#He never saw a ghost with such a consistency

[icarianbeast]

I just finished the first chapter of Deltarune...

First thing's first, amazing game, obviously.

Second thing, though, I feel like the whole universe is kinda really sad? I know in Undertale everyone was trapped underground and that sucks but they all had each other, you know? When I was walking around town after the main story (Which by the way, I KNOW I missed so many hidden secrets- and I never got to go back for what I assume is Jevil (?) because I progressed too far on accident but that's a completely different rant) I talked to everyone that I could and like-

The first thing that got me is that Undyne has no idea who Alphys is. I mean, it makes sense- when would they ever have interacted, in this version of the universe? But still, it made me sad. Then I saw Gerson's grave in the cemetery and that actually made me tear up for some reason. I dunno I guess I thought he'd live forever.

It was fun to see Sans- and hear bones trousling in the house, even if I didn't get to talk to Papyrus- I did promise to visit tomorrow (chapter 2, assumedly?) so hopefully I can meet him then. They seem to be doing just fine- good for them.

But Bratty and Catty hate each other?? I mean, probably not actually hate, but they have a rivalry. Maybe it'll blossom into their friendship they had in Undertale later, but it was sad to me to see them disliking each other.

No sign of Napstablook. I thought the ghost house would be theirs, but it seems like it was Mettaton in there... in whatever form they might have taken in this world. One of the books in the library did seem to be Napstablook's journal though, maybe? And I recall some dialogue or flavor text at some point outside of that that was reminicent of them.

Obviously Asgore and Toriel are divorced- that seems to be consistent across universes. It does make me wonder what happened here though. Also, his initial dialogue being the same as his first dialogue in Undertale totally got me. Also the colored flowers? It seems like maybe they're the ones he & Toriel had at their wedding. Cool parallels though.

Anyway, this is just a ramble, mostly for me, to talk about things I noticed. I had a really good time playing through and reading everything! I did the whole chapter in one sitting... Which probably wasn't my wisest choice, but, hey, what're you gonna do, right? I feel like there's never really a good spot to leave these games (meaning, Undertale & Deltarune), even though there's save points. It never really feels like a good time to log off for the day.

[seradyn]

No cause I need to crash out about this a little bit because YOURE SO RIGHT ABOUT THE MISOGYNY 😭😭

I’ve read SO many fics where Sylus is OOC it’s concerning. People can write what they want, I’m a firm believer in that, but it feels like we aren’t even talking about the same character sometimes. I’ve read fics where Sylus calls reader/mc ‘slut’ during intimacy and I physically recoiled because Sylus would rather die a thousand deaths than call us that. Even if you asked him to he’d double and triple check you actually wanted that and still probably wouldn’t be thrilled to.

Like…genuinely, you can write whatever trope/kink/whatever you want, but if you slap Sylus over it then at least tag it OOC. I read a cheater fic that wasn’t tagged and had a vague summary, and I just had to grimace when I realized that’s what the fic was because Sylus would never in a billion years EVER cheat on us. The same goes for the other Lis. They are designed to love us and only us. They would never be so desperate for sex that they would fucking cheat. ESPECIALLY Sylus, who has stated he’s never been with anyone else. Not to mention, this man doesn’t give a fuck about random flings or one night stands. This man makes love, wants more than anything to just be able to make you feel good and show you how much he loves you. Why do you think he asked for consent multiple times before he dove in, in Nightly Rendezvous? Men like that don’t cheat 😭😭

As for the fic you’re mentioning, I’m glad I haven’t seen it, cause that is just…so far from what Sylus would do 😩 That implies a level of emotional immaturity that Sylus has repeatedly shown he is not down with. He literally encourages us to feel our emotions in a healthy way, and wants to be the safe space where we can feel them without judgment. People like that aren’t going to ghost you out of pettiness, that is just so fundamentally incongruent with how he acts and what he says. I could maybe see Rafayel doing something like that, but even then I don’t think he’d ghost us for DAYS, that is just an insane level of childishness.

Speaking of Rafayel, I read fics of him and Xavier too, even though I’m a Sylus main, and this problem is not nearly as common or consistent in how they are misperceived. Rafayel does get mischaracterized, a lot of people tend to forget how dangerous he can be, but even then I don’t see it as often in fics. And Xavier, I’ve only seen one or two fics where he’s OOC, and usually it’s with the same tropes discussed above.

I think a lot of this issue stems from 1. Infold’s marketing team and 2. Sylus first few interactions with the player in the main story. Unfold framed Sylus as the booktok daddy dom alpha male in his trailer, and a lot of people haven’t been able to look past it to the kind of character he actually is. I also know quite a few people write for Sylus without actually playing the game, which is fine, but again, some OOC tags would be nice 😩 And as for the main story, if you don’t bother to dig any deeper, he does seem like some dark romance dom, but if you look into his lore, especially the dragon myth you can see so clearly just how much pain he is in that you don’t remember him. It breaks my heart replaying those parts now because you can just see the anguish in his eyes that the one person who saw him as more than a monster doesn’t remember him. It’s so fucking sad 😭😭

That being said, I do wish the game did more to address the way Sylus treated us at the start. I’ve read some incredible fics that do, specifically this one, and it’s so fucking good. It holds Sylus accountable while acknowledging how actually romantic and loving he is. That first meeting he wears a mask to hide his pain, and this fic gets it so so right.

As someone who has been writing fanfic for years, a lot of time my fics are almost like a character study, diving into how they would react in different situations, what has motivated them to become the character they are. Sometimes I get stuff OOC too, and I’ll often put little explanations in the notes about why I chose to make them act the way I do, how I came to that conclusion about them. That’s different then blatantly writing them to do and say things they would rather die than say or do for the sake of a kink or trope. Cause that’s what it boils down to most of the time.

I also understand we’re talking about a fictional character, and none of this really matters in the grand scheme of things. But as a fic author myself, it’s painful how much Sylus in particular is twisted into something he just fundamentally isn’t. Why not write for another character at that point? 😭

It’s so clearly misogynistic because woman are always expected to cater to the man. Always expected to make room for his emotions and not get that compassion back. I’ve seen it so often in real life, I just want to tell these woman YOU DESERVE SO MUCH BETTER. And the Lis want to be that better for you. As I wrote in my most recent Sylus fic, he would genuinely be so disappointed if you just rolled over and let him treat you like shit. Like, babes, who hurt you? An intimate partner should not be acting like a child with petty games like that 😭 It reminds me of that video of the guy saying “bitch, what’s for dinner?” to his gf, and when she responds meekly, he tells her to slap him if he ever speaks to her like that. That is Sylus. He’d want you to beat the shit out of him if he ever treated you that way. He loves and respects us way too much to let anyone, including himself, get away with that shit.

I’ve been meaning to make my own post about this, so sorry for the long crash out. I just…AHHH I MAKES ME WANT TO SCREAM. IVE SEEN THIS IN OTHER FANDOMS TOO IT MAKES ME INSANE

Hi! This is my first ask/time doing one of these but I just wanted to come here and say I ABSOLUTELY agree with practically EVERY word you said about sylus. Honestly BLESS your soul for you saying it because damn did it need to be said.

hihi, thank you for taking the time to send me something!

and thank you!!! i'm not usually one to post my 'hot takes' in public because i usually can't be bothered, but this really frustrated me. ESPECIALLY because i write my own fanfic, characterization is super important to me because if it doesn't feel like the character... what's the point, right? i get that there's a certain level of nuance to each character, and nobody but the creator of said characters is going to get them perfectly correct, but for god's sake sylus was CREATED by infold to love you, to be in love with you. this may just be my take, but having been on the recieving end of that treatment: nobody who truly loves you would ignore you for something so inconsequential to sylus as a buisness meeting or whatever. (i have two specific fics in mind but i don't want to reference them speficially because i'm genuinely not trying to call out anyone in particular)

because like. again, from what my friend has said and from what @bloomfalls and @seradyn have added to my og post in the tags, sylus wants YOU and only YOU. he's not the type of man to leave you wondering, to make you second guess his feelings.

^ direct quote from said friend ily dawg ur the realest

writing fanfic is really hard, esp when it comes to characterization, but i feel like in a game where these guys are SPECIFICALLY love interests it's like... guys the writing is on the walls, the floor, the cieling, and a sticky note duct taped to your forehead. it's so easy. for other fandoms, where it's not focused on love interests it's harder to be like 'x wouldn't act like this', so i will 100% give those people grace. but if i wrote something for sylus, (winkwinknudgenudge) i feel like! it would be pretty easy, given how we are GIVEN A MANUAL ON HOW HE TREATS THE PERSON HE LOVES.

and lastly: as i said, writing sylus so that he expects the reader to come crawling back to him after dogshit treatment and having the reader do exactly that, is misogynistic. i'm sorry, it has to be said.

[wangxianpromptsgenerator]

Prompt 92: Man's best Friend

When WWX time traveled right after the Sun Shot Campaign, he just planned to stage his death and live as a Rogue Cultivator.

He didn't expect the Waterborne Abyss to follow him like a pet. A massive one the size of a horse that barked at "suspicious" people (and by suspicious he meant, all people "it" didn't know, so basically everyone). That was so clingy it remained draped over him like a wet blanket at all hours, even when he was trying to relieve himself.

Then the Lans sent someone to exorcise him since he was freaking out the locals.

--

Additional note: And that someone turned out to be LQR that was supervising a nighthunt, along with a contingent of this year's batch of visiting disciples.

JWY was not prepared to meet the Ghost of his late brother, completely wrapped in a thick layer of resentment (and WWX was not prepared to meet him either).

WWX* debating whether he should tell him that YES he's actually alive, the body YMJ cremated that was wearing his clothes and carrying his sword wasn't his, that he's now a demonic cultivator with a pet Abyss and SURPRISE SURPRISE, LONG TIME NO SEE CHENGCHENG. Or if he just should pass as a Ghost since he's layered in Resentful Energy anyway.

LQR definitely fainted. And LWJ tried to convince this "Ghost" to follow them to Gusu so that they would help him move on, since he was polite and definitely could be reasoned with.

[cryptiddeer]

Bat at hornets nest here but I can't wait for the "genshin is a rip-off of botw" gang to find out that genshin has underwater exploration (something they've been complaining about the lack of FOREVER) while totk doesn't

[0tul1ss]

.

[islandheartprincess]

bully!rafe cameron x reader ˖˚⊹ ꣑ৎ‎

part 1 ✧ part 2 ✧ part 3

summary: rafe hated you, but he mainly hated how obsessed he was with you. placed during senior year of HS. both are of age

warnings: smut, swearing, masturbation (m), reader catching rafe masturbating, bullying, 18+ mdni

pairing: bully!rafe x reader

rafe cameron made sure to make your life at school a living nightmare. he went out of his way to trouble you, and despite your best efforts to ignore his childish behavior, you just couldn't seem to get him to lay off you. it was odd, the way he found pleasure in making you angry, or uncomfortable.

you never knew why he only treated you like this so consistently. you knew that he was in no means a kind person in general, other than the girls he often hooked up with and led on, but he never hung on to someone the way he did with you.

you weren't some annoying, loud, pogue. you kept to yourself on most occasions and found yourself finding peace alone and reading books, or hanging out with your small but close-knit friend group. you honestly couldn't wait till summer, or just graduation in general.

rafe cameron hated her, or so he wanted to. he hated the way she made him feel, vulnerable, and unlike his usual cocky self.

maybe it was the way she kept her calm, when anyone else would've ran away crying? or maybe it was the way she would look up at him, with her doe eyes, a slight glimmer that just told him how she could read through his arrogant front easily. she knew what he was. he hated, hated, that.

why couldn't he just forget about her? why did he find himself thinking about her at the most unconventional times. and why, when her face came up in his mind, he felt his body grow hot and an uncomfortable tightness in his pants. god, when it would happen, often so, he never felt more embarrassed. he was rafe cameron, he could find any dumb cheerleader at the school to fuck and throw away.

yet he found himself yearning after the girl in the back of the class, quiet, smart, and mature. in all his best efforts to make himself forget about her, he only made his obsession worse, and her hatred for him deeper.

rafe cameron was your worst enemy. you couldn't think of a more emotionally immature person than him. you heard the stories about how he ghosted this girl, or cheated on his girlfriend, or hooked up with his best friends ex.

you found yourself having to remind yourself how much of a horrible person he was. it was just that, when he would make fun of you, you'd look at him. really, look at him. you saw his insecurities, his vulnerability.

gosh, was he good looking though. you understood why so many girls at your school pined after him. when he would make fun of you, you felt a lot of things. you felt upset, mostly at yourself due to the wetness you could feel between your thighs. you didn't like how your brain heard his words, but focused on his distracting eyes, and smooth lips.

you wanted him to stay away from you. mostly, you just wanted the uncontrollable needy thoughts to stay away. you knew he would never, ever, be attracted to a girl like you. of course, that's why he hated you, right? he thought you were ugly, and a bother, that had to be why.

you were at your locker, as unbothered as anyone could be. until your locker slammed shut right in front of you, revealing nonetheless then rafe cameron.

this time, he didn't say anything immediately. his mouth opened, but shut after he eyed you up and down. his eyes trailed over the stockings you had decided to wear today, which you couldn't have regretted more in the moment. you squeezed tightly onto your books, just wanting to hear whatever snarky comment he had to make and get it over with.

"really? nice choice of clothes, you going for a degree in slut?" he laughed, and walked away. you were thankful he quickly left so he didn't see the way your face turned red. if only you knew the reason he left in a hurry was to avoid you seeing his rising boner, on a rush to the bathroom stall.

you knew you had to go neaten up, get yourself together. your panties felt damp, your shamefulness deepening. haven being so deep in embarrassment, you didn't notice the boys restroom sign when you walked into the bathroom.

looking into the mirror, you took a deep breath, brushing the loose strands of hair out of your face, until you heard a noise from the end of the bathroom. the bell had rung, so the stalls were all empty, except one. the one all the way on the end of the hall, which you thought you could've heard a small noise from.

taking a step closer with caution, but almost choking on your spit when you heard... a moan? you halted yourself, and your assumptions were true. you wondered who on earth would be jerking off in a bathroom stall, waiting for the next noise to try and recognize the voice.

rafe quickened his pace, feeling himself reaching his climax. he knew the bathroom was empty, but he still tried his best to control his voice. it almost made him mad how desperate he felt thinking about fucking you with those stockings on, or you sucking him off while looking up at him with your gorgeous innocent eyes. it was hard to control his voice thinking about you, so he naturally loudened his moans a little.

oh my god. it all clicked with you. you accidentally walked into the boys bathroom, and rafe cameron was in the stall jerking off. your throat closed up, mind unable to process how this was real. all you were able to do was slap your hand over your mouth to cover your gasp. until you heard- "fuck, y/n." how'd he- oh gosh. correction, rafe Cameron was jerking off, thinking about you. you froze, but knew you had to get out of there before he caught you.

coming down from his high, rafe cleaned himself up, his breathing raggedy. he was ready to get out of this stall, act like it never happened, and go back to class. until, his heart dropped at the sound of the bathroom door shut. no way someone was in here, how'd he not hear them? whatever, they probably didn't even know it was him.

@anitalenia for the borders! ♡

part 2 , part 3- follow for more (⁠◕⁠ᴗ⁠◕⁠✿⁠)

[prettyoatmeal]

Thinking about meeting Simon with his freshly bleached hair only to find out he's a natural brunette <3

I'm not sure how canon it is but I saw a tweet a while ago that Ghost bleaches his hair blond and I haven't stopped thinking about it since.

