#and then i have to remember to block and report later

[aka-indulgence]

Bru sometimes i get notifs of pornbots liking a post of mine and I know its a pornbot and I wanna block and report, but im in publiv and i definitely cant click on the profile bc everyones gonna see over my shoulder some rando's PP!!!!!! AND THINK I DID THAT ON PURPOSE!!!!

[aliteralsemicolon]

I'll wait for your love - 18+

See part 1 | See Part 2 | Part 3 of We can't be friends (wait for your love)

The only thing you’re sure of is that you don’t want things to go back to the way they were and Spencer agrees that change may be for the best.

Spencer Reid X Fem! Reader

DISCLAIMER This story is NSFW and contains graphic depictions + detailed descriptions of adult content. It is intended for mature audiences only, minors do not interact!  You are responsible for the content you consume. Make sure to read all necessary warnings. Please remember this is a work of fiction; if you don’t like it, don’t read. 

WARNINGS: Panic attack mentioned, slight PTSD depictions, case details (barely) mentioned, alcohol mentioned like once. Smut (not the focus at all): making out, nipple play, clitoral stimulation, praise, use of pet names (angel, pretty girl, etc). Proceed at your own risk.

Word count: 10.4K See notes at end for authors note & spoilers.

Avoiding Spencer wasn’t overly difficult on the flight back to D.C. You weren’t entirely sure how to face him after he risked his life for you, so you just pretended to be asleep the whole time. You even took a separate jeep from the tarmac to avoid a car ride back with him, and almost made a clean getaway to your car in the parking lot when Hotch stopped you. 

“I’m sorry to hold you back, but I do need the Anchorage report on my desk before tomorrow morning. It can’t be put off any longer.”

He looked extremely apologetic and you understood. You’re grateful he gave you as much time as he has. That’s how you ended up stuck at work til the later hours of the evening. Besides the few workaholics, security guards and janitors roaming around the corridors, the only other person there with you is Spencer, oddly. Even Hotch has gone home. You’ve spent more time stalking the doctor work through the pile of case files on his desk than you have writing in the one on yours. Only when you're caught do you look away. 

“Everything okay?” The innocent curiosity in his big eyes further reddens the hot embarrassment in your cheeks.

“Fine.” You mutter, dipping your head back down to the open page.

You’re never going to get this damn file done if you can’t get him out of your head, and him being barely three feet away from you doesn’t help. It’s very difficult for you to get your words from pen to paper. Anchorage wasn’t haunting you like it did at first. It was a traumatic event, yes, but alone isn’t the cause of this…block. Obviously the reality that you’re leaving is starting to dawn on you. Somehow your mind has linked this case with your departure and finishing this report makes it more official than your actual resignation. 

Plus, as much as you definitely hate Spencer, you do did care for him. The shock of him almost getting himself killed in front of you is another thing occupying your mind. It’s barely been twenty four hours since then, it’s still fresh. You can see him stand and grab his satchel in your peripheral vision, he’s preparing to leave. There are a lot of memories attached to that brown leather bag. 

Things he would carry in there for you when you forgot your own bag. 

You don’t make it obvious that you’re watching him gather his things in small glances. 

He bought extra hair clips for you to keep in there because you would often forget those too. 

It’s over now. No point in dwelling on it. You shake your head once he’s out of sight, trying to force him out of your thoughts. Now that he’s gone you’re hoping to actually be able to get some work done.

He taught you chess with the mini chess set he keeps in there. You discovered that you actually quite liked chess and would ask to play with him all the time. It was also his ‘secret’ weapon to help you calm down. 

You roll your eyes to push back the tears from the memories that refuse to stop playing. This can wait until you get home, it’s not important. 

It wasn’t the chess set that helped you feel calm. Spencer could win chess against you in just a few moves, but he would deliberately stretch out the game so you could have room to breathe. The longer the game, the more time you had to spend focused on the moves and slow down your thoughts. You could open up at your own pace. He would let you feel in control.

It doesn’t matter if he’s near you or not, Spencer has a way of invading your headspace wherever he is. Your train of thoughts is interrupted with a light thud on your right. You covertly roll the tears away again and turn to examine the source of the noise. A mug of coffee placed on your desk by

“Spencer?” You sputter breathlessly. 

“Sorry. I know you told me to stop. This is the last time I promise.” 

You don’t fully comprehend what he’s going on about, not expecting him to be here at all. 

“I thought you left.”

“I did– was. I was leaving, but I thought I’d make you some coffee before I go. Since you’ve been here a while.” He awkwardly explains. 

You steadily direct your attention back to the mug, reeling in what was happening. 

“Before you get mad, this really is just a cup of coffee from a colleague who thought it might help keep you energised if you’re planning to stay late. There’s no ulterior motive…”

He continues rambling but you’re not mentally present to hear any of it. 

He made you coffee. 

Even though you’ve been nothing short of an absolute bitch. Granted he was a bitch first, but the point is that he’s still thinking of your well being regardless. You can’t hide your tears from him this time. It’s the soft buzz of your name that draws you back to him. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you! I’ll take the coffee–”

His panicked sentiment is cut short when you jump out of your seat and shove past him. The breakdown you’ve been avoiding hits you like a ton of bricks. You run into the nearest empty office and he runs after you, making it past the door before you can lock him out. 

“Spencer p–please get out! I’m fine.” You’re pacing in the same spot, fanning away the stream falling down your cheeks, hyperventilating.

He doesn’t respond to you, instead cautiously taking your hand in his. You’re in too frenzied a state to care. He guides you to sit on the couch against the wall and you blindly go along with it, still trying to get yourself together. 

You want to stop the tears, but you can’t do that until you get your breathing under control. He slowly wraps his arms around you and you slump into him, head buried in his chest. You should try to fight it, you should push him away, but you can’t. Right now, surrounded by his scent, held in his arms, you don’t want to move. It’s not something you can properly explain, but the feeling is so comforting that nothing else matters. All you know is that you’re safe and that’s enough for you to allow yourself to finally break down. 

The first few sobs are loud, like there’s not enough air in the world to stabilise your lungs. They fizzle out into silent whimpers and you grasp onto the fabric of his sweater, balling it in your fist, just letting yourself feel. Spencer still hasn’t said a word. His right hand is rubbing circles on your back and his left hand is gently scratching just above the nape of your neck. 

You stay like that for a while, even after you’ve stopped crying. It’s been so long since you’ve been in this little bubble with him and you don’t want it to end. You pull away when you feel the strap of his satchel across his stomach as your hand drops to his lap. He visually follows every move you make. 

“You’re still wearing your bag.” You sniffle, leaning back. 

“I am.” He whispers, understanding that you no longer want to be touched. 

He stays in his original position; facing you, but now with one arm resting on top of the backrest and the other idly in his lap. You’ve moved so that now you're facing ahead with your back leaning against the cushions, pulling your knees into your chest. You had never found comfort in silence until the first time you experienced it with Spencer. Staying huddled, you divert your eyes towards him. There’s a distinct wet patch on his shirt. It’s less visible on his sweater-vest, but it’s there. 

“Your shirt’s wet now.” It’s almost impossible to make out what you’re saying with your mouth muffled against your arm, but of course, Spencer manages anyway. 

“It’ll dry.” He smiles, tone delicate. 

“But– germs.” You choke a little due to your previous crying. 

“It can be washed.” He’s using his comforting voice again. 

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

The silence resumes. Neither of you dares to move, trying to freeze this moment. It’s obvious that you didn’t grasp how badly you craved each other’s presence. 

“D–do…” The initial sound grabs Spencer’s full attention again. You take a deep breath, hoping he wants to stay here as much as you do. “Do you still carry that little chess set with you?”

A small, airy chuckle comes out from him. 

“Would you like to play?”

“Please.” 

He creates some more space between you and begins to set up the board once he’s pulled it out of his satchel. You move to accommodate the set up, now facing him with your legs crossed on the couch and shoes abandoned on the floor. You wait for him to make the first move. After the opening moves the game doesn’t seem to get any harder and you know he’s throwing the game. You’re okay at chess, but he’s obviously a lot better. 

“You’re going easy on me.” You mumble.

“Because you’re not even trying.” He replies blithely.

“Why are you doing this?”

“Like I said, you’re making it too easy.” He gently teases.

“Not that. Helping me. You hate me, remember?” You say it like it’s the most casual thing in the world. 

“I don’t hate you.” 

“You literally told me that you hate me.” You chuckle, numb to the hurt that sentence once brought you. 

“So did you.” He counters in defence, trailing your hand as it carelessly moves your queen to her demise. 

“I was angry.” 

“So was I.” He spared your queen, in turn leaving his king vulnerable. 

“It doesn’t matter now…” You don’t finish the rest of your sentence but Spencer still hears it.

You’re leaving soon anyway.

“It matters to me.” If he left something unsaid you choose to ignore it. 

“You’re letting me win.” You whisper, feeling the urge to cry some more, but there’s no tears left. 

He doesn’t make a move, bringing the game to a halt. He’s waiting for you to meet his eyes. You know what he’s going to say. 

“Spencer, don't.” You beseech.

“Why?” If you looked at him instead of the board you’d see the way his eyes are pleading at you. 

“There’s no point.” This time it’s your voice that cracks. 

You're looking everywhere else and it makes you too aware of your surroundings. Like how the couch is lined up directly under a window that anyone could peek into. 

“Leaving is not the only option.” He solicits. 

He regards your discomfort and closes the blinds from where he’s sitting, pulling you back into the privacy of your bubble. 

“There’s nothing that you can say to make things go back to how they were.” You bite the inside of your cheek, fiddling with a random pawn. 

It’s not a proper two way conversation. You’re talking to yourself just as much as Spencer’s talking to you. You’re both trying to convince you of what you’re saying. 

“Things don’t have to go back to how they were.” The squeaks in his soothing tone are starting to melt any resolve you have left. 

“There’s no reason for me to stay.” You oppose, trying to make any argument stick.

“I can think of more reasons for you to stay than for you to go.” 

There’s an underlying tension bubbling. Neither of you notice it over your desperate tug of war. 

“I don’t think there’s anything that you can say to get me to stay.” Another baseless sentence meant more for you than for him. 

“Give me one chance. One chance to convince you.” He can see your internal struggle at his request and he throws out one final plea to sway you. “For nothing more than closure.” 

Closure.

You’ve spent months in turmoil over the hows and the what ifs, trying to conjure answers to questions that wouldn’t stop pestering you. You couldn’t turn him down even if you wanted to. 

“Closure?” You repeat, eyes finally latching onto his.

“Closure.” He whispers back in reassurance. 

“Even if you can’t convince me?” You caution, not wanting to give him false hope.

He doesn’t say anything, thinking over the scenario in his head. He simply nods and you mimic the action, blinking away the blur in your vision and dragging around chess pieces. It takes Spencer a second to figure out that you were moving them back to their default places.

“Okay new game.” You announce. 

Spencer blinks in confusion, waiting for you to elaborate. 

“I can ask you any question I want and you have to answer honestly. If by the end of the game I’m not convinced to stay, you back off for the remainder of my time here.” You pause for him to interject, but he doesn’t. “That means we stay away from each other, only talking when needed for work. Even then as cordially and professionally as possible. No more trying to make casual conversation or bringing me coffee or anything like that.”

“Till the end of the game?” He studies you. 

“Yup.” You smack your lips together. “Til one of us checkmates the other.”

“This means you’ll actually give me a fair shot?” 

“Between the two of us, I’m not the one known for cheating at games.” You jab, trying to ease the tension you could definitely feel now. 

“I meant a fair shot at convincing you. As in you’ll seriously take what I have to say into account.” He discards your attempt.

“No, I know. The opportunity was just too good to pass up.”

He can tell you’re trying to hold back a laugh from the small smile on your lips. It’s as adorable to him now as it was the first time he saw it. 

“Any rules before we start?” He asks, unable to hide his own smile.

“Only that we have to be honest.” You answer, immediately dropping your smile.

“Okay.” He agrees, smiling slightly wider.

“Okay.” You nod again.

When he finally makes the first move it hits you that you don’t actually know where to start. Theoretically, you know what you want to ask, but don’t know how to ask. You don’t know if you should jump straight into the questions or start with some ice breakers. Nothing is said for about four to five moves when Spencer pauses the game. 

“Are you going to ask any questions or have you decided that you just want to play one last game for your closure?”

“Huh?” You snap your vision away from the board. “Oh, sorry. I was thinking.”

“Do you want to return to the game after thinking of a few questions to ask?” He raises his brow and relaxes his jaw.

“No, no, we don’t need to do that. Let’s keep playing, the questions will come to me.” You brush off his suggestion and motion for him to continue with his turn. He doesn’t.

“What?” Your voice raises and you scrunch your nose from perplexity.

“Sorry, it’s just that you’ve put us on a time limit and this is how you’re using our time?” He airs, failing to conceal his amusement.

“Well excuse me if I don’t exactly have a list of questions ready to go for you.” You narrow your eyes in annoyance. 

“Why would you suggest this if you don’t have any questions?” He tries to hold back his laugh and ends up snorting as a result. 

“I have questions!” You jabber, unable to maintain your annoyance. “I don’t know what– where do I even start?”

“Start with whichever one comes to you first.” He shrugs, finally making his move. 

A lot of things come to mind when you think about it. The thing that screams the loudest twitches a nerve and you become instantly irate. 

“Okay.” You nod, tone harsh and flat. “Let’s start with whatever the fuck possessed you on the last case. What was your thought process when you put your life in danger like that?”

He almost gets whiplash from the change in mood, his face literally reads ‘are you serious?’. 

“He was going to shoot you.” He states like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. 

“I was wearing a vest, I would’ve been fine.” You contend. 

“I wasn’t willing to take that risk.” 

“Risk?! You literally put yourself in danger for no reason!” 

“I think it was a pretty good reason actually!” 

“Spencer that was–” You stop yourself with a grumble, inhaling deeply. 

“It was instinctual, okay?” He softly explains. “I saw him aim the gun at you and I just reacted.” 

“Well it was a stupid reaction!” You whine. 

“I’m not going to apologise for it.”

The glare you give is piercing, you bite the inside of your cheek to hold your tongue before you say something you can’t take back. Spencer throws his head back and sighs. 

“But I will promise not to do it again.” He adds, not fully intending to keep it. 

This was slowly turning into another argument, both of you shooting back too fast with your responses. You aren’t in the mood for another argument. So you redirect your attention to the game. 

“Check.” You mumble, buying yourself time to think of another question. “Why are you here so late anyway?”

“I wanted to finish some work before tomorrow morning.” He replies, moving his king to safety. 

“Yeah, what’s up with that? You could’ve done those tomorrow as well.” Your voice softens out of curiosity. 

“I wanted to get them finished in case there were more tomorrow.” It’s not his best excuse. You don’t know what he means by that. He doesn’t know what he means by that. He’s lying to you. 

You scoff, poking your tongue against your cheek. “Wow. You really can’t not cheat during a game, can you?” 

“Right, sorry.” Spencer clears his throat after the initial confusion clears. Complete honesty, it was your only rule. “I wanted to be here.”

“For…” You egg on, purposely rolling your ‘r’s to prompt him. 

“I wanted to make sure that you were okay.” He admits, looking away from you. 

“Why?” You’re genuinely puzzled at the admission. “You’re the one who almost died. I mean, it was stupid and your fault, but still. If anything I should be checking up on you.”

“Check.” That’s the only response he gives you. He hopes that you don’t push further, but he knows that you will. 

His lack of response only forces you to think about the possible reasons by yourself, using context clues to figure it out. You are a profiler, after all. 

“Is this because of the panic attack?” You note how his jaw twitches when he swallows at the mention. “It is! You seriously chose to spend your night stuck at the office because of that?” 

“What else was I supposed to do? It’s not like you would talk to me, you literally refused to even look at me!” He gripes. 

“Spencer I think anyone would panic if they got tackled to the ground by a six foot man without warning. I’m fine.” You giggle.

“What happened to complete honesty?” It’s his turn to glare at you.

“I am being honest!” You protest.

“Lying by omission is not being honest.” He rolls his eyes.

“Okay Mr. know-it-all, what am I lying about?” You challenge.

“Seriously? You don’t remember?” His approach is doubtful and he just stares at your dazed expression.

“Fucking spit it out already, Spence!” 

Any sarcasm he had geared up for a response dissipates at your use of his nickname. He’s heard it plenty in the last few months, but not from you. For a moment things feel like they never changed. It stings in a bittersweet kind of way. 

“You sc–screamed– uh–” He clears his throat and rapidly blinks, his nose twitches in the process. “During that panic attack, you repeatedly asked me to stay with you. Y–you, uh– you said you didn’t think you could li–”

“Stop. Stop. Stop talking.” Your voice quavers and you hold your hand up, ears burning up. “I don’t wanna know.”

You don’t know why it makes your heart race the way it does, you don’t even remember it. He waits a while before speaking up again, wanting to be careful about how he goes about the topic without you shutting down.

“May I ask you a question?” He voices professionally, trying to make the conversation less personal so you don’t feel cornered. 

You nod, moving your king out of check.

“Is there anybody you will talk to about Anchorage? Without pushing them away?” He keeps the game going as he speaks to provide you with a distraction. 

“Woah– Anchorage? Where is that coming from?” You titter.

“I want you to remember that we promised to be honest and I won’t push if you ask me to stop, but I know for a fact that you aren’t okay.” He waits for you to stop him but you don’t, even though you know roughly what he’s going to say. “Panic attacks aside, your avoidant behaviour around the topic, inability to focus, being easily startled, you’re showing signs of PTSD.” 

“Spence, c’mon. I don’t need to talk to anyone. I already passed the psych evals.” You attempt to make light of the situation with carefully chosen words so you’re not lying. It was a futile attempt, you know he’s not willing to budge when he doesn’t give you anything more than a blank stare. 

“Why does this matter so much to you?” You sigh in defeat. “Whatever happened…that’s a part of the job, you know that.”

“I also know, first hand, that it takes over your life. You can’t run from it, no matter how much you try to.” His tone is soft as he speaks, yet you feel like he’s accusing you. 

“I am not running! Why would you say I’m running?” You object with a high voice, shrugging your shoulders. “And it’s not taking over my life. Also, check.”

“Because that’s what you do when you don’t want to deal with something.” He states point blank.

“Woah– so– that was entirely unnecessary.” You stammer, unable to deny it. 

“I’m not criticising you. I just happen to know you and I know that you have a tendency to run from your problems. And it is taking over your life.” 

“You’re profiling!” You gasp.

“You know that it’s not something we can just turn off! No matter how much we pretend like we can.” He waves his hands defensively. 

You can’t argue with that, your lips twisting to the side. 

“You want me to be honest?” You murmur sheepishly. 

“Always. Please.” He responds gently, wanting you to be as comfortable as possible.

“I don’t want to talk about it. I spend a good chunk of my day actively avoiding thinking about it, but somehow I always end up thinking about it anyway. At times it’s like I can almost feel…” You breathe in instinctively. “This is the first time in months I’ve been able to do anything without it lingering in the back of my mind. Can we please talk about it another time? I would rather talk about other things…”

Another time. 

“...right now.” 

You’ve implied that there will be another time to talk and he definitely caught it, even if he pretends that he hasn’t. You don’t even know if what you said is true, you got too comfortable with the familiarity of his friendship. It was something you said out of habit from back when you two actually were friends. Not even a full hour's worth of conversation with him and he’s already worming his way back in.

“Um–” You drag yourself further back on the couch, creating more physical distance. 

“That’s okay. We don’t have to talk about it at all.” Spencer senses your urgency to leave the situation and jumps into damage control. “It’s your turn.”

“No, um, I should– I should go. Thanks for doing thi– helping me.” You turn away from him, aiming for your shoes and ready to bolt.

“The game’s not over.” He points out.

“Yes it is.” You declare, still in the process of putting on your shoes.

“You said til checkmate.” He huffs, shifting out of his seated position. 

“I forfeit!” You throw your arms out in a shrugging manner, standing up after him.

“I can’t believe this. You’re going back on your word!” He doesn’t even raise his voice. He’s just hurt. 

“What’s the point, Spencer? Closure doesn’t mean anything, I’m still leaving! You can’t magically change my mind!” You yell, getting louder with each sentence. 

“I disagree. I think that you’re running again!” He blocks your way and yells back, maintaining his volume throughout. 

“Maybe you should think less!” You suggest, still yelling. Sarcasm is your defence mechanism when you have no actual defence. 

“You know what else I think?” He continues, emphasising the word ‘think’ every time he says it out of spite. “I think that you agreed to this thinking I won’t be able to convince you, but I am!”

“I don’t care what you–”

“I think you don’t want to finish the game that you started, because you’re afraid to ask the harder questions!”

“Stop.” You command, but it doesn’t deter him.

“I think that you’re scared to hear my answers because then it all becomes too real for you–” 

“Stop!” The words almost get stuck in your throat, but you choke them out. “You’re wrong.” 

“If I’m wrong then prove it. To both of us.” He sits back down and motions to the board. “Ask the real questions.” 

“I don’t need to prove anything, you’re wrong.” You uphold.

“So leave.” He challenges, knowing that you won’t be able to. 

If you truly believed that he’s wrong you wouldn’t feel the need to prove it, but you do and he knows that. You walk back over to the couch, head nodding from irritation, tongue poking your cheek. You kick your shoes off with a bit of force and return to your earlier position across from him. 

“Your move.” He reminds you as you settle in.

You don’t reply yet, but move your rook to set him up for the next move.  

“Check.” He smugly states.

“Who was she?” 

You don’t move, examining him close for any change in his behaviour. He obviously didn't anticipate that question first, snapping his sights back on you. 

“Sorry?” 

“The woman who greeted me at your door. That night at your apartment.” 

“Charlotte.” He replies, holding your gaze to show you he’s got nothing to hide. “We met at the library a week before.”

“Are you guys together?” You break away first, diverting your eyes to the chess board and trying to seem unfazed when moving your knight. 

“No, God, no.” He denies immediately. 

“I don’t know, she seemed pretty cosy for someone you met a week prior.” You don’t mean to sound as snide as you come across.

“No, it wasn’t like that at all.” He shakes his head. 

“You sure? Because I’m pretty sure I saw her mark you up with a kiss on your cheek before disappearing.” You don’t look at him, examining a captured pawn as you wait for him to make his move. 

“Mark me up?” He cognizes it instantly. “Are you…jealous?”

“What? No!” You vehemently deny, your voice rising in several pitches. 

“You are!” His eyes widen. 

“I am not jealous.” 

His jaw slacks and he lets out an amused scoff. He doesn’t say anything, making you feel the need to fill the silence. 

“I only bring it up because…I know you have a thing with…germs.” Your words falter because of your own uncertainty and you want to dissolve into the fucking floor. 

Spencer tries to suppress a smile by poking his tongue out slightly. If the atmosphere was lighter he’d tease you about it, but he doesn’t want to make you take off again. Still, he feels the need to clarify the events of the night. 

“I don’t know why she kissed my cheek, it was completely random.” He takes his time saying it, still fighting a smile.

You swallow nervously and purse your lips to the side in response. One question answered and you only have new ones in its place. Did she stay the night? Did she sleep on the couch or on his bed? Did he see her again? 

“I drove her home right after you left.” He can almost hear your thoughts. 

“Was it a date?” You softly gulp again, unsure if you even have a right to know.

“Yes.” He hesitates. 

“Oh.” 

“I wanted to try out casual dating for once.” He chagrins. “I honestly don’t know how you did it, it’s not even fun.” 

“No it’s not.” You chuckle dryly. “So no second date, I presume?”

“Definitely not. I was just stressed the whole time.” He chuckles with you. 

“Take a shot of tequila before you go next time, it helps settle the nerves.” You joke, jumping to give him advice you hope he doesn’t take. You can’t help it, it’s what you’ve always done. Even if it goes against what you desire. 

“While moderate consumption of tequila can help relax the nervous system, I will not be turning to alcohol for stress relief.” 

“Then blast classical music while you get ready and give yourself a pep talk out loud, it’s actually really efficient–”

“There won’t be a next time. For a really long time, if ever.” He interjects, miffed at your insistence. 

“You willingly plan on committing to lifelong celibacy?” You exclaim with a puzzled look. “Why?!”

Spencer laughs at how raw your reaction is. He didn’t plan on giving out any more details but, with that prompt he decides that it’s now or never. 

“I don’t think any future dates will appreciate me picturing someone else in their place the whole time.” 

Oh. 

Both of you lock eyes at the same time. This is not a road you’re prepared to go back down, even if that’s literally the whole point of this conversation. You’re too stunned to reply and Spencer uses this as an opportunity to be elaborate. He doesn’t want any misunderstandings this time. 

“I couldn’t stop pictur–”

“Shut up.” You blurt out the sentence in almost one word. 

Your heart’s racing like you’re standing on the edge of a cliff. You’re flustered, every part of your body is heated from how terrified you are.

“Y–you don’t have t–t…you don’t owe m–me an explanation.” You try to elaborate, contradicting yourself and stumbling on your words.

“I want to.” He reads that you’re apprehensive but pushes regardless. 

“Please don’t.” The tears that you thought had dried out were building again.

“Why ask if you won’t let me answer?”

You don’t have anything to say to that. Did you want answers? Yes. Still, you didn’t expect how hard they’d be to hear. He whispers your name and you scramble to think of your next move, and not in chess. You’re unable to even think about the game right now. You want to bolt, but you can’t even get yourself to move. So you deflect. 

“Because it doesn’t matter.”

“I disagree.” Although his tone is subdued, the pace of his wording is faster. “I think it does matter and that’s why you’re afraid to hear it.”

He’s right but you can’t bring yourself to agree. This is only going to over-complicate an already complicated situation.

“It’s not enough.” Your voice cracks.

“How can it be if you won’t even give it a fair shot?” 

“Fair?” 

It comes out louder than you intended. His words trigger resentment within you and you snap. 

“Nothing about any of this is fair! I mean, fucking hell, Spencer, four years. That’s how long we’ve been friends. I mean I’ve shared shit that I thought I would be taking to the fucking grave with you! You were my best friend for four fucking years and all it took was like, five seconds?”

You sob, softer than when you were first crying, but the frustration is clear. He reaches out to touch your hand, but you push his hand away. 

“No!” You choke, sobbing harder when you try to compile your thoughts. “Five seconds to destroy all of it! It makes me wonder if everything we shared, our friendship, was it ever even that strong?”

Your anger simmers to sadness, as evident with how your yelling fades into whispering in the last sentence. 

“I can’t even tell you when exactly those five seconds were. I mean, I know…but…I don’t. Where did it go wrong, Spence?” 

“I don’t know.” Is all he can say after a beat of silence.

He knows exactly where it went wrong. 

“Yeah, me neither!” You sniffle, immediately wiping a single tear that manages to escape. “So again, it doesn’t matter.” 

“When you took it back.”

“What?” 

“That’s where everything changed for me. You showed up at my apartment drunk, after your date with Nathan. Your exact words were ‘I mean as an amazing friend’.” His voice strains like he’s forcing himself to speak. 

Your gaze falls, eyes darting everywhere as you try to jog your memory beyond the one sentence you remember. 

“I don’t understand.” You croak.

“You know, if I wasn’t who I am, maybe you could love me the way I love you.” He chuckles bitterly, fighting back tears of his own. “That was– that was, uh, what you said before you took it back.”

“Spence, please…” You whine without sound, tilting your head back and chewing on your lip as a final attempt to stay composed. 

“No, you wanted to know where it went wrong.” He laughs falsely to downplay his tears. “You can say it doesn’t matter all you want, but the fact is, it does matter. It matters to me and I won’t let you run from it anymore.” 

You can’t look at him. Not with tears free falling down your face. You cup your hands together in your lap, pressing your fingers and nails together. 

