#and I want to plan to continue to remind myself

[angelremnants]

A TALES OF... l Twilight and Treachery

OR.. After the harrowing events in the Hollow of Trial’s cave with Loki, you return to the courtroom where Odin Allfather, his wife and the court scrutinize you. You're forced to relive a memory that shakes you, along with the unsettling prophecy that had previously unfolded before your eyes. The gods may want answers, but at what cost?

pairing : Loki Laufeyson x f!reader

warnings : Mature themes (+16), graphic description, disturbing imagery, bit of gore, violence and threats, psychological strain, subtle tension, mild language. Proceed with caution if you're sensitive to such material.

word count : 10.7k

author's notes : And the lore is slowly coming to light! This is a straight-up continuation of Tides and Mishaps (the Jasmins and Prayers side story happens in the middle of this one). I kid you not, I think I gave myself a snake phobia while writing this ficlet—I literally shuddered multiple times at one point.

Also excited to announce that my next big project, which will hopefully come out soon, is my Bridgerton!Asgard AU series! I'm currently building up the storyboard to have planned directions for the chapters.

(ao3 version)

⠀

Returning to the courtroom felt like stepping into a gilded cage—a place where both beauty and suffocating control intersected. The chamber loomed before you, its walls rising with imperial majesty, each corner covered in gold and decorated with gigantic tapestries harboring intricate patterns that talked of royal authority, of destiny and history alike. The palace, so pristine and cold, caused your chest to constrict with misery as the rich aroma of polished metal and incense filled your nostrils.

It promised regal, but you could still feel the bitterness underneath—an odor that frantically attempted to disguise the decay lurking beneath the surface. A subtle reminder that everything here, no matter how lovely, was built with power. You'd learnt that power is seldom genuinely kind.

You despised it. It was a setting where everything appeared excessively neat and impeccable, a reminder of the bridge between you and the authority that dominated the realm. The people who governed here had long forgotten what it meant to struggle. Such things did not belong in this stark beauty. This was no place to rest, no place for anything genuine, and there was certainly little room for complicated emotions and the agony of unresolved issues.

The unfamiliar coolness of the marble floor met the soles of your heeled sandals as you stepped inside, where each footfall uncomfortably echoed off the walls and amplified the hollow emptiness that always seemed to haunt the walls. The ceiling stretched impossibly high, and the flickering torchlight cast long, eerie shadows dancing on the edges like little imps cheering for your demise. Everything about your surroundings was imposing, reminding you of your smallness and your insignificance. It was a place where the gods watched and judged in silence, and where you could never quite shake the feeling that you didn’t belong.

It wasn't simply the location that made you uneasy. No, it was what had transpired in the cave. The unnatural trance-like state you'd fallen into, the way you oddly remembered a feeling of an archaic course of energy soaking into your body, as if it had drawn something out of you that you couldn't stop. The shimmering light, the auroras, and the serpent that slithered out of the pendant—the entire event had been so bizarre and disturbing that you couldn't make sense of it. You could still feel its draw deep within you, that hum of force that had temporarily permeated your body.

For once, you really wished Loki was beside you, regardless of what had happened in the previous occurrences. For the little time you had the misfortune of rubbing shoulders with him, you pegged him as an insufferable, sharp-tongued menace—an overaged godly young adult that was bloated with arrogance, riddled with misplaced charm, and far too pleased with his wit for anyone’s good. However, his sudden shift in demeanor back at the entrance left you rooted in your place, bewildered as you wondered if the troubled look in his eyes and his hasty retreat were perhaps born of shame due to what had transpired in the cave, a consequence of your rather charged exchange.

His presence lasted even long after he'd left, especially after that brief conversation with his mother, where she had so delicately implied the possibility of something greater blooming between you moving forward, ultimately leaving you burdened with questions you dared not ask. You couldn't get over the way he had stared at you, as if you were as much of an intriguing spectacle as you were a terrible bother. It perturbed you. And even though he had departed, withdrawing to whatever corner he sought for reasons beyond your grasp, the nagging sense of something slipping past your notice refused to leave you. Something crucial. Something you should have seen, but failed to do so.

Now standing in the golden space, you realized how much you wanted him to go through this with you and how uncomfortable you felt in the sight of these celestial beings, particularly his imposing father and equally impressive right-hand man. They examined you with enigmatic stares, as if expecting something from you, leaving you feeling exposed and vulnerable. The yet-to-be-spoken inquiries, the penetrating stares—it felt just too much. Loki wasn't here to shelter you, to entertain another match of banter or to provide the odd, comforting warmth you'd become accustomed to.

You breathed in quietly, wishing for something more substantial to grab onto. But all that remained was the weight of their gaze and the feeling that you were under scrutiny, with every action being examined.

The Allmother Frigga, bless her heart, offered your shoulder a soothing squeeze, a nonverbal gesture intended to steady yourself. Her warmth was a slight consolation in the frigid, opulent assembly room, and you couldn't help but lean into it, even for a brief moment. The place became aloof to you once she took her place next to her husband, whose lone eye pinned you in place, as if peeling back your layers piece by piece. His stare was neither cruel nor hearty, and his face was one of keen inspection and silent expectation.

"Well?" Odin’s voice broke the silence with a sonorous dominance that sent ripples of faint jolts traveling down your spine. "Whatever happened in the trial?" 

"I don't know, Your Majesty." The words tumbled out of your mouth, exposing your anxiousness. You looked over to the queen, hoping for some subtle guidance, but she remained silent. "It was... unlike anything I'd ever known. I was drawn to the light, and eventually it became too much. The magic—" You stopped, wondering how to go, unsure if you really had the words to convey the tremendous, unearthly intensity that had encompassed you.

His gaze softened, but it was not particularly soothing. "That is not an answer," he remarked, his tone steady. "You are linked to something beyond the mortal realm, and I need to understand it."

Frigga, ever so gentle, stepped forward in your favor. "Dear," she interjected softly, her gaze shifting between you and her husband, "maybe we shouldn't press too hard so soon. Allow her to gather her thoughts.”

But Odin was unyielding. "And what of Loki?" he questioned, his tone becoming sterner. "He has exhibited more interest in you than I expected. Does he know anything about your capabilities? About what happened in the trial?"

The mere mention of the prince made your heart skip a beat. You had not anticipated him to be involved in this so soon. It had been a tense encounter in the cave, yes, but... was his reaction merely a thirst for knowledge? Or was there more?

“I don’t know.” The words felt weak even as you repeated them, and you could feel the stares of your small audience pressing down on you. “I don’t know what he took from it. He—he asked questions, but I’m unsure as to what he was looking for. I mean, I think it was just mere curiosity, really.” 

The Allfather's eye squinted, and his spouse's expression became troubled in a way that made you aware that you might have made a mistake. "He was not meant to be in that cave, yet you speak of him as if he were by your side. Why?"

You froze as a surge of heat rose to your face. Shit! You completely forgot that he wasn't allowed to join you. You hoped it wouldn't get him into trouble.

"Forgive me, Your Majesty, I misspoke," you attempted, pushing yourself to remain calm. "I simply meant that he was curious when I mentioned it later. I did not mean to imply—"

Odin's unwavering glare pierced into you, cold and heavy as carved granite. "Do not play games with me, child." His voice was calm, yet it conveyed the weight of an implicit threat. "I will not tolerate deception. Speak plainly."

Your mouth felt dry. You casted a short glance toward Frigga, seeking some silent encouragement, any indication that she may intercede once more on your part. She simply sighed gently, her lips squeezing into a thin line as she gave the slightest shake of her head.

Your stomach twisted. There was no getting out of this.

"I—" You breathed shakily and lowered your sight. "Yes, he was there." The words felt heavier than they should have, like a stone dropping into still water. "Loki was in the cave."

The elderly man's visage deepened, and his grip on the stick tightened. "So, he defied my orders," he concluded, his definite tone hinting at a displeasure that simmered bit by bit, tantamount to a hurricane kept at bay. "That reckless, arrogant boy has never known when to keep his place."

You winced, a sense of uneasiness passing through you. "He didn't interfere," you responded hurriedly, still unsure as to why you felt compelled to defend him. Maybe you simply had compassion for him to be under the guardianship of such a steel-willed father. "He only watched."

"Watched," Odin repeated, his stare penetrating right through you. "And what exactly did he witness?"

Your pulse throbbed cruelly against your ribcage. That was the question you dreaded answering the most. Out of unease and a deep-seated distrust of what they might do with you—or to you, for that matter—you hesitated to say more than necessary. How could you describe what had happened without revealing too much? Without divulging the trance-like feeling that had engulfed you or the way Loki had stared at you, which you could still feel winding around your skin with the qualities of traces left from a spell?

"I don't know what he saw," you affirmed, softening your voice in hope of appeasing the king. "But he did not stop me. He did not meddle with the trial or try to influence the outcome.” You paused before continuing, "If he learned anything, it wasn't from me."

Odin examined you with such intensity that your stomach twisted into knots. "And yet," he added, "he left that cave changed."

You blinked. "What do you mean?"

"It was reported to me that he returned and retired to his chambers at once," he revealed with a tinge of contempt. "Not to boast about his defiance. Not to tell his usual lies. He slunk away silently.” His single eye narrowed. "That is unlike him. He is a serpent, shedding one skin to slide into another, ever hunting for an advantage. What did you give him?"

"I—nothing, Your Majesty, I swear."

"Do not play games with me, girl." His words were low growls, a warning encased in hot iron that threatened to strike at any moment. "Loki doesn't do anything without reason. If he was present, it was because he desired something.”

Frigga, who had been silent up until now, finally took a step forward and placed a kind yet firm hand on his arm. "Husband," she said, leveling her voice to a firm tone. "This line of questioning is getting us nowhere to what we truly seek."

Odin's jaw tensed, but he did not instantly respond. His suspicious leer quickly shifted to her before returning to you.

The queen focused her attention on you, her look far gentler than his. "The trial," she recalled, thankfully returning the subject to its initial topic. "That is why we're here. Tell us what you saw.”

You gulped, still reeling from the Allfather’s allegations and the crushing weight of his scrutiny. However, her calm and gentle voice served as a steadfast anchor. The words tangled on your tongue, hesitant, uncertain. You glanced between them before slowly exhaling. “It was unlike anything I’ve ever felt before.”

Odin remained unmoved, but Frigga nodded, encouraging you to proceed.

"When I stepped forward, I felt something," you admitted. "Not only around me, but within me. It seemed like a pull—a force beckoning to me, compelling me to give in to it. I did not think. I barely felt like myself. It seemed as if I were moving through water and viewing myself from the outside."

You noticed her fingers barely twitching and a glimmer of recognition flashing over her face. "And then?" she inquired.

You paused. "And then… nothing." A cramped hush settled over the room as her eyes sharpened, Odin’s fingers on Gungnir tightening ever so slightly.

“I don’t remember anything else, just a bright flash coursing over me,” you continued, your voice quieter now. “The walls, the air—everything got constricted. And for a moment, I swear... it felt like it was looking back at me.”

The elder man sharply puffed air out of his nose, his countenance twisted between disappointment and frustration. "Useless," he grunted, conveying the weight of a man who had yearned for so much yet received nothing. "A wasted effort."

His words struck you like a brutal blade, and for a hot minute, humiliation coiled in your stomach. You knew you weren’t to blame for being overwhelmed by forces beyond understanding, but still, you couldn’t shake off the feeling of being a child who had made a disastrous mistake and now faced the harsh reprimands of her parents. As you struggled to hold your composure, fighting the overwhelming pressure inside, Frigga's voice sliced through the cutthroat silence that had installed itself in the courtroom with tempered steel.

“There must be something,” she insisted, stepping closer, her presence suddenly imposing. “No one enters the Hollow of Trials and leaves untouched. If she sensed agitation, then it disclosed itself to her in some way.”

“If I may, Your Majesties,” A voice you had nearly forgotten rumbled from the far end of the chamber. "The cave's intentions do not reveal themselves easily." Heimdall stated last, his booming voice echoing across the golden walls. He had been watching, faithful to his role and silent as a sentinel, with an opaque expression. 

“The Hollow of Trials is not merely a place underground,” the protector elaborated. “It is a force. An entity woven into the bones of the realm itself. It would make sense that with her Midgardian constitution, she would naturally suffer some aftereffects. After all, it does not test out of curiosity, nor does it give answers freely.”

You swallowed hard, your fingers twitching against the fabric of your still damp clothing. "Then what does it want?"

"It strives to bring out the truth."

A shudder raced down your spine. "What truth?"

"That," Heimdall mused, "is for you to answer."

The auditorium dove back into stillness for a time, save for the faint crackling of the torches. Odin’s scowl deepened, but there was something else lurking behind his hardened expression.

"If she has been marked," the Allmother pressed on in a low voice, "then we cannot ignore it."

The old man breathed through his nose, his patience visibly waning. "What if it meant nothing? If this was just a fluke?"

"The Hollow does not waste its time," Heimdall countered. "Nor does it waste its power."

A tight beat passed. Odin's fingers tapped repeatedly in disquiet against his staff before thoughtfully studying you. His scrutiny was heavier than before, as though he were weighing something yet to be seen.

"Then let us hope," he answered at last, "that whatever it seeks does not bring ruin upon us all."

Frigga pulled her lips together in thinking, her gaze shifting between you and her husband. "There is still a way to know what it revealed," she carefully proposed.

"And how do you propose we do that?"

"By retrieving the memory."

Your breath caught. "What?"

"The mind does not forget so easily," she explained. "Even when events appear lost to us, they are simply buried and waiting to be rediscovered, else they remain stocked beneath the surface of your subconscious. I can help you remember what happened in the cave."

You stiffened instinctively. The mere thought of someone probing into your head and shifting through the panels of your mind, over which you personally had no control made your skin crawl. You'd already been subjected to forces beyond your control today—that was enough of an experience you were not especially fond of repeating.

"I mean…" You hesitated, wondering how to express your reluctance without flatly refusing. "Is that really necessary?"

"I understand your hesitation. However, this will not hurt you. I will not push my way into your thinking or take anything from you. I'll simply direct you to what's already there.”

You swallowed and shifted on your feet. "And if my mind doesn't want to remember?"

She looked at you for a while before saying, "If there is nothing to fear, then what harm is there in knowing?"

Odin sighed, plainly impatient with the discussion. "Enough dithering. If this is the only way forward, let it be done."

Your fingers curled at your sides, your uncertainty still evident. Still sensing your anxiety, Frigga stretched out and placed a calming hand on yours.

"I promise," she pledged in a soft tone, "you'll stay in control. I will not press if you refuse."

You took a deep breath, calming yourself down at the eventuality. To all intents and purposes, you had no choice in the matter—and even if you did want to defy the proposition, you did not have the capacity nor the will to go against such powerful beings. Every gaze in the room was focused on you, waiting for your evident acceptance. Finally, you made a slight, tentative nod.

“Alright,” you quietly agreed. “Let’s do it.”

The summoned servants moved silently, their footfalls barely audible on the marble floor. At the Allmother's command, they produced an assortment of artifacts, each with a function and steeped in a ritual seemingly older than memory itself. A great brass basin was placed at the center of the hall, its surface polished to a mirror’s gleam, catching the flickering torchlight and distorting it into molten gold. Beside it, little earthen jars were carefully arranged, packed with crushed herbs and fine-ground powders, their aromas drifting into the air—sage and myrrh, damp moss, and something slightly fresher, the smell resembling a tang of petrichor.

One of them unfurled a length of dark silk, rich as midnight, and spread it across the floor beneath you. Threads of gold embroidery laced through the fabric in twisting—ancient runes, if you had to guess, catching the light whenever the material shifted. It was a spell woven into cloth, vibrating gently with force, but its meaning was lost on you.

Frigga knelt with practiced grace beside the basin, her hands ghosting over its rim, fingers pressing lightly as if feeling for a pulse. She whispered something under her breath—too soft to catch and far too long in the tooth to understand—while a second servant stepped forward, lifting a vessel carved from onyx. Water streamed out in a silken ribbon, striking the basin with an eerie, unnatural uniformity. The surface did not ripple; it simply absorbed the offering, silent and deep, dark as glass.

The blonde-haired woman then reached for one of the jars, taking a pinch of the dried herbs between her fingers. She crumbled them laboriously, letting the fragments fall into the water. The moment they touched the surface, the liquid shuddered, releasing thin tendrils of silver mist that curled and coiled into the chamber, bearing resemblance to restless spirits in their gyrations.

“You must sit,” she ordered you, her voice a soothing murmur against the mounting tension.

Every instinct in you screamed against this—against the waiting shadows, the cold press of magic hovering just out of reach. But Frigga was watching you, and while you trusted her patience to be as endless as the sea, you didn’t want to mess around and provoke her wrath by delaying her efforts any further.

Reluctantly, you sank to the silk-covered floor, the fabric surprisingly balmy beneath your fingertips and offering a stark contrast to the wintry temperature that had long since settled into the courtroom.

Frigga plunged her digits into the water to draw curving patterns on your temples, and with them, the world seemed to shiver. The coolness of her touch glided across your skin in a liquid whisper, a chill that slid effortlessly down to the core of you. But then came the warmth, sluggish and creeping, sinking deeper until it throbbed within your very marrow.

“Close your eyes,” she instructed.

Your pulse drummed at the base of your throat. “With all due respect, Your Majesty, I don’t think I like this.”

Her fingers brushed lower, resting just above your brow. "You must trust me."

It was then that you gradually felt it. A flicker of magic.

It felt like the softest breath—a whiff so delicate it could have been a trick of the wind, a wisp of waft so subtle that it brushed against your soul and left a fleeting sensation that you might have thought to be a figment of your imagination, if not for the unmistakable weight it left behind. 

A presence, gentle but insistent, pressing into the spaces between your fleeting thoughts in the manner of a shadow stretching long across the floor just before dusk. It did not demand your attention, but it sought it nonetheless. It felt akin to a pulse that echoed of the deep gaps between time, where all matters and beings began.

The air got rendered captive in your throat, caught between uncertainty and an incomprehensible pull that tugged deep within you, an invisible force that made the ground beneath your feet feel less certain. You clutched at the silk, the only thing anchoring you to the present, to yourself. "I'm not sure—"

The world tilted as you slurred the start of your sentence, and the ground began to spin in an abnormal axis.

Glancing at your sides, the torchlight curved, stretching in odd, fluid arcs that resembled reflections on the surface of a pool of water. The flames twisted, and the shadows they produced pulled and stretched against nature. The sounds in the room—the flutter of robes, the faintest shifts in respirations, the distant footsteps marching on the luxurious floor—merged into ghosts of forgotten voices drifting on a breeze. Everything became distant, stretching to the borders in an imitation of the last traces of a dream that refused to stay.

Pressure started to build in your mind. It was almost imperceptible at first, presenting as a faint tug at the edges of your consciousness. It eventually deepened into an insistent, coaxing strain, slithering through the defenses of your thoughts. You fought it, tried to hold onto the edges of yourself, to remain grounded in the altering reality. In the fullness of time, it felt like trying to hold onto smoke—the more you reached for it, the more it slipped from your grasp.

"I can still speak," you managed to say out loud to reassure yourself, but the words felt foreign and heavy, as if they weighed more than your body could support. 

Frigga's voice reached you, distant and almost spectral, analogous to a mother calling from beyond the threshold of slumber. "You are resisting," you could just about hear her say, amplifying the sense of inevitability. "You must not fight it."

Nevertheless, you did. You struggled with all of your stubbornness, desperately clinging to your sense of self and the fragments of the real world that lingered. You battled the pull, frightened and refusing to give up, unwilling to let it all slip away.

Your chest heaved, and each breath became gradually slower as you attempted to force your eyes to remain wide open, latching onto the moving auditorium that was rapidly fading into gloom. However, the palace, and indeed the entire realm, appeared to dissolve in spite of your dolorous efforts. The edges blurred, became liquid, and vanished before you could say anything else.

⠀

⠀

The mist swirled around your feet, its curling and twisting comparable to ethereal serpents looming in the air as you stood poised on what you recognized as the Bifrost's rainbow road. Beneath you, the path shone with vibrancy and the colors danced in iridescent hues that melded into one another in a divine harmony. You could feel the energy of the road humming with each step you took, sending a faint vibration through your legs.

Every sound seemed muted, swallowed up by the vast silence that enveloped the space. There was no wind, no chip, no rustle of fabric—only the steady beat of your heart and the resonant drone of the Bifrost beneath you. Time in this place showed signs of being bent along the very rules of existence and ultimately leaving you in a liminal space between worlds. The one before you, vast and unknown, seemed to stretch on forever, inviting you forward even as the very essence of this place warned against it.

Where had you previously been? Who had you been with? The questions swirled in your head, and the recollection slipped through your fingers like water. You couldn't quite comprehend the boundaries of your predicament and everything in your mind was hazy, yet for reasons you couldn't explain, it conveyed the impression of being precisely where you were supposed to be.

Despite the uneasiness coursing through your veins, you felt an almost gravitational push towards the route ahead, driven by an unwarranted force that enticed you to advance and leave behind the familiar solidity of the bridge you knew after a fashion. You put one foot in front of the other almost in hypnosis, drawn to the continuity of the prismatic platform that elongated before you, its kaleidoscope colors appearing to respond to your steps by lighting up with each one. Your senses became more acute, and it made you wonder how you could breathe so easily in space as you observed the environment changing in your venture.

You reached the end of the line and the mist seemed to have expressly parted for you, granting you the view of vast and old roots coiling out of the ground. They gnarled and twisted, snaking across the ground in sweeping, intentional arcs, each one thicker than the other, all connecting to the tallest tree you'd ever seen that spread out before you. There, towering above you, was the trunk—impossibly immense, stretching far beyond what your eyes could see. There was a quiet solemnity to it, its surface appearing rough and aged and lining with deep ridges and grooves, as though the wood had borne witness to eons of history.

How could this be? Before you stood Yggdrasil, the mythical World Tree. The very heart of existence. Peering up, you spotted enormous, bright spiral structures suspended in the air around its base and branches. The celestial orbs floated in repose, their surfaces glinting with incredibly bright colors of pigmentations beyond description. Some flashed with a delicate, continuous chromaticity, while others seemed to alter and warp their surfaces rippling similarly to water disturbed by a gentle breeze. They reminded you of delicate glass baubles used as Christmas ornaments, hanging from the huge branches of the tree and illuminating the cosmic plane.

The ground added to the scene's surrealism and twinkled like a liquid night sky. It faithfully echoed the bejeweled infinity that appeared to be sewn into the platform on which the tree stood, casting an infinite mirror of the stars scattered across the void. Nebulous swells of stardust ebbed and flowed beneath you, with galaxies twisting and growing in dallying, enthralling rotations.

You stood there, starstruck, astounded by the brilliance of it all. The space around you seemed endless and provoked a sense of amazement and horror fell over you as you realized that you had stumbled upon something so deeply sacred that simply standing in front of it felt like a profoundly significant act of heresy. 

How had you ended up here? Was this the consequence of your trial? Or had the upper forces that governed this universe drawn you here for a reason you had yet to uncover?

