#I wish I could work on this more but I ran out of time

[surielstea]

Embers Entwined

Pairing: Eris Vanserra x Fem!Reader

Summary: Reader was one of the most affected by Beron’s rule, after his death Eris was crowned High Lord and Reader became his personal servant by extension, what happens when she begins to recognize Eris for his kindness and not his cruelty?

Warnings: Beron being a right asshole as usual, and some kissing (*gasp* the scandal!)

A.Note: Sorry it’s been forever!! This one took me awhile but I’m pretty happy with it. Hope you guys enjoy too! Some Azriel smut coming out in a few days also! 💋💋

Word count: 7.9k

The ball was decadent, far grander than in previous years, though I supposed tonight warranted the excess. A special occasion, one that carried far more meaning than the usual frivolous gatherings meant only to remind the rich of their own wealth.

Tonight, the Autumn Court celebrated the coronation of Eris Vanserra. More importantly to me, we celebrated Beron's death.

I would never say such a thing aloud, never give voice to the hatred that simmered in my veins. But I knew I was not alone in my sentiments. Most despised that wretched male—just not enough to ever act against him. Beron had been cruel, but only to those within his grasp. His wife. His sons. His staff. Me, in particular—his personal courtier.

It had been my duty to obey him without question, to smile and nod and endure, no matter what vile thing he asked of me. The words he'd spoken to me, the way he'd toyed with me, broken me, forced me into submission—I would never find peace after him. I knew that.

I stood against the wall of the ballroom, my hands clasped in front of me, a pleasant, vacant smile painted on my lips. The same as always. My black dress marked me as staff, distinguishing me from the nobles twirling beneath the golden glow of the chandeliers. It wasn't an ugly dress—not physically—but the symbolism it carried made my stomach churn.

I was meant to be invisible. To stand for hours, heels biting into my feet, lips aching from feigned delight, waiting. Always waiting for the High Lord's command. That was my place.

But tonight, for the first time at an event like this, someone spoke to me. Not just someone. The newly crowned High Lord.

"Do you not wish to dance?"

His voice was smoother than I expected, rich and effortless, as though the words required no thought. When I turned my head, Eris Vanserra stood before me, resplendent in his deep forest green attire, gold-threaded embroidery glinting beneath the chandeliers. Rings adorned his fingers, catching the light as he gestured vaguely toward the center of the ballroom.

I had known Eris Vanserra since I was a girl—back when my father served as Beron's personal courtier and I trained under him, shadowing his every move. In those early years, Eris and I spent countless hours in the kennels, where I had been sent to feed the hounds, and he had sought my company. Even then, I knew better than to refuse a Vanserra. But it hadn't felt like an order. Not when he spoke so passionately about his dogs, his amber eyes alight with something rare and unguarded.

I had listened, quietly captivated, as he ran his hands through thick fur, naming each hound like they were something precious, something his father could not tarnish. And though I rarely spoke, I knew he never minded.

But time had a way of reshaping things. Our duties grew heavier, our paths diverged, and whatever thread had once tied us together frayed beneath the weight of expectation. I often wondered if he remembered—the girl who once sat beside him in the straw-covered kennels, listening in rapt silence as he spoke of things he loved. Or if I had faded into nothing more than a ghost of his childhood, long forgotten.

I snapped back to the present when I realized my hesitation, startled by his presence, by his question. By him.

I glanced at him only briefly before averting my gaze. I had long since learned better than to expect kindness from the Vanserras, Eris or not. "I'm working, my lord," I answered smoothly, forcing the usual mask into place. "Besides, the late Lord Beron was always particular about the servantry enjoying themselves at these sorts of things."

A flicker of something crossed Eris's face at my words. Perhaps it was amusement, perhaps something else. I wasn't certain. Then, he did something I never would have expected. He extended his hand to me, palm up. A silent command. I stared at it, my heart stuttering.

Was this a trick? A test? Was he waiting for me to disobey so he could remind me of my place? "Well," he mused, tilting his head, "I'm not Beron, am I?"

I swallowed thickly, but I did not take his hand. His amber eyes gleamed as he studied me, something unreadable lurking beneath their molten depths. "You were my father's personal courtier, yes?"

"Correct, my lord."

"And now that he's gone, you're mine." A statement, not a question.

I nodded.

"And you're required to do as I say."

Another nod.

"Then take my hand." His voice was softer now, quieter. "Dance with me." My breath caught in my throat. I hesitated. Was he attempting to humiliate me?

I had seen what his brothers were capable of, how they had reveled in Beron's cruelty, how they had wielded it against others for their own entertainment. I had heard the stories about Eris—his ruthlessness, his ambition, his callous disregard for those beneath him. I had no reason to believe he was any different.

Yet something about the way he stood there, hand still outstretched, gaze unwavering, made my stomach tighten. He wasn't forcing me. He wasn't demanding. He was patient. I hated him for that. For making me doubt my own certainty.

But in the end, I had no choice. With a deep inhale, I placed my hand in his. His fingers curled around mine—warm, steady. Not gripping. But I knew better than to believe in illusions.

Eris Vanserra was his father's son. And I would never trust him.

The moment my hand settled in his, a hush seemed to fall over the space around us—not total silence, but a ripple in the atmosphere, a shift in attention that pressed against my skin like a physical thing.

They were watching. The nobles, the courtiers, the sycophants who had spent years learning to fear and obey Beron, and by extension, his eldest son. They watched, likely waiting for me to make a mistake, waiting to see what game Eris Vanserra was playing.

I was waiting, too. But if this was some cruel trick, he did not let it show.

Eris led me toward the dance floor with unhurried ease, his grip firm but not forceful. A reminder, perhaps, that I was following him willingly. I didn't know what unsettled me more—that he had given me a real choice, or that, despite knowing better, a part of me wanted to believe he truly meant no harm.

The moment we stepped onto the floor, the nearest dancers shifted subtly away, giving us space without making it obvious. No one wanted to be caught in the High Lord's wake, in whatever he was planning.

He turned to face me, releasing my hand only to settle one warm palm against my waist, the other clasping mine once more. I stiffened beneath his touch, the weight of it burning even through the fabric of my dress.

"Relax," he murmured, amusement curling through his tone. "It's a dance, not an execution."

I forced my muscles to remain neutral, my expression placid, though I could still feel the weight of a hundred gazes searing into me. "That remains to be seen."

His lips curved slightly. "If I wanted to make a spectacle of you, I'd have chosen something far more dramatic." He guided me into movement, a slow, fluid step that I had no choice but to follow. "But I much prefer this."

I nearly scoffed, but reeled in my tone, replacing it with a polite one. "Dancing?"

His gaze flickered down to mine, something unreadable within it. "Yes," he admitted, voice quieter now. "It's one of the few things I enjoy."

I arched a brow at him, skepticism bleeding into my tone. "Truly?"

"Truly." A small pause, then, "My mother taught me."

His hold on my waist remained steady, his movements effortless as he guided me through the waltz. "She used to say that knowing how to dance was just as important as knowing how to wield a blade. Both would assist me on a battle field."

I couldn't stop the flicker of surprise at his admission. Not because I doubted his mother's wisdom—if anything, I had always pitied the Lady of Autumn, the horrors she must have endured under Beron's rule—but because I had not expected Eris to share something so personal.

And yet, before I could decide how to respond, he added, "It was the one thing Beron couldn't take from me."

I swallowed, focusing on my movements, on the way his body angled just to keep me steady, to keep the dance seamless.

He was watching me closely, I could feel it. I hated that I could feel it.

"Why are you telling me this?" I asked, my voice quieter than before, as if the words might shatter between us.

His lips twitched, though there was something different in his expression now. A quiet sort of challenge. "Because you're expecting me to be my father."

I stiffened.

"I'm not," he continued, tone smooth, unwavering. "And I think you already know that."

I bit the inside of my cheek, forcing down the retort that sat at the edge of my tongue. I wanted to deny it.

Wanted to tell him he was wrong, that I had no reason to believe him, that I had no reason to trust him. That, after what I had endured, I had no space left in me for blind hope. But I couldn't. Because, for the first time, I allowed myself to see him—not the heir of Beron Vanserra, not the male who had stood by and done nothing while his father ruled with malice, but the High Lord before me now.

Eris Vanserra was dangerous, cunning, and far too quick-witted for his own good. But he was not his father. And as much as I hated it, as much as it made something twist deep in my chest—

He was also undeniably beautiful.

His russet hair gleamed beneath the chandelier light, his sharp, angular features like something carved from fine marble. And those eyes—deep amber, filled with fire and calculation, but not cruelty. Never cruelty. It unnerved me.

I averted my gaze, the pressure in my throat tightening. "I don't know anything."

His fingers flexed slightly against my waist, the only indication that he had caught the tremor in my voice.

"You will," he murmured, voice barely above a whisper. A promise.

I did not know whether it was a comfort or a threat. But I did know one thing—

The game, whatever it was, had only just begun.

As the waltz came to an end, Eris's grip on me loosened, but he did not immediately step away. His amber eyes remained locked onto mine, searching, calculating—always calculating.

I did not look away. I refused to.

Even as my heart pounded against my ribs, even as my throat tightened with the weight of memories that clawed at the back of my mind, I held his gaze.

He exhaled softly, something almost amused flickering in his expression before he lifted my hand, his touch lingering just enough to send a sharp jolt of awareness through me.

Then, with a deliberate slowness that sent heat curling in my gut, Eris pressed a kiss to the back of my hand.

A calculated move. A display of power.

And yet—his lips were warm. Gentle.

He let my hand slip from his grasp, stepping back with an air of ease, as though he had not just sent my already-frazzled mind into chaos.

"Thank you for the dance," he murmured, voice like silk and embers.

I said nothing. Because I couldn't. I simply bowed my head and turned away, ignoring the stares, the whispers that followed me as I slipped back into the shadows of the ballroom.

Eris Vanserra was dangerous. And not for the reasons I had always believed.

I had not been able to get him out of my head.

I hated it.

No matter how much I tried to shove the thoughts away—to remind myself of the horrors I had endured under Beron, of the way his sons had stood idly by for years, of the haunting whispers that surrounded Eris himself—I couldn't stop replaying that moment in my mind.

The warmth of his touch. The softness of his voice. The way he had looked at me, not with hatred, not with indifference, but with something else entirely.

It was a trick. Had to be. And yet, I found myself watching him more than I should have.

Every time he called for something, every time I had to be in his presence, I bowed low, just as I had always done for Beron. I kept my voice neutral, my head down, my routine unchanged.

As if nothing had changed at all. As if I had not danced with him. As if his hands had not burned against my skin. As if I had not spent the past few days wondering, against all reason, if perhaps he was not as evil as I had once believed.

I would not let myself believe it. Not when I had learned, time and time again, that kindness was a dangerous illusion.

So when one of the guards found me in the halls, stopping me with a clipped, "The High Lord is requesting you," a cold dread curled in my stomach.

Requesting me. Not a general summons for any courtiers. Not a task that could have been handled by anyone else. Me.

For a moment, I couldn't move. Memories crashed through me—memories of Beron's summons, of being called for with no warning, no explanation. Of standing before him, knowing what was coming but never being able to predict just how bad it would be.

My hands clenched at my sides. I swallowed hard, pushing down the panic, shoving it deep beneath layers of practiced control.

This was not Beron. I knew that. And yet, my body did not.

With carefully measured steps, I made my way to Eris's study, every inch of me wound tight.

My mind whispered warnings, my heart pounded against my ribs. I forced my hands to remain steady as I knocked once, then pushed the heavy wooden door open.

And there he was—seated behind a grand desk, amber eyes lifting to meet mine the second I entered.

Eris Vanserra, High Lord of Autumn.

And the male who, for reasons I could not begin to understand, had called for me.

I braced myself, preparing for whatever awaited me next. And prayed that I was not about to be proven a fool.

The door shut behind me with a soft thud, the sound too final, too reminiscent of a past I wanted to claw away from.

I stayed near the entrance, hands clasped in front of me, chin dipped ever so slightly—not meek, but neutral. Just as I had been trained to be.

Eris sat at his desk, one elbow braced on the armrest of his chair, fingers resting against his temple as he watched me. Not impatient. Not cruel. Just watching. Then, with that signature tilt of his head, he asked, "What's your name?"

I blinked. "My name?"

He arched a golden brow, the flickering candlelight making the sharp angles of his face seem all the more severe.

"I'd like to know who to call for to keep my company, so yes, your name."

Company. Was this a game? A test?

I studied him, searching for the trap, but found nothing except expectation.

I told him my name carefully, waiting for the moment his expression would shift, for him to sneer or mock or twist the knowledge into something mean.

But he only smiled slightly, a soft curve of his lips that felt almost out of place on a face like his.

Before I could think better of it, before I could convince myself to stay silent, I blurted, "Have you been lonely, my lord?"

Eris's head tilted further, amusement flashing in his amber eyes.

I stiffened immediately. "Forgive me for asking. That was incredibly impolite. I'm so—"

"I have." He cut me off smoothly, his voice quieter now, but no less firm.

I swallowed.

"I imagined being High Lord would be quite different," he mused, gaze flickering to the stacks of papers on his desk, the glowing hearth, the empty room around us. "Nevertheless, here we are." He nodded as if conceding something to himself.

My lips parted slightly, but I had nothing to say to that. Nothing that wouldn't cross a line I was still hesitant to even approach.

Instead, I dropped into another practiced bow. "Will that be all, my lord?"

His eyes snapped back to me, something unreadable stirring behind them.

"Eris," he corrected.

I hesitated.

"I am not my father," he said, voice quiet but edged with finality, as if he were daring me to argue. "Nor do I wish to become him. So please, call me Eris."

I nodded slowly. "...Well then, Lord Eris."

"Just Eris, my dear," he corrected again, leaning back slightly. "Like friends."

I didn't know what startled me more—that he wanted me to call him by his name, or that he had referred to me as a friend.

Still, I tried to ignore the warmth curling in my stomach as I forced myself to say, "Eris."

His lips twitched, something satisfied gleaming in his gaze. "Good girl."

The praise sent something unfamiliar down my spine, not in the way it had whenever Beron complimented me... this was different.

"Now come, get comfortable." He gestured toward the plush green chairs adjacent to his desk.

I stared at him. "You want me to sit?"

"Stand, lean, lay, I don't care." He waved a lazy hand. "Just relax."

"My lord—Eris," I corrected, still trying to wrap my mind around the strangeness of this entire interaction. "I don't get paid to... relax."

He smirked. "No, you get paid to follow my orders. And I am ordering you to get comfortable."

I stared at him for a long moment, my heart hammering in my chest as I tried to decipher the true meaning behind all of this.

But I saw no malice in his expression. No cruel intent. Just anticipation.

I swallowed and, slowly, I did as he said. I sat stiffly, hands clasped in my lap, my back straight as if Beron himself was still lurking behind me, waiting to scold me for stepping out of line.

Eris, however, did not acknowledge my rigid posture. He only let out a pleased hum, as if my mere presence was enough to meet whatever unspoken standard he had set for this moment. Then, with a flick of his wrist, he returned his focus to the parchment before him.

The only sounds in the room were the quiet scratching of his quill and the faint crackling of the candlelight.

I should have been grateful for the silence. It was better than savage words, better than commands meant to humiliate me. But instead, an odd tension settled in my chest, as if I were waiting for the real reason he'd called me here to be revealed.

Minutes passed. Then—

"You're staring," Eris murmured without looking up.

I blinked, feeling heat creep up my neck. "I am not."

His lips curved slightly, and he flipped to another parchment. "You are."

"I was merely looking in your direction." It was wrong of me to talk back, but something about him let my tongue a little looser, he didn't seem displeased by it in the slightest.

He hummed, unconvinced, dipping his quill back into ink. "And why, pray tell, were you looking in my direction?"

I hesitated. "...I was thinking."

Amber eyes flicked up from the page. "Dangerous habit."

That small smirk still played on his lips, but something about it was softer than usual, teasing rather than taunting.

I frowned, not ready for this interaction to feel comfortable, for me to feel comfortable. "I don't find it particularly dangerous."

"That's because you've never played with fire." He twirled the quill between his fingers before dragging the tip across the parchment again. "Not the kind that burns."

I scoffed. "You forget who I served before you."

He paused at that, glancing at me fully and my heart rate spiked. Too far, I'd gone too far, just a few words and the walls I built were crumbling before my very eyes.

Something unreadable flickered in his expression, but it was gone before I could place it. Instead, he dipped his head slightly, understanding the point. "Then I imagine you know better than most that fire, when wielded incorrectly, only ever destroys."

I stiffened, his words striking something deep within me.

Is that what I was? A thing destroyed? Is that what he saw when looking at me, or himself?

Eris exhaled, shifting his focus back to his work. "For what it's worth," he murmured, quieter now, "I don't intend to wield it incorrectly."

I studied him carefully, as I had done many times before, searching for the game, for the cruel edge I knew so well from his father.

But there was no trick. Only a High Lord—no, a male—focused on his work, offering me something I had never once been granted in Beron's court.

Peace.

I swallowed, forcing myself to look away, to ignore the unfamiliar warmth creeping into my bones.

Minutes passed again in silence, but this time, it didn't feel quite so heavy.

"I was serious, you know," Eris mused, not bothering to look up as he broke the quiet.

I frowned. "About what?"

"Keeping my company." He flipped to another document, signing something at the bottom. "I'd prefer your presence over my advisors any day. They're old and dull. You, at least, have some spirit."

I scoffed. "I think you are confusing obedience for spirit."

"Oh no, my dear." His lips curved in a knowing smirk. "You and I both know you're anything but obedient."

I bristled, opening my mouth to argue, but he held up a hand. "It's alright. I find it... refreshing."

I wasn't sure what unsettled me more—the implication, or the way my stomach twisted at his words. Beron preferred all the servantry to have a fiery spirit, which makes it more fun to break, but he never really could stomp my flames out, and now Eris was sparking the embers. It was dangerous, so dangerous.

Silence fell between us once more.

For a moment, I thought that would be the end of it. That I would sit there, a piece of furniture in this room while he worked, just as I had been in Beron's court.

But then, without looking away from his parchment, Eris murmured, "Tell me something, Fawn."

The way he said that nickname—so deliberate, like he was testing the way it felt on his tongue—sent something sharp down my spine.

"Tell you what?" I asked carefully.

He leaned back slightly, fingers steepled in thought. "Something real."

I hesitated. "That's vague."

"Intentionally so." He arched a brow. "Consider it a challenge."

I narrowed my eyes at him, but he only waited, watching me with that same expectant look, as if he truly wanted to hear something about me.

I exhaled. "I don't like the cold."

His lips twitched. "A courtier of Autumn who doesn't like the cold? Shocking, really." His voice was sarcastic, but something in his eyes told me he knew what I meant.

I shrugged, explaining anyway. "It reminds me of your father." The words left me before I could stop them, before I could think better of them.

Eris didn't flinch, but something in his expression shifted. "I hate the cold, too," he admitted after a beat.

I blinked, caught off guard by his honesty.

He returned his attention to the paper in front of him, but his next words were soft, almost contemplative.

"It's why I keep the fire going."

And despite everything I had come to know about Eris Vanserra—despite everything I feared—those words stayed with me long after I left his study that night.

It became routine.

Every evening, after the day's duties were done, I was summoned to Eris's study. At first, I had thought it was some kind of test, some trick to lull me into a false sense of security before he reminded me of my place. But the days passed, and the cruel words never came. The taunts never sharpened into something harsher.

Instead, I found myself sitting across from him as he worked, the fire crackling between us, filling the silence in ways neither of us felt the need to.

And I was learning things.

Not just about him—but about myself.

I learned that despite being raised under Beron's thumb, Eris did not rule with a hand of iron. He listened—to his advisors, to the reports of the court, to me, even. And when I spoke, he truly listened, as if my words meant something.

More recently I learned that he was—Gods help me—attractive.

That fact had been easy enough to ignore when I hated him, when I thought he was just another Beron in the making. But the more time I spent with him, the more I noticed things I shouldn't—like the sharp angles of his face, the golden hue of his eyes, the way his hands moved across parchment with effortless precision.

It was incredibly inappropriate.

He was a High Lord, for the Gods' sake. I was a mere servant. A courtier, yes, but still beneath him in every sense of the word.

But there were moments—subtle, fleeting—where I felt that he didn't see it that way.

Like when he'd catch me staring and smirk, as if he knew exactly where my thoughts had gone. Like when his fingers would brush against mine as he handed me a book, a touch so brief it might have been an accident, but my traitorous body knew better. Like when he said my name—not the way Beron used to, as if I were an object, a thing that existed for his whims, but as if I were someone worth hearing.

It was dangerous. He was dangerous. And yet, I kept returning to his study, night after night, drawn to him in ways I did not understand.

I was comfortable around him now. Too comfortable. And I wasn't sure if that terrified me or eased me more.

The fire crackled behind him, casting golden light over the room as I sat at his desk, scanning over the trade agreements he had asked me to review. Eris stood in front of the hearth, a glass of whiskey in his hand, watching the flames with a contemplative expression.

"They're bleeding the smaller villages dry," I murmured, flipping to the next page. "The tariffs are nearly double what they should be."

Eris hummed in response, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. "And what do you suggest, fawn?" His voice was rich, edged with amusement.

I exhaled sharply through my nose, biting back a smile at the teasing lilt in his tone. "Lowering them would be a start."

He took a slow sip of whiskey, then turned, his gaze burning even hotter than the fire behind him. "Very well. Lower them."

I blinked. "Just like that?"

"Just like that." He smirked, as if amused by my surprise. "You have a sharp mind. It would be a waste not to use it."

A compliment. A genuine one.

I busied myself with the documents, ignoring the warmth that curled in my stomach. But before I could shift to the next matter, I felt it—him.

The space between us disappeared in a breath. Eris leaned over my shoulder, one hand bracing against the desk as he peered down at the papers with me.

His warmth seeped through the thin fabric of my dress, his scent—smoke, cedar, spice—curling around me, intoxicating. I stiffened, my fingers tightening around the quill.

"See?" His voice was softer now, smooth like velvet. "That wasn't so hard."

I swallowed, forcing my focus back to the parchment. "I assume the next set of reports won't be as easy."

His chuckle was low, deep. "Unfortunately, no."

We worked through the rest of it together, his proximity never wavering, his breath occasionally ghosting against my cheek as he murmured his thoughts. It should have been unbearable. It was unbearable. And yet, I didn't pull away.

Not even when he poured me a glass of whiskey.

I had refused at first, telling him I was technically working but he had simply raised an eyebrow and said, "I won't tell the high lord if you don't."

It burned going down, leaving warmth in its wake, emboldening me just enough to loosen the tight grip I always held on myself.

Perhaps that was why, when we finally leaned back in our chairs, the tension of duty momentarily relieved, I dared to meet his gaze with something close to ease.

"You're a better High Lord than I expected," I admitted, surprising myself with the honesty.

He turned his glass between his fingers, watching me over the rim. "High praise, coming from you."

I rolled my eyes, but the smallest of smiles played at my lips. "Don't let it go to your head."

"Too late," he quipped, grinning.

I shook my head, but I wasn't fast enough to hide the way my lips twitched in amusement.

Eris noticed. Of course, he did. And he leaned in slightly, eyes gleaming. "Careful, fawn. Keep looking at me like that, and I'll think you actually enjoy my company."

I should have ignored the remark. Should have cut the moment short, should have reminded myself that this was Eris, that I was his courtier and nothing more.

But the whiskey hummed in my blood, and I found myself tilting my chin up slightly, arching a brow.

"Who said I don't?"

His gaze darkened, a flicker of something wicked dancing in those golden eyes.

The air between us tightened, the tension shifting into something heavier, something dangerous.

And for the first time, I wasn't entirely sure if I wanted to run from it.

The room was suffocating with heat—not just from the fire, but from him. From the way he looked at me, like he could see through every carefully placed wall I had built around myself.

I should have left. Should have bowed my head, murmured a polite good night, and returned to the servantry quarters where I belonged.

But I didn't.

Instead, I stayed, rooted in place, watching the way Eris's eyes flickered between my lips and my eyes. The tension stretched unbearably tight, wound so thin that one more word, one more breath, would surely snap it.

And then it did.

One moment, we were speaking, our words slow and softened by whiskey. The next—I was in his arms, and his mouth was on mine.

It was a collision, a wildfire consuming everything in its path.

His lips were searing, his hands gripping my waist as if he couldn't bear to let go, pulling me flush against him. I gasped into the kiss, and he took full advantage, deepening it, his tongue sweeping over mine in a way that made my knees threaten to buckle.

