#And then things like questions are typically just statements with a question mark

[have-kake]

I deadass need to write down the ruleset for how Mask talks istg. I need to be able to reference it on the fly when I'm in the flow/editing

[solar-wing]

⚣ Love's Punishment 🏛️

⚣🏛️ A/N → If y'all knew how many times I deleted and restarted this entire thing... I don't even remember how I got this idea, I just remember wanting to write an obsession/love spell fic where some male superheroes go batshit crazy & horny over the reader. Either way, hope you all enjoy it. WARNINGS: 18+ MDNI | OMEGAVERSE | Canon-Typical Violence | Alpha Barry Allen/Flash | Alpha Hal Jordan/Green Lantern | Alpha Clark Kent/Superman | Demigod-Omega Male Reader | Obsessive Behavior/Actions | Attempted Non-Con | Dub-Con | Oral Play | Knotting | Bonding Marks | Sneaky & Meddlesome Gods & Goddesses |

Prompts Used: @rednsuch – #39 “Just the smell of you gets me excited, darling.” – #13 “Stop being such a brat.”

⚣🏛️ Summary → One may ask what it's like having a God or Goddess for a parent. Honestly, not fun, and Y/N is a perfect example of that considering how he's being punished by his mother. How do you even bring up this level of mommy issues in therapy?

⚣🏛️ Word Count → 6.2K

REBLOGS and replies are greatly appreciated, please! 💛

⚣ ENJOY 🏛️

Daddy issues this, and Daddy issues that.

What about the people who have mommy issues? Because they exist, and Y/N would be shocked if anyone else’s relationship challenges with their mother were similar to his own.

Truthfully, he would never understand or believe the idea that someone could have sex and procreate with a god or goddess and not have one clue. There was no divine light following behind them? No wisps of magic or sparkles. No flowers and bright auras left in their footpaths?

Nothing, not a single clue?

Bullshit.

You may ask yourself, “Y/N, whatever could be wrong with someone having adult fun and having children with a god or goddess?”

Lots of things, actually. There could be an encyclopedia on why that could be a bad idea with lots of consequences to follow. Too many to get into right at this moment considering he was busy trying to cover his head and face from getting blasted while hanging off a superhero’s shoulders like a sack of potatoes.

Getting punished by a god or goddess was not for the weak.

No kid liked getting in trouble and punished by their parents. It was a very unpleasant and frustrating feeling when you had to answer for something you either 100% did without thinking of the circumstances, or something that happened and you were the victim of said circumstances.

But imagine getting punished by your God or Goddess parent for something that you had no control over. Even more, something said parent was directly responsible for!

The hypocrisy of it all.

Y/N’s father was a handsome man. Their genes were always divinely blessed, the Alpha always liked to joke, and the young Omega didn’t realize the irony of that statement until he got older and started questioning things.

Whenever he thought about changing his appearance or switching something up, it happened immediately without any action or movement from him. At one point during some teenage life crisis, he wanted to go blonde but didn’t even need to purchase dye. One moment he’s looking at his natural hair color and looks down to grab his comb. Next thing he knows, he’s got a full head of blond hair in the exact style he imagined. And it looked goood.

There was another time when he wished in his head that the sweater he was eyeing while shopping was gray instead of red, but according to the store, they never produced that particular color. When he went to go look at other options, imagine his surprise when he turned back two minutes later and it seemed as if the store did indeed have gray. And from a closer look, they only had gray. Starting to see the point?

Y/N could read people like a book, especially pertaining to feelings of affection, desire, and jealousy. Imagine the ability to feel someone’s very adult-like feelings, and you hadn’t even hit puberty yet. His dad had to have the birds and the bees talk with him much earlier than planned.

One of the most concerning things was Y/N's naturally attractive aura and charming voice. Though, he couldn’t tell if it was his voice or just the words he spoke that were attractive. But, people seemed to flock to him like moths to a flame. Even at a young age, many fought for his attention, whether it was classmates, friends, family, or strangers he’d run into when out with his dad.

It was normal for an Omega to be highly desired and sought after by Alphas, but it wasn’t just them fighting for his attention. Y/N had Betas and Omegas alike competing with each other for the chance to get acquainted with him.

By the time he entered high school, on record, he had up to four secret admirers (and two stalkers), and when things only seemed to get more out of control, that’s when his dad finally decided to sit him down and explain the truth to him.

“So, yeah. Probably should have told you this when you were younger, but your mom’s Aphrodite.”

…

Not joking, he 100% said it just like that.

Of course, you can imagine the Omega’s confusion and somewhat anger that this information had been withheld for most of his life. Now, not only did Y/N have to deal with the everyday struggles of life and being an Omega, but he also had to balance being the demigod son to the Goddess of Beauty, Love, and Desire. When you think about it, it made the Omega thing 10x more stressful than it already was.

This was the type of shit people wrote and fantasized about.

Wait a sec…

…

Nah.

Now, back to the beginning, since we have some more context, what was this so-called punishment, and why did it have Y/N grumbling about mommy issues while being whisked around the nation’s capital as some superheroes had it out with each other over who got to claim his body affection?

Oh, nothing serious, really. Just mommy dearest trying to interfere with her son’s love life! Who knew the immortal parents were privy to the same, petty tactics as their mortal counterparts…

Unlike most others who would be excited at the thought of being the child of Aphrodite, Y/N felt he had an unfair advantage when it came to dating and relationships, given his semi-godly abilities and gifts. After his last relationship ended in a horror show with a sequel he promised would never see production, he swore off dating and romance for good.

Well, that didn’t fly too well with Aphrodite. Her children, full-blood and half-blood, were always known for their romantic escapades. One of them was the face of Valentine’s Day! Well, his cousin from Rome was, at least.

So, with the help of her son and Y/N’s half-brother, Eros, God of Love, Lust, and Sex, (the mentioned Greek cousin to Cupid) they set up a little divine punishment for the young Demigod to teach him a lesson for rejecting his goldy heritage. It also paid off as insurance, just in case.

Deities and their children were always known to be stubborn little beings.

Aphrodite sent Eros down to Earth to follow his half-blood sibling around, observing his actions and who he interacted with. And, for any male Alpha that the Omega came in contact with, the God of Lust was to ensure a connection was established between the two if he deemed them worthy enough.

Simply put, he was to shoot male Alpha he figured his mother would approve as a match for her son/his brother in the ass with a love arrow. Now, why she told him to shoot only male Alphas and not female, you’d have to ask her.

Mother knows best.

Unlucky for Y/N, they chose one of the worst days to do that when he happened to be in Washington, D.C. for a work-related trip.

Do you know what else is in Washington, D.C.? The Justice League headquarters.

But, why would that be a problem? Do you really need an explanation?

Imagine how interesting it would be if, at the same time Y/N happened to be in Washington, D.C., one of the famous Justice League heroes like Flash, Green Lantern, or Superman happened to be there as well. Picture how tempting of an opportunity it would be for Eros after he was told to find the best potential matches for his little brother.

Pretty damn tempting if you ask anyone else.

Now, if we’re being truthful, Superman was Eros’ ideal choice for his brother, knowing their mother would definitely approve of the relationship between her son and the Kryptonian. Even if he wasn’t an Alpha due to his alien biology, he still had all the ideal traits of one. Not to mention his strong features and handsome looks.

But, he wasn’t opposed to one of the other heroes like Flash or Green Lantern. And when the latter had been the one to save Y/N during some random battle that broke out between the League and some villains, he figured why not just shoot them all and see who came out on top?

Plus, he was the God of Sex just as much as he was of Love. He wanted to see who out of the three heroes had the sexual prowess to handle someone like his brother. Prude or not, being mated to a child of Aphrodite meant you had to be strong in a lot of ways, especially when it came down to the nitty and gritty.

And who said he couldn’t get a little entertainment out of this?

That entertainment is what led Y/N to his situation of being carried throughout the city like some prize while the world’s defenders fought with each other like kids trying to get the last cookie in the jar.

As said, it started with Green Lantern rescuing him and carrying him away to some random rooftop. Everything seemed normal until Y/N noticed a change in the hero and his sudden lustful gazes that were being directed at him. He'd been on the receiving end of a fair amount of adoration and attention by admiring and persistent Alphas, but this he could tell was something different.

And it was.

Eros had shot Green Lantern with the love arrow while they were still in the sky. Now, instead of thinking about the fight he was leaving his comrades to handle by themselves without his assistance, all his thoughts were centered around the Omega in his arms and how blessed he was to be in the presence of such a radiant being.

And how much he couldn't wait to claim his body all for himself. Besides, no one was more fitting or deserving of an Omega of Y/N's stature than the Green Lantern himself. At least, that's what his love-delusioned, and frankly, naturally egotistical mind believed.

Y/N didn't have time to even question what was going on before the green-clad hero had whisked him away to a rooftop, not too far from where the fight was happening. He figured it was over after that and the Alpha would return to his comrades after setting him down.

Imagine the Omega's shock when he found himself pressed against a wall, the hero kissing and nuzzling his neck while running his hands down his body.

"W-What are you doing?" Y/N stuttered out, trying to push the man away but to no avail.

"What does it look like? I'm saving you," The hero's voice was gruff and desperate, and the Omega was starting to get concerned.

"Okay, but this is less saving and more of molesting," Y/N struggled, having his arms pinned against the wall before feeling a hand running down his body towards his pants.

"I'm saving you from other Alphas trying to claim you. After this, you'll belong to me, and me only," Lantern growled gruffly in his ear, an aggressiveness that was all too familiar to the Omega. He'd seen this behavior before but didn't have much time to think about it as the hero started unbuttoning his pants.

"W-Wait! Stop!"

"No, I can't," Lantern shook his head, his eyes glazed over.

"You're under a spell or something!" Y/N tried again, but his words fell on deaf ears.

"I can't stop myself. I need you now," The hero growled, finally pulling the Omega's pants and underwear down before undoing his own and pulling out his throbbing, hard cock.

"No! Stop! You don't want to do this!"

"Stop being such a brat. I need to do this," Lantern's voice was firm and demanding.

Before the green-clad hero could achieve his objective, he was suddenly yanked off the Omega by a red and yellow blur, electricity crackling off it. The Omega after realizing he was free wasted no time in pulling his underwear and pants back up, watching as the blur, now recognized to be Flash, was currently fighting with Green Lantern near the edge of the rooftop.

"What are you doing, man?!" Flash yelled, trying to restrain the other hero.

"Let go of me, I need to save him!" Lantern growled, fighting the speedster's hold.

"From what?" Flash questioned, looking at the Omega confused.

"He's mine!"

"He's not yours!"

"Yes, he is!"

"GL, you need to get a grip."

"He's my Omega! I need to mark him!"

From his position, Y/N could see Flash was struggling to hold the other Alpha down and figured he should probably make his exit right about now. He made his way over to the fire escape, about to climb over until a figure floated up from below.

Superman, ever in his large and slightly intimidating form with his cape blowing in the wind looked down at the Omega with a smile, offering his hand, "Need some help?"

The Omega smiled with a soft blush, trying to quell his nerves at the Alpha's admittedly very handsome and chiseled face. Again, the Omega was no prude, nor was he oblivious to all the gossip and rumors of the world's protectors and their handsome and muscular figures. The latter was made even more prominent by the tight nature of their uniforms.

Y/N would be lying if he said he wasn't looking at Flash's prominent glutes hidden under the red spandex.

But, before the Omega took the Kryptonian's equally large hand, he noticed something in the background. The fight that initially led to this whole mess was still going on. Yet, three of the main superheroes involved in that fight were over here. Flash, he threw to the back of his mind since the speedster did technically save him. But, why was Superman here?

That's when Y/N noticed something in the Kryptonian hero's eyes. An expression almost identical to the one he just saw in Green Lantern.

Uh oh.

Before the Omega could even react, the Alpha had already scooped him up into his arms and flew off into the sky.

"H-Hey! Put me down!" Y/N stuttered, struggling in the Alpha's hold.

"I can't. I need to save you," Superman's voice was low and deep, and the Omega could feel the vibrations from his chest.

Hmm, where had he heard that before?

"Save me from what?"

"Other Alphas trying to claim you," The Kryptonian explained, and Y/N could have sworn he heard a growl in his voice.

A nervous feeling settled into his stomach, and if he wasn't careful, he'd find himself falling prey and submissive to the very situation he was trying to find a way out of. Being Aphrodite's son as mentioned before, he had an extraordinary gift with the power of emotions and desires. He could project his feelings of desire and love onto others, just as much as he could mirror them.

Another one of those aforementioned consequences of deities breeding with mortals.

The only thing Y/N struggled to figure out though was why all of this was happening. He'd never had a run-in with any of these heroes before, and the only time he'd seen behavior like this was when it was related to his...

...Of course.

His mother.

Now, everything was starting to make sense. This could only be the work of mommy dearest, and if Y/N had to guess, his half-brother Eros as well.

He'd have to deal with that problem later, though. Right now, he needed to focus on the task at hand, and that was escaping the arms of a very powerful, very strong, and very horny superhero.

"You're mine. I'll protect you from the others," Superman continued, and Y/N could feel a slight rumble in the Alpha's chest.

"I'm not yours," The Omega shook his head, continuing to struggle.

"Yes, you are. You're mine," The Kryptonian's grip tightened, and the Omega winced at the pain.

Y/N looked down and quickly rid himself of any thoughts that he could survive a fall from this height. Even if he was Aphrodite's son, he lacked something vitally important that his mother and brother both possessed. Immortality.

Hopefully, he could figure another way out of this.

He knew there was no reasoning with the Alpha. As long as he was under Eros' spell, no amount of logic or reasoning would get through to him. As cliché as it may sound, Y/N needed a divine intervention.

Thankfully, it seemed as if one was on the way.

Trails of green energy suddenly surrounded the pair, forming a giant floating cage. Superman turned to see his comrade, having escaped from Flash's grasp flying toward them.

"Get away from him!" Green Lantern yelled, flying towards the duo.

"No! He belongs to me. You have no right to him Lantern," Superman shouted back, clutching the Omega closer.

"You're not even a real Alpha, Clark! You're not even strong enough to make an Omega like him submit to you."

"What did you just say?!"

"You heard me, you fake-ass Alpha. I'm the only one worthy enough for him. Not some alien trash!"

"Why, you-"

Before the two could continue their argument, a vortex suddenly surrounded the two, causing Lantern to lose his focus. The energy cage surrounding the Kryptonian and Omega dissipated and the force from the vortex sent the two heroes to lose their flying. Superman tried his best to stay in the air, but the sudden force was too much and caused him to crash into a nearby building while Lantern crashed into a dumpster.

The Kryptonian managed to shield the Omega from the damage and brunt of their fall by wrapping him in his body. When Y/N realized they weren't falling anymore and had come to a complete stop, he peeked from the Alpha's hold, just in time to see the return of a certain Speedster who must have run up the side of the building to where they were now.

"Are you guys alright?" Flash asked, his eyes landing on the Omega in Superman's arms.

"I'm fine," Y/N nodded, and Flash sighed in relief.

"A vortex, Flash? Really?" Superman questioned with a raised eyebrow, still holding the Omega to his body.

"It was the quickest way to get you two out of the air without hurting anyone," Flash defended, crossing his arms.

"By throwing us into a building?"

"Better than the ground."

"You could have gotten him killed!"

"You were the one holding him!"

"Guys, I'm fine. I promise," Y/N interrupted, and the two Alphas turned to him.

"See, he's fine. Let's get back to the fight," Flash suggested, turning to leave.

"No, not until he's mine," Superman shook his head, and the Omega groaned. He stood up from the ground, letting the Omega stand on his own feet, but keeping an arm wrapped body to prevent him from running off.

"Not this again," Flash sighed, turning back, "You can't claim him."

"And why not?"

"Because he's mine," Lantern's voice suddenly joined the conversation, and the three turned to see the hero, seemingly recovered from his fall, walking towards them.

"No, he's mine!" Superman shouted, his eyes suddenly glowing red as he pointed them at the green-clad hero.

"Clark, no!" Flash shouted, holding his arms up in an attempt to stop the Kryptonian.

"No, he's mine. He's mine. He's mine!" The Kryptonian yelled, his eyes getting brighter.

"Clark, you're gonna kill him!"

"I don't care, Barry. No one is taking my Omega from me."

"He's not yours to claim," Lantern shouted back.

While this was all happening, everyone was oblivious to the new presence that had joined him. Only, none of the heroes could see him. Only Y/N could, and that was a very big problem.

"Eros..." Y/N muttered under his breath, narrowing his gaze at his half-brother who held a mischievous grin on his face while positioning himself slowly behind the speedster.

When Y/N realized what he was doing, he struggled in the Kryptonian's grip, "Eros, no!"

But, it was too late. The deity had taken his shot at the Flash, hitting him perfectly square in the back. The speedster flinched at the impact, turning to look around but finding nothing there, at least, nothing his sight could see. But, when he turned his gaze back around and they fell on the Omega still trapped in Superman's hands, an identical glaze to match the one in the other heroes fell over his eyes. One the half-blood was all too familiar with.

"Oh fuck..." Y/N muttered under his breath.

"Mine," Flash growled, his eyes trained on the Omega.

Before either of the two other heroes could react, Flash sped forward and landed a bunch of fast punches and blows on the Kryptonian, causing him to lose his grip on the Omega.

"Flash, what are you doing?" Lantern yelled at his comrade.

"Taking what's mine," The speedster responded, a charming but crazed look in his expression.

He grabbed Y/N and threw him over his shoulder, the Omega flailing in his grip while also trying to hold on tight as the speedster sped around the space, avoiding attacks from both Green Lantern and Superman at the same time.

"He's not yours, Barry!" Superman shouted, his heat vision shooting at the speedster who avoided it with ease.

"Yes, he is! He's mine!" The speedster yelled, clutching the Omega tighter.

"No, he's mine," Lantern yelled back, sending a giant fist toward the speedster who avoided it in a blur.

"No, he's mine!" Superman yelled, sending his heat vision at Lantern who in turn blocked it with a shield.

"No, he's mine!" The two shouted together, and the fight resumed.

Y/N, still trapped in the speedster's arms, watched helplessly as the Kryptonian and Lantern focused their attacks on each other, feeling a pat on his ass from the speedster who tightened the grip he had around his legs.

"Don't worry about them, beautiful. They're not worthy enough to have you. I am. You'll be mine, and I'll protect you from the others," Flash's voice was husky, and the Omega could feel his heart pounding against his chest.

"You're under a spell, Flash. You don't want to do this," Y/N tried to reason, but the speedster just laughed.

"Oh, but I do. I didn't know what actual life was until just a few minutes ago when I gazed upon you. and now that I have you, I can finally make you mine," Flash smirked, and the Omega gulped.

Flash sped out of the building with the Omega over his shoulder still, the two other Alphas only noticing their disappearance after they were already a mile down the street.

"Shit, where did he take him?" Lantern asked, looking around.

"I don't know," Superman answered, "But we'll find him. And when we do, you'll be the one who has to step aside."

"Like hell, I will!"

While those two continued to bicker, Flash ran himself and the Omega all the way back to Central City. Y/N was amazed at how he didn't pass out from the speed and movement, but he was grateful he didn't. Also, having superspeed may have made it a bit easier.

Just a guess.

When they finally came to a stop, the Omega was set down on his feet, and he looked around to see they were in some bedroom.

"Where are we?" Y/N asked, trying to keep his composure.

"My bedroom," Flash answered, his eyes still glazed over.

"Oh," Y/N nodded, a nervous feeling in his stomach.

"Don't worry, you're safe here," The speedster walked towards him, and the Omega backed away, "I'm not gonna hurt you."

"You say that, but your eyes say otherwise," Y/N responded, continuing to back away until he hit the wall.

"I know. But, I can't help it. I need to have you," Flash smirked, and the Omega felt his arousal getting excited in his pants.

"I'm not yours to have," Y/N shook his head, his heart pounding.

"Yes, you are," Flash's voice was firm, and the Omega felt his resolve fading.

"I-I'm not," Y/N stuttered, his knees getting weak.

"Yes, you are," The speedster was in front of him, and Y/N could feel his breath on his skin.

"I'm not," Y/N shook his head, but his voice was barely a whisper.

"You are," Flash whispered, his face close to the Omega's.

The very thing Y/N was concerned about happening when he was trapped with Superman earlier began to manifest, much to his fear. His divine abilities were reacting to his body's 'chemistry spikes' and now, he was beginning to mirror the Alpha's current feelings toward him, including the obsessive ones, which were now clouding his judgment.

"I'm not," Y/N shook his head, his breathing getting labored.

"You are," Flash whispered, his lips getting closer to the Omega's.

"I'm not," Y/N stuttered, his body giving in.

"You are," Flash whispered, pressing his lips to the Omega's.

"I'm not," Y/N muttered against his lips.

"You are," Flash said firmly, pulling the Omega's body closer to him.

In a move Y/N thought was him going to push against the Alpha in an attempt to resist his seductions, he actually was running his hands up and down the spandex-covered muscles. His legs were spread open by the speedster as he hoisted him up, wrapping them around his waist while pressing him to the wall, kissing him even harder while undressing his clothes.

"You're mine, Y/N," The speedster whispered, his lips trailing down the Omega's neck, "All mine."

"I'm yours, Barry," Y/N panted, his body flushed. Y/N remembered hearing Superman call the speedster by that, figuring it must have been either his civilian name or a codename they had. Either way, he could see from the delighted expression across the Flash's face and his blue eyes through the slits of his mask that he was very pleased by it.

"Say it again."

"I'm yours, Barry. I'm yours."

"That's right, beautiful. You're mine, and I'm yours. You'll never have to worry about other Alphas again, because I'll protect you from them."

The sun's light cascaded through the open windows in the bedroom as the two continued frotting against each other against the wall. Barry trailed his kisses from Y/N's lips down to his neck and eventually to his naked chest, before sucking on his wet nipples while the Omega through his head back in pleasure, the Alpha looking up at him with his blue eyes before taking his lips away from the leaking nubs.

"Do you like that, darling?" Barry asked, and the Omega nodded, his eyes glazed over, "Are you ready for more?"

"Y-Yes, Alpha," Y/N nodded, his breath labored.

"Good boy," Barry whispered, his voice husky and deep. He kissed the Omega one last time on the lips before pulling him away from the wall, carrying him bridal style to the bed.

Barry laid the Omega down, the latter spreading his legs open in submission and invitation, and the former smirked, climbing on top of the bed. Barry pressed kisses to the side of the Omega's neck again, right over his scent gland before taking a big sniff.

"Just the smell of you gets me excited, darling."

Barry's hands roamed the Omega's upper naked body, feeling the smooth and soft skin while trailing his fingers down his sides and to his hips. Y/N gasped, his hands gripping the sheets as the speedster's fingers teased the inside of his thighs.

"I love the way your skin feels, and the way your body reacts to me," Barry whispered, his nose pressing into the Omega's scent gland.

"Barry," Y/N moaned, his body arching off the bed.

"Say it again," Barry growled, his hands squeezing the Omega's hips.

