#I should probably proofread this before I post it on ao3 but

[faejilly]

hello!! absolutely adore your writing <3 no worries at all it not, but may i request an alternate pre-series meeting in canon / canon-adjacent where valentine is actually dead? always very curious about how malec’s relationship might change if they met and started dating Not in the middle of a really intense war lmao, so i thought maybe their first meeting would be a good starting point? but don’t sweat it if this doesn’t strike the fic muse <33

asdfjklgh thank you! so this MORE THAN struck the fic muse, but I got distracted by a tangent as to how it all Got Very Different™️and have not actually introduced Malec to each other as of yet but if you'd like some Magnus going what the fuck? at the Clave actually being competent this will hopefully be entertaining. AND ISTG I will get to Malec meeting! Eventually?

A familiar flare lit up his apothecary, and Magnus reached out to catch the fire message. The flames sparked brighter, and he blinked away the after-images as something heavier than he'd expected solidified between his fingers.

A single sheet of paper, cleverly folded up to resemble an envelope and keep the message inside; there was the unfortunately familiar black curl of a rune along the edges.

Magnus grimaced.

It was probably some horrifying form letter designed to intimidate him into something that was not remotely his problem, but he was going to have to clean up regardless. Shadowhunters didn't request things, they ordered, and brow-beat, and the only reason they got away with it was because they treated everyone equally terribly, including themselves, and to be quite fair to their militaristic grand-standing, the world was continuing to not be overrun by demons, so it seemed to be working for them.

Even Valentine hadn’t made much of a dent in their self-righteous arrogance. The Lightwoods hadn’t lost possession of the Institute they’d killed to get, buying clemency with their children, from what he’d heard, which was even worse than typical nephilim parenting. Despicable, ev–

He blinked. That wasn't the New York Institute's watermark, it was the Inquisitor's.

He tilted it to let the light from the windows spill across it, but that was very clearly the silhouette of a Demon Tower behind two crossed blades, not the broken stone the Clave had required the New York Institute to use after the Uprising to signify its failure to uphold their so-called sacred duties.

He huffed out a breath in not quite a sigh, and felt a frown starting to form between his brows. It was easier to deal with Inquisitor Herondale and her people than the Lightwoods. (She at least hated Valentine as much as the downworld.) But that didn't mean a formal letter was likely to be a good thing. Whatever had happened in the aftermath of Valentine's attempted coup had been kept very quiet behind Alicante's borders, and everything the downworld got to see had returned to business-as-usual.

He rolled his eyes, because nephilim, but ignoring one of their summons made them even more petty and obnoxious, so he turned it over to unfold.

And stopped again upon seeing how it was addressed.

High Warlock of Brooklyn Senior Scholar of the Spiral Labyrinth Ambassador of the Accords The Right Hon. Magnus Bane

They'd used a fountain pen and written in proper uncial calligraphy and if he hadn't known that the magic for fire messages didn't work on animal skin, he might have thought they'd used actual parchment rather than what must instead be a very high quality paper stock.

"Huh." He peered down at the letters, trying to think if he'd ever seen a nephilim address a notice to a downworlder in the same formal terms they used amongst themselves. And then almost dropped the whole damn thing when he realized that the initials scribbled across the fold in lieu of the wax seal that would have prevented the fire message from activating properly were IWH. And in the exact same calligraphy as the address.

"What the fuck." He spoke aloud, louder than he'd expected or intended, almost loud enough to startle himself even as he flung the whole thing out and away.

He watched as it fell to the floor, and he stared at it.

It still just looked like paper.

It had to just be paper, the rune to send it wouldn't have worked otherwise, but High Inquisitor Imogen Whitelaw Herondale had written on that with her own hand and sent it to Magnus as if he was an equal and what in all seven hells was that about?

He stepped sideways, unable to convince himself to look away from those initials even as his fingers scrabbled across his desk in search of normal paper and pen to send a message of his own.

Ragnor, could you please indulge me with your thoughts for a moment?

He'd half expected he wouldn't get an answer, not even another fire message or a call on the phone in the other room; Ragnor had been even more of a hermit than usual since the Uprising. (Not that Magnus could fault him for that. If he wasn't a High Warlock he probably would have disappeared into the countryside somewhere as well.) But instead he felt the familiar press of Ragnor's magic against his wards as a portal opened almost immediately in the foyer.

"Apothecary!" Magnus called out, still staring at the paper on his floor.

He heard footsteps, felt Ragnor's magic approach, could even see the shadow stretching towards him when Ragnor paused in the doorway. "Ah, you got it too?"

That finally made Magnus blink, the hold of the strange message broken. He turned his head and lifted his eyebrows.

Ragnor shook his head. "I think you need to experience it for yourself."

Magnus snorted, but stepped forward, picked up the paper, and this time he unfolded it and began to read.

And then read it again.

And again, even as Ragnor came to stand beside him.

"What the fuck," he repeated.

Ragnor grunted, apparently not having any more idea than he did.

"Do you think it's real?" Magnus asked, and he could hear the almost plaintive whisper of something he couldn't pretend wasn't hope in his own voice.

"Only one way to find out." Ragnor's voice was dry, but gentle. There was hope hiding in his voice, too. "Shall we?"

*

It seemed real the next evening.

They arrived in front of the New York Institute to find Theo and Gretel from the closest Werewolf pack already there. A pair of fae nobles Magnus didn't recognize, both in full Court regalia, one Seelie and the other Unseelie, arrived a few minutes later, just after the last lingering blush of daylight faded, escorting Raphael and Lily who were here for their Clan.

Magnus almost asked if any of them knew what the fuck was really going on, but did in fact retain his composure and instead just lifted his chin to wait. (He had to admit, even if just to himself, that he was glad Camille was off somewhere being Camille rather than here in New York to represent the vampires and make this whole situation even more uncomfortable.)

They didn't wait long.

The double doors to the Cathedral swung wide open, rather than the main entrance that led to the central hub of the Institute and the Heads' Office. The High Inquisitor herself stepped out, and fucking bowed to them, and Magnus made a small noise of disbelief that he would deny to his dying day if anyone ever asked. (He didn't think anyone would, however, as he had not been the only one. In fact he was pretty sure the only one who hadn't betrayed their surprise was Ragnor, though the fae had managed no more than a slight shift in posture or positioning.)

"We have set up precautions so all may enter." Herondale paused, and tilted her chin towards Ragnor and Magnus. "I understand if you wish to verify before anyone tests my word?"

Magnus stared at her. She'd just admitted that they had no reason to believe her. She'd admitted it out loud and didn't even sound upset about it.

Ragnor bumped his elbow, and Magnus tucked it all back behind his High Warlock mask. He nodded back as formally as he could manage before lifting his arms and letting his magical senses expand.

There was something inside that was still warded enough to prevent him from being able to tell what it was, but its power was passive rather than active, so it wouldn't be able to be turned against them without warning.

There was also an echo of banked power that felt suspiciously like Silent Brother -and- Iron Sister -and- Soul Sword which was a thing the letter had mentioned but he hadn't been sure he'd believed; (especially that it was only there for Herondale to swear on rather than to be used against the rest of them, somehow). Beyond either of those, it was also very clear the resonance from the Angelic Core had been banked, somehow, the blessing to make the ground hallowed had been covered and muted, and it was entirely safe for any downworlder to enter, regardless of age or power level or wards.

He couldn't quite resist a glance at Ragnor, whose expression indicated he was right there with Magnus and his inexplicable conclusion. Ragnor managed to imply a shrug with the shift of his eyes, and Magnus turned to their fellow downworlders. "She's correct, the building is completely safe for us to enter."

He refrained from suggesting that the nephilim in the building were trustworthy, as they'd all already decided to take that risk when they'd shown up in response to Herondale's summons.

He supposed the fae might not have decided so much as been ordered, but regardless. They were already here. And it was time to see if the rest of it was true.

The rows of pews were nearly full of nephilim in mourning white, more than Magnus suspected usually served in New York, all of them eerily silent, heads politely bowed just enough to lessen the weight of their attention on the entering downworlders.

Behind the chancel, in the raised choir stands, there were additionally about a half-a-dozen black-clad guards, an Iron Sister in gleaming white, a Silent Brother in his bone-dull robe, and the Soul Sword itself, the ruby glinting in its hilt.

To the left of the altar were half-a-dozen nephilim children roughly equivalent to elementary school aged Mundanes, only one of whom had the steady glow to Magnus' senses of a runed Shadowhunter rather than the flickering eldritch taste of angelic potential that the young ones carried before they received their first Mark.

Except for one small red-head just under ten who was familiarly blank, and he realized that the Inquisitor must have found the Fairchilds because that was young Clarissa, still under the power of the wards her mother had paid him to build for her.

He hoped Dorothea was safe, wherever she was. He hadn't felt her magic break, so at least he was reasonably sure she was still alive.

He swallowed, let his gaze skip over the draped stand centered on the aisle in front of him, and focused instead on the dozen adults opposite the children, each with a visibly red Circle on their neck, their shoulders all stiff in the distinctive posture of prisoners whose hands were chained behind their backs. Some of them he didn't know at all, a few were only vaguely familiar, but then there was Jocelyn herself, and Starkweather, and both Lightwoods, and someone who looked eerily similar to the Consul himself.

There was one man beside the rest with his hands cuffed in front of him instead of behind, his Circle rune dark and quiescent rather than inflamed, a Chinese Shadowhunter standing next to him, close enough the white of her sleeves brushed against his arm, with neither a Circle rune nor any restraints on her at all.

"Thank you for coming on such short notice." Herondale spoke up after giving them all a moment to look around, and without another word she turned her back to eight potentially hostile downworlders and knelt before the Sword.

The Silent Brother lifted his hands, the pressure of his attention clear even when he didn't say anything. The Iron Sister lifted the sword, balancing it gracefully in such a way that it tilted gently down from her grip until the tip almost rested on Herondale's forehead. The ruby glowed, and the flare of angelic power was strong enough to sizzle against Magnus' skin. Carried along with the magic was the Silent Brother's intent, and the Inquisitor's voice filled the Cathedral, both inside and outside his head, resonating in his bones and his blood.

"The traitor Valentine Morgenstern has been killed, and the only surviving nephilim members of his Circle are here to face their final sentencing, as witnessed by the Downworld Leaders of New York City, in this the soul of the New York Institute, a place most wounded by his actions. This truth I swear, upon the Angel Raziel and His Mortal and Immortal Instruments, as High Inquisitor of Alicante and Idris, Commander of the Gard, Elder of the Clave and Council, Head of the Herondale Family, Blooded Shadowhunter and Mother of Soldiers, Lady Imogen Whitelaw Herondale."

Magnus swallowed, ignoring the burn in his eyes and the faint taste of copper down his throat.

The Soul Sword compelled the truth from the nephilim, but all it required when they swore upon it was that they believed in whatever truth they spoke.

This ritual was something else entirely. The balance of the magic he'd just witnessed, a trio of complementary powers braided together, Brother and Sister and relic, knowledge and skill and power, secrets and vows and faith, with each separate piece enhancing the other two, meant that Herondale couldn't have sworn on something that was untrue at any level, even if she'd personally believed it all the way down to her bones.

"Well, fuck me."

Magnus snorted, barely stopping himself from giggling (possibly slightly hysterically) at Ragnor's sotto voce reaction. Not that he'd been thinking anything any more eloquent.

It was real.

*

The rest of the meeting was less dramatic. Even whipping the cover off the stand in the middle to reveal Valentine’s head encased in silver-edged glass had been less shocking. (Well, to the warlocks and fae, at least. Vampires and werewolves weren’t quite as able to feel the way the ritual had invoked truth magic against the nephilim, so being able to examine (and presumably scent) proof that Valentine was dead was a bigger deal for them.)

The former Circle members were all going to be deruned, exiled, and imprisoned, each alone at a different Institute so they couldn’t work together and their status could be verified by downworlders whenever they wished, unlike traditional prisoners kept in Alicante at the Gard.

There were two exceptions. One: Lucian Graymark, now Luke Garroway, was a werewolf, and the nephilim abdicated their authority and explicitly left his punishment up to the downworld itself. Second: the man who’d been standing slightly separate from the other prisoners, Patrick Penhallow, who had avoided participating in any of the Circle’s true atrocities and was the one who had discovered Valentine was alive and hiding with the presumed dead Herondale heir and promptly informed Imogen personally. He was still to be exiled from the Clave and Council for punishment, but would be allowed to continue as a Shadowhunter and would, in fact, be staying in New York City where he would be an official liaison to the downworld.

But only if the downworld representatives summoned agreed.

Magnus wasn’t complete sure which part of that was supposed to be mercy and which part was punishment, but he was surprised enough at the validation offered to himself and the other representatives that he did, in fact, agree to it along with everyone else.

That wasn’t even the last surprise though.

No, it got better.

Worse?

Magnus wasn’t sure anymore. He was going to tell Catarina about this and she wasn’t going to believe a single damn word he said.

Instead of re-opening their Academy in Alicante, the nephilim were going to train their children at the Institutes, and would include exposure to and lessons from former mundanes and current downworlders. The children there in the chapel for this meeting were the orphans of the Circle, whose parents were all formally being removed from their bloodlines, and this new generation would be raised in New York City.

Imogen Herondale herself was going to be acting as Head of the New York Institute with Jia Penhallow (Patrick’s wife, who had not ever been part of the Circle) as her Co-Head until such time as as the downworld agreed that the next generation of nephilim seemed sufficiently un-Circle-like and one of them could be appointed.

(That wasn’t, of course, how she’d said it, but it was clear enough.)

Magnus was mostly in shock and just nodding along at that point.

When she’d confirmed that the downworld was reasonably accepting of all of that, and had even told them how to contact Patrick directly with any questions or concerns, she slipped into something that looked like parade rest, and without a bit of warning that Magnus could recognize, the entire chapel-full of nephilim all stood at the same time, chanted “ante faciem Angelus” all together, and then they bowed, too. All of them, each with a hand over their heart, respect and responsibility and something that felt like an apology ringing through the air. From nephilim. To downworlders.

“Fiat justicia!” Herondale called out in response, and the nephilim filed back into their institute, and the black-clad guards very politely escorted the downworlders the other direction and shut the big fancy doors behind them, and Magnus was blinking at Ragnor in the street outside the Institute again.

“What the actual fuck.” Gretel broke the silence first.

Magnus started laughing, and nodded in agreement. That absolutely covered it.

The Clave had said they’d dealt with the Circle, and requested the downworld’s input, and claimed that things were going to be different this time, and it was all really, truly, completely, real.

[parfaitblogs]

waiting room ❀ s. reid x reader

in which he breaks up with you, and your life slowly falls apart. so obviously you should see him?

pairing: ex!spencer reid x reader genre: angst tags: implied alcohol reliance? lots of nothing happening not even a gun to my head could get me to write action... do not read if emotionally stable because i sure wasn't when i wrote this. word count: 1.9k a/n: i never write in second person so if there's a cheeky she her they them somewhere in this ignore it!!! i do not know what i am doing!!! probably not proofread enough. also no happy ending i hate those let the people cry i say! i haven't posted my writing in like three years be nice...

also posted here on my ao3 !

"Hey."

"Hi."

Awkward silence. Horribly awkward silence.

Your eyes darting around a bar that you found all too familiar, with decor that you could paint on a canvas with your eyes closed, and such a distinct smell that you could imagine it from miles away. You didn't think you'd ever forget the way the air moved in this bar, or the sound of the same three bands singing every Friday night on repeat. You knew all the words to their songs by now. And the bartender knew your name, embarrassingly so. 

And even over the sound of patrons talking, and the clinking of glasses and every other overwhelming sound that drove you crazy, you felt like you could hear your heartbeat slamming against your chest. Your lips chapped, never wetting no matter how many times you produced the saliva in your otherwise dry mouth to lick them. Hands wrapped around an ice cold glass that did nothing but numb some part of your body, to accompany the numb feeling in your chest. 

You looked better than you felt, but he was knocking both parts of you out of the park. Maybe that's why your mouth was so dry. You'd tell yourself that it is, at least. He's too attractive to talk to. But you could talk to him. You did talk to him. All the time. About everything, and nothing. Because that's what you two did. 

And yet; the awkward silence. 

He cleared his throat, and it prompted you to take a sip of your drink, mixed alcohol falling down your throat and leaving a burn that shouldn't comfort you, but did. You didn't pull a face at the taste of it the way you used to, and you found yourself wishing that part of you that you despised was back. 

Maybe he would tease you for it again.

"How's work?"

The words felt foreign on your lips. It wasn't really what you wanted to ask him, but every inquiry you had died on your tongue before you could ask them, nothing feeling good enough. 

"It's good," he answered, eyes studying you in a way that made you want to shrink into nothingness. 

"That's good," you said, and you saw the small twitch of his lips — brief, before they fell back into their natural downturned shape. 

It was almost comical how much silence sat between you two. Two people who would talk until people around them were groaning and regretting asking them a question, falling silent in the presence of one another. 

He cleared his throat again. Maybe you should offer him some water, but then you realised this wasn't your house and he was fully capable of getting his own water. And everything else in the world.

"How's work for you?"

"It's good," you answered, half-heartedly, because you really didn't know. You hadn't been in months. 

You didn't really realise a breakup would affect you this much. You had always been good. Good at putting emotional turmoil on pause for your busy life. You never considered the possibility of putting your busy life on pause for emotional turmoil. 

But then Spencer Reid left you. You never considered the possibility of that happening either, until it did. 

"Is it?" he asked, and you watched his body shift slightly in his seat, almost leaning closer to you. 

And unfortunately, you can only pretend in front of the man across from you for so long. "No," you said.

"Why not?" 

"I'm not going." Your voice was embarrassingly quiet, but you knew he heard you, because his eyebrows furrowed ever so slightly, and his lips parted for a second. It made you want to take the words back; to lie again. "I got laid off a week ago."

He slowly nodded his head in recognition — that would explain your sudden request to meet. "I'm sorry."

You could imagine a million things you knew he'd be saying the words for, but not one part of you really believed it for any of them. So you only nodded your head, gaze dropping from him to the glass in front of you, the paper straw disintegrating in the liquid — something you weren't used to; you would finish drinks too quickly for that to happen. 

You didn't come here to mope. You do that every other Friday night. You didn't need to do that tonight, when the man you were spending your nights sobbing and your mornings numb over was right there with you.

"How's your mom?" you ask instead, lifting your head back up, and you watched his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed. 

"She's okay. Same as usual," he said, and you nodded your head. Short answers seemed to be the only thing you guys knew how to do. "How's yours?"

"Good," you answer, because the question doesn't really have the same weight as it did when you asked him; he only did it to be courteous. "She misses having you over."

That brought a small smile to his face. "I miss being over."

You can come back, you want to say, but you know that isn't true. 

You don't know how much longer you two sit in silence before he breaks it with a sigh that, if you didn't know better, you'd think was irritated. But it wasn't; simply exhausted. 

"Why did you want to meet me?" he finally asked, and your lips parted, before shutting again, because you're not too sure the answer is something you're allowed to say aloud. 

You say it anyway.

"I missed you."

You watched his facial features soften, his shoulders relaxing slightly, and that only seemed to bring more nervous energy to you. 

"You shouldn't," he said, and if your heart had anything left for him, it probably would have cracked again. 

You knew that you shouldn't. You had told yourself to get over it a thousand times before. Your go-to mantra was grow up. But you couldn't. Your brain wouldn't let it go and your eyes could just never stay dry for long enough to think it's finally over. It was almost pathetic. 

You swallowed the lump in your throat, nodding your head, slowly, and you were pretty sure tears were welling in your eyes, which felt even more pathetic in front of him. 

"I'm sorry."

This time it was you to apologise, and you knew he didn't believe your apology either. Not when you didn't even know what you were apologising for. Missing him, meeting him here, ever even dating him in the first place.

"It's okay," he said, instead, and you watched him exhale shakily, his lips rubbing against each other — usually a telltale sign he didn't want to be wherever he was any longer. That broke your heart too. 

Words died in your throat as you abruptly stood up, the stool you were perched atop wobbling slightly with your sudden movements. 

You stared at him for another moment, committing his face to memory, before you nodded your head to him in acknowledgement, pocketing your phone. You forced a smile, and left. 

Maybe not the best move you've ever done in your life. Not the move you wanted to do. But certainly the smartest. 

Because the second the cool, early fall air hit your skin, so did your tears, and you found that even ordering an Uber was difficult through blurry vision. So you decided to walk. Walk where, you didn't know. Away from the bar. Through the people-filled square; people as drunk as you wished to be, people out with friends and partner's, to have fun. People having a much better night than you, clearly. 

You heard your name. And something in you screamed to not turn around, to not give in to the caller. Probably the logical part of your brain. But your heart ignored it, and you halted in your tracks, turning to see him walking towards you, eyebrows furrowed in so much concern you think you'd crack further than you already have. Maybe if you split yourself down the middle it would finally stop hurting. 

"I miss you too."

Four simple words that could be heard even over the mixed songs playing from the clubs around you, even over the beeping cars and the chattering people. 

"Please don't lie to make me feel better," you croak, and you're acutely aware of the tears on your cheeks. 

"I'm not lying," he breathed out, and you were far enough away from his body to see his hand twitch. For whatever reason you didn't know. "Sweetheart, you're breaking my heart, here."

Oh.

You swallowed down a sob, swiping another set of falling tears before they could get too far down your cheeks.

"Spencer, please," you said, so desperately that you wanted to shoot yourself. "I shouldn't have asked you to meet."

"No, you shouldn't have," he agreed, and your heart stuttered in your chest, because he was telling you things you shouldn't do. Again. "Not that I—" he cut himself off with a sigh; frustrated, this time. "Not that I didn't want to see you, because I did. You're the only person I want to see recently. But I was getting better, and I know I've ruined all that by being here with you tonight."

I was getting better. The words echoed over and over in your brain. If he was just as bad as you were, maybe it would make this easier. Maybe you aren't as pathetic. 

"I hate this," you settled on, fidgeting awkwardly with your fingers. 

He didn't respond for a few too many moments, and it had you wanting to take back your words. He rubbed his eyes with another sigh. 

"I'm not going back on my decision," he said, and you didn't need to ask what decision; you had an idea, and your stomach twisted uncomfortably. 

But you did anyways. "Which decision?"

"Breaking up with you."

You were silent for a few moments too. "I'm not asking you to—"

"—No, but you want me to," he cuts you off. "And I'm telling you I won't. You know why I did it. That trumps whatever feelings I have for you."

Have.

"I don't know why," you said, shakily. You did. He gave you a reason, and if you had to explain the breakup to someone, you could tell them why. But the ongoing conflict in your brain confused you anyways. 

"Yes you do," he answered, his jaw tensing. When you shook your head, and went to respond, he cut you off, stepping closer. "I can afford to lose you. I can't afford for the world to."

He had said something similar the day he left. Something about a fear of you dying. Something you had tried to reassure him of, failing to do so clearly. 

"What about me?" your voice cracked and you cursed it.

"It will get better."

You could've cried all over again, in the middle of the square. Everything always for the better. Never for the right now, for the things you both wanted. But for the everlasting fear Spencer had in his brain, that you didn't know how to help. 

"Apparently," you replied, sniffling as you took a step away from him. "I think I should go."

If he wanted to protest, he didn't show it. He simply nodded his head, lips parting in a silent exhale. 

