#IT'S BETTER TO BURN THAN TO FADE AWAY : [ posts ]

[mggslover]

Reflections pt. 2

In which Spencer sees himself in a suspect, making him willing to do anything to protect her.

PART 1

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader Genre: crime x angst x hurt/comfort Content warnings: post prisoner!spencer (but no spoilers since i’m not on that season yet, can contain inaccuracies), reader cuts longer hair short, guns, reader isn’t the best person, emotional, vague mentions of sa and suicide, kidnapping, fade to black smut (so suggestive content) Word count: 5,8k A/n: turning a supposed to be one shot into a series is more difficult than i anticipated lol. i’m hoping you guys will enjoy this part as much as the first one :) i'd love to hear your thoughts!!

Vibrant flashes of the pixelated scenes on TV reflected against the motel room walls. You were reminded of how your mother always used to say that watching television in the dark is damaging to your eyes. You never doubted her. Never felt the need to confirm her words by looking it up. It’s in human nature to trust one another. It is only when someone betrays you — or when you betray them — that trust gets damaged.  You sit on the edge of the bed, mindlessly picking at the loose printing of the Caltech shirt you’re wearing — Spencer’s Caltech shirt — as you watch the umpteenth news segment since you left the state. “Authorities are still on the lookout for a suspect following the poisoning of three men. The men were murdered at a college reunion that took place inside a bar, their bodies found just a street away. These promising young men had bright futures ahead of them, which were brutally robbed by this suspect–“

The screen flickered to your passport picture, showing a list of your physical descriptions on the right. 

“She’s believed to be armed and dangerous. Please, come forward if you have any information on her possible whereabouts. The FBI have stated that they will not stop their search until they have the suspect in custody. Justice will be served.”

With a scoff, you grab the remote, the screen fading to black with a simple click of your thumb. 

Young promising men, my ass. Hearing that sentence out loud left you with a bitter taste in your mouth, burning your throat as you swallowed. You let out a deep exhale, your body falling back onto the hard mattress with a thud, allowing the darkness to envelop you as your thoughts swirled through your head. 

Your whole life you had run away from the things that scared you, preferring to flee than live with the reality of the situation. You’d made the conscious decision to change your behaviour once you had decided to walk into that bar. But one thing led to another, and without being aware of it at the moment, you’d found yourself in the same situation: fleeing. Only this time around, it was different. This time you were on the run. And it wasn’t a question of if, but of when you’d be caught.

Ignoring the remorseless pounding in your head, you roll over the mattress. The cheap sheets rustled underneath you in protest as you threw your legs off the side. Your hand patted the bedside table until you felt the switch on the night lamp, turning it on. The room, as a result, illuminates in a soft, golden glow. 

Your eyes adjusted to the light, slowly taking in your surroundings. You noticed a large bookshelf against the right wall that you swore you hadn't seen before. Although your mind had been so clouded these past days that it wouldn’t be strange if you looked over it. Curiosity got the better of you, and with steady steps, you walked toward it. Eeny, meeny, miny, moe. The words played in your head as your fingers grazed against the dusty spines. When the melody came to its natural halt, you grabbed the book that your finger had landed on.

Gone Girl.

You scoffed a breathy laugh, “Obviously.” You held the book mockingly in the air, giving an ironic nod and tight-lipped smile toward the ceiling. “Thanks, universe.”

The irony hit you as you flipped through the pages. Maybe you’re more like the protagonist—Amy Dune—than you’d like to admit. Always having the need to orchestrate the outcome of your life, selfish enough to not care about the consequences it has for others. What if the universe is not trying to mock you, but merely giving you a hint? Were you supposed to change your appearance? It worked for Amy. 

Your feet carried you to the stuffy bathroom, the book still in hand. With your elbow, you turned on the light switch, cringing when you saw yourself in the mirror. The only sleep you’d gotten in the past days was in Spencer’s arms, and damn was it a good sleep. 

Sleeping with an FBI-agent sounded like a good plan. Well… at least to you. What are the chances of being a suspect in a crime, not being believed by anyone, and then being interrogated by a man who had heart eyes for you? There was no other option than to play into it, and you thanked yourself for taking those theater classes in high school. 

However, it wasn’t all a ploy. It affected you to have someone be so gentle with you, to have an absolute stranger care so much for your well-being. And when you kissed him… you knew your heart was involved too.

Still, your brain overpowered your feelings. The second you woke up, you knew you had to leave. They already knew about Natalie, and the more time you gave them, the more dirt they’d find on you. Taking that gun? Call it a precaution. Hijacking a car to get to the motel? Well, you stole it from a hobo. Could’ve been worse. 

“God,” you groaned, thinking back on the events of the past few days. You rubbed your eyes and dramatically slid your hands down your face.

Your eyes landed on the nail clipper placed on the sink. This is so, so bad. You placed the book down, then picked the item up, circling the cool metal around your fingers. The ghost of your face reflected back at you in the mirror. Oh, your hairdresser will kill you. But who will care if you’ll be locked away in prison, anyway? At least your humor was still working.

You brought the clipper to the ends of your hair, your thumb pressing down as you cut a lock. The sound sent shivers to your spine, a sour face impaled on you. 

“I swear to god Amy, don’t fail me with this,” you mumbled to the sky in a prayer. 

-`♡´-

3 Days Ago

Being frustrated was an understatement for the way Spencer was feeling. 

Once he left the bedroom, it took him less than a second to notice the slight gap between the cupboard doors. His pulse quickened, he stood frozen for a moment as he felt a tight knot form in his stomach. In a sudden rush, his senses came back to him. He took a leap toward the cupboard, slamming the doors open, and to his suspicion, he found the safe unlocked. His gun vanished in the same way as you had. 

He couldn’t help the string of curses that escaped his lips. His hands reached through his hair, tugging at the loose curls as his mind raced in every possible direction, none of them making sense. 

How could he have been so stupid? He’s a profiler, for Christ’ sake. It’s his job to read people, to see through their lies. His cheeks heated in embarrassment, recalling the disapproving looks of his team members when he told you that he believed in your innocence. 

You were innocent. At least, that’s what he thought. Now he wasn’t sure anymore. An innocent person wouldn’t run, and they especially wouldn’t steal the gun of a federal agent while they’re at it. 

He thought back on your arrest. It happened quickly. The team had received a call from someone at the reunion who had been taking a smoke break in an alley near the bar, the first to discover the bodies. Finding you was simple. Your behavior was suspicious on the camera footage. You looked nervous as you walked into the bar, wiping your clammy hands on your dress, scanning the room as if in search of something. When your eyes landed on the three men, your gaze grew cold. It wasn’t difficult to connect the dots when you rushed out of the emergency exit right after the men had accepted their poison-filled drinks. 

But now it was a completely different story. You could be anywhere. The uncertainty gnawed at him. He felt responsible for this, even though it wasn’t his decision to let you go. He’d been insistent on getting you out of that interrogation room as fast as he could. The guilt pressed down on him, the pressure on his ribcage accumulating with every second that passed. Every second that he didn’t do anything was another chance for you to run. Spencer had no choice but to call Hotch as he stepped into his Volvo. As much as he didn’t want to admit it, he didn’t know what you were capable of. 

-

Spencer made sure to evade Derek’s sharp glances as he walked through the bullpen, headed straight for the small flight of stairs. 

Hotch was standing at the door frame, waiting on him. He never had experienced being scolded by his parents, but this sure seemed like a similar situation. Spencer swallowed, his hands tucked in the pockets of his pants, trying to hide his nerves as he braced himself for the words that were about to follow.

“I’ve informed the rest of the team,” Hotch explained, his eyebrows edged in an irritated frown. “The only reason that you’re on this case is because you could give personal insight into the unsub. We’ll discuss this afterward,” he added in a warning tone, “Behaviour like this is not tolerated.”

“I know,” Spencer muttered, his voice coming out hoarse. I don’t agree, but I understand. “I’m sorry.”

Aaron nodded, seemingly satisfied with his response. His body leaned forward, head tilted as he called the team to gather around the round table. 

-

“Man, you slept with her?!” 

Derek hadn’t even properly sat down before the criticizing jabs slipped out. The tone was instantly set, an awkward tension lingering thick in the air.

Spencer’s mouth opened, his fingers flexing, but before he could respond, Emily rose from her seat. “It’s in the past. Right now, we should focus on finding her before she’ll devolve.”

Hotch nodded in agreement. This discussion was pointless; there was no time to lose. “Garcia, can you go over her documents again?”

“Of course, sir. Uh, let’s see–,” her purple colored nails tapped against the keyboard of her laptop. “She hasn’t been very active in the last few years. Most activity was during college. She majored in chemistry.”

Spencer’s heart did a jump at the mention of chemistry. He barely got the chance to ask you about yourself, and he was fighting the urge to ask Penelope for more information, wondering what else you’d have in common. 

“Wait a minute,” Spencer wondered out loud when his brain made the connection. “Chemistry.”

“The victims were poisoned,” Rossi noted, connecting the dots.

Spencer suppressed the rising nausea by forcing his eyes shut. His knee tremored, anxiously tapping against the underside of the table. He really didn’t know you, did he?

Hotch’s furrow deepened. “Another confirmation that she’s the one we’re looking for.” He turned to Garcia, “Did we receive the results from the lab?”

“Not yet, sir. But this is interesting though,” her nails continued their rhythmic clicking. “She dropped out of college a couple of months before graduating.”

“You wouldn’t just do that,” Rossi mused. “Can you find any reasoning in her archives?” 

Penelope shook her head. “Not really. The whole thing seemed pretty sudden. She had good grades.”

Hotch leaned forward, placing his elbows on the table. “Let’s look at victimology.” 

“Okay, so we got Shaun Dallas, Eric Zimmer and Nathan Johns. Tight buddies throughout college and they still seemed to be according to social media. Different majors, none of them chemistry.”

“She seemed disgusted when I brought them up,” Derek added, referencing your interrogation. “Said that nobody in college liked them.”

“Well, they seem like the standard gross jock types,” Penelope commented. 

“Does she have any history with them?” Emily asked.

“Uh, not that I can see,” Garcia replied. “I don’t even think they shared any classes.”

“What about them personally? Anything you can tie to her wanting them dead?”

“Let’s see, boy wonder…” Garcia mumbled in response to Spencer, eyes focused on the screen. “Here! I got something.” 

Everyone stared at her in anticipation. “Nathan Johns was involved in a Peeping Tom “incident” when he was fifteen. He had a habit of peeping underneath the bathroom stalls in highschool, and one girl decided to press charges with her parents. Claims were quickly shut down though, because, obviously, his father is a lawyer.”

Hotch’s lips pressed into a tight line. “What about the other two?”

“Zilch. Squeaky clean records.”

“Let’s leave that for later,” Rossi suggested. “We have more to say about her MO.”

“She poisoned her victims,” JJ chimed in. “That makes sense with her chemistry background. She’s also shown that she’s meticulous and pays attention to detail.” She continued elaborating, “She managed to poison the drinks without the bartender noticing and she made sure to keep an eye on Spencer as he typed in the code to his safe.”

The team nodded like-mindedly. Spencer bit down on his bottom lip. He didn’t have much of a say in all of this. He didn’t even know why he still tried to make sense of it all. Whether he genuinely believed in your innocence or if this was an attempt at finding a theory that would sooth his mind.

“She’s rather chaotic, actually,” he eventually spoke up. “She snapped during the interview when Natalie Fisher got mentioned. She took my gun while I was in the room next to her. To be more specific, she—“ he cleared his throat, “I woke up and she walked back to me before heading out. It doesn’t match the MO of the killings.”

“What are you suggesting, kid?” Rossi asked, confusion visible on his face.

“She doesn't have to be the unsub.” 

“Oh, come on, man. Then how do you explain the dumping of the bodies?” Morgan inquired, his tone laced with accusement. “She went from meticulous to dropping the bodies in the middle of an alley where anyone could pass by. She’s shown dramatic changes in MO before.”

“The bodies could have been placed there to set her up. The unsub must have known she’s disorganized, so positioning the bodies there could be connected to her. If the unsub is as diligent as we’re assuming, he could’ve easily disposed of the bodies in a place where we wouldn’t be able to find them. Instead, he dropped them right in the face of any passersby.”  

“Spence, I thought we’ve been over this,” JJ said, offering a sympathetic smile, her hand sliding over the table to reach out for him.

Spencer quickly pulled his hand back, seeing the obvious hurt on his friend’s face. Yes, they had been over this. He was positive that he would snap if he had to go through another “Are you sure you’re ready to be back? The change from prison to society is a huge change” conversation. 

“Did she share anything else that makes you think this way?”

Spencer blinked at Hotch's question. The moment was still fresh in his mind. He remembered how nervous he felt when he had asked you to take you to his place. He had replayed the hypothetical conversation in his mind a thousand times, how he would first open up about his past, wanting to make you feel comfortable enough to open up about yours. But when you kissed him the way you did, there was no space for any other thoughts in his mind.

“Reid,” Hotch repeated.

“No.”

“No?” 

“She said that she likes the sea,” he shared, the corner of his lip slightly lifting at the memory. 

“I feel safe in your arms,” you whispered, your breath tickling his chest as you lay your head on top of it. His arm was wrapped around you, tracing patterns on the bare skin of your arm, wondering if you could feel his pounding heartbeat. 

“The only other place I’ve felt this safe is at sea.”

He smiled as he gazed down at you. Then he pressed a gentle kiss to the top of your head. “Really?”

He felt the movement of you nodding. “It’s the only place that calms my mind.”

The sound of ruffling paper snapped him out of his thoughts. He lifted his head to see Rossi unrolling a large map of the country. 

Spencer could feel the prying eyes on him. Geography of the unsub is his strength. He inhaled a deep breath before leaving his chair, reluctantly walking toward the wall where Rossi had pinned the map.

“She told you that she didn’t have a place to stay,” Prentiss stated, her words sounding like a question for affirmation.

Spencer nodded, trying to focus on the case like it was any other. “She walked to the reunion, probably taken by cab, and then we found her walking around the area when we arrested her. So, she has no vehicle.”

“For all we know, she could’ve taken the first plane out of the country,” Morgan interjected.

Hotch clicked his tongue. “We alerted Border Patrol when Reid had called me, which was less than an hour after she had left his house. If we assume she’s chaotic, she wouldn’t be able to book a flight that quickly. The only place you can disappear this smoothly has to be a place in her comfort zone.”

“Can we assume she’s still in Virginia?” Rossi asked.

“I don’t think so,” Spencer replied. “Her picture is all over the state, and Virginia’s beaches are very populated, with a minimum of in the hundred thousands. Virginia Beach, for example, has a population of 453.649.”

“She doesn’t have a car,” Rossi thought aloud. “There are no records of her having a stable job, so she doesn’t have a lot of money in her pockets either. Knowing cab drivers, they won’t want to drive around for hours, which leads us to—“

“Delaware,” Spencer finished. 

-`♡´-

A sea breeze gently caressed your face, blowing through your cut hair. With your eyes closed, you cherished the sound of the waves crashing against the shore and the scent of saltwater in the air. It was a nostalgic smell that came with a flood of memories: building sandcastles on the beach, running barefoot across the hot sand before diving into the sea, loud laughter as you splashed the water and got splashed in return. 

The flashbacks were a stark contrast to your current predicament. When you opened your eyes, it was dark. The sea in front of you looked black, only reflecting a small glimmer of the moon that hung low in the sky. The sand beneath your fingers felt cold. And there were no sounds of laughter, not even the sound of annoying seagulls. You were surrounded in absolute silence.  A crunching noise came out of the darkness. The sound so sudden and intense, similar to being whipped across the face. Though, your head didn’t turn. You knew who was out there. 

The sounds grew louder. Sweat started forming on your face and hands. Your fingers trembled as you reached into the pocket of your jeans, the tight fabric cutting into your hand as you pushed deeper until you felt the cool metal of Spencer’s gun.

“Don’t.”

The word cut through the air. Your grip on the gun tightened in an effort to keep your fingers from shaking. No words left your mouth as you carefully tilted your head. 

In front of you stood Spencer, exactly as you had predicted. But unlike your predictions, he was on his own. Was he here by himself to personally arrest you? To revel in your loss?

You continued to stare at him, though you weren’t really seeing him. Your vision blurred by the tears that had welled in your eyes. You blinked them away, focusing on his gun, which he held tightly in between both hands, aimed straight at your skull. 

“Is that a new one?” 

He seemed taken aback by your question, glacing down to the firearm in his palms. When he looked back at you, you stood in front of him, mirroring his stance, gun directed at his chest.

“I like this one better,” you commented, clicking the safety off.

Spencer cocked his head, maintaining his unwavering eye contact. He seemed to be challenging you. You clenched your jaw, anger boiling hotter inside of you. 

“Put the gun away,” he strictly ordered, though his tone remained unnervingly calm. It was too calm for your liking. He should be scared. At least show a sign of nerves. Instead he looked at you like you were a joke, like you weren’t capable.

“You’re not going to use it anyway,” he dismissively adds, fueling your anger.

“Yes, I will!” 

Your voice taunted as you took a step forward. Your legs trembled at the move, your heart thudded painfully in your chest to the point of nausea. It was difficult to comprehend the next words he spoke, your ears ringing before you even fired the shot.

“You didn’t kill those people,” Spencer declared. The words sounded like he was repeating a scientific fact. Like it was the only possible truth.

He then called out your name.

The word rolled off his tongue like it was crafted just for him to say it. Akin to a gentle symphony. His pronunciation was just as soft and full with longing as it had been when he breathily whispered it into your ear over and over again.

“I would’ve!” you shouted out, shaking yourself out of your thoughts. You strode forward until the barrel of your gun pressed into his chest, jabbing the cold metal into his clothed skin. 

He didn’t flinch. Instead of his breathing hastening, it slowed down. His eyebrows drooped as he looked down at you. 

“I would’ve,” you repeat just as loudly, digging the weapon harder into him. Pity remained on his face and you couldn’t stop the tears threatening to spill again. Whether it was from frustration or sorrow, you weren’t sure. 

“I would’ve, I would’ve, I would’ve!” 

The words tumbled from your mouth like a mantra, each repetition feeling like the only way to catch your breath. With every spoken word, you hit his chest, though your punches weaken with every syllable.

Spencer continued to watch you, observing you as he gave you the space that you needed. When you looked up at him, his eyes were glistening, triggering something inside of you.

A sob broke free from your chest. Spencer’s gun slipped from his hand in reaction, falling into the sand with a muffled thud. 

“I should’ve…” you choked out, the words a combination of an apology and a confession.

Spencer nodded compassionately, his hands reaching out to gently cup yours. 

 “Should’ve done it. Should’ve been me.” 

“I know, sweetheart,” he spoke reassuringly, carefully taking the gun from your limp fingers and tucking it in his back pocket. His hands quickly returned to yours, without you even registering his movement. “I know.”

“I’m so sorry,” you softly cried. The words weren’t meant for Spencer, but somehow, he understood. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you into his chest, holding you against the spot where your gun had been only seconds ago.

Sorries became the new prayer you desperately muttered against his chest. Sorries to Natalie. Sorries for being weak. Sorries for not giving her the justice she deserved. Sorries for dishonoring her when she needed you most. Sorries for everything.

The apologies to others turned into a plea to receive them yourself. Sorry for making you so naive. Sorry for making you weak. Sorry for giving you the need to run from yourself. 

Your head hung low against him, your grip on his shirt tightening, your lungs constricting like it was painful to breathe. 

“You’re angry.” Spencer noted, noticing the change in your posture. 

You sniffled against him, not having the energy to lie. “Yes.”

He leaned down, pressing a kiss to your hair. The gesture made your stomach flutter. 

You felt conflicted by his kindness. How was he able to hold you so tightly? To choose to stay by your side despite the mess you were.

The delicacy of his touch parallel to the fury still simmering inside of you. 

“I am so mad,” you admitted in a resigned breath.

His hand slid from your head to your neck, gently cupping your jaw. “Let it out on me.”

You had to furrow your brows, not sure if you understood him correctly. 

“I mean it. Your body is full of cortisol and epinephrine. Stress hormones,” he explained. “You need to be relieved of those.”

His fingertips trailed lightly over your arm, and you followed his touch with your eyes. 

“Use me. Let me offer you relief.”

You stood frozen in place, swallowing the breathless laugh that almost escaped your lips, as you noted the genuine look expressed on Spencer’s face.

His eyes bored into yours, the hazel of his irises altering into a darker shade of brown.

Tentatively, your hands moved up his body, and only then did his heartbeat quicken. Your fingers continued trailing upward until you gripped his collar, the fabric soft in your tight grip. His eyes don’t leave yours, mouth just slightly agape as you pull him in closer. 

Then you kiss him — hard.

*link to smut (pt. 2.5)

-`♡´-

The ventilation quietly hummed in the back of the motel room from the shower you had just taken. After the intimate moment on the beach, Spencer had convinced you to take him back to the motel you were staying at. “They’re all fast asleep. They haven’t noticed me leaving” he assured you. 

It didn’t matter anymore if they knew your whereabouts, you’ve told Spencer everything anyway. How Natalie has been your bestest friend in college. How you were tied to the hip. How you never left each other’s sight — except for that one night…

You had cried in his arms, and he had let you. He held you close as you lay in bed. He comforted you with statistics about guilt and trauma, as you told him why you went to that reunion that night. It marked the anniversary of the week Natalie had died. Of the week you received an email from her: a final note. Telling you by the time you read this, she’d be long gone.

You hadn’t gone to her funeral. Didn’t even receive an invitation. You hadn’t been in contact with Natalie ever since she had called you from that party. You’d picked her up that night, taken her to the hospital, and left the second the doctors told you she’d be fine. 

You didn’t tell Spencer this part. You only told him that you expected there to be a memorial at the reunion, a way for you to have a proper goodbye. Your heart had stopped in the same way it had years ago when you walked into the bar and found that there was nothing. Nothing but loud music, colored lights, and drunk people. It was as if Natalie had never existed.

Your ears had rang. Your breaths came in short pants. With all your might, you suppressed the rising panic attack, using the last bit of strength to walk toward the three men you’d spotted from the start. The men that had done this to Natalie. Who had killed her, although not with their hands. 

Naive little birdie, Natalie had always called you. The sweet nickname now sounded more haunting as the three men stared you up and down. Your heart beated in expectancy, but then you noticed their dilated pupils. The way their breath reeked of hard liquor. Their lips still glossy with alcohol as they gave you a sluggish smirk. They hadn’t even recognized you. Naive little birdie.

Spencer had squeezed your hand, bringing you back to reality. “It’s okay.”

You had shaken your head, the memories tearing apart into small pieces in your mind. Quickly, you had finished your story, telling him that after that moment, you didn’t have it in you to walk past everyone again. Too terrified to see the laughs on their faces. Instead, you marched straight to the emergency exit.

The both of you stayed quiet after your confession. The air hung heavy with silence, but it wasn’t entirely comfortable.

“We need to talk about it at some point,” Spencer brings up.

You nodded. Spencer had been kind to you, given you the time to process, but the conversation was inevitable. You hadn’t killed anyone. So someone else had.

“Someone is trying to blame this on you. Someone wants to see you gone,” he softly whispers, his voice cracking with emotion.

The subject made you feel uncomfortable. You had thought about it before. Plenty of times, actually. But every time you did what you did best: ignore it. It wasn’t as easy to disregard when someone was looking you in the eyes, their pain so visible.

