#I like how this turned out so I wanted to post for once

[autumnslance]

1. "There's no algorithm" well there is sortakinda, but it's all one YOU create, based on the Feeds you follow. You just want to see people you follow and mutuals? It's your basic dash, but also feeds made especially for just their posts, no reskeets. Also feeds for random other interests.

2. Anti-dunk culture. Ignore and block/mute. Nuclear block is the best in social media right now. It even removes their comments from your thread entirely. Also: don't like how someone tried to quote dunk you? You can detach your skeet from their quote. You can set that as a default or do it as needed.

3. The filters differentiate between plain non-sexual nudity (thanks US hangups), sexual content, and gory/violent content. And none of it suppresses your skeet's discoverability or place on the dash/feeds! Because you labeled it correctly, and people can set their own moderation settings like adults.

4. Neither do links or using certain words considered naughty or whatever on other sites suppress your skeets. Say something is dead, post a link, and talk about your commissions.

5. Blocklists are handy but also user-run so mistakes can happen, and also be aware of bad actors. But the trusted long-running, or highly specific ones, are pretty good at 2 click (Subscribe, then block or mute everyone at once) blocks of a lot of the general trash.

6. Background parent company has "Blockchain" in the name, but there are No NFTs or genAI used by the site. This is another thing that sent Dorsey crying. There are currently, so far as I know, no protections in the API of the site either at this time, so protect your own works accordingly.

7. To validate a handle, one can use a web domain and turn that into your bsky. Diane Duane, for instance, is diane.dianeduane.com so you know it's really her.

So far Bsky feels very much like very very early Twitter, and there's a lot of attempts with the federated setup to keep it that way, both from the staff and the userbase. Engagement and follower farming isn't as needed, and every creative I've seen has talked about more natural engagement with their posts and getting business they wouldn't have otherwise even with fewer followers.

Changing platforms can be annoying; heavens know us internet olds have done it often enough over time. Be patient, interact positively, reskeet yourself and others, and you'll get an audience of real people willing (and able!) to interact in time, over all the bots and spam drowning out everyone at the other site.

should you delete twitter and get bluesky? (or just get a bluesky in general)? here's what i've found:

yes. my answer was no before bc the former CEO of twitter who also sucked, jack dorsey, was on the board, but he left as of may 2024, and things have gotten a lot better. also a lot of japanese and korean artists have joined

don't delete your twitter. lock your account, use a service to delete all your tweets, delete the app off of your phone, and keep your account/handle so you can't be impersonated.

get a bluesky with the same handle, even if you won't use it, also so you won't be impersonated.

get the sky follower bridge extension for chrome or firefox. you can find everyone you follow on twitter AND everyone you blocked so you don't have to start fresh: https://skyfollowerbridge.com/

learn how to use its moderation tools (labelers, block lists, NSFW settings) so you can immediately cut out the grifters, fascists, t*rfs, AI freaks, have the NSFW content you want to see if you so choose, and moderate for triggers. here's a helpful thread with a lot of tools.

the bluesky phone app is pretty good, but there is also tweetdeck for bluesky, called https://deck.blue/ on desktop, if you miss tweetdeck.

bluesky has explicitly stated they do not use your data to train generative AI, which is nice to hear from an up and coming startup. obviously we can’t trust these companies and please use nightshade and glaze, but it’s good to hear.

[harryssyndrome]

Hoax | h.s

summery: “don’t want no other shade blue but you. No other sadness in the world would do…”

based off this request. Thank you so much anon for this idea, this was so fun writing and I hope it’s something you were looking for. I tried to be as angsty as possible with a blend of cutesy sweet, hope it’s a perfect mix. Let me know in the comments? [thank you! mwah mwah mwah 💋]

Posted on: November 26th, 2024. I DO NOT GIVE PERMISSION TO COPY OR TRANSLATE MY WORK IN ANY PLATFORM. Like, comment & reblog are appreciated 💓Italics are past memories. Hope you lovelies enjoy this little big piece.

wc: 6.6k (oops🤭) || Masterlist 🤍

Tag-List: @fruity-harry @angeldavis777 @wheredidmyeyesgo @cherryloveshs | TAGLIST IS OPEN! || REQUESTS ARE OPEN!! 💌

The morning had started just like any other, the sun streaming in through the kitchen window, casting a warm glow over everything, but YN barely noticed. She sat at the counter, her hands curled around a coffee mug, its warmth barely a match for the cold ache building inside her. The apartment felt empty, despite the soft hum of the city just outside the window. She could feel the weight of the silence pressing down on her, a silence that had grown more oppressive over the past few weeks.

Harry had been on tour for what seemed like forever now, and their communication had dwindled. What had once been late-night calls and stolen moments between sound checks had turned into rushed, distracted conversations, where he was either too busy or too tired to give her his full attention. YN had always known the demands of his career, had always been willing to share him with the world, but it was starting to feel like he was slipping further away from her.

She had tried to be understanding, tried to remind herself that this was just a phase—that he was only gone for a while, and they would find their way back to each other. But today felt different. Something in the air was charged with tension, a sense of dread that hung around her like a cloud. Harry had promised to call her during his break between rehearsals, and as the minutes ticked by, that sense of unease only grew. She hadn’t heard from him, not even a text to explain why.

When the phone finally rang, she grabbed it with an anxious breath, hoping for the reassurance she so desperately needed.

“Hey, babe,” Harry’s voice crackled through the phone, distant and strained. There was a tiredness in his voice that made her heart ache even more.

“Hi,” she replied softly, trying to keep her tone light, but the worry slipped out anyway. “I was starting to wonder if you forgot about me.”

Harry didn’t immediately answer, and YN could feel him shifting on the other end, perhaps looking for the right words, or maybe just gathering the energy to engage with her. “I didn’t forget,” he said after a beat, his voice uncharacteristically flat. “It’s just… things are hectic right now. You know how it is.”

YN frowned, her fingers tightening around her mug. She knew how it was. She knew that Harry’s tour schedule was demanding, that he barely had time to breathe, let alone talk to her. But it was different now. It had been different for weeks, and she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong.

“I get it, Harry,” she said softly, trying to keep the frustration from her voice. “But it feels like we haven’t really talked in days. I feel like I’m losing you.”

The words hung in the air between them, thick with unspoken emotions. She didn’t want to say it. She didn’t want to accuse him of pulling away, but she couldn’t ignore what was happening anymore. She missed him. She missed the way they used to connect, how they’d stay up all night talking about their dreams and fears, how they’d laugh until their stomachs ached. Now, it felt like all they did was talk about logistics and time zones. She wanted more than that.

Harry let out a heavy sigh, and for a moment, she thought he was going to apologize, that he would offer the comfort she so desperately needed. But instead, his voice grew colder, his words sharper. “You miss me? Maybe you miss the version of me that you had before all of this. But I’m not the same person anymore, YNN. I’m just tired. Tired of feeling like I’m constantly being pulled in a million directions.”

Her heart sank at his words, the finality in them hitting her harder than she had expected. “What does that mean?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Harry’s words came out in a rush, almost like he couldn’t stop them, as if they were coming from a place deeper than he intended. “It means that I don’t have the energy for this right now. I don’t have the energy to keep pretending that everything is fine when it’s not. And maybe I’m just tired of pretending that you’re not asking for more than I can give. Maybe I need space. Maybe we both need space.”

The words stabbed her. She felt them deep in her chest, each one like a dagger, twisting further with every breath. “Space?” she echoed, barely able to form the word, the hurt creeping into her voice despite her best efforts to hold it back. “I’m not asking for space, Harry. I’m just asking for you. For the person you promised me you’d always be.”

Harry didn’t respond right away, and when he did, his voice was tight, defensive. “Maybe that person isn’t here anymore, YNN. Maybe that’s what I’m trying to say.”

The silence that followed was suffocating. YN could hear the faint rustling of something on his end of the phone, the noise of people moving in the background, but it didn’t matter. The emptiness between them felt so loud, so unbearable. The connection that once held them together was fraying, thread by thread.

She swallowed hard, the tears welling in her eyes. “Fine,” she said, her voice breaking as she spoke. “If that’s how you feel, then I guess I’ll leave.”

The words came out before she could stop them, and she immediately regretted them. But the damage was done. The silence that followed was deafening, and the weight of Harry’s absence felt so heavy, so crushing, that she could barely breathe. The person she loved, the person she had given everything to, had just told her he was done. He was tired of her.

Before she could say another word, she ended the call. The click of the phone disconnecting felt like the final nail in the coffin, sealing whatever it was that they had left.

YN sat there for a long moment, staring at the phone in her hand as if it were some foreign object. She couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. Her mind was numb, her thoughts tangled in confusion and hurt. The apartment, their shared space, felt so small now. It felt suffocating. Every corner of the place was a reminder of everything that had once been good, everything that was now falling apart.

Tears blurred her vision as she stood up from the counter. She didn’t know what to do. She didn’t know where to go. But she couldn’t stay there. Not with him, not with the words he had just said. The love they had built felt like ashes, and she couldn’t breathe in the smoke any longer.

She started packing her things, her movements automatic, like she was on autopilot. Her hands shook as she threw clothes into a bag, not caring if they matched or if they were folded neatly. Nothing mattered in that moment except the urgent need to get away from the place that had once been home. She ignored the phone buzzing with messages, messages from Harry, apologizing, pleading with her to call him back. She couldn’t. Not yet. Not after the things he had said.

When she finished packing, she grabbed her bags and walked out the door. The apartment felt even emptier as she closed the door behind her. There were no more goodbyes, no more promises. Just the echo of his hurtful words ringing in her ears.

YN drove to her parents’ house in a daze, her eyes stinging with unshed tears. She couldn’t stop thinking about everything that had happened, about how quickly their love had unraveled. She needed space to think. To breathe. To figure out how to move on from this. But deep down, she knew it wasn’t that simple.

It wasn’t just a fight. It was something deeper. Something that couldn’t be fixed with apologies.

When she pulled into the driveway, she didn’t feel the relief she thought she would. Instead, the silence that had followed her from their apartment seemed to follow her here. Even the familiar sight of her childhood home didn’t offer the comfort it once had. It all felt distant. Empty. Just like her heart.

She stepped out of the car, closing the door behind her with a soft click. As she walked up to the front door, her phone buzzed again. She ignored it. She couldn’t bear to look at it. She couldn’t bear to see his name flashing on the screen. The man she loved had just shattered her heart into a million pieces, and she didn’t know how to pick them up.

The night had been a blur for Harry. The anger, the disappointment, the gnawing guilt in his chest from the argument with YN—it was all too much to bear. In the solitude of his hotel room, far from her, he drowned out the pain with alcohol. He knew he had messed up, knew he had hurt her with his words, but the overwhelming pressure of being on tour, the constant demand of being a public figure, and the exhaustion had driven him to the brink. He had never intended for it to escalate the way it did, but in his drunken haze, it all came crashing down.

Somewhere between the blurry shots and the endless stream of drinks, he found himself in a bar, surrounded by strangers, feeling more alone than he had in a long time. His phone was buzzing on the table, the screen lighting up with YN’s name flashing, but he didn’t pick it up. The coldness in his heart had become too unbearable, and he pushed her away instead of confronting the hurt he had caused. He just wanted the world to stop spinning for a moment. He wanted to forget everything that had gone wrong.

And that was when Emily Ratajkowski had walked in.

They had known each other for years, casually friendly in the way celebrities often are when their circles overlap. Emily, ever the charmer, had greeted Harry with a friendly smile. They sat and talked, their conversation casual at first, just the usual small talk about work and life. But Harry, caught in his haze of regret, had let his guard down. The more they talked, the more the words flowed. In some strange way, it felt easy to talk to her—like she was a stranger he could confide in, someone who didn’t carry the same weight of their past, the years of intimacy and history he shared with YN.

It didn’t take long before the alcohol took its toll. Emily’s laughter had filled the air, and Harry had found himself leaning closer, her presence soothing in a way that made him forget the ache in his chest. Before he knew it, they were kissing. His mind screamed for him to stop, to think about YN, to remember everything he stood to lose. But in that moment, he didn’t. The guilt had been smothered by the fleeting comfort of the kiss, the escape from his spiraling thoughts.

He didn’t remember much after that. The night blurred into incoherence, a jumble of laughter, flashes, and fleeting touches. Harry woke up the next morning, disoriented and groggy, the light filtering through the hotel room window far too bright. His phone was buzzing incessantly, and his stomach churned when he saw the series of missed calls and messages from YN. The weight of it all hit him like a wave, and for a moment, he just sat there, trying to piece together the fragments of his memories.

Then, his phone lit up with an alert—a notification from a gossip website, and his heart dropped into his stomach. There, in front of him, were pictures of him and Emily Ratajkowski, the kind of photos Harry had spent years avoiding. They were kissing, their lips pressed together, captured in a moment of reckless abandon that Harry didn’t even fully remember. The headline was cruel: Harry Styles and Emily Ratajkowski—A New Romance in the Making?

His throat tightened as he scrolled through the photos, his mind racing. He didn’t remember kissing her. He didn’t remember anything about that night except the overwhelming sense of regret that now gripped him. He had ruined everything. The fragile thread holding him together seemed to snap in that moment. He had lost YN, and now the media would make sure the world knew it. His personal life was on full display, and all he could think about was how much he had fucked it all up.

Desperation began to rise in his chest, and without thinking, he began sending text after text to YN, each one filled with apologies, regret, and pleas for her to talk to him. But she didn’t answer. The silence on the other end was deafening.

Meanwhile, YN was in her parents’ house, sitting in the living room with the muted glow of the television casting long shadows across the room. The house, once a place of comfort and warmth, now felt suffocating. Her mother had been quiet ever since YN arrived, sensing the heavy tension in the air. She tried to comfort her daughter, offering tea, but YN couldn’t bring herself to care. The weight of the argument, of the harsh words Harry had said, sat heavily in her chest, gnawing at her.

But when the photos surfaced—when she saw Harry with Emily, their lips locked, the headlines flashing across her phone—her world shattered all over again. The room spun around her, and she felt like she was suffocating. The love she had poured into her relationship with Harry now felt like a cruel joke. She had trusted him. She had believed in him. And now this—this betrayal was too much to bear.

Tears blurred her vision, and she quickly turned away from her phone. Her mother noticed the change in her expression and asked softly, “YN, what’s wrong, sweetheart?”

“I can’t do this,” YN whispered, choking on her tears. “I can’t keep doing this. I thought he loved me… but now… now I don’t know who he is anymore. It didn’t even take him a night to move on?”

Her mother hugged her tightly, murmuring comforting words, but YN couldn’t hear them. The pain of what she had seen—the public humiliation of it all—felt like a physical weight on her chest. She needed to get away. She needed to clear her head.

“I’m going for a walk,” she said, her voice distant, as if she were speaking to herself rather than her mother.

Her mother nodded, understanding the need for space, and watched as YN stepped outside, the cool evening air wrapping around her like a blanket.

The lake stretched out before her, calm and unbothered by the storm raging inside her. Its surface shimmered faintly under the overcast sky, the golden light of the fading afternoon barely breaking through the thick clouds. The familiar sight of it— the way the trees reflected on the water, the distant sound of birds, the rhythmic lapping of waves against the shore-should have brought YN the comfort she was seeking. But all it did was make her chest tighten with a suffocating ache.

She had always come to this place for solace, even as a child. The lake by her parents' house was her sanctuary, a space where the noise of the world couldn't touch her. But now, as she stood there, arms wrapped tightly around herself against the crisp autumn air, the silence was deafening. It wasn't peace she found here today. It was the echo of memories she had desperately tried to bury since she walked out of the home she had once shared with Harry.

Her boots crunched softly against the earth as she made her way closer to the water's edge, the damp grass soaking the hem of her dress. The wind whispered through the trees, carrying with it the faintest scent of pine and earth. But YN didn't notice. Her mind was far away, replaying a reel of memories she wished she could turn off. No matter how much she tried to focus on the present, her past with Harry came rushing back to her, vivid and bittersweet.

She crouched down near the shore, her fingertips brushing against the cool surface of the water. As ripples spread outward, her thoughts drifted to another time, another version of herself-a happier one. She closed her eyes, and it all came rushing back as if she were still there.

It had been a summer evening, the sun setting in brilliant hues of orange and pink.

Harry had been sitting on the dock, legs stretched out, his feet just barely skimming the water. YN had been lying beside him, her head resting on his thigh as they shared a bottle of wine they had stolen from her parents' pantry. The lake had been their escape that summer, a place where the chaos of Harry's career and the pressures of the world seemed to melt away.

"This place is magic," Harry had murmured, running his fingers absentmindedly through her hair. His voice had been low, almost reverent, as he looked out at the water.

YN had tilted her head to glance up at him, a smile tugging at her lips. "You always say that," she teased. "But you're not wrong."

He grinned, his dimple deepening as he looked down at her. "It's true, though. Don't you feel it? It's like... time stops here. Like nothing bad can touch us."

She had laughed softly, the sound blending with the gentle rustle of the trees.

"That's what l've always loved about this place. It's quiet. Peaceful. Away from everything."

Harry had hummed in agreement, his gaze softening as he studied her. "One day, YNN... one day l'd love to settle down somewhere like this. Away from the noise. Just us."

Her breath had caught at his words, her heart skipping a beat. "Just us?" she'd asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Well," he'd added, his lips twitching into a playful smile, "maybe not just us. I'm thinking a couple of little ones running around, maybe a dog... or two."

YN's heart skipped at his words, her stomach flipping in that way it always did when he hinted at their future. She laughed, nudging him playfully. "Little ones, huh? You planning on starting a family with me already, Styles?"

Harry grinned, his dimple showing as he leaned closer, the teasing glint in his eyes softening into something deeper. "Why not? I mean it, YNN. I'd love that. A house by the lake. Waking up every morning with you by my side. Teaching our kids how to fish or swim or whatever it is people do out here. It sounds perfect."

Her breath caught as she looked at him, the sincerity in his words tugging at something deep within her. "It does," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "It sounds perfect."

He reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, his fingers lingering against her cheek. "You're perfect," he murmured, and before she could respond, he leaned in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to her lips.

The world had faded away then, leaving only the two of them, wrapped in a bubble of love and possibility.

“I wouldn’t want anything less than forever when it comes to you.”

His words had settled into her heart like a warm glow, and she had leaned in to kiss him, the taste of wine still lingering on his lips. In that moment, with the sun setting and the world quiet around them, she had believed him. She had believed in forever.

YN blinked, the memory dissolving as the present came crashing back. The lake was still, the air cold, and Harry wasn't there. Her chest ached as she stared at the dock, the image of them sitting there overlaying the reality of its emptiness. She could almost hear his laughter, feel his hand in hers, but it was all in her mind.

The betrayal burned anew, the image of him with Emily flashing behind her eyes.

How could he have said those things, painted that picture of their future, and then so carelessly let it all fall apart? How could he kiss someone else after everything they had shared?

How had they gone from that to this? How had the man who once promised her forever ended up kissing someone else? The image of Harry and Emily flashed in her mind again, sharper this time, and her stomach twisted. She wrapped her arms tighter around herself, trying to hold together the pieces of her heart that felt like they were falling apart.

The lake, once her sanctuary, now felt like a cruel reminder of everything she had lost. The life she had envisioned with Harry-the house by the lake, the little ones running around, the forever they had dreamed of-felt like a distant, unattainable dream. And yet, no matter how much she wanted to hate him, to shut him out completely, her heart wouldn't let her. She still loved him, even now, even after everything.

YN sank down onto the grass, her knees pulled to her chest, tears streaming freely now. She thought of the countless nights they had spent talking about their dreams, their plans. The way Harry had once made her feel so safe, so sure of their love. And now, it all felt like a cruel joke, a dream turned nightmare.

"Why, Harry?" she whispered into the stillness. "Why did you have to ruin everything?"

The question hung in the air, unanswered, as the sun dipped lower on the horizon.

She let herself cry then, the sobs wracking her body as she finally allowed herself to feel the full weight of her heartbreak. The lake bore silent witness to her pain, its surface rippling gently as if trying to offer her some semblance of comfort.

The lake, once her sanctuary, now felt like a graveyard for their love.

When she returned to the house, her heart felt heavy, each step laden with the weight of everything she was feeling. But it wasn't the emptiness of the house that grabbed her attention; it was the faint sound-the small, deliberate taps against the window. At first, she thought it was the rain playing tricks on her, the gentle taps against the glass. But when she heard it again-sharp and insistent-her breath caught in her throat.

Her mind didn't even have time to process it fully. She spun toward the window, her heart pounding in her chest. And there he was.

Harry.

He stood in the pouring rain, his face pale, his hair clinging to his skin. His clothes were soaked through, and his hands trembled slightly as he threw small pebbles at the window, as if trying to wake her from a nightmare she couldn't escape. She stood frozen for a moment, unsure of what to do. Was this real? Was this the same man who had hurt her so badly?

But then, she saw it in his eyes-the desperation. The raw vulnerability. The silent plea for forgiveness that spoke louder than words ever could. He was standing there, drenched, with nothing left to lose. He was a broken man, and in that moment, she could see that he knew he had ruined everything.

Before she could stop herself, she ran to the down to the front door, threw it open, and without thinking, rushed outside into the rain.

The rain fell in torrents, its relentless downpour drowning out all sound except for the beat of water against the ground. Harry stood before YN, drenched, his eyes wide with desperate urgency, a look of raw pain etched into every line of his face. His clothes clung to his body, soaked through, but it was nothing compared to the turmoil inside of him.

“YN…” His voice broke, as if the weight of her name was too much to bear. His hand reached out shakily, desperate to bridge the gap between them, but she pulled away slightly. He flinched, not from her rejection, but from the weight of his own guilt that seemed to pull him lower with every passing second.

“I—” He took a breath, trying to steady himself, but his words tumbled out in a frantic rush. “I never meant for it to be this way. I never meant to hurt you, YNN. I swear, I never thought—God, I was so drunk, so damn stupid. I don’t even remember what happened, but I know I messed up. I know I messed everything up.”

YN’s heart clenched painfully in her chest. She wanted to scream at him, to tell him how much he had hurt her, how much his words still stung like a constant ache in her soul. But instead, she stood there, her breath coming in ragged bursts, staring at him as he trembled in the rain. She wasn’t sure whether it was the cold of the storm or the pain inside him that made him shudder, but it was impossible to ignore the depth of his regret.

“You do remember, Harry,” she finally spoke, her voice shaking but strong. “You remember everything, even if you don’t remember that moment. You remember the things you said to me. You remember how you treated me. How you—” She stopped herself, not wanting to continue with the painful words. But the memory of his cutting tone, his dismissive words, echoed in her mind, taunting her, making her question everything they had ever shared. “I trusted you. I loved you. And you—you broke me.”

Harry’s eyes welled with unshed tears as he took a step toward her, this time not caring if she pulled away. He was beyond caring about the rain, beyond caring about anything except for the woman standing before him, the one person who had always been his everything.

“I know,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion, and she could see the raw vulnerability in his eyes. “I know I broke you. And that’s the worst part of it. I never wanted to hurt you. Not in a million years. I’ve never loved anyone the way I love you, YNN. You’re it for me, you always have been.” He reached for her again, but this time she didn’t pull away. His fingers brushed against hers, a tentative touch, as if he were afraid she might vanish the moment he let go.

