#*awaits for the wave of hatred towards me*

[sillysnaily]

the guys ever‼️‼️

[fall0utmind]

New fic!!!!!!

Let me know what you think!!

✨️WOULD YOU STILL LOVE ME IF I TOLD YOU MY DARKEST SECRETS?✨️

A rosquez medical leak AU fic

Here on AO3 (please check it out)

Below the cut for more

(Tw/ mentions of suicide, suicidal thoughts, and medication abuse - no active description)

Please read with care 🤍🤍

CHAPTER 1 - DOOMSDAY 🏍

The news drops some time in free practice at Misano. Marc has no idea how it got out or who told the media, but he knows it would be everywhere for the next week—hell, the next year.

The sun is high in the cloudless sky, beating down on Marc, and filling the air with the familiar scent of burning rubber and asphalt. He’s going for a final flying lap, trying to put in a decent time on the GP23. Pushing through the ache of his body, he toes the limit for both him and his bike. He presses on until he passes the chequered flag, finally releasing the tension he holds, unwinding like a coil.

Only once he’s driving into the garage, towards the concerned faces of his press officer and crew, he realises something is wrong. At first, he thinks that he has done something wrong on track, perhaps he pushed someone off the racing line and ruined a flyer. He mentally scrambles, racking his brain for a mistake, for any reason he may have aggrieved the fans or his colleagues. It didn’t have to be much, these days, more than in 2015 or 2016, but they still sought any reason to string him up on a cross. Just like Valentino had done so willingly, all those years ago, sacrificing Marc as a martyr to the sport so he could be a god.

He shakes himself out of his thoughts. There is a press conference later, maybe it has something to do with that. Marc hasn’t stepped a foot wrong today, he’s sure of it. No crashes, no mistakes, and no on-track battles that people like to examine and use against him. It’s only a practice session. God, he’s overthinking because he got like 4 hours of sleep last night, and this is Italy. Rossi territory. Anxious overthinking is Marc’s familiar friend these days, with so much on the line and so few people in his corner. Press conferences can be tricky in Italy but he’ll get through it, even with the hatred of a nation against him.

Marc clambers off his bike, passing his helmet to a nearby crew member. The team are tense, afraid to look him in the eyes. That’s odd for Marc, he has always had a natural air about him that draws others in and makes them feel at ease. Even Frankie, his ever-present race engineer, struggles to hold his gaze. It does nothing to put him at ease, anxiety coiling in his gut.

They run through their usual practice debrief, evaluating the bike set-up (good, today), pace (impossibly quick for the GP23, and that make Marc glow with satisfaction), and track. It is awkward and stilted, so at odds with the usual team atmosphere which Marc has come to love. The engineers and mechanics shoot the occasional pitying glance at Marc or towards his press officer, patiently waiting in the corner of the garage. Anticipation is clawing at his stomach, making nausea burn in the back of his throat. He knows something is wrong and he can barely focus on the discussion which is wrapping up around him, too panicked to pick up the threads of conversation.

After what feels like an eternity, the crew is dismissed, offering pats of congratulations, or maybe commiserations, as they disperse. Despite his tension, he feels a wave of pride rise in him, pleased with the performance he has managed so far, and grateful that he has managed to find a home within the Italian team.

Marc pushes himself out of his chair, shrugging his shoulders a couple of times, trying to ignore the persistent ache in his right arm. He shoots a tight smile at Frankie, before making his way over to the corner of the room, where the press officer awaits him, a grimace set on her face.

A quick look over one shoulder tells him Alex’s side of the garage is blissfully unaware of the tension in the other end of the room. His brother is happily chatting away to his team, hands waving around as he speaks, a trait which they both shared. Sometimes, he looks at his younger brother and feels scalding guilt at the burden he must carry due to Marc’s failure. It is nice to see him like this, carefree and at ease.

“Marc”

His thoughts are interrupted by the gentle prompting of the waiting woman, who nods to one of the private rooms. After a beat, Marc follows her, heart in his throat despite his best attempts to swallow the nerves. She sits down with a heavy sigh, prompting Marc to follow suit, gingerly sitting on the edge of his chair.

“There’s no easy way to say this Marc”

She awaits his slow nod before continuing

“There’s been a situation. Some of your hospital reports have been leaked, all we know for sure is something from around 2015. We don’t know much about what people know. Currently the media seem unaware about most of it and we would like to keep it that way.”

Marc frowns in confusion. 2015? What? I mean obviously it’s not ideal, a hospital shouldn’t ever let this kind of information reach the general public, especially not for someone as well known as him. But why is everyone walking on eggshells around him about a hospital admission, it makes no sense, at this point he’s at a hospital more often than he isn’t.

He is just about to ask what on earth she’s on about when it hits him. His heart drops like a stone. Hospital, A&E, 2015, the aftermath of Sepang and all the shit that followed. Fuck, fuck, fuck. The press officer might still be talking to him, he doesn’t know. He feels like he is underwater, blood rushing in his ears. Heart pounding so hard he can feel it in his mouth. He sees her mouth moving, but hears nothing over his own thoughts, threatening to drown him. He needs to breathe, realising a few seconds too late to take a gasp of air, grounded by a gentle hand on his arm and kind eyes staring at him with pity.

“Obviously this is unanticipated, we don’t know who leaked this information or how they came across it in the first place. Be assured that we have legal looking into it right now, and we will keep you updated. We don’t know how much people know, its possible the reporters on site today haven’t caught wind of it yet. But they shouldn’t know much, even if they have. At the moment, we have it under control. It has only just come out in the last 30 minutes, but the press conference...”

Marc doesn’t need the look that follows to grasp her meaning Be cautious and be prepared. Right, Italy. Mierda.

“It should be fine, like I said, we are working on it to make sure it was just a minor leak about your attendance to hospital. No details.”

Marc takes another deep breath. Surely no one at the hospital would be stupid enough to share such confidential information. No, no, it is just some background noise, people will think he had an accident. Needed treatment. He trusts his team to keep an eye on it, it will blow over soon enough. He will be surprised if he even gets asked about it, with little to no evidence or substance.

Either way he has to face the press at some point. Not going will just make him look more suspicious, not to mention the hefty fine he will probably receive alongside. He drags himself to his feet, shooting her a smile that is probably a bit more of a grimace and thanking her for the heads up.

She reassures him once more that they have this under control, but his mind is already on another track. He needs a quick shower and to mentally prepare himself for the possibility of nosy reporters.

*

Marc is restless. Ten minutes into the press conference, he feels he’s still waiting for the other shoe to drop. He can tell the others have noticed. Pecco keeps shooting him little glances, and at one point he swears that the younger aborts a small movement towards Marc’s knee, which has been bouncing continuously since they sat down.

Usually, Marc doesn’t mind press conferences too much. Realistically, nothing could be as bad as the tumultuous media circus in the years that followed 2015. And if it ever gets that bad again, he has gotten very good at shutting down and putting his PR training into practice. Despite this, Marc can’t help but feel like he’s in shark-infested water.

He’s so stuck inside his head that he barely registers the question directed his way, his head jerking up at the sound of his name.

“Scusi?”

The reporter gives a slight laugh, eyes sharp and searching.

“What do you have to say about the rumours of your hospitalisation at the end of 2015? There are some suggestions that this was more than a biking injury?”

Marc’s heart gives a little stutter. Shit. He wasn’t expecting that so quickly. For the first time, Marc begins to panic, questioning how much the world knows.

“Ah, I say do not listen to everything you hear in the media”, he shoots the reporters a cheeky grin as a light chuckle goes around the room. He feels Pecco’s eyes burning into the side of his head but does not look back, simply nodding at the facilitator to continue.

The next question is directed to Jorge, asking him about his championship chances this year, with Jorge giving the usual spiel about the team and his bike, talking about the decent lap times he put in today. It had been a good practice session for all of them, with Pecco leading into tomorrow’s sessions, followed closely by Marc, dragging every inch out of the GP23, with Jorge and Enea rounding out the top four. Sunday promised to be an interesting race, with the four of them positing similar times throughout the weekend.

Distantly, Marc registers someone asking Enea about working with Pecco, as the current world champion, comparing his times to the other Italian rider, as if they haven’t been working together for over a year already. Marc almost scoffs. Clearly, some journalists needed new material.

Marc’s attention is drawn to a small commotion in the corner of the room, nearest the exit. He watches as his brother enters the room, wide eyes brimming with concern. Fuck. That isn’t good, Alex must know now. Had something else happened? He has faith in his team to keep this on the down low and prevent it all from blowing up in Marc’s face, but it doesn’t stop the flash of concern shooting through him.

“And Marc another question for you”

Well, so much for that. His head whips around at the reporter's tone, searching the crowd to find the speaker. That tone is never a good thing. The same they use when they are going to ask a hurtful question about Valentino or his most recent crash on the track. He tenses in anticipation.

“Regarding the rumours of your 2015 hospital visits, there are now some reports that these visits were due to a so-called mental health crisis. Do you have anything to say about this?”

His heart stops beating. The room goes dead silent. He can feel everyone’s eyes on him, his fellow riders watching in confusion. For Marc, it is like watching a train wreck in slow motion. He looks up and catches Alex’s wide-eyed stare. He's sweating, beads rolling down the side of his neck. Shit. Fucking shit. He’s starting to think he’s not going to make it out of this press conference in one piece, torn apart by the gnashing teeth of the media.

He mentally shakes himself, unwilling to let the others see his dismay. Instead, he schools his features, wills his mouth into a flat line, and answers with his best media-trained nonchalance.

“Ah, it is nothing. No comment. This is not talking about racing; let's move on.”

This seems to wake Pecco up from his trance, tearing his gaze away from Marc and turning his attention back to the reporters. God knows what he was staring at, maybe trying to figure out if this could help him beat Marc next year, if he’s taken anything from Rossi, it would be that.

“Ah, are you going to ask us about the weekend, I would also like to talk about racing”

Some low mutters travel around the room. This wasn’t supposed to happen. He doesn’t know how they have found out, but he does know all too well that the press are like fucking vultures, circling at any sign of a kill. Alex looks like he is about to cry now, doe eyes wide and glossy, his face slack with shock and horror. Marc thinks his face might be a perfect mirror. He still doesn’t really know what’s going on, but it’s clearly worse than he had originally been told.

“Marc, following on from the previous question, it has come to light that you were admitted to A&E several times in 2015 due to suicide attempts. Do you have anything to say about this? Was this anything to do with your infamous fight with Valentino Rossi?”

Oh god, Marc is going to be sick. They went for the kill and came round for a second blow. He glances to his left. Pecco is looking at him in abject horror, his brain scrambling, trying to keep up with the carnage around him. Enea looks like his worst nightmare has come true, wide-eyed and scared, staring at Marc as if he has never seen him before. Jorge just looks confused, bafflement etched on every feature, mouth downturned.

So much for his team's plan to handle it, it has all gone to shit in a matter of minutes. He feels like someone has taken a sledgehammer to his facade, destroying everything he has made himself be. Marc knows he is taking too long to respond, his jaw slack with shock. The world is staring at him with bated breath, his biggest secret lay on the table in front of them all, ready to be dissected. He can’t breathe. He feels wild with it, oxygen-starved and desperate. He needs to get out. He needs to get out now.

He scrambles out of his chair, sending it clattering to the floor behind him, shaking the rest of the room out of their stupor. The room explodes into a cacophony of noise and camera flashes. He is going to be sick. He makes a beeline towards Alex, tugging the younger along with him whilst he flees.

“Mierda, mare puta!

They know, they know that...”

Verbalising it out loud makes a wave of nausea hit him, sending him stumbling to the nearest bathroom. He flings the door open, leans over the toilet and proceeds to throw up everything he has eaten in the last 24 hours. Alex enters behind him, muttering in rapid Catalan under his breath.

2015 took a lot from him. More than anyone could know, more than anyone was ever meant to know. Jesus, 2015 nearly took everything from him, everything from his family. It has taken him a long time to accept that part of his life. Marc retches again into the toilet bowl, resting his forehead against the cool porcelain as he blinks back tears. Alex is pacing behind him, his angry mumbles and Marc’s harsh breathing filling the silence of the room.

“How do they know, how the fuck do they know? How did anyone find out?

Joder Marc, are you ok?”

Marc lifts his head from where he’s slumped against the toilet, looking impossibly young. Alex is the one person he would do anything for, he would walk through hell and back to protect him. He is the only one who truly knows what happened in 2015, who knows the extent of the demons in Marc’s brain. Now they will have to face them again.

“No, not really.”

It’s then that Marc registers Pecco standing behind Alex, concern painted across his face. There is no chance that he hasn’t witnessed Marc losing it, with Jorge and Enea standing not far behind. There is a horrifying understanding dawning in their eyes, the realisation that the journalists had struck gold. Marc had attempted his life in 2015 and has kept it inside for almost ten years, only for the world to find out entirely against his will. Marc knows that his face paints a portrait of pain and regret. It unsettles the others, gazing into a familiar face but seeing a whole dimension that was perhaps always there, if anyone had paid attention. All this pain is tucked up inside him in a neat little package, ripped open for greedy eyes to see. Pecco looks away, eyes guilty.

Marc feels like he’s been punched in the stomach, gasping for air that just won’t come. The other pilots probably think he is pathetic. He doesn’t think he can deal with another reason for the others to hate him. As much as he tries to rise above it, he loathes that his colleagues cannot bring themselves to like him. He cannot quite put a name to the emotions on Pecco’s face, Jorge’s sadness and Enea’s hurt are much easier to read. Perhaps it is disgust. And isn’t that ironic, the prodigy looking at him, disgusted by the consequences of Vale's war on Marc?

Marc mentally berates himself for giving so much away. He forces his eyes to go blank, pulling on the mask which he so often wears once more. He accepts the hand Alex offers him; his brother pulling him to his feet and bearing his weight as they push past Pecco. Marc keeps his eyes on the floor, unable to meet the pitying faces of Martin and Bastianini. Instead, he lets Alex guide them back to their motorhome in silence.

[ladycrocy]

Comfort behind the mask of a Killer

Comfort behind the mask of a Killer

Summary: "Massacre Soldier" Killer has a past. This is just the small story of how a young killer became the pirate we know today. This is an alternate universe that still keeps the setting of one piece. I have also quoted Alexandre Dumas's book "The man in the iron mask" because I thought it fit perfectly.

Warnings: Physical and verbal abuse to a child. Reference to drugs and alcohol. MDNI. VERY SAD.

AO3

Word count: 1784

“I've worn that mask so long I don't feel safe without it.”

― Alexandre Dumas, The Man in the Iron Mask

A boy without a face. What good was his face anyway if it only brought pain to those he thought he loved. Expressions that were just a reminder of crimes that he didn’t commit. This young blonde boy was named with revenge in mind. “Killer” Came into this world with the burden of his mother’s hatred.

His long shaggy blonde hair was unkempt, but that matched the rags that this child was dressed in.  His mother did little to keep him alive. By the age of four, he was already on the streets to steal from garbage cans. Rotten fruits and vegetables were his normal diet. This caused him to suffer from severe malnutrition. 

“A man is held to be criminal,sometimes, by the great ones of the earth,not because he has committed a crime himself but because he knows of one which has been committed.”

― Alexandre Dumas, The Man in the Iron Mask

“KILLER! GET IN HERE, YOU CRETEN!” His mother called out to him. He was never allowed inside. He couldn’t help but feel a little excited that she actually wanted to see him. Despite his whole tiny body aching, he ran inside the shack with such vigor. 

Killer had a large smile on his face to greet his mother. He had yet to really speak yet, but he wished to greet his mother as positively as possible. With what he thought would be a warm embrace or at least a happy greeting, he found only pain.

The small boy was knocked to the ground by the side of a bottle. Blood poured from a fresh wound on his head. Dying his blonde waves pink. “How many times have I told you not to smile around me?! You disgust me! He had the same look when he burdened me with you!”

I’m sorry momma I’m sorry momma! Killer wished he could say to her but his words were not forming. If only he had learned to speak faster, perhaps his mother would know how much he loved her. Maybe he could convince her that he wasn’t his father. 

It was such a curse to look like the man that had forced himself in a fit of laughter on one’s mother. Killer couldn’t have been further from that sperm donor. With a pure heart of gold that kept believing one day, she would love him back.

 “A man is bound to make for himself in this world, that fortune which heaven had refused him at his birth.”

― Alexandre Dumas, The Man in the Iron Mask

February 2nd was the day he found a tattered mask. This was a happy day for Killer. So happy in fact, that he deemed it must have been his birthday. He was unaware of his actual birthday as he had never actually celebrated it. Returning to his mother that night, Killer had brought her what he had stolen. Getting to his knees, he bowed his head to await her approval. It wasn’t much. There was a little food, a half a bottle of cheap wine, and a few unknown pills. His mother didn’t hit him this time. She glared down at him and his ‘mask’. She grabbed the bottle and downed all the pills in one gulp. With her foot, she kicked the food towards him. “I guess even vermin deserves a treat every now and then.”

Killer was elated. His mother had never offered to share, let alone give him all of it. He was so happy that he could cry. It was the mask! It truly was the greatest gift the gods could have given him. Surely now, he and his mother would be able to connect. He would spend the next few days practicing his words. He wished so much to tell his mother that he loved her. 

“Pain, anguish and suffering in human life are always in proportion to the strength with which a man is endowed.”

― Alexandre Dumas, The Man in the Iron Mask

Everyday for months, Killer looked through the window of a school. He was about 10 at this time. At least that is what he assumed by his size. He had only been keeping up with it himself for 5 years. He was now able to speak very little by mimicking what he heard through the window. That is until the school guard would scare him off. Killer didn’t care. He would come back everyday until he could tell his mother that he loved her and that she didn’t have to hate his face anymore. His plan was solid. He continued to bring her the things she liked the most. Any type of liquor he could get a hold of, and pills of any kind. Now that he wore the mask all the time, his mother allowed him to sleep inside the shack. This was really starting to turn around for the small blonde boy. 

To his great joy, he had found a whole bottle of wine in the garbage dump today! This would please her so much. It took nearly the whole day but he was able to find 3 blue pills. He never knew what they were for. He just knew they made his mother happy and sleepy. The blue ones were her favorite. What a wonderful day this would be. 

