#I took some liberties and don’t remember the source | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

uozlulu · 5 months ago

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Fic. IwtV (AMC) Sxiteen Nights. Sam/Rashid.

Character(s)/Relationship(s) Armand, Damek, Daniel, Louis, Raglan, Rashid, Sam; Sam/Rashid (main), Louis/Lestat (background), Louis/Armand (background) Genre Drama/Fantasy/Horror/Romance/Slash/Vampire Rating PG-15 (not really PG-13, but not really R either?) Word Count 7,649 Disclaimer As this is fanfiction, I do not hold copyright to the source material(s) nor do I claim that I do. This is for free entertainment purposes only. Summary Rashid receives a concert ticket from Louis and a vacation from his work at the penthouse. Rashid meets Sam the vampire at the concert. They take up with each other. When Rashid returns to the penthouse, he has to decide where his future will lie by the end of the interview. Warning(s) spoilers for seasons 1 and 2 of the AMC show, mention of animals for vampire meals, food consumption, hallucinations, disassociation, fade to black sexual content, vampire bite blood consumption, distortion of perceived reality, brief mention of a canonical suicide, brief mention of canonical attempted murder, language, hypnotism Notes If you’re wondering, “Why this?” I saw a post on Tumblr that said, “work place comedy cut to Talamasca HQ where the vampire Sam and Real Rashid are bonding over stories of their shared Armand-related hostile work environments,” and then proceeded to remember it extremely incorrectly and had to do something with the plot bunnies that ensued.

I originally wanted to experiment with some things for this fic but ultimately decided against it. That's what inspired the characterization of Rashid in this fic.

I know that Dubai still had masking requirements in July of 2022, but since the show ignores this, I decided to ignore it for the fic. I also took some liberties with how the Mind Gift might work. This is because I can't always remember such details. So if there's something I forgot, please think of it as being a little AU moment.

Read on AO3 or below

Sixteen Nights

Night 1

The penthouse where Rashid worked belonged to the vampire Louis de Pointe du Lac and his husband the vampire Armand. The décor was a mix of modern and comfortable with contemporary black art and lost paintings of the Italian renaissance on display. Rashid worked as Louis’ personal assistant. He handled Louis’ affairs, received harvests from the blood farm, and followed all requests and orders made by both Louis and Armand. He normally stayed in Dubai, though on one occasion recently, he accompanied Armand to the United States to deliver a package.

Tonight Rashid prepared the final meal for the Arabian red fox harvested from the blood farm. The meal was a mix of the rabbit from the previous blood farm harvest, rice, and vegetables. Louis told Rashid long ago that it was important to indulge the harvest. The fox abruptly retreated to the back of the cage and stared almost unblinking at the entrance to the kitchen. The fox made no noise and did not move.

Rashid followed the fox’s gaze as Louis entered the room. Louis’ green eyes seemed to glow as he surveyed them both. His smile was neither warm nor cold. “Rashid,” Louis said in a firm voice, “I have something for you.” He handed a reservation card to Rashid. On one side was a stylized nightclub logo and on the other side was concert information for an artist Louis enjoyed listening to and a reserved table number.

Rashid put the ticket into one of his uniform’s pockets. “Thank you, Mr. du Lac.”

“For the next two weeks I will be entertaining a friend for an interview,” Louis said. “I would like you to take a vacation from your duties at the penthouse while he’s here, but don’t leave Dubai just in case I need you to return. Armand will perform your duties in your absence.”

“Yes, Mr. du Lac,” Rashid said. The thought of the kitchen covered in blood with every appliance spread across the countertops in disarray appeared before Rashid’s eyes. It was so corporeal that Rashid began to calculate what he might need to do to clean the ceiling.

The scene disappeared when Louis spoke again. “Enjoy the concert and your vacation, Rashid.” Louis looked off towards the left of the fox’s cage and smiled warmly as if hearing or seeing something that Rashid could not. Louis’ gaze returned to Rashid. “Your vacation begins tomorrow.”

“Yes, Mr. du Lac,” Rashid said.

When Louis left, Rashid slid a portion of the cage door aside and swiftly deposited the fox’s final meal inside it. The fox slowly approached the food and sniffed it before eating carefully, the entrance to the kitchen always in its gaze.

Night 2

Rashid was not sure how long he worked for Louis, but the state of the bedroom closet in his apartment suggested it might have been well over a decade. The only clothes unrelated to his work looked like things only a teenager could appreciate. Rashid chose one of his clean uniforms and opened the collar to make it seem less formal.

Rashid arrived at a hotel near Safar Park and took the elevator for nightclub patrons. Veins of moving light led Rashid from the elevator to the terrace. Familiar music with a steady beat sounded behind the club door. The bouncer let him in without question. Rashid found his table and scanned the card into a device discreetly built into it.

An artist from Louis’ music collection rapped on the stage in the center of the room. The first circle of seats around the stage were empty and people spread out about the remaining tables. Rashid leaned back in his seat. His mind drifted with the music like a cork on the Gulf until movement caught his attention. A man casually spoke to single people at other tables. He was shorter than Rashid and his eyes almost seemed to glow in the dim light. He would lean in close, and then the person he visited would slump in their seat as if drunk or asleep. Rashid knew what he was. Rashid could not stop watching the vampire sampling the crowd like a tapas buffet.

The vampire settled beside Rashid. He allowed his eyes to glow fully in the light, a dazzling shade of deep red like blood sitting in the sunlight. The vampire blinked and his eyes returned to a more human color. ‘I’ve never met anyone who found vampires so normal,’ a voice projected into Rashid’s mind.

‘Vampires are only people with fangs,’ Rashid thought.

A chuckle seemed to rumble through Rashid’s mind briefly. ‘I’m Sam,’ the vampire projected.

‘I am Rashid,’ Rashid thought.

‘Are you a trick or a gift?’ Sam asked.

‘A shadow,’ Rashid thought.

The song changed to something smoother, cooler. Sam ordered a drink. It was red and smelled of fruit and syrup. Sam pushed it towards Rashid and projected, ‘I always choose drinks based on color since I can’t drink them. I hope it’s good.’

Rashid smelled it for alcohol but there was none. He took a tentative sip and thought, ‘It tastes like a children’s party.’

Sam laughed aloud this time.

The next song had a beat that matched the rhythm of human hips thrusting.

‘I’ve never met a mortal who could mask their thoughts so well,’ Sam projected. ‘You’re very quiet.’

Rashid thought about Armand using the kitchen as a means to experiment with the blood harvests, Louis conversing and interacting with the air as if it were a vampire, and the fights between Louis and Armand that sometimes tripped the sprinkler system. Each thought was brief and contained. ‘I live it. I dream it. I try not to think it,’ Rashid thought.

‘I used to work under Armand and live with him. I understand what you mean,’ Sam projected. Armand the coven leader, the director, and the executioner played through their minds.

‘Did you learn how to keep him out of your dreams?’ Rashid asked.

‘He has no sense of boundaries,’ Sam projected. ‘He will always find a way if he wants something from you.’

Rashid sipped the drink again. He did not drink alcohol. This drink was definitively in the category of a drink someone who drank alcohol thought someone who did not would want to drink without consulting anyone before putting it on the menu.

‘Can I taste it?’ Sam asked, parting his lips.

Rashid held his gaze a moment and then leaned in closer. They kissed. Rashid’s eyes closed. They kissed again. Rashid ran his fingers through Sam’s hair. Sam nipped teasingly at Rashid’s lip without engaging his fangs. They parted. “We could…” Rashid spoke aloud, his voice trailing.

“We could,” Sam agreed. He offered a hand to Rashid. “I have a hotel room. Stay with me.”

The hotel was so modest that its suites had bedrooms with no windows. The living room in Sam’s suite looked out at Dubai as the city prepared for the darkest hours. Only the lights from the city lit the room.

Sam approached Rashid and reached up, his long nails carefully sliding along Rashid’s ear and down his neck. Sam’s fingers traced the bite mark at the base of Rashid’s neck. “I met someone with a scar like this,” Sam said. “It was a bookmark and a warning.”

Rashid licked his lips. A memory or perhaps a memory of a dream of Louis biting Rashid after offering him employment flitted through Rashid’s thoughts. “He needed a mortal,” Rashid said.

Sam continued to trace the bite mark in thought as he asked, “Why do you want to become a vampire?”

“I do not,” Rashid whispered. “I do not want to drink anything’s blood.”

Sam’s eyes shifted, glowing faintly in the dim light as he gently tugged Rashid down and whispered near his ear, “Let me pull your shadow further into the darkness. Let me show you what I can do without a single fang.” Sam kissed him once and then guided Rashid towards the bedroom.

A light lit on its own. They pulled clothing off each other and discarded it on the floor. The bedsprings sang with their desire.

Night 3

Rashid’s stomach rumbled mournfully. His eyes fluttered open. He was in total darkness. A body laid beside him in bed without breathing or moving. A digital clock on the nightstand read a later time than when Rashid usually woke for work. The holiday was not a dream. Rashid carefully and rapidly rolled out of bed. Sam’s arm instinctively shot out in case of attack and the tips of his nails almost grazed Rashid’s skin.

Rashid stood still in the dark room for a long moment. When the bed grew silent, he found his clothes by texture on the floor. He carefully left the bedroom, not allowing any sunlight to enter. He cleaned what clothing he could and dried them with the hair dryer. He cleaned himself and dressed. There was a note sitting beside the television telling Rashid that there was food in the fridge and clothes in the dresser below the television. The clothes in the middle drawer fit Rashid. The fridge had only ready to eat meals, all of it vegetarian. The packaging was all red like blood. Rashid ate while the sun set.

Not long after twilight ended, the bedsprings sounded and after a while, Sam emerged from the bedroom. “Good evening,” he said in French. He gazed at Rashid and spoke in English, “The clothes suit you.”

“Thank you,” Rashid said. Rashid kissed Sam when Sam approached him. Sam returned the kiss. They headed out into the night.

Like many nights in Dubai, tonight was the temperature of a fever and there was no breeze. Sam led Rashid from transport to the streets. There were more people than in the last two years but the crowds were nowhere near their typical sizes. Sam found ways to pass the night, finally leading them to Kite Beach. It was still hot and humid, but the breeze from the Gulf was welcome. Large spotlights lit up part of the shoreline. People gathered in spread out clusters.

Rashid and Sam walked along the surf. The water was cool but not cold. The city spread out to one side covered in light and darkness spread out from the Gulf allowing for a few stars to survive the safety and city lights.

Sam started to mark the rhythm of something, the beat steady. On occasion, the beat paused only to immediately resume. He murmured words in French to the beat. Something about walking, night, and water. “Le cœur, le cœur… » Sam’s voice trailed and then he asked in English, “Have you ever heard the story of Lestat de Lioncourt?”

“No,” Rashid said, “but I have heard the name Lestat.”

Sam stopped walking. They were in the darkness outside of the safety lights’ reach. He moved closer and kept his voice between them. “This is a story from the Yanks in New Orleans. Lestat de Lioncourt and his husband lived in the Rue Royale. They had money and power, and a daughter no one could account for in the records of the living since all of them were vampires.” Sam paused. “They were known for lavish parties, but also running their incinerator at night and bouts of domestic violence that disrupted those around them. Their neighbors learned to ignore the noises at night.

“One night, their daughter decided she had enough of the theatrics and threats. Instead of running away again, she conspired with Lestat’s husband to kill Lestat. The three of them planned a ball for Mardi Gras. Lestat dressed as Marie Antoinette. He was the center of attention. He gorged on the guests’ blood. It was everything he enjoyed,” Sam paused again, “and the perfect send off before his family poisoned him with dead blood and slit his throat, leaving him in a rubbish pile to burn in vampire hell.”

Rashid watched Sam’s eyes glow in the tiny strip of darkness on the beach and then whispered, “Marriage is poison.”

“There is a lot of poison in the world,” Sam said. “The murder attempt didn’t kill him though. His husband could not commit to it.”

“So he lived?” Rashid asked.

“In his own way,” Sam said. “Last I heard he was playing in a band with some Yanks.” Sam began to sing one of Lestat’s songs. It had a dark, romantic feel that did not sound like Sam’s music when he pretended to be a robot onstage. They resumed walking along the shoreline.

Night 4

Rashid woke late again just as naked as the previous evenings. The food in the fridge made him miss the flatbread, zatar, and ful midammis he normally ate for breakfast, but it was not terrible. The clouds of the sunset drifted like fire on water until the sun disappeared and twilight slowly faded. A building in the distance lit up the same color as Louis’ eyes.

Louis’ eyes pierced the darkness of Dubai when Rashid met him. The night might have been hot and humid like it was now. Rashid only just arrived in Dubai with no purpose, just vague direction. He gazed on Louis without judgment, without fear. Or, that was a dream and they met through other means. Rashid could not be certain Louis ever left the penthouse. At least not since Rashid began working for him.

Rashid blinked and returned to the present. The only light in the hotel room was from the city. Sam appeared beside him and followed Rashid’s gaze. The streets hummed despite the reduced traffic. Sam’s eyes began to glow. “You’re blood is loud tonight.”

Rashid did not know if that was good or bad.

Sam’s long nails ran through Rashid’s hair. He kissed Rashid. “It’s because I forgot you eat at night. I’ll make sure there is food tonight.” He took Rashid’s hand and they left the hotel room.

Voices, shouts, cries, and laughter became an indiscernible noise in the streets where little restaurants hoped to survive the drop in tourism. Smells mingled and every once and a while, Rashid’s mind drifted and soon he observed himself and Sam as if operating a camera moving alongside them. It helped Rashid avoid people rushing about unaware of where they were going.

A man passed by them and stared pointedly at Sam. Sam made a slow U-turn in response. Rashid blinked and his perspective returned to his eyes. He followed Sam and kept one eye on the man. The man was not a vampire. He smelled faintly of sweat and had a healing sunburn on his arms.

The man bought parathas at a nearby food truck and approached Rashid and Sam with them. The man handed Sam a labneh paratha, Rashid a halloumi paratha, and kept a shakshouka paratha for himself. “I’m Raglan James,” he said to Rashid. “I’m one of Sam’s associates. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Loosely an associate,” Sam said and handed Rashid his paratha. “The food is safe, but don’t let him take your body.”

“He is not my type,” Rashid said.

Raglan snorted and looked at Sam. “I have more than one way to do my job you know. Why are you in Dubai?”

“I’m making a new album,” Sam said. “I wanted to go somewhere unknown to me.”

Raglan and Sam continued to talk about business. Rashid ate the parathas. He placed the wrappers in his pockets. Sam gave him so much food already tonight that Rashid would be too full soon. Rashid’s mind wandered before returning immediately to conversation when Raglan said, “…at the penthouse. He’s that kid they were with in the 70’s and 80’s. I think they’re going to turn him when the ‘interview’ ends.”

“Louis did bookmark him,” Sam said, “and I think I read he has MS or something?”

“Parkinson’s,” Raglan said. “He doesn’t have much time left before the next stage if his medical records are accurate.”

Sam’s expression darkened. He glanced at Rashid and then his attention turned to Raglan. “Thanks for the information. Can you keep me informed?”

“Of course,” Raglan said. He bid them goodbye.

Sam led Rashid away. Rashid glanced over his shoulder but Raglan was gone.

Night 5

The alarm clock in the hotel bedroom screeched. Rashid shut it off immediately and stared at the time. It was earlier than he would wake for work and he was sleepy. When he returned with Sam that morning, Sam kissed him deeply and made Rashid swear he would leave the hotel room long before sunset tonight. They would meet at a club later that night.

Rashid showered and dressed quickly. He had breakfast and left the hotel room. He avoided the tower and kept it from his mind. This was the first time he was by himself without an errand or a chore since he met Louis. He arrived at the mall and scanned the options at the movie theater. The only movie starting soon was a western vampire movie.

The movie was not worth the ticket price. Rashid stopped listening not long after the exposition ended and his mind drifted. He flew above Dubai accompanied by a small colony of vampire bats. Rashid settled with the bats atop the Burj Khalifa. The wind was comfortable. The city lights spread out into the horizon. There was just enough light to see everything despite the hour as if it were a movie itself. The bats offered him blood but Rashid refused. His shoulders relaxed.

Rashid blinked and seemingly returned to his seat in the movie theater. The characters were talking about Spider-Man. Rashid left the movie theater. He still had time before he needed to leave for the club.

After twilight ended, Rashid waited fifteen minutes and then made his way to one of the large international hotels. He followed Sam’s directions and soon joined other men following a maze of hallways to a discreet ballroom. A DJ spun music in a far corner. Everything smelled like beer. Blue and green lights lit up the entire room as yellow pulses flashed. Rashid joined the dance floor, moving through the groups of men seeking an escape from the constrictions of society.

Rashid ignored the invitations thrown his way and found Sam among the clubgoers near the center of the floor. The music drove the crowd like a train and Rashid moved accordingly, keeping Sam in sight as they seemed to spiral with the clubgoers around them. Sam accepted an invitation to dance, pulling the clubgoer closer and closer until the room plunged into dark purple light. Pink and orange lights flashed and Sam drank from the man in his arms until the man swooned. Rashid’s heartbeat increased, drumming with the song. Sam passed the man to another clubgoer and disappeared into the crowd. When he reappeared, his gaze met Rashid’s gaze as they moved with the flow of the clubgoers.

Sam approached Rashid and cupped Rashid’s face with his warm hands. His breath smelled like blood. He kissed Rashid right where Rashid’s neck met his jaw. A shudder ran through Rashid. He grasped Sam’s hips and squeezed. Sam nipped Rashi’s neck without using his fangs.

‘Are you a trick or a gift, Rashid?’ Sam’s voice echoed through Rashid’s mind.

‘I am myself,’ Rashid said.

‘Who is that?’ Sam asked.

“I…don’t know,” Rashid said aloud. The smell of blood was overwhelming. He stopped breathing through his nose.

Sam stepped back. ‘One more drink.’ He picked up the next man that danced up to him and drank until the man’s eyes closed.

Rashid did not lose sight of Sam, watching his throat pulse with each gulp of blood. Sam sucking the blood from the puncture wounds seemed audible despite the volume of the music.

Sam discarded the body to another clubgoer. He returned to Rashid and they moved to the music and with the clubgoers. By the time people realized how many men fainted, Rashid and Sam were off the dancefloor, out of the hotel, and well into the night.

Night 6

Rashid waited for twilight to end. He stood at the window of the hotel room but his mind was on the dancefloor from last night. The club spread out around Rashid. The lights flashed and Sam drew each clubgoer close in turn. He bit them and sucked just enough blood to make them faint. Always just enough like an endless buffet. Sam turned to Rashid and approached him, warm fingers cupping Rashid’s face and then Sam kissed him. Rashid parted his lips and accepted the blood still fresh on Sam’s fangs. It was tasteless and without texture.

Rashid blinked and his perception returned to view out the windows in the hotel room. For a moment, he returned to the dancefloor and Sam bit him just as Louis did so long ago. Euphoria filled Rashid’s stomach and he breathed through his nose so it would not move lower through his body. He gazed at the light leaving the sky and willed himself calm and his mind empty.

His thoughts felt like memories but he knew they could not be. Blood could not be tasteless or textureless.

The bedsprings sounded in the bedroom. Rashid’s shoulders relaxed. He did not want to know the taste of blood, but his mind continued to return to the kiss on the dancefloor that never was. He moved away from the window when Sam appeared.

The Ain-Dubai Ferris wheel stood motionless and seemed to stretch endlessly into the sky from the ground. Colorful lights played across the structure in programmed patterns. Rashid gazed at the tallest cabin high in the air.

Sam followed his gaze and then asked, “Should we go see the view?”

Rashid looked away from the wheel. “How?”

“I’m not as old as Armand, but I’ve got some skills,” Sam said. He picked Rashid up in a secure hold and then used the Cloud Gift to hop from cabin to cabin. Rashid watched the ground slip further away with each leap. He kept a tight grip on Sam.

When they reached the topmost cabin, Sam broke the lock and opened the door. He entered the cabin and set Rashid down. The door closed behind them.