“But I let my stupid insecurities, my stupid mistakes, cloud everything,” he continued, his voice cracking. “I’ve never been more scared of losing someone than I am of losing you, and I couldn’t see that until now. I couldn’t see that you are the one I need. That it’s not the fame, it’s not the tour, it’s not anyone or anything else—it’s you, YN. You’re the only thing that matters.”

The words hung in the air like fragile threads, each one trembling with a rawness that made Ashley’s heart ache in ways she didn’t think possible. The anger, the hurt—it was still there, simmering beneath the surface, but now there was something else too: hope. Hope that maybe, just maybe, this wasn’t all lost.

She swallowed hard, her throat dry. She wanted to push him away, wanted to shout at him for what he had done, but when she looked at him—really looked at him—there was something so devastatingly human about him, standing there, shaking in the rain. He was broken, but there was sincerity in his apology, a plea that reached her heart in ways his words never had before.

“You don’t even understand what you’ve done to me, Harry,” she said, her voice quivering as she took a step back. “You think it’s just about what happened with her, with Emily? It’s not. It’s about everything that led up to that moment. It’s about the words you said to me, the way you dismissed everything we had, everything I gave you. It’s about how you made me feel like I wasn’t enough.”

Harry closed his eyes, a silent tear slipping down his cheek. “I didn’t mean to make you feel that way, YNN. I never wanted you to feel like you weren’t enough. You’re everything to me. I’ve been an idiot, and I know I’ve hurt you, but please… don’t let this be the end for us. I can’t lose you. I just can’t… live without you. I can’t.”

The storm raged around them, but the silence between them felt deafening, thick with the weight of everything unsaid, everything unresolved. YN could feel the anger still bubbling inside her, but she also felt the pull of something deeper—the love she had for him, the love that she had thought was gone, but now seemed to flicker in her chest like a fragile flame.

She wanted to stay angry, to hold onto the hurt, but something inside her was giving way.

“Harry, I…” Her voice faltered, the words catching in her throat as her chest tightened painfully. “I don’t know if I can forgive you right now. I need time. I need space to figure this out.” She shook her head, unable to meet his eyes as the tears finally spilled over, mingling with the rain. “I don’t know if I can go back to who we were. You hurt me too much.”

He stepped forward again, his hand reaching for her, trembling with the force of his desperation. “Please, YN. I’ll do anything. I’ll give you all the space you need. I’ll be patient, I swear. I’ll wait as long as it takes. But don’t walk away from me. Please.”

She didn’t respond immediately. The storm had drowned out every thought, every hesitation in her mind, but there was still one thing she knew for certain: she couldn’t let him go. Not yet. She wasn’t ready. Not when her heart was still so tangled up in him, so unable to let go of the person he had once been to her.

“I need time,” she repeated softly, her voice barely audible against the pounding rain. “I need to think, Harry. Please, just… just go inside. I can’t—” She couldn’t finish the sentence, not without breaking apart completely.

Harry nodded, his face a picture of heartbreaking understanding. His heart was in pieces, but he was willing to wait, willing to do whatever it took to prove that he could make things right. Without another word, he turned toward the house, slowly, unwilling to leave her in the storm but knowing that he had to respect her need for space.

YN watched him go, her heart heavy in her chest, torn between love and hurt, between forgiveness and anger. The rain continued to pour, and as she stood there, feeling the cold seep into her bones, she wondered if they would ever find their way back to each other—or if this was the beginning of the end.

The night had felt like an eternity. Each minute stretched on, filled with haunting thoughts and the pounding rhythm of YNs heart. Her mind was tangled in knots, the anger still burning bright, but beneath it all, there was an undercurrent of something she couldn’t deny: the love she still had for Harry. It was the kind of love that had once felt so pure, so easy, but now felt fractured, jagged, like trying to hold onto a shattered glass piece that was bleeding into her heart.

She hadn’t been able to sleep. The past few days, the pain, the betrayal, the anger—it all swirled together in a mess that made her restless. Harry’s words from the night before—the desperate, raw apology—replayed over and over again in her mind, like a broken record. And yet, each time she thought of it, the hurt crept back in. She had tried to push it away, tried to convince herself that she could ignore it, but the reality was that she couldn’t. Not when the memories of their love, of their happy moments, still clung to her like the scent of his cologne.

But it wasn’t just the hurt she was feeling. There was something else, something deeper, something that felt too real to ignore. She couldn’t escape the way her heart still responded to Harry, no matter how hard she tried.

As the morning light began to filter through the windows, YN could no longer stay in the silence of her room. She had to see him. She had to confront everything that had happened and, maybe—just maybe—find a way to heal. But even as the desire to see him grew stronger, there was still that gnawing uncertainty. Could she really trust him again? Could she really forgive him for what had happened?

The house was quiet as she made her way down the stairs, the soft creak of the wooden steps echoing in the otherwise still air. The soft hum of the morning felt foreign against the heaviness that weighed on her shoulders, but she ignored it, pushing forward. When she stepped outside, the cold hit her like a rush, but it was nothing compared to the chill in her heart.

The lake was quiet, still as glass, the air thick with the faint scent of damp earth and fresh water. And there, sitting on the grass at the edge of the lake, was Harry. His posture was slumped, his shoulders drooped, as though the weight of the world was resting on him. The sight of him in this state, so broken and vulnerable, pulled at her heart in ways she couldn’t explain.

He looked so small, so lost.

For a moment, YN stood there, watching him. She wasn’t sure what to do, what to say. But as she watched him, she realized that she couldn’t stay away. Not anymore. She had to speak. She had to let him know how much he had hurt her, but also how much she still cared, despite everything.

Her footsteps were quiet on the soft earth as she made her way toward him. Harry didn’t look up immediately, but she could see the slight twitch of his head as if he felt her presence. His face was blank, his eyes staring out at the water, but there was something in the way he held himself that spoke volumes.

YN stopped just a few feet away, standing still as the silence stretched between them. For what felt like an eternity, neither of them spoke. The tension was thick, palpable, like a heavy fog.

Finally, she couldn’t stand it anymore. The silence, the uncertainty. She had to break it.

“I don’t even know where to start, Harry,” she said, her voice trembling just slightly as she crossed her arms over her chest, trying to protect herself from the rawness of the moment. “You hurt me. You really hurt me. And I don’t know if I can ever forget what you said to me. What you did to us.”

Harry flinched, as if each word she spoke cut through him. He finally lifted his head, his red-rimmed eyes meeting hers. There was guilt in those eyes, raw and undeniable. His voice came out barely above a whisper.

“I’m sorry, YNN. I’m so sorry. I can’t even begin to explain how much I regret everything. I was angry, and I was drunk, and I didn’t—” He cut himself off, his hands shaking as he clenched them into fists at his sides. “I never meant to hurt you. Not like that. You’re everything to me, YNN. You always have been.”

YN took a deep breath, her chest tight with the conflicting emotions. She wanted to stay angry, to protect herself from the pain he’d caused, but she couldn’t deny that his words, his remorse, were hitting something deep inside her. It wasn’t enough to erase the hurt, but it was a start. She looked at him, really looked at him, and saw how broken he was. He was a man who had made a mistake, but he was also a man who still cared for her.

“I don’t want to feel like this anymore,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “I don’t want to live in the hurt and the anger. I want to move past this, but I need to know that you’ll never do this again. I need to know that you’re willing to fight for us.”

Harry’s eyes welled up, the emotion overwhelming him. He reached out then, taking her hand gently, almost like he was afraid she might pull away. “I swear to you, YNN. I’ll fight for us. I’ll fight for you. I’ll do whatever it takes to make this right. I’ll spend every single day proving to you that you’re worth more than anything, more than the stupid mistakes I’ve made. You mean everything to me.”

YN’s breath caught in her throat. It was impossible to ignore the depth of his words, the rawness in his voice. But it wasn’t just the words that got to her; it was the sincerity in his eyes, the vulnerability that he rarely showed anyone, let alone her.

She stepped closer to him, her heart pounding as she tried to make sense of the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside her. She had been so angry, so broken, but looking at him now, she realized that she couldn’t just walk away.

“I want to believe you, Harry,” she whispered, her voice shaking. “I really do. But I need time. I need time to heal, to trust you again.”

Harry’s face softened, relief flooding through him. “I understand. Take all the time you need. I’ll be here, every step of the way. I’ll prove to you that I’m worth it. That we’re worth it.”

And in that moment, everything felt a little bit clearer. The storm inside her had not fully subsided, but the clouds were beginning to part, and the sun was starting to peek through. She stepped closer, closing the distance between them, and in one slow, careful motion, she placed her hand on his chest. The steady beat of his heart under her palm was a reminder of how much he still cared.

“I’m willing to try,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’m willing to try if you promise me that you’ll never let me go again.”

Harry’s eyes shone with tears, and he pulled her into his arms, his hands cupping her face gently as he kissed her forehead, his lips brushing softly over her skin. “I promise you, YNN. I’ll never let you go. You’re my everything. I love you.”

YN closed her eyes, letting his words wash over her. She hadn’t been sure if she could forgive him, if she could ever move past the hurt. But standing here in his arms, feeling his heart beat against hers, she realized that love wasn’t always easy. It wasn’t always simple. But it was worth fighting for.

“I love you too,” she whispered back, her voice trembling with emotion.

And as they stood there, wrapped in each other’s arms, the world around them felt a little less heavy, a little less uncertain. The future was still unclear, but for the first time in a long time, they both had hope.

They’ll be alright.

[cheeseceli]

Skz meeting a pretty fan

Pairing: Ot8!skz × Gn!reader (individually)

Genre: fluff, just a tiny little bit of angst, headcanons

Description: their reaction to meeting a pretty fan during a fan meeting

Warnings: kind of love at first sight trope, delusional, some of them are dramatic, they are all idols, not proofread

A/n: the way it's been over a year that this has been in my drafts | daily click

Bang Chan

He was kinda of tired already so he was zoning out

When he sees you he is like "...oh"

He is so invested in your conversation

If you comment about the production behind the music he will be so happy

Genuinely loves when someone acknowledges his work so his eyes will shine and he will smile so hard while explaining everything to you

He is upset when you need to move on to the next member

Sees you laughing with the other members and he's like 🤨

Wonders what they did that managed to make you laugh that much

Lee Know

He would stare at you

You know when his mouth is open and you can see his eyes shining?

Yeah, that's him right now

You say hello and he would give you his nervous laugh before looking at you again with those stary eyes

I swear he is such a softie

Would listen to every single word that you say, you can tell he is paying so much attention

Autographs something for you and makes a funny drawing as well hoping you'd laugh

Side eyes the staff when they say the time is up

Even when you move to the next member and other fan is talking to him, he would still look at your direction sometimes and get so flustered if you catch him looking at you

Changbin

Starts small talk right away

Will 100% compliment you

You ask him an autograph and he wonders how bad would it be if he gave you his number instead

Like he knows he cannot do that

But maybe if he was sneaky enough...

Doesn't do it by the end but he low-key regrets it for the rest of his life

He will wake up one day after five years and be like "damn I should've given them my number"

And he will make that everyone's problem

The boys can't stand it anymore because they've heard enough about you by now 😭

Convinces himself that he will see you again one day

Hyunjin

He sees you before you see him, so he is panicking

Is looking at the line all the time wondering if you will want to talk to him

Asks han if his hair looks good before it's your turn to talk to him

No but fr, he can't take his eyes off you

When you start talking he is like 😯

You look and sound like an angel, he must be in heaven

Even after the fan meeting he can't stop thinking about you

If he's feeling bold enough, he will definitely flirt with you

Low-key forgot he was an idol and was ready to risk it all for you

Han

Might believe in love at first sight after your meeting

Compliment him once and he will get so shy

Like sir, weren't you the one flirting like two seconds ago🤨

Would feel so betrayed if he isn't your bias LMAO

He has like a minute and a half to convince you he's the best stray kids member and he WILL try that

And he hopes that someone will record his flirty antics and post it on tiktok just so he can find your socials

He will make all the boys stalk the internet to try to find you

"but you can't contact them even if you find their account, so what's the point?" idk bro but he wants to see you again somehow

Felix

SUCH A FLIRT

The moment he looks at you he is already trying to win your heart

Kinda forgot he was an idol pt.2

Except he didn't forget

He just doesn't care

He wants to flirt with you and that's precisely what he will do

Will even flirt through his autograph if he can

Uses any kind of excuse to make physical contact with you ✨

And side eyes the staff when they tell him it's time to move on

Like no it's not??

Seungmin

Actually pretty good at hiding his new crush??

The most normal one out here surprisingly lol

He will be able to cover it up as just "good mood" but let's be for real

It's because of you

Anyways

Will smile so much

If you compliment his smile (please do!) he will get shy but so so happy

Also steals glances when you go to the next member

He'll be talking to the next fan but ends up laughing because of something he heard you say to another one of the boys

The fan is like ?? but Seungmin is able to play it off

I.N

So dedicated to give you a good impression

If you tell him your favourite skz song is one of his solos (or that your favourite has that title because of his vocals) this man is in heaven

Forgot he was an idol pt.3 except he didn't forget

He just lowkey very lowkey didn't want to be an idol in that exact moment

Had it been on any normal occasion he would probably try to charm you over

But this was his job

He couldn't possibly get delulu over a fan 😭 although he was already midway to that

Ends up covering a song you said you thought would fit his voice

Sees the comments of the cover wondering each one of those were yours

Masterlist | you'll probably like: unrequited love

Reminder that this is all fiction, this does not represent the members in real life!

Taglist (open!): @yuyubeans @dandelions-143 @sleepyleeji @jinnie-ret @sheraayasherrecs

Dividers by @thecutestgrotto | Images 1, 2 and 3

[thewitchblue]

"I'm curious about something."

Jason asked you one snowy November. You turned away from your computer to face him with a fond smile on your face. You were working on a case for him by researching the deceased and locating their soul to speak to the victim. He approached you and leaned against the desk. You asked,

"What's up, buttercup? What's on your pretty mind?"

You noticed his hand trying to hold yours, but you turn ghostly to prevent him from touching you. You're a grim reaper, one of several scattered throughout different continents, and very dead. Hurt flashes in his eyes, but he asks as casually as possible,

"Is it true about the embrace of death?"

Well, that's a new thought you didn't expect to hear him ask. You blinked in confusion before answering vaguely,

"I'm a Reaper, pretty boy. Consider me one of the Valkyries from Norse mythology; I'm here to guide souls to their specific place. I don't embrace or kiss the souls. Their soul is often already floating around when I get there. That's why some people experience after-death moments with loved ones. Grandma's last kiss, a child holding their mother's hand, parents embracing their newly orphaned children, little things like that."

You weren't sure how to explain your job in a way that makes sense for the living, but you tried. Jason seemed unsatisfied by your answer, so you asked kindly,

"What did you really want to know, my love?"

He frowned at your ghostly hand. Is it really too much to want to touch his partner? He paused and said after a beat of silence,

"I... want to hold your hand and kiss you, but you always pull away. I want to know why."

You gave him a sad look and softly admit,

"I've never touched a living soul since my death. I'm worried what will happen to you if I did touch you."

He grumbled and offered his father as a sacrificial lamb to find out what happens, but you laughed and softly said,

"If you can stomach Bruce being the first man to ever touch me post-mortem, I'll touch him."

You knew that wouldn't be the case. He huffed and pouted, but softly admitted,

"I want to be the first man you ever touch since your death."

You look at him seriously for a moment. You know Jason would drop the topic if you told him no, but part of you wanted to say yes. You weren't sure if you wanted to let this go. You want to hold his hand on a cold winter day and kiss him thousands of times to make up for lost time.

With great hesitation, you touched Jason's arm. He was warm against your timid hand and so muscular. You slowly run your hands along his arms while watching him carefully. You waited to see if he was feeling anything negative. You weren't sure if you felt his life force leaving him or his pulse racing under your hand as you held his wrist in your fingers.

Jason shivered under your light touch. You were freezing cold, but he didn't feel any different than he felt before. You looked in awe that you could touch a living soul without consequences, and he was so smug.

He had a feeling it would be okay to touch you. He thought it was adorable that you wanted to protect him from your ghostly touch, nonetheless. He was only 87% sure he would have been fine. He didn't know if you could turn your power on-and-off like he hoped and now knew was possible.

You hadn't known people could be this warm. You've been dead for so long, you had forgotten. Souls are cold, so you're never warm.

You grin at him and immediate pull him into a kiss. You could kiss him! His soul isn't being pulled out of him! You were ecstatic. Once you started, you found you couldn't stop.

You gave him thousands of kisses as he chuckled. He's never seen you so happy. You held both his hands in your scarred ones.

Your soul shines in happiness, which makes him grin. He loves you and loves the confirmation you loved him, too. Your soul tells him everything you're feeling, and he's never seen you this happy. It's reassuring to see your love for him pulsing throughout your ghostly spirit. It's like you couldn't keep it in.

Your eyes lit up at the new revolution. You were bursting with love and adoration. You tell him as you held his face in your hands,

"These hands are forever yours. You're going to be stuck with me now onwards."

He laughed at the serious tone and kissed your hands with a grin on his face. The lights in your apartment flicker in response to your happiness, but you can't help it. Your powers charge and pulse when you get emotional.

You murmur as you caress his face in your hands,

"I love you."

You run your fingers through his hair while he buries his face in your neck and wraps his arms around you.

"I know, pipsqueak."

He nips your neck playfully, partially surprised you let him. You kiss his forehead and draw him closer with your arms,

"Good. You deserve to know."

[imsobadatnicknames2]

I mean... while I don't think you're wrong about how the goal of mechanics like reaction rolls or morale rolls probably is more "let's introduce more randomness" than "let's treat our enemies as living creatures rather than punching bags for the PCs to kill", but I think saying that the difference in the playstyles encouraged by the mechanical design of old-school D&D vs modern D&D is a matter of simply how structured the game is ends up being extremely dismissive of the ways in which the design of old-school D&D does organically disincentivize combat as the default encounter disposition on the player side (regardless of if that was the design goal or not) by making combat an extremely suboptimal default way to respond to encounters.

As you say, the flavor text of various monsters in modern D&D is a clear indication that combat should not be the default assumption, unless the players choose to ignore it. But the thing is. In modern D&D you *can afford* to ignore it in a way that you really can't in earlier editions of the game.

I'm gonna be using the 1981 edition of Basic D&D (a.k.a. B/X edition) as my example here because it's the edition I'm most familiar with, but pretty much all of this is applicable to all TSR editions of the game (except maybe 2e)

In all editions of D&D, HP is a resource, and turning an encounter into a fight is synonymous with consuming it. However, in editions like B/X, this resource is scarce and hard to recover. At early levels, even the beefiest classes in the game are never more than one or two solid hits away from 0 HP (my last B/X character was a fighter who started with 4 max HP at level 1. FOUR.), and once you reach 0 you're DEAD dead, no negative HP like in 3.x or death saves like in 5e. Magical healing is scarce (clerics can't even cast ANY spells until level 2. At which point they gain the ability to cast ONE spell per day), and without magical healing you naturally heal at a rate of 1hp PER DAY of rest.

By contrast, in something like 5e (or, to a lesser degree, even 3.x), where your characters have larger HP pools, there are several guardrails to prevent you from dying once you reach 0hp, your cleric is a much more plentiful source of magical healing, and even without access to magical healing you can use short rests to recover a substantial chunk of hp after a fight, HP is a resource that is much easier to justify spending. It's plentiful, easy to recover, and even running out of it is less of a big deal.

My point here being that, when you're playing an edition of the game where every time a fight happens there is a not insignificant chance that someone might end up dead within the first round of combat (and even if everyone does survive, the fight will likely leave the party in a state that might take several in-game days to fully recover from), you kinda can't afford to ignore any opportunity to NOT turn an encounter into a fight.

Like sure, in an edition like 3.x talking down the goblins instead of fighting by opening trade negotiations is a cool thing that MIGHT happen if the DM crafted the encounter that way and the players are so inclined. But in B/X talking down the goblins instead of fighting by opening trade negotiations is something you want to be doing as often as possible unless you want a TPK every couple sessions.

Like... I think there's something to be argued about how much these games are ACTUALLY played that way, but if we're looking purely at the gameplay style incentivized by the game design itself, I think it's plainly wrong to say that there's not a palpable difference in the degree to which combat is mechanically incentivized in post-3e D&D vs older editions.

So there is a pretty clear shift in playstyle between TSR D&D and WotC D&D: for better and for worse, D&D 3e introduced the idea of encounter balance, de-emphasized mechanics that had previously encouraged the GM to think of the monsters as real living creatures (reaction rolls, morale, etc.), and it had the effect of making D&D a much more combat-focused game. D&D has always been a game that's opinionated about combat, it's basically the most expressive and detailed form of play regardless of edition, but combat in the TSR editions was not exactly zoomed in and tactical. The WotC editions purposefully made combat zoomed in, granular, and tactical.

And this has had an effect on playstyle: since combat is now the main form of player expression what players actually want is for their characters to get into combat. Because combat is the most fun part of the game. But the game has also changed from the largely amoral dungeon-crawling game into a game of fantasy heroics (even though a lot of the trappings of the amoral dungeon-crawling still remain, which contributes to the dissonance), so you can't just have the player characters going into combat for the sake of it. That would frame the player characters as kind of Fucked Up, and we can't have that in our supposedly heroic fantasy.

What you end up with is a variety of contrivances like "they're bandits," "they're cultists," or, my all-time favorite, "they attacked first" to make the action seem morally justifiable, even though gameplay is still motivated by a desire to fight. The monsters fight to the death and, importantly, can often not be reasoned and negotiated with, partly because combat is supposed to be the fun, engaging part everyone is here to do, but also because if they actually acted like reasonable people it could cause dissonance with the whole "the player characters are the goodest heroes."

As my friend @tenleaguesbeneath once called it: what is actually going on is that the player characters are hunting people and monsters who have been programmed to fight to the death and never negotiate for sport, while justifying it as self-defence.

It's a simple power fantasy, and I don't think there's anything wrong with it. Sometimes you want to play a morally uncomplicated game about killing guys with cool magic swords. But I think it's also fun to think about what the specific types of monsters players end up fighting reveals about Society the invisible, unexamined ideology lying under the surface that the designers of even modern D&D have failed to examine. And to me it often reads like a frontier justice fantasy. None of that is to detract from anyone's joy of the game, and for me it's just fun to think about and post about this stuff while Still Enjoying the Game, but if someone expressing that opinion makes you feel uncomfortable, why? That's pretty silly imo.

[oddthumbswetsleeves]

Hiding - Oneshot

Inspired by this post by @crumb-crumblet-s-crumbington <3

“Have you heard from B today?”

Elita-1 looked up from her datapad at her former-incompetent-subordinate turned leader. He looked stressed, or maybe nervous? It was hard to tell ever since he received the matrix.

“No. I haven’t seen him since the last time he messed up putting the supplies in storage.’ She looked back at the forms she was filling out. “He’s probably avoiding us cause he’s embarrassed.

“Embarrassed?” Optimus sounded confused. Elita realised she had neglected to tell the prime about B’s latest incident.

“He put a lot of the supplies he was sorting into the wrong places. I mean, seriously! I gave him possibly the easiest job I could have, and he still messed it up.” Optimus didn’t look like her answer had put him at ease. “He’ll be fine. If he’s embarrassed it might teach him to listen a little more.”

“Just-“ They met optics, “Tell me if you see him, or if you can get through to him. He won’t answer my comms.” He sighed. “I’m worried.”

He definitely looked nervous now.

