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moons-and-mobility-aids · 22 days ago

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Craving You

Pairings: Sirius Black x disabled!reader (part of my poly!marauders x disabled!reader universe) Summary: Sirius Black is a tease and he knows it. [wordcount: 1.2k words] Tags: fem!reader, wheelchair user!reader, Sirius-centric, kissing Series Masterlist

It's late or maybe early, the line blurred by hours spent in seclusion. Curfew has long since passed, a distant memory against the burning now of this moment. Your private quarters are dim, the fire that once roared reduced to glowing embers. Their soft light flickers through the room, casting shadows that dance with each breath of wind from the open window.

Outside, branches scrape against stone, a lullaby in counterpoint to the warmth spreading through your veins. It's not the fire—it can't be, not when it's barely there. No, this is internal, a heat that's been building ever since he walked in, his presence tangible and electric.

Sirius lies sprawled on your bed, a picture of careless ease despite the tension that clings to the air. His dark hair falls across his forehead, obscuring those grey eyes that seem to see too much. You sit across from him, confined to your wheelchair but feeling anything but trapped. The conversation is light, teasing—surface level—but beneath it, something thrums, unacknowledged but potent.

"Pass me one of those," Sirius says, nodding toward the box of liquor-filled chocolates on the table next to you. He stretches as you comply, his shirt riding up just enough to expose a sliver of skin. Your pulse quickens, an echo of the rhythm that's been building all night.

His fingers brush yours as he takes the chocolate, and his grin widens at your sharp intake of breath. "What?" he asks, feigning innocence. But his eyes betray him, gleaming with mischief and something more dangerous—a flame that threatens to consume everything in its wake.

"Something on your mind, doll?" His voice is low, teasing, threadbare restraint unravelling at the edges. He sits up straighter, every line of his body attuned to yours across the narrow expanse of the carriage. The air between you crackles with unspoken promises.

Your heart drums a frenzied rhythm in your chest, the magnetic pull of attraction tugging you towards him. You glance at his lips, then back into his eyes, where the same hunger you feel is mirrored back at you. It's too much—too intense—and yet, not enough. You want more. You need more. The space between you closes.

Without a word, you manoeuvre your chair closer, until it's flush against the side of his bed. Sirius' playful smirk fades into something more intense, his gaze never leaving yours.

His hand reaches out, and you take it, allowing him to guide you onto the bed beside him. His arms wrap around you as he shifts closer, his warmth radiating through the thin fabric of your clothes.

"Finally, I have you right where I want you." His voice is low, husky—a promise that sends shivers down your spine.

And then his lips are on yours—hungry, demanding, desperate. He kisses you as if he's been starved for it, and in this moment, you realise just how much you've craved his touch too. Your hands find their way into his hair, tugging lightly as the kiss deepens.

The taste of him sends a rush of heat through you. His hands roam over your body, tracing lines and patterns that leave your skin tingling in their wake. It's all-consuming—the way his fingers press into your flesh, claiming you as his own. You can't help but respond, arching into his touch, craving more.

He pulls back slightly, lips grazing along your jawline before capturing your bottom lip between his teeth. A soft moan escapes you, and Sirius grins against your mouth, the vibration sending another jolt of desire coursing through your veins.

"Sirius..."

He hears the unspoken plea in your voice, feels the urgency in your touch. His hands move lower, settling on your hips, pulling you onto his lap. Your legs straddle his waist, the fabric of your clothes the only barrier between your bodies. The heat between you is more intense than the crackling fire nearby, yet neither of you make any move to pull away.

His muscles ripple beneath your touch, a silent testament to the restraint he's exerting. The rhythm of his breathing matches yours—shallow and quick, each breath a struggle against the need threatening to consume you both.

Your head falls back as his lips leave yours, trailing hot kisses down your throat. You gasp when his teeth graze the sensitive skin below your earlobe, but the sting is quickly soothed by the gentle press of his lips. He laughs, a low rumble that vibrates against your neck, sending another wave of desire coursing through you. His mouth continues its path downwards, each kiss leaving a lingering warmth on your skin.

"Sirius," you whisper, your fingers threading through his hair as you pull him closer, seeking the warmth of his lips against yours once more. A sigh escapes from him, a testament to the desire that hangs heavy in the air between you.

His response is immediate, fervent. The kiss deepens, leaving no room for hesitation or doubt. His hand travels up your back, pressing you closer as if he's trying to merge your bodies into one. Your senses are overwhelmed with him—the taste of him on your tongue, the feel of his skin against yours, the intoxicating scent that is uniquely Sirius.

You lose yourself in the sensation, in the rush of heat that courses through your veins like liquid fire. The world beyond this room ceases to exist; there is only Sirius and the raw intensity of this moment.

Your breath mingles with his, a silent symphony punctuated by soft gasps and quiet moans. The tension builds, a tangible force that threatens to consume you both. But, instead of fear, there is only anticipation, only need.

His hands return to your hips, fingers digging in as if you're the anchor to his storm-tossed world. He pulls you flush against him, a line of fire where your bodies touch. His forehead comes to rest against yours, and for a moment, you both simply breathe, hearts pounding a shared rhythm.

"You drive me fucking insane," he murmurs., lips grazing yours with every word.

A smile tugs at the corner of your mouth, breath hitching as his words wash over you. You tilt your head, capturing his lips once more in a slow, deliberate kiss that speaks volumes of the desire uncoiling within you. "Good," you murmur against his mouth, your hands roaming down the planes of his chest, tracing the steady beat of his heart under your fingertips. "Because you drive me insane, too."

His response is a low growl, fingers digging into your waist as he rolls, flipping your positions until you're the one pinned beneath him. He hovers above, dark eyes alight with the same fire that licks at your insides. "I'm not done with you yet, love," Sirius murmurs, voice thickened by the promise of unspoken desires before he's leaning down to capture your mouth once more.

And so, the world outside ceases to exist. The only reality is here, between tangled sheets and whispered confessions, where every touch stokes the flame that threatens to consume you both. There is no thought, no consequence—only the need to be closer, to drown in this intoxicating dance of passion and surrender.

#marauders au #marauders era #sirius black x reader #sirius black x you #poly!marauders x you #poly!marauders x reader #meant to be: hogwarts era

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trulybetty · 1 year ago

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dec' 08 x sweets

Prompt: sweets Pairing: marcus pike x f!Reader Word Count: 3,196 Warnings: barely beta’d, all mistakes my own, this is au and way off the plot of anything to do with The Mentalist, mentions of baked goods and fluff and I apologize for the tough of angst 🍰 Summary: Maplewood, a small town nestled in northern BC where people flock to see the festive decorations of main street and enjoy the festive traditions. It's been a couple months since you arrived in Maplewood and your relationship with Marcus has blossomed, but could there be a road bump ahead that might cloud the festive season? AO3: Linked

x. masterlist

Something Festive This Way Comes Part I

Much like all the businesses and homes in Maplewood, Black Cat Books was fully decked out for the holidays. Between the shelves crammed with books and tables piled high with paperbacks every available space was full of tinsel, baubles and fairy lights. Libby had been absolutely giddy when you’d agreed to help decorate the place.

You still didn’t know how she managed to store so many seasonal decorations in her storeroom, let alone how she managed to fit decorations into every nook and cranny of the store. Everywhere you looked there was something, all leading to the crowning glory at the front of the store. The bright pink tree she’d decorated with miniature handmade books for the Merry Tree Trek.

However, since taking your new job your days in the bookstore had been greatly reduced so you jumped at any chance to be in there to find yourself lost in the endless sea of stories and whimsy that both Black Cat Books and Libby offered.

“Stop trying to get me to walk under the mistletoe,” You complained when Marcus steered you away once again from the string of lights you were fussing with.

“I have no clue what you’re referring to,” he shrugged nonchalantly as he crossed his arms at his chest, “Just wanted to show you a potential place for more light.”

You looked up pointedly at the mistletoe you were now standing under and raised an eyebrow as you looked back at Marcus, the grin on his face no longer concealable.

“Well, since we’re here, they say it’s bad luck if you don’t…” he trailed off, his lips hovering tantalizingly close to yours. Your breath hitched, your heart fluttered and you closed your eyes, eagerly awaiting the soft press of his lips against yours, the promise of mistletoe magic hanging in the air.

But a kiss didn’t come.

Frowning, you opened your eyes to find Marcus’s attention taken by something outside the frost-kissed window of the bookstore.

“Are you okay, Marcus?” you asked, a note of concern hanging off your words as you followed his line of sight across the street to the warmly lit bakery, its windows foggy from the heat within.

Sarah and Maria were holding down the fort allowing you and Marcus the afternoon together and the place appeared to be still standing in one piece. You squinted to try and see what it was that had caught his attention. The only thing that stood out was the lone figure standing in front of the bakery window.

Taking his hand in yours you gave it a gentle squeeze, “Marcus?” you asked again, and you frowned, his face was pale - it looked like he’d seen a ghost.

You hadn’t seen Marcus in two days.

Two days since you were both in the bookstore.

It wasn’t as if he’d disappeared altogether, he was currently at the bakery and you had tried the day before to go see him but Frank had turned up and hadn’t taken the hint. So you’d taken your pastry and made your way back to work.

Speaking of work, your new job at the Maplewood Tourism Board was proving to be a lot more than you had expected for a seemingly sleepy town.

The Winter Christmas Eve Ball was the crown jewel of Maplewood's holiday season, and as a fresh face on the Tourism Board, you were thrown into the merry deep end. Every day was a whirlwind of phone calls, schedules, and coordination with local businesses. The festive season was a community effort, and everyone wanted to make this year's events more magical than the last.

Tapping your pen against the desk you decided to call it a day. Your head was spinning with festivities and a list of events for the town for the month to organize and there was a promise of a drink over a pizza with Marcus. His offer of an apology to make up for his absence. Work had ramped up with an influx of tourists for the holiday season. Apparently, your short tenure with the tourism board had yielded quick results.

Stepping out of the bustling office, you made your way through the snow-dusted streets of Maplewood, the festive decorations twinkling in the early evening light. As you approached Maple Delights, you could see through the steamed-up windows that the bakery was in full swing, with Sarah cheerfully serving a steady stream of customers.

Pushing the door open, you were greeted by the familiar, comforting aroma of freshly baked goods. The warmth of the bakery enveloped you, a stark contrast to the chill outside. You scanned the shop for Marcus but there was no sight of him.

“Is he around?” you asked from the back of the queue as you caught Sarah’s eye.

Sarah closed the lid on a bright pink cake box, stamped with the bakery logo before she pulled a string of twine to secure it, she nodded to the back, “You’re in luck, he just got back from the coffee shop.”

You nodded your thanks and headed to the back of the shop and to the kitchen.

Marcus was pulling out a large bowl of what smelled like gingerbread dough when you stepped into the kitchen.

“Hey, Marcus,” you called out softly, not wanting to startle him.

He looked up, his expression shifting from concentration to surprise, then a warm smile as he recognized you. “Hey! What brings you by? Shouldn't you be neck-deep in Winter Ball plans?”

You walked over, leaning against the counter. “I am, but I needed a break so I left early. I wanted to see how you're doing.”

Marcus wiped his hands on his apron, his smile lingering. “I’m doing alright, just a bit swamped with the holiday rush. Always the same this time of year,” he said, a hint of weariness in his voice.

You nodded, noticing the flour dusting his hair and the tired lines around his eyes. “I can see that. The bakery looks busier than ever,” you paused as you watched him roll out the dough, the scent of ginger and cinnamon filling the kitchen. “…the other day, in the bookstore. You seemed really distracted before we left, you sure everything is okay?”

He hesitated for a moment, then let out a sigh. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just long hours.” Marcus quickly changed the subject, “So, pizza night? I hope you’re ready for my world-famous ‘after-hours bakery pizza’ – it’s a special treat,” he finished with a wink.

Marcus' switch of topics didn't go unnoticed, but you decided not to push any further.

“Your world-famous pizza, huh? I'm intrigued,” you said with a playful smile, trying to lighten the mood.

Marcus's face lit up at the chance to shift the focus to something more positive, “Just you wait, it's something else.”

The sight of the joy on his face was infectious, “Big promises Pike,” you chided with a smile.

As the bakery doors closed for the evening, the atmosphere inside shifted. The bustling energy of the day gave way to a more intimate, relaxed setting. It was just you and Marcus, alone with the warmth of the ovens and the soft glow of the kitchen lights.

Your eyes followed his movements as he peeled off his plaid shirt, revealing only a plain black t-shirt that was already dusted with a light layer of flour. You couldn't help but admire him in this simple moment, a man at ease in his own skin.

He began to walk you through his pizza-making process, his hands skillfully kneading the dough. There was something mesmerizing about watching him work, the way his hands moved with such confidence and care.

“Come here,” he said, guiding you to take his spot as he stood behind you, his hands running the length of your arms until they covered yours and guided them in the same motions he'd just demonstrated to knead the dough on the flour dusted table.

As you continued to work on the dough, Marcus's body behind yours felt warm and comforting. His breath tickled your ear as he whispered instructions and encouragement.

“See how the dough starts to come together?” he said, his voice low and soothing.

You nodded, enjoying the closeness between you two. Marcus's hands moved with yours, guiding you through the process until the dough was perfectly kneaded.

“Great job,” he said, stepping back to admire your handiwork. “I think we make a great team.”

You couldn't help but smile at his words, feeling a flutter in your stomach at his compliment.

After topping the pizza with fresh ingredients Marcus had pulled from the walk in fridge. Ingredients he'd picked up from the local market the day before in preparation for your date. Marcus placed the pizza in the oven with a satisfied grin. “Now we just have to wait for it to bake,” he said, as you jumped up onto the table.

The air between you two crackled with unspoken words and shared smiles. He moved closer, his hands leaving traces of flour on your knees as he stood between your legs.

“I'm glad you're here,” he whispered, his breath warm against your skin.

You up at him, feeling a rush of warmth in your chest. “Me too,” you replied sincerely. There was something about him that always made you feel at ease and happy.

Your heart raced as he leaned in, his lips meeting yours in a soft and gentle kiss. Your fingers found their way into his hair, pulling him closer as the kiss deepened.

Marcus's hands traced up your thighs, sending shivers down your spine. You parted your lips, inviting him to deepen the kiss, as his hands moved to your hips. The warmth between you two was palpable, and every touch made your heart race faster.