The cabin was enormous and allowed them to look out at the Gulf, the Palm Jumeirah, and the city. People steadily trickled through the land like streams. Lights changed colors and places on the streets and buildings. Boats spread out across the water.

It was nothing like the wooden Ferris wheel that appeared in Rashid’s mind from either a memory or a dream. That Ferris wheel was easy to agitate and shook when the bench seat reached the top of the wheel. Rashid walked across the cabin. It remained resolutely stationary. He tried shaking by discreetly jumping, but it did not budge. He did not expect it to, but he wanted to try. He looked at Sam and said, “I cannot move it.”

Sam tried to agitate the cabin. No matter what he tried, it did not shake even with his strength and speed. He settled at Rashid’s side and placed his hands on Rashid’s waist. He licked his lips. “When I woke this evening, I could hear your heart beating waiting for the darkest hours. We could make the cabin move to that beat together.”

Rashid licked his lips and then kissed Sam. Sam returned the kiss and tugged at Rashid’s shirt. Hands slipped under each other’s clothes. Little noises echoed in the cabin. Yet, no matter how their bodies swayed under each other’s influence, the cabin remained steadfast and stationary.

Night 7

When Rashid’s eyes opened, there was no body beside him in the bed and the bedroom door was ajar. Rashid’s heartbeat rocketed into his ears but the rest of his body felt calm. He rolled out of bed so both feet fell to the floor as he stood. He peered out the door. It was already night and Sam sat on the sofa, using a stylus to poke about his phone.

Rashid showered and dressed quickly. Sam turned off his phone screen and said, “You didn’t wake when I talked to you.”

“You could have entered my dreams,” Rashid said. He put breakfast in the microwave.

“I’m not Armand,” Sam said.

“I know,” Rashid said. He walked over to Sam and leaned in close. “That is why you can.”

Sam held his gaze a long moment. They kissed. Sam grasped Rashid’s shirt, keeping him close. After another kiss, the microwave sounded and Sam let Rashid go.

“Let me know when you have to return to work,” Sam said.

“I will,” Rashid promised.

The Dubai Fountain Show shimmered and changed color in time to the music as if it were a visual display on a music player. Water continuously shot up into the air and spun. Multiple camera shutters rapidly clicked and beeped. People tried to hold their phones as still as possible for video clips. The spectators let out little cries multiple times during the performance.

Rashid and Sam stood towards the back of the small crowd on the boardwalk. Rashid glanced at Sam. Sam watched the water. Before, Rashid could speak, a voice called out, “Rashid!”

Rashid stiffened. He grasped Sam’s arm and tugged him in a direction. Sam allowed this and followed. Rashid did not run but he took increasingly longer strides. Footsteps followed them along with the voice repeatedly calling out to Rashid. The boardwalk around the lake was too open. There were not enough people to hide and no way to easily exit.

Sam fell behind. Rashid slowed and looked over his shoulder. A man stopped running and stared transfixed at Sam. Sam did not speak aloud but the man did not look away from him as if listening raptly. The man murmured something to himself and then turned away and left.

The man’s face was unfamiliar to Rashid, though for a moment a boy walking away with the same gait appeared in Rashid’s mind. Rashid’s heart thundered in his ears. The man disappeared.

Sam returned to his side. He guided Rashid towards a wall that separated them from other buildings. There were no benches or anywhere to sit. ‘Who was he?’ Sam’s voice projected into Rashid’s mind.

‘I do not know,’ Rashid thought. He took deep breaths and slowly his heart calmed. ‘I only knew to leave.’

After a long silence, Sam asked, ‘Did you leave your home by choice?’

‘Yes,’ Rashid thought. ‘It was time. More than time.’

The fountain show ended. Spectators moved along the boardwalk. Rashid started to walk in the opposite direction that the man left. Sam followed.

Night 8

When night fell, Rashid and Sam went to the aquarium. Sharks rolled their eyes back in their sockets so only the whites of their eyes appeared. Some fish swam under rocks, plant life, and others seemed to rocket themselves away from the glass. Stingrays buried themselves in sand and prepared their tails for battle. Manta rays left for deeper parts of the tank. The crocodiles serenaded everyone with tense hisses. The penguins tries to leave their enclosure.

Other aquarium guests murmured to themselves at the strange animal behavior. Rashid did not find it strange.

Sam sighed and quietly said, “Animals always know. I should write a song about fear responses.”

“It is the smell of blood,” Rashid said. “It is always there.”

No one else seemed to notice that Sam smelled of blood.

‘Shouldn’t you be used to the smell of blood by now?’ Sam projected into Rashid’s mind as they exited the aquarium.

‘I know what I smell,’ Rashid thought. ‘I know it is there.’

‘You’ve been around vampires too long,’ Sam projected. ‘Shouldn’t it put you off?’

‘I prefer vampires to humans,’ Rashid said.

‘And when Louis decides to return to the bookmark on your neck and you still don’t want the Dark Gift?’ Sam asked.

‘Then I will die,’ Rashid thought.

“Do you want to die?” Sam asked aloud.

“No,” Rashid whispered aloud, “but I want to feel the bite again.”

Sam moved closer. “And what if I bit you?”

Rashid did not look away. “Yes.”

“‘Yes?’” Sam asked.

“I want you to bite me,” Rashid said.

“You would give me that power?” Sam asked.

“I do not want to serve a God of my own making forever,” Rashid said. “I want to walk alongside you.”

“Then,” Sam took his hand, “come with me.”

They returned to the hotel room.

Rashid showered as he did every night. His heart would not calm even though the rest of his body felt at ease. He exited the bathroom and watched Sam who stood by the window gazing at the city. They always returned to the hotel room during the darkest hours, giving themselves enough time to wind each other up and down before sleeping. This was the earliest at night they returned.

Sam stepped away from the window. He approached Rashid and pulled him down into a greedy kiss. He pulled back and continued holding Rashid’s face as he spoke, “You are not a trick, a gift, or a shadow. You are Rashid. You are mine and I am yours.”

Rashid’s hands moved along Sam’s sides. He did not look away. “You are mine and I am yours.”

Sam’s hands slipped from Rashid’s face and took Rashid’s hands. Sam pulled Rashid into the bedroom. The light lit on its own and the door closed on its own behind them. As they had for so many nights, they consummated their desires and then Sam leaned down and his fangs sank into Louis’ bite mark. Rashid’s nails dug into Sam’s skin. The pain subsided into euphoria. Sam drank for a long moment and then pulled back, gazing down at Rashid. His fingers ran through Rashid’s hair. “This is when a vampire would share its blood with its mortal partner. Do you want it?”

“I want you,” Rashid said and his fingers tiredly tried to cling to Sam, “but not any blood.”

Sam smiled as Rashid’s eyes closed. “Then we will be bound by choice, not by blood,” Sam said.

Rashid made an affirmative noise in this throat as his mind filled with a dark landscape.

Night 9

Hours ago, Rashid woke from a dream in which Armand told him to return to work while dressed in white. Rashid complied and slipped a note under the bedroom door before leaving the hotel. Rashid cleared his mind of his vacation and prepared himself for a return to the penthouse.

The day staff kept the penthouse clean as usual. There were mail and packages to retrieve and sort, a request to the blood farm to make, a mortal’s dinner to plan and prepare, and plenty of notes from Armand to read. By the time darkness fell, Rashid had everything where it should be. He began prepping the mortal’s meal. Its timing would dictate when and how to handle the blood.

Louis entered the kitchen. There was tension to his lips and shoulders. “Rashid, welcome back,” he said in a firm but tired voice. “How was the concert?”

“The music was impressive in person, Mr. du Lac,” Rashid said. “Thank you for the holiday.”

Louis nodded. “Good and you’re welcome.” He observed Rashid’s knife work and then his attention drifted to a corner of the room. His lips seemed to relax and some of the exhaustion in his shoulders seemed to lessen. His gaze returned to Rashid and he said, “Tonight I will continue the interview. I would like you to serve the meal in the dining room at the time Armand specified in his notes.”

“Yes, Mr. du Lac,” Rashid said. “I will prepare the blood immediately before serving.”

“Good,” Louis said. “I will leave you to your work.”

Rashid watched Louis leave and slowly, silently exhaled. He could not remember a time Louis looked so stressed, not even when fighting with Armand. Rashid exhaled slowly and returned to his work.

Night 10

The interview was about Louis’ life, maybe Armand’s life too. The vampires’ behavior was also strange. Last night, Louis told Daniel about a vampire committing suicide. Tonight, Louis and Armand held hands while talking about their romance in Paris. Rashid only heard portions of the stories. He stayed a shadow and went about his duties elsewhere in the penthouse and the tower for most of the night.

When twilight lit up the sky in the early morning, Rashid finished his duties and left the penthouse, heading for the elevator that would take him to his apartment. Damek was in the hallway heading to his shift. Rashid looked away and continued to the elevator.

“Why was Armand you?” Damek asked.

Rashid paused. English was the only language they shared and an acquired language for both of them. “Armand is Armand.”

“He called himself Rashid,” Damek said. “We all called him Rashid.”

Rashid did not know what to say. It would explain some things that happened since his return.

“They changed everything for you. You do not even want the Gift,” Damek said.

“Armand loves the theater,” Rashid said.

Damek frowned. “They will turn that man. He waited fifty years. I do not want to wait so long.”

Daniel exited the penthouse just as Damek entered it. He was the journalist conducting the interview that Sam and Raglan talked about, with the bite scar on his neck. Daniel saw Rashid and immediately joined him in the hallway on the way to the elevator. “So, they didn’t provide you with your own room in the penthouse, Real!Rashid?” Daniel asked.

The nickname still did not make sense even if Armand impersonated him for a week. Rashid never felt real. “I have my own quarters elsewhere,” Rashid said.

“I was going to go to breakfast,” Daniel said. “Do you want to come?”

‘Say yes,’ Armand instruction projected into Rashid’s mind.

“Yes,” Rashid said. He pressed the elevator button for Daniel and followed Daniel down to a small Japanese-themed restaurant on the lowest level of the tower that was open at all hours. Daniel ordered them both a traditional Japanese breakfast. They each received a whole grilled fish, rolled omelets, miso soup, pickled vegetables, a bowl of rice, and various garnishes. Rashid stared at the fish’s head a long moment and then started eating one of the omelets beside it.

“So, tell me, Real!Rashid,” Daniel said, an edge to his voice as if Rashid knew his employer’s husband would pretend to be him for a week, “why do you want to be a vampire?”

“I do not,” Rashid said.

“Why not? Immortality, health, strength…there’s a lot to offer,” Daniel said.

Rashid did not wish to explain it. He continued eating while Daniel continued to sort through the pros and cons of vampirism. The staff behind the counter politely did not comment or seem to notice that Daniel spoke of vampires as if they were not myth. Rashid looked at the untouched fish on its plate. It seemed to echo Daniel’s words, its mouth moving in little tiny o-like shapes. Rashid could not wait to return to his apartment, wind down, and sleep.

Night 11

When Rashid arrived at work, he immediately went to the package room to inspect a recent sculpture Louis acquired at an auction. As he moved through the halls, he heard Armand speaking. It was the earliest he heard either vampire awake. Armand paused and then leaned closer to Daniel where they sat across from one another. Armand described sharing blood with another vampire in a theater during a show. The other vampire was Lestat, the same vampire that Sam mentioned on Kite Beach and Louis seemed to speak to alone.

Rashid heard more of the story than he should. He left quickly to deal with the sculpture. When he finished checking the sculpture and repacking it, he retrieved the blood farm harvest and entered the kitchen.

Armand stood waiting for him in the center of the kitchen his orange glowing eyes unblinking. He did not startle Rashid. It was not the first time Armand appeared in such a way in a room Rashid entered.

“Rashid, you must accompany Mr. Molloy whenever he leaves the penthouse for the remainder of his stay. Is that understood?” Armand ordered.

“Yes, sir,” Rashid said.

Louis entered the kitchen and asked, “What’s going on?”

“Our guest met an operative at lunch,” Armand said.

“One of the ones with no sense of subtlety?” Louis asked.

“Yes,” Armand said. “Almost as if they are all the same person.”

“The Identity Matrix…” Louis’ voice trailed and then he nodded. “I agree.” He turned to Rashid. “Keep an eye on Daniel, Rashid. Don’t let him out of your sight when he’s not in the penthouse.”

“Yes, Mr. du Lac,” Rashid said.

The vampires left the kitchen. Rashid sighed. The guinea pig in the cage remained frozen in fear. Rashid began preparing its final meal.

Night 12

“Have they ever let you read Claudia’s diaries?” Daniel asked at dinner that morning. It was another traditional Japanese breakfast. It was supposed to be good for things like Parkinson’s disease.

“I am a personal assistant,” Rashid said. The morning chef no longer put the fish on his plate and gave him an extra omelet instead without asking.

“The thing I don’t understand,” Daniel said as he crunched on the fish’s body, leaving the head on his plate, “is how they all survived, how they all ended up in Dubai. I heard there was a fire, but Louis has all of them.”

Rashid did not know. Rashid finished eating and set his chopsticks sideways across his plate.

“You’re a man of few words, Real!Rashid,” Daniel said. “Don’t you ask questions?” He paid for their meals.

“I do not,” Rashid said.

Daniel continued talking about his questions and analysis on the elevator ride on his way back to the penthouse. Rashid exited on his floor and entered his apartment. He brought the dry cleaning waiting at his door into the apartment with him and prepared for bed. The sun streamed in the windows seemingly too bright. Rashid shut the curtains.

Rashid could not sleep. Images from his week with Sam moved through his mind. He viewed all of it as an outsider, any of it possibly a dream or a distorted memory. Rashid felt the scar at the side of his neck. It felt different now, a mix of Louis and Sam’s marks. Sam’s bite in the hotel room was real. The bloody kiss on the dancefloor with no taste was not real. Rashid closed his eyes. Colors moved together and flickered, skyscrapers loomed, animals ran away, and fangs pierce his neck. Rashid opened his eyes and immediately rolled out of bed.

He retrieved his suitcase from the closet. He wiped the dust from the fabric and packed everything he owned except for the uniforms. His belongings took up a fraction of the space. Rashid zipped the suitcase closed and placed it by his apartment door. He returned to bed and finally fell asleep.

Night 13

Tonight it was time for Armand to feed again. Armand fed regularly but his time between meals were much longer than Sam or Louis. Armand left the penthouse with his prey. Rashid continued his work on dinner for Louis and Daniel. When finished, he brought it to the dining room, but Louis and Daniel were not there. Rashid went to the study and found them with their feet in the rock garden talking quietly but earnestly.

Louis looked over and said, “Rashid, you can place the tray on the floor tonight.”

Rashid carefully placed the tray between Louis and Daniel on the floor without upsetting any of its contents.

“Tell me, Real!Rashid,” Daniel said almost conversationally, “what would you do if you found out that someone fucked with your memory?”

Rashid did not answer. He looked at Louis. “Is that all, Mr. du Lac?”

“Answer the question, Rashid,” Louis said.

Rashid looked away from Louis respectfully. “Memory is malleable. I would not notice.”

“What if someone told you about memories you no longer have?” Daniel asked. “What if they were deliberately stolen?”

“I would not miss them,” Rashid said. “No one’s perception is true. A memory is not different than a dream.”

There was a long silence of reflection.

“But it did happen,” Louis said. “The pain is no lie.”

“Yeah, that smell is too real,” Daniel agreed.

Louis nodded to himself and then said, “Thank you, Rashid. You may go.”

Rashid left. The conversation in the rock garden resumed. Daniel seemed to have a memory of Armand repeatedly slamming him to the floor while Daniel sat in a chair. Louis recalled horrific burn injuries and pain. If Rashid had not packed his bag last night just in case, he would pack it tonight.

Night 14

It was time for breakfast for Rashid and Daniel but time for a late lunch for Dubai. A whole fish stared up at Rashid on his plate once again. He could not look away from it. This chef and Daniel had not noticed Rashid did not eat meat. Daniel talked about the interview, his mind hyper-focusing on the job.

Someone entered the restaurant and bumped into Rashid from behind. Rashid glanced over his shoulder. Raglan gave him an unsubtle nod, indicating a man behind him.

The man was Arabian. He held Rashid’s gaze for a long moment unblinking as Sam might. Then he disappeared into the restroom. Rashid excused himself and followed.

When the restroom door closed behind Rashid, the man spoke carefully as if Sam spoke through him, “I used my Mind Gift on this man a few nights ago. It should work.”

“It did,” Rashid said.

“Here’s my phone number,” Sam said through the man as the man handed Rashid a piece of paper. “Raglan thinks that Louis and Armand are going to turn that bookmarked journalist at the end of the interview. He’ll need a first meal.” There was a deliberate, pointed pause. “Don’t become that meal.”

Rashid’s heartbeat increased even though the rest of his body felt calm. He took the paper.

“I’m in Paris. Come find me,” Sam said and then he kissed Rashid through the man.

Rashid guided the man to the floor when he fainted. Rashid memorized the phone number and destroyed the paper.

“What…? Where…?” the man murmured in his first language as he became aware of his surroundings.

Rashid did not answer. He left the restroom and returned to Daniel just as Daniel’s conversation with Raglan ended. Rashid let his mind empty of everything he saw and experienced. He could remember it when it was time to use the phone number. He returned to the penthouse with Daniel.

Night 15

The interview would end tonight or tomorrow night. Rashid knew he did not have to complete his service to Louis, but staying until the last moment possible seemed appropriate. Rashid collected the blood farm harvest and entered the kitchen. He deliberately listened to the interview in the other room. Lestat was once Louis�� husband and their daughter was Claudia. There was some kind of trial where Claudia died. Lestat somehow saved Louis’ life during it. Daniel’s voice grew increasingly triumphant as he placed his discoveries before Louis and Armand. Rashid left the harvest in its cage. He fixed one last martini with extra vermouth and retrieved the evening paper. He kept his mind blank and entered the room, depositing both in front of Daniel. When it appeared no one needed more from him, Rashid bypassed the kitchen and headed to the door.

He continued to keep his mind blank as he left the penthouse and opened his apartment door just enough to grab his bag. He tossed his keys inside and did not bother to shut the door. He did not think a single thought as he took the stairs down several floors and then the elevator down the rest of them and exited the tower at a fast but not suspicious pace. He found a cab outside and left for the airport where he bought a ticket and a burner phone.

Once he was at the gate, Rashid exhaled seemingly for the first time even though he must have been breathing throughout his journey. He texted Sam and then put the phone in his bag. Sam would not respond for a while. Paris was two hours behind Dubai and their twilight much later at night.

Rashid gazed up at the ceiling of his gate. His thoughts danced along the architecture. He could not relax. He could not sleep. A gate nearby began boarding. The flight attendant’s voice sounded like a trickling stream. Rashid saw water rushing all around him, pouring from the ceiling and puddling on the floor. No one reacted to it. Not even when it turned colors.

Night 16

Rashid flew from Dubai to Istanbul and then Istanbul to Paris. When he exited the airport in Paris, the sun was still high in the western sky and the sunset would not be for a long time. Rashid found food and stayed away from places where he might have to speak too much French. As the sun began to lower in the sky, Rashid followed the instructions that Sam sent him last night.

Rashid arrived at a park as everyone else left it. He followed the paths to a long, old bridge that led to an island. The bridge swayed and protested as he crossed. The sun disappeared and twilight began to fade from the sky. Rashid stepped onto the island and approached a replica of a temple. There was no sign of any lights on the island or the structure. He climbed the steps and stood near a far column so no one might spot him from afar. Paris spread out across the lake, lights becoming more prominent as darkness finally settled.

The bridge protested in the distance behind Rashid. A swift noise rushed up the steps. Sam’s eyes glowed as he stepped into the temple. Rashid moved towards him and soon they embraced, sharing a kiss. There was no moon, no humans, and no vampires. The temple was theirs alone.