“Yeah, sure.” Elita went back to reading. Optimus was silent for a moment, as if he wanted to say something else, but left quickly.

Once he was out of audial-range she tried B-127’s comm, certain Optimus was exaggerating. B never missed an opportunity to blabber.

“B”

Nothing

“B-127, respond.”

Still nothing

“B, this isn’t funny. Answer me.”

Silence

Elita never thought she would be able to use that word to describe the yellow bot. She started feeling slightly worried before it was replaced with something else.

How dare he hide away from his duties as an Autobot because he was embarrassed. He wasn’t the only one struggling with his new status. Being the Autobot commander and essentially second-in-command of Cybertron was exhausting. Every moment she wasn’t recharging or refuelling she was working. B was not going to get away with skirting his duties.

She was gonna find him.

Where the frag was he?

Elita had spent nearly half the orn asking around for the little mech. No one had seen him since she had. Not Jazz, not Ratchet, not even Prowl, who was usually aware of all Autobot activity. The other scouts had gibed her about B-127’s unrivalled skills in what they called “Extreme Hide and Seek”.

“If B’s hiding from you there’s no chance you’ll find him” one taunted. Primus, she hated being around the scouts, nosy bunch.

“Wait, why do you think he’s hiding from me?”

“Why else would you be looking for him? He’s told us about how busy you are.” Another one answered.

“Well, you’re not helping!” She stormed off before they could peeve her off more.

Elita was definitely getting hangry, so she decided to stop to get energon before anyone could risk mentioning it to her. Everyone had really been enjoying the abundance of it. The decreasing rations had been affecting the cogless bots hard. She remembered after being transferred to waste management seeing how some of the supervisors were stealing others rations off the delivery lines for themselves. That was one of the first things she fixed, especially since many of the bots on lower levels didn’t leave their stations during their breaks. Mostly the bots on the sub-

The sub-levels

“The best hiding spots are ones that other bots don’t know exist.” B-127 told her that once while he was training to be a scout. He was mostly talking about places that taller bots couldn’t get to, but almost no one knew about the 10 extra sub-levels.

“Scrap”

The elevator rattled more the lower it went. It was also getting noticeably hotter. The doors opened and after stepping out they surprisingly didn’t close behind her. Strange. She didn’t say anything at first, trying to hear any noise that wasn’t coming from the furnace.

She felt isolated.

Even though Elita knew she could contact anyone she wanted instantly, there was just something about the room emanated loneliness, but B had to be here.

She looked around. The room was small, nothing besides the furnace, the conveyor belt, and the trash chute.

Unless…

One of the walls seemed to have a handle, and when she moved it... Another room! She pushed it over.

What on Cybertron?

The walls were lined with multicolour string lights. The room had a table and chairs, but in the chairs were 3 piles of trash. They were kind of bot shaped. She guessed one of these were what “Steve” was, who Orion supposedly killed and D-16 insisted wasn’t real. Primus this guy was weird. Just before she turned away, she saw it. There was something golden-yellow barely poking up from behind the table. Elita had to stop herself from groaning. Some hiding expert he was.

“B” He didn’t move. Elita crossed her arms.

“B-127 I can see you.” He slowly ducked out of view. Elita’s face scrunched up, “Get out here right now or so help me, I will drag you back up to Iacon by your finials.”

The bot cautiously stood up, looking anywhere except her face. Neither one said anything for a few moments. Elita tapped her finger against her arm, making sure B could hear it. He still did not say anything. Elita started feeling nervous again, B didn’t even recharge this quietly. She wouldn’t show it though, he wasn’t getting any pity from her.

“Well?” she prompted.

“Why are you down here?” He asked quietly.

“I could ask you the same thing.” Elita leaned forward, but B still didn’t look up. “Why are you hiding? Do you think I’ll just forget your screw-up if I don’t see you for a few orns?”

“I’m not hiding. You know I’m here now, you can go back to work.” He fidgeted with his servos.

“What, so you can keep sulking here?”

“I’m not sulking.” His voice was low, but a bit rough.

Had he been crying?

“Then why are you down here?”

“You were really mad at me the last time I messed up. You said I was running out of chances.”

“So?” Her gaze steeled. His breath hitched.

Was he going to cry again?

“Well, that’s what supervisors used to say to me before I would get demoted” their optics met, “and you were a supervisor…”

“So, you came down here?” She gripped her arms a bit tighter.

“I’ve never had a boss who was my friend before.” He looked down at his servos, still keeping his voice low. “I just didn’t want to see your face when you decided to give up on me.” Fluid dripped from his optics.

“Give up?” Her voice was suddenly much softer. She cleared her throat. “Why would you think I’d give up on you? We’re friends, you said it yourself.”

“Megatron was Optimus’ friend, and he dropped him to the centre of Cybertron.”

Elita felt a pang in her spark. That might have been the scariest moment of her life, including everything that happened leading up to it. B had been the one to stop her from trying to grab Orion as he plummeted. In the frenzy she might have fallen after him. B had probably saved her life.

She was definitely failing to hide her pity now.

They were both silent for a while, the furnace rumbling softly behind her. Elita sighed and walked around the table. B shrunk under her gaze. This was the first time she had ever felt bad about making a subordinate scared of her. She put her servos on his shoulders, taking care to be gentle, and bent down slightly to be at optic level with the scout.

He was definitely crying.

Elita wrapped her arms around him tightly. He tentatively moved his servos up to her back. She felt him shake.

“Are you not mad at me?” B’s voice quivered. She sighed, squeezing tighter.

“I’m not sure I am anymore.” Letting go to hold his shoulders again. He sniffled and she moved her servos to cup his face. “Why haven’t you answered any comms? Optimus is practically beside himself.”

“I didn’t know you guys were calling me.”

“What?! Is your commlink broken?” She turned his helm to look at his audials. He pulled her servos away from his face. They had tears on them.

“No.” He looked towards the furnace. “I’m pretty sure no signals reach down here from the surface.

Elita’s face scrunched. She turned away, reaching a digit up to her commlink.

“Optimus, come in.”

No response. She swore quietly.

“We’re going back to Iacon before the boss starts pulling walls down to find you.” She held her servo out. B hesitated.

“He’s looking for me?”

“Of course he is. Why wouldn’t he be?” B tapped his pedes nervously.

“I thought you guys were kinda fed up of me.” Elita chose not to address that. She grabbed his servo and pulled him towards the elevator. It was still open.

“How come these doors didn’t close behind me?”

“Cause they don’t open from this side. It’s so if somebot comes down here to get something they won’t get stuck.”

“But that means…” Her spark sank in her chassis.

“Yeah, I can’t call the elevator.”

She stared at him. She felt the rage she frequently had for Sentinel and his lackeys build up.

“So you planned on staying down here forever?” B started wringing his servos again.

“I dunno”

“Well how would you have come back up if I hadn’t found you here?”

“Optimus, Megatron and I climbed up through the chute.” He pointed at it. “I probably could have done that again.”

“Would you have?”

B didn’t answer.

“You’re coming back to Iacon with me.” She put a servo on his shoulder. “I cleared my schedule when I went looking for you so we can do whatever you want, ok?” She led him into the lift. He shrugged. “There are a couple movies I’ve been too busy to watch. We can watch them in my quarters if you want.”

“Sure” He smiled for the first time since she found him.

“We do have to go see Prime first. I’m a bit worried he has actually turned headquarters upside down in my absence.” B giggled. Elita felt a weight lift off her spark. Once the elevator started moving, she pulled him into another hug, more forcefully this time.

“Never scare me like that again, or I will actually kill you.”

“Okay”

[the-winter-spider]

Invisible | Part 20

Bucky x Reader AU

Word Count: 4.2k

Warnings: angst

A/N: im scheduling 3 of these to post back to bsck lol hopefully it works 😇🤣

The three of you were sprawled across the living room floor, wine glasses in hand, surrounded by face masks, nail polish bottles, and the kind of snacks you’d regret in the morning. Wanda had taken it upon herself to paint your toes, and you giggled as she playfully swatted at your ankle to keep you still.

“Stop squirming,” she said, trying to keep a steady hand. “You’re gonna mess it up.”

“Sorry,” you mumbled, taking another sip of wine. “But it tickles.”

Natasha sat cross-legged beside you, a clay mask drying on her face, her wine glass already nearly empty. She was watching you both with an amused smile, though her eyes flickered with a faint shadow of something heavier.

The conversation had been light—work drama, a funny story from Wanda’s day, a ridiculous TikTok—but the wine was starting to loosen your tongues. Feeling the moment, you took a deep breath and decided to jump in headfirst.

“So,” you said casually, but your voice carried enough weight to grab their attention. “What are we going to do about Steve?”

Natasha froze, her wine glass halfway to her lips. Wanda’s brush paused mid-stroke on your pinky toe, and both women turned to look at you.

Natasha recovered first, setting her glass down and crossing her arms. “What do you mean?” she asked, her tone carefully neutral.

You raised an eyebrow, not letting her off the hook. “I think you know exactly what I mean.”

Natasha hesitated, glancing at Wanda, whose wide-eyed expression made it clear she was just as curious. When Nat didn’t say anything, you leaned back on your hands and sighed. “I don’t know how I missed it, honestly. It was written all over you last night.”

Natasha’s jaw tightened, and with a muttered “Oh, for God’s sake,” she grabbed the wine bottle and poured herself another glass, chugging half of it before setting it down with a dramatic clink. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said flatly, but the slight tremor in her voice betrayed her.

Wanda let out a soft laugh, finishing your toes and sitting back. “Oh, Nat. We love you, but that’s the worst lie I’ve ever heard.”

Natasha shot her a glare, but you didn’t back down. “Come on, Nat,” you pressed gently. “It’s us. Just be honest. What do you want to do about Steve?”

Natasha exhaled sharply, running a hand through her hair and smudging a bit of her drying mask. “What can I do?” she said, her voice sharper than she intended. “He’s still hung up on you. Always has been. I don’t want to be anybody’s second choice.”

Wanda immediately shook her head, her expression fierce. “That is impossible. Once Steve realizes how much of an idiot he’s being, he’ll see what’s right in front of him.”

You nodded in agreement, leaning closer. “Wanda’s right. I couldn’t agree more. But what do you want, Nat? What do you really want?”

For a moment, Natasha didn’t answer. She stared into her wine glass, her face unreadable. When she finally spoke, her voice was quiet but raw. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “I’ve been on the outside looking in for so long that I guess I’m just… used to it. It’s easier to stay there than to hope for something that might not happen.”

The confession hung in the air, heavy with unspoken pain. You reached out, resting a hand on hers. “Nat, you deserve to be happy. You deserve someone who loves you, who’s crazy about you.”

She let out a bitter laugh, shaking her head. “Yeah, well… I don’t want Steve to be the one that got away. Like you are to him.”

Your heart clenched at her words. “It’s not like that,” you said softly.

Natasha’s eyes met yours, her expression firm but kind. “Of course it is,” she said. “And it’s not your fault. It’s just the way things are. But he has to get over you before anything can happen between us.”

Wanda’s hand found Natasha’s, squeezing gently. “You’re not wrong,” she said softly. “But that doesn’t mean it’s hopeless.”

You nodded, your chest tight with emotion. “Steve just needs time. And when he finally lets himself see you for who you really are to him… Nat, I know it’ll be worth it.”

Natasha’s lips twitched into a faint smile, though her eyes were still clouded with doubt. “I hope you’re right,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

The room fell into a brief silence, the weight of the conversation settling over all three of you. But then Wanda, ever the ray of sunshine, clapped her hands together. “Alright, enough doom and gloom. Gimme your feet Nat, your next!”

The tension broke, and you couldn’t help but laugh. Natasha rolled her eyes but nodded, holding out her wine glass. “Fine. But only if you promise not to paint my toes like a five-year-old.”

The rest of the night passed in a blur of laughter and teasing, but Natasha’s words lingered in your mind. You couldn’t shake the hope that, somehow, everything would fall into place for her—and for Steve.

The apartment was alive with laughter, the clinking of beer bottles, and the occasional groan as someone lost a hand of poker. Sam sat sprawled on the couch, his feet kicked up on the coffee table, while Bucky leaned back in his chair, shuffling the deck with practiced ease. Steve was seated across from them, quieter than usual, nursing a drink and staring at his phone a little too intently.

“Alright, boys,” Bucky said, smirking as he dealt the cards. “Prepare to lose whatever dignity you have left.”

Sam snorted, reaching for his beer. “Big talk for someone who still owes me twenty bucks from last time.”

Bucky shrugged. “I’ll take it out of my poker chips tonight.”

The banter was light, the atmosphere easy—at least on the surface. But the undercurrent of tension was impossible to ignore, especially with Steve’s unusually subdued demeanor. He hadn’t laughed at Sam’s jokes, hadn’t chimed in on Bucky’s playful jabs, and his replies were clipped, almost robotic.

As the game progressed, Sam turned the conversation to safer, more personal waters. “So, Buck,” he began, his tone casual but his grin mischievous, “how’s the love life? Things going okay with your girl?”

Bucky’s face softened immediately, a boyish grin spreading across his face. “Okay?” he repeated, shaking his head. “Sam, she’s everything. She’s smart, kind, funny… she keeps me on my toes. I mean, I don’t know how I got so lucky. It’s like—” He paused, his blue eyes lighting up as he searched for the right words. “It’s like every time I look at her, I realize she’s my home, you know? She’s it for me, I hate how long it took for me to get my shit together.”

Sam let out a low whistle, leaning back with a wide smile. “Damn, Barnes. That’s the good stuff. I’m so happy for you, man.”

Bucky chuckled, clearly flustered but grateful for the encouragement. “Thanks, man. It’s about time, right?”

But while Sam’s smile remained genuine, Steve’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. His cards remained untouched in front of him as he stared at the table, his drink abandoned.

“Yup,” Steve said abruptly, his tone short and flat. “That’s great.”

Bucky’s eyes flicked to him, narrowing slightly. “You good, Stevie?”

“Yeah,” Steve said, glancing at his phone again. “Just… got some stuff on my mind.”

Before Bucky could press further, Steve stood up abruptly, grabbing his phone and shoving it into his pocket. “I gotta go somewhere.”

Sam straightened in his seat, his eyebrows furrowing. “Go where? It’s poker night.”

“Just something I gotta take care of,” Steve replied, his tone distant as he grabbed his jacket and headed for the door. “Don’t wait up.”

And just like that, he was gone, leaving Bucky and Sam staring after him, bewildered.

“What the hell was that about?” Bucky muttered, sitting back in his chair, his brows knitting together in concern.

Sam let out a nervous chuckle, running a hand over his face. “Man, I don’t know.”

Bucky’s eyes narrowed, watching Sam closely. “Alright, spill. What’s got you looking like you’re about to jump out of your skin? Is it why Steve left?”

Sam hesitated, clearly torn. “It’s not about Steve.”

“Then what is it?” Bucky pressed, his tone softening. “I know it’s not just because I’m kicking your ass at poker.”

Sam sighed heavily, setting his cards down and rubbing the back of his neck. “Alright, fine. I was gonna wait, but… I got an offer. A big one. Job-wise.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “That’s great, man. What’s the problem?”

Sam leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, his expression conflicted. “It’s out of town. Way out of town. Like, completely out of state. It’s a great opportunity, Buck. Better pay, more responsibility, and I’d get to work with a nonprofit I’ve been following for years. But… it means leaving all of this. Leaving you guys.”

Bucky’s expression softened as he processed Sam’s words. “Shit, Sam. That’s… big.”

“Yeah,” Sam said, laughing bitterly. “Tell me about it. I’ve been sitting on it for a week, trying to figure out if it’s the right move.”

Bucky leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “And? What’s your gut telling you?”

Sam shrugged, his shoulders heavy with uncertainty. “My gut’s telling me to go for it. But my heart? My heart’s telling me it’s gonna suck, leaving everyone behind.”

Bucky nodded slowly, his eyes steady on Sam. “Look, man. I can’t tell you what to do, but… you gotta do what’s right for you. We’ll still be here, no matter where you are.”

Sam looked up, his eyes filled with gratitude and something deeper, something almost fragile. “You mean that?”

“Of course,” Bucky said firmly. “You’ve been here for us through everything. It’s our turn to be here for you.”

Sam let out a shaky breath, nodding. “Thanks, Buck. That… that means a lot.”

Bucky grinned, clapping Sam on the shoulder. “Now, don’t think I’m gonna let you leave without kicking your ass at poker at least one more time.”

Sam laughed, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. “Bring it on, Barnes. Bring it on.”

But even as the mood lightened, both of them couldn’t help but glance at the door Steve had walked through, wondering what storm might be brewing behind his quiet exit.

The farmers market was its usual lively self—vendors calling out deals, the scent of fresh bread and flowers wafting through the air, and the hum of chatter everywhere. You walked arm-in-arm with Bucky, the soft brush of his hand against yours grounding you.

“Where’s Steve?” you asked, glancing around the booths for the familiar blond head.

Sam, walking ahead, glanced back over his shoulder. “Said he couldn’t make it today.”

You frowned slightly, your chest tightening at the thought. “Okay,” you murmured. “Next time.”

Natasha shrugged from beside you, but her quick glance toward Wanda betrayed her curiosity. If she had any deeper thoughts, she didn’t share them, instead wandering off toward a display of ceramics. The sight made you smile.

The group naturally splintered into pairs, each gravitating toward their favorite stalls. You and Bucky hung back, trailing through the market at a leisurely pace, his hand brushing yours every so often, an intimate yet casual connection. The weight of the locket resting against your collarbone felt comforting, grounding you to the present.

Nearby, Natasha let out a delighted squeal, holding up a small ceramic cow. “Oh my God, look at this!” she exclaimed, waving it in your direction. “It’ll go perfectly with the rooster and duck I already got Steve.”

You and Bucky exchanged amused glances, both of you laughing softly. “Nat,” you teased, walking over to her, “are you building him a farm?”

“Practically,” Sam muttered, shaking his head as he joined the conversation. “Goddamn, Nat. You’re going to have the whole barnyard at my house next.”

Natasha just grinned, holding the cow close. “Or something,” she said cryptically, turning back to the vendor to pay. Sam rolled his eyes, muttering something about barn animals under his breath as he dragged Bucky off toward the crepe stand.

Wanda busied herself at the flower stall nearby, selecting a bright bouquet of daisies and sunflowers. Meanwhile, you wandered toward the jewelry stall where the locket had been, unable to resist curiosity. You’d gotten the locket back, thanks to Steve, but you wanted to piece together the rest of the story.

“Excuse me,” you said to the vendor, offering her a polite smile. “A while ago, there was a locket here—this one.” You touched the small gold heart resting against your chest. “Do you remember it?”

The vendor’s eyes lit up as she nodded. “Oh, I remember that locket very well. My granddaughter found it at a party. She thought it was worth something and brought it to me.”

“Your granddaughter?” you echoed, your heart skipping a beat. “Who is she?”

“Her name’s Kate,” the woman said, her tone warm and fond.

You froze for a moment, blinking in surprise. “Kate?” The name felt heavy on your tongue. “Wow… small world.” you muttered

The woman nodded, her gaze flicking to the locket on your neck. “And then that sweet young man bought it. He was so determined to get it for you.”

Your heart clenched at the thought of Steve, the memory of him giving it back to you still fresh. “He did,” you said softly. “He brought it back to me. I’d lost it at a party, and… it meant a lot to me.”

The woman smiled knowingly. “He talked about you the whole time he was here. The way he spoke, you’d think the sun rose and set on you. I always wondered about the two of you, did you end up together yet?”

You didn’t know what to say, your throat tightening at the words. "No, we, I -- " Before you could fully respond, warm arms wrapped around your waist from behind, pulling you back into the present.

“Hey, doll,” Bucky murmured against your ear, his voice low and affectionate. “What’re you up to over here?”

You tilted your head to look up at him, his closeness making you smile automatically. “Just… reminiscing.”

The vendor’s eyes softened as she watched the two of you, a twinkle of understanding in her gaze. “Ah,” she said simply, her voice rich with amusement. “Now, that makes sense.”

“What makes sense?” Bucky asked, his brows knitting together as he looked between you and the woman.

“Nothing, sweetheart,” she replied with a wink. “Enjoy your day.”

Bucky’s hand rested protectively on your lower back as he guided you away, his expression puzzled. “What was that about?”

“Just a little backstory about the locket,” you said, touching it lightly. “She was telling me how her granddaughter found it at a party. Apparently, Kate brought it here.”

His brow furrowed. “Kate? Seriously? Small world.”

“Very,” you murmured, the warmth of his touch and the reassurance of his presence grounding you.

“Anyway,” he said, nudging you gently. “Sam’s probably inhaled three crepes already. We should catch up.”

You laughed, letting him lead you toward the crepe stand where Sam and Natasha were already bickering about toppings. But as you glanced back one last time at the jewelry booth, you couldn’t help but feel the weight of how everything, somehow, had come full circle.

The apartment felt emptier than usual. The clock ticked past ten, and Bucky still wasn’t home. You sat on the couch, your laptop balanced on your knees, pretending to focus on some edits for work. But your eyes kept flicking to the door, your thoughts spinning.

You knew Bucky’s schedule like the back of your hand. You worked for the same company, after all. There wasn’t a meeting or late deadline you hadn’t already accounted for. So where was he?

Your phone sat untouched on the coffee table. No texts. No calls. A creeping sense of unease settled in your chest, mingling with irritation. He always let you know if he was running late—always. Until tonight.

By the time you heard his keys jangling in the lock, it was almost ten. The door opened, and there he was, his hair slightly disheveled, his shirt untucked. He looked exhausted but smiled the moment he saw you.

“Hey, darlin’,” he greeted, kicking off his boots and heading toward you.

You closed your laptop with a sharp snap, your jaw tight. “Hey?” you repeated, your voice tinged with annoyance.

Bucky’s smile faltered. “What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong?” You stood, setting the laptop on the coffee table. “You’re two hours late, Bucky. You didn’t call. You didn’t text. I’ve been sitting here worried sick.”

He blinked, caught off guard by the intensity in your tone. “I didn’t think it was a big deal. I got caught up with uh Sam after work. We went for a drink—”

“A drink?” you interrupted, your voice rising. “You know your schedule, and you know I know it too. You could’ve told me. It’s not that hard to send a text.”

Bucky frowned, stepping closer. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize it’d be such a big deal.”

“It is a big deal,” you snapped, crossing your arms. “We’ve barely started this relationship, and you’re already pulling this?”

“Pulling what?” His voice edged with frustration now. “I’m not ‘pulling’ anything. I went for a drink with my best friend, and I’m sorry I didn’t text. But this—this feels like an overreaction.”

You recoiled slightly, his words stinging. “Overreaction?” You laughed bitterly. “You don’t get it, do you? This isn’t just about tonight, Bucky. It’s about us. About whether you actually take this seriously.”

“Seriously?” he repeated, his voice rising. “You think I’m not serious about you?”

“Well, you’re not exactly proving it right now!”

His jaw tightened, his blue eyes flashing with hurt. “Doll, you’re reading too much into this. It was one night. I didn’t think I needed to check in like I was some damn teenager.”

“Maybe you should’ve,” you fired back, your voice cracking. “Because that’s what people in relationships do, Bucky. They care enough to let the other person know what’s going on! I got scared, what if something happened to you? What if i lost you before i even had you! Or what if you dont actually want this or care about me or, or--”

The words hung heavy between you, the silence sharp and suffocating.