You'd always just assumed he was a natural blond. You never really paid much attention to the hair on his arms because why would you? And you never see his legs as his dresser only consists of long cargo pants. His eyebrows weren't too much darker from the blond anyway.

You had no reason to think otherwise. Which only embarrasses him even more when you do find out. He knew you were going to find out eventually, but he never actually thought that far ahead.

He doesn't get time to fix his hair on base so it's only natural that he comes back with his roots grown out. It's a stark contrast to the rest of his bleach blond hair. So when you finally get to see your sweet Simon after half a year, you can't help but immediately notice the change.

At the time he wished you would've just ignored it, but when you caught that initial glimpse of his hair, your hands immediately invaded his scalp. It didn't help either that his hair grew fast.

"You never told me you weren't a natural blond."

"It never came up." he answered gruffly, his uncomfortable shuffling contrasting with the way he leaned his head down slightly and allowed you to inadvertently play with his hair. It felt nice, but he didn't want to admit it then when he was acting aloof.

"It looks nice," you'd say, and he'd scoff. You'd say again, "you look good in brown. Matches your eyes," and he'd just grunt again, acting irritated. Though the way he let out a content sigh as his eyes closed told you otherwise.

*************** DISCLAIMER Under no circumstances do I give permission to copy, repost, or manipulate my work in any way. I am not comfortable with this. If you wish to translate my work, message me privately. My inbox is always open.

[t-horn-n]

— cucumber cool

pairing: simon “ghost” riley x reader (female)

genre: fluff 

summary: simon carries a picture of you in his wallet from your school days.

word count: 1 106

On the day you graduated from secondary school, you lightly punched Simon Riley on the shoulder and said, “Don’t be a stranger.” 

He remembers how you looked then.  Your hair was down and curled, for once, and you had on a dusting of makeup because you promised your grandmother a nice photo from the event.  It was a rather temperate June late morning and now, when he thinks back to that day, he remarks upon how young you both were.  

You were going out to lunch with your parents to celebrate going to uni and he was taking his kid brother out to grab a greasy slice of pizza somewhere before he went off to basic training.  

He knew that it was more likely than not that he’d never see you again.  All he really wanted to do was to be a grunt in the military and fade away.  He was sure that you would get your degree and do something meaningful.  Or if not meaningful, interesting, at least.  

The two of you started off as friends of circumstance: you were in the same film photography class because he needed another art credit to graduate and you needed a class to fill up your schedule.  He liked the soft ratcheting sound the camera made as it moved the roll of film, too.  

“Hey, nice boots,” you told him on the first day of the class and the rest is history.  

Now, he has a picture of you in his wallet that he’s been carrying for at least a decade.  Its edges are frayed and discolored from years of rubbing against loose bills and coins.  You’re a little awkward looking in it.  You still had your baby face.  

The only reason why he has the silly thing is because you goaded him into putting one of the extra prints you had from a portrait assignment into his wallet thinking there was absolutely no way he would follow through.  What kind of sixteen-year-old boy walks around carrying a photo of his friend next to his student card?

He just shrugged in that way he often did—a kid of action rather than words—and slid your photo into his uncle’s hand-me-down wallet.  Done and done, cool as a cucumber.  

You laughed to conceal your surprise.  Whatever you felt in that moment was wedged between embarrassment and excitement.  What person doesn’t delight in being liked?  It made something in your chest puff up.  

By now, though, whatever has kept your image with him all these years later is between Simon and his own affections.  Every time he opens his wallet to retrieve cash, he almost surprises himself.  On some occasions, usually after particularly punishing missions, he’ll pull the picture out and look at the way your lips stretched into a smile.  He’ll follow the lines of your facial features and wonder how much they’ve changed since then.

On a snowy Tuesday in December, you meet by chance at a deli.  He’s off duty for the next two weeks and you’re on your lunch break picking up sandwiches for yourself and a friend at work.  You approach him first, from behind, but he knows you’re there even before you greet him.  The air around you smells the same way it did in school.  Now, it feels like walking nostalgia.

“Simon!” you say happily.

He knows that he isn’t all that similar looking to his sixteen-year-old self, so he wonders how you recognize him.  Funnily enough, you were actually planning to go down the street for takeaway salads, but you spotted him in the deli’s front window.  Well, you saw his back and found a persistent sense of familiarity in the curve of his shoulders.  It was awkward really: you stopped in the middle of the path and waited until you figured out who was standing on the other side of the glass.

Time is very strange.  A long time has passed since he last saw you.  He knows that.  Everything that has happened in the past decades has moved him consistently further from his adolescent self.  That, and he can see the ways you’ve changed.  You look older, certainly.  But there’s also evidence of the passage of time that’s intangible.  Maturity.  Experience.  

“Hello,” he replies.  Then, “How are you?”

You’ve grown out of your awkwardness, he notices.  You chat with him easily as if you hadn’t realized that it’s been years since you last saw him, not just a weekend.  You’ve heeded your own advice: “Don’t be a stranger.”  And he tries his best, too, but you don’t mind that he struggles to make eye contact or that he’s slow to respond with as much enthusiasm that you seem to have.  After you’ve both received your sandwiches, you part ways with your cell number in his phone and a promise to meet up for lunch late next week.

He has a vague sense of whiplash as he chews his lunch.  It feels sort of like the time that’s passed has been condensed.  

You find the picture when you two meet up the next week at this restaurant that has you hooked on its dipping sauces.  You’re sitting by the window and he’s sitting next to you in the booth.  It reminds you of how you used to sit in the cafeteria.  He was already rather large for his age back then so he would sit at the end of the bench so he could angle his knees out from under the table.  

You trick him into letting you out to pay by claiming you have to use the restroom.  But when he catches on to your plans, he throws his wallet at you.  

“You’re trusting me with this?” you joke.  “I could take it and run.”

“You’ve had too many fries to make it very far,” he quips softly. 

Laughing, you say, “Well, thank you for lunch.”

Your laugh hasn’t changed a bit.  

At first, you think that the little white card tucked in the pocket of his wallet is a coupon or a picture of a cat or something.  

“Oh my God,” you say as you make your way back to the table where Simon is picking the rest of your fries off the plate.  “You still have it.”

“Hm?” he grunts.              

You wave the little rectangular photo between your fingers.

“Oh, yeah,” he says, a little shyly.  “Never had a reason to take it out, I guess.”

“Damn, I don’t think I have any of my old photos from that class anymore,” you lament while leaning over to grab a fry.

“Hey, you’re getting grease all over it,” he grumbles. 

— tags

@thecursebreaker

— m. list

[sageivy11]

feral street kitty hybrid!reader who’s been slinking up the fire escape and sneaking into ghoap’s apartment for food.. but they know. 18+

introduction: omg hiii 😻 so i was totally gonna abandon the first post but i already have like 5 other things in the works bc the brain worms haven’t stopped soo.. don’t expect anything tho bc im not very consistent. if i make another part there will probably be smut. 1.1k words, basically just a long drabble i decided to proofread a bit to post

contains/warnings: reader is homeless and eats fish, established ghoap, no mention of size or appearance expect for ‘underfed’, reader only has ears and a tail. no smut

Maybe they’ve known for a while, Ghost once saw you skitter away down the ladder after being woken from a nightmare. He complains about it to Soap, scolding him for forgetting to lock the window, but he’d been doing it on purpose ever since he saw you in the alley behind their apartment, digging through trash and underfed. Hoping.

He convinces his LT to leave it unlocked and says that they can spare a piece of bread now and then. That you look so lost and sad, that’s the least they can do. You haven’t even stolen anything more than a few bites of left out food, he insists.

But you grow more confident, napping on their couch for a few hours during the night to keep warm, washing your face in their sink, licking their leftover plates clean. They pretend not to notice. Ghost, who used to sit on the couch and watch television when he couldn’t sleep, has switched to the chair in his office so as not to spook you.

Until one day you fish through the laundry bin in the bathroom, looking for a pair of socks that no one would notice missing. You’ve never stolen anything more than a bite or two of food from them but it’s getting colder. People lose socks all the time.

Your head snaps towards the door when you hear it creak open, seeing a pale, shirtless man with mussed hair pause in the doorway when he sees you. He grunts. You scramble, only grabbing a single sock in your process of shoving past him and bolting towards the window.

You don’t notice the way his eyes drift down your body to take in the healthy weight gained. He sighs, shaking his head and not bothering to close the door as he makes towards the toilet.

You don’t come back for a week and a half. Soap got worried on the fifth night, realizing you hadn’t stepped through the window in days. Your dirty fingerprints had been cleaned off the window on the second day and they hadn’t come back since.

But eventually, you get hungry. With how cold it is at night, you’ve been forced to spend less and less time searching through trash lest you freeze. You think about it for a few days, and decide there’s no point in not going back if you’re going freeze to death out here anyway.

You slip through the kitchen window on the eleventh day, shivering at the temperature change. You head straight for the fridge where they keep their leftovers, your shaky hand holding it open as your eyes quickly scan for something small to eat.

“There’s fish in the freezer. F’you want some.”

You nearly jolt out of your skin, the fridge door snapping shut as you suddenly whip around to find the location of the voice. You can feel the fur your tail puff up in fear as your back presses the cool doors. It’s the same man you saw that night. This time, he’s wearing a mask. And not a medical one.

The mask is black and embroidered with white skull markings. Or, more like grey skull markings. There’s dark brown stains on the fabric where the white is. Maybe the black, too. You can’t tell. It kind of looks like dried blood. No, it’s definitely just dirt.

Your ears are pricked, chest silently heaving as you stay frozen, staring at him. How did you not see him? Or hear him?

He looks like he just got home despite the fact it’s the middle of the night. It’s early, maybe three, or four in the morning. He’s still got shoes on. He holds a clear glass full of a gold liquid propped on his knee. There’s a duffle bag by his feet.

You just stand there, stuck in time for what feels like a week as you watch him. The only time he moves is to bring the glass up to his lips, pushing his mask up to the bridge of his nose to take a long sip. He would’ve moved by now if he wanted to hurt you. Right?

You swallow thickly, slowly turning to open the freezer. You look over your shoulder every few seconds, but he’s just sitting there, watching. Your eyes land on three saran-wrapped plates in the freezer. Huh. Maybe they had a guest over.

Two plates have various vegetables and sauces, while one looks plain. Just fish and something green that looks like a tiny tree. You grab it, closing the freezer and glancing at him for the millionth time. Still stayed the same. You slowly sink to sit on the kitchen floor, tail curling around the side of your leg protectively.

You watch him as you peel the wrap off, as you eat. He stares back. You pinch a cold piece of meat between your fingers, slowly bringing it up to your lips. And it’s fucking good. You don’t waste much time with your next few bites, try the little tree thing too. It’s not great, but it’s not horrible. You start wrapping the dish up again when you’re interrupted.

“It’s all f’you. Eat it.”

You pause, your eyes flicking back up to him. Your ears twitch. For you? Sounds like a trap. You should have a pretty good radar for danger. I mean, you live on the streets. You can feel your heart beat a little faster, but it tells you to continue. You waste no more time, greedily finishing the rest of the dish almost concerningly fast.

He watches and only adds more whiskey to his cup when it empties. You stand when you’re done, quietly placing the dish in the sink and discarding the wrap in the trash. You flinch when he abruptly stands, stepping closer towards your exit. His hands reach towards the bottom hem of his black hoodie, pulling it over his head.

You stay and watch, for some reason. Then he tosses it towards you, over the kitchen counter separating the two rooms. You startle, twitching back when the fabric falls to your feet. You look between him and the hoodie briefly, before crouching down to grab it.

Your footsteps are light and tentative as you step back towards the window, still watching him. You quickly slip out, practically running down the fire escape stairs until you’re back in the streets. Back in your little box hidden in the trash, with a few blankets to keep warm.

You replace your thin zip-up with his hoodie. You push the fabric of the collar up towards your nose when you slip it on, inhaling deeply. It smells like man. Like sweat and something coppery. Like burning firewood and grill char. Like it would be so easy to just slip into his bed and sleep into the late hours of the morning.

You sleep easier that night, even if it’s on cardboard and tattered blankets. And if you’re already wet when you slip your fingers between your thighs, it’s no one’s business but your own.

notes: i figured out how to do the ‘read more’ thing!! sorry my first post didn’t have that. again, written and edited on my phone. ty for the love btw 🫶 im trying to stay humble bc this is lowkey boosting my ego. tumblr tips appreciated.

tags??: @other-fandoms-reblogs hi 🙈 this is not related to my first post but i thought i would tag u anyway! if i ever post the other part in the works to my first post ill also tag u in that.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Hi, I really liked it and I thought the maidenless board game club headcanons were really fun, I don't know if you've done it for any other club, but if not, I'd like to ask if you could do it for the basketball club if it were possible, it's the club that has some of my favorite characters and I would really like to read :)

[Maidenless Board Game Club headcanons here!]

asdyugagsodoefa Thank you, I'm glad you liked those original headcanons 😅 That post is actually a bunch of ideas I cooked up while talking with a friend. We also talk about the Basketball Club a lot, so here's a compilation of those too. It should be noted that I do not intend to complete this prompt for all of the characters; I'm only posting the Basketball Club content because I happen to have them on hand. Any and all mentions of the reader are meant to be gender neutral; gendered terms may still appear in these headcanons, but never in reference to the reader.

Curiouser and Curiouser...

Ace tries to claim his stake as the "cool guy" of the team by bragging about his ex to the older players + acting like some dating god and advice dispenser. They seem none too impressed by him, with some of them (including Floyd) dunking on him for being ganged up on and scolded by a bunch of girls.

He swears to his club mates he can bag someone, he just thinks dating’s way too much trouble so he’s fine by himself, thank you very much! It’s Ace obviously scrambling to salvage his pride and reputation among his peers. (No one believes him.)

During the move-in week to NRC, Ace was out in Foothill Town to buy school supplies. He saw Jamil in casual wear and mistook him as a mature onee-san so he catcalled him. Ace rambled on for a while before Jamil cut him off by informing him that he is a man. This shocked and embarrassed Ace so much that he shut up and scurried away, thankful that the chances of running into Jamil again are slim... until he sees the exact same guy at the Basketball Team tryouts.

Ace has too much pride to back out now, but he also deeply fears that Jamil will obliterate him by sharing their first interaction with the team. Whenever Jamil smirks, Ace gets a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach and dreads what Jamil will say next. It could be the end of his social life at school! (It’s dangled over Ace’s head as collateral to get him to behave; if Ace acts out, Jamil will start to tell the story as a warning.)

If Ace spots a cute spectator at their games, he’ll wink at them, then call out and dedicate his next shot to them. (Bro proceeds to completely whiff the throw; the ball bounces off the rim of the hoop.)

He feels insecure about his masculinity, especially when put next to his senpai who get a lot more attention than he does. Ace tries to mooch off their popularity by claiming he’s a lot closer to them than he actually is or by playing up the role of being “the cute one”, only to be humiliated by Floyd or Jamil’s jeers. “Mmm? Isn’t Crabby the one who called me ‘the worst’ the other day?” / “… ‘Cute’? You? Don’t make me laugh. You’re anything but.”)

Attracts a decent amount of romantic attention (which Ace loudly complains about) but never commits to actively pursuing any relationship in the long term. No one seems to hold his interest long enough--and besides, Floyd's not lookin' to be tied down.