As you pulled back from the kiss to catch your breath, Marcus's hands slid up to your hips, causing you to shiver at his touch. You moved your hands to his chest, feeling the solidness of his muscles beneath your fingers.

Suddenly, the timer on the oven beeped, and Marcus reluctantly pulled away. “I guess that's our signal,” he said with a chuckle.

You hopped down from the table as he took the pizza out of the oven. The aroma was mouthwatering, and you couldn't wait to dig in.

The snow crunched under your boots as you left True North Brews, the warmth of the coffee cups in your hands contrasting sharply with the chilly air. Maplewood was a hive of activity, with residents bustling about, embracing the festive season's joy.

As you turned the corner, you nearly bumped into a woman standing in the middle of the sidewalk. She was staring intently at the bakery down the street.

“Oh, I'm so sorry!” you exclaimed, instinctively stepping back.

The woman turned, offering a small, somewhat forced smile. “No harm done. I should have been watching where I was standing.”

You noticed the lost look on her face, “You're not from around here are you?”

She laughed, “That obvious hey?”

You smiled, “Only because I was stood where you are with the exact same look a couple months ago. What brings you to Maplewood?”

“I'm here to catch up with someone,” she paused before she carried on, "You don't happen to know Marcus Pike by chance?”

The name 'Marcus' caught you off guard, causing you to fumble one of the coffee cups, barely catching it before it spilled.

“Marcus, from Maple Delights?” you asked, trying to mask the surprise in your voice.

“Yes! That Marcus,” she confirmed, her eyes briefly flitting back to the bakery. “I stopped by but he's not there today they said. I know it's a small town, but any chance do you know where I could find him?”

You swallowed down a lump in your throat, you knew exactly where Marcus was. He was in your bed in your apartment above the bookshop after your pizza date at the bakery last night, waiting for you to come back with the coffees in your hands.

Before you could open your mouth to respond, the woman shook her head as she laughed, “Jeeze, look at me asking questions and I haven't even introduced myself, my name is Theresa,” she said, offering her hand to you.

#december x 500 #something festive this way comes #maplewood au #marcus pike #marcus pike x you #marcus pike x reader #marcus pike x f!reader #marcus pike x female reader #marcus pike fanfiction #jmarcus pike fanfic #pedro pascal character fanfiction

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hereathemoment · 2 years ago

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“I can break the mating bond”

The bottom trim of Nesta’s cape slips against the stone floor, gliding into a halo around her feet as she stops in front of towering stone bars lining the length of a cell. The man within sits against the wall in the far corner, with his hands clasped and dangling between the bent V of his legs and hidden in the shadow of the window’s small glow. Nobody bothered to give her any information beyond the rudimentary understanding necessary for today’s mission. The threat in the East is embodied by one man with untold power and before her sits one of his few confidants. Rhysand didn’t command her here because of the power she stole from the Cauldron, no—her power is apparently too unruly and disobedient for her to risk using it without his direct supervision. Instead, she was reduced to that of an errand boy, sent to the Prison as a messenger. Nesta is to inform the prisoner of his impending death should he continue with his silence. She remembered the Inner Circle discussing it—who was to go to the Prison, discussing her—a perfect mix of threatening and expendable, and she agreed to go, resigned to the mirage of choice they’re known for. It doesn’t escape her that the cell this fae sits in now was very nearly hers, had her sister not rejected Amren’s suggestion and picked the House for her instead. Nesta didn’t know then that Cassian was written in the fine print, a required quid-pro-quo for a warm bed, and she wonders if she would’ve preferred the comfort of a cell had it been offered to her.

“Your execution will be held in the morning. You have until then to tell the Night Court what you know and decide where your loyalties lie” The hollowness of her voice fades into the empty corridor of the Prison. “If you refuse…may your next life grant you more fruitful loyalties.” She twists at her parting words, making the announcement brief and perfunctory but offering him the hidden well-wishes of her own heart. She is within a foot of the doorway before the low timbre of his voice reaches her, echoing in the space between them. His tone is not frantic or angry as she may have otherwise expected, but promising, “They call him a bride-stealer sweetheart. I was sent here for you, Nesta.” The dull click of her heels reverberated against the stones as she turned to face him. She doesn’t question how he knows her, doesn’t bother wondering how he knew she’d come. “And how,” she begins, “Do you think to take me?” Nesta only finishes once she’s facing him once more, “You’re the one captured in a prison cell, and I am the one about to walk free.”

His sardonic smile contradicts her, but he merely says, “Come with me. I think you’d like Koschei,” he adds with a gentle laugh, “I know he’d like you.” Koschei… the fae male doesn’t seem bothered at all that he’d just betrayed his master’s name. Odd, considering neither Azriel nor Rhysand were able to carve it out of him just hours ago. When Nesta seemed unimpressed and seemed unbothered to deign an answer, the man continued, “I have a unique ability to see within someone’s heart and see their most innermost, dearest desire. Koschei appreciates my particular skill of… making dreams comes true. It’s proven to entice quite the loyal following.”

“Ah, another Court of Dreams then,” Nesta scoffs, without acknowledging his slip. “Spare me,” she says harshly, but her mind follows quietly with, what I want cannot be given. He offered that she go with him, but he's not going anywhere considering his circumstances. Nesta was ordered to deliver a simple message and she had. Her job here is done. She makes her leave with a subtle eyeroll and quick clench of her fists. But she had only made it a few paces away before the prisoner’s next words immobilize her entirely, the heel of her right foot frozen about the ground mid-step. One, two, three stalled seconds continue for small eternities as hope and freedom and happiness is dangled in front of her so cavalierly by this smirking fae lounging on the dirty floor of a dingy prison.

“I can break your mating bond.”

The silver in her eyes is told by the excitement on his face and she throws herself against his cage, her hands digging into the stoner pillars separating the two of them. Nesta’s power slithers through her veins, twinning around her anger and burning her alive. “Promising someone what they want most is a dangerous game to play when you can’t deliver.” Her words come out as a growl, more monstrous than they’ve ever been, more fae than she’d care to acknowledge. But what he had said… what he had offered her… it was alluring and seductive and wholly impossible. She’s new to this world, but she’d never be so naïve as to believe him. But, if it were true…

He carried on calmly, though the small curve of his mouth betrayed his delight at seeing her seethe. “Come with me, Nesta. Join us.” Through the buzzing in her head, she dimly marks the irony of an imprisoned man continually offering her freedom. His gaze is steady, his posture relaxed, his mind sure of her choice. “My execution will be held in the morning. You have until then to decide where your loyalties lie.”

Why that little—

He sighs, perfectly content with his situation, certain her loyalties lie with herself. Nesta wonders what he knows about her circumstances—about her family’s betrayal and her gilded servitude. Or maybe he’s heard about the stories Feyre had spread about their childhood, and just assumed the eldest Archeron sister would be selfish enough to break the sanctity of a mating bond on whim. His low chuckle escorts her out as she leaves without another word. The draw of his offer is too great to be dismissed, but her caution prevents her from accepting outright. So Nesta just leaves. Confused. Angry. Tempted. By tomorrow morning indeed.

#nesta archeron #anti cassian

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mshroom1e · 2 years ago

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Bus Buddy | Idia Shroud x GN! Reader

A fic written based on a scenario that happened to me today but wasn't as interesting as I wrote it out to be lol

type: fanfic

Summary: A short and sweet fic where you meet a cute stranger on your bus ride home and have a few interactions with him.

851 words

Warning(s): none

Snow descended from pale, overcapacitated clouds. Freckles of ice and sleet silently bounced from foggy glass windows of the large vehicle. Passengers stood idly, most of them on their phones while some burrowed their noses into woolen scarves around their necks to generate some sort of heat and take refuge from the nipping cold. Thankfully, it wasn't too crowded.

A young man who looked about your age entered with his head down and his hood up, quietly scanning his bus pass and quickly heading to look for a seat all while making minimal eye contact with the people around him. The pelting outside didn't take as kindly to him as it did to you as his black jacket with neon blue lining was dotted with specks of snow that looked like bright stars in a clear night sky. Although, the snow that would've been on his head top was all defrosted and reduced to tiny splotches of water.

Despite his head behind hung low, you managed to make out a pair of shimmering amber eyes as well as firey blue hair that managed to peek out from under his hood. A pair of headphones on his head were also visible.

Brief eye contact was made with him before he quickly averted his gaze from yours and took a seat a diagonal row in front of you. As he sat, he adjusted a large bag that accompanied his person, and a soft clack sounded. Though, it seemed no one else heard it as there was no reaction to the sound other than your own. Your eyes trailed over to the amber-eyed young man and soon to the floor beneath his seat where an ID card lay. That was probably what had fallen on the ground.

You contemplated whether or not you should alert him of his floored belongings, then when you decided on informing him, you debated with yourself on how you would do it.

Picking it up for him was out of the question and a definite invasion of personal space as the fallen card was right next to his foot. If a stranger suddenly bent down to pick up something that was barely an inch away from your leg, you would be quite alarmed too.

The plan in your head was cut short as your stop came into view. As you walked past him to leave the bus out of the exit doors, you gently tapped his shoulder and felt his entire body tense. He turned his head, a little robotically towards your direction with an alarmed expression.

Wordlessly, you pointed to the floor on the ground with a comforting smile and his gaze followed. His alert contorted into a look of realisation before he frantically scrambled for his fallen item with a barely audible squeak and shoved it in his pocket.

Once the bus came to a stop, you quickly exited before sending one last look towards the anxious stranger. It seemed to be the perfect time as he was also looking at you. His eyes were the colour of molten citrine with flecks of gold that looked like shattered stars. The blue tips of his flickering hair faded into a soft shade of pink before he averted his eyes.

How cute.

The next week, the same stranger entered the bus at the same stop as he did previously. Seats were all taken and his eyes frantically looked around to find a free space. He stopped when he found one next to you, then shifted his gaze to meet yours. You sent him a reassuring smile, one that was friendly and void of any hostility, inviting him to take a seat next to you.

Silence overtook the majority of the ride as the most contact between the both of you was touching elbows or the outsides of your feet after a few series of awkward shuffling. It was rush hour and traffic was usually very dense, however, it was escalated by the rain and slow movement of surrounding vehicles.

After about twenty minutes, soft pat on your shoulder startled you, and you looked in the direction of the stranger. He was out cold, eyes shut and blue flames delicately framing his face. He must've been exhausted to fall asleep so suddenly on someone's shoulder. A little awkwardly, you shuffled to a position where you could both be comfortable and let your body relax.

There wasn't much else to do when someone was unconscious on your shoulder so your eyes slowly trailed over to him and found an ID badge that was tucked into a lanyard around his neck. It was the very same ID badge that catalysed your first interaction with him.

A small image of his face and unique blue hair was on the glossy plastic. He had a timid, uncertain expression, as you imagined him to have, and his hair was in full view. A sharp contrast to how he usually appeared before you with his hood concealing most of his head.

Under the picture was a name you assumed to be his. It read,

'Idia Shroud'.

#gn reader #twisted wonderland #twst fanfic #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #twst idia #idia x reader #idia fluff #idia shroud #idia shroud x reader #gender neutral reader #twst x gender neutral reader #twst x gn reader #idia is so cute i wanna squish him #twst fluff #idia twisted wonderland

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theladyoracle · 1 year ago

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The Slender Mansion

𖦹⭒°｡⋆𖦹The Lady Oracle AU𖦹⋆°｡⭒𖦹

a/n: just a description of how I see the Slender Mansion, and how it appears in my AU! Enjoy~!

You're being led through the woods by a masked man. He's an initiator of sorts (or rather, a recruiter? You don't really know what or who he is) but against your better judgement, he's persuaded you to follow him. It feels like you've been walking forever, and at some point you question whether or not he even knows where he's taking you. The man doesn't reply, and it almost feels like he's forgotten about you, but after a couple more agonizing minutes - you see it.

The estate makes itself known to you as you exit the trees, the air surrounding it almost seeming to shimmer in a dark yet iridescent fashion. There's something about this place...more than meets the eye.

This mansion is massive. You're not an expert on historical architecture, but something about this house makes the word 'Victorian' come to mind...or maybe 'Edwardian'...? Regardless, you can probably come to the conclusion that this house was constructed of wealth. No one knows how old it truly is.

It must have been gorgeous in its day, but now it's been reduced to peeling paint and cracked foundation, accented by shattered windows and a cobweb-infested front porch. There are no lights on - outside nor shining from the inside. As you approach the porch steps, a feeling of unease crosses you. The only thing in decent condition is the abnormally large front door, and the ornate door knocker that's fastened to it.

Your recruiter grips the knocker and raps it thrice on the mahagony wood. You stand there for what feels like a decade, until inevitably the door finds itself open to you. You enter.

The interior of the manor is vexing. Although the outside is notably massive, it is clear that from the moment you enter the home that the confines of the space are not bound to the walls of the manor. It is much larger on the inside than the out.

The walls vary between dark wood paneling and antique wallpaper. The only light illuminating a majority of the halls are candle lit chandeliers and sconses, in which the candles seemingly never run out of wax nor wick.

The decor changes consistently, and grows more outlandish and strange the deeper you traverse into the manor. Old family photos, oil paintings, and mirrors transform into strange statues that linger in the halls, and hunting trophies of animals you've never thought conceivable to mankind. Each stare at you as you walk past.

You immediately notice the high ceilings and the supernatural darkness that clings to the corners. As if it were an arcane smoke, this void-like essence snakes around every shadow touched crevasse. If you look close enough, you would see the tiny eyes that flicker and oggle at your every move. The Watchers.

Their whispers are next...filling your head with anxiety, doubt, and oddly enough at times....praise. You wonder if their constant hushed ramblings about you is a direct reflection of the Slenderman himself, or perhaps just another tool to manipulate you. They watch you for the first 6 months of your stay with no relent.

There are many doors that line the labyrinthine corridors. Some are locked and inaccessible, while others are almost begging you to open them. It is ill advised to go poking around in the rooms you are unfamiliar with. Some doors you cannot return from.

You would come to find that the estate is no doubt haunted. Icy cold corridors make love with spectral visions in the corners of your eyes as you amble through the halls at night. There are cries, and laughter, and yet you can never determine if these are ghosts or simply other residents of the manor like yourself.