Bucky sighed, running a hand through his hair. “You think I don’t care about you?” he asked quietly, his voice softer now, but no less pained. “That’s what you think?”

You hesitated, your anger warring with the guilt creeping in. “I don’t know,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “I just… I’ve been scared, Bucky. That if something goes wrong, we’ll fall apart. That this won’t last.”

Bucky stepped closer, his expression softening as he reached for your hand. “Doll,” he murmured, his tone gentle. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you feel that way. I messed up tonight. I should’ve texted. You’re right. I would have been upset if you didn’t tell me either, I’m sorry”

Tears prickled at the corners of your eyes, but you blinked them away. “I just don’t want to lose you,” you said, your voice breaking. "I cant lose you”

“You won’t,” he promised, his grip on your hand tightening. “I swear. I’ll do better. I want this—us. More than anything.”

For a moment, you just stared at each other, the tension slowly melting under the weight of his sincerity. Then, before you could overthink it, you surged forward, your lips crashing into his.

Bucky responded instantly, his arms wrapping around you and pulling you flush against him. The kiss was desperate and heated, years of pent-up longing pouring out all at once. His hands roamed your back, his fingers digging into your skin as if grounding himself in you.

You pulled back slightly, breathless, your hands cupping his face. “You’re not allowed to scare me like that again,” you whispered.

“Never,” he vowed, his voice husky. He kissed you again, his lips trailing down your neck, his breath warm against your skin.

The two of you stumbled toward the couch, his hands tugging at the hem of your shirt. “I just can’t keep my hands off you,” he murmured, his lips brushing your jawline.

You laughed softly, tilting your head to give him better access. “Remember,” you teased, “you’re the one who wanted to take things slow.”

Bucky pulled back slightly, his lips curling into a smirk. “Maybe I’ve changed my mind.”

You grinned, tugging him back down for another kiss. But before things could go any further, your phone buzzed loudly on the coffee table, breaking the moment.

You groaned, burying your face in his chest. “Of course.”

Bucky chuckled, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “It’s for the best,” he said, though his darkened eyes betrayed just how badly he wanted to ignore it.

You looked up at him, arching a brow. “How long are you going to make me wait, Barnes?”

His lips twitched into a smile as he leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “Soon, doll,” he promised. “No one wants this more than me. But I want to do it right.”

You sighed, nodding. “Okay. But don’t keep me waiting too long.”

“Never,” he said, standing and pulling you up with him. “Now get that pretty ass up. I brought dinner.”

You laughed, swatting his arm as he grabbed his phone. “Also,” he added with a smirk, “next time I’m late, just spam me like Wanda spams the group chat.”

You rolled your eyes, but the warmth in your chest told you everything would be just fine.

You sit across from Sam, your lunch tray untouched as he stirs his soup absentmindedly. You notice he’s quieter than usual, a far cry from his typical animated self.

“So,” you start, trying to break the silence, “are you going to tell me what’s got you looking like you lost your best friend, or am I supposed to guess?”

Sam chuckles softly, but the sound lacks its usual warmth. He sets his spoon down and leans back in his chair, meeting your curious gaze. “I wanted to tell you first. I mean, out of the whole group.”

Your stomach tightens at his serious tone. “Tell me what?”

He hesitates for a moment before taking a deep breath. “I got a promotion.”

The words take a moment to sink in, and when they do, your face lights up. “Sam, that’s amazing! Why do you look like someone kicked your dog? This is huge!”

“It is,” he agrees, his smile faltering. “But there’s a catch. The position is… halfway across the country. I’d have to move.”

Your heart sinks. “Oh.” The excitement in your voice fades, replaced by a bittersweet pang in your chest. “When?”

“In a couple of weeks, maybe less,” he admits, rubbing the back of his neck. “That’s why I’ve been so MIA this week. I’ve been at the VA, getting all the logistics sorted out.”

You nod slowly, the news settling heavily over you. “Wow. That’s… a lot to process. But Sam,” you say, reaching across the table to squeeze his hand, “this is incredible. I’m so proud of you. You’ve worked so hard for this.”

He smiles, his eyes softening. “Thanks. It means a lot to hear that from you.”

A thought flickers in your mind, something not quite adding up. “Wait,” you say cautiously. “You’ve been at the VA all week?”

Sam nods. “Yeah, pretty much. I haven’t seen anyone. You’re the first person I’ve had time to sit down with.”

Confusion twists in your stomach. “You didn’t see Bucky?” you ask slowly.

He frowns. “No. Why?”

You pause, debating whether to bring it up. “He told me he went out for a drink with you the other night,” you say carefully.

Sam’s eyebrows lift in surprise before he shakes his head. “Nope, not me. I mean, maybe he went with someone else, but it wasn’t me.”

You try to push down the unease creeping into your chest. Bucky lying to you? It doesn’t make sense. But you decide to tuck the thought away for now.

“So, who else knows about your promotion?” you ask, steering the conversation back.

“Bucky,” Sam admits with a small grin. “He found out on guys’ night. But don’t be mad at him. I made him promise not to say anything until I was ready.”

“Of course I’m not mad,” you say quickly. “I get it. It’s your news to share, not his.”

Sam looks relieved and leans forward, his expression soft. “I’m gonna miss this, you know. Just hanging out with you, laughing about dumb stuff. You’ve been one of my closest friends for years.”

“Don’t get all sappy on me now,” you tease, though your throat tightens with emotion. “We’re not getting rid of you that easily. You’ll visit, right?”

“Of course,” he says firmly. “And you better come visit me, too. I expect postcards, care packages, the whole deal.”

You laugh, but the weight of the news still lingers in the air. As you finish your lunch, you can’t shake the feeling that something’s off. But for now, you focus on Sam, determined to make the most of the time you have left with him.

[ir-abelas-vhenan]

I've been thinking a lot today about how easily people condemn Solas for making the choices he did or for so regularly refusing the help and love his friends or a romanced Lavellan extended to him and how that's a very easy thing to do from behind a screen in a fictional game where you are able to (with very few exceptions) curate a world in which your allies are loyal and your decisions will go the way you'd like them to.

And yeah, it's a game and that's kind of the point, but if I were to look at it a little more deeply (and who am I kidding, I got back on this website exclusively to process the aftermath of Veilguard) I'd say that there's so much to be found in wondering if the protagonists in any of the other games would have fared better in similar conditions.

Apparently I can't stop making long posts, so buckle in.

What would Morrigan have become in a world where the Warden never stumbled upon her cottage with Flemeth, if she never got the chance to see more of the world and decide what she wanted out of it? With just her mother (who, coincidentally in this Solas-y discussion is also kind of Mythal) and no support, who is to say what she would have unleashed upon the Korcari Wilds one day when the confines of her cage became too much?

What about Leliana? She, too, suffered at the hands of a very controlling abuser who tried to convince her that one lifestyle was all that her future held. What do we think she would have become if not for a chance meeting in Lothering with someone who could help her face down the woman that molded her?

Fenris, a character MANY people are just fine with was incredibly ready to kill a mage on sight if need be, no questions asked. Where do we think his story goes if he doesn't have someone in his corner early on enough in the game? If he doesn't get caught by Danarius, he's almost certainly going to end up on a murder spree, and he doesn't even have Justice whispering in his head to do it.

Cullen. Just all of him. It's an absolute miracle he hasn't snapped by the time you encounter him in Inquistion, and even then you get the benefit of intervening at a critical point in his story several times over.

Almost every other character could face this analysis and I think we'd reach a result that suggests perhaps the only thing keeping them lovable is your playable character's investment in their well-being.

Enter Solas. We don't meet him when he's twenty to thirty something and on the precipice of falling down a dark path. He's been there for literal millennia already, and with the exception of one close friend he's been alone. And not even Felassan is enough because of the years Mythal had prior to that friendship to make Solas exactly who she needed him to be.

I've had shit friends before that aren't just good at isolating people, they're naturals. I barely made it through high school with my mental health in place (in fact, looking back, it almost certainly wasn't). When you think you've got a true friend and they need something of you, it's so easy to blindly follow them because you think your love is enough to mark someone's soul as trustworthy. Solas doesn't learn that lesson until it's too late, and even when he does he can't turn back: the spirit that was once Wisdom has been exposed to several of the worst ancient elves to ever exist and now he has to stand his ground rather than let it all fall, because that is what Pride would dictate. Admitting that the person you gave your love and labor and time to is a monster is hard. And he was alone.

Give me Morrigan after centuries with her mother. Show me Leliana after the years have become a blur and the only voice whispering in her ear is Marjolaine's. Show me the innocent mages that don't make it through if all Fenris has for years and years and years are the scars Danaris left him and the means to make more. Show me Cullen if he stays in a chain of command under a Knight Commander who knows exactly what he fears and holds it over his head for so long he forgets what it was like to be an excited kid begging the templars for training because he just wants to keep people safe.

We get companions in these games who are broken by the time they're twenty. Solas has spent thousands of years in servitude to a cause of a woman he believed to be his only friend. He doesn't know who he is without her influence, anymore, only exists physically in the first place because she asked it of him and then asked again and again and again. He doesn't have a witty band of merry fools to pull him out of that cycle. He has Felassan, but he has him during war after war after war in the hopes of freeing others from the very situation that torments him.

Trauma from war affects everyone touched by it, nevermind the fact that Solas is actively responsible for saving the lives of thousands and feels each life like a weight around his neck because maybe he can save them like he cannot save himself. We should always be worried about the people trying to do the most good. Who is looking out for them? Why are they so determined to help others? Could it be that it's something they wish others had done for them?

Solas certainly feels comradery with Felassan from working together to free slaves from the very people he helped put in power because Mythal told him it would be okay only to leave him with the pieces, but even the Solas that Felassan knows has been turned into an attack dog shying away from the touch of the very person it desires to be near above all others by the time their relationship forms.

The fact that Solas is able to try and show the Inquisitor who he is at all is a miracle as far as I'm concerned, a sign of a peaceful spirit of Wisdom who loves knowledge for the sake of it finally sensing that there might be a chance to embrace its nature again.

Yeah, if you give him what he has come to expect from people with power, if you let near-absolute power over the masses corrupt you, he's going to bristle and try to shut your inquisitor down.

But if you show him even the smallest bit of kindness? If you treat him like the starving wolf he talks about and feed him instead of fighting him? God, it shatters his entire existence.

It's called a cycle of abuse for a reason. Finding friendship, finding the love of your long-ass life can be the first step in realizing there's better out there. But the time it takes to learn that? When you're too weary to even reach out for help in the first place and afraid of every kind word or gesture because you've never known such tenderness (on a platonic OR romantic level, both matter so so much) before?

Part of the compelling tragedy of Solas is that it's almost Orpheus-like how he knows what he has been made into and still cannot stop himself from yearning for more, from turning around to see if just this once something has changed. You can't convince me that he hasn't spent years hoping that someone will hear the legend of the Dread Wolf and see it for what it is, a leash the Evanuris created for Mythal's whipping boy to ensure that even if he ever escapes them, the people he fought to save will hate him. And I cannot blame him for the shock and terror that consumes him when he realizes someone finally has.

You give me any of dragon age companions after the amount of time Solas spent under Mythal's thumb without your character's intervention and you tell me how that looks.

You tell me if they're able to change at the first sign of something that feels too good to be true.

And then, I want you to tell me they're any less worthy of trying to save, especially when you know how good their best can be.

Solas might be hard for some fans to love, but it's only because he serves as the perfect representation of the beast we are all capable of becoming when the love that sustains us, assuming we receive any at all, is laced with poison.

The journey out of that place, out of a literal prison of regret, is brutal, and I'm thrilled that even with the many things about Veilguard I'm still struggling with, we have the chance to let Solas try again with the help of those who love him not because he never fell down, but because they believe in the beauty of a future where he gets back up again.

[occamstfs]

Talismen: Beginnings

Nicky emerges with an arcane artifact after a bewildering trip through an impossible shop. In wishing his boyfriend was more confident in himself Nicky performs irrevocable and accidental magic upon the world, building his new form and dulling his mind.

And I'm back! Here's the first story of my planned CYOA series, a little long but I love how it turned out! I'll be posting the poll for Part two on Sunday, the 1st of December, the planned options are at the end of the story and it'll only last a day so if you want to take part be on the lookout! At any rate, hope you enjoy and happy to write for you once more! -Occam

It was barbarian weekend at the renaissance festival. Nicky was dressed as a wizard and his boyfriend, Simon, had long planned to go on theme and dress as a barbarian. Though as the day neared and Simon anxiously stared at his decidedly standard figure in the mirror, he instead opted to just throw on a cloak and call it a day. Arriving at the fair the pair, as expected of the theme, find themselves surrounded by burly men clad in kilts with faux fur draped atop chests beyond impressive.

Gawking at hot men is of course par for the course of this kinda event but Nicky can’t help but read the shame and embarrassment creeping into Simon’s expression as he takes in the festivities. When they eventually step into a tavern for a breather Nicky checks in, “Heyyy babe? Everything good? Seem kinda down-” Simon shakes his head and forces a smile, “Don’t worry about me B, I’m aces!” He tosses a wink out for good measure before pointedly changing the topic, “So what was it you said you’re looking to grab this year?”

Nicky narrows his eyes for half a moment wondering if he should push or challenge his clearly sulking boyfriend before deciding to let the sleeping dog lie for now, “Mmmm, I don’t know actually? Probably just an accessory for the costume? Oh! Or maybe some dice?” Simon’s expression changes into a more genuine smile as he grabs at Nicky’s arm and massages it, “Well here’s an idea. We’re right by the dice shop yeah? Howsabout we split up. I’ll grab us some beers and you go check out the offerings. Meet back here?” 

Wordlessly agreeing, Nicky leans in for a kiss and relaxes at Simon seemingly perking up. Heading off with a nod, Nicky exits the tavern, preventing him from seeing his boyfriend’s facade fade once more as he contemplates getting a drink or two ahead of his partner before his return from the shops. 

Under the impression that Simon has cheered back up, Nick is off to the races. Dice shop just across the way he begins his short trek when suddenly there’s a buzzing in the back of his mind. The sounds of the crowd around him eerily fade as if his ears are waterlogged, he shakes his head from the sudden discomfort and takes a moment to see if anyone else seems to be affected. Before he’s able to inspect his fellow festival-goers he is shocked to see a strange shop he’s never seen before.

Nestled in between a printing press and some soap store Nicky furrows his brow and wonders how he’s possibly missed the shop before now. He’s been coming for years and knows the layout of the festival like the back of his hand. After waiting a few seconds to see if anyone else is entering he takes a cautious step forward and trips as his body tries to take another without his intent. Nicky blushes as he bumps into a brawny barbarian who laughs him off and ruffles his hair, “Watch where yer -urp goin dude huhuh!” Nicky nods an apology and reflexively takes another backwards step towards the apparently new shop. In a sudden need for an expedited retreat from embarrassment, Nicky quickly rushes towards the door and away from the man bumped who eyes him taking a large swig from a tankard. 

He hasn’t the chance to notice that each step towards the shop that should not be there is quicker than the one that came before. In no time at all he tears open the door and is inside the quaint cluttered shop. While his eyes adjust from the bright fall day behind him, he takes in the scene as well as he can. The small space is filled with some bitter herbal scent and the air seems to crackle with something similar to static. Nicky of course attributes the strange prickle on his skin to nerves and continues browsing the curious shop.

There’s no real discernible theme to the shop, really it seems to be more of an antique store than anything else. In any normal situation Nicky would have already dipped back out, but something in the back of his mind keeps pulling him in deeper. Walking past strange dolls and stranger bottled liquids, the almost ticklish sensation continues to assail him with unconscious step forward. His spacial awareness tells him he has wandered further than should be possible but it’s almost as if he has no option to continue forward. Coming up on a curtained doorway Nicky’s hands move as if possessed to part the blinds and his eyes finally lay upon what supernatural, impossible thing must be drawing him inward. 

It would be the perfect accessory for his costume. It would be the perfect accessory to put on and never take off again. It will be perfect. It will be his. He needs it more than anything. His eyes shine with the ruby tinges reflecting off the talisman as he inches towards the pedestal it lies upon. His hand reaches towards the object of his desires and burns as the prickling sensation comes to a head. He grimaces as it turns to an almost boiling heat before his fingers touch it and the impossibly intense sensation instantly disappears. Nicky jumps due to the sudden almost atmospheric change and before recovering he almost has a heart attack as who must be the shopkeep shouts from behind him, “HELLO HELLO YOUNG NICHOLAS!” 

Nicky scrambles to hide behind the pedestal and inspect the mystery man, his vision momentarily tinged scarlet. As the twinges of whatever static sensation filled him moments ago begin to fade totally, he finds himself suddenly able to realize how strange everything about this is. He gulps as he sees a man dressed as a campy wizard adjusting his glasses, “Well it seems you found what you were looking for eh old sport?” Nicky looks down at the still shimmering necklace in his hands, stuttering incoherently as his mind races to understand. 

In the half second his eyes were off the wizardly shopkeep, the man has crept up behind once more. Now throwing an arm around Nicky he helps him to his feet and begins leading away from the curtained room, “Hup hup- Now you must be very careful with your words now young Nicholas. Do tell Simon I said hello hm?” Nicky again looks at the necklace in hand and, hanging to the rational world by a thread, inquires, “P- Pay? Did I pay for this?”  The wizardly man laughs and pats him on the back, “Oh don’t you worry ah ha ha! Hah.” The wizardly man winks, though even doing so there is an after image of a red eye staring into and through Nicky. The younger man opens his mouth to question the clearly mystic magus of the artifact and his intentions though before he gets a chance the wizard shouts.

“Do have fun at the festival my boy!” with that he brusquely pushes Nicky forward and he finds himself outdoors by a printing press and soap shop. Fearful of turning around to see there is no store there Nicky looks down to find himself wearing the talisman. Grabbing at it he finds the same sensation that filled him minutes ago, though muted. Pleasant. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath before he is again bumped into, this time by someone whose vision is clearly obscured by a mask, “Sho- Shorry!” Nicky sighs and apologizes, though the physical sensation and awkwardness brings him back to reality. Shaking off anxiety and pushing down whatever it is just happened he heads off to meet his boyfriend at the tavern. 

Returning to find Simon housing his third ale, Nicky quickly downs his own to distract from the strange anxiety that remains persuasive in spite of their reunion. Wishing for distraction, it comes swiftly and in short order the pair are out and about enjoying all the festivities that the faire has to offer, various sloppy meats on a stick, bird shows and jesters, and a firework show to cap it all off. The day soars by in short order and Nicky, wanting to forget about his encounter in that place that wasn't, does just that with shocking, almost supernatural, ease. In fact anything Nicky seems to desire almost falls at his feet. With but an imperceptible red shine in his eyes Nicky finds himself wanting for nothing. The same could not be said for his boyfriend.

After sobering up, his dour jealousy for the superior male form returns and as much as Simon tries to hide it from Nicky, the long day has dulled his ability to disguise anything from his boyfriend. On the long walk back to the car Nicky initially avoids bringing it up, but after an eventful day of getting just about everything he desires, he can’t help but try and get to the root of Simon’s sour attitude. “Can you just tell me what’s up babe?” Groaning as he unlocks the car door the weary man answers, “It’s nothing Nick. I’m just- UGH! I wish I wasn’t so self-concious or had actually gone to the gym or-” turning to see Nicky’s puppy dog eyes for not realzing his discomfort Simon groans and apologies, “Don’t worry it’s fine, I um, I had fun!”

Mind flashing back to the barbarian costume that Simon ultimately decided not to wear, love for his boyfriend overwhelms him and he reaches out to hold his lover’s free hand. Hidden underneath his own cloak, Nicky’s talisman flashes red as the sticky staticky sensation returns stronger than it had been even in the shop. He doesn’t whisper or even coherently think the words as he immediately drifts off to sleep in the passenger seat, but the intention is more than enough for the die to be cast. I wish Nicky had more confidence. I wish he was less self-conscious. I wish he was proud of his body. 

Subconscious wish made Nicky’s ruby red eyes remain closed as he falls into an incredibly deep sleep, leaving Simon alone with his thoughts. He squirms slightly behind the wheel as he suddenly feels warm. Mind too muddled to wallow he feels every inch of his body suddenly buzzing with energy, as if an espresso was being dripped into his veins. Looking at his sleeping boyfriend his thoughts shift immediately from self-criticism and body dysmorphia to a lustful, almost primal hunger for his mate. Nicky’s hand still burning hot on his own despite the blaring aircon, he fights the urge to bring the sleeping man’s hand to his cock as it begins to stir. 

Before they’ve even left the parking lot Simon is overwhelmed with a lust for his partner stronger than anything he has felt in some time. Hitting the open road he chews his lip to distract from his cock doing its best to pop the seam in his pants, constantly he’s choking down horny grunts and groans to prevent the sleeping Nicky from waking up. Arriving at their shared home, he struggles to gracefully exit the car with his rod standing firmer than he assumed it could. Eventually making it out, he goes to pick up his still sleepy passenger. 

With a great deal of effort, Simon successfully stills his hips and quiets his lusts to pick up his sleeping suitor. Baring the urges of his body he realizes that the task is far easier than it should be, Nicky’s not heavy but- Any further inquisition is stilled as he reflexively takes a deep breath of his sleeping lover and is promptly overwhelmed. Nicky’s floral shampoo and deodorant mix with b.o. from an unseasonably warm day in the sun and Simon doesn’t have the strength to quiet the grunt that erupts from him as his cock throbs and prods Nicky in the back. 

Eyes blearily open as the sleeping wizard stirs and stretches in the arms of his lover. “Wha? Si?” The self-conscious Simon, embarrassed at waking up his boyfriend quickly puts him down. He blushes as Nicky steadies himself on his arms, still yawning he chastises his boyfriend for letting him fall asleep, “You didn’t *ahwn* didn haf to do tha babe, *awh*” Rubbing his ruby-tinged eyes he can’t quite make out the finer details of his boyfriend, but he would swear he’s looking further up than he usually does to make eye contact. Simon waves him off, “It’s fine, I’m not even tired really.” 

Leaning down to give him a hug, Simon angles his head into Nicky’s nape he takes another deep breath, this time not even trying to mute the groan that spills forth, “MMmhm, y’know now that you’re up the night’s still young…” Nicky tilts his head before understanding as Simon’s cock throbs once more into his abdomen, shaking off the sleep Nicky’s own package begins to stir as he leads his partner into their home, “Well now that you mention it~”

Nicky starts disrobing when Simon grabs his hand, some small amount of discomfort hiding in his expression as he asks, “Would you mind if I, um, topped? This time?” Nicky tilts his head before nodding cheerily, “feeling frisky huh?” Nicky performatively poses before seemingly doing some mental math and continuing, “it’s been a minute haha! Let me just hop in the shower real quick and then we’ll have some fun!”

Already feeling like he’s overstepping Simon doesn’t mention his desire for Nicky to not shower. Something feral need within him forces forward an urge to tackle and fuck then and there but he pushes such thoughts down and waits as patiently as he can. Preparing to bottom on such a short notice, Nicky quickly strips and his eyes land upon the talisman hanging from his neck once more. Pursing his lips he goes to take the necklace off, though as his fingers clasp the chain he shivers as it sends a sensitive pang searing through him. Why would he take it off. Feeling immediately more alert and needy, Nicky swiftly hops in the shower to prepare for some fun.