“You told me that I couldn’t love you.” You struggle to sound your words. 

“I’m an idiot.” Another chuckle, but he sounds defeated. “When you said that, all I could think about was how badly I wanted to say that I do love you.” 

You tearfully laugh at this admission. 

“I only took it back because of what you said. I panicked. I thought I’d ruined things…which I guess, I still did.” Another laugh from you.

Spencer responds with the same regretful sound. 

The irony spurs another fit of giggles amongst you, this one slightly longer and infinitely more rueful than the last. You look anywhere but at each other until it grows quieter. 

“If you loved me, why the fuck would you tell me that I couldn’t love you?” You sound just as, if not more, defeated than him. 

“Love.” Spencer corrects without missing a beat. 

Your brows twitch up and your heart jumps. 

“I was so hung up on every single part of your sentence that I didn’t know what to say first.” He proceeds to answer you without leaving much room to process what he said. “I wanted to tell you that I do love you. I love you as you are. Not as somebody else.”

“But you didn’t say any of that.” You ignore all his admissions, not fully comprehending. 

“Like I said, I’m an idiot. I was in so much disbelief and that was the first thing that came out of my mouth.” He sullenly huffs.

You don’t reply, sniffling with your head down. 

“For like a second, I had everything I wanted. Then you took it back and it was like my whole world had been ripped out from under me. In those five seconds, you’d given me a taste of what I’d spent four years convincing myself I couldn’t have and I just– I couldn’t go back after that.” He adds after a stillness. 

After a short while, your focus shifts from your hands to the board in front of you. The game’s been long forgotten. You’re immersed in the conversation, in spite of how strenuous it is. 

“I understand why you were distant, even mean, at first.” You snivel. “But after a while you just became downright cruel.” 

Spencer doesn’t shy away from your gaze when you do look at him. His skin is as drenched from crying as yours is. 

“I mean ‘I don’t want to see your face’? I know that I don’t really have a leg to stand on anymore, but, what the fuck Spencer?” 

He doesn’t cringe any less with every reminder. He’s truly regretted the words since they left his mouth. 

“I wanted to hurt you.” He reveals. “I thought you were being deliberately cruel and I wanted you to feel exactly how I was feeling.”

“Deliberately?” 

He nods, hanging his head.

“I thought that you knew how I felt and were just trying to be funny or something.” 

“Well I didn’t. I wasn’t.” You cut him off with a constricted voice.

“Even if you did, it’s not an excuse.” His eyes are glistening from the outpour of tears, but he still lifts his sights back to you. “I’m sorry.” 

You don’t know how to acknowledge his apology at all. You’re not even angry anymore, all you feel is sorrow and regret for the way everything happened. An entire friendship down the drain due to an unfortunate set of circumstances. 

“This is so fucked up.” You say with another mordant laugh. “All of this could have been avoided if we just talked about it.”

It stung less when you had somebody to blame for it. Your vision blurs and you make no effort to clear it, letting yourself cry openly. 

“We’re talking about it now?” It’s almost a squeak, the way it’s spoken.

“Yeah, but,” your shoulders slump, defeatedly, and you have to pause to control your sob, “what good does it do now? I’ve already lost the best thing that’s ever happened to me in the most pathetic way possible.”

“I’m right here.” He counters in such a small voice that it gives your goosebumps. 

“Spencer, too many things have been said…”

“When you first joined the team, I instantly knew I liked you.” 

He chews on his lip and darts his eyes around while he contemplates if he wants to continue. 

“I thought it was because of your kind nature. You were so sweet to everybody.” He decides he does, but his voice shakes throughout. “You have this gift…you make people feel so good about themselves. Whenever you spoke to me, I felt like the most important person in the world. It was impossible not to like you.”

You want to pretend like you don’t know where he’s going with this. You want to stop him, but your voice is stuck in your throat.

“It wasn’t until you bought me coffee for the first time that I realised just how much I liked you.” He chuckles again, as he reminisces in the memory. “You didn’t even get my order right until the fourth time, but it was still my favourite cup of the day.”

“You make me sound like a saint.” You finally choke out, attempting to play down the confession so it doesn’t crush your heart. “The only reason I even started bringing you coffee is because you learned how I like my coffee first.” 

“Not a saint, an angel. I’ve fallen so deeply in love with you that there are times where it genuinely feels like I’m in the presence of an angel.” 

It’s stated with such sincerity that it knocks the wind out of your pipes. Your eyes are widened and you’re biting your tongue with your mouth closed, staring at him with your chin tucked. He seems so confident, even with the glistening from previous tears in his eyes.

“I wanted to be in your life in any way you would have me. Even when it meant that I had to accept you with other people. And it was bearable, until…” His reminiscence only ends at the memory of the night that changed everything. “Like I said, I couldn’t go back.”

The last part fades into another whisper, only then do you find the courage to speak up. 

“Exactly.” You stick to your denial. “It can’t go back to how it was before.”

Your heart is so sure of what it wants, but your head is blinded by fear. You’re at a crossroads, except one path, the path that leads to everything you long for, is clouded with a fog of uncertainty. The other path is so painfully clear, you can practically see what’s on the other side. A fresh start, where the risk of fucking up further doesn’t exist. What you don’t see is Spencer.

“Good. I don’t want it to go back to how it was.” 

Spencer’s waiting for you to enter the fog. He’s going to be there holding your hand every step of the way. 

“I’ve already handed in my resignation.”

“That matters less than everything you’ve claimed doesn’t matter.” He leans in, intensifying his eye contact. 

“I’m pretty sure Hotch is really close to confirming my replacement.” You comment half-heartedly. 

You’re trying anything to dissuade both him and yourself from acknowledging the obvious, but he doesn’t plan on letting you avoid it. 

“I love you.” He whispers softly.

“Spencer…” You begin when he takes hold of your hands and whatever you had to say disappears from your tongue. 

“I love you. With every atom that makes up my body.” He repeats himself with further elaboration to instil it in your mind.

“I’m scared.” You whisper back with a sob, finally accepting it. 

“Why?” His voice can’t be any softer, but it still cracks a little.

“Because, you can’t guarantee that it’s going to end well.” You allow your vulnerability to peek through. “And that’s going to hurt more. I’d rather leave now than fall deeper.”

Although you didn’t say it back, it’s an indirect admission that you love him too. And it’s enough for him to fight harder.

“I know that my credibility isn’t the greatest,” he coaxes a small, sad scoff out of you, “but I truly believe that this, us, we’ll work. Because I know that I’m going to do everything I can to make this work.”

He feels bolder when you don’t pull away from his touch, folding your fingers into your palms and cupping over them. You observe the sight as it unfolds in lieu of a verbal response. 

“I’ve spent four years judging any man that comes into your life, wishing I was in their place, swearing I would treat you better than all of them.” 

Spencer feels the need to fill in the silence and he lets honesty guide his confession. He leans in further as if he’s indulging his deepest secret. 

“Four years wasted wondering what could be, cursing out those idiots, but taking no action to make it happen. And that makes me the biggest idiot out of all of them.”

When he speaks like this, with his big, imploring eyes and prayerful tone, it melts your heart to a point where it almost hurts. The more he talks, the more you begin to lean in, opening yourself up to him.

“It took losing you to realise how badly I fucked up and for that I will never forgive myself. I know that I have no right to ask you to waste any more time on me…”

There’s no more resistance against the pull you both physically feel to each other. 

“...but I’m begging you for a chance to do today what I should have done way before yesterday.” 

Your faces grow closer by the second, you can feel each other's breaths against skin.

“And I’m going to spend every tomorrow proving what I said today.” 

The likelihood of him changing your mind with one conversation wasn’t very high, both you and Spencer knew this when you got into it. You’re not entirely surprised when he somehow manages to overcome those odds too. You take the step to close the gap and lightly press your lips to his. 

It starts off soft, there’s no lust, no ulterior motive behind it. It’s a simple confirmation that you’re both present and this is real. Spencer doesn’t shy away from the kiss, not that you’d call this a kiss. It feels more intimate, more unguarded.

Spencer pulls you onto his lap as he shifts and leans back against the backrest to allow more room for you. You wrap your arms around him and the kiss deepens. In the midst of you straddling him, he slides the entire chess board off the couch and the pieces scatter on the floor. It’s only when you feel that the kiss can’t bring you any closer to him does the lust emerge. It fuels a desire to prove that you both whole-heartedly belong to each other. 

There’s no pinpointing when the switch happens. All you know is that the feeling of his lips against yours is no longer enough. You cup his jaw in your hands, swiping your tongue on his lower lip and it causes his grip on your waist to tighten. He parts his lips for you and it starts what you can only call a dance with your tongues. 

Your breathing grows hotter, your hips subconsciously grind against him. There’s a prominent bulge that brushes against your heat and you whine into his mouth. Spencer grunts your name in response and then abruptly pulls away.

“Wait, wait, wait, slow down.” He breathlessly whispers against your lips. 

“What?” You whisper back with concern. “What’s wrong?”

“Are you sure you want to do this?” He gazes into your eyes, afraid that you might regret this later.

“I’ve never been more sure, actually.” You’re confident at first but the look in his eyes makes you pull back further. “Unless…you’re not sure?”

“No, don’t misunderstand me. I want you.” His tone rises just above the previous whisper with his clarification. “It’s just that the last thing I want to do is take advantage of you when our emotions are running high.”

“Four years, Spencer.” You lean in again, just brushing your lips against his. “The only reason you should be making me wait is if you’re not sure.”

He shuts that idea down by crashing his lips on yours. The kiss is so hungry, so desperate, it’s everything both of you have longed for and denied yourselves everytime you’ve been in each other's presence. It doesn’t take long for hands to start to roam. He traces the curve from your waist to your hips, stopping just at the hem of your shirt, tugging it like he’s asking for permission. 

You rush to undo your buttons and he meets you halfway, starting at the bottom. His fingers brush against yours as you two reach the final button and you pull the fabric off yourself. You do the same with his shirt, lips remaining locked, except for the small gasps of air you take in between. It requires a bit more manoeuvring with him, but you’re both soon shirtless. 

His mouth travels to your jaw and you shut your eyes from pleasure as he continues down to your neck. The stubble on his chin tickles your skin. You cup it, gently pushing him away with a giggle. 

“Forget to pack a razor in your bag, Dr. Reid?” Your voice is teasing, more playful than seductive.

He chuckles, airily, hiding his groan. He knows you’re being sarcastic, but the use of his title, with your voice in this context, catches him off guard. You moan as you feel his growing bulge against your heat when his arms tighten around your waist, pulling you into his kiss. You swiftly undo the clasp of your bra, but before you can take it off, Spencer grabs you from just below the hips and lifts you up off him, gently laying you down on the seat of the couch. 

There’s no room for hesitation as his lips find your neck again and he nips at the skin. Every suckle earns him short gasps and the grip in his hair tightens as he travels lower. He stops just above your breast, pulling himself up to sit on his knees. You stare up at him with a heated gaze, the nail of your thumb resting between your teeth with your lips parted to make up for the loss of his lips. 

He reaches for your bra strap and begins pulling slowly, searching your eyes for any signs of you withdrawing consent. All he sees is how beautifully they sparkle when you give him a light nod. It’s been too long since he’s seen the stars that you hold in your eyes, stars he accustomed himself to before he even got to properly know you. 

Gazing into his eyes, you’ve never felt more sure, more safe. You trust him implicitly and you’ve never wanted anything more. His constant need to make sure you're comfortable sends shivers down to your core. He slides the garment off you and Spencer’s beyond grateful that he’s already on his knees, knowing that if he was standing he’d fall to them because of the sight below him. 

His eyes don’t falter once, he’s trying to permanently etch this moment into his brain. He hovers his fingers above your body, thumb brushing against your hardened nipple and you softly whine. He looks awestruck, almost like he doesn’t believe what’s happening. You can’t help but wonder if he thinks your boobs look weird. 

“Beautiful.” The words fall out of his mouth in a whisper, as if on cue. He’s really just thinking out loud.

Before you can respond he lowers down and plants a small peck to your sensitive nub before taking it into his mouth. You gasp again, head lolling back in pleasure. One of your hands goes for his hair, while the other clings to his hand that’s already holding yours. He switches between sucking, pulling and squeezing; rolling it between his tongue and uses his teeth to squeeze ever so slightly.

“S–spencer.” A strangled moan falls from your lips. 

You tug his hair, whining and moaning as your hips roll against the strain in his pants. When your motions become continuous, he lets out his own strained groan and is forced to release your nipple with a small ‘pop’. 

“Angel, I really need you to stop doing that.” He murmurs in your ear with a gentle, gravelly tone.

As soon as the nickname reaches your ears your hips involuntarily buck up again, making his hips automatically push down against yours. His cock presses against your core and you both moan, his head falling against your shoulder.

“Spence, more.” You quietly whine in against his ear. “I need more.” 

“More?” He echoes back, turning his head so that your lips brush past each other when speaking. 

“Mhm.” You nod weakly as he brushes a strand of hair out of your face and weakly connects his lips with yours.

Even when he’s got you vulnerable and at your most compromised, he’s still as gentle as ever. You don’t feel him undo your pants or sneak his hand in them, but you definitely feel him press the pads of his fingers against your clothed clit. Air escapes through your nose in a huff of surprise and you hum in his mouth, hips jolting at his touch. He can feel your slickness through your underwear. 

“Oh, my pretty girl.” He sighs, breaking the kiss and directing his whispers in your ear again. “All wet for me?”

“Please..” Even with your broken whimper you beg him for more. 

“Like this?” His deft fingers swipe your panties to the side, fingers landing directly on the clit this time. 

They feel cold at first. The contrast against your heated body makes you squirm and you groan in a soft, high pitch. 

“What are you feeling right now?” He pries a verbal response from you, circling your bud lightly. “Tell me.”

“Good.” You sigh, eyes shut as you try to savour the pleasure. 

“Good?” His voice is still soft against your ear.

“Mhm.” You nod, one arm draping against his shoulder and the other hand running along his scruffy jaw. “So good.” 

“And this?” He adds pressure to his movements. “Does this feel good?”

Your hips buck again and he feels rewarded when you moan. There’s no doubt that the sound of your voice is his favourite. He especially loves it when it’s directed at him. Whether that be in the form of a laugh or your sweet moans. It makes him somewhat dizzy. His lips attach to the skin just under your jaw in an attempt to coax more. 

It’s very effective. Fingers working your bundle of nerves, circling and flicking while changing the pressure, and mouth kissing and sucking near your pulse. It makes your back arch, hand gripping his shoulder so you don’t float away. He’s careful not to leave any purple traces of him on your neck, mindful of you being bombarded with questions from your colleagues.  

“I love how reactive you are, Angel. You sound divine– fuck.” He can’t help the grunt that escapes him. “You are divine.”

His touch alone is enough to make you feel electric, but the sweet nothings he’s whispering in your ear will be what send you over the edge. It’s a foreign feeling, being reminded that he values you for more than just your body. Just under an hour ago you had incredibly high walls built around you and none of them are left standing as you exposed under him.

Spencer’s not the first man to touch you, but he is the first that loves you. It’s something you’re not at all used to and it feels as overwhelming as it does good. It transcends the want, no, the need for the man on top of you beyond lust or love. You plan to show him just how strong that need is tonight. 

The carpeted floor is littered with your clothes, carelessly thrown around and tiny chess pieces scattered around the abandoned chess board. Spencer’s comfortably lying on the couch, facing the ceiling and you’re lying directly on top of him with your face buried in his neck. 

You run your fingers back and forth along his jaw, scratching his beard in slow streaks. He’s enveloped you in his arms, one around your lower back and the other playing with your hair. It doesn’t feel as peaceful as it seems, both of you are afraid of being the first to speak. You know you can’t stay like this forever and you decide to bite the bullet. 

“Spencer?” 

You only get silence from his end. You know he’s awake because his motions in your hair don’t stop. You push yourself up to face him, trying to study his face. The sudden movement brings him back from wherever he was zoned out to. 

“Hm?” His features jump.

Does he regret it?

“What’s wrong?” Your voice shakes from worry. “You have this look on your face.” 

“Nothing’s wrong. I’m just thinking.” 

“About…?” 

“How bad we are at communicating.” He chuckles. “It’s concerning when you think about how all we ever do is talk.” 

Hearing this makes you snort and you fall into him again. It sends both of you into a short fit of laughter. 

“Oh that’s promising for the success of this relationship.” You giggle, sarcasm evident. 

Hearing relationship makes Spencer inhale sharply. 

“So you’re staying?” 

“Well obviously, Dingbat.” You scoff playfully at the question and shift upright, straddling him. “But we really do need to get better at the communication thing for this to work.”

Spencer mounts his weight on his hands by either side of him and pushes himself up to you, stealing a deep kiss. 

“Yes, we absolutely do.” He whispers, breaking away for only a second. 

The kisses fizzle in you a plethora of smaller kisses. 

“Spencer, I’m– serious.” You voice in between, loosely draping your arms on his shoulders. 

“I am too.” He says in a hushed tone as he pulls away. 

“I want to take it– this,” you motion between the two of you with your finger, “us, slow. Not four years slow, but, like, by a couple of months at the very least.”

“Okay.” He agrees, his eyes scouring your face with complete adoration. It’s not ideal, but he understands where you’re coming from. 

“That means that we start again. Romantically. We have to talk about a lot of things first.” 

He shifts his body out from under you, resting his back properly against the couch and pulls you back into his lap in one swift motion. Both of his hands graze from your shoulder to your wrist.

“How about…you come over this weekend,” He suggests, wrapping his arms around your waist for a hug, “we’ll do snacks, a movie, maybe an actual game of chess.” 

“That sounds like a date.” You wrap your arms around his neck to return the gesture and lean your forehead against his. 

“It’s not a date. Not yet, anyways.” He whispers. “I’m asking you to come over this weekend so we can talk about things properly, because frankly, I don’t think either of us is in the right headspace for it right now.” 

“Should I be offended at that?” You giggle, not entirely sure what he’s alluding to. 

“No!” He snorts with a high tone. “Dopamine aside, our Norepinephrine and Serotonin levels are too high right now for us to have a proper conversation about this.” 

“I’m not saying that you’re wrong, because you’re not, but I also think you’re just using science to try and confuse me, so that I agree to wherever this speech is heading.” 

“It’s times like this where your attentiveness puts me at a disadvantage, because this tactic has a hundred percent success rate on everybody else.” He grins and you chuckle, both leaning in for another kiss. 

“Can we hold off on starting over? Just for tonight.” He reluctantly voices, not wanting to push any boundaries. 

You draw back and raise your eyebrows with your eyes widened. 

“Spence, I have waited for years for this. You’re insane if you think I’m giving that up without relishing in it for at least a night. We’re not starting over until we’re both officially back on the clock.” 

“Okay.” He heaves from relief, leaning in for another kiss, but quickly withdraws with a new question. “Don’t you think the team’s going to be suspicious when we’re not fighting tomorrow?”

“Forget them, what am I gonna say to Hotch when I ask to withdraw my resignation?” You huff out a tiny groan. “He’s gonna hate me for all this paperwork.”

Paperwork reminds you why you’re here to begin with. You audibly gasp, jumping off Spencer and scrambling to put your clothes back on. 

“Fuck! Spencer, get dressed!” 

Spencer doesn’t share your panic, but adheres to your demand. You mutter a continuous line of obscenities as you throw on your clothes and when you don’t seem to be getting calmer, he intervenes. 

“Hey, hey, hey!” He coos as he steps towards you, still undressed on the upper-half. “What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong is that we’ve been here for hours!” You shriek, now fully dressed. 

You push past Spencer and grab his shirt, deciding that he was too slow on his own. He lets you dress him as he probes further. 

“That’s okay. No one’s going to notice this late.” 

“No– Spence–” You sigh, throwing your head back. “In less than four hours, Hotch is going to walk into his office expecting the Anchorage report on his desk. I’ve barely been able to get half of it done in weeks, how am I going to finish it in four hours?”

You shake your head and begin working on his buttons. He grabs your wrists, urging you to look at him. 

“You’ll have it done in less than one. I’ll help you!” His voice is light, airy, soft and accompanied with a chuckle.

“Spencer, you’ve already been here later than you need to be. It’s okay–”

“Let me help you.” He resorts to pleading, releasing your wrists and cupping your face.

You don’t have it in you to argue, his eyes staring back at you with sincerity. He wants to help. There’s no point in pushing him away, because as scared as you are about being too vulnerable with your trauma from that case, you trust him wholeheartedly. You know he won’t push for more than what you choose to share right now.

“Okay.” You nod and smile into the kiss he leans in for after the confirmation. 

“Okay. Now, you go and start some coffee.” he instructs softly with a wide grin, waving to the scattered chess ensemble. “ I’m going to clean up here and join you.”

“I love you!” You lean for another kiss and hushedly exclaim as you break away, receding towards the door. 

It’s Spencer’s turn to lose his breath. He’s affirmed his love for you countless times tonight and this is the first time you’ve verbally reciprocated it. He knows that it won’t be the last time either. That, to him, makes him the luckiest man in the world. He stops you from going any further by your arm and gently yanks you in his direction, crashing his lips with yours. 

“I love you too.” He whispers after the kiss, letting you go. 

Heat rises in your face again and you struggle to hide a huge dopey smile, one that Spencer has too. You’re floating on cloud nine, finally out of the blurry hurricane you’ve endured for months. There’s still a lot of things that you need to work out, but the thought of them doesn’t make you feel dread like it once did. 

"One word frees us of all the weight and pain in life. That word is Love." - Socrates

Spoilers: Yapperoni (so much dialog in this chapter), BAU! Reader, enemies (kinda) to lovers, hurt, comfort, love confessions (they might be a little too sappy, idk, I was sleep deprived), the praise made me giddy at some point, smut but I edge you by not writing out everything, happy ending.

AN - I have a little tiny fear that people (me) will nawt (I don’t) fuck with this monstrosity, but out of all my drafts, this felt like the most natural course of action. I thought it would be really fun to go from friends to enemies to lovers. Now, literally nobody talk to me about writing fics after this. Uni’s started, so I’ll be very inconsistent for a bit. Casual reminder: I am not Spencer Reid. I don’t have an IQ of 187. Any facts I make him spew could very well be bull-shit and he only spews them for the purpose of the story. I also have no knowledge of how the FBI works and lack a ton of common sense. A lot of things were made up for the purpose of this story.

A comment today keeps semicolon away (from showing up to your house and eating all your snacks).

Thank you for reading!

[corkinavoid]

DPxDC Afterlife, But It's A Bar

[discontinued, feel free to add on]

It was weird. Not wrong, alarming or dangerous type of weird. Not good or comforting either.

Just plain weird.

It all started a few days ago, on Wednesday, to be exact. On a rare occasion, Jason was patrolling outside of his territory ("cover for me, I have a date" my ass, Replacement), and he spotted something out of place. A neon green, almost toxic colored sign that read "Afterlife".

Honestly, who names a place like that? But judging by the placement and design, it was a bar, and Jason could almost appreciate the irony. Maybe it had a slogan along the lines of "our drinks will send you beyond the lines of life and death" or something. But at the same time, it could be interpreted as "alcohol can and will be the death of you," which, technically, is not the best PR campaign for a bar.

Jason decided to visit the place anyway. He was curious about the implied death joke, sue him.

Of course, he didn't visit immediately. He was still on patrol, and he just heard the sound of gunshots to the west. Not to say that the place was quiet.

(Oddly quiet for a bar in Gotham, now that he thinks about it)

Anyway, the next day, he went there not as Red Hood but as Jason Todd, an ordinary civilian who decided to grab a beer in the evening. Only to not find the place.

He couldn't have just miss it - he remembered the street, he knew the building, he was absolutely fucking sure where the "Afterlife" should have been. He searched the whole block nonetheless, and then proceeded to check the whole area, but to no avail.

Damn, it seems like he can't get to the afterlife both literally and- the other literally. Yeah, he might be having too much fun with the oddly chosen name for the nonexistent bar.

It didn't exist on the maps and internet either. At this point, Jason was contemplating the idea of it being a hallucination or a dream. He even checked the recording on his helmet from Wednesday night, but the whole time he was in the area, the video was filled with interference and static.

Weird. Slightly suspicious, but Red Robin, who's been patrolling the same area for weeks before him, never reported any interferences, so it probably had something to do with his helmet and not the area in general.

On Thursday night, he purposefully went there right after patrol. And the nonexistent bar suddenly existed again! The same neon green sign, the same quiet street around it.

Seriously, what is this mysterious fuckery?

Now, if he was a Bat, he would have reported this to others and investigated, lurked around in shadows, and approached with caution. If he was a Robin, he would have still reported and then straight up marched in there and saw how it goes.

Alas, he was Red Hood, so he decided to watch for the bar guests and see just who the hell goes in and out of the place.

And there was the next weird thing.

No one was going in or out. Jason sat there for a whole hour, and not even one person entered or left the building. Despite the muffled sounds of music, voices and laughter coming from the place.

The final kicker was the fact that after some careful questioning and dropping hints, Jason found out that no one except him ever saw the "Afterlife"'s sign. No one's even heard of it, both the Batclan and the Gothamites.

The fuck?

So he did the next logical thing. He brought the smartest member of the Bats with him. Tim owed him anyway. Might as well use it now instead of later.

Friday night proved two things: one, Tim was still his favorite to work with out of all the bats and birds, not questioning anything as to why Jason is asking him to check out a bar, and two, Jason just might be going insane.

Tim couldn't see the "Afterlife" even when Jason pointed at the sign from not further than ten feet. The irony of the stipid name was not even amusing anymore.

Tim didn't ask any questions after this experiment, and Jason didn't want to admit that he is losing the grip of reality, so they ended up simply parting their ways after. Can the Pits cause brain damage? More damage than there was in the first place, that is.

Now that he thinks about it, the color of the sign is really similar to the Lazarus waters. He should have noticed it sooner, but in his defense, who would look at the bubbling pool of toxic waters and think, "Oh, that would make a dope neon sign"? Apparently, the owner of the "Afterlife".

The color might be just a coincidence.

...no, in the world he lives in, coincidences like this just don't happen. Besides, Jason doesn't believe in shit like fate or destiny.

So, here he is, on Saturday night, standing in front of the door to the Afterlife. It would have been funny if it wasn't so weird. What's even more weird is that the closer he gets to the door, the less nervous he feels, like the place is radiating some calming aura. Wait, no, scratch that, Jason is so not calling it a calming aura for God's sake. That sounds just like those homemade witches with their crystals, tarot readings, and whatnot.

He's going to call it... tranquilizer vibes. Yeah, that's better.

He takes a deep breath, getting ready to see whatever it is on the other side, pushes the door open, and walks into the bar.

...

Whatever he's been expecting to see, it's not this.

[cleolinda]

Reporting from Birmingham

HOLY SHIT THE LINE

I’m in a blue oasis so this will probably not hold true for the rest of the state, but holy shit. This line wound through a hall in the library, around a big outflow room, and doubled back into the hall again. My mom said that when she drove past early this morning, the line was ALSO down the block. Later, she saw three buses from a senior living facility pull in on her way to our house. And then she and I went at lunchtime.

People were there to VOTE. I saw—well, on second thought, I’m gonna cut out some people-watching detail here, but I saw a lot of things that struck me about ages, health conditions, personal responsibilities. A number of people had clearly gone to a lot of effort to be there. Some of the voters looked young enough that this might have been their first chance to vote. Somewhere behind me, I heard a man say something in part like “…what a turnout like this…,” and the woman who must have been with him reply, “Well I think we know what it means.”