The End

#my fanfics #my fanfics 2024 #my iwtv fanfics #iwtv fanfics #real rashid #sam the vampire

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misc-obeyme · 1 year ago

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Hello, for supernatrual what episode did you dislike? For me any episodes invilving Leviathas throughout season, i just had a like compared to the other villains for example Azazel.

I always thought there were two leviathans?

Well it’s been a minute since I watched it, so I don’t know how great my memory of it is, but I seem to remember there being a whole race of Leviathans in spn? They had a leader but there were a bunch of them? I think maybe the writers just picked a cool name from the Bible and did their own thing with it. Weren’t they shapeshifters that ate people? I’m pretty sure they just made all of that up lol.

To be fair I think Supernatural always took a lot of artistic liberties with their source materials.

There aren’t any specific episodes that I remember not liking, but I did get a little tired of the way they seemed to have a similar conflict all the time. I mean, there was kind of a monster of the week quality to a lot of episodes and I didn’t mind that at all. But I felt like the characters never really got to grow. Especially Sam and Dean. They would go season after season doing the same stupid stuff. One of them would always get into some kind of trouble and lie to the other guy about it until the secret was revealed and they’d get into dramatic fights. I just wanted them to actually learn something from that experience at some point and then not do it again lol.

Though I would also say I didn’t particularly care for the stuff with the alternate dimensions that happened in the later seasons. It kinda felt like they were running out of ideas.

I liked the Azazel story line though. It felt a lot more personal for the boys than the Leviathans who were basically just trying to take over the world so they could eat people.

#oops I rambled again #but I hope that answered your question anon!#anon asks #misc answers

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vosh-rakh · 2 years ago

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means and ends

author’s note: every character in here, aside from my ocs ku-vastei and llethym, and the made-up amiliah dren, is a canon character in-game, even down to the nameless “npcs”. i did a lot of research for this fic lol. some of them have different positions/roles than they do in game, mostly owing to the passing of time and intervening events, as well as some artistic liberty. i’ve been working on this fic for a long time, and it’s quite a bit longer than my usual work, but i’m very proud of it, and i hope you enjoy it as well!

- - - - -

“I hope you see the problem here, Mistress Darvasa.”

The Adebaal Egg Mine is dimly lit by glowing egg-sacs, which cast a grave light on Ku-vastei’s face. The new master of Tel Branora, Darvasa Vedas, is glad for her flowing robes, and the slight breeze passing through the tunnels, that her quivering before the Archmagister is not visible. An Argonian wearing a slave bracer tends to a nearby kwama worker, pretending not to listen.

“Yes, well, Archmagister, you see…” began Darvasa, “we had purchased them before the ban had gone into effect, so we had thought -”

“Do not lie to me, Darvasa,” whispered Ku-vastei, her voice like the steel in her hand. “I’ve seen the deeds of sale. Besides, the ban on slavery was retroactive. It is also emancipatory.” The nearby Argonian slave perks their head up slightly, unable to hide their curiosity.

Darvasa is no longer sure she can hide her shaking. “Yes, yes, of course, Archmagister, but we needed workers for the mine, as you well know it is a major source of income for the tower, and not long before Therana’s untimely death somebody freed the slaves who had been working here previously, so we needed -”

“Yes, I know,” says Ku-vastei. She leans back a little and places her free hand on her hip. “I was the one who freed them.”

The enslaved Argonian can’t help but turn their head towards the free Argonian, and completely forgets about the kwama worker. But their attention is stolen again when the worker headbutts them.

Darvasa’s jaw dropped. “Before the ban went into effect?”

“The ban retroactively justifies my actions.”

Darvasa’s eyes close. “What shall I do, then, Archmagister?”

“Either free the slaves, or hire them as hirelings to the House and pay them fairly for their labor. I care not which, but the latter would likely benefit you in the long run.” Darvasa opens her eyes, and can barely see Ku-vastei’s lips move in the darkness; she appears as a scaled statue, leaning on an ancient spear, meting out divine judgment upon the mortals of House Telvanni.

“But…” Darvasa begins, but quickly changes her tune. “Yes, Archmagister, of course. I will hire them to the House.”

“Ensure they are treated as any other member of the House, Darvasa. And if this happens again, know that I will kill you.”

“Yes, Archmagister,” Darvasa says, bowing too low in presumed deference.

“One more thing,” says Ku-vastei as she turns to leave. “Where did you purchase these slaves?”

Darvasa straightens into a stiff line. “Oh, please don’t make me say,” she begs. “They said they’d kill me if I did.”

“I’ll kill you if you don’t.” The Archmagister swings her spear in a small circle as she turns back, pointing it nonchalantly at Darvasa from a distance. But the physical threat isn’t necessary - the words themselves drip with such authority that the young Mistress can’t help but fear them.

Darvasa bites her lip and nearly collapses from how her legs shake. “Yes…yes, Archmagister. I bought them from…”

“Tel Aruhn?” Aryon asks as he and the Archmagister retreat to Tel Uvirith. “That’s impossible. We took care of the market there personally.”

Ku nods, remembering the bloodshed as a vivid red pinpoint in the recent past. “She wouldn’t say anything more.” She wipes ash from her eyes, kicked up from her shuffling through the dunes. “Apparently she had nothing to do with the purchase directly. We’ll have to investigate further.”

“You’ve shown unusual…restraint, in dealing with this so far, Archmagister.” Aryon walks ahead of Ku-vastei, proceeding backwards as he studies her face. His fierce brow furrows over his fire-red eyes. “You haven’t killed anyone yet.”

Ku smiles faintly. “We can’t be a House of murderers forever, Aryon. One of these days we’ll resolve most of our issues peacefully.”

Aryon grins, but there’s a concerned note to his voice when he asks, “Am I speaking to the true Hortator? Ku-vastei, bringer of fire and war?”

“In the times before slavery, Black Marsh operated similarly. War was an import from Resdayn.”

“I’m not sure history supports that claim,” Aryon says, returning to his place alongside Ku-vastei. “War is an integral facet of all cultures.”

“Regardless, perhaps it needn’t be.”

“Ever the idealist, Archmagister.” Aryon pats Ku-vastei on the back, but she doesn’t recoil from the touch. Strange future, she thinks, in which an elf - any elf - can touch my back without losing their hand.

When they arrive at Tel Uvirith, they are greeted by the Erabenimsun scouts who delivered Ku-vastei’s guest.

“Ilmeni Dren,” says Ku-vastei, bowing her head slightly. She glances at the Erabenimsun, who depart for their camp.

“Archmagister,” replies Ilmeni, who had been examining the fungal walls of the tower. She wipes her hands of the external dirt and turns to curtsy in the Imperial way. “Your reputation precedes you, both as Hortator and Ku-vastei, muthsera.” She says Ku’s name with a curious lilt, not quite the bizarre intonation of an elf attempting to speak Jel, but not quite the natural pronunciation of a born-speaker. It seems to suggest something beyond mere familiarity, but Ku-vastei can’t fathom what.

“As does yours, ‘lighter of the Twin Lamps.’ I hope we can work together to free Telvanni, and hopefully one day all of Morrowind, of the curse of slavery.”

“We’ll see, muthsera,” says Ilmeni, before turning to Aryon. Strange. That same hidden meaning. Oh well, Ku-vastei figures. I’ll discover it eventually. “And you are, muthsera?”

Aryon extends a soft, gloved hand. “Master Aryon of House Telvanni, oftentime companion to Ku-vastei. Pleased to make your acquaintance, Lady Dren.”

“Oh, dispose of the pleasantries, would you?” Ilmeni smiles warmly, taking Aryon’s hand. “Nobody’s called me ‘Lady’ Dren in years. You can just call me Ilmeni.” She flashes a glance at Ku-vastei. “Or beeko, if it suits you.”

“Not so fast,” says Ku-vastei, returning a wry smile as she leans heavily on the Spear of Bitter Mercy. But hearing the Jel word disarms her slightly. She doesn’t feel the need to be quite so reticent around this particular Hlaalu.

“I understand not all is well in House Telvanni,” Ilmeni observes, taking a careful step back to lean against the wall of the tower.

“Yes. Why I’ve summoned you,” Ku says. “Not only has someone purchased slaves, but someone has been selling them, too.”

“Have you any suspects?”

“The buyer has been identified, and dealt with.”

“Dealt with?” Ilmeni narrows her eyes and crosses her arms. When Ku first met her, she wore commoner’s clothes, but she seems to have elected to dress for the occasion of meeting the head of a House, wearing a spotless blue robe.

“She’s still alive, if that’s what you’re asking,” chimes in Aryon before Ku can react. “She’ll be freeing the slaves soon, if she hasn’t already.” Aryon seems to understand the mystery behind Ilmeni’s attitude whereas Ku-vastei does not. She’ll have to ask him about it if they get a spare moment, away from the Hlaalu.

Ilmeni sighs. “And the sellers?”

“Someone in Tel Aruhn,” Ku-vastei grumbles. “The old slavemistress is dead, as are her compatriots. So we’re not sure.”

“Dead?” Ilmeni asks.

“Yes. I killed them.” Suddenly, it dawns on Ku-vastei, and she smiles wickedly wide, her reptilian face almost snarling. “Is that a problem?”

Ilmeni looks down and shifts awkwardly from foot to foot. “That is the way of the Telvanni,” she says, then, under her breath, “Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

“It is our way,” Ku says, not hearing quite what Ilmeni said but guessing the meaning, “and we’ll be sticking with it, for now. Just think of it like the Tong.”

Ilmeni looks up glumly. “I still don’t approve of the Camonna, no matter how reformed it may be under our new Grandmaster.”

“I meant the Morag,” says Ku-vastei. “I am Grandmaster of that order, after all. I know about honorable killing.”

Ilmeni gasps. “I thought Eno Hlaalu was Grandmaster?”

“Eno retired.”

Ilmeni steps forward. “Do you mean you -”

“No.” Ku raises a hand to stop the Dren’s advance. “He retired.”

“Oh.”

Aryon pinches the bridge of his nose. This is going to be a long day.

They teleport into Wolverine Hall’s courtyard with a crack as the air makes way for their presence. Aryon and Ku stomach it well, but Ilmeni wavers for a moment, then politely asks for a bucket. A nearby guard politely obliges. Aryon and Ku politely ignore her retching.

They walk slowly through Sadrith Mora, Ilmeni gawking at the mushroom homes, and at great Tel Naga. Some of the town’s residents give reverent bows to Ku-vastei, while others hide behind doors. As they pass near the Gateway Inn, they overhear an argument coming from the adjacent marketplace:

“I need these potions now!” exclaims a Dunmer, a mainlander from his lack of the coarse Vvardenfell accent.

Elegal, a Bosmeri trader Ku-vastei recognizes from her time spent in the city, smiles patiently and plants his hands on his table, his shoulders tightly bunched together. “Sera, I simply do not have any. You should have planned ahead.”

“But…I must have this potion! I have to see Master Neloth!” the Dunmer repeats, gesticulating wildly, exasperated.

“You could try the alchemist. Or apothecary. Or healer.” Elegal steps from behind his table and walks around to his irate customer. “I’ll even show you to one of them, if you’re lost.”

The mainlander quickly steps towards Elegal, shouting louder. “They won’t deal with me! Without your damn ‘Hospitality Papers’ that your Thrice-damned ‘Prefect’ won’t give me!”

Elegal smiles thinly. “Perhaps old Angaredhel doesn’t think you worthy of our hospitality,” he says, looking up at the Dunmer.

“You n’wah!” The Dunmer winds up his arm to sock Elegal in the face -

But something catches his wrist. A scaled hand firmly wraps itself around his cuff, keeping him from landing his blow.

“Oh,” he yells, spinning around, “and who is this animal laying hands on me - Oh.” He stops when he sees Ku-vastei, in her robes of Archmagister station, still holding onto his wrist. “Oh, by the Three.” He sways for a moment before his legs give way and he falls to his knees. “Please forgive me, Archmagister, I had no idea - I never meant to cause any trouble, I just needed to…” He stops his pleading, closes his eyes, and awaits his judgment, his hand still caught by Ku-vastei.

But something is gently placed into it, and his fingers pushed to wrap around it. He opens his teary eyes and looks blurrily up at Ku-vastei. “Archmagister?”

“Rising Force potion. Made it myself,” she says. “Apologize to this man, and then go do your business with Neloth.”

The Dunmer swears by every saint he can remember, thanking Ku-vastei and apologizing profusely to Elegal. Then he awkwardly walks away towards Tel Naga.

Aryon smiles, but Ilmeni wrinkles her face. “Not quite the Archmagister - nor Hortator - I’d heard tales of,” she whispers to him.

“She can be a gracious leader when she wants to be,” Aryon replies. “What kind did you expect?”

“I expect,” she said, quickly finishing her thought before Ku-vastei returns, “that we will find out today.”

Ku-vastei, Aryon, and Ilmeni pass through the circular gate at the Gateway Inn and proceed to the docks, where they charter a ship to cross the clear blue waters to Tel Aruhn. When they arrive, they are greeted warmly by Magister Endase Avel and a small entourage of her subjects, come to see the Archmagister of House Telvanni.

“Welcome, muthsera!” exclaims Endase, her yellow, red, and golden robes exquisite in the bright sun of the Zafirbel Bay. “It is a pleasure to have you here at Tel Aruhn, Archmagister Ku-vastei.” She spreads her arms wide with entreaty, then reaches out a hand. “To what do I owe the honor of this visit?”

Ku-vastei says nothing, but glowers at the new Magister. Aryon picks up the slack: “We’re here for an inspection, Endase. To ensure that this tower is complying with the ban.”

Endase smiles. “Yes, yes, of course, Aryon. And you are?” She gestures vaguely towards Ilmeni.

Ilmeni opens her mouth to speak, but she stops after Ku-vastei shakes her head. So she simply says, “An associate of the Archmagister’s.”

Endase tilts her head curiously, but doesn’t prod further. “Very well.” She points in the direction the former site of the slave market. “I shall lead the way. You may inspect the underground, as well. I assure you everything is very above-board here at Tel Aruhn.”

As soon as Endase turns her back, Ilmeni wrinkles her face and leans in to Ku-vastei’s ear. “Don’t trust her. She’s a snake.”

Ku laughs quietly. “How would you know?”

“Plenty of people like that in House Hlaalu. Not hard to spot if you know what to look for.”

The inspection is spotless. No signs of slaver activity, not a single bracer to be found. There are even some Argonians and Khajiit in the honest employ of the tower. Ku-vastei seems satisfied. Aryon wears a patient smile throughout. But Ilmeni keeps her arms loosely crossed the entire time.

When all is said and done, Endase asks, “Could I trouble you with tea? You must be dehydrated after your long journey.”

Ku-vastei almost accepts the offer, but a subtle glance from Aryon persuades her not to. “No thank you,” she replies. “I have other business I must attend to here. Privately,” she quickly adds.

“Of course,” says Endase, whose painted face is marred by a slight frown. “Don’t let me keep you.” Then she casts a spell, and flies to her tower. The crowd disperses somewhat.

Ku-vastei turns towards her companions. “Well?”

Aryon says nothing, and turns towards Ilmeni. She shakes her head. “It must be offsite somewhere.” She looks around, as though she’d be able to see a hidden slave market at a glance. “Ask some of the locals. Especially the beastfolk. They might be more open to answering your questions.”

Ku-vastei’s eyes scan the scattering throng. Tel Aruhn is a diverse place, home to many different peoples, but few beyond tower-servants seem to be beastfolk. But she catches a pair of eyes unmoving, making direct eye-contact. Slitted eyes. She begins to push her way through the bodies, making her way to them.

She finds a smiling Khajiit, tiger-striped and -maned, his arms wide open. “Ah, yes, S’Bakha has been expecting you,” he purrs.

“Expecting me?” Ku-vastei does not yet take up his offer of a hug.

“Well, this one knows exactly what you are here for. It is not difficult to guess. S’Bakha was a slave once, you know. S’Bakha worked hard all the time, and for what? Nothing at all. So now that S’Bakha has dropped his bracer, he rests. He lays around and lounges until his belly rumbles, and then he finds a tasty fish to eat out of these bountiful waters. It is good to be lazy, S’Bakha thinks.”

(These waters are far from bountiful, Ku-vastei mentally notes, being filled with mostly-inedible slaughterfish, but allows the Khajiit to tell his lie as he sees fit.)

“That is good to hear,” says Ku-vastei when S’Bakha takes a moment to breathe, smiling. “But please get to the point.”

“Of course, Ku-vastei,” S’Bakha grants, dipping into a brief bow. “The point is that while laying around all day, people forget S’Bakha is there. Or they think him asleep. And they speak as if he is not there. Many secrets they speak, and S’Bakha hears them all.”

“And pray tell, what secret do you have for us,” Aryon asks, “and what will it cost us?”

S’Bakha turns to the newly arrived Aryon, and shakes his head furiously. “Wise you are, elf, to question S’Bakha’s motives. But S’Bakha asks nothing in return for his generous offer of help.”

He pauses for a moment, and Ku-vastei is about to prompt him again when he continues, leaning in to whisper: “S’Bakha’s secret for you is this. They are kept and sold at a place they call Nammu along the mainland coast to the west of here. Tell none S’Bakha sent you, or he will surely be killed.”

Ku-vastei rubs her chin in contemplation, her tail swishing leisurely from side to side, brushing against Aryon and Ilmeni’s ankles. “Oh,” she begins after some time, “I don’t think that will be a problem. Because you’re coming with us.”

“Eh?” S’Bakha spits, his fur pricking up and his own tail setting straight. “You know S’Bakha can’t swim like you Argonians, right? Not even like a dark elf. Not very…smooth.”

“Oh, that won’t be an issue,” Ku-vastei says with a wicked smile.

S’Bakha had expected she meant they’d be taking a boat. Instead they walk on the water like sainted thaumaturges, and S’Bakha takes each step tenderly, like each one might fall through the taut surface of the sea. But Ku-vastei and Aryon, confident in their spellwork, stride across like it was a well-worn road. Even Ilmeni has played with water-walking potions in her youth, and is accustomed to the feeling.

S’Bakha begins to wish he’d kept his mouth shut.

They stop at a couple of islands along the way to renew their spells and rest, taking shade against the midday sun under Emperor Parasols. S’Bakha frets with his tail, at times cradling it like a newborn.

“Worried, S’Bakha?” asks Ku-vastei, watching him intently.

“Yes, actually,” answers S’Bakha. “S’Bakha imagines it is quite difficult to laze about with his guts scattered around him.”

“You’ll be fine. Everyone who might come after you will be taken care of,” Ku-vastei says, while Ilmeni frowns at this phrasing, “before day’s end.”

“That is,” Ilmeni adds, “assuming you’ve told us the truth.”

Ku-vastei glances wearily at Ilmeni. “I’m sure he has, of course.” Her eyes glide over to meet S’Bakha’s, who shies away from the contact. “Haven’t you, S’Bakha?”

“Of course,” S’Bakha quavers. But he remains silent the rest of the way.

They come to the mainland coast just as their most recent spells wear off, and S’Bakha says, “Here.”

“Here” is a small pool of water, disconnected from the sea, interspersed with large stones breaking the surface. There is a small cliff on the far side, but its face is sheer. There is no apparent entrance.

“S’Bakha,” Ku-vastei says, “What are we looking for?”

“S’Bakha doesn’t know,” he says. “It should be here.”

“Well, it’s not.” Ku grips her spear tightly in her claws.

Ilmeni stands to the side and looks around. “Hm,” she whispers, and she takes a cautious step towards one of the stones in the pool. Her foot lands firmly on its surface, not sinking at all. So she steps towards the next, and the next, until she finds herself at the cliff face. Ku-vastei is busy arguing with S’Bakha, but Aryon notices Ilmeni’s stunts and places a hand on Ku’s shoulder. She spins around on him, nearly poking him with her spear, but he simply points towards Ilmeni, who is now running her hands along the cliff’s surface, searching for something.

“Is there anything there?” Aryon calls out. “Some button perhaps?”

“Not that I can find,” Ilmeni returns. “But it looks like there should be something here.”