Some ghosts have names and faces, but most of the specters you catch have no faces. If you stare at them too long, they vanish. It's unclear if these ghosts are mourning spirits of residents who came before you, or if they are ancient spirits that the Slenderman has summoned willingly, but you mostly find them comforting. You mostly notice them clearing cobwebs, amongst other tasks. It almost seems to make the mansion itself feel alive - as though the walls can speak to you in the language of creaks and groans.

𖦹⭒°｡⋆𖦹 Other Headcanons to be noted: 𖦹⋆°｡⭒𖦹

The mansion resides in The Woods. It's magical abilities are separate from that of The Collective.

There is an unnerving door knocker on the entrance. It is made of three faces, each with the following petrified expressions: the first face from the left has wide, terrified, bloodshot eyes and its mouth is hanging ajar in fear. The central face holes the knocker in its mouth, it possessed a downturned solemn expression. The third and final face mirrors the one on its left, only it appears to be moreso angry than terrified.

There is a gravel driveway that leads up to the manor. It splits into two sections but they both stop dead before they reach anything

There is a small garage on the left of the manor

There is a large, elaborate garden in the back of the manor. It is fit with a greenhouse and a large hedge maze. There is a large fountain at the center. Very few people are allowed access to this area.

𖦹⭒°｡⋆𖦹 I take requests! 𖦹⋆°｡⭒𖦹

#creepypasta #creepypastafandom #theladyoracle #creepypasta au #theladyoracleau #slenderverse #creepypasta headcanons

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jonathankatwhatever · 8 months ago

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These ideas are resistant to writing. They wriggle into new perspectives. It’s 16 May 2024. I have an actual migraine, the first in a while. I’ll lean into that as much as I can. It’s raining. I’m sitting in the kitchen with an open window to my left and the door to the porch open on my right, making a triangle in which I’m in the corner of the line drawn across. I hear a sound field reducing into my ears and then opening up in my Thing so I can picture the truck stopping to go over the speed hump. That must take the same path, that in my head I’m projecting out and that is the extent to which the sound field is observable and understandable by me. As in, my cat can hear more but he can’t label many of the sounds.

I just ate a toasted bagel with unsalted super chunky peanut butter, shaved red onion, and 2 cut up grape tomatoes. Delicious. Not sure why that doesn’t need salt. It might be the salt in the bread is enough together with the tangy qualities of the other ingredients.

So in that case, an answer solidifies as good enough that I’m gonna stop thinking about it, but I’ll remember somehow if we revisit the issue. So the infinite process stops: no more looking for solution. We label that as the 2:1 for that answer and the process which generated it, freezing it, making a snapshot so the form is recognized, and thus all the search potential beyond that diverges.

That work came out of sexual fantasy this morning. You’ve been amazing. I want to use that idea because I immediately thought of how to indicate a count between the words been and amazing. Then I thought about the concepts like when I walk across Bussey meadow and there’s an entrance which connects to the road, and then you turn the corner and you enter a section which feels removed, and then a section where you can forget where you are, then the same, a section which feels removed but not that far, then a section where you know the gate is ahead. Or like how FL Wright would bring you in from the large outside into a small entrance to admit you to a large space. The 1-0-1 and 0-1-0 metaphors are now beyond obvious.

The fact that this kind of imagery exists is the best proof of all, once you realize that this kind of imagery is generated by actual mathematics, that it’s not just words.

Made myself foamed milk plus decaf. I wish it would completely foam, but it’s not bad for the minimal effort and cost. I use the cappuccino whip on the frothier because the latte one does very little.

There’s an obvious choice function between been and amazing. If you admit non-sequiturs as a joke or perhaps a serious comment on the difficulty of the descriptive process, then what could actually be inserted is limited only to the nature of the language, and to its expressive power.

This headache is painfully distracting or other way around. I’m holding my right eye closed to force my left to relax. A lot of flicker and bouncing around of focus because throbs when focused. The throb pulls the Observer back and snaps that to a different focus point as it cycles back.

Had to give up typing. I need to see a map of these numbers. I think I have it, but it’s not stable yet.

Need to not look at a screen. Today has been intense connection. I have so much imagery in my perception that I can’t process much.

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juliesfastfood · 1 year ago

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The Greatest Collection of Drive-Through Tips When Stopping by the Best Fast Food Restaurants in Sinking Spring, PA

The best fast food restaurants in Sinking Spring, PA, including Julie’s Fast Foods, play a significant role in satisfying our cravings for quick and delicious meals. Whether you are looking for a quick bite or simply seeking the latest soul foods, the drive-thru can be a lifesaver. However, to ensure a smooth and enjoyable experience, you must learn beforehand how to navigate the same with finesse.

One of the keys to a successful drive-thru experience is ensuring proper planning in the first place. Before you arrive at the delivery kiosk, have your order ready. Familiarize yourself with the menu of the restaurant of your choice in advance as long as it is available on the web. This not only accelerates the entire process but also reduces stress for you and the restaurant employees serving you.

When it is your turn to order, speak clearly and at a moderate pace. Enunciate your words to ensure accuracy, and if you have special requests or modifications to your order, state them clearly. This will effectively eliminate the odds of the restaurant staff misunderstanding you while taking the order. Note that several Pennsylvanian eateries that sell fast foods now have mobile applications to place your order on the go and pay ahead of delivery.

This can save you a significant amount of your time, particularly during peak hours. In addition, a few of those nifty utilities also provide exclusive offers and various discounts for mobile orders only, which essentially translate to even more savings. To suffice, while you are waiting in line in front of any of the best fast food restaurants in Sinking Spring, PA, be mindful of the space between your car and the one in front of you.

Leave enough room to maneuver if you need to pull away from the line briefly. Furthermore, avoid blocking driveways or intersections when the drive-thru queue happens to be long enough, and before driving away from the pickup window, take a few moments to review your order to ensure everything is correct. It is much easier to address any issues while you are still on-site rather than discovering a mistake after you leave its premises.

Drive-thru lines may turn out to be painstakingly long, particularly during peak hours. Exercise patience and be courteous to not only the restaurant crew but also your fellow drivers. Road rage or impatience is certainly not going to it any faster and is likely to lead to a less enjoyable experience for every stakeholder involved.

Most of the American drive-thru locations accept an astounding variety of payment instruments, including cash, credit cards, and even mobile payments, such as Google Wallet and Apple Pay. Make sure you have the appropriate payment means when you reach the delivery window to avoid delays, and in multi-lane drive-thru settings, choose the lane that corresponds to your order.

Some lanes may be designated for smaller orders or specific menu articles, such as beverages or desserts. Following the appropriate lane ensures a smoother flow and minimizes confusion. You can also avoid rushes during lunch and dinner simply by planning your drive-through visits at off-peak hours. To suffice, late mornings or early afternoons are often quieter times when planning to stop by any of the best fast food restaurants in Sinking Spring, PA.

#Best fast food delivery shop in Sinking Spring #Best fast food restaurants in Sinking Spring #Affordable fast food restaurant in Sinking Spring

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swinglascl · 2 years ago

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How to reduce spacing between lines in word or windows

#How to reduce spacing between lines in word or windows how to#

#How to reduce spacing between lines in word or windows plus#

If you want to give different width and spacing to some columns than uncheck the “Equal column width” check box and enter different values of each column as you want. Under “Width and Spacing” section enter the column width and spacing value or just click the tiny arrows right to the value to increase or decrease the value, this will change the columns width and spacing with equal value of all columns. To bring the lines between columns, just check the “Line Between” Check box and hit OK buttonĬhange column width and spacing in word Step-3 Open your document in Word 2007 or 2010, Click on “Page Layout” tab > “Columns” > “More Columns…” options This guide works in both Word 2007 and Word 2010 Uncheck 'when using paragraph format, the enter key creates a new paragraph.After creating columns in word document there are some more options for columns in word that you can change column width, columns spacing, lines between columns and apply columns to word document (whole document, on a specific page or even on a paragraph). As you launch Word, you need to open the respective file that you wish to format.

#How to reduce spacing between lines in word or windows how to#

This new behavior can be switched off in the Tools > Options > Composition > General tab. To set double line spacing, select the text & Go to Home > Line & Paragraph Spacing in Paragraph Group and select 2. To understand the simple method of how to reduce line spacing in Word, you need to follow the steps. ''The Thunderbird composition window now functions more like a word processor in that pressing the "Enter" key inserts a new paragraph, pressing "Shift+Enter" inserts a new line. Read this answer in context 👍 19 All Replies (8) Uncheck 'when using paragraph format, the enter key creates a new paragraph.' 'Menu icon' > 'Options' > 'Options' > 'Composition' > 'General' tab 'Tools' > 'Options' > 'Composition' > 'General' tab To change this to auto select 'Body Text' and 'Enter' means a go to next line: This new behavior can be switched off in the Tools > Options > Composition > General tab. The default line spacing in Word 2016 is 1.08, but word allows you to customize it to be either single-spaced or double spaced. Line spacing is a gap between each line of your document. It won’t give you many options for line spacing, but to get a double spacing, tap on the arrow pointing up until you reach 2.0. The line spacing option will be at the bottom. Near the middle of your screen, tap on where it says Paragraph. The Thunderbird composition window now functions more like a word processor in that pressing the "Enter" key inserts a new paragraph, pressing "Shift+Enter" inserts a new line. Adjust Line Spacing Between Lines and Paragraph in Word 2016. At the top, tap on the A with lines to the right. So, the developers decided to make it a default to alter the setup and change users preferences.Ĭurrently, 'Paragraph' is now set as default and when you press 'Enter' it means 'double space' new line with no indentation.

#How to reduce spacing between lines in word or windows plus#

I isn't how people write letters, where Enter means go to next line and Paragraph meant next line plus indent. It becomes useful when trying some design tricks for headings, for example the title in our Millennium poster. Adjusting line spacing to put lines very close isn’t usually necessary for regular text. This has just been introduced in an attempt to keep in line with how eg: research documents are produced and how type is displayed in web pages. Reducing the line spacing or vertical gap between lines in Word paragraphs can be done in six different ways depending on the situation.

#How to reduce spacing between lines in word or windows

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aenaxes · 3 years ago

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dream perfect

[howzer x afab!reader] you can't sleep. and if you can't sleep, neither can howzer.

warnings: nsfw, cunnilingus, fingering

w/c: 1.9k

a/n: lol this was supposed to be a warm up exercise for the request prompts in the queue but i got carried away :/ anyways i think i need to write a pt.2 hehe

You like to think you’ve been running the motions of a pretty convincing stillness. Waiting a few minutes in between each turn from your back to your side and back again, you squirm under the anchoring weight of Howzer’s arm draped over your hip.

It’s going to be another long night.

And yet, for all your strategic shifting and careful restlessness, a few minutes shy of the hour, Howzer’s breathing stutters, and he stirs around you.

“Mn, cyare?” he mumbles, tongue heavy with sleep. “Y’still awake?”

Guilt, queasy and cold, creeps up your throat. The perpetual vigilance of active duty left behind, leave days replace that sharp attention with something heavy and warm that settles around Howzer’s shoulders and keeps him asleep through even the most resonant of storms. That your slight movements have apparently awoken him where thunder would not warms the apples of your cheeks in something equal parts concerning and embarrassing.

“It’s fine,” you respond weakly. “Can’t sleep is all.”

“Can’t sleep?” Howzer repeats past a groan as he shifts onto his side to face you. In the low neon lights of the Coruscant night, you can make out the ease of his features, his frown more of a boyish pout that carries with it a gentle insistence, concern. His fingers squeeze over the soft slope of your waist, and he yawns. “That’s no good.”

“It’s alright,” you say, and you punctuate your low murmur with a quick peck over the corner of his mouth. “You should go back to sleep.”

“Not without you,” he huffs in response. He takes the moment to shuffle closer, closing what little space lies between you to press close against your chest and bring his arms around your shoulders. You feel the tip of his nose press just above your hairline, and when he speaks again, his voice rumbles low and warm over your head. “What can I do, mesh’la? Tell me how I can help.”

“I’ve tried just about everything; I’m not sure there’s anything else left to do except to wait it out,” you sigh into his collar. With an insistent wiggle of your shoulders, you pull away just enough to meet his puppy-eyed consternation, soft with sleep and softer still as you bring your fingertips to the sharp lines of his jaw and offer him a lopsided smile.

For a moment, Howzer seems to take your defeat at face value, his expression deflating. Then, he makes a low noise that crinkles over the bridge of his nose and settles on the smile teased over his lips.

“I have an idea.”

Even with sleeplessness taunting you through the gaps in the blinds, you can’t help but laugh, leaning forward to gently nudge your forehead up against Howzer’s cheek. You know that look by heart, that coy glimmer finding home in his dark eyes as he pretends to fight his growing grin.

“Howzer, really, I’m fine,” you say, reaching up and stroking over his dark curls. “Go back to sleep. Besides, I’m off tomorrow.”

“We’re both off, cyare,” Howzer chuckles.

From under the covers, you feel him slide his hand from where it rests between your shoulders, battle-weary callouses no less warm as they drag over your form. He pauses where the hem of your shirt and the waistband of your shorts part, rubbing gentle motions into the exposed skin, comforting, grounding, seeking invitation.

You shiver under his touch. Anticipatory delight shocks up your spine.

“Let me help,” he implores.

“Okay.”

The last breath barely has enough time to pass through your lips before Howzer’s rising to his knees and pushing the pillowy duvet somewhere off to the side of the bed. There’s the careful composure of propping your head up against a second pillow and lifting your hips to tug your shorts down past your ankles. But rife through his gentle deliberation—tension, need, finds home in his posture as he squares his shoulders, plants his palms on your knees, and pushes your thighs open.

Your breath hitches as cool air rushes between your thighs. First instinct has always demanded a shy squeak, your hands itching to cover yourself as you lie spread open before him in the low light.

But you know better.

When Howzer’s shoulders drop with a quivering sigh, when his eyes flutter shut and open again with that precious disbelief that this was real, that this—that you were his, bashful chastity withers in the face of desire.

“So pretty,” Howzer breathes low, almost as if to himself, and swallows hard enough that you hear from the crown of the bed. A moment longer, he stares transfixed, then looks up to you with nothing short of a plea glittering in his eyes. “Please. Let me help.”

“Want you,” you whimper. “Howzer, I—”

Your voice cracks, reduced to a choked cry that swallows the rest of your words when, as soon as your assent reaches his ears, Howzer dips low, pressing a brief kiss to your clit before he drags the flat of his tongue from the fullest swell of your cunt and back up to press another kiss at the crown of your thighs.