In other words, a big turnout for Kamala Harris. I’m sure there were Trump voters in that line, but this is, on the whole, not a Trump town. We always go blue. I haven’t seen many yard signs in my neighborhood at all, but I’ve only seen Harris/Walz. My mom has seen exactly one Trump sign this year. (This is why I say my observations will not hold for all of Alabama.) So this is what I expected, but at the same time, THE LINE. I know I’ve stood in line out on the street before, but I do not recall the line ever winding around and doubling back like that. The observation that women over 50 who remember what shit was like before Roe v. Wade are turning out to vote with a vengeance—I think I was seeing that as well, yeah. There were some seniors on a mission in that library.

The thing is that a lot of people are pissed off for a lot of different reasons this election, and then on top of that, there’s a lot of excitement. It’s like the thrill of 2008 plus the urgency of 2020. And everyone in that line still knew that Alabama’s nine electoral votes will go red anyway. Sure, we have downballot races—I just chose the “straight party voting” option, you make one mark and that’s all you have to do, plus one (1) Walker County measure we were voting on—but we all knew that we couldn’t do much to help in this big generational event of a presidential election. Run up the popular vote a little, maybe. But we were all still there by the hundreds on people’s lunch hours, not missing out on this.

Imagine what the enthusiasm’s like in states where it’ll make a difference.

[peachesofteal]

MELOS

main masterlist / Azriel's masterlist

Azriel/female reader Part one of three - 8.5k words - AO3

Tags: 18+ mdni. Torture scene, asphyxiation (not the sexy kind), angst. Azriel hates himself. Feelings of despair, fear, panic, longing. Amren uses "boy/girl" so I can too. Mention of spanking. Trauma. Post ACOSF, canon-compliant. Cassian is a meddler. Azriel doesn't like surprises.

In the woods just inside the confines of the Middle, Azriel finds a puzzle.

More aptly, Azriel finds you, bathed in the glow of the sunset, iridescent snowflakes from the first snow delicately falling to your shoulders, your hair, the tip of your nose.

There’s magic on the wind carrying your scent, something different he cannot place, tang of petrichor sitting on the tip of his tongue.

Strange, beautiful creature, the shadows whisper. He’s inclined to agree.

Strange indeed.

For a moment, he thinks of Bryce. He remembers her entrance into this world, her stories of her home, things both he and Nesta have no concept of. The star on her chest.

She is of no threat to us. 

That’s not for you to decide.

He slips into the caliginous wisp curling around his shoulders, a shroud of darkness allowing him a closer look, just as a persistent huff at the edge of his mind pulls his attention.

Where are you? 

Working.

Working where? 

South. There’s a snort.

One-word answers, how sufficient. You’re not a pariah. Come home. 

Once I’m finished. 

The conversation eclipses his focus until you slip on the frozen riverbank and he tenses, gaze swinging to where you’ve caught yourself with a squeak, one hand behind your back, palm slicked with mud. 

His wall falls entirely, distracted, and Rhys' curiosity piques. 

Who is that? 

No one. I’ll report to you later. With that, the conversation ceases, Azriels walls of tenebrific smoke rising to block out the irritated hiss of his brother.

The edge of the Middle is considered somewhat safe, though not without risk, a perplexing fact that spurs him closer for a better look as you rise from the river, frozen blades of glass crunching under the sole of your boot. Your ears are pointed, limbs elongated, both markers of High Fae, but something unknown still lingers, a natural, earth rich sillage left in your wake. Your hips swing from the effort of pushing up the bank, backpack in hand, and the sway distracts him. It’s hard to ignore the shape of you, the weight of your breasts, the pert bow of your top lip. Gods, at full height, you barely reach his shoulders, and his body reacts in a way that’s out of his control.

Rhys’ warning is ice between his ears, a wound still fresh even though it's old. If you need to fuck someone, go to a pleasure hall and pay for it, but stay away from her.  

He’s long let her go, but the command from his brother still sits bitterly in his stomach, along with untended desire. That's all this is, misplaced salacity.

Still, even your calves draw his eye.

Lovely little female, the shadows croon. He grits his teeth and falls into step behind you, cautiously allowing inky tendrils to sprawl across bramble laced ground. One licks too close, just barely caressing the edge of your heel, and you freeze.

So does he. An unnatural stillness falls over the wood, culminating into a quiet so loud it shatters as you fix wary eyes on the space where he stands. He holds his breath, ice crystal laden cirrus clouds parting overhead, drawing back the curtain on a star filled night sky, silver light shimmering across fallen leaves. 

The night's splendor shines on you like a blessing from the Mother herself. 

You blink, lips parted, quizzical, anxious expression bringing your brows together. “Hello?”

You can’t… you can’t see him, can you?

Your reaction puzzles him. How is it you are out here, in the Middle, so brazenly, so recklessly, calling out to a place filled with such sinister, monstrous magic and monsters?

You tilt your face to the break in the clouds, downy white snowflakes sticking to your eyelashes and dotting your cheeks in such a way it’s seraphic. The shadows, his shadows, vibrate with frenetic, enchanted energy.

Beautiful, they coo as they reach for you, nearly finding the bend of your neck before he snaps them away.

You shift the backpack hung from your shoulders and take one last look around, confused, until you shake your head, spinning on your heel to head into the forest. The urge to follow you is too great, your presence here is now a riddle requiring answers now, if not for his own curiosity, then for the safety of the Night Court, his family. Who knows who you are, what you are, what your business is in this place-

Shadowsinger. Nuala’s whisper halts his pursuit. The fox is here with news of Koschei.

With one more long look at your retreating back, he reluctantly steps into a pocket of a shadow, leaving the Middle and its new mystery for another time. Soon.  

Azriel does not like surprises.

In fact, he prides himself on rarely ever being surprised, at least in Velaris.

So to stumble upon you at the Palace of Bone and Salt, to see you in the midday sun, boots and muddied cloak replaced by a plum stained linen dress, hair pinned up in various places off your neck and holding a large canvas bag at your side, stops him in his tracks. He falls behind Cassian and Nesta without a single word, slowing his steps to mimic how you drift through the stalls and storefronts, nodding and smiling to others as if you belong here. As if this is your home. The wary look in your eyes from the other day has been replaced by a radiant, celestial glimmer, one drawing those around you closer, and something squeezes around his heart at the sight.

Our sweet girl. 

Stop it. 

“Az?” Nesta turns, noticing his absence, Cassian following suit almost immediately.

“Sorry,” he replies smoothly, running a hand down the buttons of his shirt. Even from paces away, the scent of your skin fills his nostrils, dampened wood from rain and freshly fallen fruit. Foolishly, his gaze lingers too long, long enough his brother notices, and breaks out a broad grin.

“See something you like?”

Cassian plants himself directly in your path, pretending to look on absentmindedly, perusing a stall full piled with fresh cuts of meats. You try to move around him, but the flow of bodies stalls your momentum, and you nearly trip over your feet, giving Cassian an opportunity to reach out and steady you.

“I’m sorry!” You grip the straps of your bag, righting yourself after recovering from the stumble, and Azriel closes his eyes, resisting the urge to pinch his brow.

“That’s alright. I’m Cassian,” he grins, extending his hand. There isn't a male, female, or child in this place that does not know them, but the introduction is polite, at the bare minimum. At its depth, it's a way for his some time insufferable brother to stick his nose in a place it doesn't belong, and when you don’t reciprocate, he breezes right past, ignoring the awkwardness of your refusal. “This is Nesta, and Azriel.” Azriel inclines his head, and you look from Cassian to him, before settling on Nesta.

Most in Velaris look away from Nesta, like they’re staring at a star so bright it hurts their eyes, but not you. You meet her head on, studying curiously, and her lips quirk to the side in a barely-there smile.

“Ignore him. He’s an oaf sometimes.” She playfully nudges Cassian with an elbow, and you relax slightly. His brother doesn’t know when to leave well enough alone however, and clears his throat.

“This is the part where you tell us your name. It’s customary.” You’re taken aback for a second, a micro-expression of unease no one else tracks save for himself before recovering with a tepid smile.

Your name rings like a bell, a chime of music, strings and key perfectly played in harmony. The shadows sigh.

“Do you live around here?” Cassian pushes, and teeth sink into your bottom lip.

“Yes, I- I work at Moonflower.”

“The apothecary?”  

“That’s the one.”

“Maybe we’ll see you there sometime. Nesta’s always in need of a new elixir.” She raises a brow at her mate, who flashes Azriel a mischievous smirk.

“Oh, I work in the back.”

“You’re the apothecary.”  They're the first words he's said to you, and they're wrong. They slip off his tongue too cold, too calculated, and he doesn't miss the way you frown in confusion.

“I’m an alchemist, but… yes.” Your voice is a shade above a whisper, quiet beneath the bustle of the market, and his eyes meet yours, circling in your inescapable gaze like a spider in a web. Cassian coughs, breaking his reverie. “I uh… I should get going, I’ve got a lot of work to do. It was nice to meet you all.” He wants to disappear into the crowd of the market after you, but he dreads the weight it would carry with his brother, the unrelenting questioning and pestering it would produce. 

“You too!” Cassian hollers, and then faces him with a wide grin. “Well, she’s-“ Nesta smacks the middle of his chest, and Azriel glowers.

“Don’t.”

He finds you again in the Middle, same backpack and boots, diligently picking through a patch of chartreuse moss. He swallows his scowl.��Why are you out here alone, again?��It frustrates him. Why put yourself in such danger?

He's struck by a fantasy, one of you with your pants pulled down your ankles and bent over his knees, sweet cries filling the room as you take your punishment for such recklessness, his open palm raining smack after smack down onto your ass.

Madness. He shakes the vision away, coming to stand at your side.

“Hello.” You whirl, startled like a rabbit.

Nice, the shadows groan, and his wings flex.

“H-hi.” Music again, a melody on the breeze, and shadows flutter around his shoulders, scrawling across the ground to where you kneel. He orders them back, wielding a sharp-edged command that cuts, but they stray farther, stretching for you, carefully floating across your forearms.  

He’s stunned, briefly, and then gathers his wits, yanking them away. They’ve never, never behaved this way. Born for him from desolation, tamed from darkness incarnate, he’s shaped them into obedient spies, tools spread across Prythian, ethereal wisps capable of things others cannot comprehend. Always in service, always compliant.

You look up with a little bit of wonder in your eyes, pretty little smile tugging at your mouth. He should say something reassuring, something kind or friendly to ease you, but such sentiment fails him, and he scowls, snapping at you instead. “Why are you out here by yourself?” Your face falls, effectively chastised like a child who’s been caught in a cookie jar.

“I’m… I need things. Ingredients.”

“And you need to come out here to get them?”

“The plant life is more vibrant here, more uh, c-concentrated? The magic is stronger. It’s hard to explain…” 

“The Middle is a dangerous place.” He replies flatly.

“Oh, I don’t have problems here. I never travel too far from the boundary.” You glance at your bag at the edge of the clearing, eager for an escape he imagines, though he’s not willing to let you go.

“You’re quite far from Velaris.” You nod, but offer no explanation, and he raises an eyebrow.

“I winnowed.” You rock back on your heels and stand, shuffling closer to your backpack. He doesn’t move to stop you, just stands in the center of the moss patch, studying your every move. “I've got to get back,” you explain, offering him a nervous smile, one he doesn’t deserve, or return. You wilt. 

It strikes a chord in the pit of his stomach, and in a last-minute moment of weakness, he sends a shadow to ride the coattails of your winnow, issuing a stark warning to reaffirm the mission.

Observe and report to me. Do not make yourself known. 

Always.

Our sweet looks beautiful tonight, the shadows report in a whirlwind of excitement, and he pauses mid cut as the male in front of him whimpers, twisting, trying break free from the chains.

That is not worthy of a report. He blatantly ignores the possessiveness, the pet name. For now.

She’s going to Rita’s with a friend. He bites down on the inside of his cheek. Her dress is blue. Cobalt.  

Why are you reporting this? 

We’re acting as instructed. 

This is a futile information, he chastises, and the answer is resounding silence as he shakes his shoulders and turns back to his prey, the crying, bloody Fae strung up by his wrists.

“Where were we?”

Outside of Rita’s, Azriel lurks in darkness.  

His family is inside, unaware he’s in the alley, tucked away from prying eyes. He’s freshly showered, blood scrubbed out from beneath his fingernails, blackened door in his mind firmly shut and locked away, just like its twin in the dungeon.

It’s been too long since he’s gone out, always choosing to slink away just before the conversations turn to plans, separating himself from Mor, and Elain, distancing himself from scrutiny or worse, pity.

Tonight, he couldn’t help himself. Couldn’t shake the idea of you here, so close, so tangible.

He slides from the shadowed pocket, and Fae step around him, eyes going wide and inclining their heads as a sign of respect. 

Respect. A joke. The city cannot fathom what he has done in his lifetime, and if they did, respect would be the furthest thing from their mind. 

He dons his mask, cold indifference, severe gaze, and slips inside.

Cassian knows he’s here before he’s in view. A brother’s intuition, an instinct that has served them well in battle and elsewhere, since they were young.

Tonight, he greets Azriel with a wide, knowing grin, dragging his gaze to the other side of the room and Azriel has no choice but to follow, spotting the obvious immediately.

You. 

You’re perched at a table, legs crossed, smiling, laughing, holding a too full glass of wine. The dress is cobalt blue silk, delicate lace stitched on the hem, thin straps exposing your neck, your clavicle, your back. For a moment, he imagines his mouth on those places, he dreams about what you might taste like, how smooth you’d be against him, the contrast of his ruined hands and your satin skin.

His cock throbs, sense and composure momentarily slipping away before he regains control.

The shadows sigh. Our beautiful girl. 

Stop calling her that. 

Why? She is beautiful. And she is ours. 

“Az!” Feyre is delighted, trying to wave him over. He’s always had a soft spot for his High Lady, endlessly impressed by her resilience, her love and commitment to both his brother and the Night Court, her kindness. “It’s been so long,” she teases as he slides into the seat at her left, pointedly ignoring Cassian’s smug expression.

“I’m sorry, I’ve been busy with work.”

“We miss you. You haven’t been at dinner in weeks.”

“It’s true,” Mor says softly at the other side of the table, brows creased in concern. He gives her a small, reassuring smile, one he hopes conveys the truth. It’s not your fault. She visibly relaxes.

“So, Az,” Cassian stretches, too big for the booth, arm coming around Nesta and tugging her close. “What brings you out this evening?” Fucking. Hel.

“I’ve missed you all.” It’s not a lie, not exactly, even if he’s been keeping his distance, it doesn’t change how he feels about his family, how he loves them in his own way. How it’s easier sometimes, to love others from afar, how envy has infected his lungs and every time he takes a breath, he wonders why the Cauldron chose not to give him what his brothers have. A bond. Love. 

At night, when he’s alone in his bed, he accepts the truth, the reality of being unworthy, of being a bastard, of being malevolent and repulsive. It was so easy with Mor, to long for someone so beautiful, so close to his heart but still unattainable, to dream of himself as a male one could love, could be proud of, a love who would choose him, again and again, even if it wasn’t true. Even if he knew for a long time, it would never be true. A fantasy like Mor is an easy escape from the nightmare in his head.

And Elain. Elain. A vision with big doe eyes and caramel hair, a beautiful girl whose life was lost, and a new, confusing one was born in its place.

A perfect obsession.

She too, was a dream. Something to cling in the longest hours of the night when sleep wouldn’t come.

But he was a monster, and he was undeserving.

Not true. 

Feyre catches his eye and gives him a warm, knowing look. “I’m happy to see you.”

“As I am you.”

You’re drunk.

He doesn’t need the shadows to confirm it, it’s clear from across the room. You teeter on the edge of the stool, giggling, radiant in the wash of dim lighting.

He’s not the only one who notices. Around you, other males watch from the corner of their eye, letting their gazes sweep from head to toe, lingering too long on your breasts, the curve of your waist. A male brushes his hand across your shoulder, another offers to buy you a drink. Rage curls in his stomach, jealously flooding his veins with vigor.

They’re touching her. The shadows are frustrated, hissing and snapping angrily, rattling around him like a black cloud.

I know.

His teeth might shatter from the amount of pressure coming from his clenched jaw.

The male following you out the side door at the end of your evening is the straw that snaps him in half. He abandons the table, his family, slipping away into the crowd as Feyre calls his name.

“Let him go.” Cassian rumbles on the last wind of a chuckle, and he loses the parting words as he pushes the door wide, cool Velaris air stinging his cheeks.

“No need to run off.” The male’s arm is slung around your waist, your face twisted into a sour swirl of intoxication and discomfort. Incendiary anger licks up his spine, flames violent and desperate to lash out. "Let's go back inside, have another drink." 

“No,” you straighten, but both Azriel and offending male catch the liquored wobble in your voice as you hold your jacket to your chest. “No, thank you.” He tugs you closer.

“Come on, I can-“ It’s all Azriel can stand. He’s gone in one moment and by your side the next, fingers digging into the male’s arm.

“She said no.” You look up into his face, eyes wide and unfocused, but he doesn’t miss the way you relax with relief, like you’re happy he’s here. Happy, an emotion rarely felt by those who encounter the Spymaster, happy like you’re soothed by his presence. It’s unfamiliar to him, just another suprise dealt by your hand. The male’s eyes go comically wide, blood draining from his face, sputtering something Azriel is deaf to. He's too focused on the pulse rapidly fluttering beneath your jaw. “Are you alright?”

“I’m… yes.” You lurch, half stepping back, half stumbling, and he steadies you. When you don't pull away, the shadows chirp. 

“You’re drunk.”

“Yup.” You punctuate the single syllable with a hiccup, inky tendrils curling around your wrist, petting, soothing. He braces for your fear, the uptick in your heartbeat, shallow respirations, but they don’t come.

You giggle instead.

The shadows preen and purr with glee. Our girl.

His shreds of control are slowly slipping away, deteriorating in your presence, and he lets the mask fall away to reveal a small smile. You suck in a sharp breath. “Are you sure you’re okay?” You nod rapidly, but your balance is still askew. “You’re too drunk to winnow.”

“I wasn’t going to. I live a few blocks that way.” You nod to the east and then pivot to the west, unsure. “Or that way. I’ll know once I get to the street.” He frowns.

“You’ll walk?”

“Well, yes. That’s what those of us do if we don’t have those.” You point at his wings, gaze lingering before you look away sheepishly.

“I’ll walk you.” You blink, surprised, confused, just as he is. The words were not planned, they appeared, conjured from the cold air, pushed from his mouth by some unknown force.

There’s a twist beneath his ribs, a small piece of him rapidly stretching and spreading, pulling him apart to make more room.

“What? I- I can walk fine, I’m fine.”

“It’s cold.” His voice is soft, softer than he’s ever heard, and it must be enough to quiet your protests, because you purse your lips and relent with a sigh.

“Alright then.”

It’s odd, to want to know another, to want to understand another outside his family. This throbbing ache, freshly blooming in your presence, is different compared to the festering desiderium he’s held for Mor, for Elain, the pining turned fetid, foul in its taste across his tongue, infatuation, obsession, anything to avoid focusing on the darkness constantly closing in around him, the black tar filling his lungs, drowning him. He was born, molded, embraced by the bleakest parts of this realm, and there’s not enough water in it to douse the rage and disgust burning in his soul. His people are monsters, and so shall he be. 

The shame of it all, punctuated by his infatuation with Elain, the necklace debacle, is fire in his veins, but the iridescent halo shining onto your shoulders from your porch light quells it somehow, gentles the heat. “How often do you visit the Middle?”

You give him a sheepish look. “Often, lately. I’ve lost my main supplier.” 

“Why is that?” The Sidra saturates the breeze, briny and sweet, teasing your dress into a flutter at your knees, his shadows hovering over your skin, craving to cloak you in their darkness, shield you from wandering eyes.

“Most of my plants and powders come from the Spring Court, and I can’t really afford the… inflation.” Inflation is a polite way to put it. Tensions between Spring and Night have resulted in rising costs of goods, and total derailment of trade in some cases.

She’s worried her words offend you. 

“That’s understandable.” He tames his voice, and your shoulders relax by a fraction. “Still, it is a long way from home, if anything were to happen.” An understatement. The Middle holds horrors most cannot comprehend, wicked creatures that would love nothing more than to prey on and devour something as lovely as you. He still cannot wrap his head around the fact that you frequent it in the first place. Even the bravest, strongest of Prythian do not. 

“I can handle myself.”  He wants to protest, wants to ask if you truly know what lurks in there. “Mostly.” You add as an afterthought, little hiccup, little giggle, fingers fumbling for the door handle. The hair on the back of his neck stands stiff.

“Mostly?”

“It’s not like I haven’t run into trouble,” you’re vague, shrugging it off, and his gut clenches.

“What kind of trouble?” The breeze turns to wind that whips, cold with the sting of frost. 

And then you roll your eyes.

It’s so… bratty. His wings twitch, lightning rolling through membrane like a storm on the sea.

Wild one, the shadows chirp.

Too wild, maybe. “How old are you?” You lift your chin with a sniff.

“One hundred and two.” So young. 

The High Lady just turned twenty-three, the shadows remind him drily.

Fair.

“So… did you walk me all the way home to hold me hostage on my front step in the cold?” His laugh is a surprise. It comes deep from his chest, a genuine rumble in his ribs, more authentic than the half smiles and nods he’s been giving others for years.

“If I was holding you hostage, you’d know.” He murmurs, stepping into your space, tracking the dilation of your pupils, the quiver in your bottom lip. Normally, these reactions would insinuate fear, but you don’t smell of it. You smell like desire, like you’d succumb to him, bend for him, arch for him. “Are you cold?” Goosebumps erupt across your shoulders and down your arms, and he dips close, closer than he has any right to. He has no right to you. No right to such a strange, beautiful creature, a mystery by all standards. He who deals in death, who poisons all he touches, would stain you. He'd drag his scarred, marbled fingers under your silk dress and taint you. 

“Y-yes.” He catches the scent then, the damp foliage from fresh rain crushed under heel, soaked moss at the roots of an ancient tree. It jolts him back to reality, mask settling into its rightful place across his face.

“What are you?”

“What?”

“You’re High Fae… but there’s something else.” Hesitance flickers in your eyes, and you pull away, creating distance. Good. He needs it. You confuse him, cloud his judgement, sowing uncertainty he’s not used to.

And every time he looks at you, his chest aches.

“Nothing important.” He cocks his head.

“Is that so?” You shrug.

“I’m a half-breed.” He hides his disgust at the term, but it doesn’t change the rage it ignites, the disdain.

“Half what?”

She barely knows you; she has no reason to trust you, the shadows sulk, unhappy with the turn of events as you take the last stair and open your door, turning to for one last look at him. 

“I’m not a threat, Azriel.”

Truth. 

“Any news?”

“No.” The silence is long suffering, and after he offers nothing further, Rhys sighs.

“Azriel-“

“I have work in Dawn this coming week, leaving tomorrow. I expect to be gone for a full seven, even eight days. I’ll report back once I’m home.”

“Okay.” Azriel’s shield is wall of shadow impenetrable by most, and even though the relationship between them is strained, his brother would never force his way into his mind.

If you need to fuck someone, go to a pleasure hall and pay for it, but stay away from her.  Or maybe be would. 

He was given an order; orders are meant to be followed, something Rhys’ own father instilled in him early on, and though it's been months, it's still too bitter in the back of his throat. Rhys’ father ordered him. Often. Treated him as one would treat an object to be used, a weapon to wield. Azriel was defined by the shadows, for his usefulness, not for who he truly was. 

He had never been on the receiving end of this manner of treatment from Rhys, and he could not deny that he had trouble stomaching it. 

“Where have you been staying? Your townhouse?” He schools his features, smothering the annoyance at what he knows must be common conversation between his brothers.

They’re worried about you. Cassian misses you at the House of Wind. 

We’ve cohabited for over five hundred years; some distance is not going kill him. 

“Yes, wanted to give Cass and Nesta some space.” The lie is as flimsy as they come, because he doesn’t care. He needs space. “They’re quite loud.” That isn’t a lie, at least. Rhys studies him.

“Where are you, Az?” It's not a literal question. He and his brother share many things, but the strongest strings are knotted tight around each other’s darkness, bonds forged in agony, in rage, in revenge. There are parts, pieces of each other that match, heinous, wrathful pieces hidden away but never healed. When Rhys asks where he is, it’s to know how deep he is in the gloom that never leaves.

“I’m here.” It’s short, be he cannot give anything more. Cannot give more to the High Lord, Rhys, his brother, the one he has given everything to. The one he has been most loyal to above all. The one who would treat him now, as his father did. 

He pities Rhys, in a way, something he’s never held for him in the past, but now… now is different. Rhys is different, his stakes have never been higher. A mate, a son, a realm on his shoulders, he's struggling, in his own way, and the collected High Lord is few and far between these days, in his place a reactive, high-strung male he doesn’t always recognize. He’s not sure Rhys recognizes himself either. 

“You won’t get too far?” At the root of it, no matter how turbulent this time between them may be, the bond of brotherhood is the strongest of them all, holds them fast to one another, keeps them close, even if one strays.

And so, Azriel assures him, the words gritted through his teeth. His rage is a tangible thing, a living breathing thing but no matter how angry he may be, Rhys is still his brother, even in these iterations. The realm changes, scales tipping back and forth, but the brothers remain steadfast through times of peace and battle.  “I won’t.”

He’s to leave for Dawn this afternoon, but for some reason, he finds himself at Moonflower’s front door.

It’s early, half of Velaris still waking up, and the shop is clearly closed, though it doesn’t matter to him. He knows you’re here, sodden gorse and peeled bark drifting on the morning breeze from a large back window. For some unknown reason, it soothes him to know it, to be able to account for your whereabouts.

He pulled his shadows back from surveillance, convinced he would leave you alone, let this rest-

but he still flew here this morning.

It bothers him, this magnetism, the draw towards your presence.

You’re a mystery needing to be solved, that’s all.

“Shadowsinger,” your head cocks. “What brings you here so early?”

“I wanted to ensure you won’t be visiting the Middle this week.” Your brows knit together.

“I uh… no. I won’t need to go for another two weeks, I think.”

“I’ll accompany you next time.” His patience with this situation is wearing thin, but his agitation with himself spills out onto you. 

“That’s not-“

“It’s not a request. You’re endangering the Night Court.” You smother a flinch.

“I’m not, I swear, I’d never do anything to hurt anyone.”

“That remains to be seen.” He’s the Spymaster now, cold and unfeeling, but you’re still not scared. “Your refusal to disclose what makes up the other part of the half-breed in you is reason enough.” He uses the term as a weapon, and it hits his target, as always. Azriel never misses. You wince, glancing down at the floor, shoulders slumping a tad before you right yourself. The barb stings because like Rhys, like Mor’s mother and countless others, you’ve faced the abuse, the vitriol, the torment from those who would crush you beneath their feet if they could.

It hurts, a whip lashing across his cheek, bleeding him for the pain he’s causing you. A consequence, another mark on his soul. You lift your face again, the emotion gone, and you nod.

“Okay then.” An overwhelming urge to reach for you comes over him, to tug you into his chest and shield you with his wings, hide you away from all the ugly, terrifying things in this world-

Including himself.

He shoves it to the side, buries it where it belongs, where the light doesn't touch, and nods. “I’ll be away this week but when I return, I’ll come by.”

He doesn’t say goodbye, and smothers the urge to get one last glimpse of you, even though he wants to. 

There’s dirt beneath your fingernails.

You’ve been digging around in the same riverbed for almost an hour now, rifling through rocks and silt, bottom half of your body soaked and muddy, again. “There we are,” you murmur plucking an iridescent onyx stone from the marl and placing it in your bag. 

He has… so many questions.

And he’s afraid to admit to himself he finds you… enchanting. Clever, beautiful, kind. He wants more, wants to soak you up, dance to the harmony of your voice.