He groaned, low and guttural, and something inside me snapped.

I met his fervor with my own, fingers tangling in his hair, feeling the silk of it between my fingertips as he backed me into the desk. The papers we had worked so hard on crumpled beneath us, utterly forgotten.

He exhaled a quiet curse against my lips as his hands gripped my hips tighter, and I—I didn't stop him. I arched into him, into the warmth, the danger of it.

And then—it happened.

A tether snapped into place.

Invisible, undeniable, unyielding.

My entire body locked up as a force stronger than anything I had ever known latched onto my very soul. The bond—a mating bond—solidified between us like molten steel cooling into iron, a force so absolute it stole the air from my lungs.

No, no, no.

I stumbled back so fast I nearly tripped over my own feet, my hand flying to my lips as if I could erase what had just happened.

Eris reached for me, eyes wide, something dangerously close to awe written across his sharp features. "Wait—"

But I didn't.

I turned and ran.

I ignored the way his voice followed me, calling my name, ignored the way my heart thundered in my chest, the way my mind screamed at me that this was impossible, that it couldn't be real, that it shouldn't be real.

Because if it was—if it was real—then it meant I was bound to him. To him.

Not just the male who had been slipping under my skin, infiltrating the cold emptiness I had built to protect myself. But Beron's son. Beron's heir. A Vanserra. A High Lord.

By the time I reached the servantry quarters, my breaths were ragged, my hands shaking as I shoved my door closed behind me, locking it with trembling fingers.

I pressed my back against the wood, squeezing my eyes shut.

This couldn't be happening. It was a mistake. A trick. A cruel, cruel joke.

I was nothing.

A courtier, a servant.

I did not get to have mates.

And certainly not him.

I curled onto my cot, my hands gripping the fabric of my dress as if I could anchor myself back to reality. I forced my breathing to slow, willed myself to forget the feeling of his lips, the taste of whiskey on his tongue, the way his hands had fit so perfectly against my waist.

I did not sleep that night.

I had been avoiding him.

Days had passed, and I hadn't stepped foot in his study again. I hadn't so much as looked in his direction, even as the court whispered about me, about us, about the undeniable scent of a bond snapping into place.

They all knew.

I could feel their stares, the pity in some, the amusement in others. I knew what they thought—that it was only a matter of time before I bent, before I folded myself into the neat little role fate had carved out for me at Eris's side.

I refused.

I stayed tucked away, keeping to my duties, bowing as I always had when in his presence, keeping my head low, silent. I had done it for years under Beron. I could do it again.

Or at least, I thought I could.

The bond had other plans.

It had been clawing at me, a sick, twisting thing in my chest, gnawing at my ribs every time I kept my distance. The more I ignored it, the worse it became, a restless, aching pressure that built until my hands trembled with the need to do something—run to him, scream, sob. I didn't know which.

I was too caught up in my own mind, too focused on fighting the invisible thread tethering me to him, that I didn't notice the male approaching me until it was too late.

"You've been rather elusive, haven't you?"

I turned sharply, expecting him, expecting Eris—

But it wasn't him.

It was Kyden.

My stomach twisted.

Kyden Vanserra had always taken the most after Beron compared to the rest of his brothers, cruel for the sake of cruelty, sneering down at those he deemed beneath him. Which unfortunately included me.

His smirk was slow, predatory. "I almost mistook you for one of the nobility, standing there all stiff and proper. But then I remembered—you're just a servant, aren't you?"

I forced my body not to react, not to let the memories claw their way up my throat. He had that same look in his tawny eyes that Beron always had on one of the particularly hard days.

Kyden stepped closer, voice a lazy drawl. "And yet, despite your lowly position, you managed to ensnare a High Lord." His lips curled, eyes gleaming with something dark. "Or rather, the bond did. Funny, isn't it? How fate makes fools of us all."

I kept my chin high, my hands at my sides. I would not cower.

He leaned in, his breath brushing against my ear. "You reek of him."

I flinched. Kyden chuckled. "It's amusing, really. Eris, of all people, shackled to someone like you." His gaze flickered over me, assessing, and I knew that look—I had seen it before, a lifetime ago, picking apart my worth, deciding how best to use me.

"What do you think he'll do?" Kyden mused. "Surely, you don't believe he'll actually keep you. A High Lord's mate should be powerful, worthy." He tutted. "You are neither."

The words hit their mark, sinking into my skin like tiny blades, because deep down I knew he was right. This is why I've been avoiding Eris, avoiding having that confrontation that will only result in rejection and sorrow.

"I wonder," he continued, tilting his head, "how long it will take before he grows bored of you. Before he realizes you're nothing more than the same little courtier Beron used to—"

A deep, guttural snarl split the air.

And then Kyden was no longer in my space, no longer crowding me like a looming shadow.

Eris had him by the collar, dragging him back, his teeth bared in a vicious snarl beside his brother's throat.

"Say another word," Eris hissed, voice like fire crackling over dry wood, "and I will tear out your fucking tongue."

Kyden, to his credit, did not flinch. He only grinned. "Touched a nerve, did I?"

Eris's fingers tightened, the flames in the nearby sconces flaring wildly.

"Walk away, Kyden," Eris said, voice quieter now, deadlier. "I raised you better than this."

A beat of silence. Then Kyden huffed a laugh, shoving Eris off him with a roll of his shoulders.

"As you wish, brother." He turned to me, and there was something smug in his eyes, something knowing. "See you around, little courtier."

And then he was gone.

Eris exhaled harshly, running a hand through his hair before turning to me.

"Are you—"

I shook my head, stepping back. "Don't."

His jaw tensed.

I couldn't do this. Not here. Not now.

The hallway was silent except for the distant clatter of pots and the hushed murmurs of servants slipping past us, their eyes darting away the moment they caught sight of Eris. I could still feel the ghost of Kyden's words slithering over my skin, the way he had looked at me, spoken to me. But more than that—I could feel the weight of Eris's gaze, burning into me as if he were unraveling every thought in my head.

I didn't want to look at him. Didn't want to feel the way I did when he looked at me.

His amber eyes flickered with something unreadable, something heavy and tense. He hadn't moved since Kyden left, his hands clenched at his sides, as if he was still fighting the urge to chase his brother down and finish what he started.

The silence stretched, thick and suffocating. We stood nearly a yard away from each other in the servants' passages, the house was so vast that to get from place to place quicker in the manor there were secret paths to take. It was odd for the High Lord to even know about them.

I swallowed hard, then whispered, "Why are you here?"

Eris blinked, as if startled by the question. And then, with the ghost of a smirk, he drawled, "It's my house, isn't it?"

I narrowed my eyes. "You know what I mean."

More silence.

His smirk faded.

"I was looking for you," he admitted finally.

I stared at him, heart hammering against my ribs. "You could've called for me."

His expression darkened, and he took a step closer. "Would you have come?"

I said nothing.

He huffed a bitter laugh. "That's what I thought."

I clenched my hands into fists, nails biting into my palms. "It's my job, Eris," I whispered.

His jaw flexed. His fingers twitched—like he wanted to reach for me, wanted to touch me—but he didn't. Instead, he just stood there, looking more defeated than I'd ever imagined a Vanserra could.

"Can we go somewhere more private?" I asked, my voice quieter now, because we were standing a distance apart with maids and cooks scuttling silently past us, pretending they weren't listening, pretending they couldn't see the invisible string between us.

Eris studied me for a long moment, then nodded. Without another word, he turned on his heel, leading the way.

I followed.

The room he brought me to was small, tucked away in one of the unused wings of the estate. A study, maybe, or a reading room—the kind of place someone could go to disappear.

He shut the door behind me, and then we were alone.

Eris exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair. "Are you alright?"

I let out a sharp, humorless laugh. "I don't know."

His jaw tightened. "Kyden—"

"I don't want to talk about Kyden."

He stared at me for a moment, then nodded. "Then talk to me about something else."

I let out a breath. "About what, Eris?"

He stepped closer, slow and careful, as if I were something fragile. "About why you've been avoiding me."

I scoffed. "You know why."

"I want to hear you say it."

I met his gaze, and the heat in his eyes sent a shiver down my spine. "Because this—" I gestured between us. "—isn't supposed to happen. Because you're a High Lord, and I'm a servant, and this bond—" I swallowed hard. "It's cruel."

Eris's expression was unreadable, but his fingers twitched again, and I wondered if he even realized he kept doing that—kept stopping himself from touching me. "You think the Mother is cruel?"

I hesitated. "I think fate is."

Eris exhaled through his nose, rubbing a hand over his jaw. "Do you hate it that much?"

I didn't answer.

Did I?

Hate was easy. Hate was something I understood, something I could hold onto. Hate had kept me alive under Beron's rule, had hardened me, protected me.

But this? This tether between us, this thing that hummed in my chest, that made my body ache to close the distance between us—

I didn't have a name for it. And that scared me more than anything.

Eris watched me carefully, as if searching for something in my expression. He let out another sigh and retreated, taking a seat on the small leather couch adjacent to the popping fireplace. I watched him silently, still standing by the door.

"I never wanted this either," he admitted, voice softer now. "I spent years ensuring I would never be bound to someone who could be used against me. And yet..." His lips quirked into something bitter. "Yet here we are."

My throat felt tight. "Do you hate it?"

His amber eyes burned. "No."

The breath I took was unsteady.

"You never answered?" he looked up at me.

I opened my mouth. Closed it. Shook my head. "I don't know."

Eris nodded once, as if that answer was enough.

Silence stretched between us again.

Finally, he sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "You don't have to accept it," he said. "Not now. Not ever, if that's what you choose." He met my gaze, something like resignation flickering in his eyes. "But I won't apologize for it."

He wanted to keep it? Wanted me to accept it?

I swallowed against the lump in my throat.

He tilted his head, considering me. "So what now?"

I shook my head. "I don't know."

A slow, knowing smirk curved his lips. "That's twice now."

I scowled. "Shut up."

He chuckled. "I suppose I should be grateful I got anything out of you at all."

I rolled my eyes, but there was no bite to it.

Eris studied me again, quieter this time. "I meant what I said," he murmured. "I was looking for you."

I looked away. "I know."

Silence settled between us again, but it was different now. Less suffocating.

More dangerous.

Because I wasn't sure how much longer I could keep pretending I didn't want him to find me. I approached his side quietly and sat.

The leather couch was cool against my skin as I sank into it beside him, the silence between us thick with unspoken words. The bond thrummed like a second heartbeat, relentless and inescapable.

The son of the man I loathed most in this world was the one I was expected to love beyond reason.

Fate was a sick, twisted thing.

I sighed, tired of thinking, tired of fighting, tired of everything. Slowly, hesitantly, I tilted my head, letting it rest against his shoulder. His body stiffened for a fraction of a second before he relaxed, exhaling a breath I might've imagined.

It was enough for now.

"I'm High Lord," he said after a beat.

"Painfully aware," I murmured.

"Meaning—there are rules of the Autumn Court that I can... simply get rid of."

I huffed a soft, tired laugh. "You're a lord, not a king."

"Mm, true," he mused, tilting his head back against the couch, "but if Rhysand can bend the rules to marry his mate, so can I."

I hesitated. "His court is much more pliable. Autumn is notorious for its... old-fashioned ways."

"Well, the Autumn Court has a new High Lord." His voice was steady, sure. "Let's just hope I'm changing it for the better."

I smiled faintly, my eyes fluttering shut. "You are, 'Ris."

The name slipped out before I could think better of it, before I could remind myself that familiarity with him was dangerous.

His body went still beneath me.

Then, slowly, deliberately, he looked down at me, amber eyes burning with something I couldn't name.

We stared at each other for a long moment, really seeing each other.

And then, quietly, almost reverently, he murmured, "I'm going to kiss you now."

I nodded.

And then he did.

His lips pressed against mine, slow and deep, as if we had all the time in the world. As if the bond wasn't something to be feared but something to be savored. His hand lifted to my jaw, his thumb brushing over my cheekbone before sliding into my hair, tilting my face up, pressing deeper.

I sighed into him, gripping the front of his tunic as the bond pulsed between us, as the warmth of his body and the scent of campfire and rainy mornings wrapped around me like something familiar, something I could fall into.

It should have scared me.

But all I could do was kiss him back.

Eris pulled away just enough to rest his forehead against mine, his breath warm against my lips. My heart pounded, my thoughts a chaotic mess, but the bond hummed in quiet contentment—as if it had known all along that this was inevitable.

His fingers stayed tangled in my hair, his other hand still cupping my jaw, holding me there, keeping me grounded. "We'll figure this out," he murmured, voice low, steady. Sure.

I let out a slow breath, my hands still fisted in his tunic. "You make it sound so simple."

"It doesn't have to be complicated."

I swallowed hard, my mind already spinning with the realities of what this meant, what it could mean. But as I looked at him, at the quiet determination in his gaze, at the warmth that had nothing to do with the firelight flickering around us, I found myself wanting—just for a moment—to believe him.

So I nodded, just barely.

His lips brushed my temple, lingering there for a heartbeat before he leaned back, his hand finally slipping from my hair. "One step at a time, my dear."

I exhaled, my pulse still thrumming in my throat, and echoed, "One step at a time."

And maybe, just maybe, we'd find our way through this. Together.

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[atlabeth]

something about her

masterlist

pairing: spencer reid x fem gideon!reader

summary: you’re reminded why you’re really here while spencer does some unwanted self reflection.

a/n: things have been a little too fun and fluffy around these parts so i had to fix it. it’s easy to forget you’re still dealing w a stalker when you’re busy living in denial <3 enjoy the mess! this whole thing is in spencer's pov bc this all got soooo far away from me

title from the song by stephen sanchez

wc: 5.3k

warning(s): things start to ramp up! stalking, anxiety, lowkey panic attacks, angst, hurt/comfort, r almost has a panic attack, alcohol/mentions of alcoholism, the usual. but more bonding!!

Spencer can’t sleep. 

He’s tried every trick in the book. Counting sheep, counting to one hundred, counting to one hundred backwards, going through the alphabet, going through the alphabet backwards, methods with actual scientific research backing them—none of it works. He’s stared at the ceiling for most of the night. 

He feels like a hypocrite most of all, preaching the importance of adequate sleep when he’ll be lucky to get five hours. But it looks like you barely sleep as is. He probably should keep preaching to you. 

There’s a myriad of reasons to explain it. His hyperactive brain has been responsible for many restless nights. He’s still in unfamiliar territory, and he hasn’t gotten used to sleeping on this bed yet. Lest he forget, he’s your first and only line of protection here from your stalker. That’s enough to keep anyone awake, even FBI. 

But then there’s also… you in general. 

Spencer can’t say he tries not to think about you, because this past week it’s felt like the only thing he’s thought about. 

It’s practically impossible, even before you were shoved into this house together. You have a way of tunneling your way into a person’s mind and refusing to leave—especially his. 

Again, it’s easy enough to pass off. You’re the only ones here, and the time you’re not spending alone you’re spending with each other. Your only choice beyond isolation is to talk to Spencer, and it seems you’re slowly moving past preferring it over him. 

But he doesn’t think he can just pass this off.

He can’t get your smile out of his head. Your moments of levity are so few and far between that it makes them shine bright as the sun. Spencer has learned he loves how you look when you’re happy. He just wishes it wasn’t such a rarity.

Gideon’s lecture rings in his ears. He really had two jobs—keep you safe, and don’t fall for you. Hopefully he only fails the one. 

It’s not like he has to worry about it, though. You might not hate him as much anymore, but you still don’t really like him. As much as it bums him out, it’s for the best. It means that in a week or two, when the team has caught the unsub and all this is over, you can both go your separate ways and you’ll never have to see Spencer again. 

That bums him out even more, though. 

He lets out a long sigh. He doesn’t know why he’s surprised. JJ, Elle, now you—Morgan would say he really knew how to pick ‘em. Girls who didn’t like him back. 

Just then his phone rings, jolting him out what could have been a convincing play for sleep if not for his thoughts, and he groans a little. Spencer fumbles around for it without lifting his head from the pillow, only turning slightly so he can flick it open and place it against his ear. 

“Gideon, why are you calling this early?” he mumbles. 

“I hope you’re treating her well.”

The gravelly voice through the speaker is a shock, and Spencer doesn’t really process it. His brain still hasn’t turned on. 

“Gideon?” he asks again. 

“I know you ran away. Trying to protect her like you have any right.” 

His blood goes cold as the words finally register. 

This is their unsub. This— this is your stalker. 

“What do you want?” he asks, unable to keep the sharp edge out of his words. 

“You’ve hurt her the same way he has,” the voice continues. “He’s ruined our lives and you don’t care.”

Spencer’s mind is simultaneously blank and running wild. He knows he should try to profile him or talk to him to get something out of him but— but all he feels is anger. 

“What do you want?” he repeats, louder this time. 

“Think about your priorities, Agent Reid. I’ll be watching.” 

The disconnected tone blares in his ear before he can say anything else, and Spencer stares down at his phone in confused annoyance. 

What kind of bullshit game is this guy trying to play with you? 

First he stalks you for a month—possibly months— then sends pictures of you to your door, then forces you into hiding and now he’s just mocking you like this? 

If Gideon is the goal, this bastard is doing a great job of dragging you along. 

Spencer’s heart jumps into his throat all of a sudden. You. 

He grabs his gun off his bedside table then lunges to the door with all the athleticism of a newborn baby giraffe, nearly tripping in his haste to get out into the hallway. He slams your door open once he gets to your room, and the relief that floods through his body when you shoot up from your previously sleeping position is almost dangerous. 

“Spencer?” you grumble, still completely out of it as you rub your eyes. “What the fuck are you doing?” 

You’re alive. You’re okay. You’re still here. 

He opens his mouth to respond, still kind of out of breath, when his phone rings again. Spencer takes it out and is already pressing it to his ear. 

“What the hell do you want from her?” he barks. The absolute nerve of your stalker to call back—

“Reid, it’s me.”

It’s Gideon’s voice that comes out of the speaker this time, and Spencer feels the wave of red hot rage boiling in his stomach crash against a wall of confusion. 

“I—” He swallows deeply, his eyes flicking over to your befuddled expression momentarily before he feels himself flush bright red and look away. “I’m so sorry, sir. I thought you were someone else.” 

“You got a call?”

His blood runs cold. “You mean you got one too?”

Gideon curses and he hears him move around. Pacing in his bedroom, if Spencer knew anything about him. “Tell me my daughter is safe.”

“She— she is,” he stammers. “I’m with her right now.”

“Spencer, what the fuck is going on?” You’re sitting up now, much more aware than you were fifteen seconds ago. “Why do you have your gun— why are you talking to my dad?”

“Do a perimeter check,” Gideon demands. “If he’s there—”

“I know.” Spencer looks back at you and sighs. “You should talk to her.”

“I know,” Gideon echoes. “Let her stay on the line with me while you figure things out.”

He nods and takes the phone from his ear. “Gideon wants to talk with you.”

You’re standing up now, a dumbfounded expression on your face. “Hold on, you still haven’t answered me! What is going on?”

“I got a call from our guy,” he says. Your eyes widen and he can see your chest still. His heart clenches at the sight. “Gideon did too.”

“What?” you breathe. “Wh— what did he want?”

“To scare you.” Spencer holds up his gun. “Can you hide in the closet while I do a perimeter check?”

You scoff. Your demeanor is still shaken, but the fire is more prominent. He’s started to admire that about you. “Spencer, I am not hiding in the closet.”

“Then lock yourself in the bathroom again!” he exclaims. He doesn’t mean for the outburst, but he can’t help it. “Just— I can’t focus if I’m worried about you, and right now the only thing I can think of is how worried I am about you, so I need to know you’re safe while I do this.”

You stare at him, and Spencer stares right back, if a little frantic. He feels his chest rise and fall from the force, a stark contrast to your still body—similar to the panic he knows is in his eyes to the steely cool of yours. 

“I’m not letting you potentially face an insane stalker by yourself,” you finally say. 

Spencer huffs. “I am an FBI agent. I’ve faced worse things than insane stalkers.”

“We’ve been together this whole time,” you insist. “We— we can do this together too.” 

He looks at you again—he can tell you’re not going to move on this. Spencer eventually sighs and holds the phone back up to his ear. 

“I’m assuming you heard that?” 

“Let her go with you,” Gideon says. “It’s riskier for her to be on her own than outside with you. But stay on the line, and stay alert. Nothing can happen to her—do you understand?” 

“I won’t let anything happen to her,” he says. “I meant what I said.” 

“...Good.” 

Spencer holds the phone out to you again, and your lip curls. 

“I’m not—” 

“Come on,” he interrupts, gesturing with his head into the hallway. 

Your annoyance melts into acknowledgement when you realize he’s not blowing you off again, and you nod as you take the phone. Spencer wraps both hands around his gun as he starts moving, you matching his pace as you follow him. 

“Yeah, Dad,” he hears you say behind him. “I’m here.” 

This is what he meant by you needing to stay behind. He’s worried about you more than anything, yes, but he also can’t help but listen. Spencer has very keen ears, to everyone’s simultaneous disdain and appreciation on the team—it makes him a very good asset in the field, but also a very good asset when it comes time for office gossip. 

“No, nothing’s happened yet. Yes— yes, I’m okay, I promise. Spencer’s done an annoyingly good job of keeping me safe.” 

Once Spencer reaches the door, he peers through the peephole to make sure their unsub isn’t embarrassingly obvious. It’s clear, and he turns to face you and raises a hand, then places his finger on his lips. 

“Uh— I have to go dark for a sec,” you say. “We’re checking the perimeter. Don’t worry, I’ll scream if anyone tries to kill me. Be back soon.” 

You pull the phone away from your ear and nod at Spencer, and he holds his breath before he opens the door. 

The frigid air hits both of you at once, and he hears then sees your sharp exhale of breath. It’s been a while since either of you have been outside, but it’s good to know he hasn’t been missing superb weather. 

“Stay close and stay quiet,” Spencer whispers. “I’m your only line of defense out here.” 

He expects you to shoot back with some remark, but you merely nod in response. Spencer hopes he hides the shock he feels before he turns away and starts walking. 

Dawn isn’t for a few more hours—the only real light source is the moon high in the night sky. It doesn't exactly help his nerves to be doing all this in the dark, but part of him is almost thankful to be doing this. Spencer doesn’t know how to deal with you or any of the emotions you stir inside of him or the sleepless nights you cause because he can’t stop thinking of you—but he knows how to do his job, and he knows how to do it damn well. 

He just wishes it didn’t have to come with the unfortunate side effect of you being in immense danger. 

But Spencer does his best to push those thoughts to the back of his mind—right now, he has to have one focus. 

And he does. The two of you stick close to the side of the house, his eyes darting all over as he tries to dig out any details, any possible sign that the unsub was here. The ground is still a thin layer of mud from the storm last night, so it should be easy to find footprints. Spencer’s Converse aren’t doing a great job at keeping him upright—slipping in front of you is too embarrassing for him to even think about. 

All of a sudden, he stops, his arm shooting out in front of you. You don’t realize it for a second and you run into him, your hand wrapping around his arm on instinct to steady yourself. If he wasn’t so shocked at what he was looking at, he would have been bright red over it. 

“What the h—” 

“Footprints,” he whispers.  “Th— they’re almost gone, but—” 

“He was here?” you interrupt. Fear spikes in your voice and your grip tightens on his arm. 

“Last night, maybe.” Spencer swallows the doubt in his throat. It doesn’t matter what he thinks, how he feels—he’s not going to make you feel worse. “The rain probably washed most of them away.” 

“Spencer—”

“I am surprised these are still here, though,” he continues. “The rainfall was really heavy. I wouldn’t expect them to stay in mud like this—” 

“Spencer, look where we are!” you exclaim, gesturing hard with your other hand. He realizes that you’ve let go of his arm by now, but he pushes it out of his head and looks. 

“The window to your room,” he says. The blinds are closed and the lock is in place—he’s made sure every night—but there are small enough gaps between the shutters. 

“He was watching us last night!” Your breathing is starting to come heavier and faster now. “We talked about all that shit and he was just here watching and we didn’t even fucking know!” 

You’re on the edge of hyperventilating. Spencer has got to get you down or else you’re going to have a full blown panic attack out here. 

“Hey, hey— look at me.” He says your name and that, if anything else, gets you to listen and meet his eyes. They’re filled with an unbridled fear he hasn’t seen in you until now. “Don’t think about him. Don’t think about any of this. He’s not here.” 