Still, you shrugged, brushing aside his comment. “It doesn’t matter. I wanted them gone, and now they are. It doesn’t matter how.”

“It does matter.” 

The rise in his voice made you flinch, and he instantly cupped your hands, pulling you back to him. “‘M sorry. I’m just scared.”

It was strange to hear someone be so honest. Spencer had been honest with you from the start. He’d said that he would protect you, and he was still keeping to that promise.

You moved your hand to your hair, wanting to twirl  the locks as a nervous habit, but then realized most of it was cut short. 

“I guess we can tell your team tomorrow,” you settle on saying, swallowing as you envision their dirty looks.

“Really?” He raised his eyebrows in a questioning gaze, leaning forward as he hid the small, grateful smile that lingered his lips.

You chuckled, feeling relieved by his response. You nodded your head against the pillow. “Really.”

The room returned to silence. Surely now deeply comfortable. No more questions that lingered in the air. The back of Spencer’s fingers lazily traced the side of your face. His warm hand trailed down the skin. His eyes flickered over your face, expression filled with awe as he grazed his fingers through your short locks. “Your hair looks pretty.”

A soft snort escaped you, “It looks horrendous.”

He responded with a breathy laugh, and you can’t help but smile widely back at him. 

“I think this suits you better. Not that I didn’t like your other haircut,” he quickly corrected himself, making you chuckle. “I like your face. The longer hair hid it. Now I can see you.”

Your cheeks warmed. Spencer did see you. Not just your appearance — he saw you. He had seen you from the moment your eyes had locked when he and his team had found you and brought you to the station. He had seen you before you’d even seen yourself. The thought of stopping your hiding, your fleeing, didn’t seem so scary anymore. Not when staying would bring you to him. 

The comfortable silence was interrupted by a low rumble, followed by a louder one. Spencer’s hand slipped from your hair as he placed it on his stomach. “I’m sorry.”

A bright, childlike laugh bubbled from your chest. Spencer snickered, grinning from ear to ear. He bashfully brushed his fingers through his messy curls. “I havent really eaten since we’ve gotten here.”

“Let me grab you a snack.” You crawled out of bed, legs still a little shaky as you stood up. 

“Do you have snacks in the room?

“No, but there’s a vending machine outside.”

He propped himself up against the pillows, his eyes following you as you made your way over to the bathroom where your clothes were bundled up on the tile floor. He let out a small sigh as you walked out of sight.

He naturally timed the minutes till the door creaked open again. You had washed yourself up in the sink, some water droplets still clinging to your neck. Your hair less frizzy now that it had been dampened. You wore your clothes from earlier, though one could tell they had been taken off of you multiple times.

“I’ll be right back,” you promised, grabbing the key and some coins from the cabinet. And he believed you.

-

The door shut behind you, a cold breeze immediately hugging your skin. The LED lamps brightened the exterior corridor. The vending machine at the end of the walkway shone even brighter, catching your attention.

You walked straight toward it, curiously peering into the transparent door. You pressed the numbers for trail mix and beef jerky — something that could pass for dinner. You inserted the coin, impatiently bending down in front of the opening.

The rumbling sound of the machine was followed by a whoosh of air.

Then a sharp bang echoed through your skull.

Then you were gone.

-`♡´-

Shadows of bright lights flickered in front of your eyes, giving the illusion that you rubbed them too hard.

You forced your eyelids open, and if it weren’t for the fact that you were lying down, you would’ve stumbled. With effort, you scrambled yourself up into a sitting position, taking in your surroundings.

Four tiled walls enclosed you. The room resembled a lab: a sink with a counter to the left, an iron door on the wall right in front of you, and an air vent to the right. 

A bitter odor entered your airways, making you scrunch your nose. You turned your head to the left — a little too quickly — the throbbing pain catching up with you, making you groan in pain. 

Your hands shot to the sides of your face, trying to hold your head still in an attempt to stop the room from spinning. 

A warm liquid coated your fingers. You pulled your hand back and saw it was stained crimson. A gasp left you, followed by a string of whimpers as you felt yourself growing faint. 

You spotted a red first aid kit on top of the counter. On your knees, you slumped toward it, taking several breaks despite the distance only being ten feet. 

With clammy hands, you clutched the counter, inhaling a deep breath before dragging yourself up. Your body hovered over the table, and you reached your arm out to pull the kit closer to you. You fumbled with the lock on the box. “Open up, please,” you begged to whatever God that was listening.

The acid smell grew stronger, and it was then that you noticed the small vial next to the first aid kit. Its contents contained a light yellow solid. Cyanide — poison. 

The metal door creaked open, the sound stinging straight through your skull. You cried out as you fell to the ground. You backed away to the nearest wall, curling your knees to your chest just in time for the door to fully open. “Naive little birdie. You’re awake.”

PART 2.5

[angelltheninth]

Arcane Characters Hand Headcanons

Pairing: Jinx, Vi, Caitlyn, Maddie, Ekko, Vander, Silco, Sevika, Viktor, Jayce, Mel x Reader

Tags: fluff, size difference, hand-holding, scars, bruises, hand comparison, cuddles

Ko-Fi | Rules | Fandoms and Characters | Commissions

A/N: I remember there was a post where an artist drew the hands and made some headcanons in their drawings but I don't remember who the artist was. But that was my inspiration for this.

JINX

Long and skinny fingers

Lots of calluses from tinkering with her weapons

A strong grip because of the Shimmer

If looking at her hands in the dark you can see Shimmer running through her veins

Has to constantly be told to be careful when working because she has no concept of safety and has come close to losing more fingers

VI

Her hands are really rough all over

bruises on her knuckles that never seem to heal because she's always fighting

A few bones have been broken over the years and healed haphazardly

Gets the biggest puppy-dog eyes if you take her hands and kiss each finger paying special attention to the bruises

You're the only one she trusts to help her wrap and unwrap her hands every day

CAITLYN

A lot of calluses on her hands, especially her fingers

She's been shooting with a riffle since she was young so the pads of her fingers are tougher than the rest of her hand

The skin on the pads if her fingers is hardened

Likes to wear gloves, which you will say is a shame

Knows you like her hands a lot, but she has a better grip on her guns with the gloves on

MADDIE

Her hands are dusted with little freckles

A bit small, perfect for hand-holding actually

Can crack her knuckles and she doesn't even realize she does it most of the time

Many faded scars from her time growing up and training in Noxus

Refuses to elaborate when you notice how scared her hands are, but if she gets to know you well enough and trusts you she might share a story or two

EKKO

Because he's always working his hands are really rough and even have a few burn marks

There are more than a few broken bones in his hands

Never healed well because he refuses to take Shimmer and it's a bit difficult to find good doctors in Zaun

Habit of tapping his fingers against surfaces, even your arm or back while you cuddle

To keep your relationship on the down-low he often holds your pinkie finger with his

VANDER

His hands are huge compared to yours, you have to use both to hold one of his

The strength he has could crush a man if he tried

Definitely a working man's hands, you can tell he's never skipped a work day in his life

Long faded scratches on his arms and wrists

Still enjoys punching things and has a big punching bag in his room, but he often forgets to wrap his hands, which makes them a bit bloody after

SILCO

For someone in Zaun he takes pretty good care of his hands

Cold compared to yours, like his body temperature isn't quite where it needs to be

Skinny, long fingers but he will paint his nails if you or Jinx ask him to

Takes care of himself so he never has dry hands despite how they look

Always places his hand over yours, it's a protective and possessive habit

SEVIKA

She only has one human hand left but she's reckless with that one too

Always fights so you always help her patch up the bruises and clean the blood

Marks from tearing off scabs or making them bleed again

Usually has a hard grip but softens it for you

Has a few ash burns from her cigarette, she doesn't always move it away in time

VIKTOR

He grew up in Zaun and then threw himself in lab work so he's not the best at taking care of his hands

Skinny, almost boney hands

Has a habit of biting his nails when he's thinking about something

Broke his fingers and wrists more than a few times

You always tell him to wear gloves but he never does, not because he doesn't think he shouldn't but because he doesn't remember

JAYCE

Big, meaty, rough hands, very strong

He always wears gloves when he works, be it the lab or the forge

And yet he still gets that slightly rougher skin, not fully though because he's really careful

Uses hand lotion when he finishes working, it's what makes his skin extra soft

Won't admit that he does it but when you hold hands he's doing math in his head and comparing the hand sizes

MEL

If she didn't tell you then you would have never guessed she grew up in Noxus because her hands are so smooth

Her hands are delicate, with really well manicured nails

Only when you look really close can you see just a few, very tiny cut marks but they're almost completely faded away

Enjoys getting hand massages from you and you complimenting her hands

Tickles you when she runs her nails across your skin

[ssorenz]

everybody knows that im a good girl officers!

pairing: . ݁₊ ⊹ .: sukuna ryomen n’ toji fushiguro

synopsis : . ݁₊ ⊹ baking gone wrong! (or maybe right in your case?)

contains: sexual content MDNI, spanking, degradation, full nelson position, double penetration, blah blah blaaaah.. wc: im honestly not even sure

header from: . ݁₊ ⊹: lady k and the sick man

a/n :BABE WAKE UP, DSIIRES FINALLY POSTED 🗣️‼️ but all jokes aside, hii loveliess im back 😊!! i decided to finally post something, and since this was sitting in my drafts, why not post it? i do admit the ending is kind of rushed, so please forgive me🙇🏽‍♀️ but i hope you all enjoy, comments and requests are gladly appreciated! <3

sweet, sugary, scents of vanilla and cinnamon danced throughout the air as sunlight streamed in through your lace curtains, casting warm, golden hues upon your kitchen countertops.

baking flour dusted your cheeks as a determined glint shined in your eyes, precisely measuring the ingredients for the cake you were baking. it was your best friends birthday, after all. what better way to surprise her than with a home-baked cake?

once the cake pans were safely in the oven, you let out a sigh of relief. this morning had been dedicated to baking, and you were longing for a moment of relaxation. retrieving your cellphone, you settled onto the couch, letting your mind wander as you scrolled away through the screen to pass the time for a few minutes.

but minutes turned into moments, and the once familiar, sweet aroma began to fade away. a faint whiff of something burning wafted into your nose, snapping you out of your current reverie.

panicked, you rushed to the oven, heart pounding in your chest. smoke billowed from the oven, tendrils curling ominously towards the ceiling.

with a gasp, you yanked open the oven door, greeted by a charred mess where your sweets once stood. panicking, you frantically reached for your phone and dialed the fire department.

standing anxiously outside your house, you clutched her phone tightly, desperately awaiting for the distant sound of sirens to signal the arrival of the fire department.

soon enough, the welcoming wail of an approaching engine filled your ears—and within moments, the fire truck came to a brief halt in front of your home. two firefighters emerged from the truck, and as they stepped onto the pavement, their imposing figures caught your attention.

the first firefighter, with a rugged build and striking pinkish hair, exuded confidence as he surveyed the scene. beside him, stood his colleague, tall and commanding with dark black hair, his presence radiating confidence as well as cockiness.

the males strode up to you, their boots echoing against the pavement. the salmon-haired one with distinct facial tattoos— who’s badge read S. RYŌMEN, glared at you with annoyance while his counterpart surveyed the area.

"alright, what's the deal here? we got a call about some sorta emergency, but I'm not seeing any flames. don't tell me we rushed over here for nothin’.” he spoke, his deep voice carrying an air of authority.

the raven-haired officer's— who’s badge read T. FUSHIGURŌ—eyebrows knitted together, his deep, husky, voice tinged with irritation. "are we being pranked here, girl?" he questioned snarkily, his skepticism evident as he glanced around the seemingly ordinary surroundings. however, as you apologized and ushered them inside, their expressions softened slightly, replaced by a mix of curiosity and concern.

as they stepped into the kitchen— their boots leaving faint imprints on the linoleum floor— a wave of smoke greeted them, swirling lazily in the air. the acrid smell of burnt pastries hung heavy, creating an uncomfortable atmosphere in the room. ryōmen coughed lightly, his hand instinctively reaching for the collar of his uniform to cover his nose.

fushigurō sighed heavily as his gaze fixed on the charred remnants of what was once a baking sheet. "well, would you look at that? someone tried playing chef but ended up setting the kitchen on fire," the black-haired officer he muttered, his annoyance palpable in the air as he casually observed the smoke-filled chaos before him.

“i'm so sorry for the false alarm," you apologized, your voice filled with genuine remorse. "I was trying to bake a cake and—well—things got a bit…out of hand…”

the pair exchanged glances, then moved swiftly, their practiced efficiency a stark contrast to the mess you had inadvertently created. they quickly ventilated the room, opening windows and turning on fans to dispel the lingering smoke. as they moved, they checked for any remaining embers or hotspots, ensuring that the fire was completely out and that there was no risk of it reigniting.

as the firefighters continued their work, you couldnt help but stare. their tall, bulked figures were much larger compared to your own. the way you could hear their subtle grunts as they finished up their job…

lets just say, your mind definitely started to wander elsewhere..

ryōmen kneeled down and inspected the oven, his brow furrowing deeper. "looks like yer’ cake batter overflowed and caught fire," he remarked, his voice tinged with frustration. "next time, keep an eye on the oven temperature."

yet of course, you werent paying him any attention listening, too deep in the wet daydream that was playing idly in your mind. the pink-haired officer stood up and cleared his throat, “miss?”

you jumped, his voice snapping you out of the “daydream” you were having. you nodded vigorously, feeling the heat of embarrassment flush your cheeks. "i will—i promise. thank you both so much for coming so quickly."

you hurried to your cupboard to get them some water. rummaging through your cabinets, you managed to find a couple of clean glasses, and filled them with cool water from the tap. when you returned, they were just finishing up, their equipment neatly packed away.

"here," you said, offering the glasses. "please, have some water. it's the least i can do."

fushigurō took a glass with a nod of thanks, while his partner accepted the other with a grin. "thanks," he said, "surprised ya’ didnt burn the water this time…”

you couldn't help but chuckle softly, the tension of the situation easing slightly with the joke. "i try my best," you replied, a small smile playing on your lips. "but m’ really sorry for the trouble. is there any way i can make it up to you both?"you offered, hoping to ease the tension in the room and show your gratitude for their prompt response.

ryōmen glanced at his partner before responding, his expression twisting mischievously.

he placed his glass down as he leaned back on the kitchen table, his tall figure towering over you darkly.

“you said you’re really sorry, hm?” he spoke lowly, his crimson eyes now lowering, gazing onto you.

you nodded eagerly, unsure of what he was implying. “um, well— yes of course-“

the officers lust-laced voice spoke words you doubted you would ever hear…

"then prove it."

so here you were— half-naked in your living room, in a standing full nelson position, sandwiched between the two men that were once standing in your kitchen—now both pounding you silly.

your helpless mewls mixing with the lewd squelches your cunt made filled the empty silence in the room. fushigurō’s long, thickness was so prominent as it kneaded itself against your g-spot, making you fall into a cock-drunk daze.

"that feel good, huh'?", toji muttered, gazing lasciviously into your eyes while supporting your legs high. it was so intimate— but so naughty too, the way he was so filthy..

you nodded in reply, clearly too overstimulated to speak properly. luckily, sukuna was quick to amend your actions—sending a swift, sharp, strike against your ass.

"didn't he ask you a question? say it properly, slut, don't make us waste our breath like you did our time now," he snarled behind you. his strokes were so rugged and mean, much meaner than tojis (which was unsurprisingly fitting for the man), making you whimper breathlessly from the pleasure.

"f-feels s'good tojiiiii—“ you whined out the name in reply, hiccuping. it was true, the way they both grinded against each other, inside of you, leaving you trembling, aching with pleasure. this position requiring them hit harder, deeper, inside of your soaked, throbbing slit— it was too much.

"good fuckin' girl, look at ya'— squeezin' us so tight. yer takin' us so well," fushiguro commented, leaning in for a kiss. his scarred lips passionately met your own, letting out a soft, suppressed groan. he went deeper into the kiss, his tongue dominating your mouth.

his hands gripped your hips tightly, pulling you closer to him as he continued thrusting into you from the front. meanwhile, his counterpart pounded away at your stuffed cunt relentlessly; each stroke sending shockwaves of pleasure through every nerve ending in both your bodies.

you found yourself lost in this sensual haze of double penetration bliss— moaning uncontrollably into toji’s mouth while feeling your hole being stretched to its limits by these two. your entire world consisted of nothing but the rhythmic movement between your legs and the taste of salty sweat on fushigurō's lips as ryōmen whispered dirty nothings into your ear that only fueled your desire even more.

sukuna’s hands gripped tightly onto your hips as he pounded into you harder than before, his breathing becoming ragged in your ear with each passing second. toji followed suit by grabbing one of your legs and lifting it up high enough for him to hit a new angle inside of you— sending shockwaves of pleasure throughout every inch of your being.

“filthy whore— paying your debt with—ngh.. dick,” sukuna began, still thrusting into you, but at a much irregular pace now. “who knew such a seemingly innocent thing like you could be so dirty.. starin’ us, shit, up and down like slabs of meat..”

as the intensity of their movements increased, so did the intoxicating pleasure coursing through your body. you felt like you were on the brink of orgasm yourself— and apparently so did ryōmen and fushigurō. both men let out loud grunts, no longer holding back, and began to thrust deeper. it was painfully clear that they were close to reaching their climaxes.

“damn, m’so fuckin’ close— ya gonna let us cum inside? knock up this— fuck, tight ass cunt of yers’?” toji grunted.

"please," you begged between gasps for air, "cum inside me...need it..so badly.” your voice was hoarse from the countless moans and whines that ehshshsh. your whiny, raspy pleas and helpless cries were enough to send both men over the edge. so, with one final push from fushigurō and a deep moan from ryōmen, both men came inside of you simultaneously - painting every crevice with their warming, sticky ropes of essence.

as they both released inside of you, your body was hit with an overwhelming wave of pleasure unlike anything you had ever experienced. your cunt clenched tightly around their cocks as they emptied themselves into you, milking every last drop from their swollen, pulsating shafts.

your eyes rolled back into your head— a mixture of pain and ecstasy that left you breathless moments afterward. tears streamed down your face from the sheer intensity of the orgasm that coursed through every inch of your limp body.

the room was silent for a moment as the three of you caught your breath. you could feel their cum slowly dripping out of you as the two men pulled out, leaving behind a sticky mess beneath them.

looking up, toji’s lust-filled stare met your own, a small scar-ridden smirk decorating his face. “that was fuckin’ incredible, god,” he said before ryōmen spoke teasingly behind you..

“but you know, theres better ways to get fucked then damn near burning your house down..”

[crookedteethed]

ᡣ𐭩 Period Sex . • ° 　 .　 *　: r. cameron

synopsis -- what the title suggests.

warnings -- 18+-mdni, smut (unprotected piv), period sex, fluff, yuh

main masterlist(s) | taglist | wc: 1.1k

"Rafe, wait," you say reluctantly, pushing your boyfriend's eager hands away despite your body's protest. Your stomach flutters with desire, but those warnings from your friends echo in your mind.

"Come here, baby," he murmurs against your skin, his lips trailing down your neck in that way that makes you shiver. His touch is gentle but persuasive. You bite your lip, torn between want and worry.

"But... isn't it bad to do it during...you know?" you stammer, thinking of all those posts you've read online. "I mean, everyone says you're not supposed to..."

Rafe gives a soft laugh, propping himself up on one elbow, his eyes warm with desire. "Don't worry about what everyone else says. I just want you." His fingers trace light patterns on your arm. "Whatever you're comfortable with."

Your body tingles with need as his words sink in, and you realize maybe those rumors were just that - rumors. His confidence is reassuring, easing your hesitation.

You take a deep breath, your cheeks flushing. "Okay... but we need towels first." Your voice comes out barely above a whisper. "And promise you won't make fun of me if it gets messy?"

Rafe's expression softens, and he presses a gentle kiss to your forehead. "Hey, look at me." He tilts your chin up until your eyes meet his. "I'd never make fun of you. Not about this, not about anything."

"Dark towels," you insist, trying to sound firm despite your nervousness. "And maybe... um... more than one?"

"Already on it," he says, slipping off the bed. You watch him disappear into the bathroom, returning moments later with an armful of navy towels. There's something sweetly serious about how carefully he arranges them, making sure everything's perfect for you. It makes your heart flutter in a different way than before.

"Better?" he asks, and you nod, pulling him close again. Your earlier hesitation melts away under his careful attention, replaced by a growing certainty that this is exactly what you want.

Rafe's touch is insistent, his lips whispering against your skin, "We'll be careful, baby. It'll feel so good. You know you want to."

You know you shouldn't, but his words ignite a fire in your belly, and you find yourself nodding, a silent consent. Rafe's eyes darken with desire as he pulls you closer. His hands explore your body with a mix of urgency and adoration. You surrender to the sensations, your worries melting away.

His touch is gentle yet demanding, leaving trails of fire wherever he roams. You feel a deep, primal connection as he worships your body, his breath hot against your skin.

The warnings of your friends seem distant now, drowned out by the pulse of pleasure that consumes you.

Rafe's every touch, kiss, and murmur draws you deeper into a world of exquisite sensation, where the only reality is the heat building between you.

"You're so beautiful," he murmurs against your skin. His hands slide down your sides, fingers hooking into the elastic of your underwear. You tense slightly, remembering.

"Wait," you whisper, face burning. "I need to... um..." You gesture vaguely downward, embarrassed.

"Let me," he says softly, understanding in his eyes. You close your eyes, mortified, as he gently removes your tampon and wraps it discretely in tissue. When you peek at him, his expression hasn't changed - still just love and desire.

"See? Nothing to worry about," he reassures you, kissing your inner thigh. His fingers dance lower, teasing and exploring. You gasp as he finds sensitive spots, giving your clit a few flicks; your body responds eagerly despite your lingering self-consciousness.

Rafe enters you slowly, carefully, allowing you time to adjust. The feeling is intense - a delicious fullness mingled with a twinge of discomfort that quickly fades. You breathe deeply, relaxing into the sensation as Rafe begins to move, the extra slickness making everything feel even more intense.

His thrusts are measured at first, building a steady rhythm. The heat between you intensifies every movement. You wrap your legs around him, pulling him deeper. A low groan escapes Rafe's throat as he increases his pace.

You can't help but notice the softness of skin against skin, the smoothness of sweat-slicked bodies gliding against each other, the grasp of fingers digging into flesh.

Everything feels heightened, more intense than usual - your body extra responsive to every touch, every movement.

Your fingers dig into Rafe's shoulders as he drives deeper, hitting just the right spot with each thrust.

A moan escapes your lips, overwhelmed by how sensitive you are. "There?" he asks breathlessly. You nod frantically, beyond words. He focuses his attention there, driving you wild. The pressure builds exquisitely as he works you closer to the edge.

"God, you're amazing," he breathes against your ear, his voice thick with desire. "Thank you for trusting me like this, baby." His words send shivers down your spine as he continues his steady rhythm. "You feel so good, so perfect."

Your inhibitions long gone in the heat of your shared passion, Rafe captures your mouth in a searing kiss, swallowing your cries of pleasure.

The slick warmth between you—your blood and arousal—intensifies every sensation. You arch your back, meeting Rafe's increasingly urgent movements, amazed at how every touch seems to set your nerve endings on fire. His hand slides between your bodies, fingers circling your most sensitive area with practiced skill. Sparks of pleasure radiate through you, building toward an exquisite crescendo.