"Barry," Y/N moaned, his eyes closed.

"That's right, baby. I'm Barry, and you're mine," Barry whispered, his fingers moving up the Omega's inner thighs.

"I'm yours," Y/N nodded, his legs spreading open even wider.

However, before Barry could move to remove the Y/N’s pants, the Omega whined at him, tugging on the spandex of his suit and mask with his hands causing a cheesing smile to appear across the Alpha's face.

"Aw, you want to see me out of my suit, don't you, darling?" Barry asked, and the Omega nodded frantically.

"Yes, Alpha. Please."

"Good boy," Barry praised, and the Omega whimpered.

He quickly removed his gloves and masks, tossing them aside before unzipping the top of his suit and pulling it off, revealing his sculpted and muscled chest. Y/N's eyes widened in delight and appreciation at the sight, reaching his hands out to touch the smooth and pale skin.

The Omega moaned happily at the sight, running his hands down the hard pecs and abs while leaning up to press his own kisses against the skin. Barry shuddered above him from the move while resuming his earlier actions of removing the offending pants and underwear that were hiding his prize from his sight.

Tossing the pants aside, he leaned up and took in the sight of the fully naked Omega, writhing on his sheets and whining for him, feeling his own throbbing hard erection under his suit pants.

"Look at you, darling. So beautiful, and all mine," Barry ran his hands down the Omega's sides, creating a tickling feeling that had the smaller male giggling, "I can't wait to claim your body, all for me," he growled, voice husky with want.

Barry kissed his way down the Omega's chest, taking a moment to bite and lick at the leaking nubs again before gripping his thighs and spreading them open. He positioned his head between the open legs while staring at the tight, slick-producing hole in front of him. He lapped his tongue to gather of taste of it on his tongue, Y/N flinching violently at the sensation while calling out the Alpha's name.

"Delicious," Barry muttered, before diving in on the wet treat in front of him.

"Oh fuck," Y/N moaned, his hands gripping the bed sheets tightly.

Barry's tongue lapped at the dripping slick, his hands gripping the Omega's thighs tight and pushing them open even further to gain better access. Y/N moaned, his back arching off the bed while the Alpha's tongue entered his hole, tasting him from the inside.

"Barry, please. Please, I need it. Please," Y/N begged, his body shaking with arousal and want.

Barry didn't listen to him though, he kept feasting on the Omega's arousal while using his speed to vibrate his tongue inside him, causing the Omega to moan even louder, his body shaking with pleasure.

"Barry, please! a-ah, fuck ... !" Y/N cried, his body shaking even more.

"What do you need, baby? Tell me," Barry asked, pulling his tongue out and looking at the Omega with a smirk.

"I-I need you... Please, please," Y/N begged, and the Alpha smiled.

"You want me, baby?"

"Yes, Alpha. Please, I need you. Please."

"Well, since you asked so nicely."

The Alpha discarded the rest of his suit and underwear, his throbbing erection springing free, causing the Omega to lick his lips at the sight. Barry chuckled at his reaction while pulling him down the bed and picking him up in his arms, wrapping the smaller male's legs around him and pressing him against the wall.

Barry played with his cock against the Y/N's wet heat, enjoying the pleasurable reactions that ran across the Omega's face. "Who's your Alpha?" He asked with another playful smack of his mushroom head against the hot and throbbing entrance.

"Y-You, Alpha," Y/N panted, his face red and eyes glazed over.

"That's right, baby. I'm your Alpha," Barry whispered before he slowly slid inside the Omega.

"Fuck!" Y/N yelled, his head leaning back against the wall.

"So tight and warm. It's like you were made just for me, baby," Barry moaned, his cock pushing all the way in until his balls were pressed against the Omega's ass.

Y/N dug his nails into the skin of Barry's shoulders while the Alpha pressed him harder against the wall, his hips rapidly moving back and forth as he fucked him hard. The speedster's hips and legs were already dripping with more and more of the Omega's arousal as it dripped into his carpet, creating more of a mess the harder he thrust in and out of the hole.

"h-harder ... p-please, harder ..." Y/N moaned, his eyes closed while Barry sucked on his neck.

"So beautiful," Barry growled, his hands gripping the Omega's ass cheeks while thrusting harder, "Such a good little Omega, taking my cock so well."

"Barry! Barry!" Y/N moaned, his legs wrapped tighter around the Alpha's waist.

"Say it again," Barry growled, his hips moving faster.

"Barry!" Y/N moaned, his back arching.

Suddenly, Barry got the bright idea to add his speed to it, making his hips move at a pace that would be deemed impossible for any regular human. Good thing he wasn't a regular human. However, the increase in speed had Y/N shouting at the top of his lungs, tears springing to his eyes as he pounded his fists against the Alpha's hard, mildly sweaty chest.

Meanwhile, Y/N was a soaking mess. The shine from the sweat all around his body was highlighted by the sun's fading rays and the increasingly bright glow from the streetlights outside the window. Combined with the sticky fluid still leaking from his chest and the slick that was all but splashing between the Alpha and Omega.

"That's it, baby. Take my cock. Take it all," Barry growled, his hips moving faster.

"Barry, I-I'm gonna... I'm gonna cum," Y/N cried, his legs shaking.

"Do it. Cum for me, baby," Barry commanded, and the Omega followed.

"Fuck!" Y/N screamed, his back arching and his eyes rolling back into his head as he came between the two, digging nails into Barry's sweaty back as his release overwhelmed him.

"That's a good Omega," Barry said, before slipping out of the smaller male, carrying him over to the bed and propping him up on all fours.

He gripped the Omega's hips, sliding back inside him and fucking him at a rapid pace, his hips slapping against the plump ass cheeks. Y/N's eyes rolled back into his head as he cried out, his body shaking with pleasure while the Alpha fucked him.

"That's it, baby. Take it," Barry growled, his grip tightening on the Omega's hips.

"p-please, I can't... FUCK! I can't take anymore... !" Y/N cried, his body shaking as the Alpha started using his powers again to increase his speed.

"You can, and you will," Barry growled, his hips moving even faster.

"Barry, please! Fuck, I'm gonna... !"

"Do it. Cum for me, baby. Cum for your Alpha," Barry growled.

"mm ... mmh ... ! O-OHH, FUCK ... !" Y/N shouted, his back arching and his eyes rolling back into his head as he came, his legs and body shaking from the overstimulation as the Alpha started to chase his own finish.

Barry's knot started to form at the base and slowly was inching closer and closer as the Alpha fucked the Omega who was beginning to softly cry from the amount of pleasure and pain he was experiencing. His hands weakly tried to push against the speedster's hips in an attempt to slow him down but were snatched together in a grip while feeling a painful smack against his ass.

"Don't try and fight it, baby. Just let me claim you. Just let me have you," Barry growled, throwing his head back in pleasure.

"Barry, I-I can't ... !" Y/N cried, his body shaking.

"Yes, you can. Just a little longer," Barry's hips started to stutter, and the Omega cried out, his legs shaking as he felt the Alpha's knot starting to press against his hole.

"Barry, please! PLEASE ... !" Y/N sobbed, his body convulsing on the inside from the overwhelming sensation.

"Just a little longer, baby. Just a little longer."

"I-I can't... Please, I can't ... !"

"Almost there, baby. Who's your Alpha?"

"Y-You... You are ... !"

"That's right, baby. I'm your Alpha. And, now I'm gonna make you mine. Forever."

With that, Barry pressed all the way inside, releasing his knot into the Omega with a loud groan as he leaned forward, catching himself on the bed as Y/N had his third orgasm against the sheets, suddenly feeling heavy and drained from the strenuous workout he just went through.

While the pair were both recovering, neither of them realized the small, matching marks that slowly appeared over their scent glands. They were now a fully mated pair, and the God of Love and Sex knew this as he peered in through the window, watching the sweaty individuals with satisfaction.

"Welp, my job's done. I'm sure Mother will be pleased with this outcome. Serves you right, brother. You should know better than to try and deny your heritage. Hope you learn well from this punishment."

With that, the deity disappeared, making his way home.

Meanwhile...

"That should be the last of them," Lantern said, flying through the air after he captured the last of the attacking minions.

"Good," Superman nodded, his eyes still glowing white as he scanned the area.

"What are you doing?" Lantern asked, looking at the Kryptonian confused.

"Looking for him."

"Who?"

"The Omega."

"Oh yeah, do you think Barry already claimed him?"

"Probably, but it doesn't matter. Cause he belongs to me, and I'm going to take him back, by whatever means necessary."

☀️ | Barry Allen/Flash | ☀️

☀️ | Masterlists | ☀️

[easy-there-leftovers]

Mixed Messages

Written with season 1 Spencer in mind

Summary: The 5 times that you think you might hate Spencer Reid + the 1 time you realize you can't.

Alternatively; You're completely oblivious to your own growing feelings for Spencer that it constantly puts you in harm's way.

This can be seen as a prequel-sequel + sequel (?) to "A Question Unasked," but can be read independently of it.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem! (mentored by Hotch!) reader | cw: slight spoilers for s1e02, s1e04, s1e06, s1e10, and s1e18 | reader gets really mean in the later half lol |slight description of canon-typical violence, slight timeframe switches because it made more sense that way | word count: 8.9k (yowza--)

“It’s something, I know it is.” You mutter to yourself, rubbing the pads of your fingers together in an attempt to gather your thoughts. But you can’t. 

Can’t find it. 

Can’t find that one word.

“What do you call that thing when you–” you snap your fingers at your colleague. Your equal. “I’m sorry– what do you call the urge to do something or behave a certain way?”

This was your second case out on the field with the rest of the BAU since you’ve been recruited, and it had not been easy for you. 

The BAU always seemed like a prestigious unit to be a part of. Only the best of the best ever got to rub elbows up in that department, having been founded by Jason Gideon and David Rossi. 

Two of the most legendary profilers in the world.

And right now you, you haven’t been feeling the best. But Aaron Hotchner seemed to have thought otherwise.

Spencer thinks for a moment, trying to understand what you had just asked him while he stared at the board that still had the team’s ideas on it. 

“Actually, it could be a number of things; urges, cravings, stressors, compulsions–”

“That one! You’re amazing at this, Dr. Reid.” 

After noticing your knack for the more analytical aspects of the job, your mentor, the unit chief himself, had assigned you to work with one Dr. Spencer Reid. Another fresh grad that could not have been any older than you, but certainly seemed way smarter. 

He said that you would work well together.

And you believed him.

You looked at the calendar that had been marked when the fires were started, fully missing how the genius had frozen at your praise, and you frantically reviewed the theory in your head. 

Double-checking, triple-checking, and nodding when you see it’s consistent.

You then hurriedly pulled up the recording of Matthew in his dorm. Hovering so close to the screen, that Spencer had to be equally as close to it, and by extension to you, in order to even try seeing what you were seeing.

 “Do you see it?” You look back at him, and his face is so close, you almost lose your nerve but thankfully, Gideon opens the door to check up on the both of you.

He pauses as if he’s seeing something he shouldn’t be, but carries on anyway.

“Don’t just look at the next move. It’s like chess, think three steps ahead.” He says it mostly to Spencer, you notice, but you also notice how he was slightly bothered by your proximity to his protege. 

He doesn’t say anything about it, but you’re working as a profiler now for a reason.

You move away a little. 

When he leaves, Spencer turns to look at you again and asks what you saw. 

“See this?” You ask as you point to the part where there were two, clearly lit windows on screen and he nods. “There are two fires, right?” He nods again.

“Now look at this,” You show him the part where Matthew gets wet with gasoline, and is eventually set aflame. 

“That was the third fire.”

You see Spencer’s eyes light up at your statement, and you hurriedly scrub back to where the unsub had been trying the door knob. Making sure to zoom in on the handle.

This time, it's the boy-genius that says it. “He turns the knob three times.” He looks at you to confirm his statement, and you nod. Looking into his eyes. 

Something you did out of respect.

“Right, so if we’re not wrong,” you use the pronoun on purpose, “the professor’s office should have something to do with the number three as well.”

He walks with you to the burned office, professor Wallace’s office, and there you collectively discover more of the same number. 

You have all the evidence you need.

***

“Sir Hotchner, we know why the profiles never fit.” It’s you who opens the door first, but Spencer is the one that carefully closes it behind you.

He looks at Gideon. “You were right to tell Morgan not to rely on precedent.” He then sets up the computer that you two had brought and you continue for him.

“So far, the fires that have been set are completely task-oriented.”

Hotch quirks his brows at that. “So once the fires are set, the unsub is done?”

You nod.

“Correct, sir. The reason why the profile never fit is because it contradicts the mold of a classic serial arsonist– his use of fire is the compulsion of a completely different disorder.” “Which is?” Gideon questions.

“An extreme manifestation of OCD– Obsessive Compulsive Disorder.” Spencer answers as he finally found out how to turn the computer on. The two of you exchanging lines in perfect synchronization.

“He does everything in threes. And if I’m right, he’ll have to kill again.”

The four of you discuss the behavioral evidence that had led to this discovery, with Spencer taking the lead as he mentions its possible tie to ‘scrupulosity,’ a type of OCD centering on religious obsession. 

As you continue though, and you know you shouldn’t take it to heart, but the way that Gideon’s constantly questioning your ideas and not Spencer’s was starting to make you feel uneasy. As if you were a bug under his careful scrutiny. 

Or was it the way that you sat?

 Granted, there were only three chairs in the area, so you had absentmindedly sat on the bit of the desk that had been uncluttered. No one else seemed to be bothered by it, and certainly not Spencer, who had cleared the area nearest to him just for you. 

So what…?

Being the non-confrontational kind, but not one to be pushed around, you take a mental departure from the discussion and start thinking about what else could be useful to the case. Bringing something new to the table that’s relevant.

You try to think if there had been anyone that stood out to you. Spencer had mentioned religious obsession, and the call from earlier definitely supported the idea, but you couldn’t single out one theology student that would fit that criteria.

You tried getting up from where you sat. Pacing has always helped you gather your thoughts, but you didn’t even need to take those few steps when you felt the cold sweat run down your back.

And it seemed like Gideon had noticed it. “What is it?”

You turned to slowly face the rest of them. “I think I know who it might be.” You groan as you think about it.

 “And it’s not a he.”  If you thought about this too late and another fire is happening right now– 

—-------

It wasn’t until you were on the flight home that you felt like you could breathe easy again. You didn’t have to be near Gideon anymore, giving you the side eye every time you were the least bit close to his protege.

You could just exist silently while you think about what to write in your report.

It wasn’t Spencer’s fault, nor his mentor’s, you thought as you stared at the somewhat empty file in your hand.

 You’re sure that Reid didn’t mean to take credit for the theory that you had essentially spelled out for him, and you’re also sure that Gideon was just a little uncomfortable with how unprofessional you might’ve seemed. 

Looking all cozied up with his golden boy. That had to be the only reason why he practically ignored you, but congratulated the boy-genius.

You sigh and wonder if you’ll ever get on his good side. Maybe you just needed to work a little harder.

As you nod at your resolve, it's your mentor that takes a seat in front of you.

“Congratulations on your second case.” You’re still a little starstruck, getting to work with him, but you manage out a polite, ‘thank you’ as a response. 

You try to make yourself look busy by rereading the other file that had been completed.

You already made a fool of yourself in front of one of your seniors, you didn't want to mess up in front of him too. Hotch could–

“I meant it, by the way.” 

You look up at him again. Eyes wide in question, and perhaps fear, as you realize you don’t understand what he’s talking about.

“You were focused on that calendar more than any of us, even before we landed in Arizona. You recognized the pattern before you even knew what it meant. And that definitely helped.”

“Oh.” Is all you could say, because what else could you have said?

A small laugh leaves your mouth. He recognized you for your efforts. Made it known that he saw what you saw, and that what you saw was helpful. 

Without the usual mention of the boy-genius.

It was a moment just for you. 

A moment where you vowed to work harder. Smarter.

And the moment you knew that SSA Aaron Hotchner was the best leader that you could ever have.

“Oh and agent?” Both you and Spencer look back to see your supervisor, but you see that it’s you that he’s singling out. “A private word, if you please.”

You nod without a second thought, despite not knowing what this other meeting could possibly be for. You were just as clueless as you were about the one earlier. 

What you weren’t clueless about was how you felt towards your situation. You had been assigned to work with Spencer so often that you were starting to get sick of it. 

Not a slight to his company at all, on the contrary! You actually enjoyed it! He was a fascinating and accomplished young man that charmed his way into your heart with his little fun facts and references. 

And if that weren’t enough, Morgan hadn’t exactly coined the nickname “pretty boy” just for laughs.

 Dr. Reid lived up to that expectation. 

With his soft brown hair, bright, inquisitive eyes, and how cozy he always seemed in his clothes— how could anyone dislike him? 

No, it was the attention that you were getting that was starting to frustrate you. Or perhaps the wrong kind of attention, would be more appropriate.

Lately, it seemed as if you were only being treated as an extension of Dr. Reid. As if you were always attached at the hip, and that you always knew where he had to be and what it was that he was doing. 

You don’t know where all this came from. Not even a little bit.

All you know is that it was slowly starting to rub you the wrong way, and that you wanted a semi-permanent departure from the situation.

But that didn’t happen because Spencer had just unknowingly shut down your only chance.

You digress, and put your feelings aside for now. You were at work, after all.

“What did you want to discuss with me sir?” 

Hotch makes the effort to clear away his desk for a bit, and places his hands on top of it. Grasping them together as he looks at you with his usual stern expression.

“We’ll be issuing you a gun soon. You’re qualified to own one after having enough hours on the field, and you’ve shown a respectable record, so please keep that in mind.”

Your eyes widen in glee. Those were just a few words, but you couldn’t help how your heart swelled in pride at them.

It wasn’t the gun that you were happy about, it was what it represented.

Being issued a gun by the bureau signified that you were officially part of the team, and that you were deemed a responsible enough member of the organization to be trusted with it.

You should be honored to be given this chance and yet it felt sort of wrong— something didn’t sit right with you.

“Sir, with all due respect, while I’m thankful for the opportunity, I don’t see why I’m being issued a gun when Dr. Reid has still yet to have one.”

He sighs at that, as if he had hoped that you wouldn’t ask, but he tells you anyway. 

“Dr. Reid has failed numerous firearm qualifications and will be retaking his test soon.”

You nod slowly, still not quite seeing the relation between the two scenarios.

He sighs again, but this time, with a small, tight smile. 

“We’ve been thinking that it would instill more confidence in him if you knew your way around a gun. He seems to have a great respect for you, and seeing you have one might help him a bit.”

You smile at that and respond good-naturedly. “Duly noted, sir! I’ll make sure he has the confidence that could rival even Derek Morgan’s.”

He shows you a polite smile and dismisses you promptly. Getting back to his stack as you nod and you make your way to his door.

It shouldn’t bother you, and it doesn’t, you think.

 A job’s a job. 

If it wasn’t going to be you, it was going to be someone else. You just so happened to have been given this particular job due to the presumed rapport you had with one another, and you saw no problem with that.

You trust your boss, and it’s not like you dislike Spencer, so it shouldn’t bother you at all.

And yet it does, ever so slightly, when you see Morgan and Elle, crowding and cooing around him like he was a baby when you make it out of Hotch’s office.

You’re confused at what it is that you’re feeling, but you hear something akin to the word, ‘math.’ What could they be teasing him about now? 

“Is something going on here?” You hope they don’t see how hard you’re trying to keep a straight face. Looking to and fro.

You’re at work now, and you can’t let your emotions get the best of you. 

 "Was just caught trying to add my stack onto pretty boy's plate." Morgan says with his usual chuckle.

You detect a slight hint of something else hidden somewhere in there, probably another inside joke that you weren’t in on, but you can’t bring yourself to pay it any mind. 

So you let out a small, ‘hm’ to let them know that you heard what he said, and you eventually turn your back to them to reach your desk.

You don’t see the way Derek shoots you a knowing look.

And you don’t see the way Spencer looks at you longingly either. Too busy burying yourself in another stack of files, sure to go overtime once again, to drown out the unknown feeling that was welling up inside you. 

Did you hate Spencer Reid?

“Isn’t it amazing he knows what he knows and he’s only twenty-four?” Gideon huffs out and gives Aaron a small smile in response.

“Imagine what he’ll know by fifty.” 

It’s times like these that you remember that he does have the capability to smile. Well of course he’s smiling, his surrogate son looked like he was having the time of his life, blowing out those trick candles. 

Everyone crowded around him.

Everyone but you and the two seniors.

You want this moment to be something that everyone can enjoy, and you know just how much it would sour Gideon’s mood if you were right over there. So you opted to take your place right next to Hotch.

And Hotch seemed to notice that.

“Why aren’t you with the rest of them?”

You really don’t want to answer that right now. Not when the reason is staring right back at you, waiting for your response as well.

“I can see the party just fine from here.” Is what you settle for, and look right at Spencer’s still heaving back to make a point.

Before he could question it any further, he’s called to the other side of the room where a phone call was waiting for him. 

Reid takes the opportunity to excuse himself and take his place by Gideon’s side.

“You having fun?” The elder asks and he nods slowly at that.

“Yes, definitely. I am definitely– having fun.” 

He punctuates each pause with a tight-lipped smile and a snark that is just itching to break free and you can’t help the little chuckle that escapes you. As it happens however, you quickly try to hide it behind a cough and a cover of your mouth.

You’re right next to Gideon, you need to look professional, you think, no matter how cute or ridiculous Spencer might look. 

You quickly try to find Hotch with your eyes to ground yourself. Trying your best to zone out and not pay attention to the conversation happening right beside you, but it’s getting increasingly harder to do that.

“I wonder where the cake was from.” The younger one asks absentmindedly, but you feel the twitch of your fingers at the question. 

Gideon subtly looks over to you, but he doesn’t answer him. Instead asking if he made a wish yet, which quickly changes the trajectory of Spencer’s questions.

You let out a breath of relief, but the moment is short-lived when you see the solemn expression on Hotch’s face.

“Sorry guys. Party’s over.” You put your game face on, and quickly excuse yourself from them to grab your go bag. 

What you didn’t see was that Spencer had failed to notice Gideon’s gaze because he had been looking somewhere else. 

He had been looking at you. Waiting for you to greet him with a happy birthday like the rest of them did.  You were the only one that wasn’t there, after all.

But you had already been looking at Hotch, and that, he notices.

***

The more cases you work for the BAU, the more you realize how much of your work isn't just the investigation anymore. 

You feel it when you still see the victims’ faces when you close your eyes. 

Feel it in the hammer of your chest when you have to face off another degenerate with a gun. 

Feel it in the tenseness of your shoulders when either Spencer, or Gideon, or Hotch, or any of them are looking at you because if they even have the slightest idea that you’re not doing fine, you’ll lose your place on the team.

If you even had one, that is.

It was a strange position you were in. Everyone was expecting you to be boy-genius’ sidekick or something. Having all these ideas of you being someone bigger and stronger than you really were. 

Someone that was smart enough to show him just where to look, but not smart enough for the rest of the local PD to listen to because for some reason, it was more believable when it came out of Dr. Reid’s mouth.