“He was watching us—” 

“And we’ll figure out what to do next. But you have to stay calm. You can’t let him win.” 

You’re still harried, your chest rising and falling rapidly as your eyes dart all around. Spencer says your name softly, tucks his gun into its holster, then takes your hands in his, hoping that it gives you something to focus that isn’t the rest of this. 

“Just look at me,” he says softly. 

You suck in another shaky breath, but you’re not as frantic as before. You at least look him in the eye, and you don’t wrench your hands out of his grasp. Progress, if nothing else. 

“Breathe with me.” 

You nod—still panicked, but better. Spencer breathes in deep and you do the same, following as he counts up and down with his fingers. It takes a few rounds, but eventually, he’s gotten you off the edge. 

Spencer says your name again, just as soft as before. You’re still breathing slowly in and out. 

“How do you feel?” 

“Better,” you murmur. “I—” 

You’re interrupted by the phone you both forgot was in your hand, Gideon’s voice muddled as it comes from the receiver. You rip your hands out of Spencer’s as you come back into yourself, shaking your head and blinking a few times while you take a few steps away from him. 

“I’m here, Dad,” you say. “We— we’re okay. No, nothing happened.” 

Spencer blinks too. He looks down at his hands, then glances at you, then shakes his head. He walks back over to the footprint and crouches down, trying to keep his mind clear. He commits every detail he can to memory, doing his best to ignore the conversation with your dad in the background. 

Well, he tunes in a little. He can’t help it—he wants to make sure you’re okay. 

“We found a footprint outside my room,” you’re saying. “Spencer thinks it’s your guy. I have no idea. Yes, we are. You don’t have to be so pushy.” You sigh and he feels your gaze on him. “Spencer, we have to finish this up. Dad wants us back inside.” 

He clears his throat as he nods a few times. “Let me get a picture of this first.” 

You hand him the phone and Spencer snaps some photos from a few different angles, hoping forensics will be able to get anything out of it. He hears Gideon’s voice again and he holds it to his ear once more. 

“Gideon?” 

“Reid, get her back inside,” he says. “We can’t take any unnecessary risks.” 

“We haven’t finished securing the perimeter,” he says. 

“Then finish it and get back inside!” he exclaims. “You have proof that he was there—” 

“We don’t know it’s him,” Spencer interrupts. 

“We know there was somebody there!” Gideon shoots back. “I’m not risking her, and from what I’ve heard, you don’t want to either.” 

Spencer feels his cheeks warm as he looks back at you, and he pulls his gun back out of its holster. “Come on. We have to finish this up.” 

“That’s what I said,” you mutter, but you follow him without further protest. 

The rest of the check goes by quickly without any other distractions or surprises, and soon enough you’re back inside. While Spencer chats with Gideon, updating him in a calmer manner on everything with the phone call and the footprint, you’re ruffling through the cabinets. 

Eventually, he sees you pull out a bottle of clear liquid from the corner of his eye. He frowns and realizes that it’s vodka. 

“It’s 4:29 in the morning,” Spencer says, cutting off Gideon almost absentmindedly as you pop the bottle open. 

“And we found out that this place isn’t nearly as safe as anyone thought,” you respond sharply. “I think that warrants some drinking.” 

“That means that you should have a clear mind,” he says. “Alcohol impairs your brain’s communication pathways, as well as your judgment and coordination.” 

“I’ve gotten drunk before, genius,” you mutter as you search for a glass. You end up choosing a the mug you used for coffee the other morning then start pouring. “Enough to know it’s what I need right now.” 

“It can also cause mood swings,” Spencer says. “I think that’s the last thing you need right now.”

You roll your eyes, not even bothering to look back at him as you finish pouring a concerning amount of liquor into the mug. 

“What is going on over there?” Gideon asks. Spencer remembers he’s holding the phone and he puts it back to his ear. 

“I think your daughter is an alcoholic,” he comments. 

“I’m not an alcoholic,” you say sharply. “I just can’t focus on all this right now.” 

“It’s best if she gets some sleep,” Gideon says. “All of this is likely terrifying to her, no matter how hard she tries to hide it.” 

Spencer’s mind flashes back to your near panic attack—your wide eyes full of fear and harried breathing that only made you hyperventilate more when you realized you couldn’t control it. It’s too easy to think of you as some untouchable being from the way you interact with him, bothered by nothing and no one. 

The mask cracks on rare occasion. It makes you seem frighteningly real. 

“You’re right,” Spencer nods. You sip your drink without flinching. He doesn’t think he can even call it a drink if it’s just straight liquor. “We could all use some sleep.” 

“Just make sure she’s safe,” he says. “Make sure the whole place is secure. We’re not—” 

“Taking risks,” he finishes. “Believe me, I know.” 

Gideon is silent for a second, and Spencer takes the time to look at you. The bags under your eyes are even more prominent, and there’s a haunted glint in your eyes as you stare at the wall. You shiver ever so slightly, the outside chill still lingering on your skin. You’ve got pajama pants on but just a plain tee. You didn’t have time to put a sweatshirt on before he pulled you outside in the mania of it all. 

You really are beautiful—but you’re so damn tired. 

Spencer realizes that all he wants to do is give you some respite. 

“I’ll call you back later, then,” Gideon says. “To check in.” 

“Okay.” Spencer’s throat bobs as he averts his eyes from you. “Get some rest too, Gideon.” 

The other end hangs up without a response. Spencer stares down at the phone for a few seconds then sighs before he tucks it back into his pocket. 

“What’d he want?” you ask. 

“I can’t believe you’re drinking vodka out of a coffee mug at four in the morning.”

You frown. “You don’t get to judge me.” 

“It’s not good for you.” 

“None of this is good for me,” you enunciate. “What did my dad want?”

“I’m serious,” Spencer continues. “Drinking on an empty stomach can lead to low blood sugar— drinking at this hour is going to completely disrupt your circadian rhythm.” 

“You know what else has disrupted my circadian rhythm?” you ask mockingly. “Being here. Having a stalker. Finding out that said stalker was also here, watching us. I think that’s a little worse for me than the alcohol.” 

Spencer stares at you, and as you’re prone to do, you stare back. Eventually, he shakes his head and looks away, deciding to quit while he’s ahead. 

“He wants you to get some sleep,” he says. “Wants us both to.” 

You scoff and shake your head, downing much more vodka than you should in one go. Again, you don’t flinch—for a schoolteacher, you handle your liquor very well. “Like I’d get to sleep after this.” 

“It’s important,” Spencer insists. “You’ve gotten— what? Three hours of sleep?” 

“Well, all this excitement has woken me up,” you say. 

“Well, I’m tired,” Spencer says. “So I guess I’ll see you in a few hours.” 

He starts to walk to his room, figuring that you need time to cool off, when—

“Wait.” 

Your voice is oddly strangled, and Spencer stops in his tracks. 

“I—” you stop and sigh, your tongue darting out to wet your lips. “I don’t want to be alone right now.” 

“Our rooms are close to each other,” he says. “I’ll be able to hear if you yell.” 

You rub your eyes as you let out another haggard sigh. “I can’t stand to be in that room, Spencer. Not knowing that— that he was right there.” 

Spencer can’t look away from you. Your eyes glint with tears you’re trying to hold back, but you’re laid bare in a way he knows you hate. 

You’re being pushed to your limits against your will, and it kills him that he can’t do anything to help you. Honestly, sometimes he feels useless being stuck here while the rest of the team is out there actively working to help you. All he can do is stand around here and annoy you. 

Except you want him there. For the first time since all of this has started, you want him there. 

It’s the only thing he can do for you right now. How can he refuse? 

“Okay,” he says softly, and he nods. “Okay. We can share my room tonight.” 

The tension in your shoulders fades ever so slightly, and you—thankfully—set the mug down. “Keep your gun close.” 

“I’m not sure you want me shooting when I’m sleep deprived,” Spencer says. 

Your lips twitch just so, and Spencer’s heart skips a beat. He can’t help it. 

He should have known he was in too deep the moment he stepped into this house with you. 

-

“Very cozy,” you say. 

“It’s the same as your room,” Spencer responds. 

You shrug. “It’s messy. Makes it feel like home.” 

He feels his face flush. “I haven’t really been focused on keeping things clean.” 

“Relax.” You sit down on the bed. “I’m not judging you.” 

“Good.” Spencer glances at you as he moves his bag off of your side of the bed. “Because that would be very rude after the generosity I’ve shown you.” 

You laugh and Spencer finds himself smiling at the sound of it. He’s glad he’s turned away, and he’s glad he manages to push it away by the time he’s turned back around. 

You’re wearing a sweatshirt and sweatpants now, and it’s strange to see you look so… soft. Every part of you is so sharp, some of it jagged—sometimes you harden around him, sometimes you mellow. He’s a bit tired of the back and forth. 

Maybe that’s what makes him speak up. 

“I’m tired of us always being at odds.” 

Your eyebrows rise and you look at him. “Really?” 

Spencer nods, his will bolstered. “Really. We have a nice talk one night, and I feel like we’ve had a breakthrough, and then you go back to hating me the next morning. I’m— I’m sick of it.” 

He expects you to shoot back with some mocking comment like you always do, making fun of him for wanting more than what little you give him. But instead, you lay back against the pillows and shrug. 

“Okay.” 

He blinks. “Really?” 

“Really,” you nod. “I’m too tired to want to fight right now.” 

“You’re the one that always tries to fight me.” 

“Aren’t you fighting me right now?” 

Spencer shakes his head. “You’re unbelievable.” 

You chuckle. “Still fighting.” 

He stares at you. As usual, you stare back, but this time you can’t fully bite back your smile. For some reason, that gets Spencer to break. He smiles too, and he settles down on the bed next to you. There’s a pillow buffer between you, but it’s still a lot closer than he’s used to. 

Well, he did hold your hands earlier, but that’s because he was bringing you down from a panic attack. That doesn’t mean anything. 

“What a day,” he mutters. 

“And it hasn’t even started yet,” you muse. “I don’t know how you do this kind of shit every day.” 

“I’m not really the target of any of this,” he says. “I usually stay behind the scenes. I’m good with geographical profiles, not chasing down unsubs.” 

You look over at him. “You haven’t really talked about anything you do for the BAU.” 

Spencer shrugs. “I thought it would be a sore subject.” 

You pause. “You’re… probably right.” 

“I figured.” He chuckles, then glances over at you. “But you already know enough about me. You said you would talk about your job. Teaching, and your kids, and all that.” 

Your eyebrows rise. “You actually care?”

Spencer gives you a look. “I thought we were past that part in our friendship.”

“We’re not friends.”

He shrugs. “Whatever you say.”

You roll your eyes, but you go on anyway. “I’m a highschool teacher in Fairfax. You know Mount Vernon High?” 

Spencer nods. “I know the name of every high school in Virginia.” 

“Of course you do,” you huff. “But that’s besides the point. I did my student teacher hours there, and they offered me a full time position. I took it, so I guess I’ve been there since senior year.” You purse your lips. “It’s a little depressing when you look at it like that.” 

“Then don’t look at it like that,” he say. “You said you loved your job.” 

“I do!” You smile again, a bit lighter this time. “My teachers were a huge part of my life, especially in high school.” The lightness fades some, but he notices how you try to hide it. “If I could help even one kid the same way my teachers helped me, then I would have done something with my life.” 

“That’s very noble of you,” Spencer says. “I don’t think I ever would have guessed you were a teacher.” 

“Oh, please,” you say. “You’re a profiler. You’d figure it out.” 

“You wouldn’t know I work with the FBI at first glance.” 

“Well, I’m not a profiler. Besides,” you tip a shoulder, “I have the ulterior motive of wanting to introduce kids to the wonders of physics.” 

Spencer’s eyes light up. “You’re a physics teacher?” 

“I teach a load of science classes, but I carry the banner for AP physics.” You huff a laugh. “You’re probably the only one that doesn’t sound lame to.” 

“I love physics!” he exclaims. “I’ve got a PhD in engineering, remember?” 

You smile— no, you actually grin at him, and he can’t believe he finally broke through the barrier with science. 

“Trust me, I’d love to talk physics with you, boy genius, but—” you’re interrupted with a yawn, and Spencer resists the urge to do the same— “but I think I’m actually about to fall asleep.”  

Spencer shakes his head with a small laugh. He realizes that he’s relaxed while you’ve been talking, limbs looser and fully laying back against the pillows. 

“This was actually part of my master plan to get you to rest,” he says. “Talking science always works with the team.” 

He sees you smile out of his peripherals as you lay fully down, can feel every shift of your body against the mattress while you try to find a good position. 

“It wasn’t you,” you say. “It was the vodka.” 

 “Of course,” he agrees. 

Silence falls over the room as the two of you settle in. You take off your sweatshirt, a slight shiver running through you once you’re back in your tank top. Spencer removes his glasses, and he blinks a few times to adjust to the blurriness.

The bed is big enough for you to both have your own space,, and you’re both careful to keep your backs to each other. The silence is comfortable despite the previous animosity. Maybe all it really did take was for him to start talking science. 

Eventually, though—

“Thank you, Spencer.” Your voice is little more than a whisper, but it cuts through the silence like a knife. “I— I know you don’t like me. So it means a lot that you still do all this for me.” 

He’s quiet for a moment, taking your words in. The mingled sounds of your breathing are really the only things filling the room, and he can feel your weight against the mattress. It’s all oddly intimate. 

“You’re wrong.” He’s almost surprised at the sound of his own voice. “I do like you.” 

Your shock shows through the silence. Spencer takes his chance. 

“You’re going through something no one should ever have to experience, and you’re doing it with someone you think stole your life from you.” Spencer shifts ever so slightly. His hands feel inexplicably clammy. “It was unfair of me to take Gideon’s side so often.” 

“Still.” Your words are muffled as you speak half into the mattress. “We have more important things to worry about. It was unfair of me to spend so much time giving you shit. You— you didn’t even know I existed until a month ago.” 

“But now I do.” He pauses. “And I’m glad I do. So you can start looking forward instead of always looking back.” 

Again, silence. It lasts so long Spencer wonders if you’ve fallen asleep. Your breathing is thankfully steady (a side of him is always focused on your breathing just to make sure) and you don’t shift much, so he wouldn’t be surprised. You were exhausted—

“Spencer?” 

His eyes open. He didn’t even realize they had closed. You sound half-asleep, your voice nothing more than a whisper. He wishes more than anything he knew what was going through your mind right now. 

“Yeah?” 

“I’m glad you’re here.” 

His heart stutters so blatantly he’s sure you can hear it. Spencer honestly doesn’t know what to say—his mouth is so dry he doesn’t know if he can say anything. 

Spencer thought you hated him. You thought Spencer hated you. 

It’s ironic. 

“Me too,” he eventually manages. 

But there’s no response. You must’ve already fallen asleep again, just conscious enough to say a few words. The rude awakening mixed with the fear and alcohol couldn’t have done you much good. 

Spencer swallows the doubt in his throat and closes his eyes again, trying not to focus on you. It’s practically impossible. 

He’s glad, at least, that you’re able to sleep. You deserve to rest more than anyone. 

Eventually, the sound of your breathing lulls Spencer to sleep. 

You were the one thing he didn’t have on his list.

[urcatslitterbox]

Spencer Reid was never one to masturbate. Not that he thought it was wrong or had strong religious beliefs, it just wasn’t something he really dealt with. Not to say that he’s never done it, it was just rare. Sure there were times when he would wake up with morning wood, but it’d calm down the moment the cold water of his shower hit him.

But tonight? Tonight not even the freezing water of his shitty apartment shower could save him.

It was all because of that stupid work party. It’s no secret that Spencer thought you were the most beautiful person to ever walk the earth. He had come to terms with the fact that he has a huge slight crush on you a while ago.

Spencer was fine with this. He admired you from a safe distance and was able to keep things professional. Other than the occasional blush that would spread from his cheeks to the tips of his ears when you complimented him or touched him or looked at him- okay maybe it wasn’t as ‘occasional’ of an occurrence as it was an ‘every single day’ occurrence.

Spencer originally wasn’t even going to come to the party, but when he has overheard you talking about how excited you were to Penelope, well he just had to show up, at least for a little while. He stood in the corner observing the crowd and playing with the cuffs of his sleeves. When he looked up next he nearly keeled over at the sight of you coming in.

Here you were in this fitted red dress with a sheer black overlay. It hugged your curves so deliciously he could’ve sworn he started drooling. Spencer had seen you in casual clothes before but this? This was something else entirely.

He didn’t realize you were in front of him until he heard your sweet voice asking if he was alright. Clearing his throat and running a hand through his hair, he tried to play off his strange behaviour and excused himself. Spencer all but ran to the restroom and splashed water on his face to calm himself down. God what was he supposed to do? He can’t just leave now it would look weird as the party only just started. Drying his face, he steadied himself to get through an hour or so of this party and then he would be free to leave without raising suspicions.

That’s how he found himself here, in his bed. Rock. Fucking. Hard.

He tried everything he could to make it go away but no matter what he thought of it always lead back to you and that dress.

He’s desperate at this point and his cock painfully hard in his pants. He knows he shouldn’t be doing this but he’s no longer in control as his hand cups the obvious bulge. A whimper escapes him at the slight touch. He’s quick to shimmy his pants off and rub himself over his boxers. He pulses and twitches at the contact but it’s not enough, he needs more. Reaching to the side of him he grabs hold of a pillow and positions it over his cock.

He presses the soft, puffy, fabric against him and lets out a gasp. His hips buck up involuntarily and the next thing he knows, he’s thrusting up against the pillow at an unsteady rhythm. “Fuck” he moans out as his mind begins to wander. He can’t help but imagine you. Your perfect body pressed against his, rocking back and forth on his clothed cock. He’d hold your waist so tightly as he ruts up into you, loving the way you feel in his hands. Your perfect tits bouncing as you rub yourself against him, using him for your pleasure.

He speeds up his movements as he feels his cock leak precum. “Can feel how messy you are” you’d say, “you like when I rub my pussy over your hard cock?”

Yes, god yes he loves it.

“Please” he moans into empty room. Changing his position, Spencer straddles the pillow and thrust hard and fast wishing it was you. “So desperate Spence, humping my pussy, can’t even wait to get inside of me can you?”

His eyes roll back as he fucks into the pillow like his life depends on it. The friction feels so good against him but he knows it’s nothing compared to how you’d feel. Tight, warm, wet walls sucking in his cock.

His underwear are soaked in his own precum at this point but he doesn’t care. He just wants to cum. His thrusts grow ragged along with his breathing. He’s so close. So so close. “Gonna cum for me? Gonna cum from humping my pussy Spence?”

“Yes, yes please! I’m gonna cum god I’m so close” Spencer cries before his thrusts stall and fills his boxers with cum.

He rolls onto his side as he twitches with aftershocks. Breathing heavily, he slowly comes back to earth. Feeling the stickiness in his briefs he cringes and peels them off, tossing them to the floor.

Spencer Reid was never one to masturbate, but when he did? It was always to the thought of his beloved, sexy coworker.

A/n: um happy Valentine’s Day I guess?? This is not valentines-esque at all but it came to me in a vision. Hope you enjoyed!

[shipper4everships]

BuckTommy Fluffebruary: Day 16

~AU: didn’t know they were dating~

It all started by chance. Buck had just started his service at 118th station, while Tommy was in the process of transferring to station 217. Tommy’s transfer was delayed, so they began working together. Tommy was usually a composed and somewhat introverted guy, not quick to let people close, but Buck was so sincere and open that Tommy let his guard down.

They became friends, and Tommy showed Buck some of his secret tricks that helped him on the job, which later came in handy for Buck on calls. 

"Hey, you only told me about them in my second year here - why does the rookie get such privileges?" Eddie asked teasingly. 

On their days off, they sometimes went to the gym together or invited each other to the bar for a beer and to watch a match. 

"I thought you weren't very into basketball before, Buck. Something changed?" Chim in with a grin. Buck just waved off the question.

When it came time for Tommy to complete his transfer to station 217, he briefly thought about refusing it because he was afraid their communication would end. But Buck turned out to be better than he could have imagined and supported Tommy’s decision to transfer.

"If flying is your dream, then you have to follow it!" 

Tommy couldn’t argue with that.

Now they didn’t see each other as often, but they were always in touch. There were nights when they both stayed up until morning, texting or talking on the phone about everything under the sun.

"Buck, you look awful... You were up all night talking to Tommy again, should I tell him to stop messing up your schedule?" Hen said, half-seriously, half-joking.

"He’s not messing anything up, I called him first!" Buck blurted out, then realized what he’d said.

They continued meeting occasionally at the bar, but it became harder to sync up due to shift changes. One day, Tommy suggested Buck come over to his place for a couple of hours so they could see each other, and Buck gladly accepted.

They kept visiting each other to watch movies or cook together. Until one day, the moment happened: Buck cuddled up to Tommy while they were watching a horror movie, and Tommy turned to him and kissed him in the dim light of the room. To Buck’s surprise, he didn’t pull away. On the contrary, he eagerly joined in.

Since that evening, not much changed between them, except that their texts became more flirtatious, their touches more frequent, and that kiss on the couch wasn’t the last, but rather the first in a series of others.

They wished each other safety before every shift, and it was always the case, but now it felt different - as though there was something more behind that wish, as if they started caring for each other more.

Buck wasn’t sure how to feel about it, but he was afraid of losing the connection that was growing between them, so he decided to keep everything between the two of them and see where it could lead.

Was it really a surprise when, not long after, they slept together for the first time in Buck’s loft? They didn’t talk about it or anything that happened between them, but Buck lay in bed in Tommy’s arms the next morning, feeling like he was exactly where he needed to be.

Maddy called him a few days later and invited him to dinner at the Buckley-Han house, and Buck enthusiastically agreed.

"Buck, I just wanted to check… if you want, you don’t have to come alone," Maddy said cautiously.

"…What do you mean?" Buck was caught off guard by her words.

"Maybe you’ll introduce us to your boyfriend?"

"Boyfriend?" Buck asked, glancing at Tommy, who was sitting across the table from him. Tommy had overheard Buck’s part of the conversation and looked at him. In his eyes, Buck saw curiosity and something more… maybe hope?

Buck ran through their relationship over the past few months in his mind, and everything in his head and heart finally fell into place.

"Yeah, you’re right." Buck smiled into the phone. "Set another place at the table because I’m bringing my boyfriend." Buck said those words and caught Tommy’s answering smile.

When he hung up, Buck leaned across the table, and warm lips met him halfway.

He wasn’t sure where this would lead, but now he knew. Now he would do it right. @bucktommyfluffebruary 💗

[masonmace]

Hey, so! I haven't snapped any hearts like twigs lately.

Cw: angst.

RINSE. REPEAT.

Imagine Modern Warfare IV. Johnny's dead. Things aren't the same with the task force: they never will be. Simon's been quiet; distant. Gaz is quiet, but tries to fill the silence with jokes. A replacement for the jokester they'd lost. It's just met with grunts that are meant to be laughs.. but aren't true laughs.

It's just not the same.

John's been distant to you, too. Sure, you both had talked things out. You convinced him that he wasn't going to kill you. That it was in his head and that it was nobody's fault.

As if some shit like that would work.

Nobody expects a civilian to understand, though. John gets it.. that you didn't experience it. It's hard to sit day by day with his men when he killed their friend. He may as well've put the gun at Soap's temple. He was daft to make the scotsman wait. So . utterly . daft.

Missions are all the same. Well, they're never consistent, but they're the same. Quiet in the hawk, quiet on the field, quiet on the way home. Get into compounds, get intel, find targets, do whatever bullshit they need to do, etcetera. Get back to base, get hammered. Sometimes Gaz or Ghost will go spend the night with someone. It's all coping mechanisms.

The silence is so, so very loud.

Makarov is one of the biggest reasons why so many of John's men died. He won't stop until the bastard is dead. No matter what. Maybe that's where he went wrong. The bloodlust he carries for Makarov sits on the bloodied throne right next to the guilt. Wedded. Hand in hand ruling the war-filled place in his head.

He just isn't the same.

None of them are.

John's known Simon the longest. Gaz for a good while, too. Roach, too. They're his boys, and he wishes he could put a face on for them. John just cannot force himself to act okay this time.

None of them can.

The mission had happened so, so very fast. Too fast. Way . too . fast. What happens now? Where does he go? It was Gaz. Bullet between the eyes. Snap. Crack. Thud. Sigh. Then the blood was rushing in his ears again and he didn't have the time to even call his name. The mission roared on.

He should have called them off quicker. Told them to take a different route. Maybe if he had told Gaz to go with him instead.

Maybe.