"That's it," he encourages between ragged breaths, his movements growing more intense. "Let go for me, beautiful. I've got you."

The pulsing inside you triggers your own release. You cry out, trembling and clinging to Rafe as wave after wave of pleasure washes over you, each crest higher than the last.

Rafe's breathing grows ragged, his rhythm faltering as he nears his peak. With a few final, deep thrusts, he tumbles over the edge, groaning your name.

Afterward, he holds you close, pressing gentle kisses to your temple as your breathing slowly returns to normal.

Without a word, he gets up and returns with a warm washcloth and a tampon. He tenderly cleans you both and, with surprising gentleness, helps insert the new tampon for you—an intimate act that makes your heart swell with affection for his thoughtfulness.

"You good?" he asks softly, disposing of everything before sliding back into bed. You nod, feeling overwhelmed by how carefully he's taken care of you. He pulls you against his chest, nuzzling into your hair.

"See?" he murmurs. "Nothing to be nervous about." You smile, feeling completely at peace in his arms, grateful for his patience and understanding. As you drift off to sleep, you wonder why you ever worried in the first place.

[urno1luv]

Can you please make the puppy gf yunjin into a full fic/imagine including the things you already said in the short you posted? 🙏🙏🙏

encountering a clingy puppy hybrid called yunjin and falling in love with her, despite her weird and often creepy antics -◇

tags: clingy yunjin, breaking in, she's lowkey a creep (but not a perverted one), obsessive?, desperate sex (gp and non gp versions)

The first time Yunjin noticed you, her world tilted. Her floppy ears perked up, her pupils dilated, and her tail wagged in excitement. Something about you—the way you smiled shyly at your friend, the way your voice carried across the room—made her chest ache in ways she didn’t understand. It wasn’t love at first sight. It was more than that.

From then on, Yunjin became a shadow in your life, always lingering just a step behind, like a lost puppy. At first, you thought it was sweet. She’d always find you during breaks, showing up with your favorite snacks or insisting on walking you to your next class, her arm in yours. Her presence was magnetic—warm, comforting. You didn’t notice how tightly her fingers gripped your arm when she pulled you closer, or how her smile faded the moment someone else tried to talk to you.

But then, the texts started.

“Where are you?”

“Who are you with?”

“Why didn’t you tell me you were leaving?”

You’d barely reply before your phone buzzed again, another question, another demand. The messages came at all hours, and when you didn’t respond, she’d call—her voice breathless, almost panicked.

“I was worried,” she’d say, her tone dripping with sweetness, though there was an edge to her words that made you uneasy.

One evening, as you were heading home, you spotted Yunjin waiting outside your door. She wasn’t supposed to know where you lived...😰

“Yunjin?” you asked, trying to mask the surprise in your voice. “What are you doing here?”

She smiled, holding up a bag, her canines shining through her genuine smile. “You mentioned you weren’t feeling well, so I brought you soup. I just wanted to take care of you.”

It was a thoughtful gesture, but the way her warm eyes bore into yours made your skin prickle.

“Thanks, but… how did you know where I live?”

Her smile widened. “Oh, I asked around. It wasn’t hard.”

You didn’t have the heart to turn away such a sweet girl, but as she followed you inside, something about her presence felt suffocating. She hovered too close, her eyes flicking to every detail in your home as if she were memorizing it. You noticed how she made sure to rub her cheek on your neck... was she scenting you?

That night, after she left, you found a strand of her hair on your pillow.

Days turned into weeks, and Yunjin’s behavior grew more intense. She started showing up unannounced more often, always with an excuse—she’d forgotten something at your place, or she just wanted to see you. She knew your schedule better than you did, waiting for you after classes, walking you home, always there, always watching. Her yearning gaze would follow you in a way that made your stomach twist.

When you tried to set boundaries, Yunjin brushed them off with a laugh, acting as if you were joking.

“You can’t get rid of me that easily,” she teased, but her tone was laced with something darker. To make a point, she suddenly bit your wrist, hard enough to leave a mark, giggling at your yelping.

One day, you decided to take a different route home, hoping for a moment of peace. But as you turned the corner, you found her waiting at the end of the street, her smile too perfect, too knowing.

“You didn’t think I’d lose track of you, did you?” she asked, tilting her head. Her voice was light, but her eyes burned with something that made your heart race.

You tried to brush it off, but Yunjin’s presence only became more suffocating. She started leaving notes in your bag, little love letters written in her elegant handwriting.

“You’re mine,” one read.

“We belong together,” said another.

---◇

The final straw came when you woke up one night to find her sitting on the edge of your bed.

“Yunjin?!” you gasped, scrambling back against the headboard.

She tilted her head, in pure puppy fashion, her expression unnerving you. “You left your window unlocked,” she said, as if that explained everything. “I got worried when you didn’t text me back. I couldn’t sleep not knowing if you were okay.”

Her fevour and devotion for you sent a chill down your spine. You tried to steady your voice. “Yunjin, this… this isn’t normal. You can’t just come into my house like this.”

Her smile faltered, and for a moment, something flickered in her eyes—hurt, anger, desperation.

“I’m doing this because I love you,” she said softly, her voice trembling. “Don’t you see? You’re my everything. I can’t… I can’t lose you.”

You didn’t know what to say, your mind racing as you tried to figure out how to get her to leave. But before you could speak, she leaned closer, her hands softly holding your face, her warm hands and heavy breathing soothing your panic slightly.

“You don’t have to be scared,” she whispered. “I’ll always take care of you. Always.”

Her words sounded more like a promise than reassurance, and as she stood to leave, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this was far from over.

The door clicked shut behind her, but her presence lingered—an invisible weight pressing down on you. You stared at the window she’d used to sneak in, your heart pounding as you realized she would never let you go.

when you fall in love ---◇

- despite her overwhelming presence, Yunjin’s softer moments make your heart flutter. the way she looks at you, like you’re her entire world, becomes addictive.

- her obsessive attention to detail feels flattering at times—she remembers everything about you, from your favorite coffee order to the way you like your books organized.

- when she clings to your arm or rests her head on your shoulder, you feel a strange sense of comfort, like you’re her safe place.

- her determination to always take care of you becomes endearing, especially when she shows up with things you didn’t realize you needed, like an umbrella on a rainy day or soup when you’re sick.

- you catch yourself smiling when she texts you goodnight every single night without fail, her messages filled with warmth and affection.

- the intensity in her gaze when she talks to you makes your stomach flip—it’s like she’s silently telling you how much you mean to her.

- over time, her possessiveness starts to feel less threatening and more like she’s terrified of losing you, which makes you want to protect her in return.

- her vulnerability during emotional moments tugs at your heart; the way her voice shakes when she says, “I can’t lose you,” makes you realize how much she needs you.

- the little notes she leaves for you, filled with sweet words and doodles, make your chest feel warm. you keep them tucked away, unable to throw them out.

- one day, when she shyly confesses how deeply she feels for you, her honesty is so raw and sincere that you can’t help but fall for her too. And now you're girlfriends let's gooo🗣‼️

how sex with yunjin is like (non gp version) -◇

- she NEEDS close contact,so she makes sure to have you extremely close when fucking. any position where she doesn't see your face? she's NOT doing it, always whining and grumbling in your ear when she fucks you with her favourite navy blue strap from behind, but you suggested doing it in front of a mirror, and that was the best day of her life. the mascara running down your face, drool running down your chin, and it turns out it's not so bad!!! bc she can lean down and mark your back whenever she wants!! your sessions always end in you flinching in pain when you feel her bite marks, but yunjin won't let you sit in pain for too long!! no no!! she has the BEST aftercare in the world🤞🤞

- praises you ALL the time. she hates degrading you, doesn't like the idea of even disrespecting you, even if you want it😭she definitely says stuff along the lines of:

"C'mon baby, just one more, give me one more doll, i know you can. I know you can do it for me."

"You're so pretty underneath me like this, d'ya know that?"

"Ugh, you feel so fucking good, you're so fucking wet for me, you like that, y/nnie?"

- certified service dom, and ur her lucky pillow princess

- she will scream and throw a tantrum if she doesn't get to taste you on her tongue for at least 2 hours a day. yunjinnie begs all day for you, following you around your house. even at college she would ask to have you. "please, pleaseeee? you're not being a good girlfriend right now."

- when she doesn't get what she wants she wants talk to you at all, until you give it to her. and so you reluctantly do, and that was a mistake. she doesn't let you go until she's positive that you can't walk or talk and your brain scrambled. when there's saliva everywhere, and your clit is sore and an angry shade of red, the 9th orgasm gushing out of your pussy, and your body limp?? she's accomplished her life's purpose.

(gp version) -◇

- desperate as fuck. her breeding kink is absolutely uncontrollable. she would bend you over the kitchen counter, smacking your ass while pulling your panties off (you dont bother wearing clothes around her because shes going to rip them off anyway). she'd push her dick into your pussy, and when she feels you clench around her tip, she already feels like she's in heaven. she wpuld pump her hot, thick cum into you until youre gripping the edge of the counter, panting heavily.

- marking you everywhere. your neck, your waist, your belly, your shoulders, your wrist, your thighs, your pu-

- she lives for the sound you make when you gag on her fat cock... quickly thrusting deep, so that your nose is pressed against her tummy, and her heavy balls slap against your chin as she repeatedly fucks your face without warning

- like the non gp version, she prefers to see your face, and positions like mating press are the best in her opinion!! that's where her cock hits the deepest, and filling your pussy up with her semen is the only thought in her mind rn🤞🤞

[lazysoulwriter]

Between the Lenses and the Track -Charles Leclerc.

hes so....

The first time you met Charles Leclerc, it wasn’t exactly glamorous. You were adjusting your camera settings in the Ferrari garage, focused on the telemetry screens reflecting off your lens, when a hand suddenly appeared in your frame, waving dramatically. You lowered your camera just in time to see Charles grinning at you.

“Got the shot?” he asked, playful as ever.

“Ruined it, actually,” you deadpanned, tilting your head. “You owe me a better one.”

From that day on, Charles made it his mission to provide you with ‘better’ shots—though most of them consisted of him making faces, posing ridiculously, or sending you exaggerated winks through your lens. It became a running joke between you two, a small part of your routine in the fast-paced world of Formula 1.

But somewhere along the way, your dynamic began to make headlines.

'Charles Leclerc’s Mystery Woman—Just a Photographer or Something More?’

'Flirty Glances in the Paddock—What’s Going On Between Ferrari’s Golden Boy and F1’s Shutter Queen?’

It was ridiculous. You were just friends, but neither of you ever bothered correcting the assumptions. If anything, Charles found it hilarious.

“Should we address the rumors?” you asked once, scrolling through yet another speculative article.

“I think we should fuel them,” he smirked. “Keep them on their toes.”

So, the flirting turned into an unspoken game. Post-race interviews? Charles would sneak in a comment about how he only pushes for pole position because he knows you get the best shots from there. Press conferences? If you were nearby, he’d find a way to mention your name. Once, he even called you his ‘good luck charm’ on live television, winking directly at your camera.

The fans ate it up.

It was harmless, right?

Until it wasn’t.

—

It happened in the backstage area of a Grand Prix weekend. The session had ended, and most of the paddock was clearing out. You were sorting through the hundreds of pictures on your camera when you heard footsteps approaching.

“Busy as always,” Charles teased, leaning against the table beside you.

“Unlike some people, I actually work,” you quipped without looking up.

“Ouch,” he placed a hand over his chest, mock-offended. “And here I was about to invite you to dinner as a thank-you for all the flattering angles.”

You rolled your eyes but smiled. “Flattering? You make my job harder with all those stupid faces.”

“I give you personality,” he defended.

You turned to him, shaking your head with amusement. It was always like this—effortless teasing, easy chemistry. But then his gaze lingered just a little too long, his smirk fading into something softer, something more intent.

Your breath caught.

It was just Charles. Your Charles. The same guy who made dumb jokes and dramatically posed every time he saw your camera pointed his way. But suddenly, standing here in the quiet, the air between you had shifted. It felt heavier. Loaded.

His fingers brushed against yours, barely a touch, but enough to make your skin burn.

“Careful,” you murmured, trying to keep the teasing tone, but your voice came out weaker than intended. “The media’s watching even when they’re not.”

He chuckled, low and knowing. “Let them watch.”

And then he kissed you.

It wasn’t playful, wasn’t a joke or another inside reference to keep up the act. It was slow, deliberate, like he was waiting for you to pull away. But you didn’t.

You let yourself melt into it, into the warmth of his lips, the way his hand came up to cup the side of your face like he’d wanted to do it for longer than he’d ever admit.

When you finally pulled back, your heart was hammering. Charles, however, just grinned.

“So,” he said, voice still low. “Should we fuel the rumors some more?”

You laughed, breathless. “I think we just did.”

[gotta-winwin]

watching him fade away | yjh

⭐ starring: jeonghan

💌 genre: angst, a sprinkle of fluff

💬 preview: It’s been 497 days since Jeonghan had awoken, only to realize he was completely alone.

tw/cw: post apocalyptic, conscious AI!jeonghan, abstract character death, fluff, angst, wounds, based on the song: watching him fade away by mac deMarco

🪽fic rating: pg 🪽word count: 1.8k

☁️ masterlist & a/n: writing this has been quite the journey- and there is no better time to drop this than for the angst olympics! i gift this to @diamonddaze01 as a tentative (+loving) beginning to what i'm sure will be many angst fics to come. don't sue me for emotional damage xoxo

this is a part of the angst olympics -- support other authors here!

SYSTEMS LOADING ….

“How might you need my assistance?” His perfectly crafted eyes blinked open. “My name is J-E-O-N-G-H-A-N, your personal robot for everyday needs!” 

The bird blinked back at him, ruffling its feathers and slowly waddling away.

“Do you need assistance?” 

Silence. 

Jeonghan didn’t really know what to make of it. Had someone purchased him from his creators? Where were they? Why was he sitting, legs spread and back leaning against the wall, in the middle of a giant warehouse? 

“No assistance then.” The monotonous whirr of his system began clicking as he shut himself off once again. 

SYSTEMS REBOOTING …. 

It took Jeonghan approximately 4 days, 6 hours and 47 minutes to realize no one was coming for him. 

Taking his first steps outside, he allowed his scanning mechanisms to take in his surroundings: the splintering hole in the roof, the overgrown walls, the barren landscape. It took him another 6 minutes to realize he was utterly alone. 

And what was an assistant robot supposed to do with no one to assist? The question burned in his mind as his programming worked to figure it out. Who was he supposed to help? 

Cheep. 

Jeonghan looked down. A spotted brown bird had bumped into his foot, its beak lightly chipping away at the metal. He bent down to scoop it up, scanning its features. 

“Baby Wood Thrush.” He identified. “Do you need assistance?” 

And so it began, the unlikely bond between robot and nature. Jeonghan found his purpose in assisting the only living things around him, building shelter for the antelope, finding fresh water for the birds, fixing the warehouse roof for the owls to nest in. 

But Jeonghan quickly learned that the animals couldn’t speak, not in any language his programming could understand. It made Jeonghan feel incredibly lonely. 

SYSTEMS ON ….

Jeonghan had discovered his great affinity for the ocean in his second week as a newly repurposed robot. He couldn’t get too close – the first time he had run in head first, damaging his systems and taking days to repair – but he could sit by the many rocks along the shoreline, moving the crabs and turtles away from the tide. 

It made his chest ache as he trained his eyes on the horizon, wondering if there were people to help on the other side of the water. But maybe he was truly the only thing left of mankind, Jeonghan didn’t know. 

But he did know he was different now. Water had fallen from his eye sockets last night, when he had turned on to find that a windstorm from last night had knocked over the bird nests, taking with it countless eggs he had been nursing. He couldn’t understand how it had happened, but it had. Jeonghan felt weirdly alive. 

The multiple gadgets and cords that made up his physical state felt more like organs and veins, pumping blood through the vessel the creators had called JEONGHAN. Your friendly assistant robot for your everyday needs. But he was much more than that now. 

SYSTEMS IN CHAOS ….

A girl. 

Jeonghan’s mind short circuited as he walked back into the warehouse, arms ladened with fresh fruit and variously shaped sticks. 

“Who-” 

The girl turned to face him, and Jeonghan’s true purpose had never seemed so clear to him as it did now. He was meant to assist her. 

“Do you need assistance?” He asked like he was programmed to, his keen eyes scanning her body for injury. “You’re hungry.” He commented, spilling his armful of things onto the table and picking out the ripest apple, handing it to her. “Eat.”

She looked at him warily. 

“My name is J-E-O-N-G-H-A-N, your personal robot for everyday needs.” 

She took the apple. 

“My name is Y/N.” She introduced herself, and Jeonghan slotted her name into his database. “Have you seen other people pass through here?”

Jeonghan shook his head, instinctively passing her a second apple once she had finished the first. “It’s been 497 days since I became conscious. You’re the first human to pass through.” 

Her lips parted. “497 days.” She repeated. “It feels like it’s been decades.” 

Jeonghan opened his mouth to reply and promptly closed it. He had a million questions to ask her but he knew none of it was his place. It wasn’t his job to question — his job was to assist, to accompany, to take care of his employer. 

“You’re hurt.” He observed once more, noticing the large gash on her right leg. “Let me help you.”

Maybe it was the calming nature of his voice or his pretty face, but she sat down without protest and extended her leg towards him. 

His heart (or lack of one) warmed at the sudden show of trust — that despite the broken world they had found themselves in, there were still pockets of humanity waiting to be found. 

SYSTEMS UP ….

In the next couple days, Jeonghan learned what the word banter truly meant. 

The girl was fast with her wit, cheeky with her words and unforgiving with his heart. He was sure he had a heart now, for it beat thunderously and quickly for her. 

Love was the one thing never programmed into him but he sure knew it now.

“Careful.” He reached a hand out instinctively to steady her, holding her as she regained her balance. “The sunset isn’t going anywhere.” 

He followed behind her as they jumped across the lake, using the rocks as a step bridge. 

“Quickly, Hannie.” She called, waving at him to quicken his pace. “I want to catch it when it’s still pink and purple.” 

“Sunset is 9:00pm tonight.” He informed her, collecting the information from his database. “We have 8 minutes.” 

“Still.” Her smile lit up their surroundings better than any ball of fire could. 

Fuck the sun, he found himself thinking. She was the brightest thing in this barren land and he felt honored to bask in her rays of light. 

“Hannie, look.” She pointed a finger up at the sky once they reached the cliffside. “It’s beautiful.” 

Beautiful. Jeonghan hummed in agreement, silently scrolling through his system’s database to log in a new definition. 

Note: beautiful directly translates to love, the look on a person’s face during the last legs of daylight. Her hair, blowing gently in the wind. 

“How did you end up here?” She asked him, reaching out her hands to intertwine her fingers with his. 

His lips curved into a smile, a natural reaction he couldn’t suppress each time she looked at him with her brightly lit eyes. His nonexistent heart beat - badum, badum, badum - in tandem with the swings of their connected arms. 

Love was a defect, a sickness for a robot, but with her Jeonghan didn’t mind. He would override his code in order to love her as many times as he needed to.

SYSTEMS DOWN…

He could hear the sound of his depleting battery beeping over the gentle rise and fall of her breath. 

Beep. Beep. Beebeebee- 

He flips the warning sign off with a reluctant hand. Oh, how he longed to trade in his expensive metal wares for real flesh and blood. His superpowered technology was utterly useless when it came to obtaining the one thing Jeonghan found himself truly wanting – time. Time with her, with the sky, with the world he had found himself falling in love with. Falling in love with her. 

“Do you love me?” She had asked him one night, as he held her in the rocking chair he had made out of a wilted tree. 

“Of course.” He had replied, because the answer was as clear to him as a math question was. 

“But you’re a robot.” She moved slightly away from him to cup her hands around his face. “A very real looking, very handsome robot, but a robot all the same.” A gentle knock against his chest showed that it was hollow. Empty. Void of anything that could ever produce love. 

Jeonghan knew it didn’t make sense. “I don’t need a heart to know I love you.” He whispered, pressing her hand against his chest, on the area where his heart would’ve been if he were real. “I love you with my whole being, my whole existence. Not just my heart.” 

She smiled, and Jeonghan silently thanked the universe for destroying humanity because it allowed him to meet her. 

SYSTEMS STALLING…

“I’ll go out once the sun rises.” She was lacing up her boot, a defiant look on her face. “I’ll find a battery, a charging port– something. We’ve still got time.”

Jeonghan could only weakly nod from his spot on the wooden chair, his powerless legs limp and useless. 

He could feel himself rotting from within, his nonexistent lungs rattling with each airless breath he took. 

“My love.” He whispered, and she turned back around to face him, halfway out of the garage door. 

“Don’t worry, Hannie.” A brave smile formed across her face, and god, did he love her for that. “I’ll find a way to keep you here with me.”

He nodded and watched her leave. 

Yet Jeonghan could feel it in his systems, the way parts of him were slowly shutting down as all the energy went to conserve his database. His brain. Everything that made him him. 

He was rotting. 

He was fading away.

SYSTEMS FAILING…

Jeonghan knew that the end was near. Sitting propped up against the brick wall of the warehouse, he clutched her hand in his limp ones, eyes roaming her face, lips parted in an attempt to comfort her. 

He was weakening and both of them knew it. 

“We can find the battery you need.” She brought up the idea again, something he had already told her was impossible. “You can’t leave me.” 

He wanted to tell her he didn’t want to leave her. Not like this. Not ever. He had a hundred thousand things to tell her. 

Yet Jeonghan couldn’t speak. 

“You can’t leave me.” She repeated, her eyes plainly showing the hurt she felt at his silence. “You can’t.” Tears tracked down her pretty face. 

Jeonghan closed his eyes. 

“No.” She protested, a warm hand reaching up to touch his cold cheek. “Open your eyes. Look at me.”

Jeonghan kept his eyes shut. 

“Look at me, goddamnit!” She yelled, shaking him. Her voice raised and broke. “Jeonghan, please.” 

He couldn’t. Jeonghan didn’t know when he had learned the art of selfishness, but somewhere along the way of loving her, he had become entirely selfish. He couldn’t bear the idea of her crying face being the last thing his database would ever recall seeing. 

God, he was selfish. For he wanted the happy version of her all to himself. 

“Please.” She begged again, her voice weaker this time around. “Look at me. Don’t leave me.”

His lips parted silently, releasing a breath that wasn’t his to breathe. 

“Please.” 

Beep. Beep. Bee-

. . .

SYSTEMS REBOOTING…

“How might you need my assistance?” His perfectly crafted eyes blinked open. “My name is J-E-O-N-G-H-A-N, your personal robot for everyday needs!” 

“Jeonghan?”

A girl stepped into his line of vision, her eyes rubbed raw from crying. 

“Do you need assistance?” 

Silence. 

“Jeonghan? It’s me.” The girl’s voice broke, and he couldn’t figure out why. 

“I’m sorry,” He stood up, scanning her face and entering her into his database. “What is your name?”

[lotties-ashwagandha]

SPELLBOUND

agatha harkness x fem!reader, referenced agatha x rio and reader x rio

NSFW! after meeting at a bar, you and agatha unwittingly use one other to get over the same woman. part 1/2. post spell thingy agatha idk. side note flirty anything is so hard the autism really kicked in im sorry!!! 1.7k words.

You take a seat at the bar. You squint against the harshness of the white lights behind the shelved alcohol in the back and the stool you’ve taken is too hard and too tall, but anything is better than going back to an empty house.