And so you did, with wet cheeks, and a quiet, "Goodbye, Spencer."

loml (part 2) ♡

your reblogs and replies are always appreciated dearly ♡

[it-was-summer]

Come In With The Rain (Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader)

A/N: Hey y'all, I'm so sorry for the late posting. I know that I don't have a new chapter of 'Video Killed the Radio Star' out yet, but stay with me here. This is part one (of two) of my 500 followers post! I want to thank everyone for reading and being so sweet throughout the years. I really hope you all like this first part! The second part will probably be posted sometime this upcoming week. AND IT WILL BE 18+. I'm estimating sometime between Thursday and Saturday. Again, this is not proofread because I never learn. Love you all- Em <3

Link to the Ao3: Come In With The Rain

You are on Part One! -> Part Two

Yee olde masterlist

WARNING: Slow burn ahh fanfiction, emotional cheating, an accusation of emotional cheating, couple fighting, sex mentioned, alcohol mentions, drunk reader at one point, light cursing, babygirl Spencer Reid, suggestion BLINK AND YOU MISS IT SUGGESTION that Reid is Bi, reader is referred to as a woman, she/her/hers pronouns at some parts, and mention of feeling like a burden. AND probably something else, idk.

Plot: Spencer Reid becomes friends with you after bumping into you at a grocery store. Instantly enamored with you he develops a crush. A crush, apparently destined to fail, because why wouldn't you have a boyfriend?

Word Count: 10,365 (That's correct... 24 PAGES)

 Day One 

Almost everyone could agree that Spencer’s job was incredibly arduous. If not arduous, it was strenuous, formidable, occasionally crushing, onerous; the list goes on. Overall, his job –despite all its pitfalls– was something he loved. There was one thing he was starting to hate more than anything, though: he couldn’t seem to keep all his groceries from going bad after a week of back-to-back cases. 

Spencer narrows his eyes at his messy handwriting, looking back and forth between the paper in his hands and the cans in front of him. He just couldn’t find the can that he was looking for. Penelope had loaned him her recipe a few weeks back, and despite his disastrous efforts in the kitchen, he was determined to give it a shot. His mother never taught him how to cook ���not that he blamed her, of course– so it was truly an area in which he simply lacked a lot of skill. Given his eidetic memory, he didn’t really need a list, but Penelope said this brand was best for her recipe when they talked last week. He didn’t want to risk it, so he wrote it down. 

He turned his head side-to-side, looking for a nearby worker, but found none. The only person in this aisle was him. He frowned a little before the sound of a sigh passing behind him made him jump. He quickly looked over his shoulder to see a woman standing behind him, staring at a list in hand. He couldn’t help but wonder when you had gotten there and how long you had been standing behind him before your sigh alerted Spencer to the presence of another life form in this aisle. 

Your head tilted slowly, your eyes met his, and Spencer felt his mouth drying. He wasn’t charming around beautiful women like Derek; most of all, he hadn’t expected to run into one at the grocery store. Your eyes stayed on Spencer for a second before they moved towards the cans in front of them. Spencer felt like a warmth had just been pulled away from him in the absence of your gaze. 

He shuffles out of your eyeline as you scan the cans with a soft smile. “Thank you,” your voice was light and airy, carrying a softness that Spencer wasn’t used to hearing. Your body is closer to his as you walk toward the cans and carefully reach up on your tiptoes to grab a can of sauce on the highest shelf. 

Spencer gets the idea stupidly slow: He should get it for you. He clears his throat and maneuvers his body to avoid touching the beautiful stranger beside him. He slides the sauce can off the shelf and hands it to you. 

He’s greeted with a dazzling smile, dimples on your cheeks, and eyes shining bright under the fluorescent lights of the grocery store. “Thank you,” you repeat before you stare at him expectantly. 

Spencer can’t help but feel like his IQ is taking slashes as he stares at that smile, “Spencer,” 

You gave him a gentle nod as you walked the sauce over to your cart, “Nice to meet you, Spencer. I’m Y/N.” You say as you look over your shoulder at him, hair falling into your face. For the first time in a long time, Spencer can feel the ends of his fingers twitching with anticipation at the idea of offering to brush the hair out of your face for you. He gives you a soft smile instead, his eyes trailing back to the list in his hands in an attempt to stop himself from staring. 

Your voice near him almost makes him let out a yelp of surprise as you say, “Are you looking for something? I don’t work here, but I cook a lot.” You say matter-of-factly, suggesting that your cooking hobby somehow made you an expert in the grocery store layout. 

Spencer felt like handing you his list and following you around like a puppy dog for the rest of his grocery shopping if it meant you’d keep standing this close to him. “Yeah, uhm, this brand of chili beans.” 

“Oh, you haven’t looked low enough.” You barely even glance at his list before bending your knees and crouching down to the lower shelf to grab it. You look up from the ground, holding the can of beans for him to take with a bright smile before you say, “You’re so tall you must have forgotten about the lower shelves.” A laugh escapes your lips as Spencer carefully grabs the can from your hand. 

You stand up with a gentle sigh. He can tell that you’re about to say something else when a man’s voice interrupts you. Your eyes grow brighter at the sound, and your head quickly turns toward the sound at the far left end of the aisle. “I got the cheese.” As he approaches, the man shoots the shredded cheese into the cart with a grin. 

You mouth a soft ‘yay’ as the man’s arm quickly wraps around your waist. “Josh, this is Spencer. I was just helping him look for a can of beans. Spencer, this is Josh.” 

Spencer feels his lips draw into a tight-lipped smile as he waves his free hand, “Nice to meet you,” He says with a slight nod. 

“She’s always talking to strangers, I swear. Stop making friends everywhere you go, you little angel.”  Josh says as he pinches your side, earning a melodious laugh from you. Spencer feels a little nauseous.

“Hey, gross.” You chuckle lightly as you pull Josh’s hand off your side, “Anyways, it was nice to meet you, Spencer. See you around.” You grab the handle of your cart with a beautiful smile before rolling the cart out of the aisle with Josh in tow. 

Spencer watches you until you take a right and disappear from his view, and now he can only look at the can of beans in his hand. He sighs at his luck, smiling a little with amusement at the fact that you have a boyfriend. His short interaction made it clear to him that you were easy to get along with. Beautiful, kind, easygoing, of course, you had a boyfriend. 

Spencer silently resigned himself to the fact that he would probably never see you or Josh again as he continued with his unneeded list.

Now, he felt like the fabled gods of fate were laughing down at him as he made the last trip to his car. He was closing the trunk of his car when he heard a familiar voice yell out his name from across the parking lot. “Spencer!” You yelled with bags in hand, panting lightly as you approached him with a light jog. “How funny is this?” 

A sarcastically bitter voice was in his head. Only the Ancient Greeks would find this funny. “Do you live in this building?” he asked as his eyes scanned the parking lot for Josh. His shoulders relaxed as he realized that it was just you. 

“Yeah, third floor.” You say as you readjust the bags in your hands. Spencer gave you an amused smile as he slid his last two bags on one arm, extending his free arm toward you. 

“Need some help?” He offers in a soft voice. You give him a grateful look as you nod, handing him a slightly heavy bag. Typically, you wouldn’t have accepted help from a perfect stranger, but almost everything about Spencer screamed non-threatening, so you let yourself be a little trusting. 

“Can’t believe that we’re neighbors. I'm glad I talked to you at the store; I made a neighbor friend!” Your speaking speed almost matches his when he is going on his excited ramblings. 

Spencer pushes a door open with his back, holding it open for you with his foot as he laughs. “I guess it's plausible, being that the grocery store is as close as it is.” He’s quick to move to the next door, repeating the motion. 

You smile gently as Spencer opens another door for you, this one leading the two of you to the stairwell. “Oh, you’re probably one of those people who doesn’t believe in fate, aren’t you, Spencer?” 

“I would have to say that I absolutely fall within the twenty-nine percent of Americans who do not believe in fate. Nothing is predetermined.” 

“Maybe you’re predetermined to believe that,” Is your quick remark as you walk in front of him on the stairs. 

“Not likely,” 

“So, what? You’re a cynic?” 

Spencer smiles wide at the question, “How does my not believing in fate make me a cynic?” 

You grin, tossing a skeptical look over your shoulder, before speaking again. “Not believing in fate is such a cynical thing to do,” 

“And what does that make you?” 

“Stupid and optimistically in love.” 

Spencer shakes his head, his eyes glancing at the door that leads to the second floor, but he continues to follow you up another flight of stairs without complaint. “I would label myself as a realist.” And a profiler, but he was careful to leave that part out. The cases over the years proved one thing to him: nothing was predetermined. There was an opportunity for change everywhere. 

“Okay, Mr. Realist, what about luck?” You asked as the two of you approached the door marked for floor three. 

He thought for a moment as you held the door open for him, “Maybe,” was all he could say as the memory of when he was struggling with his aim came to mind: killing an UnSub with a shot to the head when he had been aiming for his leg. 

“So you do believe in fate.” You turned your body to walk backward down the hallway with a satisfied, winning smile as you looked at him before slowing to a stop in front of your apartment door. 

“Fate and luck are not the same thing. Luck is usually used to describe an outcome; it’s a notion. It’s circumstantial.  Fate defies logic, science really.” He said as he handed you your bag carefully. His eyes glanced at the number on your door: thirty-seven. “You live with your boyfriend?” Spencer asks before he can stop himself, silently screaming at himself for being a creep. 

The question barely phases you as you reach into your pocket, searching for your keys. “Yeah, moved in six months ago.” 

“Oh, that’s nice.” Spencer hated small talk. Actually, he secretly hated the fact that the first person he found attractive, after months of failed dates, was taken. He also hated that you were living a floor above him for six months, and he hadn’t known about it– hadn’t known about you. Above all, he hated that he enjoyed your company already, especially having only known you for more than a few hours at best. “How long have the two of you been together?” 

“A year and eleven months,” you answer with a soft smile, your eyes giving way to soft emotion as you open your door. “What floor do you live on again?” 

Spencer wants to say that you never asked, but he didn’t want to seem rude. He was sure you couldn’t be rude if you tried, that sweet smile of yours not capable of the act. “Second floor,” he answers as he readjusts his bags timidly. 

With a soft gasp, you set down a bag or two, “Oh! I’m sorry.” You apologize softly as you look up at him, your eyes beautiful and tender. Spencer can’t remember if he is mad when he looks into those eyes. 

Spencer let out a meek and barely audible “It’s okay,” He decides it truly is.

You bite your bottom lip and smile at him, “Well, thanks for your help, Spencer. I really appreciated it. Come up some time and say hi!” As you beam at him, you move a stray hair out of your face. 

Spencer nods slowly, swallowing thickly, and manages a soft smile. His feet move his body back to the stairwell slowly. “Okay, I’ll do that.” 

Day Forty-Two 

You’re laughing over something Josh said. Spencer doesn’t really get it, but you seem to think it is the funniest joke you’ve ever heard. Punchlines usually went over his head, but he was always happy to nod along with a smile on his face. 

Spencer honestly didn’t want to come up and visit you and Josh a month ago. Maybe he was a glutton for punishment. Perhaps he just didn’t have it in himself to stay away from your electric personality—why he visited you and Josh three Saturdays ago was still a mystery to him.

As Josh walks away with a smug smile, you turn to Spencer. He watches as you lean towards him, eyes tracking Josh until he’s out of sight. Your amused smile falls from your face as you whisper a soft, “Did you get that?” 

Spencer is taken aback at the question. You laughed at Josh’s joke; how did you not get it? Why did you laugh so hard if you didn’t get it? He wonders until he’s whispering that same question to you, “If you didn’t get it, why did you laugh?” 

You smile a little cheekily and only slightly embarrassed, “I didn’t want him to know I didn’t find it funny. Sometimes, he falls short of witty humor.” 

Spencer smiles at that, shaking his head as he stares over at the area where Josh disappeared. “Why don’t you just tell him that you didn’t find it funny?” 

“Because,” Your voice sounds offended, but the amused look in your eyes tells him differently, “I’m his girlfriend of two years, and I’m nice. Unlike some people.” You give him a side-eyed glare, making Spencer gasp in mock defense. 

“I’m nice!” He hisses out in a defensive whisper. He briefly falters at your incredulous look before slowly nodding in defeat, “Okay, I’m a little mean sometimes.” 

You smile again and face him, your hands moving as you talk, “Which is funny because you’re perfectly nice when you’re around me.” 

Spencer didn’t have an answer to that one either. After being friendly with the couple for a little over a month, he just could not be friends with Josh. His jokes flew over Spencer’s head, he talked over you (and sometimes him), and he never seemed to take your interests seriously. 

Last Monday after work, you called Spencer, asking him if he wanted to go to the movies with you to see a tragic Italian film. He was quick to say yes, partially because of the excellent movie selection and because he wanted to be around you more. 

When he asked why Josh wasn’t joining them, you simply said that it wasn’t Josh’s thing. That didn’t sit right with him, but he let it go. Then, the day after, you called him again, asking him if he’d be willing to go with you to one of those paint-and-sip places around town that weekend. 

His answer was another resounding yes, and he didn’t even drink. Then the question came again during the class, and you responded with the same thing– it wasn’t Josh’s thing. 

Josh’s thing was going off to work all day and then coming home to ignore you for a good two hours before dinner. Then he was all yours again. At least, that’s what Spencer saw. He understood that everyone needed their alone time and that he was being a little petty and a little jealous toward Josh. 

He wanted to be the bigger person, honestly. It was just so hard when your boyfriend made it so easy for Spencer to hate him. He’d never say that to you, of course. You looked at Josh like he had hung the moon yesterday and then created the stars today. You never missed a chance to talk about Josh around… well, anyone—the precursor to Spencer’s current dilemma. 

Deep down inside, he knew that his inappropriate crush on you couldn’t possibly get worse. So he thought, What’s the harm in becoming close friends with you? If anything, it was likely that seeing more of your personality would pull his rose-colored glasses off his face and force him to see you in a normal, less love-sick light. After all, he had gotten over his embarrassing crush on JJ and saw her almost daily at work.

When Josh walks back into the room, he’s on his phone. He barely glances up from the text as he speaks to you, “Hey, babe, would it be okay with you if I head out for the night?” 

Your eyebrows furrow with confusion, “But Spencer is here, and we were going to finish the movie, remember?” 

“Right, but I already know what happens. I mean, it’s a tragedy, right? Spencer and you always have more fun together doing your nerd stuff. No offense, Spencer. The guys just want me to go out with them.” 

A realization dawns on your face as you realize he’s not asking so much as telling you he’s leaving. You nod slowly, letting Josh kiss your forehead before he grabs his keys and leaves. You look over at Spencer, who is trying to be polite by not watching the scene, looking down at the television remote with a deep interest. 

You smile slowly, sadly, and turn your body a little on the couch facing the television. The rest of the night is spent in your living room with Spencer, sitting next to each other and watching a movie before ending with your head on his shoulder and the soft tone of someone saying they “Liked the movie.” 

Day Ninety-Three

You could feel something starting to slip. It was a familiar feeling; something in the ground was shaking. It shook you, at least. You always noticed it first—a crack in the ship's hull.  You were always the first to address it, too. 

With Josh, it used to be customary for him to apologize for any indiscretion and try to fix the damage. But false promises are like duct tape in the ship’s hull, slipping and sliding against wet wood, water pouring in until the whole ship goes down. 

It wasn’t always like this. Him coming home and ignoring you for hours, only to acknowledge you late into the evening. It was relatively new to your relationship. Well, if you consider nine months new. By now, you could only label it as consistent. Before you lived with your loving boyfriend, he would carve out time in the evenings just to talk with you for hours or take you on dates that sometimes lasted for days on the weekends. 

You knew that living together would take some of that away– everyone deserved to have their private time, and you weren’t going to start demanding day-long dates anytime soon. You just missed the effort he used to put in, the time when he would make days for the two of you– hours for just the two of you. 

A year ago, Josh would have jumped to see that weird new Hungarian horror movie with subtitles for you if you had asked. He would have attempted to stay awake during it, hold your hand during the parts that scared you, something lovely. 

The first crack started when you moved in with him. One evening, you had gotten home from work early and occupied the living room for a few hours, watching some random French movie that had been recommended to you by your best friend. She didn’t like this kind of thing but knew you did, so you were grateful that she had thought of you. 

When he came home from work a little later than usual, he saw you on the couch with a plate of pasta, watching the movie intently. You turned your head towards the door and smiled wide at him. “Hey! I made spaghetti, grab a plate and watch this movie with me? I’ll restart it.” Your hands were already reaching for the remote when a heavy, annoyed sigh cut through the air. You looked over at him again and gave him a gentle, empathic smile, “Hey… did you have a hard day? We don’t have to watch anything we could–”

“Have you ever thought that maybe I don’t want to do anything with you right after I get off work?” Josh hissed out as he threw his keys onto the wooden kitchen table. 

You felt your head reel back a little at the question, and you laughed a little, pushing yourself up to sit on your knees on the couch. “I’m sorry?” 

“Have you ever thought I might want to come home after work and not talk to you for a few hours? I mean, I thought that after living here for two months, you would have caught on, but clearly you haven’t. I come home, and you’re right there, ready to talk. Prepared to force me to sit down and watch some… foreign language film that has some profound meaning that you’ll blabber about for thirty minutes before bed tonight.” 

You blinked a little at his harsh words, which were unlike him. He never seemed annoyed by your passions, hobbies, or ramblings. In fact, he always seemed to encourage them. You tried your best to give him a genuine smile, “Love, you’ve had a long day. Let’s just take a second and get some food in you, and then we can d–” 

“You’re not getting it,” he laughed bitterly, a sound that caused a sick knot to grow in your throat. “Sometimes, I’m tired of it being we, we, we, we. I’m always doing things with you: Cooking with you, reading with you, watching movies with you, sleeping with you, going on dates with you. Ever since you moved in, it's like it's always an ‘us’ task or a ‘we’ task.” His voice was rising in volume, and you felt your breathing becoming shaky. “I feel like you're always on top of me. It’s suffocating! Maybe I just want to be alone for a few hours. Maybe I don’t want to watch your stupid, fucking, symbolic foreign films.” 

“I... I didn’t know that’s how you felt.” You breathed out as you slowly turned the television off and got up with your plate. You wanted him to apologize, you wanted him to soften those brown eyes and start telling you that he didn’t mean it. You wanted him to tell you that work was brutal that day, and he had accidentally lashed out at you. But he just stared at you, panting a little. “I’ll leave you alone some more. I, uhm, I’ll watch this alone in our room.” 

And that was that. You had convinced yourself that you were a problem. You were too clingy, always in his space, always trying to force him to like your hobbies, always trying to share too much of yourself with him, always too much. So you decided that maybe what you wanted to do wasn’t his thing anymore. 

Besides, you had plenty of friends that liked the same things as you did… maybe. Molly didn’t like foreign films, but Alex enjoyed them enough. Molly did like to paint, but her schedule always conflicted with yours. Sabrina was also a fan of painting but had moved to Boston last month. The list of her friends with crazy work schedules could go on and on, as could the list of friends who moved. You had thought about reaching out to some of them, but Josh’s words rattled you to your core, and suddenly, you felt like a burden for wanting to spend time with your loved ones. 

Then, after six months of living with Josh, you met a man in a grocery store—a tall, hazel-eyed, intelligent man. Spencer Reid was unlike any man you had ever met in your life, a rare friend. He was transparent, often going into long, passionate tangents that always had you learning something new. So when he randomly mentioned a foreign film he wanted to see that weekend in one of your conversations, you felt comfortable asking him to come to the movies with you.

Then again, to the paint-and-sip place where the two of you failed to partake in any wine and managed to paint two terrible renditions of sunflowers. Spencer Reid was becoming a friend that you didn’t think you’d burden. Your other friends were quick to explain that you weren’t too much. Still, maybe it was because he had helped you carry your groceries up to the apartment the first day you met him or the way he was so happy to listen to your stories and thoughts. Something about Spencer Reid made you believe him when he said that you weren’t a burden. 

And he was nice to be around. Then, there was the pesky fact of Spencer being attractive. At first, it was more of a passing thought. The way he wore his glasses late at night, how his hair fell to one side, the way his fingers were so gentle with books. He was a good-looking man in a nerdy way. Mix that with sweet, caring, and accomplished; he was a threat. 

A threat to anyone but your loving boyfriend of two years. Sabrina was laughing over something you had said over the phone, her giggles rising in volume as she tried to speak between them, “He’s a.” Giggling. “An adonis of th–” Cackling. “The mind!” She managed before asking, “What does that even mean?” 

“It means he’s a very smart-minded, attractive person.” 

“Oh, so you’re like… crushing on the hot mind guy and fighting with Josh. Got it.” 

“I’m not fighting with Josh, and we talked about it last month. We’re okay now.” 

“Still ignoring you when he comes home?” 

You pause before you let out a slow sigh, “Yeah.” 

“What’s his record?” 

“Four hours and fifteen minutes. He said he will try to be more attentive throughout the week, but he just keeps…” You trail off. You can imagine Sabrina shaking her head on the other side of the line. 

“What about the weekends?” 

“Going out with his friends more, he visited his mom’s last weekend. Nary a date night in sight, not since our second anniversary at least, and that was..” 

“Yeah..” There was rustling, chips maybe, on her side of the line. “Maybe he’s planning something big. Maybe a trip? I don’t know, maybe you should bring it up again.” 

You nod a little, your hands typing away gently on your work computer. “Maybe. The last time I mentioned missing our date nights, he just said, ‘We have dinner dates every night at home.’ That was an incredible feeling.” 

“Something about weaponized ignorance is coming to mind.” 

“Don’t,” 

“Josh has been lacking in good boyfriend points since that stunt with the cake on your birthday,” 

“He got a little icing on my nose!” 

“Don’t,” She dragged out the ‘t’ sound, “Care! The disrespect! Your dress! Ugh, I’m going to get worked up. Talk to me about Dr. Genius.” 

“What about him?” 

“Does he ever, maybe, do something you wish Josh would start doing?” 

You laugh, “What? No…” 

“So you don’t wish that Josh would know the symbolism behind The Red Shoes and go into how… what did he say?” 

“That art was worth dying for, and that Hans Christian Andersen's original story surrounded a sense of morality and religious–” 

“Ah, Ah, Ah, so you don’t want Josh to know that?” 

“He doesn’t need to know that,” your fingers falter in their typing, “Two people can have similar interests and not be in love.” 

“Right, it just seems like lately, you’ve been…” You hate the awkward silence that follows Sabrina before she carefully speaks again, “Maybe replacing Josh with Spencer in your hobbies. I know Josh lashed out and was wrong, too, but this Spencer guy… he clicks with you– your hobbies, at least. And your witty humor, too. It seems he matches your intellectualism and your passion for learning,  exceeds it even, but Josh is steps below you. Josh, he… just always seems so tolerant of your hobbies.” 

“So what are you saying?” 

“Nothing,” a voice calls her name, “Look, I gotta go. Josh is great, and I’m just being silly. Maybe I just have a grudge against him or something. I love you.” 

“I’ll talk to you later. Love you.” You reply quickly before she ends the call. 

You shake your head a little at her words, still swimming in your mind as you go back to charting something on your computer. What did that even mean? Josh is steps below you. He wasn’t dumb. He just lacked… that dry humor you had with Spencer sometimes. A quick, witty remark that had one of you smiling in seconds. Besides, that notion was ridiculous, given you had only known Spencer for three months. Josh made up for it in love… and you did love him. 

All couples went through rough patches, but you were sure that if you raised your concerns again with Josh, things would change. You nod a little at the thought as you sigh, shifting in your chair slightly as you readied yourself to be engulfed in your work. 

Day One Hundred and Forty-Six 

Spencer could feel the bass of some pop song thumping in his chest. It had been a pleasant and slow week at the BAU. While he would have loved to go home and sit down with some book of his choosing, he allowed Penelope and Derek to convince him to go out with them. 

The bar wasn’t too far from his apartment complex, so he didn’t mind. Penelope was twirling her drink's tiny umbrella between her fingers as she pointed towards a pretty red-head dancing in a dark green dress. “What about her?” 

They have been playing this game for ten minutes now. By they, he means Garcia and Morgan. The game is ‘Who does Spencer find pretty at the bar?’ 

“Babygirl, you have a great eye,” Derek says as he points the woman out to Spencer, but before he can say anything else, Spencer decides they’ve played this game past the point of amusement. 

