hadn’t even heard his foot steps. Your head snapping up to stare blankly at the stoic face of your lover. While his face didn’t give much away, his eyes seemed to swim with worry as he entered the room you both shared cautiously. He nodded absentmindedly at the Kakushi rushing out, likely overjoyed to no longer be baby sitting you. You looked away, feelings of shame and anger somehow muted beneath the metaphorical water which kept you submerged in your sorrow.

He was quiet. Even as he moved the tray of food to the side to sit beside you, before setting the tray in his lap, hardly any noise passed.

With your head down, you had a perfect view of the chopsticks entering your field of vision. The war with your stomach won, as you open your lips to allow him to feed you. Even as tears slid down your cheeks, Giyuu didn’t hesitate to softly wipe them away as he fed you each bite of food until the tray was nearly empty.

You no longer felt as nauseous, the burning in your stomach gone as well. Giyuu had a hand against your mid-back, keeping you from pulling away as he helped you drink the water brought with your dinner.

“All of it,” his voice a bit husky as he hums in approval as you do as told. Finishing all of the water before he relents and moves the tray completely out of the way.

You sniff, feeling better and worse all at once because you had certainly needed the food but absolutely did not need the shame which followed. It should be you feeding him, he’s the one who’s been on mission, risking his life and who knows what else out there. You knew logically this would pass, it’s not your fault, it’s not anything new but—

“Shh,” he’s so gentle as his lithe arms wrap around you and encourage you to lean into him. He’s gentle as he cups the back of your head and lets you rest your cheek against his collarbone. He releases one hand to lightly trail down your spine and back up, letting you feel his presence but not overwhelming you.

“I’m sorry you have to deal with me like this,” you whisper in confession. His arm squeezes you, his grunt making a small smile tilt on your lips. You could image his brows are furrowed.

“You have nothing to be sorry for my love.” His words released a damn inside of you though, as your tears welled and spilled freely.

He pulled back, cupping your cheek and looking shaken and panicked as you sobbed. “I do though— I’m like, like this, and I, I don’t want to be,” you’re nearly inconsolable, even as he tries to hush and kiss you. Your heart physically aching inside the confines of your chest as you grip his haori tight and cry.

“I don’t know why I’m like this—!” Your world spins just as the words finish leaving your mouth.

You huff, startled out of your tears as you look up at Giyuu, his face stern as he grips your jaw with one hand, the other beside your face keeping him above you.

“You are everything to me,” his voice is deeper, clearer as he speaks now, “and I know just how suffocating this state can be.” He forced your head up, making you look into his eyes which you feared held resentment towards you.

They don’t.

His dark blue gaze is only filled with patience and kindness, breaking your heart and yet somehow repairing it too.

His weight descends as you struggle to fight back more tears. His weight solid and comforting on top of you as you soak in his warmth and the scent he carries which smells like home. He is your home. And you were his.

You wrapped your arms around him, spreading your legs and allowing him even closer. It was intimate yet not sexual, as he circled one arm around your waist and another beneath your head. Your soft body pliant beneath him. His breath fanning over your cheek as he left small kisses on your skin.

So gently.

Whispering words of love to you.

“I’m so lucky to have you…” his lips felt ticklish.

“Thankful to see you after every mission.”

“Always fighting to come back to you…”

“I love you,” you’re nearly asleep in his arms, surrounded entirely by Giyuu as a blanket of safety envelops you.

The sun might rise and fall tomorrow without ever seeing your skin, but that’s alright.

He’s home again and by your side through it all.

Words of love from me to you. I know it might not be possible to leave the bed today, or tomorrow, and the thought of eating or waking might make you sick… but I promise your body needs it. If nothing else, let a gentle Giyuu encourage you through the day. Let your f/o be there for you. Heck, drop in my inbox if you need another character— don’t let yourself suffer in silence alone♡

#Giyuu Tomioka #Giyuu x reader #not proof read!#kny Giyuu x reader #Giyuu x GN! reader #Giyuu fluff #kimetsu no yaiba #water Hashira #fluff #Giyuu Tomioka hurt/comfort #a little angsty

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fortheloveofwonderland · 9 months

Text

No Distance Left to Run | Part 2 | S.R

Previous Part | Next Part

Chapter Summary - On Rossi’s wedding day, Spencer discovers something that could change everything. You are still reeling from the aftermath of your confession and from events that transpired with your husband a few days prior.

Pairing - Spencer Reid / BAU Fem! Reader

Category - friends to lovers | mutual pining | angst with happy ending | smut minors DNI

Warnings - spoilers for 14.02 Starter Home, 13.23 Believer, 14.01 300, 14.14 Sick and Evil, very brief mentions of therapy, burns, abusive relationship, drinking, typical case related stuff, allusions to sex, hints at cheating, swearing, prison arc, abuse statistics, violence, arguing, tears, strangulation, hints at sexual assault.

WC - 9.7k

Part 2 - Never Have I Ever

Present Day

You inhaled deeply until your lungs couldn’t physically hold any more air. You held your breath while you counted to five in your head. Then you slowly exhaled the breath through your nose. You repeated the action three more times.

It was a tactic your therapist had forced upon you, to employ when you were feeling overwhelmed. At first you’d thought it was dumb, not believing the simple act of breathing could help bring you back from the brink. But time and time again you were proven wrong.

Once you had calmed your rattled nerves you went to pick up the glass of wine from the coffee table. As you leaned to get it, your shirt sleeve rolled up a few inches, the pink scar on your forearm almost in the perfect shape of the state of Florida, caught your eye.

That’s what Luke had told you in the hospital while the doctor was debriding your burn.

“It kinda looks like Florida.”

“Excuse me?”

“The wound. It looks like the shape of Florida.”

His strange comment had made you laugh and it had taken your mind off of the pain of the doctor scraping debris from your wound. You supposed that had been Luke’s plan.

Before you picked up your glass you found yourself running your fingertips over the scar. It had been a long time since it caused you any pain, physical pain anyway. The residual mental anguish was yet to vanish entirely. It wasn’t the only scar adorned on your body, but it was the one that was the hardest to hide.

In those days Spencer had taken the brunt of your anger. It hadn’t been deliberate, you didn’t mean to take your frustrations out on your best friend. It was almost a miracle after the way you’d treated him that he still called you his best friend.

You pushed him away during that time, because if anyone was going to get to the bottom of what was going on it would be Spencer. He knew you so well, sometimes you thought he knew you better than you knew yourself. And he’d already started piecing together the truth that day in the Guymon police department.

Maybe if you’d told him sooner he could have helped. Maybe if you’d just been honest with him that day when he asked, things wouldn’t have gone on for so long.

“Did Jared do this to you?”

“What? How can you even ask me that?”

“That wasn’t an answer. You’re deflecting.”

“I didn’t think a dumb question warranted an answer.”

“You’re doing it again. Did he hurt you?”

“Stop it, Spencer. Just stop it, ok? Stop it.”

You were a strong, independent and fierce woman. You didn’t want to admit to your best friend, or anyone for that matter, that your husband was abusive.

Was abusive. Past tense.

You couldn’t fight back at home because it would make things so much worse, so instead you took your anger and your pain out on the one person who had done nothing but care about you since the moment you’d met him.

And despite what you put Spencer through, he’d never once turned his back on you. This time however, you might have gone too far.

You finally picked up the wine glass and sunk back against the couch cushions. You’d really messed up this time. You’d messed up with Spencer before, plenty of times, but this seemed worse somehow.

After all these years you had absolutely no right to tell Spencer how you felt about him. You’d always known he was in love with you and you’d had ample opportunity to tell him you felt the same.

Too much time had passed, too much had changed. He’d been single almost the entire time you’d known him, with the exception of Maeve. You’d had plenty of time before you met Jared to tell him how you felt.

But now for the first time in the fifteen years you’d known him he was in a steady relationship. Max was sweet and uncomplicated and she seemed to make Spencer happy.

They’d been dating around four months now and things seemed to be good between them. When he’d introduced her to the team, he’d been beaming, happier than you’d ever seen him.

“Guys, this is Max. My…girlfriend.”

No one even had a suspicion he’d been dating someone before he brought her along for drinks with the team just over a month ago. No one had a clue.

“Girlfriend?” JJ spoke to everyone's confusion.

“Yeah,” he blushed slightly, wrapping an arm around Max’s petite shoulders.

“How long has this been going on for?” Emily smiled around her glass.

“A few months.” Max answered for him.

“After all these years the kid is still so hard to read.” Rossi chuckled. “It’s very nice to meet you, Max. I’m Dave.”

You’d merely stood and stared as one by one the BAU agents introduced themselves to the slight brunette, meanwhile Spencer smiled proudly at her side.

It wasn’t until later on in the evening Spencer found you outside the bar, leaning up against the wall and staring at the starry night sky.

“Hey,” he tentatively approached you. “You’ve been awfully quiet tonight.”

You wanted to shake it off, to tell him you were just tired or something. But for some reason you couldn’t bite your tongue.

“You remember when I got engaged?” You frowned at him, unable to hold back.

“Uh, of course I do?” His brows furrowed, not sure where you were going with this.

“I told you that I owed you more than having to find out at the same time as the rest of the team, that I should have told you first.”

Spencer sighed with a slow nod of understanding.

“You’re annoyed that I didn’t tell you about Max.”

“Bravo, genius.” You scoffed.

You were a little on the rogue side of tipsy. Had you been more sober you wouldn’t have dared bring this up.

“Well as I told you when you got engaged, you didn’t owe me anything. The same way I didn’t owe you anything.” He folded his arms across his chest.

“It’s different and you know it.” You spat.

“It's no different.” He shook his head. “You left. You walked away. You made it perfectly clear that it didn’t mean anything to you so finally I met someone else.”

“I never said it didn’t mean anything.” You scoffed, he was putting words into your mouth.

“No you’re right, you didn’t.” He stepped closer to you. “You didn’t say anything. For six months you haven’t once brought it up and I didn’t either because I didn’t want to look like an idiot. But you just left without a word and then you acted like it never happened. So I met Max and considering you’ve barely said two words to me in the last half a year, I didn’t think I needed to explain myself to you.”

A tear escaped your eye as you pictured the way Spencer had looked at you that night and then the way he’d looked at you today.

He’d been well within his right not to tell you about Max after what you’d done. He was right, you’d left and you’d never mentioned it again. You had tried to pretend it never happened because realistically it shouldn’t have happened.

But it had and there was no changing that. Just because you wouldn’t talk about it didn’t make it any less real. And now for over seven months you had tried to forget it ever happened, but there was no forgetting.

You sipped your wine and wiped your eyes before any more tears could fall. You heard the floorboards overhead creak with soft footsteps. You held your breath and listened intently as they crossed the room.

You heard a door open gently and then the same footsteps on the landing. Another door opened and closed. A few minutes later you heard the toilet flush followed by water running in the sink.

You continued to hold your breath as the door opened and closed again and the footsteps headed closer to the stairs rather than back towards the bedroom.

You downed your glass of wine as the footsteps started down the stairs towards you.

***

Seven Months Ago

You gravitated down the hall without recalling telling your feet to do so. It was like a magnetic pull, as though you didn’t have control over your own movements.

The case had taken the team to Varnville, South Carolina on what had initially looked to be a cold case when a mummified body was discovered in a wall. Rossi had gone on ahead to review the case and upon discovering a wealth of other bodies, dead between twenty years and one, the rest of you joined him.

You’d been worried about Spencer for weeks now, ever since his ordeal with Ben’s Believers and Benjamin Merva. He still had some residual bruising peppering his otherwise alabaster skin, as well as a scar forming on his lower lip.

He’d tried to put on a brave face, mostly for Penelope who was suffering from PTSS from the abduction. But you knew Spencer well enough to know he wasn’t dealing with the aftermath as well as he liked to pretend.

After Emily had called it a night and sent you all back to the hotel at around two am, you hadn’t been able to sleep. And somehow your body had moved without your meaning to do so, out of the room and down the corridor until you were standing outside of another door and knocking on it.

You knocked quietly in case he was asleep but somehow you knew he wouldn’t be. You heard some shuffling from inside the room and then footsteps padding closer.