When asked “why do you like them?” or “why are you with them?” Floyd usually responds with a shrug or an answer that’s not too well thought out like, “Uh, cuz they told me they were into me?” or, “I dunno, just felt like it today.”

Frequently pisses potential partners off due to his attitude. Floyd can be fun but he flakes very often, saying he’ll be there one day and then cancelling like an hour before the date. He’s never consistent with anything, and that tests patiences.

Also commits the sin of ghosting people once he loses interest or he feels they’re being too needy. Ace calls him a bastard for that, but Floyd shoots back by reminding Ace he did this to HIS ex too.

There was an incident in which his S/O of like... one weekend's worth of time saw Jade in public and approached him, thinking it was Floyd. Jade did not recognize them but played along just to have fun. The S/O was so offended they stormed off and broke up with Floyd via text. He wasn't bothered at all; he and Jade shared a laugh about it. ("You're equally awful," Jamil had chided them.)

Casually and shamelessly talks about his escapades. Doesn’t care to be tactful with his wording, lays it all out there. Ace is super invested in the gossip whereas Jamil makes it clear he’s disgusted by this use of their club time.

Single because he is legitimately way too busy with school, caring for Kalim, etc. to even entertain the idea of a relationship. Doesn’t need that extra stress right now.

Najma calls him “forever alone” to her friends and jokingly acts all disgusted whenever he acts slightly shy or affectionate towards someone. “Oh my gosh, Jamil…! Are you crushing on them?!” she teases him. “Wow, I never thought I’d see the day where you’d be all lovey-dovey…” Since that first incident, Jamil had vowed to himself to never allow his sister see him in such a vulnerable state.

Due to his flat voice and placid face, Jamil is aware he can come off as cold or disinterested. He makes sure to smile a little and to brighten up his tone when speaking with someone he wants to make a good first impression with--but he's also careful never to get too close, to be too familiar. He must keep polite and professional at all times, lest he bring shame upon his name--or the Asims' name.

Jamil has somehow settled into the position of the "team mom" (not by choice, but due to necessity; who else is going to round up all these idiots?). He's the one bringing snacks, reminding the team to behave and to stay hydrated, tending to injuries with his first aid kit, etc. Ace sometimes makes fun of this and claims "no one wants a second parent for a boyfriend", to which Jamil just rolls his eyes and tells him to stop acting so childish.

The only one with some god damn common sense around here. Jamil listens to the callous way Floyd and Ace treated their exes and shakes his head, sighs, and tells them off. In his head, he talks himself up and claims he isn't so stupid as to make the same mistakes that they did if he were in their shoes. (... Yes, Jamil Viper is his OWN hype man for hypothetical romantic situations 😭)

HE’S SO REPRESSED, HOLY SHIT. Since he can’t feasibly go out and seek a relationship, Jamil settles for daydreams of a peaceful domestic life, traveling Twisted Wonderland together, and other adventures. He’d rather die than share any of these fantasies with his peers.

[rollinouttahere-writes-misc]

Delicious

Mr. Silvair x Reader

4.2k words

Summary: After finding yourself damned to being trapped in a terrifying ghost building, you do your best to adapt to it. The only thing you refuse to adapt to is the local cuisine, but how much longer can you truly avoid that? Reader is not the MC, and this does not take place during the time of the game.

Warnings: gore, violence, forced cannibalism, mind break/loss of self

The otherworld language is depicted bold and crossed out like this.

It’s good to be honest with yourself. There’s nothing to gain from deluding yourself into believing things that aren’t true, which is why you’re quick to admit that you are a coward. It saved you from plenty of situations and kept you from feeling the need to put on any sort of false bravado. 

For the most part, this was a flaw that you had come to accept. It wasn’t until recently that you wished you were at least a bit more courageous. If you had only braved out the heavy rain and lightning and kept walking home, you never would have tried to take cover in what you had thought was the lobby of an apartment complex. If you were less of a scaredy cat, you wouldn’t have dashed deeper into the building all because you saw an ominous looking man with an umbrella standing at the end of the hallway you had just walked down. 

But you did, and now you’re stuck suffering the consequences of that for the foreseeable future. Possibly for eternity. You were still unclear as to how the rules of this strange dimension worked. Honestly, you weren’t sure if there even were rules. Maybe this place was functioning off of wonderland-type logic where everything goes and nothing is consistent. You didn’t understand, but it would seem that you’re going to have plenty of time to at least try to.

Shortly after finding yourself lost here, you had made a terrifying discovery upon opening a door and finding a severed head dangling from a hook by its hair. You screamed out of shock, only to then scream louder when the head screamed back. 

Fortunately for the head, rather than running, you completely froze up. That gave him the chance to start talking. While you couldn’t understand a single thing coming out of his mouth, there was something about the obvious distress on his face that made you feel a pang of sympathy for him despite your abject terror.

Sure, you couldn’t understand whatever strange language he was speaking, but it didn’t take a genius to figure out that he wanted help. There was a bit of hesitation on your part. Picking up a living severed head was far from appealing… but you couldn’t just leave him hanging there. If you were in a similar situation, you would want someone to help you. So, you unhooked his hair and held his head that was mercifully at least not leaking blood or other bodily fluids.

The period right after rescuing him was extremely confusing. He kept speaking to you like you could understand him, but it really wasn’t helpful. You had no idea what he was trying to convey and just started wandering aimlessly, figuring it was in everyone’s best interest to get away from the room you found the head in before whoever did that could come back.

Eventually, you were at least able to establish what “yes” and “no” sounded like. Trying to turn down some hallways or open certain doors would result in an outburst from the head, who you eventually started referring to as Mr. Chopped, while others elicited a much more positive and encouraging reaction. Where he was leading you was a mystery, but you felt safe in assuming that a defenseless head wouldn’t lead you into danger. If you get incapacitated or worse, he’s going to be completely on his own again.

His reaction when you came upon a staircase with an ominous door at the bottom was particularly enthusiastic. You could only assume that this place was his end goal, though you weren’t sure what would be waiting at the other side of the door. Would you find an empty room that he just so happened to like staying in? A headless body that he would expect you to reattach him to? A friend? 

Was he leading you into a trap?

You didn’t know, but you chose to trust him as you slowly made your way down the stairs and towards the door with the creepy flickering light above it. After taking a steadying breath, you forced open the heavy door and stepped inside. Despite the eerie build up, you found the room to look shockingly normal. It was very bare bones, but seeing a relatively clean and furnished room was downright comforting after running around those barren, dilapidated halls for so long.

But then you heard footsteps and looked to the side only to find an absolutely massive man looming over you. Naturally, you screamed at the top of your lungs and tried to bolt back out the door, but he blocked it and grabbed your free arm to keep you in place. You thought for sure that you were about to die, but then Mr. Chopped started excitedly conversing with the man. Yet again, you were left completely in the dark about what was being said. All that you could do was stare at the tall man like a deer in headlights. You didn’t think it was possible for a person to be that tall, but then again, the head in your arms shouldn’t be alive either.

Once the silver haired man, who you dubbed Mr. Silvair, realized that you couldn’t understand their language, he guided you to sit down in what appeared to be a living room and started teaching you what various things were called. While you were absolutely still intimidated, it was hard to feel completely terrified of someone who was taking time out of his day to educate you. If he wanted to hurt you, he most certainly could have already. That, and what was the point of teaching you words if he was just going to kill you after?

While you still felt a little uneasy given the current situation, you felt like you were at least safe in this room and with these people.

… but then you went into his “research room”.

The horror you felt when you saw the contents of the room was indescribable. There was a blood stained operating table, a chair with restraints, a whole litany of tools that could rip you to shreds, and there were even hooks dangling from the ceiling. When the door behind you opened, you were rooted to your spot. That was it, you were sure of it. Mr. Silvair lulled you into a false sense of security just so he could lure you back here and do god know what to you.

Rather than forcing you into the chair like you had assumed, he simply entered the room and started tapping the things in there while slowly enunciating their names. Despite the absence of aggression, you couldn’t help but still be terrified. None of the words he was teaching you were being absorbed. All that your mind could focus on was trying to figure out how to escape with your life.

As soon as he finished telling you the names of the objects in the room, you bowed your head as a show of thanks- because you were NOT about to be rude to someone with a whole ass torture room at his disposal- and promptly excused yourself. You power walked out of the room and through the living area, not even sparing a second to look around for Mr. Chopped. He wanted to come here, so you figure that he’ll be fine. It’s not like he had much to him to torture anyway.

You were taking the steps two at a time when the main door opened behind you. Once again, your life flashed before your eyes and you were positive that this time he was actually going to kill you. You should have ran, but you froze just like you always do. All you could do was slowly look over your shoulder at Mr. Silvair’s figure. Much to your surprise, he was remaining by the door and was empty-handed. Rather than lunging at you, he simply waved and said a word that you guessed may have meant “goodbye”. You echoed the word back to him with a trembling voice, then promptly hurried up the stairs before he could change his mind and drag you back down.

However, your freedom from that room would be extremely short lived. Not even five minutes later, you found yourself walking down a dimly lit hall when you saw something at the end of it. You weren’t sure what you were looking at at first, thinking that maybe it was a pile of fabric or something. But then it moved. You froze again as the creature inched towards you until it was properly illuminated. 

It was a man with long, dark hair that covered his face, and he was crawling at you on all fours. He raised his head slightly as if he had just noticed you, which made you flinch. Then a wide grin split across his face and he let out a high pitched giggle before crawling towards you faster.

Naturally, seeing an ominous looking man speed-crawling at you was absolutely terrifying, so you sprinted away from him screaming and crying and ran all the way back to where you had just come from. You didn’t exactly trust Mr. Silvair, but at least he didn’t crawl at you like some sort of sleep paralysis demon.

When you burst back into the room that you’re assuming to be his home, borderline hysteric, you weren’t sure what you were expecting to happen. He had every right to be annoyed by your presence and throw your sorry ass out, or worse. Much to your surprise, neither Mr. Silvair nor Mr. Chopped appeared to be upset by your intrusion. If the quiet chuckles coming from Silvair were anything to go off of, they were amused by your terror more than anything.

Most shocking of all, they let you stay. Even now, after all this time, you couldn’t believe they let you in so easily, but they did. Sure, there were some strings attached, but it felt more than worth it to have the protection and safety of having someone like Mr. Silvair around. You learned quickly that the other residents of this strange world did their best to not get on his bad side. Or intrigue him too much and end up in his research room. Ignoring the screams was difficult at times… but better them than you. All that he ever asked for from you were blood draws and periodic examinations, both things that you could live with providing.

The main way that you earned your keep around here was by helping Mr. Chopped. Mostly by taking him wherever he wanted to go; which became much easier thanks to Mr. Silvair teaching you the words for directions. It was scary at first, venturing out into the unknown with nothing but your own wit to protect you, but you forced yourself to power through it lest you risk being deemed no longer useful and thrown out on your own.

As nerve wracking as your excursions were, they weren’t all bad. As you slowly met more and more of the residents down here, you learned that not all of them were bad. The hairdresser was one of the people you saw the most often since Mr. Chopped was very particular about his hair. While you wouldn’t exactly consider her a friend, you weren’t scared of her either. Unlike most of the stylists you’ve met before this, she really wasn’t much for conversation, but at least she wasn’t hostile.

And then there was the extremely unlikely friend you made in the form of Mr. Crawling, the man that had sent you running the first time you saw him. In hindsight, your reaction to him felt ridiculous. While he was scary to look at, you came to realize that he was possibly the nicest person here. You didn’t always see him when you went out with Mr. Chopped, but when you did encounter him, he would take the time to accompany you two to wherever you were going and keep the less than friendly residents away from you. He was easily the person you were closest to next to the ones you lived with.

All of that brought you to where you are today. You don’t know how long you’ve been down here- the concept of time didn’t even seem to be a thing in this place- but if you had to make a guess, you would think it’s been around three months. A lot has happened in these “months”. You’ve learned quite a bit of the mercifully simplistic language, established positive relationships with some of the spirits here, and… you’ve changed. Physically.

When your skin tone became ashy, you thought it was an issue with the piss poor lighting in this damned building or the effects of a vitamin D deficiency. But even when there was genuinely decent light, your skin color was completely off to a very unnatural extent. Your hair went through a similar transformation. Like with your skin, you didn’t think much of it at first. Given the stress you’re under, it wasn’t weird that you were getting gray hairs. But it changed so quickly that you doubted it was just the stress getting to you.

Then you found that you could reach things that you previously couldn’t. When you mentioned this oddity to Mr. Silvair, he very nonchalantly confirmed that you had grown taller, saying it as if this was completely normal and like he was surprised that you hadn’t already noticed it. It was impossible to ignore by that point. Your body was changing. You were evolving into a new form, one similar to that of the other people here.

That, and you didn’t miss the fact that everyone here had stopped referring to you with the word human. Now they just call you you. 

You weren’t happy with this development by any means. You didn’t want to be trapped here forever. You had been holding out hope from day one that you would stumble upon an exit while walking around with Mr. Chopped, but you never did. And now you don’t think you ever will. This was your existence now, and you were trying to force yourself to accept it. But there was one thing you refused to adapt to.

The food.

Much to your horror, the only thing the people here ate was flesh. Human flesh, ideally. Though you have also witnessed residents attacking and cannibalizing each other at times. There weren’t any grocery stores down here, and you haven’t really had any luck scavenging for normal food. The most that you’ve found up to this point has been the rare piece of hard candy, though they always tasted gross and stale.

Mr. Silvair has offered you flesh before. After he was done experimenting on his latest victim, he would carve up whatever was left of them and divy up the meat between himself and Mr. Chopped. He also tried to give some to you, but you’ve always refused his offers, though they were getting more and more insistent as time went on. You could tell that he was starting to get annoyed with your stubbornness, and you couldn’t blame him. You weren’t oblivious to the state you were in.

Yet another unclear aspect to this world- or more specifically, its residents- was how the need for sustenance worked. Even in the early days, you noticed how your body reacted to not getting food. Or, more accurately, the lack of a reaction. There was an underlying feeling of hunger there, but it felt much more muted than you know it should be. You should be starving. The gnawing hunger pains should be ripping you apart, but there was none of that. The most prominent symptom of your unintentional hunger strike was exhaustion. You were lethargic more than anything, and it was getting harder and harder to cope with it, but you refused to cave. This was a line that you weren’t willing to cross. This was your last remaining bastion of humanity, and you couldn’t live with losing it.

Just today, you had to go chasing after Mr. Chopped thanks to that damned kid running off with him again. You understood that they were a child and likely have suffered a lot just by being here, but in your current state, you genuinely couldn’t tolerate their bullshit anymore. You were in a perpetual state of being hangry, and you don’t think it’s going to be much longer before you snap and dropkick that little shit down a flight of stairs. But, lucky for them, they disappeared before you could make today the day.

By the time you trekked back home, you were dead on your feet. You all but collapsed onto the couch and curled up on it with Mr. Chopped nestled between you and the back of the couch in hopes that it would make it harder for that kid to run off with him again. Mr. Chopped asked repeatedly if you were okay, but you were too out of it to give him anything more than one word responses, and you fell asleep not long after laying down.

There was no way of knowing how long you were asleep for. When you awoke, it was to the sensation of something cold on your neck. You pry your eyes open blearily and look over your shoulder to see Mr. Silvair looming over you. Your eyes follow his arm and you realize that the coldness is coming from his fingers on your pulsepoint. You dropped your head back down and relaxed again. He was just doing his usual examination of you. The transformation you were going through seemed to greatly interest him, and he’d begun doing this more often as a result. You don’t mind. You’re just glad that he’s letting you stay on the couch rather than making you get up and go into his research room.