“Why can’t we accept that I don’t feel like talking to anyone tonight, again?” 

Penelope frowned a little, giving Spencer a pleading look. “You said that the last time we took you to the bar, you were willing to participate next time. It’s next time, Reid.” 

Spencer remembers the conversation and groans softly as he sips on his water. He hated disappointing them with his lack of effortless charm. It had improved through the years, but he still struggled to find the right words to say in front of someone he found attractive. 

“Come on, Pretty Boy. Are you going to back out of your promise?” Derek’s voice is teasing as he smiles at Spencer. Spencer can’t help but feel a sense of newfound obligation. He knew what was holding him back and hated himself for it. 

His inappropriate crush on you had grown to be near debilitating, and even though Spencer had told himself that it’d never happen, he kept holding out hope that one day it would. He had gone on dates in the near five months he had known you, but he always ended up comparing his dates to you. They never laughed as sweet as you. They came up with the same academically related jokes you did. They never– they just weren’t you, simple as that. 

“Fine, but someone else. She’s pretty, but I think that girl is her girlfriend.” He pleaded softly, watching as a taller brunette woman spun around the pretty redhead to the beat. 

Penelope clapped and set down her drink, “This next one has to be perfect.” 

“Pretty boy’s future bride,”

Spencer felt his cheeks flush at that, and he nudged Derek with a nervous laugh. Penelope was still scanning the crowd. The bar wasn’t empty or devoid of beautiful women or men for her to choose from, but no one screamed Spencer Reid material. Derek was scanning the crowd with her, always happy to see her passionate about something, even if it was Reid’s love life. 

A gasp slipped past Penelope’s lips as she grabbed Derek’s arm tight, her index pointing toward someone by the speakers. Derek’s eyes landed on who she was pointing at, and he smiled wide, nodding quickly, “Future Mrs. Reid material,” 

Spencer can barely see where they are pointing as he tries to look toward the area that Garcia is pointing at. Then he sees her. It’s you, and his heart drops. He wants to tell his friends he knows that isn’t ‘Future Mrs. Reid’ at all, but Derek and Penelope are already pushing him into the crowd. He glares back at them and stubbles with his footing for a second before walking toward you. 

You’re wearing a beautiful black dress, hugging your curves. In the flashing lights, Spencer thinks that you’re shining. Your hips sway lightly to the beat as you stand near the speakers, alone. 

Spencer gently taps you on your shoulder, and when you turn around, you have a glare on your face before you see it's him. He almost laughs at how you gasp and loudly scream, “Spencer!” Your hands fly out to his shoulders, shaking him gently as you giggle. “Hi!” You’re so drunk. 

Spencer is sure that Penelope and Derek are watching the scene unfold with confused expressions as he laughs softly, your hands on his shoulders gently shaking his body side-to-side. “Hey, where’s Josh?” He yells over the music. 

“Getting drinks!” You yell back in an excited tone. 

He smiles wide and shakes his head a little; he usually doesn’t find drunk people endearing. But right now, in the flashing lights of the bar, your rosy-cheek face and tipsy giddiness have him feeling a little more enamored than usual. 

“Who are you here with?” You ask loudly, your hands falling away from his shoulders. 

“Uh, my friends, coworkers!” he replies as he stands beside you to point out the confused-looking pair staring at them. 

“Can I say hi?” He could tell that your friendly disposition continued even when intoxicated, and he found himself adoring the consistency. He nods gently, and you’re smiling so much. Spencer wonders how someone could be so excited about meeting someone else’s friends. 

He leads you over, your fingers grabbing the back of his button-up as he carefully leads you through the crowd. The gentle pull of your fingers gripping his shirt makes his cheeks burn as he stops in front of Derek and Penelope. “Y/N, Derek, and Penelope. Penelope and Derek, Y/N.” 

You let go of the back of his button-up quickly as you extend a giddy hand, “Hi, I haven’t met any friends of Spencer's yet.” 

Derek looks amused as he shakes your hand, his eyes flicking between you and Spencer, “How do you know the boy genius?” 

“I found him looking lost in the grocery store. We’re neighbors! Well, almost,” You let go of Derek’s hand to point towards the roof, “I’m on top of him.” 

Spencer can feel the breath knocked out of his lungs as he quickly corrects you, “She lives on the floor above me.” He explains before either of them can make a joke. 

Penelope matches your happy attitude as she shakes your hand, “We had no idea that Spencer had a friend in his apartment complex! How long have the two of you been friends?” 

“Almost five months,” You say with a little giggle, leaning toward Penelope slightly. “Spencer comes over to discuss movies with me or books, or we went to a poetry reading last weekend.” 

“He comes over often, huh?” Derek’s voice asks playfully, and you nod quickly. 

“The mothership is always beckoning,” You joke, laughing harder than you should at your own joke. 

Penelope slowly drops your hand, tilting her head, and her flower earrings sway slightly. “And... your roommate is okay with that?” she asks carefully, and Spencer wants to ask why she doesn’t simply ask if you have a boyfriend. 

“Oh, no. Josh doesn’t care. He’s my boyfriend of two years. Nothing can break that security, I’m sure.” You look towards the bar for him and catch his eye. You wave high and wide for him, and he smiles, shaking his head at you as he waits for the drinks.

“So, Pretty Boy here is just a friend.” 

You giggle a little at the nickname and try to cover your smile with your hand, looking at Spencer. “Pretty Boy?” You giggle out. Spencer frowns a little and goes to defend himself, but you’re already nodding, “He is a pretty boy. That’s fitting.” Then, he feels like his body is on fire. 

Derek is about to say something when Josh slides behind you with two drinks. “Always with Spencer,” he teases softly, kissing your cheek before handing you your drink. 

“Josh, these are Spencer’s friends, Penelope and Derek.” You say, taking the drink and happily taking a small sip. 

Josh holds out his hand for them to shake, a charming smile on his face, “I thought Spencer’s only friend was my girlfriend.” 

Penelope doesn’t laugh, but she still manages a polite smile and shakes his hand before Derek does the same thing. Spencer fidgets a little, still beside you. You turn your head up toward him, and you mouth a soft, ‘He’s drunk’ as a way to excuse Josh’s behavior. 

However, recently, Josh has been acting like that sober. He would demand to join the two of you at the movies while complaining about the movie selection. He’d sit between the two of you if the opportunity arose, which wasn’t strange. What was weird was how he’d become more physically affectionate with you in front of Spencer. Spencer hated that– hated looking at it.

Josh quickly grabs your shoulders and says, “We should let you all get back to your night.” It sounds like a suggestion, but he’s already leading you away. You gasp as he guides you away from the three of them, and you quickly smile, wave, and yell out a quick, ‘It was nice to meet you’ before you walk further away with Josh. 

Penelope sips on her drink as a way to stop herself from talking, but Derek breaks the silence first. “So he’s jealous of you.” 

Spencer wants to deny it, but even he can’t deny the facts. “Not at first, but now… I don’t know if I’m not nice enough or if I did something, but yeah, lately, he’s been like that.” 

Penelope sighed and looked toward where you and Josh had walked off to, “She seems sweet,” 

“Yeah, Reid’s head over heels for her too.” 

“Wait, Spencer, are you?” 

His cheeks are flushed, and he’s shaking his head a little, a lame attempt to try and hide his feelings. Derek lays it on thick, “Come on, he doesn’t let just anyone touch him. Did you see how he looked at her when he approached her earlier? Like a lovesick dog with a bone in his mouth.” 

Spencer raises his hands and scoffs, “Okay, I’m working on it, alright. She’s just easy to be around. I’m getting over it.” 

Penelope is swooning over the information, “A forbidden romance,” 

“Her gatekeeper boyfriend and you, the pretty boy genius from downstairs,” Derek adds. 

Spencer sighs, annoyed with their teasing, “Alright, let’s drop it.” The pair gives him a look, and he adds a soft, “Please.” Seeing their friend’s annoyance didn’t usually deter them, but the way he shifted from one foot to the other as he begged them to stop had Penelope and Derek sharing a look before letting all their silent jokes go. Spencer was grateful that evening had returned to normal, his nervous thoughts slowly slipping away with easy conversation. 

Day One Hundred and Eighty-Three 

You’re sure Josh is mad at you for something. You just can't get it out of him. A few weeks ago, he had been nothing but sincere. Soft again, sweet again, him from a little over a year ago. It was beautiful, and it felt like he had finally listened. It felt like he had come back around and somehow repaired the hull. 

Then he started ignoring you again. You had been careful, so careful, not to suffocate him like he mentioned. You make sure that you go out with Spencer on weekends. You distance yourself just enough for Josh to miss spending time with you. Spending time with Spencer was also good for you; he helps keep your spirits high.

He kept you feeling lighter than air. He would text you sometimes on cases with the team when he was out of town. Little reminders, little jokes, and sometimes… It felt nice. You didn’t know how to describe it. Thrilling, calming, extraordinary, and tumultuous all that once. It confused you, pulled at the heartstrings, softly tugging at something deep within you. It unsettled you and made you ache when you looked at Josh in bed next to you. 

But his sweetness distracted you. Erased longing and replaced it with familiar love. You knew his steps, and he knew yours. 

And now, he was angry with you. You didn’t want to ask, and you didn’t want to be a pest to the man you loved. You hoped he would just come right out and say it. You hoped that his cup of secret rage would overflow and spill over.

The sound of heavy footsteps disrupts your stagnant reading. Your eyes kept reading the same sentence. Every time you tried to continue with the following sentence, you found yourself unable to do so. You set the book face down on the bed and smiled a little at Josh as he stood in the doorway. It was Friday night, and Spencer was on a case. Molly was busy, Christina was busy, and everyone was busy. So you stayed home, attempting to read. 

He was drunk, no drunk didn’t even cover it. He looked like death, pale with red eyes and muttering incoherent things to himself. “Josh… are you okay?” Your smile quickly faded, and you moved to the edge of the bed, watching him sway against the door frame. 

He didn’t answer and just laughed a little, which turned into a groan and then a sigh. You push yourself off the bed and walk to him, reaching up a hand to cup his cheek, but before your fingers can touch him, he smacks your hands away with a deep frown. “Josh!” You gasp as you pull your hand away, rubbing at the slightly pink skin. 

“Not right,” he mutters, and you shake your head as you try to understand what he’s talking about. 

“What’s not right? Josh, are you okay?”

He stumbles as he pushes past you, his shoulder roughly bumping into yours as he sits on the bed. You stay by the door. “This. Us, not right anymore.” He roughly puts it together. 

You can feel your heart fall to the pit of your stomach as you turn around to face him, “What are you talking about?” 

“Not right anymore,” his drunk hands are dramatically waving between the two of you, “You’re not,” he motions to his chest lamely, “Here anymore.” 

You can feel the tears threatening to rise in your eyes, your breathing becoming fast as you shake your head. “I’m here, you’re here.” You point your index into your chest, just above your heart. “What are you saying?” 

“Not here,” He repeats loudly. 

“I am here!” you yell back as you walk to him. “I don’t know what happened tonight, but we can discuss it, Josh. We can fix things.” You can feel the weight of the world crashing down on your chest, its weight making it difficult to breathe clearly. 

“No,” 

You’re quick to talk over him, “Yes, we can,” 

“No, we can’t,”

“Whatever it is, it’s okay, we can–” 

“No–” 

“It’s okay, I won’t be mad–”

“I’m in love with someone else,” He yells, his spit hitting your cheek. Your hands twitch slightly at the feeling, but you can’t move. All you can do is stare at him with a gaping mouth, opening and closing repeatedly like a fish. You couldn’t form the words, and your mind was blank. “Don’t give me that.” 

You feel like someone else’s voice is speaking, “Give you what? Shock? Disgust? You’re in love with someone else. How else am I supposed to react? Do you want me to be happy? Oh, Josh, I’m so happy for you and your mistress! I’m so glad that you’re fucking her and me at the same time! I’m so happy, so happy!” 

“I’m not fucking Estelle, she and I,” 

“Your coworker, are fucking you kidding me?” 

“Oh, shut up with the pity party!” He looks sober suddenly, his face red and twisted with rage as he stands up from the bed. Your footing slips a little before you catch yourself walking back from him. “You think these past six months I’ve enjoyed having him over here all the time? Giggling with you in the living room over some intellectual private joke that I don’t get, o-or how about when you disappear with him every weekend you can? Introducing you to his friends in bars, going to movies with you, you didn’t try hiding it from me!” 

“Him? Who are you talking about?” Then it dawned on you, and Josh could tell from how your back straightened and how you looked at him with unsure eyes. “Spencer? You think I’m cheating on you with Spencer?” 

“Not physically, but yes.” 

“Josh, what are you even saying right now? I made a friend who likes the same things I do. I mean… a year ago, you told me that I was suffocating. You told me that you didn’t enjoy my hobbies. Did you just expect me to stop them? How did I cheat on you? Spencer and I we’ve never–”

“It doesn’t matter if you’ve never fucked, or-or kissed him! Emotionally, you gave up on us. You’re only emotionally available for him. He gets you, all your jokes, your kindness, everything. He has it all. You’re always running into his arms!”  

“Running into his arms? Josh, you push me to him. I don’t love Spencer; we are just friends. He’s there for me because he is my friend! What are you going to say now? Th-that I forced you to Estelle, who, by the way, I saw last month at that Holiday party for the office. Are you going to tell me that me being by your side all while having a friend with the same interest as me was too much for you?” You can barely breathe. 

“You know it's more than that, don’t play victim. I can see the way you look at him. You used to look at me like that, and then six months ago, you met him. You didn’t even try.” 

“I didn’t try.” You repeat back before you’re scoffing a little, pacing the room quickly. “You shut me out. You stopped talking to me for months. If anyone has the right to play the victim here, it’s me. I don’t see you for hours. We had the day off for our second anniversary, and you didn’t talk to me until noon. When I moved in with you, did you even want me to be a person? Or did you want a perfectly still doll, interesting only when you want her to be interesting, talkative only when you want to listen, ready for the taking when it was good for you? Go ahead, treat me like a fucking doll.” 

Josh is shaking his head now, his breathing ragged as he slowly runs his hands through his hair. “I don’t,” He pauses, his eyes looking at a photo of the two of you from two years ago framed on the bedside table. “It doesn’t matter anymore? I don’t love you anymore. You can make me the villain. I don’t care. I want you out.” 

You swallow hard at his words and laugh a little, “Where am I supposed to go?” 

“I,” He looks at you, and you see how tired he looks. The part of you that still loves him feels crushed; the other just feels angry. “My name is on the lease. Find somewhere else to sleep tonight. I’ll let you pack a bag, but I want you,” he motions towards the apartment, and you assume he means your presence in the apartment and your things. “Gone.” And he doesn’t let you say anything back, walking out into the living room. 

You stand still; you feel frozen. You don’t know if you want to start crying, start packing, or just call people to see if you can crash at theirs. That feeling, the feeling that he planted in you rises inside you. You’ll be a burden, suffocating, and miserable. But you need a place to sleep for the night. 

Your shaky hands reach for your phone on the bed, randomly calling people. Alex is out of town, you know. Christina just moved and doesn’t even have a couch yet. You call Molly, but she doesn’t answer. You wish you lived in Boston so you could call Sabrina, but that’s unrealistic. You keep scrolling through the contacts and try to think.

As you reach the next contact, your fingers falter, and your mouth feels dry. You hesitate multiple times before hitting the call button. You wait with bated breath as you bring your phone to your ear. 

Ring. 

You should hang up. This is a bad idea. 

Ring. 

Doesn’t this just prove Josh’s point? 

Ring. 

You don’t even know if he’s back in town or when he’ll be back. You should hang up before he answers; call someone else. 

The third ring is cut short as Spencer picks up the phone. Your hands shake as he says a gentle, tired, “Hello?” 

“He-hey.. Uh, are you still in Illinois?” 

“No, we’re an hour out. Are you okay? You sound like you’re upset.” 

You lick your lips quickly as you debate, telling him everything: the fight, how Josh is kicking you out. Instead, you settle for, “I just need a place to crash for the night, and I know it's a big ask, and you’re getting home from a case, but–” 

“Yes, yeah, you can stay at mine.” You let out a slow breath and nod a little, a sense of temporary relief settling over you. 

“Thank you, thank you so much. I… I’ll make it up to you. I’ll be at yours in an hour?” 

“See you soon,” Spencer says before you hang up the phone. You get to work as fast as you can, grabbing luggage from the closet and packing like a mad woman. Anything you can fit into the case, you carefully fold or roll up and stuff inside. 

An hour comes around, and you’re packed enough for a week at the very least. You grab the only thing on the bed that’s yours, a dark green blanket, before slowly rolling the suitcase into the living room. Suddenly, it feels like you’re not in your body anymore, watching the scene from the ceiling. 

Josh turns, a phone against his ear, and you only catch the ends of an ‘I love you’ before he hangs up. He draws his lips in a tight line before asking, “Where you headed?” 

You feel like he knows the answer, “Spencer’s.” 

His lips turn upwards, and he laughs; he laughs so hard that he’s gripping his side. “Ye-Yeah, that's right. Prove me right. Run straight to Doctor Reid. Fucking rich.” He snips at you as you finally feel the tears start to well up in your eyes. “You know what let him have my sloppy seconds.” 

You gasp softly, the comment like a punch in the gut. “Have fun fucking her in our bed. Make sure to put the pictures face down before you give her the most underwhelming four minutes of her life. I’ll be back tomorrow to start packing.” You say as you start stepping through the front door, slamming it behind you. You’re panting lightly in the empty hallway, your mind numb as tears stream down your face. You don’t remember lugging your stuff to the second floor or getting to Spencer’s door. 

The only thing you remember is the sound of your name and gentle hands grabbing your chin and tilting your head up with care. You remember sobbing, hyperventilating out the events of the past evening to him as he helps you inside. And the eventual call of sleep that reaches you on Spencer’s couch. 

Day One Hundred and Ninety

Spencer could hear the soft sounds of your computer playing something in the living room. Last Friday… Well, technically, early Saturday morning, you had your head on your knees outside his apartment door. The sound of sobs had him dropping his dirty go-bag and grabbing your chin to soothe you. 

He listened to everything: how Josh thought that you were emotionally cheating on him with Spencer, how Josh had fallen in love with a coworker, and how he kicked you out. You said you would have stayed, but the lease was in his name. It was a stupid decision of the past catching up with you– your words, not Spencer’s. 

You had told him that it would only be for one night, but Spencer wasn’t going to make you couch surf all week. He insisted that you stay with him until you found an apartment. He let you stuff your boxes of things in his study and was happy to do it. 

The worst part about this arrangement was seeing you like this, seeing you so heartbroken. You went to work a little later than him, came home later than him, ate, slept, and repeated the cycle. He kept catching you with a dissociative look on your face. Too scared to ask you if you were okay, he would awkwardly attempt to cheer you up with your shared hobbies. But that only worked for so long until you were ending the night with that numb look on your face again. 

He lays in bed, wondering if he should go into the living room to check on you. He barely thinks it through before he throws his covers off and slips out of bed. He has plaid pajama pants on with an old CalTech shirt, and when he walks into the living room, he can see you pause what you’re watching on your computer and smile at him. 

“Hey,” you whisper, even though it's just the two of you in the apartment. 

“Hey,” Spencer whispers back before sighing and walking toward the back of the couch. “Can’t sleep?” 

You look up at him before returning to the dimly lit computer screen, “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You didn’t,” His quick reply has you nodding a little. You shift a little, pushing yourself up to make room on the couch for him. He takes the unspoken invitation and sits down next to you.”What are we watching?” 

You lick your lips nervously, “Romcom. When Harry Met Sally.”  

Spencer glances at you before he admits, “Never seen it.” 

You gasp softly, and that playful light returns in your eyes for a second. He hasn’t seen that light in a week. “Spencer Reid, you haven’t lived.” 

Spencer takes the opportunity to joke around with you, making a buzzer sound with his mouth. “Wrong. I’ve been alive for many years.” 

This gets a weak smile from you, but still a smile nonetheless. “You want to watch it with me? I know it's late, but… maybe it’ll lure you to sleep if you find it boring.” 

Spencer grins, glancing at the clock to see how late it is. He shakes his head a little, “Maybe we could just talk for a second? I’ve barely seen you this week.” He suggests. You’re quick to nod, shutting your laptop. You lean back on the sofa and bring your legs up to sit crisscrossed. He watches you. Your eyes are no longer red or puffy, but the skin on your cheeks still seems pale, lacking their natural rosiness. 

“I found a great apartment, but I can’t move in until the end of this month.” You break the silence first, hands folding awkwardly in your lap. 

Spencer nods, resisting the urge to hold one of your hands as he speaks. “That’s fine, and I’m not kicking you out anytime soon. You’re stuck with me for three more weeks.” 

You chuckle a little at that, “Ever the gentleman,” You say softly, but your eyes don’t have that light anymore. You seem distracted, your eyes lingering on him briefly before staring at your hands. “Spencer,” 

“Yeah?” 

“What do you do when everything feels like too much?” 

Your voice cracks softly as you ask the question, and Spencer is scared you’ll start crying again. He always feels useless whenever you cry, a genius without answers. He swallows the nervous lump in his throat: “I read, or sometimes I force myself to go out. Whenever I’m overwhelmed, I end up at the public library. Or sometimes, if I have the day, I go to the Smithsonian. But... it’s been a while.” 

You seem to perk up a little at the mention of the Smithsonian, and you give him a playfully little side glance, “Air and Space?” You guess with a small smile. 

He smiles and shrugs, “Sometimes,” he returns the playful sideways glance. “Portrait Gallery?” 

You’re laughing a little as you nod. Spencer feels relieved to hear its soft melody. “Portrait Gallery.” You confirm your pick with a soft sigh. 

Spencer lets warm silence spread for a second, his eyes occasionally flickering over to your serene expression. “What about you? What do you do when you’re overwhelmed?” 

Your eyes meet his as he asks the question, and for a second, you seem a little surprised that he is asking you anything. He wonders if you expected him to keep talking or ignore the tension in the air around you. 

“Well, reading is lovely. Museums, movies,” you pause for a second, and your expression softens. “Music. I love music when I’m feeling overwhelmed, sad, or happy. It’s a universal fix, music.” 

“What kind of music?” He has heard you talk about music before, how you didn’t understand people who hated it. Music helped him escape to childhood memories, the good ones at least. He wondered if it had the same effect on you. 

“Everything. Pop, country, indie, anything that moves me. I like classical too, but only sometimes.” 

“Why only sometimes?” 

“I like it in ballets, plays, movies. I like the visual representation that accompanies it.” Your eyes leave his slowly, “Like a music box with a ballerina inside.” 

Spencer finds that this version of you, the melancholy version, is blunt. You don’t people-please or avoid questions; instead, you would directly state something. He liked how you directly stated your musical likes and how honest they were. He finds himself wanting every version of yourself that you have shown him lately, and he feels a little guilty for it. 

A soft gasp from your lips stops him from overthinking, “Oh shoot,” You mutter as you pull out your phone, looking at the calendar before you curse softly. 

“What’s wrong?’ 

“I, uhm,” You swallow hard and set your phone down, “I just remembered that Josh and I were going to celebrate our third anniversary a little early this year. Our second wasn’t the best, and he promised we would do something I wanted to do. We had tickets to see Swan Lake.” You chew on your bottom lip slowly, getting lost in the thought before you say, “That’s next month. I gotta cancel.” 

Spencer can see how you slump at the thought and how sad it makes you to cancel the plans. He feels himself saying the words before he can even process them: “I can go with you.” 

You turn to him with a soft laugh of disbelief, “What?” 

“We could go together. Make the most of it. I mean, I like Swan Lake.” 