The nightskied floor that housed Yggdrasil appeared to be an island floating in space. You could make out its edges lead to an apparent gulf on all sides, a gaping split through which the grounded stars spilled in a cascade of silver threads, spinning in anarchic concord. The borders of the tree's massive roots curled down into the clouded abyss, defying any measure of scale.

Even so, despite the endlessness of this place, your gaze was pulled to a darker part that beckoned you closer. There, in the depths of the World Tree's trunk, you noticed the shadowy mouth of a cave carved into its core. The gateway yawned wide, but it was impeded by a massive throng that appeared to be holding the entrance shut, unwilling to let anyone pass through.

Coincidentally, your pendant suddenly began to produce a sound that seemed to gradually increase in volume, emitting a sizzling current that prickled over your skin and zapped through your nerves. Yet it was not the pendant alone that sang. No, the whirr poured into the space around you, a power shrouded in static that insistently pulled at you toward the rupture like a siren's call woven, attempting to lure you deeper into the unknown.

A muffled squelch then greeted your ears as your foot came into contact with something, followed by the leisurely roll of an object displaced from its resting spot. You looked down and saw an apple—if it could still call it that—at your feet, its once-lustrous skin tarnished by decay. Mottled spots of rich purples, sickening greens, and otherworldly blues spilled together across its surface, creating colors that were quite uncustomary for such a common fruit.

It moved. Not with the haphazard tumble of a fruit displaced by chance, but rather with frightening precision, gliding over the surface as if led by an unseen hand. Your gut constricted as you watched it roll, slowly at first, then with increasing surety, toward an unpredictable destination. You followed it hesitantly, compelled by instinct—or perhaps something less of your own volition. The apple avoided scattered rests of other rotten apples that were each with the same odd hues of degeneration.

Finally, it encountered an impediment in its journey—an enormous bulk blocking the entrance to what appeared to be a cavern dug into the very base of the trunk. The apple gave a final, lifeless roll before resting against it.

It was then that you witnessed it. 

The impediment was not of stone, wood, or anything inanimate. It was meat. A body—somber, motionless.

Your breath halted in your throat as your gaze followed the massive, coiled form, the dull shine of scales barely catching the dim shine of the surrounding spheres. The smell of rot hung thick in the air now, and you understood with bone-deep horror that the other fallen apples were scattered around it, arranged in a way that made you guess that they had previously been offerings.

The massive snake, once a beast of immense stature, now rested dead at your feet. Its huge corpse sprawled across the starlit grass, a scattered and bloated mess of a shell that coiled like an abandoned rope. You took in the sheer magnitude of the body in front of you that you speculated to be a former source of power and life that had been reduced to little more than a husk. The once moving apple now appeared almost mocking in its positioning. Its decay mirrored the serpent's—skin peeling, flesh soft and withered, but nonetheless oddly intact and kept in some abnormal condition of ruin.

You stared in horror at the severed head and particularly its mouth—once a formidable maw of deadly fangs and unquenchable fury, now slack and hollow in death, gaping wide like the dark entrance to an abandoned crypt. The dull and glazed pupils looked blindly into nothing, yet there was something in those eyes that appeared to penetrate through you and reach deep into your very soul as if it still saw and knew you, even in its final moments.

Your throat tightened with a frantic want to yell, but you stayed silent. Making a sound here would mean disturbing the deceased in their ultimate rest. You felt a shudder crawl through your body as you looked down to the scale embedded in your pendant, which communally had the same ridged texture and subdued sheen as the ones on the lifeless body. 

The emergent awareness sank like ice in your veins. The scale you carried belonged to him.

Your fingers curled into shaking fists, but the scene in front of you remained unaffected by your presence or your rising terror. And in the pit of your stomach, a sickening certainty grew.

It was a message. A warning reserved for you alone.

A deep, resonant tremor suddenly rumbled through the silence like a faraway avalanche, the sound felt rather than heard—an uncomfortable vibration that wormed its way into your very bones.

"You finally came."

The voice did not echo. It did not boom across the enormous expanse, nor did it originate from any identifiable location. Instead, it was like it had been spoken into your ear. A fear washed over you, thick as the previous mist, coiling about your ribs with rigid hold. Your breath became shallow as you turned, your gaze scanning the continuum behind you. There was nothing. No movement. No shadow dancing through the clouds, only the vast clearing that extended beyond the base of the big tree. 

An elongated hiss glided across the air, like a dagger emerging from its sheath and made your stomach turn into a knot. Every instinct told you to escape, to flee from your current place in whatever way you came from. But you stood frozen, torn between panic and morbid curiosity for this ongoing calamity.

Slowly and cautiously, you pivoted again. Nothing. 

The sensation of an unseen presence slammed against your back, and your fingers trembled at your sides, gripping as cold sweat prickled at the back of your neck.

You forced yourself to breathe. Calm down. Stay calm. You then looked forward—

And screamed.

The serpent's lifeless eyes, which were before dull and shrouded with death, now blazed with fervor. A mystical and penetrating lazuline luminescence punctured through their empty sockets, searing through the mist like beacons of light. 

You felt the world move around you and the air tremble as a swirling and wild vortex raged around the trunk of the tree. It was a choir of shrieking gales, shards of ice flung like celestial shrapnel, and darkness so dense it seemed to devour the light itself. The wind ripped at your skin, tossing your hair about your face as the swirling energy plummeted, spiraling downward around the trunk in a terrible vehemence. You fell back, hands raised against the dazzling current, but its might surged against you like an invisible flood, pushing and pulling.

Within the hailstorm, an elongated shape began to develop, moving amid the pandemonium of gleaming luster. Scales as black as the abyss itself, with luminous veins of the same gradient as the newly lighted eyes and of varying designs on their surfaces. The patterns etched into its hide appeared to be runes, scars, and relics of ancient magics long forgotten by gods and men alike.

A monstrous head emerged from the swirling maelstrom, its maw packed with fangs the size of blades that gleamed like obsidian.The body stretched well beyond sight, its whole form masked by the raging cyclone, yet you could still focus on the enormous beast's scale humming around your neck, against your feverishly rising chest.

That was him.

Níðhöggr.

The devourer. The one Odin had spoken of.

The one whose very essence now coiled in the air before you, stirring awake from the depths of oblivion. There were no words for this—no parables strong enough to shield you from the enormity of what stood before you.

The pendant gripping the skin of your neck throbbed in symphony with the frantic cadence of your heart. The scale. His scale. It vibrated against your chest like it remembered something you definitely didn’t. 

His presence was a weight, pressing against your lungs, coiling around your ribs like chains woven from shadow and ash. His voice slithered into the space between heartbeats, smooth and venomous, though his mouth did not move.

"Look at you," he rasped, slick and invasive, "so small... and yet—you carry the taste of eternity on your breath."

The words wrapped around your ribs like invisible chains, tightening with every syllable.  From the abyss, he emerged—not all at once, because something that vast could never fit within the confines of a single moment. His body oozed from the darkness like oil spreading over water, thick and slick, shifting between the tangible and the intangible. Solid. Smoke. Shadow. 

His head lowered, the jagged ridges along his spine catching flashes of lightning that did not belong to the storm. His eyes—two slits of frozen blue, burning with intelligence so calculated it felt less like being seen and more like being dissected. They drifted lazily downward, landing on the pendant at your throat.

A grin split his monstrous face—a wound tearing across his maw, revealing rows of blackened, glass-like teeth.

"Wearing my flesh like a trinket. How quaint."

The words slithered through the air as he insisted on rolling the “s” and the “sh” phonemes, tasting them on his forked tongue and curling them into the spaces you couldn’t protect.

"Do you know whose hunger you feed, little seedling?"

You didn’t answer. And to be fair, you couldn’t. Your heart slammed against your ribs and the pendant didn’t help your case, feeling heavier now as though it had always been waiting for this moment—to betray you.

Your heart slammed against your ribs, each beat a frantic drum of disbelief and terror. The pendant felt heavier now, as though it had been waiting for this very moment—to betray you.

"You’re supposed to be dead," you whispered in a brittle and raw voice, straining against the weight of fear. "What do you want from me, serpent?"

A sound rumbled from deep within his chest—not laughter, not in any mortal sense. It was akin to the grinding of stone beneath the earth, the groan of the ancient roots snapping under the pressure of this inevitability.

"Ah, ignorance at its finest," he mused, tilting his head lazily, almost bored. "The sweetest poison. More potent than Idunn’s bitter harvest." His body moved like a current with massive coils folding over themselves, each motion stirring the air—not with wind, but with the oppressive pressure of something that should not exist.

"I am the shadow beneath the roots," he whispered, though his voice struck like thunder against your skull. "The hunger time forgot. The end that always waits, patient as death itself." 

His gaze narrowed, sharp and unrelenting. "She thought her golden fester could tame me. Thought it could slow the gnawing." 

A pause. A breath. A memory, jagged and bitter.

"But roots always wither from within. You, of all things, should know that." The accusation hit like a slap, though you couldn’t understand why. "For now, small one, I do not want. I see."

His pupils shrank into razor-thin slits, gleaming with something dangerously close to curiosity. "You are certainly interesting. Born from what should not be. A mistake wrapped in flesh."

Anger sparked, raw and sudden, trying to drown the fear. Your fists clenched at your sides.

"Even with a curse and a bite... A sliver of me rests against your heart, yet you stand unscathed." His jaw expanded into a wider grin, impossibly so. "Curious."

"What are you talking about?" you snapped with a defiance you didn’t fully feel. His laughter returned, a grinding, hollow sound. 

"Cradled by hands that never meant to hold you. Even the roots didn’t expect you." He tilted his head again, studying you like a puzzle missing its edges. "But here you are... a question with no answer."

His sneer suddenly faltered, and you were under the impression that he was looking through the core of your being rather than at you. "I am the shadow beneath the roots. The hunger time forgot. The end that always waits, patient as death itself." 

His pupils narrowed, pinpricks of molten flame, colder than winter’s grasp, and just as unforgiving. They bored into you, piercing straight through the veil of your reality.

"Even the Allfather couldn’t prune the rot. He just hid it under golden leaves."

His declarations settled over you like a fine layer of ash. There was no escaping them, no wiping them away from your consciousness. It was as though his voice had branded them into your soul.

"The gods simply forgot that rot grows in the dark."

With a movement that was as fluid as it was abrupt, his attention snapped back to you, and the air around you seemed to freeze in his wake. His eyes, now molten shards of cold fire, never left yours.

"Pass this message to your little friends."

The shadows around you began to thicken, creeping like living things across the ground. They twisted and folded inward, wrapping and closing in around you. The air itself grew thick with a smell of lost time and forgotten promises. His voice lowered in a solemn tone that was too heavy to ignore and too filled with prophecy to dismiss.

"When the roots bleed and the branches wither, when the song of the tree grows faint to the ear, be aware that the splinters are scattered far and near—for what was whole is now broken, and what is broken cannot hold back the tide."

His grin stretched, a cruel mockery of amusement that split his face wide. His jagged teeth gleamed like shards of obsidian, glinting in the flickering light. With agonizing deliberation, he lowered his head, bringing his serpentine snout inches from your face. The rancid air that escaped his maw wrapped around you, spreading the scent of decay even more and mingling with something older than death itself.

"You tremble, little seedling," he hissed, the words curling into your mind like cold fingers prying at the edges of your thoughts, seeking to unearth your deepest fears. "But there’s something buried under all that fear, isn’t there?"

Your breath came in ragged gasps, the pendant at your neck searing against your skin. The hum grew louder until the sensation burrowed beneath your ribs and through your entire bone structure.

Until it snapped.

A radiant burst erupted from you—not fire, not lightning, but something wilder and far more spectacular. Light poured from your epidermis in rapids of greens, violets, pinks and blues, painting the storm with colors stolen from the northern sky. The glittering ground beneath you cracked, veins of frost-like markings spidering outward, glowing like the roots of Yggdrasil itself.

The serpent recoiled with a hiss, his vast body jerking back as if scorched by the light. His eyes narrowed, slits of icy blue burning with fresh intensity. "Ah, there it is."

The aurora wrapped around you, wild and uncontained, reflecting in the abyss of his gaze. His scales shimmered under its glow, revealing dark veins pulsing beneath, fractal threads of corrupted power.

"I see your purpose now, you wear the sky itself," he spat, coils writhing with irritation. "A trick of the tree... but light doesn’t scare the dark, little one. It only shows where the shadows are hiding."

His maw opened wide, a cavern of a cavernous void ready to consume you whole. His fangs, sharp as the very edge of oblivion, hung poised to strike. Níðhöggr lunged, and the light felt so bright it seared your vision, the darkness so deep it threatened to swallow you whole. The world collapsed into that singular moment, and then—

Nothing.

You jerked awake with a sharp gasp, your body soaked in cold sweat and the echo of his hiss lingering in your mind like a poison you couldn't shake. The phantom glow slowly receded from your vision, but the image of that monstrous presence remained, etched into your thoughts like a scar of frost that would never thaw.

⠀

⠀

You considered the guest room to which you were led to far too extravagant for your tastes, bathed in the soft glow of flickering candles, their warm light dancing across the polished stone flooring and beautiful yet complicated carvings on the walls. The ceiling above arched high, with imitations of ancient constellations and mythical creatures engraved into the minarets. The aroma of jasmine and old wood wafted through the air, a gentle reminder of the monarchial magnificence all around you.

You perched on the edge of the bed, letting out a gentle sigh as you looked around, your fingers nervously holding the thin fabric of the nightgown they'd given you. The Asgardian furniture was exotic in its luxury but pleasant in a disconnected sense. The bed, huge and fluffy with yet again, gold embroidery that shimmered slightly in the dim light, felt like a gilded cage. If it wasn't evident to you before, the feeling of being trapped in a realm where time functioned differently and events larger than you unfolded at an unfathomable rate was now deeply inscribed in your head.

Your attention shifted to the desk across the room, where a variety of goods lay jumbled. A gilded quill with an ink well sat next to an exquisitely wrought tome with its contents open. The symbols on those pages were elusive, as if they were intended to be deciphered by a select few. A little crystal vial containing what appeared to be sparkling dust rested next to it. Something warned you it wasn't supposed to be touched. However, your curiosity prickled at the edge of your consciousness, tempting you to take it up and investigate.

You had been unable to sleep since the happenings in the courtroom. Your thoughts perpetually returned to Níðhöggr's words—those cryptic riddles and the sinister implications of his presence. You could still feel the harshness of his voice and the dread that permeated your innards.

You failed to get rid of Frigga's disturbed expression either, as well as the way Odin had stared at you like you were a problem he hadn't worked out yet and was fearful of. The royal scholars were summoned in a flurry, scribbling furiously on their scrolls, their gaze flitting between you and the ancient books they preserved. The court reporters had done no better, their pens speeding across their parchment as if they were afraid of missing something important.

The Einherjar had quickly led you out of the courtroom. The guards were polite, even friendly, but the urgency in their eyes was clear. "Stay in your room and don't leave," they had said, hinting at no possibility of arguing.

You brought your knees to your chest, pushing your forehead against them as the weight of everything pressed down on you. The silence was infuriating, and the calm of the room only exacerbated the commotion that raged in your mind. What did all of this mean? Why had the monster singled you out? Why had Heimdall’s stare conveyed such recognition? He knew something, he had to. And the peculiar manner in which the damned amulet you wore showed itself back in the trial made you feel as if the answers were just out of reach.

Your fingers brushed against the hem of your nightgown, the soft fabric smoothing between them while your mind raced. There were no explanations, only a sequence of mysterious images and a thorny warning. You looked to the window, where the light from Asgard's twin moons trickled in, putting a pale glow on the stone walls. How long will you be kept here? And what happens next? You only prayed you’d live long enough to figure it out.

"I didn’t peg you for the type to gawk at everything like a lost fool."

Your heart leapt in your throat, and before your mind could catch up, you jumped out of your position and whirled around, fists flying instinctively toward the unexpected sound. Only your punch sailed straight through the air like there was nothing more than a mirage. 

Loki stood before you, grinning, the playful glint in his eyes masking the unreadable depth of his gaze. He leaned back, hands casually resting at his sides and his smile curled into a smug arc. “I believe the expression is third time's the charm, but you might want to work harder on properly getting me,” he quipped with unrepentant amusement.

You blinked, taken aback for a moment, but the irritation rose in you quickly enough. "You do know that what you’re doing is a breach of my privacy, right? What if I was changing or something?"

The prince didn’t flinch. Instead, he granted you a stare far more serious than the one you were accustomed to, and if you were quick enough, you would have been able to pick up the flash of a curtain of darkened thoughts passing his pupils at your reprimand. The subtle shift in his posture spoke volumes of his underlying intents—he wasn’t here to taunt but to stand on business. There was a strange sense of gravity about him as he slowly stepped forward, like a pressure building up in the space between you.

"I need to speak with you," he declared, stripped of any pretense of mockery. "And you better listen intently as this concerns you."

"Oh, so now you want to talk?" you spat, crossing your arms. "After scurrying away like a little mouse to go hide in the shadows?" You couldn’t help but let the sarcasm taint your words. You were still salty about the fact that he let you face all of your previous ordeals alone, leaving you to fend for yourself. "Fine," you snapped without waiting for his response. "What’s so important?"

Loki didn’t respond to your taunt. Alternativerly, he reached behind him and conjured with a flick of his wrist a few parchments with what looked like to be fresh ink spilled on them. He held them out and you noticed the edges curling slightly, as though they had been hastily pulled from somewhere else.

“Before they figured out what I was doing, I managed to borrow these. It’s about what’s happening.”

 "Why do I need to know anything about this?" You frowned in a mix of confusion and suspicion. "I’m just a—"

"A human, yes, I know," Loki interjected, his eyes narrowing as he regarded you. “But a human with quite a promising role in their play.” He gave a disbelieving shake of his head, as though something deeper was at play here that you still hadn’t grasped. “Which is exactly why you need to hear this.”

He glanced down at the papers, his fingers gripping them tightly as he continued. "Afortime your arrival here and our discovery of your existence, there had been a disturbance in Asgard. A tremor, violent enough to be considered as a precursor to an attack. When everyone got confined in their homes and they sent out sentinels to investigate on the possible cause of the perturbance, they found nothing and came back empty-handed. A short time after, bits of our mockup of Yggdrasil were found laying around the Hall of Science."

"Okay," you acknowledged his tale, unable to fully grasp what he was saying. "And how does that concern me?"

Loki’s gaze darkened, his face hardening at your ignorance of the gravity of the situation. "Because, you dull-witted creature, you are a part of this," he harshly rebutted with exasperation. "They think your vision served as a prophecy, and the fragments of the mock-up are echoes of real ones scattered across the realms by Níðhöggr in order to bring about Ragnarok. And his interest in you as well as your little ability might be implicated in his scheme."

Your stomach twisted as you processed his words. "Wait, wait," you stammered. "So you’re saying that not only are we all in danger, but that they want to use me as a weapon? But I don’t even know what’s happening half the time! All I did back there in the trial was shoot around these ridiculous rainbow lights!" You gestured vaguely in frustration toward the weak glowing aura originating from your trachea. "How is that supposed to help?"

"Unfortunately, you might not be as useless as we think of yourself." His eyes bored into you while he countered your arguments with a clipped tone. "Odin plans to sequester you away until he figures out how to separate you from that pendant." His voice softened but didn’t lose its edge. "He doesn’t care what happens to you. He cares about what he can take from you, and your way of thinking only serves as a benefice to him." 

He leaned in closer conspiratorily, gazing into your eyes with urgency. "You’re a piece of something far larger than you realize. And if you let them do what they plan…" His voice trailed off, but the implication was clear. You were in deeper than you knew, and the consequences of waiting around and trusting the gods would only end in endangering yourself.

A gnawing itch that had been growing ever since you’d been dragged into this mess threatened to take you over along with the fatigue that had long since settled in your bones, blurring the line between what was real and what you wanted to believe. You took a step back and crossed your arms over your chest, attempting to shield you from him. From everything.

"Why are you telling me this?" The question left your lips faster than intended, slicing through the tense silence between you. "What do you even gain from this?"

Loki’s expression didn’t falter, but an emotion passed through his eyes, too quick to catch and gone before you could name it. Still, you pressed on, fueled by exhaustion and justified distrust.

"Wasn’t I supposed to be a simple task for you?" you sourly recalled. "You successfully found me and dragged me back to Asgard. So why the sudden change of heart?"

He continued to let your accusations unanswered and satisfy himself by staring at you with those infuriating and enticing eyes, a behavior that only served to agitate you all the more. His silence stretched thin between you, taut like a wire about to snap.

You took a shaky breath, feeling the tremor of doubt in your chest. "Why should I trust you, Loki?" His name tasted like cutting glass on your tongue. "You’re the god of lies, remember? Deception is kind of your thing."

"If I wanted to lie to you, I wouldn’t take this many risks and I’d make it much easier for you to believe."

His voice had resonated in the room, but his mouth didn’t move accordingly with it. Without delay, his image dissolved into nothingness, leaving only the faintest ripple in the space where he’d stood. Your breath hitched, heart lurching with the sudden absence. You spun around, fists instinctively clenched, frantically searching in the dim room.

That’s when you saw him—perched lazily on the narrow ledge of your open window, one leg dangling over the edge, the other propped up as if he were lounging in a throne rather than flirting with a deadly fall. The night air stirred the loose strands of his dark hair, moonlight casting silver streaks across his sharp features. His silhouette was framed by the incredible skyline—golden spires reaching into the vast, star-strewn dark, indifferent to the chaos brewing within you.

"I am supposed to be confined to my chambers, retained by a rather irksome little spell, courtesy of the Allfather,” he said, picking at his nails with his dagger in a theatrical nonchalance. “And if I were to somehow escape—which I haven’t, obviously—I’d be granted the pleasure of even greater punishment.”

You arched a brow, swallowing down the remnants of your racing heartbeat. "Then how did you get out?"

Loki’s grin curled arrogantly as he slid gracefully off the window ledge, landing with the effortless poise and started toward you. Each step made you further and further aware of his presence filling the room, stalking in it like he owned everything.

"Oh, please," he drawled, voice dropping into that annoyingly smug lilt. "Don’t insult me by assuming mere spells could keep me in. It’s terribly unsophisticated of you."

You stood your ground, even as he closed the distance, the space between you shrinking with every step until the air itself felt too thin. His eyes—those impossibly enchanting green eyes—locked onto yours, daring you to flinch first due to his nearness. A flicker of doubt whispered at the back of your mind. After everything he'd done with illusions and vanishing tricks... was he even present right now?

Without thinking, you lifted your hand and gave him a small, tentative punch to the chest—not hard, moreso of a test than an attack. Your knuckles met solid leather and the faint resistance of muscle beneath the fine Asgardian fabric.

You hated how aware you were of him. How his presence seemed to pull at the edges of your thoughts, tangling with the fear, the exhaustion, the doubt. And yet, you didn’t step back.

Definitely real.

The raven-haired man glanced down at the spot where your fist had landed, then back up at you, a grin spreading across his face like a slow sunrise. "Ah, see," he mused, "you’ve finally managed to land one on me. Took you long enough."