You still remember how Morgan rolled his eyes at you when you corrected him. ‘It’s a ballad, actually. Not a poem.’

What’s worse was that the only person that didn’t seem to have this expectation of you was Spencer himself because he had no idea that any of this was even going on. 

He didn’t ask for this.

He was just doing his job, just like you were.

You’re officially off duty, now that you’re on the flight back to Quantico. So you unfortunately no longer have the excuse to shut away your feelings for the sake of your profession. 

You sigh and figure that maybe a little shut eye could help, but that idea is completely thrown out the window when you hear the soft pads of rubber-soled shoes shuffling on the jet’s carpeted floor.

You look up to see the less than comfortable posture of one Dr. Spencer Reid. Obviously caught between trying to go back to the main space, and just staying near the tail where you were.

Your heart warms at the sight and you invite him over.

You were thankful that he took up on your offer. 

Even under the harsh lights of the craft, you still notice just how soft Spencer looks. Even softer now that he’s donning your gift, and rambling on and on about how cool the color purple was to him. Gesticulating with his hands in a frenzy and you relax for what feels like the first time in months.

If you didn’t work together, you realize, you could’ve been a lot closer. He’s everything that you liked about a guy. He was smart and sensible, with a childlike wonder for anything and everything. 

There was an endless amount of things that he could accomplish, with a brain like that.  

And he was only twenty-four.

He was just like you, so why weren’t you closer? You ask yourself this as you sigh out, but you immediately find your answer in the form of his and your mentor looking right back at you. Whispering amongst themselves and occasionally shaking their heads. 

Looking just like they had earlier when you had brought in Spencer’s cake before the rest of BAU had showed up for duty. 

You know that there’s no way Reid can see them. Not when his back is quite literally turned to them, so you opt to ignore it. Maybe it was all in your head.

And maybe working with him so often wasn’t so bad. 

After all, how could you hate Spencer Reid when he’s this happy from just a scarf?

You see the scarf again, soon enough. 

Maybe a little too soon.

The BAU had received an urgent call to McAllister, Virginia to investigate the supposed work of a satanic cult. Two bodies that had sustained identical blunt-force trauma to the head were recovered, one skeleton and one fresh, but the team was debating the involvement of the cult in the case.

“You're saying that there's no such thing as devil worship?” Elle asks with disbelief, but is quickly answered by Gideon.

“Not at all. But most of the satanism that we've seen is juveniles damaging property, desecrating churches, cemeteries,” He shrugs a little as he pauses.

“Besides,” you add. “Satanists, removed from religious stigma, are just ethical hedonists. They reject the perceived oppression of the Christian community by building their own, and indulging in more worldly pleasures. They’re not inherently violent.”

The elder nods at that, and you feel a bit proud of yourself in that moment.

“And to my knowledge, there has never been a proven case of a satanic ritual killing in the United States.”

“Well, maybe there is now.”

***

The scene is certainly interesting.

Gideon, Reid, JJ, and you were curious about the state of the older body, so you had made your way down the steep slope to check up on it. You get acquainted with the local sheriff while you’re there too and he explains that they found the body when they were doing their own investigation.

 Just seventy-five feet away from where they found Adam.

“It's a man. The male pelvis is more narrow and the opening at the bottom is heart-shaped, as opposed to oval.” Spencer announces as he prods at the body’s clothes with a stick, but he is immediately distracted by another element.

“Melted wax?”

“Candle wax?” JJ asks as she leans forward a bit to see it too. Spencer agrees.

“Candles are used in rituals.”

“They’re also used on birthday cakes.” Gideon is no longer interested in the scene and looks for something else that could be nearby. 

You, however, notice something different about the body. You were expecting it to look different.

If you were blitzed from behind, gravity tells you that you should fall forward. Chest on the ground.

But this skeleton’s chest was facing up. 

“Actually, they were originally used to protect the birthday celebrant from demons for the coming year. As a matter of fact, down to the fourth century, Christianity rejected the birthday celebration as a pagan ritual.”

You nod, seemingly not paying attention, but you add on to that. Much to Spencer's delight.

“Yeah, they thought that evil spirits lurked around the days of major changes so they lit candles for every year that had passed. Anway, sir, do you happen to have a good picture of Adam’s dead body?”

The sheriff narrows his eyes at the two of you, then looks at JJ who only shakes her head with a smile. 

“What kind of kids did you bring out here?” 

***

You’re surprised it took you this long to actually feel like you needed a gun. 

Hotch, as always, had paired you and Spencer together.

 Again. 

But this time, it was to go out on the field.

You had been left behind with him to continue searching the Jenson’s house. To look for anything that could concretely point to the group being responsible if the case ever went to court, but you and Reid found nothing.

And it was expected that you would find nothing. You and him had agreed that it was just far too convenient if you did, but then that kid— Cory— He asked you two to check the abandoned house farther up. 

A house that you’re pretty sure not even his father knew about.

And that’s when you got the idea. It was dark, law enforcers weren’t nearby, and you were trying to trace the tracks of an unsub that lived in an area only locals wouldn’t get lost in. You had every right to feel nervous. 

Especially when you had that sinking feeling that the unsub was the one guiding you right where he wanted you to be.

So when he led you to a house that had the goth kids’ insignia written in bright, red paint, you knew that you had to play along. 

But you also knew that whatever may or may not have been up there, the team wouldn’t want Spencer to see.

You didn’t want him to see.

So you look back at him, and nod. Giving him a look that told him that you would check the house alone, that you had a plan, and that he should stay exactly where he was until you gave him the okay clear.

By the time you got back down, he knew you saw it. 

You saw the girl, and you knew you had to get Spencer out of here.

Fast.

“Was she in there?” Cory grabbed you by the shoulder, and you could only gulp.

You had to think quickly, but you were also still so shocked to see her in– whatever state it was that you saw.

And then this kid was just pretending like he didn't know jackshit about it.

“She was in there.” Was all you could breathe out, vacantly looking past the kid that eventually let you go.

 You instinctively reach for your phone, speed dialing Hotch, but the service was so bad up here that it wouldn’t even go through. You had to clear the area, in case this goes haywire.

With no other choice, you said what you thought could get him out of there.

“Dr. Reid, I need you to check back downhill and see if the deputies have returned.” He looks at you incredulously.

“What? No! I can’t leave you here– ” 

“We need the rest of the sheriffs and the crime scene team here.” Looking dead into his eyes, he still doesn’t relent.

You need to calm yourself down. The more he thinks you’re not okay, the more difficult it’s going to be to convince him to leave.

He whispers your name as if it’ll persuade you. Grasping your shoulders like Cory did, albeit more gently.

“Right now, you’re experiencing an acute stress response, also known as the fight-or-flight response. It would be much safer for all of us to–” “Do as you’re told.” 

He freezes, but he’s still looking right at you. Eyes shaking in what you assume to be fear or worry, but he eventually nods and leaves. Constantly looking over his shoulder at you and he trips a little because of it.

You make sure that he’s out of sight before turning back to the football-genius. 

 You saw the gun he wasn’t so subtly concealing in his pants, and there was no way you were going to risk him hurting anyone else. You included.

You position yourself right in front of the house. If he makes a break for it and runs in there, it’ll be game over for just one cop and one manic robber. So you try to keep the open forest his only escape route.

That’s when you start cornering him. 

Telling him that you knew what the profile said about the killer and how it all seemed too good to be true. How the crime had to have been done by someone who was just as smart and connected as him.

How it could have only been done by him.

What you failed to take into account however was how Spencer would have definitely come back to check on you and report his findings.

Your heart drops as he stumbles into the fray.

Which is why you’re here right now.

Gun drawn at the kid, with his own resting right on your friend’s head. 

“She shouldn't have gotten mixed up in all this, it was his run! I didn’t mean to hurt her, but make no mistake– I will shoot your boy right now.”

You raise your hands and drop your gun in surrender. Scared of what he might do to him if you don’t.

—-

You hear Aaron Hotchner shout for you as he approaches uphill and you sigh. 

You’re fully expecting to hear a lecture, but not the look of deep impatience that graces your supervisor’s face.

 “Agent, I hope you understood what just happened.”

You shrink under his gaze, but he doesn’t let up. “Your actions during this operation put both you, and Reid, in serious danger.”

“Sir, but we handled it. I even made extra sure to evacuate Dr. Reid from the premises, I just wasn’t expecting him to come back and–”

“But that doesn't change the fact that he had a gun on Reid mere moments before you took him down. You were antagonizing him and while you may have been successful in apprehending him, what you did also put Reid at risk.”

This was unfair. 

He was talking like you hadn’t had the same gun pointed at you too. 

Like he hadn't made an effort to shoot at you.

There was nothing you could’ve said that could stop him, and you acted as fast as you could but you knew Hotch wouldn’t listen to any of it.

So you stayed quiet. Nodding along in understanding as he gave you a rundown of everything that you could’ve done better, and anything that you could’ve said differently.

Things that, he said, you could’ve done better while trying to keep yourself calm. 

Tring to keep yourself calm after discovering a dead body, and being threatened by someone that had your friend at gunpoint.

What’s worse is that not even a moment after Hotch left you to talk to the rest of the team, Morgan came and it looked like he had his fair share of complaints too.

“Sir Derek Morgan, I understand that you might be mad–” “Oh, so you know I’m mad?” You curse and groan out childishly, you know that, but you just really wanted to leave now. 

“Kid, I get that he jumped you, but you can’t just go rogue and expect everyone else to know what you’re doing.” 

You scoff.

“I didn’t go ‘rogue,’ I sent out Spencer to get backup so I could handle him myself. He would’ve been out of the line of fire. I did that to protect him–”

“No. You did that to play hero.” 

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. 

“Splitting up and acting on your own like that wasn’t heroic. It was reckless. Do you know how much sleep he’s losing right now and how much more he’s going to lose just when all of this hits?”

You shake your head humorlessly. Why is it always about him?

 You’re not responsible for knowing anything and everything about him, you’ve barely known each other for a year. Why is it suddenly part of your job description to be boy-genius' caretaker?

“He’s been having nightmares,” he says your name with a weight in it.

“Don’t give him any more reasons to stay up at night.”

And he just leaves you right there. Going up to the very guy you were talking about, who was being checked by the only medic the county had on standby. Probing to see if he was alright. 

And he seemed like it. If the way his face lit up at Morgan’s embrace or the way that he smiled when JJ congratulated him was anything to go by. 

Or the way that Hotch patted his back to soothe him.

 Or the way that Elle seemed to be intently listening to what he was saying–

He’s not your responsibility, so why the hell should you care?

God, it just wasn't fair.

And you know that. You know that he didn’t ask for any of this to happen, and that you should be happy that he’s fine–

But you can’t bring yourself to look at him for any longer. Not when he goes to look at you with that tight-lipped smile and raised brows that makes him look like he can’t do anything without you.

Not when it’s starting to look like he knows exactly what he’s doing.

Not when it starts to feel like he’s doing this on purpose.

You’re starting to hate Spencer Reid.

After Morgan knocks some sense into the camera man that had been spying on the pair, Elle is the one that gives you his camera and makes her way to Spencer first. You know exactly what should be on that film, but you just wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt. 

That maybe if you didn’t look at it any closer, you wouldn’t see anything that could make you hate him more than you already do.

That he had been behaving and just being the good, perfect boy that Gideon and Hotch, and everyone else, seemed to rave on and on about.

But you didn’t even need a proper light to see just what was on it.

And you made sure he knew exactly what he had done.

“I– I fell in–”

“Doctor Spencer Reid!” Seeing you walking towards him with an anger he had never seen directed towards anyone before made him freeze where he stood. Cowering under your gaze.

“What in the fuck was going on inside you goddamn head, huh?” Elle had already left by then to talk to the camera guy with Morgan just a few feet away to leave you two to it. 

She knew what was going to happen, and she was going to let it. It needed to.

“It was an accident, I swear! She pulled me in and I—” He tried to reason, but you were having none out of it.

“And you what? Decided that then and there was the right place to eat her face off? Might I remind you that you are still on duty and this behavior is completely unacceptable!”

 If this had been you, this is exactly what you would’ve been lectured about.

But Spencer feels his brows knitting together and he shakes his head in confusion.

“You’re-- not jealous about me kissing Lila?”

“You think I’m what?!” 

You cannot believe the gall of this man. 

Cannot comprehend how oblivious he seems to the severity of the situation. 

And for what, because some hot blonde just happened to give him the slightest bit of attention? That since the rest of the team wasn’t around, he could go ahead and play house with some model and waste all his training on the field for nothing? 

You shake your head incredulously at the thought. 

“I don't know just what the hell is going on in that fuckass head of yours, Doctor, but that little bone-headed stunt that you just pulled? Could’ve cost you your life and hers.” 

Spencer tried to quell your anger. Tried to apologize, but you just kept going. Seemingly growing more and more frustrated at his feeble attempts.

 “I couldn’t give less of a shit who you do and don’t kiss in your spare time, Mr. 187. But let me remind you of something in case that brain of yours got all scrambled from exchanging extracellular fluids with Miss Archer,” 

No longer caring for his aversion for germs, because he certainly stopped caring about that earlier today, you brought your index and middle finger up to rest dead center on his forehead.

He closed his eyes and whimpered at your touch.

“You are still being pursued by a psychotic killer who is going around, shooting people in the head. We’re lucky that the guy in the bushes was just some sorry voyeur doing his goddamn job, but if it had been anyone else, you would’ve been fucking–!” 

Spencer feels the contact get ripped away from him suddenly, and he instinctively chases after it. 

The realization of how insane that must’ve been however, makes him open his eyes. 

He sees Morgan pulling you into his chest as he strides towards Lila’s house. He sees you struggle against the hold, but as his friend keeps shushing you and repeating your name from inside, you eventually calm down and relax. Disappearing into his form as Derek’s back now faces him and he can’t see you anymore.

The boy-genius feels his heart clench at the sight. A feeling not so dissimilar to what he felt when the blonde first started kissing him. 

He didn’t know what to do then. He knew what he was doing was wrong, but some small, sick part of him just wanted your attention on him so badly that he was willing to do whatever it took for that to happen.

He had been waiting for so long–

But as he recalls how you were seething at him, how even though he had your eyes right where he wanted them to be, all he could feel was the heavy cloak of shame burdening him. Weighing on his form like the weight of his wet, pool bacteria-infected clothes.

And something tells him that no amount of bathing or scrubbing would ever rid him of it. 

He doesn’t even notice the rest of the team coming back to apprehend the trespasser until Elle picks up the roll of film that you had dropped when you were dragged away. Holding it out for him to take. 

He extends his hand out of instinct, but he crushes it soon after he recognizes what’s on it.

“You’re welcome, by the way.” Is all that she says as she leaves him frozen there too. 

***

Meanwhile, you were still in Derek’s arms. Crying like some young little fragile thing and you hated it. 

You didn’t even know why you were crying anymore because even you knew that breaking a code of conduct was nothing to shed a few tears over.

“Come on, sweet girl, talk to me.” Morgan coos as he continues to hug you, which makes you sob all the harder. Embarrassed that an authority figure just saw you lose your shit on the job, so you shake your head no.

He’s probably going to tell Hotch and you’re going to get transferred out–

“We can’t do anything if you don’t tell me what’s wrong.” 

But somehow those exact words had you spilling your heart out on to him. Doing so in such a frantic state as if this was a one-time opportunity that you were never going to be granted ever again.

So much so that all your insecurities came out of your mouth in word vomit.

How you tried so hard to do everything right. How you fought tooth and nail just to make it onto the team. 

How even though you were just as young as Reid, everyone else seemed to dote on him more. 

How everyone expected you to know just as much, if not more, than him so that he wouldn’t feel so out of place, and how every time that you didn’t, everyone only seemed to care because you had put him in danger.

How none of your efforts were ever noticed because they would either be overshadowed by Spencer’s, or brushed aside because it was not enough to make up for something that could’ve gotten him hurt.

And most of all, how bad you felt because none of it was his fault, and you knew you were being unfair to him.

And Morgan listened to all of it. Listening and occasionally apologizing when he knew that he had been guilty of one or two of those transgressions.

Patting your back and giving you all the comfort that he could before he knew you had to refocus on the case.

When you see Spencer again, his eyes remain low and you can’t bring yourself to apologize in that instant because you were still on duty and work had to be done.

No matter how sorry and how pathetic you felt, it had to wait.

What you don’t see is how his gaze lingers on his friend’s hand. Absent-mindedly moving up and down your arm in, what he understands to be, a protective manner. 

—————

He was being a distraction. A liability. To the case, or to Lila, or to you, you’re not sure anymore, but you needed him out. So you did exactly what you were hired at the BAU to do.

You’ve always thought the art piece on Lila’s wall was bizarre. And now that you’re looking at it again with a much clearer mind, you finally see why.

You had asked for everyone in the room to take the wall apart, after gaining Lila’s approval, and you all pieced together the final clue.

 A mural depicting the birth of the star that is now Lila Archer. 

After Spencer points out that the man in the mural was his ex-classmate, Parker Dunley, the team sees no further reason to question his involvement and makes the preparations to leave. 

Yet something is gnawing at you, telling you that this can’t be it. 

And at this point? No one is going to listen to a theory you have because nobody listens to you once Spencer says anything.

So you suggest the next best thing.

“Excuse me?” Your unit chief raises his eyebrows at your suggestion, but you can tell that it’s mostly a formality.

“Sir, with all due respect, it is in our best interest to relieve Dr. Reid of his position as Miss Archer’s bodyguard. He is now a potential target, and he knows Parker Dunley best among all of you. He would be most useful to the investigation if he joined the others.”

Spencer makes no attempt to contest, wanting nothing more than to just get this over with and talk to you when it’s all done, and Lila doesn’t say anything either. Just wanting the ‘traitor’ to leave her house and never come back.

Hotch senses this and sighs. He looks over to Gideon, who looks like he couldn’t care any less, and then back to you. 

“Alright then. You’re switching places with Reid. We’ll let you know if anything happens.”

He then discusses with the others that he’ll be joining JJ at the local PD while Morgan, Elle, Reid, and Gideon will be closing in on Dunley.

So that left you alone with Lila, which was going a lot easier than you had expected it to.

“I’m sorry about your boyfriend. If I knew you were a thing, I wouldn’t have tried so hard to kiss him.”

She seemed so guilty as she said it and you just shook your head, but you noted the use of the term, “try.”

“Oh Miss Archer, please don’t apologize. He's not my boyfriend. I was just really upset that he could’ve gotten you hurt when he was supposed to be protecting you.” 

You move to stand a little closer to her, still keeping a fair amount of distance so you wouldn’t crowd her. 

"Besides, I think he's more into you than you think."

Under more normal circumstances, you supposed that they could work. Spencer most likely only hesitated because he was holding on to some semblance of professionalism he could maintain with the beautiful woman.

In another life, maybe this would've panned out differently.

“I saw the way he looked at you, you know?” Now that interests you and you tilt your head at her. 

“Like he hated me?” 

Her laugh was empty as she shook her head. “You’re just like him.” Is all she said.

But before you could ask any further, a call had interrupted you. 

You looked at the caller ID and saw that it was the very guy you were talking about. ‘Dr. Reid,’ it read.  The sight makes you sigh.

You know him well enough that he would never call you for work, and that this must have been for something personal. 

‘Stay professional,’ you told yourself, so you drop the call.

If it had really been important, someone else would call you.

As soon as you move to put your phone down however, it rang again. You checked it and fair enough, this time it was from Derek Morgan. 

You bring the phone to your ear.

“Hello?”

“Sweet girl, listen to me. We have a name, and it’s ‘Maggie Lowe.’ We’re on our wa—Christ man—we're on our way back over there, okay? Stay put and we’ll let Hotch and JJ know.” 

There’s shouting from his end that worries you, but you nod with a hum and end the call. 

You turned back to Lila and asked her very hurriedly if she knew anyone by that name, and her reaction tells you everything. 

You try to tell her that she’s the unsub and just while she’s still confused at your sudden change in demeanor, her phone rings. 

She shows you that it’s ‘Mags’, her friend, and you immediately try to calm her down and ask her to keep her friend on the phone. Expressing softly, but with great urgency, that it is imperative they keep her on the line.

Just as Lila answers, you immediately dial Garcia. “Oracle of Quantico, speak if you deign to hear the truth.”

“Miss Garcia, I need an emergency trace to a cell phone from Lila Archer’s phone.” 

You hear her gasp a little, reasonably concerned that you had been speaking so softly. A stark contrast to your usually strong and sure voice, but she steels her own and lets you know that she’s on it. 

You recite to her Lila’s phone number, having memorized it from her manager, and you instinctively look back at her to see her still pacing on the phone. 

You try to smile warmly, mentally patting her on the back for her efforts, and she nods back in response. Somewhat thankful for yours. 

As you wait, you suddenly remember Spencer’s phone call from earlier. Was this why he called?

Fuck, what if he wondered off and had been calling for backup but you just dropped the phone on him?

Maggie could be anywhere. It would be no surprise to you if she had actually gone back to find Dunley to eradicate any leads that could trace back to her. What if she was–

You’re quick to tune back into your own call however when you hear Penelope halt her typing and call out your name. 

“Is Lila’s address 6028 Pike Street?”

You don’t like where this is going. “Yeah.”

“She’s calling from inside the house.”  You sigh, in relief? In fear?

 “I’m sending you backup right now, please be safe, my love.” She says with a tremor in her voice and you drop the call immediately. Catching the attention of the blonde in front of you.

“Lila–” but then you hear a shout and a thud from another room and you shake your head. You didn’t need to ask how she got in the house because that wasn’t important anymore. 

The profile was. And the profile said that it was an erotomanic killer. 

You could work with that. 

—----

It didn’t take long for you to find Maggie. Well, you'd laugh if you could, because it was more like she found you. 

On the other end of her gun. 

With Lila in her arms.

There was no way that you could stall for however long it would take for the rest of your team to get here, so your best shot at surviving this was to talk her out of it.

“Maggie, put the gun down–”

“Don’t call me Maggie, you don’t know me.” She spit out, venom in her voice as she tried ushering Lila out with her.

“I know what it’s like.”

 You don’t know what the fuck you were saying, but you were panicking. It wasn’t your first time being held at gunpoint, it had happened so often that Hotch even claimed you were always begging for it.

But this was different. None of the right words were coming to you. 

You had to think of a way to deal with this, fast, and you didn’t know how to make it believable enough.

“No you don’t, little girl. Don’t pretend like you do.”

“But I do!” You put your gun down in a panic and held your hands up in surrender.

“I know what it’s like to l-” your mouth went dry. “To love someone– someone that doesn’t love you back.” 

You seriously don’t know what the fuck you’re saying. 

Maggie laughs at what you say though.

“Well it sucks to be you, but my baby loves me. Isn’t that right?” She makes a show of tucking Lila’s hair behind her ear, but even through her fear, she denies her friend. 

“I don’t, Mags.” Maggie’s jaw tightens at that.

“Yes you do, I know you do– Don’t act like you don’t, you stupid, ungrateful–” you cut her off. 