“S’Bakha told you so!” the Khajiit exclaims, earning him a scathing glance from Ku-vastei.

“‘Should’ doesn’t mean that there is, Ilmeni,” Ku notes.

“Perhaps there’s some kind of illusion, or enchantment upon the rocks,” Aryon says. “Endase is a skilled enchantress, after all.”

Ku-vastei tilts her head in acknowledgement, and runs her claws in front of her eyes, leaving behind a pale purple glow which slowly dissipates.

When she can see again, plain as day, she sees a door embedded in the rock.

Ku-vastei treads the stepping stones towards the door, meeting Ilmeni there. She tries the doorknob, but can’t find it. “Yes,” she says, “an enchantment. Not an illusion.” She starts to rummage through her bag.

“Do you have a solution for this in there?” Ilmeni asks.

“Sometimes,” Ku begins, pulling out various items, “a sloppy enchantment can be undone by a spell similar to soul trapping. I’ve done it once or twice to even the odds in battle against troublesome belts and rings.” Finally she retrieves a soul gem, its azure surface almost completely transparent. “Ah. This should do. You may want to step back.”

Ilmeni complies, stepping out towards the edge of the pool. Ku-vastei first taps the soul gem on the surface of the hidden door, mutters something Daedric, then steps back, soul gem raised in the air; it seems like an incredible effort, like the wall is pulling against her arm. Violet flecks suspended in paler light are ripped from the cliff face and absorbed into the soul gem, revealing piece-by-piece the door hidden beneath, until all is laid bare, and the soul gem glows with a milky lilac light.

“Some enchantress this Endase is,” Ku-vastei snickers.

“So shall we take care of this?” Aryon asks, having crossed himself to the other side of the pool by the door.

“S’Bakha is not going in there,” the Khajiit says, waving his hands in negation. “The leader is a battlemage, called Galmis Dren, who is dark in the craft, and -”

“Galmis?” Ilmeni interrupts. “No, you are not ‘taking care of’ my cousin.” She remembers back to when she heard Orvas was killed by the fledgeling Hortator, and remembers how she imagined what it would be like if it had been her father, instead.

She steps forward to confront Ku-vastei and repeats, “No, you are not killing Galmis, like you did to his father. You can arrest him, like a civilized person.”

“Your ‘cousin’?” Ku-vastei observes with a smug smile. “Does slavery run in the family, then?”

Ilmeni says nothing, holding her ground as she steps towards Ku-vastei again, only inches between their faces.

“Ah,” says Aryon. “The late Orvas’ eldest son. A high-ranking member of the Camonna Tong, if memory serves.”

“This killing is the way of your people, Ilmeni,” Ku-vastei says, ignoring Aryon and placing a hand between herself and Ilmeni. “He chose his fate.”

Ilmeni stares furiously into Ku-vastei’s eyes for a long time, but finds no relief. So, her eyes wet from the strain of not blinking, she turns her head away.

“Since you two will be staying behind, we’ll need to make sure you’re well protected,” Ku-vastei says, smiling at her easy victory. “Aryon, your Helper will do the trick.”

Aryon nods and extends his right hand. His glove glows yellow for a moment, and then suddenly, in a cloud of xanthous smoke, a trio of atronachs appear, representing each Daedric element. “Protect Ilmeni and S’Bakha, please,” he asks of the three, who each wordlessly bow to the best of their forms’ ability.

“Do not follow us or try to interfere in any way,” Ku-vastei says as she holds the doorknob, glancing at Ilmeni, “or I’ll kill you too.”

“Ku.” Aryon rests a hand on her shoulder, but she shrugs it off. “Let’s just get going.”

The cavern is dark, dimly lit by the rare sight of a torch ensconced on the stone walls. Ku-vastei takes the lead, Aryon following soon behind.

Not far down the initial corridor, their footsteps bring attention to them. “Hello?” calls a woman’s voice. “Mistress Endase? Here for your inspection so soon? I thought it wasn’t for another…”

The two delvers reach the bottom of a decline, revealing themselves to the Redguard. She yells something in what Ku vaguely recognizes as Yoku and draws her sword. Ku springs forward, launching herself at her attacker. The Redguard slashes at Ku, but only ends up cutting her robes and clattering against the fine Orcish maille hidden beneath. Her jaw drops in shock at this reckless defense, and Ku uses the opportunity to pierce her throat from between her teeth.

There’s another defender, a Dunmer archer on a raised platform to the right, who seems to have been caught off guard practicing her archery on a stuffed target. She yells something in Yoku, her accent poor even to Ku’s untrained ear, and draws her bow, pointing her arrow at Ku-vastei. But Ku-vastei ducks nimbly to the side and avoids the shot. The Dunmer reaches for another arrow, but can’t find one in her quiver. She runs to the target to retrieve more, but Aryon flings a fireball at her before she makes it halfway there. She stumbles, sways backwards, then falls forward against the practice target.

There’s a bridge from the raised platform that connects to another tunnel on the right, but Ku-vastei is more interested in the tunnel directly ahead of them. “Split up?” she asks Aryon. He nods, and begins climbing the stairs to take on the rightward passage.

Ku-vastei plods forward through the tunnel, quickly meeting another defender. He’s unarmored and armed with only a pitiful dagger, and she’s able to dispatch him with a swift thrust from a distance. She continues on before reaching a massive chamber, with a ceiling so high Ku-vastei can’t see it in the darkness. From the center of a small lake rises a massive pillar, wrapped around with stairs towards a platform near the top.

“Come and get me,” a voice calls out from the spire, “you n’wah!”

Ku-vastei obliges the request, sprinting to the top of the tower. She’s nearly out of breath when she arrives, and sees a man who can only be Galmis Dren, his face obscured by a Dwemer helm. He’s holding a Khajiit slave by the collar over the edge of the platform. He wags his free finger. “Think long and hard about approaching me, n’wah,” he says, and Ku-vastei can hear the wicked smile calling out from beneath the helmet.

Ku-vastei stops in her tracks for a moment, calculating.

She marches ahead anyway.

“Bad idea,” Galmis tuts, and lets go of the Khajiit, who falls screaming towards the water below.

Then Ku-vastei runs towards Galmis. He begins to cast some spell, but it misses as Ku-vastei runs past him, and leaps from the ledge into the darkness.

She dives, trying to catch up, but sees the terror on the Khajiit’s face as she plummets and falls beneath the surface of the water. Soon after Ku-vastei breaks the surface herself, and beelines her way to the bottom, where the Khajiit’s slave bracer has weighed her down. She wraps her arms around her frail furry body and starts to kick her way up to the surface.

Once she arrives, she swims over to the platform where she first entered the chamber, and lays the Khajiit on her side, letting her cough up water from her lungs. Finally, the Khajiit finds the energy to speak: “Thank you, muthsera.”

“Are you alright?” asks Ku-vastei.

“Yes, this one will be fine,” she says, before coughing up another bit of water.

Satisfied, Ku-vastei runs back up the tower, but does not find Galmis. She takes the short way back down and swims back to the platform where the Khajiit is. By this time, Aryon has arrived, accompanied by a small gaggle of assorted slaves.

“Aryon,” she begins, her entire body burning from the running and climbing, “Did you see him leave?”

“No,” Aryon says simply, tending to one of the slaves. “But I could have missed him.”

Then they both look at each other as Ku-vastei says, “Ilmeni.”

They run to the exit of Nammu, the slaves barely able to catch up, the Khajiit who nearly drowned supported by a couple of her fellows. But when they finally get outside, they find S’Bakha, the three atronachs, and Ilmeni, who sits against the cliff face with her hands covering her eyes, unscathed.

“Dammit,” Ku-vastei says. “He must have teleported.”

“Where to?” Ilmeni asks, sounding somewhat relieved as she stands up.

“Wolverine Hall, if he Divine Interventioned. Perhaps Vos if Almsivi.”

“Or,” Aryon notes, “he could have Recalled to a preestablished Mark.”

“We’ll never find him,” Ku-vastei says, banging the butt of her spear on the rock below, startling the slaves. She sighs and scratches her chin. “Did you at least find the key?”

“Yes,” says Aryon. “One of the others had it.” He hands it to Ku-vastei. “I think you should do the honors.”

As Ku-vastei begins to unlock each slave’s bracers, she mentions, “I need to speak with Llethym. He needs to explain why the Camonna Tong are bringing slaves to my House.”

“I suspect I should speak with the Grandmaster as well,” Ilmeni adds.

Aryon nods. “I’ll get in contact with your Mouth, Ku-vastei. He can arrange the meeting.”

“Fast” Eddie Theman, Ku-vastei’s Mouth, does indeed arrange an audience with Grandmaster Llethym Hlaarothan of House Hlaalu rather swiftly. After dealing with Endase and getting the tear in her robe mended, Ku-vastei meets him at his office in the Hlaalu Canton of Vivec.

She knocks on the door, and is welcomed in. There are two seats arrayed before a grand desk, behind which sits the Grandmaster. He’s a thin mer, who Ku-vastei knows is capable of a lot of second-story work and assorted illegality, as how else could he have reached his position in the House? Perhaps the Duke Vedam Dren thinks him a noble figure, but even nobles can be deceived. Possibly flattered by Bug Musk, or some enchantment, or simple Illusion magic. None of these are beneath Llethym Hlaarothan’s moral standards.

In House Telvanni, you tend to just kill off anyone who gets in your way. And that suits Ku-vastei just fine.

“Welcome, welcome!” bellows Llethym, startling his other guest, already sitting in one of the seats. She turns to see who has arrived, and -

“Ku-vastei!” Ilmeni Dren shouts, her face wrinkling in displeasure as she turns her head back slightly towards Llethym, but never breaking eye-contact with Ku. “This was supposed to be a private meeting, Grandmaster.”

“Nice to see you, too,” Ku-vastei says, smiling.

“Well,” says Llethym, smiling sheepishly, “I thought I’d knock two racers out with one stone.”

“I’m ever so glad you took our wishes into consideration,” remarked Ku-vastei.

“Plus,” Llethym adds, “I hear you two aren’t on the best of terms.”

“Says who?” say Ilmeni and Ku as one.

Llethym clasps his fingers over his desk. “I’m not one to reveal sources, of course.”

Curse Eddie, thinks Ku-vastei, and Aryon too.

“Listen,” begs Ilmeni, “I don’t think there will be any sort of ‘reconciliation’ between us. She tried to kill my cousin.”

“Ah. Galmis Dren, of course,” Llethym says, stroking his stubbly goatee, his eyes wandering. “Firstborn of Orvas Dren. And of the late Amiliah Dren. A charming woman,” he says, not elaborating.

“A wicked aunt,” Ilmeni mutters. “And a long dead one too, thank the Three.”

“Listen to you,” notes Ku-vastei, “wishing ill upon the dead.”

“At least I’m not a murderer.”

“You of all people should know what it takes to end slavery. Or were you too soft? What did your ‘Twin Lamps’ ever truly accomplish?”

“Much,” Ilmeni says, rising from her chair. “And it’s enough. Nobody had to die for it.”

“Slaves have had to die for it. And it is never enough, not until every slave is free.” Ku-vastei’s fingers twitch at her sides, tempting magic.

“You would start a war over this, like you did before,” says Ilmeni, her voice rising. “You know the Dres would never give in peacefully. And the Indoril would support their rights. It would be Vvardenfell against the mainland, and you won’t stop until any who oppose you are dead. Even after the terrible losses of the Arnesian War, you would do it all again, just to satisfy your bloodlust.”

Yellow sparks begin to apparate at Ku’s fingertips, her claws wreathed in golden flames. Llethym notices where Ilmeni does not, and says, “Now, now. Let’s be civilized here. Enough quarreling.”

Suddenly, there’s a loud crash on the door behind Ku-vastei. Then another, and a shout. Ku-vastei wisely takes a few steps back. Then another bang, and the door comes flying towards Ku-vastei, who catches it impaled on a summoned spear, catching on its kagouti-wings.

Behind that door is Galmis Dren, eschewing his usual robes for full battle armor, his full helm for his indignant face, and his axe for hands full of furious fire. Ku-vastei slides the door off her bound weapon so that she can see. “You again,” she says with a dramatic sigh. But her eyes are alight, and her entire body taut with energy. She jumps forward to strike, but even her conjured Daedric spear can’t penetrate his dense armor, scraping harmlessly to the side.

Galmis smirks. “You ruined my entire operation, n’wah,” he says, raising his flaming hands for the assault, “and you killed my father. And now, you die.”

Ku-vastei wishes she’d kept the door. She reaches out a hand with a ward, but she’s never been much good at Alteration. It’s a feeble aegis, and as soon as the blaze hits its violet surface, it begins to show cracks. She pours all of her remaining magicka into the shield, but it’s not enough. It explodes into a thousand scintillating shards, and the force of the blast pushes her back onto the floor, unconscious, sending her spear flying across the room.

Galmis steps forward, standing over Ku’s disarmed form, and prepares to land the coup de grace -

“Wait!” Ilmeni cries, reaching out towards Galmis. But to her surprise, Llethym is already up and standing next to him, placing his hand on Galmis’s Dwemeri pauldron.

“Son,” he says, “that’s enough.”

“Who are you calling son, ‘Grandmaster’?” Galmis tries to wedge a hand between him and Llethym, but seems to struggle in the armor. “I have no father. Not anymore.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, Galmis,” says Llethym, his angular face turned unusually soft. “I’m sure you’re aware of the old rumors. That your mother Amiliah wasn’t always faithful to your father.”

“Lies,” Galmis says, still focused intently on Ku-vastei. “Nothing more.”

“They weren’t. You see, long ago, but not long before you were born, I met a charming woman. She didn’t call herself Amiliah Dren, but I knew -”

“Shut up!” Galmis cries. “This isn’t about you.”

“- I knew that she was Orvas Dren’s wife. Our love was brief, yet long enough to -”

Galmis turns towards Llethym’s masterfully paternal visage. “That’s not possible,” he says, his face contorted in rage and grief. “I know who my father is.”

“Did you never wonder why he hated you so? Why he treated you as least among his children, even though you were firstborn?”

Gears turn behind Galmis’s eyes, and his expression softens somewhat. “That’s not…no. I refuse to believe this!”

“Believe it or not,” Llethym says, placing a delicate hand on Galmis’s face, “you are my son. Have you never looked at yourself? How little you favor your ‘father’?”

Ilmeni, so enraptured by the scene playing out before her, notices something minute that few others would have. She notices a gesture behind Llethym’s back, a half-closed hand and then a pointing. Old Hlaalu sign-speak. Her father had taught her as a child. She closes her eyes, contemplating what he was asking her to do. But then she glances at Ku-vastei, lying on the ground unconscious, and knows she has to.

She slowly raises her right hand towards Galmis’s face, and lets loose a gout of bright blue flame.

He screams immediately, pulling back from Llethym and clutching his incinerated face. He starts to cast wildly, blindly, charring the walls and ceiling, but misses Ilmeni and Llethym entirely. His screaming slowly fades into pained croaking as he collapses to the ground, writhing in agony as he chokes on the smoke of his own flesh. Finally, silence falls, and all that remains of his face is a blackened skull, smoldering azure.

Llethym attends to Ku-vastei, helping her to stand as Ilmeni falls to her knees. She feels wetness on her face, and reaches up with her hand to discover her eyes as the source. Llethym explains to a shell-shocked Ku what had just happened, and Ku thanks the two of them for saving her life. But Ilmeni doesn’t reply, staring into the far distance over her shoulder and trying very hard not to look at Galmis.

Llethym approaches her, kneels beside her, and places a hand on her shoulder. “You did the right thing, Ilmeni,” he soothes. “He was going to kill Ku-vastei, and probably you and I, if you didn’t intervene.”

“I didn’t know you knew magic,” Ku-vastei says, keeping her distance.

“My family is blessed by Azura,” Ilmeni says. “Skips a generation. Landed on mine. And his.” She glances towards Galmis, but quickly averts her eyes and looks up at Llethym. “How did you know?”

“I wasn’t lying to Galmis,” Llethym says. “I am the boy’s father. So I know a thing or two about the Drens.”

“Don’t you feel any remorse at all?” she asks, incredulous. “You just had me kill your son.”

“I never knew him as my son,” Llethym says simply. “Why should I have some special attachment to him?”

Ilmeni looks at Ku-vastei, who shrugs. “You’re both the same,” she says, “aren’t you? Or is that kind of callousness just what it takes to lead?”

“In a sense,” Ku answers.

“But we still care for the people we serve,” Llethym adds. “Enough even to kill for them.”

Ilmeni shakes her head, but begins to understand anyway, and wishes she didn’t.

“Ku-vastei,” says Llethym, “if you please. Tell an Ordinator there’s been an incident in my office, and that we have a corpse that needs removing.” Ku-vastei nods and leaves the room. The Grandmaster returns to his seat at his desk, and sips his tea. “Stinks to high-heaven in here.”

#tes #tesblr #oc: ku-vastei #oc: hlaalu llethym hlaarothan #my writing #telvanni #hlaalu #ilmeni dren #master aryon #i doubt any of these other characters have populated tags lol #even those are a crap shoot #morrowind #argonian #dunmer #khajiit

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sangopearls · 3 years ago

Text

-taking care of their sick s/o

CW: NONE APPLICABLE.

a sickfic for the soul

i was going to include albedo but i worry that i can’t get his characterization quite right so if this does well perhaps i shall consider a part two

perhaps.

characters included: childe, zhongli, thoma

childe ✧˖*࿐

an unexpectedly good caretaker despite his career literally being government-contracted hit jobs

(this is because growing up in the snezhnayan cold has made him the ultimate nurse extraordinaire for his siblings)

he will literally drop everything if you have a request. he just wants you to get better asap almost as if he’s a dog waiting for his person to come home and play afsggsgshsjsjd

by the time you wake up from your nap, it’s absolutely pitch black outside. shit, you could’ve sworn you had closed your eyes for just a second, and now it must be well into the night. you still had a lot to do- finish some cleaning, cook dinner… archons, if you left childe to his own devices for dinner, surely the kitchen would be a pile of cinders by—-

“[Y/N]?” a voice interjects quietly. you look towards the source to see your boyfriend, childe, standing in the opening of the doorway. “oh, good, you’re up. that was a long nap. feeling any better?”

“i didn’t expect to sleep that long, childe, i’m so sorry,” you mutter, rubbing your eyes with your hand, “it’s probably too late to cook. we can run over to wanmin restaurant and grab some-“

“[Y/N], [Y/N], don’t worry,” he says with a dismissive wave, “i took the liberty of making shchi. it’s a snezhnayan staple for fending off colds. think of it like cabbage soup. i used to make it by the boatload in the winters back at home when teucer and anthon would play in the snow for too long.”

you blink, slightly dumbfounded. “childe, that’s too kind. you didn’t have to, really.”

“i know i didn’t have to,” he smiles, “i just hate seeing you sick like this and thought i’d make an old favorite rather than grabbing to-go food. c’mon, it’s getting c—- wait, actually, don’t move a muscle. i’ll bring it to you.”

zhongli ✧˖*࿐

just so patient and knowledgeable and perfect 😮‍💨

he easily assesses your situation and your needs and makes sure you’re taken care of

“your temperature has gone down,” zhongli observes, withdrawing his hand from your forehead, “that is good. all of your rest must have been helpful.”

“i don’t need to rest anymore, zhongli,” you sigh, “i’ve hardly done any work since my cold first manifested. i’m going to be so behind. the adventurer’s guild will excommunicate me.”

“i have worked things out with katheryne to lighten your load, love,” zhongli says quietly, “they understand your predicament. do not worry. when i am off from my work at the funeral parlor, i will come back and bring you some of those dumplings you enjoy so much. until then, please continue to rest.”

you settle your head back into the pillow with a sniffle. “promise you’ll brew me some of that tea i like, too?”

zhongli smiles softly and a small laugh escapes from his lips. “of course, darling,” he says, pressing a feather-light kiss to the center of your forehead, “rest well.”

thoma ✧˖*࿐

teyvat’s best malewife shines like no other when it comes to caretaking

he knows cold remedies like the back of his hand and WILL make sure you rest and take your medicine and take care of yourself!!!

i care him so much….,,,,,…..,.