He opened the door and didn’t look at all surprised to see you. He’d changed out of his work attire and wore a pair of dark green flannel pants, a plain white t-shirt with his signature mismatched socks, one yellow and one red. Even after all these years it still shocked you a little to see him out of a suit and tie.

“I’m fine, Y/N.” He offered you a meek smile, clearly knowing why you were here.

“Can I come in?” You asked gently.

He swiped his tongue along his bottom lip before rolling it between his teeth. With a sigh, he nodded and held the door open for you.

“You’ve barely talked about what happened.” You spoke as you were closing the door behind you.

“That’s because there isn’t much to say.” He shrugged, moving across the room and leaning up against the desk.

“Merva nearly killed you.” You swore if you squinted your eyes you would be able to see the knife still pressed against his Adam’s apple.

“But he didn’t kill me. And I’m fine.”

“If we were a second later Spence-”

“But you weren’t.” He chuckled, cutting you off. “You made it in time and I’m ok.”

“It’s ok if you aren’t. What you went through was traumatic. You don’t have to pretend to be fine for me, Spencer.”

“You’re a hypocrite.” He rolled his eyes, his tone changing sharply.

“Excuse me?” You frowned.

“How many times have I asked you if you were ok only to have you pretend you’re fine when your husband was abusing you?” He spat out, pushing himself away from the desk.

Your back went rigid, your shoulders squared. You ground your teeth furiously.

“Wow, thanks for making me wish I hadn’t bothered to check in. I was only trying to help and you go and throw that in my face?” You shook your head in disappointment.

“And I was only trying to help you!”

“I didn’t need your help!”

“So you were just going to let him use you as a punching bag forever?” He scoffed.

“It’s complicated and you know it.” You folded your arms to protect yourself. From what you weren’t sure.

“It shouldn’t be.” He shook his head.

“I didn’t come here to talk about Jared. I wanted to make sure you were ok but clearly that was a mistake.” You spun on your heels back towards the door and started marching towards it.

He exhaled noisily, raking his fingers through his hair.

“I’m not ok.” He confessed, his tone sounding as though it pained him to admit. You slowly turned back to him. “I haven’t been ok for a long time. It’s been a really bad few years.”

“You’ve been through a lot.” You nodded, cautiously stepping back closer to him. “I don’t think you ever really got past your incarceration, everything that happened with Cat.”

“I didn’t.” He admitted with a shake of his head. “I know all the right things to say to a therapist so they would reinstate me. But I’m barely holding it together. Prison and Cat, Mr Scratch and then the Believers. It’s been a lot.”

“It’s ok not to be ok.” You whispered, reaching him now and placing your hands on his shoulders to try and ground him. “I haven’t been there for you the way I should have been.”

“You’ve had a lot going on yourself.” He sniffed.

“It didn’t stop you trying to be there for me. Instead of helping you, I’ve been pushing you away.”

“It’s ok.” He shrugged.

“No, it’s not.” You shook your head. “I’m sorry that I…I wasn’t strong enough to walk away from him.”

“Strength had nothing to do with it. You’re without a doubt the strongest woman I have ever met.” He told you frankly, his own hands moving to cup your lower back.

“I married the wrong man.” You whimpered, glancing at your left hand on Spencer’s shoulder and the silver wedding band on your finger. “I knew it when he proposed to me. I knew it when I was walking down that aisle. And you knew it too, you were just too polite to tell me the truth.”

“Yeah,” he nodded stiffly. “You did marry the wrong man.”

A silent understanding passed between the two of you, the kind of understanding that existed only between two people who knew each other inside and out.

And when he leaned in closer and his lips brushed against yours, it felt right. It felt like the most normal thing in the whole world.

It continued to feel that way when he deepened the kiss, nearly fifteen years worth of feelings coming out in a single kiss. As he held you close he whispered against your lips, “after all this time? Always.”

And you finally understood what he meant.

It felt so normal that you didn’t question it when he led you towards his bed and started helping you out of your clothes.

***

Present Day

The weight of what you’d done didn’t sink in until you woke up in the morning, curled up against your best friend's naked body.

Spencer was sleeping soundly, his messy hair splayed out against the hotel pillow, one arm lightly draped across your hips.

You’d managed to creep out of his hold, redress and sneak out of the room before he woke up. And you’d just acted like nothing ever happened. You pretended like you hadn’t slept with your best friend.

The footsteps on the stairs got closer and you exhaled, trying to clear your mind of thoughts of the past.

The last thing you should have done was sleep with Spencer. No, the last thing you should have done was confess your love for him during a hostage situation. But sleeping with him had been a close second.

But he was right, you’d walked away that morning and never looked back, buried your head in the sand and effectively shattered his heart by pretending it didn’t happen.

You’d told him that night your marriage was complicated. He could never understand. He couldn’t understand because he’d never been married. He would also never understand the complexities of the situation because not only wasn’t he married, but he didn’t have children.

“Mom?” A croaky voice came from behind you, right on cue.

You plastered on a smile and turned slowly in the chair to see your daughter rubbing her tired eyes.

“Hi sweet pea, what are you doing up so late?” You kept your voice quiet as she padded over to you.

“Couldn’t sleep.” She fell to the couch next to you, immediately curling against you and resting her head on your shoulder.

You wrapped an arm around her, using your other hand to smooth her messy hair back from her face.

“When did you get home?” She stifled a yawn.

“A few hours ago. It was a bad one.” You kissed her head.

You didn’t make a habit of bringing cases home with you, but eight year old Adeline was far too smart for her own good. You often wondered where she got it from.

She was her mothers daughter through and through, so much like you it often scared you. Looking into her eyes you sometimes felt like looking into a window to the past.

She was the absolute light of your life, the first time you held her in your arms you thought your body might burst with the amount of love you felt for her.

She nuzzled closer to you, yawning once more.

“I missed you, mom.” She mumbled.

“I missed you more, baby girl.” You closed your eyes and tried to revel in the feeling of your daughter in your arms.

As she got older these moments would inevitably be few and far between.

For a while the two of you sat like this, despite the late hour. Mother and daughter lost in their own little world. After a time you heard another door open above you and more footsteps padding down the stairs.

A few moments later a messy haired and bleary eyed little boy appeared in the doorway.

“Can’t sleep either, buddy?” You smiled at him.

“No,” he pouted with a shake of his head.

“Come on over.” You patted your lap and did as he was told.

Finley was three years his sister's junior although almost as tall as her. He was equally as astute at Adeline but shared his looks with his father.

He was the more sensitive of your two children, he wore his heart on his sleeve whereas Adeline was better at hiding her emotions like her mother.

The five year old plopped himself down in your lap and you cradled him with your other arm.

This was as close to a perfect moment as had ever existed. These two children were the best thing you’d ever done with your life.

The love you felt for Adie and Fin knew no bounds. And no matter how many times Jared hit you, burned you, scarred you, you’d always be grateful to him for giving you your two incredible children.

Despite the way he treated you he’d never laid a finger on your kids. He loved Adeline and Finely, he was an amazing father. It was just a shame he couldn’t be an amazing husband too.

Maybe he’d always been a little controlling, but it was nothing you couldn’t handle. It got worse when he lost his job. Adeline was five and Finley was two. Jared became quick to anger, lashing out at you with his words.

It started so small you barely noticed it. He’d felt his control slipping in his professional life after being fired and so he tried to regain it at home.

The first signs had been when he started getting angry when you spent time with Spencer. He got jealous and would yell that he didn’t like how much time you spent with him.

So you tried to limit your interactions with your best friend for the sake of your marriage. When you did manage to see him you always lied to Jared and told him you were with JJ of Penelope or Emily.

The first time he hit you was when you arrived home from Mexico after Spencer’s initial arrest. You’d told him it was just a normal case when you’d hurriedly left in the middle of the night but eventually you’d had to tell him the truth.

The kids were asleep when you got home that night and you found him in the kitchen, a glass of scotch on the counter next to a half empty bottle.

“It’s bad,” you sighed as you dropped your purse to the counter. “We managed to get him extradited but he’s been detained. I can’t imagine what he’s going through.”

“Maybe he shouldn’t have been so stupid as to go down to Mexico without telling anyone. If you ask me, he deserves it.” Jared scoffed, raising the glass to his lips.

“He deserves to have been drugged and accused of murder?” You frowned at him.

“How do you know it's an accusation? For all you know he murdered that woman.” He shrugged.

“Spencer did not kill Nadie Ramos. Spencer couldn’t hurt a fly.”

“Urgh, there you go again.” He rolled his eyes, sipping more of the scotch.

“There I go again, what?”

“Spencer this and Spencer that. Jesus, he’s all you ever talk about.”

“Well that’s not true.” You rolled your eyes.

“Are you calling me a liar?” Jared slammed his glass on the counter, eyeing you wildly.

“No, that’s not what I said. I think you're exaggerating.” You felt yourself tense at the way he was looking at you.

“I told you I don’t like you spending time with him.” His jaw was set in a firm line.

“I work with him, Jared. I have to see him. And one of us needs a job…” You spoke the last part under your breath but of course he heard you.

“Excuse me?” He spat at you.

“It’s been months, Jared. My salary alone barely covers all our bills.”

“You think I’m not trying? You think I like being out of work, being a fucking stay at home dad? This is my worst goddamn nightmare, Y/N!” He raised his voice and you flinched a little.

“Your worst nightmare is spending time with your kids?” You cocked an eyebrow at him.

“That’s not what I meant.” He scoffed. “The only good part about this is spending more time with them. But I am climbing the freaking walls. You’re never here and that was fine when I was working too because I didn’t notice so much. I am going stir crazy, I feel like I have no purpose, no control.”

“Of course you have a purpose.” You softened a little, rounding the counter towards him. “Those kids adore having you around all the time. Your purpose doesn't need to be tied to your professional identity. Just enjoy this time with them, you’ll find something soon enough.”

You placed your hands flush on his chest and tried to calm him. You could feel his heart beating erratically beneath his shirt.

“I love you.” He sighed, placing his own hands on your hips.

“I love you too,” you smiled, getting on your tiptoes and kissing him.

He wrapped his arms firmly around you, holding you in place. For a few brief moments everything was wonderful between you. And then your phone rang.

You stepped back from his hold with a smile, pulling the device from your pocket.

“It’s Emily, I should take this.” You nodded before turning your back on your husband. “Hey Em, is everything ok?”

Emily proceeded to tell you that the FBI had effectively turned its back on Spencer, not willing to provide him with their legal services due to the fact he left the country without telling anyone. She told you about her old friend Fiona Duncan whom she was hoping would take on Reid’s case but it was ultimately a long shot.

You took it all in, feeling sick to your stomach that the bureau would turn their back on him like that. Emily informed you Fiona was going to meet with Reid in the morning.

“I’ll meet you there, I need to see him.” Your voice shook a little.

“Ok, I’ll see you in the morning, try and get some sleep.” She replied.

“You too.” You hung up the phone and when you turned back to Jared his face was entirely bright red.

“You’re not going to see him.” He spat through a clenched jaw.

“He’s my best friend, Jared. He’s scared and alone right now. I need to see him.”

“You will do what I tell you to do, woman.”

“Uh, I will do what my team needs me to do. Thank you very much.”

Suddenly he advanced on you, shoving you roughly back up against the wall. And when he smacked you hard around the face you felt your whole world crumble.

Tears immediately filled your eyes, your cheek stinging from the contact. He quickly stepped away and turned back to his scotch.

“I did that because I love you.” He whispered around the glass of alcohol.

Every time he hurt you without fail he would follow it up with some kind of comment like that. You’d lost count of the amount of times he said the likes of, “you know I’d never intentionally hurt you,” or “I’m sorry that you think I hurt you.”

By the time he poured scalding oil on your arm you’d grown used to it. You’d simply resided yourself to the fact this was your life now.

You thought maybe when he’d eventually gotten a new job he would calm down, go back to being the man you fell in love with. But he never did.

The Jared Haines that beat you, forced you into bed when you weren’t in the mood, yelled at you until you cried, wasn’t the same Jared Haines you’d married.