“She doesn’t, Miss Lowe. And I know you know that.” She shakes her head, but still keeps her gun on Lila.

You push a little harder. “I know because I know what it’s like to love someone. To meet your match.” You approach her just a little.

She shifts the gun to you now, but you continue to push. 

“I know what it feels like to get tunnel vision. Where nothing matters, not even yourself, as long as it makes her happy. Keeps her safe. ” 

You look her in the eye, and you can tell that it’s not enough. You need to switch gears, but you can’t think of anything else to do.

“And– And I know what it’s like–to feel everything so strongly—so much so that you don’t even know what’s happening until it just is.”

You realize it now. It was all you

It was never about the teasing of your teammates, never about the expectation that Hotch or Gideon had.  

You never hated Spencer. You just wanted to belong. You just wanted to be treated like how he was. 

The realization makes your eyes water.

You didn’t even notice it, but as more and more words fall free from your mouth, all you can think about is him.

 About how you’re sorry. About how you never meant to hurt him. About how he doesn’t deserve your frustrations and that everything you did was just for him.

About how you could never hate anyone as loveable as him. 

You shake the thought away. Hands still up high.

Maggie’s eyes narrow, her finger twitching on the trigger. “You think you can understand me, huh? Talk your way out?”

You shake your head. “No, but I think I can reach you,” 

You take a step forward.

“I thought I hated him, Maggie. I thought he was doing it all on purpose. Kept thinking, ‘we were so similar.’ So why was it that being smart was special, and made everyone treasure him, but not me? And I think, maybe–”

You take another.  

“Maybe I was just scared. Scared that I wasn’t good enough. That I would always be overshadowed.”

Maggie’s grip on the gun tightens. “So what? You think that makes us the same?”

“No,” you say softly, taking another careful step forward.

 “But I do think that you’re the type of person that’s willing to do anything, no matter how desperate, to be seen.”

Maggie’s expression wavers, but the gun remains steady. “You don’t know anything about me.”

“I know enough,” you insist. “I know that hurting Lila won’t fill that void. It won’t give you what you’re looking for.”

Maggie’s hand trembles. “I would never hurt her--”

“Yes, you will. You will because you’re a danger to her, but that can change. You don’t have to hurt anyone anymore.”

Maggie’s face contorted with rage. 

“Shut up! You don’t know anything!”

When Maggie goes to shoot at you, you tackle the gun out of her hand. Wrestling her to the ground as you did.

 You look behind you and tell Lila to hurry and grab your gun from off the floor and leave, and she does just that.

 Not even sparing you, nor her ‘friend,’ a glance as she makes her escape to where you hope your team now was.

From outside, the team sees Lila holding a gun like a bomb in her hands, and running into the arms of Spencer Reid. The others that were still in their car quickly try to get out. To understand the situation, but then a single gunshot is heard from inside the house.

The rest of the team rushes in. 

Due to the results of my poll, there will be a part two! One where it's all from Spencer's point of view + the aftermath of this case lol

Please let me know what you think of this one though!! Or any ideas you might want to see in the second part, or literally anything at all--

Like my work? Consider tipping me!!

[createdbytragedy]

WANNA BE YOURS

‧₊˚🖇️✩Pairing: Yandere! beomgyu x reader ‧₊˚🖇️✩Genre: Yandere, smut ‧₊˚🖇️✩word count: 5.3k ‧₊˚🖇️✩Inspo from: 1- how beomgyu looks at you, 2, 3, 4, and 5 ‧₊˚🖇️✩: Warning(s): sub! Gyu, mention of gaslighting, manipulation, murder, threatening, a few description of blood, smut in the end, hickeys, marking, praise kink, p in v, unprotected sex, creampie, obsessive thoughts, mommy kink, mild choking, riding, slight degradation, name calling (slut, whore), pet names(baby, baby boy, honey, darling), dry humping, dacryphilia etc

‧₊˚🖇️✩ The world seemed to be against you and your lover for some reason but how could you ever suspect him when he claims all he ever wants to be....is yours.

‧₊˚🖇️✩A/N: This is probably the longest I've ever written. istg i'll never write again if this don't reach the succcess i expect cuz i kinda lost the plot at the end, lol.

"Beomgyu, I think you should leave (y/n)," The simple words fell on Beomgyu's ears loud and clear but he couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"Soobin, you didn't have to be so direct!," scolded the other girl on his side.

"Pardon me?,"

Ari shivered at the sudden change of the boy's tone. It has always been like this. She knew. They knew. There was just something off about your boyfriend of 8 months.

"Look, as her friends, we just don't think you both are compatible," Ari explained, hands fidgeting as she kept glancing at the door of the restaurant the four of you just exited. You went back, claiming that you needed to use the restroom urgently.

It was a friendly hang out dinner you have planned with two of your bestfriends and your boyfriend whom you dragged along. The night went by with no hitch and everyone had a good time. Or so it seems.

"What." Beomgyu's voice came out raw and low, the tone they were both familiar with when you weren't around.

His real voice.

Beomgyu's demeanor changed drastically, his friendly gaze turning as dark as the night with no moonlight, dark clouds hovering over his pupils. The smile he displayed just before you left was no where to be seen instead etched in a menacing scowl, like he couldn't even stand them.

That was, of course, not a question nor an appeal to repeat the said statement.

"Look, man, I don't know how else to put it but you're toxic. For her. You're not good for (y/n)," Soobin filled in, trying his best to be careful with his words so as to not hurt his feelings.

"Huh?,"

To someone else, the constant questioning of Beomgyu may seem obnoxious, like he was mocking them but the pair knew better. It was a typical true beomgyu that you never see.

Nor will you ever. He was fucking capricious, switching back to his perfect-sweet-boyfriend facade like he wasn't just glaring daggers into your friend's eyes just moment before you arrived. And you fell for his act every single time.

"don't try to act dumb, Beomgyu, I really, really think you need help. I mean, you're always clinging to her 24/7, you don't even let her do the things she likes anymore without making her feel guilty about it. You're so selfish, do you even realize that?! you are not a good boyfriend to her in any means, beomgyu. She doesn't realize this because she's too fucking naive but I do! and--," Ari's voice has raised higher by the time she finished what she had to say.

Soobin placed a hand on her shoulder, squeezing lightly as if to calm her down.

"You should stay away from her," Soobin added, his tone light and controlled. He didn't mean it in hatred, it was just pure platonic care for his friend that was being manipulated unknowingly.

Beomgyu almost cringed at the words spilling out of the people's mouth. It was so outright ridiculous. He can't help but let a chuckle leave his lips.

The pair looked at Beomgyu as if he'd lost a braincell, confused and horrified.

"God, you both are so annoying," Beomgyu said in a snide remark, standing in front of them, "the answer to that is no. "

Ari and Soobin looked at each other, utterly confused. They don't remember asking him a question that he had a choice on. It was more like an order. A direct threat, to be honest.

You would never believe them anyway. Beomgyu had you fooled so good. He pretended to be that sweet boy in front of you, clinging to your side and looking at you with those innocent eyes like you were the answer to each of his prayer. He greeted your friends with a smile that turned to grimace and loathe as soon as you turned away.

He bought you coffee, 'accidentally' forgetting to bring some for your friend too. He would call you continuously, bombing your phone with message after message, asking you to come home soon when you were trying to just have some fun with friends. Eventually, you would have to cut the meet up short, getting worried about your partner as his text messages would get more restless with each passing moment.

You would never suspect he was the reason your friend circle was becoming smaller and smaller. Now the only close friends you could call were Soobin and Ari.

"I know what you did to Haru, Beomgyu," Ari gulped, feeling like the night air was getting too hot for an october. She inched closer to Soobin, seeking his comfort until their body was gently brushing against each other.

That statement was the only thing that bought a somewhat surprised look to Beomgyu's face until it vanished as quickly, shifting onto his firm scowl, eyes glistening with pure hatred for them. It wasn't hard to miss that Beomgyu didn't expect his horrible act to be caught.

"you did? good for you," he smirked, bangs falling over his eyes. If not, they could've seen the glint of mischief that flashed across it, holding something sinister and unimaginable.

Where were you? What was taking you so long?

Ari and Soobin both knew as soon as you return, Beomgyu was going to change his facade faster than speed of light. They have tried, of course they have. They tried to warn you about him, explaining his lowkey manipulative techniques and how he was isolating you from the rest of the world, of course you didn't believe them. You just thought your friends were worried about you since Beomgyu had had a reputation even before you started dating.

They called him ominious, strange and almost malevolent. You never saw any of that in him. He was anything but those horrendous things they assume about him.

"How could you do that to him?! You are insane! you're-- you're a psychopath which is why you should leave (y/n) alone!," Ari cried, her voice laced with emotion.

She remembered that day clearly. A friday night. She was going to get her car the the office basement after finishing work, jiggling her keys around her finger as she hummed a happy tune to herself. The basement was quiet, as always, which made her steps echo loudly, her heels clicking in a rhythm against the cold concrete floor to match her tune. She halt to a stop when a grunting sound erupt from somewhere in the place.

Ari stopped, looking around cautiously to figure out the source of sound, she held her breath, trying to listen more closely.

"I'm--i'm sorry-- i don't--i won't ever go near her--again, please," the voice begged, sounding scared.

A chill ran down her spine, heart thumping loud as beads of sweat collected on her back. The sound seemed to be coming from behind the black BMW parked not far away from her own car. She was paralyzed in fear, standing there trying not to make a noise.

Was it a serial killer? Is she witnessing a murder? Does the man need help? Should she call the police?

Horrified, Ari took out her phone, with trembling fingers, she tried to dial 911.

"You better keep your fucking words. If I see you near her again, I will kill you, chop you into tiny pieces and feed you to your beloved cats. You wouldn't want them to starve now, do you? I'm sure they won't even remember you when they taste your flesh. " Said another voice that sounded a bit familiar.

She was blocked by a another car, so the person didn't spot her when he stood up and fixed his hair on the car's mirror like nothing happened, adjusting his clothes before walking away from the scene.

Ari watched with mouth hanging open as her eyes followed the figure of none other than Choi Beomgyu. Walking towards the building elevator, probably to pick you up. She was even more horrified when the other man stood up, grunting and groaning in pain. She noticed that he was in a terrible state, clothes completely torn off, blood oozed from his nose. He had a black eye around his right eyes and his lips were torn, blood already dried up. He held his stomach, groaning in pain as he limped toward, Ari assumed would be his car.

"oh, come on, I was being generous. Didn't even kill him," his eyes darkened, a smirk tugging on the corner of his lips as he continued, " Though I'm not against killing if it means keeping (y/n) with me. You both are no exception. I find it quite amusing that you think you can take her away from me. She's mine. And nothing can change that. She loves me. I will kill anyone that tries to come between us, that includes you. "

"Oh, for god's sake, she doesn't love you!," Ari growled in frustration, throwing her hands up, " You just made her believe that. You leave her no space to even think about what she truly feels for you. You and your insecure ass forbids her from seeing other people. why, you afraid she's gonna realize you're just a psychopathic loser who goes around beating up people in the name of love?! (y/n) wouldn't like that now, would she? She'd dump your ass faster than you could say write her name!"

Goosbumps rise in her skin and she didn't know whether it was from the cold that her little black dress was doing no job warming her or Beomgyu himself. She knew him like you didn't. and she knew she was making a big mistake with what she was doing. But maybe, if this small action could save you, then she was willing to take the risk.

Soobin raised his head, walking forward so he was right in front of Beomgyu, forming a somewhat protective wall between Ari and Beomgyu,"Do you have any idea what you've done is wrong?! it's sick! you almost killed someone because they talk to your girlfriend?! what the actual fuck is up with that???! There's definitely something wrong with you. Seriously wrong. And we don't trust you. You are going to hurt our friend, in fact, you already have. Which is why we're here to save her. From you "

"In simple words, break up with her and fuck off of her life, Beomgyu. You don't deserve her. You're too sick and creepy," Ari added.

When she shifted her gaze to Beomgyu, she expected to see that menacing blank expression and piercing gaze but what she saw was beyond what she was imagining.

Beomgyu's head hung low, lips puckered out and trembling like he was holding back tears as he stared at his shoes, fidgeting his fingers like a little boy getting scolded by his teacher.

She was utterly confused and relieved, thinking their words got through him until--," how could you say that to him?!" Your voice was loud, quickly approaching the scene where two of your best friends were threatening your poor boyfriend.

"(y/n)!," Ari called, " this is not what it looks like, Beomgyu tried to ki--"

"Oh, shut up, Ari, I heard you both loud and clear," you were fuming with anger, glaring at your best friend's panic covered eyes as you stood in front of Beomgyu, protecting him from Soobin if he were to do anything.

"(y/n), you got it wrong! Your boyfriend just confessed to killing people in your name!!" soobin tried, desperate to make you understand the situation.

You were so not having it. They've always been critical about Beomgyu since you started dating him, always coming up with weird conspiracy theories about him. Saying things like; something's off about him, he changes personality whenever you're not around, he has this evil look in his eyes, he was isolating you from others and so on. The most ridiculous however, would be the one Ari was telling you tonight on the phone.

Something about seeing beomgyu almost beat a guy to death. You find that funny. Really. But she sounded so serious you asked her to meet up. Unfortunately, Beomgyu insisted on coming, clinging to your arm till you said yes. And now, here you were.

"Enough is enough, guys! leave him alone. I know you don't like him but this was too much, he must be so hurt!" you said, turning to look at your boyfriend.

Your eyes immediately softened seeing his glossy eyes, illuminated by the streetlight. Oh, he looked so sad. How could they say such awful things to him?

"I'm so sorry, Beomi, are you okay?," you asked, giving him a hug that he melts into, resting his head on your shoulder and lifting his head just enough to give Soobin and Ari a shit eating smirk.

Serves you right, fuckers.

"Listen, (y/n), Beomgyu is a fucking psychopath but you can't seem to see it because you're too fucking dumb!!," Ari screamed in utter frustration.

Your eyes burned at that, turning bitterly to your once best friend, " shut it, Ari. You don't get to say that anymore. I trusted you. I never thought you, of all people, would do this to my boyfriend. That's enough, we're leaving," you said, taking Beomgyu's hand and dramatically going in between them to march to your car.

"No, wait--" too late, you were already marching towards your car, dragging Beomgyu along with you.

Soobin And Ari looked at each other in defeat when Beomgyu turned his head, smirking in a victorious way before getting into the car.

‧₊˚🖇️✩

"Beomi, love, look at me," you pleaded, cupping his face between your palms, " tell me what happened while I was gone"

You made him sit on the bed as soon as you reached home, sitting beside him to comfort him from the events of tonight.

"They--they told me to break up with you," his breathe hitched and you rubbed circles on his cheek with your thumb, nodding for him to go ahead, " and--and when I said no, I didn't want to break up with you they started to--to accuse me of gaslighting you, and that you don't really love me-- and--and"

The crack of his voice made your heart crack too, cursing who you thought were the best people on earth as you pulled beomgyu to your embrace, stroking his back up and down," Shhh..baby, its okay, i'm here. They were lying. You know I love you very much, right?"

"but- they said you find me annoying and that I'm too clingy," he looked like he was on the verge of tears and you feel yourself falling apart.

"Beomi, c'mon, i'd never say that. I love you. You're the best boyfriend I ever had. I like it when you're clingy. Forget what they said, okay? I love you and nothing that someone else says can change my mind, you hear me?" he nodded.

You smiled, giving him a quick peck on his cheek, seeing as he's calmed down. Your action made him smile, leaning into your hand that was still on his left cheek.

"Really? you love me and only me, right?" he asked, a hint of vulnerability in his eyes.

"Of course, only you."

Beomgyu smiled. He never get tired of hearing that coming from your mouth. It sounded so sweet in his ears, sweeter than any melody he's ever heard. So much so that he didn't really care if you mean it or not, as long as he gets to hear it, he's perfectly content.

"I just….love you so much, you don't understand," he whispered, pulling you to his embrace, burying his face in the crook of your neck as he inhaled your scent. The familiar aroma filling his senses and taking over like it were a drug, sending him into an unexplainable bliss, " Just wanna be yours. I don't care about anything else"

It was true. As long as you held him like this, he didn't care if the world was ending, he was happy. After all, all he ever wanted was to be yours. You wouldn't believe the kind of person he'd become if you said you wanted it. he could be anything you want. And if you wanted this pathetic lover boy who's head over heels for you, then that's exactly what he was gonna be. The truth was you could slit his throat and with his one last breath, he'd apologize for bleeding on your shirt. He was empty. There was no him without you. He was just a human blank and empty for you to fill up. He was whatever you wanted him to be. And if anyone else were to kiss him, all they could taste would be your name.

"You said you love me,"

"Of course I do"

"Then prove it to me, make love to me, just make me yours…'cause," he paused looking into your eyes with so much love and dedication that made your heart skip a beat ,"that's all I ever wanna be…" And with that, Beomgyu pulled you into a kiss, a sweet kiss that showed all his emotion.

He kissed like a starved man. Like someone in love. Like someone who has nothing to lose. Or you can say he kissed like person who had just learned a foreign language and only know how to use the present tense and second form. Only now, only you.

The kiss got heated quick, with your tongue shoved in his mouth and he lets you take control, just following your lead like he knows best how. If fucking him was gonna get those words out of his mind, you had no objection in doing it. You really loved Beomgyu. But it seemed like the whole world was against your lover. They always said something was off about him, cutting you off completely when you started dating him and now even your closest friends were threatening him.

You felt bad for him. How the world treats him. So you treated him unlike them. With kindness and love and adoration and you were surprised at the changes it brought you,

"Mmm…. ah.. baby," beomgyu moaned as you pulled out from the kiss, a string of saliva connecting your lips to his, "need you"

You smirked, seeing the neediness built up in his eyes. Wordlessly, you pushed him down onto the bed, climbing on top of him in a swift movement, "Let me love you tonight, m'kay, baby?" you smiled, placing a kiss on his forehead.

Beomgyu nodded eagerly, hands resting on your hip as he looks at you with a lovestruck expression," yes, mommy," he whispered, closing his eyes contently when he sensed you connecting your lips to his again.

His calloused hands massaged your back, touching and groping anything he could get his hand on. Like he was trying to memorize each curve of your body. You, in return, kissed him with all the love you've got. How could the world be cruel to someone as sweet as Beomgyu? You couldn't understand. They made him hate himself, made him think he was a mistake.

Since the day you met him, Beomgyu always had this mysterious glint in his eyes, like a fire fading out. That dim light would burn brighter every time you looked at him and you thought you've never seen anything as beautiful as that.

"So pretty, Beomi, " you cooed, tracing your fingertips along his perfectly aligned features.

He smiled at you, the fire burning bright inside his eyes and you saw your reflection. And, god, you looked fucking gorgeous. Like a goddess. And maybe that's what you liked about him after all.

The power he gave you.

"You too, mommy, way prettier.." he mumbled, cupping your cheek.

You smiled like a woman drunk in love before going to leave featherlight kisses on his neck. You hear Beomgyu letting out a sigh of relief, relaxing in your comforting touches. You kissed his jaw, then his neck. He lets out a sharp gasp when you sucked on his skin, your teeth digging just enough to feel good and leave a mark. You continued that a few times, and you could hear his breathing getting heavier and heavier each time.

Beomgyu was never a very patient person, especially when you were sitting right on his hardened dick and leaving love bites all around his exposed neck.

He whimpered when you were still only focused on sucking hickeys on his neck. he wanted you to look in the eye as you fuck him, tell him he's yours and that you were his.

"Mommy…more--m'want more," he moaned, his hips not so slightly rutting up against your ass.

You stopped your attack on his neck, licking your lips as you meet his needy eyes filled with lust," be patient, baby. You said you wanted me to make love to you. Or do you just want me to fuck you like a little whore, hm?"

God, beomgyu loved it when you talked with that tone. That condescending tone you used with the tiny smirk tugged on your lips, you looked so evil, hot, evilly hot, he couldn't contain his whimper nor the buck of his hips. And that's all you needed from him. Your smirk growing as you get off him.

"I knew it," Beomgyu's eyes followed your figure as you sat on your knees beside him, unbuttoning the first two buttons of your white shirt, revealing the lacy trims of your red bra," little whore just wants to be fucked dumb, right? Just want to be reminded who he belongs to. Isn't that right, Beomi?" you asked, removing your shirt completely as you spoke.

Beomgyu nodded absently, practically drooling at the sight. His pants felt so tight, he wished you would just stop teasing him already and fuck him dumb like you said. His dick was throbbing at the mere sight of your beautiful body on display. He bit his lips, savoring every moment.

"Like what you see?" you asked seductively, knowing damn well the effect you had on him. Beomgyu nodded frantically, tears welling up in his eyes in need and because he knows you love tears on him. He tried to touch but you denied, "not yet, baby boy"

And with that, you removed the skirt you were wearing, revealing a matching panties to your bra.

"Oh, fuck, mommy, please--," he choked out, " stop teasing! you look so-- so goddamn beautiful, wanna touch you-- wanna feel you--"

Deciding to be generous, you smiled contently, getting on his lap once more, situating your ass right on his boner, grinding in circular motion. Beomgyu lets out an open mouthed moan, closing his eyes at the sudden pleasure.

"feels good, Beomi?" He nodded, eyes still closed," Eyes on me, Beomi."

His eyes immediately opened, looking at with helplessly as you continued to grind on his dick through the fabric of his pants.

"mommy, please-- take it-- off," he begged, hands reaching up to cup your breast. You let him, seeing how he plays with them like a kid with toy.

"Hm? what you say, baby?"

"i said, take it off. Just-- kiss me! love me! make me all yours please--" his begging had your pussy fluttering, juice gushing out quite embarrassingly.

"If you say so"

You got off him again and before he could whine at the lost of contact, you plant a chaste kiss on his lips, hurriedly buttoning down his shirt while tracing kisses along his stomach, not forgetting the purpose at all. You peppered his tummy with kisses, mumbling praises. He whined slightly as you undid his belt, removing his pants completely. He was almost naked, laying there just with his boxer through which his tip leaked.

"So hard for me, yeah?" he nodded, gripping the sheets tightly to stop himself from disobeying by touching you like he wanted," don't worry, I'll take care of that."

You took out his dick, discarding his only piece of garment somewhere in the room. His cock was hard, standing tall with precum leaking from his flushed tip. His dick almost matched his pretty face, if not more. Heat were travelling to a certain place between your thighs. But, not yet, this was about Beomgyu.

"Spread your legs for me, darling," you ordered, Beomgyu obeyed silently, spreading his legs widely just for you. His cheeks flushed with embarrassment and you made sure to kiss those pink hues before situating yourself between his legs.

You slowly fisted him earning a moan from Beomgyu. His face twisted in pleasure, back arching slightly at the sensation all while he maintained eye contact with you.

With no wasted moment, you started fisted his cock, running your thumb over his tip to collect moisture and jerk him off more easily. Beomgyu whined and moaned at every sensation, your hand finally where he wants it to be and it felt too good. You hands moved faster, occasionally brushing over his tip to collect the precum.