Ask, the shadows encourage. Talk to her.

He’s been standing on the bank a few paces away for some time now, leaving you to your work, but never letting you get too far away. You haven’t said more than ten words to him, and he hasn’t pushed you. The disgrace of the last time the two of you spoke still weighs heavily on his shoulders, another tally in a long list of transgressions. 

Try. 

“How does it work?” Your head snaps up.

“What do you mean?”

“Your work. Moonflower sells elixirs and potions, but they’re an apothecary, and you’re an alchemist.”

“Well, I am an apothecary too. Contraceptive tea doesn’t make itself,” you give him a mischievous smile before turning serious. “Magic binds better to precious metals. I transmute and mix them together, then pair them with salts or chemical compounds found in herbs and plants. One complements or enhances the other.”

“You’re putting metal in them?” You shake your head.

“No, I extract the minerals from the metal after transmutation and infuse the elixirs. I can make everything from contraceptive tea to…” You trail off, lips pressing into a thin line.

“To?”

“Poison. Faebane.” He hears your heart flutter, pulse ratcheting upward as you give him a cautious look, and every muscle in his body tenses.

“Who do you make it for?”

“I’m not sure, I received an ongoing order request signed and sealed by the High Lord years ago, and I’ve been producing it ever since.” You stand, brushing your hands off on your thighs, mud caked in the lines of your palms, head tipped back to peer at him. “It’s picked up by one of the Wraith sisters each month.”

Does she know? The shadows don’t answer.

“I like them,” you continue, making your way up the bank, “Cerridwen even gifted me a hooded shawl last Solstice. It’s beautiful. I wear it often.”

“I see.”

“I think the Faebane is for the Spymaster,” you peek at him coyly, mouth quirked to the side in a small smile. “Who is also the Shadowsinger, right?” He fights to his expression neutral. 

“You know.”

Of course she does. Our sweet is very clever. 

“I thought… maybe. I wasn’t sure.” He’s beginning to worry about your instincts. First, he discovers you’re spending time out here in the Middle, alone, and now, he learns you’ve suspected he’s the Spymaster, Rhys’ torturer, this whole time.

“It doesn’t concern you?” He blurts, incredulous. You should fear him. You should be terrified and disgusted. You should be smart enough to recognize his rotten, tainted soul.

“No. I make poison, after all.” You shrug. “I don’t make judgements of others.” Guilt twists like a knife.

“What I said the other day, about being a half-breed…” You wave your hand, trying to brush him off.

“It’s fine.”

It’s not, the shadows hiss. You hurt her.

He pulls up short, turning to face you. “It was cruel, and I am sorry for it.” He’s locked in your gaze, the rest of the woods, this place, Prythian disappearing as he loses himself in you. He hears it again, the mellifluous harmony of a grand orchestra, notes and chords playing together in an intoxicating paragon, richer, more potent than any wine, each one building upon the other, creating a song that draws him in, urges him to reach for you, cup your face and hold you there so he can memorize every refraction of light in the kaleidoscope of your eyes. “I-“

“It’s okay,” your hand brushes his, and he tenses, preparing for the recoil, the disgust, but it never comes. Your touch is gentle, fingers slipping between his, silk on scars sliding together seamlessly. He wants to push you away, wants to tell you not to touch him because you’ll dirty yourself. He’s a monster and you’re something else, something winsome and full of wonder, something not for him. “I forgive you.” You forgive him. He almost laughs at the absurdity. Forgiveness, as if that’s something he could ever earn, as if there was a way to seek and find it. As if he even wants it.

From many it would mean nothing but from you… it’s different. It's a balm, cool water over a burn, sunlight shining down on him in a dungeon. 

You don’t look away, and you don’t let go. You hold him there, in front of you, gentle and patient, but unyielding. The throbbing ache that’s become ever present beneath his ribs grows, and it drags him close, a magnetic pull he can’t fly away from leading him straight to you. It’s a power strong enough it could bring him to his knees at your feet, his entire existence whittling down to the sound of your breathing as he carefully cups your face.

“Azriel,” your whisper is music, heartbreakingly beautiful, a hauntingly familiar melody he may have been hearing all his life and had been none the wiser to. A siren's song on the sea. Captivating. Intoxicating. He strokes his thumb across your cheek and falls away into it, pressing his mouth to yours, drinking you in. The kiss is careful at first, a delicate question posed between two with one waiting for an answer, and when it comes, it comes with a symphony, ambrosian and endless, unleashing a warmth unlike he’s ever felt through his chest.  He shouldn’t be doing this, shouldn’t be marring you like this, staining you, but he cannot stop, and when you tug him close, lips parting to allow his tongue past your teeth and find yours, you cling to him, the purr of a whimper building in your throat. 

What is he doing? He's snapped out of the spell. Your throat bobs with a swallow, and you turn your attention to your bag, mindlessly fidgeting with the collection of flora and rock in the bottom, avoiding his eyes. Embarrassed. Shamed by him, rejected by him. 

No! the shadows lament. “We should keep going, if you have more things to find?” You nod, looking past him towards the woods.

“Right, yeah.”

“Your dagger is loud, by the way.” It's the first thing you've said in thirty minutes, and it's strange, like you. 

“What?”

“The dagger,” you motion to where Truth-Teller is strapped to his thigh, “it’s magic is loud. I can’t imagine what I’d find if I-“ Something cracks in the woods to the north, far enough away to echo, close enough to raise his hackles, spread his wings, and he grabs your wrist, pulling you into his side. The forest groans, turning malicious, wicked power crawling through the brush towards the river.

Leave. He curls a wing around you as a shield.

“What-“

“We’re leaving.” There have been lesson learned here, too many times, and he’s not about to risk you. He conjures a pocket, a corner of star flecked shadow, and tugs you into it, leaving the Middle behind.

He decides to sleep at the House of Wind.

It’s a shield, a technique to combat his desire to be close you. If he’s close to Cassian, to Nesta, if he’s here, he’s not there, with you, where he dropped you off at your doorstep, where the two of you lingered before you disappeared into the house. He’s not battling his instincts, his need to sit on the roof and keep watch.

He’s here instead. Where he should be.

Cassian grins from his spot on the couch at the sight of him, Nesta casually looking up from her book. “Out with your witch again?” He pulls up short, blood turning frigid, freezing through the veins in his wings all the way to his heart. “You didn’t know?” Cassian’s head swings towards her.

“I thought we discussed waiting for proof, Nes.” Azriel shoots him a murderous glare.

“Having discussions about my life, then?” It’s a small rock in an ocean at this moment, but it adds fuel to the roaring fire of rage curdling his stomach. Nesta raises an eyebrow. 

“No,” his brother protests, “I thought- Nesta suspected something, but I didn’t want to tell you until we knew without a doubt.” He emphasizes the last few words, and she shrugs.

“She’s a witch, or at least, partially. The power is unmistakable. She has that smell, too. Old trees.” She's lost for a second, in a memory, silver fire crackling and then gone, and he knows she knows, where you've been, where he's followed. You don't just smell of old trees, you smell like the Middle.

The shadows coil around his shoulders, peeking out at Nesta like she’s personally offended them.

It’s not what you think. 

You knew? And kept this from me? 

He’s rarely, if ever, is so irascible, but this information ignites an anger so fierce his siphons hiss and glow cobalt blue, power straining against his control, desperate to be unleashed.

“What are you going to do?” Cassian shouts at his retreating back, and he caresses Truth-Teller’s hilt.

“Find out for myself.”

Your words pound in his head like a drum.

“The magic is stronger. It’s hard to explain…”

“Oh, I don’t have problems here. I never travel too far from the boundary.”

His mind spins as he flies through the night, shooting across the sky fast enough for the wind to prickle at his cheeks. A witch. 

Witches are dangerous creatures. They’re power hungry, desperate to collect as much magic as this realm will allow, and then use it as they see fit, whether it be for good deeds, or evil ones. This unpredictability combined with their thirst for young blood, a compulsion fueled by the corrupted core of their stolen magic, makes them a threat.

Makes you a threat.

Your house is small, but comfortable. A narrow townhome nestled in a row of others with wide plank wooden floors and variations of dark colored paint on the walls, cozy and calm. Bookshelves overflowing, large worn velvet couch, bundles of herbs on your living room table, in your kitchen. You have an assortment of mugs, mismatched wine glasses and china, clothes haphazardly draped over chairs. To someone who doesn’t know you, it would seem messy, but to him, it’s fitting. It makes sense.

It's the only thing that makes sense in this moment. The rest of it, his ignorance, the disobedience of the shadows, his blindness, all bear down upon him. He failed to recognize a threat to this Court, his family, he allowed himself to be distracted, again, by a female, he succumbed to an enchantment, a bewitching. The strange pull he felt towards you, the music in his head, the throbbing behind his ribs, all a spell set upon him, by you.

You’re stunning in your sleep. Wrapped in sweet dreams, lashes feathered against your skin, rolled onto your side. You’re only wearing a nightshirt and underwear, the curve of your hip visible from where your sheets are half kicked off. Lovely.

He lets you linger in a last moment of peace. If you wake before he’s ready, he doesn’t know what magic he’ll face, what creature he’ll truly encounter, and he wants to hold onto to this, to you, before it all changes.

He brushes your cheek with the backs of his fingers and that thing inside him weeps, something agonizing trying to claw its way forward, but he buries it deep.

By the time you’re awake, it’s too late.

“Azriel?” Your voice is weak, confused, and you blink blearily at your surroundings, stone wall, stone floor, small light at the roof of the chamber that’s too far away. He keeps the space lit by fae lights instead, flickering and low, illuminating the space just enough to see him, and a table in the corner.

You're trapped in Faebane cuffs and chained to the floor. Fragile, weakened by your own creation. 

When you become fully aware of your surroundings, you thrash, fear thundering in your heart. “What is this?”

“Thought you might like to see how the product of your hard work is used.” You tug at the cuffs to no avail, and then look up at him with eyes so sad, so frightened, it stops him in his tracks.

Why does this feel so wrong? 

Think, Shadowsinger. The shadows beg but he banishes them, still enraged by their betrayal.

“I don’t know what’s happening.” He shrugs. Casual indifference, cold regard. The Spymaster, the torturer.

“No?”

“I haven’t done anything, I haven’t, I swear.” He bends shadow over your eyes, marring your sight, plunging you into darkness and you gasp, twisting and turning, looking for the light you won’t find. “S-stop.”

“You’ve been keeping something from me, haven’t you, little half-breed?” He mocks you with it, drenches it in disdain, and you shake your head weakly.

“I haven’t… I swear, I ju-just wasn’t ready-“

“To tell me you’re a witch?”

“I’m not!” You cry, and he covers your mouth with insidious tendrils, cutting off your airway. You can’t see, you can’t breathe, and your panic is ripe, flooding the room, its acrid scent making him nauseous.

The gag holds for a minute or two, and when he releases, you slump over, gasping. Truth-Teller burns in his hold.

“Tell the truth, and it’s over.” Please.

“There’s n-nothing to tell.” Frustrations mounts and he cuts you off, this time for longer, long enough he registers the slowing of your heart, the lack of tone in your muscles. Shadows wrap around your throat, pressing on your windpipe so hard you’re whistling, slow leak of air turned tea kettle as you try to breathe.

He allows you a moment, and then resumes, pushing you to the edge, walking a slow, measured circle around you like a wolf stalking prey. There’s a pull deep inside him, something tugging at him, a desperate plea he does not understand.

Please. Stop this. 

He releases, you relent. Finally. “It’s my mother,” you rasp, tongue darting out to lick your lips, “she- it was her. She was a witch, and my father is Hi-gh Fae. He had an affair, and then banished her to the Middle. It’s wh-where I was born. Everyone would b-be so afraid of me if they knew, but I’m not- I’m not a witch. I’m ju-ust a half-breed." You’re sobbing now, each heave increasing the agony inside him, broken, raw sound echoing throughout the chamber. His mother’s face flashes in his mind and his stomach flips as he breaks out in a cold sweat. “I use that side of my to make things. Th-the alchemy, that’s all it’s good for. It’s not even that strong, I swear.”

Truth. 

It’s all truth. Every word. Every broken, desperate, frightened word.

He is a fool. 

He pulls the shadows from your face and you stare at the floor, small against the stone until you finally look up at him, cheeks soaked, eyes-

Something snaps.

Threads of brilliant cobalt blue spin from him, each string plucked in celestial succession to create perfect harmony, and the shadows sing. They sing for you, they sing to you, they sing the song he should have known all along. They sing of the path laid before him, the bridge that would carry him to you, the chords and notes coming together in a crescendo of souls, a blazing bond sealed by fate.

Mates. 

The threads stretch and strain, the music rising, but your side, your part, is missing. It’s dark, thickened by bramble and bracken, sharps and flats, lost to him in this moment.

This moment, where he has broken you. Tortured you.

He feels it all. Your terror, the agony. The sense of hopelessness overflowing and soaking the threads. 

“I-“ He falls to his knees, shadows twisting around the cuffs to unlock them, “I’m sorry.” You’re trembling, curling in on yourself and he wants so badly to pull you into his arms, to hold you close, wrap himself around you and beg for forgiveness. He wants to promise he’ll protect you; he’ll care for you; he’ll keep you safe. He’ll be worthy of you. He’ll fix this.

But how can he after what has been done. After what he has done. 

“I w-want to go ho-ome.” The words are covered by sobs, and his hands shake as he gently takes hold of your shoulders, pulling you out of the dungeon and back into your bedroom.

He stands there, helpless and lost as you crawl away from him into your bathroom, the handle locking with a resounding click. The bond is alive and open on his side, your distress and fear and despair radiating down into Azriel, the strength of your emotions ripping him apart.

You don’t want him here, that much is clear.

Cassian is still awake when he returns, and his brother ripples with shock at the sight of him.

He knows how he looks.

Crazed. Devastated. Possessed.

“What happened?” He lurches forward, still dressed from evening training, siphons gleaming, scanning for a threat, a fight, a reason for Azriel’s agony.

He’ll find none. Only Azriel is responsible for this horror.

As always. 

“She…” He can’t say it, can’t force the words. Can’t accept the truth, the terrible, painful truth. “She’s mine.” The blood drains from Cassian’s face. “She’s mine.”

“No. You didn’t.”

“I- I didn’t… I didn’t get very far but I still… I still-“ He chokes on it. “She was so scared, Cass. She never… she was never afraid of me; from the day we met. She always, she looked at me differently. She trusted me. She… held my hand.” Cassian’s eyes slipped close. When they reopen, they’re determined. Strong.

“You’ll fix it. I know you will.” Azriel doesn’t hear him.

“I don’t deserve her, or this bond. When she realizes, she will sever it, and she’ll be right to. I have never been worthy, and the Mother knows. That’s why this happened.”

“That is not true. You made a mistake, and you were trying to protect your family, your court. She will understand… in time.”

“How?! How could anyone understand this? Excuse it?” He yells, and a door down the hall opens, Nesta appearing in the room, sharp and assessing.

“What’s going on?”

“Go back to bed,” Cassian growls, and though she glares, she listens. “Az, listen to me. It will be alright. You can fix this, you can.”

“I don’t know how.”

“You will figure it out, and we will support you, we’ll help in any way we can. It will be okay.”

“She will never forgive me.”

“And you’ll never know that until you try.” He sighs, running a hand through his hair and then fisting it at his side. “This is Nesta’s fault.”

“Cassian,” Azriel snaps, patience shredded. “Not everything is your mate’s fault, for fucks sake. Stop projecting your guilt over your own transgressions onto Nesta. I’m sick of it.” Silence falls between the brothers, and after a long moment, Cassian nods.

“I deserved that,” he eyes him cautiously, “what do you want to do?” He needs silence. Solitude. Cassian knows, but he’ll still say it out loud, if only to make it clear. Don’t follow me. Don’t send others to check on me. 

“I need to be alone."

[selfloverrrrrr]

can i request some noncon satosugu x reader where they used to bully her in highschool and a couple years later they bump into her outside of a bar and carry her into a dark alleyway to show her how much they missed making her scream and cry

Remember us?

Warnings : smut , heavy smut, unprotected sex, Noncon, Kidnapping, physically and emotional abuse, biting, torture, size difference, threesom, blood, killing someone....

( All characters are aged up/18+)

Minors Do Not Interact

Read the warnings carefully....if you don't like my stories block me not report

Little back story

Y/n's POV

I'm a old student of jujutsu high. I graduated from that school ten years ago. Now I'm leaving my life as I want. I didn't even have connection with my old friends. In high school there were two famous boys Gojo Satoru and Geto Suguru. They are the strongest sorcerers. They were my bullies. I always feared curses. Geto knew curse manipulation. He always scared me with curses. And while I cried for help Gojo always tied my hands and pushed me towards the curse. I cried and begged them to stop the bullying. But they always just watched me helpless and laughed. Which boosted their strong ego. That's another reason I didn't accept the offer to continue jujutsu high work. That's old stories now.

End of back story

Still y/n's POV...

After a whole two months I finally got a day off. So I decided to go to the bar and spend the time there. I need to relax too. I took a mini party wear dress from my wardrobe and wore it. "Yeah... look fine for a dumb day" I said standing in front of the mirror and laughed.

I went to the bar, spending time, drinking, vibing to the song... everything was going okay. "Hello" someone said. I looked in the direction. There was a guy. "Hello...?" I replied. "Are you alone here?" He asked. "Can you see any other humans here?" I said knowing where this is going.

"oh...a rude one" he said. "I'm alone too....saw you when you entered... I think you're pretty" he said. "Thank you for the compliment and no" I replied. "No? What no?" He asked. "That was the reply of the intention you came here...my time is over... I'm going home now" I said and went up from there and started walking towards the exit. I heard the guy sighing.

I was looking at my phone searching for a cab. Suddenly bumped into someone. "Oh I'm sorry... I didn't-" I was saying then I saw the guy's face. Am I seeing right? Is it Geto. "Y/n?" Gojo said beside him. He's here too? Fuck why am I fearing them? We're grown up now... we're not high schoolers anymore!

Then there's nothing to fear about right? "Oh..hey" I said. "Seeing you after a long time" Geto said. "Yeah... after ten years...you were at the bar?" Gojo asked. "Yes... today was my day off... that's why" I replied. "I see... you joined any company?" Geto asked.

I've never talked with them like this before. This is feeling weird. "Yeah I did... how are you doing?" I asked. They were asking too many questions it would be weird if I didn't ask anything. "We are doing good" Geto said. "Wanna know a news?... Suguru and I, are married now" Gojo said leaning towards me.

"that's great... congratulations to you two" I said. "Well, thank you" Geto said. I felt Gojo eyes scanned my whole body. "Are you going home?" Gojo asked. "Yeah... looking for the cab" I replied. "Come with us... we're going home too... we'll drop you" Gojo said.

"no it's fine... I'll wait for the cab" I said. "Darling?...are you still scared of us?" Geto asked. A smirk played on both of their lips. "N-No... I-It's not like that" I replied. "Then come with us.... we're not a kid anymore" Gojo said. Then I agreed. Maybe that was the biggest mistake!

We're in Gojo's car. His driver was driving the car. We three were sitting in the back seat. Suddenly Gojo told his driver to stop the car. When I looked outside it was a dark road. Gojo went out of the car. "What happened sir? Is there anything wrong?" The driver asked. "Come out " Gojo said.

As the driver went out of the car Gojo immediately used a reversal red on him. I screamed as he did. "You were talking too much" Gojo said looking at the dead body. I didn't realise when I went on Geto's lap. "Satoru...she still fears us" Geto chuckled. Then I realised and went down from his lap.

Gojo was coming inside the car again. "Yeah I can see" Gojo said. "Suguru...feed your dragon the dead body" Gojo said . No no no...not curses! Geto let out his dragon and that went to eat the dead body. Gojo closed the car door.

I was so scared tears started forming in my eyes. "Please let me go" I begged. "Let you go?... But there's a curse outside... and you're afraid of curses, right?" Gojo said with a smirk. That was right! I am afraid of curses! "I wanna go home" I started crying.

Gojo and Geto chuckled. Gojo's hand was going upwards on my thigh. "Please let me go" I cried and begged. "Darling, you are afraid of spiders too... right?" Geto whispered in my ear. I looked at him with scared eyes.

"look at the front seat" Geto said with a smirk. I looked at the front seat. No no no! There's a huge spider! That's not a normal spider... that's a curse... I can feel the cursed energy. That was almost the size of a human. "No!!!! No!!!! Let me go! Let me go please!!!!" I screamed and struggled in the back seat.

Gojo laughed. "There... those screams again" he said. "darling... don't worry it won't do anything unless I say so....so obey us and you'll be safe" Geto said. I silently cried. Suddenly the spider started moving. "NO NO NO!!!! I'll obey you... please " I cried. The spider stopped again.

"good girl" Gojo said with a smirk. "Now take off your clothes" Gojo said. "W-what?" I said. "Do I have to repeat?" Gojo said then looked at the spider curse. "No no... I'll" I said. I took off the dress. Geto pulled me on his lap. "You become so sexy... Darling" Geto whispered in my ear.

"I was thinking that from the moment we met" Gojo said. I saw Gojo raising his hips up. Then I realised he was taking off his pants. He took out his dick and started stroking it. How much shameless can he be? But I had to admit... that dick was big... I've never seen a dick that big before.

"Satoru, you have no patience" Geto said. Gojo laughed. "What are you doing? Take off the rest... take off your bra and pantie" Gojo said. I sobbed and did as he said. Had no other options. Gojo grabbed my knees and spread them apart. Geto rubbed his hand on my clit.

"she's wet... maybe watching your dick made her wet, Satoru" Geto said. Gojo smirked. "Then why should we wait?" Gojo said and pulled me on his lap from Geto's lap. He pressed me on his lap and my clit was rubbing against his dick. A slight moan escaped my mouth.

When I looked at Geto again. He already had taken off his pants. Fuck! His dick was big too. slightly smaller than Gojo's but thicker. "How should we start? Single or double?" Geto asked. "Of course double!" Gojo said. "Do you think she can take both together?" Geto asked. "Hell yeah she can... you can right y/n?" Gojo said.

My eyes widened when I realised what they were talking about. "No no no...I can't please" I said. "Shut up... you can!" Gojo said.Gojo's smirk widened and he crashed his mouth on my boob sucking hurshly. I moaned loudly.

They both lined up with me. Fear grabbed me by my neck. " Gojo no no no... P-please no...Geto please s-stop" I begged but they didn't even listen to me and slammed their whole dick inside me in one slide. I screamed. They didn't even give me time to adjust his size and started thrusting in and out roughly. It was too much...they both were big and thick....it was giving too much pain.

I was through my legs with pain and begging them to stop. And they liked it so much. Their thrust became harder and harder. I clenched around them tightly and he moaned loudly " ughhhhhh....ahhh s-so...ahhhh.... f-fuck...it's so tight " Geto moaned. "I know" Gojo said between moans and started rubbing my clit with his thumb and I bit his shoulder and scratched his back to control myself.

With a few more thrust I came. They were still thrusting roughly. I felt their cock pulsing inside me. I tried to push him away with all of my strength. "Do you even know how much we missed you...how much we missed your screams...your begging... fuck " Gojo whispered. They both moaned loudly. Within a minute they came inside me I could feel their seed inside me. Then God knows how many rounds they did... switching positions.

"What do you say,Suguru?... Should we make her the one to give birth to our child?" Gojo asked looking at my unconscious body. "No one would be better you know" Geto replied which made Gojo chuckle.

Give me your requests guys...

I love when you give me your requests 💕

[shadowandlightt]

Of Nightmares and Memories | Eleven | Azriel x Rhys' little sister! Reader

Series Warnings: Kidnapping. Mistreatment. Cursing. Pining. Violence. Depression. Talks of suicide. Eventual smut

Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five Part Six Part Seven Part Eight Part Nine Part Ten

Shadows dance around you as you stand in the hall of the townhouse. You hadn’t stepped foot inside of it before. Hardly even paid any attention to it when you were little. You were sure Rhys had to have updated the interior. Because the townhouses on this block were nice, sure, but not nearly as cozy as this one seemed. 

Outside, the city was buzzing with life. So much so that it made you want to shrink away even further. Run to the mountains again, lock yourself away in the house of wind. Cassian and Azriel both resided there….you wouldn’t be alone. But you couldn’t face leaving Rhys, even if he had Feyre to worry about. 

First taking her to the prison, then taking her to the Weaver. He had to be insane. He wouldn’t clue you in on what was happening in the world, but you knew something had to be going on. He made mention of feeling safer once you were in Valaris, so quietly that you almost didn’t hear him. But you did hear him. And you would press him on it later. But now you needed to find your own footing again. 

“He had the twins set up a room for you,” Azriel said softly, hand gently resting on your shoulder, “No one can get in this house without permission, Rhys saw to that. And that includes me and Cass.” 

“Cassian,” You breathed out, suddenly remembering the man who was once like a second brother to you, “Where is he?” 

You spin around to face Az, and the door. There’s a look of surprise on Az’s face. The last time you saw Cassian, you’d punched him hard enough to break his nose. You had gotten into an awful fight with one another, that didn’t end until his blood was dripping on the floor. You remembered feeling a sense of satisfaction at the sight of him bleeding everywhere. 

“Sulking,” Az’s lips turned up slightly, “He wanted to go to summer, but he’s since been banned from the court for destroying a building or two.”

“He what?” You questioned, eyes darting back to meet his. 

“Story for another time.”

“Can you bring him here?” You question, not ready to fly at all, let alone to the House of Wind. 

“Why don’t we fly to him?” Az rose his eyebrows in a question. 

You shook your head, backing away from him just a step, “I don’t want to fly.” 

You didn’t want to summon your wings, something you hadn’t done since the day you were taken. You hadn’t allowed yourself that one pleasure, not when your mother’s wings were so cruelly cleaved from her body. Not when you had two long, thick, scars running down the length of your back from where Tamlin’s brothers cut into your flesh, thinking somehow they’d bring out the wings that were once there. 

“You don’t want to fly?” He questioned slowly, “You love to fly.” 

Your head shakes again as he tucks his wings impossibly tighter to his body, as if he was trying to hide them amongst the shadows that dwelled there. He didn’t know in full what happened to you, or at least you hoped he didn’t. You hoped his shadows hadn’t reported to him as it happened, only adding to the chaos of him trying to reach you in time. 

But by the time he made it to that clearing all that was left was two bodies hacked into pieces, one of your mother and one of your maid that accompanied you everywhere, and more blood than should have been possible. You could remember the way the grass was coated with it, soaking into the earth below. You wondered if it left a stain on that land. 

“Come back to me,” Az whispered, stepping towards you, “Leave all of that behind, and come back to me.”

“I’m right here, Az.” 

“Are you though?” He questioned softly, “Because I’m not so sure you are.”

You shiver with the memories that keep flooding your head. The sound of his voice as he begged you to be strong, that he would be there soon. 

Breathe, you had to remind yourself. Breathe, you’re free again. You’re home in Valaris, you’re with Azriel, and he would never let anything bad happen to you as long as you’re with him. You knew that in your very bones. But it didn’t make this any easier. 

Little Star?

Rhys’ voice made you jump, forgetting for a moment that you could still speak to one another. It seemed strange having him in your head after so long apart, you hadn’t even noticed the feeling of his mental claws gently stroking your mind. 

I’m okay. I promise Rhys. 

Az doesn’t seem to think so.

You roll your eyes, fighting the urge to send a vulgar gesture down the line back to Rhys. Instead you flopped down in a near by chair. 

Az needs to mind his own business for once. 

Go flying with him. Please.

Go tell Feyre she’s your mate, dear brother, and I’ll think about it. 