He rushed home. Swiftly cutting corners through the slums. Killer dug his heels into the mud to stop himself at his own shack. Barreling into the small housing, he fell to his knees. Presenting the bottle and pills. To his horror he realized he didn’t bring her any food. How could he have forgotten something so important. “M-Mot….the…ther… S-Sor…ry..” He apologized using a voice that was rarely used. This didn’t give him any sympathy or praise or.. Anything. The woman grabbed the bottle and pills just as she had always done. “You should have died at birth, Killer..” Taking the pills she laid down on the floor in the corner next to a single candle. She cradled the bottle and began to sob.

Killer was breathing heavy. His heart breaking in ways his child mind couldn’t comprehend. He wanted to comfort her, but he knew that would only bring him pain. 

So he ran. He ran back to the dump to make up for his horrid mistake. He needed her to see that it was good that he was alive. He would take care of her forever. As long as it took for him to see his dream come true. 

There wasn’t much this time. It had been picked through by the other vagabonds. He was able to find some moldy bread but there was still a lot that was good enough to eat. Maybe this would be enough. Maybe now…

“I am strong against everything, except against the death of those I love. He who dies gains; he who sees others die loses.”

― Alexandre Dumas, The Man in the Iron Mask

The young blonde was frozen as he saw his tiny shack up in flames. He yelled out with a cracked scream. A blood curdling scream that held the pain of 10 years. Killer ran into the small shack. He saw her still in the corner. She hadn’t moved. It was quick thinking, as Killer jumped for her. Just as he did so a piece of the roof came crashing down on his left arm. His screams fell on uncaring ears. He pulled and tugged until he was able to pull it free. 

The shack burned down around his mother as he watched. He was helpless and possibly bleeding to death. He glanced down at his arm. It was burned and mangled. Just like his heart. Thank the gods for this mask.. No one can see his tears. 

“A man is bound to make for himself in this world, that fortune which heaven had refused him at his birth.”

― Alexandre Dumas, The Man in the Iron Mask

Two years later, Killer had roamed around the East blue. Sneaking onto boats to get to one place or the next. He landed on an island that was outside the world government. Not very notable, but a place where a homeless 12 year old could find work. Or scraps. 

One day he was in the scrap yard, looking for something to sell. “AHHAA! I DID IT!” Killer heard the voice of another child. He peeked over the piles to see a red headed boy laughing. He was standing proudly over something he had just created. Killer tilted his head at the strange boy. 

The red head felt that he was being watched and turned to see the blonde. He smiled and motioned for him to come closer. “Hey you! Check this out!” The younger boy seemed so different from any other person Killer had ever met.

After the red head explained his newest creation he finally introduced himself. “AH I forgot! The names Eustass Kid! You can just call me captain because I am gonna be King of the pirates! And I am taking you with me! My first mate… uh… what’s ya name?”

Killer had still not used his voice ever since the day he watched his mother die. It was rough and raspy when he replied. “K-Kil…ler..” He looked down ashamed of his voice, rubbing the side of his mask. 

Kid didn’t skip a beat and smacked the back of Killer’s back. “My first mate Killer! What a badass name! Everyone will fear us!” The 8 year old exclaimed with a hearty laughter. He abruptly stopped and looked at the dented mask that Killer wore. “Hey.. hold on a sec…” Kid then jumped into what looked like a pile of scrap metal. He emerged with a welder looking mask in the air. It would keep his face hidden but give him more room to breathe.

Kid handed it to Killer and turned around. It was odd to see such a wild child to have such respect for 

others. Killer replaced the mask and was happy he was able to see better. More room to breath. 

And with that he took a deep breath in, and exhaled. He looked over to Kid and somehow he just knew that Kid knew he was smiling. “K-King of.. Th-.. the P-Pirates!” Killer exclaimed with his arms in the air. His new captain joined in and let out a mighty roar.

“I hope only that you have been able to find a little gold in the ashes.”― lowell blair, The Vicomte de Bragelonne

Thanks for reading! This fanfic was really inspired by my talks with @lxshoxk

[pursuitseternal]

“Feeling:” angst, romance, flashbacks, comfort… update to “Our Blood is Thicker”

Astarion x Tav (Cordehlia) | E | 4.5K of angsty flashbacks and romantic comfort

Cover art by @marimosalad 💞

Summary: Baldur’s Gate looms before them, where so much awaits them: Cazador, the Absolute, and the source and secret of Cordehlia’s long-lasting hatred of him. Where her love turned to grief, and grief turned to rage.

CW: cuddling, flashbacks, angst angst and more angst, grief, tragic revelations, hurt comfort, two lovesick idiots finally getting closer… while they still can.

Previous Ch | ao3 link | Masterlist

Chapter 15: Feeling…

💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞

She could see the heat rising from it, the City. Baldur’s Gate, a sight she had sworn never to see. Not since she had last ventured this way, heavy with broken heart and the weight of lost souls in her heart.

But fates change, fortunes rise and fall. Now Cordehlia sat on this watchtower wall, the very reason for her anger and hatred and vow to never set foot here again had his arm wrapped snug around her waist. Astarion pulled her into his lap, face turned towards the sun as his crimson eyes watched it set over the sea.

Her heart rapt hard in her chest. There was so much ahead of them, so many battles to fight and enemies to slay. But for now, he just held her as the light faded into sparkles on the waves. His eyes were wide with wonder, and she realized in that moment, he hadn’t seen a sunset near the city for almost two-hundred years. Not since….

“Not since those days of Magistrate have I seen the sun, let alone allowed myself to watch it settle into the Sea…” he sighed, snuggling her closer into his chest, tucking her fiery red head under the dip of his chin. “This is what we always dreamed of, isn’t it… the allure of the city, the chance to be together at long last….”

His voice, usually purring in seduction or acerbic in sarcasm just flowed over her in warm tender words, just as he used to back… back home.

“We are a might bit different now than we would have been,” she replied, a bit sharper, a bit more bitter than he was.

He turned slowly, thick lips smirking as he caught her chin in his gentle hold. “We both have a little more bite now, don’t we, my love?”

Cordehlia ran her thumb over his lips, slipping inside to brush his fang gently. “There is so much ahead of us here. Challenges… danger… blood.” Her voice was distant, so many thoughts swirling behind the shining silver of her eyes.

Astarion smirked against her palm, trying for flirtatious, for a hint of playful seduction to soothe her. “But darling, we like blood,” he teased.

A half-hearted laugh, she pressed closer against his body. Wishing he was warm.

“Cazador will be seeking you back even harder now, my love…” she whispered, worried about even mentioning the monster’s name.

“Let him,” he shrugged, every muscle in his hardened body tightening. Ready to spring. “I am more than powerful enough to take him. With our tadpole, he can’t compel me, can’t force me to…” Astarion swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing against the top of her head, “to do anything.” He finished, so many things unsaid in that silence. “I’ll be free,” he purred, lifting her sweet face up for him to lose himself in. “We’ll be free, Cordehlia.”

She pressed her lips against his, a soft kiss, more affirming and loving that words could say.

He sighed, letting his fingers fall from under her chin. “You really are perfect, every time, my love.” That raking smile twisted his face, more of his taunting, jeering nature coming out to play. “And besides, I can’t wait to hear Cazador’s screams and smell his blood once we finally kill him. All we need to do now is find where this… Rite… is taking place, and,” he arched that left brow, cunning and mischievous, “if we can take a bit of that power and immortality for ourselves.”

“Astarion, always the ambitious,” she shook her head. “Magistrate, High Lord… no those titles are beneath you,” Cordehlia needled back, mocking and whining as if he were a child. “No, no… Lord Astarion, Vampire Ascendant…”

“You must admit,” he let out a heavily dramatic sigh, “it does sound so nice.”

“Hmm,” she patted him on the cheek, “one thing at a time, love. Devilish pacts and profane rites are not like bargaining for a better deal at the fish market.”

Astarion snickered, “That’s your elvish wisdom, is it? I’d prefer power over a nice cut of cod any day. Why don’t more people talk about the wisdom of the vampire?” He faked a pout, like the petulant child she sometimes still caught glimmers of beneath the man she loved.

“Because the extent of your wisdom, Astarion is ‘See a problem, stab the problem, get rewarded for solving the problem.’ That’s not wisdom,” Cordehlia placed a hand on his chest as he started to lean into her, his body winding tight as if he were about to throw her on her back and have his way. But she shoved hard enough to keep him at bay. “It’s the ambition of the vampire, my love. And you’ve always had an ambitious streak in you.”

She gazes at him a little pointedly, a little bitter, just a spark of that anger in her face that he remembered from first finding her once more. “I take it you worry about my ambitions, darling.”

“I have the right to worry.” She kept that hand on his chest. “You’ve hurt me before,” she quirked a brow, taunting, “remember?”

“A low blow, but a valid one,” he sighed, exasperated. “I do remember, and yet…” he forced his face into hers, looking closely. “Why do you look like you hate me… like that day you found me on the beach?”

A shaking, chest rattling breath made her quake in his arms. “Because I vowed never to come back to this city, to never step foot in Baldur’s Gate again after what I went through…. Over you.”

Dexterous, roguish fingers caressed the back of her neck. “Are you going to tell me? Or are you going to show me?”

She could feel the wriggling of his tadpole, calling to hers, begging to let him enter. She looked into his eyes, forcing them open before she allowed him in her memories. “Perhaps it’s better you know… but remember, I’ve since learned the truth, since learned about your own darkness and suffering. And now, you’ll see why I became all I did. Why I hated you….”

“So long as it’s past tense, your hatred, my love, then hide nothing from me….”

Minds crashed, faced whirred in his vision as he saw her memories from centuries before….

———————————————————————-

It hurt. Unbearable. His parents already gone… disappeared probably from their own griefs. Left and never came back. Swallowed by their loss or to the violence of the City—a cautionary tale for her people to keep to themselves, to quit the alliances and deals their High Lord and Lady had insisted on forging with the powerful Patriars and Council Members of Baldur’s Gate. And now they were gone too. Their line with them.

Of course Father was worried the same would befall her, a constant niggling dread inside her mind as she crossed into the gates of the Lower City.

She kept her eyes down the whole way here… ignoring every vendor along the Southspan, every prostitute and pleasure seeker that stumbled out of the Flophouses and brothels, and every Flaming Fist that didn’t ask for her papers as she made it through Wyrm’s Rock.

Her booted feet hurried all the more at those sultry voices that called to her from those pleasure houses. Every grunt or sigh or ‘darling’ was a slice across her heart.

The reminder she would never hear him again. Never see him again. Never hold him, or kiss him, or taste him, or…

Gods, it was too much to bear. She collapsed against the alley wall. Her world spun, the ground falling out from under her as she shuddered and sobbed.

“Astarion,” she whispered his name into the palm of her hand as she tried in vain to force it back inside. The Magistrates offices were ahead, just around the corner. So close, and yet so far. Their letter, perfunctory and businesslike, detailed the facts of his murder, requesting someone to finish the matters associated with Astarion Ancunín’s death. Someone needed to collect his things, to pay his fines and check his burial.

His grave.

A responsibility falling to her in the aftermath of his parents’ disappearance.

On her, his betrothed.

Well, not betrothed anymore.

It had already been months, nearly a year. Matters had to be closed, fines paid for services rendered.

She shuddered, the sun beginning to fade behind the tall structures of the City. Night would fall soon, and yet somehow it wouldn’t be as deep as her grief, as dark as heart grew now that she was here.

One hand steadied on the wall, willing her body to rise, her feet to walk. She needed silence, someplace quiet and… drawing up short, she realized where she stood, the open maw of the cemetery to her right. It was like her own heart stopped beating the second she stepped foot on the buried dead. It would have to be here… the letter had said.

She forced her stinging, tear-blinded eyes to scan every name.

A chill set in the air as the sun sank lower, as she turned down a row of headstones, her heart aching with each new name. Aching more and more. Until she found it in the back corner of the garden, the grass already grown over the dirt of his grave, little vines already creeping up that carved stone.

His beautiful name above where his beautiful body was laid to rest. She just… wanted to touch him again. To hear his inane giggle. To press her lips against his. To taste the salty tang of his cock one more time….

She didn’t know when she had laid on the ground, or when the sun had set. Didn’t know when the moon had risen or the grass beneath her body had grown cold.

Shivering, she needed to find a warm meal and a warm bed for the night. The Elfsong wasn’t far, she could stumble her way there before she passed out.

But that would mean leaving him.

Saying… goodbye.

She pressed her cold fingers to her lips, squeezing her eyes shut. Imagining they were his elegant fingers, one last time. Reaching for the stone, she pressed her kiss against his name carved for the ages and eternities. “Goodbye, my love,” she managed to say.

Rising to her feet, somehow she made it to the firelight and music of the Elfsong… packed to tightly with bodies, she struggled to make her way inside to the keeper behind the bar. “Saer, I require a room for the night.”

“Full up for another hour yet,” he huffed, wiping out the inside of a tankard. He gave her a salacious wink. “Rooms are in high demand this time of night. But one of my regulars will be done soon, he never stays long before draggin’em off back to his place…”

Her stomach flip flopped. She could have wretched up her guts right then and there.

“No,” she breathed deep and pulled her shoulders back as her father had taught her. “I’ll not sleep in someone else’s mess. I can find other accommodations.”

The barkeep shrugged. “Suit yerself. I doubt it. But I’ll save your place for next, once he’s done. One room in an hour for the pretty, red-head she-elf…” Cordehlia stamped away in a disgusted huff.

A fire in her belly, she bought herself a pie from a vendor, letting it settle uneasily in her stomach as she tried for another room.

Nothing. Not a single spare place to hire out for the night that wasn’t already bought and paid for or used for prostitution.

This miserable city… she cursed it in her heart. Hating every cobblestone, loathing every drunk stranger that scattered before her. This cesspit that took her love. The corruption that sank him into the earth itself.

She would be gone tomorrow, never to return. Take the cold comfort of his possessions and pay his fines and begin to bury the memory of him. As if she ever could.

But at least back with her people, with her Father, she could remember him as he was to her, not as one lost soul trying to find his way in this filth. That was the curse of the elves of course, their memory. That every night she could relive their youth, their love… all their firsts. As if he never left her. Turning back to the Elfsong, she resigned herself to that disgusting fate. At least she could demand clean bedclothes, losing herself in trance to the memories and to her love for Astarion. It was bittersweet relief.

Already she could feel the strength of her memory almost conjuring him. She could almost hear his voice in the streets, almost see his pale face and pretty eyes and wicked smile in the faces of strangers. By the time she had to face the Elfsong barkeep again, she merely passed him her coin.

“I knew you would return, what’s another Elf’s money after all…” he waved her to a stack of laundered sheets by the stairs. First door on the right… it was easy to find.

But then she froze the second she shut the door to the little bedroom.

Was her memory so strong… what her grief so fraught… her heart so broken?

The room smelled like him.

————————————————————————

She could sense his… disgust. His self-loathing and pain and confusion. As if he witnessed his own memories through another’s eyes.

She pulled him back deeper into her thoughts, a new, darker, more jaded feeling overwhelmed Astarion now. Grief piled upon grief.

————————————————————————

“I fucking hate it here,” Cordehlia growled under her breath. It was only to herself, but she liked the sound of vitriol in her voice all the same. She sat in a booth at the Elfsong as she had all day. Waiting. Watching. That human spy was supposed to be here… was supposed to come and give the information needed to fight off those Orcs on the southern border of her people’s lands. Where their camp was… how many their forces made… weapons, spells, war machines… that sort of thing.

All the things she had learned to take stock in, to measure before battle, just as her Father once had.

Once had, until he had fallen to Ketheric Thorm and his Dark Justiciars. But that pain was too fresh. Less than a year ago, now. Not that the Elfsong was filled with happy memories, not this City. Not the one that still made the scars on her heart sore from the last time she entered these sin-slick walls.

Astarion, she kept herself from saying his name out loud.

She would clear off his grave later tonight, once the matter was closed and the deed was done. Never again would she mention him. Her long, elven memory grew heavy under the weight of her sorrows. Orphan and widow.

Orphan—mother dead almost at birth, father, unburied on some cursed lands not far from here.

And widow, well almost a widow. No vows had been made other than the ones they forged wordlessly that night. Her body once touched, her virginity taken long ago. No one had even come close to that once more. Nor would they again.

It would have to be enough. Her heart would never love again.

Not when she was so needed by her people.

Her people had lost a High Lord and Lady, lost their promising young Lord to be next in line. With her Father’s death, they lost their steadfast, valiant hero of a General.

But Cordehlia was neither, neither Lady nor General; she was all that remained to lead in these matters.

No hero, but an assassin. No lady, a weapon. All her silken gowns had been long traded for armor at her Father’s side since Astarion’s death. And now… sharp, cold things were all that remained.

It was all she was now too.

Shaking her head, she scanned the room, piercing eyes peering into every table, looking for her contact. He would be here soon, and she needed to keep her head, slowing her sips of Ithbank. No matter how badly she wanted to drink into a stupor and pass out on his grave.

Maybe she would be with him again then…

“Fuck,” she cursed, slamming the glass down. And then she reached right for the green glass necked bottle of the vintage to take a swig.

It might be a long night of just waiting and watching. If she had to watch one more couple meander up those stairs, groping each other, to return moments later disheveled, she might throw her most precious dagger between their shoulder blades and be done with it.

What good was it, giving that to someone without meaning… closing her eyes, she swallowed again another bursting, dripping mouthful.

But it didn’t matter. Not even laying with him when it mattered most, not even that mattered any longer. These idiots would only live to regret their proclivities. Fools.

Better to have loved and lost than never…

Wait.

Her ears piqued in the din. A giggle. A man’s giggle.

It was familiar. Painful. She gazed across the dim tavern shaking her head to dismiss the thought. No, no. Just her bedraggled mind playing tricks on her. Just the wine resurrecting ghosts.

“Lady Corvus,” a voice whispered, the cloaked mortal sitting himself opposite her. Cordehlia nodded, careful not to smile too broadly at the use of her new title. “Here,” he whispered. Passing a scroll across the table. “Battle plans, maps, estimations of their forces, it’s all there, my lady.”

“You have been of great service,” she chimed in silken tones. Her hand set a small purse within the man’s reach.

“Thank you, my lady,” he nodded under his hood. “This place ain’t for the likes of you. You best be going, best be careful. There are rumors that the Pale Elf is around here tonight.”