Outside the bathroom his boyfriend taps his foot anxiously, sending a deep, impatient echo through the room. Irritated at the sound he stands and quickly disrobes himself. After getting the cloak off, the room is filled with slight groans of effort as he struggles to get off his shirt. It’s almost stuck to his skin? Probably from sweat he thinks but each time he wrenches it up it only frees about an inch more room. His irritation prevents him from noticing how it decidedly hugs new weight on his chest or cuts into apparently thicker biceps.

The sound of the shirt straining fills the room and he grinds his teeth as the prospect of being stuck in the top any longer is unbearable. His hands stretch longer and strain shifts to tearing as he rips the tunic off with a grunt. Exposed to the open air is a sweaty body far more impressive than when the man struggled to get ready that morning. Looking at the torn shirt in his hand he blushes as his eyes trail up his forearms and stare at a bicep that’s begging to be flexed. 

Stepping out wearing only a towel and his talisman, Nicky smiles as he stares at Simon appreciating his arms, “Couldn’t have waited for me to put on the show huh?” Simon turns to see his boyfriend drop the towel and he loses control. Any sign of intelligence in his eyes vacates as he manhandles the man onto the bed. For his part Nicky assumes this to be roleplay, almost giggling from delight as the typically meek man ragdolls him onto the bed. Drool leaks from Simon's maw as he grunts and groans, struggling to free the throbbing package still trapped in his shorts.

Being straddled, Nick takes the chance to carefully observe his boyfriend’s body, appreciating the view that he seldom gets. For the life of him he doesn’t understand why Si got so worked up, with arms like that and a chest- or? When did he start working out actually? Nicky frees a hand to touch the man’s powerful torso and Simon shivers, reflexively rutting into him as his cock growing even harder sends the sound of fabric straining through the room. He’s decidedly firmer, heavier. Nicky sees hair begin to grow on the man’s chest and his mind for half a second hears the echoing laughter of a man he wished to forget. Though there’s no time to think as Simon goes for the tried and true method of just ripping his clothes off.

Eyes wide with wonder, Nicky watches as biceps bulge larger with each tug, shoulder span expanding as his hands yank and tear. His mouth falls open as he sees a cock clearly larger than the one that he knows Simon to have. Gulping as he realizes he’s agreed to take this dick that stretches up to his sternum, Nicky blushes and Simon smirks as he leans down to snarl or whisper something in his lover’s ear. 

Nicky feels pre dripping onto his chest as the larger man leans down, his arms land to either side of the man exposing pits dripping with sweat and just before he speaks or growls, the talisman flashes red. Eyes focused on each other neither man sees some shard of light go from the charm into Simon. His eyes roll back and close before he falls down onto Nicky. Immediately concerned for his love, Nicky struggles to shift the man off him and call for help before he hears Simon begin to snore. His body feels like a furnace atop Nicky’s, a cock still erect continues to throb into his stomach and gush pre in between the two of them. He feels patches of hairs thicker than Simon typically carries scratching him. Nicky tries to force the sleeping oaf off him before quickly tuckering himself out.

It was a long day after all. Nicky yawns as he sees the back of the man lying atop him. It’s not right, too wide, too heavy. His ass is not that large his- ughh. With another shove to wake or move Simon, Nicky feels weariness truly overtake him and his scarlet eyes flutter. The sleeping man moves his arms to hug Nicky tight and the seemingly smaller man has no recourse but to give way, his sides tickled by patches of pit hair dripping with sweat. Nick’s head tips forward a few times as he struggles to stay awake though the sound of his lover’s new snores lull him to sleep.

In the morning Nicky wakes to find himself free from Simon’s grasp, though the man’s sweat stains leave a clear outline around him on the bed and his torso remains sticky from pre. His head aches with a hangover though after the faintest wish that it end, so it does. Groaning he gets to his feet and heads off to shower once more, en route he finds a note from Si: “heyyy babe woke up w so much energy!!! gonna go for a run or to the gym idk :) c u soon thooooo<3”  Nicky  rubs sleep from his eyes and reads the short note a few times over, “hmmm. Weird.” Shrugging he goes about his day as usual, cleaning up, brewing coffee, doing the crossword. Something in the back of his mind says he usually does this with Simon, but that can’t be right? He’d never want to do that. His eye twitches as unbeknownst to him, with each step further away his love has truly begun to change from his unintentional intentions into a man who will never feel shame again.

Simon doesn’t know why he feels so compelled to get up and at ‘em. For years he has given himself ultimatums, scheduled gym sessions, dieted and done his best, but there has not been a moment in his life where he has felt more drive, more purpose than his flight from their shared bed. It’s like he’s a new man with nothing on his mind but getting some meat on his bones. He barely had the wherewithal to leave a note for his lover, as is clear by the lack of eloquence.

Nor is that the only aspect askew from Simon’s typical self. As his anxiety at being perceived shirtless may suggest, the man is always conscious of how he looks. Rarely does a day go by without Simon giving himself a painstaking once over in front of the mirror, be it applying makeup or designing an outfit. To simply throw on a tshirt and leave without even rinsing his face is anathema, and yet after doing just that and throwing on his boyfriend’s sneakers, finding his own far too tight, he’s out the door well before the sun begins to rise. 

His feet fall heavy on the sidewalk as his shabby outfit soon enough finds itself straining. Grimacing at the constriction it becomes clear that these clothes are far too tight and getting tighter with each step it seems. Nevertheless he presses onward until there is stinging pain from his feet struggling against their binds. While he’s been content to ignore or misinterpret the sounds of his own tshirt beginning to fray, as well as the pain that such constriction entails, he doesn’t want to ruin Nicky’s shoes. And so scrambling for somewhere to sit down he hops on a bench and begins to struggle with the laces.

Simon’s toes struggle against frontal fabric while the shoes’ tongues press into laces that simply must be cutting into the tops of his feet. Simon’s mind is clearly slowing down as he takes a few seconds too long to simply watch his feet expand beyond containment before, with a gasp, pain jogs him into action. At first he goes to untie them before he’s unable to recall precisely how to do that. Immediately switching to the task already begun by his growing feet he reaches in and simply tears each shoe in two.

His arms bulge with the effort involved in splitting them in twain, biceps that never were begin to appear and push his short sleeves to their limit as new muscle presses onto his chest. Looking down at his hands, decidedly more masc, the man can do nothing but observe his new form as it begins to extol an untenable price on his mind. With each new manly aspect so too will the cogs of his mind continue to slow.

Looking at his boyfriend's shredded shoes, Simon is immediately guilty though he releases a contented sigh as his feet flex free from their confines. His newly one track mind is then thrown off-course and his eyes narrow at the feet bare on cold concrete. They were not simply chafing or something reasonable of the sort, they are too big. They’re larger than his shoes and seem to still be growing larger. And wait- Why did he leave the house without wearing socks!? 

Simon shakes his head to try and focus on one question at a time, though before peace comes there is a searing pain from his legs as his changes continue upward. Calves burst from his bony legs while athletic shorts are clearly strained by thighs that any man would kill for. Thick, perhaps barbarous, curls begin to issue forth from any pore exposed as he clutches with his newly thicker hands into muscle still hardening, still pumping larger. 

Grunting loudly, Simon falls off the bench as ever spreading changes spread towards his glutes. His pert ass hardens and grows to a size that would attract attention no matter what he wears to try and hide it under. His whole lower body cramps with growth as his legs extend, wider feet scratching into dirt as calves and thighs lengthen while his pulse continues to race from the shock of this impossible transformation. Struggling with the new weight of self, his rougher hands pressed into the ground his duller mind is unable to reconcile what is happening to him with reality. The sound of blood rushing through his ears mutes the world around him and at the slightest lapse he simply forgets.

“Why am I on my hands?” Through bleary eyes he stares at hands too wide, fingers longer and thicker. He trails upward and almost scoffs as he sees forearms and biceps not nearly as defined as they should be, after another moment mouth agog he guffaws as he presumes to have put one and one together, “Oh ahuhuh- I must be workin’ out here?” Licking his lips as he is filled with an otherworldly surge of energy, Simon gets started following one of the most common impulses that is to evermore make itself at home in his mind. He starts doing some push ups.

Immediately do his biceps burn with effort as they put on weight at an impossible rate. Simon grunts with the effort of taking the wheel and commanding his body to be more powerful. His heart pounds in his chest as, just like every piece of fabric before, his shirt quickly gives way outright to the progress of growth. To the strengthening of self. With each dip towards the earth his pecs come closer to touching the cold soil before bouncing as his powerful arms rocket him back upwards with precision. 

Simon continues exercising until his arms burn as numb as his new, slower mind. Not only does muscle continue to pack on with every punch upwards, but his impressive form is just as quickly patterned with burgeoning body hair. Sweat drips down onto a chest rapidly peppered with curls and steams off a back which holds hair slowly rising from his lightly furred ass. Sweaty steam trails upwards from widening shoulders and bulky traps into the cold autumn air as heavy breath mists from behind gnashing teeth. Nowhere does the hair grow thicker than under his powerful arms as a jungle of hair grows outward from his pits and sends distinct trails of sweat down his trunk like biceps and across his hulking pecs.

Body hair and brawn are not the only decidedly improved aspects of the man either. Just as he continues to pack on muscle with each thrust upwards, so too is his crotch pulled closer to the ground with every descent. His briefs struggle against a package rapidly growing beyond any tenable containment. Balls bulge larger to supply his impressive form with the hormones required for the growth he demands of it, pubes cascading upward and outward as they strive to assert that Simon’s masculinity shall never be in question. 

So too does his cock throb and push against the confines of his underwear enough to be plainly visible. Not only from growing erect as his heart races, but from expanding to be the most impressive rod either he or his lover have ever seen. With the slightest glance down to see his new cock, he smirks and shivers as he imagines topping Nicky with that beast. 

This of course sends such a powerful surge of lust through him that the bulging cock immediately bursts free from the briefs outright, leaving him clad in nothing. His cock, now free, drips pre onto the earth as he continues working out a few moments longer in the buff, plain for anyone to see were the streets not thankfully empty. Guffawing to himself after thrusting his new cock into the ground a few times in the process of pushing up, Simon’s new bovine mind eventually realizes he’s fully nude and public and quickly stumbles to his feet. “Oh shit huhuh-” He stands and scratches the back of his head and tries to plan some form of escape, in the process he flexes his bicep and can’t help but smirk as he sees the veins bulging along its impressive length.

Feeling his still turgid cock bounce with every slight movement, he continues laughing before looking down to see shredded clothes scattered at his colossal feet. Seeing the pile of clothes outgrown, Simon does everything short of drooling as he for the first time takes in his new form. Massive hands trail across padded muscle as the urgency of covering his dick fades from his mind. 

When his sweaty pecs begin to glimmer from the rising sun he is immediately thrown back into awareness of his active criminal behavior. Checking the coast is clear once more, he pauses for a moment wondering what the big deal is about public nudity before being chastised by some internal Nicky. Simon turns back to the bench and laughs dumbly as he sees his gym bag lying discarded.

Pouncing like an animal, he quickly tears into and retrieves shorts that will surely leave nothing to the imagination. Nevertheless he throws them on and grimaces as they tightly hug his ass and package. Seeing shirts thrown to the side he scratches his face and his face quivers as he feels stubble grace it for the first time. He purses his lips just to feel a moustache scratch his nose and absolutely disregards the idea that he needs a shirt. Why would he cover up anything beyond what is necessary. Surely the world would be more than grateful at the chance to see his form he asserts, bouncing his pecs and chuckling as he does so.

Finding himself with nothing to do besides appreciate how built he truly is now, Simon uses his phone as a mirror to inspect every angle and uses whatever sparing space in his mind to keep track of the best ones. The massive man shivers as the sweaty steam rising from him briefly glimmers red, making it clear that Nicky’s will has been enacted on his lover and announcing the fulfillment of his will. Nevermore will he be self-conscious, quite the opposite in fact. As morning commuters begin their grind many offer a passing glance to the by all accounts himbo drooling at his own reflection, and never does one escape without receiving a wink or flex from the man.

When a pair of jocks eye him with jealousy on the way to class he holds back laughter, the idea that not twenty-four hours ago he was just like them, smaller even, is inconceivable to the new man. Though to be fair, much now lies beyond the realm of conceivability for the man. He thinks about offering some tips to the pair though refrains as something needles him far, far in the back of his simple mind. There was something he was supposed to do yeah?

Furrowing his brow in as deep a concentration as he can muster, Simon’s eyes close and his hands clench at his head as he tries to think. Laundry? Huhuh as if- Meal prep? Then why would he be out here? Simon starts groaning in frustration and tapping his larger, still bare, foot on the sidewalk. Ephemeral ideas he might have latched onto in a life before this one drift past before he gives up and sits down, crossing his arms. The bench creaks under his new weight as he almost petulantly reclines, head back and eyes blank.

Suddenly he jolts up and almost hits himself for not doing the obvious straight away. Obviously Nicky’ll know what to do! His clumsy hands struggle to get his phone from the pocket of his shorts and he smiles at the lock screen, a picture of Nicky being smothered by his massive arms. Simon then squints and bites his tongue in concentration as now even this requires some degree of effort. Quickly enough he dials up his beau and almost vibrates from the excitement of hearing his voice. 

Back at home Nicky is playing a game though squeezes the phone in his headset as he sees Simon calling, “Hey baby? What’s up, early start today huh?” Would that he had a tail to wag, Simon laughs and answers, “ha uhhh, yeah somethin’ like that- uhhhhh. Yo did you uh, know what I was plannin’ on doing this morning?” Nicky tilts his head, for a moment he swears something is off with his boyfriend’s voice. Then his eyes go blank and his vision flickers red before, no it’s always been like that? Nicky swears something about his long hours at the gym over the years made him drop a few octaves but that’s neither here nor there. 

Nicky shakes off this small stupor, “Yeah Si, you said you were going to the gym no?” an eye twitches, “y’know, like usual?” Excitement once more sets fire in Simon’s veins as he nods and laughs at himself for forgetting such a simple routine, “Ahhh what would I do without you babe huhuh!” He kisses his cellphone and winks at a woman walking her dog who was giving him a side-eye. “Well you have fun dude! Gonna go get a MASSIVE pump in!” Nicky wryly grins and rolls his eyes, “you too, you too b, see you later-” With that he gets back to the game, intentionally ignoring the crimson buzzing at the back of his mind as both men set off to tackle the obstacles of the day, totally unaware of the lives they are to unintentionally change evermore. 

Potentialities: (Poll on Sunday the First at 12 AM CST)

Gonna keep this one limited as a test run! If you have any suggestions on where you'd like me to go do please shout! Happy to get real wacky with it if there’s an interest!

Nicky Routes:

Grow up you asshole: Getting flamed in game Nicky’s clapback  teaches a gamer to be a real man (Bear/Dilf TF) 

Man you always play him: Well intentioned words bring his gamer friend far closer in mind, body, and spirit to his favorite character- Fictional character TF (Would prompt another poll for sure, haven’t done one of these before but if there’s a demand we’ll see!)

Simon Routes: (More standard faire jock/himbo tfs)

Sorry for the backwash bro: Accidentally sharing a drink causes his himbofication to spread 

Let’s get pumped: Simon finds work as a personal trainer and is far more effective than he has any right to be 

[thatlotuscookie]

Hihi!! I got a silly lil request if u wanna write it =3

Soooo since Kenma from Haikyuu is prob very rich in timeskip, would u consider writing something where y/n is like “Hey honey I want Burger King” and Kenma misunderstands and buys the whole BK company and y/n has to make Kenma return it XD(bonus if the internet finds out and memes it or something)

✧･ﾟ: a/n: : Kenma’s lowkey chaos energy combined with his wealth and your grounded perspective made this such a fun dynamic to write. I hope you enjoy<3 thank you for the req

✧ Title: ✧ Burger King of My Heart ✧ ✧ Characters: Kenma Kozume x Reader (Gender Neutral) ✧ Genre: Humor, Fluff, Established Relationship ✧ Rating: G ✧ Summary: When you casually ask Kenma for Burger King, you never imagined he’d take it literally—and buy the entire franchise. ✧ Content/Tags: Kenma Being Kenma, Rich Boy Hijinks, Social Media Memes, Established Relationship, Reader in Disbelief, Humor with a Dash of Fluff ✧ WC: 713 words // 4.1k chars

Life with Kenma Kozume was anything but ordinary. Between his highly successful gaming company and the residual fame from his pro volleyball days, he had wealth, influence, and a surprisingly practical approach to everything—well, usually.

Today, however, was shaping up to be one for the books.

You were lounging on the couch in Kenma’s sleek, minimalist apartment. The floor-to-ceiling windows framed a perfect view of the city skyline, but your attention was squarely on your grumbling stomach.

Kenma was stationed at his gaming setup nearby, wearing noise-canceling headphones and entirely focused on whatever strategy game he was playing. You admired how cute he looked when he was concentrating, but hunger had made you restless.

“Kenmaaaa,” you called, dragging his name out dramatically.

“Hm?” he mumbled, not taking his eyes off the screen.

“I want BK,” you said, your words tumbling out lazily.

Kenma finally glanced over his shoulder, his golden eyes meeting yours. “BK?”

“Yeah, Burger King,” you clarified. “I’m starving. I need greasy fries and a Whopper, stat.”

He nodded once, a small, thoughtful “hm” escaping his lips before he turned back to his game. You figured he’d order delivery or suggest driving out to grab food later.

But Kenma Kozume, former volleyball star turned tech genius, never did things the way anyone else would.

About two hours later, Kenma wandered back into the living room, phone in hand. You’d half-dozed off in your hunger-induced haze, but his calm voice brought you back to reality.

“So, it’s done,” he said.

“Huh?” You blinked, sitting up. “What’s done?”

“I bought it.”

Your brain, still foggy from your nap, struggled to catch up. “Bought what?”

“BK,” he said matter-of-factly.

It took a solid five seconds for his words to register. “Wait. You mean... like the food? Where’s the food?”

Kenma tilted his head slightly, confused by your confusion. “No, the company. Burger King. You said you wanted it.”

The room went silent as you stared at him in disbelief.

“Kenma.”

“Yes?”

“You bought the entire company?”

“Yeah,” he said, as if it were the most logical solution in the world. “It wasn’t that expensive, all things considered.”

You gawked at him, your jaw practically hitting the floor. “I meant I wanted a burger and fries, not to own Burger King!”

Kenma blinked. “Oh. I thought you meant you wanted BK, as in... all of it.”

Your hands flew to your head. “Kenma, do you know how insane that is? You can’t just—wait, does the internet know about this?”

Almost as if on cue, your phone buzzed with a series of notifications. Grabbing it, you saw that #KenmaBuysBK was trending. Social media was already ablaze with memes and commentary.

One post read: “Imagine being rich enough to solve hunger by buying an entire fast-food chain. Kenma Kozume, everybody.”

Another had a photo of Kenma with the caption: “Me: I want fries. Kenma: Here’s your kingdom, Burger Queen.”

You groaned, scrolling through the chaos. “Kenma, this is everywhere!”

He shrugged, his calm demeanor unshaken. “People were going to find out eventually.”

“Kenma, you have to return it.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t need to own Burger King! I just wanted food!”

Kenma sighed, pulling out his phone. “Fine. I’ll call my financial advisor.”

By the next day, Kenma had quietly backed out of the purchase, but the internet wasn’t ready to let the incident go. Memes flooded every platform, and even major news outlets picked up the story.

When you arrived at Kenma’s office later to bring him lunch, his coworkers couldn’t resist teasing you. One of them grinned and said, “So, Burger Queen, what’s for lunch today?”

You rolled your eyes, but even you had to laugh at the absurdity of it all. Kenma, as unbothered as ever, simply handed you a small bag when you walked into his office.

“What’s this?” you asked, peeking inside.

“Burger King,” he said with the faintest hint of a smirk.

You burst out laughing, shaking your head. “You’re unbelievable, you know that?”

Kenma leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. “I just wanted to make you happy.”

Despite everything, you couldn’t help but feel incredibly lucky. Because in his own unique, overly extravagant way, Kenma always found a way to show you just how much he cared.

[caplanbuckybarnes]

Tension Logs (Steve Rogers, Tony Stark)

gif sen to me by @krirebr back in october, just now going through my inbox full of gifs, sorry my love <3

Summary: overhearing an argument from Steve & Tony, you grow worried and with awe at the pure strength Steve possesses.

Warnings: none?

WC: 1K

A/N: there's no pairing in this and i honestly debated on posting this as is, or rewrite it a million more times lol.

Read On Ao3!

--

The farm was a welcome sight after everything that had happened. After the chaos, the battles, and the tension of saving the world yet again, Clint Barton’s peaceful farmhouse felt like a sanctuary—a place to breathe and maybe, for once, pretend things were normal.

You sat on the porch, your legs curled beneath you, watching the others as they scattered around the property. Natasha was keeping an eye on the kids while Clint and Thor discussed something about farming techniques—likely for a laugh, given Thor's complete lack of experience with Earth crops. Bruce was in the barn, tinkering with gadgets, and Vision was seated nearby, reading.

But your attention was drawn to the tension rising between two men who seemed to clash constantly: Steve Rogers and Tony Stark.

You could hear them before you saw them—loud, angry voices. Steve, usually so calm, was pacing, hands running through his short blonde hair in frustration. Tony was standing a few feet away, arms crossed, his expression tight with annoyance. The words were muffled from the porch, but the intensity between them was unmistakable.

"He's just not listening," Tony grumbled, rubbing his temple. “I’m trying to save everyone, Steve! But you keep acting like I’m the enemy here.”

Steve’s jaw was tight as he shook his head. “You think I don’t want to protect people? You’re not seeing the bigger picture here, Tony. If we keep going down this road, we’ll have no choice but to fight against ourselves.”

“Yeah, and how long until we’re fighting for our lives, huh?” Tony shot back, clearly exasperated. "You’re just blind to the fact that the rest of the world isn’t always going to play nice.”

You could feel the tension rising from where you sat. The last few days had been a whirlwind of emotions, battles with no real winners, and personal grievances that were still being worked out. But watching Tony and Steve argue like this... it was different. The anger was raw, not just from the situation, but from something deeper, something that neither of them was willing to admit.

You sighed, turning your gaze back to them, uncertain whether you should intervene. But before you could make a move, something unexpected happened.

Steve had stopped pacing, his face flushed with frustration, and Tony was busy running his hands through his hair, his back turned. That’s when Steve walked over to a large, thick log lying near the edge of the property, one that looked almost too heavy to move. Without saying a word, Steve dropped to one knee, grabbed hold of the log, and—without any visible hesitation—ripped it in half with his bare hands.

You blinked, certain you had imagined it, but when you saw Steve’s arms straining, his muscles tensing with the force of the action, you realized it was real. He wasn’t using any tools or anything to help him. No tech. No super-soldier serum enhancement. Just pure, raw strength. The snap of the log cracking in half was deafening in the stillness of the farm, and for a moment, you were sure even Tony had frozen in place.

For a long second, there was only the sound of Steve breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling as he stood over the splintered wood, his eyes unwavering. His gaze locked with Tony’s, and the tension between them suddenly felt different—more grounded, more purposeful.

Tony’s jaw dropped, his usual sarcastic wit faltering for a moment. “Jesus, Cap. You trying to kill me or just make me feel inadequate?”

Steve didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he straightened up, wiping his hands on his pants as though the task had been as simple as pulling a thread from his sleeve. His face was set, but there was a softness behind his eyes, something you recognized as tiredness—not from age, but from the weight of the responsibility that he carried.