He retracted from your mind with that. The feeling of him being gone left you feeling utterly empty. You’d forgotten what it felt like to have someone else in your mind, how full you felt. Full of life, full of thought. Full of emotion and oftentimes joy. 

“Don’t rat me out to my brother,” You grumble at Azriel. 

“I’m just worried,” He admits, stepping to sit on the edge of the chair across from you. 

“You have no reason to worry,” You try to convince him, acting as if you’re brushing off some dirt from your shoulder. 

“I think I have every reason,” He said so softly you almost didn’t hear him, “Why won’t you come flying with me?” 

You shake your head again, “If you witnessed what I did that day, you wouldn't want to fly either.”

Her screams echoed in your ears. Terror ripped through your bones again, no matter how hard you tried to fight it. You remind yourself again and again that you’re safe, and free, and home. Because this place felt more like a home than the House of Wind ever did.  

“You weren’t there, you couldn’t understand,” You told him quietly. 

“Don’t remind me that I failed you, Y/N.”

“You didn’t fail me.”

“I didn’t make it to you in time,” He replies, “I failed you in that way, and in every way after for the last few hundred years. I gave up on you.”

“Everyone did,” You simply shrugged, “I even gave up. I don’t blame you for what happened that day.”

The sound of mighty wings cut off any reply that Azriel could have, before the door was being shoved open and Cassian came quite literally running inside. His hair was half up in a messy bun, dripping with sweat. His shirt was haphazardly thrown on, like he’d been in the throws of training when someone, probably Rhys, told him to get his ass down to the townhouse. He looked around, chest heaving with every breath. He wasn’t out of shape, no he was far from that. But you’d watched him train before, you knew how hard he worked. And you could imagine he was panicked, just by the look on his face. 

He dropped the broadsword he held in his hand, staggering forward a few steps. You gently stood, not wanting to spook him. But he already looked as if he’d seen a ghost, and maybe he had. Because you certainly felt like a ghost of who you’d once been. A ghost of the person that used to laugh alongside Cassian at everything. 

“Y/N?” His voice broke, “Brother, what kind of trick is this?” He turned his full attention to Azirel, demanding answers. 

Azriel said nothing though, only inclining his head towards you. A silent confirmation. Tears filled the general’s eyes as he looked you over, trying to reconcile the girl he once knew when the women standing before him. 

Your own eyes glossed over as you watched him. He shook slightly, so slightly it could’ve been missed, if you weren't paying so close attention to him. He surged forward, so quickly he was nothing more than a blur of dark hair and wings as he scooped you up in his arms, pulling you from the ground. He held you as tightly as he possibly could, sobs leaving his body. You couldn’t stop your own sobs as they shook your whole body. Clutching onto him, you breathed in his scent. Something distinctly Cassian and the smell of sweat. Truthfully, he reeked and needed a bath. 

“How are you alive?” He cried, not so discreetly, “We helped Rhys bury your body.” 

“No, you didn’t. That’s what they wanted you to think,” You try to explain, “It was Michaa that you buried.” 

“But-” 

“Don’t grill her on this, Cass,” Azriel warned, finally speaking. 

Cassian set you down and held you at arm’s length, finally really looking you over. You’d grown taller since the last time he saw you. He assumed in another life, you would've been fuller too, but you still looked gaunt even after a while away from the spring court. Your hair was longer and darker, much like Rhys’. Your eyes weren’t as bright as they once were, but the light was slowly coming back to them. You were slowly coming back to life. 

“I missed you, Cassi,” You sniffed, knowing how much he hated that nickname when you were children. But you couldn’t say Cassian when you first met him. 

“Cauldron boil me,” He groans out, using the back of his hand to wipe at his eyes, “I never thought I’d hear you call me that again.”

“I need a drink,” He says suddenly, making his way into the kitchen, “Az?” 

“Pour me one too.” Az nods his head, sinking into the chair once more. 

He looked older, and yet just as young as you’d seen him the last time. But with the way he held himself, you could tell that he’d seen many horrors in the hundreds of years that you’d been gone. He’d dealt with too much. 

“Me too,” You agree, sinking into your own chair, feeling the weight pulling you down. 

“You aren’t old enough,” Was Cassian’s quick response. 

You raise an eyebrow at him in challenge, “I’m old enough to fuck, therefore I’m old enough to drink.” 

Both males cringe, eyes going wide, wings flaring. You groan out, realizing what you’d just said. You were sure Rhys had figured it out already, why you smelled so much like Lucien when he saw you on Firenight. Why you still smelled faintly like the male.

“I’ll get it myself,” You push yourself up again and push past Cassian, “Territorial male bastards.” 

Both males follow you into the kitchen as you grab for the decanter tucked on the corner of the counter. The room feels almost too small with both of them and their wings closing in on you. You felt trapped again. 

“Who,exactly, were you fucking?” Azriel asked with cold precision. 

“None of your business, Shadowsinger.” You snap back, downing the knuckles’ worth of alcohol. 

Shadows swirl angrily around you. Some listening to Az, some listening to you. The fought one another, colliding in the middle of the kitchen in a black patch. Cassian’s wings were flared wide muscles tensing. 

“You know I can find out,” Az warns. 

“Can you?” You question, “Because you didn’t even know I was alive for the past few hundred years. How are you supposed to find out anything when you couldn’t even do that?” 

You could physically see the moment the words settled down in him. He jerked back as if you’d hit him, wings suddenly snapping in tight to his body. Even Cassian took a step back. You swallowed, feeling bad for throwing that back in his face. You tried to step towards him, but he only backed out of the doorway and made for the front entrance, slamming the door behind him. You heard the beat of wings a moment later. 

“That was a low blow,” Cass warned you, “Even for you, Y/N.” 

Even for you…because you used to fight with Cass and Rhys, viciously, but never with Az. You never felt the need to fight with him, because he was always on your side. He always seemed to understand you. He knew how far to push you. You, however, pushed him too far this time. 

You could feel yourself sink. Head hung low as you looked at the glass in your hands. You didn’t know how to be around people anymore. It seemed odd, being free again. Being back with your family, even though Rhys and Amren were gone in Summer with Feyre. You longed for Mor, who seemed to have made herself scarce, knowing you’d need time to sort out yourself. You wished she wouldn’t have left you alone with the boys though. You were making a complete mess out of everything.

“ Cass, I-” 

“Don’t apologize to me,” He shook his head, “Find Az and apologize to him. He beat himself up for centuries for not making it to you in time. I seem to think he’ll blame himself until the day he dies.” 

“I don’t know how to do this anymore,” You admit to him, so softly you aren’t sure if he hears. 

He’s quiet for a time, so very quiet that you can hardly make out the sound of him breathing, “Do what, Little one?” He finally questions. 

The sound of the name that only he called you, brings tears to your eyes. You curl in on yourself, wrapping your arms around you like a protective barrier. Cassian’s dark eyes softened at the sight, his wings drooping slightly. Fat tears rolled down your cheeks as you thought of how broken Azriel must feel. It made your chest feel as if it was going to break in two. 

“I don’t know how to live anymore,” You reply, utterly defeated. 

“C’mere,” He opens his arms wide for you, dark eyes shining. You step into his arms, feeling their strength wrap around you. For a moment you feel safe again, like the little girl he once knew, “We’ll figure this out, I promise. We won’t let you down again.” 

“You didn’t let me down the first time,” You promised him, “But I think I might be too broken to fix.”

“No, no one is too broken.”

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[ihni]

What if ...

... Hopper and Neil Hargrove had been in the army together?

I don't know anything about the army and all I know is that the war at least Hopper went to was the one in Vietnam, but let's play with the thought that the two of them were there together. And did NOT get along, like at ALL; Hopper thought Neil was deceitful and untrustworthy, too proud and manipulative. Overestimating his own importance and competence, and too happy to cause pain in others.

They both survived the war and went back to their own lives, only like 20 years later or so, the Hargroves show up in Hawkins and Hopper meets Neil Hargrove again.

Despite telling himself that they're older now; that they're adults who have had time to grow into themselves, Hopper STILL doesn't like Neil. Like, his skin is crawling when he sees the man, even after all these years. But it's not like he has a good reason to dislike him now; outwardly, Neil Hargrove seems to be just a normal family man, setting down in Hawkins with his family. No one else has had any complaints. And either way, Hopper can't explain it, it's just a feeling. He just doesn't LIKE him.

And the thing is, that the guy has KIDS now, too. Or - as Hopper learns, as soon as he gets the documents he pulled from California - a son, at least (the girl being Neil Hargrove's new wife's kid). And by the file that Hopper has to pull some strings to get his hands on, the kid is shaping up to be a bad seed, just like his dad. Reports on fights, trespassing, shoplifting, underage drinking, reckless driving.

Hopper doesn't want that kind of bad influence in his town. So what, if he wants to nip it in the bud? So what, if he pulls the kid over as soon as he gets the chance, just to get a feel of him? The kid is tense, obviously hiding something, and speaking so respectfully that it borders on sarcasm - strike that, it's definitely sarcasm.

So what, if Hopper feels the need to put the fear of god into the kid? He's here, and his father is not - Hopper can't touch Neil, who never officially puts a toe out of line, but a teenager with a bad attitude? It's basically Hopper's JOB to do something about that.

So he goes hard on the kid. Tells himself it's for the kid's own good; keeping him on the straight and narrow and teach him what's right and what's wrong. And hey, if he gets to bring the kid home to the Hargrove doorstep sometimes and look Neil Hargrove in the eye while he lets him know what his son has done now (Not so perfect now, are you Hargrove?), well, then that's just a bonus. Perks of being the Chief of Police.

It becomes personal, in the way that he will take any chance to gte on the kid's case for SOMETHING. But also the opposite of personal, because the kid - Billy - isn't really a person in his own right in Hopper's eyes. He's just an angry kid. Neil Junior. A chip of the Hargrove block. He is simply a means to an end. The best way to get to Neil in a way that doesn't seem unreasonable, or petty, in the eyes of everyone else.

And of course, I want the Moment of Realization. I don't know where or when; maybe Hopper stumbles over Billy's car parked out at the Quarry, or maybe he nabs him after a party, or maybe he sees him out walking by the side of the road late one night and pulls up next to him.

And maybe that's the time when Billy has had ENOUGH. When he either gets angry and starts yelling, 'What do you have against me, man?? What have I ever done to you?", or maybe he tries to run because he can't do this right now, or maybe it's a Bad Night and he's tired and terrified and he breaks down crying (but tries to hide it).

Maybe it's all three.

And, I don't know, but maybe Billy's hurt and wincing and Hopper notices, and maybe when Billy refuses Hopper (not very gently) demands to see, and -

Maybe there are bruises. Maybe there's a burn scar somewhere on Billy where he couldn't have put it himself (like between his shoulder blades), the one you get from a red-hot lighter. A mark that Hopper remembers from his time in the the army, from when a buddy of his made a bet with Neil and lost, and Neil let his lighter burn for a long time and then pressed the hot metal against the guy's back. That too scarred, and it looked just like this.

And maybe that's when Hopper lets his memories boil over, and his voice is rough when he asks what happened, who did that, and maybe that's when Billy mutters something about Hopper and Neil being army buddies and Hopper doesn't have to worry, Billy isn't a snitch, he can keep his mouth shut.

And that's when things slot into place in Hopper's brain, and he realizes that the kid is just a KID, that the anger comes from hopelessness, that the attitude is a mask to hide his fear. Because even now, he's cowering in Hopper's grip - but still keeping eye contact, back straight, hands to the side. Learned behaviour.

And that's when Hopper realizes he has Fucked Up.

[darknight3904]

𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕽𝖆𝖈𝖊

ᴀᴇᴍᴏɴᴅ ᴛᴀʀɢᴀʀʏᴇɴ x ꜰᴇᴍ!ᴏᴄ! ᴛᴀʀɢᴀʀʏᴇɴ

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ᴄᴀɴᴏɴ ʟᴇᴠᴇʟꜱ ᴏꜰ ʜᴏᴛᴅ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ.

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: ʟᴀᴅʏ ʀʜᴀᴇʟʟᴀ ᴛᴀʀɢᴀʀʏᴇɴ ᴅʀᴇᴀᴍꜱ ᴏꜰ ᴀ ʟɪꜰᴇ ʙᴇʏᴏɴᴅ ʀᴜɴᴇꜱᴛᴏɴᴇ. ꜱʜᴇ ʜᴀꜱ ɴᴏ ꜰᴀᴍɪʟʏ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴀꜱᴛʟᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴅʀᴇᴀᴍꜱ ᴏꜰ ᴀ ʟɪꜰᴇ ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ꜱʜᴇ ᴄᴀɴ ʟɪᴠᴇ ɪɴ ᴀ ᴘʟᴀᴄᴇ ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ꜱʜᴇ ᴛʀᴜʟʏ ʙᴇʟᴏɴɢꜱ. ᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴀʟʟ ᴏꜰ ᴋɪɴɢ ᴠɪꜱᴇʀʏꜱ ɪ, ꜱʜᴇ ᴊᴏᴜʀɴᴇʏꜱ ᴛᴏ ᴋɪɴɢꜱ ʟᴀɴᴅɪɴɢ ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ꜱʜᴇ ᴍᴇᴇᴛꜱ ʜᴇʀ ꜰᴀᴛʜᴇʀ'ꜱ ꜰᴀᴍɪʟʏ ꜰᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ꜰɪʀꜱᴛ ᴛɪᴍᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ɢᴀɪɴꜱ ᴛʜᴇ ꜰʀɪᴇɴᴅꜱʜɪᴘ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ɪꜱᴏʟᴀᴛᴇᴅ ᴘʀɪɴᴄᴇ ᴀᴇᴍᴏɴᴅ.

ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ /ᴍʏ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ

Rhaella is 10 years old at the start of the story and Aemond is a year younger than her at 9.

125 AC

They say the weather was beautiful the day her mother was buried. Her cousin, Gerold had told her stories of her mother. Rhea Royce had dark curly hair and deep brown eyes.

"Why do I not look like her?" She had asked

"You take after your father. The blood of the dragon." Gerold had said one night at supper.

Her father. A man she had never met. Supposedly he had been at her birth and once she had come into the world healthy and screaming, he mounted his dragon and flown off.

Not even a year later she had attended her mother's funeral. According to Gerold, the wet nurse had held her as she slept peacefully while her mother was buried.

Now, 10 years later here she sat dreaming of a life she could've had.

"Rhaella?"

Her eyes met the Maester Edric's. His wrinkled hand pointed to the map of Westeros.

"What is the sigil of House Greyjoy?" He asked

"A yellow cracken." She sighed.

They had been at it for hours. Maester Edric had been torturing her by pointing to the map and having her name the great houses and their sigils. Rhaella wanted to rip her silver hair from her head out of boredom.

"It is a golden cracken, my lady." He says

"Isn't that the same thing?" She said

He shot her a look of disapproval.

"You will need to know these things to rule Runestone one day. Your cousin cannot preside forever. You are your mother's heir." Edric reminds her

"I have been hearing those words for my entire life." She groaned

"It is an important responsibility." He said

Silence followed as he pointed to the next house on the map.

"House Lannister. A golden lion." She rattled off

"Good. What are the words of House Lannister?" He asked

"What is my father doing? The last you spoke of him you said he had remarried to Lady Laena." She asked, ignoring his question about the stupid Lannisters.

"Daemon is living in Pentos with Lady Laena and their daughters." Edric says "According to the latest reports your half-sister Baela's dragon, Moondancer, is growing quickly and their bond with each other is strong."

Rhaella nodded and kept her silence. She wished she had a dragon. Her father had never chosen an egg for her cradle and she had never even left Runestone to try to claim one. A dragon would make it so easy to escape these boring lessons she sat through daily.

"Might we take a break? I wish to have supper." She asked

"Of course. I hear tonight's duck stew will be wonderful. Gerold has caught it himself." Maester Edric smiled as he gathered up his things.

Rhaella helped him to the door of her chambers. She worried about the old man's health sometimes. It seemed that every day he grew slower and slower. Edric was the closest thing she had to a father figure. Sure, her cousin could've passed but he was busy ruling Runestone until she came of age.

"Lady Rhaella, Maester Edric." A maid was blocking the door frame when she pulled the door open. "A raven has arrived for you, My Lady."

❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁

King's Landing had a certain charm she had never experienced before. Sure, it stunk, terribly...but the bustle and the noise was something Rhaella was captivated by.

"Remember to curtsey," Edric whispered in her ear as they stood before the Iron Throne.

Behind them the large doors were opened and King Viserys approached them. A large smile was on his face as he gestured for them to stop their bowing.

"How was the journey. Not too rough?" He asked

"Not at all, my King. This is my first time away from Runestone so I enjoyed the road." She admitted, rattling off what Edric had told her to say to the King.

"That is good. I hope both of you will settle in well here." King Viserys said

"I am sure we will, your grace." Edric replied "If I might ask, I was wondering what you wanted to see Lady Rhaella about? Your letter was rather cryptic."

"I simply wished to meet my niece. I had heard that you were becoming a wonderful young lady and wanted to meet you at last. Every Targaryen needs to know their family." He said

"You honor me, your grace." She smiled, filled with glee at the thought of a family, a real one.

"Uncle." He smiled "Now, you will be shown to your rooms but tonight we are having a family dinner. I want you to be familiar with where you come from."

Rhaella could hardly believe what was happening. The moment the handmaiden had shut her door, she had collapsed on the bed. It felt like her dreams were coming true. She was finally out of Runestone and finally able to meet people she was truly related to.

An odd sound brought her out of her fantasy as she glanced at the door. It sounded like the sound of skin being slapped. Hushed whispers filled her ears as she pressed her ear to the door.

"I want to enter first!"

"I got here first, Jace! You can enter after me."

"No!"

"I'm older than both of you, so I get the honor of opening the door."

"Opening the door isn't an honor, Aegon."

Rhaella presumed the king's eldest son was the Aegon on the other side of the door. She wasn't sure who this Jace was but he seemed upset that he couldn't open her door.

"You're a twat." a voice said from the other side

With that declaration from whoever it was, she pulled on the handle herself to reveal the mysterious voices.

"I'm going to tell Mother that you didn't let me enter first!" A brown-haired boy says to another boy who looks like him.

"She won't care!" He argued back

"And I thought you'd be ugly. Looks like you take after our uncle." The tallest, Aegon, she presumed spoke.

"Are you Lady Rhaella? Our mother told us you were here. You're our Uncle Daemon's daughter!" A dark-haired boy greeted

A sharp pang of anxiety ran through her as she looked at the four boys in front of her. Two dark-haired ones and two with hair like hers. She had never interacted with another person her age and now it seemed like there were four of them in front of her. Well, maybe three. The tallest seemed a bit older.

"I thought women from the Vale would look like sheep." Aegon's taunting voice fell on her ears yet she couldn't bring herself to tell him he looked like sheep himself with that curly hair of his.

"You shouldn't say things like that." One of the dark-haired boys scolded

"Are you going to stop me?" Aegon asked, mocking the younger boy.

"You are frightening her." One voice cut Aegon and the dark-haired boy off,

Rhaella's eyes met the other silver-haired boy who was at her door. He was much smaller than Aegon, of course, she presumed he was just younger than him.

"Thank you." She smiled "You are all quite...loud. I am afraid I am not used to conversing with people our age."

"I am Lucerys." The shortest one who looked like he might have been no more than seven said. "This is Jacaerys. He's my brother and it was his idea to meet you before dinner tonight."

"Hello." She greeted. Upon hearing their names she remembered who these dark-haired boys were. Jacaerys and Lucerys were sons of her future queen, Princess Rhaenerya.

"I'm Aegon." The tallest said, confirming her hunch. He gestured lazily to the last boy "Aemond."

"You should ignore him. He's very odd." Jacaerys said glancing at Aegon.

She smiled at Aemond who seemed to be the quietest out of all of them.

"I'll see you at dinner, sheep girl." Aegon said before sauntering off

"It is from all the wine he drinks, Jace." Lucerys says

"Yes, well, too much wine will do that to a person." She smiles, trying to say something these boys will find interesting

Lucerys giggled and whispered something into Jacaery's ear. The older boy nodded and whispered something back.

"Do you want to come to the Dragon Pit with us? I am training with my dragon Vermax today.

"I do not have a dragon to train with, I should just remain here." She said sadly

"Aemond doesn't have one either! The two of you can just watch us." Lucerys says

Rhaella glanced at Aemond who avoided her eyes. It was surprising to her that a Prince did not have a dragon of his own.

"Will I get to see the dragon eat something?" She asked hopefully

The Dragon Pit was more monstrous than she had ever imagined. Her neck ached as she stared at the huge building.

"We're falling behind." Aemond's voice filled her ears

He had fell into step with her after Jacaerys and Lucerys had decided they had to race each other to the pit. The winner was to claim the other's dessert tonight at dinner.

"Right, sorry." She said as he led her toward where the others were

Aemond had been mostly silent during their travel here. The carriage ride had been filled with Jacaerys and Lucerys chattering about all sorts of different things. Mainly talk of how their mother was six moons pregnant and how they both desired a baby brother.

Rhaella had tried to follow the conversation but their talking was a bit overwhelming and hard to follow. She had taken to watching Aemond who seemed fixed on staring at his shoes.

"Dracarys Vermax!" Jacaerys shouts to the green dragon in front of them.

Rhaella feels her face heat up as the dragon spits fire at the sheep in front of him. Her heart speeds up as her mind races with the ideas of claiming a dragon for herself. She was envious of the young dark-haired princes who had eggs that hatched for them.

"It is boring after you see it a thousand times." Aemond says from her right

"I do not think I could ever become bored of that." She smiles

"Without a dragon of your own, watching others train their own becomes depressing." He sighs

❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁

Princess Rhaenerya's screams were echoing through the castle. Edric had told Rhaella that laboring to bring a child into this world could take days sometimes. Rhaella found herself wishing that the screaming would cease. Could they not give the princess something for the pain she was experiencing? Surely as heir to the throne she was entitled to that.

"I thought you said you were going to listen if I read."

"I am listening. Keep going." Rhaella glares

Aemond shot her a look but kept reading about Visenya and her conquest of Drone.

"What do you think childbirth is like?" She asked her companion

A loud yell from Rhaenerya's chamber echoed down the halls and into her room.

"Painful," Aemond said not looking up from the book

Rhaella elbowed him in the side.

"Ow!" He yelped "Why did you do that?"

"Because I can tell it's painful! She's been screaming for hours."

"Well, you asked me what I thought!" Aemond said

"I hope I never have children. I don't want to experience the pain the Princess is enduring." She declared

"Aren't you the heir to Runestone?" Aemond asked

Rhaella looked at him like he was an idiot. He knew she was so why was he asking.

"Being an heir means you have to have children." He pointed out

Stupid Aemond and his observations.

"Nobody asked you." She scoffs

Viserys was tired. He had spent the better part of the day at a long small council meeting. His back was hurting and the sores that had taken over his body were driving him mad. Yet, instead of resting like he had planned his wife was pacing in front of him, she was beginning to make him dizzy.

"Might you sit down?" He sighed

"Did you not hear a word I just said?" Alicent asked

"I heard you. You worry yourself for nothing." He said

"They will not remain children forever. Separating them now will be easier than later." She said

"Why? Aemond finally has someone to be friends with. I have heard that they spend hours together reading." Viserys says

"I am trying to prevent improper events from occurring. You allow them to sit in her room with the doors closed for hours, alone. Aemond is..." Alicent trails off

"Aemond is not like Aegon. He will not hurt Rhaella." Viserys assures

"And if you're wrong?" Alicent asks

"I am not wrong," Viserys says

"If something were to happen and Daemon received word-"

"Daemon does not care for her. I have written to him many times about her and how wonderful she is and his only response was that she is the product of a drunken mistake." He stops his wife rambling

"What if he changes his mind one day. I do not think he even wants her to be interacting with our sons let alone reading with one for hours." Alicent says

"You worry over nothing. Even if Daemon changes his mind, they are nothing but children who are friends."

The pig was a cruel joke.

Aemond could feel hot tears on his waterline as he stumbled back towards his room. He wished ill on his little nephews and big brother. He is already aware he is dragonless, why must they remind him of it in such a crude manner?

"Aemond? Is that you? My needlework lessons ended early and I brought a book about..."

He feels his face heat up when Rhaella turns around from her place at his desk to lay eyes on him. She wasn't even supposed to be in his room for another two hours.

"What happened?" She asked

"Nothing." He shrugged her off

"You are dirty and crying, that is not nothing." She pointed out

He cursed her out mentally for being able to see his tears. When did her eyes get that good?

"Was it Aegon? Or Jace and Luke? Or all of them?" She questioned

"All of them." He sighed lying down on his bed

"I will go-"

"Go and do what? Yell at them? They don't care about our opinions. We're boring to them. Dragonless Targaryens are nothing to them." He proclaims

"We are not nothing." She said jumping onto the bed and lying down next to him

Aemond let out a soft grunt at her declaration her words were falling on deaf ears.

"One day we're both going to get dragons and then we will race across the skies," Rhaella says

"I will win." He declares

"No, you won't! My dragon will be far quicker than yours." She gasps

"Yeah, it'll probably be ugly like you too then." Aemond laughs

Rhaella lets out an offended gasp and a pillow lands roughly on his face.

"Ugly? You must be talking about yourself!" She laughs as he pushes his hair from his face.

"You have not looked in the mirror lately, Rhaella." Aemond jested as his hands tightened around the pillow as he sat up to be eye level with her.

Perhaps she was going to say something witty back to him but was met with the soft fabric of the pillow as Aemond laughed.

Heleana watched quietly as her brother and cousin hit each other with the many pillows that adorn the bed. She had been sent to collect her cousin after she had snuck away from their needlework lessons yet she couldn't bring herself to intrude. Aemonds laughter and smile was something she rarely saw and it had her frozen in place.

"One day my dragon will race yours under the sun." Rhaella declares.

"And I will be the victor." Aemond cuts her off

And then Heleana's mouth is opening and her words are whispers in the shadows of her brother and cousin's joy and plans for the future.

"They will race under colors of green and black. The sky will be thick with blood."

This is my first HOTD fic so let me know how you liked it!

Next Part

[deliciousangelfestival]

Nothing Has Changed - 8

Summary: Returning home for peace, you're faced with your tormentor, Bucky Barnes, who is now involved in your family's business.

Character: Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Warning: Angst, Tragedy.

Nothing Has Changed - Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist || support: Ko-fi

Thank you to anyone who gave a like, reblog, and left a comment. It motivated me to write more. 💖💖💖

Bucky read the report you made. His expression was unreadable. He closed the book and said, “Thank you. I’m satisfied with your work.” He said it as if he finally got the answer he wanted. He added, “I’ve got all I need.”

His eyes looked at the ground as if he were deep in thought. Then he returned to his cheerful demeanor and looked at his watch. “Let’s go home, it’s already late. Tom has called many times because he can’t get through to you.”

After he said that, you quickly grabbed your phone and saw the notifications of 20 missed calls from your dad. You scratched your head, realizing this was the consequence of being too focused on work, forgetting to eat or sleep.

As you headed back to your car, Natasha blocked your way. “Stop what you’re doing.”

“Why?” you asked, crossing your arms. “Why should I listen to you?”

Natasha’s face hardened. “This isn’t your business.”

You couldn’t believe her audacity. Did her ears clog with earwax when Bucky told everyone he hired you? Of course, it was your business since you were hired as an auditor in this hotel. You ignored her, got into your car, and left.

Watching the sports car get farther away, Natasha clenched her fists. She felt terrible, especially knowing that you were more successful than her. The sports car, the designer clothes, and the expensive bag you carried—gosh, she hated it.

She felt her phone vibrate. She saw the caller ID and hesitated to answer. When she finally did, her voice trembled. “I think…” She took a deep breath and released it. “Bucky has found out.”