“Spencer, it would be wrong to spend what would be my third anniversary with you. I mean–”

“It wouldn’t be the exact day. You said it was a couple of months early, so it would just be us…going to see Swan Lake. Just friends, seeing a ballet, and getting dinner or something. A night on the town. Something to keep your mind off things,” 

He hopes you’ll agree to the offer, his heart beating loudly in his chest as you stare into his eyes. Your eyes dart back and forth, rapidly looking into his eyes and then at his face. The silence is killing him, a knife in his back as he tries his best to breathe normally. 

Then you’re giving him a slow smile, a little shy at first, before you beam at the suggestion, “Okay,” 

“Okay?” 

“Yeah, let’s go to the ballet together. I mean, I would do it with or without Josh anyway. Now I’ll be able to go with someone who will actually enjoy it, even better.” Your eyes meet his hazel ones again, and you place a tentative hand over his. “Thank you, Spence.” Your voice is sincere, and Spencer feels his body relax when you touch him. 

“I can’t think of a better way to spend my evening two months from now.” He whispers in the air between you before he slips his hand away from yours and stands. He yawns softly, “Now… let’s get some sleep.” 

You nod, a small smile still on your face as you lay on the couch. “Night.” You whisper as you close your eyes. 

Spencer stands and stares down at you a little longer than he should before he takes a step toward his bedroom. “Goodnight,” he says as he walks into his bedroom. He’s thinking about your genuine smile for another hour before he even closes his eyes.

TO BE CONTINUED...

[eetherealgoddess]

Before you continue, this ends dark as hell so I’m gonna warn you rn!!! Hope you like it anyway! ♡︎♡︎

ꨄEscaping Bonten is for Scrapsꨄ

Oneshot - Yandere Bonten/Assassin Au

❦You are an assassin that’s after a target Bonten already has their paws on❦

Sano Manjiro, Hanemiya Kazutora, Sanzu Haruchiyo, & Haitani Brothers x Reader

Not fully proofread

MY TR FANDOM WORKS ARE ONLY ON TUMBLR, AO3, AND WATTPAD UNDER EETHEREALGODDESS! REPORT IF YOU SEE IT POSTED UNDER ANYONE ELSE BUT ME!!!

I apologize if I get any Japanese etiquette or culture wrong, I literally have to research the culture for some of my fandom stories so if anything is wrong, please excuse my ignorance.

Notice:

✩Y/n is 18+. I picture her as a black female but you can see her however.

✩Some parts of the story may not be realistic or factual. After all, this is a work of fiction.

✩Although it's a dark 'romance,' I do not condone any of the behavior displayed.

✩Dark content such as: gore, violence, triggering topics, graphic scenes, vulgar language, explicit sexual content, etc.

✩There may be scenes that involve non con and/ or dubcon so don’t read if that makes you uncomfortable

✩That being said, this story is for 18+ only.

Enjoy!

Escaping Bonten is for Scraps

You eye around the busy nightclub, pushing through the crowd as you search for your assigned target. Eyebrows furrowed as your nose scrunches at the thick tobacco smell mixed with alcohol and a variety of cologne and perfume.

“Where is this guy?” You hiss, shoving a drunk person to the side as you head to the back of the building. Once you push the doors open, you see the tall staircase, sighing before stepping on.

Why did I have to get assigned to a club?

It’s not that you were against the party scene, it’s just not ideal for a mission to find someone you need to kill. Your boss chose you for the assignment created by a bitter divorcee. You roll your eyes as you remember the file stating, “Please murder my cheating ex husband.” Of course, your company is underground and perfect for not being caught, though why risk going to prison over a cheating spouse?

Fortunately, this should be fairly quick. The soon to be deceased spouse is known for his drinking habit, speaking belligerently as he drunkenly walks from bar to bar which makes him an easy target. You followed him here, his third club of the night. You couldn’t help but feel a little sorry for him considering he is just minding his business and drinking on his lonesome. Sure, he’s bitter as well and is a slob but it’s probably just a down point in his life.

At least I’ll put him out of his misery.

Once you reach the top of the staircase, noticing that the whole floor is empty, you pull your gun out, readying it to use. You hold it down to your side as you walk from room to room, searching for your victim. When you see that the whole upper stairs is empty, you hide your gun, and walk towards the exit of the room you just entered. Your eyes widened when you heard a scream coming from behind you.

You turn around and quickly move to the window, squatting, hiding yourself behind the wall so the people outside couldn’t see you. Easing your head up, you peeked to the outside. Standing at the back of the building, a group of men in suits hover around a kneeling man who’s covering his head as one of the men slams his foot against his side, causing him to fall over. You notice a smaller man who stood in the middle of the suited men walk closer to the male on the ground.

Your eyebrows raise when the man is forced to put his arms down as the shorter man crouches in front of him, realizing the guy is your target.

“What did this guy get himself into?” You whisper to yourself before moving quickly to crack the window so you can decipher what’s occurring.

“You owe us a lot of money, Nakamura.” A man with two blonde strands says, his wide eyes staring deeply at the victim.

“I-I know! I’m going th-through a divorce. I j-just need more time!” He coughs out blood in between his words. The short man in front of him leans in.

“You’ve wasted my time.” He stands up before moving back, motioning for the purple haired man holding the baton to walk forward.

He swings his arms back before slamming them down with a smirk on his face. He repeatedly hits the man over and over again with so much force that blood splatters on his own suit. The man cries out in pain as he becomes light headed.

You wince as you watch this painful sight.

Damn, now I’m feeling even more bad for this guy. I think I’m just going to go ahead and shoot him. Help him out, forreal.

Standing up completely, you aim at the man’s head perfectly with the gun. Without needing the other guy to stop beating him, you pull the trigger, a shot ringing out loudly. The bullet penetrates his head, killing him on the spot. The men, startled, looked around their surroundings as the pink haired man turned to the window, his blue eyes catching yours before you turned on your heel and ran.

“Fuck, he saw me!” You hiss as you run down the stairs, gun hidden as you push through the crowd.

Fortunately, it looks as though you all are into some shady business, though that doesn’t mean you want to catch their attention. You run out of the exit and rush to your car parked at the side of the building.

“Shit, shit, shit!” You rush to unlock the car before hopping in. Before you could close the door, a hand blocks the door. Your wide eyes meet purple orbs before you're pulled out of the car by your shirt. Before you could grab your gun, your front is forced against the car as your gun is grabbed and aimed at your head. The man with the purple mullet holds your arms behind your back with one hand. Before you could say anything, the butt of the gun meets your head, darkness engulfing your vision.

When you first wake up, your eyes meet a dimly lit warehouse, a throbbing pain at the side of your head causes you to pull against the restraints you didn’t know were there to touch your head. Groaning your eyes, the rope strategically tied around your ankles strapping you to the chair.

“Damn.” You breathe out. The click of a gun sounded next to your head causing you to make eye contact with the blue-eyed man you saw before.

“You’re an assassin working for an underground company, right Y/n?” You look up to see the short man sitting on a chair in front of you at a distance. The men stood around him, eyeing you.

“Who am I answering to?” You question, resulting in the gun being pushed against your head harder causing you to wince, the spot where you were once hit feeling raw under the barrel of the weapon.

“I don’t repeat myself.” The sunken eyed man states, his white hair hovering over his face.

“Yes.” You spit out, frustration being the only emotion to decipher at the moment.

“You work for Bonten.” You gasp at the familiar name.

“What the hell are you talking about?” The gun smacks against your face, forcing your head to lean to the side as you squeeze your eyes shut in pain.

“Watch your mouth.” The pink haired man growls, using one hand to force your head back in place before replacing the barrel in the same spot.

“You will keep your assassin title and you will work under the executives.” Your eyebrows furrowed.

“Or what?” You hiss. The pale man signals for the taller short haired man to walk towards you holding his baton. He smiles before pulling it back and slamming it against your stomach. You lean forward before coughing out blood.

“You die.” Your new boss states.

A few months pass before you’re completely used to the yakuza scene. There are times when you wonder what exactly did they see in you to ‘hire’ you as an assassin working under the executives. It wasn’t a hard job, basically like the one you were used to besides the power dynamic. Although you worked under an old boss, he treated everyone equally and you had normal coworkers who you’d go out to the bars with occasionally. You were free to live your own life as long as you didn’t get caught.

Working under Bonten, you weren’t allowed the same freedom as your executives. Your job title was assassin but considering their low respect for you, sometimes you were a maid, assistant, butler, etc. At least that’s what it felt like when you had to run errands for them that didn’t involve shooting a bullet in someone’s head. Sure it’s nicer than killing but who wants to work to serve a bunch of disrespectful men?

Not to mention, you weren’t allowed outside without being accompanied by one of the executives. Of course, the executives you wouldn’t mind being around such as Mochi, Kakucho, Koko, and Takeomi weren’t the ones who accompanied you. It was always the Haitani brothers, Kazutora, or Sanzu. Even when you’re supposed to be off the clock you were always around at least one of them. You no longer have your own apartment and have to stay in a designated room in a penthouse that holds all of your rooms, though everyone else owns their own homes.

Currently, you are sitting in the vip section of one of the Haitani brother’s clubs, arms crossed along with your leg as you lean back on the couch. Kazutora plops next to you with a drink in hand along with one of the strippers in the other, her bare breasts out as she holds onto him.

“You don’t look so happy, Y/n. Should we have taken you to a male strip club?” He taunts, finding amusement in her pouty face.

“I’m glad you find humor in my suffering. I just want to go to bed.” You respond.

A dip on your other side causes you to turn your head to meet Sanzu who has a speck of white dust under his nose. He wipes using his sleeve before handing you a cup of alcohol.

“Live a little, yeah?” You raise a brow as you push the drink away. You had to admit how interesting it was to see the different contrasts between the infamous mad dog. One minute he’s all serious for ‘his king’ and the next he’s sniffing angel’s dust off of a stripper's ass. Interesting indeed.

“I don’t know what you put in that.” You state before turning away from him.

“Then take this. It’s just champagne.” Rin smirks as he hands you another glass from a separate chair, man spreading as he smokes a blunt.

“And I should trust you, why?” You roll your eyes before standing up.

“Where are you off to?” Ran asks as his hand grips the butt cheek of the stripper sucking his neck.

“Bathroom.” You state before walking out. You eye the guards before heading to the restroom.

You walk to the sink and lean over, staring at yourself in the mirror as you think your life over and what brought you to this point. You swiftly turn your head when someone walks into the bathroom. You notice the woman is wearing a poorly done wig with a coat on. You contemplate whether or not you should knock her out and disguise yourself so you can make a run for it.

My morals have always been skewed anyway. I’m sorry lady.

Before she could walk into the stall, you grab her and press her pressure point, catching her before she falls. You undo her coat and set the purse on the ground, lying her head on it gently before pulling her wig off. Setting the wig on as well as the coat, you walk out of the bathroom.

You walk at a steady pace to look anything but suspicious while keeping your head down. When you successfully pass the guards you make a run for it, rushing out of the club and finding a taxi to pick you up, throwing your phone out of the window for safety from a tracking device.

Your adrenaline pumps as the hairs on your body stand. You breathe heavily as you give the taxi man the direction to your old company’s headquarters. When you got there, you ran into the building in search of your boss. When you find his office, you push the doors open and run towards the man who looks at you with shock.

A year passes and he helps you back on your feet. Staying as an assassin would have been dangerous considering the first place Bonten searched for you was the headquarters. Fortunately, he has a family who owns different businesses so you currently work at a bakery on the farthest side of a city hours away from where you used to reside.

One night, you were cleaning up the floors, closing the store. You had already locked the door so you were confused when you heard someone entering the building. Looking up, you dropped the broom when you recognized Mikey standing in front of the door with a gun pointed at you. Before you could move, a hand wrapped around your mouth as someone grabbed your arms, pulling you against a chest. You struggle in their hold.

Your eyes widen when you see your boss and his family consisting of his wife, two of their adult children, and one child being dragged in wrapped in rope and bags over their heads. You scream against the hand.

“Relax and everything will go smoother.” The voice she recognized as Kazutora states behind her.

Once the other men force everyone on their knees in front of her, they pull the bags off their heads.

She screams once more when she makes eye contact with all of them, tears running down her face for the first time at the face of death.

No they can’t do this! This can’t be happening!

Complying to Mikey���s order, Kazutora removes his hand from her mouth as he locks arms with hers. She pulls against him as she tries to release herself, to no avail. The Haitani brothers watch in amusement as they stand behind the two adult kids. Sanzu stands behind the child as Mikey moves to stand behind the boss.

“This is your fault.” He says to you, glaring before he sets his gun to the man’s head. The child cries along with the mother and the children. The man’s eyes are wide as he looks to the side in the direction of his family. They were prevented from talking, mouths bound shut as they squeal and groan.

“Mikey! M-Mikey please don’t do this! I-I’ll stay this time I swear to god! Please… just kill me or something d-don’t take it out on them!” You cry out, devastated by the display as the guilt takes over.

“Sanzu.” He states. Everyone watches as he sets the barrel of the gun on the child’s head, pulling the trigger before anyone could think. There was a pause as the shot rang out, the blood and brains splattering against his siblings, the wall, and the floor.

“STOP! NO MORE!” You let out a blood curdling scream. You pull and pull against Kazutora as he grips you tighter.

Your boss wails against his restraints angrily, falling over when he attempts to stand up, lying pitifully on his side as he kicks his feet and pulls against the rope. The wife and their children cry out, tears dropping fast as they squeeze their eyes shut.

“Haitanis.”

“NO! NO MIKE-!” The shots rang out, more blood and brains splattering as their limp bodies fall to the ground, one sibling with half of their head gone as well as the other along with an eyeball, their blood reaching their mother as she completely bends over and cries.

Mikey aims at the wife shooting her twice before her limp body falls, the husband still as he weeps for his deceased family. Kazutora allows you to drop to your knees. Hands placed on the ground as you become light headed. Finally, vomit shoots up your throat as you release the contents on the ground. Gagging and belching as your body shakes, wet with sweat.

This must be my karma for all of the wrong doings. This must be how people feel when they see their loved ones die.

“I-I’m so sorry, Akihiko. I’m so fucking sorry.” You whine out, tears and snot falling as you become a wreck. He looks at you with despair.

“Please, escape the-!” Before he could finish his sentence, Mikey had already blown his brains out.

You gaze at the messy floor with a blurry vision and wide eyes. Footsteps stop in front of you, missing the vomit. Mikey crouches down and pulls you by the chin to look up at him, gun still in the other hand.

“If you try to leave again, I’ll blow your legs off.”

[longing-for-the-past-times]

finding out it's your birthday

task force 141 x reader

synopsis: It's your birthday, but you don't know how to tell your teammates about it

notes: don't really know how to properly describe this, but it's based on this request and my personal experience of having to spend my birthday at work (no, I did not bring them baked goods, just sweets from the shop). Really short, not proofread, no plot.

comments and reblogs are always appreciated🙈

warnings: none

find it on ao3 masterlist

"and now I am dreaming and you're singing at my birthday// and I've never seen you smile so big" - moon song

There were a lot of potential ways you could have spent your birthday, but running through the narrow hallways of the base with a heavy backpack slung over a shoulder definitely hadn't been one of them

You almost crashed into other three operators, including König from KorTac who had the common sense to place his heavy hands on your shoulders in an attempt to steady you before you ran him over in your rush to get to the meeting room

Laswell had advanced the hour the post-mission debriefing was supposed to take place and it ended up clashing with your own schedule, the one day you decided to organise your actions into one and now you were late by almost 5 minutes. Which wouldn't seem like much to some, but being a member of Task Force 141 meant you needed to uphold a certain standard.

But it was your birthday and even if you were 99% sure no one was actually aware of it, you'd spent the morning baking oat cookies and muffins, and carefully packing them into casseroles. You also tried to bring them to the destination with minimal damage, but now you could only hope there was something edible left of the baked goods.

"I'm sorry I'm late!", you meekly excused yourself, taking a seat between Ghost and Soap and blushing slightly when feeling Price's judging glare.

"Anyway, as I was saying when you tried to infiltrate through this crack in the perimeter…"

Slightly tapping your left foot against the floor, you couldn't focus on Laswell's words. What if they didn't like the cookies - you were never able to make them both soft and chewy - or what if the muffins stuck to the muffin liners? Did you put too many chocolate chips in them?

"Y/N? What's your take on this?"

You looked at Price with an alarmed expression, panic bubbling up in your chest upon seeing the questioning looks of the others. You didn't catch the last part of the question - were they asking about your birthday? Laswell must have known, she was the one responsible for all the intelligence after all.

So you did what seemed the most logical thing to do. You opened the backpack and placed the plastic casseroles on the table, unaware that everyone else in the room was literally frozen in place.

"So yeah, it's my birthday today and I made some cookies and muffins and thought it would be nice to share them with you and… that's not what you were talking about, is it?"

Your words trailed as you realised that the timing wasn't as ideal as you planned. At least, now you were sure they hadn't known: Price's eyes were widened comically, and Gaz was repeatedly blinking at you in confusion and disbelief. Soap let out a thunderous laugh as he instantly pulled you into a bear hug and Ghost… you couldn't tell his expression under the mask, but the blank look in his eyes meant he was probably still wrapping his head around it

"How about we forget any of this happened and I do it again after the debrief is over?" A blush spread on your cheeks as you tried to put the casseroles back into the backpack, but you were stopped by Gaz's firm grip.

"Are you kidding? It's your birthday, we should celebrate - go out for drinks and do karaoke and-"

Price and Kate shared a knowing look between themselves and shook their heads in defeat. Before being able to ask them what was the matter, Kate closed the laptop and began to stuff the files back into the manilla folders

"Happy birthday, Y/N! We will resume this tomorrow. And now tell me, what kind of oats did you use for the cookies, plain or instant? My wife's been trying to make them this chewy, but she never seems to get the recipe right."

It was your turn to open your mouth in disbelief when you saw Price joining Kate at the table, securing a casserole of oat cookies just for themselves

"Why didn't you tell us sooner?", he asked in a gentle tone, fishing breadcrumbs from his moustache.

"I… It's not that important, I mean…"

You couldn't help but flinch when someone placed a hand on your shoulder, squeezing it slightly, as if in reassurance. You turned your look to Ghost, who was holding a pink muffin in his gloved hand. His mask was lifted up to his nose, revealing his tight-lipped smile:

"Don't ever say that again, ok? That is all the more reason to celebrate it. You were the one who got us out safe from the bunker after all…"

And you could swear you saw his lips twitching into a smile, a playful glimmer dancing in his eyes as he bit into the cupcake

[leighsartworks216]

Red String of Fate

Sylus x gn!Reader

Spent like an hour talking to my roommate in the middle of posting this. Not proofread (even tho I really should) Takes place in the Raven universe

Warnings: red string of fate, birthday, past trauma, past character death, fluff, kissing, crying, presents

Word Count: 3,082

Main Masterlist

Love and Deepspace Masterlist

The Raven Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

“You ask-”

“No, you-”

You snap your fingers. The loud click shuts up the twins in an instant and draws them from the shadows of the doorway into the room. They look decidedly anxious, midway between shoving each other forward. You raise a brow at them.

They look at each other. With a shared nod, they stand side by side in front of you. “When’s your birthday?” they both ask at once.

… Really? All that fuss just to ask when you were born? You give them an unimpressed stare. Interrupting your alone time was really worth this?

“It’s just that we-”

“Were wondering since Boss’s birthday is in April-”

“And if yours is before-”

“Or after-”

“His then we can start preparing right now!”

You tap your finger against the armrest. Your persistent silence unnerves them, even after you’ve been here for almost a year at this point. It’s nice, especially now that they’ve had time to adjust to it. It took a lot of confidence to ask you such a stupid question, after all. Too bad you don’t have any interest in answering.

You turn back to your book, signaling the end of the conversation. The twins look at each other, shrug, and leave. Once they’re safely past the open doorway and down the hall, you set your book down.

A birthday growing up sounded like some magical, wondrous event. Candy, games, cake, presents. How many nights had you dreamed of them? How many times had you seen a group of kids in cone hats in the park, parents trying to round them all up so they could blow out candles and dig into the carefully decorated cakes, with cursive writing on top wishing the special one a happy birthday?

The best you managed to scrounge up was when you were maybe 10 years old, give or take a few years. A new soup kitchen opened up. You lined up on the block with the other homeless, starving people of the city. The promise of hot food was always worth the pitying glances and disgusted glares.

When it was your turn in line, after waiting all morning until your legs were just about ready to give out, the person working there had dug through a crinkled brown paper bag to give you a squished brownie wrapped in cling film. That night, an older man you’d known well, had you blow out his lighter to make a wish. You’d split the brownie with him.

When he died less than a week later, something in you died with him. You hadn’t had a brownie since, or much else in the way of sweets, for that matter. As soon as the Devil picked you up into his business, they were off the table completely. The only real thing that improved was how frequent your meals were, without the anxiety of never eating again. But not the quantity; you had to stay thin for the stage.

You don’t even remember what day that soup kitchen opened. Well, there’s no reason to look into it now. Enough bad memories have been dredged up today.

Your phone buzzes with a message.

The twins are asking me when your birthday is. I assume they already tried asking you?

They left just a few minutes ago.

There’s no response for a minute, as if he knows he’s stepping on a thin line between things you do talk about and things you’ll never talk about.

Do you want to celebrate it?

You have to take a moment to think, to consider what he’s offering here.

You have no idea when your birthday is, and he probably gleaned as much. That’s not what he’s asking, though. If you could stare at a calendar, at every single day of the year all perfectly laid out, when would you pick to celebrate your life? It wouldn’t be a celebration of your birth, but it could be so much more. You’re not even sure what adults do for their birthdays, so separated from the concept that you stopped paying attention entirely. But you could choose to do anything - everything.

Your thumb hovers uncertainly over the digital keyboard, before finally typing out a message.

I think I would.

Just say when, sweetheart.

-

The second the twins are told your “birthday” is just a month away, on the day you agreed to work alongside Sylus, it’s all they seem to care about. Huddling together to excitedly whisper about it during missions, probing questions into what you like (mostly to Sylus, but sometimes they get so excited they ask you before realizing you won’t answer), hiding packages delivered to the mansion, and so on.

Sylus is much better about containing his excitement, if he is excited at all to celebrate your special day. He asks first if there’s anything special you’d like to do - dinner, shopping, traveling - you name it and he’s on it. When you admit that you have no idea what people do on their birthdays, he’s all too happy to list out things, without judgement. If he’s honest, he doesn’t do much to celebrate his own birthday either.

You think about the parties you watched as a kid. Piece by piece, you break it down into things you think you’d like.

First and foremost, you wouldn’t mind a cake or some other dessert. Sylus is right on it, suggesting that you both visit a cake shop to figure out what your preferences are before the twins go overboard with a flavor you don’t like. The owners think you’re planning for your wedding. Neither of you correct them.

Second, the games. Whether it’s Kitty Cards or Texas Hold ‘Em, you think it would be fun to play a game or two with Sylus and the twins. Gambling may or may not be involved.

Third, you remember one kid in your youth who was all dressed up in a suit by his parents, all to visit some cheap arcade. You would like to dress up. Sylus chuckles at this one, not because he thinks it’s silly, but because he’s always prepared to have a custom wardrobe built for you. He promises to have a tailor discuss your ideas with you.

As far as birthdays go, it’s nothing crazy outlandish like some of the things Sylus told you people do. At the end of the day, all you really want is to dress up, go to dinner with him (alone), come back to play games with the twins, and have cake. You don’t want the world in the palm of your hands, because you don’t need it. You’ve never wanted it.

Once your desires are laid out, Luke and Kieran calm down a bit. They’re no longer trying to plan this whole big bash, but scheming up ways to win the games against you and Boss, the notorious cheaters that they are. (They’ll never win, but they’re not going down without a fight.)

Mephisto spends the entire time leading up to the day gathering trinkets and withholding them from you. Usually, if he sees something shiny, he brings it straight to you for wordless praise and chin scratches. You know right away what he’s up to. You pretend not to notice for his sake.