“You can’t fix everything, Tony,” Steve said, his voice quieter now, though it still held that unshakeable determination. “But you can try to do the right thing. I need you to understand that.”

Tony didn’t say anything at first, still staring at the broken log, clearly in shock at what he had just witnessed. Slowly, his expression softened, and he nodded, though you could see the struggle in his eyes.

“I know,” Tony replied after a moment, his voice rough. “I just… I don’t know how to stop screwing up.”

The vulnerability in his voice was something you rarely heard from Tony Stark, and it made your heart ache for him. But then, to your surprise, Steve stepped closer, clapping Tony lightly on the shoulder.

“You don’t have to be perfect, Tony,” Steve said, the warmth in his voice unmistakable now. “None of us do. Just don’t give up on trying.”

You couldn’t help but smile softly, watching the interaction unfold. In that moment, you realized just how strong Steve Rogers truly was—not just in his physical strength, but in his unwavering belief in people, in their ability to change, to do better.

You knew that strength now extended beyond just his shield. It was in his words, in the way he carried the weight of responsibility on his shoulders, and in how, no matter how many times Tony fell short of his own expectations, Steve would always be there to pull him up again.

You stood up quietly, unsure if they even realized you were there. The argument had defused, and now, Tony and Steve were standing side by side, silently processing everything that had just happened. The tension between them was still there, but you could see the cracks beginning to heal, just a little.

With a quiet breath, you stepped back inside the house, letting the door swing closed behind you. There was still a lot of work to be done before the world would feel right again, but for now, you felt a flicker of hope. Steve Rogers, in all his strength, had proven once again that the world wasn’t just saved by punches or tech. It was saved by the quiet power of believing in each other.

And maybe, just maybe, that was the kind of strength that would carry them all through the rest of the storm.

[gameboyreplay]

Sevika headcanon's!

An: this is my first time posting, everyone celebrate I gained courage! Wow! Warnings: Fluff!!!! And more fluff!!! Woah!!!! Also, Isha is ALIVE. my child will never die. dont piss me off

She's the cleanest woman you'll ever meet. Like she's doing two showers a day, scrubbing like she's trying to remove a layer of skin, smelling like whatever soap she picked up that month. Has a whole collection of cologne and you best believe she loves when people buy her those soap sets for Christmas or her birthday.

Speaking of birthdays, she's one of those people that HATE them. You even try to do anything nice and she's raising an eyebrow. She just doesn't understand the hype! (Doesn't want to admit she's 40)

Forgets to eat. Like you'll come home from work and she'll be sat on the couch, exhausted from having to work with Jinx and it's like a sixth sense at this point. "Hey." She mumbles, looking over to the front door. Her cape hanging off the back of the couch. "Hi baby." You say as you start to take off your jacket. When you turn back around you immediately furrow your eyebrows at how tired she looks. "Did you eat today?" You ask, taking her cape off the back of the couch and placing it on the coat hanger. She looks up to the ceiling, trying to remember if she had but just from that alone you shake your head and walk over to the kitchen. "Never mind."

When she pulls off her cape, sometimes it'll land in puddles and she has to grab it after whatever fight she was in that day, groaning because now has to wash her cape. She'll stumble home, still angry that she had to clean it. She'll go into the bathroom and lean over her tiny ass bathtub, starting to clean any of the dirt out of it. Like she's mumbling to herself about Jinx, using her breath to blow her hair out of her face and grunting when it falls back anyways. Then she'll bring it over to the bedroom, a water trail in her path. She plugs in the hairdryer, still grumbling to herself. Once it's somewhat dry, she's pulling the iron out. You walk through the door and in front of you is an annoyed Sevika, her cape on your bed, the hairdryer discarded on the floor and Sevika slowly running the iron over the cape, a scowl on her face.

When Jinx needs her hair braiding a few days later, she's absolutely yanking on her hair. Like every single strand she is TUGGING.

This woman SLEEPS. Like I'm talking full on, window shaking, waking you up, waking HERSELF up. She's tired man, she's gotta sleep like a father of four!!

Whenever she walks into where she gets her mechanical arms, every single prosthetist in the room just sigh. They see her face every other week.

Bites her nails like it's going to solve her problems. (It won't, it doesn't)

When Silco was alive Sevika would constantly try to get him to play cards with her. Likeee she'd be manipulative. "Do you wanna play cards?" Her smirk is sooo obvious on her face. "No, I'm busy." Is all Silco says. Within seconds she's placing a cigar in front of him. "You sure?" She mumbles. And you know she's walking away with coins and a cocky grin.

I feel like Zaun would be the type to have so many animals just wandering the street. So, she could be having a conversation and dogs will just walk up and she totally acts like she's annoyed while slowly lowering down and stroking the animal.

Like you'll be having a talk with her and instead of her towering over you like normal, she'll be slowly bending down. "Yeah, yeah..." "Sev, why are you on the floor." And she's just petting the dog like it's obvious.

Whenever she takes care of Isha, that child uses her like a climbing frame. She walks into a room and you just hear little mumbling and gasps behind her until she turns around and Isha is just hanging off her shoulder.

She's WARM, like crazy overheating, can't tell if she's sick, HEATED. Yet she'll still wrap up nice and toasty in the covers.

And if you're like me and you have ice cold fingers and toes, she jumps like you just place an ice cube on her body. She doesn't understand how you get like this. It seriously worries her

She gets sooooo annoyed when her hair gets in her face. Like she'll do the weird blow thing and get even more annoyed when it doesn't work.

Jinx and Isha will put clips in her hair. She pretends to act pissed off but she's secretly grateful!!

Does NOT shave. She does not gaf! Bush and happy trail for days! You could braid her leg hair! She does not care!!

After Silco died you had to practically force her off the drinks, cigarillos and the shimmer. Drowning her sorrows like she's not got two kids to take care of now.

Literally has given up trying to stop Jinx from just stopping around her apartment. She'll just hear a little knock before the sight of Isha and Jinx just standing there.

She has learnt to accept that they probably won't go away for a while. So she just allows them to get comfy while they're there. It's ended up with them stay there for days. Gave them a bedtime and everything.

If she hears them messing around in the living room she's THERE. Like if the room is dark, they only know she's there by her stomping footsteps before she crosses her arms and looms over them. "Go to sleep." And Isha just giggles quietly as she slides under her covers, Jinx doing the same with some look on her face towards Isha that Sevika doesn't notice.

She'll stand there until they're both laying down before turning around and grumbling to herself. Then about ten minutes as she's about to fall asleep again all she can hear is giggles and laughter.

Says some sarcastic shit like, "wow, no way," whenever they say they're tired in the morning. ---- A/n: I just want my wife back guys😞😞😞 Anyways let me know if they're any mistakes... or don't...

[neysaadept]

Prometheus Chapter 9

Emily Prentiss x Female CIA Reader

Chapter 9 - Why Do You Keep Saying No?

Tags: Limited use of y/n but established last name. Swearing, mentions of the pandemic and human and sex trafficking. Canon typical violence. Sexual innuendos. Drinking. Smoking. Slow Burn. Murder. Depictions of Flaying. Implied Rape. Mentions of Date Rape Drugs. Strangulation. Restraints. Mental Institutions. PTSD. Childhood trauma. Psychological Trauma. Implied references to child abuse. Minors DNI.

Word Count: 6.6k (and I thought the last one was long)

AO3

Chapter 8

Two weeks have gone by since Indio and you turn inward, boxing up your feelings with a neat bow to return to status quo but you’re sure Prentiss wasn’t buying it. Thankfully, she was too busy with section chief duties to really bother you. Instead, you branch out and integrate further with the team at work. JJ found out you liked to run and meets you at Quantico a couple of days during the week once the kids were off to school to do it together. She took you around different parts of the campus to better familiarize the area. You and Rossi spend a lot of time talking about the history of profiling and the integration of its use into modern investigation techniques in his office as the two of you knock out paperwork. You also have a spirited conversation on why the Bears suck and where you were when the Cubs won the World Series. You, Tara, and Rebecca finally have a night together which you felt comfortable doing. You went to a nice Italian restaurant, knocked back a bottle of wine, and shared the basics on how you and Rebecca met, played pretend girlfriends as vengeance, and all about the HSC she was curious about.

You almost felt normal. But since you didn’t know what that was, perhaps you were just being human.

You and Brian kept in touch by phone and text since you weren’t needed face to face yet. He reminds you of your upcoming psych check in tomorrow which you send back an eyeroll emoji to express your disinterest but of course you would go. It was mandatory for as long as you said yes to joining the CIA.

Your side project with Penelope was also set up as FlamePit23 came up empty with any identifiable information. She ran an algorithm for most used words, phrases, and idiosyncrasies to assist the team pretend to be this woman. You, on the other hand, convinced Prentiss that it should be you posting as this user when the three of you talked about this in Garcia’s lair.

“It should be me,” you urged. “If this some how works and there’s a meeting, it needs to be a non-BAU related agent since Bailey outed you all at that fucking press conference. You know he’s looking into you if not already since the news of the shipping container broke.”

“Have you done this sorta thing before?” Penelope asks with that curious need that went beyond knowing a skillset. She wanted to know you!

You shake your head back and forth in debate before nodding. “Yeah.”

Her eyes widen and she squeals reading between the lines. “Are you a spy like Emily?!”

You lean back with a huff. “I can neither confirm nor deny this.”

“Oh my god! You’re a spy!” She points at you with excitement and then claps.

“I’m not not saying I’m a spy …”

Emily holds her hands up to stop the back and forth. “Regardless of how Whitlock came to possess these abilities, I’m authorizing her to make contact. But,” she looks sternly at the two of you, “you do this together and inform me the minute Sicarius takes the bait. Understood?”

“Yes Ma-!” Garcia was starting to say but the glare from Prentiss forced her to clamp her mouth shut.

You didn’t care. “Yes, Ma’am.”

And you so loved how Prentiss’ glare turned into a flustered eyeroll. Penelope noticed too.

There was also the case of Penelope blabbing out about your military training that piqued Luke’s interest since he was a former Army Ranger. Since there is downtime, he offers a chance to cut loose with you and spar instead of just beating on the heavy bag. With how you’re feeling, this was exactly what you needed. Not the psychiatrist. Good old fashion physical exertion with an opponent.

What you didn’t realize as you were getting ready in the locker room, is that the entire team, sans Prentiss, are going to be spectators … and there were bets. They knew Luke’s background and since yours was up in the air with how much military training you had coupled with what you learned from the CIA as a special agent, there was debate on who had the edge. Odds were 3/2 in Luke’s favor, but the team was split. JJ and Rossi bet on Luke and Penelope and Tara on you.

The four of them put out folding chairs at a safe distance from the blue sparring mat in a semi-circle, though JJ has her turned around to sit backwards on it for her own awkward comfort. There were other agents using the bags and practicing maneuvers scattered about the rest of the room, uncaring what the BAU was up to. Luke was first to arrive from the locker room with the appropriate red headgear and MMA boxing gloves, a black tank and shorts. You both decided on bare feet. He pats his chest and looks to JJ as she starts whooping. Rossi was amused.

Penelope was animatedly giving the double thumbs down as Tara booed. “You’re going down, Alvez! Whitlock’s gonna kick your ass!”

“Bullshit! My boy’s gonna drop her in five!” jeers JJ.

“Booooooo! A pox upon Alvez!” Penelope fires back.

“What in the hell’s going on here?” Prentiss’s voice carries over the trash talk. “I go looking for my team to check on deadlines and you’re all nowhere to be found. I only had this clue.”

She holds up a hot pink stinky note with the elegant scrawl of Penelope’s that said:

GYM AT 1200 MY LOVELIES

It was signed with a heart.

“Well,” she stood there with no answer and thrusts the note further, curling her other arm around her stomach. “Would someone like to explain why you’re all not at your desks working and Luke’s dressed like that?”

“Ah, just having some fun, Prentiss,” says Luke, knocking his gloves together. “Blowing off some steam.”

“And to be fair, you weren’t around to give a heads up,” explains Tara.

“You weren’t in your office,” says Rossi with a shrug. “We did look.”

“You all have access to my calendar to know where I’m at,” she shoots back while crumpling the sticky note, making Penelope pout. “Seriously. You all have better things to do-“

“Better things like what?” you ask, having joined the group after silently watching Prentiss berate the team. You watch as she turns around, her disappointing eyes switch immediately to surprise.

Like Luke, you wore the same red headgear and gloves but had your hair tied back in a ponytail. You also play with the mouthguard dangling from between your teeth as brown eyes look you up and down. You wore a blue sports bra and matching cross training shorts that showed off your lean, muscular build. The section chief never had a chance to see what was under all that clothing, unlike JJ who you ran with.

Rossi smirks and makes an educated announcement. “I think Emily’s in.”

“I, uh …” She has to tear her eyes away and looks at the expectant group. “Fine.”

You wonder why she gave in so quickly but shrug it off. “Hold on.”

Realizing Prentiss didn’t have a seat, you jog over to get another chair and set it up for her. Tara and Penelope raise a brow towards one another with interest. JJ commends the chivalry. “How nice of her to treat the boss right.”

“Oh, just shut it, Jareau.” But there wasn’t any bite in the words as she sat down and crossed her arms.

She ends up by Penelope who rocks side to side on her chair in thought before leaning towards Emily. “So, are you in on the betting since you’re all interested in the fight now?”

Penelope’s way of saying she was well aware of how quickly Emily’s tune changed after seeing Whitlock in different clothes without actually saying it. At least she wasn’t poking fun of her for it … yet.

Oh, what the hell, she thinks and nods. “What’re the odds?”

“3 to 2 favoring Luke. Me and Tara are on team cutie. Rossi and JJ are with Luke.”

Prentiss watches you and Luke discuss the terms of the fight. He had a height advantage and Ranger training, but you had similar training too. She had her suspicions that special forces were in charge of your training considering your secretive background. You clearly put forth effort into keeping in shape due to the demands of being a CIA operative, much to her wandering eyes delight. And since you were not not a spy, she was certain you had more in your bag of tricks than even those betting in your favor knew.

“Put me down for Whitlock,” she says without tearing her eyes away from you.

Penelope has to fight so hard that it wasn’t the only thing that Emily wants to go down on with Whitlock, but she behaves! She deserves a medal for that even though she should say it because Emily crumpled the cute note she wrote the team!

You and Luke tap gloves and both take three feet backwards to provide enough room to start. He put himself in a standard krav maga stance, relaxing his posture with a foot forward and his hands before him with his fingers spread out.

You just stood there, studying him, with your chin tucked down and standing similar to Luke. You were defensive without him easily reading you, which is what you want. You had been strenuously trained how to take down men like him in the field, and not just by military means alone. This would not be a flashy fight, but a fight to end quickly and decisively.

When you lock eyes you both nod as the agreed upon way to start the fight, and it begins.

Luke opens up offensively with straight punches that you anticipated. You duck down and back sweep Luke off his feet.

Rossi blinks in disbelief at what just happened in a few seconds. JJ looks the same but was able to verbalize what they both saw. “Holy crap!”

“She went all Karate Kid on him!” cheers Penelope but then has to admonish you playfully in the next breath. “But do not put him in a body bag! You are not Johnny Lawrence!”

Your brain was aware of the audience but as they were not a threat, it was background noise. The focus was Luke rolling off his back to stand up, which you allow. Now he knows you’re quick and would adjust his strategy, as would you. He lunges forward with an arm as a feint, but the true attack comes when he raises his dominant leg to kick into your side. You strike your forearm down for the block and with a focused yell, you thrust your palm forward and connect against Luke’s chest. You hear him wheeze at the sudden loss of air you force out of him as he goes down.

“What sort of training did you say she had again, Pen?” asks Tara. “Not that I’m upset that we’re winning so far, but this is pretty intense.”

“Just military.” She shrugs. “Nothing specific.”

“Looks like a bit of Marine training, maybe,” Rossi says offhandedly, but he wasn’t entirely convinced. Having served himself, he could see traces of the training he had but he could also tell you were drawing off other techniques in those few moves.

Prentiss wasn’t so sure that the military training you shared was what you were relying on either. You were anticipating Luke far too easily which indicated a more stringent martial arts training like Muay Thai or Jeet Kune Do. You were extraordinary to watch in these few moments with how you took command of the fight. You were stunning.

“Luke!” JJ shouts. “Stop falling on your ass and do something!”

His answer is a cough as you put more distance between him, allowing him a chance to get up. This is not how you would normally be out in the field, but this was a friendly fight and would give him one more chance. You watch as he puts an elbow to the mat to swing his body around and get to his feet. He sees you standing at attention, studying him.

“Okay …” he starts to say before taking several deep breaths while rubbing his chest. “That hurt.”

You remain impassive as you visualize dozens of scenarios that Luke could take. As he starts to come at you again, you block his punches with forearms, moving him around the mat with quick feet. You set him up how you want and fire back with two punches and a hook that he blocks but he misses how your heel turns at him, setting Luke up for a spin kick that connects right in his gut. Your feint works.

“Luke get up!” Which JJ does herself. She hopes that her voice will give him some strength to turn this fight around. Rossi is left shaking his head in amazement.

“Holy shit, girl!” Tara howls while clapping.

“She hasn’t won yet!” reminds Penelope.

“Eh, she will.” Emily points to you as you rush to the ground to hook one of Luke’s arms under yours and his head under the other. “Luke fell into her trap. She was playing him the whole time.”

With a firm grip of his tank, you tuck your head against his shoulder and plant your legs wide to counter any leverage he may have.

Luke struggles to find any give to overpower you. He tries to push up with his legs but is unable to flip over. Next, he tries moving his shoulders but with how you are able to control his upper torso, there was no momentum to even start. He grunts and pants, trying in vain to get off his back or get his legs around you, but your head was safely tucked in against his shoulder from any advantage he could find. As a last resort, he flails his arms to try and get a grip on anything, but your head was just out of reach as intended.

Rossi sighs, throwing his hands up. “I think we’re gonna have to call it.”

JJ sits down with a strangling groan as Penelope rises to her feet and applauds, cheering your name. “I knew you’d win!”

With controlling breaths, you confirm the victory with Luke. “You yield?”

He strains against your hold one last time before going limp. “Yes!”

And just like that, you untangle your arms free from him and hop up to stand. He looks up at you while catching his breath, arms flopping over his body to work out the tension your hold causes. “What the fuck, Whitlock...” His chuckle betrays his amusement despite his words sounding vicious. “I never had a chance, did I?”

“Kinda the idea to be underestimated.” You grin, offering a hand to help him to his feet. “Maybe you’ll have better luck next time.”

“Oh, you know it! Now I know what to expect.” He laughs, patting you on the back before you half hug each other with respect.

As Rossi and JJ were taking out money to settle the bet with Garcia, Tara and Emily were heading over to you. Tara playfully pushes your shoulder with a big smile. “That was impressive.”

You shrug and start feeling self-conscious. Prior to the CIA you would have bragged about your win and talked trash at Luke at how easily you won, but you have learned humility. “Thank you.”

Prentiss is surprised by the lack of bravado and found it quite interesting. This was a perfect time for playfully belittling Alvez losing after a commanding victory. But no. You were displaying genuine gratitude for showcasing your abilities.

One thing’s for sure, you can handle yourself in the field far better than I initially thought, she muses. “You had a lot more than military training.”

You blush and bring up a gloved hand, bringing your index finger and thumb together. “Maybe a wee bit.”

“Luke’s on to something, though,” she says, and you quirk a brow in question. “Think you can find time and pass some of this knowledge down to the team?”

“Uh …” you start rubbing the back of your neck at the unspoken compliment from Prentiss. It took you off guard and have to force your eyes to tear away from the intensely expecting brown ones that were fixed on you. You look around at the team and gently nod. “Sure. I, uh, I can do that.”

“Ladies!” Everyone’s attention was on Garcia now. “We have enough money to cover girls’ night tomorrow thanks to our CIA cutie de-mol-li-shing Lukey there!”

JJ comes up and punches her partner in the arm which makes him yelp. “Lucky I get drinks outta this but you!” She points at you. “You, me and darts.”

Prentiss smiles at the challenge. “My money’s on JJ then.”

You look quickly at Prentiss as you need to clarify something since the section chief hasn’t been acting like a sore loser. “Does that mean you bet on me?”

“I did,” she confirms with a nod. She knew who was going to win the moment you stepped into view, and it wasn’t just because she was caught off guard by how attractive you were. “I know a winner when I see one.”

“And this winner is finally going to go out with us!” Penelope joins the group flashing the wad of bills in the air in front of your face. “You flaked out last time.” Your eyes start to widen with apology, and she juts her lower jaw out petulantly. “No! You can’t bail on us again!”

“I’m sorry. I got CIA shit I need to deal with again,” The lie easily rolls off your tongue and the team accepts it. The only difference is that Prentiss was here this time when you said it and she was not convinced. She kept her poker face as you continue. “Full time consultant for the FBI still needs to go home and take care of things.”

“You’ve got to be kidding! You won us mad money to blow at the bar! You deserve to partake.” Tara says, trying to stroke your ego and win you over.

You half grin and shake your head no. “I’m really sorry. But hey! Think about it this way, there’s more food and drinks for all of you.” It was difficult for the BAU ladies to be upset with you for too long with that point. “I’ll even throw in another fifty as compensation for my absence.”

“Deal!” JJ swoops in to answer so fast to seal the deal.

“Good, now, I’m off to shower.” You look cheekily at Prentiss. “Think our boss might want us back working soon.”

“Astute observation, Whitlock. Fun’s over. Back to work. Except for you, Alvez.” She waves him off with a cringe. “You smell.”

The group laughs and he looks hurt. “What? And she doesn’t?”

Prentiss takes a hard look at you, and you fight a tremble that wants to erupt under her examination. Your skin was barely flushed with exertion, hair unkempt and loosened from the fight. There was just a small perceptible sheen of perspiration on your body or clothing, unlike Luke who had to work hard at trying to get at you or escape your hold. “Not that I can tell.”

Rossi whistles. “Take a hint, Luke, and go before you put the other foot in your mouth.”

Back at Langley, Brian was in his office between meetings working on getting his five recruits together for the holidays that were quickly approaching. It was going to be tricky as the other four were on various assignments around the world for the CIA just like you before Wilson roped you onto the BAU. He had to start pulling strings now and organize the right moves to get everyone stateside that would not compromise mission integrity. The other four recruits were not deep into a long-term op as you were so it would be easier, but not guaranteed. If he could pull it off, he knew it would make everyone happy, especially you and his wife. He started to think about this since mentioning it last month with you and instead of waiting until after your BAU assignment, he was trying to make it an earlier surprise.

Barton: Hey, I know you said not to bother you but there’s an Emily Prentiss from the FBI on the phone that wants to talk to you.

Eliza Barton was his executive assistant, and she knew that if Whitlock’s new boss wanted to talk, that she could inform Brian as she did just now over chat. Of course, he had to wonder what you did to prompt this call.

Korogoth: Go ahead and transfer the call.

His phone immediately rings and picks up. “I’m actually surprised it took you this long to call me. So … “ he leans back in his chair, “what did she do?”

“I’m sorry?” He heard Prentiss’ confusion.

“Whitlock. What did she do to prompt this phone call?” he clarifies.

“Oh. Nothing. She’s been a great addition to the BAU.”

That caught him by surprise, He wasn’t able to formulate a response because when people called him about you, it was due to your rough around the edge’s smartass remarks or skirting around orders that were still within bounds but questionable. Hearing a compliment was unexpected. Nice, but unexpected.