You may have married the wrong man but you’d do it all over again for Adie and Fin.

“I love you kids so much, never forget that.” You whispered as you held them tighter trying to stem your tears.

“Love you too mommy.” Fin snuggled closer.

“Love you mom.” Adie agreed.

***

“There you are, boy wonder, I’ve been looking for you everywhere.” Garcia tottered over to him the second he walked in the room.

“I’ve literally just walked through the door. What’s up Garcia?” He cocked an eyebrow at her.

“I need to…” she glanced away from Spencer, to the petite brunette holding his hand. “Max, hi. Can I steal your boyfriend momentarily?”

“Sure, go ahead.” Max laughed, letting go of his hand.

Spencer bowed his head and kissed her cheek before Garcia was roughly grabbing him by the wrist and dragging Spencer behind her.

The grand ballroom was decorated beautifully and tastefully but he barely had a chance to take it in before Penelope had accosted him.

He’d arrived earlier than necessary in case Rossi needed any last minute help for his big day. But he hadn’t even made it to the bar.

Penelope pulled him outside onto a large patio area where staff were setting up tables and fussing over centrepieces.

“What is going on?” Spencer asked her, smoothing out his shirt once she pulled them to a stop.

“Have you spoken to Y/N?” Her eyes were a little manic beneath her thick framed glasses.

His stomach coiled into knots. Her panicked tone and frantic eyes immediately worried him.

No, he hadn’t spoken to you. Not since you’d confessed your love to him yesterday.

“No.” He shook his head. “What’s happened?”

“I know I’m not strictly a profiler but I like to think I’d mastered the basics. But I had no idea.” Garcia was spiralling.

“Had no idea about what?” Spencer was desperate to get it out of her.

“Well, when she first RSVP’d for today she only sent back three invites.”

“Ok?” Spencer frowned.

“Her, Adie and Fin.”

“So Jared must be working.”

“That’s what I thought.” Garcia nodded.

“But?” Spencer asked slightly frustratedly.

“You know me, I like answers. I like having all the facts, just like you.” She started pacing. “So, I asked her about it and she was super vague.”

“Vague how?” Spencer watched her march up and down.

“She said Jared wouldn’t be around, which is innocuous enough I hear you cry. But it didn’t sit right with me. It didn’t feel right.” She sounded exasperated.

“Penelope,” Spencer stepped in front of her so she couldn’t keep pacing and placed his hands on her shoulders. “Please spit it out.”

She huffed loudly and somewhat childishly.

“Spence, I did some digging.” Her face paled a little and Spencer was suddenly terrified by what she might have found.

“And?” He swallowed, lowering his arms to his sides.

“I found a police report from five days ago. DC Metro was dispatched to 184 Calvert Street after an eight year old girl called the cops when she heard a gun shot.” Garcia’s face paled as she spoke, so did Spencer’s.

“You…but I…” he swallowed, wobbling on his feet. “That’s Y/N house.”

“Duh,” Penelope rolled her eyes. “Adie called the police when she heard the gun go off. In her statement she told them that she found her dad with a gun in his hand and his other wrapped around her mom’s throat.”

Spencer’s colour somehow drained even further as he glared at Penelope.

“Y/N got shot? But she was at work the next day. I remember it was the day I got back from teaching.” His heart rate increased dangerously so. He felt it beating all throughout his body.

“According to the reports no one was seriously hurt. The bullet hit the wall. Bruises on her neck could have been covered by make-up.” Penelope tried to calm him before he got too worked up.

“And Adie saw it?”

“Oh that poor sweet angel. I can’t even imagine what that must have been like.”

“Fin?” Spencer swallowed

“Was in bed. You know what a sound sleeper he is.” Garcia smiled sadly.

“So what exactly happened?”

“The police arrived pretty fast, looks like within a few minutes. Adie, being the smart cookie she is, informed the police dispatcher that her mom is an FBI Agent so they were quick on the scene. From what I’ve managed to piece together, Jared wrestled her gun out of her holster and shot at the wall. Adie heard raised voices, and an argument ensued and he got Y/N up against the wall by her throat.

Cops took them in for questioning, he was arrested but given the chance to post bail for which he couldn’t afford and Y/N, thank god, did not pay it. So now he’s in jail awaiting trial. If he’s found guilty he could be looking at anywhere up to twenty five years for attempted murder.”

Spencer closed his eyes, ruminating on every single one of Penelope’s words. He should have known it would come to this. He should have tried harder to get you to open up about what was going on at home.

It never should have gotten this far.

“Fuck,” he shook his head, opening his eyes again.

“Why don’t you seem all that surprised by this?” Garcia had her eyebrow cocked.

Spencer looked past her a moment, out across the lawns beyond the patio. He’d tried so hard to convince you that you could trust him, that he could help you.

He should have tried harder. Goddamnit he should have tried harder.

***

2019

It had been a long time since Spencer had gotten a chance to spend any real time with you and he tried to make the most of it despite the fact your head was clearly elsewhere.

He was sure he knew what it was that was going on. Ever since he’d seen that burn on your arm he’d been sure of it. But no matter how many times he tried to talk to you about it, you always denied it.

You’d gone to the movies and for coffee but you kept checking your phone every few minutes, clearly distracted by something.

You’d been quiet, you’d been quiet a lot lately. He’d hoped getting to spend one on one time with you would help you open up.

He’d done all the talking, rambling at times because you wouldn’t engage him with more than a few words at a time. Even when he’d asked about the kids you’d simply replied, “yeah, they’re good.”

Tucked away in the back of the coffee shop you checked the time again, tapping your fingers on the table.

“Am I keeping you from something?” Spencer finally asked, a hint of frustration in his voice.

“No,” you shook your head. “I just told Jared I’d be home by four and I don’t want to be late.”

“You have a curfew now?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You snapped.

“He doesn’t trust you to spend too much time with me, is that it?” Spencer leaned forward on the table.

He saw something flicker behind your eyes before you tried to disguise it by taking a sip of coffee.

“He does know you’re with me, doesn’t he?” Spencer narrowed his eyes on you.

“He…I…no.” You shrugged. “He thinks I’m out with Penelope.”

“You’re lying to your husband about who you’re hanging out with?”

“He doesn’t…he doesn’t like you.” You confessed.

“You’re a grown woman, Y/N.” He scoffed. “He tells you who you can and can’t hang out with?”

“It’s not like that.” You huffed.

“And if he found out you were here with me, what would he do?” Spencer leaned even further forward, like he might pounce across the table at you.

“I don’t know what you mean.” You wouldn’t meet his eye.

“Would he burn you again?”

“Stop it.” You spat. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Or would he just hit you? Bruise you?”

“Stop it.”

“I’ve seen the bruises, Y/N! No one is that clumsy, least of all you.” His eyes turned sad as he reached across the table for your hand. It broke his heart the way you flinched. “Why won’t you let me help you?”

“Because it's not that simple.” You growled. “I’m begging you to leave this alone, Spencer.”

“Y/N if he’s abusive just say the word and we can have him arrested.”

“Spencer, I have children. It’s not just black and white.”

“Does he hurt them? Does that asshole hurt my god children?” Spencer squeezed your hand.

“Of course he doesn’t.” You hissed. “I would never let him lay a finger on them. If he ever touched my kids I would kick his ass to the curb.”

“But you’ll let him hurt you?” He shook his head.

“Spencer, marriage is complicated.”

“Oh please, like I couldn’t possibly understand.” He rolled his eyes.

“I have two kids who worship the ground their father walks on. He is an amazing dad, Spencer. I don’t want them to grow up without him.” You snatched your hand back from under his.

“But you want them to grow up without you?” He frowned. “Because that's how this is going to end. Do you know four thousand women die every year at the hands of an abusive spouse? The presence of a gun in the house increases the risk of homicide by five hundred percent.”

“And out of those four thousand, seventy five percent of those victims were killed whilst trying to leave their partner.” You spat back. “Do you not think I’ve thought about that? Spencer, just leave this alone. It’s none of your concern.”

“I can help you.”

“No, Spencer, you can’t. And if you tell anyone about this, I will deny it. And without me willing to press charges, you’ll only make things worse. I am begging you to leave this alone.” You got to your feet.

“You expect me to just sit by and watch while he hurts you?” He whined a little.

“I’m asking you to just let it go. Please. I’ve got it under control. Stop trying to be a hero.”

He couldn’t do anything but watch you go. And he hated himself for not doing something to help you.

***

Present Day

“I knew he was violent. I knew he was abusing her. I could never get her to do anything about it.” Spencer admitted, shaking his head at his own stupidity.

“He’s hurt her before?” Penelope pouted.

“Yeah.” Spencer nodded sadly. “More than a few times.”

“Do you think he’s ever hurt those poor sweet children?” Penelope’s lip quivered.

“No, she said if he ever laid a hand on them she’d leave.” He inhaled sharply. “Fuck, he’s in jail.”

“He surely is, boy wonder.” Penelope grabbed him by the bicep. “He can’t hurt her again. Don’t blame yourself, giant brain. This isn’t your fault.”

“I could have stopped it.” He raked his fingers through his hair which he’d spent hours sweeping neatly back off of his face.

“No one could have stopped it.” She squeezed his arm.

“I could have. If I’d just been honest with her all those years ago.”

“Honest about what?” Garcia’s eyebrows knitted together.

“She asked me…” he trailed off and swallowed thickly. “She asked me when she got engaged, and on her wedding day, if I thought she was marrying the right man. I didn’t answer her. I should have. I should have told her he wasn’t the man she should be marrying.”

“You couldn’t have known then that this was going to happen. Reid, you can’t beat yourself up over this.”

“You don’t get it.” He shook his head, dislodging his arm from her firm grip. “I should have told her he wasn’t the man she should be marrying, because the man she should have married is me.”

Penelope’s mouth fell open and her eyebrows furrowed deeper. She eyed him curiously, like she was trying to complete a complex puzzle and he’d just handed her the missing piece but she had no idea what to do with it.

“You…? I don’t understand.”

“I have been inconceivably in love with Y/N since the first moment I met her. For fifteen years. If I’d not been so scared of telling her, maybe she would have never married that asshole.” He shook his head in frustration.

Penelope opened her mouth to speak but before she could, someone else did.

“Wow,” the voice cracked and Spencer spun quickly towards the sound.

“Max,” he drew his lip between his teeth. “Max I am so-”

“Don’t.” She shook her head. “I heard enough.”

“I’m sorry.” He shrugged, not knowing what else to say.

“Yeah, me too.” She spat, turning on her heels and rushing back in the direction she’d just come.

As she fled, she almost ran right into someone but kept her head down to shield the fact she was crying.

You stumbled a little on your heels as you narrowly avoided Max, one hand on each of your kids backs as you guided them outside.

You looked over your shoulder Max and then between Spencer and Penelope.

“What did I miss?”

***

Five Days Prior

The house was deathly silent when you entered through the front door a little after eleven pm. You knew from past experience silence in your home was never good.

You’d just arrived back from a case in Lewiston, Maine where women were being killed in houses believed to be haunted.

It had been long and gruelling, cases without Spencer usually were. Since prison and his agreement to mandated leave days, things hadn’t been the same on the team.

He was due back tomorrow and at least that meant the cases might move a little faster.

You dropped your go bag on the floor by the door. The kids would be asleep and you were sure you would find your husband in the kitchen with a drink in his hand.

You knew this would be bad. You were prepared for it to be bad. You’d unclipped your holster but didn’t put your firearm in the safe like usual. You weren’t taking any chances.

Before leaving for Maine things had reached breaking point. You’d been getting Adeline ready for bed, tucking her in when she’d startled you by grabbing you by the arm.

She proceeded to push your cardigan down one arm, revealing a large purple bruise on your shoulder, spreading down towards your collarbone. But it was her words that shocked you more.

“Daddy did that, didn’t he?”

“Wh-what?” You were quick to pull your sleeve back up. “What makes you think that, sweet pea?”

“I saw him. I saw him shove you. And it’s not the first time.”

It transpired your extremely smart eight year old had been privy to her fathers dark side. She regaled you of how many times she’d witnessed Jared pushing you around, screaming at you until you cried.