You rolled your eyes, fighting the twitch of a reluctant smile threatening the corners of your mouth. "I wasn’t even trying," you muttered, pulling your hand back, though the warmth of the brief contact lingered longer than it should’ve.

"Sure you weren’t." Loki didn’t need to smile this time. The look in his eyes said enough.

He wasn’t moving and neither were you. It felt as though time itself had slowed, its cloak contracting around you both. There was something unsettling about the way he looked at you, like he was trying to see through you, or perhaps trying to see you for what you truly were. You felt the sting of his gaze burn into you, and despite yourself, you couldn’t bring yourself to look away. 

Finally, the god broke the silence after what seemed like an eternity. 

"I’m not here to coddle your feelings or win your trust," he circled back to the initial subject of your conversation, cutting off the temporary light mood that had settled between you. "Whether you like it or not, you’re at the center of the situation. And regardless of how they choose to dress it up with prophecies or destiny, my survival is still on the line." He hesitated, just for a fraction of a second. "As much as yours."

His explanation, albeit selfish in essence, somehow managed to land heavier on you. Because deep down, buried beneath the exhaustion and the fear, you knew he wasn’t lying.

And that terrified you more than anything.

"What am I even supposed to do?" you whispered, your throat tight. “I’m powerless against most of you.”

The prince stepped back, his expression softening for the briefest of moments at your resignation, but there was a steeliness in his eyes that refused to soften. "You have a choice," he quietly replied. "You have more power than they’re letting on. Untapped, certainly, but if you let them take it from you—if you let them control you... then it will be too late."

Just as he concluded his sentence, a loud, jarring sound ripped through the quiet of the room, followed by another, and another. The unmistakable pounding of fists against the door. 

"By order of the Allfather, you must open the door!" Your heart skipped a beat, the realization sinking in. Loki’s escape had been discovered, and the alarm had been raised. 

The door didn’t hide a single guard, but multiple—their boots pounding against the stone floor, the sound of frantic voices rising. Your breath caught in your throat as the noise intensified and became louder, mirroring the banging of drums that signaled the arrival of impending doom. 

Loki’s eyes flicked toward the door instantly, his body going tense, the air around him crackling with the energy of impending action. His face, usually a mask of sardonic detachment, was now etched with ultimate alertness. He stepped toward the window while you stood frozen in your place, your indecisive gaze flicking between the door, the noise growing louder, and him.

Should you open the door? Should you let them in? 

Or should you flee?

Panic clawed at your insides as you shifted between looking at the door, still shaking from the guards' pounding, and at the Asgardian, who gave his back to you as he prepared to make his next move. Each thought collided with the next, crashing against each other and leaving you paralyzed. The guards would break in soon, and the consequences of standing idle were becoming more and more real.

The god of mischief precipitously pivoted without turning to face you fully and extended his hand. "I’ve placed a spell on the door," he claimed with urgency. "It’ll hold them off just for a little while longer. But if we’re going to get out of here, we need to move quickly."

You hesitated, fingers twitching at your sides, your mind racing with a thousand questions. Leave with him? The choice felt impossible, like choosing between the lesser of two evils. "What if I end up dead?" you nervously whispered, more to yourself than to him. "What if I end up imprisoned? I don’t know—"

"If I managed to cheat them and death all this time, would I be standing here asking this of you if I didn’t think you had a chance?" Loki cut you off with a sureness that made your chest tighten. "You’ll be in just as much danger if you stay here. Don’t fool yourself into thinking there’s safety in doing nothing."

The door rattled again, a shuddering thud reverberating through the room as the guards slammed against it with all their weight. You flinched, your pulse spiking, and before you knew it, your thoughts evaporated into instinct. Panic settled over you like a cold sweat.

His impatient gaze flicked toward the door before redirecting it toward you, his eyes narrowing with a flicker of annoyance. "Now."

It was as if time had been brought back into focus, the brunt of your uncertainty crumbling as your naked feet advanced with a mind of their own. In a final peek at the door—and the guards attempting to force it open—you reached out, your fingers quivering as they met his. Everything around you seemed to fade away the moment you held his hand, all evaporating in the pull of his grip.

Loki drew you toward him in a one smooth movement, snaking his arm around your waist with such suddenness that it took your breath away. You didn't have time to think or question. The window sill was in front of you, and you both leapt out into the chilly night air.

At the same instant, the sound of the door breaking open became a distant echo, drowned by the deafening rush of wind and the helpless sensation of falling. You didn't think and didn't process. The air blasted around you sd you descended, and the world spun at terrible speed while your stomach threatened to spill out du to the absence of a ground.

The wind buried your shriek as you both fell, your arms instinctively tightening around his neck and your pulse hammering in your chest. You couldn't see anything below, and you felt like falling into the unknown, into whatever awaited you both at the end of this perilous descent.

A terrifying notion crossed your mind. Would you even survive this?

The unfortunate truth was that there was no turning back. You were no longer a passive participant in this story. You were caught in the clutches of the universe, unable to break free. And as you plunged into the boundless sky, you were forcibly compelled to reflect on the harsh susurrations within the back of your mind.

Particularly, the prospect that no matter what you selected, your fate would have no enjoyable finale.

⠀

⠀

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[extemporaneousmusings]

2/10/24

Today I:

-let myself sleep in with no guilt

-mainly did manage to relax

-did some big picture reflecting and goal setting looking toward the end of the year which felt almost a little too productive for what I wanted to do today, but I decided to go with it and leaned into the journaling vibe

[dreampearls]

do you understandmy vision.

[dirtyyoungthingg]

its been a long day. between school and extracurriculars, i am exhausted and stressed. i need a release. bad.

what better way to relieve my stress than fucking myself silly?

i walk into my bedroom, already smiling thanks to the plan my sweet little brain came up with. my smile drops when i realize you're sitting on my bed.

next to my toys.

"d-dad...--"

"what the fuck are these, hm?" you gesture to the two toys on the bed. i immediately shrink into myself, embarrassed.

"...dunno...."

"dont play dumb with me." you stand and grab a fistful of my hair, bringing my gaze up to meet yours. you glance back over at the toys. "do you even know how to use those?" nervously, i nod.

"i-i'm a big girl."

you can't help but smile a little. "yeah?" you throw me down onto the bed. "show dad. let me see you be a big girl, and maybe i'll let you keep these." i scramble onto my back, my heart pounding in my ears as i try to wrap my brain around whats happening.

my dad wants to watch me fuck myself.... my thighs squeeze together as you settle onto the foot of the bed. you tut at me and place your hands on my knees.

"don't be shy now. its nothing i havent seen before." your mind flashes back to our special bathtimes. how you loved catching glimpses of my sweet little pussy underneath the bubbles. how you'd use your special soap on me, as long as i didnt tell anyone.

"but dad--"

you spread my legs open suddenly, my skirt raising to show off my printed pink panties. "shut the fuck up. take those off." my face is flushed as i comply, sliding out of my panties. you grab them from me and bring them to your nose. "god... you always smell so good." i shiver at the cold air hitting my wet cunt. you set the panties down and reach to rub your thumb lightly against my sweet little pussy lips. your other hand moves to grab the first toy, a small bullet vibrator. you smile at it for a moment. "where'd you get this guy, huh?"

"th-the mall... one of the stores sells stuff like that in the back..." you turn it on, and a small but consistent buzzing sound fills the air. you raise your eyebrows as you click it back off.

"not bad." you press it into my hands. "go on. show me how you use it."

i feel dizzy, nervous. this is wrong, you shouldnt be making me do this. and yet, i'm so wet, and i was planning on playing with myself anyway... maybe its not so bad that dad's here.... i bite my lower lip as i turn the small vibe back on and begin to run it over my little pussy lips. a breath catches in my throat when i brush over my swollen clit. you take another deep breath from my panties as you watch, palming yourself through your pants. i press the vibe to my clit as i watch. "g-god... dad...."

"thaaaaat's right baby. just like that." you unbuckle your belt and pull your cock out, wrapping the soft pink fabric of my panties around the length of it as you begin to pump your cock with your fist. the sight is making me lightheaded with lust. i squirm as the vibrator presses harder onto my clit, letting out a moan. "good girl..."

you glance over at the other toy, a sizable dildo. you grab it with your other hand and look down at my glistening cunt. so small and sweet... "...can you even fit this in that sweet little hole, baby?"

i sheepishly look away, shaking my head no. "so-sometimes if i try i can get it halfway in, but it really hurts..." you can't help but laugh a little.

"you just need daddy's help, baby." you grab the vibrator and click it off. i can't help but whimper a little and squirm at the lack of touch. you smile. "turn over, raise that cute little ass up for me." i comply, rolling over onto my stomach and putting my ass up in the air. my skirt from school is still on, and you have to slide it up so you can get to my bare ass. yet another reminder that i'm your daughter, your baby... you shouldn't be doing this... and yet you continue.

you use the head of the dildo and lazily drag it over my opening, humming softly as you see the wetness that collects on the toy. "you're so wet... i'm sure we could fit this in if we tried. you're a big girl, right? thats why you have these toys?" i nod, too flustered to really speak.

"i-i'm a big girl..."

"that's right baby. you're a big girl. and that's why you're gonna take all of this, deep inside your sweet little kiddo cunt." you press the toy into me, slowly, working it in and out of my pussy bit by bit. my eyes screw shut as i whine. i'm still just so tight, so small... you bite your lower lip in concentration as you press the dildo even further inside me suddenly. i gasp and try to squirm away. it's too much, too deep...! i am met with a swift slap on my ass that makes me yelp and causes tears to spring from my eyes.

"ah-ah. that's enough of that, young lady." your tone is gruff, and makes me shudder inwardly. you manhandle me back into the proper position. "you wanted to be a big girl. owning these toys, fucking yourself with them. acting like such a whore. you're lucky this is how i'm choosing to correct this behavior." you smack the other cheek to punctuate your point. "i could've just thrown you down, raped you right here." you begin to thrust the dildo in and out of my cunt quickly, ignoring my pleas for you to stop. "coulda just taken everything ive ever wanted. your mouth, your pussy, your ass..."

i'm sobbing at this point as you relentlessly fuck me with the toy. "coulda treated you like the whore you are. traipsing around with those little skirts, those tiny tops that leave nothing to your father's imagination, much less anyone elses." you've driven the toy all the way into me at this point. i'm crying, my brain overloaded from pain and pleasure.

"t-too m-much--! p-please, stop!"

"shut the fuck up." you use your free hand to press my face into the pillows. "god, do you ever stop talking?" the toys pace is too much. you notice how much i'm clenching around it. "and look at that. you're close. you can't be having that bad of a time if you're that close to cumming while your dad plays with you how he sees fit." my cries are muffled by the pillows as i beg you over and over to stop, please god stop, it's too much.

"no, baby. i'm not gonna stop. not until you cum all over your special big girl toy for daddy. c'mon, i know you want to. you know you want to. cum for me. cum for dad."

and just like that, the dizzying feeling reaches its peak. i cum with the toy deep inside me, my sweet cries ringing out as i throw my head back. you slow your movements down until you stop.

"that's my girl." you slide the dildo out of my cunt. "i knew you could do it. and look at that! you took the whole thing! such a big girl for daddy, such a good girl."

i'm too much of a dazed mess to fight you off as you slide your pants down and position yourself over me. you line your cock up with my twitching cunt, humming softly.

"now i get to show you that you don't need those silly toys. all a girl needs is her father."

[cloverapple]

How I Shift On Command + How You Can Too

I don’t plan on posting anything other than this or starting a blog, so I don’t need anyone to “believe” in me. The only person you should trust is yourself—trust yourself to resonate positively with what you see online and click away if it doesn’t serve you. This is here for you to take from if it resonates. I literally only made this blog to post this here. My hope is that it reaches at least one person who can take something from this and apply it to their shifting journey. If not, and this post ends up here untouched, I’m just glad to finally get everything down in words and off my chest. 

Jumping straight to the answer because I’m not going to make anyone sit through a long post for it. The rest, the "advice," is here if you want to read it.

The "method"

I figured out what works specifically for me as an individual instead of following everyone else’s journey. Everyone has their “thing” that makes shifting click, a sweet spot that makes reality shifting possible. For me, it’s a combination of the law of assumption and inducing an altered state of consciousness.

During the day, I spend time affirming—or sometimes just reminding myself or keeping a little note nearby—things like:

I can shift.

I know how to shift.

I could shift tonight.

Shifting is accessible to me.

At night, I watch videos, look at Pinterest boards, or listen to music that reminds me of my DR. This ingrains where I’m going in my brain. Sometimes I do this for fun, and other times I skip it entirely.

When I lay down, I always lie on my back and stay somewhat still because I like the feeling of my body going numb. This isn’t necessary to shift, but I enjoy it—it lets me feel the symptoms of hypnagogia (that in-between state of wakefulness and sleep).

To meditate quickly, I count from 1 to 100 with a few affirmations in between to remind myself of what I’m doing. I do this until my body goes numb, and I start messing up the counting. Usually, the mistakes or random, nonsensical thoughts are my signal to start shifting.

At this point, I begin affirming the things I affirmed during the day:

I could shift right now.

I have the ability to shift.

I have the power to shift at any moment.

While I do this, I focus on the feeling of being in my DR—not my surroundings, not my senses, just the internal feeling of being there.

This is where “brazen impudence” comes in. I hard-force myself to feel like I’m in my DR. It’s not about imagining my surroundings but purely about embodying the feeling of being there.

Hypnagogic imagery and sensations like floating often kick in at this point. These are symptoms of your body falling asleep so your awareness can take shape in that sweet spot for shifting.

I continue this, then stop and start counting from 1 to 100 again, with affirmations like:

I can shift.

I know how to shift.

I could shift right now.

Then I repeat the process: using brazen impudence to force myself to feel like I’m in my DR.

Eventually, I reach that threshold between sleep and wake—a liminal state of pure consciousness. Body asleep, mind awake, I call this the “rabbit hole” which is honstly just a deep state of hypnogogia. It’s a state where anything is possible: lucid dreaming, astral projection, slipping into the void, shifting—anything.

When I’m in this state, I use brazen impudence to force myself to feel like I'm shifting to my DR and don't take no for an answer (I tell myself I'm in Barbados and shut the door in my own face). This can involve affirmations or just talking myself through it, either way I wake myself up there. Occasionally, I simply relax, expect to wake up in my DR, fall asleep, and wake up shifted.

Does all that sound complicated? Let me simplify:

Lay down and get comfortable.

Count from 1 to 100 on a loop with affirmations in between until you mess up the counting, get sleepy, or have your mind wander. Like this:

Me: *counts from 1 - 100* Me: *says a few affirmations/askfirmations* Me: *counts from 1 - 100* Me: *says a few affirmations/askfirmations*

On a loop until...

Persist in the feel of being in your DR—not focusing on surroundings or senses, just the feeling. Feeling is the secret.

Alternate between steps 2 and 3 until you’re in that relaxed body asleep/mind awake state, OR just straight up hypnogogia tbh. (That is, if you don’t already shift lol)

From there, choose what feels right: shift from a lucid dream, affirm, slip into the void, or just feel yourself in your DR like I do, convince yourself that either you shifted and are there, or are shifting and will end up there.

One thing I’ll tell you now—regardless of your circumstances, how long you’ve been trying, how long it’ll take, who you are, etc—is that you already know how to shift. You, reading this right now. You know how to shift, and there’s nothing you did to learn it. There’s nothing you can do to unlearn it. It’s something that will stay with you until the end of time.

Why do you think people shift randomly without prior knowledge of shifting? Even people who don’t believe in it? It’s because everyone can shift. You can shift.

Right now, stop reading this post and say in your head or out loud, “I already know how to shift.” Or, if that doesn’t feel right, “I already have the ability to shift,” “No matter what, I have the power to shift,” or “My mind knows how to shift no matter what.”

Can you argue that? No, you can’t. And if your mind starts throwing out “buts,” go back and read that again.

Shifting isn’t difficult, and no one struggles to shift. I’m sure you’ve heard it before—that shifting is simple and happens in seconds—because it does. You don’t struggle with shifting. You can shift; everyone has the power to. What you “struggle” with, so to speak, is figuring out what works for you, what your brain likes, how it operates—because everyone is different.

What ended up working for me more than anything was figuring out how I operate and modifying shifting to fit me—not forcing myself to fit shifting.

Will my method work for everyone? I have no idea. Unless you assume it will work for you, this is what works for me. I’m me, and you’re you.

Before you say “Oh, but I’ve tried everything and nothing has worked so far” and expect me to sit here and ask you “but have you really tried everything? <3” , listen to me. 

I could shift perfectly well with my own personal method before I started shifting regularly. I knew it worked well for my brain, but the thing that “blocked” me (so to speak) were my assumptions. 

When you sit there and say “I’ve tried everything and nothing has worked” that’s your assumption about yourself. You believe that nothing works for you, that you don't know how to shift, that you’re this powerless, lost baby shifter who needs guidance. 

There’s nothing wrong with this, it’s not your fault, and theoretically you could shift even with your “blockages” (I really hate that term), as shifting waits for no one.

This is why so many people shift randomly and with poor assumptions without meaning to. But you clicked on this because you want to know how you can shift consistently + on every time, and this is the answer I’m giving you. 

You find out what works better for you, be it affirming, visualizing, scripting, shifting awake, shifting asleep, shifting with hypnagogia, shifting with hypnopompic, shifting through lucid dreams, shifting with brazen impudence, through SATs, robotic affirming, through letting go, through putting your DR on a pedestal, through listening to music, through law of assumption alone, and many more. 

If that sounds overwhelming, please note that all of these are the same vehicles that get you to your destination. Just in different shapes and colors. Like how some people drive a car, others drive a motorcycle, others walk, others swim. The movement forward is always the same. 

What you’re doing, no matter how you’re doing it or in whatever state of consciousness you’re doing it from, will always be:

Assume it's true, feel it, receive it. “Assume and persist,” “ground yourself in the assumption,” you’ve heard it all before. 

How to Find What Makes You Shift On Command

You could either test different techniques (affirmations, visualizations, scripting, lucid dreaming, etc.) and see what feels natural to you. 

You could (and I love this one because it’s a cheat code) Assume you already know what works, and let the law of assumption guide you. “Manifest it” so to speak. 

Pay attention to your life, because you already shift on command, you've been doing it your whole life, but I guarantee you haven't noticed it. Pay attention to you, like how easily you slip into hypnagogia, your dream recall, or how strong your intuition is, maybe you put too much emotion into a scenario you don’t want in your life and it inherently manifests, things like that. Pay attention to the thing that makes you go “huh, that was weird”

“But Clover, I tried everything you mentioned above and still haven’t found my method!” 

My darling. Listen up. Come closer—I’m about to let you in on a secret. The way you apply the law of assumption isn’t one-size-fits-all, because assumptions and beliefs are not linear. It's the same every time, yes, it's a law. But just like you, the way you can use it is unique to each person.

Let me tell you how easy it is so you don't think I'm over-complicating it

You could, for instance, believe you’ve got $1000 in your bank account right now and act like it, fully living in the end. Or you could believe you’re going to have $1000 in your account and act like it’s already on its way. Or maybe you believe something’s going to happen that’ll bring you that $1000.

The same applies to shifting. It’s been a game changer for me. I used to struggle so much with things like:

“You’re already in your DR, just act like it.”

“Ignore the 3D.”

“You’ve already shifted.”

Do those methods work? Absolutely, they work beautifully. But like I said, if it doesn’t feel good or true to you, don’t force it.

My dearest, darling reader. If the story you see in your 3D is that you can’t shift, can’t find what makes you shift, are you just going to sit there and accept it? What is more satisfying? Think with me here: accepting that you don’t know how to shift and cannot shift, or persisting that you do know how to shift? 

“Clover, but I’ve been trying for 4 years! I’ve tried everything and I still haven’t shifted”

So that's your story? Your story, your assumption is that you’ve been trying for 4 years and haven’t shifted? If you’ve resonated with the phrase above, that’s your story. And there’s nothing wrong with it, but! there will be no magic solution for shifting. Or a magic method. Or a person like me giving you advice, that can make you shift without you changing your assumptions first.

“But I don’t want to reprogram my mind! It doesn’t work for me. I don’t want to do robotic affirming 24/7, I want results now!” 

I know, right? It’s annoying having to do these 100-step methods, and drink charged water, and have to beg the universe for your desire, and loop affirmations in your mind that directly contradict what you’re experiencing in the 3D.

“Oh ignore the 3D, the 4D is your only real imagination!” they say, as you sit there, clutching your phone, rocking back and forth in bed, repeating affirmations you don’t resonate with while dreaming of being railed by your S/O.

Believe me, I've been there, wondering what the hell was wrong with me. I asked myself why couldn't these basic steps that worked for everyone else work for me. I blamed myself for not trying hard enough, for being lazy, for inconsistent. When all that time, the answer was me. I needed to manifest/shift in a way that felt good for me.

Just remember, the law of assumption isn't complicated, and the way you apply it is not one-size-fits-all. Reprogramming the mind through continuous repetition and affirmation works, and if that resonates with you or feels effective, you should absolutely go for it.

However, at its core, you don’t inherently need to reprogram your mind. It’s as simple as assuming your mind has already been reprogrammed and watching it unfold before your eyes. You do what feels right to you.

For example, if person A does better with visualization and listening to music, why on earth are they affirming and listening to subliminals?

If person B feels better scripting in a notebook, why the hell are they reprogramming their mind?

If person C feels good reprogramming their mind, why are they taking the simple route?

Funny, isn't it? Which is why if you've read all of this so far, and you have not resonated with it, just click away. Go find another post or advice that feels true to you. The words I'm writing right now are not universal, they're not the absolute truth. That's the beauty of the law of assumption. Whatever you believe to be true, becomes true.

I didn’t feel good with the affirmations “I’m already in my DR” and “I already shifted.” Do they work, are they true? Yup, but I didn’t feel good ignoring the 3D, even when I knew the 4D was the true reality. So I swapped them for affirmations like "I'm shifting to my DR", “I’m going to shift to my DR”, swapping things like “I already shifted” to “I’m shifting” because those are the kinds of affirmations my brain loves. 

I've heard a silly bit of misinfo that these affirmations stating future events put you in an infinite loop, and that they don’t make you achieve your desire. That’s not true? At all? Makes me laugh, really. Because here I am, “master shifter” or whatever name people give it in this reality, shifting as much as I want to wherever I want with these types of affirmations.

Yet here I see every day on the internet, people implanting stubborn little rules and regulations to a practice that has been done for ages, a universal law that will work even when you don’t care for it to work. 

How I Shifted The First Time

The law of assumption is what made me shift in the end. Initially, I surprised myself at the beginning of my shifting journey because I shifted three months after starting it. I woke up one morning in my DR room, felt it was real, knew it was possible, but accidentally shifted back because it was too good to be true. 