Beomgyu was never was the quiet one in bed, so with every little movement of your hand, he was moaning your name, whimpering, whining and just straight up blurting nonsense.

"Ah~ah-ah--, oh, mommy, feels so good~~ fa--faster, mommy aaah," his knuckles turned white from gripping the sheets too tight, eyes screwed shut as tears of pleasure welled up.

But, it wasn't enough. He wanted more. This didn't felt intimate enough. He needed you. Every bit of you. Your lips, your hands all over him, choke him, hold him, kiss him, he just needed you. He wanted to hear you call him your good boy, your slut, your anything, just yours.

"Mommy-- ," your head snapped to meet his eyes, where he was looking at you with a hint of desperation and need. It didn't take long for you to figure out what he wanted.

You smiled, slowing down your frantic jerk of a hand, "oh, baby, doing so good for me. Such a good boy, aren't you?" you cooed, stroking his dick more gently.

His breath hitched, nodding along at your words and you didn't miss the way he bucked into your fist at the praise, moans growing higher in pitch. You sped up, your other hand rubbing his quivering thighs.

"Ahh~~ don't wanna-- cum yet, mommy, please--!," he pleaded, so you stopped just before he reached his orgasm.

"Oh, yeah? what does baby want, then?" you asked, climbing on top of him to trail kisses on his exposed chest, heaving up and down.

"Wanna touch you, mommy, please, can- can I?" he begged, hands practically itching to hold you and never let you go, "wanna-- wanna feel you. I want you to --to tell me you're mine. I'm good enough for you, right?"

He sounded so broken and torn, in need of assurance and you'd be damned if you didn't give it to him.

"oh, baby, you're more than enough. Of course, you can touch me," and with your permission, his hands shot up to cup your breast, kneading them between his hands. You smiled at his childsih antics, unclipping your bra and throwing it somewhere in the room to give him full access. Beomgyu moaned at the sight, lifting himself up to take one perky nipple in his mouth, sucking like a baby. You run your hands through his hair, stroking gently and enjoying his warm mouth around you.

"mmm~ taste so good," he mumbled before switching to your other nipple to give them equivalent attention. Yo let him suck for a little longer, enjoying yourself before you finally pulled him off reluctantly.

"That's enough, baby, don't you want me to fuck you?" he nodded instantly, "then, be good for me, yeah?" you said, pushing him down on the bed again.

This time, you took off your already soaked panties, aligning yourself just above his aching dick. Beomgyu lets out a gasp when you started to sink down on him, slowly and sensually. You both let out a moan when you fully sink down on him, your ass resting on his thighs. Beomgyu dug his fingers into the skin of your hips, fighting to urge to just thrust up into you instead of giving you time to adjust to his length.

"Mmmm… mommy's pussy feels so good," he moaned, eyes rolling back in pleasure.

"I know, baby," you gritted out, bracing your arms around his tummy as you grind against him, stretching yourself in preparation. Beomgyu took a sharp breath, fondling with your boobs as you continued.

"So good~~" he mumbled, lost in the pleasure, mouth hanging open in complete drunkenness over your pussy. It wrapped around him so right, like it was made for him and only him.

You started to get used to his length, the pain subsiding into a wave of pleasure. So you lift your hips up before slamming back down, getting lost in the feeling of being so full of him. Of Beomgyu. His dick stuffing you so full you could feel every throb of his vein against your wet walls. And god, does it feel good!

"Look at me while I'm fucking you, Beomi," Beomgyu loved your in command voice, when you told him what to do and treated him like he was your property.

"Does it feel good? tell me, baby, do you like it? like mommy fucking you like this?" he nodded, tears falling off of his pretty lashes in pure bliss while you ruthlessly bounced on his cock, desperate to make his pretty head go empty.

"Who's dick is this?" you asked, nails digging on the flesh of his chest in possessiveness and the slight sting just added to the pleasure for Beomgyu. Whimpering and squirming as he answered.

"yours, mommy, yours! all your!," he loved the sound of that, of being yours and only yours. His hands roamed all over you, around your waist, your breast, your face, anywhere he could reach with his needy hand. But that still wasn't enough. He took your hand in his, guiding it around his neck.

"Choke me, mommy, I like it," and you did, panting as you continued you pace on his dick while squeezing your hands with enough pressure to feel good but not enough to completely suffocate him.

"look at that, my little slut likes being choked," Beomgyu whined at the name, his own hips thrusting with yours as your hand tightened around his neck. You removed your hand when he started to look pale and his eyes shoot open, disappointed. Before he had the chance to protest, you picked up your pace, now going harder than before.

"Doing so good for me, baby, I know you like it, don't you? being fucked dumb by mommy," you cooed, " So pretty, all mine." and Beomgyu nodded at that, "all yours,"

The way he so needily admits that had you clenching around him and that has him crashing down, "Ahhh~ mommy, cum--cumming, cumming," he tells you, gripping your hips so tight you knew he's gonna leave a bruise but you couldn't careless, chasing on own high as you sped up.

"Come inside me, baby, fill me up with your cum, you want that right? " he nodded again, frantically unable to use his words anymore as loud moans dragged from his filthy mouth. He was so loud you were sure the neighbors could hear you but you didn't care, not when you felt his hot cum releasing inside you, making you come as well, your juices mixed together with uneven breath.

You grind your hips softly, prolonging both your highs until you crashed on top of him, panting heavily with his cock still inside of you. Beomgyu kissed your neck, "that was amazing," he whispered.

"I know," you replied, getting off him, his dick slipping out and losing its warmth. Beomgyu whined at that, pulling you closer by the waist to hold you in place,"You feel so right....." he mumbled against your chest, his face buried against your boobs.

You smiled, " you know I love you right?"

He nodded,eyes closing in pure bliss, " not as much as I do," you chuckled, playing with strands of his hair, " you love me that much? " you joked. He nodded, " So much it hurts," he replied. You smiled, placing a kiss on his forehead," Mine." "Yours"

[comradeocean]

"I have found myself talking out loud to you, hoping you can hear me" is a bonkers way for a celebrity to begin a public memorial statement less than 24 hrs after the death happened by someone who has possibly not personally spoken to the dead person in question for almost ten years. I cannot stop thinking about it.

In 2013, Channel 4 did a documentary called Crazy About One Direction that featured a number of high octane waaaay out there fans. I think the band was asked about it during an interview; Louis and the others basically disavowed it, saying it was an unfair representation of girls who like One Direction and the fanbase in general. He wasn't being totally selfless in sticking up for the fans, because some of those girls were profoundly sad and lonely, maybe unwell. And if your mission is to be marketed as a fun-loving carefree boyband, the last thing you'd want to be associated with are young, maladjusted, friendless girls.

Anyway, at one point, one of the girls interviewed says:

Twitter is like a prayer place. When you go to a prayer place, you feel like you’re connected to God. So when you’re on twitter, you feel like you’re connected to 1D. You just have hope. [audio description alt-text: an image of Louis as Jesus Christ]

Zayn is also the only one of the boys to have crossposted his message to twitter.

The thing about One Direction being an accident, sure, a manufactured accident, but an accident nonetheless, is that they were guileless going in, and it showed. I've been mainlining old videos this week, trying to compare those early xfactor days with their contemporaries who were trying to break out around the same time. With everyone else, it was always a band full of Liams: intensely driven little freaks. Sorry, freak is maybe too mean a word to describe that particular mix of hunger and desperation to be accomplished, to be famous, and at the bottom of it all: to be liked. There's been a conscious shaping of the persona in service of those goals: they've learned to dance, to perform, to give pitches, soundbites, hit camera marks on cue. Most of them were also older, in their early to mid twenties. It's not inconceivable to imagine such a trajectory for the most diehard theatre kid you knew from school who decided after uni or whatever ~ to follow their dreams ~. That was the more typical boyband background. (not Liam though. lad was fourteen. he was closer to another subspecies of the genus: the child star)

And 1D in contrast were unpracticed, unstudied, as Zayn put it in that slightly off-kilter way of his (which I always imagine to be indicative of a disjunction between the vocabulary one encounters in school and what everyone around them is used to speaking), "novice children."

Like, truly, they did not give a fuck cos it hadn't yet occurred to them they were supposed to. Liam aside, industry norms were a complete mystery to them, and for many years, they managed to inhabit that sweet spot of flippancy without contempt, whether it was about the project, themselves, or their audience. Liam tells the story about being the go-between for xfactor stylists and the boys and getting into so much trouble on their behalf for wearing human-sized babygrows during a video diary. "Because Westlife would never wear those." [The punchline he then delivers is that Westlife members were pictured wearing onesies soon after. (quite possibly due to how viral anything 1D-related got)]

The boys were so immature. The whole boyband thing had fallen into their laps. They were just happy to be there! This thing that they didn't even know they wanted, they somehow got, and it took the shape of four other boys in exactly the same situation. It comes across very strongly how taken they were with themselves and each other. Find yourself a guy who looks at you the way blah Larry Stylinson blah blah Ziam blah blah blah. Never mind that cos they were all actually so hyped with each other. Any time any of them says anything remotely clever, or funny, or notable, the rest of them lose their shit like they're in on the same hilarious joke. Even if there was no actual joke. Their entire existence at that point was the joke bc how on earth had they landed from where they'd been — small deadend towns hollowing out from deindustrialization — to where they ended up — the xfactor house headed for the very top about to win it all, in the way they did — saved from bootcamp elimination at the last minute, with who they did — four other working class boys they would have never been friends with in another life. It must have been a high like a kind of limerence, like finding long lost family members on the exact same wavelength, like love.

And that was the other key thing about the stratospheric rise of One Direction. We didn't love One Direction only because we loved this or that member. We loved them because they loved each other, because they loved themselves, because they loved us. And they used the internet to show it.

In 2010, mass social media platforms were in their nascence, which is to say, the exploration of how to be a person, with other people, online, at a broad level not limited to specific subcultures, was in its nascence. For many years now, given the levels of extreme over-exposure, the dominant mood has become the mortifying ordeal of being perceived and so on. We've somehow all adopted mini-celebrity mindsets of our own, weary of being exposed to the maw of an unseen public. To be known is to be surveilled.

But the boys individually and at the collective level invited surveillance back then. Because the inverse — to be surveilled is to be known — seemed more relevant for that moment, at the beginning. They made a point of living their newfound lives at least partially online.

They were constantly on twitter, they livestreamed with a dedication that rivaled x-factor video producers, and none more so than Liam. It was already reality tv, this was just the next bleeding edge of "real": the unfiltered, unedited, direct sharing of yourself and what you loved in the last days of the old free-as-in-freedom internet.

When they said, over and over again, that it was all about the fans, it was meant in a very literal sense. Social media and the reality it created produced a feedback loop between the love they had for each other and the band, and the love we had for them, until it was inseparable: their relationships, our relationships, the process itself. Parasociality as it is currently manifested might have found its first mass expression through One Direction.

In separate interviews from This is Us (2013) deleted scenes, Liam and Louis say that Zayn wears his heart on his sleeve. Yet within the best-friends-slash-brothers-for-life schema cultivated as the One Direction vibe, he did not seem necessarily exceptional in his frequent declarations of love and fellow-feeling for various band mates. What he did ultimately end up doing was pulling the trigger on the contractual form their relationships were bound within, such that the I-love-you's inevitably passed from unpracticed to rote to a mandatory matter of their livelihoods. Someone had to be the first to explicitly and consciously decide that this "love" was no longer something they could continue participating in.

From the same set of deleted interview, in a somewhat fitting twist of symmetry, Louis and Zayn go on and on (much longer than Niall or Harry) about how Liam had been the serious and sensible one, but they've managed to corrupt him a little. It makes sense to assume that Zayn is referring to the band in general, but one can also read it to mean the two of them specifically, being the eldest, and their meta-cognition of the terms and conditions imposed by One Direction as a phenomenon.

The love the members of One Direction had for each other and the band and the fans was undeniably "real." The making of that "realness" was conditioned by the x factor throwing together four boys who had very little reference for what the fuck they had gotten themselves into, and Liam. Liam was the intermediary. He was already a creature twisted up and contorting, trying his level best to wedge himself into whatever spaces there could be found in the juggernaut of the entertainment industry. His neuroses and anxieties made the rest of One Direction possible, made One Direction "real" and "not like the other boybands" because that DNA, that what-not-to-do instruction manual could just be crammed into him, and the rest of them could be let loose into the world, unburdened by expectation, free to not give a fuck.

Louis and Zayn's raw, unpolished, typo-ridden letters were the most direct and irrefutable way they knew to swear fidelity to the boy they knew, the band they built, and the lives they lived together. The unfathomable ether of the internet, of the fans, of the massed publics seen and unseen made them, it destroyed their senses of self in ways they could weather until they couldn't, and it's into this ether they send their words, their grief, something real of themselves. Because in the universe of One Direction, this is the orthopraxis by which one proclaims one's faith and one's hopes. This is the prayer place that transcends distance, time, even death. This is how their brother could somehow, some way, still feel their love.

[k-daydreams]

The Pursuit of Feeling Alive: III. Bratty Behavior

Pairing: fem!reader x azriel, platonic!innercircle

Synopsis: cousin to Rhysand and Morrigan, y/n was once her family’s golden child. Faced with trials and tribulations her whole life, she needed reprieve— a distraction. Until a surprise homecoming opens Pandora’s box, and gives y/n a reality check. Especially facing her once close friend Azriel. Friends to Enemies to lovers trope.

Word count: 4k

Warnings: swearing, trauma, reader being shitty, slow slow burn, mor and Cassian being readers moral sanity, filler chapter, grammatical errors lmao

Authors note: hellooo! So this is kinda a filler since what I was writing for this part was so long. Next part will really be juicy I promise! Thank you guys for so much love on the last part, I hope y’all will like this! Not a lot of Az has been in this part, mainly talking about him in 3rd person, but I promise hold on hope y’all get him in action in the next!! Lmk what you guys think

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

"Rhysand isn't impressed with Azriel," Mor declared, her knife slicing through a piece of meat. "To be honest, Y/n, I could genuinely throttle him." She took a bite of her food before continuing.

It was your first night back in Velaris, and the inner circle, along with the company, was aware of what had happened between Azriel and you. Well, at least what Cassian, Nesta, and Elain had witnessed. Rhys and Feyre hadn't approached you about it yet; Mor mentioned they wanted to spare you any further distress for the time being. Typically when one of the inner circle members had returned home from something, Rhys would have organized a celebratory family dinner, but he had decided against it for now. Instead, you and Mor dined alone in the House of Wind tonight.

Nonchalantly, you shrugged and took a sip from your wine glass. "Just another tantrum from that Illyrian man-child. Nothing new, really." You tried to sound relaxed, not wanting your friends and family to worry about you or the argument. You didn't want Azriel to know his words had cut you deeply or give him any satisfaction. You had already shown him just how much they had affected you. The impact was tangible—you had been restless, tossing and turning in bed for the past few nights, with no appetite to eat. Your homecoming was supposed to mark the beginning of your healing journey, yet here you were, starving and sleep-deprived due to the nonsense uttered by a man who thought he knew you.

Mor nodded knowingly, her napkin dabbing at her lips. "He had no right to speak to you like that," she said, her voice firm. "He knows that, no matter what, you're family. That's why we came back for you when Helion sent word. He knows we would do the same for any member of our family and to disregard you so quickly like that."

Disheartened, you let out a sigh. "I don't know, Mor. I knew we ended things on a sour note, but it's been nearly 60 years since then. I thought he would have moved on."

Her food momentarily forgotten, Mor nearly choked when you made that statement. "Please tell me you didn't just say that," she responded incredulously.

What do you mean?"

She stared at you intensely, her eyes burning into your soul as you went blank. "Seriously?" Perfectly shaped eyebrows furrowed in disbelief. "I've seen you hold grudges for centuries, and yet you expect him to forgive you for an argument that happened over half a century ago?"

Both of you fell silent, studying each other across the table. Mor's loyalty to Azriel, despite never reciprocating his feelings, was unwavering—just as yours had been in the past. At times, it made you question if her feelings for him were truly nonexistent, like now. A queasiness churned in your stomach, and your head throbbed with a dull ache. Perhaps drinking on an empty stomach hadn't been the best idea, especially when thoughts of Mor and Azriel intertwined.

You cleared your throat, a newfound coldness lacing your tone as you spoke up. "Every grudge I've held has been a result of something more severe than an argument," you stated, fidgeting with the table linen. "An argument, mind you, that happened because he didn't want me to follow Rhys."

Mor retorted sharply, "Look where that got you." Your heart started pounding, your ears heating. Your gaze dropped in her direction, and a familiar flame ignited within you. "What he did was fucked up, but Y/n, you can be a stubborn brat." You opened your mouth to object, but she raised a hand to stop you. "I'm not trying to be rude. I say this because I care about you. But it's time to own up to your mistakes. Only then, maybe, just maybe, you can find peace again."

Mor's tough love never felt good, but you knew it always came from a place of good intentions. Angry and devastated, you found it hard to accept hearing all that. Sure, you could be opinionated and stubborn at times, but reducing yourself to a brat felt unjust.

Draining your wine, you replied, "I had hoped for a civil conversation with him whenever we did talk." Mor looked skeptical, likely not fully believing you. You did have a record for the last century or so with picking arguments, you blamed being around Mor and Amren so much, and maybe a lot of repressed feelings.

Despite her irritation with you, Mor reached out and took your hand in hers, comforting you with gentle circles on the back of it, like a mother would. "When it comes to you, it seems his shadows turn to flames."

There was so much you wanted to say, but you remained silent, allowing her words to echo in your mind. You couldn't quite grasp their cryptic meaning, but you didn’t want to indulge in the topic too much longer. Mor let go of your hand, standing up. "Feel like grabbing a drink at Rita's?" she asked, her tone changing, a small smirk forming. A way to nurse your wounds.

Shaking your head, you replied, "Not tonight. I need to rest. Traveling today drained me. But thank you." You offered a tight-lipped smile.

"Sweet dreams, little star," Mor said, patting your head before walking away.

The once-dull headache now throbbed prominently in your forehead, and you cradled your head in discomfort. Mor’s conversation seemed to reflect the same argument you had a few days prior with Azriel. Though not filled with as malicious intent as his did, it still left you feeling just as scorned. The house cleared the table immaculately as you stood to make your way to your room.

The hallways were quiet and deserted, illuminated by the dim twinkle of faelights illuminating the red stone of the walls. Each light flickered slightly in your presence before dimming again, but you were too weary to care about such peculiarities of your powers. The House of Wind sprawled endlessly, a labyrinth of doors and spiraling stairs within the mountainside. A few new paintings and plants adorned the halls, likely additions from the High Lady and her sister, but it all remained as you remembered.

When you enter your room, a plate with an assortment of delectable cheese and crackers, accompanied by a tall, refreshing glass of water. Along with a small container of headache powder sat patiently on your bedside table. A sigh of relief escaped your lips as you witnessed the house meticulously pulling back your sheets, reminiscent of the way it used to prepare your bed during your childhood days. Gently placing your night clothes at the foot of the bed, a smile of gratitude graced your face, silently expressing your appreciation to the house. It seemed that Rhys had been right about something you thought once you were in bed getting pulled into a restless sleep.

･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ

You trudged begrudgingly through the halls of the endless mansion. Feyre had roused you from slumber earlier that morning, informing you of a meeting with the inner circle in an hour. Though you harbored little desire to attend, it was the first order by your new High Lady, making it a matter of importance. You hated how far your room was from the war room. Wishing you had wings, even better, you wished you had a room closer to one of the rooms you frequented the most. Finally almost out of breath, you made it to the entrance. You stalked into the room, you found Amren, Cassian, Lucien, Azriel, and Mor already settled in their seats.

"Tsk, tsk, fashionably late to your first meeting?" Cassian playfully jabbed at you. Walking past him, you discreetly flicked the back of his head, eliciting a muttered "brat" as he dramatically nursed the imaginary injury.

Your steps faltered for a moment, as that word—brat—pricked at your annoyance. Not letting it fester too much, you take a seat between Mor and Lucien. Sitting across from Cassian and Amren, with Azriel positioned diagonally next to his brother, you could feel his intense gaze fixed upon you. Determined not to shudder or shift under his scrutiny, you resolved not to let him see how deeply his words affected you. Deep down, however, you couldn't deny the lingering care you held for him, or the way his presence had consumed your thoughts over the past week like a plague.

"I don't see Feyre and Rhysand, so technically I'm not late," you declared, a smug tone coloring your words.

"Actually, they had other matters to attend to," Amren replied indifferently. It had been less than an hour since you last saw Feyre, leaving you puzzled as to what could have transpired in such a short span of time. Cassian nudged your foot under the table, a silent reminder of his earlier warning. Narrowing your eyes, you retaliated by kicking his shin, relishing in his sharp intake of breath as he winced. "Relax, Y/n!" he exclaimed, while you concealed your smirk, leaning back in your chair with crossed arms.

"Must you be so childish?" Azriel's voice snapped at you, catching you off guard.

Cassian stared at his brother in shock, attempting to defend your actions. “Brother I had started it-“

Beside him, the spymaster exhaled, regaining his composure. "I don't care who started it; I want to get through this as quickly as possible.” he requested, his tone cold.

"Yes, please," you muttered under your breath. The shadowsinger shot you a look.

Though you sensed he had more to say, Amren began speaking before another argument could erupt, cutting straight to the point. "We haven't visited the Court of Nightmares in quite some time. It's about time we made an appearance; I'm sure they're on the brink of chaos by now."

Mor sucked in her teeth, and you could hear Lucien gulp audibly, clearly apprehensive at the thought. You bit your lip anxiously.

"I won't be able to attend. Rhysand, specifically Feyre, has requested that you, Y/n, take the reins tonight," Amren announced, a glimmer of mischief in her eyes. She seemed unfazed by the prospect of missing out on the formal affair. Uncertainty flickered across the faces of those from the inner circle, unsure of how you would receive the order, except for Azriel, whose expression remained inscrutable.

You fidgeted with your fingers, picking at the hangnails. Before Amarantha, you had taken pleasure in Rhys entrusting you with these meetings, where you handled official business between the Court of Dreams and Nightmares. It had been empowering to witness your family obeying your orders, having spent so long following theirs, only to be shunned upon your return in the aftermath of one of the darkest days of your life. Your parents were ready to condemn you for treason when they first laid eyes on you. That’s when Rhys had appointed you as an emissary. Primarily since you had spent the most time in the court knowing the ins and outs, and as a sick punishment for your family.

Now, anxiety gripped you as memories you had desperately tried to suppress from your childhood. Those memories now attached with the new ones you sought to repress from your encounter with Amarantha. It became increasingly difficult to focus on Amren's words as your gaze wandered blankly through the expansive window behind her, stretching from the floor to the ceiling.

"Azriel will be right beside you for protection throughout the night, Cassian will accompany Mor, with Lucien joining them," Amren continued, a hint of wariness in her words.