It wasn’t that you had been living together — Death doesn’t sleep, and any nights you did spend at her side were restless. Yet you could always feel her lingering, omnipresent even in the most menial of tasks you attended to — in your garden in the fresh breath of an early morning, cooking dinner in the evening.

She would stop by more often than not. She would appear, out of thin air and to your utter bliss. Rio would stay by your side for hours if she pleased, minutes, days, whatever she had the time for. Commitment is a heavy chain to put on Death. You were always left wanting for more. It’s part of the reason you called things off between you, the sporadic nature of her visits and your attachment to them.

You take a breath. You try to ignore the continued glare of the lights and the creaking of the old wooden floor as someone else joins you at the bar a few seats away.

The bartender steals your attention. You order a drink, one of many to come, before sparing a glance at your new drinking companion. Irritation burns in your chest, you hadn’t come for company and when you had arrived at the bar it had been nearly empty.

As soon as you see her you wish to get up and leave. Agatha Harkness sits at the bar, patiently waiting for her own drink. She looks the same as always, since the last time you met her centuries ago — dark hair splayed down her back, her dark faded blue coat and dress pants. Yet she looks more pensive this time. She gazes around the bar in careful scrutiny, she does not seem like she is here simply for a drink. It is like she is trying to remember.

The bartender slides over your drink. You take a greedy sip, finding the bottom of the glass will solve every one of your problems.

When you turn again to survey Agatha, you’re startled to find her watching you. You avert your gaze, but she is not so courteous. You hear the scraping of the stool’s legs against the floor as she gets up from her seat to come stand at your side.

She looks down on you with steely eyes. You try to match her force in your own.

“We’ve met before,” she starts — though for all of her sureness, her tone rings with question. She shakes her head at her own disoriented state, regains her composure, and tests the words again. “We’ve met before, haven’t we?”

When you introduce yourself to her you are pleased to find that though you are well-versed in her history, she knows next to nothing of yours. She doesn’t recall you as a witch from her time or any other, it is refreshing to start off on a clean slate with someone of your same status — you barely ever get that opportunity. All witches are invariably connected.

Agatha sits down next to you and orders a drink of her own. Intently she studies you again. “What are you doing in a place like this?”

Your brows furrow at her wording. She speaks of you in such high regard, like it’s a crime to find you in a local bar.

You take a breath to speak and then release it — what are you to tell her? That of all the reasons one might find oneself at a bar in the afternoon, yours is a breakup with Death? It doesn’t suffice. You stay silent.

“Oh,” Agatha smiles, taunting your lack of explanation. “I see… Who is it?”

“Who is it?”

She shakes her head. “You’re not here drinking away a breakup?”

You try to redirect the conversation. “What are you doing here?”

She looks away and gives a moody, childish shrug. You can read it in her features, that same desperate misery that has possessed you all week. You don’t need to ask again to know she’s here for the same reasons you are.

“Your ex, what is she like?” You ask. “Or he… I didn’t mean to assume.”

“No,” Agatha shakes her head. She contemplates a response carefully, though when she speaks her tone is playful. “I hadn’t seen her in years, but she threatened me at knifepoint yesterday.”

You mirror her unseriousness. “Fun. Mine is the embodiment of Death.”

She smiles, but something of recognition flashes in her eyes and she tenses ever so slightly. The mannerisms are gone before you can read too much into them. Agatha takes a sip of her drink.

The conversation flows easily between you after that. You hadn’t been in the mood for anyone’s company, but it becomes easy to enjoy Agatha’s presence as the two of you find common ground in bashing your exes. The heady intoxication of the alcohol is well in your system by now too, and you can tell in her newfound nonchalance that it is affecting Agatha. You stay with her until the sun has set and your sorrow has dissipated and been replaced with her, the easy humor she uses on you and the charm that has landed her hand a place on your thigh. You want to be consumed by her, to forget.

You want to forget about Rio. You want it so dearly that you hardly think before kissing Agatha as she’s mid-sentence, you don’t care that you are in public kissing her desperately as the night drags on and more patrons come eagerly for drinks.

“Come home with me,” Agatha murmurs when you find it in yourself to pull away.

She pays for the cab that takes you home to her house, a quaint suburban home you would be more apt to examine if you weren’t pushed against the front door as soon as you shut it behind you. Your back presses into it painfully, yet you are apathetic to it – Agatha’s lips on yours, her tongue in your mouth when you moan against her, her hands sliding under the waistband of your pants grabbing greedily at any new skin she can get access to – you are blinded by her.

She touches you and for a fleeting moment her hands are Rio’s — rougher, more familiar, drawing out the familiar ache in you that diminishes any hope in this life that doesn’t revolve around her. She is in the air you gasp for with every shaking breath, in the soft trace of perfume lingering on her neck.

It’s Agatha’s bedroom you are pulled into though, and Agatha’s voice that commands you onto the bed. It’s Agatha’s hands that pull off your clothes, Agatha that straddles you — it is Agatha you pull down to kiss you, and you start to think it feels so good to have her above you because it’s not Rio. There is no room for heartbreak, no room for anything but the feeling of Agatha kissing down your body, nipping at the tender skin of your thighs.

She bites down hard, you suck in a breath and look down at her, watch as she soothes your new bite mark with her tongue. Her nails rake over your thighs impatiently, and when you meet her eyes you witness the pureness of her admiration as she looks up at you from between your legs. She doesn’t have to say it: you look beautiful like this, I wish I had met you sooner, I wish our exes knew we were fucking other women for the hell of it.

She does anyway. “Look at you,” she murmurs, her voice raw. One of her hands ghosts over your clit and with a sharp gasp you jolt in response. “I’ve wanted this since I saw you at the bar. Who would ever fucking leave you?”

The words weigh heavily on you, and Rio is forgotten. You want to live in the lightness of Agatha’s reverence, breathe it in and let it sustain you. You feel it in her urgency when her lips latch onto your clit. The still-potent alcohol running through your system heightens the sensation, and a needy whine escapes you with every deliberate, tantalizing lick she graces you with.

Your hand weaves into her hair, pulling softly in a plea for more. Every flick of her tongue is maddening, euphoria washing over you when without warning she slides two fingers into you, curling them in a way that has you seeing stars. Your grip on her tightens, back arching against the bed as you’re wracked with the intensity.

Her fingers pump deeper into you, and though it feels like she has barely touched you you can sense the edge of your orgasm nearing quickly. Agatha moans against your clit, looking up at you just as desperate for you to cum as you are.

“Look at me,” she separates from you to speak as quickly as she can before going back to you. “I want your eyes on me when you cum.”

You meet her gaze, and with another pump of her fingers you’re gone — release crashes over you, your body is trembling beneath her as she works you through it, drawing every bit of pleasure she can from you until you are a gasping mess. You sink further into the mattress, your body is heavy and tired and free.

Agatha climbs back up your body to kiss you. You don’t know who she’s picturing when she does, but the vision of Rio on top of you still plagues you and you still suspect the only way to rid yourself of it is in the arms of another.

HI EVERYONE thank you for reading, im sorry for disappearing from full fic writing for a little bit but i have been so busy working on writing other projects and life in general has been crazy. thank you for supporting and if you wanna be extra super cool here’s my kofi link buy me a coffee and consider yourself my biggest lover im kissing you right smack on the lips!!! love, stevie.

[yougavemeyourheartyouknow]

Taking what’s not yours (Miguel O’Hara x fem! Reader (slight Harry Osborn x reader) ex-Childhood best friend turned Fwb AU]) part 2

Hiiiiiii, this took longer then it should and it was gonna be waaay longer but I’ve decided to just make it 3 parts cuz I’m waaaaaay too impatient Lmaoo. Thank you once again to @chickenshit03 for helping me look over this 🫶🏼. Technically it is a miguel x reader, Harry x reader but, shhh it’s okay lol. Not proofread, enjoy!

Cursing, hurt/comfort/hurt (???), underage usage of weed (I DO NOT CONDONE THIS!!!), usage of alcohol, no smut but nsfw stuff is implied, Miguel going thru it lol

Word count: 3.1k

Part 1

Masterlist

—

“Have you congratulated her yet?”

Gabriel’s voice pulled his older brother’s attention away from the soccer game that was happening on his tv, looking over to find his brother engrossed in his phone rather than the game. He raised a brow up, waiting for him to continue, letting out an exasperated sigh when he didn’t.

“Who?” Miguel asked, bringing his beer bottle up to take a swig, turning back towards the tv so he didn’t get to catch his younger brother’s almost confused reaction.

“What do you mean who? (Y/N), Cabrón.” Gabriel’s tone was one of almost scolding, as if he was talking about someone who was family. As far as he was concerned, you were still considered as such. But when Miguel quirked up a confused brow it was becoming a bit clearer that you and his older brother weren’t as close as you once were. (Dumbass)

“(Y/N)? I don’t talk to her anymore, why would I congratulate her?” He sounded uninterested, bothered even, as if bringing you up was an inconvenience to himself. Still Gabriel pressed on.

“You really don’t know?”

“Does it look like I know?” Miguel shot back sarcastically, bringing his bottle back up to take another swig.

“She’s getting married.”

Miguel’s fist flew to his chest, hitting at it frantically as he brought down his half empty bottle as he attempted to clear his windpipe, eyes widen in shock, both from the news and the sudden feeling of the liquid going down the wrong pipe.

“She’s-shes what?” He was finally about to choke out between fading coughs, his eyes watering slightly as he recovers from the fit. Now it was his younger brother who raised a confused brow before it came back down and his face scrunched together in realization.

“No manches güey… You really didn’t know? I thought you two were best friends.” (Slang that basically means “You’re fucking with me dude.”)

“Key word: were.” Miguel grumbled through

grinding teeth, his tensing shoulders and blunt tone was enough of an indicator for Gabriel to drop the subject. Using the now empty bottle in Miguel’s hand as an excuse to step out of the room to grab another one from his kitchen.

Only when Miguel was alone, he sighs and takes his phone out from his jeans pocket and opens instagram, waiting impatiently as the app loads.

—

“I don’t know, I think I liked the other venue better. What do you think honey?”

Despite your feet standing in the second venue of the day, you couldn’t seem to get yourself to focus on the space in front of you. Fingers idly fidget with Harry’s from their place intertwined with his.

How were you going to tell this to Harry? Why did after so long, Miguel had the nerve to try weasel his way back into your life?

No matter how hard you try to blink the words away, it felt like they were burned into your eyelids. Like you had never left the fitting room of the dress store.

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“(Y/N)?”

“Hmm?” Harry’s voice pulled you back out from your own thoughts. Suddenly becoming too aware of your own anxious state, as he gave your hand a quick reassuring squeeze. Turning to the venue owner as he asked for a minute alone with his fiancé.

“What’s wrong babe.” He asked as soon as you were both alone, his hand traveling upwards to rest on your forearm, tilting his head slightly as he cooed at you. He always knew how to read you so well. Despite the question coming out more as a statement, it held no malice behind it. You let out a sigh.

“I… I’m not sure how to explain it.” You replied honestly, it’s not like you did anything wrong. You simply received a message from an estranged friend/fling, you haven’t even read the message yet. Still the thought of spilling out the words ‘You remember how I had told you I had a thing with an old childhood before we met? He saw that I’m engaged and now he’s trying to message me.’ didn’t seem to settle in your stomach quite right.

“You know you can tell me anything baby. Is it the wedding? I know the whole thing is stressful, maybe I shouldn’t have booked this tour right after your dress appointment-“ Oh Harry, your sweet sweet Harry. You quickly shook your head, your hand going up to rest on his chest to stop his rambling. He always did it when he was starting worrying about you, you couldn’t help but smile at his habit. You found it endearing.

“No, Harry. It’s not anything wedding related, not exactly-erm, nevermind, don’t worry about it right now.” You reassured him, his rambling dead down in his throat, replaced with the low vibration of a hum, as he brought your hand up to his cheek and pressed a light kiss against your palm. Your lips pulled upwards just a tad bit more at the gesture. “ I’ll tell you when we get back home.”

“Hmm, Promise?” He muttered against your palm, before placing another peck against it.

“I promise.” Your thumb stroked his cheek lightly.

“Good.” He sighed, dropping your hand back down from his face, but not letting go of it just yet. “Now, about the venue.” He changed subjects, raising a brow as he silently asked for your opinion. To which you scrunch your nose before replying.

“Oh I liked the last one way better.”

“Good, I did too.”

—

The alcohol still had a hold on Miguel as he continued through the rest of his nightly routine, trying not to trip over his own feet as he was trying to grab a shirt to sleep in. Only to trip over something else in the corner of his closet.

Cursing loudly as he caught his weight before he could fall face first into the closet wall. His search for a shirt was quickly forgotten as he stumbled back a bit to catch his barings. Anger flaring through his veins as he went to go pick up the box he tripped on, and toss across the room in a fleeting moment of letting his frustrations get the better of him. When he realized he was only making a bigger mess for hungover him to clean up, he groaned and rubbed his hands through his hair.

He was going to just leave it for the morning, let it be a tomorrow problem as he doom scrolled through old photos that should have been long deleted from his phone when he dropped you for Dana. A choice that was proven to be a mistake at the end of the day when she dumped him a few months later. But when he went to step over the mess to lay on his bed, when something caught itself in his peripheral vision. A black lighter, one that was bedazzled with a little star.

That’s weird, I don’t use lighters for anything. Miguel thought as he bent down to his knees to pick it up and examine it, it wasn’t until he turned it upside down to see a certain pair of initials carved into the bottom of it when it hit him.

—

“Hey Mig, guess what I bought off one of my friends from my chem class.” You grinned, pulling him into your room. You were both alone, since your mom was gone for a business trip for the weekend.

Miguel raised a brow looking around your room for anything out of the ordinary, finally shrugging when he didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. That’s when your smile widened, letting out a small squeal before pulling three things from your pocket.

Two joints and a black lighter.

“We did say if we tried it, it’d be together.” Your voice came out in a sing-songy tone, your silent way of asking him if he wanted to partake in the forbidden activity. He wasn’t big on the idea of smoking weed, but he did say if you ever wanted to try, he’d be there in case you freaked out.

Fuck it, your only a rebellious teenager once right?

You let another squeal when he grabbed one of the joints, before grabbing the lighter.

—

“I didn’t know I had this…” He muttered, words still slurring slightly as he closed his hand with the lighter still in it. As far as he was concerned, he had given it back before you two had left for college eleven years ago. The-as you liked to call it-“star girl” phase you had during junior year had made it so you put stars on whatever you could, including your lighter. It was your favorite shape at the time, he wonders if it still is.

He can’t remember at the time, because the hazy cloud that covers his brain and the way eleven years came make you forget small things but he had never given the shoebox to you before you had left, like he had meant to. So when he went to turn the box over and more papers and knickknacks fell out, he forgets all about going to bed.

Some of it was a bit more basic than others, a postcard and a small trinket from a vacation you had gone on, a silver spider necklace you had gifted him, some random book you had raved over and let him borrow to read, but he never finished it, movie theater tickets.

Then there were some that were a bit… harder to look at, stuff that he had suppressed deep into his memories.

Handwritten notes you had sent him when you went to summer camp every summer. One for every week for a month, from fourth grade till sophomore year. Rambling about how a guy wouldn’t stop bothering you and how you wish he was there to scare the guy off. Or the time you were doing archery during one afternoon during outside activities and had shot an apple to a tree from midair. Had even dedicated a whole two paragraphs to it.

Photo Booth pics of you both at the county fair, making silly faces at the camera with him arm over your shoulders. He had always hated taking pictures taken of himself, not because he didn’t like the way he looked, just because he didn’t think he needed to. He wasn’t one to look back and reminisce, he’d rather look forward and focus on his future. But you were a sucker for sentimental things, so he did it for you.

A bit ironic now, that the roles were reversed at the moment.

—

“Please Miguel, it takes like two seconds.” You begged, desperately trying to pull the larger teen towards the unoccupied Photo Booth, faint sounds of teens screaming on rides and music playing from the food stands in the background.

Miguel let his head roll back as he left out a grown, letting you pull him despite him easily being able to walk away.

“You have a million photos of us.”

“You’re so negative all the time. One day you're gonna look back and be thankful I forced you to take all these pictures.” You pouted as you pushed him into the booth, sitting down next to him as you put in a dollar in the machine. “I’ll buy you a funnel cake if you don’t look like you’re being held hostage.” You joked.

“Fine.”

—

A wristband to some random music festival you had convinced him to go with you to, not wanting to go alone. He at the time wouldn’t have admitted it, but he had a lot more fun than he led on. He never understood how you could deal with his pessimism all the time, waving it off as if it was nothing, you could see threw it he guessed.

—

“That was���incredible.” You sighed, plopping yourself down on your hotel bed on your side of the room once you two had arrived in the room, not even changing out of your festival outfit yet. Miguel followed you close behind, closing and locking the hotel room door as he shrugged.

“I guess it wasn’t horrible.” He muttered, taking off his dusty shoes. Not missing the way your lips tugged up in a tired smile.

“You had fun.” You stated, already knowing he would deny it. He scoffed.

“Well, I’m not sure about that.” There it was. You let out a small laugh as you sat up on the bed finally.

“Knew it.” You beamed.

—

Miguel felt pathetic at this point. Never had he been one to reminisce, never had he been one to show emotions. Now here he was, clinging to the last bits of you he still had.

The last thing he found was the last thing he could bare himself to look at, the memories that came with the item came flooding in just like the tears that he had suppressed for so long. Well, as long as it was from when his brother dropped the bomb on him.

A red rose boutonnière.

—

Senior prom, it was just around the corner. The dress shopping, riding a limo rental with a group of friends, slow dancing with a guy. You had been dreaming about it since you were a kid and saw it over and over again in movies and shows. You should have been excited about it, but you weren’t, in fact you were dreading it. Why? Because no one had asked you to be their date.

It was a bit of a ridiculous thing to be upset about, you knew that, but you couldn’t help it. Not when all of your other female friends got promposalled from their boyfriends or their crushes, you couldn’t help but feel a bit bitter about it.

The fact that you were there to witness Mj’s (your friend from English) get promposalled by her boyfriend Peter with a big teddy bear during lunchtime only rubbed salt in the wound. You were just glad that the school day was over now so you could go home and take a nap.

You did what you usually did after the last bell, walk to Miguel’s car. You could usually carpool since you lived next door to each other. Expecting him to already be waiting for you, what you didn’t expect though, was to be met with him holding a poster up. The words “be my date to prom?” written on it, with the letters of prom made up from elements. It looked simple, last minute, like he had drawn it during the last ten minutes of his final class. But it had brought you to tears no less.

“You didn’t have to.” The words came out in a mix between a sob and a laugh.

“I know, I wanted to. I couldn’t stand you being upset, I know how much this whole prom thing means to you.” His reply only made you let out another sob, quickly closing the gap between you both as you pulled him into a tight hug.

The time between then and prom was short-lived, almost like a blur as you both arrived at the school’s gymnasium. The rest of your friends had actual dates, so you weren’t surprised when they separated in their respective duos. You and Miguel mostly just messed around, the majority of the night. So when he pulled you towards the dance floor once the slow songs started to play, you couldn’t help but raise a brow.

“You hate dancing.” You stated, heels clicking coming to a stop once you both were in an empty spot. His hands sliding on to your waist as he took a step closer towards you. He let out an exhale through his nose as he smirked.

“I do.” He agrees, his hands sliding to your hands, and placing them on his shoulders before he placed his back in their original spot. “But, slow dancing is a part of the ‘prom experience’ or whatever, so I’ll suck it up for a few songs.”

You guess he had a point, so you just went with it. Staying quiet as you both swayed to the music, you haven’t even noticed that your head was resting on his shoulder until he spoke up again.

“So… everything like how you expect it to be?” He whispered jokingly, glancing down to meet your eyes, somehow despite the dim lighting, they still found a way to glimmer.

“It is.” You hummed with a soft smile,

“Good.”

—

“Harry, baby c’mon stop… Harry!”

“I’m sorry (Y/N), you know I can’t help it… something about wedding planning just does something to me-“

His words were interrupted with another spurt of giggles falling from your lips as you tried to pull away from the playful kisses trailing down your stomach. His hands keeping you in place by your hips. He knew you were ticklish, yet he continued to graze his fingernails down your sides just to watch your reaction.

“I’m so lucky, in a few months I’m going to get to call you my wife. My beautiful lovely wife.” He muttered against your skin. His words made your cheeks flush and your stomach flip, you don’t know another man who could make you feel the way he does.

His lips finally stop as the beginning of your sleeping shorts, his thumbs dipping into them, the fabric scrunching down when he goes to play with the straps of your panties. Half-lidded eyes go to meet yours, silently asking for permission.

“Didn’t you say you wanted to wait until the honeymoon?” You teased as you propped yourself up on your elbows. Trying to sit up on your shared bed as best as you could, but you weren’t able to before Harry went to crawl on top of you. Capturing your lips quickly before dipping his head to nibble at the crook of your neck.

“That’s coming from the girl who couldn’t stop grabbing at me during dinner.” He muttered back, leaving goosebumps to erupt on your skin when you felt him smirk against you, then going to nibble your sensitive spot. Making you let out a whimper before you could stop yourself.

“Because that waitress was trying to flirt with you!” You whined, hands traveling up to hold on to his shoulders as he kitten licked the bites he left behind.

“You act like I didn’t just say that because my father was there. He doesn’t need to know how often I make you scream my name-“

“Oh my gosh Harry, please don’t bring up Norman while we’re about to start fucking.” You laugh as you push him off of you gently, not being able to take the moment seriously anymore. In response he only raised a brow as he smirked again.

“So we were gonna fuck?”

“Jesus.” You laugh again, as you pushed him against the bed, lips crashing against one another as you straddle him.

—

Taglist: @famouscattale @strawberryjuice9 @loser-alert @maomaimao @franceseca-the-1st

@mcmiracles @mangoslushcrush @queerponcho @yournextbimbogf @tinybirdhideout @reader-1290 @laysmt @migueloharasoulmate @fruityfucker @pigeonmama @scaryplanetdestroyer @migueloharastruelove @krentkova19 @genny1019 @maiyart @stressed-cherry

@haveclayeveryday

[oatmealwrites]

Catch Kira, NOT Feelings! Ch.1

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

L x Fem!Reader

Part 2

Ch.1 is finallllly done LMAO. This is probably gonna be a medium-long fic but I haven't quite decided yet so buckle up. Eventually some NSFW in later chapter but relative slow burn at the start.

word count: 5.1k

Synopsis:

As a graduate criminology student, you're more than ecstatic to jump at your mentor's offer to join the task force chasing down Kira. Mr. Yagami has prepared you for a successful career in the law and justice system, but with the public disappointment in the police's inability to catch Kira, finding a well paying job will be difficult. But a recommendation letter from L would open doors you can't even imagine. It's simple, you just have to catch Kira... NOT feelings.

Masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

(Post time skip 1 - Aka Light in university now & helping the investigation. Just after ukita death)

November 4 -

You shift your weight from leg to leg inside the elevator, rehearsing your introduction and replaying the instructions from Mr. Yagami over and over again. The red LEDs indicate a higher and higher floor of the hotel and each second feels like an eternity passing.

“You’ll be fine Y/N. I’ve already worked it out with the task force, there’s no unnecessary expectation of you.”

You turn to Mr. Yagami and let out a slow exhale, feeling the pressure leave your lungs but the weight remaining on your shoulders.

“I know, it’s just big shoes to fill. Only the best are working with L to catch Kira.”