Just as you’re about to fall back to sleep, he speaks quietly, “you not healthy.”

Ah. This conversation again. You sigh softly and keep your eyes closed, “sorry.” The word is hushed and croaked out. Even the simple act of speaking felt like a herculean task. 

Mr. Silvair sighs as well, then pulls his hand away and stands up, “rest.”

He didn’t need to tell you twice. Within seconds, you had slipped back into a peaceful slumber. The next time that you woke, it was again from a feeling of discomfort. You were no longer on the soft, albeit lumpy, couch, and you could feel something cold on both your wrists. You groan quietly as you open your eyes and look down to assess what’s going on. It takes a few moments for your foggy mind to process what it’s looking at, but when it does…

What you see makes your blood run cold.

You’re shackled to a chair. Not just any chair. This is the one in the research room.

Adrenaline courses through your veins, making you more alert than you have been in a long time. Your head snaps up and you look around, confirming your worst fears. You’re in Mr. Silvair’s research room, and this time it definitely wasn’t for a simple exam. Tears sting at your eyes as the implications of your situation hit you all at once. It finally happened. He’s grown sick of you, and now he’s going to get out of you whatever is left that he wants. And then he’ll kill you.

The door opens, forcing you to whip your head around to see who came in. It was exactly who you thought it would be. Mr. Silvair enters, his head not even turning to face you. He stops in front of you and sets a bucket that you hadn’t even noticed he was carrying until now onto the table.

Panic fills your mind as you scramble to find the right words to convince him not to do this, “please research not me!”

Mr. Silvair regards you for a moment, then smiles at you. It brings you no comfort, of course, and you flinch when he reaches out and pats your head. He speaks in a calm voice, “not research. not now.”

You stare at him with wide eyes, waiting for him to elaborate. You didn’t understand what he was getting at. If he wasn’t going to experiment on you, then why were you restrained? You didn’t understand. You thought… You thought that everything was okay. That you were all friends. And now he’s turning on you like this out of nowhere?!

He firmly grabs your chin and forces you to look at him as he kneels down to be closer to eye level with you. He speaks slowly, seemingly wanting to make sure that you understand every word, “you not eat, you die.”

No… He wouldn’t…

“we not want you dead.” Mr. Silvair stands up and reaches into the bucket. “me take care you.” You can hear his hand close around something wet and malleable, then he pulls it out. A small portion of human flesh is in his hand. Organ meat from the looks of it.

All rationality leaves your mind in an instant. Your frantic mind can’t even begin to try and translate your thoughts into words that Silvair would understand. A flurry of words spews out, “Wait, wait, wait! You don’t have to do this! Please don’t do this! You can’t do this to me! I’m begging you!”

The words are unintelligible to him and obviously have no effect. Rather than engaging with you, he brings the “food” to your mouth. That shuts you up. You clamp your mouth shut, clenching your teeth and pressing your lips together as hard as you can. Wet, viscous flesh rubs against your lips as Silvair attempts to force you to consume it. You hold your breath in a desperate attempt to keep yourself from gagging, which you’re certain you will if you smell it.

After a few more seconds, Mr. Silvair pulls his hand away with a huff. The meat is tossed back into the bucket as he returns to his full height and goes over to his medicine cabinet. You couldn’t be bothered to pay much mind to what he was doing. Instead, you frantically wiped your mouth off on your shoulder, desperate to not let even a drop of blood find its way onto your tongue.

A sob rips out of your throat as the betrayal stabs you through the heart. You never thought that Mr. Silvair would try to force this on you. You thought that he respected you enough to not make you do something that you don’t want to do, but apparently you’re a poor judge of character on top of being a coward. You try in vain to pull your arms and legs free from their restraints, but they hold strong. 

Mr. Silvair comes back to you, this time holding a syringe. His free hand grabs your face and presses it back against the chair, effectively holding you in place. You tried to squirm free, but he was far stronger than you. You can’t even plead with him to stop because his hand is over your mouth and muffling your words. One of your eyes can still see what’s going on through his fingers, but all you can do is watch helplessly as the needle is pressed into your neck and you’re injected with whatever was inside.

The drug is fast acting, and you find your muscles growing limp within seconds. Your mind remains sharp despite this, so you’re guessing that he injected you with some sort of muscle relaxer to keep you from fighting him. You try to force yourself to move, but your muscles aren’t responding the way you want them to. While you aren’t completely paralyzed, your limbs feel impossibly heavy. It takes everything you have just to curl your fingers.

A pathetic whimper leaves your throat as Mr. Silvair repositions his hand to be cradling your jaw. With a light squeeze, he forces your mouth open. All you can do is stare as he grabs the piece of previously refused meat again and brings it to your lips. You want to clamp your mouth shut. You want to stop this more than anything, but you can’t.

As the flesh passes the threshold of your mouth, the first thing that strikes you is how cold it is. You had assumed that it would be warm, but you suppose that any natural body heat it had once possessed had long since dissipated. Cooled, partially coagulated blood flows into your mouth, coating your tongue and running down your throat.

You should be retching and gagging. This should be the single most revolting experience of your life. But… But…

It tastes so good. It’s delectable. This raw, cold slab of organ meat tastes better than any fine dining dish or lovingly crafted home cooked meal could ever hope to. It’s so good. You want more. You need more.

more more more more mORE MORE MORE MORE MORE MORE-

Mr. Silvair begins to withdraw his hand as he sees you eagerly swallow the food, but the movement catches your attention. Before you can even think, you lunge forward, biting down onto his hand and easily severing multiple fingers.

delicious 

[cutehoons02]

I need a nerdy boy in my life

*pairing: Han hot nerdy boy x popolar girl obsessed with christmas

*tags: Han is obsessed with her, touching, shy boy with people but not with the protagonist, christmas trope, jealousy, kiss, smut, fluffy

*synopsis: Han always had a crush or maybe obsession with the campus influencer but it seemed that she did not see him or maybe it was just the other way around?

comments are appreciated

*word count: 4k (Tell me if you like this kind of stories:

—REBLOG if you enjoyed

The computer science department was with the economics and engineering department consisted of more men from all over the campus, guys who spent hours in front of a blue screen designing software, video games, and applications or trying to hack at illegal sites; the only course in that department with a fair percentage of girls was Communication and Social Media and Y/n was among the most popular and well-liked girls from the course, both because she had a fair number of followers in the various social platforms and tried to make friends with as many people as possible but also because she was excellent as a student.

She decided to graduate in Communication and Social Media because she loved the social and developing world that could be there. Still, she never expected her course to go from the economics department to the computer science department for her second year of university only because the president of the institute had the brilliant idea to let his nerd students know that in addition to developing video games or software, they had the opportunity to express their emotions with someone instead of being attached to the computer or saying it all the president knew that most students had "sexual repression".

The winter air mixed with that of the first days of December put me in a good mood Y/n, had a serious obsession with Christmas, in his room there were I don’t know how many candles to the various perfumes in limited edition for the holidays, Under the entrance of her room there was a small mistletoe (even if she did not go out with anyone seriously wanted to believe that sooner or later someone would kiss her under that famous stick), lights decorated the whole room and in his collection of accessories there was a section of bows to attach them to hair and he put one white with small glittering silver snowflakes.

She was simply a romantic and spent her nights watching Christmas movies with her best friend but she was extremely jealous because they didn’t seem to care about the love that you could feel during the holidays but they were only thinking of which other guy to take read especially if he was a computer science student, had received some flattery from some boys but none made her heart beat or come failles to stomach except one in particular Han Jisung, god hated him with all of herself had tried in every way to attract his attention with small gestures, let’s talk clearly he did not act like a pick me girl too because it was not in his character but sometimes he sat in front of or next to him in the library, Other times he saw him exhausted even after the library hours and brought him some limited edition coffee to drink in autumn or Christmas but always noticed that he drank a sip and then left it all in the glass, During the computer classes she had tried to make friends with everyone but he seemed not to care about her worse it appeared that she was like a ghost.

When he entered the classroom he saw with his surprise Han lift his eyes from his pc and when he saw her with a small mistletoe in hand he threw an ochiattaccia from the back of the classroom, was extremely irritable because they had spoken yes and no few times since the beginning semetre and it seemed that he hated her without having done them anything wrong, the computer class was one of the few classes where the teacher was a woman and Y/n had asked if he could cheer up and decorate the classroom a little with something Christmas and to his surprise the teacher had given him permission to put a mistletoe branch over the door so Without disturbing the very few people who had taken a chair and put it under the door and went to take the scoch and the razor wire to attach it to the branch, when she put her chair over the top she didn’t think it was so high so she tried to stand on her toes but felt the more stable chair below her and saw Han behind her holding his chair and trying in every way not to let those few male companions see their legs Discovered by the skirt slightly too short for his standards.

"Pixie next time before you try to hang something see if you can get there because in this way you’re showing off your half-naked legs under your skirt, let me attack that stupid mistletoe branch." you sundown to look at Han and have his classic nerd glasses, a black oversized sweatshirt, cargo and hair all ruffled, who knows what it would have been like to touch them and pull them slightly...

"Nerd nobody asked you for your help and don’t call me Pixie you’re not that much taller than me, if you can’t look at legs with socks it’s not my fault if you’re perverts." You felt the chair slightly flutter and Han had moved away that little not to hold the chair anymore

"Pixie seriously even if you stretch a little with the tips of your shoes you will not be able to stick it, let’s finish this show, and let me get on this chair, quiet is not among my hobbies to watching your legs half naked"

It was a serious lie every time you wore those fucking gowns like a good girl He would have wanted to put one of his big hands on your thighs and let everyone know that you were his property but he was too shy to do so

"I already told you not to call me Pixie i am Y/n and you know well what my name is, if you insist so try to put it otherwise i will call some other guy"

you went down from the small chair and Han put himself on the chair, ok he was slightly taller than you, and surely for him, it was a breeze to hang that stick, stretched slightly, and from the sweatshirt you saw come out a piece of leather you knew that Han had a passion for tattoos and had one on his chest but you didn’t think he had another, a slight hint of musk and poo invades you and you look carefully Han hangs the stick and swings it a little to see if he held the small knot that he had made, with a small jump Han got down and you found him a few centimeters from you and lowered slightly at your ear.

"Next time wear jeans, not skirts Y/n because you never know maybe I will start to look at your legs even if they are covered by socks like all the other perverted guys of this course!".

It was exactly a week since that episode in the classroom and most of the kids, when they walked into the classroom, smiled when they saw the little mistletoe over the door instead the only one who didn’t care at all was Han, you had arrived slightly earlier to the computer class and i put you between the last benches in the back of the room, you had to edit a vlog that you had made with your friends last weekend so you were focused on the computer without paying attention to what was happening around you until you saw next to you a computer of the latest generation and a case of glasses, you sunflower and next to it was Han who watched carefully how you were dressed and a slight grin formed when he saw that you wore jeans with small tears and a slightly over red Carharrt sweatshirt that matched perfectly your bow you wore to hold Tie your hair.

"I didn’t think i had so much effect on you pixie, it’s since i told you that i preferred to see you in jeans that i haven’t seen you with a skirt on campus" you raised your eyes and kept editing your video.

"You do not affect me Han, the temperatures have dropped and i prefer not to die of cold with skirts maybe it’s you who are obsessing about me if in all these months you rarely spoke to me and looked if now you notice every time how i’m dressed."

You felt the chair approaching you and leaned awkwardly to the table to be closer to your ear.

"Who said i didn’t look at you? Maybe you were too busy making friends with all these idiots that you never noticed the glances i threw at you"

"Stop teasing me Han, i see how i don’t like who knows how nice and the glances you throw at me when i make a presentation or when i’m in the company of others"

The professor came in and started to explain something about computer security but you already knew that so you kept editing the video until you felt slightly cold fingers coming into contact with your skin under the small tear you had in the jeans near your thigh, You watched Han’s slightly venous hand squeeze your thigh and then make some light circles going up as far as he could and then come back down and squeeze your thigh again. Fortunately, you were on the last bench so no one could see you but you felt the temperature of your cheeks rise more and more and you watched the profile of Han slightly relaxed while with the other hand he took notes, how he could be so casual if his hand was inside your legs and every time he tried to go higher he even left you little pinches with his long fingers.

Just a few minutes before the end of the lesson, the teacher said that you should go ahead with the person sitting next to you to study the chapter that she hadn’t finished explaining and write down what you thought was right to introduce on safety inherent technology artificial intelligence.

Han immediately took his hand from your thigh and approached as before with his body pressed close to yours "I never made fun of you Y/n, i always looked at you and maybe too much for my standards and maybe i have a serious effect on you if before every time i touched your thigh slightly you would decrease in the chair and blush. Luckily you had jeans because if you had the skirt of last week i would have touched you slightly higher and maybe I would have made you moan in front of the whole class" Have you watched Han take his stuff and get out of class, how much did you hate him as a nerd if he behaved that way to you? He had no shame if he thought to pottery you moan or even touch your pussy in class...

The city was full of Christmas stands along the main street to enter the university, you and your friends had arranged to go for a little ride and then go skating all together but someone else had other plans in servant for you and to your surprise, you found the group of friends of Han in front of the stand where they sold freshly fried melles over the cinnamon and an impromptu craving for food made you approach the stand and the group of 8 boys, You looked at him for a moment before you stood in line and saw a boy with blond hair smiling to you and I did the same, he was a nice guy but your eyes stopped on Han’s back for a few seconds and you were slightly happy that he didn’t see you, Two days before the next computer class and you had not yet taken up the courage to write him to find you studying. You acted as if you were the loser of the situation and not him, you had thought that you wrote instead you had not received any message but you always displayed the stories among the first people and even when you posted a photo were always among the first to like.

<<Isn’t that girl with the white bow and the mutton, Hannie that girl you’re obsessed with watching every story and vlog on YouTube?>> Han when he heard these words coming from Felix felt his cheeks turn slightly red and looked in your direction and saw you taking pictures definitely for your ig at the apple stand.

“Don’t tell me you brought us to this Christmas village just because you saw his ig stories on his profile," said Chan, laughing and pinching his cheeks slightly, Han gave a slight tap to the big hand Chan and began to approach you but saw that you were in the company of your friends and his shyness was imposed, god because I wasn’t extrovert like Felix or Chan?

Felix gave a slight push to Han and he found himself next to you and looked at the Australian boy.

“Pixie didn’t think I’d find you in the Christmas village don’t tell me that you’re following me and missing you already!"

You were in the head and next to you was Han, He wore a jacket of The North Face and cargo, It was strange not to see him with glasses but unfortunately he was even more beautiful gave him that area of the boy next door and no longer the nerd who spent hours on hours in front of the computer.

"Maybe you’re obsessed with me Han, I saw that you were among the first to view stories and fatalities find you in my place.”

"Why should I be obsessed with you Y/n? I have other things to think about and it was a fatality if I watched the story just put on ig"

You laughed and the line started to go ahead in front of you there was a nice guy and he immediately smiled and passed his hands through his hair while paying for the two fried apples, Before you left the stand you heard the cashier talk to you and give you a small sheet of paper but I did not now open it that with one hand Han took it and put it behind a pocket of jeans.

“Seriously Han what do you want from me? You tried to leave but a slight grip on Han’s hand made you stop and you looked at the nerd in front of you with an interrogative look.