What followed was a period of losing my mind; I shift back to my DR for a few seconds (mini-shifts), fully shifted to different rparallel ealities, and filled the hell out of shifting journals with my discoveries as I went along. But I never fully shifted to my DR and stayed there. I wanted to permashift. I was so focused on leaving my CR and going to my DR permanently, frustrated because I knew I could shift, knew how to in theory, but was stuck in this endless loop of assuming I couldn't make myself shift and had to rely on spontaneous shifts.

And then one night it clicked when I was reflecting on the law of assumption and reality shifting. I knew shifting was real. I knew I could shift. Everyone can shift. I had shifted before. I would continue to shift even if I gave up on shifting. I could shift that night if I wanted to. I could shift that night even if I didn't want to. I knew how to shift. And so do you.

These are all assumptions I went to sleep with in mind, laying there, feeling like an idiot as it all clicked for me. 

If there was no doubt in my mind that I could shift that night, why wouldn’t I be able to shift? 

What followed was an overwhelming sense of peace washing over me. I let go. What more was there to be done? I could shift. There was no crying or screaming that could make me shift more than I could right then. 

I laid there and started my process. Just like I mentioned earlier. I began counting from 1 - 100 on a continuous loop. With affirmations that I could shift, I knew how to shift , I could shift that night.

And then I reached hypnagogia, and began inducing the feeling of being in my DR, just like I mentioned earlier. That liminal space rabbit hole shortly followed. I could go anywhere I wanted then. I could lucid dream. I could astral project. I could slip into the void. I could shift, and I did. Just…letting go and inducing the feeling of being in my DR. Not the surroundings, not the 5 senses, no affirmations. Just knowing that I was in my Dr. 

It was peaceful. 

I was at ease. 

And then I was woken up by a violent crack of thunder because my dumbass scripted my DR wakeup scenario to be in the middle of spring, and it was raining -_- 

I woke up in my DR, fully grounded, fully there, pinching my skin purple because I couldn't believe I was looking out the window at my DR city.

I wish I could tell you that I remained cool, but I so didn’t. I sat in bed for a good 10 minutes, mouth agape, repeating “oohh fuck it’s real….ohhh my god it’s real…whaaat the hell.” 

And then I paced around my room panicking, giggling like an idiot, checking my DR phone because all my friends and DR life was on there as evidence, opening drawers, looking at myself in the mirror, and straight-up freaking out. 

What followed after that was incredible, something I lack the words to describe. I spent a few weeks in my DR before shifting back, spending a few weeks here and then shifting back–here, back, here, back and forth, spending more time in my DR then my CR to the point where I consider my DR my true reality, and this one as my “other” reality. 

I shifted back here in early December of last year, and I’m here now before I shift back permanently—meaning, I’ll shift there, and then the next time I shift will be to another DR or a waiting room somewhere in the multiverse. I’m taking a "break" so to speak and hanging out here until events I scripted in my DR start to happen, and my life changes (positively, all good things I assure). 

I’m not sure if the person or people who find this post will care, but my other reality was originally called my “Witch DR”, where, as the name suggests, I’m a witch :) But not the fun kind, with a broomstick, a cauldron, and a pet cat though 😂The kind where I have to be up early for work in the mornings, can’t keep a cat because the building I live in doesn’t allow it, and have more responsibilities there than I do in this reality. 

One thing I didn’t expect about shifting before I lived there the first time is that—it’s life. You will have good days. You will have bad days. You will fuck up. You will laugh so hard that soda comes out of your nose. You will cry more than you ever have. And the people you once saw on a TV screen are very real, and can be very annoying lol. I miss my DR friends dearly right now, but I can’t go poking around the internet for videos and pictures of them because it feels so weird. 

Gut feelings are strange. I use them as a compass in both realities whenever I have to manually flap the butterfly’s wings and take a route. I felt compelled to write this post, and I’m not sure why. But if what this post has the power to help one singular person and help them realize their power, I'll be beyond happy.

[whorelaud]

꒦꒷ 𓈒 𓈒 𓈒 dirty little secret ¡

pairing police officer!bfb!Jun-ho x brat!reader

summary Jun-ho catches you red handed, what other way to teach you a lesson than to take advantage of the situation and arrest you, then fuck the attitude out of you? 

warnings smut, unprotected p in v, public sex, oral (f recieving), dirty talk, praise & degradation, jun-ho putting you in handcuffs, car sex (against it), mention of reader briefly smoking

Someone like yourself should not accompany Jun-ho's head as one frequently does. Yet, there he was, leisurely stroking his hard cock, while reminiscing over the sheepish smile you flashed him earlier, one that shall be deemed innocent, not something he fantasizes about at the dim of midnight. 

He tried, he really did strive to keep a distance, avoid the proximity of your touch when your arm in the slightest bit brushes over his, constantly reminding himself that you were forbidden, someone he could merely admire from afar, as you were his best friend's little sister. 

Jun-ho oughts to respect his friend's wishes, aware how much he cared for you, never missing a chance to scold you whenever you'd engage in any malice acts. Jun-ho would sit back and watch, oddly entertained by your witty attitude, and the way your face would twist with venom, the action so attractive, he fought the urge to arrest you for it. 

It was a dirty, filthy fantasy, the desire to fuck you senseless while you desperately grind down on his cock, to put handcuffs on you and pound into you from behind, where he'd see your ass bounce with each thrust stretching your needy hole. However, all he could do was stroke himself and pretend it was your little fingers doing it instead, in hopes of it actually happening, well aware you were out of his league, way out of his orbit. 

That escalated, when he randomly spotted you in the middle of the woods while he was on duty. He frowned upon seeing you tangled in a bush, with a lit blunt firmly in between your lips. He hesitated over approaching you, doing it with haste, as he deliberately exited the car, afraid he was mistaking you for someone else, but no, it was you. 

He could recognize you from a mile away, not even the bush of weed covering the majority of your face could change that. The boy aimed the flashlight in your direction, halting before he muttered your name, causing you to freeze in your spot. 

The lighter in your hold drops to the floor, leaving you fisting nothing but your manicured fingernails as they dug into the flesh. Your blood ran cold, and you suddenly felt helpless, as a rush of embarrassment washed over you. 

Your eyes fluttered shut, hoping this would be a dream, one of your stupid little thoughts, but no, it was really him; Jun-ho. Yeah, you're screwd. 

Why did he of all people have to see you like this; when you do idiotic stuff out of pure stress. You've been overwhelmed the whole day, uncapable of cheering up, till you randomly found a joint lying around in your drawer, leading to you tippy toeing out of the house, and heading towards your go-to place when you wanted to smoke. 

Typically, no cops hung around the area, but today, life had other plans for you, ones not so bad. 

"Is that you?" He continued his unfinished sentence from earlier, gaze shifting down to the joint you smushed to the floor. "What are you doing here?" 

"Jun-ho!" You squealed with fake excitement, stumbling as you stood to your feet. "What are you doing here?" 

"Jus' doing my job, an' you?" One of his brows curled with suspicion, hand finding the curve of his hip. "What's a girl like you doing out here? Aren't you afraid something might happen to you?" 

"A girl like me? C'mon, you think I can't handle myself?" you scoffed, tone hinted with sarcasm. You dusted the dirt off your skirt, leaning down with a purpose, in hopes of Jun-ho stealing a glance at your pink lace-panties, covering nothing, and exposing the shell of your ass. "Besides, you're the one who looks afraid."

"Yeah, obviously," he admitted with shame, stammering out of frustration. "What will your brother say when he knows you're out at such a late hour?" 

"Relax, old man, I'll be fine." You roll your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest. "Unless you decide to snitch on me..." 

That shoots blood through his veins, clenching his jaw over your attempt to get under his skin. He knows what you were doing, aware of your intentions to mess with him, and fool his already hazy brain into thinking your tone was flirtatious. 

"Get in the car," he demanded, dismissing you with his chin as he took a few steps in your direction, eyes narrowing when he took a whiff of the stiff air. "Were you smoking?" 

"No." You swiftly shook your head, though your tense expression gave the lie away. 

"Yes you were," he insists, directing the flashlight to your feet, and bending down when he spotted the freshly lit blunt now flattened to the floor. "Have you not learned your lesson? How many times did your brother tell you not to smoke? Marijuana, of all things."

"It's one time thing!" You exclaimed, throwing your arms up in the air. "Don't hold it against me, I was stressed. Now, please don't tell my brother, you know how he gets when he's angry." 

"You think I'll let you off easily?" He muttered, statement somewhat threatening. "I can arrest you for this, you know drugs are illegal, right?"

"But you won't," you tried to cut through the tension heaving the air, attempt falling short when it didn't crack a smile out of the latter. "You're not going to arrest me for that."

"Try me." He clicked his teeth, standing with his chest to your back. He hesitated to reach for your arm, fingers deliberately clutching around your wrist, forcing your forearm to the low of your back. 

Jun-ho repeated the action with your other hand, a breath knocking out of your chest when the sound of a click erupted through your ears, ringing as he locked the handcuffs in place, loose yet firm around your wrists. 

"Wait, you're being for real?" Your eyes widened with shock, an inaudible gasp escaping your throat when he led you towards the car, using the arm to your shoulder to push through the muddy road. "Get these off of me, this is not funny, Jun-ho!"

"Never said it was." He snorted, pinning you to the hood of the car, and fumbling through his pockets to seek the keys hidden in there. "You've been such a bad girl, need someone to do somethin' abour it." 

Your stomach churns with butterflies, somehow turned on by the statement. His tone, it was low, hushed, full of lust deep under all the lies he'd force through his teeth. 

Jun-ho is hot, you weren't one to deny that, however, your insides stirred with more than passing emotions that confuse you whole everytime he was around. Heat radiated off your entire body, the in between your legs specifically, and your knees went jelly, seizing control of your body once you leaned down, till your chest pressed to the hood of the car. 

The action earns a scowl out of the brunet, feigning oblivion to the way his cock twitched in his pants when his gaze landed on your lace panties, now peaking from underneath your skirt. The scene left little to the imagination, he wanted nothing more than to pull the thin fabric of your underwear to side, and pound into you till you no longer were able to coherent normal words out; only able to remember his name through your fuzzy, fucked out brains. 

"What are you doing?" He questioned, forcing his eyes back on your face, bent to the side as you tried to steal a glimpse at him from over your shoulder. 

"Obeying your orders," you mumbled, "I've been a bad girl, officer, need you to do something about it." 

You wiggled your ass around, till the material of your skirt rid up, revealing the plush flesh hidden underneath. The faint moonlight lightly beamed over the skin, creating a small shadow that would've gone unnoticed if Jun-ho's gaze wasn't burning into your soul. 

"Want me to do something about it?" He repeated through a breath, voice shaky, desperate like a loser getting his dick wet for the first time. "Fuck, you can't pull shit like this an' expect me to hold back." 

"Don't hold back." You whispered, lips gaping in a moan when his leg pressed to your heat, patience wearing thin as he resisted the urge to tear your panties apart. "You want this too, don't you?" 

"Quit talkin'," He grunted, hand instantly landing on your ass. He almost shuddered, squeezing the fatty skin in between his fingers, then using the pressure of the touch to spread your cheeks out, and fix his gaze on the thin fabric of your panties now drenched with your juices. "Fuck, look at you, such a wet mess for me. Is this turning you on, huh? You enjoy getting humiliated to filth?" 

You mewled at the words, almost yelping when his fingertips grazed over your clothed clit, instantly growing sensetive from the touch. Jun-ho was fully hard now, the fabric of his pants growing tight. 

The sight was out of the world, better than his deepest fantasies, and the pornos he jerked off to while imagining you instead. Your pussy was calling out his name, craving to be touched, by him and him only. 

Jun-ho did not hesitate to drop to his knees, hot breath fanning over the flesh, as he leisurely tugged your panties down, letting them fall once they were loose around your knees. His fingers then travelled to your sides, clutching the waistband of your skirt, and using the elastic to push it up until it's levelled with your waist. 

Goosebumps broke out across your body when his thumb found your slick folds, gliding it from your entrance to your clit, with the purpose of spreading your juices around. 

You were so wet, he could easily slide a finger inside, and that thought alone had no reason making him this hard, underwear wet with a patch of pre-cum.  

"You need to be taught a lesson." He mouthed, lips mere inches away from your cunt. "So desperate and needy for me." 

"Mhmm." You hummed out, eyes falling shut when he planted an open-mouthed kiss to the back of your thigh. "'That feel good."

"Yeah?" He hushed out, littering wet, sloppy kisses to your thighs, trailing a path up to the inner part connecting to your folds. His thumb relaxed over your sensitive nub, leaving you no time to process the gesture before positioning his mouth to your folds. 

Your body jerked with pleasure, hands grasping into nothing as they sat in place beneath the fabric of your skirt, the sensation of his tongue causing you to crumble, as he searched through your folds like a man starved. 

"Fuck!" You whined, arching your back to chase after the fraction of his tongue swirling down from your entrance, to your clit. 

"There you are, that's my good girl." He muffled against your soaked cunt, sucking and nibbling on your sensitive nub, too drunk on your pussy juices to comprehend his surroundings, nor the fact that you were still in public. "Such a pretty pussy, only for me to fuck and worship."

A thrill of excitement rushed through your insides, the idea of getting caught increasing your arousal. Jun-ho was no good guy, but he wasn't a bad person either. He did his utmost to follow the rules; however, he was willing to risk it all, lose his job just to have you trembling underneath him while he fucks your needy hole with his tongue. 

Jun-ho's tongue swirled through your folds, now mixed with your arousal and his spit. He leisurely began increasing the pace, slowly but surely, till it was no longer bearable, with your own climax building up. 

He licked a stripe of your entrance, tongue moving up and down, till his mouth landed on your clit. He pressed open-mouthed kisses to your nub, making you yelp everytime his teeth would graze over the sensitive flesh. The latter took your fuzzy state for granted, flicking his tongue against your clit, overstimulating you whole, and spiraling a rush of adrenaline through your veins. 

"Jun-ho!" You mewled out, blinking through hooded eyes. You were sure bruises formed around your wrists by now, the repetitive contact of skin creating an uncomfortable, yet pleasurable sensation. "I'm so– I'm so cl–"

Your statement was soon interrupted when Jun-ho suddenly halted, stepping back to steal a glance at your achy cunt, now coated with his spit, as some of it trickles down your legs with a purpose. 

"Don't." He warned, giving your ass a squeeze, using the force of the gesture to tumble himself up. "Don't you dare fuckin' come, you hear me? I'm not done with you." 

"Well then hurry up." You coaxed through a breath, chest pressing against the hood of the car, making you feel dirty. "What are you waiting for?"

"Relax, doll, don't you want me to take care of you?" Jun-ho questioned, tone teasing, full with cockiness. "Wanna feel your desperate pussy clenching around me, y'know how long I'been waiting for that?"

Jun-ho wasted no time, unbuckling his belt, and messily undoing the buttons to his pants. He barely managed to tug the material down, striving to get it off with one of his hands, all while still squeezing and kneading the fatty flesh of your ass. 

"So fuckin' pretty n' perfect, hell, I can't believe I finally have you to myself." He grunted as your ass perked up, chasing after the fraction of his fingers. "Mhm, such a bratty little slut, using me to get off, huh? You know we can't be doing this." 

"No one will know," you hushed out, teeth digging through your bottom lip. "Jus' please– do something."

That was the only assurance he needed. Jun-ho pulled down his underwear, freeing his throbbing cock from the tight material. He was rock-hard, it was starting to hurt, tip glistening with pre-cum that kept leaking out. 

He lined his dick with your entrance, the sensation earning an audible gasp out of you, though he only inserted the tip inside, going in leisurely. He stroked his cock up and down, your hole, until it was coated with a glossy, wet layer. 

"Fuck," he hissed, lips parting with a shuddered exhale, watching as your cunt clenched around nothing, practically begging to have him inside you. The sight consumed his brain, eating at him alive. He bunched his shirt in a fist, positioning one of his hands on your hip, the gesture a mere act of closure. "Such a needy slut, begging to be fucked." 

He gave you no time to process the statement, thrusting his cock inside in one go. It caught you off gaurd, yelping as he filled your insides, slowly pumping in and out your hole, just until you got used to how big he was. 

"So big..." you trailed off, spit salivating in your mouth. "Feel' s' good." 

"Yeah?" He spoke through an exhale, heat radiating off his entire figure. He continues pounding into you, spreading your cheeks out to get a better view of your pussy as it squelches around him. "You like that? Wanna be a good girl for me?"

"Mhm." You desperately nodded, letting your eyes force shut. "Please, please, please, Jun-ho pleaseeeee." 

"Keep moaning my name, baby." He muttered through gritted teeth, reaching for your waist from beneath your shirt. "Show me who you belong to." 

Both of you were too far gone to care about anything other than his cock as he buries himself inside you. His thrusts increased in pace, and you could not have felt any better, he was so good at what he does, you almost felt jealous of all the other girls he's done this with. 

Jun-ho's arms sneaked their way around your waist, applying enough pressure to pull you up, until your back pressed to his firm chest. The gesture gave the latter more access to your entrance, now able to insert himself deeper, thought it felt impossible. 

His hands kept busy throughout the entire time, fingers landing on your cleavage, before he tucked down the collar of your shirt, to reveal your chest, freeing out your tits to the chilly air. He rolled and pinched at your nipples, kneading it afterwards to soothe away any pain.

Jun-ho's cock pulsed in and out of you, loud breaths filling the air, the atmosphere heavy with desire. He knew exactly what to do, how to please you, how to make you forget the guilt washing over your chest. You couldn't believe it; your dirty fantasies finally coming true, though it didn't feel real whatsoever. 

"Such a whore, offering yourself to me in public?" He stifled out a snort, fisting your hair in between his large digits. "Want me to fuck you here so everyone could see how desperate you are? Hmm, I guess you're not such a good girl after all." 

Your climax approached within every passing second, his hard cock pounding into you doing things to you. It was out of this world, no words could describe the rush of pleasure you were experiencing in the moment. 

"You' close?" He asked, noticing how shaky your legs got under him. "Come for me, sweet girl." 

The following few seconds fixed on you, not long before you came undone, announcing your own orgasm once your legs trembled with pleasure, overstimulated by the fraction of his cock deep and raw inside you. 

"Mhm, there she is." He grunted in your ear, walking you through your high, and his own arousal. "Wanna finish inside you, and make a mess out of your tight pretty hole." 

"Please." You obliged, throwing your head back, with one of your hands landing over his; where it laid flat on your chest. 

His thrusts grew wet and sloppy, coming inside you once his cock kisses your cervix, painting your walls white with his cum. The warmness of his sperm filled up your hole, earning a ragged breath out of the latter, finishing with a hefty groan. 

He took a pause, a smile tugging at his lips when his gaze shifted to you. You scoffed at the cocky grin smothered all over his face, suddenly growing flustered, as heat flushed your face. 

"Why are you staring?" You asked, tiredly fluttering your eyes shut. 

"No reason," he dismissed, caressing the skin around your waist. "You jus' look pretty." 

"Shut up." You attempted to shove him off, action falling short when your attention trailed to your cuffed wrists. "Can you get these off of me?" 

"Hmm," he trailed off, bending down to level his face with yours. He planted a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth, whispering out his next words. 

"Only if you say please." 

It felt like a dream; a fever dream. And if this did truly happen, no one were to find out, especially your brother, that's for sure. 

[jinwoosbabyboo]

Don't Run Off Like That

You told the LADS Men to not piss you off and what did they do? Pissed you off. How I imagine they would react to you storming off in tears and you're not answering their calls or texts. [Requested by: Anon]

Zayne

The minute you run off Zayne would watch you retreat not because he doesn't want to chase you, but because he's going through every possible outcome in his head on whether he should follow you or not.

By the time he decides to follow you're already out of sight. Now you have him walking through the streets of Linkon looking like a lost puppy. After about five minutes of blowing your phone up he's turning into Sherlock Zayne and doing some deductive reasoning about where you may have gone.

He was relieved to find you wrapped up in a blanket. Not in your bed, but in his instead.

Zayne: Please never run off like that again MC: I can't argue with you especially when I'm pissed off I'll always lose Zayne: its not really a competition it's us vs the problem MC: I know that which is why I didn't want to argue with you especially in public Zayne: I feel the same MC: I just needed to calm down Zayne: *Smiles* In my bed? MC: .... Your scent is calming I just didn't want to hug you while I was mad at you so your bed was the perfect solution

Rafayel

Rafayel is immediately chasing after you the minute you storm off, but of course you break out into a full sprint. He would be STRESSED. This man gets antsy when you don't reply fast enough. Now you're not replying and he can't find you? Yea his chest hurts. He's calling you on speaker phone just so he can continue texting you. After about ten minutes of your phone blowing up non-stop you share your location with him.

He found you in his kitchen, sitting on the counter, eating all his snacks. "I thought you got kidnapped or something!"

"Need I remind you I'm a trained fighter and constantly have a gun on my hip?" Rafayel would roll his eyes before taking the snacks from your hands and slotting himself between your legs. He rested his head in the crook of your neck while taking deep calming breaths.

Rafayel: Why did you run off like that? MC: I didn't want to say anything I'd regret so I needed time to myself Rafayel: So you turn into sonic the hedgehog? MC: I knew you'd come find me Rafayel: I'll always find you.

Xavier

Let's be so for real Xavier is on you. If you try to run from him he gonna teleport in front of you. So in order to get away from him you have to excuse yourself and then dip out when he can't see you. That whole turn around and storm off you planned on doing? Not happening that mf way too fast.

He would realize you've been gone for a while so he'd text you with concern. A few minutes pass and he starts getting worried. He's immediately on the move looking for you; checking your location, trying to get the coordinates on your watch. He'd call Jeremiah asking if he'd seen you as he's running around.

He manages to find you in the Hunters Association doing research on the increase in wanderers.

Xavier: You'd rather do research than talk to me? MC: You pissed me off and I hate arguing with you ... I needed something to take my mind off it Xavier: I don't enjoy it either but please don't disappear like that you almost gave me a heart attack MC: I needed to calm down Xavier: There's nothing wrong with that I just .... if something happened to you I don't want our last words to be out of anger you know? MC: I know ... I don't want that either

Sylus

Sylus would feel terrible for making you upset enough to storm off in tears, but he'd let you blow off some steam before coming to find you. He would definitely have the twins contact you first before he showed up. He'd have Mephisto watch you and report back to him as well.