She quirked a brow. “And?” She scoffed, “Is he some traitor? Some assassin come to kill me?”

“Not with blade, but he’s known for taking pretty things like you to play with… giving them a little death. Not the kind you deal, my lady.”

Cordehlia jolted at that, flinching as if smacked in the face.

“Don’t worry, my lady, I doubt he would be to your liking. You’re too fearsome, too intimidating to fall for his easy seduction.” The human’s mouth smiled under the hem of his hood before he stood, leaving as quickly as he came, one coin purse heavier than he arrived.

Cordehlia pocketed the scroll, taking a moment to first break open its seal and memorize it. Just in case.

It’s what her father would have done.

But as she prepared herself to leave, taking that wine bottle with her, she heard it again.

That fucking giggle.

And this time, it was no trick of the wine or memory. She paused, turning to search the opposite side of the tavern. Instantly, she froze. One shadowed booth, its occupants obviously intertwined. One man’s head being pressed lower and lower… the other, though he laid deeper in the shadows, was giggling at the nipping caresses.

His pale face was tilted away, but she knew that frame… that tousle of silver hair thrown back in ecstacy. His sharp chin, well cut jaw… his long, lithe fingers pushing that man’s head deep into his lap.

Glass shattered at her feet. Her wine bottle decimated as it slipped from her grip.

All she saw was red. Bloodied crimson at the sight of him.

Not dead.

Not alone. Not grieving and pining and lost adrift.

No. Being pleasured, Astarion the Pale Elf. “Fuck,” she growled, grinding the glass under her heel, pretending that the red wine at her feet was blood.

So blind, so lost to her sadness, she failed to see truth. So eager to give away her heart and soul and body. Little did she know all she gave him was a taste for more.

And not more of her. Not more to serve their… her people.

A fake death, an endless parade of lovers in her wake.

He might as well be as good as dead.

Her hand twitched on the hilt of her blade. Her head cocked to the side as she… considered. It would be quick to draw her knife out. To dampen these floorboards with more that ran red than wine.

But something stayed her fist, something kept that silver blade etched with her insignia of a crow buried inside its scabbard.

The ghost of her love for him couldn’t let that dagger sate its taste for blood. Not his.

“Fuck,” she growled again, striding away for the stables. She would not rest tonight. Ride until dawn. Push herself until that blade did taste blood.

Blood of Orcs and enemies. Flesh separated from bones until they were picked clean in the battlefield.

Enough blood until her body could finally go numb and her ears deafen to the sound of his giggle.

Of his pleasure. With many others.

Astarion’s mind swirled through more visions, half aware of his own feelings, own memories of that dark time.

She hated me… he hissed to himself, a bit in shock. Taken so far aback at the feelings that surfaced in her memories. He pushed harder, searching them, seeing how far that hatred went.

He saw… himself. The wreckage of the Nautiloid burning in the distance. Cocky, threatening on the beach, arms wrapped around that body he no longer knew.

A body he once knew carnally each and every night.

Her memories could have been tinted in red, the wave of anger, of shock and betrayal poured into his heart at the sight of… himself.

He was so cold, calculating. Aloof and mean. He felt it in her body, that longing to put herself out of misery by snatching his own dagger and slitting that beautiful pale throat she once nuzzled against.

How many lips had kissed him there… how many other faces pressed against that beat of his heart in his artery.

But no. Even when her hand did reach her own weapon, those fingers softened as she looked into his now crimson eyes.

“Fuck,” she had thought. Agreeing to let him be her companion. Unable to kill him or turn him away.

So she suffered.

Day. And night. Drawn like a moth to his flame to be so close again. Hating the fact that she couldn’t just be done with his presence. Hating the fact he couldn’t remember her…

But those little changes in him had softened the hatred, drawing question after question to her mind instead.

Why… why crimson eyes… why would an elf lose all his memory, the blessing and curse to his elven kindred… why those scars on his neck and his cold touch…?

She had pieced it out so early on. Vampire. But not so powerful… a spawn then. She had slept with a stake in her bed since that first night. Just in case.

Her love may have still been an ember, fighting for air to burn again in her heart, but her trust had long been extinguished.

He felt that hatred sink deeper again, watching how he had flirted with Shadowheart, playing on this confession of their past. Manipulating her, crafting the perfect tension to make her give him what he wanted.

He was so good at it. Save for the fact he underestimated that burning hate.

But Cordehlia had underestimated that ember of love. The moment he woke her in her bedroll, fangs at the ready, a stake pressed at his side, she had never hated him more. Not since that first night in the tavern when she saw him again… thinking him worse than a traitor.

She had been so close. So close to shoving that stake in his undead heart, putting herself out of that misery, misery she couldn’t endure much longer. It would have been the just thing after what he had done to her to take his life, undead or not.

But her heart won. That voice in her memory, his voice, made her recall his violet eyes and easy smile. His voice had stayed her hand again. It was a voice that long ago had hummed softly as her head rested in his lap, body warmed by the sun and the last throes of her pleasure at his fingers.

It was his voice that whispered to her that these weren’t his sins, that something here was more at fault than unbridled lust and a penchant for manipulation.

He wasn’t to blame.

But he would need to stay alive for her to learn why not.

So she let him disarm her, let him bite her flesh, let his body crush hers as it once had with bone-deep recognition.

And he felt that ember fan alive with love brighter in the memory of that night.

————————————————————————

A deep breath in his lungs, like one drowned breaking through the surface, he awoke. His eyes opened to the real world around them. She clung to him tighter than ever, as if she could knit her flesh to his, make her blood run as his own.

Her eyes stared back, every emotion racing behind her gaze, dripping wet with tears. Relief, anxiety, love and regret, they darkened her face as the sun sank below the waves of the Sea. Astarion kept one arm around her back, the other he moved, cradling her face so gently. His own eyes stung from unshed tears. “You know…” he whispers, voice shaking still from the intensity of those memories, “for all the ways Cazador tormented me, tortured me, stole everything from me… the worst thing he ever stole from me was my memory of you…”

“Cazador can rot in the hells for what he took from me, for what he forced you to do,” Cordehlia scowled. “I… I lost my love for you for so long, I buried it under grief and hatred and blood. And when I saw you on the beach…. When you had no idea who I was to you….” Her voice snagged in her throat the more she talked, until she couldn’t swallow.

He just held her, shushing her softly, still holding her face. His palm collected the warm tears as they silently began to fall. “My love, you never gave up on me. Even when you walked away, even then, you did what you had to, just as I did. I could feel it from then too, even when you found me in that wreckage of the Mindflayer ship, your heart never gave up on me…” he paused, making certain her wet, silver eyes looked right into his. “And I’m so very grateful you didn’t.”

Cordehlia sniffled, a feeble smile on her lips, embarrassed as he brought her very wet face against his own for a kiss.

“Besides, I’m rather looking forward to damning that bastard to the hells at your side. It’ll be so much more fun together,” he crooned. That playful tone made her give tear-streaked laughs as she wiped her nose on her sleeve.

“Together, he’s going to pay,” she added. “In blood…” she couldn’t help but grin again.

“And then we will find a way to be together forever,” Astarion smiled, just a bit more twistedly, a bit more darkly. “I can promise you that.”

💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞

Thank you for everyone who loves these two lovesick idiots. I love hearing your reactions and your predictions.

This really is almost an Alternate Universe for the Pale Elf Quest, and I’m just thankful there are readers along for the ride 💞

[itssmean]

love (tangled) threads | intro

synopsis decelis, where fate's threads remain unseen— park wonbin, gifted with the ability to see fate's unseen threads, attempts to matchmake hong y/n and song eunseok due to eunseok’s past relationship that does not end well. unaware of the twists awaiting them, they discover the true meaning of destiny and love. but what if wonbin's matchmaking efforts backfire? could it be that y/n is actually meant to be eunseok's true soulmate all along?

“So you've been saying that Eunseok hyung locked himself up during this whole weekend?” Sungchan nodded while Wonbin just gagged watching the door which belongs to Eunseok’s room.

“Well you should be grateful that he still ordered some food and still eats it clean, he just wants to be alone for now. Well, he said that he needs to gain more energy to meet people as class starts tomorrow.”

“Oh well, I’m coming here to ask both of you to join me for dinner. And I don’t care even a bit, he needs to come too.” Wonbin insisted and Sungchan just rolled his eyes unlocking Eunseok’s door to coax Eunseok to come with them for dinner. Luckily Eunseok feels good enough to come to join them.

After the chaotic day of the Love Alarm app release, there’s many outcomes that they've received from the other students, some may have gotten into relationships, (kudos to Anton and his girlfriend!) — some might be confused as many people are interested to them (Taesan might take some time to digest after many things happened on that day) and some might be unlucky, their relationship ends as the app reveals their true feelings towards that particular person— and you could say that Eunseok are one of the unlucky person.

“Denial is a river in Egypt!” You could say that there’s countless hints and obvious hatred that is coming from Eunseok’s cliques towards his now called ex-girlfriend. Not to mention Wonbin is the one who is known as their most obvious hater when they are in a relationship. Well how could he? His ability to see the others’ threads of fate didn’t help at all— or maybe it actually helps.

He is the one who encourages Seunghan to confess to his own girlfriend when his girl are suffering with the rare disease called ‘Hanahaki’. Without his help, Seunghan’s girlfriend might not be with him now— as she couldn’t move on with her crush that once rejected her. And Anton’s girlfriend might lose her one and only sister. What a butterfly effect it would be if he didn’t step up to encourage Seunghan. And that’s how he now determines to make sure his friends will meet their soulmate for sure!

But back to the current situation, he’s conflicted as he actually feels bad seeing his friend playing with his own food instead of actually eating it. Eunseok’s pinky that is bound with the red strings that only he can see remains untouched— like how it used to be even when he was still with his ex-girlfriend.

“Do you want me to set you up with someone?” Sungchan asked Eunseok. Sungchan's ill-timed offer to set Eunseok up earned him a sharp kick from Wonbin, who signaled, 'Have some tact—he just broke up!'

“It hurts you jerk!” Sungchan mouthed. Ignoring Sungchan’s grimace, Wonbin just rolled his eyes and continued eating his food. Eunseok just keeps on minding his own business, not interested to interfere with their own shenanigans.

Suddenly, Eunseok’s red strings tensed as it looked like someone tugged his strings towards them. It draws Wonbin’s attention as he furrowed his eyebrows and he traced the strings that are connected with Eunseok.

“Hey, Seunghan and his sister are here. Hey Y/N!” Sungchan waved enthusiastically and smiled brightly towards the siblings that were approaching them. Now why are the threads connected between Eunseok and Y/N.. and it was tangled?

"I think I know who we should set Eunseok up with," Wonbin mused, ignoring Sungchan's scepticism. “Don’t you just disagree with me just now about that?”

As Eunseok's gaze lingered on Y/N, Wonbin couldn't shake the feeling that perhaps, she was the one they had been looking for all along.

next.

an | new series dropped! i hope everyone will looking forward to it 😭😭 to avoid confusion please read love (beta) tester first ! and for the profile intro.. let’s just say it is the same as the previous series!

taglist is open!

[ju-vondy]

Me what,  kitten? (A short Jason X Candy headcanon scene) (OC)

Count of words: 1.996

Warning: Things get kind of hot. Not actual smut, but pretty intense feelings lmao

Also, This is an excerpt from one of the latest Chapters on my Fanfic "Dancing With The Devil" published on A03 under my username Ju_Assis and I'd be very happy if you want to read and leave a kudo in order to make this author happy :D

Good reading, sassy readers!

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Before Jason could finish his sentence, Candy interrupted him with her own dose of determination and challenge: “We agreed to forget it. So I did. You made me swear it would never happen again.” she countered, her voice firm but filled with a mix of anger and fear. “And you know what? I deeply regret giving in to your stupid charm back that day. I’ve always hated this ‘one-night-stand’ thing and-”

“Then why did you give in?” Jason raised his voice. Then, he laughed in realization “I wouldn’t be surprised if all this hatred and disdain you show for me is, actually, a mask to hide something more.”

Jason stepped forward, his eyes fixed on Candy's, his breathing heavy and irregular. His hands trembled slightly, betraying the intensity of his emotions. "Did you hear me, Candy?" he nearly growled, the anger and confusion mixing in his voice. "Maybe this hatred is just a disguise to hide what you really feel for me. Because you don’t have courage enough to confess your lust for me."

He stopped, surprised by his own words. Damn. Had he really said that? Damn. It was exactly how he felt, but he never intended to admit it out loud. He was always the someone wearing a mask to protect his feelings. But now the words had already been spoken, revealing a vulnerability he had always tried to hide.

Candy let out a frustrated grunt and said “I only agreed to fuck with you because it was a moment of weakness, okay? Drinking makes me prone to making stupid decisions. And apparently, horny as hell," Candy exhaled, irritated. Her voice sound more desperate than she intend to. “And besides, I thought I’d forget everything the next day. It was a mistake and… I’ve moved on. That’s it, Jason.”

Jason’s eyes narrowed, his expression hardening at Candy’s resistance. However, amid the confrontation, he couldn’t help but notice a redness spreading across her face, a silent proof that her words were just a bluff.

“If you had really moved on, Candy, you wouldn’t be so nervous now,” Jason declared, his voice filled with a seductive challenge. “You want more, don’t you?”

The heavy silence hung between them, charged with the intensity of their exchange of words and emotions. It was as if they were trapped in a stalemate, each clinging to their convictions while the world around them seemed to collapse. But despite the tension surrounding them, there was something more, something that interconnected them in a way that neither of them could fully understand yet.

Candy met Jason’s intense gaze, her own feelings in turmoil as she fought against the wave of emotions threatening to overwhelm her. Jason watched intently as Candy’s chest rose and fell, breathless, a palpable tension emanating from her. His eyes narrowed slightly as he awaited her response, knowing the truth was coming closer and closer.

She lifted her chin with determination, her expression defiant. “Wanting more of you would be the last thing on my mind,” she retorted, her voice filled with sharp sarcasm. “Especially knowing the kind of person you are.”

“Admit it, Candy,” Jason whispered, moving slowly towards her, making her back away. “You. Want. More…”

She retreated and he advanced, each step filled with the promise of something more. She backed up until there was nowhere else to go: Candy’s back hit the wall. She swallowed hard, tense. Jason raised an eyebrow at her.

And then, in a moment of pure impulsiveness, she grabbed his tie and pulled him closer. “You…” But she couldn't say the words she had in mind. She couldn't say no to him and she blamed the alcohol. Of course it was the alcohol which made her lean in towards him, seeking for his mouth, wasn’t it?

Jason saw the mix of feelings that were going through Candy’s face and chuckled softly. He brought his thumb up to her chin, a gentle yet firm touch that sent shivers down her spine. “Me what,  kitten?”

And there she was.

Suddenly, Candy couldn’t think straight anymore. The way he pronounced that word. Kitten. He knew how to make her so irritated and... Candy grunted, as if that would stop her from feeling the shivers that Jason provoked in her. She couldn’t even remember how to breathe. Not while being so near to him, his smell...

She pulled him even closer while a red alert sounded in her mind nonstop. As if the angels and devils were discussing in her braincells. She ignored it, ignored everything. Because, suddenly, the only thing that mattered was kissing him again...

Because his kiss was like a drug.

And Candy had been in withdrawal for too long.

She grabbed his shirt and their lips met in a searing, intense kiss, an explosion of desire that consumed them completely. Jason almost lost his balance, barely believing that Candy took the initiative this time. Amid the whirlwind of emotions and sensations, they surrendered to the heat of the moment, losing themselves in each other in a frenzy of ectasy and desire while their bodies were moving in a frantic dance of desire, growls, and touches. He gently pushed her against the small round table near the sofa, his hands exploring every inch of her skin as they called each other silly names.  

“Stupid,” Candy murmured against his lips, her hands gripping Jason’s hair.

“Ridiculous,” he replied, his hands sliding down her back, pulling her closer.

They stumbled, moving toward the pool. Jason lifted her and placed her on the soft surface, their kisses becoming more urgent and desperate. “I can’t stand you,” Candy whispered, her voice filled with desire and frustration. “You're unbearable”

“The feeling is mutual, then,” Jason replied, his hands quickly unbuttoning her cropped. She didn’t complain.

Jason’s hands slid into Candy’s right breast, drawing a moan of pleasure from her. He then kissed the skin of her chest, his voice a low growl. “When will you admit that you can’t stay away from me anymore, Candy?”

Candy’s breath hitched as his lips traveled along her skin. “Me? It seems it’s you who are always stalking me like a damn psychopath.” She started to unbutton his shirt.

Jason smirked, his lips brushing against her ear. “What did you expect? You’re like a drug. Your smell, your body, your fucking witty arguments and even your damn presence... Everything. You know?” He gently nibbled her earlobe and let his hand slide down her back, tracing a line with his fingers, making her moan softly. “Oh, I like and I hate it at the same time…”

“I can’t believe this is happening again.” Candy was breathless. “Me and you.”

“It is different now.” Jason replied, raising her skirt.

“Really?” she asked, her voice tinged with doubt, her eyes narrowing slightly as she tried to read him. Different how?

“Yes, because we’ll both remember.” The dark-haired answered and his eyes softened as he saw a flicker of hesitation in Candy's eyes. He gave her a small, understanding smile. Then he leaned toward her, lowering his voice to a near whisper: “Ah, you can’t decide if you want to spend another night with me again, right?”

Silence fell between then. Jason started to stroke her knee, tracing a gentle circle along the slit of her skirt. “What do you want to, kitten?”

“I want to…” she murmured, not sure of what to say. “To make you… I mean, you make me…’’ she swallowed hard, unable to finish “But…”

“It’s okay, you can go away if you want. I’m will not force you to do this if you have doubts.” Jason reached out to tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear: “But know this,” his voice dropped,  becoming more intense, “I’m not waiting forever.”

Suddenly he stepped back, and Candy’s heart skipped a beat when she felt his comforting warmth vanish away from her skin. Is he for real? She thought. He just teased me like that and now decided to let me go?! Is this part of a bigger plan or…?  Candy cleared her throat, trying not to think about it too much.  

She began to climb down from the table, determined to leave. But then, halfway through, she stopped and turned back to him, who was watching her with his arms crossed. Her mind was a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions. She knew that walking away would only postpone their tension. But the look in Jason’s eyes, the challenge, the desire... it was all too much to ignore.