Maybe.

What if.

If he hadn't-

There was a mandatory leave after Gaz' death. John didn't come home to you. There was no way in hell he could have. No, he didn't go home. Instead, he ran straight to the pub. Left when they closed and stayed at a hostel instead.

Rinse

Repeat.

Four days later... middle of the night. That's when he came home. It was three in the morning. The front door open and the stink of booze and a man in desperate need of a shower ran into the room. Your head immediately bounces up off of the couch's armrest.

He's a zombie as he shuffles into the house, toeing his boots off and mumbling a greeting. Even though you're half asleep, you rush up to him. Questioning where he's been, he only groans another response.

"Out." He mumbles. "I was fucking . out." John spits, glaring at you with a few harsh breaths. "Go t'sleep." He shuts down any and all conversation as he trudges down the hall and into the bathroom.

"Jonathon." You call, all groggy and discombobulated. You step into the bathroom, uncaring of the fact that he's stripping. The sight is enough to make anyone's throat dry. "John. Talk to me." You plea.

"I'll talk t'you in the mornin'." He grunts, eyebrows set into a deep furrow and jaw set into a clench.

"Right now." You insist. Eyes batting at him. "Let me shower with you. At least."

You showered earlier, but that doesn't matter to you. It takes quite a bit more convincing before John gives in - a drunken frown on his face as you don't turn the shower on, but draw a bath.

You will die.

The bath is quiet - John prefers it that way. He's already cried enough tears. He's all dried up now. He holds you in his arms most of the time, and manages to allow you to wash him the others.

Rinse.

He doesn't. John doesn't answer questions. Just closes his eyes and allows you to do what it is makes you happy.

Repeat.

The mandatory leave was only a couple weeks. Ghost, Roach, and Jonathon back onto base alongside two new transfers to replace Soap and Gaz. John's less than approving of them, but he does his best to put up and go through with an open mind.

They must kill Makarov. It's the only way to win. Things won't be right until that mother fucker is dead and burned. John has sworn that he will light his goddamn cigar with the same flames that burn that bastard alive. Swears it.

That's how it was supposed to go.

The ride to the compound was grim. But John was determined. He made sure to make very clear communication between everyone. Before they'd left, he'd hugged Ghost. It sure had been out of character, but he felt the need. He did the same to Roach.

Why must everything go to shit?

Ghost had gotten out of the building in time. But Roach's comms were finicky. He didn't hear his Captain shouting. The comms broke out, and Ghost went head first back into the crumbling building. The groan of concrete was loud. The world rushed around him and he was frozen there in time. 23:34.

Rinse.

The sound of the building crashing around him wasn't as loud as his own heartbeat. He was too late. 00:12. Price's hands clawed at the rubble, digging and forcing chunks up. Slipping himself in at the only entrance he found like some brave cave explorer. He slotted himself in and got through the rubble.

Repeat.

Price called out their names. Simon. Gary. Over and over. When he found Roach, he was already dead. John sat and tried to resuscitate. It didn't go over as planned.

He should have gotten Gary a new comm.

He didn't leave Roach there. He brought the limp body back to the surface and dove right back it. Simon was alive when he found him. His lieutenant. His breathing shook, and he fought and fought. "I've got you, son." His voice broke under the weight. Coughing from the dust. "I'm comin' to ya." He groans.

Simon's breathing was separated and wheezed; pained. Once the rubble was cleared, he had to tread carefully. A piece of rebar was staked through Ghost's lower abdomen. The blood made John's stomach twist. Not because he couldn't handle blood, but because it was Simon's. The pants coming from Simon made him want to puke.

It should've been him.

The groan of the concrete around them scared John, but he wouldn't leave Ghost here.

"Y'gotta work with me, Si." John breathes, hulking the broader man further and trying to pick him up. To save him. His last soldier. "Please. Please, son." John has to suck his lips together not to cry.

Rinse.

John pulled Simon as close as he could, clutching at him. Hauling him closer. Simon tried to fight it when Price moved to lift him, forced them both back down with a thud. "Leave me." Ghost pleas, groaning with the pain. Too many broken bones. His eyes too unfocused and the world spinning. "Let me go to Johnny, Price."

Price tried to argue, tried to drag Simon back up again. The bloke's too goddamn big. "I need a hand!" John hollers. He fights with his voice not to crack. His hands clutch for his mic. "Laswell! I need evac now." John spits, the mics cracking. His voice broken and wheezed. His face screwing up and the sob he sobbed unmatched by another. He saw the exact second Simon's eyes rolled, head lolling to the side right after. He's dead.

Repeat.

[queenbrucewayne]

Happy Valentine’s?

A/n: so I’m kinda a sucker for little valentines fic, but work has been hell the past few days which is why this was late… oops Happy Valentine’s

The whole school was contagious with today. It was red and pink everywhere, cupcakes and flowers all around.

Glitter was scattered in every corner, the cookies and chocolates were passed around by every girl to every boy in the whole school. It was PDA central.

You hadn’t given the day much thought. Every year was like this, sometimes worse…

The teachers weren’t much help, they embraced the holiday, and it was all the week lead up too. Nothing could beat the celebration of love.

You were sat on top the school roof. It was one of the only places not covered in pink and hearts, and it was quiet. Most times you would come up here for lunch, especially since you made friends with one of the custodians who was nice enough to give you a spare key to get up here.

This time though you were finishing some math homework since the library was full of couples who apparently didn’t have enough shame to not throw themselves on each other.

It was peaceful…until it wasn’t.

Just when you thought you could finally have some peace to yourself, you heard the roof door swing open with a loud creak. A boy quickly came thru, looking to be a bit out of breath. He looked around a bit panicked, his eyes landing on yours. Both of you stared intently at each other, clearly not expecting the other to be there.

Just then you heard the sound of shoes clanking up the metal stairs, the boy looked panicked again.

Ah…now you understood.

“Hey.” You spoke up, “Up there.” Pointing to around the corner, he noticed a rusty looking ladder that was resting on its side. “Use that to get up to above me, they won’t notice, I promise.”

The boy hesitated for a moment, but when the sound echoed louder behind him it didn’t really give him much choice. He quickly ran by you to pick up the ladder. Resting it on the side of the wall you were leaning against, he made his way up, laying flat on his stomach and away from the edge.

You stood up and quickly set the ladder back down on its side, quickly taking position to how you were sitting before.

Just when you settled, about five girls busted out the roof top door. You pretended to keep doing your homework, ignoring the girls who were looking around confused.

“Hey! Did you see Bruce Wayne come this way?” One of the girls spoke up.

You glanced up from your book, “Who?”

As if you cursed at them they all gasped.

“Bruce Wayne! Hello?!? You can’t seriously not know who that is?” Another girl chimed in.

You did know who he was, but only by reputation. Both of you were in the same grade, and because this was a school you could only enter by scholarship or money, it was a small class. Based on these girls reaction you could only assume you had offended them by saying you didn’t know one of the biggest names to go here.

“I’m sorry, I don’t- I don’t really have time to focus on boys. Wish I could help.” Your tone was flat, just enough sass to make one of the girls roll her eyes at you.

“You’re kidding.”

You just shrugged, looking back down at your book, as if you were gonna start reading again.

One of the girls scoffed, not seeming too convinced. “Every girl knows him, billionaire hottie, a bit quiet but also so sweet. He’s a junior.”

Another girl quickly jumped in. “Don’t tell me you’re so engrossed in your studies, you seriously can’t know who the prince of Gotham is?”

You smirked, glancing back up at the group again. “Ohhh, so he’s a prince now? Wow… and yes, I study, it’s kinda what our parents pay so much money for.”

“Whatever… let’s go, we’re wasting time with her.” The first girl said, she clearly was trying to present herself as more intimidating then she actually was.

“You all have fun looking for your prince, although I doubt he’ll find it charming of a bunch of freshmen girls chasing after him like lost puppies.”

They all turned to you shocked for a moment.

“How did you know we were freshman?” One girl asked.

You rolled your eyes, looking back down to your math book again. “Your attitudes are a dead giveaway, but if you really wanna know? It’s the uniforms. No junior or senior still has freshly pressed uniforms, it kinda gets old after awhile, also-“ glancing back up again. “You’re supposed to wear the vests on friday, you’re all wearing the cardigans. That’s a common freshman mistake.” You smirked, seeing as all the girls quickly looked at one another to see you were right, nobody there was wearing the vest and now they all started to get flustered.

A couple of them scoffed and started to walk back downstairs, another girl looked embarrassed, and the last two just looked annoyed with you.

“Ugh, whatever. Like I said, you’re a waste of time.” And with that, the rest of the girls walked back downstairs to the school.

As soon as the door closed behind them, you got up to put the ladder back on its feet. The boy- Bruce, had started to climb down right away.

“Wow, I didn’t expect you to get them to leave so quick.” He praised.

You shrugged, sitting back down to your regular position. “They knew it would be a waste of time staying up here to talk to me, they would rather find you.”

He nodded in agreement, glancing down at his uniform he spoke up again. “I didn’t know about that vest rule on Fridays.”

“That’s because I made it up.” You stated.

Bruce eyes widened, “Wait…what?”

You laughed, looking up at him smug. “Yeah, there is absolutely no rule at the school that states we have to wear our vest on Fridays… I made it up to mess with them.”

Bruce face quickly turned from confused to a smile, and then he started busting out laughing. “Wow. I cant believe that! That’s great!”

Hmm he really had a contagious laugh.

“So…” you started slowly. “Prince of Gotham?” You grinned, watching as his expression now was irritated.

“Please don’t call me that.” He looked a bit pouty now.

“Your royal highness gonna get upset?”

He rolled his eyes. “I didn’t come up with the name… it’s just what they call me.”

“They?” You asked.

“The school… the whole city, I don’t know. Someone posted it in the newspaper and…. It just stuck.”

“Oh. So you really didn’t try calling yourself a prince on purpose.” You questioned

“Of course not!”

“So…” you continued. “Do you always have to run away from a bunch of girls on Valentine’s Day?”

Bruce sighed in frustration, seating himself across from you crisscross. “Every year, it’s always a new group of freshman who always act crazy, trying to give me chocolates, heart shaped cards, or maybe some balloons…. It’s exhausting.”

You smiled. “Sounds like you have it rough.”

He frowned. “Are you being sarcastic again?”

“Sorry. Force of habit.”

“So… Why are you up here?” He asked.

“Homework, It’s quiet.”

“That’s it?”

You started writing down more notes. “Yep.”

“You don’t have a valentines?”

You couldn’t help but laugh out, thinking he was joking. However when you looked up his expression looked confused.

“Oh, you’re serious…”

He scoffed. “Well, yeah. Isn’t this one of the school’s favorite holiday. You don’t celebrate?”

“I don’t know… it’s just not my thing I guess. I don’t really have a valentines.” You shrugged.

Bruce thought to himself for a moment. “And… what about the ones you’ve gotten?”

“Umm.” You shifted in your spot. You knew what he was asking wasn’t meant to be mean, he was genuinely curious. You brought your math book up trying to cover a bit of you face. “I don’t get those.”

“What? Really?” He looked genuinely shocked, and you really couldn’t figure out why.

“I don’t really care, it’s not really my thing.” You couldn’t see what kind of face he was making, but you knew he was probably taking pity on you.

When he didn’t say anything back, you peaked up from your math book. He was thinking intently about something, almost like he was trying to solve a problem to a test question. Suddenly he stood back up, dusting a bit of dirt off his uniform pants.

“I’ll be right back!” He quickly said, making a dash for the door.

You didn’t even have time to stop him before the door slammed shut behind him. Not sure what to do next, you went back to taking math notes.

He did say he would be back.

It was probably about 10 minutes later when you heard the echo of shoes getting louder to the roof door. Not bothering to look up when the door opened, already guessing who it was.

“Hey.” He spoke up.

Glancing up to respond, you stopped yourself by the scene in front of you.

He had a white rose in one hand and a plastic sack in the other. Sitting back down across from you, he started to pull out all the things from the bag. Two sodas, a couple of candy bars, and two bags of chips. The last thing he pulled out was a box of band-aids that had hello kitty on them.

Taking a soda and candy bar for himself, he handed you the rest, along with the rose.

You slowly reached out and took it from him, looking at him wide eyed now. Twisting the white rose in your hand you looked back up to him.

“What’s this for?”

“Valentine’s.” He said, casually opening the can of soda and taking a swig.

“Uhh, I’m confused… you-“

“I got you a valentines, the candy and soda from the vending machines, bags of chips from the cafeteria, and the white rose is from the school garden house I snapped off.” He explained, smiling brightly like he just achieved a task.

You looked at the band-aids. “And Hello Kitty?”

“It was the only thing that had hearts on it that wasn’t a school decoration.”

Examining the items and looking up to see his proud expression, you started to smile, a genuine happy smile for the first time ever on this holiday.

Bringing the rose up to your nose you inhaled, smelling the sweet scent that came off of it. It really did bring you joy. Glancing up, you saw Bruce had been starting at you the whole time. “Thank you.”

His eyes widened, looking a bit nervous. “Uh-I” he cleared his throat. “You’re welcome.” He finally got out.

Setting the rose aside, you cracked open the soda he got you, taking a sip. “Even if it was out of pity, it was still a cute gesture.”

Not saying anything for a moment, Bruce started to rotate his soda mindlessly. “It wasn’t out of pity…” he said softly, you almost didn’t catch it.

Just that one sentence, really made you happy. You didn’t know why, but that was exactly what you wanted to hear.

The rest of the time you were up there, you both discussed all kinds of stuff, finding out Bruce had more in common with you then you originally thought. It actually felt like you knew him as a person and not by just reputation.

When the finale bell rang, you couldn’t help but be disappointed. Bruce helped you with your stuff and you both made your way down to the school.

Getting to the bottom, all the hallways were packed with students trying to leave or show off what they got from their Valentine today.

“Let’s go out this way.” You reached out to grab Bruce’s hand and tugged him behind you, sneaking pass the crowd and even avoiding the group of girls you interacted with earlier.

Coming out the side door, you managed to avoid any extra attention. Slowing down your pace, you both started to walk away from the school building and towards one of the school gates. Already seeing parents or drivers here to pick up students.

“Wow, you really know the ins and outs of this school. I didn’t even know that side door existed.” Bruce praised, walking with you side by side now.

“Yeah… I try to find a lot of different places to hide.” You weren’t sure if that was a strange thing to do, but Bruce didn’t seem to be phased. He also hadn’t said anything about you still holding his hand, at some point his grip tightened as if he was worried you would let go.

He started to walk a bit ahead of you, leading you now to the open school gate and sidewalk. When you got there, a black shiny car started to slow down and pull up beside you and Bruce. Coming to a stop, an older man in a nice suit got out of the drivers seat and walked around to the back door, opening it he waited patiently not saying anything.

“That’s my ride.” Bruce said, waving to the gentleman who smiled and waved back.

You suddenly felt disappointed. This was probably the last you would get to hang out, especially since you two sat at opposite sides of the class room. Even though you hadn’t really known anything about him previously besides a name and a face, it was clear you were on completely opposite social standings.

However, your time with him was nice, and nothing like how you expected. A lot of the kids had backgrounds of family’s who were doctors, politicians, or CEO of big businesses, so most of their attitudes were very Im better then you. There was only a few who got here on scholarship, you included. So it only made sense someone as big of a name as Bruce Wayne wouldn’t ever take notice to you.

“So, same time Monday?”

You jumped at the sudden break of silence, not realizing you were stuck in your own head.

“What?”

Bruce smiled, “Monday? Roof top again?” When you didn’t respond right away he suddenly looked nervous. “Uhh, unless you don’t want hang out, I just realized I crashed one of your hiding spots… if you don’t wanna be bothered-“

“No!” You suddenly shouted, causing him to jump a bit. “I mean..” you cleared your throat, “yes, Monday, same spot. That would be fun…”

He suddenly smiled again. “Okay!” Letting go of your hand, he rushed over to his driver. He started saying something to him you couldn’t hear, but you could only assume it was about you since the man looked back to you and smiled big again.

Putting up your hand you waved nervously to him. Seeing Bruce turn to you now and giving a wave himself. He got into the car, his driver closing the door behind him. The man walked around to the drivers side, getting in and driving away.

He wanted to hangout… again. He expected to hangout again… He had fun.

You stood there for a moment, turning around to start your walk home. A smile started to creep it’s way onto your face… this was the best Valentine’s Day ever… you couldn’t wait for Monday.

Tag: @christianbalefanatic

[oh-no-its-bird]

This comment on the recent One Step Three Steps chapter possessed me and I ended up doodling Ichigo in one of those cute bo-peep dresses

This whole thing is made cuter by the fact that Ichigo's mother, Keiko, is in fact one of the clans sheep headers.

I am obsessed w the idea of the Hatake having sheep. I need it in my life. The Hatake wolves and their little known sheep,,, They are quite possibly the best protected sheep in all of the elemental nations, constantly surrounded by wolves (some summons, some normal wolves) who know to keep them safe

I can feel myself starting to itch with the urge for a Hatake lore dump so actually, that is what we are doing now. Sorry not sorry, I have too many thoughts and opinions to not take this opportunity to ramble now that I've found myself here

In the warring states, the Hatake were farmers-- they interacted with other clans very little because in general, everything they needed, they made or grew for themselves, Including wool products.

They would collect the wool in the summer, spend spring and fall preparing it to spin-- cleaning it, sorting it, dying it, etc. Then in winter, when there was little work to do compared to the rest of the year, they'd begin to weave. Blankets, tapestries, clothes, etc.

The wool is distributed among those who wish to weave based on a mix of merit and favor. The Hatake themselves are a very communal bunch, sharing pretty much all of their tools and resources, and their small size only makes them closer.

So, when it's time to hand out wool, the finer wool goes to those with the skill to make something truly great out of it. Then the slightly less as good wool goes to the next in line, and so on.

There's a whole weaving hierarchy within the clan, with some doing it just for fun and to kill time (and thus being given the more bottom of the barrel yarn) while others spend all year planning to make things intending to sell for the clan to earn coin (and then those people are given the better quality yarn)

I'm actually going to expose myself here, take something I wrote for a possible far in the future Here Before and After Me chapter, from what is supposed to be the Hatake's introduction:

Instead, Haruka was busy poking through the thick blankets presented to her. Piled up high on a wheelbarrow, the labor of love of so many hands over the winter. "Hoo, the weaving this year really is spectacular. I'm almost tempted to say we shouldn't sell them." She ran her hand across the thick pelt of a blanket lined with rabbit fur. Keiko's work, she recognized instantly. 'Good shit,' as the kids say. Besides her, Tetsuo, her young chosen heir, pet a blue and brown quilt thoughtfully.   "They could make for an impressive gift, if we're ever in the position to have to give one." "As good an excuse as any to keep one or three." Haruka chuckled, picking a more intricate blanket out of the pile and holding it up to admire its pattern.

^ When winter is done, everyone who made something will donate at least one thing they've made to an overall collection, which is then sorted through and (usually) sold.

(With occasional exceptions to save more impressive works to keep as a clan treasure, or future gift or bribe if they need one)

He sorted through them, trying to separate by quality and method of craft. But, seeing as they all shared space on the same wheelbarrow, there was really only so much separation he could do. "Ugh, Tsuki." Tetsuo cursed under his breath, picking out a tapestry carefully embroidered with near hypnotic spirals that seemed to go on forever. "We can't sell this, it'll end up cursing someone." He tossed the supposedly cursed tapestry over a shoulder, burrowing through more thick sheets before he paused. A disgruntled expression passed over his face as he plucked out an already tattered blanket, more bundle of half-burnt rope loosely woven together than anything. "Who let Sora donate to the pile again? She was supposed to be banned, after last year's disaster." When he examined it closer, it seemed like it was made only from scraps of the thick wool they'd spun specifically for their winter weaving. At least no one had given her anything valuable to destroy then. It joined the spiral tapestry slung across his shoulder. "Daisuke, at least, as good as always." He noted, picking up a thick weave of color. Seeing how brightly colored this year's project was, suddenly he understood why the man's hands had been dyed so thoroughly for most of the winter months. Although... Tetsuo brought the blanket up to sniff and then made a face. "Ugh, we'll need to wash out the tobacco smell. His nose really must be failing him, to have left it this strong."

^ quality will vary, and so you'll also have different works that get disqualified from being sold. (And, inevitably, some people who have been told to stop putting their disaster creations into the pile.)

The Hatake's weaving being really high regarded and high quality,,,, them doing something to the wool when they treat it that makes it extra good,,, I need it,,

Anyways, just. The Hatake and their sheep. I need it. There's so much potential there, like. From aesthetics to references of the relationships between sheep and wolves, and beyond.

I love it !!! Give those wolf people some sheep to protect.

[inawickedlittletown]

We've Got A Long Way To Go (BuckTommy) -9/?

Summary: A few months after the break up, Buck picks up a call that changes everything. Tommy has his own regrets, and an unexpected meeting and a change in Buck's life will bring them together. Fix-it fic.

Words: 2.1k

Read on Ao3

Chapter One - Chapter Two - Chapter Three

Chapter Four - Chapter Five - Chapter Six

Chapter Seven - Chapter Eight

-

Chapter Nine

When he got off the phone with Evan, it was a bit later than he’d expected. Tommy didn’t mind. He wished the call had gone on for longer, but Lucas had woken up and Evan had rightfully said a quick goodbye. Tommy didn’t even care that it meant he’d be getting a lot less sleep than he’d planned to before his shift. He’d missed Evan far more than he’d even allowed himself to admit. 

Right after the break up, Tommy had had every intention of grabbing anything Evan had left behind and putting it in a box to pass along to him. There actually wasn’t much stuff considering Tommy was usually the one going to Evan’s place. He never did go through the trouble. Three months in the things remained where they were or they had gotten — in the case of Evan’s clothes — mixed into Tommy’s own wardrobe. They’d never fit Tommy, but he liked the idea that Evan still existed in his life somehow even if it was just a couple of shirts and a hoodie.

It was almost like if Tommy wished for it enough, Evan would just walk right into his life again and they could pick things right back up. That was not going to happen. He hadn’t seriously believed it would before, but now there was a kid to think of. Evan had far more on his plate than to deal with Tommy. He deserved so much more. 

Getting to work the next day, he could almost push away thoughts of Evan and Lucas. It wasn’t a slow day, but it wasn’t overtly busy either. He got a few flights out to help with a stranded hiker, then a medevac for a heart attack.

“You’re kinda distracted today,” Lucy said over lunch. 

He hadn’t heard from Evan all day, not that he’d been expecting to. It just felt…well, it felt like he was being left out of the loop somehow even though he knew that Evan knew he was on shift. Evan was probably busy too. 

“Tommy?” Lucy asked. 

Tommy hadn’t planned on sharing anything with Lucy, but he had to talk to someone and she was probably his best bet. 

“Remember the kid from our last shift?” 

“Yeah,” Lucy said. 

“I, uh, I wanted to make sure he was alright. Both parents gone and everything.” 

She nodded along. “And?”

Tommy took a breath. “His name is Lucas. He’s Evan’s son.” 

Lucy’s mouth fell open and she blinked at him a few times. “Come again? Buck has a kid? A kid whose parents died. Wait, did he even know? How do you know? Kinard, this is tea. Piping hot tea and you kept it from me.” 

Tommy ducked his head and chuckled. The whole thing was kinda ridiculous.

“He’s biologically Evan’s son, but only because he was a sperm donor so his friends could have a baby. He’s taking custody of him, though.” 

“Wow,” Lucy said. “That’s insane. So I take it you went to check on the kid and ran into Buck?” 

Tommy nodded. 

“And how did that go?” 

“Surprisingly well,” Tommy said. 

The other shoe would drop eventually, though. If Tommy had any hope of even staying friends with Evan they would need to talk about it or it would fester. Talking to Howie had given him some insights into how Evan had been after the break up and it was nothing like what Tommy had expected. 

“That’s good,” Lucy said. 

“But it’s really over, you know,” Tommy said. 

“What does that even mean?” 

Tommy shrugged. “He has a kid. That’s his priority now and I’m not going to complicate everything with all my bullshit, Lucy. I can’t. And maybe it’s for the best. Maybe one day he’ll meet someone that will—”

Lucy punched his arm. “Now that is some bullshit,” she said. “I can see it all over your face, you already care for his kid. You didn’t stop caring for Buck. Yeah, a kid complicates things, but you’ve been heartbroken for months over Buck so it’s not going away. Why don’t you actually talk to him? Clear things up and go from there?” 