Your outfit is ready in less than a week, the cake is baked with all the flavors you enjoyed at the shop, and you couldn’t be happier.

Sylus can’t tear his eyes off of you when you finally reveal your custom attire. Throughout the night, he can’t stop telling you how amazing you look, encouraging you to have more outfits made for future events. The restaurant he chose has a balcony that you two sit on, staring out over a stretch of beach. The ocean breeze carries the bite of salt, refreshing you for the rest of the night ahead.

You tell Luke and Kieran you’ll be home before midnight, but you drag Sylus out to the beach and get sidetracked. He can’t stop smiling as he holds your shoes and watches you run out into the shallow waves. The moon shines on the soft waves behind you, bathing you in an ethereal glow. By the time you do get back to the mansion, your hair is windswept and you have sand everywhere, but you don’t mind at all.

The games are so fun. Luke says you’re cheating by sitting in Sylus’s lap during Kitty Cards, but you gesture for him to sit on Kieran’s lap while he plays. Sylus doesn’t assist you in the game at all; Kieran points out moves and subtly switches the cards in Luke’s hand for the ones hidden up his sleeve. They don’t win a single game.

The cake is beautiful, decorated to perfection and topped with a few candles. You stare at the cursive on top for a moment. When they sing you the song (even Sylus), he notices the distance in your eyes. He kisses the top of your head when the song is over to snap you out of it. You don’t actually make a wish when you blow out the little, flickering flames. There’s nothing you want, and lingering too long trying to figure a wish out only draws the memories of the old man closer to the forefront of your mind.

You cut the first slice. Sylus cuts the rest. He’s not big on sweet things, but he finishes his thin slice anyway. You savor every bite. It’s paradise in your mouth. He has to cut off the twins from having any more, lest they make themselves sick.

Each of them has a present for you. Well, Mephisto has several. He flies to and fro for a while, bringing you little trinkets and shiny things that all pile up on the table. You take the time to look at and admire each one, even sorting them into different groups based on what they are. You wind up with a humorous amount of bottle caps.

Luke gets you a new pair of handguns. Kieran gets you a harness with holsters to hold them in on missions. Sylus gives you a photo album, full of photos from the year you’ve spent together. You sit pressed into his side on the couch and flip through it, page by page. You can see yourself relaxing with each picture. Just a few days after you start working with Sylus, you offer the camera a mischievous smile that doesn’t reflect in your eyes. In the last photo, from a few days ago, you look like a different person; you smile without fear, your guard is let down. The person you were at the gala a year ago has finally found someone to trust.

As the night comes to a close, the twins wish you happy birthday once more before heading off to bed. The mess is left for someone else to deal with. Your presents sit on the table and wait to be put away as Sylus leads you up to what’s become your shared bedroom.

You’re positively glowing. It’s all Sylus can think as you both lay perpendicular over the blankets. Your head rests on his stomach, his fingers trail slowly through your hair, and in just a few hours, the sun will be rising. Yet here you are, too happy to sleep just yet. You want to bask in this feeling a little longer.

You understand now why Luke and Kieran were so enthusiastic, why all those kids from your childhood couldn’t bear the thought of waiting another year for their next birthday, why adults continue to celebrate. You can’t remember the last time you felt a joy like this. It feels all bubbly in your chest, almost surreal, as memories of things that happened just hours ago draw out dopey smiles and lingering giggles. Sylus’s eyes are impossibly soft as he takes you in.

You’re still in the outfit you wore to dinner. He’s still in his suit, sans his jacket. Two pairs of shoes are kicked off carelessly beside the bed. Nothing else matters except right here, right now, soaking in the final vestiges of the night.

He brushes his thumb along your cheek, drawing your eyes to look up at him, that sweet grin still dancing on your face. His fingertips trail featherlight along your jaw, tracing your chin and brushing at your lips. You reach up to hold his hand in place as you kiss his fingers, eyes closing in bliss as you leave pecks down each one, only to leave a lingering kiss to his palm. You look back up at him. He smiles.

“I have one last gift for you,” he says quietly, as if speaking any louder would shatter every window and mirror throughout the entire mansion.

You tilt your head, curiosity drawing your brows together in a silent question. Your smile stays the same. He shifts, helping you sit up so you’re side by side, just facing opposite directions. You watch as his Evol reaches out to the nightstand drawer, pulling out a box and placing it in his awaiting hand. He offers it to you with purpose.

It’s simple, but beautiful nonetheless. Carefully carved wood, rich in color, with a domed lid and rounded edges. It’s about the length of your palm, and no wider than three fingers. A red silk ribbon in a bow ties it together, preventing the hinged lid from being opened. You glance back up at him. He nods toward it.

The silk slips softly through your fingers as you tug on one end of the bow. The knot falls apart, and the ribbon slides onto your lap. You lift the lid and-

You look up at Sylus, eyes wide and mouth agape in shock. He smiles broadly at your reaction. You look back at the present, emotion bubbling up in your chest once more. It feels even more powerful than earlier. Your eyes burn, but you fight back the tears.

Two rings perch side by side within the velvet-lined box. Red jewels decorate golden bands, shimmering in the dim lighting of his bedroom. A matching set. This is far more than just a pair of earrings or cufflinks, this is…

The first tear falls. You hold the box to your chest as you lean toward Sylus. He meets you halfway, wrapping his arms around you and holding you close. His broad chest shields you from the rest of the world, hiding the emotions you only allow him to see. Which is wonderful, because you feel so silly, crying over a present like this. He’s given you so much in your time together. Anything you could ever dream of and more - always more. Always trying to make sure you’re happy and comfortable. This is like him giving you the world. You can’t ask for anything greater than that.

“Read the engraving,” he whispers, gently pulling the box from your chest. He holds it while your shaky fingers, usually so steady and sure, pull the smaller ring from the cushion. It takes a minute to see, having to wipe your eyes several times to get rid of the steady flow of tears.

You are my new destiny.

You cover your mouth with your free hand, muffling the sounds that try to escape. It’s usually so easy to be quiet, even under the worst torture. It seems impossible to shut up now.

Sylus pulls your hand away from your mouth, abandoning the box on the bed next to you, and cupping your cheek to wipe away the tears. He kisses your forehead. “May I put it on you?”

You nod immediately. He takes the ring from your trembling fingers and holds your left hand. You watch, entranced, as he slips it onto your pinky. It fits perfectly. The red jewel glimmers, mirror Sylus’s eyes when you look up at him. He lifts your hand to his lips, pressing a delicate kiss over the ring.

You giggle, a soft and wet sound. You can feel his smile against your fingers. You’ve never felt so light before.

You turn to the box, using your free hand to carefully take out the larger ring. The band is a bit wider than yours, but the design holding the jewel in place is almost identical. You don’t need to ask or even gesture for him to give you his left hand; he offers it right away, still holding your left hand as he does. You slip the golden ring onto his pinky. Overcome with rapturous emotion, you hold his hand in both of yours and bring it to your lips, kissing the ring just as he had as a quiet, happy sob breeches your lips.

He wraps his arm around you, drawing you to rest against him, your joined hands resting over his erratic heart. His head is ducked down to rest against yours, kisses pressing over the crown of your head. His heart aches in the best way to be granted the opportunity to see you like this.

Your fingers play affectionately with his, thumbing over his ring and massaging his palm. When he returns the favor, brushing over your ring or gathering both of your hands in his just to hold them, you let out airy little laughs that burrow their way into his heart, where they will stay for the rest of time.

You use your right hand to finally wipe the last of your tears away, unwilling to let go of the bond that ties you together. You pull back just enough to look up at his face with a big, beaming grin. He leans his forehead against yours, your noses brushing against each other.

“I love you,” you whisper. It comes out crackly and hoarse, but it sounds like music to his ears.

“I love you, too,” he whispers back. “In every lifetime, I will find you. For the rest of eternity. Always.”

You tilt your chin up to capture his lips. It starts slow, a mere vessel for the vow he made, a seal that forces this change in fate he is creating. It doesn’t take long for it to grow hungry and desperate for each other. Not long at all until he’s cradling your neck, cold metal pressing against your skin, as he lowers you back into the bed, leaning his body over yours and supporting himself so all his weight isn’t crushing you.

“Happy birthday,” he breathes into your mouth, “my beloved.”

---

Tag List:

@the-golden-jhope @huen1ngk41 @armycaratlover @sylusfluffymeow @cheesemachine44 @nyx2021 @angel-jupiter

[sinsirellaxx]

Draco Malfoy x Reader

Requested on AO3: I suck at writing fluff but my heart ACHES to read one, can you perhaps make a Draco fic that’s more on fluff? The cinematic I imagine it is “Draco confessing his love for the first time” AND HE SUDDENLY BECOMES SO SHY AND TIMID ACKKK and it’s a thing that he bullies the reader and teases her.

Hello everyone! First time poster here — kinda nervous to post here idek why. 👀🫠

Anyways: I probably should prepare a post about requests and how to request etc. but will do that later. I first want to cross-post the bits I already have posted on AO3.

Hope you‘ll like it! x

BTW — not proofread. 🫶🏻

-

You were rushing through the corridors, the small note from Draco crumbled up in your fist as you walked to his dorm. You had been surprised that the boy had asked you for help after thinking that boy secretly hated you even though you were friends. You always thought he just endured your friendship because of the group.

You were usually never late – well except for today. But honestly – it wasn't your fault: You had been gathering some books that you would need to help Draco with his arithmancy coursework, when Harry Potter had approached you asking for help in finding a book. You couldn’t say no so you took the time to help the Gryffindor before you noticed his weirdly arranged tie, that you just had to fix.

You did not exactly excel in arithmancy, but you would take any chance to spend more time with him, even if he always teased you. After 10 more minutes – damn this huge school – you were finally in front of his dorm and officially 45 minutes late. Knocking on it softly the door immediately flew open, revealing a flustered Draco standing right in front of you.

"You finally made it, huh?!" The boy raised his brow at you as his blue eyes narrowed. "I hate waiting – you know that." You rolled your eyes as you bit back a grin at his attitude. You lifted the books in your hands with a sheepish shrug, showing him that you weren’t late without a reason. "I needed to get these first – thought they might help with our studies."

Draco visibly relaxed as he stepped back, creating space for you to walk into the room, the smell of the boy’s cologne immediately surrounded you.

"Oh, and Harry needed help with his tie – I swear that boy walks around looking like he's fallen off his broom almost every single day." Draco scoffed. "You're late because of Potter?" He spat – the angry scowl was back on his face as he pointedly glared at you. You loved teasing him just as much as he did and with the way the male was frowning all the time, he was sure to get wrinkly very fast. Shrugging your shoulders you walked towards the table, his eyes burning into your back as you put the heavy books on the cold wooden surface. "He's my friend too, you know." Draco rolled his eyes, feeling the urge to gag at the word friend. It sounded like an insult to him. "Well, I'm not just your friend!" The blonde scoffed as you turned to look at him. Your brows raised and your eyes widened slightly as you stared at the male – your heart skipped a beat at the possible insinuation of his words. Quickly getting rid of that thought you tilted your head slightly, a small frown slowly marring your face. “If not my friend – what are you then?” You questioned while crossing your arms in front of your chest. You noticed how his eyes briefly moved towards your arms – or your chest, you weren’t quite sure – before a faint blush dusted his cheeks. “W-Well, I’m your best friend.” Draco stuttered obviously flustered. You scoffed in disbelief, was the boy trying to mock you? “Best friends? Draco, you always tease me for being –“

Only now did you notice the candles decorating the room and a beautiful bouquet of red roses, wrapped in black paper sitting on the bed.

“W-What’s all this for?” You questioned as you suddenly felt uncomfortable. “Were – are you expecting another girl? Is that why you’re this mad because I’m late? Am I interrupting something?” You frowned at the blonde male.

“What? No, you idiot –“Draco rudely interrupted you, desperate to stop your rant. “Wait – why are you even mad?”

You closed your mouth at his question, silently cursing yourself as you wished for something – anything to happen. The expectant look in his eyes made you want to run as far as your legs could carry you, not knowing what to say without looking like a complete fool. “I- I don’t know – I should leave.” You mumbled as you turned around to leave the now suffocating room before embarrassing yourself in front of the boy you had been crushing on for the past two years.

Draco rushed after you and pulled you back, his cold fingers wrapping around your smaller wrist. You stumbled right into his chest, his lips almost touching yours as you stared into his eyes. You felt your face heat up as his eyes flickered to your parted lips and back to your eyes. “I’ve been waiting for you – this is for you. There is no other girl, y/n.” He muttered so quietly that you almost didn’t catch it. “B-But why?”

Draco groaned as his hands found your waist as he squeezed your flesh slightly. “You really are dense sometimes you know? I’m trying to tell you that I like you. Like really like you.”

“Oh.” Was the only thing you could force out as you were overwhelmed with the onslaught of emotions you experienced at his words. Looking down at his chest you tried to hide your burning face.

“Oh?” Draco chuckled as one of his hands moved to lift your chin slightly, forcing you to look into his face again. “Is that all you want to say, doll?”

“I-I like you too, Draco.” You finally uttered as you smiled up at him. You could physically feel the male relax, even though he was trying not to show it. “Can I kiss you?” You nodded, not trusting your voice not to break.

Draco slowly leaned down as he pressed his lips against yours in a chaste kiss – as if he was afraid of scaring you. He leaned back slightly – way too quickly for your liking – to stare at you with a serious look. “You know what this means, right?”

Shaking your head, you bit your lip.

“It means, you are mine now – no more fixing ties for Potter.”

_

A/N: Thanks for reading! Comments, requests, feedback etc. are highly appreciated!

[angel-eyes05]

bite the hand (chapter 1)

pairing: spider-woman!oc x miguel o’hara 

summary: lorena's whole world was taken away from her in the blink of an eye, after she accidentally broke a canon event. lucky for her though, she was able to find a portal watch in her dimension and used it to get out before she glitched out of existence. unfortunately though, running from dimension to dimension, she's been named as an anomaly by the spider society. now, she's constantly on the run from them, their leader in particular. when she eventually gets caught though, she's recruited onto a mission to catch another anomaly who might be from her past. to her dismay though, her partner on this mission is her very captor. will she be able to stop arguing with him for long enough to get the job done?

info: enemies to lovers, maybe a slow burn depending on chapter count, oc is 24 and miguel is 27, both oc and miguel are super sad lmao, they're also both super violent so, they also hate each other what a slay, in regards to my oc you can read her character sheet right here

warnings: there might be spoilers for atsv in this so watch the movie before reading this, emetophobia, violence, blood mention, fangs

word count: 2.5k 

notes: i'm super excited to start this series!!! i'll also be posting a copy of this on ao3 cause i wanna start sharing my work there too so i'll put the link up here when i post it. also if you see me use "you" instead of "she/her" just ignore it i probably missed it while proofreading and it's instinct lol

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

The stuffy air from inside the bag her head was under nearly suffocated her before she could wake up. Her breath was hot and shoved towards her face by the bag, causing her to sweat a little. As she slowly woke up, she found herself unable to move her arms and legs, bound to the chair by her wrists and ankles. She tried to wriggle herself around, the rope bounded so tightly she could feel herself losing circulation, but it was in vain as she quickly felt a striking force against her ribs as a result. Lorena in her chair was knocked to the ground. The bag was removed from her head, exposing her to the harsh, fluorescent lights in the room.

Another kick was sent to her stomach, knocking a nasty cough out of her. All she could see right now as her eyes were still adjusting was the two feet standing in front of her face. She spat some of the blood forming in her mouth onto the freshly cleaned black shoes. She winced as her head was pulled up to face the man in front of her by her hair. His cold, dead, blue eyes shot daggers into her fiery brown irises. “You’ve turned into quite the problem, haven’t you child?” the old man spat at you, his breath stinging your eyes. “Well maybe you should be nicer to your guests,” Lorena panted out, still recovering from the two kicks. The man nodded to someone behind her and her chair was pulled up to a sitting position.

Lorena grunted as her head was yanked back by whoever was behind her. “Come on Armando, I said I would get you the money, and I am! My guy’s just taking a little longer than usual,” she nervously blurted out, seeing Armando further up in the room by a desk of torture weapons. She wasn’t going to give him the money any time soon, and he knew it. She barely had any money to buy herself food.

Lorena had been stuck on Earth-523, her safe zone, for the past week. Normally, she would be out within a day or two. But with her portal watch broken, she had no way to get out. And she had been glitching a lot recently. Glitching bad. She had asked Armando, a black market dealer she had previous history with, for parts to fix the watch. She had forgotten about how much money she owed him though, and when she failed to have it with her when she asked for the favor, she was knocked out and taken to whatever bunker she was currently in.

She had honestly gotten tired of hopping between so many worlds like this. She had been doing it for the past couple of months and it was draining her. She missed the stability of a home. Her home. Earth-2497. But she couldn’t go back now. It was physically impossible. She watched everything she knew and loved glitch out of existence while she just ran through her portal. Instead of dying a noble death alongside her people, she just ran away. Like a coward. Now she was being chased for it. That was another reason she needed her watch fixed.

Their appearances were becoming more and more frequent. People who looked just like her. She could sense her connection to them. One of them, a woman riding a motorcycle and big yellow sunglasses, said that she was. Lorena had experienced similar things to the others. Like the death of her tio. And then the death of her boyfriend. Her struggles were the same as theirs. But she wasn’t supposed to be here anymore. She explained that Lorena “broke the canon”, whatever that meant.

A man with multiple mechanical arms, almost like an octopus, had come through an orange portal and began wreaking havoc on New York City. Lorena had stopped him, but too early apparently, according to the woman. The man was supposed to kill Captain Stacy, the father of her best friend. But since he hadn’t been killed, she had accidentally ripped a hole in the space time continuum, or something, consuming and ripping apart her entire universe. She was supposed to die with it. But she hadn’t. She ran away. Now she was considered an anomaly. The woman described that most anomalies were sent back to their worlds after they were captured. But Lorena had no world to go back to.

“So what’ll you do to me then?” Lorena asked the woman.

“.....I’m not sure.”

That was enough to convince Lorena to start running. The different Spider-Men would pop up about every week or so. But the gap had been closed to around every day now. She had gotten a break this past week while her watch was broken, what she assumed to be some kind of break from the universe or something. But she knew it was only a matter of time until they found her again. Until he found her again.

Lorena had only been chased by him twice before. But both of those times, she had only escaped by a narrow margin. He looked significantly different from the other variants, sporting a mainly blue suit with a weird red symbol in the middle that warped around to his back. He was tall also. Really tall, with huge, broad shoulders. Lorena couldn’t help but wonder what he looked like under his mask, having not seen his face before. But no matter how much she would probably ask him out if they met under different circumstances, Lorena was terrified of him. She had left both chase sequences with him with enormous gashes on her from his sharp talons. She honestly wondered if he was actually human.

She was brought back to reality when she saw Armando walking back from the table. In his hand was a metal rod, the end of it a scorching orange. Lorena scrambled around in her seat, her head still yanked back. Fuck this is bad, she thought to herself. An idea suddenly snapped into her head.

She rarely used them, as they normally ended up harming her too in the end, but she would rather be burned by her own acid webs once than by this hot plate repeatedly. She repositioned her wrists, pointing one of them out. She braced for the pain. Suddenly, four strings of a radioactive green acid web shot out of her wrist, breaking the rope around her hands and wrapping around the thigh of the man holding back her head. He screamed out in pain as the acid melted through his leg. With him and Armando distracted, Lorena quickly broke out of her ankle restraints, ripped the hot branding stick out of Armando’s hands, and pushed it deep into his face. He let out an inhuman scream and quickly passed out from the pain. She then used the stick and smacked the metal against his partner’s head, knocking him out too.

Lorena stood to catch her breath for a second, bracing her side with her right arm from the pain in her ribs. She hoped they were just bruised, and not cracked. She then took off the gloves from her suit to examine the fresh acid burns on her left wrist. She had developed a bit of resistance from the pain, having had to use them so much recently since she’s been without web fluid for months now, but it still stung a bit and left quite a mark on her skin.

She stripped Armando of his long sleeve t-shirt and sweatpants to cover up her suit, and shoved her mask into the pockets of the pants, before walking outside the door into the night.

She was almost immediately soaked to the touch as the rain poured down on the city. The large t-shirt, absorbing all the water falling onto Lorena, only put extra weight onto her damaged ribs. She struggled to walk through the street as she continued to cough blood into her hand. Fuck, this was bad. Maybe her injury was worse than she thought.

Things only got worse when she suddenly felt her heartbeat speed up. Goosebumps flooded over her body and she was nearly paralyzed from fear. Her spider-sense was kicking in. Jesus, what is it now. She looked into the alleyway next to her to see if that's where the source of her fear was coming from. Her suspicions were confirmed correct when she saw an orange glow interrupt the darkness in the back of the alley, and a red spike ripping through it. She nearly left her heart behind as she immediately started to bolt down the sidewalk.

Great, just my fucking luck, she thought to herself as she ran. The one day I’m in horrible shape to fight is the one day he shows up to get me. Lorena didn’t need to look behind her to know the man was already bounding after her. She didn’t have any web fluid, and her acid webs would cut through the poles, so she was given the disadvantage on the ground this time. She threw her mask on her face from her pocket, that way so in case she did get caught, she could at least keep the dignity of her identity to herself. Her running was desperate and sloppy, her red hair slipping out from the back of her mask and almost slipping in a puddle when she turned a sharp corner.

She could feel her heart rising into her chest and her ribs cried out to her in pain, begging her to just stop and accept her fate. But she wouldn’t go down like this. She couldn’t. She needed to keep going, no matter how much blood she was coughing up while running. She could hear his feet splashing in the puddles behind her as she made her getaway. He was getting closer. She wasn’t fast enough. She needed to do something if she wasn’t going to get caught. And fast.

Desperate for a way out, she ripped her right glove off of her hand and jumped around to shoot an acid web at her chaser. The split second she could see him while turned around frightened her beyond belief. The man was chasing her on all fours, like some kind of wild dog. His claws dug deep into the concrete floor for extra traction from the rain. Yeah, there’s no way this guy was human. She shot the web out of her wrist, burning her more than usual, and aimed for his face. If she was going to shoot for him now, she needed to try to go for the kill. Before the web was even fully out of her hand, she was back facing forward and running. Fuck, did that mess up my aim? She didn’t have time to think about that now. She didn’t even look back to check. She just kept running.

The low scream from him at least meant that she hit him, which was enough for her right now. Her high came crashing down though when she turned another corner. Suddenly, a shattering agony rattled throughout her body as she became a jumble of neon colored parallelograms, all of her atoms splitting apart in a split second. She quickly fell to the floor, shaking in pain. But she still had to fight. Lorena used her arms to crawl into an alleyway into the darkness. If she couldn’t outrun him, she could at least try to hide. She lowered her head to the ground though when she heard puddles lightly splashing behind her. Footsteps. She didn’t hit him hard enough. It was all in vain.

She could hear his pants above her, as she turned her head around to see him standing right above her body, like he was admiring his achievement or something. She still tried to crawl away though. She didn’t matter if it made her look stupid. She still had to try.

Lorena stopped though when she felt him web her hand to the ground though, too tired to keep going. The bright red, glowing web illuminated the darkness of the alley. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see him reaching his massive hand down to her. He roughly ripped her mask off her face, exposing her to the outside world. She began to cough again, so much this time, that she ended up losing her limited breakfast. The puke sits next to the man's feet, more blood than partially digested food. He stared at her in disgust. Then he finally speaks. The first time he has to her ever.

“This is the one who’s been causing us so much trouble?” he said, as if it was supposed to be more of a genuine question than an insult. His voice was beautiful. A rich, low, dark tone that rolled off of his tongue smoothly. She could see a small avatar pop up next to his shoulder, illuminated in a yellow aura. “Yup, this is her. Lorena Reyes, Spider-Woman from Earth-2497,” the woman avatar responded. “Huh,” he said, crouching down next to her head. “Thought she'd put up more of a fight.” That one was an insult. “Maybe you just caught me on a bad day,” she croaked out. He looked at the puke next to her. “I can see that.” Lorena started to glitch again, letting out sparse pants once her atoms stopped separately. The man sighed. “Let's just get this over with.”