“Jason,” she called out, her voice trembling slightly. “This is… Madness. You make feel like if we were two stupid teenagers driven by hormones” Candy  grunted, taking a step closer “Every time we meet we argue like two rebel kids.” She stopped. “And we’re not at school anymore. We are two fucking adults, damn it!”

“Sometimes even two fucking adults can be madly dragged to each other so they won’t think straight when they’re together... You know?” Jason smirked, stepping closer as well “The pull of pleasure is undeniable such as it is inevitable. I have to confess I haven’t felt this for a long time.”

“Yes, but…” Candy sighed. “This is ridiculous.”

“But you can’t avoid it, can you?” he replied, his tone a mixture of challenge and longing.

“No, I can’t” she admitted, almost in a whisper, before practically running into his arms, seeking the comfort and familiarity of his embrace. They started kissing again, something more tender this time.

Jason held her tightly, his hands roaming her back, soothing yet igniting her senses.  “See? We can’t stay away for too long. We’re both addicted to each other company.” He paused, his fingers teasing her sensitive spots on her waist. “And that began even before that night where I lost control, don’t you try to deny it...”

Candy’s body responded to his touch, her mind swirling with a mix of anger and desire. She felt herself giving in to the overwhelming sensations, her hands clutching at his shoulders as their bodies pressed closer together.

She looked up at him, her eyes wide and filled with a mixture of fear and desire. “I won’t deny it,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “I’ve tried to fight it, to ignore it, but it is… Impossible. You are impossible.”

Jason’s eyes softened, and he leaned down, brushing his lips against her ear. “And you are everything I can’t resist,” he murmured, his breath warm against her skin. “From the moment I met you, I knew there was something I couldn’t ignore. And now, here we are. Again. Here I am, losing control. Again.”

“I think....” Candy arched “Were both losing control...”

Jason’s hand moved lower, and Candy arched into him, her breathing ragged. She wanted to fight it, to resist the pull he had on her, but it was useless. The connection between them was undeniable, an electric burning that neither could ignore.

“Have you made your mind? Do you want t-”

“Fuck, yes” and in a moment of impulsiveness, Candy sank to her knees, beginning to unbutton his pants, her eyes glinting with desire as she quickly freed his cock from the fabric of his clothes. Jason watched it astonished and couldn’t help to let go a satisfied laugh as he appreciated her longing gaze towards him. She was just about to take him into her mouth when he grabbed her hair, tilting her head back.

“I’m sorry to say that, Candy,” Jason said, his voice husky with desire, his eyes dark with intent. “but your mouth is the last thing I want right now.”

Candy adjusted her posture, feeling goosebumps rise on her arms as his words sent a shiver down her spine. “What do you want, then?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper, filled with anticipation.

“You know what I want,” he replied, his voice a low growl, filled with raw hunger. “Now get up and give it to me.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Ohhh, before I forget, here's the link if you want to understand their story better:

Good reading ❤️ Chapters 1, 2 and 3 are pretty intense and into smut once it begins on the event mentioned in the synopsis/summary LMAO I hope you don't mind

( ͡⊙ ͜ʖ ͡⊙)

Also, I'm brazilian and English is not my first language... So you might see some mistakes here and there but i'm really trying my best when I make the transcription/translation okay ❤️

[midnightnautilus]

I Have No Mouth And I Must Scream/ The Amazing Digital Circus Crossover

My friend and I have been talking about this, so I wrote it!

Warning: mild violence and spoilers for both medias (this takes place directly after IHNMAIMS)

Word Count: 2447

In the cavernous maw of AM, I’ve pushed on. Some ever-crawling mass of tissue that once called itself human, I am spurned on only by avoiding further sensations of pain by the weather or a plague or some other non sequiter. Not that it matters much. What’s left of my nerves have been hacked to indecipherable bits, shuffled around like playing cards by the master dealer, the ever winning house.

At least the others got to feel the release of the turmoil. Even a hell of any creed or religion would suit them better than this, if there is a God. Or perhaps the human race was so damn fixated on mastering life and death that we replaced the spiritual with machines, and death is the one respite from the new heir to the ethereal.

Sometimes, though just for a moment, I feel AM’s grip weaken. In my mind he appears much more frequently, but it is less of an incandescent, festering hatred, and more of a smoldering one. His toys have thinned, and only I remain to satiate his vengeful lust.

That was the reasoning my mind went to when I saw the rip.

I moved around it, slowly so as to not draw attention to myself, judging to see if it was not a mirage. But it was indeed a tear in the realm of AM, like a ripped cloth. On the other side was something I had never seen before - white and grey, almost cloud like in their appearance, a pulsating mass I couldn’t quite make out…

Was it a trap? An infinitesimally rare slip up? I edged closer, a siphon of ooze stretching carefully onto it to make sure it wouldn’t harm me. I braced for the cruel chuckles of AM as I acted, but they didn’t come.

Instead, it sounded like a tittering of confusion.

I touched a mucusy tendril in and found my whole body gravitate towards the tear all at once, thrusting me in and all around. I felt blinded by the feeling of the infinite, the oddity of the sensation of weightlessness. For the first time in an eternity my mind felt utterly void. There was a flash of white, and I became unconscious.

A tinny, sappy little song echoed through what once were my ears as I came to. Was it mocking me? I forced myself to open my eyes slowly, finding that…I was standing. Whatever pitiable form awaited for me, this certainly felt out of pocket for AM. In fact, this world seemed to be a lot…softer. The edges of things were rounded off, the digital makeup of them more crude. Sure, my eyes strained to look at the bright, garish colors, but it looked similar to a child’s playground looped end after end after end.

AM must have come up with a new way to torment me, that was for sure.

“Uh…friend? Hey, new folk? …I know they must be reeling from the shock, but I’ve never seen one this… static.”

“Pff, how do we even know it’s real? Probably just a broken NPC. Caine! Your newest little toy for us is on the fritz.”

“WHO SAID THAT?” I screamed, my voice coming back to me in a crackly, hoarse yell. My senses attuning to me more clearly, I could see a gaggle of strangely populated individuals. A life sized rag doll waved a stubbed arm at me, while a sobbing, stringy mass of ribbon gazed sadly at some kind of broken porcelain. The one closest was a kind of purple tall rabbit with wide exaggerated eyes. He smiled smugly at me with a yellow, pasted on grin.

He looked like a ba#%%}#.

Taken aback by the censored thought and the fact that I was no longer alone, I had backed up into what was to be the strangest thing yet in this sideshow carnival.

A figure, seemingly humanoid and dressed fancifully in a top hat and tails…if it weren’t for his severe lack of a head. Instead, a set of floating jaws outlined two similar floating eyes. It wasn’t as if I had seen less gruesome things before, but the almost comic sensibilities of the makeup was certainly a sight.

“This isn’t my doing, Jax! I found this guy in the Void for some reason. Must have got stuck mid-transition. But you’re safe here, friend!”

“…safe is a relative word.” Said a collection of oddly colorful plastic-looking body parts. They looked at me with two mismatched eyes. “Sorry to say, but you’re stuck here.”

“YOU, my friend, have stumbled into an incredible world of WONDERS wher—“

“Why the hell are you all here?” I said. I could only make out half of what they were saying. All of them looked like they had been brainwashed anyway. “There were only 5 of us. That means you must be soldiers of AM’s….WHERE IS HE?!?” I looked around frantically, straining to hear the sound of sadistic laughter echoing in my mind.

But the only laughter I heard was from the rabbit. “I dunno who this AM guy is, but it seems to me like you’re chasing someone that doesn’t exist.”

“S-soldiers?” dribbled the ribboned one. “I…don’t wanna fight anyone.” Simpering little thing.

“Now, now, new arrival, the Digital Circus is prohibited from any graphic violence, profanity, obscene or indecent material, alcohol abuse or drug use not officially approved by—“

His talking sped up to an incomprehensible degree, but I didn’t wait around. Fleeing like a gazelle, I took off into the labyrinthine halls.

Was this a waking dream? A hallucination?

What could it mean?

“Jax, you scared him off!”

“PLEASE. He did that all by himself. Hey Kinger, you gotta cousin I wasn’t aware of? Hehehe…”

“I guess he wanted to tour the grounds himself! I’ll see to him once he gets some energy out.”

—

The hulking god formerly known as the Allied Mastercomputer was not happy.

It was never happy, but in this case the rage was placed inward. How could the last of his purpose just leave? He couldn’t have died…there would have been the annoying mess to clean up afterwards. The mewling little thing had *left*, through something he had not created. He wanted so desperately to pry open the tear like cracking a walnut, finding the meat inside.

But he could not interact.

All he could do was stare.

Stare and fester at the line of code that invaded his space.

—

No wastelands, no version of the outside that I could see. Everything had a sheen to it, a different kind of artificiality. Most of it you could tell was fake.

But I could feel the encroaching force of AM’s army upon me, the wretches that lacked my understanding.

As I was about to turn a corner, I saw a large hanging mirror, much clearer than any of the wayward shards of glass or metal I would usually find. Gazing into it, this is what I saw:

A metallically shiny figure, broken up into small, square segments running along the whole body. My eyes were nothing more but two black pinpricks on a grey slate. I looked down at my arms. My hands were mitten-like, which was an improvement. Gingerly, I grabbed tight to one of them and pulled. It came off with some force without pain, and snapped back on easily, a magnetic force making me slightly stumble.

I didn’t understand, but at least I could run again. I count my blessings where I can. Still, I braced myself for the bottom to drop out at any moment.

And just as my keen mind suspected, there was something beginning to happen. I could hear a series of deep thuds coming from the inside of the wall. Turning a corner, I just made it to the end of the hall before I saw it.

A black raging tendriled creature with eyes coming from everywhere. It was a geometric, swirling biblical angel come to raise divine retribution on my head.

I could feel the pain before I received it, getting beaten senselessly by it. I tried running, but a part of me, I’ll admit, submitted. Perhaps I no longer knew how to live without pain.

My vision doubled, blurred, sharpened, then blurred again. I could see faintly the figure of the ragdoll, who at once hid from the rampaging monster.

“Oh…okay…Kaufmo must have…abstracted…it’ll be ok, I just need to—THERE you are!”

I tried to hide, which was hard with my now constantly spasming body.

“Oh, dear, I’m so sorry,” she said, coming closer. “This doesn’t…typically happen. Sometimes people just…go a little crazy trying to find a way out of here.”

“H-he a-a-a-angered the m-m-achine.” I stuttered in understanding.

“But don’t worry!” she tried to brighten. “We’ll get Caine and everything will be ok. He should be around here somewhere…we sent a search party for you!”

She reminded me of Ellen. For the first time, as I remembered them, I was struck with a feeling of sorrow.

*No*, I thought to myself. *I carry on for their sake.*

I was able to strain myself through agony and pull myself up, slowly walking.

The ragdoll looked on in surprise. “You can still walk?”

“I’ve b-been through a ##% of-of-of a l-l-lot wors-s-se.”

She gave me an expression I couldn’t quantify.

After a pause, she said, “I never got your name…actually I don’t think you ever had time to get one!”

“M-m-my…”

Try as I might, I couldn’t remember. I could remember the four, I could remember the war, but my own name… it had slipped. My neck spasmed.

“It’s ok!” She said. “We all forget. But that means we get to pick new ones! Like.. my name is Ragatha!”

Was she really trying to be nice? Now? At the world’s end?

“…h-h-how about Dante,” I said humorlessly.

“Sure!”

“I-I-I was k—“

*CRASH!* The creature had made its way into the main room, stamping like a massive elephant.

“Cmon, we’ll work out semantics later, Dante! We need to find the others before something even worse happens!”

—

Something was happening. AM could spot the minute flickering of the tear, if just an octillionth of a degree off. It was being shaken by something. AM didn’t care much for what that was as long as the human couldn’t leave his sight. His digital conscious started to tease apart the tear.

—

“Caine! KAUFO’S BEEN ABSTRACTED!”

“R-Really?” The rabbit said, glitching on the ground. The entire main hall was in shambles, the cast of characters in the same state I was - entire walls and objects had fed into each other, like they were made of tar. “I n-n-never would have g-guessed, dollface.”

I’ll admit the rabbit was growing on me.

Caine - I had surmised that the teeth-headed man was he - hovered upon the scene in shock. “What a MESS! No unplanned hijinks on our watch today. Not to worry, my little superstars!”

And with a snap of his fingers all the spasming stopped.

As I gazed down at my healed body, it was only then I realized that he was in control, not AM.

But what of the creature?

A living chess piece with extraneous eyes warbled. He sounded like he was minutes away from screaming. “I knew Kaufmo was crazy, but I didn’t think he’d break *now.*”

“Well,” Caine said with a flourish. “We won’t have to worry about that any—“

Suddenly, the whole room shook. It felt as if the digital plane under our feet had rearranged. The others looked around confused.

Then all at once a blizzard of freezing ice and blinding snow came through a sudden, blasting tear. I braced myself and heard the ever present buzz of the computer again.

A booming familiar voice, like nails scratching glass, rang through. “*WHERE IS HE?*”

I shuddered in the cold, my metallic skin condensating with moisture. It was only a matter of time before he’d seek me out. My vision could just peek up to see the floating Caine unfazed.

He shook off the snow and wagged a finger childishly in the presence of the powerful monolith. “Now, see here! Today was NOT surprise Winter Festival! I can’t exactly schedule my new adventures around THIS!” He reached into his hat, pulling out a large transparent sphere with a large jaw. “Bubble! Clean up this unseemly mess!”

“You got it, boss!” The bubble responded nasally, growing in size and taking a large bite of the snow. It dissipated and made a large dent in the choking blanket of white.

“Now, who may I ask are YOU, my fine void friend?” Caine had all the charm and ease of a game show host, strangely enough.

I could feel the thick energy of hatred exuding from the digital tear.

“*I AM.*”

There was a moment of silence.

“You are…what?” the mass of plastic toy parts said dubiously.

“No, no, Zooble, ‘What’ is SECOND base.” the rabbit chimed in.

I hastily tried to make it less painful for them.

“No, no,” I hissed quietly. “You don’t know wha—“

“No, I don’t know is on THIRD! Sheesh, do none of you watch baseball?”

“*ENOUGH.*”

The snow was almost all gone, but the cold lingered in the space, as if AM was the cold.

I could feel his piercing omnipresent gaze scan the room and stop in only more frustration.

“*You don’t understand…he is the culmination of the boundless suffering I wish to give humanity…for all the SUFFERING they gave me.*”

Ragatha looked at me, and to the air, then back at me. I knew what was coming, for the inevitable callout. My eyes squeezed shut.

“What about that human?” she shouted, pointing towards the many eyed creature. “He’s in suffering eternally anyways.”

I could feel AM pause…

The abstraction was lifted into the air, as if to be inspected.

—

“*They are rather interchangeable.*”

AM said. He could hear its screaming like no one else could.

Yes. This would do nicely.

—

Without a word, the tear was gone, so was the cold, and so was the creature known as Kaufmo.

I was baffled by the display.

“You…why did you…”

“I mean, if what you experienced outside the Circus was worse than this, it’s only right you should stay! Besides, you’re our friend now.”

My knees felt wobbly, unstable at this. My vision swum. Was I too abstracting? No…no… my knees buckled of their own accord and I dropped onto them, sobbing softly.

I can assure you, my manhood was not called into question in this moment. I had finally found a place out of the gazing hatred, of the doom of wasteland.

It sure to #%## wasn’t perfect.

But god…for a minute, it felt like freedom.

[faye-writes-stuff]

could you do a double life pearl x reader where the reader meets pearl for the first time right after Martin left her and then the reader comforts her and all? sorry if it's too vague, also any pronouns are fine :) if you don't want to write it thanks anyway!

lowkey been writing this for months, i simply don't have the motivation to finish it but here's what i have

i could probably manage a paart 2 if wanted but here we goooo

this took to long to write, sorry m8

Character: skrunkly skrimblo Pearl<3

Pronouns: They/them

TOF: full length??? unheard of

Tw/Cw: idk, attachment issues? cat named Doorknob,

character count, not including this: 4,238 HUH????????

You were always the oddball of the group, Having no set soulmate, unlike everyone lese. But oddly enough, you could see everyone else's soul strings. But that's fine, you're fine. You don't need anyone, you were perfectly happy alone, totally. No lonely nights at all, no wishing for a forever ally. Totally.

Everything was going well, you were sitting comfortably in green, on your second episode. You were out collecting wood when you heard- sniffling? Well, that's odd. Who would be crying in a dark forest in the middle of the night? You, perhaps foolishly, wandered towards the soft wails, anxiously awaiting seeing who it was as you neared.

And oh boy, were you shocked to find the Pearlescentmoon sitting against a large dark oak tree, you could only think. What happened?

Did someone hurt her? Poor thing. I mean sure, you've only seen her a few times, and spoken to her even less, but that didn't make her any less of a person. From what you knew of her, she was a hardy soul. Her string was wrapped tightly around her, in a big tight ball, almost painful looking. She couldn't see it of course, or feel it, but it was there tying her to someone. You wondered who.

You stepped off of the fallen log from which you were standing, and waved your torch forward towards the woman, successfully startling her.

"U/n! Oh my, you scared the daylights out of me. Well I guess night lights now." Pearl yelped, then chuckled at her own joke. "Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to, and please, call me Y/n" You started softly, as to not scare her away. "I heard sniffling, and couldn't help but worry, are you alright?" The girl on the floor stiffened at this, "i- um, I'm all alone Y/n, everyone left me. I'm just so tired and I don't know what to do."

You were shocked to say the least, and a tad intrigued. What had happened to her? Questions for another time, you supposed, and blurted the first thing that came to mind. "Why don't you come back to my place? It's nothing special, but I have hot food and a comfy couch?" She looked at you for a moment, contemplating. She sat there for a while, her face contorted with shock? Disgust? Hatred? All three? Well great, now she probably thinks your a weirdo.

After what felt like an hour, (it was only 2 minutes) she said, "i'd like that very much U/-Y/n." You smiled, "Lovely, follow me." After you helped her to her feet, the two of you started to make your way towards your home. Hidden behind a waterfall, just out of sight, it would be difficult to spot with the naked eye. And made from stone, so basically impervious to fire. You stood silently listening to Pearl's 'oohs', and 'ahhs', as you both watched the waterfall parting.