“Well Matsuda joined right away,” he replies, a small smirk on his lips, “If that makes you feel any better.”

You look down at your shoes and let out a light laugh, you’ve worked with Matsuda before. Interning under the Chief before he left the police force created lots of opportunities to work with lots of different officers. Matsuda was always one of your favorites.

“Ha, it kinda does. But he’s loyal and committed to the case-,”

“You are too. Don’t sell yourself short. I went through the interview with you regarding the risks in finding Kira and have seen your analysis take down a variety of other criminals. You have great potential to be an officer.”

Mr. Yagami gives you a paternal smile and his eyes hold nothing but honesty, “I’m glad to have you on this task force. I mean it.”

“Thank you,” a grateful tone leaves your lips and you can’t help but feel better at his compliments. It was a reassurance you needed to hear.

The elevator dings softly and the metal doors slide open with Mr. Yagami extending his arm over the sensor to allow your exit before his. As you step onto the plush carpet of the expensive hotel floor, a feeling of guilt washes over you. Mr. Yagami leads the way down the hall and you follow in silence, still comparing yourself to the other members of the task force.

While yes you were determined to catch Kira, the reasoning behind it wasn’t all about morality. To be honest you almost agreed with Kira at first - a new world where people who did wrong actually got punished compared to the slow and tedious bureaucratic pace of justice was appealing. Though after the killings of petty criminals and FBI agents, the resonance of Kira’s message faded to one of selfishness.

Though maybe I’m not much better. Truth be told, catching Kira was a priority for you ethically, but so were the very extensive benefits it offered. Being a graduate student in criminology and psychology there were very few jobs you could pursue upon graduation. That, combined with the over public disappointment in the very justice system you were about to work in, made finding a secure and well paying job almost impossible. But, if you could catch Kira and get a recommendation from someone like L on your CV? The possibilities would be endless.

The heel of your shoes has a muffled ‘click’ on the carpet as you walk behind Mr. Yagami and eventually reach a door near the end of the halfway. Almost no other room doors were present on this entire half of the hall, indicating this room was extremely large and extremely expensive to rent out.

Yagami gives you a small smile of encouragement and knocks a specific pattern before scanning a plastic room card and turning the knob. There’s a glow from the overhead ceiling lights that pour out of the room and into the hallway along with several hushed voices chatting just out of sight.

“I think we should review the – “

“Sshh.. I think Chief is back.”

You follow Mr. Yagami past the room entrance and enter what seems to be a penthouse hotel suite living room scattered with papers and boxes alike. A group of men stand around the coffee table and pause when you and Mr. Yagami walk further into the room.

Matsuda catches your eye and instantly smiles, “Woa, Y/N! I didn’t realize you were going to join us!-”

His expression is cut short when another man smacks him lightly on the back of the head, “Idiot! Wasn’t the first thing that L said to do was not reveal any names?”

Your eyes widen. These guys are serious.

Matsuda looks up at the man in worry and then at you apologetically, “Ah I’m sorry,” he scratches the back of his head sheepishly, “I didn’t mean to put you at risk there.”

You smile lightly and Mr. Yagami walks further into the room to pick up a few papers and scan them over, interested in what the group was working on before you two had arrived. “It’s fine Aizawa, L already cleared us all of being Kira. The only issue would be if Y/N was.”

The statement holds no threat of you actually being Kira but it’s enough to make you feel uneasy and the other members shift awkwardly. Has one of them already been suspected of being Kira? No way… not a member of the police surely?

You snap out of your thoughts and give a light bow to the group, “Hi everyone. My name is Y/N and I’m excited to join you all in the investigation to catch Kira. Let’s work well together.”

The group softens and smiles at your introduction and one by one introduces themself briefly. You already knew Matsuda, the man who scolded him was named Aizawa, and the tall man who was quietly skimming papers was named Mogi.

“This is a small group. You weren’t kidding Mr. Yagami when you said only the most committed are involved.” The statement has a light-hearted joke sense to it but no one moves to laugh.

Mogi shifts his weight awkwardly, “Well.. we actually lost a member, Ukita, not too long ago. Kira killed him.”

SHIT. You want to die right then and there. Kira if you can read my thoughts please strike me down too.

“Oh! Im so sorry I didn’t know-”

“It’s alright Y/N. We purposely keep super tight lips about everything and all our members. It makes sense you didn’t realize. But I hope this serves as a reminder of the gravity of the situation at hand. If you aren’t willing to die for this cause, I recommend you turn away now. You’re still young and have a lot of life ahead of you.”

You turn to Mr. Yagami and blink before shaking your head. A life ahead of me? I have no other career paths and no way to climb and earn a livable wage without doing this. I need this case and this recommendation.

“No- I want to do this. I want to be here. I want to catch Kira.”

The group’s tension dissipates and they all turn their attention back to the coffee table and it’s papers.

“Here,” Mogi starts, handing you a manila folder, “Watari dropped these off earlier. We should get started with the most Kira clues.”

You take the folder gently and sit on the edge of the armrest of the couch, skimming through the papers until a set of photographs tumble out. Gently closing the folder you reach down to retrieve the photos, only hesitating when you see the subject. Prisoner suicide notes.

Carefully you flip through each photo, quietly trying to take it all in. There’s four photos in total each numbered in the corner:

A male prisoner had stabbed himself in the cafeteria with a knife. His suicide note written on the back: “Theives deserve their punishment”

A male prisoner who was beaten to death in the prison yard. He had left a note in his cell: “Dead ends everywhere”

A male prisoner hanging himself with a note in blood on the wall behind him “The victims deserve justice”

A female prisoner who had jumped from the roof. Her suicide note written on the back: “Are you watching, L?”

You examine the photos and their suicide notes for a few minutes, your brows furrowed in focus. At first you lean over to the coffee table and place them all note-side up; after a moment you flip them over to show the images. A bead of sweat drips down the side of your face and you bite the edge of your thumb nail without realizing.

Before you can properly go through the rest of the contents of the folder, Matsuda speaks up, “Oh the photos? Those have stumped me all morning. But-!” He leans down to flip the images once again. He places them in the order 3,1,4,2. “In this order they say something. “The. Thieves. Are. Dead.”

You nod and look up at Matsuda, “Yes, in this order we can assume Kira is trying to convey a message to us.”

Something isn’t right; this feels off somehow.

You release the nail from your teeth and shake your head, eyes never leaving the images, “Yes we could, but it wouldn’t make any sense. Are all of these inmates thieves? Or is Kira referring to someone else?”

Matsuda looks at you wide-eyed and a bit embarrassed, “Oh, in the folder it mentions two of them were murderers now that you mention it..”

No, there’s something else wrong here.

You keep staring at the images, “it’s strange Kira would leave such a vague message with such a group. Mr. Yagami already informed me how Kira did his tests about the actions leading up to a death, so writing these notes would have some significance. But..”

You gently lift the images again, this time studying the attire of each inmate in the photos. “Each person is from a different jail. Their clothing and health state indicates they weren’t in the same prison system.”

Mogi leans over and shrugs, letting out a soft sigh, “why does that matter? Kira has killed from nearly every jail in the country at this point.”

You meet his gaze for a moment, “I mean this work is kinda sloppy. It’s obvious he didn’t do proper research on each prison.”

Mogi opens his mouth in slight shock, waiting for you to elaborate. You tilt your head and survey the image of the deceased female inmate, your eyes lingering on the background building of the prison. Without missing a beat you lift the photo to Mogi, “I mean this jail is only one floor. If you jumped 3.5m (11.5ft) maybe you’d break your ankle.” You stare at the image of the woman’s distorted body, “Not 4 ribs, both kneecaps, and skull.”

Mr. Yagami stares at the images over your shoulder in a mix of disbelief and awe; he places his hand on your shoulder supportively. Matsuda lets out a light gasp and takes the photo of the woman and looks at it incredulously with an audible ‘woa’.

You look up from the table and then at Mr. Yagami, “Are there any other fake Kira photographs in this pile?”

Before the chief can answer a voice rings out from the connecting bedroom door that is now swung open, “Naturally all of them were doctored for this test. But nice work Y/N. You solved that faster than I was expecting.”

The entire group turns to face him and you find yourself raising to your feet in respect. L.

Your eyes drift up and latch onto his; almost in a trance. Dark disheveled hair seemed to splay in every direction, covering where his eyebrows would be, and his awful posture rounded his back forward. His deep gray eyes and purple bags from lack of sleep contrasted the paleness of his skin. Rather than professional attire, baggy denim jeans hung low on his hips and an oversized henley draped his frame. He shifted his weight from side to side waiting for your response.

Any words paused in your mouth as you drank in the appearance of the man in front of you. Half of you was awestruck to see the famous detective you’ve only heard stories of in person; the other half was mentally scolding yourself to set some higher standards.

Maybe it’s because you spent too much time around men with pensions and none your own age. Yea. That’s it.

The bar really is in hell huh.

You swallowed any stupid remarks and extended your hand to him, “It’s nice to meet you, L.”

L looked at your hand apprehensively and slowly reached forward to complete the shake. The look on his face made it seem like he was forcing himself to shake your hand and only resolved into doing so just to be polite. Jerk. It’s not like my hands are dirty.

“Well, now that introductions are formally over, I have some other details on the Kira case I would like us to focus our attention on.”

L sauntered further into the room and slid the manila folder with the test photos and information to the side. Then, seemingly out of nowhere, a senior-aged man appeared with a rolling cart containing paper boxes filled with miscellaneous files on the bottom and an arrangement of desserts and coffee cups on the top.

With a whisper of ‘thanks’, you gently lifted a mug from the cart and blew some steam away from the rim, lips hovering the ceramic. While L and Mr. Yagami began separating some of the files, you took a seat on the couch next to Matsuda, giving him a light elbow in the side.

“Hey, did you know that was a test?” You whispered.

Matsuda looked at you wide eyed, “What? No way! Ryuzaki never tells me anything when he plans stunts like that!”

You raise an eyebrow and turn to look at everyone else in the room, “Ryuzaki..?”

Your eyes stop when they meet L’s, who was staring at you as if he was involved in the conversation from the beginning. You avert your gaze awkwardly and turn your attention back to the warm mug in your hands, cheeks slightly warm. Most people look away when they get caught staring…

“My apologies for any confusion. I’ve told the group they can call me Ryuzaki or L during this investigation. Given that we know Kira needs a name and face to kill, it only makes sense.”

Mogi shifts in his seat with a slight tick in his eyebrow and mumbles lowly, “Yea as if you didn’t already know everything about us though.”

You turn to the man and then back at L, or Ryuzaki, or whoever, noticing the tension in the room.

“Ah I see.” You say lightly, trying to progress the conversation and go back to the main objective at hand.

With prolonged silence now hanging over everyone, you reach forward to grab two small sugar cubes and place them into your coffee before taking a sip. In your peripherals you can see Ryuzaki watching every movement of your hands but never saying anything. This time when you lock eyes he turns away first.

Mr. Yagami lets out a slight cough and begins passing folders out to everyone, “Alright enough small talk, these folders contain some of the tapes the Second Kira had sent to the news stations. Let's split into teams and see what we can cover.”

Placing the mug on the coffee table, you reached forward to grab a folder and flip through the contents.

“Lets have Mogi and Mr. Yagami compare the DNA found in forensics to what we currently have in the database. Matsuda and Y/N, please look at the transcriptions and real Kira suicide notes to look for any irregularities. Aizawa, please extend our list of contacts to include radio broadcasters as well,” Ryuzaki takes the hangnail on his thumb between his teeth while speaking, “We don’t know if the Second Kira has made contact with Kira #1… but there’s a chance they may get desperate and try other outlets of communication if they haven’t already. I’ll be reviewing the 4 different outcome tapes on the television if anyone needs my assistance. Ok?”

There’s a unified “yes!” after he finished speaking, the small teams immediately breaking off into separate sections of the hotel room.

You sit at the kitchen table of the vast suite, skimming your hands over various transcriptions, each one describing an unyielding obligation to the cause of Kira. You tilt your head and furrow your brows between the two documents in your hands.

“Hey Matsuda?”

“Hmm?”

“These two are completely different in terms of voice, grammar, everything..”

Matsuda looks up from his own set of papers and leans in over your shoulder, letting out an awkward laugh, “Oh I should have said this earlier- we actually wrote some of them pretending to be Kira in order to get the Second Kira talking. Why don’t we pile up the ones the team made and focus only on ones from Second Kira.”

Your mouth formed a small ‘O’ at his statement before nodding. Matsuda skims through the files, deftly collecting the papers of which the task force had authored into a neat pile and sliding you a different stack of notes to analyze. This time the stack included the real Kira authored suicide notes. You mutter a ‘thanks’ and go back to your position hovering over the table and straining your neck. For some reason you can’t shake the feeling of wanting to analyze the ones against the transcription the task force had authored. Just focus. You let out a breath and get to work.

****

After what seems like a few hours the group is called back into the main living room to discuss everyone’s progress. Mr. Yagami stands first, “Well the DNA on all the videotapes matches each other. It’s definitely the same person sending these.”

Mogi rubs his hand on the back of his neck with some frustration, “The DNA is in the police database; not for a criminal record but one regarding a victim of a crime. It may take some time before we can get approval to unseal the records… But at least we will know for sure who our suspect is within a few days; a week at max!”

The group hums with energy at the lead and Ryuzaki takes the nail of his thumb in between his lips again turning his attention to you.

Matsuda stands and points to a few lines on the paper, “We noticed a particular line about ‘showing notebooks in Aoyama’. It’s out of place and might be an indication that the Second Kira wants to use this as a meeting place.”

Ryuzaki nods and shuts his eyes, “I was thinking the same thing.. Now if there’s nothing else-”

“Wait.”

Ryuzaki opens his eyes and turns his attention back to you and Matsuda looks down with a slight puzzled expression.

You pick at your nails in nervousness for a moment and look at the group, “I don’t want to jump to any conclusions here but I noticed some similarities in the actual Kira suicide notes and the transcript you all had made..”

Mr. Yagami’s face pales and he stutters a few words out before Ryuzaki lifts his hand without even looking to silence him. The hangnail now forgotten, he leans in over the armrest of the couch only inches away from your face, as if he wanted to study every detail.

“Really? That’s very interesting Y/N please continue your reasoning,” his voice is the most energetic you’ve heard it.

The proximity makes you instinctively lean back until he closes the distance so far you have no more room to move. Almost smelling the scent of sweet coffee on his breath you nervously exhale and lift both the task force written transcript and a suicide note from Kira.

“The wording on the on the Kira suicide notes are very egotistical to me. It’s taunting like he’s one step ahead and in a position of earned authority,” you then tilt your head to the scripted video, “and this mentions about bestowing forgiveness. It’s an uncannily similar voice to a person in a position of power looking down on the recipient.”

Ryuzaki leans in almost a millimeter closer before sinking back into his seat with an eerie smile on his face. You hesitate, not putting either document down and seemingly staring back into the trance of his eyes.

“Isn’t that good though? Your ability to write an extremely good dupe..?” You're barely whispering it to Ryuzaki with your entire focus on him. His eyes don’t leave yours, and it feels like this is an entire conversation between just the two of you.

“Oh I didn’t write that.”

For a moment your eyes widen and the illusion of a private conversation comes crashing down around you. Before you can part your lips for clarification Mr. Yagami’s voice booms out from across the coffee table, “Enough of this Ryuzaki! I thought you invited Light to this investigation for him to help us!”

Light?

You were well acquainted with the Yagami family, having spent nearly the same amount of time with them as your own household. Light was extremely intelligent, well spoken, and borderline perfect at everything he did; it makes sense Ryuzaki would want him working this case.

Though where was he? You scanned the room quickly from your seat. Oh yea, class. An unfortunate situation you could relate to, considering you had a 9am lecture tomorrow morning and it was already 8pm.

“I did invite him for his help. I just find Y/N’s observation extremely interesting. I’m aware this situation makes you uncomfortable, but having now a second person make a connection raises my suspicion of him to 10%.”

“He was writing that note while trying to sound like Kira. Don’t you think questioning him for doing his task well is a bit much?”

Your head was beginning to hurt. Light was a suspect of being Kira? It didn’t make any sense, surely there had to be a mistake. You turned your attention back to the conversation between Mr. Yagami and Ryuzaki, noting the intensity of fire in each of their eyes. They were being serious? I guess that makes sense as to why L wanted to test me when I first came in. And why the group seemed so uneasy at the earlier mention of one of them being Kira.

“You’ve probably filled in the gaps haven’t you?”

Your eyes shoot up to meet Ryuzaki’s, the distance between your faces short, but not nearly as close as he was earlier. Unconsciously, you lick your bottom lip with a slight stress on your face and nod slightly.

Mr. Yagami sighs and sinks into his seat, his head cradled by his left hand. The group looks around each other awkwardly and Ryuzaki lets out a sigh of exasperation which indicates they’ve all had this conversation before.

“Let’s take a slight reccess please? Y/N you should probably start heading home for your classes tomorrow.”

You look up at Mr. Yagami, and the group mumbles in agreement, slowly standing up and stretching.

“Nice work today rookie. Can’t wait to see what you figure out next,” Mogi says genuinely while placing a supportive hand on your shoulder.

You grin up at him and wave bashfully, it wasn’t like you solved the case. Yet. You could practically hear his recommendation letter now and the thought of it was enough to spark some energy.

As the group shuffled out to take either vending machine or smoke breaks, you noticed Ryuzaki staring at you while you slipped your jacket over your shoulders. He was usually staring at you anyways, but this one was different; before you could even raise an eyebrow he stood up and walked to the bedroom door. Glancing at you once before slipping inside.

With a quick scan of your surroundings to make sure no one was watching, you casually walked over to door and stepped inside as if it were the exit. The bedroom in question was barely a bedroom at all. A desk stacked with hundreds of papers sat by the window, bookshelves lined the walls, and the floor was littered with evidence boxes. The only thing that made it a bedroom was the king size bed made neatly and untouched against the wall jutting into the center of the room.

Ryuzaki was standing at the desk, digging through a box mumbling to himself about if ‘Watari had moved it’ before pulling out a small cellphone and turning to you.

“Ah, I’m glad you got my signal.”

Signal? He stared without blinking and then casually walked into another room. It wasn’t so much as following a signal as it was making sure he wasn’t having a stroke.

“Yea, is there something you wanted to speak about?”

Ryuzaki looked at the door and then motioned for you to come closer; which you obediently did without even a second guess. Only inches apart he studied your face again, “I’m glad you picked up on that note sounding a little too authentic. The very notion drives Mr. Yagami up the wall.”

You nod, “I mean it makes sense, it’s not exactly a light accusation.”

Ryuzaki follows your words and then twitches as if he were re-listening to them; only catching the joke on the third time through. A small smile cracks his face and he tilts his head to the side, “Yes I agree. Being accused of Kira is a heavy burden, especially considering the life in prison sentence or death penalty when caught.”

The air deflated out of you.

You suck in a breath defeated, “Yep.. so why exactly did you call me in here?”

“I needed to speak in private,” Ryuzaki gnaws at his bottom lip with his canines and then locks eyes with you again, “What I’m about to ask needs to remain between us.”

Immediately your eyes widen and heat rushes to your face. The proximity of him seems to magnify everything and a warm feeling began to brew in your lower abdomen. The low lighting of the room, the intimate whisper of his voice, and the large king bed in your peripheral skewed any assumption of what he was about to say next.

I need to go out and touch grass. Call some friends, go on a date, do something. This guy is a total weirdo and I’m standing here shaking like fucking teenager.

You nod, not wanting to even speak and risk the shakiness of your voice being heard by him.

“You go to the same school as Light, correct? I’d like you just to keep an eye on him while you’re both on campus if that’s alright.”

You look from one eye to the other, taking a moment to pause and reflect on his proposal. The length of your hesitation was enough to make L backtrack slightly, “If you’re uncomfortable with that I completely underst-”

“I’ll do it.”

His eyes widen and blink twice before a small smile breaks his lips again, “I’m glad. I don’t have much time to go to campus or classes anyways so it’ll be nice to have to monitor him while I stay here.”

You nod in understanding before double taking at his words, “Wait do you go there too?”

Ryuzaki now fiddles with the cellphone in hands, typing rapidly and not bothering to look up, “Hm? Oh yes I entered the school to keep track of Light, but I won’t need to follow him around there if you’re willing to help me.”

You swallowed, noting the way he casually mentioned going to the university you were initially rejected from as if you asked him the weather.

Before you can mumble anything under your breath, Ryuzaki gently takes your hand in his and flips it to be facing palm-up. With his hand still on your wrist, the other places a cellphone into the palm and he looks at you intently.

“It’s important to note that on the off-chance Light really is Kira, it means he’s willing to risk killing to protect himself. I have emergency belts for everyone, but I’d also like you to have this.”

His hand falls to his side after a moment of them lingering a beat too long and he takes half a step back; turning to face his desk but not looking at anything in particular.

You click a few buttons on the phone and notice the way he had already placed his contact information into the device. A small grin grazes your lips and you slip the phone into your back pocket, “This way I can text information without sending a SOS? Plus it probably looks more natural anyways.”

Ryuzaki turns back to you, his hands firmly at his sides like they weren't just around your own, “Exactly. Besides, Light will learn you work with us shortly and he’ll start being on guard. If he thinks that cellphone is your personal one, he won’t think twice about you using it in front of him casually.”

A wave of excitement washes over you, fieldwork was always your favorite and this felt like a borderline James Bond movie.

“You got it!”

Ryuzaki pulls out his own cellphone from his baggy denim pocket and begins typing into it, “I’ll have Watari drive you home tonight. Would you like an escort to class tomorrow?” His eyes briefly look into yours with an emotion that could almost be described as hope. Almost.

Instinctively you raise your hands, “No that’s alright. I can just take the metro.”

Ryuzaki nods curtly but you continue, “But if you can arrange a ride after my classes to here that would be nice.”

His eyes hold yours for a moment and he turns away to his desk, this time walking up to the wooden drawers and digging through them, “Alright. I’ll tell Watari, just send your course schedule when you have the moment.”

Ryuzaki never turns back around and after a few moments of an awkward silence you spin to leave the room without either of you saying a word. The weird intimacy of the moment left you feeling an emotion you couldn’t quite pin point.

After saying your goodnights to the group and following Watari to the black luxury Sedan in the parking lot, the image of a warm shower and snuggling into bed seemed to be calling your name. Shoes clicking on the ground, you slid into the seat of the opened passenger door Watari had opened and watched him walk around to get into the driver’s seat.

Quickly telling him your address you found yourself staring out the window and for a split second, seeing the figure of a man watching you from the penthouse suite you had just exited. But by the time you blinked he was gone; the only thing pulling you from your thoughts was the slight buzz from your back pocket of the phone Ryuzaki had given you.

Ryuzaki:

Please be careful tomorrow. Let me know if anything goes wrong.

[tinytinyblogs]

Do it again, and things will get ugly.

Yandere skz not pleased with your little habit—make sure you understand that.