“Good?” Howzer asks, his breaths puffing warm over the slick of his spit smeared over your throbbing cunt. No matter how many times you do this, you can’t seem to shake that delicious tremble as you feel the air between his lips and your cunt practically vibrate under his voice.

“Y-Yeah,” you mumble.

He responds by wrapping his lips over your clit, coaxing another stuttering moan from your tongue. But it’s not enough, with him it never is, and your hips buck up as he brings the calloused pad of his forefinger just under his chin, sliding it through your cunt. It only makes the growing core of want burn hotter when you feel his rumbling laughter shock through your skin.

Your eyes fly open at the first gentle push of his thick finger into your cunt, sinking into you with almost embarrassing ease. When his palm pushes up against your skin, he crooks his finger up, grinding up against the soft bundle of nerves that has you sobbing his name. Howzer only takes your soft noises as encouragement. He seals his lips over your skin and laps at your clit with a renewed vigor.

It doesn’t take long for him to pull his soaked finger from your cunt and push back in with a second. He finds a rhythm as soon as he fucks as deep as he can go, sucking over your clit while he curls the rough pads of his fingertips over the spot that makes your vision white out again and again.

Howzer sinks his fingers knuckle-deep, but instead of pulling back, the satisfying burn of stretch sears through your core as Howzer parts you open and lifts off of your clit with an almost comically wet sound. You know exactly what he’s going to do, but it makes it no less thrilling when his nose brushes over your clit, and he fucks the firm taper of his tongue between his fingers.

You arch off the bed with a wanton cry, barely coherent enough to understand the crooning words of praise Howzer slips in between fucking his tongue into your cunt and taking gasping breaths of air. You cry out again, and he moans into your cunt with you.

You feel blindly for him, and Howzer knows, he knows. He grabs your wrist and fumbles as he pulls his tongue from your cunt and continues to pump his fingers into you. Finally, the burning coil of desire cresting higher, higher in your gut, he finds purchase and slides his fingers between yours. You squeeze once, he squeezes back, and you moan as his tongue laps over your clit again.

He opts for a maddeningly fast pace, alternating between pressing his tongue deep as it can go into your cunt and rolling it over your clit. All the while, he keeps an unrelenting rhythm with his fingers, pulling you apart artful stroke by artful stroke as he rubs his thumb over the back of your hand.

He drinks you in like a man parched, head bobbing with each heaving swallow. His arm is your only anchor as you squirm under its weight and desperately grind back against his tongue. It’s toeing the line of overstimulation fucked dumb. And it’s all you could ever want as his tongue presses deep, as deep as it’s gone all night, and pushes you over the edge.

You come over his tongue with a shuddering cry, neighbors be damned, and squeeze your hand down hard over his. He squeezes back, groaning into your cunt, telling, promising, he’s here, he’s here, for you, for you as pleasure closes around you and swallows you whole.

At last, after a brief eternity of the kind of bliss that drives bone deep, Howzer pulls away, pressing one last kiss to your clit before pulling back and breathing in long and deep between your quivering legs.

He presses a soft kiss to the inside of your thigh, his lips warm, wet as they mouth silent appreciation into your skin. (They are words you do not think you will ever truly know, the ancient poetry of the warriors who came before him, but they reach you deep to your core.) When his lips still, and his eyes flutter open, Howzer lifts his chin just enough to meet your gaze.

“Think you can sleep now?”

As much as you want to laugh (because what kind of question was that with your heart beating loud enough for him to hear?), you’re too winded to do anything else but shake your head.

“Good,” Howzer laughs, running his tongue over the slick smeared over his fingers. The fluorescent brilliance of the Coruscant nightlife filters through your window, glimmering obscene over the mess of your arousal and his spit as he parts his lips and sucks them clean.

Your mouth waters.

Sugar sweet desire breaks over your tongue, though you might more aptly call it greed—in want of tasting yourself on him; in want of feeling his fingers dig into your skin when he pulls you close and licks over your teeth; in want of bending you, breaking you, then pulling you back together again, gilded kintsugi lacquered strong by a soldier’s hands.

Howzer pulls his fingers from his mouth with a loud pop and flicks his eyes to yours as you peer up at him through lidded eyes. Half-closed they may be, but they are far from heavy with the sleepy taunts of before.

You both know sleep is the last thing on either of your minds.

Rising up to his knees, he twists out of his shirt and flings it off somewhere into the far reaches of the room. One moment he’s standing tall at the base of the bed, the next, he’s leaning close and sliding one palm from where your thighs part up to where he kisses over your neck.

You whimper softly as you feel his fingers curl over your pulse, helpless in the best of ways as Howzer pulls back to sit back and admire your expression. In return, he offers you the smile you’ve come to love most, barely there on his lips, brimming in his eyes, adoration divine.

Then, soon in its place, always: hunger.

“I’m not done with you just yet.”

#howzer says itadakimasu 🙏#also if u know the inspo for the title i am offering my hand in marriage immediately #howzer gives the best head in the gar and that’s it! no one else beats this mans head game #u thought fives was good? he learnt from howzer baby!#learnt? learned? idk man #anyways when will yaeji write ns//fw without being poetic? the answer is never #howzer x reader #captain howzer x reader #the clone wars x reader #yaej.writes

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novaviis · 3 years ago

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sick!dick au. Bruce's POV. read in order here.

For most everyone else, it starts at the Gala.

For Bruce, it starts in a grey little office, with a stack of papers and a glitter pen.

Dick will confess after the fact to the fainting spell in the apartment he shares with Wally, and the months of progressively worse migraines, including an incident on patrol with Jason – and Bruce is none-too-pleased with that information being kept silent, but he picks his battles and this isn’t one of them. Still, looking back nearly everyone will unanimously agree that the night it really “began” was the Gala.

For Bruce, it begins when the social worker hands him a creased manila envelope. Inside is a birth certificate, a social security number, and an immunization record. Bruce looks through the contents of the envelope. Is this really it? Yes, he’s never exactly done this before, but he feels like there should be more. Guardianship of a child shouldn’t be reduced to three pieces of flimsy paper in an envelope. There’s a coffee stain on the corner. The social worker doesn’t really know what to say to that; this is just the way it is. She slides the rest of the paperwork across the table. Everything’s already been looked over by his lawyers, all he needs to do is sign. She pats her pockets, muttering to herself before bringing out a red glitter pen and sheepishly offering it to him.

Bruce is in his twenties. He’s impulsive with his compassion and he just witnessed another little boy watching his parents die. He knows he can give this boy what he needs. Or he’s going to try. But between the drive to bring this boy’s family justice and the need to heal a part of himself in the process, he’s somehow skipped over just how huge this is. He’s thought about it, of course, but always with the under current of doing whatever it takes to make it work. He was going to give the boy a home, give him the closure that Bruce never got, and maybe he’d save him from turning out like… well, like Bruce. Only now he’s staring down at Guardianship written in big block letters across the top of the stack, and it’s sinking in now that he’s not just taking the boy in. He’s going to be his family. And it doesn’t change a thing, his resolve doesn’t waver, because he knows he can give him a good life, but it’s that one word. Family. His family is starting out with a coffee stain, a stack of papers, and a glitter pen.

He signs the papers. Dick is already waiting outside with Alfred, who’s taken him to the small cafeteria down the hall. The boy hasn’t spoken much, in the days Bruce has taken to get to know him. Bruce had asked Alfred if he was like that – after. And Alfred had looked at him sympathetically, answered carefully. Yes, he was, in a sense. Bruce had been quiet. Shellshocked. Traumatized. But Bruce needs to remember that he had him, at least one steady presence in his life. Dick has no one. It’s going to take time.

It shouldn’t be so easy, Bruce find himself thinking over and over as they finish up. He tucks everything away into his briefcase, bears with the social worker smiling and shaking his hand and thanking him for doing such a good deed as if this is a charity stunt for publicity and she doesn’t seem to care either way. He asks again, just before he closes his briefcase, if she’s sure that there’s nothing else he needs. Report cards, keepsakes, family medical history, he doesn’t know. She shakes her head, all pleasant smiles. No, that’s all he came with – as if he’s a shelter dog. Bruce latches his suitcase shut.

Back then, it was just a passing thought. He doesn’t spare it another over the years, because he doesn’t need to. Time went on, Dick becomes an inseparable part of his life. Bruce will always silently maintain that Dick was the one to save him in the end. He’s not a perfect guardian, not a perfect father, and he makes more mistakes than he can count. They argue, they have fallings out, and still they always work through it – because they’re family.

And the issue of the family medical history does not resurface until that champagne gold night. Until he catches Selena watching him from across the ballroom, smiling behind the rim of her wine glass and cocking her head to tease him. Until, he’s distracted between secretively searching the crowds for her and forcing himself to smile and laugh with Gotham’s elite, so he doesn’t notice the commotion rising up on the other side of the room. Until his youngest son comes racing toward him through the crowd looking more scared and shaken than Bruce has ever seen him. Until he breaks through the ring of bystanders and sees Dick passed out on the floor, Wally kneeling over him beside himself with panic. Until the ambulance and the fury of the waiting room (making a mental not to raise absolute hell with the Hospital’s board of directors) and the doctor pulling him to a side room, a little grey office, to ask the dreaded question. All at once, it comes back to that moment, and Bruce sighs, scrubs his palm over his tired eyes. No, he doesn’t have Dick’s family medical history. It doesn’t exist. Realistically, it isn’t Bruce’s fault, but that has never stopped him from shouldering blame.

Selena reaches out in the following days it ask in on how Dick’s doing. Bruce is cordial, tells her that her concern is appreciated but Dick seems to be doing fine. And on the other side of the phone, he can hear her moving around her penthouse, maybe standing at the window – she’s glad to hear it. Let her know if he needs anything, if she can do anything to help. It’s early days then, and none of them know just how bad it’s going to get.

It’s a slow progression at first, and then it’s not. It’s months between seizures, a steady increase in migraines – but life goes on. It’s not as if Bruce is hovering every Dick at every second. He’s a grown man now, with a career and a home and a partner. Bruce supports him in any way he can, until it gets to the point that he has to make the hard call. The argument he has with Dick that night, in the study of Wayne Manor, is something he’ll never wash from his memory. He’s used to making the tough decisions. He’ll be the asshole if he has to, he can handle Dick’s anger, but he’s not going to allow him to take this much risk into the field. Benching Nightwing until they have a handle on this is a necessary call, but Dick is stubborn (who on earth did he learn that from), and unwilling to step down so easily. And as the argument reaches its fever pitch, Bruce pacing and ranting, listing off his rational, he hears Dick call his name in a wavering voice and it cuts through the background noise. Dick, the colour drained from his face, eyes unfocused, conceding that he’s about to lose this argument, will haunt him in the same way as the worst things he’s seen in the life he’s chosen. That’s the moment he knows that this isn’t just going to pass, the moment he bolts to catch Dick before he can topple forward and hit his head. This isn’t something they can wait out. He’ll never regret making the call, but he will always regret the way he put the pressure on Dick, as if he’d just made things worse.

The thing is, this lasts years. It becomes a part of all their lives – because it’s Dick. It isn’t all consuming, it doesn’t eat away at their thoughts every minute of the day, but it’s a resurfacing concern that’s rarely spoken about aloud. And Bruce sees how this changes his family. No one can say that the Wayne clan is the most well adjusted and healthy family, but Bruce does his best. He realises and appreciates now more than ever just how much work Dick put into keeping them all functioning. Keeping them together. He never thought he’d taken it for granted until then. It shouldn’t have taken this to bring the family closer together, but it does, and as much as Bruce hates that, he’s not going to fight it.

Time goes on. Still. It’s a slow progression at first, and then it’s not. Bruce is in a meeting with his chief executive officers when his secretary buzzes in over the speaker saying there’s a call for him on the line. He thanks her for letting him know and tells her to take a message. She says the young man is telling her it’s an emergency. One of the CEOs is about to launch into a presentation and Bruce doesn’t spare him a second thought. Picks up the phone, pushes away from the board table, and paces to the window. Wally’s voice comes through saying his name, shaken and urgent, rambling out sentences too fast for Bruce to hear.

Wally. Slow down. What happened?

He stopped breathing. Fuck, Bruce, he called me at work – sounded like a seizure so I ran home, but he – it didn’t stop, he wasn’t breathing.

That first night, after Bruce has sent his reluctant children home with Alfred, it’s just him and Wally left with Dick. The end of visiting hours is fast approaching. Bruce steps out to let Wally have his time with Dick, allows him some privacy. He eventually makes his way up to the terrace balcony on the upper floors, a green space with massive glass walls and an open ceiling. Fresh air for the first time in hours does wonders.

Selena is there. She approaches him from the other side of a low hedge, bundled up in a cashmere sweater and scarf – ones he bought her ages ago. When he asks how she knew, she smiles. She has her ways. Tim called her, didn’t he. Yeah, he did. They stand in silence for a while, staring out at the mosaic of lights against the persistent dark of Gotham, before she puts a hand on his arm. I know you’ve got a lot on your plate, Bruce, she says, and the coy smile fades into sincerity. Come to me when you need to.

Three days after Dick is admitted to the ICU, Bruce calls Damian into the study. It’s late, they just got home from visiting an hour ago. They’ve been arguing a lot lately, before Dick went downhill. Mostly regular thirteen-year-old boy versus father arguing, but a few too many frustrated shouting matches in the Cave. Bruce can’t help but wonder if it’s in part because Dick hasn’t been there to act as a mediator. Still, the past few days have been quiet, if not tense. Damian complies when Bruce calls him down. He’s wearing a sweater he stole from Dick months ago, the bulk of it swallowing his smaller frame like a blanket. He has the sleeves rolled up, his hands in the front pocket, when he pauses in the doorway. Bruce gestures for him to sit across from him at the desk. He can see the way Damian is bracing himself for a lecture, wondering whatever it is he did wrong this time, as he takes his seat. Bruce, in his chair on the other side, watches him for a moment before deciding this won’t do. He stands, and pulls his chair next to Damian’s and pulls a file over from the other side of the desk.

Wayne Men are at a higher risk of Prostate Cancer as they get older. I get tested every few years. He tells him. My Mother’s side of the family, the Kanes, have a history of Crohn’s Disease. It’s prevalent in people of Ashkenazi Jewish decent. I’ve never had it, or had symptoms, so it’s unlikely that I passed it on to you, but not impossible. And when Damian stares back at him, he leans forward, presses his hand to his son’s shoulder. I want you to know these things, Damian. It’s important that you know your history.