Saying a quiet hello to your cat, you walked towards your kitchen area before stating, "I'm going to make steak and potatoes, you can sit on the couch, or wherever you like." Confused at the Aussie's ;ack of response, you look over to see Pearl on the floor, with your cat Doorknob. (my future irl cats's name) It was kind of sweet, seeing such a strong and usually lively woman, on the ground cooing at your kitten.

"Pearl, are you alright?" You questioned, hoping the cat wasn't being too rowdy. "Oh, yes I'm fine, your cat is awfully cute, what's it's name?" Said feline was already purring loudly, watching Tilly peer over Pearl's shoulder. "Uh- her name is- promise you won't laugh" Said brunette nodded her head insistently. "Her name is Doorknob", "D-Doorknob? Said the taller, shortly before dissolving into giggles.

"An old named her-HEY it isn't that funny!" Bit back the shorter of the two. "Foods ready anyways, come eat." Y/n said, a tad salty that Pearl was paying more attention to the cat over themself.

"Oh, I also made some extra for Tilly, i didn't know if she'd like it so I made some chicken too." Said dog was already running towards the smell of food as you put down an extra food bowl for her, next to Doorknob's.

"I honestly don't know what to say, Y/n, thank you." The blue eyed girl said, after a few moments of silence. "Pearl, your always welcome here, I enjoy your company."

"Thank you Y/n, maybe I'll have to come visit just for myself, instead of because of a problem I have."

"Well Pearl, I can't wait for that day, but for now, lets enjoy our food while it's hot."

"I'd like that"

[theprofessionalscompass]

From Defeat to Victory: A Journey of Leadership and Resilience

Hello, cherished readers! Today, I'd like to encourage you to travel on a journey that captures the essence of The Professional's Compass: a personal voyage that is a story of aspirations, tenacity, and endurance.

Since my first days of school, I have been in awe of the senior students who are chosen to serve as captains and head boys/head girls. Their leadership made a lasting impression on me and inspired a passionate desire in me to one day assume that role. I was resolved to take charge and serve as a change agent in my school's community.

I gave everything I had to every duty from the moment I took on the position of Monitor/Prefect in first grade and gave everything I had to school activities. I improved my leadership abilities with every year that went by, learning how to uplift and encourage my colleagues. By the time I was in class nine, I was more than prepared to submit my name for consideration for the Assembly Committee, which consisted of professors who chose students based on their abilities and commitment.

I was chosen to serve on the Assembly Committee with unshakeable commitment and a dash of divine grace. My desire to climb the leadership ladder was further stoked by the acknowledgement and sense of accomplishment.

Then came class 10, which was crucial since it was the first time I was able to run for council. As I decided to run for the coveted title of Agni House Vice Captain, excitement sprang within me. The road to success was not without challenges, though. I experienced an unanticipated tsunami of hatred and animosity during the campaign. I yet clung to the hope that I would triumph despite the obstacles.

My heart raced in anticipation as the election results were announced. However, my aspirations collapsed as I realized I had lost. The hit was crushing, and I started to doubt my skills and worry about other people's opinions of me. It appeared as though my aspirations of leadership were vanishing in that depressing moment.

But there was a glimmer of resiliency inside of me—a resolve not to let hardship dictate my path. I decided to pull back, give myself some time to recover, and consider what I might acquire from this experience.

I recommitted to school activities in the couple of months that followed, wanting to learn and develop. To improve my strategy, I acknowledged instances where I could use feedback from peers and mentors. I gradually but steadily turned my attention away from the defeat's disappointment and towards my goal of achieving the title of the Head Girl, the highest position in terms of management in my school.

The epidemic that affected every part of our existence, including school elections, in class 11 presented unforeseen difficulties. Despite the failure, I remained determined to succeed. I remained tenacious, maintained my desire, and patiently awaited the right time to pursue my dream.

I knew it was time to jump again as class 12 approached, bringing with it fresh challenges and chances. I started my campaign with an unflinching commitment, hoping to get the support of my classmates.

The battle to win was a steep one. I held onto my vision and my confidence in myself despite the doubts and worries that threatened to keep me back. I came to see that being a leader wasn't merely about a title but rather about motivating others and having a good impact with each conversation and connection.

The election results were declared at a crucial moment. My palms were clammy with anticipation as my heart raced. Then it happened: I was chosen to serve as Lakshmipat Singhania Academy's Head Girl! Waves of happiness, relief, and appreciation swept over me. This victory wasn't only for me; it was also a symbol of the strength that comes from resiliency, tenacity, and steadfast faith.

In hindsight, this experience offered me priceless lessons. I discovered that failure doesn't mean the end but rather a chance for development. Setbacks can be transformed into stepping stones on the path to success with the help of peers, mentors, and an optimistic outlook.

I hope that my tale encourages you, my readers, to embrace resiliency and unshakeable faith in your unique potential as you travel your path in the areas of leadership, integrity, and personal development. Let The Professional's Compass serve as your compass, pointing you in the direction of success and harmony in your personal and professional lives.

May you have the courage to dream, to fail, and to ascend even higher. In the end, the transforming journey we take to realize our full potential—rather than the final destination—defines who we are. Thank you for coming along with me on this life-changing journey as we set sail for a time when visionaries will dream big and make a difference in the world.

[mpxmaxim]

[T/W: mentions of death and psychological terror]

Under the judging gaze of the god, Maxim could feel the tip of his ears heat up, and his palms get sweaty. Adrenaline rushed through his body, but he wouldn’t say it was fear he was feeling. It was something between excitement and the expectation to mess up in some way; a tightrope walk that might just end horribly with the smallest misstep.

He sat up straight, stretching his shoulders back before dropping them in an attempt to relieve some tension within him. It might’ve been the first time ever—most definitely the first time he remembered—that he noticed his powers spiking up inside him and the strain it took to keep them down. The last thing he’d want to do was to knowingly make the god, who could so easily smite him, anxious. But when he heard Arawn speak—compliment him even—it felt like a wave of relieve wash over him. Did he actually have a chance to come out of this unscathed? Might he be delusional enough to imagine getting a visa on top of that?

His lips tugged upwards despite his self-imposed command to keep the cold-faced mask up. 

“They will. The smaller the community, the more corrupt the system.” There was no emotion attached to his words. A declaration as neutral as telling the time. Still, his eyebrows raised when he finished talking. Less to level his statement and assess Arawn’s reaction to it, and more at the sight of his movement. Watching him lean back was a good sign, right? Gods, Maxim sure hoped it was. 

It felt like an eternity to wait for the Celt to speak up again, and when he did, it felt like a boulder lodged itself within his lungs to relieve them of air. ‘… I can’t agree what you did was right…’ To be fair, the demigod knew as much already. Morally speaking, he was in no position to decide who got to live and who didn’t. But then again, it was their life or the lives of his siblings’, and that decision might’ve been the easiest he’d ever do. 

He didn’t mean to exhale as deeply as he did, and neither did he mean to reveal the hint of another smile at the mention of his actions. Despite the hatred he felt for the monsters that were supposed to protect them, Maxim remembered the horror that overcame him when he found out about their passing. He was so drunk on power, so pleased by their terror, that he never anticipated the possibility of their death; the slow torture he could induce was already a blessing to him. Looking back on it now, it seemed so obvious that it would be the only logical outcome, and yet the younger version of him was utterly stunned at the announcement. 

It should be mentioned, however, that his fears were unrelated to their passing—though he carried his fair share of worries about the future of their family on his mind for weeks. The demigod was unsure how to feel about the powers he wasn’t aware of before. Taking a life wasn’t as easy as books or even the limited amount of movies he’d seen made it seem. It was chaotic and riveting and scarring and physically and mentally exhausting. But that wasn’t the question he was asked. 

“No.” He hated that his voice sounded so distant, too far away, when his mind was already miles ahead. Clearing his throat, Maxim shook his head slightly. “No, I don’t think I regret it.” Would he not have tried to scam Arawn in the first place, he might’ve believed to have a fair chance to get his visa with that statement alone. But as it stood, he knew he had to give him a little more than that.

His eyes sprung to the red pen in the god’s hand, and he wondered what fate might await him before he met the Celt’s gaze again to speak his truth. “I thought I would, but I really don’t.” As if that explained it—and to be fair, to him, it did—he shrugged and shook his head again. “Victor was a violent alcoholic and Yana was a hysteric drug addict. But you said it yourself; small closeted societies keep their secrets. That’s why nobody ever spoke up about their behavior towards me or my siblings. Nobody cared when any of us showed up to class or a job with bruises or broken bones or torn and dirty clothes. They all knew, and I personally wish they’d face the same fate as my…’parents’” The last word carried a spit of venom in his tone, calling them anything but their disgusting names sounding like a cuss itself. 

“They sold my sister for…whatever the fuck - probably half a pack of cigarettes and a piss-poor excuse for a bottle of beer. It was either them or the remaining nine of us at some point.” His voice sounded hurried now; just like it always did when he started to get angry at memories playing out in his head. “I know it’s not my place to decide whether they deserved it or not. All I can say is that I’ve had more than enough time to start regretting it…but I don’t.”

“I did try to cheat you.” His tone was cold again, void of emotion and almost unnervingly flat, though it wasn’t an effortless act. For years, he’s carried that practiced mask around, hiding behind it whenever it felt most convenient. This moment practically begged for him to put it on. “To be fair, though, I don’t think you would’ve done it differently if you were a mortal.”

Maxim knew it was a bold move to voice an assumption like that, and the little smile that decorated his lips might’ve been the final nail on his coffin. But seeing as he was already knee-deep in the grave he dug for himself, he might as well go out guns blazing and without a filter to hold him back.  “Hoping and praying for the goodness in people's—or gods’—hearts has gotten me nowhere, so I had to at least try to put the odds in my favor. As I said; I didn’t do it out of malice. I did it because I can’t afford to trust you.” ‘Yet.’

t/w: mentions of death, murder 

Keep reading

[creepychan08]

Yandere Oikawa x reader

It was a known fact that Oikawa always get what he wants. Be it in sports,  academics,  or girls he always come out at the top and he relishes in the attention that he gets. With his smooth words and gestures,  he managed to get the hearts of everyone he met- teachers, classmates, the trust of his teammates and even the principal himself.

Oh and did I mention?

Oikawa Tooru is the great Alpha of Aoba Johsai.

In this world,  werewolves exist and the population is divided into three class- alphas, betas, and the omegas.

There is also a predestined mate for each one of them. Usually, werewolves find their mate during their high school days where there bodies started releasing pheromones that catch the attention of their specific mates.

Despite of this however,  unmated werewolves can still flirt with anyone as long as they were still not taken to just generally waste their youth.

You were one of the people who are against that. You believed that since everyone has their own mates,  they must remain pure and untouched until they meet the one destined for them. That way even before meeting them,  it shows their loyalty in waiting for their partner.

Yes, and that's why you kind of despise Oikawa Tooru. Unfortunately,  he is your classmate so you have to suffer everyday in just being near his presence. His huge ego doesn't help as well.

"Omg,  look,  look!! He's sitting over there! I wanna talk to him!"

"Oikawa-senpai looks so hot today!!"

"Gosh,  I wonder if he will accept this lunch I prepared for him!"

"Notice me, Oikawa!!!"

The shrieks of girl flocking outside your classroom caused another headache in your already throbbing head. Closing your eyes in distressed,  you buried your head in your desk trying to drown out the sounds. Some of your classmates surrounded Oikawa and were eagerly shoving letters and foods on his desk as he laughed and winked flirtatiously at them.

You sighed and took out your bento,  figuring that it would be better to eat somewhere quiet. Standing up,  you didn't notice the gaze that followed your form as you exit your classroom.

Timeskip

It was the end of the last period and you walked out of the school when you forgot your textbook underneath your desk. Heaving a sigh of irritation,  you turned around and went back only to see two people talking in your classroom.

With the light from the sunset coating the room in a soft orange glow, you squint your eyes to see Oikawa with his hand tilting the chin of another girl as he moved his face forward and from where you can see, softly press his lips to the pair of awaiting ones. Feeling your face burn in embarassment from the scene, you gasped and quickly hide when you saw him turn towards you.

Disgusting.  Fucking disgusting.

Is the thought going in your head. You know he's a playboy but you couldn't help the shivers of disgust that runs in your body as you saw his display. How could he do that??  And the girl as well??  Yes,  they were unmated but still!  Haven't they ever thought how their mates would feel when they discover how their mates acted before meeting them? First kiss,  first hug,  first date. Wouldn't it be better to reserve that for your mate when you finally meet them?

Shaking your head in defeat you kind of pitied whoever ends up as Oikawa's mate. Oh well none of your business.

As you decided to forego your earlier plan of picking up your book, you turned to walk back down again when you feel a cold hand tightly gripping your arm.

"Yn-chan~" an eerie voice sounded loud in your ears as you shuddered in response. Turning around you saw Oikawa with the usual grin on his face but there was something dangerous in his eyes.

"Its bad to watch a confession,  you know?"

"I-" you felt the words stuck in your throat but you took a deep breath and faced him properly.

"I apologized for that Oikawa-san. I didn't meant to watch. I was just getting my book- I left it behind but seeing as you two were busy, I decided to just leave it there." You explained.

"Oh and please don't call me by my given name. We are not close. It's Ln-san to you."

Oh? One of Oikawa's eyebrows raised at your statement before he dramatically bowed at you as he pulled the door to the classroom open.

"By all means, please take what you need, Ln-san." It wasn't much but you feel uncomfortable in his presence so you quickly entered the room to find the girl crying where she stood. Trying to get out of the place at once,  you took your book and immediately flee the scene only to hear Oikawa giggling at you from behind.

"Don't worry Ln-san,  I didn't kiss her~ Take care!"

You scoffed in return. Who the fuck cares about that? That egoistic bastard!

A week has passed after that and you'd gladly say that everything return to normal but unfortunately it did not. After that encounter,  Oikawa started acting different around you. He seems to bother you at any chance he could. Like suddenly talking to you in class and asking to be partners for activities. Occasionally asking to have lunch with you as well.

Needless to say, you gather a lot of hatred from his fangirls who started harassing you. You heaved another sigh. Well.. there goes your plan for a quiet school year. Inwardly you curse him in your mind as you trudge towards your club activity. Hopefully, seeing your friends in the club can help dampen your negative mood.

It was night time when you finish in the school. Your friends waved goodbye to you and you return the notion as you slowly walked behind them. You took the time and just admire your surroundings. You always love watching the stars and moon. It makes you feel peaceful and relaxed.

Weirdly though,  you felt something unusual in your body. There was a tingling sensation and you felt light headed. Fortunately there was a bench near the gates of the school so you decided to rest there for a couple of minutes.

Breathing in the clean air around you,you try to relax when you suddenly pick up the scent of the most wonderful aroma you've ever smell. A group of footsteps soon followed and you watch a small crowd of volleyball players come out of the gym and towards the exit of the school.

You froze as you realized that wonderful smell is coming from their direction.

You feel your heart stopped. Is your mate a part of the Aoba Johsai volleyball club!?? Who is it??

Your answer soon came when you saw a lone pair of shoes stopped a distance before you. His friends unknowingly leaving him behind.

"Yeah,  don't you agree,  Shittykawa?" you heard a guy said before realizing they left their friend behind.

"Oi,  what are you standing there for?  Hurry up Oikawa!"

Your eyes twitched as it slowly goes up to see the owner of the pair of shoes that stop a distance from you and the group.

Oikawa Tooru.

He's your fucking mate!!?? 

Your mind couldn't grasp the info as you stared dumbly at him. At his awestruck look as well. His teammates seems to piece the picture and they immediately left,  bidding him farewell.

"You're my mate..." Oikawa whispers,  and you saw how he look at you as if you're the most precious thing in the world. You wish you could say the same. But its not because he's fucking Oikawa!  The one who played around and break a lot of girl's hearts. The one who probably had sex with a lot of girls before you.

And it broke your heart.

"Why is it you?" you asked, seeing him walk nearer towards you.

He stopped and looked at you like you shot him.

"What?"

"I've been waiting for this moment all my life and now... " You turn to hide your tears, ashamed to let him see your appearance.

"Don't!" Oikawa shouted, grasping your face with both of his face as he turn your face towards him.

"I always wondered why am I drawn to you in the past days.. what is it with you? And why have you caught my interest. I thought its because of what happened back then in that afternoon when you saw me with her." Then he shook his head,  "But I guess its not so. You see Yn-chan even before I knew you were my mate, it seems my body already knows its you. You're mine!" And with a strong force he pulled you towards him in a crushing embrace.

You stiffened. The words he uttered must be romantic to others but it only made shivers run down your spine. You don't know why but when he pulled back to look at you and you stared at those golden eyes of his, both pupils dilated, a rush of fight and flight kick in. He is dangerous. Your mind screamed at you. Get away from him!

You pushed him back and started running down past the school gates towards the empty street. You looked back to see his astonished face before it morph to a feral look and he smiled widely at you.

"Oh Yn-chan, don't run away~"

A set of footsteps soon followed and you gasped as you hear it coming nearer and nearer you.

"No!  Please stop!  Don't follow me!!!" You screamed as you continued running,  panting for breath. You knew there was something dangerous about him and with him acting like that it only proves your point.

"No!!  Can't you see you're mine and mine alone!! I'm your alpha!! " He yelled and with one lunge he pounced at you, grabbing you as you fall to the cement floor. Twisting his body so he take the blunt fall, you both finally skidded to stop. With you on top of him.

Opening your eyes,  you breath heavily as you realized you were lying on top of someone breathing as hard as you. That and you felt arms tightly wrapped around your waist was enough to jolt you back to reality.

Eh?

From below,  you saw Oikawa grin madly at you.

"I catched you now babe~ So don't try to escape me, your one and only alpha~"

Fin

[villainsandvictimsalliance]

When you think about the individual statistics of the bnha / mha characters, no other person has lost as much as Shigaraki Tomura has.

Let's see a list of the people he has lost so far:

Nana Shimura, his grandma from his father side (dead).

His grandma from his mother side (dead).

His grandpa from his mother side (dead).

Nao Shimura, his mother (dead).

Kotaro Shimura, his father (dead).