Hyung line, Maknae line

Stray Kids Masterlist 1.0 & 2.0

Your insights and reactions make these posts come alive. Love reblogs, comments, and all the good vibes welcome ✨

Han

You’re completely immersed in your book, the world around you fading as you turn the pages. Reading is your favorite escape, a quiet comfort that brings you peace. But just as you’re sinking deeper into the story, a hand suddenly snatches the book out of your grasp. You blink, startled, realizing that Han is standing in front of you. Without warning, he hurls the book across the room with a force that sends it crashing against the wall, the loud thud jolting you out of your peaceful reverie. The book lands on the floor, pages crumpled, and for a moment, you’re too stunned to speak. “Have you even noticed I’ve been here this whole time?” His voice cuts through the silence, filled with a sharp edge of anger that makes your heart skip a beat. “Are those stupid words more interesting to you than me?” There’s frustration in his tone, but there’s something else too—a raw vulnerability, as if he’s trying to mask his own insecurities with anger. You look up at him, seeing the mixture of hurt and irritation in his eyes. It’s more than just frustration; it’s a deep-seated insecurity that rears its head every time you lose yourself in your hobbies.

He hates the way your books seem to draw you away, making him feel like an outsider, as if he’s competing with words on a page for your attention. And no matter how much he tries to ignore it, it eats at him, making him question how much you truly care. He lets out a harsh breath, running a hand through his hair as if trying to steady himself. “Do you even care that I’m here?” he demands, his voice breaking slightly. “Or am I just supposed to sit around, watching you get lost in your own world, feeling like I don’t even exist to you?” His words hang in the air, heavy and filled with an ache he can’t fully hide. You open your mouth to respond, but he continues, the frustration spilling over. “Maybe I should just burn all those books—would that finally get your attention? Make you look at me, instead of always burying yourself in them?” There’s a desperation in his voice now, a vulnerability that’s almost painful to witness, as if he’s baring a part of himself he doesn’t want you to see. For him, it’s not just about the books or your hobbies—it’s about the fear that maybe he’s not enough to hold your attention, that he’ll never mean as much to you as those stories do.

And as he stands there, waiting for you to say something, you can see how much this truly bothers him, how much he longs for reassurance that he’s not invisible to you. "If you want to keep those books, you'd better not get too lost in them," he says, his voice low and firm, each word measured and carrying an unmistakable warning. He steps closer, his gaze never leaving yours, trapping you between his arms as he braces himself on either side of you. The intensity in his eyes pins you in place, leaving you feeling cornered, as if there’s nowhere to escape his scrutiny. "I don’t like it when you ignore me," he continues, his tone tinged with a simmering frustration. His eyes are dark and unwavering, searching yours as if demanding an answer, needing to know that you understand what he’s saying. There’s a raw, almost possessive edge in his voice, a silent insistence that you remember he’s here—that he’s the one who should have your attention. He leans in slightly, close enough that you can feel the warmth of his breath, his presence consuming the space between you. “Make sure you’ve got that in your mind,” he says, his voice soft yet laced with a hint of a warning, as if he’s daring you to look away or challenge him.

Felix

Felix’s grip on his glass tightens so much that his knuckles turn a stark white against the dark wood of the bar. He watches you, his gaze unwavering, stormy, his jaw set hard as if biting back words he doesn't want to say. Every so often, he brings his drink to his lips, taking a slow, controlled sip, but his eyes never leave you. His attention is riveted on you, locked onto the way you throw your head back with laughter, the way you lean in, smiling, as you engage with the people around you. He’s watching every detail, every casual brush of your hand, every animated gesture, every sparkling smile you offer to those sitting beside you. The laughter surrounding you fills the space like a bright, airy melody, but in Felix’s mind, it’s a sound that grates on his nerves, reminding him of something he hates to admit, something he can’t help but resent. He watches you throw yourself into every conversation with that effortless charm of yours, capturing everyone’s attention without even trying. It's something he’s never understood about you—the way you seem drawn to the energy and approval of others, the way you seem to thrive under their gaze.

And you do it all so naturally, like it’s second nature to you, as if it’s simply who you are. But the thought gnaws at him, unsettling him in a way he can’t control. Why do you care so much about what they think? He wonders why his own presence, his own attention, doesn’t seem to be enough for you. Isn’t that all you need? He’s always been there, always the one standing closest to you, watching you, knowing all the little things that make you laugh, the ways your eyes light up, the little gestures you make when you’re deep in conversation. But as much as he knows you, as much as he feels connected to you, this part of you—the part that shines for everyone—remains just beyond his grasp. As soon as the two of you were alone, he grabbed your arm and dragged you back to his place, his grip firm and unrelenting. The door slammed shut behind you, echoing through the room and leaving a tension that was thick and unsettling. His sudden change in demeanor left you feeling uneasy, a knot forming in the pit of your stomach. He fixed you with a cold, penetrating stare, his gaze so intense it felt like it was stripping away every layer of defense you had.

"Is it fun getting their attention?" he asked, his voice low and laced with a quiet rage that made his words all the more frightening. The question hung in the air, his deep voice dripping with accusation, making it feel like he could shatter you with just a look. "Is it fun to bask in anyone else's attention but mine? Because from where I’m standing," he continued, his eyes never leaving yours, "it doesn’t look like there’s anything ‘good’ in you having me but acting like you’re so starved for attention that you have to seek it from anyone else, like some lonely soul without a lover." He took a few slow, deliberate steps toward you, each one calculated, closing the distance between you as his towering frame loomed over you. The intensity in his eyes didn’t waver, and you could feel the weight of his words pressing down on you, making it hard to breathe. "This is my warning," he murmured, his voice chilling and measured. "Consider yourself lucky. If I find out you pull something like that again, I’ll make sure you never have the chance to grab anyone’s attention. Ever again." The promise was dark and unmistakable, sending a shiver through you as his gaze held you firmly in place, every word he said echoing in your mind.

Seungmin

It felt profoundly unfair to Seungmin when you didn’t show any gratitude for all the effort he poured into everything he did for you. Every small gesture, every thoughtful act, meant the world to him, yet your indifference stung deeply. He couldn't shake off the frustration that churned within him, particularly when he sensed your ignorance of all his hard work. As you simply nodded at the dessert he had painstakingly learned to make once he discovered it was your favorite, he felt a flicker of anger ignite inside him. The spoon he held felt like a fragile thing in his grip, and he squeezed it tightly, his knuckles turning white as he struggled to contain his emotions. Moments later, unable to bear it any longer, he slammed the spoon onto the table with a sharp clatter that broke the silence, the sound reverberating in the air like a sudden thunderclap. He stood up abruptly, the movement sending a ripple of shock through the room, and began to circle the dining table, his frustration palpable with each stride he took toward you.

He stopped directly in front of you, his expression a mix of hurt and exasperation. “Do you even realize how much I put into this?” he demanded, his voice low but charged with emotion. “I wanted to do something special for you, and all you can do is nod?” The tension between you crackled, and he could feel his heart racing, caught between his desire to express his feelings and the hurt that came from your apparent indifference. His hand trembled with barely contained anger as he faced you, the tension in the air thickening with each passing moment. “All the things I do for you...” he began, his voice strained, carrying the weight of his frustration. He stopped for a moment, closing his eyes as he took a deep breath, trying to rein in the whirlwind of emotions that threatened to spill over. He needed to calm himself, to gather his thoughts before he let his anger get the best of him. “All the things!” he continued, his voice rising slightly as he struggled to keep his composure. “Can’t you at least say a damn thank you?” The plea hung in the air, echoing with a mix of desperation and hurt.

He looked at you, searching for any sign of acknowledgment, any hint that you recognized the effort he poured into every small gesture, every thoughtful act he had done for you. "Eat this. Now." Seungmin’s voice was low but laced with an intensity that made your pulse quicken. His eyes held a stern, unyielding gaze, the kind that left no room for argument. He leaned in closer, his tone taking on a dangerous edge as he spoke, "And from now on, you’re going to be more aware, more grateful for every single damn thing I do for you. Understand?" He held out the spoon firmly, his grip tightening as if daring you to defy him. The way he looked at you made it clear that he expected nothing less than compliance. His expression was a mixture of frustration and something else, something deeper, that sent a chill down your spine. "You wouldn’t want to see me mad again, would you?" he added, his voice dropping to a quiet but potent warning. The threat lingered in the air, a reminder of the weight his anger carried, and his gaze bore into you, making it clear that he expected you to listen.

Jeongin

He gets visibly frustrated whenever he sees you stumble or drop something, his eyes always drawn to your every clumsy move, each one stirring his concern. Ironically, he’s just as prone to accidents himself; he knows firsthand how easy it is to get hurt in a split second. Perhaps that’s exactly why his frustration with you grows—it’s not just annoyance but genuine worry because he knows just how much a small misstep can lead to something serious, as he's experienced so many times himself. To keep you safe, he’s become hyper-vigilant, watching over you more closely than you might like. He practically has eyes in the back of his head, always noticing when you’re about to trip or reach for something potentially hazardous. Sometimes, his protectiveness feels almost smothering; he keeps such a close watch that you feel he’s always in the room with you, guiding your every movement, as if trying to control every factor around you. Even when he’s not physically present, you’ll receive a flurry of messages, checking in on what you’re doing and reminding you to be cautious.

Just as your fingers hover over the knife handle, his hand darts out, intercepting you with a firm grasp. “How many times have I told you not to cook by yourself?” he says sharply, his tone tinged with impatience and a protectiveness that feels like it’s crossed the line into control. His gaze is unwavering, locked onto you with an intensity that leaves no room for argument. You let out a sigh, a flicker of frustration and defiance slipping into your voice as you answer, “But I want to. I can handle it. I’m not as helpless as you think.” His expression doesn’t soften for a moment. If anything, your words only seem to harden his resolve. “Just because you want to,” he begins, his voice a low, steady warning, “you think that means I’m going to stand by and let you mess with something that could hurt you?” His eyes flash with an almost parental authority, a refusal to back down. “That’s not how this works.” With a purposeful motion, he nudges the knife away from your reach with the toe of his shoe, making his stance clear.

“If I say no, it’s no,” he states firmly, his voice carrying an edge that’s impossible to ignore. He grips your wrist with a sudden, unyielding force, his fingers pressing into your skin hard enough to make you wince. The pressure is intense, almost as if he wants to leave a lasting mark, a reminder of his control. His gaze is sharp, locking onto yours with an intensity that makes your stomach churn. “Understand?” he asks, his voice low and clipped, each word carrying a weight that makes his intentions unmistakably clear. “You’re going to do exactly what I tell you,” he continues, his voice tightening. “If I ever catch you doing something I told you not to…” He pauses, allowing the silence to hang between you, thick and charged. His eyes hold yours, unblinking, dark with a fierce resolve that sends a chill down your spine. “I’ll make sure you learn to obey me.” The words linger in the air, a promise and a threat, making it clear that he won’t tolerate any disobedience. His grip remains firm, unyielding, almost daring you to defy him as he lets the message settle in, making sure you know exactly what he expects from you.

[emeritusemeritus]

Can I sleep here tonight?

Title: Can I sleep here tonight?

Pairing: Fred Weasley x pregnant!wife!reader, Molly and Arthur Weasley (being absolute gems)

Timeline: Set post-war. George lost his ear a per canon but Fred is very much alive and thriving, married and expecting his first child. The burrow is mentioned for story purposes so it didn’t burn down and we’re ignoring canon once more.

Summary: George arrives at the burrow asking to spend the night, desperate to get away from Fred and his pregnant wife.

Warnings: Mentions of pregnancy, pregnant character, brief mentions of war and previous injury, though no graphic description is included. Mentions of sex.

It's way past tea time, darkness settling all around as the last glimmer of winter sun fades into the hills when George Weasley apparates onto the familiar dirt road leading up to his childhood home. He's armed with only his wand and a small suitcase no bigger than a briefcase, only holding the basics.

Since the war, Molly and Arthur had kept up the old enchantments placed upon the Burrow as a precaution, the fears never truly leaving them. With a wave of his wand, George clears the enchantments and steps through the invisible barrier to get to the house. As he steps towards the little stone step that acts as the threshold to the house, the door is thrust open and a warm and solid body pulls him inside. He recognises the body as his mother the very second her height and smell come into focus.

"My boy! What are you doing here?  You look tired and peaky, is something wrong? I'll make you something to eat. Arthur!" Molly shouts loudly for her husband after fretting at seeing George on their doorstep without any prior warning, especially without his twin. Since opening the shop, them moving out together, the war, George's recovery, and Fred's wedding, the twins have been so busy it's been an endeavour to get them back home even for a simple visit. "Arthur!"

"Mollywobbles what is it?" Arthur shouts back, his voice getting louder as he moves towards the kitchen. "Oh hello son," he says as he walks into the kitchen, seeing George stood there clutching a small briefcase. Arthur instinctively frowns at the unexpected visit but welcomes his son with warmth, wrapping him in a hug, patting his back a few times before pulling away.

"Do you want a cup of tea dear?" Molly asks, already making her way over to the kettle and busying herself to make something to eat for George, regardless of his radio silence.

"Now Molly, it seems he might need something stronger than tea, right son?" Arthur asks, patting George's shoulder once. "Why don't be crack open some of my Knotgrass mead? I've been saving it for an occasion, no time better than the present." He ushers George to sit at the table and Molly rushes over with a large bottle of mead and two pint glasses, bringing over an elaborate sandwich on a plate for George.

"Thanks mum," George says as Molly places down the welcomed food, noticing that she'd used one of her nicer plates for him, not something that he was ever allowed when he was younger. 

"Cheers!" Arthur says, holding up his glass towards George's after he'd poured them, happy to have a drinking buddy at home.

"So what's wrong son? Not that you're not always welcome of course," Arthur says, eyeing his son with a hint of suspicion as Molly takes a seat opposite George, placing down a cup of tea made for herself.

"Can I stay here tonight?" George asks, cringing at the slight awkwardness of his request, feeling like a child again.

"Of course you can!" Arthur says as if he's offended by the notion of George even having to ask.

"Of course you can dear, how nice to have a fuller house again! I'll put some fresh linens on the bed for you," Molly rushes up towards Fred and George's old room and with a swish of her wand, changes the bedsheets in no time at all. She returns to see the men chatting at the table and takes her place once again, reaching for her tea.

"Do you want to tell us what's wrong?" Arthur says, taking the lead. George sighs heavily, not wanting to say outright what the problem is but unable to think of a plausible excuse.

He sighs once more before admitting to the issue under his parents concerned gazes, "it's Fred and y/n."

"Have you had a falling out?" Molly quickly says, interrupting George. Arthur gives her a quick look which tells her politely to be quiet until their son has finished to which she nods and waits.

"Not exactly, it's just... I can't bare to listen to them having sex anymore. Silencing spells don't work, I've even tried muggle earplugs, well one, but that didn't work either! I only have one ear and it's still bad! Since Y/n got pregnant it's none stop, I thought getting pregnant was bad enough but bloody hell," George barely conceals a shudder at the thought of his twin brother and his wife having near constant sex in the same flat as him.

He picks up the sandwich and begins tucking in, not having time to get any food in his haste to flee the flat about the shop that he shared with Fred and y/n.

He turns his gaze back to his parents and is immediately surprised at the look they are sharing between each other. Both of them are smiling lovingly, a blush spreading on both of their faces, both appear to be speaking with their eyes.

"What?" George says with a mouthful of food, frowning, not understanding their reaction.

"Why do you think we had so many children?" Arthur suddenly laughs, earning a little giggle from Molly, a sound that George had never heard fall from his mother's mouth.

"I couldn't resist your mother when she was pregnant, just something about it," Arthur trails off as if he's daydreaming, a nostalgic smile plastered on his face. "The second she popped one of you out I wanted to try again."

George wants the ground to swallow him up in his entirety as he sits disgusted and uncomfortable. Was nowhere safe anymore? He finds his appetite has significantly decreased and is thankful that he'd finished the sandwich quickly; only praying he could keep it down if his parents kept talking about that.

"It's entirely biological son, it's what the muggles call 'hormones', or so I'm told. There's just something about seeing your wife carrying your child..." Arthur shakes his head slightly as he daydreams, a goofy smile still hanging off his lips as Molly swats his arm playfully.

"I'm going to bed," George mumbles, wanting desperately to get away.

"We'll keep it down tonight!" Arthur jokes earning a cackle from Molly as they both laugh at Arthur's attempt at humour. George grumbles the entire way up to his old bedroom, holding back a shudder at the very thought of not only his brother and y/n but now also his parents.

I need to move away, he thought.

[dreamingofthewild]

100 Bloodweave Fanfic recommendations

As there are over 3,000 Bloodweave fanfics, I have been wanting to do a fanfic rec list for a while. To share some of the works I enjoyed and to offer support for the talented writers in the fandom. I opted for 100, as it is a nice number for a rec list. It was very hard to narrow it down, and there are many good fics that, unfortunately, didn't make it too the list. This is not meant as a 'Top 100' list.

The recommendations will be shared in 6 parts over 6 days as it is too much for one post and I don't want to overwhelm the tag.

Part 1: In Universe Canon Multi-Chapter - 15 fics.

I'd Burn Through the World by thisis_V. Ongoing. Slow Burn, Angst, Hurt/Comfort. Follows the events of the game as Gale Origin. A very canon exploration of Gale and Astarion's relationship throughout the game. One I would recommend to those who do not understand Bloodweave. Includes original art from the author.

Burn out Fade Away by Newperspective20. 112,500 words. Slow Burn, Time Travel. Astarion ascends, Tav takes control of the brain, and Gale sacrifices himself to save everyone from being under Tav’s control. Only he finds himself back at square one. Will he be able to change the course of fate this time?

Stitches, Threads, and the Strings that Bind us Together by Newperspective20. 136,235 words. Hurt/Comfort, Smut, Fluff. The events of the game as Astarion Origin as he learns that not everyone is out to get him.

Ash and Stardust by badmarilyn. Ongoing. Slow Burn, Trauma, Hurt/Comfort, Mutual Pining. When the orb starts to play up, Gale is forced to confide in Astarion. They start to gravitate towards each other, realising they’re more alike than they originally thought.

Broken Together by sparklypanda98. 61,872 words. Slow Burn, Fluff, Angst. A long-form Bloodweave fic about Astarion and Gale's relationship forming during the events of Baldur's Gate 3. Plenty of fluff, but some darker stuff too.

Your Echo in My Scars by shadesofmidnightsun. 76,421 words. Angst With a Happy Ending, Suicidal Thoughts, Smut. Astarion needs blood and protection. Gale just ... needs. They're both full of cracks. Where Gale and Astarion each have their own mess to work through. Will they make each other better?

Ancient Books and Horror Stories by eternalscout. 107,796 words. Slow Burn, Canon Typical Violence, Backstory Relevant Themes. What starts as a tentative friendship between Gale and Astarion, bonding over a shared love of reading, turns into the alarming realization that they may just have caught feelings for each other.

Through the Fire Together by Aria_Lerendeair. 16,646 words. Angst, Healing Together, Falling In Love. After defeating Cazador and releasing the Spawn to the Underdark, Astarion finds himself in the graveyard, waiting for whatever retribution they want to visit upon him after what he did to them.

Old Wives Tales by neo7v. 8,030 words. Mystra related content warnings. This fic explores the exploitative and grooming nature of Mystra’s relationship with Gale.

If the Cross on the Door Doesn't Scare You by Aylwyyn228. 19,113 words. Hurt/Comfort, Starvation, Found Family. Astarion gets outed as a vampire in the shadow-cursed lands. 

embracing the sun by vannral. 16,095 words. Mutual Pining, Friendships, Smut. In which people see whatever That is between Astarion and Gale and wonder. Meanwhile Astarion and Gale are oblivious. Set during Act 3.

Stop Kicking Gale (Please) by Yassha. Ongoing series. Hurt, Comfort, Fluff, Backstory Relevant Themes. AU where Astarion gets to process his emotions a bit earlier, and Gale is a bit more volatile, and those two things match up quite well.

Keep To The Shadows (your light can’t reach me there) by beepbeepsan. Denial of Feelings, Flirting. Trapped between a rock and, well, more rocks, Astarion has nowhere to run from Gale and his own feelings. But damned if he won't do his best to find a way out.

Bliss and Ignorance by ultranerdyandiknowit. 17,195 words. Dubious Consent, Hurt, Comfort, Angst, Misunderstandings. While sharing a moment of intimacy in the Shadowlands, Gale gives into the temptation to read Astarion's mind. He wants to feel their pleasure shared, to feel it amplified.

What he finds when he opens the link is nothing short of horrifying.

Shades of Romance by ClaireinSorcia. 139,829 words. Romance, Fluff, Getting Together, Drama, Backtory Relevant Themes. Astarion’s always been a flirt, so what happens when the new victim of his attentions, Gale, falls for it and takes it seriously? With Tav having turned Astarion down it should be fun to see how far this game can play out. But then what will Astarion do when he catches feelings he doesn’t even understand?

Part 2: In Universe Canon One-Shots - 17 fics.

Part 3: In Universe Canon Divergent - 16 fics.

Part 4: In Universe Post-Canon Multi-Chapter - 20 fics. 

Part 5: In Universe Post-Canon One Shots - 14 fics. 

Part 6: Alternate Universe - 18 fics.

[hivemuthur]

What was that? - Ch. 14.

viktorxfemale!OFC explicit!

friends to lovers, co-workers, sexual tension up to the wazoo, pinning and banter that got me frustrated when I was writing it, attempt at humour, some angst and a slow burn with a happy ending and a classic Viktor for once

Ch.1. | Ch.2. | Ch.3. | Ch.4. | Ch.5. | Ch.6. | Ch.7. | Ch.8. | Ch.9. | Ch.10. | Ch.11. | Ch.12. | Ch.13. | Ch.15.

word count: 6,5K

tag: #what was that

author’s note: @rennethen as beta reader and co-author of nsfw scenes. Big decisions are made as we inch toward the ending, more big decisions to come in the next chapter. This one has a bit of angst and making up :')

Cross-posted on AO3

—

A crumpled piece of paper stared at her from the desk, almost offensively. Don’t come. Ekko had been very clear about what was happening in Zaun—how they needed help and supplies—and yet, at the same time, he’d written, “Don’t come.” The words, scratched out in haste and frustration, outlined the chaos unfolding in the Undercity, painted in vivid, heart-wrenching detail. He spoke of the Chem-barons pushing harder, of the Grey spreading faster than anyone had anticipated, but it was the final sentence that cut deeper than the rest: Things look bad, but don’t come.

It was an incredibly stupid thing to say to someone whose first instinct was to do the exact opposite.

She knew how to sneak in unnoticed. She knew how to blend into the Undercity’s shadows, how to remain invisible on its streets even while carrying a massive bag filled with meds and supplies. She knew where to leave the packages and how to find Vander if the need ever arose. Her wardrobe even included the most inconspicuous clothes for this exact purpose, and she had practiced her most inconspicuous stroll to match. Yet nobody wanted her to go.

Ekko had told her not to come. Jayce would probably say the same. Was it fear for her safety? Or was it a plea for her to stay out of a war that had already begun to consume everything? Viktor—though he hadn’t said it so firmly—had shown it in his eyes. More than anyone, he didn’t want her to go. He’d all but forbidden her. The same way she had tried to forbid him from using the Hexcore.

Her chest tightened as she thought of his fractured resolve, of the utterly betrayed look on his face when he had found her clutching onto Jayce in the lab. How she had cried her heart out to Jayce, how she had confessed her complete, unfaltering devotion to Viktor. And yet it was Viktor who should have heard those words. Not Jayce. And certainly not like that. Not stolen or overheard in a desperate attempt to turn him away from his goal. He deserved so much better. He deserved to hear it in the safety of their bed, spoken with love and certainty—not anguish.

