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cipheress-to-k-pop · 1 month ago

Text

the one with the runaway bride

Pairing: Theodore Nott x Reader

Word Count: 12.1k (damn)

Summary: Sometimes running away from a wedding leads you exactly where you're meant to be — preferably into the arms of a much better guy.

A/N: These fics just keep getting longer and longer. again lowkey kinda hate this and i feel like i made theo heavily ooc but it is what it is ig

Theo hated churches.

He wasn’t particularly religious—never cared much for the belief in some higher power watching over them all. After all, if someone like that did exist, his mother—a devout, gentle woman—wouldn’t have been ripped from the earth so soon. It should’ve been his father, not her. At least, that’s what he’d thought as a boy.

Still, despite his aversion to anything even remotely sacred, he found himself sitting alone in the pews of a quiet chapel. The sun streamed through stained glass, washing the room in warm, fractured color. He didn’t believe in prayer, but he came here anyway. This had been his mother’s favorite place before she died, and somehow, being here made him feel closer to her—like she might hear him, if only faintly.

“Mamma,” He murmured, voice low, “sometimes I truly wonder what my future was meant to look like.”

The war was over, but the silence it left behind was deafening. He spent a lot of time now, wondering about his place in the world. He and the rest of his mates—Berkshire, Riddle, Malfoy, and Zabini—had played a crucial role, working as double agents under Dumbledore’s orders. But because their involvement had remained classified, carefully buried under the Ministry’s politics, they were still seen as Slytherins first. As former sympathizers. As a threat. Pariahs.

It stung. He had done the right thing, when it mattered most. And yet, he wondered if this cold reception was all he’d ever receive.

A few years ago, he hadn't even expected to live this long. His younger self had been certain he’d never survive the war—that he’d be killed for his betrayal of Voldemort and reunited with his mother much sooner than expected. But he had survived. And now, once again, he was adrift.

That’s why he came back here—hoping for clarity, for a sign. But as always, the silence answered him back.

He sighed softly, rising to his feet and tucking his hands into his coat pockets, ready to leave. His shoes echoed against the marble floor as he turned toward the exit.

But before he could cross the threshold, the chapel doors burst open with a loud bang.

Theo blinked.

A vision in white stumbled inside.

Satin, lace, curls escaping from a veil. Breathless. Flushed. A wild gleam in her eye.

His heart paused mid-beat as he recognized the chaos incarnate now standing in the aisle, clutching the skirt of her wedding dress like she’d just escaped a dragon, veil askew, bouquet long gone, and cheeks flushed pink like she’d run from hell itself.

His mouth opened before he could stop it.

“(L/N)?” The name left his mouth before he could stop it, soft and shocked and just a little bit disbelieving.

You looked up, startled — like you hadn’t expected to see another soul inside — and your eyes widened in delight.

“Theodore Nott!” You beamed, chest still rising and falling in heavy breaths, curls frizzing at the edges, voice giddy and strange, “Fancy seeing you here! Gosh, I haven't seen you since Hogwarts! How are you? And the others—Riddle, Berkshire, and the lot? All good, I hope.”

Theo stared at you in complete bewilderment as you keeled over to catch your breath, tugging off your veil and fanning yourself with it like some kind of deranged society lady.

“Merlin’s sweaty balls,” You gasped, dramatic as ever, “It’s impossible to breathe in this damn corset.”

“They’re good,” Theo said slowly, brow furrowed, “I’m sorry, are you in a wedding dress?”

You nodded, breathless, laughing like the question itself was hilarious, “Unfortunately, yes. Bit of a pity I didn’t realize I didn’t want to marry the sorry bloke thirty minutes ago. Would’ve made my escape a lot easier if I wasn’t drowning in fifty pounds of satin.”

He blinked at you, still speechless, hands deep in his coat pockets.

“I mean—” You barreled on, eyes wide and shining, “there I was, standing at the altar, looking at my so-called fiancé, and it just hit me: I cannot wake up to his sorry mug for the rest of my life. To hell with my parents. And society. I don’t want to be a Bulstrode. That name sounds like the arse-end of a toad, don’t you think?”

You paused, eyes narrowing playfully, “(Y/N) (L/N) sounds so much nicer, doesn’t it?”

Theo arched an unimpressed brow, “You know you can get married without changing your last name, right?”

At that, you absolutely lost it—doubling over in wheezing laughter, slapping your knee like he’d just told the funniest joke in history.

“You always were such a crack-up, Theodore!” You gasped between giggles, “Where are my manners? What brings you here today? Certainly not for the wedding, I hope—because, well—” You gestured at yourself, still panting in the middle of the cathedral, “you can probably tell that’s not happening.”

Before Theodore could get a word in, the sound of heavy footsteps thundered down the hallway. Your eyes went comically wide as you pressed yourself flat against the stone wall, wedged just behind the chapel door as it swung open with a bang.

In marched your father—red-faced, sweaty, and breathing like a charging Hippogriff. His eyes locked onto Theodore like he was a bloodhound catching a scent.

“Have you seen a girl in a wedding dress?” He barked.

Theo quirked a brow, gaze sliding—slowly, deliberately—to the right, where you were doing your best impression of a human statue. From where he stood, he could see you mouthing frantic no’s, shaking your head so violently he was almost certain you’d give yourself whiplash. Your hands were flying in wild, desperate gestures, pleading silently.

He turned back to your father, the picture of calm.

“No, sir.”

Your father squinted, suspicious—but apparently not enough to question it. “Well, if you do,” He huffed, already half-turning, “you tell her to march her sorry behind back into that hall and marry the boy, or she’ll be sorry.”

The door slammed shut behind him.

You clutched your chest like you’d just survived a curse, eyes squeezed shut as you slid bonelessly to the floor in your crumpled wedding dress.

“That,” You breathed, “was nerve-wracking.”

You peeked up at him with a grateful look, “You’re a good liar, Nott. Thank you.”

Theo looked down at the breathless, sweaty heap you’d become, still sprawled on the stone floor like a very distressed meringue. With an amused smirk, he cleared his throat, “Well… good luck with everything, (L/N). Let me know if you actually go through with becoming a Bulstrode. I’ll send a wedding gift.”

You gaped up at him in horror as he began to sidestep the tangled mass of satin and lace that was your gown, clearly preparing to leave the chapel and abandon you to your doom. Without thinking, you grabbed his calf—your perfectly manicured nails digging into his trousers, the massive engagement ring catching the light like a cursed artifact.

“What?! You can’t go now! You have to get me out of here!”

Theo arched a skeptical brow, “And why, exactly, would I do that?”

You pointed at him in outrage, still clutching his leg like a deranged bride octopus, “You just lied to my father! That makes you an accomplice. A—A conspirator! You're already implicated!”

Theo looked thoroughly unimpressed, “I could just tell him you were hiding behind the door like a terrified possum.”

You gasped, “You wouldn’t.”

He tilted his head, “Try me.”

Panic glittered in your eyes before you straightened your spine and went full Slytherin, “Fine. You want to play that game? I’ll tell everyone you’re my secret paramour. That you seduced me, took my virtue in the belfry, and that’s why I fled the altar.”

Theo’s mouth dropped open, scandalized, “I beg your pardon?”

You clasped your hands together, expression softening into exaggerated, pleading sweetness, “Please, Theodore. I’m not asking for your soul. Just… apparate me out of here. One quick jump and I’ll be out of your life forever.”

He stared at you. Then sighed.

“Merlin help me,” He muttered, “You’re even more unhinged than I remember.”

“So that’s a yes?”

He offered you a hand, “Only if you swear not to mention the word ‘virtue’ ever again.”

You grinned, already taking his hand, “Deal, my paramour.”

He groaned. Loudly.

Theo stepped closer, one hand sliding around your waist, tugging you flush against him. You blinked up at him, stunned into silence by the proximity. Up close, you finally understood why half the girls in your year had harbored crushes on him. He had that kind of face—the infuriatingly beautiful kind that made your stomach swoop before your brain could catch up.

Then—with a sharp crack—the world twisted out from under your feet.

You landed hard against him, fingers fisting the lapels of his jacket like your life depended on it. Which, to be fair, it had.

Warm sunlight spilled over your face, the bustling sounds of the street around you cutting through the fading disorientation. You blinked. Then smiled.

You were free.

Theo watched you quietly as your eyes danced over every detail—the streetlamp, the baker’s cart, a child chasing a butterfly. Everything ordinary now seemed extraordinary through your gaze. You looked like someone seeing the world for the first time.

“Are you good, (L/N)?” He asked, low and cautious.

You didn’t take your eyes off the street. “A new world’s waiting for me,” You said softly, “It’s… terrifying.”

He didn’t say anything, but his grip around your waist didn’t loosen.

You stood there, trembling fingers still tangled in the fabric of his coat, heart pounding like it was trying to sprint back to the cathedral.

Theodore’s sharp gaze softened as he took in your messy lipstick, sweat-dampened curls, and the way you clung to him like the world had just tipped sideways. You looked like a woman on the edge of disaster—or greatness. Maybe both.

"Where were you planning to go?" He asked quietly.

You blinked up at him, dumbly, your glassy eyes beginning to sting as the reality of what you’d just done crashed over you like cold water.

Oh Merlin.

What had you done?

You didn’t have a house. You didn’t have a job. You didn’t have money of your own. Your entire life had been orchestrated by your father—who’d been all too eager to sell you off to your so-called fiancé—and you’d just thrown a wrench in his perfect little plan.

"I... I hadn’t thought that far." You admitted, voice barely a whisper as your bottom lip began to tremble.

Theo sighed, dragging a hand through his hair, “Bloody hell.”

You started to stammer, trying to save face, “Look—I’ll figure it out. I just needed to get away. You don’t have to—”

“Don’t be dense,” He muttered, “Come on.”

You furrowed your brows, confused, “Come on where?”

“My home,” He said bluntly, “You’re clearly overwhelmed, and you need to breathe somewhere that isn’t a chapel or the middle of a bloody street. You can crash in the guest room. I’ll pour a cup of tea. Or Firewhisky, if you’re feeling rebellious.”

You stared at him, stunned silent, “You’d really do that for me?”

In all honesty, Theodore had no idea why he was doing this for you.

Maybe it was the way your eyes looked—raw and frightened—that struck something in him. He remembered that look. Back when his mother died. Back when he was stuck between two worlds, pretending to be loyal to the Death Eaters while secretly fighting for the other side. When the war ended, and he had no bloody idea who he was without it.

He knew helplessness like an old friend. And though he’d never admit it aloud, he also knew he wouldn’t sleep tonight if he walked away now—knowing you were out there, wandering the streets in a bloody wedding dress or dragged back to marry someone you didn’t love.

“Yeah,” He said finally, “I would.”

You exhaled shakily, blinking back tears, “Okay.”

“Okay.” He echoed.

He held your arm carefully—like you were a glass about to crack—and apparated you both away.

By the time your feet touched down again, you were standing in a warmly lit corridor outside a tall, modern-looking door. Theodore slid a key out of his coat pocket and unlocked it with a click.

“My flat.” He said simply, stepping aside to let you in.

You blinked, glancing around as you followed him, “Wait. Don’t you have a whole family manor somewhere?”

He raised a brow as he tossed his coat onto a sleek brass hook, “Not fancy enough for you, darling? Would you rather go to the five-star resort your family booked for your honeymoon instead?”

You gaped, then closed your mouth, then opened it again—only to come up short, “Touché.”

He chuckled, pushing open the door, “I live in a flat because the manor’s too bloody big for just me. I might move back in when I’m older, but right now? No one needs twenty-three bedrooms unless they’re running a boarding school.”

You rolled your eyes, stepping inside after him, “Just say you’re rich and move on,” you muttered.

You were mid-sigh when your eyes took in the space—and almost instantly, the tension in your shoulders loosened. His flat wasn’t enormous, but it was stunning. Dark hardwood floors, rich emerald and charcoal accents, and floor-to-ceiling windows framed the London skyline like a painting. The air smelled faintly of pine, leather, and something warm—like spice and magic.

Books lined custom-built shelves along one wall, and a record player quietly spun something soft and jazzy in the corner. A massive velvet sofa sat in the center of the open-plan living area, flanked by brass sconces and a few well-kept plants.

Theo disappeared into a side room, leaving you standing awkwardly in your crumpled wedding dress in the middle of his living room. When he returned, he had a folded stack of clothes in his hands.

“I grabbed whatever looked closest to your size,” He said, handing them over with a half-shrug, “Might still be a bit big—but it’s cozy, at least.”

You unfolded the hoodie and held it up. It fell nearly to your knees.

“You’re joking.”

“Or you could stay in your wedding dress. Very sexy.”

You let out a laugh, “You got me again.”

You eyed the clothes, then glanced back up at him, “You sure none of your… lady friends left something behind? Something a bit more...appropriate?”

Theo smirked, unfazed, “I don’t keep a lost and found bin, sweetheart. But nice try.”

You grinned despite yourself, clutching the clothes to your chest.

“Go on,” He added, gesturing toward the hallway, “First door on the right—bathroom’s there. Take your time. Come out when you’re ready. I’ll sort dinner.”

“You cook?”

He looked at you, mock-offended, “I’m Italian.”

“That’s not a yes.”

Theo placed a hand over his heart, feigning injury, “Wow. So little faith.”

You laughed—a real one this time—as you padded off toward the bathroom, the ridiculous rustle of your wedding dress trailing behind you. Hoodie and sweats in hand, feet aching, heart still thudding from everything you’d run from.

But somehow, in the warmth of this space, with the sound of jazz humming in the background and Theo cooking up dinner—you started to feel something you hadn’t felt in a long time.

Safe.

Maybe, just maybe… you were going to be okay.

When you finally emerged from the bathroom, the last remnants of your old life had gone swirling down the drain—hairspray, waterproof mascara, and everything else that once held you together. You felt… lighter. Your skin was clean, your hair damp, and the oversized hoodie you wore—Theo’s—smelled faintly of cedar and citrus. It hung down to your thighs like a dress, and the joggers were barely hanging onto your waist.

The scent hit you first—garlic, tomatoes, fresh herbs—and your stomach let out a traitorous growl.

Theo looked up from the stove, giving you a once-over before turning back to stir the pot. “Look at you,” He said with a lopsided smirk, “Didn’t think my clothes would suit you that well.”

You gave him a smirk and did a twirl to show off the outfit—just in time for the joggers to fall right to your ankles. You both burst into laughter.

“The elastic’s useless and the drawstring’s just for decoration.” You said, tossing the offending trousers over the back of a chair.

“Wouldn’t be the first time I charmed the pants off a woman.” Theo replied smoothly.

You snorted, shaking your head.

He slid a bowl across the island toward you—tagliatelle with a thick, rich Bolognese sauce, steam curling up like it had its own mind.

You took one bite, and your eyes fluttered shut. “Oh my god,” You groaned, “This is… this is unreal.”

He gave a small shrug, “I told you.”

You were already shoveling in another forkful, “I haven’t eaten something that didn’t taste like sadness in months.”

Theo leaned against the counter, watching with amusement, “Easy, love. You keep going at that pace, you’ll make those giant joggers fit.”

You swallowed and let out a dramatic sigh, “Wedding diet. I’ve been living off steamed vegetables and heartbreak.”

He laughed, deep and full, “Well, lucky you. There’s more where that came from. And gelato in the freezer.”

Your head snapped up, “You’re kidding.”

“‘Chi mangia bene, vive bene,’” He said with a smirk, “‘Those who eat well, live well.’ My mamma drilled that into me.”

You blinked, then smiled, “Incredibly smart woman.”

For the first time in what felt like forever, your smile didn’t feel like something you had to fake or force. You sat there, in someone else’s hoodie, with sauce on your cheek and your hair still damp, in a flat that smelled like warmth and comfort and garlic.

Theo reached across the table, brushing his thumb gently against the corner of your mouth, “You’ve got a bit of sauce—right there.”

You blinked, startled by the tenderness of the gesture. His hand lingered a second longer than necessary before he pulled back.

“Are you sure you don’t want to go home?” He asked, quieter now.

You gave him a half-smile, soft but guarded, “Sick of me already?”

His lips quirked, but his eyes stayed serious, “I just mean… are you sure you won’t regret this? People get cold feet. Panic at the altar. Happens all the time, or so I hear. And the longer you stay here—the more real this gets—the harder it’ll be to undo without fallout.”

You sat still for a moment, then set your fork down, appetite forgotten.

“It wasn’t cold feet,” You said, voice low, “I never wanted to get married.”

Theo didn’t interrupt. He just waited.

“My father did. Desperately. He’s been obsessed with bloodlines and alliances since before I could walk. Marrying into the Sacred Twenty-Eight. Like that still means anything in this world.” You let out a bitter laugh, “Somehow that old bastard managed to squirm his way out of Azkaban after the war. And now he’s back to doing what he does best—peddling blood purity and ruining my life.”

Theo’s jaw tensed, but he said nothing.

“I spent months shoving my feelings down, just trying to be the daughter he wanted. The obedient one. Because what choice did I have?” Your fingers curled around the fabric of his hoodie, “But when I was standing there—at the altar, staring down a future I didn’t choose—I realized something. Maybe I didn’t have choices before. But I could make one now.”

Silence stretched between you for a beat.

Then, softly, Theo said, “That was brave.”

You let out a watery laugh, swiping your sleeve beneath your eyes, “Please. Not like you, playing double agent for Dumbledore. Now that was brave.”

He shook his head, a wry smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, “That was reckless.”

“It was noble. Valiant,” You said, voice steadier now, “Really, the kind of madness only a true Slytherin could be ambitious enough to pull off.”

Theo arched a brow, “Flattery? From you?”

You gave him a crooked grin, “Don’t get used to it. Mine was just… selfish. Desperate.”

He looked at you, the warmth in his gaze soft but unwavering, “It’s good to be selfish sometimes.”

You held his gaze, breath catching slightly when his eyes didn’t waver. There was something weighty in the silence—something soft and unspoken stretching between you, tugging gently at the space that separated your bodies.

Theo’s fingers drummed once against the tabletop, then stilled. Neither of you moved.

Your pulse thrummed in your ears. He looked at you like he was trying to memorize the shape of your face, and for a second, just one second, you let yourself wonder what it would feel like to close the distance.

Then you blinked, cleared your throat, and reached for his plate. “Well. Since you think it’s good to be selfish,” You said, trying to sound casual, “I’m gonna eat the rest of your pasta.”

Theo let out a breath that might’ve been a laugh—or a sigh. Maybe both, “Oi—at least leave room for dessert.”

***

Loud, boisterous laughter was the first thing that dragged Theo out of a half-dream. He groaned, arm flinging over his eyes as the unmistakable sound of his front door swinging open—without ceremony—hit him like a freight train.

“What the—who the hell is making all that noise?” He muttered, voice hoarse as he blinked toward the ceiling.

The culprits were, predictably, already raiding his kitchen like starved hyenas: Draco, Lorenzo, Mattheo, and Blaise, helping themselves to his fresh bread and the groceries he’d actually gone out and picked himself—because unlike those degenerates, he cared about food quality.

He should’ve never given them spare keys.

“For emergencies,” He’d said. “Only if it’s important,” He’d said.

Idiotic. Clearly, their definition of ‘emergency’ included hungover brunches and unsolicited early morning gossip.

“Morning, sunshine,” Draco drawled with an infuriating smirk, already sprawled across Theo’s sofa, eating the hand-picked strawberries Theo had searched three markets to find, “You’re just in time for the morning news”

Theo groaned louder and face-planted into the cushions, “Could you shut up? Some of us are trying to sleep in our own damn flat.”

“Oh, come on,” Blaise said, smirking as he rifled through Theo’s cabinets, “You must’ve heard by now. (L/N). You remember her—Pansy's roommate. She left Bulstrode at the altar. Just ran right out.”

Lorenzo let out a low whistle, “Left Bulstrode standing there like an absolute mug. At the altar, mate. In front of everyone. Just turned and walked straight out mid-vows. I mean—iconic.”

Mattheo, chewing thoughtfully on a stolen slice of sourdough, shrugged, “Serves him right. No way Bulstrode was ever gonna bag a babe like (L/N). He’s got the charm of a wet napkin.”

“And get this,” Blaise said, lowering his voice into a tone of mock-conspiracy, eyes glinting, “Rumor is—she had a lover on the side. Secret romance, hidden rendezvous, the whole nine yards. Some bloke she’s apparently been in love with for ages. No one knows who, though.”

Theo, face still hidden by the couch cushions, flinched.

Blaise squinted at him, “You look... twitchy. Something you wanna share with the group?”

Before Theo could invent an excuse, a sound cut through the room—soft footsteps padding across the floorboards.

The guest bedroom door creaked open.

You stepped out, bleary-eyed, rubbing your face with the sleeve of Theo’s oversized hoodie—his hoodie that hung off your frame like it had been stitched for you. Your hair was tousled from sleep, legs bare, the joggers you’d worn the night before still draped over a chair in the corner, clearly forgotten.

Theo’s eyes flicked up to you for a moment—heart skipping a beat at the sight of your flushed cheeks and mussed hair—but he quickly masked the softness with a cool, unreadable glance.

Every sound in the room died on cue.

You blinked at the kitchen full of frozen Slytherins and offered a sheepish smile, “Um… morning?”

The silence that followed was nothing short of reverent.

Mattheo dropped his toast. Lorenzo’s jaw unhinged. Draco choked on a strawberry. Blaise turned—slowly, dramatically—to Theo with the grin of a man who had just unearthed a scandal.

And then—chaos.

“No bloody way,” Blaise said, pointing an accusatory finger, “You?! You’re the lover?!”

“No, no,” Theo said immediately, sitting up straighter, “She’s not—I mean, it’s not— It’s not like that.”

You nodded, “It’s really not what it looks like.”

“She’s not—” Theo added, standing abruptly.

“We’re not—” You said at the same time.

“Dating.” You both finished in unison.

The pause that followed was only broken by Blaise’s slow, disbelieving laugh, “You two seriously rehearsed that or something?”

Mattheo’s gaze flicked from you, to the hoodie, to Theo’s bedhead and thoroughly disheveled state, “You sly, secretive little bastard.”

“You’re blushing,” Lorenzo cackled, pointing at Theo.

“I’m not blushing.”

“You’re so red your freckles are blending in.”

“You lot need to leave,” Theo growled, yanking the mug out of Draco’s hand.

“Oh, we’ll leave,” Mattheo said, standing with an exaggerated sigh, “Just as soon as we finish processing the greatest plot twist since Dumbledore kicked it.”

“I don’t know,” Lorenzo mused, “This might top it. Runaway bride finds solace in former classmate’s bed—”

“Spare room!” You and Theo barked at once.

“Oh right,” Blaise said, lazily gesturing to you, “Because that totally explains the no-pants situation.”

You threw up your hands, “He doesn’t have any trousers that fit me!”

Mattheo let out a low whistle, “Stars above, I wish I had popcorn.”

Theo’s jaw clenched, “She needed a place to stay. I offered. That’s it.”

“And I accepted. Platonically.” You stressed.

“And Theodore isn’t some adulterous whore,” You added with a sigh, “He’s just an unfortunate bloke with terrible timing who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

The way your voice softened at the end made something twist in Theo’s chest.

“Well, you did good,” Lorenzo said, grabbing another slice of bread, “Bulstrode’s an ugly git anyway.”

You shared a glance with Theo who gave you a soft, barely there smile that was meant to reassure you in a way that conveyed, 'See? What you did wasn't so bad.'

“So what’s the plan now?” Blaise asked, eyeing the two of you over his coffee, “You two just gonna keep playing house?”

“Oi, ease up,” Theo said, casting him a warning look, “Don’t overwhelm her.”

He glanced at you briefly, then added, “We talked last night.”

“Ooo, pillow talk.” Mattheo smirked—earning himself a slap to the back of the head.

Theo rolled his eyes, “We were talking, and I offered to let her stay here. As long as she needs.”

You caught Theo’s eye and saw a softness there that only came out when he looked at you. In that moment, the chaos of friends and gossip faded away, leaving just the quiet promise of safety and belonging between you two.

***

You sat cross-legged on the floor, the open suitcase in front of you spilling out clothes, books, and a few small trinkets you’d brought from your old life. The boxes stacked neatly nearby were still untouched—silent reminders that this was real, that you were here now.

Getting your things back from your home had been easier than expected. You’d slipped in while your father was at work, your heart racing as you moved quietly through the familiar halls. The moment your hand wrapped around your wand—left behind for safekeeping during the wedding—it felt like you could finally breathe again. You packed up your life swiftly, shrinking and sending each box to Theo’s flat before you could second-guess yourself.

“It feels weird seeing all my stuff here.” You murmured, running your fingers over your old Slytherin scarf. A soft smile tugged at your lips as memories from Hogsmeade weekends and late-night gossip sessions filled your head. Back in school, your dormmates used to call dibs on the boys in your year—Pansy obviously claimed Draco, Daphne was hell-bent on Mattheo (she had a thing for bad boys, she used to say). The others squabbled over Blaise and Lorenzo, leaving you with Theo by default. You’d taken it in stride, because Merlin forbid you end up with Crabbe or Goyle. If only sixth-year you knew you’d one day be living with Theo Nott after bolting from your own wedding.

“Like this is really happening.” You said softly.

Theo leaned against the doorway, arms folded, watching you with a look you couldn’t quite place. You let your eyes rake over him—how he somehow made jeans and a simple black long-sleeved tee look sinfully good without even trying.

“Don’t you want to unpack?” He asked after a moment, voice casual, “Make it feel a bit more like yours?”

You shook your head, teeth tugging at your lower lip, “I don’t want to get too comfortable. I need to move out soon, find my own place. Can’t just settle in someone else’s flat.”

Your eyes drifted to the empty dresser and the bare walls, imagining them filled with your perfume bottles, your shoes lined up in the closet, your keepsakes resting in quiet corners of the room. It felt… indulgent. And dangerous.

Theo pushed off the doorframe and crossed the room with that quiet confidence that always made your stomach flip. He crouched beside you, fingers brushing yours as he gently pulled the scarf from your hands.