"Why-why can't Cass be by my side?" you stammered. "He's a general for a reason." You had an inkling to why Azriel had always been at your side when you’d be in charge of this responsibility, but you also wanted him nowhere near you. Didn’t anyone else think that him and you together was an awful idea at the moment?

"Because Azriel has a more intimidating effect on your family," Amren replied, looking knowingly at him. Azriel remained stoic, mirroring your own defensive posture—scarred muscular arms crossed, leaning back in his chair, stil as a statue. "As I said, it's been some time since we made an appearance. Who knows what they might do? We can't risk any harm coming to the Princess on her first days back at court," she added mockingly. Rolling your eyes, you fought the urge to offer her a vulgar gesture. For that remark alone, she could certainly go to hell.

"Cassian will come to fetch you later, so you can all gather at the townhouse and winnow together," Amren concluded nonchalantly. "Now, I need to speak with Mor and Cassian privately. You three are dismissed; I'm sure Azriel and Y/n are just itching to throw themselves off the dining room veranda by now." She said to you, Lucien, and Azriel. She was right about one thing, you thought to yourself, your chair scraping against the floor as you stood, eager to escape the war room as quickly as possible.

You closed the door to your room, and fell into your bed screaming into the mattress. You were frustrated, overwhelmed, and exhausted from lack of sleep. A small commotion on your nightstand made you jump, looking up, a medium box now laid on the stand. An envelope attached to a deep purple ribbon wrapped around the gift. You sat up, and grabbed it, opening the paper.

‘Give them hell tonight, you've earned it little star. -R&F’

Inside the box was a diadem of silver, stars of different shapes hung all adorning the chain encrusted in emeralds, diamonds of different hues, and sapphires for you to wear tonight. You sighed, a new feeling slithering through your veins. Maybe this was Rhysand’s way of giving you therapy. You all played a game and made a show down in the court of nightmares that the inner circle all got a kick out of at one point or another. Maybe playing the act was what you needed? You had let your mental shield down, letting your thoughts empty to nothing, hoping Rhys would be paying attention.

You planned this intentionally? You thought once your mind was blank.

Me? What would make you think so? Rhys purred in your mind.

You rolled your eyes. Mhm, you two just had to conveniently leave all of a sudden?

That’s a matter for tomorrow, just try not to torture someone to death tonight, especially not our spymaster. He taunted.

Your spymaster, no promises. You clarified.

Have fun, little star. You could feel him poking at your mind to signal he was no longer there.

You threw your shield up, and laid back on your bed. Tonight was going to be interesting.

･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ

You fixed your lip shine in the mirror, finishing the final touches to your look before a rhythmic knock on your ajar door sounded.

“You ready?” Cassian peaked before walking into the room.

“Ready as I’ll ever be.”

He let out a low whistle as he examined you. “Your family’s not gonna like that.”

“That’s what I was hoping you’d say.” You smirked despite a brief heat rising to your cheeks.

The gown you chose was something you had saved for a trip specifically for the court of nightmares before you had been trapped under the mountain. The bodice had long sleeves and was skin tight, black crystal branches wrapping up your arms, and up your waist with thicker branches covering your chest. The skirt billowed with several layers of gossamer, much like the gown you wore in the day court just several days prior, but had slits dangerously high risking a reveal of your hip bones unlike the other gown. You wore the highest heels you had in your closet that were sure to make you grumpy just by standing in them for more than a couple minutes— exactly why you chose them. Then the diadem that Rhys and Feyre gifted you graced the top of your head and shimmered in the faelight of your room that flickered in your wake, when you felt the satisfaction from Cass’s comment.

He clicked his tongue, crossing his arms. “I don’t think I even like that.” Then he noticed the slits in the fabric. Rubbing a hand over his face in disbelief. “Mother of the cauldron Y/n, are you even wearing anything under that dress?” He made a face which made you laugh out loud.

“Pig, no need to worry about that!” You slapped his arm lightly before looping yours through it.

“You’re right I don’t want to know.” He shook his head. Cassian was always your comedic relief from your worries, and you were thankful that hadn’t changed. “Could you let Nesta borrow it?” He suggested cheekily.

You groaned disgustedly, “then I would have to burn it afterwards.”

“Good, I don’t want to see you in this gown again after tonight.”

“You’re not my father.” You teased as you two walked out to the balcony.

“Yeah but in my head you’ll always be like my little sister, no matter how much of a brat you are.” He nudged you.

“I hate that word,” you admitted, preparing yourself for flight.

He picked you up bridal style as if you weighed nothing in his arms. You adjusted the fabric so it wouldn’t fly up mid flight. “You know it’s true.” He said, his wings rustling, preparing himself.

You gave him a pointed look, “I’m considering it’s true.” Providing a pinch to his bicep. Without warning he took off into the night sky of Velaris, teasingly loosening his grip on you like he was going to drop you.

“If you keep hurting me, I’ll have to sic my mate on you.” A mischievous glint in his eyes.

“She probably knows you deserve it.” You watched the city below light up under the starry sky.

“Touché,” he smiled. He looked in thought as a silence fell over you two letting you admire Velaris below. You hadn’t had a chance to explore the city since your return, today would’ve been the day if it weren’t for the meeting in the court of nightmares. You could see the rainbow quarters perfectly from above and hear the music in the distance. The stars and moon were close to you as well, the music and being so close the light brought solace to any nerves you may have had. It prickled softly at your skin, seeping into your skin.

“I could guess one person who’ll be excited to see you.” Cassian broke the momentary silence.

“Don’t say his name,” you begged, seeing the angle he was trying to pull.

“Who, Azriel?” He grinned broadly.

“My peace is ruined,” you deadpanned, him chuckling at your disdain.

“Don’t let him being an asshole deter you. He’s been all bent out of shape since your absence. I think he’s just hurt deep down, and those little shadows that are always in his ear when you're around doesn’t help.”

You listened to Cassian ramble, confusion filling you. “You haven’t heard everything he's said to me.”

He relaxed a bit, soaring lower, the familiar townhouse now in your view. “I haven’t heard everything you've said to him either, and I don’t think it’s my business or my right to say anything on the matter given my record. Sometimes you say shit in the heat of the moment, sometimes you say shit to hide what’s actually going on underneath it all. One thing I know whenever it comes to you he’s always all up in arms. Not even Elain can do that to him. I didn’t even see him like that with Mor besides that one time.” He cleared his throat awkwardly, getting ready to land. You gripped his neck tighter, bracing yourself.

“When you’re not annoying, you’re actually wise y’know that?” You were in awe at his words. You weren’t sure how true his interpretation was, but for now it brought you slight comfort and ease about the Azriel situation. He landed with his wings slightly fluttering about, shaking off the wind of the night. He gently set you down, and you tried adjusting yourself now that you were standing. You went to fix the diadem, but Cass pushed your hand away lightly, doing it for you.

“I would hope so, year 600 is creeping up on me fast.”

You laughed softly, “you're about to be an old man.”

“Yeah let’s not talk about that, we’re talking about you remember?” He fixed a loose piece of hair that was out of place. “Try not to let him get to you too much tonight or at least channel it into you being all scary and brooding. I’ve missed you in court, it hasn't been the same.”

“Thank you Cass, and I’m sorry for not visiting.” You said sincerely.

Pulling you into his arms for an embrace, he sighed. “I figured you needed space. There’s nothing wrong with that. Rhys went to the cabin after he came out from under there. You just went to the day court for almost a decade long sabbatical.” He shrugged casually. “You can repay me by training again once you’re settled.” You nodded, pulling away. He wrapped his arm around you, “C’mon we have a party to get to.”

Lucien, Morrigan, and Azriel waited for you two. Azriel was the first to look up at the sound of your heels clicking on floor into the foyer of the townhouse. His hazel eyes darkened, eyebrows slightly narrowing, and jaw clenched at the sight of you. Your heart skipped a beat as his eyes traced your body, lingering at the top of the slits of the gown that could expose your hip bones at any sudden movement, before taking in your bare legs that were accentuated by the uncomfortable heels. You felt a warmth in your core that betrayed any ill feelings towards the spymaster, and you had to take a deep breath to calm yourself. You never knew a look would be able to enthrall you so much and ignite such feelings.

He was in his more formal fighting leathers, muscles at full display even underneath the leather, his hair neatly styled back, sciphons glowing under the light of the common room. He was god-like, you couldn’t deny that. Not rugged looking like Cassian or as regal as Rhys, but he was beautiful. You wanted to be sick at thinking these thoughts. His shadows whispered in his ears as he stared at you. You couldn’t discern the look in his eyes as Mor approached you.

“Oh my, my fathers gonna croak, I love it!” She squealed looking at the patterns on your dress. “But we do have to get going, Y/n winnow Cass?” She looked at the male beside you.

You were about to agree, but Azriel spoke up. “I think I should be with her. Just in case. Amren said they’re possibly at a brink of chaos.” His voice was gravelly, and your heart pounded erratically at the huskiness in his tone.

“O-okay? Cassian, let’s come on then.” She looked at you, your eyes were wide in surprise.

Azriel approached you, and his scent of cedar and mist filled your senses making you want to melt even more. You only cleared your throat, straightening your back as his scarred arm reached around you pulling you closer to him as you got ready to winnow. You could feel the rough pad of his thumb near the top of the slit of your dress making your mind blank. His shadows swirled around your wrists in greeting for the first time since you’ve seen him, and you could feel your cheeks heat up.

Mor and Cassian disappeared along with Lucien right behind them. Azriel’s body heat and movement of his hand on your hip was making you flushed, unable to concentrate. Then his lips were close to your ear and you could feel his cool breath on your neck.

“Whatever happens tonight, don’t take it to heart.” The grip on your hip had tightened, and you could feel the sheath of truth-teller in your lower back.

You looked up to him, even wearing your tallest heels he had towered over you, observing the deadly calm on his face. Your gaze lingered on his lips for a second before flirting back to his intense hazel orbs.

You said barely above a whisper, scared your voice would betray your words. “You forget I’m great at this game, shadowsinger.”

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

[x] previous chapter [x] next chapter

Aaaaand we’re off to the races besties!! I had so much fun writing this part! I hope you’re excited as I am for the next one!!

Taglist: @tcris2020 @rachelnicolee @thelov3lybookworm @bubybubsters @mich0731 @t0uch-starved-h0e @penguins-are-the-best @justagingerliving @brekkershadowsinger @jiinmii

If I missed any of you just lmk!

[aspenwritesstuff]

REPLAY : Limbo

REPLAY Masterlist | w/c: 3.3k | Lee Know x Reader

warnings: light angst, swearing, bullying/name calling between friends (this is meant as like...friendly roasting/teasing, no malicious intent), breakup mention, food

synopsis: Lee Minho was great at a lot of things; taking care of you being near the top of his list. As any best friend should upon receiving a distraught phone call, he sets off on a mission to comfort you as best as he can. But, as any best friend knows they should not, he's managed to find himself absolutely enamored by you. With you effectively comforted, the only question he has now is whether or not he should keep it to himself.

“I know it’ll change with just one word, the word I cannot say.”

Minho rushed through the aisles of the local grocery store - his mind on one thing and one thing alone; where the fuck was your favorite ice cream?

When he’d seen your contact name pop up on his screen, he’d answered almost too quickly - eager to hear from you after you’d been out all day with your boyfriend. Naturally, when he heard you sobbing instead of gushing about the date on the other end of the line, he’d shifted immediately into Best Friend Mode.

Stay put, give me a half an hour.

His instructions were simple, earning a broken affirmation from you before the call disconnected, marking the start of his countdown.

He’d already grabbed a small, plush cat and a copy of your favorite film - a disgustingly sappy romcom that he would never be caught dead choosing of his own volition.

But this was you Minho was doing this for. You needed this. You needed him.

He cursed under his breath as he scanned the freezer section, wondering when exactly they’d decided twenty flavors of a single brand was a good idea. Normally, it took more than excessive ice cream varieties to get under Minho’s skin, but he’d already spent five minutes looking for the sickeningly sweet flavor he’d always tease you about loving so much.

The urge to actually shout in excitement as he spotted a container of the gooey, chocolatey treat was strong. He snatched it up quickly, tossing it in his basket before speeding over to the drink aisle.

Water was next on Minho’s list. If the garbled state of your voice was any indicator, you’d likely cried out enough of your body’s water content to be on the verge of dehydration. He tutted under his breath to himself, voicing his concern outwardly despite not yet being there with you. He put a couple of bottles of water alongside the ice cream before heading to the checkout.

Minho nearly sprinted to his car once he’d paid for the items, not bothering to grab his change in his hurry to make it to you. Typically, he tried to keep a level head - not letting his emotions show one way or the other. This was different, though.

You were different.

His thoughts were on you as he got into his car, tossing his haul into the passenger seat before turning the key in the ignition.

This was not Minho’s first time assisting you through heartbreak. He’d tell you the same thing, each and every time.

“They didn’t deserve you, anyway.”

And he meant it, each and every time. You were…astounding to Minho. Soft despite the hardships you’d faced, but strong enough to pull through and stand up for yourself. Hardheaded. Strong willed. Although he’d frequently feign annoyance, Minho had always found your stubbornness extremely endearing.

Minho had always been completely honest with you. Your outfit isn’t flattering? He’d say something. You had food in your teeth? He’d point it out. He disliked your partner? You’d know about it.

The only thing he’d never been able to tell you was that he loved you.

Not that he’d never said those words to you before, having been your best friend for several years now - but this was different. 

This wasn’t an offhanded, platonic, “Yeah, yeah, I love you, too,” as he’d normally say, rolling his eyes at your affectionate statement.

This was an, “I want to kiss you until I can’t breathe, hold you every night and never let go,” type of love. 

This was an, “It hurts me every time you give one of these jerks a chance, because I know I can love you better,” type of love.

This was a, “Despite my feelings for you, I am buying you all of your favorite things and coming over to comfort you after someone - who didn’t deserve you in the first place - fucked up,” type of love.

Minho sighed to himself as he spotted your apartment complex, pulling into park next to your car. He prepared himself to see your blotchy, reddened face and not blur the line between “concerned friend” and “madly in love.”

He grabbed the grocery bag before jogging up the steps, two at a time, and arriving outside of your door. 

Minho felt his concern growing as the door remained closed. He raised his hand to knock again, only to stop as he heard a faint sniffle followed by shuffling footsteps on the other side. 

When you opened the door, his heart dropped into his stomach.

Your eyes were swollen and red, glistening as though you’d been crying up until the moment you revealed yourself to him. You had your favorite blanket - a gift from Minho himself - wrapped snugly around your head and shoulders as if it were a hood. Your cheeks were flushed, and your nose was a startling shade of crimson.

“You look like shit,” Minho said bluntly, stepping inside and slipping the shoes off of his feet.

“Gee, thanks,” you replied dryly, sarcasm only broken by the slightest twitch of a smirk on your lips.

Minho handed you the bag wordlessly, making a quick detour into the kitchen to grab you a spoon before placing a gentle hand in the middle of your back and leading you to the couch.

He sat down, patting the spot next to him to urge you to do the same. You followed suit, finally looking into the plastic bag you’d been handed. 

“Water?” You asked him, your voice just sad enough to sound more pathetic, less unamused.

“As if you’d remember to hydrate in the midst of your crisis,” he rebutted immediately, raising a brow, “Drink.”

You unscrewed the cap, taking a small sip of the still-cold liquid. You hadn’t realized just how parched you’d become in the midst of your breakdown, immediately raising the bottle back to your lips for a more prolonged drink.

Minho nodded as you drank, content with the lack of resistance when it came to something as important as your health. After finishing a quarter of the bottle, setting it down on the coffee table, you peered into the bag once more.

You slowly pulled out the brown and white plush from the bag, smiling softly despite the heavy sadness in your heart.

“Looked like Dori,” he explained before you could ask, “Your apartment doesn’t allow pets, or I would’ve just brought her along.”

You nodded, setting it carefully in your lap. You’d always loved playing with Dori, the most playful of Minho’s children, and - despite being unable to play with the plush as you would’ve the real thing - you still valued the sentiment.

There was a ghost of a smile on your lips as you grabbed the next thing out of the bag, recognizing it by its shape and cold exterior before it had even entered your field of view.

“Brownie batter?” you asked quietly, sniffling once more.

“That better be the right one,” he warned playfully, “You need a new favorite brand, twenty flavors to search through is too many.”

That ghost of a smile grew increasingly closer to becoming genuine as you met his eyes, “I’m not choosing a new brand just because you’re lazy,” you tried to tease back, though it sounded a bit more like a whiny complaint in your current state. Minho chuckled warmly at your reply, regardless of how stuffy and downtrodden you sounded, “Besides, this flavor is the best.”

“Sure,” he quipped, rolling his eyes despite the overwhelming relief he felt to have you acting like yourself already. Seeing a smile on your face - regardless of how small - after having nearly panicked upon hearing you on the verge of hyperventilating on the phone soothed his heart. 

He watched you pull the final gift from his bag of heartbreak remedies, already steeling himself for what was bound to be a dramatic reaction.

“You didn’t buy this, I refuse to believe that,” you said, stone-faced as you held the movie in your hands, “You wouldn’t be caught dead purchasing this in public.”

“Yet here I am, delivering it to you personally,” Minho easily countered. He’d always been so quick with the counterarguments - something you’d once been bothered by, but now found hopelessly entertaining.

“Are you sure I’m the one who needs taken care of?” You raised a brow as you spoke, pressing the back of your hand to his forehead, “Are you feeling okay?”

“Shut up,” he grumbled, “I’m allowed to give a shit about you, yeah?”

You laughed softly as Minho offered you the spoon he’d grabbed from the kitchen, “Yeah, I guess I’ll allow it.”

“Good,” he deadpanned, turning his body until he was facing you directly, “Now, tell me what happened.” Your face fell, the smile you’d finally found dropping immediately at the reminder of your pain. This didn’t go unnoticed by Minho, however, as he attempted to bribe you, “You can eat your ice cream and I’ll watch this horrible movie with you afterwards.”

“It’s not horrible, you’re just a cynic,” you mumbled, avoiding both eye contact and giving him a direct answer.

“And you’re hoping I debate this with you to give you an excuse not to talk.”

Damn him for knowing you so well.

You sighed, shaking your head. You couldn’t tell him he was wrong - because that was exactly what you’d hoped for. A shaky inhale prefaced your next words, your throat tightening as you made your best attempt to explain without crying again.

You’d been seeing Jay for a few months now, and you’d truly thought things were going well. Naturally, you were blindsided by his sudden admittance of falling for someone else. Admittedly, you did prefer being told to your face to actually be cheated on - but, damn, it still hurt. 

Minho listened intently as you recounted the conversation, not interrupting even once - save for a hum here and there to show you he was still paying attention. When you finished explaining the reason for your blubbering phone call, Minho sighed softly.

“He didn’t deserve you, anyways,” just as you’d predicted, he’d resorted to his faithful response any time a man had played with your heart.

“How did I know you were gonna say that?” you whispered, a breathy laugh on the tip of your tongue.

“Because you know that it's the truth,” he said with a small smirk, reaching out to ruffle your hair. 

You pulled away, lips pursed into a frown, “Do you really think I’d keep getting into these situations if I knew they’d turn out this way?” You patted down your now-tousled hair as Minho shook his head.

“I suppose you’re right,” he mused, the mischievous glimmer not once leaving his eyes, “Be kinda dumb if you did it on purpose.”

“Shut up,” you mumbled, crossing your arms.

Minho simply laughed brightly, taking the movie from where you’d set it next to you as he approached the blu-ray player. 

“You’re really gonna watch it with me?” you asked, genuine surprise in your voice as you opened the pint of ice cream.

“Mhm,” Minho replied, as if it would’ve been obvious. 

“You hate it, though,” you said softly, worried that he was putting himself into a situation he wouldn’t enjoy just for your benefit, “You said it was ‘so mushy you could throw up’ when I tried to show it to you before.”

“You are correct,” Minho said plainly, opening the case to put the disc into the player, “I do hate it.”

He made his way back to the couch, sitting next to you as he grabbed the remote from the table.

“Then why are you watching it, willingly, on purpose?” You questioned, suspicion evident in the way your voice slowed with each descriptor.

“Because I love you, and you love this gooey shit.”

His eyes were focused on the screen as he navigated the menu, for which you were grateful considering the way heat had prickled up your cheeks. It wasn’t as though Minho had never told you he loved you before, but you were typically the instigator in those rare moments of affection.

Of course, you couldn’t show him that his words affected you this way - you’d never live it down.

So you settled for the next best thing - deflection via humor.

“Now you’re so mushy I could throw up,” you nudged his side with your blanket-wrapped shoulder as you teased him, earning a scoff as he hit play.

“This is why I don’t do nice things,” he muttered as though he were annoyed - though the warm smile on his face showed you that he truly wasn’t all that bothered.

“Whatever, you love me,” you said back, focusing your attention towards the tv as the movie began.

“That’s what I said, yes,” Minho nearly whispered, watching you rather than the screen as the opening sequence immediately enraptured you. 

You didn’t see the way his gaze softened as he reaffirmed that he did, in fact, love you. Nor did you pick up on how serious he’d been when he’d said it in the first place. You’d figured he was just being nicer than usual because you were sad, nothing more, and had settled in to watch the movie with the pint of ice cream in your lap.

Minho was kicking himself internally. Why couldn’t he have just…clarified that he meant what he’d said. Why hadn’t he pushed a little farther, finally telling you that he loved you beyond the level which was acceptable between friends? 

He hadn’t expected you to notice his shift in demeanor, let alone point it out. Yet, here you were, staring at his furrowed brow after turning to catch his reaction to a particularly cheesy scene.

“You okay, Minho? You didn’t even gag at that,” your brow was raised as you put another bite of ice cream into your mouth. 

“Hm?” He asked before your words had fully registered, “Yeah, I’m alright,” he said with his best attempt at a reassuring smile.

The benefit to how brutally honest Minho was, was how painfully obvious it was when he was lying.

“Minho…” you urged, turning to face him, “Don’t lie to me, you’re terrible at it.”

He chuckled, glancing over to you as he shook his head, “Don’t worry about it, okay?”

“Too late.”

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, “I came here because I was worried about you, not for you to worry about me.”

Your lips tightened into a thin line as you stared him down, not budging in your desire to know what he was thinking, “Giving a shit about each other goes both ways,” you reminded him, casually using the terminology he had earlier.

Minho smiled, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes this time around. He tilted his head as he met your expectant gaze, “Well, well, using my own words against me?” he inquired, raising a brow.

Normally, you’d humor him with a laugh - or at least crack a smile - but Minho appearing to be anything other than okay was a rare enough sight that it took every ounce of your attention - whether you wanted it to or not.

“You aren’t letting this go, are you?” Minho asked after feeling your eyes bore into him for several seconds. His tone had shifted from his typical lighthearted banter to something more vulnerable - something soft, and small.

“No, I’m not,” you confirmed, scooting a bit closer to him in order to place your hand on top of his, “You know you can tell me anything, Min.”

The look of genuine worry in your eyes was enough to send Minho’s heart into a frenzied pace, forcing him to swallow a sudden lump in his throat. 