"Would you like to go to my house and get on with the project? I know it’s Saturday afternoon but tomorrow I have to go to training and on Monday I have a class at 20”

"I don’t go to a stranger’s house even if you are in class with me and you are my age you could be a serial killer, let’s go to my house where i feel more comfortable than surely there is some roommate of mine"

"Yes, sure, I didn’t even think about it, sorry if I was too hasty to say immediately go to my house if you feel more comfortable we can also go to the library" Han was slightly eating the skin off a fingernail and at the same time he was also snapping his fingers for embarrassment or maybe anxiety? You took one of his hands and put it in your pocket with

"We can go to my house there is no problem, if you are okay and if you feel comfortable staying in a room full of Christmas stuff and basic girl fond of music, make-up, and shopping"

Han laughed lightly and looked until you arrived at your date and shared the hand braided to her inside the pocket of your mutton.

"Should I seriously be afraid of what I might find in your room or can I just sit still or some killer puppet could eat me alive if he sees a boy of the opposite sex in your room?"

"There’s no killer puppet in my room just a teddy bear that will be like a few years younger than the two of us" Han walked into your room and a little whistle came out of his lips, you had the view of the mountains of Seoul and the light sunset contrasted with the cream-colored walls of your room, there were a lot of albums of old and new artists and obviously above the door was a light mistletoe branch.

"Pixie i understand that you like Christmas so much but also in your room you have to find this branch of mistletoe. I read on the Internet that if you kiss someone under mistletoe love will last forever between the two lovers and it is a plant that brings luck and that drives away the difficulties and pressures between the couple"

"Who’s the obsessed Han? I sure don’t, if you research my favorite things!" You saw him blush slightly and sat in the big gamer/ youtuber chair that you had, instead, you sat in your comfortable bed and for almost two hours you studied with him, You weren’t surprised that while studying he was representing exactly the nerd you knew and that nothing was distracting him or maybe there was something or someone who could distract him and that was you.

You got up from your bed and you sat on the armrest of the comfortable chair next to him to make them understand that you were tired of studying but it seemed that he did not care what you were doing, then slowly sundown the series and you found him with a light smile and grin looking at you.

"Who is it now that needs the attention?" You were afraid to make a first move with Han also because you didn’t know him at all but he had put his long fingers for almost an hour and a half inside that little slit in your jeans and told you that if you had a skirt she would touch you so who cares if thought you needed him. Without taking your eyes from your face you sat between his muscular legs and felt his big hands between your hips "You want what treasure? Where is the popular girl who talks to everyone and wants to be at the center of attention all the time?" His words were provocative for the silent nerd who was in class, you spread your legs a little put over his length and tried to kiss him but he moved and a grumpy took possession of your lips

"Baby i need words who is now the shy couple?" a slight grin took possession of his lips and began to look at your lips as if it were a challenge only between your two worlds.

"I want to kiss you Han but don’t get too excited."

"Pixie fuck is since i saw you first come through that fucking classroom door i dreamed of hearing you say. But where is the romantic girl who wants to be kissed under the mistletoe by his beloved before Christmas?

"I think that before to make me kiss under the mistletoe i need to feel how it is to kiss you"

"You’re saying that you need to have a nerd in your life but you need to figure out if this nerd is the right one for you?"

You felt slightly more comfortable and you slammed your lips with hers and a slight taste of sugar invaded your tongue, He was fucking good at kissing and after a few seconds, you felt slightly biting your lower lip and a little moan came out of your lips and put his tongue into your mouth and at the same time began to gently touch your spine with his hand's cold ones that contrasted with your hot skin. Han had dreamed of this moment for months now and now that he held you close if he did not want to scare you, felt Han away from your lips to take a breath.

Han’s fleshy lips moved in your neck and began to give you a gentle kiss trail between the neck and collarbone.

"You’re perfect baby, your taste is driving me crazy. I always hated these sweet flavors that know from Christmas but i can make an exception for you" The feelings that you felt only with little kisses and lollipops were sending you off your head because this guy was called a nerd and what do you know about kissing?

You felt his cock swell more and more when you moved slightly above its length to feel the atrium between your jeans.

"I hate you because you have two Han personalities? How is it that in class you are perfect and then you are like this with the girls?" You felt the light laugh of Han in your neck and began to bite your neck until you felt his name come from your lips and at that moment he understood that you would be forever because no other name should and could come out of your lips if it was not his.

You pulled off his sweatshirt and a chest carved with around a small compass tattooed made you lick your lips so you returned the work he had done on your neck kissing her neck, her collarbones on display, Going down to his chest and with your hands caressed the ridges of his abs and you began to kiss his chest "Pixie moves into bed" You didn’t care about the uncomfortable position you had sitting between his legs while kissing and licking his abs.

"Pls Y/n" When you heard your name begging you got up from his legs and threw it into your comfortable bed and put yourself on him and watched him with his perfect tattoos and short of breath for the pleasure you were giving him, You wanted to let everyone know that the nerd not looked at by anyone had filled you with suckers and almost came in your pants without even touching you.

[hotmencoreplus]

𝐁𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐒𝐢𝐦𝐨𝐧 ‘𝐆𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭’ 𝐑𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐲’𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐬𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫

Pairing: Simon Riley x sister!reader (she/her)

Summary: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley, the infamous, relentless and fearless Task Force 141 soldier. And the particulars of him being the guardian of his baby sister.

Warnings: Talks of war and deployment, mentions of a traumatic childhood, language. Attempted to do it chronologically, but have added bits here and there

Word count: 3300+

A/N: Basing this off the theory that he is mid 30’s in mw2.

Likes and reblogs are much appreciated! Copying and reposts are not! My fics are only posted on tumblr, under this sideblog @hotmencoreplus for the account, @hotmencore

‣ Simon wasn’t at all prepared to be an older brother, but when he saw you, he knew it was his job to protect his little baby sister.

‣ You were the only one who was fortunate enough to not be killed by Washington, so when Simon was made aware of your survival, he took you in as his own.

‣ He doubted himself at first, fearing he would turn out like his dad, but also didn’t want to abandon you like he had been as a child.

‣ He wasn’t experienced in any way shape or form with taking care of a baby, so most of his days when not on deployment consisted of him watching youtube videos and going online to figure out how to do stuff and take care of you properly.

‣ When on deployment, he left you with a trusted neighbour who he had known for years before. (I feel like this would either be like a man who he would call his ‘best friend’ when home, or an old woman who has kids of her own, that use to babysit him)

‣ He would spoil you the best he could, and make you as happy as possible, not wanting you to have a childhood anything remotely like his.

‣ He definitely still gets help off of google for some things. He isn’t really too good with knowledge on ‘girly’ things.

‣ When home, you and him would always sit at the kitchen table of an evening, you playing with barbies whilst he sat across from you modding his rifle. As you got older, it would be the same just you with homework. You didn’t speak much when sat with each other, though it was always a comfortable silence for the both of you.

‣ Once when in primary school, you came home with a pout as you were jealous of your classmates pigtails and plaits, seeing that Simon only really knew how to brush your hair. So that night, he spent an hour watching videos over and over so that he could learn how to plait your hair.

‣ He felt stupid watching the videos, and frustrated that it took him so long to get the hang of it, but he knew it was all worth it when he saw the grin on your face the next morning as you looked at your hair in the mirror to see it all pretty and plaited.

‣ He also felt the same each birthday or christmas when you were little, worried that the little amount that he was able to get you wouldn’t be enough to make you happy. But 100% of the time, it was just him underestimating himself.

‣ When you were young, he never bothered to mention his own birthday. But one year when with your neighbour, you found out his birthday was a couple days after he came back from deployment. So you saved up money for the 2 weeks before he came back, and bought him a little teddy bear and a bar of chocolate. You also made him a little loom band bracelet, and haphazardly wrapped them up and hid them under your bed.

‣ When his birthday did arrive, you came downstairs to him in the living room, holding the parcel out in front of him. He lifted you up onto his lap, taking the parcel from you. “What’s this?” He asked, looking at it as he peeled his fingers from the cellotape of which you’d badly wrapped it with.

‣ “Happy birthday” you say softly with a smile, and that right there made Simon’s heart melt. He unwrapped the gift, and held the bear out in front of him. You looked at him eagerly, though his expression was confusing to you. “I hope you like it” you say with a slight hint of doubt. But Simon smiles at you, yes, smiles, and pulls you closer to him, placing a small kiss on your cheek, “I love it, thank you Y/N” he says, and the grin returns to your face.

‣ Simon had never felt more appreciated by anyone in his life.

‣ He let you off that one morning to share the chocolate with him, after eagerly placing the loom band on his large wrist, showing him that you now had matching ones.

‣ And he wears it everyday, even on deployment, under his uniform.

‣ And he still does to this day, years later.

‣ He also has a tattoo tucked away somewhere that he got for you, most likely your initials.

‣ When he first joined 141, Price was the only one who knew about you, and that Simon was the one who took care of you.

‣ He knew from Ghost’s files, as when he joined the task force, you were at the age where Simon wanted you written down as who was told when he died.

‣ You were at the age where it was harder to just pretend he never existed. Because when you were a baby, that was his plan. Before he joined it was your neighbour that was put down, just as a telling that you would need to be put in someone else's care.

‣ When Ghost requested the change to his file, he asked Price that someone could go over and tell you in person, rather than just a phone call, or his dog tags through the mail. Which caused for him to have to let Price know of your existence.

‣ He also asked for Price to tell Laswell, as he trusted her and wanted someone there for you who was in the UK more than he was, and in case both him and Price were on a mission/ far away.

‣ He also did it as he believed that you needed at least one female figure somewhat a part of your life, though you've only met her like once or twice.

‣ It takes a good amount of time and full trust in a person for Simon to be comfortable with them meeting you, or even just knowing of you. Which is why Johnny found out so randomly.

‣ You were late pre-teens when Simon was coming home from deployment, and got a call from his friend, apologising that he couldn’t pick him up from base. Johnny overheard the conversation and insisted that he dropped Simon off, though he was perfectly fine getting a taxi.

‣ Simon did message you to stay in the house, but you weren’t paying any mind to your phone, just looking out the window waiting for his arrival. Your own excitement blinded you to the fact it wasn’t the car of Simon’s friend dropping him off, so when you saw his skull mask through the car window, you jumped off the couch and ran out the door to him without a second thought. You didn’t hesitate in giving him a massive hug, which, though Johnny hadn’t pulled off yet, Simon reciprocated, as he knew there was no way of exactly hiding you now.

‣ It wasn’t at all that he didn’t trust Johnny enough, Simon just always felt awkward bringing it up and didn’t expect the circumstances of which he was in, so wasn’t prepared at all.

‣ Soap didn’t like to pry, but was curious and immensely shocked to see a young girl run out of his house and jump onto Simon’s huge frame. He knew it couldn’t have been his daughter as Simon would have simply been far too young for that to be true. So he made the conclusion of you being his sister, and tried to keep it to himself.

‣ Though on the next deployment, Johnny did ask about the young girl he saw, and with a grumble of a reply, he then understood that his guesses were correct. By then he trusted Gaz enough as well, so the whole of 141 eventually knew of Simon’s little sister.

‣ Simon keeps a little photograph of you in his uniform, in an inside breast pocket, above his heart. It’s a photo of you when you were little, the first year he put aside his fears, and took you trick-or-treating. You were dressed as a little fairy, grinning up at the camera, your face covering most of the shot as you leant forwards into the frame.

‣ You two don’t have any proper photos with each other, apart from one from when it was your birthday one year, and you told Simon that the only thing you wanted was a photo of the two of you together. So Simon begrudgingly granted your wish after a lot of convincing.

‣ In the photo, you are stood next to each other in the hallway of your home, you grinning with your short arms attempting to wrap around his large waist, and him stood looking emotionless with his simple skull mask on, his arm behind you resting on your back.

‣ It wouldn’t look sentimental at all to anyone else, but you treasured it. It stays on your bedside cabinet, with one of his old dog tags that he let you keep. You also have another old one of his attached to the zip of your school backpack.

‣ Simon never really decorated your room too much when you were younger, as he was new to the whole thing and decided that he would let you do it with him when you were older and found your own passions and interests. So first off for several years your room consisted of a small single bed, a wardrobe, and littles shelves for your toys, all of which he built with you sat on the floor of your room with him one day.

‣ But when you did find yourself and what you liked, you both spent a couple days decorating it. As it was just you and Simon in the house, you weren’t ever very ‘girly’ so the walls were painted a pale blue, and he bought you some new shelves and some fairy lights/ LED’s to hang up around your bed.

‣ When you use to get nightmares or just couldn’t fall asleep, you would sneak into Simon’s room, and wake him up so that you could stay with him. Although due to his own nightmares, was usually awake before you came in anyways. But there was something he secretly found so sweet about hearing your little feet try to quietly pad down the hallway to his room.

‣ He never minded, because he had nightmares all the time. Simon would never admit it, not even to his baby sister, but he enjoyed the nights where he would have her with him. Because in the long run it did actually help him fall asleep, knowing he wasn’t completely on his own.

‣ He had you.

‣ Due to him being away quite a lot, you have been aware of his job since you were little.

‣ Though when you got older, you wanted to know more about it. Simon didn’t really want to tell you much, as he didn't believe it was something he wanted his sister knowing about, but after so much pestering from you, he caved in. You learnt about his callsign, and how he always wore the skull mask.

‣ Once meeting Soap properly, he was the one to tell you about how infamous your brother really was on the field.

‣ You found it pretty cool that you were one of the only people in the entire world who new what the Simon Riley truly looked like, and secretly took pride in it.

‣ You have always known Simon with and without his mask, so it never feels weird. He rarely wore it when you were a toddler, though when you were first born he mostly kept it on, scared his scars were gonna frighten you.

‣ But the first time he took it off in front of you, you babbled and giggled, and reached out to his face. So from then on, he didn’t bother wearing it around you.

‣ There was one occasion when he came to pick you up from a neighbours after almost a year long deployment, and you were shy with him. It hurt Simon a bit, and made him feel guilty for not being there, and that you had grown so much in the time he was away. But the feeling soon melted away once your neighbour gave you a little push from behind their leg, you softening in Simon’s touch as he held you close in his arms.

‣ His teenage years were the most traumatic for him, so when you transitioned into yours, he became even more protective of you. You sometimes fought over this, and Simon felt bad, but you knew that he was doing it because he wanted nothing more than for you to be safe.

‣ When he bought you your first phone, he definitely made you have Life360 or something like it, so that he knows where you are just in case he needs it.

‣ He would never go crazy on where you were and who you were with. He trusted you. But when away, every night before he went to bed himself, or whenever it was late in the UK timezone, he would check that you were at home. It made him relax slightly about being away, knowing that you were safe.

‣ You were about 15 when you were properly introduced to the 141 team, as behind Soap’s teasing and pestering, Simon knew that you needed some other adult figures in your life. So, much to your own surprise, he messaged you asking if you wanted to come get him from base one time with his neighbour.

‣ You knew that Simon wasn’t really much of a physical affection type of guy, but you could never resist when he was coming back home after a deployment. And even less so now that you were able to come to base. But he also knew that much to his dislike for the public display of it, there was nothing he could do to stop you from doing so.