“Don’t be so pressured,” He said softly, “Take your time.”

Your breath caught at the tenderness in his voice, so at odds with the sarcasm he usually deflected with. His gaze held yours—warm, steady, unflinching.

“What kind of fake adulterous whore would I be,” he added, smirking just a little, “if I didn’t give you a comfortable place to stay while you figure things out?”

You let out a shaky laugh, swatting his arm as your cheeks flushed. The warmth in his eyes made your chest tighten in a way that had nothing to do with fear. It felt... safe. For the first time in a long time.

He reached out, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, fingers lingering just a second too long. Your breath hitched. Your heart thudded. And before you could stop yourself, your gaze flicked to his mouth.

The moment hung there—suspended and fragile—until it broke like glass.

Theo cleared his throat and pulled back. You dropped your gaze and fanned your burning cheeks, pretending not to notice the way your entire body buzzed with unspoken tension.

He stood, casting a quick glance around the room before his eyes landed on a box labeled “Bathroom.” With a quiet smile, he bent to pick it up.

“I’ll go put this over there.” He said, voice gentler now even though you both were well aware he could've used his magic to charm the objects in its place.

You watched him go, heart fluttering wildly in your chest, feeling strangely steady for the first time in days.

Strangely at home.

***

Watching Theo get ready for work every morning had become your newest, most humbling routine. In the quiet hours before he left—hair perfectly styled, cufflinks glinting faintly in the sunlight—you were struck with the growing realization that your life was a blank page. And not in the hopeful, inspiring way. No, it felt like staring at an overdue assignment you had no idea how to finish.

When he was home, everything felt a little easier—light conversation over breakfast, quiet companionship in the evenings, his effortless presence filling the flat with a calm you hadn’t realized you craved. But once he was out the door, you were left with hours that stretched out like an endless, silent ache. And with that ache came the inevitable realization: you weren’t here to play house with Theodore Nott. You needed to get your life in order.

Which was why, this morning, you were dressed. Not just dressed—put together. A soft, Chanel-inspired ensemble hugged your form, elegant and mature, polished right down to the glossy sheen of your lips.

Across the table, Theo sat in his usual tailored suit and tie, sipping his coffee while reading the newspaper.

He was a dream roommate—unbothered, polite, attentive without being invasive. He cooked most mornings and evenings, and you handled lunch and dishes out of principle more than anything else. And yet, no matter how well you split the duties, you still felt like a freeloader in silk pajamas. He never asked you to contribute, never brought up rent or groceries or anything at all.

Which, ironically, only made the guilt settle heavier in your chest.

It was unbearable. So this newfound spark of motivation—this desire to prove you could stand on your own two feet again—burned fast and hot.

He was fixing his watch by the mirror beside the door, running gelled fingers through his hair, smoothing it back with that practiced grace. You stepped over, holding his coat in one hand and yours in the other, and offered it to him with a quiet, “Here.”

He murmured a small thanks as he slipped into it, but you didn’t step back.

Instead, you reached up to adjust his tie, fingers deft as you corrected the slight tilt in the knot. “I know you’re just going to mess it up the second you get to the office,” you said, smiling softly, “but it’s driving me crazy.”

You smoothed the tie down gently, fingertips brushing the lapels of his coat. When your eyes lifted, you caught him staring—not at your eyes, but your lips, still slick with gloss from your post-breakfast touch-up, and suddenly it felt like a mistake to stand this close, in this kind of silence, with him looking at you like that.

You met his gaze. Your heart stuttered.

Was he leaning in?

Or were you imagining it—some cruel trick your body played when it got too used to his scent, his proximity, the low hum of affection that vibrated just beneath the surface?

Before you could answer, he inhaled sharply and stepped back, the moment snapping like a taut string.

“Busy day today?” He asked, voice neutral, composed.

You cleared your throat, recovering quickly.

“Yeah,” You said, grabbing your purse and your coat, avoiding his eyes, “I’m visiting Slughorn at Hogwarts. I was always good at potions, and he used to favor me—mostly because I always showed up to those ridiculous Slug Club meetings.” You gave a faint chuckle.

“I heard he’s still teaching and struggling to keep up with his personal research. I was kind of his unofficial assistant in seventh year, so… I’m hoping he’ll consider taking me on. As an apprentice or something.”

You kept your tone light, casual, even though your pulse thudded in your throat. You avoided his eyes as you adjusted the strap of your purse.

Theo held the door open for you, and your heart flipped in your chest like it always did when he did things like that without thinking—like it was natural. Like you belonged here.

“Good luck, (Y/N).” He said simply, his voice low but earnest.

You turned your head slightly, offering him a small smile. The way he was looking at you made your steps falter for just a second.

“Thank you.” You said, voice barely above a whisper.

And then you walked on, heels clicking softly on the marble floor, heart fluttering like mad against your ribs.

***

You practically skipped down the stone steps of Hogwarts, the weight of your nervous anticipation completely lifted from your shoulders. The crisp air smelled of old parchment and damp moss, and for once, you didn’t mind. Your cheeks were flushed, your hands clutching the letter Slughorn had scrawled in excitement after your meeting: an official offer to join him as his private research assistant, with the intent of training you to become a certified Potions Master.

Your heart was hammering by the time you reached Theo’s flat, and you didn’t even knock—just flung the door open and stepped inside, calling his name like a storm announcing itself.

“Theo!”

He appeared from the hallway, towel slung over his shoulder, clearly mid-way through drying his hair, shirt sleeves rolled up, “What? Are you okay?”

You beamed so brightly you could’ve lit the whole room with just the force of it, “I got it—I got the position! I’m going to train with Slughorn! He’s taking me on!”

For a second, Theo just blinked at you, frozen in place. Then your words seemed to register fully and he opened his mouth to say something—but before he could, you launched yourself at him.

Your arms flung around his neck, and he caught you with a startled grunt, stumbling back half a step before wrapping his arms tightly around your waist, instinctively keeping you upright. You laughed, giddy and breathless against his shoulder, your legs kicking slightly off the ground.

“I knew you would.” He said against your temple, voice low and warm and slightly amused, though the hug he gave you was grounding, solid, and real.

You pulled back just enough to look up at him, eyes bright, “I’m going to be a Potions Master.”

Theo’s hands stayed on your waist, his lips twitching into a rare, open smile, “You’re going to be brilliant.”

You didn’t know what possessed you then—maybe it was the adrenaline, maybe it was the way he was still holding you like you were something precious—but you leaned in without thinking and pressed a kiss to his cheek, quick and full of warmth.

Theo blinked, stunned.

You blinked, too, realizing what you just did.

He slowly set you down on your feet, clearing his throat, but the faintest shade of pink had crept up his neck.

"Thank you, Theo." You whispered, looking up at him like he hung the moon in the sky, "For everything."

***

You were halfway through folding the laundry while Theo showered when the door flew open with no warning, the sharp click of heels on hardwood echoing like the cue for a dramatic entrance.

“Surprise, darling!” Pansy announced grandly, stepping into the apartment with a flourish, a pastry box in one hand and designer sunglasses in the other, “I brought macarons from that place you liked in Paris—Theo, you better be decent!”

She strutted into the living room expecting to find her best friend brooding over black coffee, muttering about case files or the Ministry’s latest idiocy.

Instead, she found you.

Her heel halted mid-click. Her eyes went wide, lips parting in stunned recognition.

“(Y/N)?”

You blinked, holding a half-folded jumper, “Hi—?”

The pastry box slipped from her fingers, forgotten as she gasped.

“(Y/N)!”

Before you could react, she barreled across the room, arms wide, heels thudding across the floor. She crashed into you with a hug that nearly knocked you into the couch, her perfume wrapping around you like a familiar blanket as she squeezed you breathless.

You laughed, arms wrapping around her just as tightly, “Oh God, I’m so sorry I didn’t make it to the wedding! I couldn’t get a Portkey in time—I felt awful. I’ve missed you so much!”

Pansy pulled back to get a proper look at you, holding you at arm’s length like she needed to confirm you were real, “Oh, how’s newlywed life treating you? How’s your husband—” she started brightly, then trailed off.

Her eyes scanned your outfit—comfy shorts and an old Quidditch tee—and then flicked to the half-folded laundry scattered across the coffee table.

And that was precisely the moment Theo stepped out of the bathroom.

Shirtless. Damp. Joggers slung low on his hips. A towel around his neck, his hair still dripping.

Pansy blinked. You blinked. Theo froze like a deer in headlights.

Her eyes snapped between you and Theo. Once. Twice.

Her jaw dropped.

“No. Bloody. Way.”

You swallowed hard, “I, uh... I ran from the altar. I’ve been living here for a month. Surprise?”

A beat of silence.

Then—

“You absolute plonkers!” Pansy shouted, whirling around like a furious peacock as the front door opened again and the rest of the boys filtered in—Draco, Blaise, Mattheo, Enzo—all pausing mid-step at the scene.

Theo grimaced.

Pansy turned on Draco with fury, “You ranted to me for an hour last night about Potter’s work ethic, but you didn’t think to mention that one of my closest friends from school ran out of her own wedding and moved in with Theo?”

Draco’s eyes widened, “I thought you knew!”

“You lot are unbelievable.” She huffed, throwing her hands up.

Draco looked caught somewhere between amusement and panic. Blaise choked on a laugh. Mattheo raised his hands in mock innocence.

Pansy, eyes glittering with mischief, turned back to you with an exasperated scoff, “We’re getting drinks tonight. You and I are going to unpack every bloody bit of this madness. And if there’s any scandal you’re hiding from me, I swear to Merlin—”

You gave her a sheepish smile, heart fluttering with the kind of warmth that only old friendships could bring.

“I wish. But I can’t tonight. I’m working with Slughorn now—officially—and I’ve got my first full day tomorrow. Still need to study up a bit. I really don’t want to get fired before I even make it to lunch.”

Pansy’s features softened instantly. She stepped forward, cupping your cheeks with warm hands and smoothing your hair in a way that made your eyes sting.

“Slughorn?” She breathed, proud and a little misty, “You’re working with Slughorn? That’s incredible. I’m so proud of you.”

Your throat tightened, “Thanks, Pansy. God, I missed you. Let’s do a proper catch-up this weekend, yeah? I don’t want to keep you from your homecoming party—you should go have fun.”

She nodded and pulled you into one last tight hug. “This weekend,” she warned playfully, “or I swear I’ll come kidnap you from this flat myself.”

You laughed, hugging her back, “Deal.”

Just then, Theo reappeared in the living room, now fully dressed and slipping his watch onto his wrist. He reached for his coat, but you were already there, stepping behind him to help him shrug it on.

“Don’t you have to be up early tomorrow?” You asked gently, brushing invisible lint from his sleeve.

From behind you, Blaise gave a low whistle.

“Ooooh, listen to that,” Mattheo drawled with a teasing grin, “Wifey’s making sure the hubby gets to bed on time.”

Theo rolled his eyes, already used to these jokes and glanced down at you, a quiet smile pulling at his lips, “It’s just one drink.”

You sighed, half amused, half resigned, “Okay. Just… don’t come home completely smashed.”

“No promises.” He said with a wink, and the door shut behind them seconds later.

***

The bar buzzed with the low hum of chatter, clinking glasses, and a jazz cover of a Weird Sisters song playing over the speakers. The group had claimed a corner booth, drinks in hand, laughter spilling over every few minutes.

Theo nursed a firewhisky, sitting back with his usual composed expression which caught the attention of Mattheo, “Oh, don’t drink that too fast, Teddy boy. You don’t want to go back absolutely hammered to the missus.”

“You lot are ridiculous,” Theo muttered, though a hint of fondness softened his tone.

“Oh, come off it,” Blaise grinned, swirling his drink, “You like it. You’re practically glowing these days. It’s very unnerving.”

“Very domestic of you, Theo,” Enzo added, smirking, “Sharing a flat, cooking her breakfast, letting her steal your clothes—”

“She doesn’t steal my clothes.”

Mattheo grinned, “Mate, I saw her wearing your Chudley Cannons jumper yesterday.”

Theo looked away, clearly caught.

Pansy took a slow sip of her cocktail, eyes narrowing thoughtfully. “Honestly, I’m shocked you let her stay with you. You’re usually so…” She waved a perfectly manicured hand, “emotionally unavailable. Allergic to company, really.”

Blaise leaned in, eyes gleaming, “I mean hardly a surprise considering how badly gone he was for her back in school.”

Pansy froze mid-sip.

“Wait—what? Who was gone for who?!” she gasped, nearly slamming her glass on the table, voice sharp with disbelief.

The boys blinked in surprise.

“You didn’t know?” Draco asked, brows raised.

“You’re kidding,” Blaise said, laughing, “You always shoved them into group projects and made them sit together during dinners — we thought you were matchmaking!”

“I was!” Pansy snapped, whipping around to glare at Draco, “Because I wanted to go with you, and the other cows in our dorm had already called dibs on Enzo, Mattheo, and Blaise. Theo was just—left!”

She turned back to the table, eyes wide with the horror of missed opportunity, “Don’t you think if I’d known he fancied her, I would’ve shoved them into a broom cupboard and locked the door?”

Mattheo cackled, “That’s so on-brand for you.”

Pansy groaned, dramatically dropping her head onto Draco’s shoulder, “You absolute wankers. If one of you had opened your mouth years ago, that wedding she had a month ago? Could’ve been yours, Theo.”

Theo sipped his firewhisky quietly, hidden behind the rim of his glass. Flashes of you in a wedding dress and veil flickered behind his eyes, a soft blush spreading across his neck. None of them missed it.

Blaise nudged Mattheo, “He’s thinking about it now.”

“Oh, he’s been thinking about it.”

Theo threw his head back, downing the rest of his firewhiskey in one go, “I need another drink.”

***

The door flew open with a crash, nearly coming off its hinges.

“We have arrived!” Lorenzo declared, clearly drunk, arms wide, as if expecting applause.

Theo stumbled in between Blaise and Mattheo, arms slung over their shoulders like a war hero being carried off the battlefield. His shirt was half-untucked, hair a mess, and his eyes—when he managed to open them—were glassy and unfocused.

You poked your head out from the kitchen, arms crossed, “What happened to ‘just one drink’?”

“He drank.” Blaise said simply.

“Like a fish.” Mattheo added.

“Like a moron.” Draco corrected as he strolled in behind them, tossing Theo’s coat over a chair, “He’s your problem now.”

Theo blinked at the sound of your voice and perked up immediately. “Tesoro!” He slurred, trying to walk toward you but very nearly face-planting into the floor. You caught him under the arm just in time.

“Hi, Theo,” You said softly, “Oh gosh you smell like bad decisions.”

“You need to eat,” You added, “Something starchy. Or you’re going to feel like roadkill tomorrow.”

“He never eats when he’s like this,” Blaise said from where he was sprawled over a kitchen chair, “We’ve tried. It’s hopeless.”

“Chi mangia bene, vive bene, remember?” You said softly, probably butchering his mother's saying as you guided Theo toward the table.

That stopped him. His gaze sharpened just enough to find your eyes.

He leaned in, pressing his forehead to yours with a quiet breath, “E chi ha te… ha tutto.”

Your heart skipped even though you hadn't a clue what he just said.

Mattheo made an exaggerated gagging noise, “Okay, Casanova, wrap it up.”

Draco, grinning, gave you a mock bow, “He’s all yours. Good luck with drunk Shakespeare.”

As the door shut behind them, Theo was still leaning on you, breathing you in like he needed your scent to stay upright.

“You smell like a distillery.” You said, amused.

“You smell like home.” He mumbled.

Your cheeks warmed, and you pushed the plate gently into his lap, “Eat your toast, Romeo.”

***

The bar was warm and golden, tucked away on a cobbled side street with velvet booths and enchanted candles flickering lazily overhead. You and Pansy had claimed a prime table by the window, cocktails already half-finished and a bowl of enchanted peanuts floating between you, occasionally popping like popcorn.

“I swear,” Pansy said, leaning in conspiratorially, “if Draco mentions his new wand polish one more time, I will hex him bald.”

You snorted into your drink, eyes gleaming, “You wouldn’t. You like running your hands through his hair too much.”

She grinned, “Touché. But I’d still threaten it. Keeps him humble.”

It was the first proper girls’ night out you’d had in what felt like forever, and Pansy — ever the scene-stealing, chaos-bringing goddess she was — made it feel like the war, the heartbreak, and everything in between had never happened.

“So,” She drawled, resting her chin on her palm with a wicked glint in her eye, “Tell me everything. Are you dating? Shagging? Secretly married? Come on, give me the details.”

You laughed, swirling the pink liquid in your glass — some fruity, glittering cocktail you hadn’t tasted since your Hogwarts days. It cooled your fingers while your cheeks burned hotter by the second.

You rolled your eyes, trying to bite back your smile, “It’s not like that, Pans. We’re just good friends. Honestly, I don’t think I’d have made it this far without him.”

“Oh darling,” She said with mock pity, “it’s always ‘not like that’ until you’re wearing his jumpers and catching feelings.”

You opened your mouth to object—but the words caught in your throat. You had worn his jumper. You were catching feelings.

Pansy’s eyes widened. She gasped, clutching her chest with dramatic flair, “No. No way. You like him.”

“I didn’t say that." You muttered.

“You didn’t have to!” She squealed, grabbing your hands across the table, “Oh, you poor lovesick thing. I knew it. I knew it!”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands, “You are insufferable.”

“I’m right, though,” She sang smugly, taking another sip of her drink, “And I actually happen to know that our dear Teddy has been—”

“(Y/N).”

The voice cut through the air like a curse.

You froze.

Pansy’s glass paused halfway to her lips. Her smile vanished.

Your blood ran cold. You didn’t have to look to know who it was — that voice had once lived in your dreams. Now it only haunted your nightmares.

Slowly, you turned in your seat.

And saw your ex-fiancé standing at the edge of your table.

You stared up at him, heart thudding so hard it felt like it might crack your ribs. He looked mostly the same — slicked-back hair that tried too hard to look effortless, a coat more expensive than it was tasteful, and that same smirk he always wore like armor. His jaw was tighter now, clenched like he hadn’t unclenched it in months. His eyes were cold, sunken a little, and mean in a way they didn’t even bother to hide.

“I didn’t expect to find you here.” He said, voice low, razor-edged.

Pansy was on her feet before you could speak, stepping in front of you like a drawn wand. “And yet here you are,” She said, all sugar and venom, “Funny how you manage to show up where no one wants you.”

He didn’t even glance at her. His eyes stayed locked on you, “We need to talk.”

“No, we really don’t,” Pansy snapped, “Back off before I hex your bits so far inward you’ll need a St. Mungo’s specialist to find them.”

“Pansy,” you murmured, brushing your fingers against her sleeve. Your hand was shaking.

He took a step closer, “Just five minutes. That’s all I’m asking.”

You rose slowly, pushing your chair back, jaw tight, “Fine. Five minutes. Nothing more.”

“Absolutely not—” Pansy began, but you shook your head.

“I’m okay.”

You weren’t. Not even remotely. But you needed this to end. To really end.

The night air was sharp against your skin, the hum of the city muffled as you stepped into the alley behind the bar. You folded your arms, more out of defense than cold.

“So this is what it takes to find you now?” He said, voice curling with disdain, “Are you selling yourself like a whore on street corners now?”

You exhaled slowly, trying to keep your voice steady, “What do you want?”

He took a step forward, “I heard the rumors. People talk, you know. Especially when a bride vanishes in silk and ends up playing house with that filthy blood traitor Theodore Nott.”

Your lips parted in disbelief.

“I should’ve known,” he sneered, “You always acted so self-righteous. But look at you now — just another slag hopping into the next man’s bed. Must be nice not needing vows to spread your legs, yeah?”

The words hit like a slap, your stomach twisting with fury and disbelief.

“I’m done listening to this.”

You turned—and before you could even brace yourself, he yanked you sharply by the collar and slammed you hard against the brick wall. The air whooshed out of your lungs as your back hit the cold surface, the impact jarring your entire body.

His hands tightened suddenly around your throat, fingers digging into your skin in a cruel grip. You gasped for air, panic surging as darkness edged your vision.

“Don’t you dare think you can just walk away from me.” He hissed through clenched teeth, eyes wild and merciless.

You clawed at his hands, desperate to break free, but his strength was overwhelming, pressing down harder, choking the breath from you.

"Reducto!"

The spell hit him square in the chest, blasting him off you with bone-jarring force. He flew backward, crashing into the far wall of the alley with a sickening thud before collapsing in a heap, gasping and stunned.

Pansy didn’t hesitate.

She stormed toward him like a vengeful shadow, wand leveled between his eyes as he groaned and tried to sit up. Her voice was shaking—but only with rage.

“You filthy little coward,” she spat, every word laced with venom, “Touch her again, and I’ll break every bone in your body.”

He growled, trying to rise—Pansy kicked him flat in the chest, knocking him back to the ground with her heel, “Stay. Down.”

Your knees buckled, the sudden rush of oxygen burning your throat as you slid down the wall, coughing and trembling.

“Whoa—hey.” Pansy caught you, strong and certain, one arm steadying you as the other clutched her wand, “I’ve got you, love. You’re okay. We’re going home.”

And this time, you let her carry the weight.

***

The world spun sharply as Pansy apparated, the crack of displaced air still echoing in your ears. The warmth of her body vanished the moment your feet hit solid ground—wood floors, familiar scents. You were in Theo’s flat.

Laughter and chatter from the living room fell to a jarring halt.

Five pairs of eyes turned in unison: Theo, Draco, Blaise, Mattheo, and Enzo—all frozen mid-conversation, drinks in hand. The moment they saw you, everything dropped.

“(Y/N)?”

Your name left Theo like a punch to the gut.

You were trembling, arms wrapped tight around your middle as if they could hold your ribs together. Pansy still held onto you, as if she wasn’t entirely sure you wouldn’t collapse, and even she looked rattled under the scrutiny of the room.

“That fucker,” She said through gritted teeth, “Grabbed her outside the bar. Slammed her into a wall. Tried to—” her voice faltered, thick with fury, “She couldn’t breathe.”

Theo moved.

Fast.

He crossed the room in three strides, gently brushing Pansy aside like she was made of smoke. Then he was in front of you, hands hovering for a split second before he cupped your face, cradling you like you were something fragile and sacred.

His eyes roamed over your features—your split lip, your glassy eyes, the bruising fingerprints beginning to bloom like violets around your throat—and something in him shattered.

His jaw clenched, fury crashing through him like a tidal wave. He looked like he could tear the world apart.

“I’m fine.” You rasped, voice barely more than a whisper.

You tried to smile—a brittle, curling thing, “I know that probably doesn’t help my case, but… trust me, I’m fine.”

“Don’t do that,” Theo said softly, thumb brushing over your cheekbone, his voice hoarse and tight, “Don’t lie to me right now.”

Your breath hitched.

Draco hovered beside Pansy now, brushing her hair behind her ear as he muttered something only she could hear. She nodded once, giving her boyfriend a soft smile before turning her gaze back to you, eyes gleaming with steel.

Theo gently tugged you forward into his chest.

You didn’t resist.

You couldn’t.

Your limbs had surrendered somewhere between the alley and the flat, and he was warm, steady—home. Before you could stop it, a sob cracked loose from your chest, raw and shaking. Your hands fisted into his shirt like it was the only thing tethering you to earth.

He held you tighter.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured, voice trembling beneath the quiet, “I’ve got you, sweetheart.”

The flat was eerily quiet now. One by one, the boys filtered out, their faces grim with the weight of what had just happened.

Mattheo lingered just long enough to press a firm, reassuring hand to your shoulder. His voice was low, steady, almost a promise, “You’re safe now. We’ll take care of everything from here.”

Blaise didn’t say a word. Instead, he gave a slow, deliberate nod to Theo, then to you, his expression taut with barely restrained anger and resolve.

Enzo’s jaw clenched as he glanced at you one last time. “He’s a dead man,” he muttered under his breath before turning away and joining the others.

You barely noticed them leaving. Your world had shrunk to the steady rhythm of Theo’s heartbeat humming against your ear, the comforting warmth of his hand pressing into your back, and the ache lodged deep in your chest — a raw, stubborn pain that refused to fade.

“I want him arrested. Tonight.” Pansy’s voice cut through the silence like ice, cold and deadly calm but laced with a fury that made the room vibrate, “Draco, I’m serious. He attacked her in public. Slammed her against a wall. Choked her until she could barely breathe.”

Draco’s tone was clipped, measured, but the sharp edge of anger was unmistakable, “You have a name?”

“Graham Bulstrode.” Pansy replied without hesitation, her voice razor-sharp and unyielding.

Draco’s jaw tightened, “Consider it done, my love.”

Every word settled into your foggy mind — distant but painfully clear. The tremble in your hands hadn’t stopped, but Theo’s arms wrapped around you only tightened, as if willing to keep the danger at bay. He leaned down, pressing a tender kiss to the crown of your head, a quiet vow whispered without words.

When the door finally clicked shut behind the last of the others, the tension finally broke. The tears you had been holding back surged forward, hot and fierce, tumbling freely down your cheeks. You clung to him, the safety of his presence grounding you as the storm inside began to settle.

You buried your face in Theo’s chest, shoulders trembling as the sobs broke free, wracking your entire body with every breath. He held you through it, solid and steady, one hand gently combing through your hair like he could smooth away the terror still clinging to your skin.

“I’m so stupid,” You gasped, the words catching in your throat, “I’ve—I’ve thought about that moment for the past month. What I’d say. How I’d stand up for myself. I imagined throwing that stupid ring back in his smug face, saying something cutting, something final—but when it actually happened…”

Your voice cracked, guilt burning behind your ribs.

“I couldn’t even speak. I just froze. I have a wand but I couldn't cast a single spell. I let him say all that shit about me—about you—and I... I didn’t even defend you, Theo. I’m so sorry. I'm so useless.”

He didn’t answer right away.

He just held you tighter, like your apology hurt more than anything else that had happened. When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet—gentle, but resolute.

“You have nothing to be sorry for.”