What he did next took Lorena by surprise. He flung his strong leg over to the opposite side of her body and lifted his mask up to just over his nose, still concealing his eyes from her view. Lorena stared at him confused, too tired and in pain to do anything right now. What she could see from his face was gorgeous. His perfect nose, the slight pout in his plump lips, and his rich skin tone. He placed his hands on her head, one holding the nape of her neck, and the other pushing her head back.

Then they came out. His fangs. A slight fear washed over her body when she saw them. Was this vampire man about to kill her? Then he sunk them into the skin of her neck. She flinched slightly. What on earth was he doing? More fear entered her when she found she was quickly losing feeling in her feet. It slowly moved up her body. Then her legs. Then her hands. Then her arms. Her nerves being attacked by some kind of paralytic venom. It was most likely coming from his fangs. She felt slightly lucky that she still had feeling in her neck though, especially when he removed his fangs from her neck, and used his textured tongue to clean up the blood. It was warm and comforting to her. Then her neck lost its feeling. Lorena was quickly grateful for the venom when she found herself glitching again, but not feeling any pain from it.

She could feel herself passing out next. As consciousness left her body, the last thing she saw was the man lifting up from her neck and wiping her blood off from his mouth.

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

NEXT CHAPTER

a/n: thanks for making it this far!!! lmk if you want to be on the tag list for future parts

[momhwaissues]

Losing My Religion

《Chapter one》

Pairing: Deranged Hongjoong x Too-Good-For-This-World Seonghwa

《 Summary 》

In which photography major Hongjoong worships the ground education major Seonghwa walks on, to the point of obsession; all goes well until Hongjoong crosses the point of no return... And Seonghwa wakes up in an unfamiliar bedroom

《 Chapter Warnings 》

kidnapping, mentions of violence, obsessive behavior, religious themes.

《 A/N 》

Proofreading and fixing this chapter took longer than I thought, but alas; this was a thread on Twitter that I decided to cross-post here and on AO3. Comments are always welcomed! Hope this little introduction sets the tone for what's to come.

THIS CHAPTER IS PART OF 18+ CONTENT, MINORS DNI

♱⋆ִ࣪𖤐♱𖤐⋆ִ࣪♱

Hongjoong wouldn't be caught dead admitting being wrong, but right now he had a feeling he may have fucked up. He stared at the man laying on his bed, features peaceful as sleep protected him from reality. He may have fucked up indeed. But Hongjoong knew that everything he did what was necessary, that things escalated quickly, and he needed to fix it somehow. Bringing the other to his apartment would probably buy him some time; not even his friends knew where he lived, let alone those vultures from campus

Seonghwa shifted in his sleep, only to feel a tug on his leg restricting his movements; he furrowed his brows, and a barely audible whine escaped his lips. Hongjoong could only stand there, staring, taking in every single detail of his skin, every movement of his body. Oh, how divine he looked like that.

He had no idea how many hours had passed, legs and back aching from standing still for so long, shivering from the night air. Startled by a particularly cold breeze, he realized how careless he had been, tucking Seonghwa in on his bed with nothing but his clothes and a thin sheet. He must be freezing there without a blanket!

Taking one from the wardrobe behind him, he inched closer to the bed, covering Seonghwa up as delicately as possible. Still leaning forward, towering above the older, he’s caught by surprise by the man starting to wake up.

His mind went a mile per second looking for ways to explain what exactly had happened, to justify the whole situation; it wasn’t his fault if that despicable man decided to invade Seonghwa’s room, his sanctuary. His Star was pure, divine; he held a light of his own, radiating warmth and managing to bring graces to the life of those around him. He wasn't supposed to be tainted by the mundane, corrupted by filthy hands and thoughts.

All Hongjoong could do was stare back as Seonghwa’s eyes started to focus, confusion painting his features at the foreign bed he found himself on. This wasn't his room? Or his date's room? At least he supposed it wasn’t, as the decor didn't match the man he went to the bar with. Has he had too much to drink? Had someone spiked his drink? He couldn't remember much of the date, memories blurring after he had met up with the man. But he could still feel the texture of his clothes on his body, so maybe nothing dangerous had happened.

Hongjoong waited patiently. Not that he had a choice, he could barely breathe standing so close to the man he'd trust his faith and soul to without a second thought. He wasn't worthy of being in his presence, but still there he was, in front of him, on his bed.

Seonghwa was his muse, his faith, his personal belief; for years he had watched him from afar, witnessing his miracles and graces. He was benevolent, never turning his back to those who needed him, even those who didn't know they did. And Hongjoong was his faithful sheep, never straying away, witnessing his every good deed, immortalizing them, praying at his images for his unconditional love.

"I'm so sorry, I didn't realize that the weather had dropped so much, I should have gotten you a blanket earlier" Seonghwa stared at him, still confused but at least less scared than he was before "It's okay, I'm not cold... but where am I?"

He tried to sit back against the headboard, and once again felt a tug on his leg; Had he injured his ankle somehow? "And I apologize, I can't remember much... what happened?"

The slight slurring on his voice made Hongjoong’s heart skip a beat; he looked even softer like this, washing away his worries. Seonghwa was ever calm, ever patient waiting for Hongjoong to answer. "I saw you at the bar a few hours ago, but I had a feeling you weren't safe; that person with you, he wanted to harm you! And I couldn't let it happen.” he felt anger bubbling again inside him at the mere memory of Seonghwa taking the man’s glass, looking completely out of it a while later. “The only place I could bring you safely was my apartment." Hongjoong lowered his head, avoiding his gaze.

His round eyes went wide at Hongjoong’s words, mixed feelings swirling inside his head. He had been fooled, once again. No person he ever got close seemed to care about him or his feelings; they either ghosted him, or got inexplicably wary around him, acting cold and avoidant. It didn't matter how much he offered to others, it never seemed to be good enough.

Tears started slowly streaming down his face, heart aching, and the sight twisted something inside Hongjoong’s own chest that he couldn’t quite name yet. The world didn't deserve Seonghwa. They would only play with his feelings and hurt him, despite his good nature. Only Hongjoong knew how glorious he really was.

Only Hongjoong deserved him.

"Hey, don't cry, it's all good now;” Hongjoong tried to look as reassuring as he could. “you're safe now, and won't ever have to see that bastard again." He was resolute in making sure of it; Seonghwa nodded back at him, drying his tears with the back of his hands. His eyes were still glistening, but he felt calmer, safer.

After that, Hongjoong managed to convince Seonghwa to sleep some more, saying he still looked a little out of it and promising he'd bring him something to eat as soon as he woke up again. Closing the bedroom door, he felt like he could finally breathe; everything worked out so easily in the end.

Grabbing a set of keys and a black face mask, he left the apartment, going down the stairs towards the building's boiling room; He had unfinished business to take care of.

♱⋆ִ࣪𖤐♱𖤐⋆ִ࣪♱

The place always irked him; too loud, humid and dark, as if straight out of a horror movie. But worse than the room, was the man unconscious on the floor. Being completely honest, Hongjoong had no idea how he managed to bring him there. It had happened before, being so enraged that his body acted on its own accord. He probably dragged the man through the service entry at the parking lot, the possibility of getting caught never crossing his mind. The lack of security on the building helped a lot in times like this. And if the guy ended up with a concussion or two, he couldn't care less.

It wasn't the first time he had to teach someone a lesson, to make them repent from trying to taint Seonghwa’s purity, and he knew it wouldn't be the last. More than anything he wished it could be, that others could come to their senses and see Seonghwa as the magnificent being that he was. The absurdity of their blindness instigated too much all at once: the protectiveness, the rage, the jealousy.

And once again the hour passed on a blur. The stranger was tied to a pipe, dangerously unconscious; he sported several bruises and burn marks through his broad back and naked torso. Not even fire would be enough to purify the man from his sinful intentions, but at least for now he had repented from his misstep.

He untied the sinner and pondered what to do next. Exiting through the same route he got in, he left the barely alive body on an alleyway several blocks from the building, a known spot for burglars and other criminals to reign free. Another perk of living on the least privileged side of the city.

With that nuisance taken care of, he took the time to get himself cleaned and to prepare something for Seonghwa to eat. He may not be the best cook, but his mother's special dish was one he was very proud of learning; his Star deserved something worthy of his appetite.

Seonghwa woke up to the rich smell of broth and the sound of the door opening. He still felt dizzy, but considerably less than earlier; he could now recognize the short man in front of him, someone he had seen many times around campus but never got the name of.

"Oh, did I make you wait for too long? I'm sorry, I had to fix some things before coming back. " Hongjoong almost looked wary, but he presumed it was simply worry for his well-being. The food looked delicious, and Seonghwa couldn't remember when was the last time he ate. He couldn't remember much at all. "Don't worry, I just woke up. I'm feeling a lot better too, only hungry." Hongjoong relaxed as Seonghwa seemed less scared than before, almost glad to see him again.

He was waiting for him, and that alone made everything worth it.

After eating, Hongjoong was persistent about him drinking at least the glass of water he brought. He hadn't realized how thirsty he was, throat burning and tongue dry. Now that most of his needs were satiated, Seonghwa felt light and floating, the horrible experience mainly forgotten for now. He could feel Hongjoong’s heavy gaze on him, waiting for something, or maybe to say something.

"I don't think you remember me, we used to go to the same school before college, the same classroom as well" He looked shy and hopeful, although odds were the man in front of him didn't; how could his Star remember him, know about his existence? He was an observer, a sideliner, a nobody.

"I'm sorry, I'm not sure…" and he could feel a little bit of his heart breaking "Kim, right? Your last name, I mean."

The soft light from the table lamp reflected on Seonghwa’s golden skin, and there hasn't been a moment before that had looked more divine than now; Not when alone at the park during sunset, nor when peaceful asleep, illuminated by the full moon. Right now he looked holy, an angel from above so benevolent to the point of remembering his name.

"Yes! It's me!” He could barely contain the pure joy he felt. “I mean, sorry, I'm Hongjoong. Kim Hongjoong. " The way he stuttered may have made him embarrassed, but it was worth the melodious giggle that left Seonghwa’s lips. He once again looked peaceful, almost dozing off again, "Thank you, Kim Hongjoong, for taking care of me;” the movement of his eyelids slowly coming to a halt with each blink. “I'm really grateful you were there. My guardian angel."

As the world faded to black again and reality and dreams blended together, Seonghwa barely acknowledged the painful tug on his ankle as he tried to get more comfortable, or the distant voice whispering back to him "I've always been there my angel.”

Hongjoong couldn’t hold back the urge to finally feel him, a chaste kiss on his forehead.

“And I forever will be.”

[themirokai]

Never say never on returning to wips you love.

In late 2020 and through 2021, I was writing a Mystrade series called His Professional Capacity in which Mycroft is a spymaster. I had the first chapter of a sixth (and probably final) story for the series written, but I never quite figured out where to take it and I moved on to other fandoms.

Now, three years later, I’ve written a five chapter story that nearly doubles the length of the series. It’s getting proofread and beta’d now, but I hope to start posting it soon. Because the vast majority of you followed me after 2021, and I want to entice as many people to read this as possible, I’m going to start posting the stories in the series here. First up:

What He Does

Greg encounters Mycroft's security detail and comes to understand the reasons for it.

~ 2,601 words. I've tweaked some minor things from the AO3 version, which was not Britpicked, but kept the rather American conception of when someone might be carrying a gun, since it's integral to the plot. Please enjoy despite inaccuracies.

Read it below or on AO3.

~*~

Greg pondered whether he should take Mycroft’s arm. Or his hand. Or offer Mycroft his arm. Or put his hand on Mycroft’s back. This whole “dating” thing was confusing. Greg hadn’t dated for decades, and back then it had been women. Not a mature, somewhat intimidating, incredibly posh, devastatingly gorgeous man. He wasn’t quite sure how to act.

Greg would admit that dinner had been a success. The conversation was comfortable, interesting, and somewhat flirty, just as it had been for their previous two dates. And the several meals and drinks they’d shared before that - before Greg had gotten up the nerve to ask Mycroft on a real date. They had chemistry. That was certain. And when the meal ended and Mycroft had suggested they go for a walk to enjoy the fresh fall air, Greg had jumped at the chance to keep the date from ending.

He pondered the possibility of a good night kiss, but wasn’t sure if that should come before or after holding hands or linking arms on a walk. What were the procedures for physical contact with a man who made your stomach do somersaults every time you thought about him? How were those procedures different when the man in question held a highly secretive and incredibly powerful government position? Were they different? Greg settled for moving a little closer to Mycroft as they walked along, allowing the sleeves of their coats to brush against each other.

Mycroft finished the anecdote he was telling about Sherlock as a child, and Greg turned to smile up at him. As he did, movement caught the corner of his eye and Greg glanced behind them. There was a man walking half a block behind them. Greg frowned.

“Shall we take this left?” he asked Mycroft.

“If you like,” Mycroft responded with a soft smile.

They turned and Greg waited about half a block before glancing back. The man behind them made the turn as well. Greg risked a slightly longer look this time and realized with alarm that he recognized the man from the restaurant. His mind immediately ran through possibilities. Mugger. Someone after Greg because of a case he’d worked or was currently working. Someone after Mycroft for whatever shadowy reason. Someone after either or both of them as a way of getting to Sherlock.

“Gregory? Is something wrong?”

No sense in worrying him. Greg could handle this. “No, uh, no. Let’s just - do you mind if we turn down this alley for a moment?”

Now Greg did take Mycroft’s elbow to guide him into the small alley, mentally kicking himself that the first time he touched the man was out of fear and necessity.

“Gregory, what-”

“Please, just stay here a moment and keep quiet, I’m sure it’s nothing, I’ll handle it.”

“Gregory!”

But Greg was not listening, he could hear the man’s footsteps speeding up and getting nearer, and drew his gun. From his peripheral vision, he thought he saw Mycroft reaching for him, but he was already committed to whirling around the corner and slamming the oncoming man against the wall, holding him with an arm across his chest and leveling the gun to his cheek. “That’s far enough, mate. Who are you and why are you following us?”

The man slowly raised his hands, but a female voice suddenly cut in. “Drop the gun! Now!”

Greg did not drop the gun, but turned to look down the barrel of another weapon held by a well-dressed woman who Greg was also fairly sure he had seen at the restaurant. Before Greg had a chance to respond, Mycroft stepped out of the alley.

“Stand down, Ms. Bell.” Mycroft sounded tired.

“Sir, please stay back!” the woman responded.

“Ms. Bell, Inspector Lestrade is not a threat.”

“Respectfully, sir, then why is he hustling you into an alley and drawing a gun on your security?” Ms. Bell kept her own gun trained on Greg, who was frozen.

Mycroft pinched the bridge of his nose. “Because he did not know that I have security and thought Mr. Spooner was following us with malicious intentions.” Mycroft squared his shoulders, and put the tone of command into his voice. “Stand down, Ms. Bell. That is an order.” The woman grimaced and holstered her weapon. “Gregory, kindly unhand Mr. Spooner.”

Greg stepped back, but was not quite able to pick his jaw up off the floor. “They work for you?”

“Indeed,” Mycroft said, as Mr. Spooner, with a face like a thundercloud, started brushing off his clothing. “Mr. Spooner and Ms. Bell are … associates of mine and - for the time being at least - they have been charged with ensuring my safety.”

Greg holstered his gun. “Do you always have security?”

“Yes,” Mycroft said simply.

“So the other times we’ve been out together?”

“They were there and you did not notice them. Which is how it should be,” Mycroft lowered a meaningful look at Spooner, who squirmed.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Greg asked, still wrapping his mind around the fact that he was apparently trying to date someone who merited two armed guards at all times.

Mycroft sighed. “In retrospect, that was clearly a mistake. I-” he paused, looking at the three of them, then shook his head. “The bar in the hotel across the way is nice and quiet. May I buy you a drink, Gregory? I’m afraid the walk has been a bit ruined.”

“Sure… yeah, a drink sounds good.”

Fifteen minutes later they were ensconced in a booth at a swanky hotel bar. Greg had a single malt Scotch, and Mycroft was twisting the stem of a glass of red wine in his long fingers. Beautiful fingers, Greg thought. Spooner and Bell had taken a table on the other side of the bar where they were too far to hear the conversation, but had clear sight lines to Mycroft.

“So how long have those two been your bodyguards?” Greg asked, nodding at Spooner and Bell.

“They’ve only been on this rotation for about a week. They’ll spend a month with me, before moving on to another assignment and being replaced by another two. And I wouldn’t call them bodyguards. They are field agents.”

“Ms. Bell sure seems like a bodyguard.” Greg took a swig of his drink.

“Ms. Bell knows that she will be held partially accountable for Mr. Spooner’s carelessness. This assignment is meant to give a more experienced agent - in this case, Ms. Bell - an opportunity to train a less experienced agent - Mr. Spooner - in the field. It also allows me to observe agents in the field to get a feel for their strengths and weaknesses. I’m afraid tonight revealed some weaknesses.” Mycroft sipped his wine.

“It’s not their fault you decided to go out with a cop,” Greg grinned.

“Yes, but-” Mycroft stopped himself and smiled. “Yes, you’re right.”

Greg narrowed his eyes. “You expect them to be better than me. It’s alright, you can say it.”

Mycroft considered Greg for a moment before responding. “I expect them to be able to follow their mark unnoticed, even if their mark is accompanied by a particularly intelligent and observant detective.”

“Fair enough, and I’ll take the compliment,” Greg chuckled. “So is that the only reason you have security? For training and observation?”

Mycroft twirled his wine glass in his fingers again before responding. “Gregory… I have enjoyed our time together, and if you are willing I would like to continue to see you.”

Greg grinned. “More than willing.”

Mycroft smiled. “Thank you. There are many things I am unable to talk about with you, for your safety, and mine, and that of others. And even with this I must tread a bit lightly, but … I would like you to go into,” he gestured vaguely between the two of them, “this, with your eyes open.”

“I’m listening.” Greg sat a little straighter.

“The work I do, the work I have done in the past, has risks. I… have enemies. Enemies who would prefer that I were no longer operating. While I am generally able to take care of myself, I am not as young as I was and there have been … close calls, as it were. And so now my security detail is part of the field agents’ rotation.”

“How close were the close calls?”

“Too close.”

“How too close?”

“A few centimeters from a major artery, too close.”

“Ah.”

“Yes.”

They both sipped their drinks. “Well then I’m glad Ms. Bell pulled her gun on me. She was probably right to,” Greg said after a minute. “Don’t be too hard on her tomorrow.”

Mycroft smiled and hesitantly reached across the table to touch Greg’s hand. Greg immediately took the opportunity to grab hold of the long, slender fingers. “You don’t… mind? That I live a life that requires that I am under surveillance?”

“I mean you have some privacy, don’t you?”

“Yes!” A blush was climbing up Mycroft’s cheeks. “Yes, of course! I - um - they - well, I mean-“

The sight of Mycroft Holmes stuttering like a schoolboy melted the last of Greg’s discomfort and he grinned, then squeezed Mycroft’s hand. “Can I safely assume that if I go to kiss you when we leave here that I won’t end up looking down the barrel of Ms. Bell’s gun again?”

Mycroft gaped at him momentarily before recovering. “No - um - no, that would be fine.”

“Just fine?” Greg cocked an eyebrow, leaning in to the newfound confidence.

A slow smile played over Mycroft’s features. “More than fine. Welcome.”

Greg settled back into his seat with a grin. There was one thing sorted.

Greg squinted across the restaurant. “Is Bell wearing a wig?”

Mycroft took a sip of his drink. “Gregory, kindly do not peer at her. She is more effective if it is not clear that there’s a connection between her and I.”

Greg turned his eyes front, but not before he saw Bell glower at him. “Sorry,” he grinned at Mycroft. “Is it a wig though? It’s awful. Don’t you all train in costuming or something?”

Mycroft coughed and wiped his mouth carefully with his napkin, avoiding Greg’s eyes. “I believe she dyed her hair.”

Greg’s jaw dropped. “No. Mycroft, no. Not that colour.” Mycroft cut another bite of his meal without looking up. “Did she do it because of me?” Greg asked, astonished. When Mycroft neither confirmed nor denied, Greg clapped his hand over his mouth to stifle a laugh.

“You’ve been… a little too good at spotting her,” Mycroft said after a minute. “But her new assignment starts in a few days. I believe the change in hair colour is more related to that.”

“There is no way that shade is good for any kind of undercover work, darling, you’ve got to get her to change it. It looks like it doesn’t know whether it’s red or purple.”

Mycroft started a bit at the pet name, and watched carefully as Greg applied himself to his meal. After a moment, he relaxed with a smile. “I’ll speak to her.”

“Mycroft.”

“Mm?”

“The chap on the bicycle.”

“What about him?”

“Is he your new security?”

A heavy sigh, then, “Kindly leave your gun holstered, Gregory.”

About a month, a number of dates, and many quite pleasant kisses after their first, Greg and Mycroft lay naked in Mycroft’s bed following their first time having sex. Greg was gently tracing his fingers over one of the several scars that broke the plane of Mycroft’s pale skin. He had seen the scars when he had undressed Mycroft - a lengthier affair than he was used to, with far more buttons - but had been preoccupied at the time. Now he took his time to study them.

“More of these than I was expecting,” Greg said, tracing what he suspected was the remnant of a knife wound to Mycroft’s side.

Mycroft started moving away from him. “I’m sorry. If it bothers you I can-” He was stopped as Greg wrapped an arm around his waist.

Greg pulled Mycroft close. “Don’t be daft. You’re beautiful and I want to see all of you. It’s not like I like the idea of you being stabbed,” he touched the knife scar, “or shot,” his fingers found the scar from a bullet wound on Mycroft’s shoulder, “or shot again,” the scar on Mycroft’s left thigh, “or burned,” the matching marks on the forearms, “or … what is this?” Greg fingered the vaguely triangular scar just above Mycroft’s right hip.

“Stabbed, I suppose you could say,” Mycroft replied quietly. “It was an ice pick.”

“An… ice pick.”

“Indeed. The result of an error in judgment of a much younger man.”

“Just to be clear, you were the younger man with poor judgment, right? There’s not some young tosser running about who caused you to get ice picked?”

“That’s correct. I read a situation erroneously and suffered the consequences.”

“With an ice pick.”

“Just so.”

“Any chance I could get more of the story behind that?”

Mycroft considered for a moment. “If two governments were to permanently fall… no, even then it wouldn’t be unclassified in either of our lifetimes.”

Greg leaned up to kiss Mycroft’s chin. “You’re fascinating. Does anyone actually believe you work for the Department for Transport?”

Mycroft chuckled. “Yes, Detective Inspector Lestrade. People from whom I have not had to take away investigations, and who have not had to deal with my brother, and who have not seen me in a state of undress - essentially everyone in the world who is not you or who has not otherwise encountered me in my professional capacity - generally believe that I am a minor government official.”

Greg planted a kiss on his chest. “People are daft, then. You dress too well to be a minor anything.”

Mycroft’s lips twisted into a wry smile. “Thank you. I think.”

“Anyway,” Greg picked up his prior thought. “I don’t like the idea of you being hurt. I hate it in fact. But the scars are part of you. And I like you. I like all of you. Very much.”

Mycroft drew Greg up so that they were face to face and kissed him deeply. “I also like you very much, Gregory,” he breathed when they finally broke apart.

Greg pulled himself tight against Mycroft’s side and rested his head on the other man’s chest. The angle put the bullet wound on Mycroft’s thigh in his line of sight. “This is the newest one,” he murmured, touching it gently.

“Very astute, Gregory.”