It would be too hard. It might change everything and the very slimmer of hope that Tommy had gotten that maybe they could become friends and stay in each other’s lives would die away and Tommy would have nothing again. Did he even have anything at all? 

“I don’t know,” Tommy said. 

“Think about it, Tommy, because you’re right, one day he might meet someone that wants to stick around that wants to settle down with him and that kid and then you won’t get a chance to say a thing.” 

-

It was late in the morning when Lucas was finally discharged. The doctor took a last look at him and signed off. The worst of his scratches were already scabbing over and the bruises looked a lot worse than they actually were. Buck was given instructions on how to care for the arm in the cast and he could tell that Lucas was even more sore than the day before. 

“It’ll help if he moves around a bit more,” the nurse at the desk told him. “Children’s tylenol will help with any pain, but only if he needs it. And you have your appointment for when he gets his cast off all set.” 

“That’s what the doctor said,” Buck said. 

“Good luck,” the nurse said. “You and your boyfriend are going to do great.” 

Buck just smiled and nodded. If only he did still have a boyfriend to help him with all of it. He headed back to the room and found Lucas sitting on the edge of the bed, teddy bear clutched in his arms. Karen, holding all of their belongings, smiled at Buck. Lucas seemed a bit wary, but then he had met a lot of people in the last twenty-four hours. He hardly even knew Buck for that matter. He must have realized, though, that they were leaving the hospital room. 

“I guess that means we’re ready to go,” Karen said. 

“Yup. Hopefully Hen got the car seat situated.” 

Lucas looked at him. “Where mama?” 

It broke Buck’s heart to hear the question. He didn’t know quite how to have this conversation. 

“Where dada?” 

“Lucas,” Buck said, “your mama and dada aren’t…they aren’t with us anymore.”

He shot a look at Karen and she seemed to realize that he really didn’t have this. Lucas looked confused and maybe it was because Buck wasn’t actually saying it. They died. They were dead. Lucas was never going to see them again. He felt Karen’s hand fall on his shoulder. She mouthed ‘you got this’ at him. 

“Lucas, they died,” Buck said. 

Did Lucas even know what that meant? Had Connor or Kameron ever talked about death with him? Was that even a concept that a kid that age could take or was this the first time he was encountering it? 

“It means that they’re gone. You were in an accident, it’s why your arm is in a cast. Your mommy and daddy died so now you’re coming home with me.”

“No mama. No dada?”

“No, honey. They were hurt bad.”

Lucas pointed at his cast. “Me?” 

“Worse,” Buck said. “They didn’t wake up. I’m so sorry.” 

Maybe it was his tone, or maybe it was that Lucas did understand, but he started to cry. It brought Buck right back to last night. 

He’d been on the phone with Tommy. He’d told him more about Connor and how meeting him in Peru had eventually led to Buck moving to LA and becoming a firefighter. He’d told him all about the house they shared with four other guys that was little more than a frat house. He and Connor had been kids back then, running around LA to clubs and bars and picking up women left and right without a care in the world. Buck had outgrown that eventually when he really took being a firefighter seriously and especially once he and Abby got together. He didn’t talk about Abby, knew it would open up a whole can of worms that might destroy the line of communication that had been opened between them. Instead, he’d told him about having Kameron stay at the loft and how much Buck had liked her. 

Lucas had started squirming a little in bed and then he started making whimpering noises and then he cried out. Buck had said a quick goodbye to Tommy, reaching for Lucas to wake him even as he dropped his phone on the bed carelessly. 

Lucas woke up at once, shaking and whimpering still. He’d curled into himself, so Buck didn’t try to touch him. Buck did realize that he was crying, though, face wet with tears that didn’t seem to want to stop. 

“Lucas, are you okay? Did you have a bad dream?” 

Lucas whimpered, but nodded. “Mama?” 

“It’s just me, Lucas. Just Evan. Can I give you a hug? Would that help?” 

Lucas took his time before he nodded, uncurling and opening his arms as if asking for Buck to pick him up. Buck did, gently situating him in his arms before he sat down on the bed, conscious of the tiny arm in the cast. 

“Do you want to tell me what was scary?” 

Lucas shook his head. 

“Was there a monster? Or a ghost?”

Lucas shook his head. Buck reached for a tissue and he helped to gently wipe Lucas’ face, careful of the scratches he’d gotten during the accident. 

“Was it a big dog? Or a bear? Or, I know, a crocodile?” 

“No,” Lucas said, already calming down. 

“Not any of that. Alright, then, but it was something scary?”

Lucas said what sounded like a ‘yes’ as he snuggled closer into Buck, his little head fitting into the crook of his shoulder. 

“Well, I know nightmares can be scary. I have them sometimes, but they’re not real. Nothing is going to get you, Lucas. Not while I’m around.” 

Lucas didn’t let him go and for a while, Buck just talked to him. He told him about being a firefighter and Lucas fell asleep on him and Buck didn’t know how to let go, so he didn’t. He held him and let him sleep, even grabbing his blanket to cover him. Buck didn’t know when he drifted off, but when he woke again it was to Lucas squirming to get out of Buck’s hold. 

Buck let him roll off of him and Lucas laid down next to him, blinking at him. 

“You okay?” 

Lucas tried to nod. 

“Do you need something? No? Did you have another bad dream?”

Lucas shook his head. He didn’t look like he’d be falling back into sleep, but then Buck figured that he’d probably spent more hours sleeping over the last day than he was used to. 

“How about we read a book?”

Lucas sat up at that. Buck chuckled. He rolled off the bed and went to the bag Maddie had brought earlier. He grabbed one of the books. Goodnight Moon. He’d read it to Jee enough times and maybe Lucas would enjoy it too. 

He brought it over. “This one alright?” 

“Yes,” Lucas said with a nod. 

Buck arranged himself so that Lucas could see the book and he began to read. Lucas did not fall asleep by the end, but he seemed content to lay on the bed and have Buck read it from the start again. 

Buck had been able to help with the bad dream — one that he hoped wasn’t related to the accident — but to actually present Lucas with the reality of his parents being dead felt far more difficult. He grabbed for a tissue and tipped Lucas’ chin up. Lucas stared back at him with eyes that were far too familiar and definitely full of tears.

Lucas reached for him and Buck picked him up, hugging him and rubbing his back as he hiccuped and cried some more. 

“It’s going to be hard and you’re going to miss them lots and that’s okay. They loved you so much, Lucas, and we can hold onto that even if they’re not around anymore. But, all they wanted was for you to be happy and hopefully I can help with that,” Buck said. 

Buck met Karen’s eyes and she smiled sadly at him. Buck set Lucas back down on the bed. He was sniffling a little still. 

“Now, it’s time we get out of here,” Buck said. 

“Teddy too?” 

“Of course.” 

He wiped Lucas’ face as best as he could one more time. 

“Do you want to walk, or can I carry you?” Buck asked. 

Lucas responded by lifting his arms, cast and all, towards Buck. Buck picked him up again, already sure he loved the way that Lucas seemed to fit into his arms. When he looked at Karen, she was wiping her eyes. She gave his arm a squeeze as they walked out. 

[phoenixfire-thewizardgoddess]

Ooooh, you know who died in the 1970s? HUSK.

That could have been a really sweet but mindblowing conversation over the bar one evening, as they're all unwinding from the hype of battle several hours back. No one feels ready to slip into bed yet, the place feels... too new, too big.

It's lovely but it's not yet... home.

And it feels like they need to be near people for just a bit longer. Make sure everyone's still alive and kicking, even if its for love/hate/if i can see you you're not doing evil nonsense reasons.

Angel mentions that the pentagram looks even prettier tonight, knowing they'd won... and laughs at the absurdity of finding something like that beautiful. The red that permeates everything was a nightmare mostly, and it doubled as the portal from Heaven.

Might as well admire the craftsmanship of a knife as it struck at your throat.

'The lack of stars can make things quite droll', Alastor agrees, absently. 'Intriguing that you can miss something as simple as moonlight.'

'Hmm, some nights Me'n'Molly - my twin- we'd make up stories about what was up there. Like, the moon must be huge and it just hung there all bright and shiny at night, and the stars winked at you like they had some fun secrets to share. Helped to make us feel like there was more than just... the Family. You know? Like no matter what happened to us there was a whole world out there to escape to."

In an uncharacteristic moment of sharing, Alastor adds, "Indeed, as a young child I... often needed the fleeting moonbeams to assist my way in the bayou, evading my-... hmmm, a family member who thought only of violence no matter the reason. It always seemed quite helpful in showing where not to tread..." and deepened the shadows one could stand in as someone blundered past."

Oh. Husk finds himself glancing down at the grinning shade on the floor, curling about Alastor's lower legs. That... explained a bit, actually. The former overlord glances at Alastor and realises that the Boss may not have even flagged just how much he'd given away with that statement. Ah, let him have it. Husk knew they all had skeletons in the closet, best not to go jiggling the handle.

Angel's hand hovered over Alastor's arm in some sort of sympathy, but didn't make contact. "Yeah, Smiles... my old man was a bastard like that too. Thats why me'n'Mols were always dreaming of escape... always wondering if there was some magical city under the sea, or deep in a rainforest, or up on the moon we could get to and hide in. Never worked out though."

"...is he down here?" Alastor asks, head tilting too sharply. The bartender's ear flicked, intrigued by the implied offer; hells, he'd help too, if Boss would allow it, didn't even need to go yanking Husk's chain, neither.

"He... yeah. That's how I wound up with Val in the first place. Ran into my fuckin' dad and needed rescue, some of Val's workers stepped in to help cause I was near a club he owned... and then, well, the moth got me." Angel grumbled bitterly. Husk took his empty glass and slid something new back. "Thanks Whiskers. You ever... you ever dream of being somewhere else?"

"Not the moon, no. Though there were a lotta kid's stories about it being made of cheese and all which sounded like a bad time for the lactose intolerant. But there were times I wished I could live somewhere else..." Husker replied, resting his forearms upon the bartop. "Though... all this talk reminds me of the day they launched old Apollo 11. I saw it on the television, everyone stopped that day, just to watch... all the adults in their office buildings and kids in their classrooms crowding the televisions. Those that had 'em, of course, others ran to shopfronts to See the big moment. And then of course, they televised the moment Neil Armstrong stepped onto the moon itself, which broke all previous ratings metrics. One small step for man and all that. One of the craziest things to witness... just didn't feel real."

He's snapped out of his reverie by the clear shock blasting across the room, and the sharp warble of confused radio burble from the boss.

"You're shitting me!" Angel gasped, all four hands on the bar as if bracing himself for the 'gotcha!' of a prank well sprung.

"…no, I don't believe Husker was one for imaginative lies." Alastor narrows his eyes, trying to process the idea of the moon that used to light his path through the bayou now bearing human footprints. "Exceptionally talented at cards, at chance and misdirection and reading people... but not one for elaborate tales of fantasy. "

"Hey, look, don't believe me if you want but... how did you not know, Legs? Don't you use the internet and all? And you, Al... didn't Vox ever mention it? I'm sure the bastard must've been one of the presenters 'round that time?" Husk replies in disbelief. How could they NOT know?

"Er, yeah... but it's not like I ever googled 'did someone put a human on the moon' at any point like, that never crossed my mind. Here we could, cause of the magic and shit, but there? Toasters were new. Radios and television had just gone mainstream! how the FUCK did they get someone up there?" Angel tugs at his own hair in shocked surprise, pupils blown from the revelation.

"And you simply can't trust anything those Vees allow on their systems, in anycase!" Alastor rallies, his hand comes up and aborts the movement quickly as Husk narrows his eyes. This would be the part where Al would twirl his cane, to make a point. His theatrical ass couldn't help himself sometimes... so where was it?

Before he can ask, Lucifer swoops past. Literally. Alighting by them all with a gust of oddly apple-scented wind.

"You talking about the moon? Hah, it's not the most exciting planet we put in this solar system, but I was proud of it. One of the first things Uriel ever made, and I gave them a hand because they were sooooooo nervous! The joy on their faces when it first caught the sunlight... er, I don't think humans can conceptualise of how it looked, they have about fourty-seven mouths, but they were smiling like a nebulae!" He beams, reminding them all accidentally how ancient and powerful he was.

There was a brief moment where several mortal minds attempted to imagine that, and got the stirrings of a sharp headache instead.

"Wait you made the MOON?" Husk asks, quirking an eyebrow. "The fuckin' MOON?!"

"Hold up, other planets? How many of 'em are there?" Angel interjects, mouth mildly agape. His father hadn't really cared for anything outside of the city, so the kids in the household unfortunately had a limited curriculum. "Dad... he burned the book we stole from the library, it was about space. Saw something about Mars and Mercury, and a big planet, but most of it was charcoal after he tossed it into the fireplace... all I know it started with a J. And there was a spot they think, like a big storm... saw it through one of those big lenses in the new science buildings at the local university. Always wanted to go see through it."

"Jupiter." Lucifer replies, his expression softening momentarily. He, also, loved learning... and had been denied by his father. "There's 9... technically there were ten but humans decided to be ridiculous and classify Pluto as a dwarf planet because it wasn't big enough by their definition." He automatically whirls on Alastor, and points menacingly. "DO NOT."

"Why I was only going to say that humanity, much like heavenly divininity, seem to discard and discount things as too small for note... when perhaps they should have changed the metric."

Lucifer frowns. "Hold on, that was too nice. Are you dying? Did you get a concussion?"

Alastor rolls his eyes. "Why, little majesty, I was simply saving us all from the inevitable 'size doesn't matter it's how you use it' reference our dear Angel here has spring-loaded on his tongue at all times. If you want to hear it, I'm sure he will oblige."

Angel, for his part, sinked lasciviously. "Y'know what else I got spring-loaded on this obliging tongue, majesty?"

Husk let his head drop to the bartop, incoherent mumbling escaped.

"Oh do cheer up Husker, " Alastor chides. "You chose to adore the arachnid, you deal with his ridiculousness and lewd affectations."

"Oooh, you want my lewd affectations aimed at you Deer Daddy?" Angel flutters his eyelids, and laughed as Alastor rolls his eyes right into radio dials and back again. "Yeah, yeah... ah, fuck... ya face is hilarious when I pull this. But... seriously Short King, can you... tell us a bit about space? If you got a minute? Don't have to be now."

Lucifer seems... taken aback. Just the merest hint of tears in his eyes, as if no one has ever asked him to share his knowledge, or something. Husk and Angel and Alastor, all used to reading people in their own ways, feel something akin to sympathy pang through them. One of them pointedly stabs the sensation like an errant pest, and pretends no such emotion ever occurred. Not for the little monarch, he had too many bones to pick with the former angel.

"Of course I can... if you don't mind if I get side tracked? I can ramble, and it annoys people sometimes..." the King shrinks into himself slightly. His wings curl inward, and the desire to provide comfort alights in many a long-dead heart.

Of all of them, it is Alastor who offers a response. "Whyever would that matter? Half the fun of sharing information is trapping the audience in place as you do so, your lowness. You literally have the power to make people listen, don't tell me you've not used it?"

It's more goading than motivational, but it works. There's a brief flicker of hellfire at those temples.

"Not everyone wants to force their opinion on people!"

"Again, whyever not? Which foolish creature told someone like you, an odd little ancient thing that I suspect could talk for decades without pause on a favoured topic, to be still and silent? And moreover, why on earth or any of the other planes... did you bother to listen?"

"I-... what? Seriously, did you get a concussion?"

Alastor laughed. "Husker here is a former overlord, little ruler, and I am a current one. When we want to say something, people are made to listen... and you, the actual Devil, king of Hell's 7 Rings and unfortunately the best line of defence we have against Heaven despite his duck obsession, are the one cringing back with chains of self-doubt? Even when asked to expound on a topic we are actively interested in?"

"...you are?" The spark is back, and there's a faint glow about him. Like you could see the angel he once was, it moved under the skin he now wore, the hardened facade. "Normally when I talk about fun stuff I can see people's epxressions go blank, sort of... fade out, like they're physically there but have mentally wandered away. I do that too, soemtimes... but that's because this form is so small. Cosmically, I mean. This body is like... trying to put the sun into a salt shaker, and expecting only little bits of power to escape, to offset the pressure."

"Is there anything that can help?" Angel asks, intrigued but compassionate. He feels things getting too sentimental and adds, with a flirty grin, "I'm always available to help expend some energy, ya Highness."

Husk thwaps him with his tail, and Angel laughs.

"That's... generous... but if I let any of my Self out like that, it'd be-... wait, do you know what a solar flare is? Because it would be like that. It's why I create things all the time, easiest way to expel the energy without hurting anyone."

"Ah, that explains the ducks, then. I assume the reason we aren't drowning in them all is because this is only the most recent iteration of your energy release?" Alastor asks, folding onto a barstool. Again, his hands twitch as if to toy with his cane, and Husk clocks it again as he slings a teatowel over his shoulder. The Sovereign overlord is frowning around his smile now, struck by a dour thought. "Actually, sire... I'm wondering something about said ducks."

"No, I was wondering if the power you imbued the ducks with could be... extracted, in any way? One or two or ten might not be enough to cause a threat to the general population, but if the energy in them could be harnessed, then perhaps someone could even one day amass enough to rival dear Charlotte." Alastor said, there was something in his gaze.

"...the why of them? Because its simple, I just think they're fun." Lucifer shrugs, and his shoulders curl forwards again before the devil consciously pushes them back. Who had taught this all powerful creature such shame around his hobbies? Intriguing. Exploitable.

Husk sent a pointed glare at the back of Boss's head, and one ear twitched.

"Why, want it for yourself, bellhop?" Lucifer scowls at him, and Husk cringes, seeing the way those ears flicker. Whatever message was being conveyed had been returned to sender unread.

"No." Alastor ground out, and then clamed himself. "I am pointing out that it seems like that would be a glaring security breach in hell, if someone who was seeking power and had access to your little offcasts, could do so. They would pose a threat to possibly even yourself, but certainly Charlotte. Are you able to destroy the ducks or whatever you have created? Or would that cause magical backlash?"

Lucifer seemed to be picking something up. "I can destroy them. It's like... uh... haircuts? Once it leaves me, its benign and can be dissolved into atoms... is atoms what the humans are down to now? I think you might have found out about quarks... hah, the irony of dissolving my ducks into quarks..."

"Ah, a failsafe option then. Excellent." Alastor mutters, and Husk is really looking at the overlord then. What did this guy know?

"...is someone trying to do what you suggested?" Lucifer asked, looking back upon them all with eyes that bled red. It felt like a soundwave moving through you at a concert, like an xray that wriggled through each and every atom on the way past, as he turned it upon the gathered sinners. "...ah, well, if that is who you are referring to, then perhaps you are right to worry. I'm hoping this is a sick prank, because otherwise I'm going to be very angry... and Charlotte will be devastated."

"Surely you wouldn't tell her, sire?" Alastor throws back, and Husk can tell that the other is rattled at the revelation that the King had Seen what was hidden. "It would only hurt her. Something we're all actively attempting to avoid for now, especially in the wake of the lost snake fellow."

"Sir Pentious." Angel and Husk intoned, slightly angry at Alastor for forgetting his name.

"Ah, yes... Pentious. He's not forgettable, I just can never seem to hold onto his name, for some reason, and he was always insisting we'd fought dozens of times but... I simply don't recall anything outside the animosity at the hotel." Alastor waved off potential amnesia with an airy laugh as the studio audience chimed in to add body.

"Wait, you actually did fight him, with me, once." Husk frowned. "You and Vox were still partners, before the moth... Pentious was testing out that giant mech suit thing of his, and he knocked out one of your broadcast towers. I thought you were gonna eat him... but you just kind of toyed with him for a bit until the robot part was scrap metal and had me drop him home."

Alastor's eyes flicker with static, and a grating kssshhhtttz of static filled the air before a radio dial clicking off sounded. "Why, no, I genuinely don't recall! Hah!" He turns back to the King. "Now, little majesty, would you mind telling our associate Angel about the stars? And if Husker and I should just so happen to listen in, why, that should be a bonus, hmmm?"

Lucifer blinked. "Er, what? I can do that... but we're going to talk about that later."

Whirling around, Lucifer launched himself up to the ceiling and snapped his fingers with a joyous laugh. Instantly the room dimmed, a blinding array of celestial bodies appeared in the air and gently rotated around Lucifer, who hung within the sun-like orb at the centre. In the distance, nebulae and distant planets could be glimpsed.

The barstools melted into a sofa with enough height to allow the long-legged Angel and Alastor to be seated comfortably. Husk was similarly provided seating, behind the bar, much to his amusement.

"This, is SOL, your sun and one of my favourite stars. I helped set it ablaze myself with my brother Michael!" Lucifer explained, hovering around it, listing off facts about the celestial body and explaining how it worked. Tiny solar flares arched outward and this delighted the former archangel as he spoke about them at length.

Eventually, he moved on to tiny Mercury, pulling the small orb from its orbit and bringing it down to them as the king extolled interesting fact about Gabriel's first attempt at a planet. "There WAS supposed to be water there, but... it got too hot, and it evaporated. Poor Gabe was crushed, because he'd had fun plans for it. Mars was also one of his, but Dad stepped in to give him some help forming it... there's some fun little surprises hidden on THAT planet for the humans to find!"

Lucifer switched out planets and even passed around Mars for them to hold. Angel startled to find red dust on his fingers, and Lucifer winked at him.

"Don't worry, there's no giant sinner fingerprints on the planet... it's just a wellmade enchantment! Oooh, speaking of well-made, did you know the humans have sent little robots to explore Mars? They call this little guy ROVER and he sings Happy Birthday to himself once a year!" Lucifer manifests what was lkely supposed to be a replica, but apparently seemed to be the Rover itself. "Ah... fuck. Hang on."

One sleep deprived tech at NASA had QUITE THE DAY reviewing footage from the Rover, and trying to work out if someone had hacked the feed to prank him as several inhuman creatures were seen staring in horrified fascination at the Rover for about 3 seconds before the feed returned to Mars' barren surfaces.

"Hah, let's not mention that little fuck-up to Heaven..." Lucifer laughed, nervously. "What was I saying? Oh yeah, so there was water on this planet too, and we put some-..."

Angel and Husk interjected with questions on occasion. Alastor really just seemed to be listening, though knowing the guy he could be listening to his own internal radio station and nodding at the right intervals. He did show some sign of delight when Lucifer got to Earth's moon... even sized it up to something around soccer ball shape, before passing it around.

Husk, unable to fight the desire in the back of his brain, put a tongue on the surface. He considered it. "...good news, not cheese."

Angel's snort was delightful.

"Hey! As my father once said to me, 'Please don't go licking celestial objects!'" Lucifer interjected, taking the moon back and making a show of theatrically wiping it off on his shirt. He tosses it at Alastor, "That goes double for you, Bambi."

"Sire, how can you show such little faith in me? As this is neither screaming, breathing nor bleeding, why would I ever be tempted to take a bite?" His expression was fantastically malicious, but husk roleld his eyes, talk about sticking to the bit. The deer did toy with the moon in his hands. "...what caused the crators?"

"Asteroids, mostly. Like, big chunks of rock that hurtle through space, because there's no gravity in space to help slow them down anything you toss up there stays at that speed and in that direction until it hits something." Lucifer's expression soured. "We discovered that when Raphael accidentally took out two planets and ended the dinosaurs whilst skipping asteroids, actually. Everyone got a talking to for that one."

"Hmmm, I don't suppose you'd find time to show us what they really looked like, would you? There's quite the debate about if they were shrink-wrapped lizards or, perhaps, took after rotund birds." Alastor mutters absently, and catches himself. Perhaps he was more tired than he thought. "Rosie has been staunchly intrigued by the creatures for decades, ever since seeing a skeleton in a museum as a girl, I understand. If you would be open to sharing information about them, she would be most obliged."

"Careful sinner, last time I was asked to talk about those creatures at length I didn't stop for at least a week. Thankfully the goetia in question had drunk enough coffee to fell a Sin, and was able to stay awake through the majority but I doubt anyone here has that tolerance." Lucifer teases, and he is markedly more relaxed than when he started. He seemed to exude a glow og joy when he was in his element, just sharing information even with sinners, whom he appeared to despise.

"...do not, under any circumstances, make such a statement to dear Rosie or she shall take it as a challenge. Wrangling her Overlord form when she is overstimulated and sleep-deprived can be quite the chore..."

"Ain't you like, top dog of the overlords?" Angel narrows his eyes at Alastor.