“okay, i’ve gotta run, but let’s go over everything,” thoma says, “no leaving this bed except for restroom breaks. drink all of the tea i left on your nightstand. take a spoonful of that cold remedy the doctor prescribed once every few hours. absolutely under no circumstances shall you overexert yourself with any sort of work. got it?”

“blah, too much to remember,” you complain teasingly, “and i’m ignoring that last part. you know i have that paperwork i’ve been meaning to take care of.”

“no, no, no,” thoma scolds with a chuckle, “you need a nap, not more work on your plate. i’ll be back in a few hours. you can put aside some time to take care of yourself, can’t you?”

“says who?”

“says me,” thoma counters, “doctor thoma’s orders.”

“you’re not a doctor,” you chuckle.

“today i am,” he smiles, “come on, [Y/N], take it easy. if you can’t do it for yourself, do it for me.”

#childe #genshin #genshin impact #childe x reader #genshin impact hcs #genshin impact headcanons #genshin x reader #genshin x y/n #tartaglia x reader #tartaglia #zhongli x reader #zhongli #thoma x reader #thoma #tohma x reader #tohma #moonlit seas

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etakeh · 3 years ago

Text

About May Day

Source

Margaret Killjoy 🏴 @magpiekilljoy

Happy May Day.

On May 1, 1886, the US had a general strike for the eight-hour work day. In the days that followed, workers were gunned down and fought back.

Anarchists who were central to the planning of the general strike were framed up on bogus charges and convicted--openly--of the crime of being anarchists. Five of them were sentenced to death.

One, Louis Lingg, cheated the hangman by killing himself with a bomb in his cell. Four others went to the gallows while thousands of supporters gathered outside.

Their trial was such an obvious miscarriage of justice that the next governor of Illinois pardoned them--some of them posthumously. But they were not innocent victims of state violence. They were committed and organized revolutionaries who believed in the end of wage labor.

They each spoke passionately before the court, open about what they believed and why they believed it. Most were immigrants to the US, who had arrived believing in the American Dream and soon found conditions no more free than the countries they had left.

Their words and their deaths resonated around the world, leading May 1 to be celebrated as the international labor day.

It's possible it was a coincidence that this general strike was called for May 1, for Beltane, for the day we celebrate the renewal of spring, but it's the kind of coincidence I don't really believe in.

Adolph Fischer, a German immigrant and the editor of a worker's newspaper, said this to the court:

"I was tried here in this room for murder, and I was convicted of Anarchy. I protest against being sentenced to death, because I have not been found guilty of murder. However, if I am to die on account of being an Anarchist, on account of my love for liberty, fraternity and equality, I will not remonstrate. If death is the penalty for our love of freedom of the human race, then I say openly I have forfeited my life; but a murderer I am not."

Louis Lingg was a bit more forthright:

"Perhaps you think, 'You'll throw no more bombs'; but let me assure you that I die happy on the gallows, so confident am I that the hundreds and thousands to whom I have spoken will remember my words, and when you shall have hanged us, then, mark my words, they will do the bomb throwing! In this hope I say to you: I despise you. I despise your order, your laws, your force-propped authority. Hang me for it!"

The night before he was hanged, the eldest of the martyrs, George Engel, a deeply radical man who ran a mom-and-pop toy shop with his wife, told this to the priest who attended him: "I have no religion but to wrong no man and to do good to everybody."

The movement in Chicago died alongside the martyrs, but it inspired and gave new life to the movement across the world. Their names and words and deeds are remembered, and a worker's holiday was born.

The general strike they helped organize did not overnight win the eight-hour day universally, though did win it for many industries. It took decades before US workers won the right to live one one third of their day in the service to capitalism. There's still more to go.

============================

Other Margaret Killjoy stuff. Y’all she writes official MTG fiction too. I love her.

#may day #margaret killjoy #2022 #labor rights #anarchism #beltane #immigrants

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ithacanexile · 2 years ago

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If you don’t like the Lord of the Rings: The Rings of Power, then you can just say nothing on social media. No one is forcing you to watch it. There are folks like me who have enjoyed Tolkien’s world for over 35 years, who remember the liberties that Peter Jackson took with the source material at the time. It never detracted from the films, and I enjoyed both as they were.

Amazon don’t have the rights to The Silmarillion or the Book of Unfinished Tales, which meant that they had to get creative with the story.

Guess what? Amazon’s The Expanse has changed the story from the books, and that didn’t have any problems. The same with Amazon’s The Boys. Both have diverse casts.

I welcome any chance to step back into Middle Earth. Tolkien’s stories mean a lot to me personally. So seeing a load of posts by people who seem mighty wound up by the race of characters that they had to devise to construct an original story out of minimal source material. I suggest that if you don’t like the series, then you don’t need to watch it and you don’t need to post about it. I am not a fan of Harry Potter, so I have said nothing about it on social media, it is possible!

This series was made in challenging conditions during a global pandemic, in a country with the strictest quarantine restrictions on Earth. The people who made it had to spend very long periods of time away from family to do so. Cut them some slack. I am not a fan of Jeff Bezos either, I think the guy should pay his taxes and not dodge them and treat his workforce better.

Let those who like the new series enjoy it and you can find something else to talk about.

#lord of the rings #the rings of power #TROP #morfydd clark #benjamin walker #lenny henry #jrr tolkien #middle earth #Arda #the shire #the hobbit

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spencersawkward · 4 years ago

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if you feel comfortable with it, I’d love a prof Spence where reader is a student and goes to office hours to initiate ~smutty goodness~ but Spencer is reluctant at first bc his job but they flirt more and eventually sleep together

me n my professor kink when i saw this: 😏 anyway yes i am quite comfortable writing about this lol. i took some ✨creative liberties✨ with your request so i'm sorry if it isn't exactly what you wanted!

summary: reader is a student in Dr. Reid’s class, but she’s been something of a poor student-- office hours are the only solution.

relationship: Fem!Reader/Professor!Spencer

content warnings: unprotected penetrative sex, fingering, rough sex, super brief hair-pulling, creampie, dirty talk, spanking, age gap, degradation-- he gets pretty dominant oops.

word count: 4.5k

masterlist

popping in a piece of gum, I make my way to the back of the hall. there are a few people here already, but it's a little early. I'm never early. in fact, I'm usually late; my other class is on the other side of campus, and getting here involves a lot of embarrassing speed-walking.

but here I am, five minutes ahead of schedule and actually in a decent seat. as I flip open my textbook and pull my laptop out of my bag to prepare to take notes, my gaze slides down to the corner of the room, where Dr. Reid is standing up with a pile of papers. he walks over to the girl in the front row, handing her the stack and gesturing for her to pass it along.

I resist the urge to roll my eyes. he's a total luddite. the first day, Dr. Reid spent about ten minutes rambling about the importance of reading from a physical book rather than online sources-- which, although I definitely agree with, means a lot more lugging around folders and organizing all the readings he gives out. if he wasn't so hot, I would have switched into another course.

and I know it's wrong to be daydreaming about my professor slamming me into a wall while he discusses the intricacies of quantum theory. the complete cliché of it is embarrassing. but still, I just can't stop thinking about him: how his fingers would feel around my throat, the smooth wooden surface of his desk against my cheek as he bends me over and pulls my panties to the side--

"glad to see you've decided to join us, today, Ms. Y/L/N." Dr. Reid's voice startles me out of my thoughts. he's standing towards the front of the room while students file in. his hands are resting in his pockets with his eyebrows pleasantly raised.

"glad to see you've noticed." I retort, too irritated with his comment to care about being polite.

a couple people look at me. even though I'm generally not on time, he tends to just glance my way when I walk in and leaves it at that. I know he doesn't like it, although I personally don't care. I hate this course.

he seems visibly surprised by my response but doesn't reply, gaze lingering on mine before he turns to speak to a student trying to get his attention. I bite back a smile. fucking asshole.

as usual, Dr. Reid writes in his thin, messy lettering on the board while wandering around the front of the room. he's quite fidgety, even though his voice doesn't betray any sort of nervousness. it's like he's naturally overactive.

every word out of his mouth is enunciated, sometimes spoken faster when he gets particularly impassioned by the subject. he's interesting to look at, too. messy curls and a nice suit, stubble that straddles the line between refinement and ruggedness.

I type quickly, but it isn't fast enough and the strange illustrations he does on the board only complicate things. I try to write them down in my notebook, but my handwriting is jagged; sometimes it's hard to read. when a student raises her hand for a clarification, I take the opportunity to catch up.

my head jerks up as soon as I'm finished and he's looking at me while he speaks. even from so many feet away, the intensity strikes me. he's gesticulating and crossing the room. I hold eye contact.

I wonder if he dates often; a couple of the girls in my row always stare at him throughout the lectures. he seems to be completely unaware of the effect he has on people. sometimes I'll see him in the hallway and he has his nose buried in a book, or a to-go cup of coffee, or both. either way, there seems to be no more room in that head of his for romance.

which, naturally, makes me curious about how he looks when he's on the edge of orgasm. if that composure is replaced with a contorted pleasure. I want to break him.

it's like he can read my thoughts, because Dr. Reid averts his gaze. my stomach twists with a strange anticipation. he avoids looking my way for the rest of the time.

towards the end of class, I start to pack my things to go. I have three papers to write, and my utter lack of interest in this is making me eager to leave. I shove my textbook into my bag the second my professor starts to make closing remarks.

"don't forget that we have a midterm in two weeks!" he says in a slightly louder voice as people start to move around. "if you have any questions, my office hours are posted on the bulletin board outside."

at this, my eyebrows rise. I forgot about the midterm. I have a study calendar set up for all my subjects, but I've purposefully been putting this one off. I'm not super into math. and it doesn't help that most of my time is spent not listening. when I am, it doesn't make sense.

as I stand up and gather my stuff, I hear someone clearing their throat a couple feet away. my head turns to see Dr. Reid leaning against his desk.

"Ms. Y/L/N, can I see you for a second?"

my heart stutters in my chest. is this about my attitude? he's never asked to see me outside of lessons before.

I frown, making my way to him with a deliberate pace. the tension in the room builds as I watch the last of his students shuffle out of the room. my head turns from the door to him; my breath catches a little in my throat at the set of his jaw. part of me hopes I get yelled at.

"I'm concerned about your participation in this class." he says. his voice isn't cruel, but it is brutally honest— which is worse. participation? I feel my fist clench at my side. my professors don't usually say anything if you aren't doing things up to their expectations; if you aren't, then they give you a bad grade. simple as that.

"is this about me being late?" I ask. he lets out a sigh before answering. he sounds disappointed.

"you're constantly tardy, and when you hand in your homework, you barely seem to have put in the effort. it's messy."

"messy?" I start to get annoyed. I'm only doing this so that I can get my degree. it's a fucking requirement. even though I'm not the biggest fan of mathematics, I still do my best and hand in my assignments on time. plus, the latest I arrive is five minutes-- it's not like I'm stumbling in halfway through the lesson.

"you've never come to office hours to ask for help or explained your lateness, which I, as your professor, would have appreciated." he scolds. honestly, I don't know what to say. my eyes narrow.

"I have my studio class on the other side of campus." I explain. "I should have emailed about that and I'm sorry, but I'm also not being lax about my work."

he goes around to the other side of his desk and glances up at me while he organizes some loose documents to pack away. he looks way too good when he's exasperated: his hands tighten around the papers, his eyebrows come together in this cute way. his tie is a little crooked, too.

"are you struggling with the content?"

"sometimes, yeah. but I can handle reaching out for help if I need it." I reply. he's pissing me off with these questions. I can see from the expression on his face that he's surprised by my reaction.

"really?" he slides some books into his messenger bag. that was definitely sarcastic; I know it was. "because it doesn't really seem like you have."

"I like to find help on my own." I shoulder my bag and cross my arms over my chest. there's no way he's gonna talk to me like that and expect me to not respond in kind.

"I'm reserving a slot on Wednesday evening for you," he looks up and holds my gaze. hazel irises that dare me to challenge him further. "I want you in office hours so that we can figure out how you're gonna catch up before the midterm."

"fine." I turn on my heel and leave. I know I'm not supposed to talk to my professor like that, or even to behave with such apprehension. but something about him makes me angry in the kind of way that settles in my stomach. I hate that he's right. I'm not going to do well on that damn test if I don't get some help.

but that doesn't mean I can't have some fun with it.

when I rush into his office on Wednesday evening, the sun is just starting to set through his window. there's a pinkish glow that smooths over Dr. Reid's desk as he glances up at me. I had to run to get here.

"you're late." he nods to the clock on the wall. I roll my eyes.

"only one minute, though. I had another class."

he sighs and folds his hands on his desk. "how are you doing today, Ms. Y/L/N?" a strangely polite question for the look on his face. he's frustrated with me.

"I'm quite well, Dr. Reid." I smile brightly, slightly excited by the anger on his face, and sit at the chair in front of his desk.

"I didn't know you were interested in art." he says simply. I'm confused for a moment before I remember that I told him that the course before his is a studio lesson.

"I didn't know you cared."

"do you make a habit of that?" he quirks an eyebrow.

"of what?" my expression is saccharine.

"being rude to people who control your grades."

"unless you're considering being unethical in your practices and allowing your personal opinion of me to influence my grade, then no." I counter. he's silent for a moment, taking in my words like they've left a mark on him.

"well, you'd most likely fail if I asked you to leave my office hours right now. whose fault would that be?" he fidgets with his hands and leans forward just a bit, his voice dropping to a lower tone. I bite back a smile.

"you wouldn't."

"and why is that?" he baits.

"because you're not a shitty professor, Dr. Reid," I lean back in my chair and cross my legs. "as angry as you are, you wouldn't be able to live with yourself if you kicked me— a struggling student— out of here for giving you a little attitude."

"a little attitude?" he scoffs. "you've spent the whole semester completely ambivalent."

"not completely." I shrug.

"Y/N, you draw all over your tests and leave at least one problem half-finished every time. you obviously aren't learning." he chuckles mirthlessly. I concede this point; I like to doodle when I'm bored. and there's absolutely nothing more boring to me than numbers.

"okay," I sit up and rest my elbows on the edge of his desk, staring at him. "then teach me."

Dr. Reid holds my gaze for a long moment. we're suspended, it seems, as his lips part and he finds himself speechless. the way I said the words obviously has another layer to it-- he just has to decide whether or not to take the bait.

"what are you struggling with?" he clears his throat and sits up a bit straighter in his seat. that answers my question, I guess. I poke my tongue between my teeth gently, but then pull out my notebook and flip it to a page with some problems outlined on it.

"these." I toss the thing onto his side and he begins to run through the assignment. I watch him pick up a pen and start to explain the steps, slipping into his usual educational tone. his shoulders relax a little as he writes.

I can't see right from the angle I'm at, so I stand and come around onto his side. I hear him pause his speaking for a moment at my proximity, but he doesn't move away.

"does that make sense?" he asks me once he's finished running through the first problem. he basically did all the work. the professor's head turns to gauge my reaction to the explanation, but his eye line is right at the hem of my skirt-- which is already pretty short. for all his attempts to be subtle, he gulps and looks up at me.

"mostly." I brush a piece of hair behind my ear and pretend to scratch at a spot on my upper thigh, dragging the edge of my skirt with it until he can see the smooth skin beneath, practically begging for his touch. "can I ask you a question?"

"sure." he keeps his eyes almost too focused on mine. I try to hide the smile tugging at my lips. now or never, I guess.

"what's your policy on professor/student relationships?"

"my-- my what?" this time, he's audibly scattered when he turns to me. his eyes are wide, dark. even he can't hide his feelings.

"you know," I run my fingertips over the tweed shoulder of his jacket. I can sense the tension beneath his clothes. "like, your policy on fucking a student."

"I--" his cheeks turn pink. he's flustered, albeit not rejecting my touch. "I've never had to think about it before."

"hmm," I look off to the side as if considering this point. his chair is fully turned to face me now, and I'm standing in front of him, almost completely his for the taking. all he has to do is close the gap. "well, what are you thinking about it right now?"

"it's wrong." he stumbles over the words.

"why?"

"well, I mean, you're a student--"

"for a semester that's almost over." I cut him off. he opens and closes his mouth. I take a deep breath, toying with the hem of my skirt. "I know you've been looking at me during class."

"w-what?"

"you're pretty good at hiding it, but you call on me a lot and you get all messed up when I hold eye contact too long during lectures." I say.

he looks down and back up apologetically. he's just sitting there, lap wide open. so I do what any sane girl in my position would do: I climb into it, straddling him and resting my arms around his neck. he sucks in a breath.

"you pretend I'm such a pain," I lean down by his ear, my core drawing over his pants. he tenses as I speak. "but you like that I'm your little problem."

"Y/N..." he trails off, but his hips are bucking up into mine.

"see?" I look between our bodies at his movements, then at him. I smirk as I look into those lust-darkened eyes. after a moment of him not speaking, I straighten. "look, I'll leave you alone if it really bothers you--"

as I start to get off his lap, he grabs me and pulls me back down. the force hits my center at just the right angle and I let out a slight mewl. he hears the sound and before I can register the pleasure, he grabs my face and yanks me closer to kiss him.

god, he feels so good. I rock my hips against his while our lips pass over each other hungrily. so much tension built up over the past few months, so many thoughts I've had of him, now coming to fruition. it's amazing.

"not so 'wrong' now, is it?" I chuckle against his mouth.

"shut up." he orders. one moment of broken contact to slide my top over my head and throw it on the floor.

I sigh as he starts to kiss across my jaw and down my throat. "I like when you talk like that, Dr. Reid."

one hand grips my hips tighter and he releases a groan against my skin.

"is that why you're such a fucking brat in my class?" he bites my collarbone and I moan. "because you want me to put you in your place?"

"mhmm." I hum. his fingertips move under my skirt, sliding up my thighs and toying with the waistband of my panties. he teases me by grazing my slit over the fabric, inhaling sharply at the wet patch.

"sitting in the back of my room, fucking dripping..." he mumbles to himself as he starts to rub me.

"touch me." I breathe out, trying to gain the friction that I need.

"not if you're gonna be a brat." he removes his hand and I let out a frustrated noise as I try to find the pressure I need elsewhere by grinding down on him. he grunts at the way I pant into his mouth, trying to kiss him with every chance I get. his lips are so smooth and sweet against mine. there's something affectionate about it even in its ferocity.

"I'll be good." I practically beg.

"that's what I thought." he slides his tongue over his bottom lip as he watches me whimper on top of him.

"come on, Spencer..." I use the name for the first time and he grabs my face in his hand, squeezing my cheeks.

"not my name, sweetheart." he stares into my eyes expectantly and I smirk.

"you're fucked up, doctor."

"so are you."

after he says that, he lifts me off his lap and stands up, pushing between my shoulder blades until my face is pressed onto the desk. I let out a needy whine, wiggle my ass back in hopes of finding his crotch, but he's not willing to give me that, yet.

instead, he gently touches my skirt, flipping it up so that he can see my ass. immediately, he starts to knead it. my palms are pressed flat against the desk with anticipation, silently thankful that my panties are still on. I think I'd be dripping down my thighs if they weren't.

"are you gonna be more respectful?" his voice is low, one hand tracing over my back. I shake.

"mhmm."

"I won't spank you if you don't use your words, sweetheart."

"yes." I choke out, no longer wanting to give any sort of resistance. I had no idea there was this side of him, and I love it.

he loves it too, apparently, because his hand comes down sharply on my ass. I yelp at the contact and he runs his fingers over the point of impact, rubbing the flesh gently.

"too hard, baby?" he checks.

"harder." I beg. I can't see his face, but I can sense his smile as if it's my own. his palm hits me again, and I gasp.

"you like being punished?"

"yes." strangled and desperate.

he slips his finger beneath the fabric of my panties, collecting my essence and letting out a quiet moan when he feels me. I push my hips against his fingers, partly expecting him to remove all the pressure, but he doesn't bother waiting.

he slips his index inside and I gasp. starts to push in and out, his silence proving his arousal. I can practically feel his eyes on me. the pace increases a bit and he slides in his middle finger. I buck against the desk.