She’d concluded by telling you she wouldn’t be sad if you left him. And maybe that was all the impetus you needed.

You stayed with Jared, put up with his violence for your children. You’d always told yourself as long as it didn’t affect them you could stay.

But now it had affected them, Adie at least. And that was the final straw.

You’d packed a bag before you left for Maine. You’d planned to wait until Jared was at work and you and the kids were going to stay with David Rossi.

You didn’t tell him why and thankfully he didn’t ask. But you felt the most safe at his home, given all the security you knew you and the kids could stay there until you figured out your next move.

But before you had the chance, Jared figured you out.

This morning you’d received a text from your husband with a photo of your bag and the simple question: where the fuck do you think you’re going?

As you slowly headed towards the kitchen, you were reminded of a conversation with Spencer last year in the coffee shop.

“Do you know four thousand women die every year at the hands of an abusive spouse? The presence of a gun in the house increases the risk of homicide by five hundred percent.”

“And out of those four thousand, seventy five percent of those victims were killed whilst trying to leave their partner.”

Your heart rattled in your chest and you felt your stomach coiling into tight knots. One way or another tonight was going to be the end, whether because you made it out of the house or because Jared killed you.

Your hand hovered above your firearm as you crossed the room towards the kitchen. You pushed open the door and held your breath.

Your bag was in the centre of the kitchen island, Jared looming over it, a glass of scotch in his hand. When he saw you, he downed the contents and slammed the glass so violently on the counter top it smashed in his hand.

He didn’t even seem to notice.

“Jared, before you say anything I-”

“Shut up.” He spat, not raising his voice. Not yet. “You don’t get to speak. Planning on leaving me, huh? What was the plan, Y/N? You take my kids away and you think I won’t come after them? You think I’d let you get away with taking my kids?”

“I don’t want them to grow up with a father who is a bully.” You stood your ground, hand still hovering over the butt of your gun.

“I’ve never laid a hand on them.” He snarled.

“But Adie has seen what you do to me. I don’t want them to have to witness that. What kind of example am I setting for my little girl if I let a man push me around?” You clenched your jaw.

“Adie isn’t a bitch like you.” He started towards you slowly. “She wouldn’t need a man to put her in her place.”

You refused to show him fear. If this was where it ended you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

“Just let me go. Let us go.”

“Please,” he scoffed. “So you can go and play happy families with Reid?”

“It’s not like that.” You rolled your eyes.

He got closer and you found yourself backing up.

“I wasn’t born yesterday.” He advanced on you until your back hit the wall and he was towering over you.

“This has nothing to do with Spencer.” You tried to insist, fingers brushing your gun. “The fact of the matter is, I don’t love you anymore, Jared. Not like I used to. How can I love someone who treats me the way you do? I’ve let this go on long enough. You’ve hurt me too many times.”

Out of nowhere your tears started to fall, thick and heavy as they rolled down your cheeks. You hadn’t even realised you were going to cry.

“Only because I love you, sweetheart.” He smiled menacingly at you.

“I put men like you away for a living. I shouldn’t have fallen victim to this.” Your eyes clouded with tears, you could barely see him and they felt like they burnt as they rolled down your cheeks.

“You need putting in your place sometimes. You’re too sensitive.” He raised his hand and wrapped it tightly around your bicep, squeezing so hard you knew he’d leave yet another bruise.

“Please let me go.” You whimpered, unable to keep up your strong facade. “Please?”

“Baby, I will never let you go. I love you, we belong together.” He let go of your bicep and his hand moved to your face.

He gripped your jaw in his hand, forcing his lips on yours. You tried to push him away with one hand while the other wrapped around the butt of your gun.

“Stop it!” You cried while he kissed you. “Stop it, Jared!”

He tore his lips away from you and looked at you through dark eyes. Then his gaze wandered. You felt the exact moment he noticed your hand on your gun.

“You gonna shoot me, Y/N?” He scoffed. “You’d kill the father of your children?”

Spencer’s words rang clear in your head.

The presence of a gun in the house increases the risk of homicide by five hundred percent.

As you went to draw your weapon his large hand was on top of yours, squeezing your fingers into a vice like grip until you howled in pain and your hold on the gun faltered.

He managed to wrestle the gun free of your holster and draw it. He pointed the barrel right at your head for a brief moment before shifting its aim slightly to the left and pulling the trigger.

You screamed as the gun went off and the bullet flew past your face and into the kitchen wall. He refocused it on you while you trembled with sobs.

Spencer was right. This is how I’m going to die.

“Please, Jared. Put the gun down. You don’t want to do this.” You held your hands up, trying to keep your breathing measured.

It wasn’t as though it was the first time you’d had to stare down the barrel of a gun, but it didn’t make it any less terrifying. Least of all because it was your husband pointing it at you.

You were trained in negotiating with psychopaths but all your knowledge went out of the window. All you could think about was how you were going to die and that the kids would no doubt have to find your body.

“Please. Think of the kids. Think of Adie and Fin. Please don’t let them grow up without a mother.” Tears continued to roll down your cheeks at an alarming rate.

Jared scoffed, gun still levelled at you.

“You were going to let them grow up without me! You were going to leave and take them away!” He yelled.

“I won’t, I swear. Just put the gun down and I promise we won’t leave. We can still be a family.” Your body trembled viciously as he took a step closer to you.

“What does he have that I don’t?” He growled at you, moving closer until the gun was pressing against your forehead.

“Wh-what? Who?”

“Spencer!” He spat. “You’re sleeping with him aren’t you?”

“Of course I’m not.” You shook your head, the cool metal jabbing into your skull.

“Liar!” He used his other hand to grab your bicep again, making you wince. “Tell me the truth!”

“One time.” You sobbed. “It happened one time.”

Jared’s eyes turned darker but he lowered the gun to his side. His jaw pulsed as he clenched and unclenched his teeth.

“I’m sorry.” You cried. “I'm so sorry.”

“You fucked another man?” He hissed. “And you wonder why I don’t like you being around him!”

His free hand raised and you flinched thinking he was going to hit you. Instead his palm came down against your throat, lightly at first. But it wasn’t long before he was tightening his grip, fingers digging into your neck while he put pressure on your trachea.

The gun hung from his other hand and you felt it knocking against your leg. Maybe you could take him off guard, grab it while he was focused elsewhere.

“You were going to leave me for him? Have him raise our kids?” He squeezed and you choked, fighting for air.

“N-no.” You whimpered. “It wasn’t like that.”

“Do you have feelings for him?” He used his grip on you to slam your head back against the wall. “Do you love him?”

“Yes.” You confessed, unable to stop the word leaving your lips. And then you stupidly followed it up with, “he’s ten times the man you’ll ever be.”

Jared snarled and his grip got firmer, his large hand able to wrap almost the entire way around your throat. His fingers dug painfully into your flesh while his palm constricted your breathing.

“You fucking bitch.” He spat. “If I can’t have you, no one can. I’m doing this because I love you.”

You closed your eyes, unable to fight for those breaths you so sorely needed to refill your lungs anymore. Instead you resided yourself to it, knowing nothing you could do or say would make this better.

Jared was going to kill you.

You started going light headed, as he shook you by your neck, violently choking you. It wouldn’t take long before your lack of oxygen caused you to pass out.

You thought of your kids. You pictured little Fin and Adie being raised by this man. What would become of your two happy children if they lost their mother this way?

You thought of Spencer and the night you’d spent together and how you should have told him how you felt then. Or how you should have told him how you felt fifteen years ago. Life was painfully short, you shouldn’t have wasted a minute not being honest about your feelings.

You felt yourself ebbing towards unconsciousness, knowing it was only a matter of time. Maybe it would have been better to let him shoot you, at least it would have been faster.

Somewhere in the house you swore you heard a door open. But your head was hazy, you barely registered it. You just prayed your children wouldn’t witness this.

And then everything happened so fast.

A voice entered your ears, male, not one you recognised. But you couldn’t work out what they were saying.

“Sir, step away. Put the gun down.”

Then the grip on your throat loosened and you were able to gasp for air, your shaky legs barely holding you upright.

You clutched your chest, using the wall to balance yourself. You blinked several times to focus your vision.

Two uniformed officers, DC Metro insignia on their breast pockets. One male, one female. The man held a gun, the woman was slapping cuffs on your husband's wrists.

“Ma’am?” The man holstered his weapon, stepping closer to you. “Ma’am I’m Officer Joseph Leakes, this is my partner Officer Maddie Burnett.”

You nodded but closed your eyes, a wave of dizziness washing over. You stumbled on your feet and then you felt a hand on your shoulder.

You flinched involuntarily and opened your eyes to see Officer Burnett now in front of you instead of Leakes. She was smiling softly at you, she had kind brown eyes.

Right, I’m a victim of domestic violence, don’t let the man touch me. Good call, you thought in an absent mind.

Burnett led you over to a chair at the kitchen counter while she exchanged a glance with Leakes who was tugging your husband by the cuffed wrists towards the door.

“It’s all a misunderstanding!” Jared tried to fight the cop off. “Tell them Y/N! Tell them it’s all a mistake! They got it wrong!”

You simply blinked in response.

A glass of water was in front of you somehow and Burnett was still smiling at you.

“Mrs Haines?” She asked softly. You shuddered.

“Never…never changed my name.” You shook your head. “Y/N, please.”

The officer nudged the glass of water closer to you and you wrapped your shaky hands around it.

“Are you ok? Do you need medical attention?” The kind eyed cop asked now.

“No.” You slowly raised your glass to your lips but before you could sip you put it back down again. “M-my kids? Where are my k-kids?”

You glanced around the room, needing to see your beautiful children and make sure they were ok.

You felt a small hand on your arm and blinked rapidly to try and clear the fog from your brain.

Your eyes met your daughters and you quickly threw your arms around her.

“Adie!” You sobbed. “Oh baby girl.”

“It’s ok mommy.” She sniffled, burying her head against your chest. “It’s ok. He can’t hurt you anymore.”

“You have a very brave little girl.” Burnett spoke somewhere from over your shoulder. “She called 9-1-1 when she heard a gunshot.”

You pulled back from the embrace and cupped her little face, staring intently at her.

“Did I do good, mommy?” She looked up at you through her large eyes.

“Oh sweet pea,” you choked on another sob, throwing your arms back around your daughter. “You did so good.”

***

Burnett took your statement once you were able to focus your mind again and she also took Adie’s statement. Fin, gratefully, slept through the whole ordeal.

A CSU tech arrived later and took photographs of your neck, of the bullet lodged in the wall and collected evidence from your gun.

Before leaving Burnett told you Jared would be detained. He would most likely be offered the chance to post bail.

When he’d lost his job, finances had been tight. You’d tried to squirrel away what you could and opened a separate bank account in your own name during that time. Burnett informed you that if your money was in an account solely in your name you would have the choice whether you paid his bail or not. If the money remained in a joint account he could access it to foot the bill.

First thing in the morning you were going to transfer all of your money over to your own bank account and ensure Jared didn’t have the opportunity to come back and finish the job he started.

She said she would do everything she could to help you keep Jared away, she even left you her personal cell number. Unfortunately you knew all about the way in which the state of Virginia tended to side with men in these instances, despite physical proof.

Once Burnett left you spent several hours on the couch with Adie in your lap, stroking back her hair and rocking her like you did when she was a baby.

You had no idea the kind of trauma this would cause her, you would no doubt have to look into getting her therapy before what she’d seen went untreated. You’d been seeing a therapist yourself for the last year on and off due to your anxiety which had been brought on as a result of Jared’s tempered mood swings.

You’d speak to Adie about it another day. Right now you were content in holding your daughter.

Eventually she fell asleep in your arms, you were grateful she was able to. You carried her to bed and kissed her forehead when you tucked her in. You checked on Fin before heading towards your own bedroom.

Stepping inside that room everything caught up on you. The bed in which Jared had forced you into more times than you could count, the subtle dents in the walls where he’d thrown things at you.

You caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror on the dresser. Your neck was covered with a fresh array of bruises, red and angry and in the distinctive shape of fingers. It wouldn’t be the first time you’d had to cover marks and blemishes with make-up, but this would be harder than most.