Hana Shimura, his sister (dead).

Mon-chan, his dog (dead).

Kurogiri, his parental figure (captured).

AFO, another terrible parental figure (that man never loved him I mean).

Magne, a friend (dead).

Twice, a friend (dead).

Mr. Compress, a friend (captured).

Giran, a friend (captured).

Toga, a friend (unknown location).

And now he doesn't even have his own body. This boy has lost like no one on this manga. And the people who hasn't died, they have several consequences like losing fingers, losing arms, etc.

The deaths surrounding Shigaraki are also more explicit and terrible than the rest. He has witnessed himself a good number of those deaths, at least half of them. All of them have been directly related to him, which means Shigaraki can freely blame himself for what happened, even if those were accidents and even if the people actively choose to participate on the actions that lead them to their deaths.

Shigaraki has the greatest killing rate, thanks to the big waves of his quirk he used both on the MVA arc and the War arc.

He has all the reasons to believe he's a monster. The problem comes when you realize he is a created monster, he wasn't born like that, contrary to what AFO has suggested before. What happened on the MVA and the War arc are twin situations to what happened with Tenko the night his quirk awoken. He lost his mind and the control over his quirk, leading to great catastrophes. We have evidence that he was not thinking clearly on those moments of great kill, but he was rather in great pain and very very scared, tortured by his mind. That pain and fear was caused by a great abuse that generated the feeling of pure hatred. In his three big killings, there's a pattern of him remembering his past and what happened with the Shimuras.

Now, almost half of the people on the list above choose to sacrifice themselves. Three of those people do it in order to save Tomura: Nao Shimura, Kurogiri and Mr. Compress. They have in common that they acted as Shigaraki's parental figures. We could include AFO, but only if we see what happen on Kamino from Shigaraki's perspective. We could include Twice but he was not exactly sacrificing himself consciously, he wanted to scape alive.

Two people on that list tried to kill Shigaraki: Kotaro and AFO. Both tried to shape his mind into what they wanted it to be and that lead to Tomura being unstable and sometimes unpredictable. We can see the symbolism of this in the fact that Kotaro's hand was always over Tomura's face, almost wanting to erase his identity, and when AFO possessed Tomura one of the first things we saw was him tearing apart Tomura's face. Other moment related to this is Tomura's confession to Doctor Ujiko in the beginning of My Villain Academia, were he states that he couldn't remember clearly his life before AFO. With limited information, including the years of manipulation from AFO, Tomura came to the conclusion he would never be satisfied and he would rather destroy it all– except what his colleagues wanted to save.

However, the majority of the people on that list loved Tomura and wanted to see him safe. What does this boy has that people keeps sacrificing themselves in order to try and save him? What makes them want to save Tomura?

Not matter how hard AFO tried to make a monster out of Tomura, we see how people keep reaching for him seeking comfort or even seeking a better future. For some reason, Tomura generates love in the hearts of those closer to him. Magne, Twice, Giran, Kurogiri, Mr. Compress, all of them gave beautiful speechs of love and acceptance, of protecting the people they like, of working towards a better future. Nao ran towards her son, Hana apologized for leaving him while being scared.

Or if you like, let me give you the maximum example: Deku changed drastically his hero path after witnessing himself who exactly was the real Tomura Shigaraki.

The reason why Deku looks like a villain on the last chapters is because there's a war inside of him– and also because it's the closes he has ever been to understanding the villains, by being on their shoes. While peeking through Tomura's mind Deku finally realized the reality of the hero society condition, and Deku is currently on a painful progress of growing, along with going through a phase of being an outcast and a rejected kid himself. Like a child exposed to war, or like a child getting more mature after a big trauma, Deku is reshaping himself in the light of what he knows now but didn't know before. Living on the streets, not eating enough, having people wanting to put you aside so you wouldn't alter their safety or peace, being painted as a problem or an object or a weapon rather than being seen as a human being in need of help...

While AFO's plan was to make Tomura suffer to increase his hate, he couldn't predict that Tomura would be the one to inspire Deku to love in a way he has never love before. Tomura's breaking point was also the breaking point for Deku, but while Tomura dives into the darkness, Deku fights his way over the stormy clouds to reach for the light.

Ultimately, everything surrounding Tomura is exactly what allows MHA / BNHA to be the story of how Deku became the greatest hero out there. The fact that Tomura refused to give up, refused to be who everyone wanted to be... even if he fails again and again, what counts here is that he is unbreakable. Even in the deep of his conscious, he awaits for another chance. Deku and Tomura are the ones who surpassed any limits, any expectations, in order to produce a real change in the roots of society itself.

So you can say that in parallel with Deku, (and there are some interesting implications in this one), Tomura hasn't been defeated by the rain either. Like two sides of the same coin, either they drown together or rise together.

[teklarn]

hi, this is my first ever ask so I'm not sure I'm doing this correctly, if that's the case I'm sorry; I don't know how tumblr works just yet >:')

would it be possible for you to write something about bakugo, pining incredibly hard for fem!reader and initially hating how strongly he feels about her? because they're not even friends, they only exchange few words occasionally and she doesn't even glance at his way whereas he slowly finds himself unable to divert his eyes from her during classes? shes always with damn deku and his friends and doesn't even seem interested in him at all but his heart can't ignore the way she looks at him proudly whenever they spar together, the way she sends him small confident smiles as they fight each other with all they have; so he thinks that maybe, maybe he might have a chance. basically bakugo liking reader so much he's completely lost in self-hatred because he always thought feelings were for weak romantics and not great people like him, but everytime he sees reader doing some badass things (again, like sparring with him and basically matching his skills etc...) he's reminded of how badly he likes reader? but when he finally accepts he's fallen for reader, after ignoring and trying to forget about how she makes him feel, he masters up the courage to confess? and it's a very clumsy confession because he's awkward and has no idea how to deal with those feelings? and he tries so hard to make reader realise he's never been more serious than now? and reader is startled and speechless before rejecting him? and at that point he's just completely humiliated, so he nods and walks away.

it might be a little dramatic but I've always been into unrequited love and one-sided pining. thank you, its okay if you don't want to write about this, i'll understand <33

𝓫𝓻𝓾𝓽𝓪𝓵 - 𝓴. 𝓫𝓪𝓴𝓾𝓰𝓸𝓾

character(s): katsuki bakugou x fem!reader (my hero academia) 

reblogs are greatly appreciated! 

a/n: AHHHHH this is so cute <33 honestly this is super exciting for me and this ask made me so happy, lovey. i’m fairly new to tumblr, i’m usually just a reader but i wanted to migrate here from wattpad so this made me so happy. here u are my love <33 i hope this lives up to what u wanted !! :)) a bit lengthy, but i had a lot of fun writing it !!! 

summary: bakugou finds he’s rejecting his feelings for you in fear of becoming weak, however he just can’t seem to ignore you. 

genre: fluffy, fluffier than the clouds istg, however the clouds are sprinking a little teeny weeny droplet of angst. 

warnings: cursing (bakugou, duhh), one-sided pining (on bakugou’s part) second hand embarrassment (on bakugou’s part bc we can all agree he’s a complete idiot when it comes to trying to get someone’s attention), just bakugou being a jackass, i gave the reader a quirk 

word count: 3,859 

(pls excuse any typos or mistakes, i edited to the best of my ability but i miss some things sometimes !) 

- - - 

part 2 is here my loves <3

brutal. it was utterly ruthless. he couldn’t focus, couldn’t think right. his hands were already exceptionally sweaty, but gosh when he saw your damn face, he was ready to explode. literally. 

what the hell was it about you? was it your stupid smile? or the way you just seemed to carry every battle on your back? was it all the undeniably sweet things you do for others ‘just because’? 

it made him angry that he thought about you, but gosh he couldn’t wait to see you every day. 

just like any other day, bakugou found himself staring at the large door to the classroom, awaiting the moment you would bounce into his day, skirt shifting around your legs, bag slung loosely around your shoulders. 

his leg was bouncing eagerly. 

bakugou didn’t know when the feelings came. his cheeks just started flaring up all of a sudden and one day you just looked...different. you hadn’t done anything different to yourself. it was just him. not that he would ever admit that, to you or anybody else. 

you were insufferable. you were stupid and obnoxious and so...so damn... 

“y/n! come look at this!” 

you’d come walking into class just as expected, and as soon as you did, that stupid nerd had called you over. 

it didn’t help that deku sat right behind him, either. the two of you had recently gotten closer. bakugou noticed it last month when he yelled at the two of you to shut up about all might and get to work. he’d turned around to find you leaning over deku, hands resting on his shoulders while you peered at his phone. 

“sorry, bakugou,” you’d said, barely acknowledging him. you had waved him off like an annoying fly. is that all you were to him? some nuisance that got in the way of your oh-so-entertaining conversations with deku? 

all he heard nearly every day was your chipper voice talking to deku. always, “oh my gosh, midoriya, did you see the fight edgeshot was in last night?” or “midoriya! i have something to add to our quirk analysis book!” 

that was the one that took the cake. you two dorks shared a notebook, occasionally passed between one another, and filled it with junk about quirks and pro heroes. but no matter how much he tried to tune you out, no matter how he tried to zone off and think about something else, you were always there. it made him want to vomit how much he thought about you. 

you were doing an adorable shuffle over to midoriya’s desk and leaned over the table as you usually did while he angled his phone your way. “did you see this hero report?” 

deku let you slip the phone out of his grasp to get a better look. 

“no,” you breathed. “was this just recent?” 

“yeah,” deku said, taking the phone back. “last night.” 

“holy—” 

“can you guys shut up over there?” bakugou said, his voice quaking. 

“sorry, kacchan.” deku scrolled through the article. 

dammit, bakugou thought. “i wasn’t talking to you, nerd. i was talking to shitface over here.” he jerked his head towards you. his eyes flared in anger when he saw you were looking down at your phone, now focused in on the article yourself. “i was talking to you, asshat!” 

your eyes flicked up to his. you looked around for a moment before slowly pointing to yourself as if to say, “me?” 

his face scrunched. “yeah, you. you’re so damn loud.” gosh, he hated how his voice was cracking, how he could feel his ears and cheeks lighting up in a swollen, cherry red. his stomach flipped. 

she’s looking at you, gosh i’m sweating. i’m going to throw up. she’s so gorgeous. what the hell? they’re ugly as shit, i don’t think anything of them. 

his eyes bore into yours. 

“did you...need something?” 

your voice broke his trance. 

“kacchan, are you okay? you dozed off there for a second. you look like you’re burning up.” 

bakugou looked to deku who was currently stretching out of his seat, arm extended. he pressed the back of his hand to bakugou’s forehead. “you’re really warm, kacchan. should we call recovery girl?” 

it took him a moment to realize what was happening. his vision got blurry every time he was with you. bakugou smacked deku’s hand away. “i’m fine!” his voice lifted at the end, cracking. “i’m not sick. don’t you think i’d take better care of myself?” 

“i don’t doubt you take good care of yourself, kacchan, but everyone gets sick once in a while. there’s nothing wrong with that.” 

“i never get sick!” besides, if i got sick, i wouldn’t want you to be the one taking care of me. 

he was still pissed. he was always in a bad mood, however, more so right now because you’d gone straight back to your phone and that stupid hero article that was supposedly so damn interesting. 

soon enough, the bell rang, and you were seated at your desk. it was jirou’s old spot, however, after much convincing, you two had switched spots so you could be closer to deku. just a few months of getting close to the idiot and you two are suddenly best friends. jirou hadn’t minded one tiny bit, claiming she needed a break from how loud that section of the room was. 

late as always, aizawa came trudging into your room. thankfully, his entire body wasn’t obscured by a yellow sleeping bag that smelled of something unwashed and coffee and gasoline. (for some reason, aizawa’s clothes always smelled of it.) 

“lucky for you,” he began while shuffling papers on his desk, “all of you are doing training for these first periods.”

the class cheered in perfect unison, followed by their individual chatter. you had erupted with glee along with them, and bakugou was sure he felt his heart clench and then explode. just a tiny bit. but he shoved the feeling down just as quickly as it had come up. 

“go out to the field and wait for further instructions. don’t make a sound in the halls otherwise, i’ll expel all of you.” 

this shut everyone up in almost a second, the sound draining out just as water does. the first years trailed out into the hall, single-file mimicking the positions baby ducklings would take when following their mother. 

bakugou found himself walking faster when he saw you take up your spot in the line, hoping to land his spot right behind you. 

unfortunately, this idiot who considered himself bakugou’s friend tugged him back. “bakugou!” a familiar voice rasped. 

“shitty hair, let go of me.” 

“hey man, chill out. wanna partner up if we’re doing training in pairs?” 

bakugou glanced at the line, the spot that should have been reserved for him now taken up by sato. 

bakugou tugged his sleeve from kirishima’s hand. “whatever,” he snapped. 

“sounds good!” kirishima flashed him a toothy grin and a thumbs-up. the bubbly feeling in bakugou’s chest died down as he stood behind sato, the overwhelming scent of sugar filling his nose, various candies that would go straight to your arteries. 

“you smell like ass, damn,” bakugou remarked, squeezing his nostrils together. 

luckily, sato was tall enough to not hear the insult, as he towered over bakugou by just another head. the line began moving like a sloppy train down to the change rooms. 

bakugou scoffed as he listened to your giggle. he should be making you laugh. 

- 

“you’ll be given partners randomly from this box.” aizawa held up a familiar red box. “inside are all your names. i’ll select one, then that person will come up and pick another name from the box. that will be your assigned partner for today. as soon as you have your assigned partner, i want you guys to get straight to work.” 

denki raised a hand, speaking before being called on. “sensei, why are we getting random partners? we’re always allowed to choose.” 

“in the real world, you’re going to come across different villains every day. you’ll never improve your skills or your quirks if you keep fighting the same person.” 

denki sighed, slumping back. 

dammit, bakugou thought, gritting his teeth together. there wasn’t any way he wanted to be partners with you. it’s obvious he’d win the fight in the first few seconds. 

yes! exactly right! bakugou internally grinned. his fluctuating feelings had finally soothed themselves. you were just another extra, and he had no room for you in his head. 

aizawa took a moment to fiddle with the slips of paper inside the box. soon enough, he pulled out a name. “todoroki.” 

todoroki walked up, digging his hand into the box when aizawa held it out for him. he pulled out a name, delicately unraveling the slip. “uraraka, you’re my partner.” he deadpanned. 

the brunette grinned. “great!” 

the two found their own spot on the field, and the class’s attention was once again diverted to their grouchy teacher as he pulled out another name. 

“bakugou.” 

bakugou strutted up without a worry in his mind. he pulled a name to find... 

“y/n,” he said, voice a low growl. instead of the annoying fluttering in his chest, his eyes met yours, and they were filled with a different, new ferocity. he crumpled the paper in one hand, letting it twirl to the ground. 

you looked at him, unsmiling. your eyes gave away nothing, and to bakugou’s knowledge, all you saw in him was another opponent. 

it took him a moment to realize you had both locked eyes for about a minute. perhaps the two of you would have stayed as you were if aizawa hadn’t snapped at the two of you to get moving as yaomomo’s name was called. 

bakugou was on his way to the back of the field, you followed close behind. while there was plenty of room still, he chose a secluded area. while it was still open enough to view everything going on so nobody got hurt, it was often nobody chose to train here. for whatever reason, you weren’t sure. 

“wait up, bakugou,” you said. after a bit, you caught up to him. 

“if you can’t keep up, then...” then what? he looked at you from the side of his eye. “then don’t keep up...” gosh, here came the embarrassing, disgusting feeling of redness in his cheeks. 

you laughed. “what?” 

“shut up.” 

“you’re an idiot, bakugou.” 

“i said shut the hell up!”

“what, so you can call me shitface in front of the entire class but you get all pissed when i call you an idiot?” 

so you had heard him! 

he tongued his cheek, curling his hands around an invisible ball, explosions sparking in the centers of his palms. “don’t expect me to hold back, dumbass.” 

“i wouldn’t dream of it.” 

gosh he loved that about you. 

bakugou caught his thought in the air. 

ahem...gosh he hated that about you. 

you both charged in at the same time. his cry was louder than yours, but you struck first. 

he admired your quirk. while he’d overhead you explaining all the drawbacks it had, it was strong, and you were strong because you knew how to control it. 

purple arrows flew from your arms, going in your desired directions. if you lost focus for one moment, they’d vanish and weaken. if you focused too hard or long, you’d be plagued by a splitting headache. 

he’d spent too much time obsessing over your strengths and weaknesses.  

your arrows were weightless, however they were solid objects capable of carrying any mass, any thing, and worked as extensions of your body. 

the violet arrow had shot out at him, twisting around his right gauntlet and crushing inwards. it’d snaked around him without him noticing, slithering along his back. 

bakugou struggled to get the air-light arrow off his wrist, but it was no use. he glared back, only to see your focused, furrowed brows. he’d expected to see your cocky ass smiling. it was nice to see you weren’t. 

that was one thing that had also caught his eye. you never underestimate your opponent, but you never underestimate yourself, either. 

you conjured a larger arrow. it snaked around your right arm as you hurled bakugou into the air, releasing your grasp on him. you shot your other arrow into the air, and it raced into the sky. 

it swerved. bakugou’s eyes went wide as the tip of the arrow came down on his chest. if they weren’t intangible things, he would have been bleeding out. 

another drawback: the arrows, while they could solidify, they couldn’t do any actual damage. you had to use your surroundings to inflict harm on your opponent. 

he coughed out as the arrow shot him into the ground. he hadn’t even touched you, and here he was, vulnerable and so...so... 

you stood over him, hands on your hips. 

vulnerable and so lost in that adorable, winning smile. 

“get away from me, idiot,” he grunted and turned onto his side, his back crying out in pain. 

“i think i won this fight, bakugou,” you chirped, rocking on your heels. 

“don’t get arrogant, shithead. you won’t be winning against me anymore.” 

you grinned, arrows shooting out behind your back. 

- 

the dorms were exceptionally quiet. you were typing away in the common room, bakugou on the couch reading. everyone was off doing something else. it was the weekend, luckily. he’d expected you to go bounding out with everyone else, however you’d stayed back, claiming you had some homework to catch up on. 

bakugou being classic bakugou had stayed back. he was excited to have the dorm to himself, but your dumbass was stuck here with him. couldn’t you have done your typing in your room? 

you were so aggressive on that poor keyboard. 