‣ And with that fact in mind, he knew he had to reciprocate the gesture, so when you did run up to him with your arms out, for a second he forgot about that fact the rest of the guys wouldn’t let cold old ‘Ghost’ hear the end of it, and wrapped one arm around you, lifting you up with ease, his bags clutched in his other hand. You practically squealed to him how much you’d missed him, as he mumbled back in your ear that he did you, too. Lucky for him the others didn't hear that.

‣ Once he had put you down, he very much awkwardly introduced you to the others in a grumbly tone.

‣ When you turned to them, the first thing that they all collectively noticed were your eyes.

‣ You had Simon’s eyes.

‣ Johnny’s hello was an enthusiastic “Good to finally meet you lass,” Simon glaring at Soap, aware of the amusement this brought him, knowing his lieutenant was annoyed as hell.

‣ Gaz nodded at you with a smile, and Price said hello in a deep but warm tone, looking on at you with an almost proud gaze.

‣ Price didn’t know what to expect when Soap loudly made everyone aware of Ghost’s new visitor at base pick up, as Johnny was the only one of them who had seen you before to recognise you as Ghost's sister, though they knew you existed (much to their inital surprise). But when you turned to the rest of the team without hesitance, Price instantly felt an even higher level of respect towards Simon as it was clear from your confident and polite hello that he had raised you well.

‣ Much to Simon’s own self doubt.

‣ One night when the 141 were all at a bar, Price quietly told Simon about how he had done well with you, knowing that he was definitely uncertain of his own worth in your life. But Simon heard the sincerity in his Captain’s voice, and with a quick look of appreciation towards John, he then didn’t doubt himself as much as he had before.

‣ Simon sometimes does mess up though with his language around you, only recently now that you have gotten older. But he isn’t too fussed, just as long as he doesn't hear you repeat any of it.

‣ Seeing that it is only you two in the house 24/7, you both surprisingly get on really well, and there have only been a rare few occasions when he has had to put his foot down.

‣ But these rare occasions would mainly consist of something silly to the point that he got sick of your nagging, like when you begged him to have ice cream for breakfast.

‣ “Please Simon, just this once-“

‣ “No, Y/N! You said that last time. Now drop it.”

‣ There have definitely been times where neither of you can sleep, and now that you're older, you both just sit with each other in comfortable silence. Occasionally just putting a random film on in the living room, but most of the time you would just be at the kitchen table, with a bowl of cereal at like 2am. That is until, and this is 98% of the time, you fall asleep with your head on the table and Simon has to carry you to your room.

‣ When you got to the age where Simon was comfortable with you in the house on your own, you once mentioned to him that the first day of him being away was always the hardest, and that it felt really weird in the house.

‣ You both knew he couldn’t do much about that, but he tried little things to make it somewhat bearable.

‣ For instance, he knows one of your favourite things is leftover takeaway from when you two have one, so the night before every deployment, he always orders takeaway for dinner so that there is always some in the fridge for you on the first day of him being gone.

‣ It’s the little things that Simon does for you despite his mostly cold heart that mean the most to you.

‣ On long deployments, you write Simon letters for him to read. You do message him too, but prefer writing them, as you know he will write back, which you feel is more sincere. His letters are never as long or heartfelt as yours, but you know your brother, and that he loves you dearly.

‣ His replies would often be a few sentences, praising you on anything that you would mention about school or just exciting stuff in general, signing off with ‘Simon’, and a barely noticeable ‘x’ next to it.

‣ You keep every single one of the letters he sends back, your favourites being the ones that he would occasionally send to you, first. And secretly Simon does the same, keeping your letters tucked away in his bag under his bed.

‣ He tells you unless its an emergency, that you should stick to letters or texts, so that he can still stay focused with his job and that if you do one day call him, he knows straight away that it’s an urgent matter.

‣ There was one time when you forgot about the emergency rule, and called him to tell him you passed a test you had been stressing about.

‣ He was about to shout down the line asking what was wrong and where you were until you beat him to it with a loud “I PASSED SIMON, I PASSED THE TEST!”

‣ “That’s amazing Y/N, but you just scared the fucking life out of me.”

‣ “Oh crap. I forgot, sorry. But I passed!!!”

‣ "Great love. I'm proud of you. But next time stick it in a letter, yeah?"

[cupidkenji]

ghost in the machine

Pairing: Unsub!Spencer Reid x Agent!Fem!reader CW: Fluff, longing, mild angst, one paragraph with heavy implications of sex, cursing, mentions of reader being in a car accident, mentions of suicide and death, suggestive Ig? idk Spencer kind of taunts reader, if I miss anything please tell me! Summary: An unsub targeting local political powers starts calling you. With virtually no memories of your life before 15, you're tasked with finding out why his voice feels like home. Disclaimer: Reader is chubby. She's not physically described in this but reader is literally always a bigger person. Anyone can read but I wanna clarify <3 WC: 7.8k I lokey feel like I fumbled this one but this idea has been in my head since I saw a post about it like last month so i'm sorry in advance if it sucks 💀 I'm not saying looping ghost in the machine by SZA while reading this will elevate the experience but just know it's strongly advised and im even giving you a link to the song for easy access.

The fourth case this month. This was the fourth battered politician you’d forced into handcuffs while ducking away from the recoil of blood spewing from his mouth. The men you’d arrested had all protested strongly - and wetly - while being walked to the back of your cruiser, demanding to know why you were arresting them even though they were the victims. They were always the victims. They’d been burgled and beaten - yes- oftentimes you were restraining them while they sat in bathrobes or pajama pants, but this unsub always jumped the gun. Somehow they managed all this damage while simultaneously kicking the dirt that had been sedentary for years out from under the rug. The men would call the police themselves -  I’ve been robbed, I’ve been beaten - always astounded when you’d taken their statement then turned them around and recited their Miranda rights. This unsub was meticulous, planned down to the second. Somehow, the media always broke the story hours after the arrest with full fledged details on the crime - ones the BAU didn’t even have yet. 

The first time this happened, you’d questioned every media worker from Quantico to DC. His target zone never seemed to reach beyond that, giving you an offender right in your backyard. Those were always the hardest to stomach.  Journalists, Newscasters, even cameramen had been turned inside out as the team scoured for any connection. He was just too good. 

“How can it be just one man?” Derek spoke first, but that was the question all of you were about to ask. 

“Wife and kids were outta town. It was a sleeping 50 year old man against the element of surprise.” Prentiss was right, it wasn’t a difficult job when viewed like that. “Description is consistent with all the victims. All black attire, mask over the face.” She flopped the folder down in front of her for emphasis. 

“Either he has another guy or he’s incredibly tech savvy. Some of this information was encrypted, it would take weeks to compile all of this. If he’s hitting a new vic every week that’s not nearly enough planning time for something this orchestrated.” Hotch checked the time on his watch. “We’re not finding him tonight. The local PD are investigating. We don’t have clearance until tomorrow. Everybody go home and get some rest, we need to crack down on this.” 

As much as you loved your job, the departure was a welcome relief. The day had drained you, you had to basically drag yourself back to the BAU for the regroup after the case. It was routine, and incredibly necessary as this unsub continued his streak, but your brain was mush, and you didn’t know if you were capable of any breakthroughs in your current state. You were grateful, currently, that at least you weren’t dealing with a serial killer. He had an agenda, that much was obvious, but chasing a serial killer for a month bred a different kind of stress than chasing an anarchist. 

The AC blast that hit you upon entering your home seemed to steal the tension from your shoulders. It was summer, so on top of hunting an unsub who was essentially a ghost, you were also bearing through the violently humid nights. You locked the door, pulling up your sleeves as you walked deeper into your house. The lights were on, you never left them off for long, and your eyes locked on the pile of notes sitting on your counter. Three small papers, torn at every edge, were draped over each other. Evidence, you thought. You’d kept them for evidence. Once you told the team the unsub had been reaching out, you would show them the notes. It was that simple, you were planning to tell them. You didn’t know why the information hadn’t entered their radar yet. This unsub was clearly infatuated. You could be a valuable part of solving this case, the notes could be the reason you solved it at all. Those were words straight from the source, they would tell you more about the unsub than any crime scene analysis would. Something about them just stilled your tongue, though. You never particularly liked the feds, the cops, the higher ups. You became one of them begrudgingly, you’d been good at reading people your whole life. You wanted to solve things, see justice. It was never primarily about helping people for you, and you feared the reputational repercussions if your team members ever found out about that. You weren't ignorant, you had morals. You simply lacked the place of purity they came from, the virtue your team members carried was one you were void of. Half of the time you walked away from a case, you disagreed with the verdict, and you were ashamed.

You had only realized you zoned out when the phone rang, effectively breaking your gaze away from the notes and onto the ‘Unknown caller’ screen glaring at you from your cell. Morgan just got a new phone, you remembered. He’s probably checking in. You picked it up, stating just your last name in greeting as a reflex from almost exclusively talking to other agents. 

It was quiet for a moment, reaching the period of time where your stomach knotted up and almost forced you off the phone. “Hey, Y/n.” The voice was a new one, it pulled at certain strings within you. You knew him, but you didn’t recognize him. 

“Who’s this?” The spark of familiarity filled you with guilt. A car accident when you were 15 had stolen most of the memories from your childhood and left a bountiful amount of scars in their place. You barely remembered your own parents, if this man was an old relative, you definitely didn’t know who he was. As much as your family tried to be empathetic, you could tell it hurt them when you were none the wiser.

“God, it’s good to hear your voice.” The man was smiling as he spoke, you could hear it in his tone. “Your number was shockingly hard to find. Feds really don’t mess around, huh?” Your shoulders tensed, you looked around. Blinds were closed, your house was the same as when you left it. You're sure it wouldn’t be hard to find your address if he’d found your number. “I’ve been trying, believe me. I left those notes while I was looking, although it’s really not the same, is it? Phones are so revolutionary, I mean writing you a letter is one thing but it’s so underwhelming in comparison. A piece of paper doesn’t let me listen to you, doesn’t let me hear those little breaths you take when you get scared.” You didn’t even realize your breathing had changed until he called you out. 

“Do I scare you?” He sounded so domestic, the contrast between the genuinity laced in his words and the actual words themselves just about knocked you over. “I hope I don’t. I’m not trying to.”

“What are you trying to do?” Your mouth felt sealed shut, just barely managing to grate out the words.

“If you’re asking about my agenda, I’m afraid that’s a private affair for now.” He was so casual about this, sarcastically sucking air in through his teeth like he was telling you he couldn’t meet for coffee next week.

“What do you need with me, then? You don’t want to share and you aren’t calling to gloat. What’s the point?” 

You heard him click his tongue at the question. “Everything is so technical with you agents.” You could basically sense his lips quirk up, gaining some type of sick intuition for the man’s tendencies. “Maybe I just wanted a word with the pretty detective working my case.” 

Your knees were trembling, your grip getting looser on the phone as you struggled to keep your hold through the tremors of your hands. You had to focus, you could take advantage of this. “Why politicians? What happened to you?”

“Personal grudge.”

“How do you get their data so fast?”

“I know a guy” He knew a guy?

“So you have a partner?”

“I wouldn’t worry about it.”

“Why not?”

“It’s no one of importance.” Sibling, maybe?

“It’s important to me.”

He chuckled at that. You needed to hang up.

“Y/n-” Could he sense your fucking muscles tensing? “Don’t tell your friends.” He could hear your heartbeat from where he was, you were sure of it. 

“Why?” You were instantaneous, barely letting him finish before responding. “You gonna hurt me?”

“No.” He scoffed. “If you tell them, I’ll have to stop reaching out.” You swore you could feel the weight of his eyes on you. “Is that really something you want?” Cold sweat pierced through the skin on the back of your neck. You yanked the phone down from your ear and hung up. 

No, it wasn’t. 

–

You dreadfully greeted the sun as it peeked through the slits of your blinds. You’d slept maybe a half hour in total last night, sleeping in five minute increments while bearing through a paranoid haze only comparable to the first time you’d smoked weed. The world felt unreachable. You could see it like a screen but your true consciousness sat captive in his hands. He’d known you. That was the fact stuck in your throat, that’s why you couldn’t sleep. Does that mean you knew him?

“Jesus.” If you had to guess, the sight of your sunken eyes and hunched shoulders was the trigger for Morgan’s reaction to the sight of you. Walking into work wasn’t going to be fun, you knew that, but you hadn’t expected such an immediate acknowledgement. “Someone have a rough night?”

You wished you could banter with him. Morgan always made working here feel lighter, he was fun to be around, but you were guilty. If you were tired from a one-night, insomnia, even if you were drunk and puking your guts up all night, you would have joked back with him. Now, you had to force yourself to make eye contact. A childish part of your brain was scared he'd smell it on you. At this point, you were fraternizing with the enemy, and it’s repercussions were draped over you like a curtain. “Couldn’t sleep.”

“Clearly.” He handed you a mug of coffee. “Is it the case? If it’s bugging you that much, one of us can stay with you for a couple nights. It’s no trouble.”

“No, Morgan, that’s not necessary.” He was so kind it was nearly suffocating. If someone stayed, he either wouldn’t call or you’d have to decline it. Both of those options making an uncomfortable amount of unease stir inside you. “I appreciate it, but I’ll be fine.” 

“Just tell me if you need anything.” He nodded at you, you nodded back, then you both headed into the conference room. 

“Any leads?” You walked to your seat as you asked, unsure what you were hoping to receive as an answer.

“None.” Everyone else was gathered around the table, Hotch scanning through the file as he replied to you.

“We’ve pretty much ruled out the media workers.” Prentiss spoke up. “This guy’s most likely an anarchist. His previous victims haven’t belonged to a consistent party so he’s not lashing out at the opposing side.” She thought for a moment. “What path leads somebody to anarchy?”

“Maybe he’s been kept out of office.” Morgan started speculating, just trying to sweep together something they could pin to him. “If he’s been running long enough, maybe he gets angry, changes course. He could be jealous of his targets.” 

Your brain was half focused on the case, half focused on him. Two sides of you were fighting, one instilling a sort of protectiveness over him, one howling at you to do your fucking job. 

“I don’t think he’s an anarchist.” You leaned forward in your chair, revving up to present your theory. “He’s been described in the same outfit for every victim. Long Sleeve, cargo pants, gloves and a ski mask - all black. That’s as minimal as it gets. Some pretty low income areas are well within his safe zone.” You paused, looking around to see if they were understanding what you were getting at.

“He’s poor.” Hotch had a glint in his eyes. Almost. 

“So - what?” Morgan prompted. “He’s doing this for money? This is way too elaborate for somebody needing cash.” He shook his head as he spoke. “Hotch, there was evidence of Scopolamine injections. A man who either knows how to make the chemical or already has enough money to buy it wouldn’t be in a position that warrants this. Plus, the kind of tech it would take to get the information he steals? Way more than your typical Best Buy - this is Garcia level stuff. He injects them and probably forces them to help with the robbing, he beats them senseless - he’s getting some kind of kick out of this.”

“He’s not poor” You concluded. “But I’m pretty sure he used to be.” You sat up straighter to elaborate. “A lot of times, kids who grow up homeless or with no money feel wronged by politicians. Here they are going to school hungry while the mayor rolls in cash and lets them bear the consequences of a put-off promise to help the community.”

Prentiss sat back in her chair as she considered your words. “To build this type of anger, though? This is a vendetta.” She glanced down at the crime scene photos as a reminder. 

“Exactly. Anger is expected in normal cases. Something extreme clearly had to happen to explain this type of outburst.” Personal grudge, you remembered him saying. You felt like you were airing out his secrets as you spoke. A weak sense of betrayal tugged at your guts. “I’ve been thinking about this a lot, going over what type of event could cause something like this and I think I have an idea.” You pulled out your phone while talking to call Garcia, the woman answering immediately.