“I love you,” he said softly, one corner of his lips curling up into a halfhearted smile.

You returned it in kind, squeezing his hand gently, “I love you, too, Minho. Now, tell me what’s wrong.”

He laughed humorlessly, looking up to the ceiling before allowing his eyes to meet yours once again, “I just did.”

“What?” You were confused for a few seconds, what he’d meant going right over your head at first.

Until it didn’t.

It hit you like a ton of bricks that Lee Minho, your best friend in the entire world - the man who’d helped you pick up the broken pieces of your heart more times than you could count - just said he loved you.

And meant it.

You felt your eyes turn into saucers as you studied his face, looking for any hint of humor - any clue that he was just joking - as your lips slowly parted.

“You…you mean as more than just a friend, right?” you whispered, a sudden heaviness in your chest as you waited for his answer. Minho had quite the proclivity for pranking you, but something told you that this was definitely not one of those times.

“I thought that was obvious, yeah,” he answered, his snark coming through even in a moment where he was baring his soul. You didn’t blame him, though. You knew him well enough to know that it was only because of how nervous he must be feeling, revealing something so potentially catastrophic.

“This is your one chance to tell me if you’re fucking with me,” you warned, swallowing hard as you stared into his dark eyes - searching for any hint of doubt in their depths.

“I’m not,” he said softly, holding your intense stare with one of his own as he turned his hand over, lacing his slender fingers between yours.

“I swear to God, Minho, if this is some sort of sick joke I’m gonna lose my –” “Goddamnit, it’s not a joke!” he cut you off, his brows furrowing together as he took a deep breath to get control of himself, “I’m…I’m serious.”

“Oh my God…” you whispered, shock still written all over your face as you felt him squeeze your hand tighter, “You’re…you’re really not kidding, are you?”

“I’m really not kidding.”

“You love me?” your words came out slowly, tentative as you continued to search his face.

“Yes,” he answered, smiling softly - relief evident on his face the longer you went without freaking out on him.

“Like…love me, love me?” you pressed, blinking rapidly.

He scoffed, eyes lighting up with a strange mixture of affection and annoyance, “Oh my God, yes! I love you love you, whatever the fuck that means.”

“Minho?” you asked, looking down at your hand joined with his, grazing your thumb across his knuckles gently.

“Yes?”

“Kiss me?”

Minho hadn’t realized how much he’d craved to hear those words escape your lips until they did - sounding like the sweetest song he’d ever heard in his entire life. His free hand came up to cup your cheek delicately, a smirk on his lips as he - in typical Minho fashion - had to get the last word, “I thought you’d never ask.”

You didn’t even have time to so much as roll your eyes before his deceptively soft lips were capturing yours. Your head instantly felt light, as though you were floating, your own empty hand reaching up to rest against his chest. You could feel the hammering of his heart beneath your palm, though his mouth moved with a calm certainty against yours. 

When he finally pulled back, cheeks reddened and lips slightly swollen, he gave you a crooked smile - his eyes sparkling with the familiar mischief you’d come to adore.

You’d come to love.

“What?” you asked him, suddenly self-conscious as you laughed breathlessly.

“I think you were right,” he teased, his lips parting further to reveal a brilliant grin.

“About what?” your confusion must’ve been evident, bringing a light chuckle forth from his lips as they gently brushed yours once more.

“About that ice cream being the best,” he started, smirking as he licked the taste of it from his lips. He pulled back to look you in the eyes, clearly amused.

"Is that so?" You asked, an uncharacteristically flustered giggle bursting forth from your lips.

His smirk evolved into a full, bright, beaming smile before he said in a surprisingly serious voice, “Yeah, I think it’s my favorite now, too.”

permanent taglist: @svintsandghosts

[iwritenarrativesandstuff]

I don’t usually make posts like this but guys can we please please please check what we’re reblogging for misinformation

I really do think that the biggest part of activism is rationality, and making sure that what we are spreading around is factual. Outrage is one of the easiest things to take advantage of for people looking to spin their own narratives.

As someone who fact checks and cross-references academic papers for a living and also isn’t exactly a slouch when it comes to textual analysis, here’s some really easy ways to double check what you’re posting:

Check the original blogger and look through a couple of their top posts. Generally, you’ll be able to see some of the sentiments they hold. I know I narrowly avoided reblogging something from a transphobe just by doing this

Check for sources. If there are no sources, don’t reblog, or find a reblog that has sources, or reblog and add your own.

Just because a post has one source: that’s not typically good enough. Try to find at least three if you can. Cross-reference!!!

Look at where your sources come from. Check the reputability literally by typing in “is [source name] reputable?” if you don’t know. Generally you’ll want newspapers, journals, websites dedicated to the topic in question. Avoid sourcing only from social media - though, as we know, there are certain situations where we need to be taking into account the voices of individuals when supposedly unbiased sources refuse to publish their perspectives, or diminish their experiences with coded language.

Check to see if any quotes are carefully edited or taken wildly out of context. People love making sensation out of moderate statements. People also love passing around catchy soundbites.

Check the publisher and the source of funding. Usually you can find it at the bottom of a website page or in the funding section of an article. There are quite a few studies on the benefits of eggs and milk sponsored by the dairy council in my country. While this doesn’t necessarily mean the science or information is completely bogus, you may want to be slightly skeptical about the motives of the research or report. Who does this research/article benefit?

Listen to what people are telling you who are directly involved. This should go without saying. You should always strive to be a better listener than a louder speaker, even if both are important. We are here to support those who need it and to pass along their words and send aid where we can. They do the talking. We provide the reach. Don’t be a saviour.

On that note, do you act in solidarity with the victims, or are you more interested in having a “legitimate” reason to get angry? Your investment should come primarily from compassion. Not hatred.

On that note again: are you interested in maintaining the narrative you understand, or are you willing to listen to views that may conflict with the story you’ve understood up until this point? The mark of good judgement (and good science, fyi) is to be able to reevaluate when faced with conflicting information. (The psychological concept is assimilation vs accommodation of new information, if you’d like to look into that.) You are not immune to propaganda just because you’re on the morally “right” side (and if you find yourself thinking this way, I would delicately suggest that you see if, perhaps, you are already caught up in it - “us vs them” mentality is a prime breeding ground for hateful sentiment and misinformation).

Last thing: sometimes you’re going to find things that are really hard, if not impossible to confirm. Exercise your own judgement. Sometimes it comes down to trust and compassion. That’s human nature. Sometimes we’ll get things wrong, or fall for misinformation, or learn more information later that changes things. That’s good. Being open to change is actually far more important than getting things “right”.

Final note: sometimes people get really caught up in trying to prove a claim that doesn’t really change the main situation. For instance, I don’t particularly care if there are “bad” individuals in a situation where an entire group of people are being murdered en masse. There are bad people everywhere, my dude. Ask yourself whether certain claims are meant to hinder discussion of what really matters in this moment. Keep your focus, keep your compassion, keep your ears open, and do your best not to get sucked into the outrage vortex. I know it’s hard, but you’re going to do so much more good for the people most in need if you remember that misinformation is how voices get swallowed up and lost - because their narratives are overtaken by someone else’s. Please, if nothing else, don’t be reactionary.

[defectivehero]

The hero’s sidekick defects and becomes a villain. It's safe to say that they’re not expecting what happens next.

“Get out.”

“What?” The ex-hero chokes out. Surely, they heard them wrong. Surely, the villain didn’t just tell them to leave, even after they established their new allegiance. 

“Get out,” the villain- a longtime enemy of heroes everywhere- repeats, gesturing to the door of the bar. There’s a dangerous resolve lurking in their tight shoulders. They continue to wipe at a glass- which already looks clean, to the ex-hero’s confusion. It’s already taking all of the ex-hero’s brainpower to process that the villain is an undercover bartender, let alone the fact that they don’t desire their presence. 

“I’m on your side,” the ex-hero eventually manages to say. They glance to the side and sigh in annoyance. They had meant to reserve this move for a later game, but... The ex-hero rolls up their sleeve to show the mangled black mark on their wrist. The villain doesn’t react to the physical proof of their defection from the agency. Their eyebrows do furrow, likely at the reminder that the agency branding its heroes. “I... I’m not a hero anymore. I’m with you, now.”

“You are not with me,” the villain snarls, pausing in their toweling to level a malicious glare at them. Somehow, this statement seems to anger them the most out of anything they've said so far. The ex-hero pauses to think about that for a moment. They've always known the villain to be a lone wolf, sure, but they didn’t think....

“I am with you,” the ex-hero argues again, crossing their arms over their chest after taking a step closer. They’re still several feet from the villain, who stands behind the bar of the dingy establishment. The ex-hero internally pats themselves on the back for visiting early in the morning. The place’s typical crowds are nowhere to be found. 

“No one is with me,” the villain maintains, finally putting the damned glass back. The ex-hero thanks their lucky stars. Just as they do so, unfortunately, the villain grabs another glass and starts polishing it off. “I am by myself. Furthermore, if you intend to make things harder for Dev... then we’re not on the same side.”

“How do you know their name?” The ex-hero asks, dread coiling in their chest. How the hell does the villain know the hero’s name? And not just their name, but their nickname?! They take a deep breath and try to maintain composure. Feeling remarkably out of depth in the conversation, they pinch the bridge of their nose and manifest patience. “Wait, you’re a villain. Isn’t that what you do- making things harder for heroes?!” 

A loud smashing sound echoes throughout the space. The ex-hero looks on in bewilderment at the villain standing behind the bar. The glass they were holding is now a collection of shards on the counter. Blood drips down the villain’s hand and they clench their fist, without so much as an acknowledgement of the pain. The ex-hero gulps. 

“You fool,” the villain hisses, their hands shaking with evident anger. They take a deep breath and grab the shards, ignoring the ex-hero’s exclamations. “Dev already has enough on their plate. The last thing they need is… whatever the hell this is.” The villain motions to them condescendingly.

“Do you realize just how many people want them dead?” The villain continues, placing a palm flat on the bar counter. The ex-hero winces at the thought of their blood melding and spreading into the surface. They wonder just how many times the villain has had to wipe up blood from that counter. “How the hell do you think Dev is still alive?”

How is Dev still alive? The ex-hero had, admittedly, pondered that question a few times themselves. Even when they were the hero’s sidekick, it was hard not to notice how many times Devin was stopped on a routine patrol or nearly kidnapped. The ex-sidekick, ex-hero, ex-everything, thinks about that for a moment.

“You,” they realize aloud. It makes a horrifying amount of sense. They look at the villain behind the bar, who has a sickening grin on their face. “You’re deterring the other villains. You’re… lightening their load.”

“I prefer establishing their priorities,” the villain replies, hands on their hips. The ex-hero has so many questions now. Why? How? When? They shake their head in disbelief. A villain helping a hero is unconventional, to the say the least. Why would they help the hero, though? It makes no sense. After all, they’re enemies. Perhaps the villain just wants... 

A growl from the villain breaks them out of their thoughts. The glasses behind them are rattling and the counter almost seems to glow crimson in their vision. The ex-hero takes a rasping breath, uncomfortable with the sudden tension in the air. 

“Now, get lost, kid.” Kid. The ex-hero scoffs, but they don’t bother to argue. Clearly, something bigger is going on here. After that enlightening conversation, they’ve decided that they don't want to be involved. The villain is clearly thinking steps ahead of the game. The ex-hero themselves has just entered. They don’t want to be cleared off of the board just yet. 

They take a deep breath and walk down the street. The conversation with the villain still runs through their mind, even as they make it back to their apartment and slowly fall out of their persona. The hero, their old partner, comes to mind once more. The ex-hero chuckles wryly. Good luck, Devin. You’re going to need it. 

©2022, @defectivehero All Rights Reserved. 

hehehhee. ominous...

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[sarcasticdolphin]

Smrtolf fae au: September Prompt 25: "Picture Frames"

For the amazing @adridoesstuff as all the Smrtolf drabbles are.

Cut is just for length

“What about the gold one?” There might be a faint tinge of amusement in Aemilia’s voice, but Rudolf was concentrating too closely to care.

“Too ostentatious. Too-” Rudolf makes a few vague gestures with his hands. “Performative.”

The words don’t seem fully sufficient. Most of Rudolf’s paintings remain unframed, and framing them is always so difficult. Add to that the king’s marked dislike of plain black frames and it ceased to be a minor concern and became a full on conundrum.

“A wooden one, then. Perhaps with a little staining. Something understated.”

Rudolf looks at the frame and hates it immediately. The wood is the wrong texture - too birchy. The painting in question is of redwoods. It will clash horribly.

“Too-” He gestures vaguely in the direction of the door and the poor servant who is displaying the picture frame takes the queue for him and his rejected frame to exit stage left.

“Rudolf.” As much as Rudolf could deny the air of amusement in Aemilia’s voice before, now he most certainly couldn’t.

“Aemilia.” She’s smiling, too, and gently stroking Anna’s raven. The white bird was happily snoozing in her arms, feathers softly fluffed.

“I hate doing this.” There is no venom to Rudolf’s proclamation, and Aemilia gives a gentle laugh.

“Each time it takes more and more frames before you eventually acquiesce to one. Perhaps you ought to take up picture frame making and solve your problems that way.”

Rudolf rolls his eyes, but he’d considered it before. There were some problems that were best solved by taking matters into one’s own hands. Though thinking that was far easier than becoming a skilled enough carver or carpenter to make a picture frame that would be satisfactory.

“Perhaps I should take to painting murals for a bit. Those at least have the benefit of not needing frames.”

“Indeed. They are also incredibly time consuming. But I have no doubt the king would be happy to have you in his quarters painting the walls for half the day. I’d probably have to drag him to court or he’d skip it.”

Rudolf smiles at that. It’s just the sort of thing that Smrt would do, and Aemilia would certainly be the one to drag the king to his court. Or maybe she’d come to visit him with her horde of demon crows. That might frighten him into doing his duties.

“And why do I even need a picture frame in the first place? The canvas itself is enough.” Perhaps it is a more boastful statement than Rudolf would typically allow himself, but in this he knows his skill. And his work might benefit from framing sometimes, but it stands alone.

“For a wrapped canvas, certainly, But when you paint on anything else you will have issues.” Rudolf hears the unspoken part as well - to say he found the wrapping process tedious would be an understatement if ever there was one. It was worse than grinding pigment in Rudolf’s eyes, even if it wasn’t as time consuming. And then there was the annoyance of dealing with a larger wrapped canvas. That made things even worse.

The white raven almost seemed to yawn as it woke up, accepting a few scratches from Aemilia before hopping over to Rudolf and perching on his thigh. Rudolf offers Anna’s dear bird a fer scratches, but he can only shake his head sadly when the bird gives him a hopeful look. Anna was still being rather strict with treats. And it was working - her bird was looking a little less plump and more like a typical raven, though it was always hard to tell under all the feathers.

The raven gives a sound that Rudolf can only describe as forlorn and starts preening, but Rudolf finds himself feeling immensely guilty. Anna’s sweet raven could guilt trip like no other.

“Perhaps I should take up drawing.” Rudolf already had to do some sketching, though he personally much preferred paint.

“Drawings still need frames.”

“Sculpture, then.”

Aemilia only raises an eyebrow at Rudolf’s suggestion. He’d tried a few sculptured, but he hadn’t the patience for it. Pigments might cause him difficulties from time to time, but there was a vast difference in having to spend a few extra minutes mixing pigments and spending days and days carving away at a block of rock, hoping to bring forth something beautiful. 

Rudolf glances down at the white raven. “Maybe not sculpture.” He gives the raven a few more scratches before turning back to Aemilia.

“I miss when painting was simple and easy.”

“When someone else ground all the pigment, prepped the paint, and selected the subject?”

Rudolf exhales. Aemilia has a way of hitting issues square on the head while not actually saying anything directly about them, and as usual she was right. He prided himself on preparing his own pigments and paints, and on selecting his subjects. Hadn’t he complained mightily when his tutor had forced him to learn how to properly paint still life? He’d certainly made a bit of a theatrical fuss of grimacing at a few innocent fruit bowls.

“How was the court?” Rudolf asks the question in earnest curiosity, but also out of a faint sense of defiance. Aemilia was the rare type of fae that thoroughly disliked dithering on unnecessary topics.

“I have no doubt the king will give you a full and complete accounting of the affairs of the court today. We aren’t here to talk about the court, Rudolf, we’re here to find a picture frame. How about the white one?”

The white one is nice - simple and with an elegance, but Rudolf finds himself displeased with it. The edges are quite thin and it will make the painting and frame look all out of proportion.

“Too small. Too skinny.”

Aemilia tilts her head to the side just a hair and gestures for a servant to bring the next picture frame. “What about the blue one?”

“Too blue.”

“They gray one?”

“Too melancholy.”

“The black one?”

“Smrt doesn't like black frames.”

[zeroseuniverse]

Sinful Urges

WC: 1.3K Pairing: Seokmin X Fem Reader Warnings: stabbing, death, murder

“I don’t think she likes me.”

“What makes you say that?”

“She hit me with her car.”

“It could have been an accident.”

“She looked me dead in the eye and reversed.”

Honestly, Seokmin probably should have expected it, dragging a human out of their bed in the middle of the night didn’t typically warrant a friendly interaction. But in his defense he really had to win the bet against Dino, the youngest claiming that they as demons couldn’t take humans if their feet were uncovered at night. 

“Why are you so hung up on this human anyway? I know you have your flings but she’s a little too far from your usual type.” Joshua wondered, reclining back in his chair, the black markings on his face becoming more visible as the light shifted with his movement.

“It’s because she’s the only human that doesn’t lay down and take it.” Woozi snickered at his own statement, it was true, majority of Seokmin’s interest was piqued when the woman still had the balls to sass him even when he brought her into the underworld, however it might’ve also stemmed from the utter sin dripping the innocent looking woman.  It was odd to find someone so covered in the alluring scent of sins that his mouth almost watered when near, and her round face and doe eyes didn’t match the scent attached to her soul, making her all the more enticing.

“I just don’t understand how she can smell so good but I haven’t caught her doing anything remotely sinful.”

“Well you don’t follow her every second of every day.” Mingyu pointed out, his pointed teeth making his words almost sound like a hiss. “You do have other responsibilities, maybe she is just sneaky.” He had a point and almost every member of their legion knew that Seokmin was not as slick as he thought, the lower level demon was loud, his demon ability also gave off a low hum, and if you were aware of it you’d essentially have a beacon to him if he was close enough. 

“Take her by surprise, show up suddenly, completely out of your usual rotation.” Jeonghan suggested, the man finding the whole situation pretty funny, Seokmin has never been so interested in a female before it was only fitting he help this play out. 

“Won’t she sense me?” 

“Go a few days without showing up at all, she won’t expect it and you can just trick her.” Seungkwan explained, pulling out his mischievous side, Whole heartedly wanting to see this go up in flames, this human was a smart one that's for sure.

–

So showing up after a week without seeing her was driving him mad, was she always this pretty? She looked a little tired, was it because of him?  Did she notice his absence? So many questions bounced around his brain as he watched her hooded figure walk down the street. 

She was clad in thick clothes to combat the tough chill of the winter, he could hardly see the mask she had covering half of her face. Why was she out so late? And while it was so cold? He was a little annoyed that she'd be so stupid to do such a thing. 

She grinned silently to herself as she heard the slight hum in the air, he was near. In his absence she was a little disheartened, the annoying demon wasn’t there to pester her throughout her daily activities; it was all dull and boring. 

She was feeling rather agitated which is why she fell into her old habits she had been trying to reign in. Taking out most of her aggression on the immortal was probably the best plan she has ever had but with him taking a sudden absence, old habits die hard, as they say. 

The quiet hum Seokmin admitted was becoming quiet background noise, as the sound of a small fire crackled in the distance. Turning the corner into a small alleyway, sits a ragged homeless man curled around the fire, glossy eyes staring back at her. Her hands stuffed into her jacket pocket, fiddling with a small hunters knife. 

“Fine night, isn’t it Miss?” He croaks out, ushering her to join him. Enjoy the warmth of the small fire on the harsh winters’ night. She kneels down beside him, taking in his shaggy appearance on closer inspection, eyes’ glazed over, a sick blue tint to his cracked lips, and the dirt caked onto his tattered clothing, braiding into his long, unkempt hair. 

Seokmin's gaze almost felt piercing as his hum grew stronger, conflicting over the situation he loomed over. ‘How can she smell decadent, dripping in sin when her actions show no correlation?’. 

He’s ripped out of his train of thought at your sudden lunge towards the man. A silver glint catches his eye as the knife lodged itself in his neck, a curdled scream cuts through the silence. Blood sprays out as her smile widens. The homeless man weakly reaches to his neck, clawing at the knife as his hands stain crimson red. 

Seokmin takes in the sight of the man's hand going limp and the blood splattered across the woman’s face as if that would make it make sense. His quiet hum only encouraged her, feeling the need to put on a show for the demon spectator. The knife rips out and is quickly reinserted as the man falls back, choking gasps and cries filling her ears. 

“Rest easy, Mister.” Whispering out, almost in a songlike tone as she thrusts the knife in, allowing it to be drowned in his blood. She stills for a minute, breathing deeply as she stares down the life she’s taken. Almost as if on autopilot, she drags the body up against the dumpster, resting a blanket over him and stuffing the knife back in her pocket. Seokmin’s hum being the only thing on her mind. 

“You can come out now.” She hummed, hearing an almost silent chime, she probably wouldn’t have caught hadn’t the night not been as quiet as the dead. 

“So this is why you smell like sin?” He asked with a tilted head, eyes fluttering around the scene to get more information, the scent lingering around her grew after she killed the man, leaving little to deduce. The man was innocent. She just killed an innocent man.

“Like you haven’t done worse.” She shot back, pushing past him, as Seokmin rushed to follow her steps. 

“Not judging it, just curious how exactly you can keep it so quiet that a demon who follows you around hasn’t noticed.” He inquired while kicking the tip of his shoe into the path before him a little. 

“You aren’t around all of the time,” she shrugged, before taking a left turn down a new road, “And I haven’t been doing it recently.” Her tone was too casual for the blood caked in her nails. 

“Why's that? Scared the demon will catch you and take you away?” He teased, leaning his head forward to try to catch her gaze.

“Definitely not,” she deadpanned, slowing down her pace slightly now that she's further away from her crime, “You can’t die. So I’ve been getting most of my urges out on you without realizing, until you were gone.”

“So you…like having me around?” He asked confusedly, looking at the very odd woman next to him. She felt like a book with blank pages, he felt like no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t get a clear read on her. 

“Yea, yea I guess I do.” She smiled softly at the thought. Maybe this demon isn’t so annoying after all. 

And with that the two lost souls intertwined just a little more, looking at each other with soft smiles and light hearts. The sweet scent of sin mixed with the gentle hum as they lost themselves in the snowy path home. 

“For the record I’ll let you stab me anytime,” He grinned before a loud,  “OW!” took over the quiet night followed by an agitated “What?! You offered!” 

A shout out to @mini-mews for being a savior and helping me with this story

[lycanlovingvampyre]

MAG 175 Relisten

Activity on my first listen: cutting the French tamarisk in my garden.