Her fingers trembled slightly as she smoothed the paper on her desk, her mind returning to the fleeting moment when Viktor had said, I am happy. How quickly that happiness had faded, replaced with another want—one far more dangerous and unapproachable than the concept of being loved. Or perhaps, she thought bitterly, they were equally alien to Viktor.

A knock on the door wrenched her out of her own head.

She glanced around her apartment, taking in its natural state of controlled chaos. Papers were scattered across her bed and floor, a few too many cups for one person splayed across various surfaces, clothes draped haphazardly over the chair. A scented candle burned faintly on the table, its singular ember a small, grounding presence in the midst of her internal monologue.

She sighed, stretched—she’d been sitting in the same position for what must have been two hours—and walked toward the door on wobbly legs.

When she opened it, Viktor stood on the other side, and her first thought was whether he had felt the same as she did now when she had shown up at his doorstep after their week apart. She mirrored his movements from that moment, fighting the immediate urge to pull him into an embrace. Instead, she settled for a gentle chin tilt, a silent beckon for him to come inside.

Wordlessly, she closed the door and turned to face him, only to find his gaze fixed on the floor. His trembling hand gripped his cane tightly, his knuckles white with tension. He looked awful—worn, hollow somehow—but she couldn’t pinpoint exactly why.

Before she could form the words to greet him, he suddenly clutched onto her like a drowning man reaching for a lifeline.

“Forgive me,” he whispered desperately against her neck, his voice raw and unsteady.

His cane clattered to the floor. Viktor clung to her with so much need, his breathing laboured and erratic, as though every exhale cost him more than he could bear. Renly froze for a moment, startled by the sheer force of his grip, but instinct soon took over. She raised her hands, resting them lightly on his back, feeling the faint tremor coursing through his body. His arms encircled her neck, holding her so tightly it almost hurt, as though letting go might shatter him completely.

"I’m sorry," he whispered, his voice raw, cracking under the weight of his anguish. "I’m so sorry."

Renly’s fingers pressed gently against the fabric of his coat; her touch uncertain but steady. "Viktor," she began softly, but he interrupted her with another broken apology, his words tumbling over one another like a prayer.

"I’m so sorry," he whispered again, the sound of it splintering her heart.

She tightened her hold on him, grounding him as best she could, though she couldn’t understand what he meant. Her mind spun. He did it, didn’t he.

"Viktor, talk to me," she said, her voice calm despite the storm she could feel radiating from him. "I’m here. Whatever this is, you don’t have to carry it alone."

He didn’t respond right away. Instead, he pressed his face against her neck, his breath hot and uneven on her skin. She could feel his weight bearing down on her, not just physically, but emotionally, as though the very act of standing upright was too much for him.

"I’m afraid," he murmured at last, so softly she almost didn’t hear him.

"Afraid of what?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, not wanting to startle him.

"Of losing you," he admitted, his words breaking into a sob.

The sound sent a sharp pang through her chest. Viktor, who always carried himself with an air of precision and control, now stood before her utterly undone. He was a man stripped of his defences, standing on the edge of a precipice with nothing left to shield him.

"You won’t lose me," she promised, her voice firm despite the tears welling in her own eyes. "I’m right here, Viktor. I’m not going anywhere."

But he only clung tighter, as though her words weren’t enough to break through the crushing weight of whatever he was carrying.

"You don’t understand," he whispered, his voice cracking under the strain. "I’ve done something… something I cannot undo."

Her breath caught. She pulled back just enough to look at him, her hands moving to his shoulders. His eyes were red-rimmed and glassy, his face ashen with guilt and fear.

"What did you do?" she asked, the question gentle but unyielding.

Viktor shook his head, a tear slipping down his cheek. "I thought I could… fix—," he said, his words halting, as though even admitting it out loud might unravel him completely. "But I… I made a mistake, Renly. A terrible mistake."

A cold dread settled in her stomach. He did it. At least attempted it. She could feel her hands trembling—not just with fear, but with anger. Betrayal coursed through her veins, sharp and biting. How could he?

The thoughts poured into her mind, gnawing at each other, each one more vicious than the last. He’d gone ahead in his anger, in his stubbornness, and risked everything. Risked his life. Left her teetering on the brink of losing him entirely.

And for what? Because what she offered wasn’t enough? Because her care, her devotion, hadn’t been enough to make him stop, to make him reconsider?

The realisation burned her, stoking the flames of her own insecurities. She could feel the edges of her composure fraying as she stepped back from him, her arms dropping to her sides. The absence of her touch seemed to hit Viktor like a physical blow, his gaze snapping up to meet hers, wide and filled with something that might have been regret—or terror.

“What did you do?” she asked, her voice colder than she’d intended, cutting through the tension like a knife.

Viktor flinched, his shoulders sagging as though the weight of her words pressed him further into the ground. His lips parted, but for a moment, no sound came. His hands hovered uncertainly at his sides, as if reaching for something—her, maybe—but they didn’t move.

“I…” He muttered another apology, his voice barely audible, before finally forcing out the words. “The Hexcore. It… it nearly destroyed me.”

Nearly was an understatement. It had destroyed him—briefly—and then put him back together. Or rather, he had put himself back together with the last ounce of his will, while being consumed and pulled apart in every direction.

In that moment, a fleeting thought had crossed his mind, as one of the possibilities presented to him was an end. An end to his pain, to his indecision, to his fear. A blissful nothing had glimmered faintly before him, just within reach, offering peace and absolution. To become a part of the Arcane, forever forgotten and undisturbed.

Wrenching himself away from it had been the hardest thing Viktor had ever done—until now. Now, standing before Renly, he was faced with something even more daunting: proving his worth to her again. Explaining, somehow, that he had found all the answers he thought he needed, only to realise that none of them mattered without her. Explaining that he had stepped away—not because she was a consolation prize—but because she had always been, and would always remain, his first choice.

Emptiness echoed through Renly’s mind. Her anger faltered quickly, replaced by despair. She had despaired for him so deeply. Part of her wanted to reach back out and shield him from the world, to gather him in and protect him. But another part of her was so deeply wounded by the possibility—one that had never come to fruition yet had still clawed a gaping hole in her—that he had chosen otherwise, even briefly.

She willed her legs to move and passed him wordlessly on her way to the kitchen, granting him only a fleeting moment of her hand resting on his shoulder. She put the kettle on and pulled out two cups to later join her ever growing cup display across the apartment.

Viktor dragged himself behind her, eventually slumping into the chair like a defeated dog. They sat in silence for what felt like an eternity until she finally placed a steaming cup before him and took a seat across the table, facing him directly.

“All right. What happened?”

“Renly, I—” Viktor sniffled, struggling to gather words that would make sense. “I am so sorry.”

“Stop apologising, Viktor. It already happened,” she said, exasperated, her voice tinged with annoyance. But seeing how he shrank under her scolding, she softened, reaching out to take his hand.

“I was so angry,” he admitted, his voice low and trembling. “With you, with Jayce. I suppose I felt exactly how you are feeling now.” He looked up, meeting her eyes with raw vulnerability. “I… I touched it. And it just devoured me. Broke me. Showed me what I could become—and the price for it. And I realised… I hated it.”

Renly held her breath, her hand retreating from his. “Are you hurt?”

“No. Well, slightly,” Viktor winced, his lips pressing into a thin line. “It’s mostly my mind that’s hurt. My pride.” He thought of the way the Hexcore had terrorised him, its merciless grip, and how he couldn’t bring himself to tell her the full truth.

“I can’t believe you threw it all away on a whim,” she blurted, unable to keep the accusation from slipping out.

“It was not a whim!” Viktor’s voice rose, but only briefly, before it broke into a sigh. “It was a promise of something better. For you. For me. Mostly for me,” he admitted, his gaze falling, his thoughts spiralling into incoherence.

“Viktor.” Renly’s tone was heavy, her emotions warring within her. “I can only imagine… No, actually, I can’t imagine what you feel every day.” She stopped him with a sharp look when she saw he was about to interrupt. “I’m so sorry that I don’t know. I was… I was afraid to lose you too.” Her voice cracked, betraying the pain she had tried to hide.

“Renly,” he said, his words weighed down with difficulty, yet he forced himself to continue. “I would understand if this were something you cannot forgive.”

“Viktor, how can you—” she began, but the tears rolling down her cheeks choked the words in her throat. She raised a crook of her elbow to cover her eyes, desperately trying to steady herself.

A hysterical thought shot through Viktor’s mind—that this was their teary goodbye—and for a moment, he was certain he’d start crying as well. He closed his eyes, feeling the heat gathering under his lids, when her hands found him again. Her weight settled on his lap, her face nuzzling into his hair.

“I’m so sorry,” she sobbed, a full-blown cry that dampened his sweater and neck. “You’re so… good, and I haven’t told you,” she said, her voice breaking as she wiped her tears on him. “I didn’t know what I would do if you…” Another sob tore through her, ugly and raw, overblown with all the feelings she had bottled up for far too long.

 Viktor wrapped his arms around her, pulling her impossibly closer as he tried to suppress his own tears. His chin rested lightly on her shoulder, and he whispered hoarsely, “I know.”

And he did. He knew it with a clarity that terrified him. That feeling of being so completely entwined with someone else, so dependent on them for a piece of his own happiness—it was as exhilarating as it was terrifying. Never in his life had he allowed himself to need someone like this, to let someone burrow so deeply into the carefully constructed walls around his heart. But he couldn’t fight it anymore. He didn’t want to.

“Will you…” His voice wavered as he pulled back just enough to meet her swollen, tear-streaked face. “Will you have me back?”

Renly blinked at him, her brows knitting together as if she wanted to argue, to challenge him, to tell him just how wrong he was. She’d never gotten rid of him in the first place. But the words didn’t come. Instead, her trembling hands cradled his face, and she leaned in, pressing a sloppy, tear-soaked kiss against his mouth.

“Yes,” she muttered, her lips brushing his as she spoke the word straight into him, warm and raw and final. “Yes.”

Viktor shuddered under her touch, relief washing over him. He kissed her back, softly at first, then with more urgency, needing to feel the truth of her words. It wasn’t elegant or perfect—it was messy and desperate, as he swallowed her tears down as if they were his own.

Wordlessly, Renly took his hands and guided him toward her bedroom, minding all the obstacles along the way, her movements impatient. Viktor stepped carefully behind her, taking in the clutter of random objects. Not much had changed since the last time he’d been there; she had just added more colourful lamps.

Once they had reached the bedroom, she pushed the door shut before pinning Viktor against it, her hands reaching for his neck to pull him into a desperate kiss. He gave away a startled gasp, as she bit his lower lip and slid her palms underneath his shirt. His coat, long abandoned on the hallway floor, left him wearing the same clothes he had worn the day before, and they gave off a faint metallic smell of blood and gear oil from the lab.

Viktor let out a chuckle, as her needy fingers rushed to undo his buttons and rush him out of the layers, scratching his chest with her fingernails by accident. With almost restrained movements, he did the same for her, as if his regard for clothes had vanished, and he only obliged because of her decency in not ripping the fabric right off his back.

With their mouths still glued together, Viktor let his weight rest on her, as he backed them toward the bed, positioning himself to sit first and pull her into his lap. He cupped her face and pulled her in for a tight embrace, his forehead resting in the curve of her neck. He pressed his face into her hair and breathed in deeply through his mouth and nose, hoping to keep her scent with him forever.

Renly ran her fingers down his spine, the bolts embedded in it, as she gently detached all the parts that corseted Viktor’s frame, rubbing her palms flat along the dents and marks it left in his skin. He let out a relieved exhale, as her mouth came back to his into a messy open mouth kiss, his hands pressing on her shoulder blades. Her lips needy, giving away moans of urgency, as if there wasn’t enough of him.

She stood up, guiding him with her, before she leaned down to take off his leg brace with a few quiet clicks and placed it by the bed. Viktor felt her hands sliding down his thigh, her fingers pressing gently around his knee. She then returned to level with him and licked the seam of his mouth as she unbuckled his belt.

Viktor hesitated; his hands travelled to steady hers before she could pull his pants down. There, below the layer of material, was the very proof of his infidelity, of his weakness. The purple, fluorescent vein that burned itself into the fabric of his flesh—a forever reminder of a moment when he almost let himself be corrupted.

She squeezed his palms and broke the kiss with a sigh. Her hands then cradled his neck, pulling him in so she could ghost his forehead, his eyebrows, his eyelids, his moles, the corner of his mouth, the side of his nose, the spot under his jaw, his neck, with her lips. A silent signal of acceptance, of forgiveness, of the fact that nothing had to be forgiven in that moment. Viktor’s hands hovered in the air patiently until her last kiss, when they rested on her hips, curling under the waistband of her pants.

They rid themselves of the last bit of clothing together, Renly’s eyes lingering for a moment on the alien string in Viktor’s body, his own eyes closed as he slid her pants off with the dull movement of his palms, cradling the skin of her legs. Standing close, but not close enough, Viktor reached out to slowly pull her flush against him. Their mouths came together wrenching breaths out of each other, his thumb stretching the muscle of her cheek as he sunk his tongue in her, breathing heavily through his nose, pressing his chest, his groin, his legs to her and her to his chest and groin so he could feel her naked against him.

Renly’s arms cradled his waist, her palms splayed flat on his back pushing him in, her teeth bringing blood onto his tongue. The fleeting moment of loss was gone, but the feeling of it still present, as they met each other truly for the first time—in hunger and longing, both searching for absolution in each other’s bodies.

Viktor lowered himself back to the edge of the bed, breaking the kiss only to sit her on top of his thighs, her legs straddling him tightly. He clung onto her for balance and for kindness, all their rituals previously established now abandoned for the sake of the urgency of feeling one another, sealing all the things that were close to breaking. He searched for consent in her eyes when his cock found her entrance, and she gave him a silent eager nod against his nose.

Viktor pressed himself in and paused mid-movement, noticing a wince cross her face. “Are you alright?” Of all things, this couldn’t hurt—it mustn’t.

“Yes… ah, yes,” she breathed into his mouth, sinking onto him up to the hilt, the stretch so gratifying she could cry again. A quiet ‘yes’ kept falling from her lips as Viktor’s hips thrusted upwards, their lips and noses bumping against each other in erratic rhythm.

She steadied herself, gripping his chin with one hand and his shoulder with the other, letting him take over, when his hand seized her palm and guided her fingers between them, where their bodies met. A bead of sweat travelled from the pool of her collarbones, down between her breasts, down her belly, to where she touched herself for him.

Her brows knitted together, her mouth hung open between quick breaths, waiting for him, when Viktor cranked his neck to rub his face against hers whispering, “Come on my cock, lásko.”

A full body shudder went through her, as she leaned her weight on him, her thighs clutching around his hips, his bones digging into her flesh, her walls clenching and she muffled a cry of completion into his mouth.

Viktor groaned soon after her, the tightness hugging his cock almost unbearable, as he spilled himself inside, caging her body with his arms, his tongue and teeth dragging across her shoulder. He then collapsed them to the side, still buried within her core, his waist resting on her thigh, his legs curled up under her bum, face nuzzled into her neck.

He kissed her again, his arm stretching out to grab the pillows from the bed head, one to tug under her pelvis as he rolled them over onto it, the other propped under his knee as he hooked his leg underneath hers, their bodies still connected. His tongue exploring her mouth, slowly this time, when his cock slipped out of her, and she let out a disappointed gasp.

Splaying his body on top of hers, their stomachs pressed against each other, he kept kissing her until he felt himself grow hard again. Her belly began to raise and fall more frantically, his own abdomen flexing as he propped himself on one arm and spat into his hand. He reached between them to cup her cunt and rubbed it gently, the slick spreading around her entrance.

He gave his cock a couple of wet strokes to then cage himself around her, one hand above her pressed into the mattress, the other entwining their fingers together, pinning her palm next to her head.

Gently and slowly, he entered her again, his movements soft so she could get used to him once more. The feeling of her walls around him washed over his senses, their scents mixing together, his hips rolling languidly against hers with reverence, as her body accepted him fully. In a pledge of utter devotion, Viktor murmured between his gasps, “I love you so much.”

“I love you,” she immediately whispered into his mouth. Viktor was being careful and precise, drawing out her pleasure and prolonging his. He wanted to savour the slide of their bodies melting into one, memorizing every moan that fell between them. Their noses pressed together, breathing heavily, her brows furrowed, mouths agape as their lips brushed against each other with each push of his hips.

His movements grew more intense, though the pace remained the same. Each slow deep thrust he gave her made her gasp quietly, as his cock kept hitting the right spot. He released her hand to slide his palm between them, his fingers finding her cunt, spreading her lips before resting on her clit. He rubbed it lazily, timing the action with the rolls of his hips and building the pressure withing her as her walls begun to clench around him desperately.

Renly dug her nails into his hips, her brows scrunched together, her mouth panting, breathless, and Viktor only smiled and whispered a quiet, “Yes, you are doing so well.” Her thighs squeezed his hips as she reached another climax, her head lifting from the pillow, crying out into his mouth.

He carefully worked her through the orgasm, before picking up the pace of his thrusts to reach his own completion, her name falling from his lips in a quiet chant. Her walls squeezed against his cock, his arms wrapping around her, face buried in her neck, gasping and panting. His movements grew sloppier the closer he got, when he finally spilled himself inside her with a loud groan, his body collapsing onto hers.

For a moment they both breathed heavily, their stomachs connected, rising and falling together. Then, Viktor rolled off her, pulling her with himself to give her a kiss sealing his devotion to her. He withdrew his cock with a quiet sleek sound, letting his seed leak out between them.

He felt her arms tightening around his neck, her breath growing unsteady, and the flutter of her heartbeat. Then he noticed her chest trembling next to his and pulled back to look at her, only to see tears streaming from beneath her closed eyelids.

“Did I hurt you?” was his first instinct to ask as he eased himself out of the vice grip of her thighs to cradle her face against his chest. “Are you in pain?”

“No, no—” Renly croaked, laughing through her sobs as she dampened Viktor’s chest. “I just feel… empty.” Empty of pain, of anger, of the horrible dread she’d felt when he crossed her doorstep. Empty of doubt and insecurities. All the empty space left to be filled with something new.

“Fuck, I’m so sorry, I don’t know what came over me,” she chuckled, trying to wipe her tears away with her hand, but there were too many. “It’s never happened before. I’m so sorry.”

“Lásko, it’s normal. Cry it out—it’s… beautiful,” Viktor murmured against her ear, his fingers combing gently through her hair. He felt his ribcage swell with contentment, a feeling of utter peace flooding his body from head to toe. Her tears felt like a silent confession etched onto the skin covering his heart.

“What is this?” Renly sniffled again, quieter this time, as she began tracing circles in the damp patch on Viktor’s chest, exhaling slowly through her mouth.

“Temperance,” Viktor mused, cradling her to him as though she were a precious gift. “We’ve been… reforged in our heat, tempered in your tears.”

His words left her gaping into the space in front of her, tracing lines between Viktor’s freckles and moles with her fingers. Silence followed for a while. It was comfortable, with something unfolding. Not love, which wrenched and wounded. Not love, which came only once.

When a yawn tore her mouth apart, Viktor nudged her gently with his chin and asked, “Shower?”

“Yes, shower.” Renly stretched across the bed, pulling Viktor along with her. She grabbed his hands and pulled them above their heads and pressed her toes on his feet, drawing a low chuckle from his throat.

They did all the things they usually did, but somehow it all felt new again—in a new space, with a new emptiness to fill. Renly let the shower run until the water turned warm and prepared fresh towels for them.

They stepped into the shower together, the steam curling around their skin. The first blast of water hit Viktor’s shoulder, and he winced, sucking in a sharp breath.

“Too hot?” Renly asked with a smirk, already reaching for the handle to adjust the temperature.

“Do you usually scald yourself in the shower?” Viktor teased, the corners of his mouth quirking up despite the discomfort.

Renly rolled her eyes, turning the dial until the water was just shy of lukewarm. “Better?”

“Much better,” he said, his tone playful. “Though I’m still recovering from the trauma.”

Renly huffed a laugh and grabbed a bar of soap from the shelf. “I’m afraid you’re going to smell like a coconut,” she said, holding it up as if presenting evidence of her crime.

“Good,” Viktor replied without hesitation. “I love coconut.”

She grinned, shaking her head slightly before beginning her task. Her hands glided over his arms and chest, the soap lathering into creamy bubbles as she worked. She moved with deliberate tenderness, kneading his muscles as though to coax away every last knot of tension that had taken residence in him. Viktor let his eyes drift shut, exhaling as her hands trailed over his shoulders and down his back.

She hesitated when her hand landed on his thigh, the oppressive purple vein even more visible on his flushed skin. Feeling the hover of her touch, Viktor took her palm in his and kissed her knuckles. “It’s alright.”

“Does it hurt?” she asked quietly, and then a thought popped into her head. Of course, it did—it had always hurt.

“No. It just feels… strange.” Viktor pulled her in and wrapped her arm around his neck. “I’ll have to get used to it. It’s a small price.”

When she reached up to wash his hair, he leaned into her touch like a weary traveller finding solace. Her fingers threaded through his damp curls, massaging the soap in gentle circles over his scalp. Every now and then, Viktor caught her hands, pressing a kiss to her fingers and wrists in a gesture that felt reverent. The simplicity of it—the quiet intimacy—made Renly’s chest ache in the best way.

When she finished, Viktor turned her by the shoulders, swapping places with her under the stream of water. He took the soap from her, his hands warm and sure as they smoothed over her skin. He moved slowly, deliberately, as if mapping her anew. The steam curled around them, the water running in rivulets down her back as he pulled her flush against him.

When he reached her hair, his fingers worked through the strands with a skill that surprised her. His thumbs pressed into her temples, eliciting a soft moan as her eyes fluttered shut, rolling back in her skull.

“Good?” he murmured, his voice low and rich.

“Perfect,” she breathed, leaning into him.

They kissed lazily under the stream, the water running between them as their mouths met in unhurried synchrony. Their hands found each other’s skin, not in hunger this time but in care—an exchange of solace, of connection. Every touch felt like a quiet vow, a promise that they didn’t need words to seal.

When they got back to bed, which had been changed by Renly’s insistence—Viktor said he didn’t mind, and he really didn’t—she started to drift off almost immediately. His hands traced the lines of her tattoo, lingering around ‘his place’ in it. After a long pause, he finally took a deep breath and asked, “You’re going to Zaun, aren’t you?”

“Will you hate me if I do?” Renly murmured, barely keeping her eyes open.

“No. Will you let me come with you?” Viktor’s voice was low and steady, though there was a hint of something uncertain beneath it. He truly couldn’t bear the thought of her being alone in there, and he couldn’t bear the thought of her constantly looking over her shoulder to see if he was safe if he went with her.

She shifted slightly, meeting his gaze in the dim light. “Viktor, you know I can’t do that. You will suffocate.” It was a statement that carried no judgment and no guilt. It was just a statement, saying the obvious, and yet—it made Viktor feel like he was just about to suffocate.

He inhaled sharply, but his hand gently found its way to hers, his fingers threading through hers. “I can wear a mask. But… we can talk about this tomorrow.” His thumb brushed her knuckles, a subtle gesture of reassurance. “Just know I’m ready to come with you.”

***

As they walked, Viktor’s grip was tight on Renly’s hand. Their morning was quiet, almost warm, until she made him laugh by dropping half of her sugar dish into his coffee with a smirk. He glanced at her with concern when he saw her putting on her Zaunite clothes, but dared not say anything.