👓

The next day, you woke up and went to Bronze Lodge again. This time, you were grateful that Natasha wasn't there. Such a great way to start your day.

As you headed to your office to continue your work, you heard someone call your name. You turned around and saw a man waving at you excitedly. He wore a blue shirt, light brown pants, and a tie. He came closer and pointed at himself with a happy smile. “Do you remember me?”

“Jake Jensen,” you nodded.

“I heard a rumor that you’re back. I thought it was a lie. Glad to see you, old friend. Do you want to grab lunch together later?” Jake asked.

You politely declined, “I’ll have to say no. I have to fix the lousy job of the previous auditor.”

“Oh, right. Yeah, the previous one didn’t work at all. Next time then,” Jake said before leaving.

You smiled awkwardly and quickly entered your office, closing the door behind you. You peeked through the blinds, making sure Jake was gone. With a sigh of relief, you sat down at your desk.

You declined his lunch invitation because you made boundaries after what he did to you.

You and Jake were friends in high school, but "friends" didn’t fit. He was more of a classmate with whom you shared some things in common—both of you were nerds and outcasts.

But the difference between you and him was that you didn’t mind being a loner. Jake, however, desperately wanted to join Bucky’s group, where the popular kids gathered. He thought there was a chance because a guy like Steve was in that group.

What makes Steve different is that he and Bucky are childhood friends. And Steve's mom used to be Bucky's nanny.

Jake tried so hard to be cool but always failed. You wanted to feel bad for him, but you couldn’t because of what he did that made Natasha and her group act like jerks toward you.

One day, when you entered the classroom, Natasha and her minions confronted you, accusing you of being a snitch. You didn’t understand what they were talking about until your teacher said, “I’m glad you saw what they did on the last exam. I’m surprised Natasha and her friends could give answers like that.”

Then it hit you. No wonder Natasha was mad at you; you were seated next to her. But you knew you didn’t tell your teacher about her cheating. You knew who the real snitch was.

It was Jake.

He sat at the back, where he could see everything. He was the one who told the teacher. He then told Natasha’s friend that you had informed the teacher, and her friend told Natasha. Jake did it so Natasha would feel like she owed him and invite him into the group. But she didn’t, and Jake’s plan was futile.

Since then, you have never trusted him. Even now.

🎩

You continued working until you heard a knock on the door. Thinking it must be Bucky, you called out, “Enter,” without even bothering to lift your head. But it wasn’t him.

“I see that you’re busy,” a voice said.

You looked up and were shocked to see the mayor of the town, Mayor Martin Reynolds, standing before you.

“Good morning, sir,” you greeted him, trying to mask your surprise.

“I won’t bother you for too long. I just want to tell you something,” Mayor Martin said.

“Yes?” you replied, feeling a sense of unease.

He rested his hand on your table, crumpling some of your papers in the process. The tension in the room grew as he leaned closer and said, “Stop what you’re doing and leave everything.” Then, without another word, he left.

You were stunned. What’s going on? Why were Natasha and the mayor of the town both telling you to stop?

Did both of them know about the money embezzlement?

🍽️

Because of what Mayor Martin said to you, you lost your focus. Bucky didn’t come to visit you either, so you decided to go home early after work.

You headed to a diner for dinner. It was crowded, and the only empty seat was at the counter. You ordered some food and waited.

A moment later, another customer sat beside you. It was Steve.

You ignored him and looked at your phone.

“I’ve talked to my dad, and I’ve sent an application to art school,” Steve said.

“Hmmm…” you replied noncommittally.

Steve continued, “I hope I can leave this town just like you. This town is too greedy.”

‘Greedy?’ That word caught your attention. You turned to him, surprising him slightly that you finally acknowledged him. “What do you mean by greedy?” you asked, curiosity piqued.

Steve was slightly surprised you wanted to talk to him; he answered, “This town’s full of greedy people. It’s all power and money. I need to get out.”

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The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly

Part 3/3 of my sweet, soft Tim miniseries!

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!rookie!reader

Summary: Tim Bradford cares more about you, his boot, than he should. He kisses you off-duty and you both decide to hide your new relationship.

Warnings: fluff, a little angst, incorrect (and improbable) police procedure

Word Count: 1.3k+ words

A/N: Thanks for the love on this miniseries! And extra special thanks again to @elephants-bubbles-brachosauruses and @writings-of-a-demigod!

Masterlist | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info/Fandom List

Tim told you on your first day that personal lives have no business in your professional police life. That was before he kissed you after hours and admitted that he was falling in love with you. It still shocks you when you relive it, which you’ve done for most of the morning. Tim seemed like the perfect, most rule-abiding TO at Mid-Wilshire. As he walks into roll call, you duck your chin.

He sits directly behind you and mumbles, “Welcome to the ugly. Until we’re in a position where this doesn’t get us both fired, learn to keep that line solid.”

You nod. The line between professional and private disappeared completely last night as you lost sight of everything except Tim. Even now, hours later, your mind wants to think of nothing except Tim, Tim, Tim, and the kiss he gave you last night. But you’re trapped between a rock and a hard place, in a lie, and dependent on the truth. So, you have to balance the different areas of your life, and now the ugly has spread from the crimes you stop to your answer about why you wear the uniform.

“Good morning,” Wade greets as he walks to his podium. “Rookies, what day is it?”

“Test day,” you answer with your fellow boots.

“That’s right. So, you’ll work the first six hours of your shift, then come back here for the written and oral examinations. Which means your TO is going to stick to easy calls. Right, Bradford?”

“Yes, sir,” Tim says.

“Good. Then get out there and don’t stress too much. 80 is passing.”

You stand after Wade leaves the room. Tim makes eye contact with you, and you nod. It will be a long day, and as your mind swings from thinking about Tim to worrying about your test, you aren’t sure if you can survive the ugly. Worse, it’s only just beginning.

Last Night

“Tim!” you call as you jog toward him.

Tim stops beside his truck and turns to face you. He furrows his brows as he waits for you to speak, though seeing you in civvies takes him back to the dream he hasn’t told you about.

“I- I’m sorry for keeping you, but… what are my chances? Really?” you inquire softly.

“Of passing? They’re great, you don’t have anything to be worried about,” Tim assures.

“And you?”

“I’ll give you the recommendation and reports you deserve.”

“No, I mean… I don’t know what I mean.”

You step back and drop your eyes, but Tim reaches out. He stops you with a gentle hand on your shoulder and waits until your eyes reach his. The concerned look in his eyes makes the emotions you’re already struggling with strengthen into a raging storm that you can’t control.

“Let’s go somewhere to talk,” Tim says. “Your choice.”

You say the name of your favorite restaurant, and Tim nods as his hand slides from your arm. He says he’ll meet you there, and you wonder if this is how the bad ends. Then you remember what comes after. When Tim brought up the good, the bad, and the ugly, you didn’t imagine it taking over your life and every thought like this.

After you park outside the restaurant, Tim walks to your car and opens your door. He blocks your path, keeping you in your seat.

“What are you really worried about?” he asks, leaning toward you with one hand braced on the top of your car.

“Um,” you mumble.

“You can talk to me.”

“I don’t want to mess this up, but I don’t know what to do.”

“About your future or me?”

You look up into Tim’s eyes. They’re free from condescension or anger, only concern and an inquisitive glint. He’s asking as a person, not your TO.

“You,” you admit. “I like you, Tim, and I don’t know how much longer I can keep everything bottled up. Even though I know I’m putting my career and yours at risk.”

Tim moves his hand from the side of your door to your chin. He tilts your face up toward his and smiles.

“Then I guess we’ll have to keep this between us,” he says.

Your mind and emotions are overcome when Tim kisses you. He’s all that you can think of, and though you know it’s wrong and could bring about the ugly you desperately wish to avoid, you don’t want to stop kissing him.

Present Day

Grey calls your name from his office as you exit the locker room. “A word?”

Once you’re seated and his door is closed, Wade sighs. He sits across from you and opens a folder with your name.

“I have your grade and the reports of your oral test. The examiners had a lot to say about you,” he explains.

“Oh,” you reply. “I- I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything yet. Your score is tied with the station record for highest ever achieved, you set a new record for the oral portion, and the chief wants to offer you a golden ticket. When you came in, I knew you had potential, and I knew you’d find it working with Bradford. But this? You succeeded even my high expectations.”

“A golden ticket?”

“That’s right. You can pick your career, not many rookies get chances like this so soon. Plus, you can decide to never see Bradford again if you transfer the right way.”

Wade chuckles at his own joke, but you have another idea in mind.

“Can I ask a hypothetical?” you ask.

“Does it have to do with the looks you and Bradford give each other?” he responds. “Because if it does, we can file with IA now and get you out of his chain of command. There wouldn’t be any problem with a relationship in that case.”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t tell anyone until tomorrow, okay? Congratulations, officer.”

You shake Wade’s hand before you leave. Telling Tim the news is the only thing you want to do, but as you walk out of the station, you know you’ll have to avoid him tonight.

“How are you going to use your golden ticket?” Tim asks after roll call.

“I haven’t decided yet. Somewhere far outside of your chain of command, I think,” you answer.

“That eager to get away from me?”

“The opposite. I found us a way out of the ugly.”

Tim looks around, then steps into your space. “Do not choose a career that you don’t truly want in an effort to be personally happy. The lines are separate, but they affect one another. It’s not worth-“

“Tim,” you interrupt. “I know what I want, and I’m going to do it. But I want you, this, us, too. No matter how ugly things get along the way.”

“You’re too good,” Tim murmurs.

“For what?”

“All of it.”

You shake your head, and Tim tilts his head to direct you around a corner. Out of the open, he kisses you quickly.

“I was wrong,” he whispers as you pull back.

“About?” you reply.

“The ugly is just what we deal with. It’s always there, but with you… You make it all good.”

“At least I didn’t get a machete to the hand this time,” you joke.

Tim makes a disappointed sound, then raises his hand to either side of your neck to kiss you again. He’s right; no matter how ugly things get during your shift, having him at your side or watching your back makes it all good. The bad is past, and it only gets better from here.

“Good thing I alerted the higher ups already.”

You pull away from Tim quickly and apologize sheepishly to Wade for the public affection. He brushes it off as a celebration before he hands you the completed paperwork for your golden ticket transfer. Tim wishes you luck, but you know it will turn out good.

[whispereons]

Oracle!Reader Part 17

Masterlist - Part 1, Part 16, Part 18

PSA: I'm going to go through my followers and report + block porn bots. Porn bots look like users who have nothing posted. So if you don't want to be blocked please put at least one post saying that you are human.

Warning! This has your good old violence! This is a SAGAU imposter au so this to be expected.

The ice in your calves throbbed as spikes of pain fried the nerves every time you shifted into a better position. That's not even counting how the arrow in your chest jostled and wedged deeper into your skin.

"Let's start with some easy questions, yeah? Like your name, date of birth, and occupation."

You wished Yelan would just ask the important questions only. It would make your life so much easier. Who knows what information you could give her here that unknowingly connects to what they know about the 'Creator'.

Yelan's expression turns neutral before she steps closer. Your body tenses in preparation before she grabs your hair to pull your head up. Hissing in pain, you glare at her with animosity.

"Don't overestimate your body, Y/N." She drawl's as if speaking to a child. "I could just remove this pretty little mask and bring you back to Liyue for those with... more experience to handle."

Was it a natural thing for Hydro users to threaten you with torture? The thought makes you wanna laugh but you gasp in pain instead as she releases your hair harshly.

You didn't have time to be a smartass. Your mask being removed was the worst thing that could happen. The only question was, should you admit to being an Oracle or not?

"My name, as you already know, is Y/N. I don't have a last name, or maybe I do and I don't remember it. Same situation with my birthday, I just celebrate it whenever I feel like it."

Genshin always sends you a gift in the mail when it's your birthday. It's a good guess that everyone knows your birthday, having the same birthday would be suspicious. What if it's like your face in which no one else can share the same birthday with you? Far-fetched but better safe than sorry.

"I'm an adventurer who signed up a few days ago. I have my handbook and commission list to prove it if you want to check."

There was a chance she knew about your Oracle job from when you had to stay at the Teahouse, but you won't offer that bit of information unless she specifically asks for it. Far too many of your own victims on Earth screwed themselves over when they revealed things only to learn you were shooting in the dark.

"Quite the convenient story. No last name or set date of birth means you must be from one of the villages. Name it."

Yelan gets comfortable resting against a tree as Shenhe stands close to you with a cold glare. The questions were still easy but you didn't want to be stuck here any longer. You needed an escape.

"I was born in Inazuma, one of the less-tamed islands called Kannzaku. But after the recent war, all the people that were still living either died or left. I chose to leave as well."

Yelan hums at that, you aren't sure if she truly believes it or if she's just making a mental note to look into it later.

"Then how did you manage to catch the Alcor of all ships to bring you here? They aren't one to take passengers along easily."

Has she been watching that early on or did she trace your path that far back? If so, she may even gain information about your time in Inazuma. Best to keep everything aligned with the most public knowledge.

"The Yashiro Commission helped me find a ship. I don't see how my upbringing in Inazuma has to do with whatever reason you have for attacking me."

Flexing your feet, you try to adapt to the pain. Yelan nor Shenhe were going to let you go even if you did answer everything correctly. That was a fact just based on how much trouble you gave them.

Yelan keeps a watchful eye on you as she stays silent. You know this tactic, you've used it before. Staying silent to make your hostage squirm and anger till they burst. That, or slowly die in place from any wounds.

This wasn't a problem for you. Every second you stood there in silence was just more and more time for you to get used to the pain. The arrow was too deep to remove, you would bleed out and become weaker so it'll have to stay stuck inside your skin.

Yelan and you could have gone all day, but Shenhe wasn't nearly as patient or stubborn.

"Ask your question and finish your job already, Yelan. If you take any longer then I'll just exterminate them." Shenhe moves to stand directly in front of you with her weapon raised.

She points it directly at Yelan. "And if you try to stop me, I'll kill you too."

Seems they aren't as in sync as you originally thought. 

Yelan sighs and moves from her spot. It seems even she knows better than to trifle with the bomb in the shape of a crane. The grass crunches beneath Yelan's heels as the trinkets on her jingle. 

Lifelines wrap around your wrists and waist and she pulls you forward. Nails dig into your skin through her gloves making you bite your tongue in slight pain. The pretty azure color is coated with crimson as emerald eyes stare into your soul.

"What's giving you the confidence to claim to be the Creator's oracle? If you don't repent and shed this flimsy mask, the Qixing will have you sacrificed in the city's center."

Your heart stops at those words as flashes of the sacrifices you witnessed in Inazuma come to mind. Taking off your mask would get you killed, but not taking it off would also get you killed. Torn between laughing and crying, you hated the fact that once again you were stuck in a ‘damned if you do, damned if you don’t’ situation.

Frowning at the strange expression on your face and the lack of confession, Yelan sighs with frustration and even a bit of hatred. “Not willing to speak even now, huh? Then my job is nearly done. Ningguang can deal with you instead, I’ll just reap my share of the rewards after you die.”

Patting your now bloody cheek condescendingly, she turns away from you. Her lips can be seen moving from her side profile but you could care less about what she's saying.

All you can focus on is the feeling of being talked down to. Being treated like a child, being treated like an idiot. The inner lining of your cheek begins to ache from how hard you're biting on it. 

Specific personas you've created and used in your work would include ditzy and dumb acts. The patronizing tone they would speak to you with was annoying but tolerable. But this? This?!

Lips curled into a snarl, you look up at the woman with a boiling glare matching your equally hot temper. Yelan's features seem to continuously morph and switch with a man who would speak to you in that exact same demeaning way.

"Where the hell do you get off speaking to me like this?" 

Yelan shuts her mouth but doesn't move her snobbish eyes off your form. Shenhe holds her polearm tighter as she keeps her eyes on you. Well aware of just how stupid, rash, and careless your next actions are, your brain tries to calm down.

But the moment you lift your bloody chin to look up, all you can see is condescending eyes taunting you.

"What the fuck is giving YOU the confidence to indirectly call yourself extraordinary by calling your deceased teammates 'ordinary folk'?! You only got to your position from the charity and sacrifices of other people!"

Breathing heavily from the anger and strain from yelling, you wipe the blood on your chin away. You were giving it your all to survive and weasel your way out of this situation. That's what you have done all throughout your time in Teyvat.

It wasn't fair, it wasn't right, it shouldn't be possible that all your efforts would be for naught from just one person. Everything you've worked at all this time, gone, just because Yelan and Ningguang couldn't mind their own fucking business.

"You can inflate your ego all you want with clever schemes and working solo but that doesn't take away from the fact that you would be dead without everyone around you. Your ancestry of heroes, Ningguang's patience and willingness to wait for you to train and move on from your friend. Even the lessons you learned on how you aren't invincible didn't seem to click until you lost your whole team!"

Grinning widely with malice and blood staining your teeth and lips crimson, you finished your jab. "You know? The same team you basically disowned and dissociated yourself from after they died. After all, you’d rather isolate yourself instead of properly acknowledging your team's talent and appreciate the life they lived no matter how short!"

Your mouth felt dry and all you could taste was copper. The shards in your calves were slowly melting making your legs. A vast contrast to the burning anger you harbored. But it seems you aren't the only one feeling this way.

Yelan hasn't moved from her spot but the look she has on her face is clear as day. Her neutral and taunting smile has dissolved into a murderous expression. Viridian eyes sharpen almost like an arrow and gritted teeth grind together. Your blood stains her blue gloves much like how you successfully stained her invincible reputation.

As good as it felt to get back at her, the slightest bit of guilt plagued you. That blow concerning her teammates was low, even if it was true. It's a bitter truth that she probably still struggles with. Living knowing that someone had to be sacrificed for your life pushed you to the brink more than once. Even still, you can't find it in yourself to take back those words, to apologize.

After all, you could never disregard the help and place your dad had in your life even with his early death.

The Hydro vision on Yelan's side glows as she takes long strides to your trapped form. No longer summoning her bow with flair, she points it at you. Bracing yourself with bent knees, you flex your fingers preparing to summon your sickle and escape the disadvantageous position.

"GRAH!"

A huge leaping rocky creature almost flattens Yelan who swiftly dodges by jumping backward.

"GRAW!" What you can now identify as a Geovishap roars loudly and slams his hulking fist onto the ground. The impact sends Yelan flying through the air and the ice trapping your feet shatters.

Not even allowed a second to enjoy your newfound freedom, Shenhe lunges either polearm poised at the ready. Grinning, your sickle clashes with her weapon as you shift to a more comfortable position.

Fighting both women would be impossible for you, they've trained for years. But it was still within your limits to defend and escape from one. Thanks to the Geovishap, you now have been granted that possibility.

The lingering shards of ice in your calves keep the blood somewhat clogged but the blood dribbling out down your ankle is uncomfortable. Ignoring it to the best of your abilities, you dig your shoes into the ground as your sickle repeatedly blocks her attacks.

The spear's minor side curve gets hooked onto your sickle leading to a stand-off. Planting your feet deeper into the ground, you focus on pushing against Shenhe as she does the same. Your arm strains with the force needed as Shenhe's full power begins to overpower you.

Not that you weren't expecting that.

Shenhe fought a god as a child and would have won if Cloud Retainer hadn't cut it short. She grew up in these mountains fighting, training, and eating whatever she was given. Cloud Retainer didn't raise a child, she groomed a soldier.

Your wounds ache as your body is pushed back. Inhuman strength wasn't something you ever encountered on Earth. This wasn't the city where you could pull a dirty trick and get away. Wasn't there anything else you could do?

Perhaps it was the determination you felt to stand your ground. Or maybe it was the desperation you felt to escape and live. You couldn't be completely sure as power mingled with your flesh, giving you a burst of energy.

The air grows cold and the ground shakes beneath your feet. The Electro wrapping around your sickle crackles louder, nearly masking the creaking of the ground. Geo petrifies the ground as it travels from your feet to hers.

A dark umber-colored stone traps her feet with cracks of topaz. Shenhe frowns and tries to rip her feet out but is stunned when it doesn't work. The petrify only moves to consume her body faster.

Knowing that you must be the only reason for the Geo, you take advantage of the newfound power. Breaking the grapple, you move out of her polearms range. Her braids loosen as she tries to lunge at you even with her torso completely petrified.

In some last-ditch effort to kill you, Shenhe holds her polearm in one hand and prepares to throw it at you. Not a moment sooner, the petrify entraps that hand locking it in place.

"Don't run away, demon!" Shenhe shouts in fury as her braid loosens. Her face is permanently etched as a harsh scowl and furrowed brows when the Geo overcomes her completely.

Not wanting to waste the precious and limited time you have, you turn on your heels and run away. In a split decision, you run to the left, the same direction where you first met Shenhe at that hilichurl camp.

Greenery and foliage are trampled on as you push past the burning pain. You pass the threshold of the stone and a large thud catches your attention from behind you.

Curious, you look back to see the Geovishap be pierced by Hydro projectiles. The blood and water splatter and mix on the ground as the Geovishap collapses. A weak gurgle of a roar is all that could be heard.

Glazed eyes holding no consciousness, no life, stare at your wide, sympathetic ones before crumbling into dust. A different pair of wrathful green eyes stare back at you instead.

There's no time to teleport. You couldn't fight in this state. Running was your sole option and your body moved on its own.

The river water dampens your shoes as you run, and the moonlight filters through the leaves of the trees above you. Slimes peer at you curiously as you avoid running into them. 

The only thing you could properly focus on was not tripping and not getting hit by the arrows raining down on you.

Between your honed instincts and Teyvat’s warnings, you manage to dodge the vast majority. Yelan wasn't in the position she is today without mastering her archery.

Pain and most likely a bruise bloom when her Hydro-infused arrow hits your shoulder. It's not deep so you quickly pull it out before it gets lodged like the one in your chest.

The chase is intense as your ragged breaths nearly mask the sound of her heels following you. More arrows cut your clothes and graze your skin. 

The sight of the red staining the cloth makes bitterness spread and fester deep within you.

Just why couldn't you bleed gold?

Now in Nantianmen, you pass by the hilichurl camp where you met Shenhe in. You must be getting closer to the ruins, maybe you could lose Yelan in the twists and turns of the rundown ruins.

But that plan quickly is thrown out the window when the only exit is a large drop-off, small broken ruins with broken ruin pieces serving as platforms on the large river. Treasure hoarders roam that area from what you remember.

To your right is a large mountain, climbable but no doubt time-consuming. On the left is where the ledge is. The only thing in front of you is a path leading to a boss, that you can’t be certain would recognize you or not. And above it would just be another cliff only serving to prolong the chase. 

Faced with the choice, the shallow water washes the crusting blood off your legs. Climb the mountain and be shot down by Yelan, or glide off the edge into Tianqiu Valley and be shot down by Yelan or the treasure hoarders.

Aren’t you spoiled for choice? 

That sarcastic thought is quickly swept away as you narrowly avoid an arrow that hits the water. Only sparing a glance behind you, you move to the side avoiding the follow-up arrow. The click of Yelan’s heels is replaced with the sloshing of water as she runs after you.

She dodges the Cryo that a large Cryo slime shoots at her as you back away with urgency. Before you can make a panicked split decision, a new Geovishap tackles her right into the Cryo slime.

The combo of being frozen and shattered seems to knock the wind out of Yelan as she falls onto the ground and slowly rises to her feet. The Cryo slimes, now with the addition of another that popped up out of nowhere and this new Geovishap, form a circle around Yelan.

The circle is tight and her soaked form only hinders her further. The wounds and bruises she sustained from the previous Geovishap are still visible. 

You recognize this as an opportunity to escape.

The sound of Yelan’s grunts and groans of pain as she’s thrown around out of sight are washed away as you pull the game screen up. It loads slowly but you aren’t too worried, Yelan is spent after chasing you and fighting so much today. 

Once the map is loaded, you quickly swipe to the statue of the seven. Selecting it you press the teleport button and wait. You wait with bated breath and expectant eyes to finally be free of this whole battle. Yet, as the screen stays the same and a whole minute passes by with no response, your heart pounds with fear.

Trying to deny the worst possibility you press the teleport button again. You press it again and again and again with no results. The sounds of the Cryo slimes being splattered onto the ground make you suck in a harsh breath.

In one last desperate attempt, you close the game screen and open it again. Repeating the same actions before with no difference in the result.

It’s refusing to work.

That revelation fills you with a mix of dread and a manic mess of anger combined with sadness. A disbelieving laugh escapes your mouth in a low tone before you sprint towards the closest escape option. There’s no more time to waste, the petrify is going or already has worn off and Yelan won’t be occupied with that Geovishap forever.

Your scratched-up and coarse fingers haphazardly grasp the grooves of the mountain to climb as fast as possible. It’s painful to put your body weight onto your legs but it must be done. That pain is almost completely blinded by the agonizing burn of when the arrow in your chest is pushed further in whenever you accidentally scrape the wall.

The air becomes thinner as you climb to the halfway point, your digits grasp onto the next protruding rock and it’s too late when you realize that it’s too loose. The rock slips out, hitting your face and temporarily blinding you as your other grip becomes weaker.

Dangerously swaying backward, you stop breathing and scramble to hold on to something. When your cut-up fingers finally grasp something more stable, your face hits the rock and it makes the blood from the wounds Yelan’s nails left leave a splotch.

Pain and sharp aches rack your body but you grit your teeth and continue climbing. The mountain seems to almost vibrate and you look down to see Yelan be smashed onto the wall. A thrilling chill of happiness runs down your spine at the sight of Yelan getting pummelled. You can only hope it scars her the way her injuries most likely will scar you.

The struggle is finally over as your fingers dig into the grass at the top and haul yourself over the ledge. Crawling with the last bit of your strength, you lay on your back and breathe in as much of the thin air as you can. Sharp and burning pain electrifies your nerves as you stare up at the night sky.

Just how shitty was your luck to end up like this?

Gingerly touching your head as the world briefly spins, you open the game screen. Maybe, just maybe it will work now that you are away from the battle. Perhaps it didn’t let you teleport in some stupid rule of ‘no teleporting when enemies are nearby’ or ‘you can’t teleport in battle’. You are well aware that Genshin never had that rule but you wanted to hold onto some hope.

Of course, it doesn’t work. Hope at the end of the day is just that. But being away from a life-or-death situation at least brings back some clarity of mind. You select a different teleport waypoint and try to teleport. It doesn’t work, and after trying nearly all of the waypoints you close the screen and groan in frustration.

You close your eyes and just try to breathe, to relax your heart that just won’t stop beating frantically. It becomes suspicious when your blood runs cold and your stomach churns in a familiar feeling of danger. With anxiety-fueled fear, you roll your aching body a few feet away as the wind caresses your skin trying to help you.

Dirt and grime cling onto your clothes and make your open wounds itch as it enters your body. But your attention is pulled away by a polearm piercing the spot you were lying at just a moment ago. Frantic yet oh so tired, you pull yourself onto your sore feet and stare warily as the cloud of dirt dispenses.

As much as you dared to dream that maybe it was Xiao, the long white hair and crane-patterned sleeves aren’t surprising. Disappointing nonetheless though.

Shenhe grips her weapon tightly as she stays in place, the rock she struck in pieces beneath her. You can already imagine what kind of damage she would have done if you didn’t move away in time. She doesn’t lift her head as she mumbles something.

Not willing to move closer but also too cautious to move away in fear of triggering her, you stand in place. Her head lifts up to let iridescent eyes glare at your beat-up and bleeding body. “I hate you.” She mutters as strands of hair droop to frame her face.

“I hate you, I hate you, I hate you, I hate-” She mutters endlessly from her position as you begin to take slow steps backward. The red rope tying her hair is already gone and the ones on her clothing are close to slipping. Most of them are ripped and gone anyway.