And out of nowhere your legs gave way and you crumbled to the floor as a new fit of sobs wracked your body.

It felt like the world's longest night and it was only just the beginning. It was going to be an arduous uphill battle if you were to keep Jared away from you and protect your kids.

But you didn’t have the strength to think of any of that right now. You curled up in a ball and sobbed on the floor of your bedroom for what felt like hours.

Without really thinking, you found your cell phone still in your pocket and your fingers moved of their own accord as you brought up your contacts, dialled his number and put the device to your ears.

You counted the rings. Eight in total. Eight rings before it clicked over to voicemail and his outgoing message flooded your ears. For a moment it provided you comfort. But then you started sobbing all over again.

“Hello, you’ve reached Doctor Spencer Reid. I can’t come to the phone right now. Leave me a message and I will get back to you.”

@andiebeaword @muffin-cup @dirtytissuebox @dreatine @matthew-gray-gubler-lover @people-whatabunchofbastards @justreadingficsdontmindme @spencer-reid-wonderland @thebloomingeagle @frostandflamesfanfic @pixiehex1985 @release-your-sweets @mavel-fan-for-life @megan-mars

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x fem! reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction

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froggywritesstuff · 7 months

Text

stupid | yandere!rise!donatello

ship/pairing: yandere!rise!Donatello x g/n!reader (can be read as platonic or romantic)

request: no one

warnings: kinda ooc, blood, wounds, kidnapping, unwanted touching (non sexual), blades, degrading, sadism, stitches, non consensual scarification (?), vomiting, hair pulling, threats of amputation, isolation used as punishment

fandom: Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles

word count: 1145

A/N: i wasn't sure to write this with Leo or Donnie so i most likely wrote Donnie's personality wrong. 18+ people DNI. i do not in any way support yandere behaviour, please know that this writing is purely fictional, and should not ever be reenacted in real life

You wanted to cry as you felt Donnie’s disappointed gaze on you. Or maybe it was because of the pain of how tight he gripped your wounded wrist. Either way, it didn’t matter, as Donnie would have absolutely zero sympathy for you if you started crying. After all, it was your fault. Your fault you were currently staining his lab floors with blood.

He brought his other hand to your wrist to inspect the gash, as if something had changed in the last five minutes he’d been staring at it.

”Do you want to explain why you cut your tracker out of your wrist?” his voice broke the dreaded silence, and you weren’t sure if it was a good thing or a bad thing.

You stayed silent. He hadn’t been happy with your previous answer explaining that you wanted to be alone from him and go outside without him worrying. It wasn’t the answer he wanted. But the truth wasn’t the answer he wanted either.

He grabbed a new tracker from his bench along with a scalpel, gliding the blade through your wound to make a deeper cut, pulling your wrist tightly as he inserted the new tracker inside the wound. The metallic scent of blood in the room grew worse, making your stomach churn. You whimpered, biting your tongue so you didn’t cry out in pain, while Donnie just seemed unbothered by the pain his actions caused.

“Or do you need me to tell you?”

You stayed quiet. Your eyes stung as tears pricked the back of your eyes, begging for you to cry. But you didn’t. Tears wouldn’t help you. Donnie would only mock you and belittle you if he saw you crying.

A sigh left his lips as he brought his hands up to cup the side of your face. You felt yourself wanting to lean into his touch, wanting to cling to the gentleness of his hands that so harshly contrasted the anger he must've been feeling.

”You’re stupid, Y/N.” silence hung between the two of you while he stared you down, his eyes filled with disappointment and frustration. His hands dropped from your face and he grabbed a needle and thread. You felt your stomach drop.

”So stupid,” he muttered, piercing the needle through your skin, guiding the thread through your wounded skin to stitch it back together. The corners of his lips twitched upward as he heard your stifled groans and cries of pain. The tears building up in your eyes felt as heavy as rocks as you desperately tried not to cry.

“You’re even more stupid than I thought you were. I had faith in you, but you’ve proven me wrong. Because you are somehow so stupid, you can’t understand that everything I do for you is for your own good. I’m helping you, by keeping you here, because you’re nothing without me. You’re weak. Completely helpless. Fucking pathetic.”

You broke, letting the tears fall down your cheeks with a choked sob.

The room went silent, anxiety bubbled in your chest while you stared at Donnie’s hands. It was as if he paused for dramatic effect as well as staying silent.

Until he laughed.

He fucking laughed.

For a little longer than necessary in your opinion.

”Fuck, Y/N,” his laughter stopped abruptly with a yell, making you flinch, “that’s exactly what I’m talking about.” He stabbed the needle to your arm again and drew the string through tightly, forcing a strained cry of pain from your throat.

“You’re pathetic. Crying over everything and just so whiny. It’s pitiful, honestly. Consider yourself lucky you have me, darling. I have no idea how all your friends managed to put up with you for so long. No wonder none of them care that you’re gone.”

You found the courage to shake your head, opening your mouth to speak, when he tugged on the needle tightly, quickly making you shut up.

”Sorry, did you have something to say?” Donnie’s smug voice asked. He knew exactly what you were going to say.

You stayed silent, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of hearing your weak attempt of convincing yourself he was wrong. The needle was pricked through your skin a few more times before he picked up some scissors, cutting the end of the knot he tied in the string as he finished the last stitch. He cleared his throat.

“Just to be clear, though I am enjoying all this, you brought this on yourself. I want you to look at the scar on your arm everyday and think of this. Think of how dumb you were trying to escape me. Think of how easy it was for me to catch you. I want you to look at it and regret everything you did, until every time you even think about escaping again, you want to ridicule yourself over how dumb of an idea it is.”

You shrank back at his words, your gaze falling toward the floor, when you caught sight of the stitches Donnie had made in your arm. It was obvious he had finished stitching your wound together for a long time, as you stared in horror at the array of letters stitched into your arm, spelling out his name. He had even made sure to stitch his birth name, which you could only assume was to cause more pain for you. The pain from the stitching mixed with the bloody scent and sight on your arm all made you feel sick, until you found yourself gagging, eventually vomiting up spit on the floor.

Donnie's face scrunched up in disgust, "Scoff, don't be so dramatic." he stood up from his chair, a metal claw from his battle shell dug into your scalp, dragging you by your hair as Donnie led you out of his lab. Too tired to fight against him you let him drag you, feeling the heels of your feet stinging against the tiles. You winced as every slight movement from your arm sent a jolt of pain.

You heard the creak of door, followed by the flick of a light switch, and you were shoved into a room you recognized all too well. All white walls and floors, and empty of furniture save for the single bed in the corner of the room. You were roughly placed onto the bed, Donnie wasting no time to restrain you to the bed.

"Take that tracker out again, and you'll lose your arm."

You stared at him with an empty expression, using the little energy you had to nod to show your understanding. His hand cupped your cheek gently, his lips upturned slightly, before he bid goodbye and left, making a show of locking the door for extra measures.

All alone, you let the tears fall freely down your face, eventually crying yourself into a restless sleep.

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thatonegirlfromwattpad · 9 months

Text

𝙗𝙪𝙘𝙠𝙮 𝙗𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙚𝙨 𝙤𝙣𝙚 𝙨𝙝𝙤𝙩 (1.9𝙠 𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙙𝙨)

"𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘳𝘶𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴"

𝟏𝟖+

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: You and Bucky Barnes were sent out on a mission together, only for him to sabotage your attempted kill because he thinks you're not capable of doing it without risks involved. As if you didn't already hate him enough, him treating you like a child made it even worse. What could possibly surface from a hidden attraction mixed with a lot of anger?

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ 𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: explicit language, angry sexual content, humiliation kink, degradation kink

"I had him, Barnes."

Bursting into the door of the building you two were hiding out at while on your mission, you flung your hands in the air exasperatedly. You had your finger on the trigger, your sights set on your target, and you had even inhaled that last breath that readied you to solidify your mission - and he completely ruined it. Just like the frustrating asshole he was, he had yanked you out of there before you even had time to blink.

"You were about to get us both killed."

Glaring up at him as he spoke, you narrowed your eyes as he stood a few feet from you, his chest heaving irritably in a way that matched your own. The blood in your veins felt hot, resembling the anger that fueled you. There was nothing you wanted more than to punch him in his face, wiping the condescending look right off of it.

"I had a good shot," you snapped with a scoff, crossing your arms in front of your chest. "I was clear, I could have killed him tonight. The mission would be done."

"Oh," he nodded as he countered with a sarcastic tone, his eyebrows knitting together. "And did you also notice two of his men that also had their sights on us? Huh? Did you see them, too? Because if you did, you would know that the moment you had shot him, we would be dead."

Traitor tears welled up in the corner of your eyes as you continued to glare up at his towering height, which had somehow gotten closer to you in the midst of your arguing, as you struggled to contain an eye roll that you wanted to throw his way. "You have to stop treating me like a child, Bucky. I'm not a child, I know what I'm doing."

He stepped even closer to you, lowering his head as his eyes stared firmly back at you. "Then stop acting like one."

"After you, asshole-"

You hadn't even had time to sass him the way you had wanted before he closed the distance between you, his hands grasping the sides of your face as he brushed your hair back, his mouth enclosing yours in a feverish heat. The notion was angry, you knew that, but it also felt more intimate than anything else - like he had been waiting for the moment to ravish you. The way his mouth molded with yours was as if he had been in the desert without any water, lapping and drinking you in like you were the first bit of liquid he had in weeks.

The way it made your stomach feel surprised you, the butterflies that swarmed in thousands down to your core, moistening your panties with every movement of his lips against yours. You had been focusing so hard on hating him that you hadn't even realized just how attractive he was. The way his dark hair fell around his sculpted face, or the way his scruff scratched at your lips, making them swollen and deliciously puffy.

Urgently, your lips had picked up a rhythm, becoming more eager and needing with every second that passed. Bucky must have sensed the way you could hardly breathe, overcome with the sensation of his lips against yours, as he walked your entangled figures backward until the back of your knees hit the bed sitting on the other side of the room.

"Bucky," you whined during the brief second that your lips had disconnected, unsure of what you were even about to say.

Did you want him to stop? Did you want him to keep going?

"Who knew that kissing you would be the only way to get your bratty ass to be quiet," he growled under his breath, his blue eyes staring down at your pink lips.

His hands slid lower as he spoke, the cold metal of his fingers making a tiny gasp escape your lips as they slid underneath your shirt, pushing you down onto the mattress in one swift movement. The way his eyes raked over your body before looking back up at you made the butterflies in your stomach flutter around once more.

"We-we shouldn't-" you hesitated, biting your bottom lip.

"Tell me you want to stop," he challenged, leaning down to hover over you, pressing his abdomen in between the warmth of your legs. "Tell me you're not soaking right now. I bet you're dripping."

Another surge of flutters flew straight to your core once more, making your lower extremities tingle in excitement as he teased you, his eyes flickering back and forth between your eyes and your lips now. Your inability to speak was all the answers he needed at that moment, leaning back to sling the shirt from his head as he hovered over you once more, placing one hand on either side of your head.

"You are, aren't you?" Bucky hissed under his breath, taking the hems of your shirt and whisking it over your head as he threw it towards the floor impatiently.

You couldn't even help the way your legs tightened around his torso that rested in between them, the feeling of him pressed against you making your core throb intensely. Taking your lip between your teeth once more, you peeked up at him through your lashes.

His lips crashed down onto yours again, a low moan rumbling through his chest as he breathed you in, his hands fumbling with the zipper of your jeans. He eagerly tugged and pulled on every piece of clothing you had on until they, too, had joined your shirt on the floor. He was starving.

Bucky's eyes examined your naked body beneath him for a few moments, practically drooling and foaming out of the mouth as he absorbed every inch of you. His hand traced a line down your stomach, making it twitch as it tickled, before sliding his fingers down your slick. As they parted into a v-shape, a whimper left your lips, the feeling of his fingers on you driving you wild.

"Shiiiit. You are soaked," he sighed needily, his mouth parted as he caressed your dripping folds delicately with his fingers.

You squirmed underneath him, or tried to - but his free hand found a place at the base of your throat. Not choking, but pinning you down, making you stay still for him as he started to draw circles faintly.