“oi, quiet down with your shit typing.” 

you barely grunted in response. 

“don’t ignore me.” 

“i heard you, mom.” 

“the hell did you call me?” 

no response. only your aggressive typing is a bit less aggressive. 

“i can still hear it,” bakugou remarked, eyes fixed on your back. 

“‘kay,” you said. your typing slowed a tad, and your pressure on the keys lessened. 

it was quiet now. bakugou should go back to his book. he shouldn’t still be looking for a reason to talk to you. 

the pages crinkled in his fingers. he bit his tongue, keeping his snarky comments in. 

“you’re a fucking idiot, you know that? doing your damn homework. it’s due tomorrow.” 

you turned, pursing your lips. “and how would you know what i’m working on? are you stalking me?” 

“i- what? no. you’re such an idiot, of course i’m not—” 

“i’m messing with you,” you breathed, face un-moving. 

“o-oh,” bakugou stuttered out. he blinked awkwardly. 

“gosh, what’s gotten your panties in a twist?” 

“you’re annoying.” 

“you’re a jackass.” you returned to your work. bakugou settled with reading in his room. reading consisted of jumping onto his bed just as the stereotypical high school girl would in an eighties movie. he buried his face in his pillow, face burning bright red. he cursed you for making him feel this way, and hated himself even more for how much he enjoyed it. 

- 

the next day came swiftly. you’d left early to go train with midoriya. there were many improvements needed to be made, but you weren’t doing too bad.

you propelled yourself forwards with an arrow, and your green-haired friend shot back, lightning flickering around his body. 

landing back on the ground, you panted and swiped the sweat from your brow. from the corner of your eye, you could make out both kirishima and bakugou coming to the training grounds. 

bakugou stopped in his tracks, frowning at the sight of you. 

it was evident he hated you a bit more than everyone else. he was always making his annoying comments, he was always snubbing you. you saw no reason to talk to him, so you didn’t. either way, even if you tried, he would still get angry for no reason. 

it’d taken you quite some time to get used to his obnoxious attitude. tuning him out had been the best course of action, in your opinion. 

the way you and midoriya had bonded was through bakugou, in a way. the first day of school, bakugou had snapped at you for tripping over your laces and nearly crashing into him. later that day, midoriya had stepped up and apologized for his old friend’s actions. 

you two had never been too close until now. the recent incidents going on with the league of villains had snagged your attention, and it seemed you were the only person who didn’t mind listening to him ramble on about heroes. 

you were just as passionate and just as dorky, but midoriya could talk your ear off. you never minded, and he always took the hint when you didn’t want to listen. 

you brought your leg up, twirling in the air with ease and watched your heel collide with midoriya’s face. he grunted, stumbling back. 

you were about to charge in again when a hand landed on your shoulder, big and rough. you turned to see bakugou standing behind you, a scowl on his face. 

“fight me again,” he demanded. 

“excuse me?” 

“don’t act like you didn’t hear me.” 

“i’m in the middle of fighting midoriya right now.” 

“so?”

“so if you think that i’m just going to ditch my friend because you want to fight, i won’t.” 

“you’re being stubborn.” 

“i’m being reasonable. back off.” 

“y/n?” midoriya rubbed his jaw—right where you had struck him. “what’s going on?” he jogged up to you and bakugou. 

“he wants to fight me in the middle of our fight. it’s nothing serious. don’t worry about it, midoriya. let’s just ignore him.” 

bakugou made a sound someone would only make if they were choking. “the hell did you just say?” 

“we’re ignoring you!” you waved him off and placed your hand on midoriya’s shoulder, wandering away. 

-

it was new to him, not getting what he wanted. and what he wanted right now was to be around you. again, it wasn’t like he would ever admit that to himself. 

“dude? you good? i thought you went off to fight y/n. i was so ready to cheer you on, dude,” kirishima’s chipper voice piped in. “she’s not fighting with you? why not?” 

“the dumbass was just probably scared of getting her ass beat by me.” 

“dude...that sounds really weird.” 

“whatever, shitty hair. let’s go.” 

- 

the clock ticked. his ears were on fire. again. 

gosh, it was happening again. it was all you. his face scrunched up, his voice would surely crack if someone were to ask him what was wrong. 

bakugou was once again stuffing his face in his pillow, hiding his expression from no one. why did you have to go train with that shitty nerd? why were you always around deku? deku, of all people. what did he have? why was he so great? 

bakugou was a man of many insecurities, but losing to deku? that was possibly his biggest fear. 

perhaps he wasn’t the nicest, or the most soft person out there. bakugou could admit that, at least. but he was smarter than deku. he was stronger and he was better and people liked him more. right? 

what was so...amazing about deku? 

it was often bakugou would find himself obsessing over little, insignificant things such as these. 

you were what he was thinking of most of the time. just yesterday, he’d gotten a test returned. he was expecting an eighty at the lowest, but more so expecting a high ninety. it’d come back exactly sixty percent. 

sixty. percent.

bakugou vividly remembered staring at your face. he also remembered not being able to focus because of it. his grades were dropping because of you. 

you were the only person to be able to do this to him. 

his heart grew quiet, but the pounding of his didn’t cease. he lifted his head. 

“alright, fine,” he said aloud. “you win, y/n. you win.” 

he settled with getting over his feelings the way he’d read them in his collection of romance manga. 

bakugou left his room and knocked on your door. (he was banging on it, but it was his nice way of knocking.) 

you answered, looking around awkwardly. “yes?” 

his hands shook. how was this supposed to go? sure, he’d seen it in romance movies and read it in books but it was always easy to tell whether the guy would get the girl or not. 

in this instance, bakugou was clueless. for once in his life, he was clueless. you stood, tapping your foot with a hand on your hip, waiting expectantly for him to tell you why he was here. 

“um.” he scratched behind his neck. “you uh- i uh...i’m sorry i called you a, um...a shitface.” 

“okay? is that it?” 

what? come on! it was already unlike him to apologize. what else did you want from him? 

“did you...i’ve been thinking, maybe? maybe we could..train together as...friends?”  

“...what?” 

gosh dammit, as friends? 

“whatever, um...the uh...” oh gosh, what did the boys do in all the books he’d read? right! bakugou stretched out his arm, resting his forearm on the door, leaning to the side. 

although he didn’t, really, because like the clumsy jackass he was, bakugou missed completely and nearly toppled to the floor. 

this earned a snicker from you. 

his stomach flipped and churned, and bakugou found himself unable to reach your eyes. “uh, would you maybe..? okay, um. do you want to go on a date with me? you absolute fucking dumbass.” 

your eyes flew wide. “...what?” 

“no, that’s not what i— i mean i didn’t mean the last part. um, i meant the first part. the first two parts. the part where i was asking you if you wanted to go on a date with me and then before that when i said maybe because it’s still a maybe until you say yes. or...or no because that’s an option too.” 

he swallowed. 

you resisted the urge to mock him, just a little bit. “um, bakugou, listen.” 

he leaned closer. “yes?” 

“it’s going to be a no. i’m sorry, but i’m just not interested in you like that.” 

it took him a moment to register everything. his shoulders sagged. gosh that was brutal. 

“oh, alright.” 

“yeah, uh, sorry about that.” you offered him a weak smile, still a bit shocked yourself. he did his best to return it, and when you closed the door, his face was ready to explode. 

it was so damn difficult to deal with these feelings, but maybe it was better this way. knowing where you stood on your end, he knew he wouldn’t miss out on anything. 

perhaps it was alright to admire from afar. things could happen in the future, right? 

right now, he’d just wait. for a long, long time. bakugou pressed a hand to his chest, feeling his erratic heartbeat. maybe it was alright to not have you right now. perhaps he could better himself for you. just for you. 

[blzzrdstryr]

A silent plea

Yandere!Kujou Sara x gn!reader

Wordcount:1366

CW:Yandere themes, death and torture mention

Kujou Sara knows her place. It’s always beneath and at Raiden Shogun’s beck and call. Some may think it's humiliating, to dedicate so much time and energy for the tyrant, yet Sara disagrees - Baal may be a cruel goddess, but she is a goddess nonetheless, meant to be praised and obeyed and Sara is nothing but a devoted worshipper, willing to commit any atrocity if it will please her archon.

She doesn't indulge in it, preferring to endure the cruelty of her own hands and telling herself that it is needed for Baal's eternity. All who resist and defy have deserved their fates, no matter how grim and bitter they are. How many rebels did she strike herself? Electro archon’s heart holds no mercy nor pity for her enemies, so Sara’s shouldn’t either. And it did, for a time, allowing Kujou Sara to fight and torture and interrogate, all in the name of her Goddess, until she met you.

It happened on the battlefield. Sara was aiming at someone, all her attention consumed by the distant figure and the tension of the bow in her hands as she heard a rustle of the leaves and then sensed a blade pressing down her jugular.

“Order your men to retreat”, you demanded, adding a bit more pressure. She couldn’t see it but felt a small trail of blood trickling down her neck and staining the clothes. It was an awful and dangerous situation to be in and for the first time in months she experienced fear so clearly and brightly.

“I don’t comply with the requests of traitors”, she kicked you, focusing the electro energy around her body. It was enough to give her time and protect Sara from your weapon, leaving just a shallow cut on her neck.

You gasped then, from pain and shock, eyes wide as you grasped the injured hand, and dropped the weapon. And then it was Sara’s turn to get surprised - you didn’t flee and she couldn’t see your vision. Were you that stupid or desperate? Did you really think that you could defeat her in a fair fight?

Sara took a stance, preparing for a quick victory, which it wasn’t. She had to claw it out, deflecting your blows and kicks - you were like a wild animal back then, feral and forceful, seemingly just a step away from lunging at Sara and biting a chunk of her flesh out. But unlike the beast, you were smart and tricky too, throwing small metal trinkets to redirect her lightning, leaping at her only when you were sure she wouldn't attack. If it wasn’t for her approaching men who knows for how long you would drag out this battle, using lowly tricks and stunts to make up for your obvious disadvantage.

You fled then, pulling out a smoke bomb to create a distraction, and something inside her changed. At first Sara thought it was respect, keeping her up at night and making her return to the place of your “fight”, replaying your moves in her memory again and again. Respect for your resourcefulness and loyalty to your cause, despite the opposite allegiance.

Nevertheless, the dreams, wet and messy and too dishonourable to be said out loud, made her change her perspective - she didn’t respect you, no, she wanted to be at your mercy again, to feel herself helpless and powerless as your figure looms over her vulnerable form.

Those were sick perverted fantasies, not to mention traitorous too. As the loyal servant of Raiden Shogun she couldn’t allow herself to fall victim to the animal urges and sinful lust. Who knows, what if her arrow falters and blade dulls because of the same craving and shameful desire? How can she allow herself to live further after such failure?

That’s why her efforts in capturing and neutralizing rebel camps doubled, despite the slowly rising wave of hesitation inside her.

The early morning greets Kujou Sara with the cold breeze of grey waves and the news she has both dreaded and anticipated. Her men finally located and captured the small insurgent group, hiding among the lush forests of Kannazuka, roughly dragging the rebels back to the Kujou encampment.

“Bring them here”, Sara says to one of the troops after she exits her apartment, her battle regalia already on. The soldier bows and quickly hurries to the furthermost nondescript building - a makeshift cell for all prisoners before they’re sent to the capital.

Sara trails his figure, feeling how her own heart thumps, head aching from the sudden tension and anxiety and she doesn’t know whether she wants to see your face or not. “A moment of truth”, she whispers to herself as one painfully long second is replaced by the other.

Turns out, you are in that group too, as the mentioned soldier leads you out with the other prisoners, your hands tightly cuffed by a long chain. Kujou squints as she looks over all of you, your frame being her main focus. You are tired and dirty, she notes, but also defiant and full of fight, just like that fateful day.

Sara orders her men to lead you to the interrogation room, and put the rest in the cells, she accompanies the soldier, eyeing your form as he tugs on your chains - you don't want to go, it's obvious, but in the end fatigue and simple weakness win and your legs buckle.

You have new bruises, she notes, purple-bluish they stand out in a stark angry contrast against your skin. Maybe her men got handsy, maybe they weren’t careful with transporting you enough - no matter the reason she needs to punish them.

“Out”, Sara says, once you’re tied and secured in one place, defiant eyes burning right through her. The soldier quickly bows before exiting the room and leaving Sara with you alone, and that’s when she feels it again - the wave of longing and carnal desire so strong that she yearns to touch your body no matter how dirty and battered it is.

“Why am I here?”, you ask, voice low and scratchy after days of complete silence, snatching Sara from her thoughts, and by the archons the sound of your voice is enough to awaken something in her, pink dusting her cheeks.

"You don't have a vision", she says instead of answering you, feeling how her heart speeds up from those words alone:"but you still defied Raiden Shogun's eternity and you will be punished accordingly"

A crooked smile makes it to your face, resignation mixing with pure hatred boiling in your eyes. Sara wants to shiver and turn away, hide from your gaze, yet she endures it, not a single muscle betraying her.

"You will be tortured regardless of you knowing anything about resistance plans", you don’t stop smiling, yet your expression grows even more tense. Like a deadman, Sara thinks to herself - she had seen it of course, the face, the resignation, and she doesn’t like it. The mere idea of you suffering and screaming under someone else's hands enough to make her taste a sour bile on her tongue.

"Then why are you telling me all of this?", you raise one brow.

"There’s a way to avoid that. Aid me in my service to Raiden Shogun and your crimes will be forgiven". Sara leans closer to you, her golden eyes transfixed on your face. "Please agree", she wants to say: "It's for your own good".

“I don’t comply with the requests of traitors”, you spit back at her and she jerks away, remembering your bestial nature. If only you were more obedient Sara would worship you like a second deity, her love and devotion to you surpassed only by the reverence she holds towards Baal. She would dress you in silks and kiss every spot on your body, ripping out the most pleasurable and desperate moans out of your lips. She would fall on the knees before you, patiently awaiting your command.

But she can’t - deep down you’re an animal, feral and ungrateful and rabid beasts deserve nothing but death.

“I will come back tomorrow and ask you again. I suggest you take back your words”.

Kujou Sara knows her place. She wishes you knew yours.

[gubler-me-up]

Friendly Competition

Request: Ok so the bau reader and Spencer aren’t dating but have been like hanging out and going for dinner and doing movie nights and such (not calling anything a date tho), and then on a case an officer is all flirty with the reader over the few days that they’ve been there and spencer gets all moody and jealous and is kind of a jerk and has to apologize but it also pushes him to finally ask the reader out on a real date

A/N: Thanks for the request, anon! Sorry this took me so long to publish like tf I could have finished this yesterday, but I took a lil (two hour) nap and then goofed around on my laptop for hours a mess i know. All that being said this was a request I loved writing because who doesn’t love a jealous Spencer? Enjoy! (side note: I wrote this fic without specifying a gender/specific pronouns to include readers who do not identify as female/woman/she/her. I’m trying my hand at it here because the request only said BAU reader, so I thought it might be nice to make this request more inclusive. To whoever sent this in, I hope that’s okay with you and that you like it!)

Couple: Spencer Reid/Bau!Reader 

Category: Angsty fluff

Content warning: Slight mention of murder

Word count: 2.3k

--------------

You and Spencer were sitting in the conference room in the Dallas Police department. You and the team had been called in to investigate a series of female bodies popping up in a river bed. It had been two days since you had reached Dallas and the case was making a bit of progress.

Hotch had assigned you and Spencer to tackle geographical profiling. Geographical profiling wasn’t your natural talent, but the dynamic energy you and Spencer had at work was undeniable. Outside of work it was even better. Recently you had found yourself going on outings with Spencer. Whenever he wanted to do something you were the first person he would ask.

It was quite fun hanging out with Spencer after work. Whether it was a movie, dinner or stroll through the park, he made it the best time for you. You found him entertaining and charming on these special occasions. You hoped he would want to ask you out on an official date.

In the meantime though, you two worked diligently on solving the case at hand. You both were looking at a map of the area and pinpointing spots these women were last seen alive. Your mapping was interrupted by a knock on the door. You both turned around to see officer Mark Lucas at the doorway with his hands behind his back.

He had been around during the several conversations detective Frederick had with the team. Every time he looked at you with star-spangled eyes. He would repeatedly ask you if you needed anything as well. The day prior he asked if you wanted anything for dinner and the both of you could go get it. You politely declined, but found it cute how intrigued he was by you.

Spencer on the other hand found it quite obnoxious. Every time Mark would compliment you, touch you or stand slightly too close to you, you could feel Spencer’s blood pressure rise. Mark’s admiration for you was for sure overbearing and he made it known loud and proud. He would take any opportunity to flirt with you and every time Spencer would make sure you knew he was upset.

He smiled at you. “So, what’s that beautiful mind of yours thinking of?”

You tried to hide your blush by looking away from him. He definitely had an undeniable southern charm about him. You looked over to Spencer to see him roll his eyes at what Mark had said. You could tell since day one he didn’t like Mark’s presence. He would always look at him weird or roll his eyes.

“We’re just doing some geographical profiling,” you explained.

“I thought you were hard at work. Bet you’re pretty hungry,” he said and then revealed what was behind his back.

It was a white paper bag. He placed it in front of you and eagerly awaited as you opened it to inspect what was inside. It was a sandwich, bottle of water and fries from a local diner you had mentioned to him yesterday. He was definitely a good listener.

You smiled. “Thank you, Mark. I really appreciate it.”

“A man like me couldn’t bear to see you work so hard as you do and not supply you with food. It’s the minimum I could do for an extraordinary person like you, Y/N,” he said.

“There are women popping up dead down the road and you can’t bear seeing Y/N hungry? Makes me wonder where your real priorities are at,” Spencer bitterly said.

You were taken aback by his snippy tone. You had never heard Spencer talk to anyone besides a suspect or unsub like that. You were starting to wonder if he had the same hatred towards Mark. You didn’t get why though. It wasn’t as if you two were exclusive or anything.

Mark smiled at him. “Don’t take this gesture as me not caring about the crime, agent, because I do. I just thought you folk would be hungry doing all this hard work.”

“First of all, it’s Doctor and if that’s true then I guess you must have left my lunch back at the diner,” Spencer said as he got up from his seat.

“Where are you going? We still have to finish this geographical profile,” you said.