His words rumbled in his chest, warm against your cheek.

“I don’t give a damn about what you said or didn’t say to him. You don’t owe me a defense—not ever.”

You looked up at him, blinking through the tears. His eyes found yours, fierce and heartbreakingly soft, like you were something sacred—something he’d never let break.

“And you’re not stupid, (Y/N), or useless,” He said, voice thick with emotion, “You’re incredible. Brave. Stronger than you even realize. And I’m so fucking proud of you.”

His thumb brushed a tear from your cheek as he leaned in and pressed a kiss to your forehead—gentle, grounding, safe.

“He’s not going to get away with this,” Theo whispered, “I promise you.”

You sighed, sinking deeper into him, like you could finally let go of everything you’d been holding in. His arms wrapped around you again, warm and sure.

“Come on,” he murmured, “Let’s treat that bruise. Get you something to eat.”

But you shook your head, face pressed tight against his chest.

“Don’t let me go.”

The silence that followed wasn’t heavy anymore—it was tender, healing. You curled into him like you could disappear there, into the rhythm of his breathing and the thrum of his heart.

“I’m never going to let you go.”

And you believed him.

His heartbeat echoed beneath your ear, strong and unwavering. With every beat, the weight in your chest began to lift—slowly, steadily.

Safe. Loved. Finally, home.

***

A couple weeks later it was raining softly outside, the kind of slow, constant drizzle that blurred the windows and made the world feel far away. You and Theo were curled up on the couch, legs tangled, a blanket lazily thrown across your laps. A half-empty mug sat abandoned on the coffee table beside a crumpled takeout bag. The telly hummed faintly in the background, long forgotten.

“So then she goes, ‘I forgot to run the control,’” You said, exasperated, “and I swear to Merlin, I have never seen Slughorn that mad in his life.”

Theo snorted, one arm draped across your shoulders, twirling a strand of your hair around his finger, “Serves her right for always nicking your freshly ground moonstone.”

“Right? And of course, the one day I’m not there to supervise her, she completely tanks it. It’s not like I was goofing off—I was at the Ministry signing off the paperwork for Bulstrode's trial.” You sighed, “Slughorn knew, so I didn’t get in trouble, but I still have to repeat all her damn trials for the next few weeks. As if I don’t already have enough on my plate.”

“What’s keeping you so busy, Bella?” Theo asked, smiling as he gently unraveled the curl and let it spring back into place, “Maybe I can help.”

“Well, I’ve been needing to check out some apartments. Can’t really leave that to you, now can I?” You yawned, “But if you want, we could go together?”

Theo stilled.

He pulled back just slightly, brows furrowed as he studied your face, “Apartment hunting?”

You blinked, “Yeah… I’ve been looking at places closer to work. Just something small. I mean, I don’t make much yet.”

There was a beat of silence, then, “Wait—(Y/N), are you planning to move out?”

You nodded slowly, suddenly self-conscious, “I mean—I’ve been here for a while now and I love it, obviously, but I didn’t want to overstay my welcome. I figured—”

“You think you’re overstaying?” His voice cut gently but sharply through your words.

You faltered, “Well, I just—”

“You’re not,” Theo said, a little breathless now, like the words had been sitting on the edge of his tongue for too long, “You’re not overstaying. I want you here.”

Your breath hitched.

“I want to come home to you. Every day. Not to an empty flat. Not to a world where you’re somewhere else.”

His hand found yours, threading your fingers together like a lifeline. His voice dropped lower, steadier.

“Stay. Please.” His thumb brushed over your knuckles, slow and sure, “I want to come home knowing the woman I love is safe. Here. With me.”

You stared at him, wide-eyed, the world narrowing to his hand in yours, the soft thunder of rain against the windows, the warmth of his words blooming in your chest like magic.

“What do you mean, the woman you love?”

Theo let out a quiet laugh, a little stunned you hadn’t realized it already. His smile turned lopsided, eyes shining.

“Are you daft, (Y/N)?” He said, voice thick, “I’m in love with you. I’ve been taken with you since we were kids, and I’m still—” He broke off for a breath, like the truth was catching up to him all at once. “Still completely gone for you.”

Your heart did something unsteady in your chest.

“Say it again.” You whispered.

He cupped your cheek with one hand, his eyes never leaving yours.

“I’m in love with you.”

Your heart stuttered. The words lingered in the air between you, delicate and heavy all at once—like the hush after a spell’s been cast.

You didn’t look away.

You couldn’t.

“I’ve loved you for a long time too, Theo,” You whispered, the confession trembling on your tongue, “I don’t even know when it started—when I began falling for you—but I did. And I fell hard. I mean, who wouldn’t?”

You smiled through the softness in your voice, “You’re the kindest, most patient man I’ve ever met… and I’m thanking my lucky stars that I met you on the day of my wedding.”

That pulled a laugh from him—warm, full, and brimming with disbelief. He tilted his head back slightly, grinning like you’d just handed him the entire sky.

You leaned in just a fraction, voice softer now, “I want to stay. Not just in the flat. In your life. With you.”

That did it.

Theo closed the distance, his hands cradling your face as his lips found yours in a kiss that felt like coming home. It was fierce and tender all at once—like a dam breaking, like every moment of yearning pouring out of him in one breathless, burning exhale.

You melted into him, arms winding around his neck, your body pressed close as the kiss deepened—hungry now, desperate. His fingers tangled in your hair, yours fisting in his shirt, both of you trying to memorize the moment, to feel every inch of it like it could make up for all the waiting.

Weeks—months—of unspoken words, of lingering touches and stolen glances, of intimate moments that always ended with breathless silences and aching restraint—crashed into a single breath.

Theo kissed you like you were his lifeline—like he’d been holding back a storm and had finally been given permission to let it break.

You gasped as his lips trailed from your mouth to your jaw, your throat—reverent, hungry, like he was rediscovering you with every breath. “Tell me to stop,” He murmured, voice hoarse with restraint, “Say the word, and I will.”

But you didn’t. You couldn’t.

Instead, you tugged him closer, heart pounding under his palm as your fingers slid into his hair, voice trembling with a dangerous sort of affection, “If you stop, Theodore Nott, I’m sleeping at Pansy’s tonight.”

He let out a low, incredulous laugh—half-choked and fully wrecked—then kissed you again, deeper this time. Certain. Claiming. The rain tapped gently against the windows, forgotten behind the haze of fogged glass and the thrum of two hearts finally letting go.

And when he lifted you off the couch, carrying you down the hall with all the tenderness in the world and not an ounce of hesitation, the only thing either of you could think was:

About bloody time.

***

It was barely 9 a.m. when the front door to Theo’s flat creaked open—again, without so much as a knock.

Mattheo’s voice cut through the quiet, “I swear, if this idiot didn’t do the groceries and we hiked all the way here for his strawberries for nothing, I’m setting the place on fire.”

“I brought croissants.” Lorenzo offered brightly.

“You brought them from my kitchen,” Draco said flatly, “You literally stole them from my counter.”

Theo stumbled out of the bedroom, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, “Do none of you understand the concept of boundaries?”

He was mid-scowl when Blaise’s voice drifted in from the hallway, “Don't you imbeciles think it's too early to—”

And then they all fell silent.

You had just stepped out of the bedroom—the master bedroom this time, not the guest room—bleary-eyed and yawning, wearing nothing but Theo’s hoodie. Again. Hair a little messy, legs bare, looking entirely at home.

Draco blinked, “Déjà vu.”

Mattheo let out a dramatic sigh, “Alright, but like… why is it always the hoodie and no pants? Not that I’m complaining—it’s just, you know what, never mind.”

Blaise leaned against the kitchen island, arms crossed, “So what’s the excuse this time? Sleepwalking? Laundry explosion? Sudden amnesia about how trousers work?”

You didn’t even flinch.

“We’re dating,” You said flatly, tugging the sleeve of Theo’s hoodie over your hand as you rubbed your eye, “And I’m not wearing pants because I had sex with your friend. Good morning.”

Silence.

Four pairs of stunned eyes stared at you.

Lorenzo made a choked noise, “I—okay.”

Mattheo sputtered, hands flailing, “You can’t just say that without warning!”

“You asked.” You replied dryly.

Draco took a long sip of coffee, muttering behind the rim of his mug, “I owe Pansy ten Galleons.”

***

Bonus:

Your heart pounded as you stared at the closed doors, the soft strains of the wedding march beginning to drift through the wood. Your palms were sweaty around the bouquet you carried, nerves and excitement swirling in your chest.

Then, the doors swung open, revealing you in a stunning white dress, your smile bright and genuine as you began your walk down the aisle. The hush of the ceremony wrapped around you like a warm embrace, the aisle stretching ahead lined with friends and family.

A memory flickered through your mind—just a couple of years ago, you had run away from a different wedding down the hall, only to find refuge in this very chapel. It was here that you met your to-be husband, the love of your life.

Your eyes locked onto the man standing across the room, looking impossibly handsome in his tailored suit. His gaze locked onto you immediately, and for a moment, all the noise and bustle melted away. It was just you and him.

Only a few feet separated you now, but something in your heart couldn’t wait. Before you realized what you were doing, you broke into a gentle run—this time towards the groom.

Theo’s face broke into a gentle smile—the kind reserved only for you—as he reached for you. Before you could even think twice, his arms closed around you, catching you effortlessly. Your feet lifted from the floor as he spun you gently, twirling you in a slow, perfect circle.

The world blurred—lights, faces, music—all faded into a whirl of warmth and happiness.

He pressed his forehead to yours, a slow smile curling on his lips as he whispered, "You just can't wait to marry me, can you?"

You laughed softly, breath warm against his skin, "I couldn’t run away—tried it before. Too much work."

His eyes sparkled with amusement and love as he pulled you closer, the world around you fading into nothing but this perfect, shared moment.

***

EXTRA BONUS BECAUSE I CAN HEHEHE:

Hogwarts, Year 6:

You glanced across the potions table, scanning the clutter of ingredients before turning slightly toward the Slytherin bench.

“Theodore?” You said cautiously, holding your crushed lacewing flies with gloved fingers, “Could I borrow the asphodel? Just for a sec.”

He looked up from his cauldron like you’d just asked for his wand. There was a pause. Not rude, not angry—just... blank. Then, wordlessly, he slid the jar toward you across the table. His fingers brushed yours for the briefest moment when you took it. Cold skin. A little spark. His hand recoiled like he’d been burned.

“Oh. Um. Thanks.” You murmured, blinking.

He just gave a short nod, already turning away, jaw tight as he went back to slicing his valerian root like it had offended him personally.

You blinked again, confused, then padded back over to your side of the room where Pansy was lounging against the workbench like it was a chaise lounge in the Slytherin common room.

She quirked an eyebrow, “What was that?”

You shrugged, a slight pout forming on your lips, “I don’t know. I guess he just really doesn’t like me.”

Pansy snorted, “Please. If Theo really didn’t like you, you’d know.”

Meanwhile, across the room, Theo was absolutely not concentrating on his potion anymore. He was staring blankly into the cauldron, stirring too fast, ears tinged pink.

Your hands just touched.

***

Forever Taglist:

@simonsbluee

@notslaybabes

@superheroesaremyjam113263

@writers-whirlwind

@paankhaleyaaar

Harry Potter Taglist:

@downbad4reid

#slytherin boys #Theodore nott #Theo Nott #theodore nott x reader #theodore nott fluff #theodore nott x y/n #theodore nott x you #theo nott x y/n #theo nott x you #theo nott x reader #theodore nott fanfic #theodore nott fanfiction #theo nott fanfic #theo nott fanfiction #theodore nott fic #theodore nott one shot

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teaboot · 8 months ago

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Sometimes at work it's not my place to tell people the things I want to say, and I find I often go home at the end of the rougher days to stand blankly in my shower and tell myself over and over what I wish I could pass on.

This accomplishes very little, and mostly just gives me a tension headache, but through it all I think I've narrowed myself down to a few solid things I'd like to tell people the most.

You can't change people. Not permanently, not for anythig. You can support them, encourage them, love them, give them tools and opportunities and resources, but you can't make them change. They can change themselves if they want to, but they have to want to, and they have to want it for themselves, because they're the only one that's certain to be with them forever.

For better or worse, you make your own choices, and blaming bad choices on others doesn't only work to absolve you of responsibility- it also robs you of control. Because if you say you only did something because I did something, then you arent only shifting blame- you're admitting that you cannot control yourself, that you cannot truly make choices for yourself, that other people can control you- and as long as you truly beleive that, you'll keep facing the same problems over and over. You'll keep letting others dictate your choices, because you'll beleive that they can, and you'll never be free.

White knights on horseback are from fairytales. Nobody can help you if ou're not willing to help yourself. To try, to put the dirty work in, to belive you're worth that effort- Act as though nobody is coming to save you. From a struggle, from pain, from bad relationships, from yourself. And when you do save yourself, because you will, because failure here isn't an option if you want to survive, you'll never find another dragon that can keep you prisoner.

Don't say anything to anyone that you wouldn't want them remembering forever.

Doing the right thing in bad circumstances is hard. It's the hardest thing. But if you make the choice to do that hard thing anyways, despite your fear, you'll go on the rest of your like knowing that you're the sort of person who did something.

The present only seems the hardest because the past I over and the future hasn't happened.

There's so much joy ahead of you, the kind you can't possibly understand until you see it yourself.

The responsibility of consequences is often disguised as the power of permission. "I won't do this if you help me", "I'll work on my anger if you do this for me", "I promised you I'd quit, but can I have just one?". The unspoken question is, "Can it be your fault if this goes badly?"

You cant make someone love you the way you need to be loved. Someone can love you very much and still be bad for you, even if you love them very much in return. Two people can love each other very, very much, and try their very best, and still be wrong for each other.

Sometimes being near to someone changes you, even in good ways, and the people you become don't fit together as well as the people you were.

Caring takes work. Even if it's real. Especially if it's real. And the most important gestures aren't the grand, poetic, songs-and-flowers-and-tears moments; they're getting out of bed even though you don't want to. Paying attention to things you don't enjoy. Scrubbing pans, or opening a window, saying "thank-you", or helping carry groceries into the house. The small things fill the big things- without the small, boring, mediocre things, big things feel hollow.

Thrre is honour and dignity in humble work.

If you are a cruel and spiteful person, then you will find every place you visit to be full of the same cruel, spiteful people. This is not because the world is as cruel as you, but because everywhere you are, you will be disliked. This is the curse that comes with being persistently cruel and spiteful.

If you are a kind and ppsitive person, you will repeatedly encounter kind and positive people, because as they grow familiar with you, they will be happier to have you near. This is the reward of being a kind and positive person.

When splitting paths with loved ones, briefly or forever, aim for your last words to always be "I love you".

#I'm still so young and ignorant #but I wish someone had told ME these things before I had to learn them #And now when shit goes south and everything is over and calm again the same things just roll though my head #Over and over and over #It's like everyone I meet has the same 3 problems and its ruining their lives #I just want to take everyone I meet by the shoulders and shake them #I KNOW why this is happening to you #Do you realize you can be better?#Do you realize you can do it?#Aren't you terrified of wasting your life like this?#*I* want to be happier #*I* used to be so much worse than I am #And I don't have it all figured out #But if we all decide to help ourselves then it'll be that much easier to help each other #Right?#It's so hard to lift dead weight #You need to kick against the waves with me #You need to WANT to float #Do you understand #Ugh it's 6am #This has been your overdramatic midnight ramble #Imma grill me a cheese and go back to bed #Blaurfhgh

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reiderwriter · 2 years ago

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Everyone Looks Better in a Sundress

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader (GN + AFAB)

Summary: The AC at the BAU decides to take a holiday during a summer heatwave, and when you decide the FBI’s dress code is merely a suggestion, you unwittingly catch Spencer’s eye.

Genre: smut (18+, minors DNI)

Warnings: Dom!Spencer, sub!reader, semi-public sex, fingering, car sex, degradation, name-calling, edging, praise-kink, dumbification, basically Spencer is a tease and the reader really gets off on using his official title.

Word Count: 3.8k

Authors Note: Hello! This is my first posted fic, so any feedback is welcome and absolutely appreciated (I tried to keep it GN!AFAB but if you notice any gendered pronouns pls lmk immediately!) I finally decided to start writing again after a few years, so I might be a bit rusty but I recently started rewatching Criminal Minds and I am so in love with Spencer! This little fic was inspired by @imagining-in-the-margins CM Summer Sunshine Fic Challenge, so big thank you to them for the inspiration! This could also develop into a multi part fic in the future, so if that’s something you’d be interested in, please let me know in the tags and comments! XOXO K

Part two!

After three years in the BAU, you should know that summers in Quantico, Virginia are nothing to play about. Sure, it could be cloudy sometimes, and summer rain did allow for some relief, but with a heatwave on the way and a week of office work ahead of you, it seemed every member of your team was excited for the office AC.

That was, of course, until the maintenance department sent out an office-wide email telling you it was “undergoing work” for the foreseeable future.

You received the email during your commute, and immediately turned around to change. There was no way you were surviving in your slacks and long-sleeve shirt, and, truth be told, you knew that your bosses wouldn’t mind if you were a little more relaxed in your workplace attire if you weren’t going to be spending time in the field.

It took all of thirty seconds to shoot a message to Garcia, telling her that you’d be a few minutes late for your daily carpool, letting her know the situation so she didn’t hack into your car GPS (which she still claims she absolutely did not do the last time you accidentally slept in, but would in an emergency just to know you were safe).

She quickly sent you a reply: “put on that floral number we picked up last week! Between you and Morgan, I'm hoping my eyes will be feasting today 😉.”

You let out a little chuckle as you read the message, and quickly complied. A sundress didn’t sound too bad right now at all.

The dress in question was perhaps pushing it slightly for office work. It was short, and you knew immediately when putting it on that you would spend the day pulling it down to a more appropriate length. But the shade of blue fit your skintone perfectly, and the floaty material was exactly what you needed to beat the heat.

Grabbing your keys again before you could second guess yourself, you didn’t let your mind linger quickly on the thought that perhaps the dress was a little attention grabbing. And perhaps there was someone in the office whose attention you wanted to grab.

-X-

The commute into the office wasn’t bad, but stepping out of your nicely temperature regulated car into a wall of heat made you thank yourself for your foresight. And it seemed that the rest of your team was dealing similarly. Walking into the office, you noticed that Prentiss had divested herself of her shirt, sitting comfortably with an iced coffee and red tank top, an electric fan inches from her face. Morgan was similarly outfitted in lighter clothes than usual, and you could audibly hear Penelope’s brain working to come up with the best heat related compliment for her work husband. You couldn’t see Hotch or Rossi, but you knew they kept their own back-up units in their offices, so they wouldn’t be struggling at all today. You assumed JJ, too, was in her office.

“Well, look at you Cutie. You’re gonna break some hearts today, I know.” You roll your eyes as you throw your bag down. You were used to Morgan’s playful teasing by now, but compliments and affirmations were always welcome. You grimaced looking down at your desk chair and realised you had another problem. Your very recent purchase of a black leather office chair was going to absolutely make your day a living hell. Before you resigned yourself to a day of sitting in the orthopedic seventh layer of hell, your heard the angelic call of your office BFF.

“It feels like the devil’s armpit in here, god, do not expect an miracles from me today, I’m collecting my laptop and immediately moving away from all the heavy heat-producing machinery in my cave. Anyone got any space at their desk for me to work at?”

“Yes!” You replied a little too quickly.

“Feel free to make yourself at home, Pen, I have to look over some files with Reid later anyways so I’ll just pull up a spare chair to his desk, it’s all yours.” You thanked your lucky stars that everyone was too hot to tease you about your imminent proximity to the office’s Boy Wonder.

It turns out hiding a small, tiny, stupid crush from a team of FBI profilers wasn’t the easiest thing to do, but you were confident in thinking the only one who had clocked on so far was Penelope. And that was only because of your weekly girls nights and an unfortunate habit of spilling secrets while intoxicated. Sure, the others still teased sometimes, but that was only because the two of you were the easiest targets. And they just didn’t know how on the nose they were sometimes.

She gave you a quick look, of the ‘we will be discussing this later’ variety but didn’t say anything else and quickly excused herself to collect her things.

You quickly pulled up a (non-leather) chair next to Reid’s and straightened out your dress as you started searching for the file you were looking for. Although you absolutely had an ulterior motive to intruding on his space, you actually did have work to do. But the heat, and the knowledge that you’d be working closely with Reid again any minute now did nothing to help you stay focused.

Of course, having worked on the same team now for three years meant that you’d been alone together before. In all honestly, he was your partner of choice for any field task and you complimented each other well. The two of you worked together on Geographical Profiles for the majority of your cases, using your people skills, and his practical knowledge to gain insight into the locations unsubs lived, worked, murdered and hid their victims. And of course, you were friends outside the office, too. But you felt there was a distance between the two of you that made itself known the minute you stepped off the Jet or out of the bullpen.

As you searched the desk, you let your mind wander to what he would look like in this heat. You knew he didn’t deal with the heat well, and could often be found with his shirt sleeves rolled up and top buttons undone on the cases in the warmer climates. You thought about him panting in the heat, pushing his hair out of his face, glistening with sweat and grumbling quietly about the heat. You specifically thought back to a case from a few weeks back, where the two of you had an awkward run-in with an automatic sprinkler when you made your way to interview a witness. His purple shirt had ended up soaked, and on day six of the investigation, his go bag was thankfully short of replacement clothing. So he’d sat in the precinct, shirt semi-transluscent, completely oblivious to your brazen oggling and sudden lack of anything intellectual to say. Or anything to say in general.

It was only as you felt yourself getting warmer (a particularly impressive feat on today of all day’s) that you had to pull yourself out of the fantasy. But of course, as you stood up to get yourself a cool drink, you realised you were face to face with the man of your fantasies.

“Y/N? Did you need something?” He looked down at you, with a soft smile on his face.

“Oh! No, it was Garcia, she, um, she needed somewhere to work because her office is practically a sauna with all those computers. And I was thinking, we still need to work on that report on the geographical profile from the last case, so I offered her…my…” You trailed off, noticing you were rambling and allowed yourself a second to look at the man in front of you properly for the first time that day.

It was going to be a miracle if you got any work done ever again.

Like you, he’d opted for a change in uniform. He’d rid himself of his usual waistcoat-cardigan combo and was left in a button down shirt. It was, as you’d hoped and prayed, open slightly more than usual at the top. You frowned unconsciously as you realised he had also pushed his shirt sleeves up to his elbows, unhappy that you wouldn’t get to watch him do it in-person, his veins popping out as he exerted himself in the smallest way.

A few seconds of silence passed, and you had to make yourself tear your eyes away from a droplet of sweat that was neatly making its way down his throat, tracing a line that you could only hope to one day follow with your lips. When you snapped your eyes up to his, he nervously did the same, gripping his bag a little tighter to him.

“Oh, yeah that sounds good, um, let me just put my bag down and we can, uh, get started I guess.”

“Yeah of course. I was just gonna grab a drink first, do you want one?”

“Sure, yeah, a coffee would be good.”

“Okay, I’m no expert but that cannot be healthy in this heat. I know you’re practically a caffeine addict at this point, but I’m getting you a glass of water and you’re going to thank me, okay Doctor?”

He rolled his eyes and settled comfortably into his seat, but made no complaints as you walked away.

-X-

“This is ridiculous, how can they expect us to work like this?” Agent Prentiss grumbled from her desk.

“Oh, come on now, Prentiss, you can’t be complaining about a little heat, now.”

You rolled your eyes at your coworkers playful back-and-forth, doing your best to not melt into your borrowed seat. You’d been working side-by-side with Reid for the last three hours and the heat was now unbearable. You were stuck to the seat in an uncomfortable way, especially with the extra exposed skin from your dress. It had ridden up your legs more than you expected it would, so you were constantly shifting in your seat attempting to keep yourself decent.

The heat rolling off your teammate didn’t help. You had assumed that his love of cardigans, scarves and layers in general meant that he usually ran on the cooler side, but he was practically burning up next to you, making any and all accidental touch near intolerable.

Each accidental brush of his fingers as you passed files between the two of you, each knock of your knees together under the desk as you moved to read over one-anothers shoulders, and every time you got up for another drink, it’s like he’s read your mind because he stood up at the same time and you had to awkwardly untangle yourself from the mess of desk chairs and office furniture. With every touch, you feel yourself getting hotter and hotter, the heat pooling between your legs embarrassingly.

It’s only when, later in the day, he brushes the seam of your skirt with his fingers when reaching over you with his other hand for a file you know for a fact he does not need, you realise that all of those accidental touches may have been absolutely intentional.

Lowering your voice to a whisper, you bring your lips closer to his ears.”Spence, what was that?” You try to keep your voice steady, but his fingers are stil lingering closer to your sensitive areas than you found comfortable.

He drops his eyes to yours, looking you in the eye for the first time since you started working together in a comfortable silence.

“What was what?” He asks innocently, his cheeks flushes as he starts drawing small circles on your thigh.

“You’re touching me. You’ve been touching me a lot today, Doctor.”

“Oh, I’m Doctor now, am I?” He smiles at you before quickly moving his attention back to the file he was reading.

“Don’t change the subject.” You feel your whole body flush, as he ignores you and continues his reading, not removing his hand from your leg the entire time.

“S-Spencer, I’m serious.” He looks at you again then, and your heart jumps into your throat as you realise he’s removed his hand from the hem of your skirt, only to have it return under the material, moving closer and closer to where you really wanted him.

“You know,” he whispers under his breath, so quiet you’re sure that no one could overhear, “you look really pretty in this dress.”

Your brain is short circuiting as you feel his hand on your inner thigh, failing to register the implication of his words as you do your best to stammer out a reply.

“A-actually, Garcia chose it out for me. She said that you would-” you cut yourself off before you can say anymore. You’re surrounded by a room of your close friends and teammates and you’re doing your best not to beg your incredibly attractive coworker to push his fingers into you right then and there. Biting your lip so you don’t say anything else, you try to stand and shift away.