"He means... without hurting her. Al and Rosie are like fucked up siblings, he wouldn't raise a hand to her and she won't eviscerate him. But he's right, trying to get her to calm down like that, without the option of force, can be pretty damn difficult. Her whole Bigger form has way too many teeth, gives me a headache just looking at it sometimes." Husk shudders.

"Hey, actually, anyone need to get a drink or go to the bathroom or the other physical things you guys do?" Lucifer asked, his hat on the floor as he flips upside down in mid air, batting playfully at the little blue and green orb they'd lived on all their lives. "No? Okay, well, here's one you might be familiar with - Earth. Check out this little number!"

He cracks it in half to show off the layers inside, listing off what each one was and how it worked with the enthusiasm of a PHD student going through their passion project thesis. this orb, too, was passed around like show and tell in the class.

A smart-ass radio host may have allowed a singular refrain of 'has the whole world, in his hands' to fade in and out as the other sinners passed it around. The Earth was last seen snatched from the hands of an enamoured Angel Dust by a giggling Niffty, who scuttled out the door at alarming speeds.

"She. is. Terrifying. Where the fuck did you find her, bellhop?" Lucifer stares after the little creature.

"Quite the story, for another time, and Niffty present." Alastor waves it away. "Do you require the Earth returned? I can summon her back or send poppets to un-hah-earth where she is hiding in the vents...?"

"No, no its an illusion... it'll be fine. So, Jupiter, the not-star of the show and big sibling to earth!" Lucifer continues, showing off the markedly larger orb to everyone in the immediate vicinity. He enlarges it to point out interesting facts, and then pulls over Venus to compare the two. Apaprently they had a similar design but hidden interests under the dense layers of toxic storms.

And that was how several sinners learned things about those planets, and what was on them, several centuries before humans on earth ever would. The king made them swear not to share that information if they got summoned, which wasn't an everyday issue but... some of the overlords tended to get called on occasion. He still hasn't worked out how that keeps happening... the goetia were one thing, but the Sovereign Overlords?

Ah well. Lucifer then immediately pivots to the moons of Jupiter and Saturn, he LOVES the damn things and breaks down their differences in truly intense detail. Angel peppers in questions, enthralled. Husk has to fight an innate impulse to bat at the orbs rotating slowly past him regularly. Damned cat brain.

The rings of the planet were fascinating, and felt oddly gritty when handled, as Lucifer explained how they were made. He'd been consulted on this one, but it was all Sera and Michael, Saturn.

Uranus and Neptune were paired, he'd explained, pulling them over, and showing off the little details. Even Alastor was intrigued at the possibility of ice on Neptune, implying some level of water... and the potential for life to occur.

Lucifer spoke about how, just the year before on Earth, a satellite probe had gone past Pluto and taken photos of the surface! That it took many years and countless reams of paper covered in mathematics to facilitate such a feat, and he was so very oddly proud of humanity for it. He didn't say the words, but the pride in humanity's innate curiosity seemed to 'fill his cup' as they say, to see them use their free will for Good.

It was cold to the touch, but nowhere near as icy as Pluto.

Lucifer took a deep breath as he got to that planet, his little project on the side... had meant it to be a moon but got too excited and made it a tad oversized. The others had been exasperated, apparently.

"Unfortunately, humans did decide it was a Dwarf Planet, and demoted it. But I think it's amazing. This would be the time for a size joke, sinners, if you have one ready... but I still love the silly little ball of ice. If I had my way we would have tried to colonise it with sentient temperature-resistent flora..."

Husk and Angel glanced at one another, trying to imagine what that could even look like. They'd already seen things beyond human imagining today, really put into perspective the concept of creativity when it came to immortal, nearly all-powerful beings with infinite possibility at their core.

Lucifer glanced down at them, offering Pluto over. "Really? Not one single crack at my height, Bambi? You're either learning restraint, are enamoured by my storytelling, or you're dead..."

Husk can't help but huff out a laugh.

"Anyway, this tenth planet, I called it..." the thing that came out of Lucifer's mouth wasn't quite a word, but it was beautiful. Like the chiming of a bell you could feel filling your heart with warmth, rather than hear. That was a super weird sensation to explain. "But... humans can't detect it yet. Technically it was a back-up in case asteroids took out one of the others, so it's phase-locked, technically there for gravitational reasons, but also not physically there if searched for by non-angelic means."

Lucifer hands over the impossible orb. Schrodinger's planet, if you will.

Angel's eyes go wide as he looks at something no one else would likely know about for centuries. "This is insane, ya majesty... I... you've got so much in that head a yours and I think you just made my afterlife with all this. I never... I never thought I'd get to know about the stars, not now. And not then neither. It's... It's silly of me, I know."

"It ain't." Husk assured, at the same moment a startled Lucifer said, "No it's not! The endless curiosity and compassion of humanity was what I gave you with Free Will... just because you're here doesn't mean it died off."

There was a split second as it seemed the King was having an Epiphany moment, and you could see the sweeping grin on his features. So very, very undeniably Charlie in that moment. "Oh, I get it... I see what Char-Char is trying to do. You do have the capacity for change, because it never left!"

Husk tenses for shit to go sideways, at least a round of sarcastic audience applause... and stiffens further when nothing is forthcoming. He glances past the overwhelmed spider to see Alastor appears to be sleeping, head resting on his chin.

Lucifer notices as well. "Hah! Told him that it takes an over caffinated Goetia to outlast my ramblings! And he thinks he can manage my dinosaur talk, as if..."

"Well, I mean, to be fair to Smiles... it's been a weird day. He had to hold up that shield over the hotel and then when that fucker Adam broke it, he was forced to fight the guy." Angel interjects, feeling the need to defend the other. It was so weird seeing the guy sleeping with his smile in place... but, it also felt kinda peaceful too. Being trusted.

He reached out an elbow to nudge the bombastic boombox of an overlord as Lucifer sputtered.

"He did WHAT? When? I didn't see him at all, just Adam attacking Charlie which let me fight back." Lucifer frowned now. "Are you sure...?"

"Yes, we're sure. Nearly shit myself when I saw Adam smash in the shield... never seen anything break one of Boss's wards before, not even this one asshole goetia who thought he could start removing the sovereigns to stop them 'rising above their station'." Husk shrugged. "Got to have a piece of the guy's arm... they don't taste half-bird, you could really tell he was a pheasant under all that finery."

"Uh... guys?" Angel interjects, swallowing as he takes note of the wetness on his elbow. "Can we put the lights on? I don't think Smiles is okay..."

With a snap, and dual hisses of pain as light seared their retinas with unerring accuracy, Lucifer vanished the solar system. Immediately uncovering a whole other issue... dark, wet patches were marring the Overlord's attire in a very pointed slash from one shoulder to the opposing hip. Or what passed for it, on this lanky fucker.

"Oh... well, fuck." Angel summated, eloquently.

Husk scowled, "Should've guessed something was up when he disappeared... and I haven't seen his staff since the battle. Must be busted or he'd have it on him... kept going to play with it earlier, should've asked him about it. Fuck."

The shadow nearly takes Angel's hands off at hte wrist as he started unbuttoning the coat. "Whoa, spooky Jnr, settle down! We're trying to help!"

"Enough of that, time out for you." Lucifer snaps, and the shade is suddenly bound with glowing golden strands of something it couldn't escape. He rolls up his sleeves, setling back on the ground and tugging out a red feather. "Alright, you idiot, let's see how bad this is."

Angel peeled back the coat and shirt with urgent reluctance. He knew the deer wasn't a fan of being touched unless he initiated, Angel had eight eyes and a fantastic ability to people watch, he could see how the Overlord worked. As much as he wanted to help, this also felt... uncomfortably non-consensual.

He inhales sharply at the revealled mess. Carefully stitched taut with glowing threads, the damage appeared extensive, and hard to look at for too long.

"The good news is I can fix it, the bad news... is it's going to suck for both of us. Angel, refrain from the obvious joke if you can." Lucifer said, and directed them to move the overlord into a position where they could more easily restrain him.

The minute the King laid hands, shadow tendrils errupted to attempt to eviscerate, but Lucifer's wings combated the majority whilst the miniature monarch concentrated on doing... whatever that was. Husk was just about sitting on Alastor's legs at this point, leaning in. Angel had all six arms free and holding on for (heh) deer life.

Angel thinks he's uttering something soothing, but his own brain is blank right now as Lucifer managed to drag something that looked horrifically like golden razorwire from within Alastor's wound, and wind it about his own arm until it dug in... then dissipated. Lucifer sighed as it did so, and exhaled shakily.

In a swift movement, he snapped the stitches, waving them out of the flesh that gaped open sickeningly. Golden light began to glow at both ends of the wound, and the heat in the room increased as it slowly moved down the length of the injury towards the midsection. Alastor thrashed, not conscious enough to scream but the radios went haywire around them.

Angel grabbed the Overlord's head to hold the guy still, with a pair of hands, as Husk... draped himself a little further up the deer's body and began to purr rhythmically. Angel nearly let go, in his surprise.

"Hang on, bellhop, just a bit longer... it's okay..." the King mumbled, clearly balancing out the need to Help with the power he was able to safely channel into a sinner body.

"Dad, stop!" Charlie shouts, skidding into the room in her nightclothes, a spear-wielding Vaggie behind her. "What are you doing?!"

"Char, wait, he's helping!" Angel shouts back, no free hands to ward them off. "Just... oh thank fuck that's over with, I feel like such an asshole pinning him for that."

Alastor went slack in their hold as the searing angelic healing finally subsided, the wound closed. Lucifer was panting a little. He clearly hadn't needed to use that little trick in some time.

The radios clicked off all throughout the hotel.

"...what happened?" Charlie looked at Husk, then Angel, then her father.

Vaggie had straightened, her eye critically assessing the situation. "I'd say Adam happened, hun. Remember how the shield broke? Fucker went straight towards Al on the roof..."

Charlie tugged at her own hair, eyes still raw from the loss of Pentious. "I knew I should've looked harder! I just thought... I mean, he's always so capable..."

"But he faced down the First Man without angelic steel, even someone with his power isn't able to kill him permanently without that." Husk offered, sitting up as if he hadn't just been a purring emotional support animal for a guy he claimed to hate.

"Wait, I thought he had a weapon?" Vaggie frowned, mentally running through the faces she'd handed out the weaponry to. "...no, he let Niffty have it. Actually, she grabbed it after he pointed at it. Why didn't he pick it up?"

Husk coughed into a hand, "Allergy, probably..."

"The deal, then? I can see it interlaced with some other commands." Lucifer is staring at the Sinner's throat with red eyes, clearly reading something. "Some of it's obscured but... nope, he's an idiot, a very weirdly brave one but an idiot nonetheless. What chance does anyone in hell have of killing someone like Adam without even an Angelic toothpick? Did you know about this, Char Char?"

Only then does Lucifer register the frightened, horrified expressions adorning husk and Angel's face as Charlie's own crumples into confusion.

"The... what? I have a deal with him, but its for a favour, nothing that can be used to hurt anyone. Please don't hurt him for that, Dad!" Charlie pleads, and throws Lucifer off balance.

"You have a what now?"

"A Favour. It was about the angelic steel... he told me, and said he could help me get an army if I made a deal with it. I-... Dad, please, I don't think he's all that bad... I offered him my soul and he declined it." She's rambling panicking, and it's clear which side of the genetics that came from, because his Majesty is starting to freak out as well.

His eyes snap red, and clearly traces the chain between them, lips moving as he read the terms. The shoulders unclench.

"Okay, okay, that's fine... I just have to work out if he asked for it for himself, or was asked to ask for it. But we'll need him conscious for that... and I don't think we'll get anywhere tonight." He yawns, and that little white face splits open farther than any would espect and shows off an almost eldritch form before snapping shut. "I think we all need a nap. It's been a long day."

He frowns down at his hand, and then brightens. "Oh, nearly forgot!" Lucifer places the red feather on Alastor's nearest wrist and it flickers into a thin red band with a flickering array of golden symbols. "That should stop soemone shadowing away or being summoned in the interim."

"Wait, Dad, what?"

"Long story, see I was telling these three about the solar system and when I got to the tenth planet, I thought the bellhop had fallen asleep but he'd just misplaced most of his blood, and then-..."

"No, the deal part."

"Oh, he seems to have one with your mother. Not sure what that's about but it looks messy, the terms aren't weighted right... and I feel like she might be up to more than I expected. But we can ask him in the morning, for now... I'm going to conjure somewhere soft to sleep. Removing grace always gives me a headache."

"Wh-..."

"Yeah toots, let's deal with it, no pun intended, after some shut-eye." Angel yawns, and flops back on the couch, which is swiftly poof'd into a very large, quite decadent fold-out bed. "Whiskers, how likely is he to eat me if we wake up spooning tomorrow...?"

"Uh..."

"What about you?"

"He's never eaten me before. S'long as I purr."

"I. need. details."

"Tomorrow. If we don't become breakfast in bed." Husk grumbles, dropping his hat on the bar and riggling onto the massive bed. Setting about moving Alastor to a more comfortable position. "Oh, and... if you wake up and Niff is there, don't scream. She sleeps with her eye open, but she just likes to be close to Boss."

"...Whiskers, you guys and your weirdness ain't even close to the strangest thing I've managed in bed." Angel dramatically rolled his eyes. "Heya short king, wanna come spoon with an infamous adult film star? Could raise your public image?"

"HAH! Or I could decimate yours!" Luccifer shot back, in the middle of what looked like a round bed with a nest-like structure around the outside. Okay, Angel admits that's pretty damn adorable. "But I'm cosy here... oooh, Char Char, did you want to nest with me? Maybe your angel wants to?"

"Yes." the word is out of Vaggie's mouth before she even registers the thought. "Angel thing, hun, I... love staying with you, but I did miss nesting with others. One of the only things I miss about being with my sisters... I mean, the others."

"Oh Vaggie, you should have said sooner! I would have made you a nest! Or ten! And gotten all the bird sinners I could find to roost with you!" Charlie panics, kissing every inch of Vaggie's face she could reach. "I'm so sorry..."

Vaggie kisses her on her nose, once. "No, you're overtired and very upset. But we can fix that, so let's go hop into bed with your dad..." She sighs through her nose at Angel's perfuntory Whoop, "and have a good sleep. Then we can deal with whatever the fuck he's done in the morning."

She can front all she wants, but the fact Vaggie didn't point with her spear said volumes about her fondness for the deer.

As everyone settles down and the lights dim, KeeKee and Fat Nuggets slink in and are picked up by their respective owners for snuggles.

Angel glances at the King. "Uh... ya majesty... any chance you could maybe... er..." He hesitates. How much power would that take?"

With a snap, the air around them is filled with tiny stars, and a rather lifelike model of earth's moon. "It's okay to ask for what you want." Lucifer reassures.

Angel beams, tucking close to the purring bartender and making sure he's not actively putting anything vital in biting distance of the slumbering overlord. "...thanks, for this. And I hope you can tell us more stuff another time, it was fun listening to ya... up until the bit where Smiles nearly died. but I liked it."

"You would really like to hear more?"

"Of course, Short King! You're a orn entertainer and you know so fuckin' much I want to read you like a book, and I hated doing that shit back in school."

"And we'll discuss that in the morning before anyone starts a monologue about different species of birds they created, right Dad?" Charlie subtly interjects.

"Of course, Char Char... goodnight everyone."

Various goodnights are heard across the room... and from a vent in the ceiling directly above Alastor. Ah, Niffty.

Angel grins to himself, imagining the flustered indignation the Overlord would front with tomorrow, at the knowledge of how many people cared enough to help his stubborn ass. It was gonna be quite entertaining...

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

End?

Genuine question

How do you think alastor and angel dust reacted when they heard about the moon landing?

Like, that was an insane step for everyone, can you imagine newer sinners coming in talking about rover on mars and those two assuming it was some sort of scifi show or podcast

Then finding out it was real

Also lucifer being a shit inthe background like, "the moon, pfft, yeah i made it. Its not as exciting as what we hid on jupiter, but go off i guess..."

[montanamp3]

tatimaxxing (something big just happened to me but i can't talk about it on this blog because ive posted face)

[unluckiestmember]

YAY, YOU'RE BACK TO WRITING FOR ARCANE. How would the arcane characters react (mainly vi, ekko, and jinx because i would marry, marry, and marry them all!!) to a reader who is sooo affectionate and finds every last thing they do so cute they get cuteness aggression and just jump at them like a cuddle bug often? thank you so much!!

Coming right up!

Arcane x Cuddle Bug! Reader

Characters: Powder/Jinx, Violet "Vi", Ekko, Caitlyn Kiramman, Viktor, Jayce Talis, Mel Medarda, Sevika and Ran.

Warning: None really. SFW.

A/N: Am I the only one who wants to snuggle into Caitlyn? Ugh, I love her so much.

Powder/Jinx

“Oh! Hey there, sugar! You want to cuddle? Don’t have to ask me twice! I’ll cuddle you so much that you get tired of me! But you’d never get tired of me, right?”

Jinx is a super clingy person, so for you to be as clingy as her it’s like you two are a match made in heaven. There’s barely any time that passes when you two are not touching each other and she lives for your cuddles. It doesn’t matter if you hug her out of nowhere or she sees you about to embrace her, she is stopping everything she is doing and pulling you into the tightest of hugs.

Most of the time if she isn’t causing mayhem in the streets of Zaun or busy with her inventions, she will spend her time just holding you so close and showering your face with the cutest but most childish of kisses. She doesn’t care if it’s in private or public, she will make it known that you two can’t keep your hands off each other. You are her cuddlebug and she is yours and that won’t ever change.

Violet “Vi”

“Woah there, cuddle bug! You’re gonna make me screw up my workout… Oh forget it. How can I say no to you?”

Because Violet is absolutely touch starved, she will never decline your cuddles, even if you take her by surprise a few times with how you hug her so suddenly. She finds it adorable how you fangirl around her and find everything she does to be awesome or cute. Granted she does wish you’d call her hot or sexy, but knows that isn’t really in tune with your personality.

Regardless, she tries to make sure you know how adorable you are, always telling you while you two are cuddled up together how lucky she is to have you and how you are so adorable. Even when you visit her at work, she’ll try to drop everything and have you run into her arms to pick you up. And every time she’s got time off work or is coming back from a job, she’s automatically looking for you so she could hook you in her arms and never let go.

Ekko

“Y/N, haha! You know we gotta keep this private, babe- The kids are gonna pounce on us any second now!”

Does Ekko love hugging you? Absolutely. The warmth of your arms around his body makes him stop everything he’s doing and just hug you while calling you his firelight or firefly. Unless he’s calling you an angel or lovebug, which never fails to make Scar either look at you two in awe or roll their eyes in mock annoyance. Unfortunately, Ekko does try his best to make sure you two don’t get super affectionate around the children, especially when it comes to hugs.

Why? Because as soon as you hug him, the children find this as an invitation to gather around him and have him nearly die under a cuteness overload of a group hug. It’s nice as a once in a while occurrence, but all the time? Maybe not. Outside of the reactions you two garnish and even the teasing of you being the firelight king/queen, Ekko lives for your cuddlebug energy, wanting to be in your arms after a long day’s work. It’s always the best way to end the night… 

Caitlyn Kiramman

“And that’s why if I am able to block this end of the road, I’ll- Oh!... Oh come here, sweetheart. If you wanted to cuddle so badly, you could’ve asked.”

Caitlyn has always been someone who was more subtle with her love, pulling you into brief kisses, cupping your cheek and holding you by your waist. She usually leaves the more out there gestures like hugging and cuddling for you to initiate. But when you do? It might be harder for you to get her off of you instead of the other way around. It can be at work, in her home, outside of work or at an event. As soon as she feels your arms wrap around her slender body, she’s stopping for a second to hold you back and kiss your forehead.

She will continue working if you interrupt her during a briefing or in the middle of cracking a case, but the entire time, she will have at least one arm around your body and make sure you are comfortable. Her comrades tease her about it and she’ll scowl a bit, but she doesn’t care. As far as she can tell, she’s extremely lucky to have you as a lover.

Viktor

“Ah! Oh, it is just you, zolotse. Remember, you have to warn me of these cute little hugs of yours.”

At first, Viktor wasn’t used to your physical affection and how you were in awe of everything he did. He actually thought you were mocking him at first or being silly. But after a while, especially when the two of you became a couple, he grew accustomed to your affections. He does get a bit startled when you hug him out of nowhere and he does have moments where you cheering him on does make him a bit bashful, but he enjoys your sweet gestures regardless.

He does find it difficult to be as outgoing with his love for you as you are with him, but he does try his best to make you realize he loves you, especially in the form of quality time and calling you by sweet pet names bound to make you blush. Viktor has a tendency to pass out from working too hard and waking up in your arms. And though he’d never say it out loud, you know based on the way he snuggles into you, he adores it and adores you.

Jayce Talis

“I know what you want and I want it too- So bring it in! I’ve waited all day to be in your arms!”

Because Jayce is always out at work, it’s kind of hard for you two to be around one another all the time. That’s why when he does reunite with you after hours or you two can be together on days off, he’s spending the majority of his free time with you or wrapped around you. He sort of craves for your praise and compliments as much as he craves your cuddles.

Many would compare the councilman to a needy dog wanting his owner’s undivided attention and he definitely gets that through you. Though he may try to act all cool or play coy, everyone knows that you mean so much to him and that he becomes putty around you. Even if they don’t, you’re not afraid to say it aloud. Just make sure Jayce isn’t around or that man will become redder than a beet.

Mel Medarda

“What’s wrong?... I know that look. You want to- Ah! Well looks like you beat me to the punch, darling. How about we take this to the bed, hmm?”

Mel wasn’t really given physical affection when she was younger. She was more someone who preferred verbal affection with words of affirmation. So when it came to you and how affectionate you are, she found herself adapting and loving physical affection as much as telling you how much she loved you.

Your cuddles and sweet gestures are her personal heaven she loves returning to after a long day’s work, especially if she can spend an evening with you platonically in your shared bed. In your arms, she feels she can air out anything that’s bothering her or interests her, especially when you admit how cute it is when she does. Though this kind of intimate affection is delegated to private quarters, anyone can know from the way Mel speaks of you outside of home and at events that you mean so much to her.

Sevika

“Yeah! So then I was like screw you, I can do whatever- Hold on. Uh, Y/N. I thought we agreed to not do this at work?”

Sevika is considered the Right Hand of Zaun, a woman who is feared if not respected by her peers. And she’d like to keep it that way. Which means that while you two are at work, she prefers it if you don’t cuddle her around co-workers and give them something to tease her about. You two can only flirt and kiss and even then, it has to be sexy…

But alone, when both of you are away from the public eye, Sevika is at your beck and call wishing for nothing else but to hear your sweet praises and melt into your arms and touch. Expect her to call you the cutest thing ever and tease you on occasion, but afterwards she’s basically a big needy cat, or as she prefers to be called, a panther. It’s moments like these where you can really consider yourself lucky to see a raw side of Sevika. And it was only preserved for you.

If you got any requests for Arcane or X-Men '97, send them my way!

Likes and retweets are always appreciated! I love you all, stay hydrated and have a good day! <3

[magiclwritings]

He found it comforting that even if he wasn't where he was meant to be, at least he seemed to be in good company. Not that one could anticipate something of this nature but he was coming around. What choice do you have? He finished what was left on his plate and placed it down in the grass next to them. And it was really only then that what was going on started to have weight to it. Whatever was going to happen was going to happen to him now too. It had always been a joke to not look back on the past but when you were thrust back in, well ...

"I suppose our ghosts will have to tell us who's name made it all the way to the end of time, huh?" He couldn't help but smile at it. It was ridiculous. All of this was and the longer it went on, the worse it was going to be. Grady knew that and he still couldn't stop himself from leaning in to this. Perhaps he'd be able to get back to the temple and find a way back. There were ways to survive here, he just had to be smart enough to not get himself killed or maimed in the meantime. And at the side of a King? Albeit, a dethroned and outlawed king but still. What were the odds?

With a full stomach he was finally able to start to relax. His butt scooted from where he sat and found the ground cool and comforting. At least that was still the same. His hands ran along his middle and he sighed as his feet kicked out towards the fire and he for a moment wished he had a marshmallow. "You know what would sound really nice?" He turned to say just that to Beckett and realized that he couldn't. Even the little things, small and insignificant, couldn't be brought up. Just how much could he actually talk about? He supposed he'd have to be a lot more careful about what he spoke on. The longer he thought about it the more he went down that hole but he could see the impatience growing on Beckett's face. Did his brow always furrow like that? It had to be criminal the way it framed those eyes.