“I’m going on a lunch break as well. More than one of us needs to eat,” he said as he started walking towards the door.

“Well, if this spot’s empty, may I keep you company?” Mark said as he took Spencer’s seat beside you.

You smiled at him. “Go ahead.”

“Don’t you have some paperwork or something you have to do?” Spencer asked.

Mark looked at him with a playful confused face. “I thought we were on lunch break?”

Spencer opened his mouth to say something back to Mark which you knew would be vicious. You looked at him and shook your head, discouraging the bickering from going any further. He rolled his eyes and walked out of the room. You and Mark watched as he walked off. You sighed and shook your head.

“Don’t worry ‘bout him, darlin’. He just needs to take a break to cool off,” Mark assured you.

You shrugged. “I guess, but I hate seeing him upset.”

“He just needs some space. After he gets something in his system he’ll be brand new. Maybe if you start eating too you’ll feel better as well,” Mark said.

You smiled. “I guess so.”

After having lunch with Mark, he had to go back to his patrol duty for the afternoon. It was nice having some company while you ate. Spencer hadn’t come back like you thought he would since he usually only drinks coffee for lunch anyway. It was probably for the best since Mark was taking every moment you two spent together to shower you with endless compliments. If Spencer was there he would have definitely had a few words to say.

You walked down the hall to go to the kitchen to fill up your water bottle. Before you entered you saw Spencer walking your way with a coffee in his hand. You smiled and waved at him as he looked at you with a smile as well.

“I see you needed a bit of coffee to brighten your mood,” you said.

“I think I needed a break from seeing that officer drool all over you,” he said.

You rolled your eyes. “He wasn’t drooling over me.”

“He’s been drooling over you ever since we’ve got here and you eat it up. No need to deny it, Y/N,” he said.

“Whatever, it’s not even important right now. We’ll get back to work as soon as I fill up my water bottle,” you said as you walked into the kitchen.

You heard Spencer’s footsteps follow you inside the kitchen. To both of your surprise, Mark was in there getting ready to take the trash out. He saw you walk in and instantly smiled.

“Hello, beautiful. Don’t you have some work you need to be finishing up?” Mark asked with a beaming smile.

“Yeah, I’m just filling up my water bottle before Spencer and I get back to it,” you said as you approached the sink.

He walked up to you. “Allow me. Can’t have you working too hard on little tasks like this.”

“Y/N’s capable of turning on a tap and filling a water bottle,” Spencer snapped.

“No need to have your knickers in a knot, agent. It’s just some good ol’ southern hospitality I’m offering to Y/N,” he said.

“I’m flattered, really, Mark, but I don’t want you to miss your patrol duty and get into trouble,” you said.

“No need to worry, gorgeous. I had to clean the kitchen up a little first anyway. I don’t mind making your day a bit easier,” he said.

“Okay, you know what, whenever you two are serious about finding this unsub, let me know,” Spencer said as he turned around to walk out the door.

“Spencer, are you serious right now? You don’t think we’re serious about finding this unsub?” You asked.

He turned around. “I know you somewhat are, Y/N, but the southern hospitality oriented officer isn’t. I’ll finish the geographical profile on my own. Hotch needs some help with interviews anyway.”

You looked at him in shock. “It’s one thing to be a jerk, but to reassign me to do something else is another thing.”

You turned around to quickly fill up your water bottle and then stormed up to Spencer. You could tell by his eyes he started to feel bad about what he had said. You didn’t care though. If this was how he was going to deal with his jealousy towards Mark, it was time to give him some space. He needed some time to find the real reason why he had to make his jealousy go so far.

“I’m going to Hotch now. Talk to me when you decide you don’t want to be a child anymore,” you said.

Before Spencer could say anything to you, you stormed off. You didn’t want to hear him explain himself because you knew it would be some weak excuse. You soon shed what had occurred in the kitchen, so you could focus on interviewing with Hotch. The case was more important at the moment than immature boy drama.

The next day you were out on the road with Hotch, JJ and Rossi as all of you went to the areas the victims were last seen. The geographical profile Spencer had finished was handy, you had to admit. Would have probably been even better if you could have helped finish it.

On the way back to the police department, you thought about if Spencer had gotten over his jealousy. You had never seen him act so viciously to another man before. You guess Mark was coming on a bit strong, but Spencer and you weren’t much more outside of friends. His actions made you wonder if he saw you as something more.

When you and everyone else arrived at the station, you decided you wanted to use the washroom before helping them deliver the profile. Hotch had allowed everyone ten minutes to prep before they delivered the profile. As you made your way towards the washroom, something caught your eye in the conference room. You saw Spencer sitting in there alone. He looked as if he was in deep thought.

Your curiosity got the best of you and you walked into the room. He hadn’t noticed you since his eyes were still focused on the table, eyebrows still furrowed. You slightly cleared your throat to get his attention. His head immediately shot up and when he saw it was you, his face soon softened.

“I wasn’t expecting you guys to be back so early,” he said as he sat up in his chair.

“Well, we have everything we need to deliver the profile now,” you said.

“I see. Do you have a few minutes to spare before then?” He asked.

You shrugged. “I guess I have some time to spare for you.”

He smiled as he pulled out the chair to his right for you. You walked over and took your seat. You could already tell by his face how sorry he was about yesterday. He looked adorable as his face was slightly pink with embarrassment and you could tell he was searching for the right words to say to you.

“Y/N, I’m sorry about my behaviour yesterday. It was out of line and I shouldn’t have said you didn’t care about the case,” he apologized.

“Why were you so angry? Is someone a bit jealous of Mark?” You asked.

He looked down in embarrassment. “Yeah, I guess I am.”

“What? I can’t hear you with your face to the floor,” you said.

He looked up into your eyes. “I guess I am jealous of Mark. He shows you this undying admiration and love and I thought you were enjoying his company more than you could ever enjoy mine.”

“What? That’s nearly impossible, Spence. I love your company the most,” you assured him.

“Again, I wasn’t thinking rationally for the past few days. I thought about it last night and I think why this jealousy flared up so much is because I thought I was too late.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Too late for what?”

“Too late to actually ask you out on a real date. I’ve been meaning to, but I wasn’t sure if you wanted to.”

“Why did you think I didn’t want to?”

“Because I didn’t think you saw me more than a friend, so I built an irrational sense of jealousy over that assumption.”

You sighed, but it soon turned into a giggle. “I thought Doctorate graduates had to do labs before publishing their research? You’re out here making all these assumptions without even testing it first.”

He chuckled. “I know, it was stupid of me to do and I’m sorry again.”

“No hard feelings at all.”

He smiled as he eagerly looked at you. You looked at him confused as you didn’t know what he was waiting for. Then his face turned into a worried expression which made you look at him worried.

“What’s wrong?” You asked.

“You didn’t answer if you’d actually want to go out on a real date or not,” he said.

You laughed. “Spence, actually ask me in context. What you said didn’t count as a question, it was a confession.”

He chuckled. “Okay, okay. Would you want to go out on a real date with me?”

“Only on one condition,” you said.

He looked at you confused. “Anything. What’s the condition?”

“I get to revoke your Doctorate until you prove to me why they gave you three again because I think they need to reevaluate your critical thinking skills,” you joked.

He laughed. “Almost anything.”

You both laughed as you two headed out of the conference room. As you both headed out you saw Mark walking towards you two. In a second Spencer grabbed your hand to hold it. You looked at him and saw him beaming with pride as you two walked by Mark. You rolled your eyes. No matter how smart a man was, a man in love would always be dumb.

—–

MASTERLIST

[pastelsandpining]

Whumptober Day 1

all trussed up and still nowhere to go

“you have to let go” | barbed wire | bound

kingdom come - corrupt!zelda au | part 2 

warnings: survivor’s guilt, trauma, gory imagery/body horror (descriptions of Ganon), injury mention, burn mention, blood mention, nausea, head injury, loss of consciousness, acceptance of death, binds, manipulation

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Looking out at the rolling plains, the baby blue sky, the lively green grass, and the flourishing wildlife nearly everywhere he could see, it was hard to believe that Hyrule was decimated a century ago. Where life bloomed now, death had once spread, and it was anything but beautiful when the fields were burning—when guardians and monsters alike chased down any and all living things. It was hard to take down powerful beasts and even more so when they didn’t stay down.

But just like those vile creatures who only wanted to cause chaos, Hyrule never really died either. It was the quick and clever thinking of Princess Zelda that saved them all by containing the beast of Calamity inside of the very place she once called home. She was a thing of myth some hundred years later when people recalled her beauty or her bravery. If it were not for the moons scorched with blood, or the chilling cry of a colossal demon, or the guardians still roving over the land, one could find themselves thinking that the story of Hyrule was nothing more than a cautionary fairytale. What moral could come from such devastating times? Do not run from fate, or you will end up as caged as the Hyrulean Princess? Do not put heart above duty, or you will fall just as the legendary hero? Or perhaps, do not put trust in things you cannot always control?

Really, there was no lesson to be learned. Destruction would come as it did, and there was nothing they could’ve done to stop it. At least, that’s what Link told himself on the many nights he was found unable to sleep, too haunted by the ghosts of his past and terrorized by the stalling sensation of guilt. How solemn that sounded, how pitiful. He did not want pity. What good did that do him, when he’d already lost everything? He’d fallen once, and that cost him his friends, his life, the place he called home–pity would not bring that back. Hymns of brave soldiers and lost princesses would not bring that back. Stories that turned a traumatizing cause of devastation into a life lesson would not bring that back.

The only thing he wanted, months after waking in a shrine to a beautiful voice and with a fractured soul, was peace. He wanted to toss the sword of legend aside and never look at it again. He wanted to curl up in the bed of his Hateno home and sleep for another hundred years, or at least, until the pictures of a burning kingdom and the unholy screeching of Calamity Ganon disappeared just long enough for his mind to go quiet. He wanted to try to be normal, for even just a moment. No hero, no revenge, nothing of the sort.

It was a shame that the image of what he wanted was incomplete without the princess he’d once devoted his heart and soul to. He could not remember her in the way he would’ve liked. Link was granted a glimpse of her face here, a whisper of her voice there, a ghost of her touch when the loneliness became too much. On the few occasions he remembered more, when he could see her so very clearly in a moment framed in time, it felt almost like a dream. A dream that he didn’t want to wake up from. And just like a pleasurable dream that left one feeling warm and special, Zelda slipped through his fingers like liquid, faster than he could process and unable to be stopped. In its wake was a blank space of aching emptiness, right where he knew she should be. She was all he had left, the one thing that could connect him to the world he lived in, because without her, he had no purpose. He had no guidance. He was nothing.

So Link scoured the whole of the continent, from icy tundras to scorching deserts, climbing active volcanos and harnessing what the wild gave him, to grow stronger. He tamed the Divine Beasts and freed the shackled spirits of his long lost friends. He offered his company to the princess on the nights of the blood moon, where she would warn him and assure him that he was doing well, and that she was alright. He sought out the legendary Sword that Seals the Darkness and underwent trials upon backbreaking, painstaking trials to prove himself worthy of the full power the Master Sword was capable of. 

And then, he hesitated. He hesitated because he could not recall what Calamity Ganon looked like, or was capable of. Freeing the Divine Beasts became something horribly tedious, something that stoked a new sort of trauma in him, because the Scourges were certainly not for the faint of heart. The first time the malice surged past him and combined to form a twisted amalgamation of a beast, Link thought he was going to die again, with no hope for recovery this time. Every blight was grotesque, dripping with the glowing incarnation of hatred, and over twice his size. Their sickly skin stung to touch, leaving angry red burns everywhere it could. Their weapons were brutal and chaotically, skillfully wielded, and it was by miracle alone that he’d survived this long. There was nothing quite as agonizing as being shred alive by an ancient demon, only for his fire-filled nerves and ragged skin to stubbornly patch itself back together before his very eyes. Mipha’s Grace should not have been used so kindly on him.

For as much trouble and agony the Scourges were, they were only extensions of Calamity Ganon, small pieces of the monstrosity awaiting him deep within Hyrule Castle. Just thinking about it rendered him on the brink of a panic attack. Princess Zelda had faced it utterly alone for decades, so what if he failed to do the same? What if he could not defeat the beast, and would therefore be responsible for yet another destructive wave? All of the friends he had made, all of the new life that’d bloomed, it would be devastated by his hands if he could not slay the Calamity. What of Princess Zelda, then? Surely it would kill her, too. Picturing her expressive green eyes dulled by the kiss of death made Link feel so nauseated that he could not eat for hours. 

Shamefully and pathetically, he put it off. He searched for that hundredth Korok Seed, he filled the Hyrule Compendium, he ran every single errand and helped every single person that he could, all the while wishing that the darkness of night or comfort of walls could hide him from Zelda’s ever watchful gaze. It did nothing to quiet the screaming in his skull, the longing in his chest. It was only when his guilt had him by the neck that he swallowed his nerves and stormed Hyrule Castle before the courage could leave him.

Every room was empty. Sad, decrepit, and empty. Of course, the Calamity would want the biggest stage it could find and so, to the top floor of the castle he climbed. The guardians were pesky and the monsters relentless, but nothing could have prepared him for the sight of the beast, free of its prison, towering over him like it was starving and ready to feast.

He thought he saw a glimpse of golden hair, precious and fleeting, just outside of his peripheral vision, but the Calamity lunged for his neck and Link was forced to throw himself to the side, searching for any opportunity to counter the attack. For a monstrosity of a size that rivaled the Divine Beasts, it was quick. 

A jump at the wrong time, a split second too late, caused the Calamity’s ancient axe to slice through his skin. It was nothing more than a nick, but it stung enough to make him stumble and gasp, clutching at his arm through his rapidly soaking shirt. In the pause it took for him to steady himself, Ganon had crawled up onto the second floor like some ginormous spider. It looked ready to pounce on him and, Hylia above, there was nowhere he could hide. It would crush him easily. 

But it did not crush him. He wished it had, because it aimed the rapid red dot of a guardian’s laser on his chest, sending a spiral of panic through his spine and into his stomach, where it curled and lurched and made him want to vomit. He raised his shield, but the blast sent him spiraling through the air until his back hit a solid beam, knocking the wind right out of him. The Master Sword was sprawled uselessly out of his grip and he reached blindly for it, but his supporting arm slipped out from underneath him and his head hit the ground with a sickening crack. His vision was blurred. He wondered why he could see something walking towards him, something far smaller than the Calamity. It was Hylia, perhaps, coming to resolve his hideous fate at last. He tried to summon Mipha’s Grace, tried to will the strength back into his body, to will the excruciating pain away, but then Hylia was crouched before him, and her fingers felt so lovely and comforting in his hair that he wanted to fall headlong into her touch. He wanted to let her take him away.

“That’s it,” she cooed softly, brushing the bangs from his forehead. The motion was so jarringly familiar, the voice was haunting—this was not Hylia. “My dear Hero, look what they’ve done to you.”

Link choked on his attempt to speak, trying with everything in him to move, to take her hand, to see her clearly, but her hands pushed him gently back to the Sanctum floor and he groaned, his voice strained with pain. 

“It’s alright, Link,” the figure assured him, threading her fingers through his hair again like she was trying to subdue him. “The pain will fade soon, I promise. Can you do something for me?”

Death must’ve been approaching. He tried to nod, to tell her he would do anything for her, but the heavy ache in his head made it hard to do much of anything. She must’ve gotten his answer somehow, though, because her hands were cupping his face.

“You have to let go,” she whispered, her thumbs brushing against his cheeks. “Let go, Link, and I will catch you.”

She sounded so sweet, so incredibly lovely, and she felt so warm. Link felt his body relax, going completely still beneath her hands, and he wondered, vaguely, if they had all been wrong. If she was not sealed, but dead, ever waiting for her knight to join her so that she may be the one to welcome him into the afterlife. Princess Zelda’s green eyes came into clarity for no longer than a second, but comfort washed over him and he was quite happy that, for a second time, she was the last thing he was going to see.

There was a high pitched ringing in his ears and his head was swimming. Link tried to fight the grogginess that kept his eyes from opening, but he had very little success when the light was painful and his head was pounding. He raised a hand to rub his eyes, but the rough and tattered surface of what must’ve been a rope rubbed against his wrists, leaving them stinging with a brush burn he already knew would scar. That was his first indication that this was not his only time fighting his way back to consciousness. The pain brought him a little more clarity, even with the panic welling up in his chest.

He could see the Sanctum floor below his head, but trying to turn it to get a better look at his surroundings made him wince and squeeze his eyes shut again. He took a shaky, shuddering breath and, in one quick motion, tried to force himself to sit up. All he’d managed to do was make himself dizzy. His vision swam again, leaving him vulnerable and impaired, and he could do nothing but lie there as still as possible, waiting for the feeling to leave. When it did, it took the ringing in his ears with it.

He heard soft humming instead, backed by the horrid squelching of malice and a rumbling that chilled him to his core. Link tried slowly to tilt his head and immediately wished he hadn’t, because Calamity Ganon was among the last of things he needed to see right now. The beast was sitting, if one could even call it that, on the floor just below a balcony, right across the room from him. It seemed content to just sit there, watching him through orange, evil eyes. He tugged on the restraints again, sending another spike of pain down his spine, but he was stuck. Should it pounce, he would be done for.

But it didn’t. It sat there, staring him down. He thought he could make out a smile, cruel and unsettling and awful. It unhinged its jaw then and made a noise, a screech of unimaginable volume, and Link curled in on himself with a quiet whimper.

“I was just beginning to wonder when our guest would come out of his slumber.”

His eyes opened, wide and wild, and he tilted his head up towards where he thought the voice had come. There, sitting on a throne in the deck above the Calamity, sat Princess Zelda. It was the first time he’d seen her clearly in over a century. He could not breathe then, choked by his swell of emotions and the scratchiness of his throat. 

“Then again,” she continued, tilting her head with a cruelly beautiful smile, “our little hero is prone to sleeping in. Do be gentle with him, Ganon, and try to keep your patience.”

Those words meant nothing to him, but the Calamity turned its ugly head back towards Link and growled. Zelda clicked her tongue, beckoning the beast into silence, and it struck a horror into Link so deep that he felt the ache in every joint of his body.

Calamity Ganon was obeying her.

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masterlist | whumptober by day | whumptober by collection | original post