And with any other child, it may have not been a good idea to have this conversation right then. Any other child may have been scared. But this is his son, and Damian is as frank and pragmatic about these things as he is, and Bruce knows that he will appreciate the honesty, knows that those questions have likely been rattling around in Damian’s head for a while now. They spend another hour that night talking about their family, beyond just medical history, and Bruce answers any questions Damian has.

Dick gets worse. Wally leaves to find answers. Bruce is doing everything he can; medical bills are nothing to him, he checks in on his children, calls in favours from the league to keep watch of Gotham when he’s needed at the hospital. It’s the most he’s ever relied on others in his entire life.

It’s just him in Dick’s room one night. He’s at the window when he hears Dick rasping his name. It’s been rare lately that he’s been coherent enough to really speak without being prompted, so he has Bruce’s full attention immediately. He crosses over to the bed, braces a hand over Dick’s. And Dick doesn’t say anything for a long while. His eyes are half closed. Bruce is close to assuming he’s fallen asleep, when Dick’s unsteady hand slides out from under his, and rests on top with a barely there squeeze. Dick is staring up at him. His voice his so quiet it’s almost drowned out by the monitors, but Bruce hears it.

Take care of Wally.

Bruce doesn’t waste time on don’t talk like that sentiments. He doesn’t tell Dick that he won’t need to, that he’ll be fine, because Bruce does not make promises he knows he cannot keep. He nods. He will. Dick doesn’t need to ask him to take care of the family, that much is an unspoken understanding, but if this is a piece of mind he can give Dick, it’s without hesitation.

He ends up at Selena’s door after visiting hours. She buzzes him in, and when she opens the penthouse door neither of them say a word. She guides him over to the couch, pours two glasses of good wine, and when she returns, he’s already got his face in his hand – not sobbing, not breaking down, just… exhausted. She isn’t sure Bruce knows how to break down anymore. In the end, she just sits with him. Rubs his back, tentatively at first, not sure if he’ll let her. Bruce not only does, but he shudders under her hand, allows himself to breathe with her, and it’s enough to let the pressure ease and the ache to come in. He allows himself feel to it.

Because that’s his son. That’s his first son. And he’s failed him.

Years from then, when this is all in the past, he’ll let it slip. It’s over a late night coffee with Dick in the Cave as they wrap up a case, near to the anniversary of the Dick’s surgery. Maybe it’s the string of late nights and no sleep wrecking his inhibition, maybe it’s something he needs to get off his chest. But Dick stares at him, goes quiet, sets down his coffee mug.

You did everything for me, Bruce. He says. You never failed me.

And, someday, Bruce will believe it.

#dickwally #batfam #sick!dick #I've wanted to do Bruce's POV for years and it just hit me in one sitting

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feelin-woozy · 3 years ago

Note

19. Watch w/ Danny 😳

Smut Prompts | 19. One muse putting on a show for their voyeur partner

It's not something that needs to be said; it's just a feeling that creeps along your skin. It has gooseflesh rising along your entire body and leaves a sort of unsettled feeling to make home within the spaces between your bones.

You know that Danny is watching you; you don't know where he is, but you can feel his eyes on you. Perhaps he rigged the room with cameras, a way to keep tabs on you no matter how far he strayed, or maybe he was in the closet obscured by your clothing and his. Perhaps Danny sat perched out the window, dangling haphazardly from the tree just outside and masked by the branches and leaves. It didn't really matter, this is what he wanted, and you weren't foolish enough to deny him. And you'd be a liar to say it didn't excite you just as much.

"Danny," You breathe the words out, perhaps a little louder than you usually would have, but you wanted him to hear you. Wherever he may have been listening from, your hands slide along your body, touching you in ways that you imagine he would, but the differences are significant enough that you can't fully immerse yourself. It's never the same. Your touch is too soft compared to his; even when your nails dig lines into yourself, it doesn't satisfy you as he could. Danny had ruined you for others and yourself. You were well aware of this fact, and so was he. "Fu-Fuck."

Your movements quicken as thoughts of Danny fill your mind, consuming you like a festering mold that you just couldn't shake. You imagine it's his hands touching you, dipping into yourself. You can nearly hear the way he groans as you offer yourself up on a silver platter for him, waiting for him to devour you- willing him to. Every time the two of you fell into bed it was a carnal display of passion; it would be shameful even to consider fucking without reducing you to a sobbing wreck. And here? Alone? To reach the heights that Danny dragged you seemed like an impossible task.

"Fuck, come out Danny," You whimper, head lolling back against the pillows. Still hadn't quite figured out where the man was, so you prayed that he would hear you and that his ego would be too large not to leave you high and dry. "Can't finish without you."

You hear the clicking of a tongue against the backs of teeth and can't fight the smile. The closet doors squeal on its track as it pushes open. There Danny stands, cheeks flushed and a prominent tent forming at the front of his boxers. "You're useless know that? Can't even get off without me anymore."

#Danny Johnson x Reader #Jed Olsen x reader #Danny Johnson x you #Jed Olsen x you #dbd danny johnson #dbd jed olsen #dead by daylight #dead by daylight x reader #dbd x reader #slasher x reader #slasher x you #danny johnson #jed olsen #ghostface x reader #ghostface x you #my writing

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oh-no-a-whovian · 3 years ago

Text

Despite my claws (love me) Part 3

18+

Summary: Missy Moreno is missing right after fighting a notorious villain. Marcus will do whatever it takes to save his little girl. Even working with that villain to find her.

Pairing: Marcus Moreno x villain-reader

Warnings: Swears, violence, injury, weapons, Mentions of abuse and trauma. Brutal murder. If there’s others let me know

Word count: 5916

Masterlist PT1 PT2 PT4

The sun light streams through cracks in the curtains and you feel nauseous as the train starts to creak and move along the rail. A small cloud of dust plumes into the air as you drop Marcus onto the bed and he leans up on his elbows, finally conscious enough to move. You can feel his eyes on you as you stand frozen in front of him, looking around the space and feeling the sway of the train. It really is the same. Maybe more dust but nothing has moved. You’re willing to bet your old outfits are still in the wardrobe. It’s like you never left and it makes you want to burn it all down.

“You weren’t planning on telling me that he’s your father, were you?” you can hear him but you just can’t react, can’t move, you feel paralysed in place. You really never wanted to be here ever again. Last time you were on the train you barely had a mind of your own. He allowed you a little freedom but ultimately, he treated you like every other person he’d taken. He’d treated you like a slave. “[Y/N]” Marcus calls, pulling you from the whirlpool of your thoughts as he grabs a hold your hand. “Are you okay?” he asks when you finally look into his eyes.

“Do I seem ok to you?” you tell him honestly with a sneer curving your lips. “I thought it seemed pretty obvious that I didn’t want to be anywhere near this fucking train, Marcus. Now let’s kill everyone and get this over with.”

“No! No killing”

“Let’s get one thing straight.” You snap, climbing on top of him, pinning his wrists above is head with one hand and wrapping the other around his throat as he struggles, keeping your face mere inches from his. “The people on this train will not hesitate to shoot you in the face or stab you in the gut”

“[Y/N]” he warns, fighting against you.

“Are you really gonna risk your daughter for your morals, Moreno? You can either grow a pair or stay out of my way.”

“They were normal people once, you said that. Maybe we can save them…” he pleads beneath you, no longer struggling against your vice like grip.

“I. do not. care. Now, have the sedatives worn off enough for us to try to figure out where Missy is?” you ask as you sit up on his hips, releasing your grip. He nods without a word, his eyes following your hand as you check the fake scar and the edges of the mask. “Last time I was on the train the prison car was in the middle but it’s moved every few months.” You consider aloud as you climb off Marcus’ lap. “Unfortunately there won’t be a map of the layout… If we ask where the prison car is we’ll immediately be caught, locked up and brain washed. I don’t need that again.”

“But if we take too long, it could be too late” he points out.

“Yeah, we definitely don’t want to take our time. We should…” a knock on the sliding wooden door interrupts you and you glance at Marcus on the bed with worry. “What do you want?” you snap, sliding the door open with force, the emotional mask you wear sliding back into place, your lip curling in anger.

“Your father wishes for you and your friend to join him for dinner” the man at the door says. His face is devoid of emotion, not even a glimmer showing in his grey eyes. He doesn’t even look around the space in front of him, just stares as if there’s a wall right in front of him.

“I’d rather not” you reply, making to slide the door shut. He grips your wrist with bruising force, his silver eyes finally focusing on yours.

“It wasn’t optional, Sekhmet”

“Fine” you tell him, ripping your arm from his grip and sneering at his use of your dead name. You’re not that person anymore. Haven’t been for years. “How long?”

“An hour” you nod and watch as his eyes glass over again, hating that you probably looked the same once. No soul behind your eyes.

You close the door when he finally walks away and press your back to the deep coloured wood. Marcus is silent as he stands from the dusty plush surface of the bed and you can feel his eyes on you as you keep yours cast to the floor.

“We don’t have time for dinner, [Y/N]” Marcus says as he moves less than a metre from you.

“We don’t know where Missy is on this train and if he’s pretending to be an actual parent then he’s not hurting her. We have time, just not much.” You sigh, looking past him to the window. The particle filled beams of light flicker in and out, then vanish. The light that replaces them is an eerie mix of green and blue with violent flashes of purple. The sounds of clashing stones cracks through the air to match the violet blooms. “We’re not on earth anymore”

Marcus’s brown eyes glance between you and the window, confusion furrowing his brows. There isn’t a sound to indicate that the train has breached the fabric of reality, no sign, just one second you’re on earth and the next you’re on some unknown planet you can’t even breathe on. Marcus pulls open the ashy curtains, freezing at the sight sitting just outside the train.

Colours swirl around a circle of nothing and around you asteroids glowing with vibrant lines of violet smash into each other making the bursts of purple you’d seen through the cracks in the curtain. The ground around the train’s tracks is cracked, reduced to rubble with magma oozing out from the lines.

“What happened here?” Marcus asks in quiet horror as the train passes what looks to be the remnants of an ancient temple, the statues barely recognizable and the stone walls crumbling. “Was it the- the black hole?”

“Mmm, no. Apparently a planet would orbit a black hole just like they would a sun. So I’ve heard anyway” you tell him, watching the scene outside with awe. “Was probably a war or over population… they probably just over used the planet.” You shrug, glancing away from the aftermath of an apocalypse. “This isn’t the time to mourn their loss, Marcus.” you whisper gently as you place your hand on his shoulder, your fingers sliding subtly under the sleeve of his vest. You love how warm he is, you’d never tell him though. You doubt it would be accepted.

“You’re right” he sighs, looking at you, an unreadable look in his warm chocolate eyes. “We should go to dinner… with your evil father”

“Just, remember you’re meant to be a villain doppelganger of Marcus Moreno. You can act how you usually do but like you really hate it and yourself.”

“Right” he replies, looking at you with concern.

“You can either make up a name or use your normal one and ‘refuse’ to tell your real name.” you tell him as you check the fake scar once more, comforting yourself with the warmth of his cheek. Any excuse to keep touching him right? “Depends on your improv skills”

“I have a question…” he says, watching as you remove the blades from your back, continuing when you don’t say anything. “They keep calling you Sekhmet…”

“Your question?” you pause, the blades still in your hand and your chest feeling tight.

“Do you want me to just pretend I knew or that I’m not hearing it… You seem really tense when you hear it…”

“Just don’t use it, ok?” you ask him as you drop your swords onto the bed and another cloud of dust flies into the air making you sneeze and growl. “Fucking… ugh let’s just go.”

“You know where the car is?” he asks, following you as you stomp from the room.

“Uh, yeah. The only car he moves is the prison car. Maybe we’ll be lucky and the prison car will be between us and that arsehole hmmm?” you muse. “Hey you!” you call out when you finally spot one of the poor brainwashed bastards in the isle. “Get someone to clean my room” you’re not sure if you’ll find Missy tonight, might as well have a clean place to sleep right?

“Of course, Sekhmet. Your father has asked that we do as you ask” the woman smiles, her eyes just as empty as the man’s from earlier. Even her hair is dull and lifeless, hanging from a ponytail.

You grab Marcus’ arm as he reaches out, stopping him from asking the brainwashed woman where his daughter is. She steps past you both, Marcus barely registering as an obstacle in her mind as she makes her way through the corridor.

“She’s not gonna tell you shit, Marcus.” You growl “pay attention!” you smack the side of his head “the second our cover is blown we have to get off this train or kill everyone trying to take it over. Asking questions is cover blowing, got it? We need to find the prison car ourselves”

“I just want my little girl back.”

“I know… but you need to listen to me, Marcus.” You say, continuing down the corridor. “The next car should be the private dining room. I’m gonna try to see into the next two cars. If there is only two cars ahead then the prison car is somewhere along the other end of the train” you whisper.

A shiver runs down your spine as you reach the dining car door, your body freezing with your hand raised to the door. You keep getting waves of horror and chills of fear. Your hands shaking and heart beating way too fast. You don’t want to show weakness. Need not to show weakness. You know Marcus would never take advantage of you, never try to hurt you, he’s too good. But your father will and you can’t let him. This place really did fuck you up.

Glancing at Marcus you force yourself to knock, swallowing the fear in your chest.

Another woman, lighter skinned this time, slides open the door an eerily serene smile on her lips as she leads you both to the table. Your father isn’t in the room yet so you breathe a little easier as you take a seat at the mahogany table. You fix your eyes on the door leading to the front of the train, hoping to get a glimpse of the next car when your father comes through. If the next car is his room then the prison car isn’t up this end and you’ll have to make your way to the other.

The woman places a glass of amber liquid in front of you as the door opens revealing your father. You peek at the space behind him, seeing his bedroom and further through the controls for the train. You were really hoping the prison car was up this end.

“Sekhmet! So good of you and your friend to join me for dinner” your father says grinning as he sits at the head of the table.

“Didn’t exactly feel like a choice” you mumble, rolling your eyes and sipping at the drink in front of you.

“Now, now, daughter. You haven’t seen me in five years and I haven’t seen you in much longer.” He points out, smiling at the brainwashed woman as she places plates of food in front of each of you. “Is it too much to ask that I get to spend some time with my little girl?”