You didn't go far he knew you'd storm off to one of your favorite places on base. The home library. He found you curled up on one of the giant bean bag chairs that you just had to have(he couldn't say no of course)

Sylus: May I come in? MC: Permission granted Sylus: I didn't mean to upset you Princess MC: Im sure you didn't mean to but you did and we're at a good point in our relationship I don't want to say anything I'll regret later Sylus: I don't mind you cursing me out MC: I mind Sylus: Are you ready to talk? MC: Yes, but I want a foot rub as we talk Sylus: *chuckles* I may have spoiled you too much MC: Is that a no? Sylus: *Grabs your foot* I'll do anything for you as long as you talk to me

[norrisainz33]

baller || LN4

summary: lando has a massive crush on one of the wnba’s newest stars and he isn’t afraid to show it

pairing: lando norris x wnba!reader

fc & warnings: nika muhl & suggestive, you are responsible for the content you consume

requested: nope! just trying to get myself back into writing and i love the wnba. will continue with requests soon 🫶🏻

ﾟ. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ﾟ

ynuser has made a post

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ynuser: time to get to work

view all 189 comments

user1: i’m in love

user2: the most gorgeous girl

jackhughes: looking good

user3: good luck tonight!!!

landonorris: work it girl 😍🤤

maxfewtrell: i knew you’d be here

user5: lando norizz has arrived right on time

user4: when will y/n put lando out of his misery

user6: this vroom vroom man won’t quit

sbird10: making seattle proud y/n!

yourbff: very demure, very mindful, very gorgeous

ynuser: very cutesy

user6: major buckets incoming

user7: fashion ICON

landonorris has posted to his story

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carlossainz55: since when do you follow basketball……

landonorris: since i met the most beautiful girl in the world at a party and learned she plays professional basketball

carlossainz55: ay dios mio cabron. what party????

landonorris: a party lewis encouraged me to attend in miami. he knows her through modeling or something

carlossainz55: ahh the one party i did not attend! well best of luck to you lando

maxfewtrell: mate i can’t keep defending you

landonorris: you don’t have to defend me 😭

maxfewtrell: do you even know how basketball works?!

landonorris: YES!!!! need i remind you im friends with jimmy butler?! he gave me a crash course

maxfewtrell: well thank god for that

user8: you’re obsessed

user9: i get it lan!! y/n is hot id be thirsting like a freak over her too if i was you

oscarpiastri: has she noticed you yet?

landonorris: besides following me on instagram she has not engaged

oscarpiastri: have you idk….. messaged her???

landonorris: ummm no that would be too much

oscarpiastri: and you hyping up her team on your story and commenting on all of her posts isn’t too much?

landonorris: nope not too much at all

oscarpiastri: 🫠 ok bud

lewishamilton: you’re really trying here huh?

landonorris: 😔 yes

lewishamilton: well it must be your lucky day because she just asked about you

landonorris: WHAT SHE ASKED YOU ABOIT ME?! OHMOGMGOGM

lewishamilton: yes.. she asked if we were going to be spending any time in the US before austin

landonorris: i wasn’t planning on it but if she wants me to i will hop on the first flight

lewishamilton: i told her that i may be and that if she’s curious about you … that she should text you herself 😉

landonorris: i feel faint

user10: love that you’re supporting women’s sports king

user11: you really said i have a crush and it’s now everyone’s problem and i love you for it

landonorris has made a post

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landonorris: it’s all about the details 🎆

view all 899 comments

user11: lando you never fail to make the best helmets

quadrant: quadrant on track 🎆

mclarenf1: an iconic helmet for an iconic driver

user12: oh this helmet is so hot

maxfewtrell: ready to cook

user14: is no one going to mention y/n in the likes

ynuser: nice helmet

landonorris: thanks y/n. i made it myself 😉

user14: OMG AHES INTHE COMMWNTS TOO

user15: someone check on lando stat

user16: best day of lando’s life fr

user17: guys we need to be normal about this and be wingmen for lando

user18: so true user17

user18: ynuser lando saves puppies in his free time and was kind enough to lend me his lambo

user19: ynuser lando helped my grandma cross the street!

user22: ynuser lando bought me a house!!

user33: ynuser lando saved a kitten from a burning building!!

maxfewtrell: these comments are killing me 😂

user13: you’re going to win this weekend i just know it

ynuser has posted to their story

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seattlestorm: gorgeous as always

user9: ugh i’m so obsessed with you

yourbff: how do you manage to make everything look hot

ynuser: you should know bby

landonorris: todays fit is a good fit

ynuser: why thank you lando

landonorris: omg

landonorris: i mean… anything for you y/n

ynuser: anything you say?

landonorris: just about!

ynuser: when are you coming to a game then?

landonorris: i didn’t know i had an invite

ynuser: of course you do!! seeing as that you’re such a big fan and all 😉

landonorris: consider me there

ynuser: you going to invite me to a race?

landonorris: i have a paddock pass with your name on it 😏

ynuser: consider me there

user11: can’t wait to see you cook in the playoffs!!

patriciooward: you gonna come see me or what 🤔

ynuser: i’ll be in the paddock if you will!

patriciooward: HA yes i’ll be there. looking forward to seeing you

user13: f1 and lando brought me here and i have to say im not mad about it

jackhughes: 😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨

user10: the wnba is lucky to have you!!

landonorris has made a post

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landonorris: quick pit stop to catch the playoffs. the storm are finals bound lfg p1 here they come!

view all 965 comments

seattlestorm: it was great to have you join us lando!!

landonorris: thanks for having me!

user14: oh my god it’s happening

maxfewtrell: mate stand up

landonorris: oh i’m up mate don’t even worry

user17: lando taking shooting his shot to the next level

ynuser: thanks for stopping by lanny

landonorris: of course y/n/n, no place i’d rather be

user7: i’m rooting for you guys

user46: you got this lando let’s goooo

user17: she called him lanny im ???

user22: he’s so pretty, she’s so pretty ,, they’re perfect for each other

mclarenf1: we love women’s sports in this house

ynuser: yes we do!!

user33: LETS GO STORM!!!

maxverstappen1: oh did someone get his chance?

landonorris: perhaps

user45: y/nlando truthers unite

landonorris has posted to his story

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user18: YESSSSSS

user22: i’ve never been so invested in an american sport before

user76: you posting her as if yall together!! you might just be as delusional as me king

oscarpiastri: how is the winning her over going

landonorris: you’d be surprised but i think it’s working!! we’ve gone on 3 dates and talk every day 😭

oscarpiastri: im so proud of you man

mclarenf1: woohooo let’s goooo!!!

maxfewtrell: i thought we agreed you’d post the team photo and not the one of just her

landonorris: she just looked so cute and happy tho

maxfewtrell: but this makes it look like you’re dating

landonorris: i wish we were 😭😭😭

maxfewtrell: i know i know

patriciooward: i put in a good word for you with y/n

landonorris: you are a real one pato

user87: you are a fan girl just like me

user34: the most supportive boyfriend but not boyfriend i’ve ever seen

user19: you’re nothing if not persistent

user77: you posting more about y/n than you do anyone else

f1gossip has made a post

liked by user1, user2, user3, user4, user5, user6, and 12,846 others

f1gossip: following her first wnba title, y/n was spotted celebrating with friends at a popular nightclub. we received this anonymous intel: “i was in the bathroom and heard a girl loudly talking on her phone. when i realized it was y/n i tried to be chill and not bother her but couldn’t help but over hear her conversation. she said “i wish you were here lando” and “i can’t just fly to mexico to be with you” and “no no no you can’t just fly here right now from mexico” and “ok maybe i could fly to brazil but maybe you should just come here for an extended stay before vegas.” needless to say she was definitely talking to lando and it sounded like they were more than friends!”

view all 577 comments

user44: ok hittin us w the invasion of her privacy

user7: oh my god our boy did it - he bagged his baddie

user99: obsessed with him trying to solve her problems and immediately trying to fly to her

user67: hoping if i post really obnoxiously about my celebrity crush they’ll too have no choice but to want me

user1: i can’t believe after the last 5 months of pining he’s actually gotten the girl

user9: i’m not believing nothing until we see if from them

user12: y’all gotta stop speculating about these two

user13: amazing day for annoying people (me)!

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ynuser: what happens in vegas stays in vegas

view all 667 comments

user12: cryptic 🤔

user7: she’s in the paddock 😭😭😭😭

user33: omg shes at the grand prix someone please check on our boy lando

oscarpiastri: was a pleasure meeting you y/n!

ynuser: likewise oscar!! had a great time getting to know you and lily

maxverstappen1: so nice to meet you!! looking forward to you wiping the floor with me when we play that game of padel you promised

ynuser: remember, you told me you’d play basketball with me in exchange!!

maxverstappen1: how could i forget?

user35: adore the fact that max will beg anyone and everyone to play padel with him

user47: i’d love to see max playing basketball 😂

user55: wnba x f1 crossover i never knew i needed

landonorris: hopefully things that happened in vegas can happen outside of vegas too 😉

ynuser: if you play your cards right mr norris 😏

user7: i feel like im interrupting something here

user47: ugh you are always serving so hard in your fits girl

landonorris has posted a story

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user17: YOURE ON A DATE!!! WITH Y/N I HOPE

user18: shocked you didn’t tag her mate

maxfewtrell: so you can post a story but not reply to my texts asking how it went??

landonorris: sorry i was busy 😉

maxfewtrell: oh my god.. you sealed the deal?

landonorris: yes i did! say hello to the wnba’s newest wag

maxfewtrell: never doubted you for a second

landonorris: yes you did but it’s ok

ynuser: thank you for a lovely dinner 🤍

landonorris: of course gorgeous 🧡

landonorris: and thanks for giving me a chance 🥹

ynuser: i should be thanking you for your persistence. i’m so glad we met lando

landonorris: likewise y/n/n

user22: i’m screaming and crying and throwing up

carlossainz55: looks like the devotion to basketball is paying off?

landonorris: yes sir it is 😉

user55: queuing that should be me by justin bieber rn

user66: that’s our BOY

landonorris has made a post

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landonorris: never doubt me again

view all 999 comments

user17: NEVER DOUBTED FOR A SECOND

user6: my bad king , i didn’t realize you had this much game

maxfewtrell: i’m not even allowed to touch your car let alone sit on it

landonorris: yeah well you don’t sit on my face so why would i let you sit on my car [comment has been deleted by user]

user17: WE SAW THAT LANDO

user88: lando you naughty boy omg

oscarpiastri: thank god

landonorris: thanks for sticking with me bestie

user43: couldn’t be happier to see this hard launch

ynuser: we are so hot

landnorris: the hottest

seattlestorm: safe to say that we are formula 1 fans now

user83: i’ve never rooted for a couple more than this one

user92: he got the girl, he got the win, he’s got it all. let’s go lando

ﾟ. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ﾟ

a/n: thanks for reading!! likes and reblogs appreciated 🫶🏻

ﾟ. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ﾟ

disclaimer: pictures are not mine and everything i write is fiction

© norrisainz33 || please do not rewrite, translate, or copy any of my works posted here on to any other platform

[seeliemansi]

You Made Him Worried (Mr. Crawling x Reader)

Synopsis: The last thing you want is to make him worried

a/n: Wrote this while high on antihistamine, will probably rewrite after I got better *hic*

Part of this universe

------------

Mr. Crawling despises it when you get hurt. He tends to be extra clingy, extra needy, and very shaky when it happens.

You have to be careful as you dance around the topic of you getting hurt because he is not playing with your safety.

That's why when you slipped, and the cause was just you being careless as you decided that running towards your apartment to go home is a good decision during a sudden rain, it hit you so bad, you didn't even have time to say ouch out loud. Enough with protecting yourself from getting wet. You were more worried that he will panic and will start a power surge that can cause an electricity loss in your apartment building. You need the heater and can't sleep with how cold it is tonight.

Your white dress is wet and ruined. Your hair is a mess. You are bruised and in pain. And you walk upstairs with a limp. A good way to end the day you supposed.

You remind yourself to be cool. Not to make Mr. Crawling worried. You just want it to not be awkward when you meet him back home, waiting for you at his usual spot.

At least that's the plan.

The moment you stepped inside, all smiles, acting silly, downplaying what happened, you tried your best. You really do.

But when you opened your eyes, and looked at him.

His smile was turned into a frown. And with a shaky voice he asked.

“You, what happened?”

“You. Blood? Wound?”

“Hurt? Hurt?” He continued asking as he grabbed your arm. A wince came out of your mouth not from his hold, but from a cut you never saw due to the dimly lit streets and the mud that clung on your skin.

“No! Mr. Crawling, I am okay. See, not hurt and painful at all.” You grabbed his hand and wrapped it around yours, trying to divert his attention. You bite the inside of your cheeks, pretending that your whole body is not sore from the fall.

“Let's go, Mr. Crawling. I need to change or I will get a cold.” You insisted as you stepped inside and tried to chuckle, trying to dissipate the tension that is slowly building up in the air. When suddenly, he stopped, pulled his hands out of your hold, slowly stood up, and towered over you.

“No!” He screamed, voice deeper than usual. He walked closer, an inch away from you. His breathing is heavy. His hair seems to have a brain of its own as it stood, like Medusa’s snakes. The electricity flickers as he moves.

You gulped, planning to take a step back but you’ve been cornered by a wall. You can only helplessly look up at him. Watching the dark look clouding over his face.

—-----

“You done?” He asked, too chirpy to your liking.

“I will be done soon. Can you let go of my hand for a moment?” You draw circles on his hand that was holding yours as you bathe in the tub. The curtains were drawn, to give you a little privacy. A little uncomfortable but if you fully close it, he will surely sit in the tub and watch you bath instead.

This is the only compromise he agreed to so he will stop standing up and darkening your hallway.

Although you know he wasn't capable of hurting you, you got so scared when he suddenly stood up and towered over you. All you can think about is to make a compromise that he will like, or at least to lessen his worry. It breaks your heart to see him worried.

“Yes. Yes. Towel?” He offered. But when you tried to grab it from his hold, he pulled it so you would let it go.

“No! Me help you.” He insisted.

“But I can do it by myself.” You countered.

“I said no. I will help you.” A shiver ran down your spine when he suddenly was able to form a whole sentence in your language.

“Alright.” You sighed and stepped out of the tub. He is standing up, hands holding the towel wide open. He is grinning and looking thrilled. Who would have blamed him? It is the first time you two are inside the bathroom together. “Come! Come!” He giggles as he wraps it around you.

The way he switches from terrifying to sweet is always a surprise to you. He can be the sweetest but when push comes to shove, the most frightening ghost you have ever seen.

“Here, kiss. Kiss. Kiss.” He spoke as he raised your arm and kissed all the visible cuts and bruises you have on your skin.

You can't help but giggle from the gesture, feeling your heart swell with happiness. You may be sore but you're glad that you took him home.

[pathologicalreid]

merry christmas, please don't call | s.r.

in which Spencer pens an email to you, since you've already blocked his phone number

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: angst content warnings: nondescript break up, described as spencer's fault, reader is mentioned to have worn lipstick, yearning, word count: 907 a/n: and the worst part is!!! that we both know!!!!! we are doing kind of an unofficial margotmas/reidmas! really i've just been building up christmas ideas for a while lol

To: xreader@gmail.com From: Spencer.Reid@gmail.com Subject: Merry Christmas

Hey,

Spencer shook his head, that was too casual.

Good afternoon,

Much too formal.

Hello,

Too rigid.

Darling,

I passed by the house that you told me you adored. It used to be your dream house; you’d always show me the Zillow listing whenever you were browsing. The owners didn’t put up their Christmas lights this year, and it looks like they’re getting ready to sell. I haven’t been online to check the listing, that was always your thing rather than mine.

Do you remember the house? It had four bedrooms for our kids to sleep in and a library with stained-glass windows. You always told me the stained-glass windows were your favorite feature of my apartment. I keep it covered now; the colored glass just serves as a painful reminder of you.  

Emily called me last week. I suppose no one told her that we weren’t together anymore because she asked what our holiday plans were. I haven’t made any since you left. I’m finding myself hopeful that we get called on a case over Christmas so that I don’t need to be surrounded by the world celebrating while I continue to wallow in the memories of you and me.

That’s all I have now: memories. We made so many of them over the course of three years that I don’t know what to do with them. I’ve always had the sneaking suspicion that having an eidetic memory is a curse just as much as it is a blessing, but with you gone, I know it’s more of a curse. I see you when I close my eyes as if your features have been permanently tattooed on the back of my eyelids, but when my eyes are open, everything is exponentially worse.

You left in such a hurry, so you were bound to leave a few things behind. When I went to make a cup of coffee and found one of your mugs in my cabinet, JJ and Penelope had to practically scrape me off the kitchen floor. There was still a lipstick smudge on it, a piece of our history the dishwasher couldn’t quite wash off. Your necklace was on the bedside table, though maybe that was left behind on purpose. I wish we could go back to the day I gave it to you, you could wear the same green dress, and maybe work wouldn’t get in the way. If I could, I’d call you to ask why you left it behind, but you’ve blocked my number.

There was no need for you to leave me things to remember you by, how could I ever forget you?

I’ve been finding myself grateful that you got so close with Garcia during our relationship, she doesn’t give me any explicit details on your life when she updates me. I never ask, but she knows I want to hear.

It’s a rather odd phenomenon to have once had someone who you shared everything with, only to one day find they want nothing to do with you. I always find myself reaching for my phone to send to a message, or leaning over to show you a line in my book, but you’re not there anymore. I don’t hold any malice in my heart for you, even after you called it all off. My biggest regret is that I couldn’t be the boyfriend that you needed, and I’m proud of you for realizing you wanted someone better. I’m sorry I couldn’t be better.

Maybe I still have some growing up to do. There might be some sort of emotional stunting as a result of my less-than-orthodox upbringing and education, which makes sense when you consider two of my most common nicknames, “boy genius” and “kid.” One day I could find myself in the same place you were, ready for more, but maybe then I’ll be with someone who is ready for the same things as I am. She’ll never be you though. You’ll always hold that special place in my heart.

Speaking of my upbringing, my mom keeps asking about you. Each time we talk on the phone, she asks if she can talk to you, but I’ve been telling her that you’re still working or are otherwise preoccupied. I know I shouldn’t lie to her, but if I tell her, she’ll inevitably forget, and I’ll be forced to recount the story of how I lost the best thing to ever happen to me forever. That would be my eternal damnation. There’s Sisyphus and Tantalus and Spencer Reid, slowly becoming nothing but a myth. I wonder if I’m a story that you tell your friends at O’Keefe’s.

I go there sometimes, just to see if I can catch your gaze, but you’re never there.

I know this is your favorite holiday, and I don’t intend to ruin your holidays with my message. I suppose I just needed to see if you still dream about that house. To see if you still dream of me the way I dream of you.

Merry Christmas,

Spencer

He clicked send nervously, ready to snap his work-issued laptop shut when it chirped with a notification. Surely you hadn’t responded that quickly. Spencer opened his inbox once more, checking the latest email.

To: Spencer.Reid@gmail.com From: mailer-daemon@googlemail.com Subject: Delivery Status Notification (Failure)

Message blocked.

Your message to xreader@gmail.com has been blocked. See technical details below for more information.

[amermaidsecretdiary]

2 weeks subliminal challenge

Hello guys! I have come up with a challenge to help you manifest any desire(s) of yours. I, myself, have manifested multiple stuff by using this method so I decided to post it here as well!

The method

Pick around 1-3 subliminals that focus on your desire (for example, you want to manifest being shorter, pick some subliminals that focus on manifesting being shorter) and make a playlist with them.

Sit in a comfortable position, close your eyes and focus on your breathing while listening to your playlist. In simple words, meditate while listening to the subliminals. Listen to them as long as you want, to feel fulfilled. I recommend looping them for around 10 minutes but again, feel free to listen as long as you want to.

After doing that, realize that you have become your desired self in imagination (in our case, a short person).

Continue your day knowing that you are your desired self no matter what.

Whenever you get negative thoughts or want to fulfill yourself, simply listen to your playlist for as long as you want. By listening to your playlist you are reminding yourself that you are your desired self and you don't have to do anything else.

You will follow this challenge for 2 weeks. I promise you that if you do anything right your desire will reflect way sooner. BUT, even if two weeks pass and your desire hasn't reflected yet, DO NOT GIVE UP! Keep fulfilling yourself in imagination because remember, time is not real.

⋆ ★ I will be really happy if you guys participate in this challenge! If you do so, feel free to tell me what you are planning on manifesting and update me on your progress and success stories!

[incognit0slut]

Lose Control

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Spencer finds himself locked in a room with his rival. Based on:

warning: 18+ explicit content including oral (both), hair-pulling, chocking, and unprotected, semi-public, hate sex

words: 6.8k (I'm a smut-with-a-plot kind of person)

a/n: this is not enemies to lovers. This is, quite frankly, enemies to (fuckable) enemies. Also, we hit 1.2k followers!! Tysm!! I legit made this blog 2 months ago that’s crazyyy😳

MASTERLIST

“…mind games until you lose control…”

CHANGE WAS INEVITABLE WHEN IT CAME TO HIS WORK. Spencer encountered many great people walking through the door of the bureau throughout the years he worked as a profiler. Most of them he genuinely liked, and most of them he considered more than mere colleagues. But from all the people he had to work with, there was one person he really couldn't stand.

"Move out of the way, Reid, you're blocking the way."

He turned to see the last person he wanted to indulge in standing close to him, a hand on her hip and a frown on her face. "There is literally enough space for you to pass through."

"And jeopardize myself by touching you?" She wrinkled her nose. "I think I'll pass."

His gaze, usually warm and welcoming, hardened into a steely resolve. It pierced through her like an icy dagger, radiating an unmistakable contempt. He then backed away, walking further into the room that held rows of shelving units lining up the space. "What are you even doing here?"

"Well, ever since we found the victim's body surrounded by those cryptic signs, it reminded me of the cult massacre which happened in—"

"St. Joseph, 1947," he finished.

"Yeah, although this isn't mass murder, I thought the nature of the death was very similar to that old case." He could practically hear the smugness in her voice as she continued, "I also knew you'd be here and wanted to beat you to it."

His gaze settled on her standing by the door. "I don't think that's going according to plan considering I was here before you arrived."

"Please, you just got here. I bet I can find the files before you do."

His brows furrowed. How could he not feel some kind of disdain when she was acting the way she was? One might say he was acting too immature for his age, for a man who was close to pushing forty he did consider himself too old for petty fights. But it was hard to keep his composure when she was often the one taunting him, ridiculing him with that haughty mouth of hers.

It was better to ignore her presence completely, so he did just that, focusing his attention on the files in front of him as she stepped into the room.

She frowned, feeling her throat clenching before coughing out loud as dust particles greeted her entrance. She was busy trying to swat the specks of dust away from her face when something solid suddenly nudged her feet. Her eyes swept towards the floor.

"Why is this massive book laying here?" She picked up the thick paperback and read its title. "The Anatomy of Motive?"

Spencer's head snapped in an alert. "Wait! Don't—"

But it was too late. The old wooden door hanging loosely on its rusted hinges creaked without any support to keep it ajar, and with a resounding thud, it closed, the sound echoing through the stagnant air. "I put that there for a reason," he grumbled. "And now we're stuck here."

She leaned forward and wrapped her hand around the handle, trying to yank the door open. The panic on her face was evident when it didn't budge. "Shit."

"You can only open it from the other side."

She turned towards him. "Do you have your phone with you?"

"No."

She groaned because her own device was also securely tucked in her bag. Not wanting to be locked in a room with the last person she wanted to be with, she started pounding on the door frantically. "Help! Penelope! Luke!" Bang. Bang. "Anyone!"

"Nobody's going to hear you."

She tuned him out.

"Emily! JJ!" She pressed herself against the door, drawing her mouth close towards the tiny gap between the wooden panel and the wall. "Help! We're locked in!" She suddenly caught his movement from the corner of her eyes and turned to him, noticing the way he was already studying a file.