"oh fuck!" I cry out as he starts to go faster. he curls them against my walls and I arch my back.

"two fingers and you're already breaking?" Spencer chuckles as he moves inside me. he keeps one hand on my ass while he does it, starting to finger me at a ridiculous speed while I pant and moan and cry.

"I--" I gulp down air. "I need you in it."

he bends down by my ear, never breaking his rhythm. my legs are shaking from the force. "you need my cock?"

"yes," I feel myself closing in around him. "god, yes."

"you're lucky I wanna fuck you so bad." he mutters. I grin as I hear the clink of his belt coming undone, the sliding through the belt loops, the sound of him stripping down to nothing. I can feel my excitement on the inside of my thighs, spread around by his reckless fingers as he removes my panties and skirt.

he grinds himself against my pussy, coating himself in me, while he releases low, longing moans. I suck in a breath when the head pushes in, every inch pushing me open a little more. I don't have the ability to form words, so I bite my lip and grip onto the edge of the desk until my knuckles turn white.

his breath stops for a moment before he groans.

"so ready for me."

he's not even all the way in, and he has to pause to let me adjust. when he taps the inside of my thigh for me to part them more, I do it quickly and beg him to fill me up. I can barely take the pressure between my hips, but it burns in an inviting way.

"keep going." I direct him. he runs his hands over the curve of my waist and starts to thrust into me at a rate that leaves me panting. it's not too fast or slow, just impatient and needy. every sound that spills from his lips turns me on more.

"where'd the attitude go, huh?" he digs his hips into mine. his cock hits my cervix and I squeak against the wood, but he holds my back down. I don't even try to argue with him, too overcome with the pleasure that's coursing through my limbs. he starts to build up his speed. "don't have much to say when you're getting fucked?"

"Dr. Reid--" I moan.

he plows into me so hard, the desk shifts on the floor and he grabs my ass with both hands.

"take it, baby. fucking take it."

I get up on my elbows to look behind me, just to glimpse how he looks as he gets closer. his curls have fallen more in his face, and his shirt is gone. I want to touch him desperately, to feel the lovely skin of his torso and arms and everything else, but he keeps me down for the most part. all I get is the sight of his mouth open and his hips moving quickly against mine.

"look at me, there you go." he grabs my face and holds me there, our eyes locked. mine are welling at the sheer overwhelming pleasure inside, but his are dark and intense. they search mine for something I can only hope to offer.

"that feels so good, Dr. Reid." I pant. he bites his lip as he watches my mouth hanging open in lecherous shock.

"I bet it does," he explores my body. "coming in here, hoping I fuck you like you deserve. you're lucky I'm going easy on you."

"thank you." I whine.

"you might need some extra lessons, yeah?" he grunts out, moving into me with a bruising force.

"yes, please." I whisper. my voice is practically gone at this point, my mind entirely focused on the knot building in my stomach.

"what was that, baby?" he pulls my hair gently.

"yes— fuck— yes, please, Dr. Reid."

"what a beautiful girl." he smirks. I whimper when he runs his fingernails down my ribcage. I can feel it coming from the way he starts to move tumultuously, every thrust pushing harder and seeking more release. it's fervent, how he takes me and grips my hips like the force itself will push him over the edge.

"I'm so close..." I breathe out as I try for as much friction as I can.

"show me," he drops down so his stomach is flush to my back. "show me how you cum, Y/N."

the way he says my name-- husky and warm and full of lust-- causes me to snap. I cry out as he reaches around to clamp a hand around my mouth, climaxing and pulsing around his dick as I drop down against the surface again. I want him to finish inside, so I do my best to keep him here. and his thrusts are getting more staccato as he chases the sensation my walls create.

"can I fill you, angel?" he asks. he's breathing right by my ear, and the feeling is sending shivers down my spine. I love how his weight feels.

"yes." I moan and he slides his fingers into my mouth. I suck on them while he orgasms, jerking into my pussy and letting out unholy sounds of ecstasy. he says unintelligible things in the throes of his orgasm. pounds into me until I'm sure I won't be able to walk tomorrow.

"jesus christ, Y/N." he slows to a stop. when he pulls his cock out of me, the absence makes me whine. I miss his body already.

"oh my god." I clench my hands into fists as I try to catch my breath. I'm still bent over the desk as though I've been completely sapped of all my energy. I suppose I have. he doesn't touch me for a moment in the spirit of letting me recover from the small shudders still running over my skin.

"that was great." he says after we've both had time to fill our lungs. I push myself onto my elbows again.

"correct." I grin and straighten up more until I'm standing. he stares at me, at the cum now dripping down my legs, entranced.

"let me get you something to clean up." he snaps out of it a little. I can't stop looking at him, either, in love with the way he moves and the way he breathes after exerting himself on my body.

"come here." I bite my lip. for some reason, despite what we just did, this is scarier than everything else. he steps closer and I reach up, kiss him softly. part of me worries that he'll pull away and be terrified. maybe that he'll tell me that I've read too much into this.

he's much gentler than before. our first kiss was full of need and primal desire, but this is more affectionate. I remove myself from his embrace.

"okay, you can go now." I giggle. his fingertips linger on my waist and he smiles. I push his shoulder. "I literally have your cum all over me-- go."

"fine." he starts to put his clothes on.

"does this mean I get an A?" I joke. Spencer shakes his head.

"nice try. when we're done cleaning you up, we're gonna sit down and figure this out."

I let out a whine, and he kisses my cheek before looking me in the eyes. "it'll be fun. I promise."

"math is not fun."

"I can't believe I like a girl who doesn't enjoy such a beautiful subject." he rolls his eyes and I giggle. he's perfect.

#spencer reid #spencer reid one shot #dr. reid #criminal minds #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x reader #professor reid

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dreamerstreamer · 4 years ago

Text

Devil-May-Care

Pairing: demon!Dream / Clay x demon hunter!gn!reader

Summary: [Demon Hunter!AU] When you went in search of the most powerful demon known to mankind, you didn’t expect him to be so charming.

Warnings: a little horror + some violence + tw// weapons (crossbow, gun)

Word Count: 4.2k

A/N: this was requested by a passionate anon! i fell in love with the request at first sight and had loads of fun writing this, although i did take some creative liberty with it. i hope you all enjoy :)

You huffed as you pushed past the branch hanging in your face, wrinkling your nose as you trudged onward. The forest was almost eerily silent around you, the pitch black night doing nothing to ease the tension that had gathered in your shoulders. Above you, the moon and stars twinkled soundlessly, peering down at you with wide, watching eyes.

Where could he possibly be hiding? you thought to yourself with a grimace. Is he even in this forest?

Your mentor had told you that this forest was the last place he’d ever been seen, and that it would be your best bet. But she also told you not to get your hopes too high, since he was known to be a trickster who never stayed in one spot for too long.

You sighed as you stepped over a fallen log, making sure not to trip. Despite how young the night was, you were already getting tired. Tracking was arguably the hardest part of your job, and easily your least favourite part of it.

Then again, no one said being a demon hunter was easy.

With a slight grumble, you squinted through the darkness while walking past another tree. So far, all you’d seen was tree after after tree, and you were getting fed up. Heck, you could have sworn there was a clearing just ahead of you here.

It was at that moment that the trees suddenly parted before you, and you found yourself standing in the middle of a clearing. The soft grass rustled beneath your feet as you took a tentative step forward, your ears perking up for any noise or movement. When nothing came, the muscles in your legs tensed.

This was the first clearing you had found in hours, and something about it just felt off.

“What are you looking for, little hunter?”

You whirled at the sound of the low, curling voice, your gaze frantically darting around the darkness for its source. You kept your lips pursed as your head whipped this way and that, nothing but silence filling the forest air. Even with the light of the moon, all you could make out between the shadows were the silhouettes of trees and their taunting branches looming over you.

There was no way it was who you thought it was... right?

“Not gonna say anything? Hm. Perhaps that’s just because you can’t see me. Here.”

You heard the snap of a finger, and the clearing around you suddenly lit up in a faint, greenish hue. Your eyes widened as the earth you stood upon began to glow, your fingers twitching at your side. Turning again, you quickly searched your surroundings once more for the voice’s owner. Everything seemed to be exactly how it appeared when you first arrived—the trees were just trees and the grass was just grass, even if they were both admittedly glowing.

Just then, there came a whistle from above you.

You lifted your head, and your gaze fell upon a figure sitting atop a tree branch a few feet away. Your breath caught in your throat at the sight.

Piercing, emerald eyes. A green fitted shirt to match. Dark, golden hair. A smattering of freckles. A cold, wicked grin.

The man smiled at you, swinging his legs leisurely as he tilted his head. “Hello there, pet.”

You didn’t wait another second before your arms were reaching up behind you, pulling your crossbow off your back. You slotted the arrow into the flight groove in near record time before aiming it up at him, aiming for but a split second before you pulled the trigger. In a flash, the arrow went flying through the night sky, pointed directly at his face. You could have sworn you caught his eyes turn red before he suddenly vanished, your arrow passing through empty space before pinning itself into the tree trunk he had been leaning against just seconds prior.

You panted, quickly pulling another arrow out of your quiver and reloading your crossbow as you turned in a circle, not a single detail going unnoticed by your watchful eyes. Adrenaline pumped through your veins as you tried to focus on the rustling leaves around you. Your fingers curled around the stock of your bow a fraction tighter, your heartbeat pounding in your ears.

Where is he? Where did he go?

A smooth voice curled around the back of your neck.

“Is this how you greet everyone you meet, or am I just special?”

Whipping around again, you pulled the trigger without even an ounce of hesitation. A twang of satisfaction shot through you as you heard the distinct sound of flesh being pierced, followed by a tumble to the ground. You rushed over at the sight of the man—or demon, as you should be calling him—lying sprawled on the ground, his arms casually tucked under his head as if he hadn’t just been shot.

“Ooh,” he murmured, wrapping his fingers around the arrow sticking out of his chest, “your arrows are made of dreamshade.” He grinned at you. “Smart one, aren’t you?”

Before you could even react, he ripped the arrow out, watching with amusement as crimson slowly dripped onto the front of his shirt. You stared at the hole in his chest, left behind by your arrow, a glimmer of glee expanding in your chest. Yes! you thought, your lips quirking as your hand floated toward the pistol hanging at your side. Now’s my cha—

All of a sudden, you watched in horror as the skin began to reform, the sinew and muscle stitching themselves back together to fill the gap. In an instant, his chest was whole again, the hole having disappeared entirely with nothing to even hint at its existence, were it not for the tear in his shirt.

“Unfortunately for you,” he said, tossing the arrow behind his head with a flick of his fingers, “I’m tougher than most demons out there.”

In a flash, you were standing over him, one foot digging into his chest. You didn’t even give him the chance to blink before you were pointing your crossbow at him once more, this time just barely allowing the arrow tip to hover above his neck. You tried to calm your breaths, pushing back the sick sense of joy you could feel starting to boil over inside you. You were so, so close to just killing hi—

“Don’t you think it’s a little rude to attack me without even asking for my name?” he calmly drawled, looking bored out of his mind.

You blinked in surprise, your thoughts faltering for a moment before your expression hardened once more. “I know who you are.”

He cocked his head at you, something like delight swimming in his viridian eyes. “Do you, now?”

You gulped, hesitating only for a moment before you began to speak. “Y-You’re Dream. Lord of chaos. Progenitor of destruction. Harbinger of nightmares.” You nearly choked on your own words.

“The world’s most powerful demon.”

He grinned at you, clapping his hands together above his head as he let out a small hoot. “Aw, you know all my titles?” He winked. “That’s cute.”

Cute, your brain repeated dumbly, a fuzzy feeling forming in your chest, but you quickly shook the thought from your head with a scowl. You should not be happy that one of the most powerful demon’s known to mankind called you cute.

(Okay, well. Maybe you were a little happy. Not that you would ever admit it.)

With a stony look, your finger wrapped around the crossbow trigger, the cool metal sending a shiver down you spine. “I’m here to kill you, Dream.”

He didn’t look fazed. “Oh? Even though we only just met?”

A snarl ripped itself out of your throat, fury slowly beginning to claw up your insides. Why did he sound so calm? Didn’t he understand that he was about to die to your hand?

“That doesn’t matter,” you said bluntly, trying to ignore your heart ramming away at your ribcage. “You’re a monster that needs to be disposed of.”

He hummed, absentmindedly picking at his nail. “That’s bold of you to say.” His tone was dull and interested, and his eyes seemed to shine even brighter thanks the green glow surrounding his head. “I can’t remember the last time a demon hunter has ever been so upfront with me.”

The string tying your restraint together snapped. That was it. How could he be so nonchalant? So apathetic? Didn’t he care?

“You’ve killed so many people,” you spat, “taken so many innocent lives, and for what?” You narrowed your eyes, nothing but pure disgust running through your veins as you dug the tip of your crossbow into the soft flesh of his neck. “What reason do I have to stop myself from ending your life right here, right now?”

Below you, Dream only stared blankly at you, his eyebrows raised. Then, he let out a sigh, wrapping a hand around the stock of your crossbow. Panic shot through you as he pulled it away from his throat with ease, his fingers curling around the polished wood. “First of all,” he said lowly, “that little thing isn’t going to do anything.”

In a blink of an eye, you heard the snapping of metal and wood, your gaze going wide. He shot you a cocky grin. “Not anymore.”

You leapt back, gritting you teeth and tossing your now useless crossbow onto the earth beside you. Your hand moved in a blur as you reached down and pulled out your pistol from its holster, pointing it toward him. “Each and every one of these bullets is soaked in holy water,” you shouted, your hand cocking back the safety. “Don’t think I won’t shoot.”

Dream rolled over onto his stomach, his grin widening as he rested his chin on his hand. “Tell me,” he drawled, tilting his head, “do you really think you scare me?”

You ignored the shaking of your fingers. “I—I can and will shoot you.”

He laughed, an uncomfortable warmth wrapping around your gut. “Please, darling—I’ve been alive for longer than you can even fathom. As if you’d be the first to pin me down, let alone try to shoot me.” His eyes flashed crimson, and you felt your stomach drop. “I know all your hunter tricks and tactics, and believe me when I say they won’t work.”

Suddenly, he floated up off the ground, not changing his position whatsoever. In only a matter of seconds, he was hovering above you, blinking down at your shocked expression with mirth glimmering in his scarlet gaze.

Of course he could levitate—what were you expecting?

“Second,” he said, “I did a lot of those things a long time ago, especially in human years. How long has it been?” He tapped his chin. “Probably centuries by now, which is like forever for you guys.”

You scowled at him, your pistol still pointed at him. “That doesn’t mean you haven’t caused any chaos recently.”

“That’s true!” he chirped, snapping his fingers. “But my more recent activities have been much more... tame in comparison to my golden years, don’t you think?”

As much as you wanted to shoot him right here and now, you also wanted to punch him in the face before you did. “Lives are lives, Dream!” you shouted. “Any more or less lost doesn’t make you any more redeemable.”

A chuckle slipped from his lips, flipping onto his back as he continued to hover in the cool, night air. “Oh, you humans and your morality. How entertaining you all are.”

There was only one word running through your mind as you glared at him, your jaw clenching tight as your rage only multiplied inside you. Monster, monster, monster.

His eyelids fluttered shut as he allowed himself to drift a fraction lower toward you. “Well, I do believe I should ask—who’s to say that I was the one who killed those people, anyways?”

Your heart stopped in your chest. “...what are you talking about?”

He peeked an eye open at you. “It’s not like I flew down from the sky and shot them all with a rifle, and it’s not like I just snapped my fingers and everyone dropped dead.” He hummed at the thought. “Just what kind of person do you take me for?”

You bit the inside of your cheek, your toes curling in your boots. “Stop distracting me—you’re dodging the question.”

“On the contrary,” he shot back without missing a beat, “I’d argue that you’re dodging mine, pet.” You could hear the laughter threatening to bubble up his throat as he spoke. “Do you really think I was the one purely responsible for all that destruction?”

You tried to ignore the slight tremble of your hands. “A-Aren’t you?” you stammered out. “You’ve started wars, detonated massive bombs, pushed people to their absolute limits. That stuff’s all your fault.” You gulped. “...isn’t it?”

For a second, he simply stared at you. Then, he burst into a fit of giggles. “Oh, how naïve you are, pet. Just what were you taught?” As he clutched his chest, he sunk a little lower toward you. “I didn’t fight on those battlefields. I didn’t press the red button. I didn’t kick men and women to the ground, pointing guns in their faces. But do you know who did?”

The cogs in your head began to turn as you wracked your mind over his words. Then, a wave of understanding slammed into you, and you lowered your pistol, your arm going limp at your side.

He couldn’t possibly mean...

“Ding, ding, ding! You guessed it.” His lips curled up into a delighted smirk. “Humanity did.”

Your eyes widened in horror. Oh, no.

The manic look in his eyes only grew. “Oh, yes.” He cackled at the look on your face, pointing at you. “I didn’t even have to lift a finger for you to all walk straight into your own demise! How pathetic is that?”

You took a shaky step back, your pistol dropping to the ground. “B-B—”

“B-B-B-But what?” he said mockingly, mimicking you in a high-pitched tone. “Did they tell you that I’m the big, bad wolf and that humanity is Little Red? Because they lied, pet. They lied to you.” He pointed his fingers together to form an X, tilting his head at you. “I’ll have you know that I’m not a liar. A trickster, perhaps. But a liar?” He narrowed his eyes. “Never.”

He bent down where he hovered in the air, waggling a finger in your face. “The truth is, darling, is that I didn’t do anything. I just stood in the room and watched. I might have pointed out that that one little duke was in perfect view, or that that one city only had so many people living in it, but I never took any lives myself.” He lightly tapped your nose, and you shrunk back as he crooned, “Humanity did all that, pet. They’re the real monsters to blame here.”

You wanted to sink to your knees and melt into a puddle on the ground. He was wrong. He had to be wrong. Your mentor told you that Dream killed all those people—that he was the one to stab the knife in and twist it while pulling it out. She wouldn’t lie to you, never in a million years.

You wanted to believe him, you really did. But there was something about the freckles scattered across Dream’s face and the way the moonlight bounced off his eyes that made you realize.

He was telling the truth.

A few moments passed in silence as you stared long and hard down at your feet. You could feel Dream’s gaze boring into your figure, eyeing you up and down as you struggled to steady the beating of your heart. You half-expected him to mock you even more, but to your surprise, he didn’t. Maybe he was more human than you thought.

“Why?” you finally whispered after god knows how long.

When you were met with silence, you raised your eyes to meet his once more. “Why did you do it?” you said, louder this time. “Why did you interact with us at all if you wouldn’t even get your own hands dirty? If you knew it would only end like this?”

His eyes flashed, the tiniest hint of carmine swirling in their murky depths. “Isn’t the answer obvious, pet?” He flashed you a wicked grin. “I was bored.”

You blinked, realization slowly setting in. “Bored? Bored?” You were about to lose it, now. “You did all that just because you were bored?”

He shrugged. “Sure did. Chaos makes the world so much more interesting, don’t you think? If only good things happened, you would be bored, too.”

Your stomach churned with disgust. “You’re twisted.”

His smile only widened. “At least I’m having fun.”

All you could do was stare at him in defeat. This wasn’t right. There were more ways to have fun than to toy with humanity’s psyche and drive them to end people’s lives, even for a demon like him. There had to be something you could do. For some inexplicable reason you couldn’t bring yourself to name, a part of you almost wanted to help him.

I must be losing my mind, you thought. What person in their right mind would try to save a demon, let alone the most powerful one of them all?

You, apparently.

The cogs in your head began to churn, your mind bustling as it tried to come up with some alternative, no matter how silly. There had to be something he could do that wasn’t just this.

That was when it hit you.

“Why,” you started slowly, your voice coming out shaky and unsure, “don’t you have fun in a way that doesn’t destroy things... but creates them?”