“Oooh! It’s almost like you care!” you say, your lips curving into a mix between a sarcastic smile and a sneer.

“You’ll show me respect, Sekhmet. You know what happened last time you got too mouthy” your breath hitches and you shy away, looking down to Marcus’ hand when it moves onto your thigh. He’s glaring at your father, the fake scar making him look even more threatening. “What’s your name boy?” your father asks Marcus once he’s satisfied that he’s curbed your attitude.

“I don’t have one. You can call me Marcus, I tried to steal his life, may as well take his name on the way out” the man beside you says to your father, a sinister smirk on his lips. You’d be lying if you said ‘bad’ didn’t look good on him. He seems to be an ok actor at least.

“Hmmm… and what reason have you two decided to leave that world?”

“Given that we were in three different fights with like fifteen different people just today. I figured it was time for a change in scenery” you tell him, keeping your eyes on the plate of food in front of you. “He was unconscious so I got our shit together and got out.” You say as you jab your fork into a piece of the food, popping it into your mouth. “One of my contacts said that your train had been spotted circling the city”

“Interesting” your father says, his eyes shifting between you and Marcus as he places pieces of food in his mouth. “What did you think of the view?” he asks, nodding toward the window you can all see. Outside pieces of glowing debris float and collide outside the moving train’s window.

“Didn’t think much of it.” You admitted, you thought it was morbidly beautiful but you’ve seen so many places. It’s just one more to add to list.

“Did you recognise it? We passed a temple a while ago.” You pause, confusion marking your features as you glance between the monster you call your father and the ruined world outside.

“Why would I?” you shake your head, watching out the window to see if maybe you do.

“This place was one of your favourites when you were a kid. They were the first lot to make that lion head statue for you.” he tells you, waving over the brainwashed woman for more to drink. You stare out the window dumbfounded. How? “They worshipped you like a god.” He muses.

“What happened to them?” Marcus asks, looking out the window as a particularly large chunk of asteroid collides into the shielding around the train.

“No idea. I suspect they tore their world apart after their ‘god’ hadn’t returned in a long time. Not the first time I’ve seen religious turmoil destroy a planet.” He replies callously, sipping at what you assume is konjac, his favourite.

A heavy silence fills the room as you stare into space. You don’t know what you feel. Horror? Sadness? Fear? Guilt? Rage? Everything? You are definitely holding yourself still though, the urge to end your father at the forefront of all thoughts and feelings. You know you can’t, not yet anyway. If you do all his minions will go berserk. You’d prefer to do it on a planet with a breathable atmosphere. So you can jump if need be.

You can feel your father studying you, hear his fingers topping on the wooden table. He’s probably looking for weakness, for a moment to call in the troops and lock you and Marcus away. It would definitely fast track finding the girl but fuck any plans for escape.

“I need to prep the next dimensional phase. You know where your room is.” Your father says dismissively as he gets up, gesturing for his little slave to lead you and Marcus from the room. You hadn’t even noticed the weapons strapped to the small of her back till now. This place is fogging your mind and you fucking hate it.

~~~~~

You watch Marcus with interest, fighting what you know is a bad decision. You didn’t say a word the whole way back to your old room, how could you? The place you loved most is gone, the one man you’ve started feeling things for is your enemy and is in the most dangerous place you could think of and you’re pretty sure your father has already started his mind game, manipulative bullshit. You need a distraction but you know you shouldn’t try that. You want to lash out.

You keep your back pressed against the door and breathe slowly. You can feel Marcus’ eyes on you but you keep yours closed. You’re pretty sure if you open your eyes right now you’ll jump his bones.

“So… are you immortal?” Marcus asks. You finally look up at him with raised eyebrows.

“What no?” you smile, amused by his question, breathing as the urge fades. You step over to the bed, examining the fresh green silk sheets and the smell of fresh linen in the air.

“Well your father just implied that the goddess from Egyptian mythology was you…” he says as he props himself by your wardrobe with his arms crossed.

“I was” you admit. “But although I do age slower, it wasn’t cause of that.”

“How then?”

“Know how I mentioned that we could be gone for centuries for earth?” you start, posing yourself on the now dust free bed, continuing when he nods. “Well it goes the other way too. We could end up surrounded by dinosaurs next phase jump. Has something to do with quantum entanglement or something. Or maybe how if you put a mirror light years away then looked through it, it theoretically would show the earth millions of years ago.” You propose as you lay on your back, your knees in the air and spread so you can see Marcus between your thighs. It’s a pretty good view. “It’s sciency stuff.”

“Does that mean there could be two versions of the train at one time?” he frowns, looking to the ground.

“Mmm probably… though they’d have to keep a certain distance or risk blowing up…” you pause, seeing worry on his features once again. “If you’re thinking that there’s a chance that this train from a different time point has her that isn’t possible.”

“How do you know that?”

“The space he’d have to keep between the trains is like… two states wide. Any closer and reality tries to correct them, forcing them together like hyper magnets” you tell him, rubbing your temples to remember the things your father had taught you before he stole your free will and mind. “The resulting destruction from the explosion would be devastating throughout time.”

You sigh as you look out the window to the vibrant colours of space, seeing the ruins of a once beautiful planet in a different light. You’d shown them a picture of a lion from earth during a stop there and for some reason they made statues, altars and places of worship in your name. Sure you’d done a few nice things but was that really worthy of worship? Their goddess of healing. You became something else to the people of Egypt. A goddess to be feared. You earned the title they gave you many time over since.

“This is all your fault” you hear Marcus say and you glare at him raising from your spot on the bed.

“I’m sorry?” you challenge, daring him to say that again.

“This. Is. All. Your. Fault.” He sneers, meeting you toe to toe with anger in his eyes. “If you weren’t doing awful things, my daughter wouldn’t have been grabbed!” you leap onto your feet and press your hand to his chest and force him to the wall, pinning him with your body and getting right in his face.

“Need I remind you, that I am trying to help you! You would never have had a chance without me!” you shout, baring your sharp teeth. “I’m on a train that I never wanted to see again. My own father tortured me on this fucking train!” you take a deep breath to calm yourself, keeping him pinned but lowering your voice as he looks down ashamed of his outburst. “I wasn’t even doing anything. I had no plans. I think the most ‘evil’ thing I had going on was a few stolen paintings in my warehouse and renting out space to a known drug dealer….” You sigh, loosening your force but not moving away. “If I did have something planned, I would have been a lot more upset about the children showing up instead of you…” you admit. You know he wouldn’t care about a revelation like that, you know you’re a monster in his eyes. How could you not be? You don’t exactly have much of a moral compass.

You move to step away and give him space but it seems he has other plans. He grabs your arm, pulling you back toward him and pressing his lips to yours like you had done earlier when you made the deal with him. He wraps an arm around your waist and threads his other hand’s fingers in your hair, kissing you with bruising passion. You move your hands up his body as you kiss him back with fierce aggression. Gently you curve one hand on his jaw and the other around his throat, squeezing a little as you nibble on his bottom lip.

You gaze into his lust filled eyes as he pulls away for air, panting like he’s starved of it. You could spend eternity in this moment, even in the worst place in all of reality, you’d stay. His dishevelled hair, soft lips, the warmth of his skin and the gentle tug of his fingers in your hair. If you could have Marcus Moreno for eternity, you would.

~~~~~~~

“How long does it take?” you hear Marcus ask as you glare at the clothes you used to wear, glancing to see him staring out the window to the ashy desert that now surrounds the travelling train. He’s lying naked on the bed, propped against the wall with his arms behind his head, just a silk sheet covering him from you.

“Uuh, depends.” You reply, grabbing the only outfit you’d ever liked from that point in your life and shoving it into your bag.

“On what?”

“Destination mostly. Whether or not there’s a version of the train already there. But apparently there’s a few other reasons that I didn’t get to learn…” you tell him as you pull a shirt on.

“Do you know how to… direct the train back to earth in our time?”

“Somewhat… after a few attempts sure. But I’m not sure we’ll get a few attempts…” you watch as a sand storm forms in the distance, the grey ashes swirling into the air promising violence.

“Why?”

“Just… I need you to trust me and if I say jump, you’ll grab your daughter and jump. Okay?” you can see hesitation in his eyes but he nods. Gently you lift his hand and press your lips to his palm, silently thanking him for not arguing. Getting up with a sigh you grab his clothes, vest and swords and put them next to him. “Get dressed, we’ll start making our way down the train soon. They’re gonna be suspicious…” you huff as you pull on your harness, your gun already in the holster, and pull on your jacket to conceal it.

“Do you have a plan?”

“Well… half of two plans…” you shrug. “We can sneak along the outside and try to figure out where the car is from the windows. Not my favourite. Or! We can move along the inside saying we’re looking for a drink then wing it if the prison car is past the kitchen…” you smile, knowing both plans are fucking awful.

“So we’re just gonna wing it then?” Marcus asks, an unimpressed look on his face as he fastens his vest and puts the Katanas in their sheaths on his back.

“Pretty much. We need to take our things and us being out of the room is suspicious as is… I don’t see this ending in anything but a fight. We just need the fight to be after we find your daughter.” You tell him as you pull on the harness with your two khopesh blades attached. “If we die tonight, it’s your fault.” You grin before stepping over to the door and sliding it open to peek along the hallway.

“We’re not gonna die”

“mmmhmmm” you roll your eyes, gesturing for him to grab the bags and follow. You can’t help your pessimism, it was hard enough getting off this damn train the first time.

You slide open the door to the next car silently, gesturing for Marcus to be quiet. On the right of the hallway is a familiar door leading to a room filled with bunk beds. One of four cars where your bastard father keeps his slaves. On the left a door with a window leading to the ash desert outside, the wind and sand swirling violently.

You creep through the car, then the next, hoping that the neither door to the bunks will open to reveal you two dressed for war sneaking through. Marcus remains quiet behind you, seeming to trust that you know what you’re doing.

The next car is the mess hall and you pause as you peek in. there’s a few of the brainwashed sitting at the long tables, people of different races all staring blankly at the walls as they slowly move the food into their moves. You’d never under estimate them though. They may be slow when doing menial tasks but they’re fast as lightning when it comes to drawing a gun on you. They’re almost as fast as you when it comes to melee too. It’s the main reason you want the fight to be later. So you can jump from the train and avoid them, whether your father is still in control or not.

“How are we getting through?” Marcus whispers in your ear, his body pretty much squished to yours to see the room. His body curving around yours and his hand holding your hip for stability.

“I don’t know… they may be practically zombies right now but... they still know when something is off in their peripheries.” You whisper, flinching slightly when one of them rises, moving into the next car. You assume it’s the kitchen, going by the strong food smell that floats through when the carriage door slides open. “Keep the bags low and as close to the tables as possible. Act normal.”

You rise from your position, standing tall as you slide the door open. A couple of the brainwashed stand at the sight of you, glaring at the intrusion. Their eyes shine a little brighter at the trespass, almost like they have actual thoughts. You know they don’t.

“What reason are you here, Sekhmet?” one that you recognise asks as he glares between you and the man behind you. Probably eyeing the blades on both your backs.

“Father is getting the train ready to take us to our destination, I’m just getting a drink before. You know how that world is, Cole” you tell him, putting your arms up passively. “Could be days before we find water…”

“Sounds like a you problem”

“And when exactly did my father give you free will to make an opinion?” the other mindless look at Cole, ready to jump him. Clearly they’ve been made stricter since you left, they weren’t so ready to jump you when you were showing signs of free will. Cole stutters, his eyes wide as one of the others grabs him. You can’t seem to help the sadistic grin that spread on your lips as he’s dragged past you toward front of the train. You know he’s probably not free, his brainwashing was probably only just wearing off. Everyone would know if he was truly free.

“What was that?” Marcus hisses as you step into the next car.

“A distraction” you tell him, watching the two men doing dishes with their backs to you as you pass through the kitchen.

“If he was free he could have helped us”

“Even if he was totally free he wouldn’t have wanted to. He’d have attacked us instead.”

“How do you know?” he argues, not taking no for an answer as he follows you into the next car. Another garrison car. The prison has to be soon, you’re sure you’re running out of train cars.

“I just do” you snap, freezing as a door slides open at the noise. The woman eyes you both from the door way, silently waiting. “Father said we could get some water from storage” you tell her, praying your lie will sell but moving your hand to the blade on your thigh anyway. You don’t know what allowances he’s made for you. Or if he actually made any at all. Without a word she moves back into the room filled with bunk beds and shuts the door and you finally let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. Releasing your hold on the bone grip of your blade you glance back at Marcus, trying to say ‘shut the fuck up’ but with your face.

“Let’s keep going” you whisper.

It’s almost peaceful, the sound of the train moving and the gentle snores from the sleeping people in the carriages. It’s a shame that it’s also horrible.

The next train car is another garrison and you move through it swiftly, keeping your ears focused on sounds within the room but taking note of the door to the outside. There’s three more cars, just three and you’re pretty sure none of them have exits. Missy must be in one.

You slide open the next door and you’re greeted with an almost empty sitting room. A plush blue carpet and ugly green couches and a holographic screen floating in the middle. Standing to attention by the opposite door is a buff woman, glaring at you as you take in the ugly ass room. You don’t remember it being so damn ugly.

“We need to get into storage. My father said I could take some water and I was told it’s in there.” You tell the strong woman, gesturing toward door behind her.

“You’re not allowed past.”

“My father said I could” you insist.

“You’re not allowed past” you glance between the woman and Marcus incredulously. ‘This bitch’ you glare, trying to decide what to do. You know Marcus will hate it but…

“Fuck it” you sigh, ripping your blade from its sheath, slicing it toward the woman’s throat. A strong arm blocks against your assault and a fist collides with your nose with a crunch. “Shit” you hiss, stumbling back as you clutch at your bleeding face.

“[Y/N]!” Marcus shouts as the woman shoves him aside to get to you. You’re not sure if his shout was worried or pissed as the woman shoves you violently, launching you back into a glass cabernet. Throwing punches into your gut and smashing her fist into the back of the cupboard, barely missing your head. You grimace at the crunch, that would have been your face again if you hadn’t dodged her fierce fist.

A small trail of blood trickles from your nose, filling your mouth with the familiar metallic tang and you spit it out as you move away from the woman. You flip you blade as the woman struggles, her fist stuck in the cracked remains. She growls at the hole keeping her hand in place then looks at you with rage in her eyes. A rare sign of emotions from the brainwashed zombies.