"What are you doing?"

He slipped back the document into the cabinet and went through the other folders. "Might as well work until they realize we're gone."

She straightened herself and glanced at the watch around her wrist. "But it's late. What if everyone's gone home and we're stuck here for the night?" A thought struck her and she looked up in horror. "Or for days?"

"Then you have yourself to blame."

She glared at him. "You're not helping."

Spencer looked up to see her jaw clenching, accentuating the sharp angles of her face. Her normally composed features, so delicately balanced, now seemed to unravel in a heat of fury. It was the only expression she held every time she had to deal with him.

He glanced away and focused back on his task. "Don't worry, we have a team of competent profilers. If they can find dangerous criminals throughout the country, they can also find their two missing agents."

She considered his words and acknowledged the truth behind them, so she reluctantly moved to the other side of the room, going through the shelves opposite of him. The space went completely still as they both went through the stack of folders shelved between the old cabinets. It wasn't until curiosity got the better of him that he finally looked up, his eyes falling onto her form.

Her back was facing him, giving him a view of her tousled hair falling down over her shoulders. His eyes involuntarily trailed the contours of her body, betraying a mixture of intrigue and curiosity. His gaze lingered upon the gentle curve of her shoulder, the graceful line of her spine, and the sway of her hips as she moved onto the next shelf, her steps echoing through the silence and it was then he realized she was wearing heels.

Again.

This wasn't the first time she decided to wear shoes that looked very uncomfortable to wear. Who even wore heels in this line of work? Being an FBI agent meant you had to be quick on your feet because anything could happen unexpectedly. He once voiced out his opinion on this matter, which she only answered with, "My choice of clothing won't reduce the capability of my brain, Reid. You and I are still doctors even if I wear a bathing suit to work."

"It's not about your choice of clothing, it's about being practical."

"That's why I keep a pair of sneakers in my drawers,” she had haughtily replied, then narrowed her eyes at him. "And don't comment on my shoes when I've held myself from judging on your ugly cardigans."

His cardigans were not ugly.

He shook the memory away as eyes roamed over her again, noticing her very exposed legs. She was also wearing a skirt today, something she often did and something he never dared to have an opinion on, knowing she would probably bite his head off if he did.

"Stop staring at me."

Spencer cleared his throat at being caught. "I wasn't."

"I could practically feel your eyes on me." She looked over her shoulder. "I have great spidey senses."

There was a sudden pause. "Spidey senses?"

"Yeah, like Spiderman." When he didn't respond, she turned around and faced him. "Please tell me you know who Spiderman is?"

When he returned her gaze with a frown, she couldn't help but laugh, turning her back towards him again. "You know this is why people like me better than you. We both may be smart, but you got to admit, my knowledge doesn't simply stop on academics."

He should've been offended by her words, he should've countered back a vile reply, but her voice became white noise to him as he watched her body leaning down, picking up a document that slipped from her grasp. His eyes caught the way the tight skirt clung to her form like a second skin. The fabric, stretched taut against her curves, highlighted the alluring lines of her figure. The skirt's snug fit caressed her thighs, tracing their slender form and hinting at the softness beneath.

This wasn't the first time he noticed her beauty in this type of way, beneath all that glare she often carried whenever he was around her, he knew she was an attractive woman. It was her personality that often stopped him from marveling this insight. But being in this closed, tight space, Spencer was forced to study her, and with the way his body was reacting, he knew his lingering stare was more than simple admiration.

He could feel his blood pulsing down south, tightening underneath the confinement of his pants.

As she straightened herself, she felt a sudden shift in the atmosphere. She turned her head and noticed his eyes training on her body.

"You're still staring." She then caught a glimpse of something unguarded in his gaze, something that was definitely far from hatred. Her mind whirled with questions, trying to decipher the meaning behind it. "Stop looking at me like that."

A hint of a smile played on his lips. "Like what?"

"Like you either want to strangle me or—"

"Or?" He prompted.

Like you want to eat me alive.

It was the only way she could describe it. She was aware of how his eyes usually pierced her, how every movement she made or word she uttered could trigger this immense disdain radiating from him. But now the weight of his gaze bore down upon her, casting a palpable heat that danced across her skin. Something had changed, and she felt it in the intensity of his eyes, so different from the usual hostility she had come to expect.

They held a predatory gleam as if he could pounce on her at any moment.

“If I hadn't known you better," she carefully spoke, watching as he took a step towards her, and she took one back, bumping into the wall. "I'd say you're trying to flirt with me with those eyes."

"Me? Flirt with you?" He cocked an eyebrow. "Don't flatter yourself."

She scoffed, squaring her shoulders as he closed the distance between them. "You're right. What was I thinking? You can't even flirt to live."

"You don't even know how I flirt."

"Reid, I've seen you flirt," she said between fits of laughter. "Remember you tried getting that cop's number? You were stuttering and suddenly giving her facts about oil paintings. Paintings."

"She had an interest in fine art," he stated. "And if you must know, after giving those informative facts, I told that no amount of art could ever compare to her beauty as a compliment.”

She snorted, shaking her head in disbelief. "And that actually worked? She gave you her number?"

"No." Then a smirk curled on his lips. "But she did come home with me."

She frowned. That was new information. She never really thought about what went on in his love life, but hearing him implying his active sex life had her feeling strange. "She did?"

He took another step forward. "If I hadn't known you better," he carefully spoke, mimicking her words before. "I'd say you're jealous."

She tilted her head up and scowled at him. "Even if you were the last person on this planet I wouldn't consider breathing in the same air with you."

She waited for his response, but he didn't even seem to be bothered by her words. And as they stood there, holding each other's gaze, she became acutely aware of everything; their close proximity, the warmth radiating from his body, and the rise and fall of his chest. His unfamiliar scent lingered in the air, a distinct combination of earthy musk and a hint of something indefinable. She had never allowed herself to notice it before, but now it was impossible to ignore.

Her eyes then traced the lines on his face, sharp jaw, high cheekbones, and finally settled on his eyes. At first, she thought her eyes was deceiving her, but she knew exactly what held behind his gaze. It was the same expression she saw in all her past lovers. It wouldn’t have surprised her to see the same intensity on other men, but to see it on him? The guy who had always hated her guts the moment she corrected his statistic rants the first time they met?

Spencer fucking Reid?

It was too much for her to handle. She was used to his piercing gaze, his evident disdain. Not this. It became almost overwhelming that she decided to step away.

Just as she turned to retreat from the intensity of his gaze, her body froze as she felt warm fingers gripping her wrist. The contact sent a jolt through her body and her eyes snapped back at him. "What the hell are you doing?"

Ah, there it was, that hatred she was looking for blazing in his eyes again. "You see, I don't like you."

"Good." She held her chin up. "The feeling's mutual."

"You think you're better than everybody else, you think you're better than me."

She was about to retort another response when he suddenly yanked her, a gasp leaving her mouth. "But somehow I can’t help myself from wanting to taste you.”

Then it happened so fast. One moment she was trying to register what was happening, the next thing she knew his lips were on hers, moving frantically in desperate hunger. She couldn't believe he was actually kissing her. It also burned her up inside to find he was good at it. She wanted him to be all teeth and awkward so she could sneer at him and push him away, but he was holding her face in his hands like they hadn't spent months sniping at each other.

A turmoil of thoughts swarmed her mind—What are you doing? Why are you kissing him back? What the hell is wrong with you?—while she gripped onto his arm as a pleased sigh slipped through her mouth before she could catch it.

He slowly pulled away from her, eyes glittering in mischief. "Would you look at that?" he muttered, gripping her jaw and tilting her face like he was appraising her. "All bark and no bite."

She shoved his hands away from her face, ignoring how nice it had felt, wide and warm and firm. "Don't test me."

"Yeah?" His hand settled on her hip, pulling her against him deliberately slow, giving her every opportunity to knock his hand away, to sidestep him, to tell him to stop, but she didn't. He took it as a sign to run his hand behind her. "I think you're bluffing."

Her heart quickened when she felt him gently squeezing her ass. "A-About what?"

"All this bravado of yours," he taunted, his hands now trailing down to her sides. "I bet there's something sweet underneath all this bitterness."

"You don't know me," she hissed breathlessly. It was difficult to keep snapping back at him when his other hand ran up her leg, pushing her skirt up as he went, his grip encompassing the entire width of her thigh.

"Maybe not. But I'm always up for a challenge." His calloused hand brushed at the lacy edge of her underwear and she sucked in a shaky breath. "Let's see how long you can keep up with this attitude."

She opened her mouth to say something snippy, but he ducked down and kissed the words out of her mouth with a low groan. Her brain suddenly froze when his finger curled under the outline of her underwear and tugged it to the side, trailing his slender finger through her bare slit.

A smirk curled at the corner of his lips as pulled away, trailing his mouth along her jawline. His finger brushed along her slickness and it took a lot of self-control for her not to moan. "How are you already so wet?"

Although a small gasp emitted from her as she felt him sliding a finger, and when his thumb pressed against her clit, she closed her eyes, tossing her head to the side at the feeling of him filling her up.

"You're awfully quiet," he murmured against her neck, sucking a bruise against her soft skin as he began to pump his finger. "Who would've thought I had to touch you to keep your mouth shut."

She bit her bottom lip, fighting against the pleasure that surged through her, desperately trying to suppress the enjoyment coursing through her veins. "I hate you."

"No, you don't." His tone was vexingly calm, and all it did was rile her up more. She wished he'd match her frustration because his composure was annoying. Then to make matters worse, he let out an amused laugh. He fucking laughed. "Look at you trying to hold yourself back."

"I'm not—fuck." She gasped as she felt his finger curling inside her.

"Keep telling yourself that." He added another finger and she slumped against the wall, pressing back hard to keep herself upright as he pumped his wrist. "It's okay to admit you're enjoying this."

"I-I'm not," she huffed indignantly.

"Has anyone ever told you you're a bad liar?"

Her breath mingled with the sound of her arousal echoing in the narrowed space as he drove his fingers into her faster. "Shut up, Reid." She then grabbed onto his arm as the pleasure intensified, nails digging into his skin. "You think you're so smart, so full of yourself—"

"You really like picking up a fight, don't you? That's why you always have an attitude with me." His lips brushed her ear. "It gets you worked up. It gets you wet."

She quickly shook her head. "I just don't like you."

"Hmm." He leaned back and watched the way she tensed beneath his touch, her muscles coiling with delicate restraint. It was as if she fought against the pleasure that threatened to consume her, seeking to maintain control even as her body betrayed her desires. "I wonder if you'll like it as much if I put my head between your thighs."

The thought of having his face buried right where her arousal burned drove her over the edge. Her body betrayed her and she knew he could feel it too. "Oh wow, you're clenching around my fingers," he hummed in satisfaction. "Is that what you want? You want me to eat you out?"

"No," she mumbled but he found her hips bucking against his palm.

"Your body is saying otherwise." He withdrew his fingers but kept rubbing tight circles against her clit. Her blood was hammering under her skin and her legs shook as she tried to roll her hips up against his hand again. "Say you want me between your thighs."

She gritted her teeth, her muscles tightening in a valiant effort to hold back the mounting pleasure that begged to be unleashed. "I'm not saying that."

"Are you sure?" His other hand traveled along the back of her head before fisting her hair in his hand, exposing the column of her throat to him. "Don't you want to come all over my face?"

"Reid..." she mumbled hopelessly, her head spinning as his hot breath brushed against her skin. The thought of admitting that infuriated her because him actually getting her off was something she'd never live down. This was Spencer Reid, the man who had always infuriated her with his know-it-all statistics as if she hadn't already known half of the things he said.

But damn it, she really wanted him between her thighs.

"Say it," he repeated, moving his hand away entirely, and she grabbed his wrist desperately, pulling his fingers back to where she wanted them. "Say I want your mouth on me, Spencer, and I'll happily oblige."

"Reid—"

"Spencer," he corrected. "Say it."

Her body quivered, a taut wire stretched to its limit, yearning to snap under the weight of the pleasure that coursed through her. And then his finger suddenly stopped its movement and she knew he wasn't going to touch her again until she gave in. If that's how he wanted it, fine. She was going to consider this as one of their silly mind games, their usual banter whenever they tried to outwit one another. She could figure out a way to get back at him later. She could swallow her pride for now.

"I want your mouth on me," she reluctantly caved in.

"Did you forget my name?"

Unbelievable.

"I fucking hate you," she sneered. Then she pushed him away from the crook of her neck and leveled her gaze on him. "Just put your fucking mouth on me, Spencer."

He clicked his tongue disapprovingly. "You have a very foul mouth."

But true to his words, he eventually dropped to his knees, his hands trailing on either of her sides before he slipped her underwear down her legs. His fingers trailed along her skin as he did it, prickling the depth of her anticipation even when her mind was still trying to comprehend what she was letting herself in.

Because she had never thought of getting eaten out at work, let alone with someone she hated. Sure, hate was a very strong word, but it was what she was used to feeling whenever it came to him. It was easy to engross her hatred every time he treated her differently from the others.

Hate she could do, it came naturally to her. But to desire him, actually wanting him to bury his face between her thighs, was starting to mess her up, and not in a bad way. Not in a way that had her feeling repulsed, but in a way that made her want to grab onto his hair and pull his face right at the center of her heat.

Spencer looked up at her and smiled, as if he knew what she was thinking, and pushed up her skirt around her hips. His eyes bored into her as he hiked one of her legs onto his shoulder. His gaze traveled down her body, taking in her flushed cheeks—out of anger or embarrassment, he didn't know—and continued to sweep over the curve of her breasts before they stopped right in front of him.

"Look at you." He leaned closer, his breath brushed her damp skin. "Aren't you a pretty thing?"

There was something compelling about having Spencer sinking on his knees before her, but having his mouth wrapped around her clit pulled away her senses and her legs started to buckle that she had to grab onto the nearest cabinet for support. She stifled a moan, not expecting the enthusiastic way he devoured her from below with frantic motions of his wandering tongue.

This was so wrong. However, heat continued washing over, traveling up towards her face and burning at the tips of her ears. The more his mouth sucked onto her, lapping his tongue through her slickness, the more her body coursed with pleasure that she couldn't stop herself from sinking her fingers into his hair, holding him in place as she ground her hips over his face.

"For someone who claims to hate me," he whispered, his voice vibrating against her skin, his tongue pushing into her walls. "You sure are enjoying this."

A moan was thick in her throat until she swallowed it down, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of how true his words were. "You're annoying. So fucking annoying," she hissed.

Spencer hummed. "And you taste so good."

She gasped in surprise when she felt him lick a long stripe along her slit, the rough pad of his tongue catching her clit as she jolted. His fingers dipped into her thighs as he held her steady, lewd sounds leaving his lips as he continued to suck her wetness. His movements were suddenly fast, so feral and animalistic as he shamelessly lapped her skin, swallowing every liquid dripping off her body.

The built-up pleasure inside her continued to grow as she rolled her hips into his mouth, trying to focus on the sensation of him pressing his tongue against the same spot each time. Her chest was heaving as she tried to focus on the pleasure that was slowly taking over her rational thoughts, the coil inside her desperately close to breaking.

"Oh, god," Her voice shook, head tipped back and eyes staring at the ceiling as she felt herself dance on the precipice of release for a few agonizing moments before she finally started to shatter. Then a strangled cry left her lips as she began to buck her hips as he continued to suck her clit through her climax, the pleasure clouding her mind. It wasn't until he finally stood up, looking down at her with a grin that she finally took in what just happened.

"Do you still hate me?"

Yes, yes she did, especially with that smug smile of his taunting her. Yet she found herself hooking her fingers around the belt strap of his pants, pulling him closer as the weight of her resistance began to crumble under the force of his unwavering gaze. "So fucking much." The triumphant smile on his face grew as she started to unbuckle his belt, the sound echoing in the room. "Do you have a condom?"

"Do you really think I'm the type of person to be carrying a condom in my pocket?"

"I think you're the type of person who never gets laid." He threw her an uninterested stare which she decided to ignore. Then she let her hands fall to the side. "I'm not having sex without a condom."

Spencer weighed in her words. If he was smart, he would've stopped himself, pulled away, and accept her admission. But he didn't want to be smart, after depending on his intelligence throughout his life, he didn't want to be rational. It was definitely out of his character, but there was something about her that stirred a dormant part of him, awakening desires and emotions he hadn't known existed within his soul.

He had always prided himself on his restraint and self-discipline, but after finally having a taste of her, he found himself unraveling. He wanted more. So he leaned closer, and pressed a desperate kiss at the hollow of her throat, marveling at the way her body trembled from his touch. "Why not?"

She was going to regret it. She really was. But damn it, how could she restrain herself when he was sucking into her skin like a man starved. She splayed her hands on his chest and pushed him away before giving him the deadliest glare she could muster.

"I swear to god if you finish inside me I will kill you."

Then a smirk pulled at the corner of his lips. "Was planning to come in your mouth anyway."

She was about to retort a haughty response when he suddenly grabbed her by the elbow and turned her around, pushing her against the wall. She was taken aback by the newfound dominance he exuded in his touch. It was a side of him she had never witnessed before, and it sent a thrill of surprise and intrigue coursing through her veins, something she would never admit out loud.

He dragged his tongue across his lips at the sight before him as his hands reached for his belt, unclasping the strap before unbuttoning his pants, the sound of his zipper being pulled down echoing in the narrowed space. He then slightly pulled down his briefs, slipping out his cock before his knee wedged in between her thighs, parting her legs to open.

He slightly shifted, his jaw twitching as he gathered saliva in his mouth, craning his neck down to spit on her pulsing core before the head of his cock gently nudged her clit. Embarrassingly, she clenched around nothing. Her vision went white and she felt herself tremble as he positioned himself at her entrance, pushing in inch by inch.

"Fuck," he sighed, hips twitching as he finally slid into her fully, feeling her walls clenching hard around him. "I can get used to this."

She could get used to this too. She had never felt so full before, never felt herself being stretched like this so deliciously, but she certainly didn't need to feed his ego by moaning about it. "Well don't, this is the only time I'm letting this happen."

He pulled back his hips, leaving only the tip as he watched her slickness coated around him. "We'll see about that."

And then all hell broke loose.

He slammed into her with so much force that she let out a muffled scream as her eyes shot wide open. He relentlessly bucked his hips, his cock filling her over and over without self-control, the tip of him hitting her deepest parts relentlessly. She could barely even think as his hips fell into a rhythm, sending her higher and higher with each thrust.

Her legs tensed up even more at the pressure, his hands gripping her hips so hard his fingers dig into her flesh that she knew she would leave bruises. Behind her, he was grunting and growling through gritted teeth as he repeatedly buried himself into her without remorse. It didn't take long before his vicious thrusts had her eyes rolling back behind closed lids, her mind going entirely blank to everything but this very moment.

One of his hands released her hip before she felt him grabbing a fistful of her hair, just at the base of her skull, and sharply pulling. A high-pitched, breathy noise tore out of her at the feel of it. "Poor baby," he cooed. "Look at you so desperate for my cock."

She couldn't help but be stunned by his words. Who would've thought Spencer Reid was good at dirty talk? Definitely not her. It was as though he had unveiled a secret facet of his personality that had remained hidden until now, and she found herself captivated by this revelation.

Not that she was going to admit this, of course, so instead, she solely focused on the way he addressed her. "I am not your baby."

"You want me to call you something else?" He asked between bated breaths, hips thrusting into her. "How about Angel? Darling? Sweetheart?"

She let out a frustrated groan at his teasing but it was probably impossible to discern it from the rest of the noises she was trying to hold. "Are you always this chatty during sex?"

"No," he hummed as he picked up his pace, sending a helpless spasm through her.

"R-Really?" She mused breathlessly. "I must be special then."

He then tugged on her hair even rougher, causing her to curse loudly in response, her hips beginning to eagerly press backward into him as his hips jutted into her relentlessly like a man possessed. "Don't get too cocky."

"Just admit it," she whispered, pleasure racing down her body in waves. "You like me."

With another sharp tug on her hair, he abruptly plunged his cock so deep inside of her that she couldn't stop herself from arching her back. He held himself there as he used the grip on her hair to haul her backward to him, a surprised yelp falling out of her. "I don't like you."

Her back fell onto his chest and she felt his body vibrating behind her. "Then why is your heart beating so fast?"

"Well, sex is physically exerting so..."

How was it possible to be this aroused and annoyed at the same time? Wasn't sex supposed to be enjoyable? Well, she was clearly enjoying this, but it was hard to fully sink into the pleasure when he was driving her insane. Unless...

It dawned on her, that was her move. That was how she could play his game. Maybe she should be enjoying this to the fullest, maybe she should stroke his ego, get into his head, and have him feel as desperate as she was. A fierce determination ignited within her, fueling a newfound resolve to turn the tables on him. This was how she was going to get him back.

"Harder," she asked, pushing her hips into him.

His pace suddenly slowed down, uncertain whether he was hearing her right. "Yeah?"

She nodded. "Please?" she added before he could prompt her.

A satisfied sound escaped his lips—it was a sound she had never heard coming from him, loud and crude emitting between a growl and something coming close to a whimper, which had her smiling triumphantly. "L-Look at you begging now."

This was easier than she expected. She rolled her head back against his shoulder and let out a moan she had kept so hard on controlling. "I want you to fuck me harder, Spencer."

His sharp intake of breath at that moment was worth it. "I know what you're doing."

"What am I doing, baby?" she asked sweetly, dripping in forced affection that sounded nothing like her at all.

He instantly released the hold on her hair, his hand snaking around to grip her throat as his other hand slid around the front of her. "You're messing with me."

She let out a strained sound as she felt his other hand traveling down where they were connected. "I-I thought you wanted me to admit how good you make me feel? Is that not enough? You want me to cry out how amazing your cock feels inside me?"

Then she couldn't help her next words.

"Should I call you daddy?"

Oh, that got him. He hissed as the hand on her throat tightened. "You're a menace."

"A menace you enjoy fucking?"

His lips curled into a snarl. "I'm going to wipe that smug look off your face."

Only then he began to thrust back into her roughly. A series of breathy, needy gasps fell out of her as she held tight onto his forearm that was holding her by her throat. His other hand on her clit circled around roughly, touching her just right that she entirely lost it, her hips quaked against him as he groaned out in response, her walls clenching his cock.

Then his hand left her clit a few moments later, instead landing hard on her ass with a sharp smack that sounded throughout the room. His fingers dug into the flesh there as his hips began clumsily ramming into her, his cock twitching inside of her. The stimulation was too much for her that she clamped a hand over her mouth, trying to keep quiet as he stretched her harshly, the delicious burn only adding to the pleasure.

"You're still holding back?" He taunted, bringing back his hand before another loud smack rang in her ears, her ass burning from the pain. "Let that voice out, no one's going to hear you."

It was amazing how long she could hold in her pleasure because now her walls were starting to crumble when a particularly deep and brutal thrust had his cock hitting her just right. And then, it happened—the dam of restraint finally burst. A low moan escaped her lips, a primal cry of pleasure that echoed through the room like a song of surrender

"That's it," he grunted. "You sound so pretty."