Grady cleared his throat and blushed a bit, not being able to hide it in time. "When we get to a town with a proper ummm ... ov-oven. Yeah oven. I'll have to make this bread my mom used to make for cooler nights like this." He drew his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms tightly around them, his cheek pressed against his knee and he looked right at Beckett. The way the fire licked those features was criminal and he found himself staring longer than he'd intended. "Well ... " He smiled, turning from him to look at their small fire. "If I can remember exactly how. Hopefully I do it justice." He'd really have to think how to make that and pray there was some kind of work around for whatever he did have to work with in the now.

"When are we set to leave here then?" It felt odd to include himself in those plans but Beckett seemed pretty damn set on it so, why not? Grady yawned softly, tucking his face down against his knees again, feeling the warmth envelope every part of him but his back. He had a brief vision of what it would feel like to have Beckett's chest pressed to it. The blush deepened and he curled in to himself. I'm so fucked.

“I hope you’re correct.” The thing was, Beckett did believe in his people. Throughout his entire life, he had been in awe of them. The position he was in, being King, wasn’t about power or wealth. It was about doing good things and being a good person. He had watched his father rule, and never once was it about what he wanted but what his people needed. He had been a beloved ruler, and Beckett had always wanted to be the same. While he wished his brother had the same selfishness, Beckett knew he didn’t. That, along with many other reasons, was why it was terrifying that he was on the throne. “I’m hoping it isn’t just pure dumb luck that I’ve gotten to this point.” 

He wasn’t downplaying his achievements thus far. Beck knew he had been wildly lucky to escape captivity and to remain anonymous so far through their journey, and while he longed to give his people hope, he couldn’t afford to lose this advantage. Not until he was ready to strike. 

And while he had been struggling with their journey, the addition of Grady brought a new fire to Beckett’s fight. The thought of the man at his side had Beckett turning his head, staring at the details of his face. He hadn’t known what sort of being he had stumbled upon back at the temple. Was Grady a god-like being? He didn’t seem familiar with the lands they were in, but he had discussed foreign lands, so maybe he was from somewhere else. A magical world? Beckett had just assumed he ate human food when he gave him the plate, but he was relieved that he appeared much more human than Beckett had expected. “I’m glad you like it. I wasn’t sure what you’re used to eating, but we can’t afford to be picky until we get to a more populated town.”

“I have to be,” Beckett assured, pursing his lips at the thought. “My brother is not a reasonable person, and right now, he’s blinded by his power. He’s forced us into this position by attacking me and stealing the throne. The time for compromise or working it out is over.” Beckett wrung his hands nervously. It was challenging to discuss defeating his brother. Beckett would never have chosen this, but what choice did he have now? “I don’t make this decision because he wronged me or my ego calls for revenge. I am making this decision because it is the best for my country and my people. They are not safe under his rule.” Beckett then leaned to the side, bumping his shoulder with Grady’s. “Don’t be modest. You are not, nor will you ever be, just a humble servant. You will lead me to victory, and when we reclaim the throne, I will make sure history knows your name.”

[suguae]

Haunted

Toji cannot move on, until he realized too late.

Warnings: Angst, slightest fluff (reader and baby 'gumi moment)

You were just a girl, standing in front of a man, asking him to love you.

How hard was that for him? Yes, he wasn’t good with his words but he wasn’t good at anything else either. He was just there.

Maybe because the woman he truly loved—he was still mourning over her. His sad eyes every time he watched an old couple dance together, wishing he had been doing that but with her. The cute babies babble with their mothers as Megumi babbles with his father, how he wished his wife was still here instead of you. He never said it, but that’s what it felt like. 

And perhaps that's what it was. 

Sometimes he curses himself out when he accidentally calls you his wife's name. During intimate times only. You tried—trying to keep the emotions in as if it wasn’t breaking every part of you, was the hardest part. “Look he’s walking...” You smiled at the dark haired baby who was walking towards you. Toji smiled, making sure he’d record every second of it; deep down he wished his wife was the one the baby was walking towards instead of you.

And it was wrong—so wrong. 

“This relationship, I’m with you but Toji—Toji this is the loneliest I’ve ever felt.” You whispered while he ate his leftovers, his brows still furrowed from the argument occurring earlier. Having Toji work from 9–5 wasn’t the best but good thing he had you, helping him out with so much. Picking up groceries, picking up his lovely son—until you mentioned that one of his teachers mistaken you as his biological mother. That right there was enough to make Toji angry for weeks at least.

But not this time.

He stopped chewing on his food after you spoke, waiting for more of an explanation. Which you figured he needed, “I don’t think you’re in love with me–” 

“I like you [name], a lot.” He cleared his throat. He leaned back on his chair as his arms crossed waiting for you to continue the sentence he interrupted. 

Right, he liked you a lot. These three rough years you’ve been dating Toji—that particular l word was never uttered once, not even if he was drunk, or having a special moment with you. You huffed trying to find the right words for Toji to understand. That was until little Megumi started crying from his room. “I’ll try to put him back to sleep, finish eating.” He watched as your fragile little body sulked its way to Megumi’s room.

He knew this was gonna happen, he knew you were bound to leave him sooner or later. 

You smiled as you opened the door to see the little Megumi standing on top of his little bed. His hands wiping his tears as he ran towards you, his arms now wrapping around your legs. “Sleep with mama and papa.” He cried out as you leaned down to pick up the little boy. “[name] and papa, not mama okay?” You corrected him, if Toji were to find out that he had been calling you that, then that argument would’ve climaxed.

The little boy nodded, his tears now gone as you swayed him around. “Sleep with you.” He mumbled, leaning his head on your shoulder as he played with a strand of your hair. “Just for tonight.” You whispered, watching Megumi pick up his head and smile. Content with your answer. 

Toji’s heart could just swell at the sight. You treated his son as if he was your own and nothing looked so much better right now, except for the fact that he wished it was his wife.

Megumi was now soundly sleeping between you and Toji, “I don���t think I can do this anymore.” His eyes shut tightly hearing those piercing words leave your mouth. It hurt when his wife left him, but this hurt was different—different because he knew it was coming yet he didn’t want to do anything about it. 

“I’m sorry—”

“You don’t need to be the one apologizing.” He watched your soft gaze stare at completely nothing. He was confused, this was his fault. He never treated you how you needed deserved to be treated. “It was my fault for throwing myself at a man who simply was not ready.”

The next morning was silent—baby ‘gumi was confused at the saddened look on your face. Constantly walking up to you asking if you were okay. He was still just a baby, yet he read the room so well. “I’m sure we can work this out—” Toji now sitting next to you on the couch, some cartoon playing in the back as Megumi’s little head sat on your lap. “You’re not ready, Toji.” You nodded, eyes still glued on the tv as if it was meant for you and not the little Megumi. 

“And how are you so sure—”

“Tell me you love me then.” Your eyes are now fixed on Toji’s. It was hard, he felt as if his mouth had been glued shut. You sigh, bringing your gaze back to the tv, “I love you—but it’s hard when it’s one sided Toji.” 

It hurt much more, seeing you drive away as the clueless Megumi waved you out. Poor thing thinks you’re simply going to the store. The house that once felt like home was so dull now. Toji sat little ‘gumi down on the couch. 

His constant, “mama?” or “[name]?” while he kept his gaze on the door every so often. Nothing prepared Toji for this. Megumi cried that he wanted to sleep with his mama and papa, his heart swelled knowing that he had been talking about you.

You were gone, just like his wife. But it hurt—it hurt so much more knowing that you’re alive trying your best to…move on. He stayed up late that same night, stumbling upon a video from two years ago. When Megumi first learned how to walk. You and Toji had just started dating but the look of happiness plastered your face as you watched the little baby walking. 

That was one thing Toji never forgot about, how much you loved kids. Telling him how once you had kids of your own you would finally be able to live in peace. How he heard of it less and less as the years went on, he wonders if you still think that.

next part ->

[tonycries]

Brooklyn Baby - G.S.

Synopsis. Everybody wanted to fuck Suguru Geto, lead bassist of Tokyo Special Grades. Said Suguru doesn’t want to fuck anyone else but you. He couldn’t give less of a fuck if anyone walked in right now. In fact, a small part of him wishes someone would.

Pairing. Geto Suguru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, rock star! AU, fwb-to-lovers, unprotected sex, oral sex (male receiving), fingering (female receiving), Suguru is sinfully sexy and in l*ve with you, Satoru is a menace, pet names (darling, my girl), Suguru has tattoos and piercings, swearing.

Word count. 3.2k (DAMN I got carried away)

A/N. Happy Valentine’s day! *throws somewhat-fluffy smut at you and leaves* 

Art by @_3aem on X.

Also, wild west! AU longfic with someone dropping on Sunday night (EST), keep your eyes peeled yeehaw.

Everybody wanted to fuck Suguru Geto, lead bassist of Tokyo Special Grades.

You did. Your fans did. Hell, you’ve even caught your overworked band manager sneaking a few too many glances. 

And, you conclude, the groupies currently batting their lashes at him definitely did. 

You watch as they swarm to him during open rehearsal, giggling at his pretty smiles. 

Whatever, part of the job anyway.

It’s not like you two were dating. Yeah, a few fucks here and there throughout the years - but what’s one to do when on the road and in such close proximity with a guy that’s practically walking sex? 

Trying not to scowl, you turn away from the commotion, continuing to tune the strings of your trusty Fender. You’ve had your fair share of die-hard fans, so lately why did it bother you so much when Suguru entertained their thinly-veiled advances? 

“Ohoho~ Quite a look on your face there, why don’t you go and caress his biceps too?~” you hear idiot brigade member #1, Gojo Satoru, cackle from beside you. 

If looks could kill, Satoru would’ve been 6 feet under and rotting already. “I thought you stopped writing band fanfiction, Satoru.” you raise a brow. 

“THAT WAS ONE TIME.” he whines dramatically, clinging onto you and shaking you back and forth as if to knock the memory of his Wattpad tendencies out of you. “WHY ATTACK ME JUST CUZ YOU’RE JEALOUS? C’MOOON ADMIT IT.”

You were not jealous. 

Suguru knew you were jealous.

Sneaking a glance, he had to fight the urge to coo at the adorable little furrow of your brows. How unprofessional would it be if he walked off mid-conversation to kiss that pout off your lips?

He knows it’s just sex for you. But - foolishly - every time he held you he could only hope that he ran through your mind as often as you did through his. It elated Suguru to know you were getting that worked up over him. 

That is until, out of the corner of his eye, he spots Satoru draping himself all over you, whispering god-knows-what into your ears. 

The rational part of Suguru knows Satoru is a very touchy person, but why was he so…close? And why weren’t you pushing him off?

Smile tightening into something a little more artificial, he turns to the girls fawning over him. “Well, ladies, I’m sorry to say I’ve gotta go practice before Shoko yells at me again. I’ll see you all in the front row, yeah?” he lies smoothly, disappointed whines following him as he makes a beeline for your figure.

“Well! What have we here, Satoru, are you done tuning?” Suguru pops a head between yours and Satoru’s overly close ones, interrupting whatever conversation you were heatedly whispering. What was so important that you two needed to be that close to talk anyway?

He narrows his eyes at Satoru’s surprised ones, an invisible conversation taking place between them before Satoru cracks a smug grin. “Alright alright. I’ll go tune my guitar.” he rolls his eyes, heading for his electric blue Gibson. 

Your confused gaze meets the twinkling eyes now boring down at you. “Done with the meet-n-greet already?” you question, eyes darting to the group now watching you two like hawks.

The smile on Suguru’s face grows, “Yeah, remembered I didn’t do my pre-concert rituals right.”

“Oh?”

“Wanna help me with it?”

He doesn’t give you time to answer. Quickly setting down your guitar, he drags you out into the corridor - hand tightly in yours and pointedly ignoring Satoru’s wolf-whistles. 

Hallway sex is overrated, Suguru believes - which is why he heads for the dressing room. 

“Pre-concert rituals” his ass, Suguru just thinks he might pass away if he doesn’t get his hands on you right now. Make you feel like his.

It’s not long before the door is locked and he has you bent over the vanity, knuckle-deep in your dripping cunt. 

“S-Sugu! Why now? The concert- Hah-” You gasp in pleasure as two long fingers probe inside of you, ruthlessly searching for the spot that Suguru knows would have your toes curling and eyes watering deliciously. 

“Fuck the concert, darling. Barely even started and already so wet f’me.” he drawls out over your whimpers. “Wanted you to come over y’know? And save me from those groupies trying to get in my pants.” 

In your lust-hazed mind, you find the words to respond to him, “You s-seemed to - hah - be enjoying that.”

“Of course not.” he leaves a trail of kisses down your back, “Wasn’t my favorite girl.” he whispers into your heated skin.

He’s being rougher than usual, he knows. In the back of his mind he wonders what it was that he was so pissed at. But all thoughts of that are thrown out the window once he presses into that plushy spot inside your wet core, drawing a sinful whine from your mouth. There.

Pulling back to tease your folds with your own slick, he plunges into your swollen pussy once more, easily hitting that spot over and over. 

“Hngh- Suguru, more!” you grind your hips to meet his merciless rhythm, clenching around his fingers. 

You feel as if you’re losing your sanity when he adds in another finger, walls burning as your cunt stretches around his thick rings. 

Suguru was definitely losing his sanity. 

Anyone could walk by. The concert was about to start any second now. But he couldn’t give less of a fuck, too focused on how his fingers were being sucked back in every time he pulls out, your pretty pussy dripping all over his numerous bracelets.

He has to hold back a moan at the way your ass jiggled every time your hips buck to meet his fingers. 

Leaning down over you, he hums lowly into your ear “So desperate for me, hm?”. Pressing the erection straining against his trousers against you, he huffs out “I’m the same, darling. You drive me absolutely mad.”

He feels the way you squirm in impatience at the large outline of his dick, raising your ass in an attempt to get more friction. Eyes crinkling in satisfaction, he pushes down on his girl’s slutty hips, cold rings digging into the small of your waist. 

“Now now…not yet.” he tuts mockingly. 

“Please, Suguru. Please let me cum.”

Increasing his pace, abusing your g-spot relentlessly, Suguru knew by your breathy moans of his name that you were getting close. 

His hand moves from your waist, leaving behind purple marks to remember him by. They wander the expanse of your body - groping your curves, and pinching your nipples through your thin top - delighting in your mewls.

God, you were perfect. He really needed to take his time with you later.

Suguru’s hands, nail polish chipped and fingers calloused from years of playing, finally rest on your face. He pushes your cheeks together, drool pooling at the corner of your mouth and forcing you to look at him through the vanity mirror in front of you. Your dazed eyes meet his darkened ones. 

Suguru was so feral. The man that was usually the personification of grace and poise was falling apart at the seams. His eyes wild and grin spread devilishly as his fingers abuse your cunt never-endingly.

“Look at me when you cum.” he murmurs raspily into your neck, teeth ghosting over your rapid pulse.

You don’t know what it is that sends you over the edge - maybe it was his lustful words, or the way his fingers quirked just right inside of you. All you know is you’re cumming all over Suguru’s fingers, hands clutching the vanity table and eyes locked with Suguru’s in the mirror, mouth dropping into a gasp.

“Fuck! Suguru- Suguru!” you whimper.

Suguru watches in wonder as you ride out your orgasm, using him. He couldn’t give less of a fuck if anyone walked in right now. In fact, a small part of him wishes someone would.

Let them see how beautifully you fall apart because of him.

Finally pulling out, Suguru inspects his fingers. “Now now. That won’t do.” he purrs. 

His tongue erotically licks up your juices covering his rings, still holding eye contact with you through the mirror. He catches the way your thighs press together at his lewd act. ‘Oh? Want some?“ he teases. 

Before you can retort, he’s bullying his fingers into your mouth, making you taste yourself. 

The way you moan around him sends blood rushing straight to his cock. Fuck, he has to steel himself from cumming in his pants right then and there - that wouldn’t be very “sex icon” of him. 

You have no idea what you do to him.

Not willing to wait any longer, he leisurely takes a seat on the spacious vanity sofa. You whine at the loss of contact before catching the predatory look in his eyes. Suguru was going to eat you alive. 

“Come on, darling. Show me how badly you want me.” he grins, legs spreading and prominent bulge on display. 

You take a second to admire the view. Tousled black hair falling enticingly along Suguru’s muscled shoulders, tattooed dragon peeking through where his shirt was messed up. His eyes lustful, and locked on you. 

He was devastatingly handsome. Your mouth waters at the chance to get what so many people would kill for.

Suguru chuckles as you struggle to unbuckle his belt - did rock stars have to always wear such complicated trousers? 

Finally, you pull them down along with his boxers to expose his creamy thighs. Suguru’s throbbing erection lays on his abs, flushed a delicate pale pink.

Your pussy quivers with excitement as you press wet kisses to Suguru’s leaking head, precum dripping down his length to where you’d gently grasped him. A strangled hiss leaves his mouth as you swirl your tongue around the slit. You find yourself lost in his heady taste - he tastes so good.

“Having fun, darling? C’mon now, use me the way you want.” he murmurs, need laced into his voice.

You’ve never gotten used to how big Suguru is. Soft groans leave his mouth as you flatten your tongue and take him in inch by inch, eyes locked with his blown-out ones.

Suguru’s back arches as the heat of your mouth envelops him, hands bunching your hair into a messy ponytail. His pornographic groans echo across the dressing room as you suck on his cock, tongue swirling in just the way you knew he liked.

He can’t even catch his breath with the way you bob your head so heavenly, sucking the soul out of him. It drives him wild to think about how he’s got his lead guitarist on her knees, choking on his cock as your fans wait outside. 

Suguru’s eyes roll to the back of his head as you pop off his cock to take his heavy balls into your mouth, moaning around them as you suck on both erotically.

Shit, he was really feeling it today. 

Through the bangs now sticking to his forehead, he makes out the way your thighs grind against each other for relief. 

You were, too.

If this keeps up he really will lose his sanity.

“As much as I’d love to paint your pretty face with my cum, I think we both prefer it inside, no?” he grits out, cock twitching at the strings of spit and precum connecting you to him as he pulls you off. 

“Need you inside me so badly.” you nod, brain foggy and filled with only Suguru.

He’s quick to lift you into his lap, resting your ass against his pulsing cock, sly grin spreading at the way you’re already so fucked out. 

Suguru feels like he could cum just from the sensation of your juices smearing all over his length, pussy dripping and aching for his throbbing cock. 

“Oh yeah? How bad?” he purrs, eyes half-lidded and already knowing the answer.

“Please. I want you to fuck me so badly, Suguru.” 

“Badly enough that you’d fuck me out there - where everyone is? Show ‘em who I belong to?”

“Yes.” 

At your whimper, Suguru thrusts fully inside you, a moan of relief leaving you both as you finally get what you’ve been craving for. 

“Shit, so tight. Always so good for me, darling.”

Once you start, it’s hard to stop, Suguru finds. 

It happened when he first fucked you in high school - in his car after your first show, running on adrenaline and teenage hormones. And, years later, it’s happening now as he sheathes himself in your wet cunt. 

He just can’t get enough.

He fucks you animalistically, cock ramming in and out of your hole in a way that makes it feel like you’re missing something without him. Nothing in the world other than your two connected bodies. He feels you clamping down on him deliciously, ego growing at you struggling to accommodate his size. 

“F-fuck, darling. Hah- It’s s’tight. Take it like my good girl.”

“Hngh- Suguru, faster!” you groan, fingers delicately playing with the nipple piercings peeking out of his barely-buttoned shirt, euphoric at his drawn-out moans. 

Unlike Satoru - who takes off his shirt every chance he gets onstage - Suguru was one to shy away from showing skin, slutty piercings and tattoos hidden to the world. It just makes it all the more satisfying as you lick a long stripe along the dragon on his shoulder. 

Feels like your little secret. You wanted to be the only one to see this ethereal sight.

“Ah- So good, darling.” Suguru leans back, allowing you more room to play with him as you please. Cock twitching - so close - as you bore into his eyes, sucking his flashy piercings. 

He ramps up his pace, bouncing you on his cock in a way that was carnal. It was so feral, the way his balls sting as they smack your ass, a ring of spit and precum forming around his base. 

His cock aches for release, but he wants to see you cum first. His pretty girl, cumming all over his throbbing cock.

You pull yourself off his swollen nipples and attach your mouth with his, tongues swirling sensually as he kisses you like he needed you to breathe. 

He’s almost as unforgiving with his mouth as he is with his cock. Almost.

KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!

“YOOO I don’t know if ‘pre-concert rituals’ was a code-word for something else but we’re on in twenty minutes.” the unmistakable voice of Suguru’s best friend - and occasional bane-of-his-existence - made you two jump apart. 

“The ultimate cockblock.” Suguru sighs out - his pace, however, does not slow down. Each harsh thrust makes it difficult to muffle your yelps of pleasure from Satoru, who was still calling for you two from outside.

Noticing your predicament, Suguru grins dangerously. “Oh? My poor girl finds it hard to stop her moans? Aww, better try harder unless you want dear Satoru finding out.” he mocks in your ear. 

Both humiliated and turned on by his words, your dripping pussy clenches around his cock. He lets out a choked-up groan, biting hard into the crook of your neck to stop it.

A satisfied smile spreads across your face, “Who should try harder now, Suguru?”

Ah, perfect. You were perfect, perfect for him.

As Satoru’s yells about “cutting a chunk out of Suguru’s pay” disappear across the hallway, both of you let out exhales of relief.

“Dangerous game you played there, mister.” you raise a brow, teasingly.

He chuckles out, before pulling you to him closer by the waist. Lips ghosting over your own, he whispers “Only with you, my darling.” 

Slightly more clear-headed but still dripping with lust, you meet the bounce of Suguru’s hips with your own. Eyes still locked with yours, he stuffs you with every inch - tip kissing your cervix so painfully good. 

The steady slapping of skin and synchronized moans fill the room, blocking out the cheering of the audience awaiting your band. 

Yet, the air crackled with something different this time. For the first time, it didn’t just feel like just mindless fucking.

Bite mark on your neck stinging, you could feel Sugurus heartbeat thundering under your touch - synchronized with your own.

In this moment it felt like just you two in this world. 

You wanted to be the only one in his world. Not his fangirls, not some manager, not anyone else. 

Maybe that was the reason for your courage, feeling like everything has finally come to a boiling point. 

“S-Suguru.” you breathe out as you feel yourself getting closer. 

“Mhm?” brows furrowed, he looks up at you with a tenderness in his eyes that does not translate to the merciless cadence of his hips. 

“Be mine.”

And that’s all Suguru ever wanted. 

With a final hard thrust of his cock, he pulls you into a searing kiss that sends you both over the edge. He cums in hot spurts, thick ropes of seed filling your quivering cunt. It was feral - and it made you feel like his. 

Suguru’s seed drips down the side of his length, forming a white ring at his base as he fucks it deeper into you, letting you ride out your highs together.

As your climaxes bate, he buries his face in your neck, kissing softly over the mark from before. “To be yours is everything I could ever want, darling.” he breathes out, hugging you closer as if to hide this vulnerable moment. But you feel the heat of his cheeks on your skin.

Embracing him, you gather his beautiful black locks in your hand, fingers deftly taking the hair tie around your wrist to tie his long hair into a messy ponytail. 

Pulling back, you admire Suguru’s angelic features. Face flushed, lips swollen, and dark eyes half-lidded as he stares up at you in surprise.

“Wanted to see your pretty face.” you huff out a low laugh.

The expression on Suguru’s face is indescribable, such pure adoration in his eyes. 

Voice low, he murmurs words meant only for you, “I…I’m in lov-” 

“HEYYY I’m serious, stop doing the devil’s tango and GET THE FUCK OUT.” Satoru’s voice bellows once again through the door, shattering the little bubble you and Suguru had found refuge in.

“Ah- um-”

“You-”

Both of you stammer out at once, chuckling at how shy you were acting with one another even after all that had transpired in this room.

“We should probably go, before Satoru and Shoko pop a blood vessel.” Suguru jokes. You laugh out in agreement as he carries you tenderly to the washroom, his interrupted words weighing heavily on both your minds. It’s okay, you have time. 

Rapidly cleaned up and dressed, Suguru stops, a hand on the dressing room doorknob. “”Hey..” he starts almost-hesitantly, “After the concert, would you maybe want to-”

“Yes.” you interrupt, excitement lacing your voice. 

Chuckling in pure euphoria as you both exit, your smiles turn more sheepish as you’re faced with a bored-looking Shoko and an impatient Satoru tapping his foot. “You horny lil’ fuckers almost missed the show, think of my poor fans~” he exclaims, though the glee in his eyes at your intertwined hands was very evident.