With bared teeth she rips her hand from the wood, tearing the flesh of her wrist and hand as the splintered wood fights the force. She doesn’t scream or cry out as her blood pours down her fingers, she just sneers, glancing at something over your left shoulder to the door she was guarding.

Marcus steps up to your right, his fists raised ready to fight the buff bitch.

“Why do you carry around swords, if you’re not willing to use them on people!” you hiss, keeping your eyes on your prey.

“They’re for monsters!” he yells, dodging as the guard makes the first move, trying to land punches on both of you. Even with her bloodied hand she flails, growling as she shoves past you. You couldn’t see it coming, couldn’t know that she had a gun sitting in a holster by the door. She rips the gun from its holster stuck to the side of the little table by her guard post, aiming it at Marcus.

You hear the bullet fire and feel your body move, the bullet ripping into your side as you shove Marcus out of the way. “Fucking bitch!” you scream and you throw your knife with deadly precision as she aims her gun again, the blade imbedding itself into her skull. She stumbles, her eyes going wide and her mouth dropping open, the gun falling loose in her hand. With one hand clasped to your side you step up the woman, you don’t know how she’s still standing with a blade lodged in her brain. You wrap your fingers around the hilt of your blade and try to pull it from the woman’s head, frowning when she moves with it, gurgling on the verge of death. With a sickening sound the blade pulls free,

Marcus is staring in horror as you turn to him, the woman finally falling to the ground. You can feel the blood oozing from your side and you wince as you move your hand to see. You wipe your blade off on your thigh and gesture for Marcus to move.

“Let’s get this over with Marcus” you breathe, moving to the next door despite your body’s protest. “Leave the bags here, we won’t be able to get out from the end. It’ll be sealed tight.”

Grunting you pull open the next door, ignoring the shelves of stuff and passing around the edge of the room. The next car has to be the prison car. On your way around the sides of the train car to reach the other door a label catches your eyes and you let Marcus pass as you pause to look at the bucket like container filled with weird little capsule like things. The label says they’re filled with water but they look like fucking tide pods and you shiver at the memory of that internet sensation. You grab the handle and take it. You’d be damned if you end up stuck out there without water.

“[Y/N]! The door is locked tight” Marcus calls out as you round the corner.

“Yeah it’s got a DNA lock” you cough, moving him to get to the receptacle. Grimacing, you place your blood coated hand upon the lock. A small buzz sounds from the lock as it clicks open. Moaning in pain you press your hand back to the hole in your side, hissing at the sheer pain. It will heal, it always does. Leaning against the wall you let Marcus open the door and go in, breathing slowly as the train jostles you.

“And here I hoped you might have actually been coming around.”

You freeze, your wide eyes looking to Marcus in the next car. His eyes meet yours as he holds his daughter, finally reunited. You breathe slowly, wincing in pain as you turn toward your father’s voice. Your eyes lock on the barrel of a gun. Shit

A/N: part three is here! Been try to make things a little less specific like features of Y/N and the meal. Curious to know what people pictured as their (plate of food) hopefully no one here is colour blind cause idk how to make this for colour blind people, sorry ⬇️. like and reblog to share the love!

@love93sstuff @superawesomegeek @whore-of-many-hot-men @sara-alonso @farfromjustordinary @i-d-k-any-more

#marcus moreno x reader #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal characters #marcus moreno #we can be heroes

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another-miracle · 4 years ago

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Nobody actually told Obi what exactly happened to make Shirayuki leave Tanbarun (now on AO3)

Leave it to Sarah to know the exact “right to the good part” scenario I needed to scratch my writing itch. This one’s for you @claudeng80 :) Set before Eisetsu arc when Shirayuki, Obi and Ryuu are still travelling on the road together.

Dinner starts off as a simple affair. Miss cooks up half the dishes while Obi settles the other half in the in-built kitchen of a decidedly-not-small room they’ve found themselves in (wonders what accommodation one affords with all that sweet Wisteria cash; they are delegates after all). A trade-off that they’d agreed on so that they could cook and have dinner in the same space they would reside for the night - instead of going down to the common area. Ryuu sets the table as best he can.

Eventually, they settle down to eat. The conversation steers towards Miss’ early days in the pharmacy - Ryuu still a boy who hid under tables, a fact present-Ryuu did not appreciate being brought up - and Miss still desperately trying to find her footing in a foreign land. It’s new to Obi, to hear of their endeavours before his arrival to Clarines, and he finds himself enjoying the journey down memory lane. That is, until Miss drops a wayward comment that catches the both of them off guard.

So casual, she says, “It’s so funny. And to think I’d almost had to live my life as Raj’s concubine.”

Ryuu freezes and his eyes dart over to Obi. Similarly, Obi’s glass has paused over his lips. It feels like the air in the room has been abruptly sucked out. The word ‘concubine’ rings in his ears as Miss continues to laugh between bites.

“What do you mean concubine?” Obi asks carefully. He’d thought she’d been invited to the palace to be a princess, or perhaps a lady-in-waiting. To be seen, not...

“Oh yes,” Miss shares, something almost fond lining her lips. “Raj and Sakaki-san had pretty wild ideas back then. Sent me poisoned apples and everything.”

“Miss-what?”

Shirayuki looks up, only now noticing Obi’s tone. Next to him, Ryuu lowers his utensils down and places them on either side of his plate. Obi immediately fixates on Miss’ form. His eyes dart down to her arms, searching for any scars, mind desperately rifling through memories of when they first met, whether she had been constantly wearing long sleeves. She’d worn leggings all this while hasn’t she? Obi resists the urge to bend down to look under the table.

“Oh,” Miss starts again, startling Obi’s gaze back to hers. “Oh! He didn’t get to me- I mean, he did. It’s a funny story actually- Zen ended up being the one eating said apple and getting poisoned. I’d only followed to get the antidote, but thankfully-” she glances at Ryuu, “Zen has had quite a resistance against most poisons, and he was fine.”

The sentence is met with tense silence. Ryuu seems to be staring at his plate as if the peas could conjure up a response. A part of Obi wants to shake the boy and tell him not to worry, to crack a joke to diffuse the air. The other part is blinded by red hot anger. The urge to retrieve his knives and march right up to Tanbarun to commit regicide thrums wildly in his temples.

Friend of the Crown? What on earth was Master thinking - working with someone like that. What on earth was he thinking? He’d spent every afternoon for a month, watching, not knowing, as the two - kidnapper and concubine-to-be - traipsed through the gardens of Tanbarun castle, sat next to each other for hours in the libraries. He’d carried the man on his fucking shoulders.

A touch to his hands and his eyes fly open. Miss’s hand is placed on his, on both of their hands. A small smile plays at her lips. Obi turns to Ryuu. The boy looks frustrated enough to cry.

Miss gives a small laugh. “Hey, it’s over alright? I didn’t bring it up to see you guys upset. It was just in passing. And look, we’re all here now. Royal delegates, serving the Wisteria Crown for the greater good of her people!”

Miss glances up at him, then flicks her gaze at Ryuu. Obi suddenly remembers how distraught Ryuu was when they returned to Clarines after their visit to Tanbarun, having only received news that Miss had been kidnapped. He also remembers the fear in his eyes when both he and Shirayuki succumbed to the then-Lyrias disease.

Obi sighs.

His hand reaches out to ruffle Ryuu’s hair. “Yeah,” Obi says, “Miss wouldn’t let something like that get her down. She’s strong, isn’t she, Little Ryuu?”

Ryuu stares up at him, unshed tears, his gaze darting between the both of them. Obi gives him his best reassuring smile; he knows Miss does too, even if he doesn’t look at her.

The boy sniffs. “Yeah- she is. Yeah.”

--------

Later when the plates are cleared and Ryuu has fallen asleep, exhausted from the additional emotional tirade he had earlier, Obi finds Miss by the window. She sits with her feet propped on the sill, arms wrapped around her knees, gaze focused on the distant horizon. The moon is out, deciding to grace Miss in all the splendour and glow her countenance deserves. If Miss thinks he looks good by the firelight, then it should be of no consequence for him to say-

“You look good in the moonlight, Miss,” Obi tells her, holding out a cup of tea and sitting down by her. Miss accepts the drink with a smile before looking out again. She is quiet - more so than usual. Obi sips his tea and waits.

She thumbs at the rim of the cup, looks down, then up at him. With a sheepish smile, she says, “I wonder if that’s something I might have heard from...men...if…”

She trails off, bringing the cup to her lips, the picture of grace and relief. Obi, on the other hand, is struck frozen for the second time this evening. That’s not what he meant. That’s not what he meant.

“Miss-”

“I know, I’m sorry,” Miss rushes out. “That wasn’t fair- it’s just- it’s my fault, I’d brought it up. I don’t mean to say that you’re like any of them- I don’t-”

Miss breathes, a shaky exhale. Obi watches as she struggles with something bigger than her, bigger than the both of them. It’s something more immense than even the distance between two countries, if he’s honest. His heart pulls toward her; the burden she has been carrying for almost two years - the shame, the fear - feelings he has no way of possibly understanding in this lifetime. He aches to reach out for her, but he’s not sure- in that moment, he rehashes every single touch between the two of them. Belatedly, he also finally understands why she’d run when Master kissed her.

“It’s alright,” he murmurs, an assurance that falls flat in the space between them. Miss hums in response, forcing out a smile at him in apology. And- Obi doesn’t want that. How many smiles has she hidden behind? Sweet words that fall from her lips - not just to him, but to the very people who’d wanted to kidnap her, to turn her into an object of possession, to reduce her brilliant mind and her wonderful soul and the endlessly faith-bearing light in her eyes into a mere ornament to be gawked at, prodded until nothing is left. What has he been doing? What have they all been doing?

Obi places his mug down on the table before sidling up to the sill, back to the scenery, hands clasped in front of him. He notices Miss is looking at him curiously. Obi sets his gaze on the ceiling, tracing the cracks in the concrete. He doesn’t do this- doesn’t offer more than platitudes to soothe, doesn’t give others more than he should, more than he can spare another human being. But- he thinks of the broken smile on Miss’ face-

“I’d almost lost my life once,” Obi tells the ceiling. “Thought myself hot shit and went around accepting jobs that were clearly beyond my pay grade. Risked my life because I’d thought it a resource to be utilized when needed - as long as it puts bread on the table, money in my pocket.”

Obi turns down and gives Miss a wan smile. “And it’s funny, because that was me when I met you. You, with all your incredible courage, this red-haired girl who’d walked forward in face of an arrow shot at her. Who’d saved an entire colony in face of a disease no one knew. Who’d jumped off a tower. Who’d walked straight back into the place she’d been running from, head held high, into the den of the very person who’d deigned her an object.

Miss flinches at this. And Obi aches.

“And-” Obi pauses. Breathes. “So much of me just wants to ride down the South back to Tanbarun, go up to Raj’s door and wrangle his neck - him and Sakaki both. But beyond that, Miss-”

Obi stares at her, willing the words, “You are beyond what anyone says of you, beyond whatever value anyone places on you. You’re not some object that someone just picks up and calls their own. Because whatever that’s in there,” Obi jabs his thumb against his chest, “it’s not something that can be assigned by anyone else. You are your own person, Miss. You belong to you. And it’s this you who has toppled boundaries, created antidotes, you and your brilliant mind, and your wonderful soul and everything that is you.

“And-” Obi wrenches his gaze from her, hand coming up to push down on his shoulder. “I can’t imagine myself without you. I’ve changed, because of you. Myself and many other people you’ve met in Clarines - Little Ryuu, too. So please-

“Don’t think you are anything less than who you have made yourself to be. Don’t let anything cause that- not Raj, not Master, not Izana, not even me. You are yours, Miss.”

Obi says it quietly, a whisper taken by the wind into the meadows ahead of them. But he knows Miss hears it all the same. Obi lets the words take up the silence, let them take root. He hopes, desperately, that in between the awkward cadence and messy phrasing, Miss may find some comfort in them. An unspoken assurance that he is on her side - always have, and always will be.

Sneaking a glance at her, Obi is startled to find Miss’ head buried in her knees, shoulder shaking.

He jumps up and immediately frets. “M-miss, ahh- I didn’t mean to make you upset! I’m sorr-”

In an instant, Obi’s hand is enclosed between both of hers, warmth effusing through skin. A warbled laugh escapes her and she looks up from her knees up at him. Arrested by the tears in her eyes, Obi watches as she smiles that broken smile again - only this time, he knows it isn’t forced. She brings his hand close to her, and places the back of it against her forehead. Obi’s hand twitches, almost aching to cup her face and rub the tears trickling down - but clearly Miss is having a moment as she closes her eyes and breathes.

“Thank you, Obi,” Miss tells him, words entangling around his fingers. “It never gets easier- I don’t think it will, but-”

She takes his hand and cups it against her cheek anyway, collapsing all his walls. “You, being here. You remind me that I’m worth more.”

He can’t resist his fingers running across the apples of her cheekbones. He wipes away every tear that falls and bends down close, leaning his forehead against hers. There are no words to describe the monument of a woman before him now, and as he draws strength from this little form of comfort he’s offered, he only hopes she receives the same.

It will not be easy, probably never will, as Miss says.

But Obi will be damned if she ever faces it alone again.

#obiyuki #akagami no shirayukihime #this has to be one of the most emotionally exhausting fics i’ve ever written #yixin’s fic

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maddieinwonder · 4 years ago

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A Lesson In Romance #7: False Start

Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU!Reader

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: Just a lot of awkward vibes hahaha

Word Count: 1.7k

Plot: Reader keeps getting caught in rom-com situations with Spencer Reid. This time, they try to confess their feelings.

A/N: I didn’t actually manage to include the definition of a False Start in the chapter itself, so I’ll add it at the end. No spoilers for now!

Masterlist | All chapters here!

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It took you 24 hours to decide that you were going to do something about your feelings for the good doctor. Pretty quick, considering you were a living, breathing rom-com cynic. But as ancient Greek philosopher, Heraclitus, once said: "The only constant in life is change".

Specifically, change happened after you woke up in your cute co-worker and dear friend's arms and you wanted nothing more than to get back into them as fast as possible.

But by the universal laws of working in the BAU, catching a break seemed to be the hardest when you actually wanted one.

Firstly, it was like every serial killer in the country decided to cancel their vacations simultaneously, swamping the team with urgent case after case. At this point, you were more familiar with the couch on the jet than your bed at home, and everyone was feeling the strain.