But Reid is there, and with his other hand he maneouvers you even closer to him somehow.

“She said I would what, beautiful?”

He’s so close now and you find yourself again staring at his exposed neck, wanting nothing more than to bury your head in him and kiss and lick and bite until he gives you what you want. The little circles he’s drawing on your legs are removing your inhibitions quicker than any alcohol could.

But then he grips you a little tighter, and forces you to look up into his eyes again and respond.

“She said that you would, uh, she said that you would’nt be able to take your eyes off of me. We were shopping together and she was just teasing and, well, yeah.”

“All dressed up for me, then? You thought you’d test the theory and see if she was right?”

And suddenly he’s ghosting his fingers across your panties and you’re doing your best to not make any other noises as he looks you deep in your eyes.

“Do you think she was right, Y/N?” He asks. But before your brain can catch up and choose whether or not to answert, he’s pulling away. He’s standing up and he’s walking over to Morgan, file in hand, asking questions about another previous case file, and you’re left sitting at his desk questioning if any of that actually just happened.

-X-

You spent the rest of the day in a daze. Luckily, your team was so busy complaining about the heat that you were sure none of them noticed the tension you carried through the rest of your day. With the AC still not working, Garcia had gained permission from Hotch to head back to her own apartment to finish up the day with more appropriate equipment, and had quickly evacuated your desk, allowing you to retreat back to your own space.

Emily had finished her own paperwork early due to a well-timed bet with Morgan, and had taken herself off to JJ’s office, and Morgan was meeting with Hotch in his office to discuss a potential death row intervew. So with the end of the workday in sight, only you and Reid remained in the bullpen.

After your little run in, you knew that you weren’t going to get any effective work done. Emily had once joked that Reid’s high IQ gets slashed to 60 every time he comes in contact with an attractive woman. At the time, you’d laughed, joked along. Nowthat it was your reality, it wasn’t as funny to you.

He’d played with you, called you beautiful, had his hands on you in the most frustratingly dizzying way- and then just as soon walked away from you. It wasn’t as if you wanted him to take you right then and there, in front of the entire office.

In fact, you’re quite sure that no matter how horny you were, you’d have stopped him before he went any further that publically. But you weren’t as sure you wouldn’t have dragged him off to a supply closet and forced him down on his knees and under your skirt.

To be short, you were pissed. He had left you, hot and bothered, on a day where you literally could get no relief from the heat.

You watched him work for a while after that. His desk faced away from yours, which meant you could covertly watch him whilst he worked and he would be none the wiser. After catching yourself staring a hole into the back of his head for the fifth time in an hour, you grunted out a curse and started packing your things up for the day. Unfortunately, you were just loud enough to catch the man’s attention.

“Leaving so soon, princess?”

“Yes. It’s hot and I’m tired and I just want to go home and take a cold shower and get into bed.” You started packing your things up again, but you quickly noticed that Spencer was doing the same.

“Are you leaving as well?” You asked, your stomach doing a small flip in apprehension of his answer.

“Yeah. I’m also hot, and tired and a cold shower sounds amazing right about now.”

You flushed at even the slightest change of a double meaning. Did he want to shower with you? Was he really going to step over that line?

He continued to pack up his things calmly, and you did the same. You walked towards the elevator, and it wasnt until he reached from behind you to press the call button that you realised he was so closely following you.

“And besides, your bed sounds amazing right about now.” The hairs on your neck stood up as he whispered into your ear, his hot breath fanning against your neck as you felt heat pool between your legs for the second time that day. You froze up like a deer in headlights, and as the elevator dinged open, you felt Spencer walk you in, press the button, and close the door before making his next move.

“You didn’t answer me earlier, you know? When I asked about the dress? Do you think Garcia was right?” He had crowded you into one corner of the elevator, and your brain was still short-circuiting. Shit, maybe you were the one whose IQ was cut in half, because the man in front of you seemed more confident than you had ever seen him before.

His placed his hands on the guard rail either side of you, as one of his legs found its way between yours and you let out a small whimper, then cursed yourself when you saw the smirk growing on his face.

“Come on, Princess, use your words.” He teased again.

“She wasn’t right.” You breathed out. “You looked at me a few times, but nothing too long and nothing…inappropriate, but-”

“But what?” He pushed his leg further into you, moving his hands to grip the fabric at our waist, and suddenly you were counting your blessings that no other agent in the building had decided to use the elevator right now.

“But you can’t keep your hands off of me.” His lips crashed into yours the second you finished your sentence, as you desperately grabbed at his hair, desperate to feel more and more of him against you despite the sticky heat.

He pulled away reluctantly as the elevator came to a stop in the basement carpark, but you still desperately clung to him, pressing kisses into his jaw and down his neck as you breathed in the scent of his sweat on his skin. Your words had failed you, but your body was desperate to communicate exactly what you needed.

He chuckled as he pulled you off of him, stroking your hair as he pulled you to your car. Opening the passenger side door for you and taking the keys from your bag, he placed a kiss to your temple, pulling away only enough to whisper into your ear. ”Which one of us can’t keep their hands off the other now?”

You were hot and delirious and you were not going to interrupt him now. He climbed into the driver’s seat, something you knew he didn’t do often, and placed his hand on your leg again as he drove.

“Spread your legs,” he ordered as soon as you were far enough away from the building. You complied immediately, not wanting to interrupt anything the man might do to you. “Good girl,” he mumbled as he immediately picked up where he left off earlier, rubbing your sensitive nub through your underwear. Your dress was pushed up now

“You know, Garcia was right” he spoke again, his fingers snaking their way under the elastic of your underwear. You could only moan in surprise, desperately close to getting exactly what you wanted.

“I have been staring at you this whole day. You came in this short dress, practically on display for anyone to see.” His fingers were now slowly circling your clit, going torturously slowly as you bucked up your hips for some much needed friction.

“When you got me that glass of water, I followed you, you know. Watched you reach for the glass on the top shelf, saw your skirt riding up. We’re you so desperate for me to notice you that you put yourself on display for the entire office like a little whore?” You moaned in surprise as his words registered in your mind.

You tried to reply, to deny and protest your innocence, but he chose that minute to thrust a finger into you, the awkward angle forced by your position in the car creating a beautiful friction. You started rocking your hips quicker against his hand, opening yourself up to him fully, and grabbing his wrist so he couldn’t pull away for a third time that day.

“You can’t even deny it, Look at you using my hand to get yourself off. Are you gonna come for me? Gonna do it right here in your car?” You moan out a yes as he adds another finger, stretching you out further as you whimper around him.

“Fuck, yes Spence, I’m a whore, your little whore.” You feel that familiar coil in the bottom of your stomach tighten and soon your releasing yourself all over his hands. Gasping for air, your head falls back on the passenger seat, and you release your grip on Spencer’s hands.

“Good job, princess, you did so well for me. We’re almost home now, let’s get you in that shower.” You whimper a little, nodding as you allow your brain to settle once again, completely comfortable with letting Spencer take control and do whatever he needs to do with you for the rest of the night.

-X-

#spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x reader #Criminal minds fandom #criminal minds fanfiction #Criminal minds fic #Spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x y/n #Spencer reid x you #spencer reid x self insert #Spencer reid x oc #Spencer reid drabble #spencer reid blurb #spencer reid imagine #Criminal minds smut #maturereiding

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luvrrszn · 3 months ago

Text

dog tags and love letters

SIMON "GHOST" RILEY x FEM!READER

summary how he meets the sweet girl he now calls home

warnings fluff heh...inaccuracies

a/n self-indulgent and probably inaccurate. i got a new laptop heh. it's sky blue. it's beautiful. heh.

masterlist

ghost is the kind of guy who doesn't dwell on the past or plan too far in the future. because both are uncertain, and both can be gone in an instant. he moves through life with a soldier's mindset—one step at a time, one day at a time, one mission at a time.

survival isn't about looking too far ahead, it's about making it through the next op, the next fight, the next breath.

he’s disciplined, calculated, but there’s an underlying detachment to it all. he knows better than to get too comfortable, to expect stability. attachments make things complicated. plans make things dangerous. so he takes things as they come, keeps moving forward, and doesn’t stop to think about what’s next until it’s right in front of him.

but everything as he knows it changes when he meets you.

—

you're like a breath of fresh air.

the first time ghost sees you is from across the bar at a pub. you're nursing a bottle of beer, deep in thought, and you don't even notice the giant staring at you through his skull balaclava.

johnny gets to you first, striking up a conversation with ease while ghost watches from afar. through his heavy scottish accent, he points out everyone in the bar. price, gaz, johnny, ghost?

johnny drags you over to ghost as you giggle, "what kind of name is that? ghost?"

the withering glare ghost sends in your direction is enough to send others skittering away. but you don't back down. you glare back at him, remarking to johnny, "careful, johnny. people are going to think your scary guard dog bites."

johnny barks out a laugh, clapping ghost on the shoulder like he’s just been let in on the best joke of the night. "oh, i like her."

ghost, on the other hand, does not react. he simply shifts his weight, regarding you with an unreadable expression. his eyes flicker over you—assessing, calculating, deciding if you're worth his time.

"depends," he finally rumbles, voice low and gravelly. "y'planning on sticking y'hand in my mouth?"

johnny wheezes, smacking the table, while you tilt your head, amused. "so you do bite?"

ghost doesn't answer, but something about the way his gaze lingers tells you he’s not used to people who don’t flinch away from him. who don’t try to appease him or impress him.

you take a sip of your beer, unfazed. "good to know."

johnny grins, watching the silent exchange like he's just won a bet. "bloody hell, i think you've just become his new favourite."

you roll your eyes. "i'm honoured."

ghost shakes his head slightly, but you don’t miss the way his shoulders loosen just a fraction. and when you get up to grab another beer, you swear you feel his eyes on you the entire way to the bar.

—

it happens slowly. subtly. almost without either of you realizing.

he starts asking you to call him simon instead. "t'you, 'm always simon, darling. never ghost."

at first, it's just coincidence. running into each other at the pub when 141 is back from a mission. simon doesn’t talk much, but he listens. he watches. you learn that under all that intimidation, there’s a man who notices the smallest details—how you like your drinks, when you get quiet because you're thinking too hard, the way your fingers drum against the bar when you're restless.

then, it’s convenience. he starts walking you home when the night runs late, always a few steps behind, silent but steady. one time, you try to wave him off, saying you're fine on your own. he just stares at you and says, "i know. humor me." you let him.

it turns into habit. him waiting for you after work. him pulling out a chair for you at the bar. him handing you his jacket when it's cold because, "you're shivering, stop bein' stubborn."

you complain, but you wear it anyway.

and then it’s something more.

you find yourself on edge every time he's away on a mission. you worry about him constantly. you check your phone every night, hoping that he's texted you that he's back.

—

one day, you're sitting on a bar stool at your kitchen island, back facing the main door. you're typing away on your computer, finishing up an email for work when you feel the air in the room shift.

like someone is there.

and you're terrified.

but when you turn around, that's when you see him.

the man who's basically a giant hunk of muscle.

simon.

he had let himself in using the spare key you'd given him ages ago. he didn't even bother going home first.

he came straight to you.

he drops his bag on the floor and doesn't even have time to shed his tactical gear before you're barreling into him at full speed. you leap into his arms, your legs wrapped around his body.

your arms are wrapped around his neck as you bury your face in his shoulder. he has one arm wrapped around your back and uses the other to pull off his balaclava.

"missed you, si," you mumble into his shoulder, "was so worried about you."

"nothin' to worry bout, sweet girl. am home now, aren't i?" he chuckles, warm breath blowing against your ear.

his usage of the word "home" doesn't go unnoticed by you.

that's when you realise—falling for him, it's a slow, quiet thing. but it's inevitable.

simon doesn't say much, but he never has to. the way he holds you—like he's afraid to let go—says enough. his fingers dig into your back, his breath is a little shaky when he exhales, and you know. you just know.

but neither of you say anything about it. not yet.

instead, he lets you fuss over him. you make him sit while you heat up leftovers, filling his plate like he hasn’t eaten in days. he doesn’t argue. just watches you with those sharp eyes, tracking every movement.

later, when you’re both on the couch—him in his usual spot, you curled up beside him, your head against his chest—you hear it.

his heartbeat. steady. grounding.

suddenly, he pauses the movie and lifts you onto his lap such that you're facing me.

"pet, i have somethin' to say. hear me out, okay?" he sounds unsure. and you're nervous. simon is never unsure.

"yeah, yeah. what's up si? you're kinda scaring me."

"no, love, it's nothing bad, i promise." he lets out a nervous chuckle and takes your small hand into those bear paws of his.

"somewhere along the way," he starts, voice hoarse, "i realised i stopped going through the motions of each mission. i stopped doing what i just had to do. i wasn't thinking about the missions anymore, not like i used to. i was just trying to finish as quickly as i could so i could get home to you."

your heart stutters in your chest, like you're unsure if you've heard him right. you let out a shaky breath, "si..."

and you see his face fall. no, no, no. he must've thought you were rejecting him. and after he'd been vulnerable with you, something he never was around anyone at all.

his expression hardens, as he begins, "forget it, it was stupid—"

you cut him off by pressing your lips onto his.

at first, the kiss is gentle. like simon is terrified you'll crumble if he even moves an inch. but then it grows hungry. you've both been waiting for this moment for so long.

it's hungry, messy, a mess of tongue and teeth.

when you finally break apart, panting, you both stay there for a moment, forehead to forehead, trying to catch your breath. the world feels like it’s stopped, and it’s just you two, finally in sync after everything that’s been unsaid. his hands are on your back, pulling you closer, like he’s afraid if he lets go, you’ll slip away.

you lean back just slightly to look at him, your eyes searching his, still trying to make sense of the overwhelming rush of emotions.

"you’re not stupid, si," you say softly, your voice shaky but firm. "i’ve been waiting for this too. for you. i just... didn’t know how to say it."

his thumb traces your cheek, wiping away the stray tear you hadn’t even noticed had fallen. "you’ve always had this way of... making me feel like maybe i could be more than jus' a soldier, y'know?"

you smile, a tear escaping despite yourself. "you already are, simon. to me, you’re everything."

he smiles back, but it’s different now. it’s not guarded or hardened. it’s raw, and real. and it’s all for you.

"guess ’m not going anywhere either," he murmurs, pulling you back into him, pressing his lips to your temple.

and this time, you know—without a doubt—that no matter the missions, no matter the distance, this is where you both belong.

#📓—lexwrites #simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost #ghost x reader #ghost fluff #simon riley fluff #simon ghost riley fluff

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hope-for-the-planet · 7 months ago

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youtube

If you get caught up in the mindset of "we are doomed because most humans are too dumb and selfish to solve climate change" I really encourage you to watch the first 12 minutes of this video.

I've also done my best to condense the most relevant quotes below.

"The biggest reason why we have a problem, is love. It's that we want to have children, we want them to survive, and so now there are 8 billion of us. And now that there are 8 billion of us, we want all 8 billion of those people to have pretty good lives." "[P]eople are so caught up in [...] the current moment, that you can't see how hard all of our ancestors worked to provide us with a world that has plenty of food [...], climate controlled shelter, and pretty easy transportation to anywhere within [...] 400 miles." "Humans are remarkable. We are very powerful. Give any species this level of power and they will provide opportunities for thriving for themselves and for their children. They will try and prevent their children from dying.[...] For the most part they will walk through fire to make sure that their children don't die. They will destroy the Earth to make sure their children won't die." "I don't want my son growing up thinking that the species that he's a part of is in some way evil. I feel like that's the root of a lot of [...] arm chair environmentalism. I want him thinking, humans are problem-solvers and solving problems creates new problems." "When we solve the global warming problem, we will have created new problems. And we're doing it right now. Renewable technologies use way more land [...], they impact the environment by being there [...]. And I think in the future we will uninstall a bunch of those things because we'll have other technologies that are better [...]. And the people in the future will be mad at us for the work that we did and that's fine. Just like we're kinda mad at all the people who made the world a better place by burning a bunch of coal so that we could have refrigerators [...]."

You can't hate yourself and your fellow humans into saving the world--and if you believe that all other humans are short sighted and selfish and doomed by their very nature then you are far more vulnerable to doomerism and hopelessness and giving up.

As Hank says in the video, the only reason we even know that climate change is a problem at all is because a lot of very intelligent humans were concerned about the possible impacts of fossil fuels on the future and did a whole lot of modeling and research so they could warn future humans about the risks. And we are primarily in this climate change situation in the first place because our ancestors wanted to use the readily available energy from fossil fuels to give their children and their communities better, safer, healthier lives.

Now we are trying to use brains that evolved primarily to deal with relatively little, immediate, tangible problems in small communities to solve a very large, long-term, largely intangible problem on a global scale. As frustrated as I am that we aren't solving this problem faster (and that there is small number of greedy fossil fuel executives trying to stop us from solving it for personal gain), most people are doing their best under very challenging circumstances.

Humans are driven to solve problems for the love of other humans--themselves, their families, their communities, humanity as a whole. We shouldn't base the drive to solve our current problems on disdain for ourselves and our fellow humans.

#youtube #video #words #inspiration #climate change #global warming #ecoanxiety #ecogrief #hope #hopepunk #solarpunk #humanity #humans #environment

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bitters-n-sweets · 1 month ago

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what survived the fire pt. 3 — jack abbot x ex-combat-medic!fem!reader When something triggers you and brings you back to the past, Jack offers a solution, and hope for the future.

warnings: PTSD, reader gets triggered, inaccuracies in the ER and military world, not proofread, mdni masterlist part one | part two a/n: okay, I know I said last time part two will be the last, but as I was writing some angst, I got inspired to write this, and it would only make sense as a part three. pls don't hate me. it's not directly tied to the previous part, but it's the same history etc yada yada—what I'm saying is, there might be more parts coming, because I think I want to focus on reader's healing journey, to find her own life again, like Jack would want. that's why we're taking it slow baby. please bear with me, im so sorry for any confusion. so if anyone wants to be tagged for any upcoming fics about these two, please let me know ❤️

PTSD happening right after the cut

----

You know better than to let your guard down on the trauma floor. But sometimes it isn’t up to you.

It wasn’t even a big thing. Just the sound of a metal tray clattering onto the floor in trauma two. It echoed. In the wrong way. Like the clang of chains on a locked door.

Then there’s the slam of a gurney against the metal doorframe. Someone screaming something that sounded like Farsi. Someone else yelling for blood. A monitor screaming. And someone grabs your arm—just to pass supplies—and it’s not him, it’s not the captor, it’s not the desert, you know that, but it doesn’t matter, you flinch. Step back. Your body reacts before your brain catches up. Cold sweat. Heart racing. The corners of your vision closing in like they did when you were locked in that basement room with the stench of piss and rot.

You pinch yourself hard to keep you grounded, but it’s not working. You duck into the nearest supply closet before anyone notices you spiraling. The second the door clicks shut, you slide down to the floor, knees close to your chest. Tile cold against your scrubs. Your breath comes in quick bursts, shallow and sharp.

You’re fine. You’re not there. This is the hospital. Pittsburgh. 5 thousand miles away. You’re out. You’re okay.

You whisper it under your breath like a mantra until your lungs stop hitching and your heart rate slows. You stay curled there until your hands stop shaking. Eventually, you push yourself back to your feet. You lean against the wall for one last breath before stepping out and walking like nothing happened.

Your heart is still a little fast, but you try your best to ignore it and act normal. Though, you’re not doing a very good job at it.

“Hey, you okay?” Lena stops you, “You’re pale.”

“I’m fine.” You offer a tight smile.

You grab a tablet and busy yourself with charting. Something easy. A scraped knee. A crayon stuck in a kid’s nose. Anything but the trauma bay. You just need something normal—something that doesn’t smell like blood or sound like war.

Lena lingers. She doesn’t buy it. And she glances across the hall—right at Jack, who’s already watching you like he knows something’s off.

You manage to stay on your feet so far. You’re only 3 hours away until shift is over, and now you’re sitting in the break room, head in your hands, sighing because you can’t wait for the day to be over. You don’t want to go home. You don’t even know what home means anymore. Your apartment is still half-empty, barely lived in. No photos on the walls. No softness in the corners. Just a bed, a lamp, some unopened boxes in the closet. You haven’t had time. Or maybe you haven’t wanted to. It’s easier not to try.

You just need out. A reset. A moment to breathe. But even that feels like running. And you don’t even know what you’re running from anymore. The memories? The noise? Yourself?

“Hey.”

You blink, startled. Jack’s hand is on your arm.

That’s when you realize your cheeks are wet. You didn’t realize you’re crying, tears falling from your eyes. You wipe it away immediately, but of course Jack has already seen them.

“You okay?” he asks, sitting next to you.

“I’m fine.” You repeat the words you said to Dana.

“You’ve barely said a word all day,” he says. No judgment. Just observation.

“I’m just tired,” you murmur. It's not a lie. Just not the full truth.

Jack folds his arms, studying you with that look he only gets when he's worried and trying to respect your space at the same time. “You’re not just tired.”

You stay quiet.

“Come over after shift,” he says, gently. Not a question. Just a soft request. “We’ll order food. Watch a movie.”

You glance at him. He doesn’t press. He just waits. That’s what Jack does—he never forces anything, never demands, never corners you. Just leaves the door open, like he hopes you’ll walk through it when you’re ready. So you don’t argue.

By the time your shift is about to end, Jack can’t find you. He’s already got his bag and waiting for you by the exit, but you’re nowhere to be found. 5 minutes go by, then 10, then he curses. He should’ve known where you’d be. He races to the roof.

It’s quiet upstairs. The sun is peeking through, birds are chirping, and the wind is nice. You’re sitting at the edge, legs dangling over the side, staring at the sky like it might offer answers. You hear the door open, and of course you know it’s Jack.

He exhales, like he’s been holding his breath the whole time.

“Why is everybody taking my spot these days…” he mutters, trying for lightness.

You haven’t told Jack everything about those weeks when you went missing. Just enough. Just the basics. You always downplay it—say it was boring, say you were fed, say the guys were idiots but not violent. You leave out the way they’d pace in front of the door like wolves. The constant dehydration. The helplessness. How you weren’t sure you’d ever get out. And the worst part? how, when you finally made it back, no one really cared. No rescue mission. No debrief. Just a few awkward glances and a couple of half-hearted “glad you’re back” comments in the mess hall.

That’s when you knew.

Years spent thinking the military was home. Believing you belonged there. And then realizing—when it really mattered—they didn’t even come looking.

“You don’t have to be here, you know.”

Jack just sits next to you, lays his palm over yours. “I’m worried about you.”

You smile bitterly. “Did I ever tell you they never sent a rescue team for me?”

Jack doesn’t say anything.

“I know I was only gone for a month,” You sigh, “Maybe compared to others, that was nothing, but I thought they’d at least look for me.”

Your voice drops. “I still have nightmares. Every day, something reminds me. I can’t escape it.”

“I don’t know who I am anymore, Jack.”

Jack softens.

He doesn’t rush to fill the silence. He just watches you. The wind moves gently through your hair. The sunlight’s catching on the curve of your cheekbone, your eyes glassy but he can see you’re still fighting back.

“I think,” Jack says slowly, brushing a stray hair behind your ear, “that you know exactly who you are.”

You turn your head toward him.

“You’re the girl who saved me even though she was badly injured herself. The one I shared half a bottle of whiskey with. The one who sat with me behind the supply tent after hard days. The one who gave me her shoulder, even when you didn’t need to. And after everything that happened to you, you didn’t let it change you. It didn’t make you hard, mean, or cold. You’re not just the girl who survived.”

His voice gets quieter.

“And… if you ever forget who you are again, I’ll be here to remind you.”

You blink hard. The tears sting, but you don’t let them fall. Jack’s hand is still over yours, warm and steady. You thread your fingers through his.

“I’m tired of being okay when I’m not,” you admit, voice cracking.

Jack shifts, closing the space between you just slightly. He leans in, forehead almost brushing yours.

“Then don’t be okay. Not with me. I’ve got you. Always.”

You tilt your head, just a breath’s distance from him, and Jack doesn’t move—he waits. But you can’t, not when you’re still figuring shit out. So you look down, and Jack smiles, understanding, pressing a kiss on your forehead instead, letting you know he’s still there.

“Wanna go?”

You nod, a small smile now on your face.

You’ve been to Jack’s place so many times it’s almost like a routine to you. You know where his shirts are, you can differentiate the cups and plates cabinets, and Jack loves seeing you so comfortable in his place. You might not realize it, but every time you wear one of his shirts, curled up on his couch with a blanket and a comfort movie, he can’t help but smile. Especially when you scoot a little closer and lean on him without thinking, just because you’re cold.

He still thinks about the night you fell asleep on him during Interstellar, your face soft and calm, completely at peace.

When you walk through the door tonight, everything falls into place like it always does. You order food, then shower, then pick a movie and pour something warm—tea or whiskey, depending on the kind of shift it’s been. It’s looking like a whiskey kind of night.

It’s easy and natural. But it’s also a little confusing—this thing between you and Jack. You’ve liked him since the day you met him in the field. It wasn’t just admiration. There was something else, something deeper in the way he carried himself, the way he looked at you like you mattered.

Jack steps out of the shower with his forearm crutches and pajama shorts, damp hair pushed back, steam still clinging to his skin. His shirt is folded on the back of the couch—he’s waiting to dry off a bit more before putting it on.

You’ve already drawn the blackout curtains and dimmed the lights, softening the room into something cozy and warm. You bring him his glass and tap yours gently against it in a quiet cheers. The whiskey burns as it goes down, but you welcome the warmth.

That’s when you realize—he’s not wearing a shirt.

Your eyes catch on the way the light skims over his chest, the faint scars, the solid lines of muscle, his dog tags clinging on his neck. You swallow hard, pulse kicking up just a little, and then you see the scar on his abdomen. Your fingers reach out without thinking.

“Is this…” Your mind lingers to when you were pressing his wound with your hands.

“Yeah.” He says before you can finish your sentence. “You did a great job.”

You chuckle, fingers still tracing the scar tissue. You try not to let your mind go back to the memory too much. He’s here with you now. He’s okay.