As the sensations intensified, her breaths came in shallow gasps, her heart pounding in her chest. Once she let herself go, she couldn't stop herself from moaning out his name, to which he responded with his own moan, especially when she clenched around him even tighter.

"You gonna come for me now?" She helplessly nodded, not trusting herself to form any coherent words, squirming her hips against him for more. "Go on then," he demanded, his lips brushing the shell of her ear. "Come for me."

She finally snapped as she gave in to the sensation that had been gradually crawling its way up her spine. Pleasure was soon coating every inch of her and as her eyes closed. She didn't bother to muffle her cries this time as she fell apart around his cock, her body convulsing as he continued to thrust inside her, forcing the pleasure to keep growing stronger and stronger until small black spots started to appear in her vision.

When her climax had washed over, she was left dizzy and breathless, still leaning against him. His loud panting breaths quickly filled her ears, his chest heaving beneath her head and she could tell by the way his hips were fluctuating in their pace, the feel of his throbbing cock inside of her, that he was very close to his release.

Panic suddenly crept into her daze state and she craned her neck to look back. "Don't you dare finish inside me, I swear to god—"

Very abruptly he slipped his cock out from inside of her, his arms releasing their hold on her just as fast before turning her to face him.

"Get on your knees."

The ground scraped her skin as she quickly sank onto her knees, and just because he looked so damn good tethering in his pleasure as she stared up at him, she gripped his cock in her hands and took him fully in her mouth.

"Fuck," the gravel in his voice was prominent, her lips gliding effortlessly down his shaft until her nose hits his stomach. His hand finds its way into her hair as she kneeled there before him, fisting a bunch of it at the scalp, desperately needing something to tie him down to reality.

She slid back off his cock to take just his head inside her mouth, swirling her tongue around it before flattening it against his tip, licking a fat stripe while looking up at him through her lashes. Spencer sucked in a sharp breath, tightening the grip on her hair.

Maintaining his gaze, she took him completely down her throat again, essentially swallowing him, holding herself there until she gagged around him. She could taste him on her tongue as she continued to repeat the motion, tears welling at her lids and saliva building at her lips, seeping down her chin.

He groaned at the sight.

"I-I'm gonna come—"

And he did. She felt lightheaded as the first shot of liquid filled her mouth, and then he jutted his hips a few more times before another surge of his release spilled down her throat. She swallowed him whole, swallowed every drop of him into her mouth as he continued to look down in wonder. She never thought of ever being in this position, but now she decided there was nothing else more satisfying than to watch her rival come undone from her touch.

Although she couldn't dwell in her contentment for long because as she released him from her mouth, the sound of the door rattling waked her senses. Panic flashed in her eyes as they met his gaze, and they instinctively stepped apart before sprinting into action, Spencer tucking himself back in his pants, while she quickly got to her feet and pulled down her skirt, scurrying to the other side of the room.

It wasn't until she spotted her underwear laying by his feet that she realized she was still naked underneath. Spencer followed her line of sight and just as the door creaked, he bent down and quickly grabbed the fabric, shoving it in his pocket at the same time their friend entered the room.

"There you are," Luke sighed in relief, casting them both a look. "We've been searching everywhere for you guys. Are you both alright? I thought I heard screaming."

In that fleeting moment, they both exchanged a glance laden with unspoken messages, each silently urging the other to maintain composure.

"Yes. I-uh." She cleared her throat, struggling to suppress the heat rising to her cheeks, willing herself not to betray the blush that threatened to expose what went on before this. "I was screaming for help."

Luke watched them with keen eyes, skepticism etched upon his face. A subtle tension crackled in the air, barely noticeable to most but not escaping the scrutiny of his gaze. He watched as Spencer hid his face behind a file he was holding, and she was studying her nails as if they were the most interesting thing in the world.

He narrowed his eyes but didn't say anything, before stepping back towards the door again. "Well, come on, there's a new lead on the case. Everyone's waiting."

When he finally left them alone again, she let out a breath she wasn't aware of holding and quickly held out her hand. Spencer raised his eyebrows at her. "What?"

"My underwear?"

He stared at her empty hand, then at her face, and shrugged nonchalantly, leaving her dumbfounded as he started to leave the room before the door closed on them again.

"Reid," she hissed, following behind him. "Give it back."

He looked over his shoulder and gave her a smile, or something close to it because even after what happened a few minutes ago his smile was far from looking genuine. "Come by my place after work and I might give it to you."

Her steps faltered.

"Might?"

But his back was already facing her as he strode down the hallway. She stood there, feeling extremely exposed wearing nothing but her own skin underneath her skirt, and the only way to get back her missing piece of clothing was to force herself in his presence again.

She closed her eyes and sighed, not sure what she felt right now was either anger or exhaustion. Probably both—no, wait, definitely both.

Because what the fuck did she get herself into?

.

Quick question, if I make a taglist for my one-shots does anyone want to be added?

[ariadne-mouse]

Thinking about Dorian's new wardrobe - specifically the swap to gold signifying his new heir status and the "sluttiest" shirt etc - and remembering earlier in the campaign when the party went to the masquerade ball. Dorian had been planning to wear something he wanted to wear (the flowy beige chiffon outfit he wore in the pageant in ExU) but when the plan changed to subterfuge, he very pragmatically chose something conservative, militaristic, and introduced himself as "Brontë Secondsun of the Silken Squall". Notably, he discarded the outfit he'd originally wanted (3x12):

As I do, put those things away, I'm going to reach into my bag and pull out the outfit that I had, which was this chiffon outfit that I had previously gotten a long time ago, and look at it for a minute. Then I'll pull out the mâché mask that I had, and I'll crumble them both up and throw them in the bottom of the bureau, and leave them behind and go back down to the group.

He'd been looking forward to a chance of expressing himself, and when he realizes he can't (by choice, for the sake of the mission), he literally buries his feelings. Having to lean into his family identity is not a happy occasion for him; it represents everything he's trying to escape and a suppression of the self he's trying to become.

What's interesting about his most recent costume change is that in learning the reason for swapping silver to gold, it also tells us that Dorian has actually been wearing a reminder of his status in his family this whole time, on his everyday clothes. His winged boots are ancestral, but they have the excuse of being a useful magical item - Dorian could choose whatever metallic accent style he wanted for his clothes. And in using all silver, he never completely erased Brontë Secondsun Wyvernwind, he just embedded the title in his color scheme. Wearing gold now feels like grieving Cyrus as much as it does the grim acceptance of his new inheritance, but the two things are intertwined.

The "sluttiest" shirt meanwhile is a pretty straightforward continuation of the flamboyant style he yearned for in the masquerade. And with such loss behind him and the dire mission before them - if not now, when? If they get out of all this alive, he may return home and have to resume whatever pomp and circumstance are required there. Life's short; wear a sheer blouse.

All told, Dorian's new outfit and presentation are such a wild mix of messages. My brother is dead. I'm the heir now. My familial duty is part of me and I acknowledge this despite having very complicated feelings about it. But I'm also going 1000% on my dramatic personal style that doesn't match what I would wear at home as a prince. I have left behind beloved familiar instruments and chosen new ones. I am simultaneously reinventing myself in my desired image, cutting away things I think I must, and reaffirming my roots to which I am tied now more than ever. And I'm gonna do it all tits out.

[tortillamastersblog]

Back To You - Part 11 | Sam Carpenter

Pairing: Sam Carpenter x reader

Warnings: mentions of violence, death, blood, injuries, and swearing

Summary: When Sam left after turning eighteen, you were devastated. You’d been in love with her since you were kids and her leaving meant you never got to tell her how you truly felt.

Fast forward a couple of years, Tara gets attacked and Sam returns. . .

Previous Part | Next Part | Masterlist

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The rest of the walk back to the apartment was uneventful. Sam and I stayed a couple of paces behind everyone and even though we didn’t speak I kept stealing glances at her, feeling my heart flutter every time I caught her snuggling deeper into my hoodie in search of comfort.

Now, we’re back at the apartment. Tara and Chad are in Tara’s room, talking, according to Quinn, while the rest of us is gathered in the living room.

Well, almost everyone. Sam stayed downstairs when we got here, saying she needed a moment to compose herself.

I completely understand where she’s coming from, tonight’s been a lot and I get that she needs some space, but I still have an innate need to comfort her.

I know we’re not on the best of terms especially after our little tiff on the way to the party, but I still care deeply about her and I hate seeing her upset.

Which reminds me. . . I should probably have a little chat with Tara.

I set down the bottle I just took from the fridge after taking a big sip of water, and slowly make my way to Tara’s room.

Much to my surprise, Quinn is already there and what she’s saying makes my eyebrows rise up.

She’s saying something about cock blocking Tara and Chad, something they both vehemently deny and I slow down so as to not get into the middle of it.

Eventually they drop it though, and Quinn leaves the room, smirking at me when she passes me in the hallway before Chad exits the room as well after telling Tara not to kill Sam.

He sends me a small smile as he brushes past me and I pat his shoulder with a sympathetic look before going to the door and leaning against the doorframe.

Tara still hasn’t noticed me and when she lets herself fall back on the bed with a dopey smile I can’t help but smile too.

Oh, she and Chad have it bad for each other. I can’t wait to ask how and when that happened.

For now, there are more important things to talk about though.

I push myself back off the doorframe. “Knock, knock,” I say quietly.

Tara’s head whips around and she immediately sits up when she sees me, her dopey grin turning into a somber smile. “Y/N, hey. . .”

“Can I come in?” I ask and when Tara nods and pats the spot beside her I cross the room and take a seat next to her. “You okay?”

She shifts closer and rests her head on my shoulder with a sigh. “No, not really. I hate fighting with Sam, but she’s so overprotective, it’s suffocating. . . I’m sorry I didn’t greet you properly How was your drive? I thought you and Liam had plans for tonight?”

“We did, but he was called into work. The drive was fine, long, but fine and you don’t have to apologize, I know you didn’t do it on purpose.” I nudge her softly and press a kiss to the top of her head. “As for Sam,” I continue. “I get it. It’s a lot and she might have overreacted tonight, but she’s just worried about you. I’m worried about you, I mean—Date Rape Frankie? Really?”

When Anika told Sam and me the name of the guy Tara’d left with I thought I’d heard wrong.

Tara winces and fidgets with her fingers.

“I know, I know. Not my best move, but I just. . . I want to make my own choices and, yes, Sam is worried, but she keeps treating me like a child. You don’t.“

I sigh and let her play with the bracelet on my wrist, so she stops fidgeting with her fingers. “No, I don’t. But she lives with you and takes care of you, and she was gone for five years, so she’s probably trying to make up for everything she missed.”

Tara doesn’t say anything, but her fingers still as she thinks about what I just said.

“I know it’s a lot, too much even some times, but you have to understand where she’s coming from. Sam loves you so much, Sprout.”

“I know. I love her, too, but. . .” Tara trails off and sighs.

I chuckle softly and press another kiss to the top of her head. “Yeah. . .”

We stay like that until Tara lifts her head off my shoulder a couple of moments later to study me.

When she does say anything, I raise an eyebrow and ask, “What?”

“You look. . . tired,” she says which makes me shrug.

“I mean, yeah. It’s late and the drive was pretty long,” I say, not knowing where she’s going with this, but Tara just shakes her head and deflates a little, her eyes softening.

“No, I don’t mean like that.” I frown, which prompts her to continue. “You and Sam. . . You barely speak these days and I can tell you’re both miserable because of it. I mean, I get that you have your own life and it was hard to stay in touch when you were in Boston and we were in Woodsboro, but we’re here now, so why don’t you try to fix things between the two of you.

I sigh. “It’s not that simple, Sprout. We’ve all changed and even though I love Sam with all my heart, I realized I can’t be around her. She doesn’t think of me as anything other than a friend a-and it hurts. It hurts so much, I just can’t be a friend .”

“But she loves you, too,” Tara tries to reason which makes my heart ache because oh how nice would it be if that was true. “You guys just have to talk. I mean, she watches all your games on TV and you’re the first one she wants to call when something’s wrong or when something good happens.“

I blink back tears and avert my eyes. “That doesn’t prove anything, Tara. She knows how I feel about her and she’s never done anything about it. Besides, why would she be fooling around with Danny if she loved me?”

Tara grabs my wrist to get me to look at her again. “She knows?! I mean, it’s pretty obvious, but. . . How? And since when? And who the fuck is Danny?”

I smile sadly at her rambling and pat the top of her hand. “Danny, you know—cute boy? No one knows though, so keep that to yourself. As for since when she’s known, Richie called me out on it at Amber’s. We never talked about it, but yeah, she knows. . .”

The pity that fills Tara’s eyes is almost too much for me to bear, and when she sigh and says, “I’m so sorry. . .” I have to blink back a new wave of tears.

“Well, it is what it is, Sprout, but I need you to know that no matter what happens between Sam and me, I’ll always be there for you. You can always call me and should you ever need a break from everything you can come visit me in Boston.“

Tara hugs me tightly and whispers, “Thank you.”

I hold her closer and press another kiss to the top of her head before pulling back and suggesting we join the others in the living room.

I still want to ask about her and Chad, but there will be time for that later.

She agrees and together we make our way to the living room where the others are in the middle of turning on the TV and finding something to watch.

It is pretty late, but it seems as though no one is ready to call it a night yet.

I don’t pay much attention to what they’re watching as I go to the kitchen to retrieve my water bottle, but then a collective gasp makes me turn back and when my eyes land on the TV, I freeze.

A news host is talking about a recent Ghostface killing, and even though it could all just be a big coincidence, I have this eerie feeling that it’s not and that we’re in for another ride with the masked killer.

He’s back. Ghostface is back.

It’s just like Sidney said, they always come back.

Fuck.

Various scenarios of what might happen go through my head and I shudder when I think of anyone getting hurt, or worse, killed again.

Tara. . . Sam. . . The twins. No, please, no. Not again.

“Someone get Sam,” Mindy says. It snaps me out of my thoughts and before anyone can get up, I head to the front door.

Outside in the hallway, I peer over the banister, expecting her to be sitting on the stairs at the bottom of the stairwell where we left her. She’s not though, and when I see her standing there instead, holding onto the lapels of Danny’s jacket, I have to swallow the bitterness that rises in my throat.

So much for not being a thing. . .

I push my hurt away and focus on what’s important instead.

“Sam!” I shout, doing my best not to let my voice waver. “Get up here right now. There’s something you have to see.”

At the sound of my voice, both Sam and Danny immediately look up, and I try not to read too much into the way Sam instantly lets go of Danny and takes a step back.

They share a quick look before making their way up the stairs, and I turn to go back into the apartment without waiting for them.

I leave the door open and stand next to Chad, watching the news report until Sam comes storming in with Danny right behind her.

“What’s going on?” she asks and Chad just points at the TV.

Quinn smiles briefly at the sight of Danny and shoots Sam a knowing look, saying, “Cute Boy. . . nice,” but both Sam and Danny, despite his confusion at the nickname, don’t react.

They stare at the TV in a mix of surprise and confusion and when Mindy points out that one of the two victims was in their Film Studies Class, Sam’s face hardens and she turn to Tara, saying, “Pack a bag, we leave in ten.”

I can’t say I’m surprised because I knew she’d want to leave, but we already found out once that running away doesn’t work.

Sam heads into the kitchen to do god knows what and Tara looks at me pleadingly for a moment, hoping I’ll say something to change Sam’s mind but I just shake my head and sigh.

I’m scared, too, and once again a million scenarios of what could happen go through my head, but it’s not my place to interfere and even if I did, I doubt Sam would listen to me.

She’s got one thing on her mind right now, and that is protecting Tara, and even I won’t be able to change her mind, especially now after nine months of almost complete radio silence between the two of us.

Tara’s face falls, seeing that I’m not going to come to her rescue, and she jumps up to follow her sister into the kitchen, protesting. “Sam, wait! Sam!”

Danny frowns and goes to follow them, confused why Sam would just straight up pack a bag and leave at the first sign of trouble, but Chad steps in his way and places his hands on his shoulders.

“Thank you very much, suspicious new guy, but I think we’ve got it from here,” he says, ushering a still confused Danny out of the door before closing it land locking it.

I’ve got to say, I understand why Chad doesn’t trust him, but from what little I’ve seen of Danny so far, he seems like a decent guy and I doubt he has anything to do with this whole Ghostface situation.

“Sam, hold on!”

I turn back at the sound of Tara’s voice and try to hide my surprise at the sight of Sam coming back out of the kitchen with a knife in hand, Tara hot on her heels.

So that’s why she went into the kitchen. If you ask me, she’s overreacting just a little bit. Yes, Ghostface is back, but he’s not here right now, so I really don’t see the need for the knife.

“No, come on, we’re leaving,” Sam says, heading to her room, presumably to pack a bag, but before she gets there, Tara grabs her by the elbow and spins her around.

“No, wait! Let’s talk about this for a second ‘cause this might not have anything to do with us.”

True, but I doubt it. Still, I don’t get in the middle of it. I even take a step back to give them some room and when I glance at the others I see they’re also conflicted about what to believe and whose side to be on.

Well, they all are except Ethan. He just looks scared and his eyes keep darting between the two sisters and the TV.

When Sam points out that it can’t be a coincidence, Chad and Mindy back her up, mumbling, “Yeah, it is a little bit close to home,” I see Tara deflate.

She looks at me helplessly and I just shrug timidly, agreeing with the rest of them which prompts her to turn to Quinn for help. “Quinn, your dad’s a cop, right? Can you call him and find out what’s going on?” She turns back to glare at Sam, adding, “Before you make the unilateral decision to abandon my college education and flee the fucking state!”

Sam flinches slightly, but looks at Quinn for answers, her eyes filled with desperation and an underlying fear that makes me feel for her.

I’m scared, too.

The redhead cringes slightly and nods. She obviously doesn’t like the fact that she’s been roped into the fight, but she takes out her phone nonetheless. “I’m calling him now.”

Tara lets out an exasperated sigh. “Thank you.”

Quinn sends her a tight lipped smile and lifts her phone to her ear after dialing her dad’s number, only for the rest of us to flinch a second later when Sam’s phone starts ringing on the kitchen table.

Oh no.

Her eyes find mine and I do my best not to let my own fear show as I tilt my head, silently telling her to answer it.

Whatever happens, we’re in this together. The past nine months be damned.

She visibly shudders but takes her phone after setting down the knife. She doesn’t answer it though. She just stares at the display before declining the call and turning back around.

Huh. What was that?

The atmosphere is charged and a tense silence has settled over the living room and the only one who dares to break it a second later is an oblivious Ethan.

“Why did everyone just freak out when her phone rang?” he asks which makes Anika roll her eyes and say, “You’ve got to keep up my dude.”

She’s right. How can he not know Ghostface calls his victims every time before he attacks. By now, that’s like common knowledge because Stab is a franchise everyone knows, but then again, he doesn’t strike me as someone who watches horror movies, so his question seems fair.

“Sam? My dad wants to talk to you,” Quinn says, getting off the couch and holding out her phone.

Right. Her dad.

Sam takes the phone and we all watch with baited breath as she raises it to her ear, saying, “Mr. Bailey, hi,” but then a thought strikes me and I’m quick to pull out my own phone and excuse myself for a moment.

I dial Liam’s number in the hallway outside of the apartment, waiting with a racing heart until he finally picks up.

It’s not been confirmed that Ghostface is back, but I still have to warn him. I can’t ask him to leave again because of his new job, but I can give him a heads up.

“Hey, Y/N. You good? I’m sorry I know it’s late and you probably thought I’d be home by now, but my boss—“

“No, no, it’s not that.” I cut him off, but before I can say anything else he beats me to it.

“Okay, good. You know speaking of my boss, he’s a big fan of yours and I may or may not have slipped him your resume and he’d love you to work for him should you retire any time soon.l

I shake my head even though Liam can’t see me and pinch the bridge of my nose. “Liam—“

“Also I talked to Paige on my way to dinner and she’s, like, so jealous the two of us are spending a couple of days together, even though you visited her in Portland a couple of weeks ago and—“

“Liam!”

Liam shuts up instantly and for a second there’s silence. When he speaks up again the concern in his voice makes it clear that he knows something is wrong. “Y/N, what’s going on?”

I exhale shakily and tighten my grip on the phone. “He’s back, Lee. . . Ghostface is back.”

“What? But—“

“Listen to me,” I say sternly before he can go on. “I know I can’t ask you to leave again, but I need you to keep your distance from me until this whole thing blows over. Stay vigilant, stay in crowded places and maybe even stay with a friend for a couple of days. He might not be after you, but you’re my friend and when he finds out he might want to hurt you.”

Liam huffs out a disbelieving laugh. “If you think I’m going to go into hiding and let you face this motherfucker alone again you’re out of your mind, Y/N! Let me—“

“No! You’re staying out of this.”

“You can’t just decide that for me!” He fires back and I clench my jaw.

“Liam, the less people that are involved, the better,” I say. “I told you before and I’ll tell you again, if something happened to you because of me, I’d never be able to forgive myself. You’re not going into hiding, you’re keeping yourself safe. . . I’ve faced Ghostface before, so I know what I’m getting into, and we’re prepared this time. Quinn’s dad is a cop.”

“Y/N. . .”

“Lee,” I whisper, feeling a lump growing in my throat. “It’s going to be okay. We’re all going to be okay as long as you stay out of it, okay? Please promise me you’ll do what I said.“

I hear Liam sigh and it’s clear he doesn’t want to agree, but he does eventually. “Fine. Fine. I’ll stay out of it.”

“Thank you.” I swallow thickly. “I’ve got to get going now, but before I do. . . Please, don’t tell Paige about this. She’ll only worry and she’ll want to come here to help.”

“I know,” Liam says. “I won’t tell her.”

“Thank you.” I hang up after telling him to stay safe, and turn around just in time to see Sam and Tara coming out of the apartment.

Both of them have changed out of their clothes from the party. Tara’s wearing a striped shirt, jeans, and a pink corduroy jacket and Sam is wearing a simple white long-sleeved shirt and my hoodie.

Her necklace glints in the low light and distracts me for a moment.

“Hey, where are you guys going?” I ask when I snap out of it.

Sam grimaces. “Detective Bailey asked me to come down to the station because they found my driver’s license at the crime scene and Tara’s coming with me.”

“What? How’d that get there?” I ask, following them down the stairs without hesitation.

Wherever they go, I go, even though I’m only wearing a shirt and I know it’s going to be a little chilly outside.

Sam throws her hands up, keeping her eyes trained on the stairs so as to not stumble while Tara holds onto my arm. “I have no idea, but I reported that it was stolen two nights ago.”

Why would someone steal and then plant her license at a crime scene? It’s almost like they’re trying to frame her, but why?

I feel like I’m missing something.

We step outside and I wrinkle my nose at the smell of wet dirt and urine. It rained while we were inside, I realize, and the air is much cooler than I thought it would be, but there’s no turning back now, so I just lean into Tara when she huddles closer for warmth after noticing the goosebumps on my arms.

I’m just glad it’s not raining anymore.