“Not a youthful error of judgment, then?”

“No. That one is the reason I have a security detail.”

Greg covered it with his palm. “A few centimeters from your femoral artery.”

“Mm,” Mycroft acknowledged. “The circumstances were such that if my assailant’s shot had been better - or worse, I suppose, given your perspective - I likely would have bled out before assistance could reach me.” Greg hugged him a little tighter. “That caused my superiors to insist that I be under guard,” Mycroft finished.

Greg frowned. “You have superiors?”

“One or two. It’s a bit … complicated.”

Greg huffed. “I bet it is.” He planted a kiss on Mycroft’s chest. “You’ve certainly led an interesting life.”

“I believe the corollary to the traditional curse is ‘may you live an interesting life.’”

“Do you feel cursed?” Greg asked, craning his neck to see Mycroft’s face.

“On the contrary,” Mycroft smiled, “the fact that in spite of all this, or perhaps as a result of all this, I have ended up here, with you, has me feeling incredibly fortunate at the moment.”

“Me too,” Greg grinned.

~*~

Thanks for reading! The next story is now up over here.

[asksythe]

MXTX Interview with Risa Wataya for Subaru Magazine P.8 (Final)

Future Plans

Risa: Are you perhaps working on a novel? 

Moxiang: I have not a few works in progress, but because my creative process is slow, for the foreseeable future, no work has taken proper form. 

Risa: If you can write freely without worrying about reader's reception, what kind of story will you write? 

Moxiang: Personally, I enjoy and pride myself in being able to satisfy myself and my readers at the same time. Therefore, I never thought about disregarding my reader's reception. I really have not thought through something like this before, so I would like not to answer this question. 

Risa: What have you been doing recently? 

Moxiang: Recently, I'm into playing with slime. On my days off, I also want to play slime with my friends, or I think: "What do I eat today?" That sort of stuff. 

Risa: So cute. Ms. Moxiang, even though you are so busy, you still reserve time to sit down and talk to us. Such a wonderful opportunity. Thank you! Lastly, other than the stories that you are working on, is there anything you would like to tell your Japanese readers? 

Moxiang: Dear Japanese readers, I thank you from the bottom of my heart. No matter if it is today or in the past, when I think about how my work has been translated into Japanese and read in Japan, I always feel an indescribable emotion in my heart. I am so, so happy. 

Furthermore, regarding my newest work, "Tian Guan Ci Fu," I must apologize to all of you. Also, "Mo Dao Zu Shi" that we just talked about as well. Originally, there were no scenes where Lan Wangji visited the Burial Mound and the kiss on Bai Feng Mt. (Mount Hundred Phoenixes). These scenes were added on in the extra 50 thousand words edit in the new edition. But at the moment, the 'Tian Guan Ci Fu' that Japanese readers have is the old edition without the additional contents. For the foreseeable future, it will only be this old edition. I don't know when the new edition will be ready or if there will be any further changes. I profusely apologize for this.    

Risa: We will work on this new edit with utmost seriousness. 

Moxiang: That's right. We will treat it with the highest level of care. 

Risa: Kuohao-san, please say something to the audience waiting for the third season of the audio drama. 

Kuohao: The third season is progressing very nicely in both story and the Wangxian romance. It will certainly be very exciting. Many details will be gradually revealed, and there will be countless famous scenes between Wangxian! Please listen to it! 

Risa: Thank you both of you for today. I hope there will be future opportunities like this. 

Moxiang: To be honest, this is my first official interview. I am better at writing than speaking. I'm a little clumsy with my words. Today I was so very nervous. Thank you, Ms. Risa, for following and recommending "Mo Dao Zu Shi." Ms. Risa's Mandarin is excellent! I look forward to future opportunities to sit down and talk. Furthermore, I hope I will have more opportunities to connect with my international readers.  

-From Sichuan Province, China, November 28th, 2022-

Translator’s Note: with this done, I will take my time to reorganize all 8 parts of this translation into a single file, proofread, and edit it. My plan is to host this one file on a platform that can be easily stored and shared among the community. So probably Google Drive. I will post the raw Mandarin transcript of the interview too, for people who can read Mandarin to read it directly. 

I’m thinking whether I should put it on other platforms too, for safekeeping, because digital things can disappear randomly. I’m not sure where though. Tumblr and twitter are hardly suitable for archival purposes. AO3 maybe? If you have suggestions or advice, I would be very happy to hear them. 

Translator’s Note 2: recently I was told that my sharing this translated interview might be illegal and will negatively impact the fandom and make reprints of the magazine harder, that it will negatively impact fan etiquette. I concur this is a potential issue. So I would like to take a minute to clarify a few things. 

1/ This interview was conducted in Mandarin and then translated into Japanese by Subaru and printed for their May-June 2023 edition. This edition is now being scalped on Japanese web for 7-10 times its original price. 

2/ I originally got a single scanned page of the magazine (Japanese) and translated it with the help of my husband. I was waiting for further scans, but luckily, the actual translator (Mandarin to Chinese) working for Subaru posted the entire Mandarin transcript on weibo. Subsequent parts of this translation was made based entirely on this transcript. As my Mandarin skill is much better than my Japanese skill, this is reflected in the quality of the translation from part 4 onwards (something I intend to fix in the edit). 

So we have a situation where: the magazine is in Japanese and sold to Japanese fans. The Mandarin transcript is posted publicly on weibo to Chinese audience (although that might change at any moment). I am Vietnamese, living and working in Vietnam, translating from Japanese / Mandarin to English for an international fandom (my husband is American citizen working for Saudi Arabia... if that’s relevant to the issue). 

I am not a lawyer, so I don’t know how copyright laws apply here, or even if it applies at all. Again, if anyone has advice, suggestion, concerns, I would be open to hearing them.  

I did intentionally add in footnotes explaining lingual concepts and cultural, philosophical references, to potentially lean on Fair Use (if it applies). 

That said, I don’t want to negatively impact MXTX, so if I receive official request, I will take this translation down. 

Regarding potential fan etiquette, I don’t really participate in the international fandom, but I do know fandom politics can be difficult to navigate. It’s not really my place to gatekeep any body. As far as I’m concerned, if the story brings you joy, then that’s a good thing by itself already. 

So, I would like to ask anyone who read this translation to please keep this in mind. Fan translation is a gray area issue. Whatever you feel, please consider the wellbeing of the fandom itself, and to not potentially negatively impact Ms. Moxiang. If there’s anything you don’t like in this translation, please just chalk it up as my translating skill not being up to snuff. 

Sincerely,

NPD Khanh 

[baileys-3]

CHAPTER 20 ONLINE on AO3

So, 5 days of alternating shifts begin this chapter. Let's see how our two deal with it.

Then thanks again to Cookies for beta reading. You are awesome. Because she always has a proofread and not only reads over it quickly, but also makes sure that everything is always true to character. Invaluable.

Then the current status: I started chapter 28 yesterday and am in the middle of it. Somehow everything always turns out to be longer and more detailed than expected. I'm currently at 146,000 words.

Sneak Peak:

Tim's alarm clock rings and, as always, he is immediately wide awake. In his childhood, oversleeping was never an option, and as a soldier, he learned to react to every sound, even in his sleep. Every morning, he goes for an early run, following the same mechanical routine, with only breakfast occasionally varying. On this particular day, Kojo is not there, which means that he finishes earlier than usual.

He sends his sister another quick text to check whether dinner at hers is still on for tonight.

As he checks his phone, he notices some new messages in the group chat with his work friends. He realizes that one of the group admins, Angela, has renamed the group to "Mid-Wilshire Legends". After reading the messages more carefully, he learns that the group is discussing Nolan's birthday present, which happens to be a voucher for a paintball match. Nyla came up with the idea as Nolan's failure in the shooting arena, where he was distracted by a man in a diving suit, still gets teased. Everyone in the group plans to take part in the paintball match and then go to a restaurant together. Probably the only highlight for Nolan, because Tim won’t give him five minutes at the paintball arena. He will shoot him down personally.

The conversation is now all about finding a date when everyone has time. Which is not so easy, with a big group they have. He makes it easy for himself and basically takes Lucy's free dates and simply cross-checks his own calendar before posting the same list. That's that sorted.

Then he writes a quick message to Lucy.

Tim: If I'm on the team with Nolan, I'm out. Don't forget to nap before your shift. Otherwise, I'll have to order T-shirts again.

He looks at his watch and decides there's no point in hanging around at home any longer. He'd rather be at work earlier. Before he leaves the house, he takes another look at his combined dining and living room. He sees the cactus on his dining room table. He is now the proud owner of a plant. Lucy will water it. Or it will die. It's not his problem. He didn't even want it in the first place. He shakes his head and smiles. It's just like Lucy to do something like this. And it's just like him to be unable to say no to her. Comparing him to a cactus ... he has no words.

The day gets super stressful. He receives countless messages requesting him as a supervisor. So many that he can no longer fulfill them all and needs to prioritize. What on earth is going on in this city today?

The most inquiring case was the discovery of drugs during a traffic stop hid den in a bag that contained ready-made chicken. The man who was caught with it was so co-operative – or in other words, scared – that he gave up the dealer right away namely the seller from the roast chicken stall, who was captured quickly after that. Who not only offered his customers chicken, but also drugs. Wrigley was hailed as the hero of the day for conducting a traffic stop. Upon noticing a broken taillight on the car, he immediately became suspicious when he realized that the car did not carry the aroma of roast chicken, which it should have since the bag was on the passenger seat. This led to further investigation and Wrigley's quick thinking eventually uncovered something important. Good job.

Time flies as he rushes from one call to another. He writes a few messages to Lucy during his lunch break, like how the coffee in the break room tastes increasingly strange and that she should bring one from home. But then he is on the road again on his way to another call. At least he's back at the station before Lucy's shift starts. He is sitting at one of the desks reading Wrigley's report. It’s clear to him that Wrigley rarely writes reports like this. Reports about drug possession and intent to sell, so he needs to read the report carefully and can't just skim it through. He needs to make sure, that everything is documented correctly, and the prosecutors can’t refer to any procedural error later.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees someone place something on his desk. It's a coffee mug with the logo of one of his favorite coffee shops. He likes the place because they serve good black coffee. He can't exactly judge the rest because he's never really cared for any other offers there. He only drinks black coffee there. He is a simple man with simple needs, sue him. He looks up and sees Lucy standing next to his desk, already in uniform. Her smile warms his heart. And even more when he thinks about the fact that she took a detour just because of him, as the coffee shop in question is not on the direct route from her apartment complex to the station.

"Hey. How was your day?"

[intosnarkness]

hi I love your writing!! what about 61. “I love you. I’m completely and utterly in love with you. Please don’t get married.” with kanej?

Come off anon and say that to my face so we can kiss because I need more Six of Crows friends to scream about plot ideas with. Also I hope you wanted 2500 words. I may post this on AO3 in the future, who knows.

This had to go this way or I would just be recreating "come to me in red" which is a fucking killer story and you should read it if you like this trope. Forgive typos, written and not proofread. (1 2 or make up your own) (ask)

It's not Kaz's fault. It's not anything wrong with him that made her start to doubt. He had been nothing but willing to try, to fight, to concede steps for her needs.

But it wasn't enough. It wasn't enough for either of them to have him on land and her at sea. It wasn't enough to spend a week together every three months. And when that last week - their fifth week together in over a year - had gone so badly, well.

"What are we doing?" she asked, after the second time she woke up with his arms around her and he woke up with her knife biting into his throat in defense.

"What are we doing?" she asked, after a brush of her fingertips had sent him spiraling, retching in the corner in a blind panic for the third time.

"What are we doing?" she asked, watching Jesper and Wylan hold hands as they walked through the streets, unafraid to be tied to each other. Neither of them frightened or fighting or hurting each other. Healthy. Whole.

He had no answers for her. No reasons that they should keep going beyond that he loves her. And she doesn't know if them loving each other is enough.

"Marry me," Kaz had said, on his knee in his bedroom, the night before she was due to leave again. "We'll get through it. It's hard now because we're just starting. It will get easier, and I don't want it to get easier with anyone else."

Somehow, it hurt that it wasn't a question. It hurt that he thought a couple of bands of gold could fix all the things that were broken in them. It hurt that she knew - she knew - that he could get past his issues. He was too stubborn, too determined not to. What she didn't know was if she could. If she would ever be well. If she would ever be able to accept the limitations that life and tragedy and trauma put on them.

It hurt that she loved him. And it hurt that he loved her, too.

"No," she told him, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. She didn't tell him he deserved better, because he would fight her on that. She didn't tell him that he was insane to think this would change anything, because he probably knew. She didn't tell him that she wasn't going to stay in Ketterdam and he wasn't going to leave, because he wasn't asking her to. All Inej knew was that she had to stop this before it destroyed them both, so instead she closed her eyes and bit her lip and lied.

"I don't want to marry you. I don't want to be yours," she had swallowed the tears that welled up in her throat, forcing herself over the edge. "I don't want you to tie me down."

It broke her heart, but she knew it was the right thing to do. It was the only thing to do. It was all she could do.

"Inej--" it was too hard. It was too painful. It was too much.

She left before he could beg her to reconsider, and went back to her ship. And when they left the next morning, Inej pretended not to see the glint of silver in the shadows, watching them head for the horizon.

---

The letter is in a drop at Bhez Ju, but Inej assumes there are identical ones in Os Kervo and Shriftport and every other place the Wraith makes supply stops. She doesn't get much mail from Ketterdam these days, not since she walked out on Kaz. There had been a time when they were always waiting, neat lines of prose that she could imagine were full of longing. Letters inscribed by that careful hand that had held hers, that had bandaged her wounds.

But those stopped years ago, and now she gets occasional life stories from Jesper, or sweet missives from Nina, or business updates from Wylan, who has taken over Kaz's job of surveilling the merchers for slave activities.

She writes back, but she never asks what she wants to know.

How is he? Is he happy? Is he healing?

She doesn't get to know things like that anymore. It isn't fair for her to ask.

But the letter she picks up, six years after she went to sea and five years after she last saw Kaz, has that same careful handwriting that she's missed so much.

To his credit, it's not an invitation to the event. It's just an announcement. And it breaks her heart all over again. Because Councilwoman and Mrs. Radmakker are pleased to announce the marriage of their daughter Annemieke to the Honorable Kaz Brekker.

Her world doesn't end. It seems like it should, but Inej doesn't feel anything but numb at the words in front of her. Had she thought he wouldn't move on? Had she thought he would wait for her to come back? She never planned to come back, why would he be carrying that torch? That's never been who Kaz was.

But she hasn't moved on. She has waited. She hasn't loved anyone since him, and she isn't sure if she ever can. If she's just to twisted up and ugly inside to ever give herself to another person, after so much of herself was taken from her. She might have planned to let him go, to let him find his happiness in arms that aren't hers. But now, faced with the truth of it, Inej knows she can't. She can't let Kaz marry some mercher's daughter without at least telling him how she feels. She owes him that.

The heart is an arrow, she thinks as she walks back to the ship and tells Spect to recall the crew and set a course to Ketterdam. They have two weeks before the date on the announcement, and she doesn't intend to miss the love of her life walking down the aisle.

------

Summer storms on the true sea delay their return, and Inej finds herself sprinting through the streets of Ketterdam on the day of Kaz's wedding.

Someone at the docks had known about it - a plus to coming in to Fifth Harbor. He's getting married in the Church of Barter. Saints. What the Kaz she knew would say about that.

Still, at least it's not some roadside chapel where the pomp and circumstance would be done by 10 bells. Weddings at the Church are all-day affairs. It's perverse, to Inej's mind. There are all kinds of caveats; the wedding party has to clean the space in the morning to show their industry. The bride and groom have to hold an auction before the ceremony, selling something together to symbolize their intention of being a profitable union. Then they have to make a purchase of either land or goods from a fellow parishioner, which they tithe back to the Church.

In bigger cases - and this will be a bigger case - the auction can last hours, rich merchers elbowing each other out of the way to show their devotion, raising bids a cent at a time. The sale can last just as long, depending on who shows up to sell what. Having your offering chosen by the couple is an honor. It will be in the paper tomorrow, who the Brekkers gave their kruge to.

Only after that will they sign the contract and seal the union.

Capitalism as a religion is weird, and even after all the years she spent living in it, Inej knows she will never understand anything about the Ghezenite church.

But at least there are breaks between the auction and the purchase, and before the contract signing. Time for the couple to reflect and thank Ghezen for their prosperity. There's a chance. She's holding tightly to the chance that she will be able to get there in time to see Kaz.

She arrives, out of breath and sweating, on the steps of the church as the auction is wrapping up. The doors are open, and she sees Kaz next to a beautiful blond woman, as tall as him and just as pale, at the front of the room.

He's wearing gloves. Its the first thing she sees, his hands are covered. They're white, and they go with his tuxedo, but they're gloves. He isn't standing next to his bride bare-handed, like she had always imagined he would with her. They they'd stand knee-deep in the flowers her family would throw at them, his fingers bare against hers, as they pledged their lives to each other.

But she gave that up, years ago. She gave up the right to even imagine it.

Still, she climbs.

The groom's suite is hidden in one of the fingers, which is no challenge for Inej to scale and slide in the open window of.

In fact, part of her wonders if the window was left open for her. If he wants her to come in. But it seems more likely that he wanted air, because every room in the Church is either too big or too small; there's no concern for comfort in the world of profit.

Inej waits. She doesn't bother to sit, or to hide. She just stands in the room and waits for him.

It probably takes an hour before she hears voices - and she knows those voices! - coming down the hall, laughing and chatting happily. It's Kaz, she can hear his low rumbled laugh at whatever Jesper is saying in his smooth lilt. They're coming, and she's standing here and she doesn't know what to say.

When he enters, he does so alone, apparently having sent Jesper on somewhere else. He doesn't look at her. He just takes the silly top hat from his head and lays it on the dressing table next to the door before speaking.

"Hello, Inej," he says. His voice is a practiced neutral

After all these years, it's a dagger through her. He still sees her. He still knows where she is.

"Hello, Kaz," she replies, and neither of them moves. He doesn't look at her.

But it's now or never. It's now or he goes downstairs to make his purchase and sign his contract and live in bliss with his new bride. He goes to forget her forever.

The words bubble out of her mouth unbidden, the arrow that is her heart pulling them out and firing them at him. "I love you," she says. "I'm completely and utterly in love with you. Please don't get married."

Kaz has the audacity to laugh, bracing both of the hands on the table in front of him. Almost doubled over from how funny he finds it all.

"You lost the right to say any of that to me five years ago," he tells her, when he's done laughing at her. Inej feels heat in her face, but she knows he's right. She has no business being here.

"That action will have no echo," she offers, but it's not enough. What could ever be enough to erase what she did? The damage she caused by walking away and staying away. "I was 18, and I was scared. I thought I'd never be better for you. I--" she swallows the lump in her throat. "I was wrong."

Kaz finally turns to look at her, his eyes as cold and dead as they ever were for his enemies. She misses the warm brown of fresh dirt, the way he used to look at her like she was something special. Something worth having.

He probably looks at Annemieke Radmakker like that now. Inej hopes the other woman knows how lucky she is, to be on the receiving end of those eyes.

"You left," he says, his voice rising. "And you never came back. You left and you never answered my letters. You left me, Inej. And now you think you have the right to show up and ruin this?"

His anger has always been frightening to her - she was trained very specifically to respond in certain ways to a man's anger. She has worked very hard to not cower and cry when she's faced with an irate man these days. To not behave like Heleen forced her to.

"I did," she agrees. "And I was wrong. And I don't have the right. But I-- but you sent me the announcement, Kaz. What did you think I would do?"

His eyes betray him for a bare moment, emotion flickering through them that she can still read. He's angry, yes. Very. But he was hoping she'd come.

"Why are you marrying her?" Inej asks, her courage roaring in her ears like the sea in a storm. She even dares to take a step towards him.

Kaz shakes his head. "It's political," he admits with a shrug of his shoulders. "She knows it. She doesn't-- she doesn't care. She's in love with her maid, and I have no problem with the two of them carrying on as long as they wish."

Inej dares to reach forward and take his hand. "Do you want to marry her?"

His anger wins, and Kaz snaps his hand away from her with an injured noise. "None of your business," he hisses. "You left."

"And you called me back," she says. "Kaz. Don't go through with it. Don't marry her."

"What do you suggest?" he snaps. "That I go tell the councilman that I don't want his alliance? That I don't want his help in shutting down indentures in Kerch? That I changed my mind because the woman who broke my fucking heart five years ago just showed up and I'm going to let her hurt me again?"

Inej feels the words like a blow. shutting down indentures in Kerch. He's still trying. He's still working on her mission, after all this time. And he's willing to marry someone he doesn't love and who doesn't love him to get it done.

"There has to be another way," she says, but before she can go further, there's a knock at the door, and Jesper's voice is ringing through it.

"Boss? Time for the purchase."

Inej reaches for his hand again, and this time he lets her take it. "Please," she breathes. "I-- please. I won't run away again. I won't hurt you, not on purpose. I won't. I won't."

She's desperate, her voice thin and reedy. She's begging, and she thinks in any other situation it would be humiliating. Kaz hesitates, looking between the door and where her hand is gripping his.

And then it's like a dam breaks, all the things that Kaz has been holding back erupting out of him because he takes a single step into her space and his hands are cupping her cheeks and he's kissing her with so much hunger, and anger, and passion that Inej thinks if it's the only kiss they ever get to have again, it might be enough.

She starts at the contact, but the shock and the memory it brings passes; she grabs his lapels, pulling his body flush with hers. It feels so right, so good, that she can’t remember for a moment why they ever stopped doing it.

And then he breaks away, his eyes scanning her face and his breath coming in soft little pants as he tries to maintain composure. Jesper knocks again, and Inej starts at the noise.

"Kaz? You okay?"

"Please," Inej whispers again, leaning into the warmth of him.

"Do you mean it?" Kaz whispers back, letting his head fall so their foreheads are pressed together. "Do you love me?"

"Yes," Inej says, and nothing has ever been more true in her entire life. She loves him. She has always loved him. "And if you want I'll go down there myself and complete that terrible ceremony with you right now. Please."

"Okay," Kaz says, stepping back out of her grasp and straightening his jacket. "I-- I'll go and I'll put a stop to it. But we are going to have a talk."

Inej can't help the tears that spring, unbidden, to her eyes, and run down her cheeks. "Really?"

"We'll end indentures another way," he says, and he squeezes her hand once before he turns to the door. "Wait for me?"

She nods. "Always."

[eetherealgoddess]

ꨄCaughtꨄ

Second part as requested!! Link below!! ♡︎♡︎♡︎

Part Two

Oneshot - Yandere Cheater Au

❦You catch your boyfriend, Sanzu cheating with the Haitani brothers❦

Sanzu Haruchiyo & Haitani Brothers x Reader

Not fully proofread

MY TR FANDOM WORKS ARE ONLY ON TUMBLR, AO3, AND WATTPAD UNDER EETHEREALGODDESS! REPORT IF YOU SEE IT POSTED UNDER ANYONE ELSE BUT ME!!!

I apologize if I get any Japanese etiquette or culture wrong, I literally have to research the culture for some of my fandom stories so if anything is wrong, please excuse my ignorance.

Notice:

✩Y/n is 18+. I picture him as a black male but you can see him however.

✩Some parts of the story may not be realistic or factual. After all, this is a work of fiction.

✩Although it's a dark 'romance,' I do not condone any of the behavior displayed.

✩Dark content such as: gore, violence, triggering topics, graphic scenes, vulgar language, explicit sexual content, etc.

✩There may be scenes that involve non con and/ or dubcon so don’t read if that makes you uncomfortable

✩That being said, this story is for 18+ only.

Enjoy!

Caught

You are on your way to your boyfriend’s penthouse to surprise him for your three year anniversary. Although you and Sanzu had already celebrated it yesterday, your gift for him didn’t come in on time, resulting in your plan to stop by and give it to him today. You both had a romantic dinner as well as finishing the night off passionately with him moaning under you as you declared your undying love for each other.