“That’s wonderful to hear. I’m pleased she’s acclimating herself to your team. Which makes me wonder what I can do for you.” The only other potential issue he could surmise was the stipend, but the money was easily allocated to the BAU budget. There were no issues with finance that he was aware of.

“The team and I want to know if you can reschedule her CIA commitments this weekend so she can join us for some socialization. Obviously matters of national security we understand.”

He had to think really hard what CIA commitments you had which ended up being none. “I’m sorry. I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”

There was a pause before Prentiss spoke up again. “She said last weekend and this she couldn’t come out to girls’ night because she’s unable to take care of all of her CIA duties being a full-time consultant.”

He rolls his head back in understanding. You were lying to the BAU because you didn’t want to hurt their feelings and used your non-existent CIA duties as a cover because no one would be able to verify it. You just didn’t know how tenacious Prentiss was when she put her mind to a task and clearly the section chief wanted you there with the team. It actually warmed his heart that the team took to you in this way and were disappointed you couldn’t be with them like this. And here he was worried that your gruff, humorous demeanor would rub your teammates the wrong way and cause friction as it had done with teams in the past. Which it did in the beginning, but Brian wasn’t aware of your fight with Prentiss yet.

“I think there’s been some mistake. She doesn’t have anything going on that requires her attention.” Yes, he was going to throw you under the bus and force you to be social. And yes, he warned you to be careful since you hadn’t been integrated into these situations in a long time, but this might do you some good as long as you kept the majority of your history quiet.

“None?” Prentiss sounded confused.

“Yeah, none. Her only obligation is to the BAU.”

“Huh. Interesting.”

He smiles against the receiver knowing that her mind was already working out a solution to your behavior. “Yeah. That’s one way of putting it.”

“Well, I won’t take up anymore of your time.”

“Nonsense. You can call me anytime regarding Whitlock if need be.”

“I appreciate that. Though that doesn’t surprise me.”

He furrows his brow. “Why’s that?”

“Oh, she let me know you recruited her.”

His chest tightened with surprise. You barely tell anyone that unless it was with good reason. What reason did you have to tell Prentiss this? “She did?”

“Yeah. She couldn’t go into the details, but it came up during an off the clock meeting.”

Since when did you have off-the-clock meetings? Brian was baffled by this odd course of events. “Well, she must trust you to offer that up. And considering we worked together once upon a time, Whitlock’s on target with that.”

“Isn’t that nice of you to say. But I do need to be going now. Too much work and not enough time to do it.”

He chuckles. “Same here. Oh, but before you go?”

“Yes?”

“It was complete bullshit that Bailey got the job, and you didn’t.” When he learned that Douglas Bailey was tapped to take the deputy director’s role instead of Prentiss, who made the short list, he was furious. He had to do his own reorganization of the CIA executive roles, but he put qualified candidates in place when the org chart was settled and not some bureaucratic tools of upper management that cared only for budget cuts, dissolving departments, and a whole lot of ass kissing. Yeah, there was a new normal after the pandemic, but there were ways to be efficient without favoritism.

There was a lengthy pause on the other end, but Brian was patient enough to wait it out.

“Thanks, Brian. That means a lot.” Another pause. “Actually, before we hang up, can I ask a favor?”

Friday night came and you are curled up on the couch reading Nona the Ninth with Metallica blasting through the surround sound at the safehouse. The condo was located in the Penn Quarter, one of many units in the seven-story complex. The unit you are occupying is available on loan to CIA agents that were displaced and needed short-term lodgings. This was never used for CIs* or anyone under arrest due to the high foot traffic in the area. Operatives had ample places to eat whether they were allowed to roam about or ordered delivery only. Public transportation was easily accessible to go anywhere in the DC area.

The condo was modern in design with white walls, hardwood floors and track lighting shaped in a V overhead. There were white chairs and a glass table close to the kitchen but left enough area open to walk through. The couch matched the design of the chairs with comfortable throw pillows, one that was cradling your head against the couch arm. A large screen TV was mounted on the wall to the left of the patio doors that led to a cramped balcony, but the view of the gardens below was spectacular. Generic pictures and fake plants rounded out the area to attempt hominess.

Living here for the last month has been nice but you didn’t commit to making it your own yet as you were still trying to come to terms with being in one place for an extended period of time in the states. As you are winding down from the day at Quantico, you treat yourself to a tumbler of Moscato. There are wine glasses, but you are not picky about what glass you use, just what is in easy reach. It is the perfect evening that you’re comfortable with … until there was a knock at the door.

You put the book down against your stomach with a concerning face. There was nothing on your agenda tonight so no one from the CIA should be here. Everything had to go through Brian for approval to set up a meeting here and if it was him stopping by, he would have texted you.

So, what the fuck?

You swing your legs off the couch to sit up, setting the book on the oval glass coffee table. You pad over barefoot to the open kitchen and grab your Glock that is holstered on the brown speckled quartz countertop. You pull it free and remove the safety, leaving the holster behind as you approach the foyer when another knock occurs. With your gun pointed parallel to the door, you lean forward to look through the peephole and see … Emily Prentiss?

What is she doing here and how the fuck did she find me?

You unlock the door and slowly open it unable to smooth your features away to look any less confused. Emily was dressed casually in two-inch flat-heeled boots, jeans, a red blouse that you couldn’t help noticing it accentuated her chest and had the usual long coat on. Your brain was finding this hard to comprehend right now that Emily Prentiss was standing at your door.

She returns the favor and studies you as the music shuffles to the next song - Training Season by Dua Lipa. You had positioned yourself in a defensive stance by the door, ready to bring your gun arm around if needed. Brown eyes enjoy the view as you had pajama shorts on and a black CIA tee which spoke of all the work you were supposedly doing with the agency – which was none.  She locks eyes with yours with a self-satisfied smile.

I need someone to hold me close, deeper than I've ever known

Whose love feels like a rodeo, knows just how to take control

When I'm vulnerable, he's straight-talking to my soul

Conversation overload, got me feeling vertigo*

She breaks the silence. “Busy working, huh?”

You scramble for an excuse, totally out of your element and comfort to be your cocky sure self. “I …Hey!” But that didn’t stop Prentiss from inviting herself in. “The hell, Prentiss!”

She strides through the foyer with hands in her coat pocket as you put the safety on your gun on the way to the kitchen. “Please, come on in!” you say venomously and place your gun back on the counter. You did not appreciate her behavior at all.

You could tell she was taking it all in to figure you out, but there was nothing of note to process as you still hadn’t brought your items in from storage. Everything was all chosen by the CIA as Emily soon surmised.

“Why did you lie?” she asks, eyes going to the tumbler and book on the coffee table. The only signs of you.

“Oh, no. You, first. How the fuck did you find me?” How dare she, how dare the BAU, break into parts of the CIA to find out where the hell she was. Penelope wasn’t doing that anymore!

She turns around and with one word shatters your anger into anxiety. “Korogoth.”

Why would Brian give up your location without your knowledge? That wasn’t the protocol you put in place. Unless … unless he fucking knew you’d run off and avoid a confrontation with Prentiss and come straight to him asking to be moved. Which really would only delay the inevitable conversation that you were going to have right now. You were well aware of the irony that you wanted to be included with the team at work but socially was fucking scaring you shitless. It always scared you shitless, which is why you’ve kept any personal involvement at work. Meeting Tara for dinner with Rebecca was different. It was a small intimate gathering and you would have done that with anyone that she was dating.

You once again stand before Prentiss with no retort because clearly your father figure wanted this to happen. As that shut you down, Emily continues. “So, why did you lie?”

You work your jaw and cross your arms, refusing to answer.

With a small tilt of her head, Emily nods. “Alright, you don’t have to tell me, but you’re going out with us.”

Your heart clenches as your eyes widen. “What? No!”

“You’re disappointing everyone,” she says, and you realize that meant her too. Because if she wanted to separate her feelings, she would have said the team.

“Won’t be the first time,” you point out petulantly.

Emily’s brown eyes squint. “And it won’t be now. You’re part of the team and the team’s going out.” With that declaration, she’s off to your bedroom.

“Hey!” You call out and stalk after her, but she already turned the corner.

By the time you made it into the main bedroom, Prentiss already opened the doors to your closet and was rifling through your minimal ensembles. “Geesh, Whitlock. You’re not giving me much to work with.”

“That’s fine because I think I made it clear I wasn’t going out,” you affirm before sitting on the queen size bed.

The bedroom was white and had hardwood floors like the rest of the condo, filled with basic modern furniture and pictures. Your personal duffel was stuffed under the bed that contained pieces of you and remained hidden. Nothing of importance was in the closet or in plain sight.

“And I think I made it clear you’re coming,” she says pulling out a pair of jeans to toss at you.

You set it aside with a huff. “This is ridiculous.”

“So’s hiding. Oh, this works.” Prentiss had to reach far inside to the back of the rack and finds a dark grey long-sleeved V-neck crisscrossed ribbed fitted top. She turns while taking it off the hanger and tosses it at you. “Get dressed.”

You look up at her with a scowl as you set aside the blouse. “Whatever you think’s gonna happen, regardless if Brian approves, it’s not.”

“Then tell me why not,” she presses and when you don’t respond, Emily comes to sit next to you on the bed. “I can’t help if you don’t tell me what it is you’re scared of. And I swear to god if you cite it’s classified, I’m going to bury you in so much paperwork that you’ll think your first three days with me was a vacation.”

Fuck, you couldn’t help laughing at that. “Well shit. Can’t have that.”

You look to Prentiss and realize that the two of you are almost brushing shoulders with how close you are, but what really caught your attention was the sincerity in her eyes. She was pushing this because she cared. Emily said it herself; you are part of the team, and she cares deeply for the team. This was quite the shift since those tenuous first days when you were seen as a threat.

She saw you as a member of the team. It was a bit of a mind fuck to wrap your head around that truth.

You think back to the last time someone took this much interest in your well-being and you had one answer. Brian Korogoth saving your ass at twelve years old and that was a long fucking time ago for someone to give a shit about you that wasn’t just in the best interest of your country or as a CIA asset. Your three brothers and sister were thrusted together under similar circumstances and became a found family because you needed each other to succeed with Brian being the strong, caring hand that guided you all to be better people.

Prentiss didn’t have to do shit and went above and beyond to track your ass down just for a social night with the team. There was nothing in it for her except for your well-being.

You lower your head and stare blankly at your lap because your eyes threatened to tear up with a surge of affection that came over you. “You may find this shocking, but I really suck at being part of a group.”

She leans forward a little to try and catch your gaze, but you wouldn’t look up. “I don’t find that surprising at all.”

Your brow furrows and in one blink, are side eyeing her. “Why?”

Prentiss fans her hands out as she speaks. “Well, you being a not not spy comes with a lot of loneliness and awkwardness. You get wrapped up in everything that you’re supposed to be and forget what it means to be you.”

Oh, if Emily only knew it went far deeper than that, though she wasn’t entirely wrong. She understood the pressure of undercover assignments where you never knew if a subtle fuck up would mean your death. “Not completely untrue, but not the entire picture either.”

“Fill it in for me. What am I missing?” she urges gently.

You blow out a strong breath between your lips while rubbing the palms of your hands along your bare thighs. You are displaying how vulnerable you are, but you blame Brian for putting you in this position. “What did he tell you. Brian.”

“Where you live an-.”

Your only focus is what she said first. “No one is supposed to know where I am. So, why’d he tell you?”

She purses her lips and shrugs. “Because I presented an important case.”

“Which was?” you ask warily.

“That you needed to take better care of yourself.”

Fuck it all, that’s what Brian wants too.

Great.

“Helps that I can flex my section chief credentials to get clearance,” she adds casually which made you blanch.

You look at her in a panic and had to stop from grabbing her shoulders to shake the truth from her. “What does that mean exactly?”

Prentiss straightens her posture and was about to intercept your hands but settles back onto the bed, seeing the unbridled panic in your eyes. “Hey,” she says your name soothingly, “just on the list to know where you live. Nothing more. I wouldn’t go behind your back like that. Neither would Korogoth.”

Your shaky breathing slowly calms, and your hands find a place in your lap and behind where Prentiss was sitting. “Oh, okay. Yeah.”

She looks at you curiously. “Is this about what happened with the AWOL situation?”

You laugh humorlessly. “If only.”

That made her brows raise with some concern. “There’s more?”

You shake your head. “No, nothing like that.” Then wince. “Not exactly. It’s… fuck …” You bring your hands up to rub your face and grumble. “Uhrr!”

“Okay, I get it,” Prentiss backs off knowing that the burgeoning trust that is going on between you was about to snap. “Don’t need to answer, but please let me tell you that Korogoth also confirmed what you told me a few weeks ago.”

You managed to peek through your fingers with one eye.

“He confirmed everything you said without my asking for it. And that your stipend isn’t from the AWOL mess. That you earned it as a long standing, and decorated, agent of the CIA.” she assures. “Since he cleared me enough to get your address, he wanted to make sure I knew how incredible of an agent you are despite the whole ….” She brings her hands up and gestures wildly, “… mystery surrounding you. But to be fair? I’m well aware of it now too.”

You bring your hands down. “He said that, huh?”

“Mhm.”

“And you really think that of me?”

“Wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”

“Huh. Okay.” You nod, making a decision.

“Okay?” she slowly rests her arms on her legs, waiting for clarification.

“Yeah,” you give her a timid smile. “I’ll go.”

Emily’s grin spreads brightly across her face as she reaches for your arm. “Great. I’ll let the girls know.”

“No, don’t,” you say, stopping her from reaching for her phone. The accidental brush of your fingers sends a rush of heat through you, and you drop your hand.

“I’m confused. Why not?” she asks, curling her hand away hiding the similar effect it had on her.

You grin. “Let’s surprise them.”

@unkonw00 @ara-a-bird @rayisaknight @sevyscoven @maybe-a-humanbean @unoreverselu

Let me know if you would like to be tagged as well. Thank you for reading!

[deputyrook]

Mala Suledin Nadas -Now you must endure. (Elgar'nan/Rook. 18+)

A03 Link! Female Rook/Elgar'nan, pure smut. Rook is kidnapped by Elgar'nan and taught the value of obedience.

Word count: 5193

WARNINGS: NONCON (rape!); dubcon; mind control; hypnosis; intoxication-like effects; crying; orgasm denial/edging; forced orgasms; overstimulation; mind breaking; non-consensual tattooing. Also, cuck Solas.

Thank you so much to @blacknight-darksky for beta reading! ♥ And for all the positive attention on my preview post :)

---

The Dalish clan had made it to safety, through the Eluvian and away from Elgar’nan. 

Rook’s companions, too, had made it through the gateway to the crossroads, before- with a deafening, sickening crash- the Eluvian in Solas’ hideout had fallen and shattered.

Rook had not made it through in time. She’d felt her dread turn to panic as she watched the glass shards fall across the ground in front of her, knowing that Elgar’nan was at her back. Why had she stopped to turn around to meet his gaze? Once they’d locked eyes, he’d recognized her, and followed in pursuit. The wards Solas had enacted couldn’t hide her then, not when he’d seen her fleeing with his own two eyes. And he wasn’t about to just let her escape.

She had almost made it, and the thought of how close she’d been to getting out made her chest ache. But at least she could say her friends were safe.

Now, in a dirty, dark cell somewhere deep under the temple, she waited for him to return. Outside of the cell, she could hear the screams of the Venatori cultists, crying for mercy before they were sacrificed to Elgar’nan in the place of the Dalish elves. It just reminded Rook of how worthless his promises were. He’d promised them power, just as he’d promised it to her. Look where it had gotten the Venatori- ripped apart by a dragon.

Bad luck for them.

Part of Rook hoped, dimly, that her friends would be able to save her. But from so far away, it would take time for them to reach her here. And even beyond that, breaking her out of the heart of the temple while Elgar’nan was still here and anticipating them would be tantamount to suicide.

It might be less frightening if she knew what Elgar’nan wanted to do with her. The way he’d spoken to her while she was captured had made it sound like he wanted her alive, and that was in some ways more concerning than him simply wanting her dead.

“Well, well. Andaran Atish'an, da’len,” Elgar’nan had smiled at her when he’d found her, all teeth, like a predator. She’d had nowhere to go with the Eluvian broken, backed against the wall. A cornered animal. 

His eyes had surveyed Solas’ old hideout as he walked over to her, like he had all the time in the world. And she’d tried to fight him, but alone, after expending so much energy fighting off the Venatori-

She hadn’t stood a chance. Slamming her into the wall, his enormous fist clamped around her throat, Elgar’nan spoke to her like he was sharing a secret. 

“Don’t worry. I won’t tell my dear sister of your visit just yet.” Rook gasped for air, writhing in his grip and sending pulses of lightening down his arm. He didn’t react. “I am so very bad at sharing, you know. She wants to make you suffer for what you’ve done to her beloved Razikale. But I feel that would be such a waste, don’t you?”

Taking a step back, Elgar’nan released his grip on her and she fell to the ground, coughing. He waited for her response, staring down at her with his arms clasped behind his back.

Still, Rook didn’t answer. Her tongue felt leaden in her mouth, her throat dry. At her silence, Elgar’nan had chuckled, a cruel sound.

“Your heart is hammering like that of a frightened halla,” Elgar’nan had murmured, towering over her, drawing the back of one of his fingers across her cheek. Almost gently, if not for the lingering promise of violence. “Your Dread Wolf is not going to be able to help you now, I’m afraid.”

As Rook jerked away, Elgar’nan sighed, withdrawing his hand. “It’s such a shame that you continue to fight. But I will guide you, nevertheless. I will teach you how rewarding obedience can be.”

With a flash of blinding light, she’d fallen unconscious. She’d woken up in a cell. 

Now, still locked in the cell with no avenue of escape that she can find, she tried to reach out to Solas.

“Am I fucked?” She asked him mentally, with a bit of a laugh. It came out more strained than she’d intended, an almost hysterical noise. Nothing was funny about her predicament, but she didn’t know how else to deal with the situation she was in.

“Listen very carefully to me, Rook,” Solas murmured in her head. Even he sounded shaken, which was not a good sign, “He will try to break your mind. He will lie to you. He has tricks to twist you against yourself that will be very difficult to withstand. You must try. You must keep your mind your own. You must remember who you are, what you stand for. No matter what he does to break it.”

“Any tips on how to get out of here before we get to the mind-breaking stage?”

His responding silence kills the last vestiges of her hope. 

In truth, Elgar’nan scared Rook far worse than Ghilan’nain did. She was obviously a monster, so far removed from the benevolent picture of the elven Gods Rook had heard growing up. She hardly resembled the Ghilan’nain of Dalish legend at all. 

Elgar’nan’s honeyed words were much more dangerous. Rook knew this was particularly true in her case, as she craved praise and comfort like she was parched for it. It was a glaring weakness that he was fit to exploit perfectly. It wasn’t just his power that made Elgar’nan frightening, but the potential he had to make her betray herself completely, even leaving aside the mind control he wielded. 

It had taken Bellara and Neve’s magic to crack her out of its hold before. Embarrassing, given that she too was a mage. But she had just felt so…

Warm. 

Fuck, this was so bad. Fuck fuck. Fuck. 

Before she could try to prepare her mental defenses any further, she heard it: heavy footsteps down the hallway, heading toward her cell. She would fight, for as long as she was able to. Scrambling to her feet, Rook stood straight, her hands balled into fists at her side.

He came into view in front of the cell, seeming far too regal for the dim surroundings. Elgar’nan was significantly larger than Rook. Standing in front of him, she came up to about his ribs in height, and she knew from earlier that one of his hands had fit easily around her neck. It was hard to believe he, like Rook, was simply an elf- or used to be, anyway.

The memory came to her unbidden. Rook wasn’t sure if it was something she thought of on her own, or the byproduct of Elgar’nan’s ability to read minds, as if her mind was a book he’d simply plucked a page from.

Her mother, so many years ago, knelt beside her with a smile, “It’s a blessing from Elgar’nan surely, Mina. You were-”

“Born during an eclipse,” Elgar’nan’s voice cut through the memory, his tone almost awed, “You were mine from your birth, Rook. How fortuitous.”

Rook grit her teeth. She shook her head, wishing she could just squeeze her eyes shut. Now, at the eleventh hour, she was finally accepting it. No one was coming to rescue her.

“I am not yours-” She snapped back, finally finding her voice. Through the bars, Elgar’nan smiled at her, a condescending smirk of both amusement and pity.

“Had you grown up Dalish, you would be wearing my mark now,” He replied, gesturing to her face and her lack of vallaslin. He was right. 

“Even if I was, I still wouldn’t be yours. I will never be yours,” Rook spit the words back at him with as much venom as she could muster. It was confusing to her, the way Elgar’nan looked truly, genuinely saddened by her words. He looked at her like she was drowning, and she refused to grasp his hand to allow him to pull her to safety.

“Aren’t you tired, da’len?” Elgar’nan asked, stepping closer to the bars. “Tired of leading, tired of fighting? You take care of your team so diligently. Does anyone take care of you?” Rook’s hands started to shake, in spite of herself. Elgar’nan’s yellow irises, made more bright by the stark contrast of the dark sclera, bore into her own, “Where are these friends of yours now? They have left you to me,” Using a key, he unlocked the cell door, and let it swing open. “Just let me take care of you. Worship me. Adore me. And I will take care of everything for you. Don’t you want that?”

More than hating Elgar’nan for saying it, Rook hated herself more for wanting it.

“No,” She lied, “I don’t.”

Elgar’nan’s lips pressed into a thin, displeased line across his face. His eyes narrowed at her, and he took a step back.

“Come with me willingly,” He said, “Or I will make you come with me by force. One option will be much more pleasant than the other, I assure you. But if you insist on resisting like a petulant child, then I will treat you as one in need of correction.” His words were clipped. Sharp. Severe. Brokering no room for argument.

But Rook wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of her obedience. She had sworn to herself that she would fight until she dropped dead. Shaking her head, lightning sparked across her fingertips, and she readied herself for a hopeless fight. 

Faster than she’d thought he was capable of, Elgar’nan reached into the cell and grabbed her by her wrist, wrenching her toward him. She was pulled off of her feet, yelping in pain as she stumbled forward. Letting her lightning arc out, it crackled across Elgar’nan’s skin, and with some measure of satisfaction, she saw his face twist in pain.

But the fight was over before it had begun. Gripping her jaw with his other hand, tight enough Rook knew it would bruise, he held her face and leaned in close. Attempting to squirm away was fruitless.

“How sweetly you lie to me,” He hissed at her. The yellow of his irises burned into her like the sun, “So undisciplined. I am going to enjoy watching you crawl to me, begging to serve, knowing that your Dread Wolf is listening in despair.”

A chill passed through Rook. The veil was so thin here- of course Solas still had that link to her, as he had earlier when he had helped them escape. Could he hear everything going on between her and Elgar’nan? A distraction wouldn’t help this time. Even if he could hear everything, she was on her own.

“I will not-” Rook winced as the grip on her jaw tightened even further.

“Quiet,” Elgar’nan said, his patience apparently worn through, “It is time you learned the bliss of surrendering control to me.”

The world in front of Rook began to blur, as though filtered through a hazy cloud. Elgar’nan’s face shifted out of focus, his hand dropping from her jaw. Suddenly, Rook felt drowsy, like she was dropping deeper and deeper into a dark, comfortable void. Everything was fine. Everything felt good, like there was a tingle of easy pleasure alighting her skin. Her mind stilled. 