Jack feels a little shy, with you practically ogling and tracing his bare skin like that, so he decides to put his shirt on, with the excuse that he doesn’t want to remind you of what’s in the past. He sits down on the L part of the couch, bringing his legs up and gently tugging you with him so you’re curled at his side.

You play the movie, snuggling closer to Jack because it’s cold, and you feel him smile when he kisses your head. It makes you want to lean into him, lean on him. You can feel his heartbeat racing—or maybe that’s your own, you can’t really tell the difference.

“We’re watching ‘Notting Hill’?” Jack reads the title. “Isn’t this a rom-com?”

“Yep,” You nod, “Comfort movie.”

Jack just nods back, not really caring what movie is playing as long as you like it.

Toward the end of the movie, you find yourself curled fully between Jack’s legs, your back resting against his chest, his arms wrapped around you. It had started with you complaining about being cold, and Jack muttering something about remembering to leave a blanket in the living room next time. But he hasn’t moved to get one, and truthfully, you think he likes this better.

“I'm also just a girl, standing in front of a boy, asking him to love her.”

You gasp softly, just like you always do when the scene hits. When Will rejects Anna, again. You’ve seen Notting Hill a hundred times, and yet it still gets you every single time. Jack smiles against your hair, amused, watching you fall apart over a movie you know by heart.

“Why do you keep watching this if it makes you cry every time?” he asks, chuckling gently as he wipes a tear from your cheek with his thumb.

You sniff, curling your fingers around his arm. “Because I have to cry. I don’t want to cry about today, but I still need to let it out. This... this is how I cope.”

Jack’s smile fades into something softer. He holds you closer, tucks you tighter into his chest like he’s trying to protect you.

“We can talk about it,” he says after a pause, his voice quiet. “If you want to.”

You shake your head. But the words come anyway. “I just… I just felt so alone.”

He doesn’t speak at first. Just strokes your arm with his thumb in slow, calming circles. Then he pulls back slightly—not away, just enough to reach for something around his neck.

You hear his dog tags before you see it.

“What are you doing?”

Jack slides the chain over his head and looks down at them for a moment, as if remembering something old, and smiles to himself. Then he gently loops the chain around your neck.

You hold your breath.

“Hold on to them for me,” he says quietly. “I can’t always be there for you if things get bad, unfortunately. If I could, I’d teleport to wherever you are whenever you need me, but… this is the best I can do for now. So they’re yours. For you to hold on to when I’m not around. So you’ll know you’re never alone, and I’m always here for you, even when I’m not.”

You stare at him, eyes wide in shock.

“You’ve carried enough weight alone,” he says. “Let me help.”

You hold the chain to your chest. “Will you keep mine?”

He nods, and you take off your own dog tags. Jack sits upright, and you loop the chain around his neck. He doesn’t take his eyes off you the entire time.

“Jack,” you murmur, barely louder than the hum of the movie credits. “I have to ask.”

He nods slightly, just enough to let you know he’s listening.

“Is this… sentiment?” Your voice wavers. “Are you doing this because you feel sorry for me? Or are we—” You hesitate. “Is this… real?”

Jack’s eyes find yours, and for a second he looks almost wounded, like he can’t believe you’d even question it. Then his gaze softens.

“Didn’t I promise you,” he says gently, “that it would just be us when we got out?”

You swallow hard.

“I’m not doing this just because I want to help you,” he continues. “I care about you. Maybe in ways you won’t understand.”

He pauses, thumb brushing lightly along your arm.

“This is real, sweetheart. I just… I don’t want to rush. Not with you. I want to do this right. But make no mistake,” his voice lowers slightly, “I want you.”

You don’t say anything else. You just nod once, barely, and curl closer into his chest. Jack wraps his arms around you without hesitation, his chin resting lightly atop your head.

The screen dims to black. What’s left is the sound of your breathing, the faint clink of your dog tags when you shift slightly, and the steady, calming rhythm of Jack’s heartbeat beneath your cheek. You hold his dog tags close to your chest, grounding you to the moment.

You hold each other in the silence, like it’s the only thing that matters. And for tonight, it is.

#jack abbot x female reader #jack abbot x reader #the pitt #dr abbot #jack abbot #jack abbot fluff #jack abbot the pitt #jack abbot x you #jack abbot angst #dr jack abbot #dr abbot x reader #jack abbot x fem reader #dr abbot x you

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boopshoops · 6 months ago

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What your favorite TWST character says about you :)

As a note before I begin: I saw one of these that shamed malleus and randomly even chenya enjoyers- (claimed that they were pick mes or something? 😭) so i wanted to make one that was more positive out of spite <3 make it more about the writing and why people appreciate the characters. Take each of these with a grain of salt i spose- also a lot of them share similar themes <3

(Aka fans who have different views or even blatantly incorrect views of characters will always exist everywhere, but insulting the entirety of a group solely for enjoying a character, many for different reasons, is probably not a great idea!

I get that sometimes people suck and thats understandable, but quit generalizing ok? Ok.

From a malleus enjoyer who just thinks hes a silly little guy and im tired of feeling like i have to defend myself bc he's my blorbo 😵‍💫)

Final note: i love unapologetically taking frustration and turning it into something that can make people smile 💕 also i blindly wrote this from 11pm-midnight :))) dividers by @/cafekitsune!

Heartslabyul:

Riddle: you enjoy and/or relate to the idea of healing from the past. Working hard to improve oneself for the ones around you and yourself: creating a healthier environment where you can be happy

Trey: there is immense complexity in things that are seemingly mundane. Digging deeper and deeper to find something truly sweet and heart warming is your joy.

Cater: maybe you relate, or maybe you used to, or maybe parts of the connections made in the past/presence/future dont feel as deep as you truly want them to be. There is something beautiful about a desire for genuine human connection, but also peace in being alone. There is a safe space for you yet, just be patient. 💕

Deuce: you love drive and determination. An endless stubbornness that keeps one going against all odds. Against every person who tells someone they cant. You watch them get proven wrong, and its pure bliss.

Ace: you find the connection between people beyond words heartwarming: even the seemingly simple ones. The ability to have a connection with someone who can get up to some mischief, tease back and forth, yet be there when you need them to be one of the most valuable things.

Savanaclaw:

Leona: Adversity over a lack of belief in oneself is a very difficult thing to overcome- yet it is very possible with the right crowd, the right amount of time, healing, and effort. You think someone's worth lies more than just within their title/job/appearance, but within the fact that they are able to stand back up and keep moving onward despite the odds. The hope for that change, and the ability to get out of bed in the morning on its own is strength.

Ruggie: Despite being through so much trauma at such a young age, recovery happens anyway. Its not perfect, at times the lessons learned are even rough. The survival tactics that once helped are now hard to ditch when theyre not needed anymore, but the ability to smile and joke and keep pushing onwards is something you value in life.

Jack: Self discipline can be both extremely useful as well as harmful in different ways. You find the way people can constantly strive to better themselves at what they love and/or morally to be highly admirable.

Octavinelle:

Azul: People can be cruel. And sometimes that cruelty inspires cruelty. Sometimes its simply used as a way to move on and survive insecurities created from it. Its hard, its a fight, but those insecurities are part of what make people beautiful. They are nothing to be ashamed of, and even the many tactics and smart ways of learning to overcome cruelness can be beautiful too.

Jade: The mind is extremely powerful. Intelligence and knowledge are not the only important things, no. Using that intel to find entertainment in the surrounding world can be exhilarating. Finding and discovering new unknowns: learning their ins and outs until they're a part of you is something you can relate to.

Floyd: speaking of fun- you love what is essentially the written version of a roller coaster. Ups and downs, ins and outs. Every single twist and turn is exhilarating and new. Every different perspective provides new insight into a multitude of different things. You are along for the ride, and you are having a lovely time.

Scarabia:

Jamil: self discovery can be very difficult after purposefully suppressing parts of one's self for a long time. Yet, the healing happens anyway (once again aha <3). People discover new parts of themselves, slowly becoming more comfortable not only with their environment, but how they react to it. The discovery is freedom, and freedom is bliss to you. New traits about oneself bloom like a flower: if not in the soil, then stubbornly in the cracks of cement. You gently take that bloom from the concrete and pot it, placing it gingerly in a beam of sunlight.

Kalim: Happiness isnt only sunshine to the one smiling, but to everyone else around them. It is delightfully infectious. However, happiness isnt a constant. You think emotions all emotions should be experienced rather than suppressed, because holding back sadness for the sake of others is a disservice to one's self. Discovering your own emotions, any range of them, is what makes people uniquely human. If anyone is holding those emotions back- hell, any part of them back, they need to be let out of the cage.

Pomefiore:

Vil: "Beauty is on the inside" is a saying thats been around for a long time, but beauty comes in so many forms. It can come from the stubborn desire to improve one's self: to be kinder, to help those around you, to be good. However it is impossible to be perfect. At times, for some, this can be crushing. People are hurt unintentionally, natural frustration can brew, the wrong actions can be taken: and thats okay. You believe whats important is to pick yourself up and keep going. To err is to be human, and that is beautiful too.

Rook: Error is beautiful. Symmetry is beautiful. Asymmetry is beautiful. A crack in the side walk is beautiful. Small things are beautiful, big things are beautiful. The nurturing of something through endless care is beautiful. The undeniable traits and hobbies of every individual that make them unique are beautiful. You find the endless optimism in finding beauty to be, in itself, beautiful.

Epel: Sometimes people will view others in ways that they wish not to be perceived as. This isnt in our control, as much as we sometimes want it to be. All you can do i be unapologetically yourself. To be you to the utmost degree. To prove those who thought otherwise to be foolish. You find this strength to find value in yourself despite others opinions admirable.

Ignihyde:

Idia: you have depression /j

Ok for real-

Life can be such a cunt. It can beat a person down, down, down and leave them vulnerable enough to fear it. To fear that beating, whenever it may next come. The anxiety of never knowing what or who will come next, or what one could lose. At times it feels more comforting to find a routine in solitude. But you know that the small things that give joy will wiggle their way in with time. The broken will meet people who love and care and find comfort in the companionship of healing, even from the little things: like a new story to read or game to play.

Ortho: You value unconditional support. Support through everything: the good, the bad, the just kind of okay. Knowing that someone can have ones back for every little thing- to be there solely because they care and wish the best for others- is something you look up to and maybe even wish to be for another.

Diasomnia:

Malleus: god damn people can be so hard to read and understand. They are so complicated: they are books you have to pay attention to from start to finish. But once you reach the end, you have a deep seated appreciation for them, and for the ones who stuck around to read your book too. Even if it was just for a fleeting moment: it is a happy moment. As painful as temporary things can be, it is also what you think can make the relationships we love and have loved so valuable.

Lilia: there can be suffering everywhere. There is war. There is famine. But there are also endless new sights to see. New discoveries to be made to help those still going through famine and war. New ways to love and understand people you never thought you'd understand. The development and positive parts of humanity, even though at times it can look bleak, are ever present to you. You love the discovery: of places and of people.

Silver: you believe that there is solace in being your own individual, regardless of who you are bound by blood to. Being shaped my experiences, friends, hardships, and new places are what make a person who they are. You value finding roots in and making your own home.

Sebek: Dedication can be a hard thing to come by, but when it does it can grab someone by the reigns. Using every waking moment to cherish that thing, learn more about it, become better at something, and strive to better ones self can be very admirable to you. But, on the other hand, it also calls for the occasional rest.

OTHER (just for ones I know well enough, sorry!)

Neige: You love kindness despite hardship. One can go through horrible things and still choose to be kind. The world could begin to end, and one could still choose to be kind, because it means everything.

Chenya: Curiosity fuels exploration. It fuels art. It fuels everything. It fuels excitement. It fuels friendships. It fuels medicine. It fuels life. Curiosity is endlessly fun, and you think that is very whimsical

Meleanor: Sacrifice for others can be tragic. Knowing what another person has given up for someone else, maybe even everything, is gut wrenching but undeniably a selfless love to you.

Crewel: There can be kindness in strictness. In teachings, there can be a parental guide. There can be someone who cares for you and undeniably wants you to succeed. They know that you can, so they push you towards it. You want this support.

Trein: Love surpasses time. When the ones we love are gone, the memories of them are still held close, with the love once given to them, we can show to others through advice and guidance that comes with time. You find comfort in that.

Crowley: People are flawed. We all know this, yet despite a persons flaws... however many there may be, there is still something hopeful and human about it. About having those flaws and persisting regardless. You may even like those flaws, and the unashamed desire to press on even with them on display.

Fellow/Ernesto: Live for yourself. This is what you desire. People are often caught up in material or monetary things. After all, we live in a world that required it to survive and even be respected. To throw away those views and simply live as you see fit: regardless as to whether you earn those things or not, is something you admire.

Rollo: Sometimes the attachment we have to those we lost can be painful. Regardless, that pain is proof that there was care and love. The things done for others, whether alive or dead, are done selflessly. Grief can fuel hatred, but it can also be caused by love. To unlearn hatred and learn to love again after the fear of loss is a natural human experience. It is a process you understand and admire those who take the time and strength needed to properly love again.

Thank you for reading <3

Tags <3

@lowcallyfruity @skriblee-ksk @justm3di0cr3 @cecilebutcher @kitwasnothere

@techno-danger @thehollowwriter @distant-velleity @the-trinket-witch @scint1llat3

@beneathsakurashade @qsoap @twsted-canvas @prince-kallisto @kathxrat-01

@sillyslipperybananapeel @jadelover69 @tixdixl @twstinginthewind

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kira-sucks-lawlipops · 19 days ago

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Had two great conversations yesterday.

The first was with my boss, during our weekly catch up. After discussing work stuff he asked me how school was going (I am six weeks into a law degree). I said "Great! Last weekend I finally figured out how to summarise cases properly, so what used to take hours will now take minutes!"

He responded, "Wouldn't it be easier if you got ChatGPT to do that for you?"

And I said, "I would rather kill myself." 🙂

Then he went on a little rant about how AI is inevitable and in the future it will all be about how skillfully you can word your queries and I tuned him out. When he stopped talking I said, "I fundamentally disagree with everything you just said. There is nothing that AI can do that I can't do better, and so far no one has put a gun to my head and forced me to use it. So I don't."

The second great conversation happened after work, during an evening lecture.

The lecturer who is teaching our first law subject interrupted himself mid-sentence to say, "Oh by the way, we're marking your first assignments right now and a shockingly high number of you have clearly used AI to write your papers and will receive an automatic fail. Since you can't sit the exam without submitting a genuine attempt for both assignments, and we track feedback across both to see how you've improved, anyone who tries that again won't be eligible and will have to repeat the subject."

There was a general uproar from the students, which I won't attempt to transcribe.

He silenced it by saying, "I've explained this before. Trying to use AI to become a lawyer is like trying to become a musician by listening to CDs. If you can't develop the skills to get through your study on your own, then you will not survive in a courtroom. One day, a judge is going to demand that you pick up an instrument and actually play, and if you've never done that before, you will disgrace yourself and the entire legal profession. My job is to make sure that doesn't happen."

#anti ai #my posts

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sitepathos · 7 months ago

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From Gold to Mold

Chapter 11: The Interview

Note: Didn’t really plan on making a chapter like this, but I thought we were overdue some filler before we got into some real drama. Enjoy!

You let out a loud agitated sigh as you power down your computer and slouch in your office chair.

Since you got back from Metropolis, you’ve been working on a free update to thank all your players for their support and voting to make Salvage Rights the Indie Game of the Year; working on an update that’ll satisfy the players and be easy to develop and implement was difficult enough, but all the drama with the Waynes made it even harder.

It’s been four fucking years since you left Gotham! Even when you moved back to Goodsprings, you couldn’t help but think about all they’d done to you, from Bruce acting like you’re an intruder in his “perfect” house to Damian being your personal demon. You’d managed to put hundreds of miles between yourself and them, but they still managed to have a hold on you. Sure, you knew you were in a home you owned fair and square, not Wayne Manor, but there were still instances where you caught yourself looking over your shoulder to make sure no one was behind you or peeking around corners to make sure a room was empty before you walked in.

Even with the Megamycete constantly reminding you, it took you the better part of a year to get it through your head that you no longer needed the survival tactics that had kept you alive in Wayne Manor as you’re the only one in your house.

It’s taken the last three years, but you were finally ready to move on with your life, look towards the future and leave Gotham, Bruce Wayne, and his merry band of bastards behind. You published your game, people loved it almost immediately, and you had been rewarded for your efforts with fame and fortune.

You finally free and could actually be happy for the first time in years.

Now, he and his children come and plague you, trying to drag you back to the place you hated from day one.

He made it clear that he never considered you his son (hell, what he said the night those three bastards kidnapped you proved that), always showering Dick, Jason, Tim, and Damian with a fatherly love you had slowly realized would never be meant for you and shoved you aside in favor of showcasing the children he was proud of. Eventually, you were forgotten by both Bruce Wayne and the larger world as no one in Gotham’s media class ever asked where you were, why weren’t you with them at this party, or when was he planning on throwing you your own introductory gala like his other kids.

As time went on, you took steps to separate yourself from him, never telling anyone who your father was and only accepting Gould as your proper last name (although if you ever found some guy to marry you, you’d definitely be open to changing your last name).

Then, that son of a bitch shows up and ruins everything, your face plastered all over the news, primarily in Gotham and Metropolis, and you can’t go anywhere without people staring, whispering, and bombarding you with several questions (many of them being if you could set them up with your “siblings”).

You were finally living the life you’d dreamed about and he had to go and ruin it! You’d known that Bruce Wayne is a miserable motherfucker who can’t stand to see anyone around him to be happy (you’d listened in on plenty of arguments between him and the others whenever one of them tried to strike out on their own to figure that out), but you never thought that he’d be so petty he’d try to drag you, the son he never wanted, back when he saw you happy for once in your life.

You look down at your hands and imagine what it’d feel like to have them wrapped around his neck, squeezing the life out of him and seeing him realize that despite his strength as Batman, he was powerless compared to you; the relief you would feel as you saw the life leave his eyes as he accepted that the son he never wanted was the instrument of his destruction.

You revel in the brief sensation of satisfaction that passes through you from your daydream.

(You may get your wish,) the Megamycete says, bringing you out for your fantasy.

“How do you figure?”

It doesn’t answer, but you feel sensations of anxiety and apprehension radiate from it.

“What’s wrong,” you say, getting a little afraid.

Over the last four years, you’d never known the Megamycete to be afraid of anything.

So, seems like things are about to go from bad to worse in your life.

(We reached out to the Bats. They know of both our existence and our bond with you.)

“What,” you exclaim, standing up from your chair. “You told them? Why?”

(We thought we could reason with them for you. They—)

“How could you do that? Now they know about you! They weren’t going to stop coming and my only ace in the hole is you! I’ve lost that advantage thanks to you! For a sentient mushroom that has the knowledge of thousands of people, that was a pretty stupid thing to do!”

You’re pissed. Really pissed.

You had a feeling that the night with Bruce at the Gala wasn’t the end of things and all of his children visiting you proved it. The Bats have made it clear they’ll do whatever they must to accomplish their goals and for whatever reason, they’ve decided you’re their goal.

Sure, you went overboard a little demonstating your strength when dealing with Jason and Damian, but that they had no idea your strength came from the Megamycete and that was only the surface what you were capable of. If they decided to come at you in force, they were in one hell of a surprise when you fabricated hardened mold armor right in front of them and do to them what you did to Joker. You know they’ve fought plenty of villains with powers, but the mold is stronger than all of them combined and you’d make them regret ever meeting you as you tear them apart and scatter their intestines across the ground.

But now, thanks to the Megamycete, they know that you’re not alone and who knows what else?

(We are sorry,) it says, its tone remorseful. (We thought we could persuade them to leave you alone. We were wrong.)

“Yeah, no shit! If they weren’t listening to me, what made you think they would listen to you? Hell, you know how Bruce feels about metas, knowing I’m one probably made things worse! He’s probably making some cage to hold me right now!”

You tap into the roots scattered around Gotham and focus on Wayne Manor, but are surprised to find you’re unable to connect.

(They have started removing our roots. We have accelerated the growth of the surrounding roots, but they are taking steps to prevent their regrowth.)

“So, we have no idea what they’re planning. Great, that’s just great. Terrific job, man. Really, just superb.”

(We thought we could help.)

You exhale a sigh and wave a hand through your hair, trying to come up with a plan on where to go next.

“How did it go down, exactly? What happened?”

The Megamycete uploads its meeting with them into your brain and it flashes before your eyes, from the Megamycete torturing some of them by turning into their dead ones to them learning about you killing your would-be murderers and Joker and Harley.

You thought you hated Bruce Wayne enough, but apparently you don’t hate that man enough.

How someone can be so delusional is astounding to say the least. Honestly, he deserves to be thrown in Arkham and studied, along with all the others.

They ignore you for most of your life and treat you like shit and now that you’re finally happy, they want to drag you back to Gotham.

And why?

Because they “love you?”

Bullshit.

They feel guilty and they just want to feel better. You know no one in that damn house is capable of feeling real love and once they feel better about themselves, they’ll go right back to ignoring you.

(They are truly delusional. They think their past behavior does not matter and you should be brought back to their fold.)

Yeah, you got that from Jason. The bastard wasn’t able to get away from Bruce and Gotham (because despite all his bluster, all he wants is that man’s approval) and because he couldn’t do it, he thinks you shouldn’t be able to.

Selfish, all of them.

“You fucked up. They were going to find out eventually, but thanks to you, we’re gonna have to deal with them sooner than we expected.”

(We know. We overestimated our abilities and brought trouble upon you. We apologize. Truly, we do.)

You understand where its heart was in the right place, but it still doesn’t change the fact that the Bats are probably going to be breaking down your door any day now.

Just then, there’s a knock at your door, making you freeze.

Shit, are they already here? Are they in regular clothes or are they in their capes and cowls? Are they really that desperate to bring you back to Gotham that they’d really raid your house in the middle of the day for anyone walking by to see?

You tap into the roots surrounding your house and see not Bruce Wayne or any of his kids darkening your door. Instead, you see a black haired woman dressed professionally standing on your porch.

“Who the hell is she?”

(We do not know. She is definitely not a resident of Gotham as we do not recognize her.)

That certainly doesn’t make you feel better. You know Bruce is resourceful as hell and isn’t afraid to use any dirty trick in the book to get what he wants.

(She does not appear to have ill intents. She is too delicate-looking to pose a threat to you, nor is her purse large enough to hold a weapon large enough to harm you.)

Looks can be deceiving. After all, Bruce is a member of the Justice League, where Martian Manhunter is and you can see Bruce using the alien to transform and trick you into lowering your guard. When that man gets obsessed over something, he doesn’t know when to leave well enough alone.

Still, you can speculate to the moon and back, but until you open the door and talk to the woman, you’ll never know for certain. Sure, it could be related to your current Bat problem, or it could be something else.

So, you walk through your house and up to your door.

“Who is it,” you call out.

“Lois Lane, Daily Planet,” she responds. “I’m here to ask Y/N Gould for an interview.”

Lois Lane? You’ve heard Bruce and the others say that name when talking about Metropolis and Superman and you’ve seen the name when reading a few news articles for school assignments, but you’ve never seen any pictures of her, so you had no idea the woman standing on your doorstep is the very woman famous for being one of the very few reputable journalists left in the world.

You unlock the door and open it just enough to stick your head out to see her face to face. You look into her eyes and see no ill intent or hidden motives.

“Mr. Gould, I presume,” she asks, a gentle smile on her face.

“You want an interview with me? What for?”

“Your relation with Bruce Wayne. As I’m sure you know, he’s the most famous man in Gotham, if he so much as sneezes in public, several news articles are written to publish it. Gotham’s media has always covered whenever he adopted another child, but out of nowhere, he appears at a video game awards ceremony and claims you’re his son and you call him a sperm donor. No one can forget when Damian Wayne appeared at a gala and was declared Bruce Wayne’s biological son. It made quite the stir when you pushed him and made it clear you had nothing but animosity towards him.”

Oh yes, you can remember the many days of fawning Damian got when he moved into the manor, leaving you bitter since all you got was a few minutes of people asking about your mother before forgetting about you in favor of all the others.

“What is it you want,” you say, trying to remain polite. “I lost years thanks to Gotham and Bruce Wayne and I’m not eager to lose any more dwelling in the past.”

“I want to hear your side of the story,” she says with a determination that surprises you. “You clearly suffered due to him and I want to help you tell your story to the world.”

You’re actually speechless at that. You know pretty much all of Gotham worships at the Alter of Wayne and his influence expands far beyond the city’s borders, leaving very few people willing to hear anything that would portray him in a negative light. It’s very safe to say Gotham is a cathedral dedicated to both Bruce Wayne and Batman.

To hear that someone with a reputation and influence like Lois Lane would want to listen to you and help you tell others your life’s story is nothing less of a shocker.

“I can’t say you’ll like what I have to say, Ms. Lane,” you say as you open the door wide and stand in the doorway. “I know Bruce Wayne is an institution of Gotham, but I can tell you that wasn’t my experience.”

“This isn’t about my opinion on Bruce Wayne or any of his children. This is about what you experienced during your stay in Wayne Manor.”

“And how much are you wanting to know?”

“Everything. Or, as much or as little you’re willing to tell me.”

Her words strike you to your core. It’s been years since you’ve had anyone really interested in what you have to say. Sure, Alfred was always willing to listen to you, but you learned early on that you had to hold back on how you really felt about Bruce Wayne and his children as any criticism you had about them was a failure on his part.

The poor man did the best he could, but those people are clearly beyond any form of help outside of being locked in padded cells.

“Come in, please,” you say, steeping aside so she could enter your home. Once she’s in, you close the door and lead her to the living room. “Can I get you anything? Coffee, water, soda?”

“Anything’s fine, thank you.”

She sits on the couch while you rush to the kitchen and prepare two glasses of ice water, a crystal pitcher full of more water, and a small bowl full of grapes and load it all onto a tray and carry it back to the living room. This is the first time you’ve ever had a guest and you want to make a good impression.