“Garcia, can you look up children in the Quantico to DC area who died from complications with chronic illness? Probably late 90’s to early 2000’s, I don’t think our guy is old enough to have been running for office.” 

“That’s gonna be a large list. Any more parameters you can give me?”

“Look for families making less than 20,000 a year.” 

“Got it. There were three families making under 20,000 that reported losing a child of illness. One was of stage 4 cancer with no plausible recovery and the other two said they couldn’t afford the medication needed for treatment. I just sent them over.”

“You’re the best.” 

“Don’t I know it.” You hung up the phone, pulling up the files she found.

“What exactly are we looking for here?” Morgan looked to you.

“We can rule out the first family. Dying of cancer wouldn’t create the effect needed for our unsub.” He looked like he was about to reiterate his question. “What we’re looking for is a sibling. If your family is struggling, you already have the seed of anger that this guy has. I think a family member dying from the lack of money might just give him the motive he needs.”

“That’s good thinking, he could be avenging someone.” Praise from Hotch always felt better than others. “The Bryson family was just the mother and the daughter who died. She worked in janitorial for the local middle school.”

“Doesn’t exactly fit the profile.” Morgan was right, all the testimonies had described a man. Plus the assumption of decent financial prosperity didn’t fit someone still working at a middle school.

“Who does that leave?” You were searching for the answer to your question, but Prentiss was quicker.

“Diana Reid and her two sons. Henry had type 1, seems like they could afford the insulin for a little while but something must have happened. He went into DKA and died a week later.”

Two sons. “What about his brother?”

“Uhhhh-” She scrolled down on her tablet. “That would be one Spencer Reid who…” She scrolled just a little bit further to find the whereabouts of the man, the hope in her eyes snuffing out with the information she read. “is dead. Says he committed suicide a couple years after his brother died.” The whole table deflated a bit as she said that.

“It was a good idea.” Hotch, despite being a monotone man, usually tried to keep things optimistic. “We’ll continue pursuing that angle. Morgan and Prentiss, I want you to go back to the first crime scene. I’ll call Dave and we’ll head to the latest.” The mentioned agents nodded their heads and started making their way out the door. 

Your eyebrows furrowed at your lack of instruction. “And me, sir?”

“Go home.” He looked you over for a moment. “You look like hell.” Then he was gone, calling Rossi on his way out. How mortifying.

– 

It had been three days since Hotch’s dismissal of you. You managed to get some sleep, convincing your co-workers of normalcy when you went back into the office the next day. In truth, you were anything but. You had been noticeably distracted but the others chose not to mention it until it hindered your performance, which it had yet to do. You were on a timer, counting down the seconds until your next call with him. You seemed to be endlessly tugged back and forth between excitement and pure dread. Everytime you got home, you took a moment to stare at your phone, almost like you could will him to call if you glared at it long enough. The day was just shy of a week since his last attack, and you were nervous as hell. Your phone buzzed once, then it buzzed again. He was calling. 

“You’re early.” You didn’t find it fitting to greet him. You knew who it was, why be friendly? “Is there another one?”

“Relax, honey.” His voice lit a fire in you. Jesus. “I didn’t know I was only permitted one call a week.”

“What are you playing at?” You tried to sound sturdy, but your voice hit your ears with more desperation than you’d ever expressed. 

“I could ask you the same.” You could hear the tilt in his words, he was so sure of what he was doing. “You didn’t tell them about us.”

“How would you know?”

“I’m not in cuffs, am I?”

“You think we’d catch you if I told them?” Was it your fault he was still free?

“No.”

“Maybe they’re listening.”

“Maybe.” He was so unbothered by the notion. You were never a good bluffer.

“It wouldn’t bother you?” You narrowed your eyes at nothing, staring at your wall as you tried to read him through the phone.

“You could bring in the whole nation, Y/n.” You listened more intently than you ever had. “It wouldn’t keep me from you.” You felt like you were choking on your own heart, feeling it beat at the confines of your throat. Jesus Christ.

“Do you know where I live?” Your lips were too weak to hold back the question. It’d been the only thing on your mind since the first note had been left on your car.

“Why?” His smile bled into his words. “Are you inviting me over?”

“Answer the question.”

“Why don’t you answer a question of mine?” He was so intentional, his MO proudly showing in the way he spoke to you. “Haywood or Clancy?”

“Are those your actual choices?” You tried to analyze him, justifying your actions with the ruse of investigation. He’d tell you more if he wasn’t monitored. “Or are you trying to throw me off your trail?” It was certainly plausible. Get you running after two men not of interest, leaving his real victim neglected by your team. 

He laughed, breathy and soft. “I don’t know.” You could almost picture him tilting his head, faceless and so enticing in your imagination. “Pick one for me. Maybe I’ll do him next in your honor.” 

“What do you know about honor?”

“Everything I do is about honor.” What did that mean?

“The only thing that would honor me is you turning yourself in.”

“What do you know about honor, agent?” His voice was taunting, you heard his body shift. “What do you think that team of yours would think about us, hm? Those are their words, not yours. You’re the one who’s waiting on calls from the enemy.” Shock paralyzed your tongue. You felt your head pulse with the blood rushing to your ears. “You don’t have to be guilty about wanting it, honey. You don’t fit with them.” 

“As opposed to what? Fitting with you?”

He chuckled. “You’ve thought about it.”

“Nightmares, maybe.” 

“That’s the angle you're going with?” He saw through you. “If you dreamt of me, I doubt they were nightmares.” 

“You didn’t answer my question.” 

“I don’t know where you are.” You didn’t feel relieved. “I have no interest in hurting or robbing you. Why would I want your address?.”

You slipped your hand under your shirt to trace the scar across your chest. Gift from the accident, now a nervous habit of yours. “What do you want?” God, you were a broken record.

“It doesn’t matter what I want, Y/n.” You could barely hear him over the thrum of blood in your veins. Your entire body felt tuned into his words. You’d never felt so far away while connected. “Only what I can do.”

“You take everything from them. More than just money. Clearly you lost something.” You were so sick of asking this question but you were getting farther from the answer with every conversation. “Why are you doing this?”

“They made the first move.” Jesus what did they do to this guy? “I’m not the bad guy, honey. I’m just defending my side.” 

“This isn’t a game.”

“It might as well be.” He was quick with his responses. “It’s all the same to men like them.” You stayed quiet for a moment. How did you reply to something like that? “Get some sleep. It’s late.”

“Give me less crime scenes to look at and maybe I’ll sleep more.”

He smiled, you could hear it in his tone. “Every mean has an end, agent.” You held your breath, and as if gaining consciousness, you hung up the phone. You felt the brick of the encounter sit heavy in your stomach. He wasn’t lying. You were guilty, and you wanted it beyond belief. 

–

You’d talked to him four more times over the past two weeks. There’d been two more victims corresponding with those calls, continuing his routine of a new one each week. Your understanding of your feelings had become less hazy as you talked to him more. Your guilt wasn’t from withholding information from your team, it was from the fact you wanted to. It stemmed from your instinctual desire to keep him to yourself. Let him exist differently in your home life than he did in your work life. It was difficult keeping something from profilers. It made you feel worse that they definitely knew something was up, but chose not to push it because they trusted you. Did this truly make you untrustworthy? You were only human. 

You’d spent what was meant to be your day off at the BAU working. When there was a case like this, rest time seemed to take the backseat. You were drained, more emotionally than physically. You were lying to your friends, but truly, you didn’t know how deeply you considered them friends. They were good people, easy to like and easy to work with. You were starting to wonder if that's where it stopped, though. Everything about their company was easy, but it lacked gratification. His company was hard on you, but it was so rewarding, so filled with feeling that you started to wonder what your morals even were. You wouldn’t find them here, you thought. You certainly tried. You stared into the chipped white paint aging poorly on the brick wall of the bar as if the pigment of the words would organize your thoughts better than your malfunctioning mind could. The liquid in your glass was nearing it’s end. The drink had loosened your joints, loosened your mind. You hadn’t come here to get drunk, you were basically still sober, you just needed the warmth of a drink. There was a certain coldness within you, there had been since the accident. You accredit the feeling with driving away any potential love interests of yours. There was always a sense of being stuck, like you were interrupted in the middle of moving on, and never fully got to close the chapter. This wasn’t hard for others to sense. You were as emotionally nonreciprocal and unresponsive as a corpse.

“Mind if I join you?” A man who’d immediately caught your eye upon entrance gestured to the barstool next to you.

You motioned to it. “Please.” A casual invitation. You didn’t know how to talk to random men in bars. You took a good look at him, something subconscious stirring beneath your skin. The minimal buzz of the drink you had making you write it off, preferring the focus of his eyes on yours. 

“What’s your name?” The smoothness of his voice could have rivaled the most expensive whiskey in that place. 

You told him your name. He nodded, murmuring a “pretty” under his breath as he took a sip from his glass. 

“I’m Matthew.” 

“Pretty.” You reiterated, raising your eyebrows slightly as you joked. He chuckled, and you asked if he was new to the area. 

“I’m a local, actually. I grew up here, surprisingly never been to this bar, though.”

“Really? I grew up around here too. This place is old as dust, been here forever.” You looked down, finishing the last of your drink. 

“I know. I’ve wanted to come here for a while because it’s so old.” Something about him was so off putting but so irresistible. You’d never encountered such an uncomfortable concoction. It was intoxicating. “I lost the knack for drinking I had in my teen years. Back then my friends and me would just buy a 12 pack and get drunk in the field on Fromage.” 

You lacked the memories to know if you related to the man, but you weren’t going to delve into why and kill the mood, so you lied. “That field used to scare the shit out of me. Everyone at my school said there were bodies out there.” 

His eyes held a certain glint in them when he looked at you, his lips perked up at the edges slightly, if you hadn’t been a profiler you might have missed it. “Really?” Maybe you imagined it all, that or he caught on to you, the look leaving his eyes after lingering for a moment. The slight promise of something more sinister pulsed throughout them. The hairs on your arm were standing. “Mine said the same thing.” He smiled, looking away, shaking his head fondly as he remembered. “My school was full of dumbasses though so I never really took it seriously.” And you laughed. 

You laughed a lot throughout the time you sat there with him. A few hours, you’d guess. He lowered your guard so easily, walking leisurely through the gates of you. You’d practically rolled out the red carpet for him. You wondered if he could see how easily he got in, how much you welcomed the feel of him in your veins. He didn’t seem to mind if he could. When he’d wanted to take you home, your lips parted, and you said you’d like that. You don’t really remember driving, knowing one of you did, both of you sober by the time you’d left. He’d been so gentle, so all-consuming. He’d run his thumbs along the scars he encountered, punctuating the sensation with his lips following close after. Mumbling praises against your skin and rhetorically asking “does that feel good, honey?” as your legs shook around him. He melted you down to pure liquid gold with just his touch, knowing exactly how to map you out. You’d felt him everywhere, his fingers burning their respective shadows on your skin, seeping slowly into your soul to leave marks there too. He’d felt so safe, the pure want joining the two of you together. A euphoric distraction from all the disaster you’d let befall you. He was gone before you woke up the next morning, but you saw him in your shadow, felt him in the soreness of your legs. He’d been a deviation, something put in your path to confuse you. What a brutal fucking night.

–

The same day, you’d gone to work, gone home, and then ended up back at the BAU an hour later. There had been another victim. Two days early. This was his eighth, and up until now he hadn’t strayed from his weekly pattern. This was a bad sign, if he was ramping up, who knows how many more he wanted to hit. The story had stayed the same, and that night you were arresting another board member, this time for solid ties to human trafficking. He really knew how to pick them. You’d give him that, at least.

The meeting post-arrest basically just shared what you were all thinking. He was ramping up, and you were getting no closer to catching him. Stating the obvious was doing nothing but wasting time. He was good. One of the best you’d ever seen. Nobody really knew what to do at this point. You watched their faces get more and more helpless and you felt bad. Nothing in your calls with the man would have helped you solve this case, you were almost positive. Any aspect that could have helped was one you explored. 

Emily had said the name ‘Spencer Reid’ and the way your stomach lurched made you feel like you had to be onto something. You’d never had such an intense gut feeling about something only for it to be absolutely impossible. You hadn’t told them, but you looked more into him. His death was an easy one to fake. As much as you hated speculating on what could very well have been just a heartbroken boy, you couldn’t deny the theory you were building. His mother had found a suicide note, they hauled a body out of the river a month later and just assigned Spencer’s name to it, marking it down as conclusive. You weren’t convinced.

–

You got home within the hour, locking the door and pulling out your phone. You hadn’t called him before, but it was the same number every time, and you needed to talk. The phone rang so long you were almost sure he wouldn’t pick up. Almost.

“Y/n.” He greeted you. “This is new.” 

“You broke your pattern.” You started with the topic at hand. “Why did you do that?”

You heard a chair squeak slightly as he leaned back. “What can I say? You being so interested gave me some extra motivation.”

“Interested?” What the fuck was he talking about? “This isn’t - I’m not fucking interested in anything. You’re a criminal.” You were slightly out of breath. When you lied to him, no matter how small the lie, air seemed to gain a disinterest in staying within your lungs.

“Mhm.” He was smug. That wasn’t a good sign. “I don’t believe that. You seemed pretty interested last night.” 

He had pulled a lever, and your stomach dropped to your shoes. “That was you?” You sounded as defeated as you felt. Your eyes were watering from the pure shock, feeling the drop of the bomb shake you down to your core. 

“You kept tracing that scar on your chest, you know that?” You hadn’t known that. “Almost like you could feel it.” Feel what? He didn’t elaborate. “You sounded so pretty when I touched it, when I kissed you. Been thinking about it all day.” He was breathy, sounding like he was trying to put himself back in it as he spoke. 

You steadied yourself before you opened your mouth. “You lied to me.”

“I’ve never lied to you.” He sighed. “You lied to me, though.” You hadn’t imagined it. “That field used to scare you?” He laughed slightly. “You were the one who told me about it. Took me over there once to look at the moon in the back of your dad’s pickup.” 

God, this was frustrating. “Who are you?” The tears were dancing the border of your eyes, begging to run down your cheeks. “I knew you?”

“You know me.” He was so sure of it. “I’m still in there. Everything is.”

You had to ask, at this point you were near certain of it. “Spencer?”

He sighed, relief intertwining with his words. “There she is.” It was such a soft delivery, the moment he took before replying had you wondering if you’d said anything at all.

What kind of situation even was this? “Is this about your brother?”

“You know, when we were younger, my mother knew the mayor. He used to babysit my brother and me when she worked nights.” His tone was humorous, bitter, like he couldn’t believe the stupidity of what he was explaining. “I listened to him promise us he would change the community when he got the time. Get us a house with more than one bedroom, get us into a school system deserving of us. He used to call me a genius.” He scoffed at the thought. “Then my mom couldn’t afford the insulin, and he let my brother die.”

You didn’t know what to say. “I’m sorry.”

“The payments wouldn’t have even made a dent in his pockets.” You could visualize him, alone in a room somewhere, that familiar crease between his eyebrows as he talked. You were going to be sick, you thought. “One man for every year my brother got to live. Seems only fair.”

“Two more to go, then?” You couldn’t identify a single thought in your head. All of them speeding past you like bullets before you could latch onto one. “Is it helping?”