Shenhe harshly rips the last of the red rope off and gracefully twirls her polearm into the correct position with a look cold enough to freeze your blood. Actually, that’s just the frost creeping from her feet…

“I hate you!”  Shenhe’s yell is swift and her weapon is merciless as her attack pattern changes from the elegant crane style to one more comparable to a raging bull. You hurriedly summon your sickle in the nick of time.

Your hands are shaky from the exhaustion weighing down on your body. Combining that with Shenhe’s erratic wrath attacks makes your movements clumsy.

Each narrowly raised block and shaking deflection eat away at the little energy you have left. 

It's not enough. 

That fact becomes more and more obvious as your grip on the sickle gets weaker. What other fate awaited you when being hunted down by Shenhe who has fought and trained nearly all her life?

The past battles you've been through are viewed in a new light. Your first fight with those treasure hoarders led you to rely more on your wit than skill. The first Fatui encounter with Heizou had you more as a support than an attacker. Beisht wasn’t even attacking you and you struggled against the elements more than anything else on Beidou’s ship. After taking the commission to save Yiran from the kidnappers, you teamed up with Xingqiu and Chongyun for every battle after that.

Even afterward when you were forcibly separated and Cloud Retainer strangled you, it was the other Adepti that pulled her off. The only battles after that were your hit-and-runs with Yelan and Shenhe. Have you ever actually fought and won on your own since that first scuffle with the treasure hoarders? They even ran away after you threatened them without touching them!

The realization of your less-than-stellar fighting capacity makes your movements sloppier, your body feels heavy with the weight of your journey. All the injuries you sustained, even the ones already healed, seem to chip away at your resolve.

You were tired. You’ve been tired for a long time. It would be accurate to say that you were tired of being tired.

Shenhe’s emotions bleed through her fighting style, the wrath she’s consumed by makes her attacks rough but misaligned. Slices that should have cut deep into your shoulder or slashes across your unguarded areas miss their mark. Each one only makes her more aggravated leading to even sloppier motions.

A terrible cycle that was helping you out enough that you use your new Geo power to petrify her feet. But Shenhe has already experienced this, her spear is waved erratically around her keeping you away. 

This rare chance of escape isn’t lost on you, turning on your heels you book it and narrowly avoid the polearm thrown your way. The graze makes the already scraped side bleed heavier, and the burning feeling of pain doesn’t subside.

Running across the greenery and leaving a trail of dotted red on the dark grass, you don’t bother trying to recall where you might be. There was never much of a reason to climb all the way up here as a player and you had no time to stop to observe the map.

The rocks, trees, and flowers blur in a shadowy hazy mess. You can’t be sure whether it's from all the blood you lost, the pain that plagues your body or the starless night sky. A single rock jutted out of the rock trips you and the pain blinds you as you lay on the ground.

Stumbling back onto your feet, you hold a nearby branch with a death grip as your body sways and your vision spins. This intense lightheadedness could only be from blood loss, one would think that it’s a shame how easily you can tell blood loss apart from any other injury it might be. 

The sound of water splashing catches your attention and you do your best to follow it quickly without any more falls. The toll of the adrenaline that was coursing through your veins is starting to settle and you know full well how nasty it can be. A small lake appears in your vision and you collapse onto your knees once close enough.

A group of Cryo slimes begin to make their way towards you from the middle of the lake, or maybe it was Hydro slimes? The wind is both sweet relief on your clammy skin and a rude reminder of your aching wounds. Crawling to the side where you can only hope that Shenhe won’t find you as easily, you let your bag fall off your shoulders.

The bag has holes but as it’s not a normal bag, nothing has fallen out. To your immense relief, of course, the medkit you pull out is your only hope of surviving just a little longer. The slimes gather around you curiously, even this close the only thing you can be sure of is their blue coloring.

Ignoring them, you apply the disinfectant, ointment, bandages, and anything else that might help you with your numerous injuries. Most of them were bandaged fine with you skipping the minor wounds to not waste your precious resources, but it was the major two damages that you couldn’t touch. 

The remainder of the ice spikes in your calves were slowly melting which, unfortunately, was only leading to more bleeding. The arrow in your chest already made breathing hurt like hell. There was no way you were gonna risk yanking either of the two out. With the bleeding slowed down, your body feels a bit better but the fatigue anchors you to your spot.  

Surrounded by the slimes and gently showered by the moonlight your head rests against the closest solid structure. Thoughts of what kind of disease, danger, and death you might experience are washed away. The rippling reflection of the moon on the lake lulls your mind into a haze. Eyelids fluttering shut, you can no longer resist the urge to just rest...

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Oh boy, finally done and over with. It actually had more but I decided to cut it here and post the rest with the other parts next chapter. It may be shorter than this one. Or not, who knows. Thanks to my patient editor @serpent-benediction who edited this today. I hope everyone enjoyed the differences yet similarities between Y/N and Yelan. I did write this on Google Docs rather than on Tumblr so maybe the format is weird. Tell me if this one is too dense looking or any other opinion on it. Edit* Guess which dumbass forgot to add the read more option? Taglist - Remember those that are in italics are those who I couldn't tag! I appreciate all the comments and reblogs! Ya'll can be so funny and sweet at the same time. @vvyeislazzy, @nikqi, @the-dumber-scaramouche, @etherisy, @yourlocalstranger123, @ra404, @iruiji, @goldenglow149, @haru-tofuu, @lsleepysimpl, @bebobeboben, @yuyuzi-ling, @amidst-the-tempest, @resident-cryptid, @mxd1zzy, @mochicurls21, @nervouseaglelover, @thedevioussmirk, @yumuramma, @kwqsla, @undecidingfate, @ehjane, @game-savvy, @akiramirae, @liansh3ng, @fluffy-koalala, @formacoon, @sxftiebee, @khxii-i, @ursinaw, @chuuya-brainrot, @sweetbills, @kazuchaos, @snowfoxnix, @bluebelony, @shellofthewell, @pencil-of-ashes, @ghostlyintervention, @taiformaifoe, @goaudduck, @carminerin, @maddysflowers, @zenith-of-all-zenith, @crazydreamcat, @leafanonsforest, @grimreapersscythe, @leylanx, @sapphireknown, @help-whatdoimakemyusername, @zhonglisfruityass, @mer0n37, @victoria1676, @mochinessss, @sinnful-darling, @emilymikado, @pix-stuff, @esthelily, @luxie963, @emmbny, @millienolife @kbar1013, @xxblackroses623xx, @chxrlxtteee, @aludicpoet, @yandematic, @atrcclovsxoxo, @0lshadyl0, @esthelily, @t-rex-red, @ck123, @steadybreadbluebird, @118gremlin, @stratonia, @time-shardz, @farelady-fate, @valeriele3, @francisnyx, @byakuren100

[anonymous-existences]

Chapter 15 : Red Painted Metal Walls

JL is planning how to Save Danny whilst also Dismantling The GIW and everything else as fast and logical as they could. Danny on the other hand is not doing Okay. [Danny-Dante-Centric Chapter] TW: Depictions of Vivisection, Child Abuse, Child Murder(does it count if he revived again and again??), Torture, Gore/Organs

Enjoy Pookies, also a cheeky side story 🤭

[𝙽𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝙳𝚊𝚗𝚗𝚢'𝚜 𝙺𝚒𝚍𝚗𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚒𝚗𝚐]

[𝙶𝚑𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝙸𝚗𝚟𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚐𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚆𝚊𝚛𝚍 𝙱𝚊𝚜𝚎, 𝙴𝚡𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚕 𝚂𝚝𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗, 𝙾𝚌𝚝𝚘𝚋𝚎𝚛 14, 11:45 𝙿𝙼]

"October 14 2XXX, 11:45 PM, Agent K Recording, We have successfully subdued By that of Agent A and Agent B respectively by Park Row, Gotham. Today we are here with The ecto-biologist Experts that of Doctors Maddie and Jack Fenton and the Specimen of Today's study. P H 4 N 7 0 M - 0 0 0 A , the most powerful of all Ecto-Sc— ehem... Ecto Species also commonly known and named as Phantom thus we will be referring to it as such for easier use. Agent K out." he reports to the Recorder and Hands it to Maddie for Later use.

Jack sets up a camera to record the experiments though film, "October 14 2XXX, 11:47 PM. I Am Ecto biologist Maddie Fenton here to educate you about Ecto - Specimen PH4N70M - 000A also known as Phantom. Here We present Phantom. He takes the form of a Little Boy around the age of 12-13 but do not mistake such creatures as a child. It's possible that they're older than any of us despite their appearances." She says preparing the Medical Surgical Tools in the side.

Phantom's face had a cover on it, a black tinted glass mask that's lodged deep into his skin. A collar that looked too tight in his neck. Danny was confused. Where am I? He thinks to himself and notices he couldn't move. His body felt too heavy and weak to move an inch of his body making it hard to know where he is. All he could see was the metal ceiling... Metal?—

Danny screams as Maddie opens his chest with a scalpel in a Y incision, it hurt so much. He begged them to stop but they continued. His Screams being blocked out by the mask on his face.

Please Stop, Please. Please

Please Please please Please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please Please PLEASE PLEASE STOP IT! IM BEGGING YOU. IT HURTS. քʟɛǟֆɛ քʟɛǟֆɛ ₱ⱠɆ₳₴Ɇ ₴₮Ø₱!!

'H̴̢̫̟̜̼͊͋̽̇̅͌̈̀͘̕̕͠G̷̨̛̓͒̽̐͐̈́̓̔́̄̉̀̄͌͌̚G̷̡̨̨͍̣͚̯̮͚͎̯͔̟̙̑͝K̸̜̙͌͌̓͐̆̈́͋̅̏͋̈̊̋͑̃̕͜͝Á̵̢̛̰̻̥̎͝Ä̶͔͖̩́̊̈̄̄A̸̢̢̰̻̲̬̲͕͚̲̯̤͚̗̩̋Ā̵̛̟̻͉͈̟͇͈̫̰̫̟̞̜̦͒̈́̒͑̀͗̇́Ä̵̢̨̱̩͓͎͕̹̬̮̦͔̦̮̥͙́͊ͅĄ̷͉͇̖̳̥͕̲̲͖̮̈̈́̋̋́̓͊̾͆́̈́̎͘͝ͅA̴͎͔͈͗͠A̸̧̳̦̞̋̾͌̈́͌͠A̴͚̭̪̝̜̫̭̥̺̙̱͕̼̞͌̆̈́̅̈͋̆͑̅̂̒̏́ͅA̵̧͇̣̣̩̗̹̦̟͗̚͜Á̶̝̺̤͓̥̖̰̩̩͎̖͜Ȃ̸͉͔͙́̌̏͌̓̒̅̄̀̋̀̔͘Ą̷͉͕͇̻̲̣̤̼́̃̍̽̎͐͂̿͝͝Ā̴̠̼͍̙̲̩̠̙̩̩͔̋̈́̊̔̊A̶̺͍̪̍͛́̋A̷̧͓̣͕͚̝̩͠Ą̴̻̝̀͊̇́̒̌́̉̀͌͠Ạ̴̧̭͎̹̖͖̻̟͔̯͕̗̹͑̿̊̔̈́͋͘͠͠ͅA̶̡̡̞̘̗͓̺̣̝͛̽̈̈̈͂͜͝A̴̳͉͚̳̰̪̼̣̣̓̆̅̋̊͝ͅ!!!"He Screamed.

Despite that it didn't stop Maddie Fenton from Dissecting his Organs, Taking them out of his body carelessly without anesthesia.

"It seems the specimen can mimic the feeling of Pain, the screams of a child and such... But here we must remember this is all to try and deceive us." She said bluntly as she blatantly ignored all his corrupted pleas of pain, begging her to stop, begging her to let him go. Telling her it hurt, telling her to stop.

Asking.

Begging.

P̸̥̻̯̫͖͈̀̌́͊l̴̅̈́̿̃͆ͅë̶̢̲͔̜͆̽͝ą̴̫͓̺͂̒d̸̢̻͒ȉ̶̜͍̣n̸͔̹̂͗̀̕ͅg̷̫̰̀̈́̽̕.

His tears rolling down his cheeks, soon he lost the ability to scream out any further as he ran out of breathe, losing consciousness due to the intense pain of this Torture they are putting him through.

Please... Stop.... It hurts so much.

Jazz... I miss Jazz... I miss my Big Sister....

[𝙾𝚌𝚝𝚘𝚋𝚎𝚛 16 , 12:48 𝙰𝙼, 𝙶𝚑𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝙸𝚗𝚟𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚐𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚆𝚊𝚛𝚍, 𝙴𝚡𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚕 𝚂𝚝𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗]

Dante was with Superman, Batman, Flash and Wonder Woman who insisted on coming with the Bat. Jason as well as he fully trusts his lover to not let him get harmed inside this facility. "Inside this... Is where many ghosts and Other Ecto-Entities Are Confined. I can't get in without you heroes." Dante says with a scowl as he dragged his bat through the ground.

"Fright Knight can't as well." Dante stated and glanced at Fright Knight settling his mare beside a tree and heading back to him to stand behind him, Fright Knight still made the heroes feel scared but Dante reassures them it's normal and Fright Knight is just Really the Embodiment of Fear. And that scarecrow is nothing compared to him. Fright Knight looked proud of that statement taking it as a compliment, Jason personally found him cool and chill as his horse also liked Jason, Robin also was very fond of the Knight's Mare and the Mare liked the two immediately which Fright Knight was Pleased with.

"Flash you will evacuate all Ecto-Entities inside the Facility as soon as Superman forces the Facility Open, I will be looking for the little Daniel, Wonder Woman you make sure not a single worker in this facility gets out, Knock em out cold. Do not kill unless absolutely Necessary. Superman you assist Wonder woman and Dante and... Jason..." Bruce looks at the two lovers.

"I do my own thing. I will kill Big Bat, I don't make promises such as "no killing" that's not me. That's Danny." Dante laughs with an ear to ear smirk and Fright Knight also Hummed in amusement as if ready to slay those in his way. "Flash you also make sure that any weapons against ecto-entities will be deactivated at once if you find the source of it's power." Bruce stated ignoring the Uneasiness in his chest with his heart pounding at the thought of the Little Daniel having been tortured... A 13-14 years old child. Only monsters do that. He thinks to himself and scowls.

"On it B!" Flash Says Enthusiastically as Superman Forced a Hole in the Thick Facility Walls, Dante walked in immediately and Fright Knight Guarding Beside him and Jason Following with his guns and a Bat That Dante had gifted him. Bruce took a deep breathe and without hesitation stepped inside the Facility Floors.

[𝙳𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚎 𝙿𝙾𝚅]

Dante was happy, he beat the Agents Up with His Bat and His Lover Jason, they bonded over this Mutual Causing of Violence and Chaos whilst in the distance no Agent could even come closer to Fright Knight as They threw them around as if they're mere bugs which Dante thinks they are. He says sorry to Jazz in his Mind as she would have been disappointed to see this but he also knows she would support it considering the current situation. But then Dante barely dodged a glowing green Gunshot from Someone. He turns his head to face them.

"Maddie Fenton." He glared at Maddie who was holding a gun with Precision and Kept Shooting at him, "Ecto-Scum, PH4N70M - 000C." She states and she looked at him as if he was an animal, it ticked Dante off and Glanced at Jason, Jason got the hint and Backed away to Fright Knight to keep himself safe as Dante Wants him to be. "It's been a while Maddie. Now where is... Where is my Phantom." He glares at Maddie with Poison Laced in his tone, growling underneath his words, pure aggression in his body language.

"IT'S whereabouts is none of your concern, not when soon we will be the one to personally terminate you." She states with a blank but perceptive Expression, "We?" Dante asks curiously soon saw the Hunk of a Man Charging at Dante. Dante threw his bat on the wall and Wrestled With Jack Fenton. Jack Fenton was a Physical Threat, His movements were to cause as much damage as possible but still precise and Large Aim due to the Man's Size. "I will protect my Wife from you." Jack glared at Dante as he pinned Dante on the wall with one Arm.

Jack jumped back as Dante heats his body up clearly getting Pumped up, He laughs amusingly and combs his bangs back and Tying up his hair with His Abilities. Soon Red And Black Rings former Around Dante and Jason Blushed Unexpectedly at Dante's Real Form cuz Damn, that's hot, those muscle definitions wants to make Jason have a Boner but surely he shouldn't do it right now as he's busy with Killing other Agents.

Fright Knight seemed more pumped up than Before, He laughed in excitement, "Now the Banquet of Blood Shall Rein High in this unpleasant Facility." Fright Knight says Excitedly as Dante Laughed and Wrestled again with Jack Fenton, Jack Was Trying his best to dodge the Fast and Hard Blows Dante was Dealing towards him, Maddie assisting him with her now Amazing outstanding aim managing to Hit Dante once in the arm which gave Jack an Opening to Send Dante flying to the Wall.

Dante recovered within mere seconds, the Dust Fog covering his Body but not his Presence and His Piercing Crimson Eyes that Screamed "Murder and Blood", Pure Bloodlust Painted across his face with his unnaturally Wide Grin. He laughed deeply, a growl under his Amused Tone. Dante charged at Jack again but As Jack got into a defensive stance Dante went Intangible and Went through him and Tackling Maddie to the Wall nearly lodging her deep in the Thick metal walls, Jack Grabbed him and Threw him at the wall to check up on his wife but Dante's Recovery to the situation got faster and he sent himself back at Jack who somehow successfully blocked his Blow.

Dante laughed as the two Fenton's fought hard against them with Ease but now they're at a disadvantage as Maddie's Injuries causes her to miss much more often. Dante looked as though he was bored now and then he clawed Jack's Chest And Dug his claws deep as Jack Grabbed him again and threw him away, Jack coughed up blood and Maddie Yelled out his name in worry but Before she could run to her husband Dante out of nowhere plunged his Arm right through her chest, holding her still beating heart.

She coughed, slowly her eyes was drained of it's life as Dante pulled out his arm out of her chest and she fell to the ground bleeding out the rest of her Insides. Dante slowly walked over to the Weakened Jack, jack still tried to Fight Which Dante Regrettably Found Admirable about the Man, although an idiot he was strong... Such wasted Potential.

Dante grabbed the Bat he threw to the side and Dragged His Bat hard and thorough towards Jack's Wound in his chest, Causing him to cough up more blood and fall over to his back, Dante grabbed a Crowbar he pulled out of his chest and hit it on Jack's Head Until it lodged into his visible Skull, his brain guts spilling out as Dante Huffed and Laughed in Victory as he has finally gotten his revenge on The Fenton's he so loathe. Such hatred was much stronger than his hatred for Vlad. (Who is now still legally his adoptive Father)

Dante opened his mouth unnaturally Wide and ate Maddie's Heart, he licked his blood tainted lips and Pulled a towel from his chest to wipe the blood off his hands and Walk over to Jason. Jason was stunned and Fright Knight was also Bloody as he has been given permission indirectly by Dante to kill the agents without hesitation. Both Ghosts were pleased with their Bloodlust Being Quenched and Dante Kisses Jason's/Red Hood's Forehead and Caressed his cheek Carefully and Gently.

"You don't hate me right Ba—" Dante was cut off by Jason's coughing, "That was so hot to be honest—" he Stated and Clearing his throat, still in shock and Dante merely laughed in amusement as his lover didn't hate him for what he's done. Jason stared at his chest and even poked them still cooing over his Muscles and Everything as if Jason doesn't see it everyday when they're taking a shower together.

But that's just another story for another day as that's their private life.. but then again he found Jason's admiration of his Body Physique Relatable as Dante also Coos Over Jason's Ass whenever he can so it's a win win for both lovers.

[𝙱𝚊𝚝𝚖𝚊𝚗 / 𝙱𝚛𝚞𝚌𝚎 𝚆𝚊𝚢𝚗𝚎 𝙿𝙾𝚅]

"I found Daniel James Masters... Or Danny..." he mutters over the Comms as Flash was Finishing up with Letting and Freeing the Ghosts from their Containment and Them heading instinctively to the Ghost Mare which now made sense on why the terrifying Fright Knight Left it there.

Bruce Cradled the Child's Body in his arms Gently, he had wounds that had looked fresh but also healed at the same time, his hair Pitch Black with white in the undercut, The Kid was Pale with Constellation Like Glowing Green Freckles Adorning his Innocent Face, a Muzzle that had no holes and a Too tight collar connected to the collar with odd beeping and possibly an electric shocker also lodged deep in his delicate pale skin. His body was Thin, his body too light for someone his age, he looks... He looks so much like Jason when he first... In... Just like in that Warehouse...... Bruce thought as his heart cried and ached at the sight of the nearly dead - half dead kid Infront of him, It made Bruce want to break into tears.

He slowly stood up carrying the Child through the now Red Tainted Halls, Ignoring the Bodies that surrounded him presumably the people Dante had Massacred out of Revenge, His Breathing Hitched as he continued to stared at the cold bodied child in his arms, cradling him softly as he caught himself humming a soft lullaby as he saw the Kid's unconscious expression soften at it, Bruce's Gaze Softens as he Carries the child out of the Facility, the other ghosts being taken care of by Fright Knight but Some checking up on Phantom, they called him their Precious Prince. Their Source of Purpose and Existence In the Ghost Zone or Infinite Realms as they liked to call it.

Dante although being covered in the blood of others did not stop the Younger Looking Ghosts to Stick to him, calling him King Regent, they thanked him, tears forming in their delicate small eyes as they thanked the Heroes which made The others want to tear up as Fright Knight Led them towards a Portal that eerily resembled Lazarus Waters. Just purer and much Cleaner.

"Thank you! Please have a long life!" The younger ghosts Waved Happily at them, the animal Ghosts running into through the portal as soon as they saw it manifest.

"Thank You sir speedster!"

"We thank you all!"

"Please live long!"

"We love you!"

"Thank you for stopping our agony!"

"Thank you Avenging us!"

Although The heroes were used to being thanked by people but it was not the same feeling as when an already Dead Child... Thanks them for Avenging them... Children that was already dead who had to suffer another hell because of Humans that were still living. Thanking them for Freeing their souls. It made Wonder Woman's Heart want to cry out but instead she waved them off with a hearty yet Pained smile.

"Don't worry! We'll make sure there's no more victims in the future!" Flash reassures the ghosts which made the older ones smile softly at them with pained but relieved expressions tainting their wounded Faces. They too muttered a small yet more silent and calm Thank you as they passed through the Portal.

"What will happen to them now?" Superman Asks holding back tears. "... Pass on. They will pass on to a better life or they will willingly live in the ghost zone in their afterlife until they Decided to take the route of Reincarnation." Dante says and sighs in relief, he smiles softly which contradicts what he looks like right now which is a bloody Murderous Mess. He looked at Bruce then at his hands, "you carry him for now. Let's go." Dante states and the Other Heroes Nod as they are now heading off back to Gotham to get Danny some rest and Also for Dante to be able to Contact Frostbite and Help out Danny's Weakened Core.

He will let Ember and the other ghosts deal with the Souls of the Facility... He knows they'll make them burn. Burn in the fires that is of hell where Walker will force them down to Lucifer Himself. Much to Lucifer's Demands he cannot really stop the superior fuckers that is The Ancients and the Orders of the King Regent, 'Sassy Gay-Like Zesty Bastard' Dante thinks to himself thinking of the King of Hell Lucifer but right now he will just focus on The Future Ahead of Danny, It was not the most pleasant. He'll go into Operation WWJD. What would Jazz Do? Would she comfort Danny? Totally. Would she Console Danny? absolutely. Would she suggest he go to therapy? Maybe. Maybe he'll also get therapy from one of the Yeti's but that's for another Day.

His rant thinking was interrupted with Jason leaning his Head On Dante's Shoulder as they sat in the backseat of the BatMobile as Dante had accidentally lost his keys to his Bike which pissed him off enough that he also destroyed the bike much to Jason's Delight. Danny was in his arms, breathing steadily as Dante slowly fed him his ectoplasm through their Fraid Bond, also Dante did not have purest Ectoplasm it was the best he could do At the moment, Feeding Danny was a Priority in his list, second to getting Danny to Frostbite for Medical Care.

Dante smiles, Bruce looked Calmer and Relaxed, the tension in his body had faded as soon as he got Danny Safe and out of the Facility. Dante has a slight hint of guess that Bruce might want to Adopt Danny which is totally fine for Dante because atleast he's Vlad's Legal Son and He won't become his Lover's By Law Brother cuz that would be weird. Today was wonderful nontheless.

Atleast now he has Danny Safe Again and Maybe being with the Wayne's would make it safer with the boy... All he wishes now is His Baby Brother's Safety and Jason's Safety out of everything else. That was all he needed.

His family to be safe.

SIDE STORY (Vlad/Clockwork):

"Daddy! Daddy! Dante is coming back home with Dan—" she walked into the room abruptly and stunned as he saw a shirtless Clockwork Pinning down her Father on his bed who was also Shirtless.

"Hello there little Ellie, I did not expect you to come here!" Clockwork says calmly, "Oh Butter Biscuits— ELLIE—" Vlad says panicked but Clockwork kept his hands pinned down, "your daddy and I are busy... Playing Adult Stuff... How bout you play outside with your friends from school?" Clockwork says with a smile.

"Okay!" Ellie says Enthusiastically as Clockwork bribed her with a candy and a wad of cash she can use to spend with her friends, much to her friends Denial and Insistentence that she not give them money they can't stop her. Ellie soon Promptly walked out after finishing counting her Pocket Money.

"Now where Were we?" Clockwork licked his lips teasingly As he bit on Vlad's Goddamn Neck. "Mercy." Vlad pleads bluntly with a flushed face and Clockwork looked like he thought about it for a moment. "Maybe. Maybe not, my Plasmius." clockwork said with a cheeky fucking smile, his tone was teasing but also Daring.

Someone Save Vlad (/J)

Side Story Made me Blush 🤭🤭☺️☺️

Hope y'all enjoyed (THIS IS SO DELAYED ONG—)

[silentscrying]

🏀 buzzer beater | chapter EIGHT.

nba!gojo x manager!reader

summary: you thought you'd gotten rid of arrogant NBA star satoru gojo when he left the curses after your first year in basketball management. but when your contract is up three years later, you find yourself working with him once again as the manager for the sorcerers. as you navigate playoff season alongside long-time friend ieiri shoko and the sorcerers' insufferable star player, you start to realize his sudden departure from the curses may not have been what it seemed, and maybe gojo isn't exactly the person (or player) you thought he was, either.

warnings: language, alcohol, manipulation, ~conflict~, pining but you won't admit it to yourself, cringe contact names, excessive use of em-dashes and italics. || sfw. 3.4k words.

OH, FUCK THIS.

You’re at the stadium, and there’s chai all over your shirt.

This morning, Nobara was waiting in the lobby with drinks for you and Ieiri, because she’s an angel on earth. “Chai tea latte,” she said as she handed it to you. “Oat milk.”

Half of it was great. The other half is now rapidly soaking into your blue Sorcerers polo. It might not have mattered if it was the black one, but this is very much visible.

In the bathroom, you frantically try to sop up the mess with paper towels, rooting around in your bag for a Tide stick or something.

And then your hand touches something soft. And you swear long and violently under your breath.

Because you don’t have time to run back to the hotel or even to a nearby store. You have to be on the court in five minutes.

But you do have another shirt.

Your cussing isn't quiet enough, apparently, because Ieiri pounds on the bathroom door.

“What are you doing in there? Are you dying?”

Groaning, you yank the shirt over your head and tuck the front of it into your pants. It fits perfectly. It makes you angry.

You swing open the bathroom door and wordlessly hold up your chai-splattered shirt. Ieiri looks at it, looks at the shirt you’re wearing now, and covers her mouth in a failed attempt to stifle her laughter.