“So, where would you like to start,” you ask as you sit in your favorite chair, your glass of water in hand.

“I’d like to ask about your mother, if that’s alright,” she answers, pulling out a writing pad and pen from her purse. “I managed to find newspapers relating to you around the time you moved to Gotham, but they were very few and none of them had anything regarding your mother or your past.”

You stifle a chuckle at the thought of being one the front page of a few newspapers no doubt rotting in the Gotham Gazette’s archives. You were probably the center of news for all a week before Bruce adopted Tim and stole the spotlight, leading to the tradition of you being pushed further and further back whenever Bruce collected another troubled kid.

“My mom was Maria Gould, a famous writer known for romance novels set during the Age of Sail.”

“That Maria Gould,” she asks, looking up from her notepad in shock. “I didn’t know you were related to her?”

“You know her?”

“I was an avid reader of her books.” She gives a small chuckle. “I actually use to daydream of interviewing her when I first started at the Daily Planet.” He smile then shifts into a sympathetic frown. “I remember reading about her death in the paper. I knew it said she had a son, but I didn’t see the connection until now.”

“She died on my sixth birthday. It’s been sixteen years since that day and I can still remember it so clearly.”

That day haunts you to this day. You got to school so happy and excited for Momma to come pick you up after school, thinking about how much pizza you’d eat and what presents you’d get.

You had no idea that when you told her bye that day, it would be for the last time.

(Your grief is still so profound, even after all this time.)

That day ended in the loss of your Momma and your life went from bad to worse when Alfred picked you up and brought you to Gotham to live with that bastard.

“I can tell you loved you very much,” she responds, her expression sympathetic.

“Yeah,” you say, suppressing a tear. “Yeah, I did.”

“So, did you have any idea who your father was? Did she ever tell you or did you ever ask?”

“Yeah, I did ask when all my friends were celebrating Father’s Day and I realized I didn’t have a Daddy like my friends. She said that she didn’t know who he was. She didn’t say it, but when she said she was “young and dumb,” I later found out that meant she got drunk and had sex with a guy she didn’t know.” A ghost of a smile graces your face. “She said when I came along, I set her on the right path.”

“I say you did,” she responds, returning your smile. “Being a parent often makes people turn their lives around.” She jots something down in her pad before looking back at you. “So, when did you move to Gotham?”

“Immediately after the funeral. The sheriff drove me back home to pack up most of my stuff and when we got to the house, Alfred was waiting for me.”

“Wait, Bruce Wayne didn’t pick you up himself?”

“No, Alfred said he was too busy with work and couldn’t come.”

“His firstborn son loses his son and he couldn’t even make the time to get you,” she angrily mutters to herself as she writes. “And how did he react when he saw you?”

“It was almost like he was staring at a stranger in his home.”

You can still remember how you felt when you met Bruce Wayne for the first time; it was the first time you’d ever felt like someone didn’t like you and it really hurt.

“He barely said a word to me before telling Alfred he was going out.”

“Doing what,” she asks, clearly getting angrier and angrier by the second.

For a brief moment, you entertain the idea on ousting Bruce’s dirty little secret and telling the world that he’s Batman. He’d be drowning in so much attention and legal battles that he wouldn’t be able to bother you ever again.

But then, the rational part of your brain convinces you that by telling everyone Batman’s secret identity would invite a lot of trouble your way. After all, all of Bruce’s kids are vigilantes, so many would automatically assume you were one as well, leading you to being dragged into Bruce’s legal and publicity quagmire.

Also, there’s the very real possibility that all of Bruce’s enemies would come after you seeking revenge and while you were more than capable of dealing with whatever came your way, you’d really rather not deal with it altogether.

“I don’t know,” you say. “He said he had work to do, but this is Bruce Wayne we’re talking about. Chances are he was in some sleazy club with a girl on each side and one on her knees if you know what I mean.”

“I wouldn’t doubt it,” she agrees. “Now, a week after you moved to Wayne Manor, Bruce adopted Tim Drake. Did you two get along?”

You bark a bitter laugh. “He took one look at me and decided I wasn’t worth his attention. If you ask me, there’s always been something wrong with him. He’s always watching people, taking note of everything they do and obsessing over finding out his secrets. If you ask me, he’s not right and his parents knew it. That’s why they were always leaving him behind when they went to dig sites or parties.”

She’s definitely interested in that as she seemingly writes down everything you said, word for word.

She stifle a chuckle at the thought of Tim Drake being asked what the fuck’s wrong with him every time he goes anywhere.

“What about Dick Grayson? Everyone in Gotham says he’s everything a good big brother should be.”

Yes, you remember the celebration he got when the Gotham Gazette named him the World’s Best Big Brother for the tenth year in a row.

A celebration you weren’t invited to.

“He was a brother to me. When I first moved in, he always carved out time for Tim, but couldn’t give me the time of day. After being blown off a few dozen times in favor for of his other siblings, I eventually stopped asking him.”

“What about Jason Todd?”

“He gave me a black eye when we met.” She gasps at that. “Yeah, he’s a brute. He’s always going on about Jane Austen, but underneath that veneer of an intellectual, he’s Crime Alley trash. Honestly, Bruce should’ve just left him in that part of Gotham. With his poor anger management and proclivity for violence, he’d fit right in. Animals belong in the wild.”

“What about your half brother, Damian Wayne?”

“That little shit pulled a sword on me and nearly tried to take my head off.”

“He what?”

“Yeah, an actual sword. I was able to get out of the way, but he gave me a scar on my cheek. It took me a few years, but I was able to find a way to make it invisible, especially when I looked in the mirror. Every time I saw it, it reminded me of how little I mattered in that house.”

“What did Bruce Wayne do? Surely he knew about it?”

“He was in the room when it happened. All he did was carry him out while he was yelling insults about me and my Momma. And Dick said he had a difficult upbringing and I should forgive him.”

“Forgive him for almost killing you,” she exclaims, her eyes wide as saucers and a look of disgust on her face. “You can’t be serious!”

“I wish I was, Ms. Lane, but Dick’s made it clear that Damian’s his favorite and had he managed to kill me, I’m sure Dick would’ve just taken him out for ice cream and told him that he can’t go around killing people.” You let out a bitter laugh. “You know, he had some nerve calling my Momma a ‘whore’ when I know the secret about his mother.”

“You do,” she asks, leaning forward, her pen and pad ready, indicating you have her full and undivided attention. “Everyone’s asked Bruce about the identity of Damian’s mother and the details relating to the birth, but he’s told us nothing. Are you willing to shed some light on this?”

For a brief moment, you actually ask yourself if this is right. With all the things Damian’s done to you, is it really acceptable to tell the dirty little secret regarding his conception? After all, if you were in his shoes, you’d kill to ensure your secret never saw the light of day.

(But he would not hesitate to tell the world your secret if your situations were reversed,) the Megamycete chimes in. (And does he not deserve some comeuppance for his many transgressions against you?)

You have to admit, it has a point. And besides, this’ll give the Wayne Family a massive shitstorm they’ll have to deal with and your mind’s immediately made up.

“I know her name, but I don’t want her coming after me, so I’m afraid that part of the secret stays with me.” Lois nods, so you continue. “His mother raped him.”

She gasps and you know you’ve passed a point of no return now.

Then again, daring to defy the “great” Bruce Wayne was a point of no return, so this is just adding fuel to the fire.

“She drugged his drink and got him to agree to sleep with her, all for the sole purpose of getting pregnant because she believed him to be of a superior quality.” You lower your voice to mutter, “I can tell you she was greatly misled.”

After that, the interview breezed by, asking about how Steph and Cass treated you to the conditions you were kept in. You told her everything, about how Damian would go out of his way to make you miserable to how Bruce couldn’t be bothered to do anything for you and it was Alfred that kept you alive. In fact, it was only the poor butler that seemed to care about you and you were confident that had you died, Bruce would just be pissed about the inconvenience your death caused him, from having to find a place to bury you to making up a story to tell the media.

It was only when you told her the story involving Damian and your Momma’s pen did you realize that not only was she crying, but so were you.

You knew how that memory made you feel, but had forgotten how much it pained you until you told her every detail. Funny how the brain tries so hard to suppress the worst moments of your life.

“Why do you think they treated you like this,” she asks, trying to keep her voice even to disguise the fact she’s obviously upset. “From everything you’ve told me, it sounds like they really didn’t see you as a Wayne.”

“Because I was the consequence of Bruce’s stupidity. He got drunk and did something stupid, leading to me, and he didn’t like that he was forced to live with him and ruin his family’s image. And because I was normal.”

“Normal?”

“Yes, normal. I had a normal life with Momma while all of the have colorful backgrounds. And I’d like to think that I’m average looking and averagely intelligent with nothing special about me, compared to everyone in the Wayne Family, who always thing their the best looking and smartest people in the room. Plus, I wasn’t damaged goods until Bruce Wayne came into my life. I guess the tragic death of my Momma wasn’t enough for him to make him love me.”

Those words cause you to let out a choked sob as more and more memories of your time in Wayne Manor start surfacing, memories you’d prefer to keep buried.

“I think that’s enough reminiscing for one day,” you say, wiping your eyes and standing up.

“Yes, I think I have everything I need,” she says, doing the same thing.

“Is there anything I can get you before you go, Ms. Lane,” you ask as you lead her to the front door. “Maybe a drink or a snack for the road?”

One of Alfred’s many lessons was how to be a good host and he’d flip out if you didn’t offer her something.

“No, thank you, Mr. Gould, you’ve given me more than enough.” She hesitates for a moment before getting close to you, her arms at both your sides. You freeze up, thinking the worst is about to happen when you realize she’s hugging you. “I’m so sorry for your loss and what you had to go through growing up. No one should ever have to experience such neglect.”

Outside of Alfred, it’s been years since anyone’s hugged you. Last time you were hugged by anyone not the butler was when Momma first died; Goodsprings is the type of where everyone knows everyone and you’re pretty sure you had the entire town giving you hugs before and during the funeral.

“Thank you,” you whisper, returning the hug.

“I know it doesn’t undo the damage he’s done, but I promise this story will make everyone see who Bruce Wayne truly is.”

And with that, you two separate and you wave goodbye as she gets in her car and drives off.

(You made the right decision to tell her everything,) the Megamycete says as you close and lock your door. (We must say, we are surprised you chose not to tell her their roles as Gotham’s vigilantes. Surely the benefits of exposing them outweigh the projected consequences. Or at least balance out.)

“Believe me, I was plenty tempted, but having the enemies of Batman knocking down my door would be more trouble than it was worth. Sure, I could kill them all, but it would only be a matter of time until I was put in a situation where too many people would ask too many questions.”

“We see your point. Besides, her story will no doubt cause more than enough trouble for him and his band of misfits.”

A part of you makes you wish you were back in Gotham so you could see the backlash Bruce is about to be hit with.

Granted, it’s a small part, practically microscopic, but it’s still there.

“I understand, but—“ Bruce says before hearing a click, indicating the call has been ended.

“Another bad phone call, Master Bruce,” Alfred says as holds out a cup of tea.

“Yes,” he sighs, putting his phone in his pocket and taking the cup with one hand and rubbing his temples with the other. “The Humanitarian Ball. The event organizers said they didn’t want ‘cruel and heartless monsters’ bringing a bad name on their event.”

Ever since Lois Lane’s article titled The Forsaken Gould of the Wayne Family came out two days ago, he’s experienced set back after set back; in less than forty-eight hours, Wayne Enterprises’ stock has lost half its value, many large companies have dropped out of their business deals, and more than a few people have withdrawn their invitations for high-profile events.

But none of that compares to the massive gap between you and him getting even larger. He knew that he’d wronged you, but being able to read it in black and white just drives the point even further.

He just wishes that it could’ve stayed between you, him, and your siblings. His family may be celebrities in Gotham, but he prefers to handle the family’s drama behind closed doors.

He’s held his family together through thick and thin and he’ll continue to do so.

And he’s had a hard time doing that over the past two days.

He’s read and reread that article ever since it came out, unable to go a single day without looking at it. He had no idea that he made you feel like you were a mistake he felt embarrassed over or that because you weren’t anything like them, you weren’t worthy of his love.

He knows he’s failed you, but he wants to fix all of it! He wants to embrace you and never let go and to put you up on a pedestal for all of Gotham to bask in and know that you’re the most treasured member of the Wayne Family.

But until they find a way to rid that mushroom in your body and bring you back home, they can’t start fixing their mistakes.

The media’s had a field day with the article ever since it came out, hounding them every time they go out in public, asking them how they could sleep at night knowing they kept you in tiny guest room on the other side of the manor or about how Bruce could treat the son born from Talia drugging him with such love while treating the son born from a drunken one-night stand with such disdain.

He was shocked to learn that you knew of them being the Bats, but to learn you knew the truth regarding Damian’s birth…

Just how much did you know? Did he ignore you so much that he didn’t know you were nearby whenever he talked about anything, even sensitive information that he only talked to Alfred about.

Were you practically invisible to him the entire time you lived here?

Of course, Damian’s pissed that people are calling Talia a rapist and asking if he knew. All this made him a powder keg ready to go off, but what made him really go off was when one of his more elitist classmates made the snide remark that Damian was right to treat you like he did because you came from “some low class author” and simply weren’t worthy of being a member of high society, his son broke the boy’s nose and said he wasn’t worthy of saying your name.

He really wished Damian would’ve let him handle it by framing his parents for tax evasion and illegal business dealings (of course, he still did it, that little shit should’ve known better than to think he had the right to even think about you). They already have enough problems on their plate, they don’t need to add assault to it.

Dick really took it hard when he read that you didn’t think of him as a big brother and Lois Lane had called for him to be stripped of his status of Gotham’s Best Big Brother.

If there’s one thing Dick holds dear in this world, it’s his status as the family’s big brother and would bend over backwards for any of his siblings, be it driving them to the other side of Gotham or helping them with a case.

Dick already felt bad when he realized he’s always ignored you in favor of his other siblings, but that article pushed him over the edge, making his oldest son lose his trademark energetic behavior, choosing to spend all his time in your old room. And if Bruce is very quiet and he creeps close to the door, he can hear Dick’s muffled weeping and apologies.

His heart breaks for his oldest. If he could, he’d undo his and his children’s wrongdoings towards you and bare the memory of it if it meant you being here, where you belong, and not hating them.

Jason also took it hard; Jason knows that he has a problem with his temper and has tried everything under the sun to keep it under control, but his upbringing in Crime Alley and his torture and death at Joker’s hands have left marks on him that he’ll be dealing with for the rest of his life (and Bruce would pay any price to undo them). Jason regrets taking his anger for him out on you when he returned, thinking you were another “replacement” like Tim when he sees you and him had so much in common, you’re practically related.

Tim’s sequestered himself in his room, glued to his computer desk; he’d been in your old room almost everyday ever since they learned of their neglect towards you, thinking the almost bare room would provide some glimpse into your mind that he can use to get into your good graces and make you return home. After the article, many of them tried to rationalize that this Megamycete was twisting your mind and make you hate them so much, but that’s when Tim admitted that he found an old journal of yours, going back to when you first moved in and detailing everything they’d done to you, the last entry detailing Damian throwing your mother’s pen into the yard while it was raining.

He hates how he handled that situation; at the time, he thought you were just making a big deal over some silly little pen (fuck, that was how he really saw it back then), but you were just protecting the only thing you had of your mother, uncaring what it would cost you. He’d like to think he’s do the same thing had someone tried to take his mother’s pearls (you really are his son, aren’t you).

When Tim said he had your journal, they all tried to get it from him, Damian going as far as to bring out his sword and threaten to take it by force (Bruce really needs to consider confiscating that sword due to all the trouble it’s caused). Hell, Jason actually begged to be able to read your journal, but his son would not surrender the book and has been hoarding all the information for himself.

The girls have been silent since reading it, which is never a good sign since Steph is always making noise. He tried to comfort Cass when she read that you don’t consider her a person because of the way she looks at people, like she’s trying to find strengths and weaknesses before attacking them (apparently you also know of her upbringing as a weapon), but his second daughter wouldn’t accept his gestures, signing that you had a point and that she’d never break free of her origins as a living weapon.

And Damian… His youngest has been eerily quiet, but it doesn’t take his detective training to realize he’s fuming on the inside (it seems to be a prerequisite in this family to deal with emotions in unhealthy ways). Bruce had asked him if he was angry that you had exposed the secret of his birth and all his youngest said was that it was his penance for his transgressions against you (his heart breaks that his youngest thinks he deserves this as some sort of punishment).

He was already having a hard time containing the fallout of the world finding out his firstborn son is you, not Damian, and that he’s basically not acknowledged you at all in the last decade, but this article has made it next to impossible to find a convincing lie to tell the media that you came back willingly when they ultimately bring you back home.

“This fucking Megamycete,” he growls, setting the teacup on a nearby table not so gently. “It’s ruined everything.”

“How do you figure, Master Bruce,” the man responds, an eyebrow raised.

“It’s making him lash out, do these things. I know we wronged Y/N and he has every right to hate us, but he shouldn’t be capable of this, should he? There’s no way he’d ever say these things willingly.”

“Do you think you know Master Y/N to make such an assessment?”

That makes him pause.

He has no illusion that he never took the time to sit down with you to have an actual conversation, but his blood still courses through your veins; he’d never do something like this, nor would Damian or any of his other children.

Did your hate for them… for him run that strong? That you despise them so much that you’d expose and put them all on display for the world to see?

Would you go as far as exposing their secret identities?

“What do you think, Alfred,” he says after a moment of silence. “You obviously know him better than all of us. Would he ever do something like this?”

“I think that he wishes to exact revenge for the many years of neglect you all inflicted upon him and that this is his opening volley,” the man says with no hesitation or restraint.

That makes him flinch.

“So, you’re saying he hates us,” he asks, afraid of the answer the butler will give him.

He knows you have every right to hate him, god knows he’s made his children hate him on several occasions, but if you hate him… hate them enough to do something like this…

He knows he’s not strong enough to handle it.

“I think he’s dreamed of making all of you pay for what you’ve done to him for years. And with this Megamycete within him, I say he’s more than a match for you and the children.”

“You’d think he’d attack us?”

“When I held Master Y/N in my arms, I could see the fury beneath his tears. Master Damian use to take delight in giving Master Y/N a demonstration in his combat prowess. There’s no doubt in my mind that Master y/N wishes to return the favor.”

He won’t allow that. He’s hurt his children in multiple ways and his children have hurt one another in multiple ways over the years and every time it happened it created a rift that was never truly repaired, merely covered over. There’s been enough pain and misery in this family to last several lifetimes.

He’s fought tooth and nail to keep his children together and he’s not about to let one slip away.

He understands you want nothing to do with him or your siblings, but like it or not, you’re his son and his children belong in Gotham, under his roof.

“Have the tests on the root samples finished yet?”

“Yes, they were finished just a little while ago. I’m afraid to say that none of the toxins you have in stock had any noticeable effect on them.”

He curses at the news. He had hoped the toxins he keeps so deal with Poison Ivy would be as effective on the Megamycete, but that is unfortunately not the case.

“What about the in-depth analysis on the blood sample?”

“From what the analyzer could tell, the Megamycete seems to behave like a benign cancer, slowly eradicating Master Y/N’s native cells in order to replace them with unstable mold versions, which are able to be manipulated and altered into whatever he desires.”

That certainly makes coming up with a strategy on how to counter your abilities; sure, he has a few ideas based on a few villains and heroes that have similar abilities to you, but until he sees what you’re capable of firsthand, he won’t have anything concrete.

The thought then leads to him having an idea, one he’s eager to act on.

“I’m going out, Alfred.”

“And where are we off to, Master Bruce?”

“I’m going to see my son.”

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#from gold to mold #yandere batfamily #male reader #batfamily #batfamily x male reader #batman #dc x male reader #yandere batfam #yandere bruce wayne #yandere barbara gordon #yandere cassandra cain #yandere damian wayne #yandere dick grayson #yandere dc #yandere jason todd #yandere tim drake #yandere alfred pennyworth

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cripplecharacters · 11 months ago

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Futuristic Settings and the Erasure of Disabilities

The common theme in a lot of futuristic, sci-fi or not, settings, is the abundance of cure tropes that are thrown in there. Disabled people either don't exist, or aren't actually disabled - they get a magical device that undoes their injury, or get a mech suit that basically does the same thing.

Often the setting is treated like an excuse that can't be rebutted in any way: “but my story is set in the future where medicine is better!”

So: is that true? Does better medicine actually mean less disabled people?

Historical Accuracy

[large text: Historical Accuracy]

In 1900, the life expectancy of a person born with Down syndrome was 9 years. Try putting yourself there and imagining that 2024 is the Future - better medicine, basically sci-fi in comparison to what they had back there. In that future, what is true?

a) There's no people with Down syndrome.

b) People with Down syndrome live to be 60 years old on average.

Answer: B. The only countries with fewer people with Down syndromes are the ones engaging in widespread eugenics, which is a topic I will not be getting into in this post, but I'm mentioning because the only places without disabled people are eugenicist.

The “better medicine” of the future didn't make Down syndrome curable, it made people with it survive longer. 50% of people born with it today will live to be over 60 years old. In the future, there will be retirees with Down syndrome. In the past, 50% of them wouldn't have made it into their teens.

Why does that matter?

[large text: Why does that matter?]

Future medicine won't make disabilities disappear. It will make them more manageable. Less deadly. Easier to survive.

If you base your knowledge and perception of disability throughout the times on sci-fi novels by able-bodied writers, you're going to hate how it actually works in real life.

Have we magically- technologically gotten rid of diabetes? No, 11% of Americans have it. 103 years ago, diabetes were lethal. There aren't fewer diabetics compared to the past. They live longer. You probably know or heard of someone who has diabetes.

You need to expand your understanding on how disability and medicine work, because “future = no disability” is genuine nonsense. It doesn't work like that, and it really frustrates me how writers dead-set on “logic” in their setting fail to see this.

Are paralyzed people walking around in various mechs, or are they using better wheelchairs than those from 100 years ago? Wheelchairs that make it easier to be independent? That help with symptoms of their disabilities by preventing pressure sores, or providing alternative methods of maneuvering?

In the future, why would there suddenly be those futuristic transplant* spines instead of wheelchairs that can be used with one's brain or eyes, for those who can't move their hands, mouth, or head? Why wouldn't there be wheelbeds for those who are currently bed-bound because they can't manage being upright in any way?

*Also, how are all of these magic disability-fixing transplants never actual transplants? Receiving a transplant basically always ends up in being immunocompromised because of the very way the body works. If you're writing about humans, this isn't going to change.

Things like sign language or wheelchairs have been used for thousands of years, they're not going away anytime soon or not-so-soon.

Future = More Disabled People?

[large text: Future = More Disabled People?]

We already discussed that there are presently common disabilities that used to be lethal a century ago or even less. If we use this fact for a futuristic setting, you suddenly have a myriad of new possibilities.

There's vastly better medicine? A lot of people deal with post-rabies syndrome because it's finally survivable, but it leaves people with the effects of the meningitis that rabies cause. There's way more quadriplegic people because the survival rates are much higher. Cancer survivors are more common because people live longer. Physical therapy for people who had prion diseases because they aren't fatal anymore but cause severe disability. Head trauma is more treatable, so there's more people with TBIs and fewer people dying in vehicular accidents.

The technology is super advanced? People with locked-in syndrome can operate an AAC device with their eyes, fully customize its voice to their liking, and not have to worry about battery life of their powerchair because it has sonar panels. Canes that can fold themselves with the click of a button so that they can fit in one's pocket.

There could be so many more adapted sports. Tools and technology that can adapt a house exactly to one's needs. Wheelchairs that are actually affordable. A portable pocket sized device that makes ableds behave normally around disabled people.

The point of this post isn't to completely shit on sci-fi settings, but instead to urge abled writers to think a bit more and try to be creative in the way they go about speculative fiction. Write. Something. New. There's one billion stories about how impossible it is for disabled people to exist in the future, and it's upsetting at best to read that constantly when you're disabled. As long as there are people, there will be disabled people.

mod Sasza

#mod sasza #cure trope #fantasy setting #tropes #disability erasure

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elliescoquettegirl · 12 days ago

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Papercuts

ellie williams x fem reader

────────────────────── starting university you thought would fulfill you, the empty void inside you. that changing your whole life would solve your problems. it didn't, it actually made it worse. now you were completely alone, in a place far away from home and everything you once knew. you started working at a bar to fill your empty weekends. that's when you met ellie, your coworker and also someone that studied a year above you. would she perhaps help you fill this void of loneliness and uncertainty of yourself and your future? contains smut! mdni!

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Series Next chapter:

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Prologue:

You thought starting university would somehow fill this void inside you. But it didn't. You're even more unsure of yourself and stuck in your own head. Away from your family and friends, in a city you've never been in before. You thought making friends would be easy, but everything feels like a wall around you slowly moving closer, trapping you there. Literature, films and stories of older generations painted it to be one of the best years of your life. Getting in felt good, even if applying there was done on a whim. You were drunk at a bar with your friends when you accepted it. Hearing whispers of something better ahead as you clicked accept.

People in class are passionate about their studies, already having a plan after getting their degree, while you're there planning the next day, hoping to survive. Everyone is so talkative, already hanging out during their free time. Talking about the crazy bar nights they've had during the weekend, when what you've done is just lay in bed. You did join them sometimes, you could tell they wanted to know you but when you were out, everything felt robotic. You laughed when they laughed even if you didn't find something funny. The conversations always ending up being background noise, you'd just nod to make them think you were listening. Your anxiety constantly hanging in the air — thick, inescapable and you breathed it in. Their way of speaking, always signaling how sure of themselves they were. Although there was a possibility of it being a fasade, it didn't stop the insecurity from sinking in.