Was it embarrassing that you were already beginning to cramp up with pressure?

It had been ages since anyone had touched you like this.

His rhythm picked up as he rubbed your clit with skill, inserting a single digit inside of you as he did so, making you inhale sharply. The sensation was making your head spin euphorically, making the pressure between your legs rise to new heights as he stared down at you - observing every flinch and reaction in your face as he touched you.

"I'm gonna cu-"

"Already?" he whispered in a breathy sigh of disbelief, not even bothering to hold back his proud smirk. "Of course you are, you whore, look at you - writhing under just my fingers touching you."

The way he was touching you but degrading you at the same time only made you feel even more wet.

And just like that, his fingers were ripped away, making you want to cry at the loss of the pleasurable sensation you had been clinging to. His hand lifted in front of your face, between the two of you, glistening in the light illuminating from the lamp. You watched in awe as he took the fingers into his mouth, tasting you with a low moan.

"Don't s-stop," you begged ever so softly, unable to stop your thoughts from slipping from your lips as you watched him suck your juice from his fingers.

"Mmm," he hummed throatily, pressing himself even harder against you, his hard length pulsating against your pelvis now. "You taste so good, doll. There's no way I could stop now, not until you're milking my cock."

Shivers trailed down your spine at his words, your hips involuntarily bucking against him to get any sort of friction from his length beneath his jeans. You knew that no matter what request left his full lips, you would undoubtedly consent to it, especially with the way he was looking at you.

Lifting from you, he unbuckled his jeans without hesitation, sliding them to the floor along with his boxers - allowing himself to spring free. Your eyes widened at the size of him, you knew he would be big, but you didn't expect this big. All red, hard, and dripping with pre-cum.

Bringing his mouth down until his lips were against your neck, he mumbled, "Let me fuck you - please. I want to feel how fucking tight you are."

Your eyebrows pulled together tightly as your eyes squeezed shut. "Yes, yes."

The ache between your legs was begging, screaming for release. A breathy sigh left your swollen lips as he positioned himself at your entrance, sliding the tip of his cock along your slick before pushing himself inside. His hands pushed your legs further apart, before gripping your thighs firmly as he began a slow rhythm inside of you.

The sharp, but sweet sting of him stretching you out was enough to bring you to climax already. As if your lungs had any more oxygen in them to even handle it. Your hands gripped his arms as he continued to thrust harder into you, filling you up, and making you take every inch of him.

"Fuuuck," he groaned, pressing his forehead against your chest as he dug his fingers into your thighs. "You're so tight, so fucking wet."

You were sure your fingers were gripping him so hard that your knuckles were turning white, your orgasm peaking higher and higher, almost unable to contain now. He pumped himself into you, deeper and deeper, making your back arch with every wave of pleasure that had all but consumed you. The sounds of your wet slick taking his length were enough to make you cum now.

"I'm close," you moaned. "You h-have to stop or I'm going to cum-"

This only encouraged Bucky more.

Thrusting harder, he picked up the pace, you could feel yourself dripping down your legs onto the bed, soaking the fabric beneath you. The pressure felt unbearable now, making you bite down on your bottom lip as you threw your head back further into the mattress, relishing in the sounds of him grunting as he pounded into you.

"Fuck, yes - that's it, baby," he gasped. "I'm right behind you."

Your walls clenched around him, eager to please him as you were overcome with the thick fog of your orgasm. Your body writhed underneath him as the waves took over, rippling through you so intensely that you were sure your heart would stop right there. His forehead pressed against your cheek as he pushed into you for the last time, holding himself there as he filled you up, moaning and circling his hips as you reached your climax together.

As you lay there, chests heaving, sweat mixing together as he stayed inside of you, you came down from your post-orgasm high. Every part of your body had been thoroughly affected by Bucky Barnes, his touch, his words. You were exhausted in the best way.

You would have to argue with this man more if it meant this would come of it.

#bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #bucky smut #bucky fanfic #james bucky buchanan barnes #james bucky barnes #bucky x reader #winter soldier #the winter soldier

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optimist-pine · 2 months

Text

Dermatillomania (Daryl Dixon x Reader)

Summary: Dealing with the aftermath of the fall of the Greene Farm in a way your therapist would not approve of.

Warnings: Typical TWD content! Dermatillomania (BFRB's, self-inflicted injury), mentions of death, etc.

Word Count: 719

Era: Follows directly after the season 2 finale

A/n: Just a personal vent... Dunno if anyone else relates.

It hadn't been easy to stop necessarily, but anything other than going cold turkey hadn't really been an option. When you absentmindedly find yourself starting to pick, a quick reminder that it could get you killed is all it takes to shut it down. Most of the time anyways... Tonight though? Oh, tonight you've fallen into old habits so fast and hard that you're stuck there in that state, in the worst session you've had since it all began.

You're tucked away in your own little corner of the ruins and firelight, shadowed enough that no one's really paying attention to what you're up to. At some point, your arms have come out of the sleeves of your coat and it's shrugged loosely around you, leaving skin exposed to the chilly air. You don't notice.

It's all catching up now, all replaying in your mind like the final straw has been plucked. That horrible night at the quarry, the panic when what had been a safe place was so quickly turned into a graveyard. Leaving Jim to die. The terror at the CDC of almost being murdered as a mercy. Leaving Jacqui to die. Sophia... Dale... The farm could've been a safe place, you'd truly believed it until they were somehow just - everywhere. Patricia, Jimmy, Shane... Leaving Andrea to die...

You can feel how it's all too much for your mind to handle, how it's trying to relieve the pressure in this way. It's no good, but your body doesn't know better and you don't know how to make it stop. You can't make any of it stop. Your fingernails desperately search raw skin for any bump, or blemish, or imperfection. They're everywhere. Maybe you'd feel ashamed if bigger and uglier emotions weren't cramming it out of the way.

The cold air cools drops of hot blood on your skin, you can feel it, and yet you feel separate from it simultaneously. Like the same way you breathe without thinking about the breathing part. The fire crackles low and leaves rustle out in the trees as the others hunker down. Nobody's really sleeping though. Not tonight.

Daryl's keeping watch on the perimeter when his eyes settle on you. Your fingers pause in their assault; you can't continue with an audience. Please just look away so I can keep going, some darkness in your mind pleads. But no, you scramble to pull the coat over yourself to conceal the evidence.

"What's this?" He asks, his voice low enough that the others won't really notice.

"Nothing. I'm fine." You can't meet his eyes, shame has finally pushed its way to the forefront now.

You don't try to stop him as he slides the coat off your shoulder, revealing your handiwork. Even in the darkness, you're sure the ugly redness has to be so obvious. You're not only weak, you're weak and stupid.

He pulls your backpack over and digs through it. "Your first aid kit in here?"

You nod once, but that only initiates the tears. What feeling are they from? Anger? Guilt? Fear? This was always the worst part, hating what you've done and wishing for nothing more than to go back and undo it. After everything that had happened... pathetic.

Daryl finds the antibacterial spray and gets to work. His care and surprising tenderness only make you feel that much worse. You were so incapable of handling yourself that you've got a full-grown man treating you like... like the broken thing that you are.

After that he takes a couple of bandages and wraps them around your upper arms, fingers steady and slow. "Leave 'em alone an' let 'em heal. You're tougher than that." He packs up the supplies, helps you fit your arms back into the sleeves, then waits. You're not sure what he expects from you, but then he mimes a zippering motion. You comply and close up your coat. With a single nod, he turns and returns to his watch of the dark surrounding forest.

Maybe you're just thoroughly messed up, but you trade the repeating images in your mind for his words. The past. You have to leave it alone. You have to let it heal. You're here, now, in the present. Alive. You would be tough enough to stay that way. You would.

#twd #the walking dead #twd season 2 #daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #optimist pine

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therentyoupay · 3 months

Note

Hiiii I need help

I’m having trouble writing a fight scene between two characters in a relationship. I don’t want it to be a break up sort of fight, just a healthy spat between lovers that will make their relationship all the stronger after they resolve it. But I’m not really well versed in “healthy conflict” so I was hoping you’d have some questions to keep in mind/tips experience you could share because you’re an amazing writer 🙏🏻

HELLO MY DARLING

first, thank you so much for your sweet words. 😭😭😭😭😭😭🙏 second, i have been pondering your question for a day and a half!

i have been really thinking about it and i have some initial thoughts… but i am sure that this post will just be the start of an ongoing conversation. i think the word i have been chewing on is “healthy.” on the one hand, there are certain things that most people might universally agree as “healthy conflict” in a relationship (or nearly universally), and then there are things that are very culture-dependent (and i do not mean this necessarily in the essentialist sense, i.e., nation-state-as-culture, but also in terms of ‘doing culture’ according to family, friends, region, socioeconomic status, social rank, behaviors, etc.). and then there are things in each relationship that may be less healthy than the ideal but still healthy in the long run, in the sense that it provides space for growth; couples have horribles fights that nearly tear them apart but, for whatever reason, don’t. in my experience, both in life and in fiction, sometimes i think these can often be the hardest, toughest fights, because they have the lowest lows but the highest potential for hope/resolution/something better.

if i am thinking on what it is about these fights that make them so painful and exhausting and “i just want to find a way to fix this but i can’t see the way forward and i am going to stay because i love them but i don’t have the tools right now to get out of this hole,” here’s what comes to mind:

both people are in pain

somehow, trust has been lost to some degree

one or both people do not currently feel safe, either from judgment or abandonment… maybe both… maybe something else too

a disagreement may turn “ugly” so quickly when things that are shared in confidence are thrown back in someone’s face, or some vulnerable sticking point that is supposed to be protected is being used against them in the heat of the argument because things begin to escalate so quickly

at what point can one person step in and find a space to pause/timeout; table the conversation; de-escalate? if neither can, the fight gets worse. if at least one can… that could be the turning point for a softer resolution, even if the other person needs additional coaxing or convincing to join them in the de-escalation. can both suddenly or eventually pause and de-escalate? through humor? through a release of emotion at the core under the anger, like tears and sadness?

at some point during these fights, or perhaps after, one or both might start to feel shame… for their behaviors, their reactions, their words… how can one person bridge the gap that was created when one or both crossed a line? (or many lines?) sometimes all it can take is a hug to lessen the divide, and sometimes apologies are necessary, and plans for changing behaviors, and explanations, or any combination. so how does one (or both) handle their apology? are they both good at taking accountability and learning at this stage in their relationship? do they make good on their promises to change, or at least try? (we are human after all!)

does the resolution match the degree of the fight? if something was weaponized, has it been dismantled by the end, or is it left hanging in the air, even after the apology or de-escalation?

definitely lots to think about! i think the degree of “healthy” is going to depend on a lot of factors, and will inevitably also be influenced by your readers’ personal experiences and what they bring to their interpretations! but definitely things to potentially keep in mind: who is in pain and why? what tools do they have to resolve the pain? are they scared to solve it or not solve it (or both)? how well can they solve it at this moment in time—or later?

thank you for the ask!!!! 💕💕💕💕 good luck and keep me posted!!! i hope these are helpful. 🙏🙏🙏🙏

also, others: please feel free to add additional thoughts and considerations!!! 🙏🙏🙏🙏

#sanfangirl #therentyoupay ask #therentyoupay advice #my love you shall build your healthy conflict skills and tools as well!!! keep building all your life!!!

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onceuponaoneshotfanfic · 10 months

Text

All Too Well (Superstar Ch 8) (Roy's Version)

And maybe we got lost in translation

Maybe I asked for too much

But maybe this thing was a masterpiece 'til you tore it all up

Running scared, I was there

I remember it all too well

Roy figures out what he wants after the Man City celebration.

Roy Kent x Reader

5.1k words

Warnings: LOTS of language, angst, Roy being very hard on himself

I loved getting to write Roy's POV for this one! Make sure to read the regular chapter as well!

Roy sat in the club, annoyed. Annoyed at the shitty music that was way too fucking loud. Annoyed at the shitty colors and the strobe lights that made him even blinder than he usually was at night. Annoyed at how expensive the drinks were (even though he wasn’t even the one paying for them). Annoyed at Brittany Brett and Dario Vargas for fucking existing. But most of all, annoyed at himself for not running after you the moment you dropped his key and walked away.