“Not. A. Word.”

You’ve been doing most of your work from local coffee shops the last two days, taking only your computer bag and wallet, so you forgot to take the stupid Limitless shirt out of your game bag. And you don’t know if you should be grateful for your own lack of remembering or pissed off that you’ve put yourself in a position that’s just begging Gojo to give you shit.

Ieiri can’t keep her smirk under wraps and you don’t look at her as you make a beeline toward the gym, the team already being announced.

You slip into the gym behind her and come to stand next to Nobara, who immediately clocks your shirt and tilts her head in question.

“I may have spilled chai on my shirt,” you mutter. She gives you a look that says that doesn’t answer my question, and you sigh, raking a hand through your hair and using the buzzer as an excuse to not answer her.

Gojo wins the tip-off again, this time against Choso, and the game rockets into play. To Gojo’s credit, he’s locked in—he doesn’t notice your wardrobe situation until the quarter’s over and the Sorcerers are leading by six.

You aren’t sure what he clocks first, you or the shirt, but his face lights up as soon as he registers what’s happening.

“Lookin’ good!” he calls as he strides over to you, gesturing at your shirt. “Taste. Truly.”

“You’re the worst.”

“You adore me.”

You scoff, and he just grins at you while Yaga pulls the team into a quick huddle. Your phone buzzes in your pocket and you open it to a text from Kasumi.

k sue me: [1 Image Attachment]

k sue me: coworkers

Immediately, you scan the home side for her telltale blue hair, but come up short. You zoom in on the photo. It’s a grainy image of a TV screen, focused on you and your stupid shirt on the sidelines.

She must be back in the Midwest already for training. But she’s still making a point to tease you.

you: blocked and reported

k sue me: k sue me :)

You dislike the message and shove your phone into your pocket, ignoring Ieiri’s questioning stare.

It’s a tight game again, but not quite as much as last time. Toge and Yuta play most of third quarter, Hakari most of the fourth. The Sorcerers win by nine, and before you have a chance to congratulate any of the guys, Nobara yanks you and Gojo off to the side and shoves a clip mic into your hands.

“This is a marketing op,” she says, pointing to your shirt and then to Gojo. “And I will not waste it. Okay, on three, make some shit up,” she tells Gojo. Your entire face is flushed, you can feel it.

If there’s one thing Gojo’s good at, it’s being full of shit.

He spouts off a whole sales pitch in the span of ten seconds, then wraps his arm around you and uses the other to point to your shirt with a beam. “Our lovely manager was kind enough to model for us today, and as you can see, it brought us a win.” He points to the scoreboard, and Nobara pans over to it, capturing the glowing orange numbers that prove your victory.

She looks pointedly at you before she pans back, and you force yourself into a smile that you hope doesn’t seem fake. Gojo’s arm is still wrapped around your shoulders, his warmth seeping through the fabric of the shirt and into your skin. You flash the camera a thumbs-up and pretend your heart’s not beating out of your chest.

You wonder if Kasumi can see this happening. God, you hope not.

“Thanks!” Nobara chirps when Gojo finishes yapping to the viewers about the Limitless collection. When she turns away, his hand lingers on your shoulder for a second, two seconds, three. You look up at him and he pulls away, like he hadn’t realized what he was doing.

“Well, look at you,” he says, “repping the brand, letting the world know you play favorites.”

“This was not by choice,” you say, crossing your arms over your chest and hiding the logo in the process. He gives you that shit-eating grin again.

“Aw, Alley-oop,” he says, and reaches out to ruffle your hair before you can duck out of the way. “Wasn’t it?”

—

You're not drunk, but there’s a pleasant buzz warming your blood as you sit at a window-facing high top at your favorite bar, Ieiri beside you and Nobara across the table. You got back yesterday, and Nobara wanted to hit up some of the bars in a joint effort to explore her new city and get to know you and Ieiri better. You could hardly say no. And it’s been fun—you can’t remember the last time you just let loose and had a girls’ night.

Nobara’s gotten surprisingly close with Yuji and Megumi. They’re a little trio, and for all Megumi will deny it, you can tell he values the newfound friendship. You’ve spent the night filling Nobara in on the less public parts of the Curses-Sorcerers rivalry, but keeping out what you know from Gojo and Tsumiki.

In turn, Nobara tells you about her hellish last job at a marketing agency, and also that she’s pretty sure she almost caught Yuji and Megumi making out in the car.

“I fucking knew it,” you say, and Ieiri snorts, sipping a Moscow mule and then running a finger through the ring of water that’s gathered on the table.

“Does Gojo know?” she asks, and Nobara shrugs.

“Probably,” you say truthfully. The girls turn to you, surprised, and you shrug. “I think he’s more observant than he lets on, sometimes.”

Nobara purses her lips like she wants to say something, and there’s enough alcohol in you to dismiss whatever hesitations you have about finding out. “What?” You tap the table beside her glass. “No, say it.”

“You’re just spending a lot of time with him lately, is all,” she shrugs. “For someone who can’t stand him, I mean.” She brings her margarita to her lips to avoid expanding on her answer. You turn to Ieiri indignantly.

“Have I? I haven’t, right?”

She shrugs, like what can you do?

“He’s just all over the place!” you protest. “I don’t try to be around him. He follows me like a puppy.”

“Maybe he’s in love with you,” Nobara suggests offhandedly, and you choke on your drink. Ieiri pounds you on the back, laughing.

“God, girl. You don’t need to choke yourself out to avoid a romantic prospect.”

“Ieiri!” You turn to her, betrayed. “You know how I feel about Gojo.”

She studies you for a long moment, and you wonder how much of the heat in your cheeks is from the embarrassment and how much is from the alcohol. You’ve ranted to her on several occasions about just how annoying and full of it Gojo is. Even if you’re finding out he’s not quite as bad as you’d previously thought, saying you’re in love is a far fucking cry from the truth. You think of Kasumi, of her teasing smile and texts. What’s gotten into everyone lately?

“Yeah,” Ieiri says finally, settling back in her seat, satisfied. “I do.”

It’s late when the three of you stumble out the front door of the bar, laughing and a little tipsy from the drinks. Your apartment is just down the street, a somehow quiet fourth-floor tucked into the city, so you say goodbye to Ieiri and Nobara with a promise to text when you’re back home and then you’re off.

You love the city at night, especially in your neighborhood, away from the tourists with their screaming kids and stereotypes, and you take your time walking back, letting a cool night breeze wash over your alcohol-warm face.

So much is happening that you should be thinking about. The third game in the Samurai series, this time at home. Winning. The championship bracket. Work. Cleaning your kitchen—and you have to do laundry this week, and get groceries, and you should call Nitta back at some point.

But the only thing you can focus on is Satoru Gojo. It’s like he’s taunting you in your mind’s eye, all knowing and teasing. And you’re thinking about Kasumi, and Nobara, and Ieiri, and how maybe they all know you better than you’re giving them credit for, and about Tsumiki saying you’re different, about Megumi explaining why Gojo left the Curses, about his hand around your hand and the way you maybe do like that stupid shirt and about his arm around your shoulders and fuck.

You’ve known for a while now that you don’t hate Satoru Gojo.

But you realize now that it’s a lot more than not hating and something a lot closer to liking.

Your phone buzzes. It’s a link, from Gojo.

six: [Link: TikTok]

six: well aren’t we cute

It’s the video Nobara took of the two of you. You’re struck only now by the reality of your height difference, the way he’s leaning down toward you, arm around you like it’s natural. Habit.

Do you want it to be?

No, no, no.

You’re only two blocks out from your place when someone calls out from behind, yanking you from your internal crisis. You nearly drop your phone, scrambling to get a grip on it and suddenly feeling warm all over, caught.

“Well, fancy seeing you here.”

You freeze. You know that voice. It’s a voice that shouldn’t be here, especially not right now, not in the height of playoff season—what the fuck?

“Long time, no see,” he says.

And you turn around and come face to face with Suguru Geto.

—

“How have you been?” Geto asks, striding up to you with hands in his pockets like it’s not insane or at all suspicious that he’s on your block when he should be across the country.

“Geto,” you say, in lieu of an answer. He takes one hand out of his pocket, holds it up palm-out like he’s conceding.

“I know, I know,” he chuckles. “Long way from home, huh? Well. I was hoping to speak with you, actually.” He pauses, looks up at the light-polluted night sky, as if taking in his surroundings for the first time. “Though I was admittedly planning on doing it tomorrow. This is a happy bit of coincidence.”

“Is it.” You don’t say it like a question because it’s not.

Geto’s hair is longer than you remember, some of it pulled into a knot at the back of his head, the rest loose around his shoulders. He wears nondescript dark clothing and doesn’t appear to be coming from anywhere specific, and the whole situation unsettles you. It’s like you’ve just run into him outside of work in San Diego. Like you never left.

“Now’s not a great time,” you say. Your phone feels heavy in your hand, and it buzzes again—Ieiri probably wants to know if you got home.

“Apologies.” He’s closer to you now, and you hope you look more sober than you feel. “It’s just a bit of an urgent matter. I have a proposal of sorts, for you.”

You do not want any of Geto’s proposals. He must read it on your face, because he nods understandingly.

“I realize that… disagreement between Satoru and I may have reflected poorly on my character, and I am sorry for that,” he says. “Those were private grievances that I should not have allowed to come out at the court, much less in front of others, and I’m not proud of how I behaved.”

Private grievances? Geto dictating who could or couldn’t be drafted to the Curses doesn’t feel like a matter that shouldn’t concern the whole team. But Geto doesn’t know how much you know.

“I appreciate your apology,” you say curtly. “But I really need to—”

“Next season,” Geto interrupts, softly. That’s the thing about Geto. He can have a full argument without ever raising his voice. There’s something about it that just makes people listen. “Come back to work with us. Manage the Curses again. We’ll pay you ten grand more than whatever you’re making with the Sorcerers, and we’ll win championships.”

You’re fumbling for words all of a sudden. The Curses are doing well this year. You know the manager who replaced you is highly sought after—maybe not so personable as you, but efficient, at the least.

It’s like Geto can read your thoughts. He says, “It’s not the same without you, you know. Mei Mei is effective, but she’s a businesswoman. She doesn’t care about her players the way you did.”

You think maybe having a conversation with Geto has sobered you up faster than the cool night air ever could. “I do care about my players,” you say. “That’s why I’m not just gonna up and leave.”

“Think about yourself for once,” Geto says gently, taking a step closer to you. The expression on his face is almost sympathetic, like he knows something you don’t, like it’s right in front of you and he pities you for not seeing it. “We’re a first seed team. We’re better than we were a few years ago. We’re going to win championships, and then we’re going to do it again next year. With that kind of experience on your resume, you could get out of here entirely, you could move up to league administration, you could do anything you wanted. I’m only trying to look out for you.”

Briefly, you wonder if you are letting your love for this team cloud your judgment. Would you take another job for a pay raise right now, though? You know you wouldn’t. You’re working with Ieiri, with Nobara, with a team that cares about you. And it does feel like working with, not working for.

You never felt that way with the Curses.

“I can look out for myself,” you tell him, wishing your voice sounded more convicted, stronger. It’s the drinks, you think.

“You always have,” Geto says. What the hell does that mean? you want to snap, but you can’t lose it on him, not right now. You should go home. You should go to sleep and forget Geto showed up here, forget all of it, focus on the playoffs.

Is that why he’s here? Trying to throw you off? You’re not the one who’s going to win these games. You’re not the one on the court. He’s wasting his time.

“I have to go,” you say firmly, not leaving room for argument. Geto nods, still smiling that stupid, serene smile. Like nothing ever bothers him.

“It was good to see you,” he says, and he sounds like he means it. “I wish you the best. Just consider the offer, will you?”

And then he’s walking away with the last word, and you’re standing on the sidewalk a block away from your apartment, feeling like you don’t know anything at all.

—

The chaos of a home game day means you’re operating on a wire, brain in a thousand places at once as players pass through the back rooms and calls stream in and Nitta texts you that the Samurai got in and settled without a hassle. Game three, and you’re 1-1.

“Well, look who it is!” Gojo calls, bounding over to your place in the center of the common room, where you’ve been pacing while you field phone calls. Something weird twists in your chest when you see him. Nobara’s voice echoes in the back of your mind. Maybe he’s in love with you. “Are you giving me the silent treatment in real life, too?”

“What?”

Gojo frowns, sticking out his bottom lip like a toddler. He holds up his phone, open to your text thread.

The first thing that strikes you is your contact photo, a shot of you laughing at a team meeting. You’ve seen it before, and you know you never sent it to him. Actually, Nobara took it—did he ask her for it?

But your attention is more caught by the name beneath the circular image. management 😌

You snort. Of course. You wonder what he named Yaga and Kusakabe.

The third thing you clock is that you left him on read.

“Oh, shit,” you say, pulling up the messages on your own phone. “Sorry, I did get the text, I was gonna respond—last night got a little…” In the chaos of the encounter with Geto, you must’ve forgotten to text Satoru back. Oops. You raise a brow and tilt your phone screen toward him, deliberately making him watch as you like his message.

And then your phone buzzes.

suguru geto: Just think about it. :)

“Oh,” you mutter. And then you look up at Gojo, and his face is scarily blank. “Gojo—”

“What the hell is he talking about?” His voice is flat, measured. He’s shutting you out.

“Gojo, it’s not—”

“He wants you back, doesn’t he?” He swallows, hard. “You’re going back to the Curses?”

“What? No, I’m—I mean, yes, he wants me back, but I’m not going to go. It’s not like I talked to him by choice. He just showed up—”

“He showed up? Here? He found you here?” Gojo starts pacing, hands moving from his pockets to his crossed arms to his hair and back again. He mutters a curse under his breath.

He presses his lips into a thin line. “You have to be careful around him,” he says.

“You don’t think I know that?” you snap. “I am perfectly capable of handling myself.”

“You don’t know him!” Gojo says with a sudden heat behind his voice. “He’s—he’s manipulative and vindictive and he gets under your skin and he fucks you up, okay? With his stupid mind games and his—his—you can’t listen to him.”

“I stayed with that team longer than you,” you say, your voice icy. “I know what I’m doing, Gojo. I know who he is. I can look out for myself.” You swallow hard as you realize why the words are so familiar on your lips. It’s exactly what you said to Geto last night.

God, why do none of these men think you can fucking handle yourself?

“What did he tell you? What did he say to you?” Gojo demands, and you feel your own walls going up, indignation and defense clouding your vision, muting your reason.

“I don’t owe you an explanation.”

“Please.” And there’s something vulnerable in his voice when he says it, something desperate. Like he’s—losing? Losing an argument, losing a game.

“Gojo!” Yaga barks from down the hall. “Get your ass to the locker room. We’re waiting on you.”

He doesn’t move, just staring you with wide blue eyes. You don’t speak.

When he turns away, Yaga catches your eye over Gojo’s shoulder. You can’t read his expression. Before you can say anything, both of them are gone, disappearing around the corner to the locker room.

“Fuck,” you whisper, clutching your phone so hard your knuckles go white.

“Hey,” Ieiri calls as she appears in the doorway. “You coming?” Then she registers the expression on your face. “Hey, what the hell happened?”

You shake your head, shoving the phone into your bag, out of sight. You can’t do this right now.

“Let’s just go watch some fucking basketball.”

directory. || prev. || next.

jjk taglist open: just send me a message!

@shutuppeter @mikikkoo @reactwithjan @theclassbookworm @lilactaro

[revasserium]

LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT WITH OMI OMI PLSSSSSS I LOVE YOU

@swaggerpear replied to your post “at first sight ft. kageyama, daichi, sugawara,...”:

BOKUTOOO PLEASEEE

at first sight, pt 2

ft. sakusa, bokuto, iwaizumi, oikawa

sakusa.

the first time he sees you, he knows you’re the one. he breathes easier, the air sitting better, sitting sweeter in his lungs — the persistent itch beneath his skin fades to a dull buzz, and when you turn your eyes onto him amidst the flash of cameras and the clamor of reporters, the whole world goes silent. when was the last time that’s happened for him? he can’t remember. you smile, and world is beautiful, irresistible white noise. he smiles back. later, when he manages to find you in the swell of people clamoring to interview him, he asks if you’re new to this — he hasn’t seen you on the press circuit before, and you tell him that you are. that once, you’d dreamed of taking pictures of beautiful things; he cocks his head and smirks, his mask for once pulled down to his chin — the words are out of his mouth before he can stop himself, “so you must be glad you found me, then.” he doesn’t have time to feel mortified because then, you’re laughing, the sound trickling over his skin like rose water, like piano music, and he shivers beneath it’s touch. you nod, blushing, the color so darling against your cheeks he want to lean in and kiss you. he does do that — but not till much later, and when he does, he finds you smiling. he finds that he likes the taste of your smile, too. and that of all the things he’d thought about kissing before now — of how unsanitary it might be, of how awkward, he finds that he really doesn’t mind because, well… it’s you.

bokuto.

the first time he sees you, he know you’re the one. he knows with the certainty of a rising sun. he knows like the receding tide, like the changing of seasons — he knows with the self-assuredness of weathermen forecasting the coming of monsoon season, just along the coast, where the beaches are wide and the sands are hot. he knows, he knows, he knows. he chases down the entire length of corridor at the sports clinic, trips over his own feet, faceplants before picking himself up, asks for your name, your number, what you’re specializing in, feels his stomach leap out of his mouth when you tell him that it’s sports medicine, can’t help but notice the way you’re blushing, the pink kissing across the tops of your cheeks the way he wishes he could. and he does — about a week and a half later, cupping your face in his rough-hewn hands, all thick skin and calluses from spike-practice, but you trace them over with your soft fingers later and tell him that you love them — love the way they feel against your skin, love the stories they tell, the strength they hold, the hours and hours of determination they are a mark of. three weeks in, he tells akaashi he thinks he’s going to marry you. three months in, he pops the question. you’re laughing and crying, both, when you say yes. later, he’d proudly brag to all his teammates that he’d caught an angel in the palms of his hands, brag that it took less than a second for him to literally fall for you, because hey, it must’ve hurt for you to fall from heaven, so he should have to hurt a little too.

iwaizumi.

the first time he sees you, he’s sure he’s misunderstood — surely the universe could not have been conspiring the way it did, surely manifest destiny would not play out the way he thought, the statistics line up the numbers just so. surely — it can’t be this perfect. but it can — so he learns, when he bumps into you again, in another country no less, so far from the confines of a japanese seven-eleven, all the way across the world in argentina, where he’s supposed to be meeting up with oikawa but the jerk is late and now he’s here, his eyes caught in yours in this coffee shop not three blocks away from the olympic training stadium. you both try to ask for each others names, and then, you both fall into awkward, knowing laughter. because if it’s not destiny, he doesn’t know what it is. if it’s not fate, then you don’t know what to call it — what are the chances of two people running into each other time and time again, halfway around the entire world? he asks you out for dinner, and you don’t say no. oikawa teases him mercilessly about it later, but he doesn’t care. he never fancied himself someone to be lovesick, but when oikawa floats out the term, he doesn’t negate him. it’s a slow-going thing, but iwaizumi finds that he doesn’t mind — he likes taking his time with you, knows implicitly that he has all the time in the world — because if you’d found each other across the entire world, then what’s there to be afraid of? what more is there to worry about? you have all the time in the world — after all, isn’t that what it means to be meant to each other?

oikawa.

the first time he sees you, he does double take, and then a triple take. and later, he’d do anything to claim that it was you who chased after him, but those closest to him all know the truth — that he’d run down four flights of stairs and searched through the entire olympic arena to find you, mulling over musubi of all things — him, breathless and panting, and really, really wondering what the hell he as doing. he’s got a game later, but — well, he couldn’t really help himself. call him a skirt chaser, call him a womanizer, call him the playboy to end all playboys, but oikawa tooru has always known what he wanted. and he knew, in the blink of an eye, that he wanted you. so he’d chased after you, he’d found you, he’d turned up his charm and ramped up his smolder and you… well, you’d shaken your head and brushed him off. it’d stung, of course it had. he’d been inconsolable for weeks, but after he found out that you’re related to the famous sportscaster, he finds himself rejuvenated. he tells your dad that he’s in love with you before he ever asks you out on a date. years later, long after he’d managed to convince you out for one date, which turned into two, and then five, and then ten, and then… who’s keeping count any more, right? he stands across from you with your hands in his and tears in his eyes, he tells you — he says, y’know… the first time i saw you, in that crowd, i knew you were the one for me.

requests are open :)

[selfloverrrrrr]

Hii can I request a non-con where reader is a cat hybrid witch and yandere is a fox hybrid nobleman (uses any characters you want ). Yandere tries to flirt with reader but reader doesn't like it . Yandere is in love with reader but reader doesn't like him. reader is very close with his sister so he asks his sister for help to get with reader . So his sister invites reader to their place "asking for help on how to make potions " so reader and yandere's sister are talking and his sister offers reader some chocolate (which was drugged) afew hours later she wakes up to find yandere in between her legs || I loved the last fanfiction😍

Your welcome 🤗💗.... Hope you gonna like this one too 💗

My kitty~

Warnings : smut , heavy smut, unprotected sex, Noncon, Kidnapping, physical and emotional abuse, biting, size difference, Yandere Geto, fox hybrid Geto, cat hybrid reader, stalking, protective, jealous, obsessive, manipulative....

( All characters are aged up/18+)

Minors Do Not Interact

Read the warnings carefully....if you don't like my stories block me not report

Y/n's POV

Geto Suguru was from the royal family. He's a wealthy man...he has wealth, he has charm... And he's popular as well. Of course girls run around him all the time. And he liked it so much...it boosts his ego too much. His favourite thing was to flirt with those girls even though he doesn't like them... that was his time pass....

He has a cousin, Shoko. She's my friend. That's how Geto got to know me. And God, I wish that would've never happened. Because from the day he got to know me he's running around me. "You're my sister's friend... I must protect you" "what flowers do you like?" "Oh we have so much in common...we must be soulmates or something" are some things he kept telling me.

That was still fine until he confessed to me. I never liked him...of course I'm not gonna accept him. But still he kept doing those unnecessary meetings. One day I was out for some shopping. He appeared from now where. "What's up, kitty" he said. I gasped. "You scared me!" I said.

"aww, I'm sorry... what are you buying?" He asked. "Just Milk" I replied. "Oh yeah I remember.... I got to know from my sister that... you're a cat hybrid?" He asked. Who told Shoko to tell him! I thought. "Yeah" I replied. He smirked. "Good to know..... I'm a fox hybrid, by the way " he said.

I didn't know that! Shoko never told me that... But I've noticed before that he has two sharp pointy teeth. That does make sense! "Oh... I didn't know that" I replied. He smirked again and started walking towards me. I started at him. There's a wall behind me and there wasn't anyone in that section with us.

He trapped me between him and the wall. "you know that fox hybrids are good sex partner, right?" He whispered looking directly in my eyes. Where the fuck is this conversation going?! "So....tell me. How much money do I have to pay you to have your little pussy wrapped around my cock?" He asked.

He was too close to me. I couldn't even process what was happening. I must go home now, I'm not getting any good vibes from him. "I-I.... I should go home... bye" I managed to say and quickly went out of there.

Geto's POV

I was in my room. When my cousin Shoko came. "Yo...bull shit, take it" she said and threw a packet at me "it's the one you told me to buy, right?" She asked. "Yupp... that's the one" I replied. "Fine... I'm going home, bye" she said and turned towards the door.

"wait wait wait.... listen" I said. "What's now!" She said and rolled her eyes. "I want some help" I said. "Yeah I know... what else do you even call me for?" She said. I chuckled. "Whatever.... help me to set up with y/n" I said. "You may be the price in your palace.... I'm not one of your servants" she replied with an annoyed expression.

I sat up with a smirk. "Wanna get set up with Haibara?" I said. Now she was silent. "Come on... of course I know" I laughed. She cleared her throat. "You... promise?" She asked. "Of course" I replied. "Fine... I'll do... what do you want?" She asked. "To set y/n for me" I replied. "Oh come on... that's not what I'm asking... I'm asking like should I try to make her fall in love with you or do you want to drug her so you can get her or something?" She asked. I laughed "you're smart, huh? The second one" I replied. "Yeah fine....knew it you gonna fuck" she said rolling her eyes and went out.

A few days passed, Shoko called y/n at home. But she didn't know I was there too. She thought it's just her and Shoko spending girls time and doing fun and making potions... because she's a hybrid.

I was just watching everything from my room. She didn't even notice that I was there. I saw Shoko offering her some chocolate. She accepted it. I smirked. Because I know those chocolates are drugged. A few minutes passed... and y/n was totally unconscious now.

I went up and went there. "Your work is done.... make sure you do mine as well" Shoko said. "Oh of course" I replied. Then Shoko went out of the house. I looked at y/n's body. She's so gorgeous. She's wearing a short skirt and a sleeveless top.

A sleeve of her top was falling down her shoulder. "Look.... your dress doesn't even want to stay" I said. I carried her and brought her to my bed. Then locked the door. "It's time to undress, kitty ~" I said. Then slowly took off her skirt.

I run my hand over her thigh. I looked at her Lacy pantie. Fuck! The way I to be there. I rubbed her clit with my thumb over her clit. My cock hardened at the feeling. I don't have any patience now. I ripped off her clothes. She's fully naked in front of me now.

I looked at her. I was lost in desire. I didn't waste any time, crashed my mouth on her breast licking, sucking and teasing the nipple and squeezing the other one with my hand. She slightly moaned in her sleep.

I looked at her pussy. I rubbed my finger on her clit and whispered " so wet. My naughty little kitten, dripping like a whore~". Then I licked her pussy. I heard her moan again. I smirked at her moan and undid my pants.

My dick sprang out. I slammed my dick inside me in one slide. "Oh f-fuck ....you feel so good" I breathed out. Her eyebrows curved when I pushed my dick inside her. I started thursting in and out roughly. Her legs were shaking now. My thurst became harder and harder. Then I saw her eyes open slowly.

Y/n's POV

I was deep asleep and I woke up with a pain between my legs. I slowly opened my eyes. "You woke up, kitty?" I heard a voice said from top of me. I looked up. It was Geto? What was he doing on top of me?! Before I could react I felt a deep thrust and moaned loudly.

When I looked down I saw him thrusting inside me. "W-what... N-No stop!" I panicked and started pushing his chest. "My kitten is trying her best" he said and chuckled. I started crying. "W-why... where's Shoko?... Shoko!!!! Help me please!!!" I screamed and sobbed.

Geto chuckled. "She's not here baby...no one's here... it's just you and me" he whispered. "No let me go... i-i don't...I don't want this" I cried. But his thrusts became harder. "I don't think I'll" he said in a low voice and licked my neck.

I was throughig my legs with pain and begging him to stop. And he was liking it so much. His thurst became harder and harder. I clenched around him tightly and he moaned loudly " ughhhhhh....ahhh s-so...ahhhh....so f-fucking tight ..... Oh god my perfect whore" he started rubbing my clit with his thumb and I bite his shoulder scratched his back to control myself. With a few more thurst I came. He was still thursting roughly. I felt his cock pulsing inside me. I tried to push him away with all of my strength. I was screaming for him to stop. "Geto P-Please....please not inside" I sobbed. He grabbed my throat and chocked me down to the bed. " Shhh.... you love milk, right? Cats lovvvveee milk....let me give you some milk" He whispered. Within a minute he came inside me I could feel his seed inside me. He pulled out.

I hugged me tightly. Then kissed my neck. I didn't have any powers left. "It feels so good... didn't know cat hybrids feel these good...or maybe my choice is best" he whispered. He locked my hands with his one hand and played with my nipple with the other. "Doesn't matter... you're mine now" he said again.

Give me your requests guys....

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