“Yeah.” He sniffled, quiet and subdued. “It is.”

“I - um” A tear finally fell, breaking the dam. You wiped it away quickly, two more taking it’s place almost immediately “I have to go.”

“Y/n-” but you were gone already. You put your hand over your mouth, laughing into it slightly at the absurdity of your situation and sobbing into a moment later as you took the cold plunge into reality. You texted your parents, knowing they were asleep, asking if you could swing by when they woke up. If anyone would know something, it was them, and you had every intention of shaking them down to find out exactly how you’d known the man. You had to know. You spent the night preparing the questions you’d ask and trying to fall asleep. You were almost paralyzed with the weight of him on you. There was no getting out of it now.

–

The outside of this house always felt alien. You knew you’d grown up here, but it lacked any sense of home. You wondered as you stood out front how much Spencer had to have meant to leave more of a mark than the place you spent your first 18 years in. The sun was nearing it’s peak in the sky, it was almost noon. Your parents had texted back at eight am, worried and eager to know what was wrong, eager to see you. You’d fallen asleep barely an hour before that, waking up at eleven and quickly getting ready after seeing the text. You were scared. These were practically strangers to you, and you were betting an ungodly amount on them. That’s not fair, you thought. But honestly, nothing was fair, and you calmed your guilt with promise of filling the void in your gut. You broke your staring contest with the front door and leaned forward to knock, the thing opening almost immediately. 

“Hey.” You spoke before they did. You found that being the first to talk usually decreased the amount of warmth in their greetings. “It’s good to see you guys. Thank you for having me, I know my texts were sort of alarming. I just needed to talk about something.” You held eye contact to the best of your ability. They brought out a deep feeling of shame, knowing they didn’t blame you for the distance but still being responsible for it nonetheless. 

“Of course.” Your mother talked while your father looked down. “It’s good to see you too. Come in, please.” Your father broke from her side to go sit down, while your mother opened the door to usher you in. You stepped forward, nodding at her in thanks as you passed her, joining your father where he sat.

“Um…” You faced both of them as your mom took the place by his side. How did you even start this? “Well, in a case I’ve been working on, somebody came up.” You couldn’t tell them he was alive. “And he just…seemed familiar, I guess. Did I know a boy named Spencer Reid growing up?” You watched the sparks of recognition ignite in their eyes as you said the name. Your mother’s grew teary, while your father’s seemed to harden. 

“Knew him?” Your mother chuckled at the thought of it being so simple. “You two were more in love than your father and I.” She rolled her eyes as she held your father’s arm, the man laughing lightly at her words.

 “He was the first friend you talked about. I remember picking you up from the first day of kindergarten and listening to you rave about the boy who was ‘smarter than the teacher’.” Her tone got lighter at the end, seemingly trying to imitate the excitement of your adolescent self. “You two were always close, you know?” She seemed to remember him fondly. “When you got older, you would get so defensive if  I asked after him so eventually I stopped. But I knew. I knew you two would end up together from your first playdate.” She was on the verge of tears, giggling at her own words as the stories she told surrounded her, smiling at the past. 

“His family really struggled. Such a sweet kid, him and his brother both. They were over here a lot.” Your father took the role of speaker as your mother’s emotions got the better of her. “We went back and forth for a while after the accident on whether to tell you or not. It just seemed cruel to. He died the night before you got hit, and you were such a wreck we just -” He struggled to find the words. “We considered it a blessing you didn’t remember him.” Your father’s guilt was apparent, twisting his features slowly as he explained their choices. “You were so in love, sweetheart. You didn’t know who he was when you woke up and we figured, you know, what’s the point? When the only thing that could come from it was pain, it just seemed futile.” 

You don’t think you blinked the entire time they were talking to you. You only knew you were crying when your vision went blurry, completely neglecting the beading of tears down your cheeks. You remembered the day your mother was talking about, seeing the children you once were illustrate the world in front of you. You could almost see his face, how it would have looked when he died, how he used to look at you. Like he was staring at the universe’s secrets, easing his hands through the veil to touch them - to touch you. You remember the feeling he gave you, something warm and distinct, reserved for the two of you only. If you could have seen yourself in the moments you shared, you’re sure you would have worn the same look in your eyes. 

You started speaking, but couldn’t manage much. “Yes, yeah, you’re right.” Reassurance usually worked well. “It was a…a good call.” You had trouble with your words, remembering the feelings of him but lacking the visuals. “Do you have any pictures?” Your mother nodded in response, detaching from your dad and going to retrieve something that held the memories you sought. 

“I’m-” Your dad started. “We’re sorry.”

You shook your head. Your parents were the last people who owed an apology. “It’s ok, dad. I’m glad you did it.”

“I could never myself look back at these. Thinking about what happened to them I just…I can never look at them knowing they’re gone.” Your mother re-entered the room holding a camera, dark pink and cheap. “It was meant to document your childhood, but he was around so much, it’s basically just a compilation of you guys.”

You held the thing in your hands. It was everything you wanted to happen but you couldn’t force your fingers to move. Did you even want this? He was alive, sure, but you’re certain the boy next to you in these photos would never see the light of day again. All your birthdays for thirteen years, field trips, science fairs, even just the two of you sitting together reading. It was all here. All consumable. You felt the urge to boil them down and burn your skin with the residue. Anything to keep a semblance of this life with you. You had a right to them, they were yours. Your teeth clenched at the sting of the absence. He had been yours and you couldn’t even remember. “Can I keep this?”

“Of course.” You’re sure the thoughts in your head were obvious to them, spinning like a cyclone in your eyes zoning out on the camera. “I’ve thought about giving it to you for a while now anyway.”

–

They’d made you lunch, then dinner. They told you tales of your past and you let them glance into your present. It was dark by the time you left, setting the goal to talk with them more. You walked to your car, having parked down the street, and tried to shake yourself out of the trance that house put you in. You thought you were seeing things at first, squinting slightly to focus on the chunk of passenger door that was shrouded with out of place darkness. Someone was leaning against your car. You didn’t feel defensive. 

“Spencer?”

“Hey.” He pushed off the door and walked closer to you, facing you on the sidewalk. You could see him now, lit up by a streetlight. He took you in, too. Glancing at your hand and grinning. “I remember that thing.” You had forgotten you were holding the camera until now. 

“Why didn’t you just tell me?”

“I don’t know, honey.” He shrugged, matching your exhaustion at the situation. “I guess I wanted to see how much you remembered.” He looked at you, his eyes just as bright as they’d been a decade ago. “How much I could make you remember.”

You sighed. God, if only it worked that way. “Do you want to-” What the fuck were you thinking? “Do you want to come over?” You’d looked through every picture on that camera. You missed him. You missed him in your space, on your bed, waiting for you at the bus stop. That knot of feeling stuck only wanted to unravel if it were his hands tugging at it. “I can drive us.”

He raised his eyebrows, surprise blending seamlessly with the undiluted hope he carried as a kid. “Ok.” He smiled, just a tiny lift at the corners of his lips. The image of that smile resting on his teenage face struck you so violently you felt it in your bones. You looked at him, starstruck. His presence was a trance of it’s own. 

“Ok.” You repeated him, trying to elongate the moment. You weren’t sure when you’d be ready to look away. He’d have to move first, and he knew it, so he walked to the passenger door. You blinked, grounding yourself, and unlocked the car. 

You were preparing for an awkward car ride, but clearly your subconscious was more than familiar with him, being silent with him came as second nature to you. You took the long way back to your house, trying to enjoy the comfortability as long as you could. He added an elevation to your existence that you hadn’t been aware you were lacking. You pulled into your driveway ten minutes later, parking and turning off the car. 

“Did you really not know where I lived?”

“No.” He was looking out your windshield, taking in the sight of where you felt safest. “I meant what I said. I never needed to. 

You walked into the house first, hearing him shut the door softly behind him. You’d been listening to see how he’d close it, not sure what it would tell you, but deeming it important regardless. He’d been nothing but respectful of your space both times he’d been here. You sat down, nodding your head to the chair near you. 

He let a moment pass, waiting to see if you had something to say. You had too much to say, too much to articulate. “I want you to leave with me.”

“Spencer-”

“Don’t.” His eyes were pleading, glistening with his unique mix of hunger and control. “Don’t write me off, Y/n. Nobody would know. They’re not gonna catch me. You can quit, and we can leave.” You looked away, down towards your hands. “Don’t act like you haven’t thought about it.” It was all you’d been thinking about. Usually in dreams - obviously your mind was more up to date than you were. You were going to do it, you thought. Of course you were. You looked at him and knew you’d go anywhere he asked you to. Still, though, you had a life. One you needed time to wrap up before you could leave it. You were a federal agent, if you went missing, they’d send the entire nation to step on your heels. 

“Can I think about it?

He looked at you, suppressing a smile and tilting his head slightly. “Sure, honey.” He could read you so easily. He’d known he had you from the moment he asked. “I’ve still got two more.” The burning in your stomach wasn’t a resistance to the words. It was an admiration, a feeling you could wallow in. You weren’t an opposing force to him. Had you ever been? Truly?

“What happens if I don’t go?”

His eye contact had a way of transferring, enveloping any part of you it could reach. You were testing him. “Don’t force my hand, Y/n.”

You didn’t plan on finding out what that meant.

[gremlingottoosilly]

mafia!reader x mafia!konig where they’re from rival groups and heeeeyyy guys check it out who we have as a hostage!

(yes that hostage is ambiguous)

You can fool yourself enough that you're smart, that you're capable, that you won't ever get too cocky when your prey is right in front of you...but honestly, seeing Konig, leader of The Fucking KorTac, bound to the chair in a tort... interrogation room, is far too alluring. You never saw the guy before - always thinking he is like a ghost. Not the Ghost, that guy was pretty well known and seen by everyone, but a ghost. Apparition, urban legend, something straight up from those freaky German fairytales. The guy is big, wears a fucking bag over his head, and no one, who saw his face, ever lived to tell the tale.

No one before you, of course. Honestly, you don't have a reason to hate him. You're just a little cog in the big mafia machine, nowhere near enough the boss levels. You never as much as saw his top dogs in action, not even speaking of the man itself - but, he got sloppy. But, you got lucky. A group of unimportant thugs and "tax" collectors, you never thought you could catch the leader of an enemy group lacking. He was at the bar, chatting up with you - admittingly, you were too dumb to know who he was, at first, so you just did the usual. Chat up with an already drunk guy at the fancy bar, flash a little tiddy, make consistent eye contact, and caress his hand to distract him from all the shit you're pouring into his drink. The plan was to rob this guy blind, but then your colleagues came over and freaked out. You accidentally snatched up the leader of the most dangerous family in the city. Looking at him all bound in the small chair, it's almost obvious how much of a human he is. Not a myth, not a monster. A guy, a big guy, who smells of expensive cologne and sweat with a bit of blood. And he is waking up. The next thing you know is the ears-shattering crack of the chair as he lifts himself with ease. The second thing you know is the way his hands are going over your neck, squeezing just right to make you whimper. Then he suddenly stops, looking you in the eyes, your gang members too terrified of the guy who could effortlessly get out of the fucking handcuffs. He laughs. The monster of this city just told you that he is going to get what he is paying for all the way back into the bar. You think you hear your teammates screaming - but it all blurrs down with gunshots, yelps, and the pounding in your head as Konig pushes you against the wall. He picks you up later, a broken doll in dirty thief clothing. He says he would make you a proper lady. His lady. You almost wish you were smarter and killed him before taking his money in that fucking pub.

[starry-bi-sky]

Another small Clone^2 thought

Danny's hands are scarred.

Really, every part of him is. His arms, his legs, his torso. All of them littered in nicks and scratches and scabs that he's picked at over, and over, and over again. And then bigger ones, jagged scars from debris stabbing at him, and burns of ectoplasm blasts that melted through his regular clothes and hit his skin.

The one thing that never really got scarred were his hands. They were callused, of course, from all his climbing, and hitting, and hanging on for dear life to things. But never really scarred, not really. Maybe he just got lucky, maybe it was the fact that he wore gloves and they leather, and leather is harder to get through than cotton. Maybe both.

But, well, that's no longer case. But the scars on his hands take place on his palms. Two clean, thick lines going diagonally over his palms. Not from any enemy he's ever faced, but proof of his meeting with the little boy sitting between his knees, running his tiny fingers over those same scars.

Damian, his little brother. He scarred them, with that katana of his.

First when they first met, when Damian called him an imposter and proceeded to attack him. It was really only from Danny's exposure to the quick movements of ghosts that kept him from getting shish-kabob'd by Damian's sword.

And it was only because he was an idiot, and his brain was not faster than those reflexes that he kept grabbing the blade with his hands. That it kept cutting into that leather until it started cutting skin.

And then numerous times over on those rocky first months of Damian staying with him, when he didn't know any English, and Danny didn't know any Arabic. When Danny would piss him off or go looking for him when he ran off, he would have to grab his katana while Damian was swinging it at him.

His hands wouldn't heal for months because of it. The wounds kept being re-opened. Kept bleeding. Kept hurting. Until they slowly stopped hurting, and he knew that it wasn't a good thing.

Danny's parents were very upset when they saw his hands. It was hard to lie about where he got them - the lines are too clean, too consistent, to have been accidents. Danny didn't know how to lie and say it wasn't because of Damian. That it wasn't his katana that they knew nothing about that was stained with his blood.

He found a way to anyways, because he thought Damian was worth it at the time. He was a kid. He was scared. He was hurting other people and that's all he was ever taught to do.

So Danny thought a little pain was worth it.

(He still does.)

Oh, fun fact. There are three nerves in the human hand. the radial nerve, the median nerve, and the ulnar nerve. From what he could find on it, the ulnar nerve traveled up into the pinky and the ring finger, the median went through the middle of the palm and the ring, the middle, and the index, and the radial nerve went into the thumb and the index.

Fun fact, did you know consistent (or deep enough) lacerations to the palm could end up cutting a nerve? And that such lacerations can cause numbness, loss of feeling, and weakness in the hand, fingers, and thumb?

Here's a final fun fact: Danny had to go to physical therapy after his hands finally began to heal. Because Damian's katana had cut his radial nerve. There are seventeen thousands touch receptors in the hand, Danny's lost some of those.

His hands still hurt when he closes and opens them, the scarring pinches a little. He doesn't know why but his fingers hurt now when its too humid or too cold, or when its about to rain. It sucks. It's worth it.

He lied about before; here's the final fun fact:

There is a deeply, deeply, guilty look on Damian's face as he runs his little hands over Danny's scarred palms, carefully closing and opening his fingers in a slow rendition of his physical therapy workouts.

(Because even if it's ended, he still has to do them. Pain doesn't go away even if it's healed.)

"I'm sorry." Damian says in a meek, thick voice. He's said it before, when they've done this before at all hours of the day. Danny's wondering if Damian does it on purpose - hurt himself with this, that is. Not apologize. "I hurt you."

Danny sighs, deeply, and leans forward to press his face into his little brother's hair. "It's okay." He mutters, again. And he'll say it again, and again, and again, until Damian finally believes him. "I'm not mad."

"I am." Damian insists, his voice wobbles. "I hurt you, Danny."

"And I say it's okay that you did, Damian." Danny repeats, and wraps an arm around Damian's middle to sit him on his leg. Damian doesn't look at him, just curls his fingers around Danny's other hand and looks at the scar there. "Like I said, I'm not mad. I would do it again."

"Do not."

So, Danny's hands are scarred.