He blinked lazily at you. “Hm?”

You swallowed, raising your chin. “You—you can have chaos, but it doesn’t need to be destructive.”

He raised his brows. “It doesn’t?”

Your gaze hardened. “Not at all.”

Just then, a flash of memory shot through your skull, and you gasped. “Say, Dream,” you began, “do you—do you know how the Greeks thought the universe came to be?”

You didn’t wait for him to answer. “First,” you said, “there was chaos. And from chaos, life was born. Gods and goddesses, plants and animals.”

“And humans,” he added.

You nodded. “And humans—like me.” You pressed a hand to your chest. “See? Chaos can create things. It doesn’t have to be so full of death and terror.”

While his expression was bemused, there was something sad about it that you couldn’t quite put your finger on. “You do realize that that’s just a story that you human made up?” he hummed. “How the universe came to be is far more different.”

You blinked. “You were alive for that?”

He sent you a blank smile, the look in his eyes betraying nothing. “Maybe, maybe not.” Waving his hand, he flipped over onto his back, floating a fraction higher than before. “Point is, that kind of chaos probably doesn’t exist.”

Your hands clenched into fists at your side. “But it could,” you whispered.

He paused, curiosity flickering in his gaze. “What?”

You dug your heel into the ground, raising your voice. “It could! You don’t know that it doesn’t.” You took a step toward him, throwing your arms out. “Isn’t that fun? Isn’t that exciting? That there’s a whole other form of chaos you’ve never discovered before?!”

Your shout rang out into the quiet forest as Dream stared at you, his lips parted the tiniest bit. Rather than looking amused or arrogant, he almost looked... raw. Real. This might just the most vulnerable look you’d gotten of him all night.

Then, he burst into laughter.

Lowering your arms, you huffed at him, trying and failing to ignore the warmth blossoming between your lungs as you took in his wheezing face. “W-What?”

“Oh,” he gasped between peals of laughter, “what a treat you are, pet.”

Heat flashed across your cheeks as he wiped away a tear from his eye, his chuckles slowly dying down. His laugh should not sound as attractive as it was—he should not be as attractive as he was.

“Tell you what,” he said as he caught his breath once more, sending you a devilish grin. “If you tell me your name, I’ll tell you my real one.”

You stared at him for a moment, then your jaw dropped. “What?”

He stared at you, his emerald eyes glowing in the dim light. “You heard me.”

For a few seconds, you simply gaped, your brain still struggling to process his words. “But... but why?” you finally blurted. “It doesn’t make any sense.”

He hummed at you, flipping upside down. “What about it doesn’t make sense? It seems like a fair trade to me.”

Sputtering, you threw your hands into the air. “A demon’s true name is the source of their power! By handing it over to me, you’re basically putting your life in my hands—in a demon hunter’s hands.” Your face blanched at the mere thought. “A human name and demon name aren’t even remotely comparable.”

He blinked at you, slow and lazy. “I know.”

You didn’t understand—you couldn’t understand. “Then why are you doing this?”

He dipped his down toward you, his face hovering mere inches away from yours. “Isn’t it obvious?” he murmured. “You’re interesting. And rather cute, I suppose.”

You back-pedaled, your eyes wide as you stammered, “I-I could kill you if you told me your real name.”

He hummed, tucking his hand under his chin. “Perhaps, I suppose.” His lips curled upward. “But you won’t.”

Your hand squeezed around nothing. “You don’t know that.”

He chuckled again, and your heart skipped a beat in your chest. “Oh, yes I do, pet. Don’t act as though I can’t see right through you. I know you’re too wishy-washy to kill me off just like that.”

He tilted his head at you, his gaze brimming with mischief. “That’s the thing about humans—you’re all so greedy. You all want something you don’t have, something that fuels you to acquire more. It might be power, or fame, or fortune, or love. It’s quite pathetic, really. But curiosity?”

Lowering himself, he pushed himself up until he was standing flat on the ground again, his hands sliding into his pockets. His tongue darted out to wet his lips, and your mouth went dry. “Why, curiosity is your greatest flaw of all. You humans always want to know more, and I know that you want to know what I do next, whether you’re aware of it or not.”

You felt like your blood was going to tear right out of your veins. You hated how right he was, how well he seemed to know you. “You’re insane,” you said.

His smile was lazy and wide as he took a single step toward you. “Probably. But I’ve been alive for ages now, and you might be the most fun thing I’ve seen in millennia. I want to know your name, pet.”

This was crazy in every sense of the word. Any other demon wouldn’t even dare utter their true name aloud, even to themselves, yet here Dream was, bargaining his for yours.

You’d be an idiot not to tell him your name, now.

Swallowing, you didn’t dare look away from his piercing eyes. “It—my name is [Y/N].”

His lips parted in awe, and he stepped toward you once more. “[Y/N],” he repeated, slowly. Carefully, like a wolf stalking its prey. “Fascinating name. Haven’t met too many of those in my lifetime, shocking as it may be.” He paused for a moment, and you could have sworn his smile looked different. “It’s pretty.”

A rush of heat went shooting down your spine, your stomach doing a flip. Biting the inside of your cheek, you glared at him. “Well, stop dawdling! What’s your real name, Dream?”

For a long, excruciatingly slow minute, he only stared at you, scanning every inch of your face. You could feel anxiety begin to crawl up your throat as he did nothing more than watch the rise and fall of your chest as you breathed.

All of a sudden, he was standing in front of you, his hand tucked underneath your chin and lifting it upward. You barely had the chance to gasp before you felt a soft warmth pressing against your lips, light as a feather and tasting like ash and smoke.

Before you could even register what had just happened, he was gone.

You whirled, your face growing astronomically hot. Your heartbeat was pounding in your ears again, but for an entirely different reason this time. You raised your hand to touch your lips while your cheeks burned furiously.

Did he just... kiss me?

Just then, a whisper ran along the shell of your ear, so soft that you almost missed it.

“My name is Clay.”

813 notes · View notes

literaila · 4 years ago

Text

tear me apart

spencer reid x reader

request: Omg hi! Could you write a BAU x reader based on the episode 23, season 7 “hit”. Where the reader is inside the bank while the robbery happens and tries to protect Will? I’m in love with your blog and would really love to read this! ♥️

warnings: mentions of guns, mentions of blood, bullet wounds, angsty, robbery, a little bit of fluff

oh and also I changed basically all of the plot. and skipped the second episode. its basically the same though!

It was an important day.

The moment Y/N opened her eyes she knew that.

She could feel it in the air, could feel it in the arm that was resting around her waist, in the warm breath on her neck, in the way she could feel the warmth radiating from his body, in the soft kisses she knew would be coming as soon as he woke up.

It was a very important day.

Y/N smiled and cuddled in closer to him, his warmth was intoxicating and she was always so cold.

She loved important days. Loved how Spencer never forgot how important they were to her, loved how they both always took the days off, how they both just spent the day together because they deserved it, loved how it was always their secret little bubble that no one else was allowed in. She loved that Spencer loved them just as much as she did. She loved everything about them.

And today was one of them.

She could practically feel the butterflies in her stomach flying around, gliding in different directions, and moving her insides around. She wasn't particularly fond of the feeling, but it was a nice reminder of just how much Spencer affected her.

She laid there for a long time, just listening to him breathing, feeling his chest rise and fall against her back. It was a lovely feeling. It almost made her never want to get up.

Almost.

When she finally felt his breathing change, when she could tell that he was about to get up when the clock struck 9:30 and like a child on Christmas that couldn't wait any longer, she jumped up out of bed, hoping that the loss of her presence would be enough to wake him up.

She rushed to the bathroom to brush her teeth before he could catch her. If they wanted to get on with their day together, she would have to finish the few tasks she had left on her to-do list. And then she could spend all day with him.

With just him.

The butterflies fluttered around her stomach some more.

She was standing in front of the mirror, still brushing her teeth when Spencer walked into their bathroom. His eyes were still tired, and he was still slouched from sleep. But he was smiling. Y/N grinned and pretended not to notice him in the mirror.

His eyes were soft as he leaned against the wall, he knew she knew he was there, but it was nice to stare at her. Just a moment with no interrupts. A moment meant just for staring.

She turned around and raised an eyebrow at him. Her lips were turned up in a half-smile. Spencer raised his hands innocently and smiled back at her.

“Good morning,” he said as he walked over to her, decreasing the amount of space between them significantly, and resting his hands around her waist. She tried to talk with toothpaste still in her mouth but, eventually sighed and gave up, and turned away from him and his warmth while he laughed at her.

When she turned around she felt amazed by the smile on his face. It was one she didn't get to see often, one he kept hidden away for days just like this. She briefly thought that it was her favorite smile of his.

She moved her hands up and intertwined them around his neck. She felt him pull her in, could feel his smile against her back. It was contagious.

They stood there for a minute, holding each other and smiling.

And then Y/N untangled her hands from around him and walked out of the bathroom. She laughed as he protested, hurrying into their closet so she could get dressed.

Spencer, already knowing what she was doing, whined “Why are you getting dressed?” as he watched her grab a shirt from off its hanger.

She looked over to him and gave him a teasing smile. “I have an errand to run,” she answered, moving to get some jeans.

Spencer grabbed her wrist before she could reach them. “Don't you know what day it is?” he asked with a pout, his eyebrows furrowed in disbelief.

“Of course I know what day it is.” she snorted, gently removing herself from his grasp as she continued to get dressed.

“Then why are you leaving?”

“Because I have to get something done,” she said as if it was that simple as if he would just nod and send her off.

“Y/N…” he whined, moving in front of her so she couldn't walk away from him.

“Spencer, it'll only take an hour,” she said softly, reaching up on her tiptoes to peck him on the forehead, and then moving past him towards the door.

He followed after her as she slipped on her shoes and grabbed her bag. He was giving her a death stare as she continued to get ready to get out of the door. It was an important day. She shouldn't leave.

“Spencer” she laughed looking up at him and grabbing his face between her hands softly. “We have the rest of the day. I’ll be back.”

He just frowned at her, not saying anything, upset at her actions.

She tried not to grin at him.

Y/N pulled him closer and pecked his lips, once, twice, three times, and then he was pulling her in closer, removing the distance between them and glued their lips together. They stood in their doorway, and Spencer refused to let her go, refused to let her leave on a day like this one, refused to let her leave. Even when she tried to pull away he kept her stuck to him.

Though it wasn't as if she was using all of her strength, her efforts to break away from him were futile as they both knew neither of them wanted to let go.

Eventually, she built up enough resolve to actually pull herself away from him.

She couldn't stop the smile from taking over her face. “I’ll be back sweetheart,” she said sweetly, and while Spencer tried not to, her smile was too infectious not to smile back.

She kissed him one more time. Just for a moment.

“Happy Anniversary,” she whispered against his lips.

And then she was walking out the door before Spencer could protest.

***

Spencer woke up to the sound of gunshots.

Y/N had been gone a while.

When she had left, he let the disappointment boil in his stomach, let himself be upset for a moment, before he thought of her words, of her soft kisses, of the way she was holding him only a couple of minutes ago. He thought about her for a moment, and his disappointment faded into anticipation. He couldn't wait to spend the day with her.

But it was agony to wait.

So, he had decided to try to go back to sleep, although he wasn't tired, and he was wide awake, sleeping would be a good way to pass the time. So he walked himself back to bed lazily, and while he’d been doubting that he’d actually be able to go back to bed, he’d fallen asleep much quicker than expected.

And then he was startled awake by the loud bolt in his air.

Immediately he looked up, his instincts kicking in, his eyes bolted around the room, trying to find the source of the loud noise. And after a moment of searching, he looked down at his bedside table and saw it was just his phone buzzing.

Not gunshots.

While he was relieved, his face turned sour when he saw the same on his phone. JJ. JJ meant that something was going on. JJ meant that there was a case, meant that Spencer wasn't going to get his perfect day with Y/N, that he wasn't going to get any time to himself on his day off. It meant that they had to go into work.

He sighed and answered the call.

“Hey Spencer, we’ve got a bank robbery. Hotch wants us to come in.” JJ listed off quickly, ignoring the fact that Spencer hadn't even greeted her.

“A bank robbery? Why are we-”

“I’ll send you the address.” She said, and with a click of the phone, JJ was gone.

And Spencer had work. On their anniversary.

It was their anniversary. It was the anniversary. It was the anniversary of the day they’d first met, of the day they’d both caught each other's eye.

It had been three years.

Not long enough.

The memory, that seemed so far away, still hadn't faded. Spencer could still smell the warm vanilla scent in the air, could still feel the cold air brushing against his neck, could still feel the rumbling of the voices around him. He could pinpoint everything that had happened, could remember exactly how it was. They’d met at a farmers market. A place that was completely unrelated to work, a place where they’d both seen each other for the first time, a place where they’d thought they’d never see each other again.

Spencer could still see the light in her eyes, could still see the innocent way she walked around, looking for something. He thought about what she had told him a year after that day, a year later when they’d met officially through work, and had developed a fondness for each other. She told him that he’d seemed brighter than everyone else, that she’d watched him for a while before she left, that she was trying to commit him to memory so she wouldn't forget the light coming off of him. She’d told him that on their first anniversary.

The memories that Spencer held of Y/N would never fade.

And it was only their third anniversary, it was only three years together.

Spencer smiled slightly. Let himself dream of her for a moment, dream of the day they could’ve had together. He let himself drift off for just a minute.

And then he was back in reality.

And there was a bank he had to get to.

He pretended he didn't still hear the ringing of a gunshot in the air.

There was no gunshot.

***

Colonial Liberty Bank.

Three robbers, one murder, lots of hostages.

Seven bank robberies in seven months.

Spencer was the first one on the scene, his teammates quickly followed, JJ being the last one there. As soon as he saw her run into Will’s arm, and rush to ask him if he was okay, Spencer understood why she had been so rushed on the phone, and why it was important that they were there.

The robbers had killed 7 people before this robbery but had always been classified as robbers before murderers. Now, it was clear that there was something else going on.

“No one kills 7 people without serious psychopathic tendencies,” Spencer noted as Hotch explained the circumstances.

There were two men and a woman, they were being called the “Face Cards”, and no one knew what they were willing to risk to get out.

There were too many hostages.

Will explained what had happened when he and his partner had responded to the call when they’d showed up and tried to come up with a plan to get inside the building without anyone getting hurt when his partner had died from a bullet in the head. He explained how they were just getting out, how if he’d been a minute later they would’ve been gone. He told them about the man he had shot.

There wasn't enough information yet.

Y/N still hadn't shown up. No one had pointed it out yet, but Spencer had noticed. He wondered where she had gone, how far away she was, how soon she would be there.

He chose not to say anything. She would be there soon. She was probably five minutes away. Probably.

Working outside gave the robbers an advantage. Working outside meant that Garica had limited resources, that more people could get hurt, that they had to make do with what they could bring to the scene.

The team walked into the truck Garcia was working out of, it held screens displaying the surveillance cameras in the bank. All of them watched as the female looked around, scoured around every part of the bank. They could all see the two males on the floor, one of them hunched over, holding his chest. That must have been the one that had gotten shot.

It was strange that they hadn't cut the videos. It meant that there was something they wanted the police to see. None of them could figure out what.

“They’re overconfident. Arrogant, even.” JJ said.

“The face card masks add to their narcissism. Their personas are the royalty of poker.” Spencer listed off, as he messed with his phone, texting Y/N again, hoping she would answer this time.

“JJ, Reid, and Prentiss look at past robberies, that's going to be our victimology. Pull another analyst if you need to. Dave, I want you to hand negotiations. And Morgan, strategize tactical options with the MPD.” Hotch reported back to them, they all gave one last look to the cameras, checked to make sure nothing else had happened, and then they walked away, ready to get to work.

Spencer walked out of the truck with his head held down, staring at his phone, typing incessantly. When he knocked into another body he looked up startled, his eyes struggled on the figure beside him.

“Chief Strauss,” he said, clearing his throat, and continued walking away.

There was nothing he could do until he got back to the BAU, and while he had the time he was going to find out where Y/N was.

Before he got into the car, he heard a voice say his name behind him.

“Hey, Kid!” Morgan shouted, stopping Spencer before he could leave. Spencer looked back at him with a raised eyebrow, waiting for him to continue. “Have you seen Y/N?” Morgan asked, finally noticing that she wasn't there with them.

Spencer sighed and looked down at his phone. He hoped he would see the three little dots, see her typing, just so she could tell him that she was stuck in traffic, that her car had broken down, just so she could tell him there was a reason she wasn't there.

He frowned and looked back at Derek, his eyes squinting at the sun. “No, I haven't heard from her.”

Derek looked at him doubtfully and noticed the way Spencer's eyes were worried, frightened at the prospect that she wasn't with him. “I’m sure she's fine kid.” Derek reminded him, not wanting Spencer to be distracted while they were working.

Spencer nodded. Derek was probably right. She was fine. She was fine. He nodded once more than got in the car.

She was fine. She would be there soon.

“I’ll be right back.” the King whispered quietly. “Who the hell is this?” he answered, picking up the phone.

Her heart was beating too loudly.

“My name is David Rossi. I’m with the FBI. To whom am I speaking?” There was a slight murmur of the phone. But she couldn't hear what they were saying.

“Alright. I want a doctor sent in, and then I want out of here.” The King answered, waving his gun around angrily.

She looked over to see the Queen purse her lips, her eyes suddenly getting hard. Her body language was much more closed off than the other two.

High demands, she thought.

“Well, we certainly can discuss that. Let the hostages go and we’ll give you all the medical help you need.”

The other man on the floor coughed, blood escaping from his lips. She knew that if they didn't send in help soon he would die, and there was a chance the rest of them would too.

She looked at the faces around her, all of them panicked and shocked. Some of them seemed as if they were in denial as if they couldn't believe something like this was actually happening to them. The most present feeling in the room though was tension. She could feel it between every emotional tie that laid between the hostages, she could feel it in their petrified faces, in the way the Queen was pacing the room, in the way the King didn't seem to notice.

There were children in the room, she knew that even their innocence wouldn't save them.

The King suddenly started laughing. “I can't do that. I need the leverage,” he said, a threatening tone to his voice.

“How about a sign of good faith? Send out the women and children and I’ll see what I can do.” the voice on the phone had gotten louder, and while she still couldn't make out the words, she knew that they were probably demanding for the women and children to be sent out. That was what her team would ask for.

The King looked directly at her in disbelief. And while she knew that he didn't know, that he had no clue, she was still scared that something was going to happen. She didn't want him to look at her.

“He's trying to negotiate.” The king said, now looking at the queen.

“Negotiate?” she said in disgust. She noted how the Queen's stance hadn't changed even when the King was talking to her. She noted how there didn't seem to be a connection between them. “We’re not playing games.”

She didn't like the tone in the Queen's voice. She didn't like the way she was looking around the room. She didn't know what to do.

She watched as the Queen forcibly moved a little girl away from her father. She listened to the little girl begging, to her Father pleading with the Queen.

She could feel her blood rushing, could feel her head clouding with rage, could feel herself reaching for a gun she hadn't brought with her. She shouldn't need her gun.

What could she do?

“Either we get what we want, or everyone in this room dies.”

She looked around at all the people, looked at the King, feeling desperate, hoping that he would disagree with the Queen, that he had some morals, and had some sense of humanity. But all she was met with was a King who was nodding his head, holding up the phone so that the person on the other line could hear.

No no no.

“Do that and you get nothing.”

No no no.

And there was nothing she could do. She only listened as the Father begged the Queen to trade himself for his daughter, only listened as there was a gunshot.

A cry of a little girl.

“You better send in some help, or more people are going to die.”

“Sir I found a thing. See, I took height and weight measurements and I crossed them with known related offenders who specialize in bank jobs-”

“Show me.” Hotch interrupted, too busy to try to understand anything Garcia was saying.

“Yes. These are brothers, Chris and Oliver Stratton. They are petty thieves from Philly, turned bank robbers in New Jersey.” Garcia said, her typing insistently in the background. “They were put into jail for two years after an attempted heist went sour, and they were released two months before the first Face Card robbery, and their measurements are a match.”