“Hope the sex was good at least.” Shoko drones out, eyes flitting over your guilty flushed faces. 

‘Oh yeah, and Suguru - next time you dump your fangirls on me, I chop your balls off.“ she chirps out, pointing her drumsticks threateningly at his neck as you all head back.

Blinding lights. 

Deafening screams.

Hair pulled into a messy ponytail, he was fatally beautiful onstage.

Everybody wanted to fuck Suguru Geto, lead bassist of Tokyo Special Grades. 

But he only wanted to fuck you.

A/N. MMMMM long-haired men.

Plagiarism not authorized.

[kaciidubs]

Talk Dirty [Like You Need Love]

This song has me thinking heavily about expanding this into a fuller fic, so if people end up liking it, maybe I'll go ahead and finish it further! ✧ Summary: Chris was a great friend, picking you up from work whenever you had a late shift - so, it was only fair that you wanted to repay him. ✧  ✧ Word Count: 3.5k ✧ Warnings: Biker!AU, friends to ???, smut, slight dom! Chris, open ended ✧  ✧ Female! Reader [No use of Y/N] | You/Your pronouns ✧  ✧ Additional Tags: Reader is referred to as Baby, Good Girl, Pretty, Chris is referred to as Baby, Channie ✧ Stray Kids Masterlist ✧ General Masterlist

The streetlights came and went in intermittent strobes, passing over the two of you as his motorcycle hummed along the sparsely occupied street.

Your arms were wrapped securely around his waist just as he’d taught you, the warmth of your body against his back combating the chill of the crisp night air - he really wished he hadn’t forgotten his hoodie in his rush to pick you up.

“Are you cold?” 

As if reading his mind, your voice floated through the comms of his helmet and he shook his head, “I’m alright, baby - don’t worry about me.”

Of course, you weren’t easily swayed - it was a quality he loved about you, no matter how much he preferred to be the one to look out for everyone else, you were always there to double back on him with undeterrable determination; proved by the way you leaned a little more against his back.

He wouldn’t have thought twice about your sweet gesture if it weren’t for the shifting of your arms, your hands slowly splayed against his torso.

“I always worry about you, Chris…” Your voice was soft, dripping with sweet honey as your right hand wandered its way higher, following the soft defined path of his chest underneath his shirt. “It’s hard not to, if I’m honest.”

He took a short breath, unsure if this was truly happening or if his mind was playing tricks on him and twisting your intentions to fit his deep seated desires.

That is, until your left hand carefully danced its way to his thigh, sitting nicely against the cotton of his sweatpants.

“You always do so much for everyone else- do so much for me,” your hand flexed, nails pressing lightly against his thigh, “I just wanna do something for you in return, you know?”

The bike slowed to a roll as you reached a stoplight, Chris keeping the balance with his otherwise unoccupied leg while taking the opportunity to hold onto the outside of your own thigh.

“Be careful with your words, baby - you might give me the wrong idea.”

“Are my actions not enough?” You murmured, inching your hand higher, fingertips brushing along the inseam of his sweats, “Should I do more, Channie?”

His hand left the brake clutch to wrap around your wrist, electricity flowing through your veins like a completed circuit. “You shouldn’t do this. We shouldn’t do this.”

“But I want this, I need this.”

Your hand squeezed, your voice filling his head like the intoxicating lull of a siren’s call.

“I need you.”

Green.

Chris tapped your thigh, ignoring the chill that ran down his spine when you seamlessly went back to holding onto him just like he taught you; arms around his waist, your body against his back.

The ride to his apartment felt like second nature with you - much like other things he did with you, if he were honest with himself - and the moment he pulled into his parking spot, his movements only felt more natural.

Switch engine off. Kickstand down.

Your hands slid up his back, gripping his shoulders as you eased yourself off of his motorcycle, and by the time your touch left him, Chris hopped from his seat with learned grace - his hands unbuckling and taking off his helmet in record time.

By the time your own helmet was off, cradled in your arms, his intense gaze caught your eyes, locking you in a stare off that said more than words could convey, yet their true meaning would be lost to memory with what left his lips.

“Are you sure about this?” He breathed, “Tell me right now and I’ll take you home, and we can pretend none of this happened - just, tell me.”

“Chris,” his name fluttered from your lips like butterfly wings, “I meant every word, I’m sure, I’m so sure-”

Before you knew it, his lips were on yours - the warmth of his palm settling on your cheek in a hold that dared your knees to give out from underneath you - but as fast as they’d appeared, they vanished, leaving you dazedly blinking up at deep brown eyes.

“C’mon.”

The journey up to his apartment was a blur; the melodic chime of the front door’s lock welcoming you to the final stage of your decision as he ushered you through the doorway.

Shoes haphazardly kicked off next to another pile of pairs and helmets stored on a shelf, the empty living room was graced with your presence for what felt like half a second before you were finally where you needed to be.

Chris’s room was a place you’d only been inside of a handful of times, if not to stick your head in to announce your arrival when hanging out with his roommates, then to visit whenever he had a new snippet of a song he wanted to share; there wasn’t a chance for a tour then, and there certainly wouldn’t be a tour now.

With a subtle flick of a switch, the once dark room was suddenly bathed in a dim glow from the led lights lining the ceiling - warm and welcoming, much like the arms that wrapped around you from behind, followed by a soft pair of lips you were quickly getting used to pressing against the junction of your neck and shoulder.

His hold grew tighter as his lips ventured higher - a dotted line of kisses, a brush of his breath against the back of your ear, followed by the ghost of his lips along the shell. 

“Are you still sure?”

Your eyelids fluttered, your lips parting to sigh out words evoked from the fantasies of your deepest desires, “I’m yours.”

He turned you around, and for the first time you were able to truly appreciate the feeling of his lips against your own - soft, likely from the myriad of lip care products your friends tease him for, a sensation you could find yourself craving every day and never growing tired of in the end.

You kissed him back with fervor, taking the liberty of cupping the line of his jaw with one hand while the other cradled the back of his neck, the faint curls of his hair tickling your fingertips.

Chris was the first to pull away, gifting you a fleeting peck when you tried in vain to follow him, just to reach overhead and tug his shirt up and off before unceremoniously dropping it to the floor. However, he barely gave you the chance to admire the view as his hands went to help you out of your hoodie while your own hands hastily went to tug up your shirt in the messy, frantic process.

Two articles down, the warmth of his hands were now free to meet your waist and his lips were on yours once more; his hold tightening as he took a step forward, nudging and guiding you backward until the backs of your legs met the edge of his bed. Obliging to his silent request, you sat down, using the strength in your arms to wiggle yourself up enough to lay comfortably on the full sized mattress and welcome the weight of him on top of you until it wasn’t.

Looking up, you were met with his heated stare, all but devouring you with his eyes as he took in the view - though, you figured you fared the same way when your eyes ventured down, following the strong slope of his shoulders before taking in the sight of his chest.

It wasn’t a view you hadn’t seen before thanks to his aversion of shirts in his own home - granted, it was his apartment, so you couldn’t fault him for the times he’d come out of his room to see you happily chatting away with his roommates unbeknownst to him - but you could now appreciate the details you wouldn’t have taken in otherwise such as defined pectorals and the smallest beginnings of abs against his otherwise soft stomach.

Ending the unintentional standoff, Chris lent forward, his fingertips just barely grazing your lower stomach as they went to the button of your jeans, “Can I?”

“Please.”

The corner of his lips ticked up but he ducked his head before you could see the smirk blossom, though you couldn’t find yourself to care once your jeans were undone, lifting your hips to help him shuffle the garment down the length of your legs and watching him give them the same fate as your shirts.

“These too?” He mused with a teasing lilt, eyes flicking from your own to the plain black panties you wore.

A short huff brushed past your lips, an unamused pout pursuing them. “Chris.”

The sound of his delighted giggles bounced off the walls, reducing the heat of arousal to a nice simmer that your nerves greatly appreciated - that is, until his fingers hooked underneath the waistband and slowly pulled them off; the sensation of his knuckles dragging along your thighs drawing a soft gasp from you.

It wasn’t long until they were down your legs, past your feet, and dropped off the edge of the bed, leaving you entirely bare from the waist down.

“Fuck…” He breathed, propping his knee on the bed as his hands slid up from your calves to the backs of your knees, caressing your skin before gently bringing them up and out - exposing your pussy to his pure delight. “Look at you, pretty girl.”

A wave of heat washed over you followed by an embarrassed whimper, “Chris, don’t say that.”

“Why not?” Looking up, he cocked his head slightly, “You said you were mine, which means I’m allowed to compliment what’s mine, yeah?” He bent down, maintaining eye contact as he kissed your knee softly, “You belong to me, right, baby?”

Your heart jumped to your throat, his words working like a spell against your lust addled mind.

“I belong to you.” You breathed softly, melting into his hypnotizing gaze.

A pleased hum vibrated through him as he dipped his head to kiss the inside of your thigh, his lips brushing against your skin, “Good girl.”

His kisses trailed higher and higher, growing messier and messier as he went - a nip here, a suck there, open mouthed and worshiping until he reached your pussy.

Just as he was about to dive in face first, your hand tugged at his hair, effectively breaking him out of his tunnel vision to give you his undivided attention.

“What’s wrong? Do you wanna stop? I can-”

“No! God, no - it’s just…” You took a deep breath, your bravado escaping you the instant you stopped him, “I want you to eat me out, but I wanna suck your dick too. I wanna make you feel good too, Channie”

“You wanna suck my dick, pretty?” A shiver ran down Chris’s spine at the mere thought, his dick painfully straining underneath his boxer briefs and sweats. “Fuck, you’re gonna be the death of me, you know that? Words like that coming from a mouth like yours - you’re a fucking dream.”

His presence left from between your legs and part of you felt silly for missing it until you saw him reaching for his sweatpants - even through the black fabric you were able to make out the noticeable bulge tenting the front - the waistband of Calvin Klein nudging you in the right direction of what he wore underneath.

Pushing both articles past his hips, your eyes were immediately glued to the dips in his pelvis - the Adonis belt, a fitting alternate description of his v-line until your attention jumped to a scattering of hair beneath his navel leading to seemingly maintained pubic hair.

However, your peep show was obscured by his head as he bent forward to take his clothes off the rest of the way, giving you the chance to mentally prepare for the grand reveal. By the time he stood straight again, you couldn’t help the audible gasp that left you, your eyes widening as you took him in all his glory - all of the jokes his friends would make now having validity behind their digs.

“I hope that’s a good reaction…” Chris spoke sheepishly, his ears as red as a tomato as he averted his eyes to the side, one hand twitching to cover himself while the other anxiously rubbed the back of his neck.

“Chris,” your soft call was enough to bring his eyes back to you, just in time to see you undoing your bra and tossing it to the floor, “I really want you in my mouth, baby.”

The air of shyness quickly left him as he smirked, making his way back onto the bed, “Say please.”

Reaching forward, your fingers danced along the underside of his jaw before you whispered, “Please?”

It was almost instantaneous in the way you found yourself straddled over his face, his hands massaging the plush of your thighs as if he couldn’t get enough of the way they squished and jiggled under his hold.

You leaned forward, eyes eagerly taking in his dick from the new angle; he was thick, probably an inch over average if you had to guess, with the prettiest veins that begged for your tongue to trace them.

“Don’t force yourself to take me, okay?” He called from the other end, the feeling of his breath against your cunt sending chills down your spine. “I know I’m… y’know, big, so I don’t want you to hurt yourself to make me feel good - you letting me do this is more than enough, baby.”

“I can do it Channie,” spitting into your palm, you graciously took him into your hand with a slow stroke, “I’ll be okay.”

A low groan escaped him, your sudden touch sending him into the stratosphere, “Just- Be careful for me, alright?”

Humming in agreement, you wasted no time in littering his tip in butterfly kisses and kitten licks, slowly getting yourself used to the bittersweet taste of his precum.

“Shit…” Not holding himself back any longer, Chris slid his hands up to your hips before pulling you back onto his mouth, his tongue eagerly diving between your folds as if it were an ice cream cone on a hot summer’s day.

The action made you jolt forward, though you barely moved an inch thanks to his hold on you, your lips parting to let a moan float through.

“Mm, not too loud, baby,” he spoke against your pussy, kissing the hood of your clit, “don’t wanna wake up my roommates, yeah?”

As much as the idea called to something daring within you, you shook your head, using this as an opportunity to take the first few inches of his cock into your mouth; just enough to have the weight settle on your tongue while your hand stroked what you hadn’t gotten to yet.

“There you go.”

With that, he went back to exploring your pussy with his tongue, dipping past your walls every now and then before going back to dancing around your clit - his hands enjoying their new home on the curve of your ass.

To say the feeling of his mouth on you was mind numbing would’ve been the understatement of a lifetime - it was as if he was eating you out in the most respectfully disrespectful way, the sounds of his lips sucking your clit paired with low, breathless moans before he went back to lapping up your arousal was pure debauchery.

You tried your best to be diligent, bobbing your head in time with the curls of his tongue against your slit while your fist used whatever drool that dripped from your lips as lubricant to keep each stroke smooth and slick - your efforts not going in vain by the way his thigh would flex, or the twitch of his hips - but you were quickly falling victim to the pleasure.

“Taste so fucking good, baby,” he mouthed against your pussy, as if moving even an inch away would be detrimental to his psyche, “could stay here forever.”

The thought had you moaning around his cock, pulling away to give your lungs the reprieve of a full breath, only for a whined exhale to follow suit. “C-Chris, please.”

“Please, what?” Flattening his tongue, he licked a fat stripe up before giving your clit the lightest kiss imaginable, “Gonna come for me, pretty? Is that what you want?”

“N-No,” dropping your face to his thigh, you focused all of your energy into keeping your hand moving, “w-wanna make you come first, just- shit, just slow down a little!”

Chris hummed, feigning deep consideration, “But what if I want you to come for me?” His right hand slid further between your legs, his index finger stroking your fluttering walls with the promise of something more, “You said you wanted to repay me - so, let me make you come.”

Your hips bucked, muscles yearning to press back against the pressure to send you over the edge you were dangerously teetering over. “But-”

“Baby,” the velvet drawl of the pet name earned a pitiful hum in response, “you wanna make me feel good, don’t you?” He felt your head nod against his thigh, huffing out a short chuckle before continuing, “You wanna ‘repay’ me for everything I do for you, right?”

“Yes.” You sighed out, eyes fluttering at the feeling of his thumb replacing his finger in favor of toying with your clit.

“Well, guess what?” Dragging his thumb up, he pressed it against your slit, “Watching you come for me- Feeling you come for me is all I could ever want from you,” slowly pushing his thumb past your walls, he ghosted his lips against your inner thigh, “show me how good I’m making you feel, baby - do it for me, please.”

He punctuated his plea by swirling his tongue around your clit once more, thrusting his thumb in time with each flick while his left hand held your hip tightly.

Your mouth fell open, a moan fighting its way through your vocal chords only to come out as choked gasps, “Ch-ah- Channie- Fuck- Channie p-please-”

Pressing his thumb in to the knuckle, Chris wrapped his lips around your clit and sucked, humming out a low moan that proved to be the final straw to push you over the edge.

“Chris- C-Chris-!” Lifting your head, you put your mouth over your arm in hopes of muffling the airy moans escaping you, your vision blurring behind pleasure-fueled tears as he worked you through your orgasm.

His thumb slipped from your entrance to make room for his tongue to lap up your cum, drinking you up like a tall glass of water after a day in the sun.

It didn’t take long for you to catch your bearings, going to move away from his face until his hands tightened on your hips in silent challenge, a disgruntled grunt rising from your pure audacity of interrupting him.

“Channie, ‘s too much,” you whined breathlessly, wrenching your hand away from his - still hard - dick in favor of pushing yourself up onto your arms, “c-can’t take it, baby, please.”

Pulling away with a lewd slurp, Chris heaved a heavy breath, combating the lightheadedness of his tunnel vision while you carefully maneuvered yourself away from him - shuffling around to hover your head over a pillow before collapsing in the empty space, your body gratefully welcoming the cool sheets against your skin.

Bated breaths danced in the otherwise quiet atmosphere, Chris’s gaze locked on the ceiling as his lust-fogged brain tried to make sense of what just happened between the two of you.

“Channie?”

His heart fluttered at your soft call of his name, turning his head just to come across a sight that made his breath catch; you, his friend, laying beside him looking beautifully ruined with the golden afterglow of your orgasm that he gave you emanating from your body.

He tentatively licked his lips, goosebumps rising as your taste still lingered in his mouth, “Yeah, baby?”

“I still wanna make you come.” You murmured softly, eyes blinking at him so innocently it almost felt wrong that it made his dick twitch at the sight. “I still owe you, after all.”

Chris huffed out a chuckle, lifting himself onto his forearm before hoisting himself above you, settling his hips between your legs as he caged you in with his arms - this was a sight he could get used to.

“Instead of making this out to be you repaying a debt, how about we turn it into a ‘thank you’ gift, hm?” Leaning his head down, he brushed his nose against yours, “You thank me for the ride and the orgasm,” his lips ghosted against your own, “then I thank you for thanking me.”

“Chris, that won’t make any sense,” your voice was barely a whisper, your arms wrapping around his shoulders, “if you thank me, I’ll just thank you back - we’ll be in a loop.”

“We’ll work out the details later, then.” He murmured before leaning forward, catching your lips with his and sharing your taste off of his tongue.

✧. ┊Tagged lovelies: @having-an-internal-crisis-rn, @midnightfrog625, @anyhow-everything, @bangchanbabygirlx, @sweetracha, @nightimescapes, @caitlyn98s, @ch4nn13luv, @ihrtlix, @jeonjungkookenthusiast1997, @maximumkillshot, @y-ur--i, @acker-night, @dreamescapeswriting, @specialstay, @s00buwu, @tinyelfperson, @jj-stay, @katsukis1wife, @inlovewithmusician, @keen-li, @armystay89, @main-character0, @vampcharxter, @ddyskz, @prettymiye0n, @bbgnyx, @bahng-chrizz, @milknhoneyracha, @hann1bee, @palindrome969, @newhope8, @kpopsstuffs, @starquokka, @wolfs-howling, @laylasbunbunny, @4-chan-inpadella, @butterflydemons, @kimahreummm, @ta3baee, @snowy-violet @bethanysnow

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[devotion-disorder]

be careful what you wish for...the village Killian's from is having a bit of a population crisis right now, and having a nice little human come by could be just what they need...

Oh noooo....I'm just a naive human lost in this big forest with no one waiting for me...would be a shame if some beautiful elves whisked me away and brainwashed me into thinking I'm their pet/breeding machine and only need their "love and devotion". That would be terrible /silly

- 🩵

wdym the beautiful elf men do not, in fact, have my best interests in mind and were planning something nefarious from the start </3 I was just gonna write down some quick thoughts but it kinda got out of hand LOL

Content warning for: implied drugging (hypnotics, aphrodisiacs), dubcon/ noncon touching (nothing explicit though), manipulation, slight obsessive/ yandere themes, general elven condescension?

Imagine that you’ve accidentally wandered too deep into the forest and lost your way, your shoes hardly holding up in the rough terrain, and the last remaining rays of the setting sun are snuffed out by the overgrown foliage…

To make things worse, you walk right into some sort of trap - a stumbling step is all it takes to activate the runic trip switch, and a suffocating cloud of purple gas is the last thing you remember before things fade to dark…

How clumsy of you! Good thing Priest Killian happened to be on his evening walks when he spotted your pitiful form twitching and writhing in the hunting trap he’d set up; carefully he scooped you up and went his way back to the village. Only the most observant would be able to discern that the Priests’ unmoving smile seemed a bit wider than usual.

It was a trap the elves set up for hunting animals, he’d explained. The poison was almost enough to be fatal, had he not been there in time to save you. It’ll also take a bit for all the toxins to be out of your system. No worries though, because Killian offers to take care of you in his quarters until you’re up on your feet again. 

You don’t even remember if you’d managed to give a response, what with lead-heavy limbs and relentless migraine pulsing in your head. Luckily, Killian treated you with utmost care. 3 meals a day (along with the antidote treatment) brought to your bed (well, his bed), and spoon-fed to you because you were too weak to even sit up. He massaged your stiff muscles and brushed your hair. He ran warm baths and washed you – and even then he never opened his eyes – so at least there was some comfort in that.

Under Killian’s care you gradually regain your strength, save for the occasional dizzy spell and fatigue. But he saved your life after all! Feeling indebted to him, you offer to stay longer in the village to help around. While Killian’s expression is ever-unreadable, you can’t help but sense a bit of…amusement from him upon your suggestion. Regardless, he agrees – so long as you agree not to wander too far outside the village, because it’s very dangerous out there, he said.

And of course, he maintained a watchful eye over you, shadowing your tottering form as you went around introducing yourself to the other villagers. How cute.

You worked whatever odd jobs the elves had for you. which isn’t much at all. Mostly just menial tasks, or perhaps relaying messages. Things that they could’ve easily done themselves with their magic, but it’s fun watching an over-enthusiastic little human do it instead, so eager to please. You would say they are…endeared, perhaps. Or maybe they’re just looking out for you, what with your unfinished recovery. Anyhow, the elves are charmed by the newfound presence in the village.

Killian gifts you a new set of clothes, made by the local tailor (you don’t remember visiting a tailor for measurements at any point though, strange). To help you feel more at home, he said. It's pretty, a delicate garment that flutters cool against your skin in the warm summer heat, with an unmistakably elven style of elegance. It is a little short but, well, elves are known for being tall so maybe they're not used to human proportions? The white silk is a bit sheer in places, and you tried to ignore how it clung to the contours of your body when you sweat…

You hadn’t expected elves to be so openly affectionate. Being a long-living race known for their high culture and intelligence, it made for the perception that they were maybe a bit prudish, engrossed in their endless pursuit of finer things to care about lowly desires. But you suppose the elves are as curious of you as you are of them. You got to know some of them quite well, and soon it was routine for them to envelop you in their embrace. They pet your hair and nuzzle into your neck (Killian said something about how common skinship is in elven culture), at times slipping their digits beneath your clothes…sometimes you don't really remember, because the medicine still made you a bit sluggish. But it's ok! Their affectionate nature is a surprise but one you welcome. You think. 

During all of which, your treatment continued. Just a little longer, Killian promised. The side-effects seem to show no sign of waning, if not worsening at times. Sometimes you struggle to recall what has happened and what has not. The elves didn’t seem to mind, gladly cradling your tired body when you are overcome with sudden bounds of weakness. You poor little thing, they cooed, one hand combing through your hair to distract you from their other that wandered along your body.

Some days the medicine leaves you feeling more flushed than usual, and a strange feeling you can’t quite place invades your senses; a deep, frustrating kind of yearning that throbbed in your core. You assume it's the side-effects of advanced elf sorcery/ enchantment in your antidote treatment. It’s a tad embarrassing, but you can’t really do anything about it when the elves (if not the Priest himself) check in on you so frequently. 

Your only reprieve comes when Killian slots himself snug against your smaller form at bedtime. Were you always this close? You’re not sure if you recall, trying desperately to suppress the suggestive thoughts flooding your brain. His cool hands trail over your body, and it feels way too good against your overheating skin, so good that you can’t even think about resisting as his lips come crashing on top of yours, when he slips his arm underneath your waist to push you closer, closer against him.

Stumbling out of Killian’s quarters in the dead of night, confused, and your vision blurred by hot tears, all you can think about is getting away from him, from this godforsaken place. The other elves stepped out of their houses from the commotion. It was as if something in the air shifted. Their friendly, curious pretenses have dropped completely, leaving a ravenous hunger and unyielding need in their place. The way they leer at your body, the disheveled elven outfit failing to provide much cover, makes your hair stand on their ends. The elves close in on you, their concerned voices laced with something unmistakably sinister. You’re trapped.

A gentle hand on your shoulder snaps you out of your stupor.

“Now, now, I’m sure we’re all very excited about our little one here, but everyone will have their turn sooner or later.” Killian explains. He leans close to your ear, whispering in a volume only audible to you. “Look at you getting everyone so riled up already. Aren’t you such a needy little pet?” You’re paralyzed in fear, but his husky voice in your ears is still setting your nerves alight. 

“I’ll give you two choices. Either you let me 'take care of you' back at home,” his arms snaked around your body again, lithe fingers fanning across your thighs. “Or we’ll give everyone a show, and maybe let them get...a preemptive taste, as well. What’ll it be?”