Secondly, if you weren't sleeping, you were usually out in the field chasing unsubs with Derek or Rossi. You had stopped holding out hope for being paired with Spencer — on account of your areas of specialty overlapping too much, and Hotch not being the type of leader to waste his resources — and as a result:

Thirdly, getting even ten minutes alone with the genius became an impossible task, and not for lack of trying either. At the start of the month, the two of you had tried to adapt your breakfast ritual to the road, but it always got interrupted mid-coffee order or even at the ding of the lift. Not that you and Spencer stopped trying, no, but your patience was wearing thin.

So you did something you hadn't done since you submitted your application to join the BAU — you prayed for a chance.

Because every day that you didn't admit your feelings to the doctor was another day fighting the compulsion to tell somebody else about them, and god only knows what a room full of profilers (and one nosy tech analyst) would do with that kind of information.

Then, out of the blue, the door of opportunity opened.

After two weeks of straight travel, the team had earned a well-deserved one night’s rest in your own beds before dealing with a local case, bright and early tomorrow morning. And since your flight landed at 2am and all the trains had stopped by then, this gave you the perfect shot to execute your plan.

Unfortunately, you forgot to take into account the most important factor — your nerves.

It didn't help that Derek had wolf-whistled in the carpark as the two of you walked off in the same direction, nor that Spencer immediately put your favourite album into the CD player out of instinct; an overly domestic action that made your heart beat even faster.

But it was when you arrived in front of his apartment building that you felt the worst of it. As you tried to summon the right words to your lips, your heart hammered in your chest and your thoughts jumbled themselves into nonsense.

"Are you ok?" Spencer asked, snapping you out of your anxious spiral instantly. "You don't look so well."

"I-I'm fine." Your fingers twitched nervously.

"Doesn't seem like it." He looked down at your hands, and you cursed your subconscious brain for giving you away. Then, he placed a hand over yours and your heart stopped.

"You're not alright, that's for sure, but it seems like it's just sleep deprivation." He assessed, bending slightly to look at your face. "You can't drive in this state. Do you want to come in?”

Your head snapped up to meet his gaze, ready to protest, but Spencer beat you to it. "Let’s go. You wanted to talk about something, right?" He called out, already one foot out of the car.

Before you could realise what was happening, you found yourself sitting on Spencer's couch holding a warm cup of tea.

This was the first time you were in his apartment. Yet, it was exactly what you thought it'd be like. Every wall was lined with bookshelves, filled to max capacity with books of every topic imaginable from neuroscience to philosophy. Those that didn't make it to the shelves were found in random stacks around his apartment, standing out against his forest green walls.

"Did you know that chamomile tea is a natural remedy for insomnia? In fact, it is commonly regarded as a mild tranquilizer. It's calming effects may be attributed to the antioxidant apigenin, which binds to specific receptors in your brain that initiate sleep and reduce anxiety." He explained, walking over with his own mug.

"I actually did know that." You smiled. The tea seemed to work its magic because you did feel relaxed, and you must have looked it too, because the worried frown disappeared off Spencer's face.

"Didn't know you were a tea person." You commented lightly, blowing the steam from your mug.

"There's a lot of things you don't know about me." He replied mysteriously, and you raised your eyebrows.

Spencer's apartment was too quiet, no rumbling fridge or quiet radio playing in the background to make your awkward silence any less pronounced. It was then that you noticed he didn't have a TV. Somehow this fact didn't surprise you very much.

"You... you wanted to talk to me about something?" He broke the silence, looking down at the hot tea swirling in his mug.

Right. You were here to talk about your feelings. Your face flushed as you tried to summon your willpower, again.

"I wanted to tell you something—" You began shakily. "But before that, I just want to preface, we can ignore this entire thing if you don't agree. I mean, I really enjoy our friendship as it is, and I wouldn't want to do anything to affect tha—"

"Wait." Spencer interrupted urgently, before catching himself. "Sorry, um, before that, can I say something?"

"Um, ok, shoot." You replied meekly, trying to hide your relief behind a long sip of tea. There was a pause as he gathered his thoughts, and you might have been seeing things, but he looked almost... nervous?

"The day we met, I calculated the probability of meeting somebody that shared my exact coffee order and the result was almost one in a million.” He finally spoke, lifting his head to meet your gaze. “That probability decreased when I factored in working together, sharing the same interests, and... and how I enjoyed spending time with you more than with anybody else."

Spencer cleared his throat, a blush coming onto his cheeks.

"Ever since then... my life just started making sense. I know I’m a scientist, not a poet, and I could tell you all the statistics about relationships in the world, but when it comes to you...”

His cheeks were crimson now, as he ran his fingers through his hair. You had a feeling yours looked the same.

"I guess, what I'm trying to say, is that I think you're beautiful and smart, and I have no idea what you see in me, but I'd really—"

Suddenly, both your phones buzzed violently against his coffee table, jolting you out of the moment. You leaned over in a trained motion, only to see exactly what you expected:

Garcia: No rest for the wicked, crime fighters. Conference room in 30.

Penny: No rest for the wicked, crime fighters. Conference room in 30.

You let out a sigh you didn't realise you were holding, and Spencer looked over at you, doe-eyed and nervous.

“The case?" He asked quietly.

There was a silence filled with words unsaid. "We should go." He said finally. "If we leave now, we can still make it on time."

You only nodded in response, more out of duty than desire, and gulped down the rest of your tea. The thought of what he was about to say burned down your throat.

Driving away from Spencer’s apartment was torturous. The doctor hadn’t said anything to you since he entered the car, only fiddling with his bag as he looked out the window. It was too dark to read his expression, but you wondered if he could still hear the way he called you “beautiful”, or whether the moment had already dissolved into the space between you.

Luckily, you didn’t need to wait long for an answer, as Spencer tugged on your sleeve before you exited the carpark, his face scrunched in worry.

"I really didn't mean for that to be so... weird. Can we talk about this again after the case?" He asked softly, and despite every semblance of logic left in your brain, you couldn’t stop the hope from blooming in your chest and you smiled.

That was when Spencer did something completely uncharacteristic. (You didn't know this at the time, but it was something that you would tease him about for a long time after.)

In one fluid movement, the doctor pulled you into a tight hug that elicited a squeak from you, but it only took a second for the initial shock to wear off before you relaxed completely into his warm touch. He took that as a sign to continue, burying his head into your shoulder and letting out a content sigh.

Unlike waking up to your bodies intertwined, nothing about this was a mistake. Not the way his fingers stroked your back peacefully, nor the way his curly hair tickled your cheek. You felt the stress of the past two weeks melt away in his embrace, and so did any coherent thought, except one: normal friends didn't hug each other like this.

Later when the two of you finally entered the conference room, miraculously still on time, nobody commented on the smiles plastered on your faces but everybody could tell. They were profilers after all.

But for the first time in awhile, you were just too happy to care.

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Tag List:

@blue-space-porgs @nobutalsoyes @lady-loves-a-lot @queen-flower @oops-all-ajs @spottedzebrasinpartyhats @agentcarterisgay @totalmess191 @sapphic-prentiss @mellowalieneggsknight || @averyhotchner @amesandpineapples @willowrose99

Definition of a False Start here

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thesevro · 4 years ago

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midnight call / itadori y.

itadori yuji x reader angst word count: 1.5K words

A/N: we all know the country [s]pain. yes. the one without an s. all jjk stans live there. and if you don’t, yet, then you soon will, you happy-go-lucky hoe.

➞

PARIS IS NOT as beautiful as it should be.

Just this morning you had picked roses from a flower orchard wide as two football fields, and bought lemons bright as the sun from a smiling street vendor. Just this afternoon you had skipped along cobbled streets, with the blooming bud of a flower tucked behind your ear as you clopped along the stone with jumping heels.

The city just feels too much like him.

You sit atop the edge of a stone balcony overlooking entire mountains of green. The forests below you have dimmed in color with the setting sun and are as dark as the thoughts that swirl through your mind.

Your feet swing into the air. You could swing right off the balcony yourself, body and all. It would mean freedom. Whether or not you could save yourself with the power that lies inside you would be your own choice. Something you, on your own, would finally be able to have full control of.

The air is crisp as ice. You wonder how it is you'll be able to live while knowing he no longer breathes at all.

You stand from the ledge. Hop down from the old, time-worn stone to head back into the small loft the school rented out for you as a transient place of sojourn for this mission.

It smells of books and worn wood as you step inside. The thick scent of yellowed, moth-torn pages spills from a bookshelf standing by an old sofa that lies spread out in the space between your tiny kitchen and living room.

You plop down onto the sofa without bothering to turn the lights on. You try to remember his smile as your eyes close. The only one you can think of is the last one he gave you as he died. The last one you ever had the chance to kiss from his lips.

"Stupid, stupid Sukuna," you whisper, hiding your wet eyes from no one with an arm over your face. "That stupid motherfucker. Hope he was blown to fucking hell."

You sigh out a quiet sob. It feels as if someone shoved shards of glass into your throat and forced you to swallow. His name lives in your mind, along with the rest of him.

A loud buzz vibrates from your kitchen counter. You wipe your tears with numb fingers and stand to grab your phone. Your eyes ache from the darkness as you stare at the bright screen, trying to make out the letters glowing there.

You read the caller ID again. Your eyes widen. The phone rings with more urgency. Your knees nearly buckle beneath you from the shock.

"Who...?" you whisper.

You fall back into the counter as shock spreads through each of your nerves. Your chest throbs. Your heart aches and pounds. Through the darkness you see your hands shake with their hold on the phone.

You swallow. Get a grip of yourself once more, and firmly settle on the notion that it must be some random prankster trying to get ahold of one of Yuji's family members. It can't be him. It could never be him. You had to see him die. Had to watch him bleed out while you held him in your arms and cleaned the dirt from his face. Had to struggle against Megumi as he tried to pull you away from Yuji's lifeless body. Had to dream of the hole in his chest and the way he would never hold you again for days and weeks on end.

With a deep breath that rattles your bones, you press answer, then raise the phone to your ear.

"...Hello—?"

"(Y/N)," gasps a voice from the phone. "Baby. God, I missed your voice."

You drop the phone. It falls and lands on the floor with a sharp crack, but does not break. Yuji's voice erupts with panic.

"(Y/N)?! Are you okay? I'm sorry! Did I startle you? I'm so sorry, are you—"

"Yuji?" you cry out with both hands clutching the phone as you press it to your ear. You sit with both knees on the floor. The shock has left you nerveless. "Yuji, is that you?"

"(Y/N)," he says. "I'm so sorry. Did I startle you? I just wanted to—"

"Turn your fucking camera on," you order in a shaky voice, but you snap your words with such venom they sound sharp to even your ears. "Turn it on. If you're a fucking prank caller, I'll—I'll fucking kill you."

"No! No, (Y/N), it's me, see?" Yuji tries so hard to calm you. Your phone brightens further. A hesitant smile fills the screen. It is the smile of the boy you love. You face scrunches up, and you sob.

"Yuji!" You rest your forehead on the screen as your body wracks with heaving sobs. "Yuji, you stupid... stupid asshole..."

Yuji's insides clench at the sounds of pain that ring in his ears. His eyes go misty and he almost kisses his phone. If only he could hold you. If only you already knew the truth. If you did then this would have been so much easier.

"Baby," he says. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

His chest aches. The wraith of your touch slips along his fingers. His hands tremble. He doesn't want to close his eyes, but since he left you every time his eyes fall shut he feels your touch, hears you laugh, sees your smile. He can see you now but he feels none of the touches you used to give him.

"What the hell happened?" you ask from your end of the line in a sorrowful voice. "How the hell are you alive?"

"I think I'm not supposed to" —Apprehension nearly silences him but he pushes on— "Well, something... I just remember waking up, and I was on this metal inspection table, and Ieri-san was about to cut me up, or something, and then Gojo-sensei was there, and so was Ijichi, and—so many things happened. But... I don't know how I'm alive. I think... Sukuna brought us back."

"That bastard," you mutter to yourself. "That fucking bastard, he—"

"Baby," Yuji begs. "Please, please don't be mad. I don't want you to be mad."

"But he—he—fuck. Okay. Okay, Yuji." You open your eyes to look at him and almost hack out another fit of sobs. "Okay."

"Yeah?" His face hovers only two inches away from the screen. He can barely see you. "Are you okay, baby?"

He brings his head closer to the screen. The bare, weak light of your phone does nothing to reduce the shadows hanging over your features. Exhaustion lines your eyes, turns your mouth downward. He wants to cradle you in his arms and put you to sleep like he would all those nights ago. So he cradles you with his words as he provides you with the best explanation he can offer, regardless of how everyone else told him to keep his mouth shut.

"You okay, (Y/N)?" he asks again when he's finished. He appraises you with worry.

"No," you reply to him, sniffing quietly. You wipe your nose on your sleeve. "Of course not. I had to watch you die. I believed you were dead and had to beat myself into accepting the fact that you would never come back. I had to listen while Gojo-sensei told me they wouldn't be able to bury your body properly because they had to examine you like you were only some part of a stupid science experiment and not the sorcerer who was able to save the lives of millions. That that was all you were, and that you were never the first boy I have ever loved." Your face pinches as you hold back another flood of tears. "And I miss you, Yuji. I miss you so much."

With this, he breaks.

"I miss you, too," he says with his head on the phone. "And I'm so sorry. Even I don't understand what the hell happened." He raises his eyes as he says this. Wants you to know everything he says is the absolute, hard and solid truth. "So many fucked-up things happened. But that doesn't matter shit to me. I just want to see you. Just want to hug you and kiss you, and smell your hair."

"Ew." Your laugh is feeble, but it's there. It's genuine. "Okay, you sappy weirdo."

"But I do. I really do." He kisses the phone. You see and hear it and your laugh becomes a little louder. Yuji smiles so big it hurts. "I want to see you so bad."

"Then make sure you don't go dying on us next time, dumbass," you say, without the slightest hint of spite. It is his turn to laugh. It's a beautiful sound. In an unconscious movement you hold the phone closer to your ear to savor what his happiness sounds like. It is something you haven't heard in a long, long time.

"Of course, (Y/N)." Yuji looks out his window. Smiles at the same sky you live under. "I'll never hurt you like this again, because I love you. So much."

"A lot?"

"Too much." He grates out a laugh. "Always."

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