They arrived at the lab together, and Jayce, relieved to see them both, looked up. "Mel fought off the council," he said, almost hopefully. "For now, the Hexcore is to remain as an 'on hold' project. We’re to seal it and put it away." Viktor sighed, a mixture of relief and disappointment flooding through him. Renly placed a hand on his shoulder, cradling his cheek gently with the other.

She moved on to pack a bag with supplies, medications, and gas masks for her trip to Zaun. She felt Viktor’s eyes lingering on her the whole time; she knew exactly what he wanted to do and say, and all the bones in her body ached with that knowledge. Jayce glanced at her and asked, "Are you going?"

Renly replied with a weak "yes," her gaze flicking over to Viktor. He shifted his stance on his cane, his voice soft as he spoke, "Renly… please take me with you. I cannot bear it." The weakness in him tore him apart. The weakness of his body fought the weakness of his pride, and his fragile heart—one that had only just reconciled with Renly’s—beat unsteadily in his chest when he saw her eyes, an apology pouring from them.

"Viktor, I beg you. Please, don’t make me choose," she replied, stopping her packing for a moment. She took his hands in hers. "Because if you make me, I will stay, and you will resent yourself for it."

"I will resent myself either way," he whispered weakly, the shape of his mouth askew as he tried to hold all of his weaknesses back. And even though he knew that none of the options presented to him in his agonizing journey through The Arcane were acceptable, for a fleeting moment, he longed for his body to be whole and able.

"I will go." Jayce’s voice was firm and present, so present, in fact, that both Renly and Viktor turned their necks to look at him.

"Jayce, you can’t—" Viktor shook his head in disbelief. He took a step forward toward Jayce, as if trying to physically stop him.

"I will go, and I will come back—with you." He gripped Renly’s shoulders while making his plea. "I’ll deliver you to Viktor’s doorstep, unharmed, I promise." And that promise was meant for Viktor, as Jayce turned his head to look at his partner.

"I… Jayce," Viktor’s words failed him. He knew, of course, that this was the solution to their conundrum. He admired Jayce so deeply in that moment. And even though his mind still whispered horrible insults to himself, he exhaled a breath of surrender. Because he trusted Jayce.

"I told you. You don’t have to carry this alone. And you don’t have to carry this—" Jayce pointed to the bag, "—alone. This is what I can do." He said, his face painted with a reassuring smile, as all three of them stood in a small circle, as if there was no grave danger before them.

Viktor pulled Jayce into an embrace, his voice barely a whisper as he said, "Please, bring her back to me." Jayce hugged him tighter, knocking the breath out of Viktor’s lungs.

They all packed the necessary items into three convenient bags. Jayce’s hand rested on Viktor’s shoulder from time to time, as if to reassure him he would be true to his word. When everything was ready, they stood before the front door, staring at the floor. Viktor let out one last sigh before kissing Renly deeply, for the first time on full display in front of Jayce.

She squeezed her eyes shut, clinging to his wrists. He rested his forehead against hers and whispered, “I love you so much I don’t know what to do with myself.” Renly let out a shaky exhale, then opened her eyes and cradled his face.

“Viktor, I admire you. I respect you. I adore you; I love you so much my heart aches.” She swallowed the lump forming in her throat and kissed him again.

They were startled by a muffled choke coming from Jayce, who had been completely forgotten in that moment. “Guys, this is so beautiful,” he said weakly, pressing his fingers into his eyes, trying to hold back one, maybe two tears.

Renly and Viktor exchanged an embarrassed chuckle, the tension of the moment dissolving. Jayce wiped his eyes, smiling apologetically as he slung one of the bags over his shoulder. “Alright, let’s get moving before Viktor convinces me to restrain you and keep you safe here.”

Renly stepped closer to Viktor one last time, smoothing a hand down his chest. “I’ll be back,” she whispered, leaning in for a final, tender kiss. “Promise me you’ll rest.”

Viktor nodded; his throat too tight to speak. He held her hands in his for a moment longer, his grip unsteady but firm. “Be careful,” he managed to say, his voice breaking just slightly.

Renly squeezed his fingers before letting go, turning to Jayce. He gave Viktor a reassuring nod as if to silently repeat his earlier promise. “I’ll bring her back,” Jayce said softly, the sincerity in his tone like a steady anchor.

With that, the two of them stepped through the door. Viktor stood frozen as he watched them go, his cane trembling slightly in his hand. The sound of the door closing echoed through the room like a final note, and for a moment, he stood there in silence, staring at the empty space where they had been.

The sound of his own sob startled him in the silence. He tried to shy away from it by hiding his face in the crook of his elbow, but it was a futile attempt. His shoulders shook as a full-blown wave of weeping overcame him. The weight of everything—the worry, the helplessness, the love that threatened to swallow him whole—poured out in sobs that filled the empty hallway. His heart, so fragile and raw, cracked under the pressure of letting her go.

He clutched his cane like it was the only thing keeping him upright, tears streaking down his cheeks as he gasped for breath. Viktor rarely allowed himself to cry, but now, in the solitude of the lab, there was no one to witness his unravelling. No one to judge the vulnerability that poured out of him in rivers. For the first time in so long, he let himself feel everything, unrestrained and unapologetic.

He cried out all his anger, cried out his leg, his spine. He cried out the unbearable thought of Renly getting hurt—or worse. He cried out the failure of his dream, the loss of Rio, his lungs, himself—every oppressive thought that gnawed at him, every splinter in every bone of his body. When his throat began to burn, a thought ignited weakly, like an ember. You are good at something. Wiping his tears away, chuckling at the absurd of his outburst, he turned back to the lab and sunk back into work.

[bluewatersfairy]

ease my mind (come over) - j.p.

a/n: happy new year! here's the first part of a series that's been sitting in my drafts for months (it'll be about 4 parts, the first two are written).

synopsis: reader is in their first year on the wizard's media team and has a run in with the teams star while working late at the facility.

warnings: none! my first clean nba fic, how far we have come.

word count: 1.8k she's short and cute

•••

Your eyes felt like they were starting to burn with how long you’d been glued to your computer screen.  This was your first year working media for the Wizards and you were determined to prove yourself a worthy hire.  

Having lived in Washington for University, you’d attended several Wizards games over the years – they were a good first date option and you often found yourself cheering for the underdog.  One of the last guys you’d gone with had assumed you were from the area, commenting on how you were so overprotective of a team that has definitely seen better years.  That’s part of the reason why when someone posted the job vacancy on one of your old class pages, you applied.  

Now you were a week in with the media team and today was your first day with the actual team and everything had been blowing by you so quickly, you barely had time to process it.  So far, they’d given you jobs that were difficult to fuck up, but you wanted more than that.  You were above an intern (thank god) so you were actually shooting the camera and editing, but it was all behind-the-scenes shots.  

It was a bit like being a kid at a family event.  You were shadowing a few higher ups and fading into the background as best as possible while they were doing their thing with the players.  Most, if not all, of your shots that you’d been working on all night had included no players' faces.  Barely any faces actually.  But you’d created something of a story out of it and had managed to turn each photo into something you were proud of.  

In your head, it was giving justice-league doing interviews after saving the city.  You had everyone on the roster and could easily make a graphic out of it.  You had that fizzy feeling in your fingers as you switched between your tablet and the computer, mapping out what it could be for your pitch tomorrow.  

Interrupting your stream of thought, your phone lit up on the desk beside you, violently vibrating – making you jump.  It was your roommate calling to see when you were going to be home.  It was gone midnight and they were starting to get worried.  You begrudgingly told them you’d be home by one and started to get ready to go.  You made sure to transfer the pictures you’d spent hours on to your tablet as well as a few video clips you’d taken “just in case”.  It was gonna take 25 minutes for everything to transfer (the wifi was stupidly slow), so you grabbed your camera and phone and figured you’d take a walk around the facility and see if there was anything that caught your attention.  

You weren’t thinking of much, maybe you’d find a fun angle of the courts or something about the building that seemed aesthetically pleasing.  You were all of 3 metres out of your office when you heard the faint echo of basketballs hitting the floor and shoes squeaking.  Not exactly what you were expecting, but you followed it all the same. 

Standing at the doorway to the basketball courts, you were met with the one and only #13, Jordan Poole, shooting mid range jumpers.  He had his earbuds in and was shirtless, glistening in sweat.  He’d clearly been here for a while.  You hadn’t realised you’d been so concentrated that you didn’t hear the only other sound in the building until you were pushed out of your office.  The door was wide open too. 

“Yoo,” Jordan dragged out in surprise when he turned to see you.  His hand instinctively reached up to take one of his earbuds out and he knocked away a ball.  His eyes first scanned over your face, then down your body before they landed on your camera.  He made eye contact with you and stood still for a second before pointing at you.

“You’re the new media girl,” he identified as he started to walk a bit closer to you, a ball now tucked under his arm, “I’m not gonna pretend to know your name but I’m Jordan.”  He held his hand out to you and you slowly took it, staring up at him minorly confused and somewhat dazed.

“I know,” the words fell out of your mouth before you could stop yourself.  He smirked briefly and let go of your hand, “I’m Y/N, and yeah.  The new media girl.”  

“I didn’t think anyone else was here,” he said tilting his head to the side, “I would’ve let you know otherwise.  I’ve got a key and all the alarm codes so you don’t have to worry about me getting out if you’re heading home.”  

“Oh, I’m not-” you cut yourself off again and looked behind you at nothing in particular, “I mean, I am about to leave, but I’m not.  Yet.”  Every part of your body was telling you to stop talking, to say goodnight, turn around and leave.  But your feet couldn’t move.  You were stuck in mud under Jordan’s gaze.  He looked tired, really tired.

“You look like you have a question,” he smiled as he took out his other earbud, “or like you're lost.  I can’t really tell.”  He chuckled a little, mostly to himself and turned his eyes to the floor before he started walking to where his stuff was.  

“I’m not that type of media person,” you said, slowly following him, “I just take pictures and videos, I don’t ask questions.”  You stopped about 4 metres away from where he was bent over.  He was putting his earbuds away, you realised.

“You, as a person,” he turned his head to face you, “don’t ask questions?” he raised his eyebrows and again started to smirk.  He was playing with you, teasing you.  You were too tired to properly process any of this. 

“I do, of course!” you exclaimed a little too loudly, your eyes widening at the sound of your voice, “I ask too many actually, but I don't get paid to, y’know?  So you don’t have to do any dodging with me, I just,” you paused and raised your camera, “take pictures.”

“And videos,” he added, pointing at you.  

“And videos.”  You took a deep breath and lowered your hand.  You were realising, right then, that you did in fact have a question for him.  

“Can I ask you a question?”

He smiled, like he was waiting for you to get there and patted the seat beside him, “only if you sit down next to me.”

So you did.  You sat down and pulled your legs up to tuck them under you.  Jordan turned slightly so he was facing you better and for the first time, you caught his scent.  It was mixed with his sweat, but it was rich and smooth, and oh so familiar.  Not that you could put your finger on it.  

“Hit me,” he said, pulling you out of your head again.  He smiled brightly at you and you returned it.

“Is there something about our media team that makes you uncomfortable?” you blurted out, it’d been on the tip of your tongue all day.  “At Golden State, you seemed so warm to the media team, but here, you look like you’d rather be anywhere else.”

His smile slowly faded and he looked down at his lap, biting his bottom lip slightly before pushing his lips together.  He looked at you and pushed his tongue between his teeth. 

“It’s not just with this team, your team,” Jordan said honestly, “there was just a point where I felt like I couldn’t say the right thing so I just,” he paused and leant back in his seat, “pulled back with them.”  

Jordan sat in thought for a moment before turning to look at you to see what you had to say.  You didn’t have much, to be honest.  You’d not known this media team all that long and the only reason you even knew any of this was because you were a fan of the team.  And Jordan.  

“I feel like I’ve seen you before,” Jordan broke out of the conversation and leant forward, dropping the look of vulnerability that very briefly crossed his face.  “‘You come to games often?”

You laughed, accepting you were moving on from your once serious conversation.  “I do, it’s sort of my go-to first date idea.”  

Jordan made a face before the two of you shared a quick chuckle, “you like watching your home team lose on a date?”  

“Hey,” you quipped, swatting at his arm, god his arms were solid, “you guys won most of the games I was at.”  

He rolled his eyes and chuckled a little, “no wonder I remember your face then, you must be our good luck charm.”

Before you could respond your phone started buzzing again.  Your roommate was video calling you this time, not a good sign.  So, you declined it and tucked it under your thigh.  

“It’s late,” Jordan said as he glanced at his watch.  He’d watched you decline a call from one ‘loveyyy’ and he decided he wasn’t putting himself in a smart position.  “You must have someone waiting at home for you.”

“Just a roommate who listens to the traffic radar too much,” you stood up, following Jordan and looked up at him for a moment when a thought crossed your mind.

“Did you enjoy doing the mini mic interviews?”  He was caught off guard, it showed in the way his eyebrows shot up and he instantly smiled.

“I did,” he nodded his head, “I dunno why they didn’t try and keep them going here.  They talked about it for a minute last season.”  

That was your entry point, you were sure of it.  Jordan was always stand offish towards everyone but he seemed to like talking to you.  If you could get him a mini mic and a few questions, you were sure you could make something of it.  A season-long series would basically prove your worth, secure you a proper spot on the team and Jordan was their best option for media engagement.  He was charismatic and good looking; the perfect poster boy. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” you called to him as you started walking off, your brain in quick motion, “hopefully with a mini mic.”

“I look forward to it,” Jordan called out after you.

Truthfully, he wasn’t sure what he’d just set up, but he liked your vibe.  You were easy to talk to and finally stopped the thought that had been spinning in his head all day.  This felt like a do-or-die season.  If he didn’t play his best, he wasn’t sure they’d keep him around come February.  And he wanted to stay here, he wanted to make a name for himself separate from everyone else.   

[draco-dormiens]

FOR ALL THAT IS RIGHT AND JUST - Flashback

auror!draco x auror!fem!slytherin reader / post-war au

warnings: strong language, angst, implied mental struggles, negative self deprecation, alcohol use, mild descriptions of wounds

wc: 2162

tags: @yeolsbubbles @send-me-styles @shinytalent @malfoylover4l

tag list open!!

masterlist

Draco's Story

Late July, 1998

"I've decided, Dray." Your voice is soft but laced with determination. He sits beside you, on the roof of his parents mansion, the window to his room just below your dangling feet, a cool night breeze licking his skin as the July heat still lingers in the air. "I'm going to become an Auror. After everything I've seen, after uncle Travers..." you pause for a long moment, staring up into the dark navy sky, dotted with glimmering white specs where, thousands and thousands of lightyears away, stars burn; big, bright, dazzling orbs, "I can't let it happen again. I can't allow other children to go through what we have, what you have. Even if it just a small change, I want to help make it."

He's silent for while. The bottle of Fire Whiskey you'd both been sipping on rests just between his knees. Bringing it to his lips, he takes a long drink before setting it back down. There are bruises on his knuckles, cuts on his arms, a nice gash to his forehead from where he'd managed to make contact with the floor outside of the Room of Requirement. If not for the boy he'd spent the last seven years envying with a seething jealousy, he would no doubt be dead. He owed Harry and his friends his life, and that, although a cold hard fact, did not settle well in the young Malfoy's stomach. He was bitter, scarred, and lost. Where did he go from here? All he had come to know, everything his parents had made him believe, was nothing but blind faith and complete ignorance.

Once a bully, preying on the weak and snarling insults at those he deemed lesser. Once a boy of great talent and expectations. Once the seeker for his house. Then a Death Eater, a coward and no better than those who tore the school to pieces.

He was no better, and he was no one. Not anymore; but he feels now, despite his prejudice over the years, that he wasn't really anyone to begin with. When the mark, that now is nothing but an ugly scar on his milky skin, was first placed upon his arm, he really had believed he was to be granted power and protection. All he had to do to bring his family glory was follow instructions. He thought he wanted this. He thought he was doing his parents proud. When he realised his misjudgment, it was far too late to change his mind.

Draco tried to murder. He tried to - but as much as he told himself it was his duty, the small flicker of who he really wanted to be started to burn a little brighter, a little hotter, until he smothered the flame and hexed Katie Bell and cast an unforgivable curse on Madame Rosmerta. Until he was face to face with his one mission, just to fail at the very last second and become the laughing stock of a group of rotten-minded wizards.

He can still hear you - sometimes in his sleep, sometimes when he wakes in the night.

"Please, just tell me what's wrong, Dray." You cried in the hallway that night, his wand tight in his grip. The sound of a happy, joyful Slug Club Christmas party was well underway further down the corridor. You, in your stunning emerald dress and diamond earrings he had gifted you the other year for your birthday, had begged him to confide in you multiple times. Daphne had written him off, Blaise and Theo told you he had changed and wasn't coming back. Pansy had a small amount of faith left, but it was fading quickly. Your sixth year was already turning out to be a monstrosity, and now the boy you would have called your very best friend had changed; he wasn't Draco anymore, he was colder, more bitter and worryingly paler. Albeit, his personality wasn't the warmest nore the most endearing to begin with, but since your childhood he had been a constant in your life.

And now he was anything but that.

"I've already told you," he says, lifeless and empty, "I don't want you getting caught up in anything. Just go back to the party, alright?"

"Why are you shutting me out?" You almost whimper, and the white knuckle grip on his wand only gets tighter, threatening to snap the wood in half. He hates this. He hates it.

But he must do it. To protect what he cares for.

"Please," he mutters helplessly, turning his head slightly to look over his shoulder at you. He fears if he looks at you fully, he might crumble into a million little pieces, "I'm trying to protect you. Let me at least do that. Please. Go back inside."

"Draco?" Your voices brings him out of his daze, his eyes landing on yours. A kindness had dwelled within them since you were children; a kindness that, even after all he's done, still shines through and touches his skin like warm sun. He stares back for a long while, not fully understanding why you still came to visit him. More than two months since the war ended, since his family faced trial after trial and escaped with their dignity hanging by a mere thread. He hadn't heard from the others; Blaise, Pansy, Goyle. Not that he particularly cared. It appeared they would have rather saved what reputation they had left than mingle with fellow betrayers like himself.

He can't say he blames them.

"Are you okay?" you ask him, brushing some of his white-blond hair from his face, "you can talk to me, you know. I'm here for you."

"Why?" he simply asks, and you almost look surprised at the question.

"Because you're still you, Dray," you whisper, a ghost of a smile at your lips, "many things have happened. I know now why you couldn't talk to me about... well, everything. But you can now, and I'm here to listen. Please, don't try and battle this on your own."

The warm summer air ruffles the hair around your familiar, comforting face. He thinks that someone up there might not think so bad of him, to keep you coming back even when he's troubled you more than anyone else. A slight smile cracks on his face, something you hadn't seen in many, many months. The sight of it almost brought you to tears.

"You know," he says quietly, "I'd have kicked my sorry ass to the curb if I were you. I haven't exactly been kind to you; or anyone, over the last few months. I've done some really fucked up shit. Yet, here you are, drinking my Dad's Fire Whiskey on the roof with me." He shuffles a little closer to you and wraps an arm around your shoulders, as you willingly accept his embrace, cuddling into his warm and familiar body. You liked to believe he was still in there, the real Draco. The one that sometimes, unknowingly, allowed you to see little glimpses into his life. He's a collector of sorts; not like his father, but in a more sentimental and valuable way. Many a time have you caught him putting a rather nice looking pebble in his pocket, thinking no one had seen him take a shine to such a trivial thing. He enjoys the piano, and although he never plays for anyone, you had caught him mid song one summer during a visit to his home. You can still hear him scold you for sneaking up on him and making you swear not to tell anyone. He reads - not your typical story books or novels, but educational books about Astrology and Alchemy. Sometimes, when you had met in the library, he'd been so invested in a book, his eyebrows pierced together and a look of pure concentration on his face, that he hadn't noticed you standing beside him until you nudged him slightly. Another scolding, but something about the way he grumbled that he was 'just passing the time because you took so long' had you convinced there was no malice in it whatsoever.

Draco never had a heart of gold. He was never a shining example of friendship, or the best at expressing his feelings, or had the best attitude towards things he found unbefitting of him. Throughout the years you had argued about his mean streak, about his nature towards certain students, but as if joined at the hip, you had remained close, and his brashness was ever so slightly tamer with you. His words weren't as sharp, or as jarring, and he often made a point of saying 'if you go, I will' or 'as long as you think so.' Despite his blooming admiration for you, he still remained a little hesitant to treat you completely different.

And he was still in there. You were sure of it. He was in there - the Draco you had come to love.

"I wouldn't be a very good friend if I did that, would I?" you say lightheartedly, and you feel him squeeze you a little tighter, "you will get passed this Draco. You will heal; inside and out, and you will go out into the world and make a good name for yourself. You will make yourself proud - it doesn't matter about anyone else. Just do what's right for you."

He ponders for a moment, stroking your hair gently, calming himself as he leans his chin on the top of your head. The world made no sense; his place in it seemed none existent, but as if a small glimmer of hope had pierced his heart, he starts imagining the future.

"Do you think they'd have me?" He then asks you, and you pull back slightly to look up at him.

"Who?" You say.

"The Aurors," he then responds, matter of fact, "do you think they'd... accept someone like me."

"You want to be an Auror?" You say excitedly, and his heart, for the first time in a very long time, begins to feel lighter at the look on your face. All this time and you're still the prettiest girl he'd ever laid his eyes on. He shrugs and looks away.

"I dunno, I was just thinking out loud," he said, fingers still playing with the ends of your hair. Then he laughs, a shallow and bitter laugh, "like they'd want me. Imagine me showing up to help someone - they'd asked for someone else. It'd be fucking joke."

"It might not be," you say in all seriousness, "why does it have to be like that? As much as you may think things are set in stone, they are not, Draco. You decide how the future goes. You decide what happens from now on. If it starts that way then change their minds. Your past does not define you. It's what you do, how you learn, that does."

"Sure you don't want to be a therapist or something?" He jokes lightly, and you giggle. Draco truly believes that something holy keeps you around a mess like him. Once Voldemort's threat was over, you were the first person at his door. The first and only person to check on him. A ray of light in the deep, dark hole he was falling into.

"I've made up my mind," your giggle comes to a holt, and you look at him with a sheer determination sparkling in your eyes, "it's time for you to do the same, Dray."

The reception he received was nothing short of foul. Minister Shacklebolt treated him the same as any other new recruit, but his fellow Auror's did not feel so welcoming. He mainly stuck by you throughout the training phase, and kept his distance from Potter and Weasley. There were whispers, odd looks and uneasy feelings, but with your guidance, he found himself at the Ministry. After the first year, he had become accustomed to people's shock once they saw him, and even more so from how tolerable he can be when he wanted. Sometimes he even made little jokes about it, and your heart soared at the difference in him. The higher ups soon discovered his talents and willingness, and his career, much like your own, began to blossom.

So, when you barge into Potter's office ten years later, raging about the travesty in the foyer, he thanks Merlin, Salazar and anyone who'll listen when you grace him with that same presence he finds himself missing like a limb when you're not around. An Auror in his own right, a gifted and talented wizard who's knowledge in Occlumency had boded well in his profession, a better man, but still the same whiny, mischievous Malfoy he's always been. He may be a dashingly handsome young man, but his childish ways, short temper and bad attitude never quite left him - and yet he's your heart and solace all the same.

Harry may have saved his life, but without a shadow of a doubt, you saved his soul.

disclaimer: i do not own harry potter or any of the characters or storyline associated with it