It was like she was drugged. She was so warm, like she was bathing in a sunbeam. A million miles away, she was aware that this was Elgar’nan’s mind control again, wrapping around her will to fight like a snake. Choking the life from it.

“There,” Elgar’nan’s voice came to her, muffled like he was underwater, “Much better now, isn’t it?”

Rook wasn’t sure how to respond. It was much better, but for some reason she wasn’t supposed to think that, was she? Thinking too much was confusing. It made her head hurt. It was better not to think. 

A hand gripped hers, and began to lead her out of the cell and down the hall. Walking steady was a bit of a challenge, but so long as she was being led, she could manage it. One foot in front of the other, she went up some stairs, stepped over some... bodies, maybe. It didn’t bother her. It didn’t matter. 

Her world had shrunk to a pinprick. Remembering her life, who she was, what she was dealing with- all of that was so painful. She didn’t want it anymore. It was too hard.

Eventually, she wasn’t moving anymore. When had she stopped? Her jaw had been hurting before, but now, fingers were caressing where they had previously squeezed. Rook leaned into the touch, closing her eyes and sighing softly.

“Don’t you feel good like this?” Elgar’nan asked, smoothing a hand down her hair, and Rook nodded. She could stay like this forever, she thought, “This is what loving me feels like. This is what worshiping me feels like. Pleasure, eternal. Tell me how good you feel.”

[Wake up.]

“I feel so good,” Rook heard her voice mumble. Hands smoothed down her hair and pressed lower. Fingertips danced across the small of her back, down her arms, and across her legs. Her body felt hot, suddenly buzzing with arousal.

“Tell me how much you want this.”

[Rook, break free of this. Remember your mind.]

“I want this,” Rook breathed, tilting her head back as hands pressed on her hips, under her breasts. Slipping under her clothes. Where was she? Was she on the ground? It didn’t matter. Her God was touching her. Her God was touching-

[WAKE UP.]

Her awareness snapped back to her like a rubber band. Inhaling sharply, Rook blinked the blurriness out of her vision. Like coming up out of sleep, she woke from the mind control. At least enough to be aware of herself and her surroundings once again.

Rook was sitting on the ground, her head thrown back and her palms pressed into the ground at her sides. She was in a throne room, of some kind, likely still in the temple. The dismembered and broken bodies of Venatori cultists were scattered around her, and there was so much blood pooled on the floor that she could feel it soaking through her clothing. How she could have missed the overwhelming smell of blood, even in her trance-like state... it seemed impossible.

Still leaning over her, Elgar’nan slowly withdrew his hands from under her shirt. Rook shivered with their absence. Although her mind was now her own, it seemed her body was still responding of its own volition, aching for Elgar’nan to keep touching her. Screaming for it.

Solas’ last call to break her free of the mind control still echoed around her head. Why had he done this? Why had he made her aware of what was happening to her? It was so much easier when she didn’t know- when she was floating, suspended in ignorance. 

Elgar’nan’s lip curled in displeasure, an irritated look crossing his face.

“That fool,” Elgar’nan huffed, standing straight over top of Rook. A soft, unwanted noise of agreement escaped from her lips, which caused the corner of his mouth to twitch up. “Though I see my lesson was not entirely unsuccessful, was it?”

“Believe... believe whatever you want,” She eked out. Rook wanted to move, to try to flee, but her body felt unbelievably heavy. All she wanted to do was to lie back on the ground and sleep. (All she wanted to do was to drop back under his mind control). “I will never agree to- to anything you ask without the influence of mind control. Solas knew that. I will never be yours.”

Maybe Solas had thought at least she could keep her pride, this way. She hoped he was right. 

But she suspected he wouldn’t be.

“We’ll see,” Elgar’nan responded simply. Then, as if she weighed nothing at all, he grabbed her body and lifted her into his arms. 

Rook’s body responded instantly, arousal swooping through her at the ease of the motion. Inhaling sharply, she looked away, anywhere but at Elgar’nan’s face. The betrayal of her body stung at her soul, humiliation roaring just as loudly as the pleasure. He must know. He must. 

“Of course I do,” He answered her aloud, continuing to carry her over toward the throne. For a wild moment, Rook wondered if she’d spoken her thoughts without meaning to, before remembering he could read her mind, “Do you think you could hide from me? There’s no need to be ashamed, da’len. It’s in your nature to want me as much as you do. I am your God.”

Still holding her in his arms, Elgar’nan lowered himself onto the throne, draping Rook’s body across his lap. He was so big that she was nestled easily in a spot right between his thighs.

She should run. She needed to run, to get away. She felt paralyzed, overwhelmingly weak. Needy.

“Why do you continue your farce of defiance?” Elgar’nan smoothed his hand across her face, and then down the skin of her neck, “Surrender yourself to me, and I will make you feel pleasure beyond pleasure. I will take care of you.”

Rook squeezed her eyes shut and didn’t respond. Elgar’nan’s hands began to roam her body again, and this time, she was all too aware of the way they slid under her clothes and along her bare skin. Goosebumps prickled along her flesh, and she twisted under his attentive hands.

“Tell me how good you feel,” Elgar’nan repeated to her, his voice dark as he groped at Rook’s breast and pinched one of her nipples between his fingers. Rolling the nub, Rook bit her lip so hard to keep from crying out that she tasted blood. She shook her head vehemently, keeping her eyes shut.

“Tell me,” Elgar’nan continued, his voice hard and firm, “How much you want this.”

His hands continued to press against her skin, pinching at her nipples and traveling lower. When his fingers drew circles into her hip, Rook realized a truth that made her start to truly panic.

She was wet. She was so wet that her cunt ached. And he was going to know, because she couldn’t stop him as he pressed his fingers lower, sliding them without hesitation along her slit. Confident and sure.

It was like something inside of her started to break. Rook’s breaths began to quicken, and she reached out and grabbed at Elgar’nan’s wrist like it was going to stop him. Tears, hot and wet and completely out of her control, started to fall from her eyes. 

“Shhhh,” Elgar’nan withdrew his hand, comforting Rook as she choked on a quiet sob. She didn’t want- she didn’t- “You put up a good fight. You did. It was quite valiant. But you can give in, now. No one will blame you for it.”

She felt pathetic. All she wanted to do was disappear, but here she was, flayed open with need in Elgar’nan’s lap. Her voice in the back of her head, still defiant, cried, no.

He sighed, exasperated at her refusal, and pulled off her pants and smallclothes in one quick motion, casting them aside. With Rook completely exposed to him, Elgar’nan pressed his hand back to her cunt. Deft, skilled fingers rubbed circles into her clit, and unable to stop it, a moan fell from Rook’s lips. She had tried, so hard, to hold back the pleasure, but it was awash over her now. With his other hand, he pressed a finger to her entrance and pushed into her easily, drawing a long, reedy whine from Rook as he curled it inside of her.

She was still crying, fat tears falling down her cheeks. As she squirmed on his lap, she felt Elgar’nan’s cock begin to stir.

When he added a second finger, curling them both and pumping them inside of her as his other hand pressed against her clit, Rook knew it wouldn’t be long before she came for him. 

She was so close. She didn’t want this. Rook whimpered, closing her eyes as she felt herself being pushed to the edge-

And then, Elgar’nan withdrew his hands completely. Rook’s eyes, wet with tears, snapped open as she stared up at him in utter confusion.

A cruel smile spread across his face as he watched her. 

“I’m sorry,” He mocked, “Did you want to come?” Her cunt was still throbbing with need, but maybe it was... maybe it was better that she hadn’t-

“Oh, no. No, no no,” Elgar’nan laughed at her openly, pressing his fingers back inside of Rook and beginning to work her body once again. He pulled a long, broken moan from her, “You didn’t think I would be content to bring you to the edge once, did you? After all of your stubborn denials? Oh, Rook. This could have been so easy.”

By the fifth time that he brought Rook to the edge and pulled back just before she came, she was crying again, this time from frustration. Her mind was splintering. All she wanted was for Elgar’nan to make her come, to stop this, to feel the release run through her. The edging was driving her mad.

As if Elgar’nan wouldn’t notice, Rook ground her hips up against his hands, chasing the pleasure. She couldn’t stop moaning now, her previous shame abandoned to her need. When she neared her orgasm once again, and Elgar’nan started to pull away, she grabbed at his hands, trying to keep them in place. He easily shrugged her off.

Four more times, he brought Rook to the edge of orgasm. This was a torture. She couldn’t take it any more. 

“P-please,” She finally gasped, her body shaking and soaked with sweat, “Please, I need to come. Please.”

Elgar’nan groaned, a low sound from the back of his throat. He looked at Rook with a certain hunger that she hadn’t yet observed in him.

“You think now, after all of your defiance, that please would be enough?” Elgar’nan said, his voice rough with arousal, pumping his fingers into her again. She was so wet at this point that it was obscene, soaking her thighs and Elgar’nan’s pants underneath her, “Come now. You can beg better than that.”

“Please- please!” It’s like she’d forgotten how to say anything else. Rook’s brain scrambled to try to come up with something she could say that would get Elgar’nan to finally allow her to come. Her mind was a complete mess, grasping for words that she couldn’t quite reach. Elgar’nan laughed at her, with an exhale of his breath.

She was getting close again- it didn’t take much, at this point, with her having been so close to the edge for so long- and the thought of him pulling his fingers away, leaving her throbbing and cold once more, pushed her to the edge of delirium. 

“Call me your master,” He ordered, voice low.

Rook didn’t want to say it. She tried to refuse, but after a particularly deep thrust of his fingers inside of her, she couldn’t help it any more. 

Her mind was so tired. She was so tired. She wanted to come. She wanted to come.

“M-Master, please-” She cried, face burning with shame and embarrassment.

“Call me your God.”

“Elgar’nan,” She gasped like a prayer. When she looked at him, her eyes were wide and pleading, “My Lord, my Master, my God-”

“Good, da’mi. Very good.”

This time, he didn’t withdraw his hands. Elgar’nan continued to work her not only up to her orgasm, but through it, finally letting the heat inside of her erupt. Rook’s body stilled, her head tilting back as waves of ecstasy washed over her. It was like being set on fire. She coursed with aftershocks of pleasure, and panting, she felt a glow of satisfaction as her body began to come down from its high, having finally achieved the release it had needed.

But Elgar’nan didn’t stop. He kept touching her, pressing his fingers deep into her. Rook twisted against his hands, oversensitivity causing her to wince in pain.

“Telanadas,” He murmured, “Mala suledin nadas.”

With a dawning horror, Rook realized he did not intend to stop. With a low moan of fear, she writhed through a second orgasm. And then a third. And a fourth-

By the sixth, he had succeeded in breaking her mind. Somewhere between the repeated edging, the humiliation of not only calling him her God but feeling it to be true, and now the ceaseless, painful orgasms, her mind had fled her. The part of her that had screamed in opposition to him was gone, replaced with pure instinct. Why had she fought him? He could bring her so much pleasure, or so much pain. If she was good, if she was obedient, she would be rewarded. It was simple. It was so, blessedly simple.

She stared up at him, and Elgar’nan must have seen the change in her eyes, because he slowly withdrew his hands, settling them on her hips. Rook sighed in relief, closing her eyes and then opening them again, slowly blinking up at him.

“Tell me how much you want this,” He demanded again, voice quiet and firm. Her final test of obedience.

“I want it,” Rook whispered back, like she was afraid of the words. It was more than just wanting him to fuck her- though she found she wanted that too, craved it, like she could find divinity by taking him inside of her. 

It was subservience. It was slavery. It was the complete abandonment of control, the total violation of her free will. It was worship, devotion, adoration. She was hysterical with it.

“I believe you,” Elgar’nan said, with a look of triumph. Moving her body in his lap like she was a doll, he sat her down, straddling him. Pressing his mouth to her neck, he kissed her there, sucking on the skin until it bruised. 

Rolling up his hips against her, Rook felt the hard press of his cock against her sore cunt, straining through the material of his pants. He had to be nearly the size of her forearm. Rook moaned, meeting the movement to grind down against him, already feeling an almost deranged desperation to have him inside of her.

Her hands went to his lap, and Elgar’nan allowed her to pull his cock out of his pants, taking it into both of her hands with no small amount of reverence. She eagerly pumped her hands down the length of him, and he huffed out a groan, a red blush creeping up his neck.

“Worship me,” He said, as she raised herself on his lap. Had she not just been thoroughly finger-fucked, taking a cock of his size would be a lot harder. It wasn’t disproportionate, but compared to her, Elgar’nan was significantly larger than her in general. 

She guided him to her entrance, and still as wet as she was, slowly pressed his cock into her. She lowered herself, inch-by-inch, into his lap, burying his cock inside her with a broken moan. When she was fully settled, his cock sheathed inside of her to the base, she did the most humiliating, self-defeating thing that she could think of.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, and kissed him on the mouth.

Elgar’nan snapped his hips up against her, hissing into her mouth as Rook groaned in pain and pleasure. Although her thighs were shaking, she lifted herself up off his cock, and began to grind and bounce herself in his lap, fucking herself on him. The stretch of it was painful, almost too big even with her preparation, but Rook couldn’t imagine anything feeling better.

Biting at her lip until she gasped, and then pressing an insistent, dominating tongue into her mouth, Elgar’nan did not let her breathe for a second, meeting her movements with his own. Rook’s head spun. Her body, so exhausted by now, was beginning to go limp. Elgar’nan didn’t seem to care, keeping the pace when she faltered.

“You make for such a pretty thrall,” Elgar’nan groaned, thrusting up his hips in a way that left Rook dizzy, “To think, you ever resisted me. See how much better this is? You are entirely mine, Rook,” He rocked his hips up, fucking into Rook so deep that she shuddered, “Watch and listen, Dread Wolf, as I make your perfect little pawn scream my name. Oh, the gift you gave me when you freed her mind, just so she could give it to me willingly.”

With the reminder that Solas was present in some way- that he knew what was happening to her, how she had been degraded and ruined- Rook buried her face into Elgar’nan’s neck in shame, trying to ignore how that humiliation, too, aroused her. 

“I want to humiliate you in ways that you never thought possible. Until you’re begging for every debasement that I can dream of,” Elgar’nan breathed the words into her ear, and even without seeing it, she can hear the smirk in his voice. “I think I’ll start by fucking you like this in front of all of your little friends.”

With one final jerk of Elgar’nan’s cock inside of her, Rook let out a weak, quiet whimper as Elgar’nan spilled inside of her with a grunt, holding her in place by her hips as he came. Leaning back in his throne, he sighed then in satisfaction, a smug grin on his face as he came down from his orgasm.

Rook felt boneless and hurt. Her body ached, burning and sore and bruised. But worse than any physical pain was that her sane, rational mind began to gradually return to her, with the clarity of the things she’d said and done making her feel ill.

She was crumpled and broken. She’d begged him in a way she could never take back. It turned her stomach.

As if he could sense her quickly building regret, Elgar’nan lifted Rook off of his lap, and laid her on her back on the floor beside the throne. Rook winced. She could feel his cum, spilling out of her. Elgar’nan shot a withering look down at her, and uttered a single command.

“Stay.”

Rook couldn’t move if she’d wanted to. When he returned, a carving tool and a pot of ink in his hands, she was still so out of it that it wasn’t until he kneeled over her that she realized what he was about to do.

“W-wait-”

He didn’t wait. Just as there had been no response to her cries of pleasure, there was no response to her cries of pain. Her face gripped in his hand once again, Elgar’nan took the carving instrument and tattooed patterns into the skin of her face, using the ink to permanently mark her shame. 

When Rook’s companions do, eventually, return to break her out of the temple and rescue her, Rook has Elgar’nan’s vallaslin etched into her skin. 

Marking her as his.

[thewondrousdreamer]

Im properly gonna get hate for this but I need to get this out there. As a Gojo lover and self-shipper I’d like to take a minute to explain how Satoru is so mischaracterized by his fan girls and how you SatoSugu shippers and the jjk fandom as a whole really get on my nerves. Disclaimer even tho im not a SatoSugu shipper I’m not hating on the ship just the fandom. And I don’t want to hear “she only hates SatoSugu bc she ships herself with Gojo. 😡” When in reality I hate all jjk ships bc wtf is Gojo X Megumi & Gojo X Itadori??? First off Gojo RAISED Megumi and his sister like a FATHER. He was their GUARDIAN since they were little kids. Secondly they’re minors Megumi and Itadori are literally 15 and some of y’all are shipping them with a 29 year old man??? That’s crazy and disgusting. Some of y’all are even shipping him with Sukuna the person who killed him and had y’all crying. I don’t even know how that ship makes sense tbh. Satoru is a tragically written character. He was a person with good morals, dreams and ambitions. Ever since he popped out of the womb he was forced to be the strongest bc of his gifts. He didn’t even get to have a childhood bc of that burden. Satoru has witnessed lots of deaths and has more blood on his hands then necessary AND he lost his best friend the person who really understood him the most. Satoru felt alone bc no one tried to get to know him as a person and not just as the strongest. No one even had the Human decency to even once ask him was he okay or even how his day was going. I’m honestly surprised he didn’t do what Geto did and turn villainous bc no one saw him as a person, not his colleagues/peers AND DEFINITELY not his fangirls. He died for sticking to his beliefs and morals. He died trying to protect people and properly felt weak bc not only was he forgotten by his students but his sacrifice wasn’t even acknowledged. He didn’t even really get a burial. But when season 2 came out some y’all really made Satoru’s entire personality about Suguru, His BEST FRIEND. Like I get it, Satoru and Suguru had great chemistry and went well together. They were fire & ice, yin & yang but I honestly don’t see them as nothing more than brothers not to mention the ship is not only overhyped but also over sexualized and it’s fandom is toxic. Like some of you guys are literally on twitter arguing and sending death threats to people who simply don’t like the ship. And are telling other Gojo lovers to off themselves bc they ship him with themselves or their OC’s and it’s not even that deep fr. And don’t even get me started on what some of y’all are doing to the Gojo figurines…. Absolutely disgusting💀. Then you guys literally read the manga and watch the anime not for the plot but just to prove to everyone that Satoru is gay and that it should be canon or just bc Satoru is pretty and y’all see him as ‘daddy 🤢.’ Satoru is also over sexualized for no reason everywhere I go there’s fan art of him sucking off or being balls deep in Suguru or someone either (A. Doing some twisted period blood ritual to his figurine or (B. Someone on tumblr is posting on the ENTIRE INTERNET how badly they want Satoru down their throat with his nut sack against their chin. some of y’all need to touch grass fr bc honestly wtf. It’s the same thing with SatoSugu it’s so sexualized for no reason. If it’s not freaky fanart of them it’s again, more tumblr post of the freaky positions Suguru would have Satoru in bc Satoru is a bottom apparently. I’m not hating on bl or gay ships but like why are they so sexualized? Especially by straight people, straight women to be exact. And not every thing needs to have ships or be gay. Satoru is so stripped out of his character not only bc he’s pretty but bc y’all took his bond with Suguru and made it in to something else entirely. Like why can’t two women or two men be best friends without getting shipped together? This happens in real life friendships too. Not only does this ruin the friendship but it takes away from the characters personality. Being in this fandom is tiring and just not fun.

[jamesandanthony]

Tommy Week Masterlist!

(all bucktommy except day six which is bucktommy plus tommy/omc)

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the slightest touch

Day one: masturbation | Words: 3,917 | Rated: E

Established Relationship | Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot | Masturbation | Sexting | Phone Sex | Dom/sub Undertones | Praise Kink

Home, he texts Evan as he heads for the kitchen and the leftover lasagne in the fridge. Miss you. After eating and showering, Tommy collapses into bed, bone weary and feeling a little sorry for himself without his boyfriend's bare chest to snuggle into. Almost as if Evan is listening to his thoughts, Tommy's phone dings with a message and he opens it to see a photo of him, shirtless and smirking into the mirror of the bathroom at the 118. Miss you too.

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with or without you

Day two: acceptance | Words: 3,407 | Rated: G

POV Tommy Kinard | Post-Episode: s08e06 Confessions | Light Angst | Making Up

It's not the first time since they'd broken up that Tommy has driven to Evan's - Buck's - place after work instead of his own. This is, however, the first time he's halfway out of the car before he's realised where he is, and he turns back to his truck in a mild panic, hoping, praying, that he doesn't see anyone he knows before he can escape his stupid mistake. Apparently the universe has other ideas. "Tommy?"

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more than fine

Day three: supernatural creatures | Words: 1,701 | Rated: G

POV Tommy Kinard | Established Relationship | Fluff and Humor | Tommy is a movie guy | and Buck definitely isn't

"So, what did you think?" Tommy asks, holding the door open for Evan as they leave the movie theater. "And you can be honest." He slides his hand into Evan's as they start along the sidewalk back to the loft, strolling leisurely as the sun sets across the city. "Can I, though?" Evan teases, bumping Tommy's shoulder with his own. "You're not going to dump me if I don't like another one of your favourite movies?"

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heavy on me

Day four: dom/sub dynamics | Words: 4,128 | Rated: E

POV Tommy Kinard | Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot | Bottom Tommy Kinard | Dom/sub Undertones | Mild Praise Kink | Anal Fingering | Anal Sex | Evan gets his reward...

Once the dishes are put away, Evan turns to him, clearly trying not to be too pushy but with a hopeful look on his face nonetheless. Tommy steps into his space with a smirk, sliding his hands around his waist and pulling him close as he leans in to whisper in his ear. "Where do you want me, baby?" he breathes, feeling the shiver that his words send down Evan's spine.

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long time coming

Day five: anxiety/PTSD | Words: 1,949 | Rated: G

POV Tommy Kinard | Past Child Abuse | Emotional Hurt/Comfort | With a fluffy ending

Your father's dead. His aunt's voice echoes in his head, churning up all sorts of feelings he doesn't know what to do with, and he sits, staring blankly at the phone in his hand. Wrapped his car around a streetlamp. Three sheets to the wind as always. "Hey babe," Evan calls from down the hall, voice becoming louder as he walks towards their bedroom, "did you say you're off next Thursday night-" Tommy feels more than sees his frown as he pushes the door open, pausing in the doorway as he catches sight of him. "Tommy?"

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old flames, new fires

Day six: flashbacks/Tommy begins | Words: 3,127 | Rated: G

POV Tommy Kinard | Past Relationship | Soft Tommy Kinard | Flashbacks | Tommy bumps into an ex at trivia night...

The picture round arrives with the interval, and they're hunched around the sheet, arguing over a country outline that has them a little stumped when a figure approaches their table hesitantly. "Tom?" he says, and Tommy looks up in surprise. "Oh my god, Mateo?" he says, eyes wide as he stands to greet him. "Yeah," Mateo replies, grinning, and Tommy doesn't miss the way he looks him up and down appreciatively. "Man, how long has it been?"

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sweet surprise

Day seven: unexpected events | Words: 3,151 | Rated: E

POV Tommy Kinard | Established Relationship | Soft Evan "Buck" Buckley/Tommy Kinard | Fluff | Mild misunderstandings | Tommy Kinard is loved

"Thanks," Evan says, tipping the driver as Tommy climbs out of the car, looking around in confusion. "I thought we were going to Miceli's?" he asks, turning to Evan with a raised eyebrow. "Change of plan," Evan replies, snaking his hand into Tommy's and leading him inside the rowdy looking bar they've been dropped at, clearly trying to hide a smile.