Sam is walking two paces ahead of us, seemingly lost in thought and I’m about to speak up and ask her to tell us what’s on her mind when her phone suddenly rings.

She stops walking and Tara and I catch up to her, watching her pull her phone out of her pocket.

I freeze when I see the caller ID and the three of us share a horrified look.

Richie Kirsch

“What the fuck?” Tara whispers.

“I never deleted his contact,” Sam admits.

“Don’t pick that up, just let it ring,” I warn, knowing that it can’t be anyone but Ghostface, but after looking around with a clenched jaw, Sam picks it up anyway.

Tara and I share an incredulous look, but we stay quiet when Sam asks, “Who is this?”

I can’t hear what the person on the other end of the line is saying, but even without the speaker I can make out Ghostface’s distorted voice.

Sam tenses and she stares straight ahead, her grip on her phone so harsh her knuckles are turning white. “I want you to think long and hard about whether you really want to do this because the last two people that fucked with us ended up dead,” she spits and my chest fills with pride at how confident she sounds.

Ghostface says something I can’t quite make out, but I don’t focus on him because as he speaks, a hooded figure rounds the corner in front of us.

They’re on the phone as well with their head down so we can’t make out their face and I instantly shake off Tara and step in front of her and Sam.

Not today. . .

My ears start ringing and I ball my shaking hands into fists, ready to pounce, but then the stranger looks up with furrowed eyebrows. It’s a man in his late thirties, and he looks weirded out by the fact that we’re just starring at him, but he doesn’t comment on it and simply walks by while still talking on the phone.

I feel a hand on my lower back and deflate a little.

That wasn’t him. . .

I turn, thinking it’s Tara who’s touching me, only to freeze when I realize it’s Sam.

She’s not looking at me, and I’m not even sure she knows what she’s doing, but when I shift out of reach her jaw twitches.

“So, what? You’re protecting us now?” she asks Ghostface which makes me frown.

What are they talking about?

Tara steps closer and tries to listen to what they’re saying with a frown of her own pulling at her lips all while resting a hand on my forearm to make sure I don’t go anywhere.

A police car races past us with blaring sirens and blinking lights, but I keep my focus on Sam whose face tightens more and more with every word Ghostface spews.

“You shouldn’t believe everything you read on the internet, asshole,” she says with a tilt of her head which only fuels my earlier confusion.

Yeah, I’m definitely missing something here.

Tara looks at me, her brown eyes filled with worry and I go to comfort her by wrapping an arm around her shoulder, but then movement out of the corner of my eye catches my attention right as Sam says, “You better watch yours!”

I spin around and pull Tara behind me just in time to kick Ghostface in the stomach before he can get his hands on either of us.

He stumbles back and doubles over, and I use his momentary distraction to push Sam and Tara in front of me.

“Shit! Run!” I shout and they do as I say, running ahead with me hot on their heels.

I keep checking over my shoulder where Ghostface is, and my stomach sinks when I see him picking himself up faster than anticipated.

Shit. He’s tough. And he’s not small either.

“Help! Please!” Tara shouts, but no one in their car hears her and there are no pedestrians around, so Sam does what I would have done too if I was in front and drags Tara around the corner and into a bodega.

I follow them inside and turn so I can keep my eyes on the door while they frantically plead with the man behind the register to call 911.

The other customers who’re stand in line to pay for their stuff complain and shout at us for cutting the line, but I ignore them and keep my eyes on the door.

And then he comes in. Ghostface stands tall and unbothered, looking almost calm which makes him even more menacing than when he was chasing us.

I take a step back, bumping into Sam and Tara, and keep my eyes on him when one of the customers who complained about us cutting the line steps in front of him.

“You got a problem here, guy?” he asks Ghostface and I have to suppress a scream when not even a second later, Ghostface pulls a knife out of his robe and stabs him with it.

The other customer gasp and scream in horror as absolute chaos breaks out, and I don’t protest when Sam pulls me backward, further into the store and away from Ghostface who drops the customer he just stabbed before ramming his knife into the neck of another guy who comes at him.

It’s all happening so fast, it feels like a dream, but I know it’s not because Sam keeps dragging me with her and Tara until we’re at the back of the store with our backs against the coolers.

Ghostface’s latest victim collapses, his lifeless eyes staring at me when he lands on the floor and I think this is it. He’s going to kill us now, but then the store owner behind the register pulls out a shotgun and fires it at Ghostface.

He misses, but it makes Ghostface scramble for cover and Sam, Tara, and I stare in horror as the owner cocks the gun, his eyes scanning the isles for any sign of the masked killer.

“Go out the back!” he shouts and we rush to the back door, but it’s locked and before the owner can give us the key, Ghostface appears out of nowhere.

He stabs the poor man in his shoulder and rips the gun out of his hands before shoving him to the ground and shooting him without a moment’s hesitation.

The sight makes my blood run cold, but it’s a reminder that if we don’t act, we’re going to be next, so I’m quick to pull Sam and Tara to the ground behind one of the nearby shelves.

There’s only one way out, and Ghostface is blocking it, so we’ll either have to somehow get around him or distract him long enough for the police to get here.

I’m sure by now someone’s already called them, but with Ghostface each second counts and if we don’t play this right we’ll be dead long before anyone can help us.

We crawl down an isle out of sight of Ghostface, but when we hear the shotgun cock again, we stop.

It’s nearer than I would have liked and my heart pounds in my chest when I meet Tara’s and Sam’s eyes.

They’re both white as a wall and Tara is crying silently, her mascara running down her cheek, and I grit my teeth, trying to keep my own panic at bay.

This is like the time Tara and I hid in the hospital. We’re sitting ducks, just like we were back then, and I know the only thing that kept us alive back then was staying as calm as possible for as long as possible. Well, that and Dewey, but there’s no time to dwell on that now.

Deep breaths, Y/N.

There’s a crunch, and I close my eyes, trying to figure out where Ghostface might be heading. Not a moment later though, a shot rings out and my eyes fly open again when the glass door of the cooler behind us shatters.

Tara let’s out an involuntary whimper which leads to another shot being fired in our direction. It hits the shelf above us and makes bags of chips explode and rain down on us.

Then, silence.

Sam ushers us around the other side of the shelf and we press ourselves against it in hopes of making ourselves less visible and for a moment I feel her hand on mine.

Even now, her touch sends sparks up my arm, but I don’t look at her. I just turn my hand around and slip my fingers between her trembling ones, squeezing gently.

It’s not an acknowledgment of defeat—I’m not going to just let us die like this— but I want to reassure her that I’m here. I’m here and I’m going to do everything in my power to prevent anything from happening to her or Tara.

They have to get out of here. That’s all that matters.

The sound of approaching footsteps right behind us makes me hold my breath, and my eyes dart around the floor in front of us until they land on a crushed soda can.

It’s by Sam’s feet and when I squeeze her hand again and tilt my head in the direction of it, she reaches for it. Tara watches us with wide eyes and a tear running down her cheek.

We need a distraction. That’s our only chance.

Sam shoots me a questioning look, but I just raise my hand in front of us and hold up three fingers.

3. . .

She frowns, but I gesture at the can and fold down a finger.

2. . .

Understanding dawns on her and I nod encouragingly and jut my chin in the direction of the other side of the store before folding down another finger.

1. . .

I fold down my last finger and Sam grits her teeth before throwing the can.

It clatters against a shelf on the other side of the store and not even a second later a gunshot rings out.

This is my chance.

I jump up, much to Sam’s and Tara’s surprise and make a run for Ghostface who’s got his back turned to me.

At the sound of my footsteps, he spins around and aims the gun at me. My heart drops for a moment, but when he pulls the trigger nothing happens.

He didn’t reload it which is exactly what I was counting on.

I close the remaining distance between us and grab the barrel of the gun and push it up so it’s no longer pointing at me. I push against it with all my strength which makes Ghostface stumble back and into a shelf.

“Y/N!” Sam shouts when he manages to cock the gun again.

I grunt and shout, “Run!” right before he pulls the trigger. This time the gun fires, but Ghostface misses me because the barrel is still pointing at the ceiling.

Debris rains down on us as our struggle continues and because my hands are sweaty, my grip on the gun slips until I’m shoved backward.

“No!” Sam’s scream breaks my heart when Ghostface reloads the gun and points it at me, but just like the first time, nothing happens when he pulls the trigger.

It’s empty.

“Run, Sam!” I shout again, lunging at Ghostface before he can grab his knife. “Get out of here!”

“No!” she cries in protest and when I catch a glimpse of her to my left I’m surprised to see that Tara is actively holding her back and dragging her to the front door of the bodega. “Y/N! No!”

“Just go!” I try to focus all my attention on Ghostface, but Sam’s continued cries of protest make my heart hurt until Tara finally manages to get her outside.

I honestly don’t know how she did it because she’s like a foot shorter than Sam, but all that matters right now is that they’re both safe.

Ghostface and I stumbled through the store, hitting every shelf imaginable all while I’m trying to stop him from reaching for his knife.

“Motherfucker,” I hiss through gritted teeth when he slams my face against the cooler, making the already cracked glass break completely.

Something warm runs down my cheek, but I don’t have time to wipe it away because not a moment later I’m kneed in the stomach and I double over, coughing.

This Ghostface is nothing like Amber or Richie. Whoever’s under the mask knows what they’re doing and if it wasn’t for the nearing police sirens I know I’d be done for.

Ghostface shoves me once more for good measure, making me drop to my knees. Then he hurries out of the bodega, leaving me alone to cough and chuckle mirthlessly in disbelief.

Sam and Tara are okay. I’m okay.

I sit down and stretch my legs out in front of me.

They’re both okay.

I rest my head back against the frame of the broken cooler door and catch my breath while watching the red and blue lights of the police cars dance on the ceiling.

I can hear some shouting, someone’s probably calling for me, but I’m too exhausted to respond, so I just close my eyes and wrap my arms around my aching stomach.

I stay like that for what feels like minutes but is probably just a few seconds in real life before feeling warm hands on my cheeks.

“Y/N, hey, open your eyes. Look at me. Look at me. Are you okay?” Sam’s shaky voice makes me open my eyes and when I see her kneeling in front of me, I smile weakly.

“I’m okay,” I whisper, but she doesn’t seem to believe me. Her eyes dart all over my face and she brushes her thumb just below the cut on my cheek. “Hey. . . I promise, I’m okay,” I say again when her chin starts quivering and in response she throws her arms around my neck and pulls me into a hug.

I return the embrace, although a little less energetic because my stomach still hurts and rub my hands up and down her back. I keep repeating that I’m okay until Tara comes into the store, followed by two police officer’s who take in the scene with wide eyes.

She drops down onto her knees as well as soon as she’s by my side and I’m quick to include her in the hug.

This is just the beginning, but we’re okay, and I will continue to do everything in my power to make sure it stays that way.

_______________________________________________

Good God, that was stressful, but we’re okay!

Hope you guys enjoyed this part. For some reason it was a bit of a struggle to write, but I did it and I can move on now.

Tag list: @bella423 @artrizzler19 @btay3115 @canyonyodeler @quadofthec @pussyydestroyer @rqizzu @pithod @morganismspam23 @idontliketoread2137

[thehusbandoden]

You Flinch During an Argument -Bakugo Katsuki

I finished this yesterday but forced myself to wait to post it due to my one part a day pattern I've had going on.

Anyways~ as I said in Shoto's part, I did make this one a bit angstier, but I hope I didn't stray too far away from the original prompt :'). It's kinda bittersweet lol but I kinda like it.

Angst to fluff/Comfort | Kinda bittersweet~ | 993 words | female reader

Warnings!: arguing, yelling, being scared of your partner, parents arguing (the kids were not present), kids being left at school (not for very long), caps, excuses, self hatred, and insulting themselves (Bakugo). Please let me know if I miss any <33

Dabi | Hawks | Todoroki Shoto | Bakugo Katsuki | Midoriya Izuku | Shigaraki Tomura | Aizawa Shota | Amajiki Tamaki | Kirishima Eijiro | Shinso Hitoshi

You both had been fighting for at least half an hour, screaming at one another for this and that. It started with Bakugo 'forgetting' to pick up your sons from school, and has now escalated into you screaming at him for not 'caring about this family' and his yelling about how hard he works for your family.

No one was totally to blame, both parties had some points that were right, and some that were wrong. But it should have never reached that point.

~~~

"DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW HARD I WORK TO PROVIDE FOR THIS FAMILY! I TOLD YOU WHEN YOU BEGGED FOR KIDS THAT I WOULDN'T BE ABLE TO HELP OUT MUCH! WHAT ELSE DO YOU EXPECT FROM ME!"

"I UNDERSTAND THAT- BUT YOU'VE HAD THREE DAYS OFF! YOU'RE FULLY RESTED- AND SHOULD'VE PICKED UP THE KIDS NO PROBLEM WHILE I WAS HELPING OUT YOUR MOM!"

"WELL WHAT DO YOU EXPECT ME TO DO! I FORGOT ABOUT IT, OKAY! AND YOU DIDN'T CALL TO REMIND ME EITHER!"

"I EXPECTED YOU TO HAVE ENOUGH BRAINS TO REMEMBER, BUT I GUESS THAT WAS IDIOTIC OF ME!"

"I HAVE SO MUCH TO DEAL WITH BESIDES THIS BULL CRAP THAT'S YOUR RESPONSIBILITY! I WORK, YOU TAKE CARE OF THE KIDS!"

"KATSUKI I CANNOT WATCH THE KIDS 24-7 WITHOUT YOUR HELP! I NEED BREAKS TOO! YOU HAVE TWO DAYS OFF A WEEK TO RELAX, AND CATCH UP ON SLEEP! WHILE I HAVE NIGHT TIME, BATHROOM BREAKS, RUNNING ERANDS, AND NAP TIMES TO CATCH A BREAK! I SHOULD BE ABLE TO RELY ON MY HUSBAND TO HELP OUT WHEN HE HAS TIME OFF!"

"YOU'RE THE ONE WHO WANTED THE KIDS IN THE FIRST PLACE- WHY ARE YOU WHINING TO ME ABOUT HAVING TO TAKE CARE OF 'EM!"

"WHY ARE YOU ACTING LIKE THEY AREN'T YOURS!? WE BOTH AGREED ON DOING THE BEST WE COULD FOR OUR KIDS, AND YOU SAID THAT YOU'D HELP OUT WHENEVER YOU COULD!"

"Y/N IT WAS THIS ONE TIME- I WAS BUSY, I FORGOT!"

"YOU WERE PLAYING GAMES ALL DAY WITH YOUR FRIENDS! THAT IS NOT BUSY!"

Blazing anger filled Bakugo as he stepped towards you, planning on simply getting closer to you to somehow try and make you see his side of things. He didn't mean to forget about picking up his kids, he loves his kids, he was simply engrossed in talking about them to his friends as he gamed, totally forgetting about the time and the fact that they were at school, waiting for someone to pick them up.

In truth, Bakugo felt bad. Really bad. But you wouldn't stop, so he continued, his unwavering pride making it near impossible to simply apologize and leave the argument behind.

Storming towards you, Bakugo stopped dead in his tracks as you flinched from him, eyes holding a certain terror. Wait- did you- did you think he was going to hurt you?!

Apologies and 'are you okay's were caught in Bakugo's throat as he opened his mouth, too terrified to speak.

Y/n.. his y/n was scared..of him. HIs y/n- the person that tore him out of his 'I don't care about anything or anyone' stage. She brought him out of his dark pit of self loathing, hating himself for how weak he was, how he couldn't do anything compared to that idiot Deku. She brought light into his world, she is his light. His first and last love, his wife, his center, his other half, his partner, his reason for life, the mother of his children, his one and only lover, his queen, his everything.

And he scared her.

Screamed at her for something that was his fault.

Treated her so badly that she flinched away from him- terror filling her eyes.

Her gorgeous e/c eyes. The same eyes that his sons had inherited. Now he's brought tears to three sets of those goregous eyes. What a scum bag.

Pain seared through Bakguo as he embraced his y/n, knowing if he left now she would entirely break, thinking that he was giving up on her. On their love. When in reality, he would't be. He would never dream of leaving her, or their beautiful children.

Because no matter how much of an a-hole Bakugo may be, he would never stoop that low. Never. And so he held her, and continued to hold her as she tearfully cussed him out, telling him how much she loved him and how much of an a-hole he was for treating her like that, their kids like that.

He just held her, telling her that he was sorry, that he knew, that he would make it up to her -and their seven year old twins- somehow.

And for now, that was enough. His love, and comfort was enough as you clung to him, insulting him while telling him that you loved his idiotic self in the same sentence, telling him that you loved him too much to not be able to forgive him.

And that if he was serious about making things right, that you would help him.

Because you were Bakugo y/n*. You chose to take his name and become his wife. Bakugo has helped you through so many up and downs, so you would do the same for him. Because he truly loved you, and you truly loved him.

*Japanese last names go in front of the first name to pay respect to the family name, and that's why Kirishima and Bakugo's other classmates call him Bakugo instead of Katsuki -to pay respect to his family name-. So you would be (in Japan anyway) Bakugo y/n (if you choose to take his last name) and strangers/aquaintnesses/not so close friends and co-workers would call you Bakugo instead of y/n. Annd due to me not liking Bakugo a whole lot I call him Bakugo or Baka/Bakuhoe instead of Katuski and call Todoroki and Midoriya, Shoto and Izuku- do you get what I'm saying?? I hope you do <33

Series' masterlist | Bakahoe's Bakugou's masterlist | Main masterlist | Navigation

Reblogs and feedback are greatly appreciated<33

Do not copy, repost, nor plagiarize my work. Ask before you translate or use my work in any way, minus reblogging.

[bluebugjay]

A lot of people aren't vibing with Charles and Crystal's romance and honestly i think it's because it's not necessarily supposed to be a full-fledged, endgame romance.

I think it's written to be a fling.

Charles is a flirt; one of the first things he thinks about when Edwin tells him ghosts can't feel is that he would miss kissing, he says himself it's nice to be seen by someone his own age, he calls Crystal fit, etc. Assumably between cases he has a very small social circle of literally just Edwin so it makes sense that this girl who he gets on with and finds attractive immediately becomes a bit of a crush for him.

Then Crystal picks up on his flirting almost immediately, again they get on, etc. She says if he wasn't dead and she wasn't dealing with the aftermath of her toxic relationship with David he would be a good addition to her body count, i.e. just a fling. She doesn't say they'd date or she could fall for him just that they'd probably hook up.

Their first kiss happens when they're both dealing with some heavy stuff, Charles is angry, continuing to push down his trauma with his father and his past, Crystal is annoyed about not being any closer to getting her memories back whilst trying to deal with the trauma her last relationship caused her. They find comfort in each other in that moment. Crystal says she wants something real and the care they have for each other is real, there's no manipulation, no secrets. It's honest and it's innocent.

The song that plays in that scene is called Young Blood (White Sea Remix) by The Naked and Famous and has lyrics such as 'we're only young and naive still' and 'can't help myself but count the flaws, claw my way out of these walls, one temporary escape' and 'we lie beneath the stars at night, our hands gripping each other tight, you keep my secrets hope to die' - It does align with the idea that they're what each other wants in the moment, a distraction, to be able to pretend everything is normal and ok (keep each others secrets)

Crystal in the next episode, the next morning after their kiss, literally calls Charles a 'cute distraction' and says they should be friends. This time both of their issues and trauma are the reason for them not continuing the relationship. Blatantly, Crystal isn't ready for another relationship so soon after David, she wakes up with a nightmare about him and Charles. They bring up Charles fighting the Night Nurse and Charles says that he thought they were on the same page about it and 'at least that's how it seemed last night' which again leans into the fact they were both looking for comfort. Charles and Crystal kissing had nothing explicitly to do with her supporting his actions fighting the Night Nurse and yet that's how he took it because that's what he was searching for comfort from and acceptance on. Which is most likely why he seems to take the rejection harder than Crystal, seemingly agreeing to be friends more out of respect for her choice than the want to call it quits himself.

Charles tells Edwin later on about the kiss (right after Edwin is complaining about having to cancel plans with Monty) and says though he didn't physically feel it, he did feel it 'up here' and points to his head. The mind is generally not the place you feel love, I feel that's a given. (reminds me of the starfish on the beach that Niko says are in love, Edwin points out starfish have no brain and Niko says love doesn't require logic, meaning: love is not stored in the mind.) Charles and Edwin's conversation veers off to being about there own relationship, with Charles saying he wouldn't want to be dead with anyone else - not even the girl you just kissed? No? Ok.

The way that episode goes (The case of the two dead dragons) Crystal and Charles end up arguing about the very reasons they decided to not continue their relationship. Crystal likens Hunter and Brad to David, and Charles defends them saying not everyone is her demon ex-boyfriend which seems like he's projecting and really defending himself. Then Crystal calls him out on his 'rage problem' and what happened with the Night Nurse. So though they comforted each other the night before, their real feelings for each others issues are surfacing and they're not so on the same page. Of course they get over this and apologise soon enough. Though in the end, it's Edwin Charles opens up to and actually talks to about how he's feeling rather than pushing it aside and looking for a distraction. And after that, Charles gives Crystal genuine comfort not just a distraction by listening to her talk about her nightmares/visions about David. (immediately followed by the scene of Edwin and Monty on the swings in which Edwin suggests they don't see each other anymore, then back tracks, they kiss followed by rejection which definitely has... parallels)

After that, Crystal and Charles are still an obvious source of comfort for one another, they talk to each other about their stresses, they stick close together a lot of the time but there's nothing inherently romantic to their actions aside from the fact we know they have kissed which gives their actions a depth that, for example Edwin and Niko's don't, despite them also being affectionate and spending time together alone.

Then in the last episode as Crystal is attempting to leave for London, her and Charles share another kiss. When she tries to say bye to Charles, he says it feels like a 'good-bye good-bye' rather than a 'see you back in London good-bye' and Crystal doesn't correct him, essentially confirming it was supposed to be a forever goodbye. She instead kisses him. It's a good-bye kiss. A (supposed to be) final kiss. A 'we had a good run' type of kiss. Crystal kisses him because she thinks she'll never see him again. It's similar to the first in which the kiss itself is the beginning and end, and it doesn't mean much past that. It's a kiss as a secret again, like their first kiss. A kiss to fill the space left by things they don't want to talk about. She doesn't want to admit she's planning on leaving for good so she kisses him instead, it's a comfort and it's a distraction. (and its consistent)

When Crystal decides to stay in the end, Charles says it'll be great, then specifies that 'solving cases together' will be great, not anything else that could of implied. Which could either be them just being awkward, or a flip in their dynamic that now Crystal is the one more involved in their relationship and Charles is the one setting boundaries.

Overall I think they have a really interesting dynamic. They are exactly what each other needs in moments and then the opposite in the next, they care about each other so much yet are possibly the people that unearth each others insecurities and traumas the most. They're both looking for a new, different kind of relationship and find it within the other but inherently once the novelty fades they fall more into being friends than anything more. I think like most of the relationships in this show, they're supposed to be complicated, they're supposed to be more of a journey than a destination. They learn and grow from their interactions together and I think that's something really beautiful.