You got a job at a bar just so you could occupy your weekends with something. The bar was perfect, far away from campus so there would be little to no chance of you running into familiar faces. The thought of having to make small talk, while being stuck there with a classmate making something clench deep in your gut. The only familiar face you'd encounter at work being Ellie, that studied a year above you. When you began working there you would usually leave work at the same time that she arrived, only throwing quick glances at each other. The glances evolving into intense eye contact that would last a bit longer than it should. You were always the one to break the eye contact. Each time you would break it by quickly looking away, give an awkward smile and go back to pretending to focus on whatever you were working on. You probably looked dumb half the time, trying to look focused while cutting up a lemon or cleaning up the bar counter, like that takes any effort.

After those small interactions you would always lay in bed thinking about her. The way she moved with such grace. How she charmed everyone around her, instantly pulling people towards her. She was beautiful, breathtaking even. You liked that her eyes were so expressive. She's every sapphics dream. Confident but humble, childish, always fooling around but not in an obnoxious way. The two of you barely spoke, just a casual hi or have a good night. She always had a cigarette tucked between her lips and her hair pulled into in a messy half bun. The tattoo on her arm, that she always left exposed with her rolled up shirt sleeve, you would sometimes by pure instinct start drawing in your journal. A moth. You would rip up the pages and throw it in the trash. Like that would change anything about the fact that she was on your mind too much. Someone you barely knew or hadn't even spoken to.

Last week your boss had approached you, asking if you would consider switching schedules with someone else. So now you have been rescheduled to work closing shifts with her every Sunday. Breathing heavily and your legs aching from pedaling on your bike like your life depended on it as you arrived at the bar. The summer's final warmth, your face damp causing your bangs to stick to your forehead. Before walking in you tried to adjust them, this exact moment being a reminder to not cut your bangs again. You had tried to grow them out for a year, failing every time. In a moment of weakness at three am you'd always end up in front of the bathroom, scissor in hand. When you walked into the bar, Ellie was crunched forward, both elbows resting against the table whilst talking to a regular. Ellie cursed, laughed loud and even hit the customer against their shoulder when they said something funny. You wished you could be that relaxed, instead you would just hand them their drinks and speak kindly. Throwing out thank yous. Sometimes, you tried to make an effort but it just seemed too fake and the customers would notice it too. She tilted her head towards you and when you were close enough for her to finally speak, all she said was the obvious, that you were late. Her voice, gentle and raspy. She wore the usual attire, pants and buttoned up shirt, with rolled up sleeves. You didn't bother replying, knowing you would not be quick enough with coming up with a lie as to why you were late. The truth is why you were late was because you kept fixing your appearance.

The bar was practically empty. Usually during shifts like these all you would do was clean off tables or scroll mindlessly on your phone. You start going around the tables and picking up empty glasses and asking if anyone wants something. Someone ordered a glass of wine and when you went behind the counter you couldn't find it.

“I cant find this bottle of wine, are we all out?” you said.

She was still making conversation with the regular, so she excused herself and started scanning the shelves.

“Did you check the wine fridge?” Ellie asked, with a tone that probably wasn't intentional, but one that made you feel stupid. You shook your head confused since you had never been there, which you also told her. She started walking off, signaling for you to go with her. She had such a distinct walking style, if you had seen her in a crowd of people you would know it was her from an instant. Ellie opened the door to a room with fridges filled with beverages. You let out a small laugh, Ellie played with her hands and looked at you.

“Well I feel stupid now” you said.

“Havent you been working here for weeks?”, she said.

“Yeah but nothings been empty?”, you said a bit annoyed. Your arms crossing over your chest, using them as a shield.

“That explains why I've had to fill the shelves a lot more recently” she mumbled, shaking her head jokingly. It was meant as a joke, but it still left you feeling anxious.

“Oh i’m sorry”, you mumbled back covering your mouth with your hand. She walked towards you, took your hand from your face, cupping it with her hands and reassured you that it's fine. She stood so close now, her facial features even prettier up close. She had a few scars, the eyebrow slit you had seen before, which was hot as fuck but she also had smaller ones across her cheek and one under her other eyebrow. You wondered where they came from, you wish you could ask her. She was also studying your features. The sudden ring of the bell at the counter shattered the tension, ending the silent stare off between you two. She let go of your hand, her eyes widening lightly, surprised at her own doing. She lifted her shoulders and tried to brace herself confidently. She let out a quiet awkward laugh, one you have not heard before, not tonight or all the times you have eavesdropped on conversations she had with regulars or other colleagues. This made you feel more sure of yourself in relation to her, having a glimpse of her vulnerability, even if it was just a hint of insecurity for a second.

The rest of the shift was quiet, not an awkward silence though. Her playlist played low throughout the bar speakers. Ellies hand, still imprinted on yours. When customers left and you began closing the tension in the room shifted quickly. Ellie felt tense and she kept dropping things, looking at you to see if you noticed and you pretended not to. You did not really understand what was going on but suddenly it felt like maybe she was feeling exactly like you were. But perhaps she was tired, it was past midnight after all. You're scrubbing off sticky liquor from a table when Ellie finally breaks the silence.

“Are you doing something tonight?” she said with a low tone, scratching her neck.

You replied with a "no" that sounded too desperate.

“Alright then let's go” she grinned and grabbed her leather jacket from a bar stool. The leatherjacket you had seen her wear once when she passed by you as you were heading home. The jacket looked worn but not by her, from someone else. Still, it sat on her like it was made for her. You tossed the rag into the sink and grabbed your things. You didn't know where you were going but she walked towards her car.

The drive was peaceful. The same playlist again and her humming along to the songs. One hand on the steering wheel and her tattooed arm rested on her thigh. She kept looking over and opening her mouth several times, like she was gonna say something but then decided not to. Eventually she did though.

"So why have you never tried to speak to me?” she asked, with one eyebrow tilted up slightly, teasingly.

“I don't know?” you said with the know drawn out. You knew why but of course you couldn't tell her. She studied you and it felt like she saw through that answer.

Just as you thought that she said “That's not an answer” while lighting a cigarette. This woman was like a goddamn chimney. She always smelt like cigarettes, a smell you usually hated, but on her it was fine. She also smelt like chestnut? Woody? You swore it smelled like this one margiela fragrance you had tried on once.

“I really don't know Ellie” you said with annoyance. The way her name rolled on your tongue felt so right.

Ellie didn't say anything, too focused on parking her car. And perhaps not in the mood to try getting a forced answer out of you — perhaps she already knew.

The bar was dark, echoes of drunk voices everywhere. Why were there so many people drunk on a sunday, you thought. But maybe just like you, they had just finished their shift with their hot coworker that they can't stop thinking about. The thought of that calms you down in some weird way. That everyone else in there, drowned their utter panic from the intimidation of someone else in alcohol just like you were about to. It was crowded and Ellie grabbed your hand as she guided you to the bar counter. It happened too fast, you didn't have time to react or even notice. The bartender recognized her and skipped other people waiting in line, just to take her order. She got you both whiskey neat which was bold of her to assume that is something you drink, but she was right. When you were seated you drank fast, big gulps, throat burning. Touching your hair, adjusting your clothes and looking around anxiously.

Ellie let out a tiny wheeze and said “relax”. You were being so easy to read right now.

You said “I am relaxed”.

Ellie shrugged and kept up to your drinking pace. Three glasses down and conversation suddenly was a lot easier. Not the conversation turning into background, no fake smiles. You could be yourself for the first time in a long time. Your whole body warm, drunk on her and the whiskey. She asked you about why you chose this major, instead of making it a simple answer you started rambling, because you felt comfortable with her, because you were drunk. You spoke about the major and everything else. You talked about how you were kind of regretting it. You told her about your other aspirations, that there were so many choices but only one life and so many opportunities. You spoke about Sylvia Plath's fig tree, how depressing it is that you only get to live so little in such a short time and that every choice you make is so important. How are you supposed to choose just one or a few things? Caught up in your own drunk slurring words, she interrupted you.

“Rather melodramatic aren't you?” she said as she leaned closer to you. Her green eyes pierced into yours. The tone in which she had said it had your thighs burning and her cold hand brushed against it in circular motions until it eventually stayed there. She studied your reaction as her other hand played with her glass. You literally cannot come up with a response, your mind completely blurred and body reacting in such a strong way it's affecting your cognitive function. She stood up, grabbing your hand again, leading you out the door of the bar.

The sound of drunk voices slowly disappearing, the closer you got to her car. She pinned you against it. Her hands, like clockwork, landed instantly on your hips. Her grip was hard, pinching your hipbone, like she was afraid you might run away. She smirked at you and leaned in slowly, her lips crashing into yours. You could taste the cigarette and liquor on her lips. Despite her mouth being filled with smoke at any given moment, her mouth was still damp and her tongue soft, in your mouth. Soft moans in between the wet noises of your lips clashing back and forth, exchanging saliva. You bit her lower lip gently and she whimpered. The kiss was interrupted by loud drunken laughs in the distance. Ellie looked back and then at you again. Her gaze shifting between your lips and eyes. She grabbed the side of your neck and gently rubbed it with her thumb. Her body, still pinned tightly against you. You were scared she could feel your pulsating clit through your two layers of fabric — which of course wasn't possible.

She opened the door to the backseat of her car and pushed you, getting on top of you. The kiss and the touching all felt so desperate. You had been yearning for this and so had Ellie. Her hands were moving everywhere frantically, going up and down your ribs, stroking over your breast. Your hands traveling up and down her back, grabbing her hair and stroking her jaw with your thumb. She stroked circles on your inner thigh while placing kisses down your jaw. The air in the car is humid, your bodies sweaty. Ellie took off your shirt and pants desperately and the sight of you in only your lingerie made her clit pulsate and her already damp underwear even more soaked. You were delusional enough that you had put on your sluttiest underwear, daydreaming of the possibility of her undressing you tonight — after all maybe you weren't delusional when you made that move. She took off your bra. Placing kisses on your breast, cupping the other with her hand, pinching your nipple. Soft moans escaping your mouth. She made soft hums with her raspy voice, you could literally come right there on the spot. You were high on the arousal, her hand drowsily moving towards your aching pussy. Your hips working their way towards her hand.

“So impatient” she murmured into your breasts leaning in to kiss you.

“Oh shut up”, was the only thing you could come up with as a response.

You unbuttoned her pants which made her gasp into your mouth. She slid down your panties, caressing your slick warmth with tenderness.

She moaned out “So wet for me already?” in between your kisses. Ellie was wet too and you both in sync started rubbing each others clit. The sound of messy moans and distant chatter from people outside the bar was the only thing you could hear. Every move Ellie made was completely right. You hadn't been this horny in months and if she didn't stop you would come. In order to save yourself from not ruining this sacred hot moment by already coming, you sat up and pinned her down instead. Quickly taking off her pants and unbuttoning her shirt. Revealing her whole tattoo and her toned stomach. You almost moaned at the sight. Ellie, so turned on by your sudden move to pin her down, watch as your hands travel across her body. You kiss down her neck and bite her ear lightly, causing her to whimper. Your drunk sloppy kisses traveled across her toned stomach. Murmurs of your name in between her soft moans. You pull off her soaking panties and start placing kisses on her inner thigh, her hips jolting towards your face in an attempt for her pussy to reach your mouth.

“So impatient” you say, face buried between her thighs, repeating what she had said to you before. You placed soft kisses across her soaked pussy, and slowly started using your tongue. Ellie grabbed your hair into a bun in her hand, grasping onto to it harder when your tongue found her right spots. You didn't mind the pain, it was proof of the pleasure you were giving her. You looked up, her eyes already piercing into you. She yanked your face into her pussy, buring you there.

“You look so good eating me out” she said, you whimper into her pussy from her intoxicating words. Her thighs pressed against your cheeks. The way they started to shake after a few minutes. Her moans becoming loudier and messier.

“Feels so good, keep going like that” she said. You moaned loud into her pussy, swaying and buckling your own hips, trying to chase any kind of stimulation. The pace of your tongue increasing, as you started rubbing with your fingers against her entrance. Her gaze never left you, eyebrows furrowed and mouth agape. You entered her slowly, watching her eyes roll back. Your fingers pumping in and out her, hitting that spongy spot. She didn't need to tell you she was coming, you could feel it. Her pussy clenching. You looked up to see her head leaned back, eyes closed, eyebrows furrowed and mouth agape. Messy moans and curse words are all that can be heard along with the wet noises from her pussy. The pace of your tongue and fingers slowing down, helping Ellie ride out her high.

When she came undone for you, you wiped off some of her residue off your face and reached for her lips. The kiss was sloppy, her lips warm and soft. She sat up slowly, eyes not leaving yours and clapped on her thigh lightly as she spread them.

“Come here” she said.

You did what you were told and you straddled her, kissing her passionately, her fingers entering inside you with no warning. She commented on how wet you were for her. You jolted back a bit and began swaying your hips in sync of her fingers pumping in and out of you. Ellies unoccupied hand cupping your ass, slapping it lightly. Strands of salvia between you when your lips part in inbetween kisses. And the taste of her pussy lingering on both your lips from before. She rubs your clit with her thumb in slow circular motions. Your mouth is dry from moaning so much. She watches you the whole time. The faces you make as desperate sounds come from you. How her tattooed arm looks placed between your thighs. The way your breasts bounce as you ride her fingers. You burrowed yourself in her neck, moaning into her ear. She grabbed your jaw and told you to open your mouth, when you did, she spit in it. You moaned, it was all you could do. You've never had something so filthy done to you before and it turned you on immensely. You break the kiss and look down at her. The sight of her beneath you, sweaty with her brows furrowed, her bottom lip in between her teeth, focused on your pleasure. She's so fucking beautiful. Your body is so tense, pleasure overwhelming, you could fall apart on her at any moment. She felt it too. Electricity sending throughout your whole body. Your eyes never leave hers. You moaned out her name and god knows what else, your mind clouded with pleasure.

You came, hard, Ellie praising you through it. “Thats it come for me” she said.

When you were done, she gently pulled her fingers out of you which caused you to shiver. You kissed, slowly, with no rush this time. The air and your lips filled with the aftertaste of both your orgasms and cigarettes.

──────────────────────

NOT PROOFREAD

i wrote this a month ago but i've been too nervous to post but fuck it. second time ever writing smut or even a fic (for others to see). english isn't my first language and i'm still trying to find my own writing style, i'll gladly take constructive criticism.

also let me know if anyone would be interested in being tagged in the first chapter.

tag: @erensfart @anneboleynluvr @faggot1234

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22ayla21 · 4 months ago

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Hello:3 I've been loving your sick fic with mydei and phainon and I've been wondering if you could write one where their muse got injured in battle?

Injury

The reaction of the men of Amphoreus when their beloved is injured

• No matter how much shock he suffered, Mydei would not let himself lose control. He would instantly assess her condition, determine how serious the wound was, and order her to be taken to safety or to healers. If he had to, he would carry her himself, ignoring everything else.

• Whoever dared to harm her made the biggest mistake of their life. Mydei is not just angry - he becomes a hurricane of destruction. Cold rage gives way to action: enemies will be destroyed quickly, without unnecessary words, without regrets. If anyone else stands in the way, they will suffer the same fate.

• No matter how cruel he is to his enemies, he is different next to her. Even if his hands are still bloody, he gently touches her face, looks into her eyes and says something short but firm: “I am here. Everything will be fine.” These are not just words - this is a promise.

• If he failed to prevent her from getting hurt, deep down he will be tormented by guilt. He will replay the situation over and over again, thinking about what he could have done differently. But he will not say it out loud. Instead, he will be there, will do everything to make her get better, and will not allow it to happen again in the future.

• After this incident, his caution will double. He will become even more attentive, even more in control of the situation. He may even overdo it sometimes, forgetting that she is not just a victim, but his equal. But this is not because of mistrust - it is because of the fear of losing her again. If she tries to convince him that everything is okay, he will grit his teeth, accept her words, but anxiety will still remain inside. Because for Mydei, she is the most precious thing in his life. And if someone risks repeating this mistake... he will not leave even ashes.

• On the outside, he would look absolutely cold-blooded, his voice even, his movements precise, but his eyes would betray hidden rage and anxiety. He did not like to show emotions, but at this moment his mind was working at its limit.

• Even if there is chaos around, he will instantly organize a rescue operation. If there are healers nearby, he will force them to act immediately, if not, he will use all his knowledge to minimize the damage in order to help her, his beloved.

• Sarcasm as a way to cope with emotions. While treating her wound, he can say something like: "Are you seriously considering testing what it is like to be a subject of a survival study? I'm sorry, this is bad methodology."

• If someone dared to harm her, he will not forget. And he will not forgive. Whether he is a knower or not, but he is not a person who allows you to play with what is dear to him. He will take out his rifle without thinking.

• He may stand in front of her even if she insists she can handle it herself. “Even if you can protect yourself, I’d rather you didn’t. Leave it to me.”

• Once she’s better, he’ll make changes to their lives. More threat analysis, more precautions. “You’re smart, but apparently not smart enough to avoid getting hurt. So I have to be smarter for both of us,” but when they’re alone, he’ll look at her with a seriousness that borders on tenderness: “If you ever decide to scare me like that again… at least let me know in advance.”

• He may freeze for the first few seconds, but only for a moment. His eyes will flash with worry, but his face will remain cool. Everything inside him is turning over, but he will not allow himself to panic. He must act. He must help her.

• Phainon acts quickly and precisely - he either provides first aid himself or immediately carries her to the healers, not paying attention to those around him. If someone tries to stop him, he simply ignores them or abruptly pushes them away. Only she is important now.

• If the wound is inflicted by someone, then this becomes their sentence. Phainon may not say anything yet, but his gaze is grimly determined - he will remember the culprit and deal with this issue later. But first - her safety.

• When she is safe, he finally allows himself to relax a little. But instead of relief, he feels anger - at himself, at the situation, at the world that allowed her to suffer. He sits silently next to her, his fingers squeezing her palm, as if he is afraid that she will disappear. He won't say out loud how worried he was, but his fingers gently glide over the bandages, checking how serious the wound is. He doesn't want to press on her, but his touch will give away more than words. In this moment, it's as if he remembers that she is here, that she is alive.

• Even if he understands that he could not have prevented her from being injured, he will still blame himself. Phainon will look for ways to make sure this does not happen again - to strengthen his guard, to teach her protection, to keep her close. He does not want to see her blood anymore. And even after she recovers, he will sleep restlessly. He will dream of the moments when she was injured, and he will feel that cold inside again. Sometimes he will wake up and just look at her, checking that she is near, that she is breathing.

• Phainon will not say it out loud, but deep down he swears: no one will hurt her again. If for this he has to change the course of fate - he will do it. He is the one who rarely shows his emotions, but if his beloved is hurt, his care and concern become almost tangible. He always stays close, and his presence is a promise: he will not allow this to happen again.

#honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #hsr #hsr mydei #hsr anaxa #hsr phainon #mydei #mydeimos #mydei x reader #anaxa #anaxagoras #anaxa x reader #phainon #phainon x reader

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 1 month ago

Text

As I wind down the pines 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, grief, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Left alone after the death of your grandparents, you must survive the remote backwoods.

Characters: Bucky Barnes

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

The sun peeks through the fluttering leaves, shadows rippling overhead. You shiver against the large oak knees bent, arms around your legs, woozy with the ache of your stomach. Those acorns only made you feel sick.

You need more than nuts and half-grown mushrooms. The trap you set didn't get you anything but a toad and you're second-guessing not boiling it up in a stew. You rub your eyes and let your head fall into your hands. The forest floor shifts. You can't stay out here much longer.

It takes a while to find your strength. You press your palms to the rough bark and slowly scale up to your feet. You sway and drag your feet through the twigs and soil. You stumble into a white birch.

You trail your fingers up and peel a strip off. You yank it and tumble into the dirt. Your fingers are raw from the effort. You can boil the bark and make a stew. Your grandmother would gather the same bark but used it more as seasoning or to bulk out a heartier mix.

You work at stripping away more bark. It won't be much but it's something. You tuck it into the loose pocket of your grandfather's jacket. He has no use of it anymore. You shouldn't need it out in the sun but you can't stop shivering.

You plod down the slant of the forest floor and stop. This is the wrong way. You blink and turn. You've never been lost in these woods before. You grew up here, you know it like you know your reflection, but you're lost. You close your eyes as you try to chase away the pulsing behind them.

Another deep breath. You think you know that elm. Right around to the east is the shell of Chester's mill. Your grandfather told you about the old man that once owned it. He called him a curmudgeon with too much to say.

There's the old fence post but it's no longer crooked or lonely. There are new slats hammered in next to it, secured with cross bars. You slip and dig your heels in. The old mill is not what you remember. The hanging door is back in place and the gate has been replaced with a stronger one. The shed shows signs of repairs in its mismatched boards and the mill house is surrounded in scaffolding.

The house looks best of all. The cracked windows are replaced and there's a lone chair on the porch, reinforced so it no longer dips. Someone's moved in but no one ever comes all the way up here. They only leave, in a coffin or otherwise.

Change. Things aren't like they were. They won't be. They can't.

There's a scent on the air that draws you. One you should have filling your nose in the mornings and simmering from the oven at night. The fresh, delectable waft of a tomato vine.

There isn't thought in your head as you advance across the long strands of glass. There is only the clenching in your stomach and the slickness on your tongue. You see no life as you approach. You stop at the gate and wait.

The windows shine in sunlight but curtains within keep the haze without. You search through the fog of hunger for a threat. There's only a squirrel skittering along the top of the fence, likely on a mission for its own harvest.

You slip your hands between the high slats and feel around. You flip the inner latch and the hinges give. You ease the door inward and shuffle through. You leave it open without catch.

You sniff the air and follow your nose. The lush plateau of soil and greenery delight your vision and your starving stomach. You want to fall upon it and devour every leaf and seed.

Sense flickers and guilt boils in your guts. The work that went into all this and you look to plunder. That same work that did not bear much from your own dirt.

It doesn't matter. You can't hold yourself back. You need more than dry bark and boiled water. You will take only a little. They won't notice with all they have. Two tomatoes, a bright orange pepper, and a single potato.

You use the large pockets of the oversized jacket to store it all and retreat. You stop at the gate, waiting to be caught out, waiting for the holler or worse, the gun shot. Nothing. Just the sunlight and the scent of the garden.

You shut the gate and head for the trees. It's a far way home but the promise of a flavourful stew keep your feet moving. And after...

You'll have to figure that out.

🌳

The old house stands between two broad oaks, the roots extending into the foundation. The once white stained wood is chipped and splintered. Your grandmother's old basket planters are dried out and barren. Your grandfather's bench still stands but without anyone to sit on it.

You climb the steps, the rain spout creaking, the windows groaning. You try not to see the empty garden. The wilting leaves and the churned soil. First the rains flooded out the soil, then the sun dried it to dust, and the little that sprouted fed the family of rabbits who cared little for the bristles of your broom.

Calamity. Tragedy. You planted too early. You had that feeling, your grandfather's voice in your head, but you did not trust it. After the winter blew over the shed and smashed the years of preserves, you were too eager to have something. Anything.

Desperation is the eight deadly sin. Your grandparents always said. Patience, though, is the best of all the virtues.

The door clatters behind you. You get your pot and bring it to the stove. It's the old sort from more than a century ago. You open the little door and add a small log to the ash and remnants of the last burn.

Your hands shake as you light the fire. The flames do not come easy and your fingers are sore with the effort. You shut the door and leave the stove to warm as you unpack your wares...

Stolen goods. You take out a knife chop up half the pepper and one tomato, then half the potato. The rest You'll store in the cellar where the shelves have rotted away. They will keep at least a few days.

You put water onto boil. You add the veggies and use the mortar and pestle to crush up some of the birch. You season it and put a lid on.

As it steams around the brim, you sit on the drooping sofa and lean back into the cushions. You're so tired you're weak yet all you seem to do is sleep and look for food. You're in no short supply of the former.

🌳

The stew holds you over for a week. Maybe longer. The days are hard to track in the smear of anxiety and lingering hunger. You only eat a little, never gorging, never satisfied.

Nuts. Half the shells you find have been emptied by squirrels and chipmunks. You choke down a handful of earthworms only to spew it up just as painfully. A dead bird tempts you but the diseased stench keeps you from that mistake.

You chew on the birch and some leaves of mint. You stop at the river and put your feet in. It only makes you shiver more. It's summer. You shouldn't be shivering. Oh well. You just need to eat. That's all you can think about.

You trod on, stopping to gather what you can. If you can't get more, even just squirrel meat, you won't have the energy to walk so long. Once that happens...

Your grandparents would be disappointed. They taught you better. You did fine last year, the first without both of them, but this year is not last year.

As searing as the hunger is the loneliness. You miss them both terribly. They were your people. The only ones that ever looked after you. They taught you well because they wanted to take care of you always and you squandered it.

You crash down your rear in the dirt. You sit in the shade of the pines and stare at the mill house. You shouldn't. You really shouldn't. Once was more than too much.

Your head spins and you try to steady your vision as you grip the sides of your skull. Are you going insane? It sure feels like it.

You stand before you know what you're doing. The trek through the treeline and across the clearing isn't very far at all. It can't be. You're right there at the gate.

You feel along the slat like before, reaching, reaching, reaching. You flick the lock and swing inside. No one's there but you forgot to even check.

You walk cautiously over the grass to the plot of vegetables, even riper than the last time you came. The tomatoes are so big some have fallen off the vine. Carrots!

Not yours! Remember. What are you doing here?

The juice of the tomato floods your mouth as the answer drifts away. You don't care. You're starving. On your knees in the dirt, gnawing like a ravenous rodent.

You devour the tomato and reach for another. A knife flies into the red skin and splits the fruit in half, seeds and guts exploding onto you. You recoil and cry out.

You wipe your face and look at the man at the end of the plot. His expression is as friendly as the knife that nearly sliced you. You blink and your lip trembles. You're pathetic. You're no better than the gluttonous squirrels.

"I'm... sorry. I... I... I..." you choke.

He comes forward. You stare as you take in all of him. Tall, broad, startlingly so from your vantage on the ground.

His blue eyes bore into you as the muscles of his right exposed arm bulge. His other shoulder is blunted and his shirt pinned over it. His dark hair is past his shoulders, drawn back in by a tie as a few strands slip free. His beard is dense across his gritting jaw.