Pulling up you parked your car and walked into the doors of the lobby with the box in hand, heading into the elevator as you eyed your phone’s screen, a picture of you and your beautiful boyfriend. Once you reached your destination, you entered the unlocked door, walking into a dark living space.

Huh, he should be awake.

Your eyebrows furrow at the distant sounds of moans and rustling, recognizing your boyfriend’s voice as sweat begins to drop and your fingers begin to tremble. As you slowly walk towards the sound, you try to convince yourself that Sanzu is probably just masturbating, something you’ve walked in on occasionally, though your pretty boyfriend purposefully set it up when he knew you were coming over. What convinced you otherwise was the sound of two other voices you barely recognized, walking closer to the cracked door as you leaned against the wall to peek through.

“Good boy. Just like that.” The man you recognized as one of your boyfriend’s coworkers, Ran. The man who currently has your boyfriend’s hair tangled in his fingers, thrusting his cock inside of his mouth as he leans against the headboard. You hold back a gasp as you watch Sanzu on all fours taking his other coworker’s cock behind him, Rin thrusting so hard his hips smack against the pink haired man’s ass.

Tears threaten to pour as you watch the sight, hearing your boyfriend moaning on another man’s dick as he takes it up the ass raw, the same ass that your own cock had been in. The sight would’ve been beautiful if you hadn’t been cheated on, lied to, or betrayed. Though you’re not into sharing anyway so it would’ve never worked.

“God, you’re sucking me in so tight.” Rin hissed. “You love it when I fuck you like this, huh?” Sanzu responds with a long muffled moan, saliva and cum dripping out of his mouth as he looks up at Ran with doe eyes.

“Such a good slut for us. Dirty boy, what would Y/n think if he saw you like this?” Ran teases with a smirk as he continues his thrusting, making intense eye contact with Sanzu who responds with another loud moan before Rin smacks his ass. You could only stare with your mouth covered at the mention of your name.

“He likes it. So fucking dirty.” Rin chuckles as he accelerates his thrusts. “Tell us how much of a dirty whore you are.” He halts before bending over to grab Sanzu’s hard cock as he gives it a squeeze. Ran pulls Sanzu’s head off of his cock.

“I’m such a fucking slut! I’m a dirty whore! Keep fucking me, please! I’m so close!”

“Good boy!” Ran praises before he shoves his cock back in his mouth.

You couldn’t watch anymore, too devastated as you rushed away from the door. Before you left, you angrily punched one of the walls, resulting in a hole as well as throwing the box before you walked into the elevator.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” You slam your fist against the driver’s wheel as you make your way to your small apartment.

I knew from the beginning we wouldn’t work out. He has the looks, the money and all the men he’s surrounded by who are on his level or higher. Of course he’d be attracted to them. It all makes sense, even though it hurts.

You just thought after three years those thoughts were just insecurities. You felt nervous when you had met the Haitani Brothers who had appeared at one of your dinners and who had visited his penthouse one day when you showed up unannounced. When you had picked him up from his job that you still know nothing about, you had seen the way they all looked at each other. The memory makes you sick. If he had been longing for them then why stay with you for three years.

When you walk into your apartment, you lock the door and immediately go to your cabinets to pull out a bottle of whiskey, drinking it straight, something you normally don’t do. You went to your bedroom and covered yourself in blankets as you drank from the bottle, leaving a text to Sanzu saying, “We’re done. Have fun with your coworkers.”

You blocked his number as well as his social media, doing the same for all your mutuals considering they’re all people he knew first. You couldn’t believe how raunchy the scene was. You hadn’t even known he was into being degraded like that. Maybe you didn’t satisfy him in the way he needed, though how were you supposed to know that when he hadn’t told you. You shake your head as the bitter taste burns your throat.

How did you miss the signs? At one point he even asked what you thought about polyamory. Of course, you told him you were monogamous but that should’ve been a sign right there. Especially since it was only after the fact that he began hanging with those specific coworkers more. Even when you found clothes at his place that didn’t fit you and you honestly didn’t think it’d fit him. How long has it been going on?

Well he’s free now. He can do whatever he wants. None of it is your concern anymore. And to hell with sitting in the bed, rotting over someone who clearly didn’t love you in the way you thought. You pick yourself up, dressing in your best casual fit, as well as washing your face. You took one last shot of your whiskey before you left it on the nightstand, walking out of the apartment and heading to the nearest bar.

Luckily, it’s the weekend so the bars and clubs will be busy, music will be broad and lots of men should be out. Your plan isn’t to hook up considering how sick you feel even thinking about sex after what you saw, but to just get out of the apartment. You have plenty of time to sulk tomorrow during your hangover.

You stayed at the bar for hours, dancing drunkenly as you conversed with strangers, as well as dancing with different groups of people. A guy you met offered to help you home considering how drunk you were. When you made it back to your apartment, you both lied in your bed, offering him to stay the night against your better judgment. Fortunately the only thing you guys did was have a heated make out session before the memories of your ex boyfriend came back to bite you in the ass. Causing you to ball your eyes out as this random stranger comforted you, both of you falling asleep as you were happy to have made a new friend.

You woke up to a loud bang, your front door bursting open before a group of footsteps entered your bedroom. The guy next to you sits up as he rubs his eyes before he screams, your eyes widening when you hear a gun cocking, causing you to sit up as well to face the three intruders.

The guy hopped off the bed just in time before the bullet made contact with his chest, penetrating your headboard. Another gunshot rang as the shirtless stranger fell, rolling before hopping back up and attempting to make it to your bathroom before a bullet made contact with his stomach, his body falling with a thud.

“WHAT THE FUCK!” You yell at the intruders before hopping up and running to the bleeding man, kneeling as you use your blanket to try and help before you are yanked by the arm.

“This is your fault.” Sanzu hissed, gun still in his hand. You look at him with anger as the stranger groans in pain.

“How the fuck is this my fault? You cheated on m-! You know what, I don’t have time for this right now, I need to get him to the hospital!”

“You’re not doing shit but going to the car.” Rin says. Your eyebrows furrow.

“Who the fuck are you to tell me what to do, huh?” You growl, stepping in front of him threatenly as you shove him. He smirks before turning away, holding back considering he knows his strength. A hand grabs your shoulder as you’re turned back to your ex.

“What’s gotten into you? Let’s go to the car now.” He growls. You snatch his hands from you.

“Fuck you and fuck them too. Get the fuck out of my apartment!”

“Such a little brat.” Ran tsked before he grabs you and throws you over his shoulder. “Christ.”

“Put me down you asshole!” Your fists connect with his back as you’re forced outside, heading towards the car. When the door opens, he tosses you in.

“If you run out of this car, I will knock you out. Do you want that?” You glare in response, arms crossed.

A hand meets your face as you're forced to look at the side with wide eyes before the same hand pulls your chin to face Ran.

“Did you just slap me?”

The grip on your chin tightens, causing you to wince.

“Do you want that?” You shake your head no before he stands out of the car and closes your door, opening the passenger seat and hopping in.

“Are they taking him to the hospital?”

“They’re getting rid of the evidence.”

Your eyes widen as tears threaten to fall.

“I hate all of you.” Ran chuckles as he lights a cigarette.

Rin opens the driver’s door as Sanzu gets into the back seat, talking amongst themselves about someone named Koko contacting the cleaners. You shift your gaze to the window as you avoid eye contact with anyone. Sickness forms as well as a throbbing headache which indicates a hangover, circling your arms around your legs as you rest your head on your knees, still eyeing the window as you try not to throw up.

The ride was quiet besides the Haitani brothers conversing, Sanzu eyeing his phone as you continued to look out the window. When you made it to the penthouse, you all walked into the lobby and stood in the elevator before you made it to his living room, you attempt to hide in one of the bathrooms, but Sanzu snatched your wrist before you could make it, pulling you to the bedroom before closing the door, the Haitanis staying in the other room.

“What do you want to say?” He questions, crossing his own arms as he eyes you with a frown.

“What do you think? First you cheat on me, then you kill a guy who didn’t do anything wrong! Since when did you even have a gun? What else have you been hiding from me? Actually, nevermind. I’m going home!” You attempt to pass him only to get yanked back and shoved onto the bed. Sanzu climbs on top of you before pinning your wrists next to your head.

“You’re not leaving. I’m sorry for hurting you, but you have to get over it if this is gonna work out.” Your eyes widen as you release a laugh.

“What a bullshit apology! I guess this can’t work out because I can’t get over it so let me go!”

“Y/n, I-I need you. I need you to work this out.”

“You seemed pretty full of cock to me, I don’t see why you need me.” He glares at you before his grip tightens, causing you to yelp painfully.

“We’re going to work this out. There’s no other option.”

“So you think I’m gonna stay in a relationship with you while you’re fucking two other men? In the same bed we would share? Are you out of your mind?” You ask in disbelief. “You don’t even seem like you feel bad!”

“I don’t care what happens, you’re still mine.”

“I used to be yours before I found out you weren’t mine!” His glare softens.

“I am yours. We can be theirs together. Please!” Your eyes widen as your eyebrows furrow.

“Are you begging me to involve myself with whatever you three have going on? I-I can’t even look at you the same!” Sanzu’s eyes widen as his face morphs into a slight panic.

“Don’t say that! I’m still the same!” The tears fall out of your eyes before you can stop them.

“Not only were you getting fucked in both holes while getting off to the mention of me catching you, but you killed someone right in front of me only to call some Koko guy to clean the evidence! Who the fuck are you? I don’t even know who I was with for three fucking years!” You angrily cry out, struggling against his hold.

“Let me go!”

“No.” He whispers before lying his head on your chest, nuzzling between your neck and shoulder.

“Get off of me, Sanzu! We’re done for good!”

You flinch in pain as you feel his teeth dig into your skin, liquid oozing out. He picks himself up, staring at you with a crazed look you’ve never seen before.

“We’ll never be through! You promised!” He says before he pulls his arm back and lands a direct punch to your face. Your head faces the side as your eyes are wide open, face throbbing from the impact. You grab his wrists as both of his palms force your face to look at him.

He leans over and places his lips on yours, you not responding as you try to push him away. You know that even if you bite his lip hard, he’ll like it so you decide to move your head to the side.

“Ah lover’s quarrel.” Rin teases as he leans against the doorway with his hands in his pockets. Ran stood by the side of the bed, leaning on the post as he eyes both you and Sanzu.

“We have a mission, let the boy rest Sanzu.” Ran says with his usual smile.

Sanzu gazes at you one last time before he picks himself up and follows the Haitani’s to the doorway.

“I wouldn’t try to leave if I were you, guards are surrounding the outside area.” You're told by one of the brothers before they shut the door.

When you finish sulking, you shower as well as clean the wounds on your face and neck. You don’t bother to eat and you go to the guest’s bedroom once you're finished, the memories from when you caught them in Sanzu’s room making it less of a comfortable familiarity. Before you wrapped yourself in the blankets you drank a cup of water as well as checked the notifications on your phone, attempting to distract yourself from the death you saw today. Time passes and you drift off to a deep sleep.

You wake up to your body rocking, a new pain you’ve never felt lingering behind as the pleasure of pressure deep inside your ass causes you to cry out. The darkness of the room didn’t help your blurred vision, only the moonlight shining on the two bodies in front of you helped decipher what was going on.

The stimulation of your cock forced you to look at the pink head of hair that covered your erection, warmth engulfing your girth as your legs are held up by the hands coming from behind you. Following the bent over body in front of you, a tall figure with familiar glowing purple eyes thrusts into the ass as his hands grip the hips. Your eyes widen when realization hits, just as Rin gives a harsh thrust against your prostate.

Tears spill out as your hips move uncontrollably, overwhelmed by the stimulation coming from both ends.

“S-stop!” You yell, grabbing Sanzu’s hair before pulling him off your cock, a string of saliva and cum hanging from his mouth as you eyed his gorgeous, red face. His eyes glazed over as he moans from the grip on his head, body rocking as Ran fucks into him.

“What is th-!” He cuts you off by desperately attaching his lips to yours.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” He whispers against your lips with one hand balancing himself as he rubs your cock. You twitch in his hand as you feel Rin’s breath on your ear.

“See how sorry he is?” He questions as he grunts, shoving his cock into you as he pulls back out before thrusting back in.

“He’s being such a good boy, Y/n. How could you not forgive that pretty face?” Ran says, pulling his hips back and pushing against Sanzu, causing a moan to release from him as his head falls onto your shoulder, both of your bodies rocking as you breathe heavily.

“Th-this isn’t… hah! Isn’t okay!” You groan as your head falls back, feet dangling in the air. Sanzu’s grip accelerates as he whimpers in your ear, kissing and sucking on your neck as he continues to apologize.

“He’s still not convinced.” Rin says, motioning his head for Sanzu to kiss him. You hear the lip smacking of both men next to your ear, the pain in your chest deepening as well as your conflicted feelings of being aroused by the display.

“Show him how sorry you are.” Ran says before yanking Sanzu’s hair back. In response, he bends over obediently as he gives you his doe eyes before licking your cock, closing his lips around the head and pushing his head down, your dick hitting the back of his throat.

“Fuck!” You hissed, frustrated with the overwhelming pleasure you’re feeling from these men. One of Ran’s hands forces you to face Sanzu.

Between kisses on your cock’s head, Sanzu repeats “I love you,” before it sinks back in his throat, bobbing his head relentlessly as you couldn’t help but thrust against him. His hands grip your hips as he embraces you fucking his mouth.

“He’s so eager to please. He’s being so good to you right now, Y/n.” Ran cooed as you reach closer to your orgasm, Rin’s cock beating your prostate as you grind your hips. Sanzu grabs your hand and places it on his head as you subconsciously tighten your fingers in his hair, breathing heavily as you grind into his mouth all the while Rin’s cock rubs deeper into your walls.

“You like this, huh? Watching him get fucked while he takes your dick in his throat. You just wanted to be included, yeah?” You can hear Rin’s smirk as Ran chuckles, sweat covering his body as his face becomes darker.

“You’re a dirty boy, too. That's why you watched us for so long. Maybe you’re a slut too, yeah?” Ran grins.

You bit your lip as you shut your eyes tightly, not wanting to admit that the sight was arousing and the words they’re saying are going straight to your erection.

“It’s okay if it feels good. Embrace it, my love.” Sanzu says softly against your cock before he uses his hand to jerk you off once more, placing his mouth around the girth, bobbing at a continuous fast pace. Your body tenses as warmth covers your body.

Your body convulses as ropes of cum shoot down his throat as he caresses your thigh, thrusting your hips as you moan uncontrollably, eyes in the back of your head as you lean against Rin’s shoulder. The night continues on until they all release, you and Sanzu falling in between the brothers as you all fall asleep on Sanzu’s bed.

The next day, you woke up with a sore backside, attempting to sit up but prevented by the arm locked around you. Sanzu’s head rested on your chest as his leg and arm wrapped over you, breathing steadily as you felt the warmth from his naked body. Your arm naturally tightens around him as you always do, the sun shining through the thin curtains as you view his messy hair and pretty features. Once you remembered the night before, you felt conflicted. Yes you are very much attracted to the Haitanis as well as your ex of course, but there’s no way this could work. Not only did Sanzu cheat with them, along with nobody telling you, but no matter the pleasure you felt last night, it was forced upon you, not to mention the physical abuse.

Your grip loosens as you attempt to push him off, only for his limbs to tighten around you.

“Don’t leave me, please.” He whispers. “I need you, Y/n. Please stay with me. With us!” He looks up at you with tears falling out of his eyes.

You sigh, “Sanzu, I don’t know. It isn’t right or fair to me.” You want to forgive him. You want to stay with him. Maybe if he would’ve brought this up differently or if the Haitani’s had already been involved besides everyone sneaking behind your back then you could’ve worked something out. You can’t even trust Sanzu, how could you trust the other two?

“Please! Let’s just try it!”

“And if it doesn’t work, who are you going to choose?”

“It’s going to work!”

“So mean of you to make him choose like that, Y/n.”

You roll your eyes when the brother’s walk in shirtless. “And it wasn’t mean for you guys to fuck my boyfriend behind my back while smiling in my face. Not to mention what you did last night.” You glare at them.

They only smile in return.

“Regardless, you know where you belong so I don’t know why you’re acting like you have a choice at this point.” Rin shrugs before hopping on the bed next to you.

“We’re really just being nice at this point but what our good boy wants, our good boy gets.” A hand grabs your chin, forcing you to turn to Ran.

“And what we want, we always get.”

[spaceorphan18]

fic writer 20 questions - ask game

Thank you @bitbybitwrites for letting me self indulge more.

i still have issues with tagging, but -- @wowbright or @redheadgleek or @coffeegleek wanna try - go for it!

1. how many works do you have on ao3?

Right now - 59. But there are some I think I'm going to take down, mostly the MCU related WIPs I started and have no intention of finishing.

2. whats your ao3 word count?

899,883

3. what fandoms do you write for?

Right now - only Glee. But I started with The Office, and have written MCU related things, too.

4. top 5 fics by kudos

1. 99 Perspectives on a Single Love Story 417 2. The Accident 336 3. Chasing Pavements 312 4. Faking It 303 5. How I Met My Soul Mate - A Drunken Kurt Story 275

5. do you respond to comments? why or why not?

I do! But I get so behind. I'm finally caught up again, but I'll go months without responding (and I always feel bad). I feel like - if you've taken the time to write, I should take the time and thank you for acknowledging my work.

6. what is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

I don't really have any that have angsty endings - I'm not big on that. I do have bittersweet and sad endings, though -- such as Things We Say in the Shadows, Scenes from December, and The End of the Story

7. whats the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Ooh, I don't know - maybe Chasing Pavements?

8. do you get hate on fics?

Not really. I think I had one comment once that said they thought I needed more editing. (which, fair) and one that didn't like how I did vampires in Things We Say in the Shadows -- but since I know nothing about Vampire lore - I wasn't too worried about it.

9. do you write smut? if so, what kind?

Clearly, I do. But here's the thing about smut. I feel like - when you start writing, it can be like this scary thing, and then the more you do it, the more almost... routine it starts becoming? It's been an interesting journey...

10. do you write crossovers? whats the craziest one youve ever written?

Not really? Only when it's kind of done in a cracky way. I wrote Scam School as a joke, which is a Glee/MCU crossover. And Blurring Lines is a RPF crack fic about Kurt and Blaine's reaction to Darren and Mia getting engaged.

11. have you ever had a fic stolen?

God, I hope not. Please let me know if someone has!

12. have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes! I had someone ask if they could translate my works into German! So they are!

13. have you ever cowritten a fic before?

I have! @ckerouac and I wrote a silly MCU fic about fake dating and @darriness and I wrote a cute one-shot together.

14. fave all time ship?

Hmmm, I don't know! I'm still having fun writing Klaine. I will always have a special place in my heart for Jim and Pam - and sometimes think about writing more of them. And there are lots out there that I enjoy - but I wouldn't necessarily write fic about.

15. wip you want to finish but doubt you will?

Idk about doubt completely, but I'd love to finish writing The CrossRhodes Saga -- it's a 40s noir mystery, and it's so fun.

16. what are your writing strengths?

Probably conversation -- also, the ability to weave in canon elements. Plus, I think I'm funny - I don't know if other people think I am though.

17. what are your writing weaknesses?

Details and descriptions. Also transitions. And probably mechanical things like where to use a comma. Plus, my inability to just proofread and clean it up before posting.

18. thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in a fic?

Make sure you know what you're doing? Or have someone proofread it? Idk - I've never done it.

19. first fandom you wrote for?

I mean, if you want to get technical, it'd be The Mighty Ducks when I was ten... but the first thing anyone read was for The Office.

20. fave fic youve written?

It's really a toss up between With Every Broken Bone -- which, was really a fic written for me and how to reconcile between seasons 5 and 6. I still will go back and reread that one. The month of June still manages to be one of my favorite things I've ever written. And 99 Perspectives on a Single Love Story which may have been a long, tedious journey to write, but it ended up being just exactly what I wanted it to be. I also have hopes for my current project: Head Over Feet but we'll have to see how that works out when I finish it.

[sasukimimochi]

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 (you are here). Part 4 Part 5 ...

Overall Warnings: grotesque written imagery, body horror, blood, possession(?) sort of (more like integrating), voices, loss of self (since this isn't really MCD), Darker WWX (he's not classic wwx), violence

I was very easily convinced to post part three early. (looking at you @mdzs-owns-my-ass-i-guess) No warnings for this part! It's a little rough, but that's what every part will be like. The Ao3 version will be fully proofread.

-

Part 3

· ✦ Excuses ✦ ·

Despite their qualms, Jiang Cheng and Lan Wangji both kept a tight lid on Wei Wuxian’s apparent handicap through the war and beyond. When it came to qualms over the carrying of his sword, Jiang Cheng was quick to defend and he figured this was one of the best ways to do it. Of course there were questions, but they were deflected with the best lie they could think of: the sword, Suibian, had been critically damaged before being recovered.

They both knew the sword was intact and well in Lan Wangji's custody though, and was glad the man remained silent despite their frequent arguments about his cultivation.

Wei Wuxian never made an attempt to rise up to the invasive questions, actually. Jiang Cheng took over every time he opened his mouth, and it seemed the man had no qualms about allowing the leader to take over every conversation that questioned him. The excuse of another sword being made was simply answered by “Suibian was important to my head disciple and we are working on plans to recover it after the war.”

After the war though, time ticked down quickly and the excuses were running dry. Asking about it however was like poking a hornet's nest, which was Jiang Cheng. His glares had gotten critical from the repeated irritation he showed every time the question was asked, which actually did a pretty good job warding off most cultivators who would ask.

Then, it was time for the Phoenix mountain hunt.

“Wei Wuxian…I don’t think you should go.” Jiang Cheng was shining his sword, but lifted his head to look at his shixiong as he did so.

Wei Wuxian stopped twirling his flute, tilting his head in Jiang Cheng’s general direction so they could see each other. “Okay. Why though?”

“Multiple reasons. I’m tired of making excuses for you, for one.” Jiang Cheng sighed and squinted at the other, his hand stilling on his sword. “And the eyes are going to make people ask questions too. Can’t you make them go back to their old color?”

“Not really, they're kind of stuck like this.” Wei Wuxian smiled, still as eerie as he was during the war. "Probably the ocean of resentment i'm carrying."

“And that! Why do you look like a demon now?? You’re gonna get me in trouble with that eerie grin of yours!” Jiang Cheng huffed, finishing up his sword and sheathing it again. “It was great for intimidating during the war, but you doing that nearly had sect leader Yao asking if we had bad intentions!”

“I won't deny it was absolutely great seeing him shrink back like he did. My face just looks like this though.” Wei Wuxian frowned, “I’m not sure how to change it.”

“Well then…stop smiling in public I guess.” Jiang Cheng shrugged, throwing his hands up. “We can’t have the sects thinking you’re out to get them.”

“Those sects are filled with rotten eggs.” Wei Wuxian rolled his eyes, baffling Jiang Cheng in the process. It still surprised him every time, considering how different he acted now. “But I will do my best to appease my shidi.”

Jiang Cheng groaned loudly and held his forehead. “Alright, I'm sick of you for today. Get out of here.” He waved his hand and pulled over a stack of letters he needed to get to. “I’ve had enough ‘help’ from you today.”

Wei Wuxian hopped up from his seat and hummed. “Alright, if you say so.” He stood there in silence a bit longer, but Jiang Cheng was used to this strange behavior that Wei Wuxian had adopted. If Jiang Cheng called him out on it, it would only be met with an irritated glare, and despite his desire to kick him into his place for it, it was a harmless behavior despite its strangeness.

As if finally deciding something, Wei Wuxian saluted his sect leader and then strolled out of the office, off on his little adventure.