Instead, he stayed frozen in place, fists clenched, wondering what the fuck just happened. It had been a great night: lots of drinking, dancing and laughing together, his hand lingering on the small of your back wherever the two of you went in the stupid, crowded club that you somehow managed to make feel less stupid.

He had planned on taking you home that night and spending a lazy morning together in bed. He’d planned on taking you and Oscar to that park that the three of you liked, then maybe walking to a pub for lunch. He’d planned on asking you if you really liked your flat, or if you’d be interested in, he didn’t fucking know, moving in with him and Oscar, since you spent most nights there anyway and most of your shit was already there. He’d planned on making a romantic dinner to celebrate, opening the champagne that was already waiting in his fridge and staying up late making plans to move in the rest of your things and getting your opinion on decorating the house that would soon be yours too.

But those plans were gone. The two of you had… broken up? No, that couldn’t be right. The two of you weren’t supposed to break up.

Roy grabbed the key from the table and stuffed it into his pocket as he stood up. This was just a fight, he assured himself. This was fine. He’d come over in the morning, key in hand, and apologize for whatever it was he did and find out what it was you needed from him. Then he’d ask you about moving in. And all would be right with the world.

That’s what he thought when he laid in bed that night, staring at the ceiling listening to Oscar’s snores.

His plans quickly changed the next morning when he was woken up by the repeated ping ping ping of his phone. He groaned and unlocked it, feeling fuzzy as he noticed the notifications climbing. He opened one of the messages- a text from an old Chelsea teammate- and frowned at the headline.

“What the fuck?”

The more he read, the angrier he got. This was fucking humiliating. This was worse than the stories about women stealing his watch or the reports about how he was in bed. His heart sank as he thought about how fucking stupid he’d been. He really thought he’d finally found someone who liked him for him, not for who he was supposed to be. He’d let himself feel safe and happy, like a fucking idiot.

His anger continued to grow as he drove to your flat, where he yelled at you, wanting nothing more than for you to leave him the fuck alone. He refused to hear any explanation; he just wanted to make this go away. He drove home wiping stupid tears from his stupid eyes, his anger starting to dissipate and give way to grief. If the two of you weren’t broken up the night before, you really were now.

Once he was home, Roy spent the rest of the day sitting on the couch, sipping beer after beer as he absently patted Oscar, wondering how the fuck he was going to face work the next day.

Somehow, he managed to drag himself out of bed the next morning and got ready for work, scowling as he flipped through his closet to find a jacket. His eyes fell on the Richmond sweater you loved to wear to bed, claiming that it felt like he was hugging you. Blinking several times, he quickly grabbed one of his many black jackets and trudged down the stairs.

“Roy?” Keeley stood in the doorway, looking at Roy with anxiety in her eyes. “Can I come in?”

Roy grunted in response, pretending to be working on a play in his black notebook. He watched out of the corner of his eye as Keeley made her way to the empty desk across the room and quickly started grabbing folders and papers to toss into her giant purse. When he saw Keeley going for the little orange sticky note on the wall, he finally swiveled around.

“The fuck are you doing?” he growled.

Keeley narrowed her eyes at him; Roy didn’t know she was capable of shooting such an angry glare. “Someone isn’t feeling well, so I’m taking her some things, so she doesn’t fall behind on her work.”

Roy was startled by the venom in Keeley’s voice, but he didn’t back down. “And why the fuck are you taking down that note?” He didn’t know why that stupid little orange piece of paper was so important to him, but his stomach was in knots at the idea of it being gone.

“Do you really think the first thing she wants to see when she comes into her office is ‘XOXO Roy Kent’?” Keeley asked pointedly. Without waiting for an answer, she took the note down and stuffed it in her bag. “By the way, I’m working on getting that article taken down,” she informed him. “You’re welcome.”

“Thanks,” Roy mumbled, shifting his eyes away. “Anything else?”

Keeley sighed as she strutted to the door to leave. “Yeah. You’re a fucking idiot.”

Roy watched as she left in a huff, taking that little orange sticky note with her. “Thanks,” he repeated weakly.

Roy sat at his sister’s table, pushing around the food on his plate as Phoebe babbled about what she’d done at school that day. He knew he should be listening, but all he could think about was the last time he was here, when the table was set for four, and he couldn’t stop smiling at-

“Alright there, Roy?” His sister gazed at him with concern.

He grunted in response. It was not an unusual answer for him, but the look in his eye was enough to give her pause.

“Phoebe,” she said to her daughter. “Why don’t you go finish making that thing for Uncle Roy? He and I are going to go outside for a chat.”

A few minutes later, the siblings settled on the back porch with a bottle of whiskey and a couple of glasses. Roy downed his drink and let out a deep sigh.

“We broke up.”

That was it. Simple. No beating around it, no flowery words, no explaining it away, not even a “fuck” thrown in there. Just stating facts. Roy prepared himself to be yelled at, or to have a million questions hurled at him, or, even worse, to have to deal with pity and attempts at comfort.

“I figured.”

Roy raised an eyebrow. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

She shrugged, sipping her own drink. “It seemed a bit obvious. You’re here alone, you’ve been distracted all night, you barely touched your dinner, and when Phoebe asked where you-know-who was, you looked like a tomato.” She shrugged. “I figured either she’s pregnant or you broke up.”

“Hmmf.” Roy poured himself another glass. “Well, it’s the latter. So, yeah.”

“Can… I ask what happened?” His sister peered at him with concern, something Roy hated.

He shrugged. “Same shit that always happens. She just wanted Roy Kent, footballer. Not Roy Kent, old geezer who can barely fucking walk.” He took a sip. “At least this time I got a fucking dog out of it.” He glanced at his sister, who usually had something to say. Instead, she was staring at him the way she had when he’d told her he was retiring. Like he was a broken little doll. “Just fucking say it,” he groaned.

“I kind of can’t believe that,” she admitted. “I mean, honestly Roy, this was the first time I ever saw you in a real relationship. That girl looked at you like you’d hung the moon and stars. That kind of thing is really hard to fake, you know?”

Roy snorted. “Yeah, well, there’s a whole fucking article that says otherwise.”

His sister’s nearly identical snort was more than enough evidence of the two being related. “I read the article,” she informed him. “And you and I both know it’s absolute rubbish.”

“They had to get that information from somewhere,” Roy pointed out.

“Come on, Roy,” she groaned. “You really think that she, of all people, would talk about you like that? And why would she wait months into dating to do some tell-all? All those bimbos of yours couldn’t wait to tell everyone all your private information. Didn’t one text a reporter while you were in the shower the next morning?” She shook her head. “I love you, but you really need to get your head out of your ass.”

Roy eyes his sister warily as he took another drink. “Thanks for the fucking support,” he grumbled.

Roy couldn’t believe his shit luck. Not only was he miserable at work, having to face the one person who had ever truly broken his heart day after day, but now he got to be tortured at home. Jamie Tartt- Jamie fucking Tartt- had somehow managed to invite himself over after training. And Roy, the vulnerable, emotional wreck that he was, had actually said yes.

So, there they sat, with their third round of beers in hand and Oscar between them on the couch and Roy questioning his life choices.

“… and I was telling Isaac that I really like when Will uses lavender detergent, but Isaac said he prefers this tropical one, and then Dani said-”

“Fucking hell, please talk about any other topic,” Roy groaned, throwing his head back. “I’m fucking begging you.”

Jamie cleared his throat, a bit surprised that his coach had even let him go on for so long in the first place. “Alright, fine.” He thought a moment. “How about you tell me what’s going on with… well, you know.” He raised his eyebrows meaningfully.

Roy narrowed his eyes. “Tell me more about the fucking detergent.”

“Sorry, Coach.” Jamie shook his head. “If Keeley’s gonna be all pissed at me for hanging out with you, you’ve gotta make it worth it, y’know?”

“Why’s it Keeley’s business if you’re here?” Roy asked, hoping to change the subject a bit.

Jamie scoffed. “You only broke her friend’s heart.”

Roy scowled. “I think you mean she broke my heart.” He paused. “Wait. Fuck. I mean-”

“Always knew you had one of those,” Jamie joked, sipping his beer. “But for real, Coach, what the fuck happened?”

“Fuck off,” Roy growled. He paused, staring at the bottle in his hands. “D’you think you can do me a favor?”

Jamie leaned forward, taken off guard by the softness in Roy’s voice, something he’d never heard before. “What’s up?”

“Just come on.”

Roy stood up, leaving his beer on the end table. Jamie quickly followed, Oscar right behind them. To Jamie’s surprise, Roy led him upstairs and to his bedroom.

“Whoa, Roy, I know you’re probably feeling lonely and vulnerable and all-”

“Oh just fuck off.” Roy opened his closet and took out a cardboard box, shoving it into Jamie’s chest. “Here.”

Confused, Jamie peered inside the box. There were clothes and books and…. A toothbrush? “Um, thank you? I think?” He looked up at Roy. “’m sorry, but this is probably the oddest birthday gift I’ve ever gotten.” He paused. “And it’s nowhere near my birthday.”

Roy growled. “It’s not a birthday gift, you prick. It’s… you know.” He shrugged, eyebrows raised, hoping Jamie wasn’t really this fucking thick.

He swore to God he could see Tartt’s brain connect the dots. “Oh! Oh, shit, okay.” Jamie nodded. “And you don’t want to just give this to her at work?”

“Fuck no.” He paused, glancing at Oscar, who was sniffing the box excitedly. “Could you, I dunno, drop it off at her flat for me?” He stuck his hands in his pockets. “I, y’know, think it would be weird if I did it myself.”

Jamie nodded slowly. “Yeah. Sure, man. No problem-o.” He glanced inside the box again. “There’s nothin’ in here that’s, I dunno, important to you? Nothin’ you want to keep?”

Roy scoffed. “No.”

But then he glanced at the box again. And he saw the last thing he had thrown in there: your favorite sweater. The blue one with the little Richmond crest above the heart. The one that read Kent across the back in big white letters above the number 6. The one he’d teased you about the day he adopted Oscar. The one he thought you looked insanely sexy in. The one he’d made you leave at his place so he could see his name on you all the time. The one you wore on rainy days when you cuddled on the couch together. The one that still smelled like you.

He cleared his throat. “Fuck. Wait a minute, I think this is mine.” He snatched the sweater out of the box and tossed it on his bed. Oscar immediately jumped on the bed and began sniffing the sweater, his tail wagging. “That’s it, then. I can send you her fucking address and you can- you can drop it off and all that.”

Jamie stared at Roy curiously. He swore he saw something strange in his coach’s eye. Something that looked like… regret. He suddenly understood why Keeley would sometimes get off the phone looking so sad and why she was so angry at Roy all the time; it was shit watching a friend go through heartbreak. He wished there was something he could do to make everything better- for both of you.

But, since there wasn’t, Jamie said the only thing he could think of: “D’you have any more beer?”

Roy was fuming. That wasn’t really surprising. He was always angry, and that had been especially true the past few weeks. But fuck, he was so pissed right now. Of all the pricks in the world, Dario Vargas had barged into your shared office asking to speak with you “privately”. Roy knew what that meant; the bastard was going to ask you out. And Roy was furious because you had every right to say “yes” and there wasn’t a fucking thing he could do about it.

His blind rage had taken him to, of all places, Higgins’s office. The bespectacled man looked up at Roy in surprise, fumbling with his mobile at the sight of the gaffer.

“Oh! Hello Roy!” He smiled, that pleasant smile he always wore. “Did you need something?”

Roy clenched and unclenched his fist. He didn’t know what came over him as the words spilled out of his mouth: “I need to talk to the fucking Diamond Dogs.”

In the blink of an eye, Higgins had hit some buttons on his office phone, barked into the speaker, and before Roy knew it, Ted and Beard came bounding into the office, howling and yapping like madmen.

Ted lit up at the sight of Roy. “Well, hello, Dolly! Don’t tell me you’re joining us for a woof sesh?”