Ahh, love the sirens, they sound very similar to the typical nuclear alarm sirens. I really like that tone, it's relaxing I think... which is absolutely not what these were made for, lol... It also reminds be a bit of 28 Days/Weeks Later, because that song, In a House in a Heartbeat, is often mashed up with those sirens.

I think the idea of mainly describing what items or animals would look like in an post-apocalyptic wasteland is cool!

That warped sound of a croaking bird during the book section is really cool!

"Item: A laughable umbrella." This has to be the absolute best statement section there is xD That poor umbrella! What's it done to deserve this S1 prick!Jon treatment?

"A human bone, that much is clear; too big to be a child’s, at least. Can a bone seem familiar? The shape of it echoing through your mind, like a face seen only in dreams? It may be followed up to a ribcage." Oh, actually, that reminds me... What happened to Jon's rib when he exploded Jared? Did it just vanish with him? Probably, since it doesn’t come up again. Any funny headcanons?

[A STEP, SOME GROANING, THE JANGLE OF BAGS, AND CREAKING OF WHAT IS PRESUMABLY A COUCH AS MARTIN SITS.] JON: "How is it?" MARTIN: "Great! (creak from the couch) It’s great. Lovely couch." There is also liquid to be heard whenever Martin moves on the couch, though I don't know if there's just a puddle supposed to be at Martin's feet or if the couch itself protrudes some sort of liquid... Either way, there is so much regret in Martin's voice and he is just too stubborn to admit it XD

JON: "Right. Well, rest up, I suppose!" MARTIN: "It’s two-seater!" JON: (you are not getting me on that thing) "Yes it is!" [BRIEF PAUSE, IN WHICH THERE IS A SLIGHT AMUSED EXHALE AND ANOTHER CREAK OF THE COUCH.] JON (CONT’D): "Hard pass, thank you." Martin be like "Pls, share this regret with me!!!" xD Or maybe he genuinely wanted a bit of cuddle time with Jon... just maybe... xD

MARTIN: (creak as he shifts) "So it was real then, the Extinction?" JON: "Of course it was real – A-At least in the sense that – it was a thing people feared. Whether it was strong enough in its own right to be considered at a level with Smirke’s Fourteen, or – whether it was on its way to getting there, I – maybe. This sort of thing is always muddy." Still hung up on Smirke's categorization. I've heard theories/headcanons before, that it didn't even had to be 14 marks on Jon, and that just a bunch of them would have sufficed, since dividing the fears is really muddled anyway. So it wouldn't have mattered, if the Extinction had emerged in a bigger way, not for the mass ritual. I generally like that idea.

JON: "But – mostly he was just like anyone else who tried to take the scope of human terror and – (small inhale) package it neatly into little theories." Yeah, that.

MARTIN: "D’you know if – like – gods, religion, the afterlife, all that stuff. Do you know if any of that was real?" JON: (exhale, a bit amused) "Really rolling out the big questions today." MARTIN: "Sorry, it’s just – this place just brings it out in me, I guess." [SLIGHT STATIC KICKS IN AGAIN.] JON: "If there is a god, or gods, or an existence beyond this world, the Eye can’t see it. It sees the fear of it, but – nothing of its truth." Super cool, that this was acknowledged and got really good, believable dodge!

MARTIN: (cutting him off) "I, I know what you meant! I can still be keen to see our friends!" Friends, plural! So Martin does consider Daisy a friend? He did spend some time with her post coffin, so he definitely noticed she had changed, but still Jon spend a lot more time with her. Still nice to see, that it actually was the Lonely talking, when he pushed Daisy away, telling her none of them are actually friends... Also! Jon does prepare Martin here for what’s to come. I think if he already suspected Trevor to also arrive at the same time, he would have told Martin in time. Since that is something that Jon gets criticized for. I think it was actually just bad luck in timing. But yeah, we’ll get to that part in a bit. 

@a-mag-a-day

[lazuli-writes]

Cosmetology

summary: Donghyuck has a crush on someone who confuses stars and makeup.

pairing: Lee Donghyuck | Haechan & Mark Lee

genre: domestic / apocalypse au

estimated word count: 400 words

a/n: Remember folks, copying other people’s works is plagiarism and that’s illegal. Don’t be that kind of person. Anyways, hope you all enjoy it :)

©little-lazuli. Do not copy, repost, or translate without permission

“Sixty-three, sixty-four, sixt—“

“Sixty five.”

Donghyuck got up quickly, turning to the new voice behind him. Mark. The most extraordinarily average dude left in the apocalypse.

“Hey Lee.”

“Hey Lee.”

Donghyuck smiled lightly as Mark proceeded to take a seat beside him, on the roof of the Griffith Observatory. Turning his head back to the night sky, Mark followed suit.

“What exactly are you doing?”

Donghyuck’s smile grew just a bit smaller at Mark’s curiosity. He typically wasn’t one to ask questions, so it ignited a small flare inside himself to know that Mark was the slightest bit interested in something about the younger.

Gesturing towards the sky, Donghyuck was quick with his response. “I like to count the stars on some nights. Usually, the ash and smoke from the fires or just leftover dust left in the atmosphere blocks out the stars. So I just try to find all the stars in the sky.”

A small smile found its way upon Mark’s own lips as the calming thought of stargazing graced his mind.

“Me and Nana stargazed once, it was really fun.”

And there goes Donghyuck’s smile. Of course he couldn’t even breathe without the constant reminder that the guy he was crushing on was already in a relationship. With someone better, with someone more beautiful, with Nana. Jaemin.

Granted the name didn’t really match the personality, you would have to be foolish to even slightly discredit Nana. He was just simply, a badass. ‘Maybe even more so than Johnny’ but Donghyuck would never openly admit that.

“I never took you for one of them people that’s into cosmetology.”

Confusion consumed Donghyuck’s face so swiftly that Mark seemed to notice something was evidently wrong. Of course Mark was nothing more than confused himself.

“What?”

“Do you mean cosmology?”

Mark now faced to her seemed to sink into more confusion at the younger’s question.

“That’s what I said.”

“No. You said cos-Meh-tology. I said cos-mall-logy.”

“Yeah, cosmetology, the study of the stars.”

Donghyuck felt his eye twitch at Mark’s words. Equally bewildered and exasperated at the elder’s statement.

“No. Cosmology is the studies of the stars. Cosmetology, cos-MEH-tology is the studies and practice of make up and beautification.”

Donghyuck could only internally face palm at the way Mark’s mouth circled largely in realization.

“No wonder Nana looked at me like I had two heads when I said that to him.”

Donghyuck only sighed in exasperation. Now, all he could think of was one sarcastic thing in this moment.

‘This is the guy I have a crush on.’

[passerine-writes]

Symbols - Chapter 33

Warnings: Brief mentions of past harm, I suck at writing in third person but I hate switching POV's Word count: 2373

Back to Masterlist

Chapter 32 | Chapter 34

Third Person POV

Akaashi woke up dazed and warm, warmer than normal. His back was pressed against Bokuto's ribs, with a small girl curled up in his chest. A few of her fingertips barely grazed against a certain symbol on his ribs.

His breathing hitched, his typical calm composure flying out the window for a moment. His blue irises flittering over Kaara's sleeping figure. Watching as she turned in her sleep and curled into his chest. The moon light revealed her relaxed face, a sight he rarely saw anymore. It was enamoring to him, how she was so completely and utterly relaxed and how madly in love with her he had fallen.

Slowly, he rested an arm around the girls waist and pulled her closer to his chest and simply admired her. Her light brown hair in a bun that she always insisted on straightening but her baby hairs kept a small wave to them. The glittering golds in her ears, glimmering just a little under the moons bright beams of light. Her long eyelashes, the few light freckles dancing across her cheekbones from the years out in the sunshine. Her slightly defined jawline, followed by her minimally rounded baby face and plump lips. Everything about her was absolutely perfect to the four boys. It didn't matter if she deemed it a flaw or an imperfection, they adored everything about her.

They all wanted her to realize her feelings, the girl being a little too dense at times to put it together. They all felt the amount of love she held towards them, the way she blushed anytime she saw them shirtless or gave her any ounce of affection or endearing statements. They were all more than willing to wait though. So they decided to continue their boys of flirting until she either asked them to stop or realized how she felt this whole time. The four just hope that when she does realize, she won't work harder than she has to reject the bond.

Akaashi rubbed her back slowly, tracing light circles on top of the over sized shirt she adorned. He tried his hardest to ignore the electricity running through his veins and the blush on his face. He has experienced this from three boys in particular but this was the first time he felt this from Kaara. The emotions and sensitivity to them when they touch their mark. So he tried to focus on something else, and somehow found that focus on her emotions.

He let out a deep breath when he felt her copious amounts of relaxation and serenity before falling back asleep himself.

Kaara didn't feel confused when she won't up on a warm chest. In fact, it almost felt normal to her at this point. She was just relieved to finally get a full nights rest, no nightmares waking her up or terrorizing her through the night.

Her face bloomed a bright red when she finally opened her eyes, being met with the toned chest of Akaashi in front of her. The setter in question, kept his left arm draped over her waist and lower back while he scrolled through social media on his phone.

"Good morning." His morning voice was thick as he spoke, the gravelly sound making Kaara blank for a short moment.

"Morning. What time is it?" His hand moved to rub her back like the night before.

"Quarter after nine. Did you sleep well last night?" She promptly nodded, happy with the unbroken sleep she finally got.

"You?" He paused for a second, seemingly thinking of the answer he already knew.

"Same here." She hummed in response and rested her head against his chest again.

Her eyes fluttered shut as she let herself relax, the amount of missing sleep finally catching up to her. She only intended to let her eyes rest for a moment or two but next thing she knew, all four boys were talking when she came to again. Groggily, she popped her head up and found Kuroo staring at her cheekily.

"Good morning, sleeping beauty." Kaara simply rolled her eyes at his jest, knowing she must have been out for quite some time if all four boys were awake to some degree.

"You only slept for about an hour and a half, it's almost eleven." She looked to Akaashi and nodded at his words. "Those three already ate because Mei called us down, I said I'd just eat after you woke up. You need as much sleep as you can get and I wasn't risking waking you up."

"I-If you want you can go grab something now that I'm up. I'm not that hungry but I know you are by now." He gave her a concerned look but nodded slowly as they sat up.

"I'll be back in a moment, Mei's usually laid back about eating up here." She looked away once he stood up, remembering that he was shirtless and for some reason it made her blush.

To keep herself distracted, she readjusted her messy bun that was even messier from sleeping for twelve hours. Taking a moment to stretch, she didn't realize the the shirt rose up a bit to reveal some of her bruises. While it was an oversized shirt, she cut it down to a normal length but still appreciating the bagginess. However, all four boys noticed immediately what they saw on her stomach. The girl freezing under the worried watch of four boys, quickly tugging her arms down and around her stomach to try and avoid the conversation one of them was bound to start.

"Bubbles.." She tugged her lip between her teeth as Kuroo started talking.

"I'm fine, they're just from Tuesday." She mumbled underneath the intense stares. Kuroo sighed with a grimace but nodded, he hated that he couldn't do anything to help.

So instead, he leaned forward a little and pulled the petite girl into his chest. His toned arms wrapping around her with a dove-like touch as he simply held her. It was the only thing he could fathom that might help without making her uncomfortable. But he froze when he felt it again.

Her spike of panic just like the night before caught him off guard along with everyone else in the room. Cautiously, Kuroo lowered his arms and let them rest by his sides, wanting to give her free reign of comfortability to decide if she wanted to be touched. When she didn't move after a minute, resting against his chest with no residual panic, he was chary moving his arms back to hold her.

"Is this okay?" He waited before finally holding her, patiently sitting there as she debated in her head. The concern grew in her head, about many things revolving around the four boys who were all in the room until she finally chose to succumb to the relaxation and comfort his embrace brought. Hesitantly she nodded her head as an answer. "Okay." He whispered in her ear as he pulled her close to his warm body again. Her head rested against his shoulder a smidge as their heartbeats unknowingly fell in sync.

"Nobody take the thigh pillows, she gave me first dibs at the practice match." Two of the four jokingly huffed at Akaashi's statement while the other two laughed. His comment definitely breaking the remaining tension before he left to get his food. She let her eyes rest for a moment before opting to scroll through social media like she thought the others were doing. Unbeknownst to her, they were texting in an older group chat that got little to no use.

Cats and Owls

From Tetsurou <3 : You all felt that too, right?

From Koutarou <3 : The fear?

From Kenma <3 : Yeah. It happened last night too.

From Tetsurou <3 : Yeah, I don't know what exactly it was about, but it might have something to do with us

From Koutarou <3 ; Do you think she's gonna leave again??

From Kenma <3 : I don't think so.

From Koutarou <3 : Really???

From Kenma <3 : Yeah.

From Tetsurou <3 : She might just be getting into her head too much. Let's just hope she talks about it eventually

From Keiji <3 : I got caught talking to Mei for a moment. However I felt it too. It was more panic and anxiety then fear I think.

From Kenma <3 : I agree. She seems almost unsettled. Could it be from the bruises?

From Tetsurou <3 : I don't think it was just the bruises, but that definitely didn't help

From Keiji <3 : I agree with Tetsurou. If it was just the bruises I don't think she would have felt panicked last night.

From Koutarou <3 : Is it because of that snake yesterday???

From Tetsurou <3 : That definitely didn't help and could be part of why for this morning. He's a snake for a reason.

From Kenma <3 : Yeah.

From Koutarou <3 : Kaara told us a bit about it yesterday but didn't really go into detail

From Tetsurou <3 : What'd she say?

From Koutarou <3 : She said that you two went to middle school together and he always wanted to one up you and stuff

From Koutarou <3 : And she told us how he even went to the lengths of trying to be friends with her and said some mean stuff but she didn't tell us a lot

From Tetsurou <3 : She pretty much covered it all, as vague as she was about it. One of the the nastier things he said was when he called Kaara a punching bag. His girlfriend at the time was the one who saw the bruises on her stomach in the locker room. At the time, we all just thought the bruises were from volleyball practice outside of school but he took it a step further and called her that. He also called pudding head and I some names and slurs but got benched because coach heard him say it. I don't know how or what he knows about her mom though

From Keiji <3 : Should we ask her?

From Kenma <3 : Maybe, it might be good for her to talk about it but it could set her on edge too.

From Koutarou <3 : I'm curious now but I don't want to make her sad :(

From Tetsurou <3 : I'll ask her, we don't have to worry about her being upset because even if it's a bad emotion, it's not directed at us and after everything it's normal for her to feel how she does

From Koutarou <3 : That's true, I'm sorry

From Tetsurou <3 : Baby you don't have to apologize. She doesn't write off emotions or direct them at other people like your dad does with you, okay?

From Koutarou <3 : Okay :(

From Kenma <3 : We promise, Kou.

They glanced up from their electronic devices when Keiji walked in empty handed.

"What happened to your food?" Kaara asked, very confused at the fact he didn't have food with him like he said he would.

"Mei kept me talking so I ate while we talked." All made a notion of acknowledgment, knowing fully well how much Mama Mei can talk if given the chance.

The ravenet laid down on the bed with a full stomach perpendicular Kaara and silently asked before resting his head on her thighs. She nodded delicately, her small agreement to his intended actions and he finally placing his head on her thighs. One leg bent up and the other stretched out over Bokuto's lap a smidge, but everything from earlier left his head the moment her slender fingers carded through his hair. Her nails ever so slightly scratching his scalp and relaxing his body.

"Hey little atom, I wanted to ask you something." She could slightly feel the vibrations of his words rumbling through his chest when he spoke. She hummed in response, encouraging him to ask. "What did that snake mean yesterday? When he asked about your mom?" Two boys felt her tense up before any of them saw it. Her hand in Akaashi's hair stopped for a minute before picking up speed again, and everyone felt the gut wrenching nerves swarming her.

"He uh, w-well um, one day my mom forgot to, uh, shut the blinds and he saw stuff happen when he walked by." All four boys' expression dropped into a sour one when they put the puzzle pieces together for when he started calling her a punching bag.

"Is that why he started calling you that?" She nodded in turn and melted for half a second when Kuroo pulled her closer after his question.

He knew words wouldn't be enough and would fail him, so he did the next best thing and held her. He felt her relax in his arms a little, her hands resuming with a small shake in the youngest's hair as everyone absorbed the new information.

"He's a prick." Kaara laughed at Kenma's statement, all tension in the room dissipating in three simple words.

"Yeah, he is." The girl agreed quietly while she thought about things she swore a long time ago she wouldn't anymore.

Such as how her mother was doing, what she was up to. If she had a new boyfriend. If she moved in the last few years. But most of all, why? Why did she treat her daughter in such a way? Why didn't she protect her eldest child? Why did she subject her to all she went through? If she hated Kaara so much, why didn't she send her to live et her fathers all those years ago? Did she just view her as a chess piece? A mere pawn to try and hurt her father even more? Did she just view her as someone to keep her vast amount of partners around longer? Did her grandparents believe Kaara or did they think it was just an overactive imagination? Why wasn't she enough for her mother?

She stopped for a fraction of a moment when she felt the quick kiss from Kuroo on her head.

And now she had more things to think about.

[mineralsurfaces]

Porcelain Countertops: Are They Worth the Hype (and the Price)?

Porcelain countertops are having a moment. They're sleek, durable, and suddenly showing up in all the design magazines. But are they really worth the investment for your kitchen or bathroom? Let's dive into the costs and considerations, so you can make an informed decision.

What's the Damage? The Average Cost of Porcelain Countertops

On average, you can expect to pay between $55 to $120 per square foot for porcelain countertops. This means a typical 30-square-foot kitchen countertop could set you back anywhere from $4,000 to $6,000 (including installation).

The Price Tag Breakdown: Factors That Influence Cost

The Porcelain Itself: Not all porcelain slabs are created equal. High-quality porcelain, with stunning veining or unique patterns, will naturally cost more. Think of it like choosing between a basic t-shirt and a designer dress – both serve the purpose, but one makes a statement.

Professional Fabrication and Installation is a MUST: Here's the truth – 98% of problems with porcelain countertops happen because of poor installation. Unlike tile, porcelain needs specific techniques and materials. That's why we highly recommend using a certified professional, especially for those fancy mitered edges.

Your Design Dreams: Want a waterfall edge or an integrated sink? Custom features like these are gorgeous but will add to the overall cost.

Comparing to Other Options: Porcelain tends to be more budget-friendly than natural stone like marble or granite. Quartz is a closer competitor price-wise, but they each have their own look and feel.

The Million-Dollar Question: Will My Porcelain Chip?

Any countertop material – from marble to quartz – has the potential to chip. With porcelain, it all comes down to two things: the quality of the slab and the expertise of the installer. Choose wisely, and you'll drastically reduce the risk.

The Bottom Line: Is Porcelain Right for You?

Porcelain countertops aren't just about looks. They're also:

Stain-resistant: Red wine spills? No problem.

Scratch-resistant: Feel free to chop those veggies directly on the countertop.

Low-maintenance: Forget about yearly sealing.

Heat-resistant: Hot pans won't leave a mark.

Porcelain Surface are a stylish and durable investment that can transform your countertop, backsplash, flooring, shower walls and more. While they may require a slightly bigger budget upfront, their longevity and low-maintenance nature make them a smart choice for many homeowners.  

Want to learn more about porcelain and make a confident decision? We're here to help!

Explore reputable brands, discover trusted suppliers, and find certified fabricators right here in Sarasota.

Not located in Sarasota? No problem! We have connections worldwide and are eager to assist you. Contact us today, and let's make your porcelain dreams a reality.

[ramrodd]

How important is a continuous market presence for a company, especially during times of strife?

COMMENTARY:

Well, this is exactly where managers measure the cost benefit given the risk of continuing to commit working capital with insufficient return, Pretty quickly, you ca be tapping equity and you need to measure no juts, no glory against foreclose. At what point does this become a command decision?

Keeping people in the field is the capital investment, not executive compensation, I have been in companies where the owner cut his losses and told us on payday that he was out of business and our pay checks were part of the salvage value the court demanded to turn off the lights.

But, if you are the CEO, this is why they invest in a Harvard MBA degree. It’s a tough decision, You are running a Clipper Ship and you need an ice breaker. There may just enough free water to slip through an make a big pay off. Or you can crash and freeze to death, All of you. Mission, Men, Self,

All things considered, continuous market presence is the best bet. Starting and running a business is a continuous leap of faith, The Harvard MBA program is based on the mechanics of Scientific Management, what Ray Dalio calls the Economic Machine, Both Marx and Frederic Winslow Taylor shared a Transaction Theory based on the steam engine as the prime mover of the economy, Marxism and Taylorism are opposite sides of the same dialectical materialism coin, Both are Supply Side constructs,

Ray Dalio’s Transaction Theory is a significant improvement and is based on the T Model Ford. The important thing is the spark plug which represents the entrepreneurial impulse that drivees American society, In terms of doing more with less while getting the biggest bank for the buck,, Dalio’s Transaction Theory is the absolute apogee of operational excellence possible under the Nazification of Supply Side economics. The Final Solution was a huge money pump until they lost the war, but it was fun while it lasted,

W. Edwards Deming’s Quality Assurance business model employs a Transaction Theory based on the Yellow Submarine at Woodstock if it was a honey bee hive.. The statistics of Quality Assurance is how to build a jellyfish out of Lego Blocks. Statistics in an operational milieu of any business organization abouve 300 people is a profoundly subtle spinal system that helps to fulfill Fayol’s Management Principle of Justice, W, Edwards Deming was, typically, anti-union as a Cheaper by the Dozen business philosophy, but he discovered in Japan, he had to re-invent the industrial organization that MacArthur and made constitutionally illegal during the occupation. Both Marxism and Ray Dalio’s Transaction Theories violates the principle of Esprit de Corps. Demings Quality Assurance business model, like the Army Ranger School, is based on Fayol’s principle of Esprit de Corps.

Here’s the leap I hope you will make: Mark Cuban just made a statement supporting DEI and he is being attacked by agents of Nazification who oppose diversity, Conformity is the essence of the January 6 conspiracy, it’s as clear as black from white.

Mark Cuban is exactly correct. I’m not a particular fan of Cuban because he is a little too WWE for my tastes, but he went to Indiana University for its business school and, at the time I was there, DEI and Quality Assurance were baked into the business model Cuban is exactly correct about DEI and that’s how he got rich. I wouldn’t have seen this before Trump, but Cuban is the business equivalent of Pete Buttigieg, He enjoys getting stuff done. That’s what being woke is all about, Getting stuff done,

So, in answer to the original question, should you keep your troops in the field when the market’s gone to hell, well, that’s why Mark Cuban with to the Indiana University Business School and not Harvard or University of Chicago.

And that’s who your are voting for with Biden-Harris. Continuity of Purpose is a Deming Principle.

Drive Hear out of the system is Elon Musk’s favorite Quality principle to flagrantly violate, Management by Fear is his Passion, It’s an Afrikaner thing,

Tom Wilson