You wilt and accept your fate. It's quicker this way. He stops in front of you and bends to retrieve the knife. You watch him grip it and wait for him to aim the tip at you. He wipes it on his pant leg and slides it into his belt.

He stands straight, towering over you as his hand goes to his hip.

"That's two today." He says. "Plus two before, a potato, and a pepper."

You bat your lashes at him and sway. You gulp. You shake your head and show your hands.

"I'm hungry..." you croak. "I'm so hungry."

"You're a thief," he snarls. "You're gonna pay me back."

"I don't... I got nothing, mister. I'm sorry. Please," you shrink down and cover your face.

"You got two hands and a brain." He growls. "So get up and get to work."

You look up above your fingertips. The sun limns the man's silhouette like an otherwordly wraith. You snivel and nod. You have no other choice, not unless you want to see his knife again.

You plant your feet and slowly straighten your legs. You rock as he turns on his heel and marches off. You stare after him confused. Do you follow?

You stay as you are and peek down at the mangled tomato. You're hungry enough to pick it out of the dirt. You're kept from that as the man reappears with a round apple basket in hand.

You stagger back as he approaches. He shoves it at you and grows. "Fill that up. Don't eat them."

"Um..." you hug the basket as you gape at him.

"That'll even us out." He taps the top of the basket and you nearly topple.

"Yes, mister." You agree to keep him at bay. To hope he doesn't hurt you.

You back away and turn to the tomato vines. You bend first to gather the fruits off the ground. Your head feels heavy as you plunk down the basket. Your stomach mulches the quickly absconded tomato and adds to the sudden wave.

Your head pulses and silver stars speckle in your vision. You shake your head and set your feet. Dizziness swirls in your head and you lock your knees to stay up. Before you know it, the world is black and the world is only a memory.

#bucky barnes #dark bucky barnes #dark!bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #as i wind down the pines #series #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #mcu #marvel #avengers #captain america #winter soldier

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saintshadow · 12 days ago

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Pick a Card

….... what is your current

🦋 METAMORPHOSIS 🦋

pile i

your outlook & vision are shifting into something way more stable & realistic. you’re becoming less gullible, not in a bitter way but in a “i see through the mirages & bs now” kinda way. you’re learning the difference between what’s real & what’s not. who’s actually down for you vs who’s secretly an enemy. a lot of you are waking up from delusions, misconceptions, & outdated or straight-up unhelpful survival tactics that were passed down from family. this might lead to you cutting off certain family members in the future. you’re releasing burdens, fear, & trauma that were subconsciously and even genetically passed down to you. Some of you could be marrying or having children with some one that has a healthier family than you. This person could also have a family history that doesn’t include genetic mental health issues. This could be a confirmation that your child/children in the future will not suffer how you did. True happiness is attainable. Back to the messages, For some, you will be finding undiscovered family (dead or alive) or connecting with people that feel like found family.

there’s a lot of ancient, ancestral energy around some of you. i gotta be honest though, if you’re not doing the work, not doing veneration or communicating w the ancestors and haven’t ever gotten nudges or messages from spirit around this… then this part isn’t for you. but for those of you who have - the ancient ancestors want more dedication. I’m seeing shells & bones, also land mammals that dig holes? Like a groundhog or a meerkat. I saw a meerkat and meerkat bones specifically. Someone’s family could be Nigerian I’m hearing.

Back to the message: you’re all being taught how to actually follow through with the vision/dream you’ve carried for so long. maybe you used to put in a ton of effort & it never went anywhere. but that was then. you were young, & things aren’t the same anymore. you aren’t the same. new opportunities are coming that will push this transformation forward. some of them might seem completely random but they’ll bring you back to yourself & even closer to your original dreams & desires.

the weird, unexplainable stuff is going to start happening again. this time, you’ll understand. a lot of you came into this life carrying heavy stuff: anger, confusion, frustration, like your soul hadn’t moved on from the last lifetime; & now, whether you want to or not, you’re being pushed forward. some questions won’t have answers for a while. for some of you, not even in this lifetime. your purpose feels hard to define because it’s not meant to be put in a box. right now, you’re just being called to live. to be who you are, loudly & without apology. this is hitting especially hard for people with leo or taurus north node placements, or 1st, 2nd, and 10th house north node placements.

the ground you’re standing on is becoming more solid but you have to keep showing up with effort. You are literally surrounded by blessings, both physical & spiritual. some of you are deeply intuitive or spiritual by nature, prayer could be a literal gift from your bloodline. i’m hearing “healing hands.” and there are ancestors trying to teach you their ways.

someone is being called back to their ancestral practices. this might be an art that was lost, or maybe there was someone in your family who practiced in secret, who got disowned, or who was estranged.

a lot of strange stuff happens around you, & people can feel it. it makes them uncomfortable. they might not like your authenticity, or they just don’t understand you, & that’s ok. you’re becoming more secure in yourself & more at peace with change. you’re healing your inner child in real time.

things are getting harder right now, but not in a way that’ll break you. it WILL be manageable, & ironically it will free you. strangely enough life will feel better than ever. this is a test. you’re facing resistance because you’re meant to create the life you’ve been asking for. your spirits, your ancestors, your guides - they’re watching to see if you’re gonna fold, or if you’re gonna show up like you mean it. How bad do you really want it?

some of y’all have spirits around you who are fully capable of moving mountains and making miracles.

they just need to see that you’re gonna stand on what you claim to want. You are going to learn about the value of hard work, & you will begin to understand that the best things in life MUST be maintained with balanced effort.

pile ii

you’re becoming more whole right now. for some of y’all, that means realizing how far you’ve gotten from your real self. there might be masks you wear without even noticing. some of you could be dealing with body dysmorphia or feeling really triggered in how you see yourself physically. it’s like something in your environment is pushing you to your limit. honestly, this whole energy feels very scorpio-coded. deep fear of loss. fear of being left with nothing.

Living in survival mode. abandonment wounds. fear that no one really cares. where pile one was more overly attached to the emotional/spiritual , y’all are overly attached to the physical world- material human values.

for some of you, life is giving you a big, uncomfortable shove right now. you might feel confused, disoriented, frustrated, maybe even angry that the path forward looks so unclear. but the path isn’t out there. the path is within. & it’s different for each of you. what i can say is: it’s probably gonna come through an uncomfortable truth that’s getting exposed. something you might’ve wanted to keep buried.

this truth could show up in different areas of your life. i feel it in my solar plexus. this is tied to how you were loved. or not loved. maybe you had a jealous or competitive mother, sister, or feminine figure. someone who couldn’t stand your light. someone who made you feel invisible. whether that was childhood or something more recent, it still stings.

you’re being asked to examine the role you play in your own suffering now. when we actually confront the uncomfortable truths without taking offense & integrate them- we can find real & profound peace. even in chaos. For some reason i channeled money trees by kendrick lamar while writing this lol. some of y’all might have saturn in the 2nd house, or serious karmic themes around money & stability. i’m picking up on asia too, specifically cambodia- or this might hit home for someone who grew up in their home country and later immigrated.

you might carry this internalized sense that you’re always behind. like you have to work ten times harder just to be seen or to feel like you belong. but here’s the thing- you have a massive goal on the horizon. it’s something you don’t talk about much. This is about your ultimate freedom or a public exhibition.

i keep getting this “death” energy, but not in a scary or literal way. it’s transformation. like people will watch you evolve in real time. & some of you already are. you’ve been sitting with the pain & the realizations, & even if it’s slow, it is healing you.

You’ve begun to actually act on your self awareness.

example: instead of spiraling because trauma is getting in the way of a healthy relationship, you catch the trigger & choose trust. you choose calm. You choose emotional maturity and stability, even when doing so goes against your knee jerk reaction.

you’re learning how to show up better.. as a friend, a lover, & person.

but this will only happen if you let yourself actually accept the criticism that’s come your way.

some of y’all are learning the truth about a friend group. or specifically an air sign woman. (libra, gemini, aquarius placements: sun/moon/rising.) this person might be fake. or maybe the whole group dynamic is about to collapse in a full tower moment.

truth is gonna come out. maybe you’ll be the one to speak it. & if so, it’s gonna lift a lot of guilt off your shoulders.

sometimes the life we built just… isn’t meant to hold us anymore. spiritually. emotionally. materially.

accept the redirection.

you’re being led toward way better.

pile iii

Some of you may be called to pile one. Someone could have gone no contact with abusive family members, you are taking a chance on your independence. You are evolving beyond traumatic relationship experiences as well- coming above what you were told and taught to be. Or what you observed the women/men in your family to be like in relationships. witnessing yourself clearly. seeing who you really are without the projections, the expectations, the shame, or the fear that’s been built up over time. this energy feels like you’re stepping out of a fog, but your eyes are burning from the brightness of the world around you. You need time to adjust. Adjustment can be found through engaging with this new iteration of reality & getting hands on experience.

some of you have spent a long time adapting to be what other people needed. you might be someone who’s changed shape depending on who’s in the room. Maybe you were praised for being agreeable, easy to manage, or “strong.” but that wasn’t authentic, it was 100% survival instinct with a dash of you.

right now, you’re shedding old skin.

A very difficult & maybe even uncomfortable & ugly feeling shedding. This is the detachment from how other people

you’re mourning the version of you that helped you survive, because you know they can’t come with you. You have persevered through much more than the average person in your group/community. Faced a lot of loss, confusion, or pain. you’re waking up parts of yourself that were silenced.

& they are not being quiet anymore.

especially if you were raised in a space that dismissed your sensitivity, intuition, voice & shamed your inner world. that wound is cracking open to be healed, you may for the first time in your life be surrounded by authentic love. I sense that you scare easy, it takes little to nothing for you to doubt or run from someone or something. The relationships around you are showing you how to have true loving and trusting connections.

you’re learning how to stop betraying yourself to stay loved.

Speaking your truth while holding space for the truth of others without internalizing the unnecessary. You’ve developed a strong discernment, & now it’s being challenged- especially in the way of where you may FEEL you are right & instead you learn there is nuance to these problems or issues. Things aren’t always as black and white as you perceive them, you have to understand that people are multidimensional. Your loved ones are rooting for you, and they want to stay- you have to take the actions necessary maintain your relationships with yourself and others. Look more to you, the more you pour into yourself the more others will pour into you & the less you’ll accept low efforts from others.

#tarot community #pick a card #tarot online #pick a pile #tarot reading #tarotblr #askbox #pick a picture #pac tarot #pac #tarotcommunity #tarotonline #pick a photo #pick an image #psychic reading #free tarot #intuitive readings #channeled message #channeled reading

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mydearestbeloved · 8 months ago

Text

Chapter 5 [Draft]

Sung Jinwoo/Trial Player!Reader

CW:

Inspired by @circeyoru ‘s “Future Power Couple”

[Masterlist🦋✨️]

It was supposed to be a peaceful—boring—day. You yawned and stretched your arms above your head, feeling the tension in your muscles ease as you walked back from the raid you had been sent on as support by the Hunter's Association. Healing a few injuries here, casting some support spells there—typical stuff. A cozy evening of spoiling your children at your Gardens awaited, and maybe you’d even treat yourself to some well-deserved rest.

You let your guard down for just a moment, something you rarely did outside your domain. And perhaps, you shouldn’t have.

The first thing that went wrong was the collision. You hadn’t even sensed anyone nearby, which should have been impossible. Your senses were too sharp, finely tuned from years of surviving the system’s trials.

The second thing that went wrong was that you stumbled backward from the impact—an almost absurd realization, given your strength and agility.

You could’ve been able to catch yourself immediately, but before you could react, a strong arm wrapped around your waist, steadying you.

The third—and most unsettling—thing was the face that came into view as you were pulled flush against the person. Your eyes shot up, and for a moment, time seemed to freeze. Stormy grey eyes stared down at you, too close, too familiar.

There, standing before you with an unreadable expression, was Sung Jinwoo.

Your mind went blank for a split second before you quickly masked your surprise with a polite smile—a customer service smile, the one you used to deal with awkward situations. What the hell was this situation? A K-drama plot twist? You fought the urge to groan. There was no way he would recognize you. You had worked hard to stay anonymous, to keep your involvement in his life strictly hidden. This was just an unfortunate run-in, surely—

And just as you were about to step away, you felt it—the familiar tug in the back of your mind.

Damnit, you cursed internally, your blood running cold.

"'Trial Player,' huh?” Jinwoo’s voice was calm, almost casual, but there was a dangerous curiosity in his tone. The strange glint in his once stormy eyes, now glowing in a sharp blue, set your nerves on edge. “Interesting title.”

Of course, the system wasn’t done. It never was.

[Dear Trial Player, (Name).

Be careful not to spill your secret to Player Sung Jinwoo,

else you may find the penalty... quite costly.]

[To not disrupt the predestined events of this world too much, things that should be kept a secret by the Trial Player include:

- True origin

- Prior knowledge of this world.]

[Reminder to watch your words, Trial Player.]

You swallowed hard, mind racing. You were treading on dangerous ground. The glint in Jinwoo’s eyes wasn’t the detached curiosity of someone stumbling upon a stranger; it was the look of a predator that had cornered his prey.

“It’s… complicated,” you managed to say, trying to buy yourself some time as you mentally sorted through your options.

“I have time.” His voice was as calm as ever, but the weight behind those words made it clear—he wasn’t going anywhere, wasn’t going to let you go, until you explained yourself. And of course, he had. You knew his schedule better than anyone else—You hold back wince; you sounded like a stalker just now.

His eyes never left yours, and the weight of his stare was almost suffocating.

Your eyes darted around the street. Too open. Too public. If you were going to spill even a fraction of the truth, you needed privacy. “...Follow me,” you said, steeling your nerves. There was no escaping this encounter now, but at the very least, you could control where the conversation would take place.

Jinwoo’s lips quirked up in the barest hint of a smile, as if he’d already won. He let you go, didn’t ask questions, didn’t press you further—just nodded, as if he had expected nothing less than your cooperation. He fell into step beside you, his presence both comforting and unnerving at the same time.

---

You sat across from Sung Jinwoo in a small, secluded café, your fingers nervously tracing the edge of your cup. It was peaceful here, or at least it was supposed to be. The gentle hum of conversation, the scent of freshly brewed coffee—under any other circumstance, this would be the perfect place to relax.

But the man sitting in front of you wasn’t just any ordinary guy. He was Sung Jinwoo, and not the E-rank, sweetly awkward and adorable version of him you once quietly helped. No, this was the Jinwoo who had been through hell and back, the one who had grown stronger, and the one who was currently giving you the most piercing stare you had ever been given in your whole life.

You weren’t afraid of him, but you weren’t naïve enough to think this would be an easy conversation, either.

God, why couldn’t it be the E-rank him? At least that Jinwoo wouldn’t be giving you this much of a hard time.

[Choose your words carefully, Trial Player.]

You clenched your jaw at the system's ever-helpful reminder.

Jinwoo was watching you intently, sipping his coffee as he waited for your answer. His questions were understandable—he was the protagonist of this world, after all—but each answer felt like walking a tightrope, balancing half-truths and white lies. Years of surviving in this world had changed you, turned you into someone far more cautious and guarded than the girl who had first been dropped into the dungeon all those years ago. But you hadn’t expected to have to use those skills on him of all people.

“Look,” you started, choosing your words carefully. “There are things I can’t tell you—things I’m not allowed to tell you.”

His eyebrow raised slightly, though he pushed further on that matter, for now.

“This ‘Trial Player’ business. What does that mean?”

You bit your lip, carefully considering your next words. You had to walk a fine line here. “I had a role to play before you became the system’s player. A trial run of sorts.”

His eyes narrowed slightly. “So, you were meant to take my place?”

“No.” Your response was immediate, a bit too sharp, perhaps, but you needed him to understand that. “I was never meant to take your place. I was… a beta tester for the system. Nothing more.”

Jinwoo’s gaze bore into you, as if weighing the truth of your words. The silence stretched, tense and heavy, until he finally spoke again. “And now?”

“I... don’t know.” The only truth you let slip.

“I suppose you’ve been watching me for a while now,”

Your heart skipped a beat. So, he did know?

As if knowing what you wanted, Jinwoo then mentioned the system. Apparently, his system had become unnecessarily chatty—and vague—about you after his awakening. You shouldn’t have been surprised. Just because the system hadn’t forbidden you from helping Jinwoo in small ways didn’t mean it would keep your actions secret forever.

“Paying the hospital bills,” he continued, his eyes locked onto yours. “Items arriving at my door when I needed them. Heals when there was nobody around.”

Your customer-service smile faltered, a tiny fraction at the edges of your lips. He had figured it out. There was no point in denying it. “...Yes.”

You were out of your depth now, there was no turning back.

"So," Jinwoo leaned back in his chair, his eyes never leaving yours, "how long have you been helping me?"

Your fingers twitched. "For a while now," you answered, purposefully vague. Not a lie.

"Years, then."

You nodded, biting back the urge to say more. He didn't need the specifics.

"And why?" His gaze was steady, but there was a flicker of something behind it—curiosity, maybe, but also wariness.

You had expected that question, but it didn’t make it any easier to answer. Why had you helped him? The official answer was because he was the protagonist of this world. But deep down, it was more than that. You admired him—his strength, his perseverance, and the way he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders without complaint. Somewhere along the way, admiration had blurred into something deeper, something more personal.

"I just... wanted to help," you said softly, your fingers tightening around the cup in your hands. “The system... didn’t give me much of a choice from the moment it chose me as the trial player. And perhaps it had turned a blind eye; helping you—it felt right." Another half-truth, but still rooted in reality.

Jinwoo studied you for a long moment, his gaze intense. You could almost feel the gears turning in his mind, trying to figure out whether you were a threat or an ally. He didn’t press further, which was almost worse. Silence stretched between you, heavy with unsaid words and unanswered questions. You wished you could explain everything, tell him the truth without the system suffocating you in response, but you couldn’t. So, you settled for half-truths and hoped they would be enough.

Then, out of nowhere, the conversation took a turn.

“Let’s keep it that way then,” Jinwoo’s voice was casual, almost too casual, “you’re joining my party.”

Your mind screeched to a halt. “Wait, what?”

“I said,” he repeated, leaning forward slightly, “you’re joining my party.” There was something in his tone that left no room for argument, but it didn’t make any sense. Jinwoo had always been the lone wolf. Solo raids were his thing. He didn’t need healers anymore—not with his own incredible healing factor.

“No—”

“I’m not asking.” And you berated yourself once again for being weak to his eyes, especially the current glowing ones. That beautiful, beautiful blue hue.

“Why? I mean, you don’t need me.”

Jinwoo’s eyes narrowed slightly, catching onto the strange phrasing, and you suddenly felt the invisible tightness around your throat. Watch your words, Trial Player, the system’s voice echoed in your mind, a third reminder today that made your blood pressure spike every damn time.

The system wasn’t just blocking you from outright saying it; it was suffocating you, a warning wrapped in discomfort. You cursed yourself internally.

Jinwoo answer interrupted your thoughts, “Let’s just say… I’m curious. About you.”

Oh. Oh. What did you expect? This wasn’t about your healing abilities. He was suspicious of you. He knew something was off, and now he was keeping you close—keep your friends close, and your enemies closer, and all that.

But you weren’t his enemy, were you?

You opened your mouth to argue further, but just as you were about to speak, the system chimed in again.

You let out and internal scream. Seriously?

"...I guess I don’t have a choice, do I?" You said, your cheeks were starting to hurt from forcing a smile throughout this conversation as you selected the only option on the screen.

Jinwoo smiled faintly, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. "No, you don’t."

---

After discussing the details for your future joint raids, you watched Jinwoo’s back as he turned to leave, you couldn’t help but feel a sinking sense of dread. You were trapped. Whatever game the system and Jinwoo were playing, you were caught in the middle. And now you were officially part of his party.

You sighed, slumping back into your chair. It was supposed to be a peaceful day. You should’ve known better.

[So, how have you been? ~]

“Shut it.”

---

The partnership was, for lack of a better word, complicated.

Jinwoo noticed it was a word often associated to you.

The more time Jinwoo spent with you only made things murkier. You were a puzzle wrapped in a riddle, and no matter how many pieces he tried to put together, he was always left with gaps. It was frustrating, but it also intrigued him in a way that nothing else had since he became the Player.

Jinwoo was suspicious—he couldn’t afford not to be. Jinwoo never imagined having someone like you beside him, much less allowing it. For the longest time, he had preferred working alone—solitude was safer, simpler. He didn’t have to worry about anyone getting in his way or betraying him. So, naturally, he had kept you under close observation, convinced that the cost of keeping you around would be more than just the unease gnawing at him.

From the start, Jinwoo had believed that taking you along would mean a decrease in his own growth. Experience was precious, and dividing it was a risk he was prepared to accept—but you had assured him that wouldn’t be necessary.

"I won’t take any exp from you,” you’d said with a quiet confidence that he hadn’t known how to trust. “I’ve got a feeling it doesn’t work like that for me anymore."

He’d been skeptical, of course. Experience was everything to a player, and he’d been prepared to lose some to keep you around. But as the weeks went by, he found your claim to be frustratingly true. No matter how many monsters you felled, it was only his system notifications that pinged, announcing increases in his experience points, his level bar that filled up, not yours, as though the system recognized you as an extension of him.

It was as if you just weren’t there.

He didn't know whether to be relieved or more suspicious. What kind of player didn’t gain EXP? It didn’t fit with the rules, and Jinwoo was nothing if not a careful observer of the patterns around him.

---

The material rewards, however, were a different story.

There was a strange way you treated the remains of the fallen monsters. At first, he hadn’t paid much attention to it; after all, every hunter had their quirks. But you would always linger after the fights, almost reverently inspecting the bodies, picking through the materials they left behind. When he finally asked you about it, you had given him that infuriatingly cryptic smile.

“Do you mind if I take whatever you don’t need?” you had politely asked one day, the first time out of the many in future raids to come. “I promise it won’t go to waste.”

“What do you even need them for?” he had asked, watching you examine the remains of a C-rank goblin with almost childlike fascination.

“Hmm…” You’d glanced up, meeting his gaze briefly before turning back to the material in your hand. “Think of it as... research.”

He’d agreed, more out of curiosity than generosity. And every time he did, he could have sworn he caught a glimmer of excitement in your eyes. It was an expression so genuine and bright that Jinwoo found himself taken aback. What exactly you were doing with those materials, he had no idea, but you seemed genuinely grateful, almost... happy. And Jinwoo found it oddly endearing every single time.

The guarded woman he fought beside every day for the past few weeks by now—the one who always hid herself behind walls of practiced calm—suddenly looked more humane. A person delighted over something so simple.

“Thank you, Jinwoo.” you said softly as you packed away pieces of monster hides, bones, and crystals with precision. The way you spoke his name felt different than when others said it. Like it was laced with something unspoken, something almost... familiar.

For a moment, he’d thought he might be able to catch a sliver of truth from you. But then, as quickly as it appeared, your guard returned, and you slipped back into your composed, impenetrable self.

---

Yet, for every discovery he made about you, new questions took root. The way you spoke to the air when he couldn’t see your system window was one of the strangest things he’d observed. It wasn’t like how he interacted with his own system—a cold, mechanical guide that answered in emotionless text.

He had come to terms with it, which made it more puzzling when you, on the other hand, seemed to have a strangely conversational relationship with yours. It was as though you were talking to a real person rather than an AI. And there were times he swore he heard you bantering with it. The fact that he couldn’t see it, that he couldn’t know what it was telling you without you telling him, left him on edge.

While you could see the familiar blue screens of his own system at all times, yours sometimes seemed to exist in an entirely different realm. He didn’t have enough information to even confirm you had the same kind of system he did.

One evening after a raid, after you had muttered something to the empty air beside you, Jinwoo couldn’t hold back his curiosity any longer. The two of you were taking a break in the clearing of a forest-like dungeon, waiting for the mana in the air to settle. His shadows patrolled the perimeter, leaving the two of you in relative isolation.

“You’re… talking to it, aren’t you?” Jinwoo asked, as you finished your quiet exchange with your invisible companion. “The system, I mean.”

“Hmm? Oh.” You paused mid-motion, halfway through tucking away the latest monster core you’d collected, s if you hadn’t just spoken aloud to someone—or something—that only you could see. You glanced at him, something unreadable flickering behind your eyes before you looked back at the core in your hands.

“It’s not quite the same as your system,” you said finally, your voice almost too soft to hear over the rustling leaves. “Let’s just say we have a complicated relationship.” You paused, seeming to search for the right words. “Yours is… a guide, yes? Cold, instructive?”

He nodded, and you seemed to weigh your response.

“Mine is… let’s call it more opinionated.”

Jinwoo raised an eyebrow, clearly unsatisfied. “You mean to tell me that your system has a personality?”

A small smile tugged at your lips. “Something like that.”

He muttered, narrowing his eyes. “You know more about my system than I do, and yet I can’t even see yours most of the time. Feels like a rigged game.”

“You mean the same way my kills count towards yours instead?”

Fair point.

“You could say I know it pretty well. And… it knows me.” Your tone was careful, and he realized he’d learned something more about you in that one sentence than in all the raids you’d fought together.

It was almost as if you wanted to be honest—desperately so—but something stopped you every time you got close to revealing too much. It seemed less like a power play and more like you were protecting something—maybe even protecting him. But that didn’t make sense.

Still, Jinwoo could see glimpses of genuine loyalty in your actions. The more he witnessed this, the more he felt torn, unable to decide if you were an ally bound by strange circumstances or a threat with motives he couldn’t yet see.

End Note:

Unedited Draft of [013/10/2024] -

The later parts of this chapter (where it switches to Jinwoo's p.o.v.) are originally part of the next chapter, but I substitue them with a new fight scene.

#solo leveling imagine #solo leveling #solo leveling x reader #sung jin woo x reader #sung jinwoo x reader #sung jinwoo #solo leveling jinwoo #yandere sung jinwoo #only i level up #reader insert #x reader #fem reader #fanfiction #fanfic #solo leveling fanfic

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