Higgins spoke up. “Actually, Roy here has requested this meeting of the Diamond Dogs.” He raised his eyebrows meaningfully at the two Americans. “I assume we are more than happy to offer our assistance?”

“Absolutely!” Ted affirmed as he and Beard settled themselves into the seats in front of Higgins’s desk. “Welcome to the pack,” he said to Roy.

Roy was regretting this already, but he knew he needed to do this. “Can we just fucking get on with it?” he groaned.

Beard gave Ted a pointed look before turning back to Roy. “Is this about what we think this is about?”

“What… do you think this is about?” Roy asked slowly, his thick brows furrowed. Did they actually fucking know?

“We’re not as clueless as you think,” Beard started, folding his arms. “And those blinds aren’t as concealing as you think.” He shrugged. “We knew about the two of you pretty much as soon as you started dating.”

Ted nodded emphatically. “And, let me just say, we were thrilled at the idea of you two together. And devastated when we realized that that had…” He bobbled his head. “Well, you know.”

Roy’s face felt warm. “Oh,” was all he could manage, his head feeling like it was about to explode from the revelation he’d just heard. He nodded to Higgins. “And you? You fucking knew too?”

Higgins shrugged nonchalantly. “I’ve been married thirty years. I know a bit about what love looks like.” He tapped his desk. “Also, I once saw the two of you canoodling in your car when I came in early one morning. For two people intent on keeping a secret, you two were quite affectionate at work.”

“Fuck!” Roy bellowed, his eyes wide. The fucking Diamond Dorks knowing about his love life? Fucking embarrassing.

None of the men were deterred. Instead, they all looked at Roy with expectation on their faces, ready to help in their annoyingly compassionate manner. Roy had never wanted to fall into a sinkhole more in his life. But the sooner he got things off his chest, the sooner he could get out of his hellhole of an office.

“Right. So we fucking broke up because she wanted to go public with our relationship and got pushy about it and I got fucking weirded out by it so she yelled at me and left me in that shitty club Isaac dragged us all to after the Man City game. Then this fucking shit article comes out talking all about how I’m shagging my assistant and obviously that shit had to come from somewhere, so I may have gone to her flat and yelled at her. Which, you know, fuck me for that. And now I have to see her face- her stupidly beautiful face- every fucking day and now I’ve got-” He was nearly sputtering at this point. “-Dario fucking Vargas coming into my office to fucking ask her out and I can’t even be mad about it because we’re not together anymore and I feel like I am the biggest arsehole in the fucking world and my dog really fucking misses her and fucking hell I do too.” He finally stopped, red in the face, chest heaving. Fuck that felt good.

Ted let out a low whistle. “Well. Thank you for sharing, Roy.”

The other two men nodded in agreement; it was clear that this was not easy for Roy. But they didn’t say a word to him.

He looked at them expectantly. “Well?”

Higgins finally opened his mouth. “Why… don’t you ask her if she wants to get back together?” So simple. He made it feel so simple.

Roy shook his head. “What about this fucking Vargas shit?”

Ted scoffed, leaning back in his chair. “Roy, we all know she ain’t going out with him. Dario’s a nice kid and he’s handsome and talented and all, but let’s be honest. We’ve all seen the way she tries to avoid him. And we’ve all seen the way she still looks at you.”

“I fucking guess,” Roy mumbled, shoving his hands in his pockets. Fuck, he felt exposed right now. “Well, what if I don’t want to get back together with her?”

“Then we wouldn’t be having this chat, Ben Platt.” Ted shook his head. “Come on, Roy. What’re you afraid of?”

Roy let out what was probably the deepest sigh of his life. He thought for a moment as he gazed at the ceiling. What was he afraid of?

“I mean…” He shifted and rubbed the back of his neck. “I mean, fuck. You’ve seen the headlines before,” he said to Higgins, who nodded. “I’ve got a reputation. The fucking press always have a field day with me. I mean, it just seems like every time I meet someone I think I could have something special with, she turns around and blathers to some reporter. But this time felt different. And I fucking trusted her. More than I ever trusted anyone. So, the idea that she would… that she…” Roy trailed off with a groan. “Just really, really fucking hurts, alright?”

Beard sat up a little taller. “Have you told her all this?”

Roy scoffed. “I told her I hate fucking report-”

“No,” Beard interrupted, speaking slowly. “Have you told her what you just told us? That you’ve been betrayed before, so it makes you uncomfortable to have your private business in the tabloids.”

Higgins nodded in agreement. “I’m sure she could understand that. She’s a sweet, lovely girl.”

“Obviously she didn’t understand,” Roy argued, the tips of his ears red. “Because there’s that fucking article, isn’t there?”

Ted looked thoughtful. “And you know for sure it was her?”

Roy sighed. “Well, I mean, yeah. At the club she was overheard-”

“So, she didn’t go to a reporter?” Higgins pointed out. “Someone overheard what she thought was a private conversation?”

“I guess,” Roy mumbled, shifting his weight.

Beard cocked his head at Roy. “You didn’t ask her? Don’t you think maybe you should?”

Roy squirmed. Fuck, he never squirmed. But the fucking Diamond Dogs had a point; he’d been so angry and scared and hurt that he’d just lashed out without asking questions. He’d been, as Ted would say, judgmental rather than curious. And he’d fucked everything up.

“Listen, Roy,” Ted started, looking Roy in the eye. “If you love this woman, go get her. What are you waiting for?”

“But,” Higgins interjected, “make sure you know what you want. Communicate your needs to her plainly and clearly, and hear what she needs. Talk to each other, not at each other. And be willing to be vulnerable.” He shrugged. “It can be scary. But with the right person, it’s the best thing you’ll ever do.”

Beard nodded. “Don’t just jump into it. Really think if you feel like she’s who you want to be that vulnerable with. Don’t yank her around or yank yourself around. Aaaaaand please don’t make the atmosphere in the office any more awkward than you already have.”

Ted smiled up at Roy and shot him a thumbs-up. “You got this.”

Roy’s head was still spinning with everything the Diamond Dogs had said as he walked into the theatre that night for Phoebe’s recital. He loved you; he knew that much. But he was really fucking scared of being made a mockery of. He refused to be a tabloid joke ever again. And he didn’t completely know if he could trust you to protect him, not after how aggressive you’d been at the club. But fuck, if his heart didn’t skip a beat at the thought of being yours again.

He double checked his ticket as he walked into the auditorium, mumbling the number to himself. His heart skipped a beat when he saw the last person he expected sitting next to his seat: you.

Of course you were here. Of course. You’d promised Phoebe, after all. And you would never break a promise to Phoebe. In your lap he could even see a bouquet of pink roses, the very ones you repeatedly assured her you would bring. He felt his shoulders relax, probably for the first time in weeks, as he thought about how much you cared about Phoebe. And Oscar. And him.

He’d been nervous when he approached you, but he tried not to show it. Beard had been right; he needed to really think about things before jumping back in. If the two of you were going to do this again, Roy wanted to do it right.

He was tense as he approached you, unable to speak a proper complete sentence, similar to the way he was when he first met you. When you stood to let him into his seat, it took all his self-control not to wrap his arms around you and kiss you. Instead, he sat beside you, jaw clenched, and offered you his programme, mostly so he wouldn’t miss a moment of having you next to him.

Roy felt like punching something when he finally got the courage to ask you about Dario Vargas, just to have the show begin (six minutes late, he noted). He did his best to focus on Phoebe jumping and dancing her little heart out, but all he could think of was you sitting beside him, and his inner turmoil as he tried to figure out what the fuck he wanted.

Once the show ended, he couldn’t let you go. So, he invited you to wait with him for his sister and Phoebe. Without thinking, he reached for your hand, the way he had a million times, before remembering that he couldn’t do that anymore. Instead, he walked behind you, eyes glued to the back of your head, not wanting to lose you in the crowd.

Right as you seemed about to say something, Phoebe launched herself at him, demanding his attention. He obliged, showering her with compliments, before she turned to you. He watched tenderly as you hugged Phoebe, gave her the pink roses, and complimented her with genuine joy in your eyes. His sister had been right; this wasn’t something anyone could fake.

After his sister hugged you, Roy couldn’t resist; he wanted to drive you home. With how close your flat was, you had to have walked. So, he offered you a ride. In the car, he finally had the courage to ask about fucking Dario Vargas asking you out.

You’d said no. You’d fucking said no to Dario Vargas. Roy almost smiled at that piece of news. Instead, he celebrated this little victory by letting you know that you could visit Oscar. His heart reveled in your excitement at the idea of seeing the dog that so clearly missed you. He didn’t hesitate to agree to let you see Oscar the very next day, partly because it meant Roy would get to see you the very next day.

By the time he drove away after watching you walk into your building, the gears in his head were going faster than he used to run on the pitch. He wanted you. He wanted his privacy. He wanted to be happy. He wanted to be secure. He wondered how the fuck to have both as his mind kept drifting back to that fucking article and the humiliation he’d felt because of it.

When he pulled into his usual parking in front of his house, he spotted a vaguely familiar little sportscar already waiting. As he got down, he realized why he knew this car.

“Hi Roy!” Brittany Brett bounded out of her car towards him, all smiles. “Where’ve you been? I was waiting for you.”

Roy frowned as he fumbled with his keys. “My niece had a fucking dance thing,” he mumbled, making his way to the front door.

Unfortunately, Brittany followed him. “Aww, little Daphne?”

His frown deepened. “Phoebe,” he corrected as he unlocked the door, listening to the sound of Oscar’s barks on the other side. Before opening it, he turned to Brittany. “Can I fucking help you?”

She batted her eyelashes at him, the same way she used to do when they were together and she’d beg him to go to some obnoxious event with her. “Just wanted to see you,” she purred, laying a hand on his arm. “’ve missed you, Roy.”

He scoffed and shook his head. “Missed me while you had Dario Vargas’s tongue down your throat? Lovely.” He shrugged off her hand.

“Come on, Roy,” she whined. “You know that was just for fun. Just like your little assistant was just for fun.”

He turned to face her. “What the fuck did you just say?” he spat, his hand clutching the doorknob.

Brittany shrugged. “We both know that you were just passing time until we got back together. It’s okay.” Her hand landed on his arm again. “But now you’ve broken up, and Dario and I have broken up. So, it all works out, doesn’t it?”

Roy paused for a moment. “How the fuck d’you know we broke up?” he asked, his voice eerily quiet.

“Well, I figured after the article-”

“It was you, wasn’t it?” It took all of Roy’s strength to keep his voice even. “You leaked that shit to the press, didn’t you? To break us up so you could what, swoop in and try to dig your claws into me again?”

Brittany had the audacity to let out a light chuckle. “Don’t be so dramatic, Roy. I was just reminding you what she really was: a little gold digger. You need to be with someone more on your level. Someone who won’t use you.”

Roy nearly slammed his face into the door. “Brittany,” he growled, shoving her hand off of his arm. “You were the one who always used me. Always taking me out like some little fucking show-pony and making sure the papps knew where we were at all times. Making me take a million selfies for your fucking Instagram. Taking forever to pick out my outfits so I don’t clash with you.” He laughed in disbelief. “Look at me! How the fuck am I going to clash with anything?” He shook his head. “She never fucking used me. She just wanted to hang out at home and read together and hang out with Phoebe and actually talk to me like a human being and-” Roy stopped midsentence. “Fuck.”

He knew. He wanted you. He didn’t care if you wanted to plaster a photo of the two of you on the front page of every newspaper or drag him onto every fuckwit morning show or have him post selfies every day on his barely touched Instagram that Keeley had forced him to create. He wanted you. It didn’t matter what the cost was. You mattered more to him than anything else. And he was a fucking idiot for wasting so much fucking time.

He stared at Brittany Brett, who looked at him impatiently, a look he knew well. “You need to fucking leave,” he scoffed. “And you need to leave me the fuck alone, like, forever.” Before she could get out another word, Roy opened the door and locked it behind him, greeting Oscar with a hug and lots of petting.

Ignoring the knocking on his door, Roy pulled out his phone and opened your texts, which had gone untouched for far too long. He quickly typed five simple words:

Hey. Think we could talk?

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