Strauss suddenly spoke up, watching Garcia look through their files. “Why didn't the NCIC database connect them?”

“Because the brothers have never used a third partner, and shooting people is not part of their M.O.”

“Looks like they were not very successful criminals,” Hotch said.

“Maybe adding a woman to their team improved their game.”

And then suddenly Garcia gasped.

She stopped typing. Both Hotch and Strauss looked over to her, confused.

“S-sir?” she stumbled out, her mouth going numb.

And she was staring at the screen, staring at the girl on the screen, at the girl she knew so very well.

They were all staring at her.

“Reid?” Emily asked for the third time, trying to get Spencer out of his daydream.

He wasn't paying attention.

She still hadn't answered. She still hadn't even read his text messages. This wasn't like her. This wasn't something she would do.

Where was she?

“Sorry,” he cleared his throat and shook his head. Morgan said she was fine. She was fine. He had a job to do. “The women chose a different type of victim each time. It's not just the security guard. It's been a mother, a manager, and a young child-”

“You can't tell Reid.” Derek insisted.

“Morgan-”

“No. He was freaked out earlier. He can't know about this right now, not when he's trying to help Emily and JJ.” He continued. Spencer couldn't know. If he didn't, there would be nothing he could do.

“We can't just keep it a secret,” Hotch said sternly.

“Hotch. He can't know.”

They still hadn't sent in a medic. It was going to be too late.

She didn't want to think about what would happen if it was too late. Without the Jack, there was no telling what the King would do.

Olly. She committed his name to memory. It might help later.

The Queen was still pacing, still waving her gun at every person, still trying to scare all of them even though there wasn't any chance of any of them trying to escape. The Queen looked more and more irritated by the minute.

She hoped the Queen wouldn't shoot someone again. She hoped they would send in a Medic.

The phone started ringing.

“Why hasn't anyone come in yet?” The King said desperately, but he didn't sound angry this time, he just sounded like he wanted to get the Jack out of there. She wondered why they were so close, what was so special about their relationship?

“We’re sending in the Medic now Chris. Tell Oliver help is on the way.”

“Hurry.” The King said, slamming the phone back down. “They know our names.” the King announced to the Queen, calmer than she would’ve expected.

She wondered when they were going to make her go stand with the rest of the people, why they hadn't forced her off of the ground, why she was still allowed to sit. She wondered if they knew who she was.

She told herself not to think about it.

The Queen took her mask off, set it down on a counter close by. She tried to commit the Queens features to memory. “Not all our names.” The Queen said arrogantly, moving a couple of steps forward.

She wondered what the Queen was doing. Why she was so confident in herself. She watched her put on lipstick, it looked like she was performing a show.

She looked up and saw the cameras.

There were cameras.

The cameras were still on.

If the camera were still on that meant someone knew she was there. That meant someone was watching. Someone was watching them.

Why did they leave the cameras on?

She hadn't been paying enough attention to see the medic walk in.

But she did start paying attention when the King started yelling.

“No! No! No!” he said as the Jack started choking. “Get over here!” The King pointed his gun at the medic, and stood up, as to make himself seem taller.

She had a bad feeling in her stomach, had a bad feeling filling her chest. This wasn't good. Something was wrong.

She watched as the medic started performing CPR, watched as he pumped the Jack’s chest, but she knew that he was dead, and so did the medic. She watched as the medic leaned down to listen to the Jack's breath, but she saw how he paused.

Like he was being told what to do.

And the King saw it too.

And then there were more gunshots.

“No, I just want you to buy us a little time. Don't be quite so efficient.” Hotch said. He needed time. They all needed time. She needed time.

“Whatever you’re gonna do, do it fast,” Strauss said and walked away.

Hotch sighed in relief. Just some time.

“Alright, reasoning with them is still our best option.” He told Rossi, ignoring the panic in his chest, in the thought of keeping secrets, of one of his agents still in there.

“That’ll be difficult, Chris just lost his brother and murdered someone in retaliation. We’re dealing with two killers now.”

It wasn't as if they hadn't dealt with situations like this before. They had. They did it practically every day of their lives. But what could they do with her in there, how could they send an order they knew could end lives when she was in there?

How could they not tell Spencer?

The next phone call was different.

Things were already so tense. The King and Queen seemed to be fighting each other, proving to the other that they were in charge. And the Jack was dead. The King was upset and threatened to kill everyone.

They wanted a way out, they wanted to leave the country. They’d told that to the negotiators.

She knew it wouldn't be long until they got their wish.

Her instincts were telling her that she couldn't let them go, that they deserved to rot in jail, that they didn't deserve to leave the country.

But the other part of her.

The part that was being kept hostage.

That part was begging the police to let them go, to get them out of there so that no one else got hurt. So she could stop feeling so helpless, so alone, so cold, in a bank she wished she’d never gone to. It was begging them to get her out of there, get her home, get her warm. She didn't want to feel guilty for the lives that had been lost anymore. She wanted to go home.

It wouldn't be long.

But the phone call was different.

She couldn't hear anything the negotiator was saying, could barely hear the King talking, but she knew that he was upset. She knew that the negotiator was saying something the King didn't like.

“You’re lying.” the King said suddenly, turning around to look at the Queen, his face was confused, and for a moment she felt bad for him.

She shouldn't. He’d murdered that man.

“Did you call the police?” he asked, nodding at the Queen. His body was tense, but his face didn't look threatening.

The Queen giggled. It was the first time she’d heard her laugh. It sounded wrong.

“Is that what they’re telling you?” the Queen asked, and she could see her body language change, she was tenser like she was trying to hide something.

She was trying to hide something.

“Of course not. What do you think? They’re trying to turn us against one another.”

“Why would you even do that? Olly’s dead because of that.” The King looked disgusted. He looked like he’d given up. There was no power in his voice, no anger in his body. He looked exhausted.

“I wouldn't. I’m trapped here too.” the Queen said, stepping toward the King, insistent.

And then the King changed.

“Are you lying to me?” he accused, suddenly angry, suddenly full of emotion. His muscles were tense as he raised his gun to point it at her.

The Queen didn't back down. “We’ve come too far for you to start doubting me now. Lost too much.” she took a step forward. “Hey,” she said, her voice softer, more like a girl now. “Hey..” she said again, pointing the gun away from her chest and moving toward the king. “Don't let them tear us apart. Right as we’re about to win,” she whispered, running her hands over his face. “If you do that, Olly’s death won't mean anything.”

The King paused, stumbling over his words, staring at the Queen.

She’d tricked him.

“Enough. I’m done talking to you. I want to talk to someone who won't jerk me around, face to face.” the King said into the phone.

“No more Feds.” the Queen confirmed.

“I want to talk to the cop that shot my brother.” The King turned away from the Queen, suddenly angry again.

He hung up the phone.

It was minutes later. Another man had died.

The King was furious. He was going to kill someone else every minute the cop didn't come in.

He was going to kill someone else.

She had to do something.

He was walking around. He was looking for the next victim.

She couldn't breathe. She didn't know what to do, she didn't know how she could stop him and stop the Queen. She knew it wouldn't matter to the Queen if he was dead. She didn't know what to do.

He walked around, his legs were right next to where she was sitting down.

“Nah… Nah… Nah…” he said looking at all the terrified people that were standing there.

He was pacing back and forth, walking past her, walking past her.

She could feel the panic rise up her throat, could feel the bile that came with it.

She didn't know what to do.

He stopped in front of her.

She was the next victim.

The team watched as he pulled another girl up. They watched while Will got ready to go in, got ready to go save them. JJ was standing next to him, looking terrified, begging him not to go in. She couldn't lose him, she didn't care about anything else, she wasn't going to lose him. It was too dangerous, it was much too dangerous, she wouldn't let him.

They watched as the King grabbed a girl by her collar, forcing her to stand up.

Their hearts stopped.

“Hotch,” Spencer said. He said, and he wasn't breathing anymore. He dropped his phone and he wasn't breathing.

She was in there. She was on the screen. She was standing there with the King right in front of his eyes.

Y/N was there. She was there. The King was going to kill her, she was going to die, she was going to be dead.

No.

“That's Y/N,” Spencer said, his voice shaking, his hands struggling to move, struggling to get a hold on his body. She was in there, he’d been calling her this whole time, and she’d been in there with them. She was in there. He couldn't breathe.

“We have to get her out. Hotch!” He said turning around to face his boss, “We have to get her out of there! We can't just- just- leave her.”

Hotch was looking at the boy in front of him. He had a crazed look in his eyes, a frightening stance to his body, he was looking at the boy and he wished he had told Spencer earlier.

“Kid, we can't go in there. Everyone will die.” Morgan said, grabbing Spencer's shoulder, trying to keep him from freaking out, taking over for Hotch who didn't know what to do.

No one had told him. Everyone else had known. No one looked surprised. No one had told him.

He looked back to the screen, looked back to see the girl he loved at the hands of a murderer, looked to see her face which was terrified, her body which seemed to be crumbling. She was grabbing onto her chest like she was trying to keep herself together. She was in there with him, she was going to die.

“I’m going in.” He said, and he moved past all the people, all his teammates who were all staring at him.

“Reid,” Hotch said, following after him.

“I have to get her. I can't just let her die.”

“Reid,” Hotch said again, more sternly this time.

“No! No!” he said, throwing his hands up as to keep Hotch away. “I will not let her die! She cant die Hotch she can't die she cant.” He said.

And as Hotch held him back with the help of Derek, JJ was struggling in Rossi’s arms. She was screaming and crying and Spencer couldn't pay attention to her. He couldn't feel anything but the panic in his chest, but the anger that was boiling in his stomach. He could feel himself tearing apart, his body was made of nothing but paper without her, he needed to get her, he just needed to go get her, she needed him, he needed to go get her.

He couldn't watch her die.

He couldn't.

He didn't notice JJ screaming. Didn't notice Will walking in, didn't notice anything.

He was tearing in half.

She was in there.

She struggled in his arms. She struggled to try to get away, to get herself another chance, to figure out a way to live.

He was dragging her towards the phone.

“Pick it up.” He said and pushed her towards it.

Her hands were shaking, her heart was pounding, and she had no idea how she had managed to keep the bile in her mouth. She should’ve puked by now.

She shook her head. She wasn't going to submit to him.

“Pick it up!”

And she did this time. She didn't want anyone else to die. She was smarter than this. She was.

“Tell him your name.”

“It's Y/N,” she whispered.

And she wasn't prepared for the voice to be so familiar.

“Y/N. We’re coming. You’ll be fine kiddo.” Rossi said, wincing at the sound of her voice. She sounded so small, so unlike the girl he knew.

“Rossi?” she whispered again, this time with surprise.

“We’ve got you, kid,” he said.

She could feel the tears running down her cheeks, and she didn't want to hope, she didn't want to let herself hope for anything, because she knew how these things usually turned out. She knew she had a limited amount of time before he would shoot her.

But her family was there.

Her family.

“Tell Spencer I love him,” she whispered to Rossi, a shiver running through her bones. She was so cold. She was too cold. She didn't know how a person could be this cold.

She whispered out her last words knowing that her time was up. Knowing that this was it. These were the last words she needed to say.

For him.

The King raised his gun up, ready to shoot her, and she was wincing, ready to hear the gun go off, ready to delve into darkness. She was going to die ice cold. She was freezing. Maybe it would be quick.

And he was about to shoot.

When the Queen said, “look.”

Will was walking in. Will was walking into the bank. Will was here. He had shot the King's brother. Will.

“Let these people go,” Will said to the King, giving a side glance to Y/N.

She wasn't dead yet. She hadn't died just then. Will was here.

How could she still be alive? How could she still breathe in air, how was she still alive, how wasn't her time up.

Her time was supposed to be up. She should’ve been dead. She was so cold.

Will.

She knew the King planned to kill him. She knew what was coming. How could she help?

The King let three hostages go, a mother and two children. Relief flooded through Y/N’s body. At least three lives wouldn't be lost today. Three lives that Will had just saved. How to save him?

“Hey. What's your name?” The King asked Will, stepping towards him. Y/N watched as the Queen started to take something out of her bag.

“William Lamontagne Jr. MPD.” Will said, and his eyes looked terrified, his face was sullen, and he looked defeated. He looked ready to give up. Y/N thought about Henry, she thought about his son, about his girlfriend that was outside, she thought about all the people that were depending on him, she thought and she thought.

And she looked to the King, she saw his finger flex over the trigger of his gun.

She thought one more time.

And she jumped in front of Will.

There were two shots. One for Y/N. One for Will.

The cameras went out.

Spencer wasn't thinking.

He couldn't think anymore.

He felt like he had died. Died with her.

“Did you see where they were shot?” JJ asked, her cheeks stained with tears, her eyes red. She was doing more than Spencer. She wanted to know if they had a chance if they had made it. “Are they alive or dead Garcia?”

Spencer already knew the answer.

How could he not?

He was two different parts, he’d been torn apart, he was alive but he wasn't breathing, he wasn't thinking, he was alive but there was nothing, nothing he could think nothing he could feel. He was alive, but he wasn't. He was gone. He had left. He didn't know where he was.

If she was alive he wouldn't feel like this.

He knew she was dead.

He couldn't think.

“Will was wearing a vest. He might be okay.” Emily said, trying to reassure JJ, trying to do anything for her friend.

Y/N hadn't been wearing a vest.

“Might be.” JJ laughed without humor, she looked down and shook her head. How could this have happened to her? How could this have happened to Will?

Rossi walked into the room, he looked at all of his teammates, most of them looked miserable. He tried to ignore that. “They’re not answering,” he said, joining the group.

JJ stood up suddenly.

“All right, we need to get inside,” she said, moving to walk out the door.

“JJ, it's too risky,” Derek said, grabbing her arm to stop her. He wasn't going to let another one of his friends go in there and get hurt. It wasn't worth it. “We don't have eyes in there anymore,” he said.

“Aaron…” she said brokenly, desperately. She had to go in. She had to.

Spencer, who hadn't been paying attention, had barely been breathing, suddenly stood up, and moved towards the door. “I’m going to get her,” he said, almost as if he hadn't seen what had just happened. His voice broke as he said it, clogged with the tears that he wasn't letting escape his eyes. “I’m going to get her.” he repeated as if they hadn't heard him the first time.

Derek stopped Spencer, tried to get his friend to look at him, but Spencer wasn't paying attention. He couldn't feel anything.

Hotch looked at him, and then looked back at JJ who still had her eyes on Hotch.

“Let's go in,” he said. He had to do it for his family.

Will was down on the ground. He’d been shot in the chest. Y/N was luckier.

She’d been shot in the leg. Another man, one of the hostages that were still left over, had ordered a worker of the bank to hold pressure on Will’s injury.

She’d been so much more fortunate than Will.

The hostage that had helped Will, was now talking to her, helping her tie a tourniquet on her leg to stop the blood.

“Are you a Medic?” she breathed out, as the pain in her leg paralyzed her body. She winced and opened her eyes to look at him.

“A former United States Marine.”

It was then that Will woke up.

He locked eyes with her, didn't say a word, he looked around and started to get up. She didn't understand what he was doing, she didn't understand why he was moving, she didn't know what was going on.

There was something wrong with her head. Her eyes were watering and her ears were ringing.

She couldn't hear anything.

But she watched as Will went up to the King, watched as he started talking to him, she could tell that he was in pain, that his chest was burning, but he was still there talking to the King. She didn't know where the Queen went.

She watched as Will explained something to him, watched as they walked away.

Her ears were still ringing, still keeping her hostage to the ground, moving the pain up her body as her eyes went blurry. She didn't know what was so wrong with her, and she didn't know why it was getting hard to breathe.

“Where are they going?” she stumbled out, she could barely hear herself, but she knew something was going on.

The man next to her was explaining something and was telling her something, but her eyes were so tired, and the ringing was so loud. When the Marine next to her finally discovered that she couldn't hear him, could barely see him, he motioned to the other hostages.

And then she was being picked up. Her eyes were burning, and her head was being stabbed by a hundred needles as she felt the person carrying her walk. She couldn't hear anything, but she trusted that she would be fine. She was going to be fine.

The ringing was so loud.

She was whining, and the Marine carrying her was trying to ask her questions, hoping she would be able to hear him.

But the ringing was so loud.

She was about to sleep about to let herself sleep when she saw something.

She felt herself being passed over to someone new.

“Spencer” she breathed out, opening her eyes slightly.

And then the ringing was too much, and she fainted.

***

Spencer couldn't believe the relief in his chest. He was amazed by the feeling that had flooded his body at just the sight of her, at the air that had filled his lungs, at the feeling in his brain that made everything else seem okay.

She was alive.

They were in the hospital now. She had taken a bullet to the leg, had a concussion, and was bruised up in multiple places.

But she hadn't died.

Spencer couldn't stop smiling.

He was sitting next to her hospital bed, and he wasn't really thinking, still couldn't really believe anything. He was just listening to her heartbeat. Listening to the constant beeping of the monitor next to her.

Her heart was beating.

She was alive.

Spencer felt himself get stitched up with every beep that went by, with every reminder that she was still right next to him.

He thought about her eyes, and her smile, and her expression. He thought about the way she had smiled at him earlier that morning, before everything, thought about the kiss she had given him right before she left. He wondered if he would still feel that happy when she woke up.

People kept coming into the room to update him on the case, told him that it had taken more work to find them after the bank had exploded, told him that Will had survived, that Emily had saved his life.

And while he was relieved, glad that Will was okay, that no one else had died, nothing could match the feeling he felt just holding the hand of the girl he loved.

He felt selfish but at that moment, he didn't care about anything but her, didn't care about anything except the heartbeat that still surrounded his world. He couldn't survive without her, he couldn't think about anything but her.

He patiently waited for her to wake up.

It took 12 hours, 12 hours of sitting next to her, sitting and watching people walk in and out of the room, 12 hours of listening to her heartbeat from the monitor, 12 hours just right next to her.

And eventually, her eyes opened.

And Spencer didn't say anything, he let her wake up on her own accord, let her eyes adjust to the room, let her take a moment to think about where she was. He couldn't imagine the pain she was in at that moment.

He waited patiently for her to look at him.

And like always, her eyes were drawn to him, her mind was pulled to his, and it only took her ten seconds to look over and see Spencer.

And despite the pain, despite the burning of her leg, the distant ringing in the background, despite everything she had been through, she smiled at him.

“Happy Anniversary.” she coughed out, her voice raw.

Spencer shook his head, amused at her, dazed by the sound of her voice. It was his favorite sound in the world.

He got up to go get her some water, not wanting her to strain the voice he was so fond of.

“You’re alive,” he whispered when she grabbed the cup from him. He whispered it as if he still couldn't believe it, even after listening to her heartbeat, watching her for 12 hours, even after hearing her voice, he still couldn't believe it.

She sipped the water and watched his eyes, they looked exhausted, he looked exhausted, but she could see a light in them. A light she could always see in him. She smiled at that. He was still the same person she had seen three years ago. He was the man she loved. She was still alive.

“I promised I would be back didn't I?” she whispered, trying to get him to her look at her.

And he did, and suddenly he was moving toward her.

He took her face in his hands, carefully so he wouldn't hurt her, and he kissed her. He felt a different kind of relief fill his body, he felt her melt into him, felt her lips strain against his. It was so much different now, so much different after he had almost lost her, it was so different but so so perfect.

She smiled against his lips, and like always he couldn't resist smiling back.

He pulled back, a smile still stuck to his face, and kept his hands on the side of her face. He was in love with the smile on her face.

“Y/N,” he whispered seriously, looking from her lips to her eyes.

“Yes?” she whispered back.

“You feel his girl in between my hands?” he asked, and she nodded her head in his hands, confused at his words, pouting in concentration. He smiled at her and pecked her lips to remove the pout. “I can't live without her,” he said, now desperate for her to understand. “So I need you to take care of her okay?”

And she laughed, tears running down her face.

They’d almost lost each other.

He was so warm.

She smiled.

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